Yesterday we spent most of the day in Lucca, mainly because we both had dental appointments. Apart from that, we walked around a little, did some shopping, managed a tasty oriental kebab, sorted out our telefonini and—since the weather was gloomy—decided it was the perfect moment to visit an exhibition at the Cavallerizza, (the former riding school), which has become one of Lucca’s main venues for art shows, rather like Palazzo Blu in Pisa or Palazzo Strozzi in Florence. The exhibitions there are usually original and fascinating, and this one certainly was.
This exhibition continues a thread that began with the Puccini posters a couple of years ago, linked to the world of the Belle Époque—the “beautiful times.” That period has been everywhere lately: the great show at Palazzo Blu, the Toulouse-Lautrec display at the Innocenti in Florence, and now this one in Lucca. This time the focus is on Giovanni Boldini, the Italian painter who perhaps sums up the Belle Époque better than anyone.
Boldini is, in a sense, the Italian equivalent of John Singer Sargent: master of swish, elegance, and dazzling portraiture, especially of women in extraordinary dresses. (Boldini knew Sargent and even painted a fine portrait of him). He was lucky to live at a time when women’s fashion was perfect for painting, lucky to meet so many beautiful women, and luckier still to have affairs with some of them. His paintings capture movement, life, and glamour through long, flowing brushstrokes, a sense of speed, and a nervous, brilliant energy.
But his work is not only about fashionable society. Of course there is high life, elegance, and display, but there are also intimate portraits of young women, quiet scenes in orchards and gardens, and tender, almost enchanting countryside views, even if these are fewer. At times he moves close to Impressionism. He was influenced by the Macchiaioli, the Italian Impressionists, but only as part of his range. He could use their techniques when he wished, yet above all he remained himself: the swish, the flow, the long strokes, the elegance.
Sadly, Boldini’s eyesight deteriorated toward the end of his life. He died in the 1930s at almost ninety. After the First World War he painted very little, and in a way that suited him. I don’t think he ever really felt at home with the new fashions of the 1920s—the flappers, the short dresses, the sharp lines. There are one or two portraits with those dreadful cloche hats, but they are not what we remember him for. His true world was the Belle Époque.
We were really glad we went to this exhibition which also displayed several paintings of his contemporaries placing his own uniqueness into perspective. It was far more impressive than we expected, and we fell in love with many of the paintings. I was completely struck by one in particular—a woman just after her bath. The beauty of her body, the form, the softness… it was deeply sensual. Yes, it is sexual, but sexual with elegance and culture, not the crude vulgarity that passes for sexuality today. This was refined, sophisticated, and deeply human.
It is a wonderful exhibition, and I would recommend it to everyone. It is beautifully done and truly memorable—a perfect escape from all the gloomy things that surround us: the news, the weather, the economy, everything. It lets you plunge into the Belle Époque, even while knowing that that period itself had many problems—disease, hypocrisy, poverty, moral contradictions—most of which are not shown here.
And perhaps that is why Boldini was so loved. He gave people a way out. He gave life, movement, and elegance. He glorified women, made them radiant, modern, and beautiful. And if beauty is truth, then perhaps truth is beauty too.
‘Càscina lies at the heart of a rich, flourishing and populous land, amid fertile fields and vineyards, stretched across a splendid plain along the ducal road from Pisa to Florence, between the River Arno and the Rinònico drainage canal.”
Thus begins Càscina and its Environs, written in 1912 by the Reverend Francesco Conti — a sentence that already contains, like a seed, the town’s geography, its vocation, and its destiny. It
Càscina stands where water, land, and roads have always converged: two miles east of Fornacette, eight from Pisa, fourteen from Livorno. A crossroads of trade and cultivation, history and survival.
The origin of the name “Càscina” remains veiled in uncertainty, suspended between legend and scholarship. Some historians trace it back to the Etruscan settlement of Càsne; others link it to the river that once bore the same name. That river appears in documents as early as 935, while the name “Càscina” itself surfaces in a parchment dated 26 June 750 AD, recording the donation of a house to the Church of Saint Mary of Càssina — a humble act marking the town’s first appearance in written history.
Four centuries later, on 27 October 1142, another parchment — preserved today in the Archbishop’s Archives of Pisa — records a decisive moment: Archbishop Balduino granted the inhabitants of the territory the right, and the duty, to build a castle and a town. Càscina was no longer merely a place; it became a fortified community.
By the Middle Ages, the town had taken on the form of a stronghold: a rectangular castle encircled by twelve towers, linked by low defensive walls and protected by a wide moat. Documents from 1270 speak of a bell tower and a fortified channel dug south of the Arno, both to defend Pisan territory and to regulate the river’s dangerous floods — a reminder that here, nature has always been both ally and threat.
