The Parish Church of San Pietro at Gropina, in the Upper Valdarno, stands bare like a tree shaken by the wind on a winter morning. Nothing here is meant to impress, nor is anything given over to ornament, except the stone itself, which has ruled this space with quiet authority for centuries. There are no paintings, no colours, only a gentle half-light that settles softly over the interior and imbues it with a profound spiritual stillness. The Romanesque church, with its austere sandstone façade, lacks the rose window so often found in medieval churches. Instead, there are only two narrow lancet windows and a small bifora. A modest oculus was added in the sixteenth century, almost as though the original severity of the façade had, for a moment, relented.
The Architecture of the Parish Church of Gropina
Inside the Parish Church, the apse, majestic in form, rises above a double arcade of arches, slender columns and capitals, opening with only small apertures and, in the upper tier, three single-light windows. It is almost as if light itself were carving its way through the stone. With the slow rising of the sun, something of the translucent quality of alabaster becomes visible. This symbolic stone seems to diffuse the illumination of Christ. The apse faces east, catching the first glow of dawn as darkness recedes and shadows dissolve. The blessed rays of the sun slip through the narrow openings: an eschatological sign of life beyond death, and of Christ’s triumph over darkness.
Hence, the architecture of the church gradually reveals itself: a basilican plan articulated by semicircular arches marking the division between the aisles; two rows of eight sturdy columns and four square piers, together evoking the idea of Christian wholeness. Twelve, after all, are the apostles who uphold the Church of Christ, as well as the tribes of Israel and the stars of the Virgin in the sky1. The timber truss roof unexpectedly gives way in the final side bays to elegant rib vaults.
The capitals of the Parish Church of Gropina
Remarkable capitals, carved by craftsmen from Northern Italy and France with great virtuosity, surmount the columns2. From the shadows emerge figures of bears, eagles and lions, shaped by the religious imagination of the age. A true Bible in stone, these carvings offered visual narratives for the men of the Middle Ages, little accustomed to reading and suspended between salvation and eternal damnation, good and evil, grace and sin. In the medieval world, knowledge was understood through symbols and metaphors of the human condition, images capable of transcending the limits of earthly existence.
The symbolism of the capitals
The creatures of the medieval bestiary evoke complex and often ambivalent meanings, already found in the well-known Physiologus3. It matters little whether such animals truly belong to the natural world. They inhabit another realm, closer to human consciousness and spiritual imagination than to earthly reality. At times, they embody the inner demons of humanity, inherited from paganism. At other times, these creatures become a metaphor for Christian virtues. The bear thus represents greed, but also awakening after the apparent death of hibernation. The eagle, seizing an unsuspecting prey, stands as a warning to sinners, for eternal rest comes without warning. At the same time, it is an image of Christ leading the souls of the righteous into heaven. The lion, finally, symbolises pride, which draws men into conflict. Thus, two sculpted beasts confront one another with force, tearing at each other with their powerful jaws.
Vine tendrils allude to the Eucharistic mystery, while the knights present themselves as defenders of the faith4. Yet one of them is dragged unwillingly by his horse, has he perhaps let go of the reins of righteousness? The wolf devouring the lamb and the sow suckling her young likewise become images of earthly vice. Nearby, a demonic face peeps out from among the acanthus leaves, while a blessing Christ appears flanked by Saints Peter and Paul. Another capital shows women suckling a dragon, symbol of the Devil and, more broadly, of lust5. This figurative motif finds close parallels in Niccolò’s Zodiac Portal at the Sacra di San Michele in the Val di Susa, revealing influences from Languedoc6. The same sculptural group also shows a man stroking his beard. Having reached the age of wisdom, he no longer yields to the pull of sin.
The Parish Church of Gropina between Romanesque and Lombard
Within the Parish Church of San Pietro at Gropina, everything seems inscribed in an untroubled stillness, fixed in an almost statuary order, unchanging before the passage of time. Yet revealing light exposes, beneath the apparent harmony, imperfections, asymmetries and flaws in design. This is the case with the columns, which, between the right and left rows, do not align perfectly. The façade is slightly askew, and the main portal, with its bifora, is not in line with the roof. This is most likely the result of adaptation to the site, since the church, built on a hillside from the twelfth century onwards, was constructed on the foundations of an earlier building, already attested in a diploma of Charlemagne dated 780, preserved in the Nonantola Abbey Archives7. At that time, the Parish Church of Gropina fell under the jurisdiction of the monastery of Nonantola.
