The sculptural program in Fidenza's San Donnino is an oft-overlooked set of masterpieces. Fidenza is a small town compared to the much better-known medieval towns in the region. Parma, Piacenza, Modena, and Bologna have huge, beautifully-appointed churches which draw crowds. Fidenza's cathedral is nevertheless a gem: its lavish exterior has not been assaulted by Baroque period, and from 2015-19 it was gifted with a sensitive, expert restoration.
The name of the Romanesque master-sculptor for Fidenza cathedral is actually known--a rarity in medieval art. His name was Benedetto Antelami (1150-1230), He's most famous for his work on the Parma Baptistry. As I'll demonstrate below, he had a very particular style in his carvings. He had a workshop of stone carvers, who worked under his direction, so that the broad program of carvings within/upon a building would have a harmonized appearance. Something happened, though, on the Fidenza facade. Or maybe it would be better to say someone happened on the project.
The facade of San Donnino contains traditional themes (adoration of the magi, Daniel in the lions' den, for example), and tableaux of scenes from the life of Saint Donnino and Saint Raimundus, Saint Donnino was a local guy, from Parma, who lived in the 4th century CE. Saint Raimundus was from Piacenza, and had died less than 20 years before Antelami's workshop carved images of him here. He was revered for the hospitals and sanctuaries for the indigent and abandoned children which he founded.
The life of San Donnino offered more dramatic opportunities for carving: he was beheaded by Emperor Maximian for publicly declaring his conversion to Christianity. He also performed miracles after his death: returning a stolen horse to a pilgrim who had prayed at his shrine, and saving a pregnant woman who offered a prayer to him to save her as a bridge collapsed.
The carvings of the lives of these saints are carved very much in the style of Antelami.
A pilgrim is grateful for the return of his stolen horse, by the grace of St. Donnino
This section shows horse and pilgrim happily reunited. Note the special attention given to the horse's tack: bridle, reins, saddle, stirrup. The sculptor also makes it quite clear that the horse is a stallion, and not a gelding. The pilgrim's right hand, caressing the horse, is out of scale. In fact, the horse here seems more a pony, given its size compared to the pilgrim. The trees are rendered in a manner more ornamental than accurate. These figures are cartoonish and generic, but in a good way. The sculptor has carved them in a tender, perhaps loving, moment.
Horse, Donkey, Lion, and Goat
The animal figures in the archivolts are similarly non-threatening, and have a childlike innocence.
A monkey on horseback, a Griffin among vines.
Just because they are fanciful it is not to say that they are simple. There is a lot of detail given to the monkey riding the horse: his coat is a different, more detailed texture than the horse's. The grapes and the wings on the griffin are sculpted with care.
Central Portal of Fidenza Cathedral
There wasn't enough room, even when using my wide-angle lens, to get back far enough to photograph the whole facade. What I want to call attention to here is the many different kinds of carving involved: The simplest work would be the abstract decoration of the engaged colonettes and the archivolts in the main central portal. The big column on the far right has a standard acanthus decoration for a capital. You've seen above the miniature creatures on the archivolts--they are fine, but have a standard look to them, and, indeed, such little animals adorn medieval churches all over Western Europe. Lion guardians flanking the entrance to the cathedral are de rigeur in Italian medieval churches, but they often have little individual touches, such as what symbolic creature they are fighting (often snakes and barbarians, symbolizing threats to Christianity). The larger pieces are prestige items: Antelami himself did the prophet statues in the niches on either side of the door.
But things get really interesting when we get down to the narrative friezes. There are many common stories, such as the betrayal of Jesus by Judas' kiss, or the flight into Egypt (both are exemplified below). Fidenza's cathedral, however, has both locally-sourced stories to tell, and biblical scenes portrayed in a distinctive way.
Martyrdom of St. Donnino
This image will reward you for clicking to enlarge it. On the left third, the saint is carrying a cross while on horseback. He has a halo that would have been picked out in colored glass and probably painted gold/yellow to distinguish him. He is pursued by Maximian's soldiers, gorgeously dressed in mind-blowingly complicated chainmail tunics. Note how much fancier these horses and their tack are compared to that of our modest pilgrim's horse! Uneven terrain is implied by the wavy lines with foliage ornament, as the hooves gallop over them. In the middle-third, The knights have overtaken Donnino. One soldier has dismounted to slash his sword, severing the saint's head from his still-standing body. In the last third, angels recover the head, and create a shrine for it. In his reporting for divine duty, the saint carries his head, and commences to walk on water to his life of performing miracles for Christian in the area. I'm only guessing, but I think the plant next to the saint implies that lilies sprang up from the site of his martyrdom.
