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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:37:14 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:37:14 -0700 |
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diff --git a/11559-h/11559-h.htm b/11559-h/11559-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6252b8e --- /dev/null +++ b/11559-h/11559-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13039 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Renaissance In Italy, by John Addington Symonds. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%;} + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; right: 100%; font-size: 8pt; justify: right;} /* page numbers */ + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i15 {margin-left: 15em} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 6em} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11559 ***</div> + +<h1><a name="Page_-12"></a>RENAISSANCE IN ITALY</h1> + +<h2>THE FINE ARTS</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF</h4> + +<h5>"AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF DANTE", "STUDIES OF THE GREEK POETS" +AND "SKETCHES IN ITALY AND GREECE"</h5> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Dii Romæ indigetes, Trojæ tuque auctor, Apollo,</p> +<p>Unde genus nostrum coeli se tollit ad astra,</p> +<p>Hanc saltem auferri laudem prohibete Latinis:</p> +<p>Artibus emineat semper, studiisque Minervæ,</p> +<p>Italia, et gentes doceat pulcherrima Roma;</p> +<p>Quandoquidem armorum penitus fortuna recessit,</p> +<p>Tanta Italos inter crevit discordia reges;</p> +<p>Ipsi nos inter sævos distringimus enses,</p> +<p>Nec patriam pudet externis aperire tyrannis</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>VIDA, <i>Poetica</i>, lib. ii.</p> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>LONDON</p> + +<p>SMITH, ELDER & CO</p> + +<p>1899</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="PREFACE"></a><h2>PREFACE<a name="FNanchor1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1"><sup>[1]</sup></a></h2> +<br> + +<p>This third volume of my book on the "Renaissance in Italy" does not +pretend to retrace the history of the Italian arts, but rather to define +their relation to the main movement of Renaissance culture. Keeping this, +the chief object of my whole work, steadily in view, I have tried to +explain the dependence of the arts on mediæval Christianity at their +commencement, their gradual emancipation from ecclesiastical control, and +their final attainment of freedom at the moment when the classical revival +culminated.</p> + +<p>Not to notice the mediæval period in this evolution would be impossible; +since the revival of Sculpture and Painting at the end of the thirteenth +century was among the earliest signs of that new intellectual birth to +which we give the title of Renaissance. I have, therefore, had to deal at +some length with stages in the development of<a name="Page_-9"></a> Architecture, Sculpture, +and Painting, which form a prelude to the proper age of my own history.</p> + +<p>In studying the architectural branch of the subject, I have had recourse +to Fergusson's "Illustrated Handbook of Architecture," to Burckhardt's +"Cicerone," to Grüner's "Terra-Cotta Buildings of North Italy," to +Milizia's "Memorie degli Architetti," and to many illustrated works on +single buildings in Rome, Tuscany, Lombardy, and Venice. For the history +of Sculpture I have used Burckhardt's "Cicerone," and the two important +works of Charles C. Perkins, entitled "Tuscan Sculptors," and "Italian +Sculptors." Such books as "Le Tre Porte del Battistero di Firenze," +Grüner's "Cathedral of Orvieto," and Lasinio's "Tabernacolo della Madonna +d'Orsammichele" have been helpful by their illustrations. For the history +of Painting I have made use principally of Vasari's "Vite de' più +eccellenti Pittori," &c.c., in Le Monnier's edition of Crowe and +Cavalcaselle's "History of Painting," of Burckhardt's "Cicerone," of +Rosini's illustrated "Storia della Pittura Italiana," of Rio's "L'Art +Chrétien," and of Henri Beyle's "Histoire de la Peinture en Italie." I +should, however, far exceed the limits of a preface were I to make a list +of all the books I have consulted with profit on the history of the arts +in Italy.</p><a name="Page_-8"></a> + +<p>In this part of my work I feel that I owe less to reading than to +observation. I am not aware of having mentioned any important building, +statue, or picture which I have not had the opportunity of studying. What +I have written in this volume about the monuments of Italian art has +always been first noted face to face with the originals, and afterwards +corrected, modified, or confirmed in the course of subsequent journeys to +Italy. I know that this method of composition, if it has the merit of +freshness, entails some inequality of style and disproportion in the +distribution of materials. In the final preparation of my work for press I +have therefore endeavoured, as far as possible, to compensate this +disadvantage by adhering to the main motive of my subject—the +illustration of the Renaissance spirit as this was manifested in the Arts.</p> + +<p>I must add, in conclusion, that Chapters VII. and IX. and Appendix II. are +in part reprinted from the "Westminster," the "Cornhill," and the +"Contemporary."</p> + +<p>CLIFTON: <i>March</i> 1877.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor1">[1]</a><div class="note"><p> To the original edition of this volume.</p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CONTENTS"></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<br> +<h4><!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> + <a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I--THE PROBLEM FOR THE FINE ARTS</b></a><br> +<br> +Art in Italy and Greece—The Leading Phase of Culture—Æsthetic Type of +Literature—Painting the Supreme Italian Art—Its Task in the +Renaissance—Christian and Classical Traditions—Sculpture for the +Ancients—Painting for the Romance Nations—Mediæval Faith and +Superstition—The Promise of Painting—How far can the Figurative Arts +express Christian Ideas?—Greek and Christian Religion—Plastic Art +incapable of solving the Problem—A more Emotional Art needed—Place of +Sculpture in the Renaissance—Painting and Christian Story—Humanization +of Ecclesiastical Ideas by Art—Hostility of the Spirit of True Piety to +Art—Compromises effected by the Church—Fra Bartolommeo's S. +Sebastian—Irreconcilability of Art and Theology, Art and +Philosophy—Recapitulation—Art in the end Paganises—Music—The Future of +Painting after the Renaissance. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II--ARCHITECTURE</b></a><br> +<br> + +Architecture of Mediæval Italy—Milan, Genoa, Venice—The Despots as +Builders—Diversity of Styles—Local Influences—Lombard, Tuscan, +Romanesque, Gothic—Italian want of feeling for Gothic—Cathedrals of +Siena and Orvieto—Secular Buildings of the Middle Ages—Florence and +Venice—Private Palaces—Public Halls—Palazzo della Signoria at +Florence—Arnolfo di Cambio—S. Maria del Fiore—Brunelleschi's +Dome—Classical Revival in<a name="Page_-5"></a> Architecture—Roman Ruins—Three Periods in +Renaissance Architecture—Their Characteristics—Brunelleschi +—Alberti—Palace-building—Michellozzo—Decorative Work of the +Revival—Bramante—Vitoni's Church of the Umiltà at Pistoja—Palazzo del +Te—Villa Farnesina—Sansovino at Venice—Michael Angelo—The Building of +S. Peter's—Palladio—The Palazzo della Ragione at Vicenza—Lombard +Architects—Theorists and Students of Vitruvius—Vignola and +Scamozzi—European Influence of the Palladian Style—Comparison of +Scholars and Architects in relation to the Revival of Learning. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III--SCULPTURE</b></a><br> +<br> + +Niccola Pisano—Obscurity of the Sources for a History of Early Italian +Sculpture—Vasari's Legend of Pisano—Deposition from the Cross at +Lucca—Study of Nature and the Antique—Sarcophagus at Pisa—Pisan +Pulpit—Niccola's School—Giovanni Pisano—Pulpit in S. Andrea at +Pistoja—Fragments of his work at Pisa—Tomb of Benedict XI. at +Perugia—Bas-reliefs at Orvieto—Andrea Pisano—Relation of Sculpture to +Painting—Giotto—Subordination of Sculpture to Architecture in +Italy—Pisano's Influence in Venice—Balduccio of Pisa—Orcagna—The +Tabernacle of Orsammichele—The Gates of the Florentine Baptistery +—Competition of Ghiberti, Brunelleschi, and Della Quercia—Comparison +of Ghiberti's and Brunelleschi's Trial-pieces—Comparison of Ghiberti +and Della Quercia—The Bas-reliefs of S. Petronio—Ghiberti's +Education—His Pictorial Style in Bas-relief—His Feeling for the +Antique—Donatello—Early Visit to Rome—Christian Subjects—Realistic +Treatment—S. George and David—Judith—Equestrian Statue of +Gattamelata—Influence of Donatello's Naturalism—Andrea Verocchio—His +David—Statue of Colleoni—Alessandro Leopardi—Lionardo's Statue of +Francesco Sforza—The Pollajuoli—Tombs of Sixtus IV. and Innocent +VIII.—Luca della Robbia—His Treatment of Glazed Earthenware—Agostino +di Duccio—The Oratory of S. Bernardino at Perugia—Antonio +Rossellino—Matteo Civitali—Mino da Fiesole—Benedetto da +Majano—Characteristics and Masterpieces of this Group—Sepulchral +Monuments—Andrea Contucci's Tombs in S. Maria del Popolo—Desiderio da +Settignano—Sculpture in S. Francesco at Rimini—Venetian +Sculpture—<a name="Page_-4"></a>Verona—Guido Mazzoni of Modena—Certosa of Pavia—Colleoni +Chapel at Bergamo—Sansovino at Venice—Pagan Sculpture—Michael Angelo's +Scholars—Baccio Bandinelli—Bartolommeo Ammanati—Cellini—Gian +Bologna—Survey of the History of Renaissance Sculpture. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV--PAINTING</b></a><br><br> +Distribution of Artistic Gifts in Italy—Florence and Venice +—Classification by Schools—Stages in the Evolution of Painting—Cimabue +—The Rucellai Madonna—Giotto—His widespread Activity—The Scope of his +Art—Vitality—Composition—Colour—Naturalism—Healthiness—Frescoes at +Assisi and Padua—Legend of S. Francis—The Giotteschi—Pictures of the +Last Judgment—Orcagna in the Strozzi Chapel—Ambrogio Lorenzetti at +Pisa—Dogmatic Theology—Cappella degli Spagnuoli—Traini's "Triumph, +of S. Thomas Aquinas"—Political Doctrine expressed in Fresco—Sala della +Pace at Siena—Religious Art in Siena and Perugia—The Relation of the +Giottesque Painters to the Renaissance. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V--PAINTING</b></a><br><br> +Mediæval Motives exhausted—New Impulse toward Technical +Perfection—Naturalists in Painting—Intermediate Achievement needed +for the Great Age of Art—Positive Spirit of the Fifteenth +Century—Masaccio—The Modern Manner—Paolo Uccello—Perspective—Realistic +Painters—The Model—Piero della Francesca—His Study of Form—Resurrection +at Borgo San Sepolcro—Melozzo da Forli—Squarcione at Padua—Gentile da +Fabriano—Fra Angelico—Benozzo Gozzoli—His Decorative Style—Lippo +Lippi—Frescoes at Prato and Spoleto—Filippino Lippi—Sandro +Botticelli—His Value for the Student of Renaissance Fancy—His Feeling +for Mythology—Piero di Cosimo—Domenico Ghirlandajo—In what sense he +sums up the Age—Prosaic Spirit—Florence hitherto supreme in +Painting—Extension of Art Activity throughout Italy—Medicean Patronage.<a name="Page_-3"></a> +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI--PAINTING</b></a><br><br> +Two Periods in the True Renaissance—Andrea Mantegna—His Statuesque +Design—His Naturalism—Roman Inspiration—Triumph of Julius +Cæsar—Bas-reliefs—Luca Signorelli—The Precursor of Michael +Angelo—Anatomical Studies—Sense of Beauty—The Chapel of S. Brizio at +Orvieto—Its Arabesques and Medallions—Degrees in his Ideal—Enthusiasm +for Organic Life—Mode of treating Classical Subjects—Perugino—His +Pietistic Style—His Formalism—The Psychological Problem of his +Life—Perugino's Pupils—Pinturicchio—At Spello and Siena—Francia—Fra +Bartolommeo—Transition to the Golden Age—Lionardo da Vinci—The Magician +of the Renaissance—Raphael—The Melodist—Correggio—The Faun—Michael +Angelo—The Prophet. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII--VENETIAN PAINTING</b></a><br><br> +Painting bloomed late in Venice—Conditions offered by Venice to +Art—Shelley and Pietro Aretino—Political Circumstances of +Venice—Comparison with Florence—The Ducal Palace—Art regarded as an +adjunct to State Pageantry—Myth of Venezia—Heroic Deeds of +Venice—Tintoretto's Paradise and Guardi's Picture of a Ball—Early +Venetian Masters of Murano—Gian Bellini—Carpaccio's Little Angels—The +Madonna of S. Zaccaria—Giorgione—Allegory, Idyll, Expression of +Emotion—The Monk at the Clavichord—Titian, Tintoret, and +Veronese—Tintoretto's Attempt to dramatise Venetian Art—Veronese's +Mundane Splendour—Titian's Sophoclean Harmony—Their Schools—Further +Characteristics of Veronese—of Tintoretto—His Imaginative +Energy—Predominant Poetry—Titian's Perfection of Balance—Assumption of +Madonna—Spirit common to the great Venetians.<a name="Page_-2"></a> +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII--LIFE OF MICHAEL ANGELO</b></a><br><br> +Contrast of Michael Angelo and Cellini—Parentage and Boyhood of Michael +Angelo—Work with Ghirlandajo—Gardens of S. Marco—The Medicean +Circle—Early Essays in Sculpture—Visit to Bologna—First Visit to +Rome—The Pietà of S. Peter's—Michael Angelo as a Patriot and a friend of +the Medici—Cartoon for the Battle of Pisa—Michael Angelo and Julius +II.—The Tragedy of the Tomb—Design for the Pope's Mausoleum—Visit to +Carrara—Flight from Rome—Michael Angelo at Bologna—Bronze Statue of +Julius—Return to Rome—Ceiling of the Sistine Chapel—Greek and Modern +Art—Raphael—Michael Angelo and Leo X.—S. Lorenzo—The new +Sacristy—Circumstances under which it was designed and partly +finished—Meaning of the Allegories—Incomplete state of Michael Angelo's +Marbles—Paul III.—The "Last Judgment"—Critiques of Contemporaries—The +Dome of S. Peter's—Vittoria Colonna—Tommaso Cavalieri—Personal Habits +of Michael Angelo—His Emotional Nature—Last Illness. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX--LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI</b></a><br><br> +His Fame—His Autobiography—Its Value for the Student of History, +Manners, and Character in the Renaissance—Birth, Parentage, and +Boyhood—Flute-playing—Apprenticeship to Marcone—Wanderjahr—The +Goldsmith's Trade at Florence—Torrigiani and England—Cellini leaves +Florence for Rome—Quarrel with the Guasconti—Homicidal Fury—Cellini a +Law to Himself—Three Periods in his Manhood—Life in Rome—Diego at the +Banquet—Renaissance Feeling for Physical Beauty—Sack of Rome—Miracles +in Cellini's Life—His Affections—Murder of his Brother's +Assassin—Sanctuary—Pardon and Absolution—Incantation in the +Colosseum—First Visit to France—Adventures on the Way—Accused of +stealing Crown Jewels in Rome—Imprisonment in the Castle of S. +Angelo—The Governor—Cellini's Escape—His Visions—The Nature of his +Religion—<a name="Page_-1"></a>Second Visit to France—The Wandering Court—Le Petit +Nesle—Cellini in the French Law Courts—Scene at Fontainebleau—Return to +Florence—Cosimo de' Medici as a Patron—Intrigues of a Petty +Court—Bandinelli—The Duchess—Statue of Perseus—End of Cellini's +Life—Cellini and Machiavelli. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X--THE EPIGONI</b></a><br><br> +Full Development and Decline of Painting—Exhaustion of the old +Motives—Relation of Lionardo to his Pupils—His Legacy to the +Lombard School—Bernardino Luini—Gaudenzio Ferrari—The Devotion +of the Sacri Monti—The School of Raphael—Nothing left but +Imitation—Unwholesome Influences of Rome—Giulio Romano—Michael +Angelesque Mannerists—Misconception of Michael Angelo—Correggio founds +no School—Parmigianino—Macchinisti—The Bolognese—After-growth of Art in +Florence—Andrea del Sarto—His Followers—Pontormo—Bronzino—Revival of +Painting in Siena—Sodoma—His Influence on Pacchia, Beccafumi, +Peruzzi—Garofalo and Dosso Dossi at Ferrari—The Campi at +Cremona—Brescia and Bergamo—The Decadence in the second half of the +Sixteenth Century—The Counter-Reformation—Extinction of the Renaissance +Impulse. +<br><br><br> + <a href="#APPENDIX_I"><b>APPENDIX I—The Pulpits of Pisa and Ravello</b></a><br><br> + <a href="#APPENDIX_II"><b>APPENDIX II—Michael Angelo's Sonnets</b></a><br><br> + <a href="#APPENDIX_III"><b>APPENDIX III—Chronological Tables</b></a><br><br></h4> + +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_I"></a><h2><a name="Page_0"></a>CHAPTER I--THE PROBLEM FOR THE FINE ARTS</h2> + +<h4>Art in Italy and Greece—The Leading Phase of Culture—Æsthetic Type of +Literature—Painting the Supreme Italian Art—Its Task in the +Renaissance—Christian and Classical Traditions—Sculpture for the +Ancients—Painting for the Romance Nations—Mediæval Faith and +Superstition—The Promise of Painting—How far can the Figurative Arts +express Christian Ideas?—Greek and Christian Religion—Plastic Art +incapable of solving the Problem—A more Emotional Art needed—Place of +Sculpture in the Renaissance—Painting and Christian Story—Humanization +of Ecclesiastical Ideas by Art—Hostility of the Spirit of True Piety to +Art—Compromises effected by the Church—Fra Bartolommeo's S. +Sebastian—Irreconcilability of Art and Theology, Art and +Philosophy—Recapitulation—Art in the end Paganises—Music—The Future of +Painting after the Renaissance.</h4> + +<p>It has been granted only to two nations, the Greeks and the Italians, and +to the latter only at the time of the Renaissance, to invest every phase +and variety of intellectual energy with the form of art. Nothing notable +was produced in Italy between the thirteenth and the seventeenth centuries +that did not bear the stamp and character of fine art. If the methods of +science may be truly said to regulate our modes of thinking at the present +time, it is no less true that, during the Renaissance, art exercised a +like controlling influence. Not only was each department of the fine arts +practised with singular <a name="Page_1"></a>success; not only was the national genius to a +very large extent absorbed in painting, sculpture, and architecture; but +the æsthetic impulse was more subtly and widely diffused than this alone +would imply. It possessed the Italians in the very centre of their +intellectual vitality, imposing its conditions on all the manifestations +of their thought and feeling, so that even their shortcomings may be +ascribed in a great measure to their inability to quit the æsthetic point +of view.</p> + +<p>We see this in their literature. It is probable that none but artistic +natures will ever render full justice to the poetry of the Renaissance. +Critics endowed with a less lively sensibility to beauty of outline and to +harmony of form than the Italians, complain that their poetry lacks +substantial qualities; nor is it except by long familiarity with the +plastic arts of their contemporaries that we come to understand the ground +assumed by Ariosto and Poliziano. We then perceive that these poets were +not so much unable as instinctively unwilling to go beyond a certain +circle of effects. They subordinated their work to the ideal of their age, +and that ideal was one to which a painter rather than a poet might +successfully aspire. A succession of pictures, harmoniously composed and +delicately toned to please the mental eye, satisfied the taste of the +Italians. But, however exquisite in design, rich in colour, and complete +in execution this literary work may be, it strikes a Northern student as +wanting in the highest elements of genius—sublimity of imagination, +dramatic passion, energy and earnestness of purpose. In like manner, he +finds it hard to appreciate those didactic compositions on trifling or +prosaic themes, which delighted the Italians for the very reason that +their workmanship surpassed their matter. These defects, as we judge them, +are still more apparent in the graver branches of literature. In an essay +or a treatise we do not so much care for well-balanced disposition of +parts or beautifully rounded periods, though elegance may be thought +essential to classic <a name="Page_2"></a>masterpieces, as for weighty matter and trenchant +observations. Having the latter, we can dispense at need with the former. +The Italians of the Renaissance, under the sway of the fine arts, sought +after form, and satisfied themselves with rhetoric. Therefore we condemn +their moral disquisitions and their criticisms as the flimsy playthings of +intellectual voluptuaries. Yet the right way of doing justice to these +stylistic trifles is to regard them as products of an all-embracing genius +for art, in a people whose most serious enthusiasms were æsthetic.</p> + +<p>The speech of the Italians at that epoch, their social habits, their ideal +of manners, their standard of morality, the estimate they formed of men, +were alike conditioned and qualified by art. It was an age of splendid +ceremonies and magnificent parade, when the furniture of houses, the +armour of soldiers, the dress of citizens, the pomp of war, and the +pageantry of festival were invariably and inevitably beautiful. On the +meanest articles of domestic utility, cups and platters, door-panels and +chimney-pieces, coverlets for beds and lids of linen-chests, a wealth of +artistic invention was lavished by innumerable craftsmen, no less skilled +in technical details than distinguished by rare taste. From the Pope upon +S. Peter's chair to the clerks in a Florentine counting-house, every +Italian was a judge of art. Art supplied the spiritual oxygen, without +which the life of the Renaissance must have been atrophied. During that +period of prodigious activity the entire nation seemed to be endowed with +an instinct for the beautiful, and with the capacity for producing it in +every conceivable form. As we travel through Italy at the present day, +when "time, war, pillage, and purchase" have done their worst to denude +the country of its treasures, we still marvel at the incomparable and +countless beauties stored in every burgh and hamlet. Pacing the picture +galleries of Northern Europe, the country seats of English nobles, and the +palaces of Spain, the same reflection is still forced upon us: how could +Italy have <a name="Page_3"></a>done what she achieved within so short a space of time? What +must the houses and the churches once have been, from which these spoils +were taken, but which still remain so rich in masterpieces? +Psychologically to explain this universal capacity for the fine arts in +the nation at this epoch, is perhaps impossible. Yet the fact remains, +that he who would comprehend the Italians of the Renaissance must study +their art, and cling fast to that Ariadne-thread throughout the +labyrinthine windings of national character. He must learn to recognise +that herein lay the sources of their intellectual strength as well as the +secret of their intellectual weakness.</p> + +<p>It lies beyond the scope of this work to embrace in one inquiry the +different forms of art in Italy, or to analyse the connection of the +æsthetic instinct with the manifold manifestations of the Renaissance. +Even the narrower task to which I must confine myself, is too vast for the +limits I am forced to impose upon its treatment. I intend to deal with +Italian painting as the one complete product which remains from the +achievements of this period, touching upon sculpture and architecture more +superficially. Not only is painting the art in which the Italians among +all the nations of the modern world stand unapproachably alone, but it is +also the one that best enables us to gauge their genius at the time when +they impressed their culture on the rest of Europe. In the history of the +Italian intellect painting takes the same rank as that of sculpture in the +Greek. Before beginning, however, to trace the course of Italian art, it +will be necessary to discuss some preliminary questions, important for a +right understanding of the relations assumed by painting to the thoughts +of the Renaissance, and for explaining its superiority over the sister art +of sculpture in that age. This I feel the more bound to do because it is +my object in this volume to treat of art with special reference to the +general culture of the nation.</p><a name="Page_4"></a> + +<p>What, let us ask in the first place, was the task appointed for the fine +arts on the threshold of the modern world? They had, before all things, to +give form to the ideas evolved by Christianity, and to embody a class of +emotions unknown to the ancients.<a name="FNanchor2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> The inheritance of the Middle Ages +had to be appropriated and expressed. In the course of performing this +work, the painters helped to humanise religion, and revealed the dignity +and beauty of the body of man. Next, in the fifteenth century, the riches +of classic culture were discovered, and art was called upon to aid in the +interpretation of the ancient to the modern mind. The problem was no +longer simple. Christian and pagan traditions came into close contact, and +contended for the empire of the newly liberated intellect. During this +struggle the arts, true to their own principles, eliminated from both +traditions the more strictly human elements, and expressed them in +beautiful form to the imagination and the senses. The brush of the <a name="Page_5"></a>same +painter depicted Bacchus wedding Ariadne and Mary fainting on the hill of +Calvary. Careless of any peril to dogmatic orthodoxy, and undeterred by +the dread of encouraging pagan sensuality, the artists wrought out their +modern ideal of beauty in the double field of Christian and Hellenic +legend. Before the force of painting was exhausted, it had thus traversed +the whole cycle of thoughts and feelings that form the content of the +modern mind. Throughout this performance, art proved itself a powerful +co-agent in the emancipation of the intellect; the impartiality wherewith +its methods were applied to subjects sacred and profane, the emphasis laid +upon physical strength and beauty as good things and desirable, the +subordination of classical and mediæval myths to one æsthetic law of +loveliness, all tended to withdraw attention from the differences between +paganism and Christianity, and to fix it on the goodliness of that +humanity wherein both find their harmony.</p> + +<p>This being in general the task assigned to art in the Renaissance, we may +next inquire what constituted the specific quality of modern as +distinguished from antique feeling, and why painting could not fail to +take the first place among modern arts. In other words, how was it that, +while sculpture was the characteristic fine art of antiquity, painting +became the distinguishing fine art of the modern era? No true form of +figurative art intervened between Greek sculpture and Italian painting. +The latter took up the work of investing thought with sensible shape from +the dead hands of the former. Nor had the tradition that connected art +with religion been interrupted, although a new cycle of religious ideas +had been substituted for the old ones. The late Roman and Byzantine +manners, through which the vital energies of the Athenian genius dwindled +into barren formalism, still lingered, giving crude and lifeless form to +Christian conceptions. But the thinking and feeling subject, meanwhile, +had undergone a change so all-important that it now imperatively <a name="Page_6"></a>required +fresh channels for its self-expression. It was destined to find these, not +as of old in sculpture, but in painting.</p> + +<p>During the interval between the closing of the ancient and the opening of +the modern age, the faith of Christians had attached itself to symbols and +material objects little better than fetishes. The host, the relic, the +wonder-working shrine, things endowed with a mysterious potency, evoked +the yearning and the awe of medieval multitudes. To such concrete +actualities the worshippers referred their sense of the invisible +divinity. The earth of Jerusalem, the Holy Sepulchre, the House of Loreto, +the Sudarium of Saint Veronica, aroused their deepest sentiments of aweful +adoration. Like Thomas, they could not be contented with believing; they +must also touch and handle. At the same time, in apparent +contradistinction to this demand for things of sense as signs of +super-sensual power, the claims of dogma on the intellect grew more +imperious, and mysticism opened for the dreaming soul a realm of spiritual +rapture. For the figurative arts there was no true place in either of +these regions. Painting and sculpture were alike alien to the grosser +superstitions, the scholastic subtleties, and the ecstatic trances of the +Middle Ages; nor had they anything in common with the logic of theology. +Votaries who kissed a fragment of the cross with passion, could have found +but little to satisfy their ardour in pictures painted by a man of genius. +A formless wooden idol, endowed with the virtue of curing disease, charmed +the pilgrim more than a statue noticeable only for its beauty or its truth +to life. We all know that <i>wunderthätige Bilder sind meist nur schlechte +Gemälde</i>. In architecture alone, the mysticism of the Middle Ages, their +vague but potent feelings of infinity, their yearning towards a deity +invisible, but localised in holy things and places, found <a name="Page_7"></a>artistic +outlet. Therefore architecture was essentially a medieval art. The rise of +sculpture and painting indicated the quickening to life of new faculties, +fresh intellectual interests, and a novel way of apprehending the old +substance of religious feeling; for comprehension of these arts implies +delight in things of beauty for their own sake, a sympathetic attitude +towards the world of sense, a new freedom of the mind produced by the +regeneration of society through love.</p> + +<p>The mediæval faiths were still vivid when the first Italian painters began +their work, and the sincere endeavour of these men was to set forth in +beautiful and worthy form the truths of Christianity. The eyes of the +worshipper should no longer have a mere stock or stone to contemplate: his +imagination should be helped by the dramatic presentation of the scenes of +sacred history, and his devotion be quickened by lively images of the +passion of our Lord. Spirit should converse with spirit, through no veil +of symbol, but through the transparent medium of art, itself instinct with +inbreathed life and radiant with ideal beauty. The body and the soul, +moreover, should be reconciled; and God's likeness should be once more +acknowledged in the features and the limbs of man. Such was the promise of +art; and this promise was in a great measure fulfilled by the painting of +the fourteenth century. Men ceased to worship their God in the holiness of +ugliness; and a great city called its street Glad on the birthday-festival +of the first picture investing religious emotion with æsthetic charm. But +in making good the promise they had given, it was needful for the arts on +the one hand to enter a region not wholly their own—the region of +abstractions and of mystical conceptions; and on the other to create a +world of sensuous delightfulness, wherein the spiritual element was +materialised to the injury of its own essential quality. Spirit, indeed, +spake to spirit, so far as the <a name="Page_8"></a>religious content was concerned; but flesh +spake also to flesh in the æsthetic form. The incarnation promised by the +arts involved a corresponding sensuousness. Heaven was brought down to +earth, but at the cost of making men believe that earth itself was +heavenly.</p> + +<p>At this point the subject of our inquiry naturally divides into two main +questions. The first concerns the form of figurative art specially adapted +to the requirements of religious thought in the fourteenth century. The +second treats of the effect resulting both to art and religion from the +expression of mystical and theological conceptions in plastic form.</p> + +<p>When we consider the nature of the ideas assimilated in the Middle Ages by +the human mind, it is clear that art, in order to set them forth, demanded +a language the Greeks had never greatly needed, and had therefore never +fully learned. To over-estimate the difference from an æsthetic point of +view between the religious notions of the Greeks and those which +Christianity had made essential, would be difficult. Faith, hope, and +charity; humility, endurance, suffering; the Resurrection and the +Judgment; the Pall and the Redemption; Heaven and Hell; the height and +depth of man's mixed nature; the drama of human destiny before the throne +of God: into the sphere of thoughts like these, vivid and solemn, +transcending the region of sense and corporeity, carrying the mind away to +an ideal world, where the things of this earth obtained a new reality by +virtue of their relation to an invisible and infinite Beyond, the modern +arts in their infancy were thrust. There was nothing finite here or +tangible, no gladness in the beauty of girlish foreheads or the swiftness +of a young man's limbs, no simple idealisation of natural delightfulness. +The human body, which the figurative arts must needs use as the vehicle of +their expression, had ceased to have a value in and for itself, had ceased +to be the true and adequate investiture of thoughts <a name="Page_9"></a>demanded from the +artist. At best it could be taken only as the symbol of some inner +meaning, the shrine of an indwelling spirit nobler than itself; just as a +lamp of alabaster owes its beauty and its worth to the flame it more than +half conceals, the light transmitted through its scarce transparent walls.</p> + +<p>In ancient art those moral and spiritual qualities which the Greeks +recognised as truly human and therefore divine, allowed themselves to be +incarnated in well-selected types of physical perfection. The deities of +the Greek mythology were limited to the conditions of natural existence: +they were men and women of a larger mould and freer personality; less +complex, inasmuch as each completed some one attribute; less thwarted in +activity, inasmuch as no limit was assigned to exercise of power. The +passions and the faculties of man, analysed by unconscious psychology, and +deified by religious fancy, were invested by sculpture with appropriate +forms, the tact of the artist selecting corporeal qualities fitted to +impersonate the special character of each divinity. Nor was it possible +that, the gods and goddesses being what they were, exact analogues should +not be found for them in idealised humanity. In a Greek statue there was +enough soul to characterise the beauty of the body, to render her due meed +of wisdom to Pallas, to distinguish the swiftness of Hermes from the +strength of Heracles, or to contrast the virginal grace of Artemis with +the abundance of Aphrodite's charms. At the same time the spirituality +that gave its character to each Greek deity, was not such that, even in +thought, it could be dissociated from corporeal form. The Greeks thought +their gods as incarnate persons; and all the artist had to see to, was +that this incarnate personality should be impressive in his marble.</p> + +<p>Christianity, on the other hand, made the moral and spiritual nature of +man all-essential. It sprang from an <a name="Page_10"></a>earlier religion, that judged it +impious to give any form to God. The body and its terrestrial activity +occupied but a subordinate position in its system. It was the life of the +soul, separable from this frame of flesh, and destined to endure when +earth and all that it contains had ended—a life that upon this planet was +continued conflict and aspiring struggle—which the arts, insofar as they +became its instrument, were called upon to illustrate. It was the worship +of a Deity, all spirit, to be sought on no one sacred hill, to be adored +in no transcendent shape, that they were bound to heighten. The most +highly prized among the Christian virtues had no necessary connection with +beauty of feature or strength of limb. Such beauty and such strength at +any rate were accidental, not essential. A Greek faun could not but be +graceful; a Greek hero was of necessity vigorous. But S. Stephen might be +steadfast to the death without physical charm; S. Anthony might put to +flight the devils of the flesh without muscular force. It is clear that +the radiant physical perfection proper to the deities of Greek sculpture +was not sufficient in this sphere.</p> + +<p>Again, the most stirring episodes of the Christian mythology involved pain +and perturbation of the spirit; the victories of the Christian athletes +were won in conflicts carried on within their hearts and souls—"For we +wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and +powers," demoniac leaders of spiritual legions. It is, therefore, no less +clear that the tranquillity and serenity of the Hellenic ideal, so +necessary to consummate sculpture, was here out of place. How could the +Last Judgment, that day of wrath, when every soul, however insignificant +on earth, will play the first part for one moment in an awful tragedy, be +properly expressed in plastic form, harmonious and pleasing? And supposing +that the artist should abandon the attempt to exclude ugliness and +discord, pain and confusion, from his representation of the <i>Dies Iræ</i>, +<a name="Page_11"></a>how could he succeed in setting forth by the sole medium of the human +body the anxiety and anguish of the soul at such a time? The physical +form, instead of being adequate to the ideas expressed, and therefore +helpful to the artist, is a positive embarrassment, a source of weakness. +The most powerful pictorial or sculpturesque delineation of the Judgment, +when compared with the pangs inflicted on the spirit by a guilty +conscience, pangs whereof words may render some account, but which can +find no analogue in writhings of the limbs or face, must of necessity be +found a failure. Still more impossible, if we pursue this train of thought +into another region, is it for the figurative arts to approach the +Christian conception of God in His omnipotence and unity. Christ Himself, +the central figure of the Christian universe, the desired of all nations, +in whom the Deity assumed a human form and dwelt with men, is no fit +subject for such art at any rate as the Greeks had perfected. The fact of +His incarnation brought Him indeed within the proper sphere of the fine +arts; but the religious idea which He represents removed Him beyond the +reach of sculpture. This is an all-important consideration. It is to this +that our whole argument is tending. Therefore to enlarge upon this point +will not be useless.