Inside Urbino's frigid walls

December 25, 3:38 PMItaly Culture & Travel ExaminerLucia Mauro

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Duke Federico.

(Average read time: 4 minutes)

In Corners of Urbino, late Italian author Paolo Volponi described a bizarre skybound attack. At the crack of dawn in this substantive early-Renaissance city, a strange avian battle ensues in the skies above the Palazzo Ducale (Ducal Palace). Crows and pigeons fling themselves from the ramparts of this sprawling castle and fight each other in mid-air. These are vicious ritualized encounters that often send the loser crashing through the arcades or sliding down the roof's gutters. 

Urbino's Palazzo Ducale.

History quite literally hovers over this city, which conjures up images of knights and bishops from a living chessboard. Perhaps these winged warriors, eager to begin each day engaged in a brutal airborne sparring match, are the spirits of the Guelphs and Ghibellines - the famed medieval factions at war in the Italian city-states during Dante Alighieri's time. 

Urbino's Church of San Domenico.

When my husband Joe and I arrived in Urbino at the start of an exceptionally frigid Italian winter, we felt the weight of the 15th century on our consciences - a weight soon made physically heavier when huge clumps of snow dropped from the sky as if out of a suspended trap door that releases powdery crystals on stage during a Christmas pageant. 

We had barely escaped the lashing rains of Rimini and fought heavy winds during our brisk but sunny car ride around the winding green hills and orange-brown cottages of the Marche region -- mirroring the mathematically precise landscape paintings of Piero della Francesca -- before entering the clustered castles and churches of Urbino. But since we were staying at Hotel and Residence Dei Duchi (with a convenient indoor garage), on the outskirts of the walled city, Joe and I decided to thaw out before venturing into the historic center - a stroller's paradise.

Our room had a terrace that overlooked those spectacular burnt-Siena hills and spinach-green poplar trees. I was so moved by the scenery, now bathed in sunlight, I flung open the balcony doors only to be met with a blast of cold air that almost turned me into an ice cube. Temperatures now hovered around 20 degrees fahrenheit - extreme for Central Italy. Worse, Joe and I did not bring our winter coats. So every time we ventured out, we wrapped ourselves in layers of sweaters and jackets. Finally, at a winter sportswear store near the Palazzo Ducale, we bought warm, water-resistant fleece jackets.

Urbino is a pedestrian-friendly city. Visitors park in a massive lot before entering the centro storico through an archway, up steep steps or by elevator.

At night, we were grateful to be wrapped in our new coats as the temperatures plummeted to almost zero. No one could be found on Urbino's deserted cobblestone streets. All we longed for was a hearty meal by a warm fire. We found it at Ristorante Urbino Vecchia, decorated with walnut-wood furnishings and delicate glass-and-gold light fixtures in the shape of star bursts.

The Victor Buono-esque owner recommended all dishes with the regional specialty: truffles - from risotto to taglioni. Then he boasted of the fine wood finishes of all his tables and plopped down a gorgeous tome chronicling the lavish Baroque theaters that dot the Le Marche landscape around Urbino. He tossed in tidbits of the city's legendary Medieval and Renaissance history and the powerful Montefeltro name while serving us grilled lamb and sausage and generously filling our glasses with Sangiovese wine.

We were now fortified for our chilly trek back to the parking lot.

The next morning, exceptionally sunny skies fooled us. Sub-zero temperatures made us feel like we were descending deeper into Dante's Inferno. The temperatures after all supposedly get colder, not hotter, in the lowest regions of hell. That didn't stop us from heading directly to the Palazzo Ducale, built for Duke Federico da Montefeltro, ruler of Urbino between 1444 and 1482. As Joe and I warmed our frozen hands over glasses of latte macchiato at a bar, we noticed Paolo Volponi's bellicose birds circling above the Palazzo Ducale. I feared they might start boxing in the air. Instead they just flew around and shrieked loudly.

We stopped briefly in the 15th century Church of San Domenico, with its worn travertine façade and azure-frieze portal copy of the Madonna and Child by Lucca della Robbia. (The original hangs in the Palazzo Ducale.) The façade frames an Egyptian obelisk with intricate calligraphy.

