The Rape of Proserpina by Bernini. When Marble Comes Alive

I’ve been to the Galleria Borghese twice, and both times I found myself standing in front of The Rape of Proserpina far longer than I expected. The first time, I didn’t really know much about Bernini — I’d heard the name before, but it didn’t mean much to me. That changed the moment I saw this sculpture up close. It was only then that I started noticing the details: the way Pluto’s hand presses into Proserpina’s thigh, the twist of their bodies, even the tears on her face. Back home, I looked more closely at the photos I’d taken, zooming in on things I hadn’t seen in person — and that’s when Bernini’s name truly stuck. Since then, I’ve promised myself that next time I’m in Rome, I’ll go back just to see this piece again — and take even more photos.

The Galleria Borghese is one of those places that stays with you — not because it’s large (it isn’t), but because almost every room contains something unforgettable. Housed in a 17th-century villa within the Borghese Gardens, the gallery was originally the private collection of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, an early and enthusiastic patron of Bernini. Today, it holds several of Bernini’s masterpieces — including Apollo and Daphne, David, and The Rape of Proserpina. There’s also an outstanding collection of paintings by Caravaggio, Raphael, and Titian. The Rape of Proserpina is displayed in Room IV, also known as the Room of the Emperors.

If you’re curious, I’ve shared more thoughts, tips and photos from the gallery in other entries on this blog (see buttons below).

Gian Lorenzo Bernini was one of the central figures of Baroque art in 17th-century Rome — a sculptor, architect, and all-round creative powerhouse. He worked for both the Catholic Church and secular patrons, including none other than Louis XIV of France.

Bernini was incredibly young when he created The Rape of Proserpina — just 23 years old. The sculpture was commissioned by Cardinal Scipione Borghese, the man who in fact commissioned and assembled the collection that became the Galleria Borghese. It was made between 1621 and 1622, at a time when Bernini was already gaining a reputation for making marble appear soft and alive. The piece became part of his private collection — and remains one of its most impressive works. (Like another one made by 15 years old Bernini.)

The story comes from Roman mythology, adapted from the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades. (The Romans adopted many of the Greek gods and stories, often giving them different names — so Hades becomes Pluto, and Persephone becomes Proserpina.) Proserpina, the daughter of Ceres (goddess of the harvest), is abducted by Pluto, god of the underworld, who falls in love with her and carries her off to be his queen. Her mother’s grief causes the world to go cold and barren — a mythical explanation for the changing of the seasons.

The theme of abduction was often used in Baroque art, not only for its dramatic potential, but also because it allowed artists to explore movement, struggle, contrast, and emotion — all key elements of the style. In Bernini’s hands, the myth becomes something almost painfully real: not just a story, but a moment frozen in motion. And Bernini was a master of using marble to imitate different textures: flesh, fabric, hair, even tears.

One of the most striking things about The Rape of Proserpina is how physical it feels. The sculpture isn’t just dramatic — it’s tactile. Pluto’s fingers press into Proserpina’s thigh with such convincing softness that it’s easy to forget you’re looking at solid stone. Her hand pushes against his face, her hair flies back, her foot twists as she’s lifted — every detail adds to the sense of motion and struggle. There’s even a tear on her cheek (though I didn’t manage to capture it in my photos). Pluto’s body is full of tension — defined muscles, a strong stance, even a vein on his thigh standing out as if pulsing. And then there’s the drapery, barely covering their bodies, adding both modesty and theatrical tension. It clings and flows at once — heightening the drama of the scene.

Nothing is flat or static — the figures spiral upward, locked in movement. From some angles, the sculpture looks as if it might tip over or keep turning. That’s exactly what Baroque art often aimed to do: capture a single moment in all its energy and tension, and make it feel alive. The drama is heightened further by how the sculpture is displayed — raised on a pedestal, so you look up at it. That slight upward gaze gives it even more presence and intensity.

If you walk around the back of the sculpture, you’ll spot Cerberus — the three-headed dog of the underworld — curled behind Pluto’s leg. It’s easy to miss, but it’s a quiet reminder that this isn’t just a struggle between two people, but a story about the boundary between worlds. At the base, partly hidden, lies Pluto’s sceptre — a small but meaningful symbol of his role as ruler of the underworld. It adds a calm note of control beneath the chaos above.

But words can only go so far. Let’s let Bernini speak for himself — below are a few photos of this incredible sculpture taken from different angles.