</p> + +<p>Christ is specially adored in His last act of love on Calvary; and how +impossible it is to set that forth consistently with the requirements of +strictly plastic art, may be gathered by comparing the passion of S. +Bernard's Hymn to our Lord upon the Cross with all that Winckelmann and +Hegel have so truly said about the restrained expression, dignified +generality, and harmonious beauty essential to sculpture. It is the +negation of tranquillity, the excess of feeling, the absence of +comeliness, the contrast between visible weakness and invisible +omnipotence, the physical humiliation voluntarily suffered by Him that +"ruled over all the angels, that walked on the pavements <a name="Page_12"></a>of heaven, whose +feet were clothed with stars"—it is all this that gives their force and +pathos to these stanzas:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Omnis vigor atque viror</p> +<p>Hinc recessit; non admiror:</p> +<p>Mors apparet in inspectu,</p> +<p>Totus pendens in defectu,</p> +<p class="i4">Attritus ægrâ macie.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Sic affectus, sic despectus,</p> +<p>Propter me sic interfectus,</p> +<p>Peccatori tam indigno</p> +<p>Cum amoris in te signo</p> +<p class="i4">Appare clarâ facie<a name="FNanchor3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3"><sup>[3]</sup></a>.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>We have never heard that Pheidias or Praxiteles chose Prometheus upon +Caucasus for the supreme display of his artistic skill; and even the +anguish expressed in the group of the Laocoon is justly thought to violate +the laws of antique sculpture. Yet here was a greater than Prometheus—one +who had suffered more, and on whose suffering the salvation of the human +race depended, to exclude whom from the sphere of representation in art +was the same as confessing the utter impotence of art to grasp the vital +thought of modern faith. It is clear that the muses of the new age had to +haunt Calvary instead of Helicon, slaking their thirst at no Castalian +spring, but at the fount of tears outpoured by all creation for a stricken +God. What Hellas had achieved supplied no norm or method for the arts in +this new service.</p> +<a name="Page_13"></a> +<p>From what has hitherto been advanced, we may assert with confidence that, +if the arts were to play an important part in Christian culture, an art +was imperatively demanded that should be at home in the sphere of intense +feeling, that should treat the body as the interpreter and symbol of the +soul, and should not shrink from pain and passion. How far the fine arts +were at all qualified to express the essential thoughts of Christianity—a +doubt suggested in the foregoing paragraphs—and how far, through their +proved inadequacy to perform this task completely, they weakened the hold +of mediæval faiths upon the modern mind, are questions to be raised +hereafter. For the present it is enough to affirm that, least of all the +arts, could sculpture, with its essential repose and its dependence on +corporeal conditions, solve the problem. Sculpture had suited the +requirements of Greek thought. It belonged by right to men who not +unwillingly accepted the life of this world as final, and who worshipped +in their deities the incarnate personality of man made perfect. But it +could not express the cycle of Christian ideas. The desire of a better +world, the fear of a worse; the sense of sin referred to physical +appetites, and the corresponding mortification of the flesh; hope, +ecstasy, and penitence and prayer; all these imply contempt or hatred for +the body, suggest notions too spiritual to be conveyed by the rounded +contours of beautiful limbs, too full of struggle for statuesque +tranquillity. The new element needed a more elastic medium of expression. +Motives more varied, gradations of sentiment more delicate, the fugitive +and transient phases of emotion, the inner depths of consciousness, had +somehow to be seized. It was here that painting asserted its supremacy. +Painting is many degrees further removed than sculpture from dependence on +the body in the fulness of its physical proportions. It touches our +sensibilities by suggestions more indirect, more mobile, and more +multiform. Colour and shadow, aërial perspective and complicated grouping, +<a name="Page_14"></a>denied to sculpture, but within the proper realm of painting, have their +own significance, their real relation to feelings vaguer, but not less +potent, than those which find expression in the simple human form. To +painting, again, belongs the play of feature, indicative of internal +movement, through a whole gamut of modulations inapprehensible by +sculpture. All that drapery by its partial concealment of the form it +clothes, and landscape by its sympathies with human sentiment, may supply +to enhance the passion of the spectator, pertains to painting. This art, +therefore, owing to the greater variety of means at its disposal, and its +greater adequacy to express emotion, became the paramount Italian art.</p> + +<p>To sculpture in the Renaissance, shorn of the divine right to create gods +and heroes, was left the narrower field of decoration, portraiture, and +sepulchral monuments. In the last of these departments it found the +noblest scope for its activity; for beyond the grave, according to +Christian belief, the account of the striving, hoping, and resisting soul +is settled. The corpse upon the bier may bear the stamp of spiritual +character impressed on it in life; but the spirit, with its struggle and +its passion, has escaped as from a prison-house, and flown else-whither. +The body of the dead man, for whom this world is over, and who sleeps in +peace, awaiting resurrection, and thereby not wholly dead, around whose +tomb watch sympathising angels or contemplative genii, was, therefore, the +proper subject for the highest Christian sculpture. Here, if anywhere, the +right emotion could be adequately expressed in stone, and the moulded form +be made the symbol of repose, expectant of restored activity. The greatest +sculptor of the modern age was essentially a poet of Death.</p> + +<p>Painting, then, for the reasons already assigned and insisted on, was the +art demanded by the modern intellect upon its emergence from the stillness +of the Middle Ages. The problem, however, even for the art of painting was +not simple.<a name="Page_15"></a> The painters, following the masters of mosaic, began by +setting forth the history, mythology, and legends of the Christian Church +in imagery freer and more beautiful than lay within the scope of treatment +by Romanesque or Byzantine art. So far their task was comparatively easy; +for the idyllic grace of maternal love in the Madonna, the pathetic +incidents of martyrdom, the courage of confessors, the ecstasies of +celestial joy in redeemed souls, the loveliness of a pure life in modest +virgins, and the dramatic episodes of sacred story, furnish a multitude of +motives admirably pictorial. There was, therefore, no great obstacle upon +the threshold, so long as artists gave their willing service to the +Church. Yet, looking back upon this phase of painting, we are able to +perceive that already the adaptation of art to Christian dogma entailed +concessions on both sides. Much, on the one hand, had to be omitted from +the programme offered to artistic treatment, for the reason that the fine +arts could not deal with it at all. Much, on the other hand, had to be +expressed by means which painting in a state of perfect freedom would +repudiate. Allegorical symbols, like Prudence with two faces, and painful +episodes of agony and anguish, marred her work of beauty. There was +consequently a double compromise, involving a double sacrifice of +something precious. The faith suffered by having its mysteries brought +into the light of day, incarnated in form, and humanised. Art suffered by +being forced to render intellectual abstractions to the eye through +figured symbols.</p> + +<p>As technical skill increased, and as beauty, the proper end of art, became +more rightly understood, the painters found that their craft was worthy of +being made an end in itself, and that the actualities of life observed +around them had claims upon their genius no less weighty than dogmatic +mysteries. The subjects they had striven at first to realise with all +simplicity now became little better than vehicles for the <a name="Page_16"></a>display of +sensuous beauty, science, and mundane pageantry. The human body received +separate and independent study, as a thing in itself incomparably +beautiful, commanding more powerful emotions by its magic than aught else +that sways the soul. At the same time the external world, with all its +wealth of animal and vegetable life, together with the works of human +ingenuity in costly clothing and superb buildings, was seen to be in every +detail worthy of most patient imitation. Anatomy and perspective taxed the +understanding of the artist, whose whole force was no longer devoted to +the task of bringing religious ideas within the limits of the +representable. Next, when the classical revival came into play, the arts, +in obedience to the spirit of the age, left the sphere of sacred subjects, +and employed their full-grown faculties in the domain of myths and Pagan +fancies. In this way painting may truly be said to have opened the new era +of culture, and to have first manifested the freedom of the modern mind. +When Luca Signorelli drew naked young men for a background to his picture +of Madonna and the infant Christ, he created for the student a symbol of +the attitude assumed by fine art in its liberty of outlook over the whole +range of human interests. Standing before this picture in the Uffizzi, we +feel that the Church, while hoping to adorn her cherished dogmas with +æsthetic beauty, had encouraged a power antagonistic to her own, a power +that liberated the spirit she sought to enthral, restoring to mankind the +earthly paradise from which monasticism had expelled it.</p> + +<p>Not to diverge at this point, and to entertain the difficult problem of +the relation of the fine arts to Christianity, would be to shrink from the +most thorny question offered to the understanding by the history of the +Renaissance. On the very threshold of the matter I am bound to affirm my +conviction that the spiritual purists of all ages—the Jews, the +iconoclasts of Byzantium, Savonarola, and our Puritan <a name="Page_17"></a>ancestors—were +justified in their mistrust of plastic art. The spirit of Christianity and +the spirit of figurative art are opposed, not because such art is immoral, +but because it cannot free itself from sensuous associations<a name="FNanchor4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4"><sup>[4]</sup></a>. It is +always bringing us back to the dear life of earth, from which the faith +would sever us. It is always reminding us of the body which piety bids us +to forget. Painters and sculptors glorify that which saints and ascetics +have mortified. The masterpieces of Titian and Correggio, for example, +lead the soul away from compunction, away from penitence, away from +worship even, to dwell on the delight of youthful faces, blooming colour, +graceful movement, delicate emotion<a name="FNanchor5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5"><sup>[5]</sup></a>. Nor is this all: religious motives +may be misused for what is worse than merely sensuous suggestiveness. The +masterpieces of the Bolognese and Neapolitan painters, while they pretend +to quicken compassion for martyrs in their agony, pander to a bestial +blood-lust lurking in the darkest chambers of the soul<a name="FNanchor6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6"><sup>[6]</sup></a>. Therefore it is +that piety, whether the piety of monastic Italy or of Puritan England, +turns from these æsthetic triumphs as from something alien to itself. When +the worshipper would fain ascend on wings of ecstasy to God, the infinite, +ineffable, unrealised, how can he endure the contact of those splendid +forms, in which the lust of the eye and the pride of life, professing to +subserve devotion, remind <a name="Page_18"></a>him rudely of the goodliness of sensual +existence? Art, by magnifying human beauty, contradicts these Pauline +maxims: "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain;" "Set your +affections on things above, not on things on earth;" "Your life is hid +with Christ in God." The sublimity and elevation it gives to carnal +loveliness are themselves hostile to the spirit that holds no truce or +compromise of traffic with the flesh. As displayed in its most perfect +phases, in Greek sculpture and Venetian painting, art dignifies the actual +mundane life of man; but Christ, in the language of uncompromising piety, +means everything most alien to this mundane life—self-denial, abstinence +from fleshly pleasure, the waiting for true bliss beyond the grave, +seclusion even from social and domestic ties. "He that loveth father and +mother more than me, is not worthy of me," "He that taketh not his cross +and followeth me, is not worthy of me." It is needful to insist upon these +extremest sentences of the New Testament, because upon them was based the +religious practice of the Middle Ages, more sincere in their determination +to fulfil the letter and embrace the spirit of the Gospel than any +succeeding age has been.<a name="FNanchor7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7"><sup>[7]</sup></a></p> + +<p>If, then, there really exists this antagonism between fine art glorifying +human life and piety contemning it, how came it, we may ask, that even in +the Middle Ages the Church hailed art as her coadjutor? The answer lies in +this, that the Church has always compromised. The movement of the modern +world, upon the close of the Middle Ages, offered the Church a compromise, +which it would have been difficult to refuse, and in which she perceived +art first no peril to her dogmas. When the conflict of the first few +centuries of Christianity had ended in her triumph, she began to mediate +between asceticism and the world. Intent on absorbing all existent +elements of life and power, she conformed her <a name="Page_19"></a>system to the Roman type, +established her service in basilicas and Pagan temples, adopted portions +of the antique ritual, and converted local genii into saints. At the same +time she utilised the spiritual forces of monasticism, and turned the +mystic impulse of ecstatics to account. The Orders of the Preachers and +the Begging Friars became her militia and police; the mystery of Christ's +presence in the Eucharist was made an engine of the priesthood; the dreams +of Paradise and Purgatory gave value to her pardons, interdictions, +jubilees, indulgences, and curses. In the Church the spirit of the +cloister and the spirit of the world found neutral ground, and to the +practical accommodation between these hostile elements she owed her wide +supremacy. The Christianity she formed and propagated was different from +that of the New Testament, inasmuch as it had taken up into itself a mass +of mythological anthropomorphic elements. Thus transmuted and +materialised, thus accepted by the vivid faith of an unquestioning +populace, Christianity offered a proper medium for artistic activity. The +whole first period of Italian painting was occupied with the endeavour to +set forth in form and colour the popular conceptions of a faith at once +unphilosophical and unspiritual, beautiful and fit for art by reason of +the human elements it had assumed into its substance. It was natural, +therefore, that the Church should show herself indulgent to the arts, +which were effecting in their own sphere what she had previously +accomplished, though purists and ascetics, holding fast by the original +spirit of their creed, might remain irreconcilably antagonistic to their +influence. The Reformation, on the contrary, rejecting the whole mass of +compromises sanctioned by the Church, and returning to the elemental +principles of the faith, was no less naturally opposed to fine arts, +which, after giving sensuous form to Catholic mythology, had recently +attained to liberty and brought again the gods of Greece.</p><a name="Page_20"></a> + +<p>A single illustration might be selected from the annals of Italian +painting to prove how difficult even the holiest-minded and most earnest +painter found it to effect the proper junction between plastic beauty and +pious feeling. Fra Bartolommeo, the disciple of Savonarola, painted a +Sebastian in the cloister of S. Marco, where it remained until the +Dominican confessors became aware, through the avowals of female +penitents, that this picture was a stumbling-block and snare to souls. It +was then removed, and what became of it we do not know for certain. Fra +Bartolommeo undoubtedly intended this ideal portrait of the martyr to be +edifying. S. Sebastian was to stand before the world as the young man, +strong and beautiful, who endured to the end and won the crown of +martyrdom. No other ideas but those of heroism, constancy, or faith were +meant to be expressed; but the painter's art demanded that their +expression should be eminently beautiful, and the beautiful body of the +young man distracted attention from his spiritual virtues to his physical +perfections. A similar maladjustment of the means of plastic art to the +purposes of religion would have been impossible in Hellas, where the +temples of Eros and of Phoebus stood side by side; but in Christian +Florence the craftsman's skill sowed seeds of discord in the souls of the +devout<a name="FNanchor8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8"><sup>[8]</sup></a>.</p> + +<p>This story is but a coarse instance of the separation between piety and +plastic art. In truth, the difficulty of uniting them in such a way that +the latter shall enforce the former, lies far deeper than its powers of +illustration reach. Religion has its proper end in contemplation and in +conduct. Art aims at presenting sensuous embodiment of thoughts and +feelings with <a name="Page_21"></a>a view to intellectual enjoyment. Now, many thoughts are +incapable of sensuous embodiment; they appear as abstractions to the +philosophical intellect or as dogmas to the theological understanding. To +effect an alliance between art and philosophy or art and theology in the +specific region of either religion or speculation is, therefore, an +impossibility. In like manner there are many feelings which cannot +properly assume a sensuous form; and these are precisely religious +feelings, in which the soul abandons sense, and leaves the actual world +behind, to seek her freedom in a spiritual region.<a name="FNanchor9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> Yet, while we +recognise the truth of this reasoning, it would be unscientific to +maintain that, until they are brought into close and inconvenient contact, +there is direct hostility between religion and the arts. The sphere of the +two is separate; their aims are distinct; they must be allowed to perfect +themselves, each after its own fashion. In the large philosophy of human +nature, represented by Goethe's famous motto, there is room for both, +because those who embrace it bend their natures neither wholly to the +pietism of the cloister nor to the sensuality of art. They find the +meeting-point of art and of religion in their own humanity, and perceive +that the antagonism of the two begins when art is set to do work alien to +its nature, and to minister to what it does not naturally serve.</p> + +<p>At the risk of repetition I must now resume the points I have attempted to +establish in this chapter. As in ancient Greece, so also in Renaissance +Italy, the fine arts assumed the first place in the intellectual culture +of the nation. But the thought and feeling of the modern world required an +æsthetic medium more capable of expressing emotion in its intensity, +<a name="Page_22"></a>variety, and subtlety than sculpture. Therefore painting was the art of +arts for Italy. Yet even painting, notwithstanding the range and wealth of +its resources, could not deal with the motives of Christianity so +successfully as sculpture with the myths of Paganism. The religion it +interpreted transcended the actual conditions of humanity, while art is +bound down by its nature to the limitations of the world we live in. The +Church imagined art would help her; and within a certain sphere of +subjects, by vividly depicting Scripture histories and the lives of +saints, by creating new types of serene beauty and pure joy, by giving +form to angelic beings, by interpreting Mariolatry in all its charm and +pathos, and by rousing deep sympathy with our Lord in His Passion, +painting lent efficient aid to piety. Yet painting had to omit the very +pith and kernel of Christianity as conceived by devout, uncompromising +purists. Nor did it do what the Church would have desired. Instead of +riveting the fetters of ecclesiastical authority, instead of enforcing +mysticism and asceticism, it really restored to humanity the sense of its +own dignity and beauty, and helped to proved the untenability of the +mediæval standpoint; for art is essentially and uncontrollably free, and, +what is more, is free precisely in that realm of sensuous delightfulness +from which cloistral religion turns aside to seek her own ecstatic liberty +of contemplation.</p> + +<p>The first step in the emancipation of the modern mind was taken thus by +art, proclaiming to men the glad tidings of their goodliness and greatness +in a world of manifold enjoyment created for their use. Whatever painting +touched, became by that touch human; piety, at the lure of art, folded her +soaring wings and rested on the genial earth. This the Church had not +foreseen. Because the freedom of the human spirit expressed itself in +painting only under visible images, and not, like heresy, in abstract +sentences; because this art sufficed for Mariolatry and confirmed the cult +of local saints; <a name="Page_23"></a>because its sensuousness was not at variance with a +creed that had been deeply sensualised—the painters were allowed to run +their course unchecked. Then came a second stage in their development of +art. By placing the end of their endeavour in technical excellence and +anatomical accuracy, they began to make representation an object in +itself, independently of its spiritual significance. Next, under the +influence of the classical revival, they brought home again the old powers +of the earth—Aphrodite and Galatea and the Loves, Adonis and Narcissus +and the Graces, Phoebus and Daphne and Aurora, Pan and the Fauns, and the +Nymphs of the woods and the waves.</p> + +<p>When these dead deities rose from their sepulchres to sway the hearts of +men in the new age, it was found that something had been taken from their +ancient bloom of innocence, something had been added of emotional +intensity. Italian art recognised their claim to stand beside Madonna and +the Saints in the Pantheon of humane culture; but the painters re-made +them in accordance with the modern spirit. This slight touch of +transformation proved that, though they were no longer objects of +religious devotion, they still preserved a vital meaning for an altered +age. Having personified for the antique world qualities which, though +suppressed and ignored by militant and mediæval Christianity, were +strictly human, the Hellenic deities still signified those qualities for +modern Europe, now at length re-fortified by contact with the ancient +mind. For it is needful to remember that in all movements of the +Renaissance we ever find a return in all sincerity and faith to the glory +and gladness of nature, whether in the world without or in the soul of +man. To apprehend that glory and that gladness with the pure and primitive +perceptions of the early mythopoets, was not given to the men of the new +world. Yet they did what in them lay, with senses sophisticated by many +centuries of subtlest warping, to replace the first, free joy of kinship +with primeval things. For the painters, far <a name="Page_24"></a>more than for the poets of +the sixteenth century, it was possible to reproduce a thousand forms of +beauty, each attesting to the delightfulness of physical existence, to the +inalienable rights of natural desire, and to the participation of mankind +in pleasures held in common by us with the powers of earth and sea and +air.</p> + +<p>It is wonderful to watch the blending of elder and of younger forces in +this process. The old gods lent a portion of their charm even to Christian +mythology, and showered their beauty-bloom on saints who died renouncing +them. Sodoma's Sebastian is but Hyacinth or Hylas, transpierced with +arrows, so that pain and martyrdom add pathos to his poetry of +youthfulness. Lionardo's S. John is a Faun of the forest, ivy-crowned and +laughing, on whose lips the word "Repent" would be a gleeful paradox. For +the painters of the full Renaissance, Roman martyrs and Olympian +deities—the heroes of the <i>Acta Sanctorum</i>, and the heroes of Greek +romance—were alike burghers of one spiritual city, the city of the +beautiful and human. What exquisite and evanescent fragrance was educed +from these apparently diverse blossoms by their interminglement and +fusion—how the high-wrought sensibilities of the Christian were added to +the clear and radiant fancies of the Greek, and how the frank sensuousness +of the Pagan gave body and fulness to the floating wraiths of an ascetic +faith—remains a miracle for those who, like our master Lionardo, love to +scrutinise the secrets of twin natures and of double graces. There are not +a few for whom the mystery is repellent, who shrink from it as from +Hermaphroditus. These will always find something to pain them in the art +of the Renaissance.</p> + +<p>Having co-ordinated the Christian and Pagan traditions in its work of +beauty, painting could advance no farther. The stock of its sustaining +motives was exhausted. A problem that preoccupied the minds of thinking +men at this epoch <a name="Page_25"></a>was how to harmonise the two chief moments of human +culture, the classical and the ecclesiastical. Without being as conscious +of their hostility as we are, men felt that the Pagan ideal was opposed to +the Christian, and at the same time that a reconciliation had to be +effected. Each had been worked out separately; but both were needed for +the modern synthesis. All that æsthetic handling, in this region more +precocious and more immediately fruitful than pure thought, could do +towards mingling them, was done by the impartiality of the fine arts. +Painting, in the work of Raphael, accomplished a more vital harmony than +philosophy in the writings of Pico and Ficino. A new Catholicity, a +cosmopolitan orthodoxy of the beautiful, was manifested in his pictures. +It lay outside his power, or that of any other artist, to do more than to +extract from both revelations the elements of plastic beauty they +contained, and to show how freely he could use them for a common purpose. +Nothing but the scientific method can in the long run enable us to reach +that further point, outside both Christianity and Paganism, at which the +classical ideal of a temperate and joyous natural life shall be restored +to the conscience educated by the Gospel. This, perchance, is the +religion, still unborn or undeveloped, whereof Joachim of Flora dimly +prophesied when he said that the kingdom of the Father was past, the +kingdom of the Son was passing, and the kingdom of the Spirit was to be. +The essence of it is contained in the whole growth to usward of the human +mind; and though a creed so highly intellectualised as that will be, can +never receive adequate expression from the figurative arts, still the +painting of the sixteenth century forms for it, as it were, a not unworthy +vestibule. It does so, because it first succeeded in humanising the +religion of the Middle Ages, in proclaiming the true value of antique +paganism for the modern mind, and in making both subserve the purposes of +free and unimpeded art.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, at the moment when painting was about to <a name="Page_26"></a>be exhausted, a new +art had arisen, for which it remained, within the æsthetic sphere, to +achieve much that painting could not do. When the cycle of Christian ideas +had been accomplished by the painters, and when the first passion for +antiquity had been satisfied, it was given at last to Music to express the +soul in all its manifold feeling and complexity of movement. In music we +see the point of departure where art leaves the domain of myths, Christian +as well as Pagan, and occupies itself with the emotional activity of man +alone, and for its own sake. Melody and harmony, disconnected from words, +are capable of receiving most varied interpretations, so that the same +combinations of sound express the ecstasies of earthly and of heavenly +love, conveying to the mind of the hearer only that element of pure +passion which is the primitive and natural ground-material of either. They +give distinct form to moods of feeling as yet undetermined; or, as the +Italians put it, <i>la musica è il lamento dell' amore o la preghiera a gli +dei</i>. This, combined with its independence of all corporeal conditions, +fenders music the true exponent of the spirit in its freedom, and +therefore the essentially modern art.</p> + +<p>For Painting, after the great work accomplished during the Renaissance, +when the painters ran through the whole domain of thought within the scope +of that age, there only remained portraiture, history, dramatic incident, +landscape, <i>genre</i>, still life, and animals. In these spheres the art is +still exercised, and much good work, undoubtedly, is annually produced by +European painters. But painting has lost its hold upon the centre of our +intellectual activity. It can no longer give form to the ideas that at the +present epoch rule the modern world. These ideas are too abstract, too +much a matter of the understanding, to be successfully handled by the +figurative arts; and it cannot be too often or too emphatically stated +that these arts produce nothing really great and <a name="Page_27"></a>universal in relation to +the spirit of their century, except by a process analogous to the +mythopoetic. With conceptions incapable of being sensuously apprehended, +with ideas that lose their value when they are incarnated, they have no +power to deal. As meteors become luminous by traversing the grosser +element of our terrestrial atmosphere, so the thoughts that art employs +must needs immerse themselves in sensuousness. They must be of a nature to +gain rather than to suffer by such immersion; and they must make a direct +appeal to minds habitually apt to think in metaphors and myths. Of this +sort are all religious ideas at a certain stage of their development, and +this attitude at certain moments of history is adopted by the popular +consciousness. We have so far outgrown it, have so completely exchanged +mythology for curiosity, and metaphor for science, that the necessary +conditions for great art are wanting. Our deepest thoughts about the world +and God are incapable of personification by any æsthetic process; they +never enter that atmosphere wherein alone they could become through fine +art luminous. For the painter, who is the form-giver, they have ceased to +be shining stars, and are seen as opaque stones; and though divinity be in +them, it is a deity that refuses the investiture of form.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor2">[2]</a><div class="note"><p> It may fairly be questioned whether that necessary connection +between art and religion, which is commonly taken for granted, does in +truth exist; in other words, whether great art might not flourish without +any religious content. This, however, is a speculative problem, for +present and the future rather than the past. Historically, it has always +been found that the arts in their origin are dependent on religion. Nor is +the reason far to seek. Art aims at expressing an ideal; and this ideal is +the transfiguration of human elements into something nobler, felt and +apprehended by the imagination. Such an ideal, such an all-embracing +glorification of humanity only exists for simple and unsophisticated +societies in the form of religion. Religion is the universal poetry which +all possess; and the artist, dealing with the mythology of his national +belief, feels himself in vital sympathy with the imagination of the men +for whom he works. More than the painter is required for the creation of +great painting, and more than the poet for the exhibition of immortal +verse. Painters are but the hands, and poets but the voices, whereby +peoples express their accumulated thoughts and permanent emotions. Behind +them crowd the generations of the myth-makers; and around them floats the +vital atmosphere of enthusiasms on which their own souls and the souls of +their brethren have been nourished.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor3">[3]</a><div class="note"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>All Thy strength and bloom are faded:</p> +<p>Who hath thus Thy state degraded?</p> +<p>Death upon Thy form is written;</p> +<p>See the wan worn limbs, the smitten</p> +<p class="i4">Breast upon the cruel tree!</p> +<br> +<p>Thus despised and desecrated,</p> +<p>Thus in dying desolated,</p> +<p>Slain for me, of sinners vilest,</p> +<p>Loving Lord, on me Thou smilest:</p> +<p class="i4">Shine, bright face, and strengthen me!</p> +</div></div> +<br> +</div> + +<a name="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor4">[4]</a><div class="note"><p> I am aware that many of my readers will demur that I am +confounding Christianity with ascetic or monastic Christianity; yet I +cannot read the New Testament, the <i>Imitatio Christi</i>, the <i>Confessions</i> +of S. Augustine, and the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i> without feeling that +Christianity in its origin, and as understood by its chief champions, was +and is ascetic. Of this Christianity I therefore speak, not of the +philosophised Christianity, which is reasonably regarded with suspicion by +the orthodox and the uncompromising. It was, moreover, with Christianity +of this primitive type that the arts came first into collision.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor5">[5]</a><div class="note"><p> Titian's "Assumption of the Virgin" at Venice, Correggio's +"Coronation of the Virgin" at Parma.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor6">[6]</a><div class="note"><p> Domenichino, Guido, Ribera, Salvator Rosa.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor7">[7]</a><div class="note"><p> Not to quote again the <i>Imitatio Christi,</i> it is enough to +allude to S. Francis as shown in the <i>Fioretti</i>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor8">[8]</a><div class="note"><p> The difficulty of combining the true spirit of piety with the +ideal of natural beauty in art was strongly felt by Savonarola. Rio +(<i>L'Art chrétien</i>, vol. ii. pp. 422-426) has written eloquently on this +subject, but without making it plain how Savonarola's condemnation of life +studies from the nude could possibly have been other than an obstacle to +the liberal and scientific prosecution of the art of painting.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor9">[9]</a><div class="note"><p> See Rio, <i>L'Art chrétien,</i> vol. ii. chap. xi. pp. 319-327, +for an ingenious defence of mystic art. The tales he tells of Bernardino +da Siena and the blessed Umiliana will not win the sympathy of Teutonic +Christians, who must believe that semi-sensuous, semi-pious raptures, like +those described by S. Catherine of Siena and S. Theresa, have something in +them psychologically morbid.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_II"></a><h2><a name="Page_28"></a>CHAPTER II--ARCHITECTURE</h2> + +<h4>Architecture of Mediæval Italy—Milan, Genoa, Venice—The Despots as +Builders—Diversity of Styles—Local Influences—Lombard, Tuscan, +Romanesque, Gothic—Italian want of feeling for Gothic—Cathedrals of +Siena and Orvieto—Secular Buildings of the Middle Ages—Florence and +Venice—Private Palaces—Public Halls—Palazzo della Signoria at +Florence—Arnolfo di Cambio—S. Maria del Fiore—Brunelleschi's +Dome—Classical Revival in Architecture—Roman Ruins—Three Periods in +Renaissance Architecture—Their Characteristics—Brunelleschi +—Alberti—Palace-building—Michellozzo—Decorative Work of the +Revival—Bramante—Vitoni's Church of the Umiltà at Pistoja—Palazzo del +Te—Villa Farnesina—Sansovino at Venice—Michael Angelo—The Building of +S. Peter's—Palladio—The Palazzo della Ragione at Vicenza—Lombard +Architects—Theorists and Students of Vitruvius—Vignola and +Scamozzi—European Influence of the Palladian Style—Comparison of +Scholars and Architects in relation to the Revival of Learning.</h4> + +<p>Architecture is always the first of the fine arts to emerge from barbarism +in the service of religion and of civic life. A house, as Hegel says, must +be built for the god, before the image of the god, carved in stone or +figured in mosaic, can be placed there. Council chambers must be prepared +for the senate of a State before the national achievements can be painted +on the walls. Thus Italy, before the age of the Renaissance proper, found +herself provided with churches and palaces, which were destined in the +fifteenth and sixteenth centuries to be adorned with frescoes and statues.</p> + +<p>It was in the middle of the thirteenth century, during the long struggle +for independence carried on by the republics of<a name="Page_29"></a> Lombardy and Tuscany +against the Empire and the nobles, that some of the most durable and +splendid public works were executed. The domes and towers of Florence and +of Pisa were rising above the city walls, while the burghers who +subscribed for their erection were staining the waves of Meloria and the +cane-brakes of the Arbia with their blood. Lombardy, at the end of her +duel with Frederick Barbarossa, completed a vast undertaking, by which the +fields of Milan are still rendered more productive than any other +pastureland in Europe. The Naviglio Grande, bringing the waters of the +Ticino through a plain of thirty miles to Milan, was begun in 1179, and +was finished in 1258. The torrents of S. Gothard and the Simplon, which, +after filling the Lago Maggiore, seemed destined to run wasteful through a +wilderness of pebbles to the sea, were thus turned to account; and to this +great engineering work, as bold as it was simple, Milan owed the wealth +that placed her princes on a level with the sovereigns of Europe. At the +same period she built her walls, and closed their circuit with the sixteen +gates that showed she loved magnificence combined with strength. Genoa, +between 1276 and 1283, protected her harbours by a gigantic mole, and in +1295 brought the streams of the Ligurian Alps into the city by an aqueduct +worthy of old Rome. Venice had to win her very footing from the sea and +sand. So firmly did she drive her piles, so vigilantly watch their +preservation, that palaces and cathedrals of marble might be safely reared +upon the bosom of the deep. Meanwhile, stone bridges began to span the +rivers of Italy; the streets and squares of towns were everywhere paved +with flags. Before the first years of the fourteenth century the Italian +cities presented a spectacle of solid and substantial comfort, very +startling to northerners who travelled from the unpaved lanes of London +and the muddy labyrinths of Paris.