When I studied Urban Design at Gloucester University, one of the first things you learn is that no matter how many times the buildings change over the centuries and even millennia, the street layout or pattern tends to remain unchanged. Except for times, of course, when powerful men (Emperor Napoleon III) get their head of public works (Haussman) to raze large parts of a city (Paris) to redesign and widen the streets to ‘improve’ them.
The street names may change of course, e.g., from Spanish to Italian, depending on who is ruling at the time.
One of the two main axial streets that bisects the old city of Palermo (now called Via Vittorio Emanuele), leads north-east to south-west from the old port - where we are berthed - and heads straight up the hill and towards the mountains. It continues outside the old city walls all the way up to Monreale 4 miles away. If a Norman were to arrive from a time machine and walk the street now, he would find the architecture baffling, but he would probably recognise the direction of travel and the framed view of the hills at the end of the way.
Our berth is right next to the Castello a Mare, originally built by the Arabs in the 9th century to guard the port. There are still the remains of the later Norman keep, and a moat next to the marina. It would have formed part of the old city walls that lassoed the settlement, like a long horseshoe with the open end next to the sea.
And the sea would have been defended - certainly we know in Arab times - by a long metal chain that could be raised from the sea bed between two forts either side of the entrance, to bar the entry of enemy ships. We know that the Pisan navy, who coveted the city’s location, tried to enter the port, but the chain worked.
At the western end of Via Vittorio Emanuele lies the Norman Palace, next to the old city gate. And just before you arrive, you pass the majestic Norman Cathedral on your right, built in 1185 under King William II (Roger II’s grandson).
This long axial route runs up the centre of a narrow strip of higher land that lay between two rivers. For this geographical reason, we know that the Carthaginians built their settlement here in the 4th century BC. Both rivers are now culverted, but if you look closely, you can see the wash of water flowing from one of the rivers into the marina. In fact, parts of their ancient Punic walls and gates have been excavated under the Norman Palace and we were able to see them yesterday on our visit. The Punic ground level is about three metres below the Arabian floor level.
How the layers of history are laid down and preserved interests me a lot. At EDP I worked with many archaeologists, who would go into a field and stare into a muddy trench and point out a slight horizontal change in colour (from one muddy brown to a slightly lighter shade of muddy brown, that I couldn’t differentiate), and then tell you some significant point about the site’s history, based on that. It just goes to show how much dust, vegetation and rubbish can accumulate and compress over hundreds or even thousands of years, to cover up the evidence of existence of a previous society.
But it is the physical depth of these Punic layers that amazes me. Nowadays, when a building is demolished, it is literally razed to the ground and cleared. So that the new internal floor level is pretty much the same as that of its predecessor. But that is with the benefit of huge machinery to remove the heavy debris. It seems to me that, in the 9th century, the Arabs could not physically clear the site and so simply levelled it off as best they could. And they then erected their palace/fort (al-Qasr) on top of the ancient, filled-in walls.
When Roger (and his elder bother Robert) finally captured Palermo from the Arabs in 1072, Roger adapted the extensive Arab buildings and made them his main residence on the island, in a multi-functional complex.
But it is the work here of his son, King Roger II, that we have come to see.
Roger II commissioned the building of a chapel in the palace when he became the first King of Sicily 1130. It is built on the first floor of the main residence. (Later ruling dynasties have added onto the complex, so it is actually quite difficult to imagine the chapel building as a separate entity.) The king personally oversaw much of its construction and decoration, whenever he was not away on the mainland quelling rebellions.
Remember, this chapel was consecrated in 1140 about 30 years before the Cathedral at Monreale, that I described earlier (Palermo Faith). Like Monreale, it is a staggering blend of Western Christian, Byzantine and Arab art and forms part of the wider UNSECO site. But I now realise that William II’s amazing Monreale cathedral is a brazen plagiarism of this grandfather’s earlier work. And in some cases, it is inferior, as you will see.
The first thing that that strikes you is similar colour: the upper levels of the walls, above the height of the column capitals, are shimmering gold which is the ubiquitous background to the pictorial mosaics.
And immediately next, it is the similar triple apse layout that strikes you with the glorious Christ Pantocrator peering down at you from the central apse recess. Again, in his left hand he holds the script, written in both Latin and Greek, saying that he is the light of the world and anyone who follows him will not experience darkness.
Even the mosaics feel very similar in both look and content; following a sequential journey through the Old and New Testaments, starting off in the top left corner with the creation and Adam and Eve. In fact, one reads the stone and glass mosaics like a comic book: top level (or strip) left to right first; and then back to the start to read the next level down. There are some hints of elementary perspective shown in some of the buildings, but the art around the figures is supposed to be symbolic, not realistic.
The main difference between the two buildings is the scale: the cathedral in monumentally large and social, but the chapel feels more intimate and personal. Obviously.
The second difference is the ceiling. I don’t remember seeing anything quite like the Muqarnas ceiling, of Arab (Fatimid) style. It is a complex 3-D wooden jigsaw puzzle hanging like a series of regular, geometric stalactites. Each little decorated wooden panel is painted, but you really need a pair of Opera binoculars to make them out. Apparently, the illustrations are totally Arabic in content and typical of decorations the artists would have seen in Egypt at that time: seated figures, camels, palm trees etc. It is thought that, unlike Michelangelo who painted his ceiling on situ, the artists painted the panels on the ground and then assembled them up in the Gods. Quite amazing!
The Arab works also feature on the lower levels, including the floor, with typically geometric tile patterns. There are lots of discs with very dark centres. I think the circles denote ‘one God’, but I can’t remember the exact symbology of the two-tone colouring, except for some reference to dark and light.
Of course, Islam prohibits idolatry and figurative art, because God (Allah) alone creates all-living forms. And yet, these Arab craftsmen a thousand years ago, seem to have accepted that their slightly abstract geometric patterns would be situated adjacent to and below some of the most iconic art every produced. The definition of multi-culturalism and tolerance, maybe?
This masterpiece works on so many levels. At one level it is a series of individual works or art that tell their own specific story. And yet each individual component seems to fit neatly and seamlessly into the overall form, creating a legible and wonderous whole: the floor level; the lower walls; the two cartoon strips of mosaics; the Maqarnas roof; and - at the highest level - the dome of the cupola with its hierarchy of images. I can't believe that this entire piece wasn't designed and set out in drawings before the work commenced. But if those design drawings still exist, we are not told where they are stored.
So, we have had a journey up through many levels: geological bedrock; Punic walls; Arab forts; Arab floor and walls; western Christian arches; and Byzantine mosaics, apses and cupola.
The only level left is the sky. And that is now turning blue after a few grey days. So we set sail tomorrow for Cafalu, and take you to another Norman masterpiece!