The pre-existing buildings
Archaeological excavations carried out between 1968 and 1972 revealed the earlier church, with two apsidal aisles separated by columns, dating to after the Liutprandic Renaissance (712–744). Plutei, burials and Lombard crosses were thus uncovered. It has also been suggested that the right-hand aisle was added in the eleventh century8. Adjacent to the Lombard-period building lay another church, consisting of a single apsidal hall, of early Christian date (sixth century?), which at the time of the excavations was still unknown. The discovery of the base of a Roman amphora suggests that a domus had probably originally stood on the site. The builders of the Romanesque church of Gropina therefore had to deal with the long stratification of the site. It is likely that the earlier Lombard church remained intact and in use for decades. In the meantime, the structures of the Parish Church of San Pietro rose all around it.
It is difficult to establish with precision the chronology of the church’s construction phases. Although archaeologists generally date the building to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, certain parts reveal different stages of workmanship. According to some scholars, the work followed the usual procedure, beginning with the apse9. Others have instead argued, quite exceptionally, that the façade and central nave were built first10. Even more enigmatic is the pulpit. This is a genuine unicum in both architectural and stylistic terms, poised between Lombard and Romanesque art. In any case, construction of the church cannot have continued beyond 1233, a terminus ante quem established by an inscription carved on an external stone of the bell tower recording the completion of the works.
The Lombard pulpit and the knotted columns
Positioned against the fourth column on the right, the pulpit gives rise to a subtle sense of unease. Such a feeling emerges when one is confronted with something that seems elusive, enigmatic, or difficult to interpret. The pulpit appears, in fact, somewhat at odds with the church’s overall stylistic coherence. While some scholars have attributed it to a pre-Romanesque phase, the artistic developments that occurred in the region also allow for a possible interpretation within a late Lombard context. In this regard, the art historian Mario Bucci wrote:
“When rough Romanesque is on the Lombard way, it is Lombard; it is a pre-Romanesque of Lombard origin.”
M. Bucci, Introduzione alla pittura e alla scultura in diocesi di Fiesole11.
Indeed, it is plausible that the pulpit originally belonged to the earlier church of Lombard foundation. Thus, it was later dismantled and reassembled in its present position for its artistic and symbolic significance. Supporting this hypothesis are the rear supporting blocks, which are clearly spolia. They show worn bas-reliefs depicting spirals, flowers of life, and animal figures. A further clue to the dating of the pulpit consists in an inscription discovered on the scroll held by the angel carved on its main body. Although the epigraph is unfortunately incomplete, it was reconstructed by Carlo Fabbri. The scholar identified in it the script style associated with the Abbey of Nonantola12:
[…]q[…] [presbit]erv(m) Bernard(vm)[…] m(ise)r(i)chord(em) a(nno) D(ominice) i(ncarnationis) DC[CC]XXV I.R.f(ecit).
C. Fabbri, Il pulpito della pieve di Gropina.
Thus, the Abbot Bernard may have commissioned the pulpit in 825.
The pulpit base and the ophitic columns of the Parish Church of Gropina
At the front, the pulpit rests upon two knotted columns. These are crowned by an unusual capital carved with twelve figures whose arms are raised towards heaven. Above them runs a tall abacus decorated with a repeating geometric pattern, a stylised representation of tongues of fire. This iconographic detail suggests an interpretation of the composition as a whole: the twelve apostles, assembled in prayer, receiving the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.
“Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the holy Spirit […]”.
Acts of the Apostles 2:3.
Knotted columns were a recurring symbolic motif in Romanesque art. It is possible that this imagery expressed the mystery of the Trinity13, with the Holy Spirit acting as the bond between the Father and the Son. The pulpit of Gropina, probably of Lombard origin, may represent one of the earliest known examples of the motif. A pair of knotted columns also appears in the apse of the parish church, built in the Pisan-Lucchese style14, between the stilted arches of the external gallery.