</p> + +<p>Sismondi remarks with just pride that these great works <a name="Page_30"></a>were Republican. +They were set on foot for the public use, and were constructed at the +expense of the commonwealths. It is, however, right to add that what the +communes had begun the princes continued. To the splendid taste of the +Visconti dynasty, for instance, Milan owed her wonderful Duomo and the +octagon bell-tower of S. Gottardo. The Certosas of Pavia and Chiaravalle, +the palace of Pavia, and a host of minor monuments remain in Milan and its +neighbourhood to prove how much a single family performed for the +adornment of the cities they had subjugated. And what is true of Milan +applies to Italy throughout its length and breadth. The Despots held their +power at the price of magnificence in schemes of public utility. So much +at least of the free spirit of the communes survived in them, that they +were always rivalling each other in great works of architecture. Italian +tyranny implied æsthetic taste and liberality of expenditure.</p> + +<p>In no way is the characteristic diversity of the Italian communities so +noticeable as in their buildings. Each district, each town, has a +well-defined peculiarity, reflecting the specific qualities of the +inhabitants and the conditions under which they grew in culture. In some +cases we may refer this local character to nationality and geographical +position. Thus the name of the Lombards has been given to a style of +Romanesque, which prevailed through Northern and Central Italy during the +period of Lombard ascendency.<a name="FNanchor10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> The Tuscans never <a name="Page_31"></a>forgot the domes of +their remote ancestors; the Romans adhered closely to Latin traditions; +the Southerners were affected by Byzantine and Saracenic models. In many +instances the geology of the neighbourhood determined the picturesque +features of its architecture. The clay-fields of the valley of the Po +produced the brickwork of Cremona, Pavia, Crema, Chiaravalle, and +Vercelli. To their quarries of <i>mandorlato</i> the Veronese builders owed the +peach-bloom colours of their columned aisles. Carrara provided the Pisans +with mellow marble for their Baptistery and Cathedral; Monte Ferrato +supplied Pistoja and Prato with green serpentine; while the <i>pietra +serena</i> of the Apennines added austerity to the interior of Florentine +buildings. Again, in other instances, we detect the influence of commerce +or of conquest. The intercourse of Venice with Alexandria determined the +unique architecture of S. Mark's. The Arabs and the Normans left +ineffaceable traces of their sojourn on Palermo. Naples and Messina still +bear marks upon their churches of French workmen. All along the coasts we +here and there find evidences of Oriental style imported into mediæval +Italy, while the impress of the Spaniard is no less manifest in edifices +of a later period.</p> + +<p>Existing thus in the midst of many potent influences, and surrounded by +the ruins of past civilisations, the Italians recombined and mingled +styles of marked variety. The Roman, Byzantine, Saracenic, Lombard, and +German traditions were blended in their architecture, as the presiding +genius of each place determined. It followed that master-works of rare and +subtle invention were produced, while no one type was fully perfected, nor +can we point to any paramount Italian manner. In Italy what was gained in +richness and individuality was lost in uniformity and might. Yet we may +well wonder at the <a name="Page_32"></a>versatile appreciation of all types of beauty that +these monuments evince. How strange, for example, it is to think of the +Venetians borrowing the form and structure of their temple from the +mosques of Alexandria, decking its façade with the horses of Lysippus, and +panelling the sanctuary with marbles from the harem-floors of Eastern +emperors; while at the other end of Italy, at Palermo, close beside the +ruined colonnades of Greek Segesta, Norman kings were embroidering their +massive churches with Saracenic arabesques and Byzantine mosaics, +interspersing delicate Arabian tracery with rope-patterns and monsters of +the deep, and linking Cuphic sentences with Scandinavian runes. Meanwhile, +at Rome, tombs, baths, and theatres had been turned into fortresses. The +Orsini held the Mole of Hadrian; the Savelli ensconced themselves in the +Theatre of Marcellus, and the Colonnesi in the Mausoleum of Augustus; the +Colosseum and the Arches of Constantine and Titus harboured the +Frangipani; the Baths of Trajan housed the Capocci; while the Gaetani made +a castle of Cæcilia Metella's tomb. Under those vast resounding vaults +swarmed a brood of mediæval <i>bravi</i>—like the wasps that hang their +pear-shaped combs along the cloisters of Pavia. There the ghost of the +dead empire still sat throned and sceptred. The rites of Christianity were +carried on beneath Agrippa's dome, in Diocletian's baths, in the +Basilicas. No other style but that of the imperial people struck root near +the Eternal City. Among her three hundred churches, Rome can only show one +Gothic building. Further to the north, where German influences were more +potent, the cathedrals still displayed, each after its own kind, a sunny +southern waywardness. Glowing with marbles and mosaics, glittering with +ornaments, where the foliage of the Corinthian acanthus hides the symbols +of the Passion, and where birds and Cupids peep from tangled fruits +beneath grave brows of saints and martyrs; leaning now to the long <a name="Page_33"></a>low +colonnades of the Basilica, now to the high-built arches of the purely +Pointed style; surmounting the meeting point of nave and transept with +Etruscan domes; covering the façade with bas-reliefs, the roof with +statues; raising the porch-pillars upon lions and winged griffins; +flanking the nave with bell-towers, or planting them apart like flowers in +isolation on the open square—these wonderful buildings, the delight and +joy of all who love to trace variety in beauty, and to note the impress of +a nation's genius upon its art, seem, like Italy herself, to feel all +influences and to assimilate all nationalities.</p> + +<p>Amid the many styles of architecture contending for mastery in Italy, +three, before the age of the Revival, bid fair to win the battle. These +were the Lombard, the Tuscan Romanesque, and the Gothic. Chronologically +the two former flourished nearly during the same centuries, while Gothic, +coming from without, suspended their development. But chronology is of +little help in the history of Italian architecture; its main features +being, not uniformity of progression, but synchronous diversity and +salience of local type. What remained fixed through all changes in Italy +was a bias toward the forms of Roman building, which eventually in the +Renaissance, becoming scientifically apprehended, determined the taste of +the whole nation.</p> + +<p>It is, perhaps, not wholly fanciful to say that, as the Lombards just +failed to mould the Italians by conquest into an united people, so their +architecture fell short of creating one type for the peninsula.<a name="FNanchor11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> From +some points of view the historian might regret that Italy did not receive +that thorough subjugation in the eighth century, which would have broken +down local distinctions. Such regrets, however, are singularly <a name="Page_34"></a>idle; for +the main currents of the world's history move not by chance; and how, +moreover, could Italy have fulfilled her destiny without the divers forms +of political existence that made her what she was? Yet, standing before +some of the great Lombard churches, we are inclined to speculate, perhaps +with better reason, what the result would have been if that style of +architecture could have assumed the complete ascendency over the Italians +which the Romanesque and Gothic of the North exerted over France and +England?<a name="FNanchor12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> The pyramidal façade common in these buildings, the campanili +that suspend aërial lanterns upon plain square towers, the domes rising +tier over tier from the intersection of nave and transept to end in +minarets and pinnacles, the low long colonnades of marble pilasters, the +open porches resting upon lions, the harmonious blending of baked clay and +rosy-tinted stone, the bold combination of round and pointed arches, and +the weird invention whereby every string-course and capital has been +carved with lions, sphinxes, serpents, mermaids, griffins, harpies, winged +horses, lizards, and knights in armour—all these are elements that might, +we fancy, have been developed into a noble national style. As it is, the +churches in question are often more bizarre than really beautiful. Their +peculiar character, however, is inseparably associated with the long +reaches of green plain, the lordly rivers, and the background of blue +hills and snowy Alps that constitute the charm of Lombard landscape.</p> + +<p>If Lombard architecture, properly so-called, was partial in its influence +and confined to a comparatively narrow local sphere, the same is true of +the Tuscan Romanesque. The <a name="Page_35"></a>church of Samminiato, near Florence [about +1013], and the cathedral of Pisa [begun 1063], not to mention other less +eminent examples at Lucca and Pistoja, are sufficient evidences that in +the darkest period of the Middle Ages the Italians were aiming at an +architectural Renaissance. The influence of classical models is apparent +both in the construction and the detail of these basilicas; while the +deeply grounded preference of the Italian genius for round arches, for +colonnades of pillars and pilasters, and for large rectangular spaces, +with low roofs and shallow tribunes, finds full satisfaction in these +original and noble buildings. It is impossible to refrain from deploring +that the Romanesque of Tuscany should have been checked in its development +by the intrusion of the German Gothic. Had it run its course unthwarted, a +national style suited to the temperament of the people might have been +formed, and much that was pedantic in the revival of the fifteenth century +have been obviated.</p> + +<p>The place of Gothic architecture in Italy demands fuller treatment. It was +due partly to the direct influence of German emperors, partly to the +imperial sympathies of the great nobles, partly to the Franciscan friars, +who aimed at building large churches cheaply, and partly to the admiration +excited by the grandeur of the Pointed style as it prevailed in Northern +Europe, that Gothic—so alien to the Italian genius and climate—took +root, spread widely, and flourished freely for a season. In thus +enumerating the conditions favourable to the spread of Gottico-Tedesco, I +am far from wishing to assert that this style was purely foreign. Italy, +in common with the rest of Europe, passed by a natural process of +evolution from the Romanesque to the Pointed manner, and treated the +latter with an originality that proves a certain natural assimilation. Yet +the first Gothic church, that of S. Francis at Assisi, was designed by a +German; the most <a name="Page_36"></a>splendid, that of Our Lady at Milan, is emphatically +German.<a name="FNanchor13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> During the comparatively brief period of Gothic ascendency the +Italians never forgot their Latin and Lombard sympathies. The mood of mind +in which they Gothicised was partial and transient. The evolution of this +style was, therefore, neither so spontaneous and simple, nor yet so +uninterrupted and complete, in Italy as in the North. While it produced +the church of S. Francesco at Assisi and the cathedrals of Siena, Orvieto, +Lucca, Bologna, Florence, and Milan, together with the town-halls of +Perugia, Siena, and Florence, it failed to take firm hold upon the +national taste, and died away before the growing passion for antiquity +that restored the Italians to a sense of their own intellectual greatness. +It is clear that, as soon as they were conscious of their vocation to +revive the culture of the classic age, they at once and for ever abandoned +the style appropriate to northern feudalism. They seem to have adopted it +half-unwillingly and to have understood it only in the imperfect way in +which they comprehended chivalry.</p> + +<p>The Italians never rightly apprehended the specific nature of Gothic +architecture. They could not forget the horizontal lines, flat roofs, and +blank walls of the Basilica. Like their Roman ancestors, they aimed at +covering the ground with the smallest possible expenditure of +construction; to enclose large spaces within simple limits was their first +object, and the effect of beauty or sublimity was gained by the +proportions given to the total area. When, therefore, they adopted the +Gothic style, they failed to perceive that its true merit consists in the +negation of nearly all that the Latin style holds precious. Horizontal +lines are as far as possible annihilated; walls are lost in windows; +aisles and columns, <a name="Page_37"></a>apses and chapels, are multiplied with a view to +complexity of architectonic effect; flat roofs become intolerable. The +whole force employed in the construction has an upward tendency, and the +spire is the completion of the edifice; for to the spire its countless +soaring lines—lines not of stationary strength, but of ascendent +growth—converge. All this the Italians were slow to comprehend. The +campanile, for example, never became an integral part of their buildings. +It stood alone, and was reserved for its original purpose of keeping the +bells. The windows, for a reason very natural in Italy, where there is +rather too much than too little sunlight, were curtailed; and instead of +the multiplied bays and clustered columns of a northern Gothic aisle, the +nave of so vast a church as S. Petronio at Bologna is measured by six +arches raised on simple piers. The façade of an Italian cathedral was +studied as a screen, quite independently of its relation to the interior; +in the beautiful church of Crema, for example, the moon at night looks +through the upper windows of a frontispiece raised far above the low roof +of the nave. For the total effect of the exterior, as will be apparent to +anyone who observes the Duomo of Orvieto from behind, no thought was +taken. In this way the Italians missed the point and failed to perceive +the poetry of Gothic architecture. Its symbolical significance was lost +upon them; perhaps we ought to say that the Italian temperament, in art as +in religion, was incapable of assimilating the vague yet powerful +mysticism of the Teutonic races.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, what they sacrificed of genuine Gothic character, was +made good after their own fashion. Surface decoration, whether of fresco +or mosaic, bronze-work or bas-relief, wood-carving or panelling in marble, +baked clay or enamelled earthenware was never carried to such perfection +in Gothic buildings of the purer type; nor had sculpture in the North an +equal chance of detaching itself from the niche <a name="Page_38"></a>and tabernacle, which +forced it to remain the slave of architecture. Thus the comparative +defects of Italian Gothic were directly helpful in promoting those very +arts for which the people had a genius unrivalled among modern nations.</p> + +<p>It is only necessary to contrast the two finest cathedrals of this style, +those of Siena and Orvieto, with two such buildings as the cathedrals of +Rheims and Salisbury, in order to perceive the structural inferiority of +the former, as well as their superiority for all subordinate artistic +purposes. Long straight lines, low roofs, narrow windows, a façade of +surprising splendour but without a strict relation to the structure of the +nave and aisles, a cupola surmounting the intersection of nave, choir, and +transepts; simple tribunes at the east end, a detached campanile, round +columns instead of clustered piers, a mixture of semicircular and pointed +arches; these are some of the most salient features of the Sienese Duomo. +But the material is all magnificent; and the hand, obedient to the +dictates of an artist's brain, has made itself felt on every square foot +of the building. Alternate courses of white and black marble, cornices +loaded with grave or animated portraits of the Popes, sculptured shrines, +altars, pulpits, reliquaries, fonts and holy-water vases, panels of inlaid +wood and pictured pavements, bronze candelabra and wrought-iron screens, +gilding and colour and precious work of agate and lapis lazuli—the +masterpieces of men famous each in his own line—delight the eye in all +directions. The whole church is a miracle of richness, a radiant and +glowing triumph of inventive genius, the product of a hundred +master-craftsmen toiling through successive centuries to do their best. +All its countless details are so harmonised by the controlling taste, so +brought together piece by piece in obedience to artistic instinct, that +the total effect is ravishingly beautiful. Yet it is clear that no one +paramount idea, determining and organising all these marvels, existed in +the mind of the first architect. In true Gothic work the <a name="Page_39"></a>details that +make up the charm of this cathedral would have been subordinated to one +architectonic thought; they would not have been suffered to assert their +individuality, or to contribute, except as servants, to the whole effect. +The northern Gothic church is like a body with several members; the +southern Gothic church is an accretion of beautiful atoms. The northern +Gothic style corresponds to the national unity of federalised races, +organised by a social hierarchy of mutually dependent classes. In the +southern Gothic style we find a mirror of political diversity, independent +personality, burgher-like equality, despotic will. Thus the specific +qualities of Italy on her emergence from the Middle Ages may be traced by +no undue exercise of the fancy in her monuments. They are emphatically the +creation of citizens—of men, to use Giannotti's phrase, distinguished by +alternating obedience and command, not ranked beneath a monarchy, but +capable themselves of sovereign power.<a name="FNanchor14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14"><sup>[14]</sup></a></p> + +<p>What has been said of Siena is no less true of the Duomo of Orvieto. +Though it seems to aim at a severer Gothic, and though the façade is more +architecturally planned, a single glance at the exterior of the edifice +shows that the builders had no lively sense of the requirements of the +style they used. What can be more melancholy than those blank walls, +broken by small round recesses protruding from the side chapels of the +nave, those gaunt and barren angles at the east end, and those few +pinnacles appended at a venture? It is clear that the spirit of the +northern Gothic manner has been wholly misconceived. On the other hand, +the interior is noble. The feeling for space possessed by the architect +has expressed itself in proportions large and solemn; the area enclosed, +though somewhat cold and vacuous to northern taste, is at least impressive +by its severe harmony. But the real attractions of the church are isolated +details. Wherever <a name="Page_40"></a>the individual artist-mind has had occasion to emerge, +there our gaze is riveted, our criticism challenged, our admiration won. +The frescoes of Signorelli, the bas-reliefs of the Pisani, the statuary of +Lo Scalza and Mosca, the tarsia of the choir stalls, the Alexandrine work +and mosaics of the façade, the bronzes placed upon its brackets, and the +wrought acanthus scrolls of its superb pilasters—these are the objects +for inexhaustible wonder in the cathedral of Orvieto. On approaching a +building of this type, we must abandon our conceptions of organic +architecture: only the Greek and northern Gothic styles deserve that +epithet. We must not seek for severe discipline and architectonic design. +Instead of one presiding, all-determining idea, we must be prepared to +welcome a wealth of separate beauties, wrought out by men of independent +genius, whereby each part is made a masterpiece, and many diverse elements +become a whole of picturesque rather than architectural impressiveness.</p> + +<p>It would not be difficult to extend this kind of criticism to the Duomo of +Milan. Speaking strictly, a more unlucky combination of different +styles—the pyramidal façade of Lombard architecture and the long thin +lights of German Gothic, for example—a clumsier misuse of +ill-appropriated details in the heavy piers of the nave, or a more +disastrous adjustment of the monster windows to the main lines of the nave +and aisles, could scarcely be imagined. Yet no other church, perhaps, in +Europe leaves the same impression of the marvellous upon the fancy. The +splendour of its pure white marble, blushing with the rose of evening or +of dawn, radiant in noonday sunlight, and fabulously fairy-like beneath +the moon and stars, the multitudes of statues sharply cut against a clear +blue sky, and gazing at the Alps across that memorable tract of plain, the +immense space and light-irradiated gloom of the interior, the deep tone of +the bells above at a vast distance, and the gorgeous colours of <a name="Page_41"></a>the +painted glass, contribute to a scenical effect unparalleled in +Christendom.</p> + +<p>The two styles, Lombard and Gothic, of which I have been speaking, were +both in a certain sense exotic. Within the great cities the pith of the +population was Latin; and no style of building that did not continue the +tradition of the Romans, in the spirit of the Roman manner, and with +strict observance of its details, satisfied them. It was a main feature of +the Renaissance that, when the Italians undertook the task of reuniting +themselves by study with the past, they abandoned all other forms of +architecture, and did their best to create one in harmony with the relics +of Latin monuments. To trace the history of this revived classic +architecture will occupy me later in this chapter; but for the moment it +is necessary to turn aside and consider briefly the secular buildings of +Italy before the date of the Renaissance proper.</p> + +<p>About the same time that the cathedrals were being built, the nobles +filled the towns with fortresses. These at first were gaunt and unsightly; +how overcrowded with tall bare towers a mediæval Italian city could be, is +still shown by San Gemignano, the only existing instance where the +<i>torroni</i> have been left untouched.<a name="FNanchor15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> In course of time, when the +aristocracy came to be fused with the burghers, and public order was +maintained by law in the great cities, these forts made way for spacious +palaces. The temper of the citizens in each place and the local character +of artistic taste determined the specific features of domestic as of +ecclesiastical architecture. Though it is hard to define what are the +social differences expressed by the large quadrangles of Francesco +Sforza's hospital at Milan, and the heavy cube of the Riccardi palace at +Florence, we feel that the <i>genius loci</i> has in each case <a name="Page_42"></a>controlled the +architect. The sunny spaces of the one building, with its terra-cotta +traceries of birds and grapes and Cupids, contrast with the stern brown +mouldings and impenetrable solidity of the other. That the one was raised +by the munificence of a sovereign in his capital, while the other was the +dwelling of a burgher in a city proud of its antique sobriety, goes some +way to explain the difference. In like manner the court-life of a dynastic +principality produced the castle of Urbino, so diverse in its style and +adaptation from the ostentatious mansions of the Genoese merchants. It is +not fanciful to say that the civic life of a free and factious republic is +represented by the heavy walls and narrow windows of Florentine +dwelling-places. In their rings of iron, welded between rock and rock +about the basement, as though for the beginning of a barricade—in their +torch-rests of wrought metal, gloomy portals and dimly-lighted courts, we +trace the habits of caution and reserve that marked the men who led the +parties of Uberti and Albizzi. The Sienese palaces are lighter and more +elegant in style, as belonging to a people proverbially pleasure-loving; +while a still more sumptuous and secure mode of life finds expression in +the open loggie and spacious staircases of Venice. The graceful buildings +which overhang the Grand Canal are exactly fitted for an oligarchy, sure +of its own authority and loved of the people. Feudal despotism, on the +contrary, reigns in the heart of Ferrara, where the Este's stronghold, +moated, draw-bridged, and portcullised, casting dense shadow over the +water that protects the dungeons, still seems to threaten the public +square and overawe the homes of men.</p> + +<p>To the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, again, we owe the town halls +and public palaces that form so prominent a feature in the city +architecture of Italy. The central vitality of once powerful States is +symbolised in the <i>broletti</i> of the Lombard cities, dusty and abandoned +now in spite <a name="Page_43"></a>of their clear-cut terra-cotta traceries. There is something +strangely melancholy in their desolation. Wandering through the vast hall +of the Ragione at Padua, where the very shadows seem asleep as they glide +over the wide unpeopled floor, it is not easy to remember that this was +once the theatre of eager intrigues, ere the busy stir of the old burgh +was utterly extinguished. Few of these public palaces have the good +fortune to be distinguished, like that of the Doge at Venice, by +world-historical memories and by works of art as yet unrivalled. The +spirit of the Venetian Republic still lives in that unique building. +Architects may tell us that its Gothic arcades are melodramatic; sculptors +may depreciate the decorative work of Sansovino; painters may assert that +the genius of Titian, Tintoret, and Veronese shines elsewhere with greater +lustre. Yet the poet clings with ever-deepening admiration to the sea-born +palace of the ancient mistress of the sea, and the historian feels that +here, as at Athens, art has made the past towards which he looks eternal.</p> + +<p>Two other great Italian houses of the Commonwealth, rearing their towers +above the town for tocsin and for ward, owe immortality to their intrinsic +beauty. These are the Palazzo Pubblico of Siena and the Palazzo Vecchio of +Florence. Few buildings in Europe are more picturesquely fascinating than +the palace of Siena, with its outlook over hill and dale to cloud-capped +Monte Amiata. Yet, in spite of its unparalleled position on the curved and +sloping piazza, where the <i>contrade</i> of Siena have run their <i>palio</i> for +centuries, this palace lacks the vivid interest attaching to the home +Arnolfo raised at Florence for the rulers of his native city. During their +term of office the Priors never quitted the Palace of the Signory. All +deliberations on state affairs took place within its walls, and its bell +was the pulse that told how the heart of Florence throbbed. The architect +of this huge mass of masonry was Arnolfo del Cambio, one of the greatest +<a name="Page_44"></a>builders of the Middle Ages, a man who may be called the Michael Angelo +of the thirteenth century<a name="FNanchor16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16"><sup>[16]</sup></a>. In 1298 he was ordered to erect a +dwelling-place for the Commonwealth, to the end that the people might be +protected in their fortress from the violence of the nobles. The building +of the palace and the levelling of the square around it were attended with +circumstances that bring forcibly before our minds the stern conditions of +republican life in mediæval Italy. A block of houses had to be bought from +the family of Foraboschi; and their tower, called Torre della Vacca, was +raised and turned into the belfry of the Priors. There was not room +enough, however, to construct the palace itself with right angles, unless +it were extended into the open space where once had stood the houses of +the Uberti, "traitors to Florence and Ghibellines." In destroying these, +the burghers had decreed that thenceforth for ever the feet of men should +pass where the hearths of the proscribed nobles once had blazed. Arnolfo +begged that he might trespass on this site; but the people refused +permission. Where the traitors' nest had been, there the sacred +foundations of the public house should not be laid. Consequently the +Florentine Palazzo is, was, and will be cramped of its correct +proportions<a name="FNanchor17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17"><sup>[17]</sup></a>.</p> + +<p>No Italian architect has enjoyed the proud privilege of stamping his own +individuality more strongly on his native city than Arnolfo; and for this +reason it may be permitted to enlarge upon his labours here. When we take +our stand upon the hill of Samminiato, the Florence at our feet owes her +physiognomy in a great measure to this man. The tall <a name="Page_45"></a>tower of the Palazzo +Vecchio, the bulk of the Duomo, and the long low oblong mass of Santa +Croce are all his. His too are the walls that define the city of flowers +from the gardens round about her.<a name="FNanchor18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18"><sup>[18]</sup></a> Even the master-works of his +successors subordinate their beauty to his first conception. Giotto's +campanile, Brunelleschi's cupola, and Orcagna's church of Orsammichele, in +spite of their undoubted and authentic originality, are placed where he +had planned.</p> + +<p>In 1294 the Florentines determined to rebuild their mother-church upon a +scale of unexampled grandeur. The commission given to their architect +displays so strikingly the lordly spirit in which these burghers set about +the work, that, though it has been often quoted, a portion of the document +shall be recited here. "Since the highest mark of prudence in a people of +noble origin is to proceed in the management of their affairs so that +their magnanimity and wisdom may be evinced in their outward acts, we +order Arnolfo, head-master of our commune, to make a design for the +renovation of Santa Reparata in a style of magnificence which neither the +industry nor the power of man can surpass, that it may harmonise with the +opinion of many wise persons in this city and state, who think that this +commune should not engage in any enterprise unless its intention be to +make the result correspond with that noblest sort of heart which is +composed of the united will of many citizens."<a name="FNanchor19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19"><sup>[19]</sup></a> From Giovanni Villani +we learn what taxes were levied by the Wool-Guild, and set apart in 1331 +for the completion of the building. They were raised upon all goods bought +or sold within the city in two separate rates, the net produce amounting +in the first year to 2,000 <a name="Page_46"></a>lire.<a name="FNanchor20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20"><sup>[20]</sup></a> The cathedral designed by Arnolfo +was of vast dimensions: it covers 84,802 feet, while that of Cologne +covers 81,461 feet; and, says Fergusson, "as far as mere conception of +plan goes, there can be little doubt but that the Florentine cathedral far +surpasses its German rival."<a name="FNanchor21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21"><sup>[21]</sup></a> Nothing, indeed, can be imagined more +noble than the scheme of this huge edifice. Studying its ground-plan, and +noting how the nave unfolds into a mighty octagon, which in its turn +displays three well-proportioned apses, we are induced to think that a +sublimer thought has never been expressed in stone. At this point, +however, our admiration receives a check. In the execution of the parts +the builder dwarfed what had been conceived on so magnificent a scale; +aiming at colossal simplicity, he failed to secure the multiplicity of +subordinated members essential to the total effect of size. "Like all +inexperienced architects, he seems to have thought that greatness of parts +would add to the greatness of the whole, and in consequence used only four +great arches in the whole length of his nave, giving the central aisle a +width of fifty-five feet clear. The whole width is within ten feet of that +of Cologne, and the height about the same; and yet, in appearance, the +height is about half, and the breadth less than half, owing to the better +proportion of the parts and to the superior appropriateness in the details +on the part of the German cathedral."<a name="FNanchor22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22"><sup>[22]</sup></a> The truth of these remarks will +be felt by every one on whom the ponderous vacuity of the interior has +weighed. Other notable defects there are too in this building, proceeding +chiefly from the Italian misconception of Gothic style. The windows are +few and narrow, so that little light even at noonday struggles through +them; and broad barren spaces of grey walls oppress the eye. Externally +the whole church is panelled with parti-coloured marbles, according to +Florentine <a name="Page_47"></a>custom; but this panelling bears no relation to the structure: +it is so much surface decoration possessing value chiefly for the +colourist. Arnolfo died before the dome, as he designed it, could be +placed upon the octagon, and nothing is known for certain about the form +he meant it to assume. It seems, however, probable that he intended to +adopt something similar to the dome of Chiaravalle, which ends, after a +succession of narrowing octagons, in a slender conical pyramid.<a name="FNanchor23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23"><sup>[23]</sup></a> +Subordinate spires would then have been placed at each of the four angles +where the nave and transepts intersect; and the whole external effect, for +richness and variety, would have outrivalled that of any European +building. It is well known that the erection of the dome was finally +entrusted to Brunelleschi in 1420. Arnolfo's church now sustains in air an +octagonal cupola of the simplest possible design, in height and size +rivalling that of S. Peter's. It was thus that the genius of the +Renaissance completed what the genius of the Middle Ages had begun. But in +Italy there was no real break between the two periods. Though Arnolfo +employed the Pointed style in his design, we find nothing genuinely Gothic +in the church. It has no pinnacles, flying buttresses, side chapels, or +subordinate supports. To use the phrase of Michelet, who has chosen the +dramatic episode of Brunelleschi's intervention in the rearing of the dome +for a parable of the Renaissance, "the colossal church stood up simply, +naturally, as a strong man in the morning rises from his bed without the +need of staff or crutch."<a name="FNanchor24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24"><sup>[24]</sup></a> This indeed is the glory of<a name="Page_48"></a> Italian as +compared with Northern architecture. The Italians valued the strength of +simple perspicuity: all the best works of their builders are geometrical +ideas of the purest kind translated into stone. It is, however, true that +the gain of vast aërial space was hardly sufficient to compensate for the +impression of emptiness they leave upon the senses. We feel this very +strongly when we study the model prepared by Bramante's pupil, Cristoforo +Rocchi, for the cathedral of Pavia; yet here we see the neo-Latin genius +of the Italian artist working freely in an element exactly suited to his +powers. When the same order of genius sought to express its conception +through the language of the Gothic style, the result was invariably +defective.<a name="FNanchor25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25"><sup>[25]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The classical revival of the fifteenth century made itself immediately +felt in architecture; and Brunelleschi's visit to Rome in 1403 may be +fixed as the date of the Renaissance in this art. Gothic, as we have +already seen, was an alien in Italy. Its importation from the North had +checked the free development of national architecture, which in the +eleventh century began at Pisa by a conscious return to classic details. +But the reign of Gothic was destined to be brief. Petrarch and Boccaccio, +as I showed in my last volume, turned the whole intellectual energy of the +Florentines into the channels of Latin and Greek scholarship.<a name="FNanchor26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26"><sup>[26]</sup></a> The +ancient world absorbed all interests, and the Italians with one will shook +themselves free of the medieval style they never <a name="Page_49"></a>rightly understood, and +which they henceforth stigmatised as barbarous.