Museo Civico
Sala del Risorgimento (Hall of Italian Unification)
Sala del Mappamondo (Hall of the World Map)
Sala della Pace, a.k.a. Sala dei Nove (Hall of Peace/Hall of the Nine)
Siena’s City Hall (Palazzo Pubblico), still the seat of city government, symbolizes a republic independent from the pope and the Holy Roman Emperor. It also represents a rising secular society, one that appeared first in Tuscany and then spread throughout Europe in the Renaissance. City Hall also has a fine and manageable museum that displays a good sampling of Sienese art. Stroll through this civic center and let its fine day-in-the-life frescoes take you back to a time when this proud town understandably considered itself the vanguard of Western civilization.
(See “Siena” map, here.)
Cost: €8, €13 combo-ticket with tower (must be purchased at the tower).
Hours: Daily mid-March-Oct 10:00-19:00, Nov-mid-March 10:00-18:00, last entry 45 minutes before closing.
Getting There: As the focus of the main square, it’s hard to miss.
Information: Tel. 0577-292-615, www.comune.siena.it.
Length of This Tour: Allow one hour.
Photography: Not allowed.
Starring: Frescoes by Martini and Lorenzetti’s Effects of Good and Bad Government.
Nearby Eateries: For restaurants near Siena’s City Hall, see here.
(See “Siena’s Civic Museum” map, here.)
• Climb two flights of stairs (elevator on request—ask at ticket desk), pass through the gift shop, and enter the...
This hall has dramatic scenes of the 19th-century unification of Italy (surrounded by statues that don’t seem to care). In the paintings, see Victor Emmanuel II (left wall as you enter, with beard and pointy moustache), king of a small northern Italian province. His status as the only Italian-blooded provincial king made him a natural to become the first king of a united Italy. Here we see him on horseback at the Battle of San Martino (1859) while leading a united Italian nation against its Austrian oppressors. Beneath that, you’ll see the coat he’s wearing in the painting. Next (clockwise above the windows), the king’s red-shirted troops cheer as he shakes hands with the dashing general Giuseppe Garibaldi. There was a concern that Garibaldi, the charismatic revolutionary who had won the south, might not submit to the king. In this scene, even as the king’s white horse seems to honor Garibaldi, the revolutionary famously says, “I obey.” Victorious, the king receives politicians (next painting), who bow and present the election results that made Italy united and democratic, with Victor Emmanuel II as a symbolic head. When he died in 1878 (see his funeral procession passing through Rome’s Pantheon portico, filled with real portraits, on the far wall), Italy was well on the way to modern nationhood. The mythological grandeur on the ceiling seems designed to legitimize the Italian Republic, a latecomer to the European family of nations.
• Pass through the hallway to the left, and walk through the Sala di Balia. In the next room, turn left to find the chapel where the city’s governors and bureaucrats prayed. Continue into the large...
This room, where the Grand Council met, pumped up governors and citizens alike with its images of military victories and the blessings of Mary. On opposite ends of the room, you’ll find two large frescoes. The beautiful Maestà (Enthroned Virgin, 1315), by Siena’s great Simone Martini (c. 1280-1344), was the secular counterpart to Duccio’s Maestà (then in the Duomo, now in the Duomo Museum). Mary sits on a throne under a red silk canopy, a model to Siena’s city council of what a just ruler should be. Siena’s black-and-white coat of arms is woven into both the canopy and the picture frame. Mary is surrounded by saints and angels, clearly echoing the Maestà of Simone’s teacher, Duccio.
But this is a groundbreaking work. It’s Siena’s first fresco showing a Madonna not in a faraway, gold-leaf heaven, but under the blue sky of the real world that we inhabit. As Mary delicately holds Baby Jesus, her expressive face anticipates the sacrifice of her son. A scraggly John the Baptist connects viewers with the scene.
The canopy creates a 3-D stage, with saints in front of, behind, and underneath it. Some saints’ faces are actually blocked by the support poles. These saints are not a generic conga-line of Byzantine icons, but a milling crowd of 30 individuals with expressive faces. Some look straight out, some are in profile, and some turn at that difficult-to-draw three-quarter angle, grabbing onto the canopy poles. And the Virgin’s brooch is painted so well that it almost looks...uh, real.