The symbols of the Tetramorph
According to Christian tradition, Saint Luke wrote the Acts of the Apostles, including the account of Pentecost. Thus, among the tongues of fire carved on the abacus, one can discern, almost concealed within the decoration, the head of an ox, the traditional symbol of the Evangelist. The remainder of the Tetramorph is arranged on the body of the pulpit, above a decorative band carved with oak branches and leaves. Mark’s lion, Matthew’s angel, and John’s eagle stand one above the other along the central axis, supporting the lectern.
The body of the pulpit
The circular body of the pulpit contains five relief-carved panels. These were reassembled in the Romanesque period, not necessarily according to their original arrangement. Nevertheless, the overall coherence of the narrative cycle seems to have been retained. The iconographic programme relates to the theme of the salvation of the soul. We can interpret sin and temptation in eschatological terms, as evils that the faithful overcome by hearing the Word of God.
On one of the panels, a two-tailed siren represents the personification of lust. Her malevolent nature is emphasised by the image of a sinner being devoured by serpents. Evil is contrasted with the salvific work of Christ, represented on the adjacent panel in the forms of the Agnus Dei and the griffin, both enveloped by the six great wings of a seraph15. The griffin, a mythical creature depicted with the head of a lion and the body of an eagle, symbolises the dual nature of the Son of God16, earthly and heavenly, human and divine.
The decorative repertoire also includes motifs linked to Creation: flowers, spirals, and a depiction of Christ as Sol Invictus. He is the one who illuminates the parish church at the break of dawn, dispelling the darkness of sin and death. From the sun radiate four beams towards the cardinal points: the Word of God, once proclaimed from this pulpit, brings salvation to every corner of the earth.
Samuele Corrente Naso
Notes
- Book of Revelation 12. ↩︎
- G. Tigler, Precisazioni sull’architettura e la scultura del medioevo, in Arte a Figline. Dal Maestro della Maddalena a Masaccio, 2010. ↩︎
- Anonimo, Physiologus, written by Alessandria d’Egitto between the 2nd and 3rd century. ↩︎
- V. Moretti, Il pulpito longobardo e i capitelli romanici della pieve di Gropina, Cortona, Calosci, 2004. ↩︎
- C. Fabbri e L. Fornasari, La pieve di Gropina. Arte e storia, Fiesole, Servizio Editoriale Fiesolano, 2005. ↩︎
- F. Gandolfo, San Pietro a Gropina, in W. Angelelli, F. Gandolfo, F. Pomarici, La scultura delle pievi. Capitelli medievali in Casentino e Valdarno, Roma, Viella, 2003. ↩︎
- Archivio abbaziale di Nonantola, Chartae Latinae Antiquores 29, n. 883. ↩︎
- G. Tigler, Precisazioni sull’architettura e la scultura del medioevo, cit. ↩︎
- F. Gandolfo, San Pietro a Gropina, cit. ↩︎
- M. Salmi, La pieve di Gropina, in Rivista d’Arte, XXIX, 1955. ↩︎
- M. Bucci, Introduzione alla pittura e alla scultura in diocesi di Fiesole, in AA.VV., Fiesole. Una diocesi nella storia: saggi, contributi, immagini, Fiesole, Servizio Editoriale Fiesolano, 1986. ↩︎
- Fabbri, Il pulpito della pieve di Gropina, in Le balze. Una storia lunga centomila anni nella valle dell’Arno, Firenze, Editoriale Tosca, 1996. ↩︎
- V. Moretti, Il pulpito longobardo, cit. ↩︎
- M. Salmi, Civiltà artistica della terra aretina, Novara, Istituto Geografico De Agostini, 1971. ↩︎
- Isaiah 6,2-3: “Seraphim were stationed above; each of them had six wings: with two they veiled their faces, with two they veiled their feet, and with two they hovered aloft. “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts!” they cried one to the other. “All the earth is filled with his glory!”. ↩︎
- C. Fabbri e L. Fornasari, La pieve di Gropina, cit. ↩︎