In the 14th century the defenses were reinforced once more. Walls were raised, towers strengthened, and two gates constructed: one opening toward Florence, the other toward Pisa — symbols of a town poised between rival powers.
During the era of the Pisan Republic, Càscina stood loyally with the Emperor, opposing Lucca and Florence. That allegiance endured until 29 July 1364, when Florence defeated Pisa in the brutal Battle of Càscina — an event immortalized by Michelangelo Buonarroti. Though only preparatory drawings survive from his hand, the clash lives on through Vasari’s fresco in the Hall of the Five Hundred in Florence’s Palazzo Vecchio, where art preserves what history destroyed. Under Florentine rule, Càscina did not decline. On the contrary, it grew. By 1622 the town counted 5,587 inhabitants, and by the 18th century it had become the most populous and important rural center in all of Tuscany.
Modernity arrived with violence and progress intertwined. Toward the end of the 19th century, the Pisan and Florentine gates — along with parts of the walls — were demolished to make way for the Leopolda railway linking Florence and Pisa. Later, war inflicted further wounds. The Second World War erased entire sections of the ancient defenses.
Today the historic center appears fragmented, shaped by demolitions and transformations between the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Yet fragments endure: the pentagonal Parisina Tower, the Stradina, the Piazza d’Armi, and the streets tracing the ancient walls — relics embedded within the modern town like fossils in stone.
The first monument to greet the visitor is the Civic, or Clock, Tower, rising in the western part of the old town where the Pisan gate once stood. Built of brick, it originally formed part of a militia building. Its current height of 72 feet reflects centuries of additions, visibly layered upon its surface — time made architectural.
Like many Italian towns, Càscina grew around its parish church square. Here stand the most significant civic and religious buildings: the Parish Church of Saint Mary and Saint John, the Chapel of the Sacrament, the Holy Cross Oratory, the bell tower, and the Stefanini Palace. The parish church — the oldest in the area — already existed in the second half of the 8th century, though the present structure dates from the late 11th. Its Romanesque basilican plan, sober and harmonious, is marked by a gabled façade with blind arcades and crowned by a marble cross. On its right wall, an inscription recalls the passage of Emperor Frederick II’s troops in 1228 — history etched into stone. Inside, monolithic columns of pink granite and cipollino marble preserve the church’s original Romanesque severity.
Adjoining the church is the Chapel of the Sacrament, once separate and part of a small cemetery relocated in the late 18th century. Its interior unfolds in late-Baroque elegance. To the south lies the Holy Cross Oratory — once a baptistery — long abandoned, now restored to its baroque splendor, with a marble baptismal font at its heart.
The bell tower, asymmetrical and misaligned with the church, hints at its military origins. Built on the remains of an earlier tower, it aligns with the old castle. Its limestone base supports a brick upper section rebuilt after damage from a raid in 1295.
Facing the church stands the Stefanini Palace, now home to the Misericordia. Its austere brick façade contrasts with the richness inside, particularly the grand galleried hall blending baroque and neoclassical styles.
Along Corso Matteotti, the town’s main artery, stands the Oratory of Saint John the Baptist — known locally as “the nuns’ little church.” Built at the end of the 14th century by Bartolo Palmieri, a member of the Knights Hospitaller, it contains frescoes by the Sienese painter Martino di Bartolommeo. Anna Franchi, writing in 1928, captured its essence: “At first, the emptiness makes it seem larger than it is. Gradually, solitude dissolves. Magnificent images fill every surface. No wall has been neglected.”
Leaving the historic center and heading east, one reaches the Sanctuary of the Madonna of the Water — an elegant Greek-cross structure built between 1614 and 1619, with a domed bell tower added decades later. The municipality’s 30 square miles extend westward along the Tosco-Romagnola road, the commercial spine of the territory. Along it rise villages, churches, and traces of devotion and labor.
At Settimo stands the Church of Saint Benedict, mentioned as early as 861. Its sanctuary houses rare works, including a 14th-century English alabaster altarpiece — one of only four in Italy.
Nearby, during dry summers, the Arno reveals the submerged ruins of Saint Peter within-the-Castle, destroyed by floods in 1545.
Further west lies Saint Casciano, whose Romanesque church — adorned by the sculptor Biduino — stands among the most important monuments of the region.
Nearby Zambra preserves the unspoiled medieval church of Saint Jacopo, with symbolic murals recalling early Christian iconography.
Saint Savino’s Abbey rises on an artificial embankment, born from disaster and devotion after an Arno flood destroyed its predecessor. Its bell tower, destroyed in 1943 by retreating Nazi troops, has been rebuilt — an act of memory and resilience.
Castles, churches, and villages mark the western boundary, beyond which lies Pisa. Turning south and east, the journey continues through Bibbiano, Marcianella, and finally back to Càscina — a circle completed.