Even after seeing the Rape of Proserpina twice on site, I still feel like I haven’t fully taken it in. It’s the kind of sculpture that reveals something new each time — a fold, a gesture, a tiny detail you didn’t notice before. Photos can’t replace standing in front of it, but they can help you see more than you did the first time.

The Rape of Proserpina by Bernini. When Marble Comes Alive

A Quiet Encounter with History. Visiting Bari’s Norman-Swabian Castle

Bari is a city in Apulia, southern Italy. I spent a few days there, exploring both on foot and by car, driving in and out through the more modern parts of the city, which gave me a decent overview of its structure. Aside from contemporary districts, Bari it is historic centre, which can be divided into two clearly distinct areas. The first, Bari Vecchia, is the medieval quarter, with narrow alleyways, an old cathedral, and a castle. The second Quartiere Murat features a more neoclassical look, typical of many Italian towns. Its main artery is Corso Cavour, an avenue named in honour of the first prime minister of a united Italy.

Today’s post is dedicated to the castle. It is known as the Norman-Swabian Castle (Castello Normanno-Svevo di Bari), named after its historical ties to two powerful dynasties: the Normans and the Swabians (Hohenstaufen).

The castle was originally built around 1132 by King Roger II of the Normans, on the foundations of earlier Byzantine structures. It was intended to serve as a defensive fortress and a symbol of Norman rule in Apulia. The Normans, who hailed from Normandy in northern France, were descendants of Vikings who had settled there in the 10th century. In the 11th century, some of them – mainly as mercenaries – began arriving in southern Italy and Sicily, taking advantage of local conflicts among Byzantines, Arabs, the Papacy, and local rulers. Over time, under the leadership of the Hauteville family (notably Robert Guiscard and Roger II), they conquered Apulia, Calabria, Naples, and Sicily. In 1130, Roger II crowned himself King of Sicily, establishing a kingdom that encompassed much of southern Italy.

In the mid-12th century, Bari often rebelled against central Norman authority. In 1155, backed by the Byzantine Empire, the city rose up against William I, son of Roger II. In retaliation, the king ordered the destruction of the city walls and the castle – an act of repression and a demonstration of power against local dissent. Around a century later, following the takeover of the Kingdom of Sicily by the Hohenstaufen dynasty, the castle was rebuilt by Emperor Frederick II, son of Constance, daughter of Roger II. The reconstruction, carried out between 1233 and 1240, gave the castle its characteristic trapezoidal layout, with a central courtyard, massive corner towers, and a moat (except on the northern side, which bordered the sea).

In the 13th century, following the death of Frederick II and the fall of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, Bari came under the control of the Angevins, and from 1442, the Aragonese, as part of the Kingdom of Naples. During this period, the castle underwent gradual transformations – especially in the Renaissance era, when Isabella of Aragon and her daughter Bona Sforza transformed it into an elegant residence. A monumental staircase, chapel, and courtly interiors were added. In 1504, Bari fell under the rule of the Spanish Habsburgs. In 1696, a lightning strike hit one of the castle’s towers, igniting stored gunpowder and causing a major explosion that damaged both the castle and surrounding buildings.

After the War of the Spanish Succession, Bari came briefly under Austrian rule in 1707, and from 1734 became part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, ruled by the Bourbon dynasty. During this time, the castle lost its residential status and was used as a prison and military barracks. In 1861, following the unification of Italy, Bari and its castle were incorporated into the newly formed Kingdom of Italy.

A popular legend is linked to the castle, involving Saint Francis of Assisi. During his journey to the Holy Land, he is said to have stopped in Bari, where Emperor Frederick II tested him by placing him in a tower with a young woman. Francis resisted the temptation, and the tower became known as the Monk’s Tower or Tower of Saint Francis.

Architecturally, the castle is defined by its massive stone structure, characteristic of medieval fortifications, designed to impress and defend. It is surrounded by a dry moat, once serving as an additional protective barrier, and accessed via a bridge that leads to the main gate. The layout follows a trapezoidal plan, with four sturdy corner towers framing a spacious central courtyard.

Yo can see the blend of architectural styles, reflecting the layers of history embedded in its walls. The robust Norman foundations are complemented by Swabian modifications combining military precision with elegant form. Gothic windows and arches soften a bit the austere structure, while later Renaissance additions give it a touch of refinement.