<a name="FNanchor27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27"><sup>[27]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The problem that occupied all the Renaissance architects was how to +restore the manner of ancient Rome as far as possible, adapting it to the +modern requirements of ecclesiastical, civic, and domestic buildings. Of +Greek art they knew comparatively nothing: nor indeed could Greek +architecture have offered for their purpose the same plastic elements as +Roman—itself a derived style, admitting of easier adjustment to modern +uses than the inflexibly pure art of Greece. At the same time they +possessed but imperfect fragments of Roman work. The ruins of baths, +theatres, tombs, temple-fronts, and triumphal arches, were of little +immediate assistance in the labour of designing churches and palaces. All +that the architects could do, after familiarising themselves with the +remains of ancient Rome, and assimilating the spirit of Roman art, was to +clothe their own inventions with classic details. The form and structure +of their edifices were modern; the parts were copied from antique models. +A want of organic unity and structural sincerity is always the result of +those necessities under which a secondary and adapted style must labour; +and thus the pseudo-Roman buildings even of the best Renaissance period +display faults similar to those of the Italian Gothic. While they are +remarkable for grandeur of effect in all that concerns the distribution of +light and shade, the covering and enclosing of space, and the disposition +of masses, they show <a name="Page_50"></a>at best but a superficial correspondence between the +borrowed forms and the construction these are used to mask.<a name="FNanchor28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28"><sup>[28]</sup></a> The +edifices of this period abound in more or less successful shams, in +surface decoration more or less pleasing to the eye; their real greatness, +meanwhile, consists in the feeling for spatial proportions and for linear +harmonies possessed by their architects.</p> + +<p>Three periods in the development of Renaissance architecture may be +roughly marked.<a name="FNanchor29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29"><sup>[29]</sup></a> The first, extending from 1420 to 1500, is the age of +experiment and of luxuriant inventiveness. The second embraces the first +forty years of the sixteenth century. The most perfect buildings of the +Italian Renaissance were produced within this short space of time. The +third, again comprising about forty years, from 1540 to 1580, leads onward +to the reign of mannerism and exaggeration, called by the Italians +<i>barocco</i>. In itself the third period is distinguished by a scrupulous +purism bordering upon pedantry, strict adherence to theoretical rules, and +sacrifice of inventive qualities to established canons. To do more than +briefly indicate the masterpieces of these three periods, would be +impossible in a work that does not pretend to treat of architecture +exhaustively: and yet to omit all notice of the builders of this age and +of their styles, would be to neglect the most important art-phase of the +time I have undertaken to illustrate.</p> + +<p>In the first period we are bewildered by the luxuriance of creative powers +and by the rioting of the fancy in all forms of beauty indiscriminately +mingled. In general we detect a striving after effects not fully realised, +and a tendency to indulge in superfluous ornament without regard for +strictness <a name="Page_51"></a>of design. The imperfect comprehension of classical models and +the exuberant vivacity of the imagination in the fifteenth century account +for the florid work of this time. Something too is left of mediæval fancy; +the details borrowed from the antique undergo fantastic transmutation at +the hands of men accustomed to the vehement emotion of the romantic ages. +Whatever the Renaissance took from antique art, it was at first unable to +assimilate either the moderation of the Greeks or the practical sobriety +of the Romans. Christianity had deepened and intensified the sources of +imaginative life; and just as reminiscences of classic style impaired +Italian Gothic, so now a trace of Gothic is perceptible in the would-be +classic work of the Revival. The result of these combined influences was a +wonderful and many-featured hybrid, best represented in one monument by +the façade of the Certosa at Pavia. While characterising the work of the +earlier Renaissance as fused of divers manners, we must not forget that it +was truly living, full of purpose, and according to its own standard +sincere. It was a new birth; no mere repetition of something dead and +gone, but the product of vivid forces stirred to original creativeness by +admiration for the past. It corresponded, moreover, with exquisite +exactitude to the halting of the conscience between Christianity and +Paganism, and to the blent beauty that the poets loved. On reeds dropped +from the hands of dead Pan the artists of this period, each in his, own +sphere, piped ditties of romance.</p> + +<p>To these general remarks upon the style of the first period the Florentine +architects offer an exception; and yet the first marked sign of a new era +in the art of building was given at Florence. Purity of taste and firmness +of judgment, combined with scientific accuracy, were always distinctive of +Florentines. To such an extent did these qualities determine their +treatment of the arts that acute critics have been found to tax them—and +in my opinion justly—with hardness and <a name="Page_52"></a>frigidity.<a name="FNanchor30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30"><sup>[30]</sup></a> Brunelleschi in +1425 designed the basilica of S. Lorenzo after an original but truly +classic type, remarkable for its sobriety and correctness. What he had +learned from the ruins of Rome he here applied in obedience to his own +artistic instinct. S. Lorenzo is a columnar edifice with round arches and +semicircular apses. Not a form or detail in the whole church is strictly +speaking at variance with Roman precedent; and yet the general effect +resembles nothing we possess of antique work. It is a masterpiece of +intelligent Renaissance adaptation. The same is true of S. Spirito, built +in 1470, after Brunelleschi's death, according to his plans. The +extraordinary capacity of this great architect will, however, win more +homage from ordinary observers when they contemplate the Pitti Palace and +the cupola of the cathedral. Both of these are master-works of personal +originality. What is Roman in the Pitti Palace, is the robust simplicity +of massive strength; but it is certain that no patrician of the republic +or the empire inhabited a house at all resembling this. The domestic +habits of the Middle Ages, armed for self-defence, and on guard against +invasion from without, still find expression in the solid bulk of this +forbidding dwelling-place, although its majesty and largeness show that +the reign of milder and more courtly manners has begun. To speak of the +cupola of the Duomo in connection with a simple revival of Roman taste, +would be equally inappropriate. It remains a tour de force of individual +genius, cultivated by the experience of Gothic vault-building, and +penetrated with the greatness of imperial Rome. Its spirit of dauntless +audacity and severe concentration alone is antique.</p> + +<p>Almost contemporary with Brunelleschi was Leo Battista Alberti, a +Florentine, who, working upon somewhat different principles, sought more +closely to reproduce the actual <a name="Page_53"></a>elements of Roman architecture.<a name="FNanchor31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31"><sup>[31]</sup></a> In +his remodelling of S. Francesco at Rimini the type he followed was that of +the triumphal arch, and what was finished of that wonderful façade, +remains to prove how much might have been made of well-proportioned +pilasters and nobly curved arcades.<a name="FNanchor32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32"><sup>[32]</sup></a> The same principle is carried out +in S. Andrea at Mantua. The frontispiece of this church is a gigantic arch +of triumph; the interior is noticeable for its simple harmony of parts, +adopted from the vaulted baths of Rome. The combination of these antique +details in an imposing structure implied a high imaginative faculty at a +moment when the rules of classic architecture had not been as yet reduced +to method. Yet the weakness of Alberti's principle is revealed when we +consider that here the lofty central arch of the façade serves only for a +decoration. Too high and spacious even for the chariots of a Roman +triumph, it forms an inappropriate entrance to the modest vestibule of a +Christian church.</p> + +<p>Like Brunelleschi, Alberti applied his talents to the building of a palace +in Florence that became a model to subsequent architects. The Palazzo +Rucellai retains many details of the mediæval Tuscan style, especially in +the windows divided by slender pilasters. But the three orders introduced +by way of surface decoration, the doorways, and the cornices, are +transcripts from Roman ruins. This building, one of the most beautiful in +Italy, was copied by Francesco di Giorgio and Bernardo Fiorentino for the +palaces they constructed at Pienza.</p> + +<p>This was the age of sumptuous palace-building; and for no purpose was the +early Renaissance style better adapted than for the erection of +dwelling-houses that should match <a name="Page_54"></a>the free and worldly splendour of those +times. The just medium between mediæval massiveness and classic simplicity +was attained in countless buildings beautiful and various beyond +description. Bologna is full of them; and Urbino, in the Ducal Palace, +contains one specimen unexampled in extent and unique in interest. Yet +here, as in all departments of fine art, Florence takes the lead. After +Brunelleschi and Alberti came Michellozzo, the favourite architect of +Cosimo de' Medici; Benedetto da Majano; Giuliano and Antonio di San Gallo; +and Il Cronaca. Cosimo de' Medici, having said that "envy is a plant no +man should water," denied himself the monumental house designed by +Brunelleschi, and chose instead the modest plan of Michellozzo. +Brunelleschi had meant to build the Casa Medici along one side of the +Piazza di S. Lorenzo; but when Cosimo refused his project, he broke up the +model he had made, to the great loss of students of this age of +architecture. Michellozzo was then commissioned to raise the mighty, but +comparatively humble, Riccardi Palace at the corner of the Via Larga, +which continued to be the residence of the Medici through all their +chequered history, until at last they took possession of the Palazzo +Pitti.<a name="FNanchor33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33"><sup>[33]</sup></a> The most beautiful of all Florentine dwelling-houses designed +at this period is that which Benedetto da Majano built for Filippo +Strozzi. Combining the burgher-like austerity of antecedent ages with a +grandeur and a breadth of style peculiar to the Renaissance, the Palazzo +Strozzi may be chosen as the perfect type of Florentine domestic +architecture.<a name="FNanchor34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34"><sup>[34]</sup></a> Other cities were <a name="Page_55"></a>supplied by Florence with builders, +and Milan owed her fanciful Ospedale Maggiore at this epoch to Antonio +Filarete, a Florentine. This great edifice illustrates the emancipation +from fixed rule that distinguishes much of the architecture of the earlier +Renaissance. The detail is not unfrequently Gothic, especially in the +pointed windows; but the feeling of the whole structure, in its airy space +and lightness, delicate terra-cotta mouldings, and open loggie, is truly +Cinque Cento.<a name="FNanchor35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35"><sup>[35]</sup></a></p> + +<p>In no other style than this of the earlier Renaissance is the builder more +inseparably connected with the decorator. The labours of the stone-carver, +who provided altars chased with Scripture histories in high relief, +pulpits hung against a column of the nave, tombs with canopies and floral +garlands, organ galleries enriched with bas-reliefs of singing boys, +ciboria with kneeling and adoring angels, marble tabernacles for relics, +vases for holy water, fonts and fountains, and all the indescribable +wealth of scrolls and friezes around doors and screens and balustrades +that fence the choir, are added to those of the bronze-founder, with his +mighty doors and pendent lamps, his candelabra sustained by angels, +torch-rests and rings, embossed basements for banners of state, and +portraits of recumbent senators or prelates.<a name="FNanchor36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36"><sup>[36]</sup></a> The wood carver +con<a name="Page_56"></a>tributes <i>tarsia</i> like that of Fra Giovanni da Verona.<a name="FNanchor37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37"><sup>[37]</sup></a> The worker +in wrought iron welds such screens as guard the chapel of the Sacra +Cintola at Prato. The Robbias prepare their delicately-toned reliefs for +the lunettes above the doorways. Modellers in clay produce the terra-cotta +work of the Certosa, or the carola of angels who surround the little +cupola behind the church of S. Eustorgio at Milan.<a name="FNanchor38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38"><sup>[38]</sup></a> Meanwhile mosaics +are provided for the dome or let into the floor;<a name="FNanchor39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39"><sup>[39]</sup></a> agates and marbles +and lapis lazuli are pieced together for altar fronts and panellings;<a name="FNanchor40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40"><sup>[40]</sup></a> +stalls are carved into fantastic patterns, and heavy roofs are embossed +with figures of the saints and armorial emblems.<a name="FNanchor41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41"><sup>[41]</sup></a> Tapestry is woven +from the designs of <a name="Page_57"></a>excellent masters;<a name="FNanchor42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42"><sup>[42]</sup></a> great painters contribute +arabesques of fresco or of stucco mixed with gilding, and glass is +coloured from the outlines of such draughtsmen as Ghiberti.</p> + +<p>Some of the decorative elements I have hastily enumerated, will be treated +in connection with the respective arts of sculpture and painting. The +fact, meanwhile, deserves notice that they received a new development in +relation to architecture during the first period of the Renaissance, and +that they formed, as it were, an integral part of its main æsthetical +purpose. Strip a chapel of the fifteenth century of ornamental adjuncts, +and an uninteresting shell is left: what, for instance, would the façades +of the Certosa and the Cappella Colleoni be without their sculptured and +inlaid marbles? The genius of the age found scope in subordinate details, +and the most successful architect was the man who combined in himself a +feeling for the capacities of the greatest number of associated arts. As +the consequence of this profuse expenditure of loving care on every +detail, the monuments of architecture belonging to the earlier Renaissance +have a poetry that compensates for structural defects; just as its wildest +literary extravagances—the <i>Hypnerotomachia Poliphili</i>, for +instance—have a charm of wanton fancy and young joy that atones to +sympathetic students for intolerable pedantries.</p> + +<p>In the second period the faults of the first group of Renaissance builders +were in a large measure overcome, and their striving after the production +of new yet classic form was more completely realised. The reckless +employment of luxuriant decoration yielded to a chastened taste, without +the sacrifice of beauty or magnificence. Style was refined; the +construction of large buildings was better understood, and the instinct +for what lies within the means of a revived and secondary manner was more +true.</p><a name="Page_58"></a> + +<p>To Bramante must be assigned the foremost place among the architects of +the golden age.<a name="FNanchor43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43"><sup>[43]</sup></a> Though little of his work survives entire and +unspoiled, it is clear that he exercised the profoundest influence over +both successors and contemporaries. What they chiefly owed to him, was the +proper subordination of beauty in details to the grandeur of simplicity +and to unity of effect. He came at a moment when constructive problems had +been solved, when mechanical means were perfected, and when the sister +arts had reached their highest point. His early training in Lombardy +accustomed him to the adoption of clustered piers instead of single +columns, to semicircular apses and niches, and to the free use of minor +cupolas—elements of design introduced neither by Brunelleschi nor by +Alberti into the Renaissance style of Florence, but which were destined to +determine the future of architecture for all Italy. Nature had gifted +Bramante with calm judgment and refined taste; his sense of the right +limitations of the pseudo-Roman style was exquisite, and his feeling for +structural symmetry was just. If his manner strikes us as somewhat cold +and abstract when compared with the more genial audacities of the earlier +Renaissance, we must remember how salutary was the example of a rigorous +and modest manner in an age which required above all things to be +preserved from its own luxuriant waywardness of fancy. It is hard to say +how much of the work ascribed to Bramante in Northern Italy is genuine; +most of it, at any rate, belongs to the manner of his youth. The Church of +S. Maria della Consolazione at Todi, the palace of the Cancelleria at +Rome, and the unfinished cathedral of Pavia, enable us to comprehend the +general character of this great architect's refined and <a name="Page_59"></a>noble manner. S. +Peter's, it may be said in passing, retains, in spite of all subsequent +modifications, many essentially Bramantesque features—especially in the +distribution of the piers and rounded niches.</p> + +<p>Bramante formed no school strictly so called, though his pupils, +Cristoforo Rocchi and Ventura Vitoni, carried out his principles of +building at Pavia and Pistoja. Vitoni's church of the Umiltà in the latter +city is a pure example of conscientious neo-Roman architecture. It +consists of a large octagon surmounted by a dome and preceded by a lofty +vaulted atrium or vestibule. The single round arch of this vestibule +repeats the <i>testudo</i> of a Roman bath, and the decorative details are +accurately reproduced from similar monuments. Unfortunately, Giorgio +Vasari, who was employed to finish the cupola, spoiled its effect by +raising it upon an ugly attic; it is probable that the church, as designed +by Vitoni, would have presented the appearance of a miniature Pantheon. At +Rome the influence of Bramante was propagated through Raphael, Giulio +Romano, and Baldassare Peruzzi. Raphael's claim to consideration as an +architect rests upon the Palazzi Vidoni and Pandolfini, the Cappella Chigi +in S. Maria del Popolo, and the Villa Madama. The last-named building, +executed by Giulio Romano after Raphael's design, is carried out in a +style so forcible as to make us fancy that the pupil had a larger share in +its creation than his teacher. These works, however, sink into +insignificance before the Palazzo del Te at Mantua, the masterpiece of +Giulio's genius. This most noble of Italian pleasure-houses remains to +show what the imagination of a poet-artist could recover from the +splendour of old Rome and adapt to the use of his own age. The vaults of +the Thermæ of Titus, with their cameos of stucco and frescoed arabesques, +are here repeated on a scale and with an exuberance of invention that +surpass the model. Open loggie yield fair prospect over what were once +trim <a name="Page_60"></a>gardens; spacious halls, adorned with frescoes in the vehement and +gorgeous style of the Roman school, form a fit theatre for the grand +parade-life of an Italian prince. The whole is Pagan in its pride and +sensuality, its prodigality of strength and insolence of freedom. Having +seen this palace, we do not wonder that the fame of Giulio flew across the +Alps and lived upon the lips of Shakspere: for in his master-work at +Mantua he collected, as it were, and epitomised in one building all that +enthralled the fancy of the Northern nations when they thought of Italy.</p> + +<p>A pendant to the Palazzo del Te is the Villa Farnesina, raised on the +banks of the Tiber by Baldassare Peruzzi for his fellow townsman Agostino +Chigi of Siena. It is an idyll placed beside a lyric ode, gentler and +quieter in style, yet full of grace, breathing the large and liberal +spirit of enjoyment that characterised the age of Leo. The frescoes of +Galatea and Psyche, executed by Raphael and his pupils, have made this +villa famous in the annals of Italian painting. The memory of the Roman +banker's splendid style of living marks it out as no less noteworthy in +the history of Renaissance manners.<a name="FNanchor44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44"><sup>[44]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Among the great edifices of this second period we may reckon Jacopo +Sansovino's buildings at Venice, though they approximate rather to the +style of the earlier Renaissance in all that concerns exuberance of +decorative detail. The Venetians, somewhat behind the rest of Italy in the +development of the fine arts, were at the height of prosperity and wealth +during the middle period of the Renaissance; and no city is more rich in +monuments of the florid style. Something of their own delight in sensuous +magnificence they communicated even to the foreigners who dwelt among +them. The court of the Ducal Palace, the Scuola di S. Rocco, the Palazzo +Corner, and the Palazzo Vendramini-Calergi, illustrate <a name="Page_61"></a>the, strong yet +fanciful <i>bravura</i> style that pleased the aristocracy of Venice. Nowhere +else does the architecture of the Middle Ages melt by more imperceptible +degrees into that of the Revival, retaining through all changes the +impress of a people splendour-loving in the highest sense. The Library of +S. Mark, built by Sansovino in 1536, remains, however, the crowning +triumph of Venetian art. It is impossible to contemplate its noble double +row of open arches without feeling the eloquence of rhetoric so brilliant, +without echoing the judgment of Palladio, that nothing more sumptuous or +beautiful had been invented since the age of ancient Rome.</p> + +<p>Time would fail to tell of all the architects who crowd the first half of +the sixteenth century—of Antonio di San Gallo, famous for fortifications; +of Baccio d'Agnolo, who raised the Campanile of S. Spirito at Florence; of +Giovanni Maria Falconetto, to whose genius Padua owed so many princely +edifices; of Michele Sanmicheli, the military architect of Verona, and the +builder of five mighty palaces for the nobles of his native city. Yet the +greatest name of all this period cannot be omitted: Michael Angelo must be +added to the list of builders in the golden age. In architecture, as in +sculpture, he not only bequeathed to posterity masterpieces of individual +energy and original invention, in their kind unrivalled; but he also +prepared for his successors a false way of working, and justified by his +example the extravagances of the decadence. Without noticing the façade +designed for S. Lorenzo at Florence, the transformation of the Baths of +Diocletian into a church, the remodelling of the Capitoline buildings, and +the continuation of the Palazzo Farnese—works that either exist only in +drawings or have been confused by later alterations—it is enough here to +mention the Sagrestia Nuova of S. Lorenzo and the cupola of S. Peter's. +The sacristy may be looked on either as the masterpiece of a sculptor who +required fit setting for his statues, or of an <a name="Page_62"></a>architect who designed +statues to enhance the structure he had planned. Both arts are used with +equal ease, nor has the genius of Michael Angelo dealt more masterfully +with the human frame than with the forms of Roman architecture in this +chapel. He seems to have paid no heed to classic precedent, and to have +taken no pains to adapt the parts to the structural purpose of the +building. It was enough for him to create a wholly novel framework for the +modern miracle of sculpture it enshrines, attending to such rules of +composition as determine light and shade, and seeking by the slightness of +mouldings and pilasters to enhance the terrible and massive forms that +brood above the Medicean tombs. The result is a product of picturesque and +plastic art, as true to the Michaelangelesque spirit as the Temple of the +Wingless Victory to that of Pheidias. But where Michael Angelo achieved a +triumph of boldness, lesser natures were betrayed into bizarrerie; and +this chapel of the Medici, in spite of its grandiose simplicity, proved a +stumbling-block to subsequent architects by encouraging them to despise +propriety and violate the laws of structure. The same may be said with +even greater truth of the Laurentian Library and its staircase. The false +windows, repeated pillars, and barefaced aiming at effect, that mark the +insincerity of the <i>barocco</i> style, are found here almost for the first +time.</p> + +<p>What S. Peter's would have been, if Michael Angelo had lived to finish it, +can be imagined from his plans and elevations still preserved. It must +always remain a matter of profound regret that his project was so far +altered as to sacrifice the effect of the dome from the piazza. This dome +is Michael Angelo's supreme achievement as an architect. It not only +preserves all that is majestic in the cupola of Brunelleschi; but it also +avoids the defects of its avowed model, by securing the entrance of +abundant light, and dilating the imagination with the sense of space to +soar <a name="Page_63"></a>and float in. It is the dome that makes S. Peter's what it is—the +adequate symbol of the Church in an age that had abandoned mediævalism and +produced a new type of civility for the modern nations. On the connection +between the building of S. Peter's and the Reformation I have touched +already.<a name="FNanchor45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45"><sup>[45]</sup></a> This mighty temple is the shrine of Catholicity, no longer +cosmopolitan by right of spiritual empire, but secularised and limited to +Latin races. At the same time it represents the spirit of a period when +the Popes still led the world as intellectual chiefs. As the decree for +its erection was the last act of the Papacy before the schism of the North +had driven it into blind conflict with advancing culture, so S. Peter's +remains the monument to after ages of a moment when the Roman Church, +unterrified as yet by German rebels, dared to share the mundane impulse of +the classical revival. She had forgotten the catacombs and ruthlessly +destroyed the Basilica of Constantine. By rebuilding the mother church of +Western Christianity upon a new plan, she broke with tradition; and if +Rome has not ceased to be the Eternal City, if all ways are still leading +to Rome, we may even hazard a conjecture that in the last days of their +universal monarchy the Popes reared this fane to be the temple of a spirit +alien to their own. It is at any rate certain that S. Peter's produces an +impression less ecclesiastical, and less strictly Christian, than almost +any of the elder and far humbler churches of Europe. Raised by proud and +secular pontiffs in the heyday of renascent humanism, it seems to wait the +time when the high priests of a religion no longer hostile to science or +antagonistic to the inevitable force of progress will chaunt their hymns +beneath its spacious dome.</p> +<a name="Page_64"></a> +<p>The building of S. Peter's was so momentous in modern history, and so +decisive for Italian architecture, that it may be permitted me to describe +the vicissitudes through which the structure passed before reaching +completion. Nicholas V., founder of the secular papacy and chief patron of +the humanistic movement in Rome, had approved a scheme for thoroughly +rebuilding and refortifying the pontifical city.<a name="FNanchor46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46"><sup>[46]</sup></a> Part of this plan +involved the reconstruction of S. Peter's. The old basilica was to be +removed, and on its site was to rise a mighty church, shaped like a Latin +cross, with a central dome and two high towers flanking the vestibule. +Nicholas died before his project could be carried into effect. Beyond +destroying the old temple of Probus and marking out foundations for the +tribune of the new church, nothing had been accomplished;<a name="FNanchor47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47"><sup>[47]</sup></a> nor did his +successors until the reign of Julius think of continuing what he had +begun. In 1506, on the 18th of April, Julius laid the first stone of S. +Peter's according to the plans provided by Bramante. The basilica was +designed in the shape of a Greek cross, surmounted by a colossal dome, and +approached by a vestibule fronted with six columns. As in all the works of +Bramante, simplicity and dignity distinguished this first scheme.<a name="FNanchor48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48"><sup>[48]</sup></a> For +eight years, until his death in 1514, Bramante laboured on the building. +Julius, <a name="Page_65"></a>the most impatient of masters, urged him to work rapidly. In +consequence of this haste, the substructures of the new church proved +insecure, and the huge piers raised to support the cupola were imperfect, +while the venerable monuments contained in the old church were ruthlessly +destroyed.<a name="FNanchor49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49"><sup>[49]</sup></a> After Bramante's death Giuliano di S. Gallo, Fra Giocondo, +and Raphael successively superintended the construction, each for a short +period. Raphael, under Leo X., was appointed sole architect, and went so +far as to alter the design of Bramante by substituting the Latin for the +Greek cross. Upon his death, Baldassare Peruzzi continued the work, and +supplied a series of new designs, restoring the ground-plan of the church +to its original shape. He was succeeded in the reign of Paul III. by +Antonio di S. Gallo, who once more reverted to the Latin cross, and +proposed a novel form of cupola with flanking towers for the façade, of +bizarre rather than beautiful proportions. After a short interregnum, +during which Giulio Romano superintended the building and did nothing +remarkable, Michael Angelo was called in 1535 to undertake the sole charge +of the edifice. He declared that wherever subsequent architects had +departed from Bramante's project, they had erred. "It is impossible to +deny that Bramante was as great in architecture as any man has been since +the days of the ancients. When he first laid the plan of S. Peter's, he +made it not a mass of confusion, but clear and simple, well lighted, and +so thoroughly detached that it in no way interfered with any portion of +the palace."<a name="FNanchor50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50"><sup>[50]</sup></a> Having thus pronounced himself in general for Bramante's +scheme, Michael Angelo proceeded to <a name="Page_66"></a>develop it in accordance with his own +canons of taste. He retained the Greek cross; but the dome, as he +conceived it, and the details designed for each section of the building, +differed essentially from what the earlier master would have sanctioned. +Not the placid and pure taste of Bramante, but the masterful and fiery +genius of Buonarroti, is responsible for the colossal scale of the +subordinate parts and variously broken lineaments of the existing church. +In spite of all changes of direction, the fabric of S. Peter's had been +steadily advancing. Michael Angelo was, therefore, able to raise the +central structure as far as the drum of the cupola before his death. His +plans and models were carefully preserved, and a special papal ordinance +decreed that henceforth there should be no deviation from the scheme he +had laid down. Unhappily this rule was not observed. Under Pius V., +Vignola and Piero Ligorio did indeed continue his tradition; under Gregory +XIII., Sixtus V., and Clement VIII., Giacomo della Porta made no +substantial alterations; and in 1590 Domenico Fontana finished the dome. +But during the pontificate of Paul V., Carlo Maderno resumed the form of +the Latin cross, and completed the nave and vestibule, as they now stand, +upon this altered plan (1614). The consequence is what has been already +noted—at a moderate distance from the church the dome is lost to view; it +only takes its true position of predominance when seen from far. In the +year 1626, S. Peter's was consecrated by Urban VIII., and the mighty work +was finished. It remained for Bernini to add the colonnades of the piazza, +no less picturesque in their effect than admirably fitted for the +pageantry of world-important ceremonial. At the end of the eighteenth +century it was reckoned that the church had cost but little less than +fifty million scudi.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo forms the link between the second and third periods of the +Renaissance. Among the architects of <a name="Page_67"></a>the latter age we have to reckon +those who based their practice upon minute study of antique writers, and +who, more than any of their predecessors, realised the long-sought +restitution of the classic style according to precise scholastic +canons.<a name="FNanchor51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51"><sup>[51]</sup></a> A new age had now begun for Italy. The glory and the grace of +the Renaissance, its blooming time of beauty, and its springtide of young +strength, were over. Strangers held the reins of power, and the +Reformation had begun to make itself felt in the Northern provinces of +Christendom. A colder and more formal spirit everywhere prevailed. The +sources of invention in the art of painting were dried up. Scholarship had +pined away into pedantic purism. Correct taste was coming to be prized +more highly than originality of genius in literature. Nor did architecture +fail to manifest the operation of this change. The greatest builder of the +period was Andrea Palladio of Vicenza, who combined a more complete +analytical knowledge of antiquity with a firmer adherence to rule and +precedent than even the most imitative of his forerunners. It is useless +to seek for decorative fancy, wealth of detail, or sallies of inventive +genius in the Palladian style. All is cold and calculated in the many +palaces and churches of this master which adorn both Venice and Vicenza; +they make us feel that creative inspiration has been superseded by the +labour of the calculating reason. One great public building of Palladio's, +however—the Palazzo della Ragione at Vicenza—may be cited as, perhaps, +the culminating point of pure Renaissance architecture. In its simple and +heroical arcades, its solid columns, and noble open spaces, the strength +of Rome is realised to the eyes of those who do not penetrate <a name="Page_68"></a>too far +inside the building.<a name="FNanchor52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52"><sup>[52]</sup></a> Here, and here only, the architectural problem of +the epoch—how to bring the art of the ancients back to life and use +again—was solved according to the spirit and the letter of the past. +Palladio never equalled this, the earliest of all his many works.</p> + +<p>In the first half of the sixteenth century the dictatorship of art had +been already transferred from Florence and Rome to Lombardy.<a name="FNanchor53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53"><sup>[53]</sup></a> The +painters who carried on the great traditions were Venetian. Among the +architects, Palladio was a native of Vicenza; Giacomo Barozzi, the author +of the "Treatise on the Orders," took the name by which he is known from +his birthplace, Vignola; Vincenzo Scamozzi was a fellow-townsman of +Palladio; Galeazzo Alessi, though born at Perugia, spent his life and +developed his talents in Genoa; Andrea Formigine, the palace-builder, was +a Bolognese; Bartolommeo Ammanati alone at Florence exercised the arts of +sculpture and architecture in their old conjunction. Vignola, Palladio's +elder by a few years, displays in his work even more of the scholastically +frigid spirit of the late Renaissance, the narrowing of poetic impulse, +and the dwindling of vitality, that sadden the second half of the +sixteenth century in Italy. Scamozzi, labouring at Venice on works that +Sansovino left unfinished, caught the genial spirit of the old Venetian +style. Alessi, in like manner, at Genoa, felt the influences of a rich and +splendour-loving aristocracy. His church of S. Maria di Carignano is one +of the most successful ecclesiastical buildings of the late Renaissance, +combining the principles of Bramante and Michael Angelo in close imitation +of S. Peter's, and adhering in detail to the canons of the new taste.</p> +<a name="Page_69"></a> +<p>These canons were based upon a close study of Vitruvius. Palladio, +Vignola, and Scamozzi were no less ambitious as authors than as +architects;<a name="FNanchor54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54"><sup>[54]</sup></a> their minute analysis of antique treatises on the art of +construction led to the formation of exact rules for the treatment of the +five classic orders, the proportions of the chief parts used in building, +and the correct method of designing theatres and palaces, church-fronts +and cupolas. Thus architecture in its third Renaissance period passed into +scholasticism.</p> + +<p>The masters of this age, chiefly through the weight of their authority as +writers, exercised a wider European influence than any of their +predecessors. We English, for example, have given Palladio's name to the +Italian style adopted by us in the seventeenth century. This selection of +one man to represent an epoch was due partly no doubt to the prestige of +Palladio's great buildings in the South, but more, I think, to the +facility with which his principles could be assimilated. Depending but +little for effect upon the arts of decoration, his style was easily +imitated in countries where painting and sculpture were unknown, and where +a genius like Jean Goujon, the Sansovino of the French, has never been +developed. To have rivalled the façade of the Certosa would have been +impossible in London. Yet here Wren produced a cathedral worthy of +comparison with the proudest of the late Italian edifices. Moreover, the +principles of taste that governed Europe in the seventeenth century were +such as found fitter architectural expression in this style than in the +more genial and capricious manner of the earlier periods.</p> + +<p>After reviewing the rise and development of Renaissance <a name="Page_70"></a>architecture, it +is almost irresistible to compare the process whereby the builders of this +age learned to use dead forms for the expression of their thoughts, with +the similar process by which the scholars accustomed themselves to Latin +metres and the cadences of Ciceronian periods.