For centuries, agriculture shaped the town’s identity. In the 20th century, craftsmanship — particularly woodworking — transformed it. In 1922, the first permanent furniture exhibition opened, followed by the founding of the National Institute of Art, spreading Cascina’s fame worldwide.
Later economic crises redirected the town toward commerce, services, and innovation. The City of the Theatre and Navacchio’s Technological Centre symbolize this new chapter.
Yet perhaps Càscina’s most astonishing contribution lies in the fields south of town, where science reaches for the cosmos. Here stands VIRGO, a vast interferometric antenna designed to detect gravitational waves — ripples in spacetime predicted by Einstein himself. With arms stretching two miles each, it listens to the universe.
And so, in a land shaped by rivers, wars, faith, and labor, one of humanity’s oldest questions — Where do we come from? — may yet find its answer. Here, in Càscina.
Although any project to restore Villa Fiori to its former glory is to be applauded I remain hesitant about its success for the following reasons.
1. The restoration of the villa in itself is a mammoth project. We have visited its interior in the past year – just the replacement of the roof would require major investment. To add to this restoration the building of a spa and health centre next to it without even the certainty that it will be supplied with thermal water is a heroic task.
2. Thermal waters with a spa are already present at the Bagni Bernabo’ (which we have attended for some years now), the Hotel delle Terme and, very soon now, at the Terme alla Villa. These establishments are in addition to the Terme Varraud with its natural caves, mud and thermal baths which, regrettably, largely because of economic reasons, have been closed for some years now
3. The area around the Villa Fiori is a public garden owned by the comune of Bagni di Lucca. To sell a part of it off to built a private wellness centre would be both a huge legal challenge and be unfair to Bagni citizens who use it for their recreation and for local events. Already to our shock horror we notice that the garden is now blocked off from anyone who tries to reach it across the footbridge at Ponte.
4. The whole area is under the Italian ‘Belle Arti’ and remains a conservation area subject to strict rules regarding any development. I do not feel the plans I have seen for the proposed wellness centre would satisfy the Belle Arti.Frankly I would like the project to be restricted to the villa itself which, no doubt, would suit itself well for conversion into a time-share residence (like the town’s Hotel Svizzero) or partitioned off as flats or even turned into a boutique hotel.Of course, we would all like Villa Fiori to see better days but let hopes not be raised too high. I feel we need to concentrate first of all in getting the original Terme Varraud, which many who read this will remember with some fondness, back into business with a firm reinvestment there.
Sebbene qualsiasi progetto di restauro di Villa Fiori sia degno di plauso, rimango titubante sul suo successo per i seguenti motivi.
Il restauro della villa in sé è un progetto colossale. Ne abbiamo visitato gli interni l’anno scorso: solo la sostituzione del tetto richiederebbe un investimento ingente.
Aggiungere a questo restauro la costruzione di un centro benessere e termale adiacente, senza nemmeno la certezza che sarà alimentato con acqua termale, è un’impresa eroica.
Le acque termali con spa sono già presenti ai Bagni Bernabò (che frequentiamo da alcuni anni), all’Hotel delle Terme e, molto presto, alle Terme alla Villa. Questi stabilimenti si aggiungono alle Terme Varraud con le sue grotte naturali, i fanghi e le terme che, purtroppo, soprattutto per motivi economici, sono chiuse da alcuni anni.
L’area intorno a Villa Fiori è un giardino pubblico di proprietà del Comune di Bagni di Lucca. Vendere una parte per costruire un centro benessere privato rappresenterebbe un’enorme sfida legale e sarebbe ingiusto nei confronti dei cittadini di Bagni che lo utilizzano per il loro tempo libero e per eventi locali. Con nostro grande orrore, notiamo che il giardino è ora interdetto a chiunque cerchi di raggiungerlo attraverso la passerella pedonale di Ponte.
L’intera area è sottoposta a vincolo delle Belle Arti e rimane un’area protetta soggetta a rigide norme per quanto riguarda qualsiasi sviluppo edilizio. Non credo che i progetti che ho visto per il centro benessere proposto soddisfino le esigenze delle Belle Arti. Francamente, vorrei che il progetto fosse limitato alla villa stessa, che, senza dubbio, si adatterebbe bene alla conversione in una residenza multiproprietà (come l’Hotel Svizzero della città) o alla suddivisione in appartamenti o addirittura alla trasformazione in un boutique hotel. Certo, vorremmo tutti che Villa Fiori vedesse giorni migliori, ma non lasciamoci prendere dalle speranze. Credo che dovremmo concentrarci prima di tutto sul rilancio delle Terme Varraud originali, che molti di coloro che leggono questo ricorderanno con affetto, con un solido reinvestimento.
