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August/2004 * 08/26/04

 

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San Antimo near Montacino - Photo by Michael Slagle

 

 

 

 

 

San Antimo Abbey - Photo by Michael Slagle

 

 

 

 

 

San Antimo View from Abbey - Photo by Michael Slagle

 

Accidental Pilgrims at the Abbey of Sant' Antimo
By Michael Slagle

If Charlemagne had not become violently ill here in the 8th century…and if the late-winter Tuscan weather had not interrupted our plan to spend a day exploring the walled hill towns south of Siena…we would not be standing now in the acoustically perfect basilica of the Abbey of Sant' Antimo listening to live Gregorian chants.

According to legend, Charlemagne and his troops were struck with the plague while returning from their pilgrimage to Rome in 781. As thanks to God for his survival, Charlemagne erected a monastery on this site. And to assure its holy stature for future pilgrims, he endowed the abbey with various relics of the martyrs St. Sebastian and St. Antimo, gifts from Pope Adrian I during his visit to Rome.

Fast-forward twelve hundred some years…to two accidental pilgrims seeking refuge from the rain and feeling as if they've just walked into the pages of an Umberto Eco novel. The chants of a half-dozen white-robed monks resonate eerily off the basilica's stone walls - a sublime juxtaposition of medieval and modern…and a spiritual reward for venturing off the main road between one guidebook highlight and another.

Our planned day trip had been rather more secular, an itinerary laid out largely to optimize our quest for a couple of bottles of Italy's most fabled wines - Brunello in Montalcino and Vino Nobile in Montepulciano - with a stop in between at Pienza, the place to buy Pecorino cheese. It'd be a great excuse, too, to amble through the narrow and steep streets of these picturesque hill towns. To check out the panoramic views beyond their fortress-like walls, erected to defend against the powerful armies of Florence that made a habit of invading this area back in the Middle Ages.

Sant' Antimo was a whim, a spur of the moment diversion after an abbreviated visit to Montalcino, where we mostly huddled beneath the canopies of the market stalls to escape a steady, chilling rain. So much for leisurely strolls through famous hill towns. With the heater cranked up full-blast in the rental Renault and an interesting looking road - hilly and winding - beyond the signpost pointing towards Sant' Antimo and Castelnuovo dell' Abate, we scrapped our meticulously planned itinerary in favor of a 10 kilometer drive along a route pilgrims traveled centuries ago. For us, less of a spiritual quest than a chance to dry off!

But Italy's penchant for spiritual inspiration wields an uncanny advantage…even over its most reluctant and unsuspecting pilgrims. Like at Sant' Antimo.

Built upon the ruins of Charlemagne's monastery in 1118, Sant' Antimo dominates a valley landscape of vineyards and cypress trees. Its travertine stone is faded unevenly, from a dull, grayish brown to muted sienna. The effect of the weathered stone façade is somber, yet strangely inviting. The sort of place we should be approaching piously and on foot rather than by rental car.

Inside, the high columns and cruciform pillars of Sant' Antimo's Romanesque architecture shadow nearly the whole basilica, drawing attention to the candle-lit altar and the simple wooden crucifix above it. The lack of ostentation - simple stone sculptures and time-dulled frescoes - remind that this is a place for meditation and not a showcase of the Church's wealth.

Here, in the Starcia Valley, Sant' Antimo flourished for over three hundred years as a Benedictine abbey - and a sanctuary for pilgrims traveling the via Francigena - until being abandoned in 1462. Charlemagne's legacy refused to die, however. After over a half a millennium of silence, the timeless Gregorian chants once again echo hauntingly off the basilica's walls.

Though Sant' Antimo is a popular stop on the coach tour circuit, if you visit the abbey during the off-season, there's a likely chance you'll have the place to yourself…barring, of course, the small commune of mendicants and, on this day, a feral cat that, like us, had wandered in seeking sanctuary from the rain.

 




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