Exterior and interior views of the castle reveal the passage of time and a mix of architectural styles. The central courtyard feels rather bare, but it’s worth remembering this was originally a fortress, only later adapted during the Renaissance. The castle is largely unfurnished, with a few multimedia installations aiming to evoke its past

That said, much of the structure remains closed to the public due to ongoing restoration work. During my visit, I had the distinct impression that not everything has yet been unveiled — parts of the castle feel hidden or inaccessible, and some spaces could be better presented to help visitors connect with the site’s layered past. The inner courtyard, though spacious, felt somewhat stark and empty, offering little to linger over. With its few windows and fortress-like interiors, the castle clearly functioned more as a stronghold than a residence. Perhaps in the future, once renovations are complete, more of the building’s potential will be revealed.

Today, the Norman-Swabian Castle of Bari serves as a museum and cultural centre, hosting exhibitions, concerts, and artistic events. On the ground floor, visitors can explore collections of sculpture, ceramics, and archaeological finds – some original, others cast replicas. From an upper upper gallery at the ground floor, visitors can view archaeological excavations in the lower levels of the castle. The interior is sparsely furnished, with only a few pieces on display. However, visitors can walk through the chambers and along the defensive walls, where several rooms feature historical multimedia projections. The site also houses a Gipsoteca, a plaster cast museum displaying Romanesque art from Apulia, including details from the Basilica of Saint Nicholas in Bari and the Cathedral of Trani.

A few examples of the plaster casts on display in the Gipsoteca inside Bari’s castle.

When I visited the castle in late 2023, one of the halls featured a visual narrative on the life of Queen Bona. Who was Bona? She was the granddaughter of Alfonso II of Aragon, King of Naples, through her mother, Isabella of Aragon. In 1518, after marrying King Sigismund I the Old of Poland, she was granted Bari and Rossano as a fiefdom by Emperor Charles V. Although she spent most of her life in Poland, the castle in Bari remained part of her hereditary estate. She managed her Italian holdings and played an active role in administering the castle and surrounding lands. Both Bona and her mother transformed the fortress into a Renaissance residence, adding a monumental staircase and chapel. During this period, the castle became the seat of a refined court blending Italian and Polish influences. Bona’s legacy in Bari is so profound that her sarcophagus was placed above the altar in the nearby Basilica of Saint Nicholas (Basilica di San Nicola).

Scenes from the multimedia presentation on Queen Bona, featuring her elegant Renaissance dresses and her significant political role as Queen of Poland.

The Norman-Swabian castle of Bari is not yet a fully curated museum space, but its structure, setting, and historical significance remain an integral part of the old town’s landscape.

A Quiet Encounter with History. Visiting Bari’s Norman-Swabian Castle

Italian Unification Shortly Explained

When I last visited Italy, in Bari in the south, I hired a car to explore the surrounding area rather than limiting myself to the city alone. It turned out that the best chance of finding a parking space was along the city’s main boulevard, Corso Cavour. That prompted me to ask myself: who was the person after whom this prominent street was named? – The answer was that Camillo Cavour was the first Prime Minister of united Italy, appointed by Victor Emmanuel II. Just a few days ago, I caught an episode – perhaps on the BBC – featuring actor Stanley Tucci travelling across Italy in search of authentic local flavours. Coincidentally, in one of the scenes, he visited a restaurant located directly opposite the former office of Cavour in Turin. At the time when Cavour was in office, Turin served as the capital of Italy. Cavour was known to dine there daily, always sitting by the window so he could keep an eye out for his assistant. If the assistant waved a white handkerchief from the office window, it was a sign that Cavour needed to return to his duties.

This anecdote offers an excellent opportunity to delve into the history of Italian unification or Risorgimento and to reflect on its key protagonists.

Following the Congress of Vienna in 1815, Italy – much like throughout the majority of its earlier history – did not exist as a unified state in the modern sense of the word. The Italian Peninsula was once again fragmented into a number of independent political entities, often differing in their systems of governance, economies, and cultures. Crucially, many of these states were either under the influence or direct control of foreign powers.

In the north lay the Kingdom of Sardinia (comprising Piedmont and the island of Sardinia) – the only significant political body governed by a native dynasty, the House of Savoy, which managed to retain a relative degree of autonomy. Adjacent to it was the Kingdom of Lombardy–Venetia, subordinate to the Austrian Empire, and destined to become a principal stronghold of resistance against future unification efforts.

