Long leisurely drives that cut across Italy’s Umbria, Tuscany and Lazio regions offer unusual surprises. When my husband Joe and I landed on the quiet shores of Lake Bolsena, we found ourselves intersecting startling remnants of pagan and Christian belief systems – most notably in the province of Viterbo. We had been staying in the medieval town of Orvieto and took one of those magnificent agenda-less rides that led us into the mysterious realms of miracles and aristocratic eccentricities on Lazio’s northern border, first in Bolsena; then in Bomarzo.
Of course Lazio’s most famous city is Rome, which tends to eclipse the subtler Greek, Etruscan, ancient Roman and medieval vestiges of this expansive region. But, though one can spend several life times exploring the Eternal City, its surrounding areas provide equally multilayered experiences. Bolsena stands along the kidney-shaped volcanic lake that shares its name. Joe and I pulled over near a park bursting with thick clusters of purplish-blue hydrangea bushes that engulfed the lounging families, friends and lovers in a heady fragrance. A few rowdy teenagers spraying each other with bottled water broke the silence of people enjoying a gelato or a swim or an aimless stroll. We joined them and took time to admire the view.
Lake Bolsena is divided into two islands, both the sources of epic territorial and ecclesiastical struggles. Bisentina is the final resting place of some of Rome’s powerful Farnese family members and home of the Renaissance Church of Saints Girolamo and Cristoforo, whose gardens and elaborate chapels lead to the impressive peak of Mount Tabor. Martana, a privately owned island, is credited with being the location of the assassination of the unusually influential (and pro-Roman) Ostrogoth queen Amalasunta in 535 AD.
I, however, most closely associated the town of Bolsena with my mother’s tiny frayed gold-leaf Baltimore Catechism prayer book. In it, the image of a priest raising the Holy Eucharist as it dripped with blood used to send shivers down my spine. It was titled “Miracle of Bolsena.” And now I had made it to the source of that unsettling picture. Traced to the year 1263 and to the Romanesque Basilica di Santa Cristina, this miracle is attributed to a traveling German priest who questioned the transubstantiation, or the Roman Catholic doctrine that asserts the Communion wafer and wine really become the body and blood of Christ. It’s the source of the feast day of Corpus Christi. While the doubting prelate was saying mass at the martyred St. Cristina’s tomb, blood is said to have dripped from the host. Visitors today can view the marble floor with what are believed to be those same stains, while the blood-encrusted corporal (or altar cloth) is enshrined in a lavish reliquary at Orvieto’s shimmering Duomo.
But there’s an intriguing back story that points to one of the most brutal periods of Christian persecution under the reign of Emperor Diocletian in the Third Century. Cristina, the daughter of a high-ranking Roman politician based in Bolsena at this time, converted to Christianity against her father’s will. She underwent countless rounds of torture, but always managed to recover and appear unscathed until a sword pierced her heart. Her basilica, like many in Italy, was erected on the site of her martyrdom. It consists of several chapels and vaults (some former burial grounds, including a shrine to the saint’s body) and became a much-revered pilgrimage destination. Ironically, over the centuries, Bolsena was at the heart of ferocious papal battles for supremacy that resulted in their own violence, treachery and even a point in which the island of Bisentina was practically leveled.
But way before that, this part of Italy served as an Etruscan stronghold. The still-mysterious civilization that existed from 700 BC until its assimilation into the Roman Empire around the First Century BC continues to fascinate archaeologists, who are still piecing together their theocratic-tribal culture through items found in their burial chambers. We were able to view these gold and bronze artifacts of a once-thriving and progressive wavy-haired people – together with those of their Roman successors – at Lake Bolsena’s Territorial Museum inside the medieval Castle Rocca Monaldeschi overlooking calm waters and abundant greenery.
Sufficiently sated by an enlightening mix of history and natural beauty, Joe and I felt it was time to move on. To our shock, we ended up in what could have been a moldering set from the 1970’s TV series, Night Gallery, or a miniature golf course designed by pioneering special effects film master Ray Harryhausen of Sinbad and Jason and the Argonauts fame. The nearby town of Bomarzo is best known for its Parco dei Mostri (Park of the Monsters), constructed in an area called Sacro Bosco (Sacred Forest) – a grotesque, out-of-proportion Mannerist playground of mythic gods, beasts and monsters carved out of existing boulders.
Needless to say, the Brothers Grimm-esque park has a peculiar history. It was begun in 1552 by the eccentric Duke Vicino Orsini as an early collection of oddities including, by the way, a leaning house under which the Wicked Witch of the East could have been easily crushed, striped tights and all. It was designed by architect Pirro Ligorio, who simultaneously was part of the team that created Tivoli’s extravagant fountain-bursting Villa d’Este outside Rome. Over time, Parco dei Mostri served as a rather perverse memorial to Orsini’s late wife, Giulia Farnese (not to be confused with the Giulia Farnese who was Pope Alexander VI’s mistress and friend to Lucrezia Borgia in the previous century).
The gaping, gap-toothed stone ogres appear magnified renditions of Rome’s Mouth of Truth. In this case, forget about poking one’s hand into that primitive lie detector test. Here, curious visitors can step inside with their whole bodies and even have lunch on one of the benches. The park, in general, seems to be an outpost of the snake-headed Medusa, which turned all around to stone. On the subject of snakes, a graphically splay-legged rendering of Echidna -- a half-woman/half-serpent -- presides over winged dragons and Cerberus, the three-headed dog said to guard the entrance to Hell. The theatrical goings on include Hercules slaying an upside-down fire-breathing Cacus and one of Hannibal’s elephants hauling a dead Roman soldier in its curled trunk. A lounging moss-covered Neptune observes the action and looks as though he emerged incongruously from an earthy mound.
Undoubtedly bizarre, the scene before us had a timeless message to send…especially if we stood back for a moment to take it all in: the ongoing battle between good and evil; between the forces of the heavens and those of the earth and below.
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