Asolo's poetry and drama

October 8, 12:02 PMItaly Culture & Travel ExaminerLucia Mauro

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Villas of Asolo.

Fans of revered Italian architect Andrea Palladio may be so intent on visiting his well-ordered villas across Italy's Veneto region they could easily bypass the gentle, regal town of Asolo. After all, on its outskirts stands Palladio's 16th century masterpiece, the sumptuous Villa Barbaro at Maser, with its shockingly realistic trompe l'oeil frescoes. Nearby Vicenza cuts an even wider Palladian path. But Asolo, perhaps best known for the luxury Hotel Villa Cipriani, provides its own harmonious energy against a fresh Alpine landscape.

La Rocca Fortress in Asolo.

My husband Joe and I reached Asolo by way of the Germanic Hansel and Gretel-like town of Bassano del Grappa - named for the potent after-dinner drink made from distilled grape skins. We stopped here to walk across the historic all-timber Ponte degli Alpini (Alpine Bridge), designed incidentally by Palladio in 1569. It served as an important means for trade and transportation and was a key component in the many wars and skirmishes that defined Bassano del Grappa's history. The bridge is so closely tied to its citizens that even after German soldiers blew it up during World War II, the locals managed to rebuild it according to its original proportions. Crossing the covered structure made us feel like we were gazing out at a serene pastoral engraving by Albrecht Durer. Multicolored, lattice-windowed majolica shops and flower-sprouting gingerbread houses surrounded us as trees and a narrow stream stretched toward snow-flecked mountains.

Winged lion in Piazza Maggiore, Asolo.

We later continued on to Asolo, passing sheep, grazing cattle and bell towers shaped like sultans' turbans against the Dolomite Mountains. An extremely narrow road, flanked by pointy poplar trees, served as our entry point. A traffic light allowed only one lane of cars to pass every 15 minutes. Once we passed through a thick stone arch, we noticed the street was named for English poet Robert Browning and quickly located our accommodations, Hotel Duse, honoring the great early 20th century Italian actress Eleanora Duse: Poetry and drama rolled into one charming little square known as Piazza Maggiore.

Our room faced the town's rustic campanile, a fountain punctuated by winged lions (reminding us that Venice once ruled Asolo), and a medieval civic building adorned with a faint Dante-era fresco of men draped in robes and doublets. We arrived in late afternoon and only had time to visit the Castello della Regina, which happens to be one of Asolo's most significant landmarks. This was the regal domain of Queen Caterina Cornaro (1454-1510), the Venetian wife of James II, a.k.a. James the Bastard, the king of Cyprus. The center of numerous court intrigues, Queen Caterina was eventually stripped of her title by Venice, which gained Cyprus after the queen's husband and infant son died under mysterious circumstances. She was exiled to Asolo, where she reigned over a cultured court of poets, painters, musicians and theater artists.

But the ill-fated Caterina seems to have been overshadowed by one of Italy's most renowned drama queens: Eleanora Duse. The free-spirited actress, most closely associated with the plays of Henrik Ibsen, gained notoriety for her sexual escapades and ongoing rivalry with actress Sarah Bernhardt. Duse's melancholic, soft-focus photos (flowers often woven into her curly hair) hang in nearly every café. She's buried in Asolo's serene and sprawling Sant'Anna cemetery, where wreaths and bouquets have been tossed at the foot of her gravestone - as if La Bella Duse is being lauded after a particularly moving performance.

Robert Browning was so enamored with Asolo, he titled a collection of his poems Asolando. The clean, quiet town - ideal for strolling - certainly has a Romantic allure. Later that evening, Joe and I dined on spaghetti in duck sauce, sage-spiced rabbit and risotto tossed with radicchio at the elegantly rustic I Due Mori restaurant. We then sauntered around the lion fountain in Piazza Maggiore and were trailed by a mewing file of kittens.

The next day, we just walked around Asolo's cobblestone streets with no agenda. Over the ages, the town was ruled by the Romans, Venetians and Austrians. Asolo's Duomo is believed to have been constructed over Roman thermal baths. Its glistening mosaic façade belies a rather humble interior awash in grayish morosity. Joe and I continued past villas that emitted a sheen of worn grace. Bougainvillea poured out of boxes resting on green-shuttered window ledges. I believe there are ghosts in Asolo whispering their secrets through the poplar trees and across its rolling hills. I know they were stirring when we happened upon the Church of San Gottardo, hidden in a low-lying glade strewn with dried leaves. Orange and yellow foliage concealed this 14th century Franciscan place of worship - a grand rose window spread across its Romanesque façade. Sunlight dappled the closed structure, and our footfalls upon the crackling leaves made its own mystical music.

We passed through an ancient stone arch and marveled at the ivy-blanketed Villa Stark, once the home of British travel writer Freya Stark. In the distance, a white fortress loomed. We stopped for strawberry gelato and relaxed in a secluded garden that smelled of burning leaves. Our wanderings resumed, and we landed in another sparse ecclesiastical place: St. Catherine's Chapel, with its peeling frescoes and massive spider webs draped across its oval stained-glass windows like Burano lace. More classical statue-topped villas abounded. Oddly, an ancient sepia-toned house, known as "La Casa Longobarda," seemed like it was plopped a la Dorothy's Kansas home, in the middle of a Technicolor fantasyland of aristocratic estates and sprawling gardens.

Our excursion culminated in a 300-step climb to what is known as Asolo's 12th century La Rocca fortress. Not a living soul could be found as we ascended the scenic path guided by the endless chirping of birds. Interestingly, some of the ramparts and gates were invaded by a mutant species of grasshopper - or could they have been the reincarnated souls of jousting knights? They fortunately dispersed and, once at the summit, we surveyed perhaps one of Italy's most tranquil landscapes in which nature and architecture graciously coexist in a, well, perfect Palladian symmetry.

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