<a name="FNanchor55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55"><sup>[55]</sup></a> The object in each case +was the same—to be as true to the antique as possible, and without +actually sacrificing the independence of the modern mind, to impose upon +it the limitations of a bygone civilisation. At first the enthusiasm for +antiquity inspired architects and scholars alike with a desire to imitate +<i>per saltum</i>, and many works of fervid sympathy and pure artistic +intuition were produced. In course of time the laws both of language and +construction were more accurately studied; invention was superseded by +pedantry; after Poliziano and Alberti came Bembo and Palladio. In +proportion as architects learned more about Vitruvius, and scholars +narrowed their taste to Virgil, the style of both became more cramped and +formal. It ceased at last to be possible to express modern ideas freely in +the correct Latinity required by cultivated ears, while no room for +originality, no scope for poetry of invention, remained in the elaborated +method of the architects. Neo-Latin literature dwindled away to nothing, +and Palladio was followed by the violent reactionaries of the <i>barocco</i> +mannerism.</p> + +<p>In one all-important respect this parallel breaks down. While the labours +of the Latinists subserved the simple process of instruction, by purifying +literary taste and familiarising the modern mind with the masterpieces of +the classic authors, the architects created a new common style for Europe. +With all its defects, it is not likely that the neo-Roman architecture, so +profoundly studied by the Italians, and so anxiously refined by their +chief masters, will ever wholly cease to be employed. In all cases where a +grand and massive edifice, <a name="Page_71"></a>no less suited to purposes of practical +utility than imposing by its splendour, is required, this style of +building will be found the best. Changes of taste and fashion, local +circumstances, and the personal proclivities of modern architects may +determine the choice of one type rather than another among the numerous +examples furnished by Italian masters. But it is not possible that either +Greek or Gothic should permanently take the place assigned to neo-Roman +architecture in the public buildings of European capitals.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor10">[10]</a><div class="note"><p> The question of the genesis of the Lombard style is one of +the most difficult in Italian art-history. I would not willingly be +understood to speak of Lombard architecture in any sense different from +that in which it is usual to speak of Norman. To suppose that either the +Lombards or the Normans had a style of their own, prior to their +occupation of districts from the monuments of which they learned rudely to +use the decayed Roman manner, would be incorrect. Yet it seems impossible +to deny that both Normans and Lombards in adapting antecedent models added +something of their own, specific to themselves as Northerners. The +Lombard, like the Norman or the Rhenish Romanesque, is the first stage in +the progressive mediæval architecture of its own district.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor11">[11]</a><div class="note"><p> I use the term Lombard architecture here, as defined above +(p. <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, note), for the style of building prevalent in Italy during the +Lombard occupation, or just after.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor12">[12]</a><div class="note"><p> The essential difference between Italy and either Northern +France or England, was that in Italy there existed monuments of Roman +greatness, which could never be forgotten by her architects. They always +worked with at least half of their attention turned to the past: nor had +they the exhilarating sense of free, spontaneous, and progressive +invention. This point has been well worked out by Mr. Street in the last +chapter of his hook on the <i>Architecture of North Italy</i>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor13">[13]</a><div class="note"><p> Even though it be now proved that not Heinrich von Gmunden, +but Marco Frisone da Campione, not a German, but a Milanese, was the first +architect, this is none the less true about its style.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor14">[14]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 153.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor15">[15]</a><div class="note"><p> Pavia, it may be mentioned, has still many towers standing, +and the two at Bologna are famous.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor16">[16]</a><div class="note"><p> Arnolfo was born in 1232 at Colle, in the Val d'Elsa. He was +a sculptor as well as architect, the assistant of Niccola Pisano at Siena, +and the maker of the tomb of Cardinal de Braye at Orvieto. This tomb is +remarkable as the earliest instance of the canopy withdrawn by attendant +angels from the dead man's form, afterwards so frequently adopted by the +Pisan school.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor17">[17]</a><div class="note"><p> Giov. Villani, viii. 26.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor18">[18]</a><div class="note"><p> See Milizia, vol. i. p. 135. These walls were not finished +till some, time after Arnolfo's death. They lost their ornament of towers +in the siege of 1529, and they are now being rapidly destroyed.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor19">[19]</a><div class="note"><p> From Perkins's <i>Tuscan Sculptors</i>, vol. i. p. 54. A recent +work by Signor G.J. Cavallucci, entitled <i>S. Maria del Fiore</i>, Firenze, +1881, has created a revolution in our knowledge regarding this church.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor20">[20]</a><div class="note"><p> Giov. Villani, x. 192.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor21">[21]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Illustrated Handbook of Architecture</i>, book vi. chap. i.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor22">[22]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Ib.</i></p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor23">[23]</a><div class="note"><p> See Grüner's <i>Terra Cotta Architecture of North Italy</i>, +plates 3 and 4.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor24">[24]</a><div class="note"><p> Compare what Alberti says in his preface to the Treatise on +Painting, <i>Opere</i>, vol. iv. p. 12. "Chi mai sì duro e sì invido non +lodasse Pippo architetto vedendo quì struttura si grande, erta sopra i +cieli, ampla da coprire con sua ombra tutti i popoli toscani, fatta sanza +alcuno aiuto di travamenti o di copia di legname, quale artificio certo, +se io ben giudico, come a questi tempi era incredibile potersi, così forse +appresso gli antiqui fu non saputo nè conosciuto?"</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor25">[25]</a><div class="note"><p> What the church of S. Petronio at Bologna would have been, +if it had been completed on the scale contemplated, can hardly be +imagined. As it stands, it is immense, and coldly bare in its immensity. +Yet the present church is but the nave of a temple designed with transepts +and choir. The length was to have been 800 feet, the width of the +transepts 625, the dome 183 feet in diameter. A building so colossal in +extent, and so monotonously meagre in conception, could not but have been +a failure.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor26">[26]</a><div class="note"><p> Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, chap, 1.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor27">[27]</a><div class="note"><p> The following passage quoted from Milizia, <i>Memorie degli +Architetti</i>, Parma, 1781, vol. i. p. 135, illustrates the contemptuous +attitude of Italian critics to Gothic architecture. After describing +Arnolfo's building of the Florentine Duomo, he proceeds: "In questo +Architetto si vide qualche leggiero barlume di buona Architettura, come di +Pittura in Cimabue suo contemporaneo. Ma in tutte le cose e fisiche e +morali i passaggi si fanno per insensibili gradagioni; onde per lungo +tempo ancora si mantenne il corrotto gusto, che si può chiamare +Arabo-Tedesco."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor28">[28]</a><div class="note"><p> Observe, for example, the casing of a Gothic church at +Rimini by Alberti with a series of Roman arches; or the façade of S. +Andrea at Mantua, where the vast and lofty central arch leads, not into +the nave itself, but into a shallow vestibule.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor29">[29]</a><div class="note"><p> See Burckhardt, <i>Cicerone</i>, vol. i. p. 167.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor30">[30]</a><div class="note"><p> See De Stendhal, <i>Histoire de la Peinture en Italie</i>, p. +122.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor31">[31]</a><div class="note"><p> For a notice of his life, see Vol. II., <i>Revival of +Learning</i>, p. 247.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor32">[32]</a><div class="note"><p> The Arch of Augustus at Rimini was the model followed by +Alberti in this façade. He intended to cover the church with a cupola, as +may be seen from the design on a medal of Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta. +See too the letter written by him to Matteo da Bastia, Alberti, <i>Opere</i>, +vol. iv. p. 397.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor33">[33]</a><div class="note"><p> This ancestral palace of the Medici passed in 1659 to the +Marchese Gabriele Riccardi, from the Duke Francesco II.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor34">[34]</a><div class="note"><p> Von Reumont, <i>Lorenzo de' Medici</i>, vol. ii. pp. 187-191, may +be consulted for an interesting account of the building of this Casa +Grande by Filippo Strozzi. The preparations were made with great caution, +lest it should seem that a work too magnificent for a simple citizen was +being undertaken; in particular, Filippo so contrived that the costly +<i>opus rusticum</i> employed in the construction of the basement should appear +to have been forced upon him. This is characteristic of Florence in the +days of Cosimo. The foundation stone was laid in the morning of August 16, +1489, at the moment when the sun arose above the summits of the Casentino. +The hour, prescribed by astrologers as propitious, had been settled by the +horoscope; masses meanwhile were said in several churches, and alms +distributed.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor35">[35]</a><div class="note"><p> Antonio Filarete, or Averulino, architect and sculptor, was +author of a treatise on the building of the ideal city, one of the most +curious specimens of Renaissance fancy, to judge from the account rendered +of the manuscript by Rio, vol. iii. pp. 321-328.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor36">[36]</a><div class="note"><p> Matteo Civitale, Benedetto da Majano, Mino da Fiesole, Luca +della Robbia, Donatello, Jacopo della Quercia, Lo Scalza, Omodeo, and the +Sansovini, not to mention less illustrious sculptors, filled the churches +of Italy with this elaborate stone-work. Among the bronze-founders it is +enough to name Ghiberti, Antonio Filarete, Antonio Pollajuolo, Donatello +and his pupil Bertoldo, Andrea Riccio, the master of the candelabrum in S. +Antonio at Padua, Jacopo Sansovino, the master of the door of the sacristy +in S. Mark's at Venice, Alessandro Leopardi, the master of the +standard-pedestals of the Piazza of S. Mark's. I do not mean these lists +to be in any sense exhaustive, but simply to remind the reader of the rare +and many-sided men of genius who devoted their abilities to this kind of +work. Some of their masterpieces will be noticed in detail in the chapter +on Sculpture.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor37">[37]</a><div class="note"><p> Especially his work at Monte Oliveto, near Siena, and in the +church of Monte Oliveto at Naples. The Sala del Cambio at Perugia may also +be cited as rich in tarsia-work designed by Perugino, while the church of +S. Pietro de' Cassinensi outside the city is a museum of masterpieces +executed by Fra Damiano da Bergamo and Stefano da Bergamo from designs of +Raphael. Not less beautiful are the inlaid wood panels in the Palace of +Urbino, by Maestro Giacomo of Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor38">[38]</a><div class="note"><p> The churches and palaces of Lombardy are peculiarly rich in +this kind of decoration. The façade of the Oratory of S. Bernardino at +Perugia, designed and executed by Agostino di Duccio, is a masterpiece of +rare beauty in this style.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor39">[39]</a><div class="note"><p> Not to mention the Renaissance mosaics of S. Mark's at +Venice, the cupola of S. Maria del Popolo at Rome, executed in mosaic by +Raphael, deserves special mention. A work illustrative of this cupola is +one of Ludwig Grüner's best publications.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor40">[40]</a><div class="note"><p> South Italy and Florence are distinguished by two marked +styles in this decoration of inlaid marbles or <i>opera di commesso</i>. +Compare the Medicean chapel in S. Lorenzo, for instance, with the high +altar of the cathedral of Messina.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor41">[41]</a><div class="note"><p> The roof of the Duomo at Volterra is a fine specimen.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor42">[42]</a><div class="note"><p> It will not be forgotten that Raphael's cartoons were made +for tapestry.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor43">[43]</a><div class="note"><p> Bramante Lazzari was born at Castel Durante, near Urbino, in +1444. He spent the early years of his architect's life in Lombardy, in the +service of Lodovico Sforza, and came probably to Rome upon his patron's +downfall in 1499.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor44">[44]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 342.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor45">[45]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 344. See Gregorovius, +<i>Geschichte der Stadt Rom</i>, vol. viii. p. 127, and the quotation there +translated from Pallavicini's <i>History of the Council of Trent</i>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor46">[46]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, pp. 296-298. Vol. II., +<i>Revival of Learning</i>, pp. 161-166. For his architectural designs see his +Life, by Manetti, book ii., in Muratori, vol. iii. part ii.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor47">[47]</a><div class="note"><p> Gregorovius, vol. vii. p. 638.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor48">[48]</a><div class="note"><p> Besides the great work of Bonanni, <i>Templi Vaticani +Historia</i>, I may refer my readers to the atlas volume of <i>Illustrations, +Architectural and Pictorial, of the Genius of Michael Angelo Buonarroti</i>, +compiled by Mr. Harford (Colnaghi, 1857). Plates 1 to 7 of that work are +devoted to the plans of S. Peter's. Plate 4 is specially interesting, +since it represents in one view the old basilica and the design of +Bramante, together with those of Antonio di S. Gallo and Michael Angelo.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor49">[49]</a><div class="note"><p> The subterranean vaults of S. Peter's contain mere fragments +of tombs, some precious as historical records, some valuable as works of +art, swept together pell-mell from the ruins of the old basilica.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor50">[50]</a><div class="note"><p> See the original letter to Ammanati, published from the +Archivio Buonarroti, by Signor Milanesi, p. 535.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor51">[51]</a><div class="note"><p> I am far from meaning that the earlier architects had not +been guided by ancient authors. Alberti's <i>Treatise on the Art of +Building</i> is a sufficient proof of their study of Vitruvius, and we know +that Fabio Calvi translated that writer into Italian for Raphael. In the +later Renaissance this study passed into purism.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor52">[52]</a><div class="note"><p> It must be confessed that this grandiose and picturesque +structure is but a shell to mask an earlier Gothic edifice.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor53">[53]</a><div class="note"><p> Compare Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, p. 370, for the +same transference of power in literature from Central to Northern Italy at +this time.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor54">[54]</a><div class="note"><p> Palladio's <i>Four Books of Architecture</i>, first published at +Venice in 1570, and Vignola's <i>Treatise on the Five Orders</i>, have been +translated into all the modern languages. Scamozzi projected, and partly +finished, a comprehensive work on <i>Universal Architecture</i>, which was +printed in 1685 at Venice.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor55">[55]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, chap. viii.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_III"></a><h2><a name="Page_72"></a>CHAPTER III--SCULPTURE</h2> + + +<h4>Niccola Pisano—Obscurity of the Sources for a History of Early Italian +Sculpture—Vasari's Legend of Pisano—Deposition from the Cross at +Lucca—Study of Nature and the Antique—Sarcophagus at Pisa—Pisan +Pulpit—Niccola's School—Giovanni Pisano—Pulpit in S. Andrea at +Pistoja—Fragments of his work at Pisa—Tomb of Benedict XI. at +Perugia—Bas-reliefs at Orvieto—Andrea Pisano—Relation of Sculpture to +Painting—Giotto—Subordination of Sculpture to Architecture in +Italy—Pisano's Influence in Venice—Balduccio of Pisa—Orcagna—The +Tabernacle of Orsammichele—The Gates of the Florentine Baptistery +—Competition of Ghiberti, Brunelleschi, and Della Quercia—Comparison +of Ghiberti's and Brunelleschi's Trial-pieces—Comparison of Ghiberti +and Della Quercia—The Bas-reliefs of S. Petronio—Ghiberti's +Education—His Pictorial Style in Bas-relief—His Feeling for the +Antique—Donatello—Early Visit to Rome—Christian Subjects—Realistic +Treatment—S. George and David—Judith—Equestrian Statue of +Gattamelata—Influence of Donatello's Naturalism—Andrea Verocchio—His +David—Statue of Colleoni—Alessandro Leopardi—Lionardo's Statue of +Francesco Sforza—The Pollajuoli—Tombs of Sixtus IV. and Innocent +VIII.—Luca della Robbia—His Treatment of Glazed Earthenware—Agostino +di Duccio—The Oratory of S. Bernardino at Perugia—Antonio +Rossellino—Matteo Civitali—Mino da Fiesole—Benedetto da +Majano—Characteristics and Masterpieces of this Group—Sepulchral +Monuments—Andrea Contucci's Tombs in S. Maria del Popolo—Desiderio da +Settignano—Sculpture in S. Francesco at Rimini—Venetian +Sculpture—Verona—Guido Mazzoni of Modena—Certosa of Pavia—Colleoni +Chapel at Bergamo—Sansovino at Venice—Pagan Sculpture—Michael Angelo's +Scholars—Baccio Bandinelli—Bartolommeo Ammanati—Cellini—Gian +Bologna—Survey of the History of Renaissance Sculpture.</h4> + +<p>In the procession of the fine arts, sculpture always follows close upon +the steps of architecture, and at first appears in <a name="Page_73"></a>some sense as her +handmaid. Mediæval Italy found her Pheidias in a great man of Pisan +origin, born during the first decade of the thirteenth century. It was +Niccola Pisano, architect and sculptor, who first breathed with the breath +of genius life into the dead forms of plastic art. From him we date the +dawn of the æsthetical Renaissance with the same certainty as from +Petrarch that of humanism; for he determined the direction not only of +sculpture but also of painting in Italy. To quote the language of Lord +Lindsay's panegyric: "Neither Dante nor Shakspere can boast such extent +and durability of influence; for whatever of highest excellence has been +achieved in sculpture and painting, not in Italy only but throughout +Europe, has been in obedience to the impulse he primarily gave, and in +following up the principle which he first struck out."<a name="FNanchor56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56"><sup>[56]</sup></a> In truth, +Niccola Pisano put the artist on the right track of combining the study of +antiquity with the study of nature; and to him belongs the credit not +merely of his own achievement, considerable as that may be, but also of +the work of his immediate scholars and of all who learned from him to +portray life. From Niccola Pisano onward to Michael Angelo and Cellini we +trace one genealogy of sculptors, who, though they carried art beyond the +sphere of his invention, looked back to him as their progenitor. The man +who first emancipated sculpture from servile bondage, and opened a way for +the attainment of true beauty, would by the Greeks have been honoured with +a special cultas as the Hero Eponym of art. It remains for us after our +own fashion to pay some such homage to Pisano.</p> + +<p>The chief difficulty with which the student of early art and literature +has to deal, is the insufficiency of positive information. Instead of +accurate dates and well-established facts he finds a legend, rich +apparently in detail, but liable at every point to doubt, and subject to +attack by plausible con<a name="Page_74"></a>jecture. In the absence of contemporary documents +and other trustworthy sources of instruction, he is tempted to substitute +his own hypotheses for tradition and to reconstruct the faulty outlines of +forgotten history according to his own ideas of fitness. The Germans have +been our masters in this species of destructive, dubitative, restorative +criticism; and it is undoubtedly flattering to the historian's vanity to +constitute himself a judge and arbiter in cases where tact and ingenuity +may claim to sift the scattered fragment of confused narration. Yet to +resist this temptation is in many cases a plain and simple duty. +Tradition, when not positively disproved, should be allowed to have its +full value; and a sounder historic sense is exercised in adopting its +testimony with due caution, than in recklessly rejecting it and +substituting guesses which the lack of knowledge renders unsubstantial. +Tradition may err about dates, details, and names. It is just here that +antiquarian research can render valuable help. But there are occasions +when the perusal of documents and the exercise of what is called the +higher criticism afford no surer basis for opinion. If in such cases a +legend has been formed and recorded, the student will advance further +toward comprehending the spirit of his subject by patiently considering +what he knows to be in part perhaps a mythus, than by starting with the +foregone conclusion that the legend must of necessity be worthless, and +that his cunning will suffice to supply the missing clue.<a name="FNanchor57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57"><sup>[57]</sup></a></p> +<a name="Page_75"></a> +<p>Thus much I have said by way of preface to what follows upon Niccola +Pisano. Almost all we know about him is derived from a couple of +inscriptions, a few contracts, and his Life by Giorgio Vasari. It is clear +that Vasari often wrote with carelessness, confusing dates and places, and +taking no pains to verify the truth of his assertions. Much of Niccola's +biography reads like a legend in his pages—the popular and oral tradition +of a great man, whose panegyric it was more easy in the sixteenth century +to adorn with rhetoric than to chronicle the details of his life with +scrupulous fidelity. A well-founded conviction of Vasari's frequent +inaccuracy has induced recent critics to call in question many hitherto +accepted points about the nationality and training of Pisano. The +discussion, of their arguments I leave for the appendix, contenting myself +at present with relating so much of Vasari's legend as cannot, I think, +reasonably be rejected.<a name="FNanchor58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58"><sup>[58]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Before the sculptor appeared in Niccola Pisano, he was already a famous +architect; and it must always be remembered that he and his school +subordinated the plastic to the constructive arts. It was not until the +year 1233, or 1237, according to different modern calculations, that he +executed his first masterpiece in sculpture.<a name="FNanchor59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59"><sup>[59]</sup></a> This was a "Deposition +from the Cross," in high relief, placed in a lunette over one of the side +doors of S. Martino at Lucca. The noble forms of this group, the largeness +of its style, the breadth of drapery and freedom of action it displays, +but, above all, the unity of its design, proclaimed that a new era had +begun for art.<a name="Page_76"></a> In order to appreciate the importance of this relief, it +is only necessary to compare it with the processional treatment of similar +subjects upon early Christian sarcophagi, where each figure stands up +stiff and separate, nor can the controlling and combining artist's thought +be traced in any effort after composition. Ever since the silver age of +Hadrian, when a Bithynian slave by his beauty gave a final impulse to the +Genius of Greece, sculpture had been gradually declining until nothing was +left but a formal repetition of conventional outlines. The so-called +Romanesque and Byzantine styles were but the dotage of second childhood, +fumbling with the methods and materials of an irrecoverable past. It is +true, indeed, that unknown mediæval carvers had shown an instinct for the +beautiful as well as great fertility of grotesque invention. The façades +of Lombard churches are covered with fanciful and sometimes forcibly +dramatic groups of animals and men in combat; and contemporaneously with +Niccola Pisano, many Gothic sculptors of the North were adorning the +façades and porches of cathedrals with statuary unrivalled in one style of +loveliness.<a name="FNanchor60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60"><sup>[60]</sup></a> Yet the founder of a line of progressive artists had not +arisen, and, except in Italy, the conditions were still wanting under +which alone the plastic arts could attain to independence. A fresh start, +at once conscious and scientific, was imperatively demanded. This new +beginning sculpture took in the brain of Niccola Pisano, who returned from +the bye-paths of his predecessors to the free field of nature, and who +learned precious lessons from the fragments of classical sculpture +existing in his native town. As though to prove the essential dependence +of the modern revival upon the recovery of antique culture, we find that +his genius, in spite of its powerful originality and profoundly Christian +bias, required the confirmation <a name="Page_77"></a>which could only be derived from +Græco-Roman precedent. In the Campo Santo at Pisa may still be seen a +sarcophagus representing the story of Hippolytus and Phædra, where once +reposed the dust of Beatrice, the mother of the pious Countess Matilda of +Tuscany. Studying the heroic nudities and noble attitudes of this +bas-relief, Niccola rediscovered the right way of art—not by merely +copying his model, but by divining the secret of the grand style. His work +at Pisa contains abundant evidence that, while he could not wholly free +himself from the defects of the later Romanesque manner, betrayed by his +choice of short and square-set types, he nevertheless learned from the +antique how to aim at beauty and freedom in his imitation of the living +human form. A marble vase, sculptured with Indian Bacchus and his train of +Mænads, gave him further help. From these grave or graceful classic forms, +satisfied with their own goodliness, and void of inner symbolism, the +Christian sculptor drank the inspiration of Renaissance art. In the +"Adoration of the Magi," carved upon his Pisan pulpit, Madonna assumes the +haughty pose of Theseus' wife; while the high priest, in the +"Circumcision," displays the majesty of Dionysus leaning on the neck of +Ampelus. Nor again is the naked vigour of Hippolytus without its echo in +the figure of the young man—Hercules or Fortitude—upon a bracket of the +same pulpit. These sculptures of Pisano are thus for us a symbol of what +happened in the age of the Revival. The old world and the new shook hands; +Christianity and Hellenism kissed each other. And yet they still remained +antagonistic—fused externally by art, but severed in the consciousness +that, during those strange years of dubious impulse, felt the might of +both. Monks leaning from Pisano's pulpit preached the sinfulness of +natural pleasure to women whose eyes were fixed on the adolescent beauty +of an athlete. Not far off was the time when Filarete should cast in +bronze the legends of Ganymede and Leda for <a name="Page_78"></a>the portals of S. Peter's, +when Raphael should mingle a carnival of more than pagan sensuality with +Bible subjects in Leo's Loggie, when Guglielmo della Porta should place +the naked portrait of Giulia Bella in marble at the feet of Paul III. upon +his sepulchre.<a name="FNanchor61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61"><sup>[61]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Niccola, meanwhile, did not follow his Roman models in any slavish spirit. +They were neither numerous nor excellent enough to compel blind imitation +or to paralyse inventive impulse. The thoughts to be expressed in marble +by the first modern artist were not Greek. This in itself saved him from +that tendency to idle reproduction which proved the ruin of the later +neo-pagan sculptors. Yet the fragments of antique work he found within his +reach, helped him to struggle after a higher quality of style, and +established standards of successful treatment. For the rest, his choice of +form and the proportions of his figures show that Niccola resorted to +native Tuscan models. If nothing of his handiwork were left but the +bas-relief of the "Inferno" on the Pisan pulpit, the torsos of the men +struggling with demons in that composition would prove this point. It +remains his crowning merit to have first expressed the mythology of +Christianity <a name="Page_79"></a>and the sentiment of the Middle Ages with the conscious aim +of a real artist. And here it may be noticed that, a true Italian, he +infused but little of intense or mystical emotion into his art. Niccola is +more of a humanist, if this word may be applied to a sculptor, than some +of his immediate successors. The hexagonal pulpit in the Baptistery of +Pisa, the octagonal pulpit in the cathedral of Siena, the fountain in the +marketplace of Perugia, and the shrine of S. Dominic at Bologna, all of +them designed and partly finished between 1260 and 1274 by Niccola and his +scholars, display his mastery over the art of sculpture in the maturity of +his genius. So highly did the Pisans prize their fellow-townsman's pulpit +that a law was passed and guardians were appointed for its +preservation—much in the same way as the Zeus of Pheidias was consigned +to the care of the Phaidruntai.</p> + +<p>Niccola Pisano founded a school. His son Giovanni, and the numerous pupils +employed upon the monuments just mentioned at Siena, Bologna, and Perugia, +carried on the tradition of their master, and spread his style abroad +through Italy. Giovanni Pisano, to whom we owe the Spina Chapel and the +Campo Santo at Pisa, the façade of the Sienese Duomo, and the altar-shrine +of S. Donato at Arezzo—four of the purest works of Gothic art in +Italy—showed a very decided leaning to the vehement and mystic style of +the Transalpine sculptors. We trace a dramatic intensity in Giovanni's +work, not derived from his father, not caught from study of the antique, +and curiously blended with the general characteristics of the Pisan +school. In spite of the Gothic cusps introduced by Niccola into his +pulpits, the spirit of his work remained classical. The young Hercules +holding the lion's cub in his right hand upon his shoulder, while with his +left he tames the raging lioness, has the true Italian instinct for a +return to Latin style. The same sympathy with the past is observable in +the self-restraint and com<a name="Page_80"></a>parative coldness of the bas-reliefs at Pisa. +The Junonian attitude of Madonna, the senatorial dignity of Simeon, the +ponderous folding of the drapery, and the massive carriage of the neck +throughout, denote an effort to revivify an antique manner. What, +therefore, Niccola effected for sculpture was a classical revival in the +very depth of the Middle Ages. The case is different with his son +Giovanni. Profiting by the labours of his father, and following in his +footsteps, he carried the new art into another region, and brought a +genius of more picturesque and forcible temper into play. The value of +this new direction given to sculpture for the arts of Italy, especially +for painting, cannot be exaggerated. Without Giovanni's intervention, the +achievement of Niccola might possibly have been as unproductive of +immediate results as the Tuscan Romanesque, that mediæval effort after the +Renaissance, was in architecture.<a name="FNanchor62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62"><sup>[62]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The Gothic element, so cautiously adopted by Niccola, is used with +sympathy and freedom by his son, whose masterpiece, the pulpit of S. +Andrea at Pistoja, might be selected as the supreme triumph of Italian +Gothic sculpture. The superiority of that complex and consummate work of +plastic art over the pulpit of the Pisan Baptistery, in all the most +important qualities of style and composition, can scarcely be called in +question. Its only serious fault is an exaggeration of the height of the +pillars in proportion to the size of the hexagon they support. Like the +pulpits of the Baptistery, of the Duomo of Pisa, and of the Duomo of +Siena, it combines bas-reliefs and detached statues, carved capitals, and +sculptured lions, in a maze of marvellous invention; but it has no rival +in the architectonic effect of harmony, and the masterly feeling for +balanced masses it displays. The five subjects chosen by Giovanni for his +bas-reliefs are the "Nativity," the "Adoration of the Magi," the "Massacre +of the Innocents," the "Crucifixion,"<a name="Page_81"></a> and the "Last Judgment." In the +"Nativity" our Lady is no longer the Roman matron of Niccola's conception, +but a graceful mother, young in years, and bending with the weakness of +childbirth. Her attitude, exquisite by the suggestion of tenderness and +delicacy, is one that often reappears in the later work of the Pisan +school—for example, in the rough <i>abozzamento</i> in the Campo Santo at +Pisa, above the north door of the Duomo at Lucca, and at Orvieto on the +façade of the cathedral; but it has nowhere else been treated with the +same sense of beauty. The "Massacre of the Innocents," compared with this +relief, is a tragedy beside an idyll. Here the whole force of Giovanni's +eminently dramatic genius comes into full play. Not only has he treated +the usual incidents of mothers struggling with soldiers and bewailing +their dead darlings, but he has also introduced a motive, which might well +have been used by subsequent artists in dealing with the same subjects. +Herod is throned in one corner of the composition; before him stand a +group of men and women, some imploring the tyrant for mercy, some defying +him in impotent despair, and some invoking the curse of God upon his head. +In the "Adoration of the Magi," again, Giovanni shows originality by the +double action he has chosen to develop. On one side the kings are +sleeping, while an angel comes to wake them, pointing out the star. On the +other side they fall at the feet of the Madonna. It will be gathered even +from these bare descriptions that Giovanni introduced a stir of life and +movement, and felt his subjects with a poetic intensity, alien to the +ideal of Græco-Roman sculpture. He effected a fusion between the grand +style revived by Niccola and the romantic fervour of the modern +imagination. It was in this way that the tradition handed down by him +proved inestimably serviceable to the painters.</p> + +<p>The bas-reliefs, however, by no means form the chief <a name="Page_82"></a>attraction of this +pulpit. At each of its six angles stand saints, evangelists, and angels, +whose symbolism it is not now so easy to decipher. The most beautiful +groups are a company of angels blowing the judgment trumpets, and a winged +youth standing above a winged lion and bull. These groups separate the +several compartments of the bas-reliefs, and help to form the body of the +pulpit. Beneath, on capital's of the supporting pillars, stand the Sibyls, +each with her attendant genius, while prophets lean or crouch within the +spandrils of the arches. Thus every portion of this master-work is crowded +with figures—some detached, some executed in relief; and yet, amid so +great a multitude, the eye is not confused; the total effect is nowhere +dissipated. The whole seems governed by one constructive thought, +projected as a perfect unity of composition.<a name="FNanchor63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63"><sup>[63]</sup></a></p> + +<p>A later work of Giovanni Pisano was the pulpit executed for the cathedral +of Pisa, now unfortunately broken up. An interesting fragment, one of the +supporting columns of the octagon which formed the body of this structure, +still exists in the museum of the Campo Santo. It is an allegorical statue +of Pisa. The Ghibelline city is personified as a crowned woman, suckling +children at her breast, and standing on a pedestal supported by the eagle +of the Empire. She wears a girdle of rope seven times knotted, to betoken +the rule of Pisa over seven subject islands. At the four corners of her +throne stand the four human virtues, Prudence, Temperance, Justice, and +Fortitude, distinguished less by beauty of shape than by determined energy +of symbolism. Temperance is a naked woman, with hair twisted in the knots +and curls of a Greek Aphrodite. Justice is old and wrinkled, clothed with +massive <a name="Page_83"></a>drapery, and holding in her hand the scales. Throughout this +group there is no attempt to realise forms pleasing to the eye; the +sculptor has aimed at suggesting to the mind as many points of +intellectual significance as possible. In spite of ugliness and hardness, +the "Allegory of Pisa" commands respect by vigour of conception, and +rivets attention by force of execution.