In central Italy stretched the vast Papal States, under the direct rule of the Pope, who held not only spiritual authority but also exercised absolute temporal power as a monarch. To the south was the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, encompassing all of southern Italy and the island of Sicily, governed by the Spanish Bourbon dynasty.

Beyond these main powers, there existed several smaller duchies, such as Parma, Modena, and Tuscany, often ruled by members of dynasties allied with Austria. This political configuration not only hindered the unification of Italy but also entrenched the Peninsula’s dependency on external European powers.

As a result, the Italian people found themselves living in a fragmented political landscape, which intensified social tensions, deepened regional disparities, and gave rise to increasingly powerful nationalist aspirations, encapsulated in the idea of Risorgimento -the unification of Italy into a single, independent nation-state.

The first attempts to unify Italy in the 19th century were predominantly ideological and revolutionary in nature. In response to the political fragmentation of the Italian Peninsula and the dominance of foreign powers, there emerged a growing societal yearning for national unity and sovereignty.

During the 1830s, several movements inspired by Romanticism, the French Revolution, and democratic principles began to take shape. A central figure of this era was Giuseppe Mazzini – an ideologue, journalist, and underground activist – who founded the organisation Giovine Italia (Young Italy). Its principal aim was the overthrow of monarchies, the unification of the nation, and the establishment of a republic.

Members of the organisation engaged in clandestine activities, organised uprisings, and distributed manifestos urging the people to embrace a national awakening. Although most of these insurrections ended in failure, their ideological impact was profound – for the first time, Italians began to perceive their land not as a patchwork of duchies and kingdoms, but as a single political and cultural entity, deserving of its own unified state.

Another pivotal figure in the unification of Italy was Giuseppe Garibaldi, who began his revolutionary career as a young sailor, captivated by the republican and nationalist ideals promoted by Giuseppe Mazzini. In the 1830s, he joined Mazzini’s movement Giovine Italia, which called for the unification of Italy as a republic. Charged with subversive activity by the authorities of the Kingdom of Sardinia, Garibaldi was forced into exile and spent several years in South America, where he fought in various military conflicts. These experiences earned him valuable combat skills and a reputation as a charismatic commander.

Upon returning to Europe, he became involved in the Revolutions of 1848, and gained particular renown during the defence of the Roman Republic in 1849. This short-lived republic was established in the Papal States following a revolution that temporarily deposed the Pope’s secular authority in Rome. Together with Mazzini, Garibaldi sought to defend the new regime against French intervention, which – ostensibly to protect the papacy – restored Pope Pius IX to power. Despite the defeat, Garibaldi’s bravery and sacrifice earned him admiration across Italy.

Though initially devoted to Mazzini’s ideals, Garibaldi gradually realised that the unification of Italy would require pragmatic compromise. He aligned himself with the Kingdom of Sardinia’s monarchist camp, recognising it as the most realistic force capable of uniting the country.

The culmination of his efforts came in the form of the “Expedition of the Thousand” in 1860, during which he and a volunteer army – the Redshirts conquered Sicily and southern Italy, toppling Bourbon rule. After his triumph, he met King Victor Emmanuel II in Teano, and – despite his republican convictionssymbolically handed over authority of the liberated territories, acknowledging the king as the only viable figure to lead a unified Italy.

Although his relations with the king and conservative elites were often strained, Garibaldi’s decision enabled the incorporation of the south into the Kingdom of Italy and significantly accelerated the unification process.

Ultimately, the Kingdom of Sardinia, encompassing Piedmont and the island of Sardinia, with its capital in Turin, became the centre of Italy’s unification. It was the most modern and liberal state on the Italian Peninsula, equipped with a constitution and a well-developed administrative apparatus. Its ruler, Victor Emmanuel II, played a pivotal role in unifying the Italian territories.

Following the abdication of his father, Charles Albert, in 1849, Victor Emmanuel II ascended the throne in the wake of a military defeat by Austria. He retained the liberal constitution (the Statuto Albertino), but recognised the need for a strong, modern government – one that could maintain internal order while preparing the country for future transformation and growth. This is where Camillo Cavour enters the historical stage.

Camillo Benso, Count of Cavour, was born in Turin into a wealthy aristocratic family from Piedmont. From a young age, he distinguished himself through sharp intellect, pragmatism, and a deep interest in public affairs. Though trained at a military academy, he soon abandoned a military career in favour of economic, journalistic, and political pursuits.