St. Donnino recovers the stolen horse of a devout pilgrim
Here, we can see the whole frieze of the pilgrim's miracle from Saint Donnino. This one took some work for me to understand, but the sculptor was charged with telling the story of how the pilgrim visits the saint's shrine, prays for the recovery of his dear horse, and is granted his prayer. So, if I were an artist charged with depicting that in a meter-long narrow band, I'd have to think that challenge through. We need to include the three parts of the story: the visit of the pilgrim to the shrine, the saint's witness to the prayer, and the miracle granted. So, we have the whole of the saint (his head cradled by his body) present in the remote shrine (see the dense, unruly trees), the pilgrim kneeling to pray (I guess the shrine was noted for being really small, but at first I thought the figure stuck his head in the building and ended up decapitated--never read right-to-left!), and the joyful reunion in a place of tamed landscape. Very complicated. It's nice we have some helpful text, but how many visiting the cathedral would read Latin? The locals would recognize the elements of the hagiography is my guess.
Madonna and Child, left portal frieze
This Madonna enthroned among worshippers looks to me as though it was given to an apprentice. It's a simple composition, with very generic faces. I like how the worshippers are strategically huddled to fill the shape of the tympanum. They hold up their hands in prayer in a gesture that I've seen in much earlier (think 5th century and earlier) Christian art. I wonder how long that gesture was practiced before clasping hands together supplanted it. The novice carver definitely "colors within the lines" for this well-worn theme. It gets the job done, but it's not as detailed as the horses all over the facade, even the cartoonish ones.
Atlas figure in left portal
Another staple of medieval church architectural art: the atlas figure. These burdened men can symbolize vanquished heretics, or the penance/duty of sinners to support the church. The carver of this one was a true minimalist: the most detailed part of it is the head, with a rather blank expression, but lovely curls. He did a nice job, though, of conveying the effort of the man. His right foot breaks the frame of the niche to steady himself beneath his burden.
Hercules, wrestling the Nemean Lion
Nearby is different male figure meant to convey strength: Hercules. I was startled to see it. I can't even remember if I've seen a classical figure on a medieval church facade. It's a bit of a muddle for accuracy: Hercules' most often-used attribute is the skin of the Nemean lion worn as his cape/armor, and he sports here a ram's fleece. I don't think the fleece has any legendary story attached to it. It's (probably) not the Golden Fleece, even though he helped Jason steal it.
Hercules was used by the Stoics to symbolize the cardinal virtue of fortitude/courage. More typically, Christian iconography embodies the image of strength in Samson or David (see article by my favorite Romanesque art historian, Kirk Ambrose). The lines of the sculpture are similar to the amateurish atlas figure, but there is so much more detail and presence to this Hercules, and his lion. Compare this to another sculpture by Antelami himself:
Winter, by Antelami, Museo Diocesano, Parma (in the Baptistry for a special exhibition in 2024)
Antelami favors details in drapery, wide-open eyes, and flowing hair. The Hercules is a smaller bas-relief compared to this almost free-standing piece, but the same focus of the energy in the face is there.
Crowning figure on left portal, Saint Raimundinus of Piacenza, dressed for his pilgrimage with a large pannier on his back.
With this piece depicting the other local saint--one who well could have been in the memories of still-living parishioners, the details are more of what is often described as the essential Romanesque: the body itself is almost ignored (because conceived in sin), the face and attributes give emphasis to the path to saintliness. This carving, too, is consistent with the "signature" of the Antelami workshop.
And then, we turn to this: something very dynamic, and altogether more angry than the other carvings.
St. Donnino rescues a woman from a bridge collapse
Here we see the second miracle of the kindly saint, but frieze doesn't bother even to show him. The bridge collapse looks like a failed Ikea bookshelf assembly, and no one appears to be expressing gratitude or blessedness in the frieze. Everyone, even the saved pregnant woman in the center (whom I didn't recognize as female for several seconds), has the same arresting glare. The dead ones with closed eyes seem marginally more peaceful. The surviving witnesses to the miracle all appear to be gazing out at something happening which we aren't a party to. Compare this to the treatment of the pilgrim reunited with his horse.
Adoration of the magi
This frieze may not have been as heavily restored (or replaced) in the 2015 project (I have a book on the project winging its way to me). This scene has more wear to it. But, here, too, is a treatment where most of the characters have intense eyes (except the sleeping Joseph). The Madonna and child are grim, ugly, and almost irate. The only pleasantness in this tableau are the two doves drinking at the communion cup on the far right. They are a symbol of the Eucharist. Beautifully detailed drapery, and the whole scene originally must have sparkled with chips of colored glass and gold for the crowns. The Star of Bethlehem looms over the scene, and could easily be mistaken for a sun.
