Duomo

Orvieto's most striking sight is, without a doubt, the facade of its Duomo. The overall effect -- with the sun glinting off the gold of mediocre 17th- to 19th-century mosaics in the pointed arches and intricate Gothic stone detailing everywhere -- has led some to call it a precious (or gaudy) gem and others to dub it the world's largest triptych. It is, to say the least, spectacular.

The Duomo was ordered built in 1290 by Pope Nicholas IV to celebrate the miracle that had occurred 27 years earlier at nearby Bolsena. Work was probably begun by Arnolfo di Cambio, but the structure ran through its share of architects over the next few hundred years -- including Florentine Andrea Orcagna; a couple of Pisanos; and, most significantly, Sienese Lorenzo Maitani (1310-30). Maitani not only shored up the unsteady structure with his patented buttresses but also left a Gothic stamp on the building, especially the facade. Here he executed, with the help of his son, Vitale, and Niccolò and Meo Nuti, the excellent carved marble relief panels in the lower register (protected by Plexiglas after many vandalism incidents). The scenes on the left are stories from Genesis; God fishes around inside Adam's rib cage with an "I know I left an Eve in here somewhere" look on His face. The far right panels are a Last Judgment preamble for the Signorelli frescoes inside. The most striking is the lower-right panel, a jumble of the wailing faces of the damned and the leering grins of the demonic tormentors dragging them to eternal torture. The anguish and despair are intense, possibly because the damned didn't realize Hell would contain quite so many snakes. The controversial (mainly because they're contemporary) bronze doors were cast in 1970 by Sicilian sculptor Emilio Greco. Parts of the facade, including the mosaics, were damaged by the 1997 Umbria earthquakes.

Save for the 1426 Madonna fresco by Gentile Fabriano just inside the doors on the left, there's nothing to grab you in the boldly striped interior until you get to the altar end. The choir behind the main altar was frescoed by Ugolino di Prete Ilario in the 14th century, but it's been covered with restoration scaffolding for years. The left transept houses the Cappella del Corporale (1357-64), also by Ugolino and his workshop. The left wall depicts various miracles performed by communion wafers throughout the ages, and the right wall pulls out the Sacrament's biggest moment, the Miracle of Bolsena.

In 1263, a young priest who doubted the miracle of transubstantiation -- the transformation of the communion wafer and wine into the actual body and blood of Christ -- was saying Mass at Bolsena, on the shores of a lake a few dozen miles south of Orvieto. As he raised the Host toward the heavens, it began dripping blood onto the corporale (cloth covering the altar). The altar cloth instantly became a relic and was rushed to Pope Urban IV, who was cooling his heels in Orvieto in the company of Thomas Aquinas, a visiting professor at the city's theological seminary. They quickly cranked out a papal bull proclaiming the feast day of Corpus Christi. The relic resides in a huge gilded silver case designed in 1339 to mimic the cathedral facade and set with scenes of the Miracle of Bolsena and life of Christ in enameled panels inlaid with silver.

To the right of the high altar is the recently restored Cappella San Brizio, containing one of the Renaissance's greatest fresco cycles. Fra' Angelico started the job in 1447 but finished only two of the vault triangles: Christ as Judge and a gold-backed stack of Prophets. The Orvietan council brought in pinch-hitter Pinturicchio in 1490, but the Perugian painter inexplicably cut out after just 5 days. It wasn't until 1499 that Cortonan Luca Signorelli strode into town, with the council hailing him Italy's most famous painter and practically throwing at him the contract to finish the paintings. After completing the ceiling vaults to Fra' Angelico's designs, Signorelli went into hyperdrive with his own style on the walls. By 1504, the Duomo had some of the most intense studies ever seen of the naked human body, plus a horrifically realistic and fascinating rendition of the Last Judgment. Michelangelo, master of the male nude, who was most impressed, made many sketches of the figures, and found a prime inspiration for his own Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel.

The first fresco on the left wall is The Preaching of the Antichrist, a highly unusual subject in Italian art. The Devil-prompted Antichrist discourses in the center, Christians are martyred left and right, soldiers scurry about a huge temple in the background, and the Antichrist and his followers get their angelic comeuppance on the left. The prominent whore in the foreground reaching back to accept money for her services is a bit of painterly revenge -- it's a portrait of a girlfriend who had recently dumped Signorelli. On the far left is Signorelli's "signature": two black-robed figures bearing portraits of Signorelli and his skullcapped predecessor Fra' Angelico standing behind.

On the right wall, the first fresco shows the Resurrection of the Flesh, in which the dead rise from an eerily flat, gray plane of earth -- Signorelli apparently didn't want any background detailing to clutter his magnificently detailed anatomical studies of nudes. The muscular bodies struggling out of the ground seem oblivious to the bright-winged angelic trumpeters standing on the clouds above.

In the arch to the left of the altar, angel musicians summon the lucky ones in the Calling of the Chosen. Italian last judgments tend to have infinitely more interesting "damned in Hell" scenes than "blessed in Paradise" ones, and Signorelli's is no exception. His Crowning of the Chosen on the left wall, however, is one of the few versions worth pausing over, again mainly because of its studies of nudes. This is a painterly festival of well-turned calves, modeled thighs, rounded bellies, and firm buttocks.

Then there's how the other half dies. To the right of the altar is The Entrance to Hell, filled with Dantean details such as a group of the indolent being led off by a devil bearing a white banner, a man raising his fists to curse God as he sees Charon rowing across the Styx for him, and a would-be escapee downstage whom Minos has captured by the hair and is about to thrash. Two rather militant angels oversee the whole process as if to make sure no one scrambles over the arch to the "Chosen" side. This fresco sets you up for the last and most famous scene: the writhing, twisting, sickly colored mass of bodies, demons, and horror of The Damned in Hell. Signorelli didn't pull any punches here. Tightly sinewed, parti-colored demons attack and torture the damned while a few of their comrades, menaced by heavily armed angels in full plate mail, toss humans down from the sky. One winged devil is making off with a familiar blonde on his back -- the jilted artist's ex-mistress again -- but there's also a gray-haired electric-blue devil in the very center of the squirming mass, grasping an ample-bosomed woman and looking out at us from the chaos with a rather sad expression (another self-portrait?).

Note: This information was accurate when it was published, but can change without notice. Please be sure to confirm all rates and details directly with the companies in question before planning your trip.

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