PIACENZA, the Roman Placentia, on the right bank of the Po, makes few concessions to the tourist. And although on the Via Emilia, the great Roman thoroughfare that linked Milan with the Adriatic, it is surprisingly little visited. But much remains of the city’s glory days, when she belonged to the Lombard League that defeated Barbarossa at Legnano in 1176. Only later was Piacenza subordinated to the Visconti, the Sforza, the French, and – from 1545 – the Farnese, whose Bourbon heirs, briefly ousted in 1734–48, were expelled by the French in 1796. In 1816 the city passed with Parma to Napoleon’s wife Maria Luisa; in 1859 it was absorbed in the new Italian kingdom.
The strands of Piacentine history are aptly expressed in the central Piazza dei Cavalli, named after Francesco Mochi’s equestrian bronzes of Alessandro Farnese and Ranuccio, his son, unveiled respectively in 1625 and 1630. These are among the masterpieces of baroque sculpture: look up at the restless chargers, with their swinging manes and trampling hoofs. Behind these statements of political power is the Palazzo del Comune, begun in 1280, one of the most convincingly monumental secular buildings of the age, stone below, brick above.
Piacenza is rich in early churches. Sant’Antonino, the original cathedral, was rebuilt in the eleventh century; the hexagonal dome floats above the Gothic Paradiso, the great brick entrance added in 1350. The Duomo itself is a little way to the east. Built between 1120 and 1233, this – like almost every Romanesque church in Italy – has been much restored. But the façade, pink below, grey above, is most satisfying, as is the great brick campanile, best seen from the courtyard to the left. To bear the weight of the huge octagonal crossing, lateral piers were necessary, and the last bay of the nave was raised so that the transepts are symmetrical. Morazzone was called in to decorate the dome, but only completed two sections of the vault. He was followed by Guercino, whose frescoes, all but invisible by natural light, must always have lacked the delicacy of the artist’s preparatory drawings. Between the Duomo and the station is a third notable church masked by a later arcade, San Savino. The interior has been ruthlessly purged of baroque excrescences. The crypt is notable not least because much of the original black and white pavement survives.
Francesco Mochi, equestrian statue of Ranuccio I Farnese, bronze, 1630
equestrian statue of Duke Alessandro Farnese, bronze, 1625.
To the north-west corner on the Via di Campagna are two fine churches by the architect of Renaissance Piacenza, Alessio Tramello: San Sepolcro, begun in 1513, and the Madonna di Campagna of 1523–8, the first of conventional Latin cross plan, the second, yet grander, conceived as a Greek cross with a central dome. The great Friulian master Pordenone first worked at Piacenza in 1525, and it is his contribution that makes the Madonna di Campagna so remarkable. The murals of the dome, with God the Father in Glory, and the pendentives of the Evangelists, realized in 1528–31, are effective because Pordenone understood that legibility was of paramount importance. He also decorated the chapels in the angles on the left side of the church, dedicated respectively to Saint Catherine and the Magi, introducing Tramello’s dome in the background of his Disputation of Saint Catherine. How observant Pordenone was is seen in his Adoration of the Magi, where the detached timbers are described in affectionate detail and he imagines an audience of watchers from the windows in the distance. His psychological range is evident in the expressions of the doctors whom the youthful Christ confounds, one desperately searching for help in his book.
Madonna di Campagna: Pordenone, Christ among the Doctors, fresco (detail).
The Palazzo Farnese, begun in 1538 but never finished, was ruthlessly stripped when the Bourbons left for Naples in 1734. The Pinacoteca deserves to be visited, however, for a little-known masterpiece, Botticelli’s Madonna and Child with the Infant Baptist. This is among the first and freshest of his tondi, its equilibrium established by a frontal parapet. There is perhaps no more perfect hedge of roses in western art, and the open-eyed Child lies on the purple lining of the Virgin’s billowing cloak, which protects him from the red and white roses below. The picture remains in its original frame attributable to Giuliano da Maiano. To be able to see such a masterpiece in peace makes up for the capricious opening times of the Collegio Alberoni, the great treasure of which is Antonello da Messina’s hauntingly beautiful Christ at the Column.
