Day 18 – San Miniato Alto to Colle di Val d’Elsa, Italy – 47km

The walk from San Miniato to Gambassi Terme is one of the emptier stretches of the Via Francigena through Italy. There’s a bar in Calenzano, 3km from the starting point, but I passed through too early to take advantage of it. (Years ago, in anticipation of a long, hot day, we arrived in Calenzano at 5am on a Sunday, only to discover that the bar was open and crowded, thanks to the start of hunting season.) Otherwise, though, it’s mostly rural Tuscany. At least there are a few water taps these days; it used to be mighty dry as well.

More interesting than today’s walk, though, are two of the holy women who can be found along the way. The first comes roughly halfway between Gambassi and San Gimignano. There’s a small village, Pancole, that seems to have become quite popular as a rural holiday spot, with a whole row of purpose-built vacation rentals in the center. On the outskirts, though, is a religious complex that arches across the road. This is the Santuario di Maria Santissima Madre della Divina Provvidenza, but let’s just refer to her as Maria Santissima. I need to get to sleep at some point, after all.

This site is associated with two miracle stories. The first dates to 1668, when Bartolomea Ghini, a mute shepherdess, became overwhelmed with grief due to her family’s poverty. She broke down in the field while otherwise tending to her flock. At that low point, a beautiful woman suddenly appeared, who took great interest in Bartolomea’s grief. Once she understood the problem, the woman encouraged Bartolomea to worry not and simply return home. Once there, Bartolomea discovered the pantry was filled with bread, oil, and wine. She screamed with joy, revealing that not only was the pantry full, but her voice was restored. The whole village was astonished by this development, and so they quickly rallied to hurry with Bartolomea back to the site of the miraculous encounter. Instead of a beautiful woman, though, they found only a pile of brambles. Credit them for their persistence, though. Instead of giving up, they brought out their sickles and went to work, hacking away until that mound had been scattered wide. Below, they discovered an old shrine with a painting of that mysterious holy woman. And it wasn’t just any painting! It was a fresco created by Pier Francesco Fiorentino, an acclaimed Florentine painter, in the late 15th century. Alas, the zealous sickling had resulted in a scratch mark on the fresco–a mark that remains to this day.

The fact that the painting still exists speaks to the second miracle. In World War II–stop me if you’ve heard this one before–the retreating Nazis destroyed the entire building. Everything was ruined except for one wall. The very wall, it turns out, on which that fresco was hanging.

There is, admittedly, not much to the church. Aside from the key fresco, the art on display is somewhat limited and the walls are mostly spartan white. The bulk of what lines the walls is assorted religious materials and tchotchkes for sale. For me, though, these are the places that sometimes make the Via Francigena feel three-dimensional, underscoring the deep religious tradition that is lurking beneath every bramble pile along the road.

As modest and unassuming as the shrine in Pancole might be, the town of San Gimignano is pure tourist catnip. While only 14 of the 72 towers that once stood on this hilltop survive, the skyline remains plenty exciting, and the compact, historic center is chockablock with quaint restaurants, world-class gelato shops, and enough attractions to keep the visitors–and their credit cards–busy.

Where Pancole has Bartolomea Ghini, San Gimignano has Fina Ciardi. Unfortunately for Fina, their stories had very different endings. Born in 1238, Fina was the daughter of impoverished nobles–all name, no wallet. They lived in the southeast corner of San Gimignano in a modest house. It still exists and is identified as Fina’s house to this day. Her devotion was such that it’s said she only left the house for Mass. Unfortunately, she contracted a serious illness around the age of 10–perhaps osteomyelitis or coxitis–and she suffered profoundly as a consequence. She refused to be placed in a more comfortable bed, instead insisting to remain on an oak table. To say her condition worsened would be an understatement; her ailing flesh became stuck to the wood, and then gradually attracted worms and mice, which came to feed upon her. As the illness persisted, first her father and later her mother died. Through it all, her faith remained a beacon.

Fina’s steadfast example drew visitors from all across San Gimignano. While they arrived expecting that they would be comforting her, they left having been comforted and encouraged by this stalwart young woman. Finally, after five years of intense suffering, she died in 1253. Despite the horrible scene of her body rotting into the oak table, when it was finally removed after her death, witnesses noticed clusters of violets blossoming in the wood. The same violets blossom in the town’s walls, and they are called the “Violets of Saint Fina.” The many offerings left on her tomb resulted in the construction of the Hospital of Fina in 1255, which was devoted to providing hospitality to the elderly, the poor, and–of course–pilgrims.

While her house survives, the best place to connect with Santa Fina is in the cathedral, where the Santa Fina Chapel remains a must-see sight, including as it does the old oak table. This chapel took much longer to come about than the hospital–a full two centuries. As Deborah L. Krohn explains in her article, “Between Legend, History, and Politics: The Santa Fina Chapel in San Gimignano,” the timing of this was no accident. Rather, by the 1450s, San Gimignano increasingly fell under Florentine influence. Even as the power of Florence became undeniable, then, local leaders in San Gimignano sought to reassert their own distinct identity. And a local saint was an invaluable tool in support of such efforts. (It should be noted, as Krohn does, that Fina was never actually canonized. But who needs such bureaucratic hoop-jumping?) San Gimignano had peaked in the 13th century. It would never regain those heights. But Fina was a reminder of what it once had been, and the townspeople could take great succor from that.

And perhaps San Gimignano has found a new peak. Given the packed streets that I tried–with mixed results–to navigate through today, it has reemerged as a place of international interest. Perhaps Fina would be proud; perhaps she would be horrified. I admit to being somewhat overwhelmed by it all. And so, after an hour-and-a-half of wandering around, I abandoned plans to overnight there and returned to the trail, pushing onward to Colle, a beautiful hill town in its own right, with maybe one percent of the crowds.