Cavour was deeply influenced by liberalism, capitalism, and the modernity of Western Europe, especially Britain and France. He believed that Italy should not be unified through revolution, but rather through deliberate reform and astute diplomacy. Unlike Mazzini or Garibaldi, he was not a romantic patriot, but a pragmatist, convinced that unification must proceed gradually, starting with the strengthening of the Kingdom of Sardinia.

Cavour did not enter government as Prime Minister straight away. He began as a parliamentarian and journalist, gradually earning the support of the moderate bourgeoisie through his liberal views. In 1850, he was appointed Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, and later became Minister of Finance and the Treasury. His economic reforms and the modernisation of the taxation system delivered tangible results, clearly demonstrating his administrative competence.

In 1852, following a political crisis and the weakening of the previous government led by Massimo d’Azeglio, King Victor Emmanuel II entrusted Cavour with the task of forming a new cabinet. Cavour became Prime Minister, simultaneously overseeing both foreign affairs and finance. He immediately embarked on a sweeping programme of modernisation, expanding industry, infrastructure (notably the railway network), education, and the military.

At the same time, Cavour worked diligently to ensure that Sardinia would be taken seriously on the international stage. He understood that defeating Austria, the principal opponent of unification, would be impossible without the backing of European powers. A crucial turning point in his diplomacy was his rapprochement with Napoleon III, Emperor of France. In 1858, Cavour met secretly with the emperor in Plombières, where they devised a plan: France would support Sardinia in a war against Austria in exchange for the cession of Savoy and Nice.

In 1859, the war with Austria commenced and, though it ended prematurely, it resulted in a partial success – Sardinia gained control of Lombardy. Although Cavour was displeased by Napoleon’s unexpected halt to the campaign, he soon managed to annex additional central Italian statesTuscany, Parma, Modena, and others – greatly expanding the kingdom’s territory and bringing the vision of unity closer to reality.

One of Cavour’s greatest challenges was reconciling Garibaldi’s revolutionary actions with the interests of the monarchy. When Garibaldi launched his southern campaign in 1860, Cavour feared it might lead to civil war or provoke foreign intervention. To avert this, he dispatched royal troops southwards to take over the territories liberated by Garibaldi before he could declare a republic.

The situation culminated in the meeting between Garibaldi and Victor Emmanuel II in Teanocarefully orchestrated by Cavour to symbolise national unity and to legitimise the king’s authority over the newly unified lands.

Thus, Garibaldi, at the head of a volunteer army of a thousand Redshirts, set out from Genoa to Sicily, launching the legendary Expedition of the Thousand. His lightning victories led to the collapse of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and paved the way for the conquest of southern Italy.

Although Victor Emmanuel II and Garibaldi were ideologically opposed – the former a monarch, the latter a republican – they both recognised the supremacy of national unity over personal beliefs. The climactic moment of their cooperation came with the historic meeting at Teano, orchestrated by Cavour on 26 October 1860. There, Garibaldi symbolically handed over the territories he had conquered to the king, acknowledging him as the legitimate ruler of a united Italy.

This gesture held enormous political and propagandistic significance, as it legitimised Victor Emmanuel II as the symbol of national unity and the future King of all Italians.

In March 1861, the Kingdom of Italy was proclaimed in Turin, and Victor Emmanuel II became its first king. Although the unification was not yet complete – Venice and Rome remained outside the new state’s borders – it marked a turning point in Italian history.

Camillo Cavour became the first Prime Minister of the newly unified Italy, but his tenure was tragically short. He died unexpectedly in June 1861, just a few months after the proclamation of unification, at the age of fifty. Although Cavour did not live to see the annexation of Venice (1866) and Rome (1870), his contribution to Italian unification is inestimable. He was the architect of the operation, who – despite never wielding a weapon in battle – guided Italy through diplomacy, reform, and strategic alliances toward unity.

The final phase of unification came in 1870, when, after the withdrawal of French troops from Rome, the Papal States were annexed, and Rome was declared the capital of the new nation.

Victor Emmanuel II entered the annals of history as the Padre della Patria (Father of the Fatherland) – a monarch who, through political skill, compromise, and cooperation with diverse forces, succeeded in founding the unified Kingdom of Italy.

Italian Unification Shortly Explained