Spring carpeted with wild-flowers; great broad-leaved
chestnuts rise from out the meadows, and beneath their shade are
strewn masses of sober mulberry-coloured rock; but above all these
rises the great feature of the place, from which, when it is in
sight, the eyes can hardly be diverted, - I mean the sanctuary of S.
Michele itself.
A sketch gives but little idea of the place. In nature it appears
as one of those fascinating things like the smoke from Vesuvius, or
the town on the Sacro Monte at Varese, which take possession of one
to the exclusion of all else, as long as they are in sight. From
each point of view it becomes more and more striking. Climbing up
to it from San Pietro and getting at last nearly on a level with
the lower parts of the building, or again keeping to a pathway
along the side of the mountain towards Avigliana, it will come as
on the following page.
[At this point there is a picture in the book]
There is a very beautiful view from near the spot where the first
of these sketches is taken. We are then on the very ridge or crest
of the mountain, and look down on the one hand upon the valley of
the Dora going up to Susa, with the glaciers of the Mont Cenis in
the background, and on the other upon the plains near Turin, with
the colline bounding the horizon. Immediately beneath is seen the
glaring white straight line of the old Mont Cenis road, looking
much more important than the dingy narrow little strip of railroad
that has superseded it. The trains that pass along the line look
no bigger than caterpillars, but even at this distance they make a
great roar. If the path from which the second view is taken is
followed for a quarter of an hour or so, another no less beautiful
point is reached from which one can look down upon the two small
lakes of Avigliana. These lakes supply Turin with water, and, I
may add, with the best water that I know of as supplied to any
town.
We will now return to the place from which the first of the
sketches on p. 95 was taken, and proceed to the sanctuary itself.
Passing the small but very massive circular ruin shown on the right
hand of the sketch, about which nothing whatever is known either as
regards its date or object, we ascend by a gentle incline to the
outer gate of the sanctuary. The battered plates of iron that
cover the wooden doors are marked with many a bullet. Then we keep
under cover for a short space, after which we find ourselves at the
foot of a long flight of steps. Close by there is a little terrace
with a wall round it, where one can stand and enjoy a view over the
valley of the Dora to Turin.
Having ascended the steps, we are at the main entrance to the
building - a massive Lombard doorway, evidently the original one.
In the space above the door there have been two frescoes, an
earlier and a later one, one painted over the other, but nothing
now remains save the signature of the second painter, signed in
Gothic characters. On entering, more steps must be at once
climbed, and then the staircase turns at right angles and tends
towards the rock.
At the head of the flight shown p. 98, the natural rock appears.
The arch above it forms a recess filled with desiccated corpses.
The great pier to the left, and, indeed, all the masonry that can
be seen, has no other object than to obtain space for, and to
support, the floor of the church itself. My drawing was taken from
about the level of the top of the archway through which the
building is entered. There comes in at this point a third small
staircase from behind; ascending this, one finds one's self in the
window above the door, from the balcony of which there is a
marvellous panorama. I took advantage of the window to measure the
thickness of the walls, and found them a little over seven feet
thick and built of massive granite blocks. The stones on the
inside are so sharp and clean cut that they look as if they were
not more than fifty years old. On the outside, the granite, hard
as it is, is much weathered, which, indeed, considering the exposed
situation, is hardly to be wondered at.
Here again how the wind must howl and whistle, and how the snow
must beat in winter! No one who has not seen snow falling during a
time when the thermometer is about at zero can know how searching a
thing it is. How softly would it not lie upon the skulls and
shoulders of the skeletons. Fancy a dull dark January afternoon's
twilight upon this staircase, after a heavy snow, when the soft
fleece clings to the walls, having drifted in through many an
opening. Or fancy a brilliant winter's moonlight, with the moon
falling upon the skeletons after snow. And then let there be a
burst of music from an organ in the church above (I am sorry to say
they have only a harmonium; I wish some one would give them a fine
organ). I should like the following for example:- {13}
[At this point in the book a music score is given]
How this would sound upon these stairs, if they would leave the
church-door open. It is said in Murray's handbook that formerly
the corpses which are now under the arch, used to be placed in a
sitting position upon the stairs, and the peasants would crown them
with flowers.