</p> + +<p>A more popular and pleasing monument by Giovanni Pisano is the tomb of +Benedict XI. in the church of S. Domenico at Perugia. The Pope, whose life +was so obnoxious to the ambition of Philip le Bel that his timely death +aroused suspicion of poison, lies asleep upon his marble bier with hands +crossed in an attitude of peaceful expectation.<a name="FNanchor64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64"><sup>[64]</sup></a> At his head and feet +stand angels drawing back the curtains that would else have shrouded this +last slumber of a good man from the eyes of the living.<a name="FNanchor65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65"><sup>[65]</sup></a> A contrast is +thus established between the repose of the dead and the ever-watchful +activity of celestial ministers. Sleep so guarded, the sculptor seeks to +tell us, must have glorious waking; and when those hands unfold upon the +Resurrection morning, the hushed sympathy of the attendant angels will +break into smiles and singing, as they lead the just man to the Lord he +served in life.</p> + +<p>Whether Giovanni Pisano had any share in the sculpture on the façade of +the cathedral at Orvieto, is not known for certain. Vasari asserts that +Niccola and his pupils worked upon this series of bas-reliefs, setting +forth the whole Biblical history and the cycle of Christian beliefs from +the creation of the world to the last judgment. Yet we know that Niccola +himself died at least twelve years before the foundation of the church in +1290; nor is there any proof that his immediate scholars were engaged upon +the fabric. The Orvietan archives <a name="Page_84"></a>are singularly silent with regard to a +monument of so large extent and vast importance, which must have taxed to +the uttermost the resources of the ablest stone-carvers in Italy.<a name="FNanchor66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66"><sup>[66]</sup></a> +Meanwhile, what Vasari says is valuable only as a witness to the fame of +Niccola Pisano. His manner, as continued and developed by his school, is +unmistakable at Orvieto: but in the absence of direct information, we are +left to conjecture the conditions under which this, the closing if not the +crowning achievement of thirteenth-century sculpture, was produced.</p> + +<p>When the great founder of Italian art visited Siena in 1266 for the +completion of his pulpit in the Duomo, he found a guild of sculptors, or +<i>taglia-pietri</i>, in that city, numbering some sixty members, and governed +by a rector and three chamberlains. Instead of regarding Niccola with +jealousy, these craftsmen only sought to learn his method. Accordingly it +seems that a new impulse was given to sculpture in Siena; and famous +workmen arose who combined this art with that of building. The chief of +these was Lorenzo Maitani, who died in 1330, having designed and carried +to completion the Duomo of Orvieto during his lifetime.<a name="FNanchor67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67"><sup>[67]</sup></a> While engaged +in this great undertaking, Maitani directed a body of architects, +stone-carvers, bronze-founders, mosaists, and painters, gathered together +into a guild from the chief cities of Tuscany. It cannot be proved that +any of the Pisani, properly so called, were among their number. Lacking +evidence to the contrary, we must give to Maitani, the master-spirit of +the company, full credit for the sculpture carried out in obedience to his +general plan. As the church of S. Francis at Assisi formed an epoch in the +history of painting, by concentrating the genius of Giotto on a series of +<a name="Page_85"></a>masterpieces, so the Duomo of Orvieto, by giving free scope to the school +of Pisa, marked a point in the history of sculpture. It would be difficult +to find elsewhere even separate works of greater force and beauty +belonging to this, the first or architectural, period of Italian +sculpture; and nowhere has the whole body of Christian belief been set +forth with method more earnest and with vigour more sustained.<a name="FNanchor68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68"><sup>[68]</sup></a> The +subjects selected by these unknown craftsmen for illustration in marble, +are in many instances the same as those afterwards painted in fresco by +Michael Angelo and Raphael at Borne. Their treatment, for example, of the +creation of Adam and Eve, adopted in all probability from still earlier +and ruder workmen, after being refined by the improvements of successive +generations, may still be observed in the triumphs of the Sistine Chapel +and the Loggie.<a name="FNanchor69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69"><sup>[69]</sup></a> It was the practice of Italian artists not to seek +originality by diverging from the traditional modes of presentation, but +to prove their mastery by rendering these as <a name="Page_86"></a>perfect and effective as the +maturity of art could make them. For the Italians, as before them for the +Greeks, plagiarism was a word unknown, in all cases where it was possible +to improve upon the invention of less fortunate predecessors. The student +of art may, therefore, now enjoy the pleasure of tracing sculpturesque or +pictorial motives from their genesis in some rude fragment to their final +development in the master-works of a Lionardo or a Raphael, where +scientific grouping of figures, higher idealisation of style, the +suggestion of freer movement, and more varied dramatic expression yield at +last the full flower that the simple germ enfolded.</p> + +<p>Among the most distinguished scholars of Niccola Pisano's tradition must +now be mentioned Andrea da Pontadera, called Andrea Pisano, who carried +the manner of his master to Florence, and helped to fulfil the destiny of +Italian sculpture by submitting it to the rising art of painting. Under +the direction of Giotto he carved statues for the Campanile and the façade +of S. Maria del Fiore; and in the first gate of the Baptistery, he +bequeathed a model of bas-relief in bronze, which largely influenced the +style of masters in the fifteenth century. To overpraise the simplicity +and beauty of design, the purity of feeling, and the technical excellence +of Andrea's bronze-work, would be difficult. Many students will always be +found to prefer his self-restraint and delicacy to the more florid manner +of Ghiberti.<a name="FNanchor70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70"><sup>[70]</sup></a> What we chiefly observe in this gate is the control +exercised by the sister art of painting over his mode of conception and +treatment. If Giovanni Pisano developed the dramatic and emphatic +qualities of Gothic sculpture, Andrea was attracted to its allegories; if +Giovanni infused romantic vehemence of feeling into the frigid classicism +of his father, Andrea <a name="Page_87"></a>diverged upon another track of picturesque +delineation. A new sun had now arisen in the heavens of art. This was the +sun of Giotto, whose genius, eminently pictorial, brought the Italians to +a true sense of their æsthetical vocation, illuminating with its +brightness the elder and more technically finished craft of the +stone-carver. Sculpture, which in the school of Niccola Pisano had been +subordinate to architecture, became a sub-species of painting in the hands +of Andrea.</p> + +<p>It was thus, as I have elsewhere stated, that the twofold doom of plastic +art in Italy was accomplished. In order to embody the ideas of +Christianity, art had to think more of expression than of pure form. +Expression is the special sphere of painting; and therefore sculpture +followed the lead of the sister art, as soon as painting was strong enough +to give that lead, instead of remaining, as in Greece, the mistress of her +own domain. On the deeper reasons for this subordination of sculpture to +painting I have dwelt already, while showing that a large class of +subjects, where physical qualities are comparatively indifferent and of no +account, were forced upon the artist by Christianity.<a name="FNanchor71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71"><sup>[71]</sup></a> Humility and +charity may be found alike in blooming youth or in ascetic age; nor is it +possible to characterize saints and martyrs by those corporeal +characteristics which distinguish a runner from a boxer, or a chaste +huntress from a voluptuous queen of love. Italian sculpture abandoned the +presentation of the naked human body as useless. The emotions written on +the face became of more importance than the modelling of the limbs, and +recourse was had to allegorical symbols or emblematic attitudes for the +interpretation of the artist's thought. Andrea Pisano's figure of Hope, +raising hands and eyes toward an offered crown, seems but a repetition of +the motive expressed by Giotto in the chiaroscuro frescoes of the Arena +chapel.<a name="FNanchor72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72"><sup>[72]</sup></a><a name="Page_88"></a> Owing to similar causes, drapery, which in Greece had served +to illustrate the structure or the movement of the body it clothed, was +used by the Italian sculptors to conceal the limbs, and to enhance by +flowing skirt or sinuous fold or agitated scarf some quality of the +emotions. The result was that sculpture assumed a place subordinate to +painting, and that the masterpieces of the early Italian carvers are +chiefly bas-reliefs—pictures in bronze or marble.<a name="FNanchor73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73"><sup>[73]</sup></a></p> + +<p>In a like degree, though not for the same reason, sculpture in Italy +remained subordinate to architecture, until such time as the neo-Hellenism +of the full Renaissance produced a crowd of pseudo-classic statues, +destined to take their places—not in churches, but in the courtyards of +palaces and on the open squares of cities. The cause of this fact is not +far to seek. In ancient Greece the temple had been erected for the god, +and the statue dwelt within the cella like a master in his house. +Christianity forbade an image of the living God; consequently the Church +had another object than to roof the statue of a deity. It was the +meeting-place of a congregation bent on worshipping Him who dwells not in +houses made with hands, and whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain. The +vast spaces and aërial arcades of mediæval architecture had their meaning +in relation to the mystic apprehension of an unseen power. It followed of +necessity that the carved work destined to decorate a Christian temple +could never be the main feature of the building. It existed for the +Church, and not the Church for it.<a name="FNanchor74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74"><sup>[74]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Through Andrea Pisano the style of Niccola was extended <a name="Page_89"></a>to Venice. There +is reason to believe that he instructed Filippo Calendario, to whom we +should ascribe the sculptured corners of the Ducal Palace. Venice, +however, invariably exercised her own controlling influence over the arts +of aliens; so we find a larger, freer, richer, and more mundane treatment +in these splendid carvings than in aught produced by Pisan workmen for +their native towns of Tuscany.</p> + +<p>Nino, the sculptor of the "Madonna della Rosa," the chief ornament of the +Spina chapel, and Tommaso, both sons of Andrea da Pontadera, together with +Giovanni Balduccio of Pisa, continued the traditions of the school founded +by Niccola. Balduccio, invited by Azzo Visconti to Milan, carved the +shrine of S. Peter Martyr in the church of S. Eustorgio, and impressed his +style on Matteo da Campione, the sculptor of the shrine of S. Augustine at +Pavia.<a name="FNanchor75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75"><sup>[75]</sup></a> These facts, though briefly stated, are not without +significance. Travellers who have visited the churches of Pavia and Milan, +after studying the shrine, or <i>arca</i> as Italians call it, of S. Dominic at +Bologna, must have noticed the ascendency of Pisan style in these three +Lombard towns, and have felt how widely Niccola's creative genius was +exercised. Traces of the same influence may perhaps be observed in the +tombs of the Scaligers at Verona.<a name="FNanchor76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76"><sup>[76]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The most eminent pupil of Andrea Pisano, however, was a Florentine—the +great Andrea Arcagnuolo di Cione, commonly known as Orcagna. This man, +like the more <a name="Page_90"></a>illustrious Giotto, was one among the earliest of those +comprehensive, many-sided natures produced by Florence for her everlasting +glory. He studied the goldsmith's craft under his father, Cione, passing +the years of his apprenticeship, like other Tuscan artists, in the +technical details of an industry that then supplied the strictest method +of design. With his brother, Bernardo, he practised painting. Like Giotto, +he was no mean poet;<a name="FNanchor77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77"><sup>[77]</sup></a> and like all the higher craftsmen of his age, he +was an architect. Though the church of Orsammichele owes its present form +to Taddeo Gaddi, Orcagna, as <i>capo maëstro</i> after Gaddi's death, completed +the structure; and though the Loggia de' Lanzi, long ascribed to him by +writers upon architecture, is now known to be the work of Benci di Cione, +yet Orcagna's Loggia del Bigallo, more modest but not less beautiful, +prepared the way for its construction. Of his genius as a painter, proved +by the frescoes in the Strozzi chapel, I shall have to speak hereafter. As +a sculptor he is best known through the tabernacle of Orsammichele, built +to enshrine the picture of the Madonna by Ugolino da Siena.<a name="FNanchor78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78"><sup>[78]</sup></a></p> + +<p>In this monument Orcagna employed carved bas-reliefs and statuettes, +intaglios and mosaics, incrustations of agates, enamels, and gilded glass +patterns, with a sense of harmony so refined, and a mastery over each kind +of workmanship so perfect, that the whole tabernacle is an epitome of the +minor arts of mediæval Italy. The subordination of sculpture to +architectural effect is noticeable; and the Giottesque influence appears +even more strongly here than in the gate of Andrea Pisano. This influence +Orcagna received indirectly through his master in stone carving; it +formed, indeed, the motive force of figurative art during his lifetime. +The <a name="Page_91"></a>subjects of the "Annunciation," the "Nativity," the "Marriage of the +Virgin," and the "Adoration of the Three Kings," framed in octagonal +mouldings at the base of the tabernacle, illustrate the domination of a +spirit distinct both from the neo-Romanism of Niccola and the Gothicism of +Giovanni Pisano. That spirit is Florentine in a general sense, and +specifically Giottesque. Charity, again, with a flaming heart in her hand, +crowned with a flaming brazier, and suckling a child, is Giottesque not +only in allegorical conception but also in choice of type and treatment of +drapery.</p> + +<p>While admiring the tabernacle of Orsammichele, we are reminded that +Orcagna was a goldsmith to begin with, and a painter. Sculpture he +practised as an accessory. What the artists of Florence gained in delicacy +of execution, accuracy of modelling, and precision of design by their +apprenticeship to the goldsmith's trade, was hardly perhaps sufficient to +compensate for loss of training in a larger style. It was difficult, we +fancy, for men so educated to conceive the higher purposes of sculpture. +Contented with elaborate workmanship and beauty of detail, they failed to +attain to such independence of treatment as may be reached by sculptors +who do not carry to their work the preconceptions of a narrower +handicraft. Thus even Orcagna's masterpiece may strike us not as the +plaything of a Pheidian genius condescending for once to "breathe through +silver," but of a consummate goldsmith taxing the resources of his craft +to form a monumental jewel.<a name="FNanchor79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79"><sup>[79]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The façade of Orvieto was the final achievement of the first or +architectural period of Italian sculpture. Giotto, Andrea Pisano, and +Orcagna, formed the transition to the second period. To find one +characteristic title for the style of the fifteenth century is not easy, +since it was marked by <a name="Page_92"></a>many distinct peculiarities. If, however, we +choose to call it pictorial, we shall sufficiently mark the quality of +some eminent masters, and keep in view the supremacy of painting at this +epoch. A great public enterprise at Florence brings together in honourable +rivalry the chief craftsmen of the new age, and marks the advent of the +Renaissance. When the Signory, in concert with the Arte de' Mercanti, +decided to complete the bronze gates of the Baptistery in the first year +of the fifteenth century, they issued a manifesto inviting the sculptors +of Italy to prepare designs for competition. Their call was answered by +Giacomo della Quercia of Siena, by Filippo Brunelleschi and Lorenzo di +Cino Ghiberti of Florence, and by two other Tuscan artists of less note. +The young Donatello, aged sixteen, is said to have been consulted as to +the rival merits of the proofs submitted to the judges. Thus the four +great masters of Tuscan art in its prime met before the Florentine +Baptistery.<a name="FNanchor80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80"><sup>[80]</sup></a> Giacomo della Quercia was excluded from the competition at +an early stage; but the umpires wavered long between Ghiberti and +Brunelleschi, until the latter, with notable generosity, feeling the +superiority of his rival, and conscious perhaps that his own laurels were +to be gathered in the field of architecture, withdrew his claim. In 1403, +Ghiberti received the commission for the first of the two remaining gates. +He afterwards obtained the second; and as they were not finished until +1452, the better part of his lifetime was spent upon them. He received in +all a sum of 30,798 golden florins for his labour and the cost of the +material employed.</p> + +<p>The trial-pieces prepared by Brunelleschi and Ghiberti are now preserved +in the Bargello.<a name="FNanchor81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81"><sup>[81]</sup></a> Their subject is the<a name="Page_93"></a> "Sacrifice of Isaac;" and a +comparison of the two leaves no doubt of Ghiberti's superiority. The +faults of Brunelleschi's model are want of repose and absence of +composition. Abraham rushes in a frenzy of murderous agitation at his son, +who writhes beneath the knife already at his throat. The angel swoops from +heaven with extended arms, reaching forth one hand to show the ram to +Abraham, and clasping the patriarch's wrist with the other. The ram +meanwhile is scratching his nose with his near hind leg; one of the +servants is taking a thorn from his foot, while the other fills a cup from +the stream at which the ass is drinking. Thus each figure has a separate +uneasy action. Those critics who contend that the unrest of +sixteenth-century sculpture was due to changes in artistic and religious +feeling wrought by the Renaissance, would do well to examine this plate, +and see how much account must be taken of the artist's temperament in +forming their opinion. Brunelleschi adhered to the style and taste of the +fifteenth century at its commencement; but the too fervid quality of his +character impaired his work as a sculptor. Ghiberti, on the other hand, +translated the calm of his harmonious nature into his composition. The +angel leans from heaven and points to the ram, which is seated quietly and +out of sight of the main actors. Isaac kneels in the attitude of a +submissive victim, though his head is turned aside, as if attracted by the +rush of pinions through the air; while Abraham has but just lifted his +hand, and the sacrifice is only suggested as a possibility by the naked +knife. The two servants are grouped below in conversation, one on each +side of the browsing ass. This power of telling a story plainly, but +without dramatic vehemence; of eliminating the painful details of the +subject, and combining its chief motives into one agreeable whole, gave +peculiar charm to Ghiberti's manner. It marked him as an artist +distinguished by good taste.</p> +<a name="Page_94"></a> +<p>How Delia Quercia treated the "Sacrifice of Isaac" we do not know. His +bas-reliefs upon the façade of S. Petronio at Bologna, and round the font +of S. John's Chapel in the cathedral of Siena, enable us, however, to +compare his style with that of Ghiberti in the handling of a subject +common to both, the "Creation of Eve."<a name="FNanchor82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82"><sup>[82]</sup></a> There is no doubt but that +Della Quercia was a formidable rival. Had the gates of the Baptistery been +entrusted to his execution, we might have possessed a masterpiece of more +heroic style. While smoothness and an almost voluptuous suavity of outline +distinguish Ghiberti's naked Eve, gliding upheld by angels from the side +of Adam at her Maker's bidding, Della Quercia's group, by the +concentration of robust and rugged power, anticipates the style of Michael +Angelo. Ghiberti treats the subject pictorially, placing his figures in a +landscape, and lavishing attendant angels. Della Quercia, in obedience to +the stricter laws of sculpture, restrains his composition to the three +chief persons, and brings them into close connection. While Adam reclines +asleep in a beautiful and highly studied attitude, Eve has just stepped +forth behind him, and God stands robed in massive drapery, raising His +hand as though to draw her into life. There is, perhaps, an excess of +dramatic action in the lifted right leg of Eve, and too much of pantomimic +language in the expressive hands of Eve and her<a name="Page_95"></a> Creator. The robe, again, +in its voluminous and snaky coils, and the triangular nimbus of the Deity, +convey an effect of heaviness rather than of majesty. Yet we feel, while +studying this composition, that it is a noble and original attempt, +falling but little short of supreme accomplishment. Without this +antecedent sketch, Michael Angelo might not have matured the most complete +of all his designs in the Sistine Chapel. The similarity between Delia +Quercia's bas-relief and Buonarroti's fresco of Eve is incontestable. The +young Florentine, while an exile in Bologna, and engaged upon the shrine +of S. Dominic, must have spent hours of study before the sculptures of S. +Petronio; so that this seed of Della Quercia's sowing bore after many +years the fruit of world-renowned achievement in Rome.</p> + +<p>Two other memorable works of Della Quercia must be parenthetically +mentioned. These are the Fonte Gaja on the public square of Siena, now +unhappily restored, and the portrait of Ilaria del Carretto on her tomb in +the cathedral of Lucca. The latter has long been dear to English students +of Italian art through words inimitable for their strength of sympathetic +criticism.<a name="FNanchor83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83"><sup>[83]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Ghiberti was brought up as a goldsmith by his stepfather, and it is said +that while a youth he spent much of his leisure in modelling portraits and +casting imitations of antique gems and coins for his friends. At the same +time he practised painting. We find him employed in decorating a palace at +Rimini for Carlo Malatesta, when his stepfather recalled him to Florence, +in order that he might compete for the gate of the Baptistery. It is +probable that from this early training Ghiberti derived the delicacy of +style and smoothness of execution that are reckoned among the chief merits +of his work. He also developed a manner more pictorial than sculpturesque, +which justifies our calling him a painter in <a name="Page_96"></a>bronze. When Sir Joshua +Reynolds remarked, "Ghiberti's landscape and buildings occupied so large a +portion of the compartments, that the figures remained but secondary +objects,"<a name="FNanchor84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84"><sup>[84]</sup></a> his criticism might fairly have been taxed with some +injustice even to the second of the two gates. Yet, though exaggerated in +severity, his words convey a truth important for the understanding of this +period of Italian art.</p> + +<p>The first gate may be cited as the supreme achievement of bronze-casting +in the Tuscan prime. In the second, by the introduction of elaborate +landscapes and the massing together of figures arranged in multitudes at +three and sometimes four distances, Ghiberti overstepped the limits that +separate sculpture from painting. Having learned perspective from +Brunelleschi, he was eager to apply this new science to his own craft, not +discerning that it has no place in noble bas-relief. He therefore +abandoned the classical and the early Tuscan tradition, whereby reliefs, +whether high or low, are strictly restrained to figures arranged in line +or grouped together without accessories. Instead of painting frescoes, he +set himself to model in bronze whole compositions that might have been +expressed with propriety in colour. The point of Sir Joshua's criticism, +therefore, is that Ghiberti's practice of distributing figures on a small +scale in spacious landscape framework was at variance with the severity of +sculptural treatment. The pernicious effect of his example may be traced +in much Florentine work of the mid Renaissance period which passed for +supremely clever when it was produced. What the unique genius of Ghiberti +made not merely pardonable but even admirable, became under other hands no +less repulsive than the transference of pictorial effects to painted +glass.<a name="FNanchor85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85"><sup>[85]</sup></a></p> +<a name="Page_97"></a> +<p>That Ghiberti was not a great sculptor of statues is proved by his work at +Orsammichele. He was no architect, as we know from his incompetence to do +more than impede Brunelleschi in the building of the dome. He came into +the world to create a new and inimitable style of hybrid beauty in those +gates of Paradise. His susceptibility to the first influences of the +classical revival deserves notice here, since it shows to what an extent a +devotee of Greek art in the fifteenth century could worship the relics of +antiquity without passing over into imitation. When the "Hermaphrodite" +was discovered in the vineyard of S. Celso, Ghiberti's admiration found +vent in exclamations like the following: "No tongue could describe the +learning and art displayed in it, or do justice to its masterly style." +Another antique, found near Florence, must, he conjectures, have been +hidden out of harm's way by "some gentle spirit in the early days of +Christianity." "The touch only," he adds, "can discover its beauties, +which escape the sense of sight in any light."<a name="FNanchor86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86"><sup>[86]</sup></a> It would be impossible +to express a reverential love of ancient art more tenderly than is done in +these sentences. So intense was Ghiberti's passion for the Greeks, that he +rejected Christian chronology and reckoned by Olympiads—a system that has +thrown obscurity over his otherwise precious notes of Tuscan artists. In +spite of this devotion, he never appears to have set himself consciously +to reproduce the style of Greek sculpture, or to have set forth Hellenic +ideas. He remained unaffectedly natural, and in a true sense Christian. +The paganism of the Renaissance is a phrase with no more meaning for him +than for that still more delicate Florentine spirit, Luca della Robbia; +and if his works are classical, they <a name="Page_98"></a>are so only in Goethe's sense, when +he pronounced, "the point is for a work to be thoroughly good, and then it +is sure to be classical."</p> + +<p>One great advantage of the early days of the Renaissance over the latter +was this, that pseudo-paganism and pedantry had not as yet distorted the +judgment or misdirected the aims of artists. Contact with the antique +world served only to stimulate original endeavour, by leading the student +back to the fountain of all excellence in nature, and by exhibiting types +of perfection in technical processes. To ape the sculptors of Antinous, or +to bring to life again the gods who died with Pan, was not yet longed for. +Of the impunity with which a sculptor in that period could submit his +genius to the service and the study of ancient art without sacrificing +individuality, Donatello furnishes a still more illustrious example than +Ghiberti. Early in his youth Donatello journeyed with Brunelleschi to +Rome, in order to acquaint himself with the monuments then extant. How +thoroughly he comprehended the classic spirit is proved by the bronze +patera wrought for his patron Ruberto Martelli, and by the frieze of the +triumphant Bacchus.<a name="FNanchor87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87"><sup>[87]</sup></a> Yet the great achievements of his genius were +Christian in their sentiment and realistic in their style. The bronze +"Magdalen" of the Florentine Baptistery and the bronze "Baptist" of the +Duomo at Siena<a name="FNanchor88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88"><sup>[88]</sup></a> are executed with an unrelenting materialism, not alien +indeed to the sincerity of classic art, but divergent from antique +tradition, inasmuch as the ideas of repentant and prophetic asceticism had +no place in Greek mythology.</p> + +<p>Donatello, with the uncompromising candour of an artist bent on marking +character, felt that he was bound to seize the very pith and kernel of his +subject. If a Magdalen were demanded of him, he would not condescend to +model a Venus <a name="Page_99"></a>and then place a book and skull upon a rock beside her; nor +did he imagine that the bloom and beauty of a laughing Faun were fitting +attributes for the preacher of repentance. It remained for later artists, +intoxicated with antique loveliness and corroded with worldly scepticism, +to reproduce the outward semblance of Greek deities under the pretence of +setting forth the myths of Christianity. Such compromise had not occurred +to Donatello. The motive of his art was clearly apprehended, his method +was sincere; certain phases of profound emotion had to be represented with +the physical characteristics proper to them. The result, ugly and painful +as it may sometimes be, was really more concordant with the spirit of +Greek method than Lionardo's "John" or Correggio's "Magdalen." That is to +say, it was straightforward and truthful; whereas the strange caprices of +the later Renaissance too often betrayed a double mind, disloyal alike to +paganism and to Christianity, in their effort to combine divergent forces. +It may still be argued that such conceptions as sorrow for sin and +mortification of the flesh, unflinchingly portrayed by haggard gauntness +in the saints of Donatello, are unfit for sculpturesque expression.</p> + +<p>A more felicitous embodiment of modern feeling was achieved by Donatello +in "S. George" and "David." The former is a marble statue placed upon the +north wall of Orsammichele; the latter is a bronze, cast for Cosimo de' +Medici, and now exhibited in the Bargello.<a name="FNanchor89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89"><sup>[89]</sup></a> Without striving to +idealise his models, the sculptor has expressed in both the Christian +conception of heroism, fearless in the face of danger, and sustained by +faith. The naked beauty of the boy David and the mailed manhood of S. +George are raised to a spiritual region by the type of feature and the +pose of body selected to interpret their animating impulse. These <a name="Page_100"></a>are no +mere portraits of wrestlers, such, as peopled the groves of Altis at +Olympia, no ideals of physical strength translated into brass and marble, +like the "Hercules" of Naples or the Vatican. The one is a Christian +soldier ready to engage Apollyon in battle to the death; the other the +boy-hero of a marvellous romance. The body in both is but the shrine of an +indwelling soul, the instrument and agent of a faith-directed will; and +the crown of their conflict is no wreath of laurel or of parsley. In other +words, the value of S. George and David to the sculptor lay not in their +strength and youthful beauty—though he has endowed them with these +excellent gifts—so much as in their significance for the eternal struggle +of the soul with evil. The same power of expressing Christian sentiment in +a form of perfect beauty, transcending the Greek type by profounder +suggestion of feeling, is illustrated in the well-known low-relief of an +angel's head in profile, technically one of Donatello's most masterly +productions.<a name="FNanchor90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90"><sup>[90]</sup></a></p> + +<p>It is no part of my present purpose to enumerate the many works of +Donatello in marble and bronze; yet some allusion to their number and +variety is necessary in order to show how widely his influence was +diffused through Italy. In the monuments of Pope John XXIII., of Cardinal +Brancacci, and of Bartolommeo Aragazzi, he subordinated his genius to the +treatment of sepulchral and biographical subjects according to +time-honoured Tuscan usage. They were severally placed in Florence, +Naples, and Montepulciano. For the cathedral of Prato he executed +bas-reliefs of dancing boys; a similar series, intended for the +balustrades of the organ in S. Maria del Fiore, is now preserved in the +Bargello museum. The exultation of movement has never been expressed in +stone with more fidelity to the strict rules of <a name="Page_101"></a>plastic art. For his +friend and patron, Cosimo de' Medici, he cast in bronze the group of +"Judith and Holofernes"—a work that illustrates the clumsiness of +realistic treatment, and deserves to be remembered chiefly for its strange +fortunes. When the Medici fled from Florence in 1494, their palace was +sacked; the new republic took possession of Donatello's "Judith," and +placed it on a pedestal before the gate of the Palazzo Vecchio, with this +inscription, ominous to would-be despots: <i>Exemplum salutis publicæ cives +posuere. MCCCCXCV</i>. It now stands near Cellini's "Perseus" under the +Loggia de' Lanzi. For the pulpits of S. Lorenzo, Donatello made designs of +intricate bronze bas-reliefs, which were afterwards completed by his pupil +Bertoldo. These, though better known to travellers, are less excellent +than the reliefs in bronze wrought by Donatello's own hand for the church +of S. Anthony at Padua.<a name="FNanchor91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91"><sup>[91]</sup></a> To that city he was called in 1451, in order +that he might model the equestrian statue of Gattamelata. It still stands +on the Piazza, a masterpiece of scientific bronze-founding, the first +great portrait of a general on horseback since the days of Rome.<a name="FNanchor92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92"><sup>[92]</sup></a> At +Padua, in the hall of the Palazzo della Ragione, is also preserved the +wooden horse, which is said to have been constructed by the sculptor for +the noble house of Capodilista. These two examples of equestrian modelling +marked an epoch in Italian statuary.</p> + +<p>When Donato di Nicolo di Betto Bardi, called Donatello because men loved +his sweet and cheerful temper, died in 1466 at the age of eighty, the +brightest light of Italian sculpture in its most promising period was +extinguished. Donatello's influence, felt far and wide through Italy, was +<a name="Page_102"></a>of inestimable value in correcting the false direction toward pictorial +sculpture which Ghiberti, had he flourished alone at Florence, might have +given to the art. His style was always eminently masculine. However tastes +may differ about the positive merits of his several works, there can be no +doubt that the principles of sincerity, truth to nature, and technical +accuracy they illustrate, were all-important in an age that lent itself +too readily to the caprices of the fancy and the puerilities of florid +taste. To regret that Donatello lacked Ghiberti's exquisite sense of +beauty, is tantamount to wishing that two of the greatest artists of the +world had made one man between them.</p> + +<p>Donatello did not, in the strict sense of the term, found a school.<a name="FNanchor93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93"><sup>[93]</sup></a> +Andrea Verocchio, goldsmith, painter, and worker in bronze, was the most +distinguished of his pupils. To all the arts he practised, Verocchio +applied limited powers, a meagre manner, and a prosaic mind. Yet few men +have exercised at a very critical moment a more decided influence. The +mere fact that he numbered Lionardo da Vinci, Lorenzo di Credi, and Pietro +Perugino among his scholars, proves the esteem of his contemporaries; and +when we have observed that the type of face selected by Lionardo and +transmitted to his followers, appears also in the pictures of Lorenzo di +Credi and is first found in the "David" of Verocchio, we have a right to +affirm that the master of these men was an artist of creative genius as +well as a careful workman. Florence still points with pride to the +"Incredulity of Thomas" on the eastern wall of Orsammichele, to the "Boy +and Dolphin" in the court of the Palazzo Vecchio, and to the "David" of +this sculptor: but the first is spoiled by heaviness and angularity <a name="Page_103"></a>of +drapery; the second, though fanciful and marked by fluttering movement, is +but a caprice; the third outdoes the hardest work of Donatello by its +realism. Verocchio's "David," a lad of some seventeen years, has the lean, +veined arms of a stone-hewer or gold-beater. As a faithful portrait of the +first Florentine prentice who came to hand, this statue might have merit +but for the awkward cuirass and kilt that partly drape the figure.