A few steps away stands the mesmerizing rough-hewn Palazzo Ducale, the humanistic heart and soul of Urbino. Its turrets kindle images of damsels in distress (scarves billowing from their cone-shaped headdresses as they wait for their mesh-covered knights). The palace is really a miniature city that houses a library and the Galleria Nazionale delle Marche, which contains one of the most substantial collections of Renaissance art in the world. It exemplifies some of the most grandiose and geometrically brilliant early-Renaissance architecture. A tribute to Duke Federico -- a man of arts and a humanist, as well as a soldier -- Palazzo Ducale is a monument to the high artistic and intellectual ideals of the Renaissance.

In the courtyard, we joined an Italian tour group led by a warmhearted scholarly young man, who enthused about every fresco, furnishing and the adventurous life of Duke Federico - best known as the hook-nosed man in profile, dressed in red, in the portrait by Piero della Francesca that hangs in Florence's Uffizi Gallery. In fact, Federico was always painted in left profile after a battle wound deeply scarred the right side of his face and cost him his right eye.

This was one of the most spectacular castles we've ever visited. It consists of multiple levels, with each floor a vibrant slice of Renaissance splendor. Raphael lived in Urbino, and entire rooms are devoted to his paintings -- most notably the tranquil La Muta, or The Silent Woman. Visitors have the rare chance to view Piero della Francesca's mysteriously angled The Flagellation of Christ, with its three seemingly incongruous Oriental counselors in the foreground.

A spiral staircase leads to the Duke's apartments, chapels, throne room, music salon, more galleries and the shimmering Room of Angels. Nearly all the windows face panoramic views of the boldly sloping Urbino landscape and Albornoz Fortress. There's also a whole other world underground - one of the most extraordinary examples of hydraulic engineering in the 15th  century. The castle's subterranean basins were used for food storage and connected to an intricate plumbing and sewage system. This tour provided a grand glimpse into a grand, harsh life.

It also symbolized the brutal yet sublime evolution of this city. With the birth of the Papal State in the eighth century, Urbino found itself caught up in the events of ecclesiastical feudalism, which gradually led to municipal forms of government. From this political climate, the Ghibelline character of the city developed and gained credit thanks to the efforts of Antonio da Montefeltro who, in 1155, is said to have put down a revolt against Frederick Barbarossa, thus earning himself the titles of Count and Imperial Vicar of Urbino.

From that moment on, the history of the city was indissolubly tied to that of the Montefeltro family, who were of Germanic origin and descendants of the Counts of Carpegna. Dante mentions Guido the Elder, a fiery Ghibelline from the Montefeltro clan, in Canto XXVII of his Inferno in The Divine Comedy. Guido is among the fraudulent advisors who were transformed into a flickering flame.

Duke Federico, who ushered in Urbino's golden age of art and letters, remains the most illustrious descendant of the Montefeltro line - and his presence is felt at every architecturally magnificent turn. He commissioned construction of the Cathedral in 1476, but it took several centuries to complete and experienced various collapses. Today its white Neoclassical façade stands out in sharp contrast against Urbino's fairytale turrets and wrought-iron gates.

Once we left the palace, our teeth began to chatter but the sky remained a stunning cloudless turquoise blue. We made a stop at the birth home of artist Raphael Sanzio, but, ironically, none of his original work hangs here. Yet it's important to note that Raphael's father, Giovanni Santi, was a successful and respected artist who provided his son with his earliest training.

Since it was the Christmas season, we visited Federico Brandani' s life-size and life-like Nativity Scene set deep inside a grotto within the elegant Renaissance church, Oratorio di San Giuseppe. More pivotal works of art and architecture can be found farther out at the Church of San Bernardino, where Duke Federico and his royal kin have been laid to rest in heraldic style.

After our stay in Urbino, Joe and I planned to continue our drive South along the Adriatic Coast. So we geared up by taking a three-hour lunch at a rustic trattoria. The truth is we tried our hardest to avoid venturing out into the cold. So we dined by the roaring fire on crostini with duck, black olive and hazelnut tapenade; soup with ceci and pasta; spaghetti and truffles; and rabbit slathered in wild mushrooms, sage and fennel. We felt as if our entire world was contained inside this cozy cantina.

Then reality hit us hard. We stepped outside and right into a blizzard. Fierce black clouds and a heavy mist had blotted out the turquoise sky. Giant snowflakes swirled around us as the wind pushed us toward a pointy crag, where we hopped on a creaky elevator that deposited us in the slushy parking lot.

As we pulled out onto Urbino's slippery winding main road, a few crows stood stoically atop Palazzo Ducale's elegant slender turrets. Those hearty birds looked poised for battle. But this time, like us, they would have to face their worse nemesis: the elements.

END