Daniel in the Lion's Den
The Master of the Intense Eyes also does work on the capitals. His Daniel seems almost cheerful, and both he and the lions appear to have spent considerable time with a curling iron. Luxurious hair and manes steal the scene. The artist really does seem to prefer carving animals.
Pilgrims, or, a Flight into Egypt
Once again, our sculptor who was straying from the style of the Antelami workshop has scowling or expressionless characters. I love how he grounds the travelers by having them walk on acanthus leaves. They have identical bags for their journey. I'm a little taken-aback by the enormous ears of (presumed) father and son.
Madonna and child, with pomegranates
So much loveliness here, but then: yikes! The pomegranate tree is lush, with both flowers and fruit. Note how the trunk of the tree stands in front of the Virgin, and the leaves nearly double as ornament for her gown. The branches frame her face and then meander into the background. She holds a full blooming flower in her hand, making sure we're very clear that she and her child are the Tree of (Eternal) Life itself. But once you get to the faces of her and the Christ child, that disturbing intensity, lacking in serenity, leaps out. The choice to carve her into the concave top of the niche makes her face thrust forward in a way that does not convey the usual passivity of the Madonna as the throne for the heavenly king. She looks poised to spring off the wall and down onto you. I don't know what to make of the infant who looks like an old man, and is the sole figure on the facade with straight hair (apart from the Mary with be-ribboned hair, below). (For you ollllld Star Trek: Deep Space Nine fans, he looks uncannily like Odo.)
Elizabeth, Mary, Jesus, and Joseph
This capital, too, is markedly out of sync with Antelami's known carvings of Mary, Christ, and Joseph. The faces are cartoonish, but not in the charming way the carved animals I showed you in the beginning are. The faces are uniform and mask-like, and those eyes would be comical if they weren't so fervent. A young Jesus is holding the pomegranate flower, but doesn't seem to be contemplating his role. Again, all the figures seem focused on something outside their frame, and invisible to us.
The Angry Annunciation
Initially, I though that maybe this striking difference in carvings was an over-zealous restoration, where modern carver took some license, but...no. Here is an unrestored capital, nearby, and all the disturbing elements are there. I'd be hard-put to come up with a scene more often reproduced in all of medieval art than the Annunciation. But this one doesn't have the "glad tidings" of Gabriel, nor the meek humility of Mary (although reluctant Marys abound). They look as though they're in the middle of an argument, and it isn't going well. Erosion does little to ease that glower from both of them. Mary holds her flower and her prayer book (?) in front of her in a classic defensive posture. I would love to have witnessed the moment when this sculptor revealed this work to his master.
This carver is not the only artist to create intense, alarming subjects. Here are a few roughly contemporary sculptures below.
Sacrifice of Isaac, Souillac, 12th C.
This trumeau is a chaotic, apocalyptic jumble. The angel is hurtling down from heaven to stop the human sacrifice, dragging the poor ram. Abraham has a glazed, fanatical stare as he wields the knife, and little Isaac is cringing and praying in terror.
Moses and the Golden Calf, Vezelay, 12th c.
I don't know what was in the water for the master of Vezelay, but he carved the scariest demons ever. (By the way, the artist wasn't named Gislebertus, as is commonly accepted from the tympanum in Autun. Art historian Linda Seidel debunks this convincingly.)
The Betrayal of Jesus by Judas, 12th c., San Pedro el Viejo, Huesca
The static, expressionless figures in the cloister of San Pedro seem static and implacable to me.
To close, let's return to some known Antelami works, in nearby Parma. After the preceding images, his work seems to me charming and reassuring.
Flight into Egypt, Parma Baptistry, 12th c.
Lots of nice drapery, serene faces, and actual interaction between characters. The donkey isn't as lovingly drawn as the animals in Fidenza's facade, though.
Sacrifice of Isaac, Parma Cathedral, 12th c.
This capital, compared to the trumeau of the same subject in Souillac, has almost a festive air to it. There's no real drama that Isaac is in danger. Abraham looks as though he's delighted to have the angel as a surprise guest.
Madonna and Angels, Parma Cathedral, 12th c.
When you view the Antelami figures with original colors (what science can do for restoration!), the figures seem generic, but still affecting. This Mary is neither irritable, nor aloof.
Elijah ascends to heaven in a fiery chariot, leaving Elisha below.
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