The Doors of Orvieto

For more than 600 years, the cathedral of Orvieto in Italy has lived with simple wooden doors adorned mainly by the weathering of time. In their austerity, the portals stood in mute contrast to the church's dazzling facade encrusted with brilliant mosaics, its priceless stained glass and marble statuary. Since several other Italian churches have undergone successful modern alterations, local church authorities thought it would be appropriate to install a contemporary set of doors designed to complement the cathedral's sumptuous beauty. In Italy, however, matters aesthetic are not always easy. Last week the cathedral had its new doors, and not only all of Orvieto (pop. 25,000) but seemingly all of Italy was arguing about them.

In 1962, the church had commissioned the portals from Sicilian-born Sculptor Emilio Greco, 56, a friend and admirer of Giacomo Manzu, who designed the impressive bronze Doors of Death for St. Peter's basilica in Rome. For the main entrance, Greco created a 24-ft.-high, two-ton bronze relief depicting Catholicism's seven corporal works of mercy. One scene, for example, showed Pope John XXIII on his visit to Rome's Regina Coeli prison in 1958; Greco's presentation of burying the dead uses angled limbs and tortured faces to convey a strong sense of grief.

Although the theme was traditional, Greco's realistic style was decidedly modern--too modern for some. For six years the doors remained inside the cathedral while historians, government bureaucrats and art experts argued over them. Last month Italy's Minister of Education signed a decree authorizing the installation of the doors. Art Critic Mario Salmi, vice president of the government's Superior Council of Fine Arts, promptly and publicly denounced Greco's work. "It is like inserting a modern canto into The Divine Comedy," he complained, and resigned his post. Another leading antiquarian, Giorgio Bassani, described the doors as "outrageous, awkward, pseudo modern." Among the doors' defenders was Orvieto's bishop, Monsignor Virginio Dondeo, who contended that "each century should make its contribution to the cathedral."

The debate was quickly picked up by Italian newspapers and magazines --and by Orvietans, who had something new to talk about as they sipped espresso in the town's cafes. Perhaps the only one who was totally pleased with the result was Sculptor Greco; once the doors were installed at the cathedral, he was finally able to collect his $80,000 commission.

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