</p> + +<p>The name of Verocchio is best known to the world through the equestrian +statue of Bartolommeo Colleoni. When this great Condottiere, the last +surviving general trained by Braccio da Montone, died in 1475, he +bequeathed a large portion of his wealth to Venice, on condition that his +statue on horseback should be erected in the Piazza di S. Marco. Colleoni, +having long held the bâton of the Republic, desired that after death his +portrait, in his habit as he lived, should continue to look down on the +scene of his old splendour. By an ingenious quibble the Senators adhered +to the letter of his will without infringing a law that forbade them to +charge the square of S. Mark with monuments. They ruled that the piazza in +front of the Scuola di S. Marco, better known as the Campo di S. Zanipolo, +might be chosen as the site of Colleoni's statue, and to Andrea Verocchio +was given the commission for its erection.</p> + +<p>Andrea died in 1488 before the model for the horse was finished. The work +was completed, and the pedestal was supplied by Alessandro Leopardi. To +Verocchio, profiting by the example of Donatello's "Gattamelata," must be +assigned the general conception of this statue; but the breath of life +that animates both horse and rider, the richness of detail that enhances +the massive grandeur of the group, and the fiery spirit of its style of +execution were due to the Venetian genius of Leopardi. Verocchio alone +produced nothing so truly magnificent. This joint creation of Florentine +science <a name="Page_104"></a>and Venetian fervour is one of the most precious monuments of the +Renaissance. From it we learn what the men who fought the bloodless +battles of the commonwealths, and who aspired to principality, were like. +"He was tall," writes a biographer of Colleoni,<a name="FNanchor94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94"><sup>[94]</sup></a> "of erect and +well-knit figure, and of well-proportioned limbs. His complexion tended +rather to brown, marked withal by bright and sanguine flesh-tints. He had +black eyes; their brilliancy was vivid, their gaze terrible and +penetrating. In the outline of his nose and in all his features he +displayed a manly nobleness combined with goodness and prudence." Better +phrases cannot be chosen to describe his statue.</p> + +<p>While admiring this masterpiece and dwelling on its royal style, we are +led to deplore most bitterly the loss of the third equestrian statue of +the Renaissance. Nothing now remains but a few technical studies made by +Lionardo da Vinci for his portrait of Francesco Sforza. The two elaborate +models he constructed and the majority of his minute designs have been +destroyed. He intended, we are told, to represent the first Duke of the +Sforza dynasty on his charger, trampling the body of a prostrate and just +conquered enemy. Rubens' transcript from the "Battle of the Standard," +enables us to comprehend to some extent how Lionardo might have treated +this motive. The severe and cautious style of Donatello, after gaining +freedom and fervour from Leopardi, was adapted to the ideal presentation +of dramatic passion by Lionardo. Thus Gattamelata, Colleoni, and Francesco +Sforza would, through their statues, have marked three distinct phases in +the growth of art. The final effort of Italian sculpture to express human +activity in the person of a mounted warrior has perished. In this sphere +we possess nothing which, like <a name="Page_105"></a>the tombs of S. Lorenzo in relation to +sepulchral statuary, completes a series of development.</p> + +<p>If Donatello founded no school, this was far more the case with Ghiberti. +His supposed pupil, Antonio del Pollajuolo, showed no sign of Ghiberti's +influence, but struck out for himself a style distinguished by almost +brutal energy and bizarre realism—characteristics the very opposite to +those of his master. If the bronze relief of the "Crucifixion" in the +Bargello be really Pollajuolo's, we may even trace a leaning to Verocchio +in his manner. The emphatic passion of the women recalls the group of +mourners round the death-bed of Selvaggia Tornabuoni in Verocchio's +celebrated bas-relief. Pollajuolo, like so many Florentine artists, was a +goldsmith, a painter, and a worker in niello, before he took to sculpture. +As a goldsmith he is said to have surpassed all his contemporaries, and +his mastery over this art influenced his style in general. What we chiefly +notice, however, in his choice of subjects is a frenzy of murderous +enthusiasm, a grimness of imagination, rare among Italian artists. The +picture in the Uffizzi of "Hercules and Antæus" and the well-known +engraving of naked men fighting a series of savage duels in a wood, might +be chosen as emphatic illustrations of his favourite motives. The fiercest +emotions of the Renaissance find expression in the clenched teeth, +strained muscles, knotted brows, and tense nerves, depicted by Pollajuolo +with eccentric energy. We seem to be assisting at some of those combats <i>a +steccato chiuso</i> wherein Sixtus IV. delighted, or to have before our eyes +a fray between Crocensi and Vallensi in the streets of Rome.<a name="FNanchor95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95"><sup>[95]</sup></a> The same +remarks apply to the terra-cotta relief by Pollajuolo in the South +Kensington Museum. This piece displays the struggles of twelve naked men, +divided into six pairs of combatants. Two of the couples hold short chains +with the left hand, and seek to <a name="Page_106"></a>stab each other with the right. In the +case of another two couples the fight is over, and the victor is insulting +his fallen foe. In each of the remaining pairs one gladiator is on the +point of yielding to his adversary. There are thus three several moments +of duel to the death, each illustrated by two couples. The mathematical +distribution of these dreadful groups gives an effect of frozen passion; +while the vigorous workmanship displays not only an enthusiasm for +muscular anatomy, but a real sympathy with blood-fury in the artist.</p> + +<p>There was, therefore, a certain propriety in the choice of Pollajuolo to +cast the sepulchre of Sixtus IV. in bronze at Rome. The best judges +complain, not without reason, that the allegories surrounding this tomb +are exaggerated and affected in style; yet the dead Pope, stretched in +pomp upon his bier, commands more than merely historical interest; while +the figures, seated as guardians round the old man, terrible in death, +communicate an impression of monumental majesty. Criticised in detail, +each separate figure may be faulty. The composition, as a whole, is +picturesque and grandiose. The same can scarcely be said about the tomb of +Innocent VIII., erected by Antonio and his brother Piero del Pollajuolo. +While it perpetuates the memory of an uninteresting Pontiff, it has but +little, as a work of art, to recommend it. The Pollajuoli were not great +sculptors. In the history of Italian art they deserve a place, because of +the vivid personality impressed upon some portions of their work. Few +draughtsmen carried the study of muscular anatomy so far as Antonio.<a name="FNanchor96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96"><sup>[96]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Luca della Robbia, whose life embraced the first eighty years of the +fifteenth century, offers in many important respects a contrast to his +contemporaries Ghiberti and Donatello, and still more to their immediate +followers. He made <a name="Page_107"></a>his art as true to life as it is possible to be, +without the rugged realism of Donatello or the somewhat effeminate graces +of Ghiberti. The charm of his work is never impaired by scientific +mannerism—that stumbling-block to critics like De Stendhal in the art of +Florence; nor does it suffer from the picturesqueness of a sentimental +style. How to render the beauty of nature in her most delightful +moments—taking us with him into the holiest of holies, and handling the +sacred vessels with a child's confiding boldness—was a secret known to +Luca della Robbia alone. We may well find food for meditation in the +innocent and cheerful inspiration of this man, whose lifetime coincided +with a period of sordid passions and debased ambition in the Church and +States of Italy.</p> + +<p>Luca was apprenticed in his youth to a goldsmith; but of what he wrought +before the age of forty-five, we know but little.<a name="FNanchor97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97"><sup>[97]</sup></a> At that time his +faculty had attained full maturity, and he produced the groups of dancing +children and choristers intended for the organ gallery of the Duomo. +Wholly free from affectation, and depending for effect upon no merely +decorative detail, these bas-reliefs deserve the praise bestowed by Dante +on the sculpture seen in Purgatory:<a name="FNanchor98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98"><sup>[98]</sup></a>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Dinanzi a noi pareva si verace,</p> +<p>Quivi intagliato in un atto soave,</p> +<p>Che non sembrava immagine che tace.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>Movement has never been suggested in stone with less exaggeration, nor +have marble lips been made to utter sweeter and more varied music. Luca's +true perception of the limits to be observed in sculpture, appears most +eminently in the glazed terra-cotta work by which he is best known. An +ordinary artist might have found the temptation to aim at <a name="Page_108"></a>showy and +pictorial effects in this material overwhelming. Luca restrained himself +to pure white on pale blue, and preserved an exquisite simplicity of line +in all his compositions. There is an almost unearthly beauty in the +profiles of his Madonnas, a tempered sweetness in the modulation of their +drapery and attitude, that prove complete mastery in the art of rendering +evanescent moments of expression, the most fragile subtleties of the +emotions that can stir a tranquil spirit. Andrea della Robbia, the nephew +of Luca, with his four sons, Giovanni, Luca, Ambrogio, and Girolamo, +continued to manufacture the glazed earthenware of Luca's invention. These +men, though excellent artificers, lacked the fine taste of their teacher. +Coarser colours were introduced; the eye was dazzled with variety; but the +power of speaking to the soul as Luca spoke was lost.<a name="FNanchor99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99"><sup>[99]</sup></a></p> + +<p>After the Della Robbias, this is the place to mention Agostino di Gucci or +di Duccio,<a name="FNanchor100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100"><sup>[100]</sup></a> a sculptor who handled terra-cotta somewhat in the manner +of Donatello's flat-relief, introducing more richness of detail and aiming +at more passion than Luca's taste permitted. For the oratory of S. +Bernardino at Perugia he designed the façade partly in stone and partly in +baked clay—crowded with figures, flying, singing, playing upon +instruments of music, with waving draperies and windy hair and the ecstasy +of movement in their delicately modelled limbs. If nothing else remained +of Agostino's workmanship, this façade alone would place him in the first +rank of contemporary artists. He owed something, perhaps, to his material; +for terra-cotta has the charm of improvisation. The hand, obedient to the +brain, has made it in one moment what <a name="Page_109"></a>it is, and no slow hours of labour +at the stone have dulled the first caprice of the creative fancy. Work, +therefore, which, if translated into marble, might have left our sympathy +unstirred, affects us with keen pleasure in the mould of plastic clay. +What prodigality of thought and invention has been lavished on the +terra-cotta models of unknown Italian artists! What forms and faces, +beautiful as shapes of dreams, and, like dreams, so airy that we think +they will take flight and vanish, lean to greet us from cloisters and +palace fronts in Lombardy! To catalogue their multitude would be +impossible. It is enough to select one instance out of many; this shall be +taken from the chapel of S. Peter Martyr in S. Eustorgio at Milan. High up +around the cupola runs a frieze of angels, singing together and dancing +with joined hands, while bells composed of fruits and flowers hang down +between them. Each angel is an individual shape of joy; the soul in each +moves to its own deep melody, but the music made of all is one. Their +raiment flutters, the bells chime; the chorus of their gladness falls like +voices through a star-lit heaven, half-heard in dreams and everlastingly +remembered.</p> + +<p>Four sculptors, the younger contemporaries of Luca della Robbia, and +marked by certain common qualities, demand attention next. All the work of +Antonio Rossellino, Matteo Civitali, Mino da Fiesole, and Benedetto da +Majano, is distinguished by sweetness, grace, tranquillity, and +self-restraint—as though these artists had voluntarily imposed limits on +their genius, refusing to trespass beyond a traced circle of religious +subjects, or to aim at effects unrealisable by purity of outline, suavity +of expression, delicacy of feeling, and urbanity of style. The charm of +manner they possess in common, can scarcely he defined except by similes. +The innocence of childhood, the melody of a lute or song-bird as +distinguished from the music of an orchestra, the rathe tints of early +dawn, cheerful light on shallow streams, the serenity of a simple and +untainted nature <a name="Page_110"></a>that has never known the world—many such images occur +to the mind while thinking of the sculpture of these men. To charge them +with insipidity, immaturity, and monotony, would be to mistake the force +of genius and skill displayed by them. We should rather assume that they +confined themselves to certain types of tranquil beauty, without caring to +realise more obviously striking effects, and that this was their way of +meeting the requirements of sculpture considered as a Christian art. The +melody of their design, meanwhile, is like the purest song-music of +Pergolese or Salvator Rosa, unapproachably perfect in simple outline, and +inexhaustibly refreshing.</p> + +<p>Though it is possible to characterise the style of these sculptors by some +common qualities observable in their work, it should rather be the aim of +criticism to point out their differences. Antonio Rossellino, for example, +might be distinguished by his leaning toward the manner of Ghiberti, whose +landscape backgrounds he has adopted in the circular medallions of his +monumental sculpture. A fine perception of the poetic capabilities of +Christian art is displayed in Rossellino's idyllic treatment of the +Nativity—the adoration of the shepherds, the hush of reverential +stillness in the worship Mary pays her infant son.<a name="FNanchor101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101"><sup>[101]</sup></a> To the qualities +of sweetness and tranquillity rare dignity is added in the monument of the +young Cardinal di Portogallo.<a name="FNanchor102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102"><sup>[102]</sup></a> The sublimity of the slumber that is +death has never been more nobly and feelingly portrayed than in the supine +figure and sleeping features of this most beautiful young man, who lies +watched by angels beneath a heavy-curtained canopy. The genii of eternal +repose modelled by Greek sculptors are twin-brothers <a name="Page_111"></a>of Love, on whom +perpetual slumber has descended amid poppy-fields by Lethe's stream. The +turmoil of the world is over for them; they will never wake again; they do +not even dream. Sleep is the only power that still has life in them. But +the Christian cannot thus conceive the mystery of the soul "fallen on +sleep." His art must suggest a time of waiting and a time of waking; and +this it does partly through the ministration of attendant angels, who +would not be standing there on guard if the clay-cold corpse had no +futurity, partly by breathing upon the limbs and visage of the dead a +spirit as of life suspended for a while. Thus the soul herself is imaged +in the marble "most sweetly slumbering in the gates of dreams."</p> + +<p>What Vespasiano tells us of this cardinal, born of the royal house of +Portugal, adds the virtue of sincerity to Rossellino's work, proving there +is no flattery of the dead man in his sculpture.<a name="FNanchor103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103"><sup>[103]</sup></a> "Among his other +admirable virtues," says the biographer, "Messer Jacopo di Portogallo +determined to preserve his virginity, though he was beautiful above all +others of his age. Consequently he avoided all things that might prove +impediments to his vow, such as free discourse, the society of women, +balls, and songs. In this mortal flesh he lived as though he had been free +from it—the life, we may say, rather of an angel than a man. And if his +biography were written from his childhood to his death, it would be not +only an ensample, but confusion to the world. Upon his monument the hand +was modelled from his own, and the face is very like him, for he was most +lovely in his person, but still more in his soul."</p> + +<p>While contemplating this monument of the young cardinal, we feel that the +Italians of that age understood sepulchral sculpture far better than their +immediate successors. They knew how to carve the very soul, according to +the lines which <a name="Page_112"></a>our Webster, a keen observer of all things relating to +the grave and death, has put into Jolenta's lips:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i21">But indeed,</p> +<p>If ever I would have mine drawn to the life,</p> +<p>I would have a painter steal it at such time</p> +<p>I were devoutly kneeling at my prayers;</p> +<p>There is then a heavenly beauty in't; <i>the soul</i></p> +<p><i>Moves in the superficies</i>.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The same Webster condemns that evil custom of aping life and movement on +the monuments of dead men, which began to obtain when the motives of pure +repose had been exhausted. "Why," asks the Duchess of Malfi, "do we grow +fantastical in our death-bed? Do we affect fashion in the grave?" "Most +ambitiously," answers Bosola; "princes' images on their tombs do not lie +as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven; but with their hands +under their cheeks (as if they died of the toothache): they are not carved +with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but, as their minds were wholly bent +upon the world, the self-same way they seem to turn their faces." A more +trenchant criticism than this could hardly have been pronounced upon +Andrea Contucci di Monte Sansavino's tombs of Ascanio Sforza and Girolamo +della Rovere, if Bosola had been standing before them in the church of S. +Maria del Popolo when he spoke. Were it the function of monumental +sculpture to satirise the dead, or to point out their characteristic +faults for the warning of posterity, then the sepulchres of these worldly +cardinals of Sixtus IV.'s creation would be artistically justified. But +the object of art is not this. The idea of death, as conceived by +Christians, has to be portrayed. The repose of the just, the resurrection +of the body, and the coming judgment, afford sufficient scope for +treatment of good men and bad alike. Or if the sculptor have sublime +imagination, he may, like Michael Angelo, suggest the alternations of the +day and <a name="Page_113"></a>night, slumber and waking, whereby "our little life is rounded +with a sleep."</p> + +<p>This digression will hardly be thought superfluous when we reflect how +large a part of the sculptor's energy was spent on tombs in Italy. Matteo +Civitali of Lucca was at least Rossellino's equal in the sculpturesque +delineation of spiritual qualities; but the motives he chose for treatment +were more varied. All his work is penetrated with deep, prayerful, intense +feeling; as though the artist's soul, poured forth in ecstasy and +adoration, had been given to the marble. This is especially true of two +angels kneeling upon the altar of the Chapel of the Sacrament in Lucca +Cathedral. Civitali, by singular good fortune, was chosen in the best +years of his life to adorn the cathedral of his native city; and it is +here, rather than at Genoa, where much of his sculpture may also be seen, +that he deserves to be studied. For the people of Lucca he designed the +Chapel of the Santo Volto—a gem of the purest Renaissance +architecture—and a pulpit in the same style. His most remarkable +sculpture is to be found in three monuments: the tombs of Domenico Bertini +and Pietro da Noceto, and the altar of S. Regulus. The last might be +chosen as an epitome of all that is most characteristic in Tuscan +sculpture of the earlier Renaissance. It is built against the wall, and +architecturally designed so as to comprehend a full-length figure of the +bishop stretched upon his bier and watched by angels, a group of Madonna +and her child seated above him, a row of standing saints below, and a +predella composed of four delicately finished bas-reliefs. Every part of +this complex work is conceived with spirit and executed with care; and the +various elements are so combined as to make one composition, the body of +the saint on his sarcophagus forming the central object of the whole.</p> + +<p>To do more than briefly mention the minor sculptors of this group would be +impossible. Mino di Giovanni, called<a name="Page_114"></a> Da Fiesole, was characterised by +grace that tended to degenerate into formality. The tombs in the Abbey of +Florence have an almost infantine sweetness of style, which might be +extremely piquant, were it not that Mino pushed this quality in other +works to the verge of mannerism.<a name="FNanchor104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104"><sup>[104]</sup></a> Their architectural features are the +same as those of similar monuments in Tuscany:—a shallow recess, flanked +by Renaissance pilasters, and roofed with a semicircular arch; within the +recess, the full-length figure of the dead man on a marble coffin of +antique design; in the lunette above, a Madonna carved in low relief.<a name="FNanchor105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105"><sup>[105]</sup></a> +Mino's bust of Bishop Salutati in the cathedral church of Fiesole is a +powerful portrait, no less distinguished for vigorous individuality than +consummate workmanship. The waxlike finish of the finely chiselled marble +alone betrays that delicacy which with Mino verged on insipidity. The same +faculty of character delineation is seen in three profiles, now in the +Bargello Museum, attributed to Mino. They represent Frederick Duke of +Urbino, Battista Sforza, and Galeazzo Sforza. The relief is very low, +rising at no point more than half an inch above the surface of the ground, +but so carefully modulated as to present a wonderful variety of light and +shade, and to render the facial expression with great vividness.</p> +<a name="Page_115"></a> +<p>Desiderio da Settignano, one of Donatello's few scholars, was endowed with +the same gift of exquisite taste as his friend Mino da Fiesole;<a name="FNanchor106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106"><sup>[106]</sup></a> but +his inventive faculty was bolder, and his genius more robust, in spite of +the profuse ornamentation and elaborate finish of his masterpiece, the +tomb of Carlo Marsuppini in S. Croce. The bust he made of Marietta di +Palla degli Strozzi enables us to compare his style in portraiture with +that of Mino.<a name="FNanchor107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107"><sup>[107]</sup></a> It would be hard to find elsewhere a more captivating +combination of womanly sweetness and dignity. We feel, in looking at these +products of the best age of Italian sculpture, that the artists who +conceived them were, in the truest sense of the word, gentle. None but men +courteous and unaffected could have carved a face like that of Marietta +Strozzi, breathing the very spirit of urbanity. To express the most +amiable qualities of a living person in a work of art that should suggest +emotional tranquillity by harmonious treatment, and indicate the +temperance of a disciplined nature by self-restraint and moderation of +style, and to do this with the highest technical perfection, was the +triumph of fifteenth-century sculpture.</p> + +<p>An artist who claims a third place beside Mino and his friend, "il bravo +Desider si dolce e bello,"<a name="FNanchor108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108"><sup>[108]</sup></a> is Benedetto da Majano. In Benedetto's +bas-reliefs at San Gemignano, carved for the altars of those unlovely +Tuscan worthies, S. Fina and S. Bartolo, we find a pictorial treatment of +legendary subjects, proving that he had studied Ghirlandajo's frescoes. +The same is true about his pulpit in S. Croce at Florence, his treatment +of the story of S. Savino at Faenza, and his<a name="Page_116"></a> "Annunciation" in the church +of Monte Oliveto at Naples. Benedetto, indeed, may be said to illustrate +the working of Ghiberti's influence by his liberal use of landscape and +architectural backgrounds; but the style is rather Ghirlandajo's than +Ghiberti's. If it was a mistake in the sculptors of that period to +subordinate their art to painting, the error, we feel, was aggravated by +the imitation of a manner so prosaic as that of Ghirlandajo. That +Benedetto began life as a <i>tarsiatore</i> may perhaps help to account for his +pictorial style in bas-relief.<a name="FNanchor109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109"><sup>[109]</sup></a> In estimating his total claim as an +artist, we must not forget that he designed the formidable and splendid +Strozzi Palace.</p> + +<p>It will be observed that all the sculptors hitherto mentioned have been +Tuscans; and this is due to no mere accident—nor yet to caprice on the +part of their historian. Though the other districts of Italy produced +admirable workmen, the direction given to this art proceeded from Tuscany. +Florence, the metropolis of modern culture, determined the course of the +æsthetical Renaissance. Even at Rimini we cannot account for the carvings +in low relief, so fanciful, so delicately wrought, and so profusely +scattered over the side chapels of S. Francesco, without the intervention +of two Florentines, Bernardo Ciuffagni and Donatello's pupil Simone; while +in the palace of Urbino we trace some hand not unlike that of Mino da +Fiesole at work upon the mouldings of door and architrave, cornice and +high-built chimney.<a name="FNanchor110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110"><sup>[110]</sup></a> Not only do we thus find<a name="Page_117"></a> Tuscan craftsmen or +their scholars employed on all the great public buildings throughout +Italy; but it also happens that, except in Tuscany, the decoration of +churches and palaces is not unfrequently anonymous.</p> + +<p>This does not, however, interfere with the truth that sculpture, like all +the arts, assumed a somewhat different character in each Italian city. The +Venetian stone-carvers leaned from the first to a richer and more +passionate style than the Florentine, reproducing the types of Cima's and +Bellini's paintings.<a name="FNanchor111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111"><sup>[111]</sup></a> Whole families, like the Bregni—classes, like +the Lombardi—schools, like that of Alessandro Leopardi, worked together +on the monumental sculpture of S. Zanipolo. In the tombs of the Doges the +old Pisan motive of the curtains (first used by Arnolfo di Cambio at +Orvieto, and afterwards with grand effect by Giovanni Pisano at Perugia) +is expanded into a sumptuous tent-canopy. Pages and genii and mailed +heroes take the place of angels, and the marine details of Roman reliefs +are copied in the subordinate decoration. At Verona the mediæval tombs of +the Scaligers, with their vast chest-like sarcophagi and mounted warriors, +exhibit features markedly different from the monuments of Tuscany; while +the mixture of fresco with sculpture, in monuments like that of the +Cavalli in S. Anastasia, and in many altar-pieces, is at variance with<a name="Page_118"></a> +Florentine usage. On the terra-cotta mouldings, so frequent in Lombard +cities, I have already had occasion to touch briefly. They almost +invariably display a feeling for beauty more sensuous, with less of +scientific purpose in their naturalism, than is common in the Tuscan +style. Guido Mazzoni of Modena, called Il Modanino, may be mentioned as +the sculptor who freed terra-cotta from its dependence upon architecture, +and who modelled groups of overpowering dramatic realism. His "Pietà," in +the Church of Monte Oliveto at Naples, is valuable, less for its +passionate intensity of expression than for the portraits of Pontano, +Sannazzaro, and Alfonso of Aragon.<a name="FNanchor112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112"><sup>[112]</sup></a> This sub-species of sculpture was +freely employed in North Italy to stimulate devotion, and to impress the +people with lively pictures of the Passion. The Sacro Monte at Varallo, +for example, is covered with a multitude of chapels, each one of which +presents some chapter of Bible history dramatically rendered by life-size +groups of terra-cotta figures. Some of these were designed by eminent +painters, and executed by clever modellers in clay. Even now they are +scarcely less stirring to the mind of a devout spectator than the scenes +of a mediæval Mystery may have been.</p> + +<p>The Certosa of Pavia, lastly, is the centre of a school of sculpture that +has little in common with the Florentine tradition. Antonio Amadeo<a name="FNanchor113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113"><sup>[113]</sup></a> +and Andrea Fusina, acting in <a name="Page_119"></a>concert with Ambrogio Borgognone the +painter, gave it in the fifteenth century that character of rich and +complex decorative beauty which many generations of artists were destined +to continue and complete. Among the countless sculptors employed upon its +marvellous façade Amadeo asserts an individuality above the rest, which is +further manifested in his work in the Cappella Colleoni at Bergamo. We +there learn to know him, not only as an enthusiastic cultivator of the +mingled Christian and pagan manner of the <i>quattrocento</i>, but as an artist +in the truest sense of the word sympathetic. The sepulchral portrait of +Medea, daughter of the great Condottiere, has a grace almost beyond that +of Della Quercia's "Ilaria."<a name="FNanchor114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114"><sup>[114]</sup></a> Much, no doubt, is due to the peculiarly +fragile beauty of the girl herself, who lies asleep with little crisp +curls clustering upon her forehead, and with a string of pearls around her +slender throat. But the sensibility to loveliness so delicate, and the +power to render it in marble with so ethereal a touch upon the rigid +stone, belong to the sculptor, and win for him our worship.</p> + +<p>The list of fifteenth-century sculptors is almost ended; and already, on +the threshold of the sixteenth, stands the mighty form of Michael Angelo. +Andrea Contucci da Sansavino and his pupil Jacopo Tatti, called also +Sansovino, after his master, must, however, next be mentioned as +continuing the Florentine tradition without subservience to the style of +Buonarroti. Andrea da Sansavino was a sculptor in whom for the first time +the faults of the mid-Renaissance period are glaringly apparent. He +persistently sacrificed simplicity of composition to decorative +ostentation, and tranquillity of <a name="Page_120"></a>feeling to theatrical effect. The truth +of this will be acknowledged by all who have studied the tombs of the +cardinals in S. Maria del Popolo already mentioned,<a name="FNanchor115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115"><sup>[115]</sup></a> and the +bas-reliefs upon the Santa Casa at Loreto. In technical workmanship Andrea +proved himself an able craftsman, modelling marble with the plasticity of +wax, and lavishing patterns of the most refined invention. Yet the +decorative prodigality of this master corresponded to the frigid and +stylistic graces of the neo-Latin poets. It was so much mannerism—adopted +without real passion from the antique, and applied with a rhetorical +intention. Those acanthus scrolls and honeysuckle borders, in spite of +their consummate finish, fail to arrest attention, leaving the soul as +unstirred as the Ovidian cadences of Bembo.</p> + +<p>Jacopo Tatti was a genius of more distinction. Together with San Gallo and +Bramante he studied the science of architecture in Rome, where he also +worked at the restoration of newly discovered antiques, and cast in bronze +a copy of the "Laocoon." Thus equipped with the artistic learning of his +age, he was called in 1523 by the Doge, Andrea Gritti, to Venice. The +material pomp of Venice at this epoch, and the pride of her unrivalled +luxury, affected his imagination so powerfully that his genius, tutored by +Florentine and Umbrian masters among the ruins of old Rome, became at once +Venetian. In the history of the Renaissance the names of Titian and +Aretino, themselves acclimatised aliens, are inseparably connected with +that of their friend Sansovino. At Venice he lived until his death in +1570, building the Zecca, the Library, the Scala d'Oro in the Ducal +Palace, and the Loggietta beneath the bell-tower of S. Mark. In all his +work he subordinated sculpture to architecture, and his statuary is +conceived in the <i>bravura</i>, manner of Renaissance paganism. Whatever may +be the faults of Sansovino in both arts, it cannot be denied that he +expressed, in a style peculiar to himself, the large voluptuous external +life of Venice at a moment when this city was the Paris or the Corinth of +Renaissance Europe. At the same time, the shallowness of Sansovino's +inspiration as a sculptor is patent in his masterpieces of parade—the +"Neptune" and the "Mars," guarding the Scala d'Oro. Separated from the +architecture of the court and staircase, they are insignificant in spite +of their colossal scale. In their place they add a haughty grandeur, by +the contrast which their flowing forms and arrogant attitudes present to +the severer lines of the construction. But they are devoid of artistic +sincerity, and occupy the same relation to true sculpture as flourishes of +rhetoric, however brilliant, to poetry embodying deep thought or passion. +At first sight they impose: on further acquaintance we find them chiefly +interesting as illustrations of a potent civic life upon the wane, +gorgeous in its decay.</p> + +<p>Sansovino was a first-rate craftsman. The most finished specimen of his +skill is the bronze door of the Sacristy of S. Marco, upon which he is +said to have worked through twenty years. Portraits of the sculptor, +Titian, and Pietro Aretino are introduced into the decorative border. +These heads start from the surface of the gate with astonishing vivacity. +That Aretino should thus daily assist in effigy at the procession of +priests bearing the sacred emblems from the sacristy to the high altar of +S. Mark, is one of the most characteristic proofs of sixteenth-century +indifference to things holy and things profane.</p> + +<p>Jacopo Sansovino marks the final intrusion of paganism into modern art. +The classical revival had worked but partially and indirectly upon +Ghiberti and Donatello—not because they did not feel it most intensely, +but because they clung to nature far more closely than to antique +precedent. This enthusiasm inspired Sansovino with the best and strongest +qualities that he can boast; and if his genius had been powerful enough to +resist the fascination of merely rhetorical effects, he might have +produced a perfect restoration of the classic style. His was no lifeless +or pedantic imitation of antique fragments, but a real expression of the +fervour with which the modern world hailed the discoveries revealed to it +by scholarship. This is said advisedly. The most beautiful and spirited +pagan statue of the Renaissance period, justifying the estimate here made +of Sansovino's genius, is the "Bacchus" exhibited in the Bargello Museum. +Both the Bacchus and the Satyriscus at his side are triumphs of realism, +irradiated and idealised by the sculptor's vivid sense of natural +gladness. Considered as a restitution of the antique manner, this statue +is decidedly superior to the "Bacchus" of Michael Angelo. While the +mundane splendour of Venice gave body and fulness to Sansovino's paganism, +he missed the self-restraint and purity of taste peculiar to the studious +shades of Florence. In his style, both architectural and sculptural, the +neo-pagan sensuality of Italy expanded all its bloom.</p> + +<p>For the artist at this period a Greek myth and a Christian legend were all +one. Both afforded the occasion for displaying technical skill in fluent +forms, devoid of any but voluptuous feeling; while both might be +subordinated to rich effects of decoration.<a name="FNanchor116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116"><sup>[116]</sup></a> To this point the +intellectual culture of the fifteenth century had brought the plastic arts +of Italy, by a process similar to that which ended in the "Partus +Virginis" of Sannazzaro. They were still indisputably vigorous, and +working in accordance with the movement of the modern spirit. Yet the +synthesis they attempted to effect between heathenism and Christianity, by +a sheer effort of style, and by indifferentism, strikes us from the point +of view of art alone, <a name="Page_121"></a>not reckoning religion or morality, as +unsuccessful. Still, if it be childish on the one hand to deplore that the +Christian earnestness of the earlier masters had failed, it would be even +more ridiculous to complain that paganism had not been more entirely +recovered. The double-mind of the Renaissance, the source of its weakness +in art as in thought, could not be avoided, because humanity at this +moment had to lose the mediæval sincerity of faith, and to assimilate the +spirit of a bygone civilisation. This, for better or for worse, was the +phase through which the intellect of modern Europe was obliged to pass; +and those who have confidence in the destinies of the human race, will not +spend their strength in moaning over such shortcomings as the periods of +transition bring inevitably with them. The student of Italian history may +indeed more reasonably be allowed to question whether the arts, if left to +follow their own development unchecked, might not have recovered from the +confusion of the Renaissance and have entered on a stage of nobler +activity through earnest and unaffected study of nature. But the +enslavement of the country, together with the counter-Reformation, +suspended the Renaissance in mid-career; and what remains of Italian art +is incomplete. Besides, it must be borne in mind that the confusion of +opinions consequent upon the clash of the modern with the ancient world, +left no body of generally accepted beliefs to express; nor has the time +even yet arrived for a settlement and synthesis that shall be favourable +to the activity of the figurative arts.