Vertumnus

Porta Eburnea stands, guess where, in the rione of Porta Eburnea. In ancient times, near the gate stood a temple dedicated to Vertumnus, a deity of Etruscan origin who personified the change of seasons and presided over the ripening of fruit. He was credited with the gift of turning himself into whatever he wished, and he was represented as the lover of Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit, who was in the habit of being preyed upon by all the deities of the woods. Together, Vertumnus and Pomona protected gardens, vegetable plots and orchards. In many gardens, in ancient times, a sign was posted: “Beware of Vertumnus”.

To court the fair Pomona, Vertumnus resorted to various rustic disguises (reaper, cowherd, nordic walker…), but he was always turned away. He managed to approach her only by taking on the appearance of an old woman. When he realised that Pomona was not in the least attracted to the old woman, Vertumnus resumed his original form, revealing himself to be an athletic and strikingly handsome young man. Questioned about his occupation, the young man revealed that he was a god, though not one of the especially bright ones, and it was then that Pomona yielded to his courtship. The motif of Vertumnus and Pomona enjoyed great success among the seventeenth-century painters of the Netherlands. The most common representation shows an old woman leaning ardently towards a completely naked young goddess, sometimes placing a hand on her shoulder. Pomona usually sits beneath a tree and has beside her a basket of fruit or a cornucopia. Her common attribute is a pruning knife, which might also explain Vertumnus’s reluctance to show himself in his own guise. The tree beneath which Pomona sits often serves as a support for vine shoots growing around its trunk: according to Ovid the motif represents the trusted husband to whom a wife can cling in search of support. In the iconography, then, it represents Vertumnus’s feelings for Pomona.
In short, the temple of Vertumnus near Porta Eburnea appears to have been entirely faced with ivory, which explains the name of the gate (Eburnea: of ivory – in Latin, ‘ivory’ was ‘ebur’, or something like that), even though it is made of travertine. Admittedly, Porta Travertina does not sound quite as good. The gate was altered in the fourteenth century and today we can admire it in its medieval form, with a pointed arch and projecting joints. Of the original construction there remain a relief decoration (protome) in the shape of a lion and a few letters that probably formed the inscription “Augusta Perusia – Colonia Vibia”, recurring on almost all the gates of the Etruscan city.

The gate

Popular tradition credits Porta Eburnea with the character of an auspicious place, so much so that many condottieri passed through it before a military expedition. It is also called the Arco della Mandorla, because of the ogival form of the arch, added in the medieval period, or because the ‘della Mandorla’ family lived near the gate or, finally, because – in those same crowded surroundings – there grew an almond tree, a plant typical of the Perugia area. The elephant which, together with Saint James, marks the iconography of the gate is explained both by Vertumnus’s ivory and by the fact that the gate was said to be the best defended in the city. Impregnable. It was extremely narrow and stood at the top of a climb that cannot have been pleasant to tackle wearing armour. It was not the best defended, it was the most awkward to reach.

Porta Eburnea forms part of the Etruscan circuit of walls, which runs for about three kilometres and was built between the fourth and third centuries BC. The circuit, distinguished by the size of the stones used in its construction, was reworked first in the Roman age and later in the Middle Ages. The only entrance gate remaining in its original form and position is the Arco Etrusco. Between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (AD) a new circuit of walls was raised, to accommodate the expansion of the town.
In the thirteenth century the Comune built, just below the Etruscan circuit, which tended to collapse, a new line of walls. When this new line proved insufficient, buttresses were built, one a few metres from the next. The medieval circuit reached a length of about six kilometres and took in the borghi that had grown up around the five gates.
Often confused with Porta Eburnea, also called Porta de Borgone, is Porta Crucia, known, just to avoid confusion, as Porta Nuova de Borgone, built in the fifteenth century by Braccio Fortebraccio and rebuilt in 1576 at the behest of the papal delegate Antonio Santacroce, as recorded on the plaque set above the arch. On the outer left side of the gate one can make out a small walled-up opening, which must have served as a pedestrian entrance to Via del Bucaccio, which linked the centre with Fontivegge.

On its sides it has large niches in which statues of saints, never made, were to have been placed. The gate is crossed by the so-called Via del Pesce, that is, the road used by the fishermen of Lake Trasimeno who brought their fish into the city. As a record of this traffic, at the corner of Via Eburnea, the bas-relief of a fish, serving as a signpost, can still be seen.
Near Porta Eburnea stands Porta San Giacomo, so named for its closeness to the church of the same name. It was also called Porta del Castellano, Porta dell’Olmo and Porta di San Prospero (because it opened in the direction of that church).

Iconographically, Porta Eburnea is symbolised by an elephant and Saint James.

