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My crazy quest on the trail of a hero

A path well-trodden: the Etruscan sites and medieval towns of Umbria were familiar to Garibaldi and his men - Getty
A path well-trodden: the Etruscan sites and medieval towns of Umbria were familiar to Garibaldi and his men - Getty

In July 1849, overpowered by superior French forces, Giuseppe Garibaldi, Italy’s legendary revolutionary hero, was forced to abandon his defence of the short-lived Republic of Rome. Nevertheless, he refused to surrender. Under cover of night, riding beside his pregnant wife, Anita, he led 4,000 volunteers to continue the struggle for national independence in the countryside. Hounded by the French and Austrian armies, the Garibaldini marched hundreds of miles through Umbria and Tuscany before finally crossing the Apennines – Italy’s mountainous spine – in a dramatic race to reach the Adriatic and the independent Republic of Venice before their pursuers.

In July 2019, fascinated by the combination of gruelling hike and breathtaking landscape, my partner, Eleonora, and I set out to follow in their footsteps, hopefully at their pace, with light backpacks, plenty of sun cream and a trekking app to find footpaths. It’s a crazy route. East out of Rome to Tivoli; circling back west to the Tiber at Monterotondo; following the river to Poggio Mirteto, then north through the Sabine Hills to Terni and Todi. Constantly climbing to walled medieval towns, scrambling down rocky pathways, fording streams.

All along the way, in 1849, the Garibaldini were obstructed, spied on and even shot at by the local priests and bishops. Climbing the viciously steep slope to Orvieto, we got a sense of what a formidable opponent the Church must have seemed. The whole city lies under the spell of its Duomo.

Enter any Italian town and you soon come across a road sign with a list of the local churches. Santa Maria Annunziata, Santi Apostoli, San Francesco, San Giovenale, La Madonna del Velo, Abbazia dei Santi Severo e Martirio. Invariably it will be a long list, rich with allusion, history and myth. San Giacomo all’Ospedale, San Lorenzo de’ Arari, Santa Maria dei Servi. The arrows beside the names point in every direction. Sant’Agostino this way, Santo Stefano that, Sant’Andrea the other. The Church is ubiquitous, its buildings striking and captivating. For every plaque to Garibaldi and his brave crew, there are countless monuments to bishops, cardinals and popes, all of them implacably opposed to any political change.

Orvieto’s Piazza Duomo - Getty
Orvieto’s Piazza Duomo - Getty

The Orvieto Duomo is also breathtakingly beautiful, a miracle of collective vision and individual craftsmanship. To anyone arriving from whatever point of the compass, it rises massively above the rest of the city, drawing the visitor to the central square, where it dwarfs everything in sight. At once you understand that it is an object spread across time, across centuries, styles, trends, tendencies. Romanesque, Gothic, Siennese, Florentine. It absorbs them all. Its whitish pink stone hosts sparkling gold and turquoise mosaics; huge bas-reliefs are thronged with arms and legs, necks and shoulders; there’s a magnificent rose window and an army of Apostles alert in their niches; winged and horned animals launch themselves into the air; right in the centre, a bronze lamb stands precariously on the apex of a triangle.

What can one say? Change here is merely accretion, greater and greater density. Century after century. More and more confident affirmation. More and more wealth. More and more beauty. More and more power. Uncannily, the whole enormous pile seems about to lift off from its volcanic base into the blue summer sky. It is so graceful, its columns so slender and as if twined with ivies thirsting for light. Its three great triangles above the arched doors, then again three smaller, more slender triangles above those, draw the eye up to heights that bristle with ornamented spires and gesturing figures.

And everywhere there is narrative, everywhere symbol, everywhere meaning. Founding myths. Messianic prophecies. Suffering and sacrifice. Mother and child. Sin and redemption. Heaven and hell.

How utterly, overwhelmingly convincing this must have seemed to the peasants of centuries past. And not only the peasants. How much more present and important than a ragged band of men with an unlikely political project. Unity? What did that mean? Freedom? To do what? And even if for some perverse reason you hated the Church, nevertheless how unmovable it must have appeared, how invincible. To argue with the force that created the Orvieto Duomo you would have to argue with history, with God.

orvieto cathedral - Getty
orvieto cathedral - Getty

At the entrance, a great stone font tells you there is never any lack of water for the faithful. Inside, in the airy vastness, with its kaleidoscope of frescoes, amid altars, tombs, saints, candles and relics, you know at once that the only possible response is submission, devotion. On your knees! As we gaze at painted miracles around the walls, a French woman invites her young daughter to kneel before the Virgin, put her hands together, bow her head. “Oui, comme ça.” Both woman and well-groomed child enjoy the thrill of worship.

“We’d better go,” I tell Eleonora, “or the enemy will be at the gates.” Directly opposite the Duomo is the civic museum. Here, as in the museum in Todi, horses and warriors ride around rows of Etruscan amphorae. “Departure of the hero on his chariot” says a typical caption. Sharp black shapes raise swords against bright orange backgrounds. Or there are lovers. Men and women twining together. One vase has fighting on one side, lovemaking on the other. Another mixes the two. “Duel between a warrior and an Amazon”, says the caption. But step to the window that looks out across the square and the only thing you can see is the great facade of the Duomo: the saints, the Apostles, the gold and the blue.

How hard it is to find a steady position between two such compelling visions, how difficult to bring all of reality into a single frame.

The Hero’s Way: Walking with Garibaldi from Rome to Ravenna by Tim Parks is published by Harvill Secker (RRP £21.99). Buy it now for £18.99 at books.telegraph.co.uk or call 0844 871 1514.