With unbeatable Florence to its north, Siena expanded south. Facing the Maestà is the famous Equestrian Portrait of Guidoriccio da Fogliano (1330; long attributed to Simone Martini, but more recently art historians have debated its authorship). The year is MCCCXXVIII (1328), and Siena’s renowned mercenary commander Guidoriccio da Fogliano rides across a barren landscape and surveys the imposing castle that his armies have just conquered. He has just successfully finished a six-month-long siege—see his camp on the right. This is one of Europe’s first secular portraits. (Guido and his horse have the same tailor.)
On the same wall, just below the horse and rider, The Surrender of the Castle of Giuncarico, by Duccio (1314), shows a man in green about to hand over his sword to a representative of the Sienese republic (not pictured—the scene was obliterated when it was covered by a later fresco). In the background is the man’s castle and village on a rocky outcrop. Duccio’s Surrender apparently inspired the 3-D landscape of Guidoriccio da Fogliano.
Also in the room (among those painted between the arches) are frescoes of two saints with local connections, St. Catherine (see here) and St. Bernardino (1380-1444). Bernardino’s charismatic sermons in Siena could hold a Campo crowd for several days. At sunset, he’d announce that he would begin speaking again at sunrise...and people would come back. He brought together sworn enemies to share a bacio di pace—kiss of peace.
• Continue into the next room.
The Council of Nine, who ruled Siena from 1287 to 1355, met in this room. Looking down on the oligarchy during their meetings was a fascinating fresco series showing the Effects of Good and Bad Government, by Ambrogio Lorenzetti (1337-1340).
The short wall opposite the window features the Allegory of Good Government, which celebrates the Sienese social system: “Siena,” the stately, bearded man on the throne, is flanked by the six virtues. The central virtue, Peace (Pax), lounges on a pile of discarded armor. Justice (in red on the left) is punishing and forgiving under the figure of wisdom. Justice holds a scale, with angels on either side, to execute her judgments. Wrongdoers (lower right) are rounded up by the authorities. At the foot of the stage, prominent Sienese citizens file by. Concordia (below the figure of Justice) makes society just and equal with the wooden plane on her lap. And the symbolic foundation of it all is the she-wolf with Romulus and Remus, recalling a myth meant to connect Siena’s origins to the glory of ancient Rome (explained on here).
The allegory continues on the long wall with a well-preserved fresco depicting the effects of good government in town and country. Notice the whistle-while-you-work happiness of the utopian community ruled by the utopian government. The city and the countryside are exactly the same width (20 feet), an indication that they work together and need each other. Amid Siena’s skyline (Duomo at upper left), young people dance to the beat of a tambourine, workers repair roofs, a professor teaches, and the conversation flows. The blessings of a good government extend even to the countryside, which feels safe and prosperous. Bringing stability and safety to the land outside the city walls was a big accomplishment in the 14th century. The fields are tilled, the Via Francigena is busy, and angels fly overhead.
Study this intimate and rare look at medieval commerce, and take in the details of the 14th-century cityscape. Notice, for instance, how today’s exposed brick work, so “typical” of Siena, had then been stuccoed over and brightly painted. Notice also the pointy skyline, showing the city’s proud towers before they were lopped off by the Florentines. The toppled towers ended up providing building material for the huge Fortezza—a repurposing that wasn’t just practical but psychological, serving as a reminder of the Florentine Medici’s success in keeping the Sienese down.
On the opposite long wall, in the Allegory of Bad Government (badly damaged), a horned, fanged, wine-drinking devil sets the vices loose (“Avarice,” “Vainglory”). Rather than dancing in the streets, people are being arrested. Arsonists torch homes and fields, soldiers rape and pillage, crime is rampant, fields are barren, and frescoes get damaged. The only person still working is making weapons. Justice slumps at the devil’s feet, bound, too depressed to look up. The countryside is dark and devastated, and no one leaves the city unarmed. The message: Without justice, there can be no prosperity.
• An enlightened city government also provides convenient toilets for the public—which you’ll find just off this room. On your way out, just before the Sala del Risorgimento, find the lo-o-o-o-ong stairs and head up for...
Cap your visit by climbing up to the loggia for a sweeping view of the city and its surroundings. (For a less impressive version of this view, you could skip the stairs and simply peek behind the curtains in the Sala della Pace.)