Saint James

Of the elephant we have already spoken, though the temptation to pad things out is strong. Saint James may be the Greater or the Less. The one depicted watching over Porta Eburnea is the Greater: apostle, brother of Saint John the Evangelist and son of a man who was called, with a great show of good taste, Zebedee.
James was a fisherman and belonged to the group of apostles closest to Jesus. He witnessed, with Peter and John, the episodes of the Transfiguration and of the Agony in the Garden (though he slept through the latter). He was tried in Jerusalem by that joker Herod Agrippa and beheaded. A legendary tradition dating back to the Middle Ages holds that James went to Spain as a missionary and was buried at Compostela. Even though the facts are historically unreliable, Santiago de Compostela has become one of the pilgrimage destinations most à la page. The iconography, above all the Spanish, has been shaped more by the legends than by the Bible (which, for its part, when it comes to historical reliability…).
James may be depicted in three different ways:

1. as an apostle: he is a mature man, with a thin beard and dark hair parted in the middle and falling on either side like Christ’s. His attribute is the sword, the instrument of his martyrdom;
2. as a pilgrim (from the thirteenth century): he wears the wide-brimmed hat typical of the wayfarer, the cloak and the staff. Hanging from the latter he has a satchel or a flask. A shell may be depicted on one of his objects or garments;
3. as a knight and patron saint of Spain (Matamoros): he is shown on horseback with a standard. He wears armour or the pilgrim’s cloak. With his horse he tramples a Saracen, as a sign of peace.

He is rarely accompanied by inscriptions. When present, they are either a phrase taken from the Apostles’ Creed: “Qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine”, or an adaptation of a passage from the Letter of James: “Omnis homo velos exto” (let every man be swift).
The many Spanish legends concerning him have nothing to do with Porta Eburnea, but some of them are iconographic sources and, on the whole, talking about them will do us no harm. They are tenth-century advertisements, circulated to promote pilgrimages to Compostela. One tells of the saint’s evangelical mission after the Ascension of Jesus; at Saragossa the Virgin appeared to James, comfortably seated on a column of jasper, and ordered him to build a church on that spot: Nuestra Señora del Pilar. On his way back to Jerusalem, James converted and baptised the magician Hermogenes after defeating him in a lightsaber duel. I am joking, but the legends are not, and they speak explicitly of a clash between supernatural powers; the episode is analogous to that of Saint Peter defeating Simon Magus in a game of Quidditch.
After James’s beheading, his disciples carried his body back to Spain and, guided by a satnav angel, reached Galicia, where they buried the saint in the palace of a converted pagan woman. In the ninth century the tomb was discovered and the place was renamed Santiago (Saint James) de Compostela. Two centuries later, the sanctuary was already one of the most coveted tourist destinations for pilgrims from all over Europe.

The shell

In antiquity the shell was an attribute of Venus, the goddess born from the sea or, according to some sources, from the shell itself. A shell drawn by dolphins or by sea-horses is in fact the chariot of marine deities such as Neptune or Galatea and, at times, of Fortune. Triton is often depicted blowing a conch shell. The attribution of the shell to pilgrims bound for Compostela is hard to interpret. The symbol seems to date from the twelfth century and, over time, it has become an attribute not exclusive to Saint James. A shell, in fact, also identifies Saint Roch and Christ at Emmaus. In depictions of the Golden Age, cups and trays are replaced by shells. In a scene taken from the story of Granida and Daifilo and set in a woodland landscape, the young man appears kneeling at the girl’s feet in the act of offering her a shell used as a cup. The stones resting on the head or shoulders of Saint Stephen sometimes look like shells but, in this case, it is probably a mere stylistic motif.

The miracle of the wild birds

According to the legend, the daughter of a Spanish innkeeper tried, without success, to seduce a young pilgrim travelling with his parents to Compostela. Since the boy refused her, she took her revenge by hiding a silver cup in his satchel. Then she saw to it that the cup was found. And so the young man, accused of theft, was hanged. When his parents, on their way back from the pilgrimage, passed that way again mourning the death of their son, his body, still hanging from the gallows, spoke, urging them not to be sad since Saint James was beside him and was holding him up. The father and mother then ran to bring the news to the judge, who at that moment was at table, but he mocked them, telling them that the boy was no more alive than the birds he had on his plate. At which, naturally, the birds rose up and began to squawk; shortly afterwards, the young man was returned to his parents.

Santiago Matamoros

It seems that during the battle of Clavijo, fought against the Saracens around 930, when things were going badly for the Spaniards, Saint James appeared to the king on the battlefield, astride a white horse, and placed himself at the head of the Spanish troops, who routed the enemy. From then on the battle cry of the Spaniards was: “Santiago!”. In this context the saint is known as the ‘Moor-slayer’: Santiago Matamoros.

Antonio Senatore is a writer and art critic. He has worked with journals and museum institutions both in Italy and abroad. He currently works within the circuit of Perugia’s civic museums and teaches History of Design at the NID – Nuovo Istituto di Design.