</p> + +<p>Sansovino himself was neither original nor powerful enough, to elevate the +mixed motives of Renaissance sculpture by any lofty idealisation. To do +that remained for Michael Angelo. The greatness of Michael Angelo consists +in this—that while literature was sinking into the frivolity of Academies +and the filth of the Bernesque "Capitoli," while the barefaced villanies +of Aretino won him credit, while sensual magnificence formed <a name="Page_122"></a>the ideal of +artists who were neither Greeks nor Christians, while Ariosto found no +subject fitter for his genius than a glittering romance, he and he alone +maintained the Dantesque dignity of the Italian intellect in his +sculpture. Michael Angelo stands so far apart from other men, and is so +gigantic a force for good and evil in the history of art, that to estimate +his life and labour in relation to the Renaissance must form the subject +of a separate chapter. For the present it is enough to observe that his +immediate scholars, Raffaello da Montelupo, and Gian Angelo Montorsoli, +caught little from their master but the mannerism of contorted form and +agitated action. This mannerism, a blemish even in the strong work of +Buonarroti, became ridiculous when adopted by men of feeble powers and +passionless imagination. By straining the art of sculpture to its utmost +limits, Michael Angelo expressed vehement emotions in marble; and the +forced attitudes affected in his work had their value as significant of +spiritual struggle. His imitators showed none of their master's sublime +force, none of that <i>terribilità</i> which made him unapproachable in social +intercourse and inimitable in art. They merely fancied that dignity and +beauty were to be achieved by placing figures in difficult postures, +exaggerated muscular anatomy, and twisting the limbs of their models upon +sections of ellipses in uncomfortable attitudes, till the whole of their +work was writhen into uncouth lines. Buonarroti himself was not +responsible for these results. He wrought out his own ideal with the +firmness of a genius that obeys the law of its own nature, doing always +what it must. That the decadence of sculpture into truculent bravado was +independent of his direct influence, is further proved by the inefficiency +of his contemporaries.</p> + +<p>Baccio Bandinelli and Bartolommeo Ammanati filled the squares of the +Italian cities with statues of Hercules and Satyrs, Neptune and +River-gods. We know not whether to <a name="Page_123"></a>select the vulgarity, the feebleness, +or the pretentiousness of these pseudo-classical colossi for condemnation. +They have nothing Greek about them but their names, their nakedness, and +their association with myths, the significance whereof was never really +felt by the sculptors. Some of Bandinelli's designs, it is true, are +vigorous; but they are mere drawings from undraped peasants, life studies +depicting the human animal. His "Hercules and Cacus," while it deserves +all the sarcasm hurled at it by Cellini, proves that Bandinelli could not +rise above the wrestling bout of a porter and a coal-heaver. Nor would it +be possible to invent a motive less in accordance with Greek taste than +the conceit of Ammanati's fountain at Castello, where Hercules by +squeezing the body of Antæus makes the drinking water of a city spout +from a giant's mouth. Such pitiful misapplications of an art which is +designed to elevate the commonplace of human form, and to render permanent +the nobler qualities of physical existence, show how superficially and +wrongly the antique spirit had been apprehended.</p> + +<p>Some years before his death Ammanati expressed in public his regret that +he had made so many giants and satyrs, feeling that, by exhibiting forms +of lust, brutality, and animalism to the gaze of his fellow-countrymen, he +had sinned against the higher law revealed by Christianity. For a Greek +artist to have spoken thus would have been impossible. The Faun, the +Titan, and the Satyr had a meaning for him, which he sought to set forth +in accordance with the semi-religious, semi-poetical traditions of his +race; and when he was at work upon a myth of nature-forces, he well knew +that at the other end of the scale, separated by no spiritual barrier, but +removed to an almost infinite distance of refinement, Zeus, Phoebus, and +Pallas claimed his loftier artistic inspiration. Ammanati's confession, on +the contrary, betrays that schism between the conscience of Christianity +and the <a name="Page_124"></a>lusts let loose by ill-assimilated sympathy with antique +heathenism, which was a marked characteristic of the Renaissance. The +coarser passions, held in check by ecclesiastical discipline, dared to +emerge into the light of day under the supposed sanction of classical +examples. What the Visconti and the Borgias practised in their secret +chambers, the sculptors exposed in marble and the poets in verse. All +alike, however, were mistaken in supposing that antique precedent +sanctioned this efflorescence of immorality. No amount of Greek epigrams +by Strato and Meleager, nor all the Hermaphrodites and Priapi of Rome, had +power to annul the law of conduct established by the founders of +Christianity, and ratified by the higher instincts of the Middle Ages. Nor +again were artists justified before the bar of conscience in selecting the +baser elements of Paganism for imitation, instead of aiming at Greek +self-restraint and Roman strength of character. All this the men of the +Renaissance felt when they listened to the voice within them. Their work, +therefore, in so far as it pretended to be a reconstruction of the antique +was false. The sensuality it shared in common with many Greek and Roman +masterpieces, had ceased to be frank and in the true sense pagan. To shake +off Christianity, and to revert with an untroubled conscience to the +manners of a bygone age, was what they could not do.</p> + +<p>The errors I have attempted to characterise did not, however, prevent the +better and more careful works of sculpture, executed in illustration of +classical mythology, from having a true value. The "Perseus" of Cellini +and some of Gian Bologna's statues belong to a class of æsthetic +productions which show how much that is both original and excellent may be +raised in the hotbed of culture.<a name="FNanchor117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117"><sup>[117]</sup></a> They express a genuine moment of the +Renaissance with vigour, and deserve <a name="Page_125"></a>to be ranked with the Latin poetry +of Poliziano, Bembo, and Pontano. The worst that can be said of them is +that their inspiration was factitious, and that their motives had been +handled better in the age of Greek sincerity.</p> + +<p>Gian Bologna, born at Douai, but a Florentine by education, devoted +himself almost exclusively to mythological sculpture. That he was a +greater sculptor than his immediate predecessors will be affirmed by all +who have studied his bronze "Mercury," the "Venus of Petraja," and the +"Neptune" on the fountain of Bologna. Something of the genuine classic +feeling had passed into his nature. The "Mercury" is not a reminiscence of +any antique statue. It gives in bronze a faithful and spirited reading of +Virgil's lines, and is conceived with artistic purity not unworthy of a +good Greek period. The "Neptune" is something more than a muscular old +man; and, in its place, it forms one of the most striking ornaments of +Italy. It is worthy of remark that sculpture, in this stage, continued to +be decorative. Fountains are among the most successful monuments of the +late Renaissance. Even Montorsoli's fountain at Messina is in a high sense +picturesquely beautiful.</p> + +<p>Casting a glance backward over the foregoing sketch of Italian sculpture, +it will be seen that three distinct stages were traversed in the evolution +of this art. The first may be called architectural, the second pictorial, +the third neo-pagan. Defined by their artistic purposes, the first +idealises Christian motives; the second is naturalistic; the third +attempts an idealisation inspired by revived paganism. As far as the +Renaissance is concerned, all three are moments in its history; though it +was only during the third that the influences of the classical revival +made themselves overwhelmingly felt. Niccola Pisano in the first stage +marked a fresh point of departure for his art by a return to Græco-Roman +standards of the purest type then attainable, in <a name="Page_126"></a>combination with the +study of nature. Giovanni Pisano effected a fusion between his father's +manner and the Gothic style. The Pisan sculpture was wholly Christian; nor +did it attempt to free itself from the service of architecture. Giotto +opened the second stage by introducing new motives, employed by him with +paramount mastery in painting. Under his influence the sculptors inclined +to picturesque effects, and the direction thus given to sculpture lasted +through the fifteenth century. For the rest, the style of these masters +was distinguished by a fresh and charming naturalism and by rapid growth +in technical processes. While assimilating much of the classical spirit, +they remained on the whole Christian; and herein they were confirmed by +the subjects they were chiefly called upon to treat, in the decoration of +altars, pulpits, church façades, and tombs. The revived interest in +antique literature widened their sympathies and supplied their fancy with +new material; but there is no imitative formalism in their work. Its +beauty consists in a certain immature blending of motives chosen almost +indiscriminately from Christian and pagan mythology, vitalised by the +imagination of the artist, and presented with the originality of true +creative instinct. During the third stage the results of prolonged and +almost exclusive attention to the classics, on the part of the Italians as +a people, make themselves manifest. Collections of antiquities and +libraries had been formed in the fifteenth century; the literary energies +of the nation were devoted to the interpretation of Greek and Latin texts, +and the manners of society affected paganism. At the same time a worldly +Church and a corrupt hierarchy had done their utmost to enfeeble the +spirit of Christianity. That art should prove itself sensitive to this +phase of intellectual and social life was natural. Religious subjects were +now treated by the sculptors with superficial formalism and cynical +indifference, while all their ingenuity <a name="Page_127"></a>was bestowed upon providing pagan +myths with new forms. How far they succeeded has been already made the +matter of inquiry. The most serious condemnation of art in this third +period is that it halted between two opinions, that it could not be +sincere. But this double-mindedness, as I have tried to show, was +necessary; and therefore to lament over it is weak. What the Renaissance +achieved for the modern world was the liberation of the reason, the power +of starting on a new career of progress. The false direction given to the +art of sculpture at one moment of this intellectual revival may be +deplored; and still more deplorable is the corresponding sensual +debasement of the race who won for us the possibility of freedom. But the +life of humanity is long and vigorous, and the philosopher of history +knows well that the sum total of accomplishment at any time must be +diminished by an unavoidable discount. The Renaissance, like a man of +genius, had the defects of its qualities.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor56">[56]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Sketches of the History of Christian Art</i>, vol. ii. p. +102.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor57">[57]</a><div class="note"><p> Since I wrote the paragraph above, I have chanced to read +Mr. Buskin's eloquent tirade against the modern sceptical school of +critics in his "Mornings in Florence," <i>The Vaulted Book</i>, pp. 105, 106. +With the spirit of it I thoroughly agree; feeling that, in the absence of +solid evidence to the contrary, I would always rather accept +sixteenth-century Italian tradition with Vasari, than reject it with +German or English speculators of to-day. This does not mean that I wish to +swear by Vasari, when he can be proved to have been wrong, but that I +regard the present tendency to mistrust tradition, only because it is +tradition, as in the highest sense uncritical.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor58">[58]</a><div class="note"><p> See Appendix I., on the Pulpits of Pisa and Ravello.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor59">[59]</a><div class="note"><p> The data is extremely doubtful. Were we to trust internal +evidence—the evidence of style and handling—we should be inclined to +name this not the earliest but the latest and ripest of Pisano's works. It +may be suggested in passing that the form of the lunette was favourable to +the composition by forcing a gradation in the figures from the centre to +either side. There is an engraving of this bas-relief in Ottley's <i>Italian +School of Design.</i></p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor60">[60]</a><div class="note"><p> Rheims Cathedral, for example, was begun in 1211. Upon its +western portals is the loveliest of Northern Gothic sculpture.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor61">[61]</a><div class="note"><p> Antonio Filarete was commissioned, soon after 1431, by +Eugenius IV., to make the great gates of S. Peter's. The decorative +framework represents a multitude of living creatures—snails, snakes, +lizards, mice, butterflies, and birds—half hidden in foliage, together +with the best known among Greek myths, the Rape of Proserpine, Diana and +Actæon, Europa and the Bull, the Labours of Hercules, &c.c. Such fables as +the Fox and the Stork, the Fox and the Crow, and old stories like that of +the death of Æschylus, are included in this medley. The monument of Paul +III. is placed in the choir of S. Peter's. Giulia Bella was the mistress +of Alexander VI., and a sister of the Farnese, who owed his cardinal's hat +to her influence. To represent her as an allegory of Truth upon her +brother's tomb might well pass for a grim satire. The Prudence opposite is +said to be a portrait of the Pope's mother, Giovanna Gaëtani. She +resembles nothing more than a duenna of the type of Martha in Goethe's +Faust. Here, again, the allegory would point a scathing sarcasm, if we did +not remember the naïveté of the Renaissance.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor62">[62]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor63">[63]</a><div class="note"><p> Having said so much about this pulpit of S. Andrea, I am +sorry that I cannot refer the English reader to any accessible +representation of it. For its sake alone, if for no other purpose, Pistoja +is well worth a visit.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor64">[64]</a><div class="note"><p> It was long believed that he died of eating poisoned figs.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor65">[65]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, note, for the original conception of this +motive at Orvieto.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor66">[66]</a><div class="note"><p> See <i>Il Duomo di Orvieto, descritto ed illustrato per +Lodovico Luzi</i>, pp. 330-339.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor67">[67]</a><div class="note"><p> See Luzi, pp. 317-328, and the first extant commission given +in 1310 to Maitani, which follows, pp. 328-330.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor68">[68]</a><div class="note"><p> The whole series has been admirably engraved under the +superintendence of Ludwig Grüner. Special attention may be directed to the +groups of angels attendant on the Creator in His last day's work; to the +"Adoration of the Shepherds," distinguished by tender and idyllic grace: +and to the "Adoration of the Magi," marked no less by majesty. The dead +breaking open the lids of their sarcophagi and rising to judgment are +justly famous for spirited action.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor69">[69]</a><div class="note"><p> In Gothic sculpture of an early date the Bible narrative is +literally represented. God draws Eve from the open side of sleeping Adam. +On the façade of Orvieto this motive is less altered than refined. The +wound in Adam's side is visible, but Eve is coming from behind his +sleeping body in obedience to the beckoning hand of her Creator. Ghiberti +in the bronze gate of the Florentine Baptistery still further develops the +poetic beauty of the motive. Angels lift Eve in the air above Adam, in +whose side there is now no open wound, and sustain her face to face with +God, who calls her into life. Della Quercia, on the façade of S. Petronio, +confines himself to the creative act, expressed by the raised hand of the +Maker, and the answering attitude of Eve; and this conception receives +final treatment from Michael Angelo in the frescoes of the Sistine.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor70">[70]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Le Tre Porte del Battistero di San Giovanni di Firenze, +incise ed illustrate</i> (Firenze, 1821), contains outlines of all Andrea +Pisano's and Ghiberti's work.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor71">[71]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, pp. <a href="#Page_9">9</a>-<a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor72">[72]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, pp. <a href="#Page_9">9</a>-<a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor73">[73]</a><div class="note"><p> What Giotto himself was, as a designer for sculpture, is +shown in the little reliefs upon the basement of his campanile.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor74">[74]</a><div class="note"><p> What has previously been noted in the chapter upon +architecture deserves repetition here—that the Italian style of building +gave more scope to independent sculpture, owing to its preference for flat +walls, and its rejection of multiplied niches, canopies, and so forth, +than the Northern Gothic. Thus, however subordinated to architecture, +sculpture in Italy still had more scope for self-assertion than in Germany +or France.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor75">[75]</a><div class="note"><p> See Perkins, <i>Italian Sculptors</i>, p. 109, for a description +of the Arca di S. Agostino, which he assigns to Matteo and Bonino da +Campione. This shrine, now in the Duomo, was made for the sacristy of S. +Pietro in Cielo d'Oro, where it stood until the year 1832.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor76">[76]</a><div class="note"><p> Bonino da Campione, the Milanese, who may have had a hand in +the Arca di S. Agostino, carved the tomb of Can Signorio. That of Mastino +II. was executed by another Milanese, Perino.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor77">[77]</a><div class="note"><p> See Trucchi, <i>Poesie Italiane inedite</i>, vol. ii.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor78">[78]</a><div class="note"><p> See the Illustrated work, <i>Il Tabernacolo della Madonna d'Or +sammichele</i>, Firenze, 1851.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor79">[79]</a><div class="note"><p> The weighty chapter in Alberti's <i>Treatise on Painting</i>, +lib. iii. cap. 5, might be used to support this paragraph.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor80">[80]</a><div class="note"><p> Quercia, born 1374; Ghiberti, 1378; Brunelleschi, 1379; +Donatello, 1386.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor81">[81]</a><div class="note"><p> They are engraved in the work cited above, <i>Le Tre Porte, +seconda Porta</i>, Tavole i. ii.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor82">[82]</a><div class="note"><p> The bas-reliefs of S. Petronio were executed between 1425 +and 1435. Those of the font in the chapel of S. John (not the lower church +of S. John), at Siena, are ascribed to Quercia, and are in his manner; but +when they were finished I do not know. They set forth six subjects from +the story of Adam and Eve, with a compartment devoted to Hercules killing +the Centaur Nessus, and another to Samson or Hercules and the Lion. The +choice of subjects, affording scope for treatment of the nude, is +characteristic; so is the energy of handling, though rude in detail. It +may be worth while to notice here a similar series of reliefs upon the +façade of the Colleoni Chapel at Bergamo, representing scenes from the +story of Adam in conjunction with the labours of Hercules.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor83">[83]</a><div class="note"><p> Ruskin's <i>Modern Painters</i>, vol. ii. chap, vii., Repose.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor84">[84]</a><div class="note"><p> See Flaxman's <i>Lectures on Sculpture</i>, p. 310.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor85">[85]</a><div class="note"><p> This criticism of the "Gate of Paradise" sounds even to the +writer of it profane, and demands a palinode. Who, indeed, can affirm that +he would wish the floating figure of Eve, or the three angels at Abraham's +tent-door, other than they are?</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor86">[86]</a><div class="note"><p> See the <i>Commentaries of Ghiberti</i>, printed in vol. i. of +Vasari (Lemonnier, 1846).</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor87">[87]</a><div class="note"><p> The patera is at South Kensington, the frieze at Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor88">[88]</a><div class="note"><p> As also the wooden Baptist in the Frari at Venice.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor89">[89]</a><div class="note"><p> There is another "David," by Donatello, in marble; also in +the Bargello, scarcely less stiff and ugly than the "Baptist."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor90">[90]</a><div class="note"><p> The cast was published by the Arundel Society. The original +belongs to Lord Elcho.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor91">[91]</a><div class="note"><p> It has been suggested, with good show of reason, that +Mantegna was largely indebted to these bas-reliefs for his lofty style.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor92">[92]</a><div class="note"><p> This omits the statues of the Scaligers: but no mediæval +work aimed at equal animation. The antique bronze horses at Venice and the +statue of Marcus Aurelius must have been in Donatello's mind.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor93">[93]</a><div class="note"><p> The sculptor of a beautiful tomb erected for the Countess of +Montorio and her infant daughter in the church of S. Bernardino at Aquila +was probably Andrea dell' Aquila, a pupil of Donatello. See Perkins's +<i>Italian Sculptors</i>, pp. 46, 47.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor94">[94]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Istoria della Vita e Fatti dell' eccellentissimo Capitano +di guerra Bartolommeo Colleoni</i>, scritta per Pietro Spino. Republished, +1859.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor95">[95]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 310, note 2.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor96">[96]</a><div class="note"><p> Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. ii. chap, xvi., may be +consulted as to the several claims of the two brothers.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor97">[97]</a><div class="note"><p> His bas-reliefs on Giotto's campanile of Grammar, Astronomy, +Geometry, Plato, Aristotle, &c.c., are anterior to 1445; and even about this +date there is uncertainty, some authorities fixing it at 1435.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor98">[98]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Purg.</i> x. 37, and xi. 68.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor99">[99]</a><div class="note"><p> Among the very best works of the later Robbian school may be +cited the frieze upon the façade of the Ospedale del Ceppo at Pistoja, +representing in varied colour, and with graceful vivacity, the Seven Acts +of Mercy. Date about 1525.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor100">[100]</a><div class="note"><p> He calls himself Agostinus Florentine Lapicida on his +façade of the Oratory of S. Bernardino.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor101">[101]</a><div class="note"><p> See especially a roundel in the Bargello, and the +altar-piece in the church of Monte Oliveto at Naples. Those who wish to +understand Rossellino should study him in the latter place.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor102">[102]</a><div class="note"><p> In the church of Samminiato, near Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor103">[103]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Vite di Uomini Illustri</i>, pp. 152-157.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor104">[104]</a><div class="note"><p> These tombs in the Badia were erected for Count Ugo, +Governor of Tuscany under Otho II., and for Messer Bernardo Giugni. Mino +also made the tomb for Pope Paul II., parts of which are preserved in the +Grotte of S. Peter's. At Rome he carved a tabernacle for S. Maria in +Trastevere, and at Volterra a ciborium for the Baptistery—one of his most +sympathetic productions. The altars in the Baglioni Chapel of S. Pietro +Cassinense at Perugia, in S. Ambrogio at Florence, and in the cathedral of +Fiesole, and the pulpit in the Duomo at Prato, may be mentioned among his +best works.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor105">[105]</a><div class="note"><p> Besides Civitali's altar of S. Regulus, and the tomb of +Pietro da Noceto already mentioned, Bernardo Rossellino's monument to +Lionardo Bruni, and Desiderio's monument to Carlo Marsuppini in S. Croce +at Florence, may be cited as eminent examples of Tuscan sepulchres.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor106">[106]</a><div class="note"><p> The wooden statue of the Magdalen in Santa Trinità at +Florence shows Desiderio's approximation to the style of his master. She +is a careworn and ascetic saint, with the pathetic traces of great beauty +in her emaciated face.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor107">[107]</a><div class="note"><p> This bust is in the Palazzo Strozzi at Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor108">[108]</a><div class="note"><p> So Giovanni Santi, Raphael's father, described Desiderio da +Settignano.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor109">[109]</a><div class="note"><p> The following story is told about Benedetto's youth. He +made two large inlaid chests or <i>cassoni</i>, adorned with all the skill of a +worker in tarsia, or wood-mosaic, and carried these with him to King +Matthias Corvinus, of Hungary. Part of his journey was performed by sea. +On arriving and unpacking his chests, he found that the sea-damp had +unglued the fragile wood-mosaic, and all his work was spoiled. This +determined him to practise the more permanent art of sculpture. See +Perkins, vol. i. p. 228.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor110">[110]</a><div class="note"><p> For further description of the sculpture at Rimini, I may +refer to my <i>Sketches in Italy and Greece</i>, pp. 250-252. For the student +of Italian art, who has no opportunity of visiting Rimini, it is greatly +to be regretted that these reliefs have never yet even in photography been +reproduced. The palace of Duke Frederick at Urbino was designed by +Luziano, a Dalmatian architect, and continued by Baccio Pontelli, a +Florentine. The reliefs of dancing Cupids, white on blue ground, with +wings and hair gilt, and the children holding pots of roses and +gilly-flowers, in one of its great rooms, may be selected for special +mention. Ambrogio or Ambrogino da Milano, none of whose handiwork is found +in his native district, and who may therefore be supposed to have learned +and practised his art elsewhere, was the sculptor of these truly genial +reliefs.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor111">[111]</a><div class="note"><p> See, for example, the remarkable bas-relief of the Doge +Lionardo Loredano engraved by Perkins, <i>Italian Sculptors</i>, p. 201.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor112">[112]</a><div class="note"><p> Another Modenese, Antonio Begarelli, born in 1479, +developed this art of the <i>plasticatore</i>, with quite as much pictorial +impressiveness, and in a style of stricter science, than his predecessor +Il Modanino. His masterpieces are the "Deposition from the Cross" in S. +Francesco, and the "Pietà" in S. Pietro, of his native city.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor113">[113]</a><div class="note"><p> The name of this great master is variously +written—Giovanni Antonio Amadeo, or Omodeo, or degli Amadei, or de' +Madeo, or a Madeo—pointing possibly to the town Madeo as his native +place. Through a long life he worked upon the fabric of the Milanese +Duomo, the Certosa of Pavia, and the Chapel of Colleoni at Bergamo. To him +we owe the general design of the façade of the Certosa and the cupola of +the Duomo of Milan. For the details of his work and an estimate of his +capacity, see Perkins, <i>Italian Sculptors</i>, pp. 127-137.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor114">[114]</a><div class="note"><p> This statue was originally intended for a chapel built and +endowed by Colleoni at Basella, near Bergamo. When he determined to erect +his chapel in S. Maria Maggiore at Bergamo, he entrusted the execution of +this new work to Amadeo, and the monument of Medea was subsequently placed +there.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor115">[115]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. 113. I have spelt the name <i>Sansovino</i>, when +applied to Jacopo Tatti, in accordance with time-honoured usage.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor116">[116]</a><div class="note"><p> To multiply instances is tedious; but notice in this +connection the Hermaphroditic statue of S. Sebastian at Orvieto, near the +western door. It is a fair work of Lo Scalza.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor117">[117]</a><div class="note"><p> This brief allusion to Cellini must suffice for the moment, +as I intend to treat of him in a separate chapter.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV"></a><h2><a name="Page_128"></a>CHAPTER IV--PAINTING</h2> + +<h4>Distribution of Artistic Gifts in Italy—Florence and Venice +—Classification by Schools—Stages in the Evolution of Painting—Cimabue +—The Rucellai Madonna—Giotto—His widespread Activity—The Scope of his +Art—Vitality—Composition—Colour—Naturalism—Healthiness—Frescoes at +Assisi and Padua—Legend of S. Francis—The Giotteschi—Pictures of the +Last Judgment—Orcagna in the Strozzi Chapel—Ambrogio Lorenzetti at +Pisa—Dogmatic Theology—Cappella degli Spagnuoli—Traini's "Triumph, +of S. Thomas Aquinas"—Political Doctrine expressed in Fresco—Sala della +Pace at Siena—Religious Art in Siena and Perugia—The Relation of the +Giottesque Painters to the Renaissance.</h4> + +<p>It is the duty of the historian of painting to trace the beginnings of art +in each of the Italian communities, to differentiate their local styles, +and to explain their mutual connections. For the present generation this +work is being done with all-sufficient thoroughness and accuracy.<a name="FNanchor118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118"><sup>[118]</sup></a> The +historian of culture, on the other hand, for whom the arts form one +important branch of intellectual activity, may dispense with these +detailed inquiries, and may endeavour to seize the more general outlines +of the subject. He need not weigh in balances the claims of rival cities +to priority, nor hamper his review of national progress by discussing the +special merits of the several schools. Still there are certain broad facts +about the distribution of artistic gifts in Italy which it is necessary to +bear in mind. However much we <a name="Page_129"></a>may desire to treat of painting as a phase +of national and not of merely local life, the fundamental difficulty of +Italian history, its complexity and variety, owing to the subdivisions of +the nation into divers states, must here as elsewhere be acknowledged. To +deny that each of the Italian centres had its own strong personality in +art—that painting, as practised in Genoa or Naples, differed from the +painting of Ferrara or Urbino—would be to contradict a law that has been +over and over again insisted upon already in these volumes.</p> + +<p>The broad outlines of the subject can be briefly stated. Surveying the map +of Italy, we find that we may eliminate from our consideration the +north-western and the southern provinces. Not from Piedmont nor from +Liguria, not from Rome nor from the extensive kingdom of Naples, does +Italian painting take its origin, or at any period derive important +contributions.<a name="FNanchor119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119"><sup>[119]</sup></a> Lombardy, with the exception of Venice, is +comparatively barren of originative elements.<a name="FNanchor120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120"><sup>[120]</sup></a> To Tuscany, to Umbria, +and to Venice, roughly speaking, are due the really creative forces of +Italian painting; and these three districts were marked by strong +peculiarities. In art, as in politics, Florence and Venice exhibit +distinct types of character.<a name="FNanchor121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121"><sup>[121]</sup></a> The Florentines developed fresco, and +devoted their genius to the expression of thought by scientific design.<a name="Page_130"></a> +The Venetians perfected oil-painting, and set forth the glory of the world +as it appeals to the imagination and the senses. The art of Florence may +seem to some judges to savour over-much of intellectual dryness; the art +of Venice, in the apprehension of another class of critics, offers +something over-much of material richness. More allied to the Tuscan than +to the Venetian spirit, the Umbrian masters produced a style of genuine +originality. The cities of the Central Apennines owed their specific +quality of religious fervour to the influences emanating from Assisi, the +head-quarters of the <i>cultus</i> of S. Francis. This pietism, nowhere else so +paramount, except for a short period in Siena, constitutes the +individuality of Umbria.</p> + +<p>With regard to the rest of Italy, the old custom of speaking about schools +and places, instead of signalising great masters, has led to +misconception, by making it appear that local circumstances were more +important than the facts justify. We do not find elsewhere what we find in +Tuscany, in Umbria, and in Venice—a definite quality, native to the +district, shared through many generations by all its painters, and +culminating in a few men of commanding genius. When, for instance, we +speak of the School of Milan, what we mean is the continuation through +Lionardo da Vinci and his pupils of the Florentine tradition, as modified +by him and introduced into the Lombard capital. That a special style was +developed by Luini, Ferrari, and other artists of the Milanese duchy, so +that their manner differs essentially from that of Parma and Cremona, does +not invalidate the importance of this fact about its origin. The name of +Roman School, again, has been given to Raphael and Michael Angelo together +with their pupils. The truth is that Rome, for one brief period, during +the pontificates of Julius and Leo, was the focus of Italian intellect. +Allured by the patronage of the Papal Curia, not only artists, but +scholars <a name="Page_131"></a>and men of letters, flocked from all the cities of Italy to +Rome, where they found a nobler sphere for the exercise of their faculties +than elsewhere. But Rome, while she lent her imperial quality of grandeur +to the genius of her aliens, was in no sense originative. Rome produced no +first-rate master from her own children, if we except Giulio Romano. The +title of originality is due rather to Padua, the birthplace of Mantegna, +or to Parma, the city of Correggio, whose works display independence of +either Florentine or Venetian traditions. Yet these great masters were +isolated, neither expressing in any definite form the character of their +districts, nor founding a succession of local artists. Their influence was +incontestably great, but widely diffused. Bologna and Ferrara, Brescia and +Bergamo, Cremona and Verona, have excellent painters; and it is not +difficult to show that in each of these cities art assumed specific +characters. Yet the interest of the schools in these towns is due mainly +to the varied influences brought to bear upon them from Venice, Umbria, +and Milan. In other words they are affiliated, each according to its +geographical position, to the chief originative centres.</p> + +<p>What I have advanced in the foregoing paragraphs is not meant for a +polemic against the time-honoured division of Italian painters into local +schools, but for a justification of my own proposed method of treatment. +Having undertaken to deal with painting as the paramount art-product of +the Renaissance, it will be my object to point out the leading +characteristics of æsthetic culture in Italy, rather than to dwell upon +its specific differences. The Venetian painters I intend to reserve for a +separate chapter, devoting this and the two next to the general history of +the art as developed in Tuscany and propagated by Tuscan influences.<a name="FNanchor122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122"><sup>[122]</sup></a> +In pursuing <a name="Page_132"></a>this plan I shall endeavour to show how the successive stages +in the evolution of Italian painting corresponded to similar stages in the +history of the Renaissance. Beginning as the handmaid of the Church, and +stimulated by the enthusiasm of the two great popular monastic orders, +painting was at first devoted to embodying the thoughts of mediæval +Christianity. In proportion as the painters fortified themselves by study +of the natural world, their art became more secular. Mysticism gave way to +realism. It was felt that much beside religious sentiment was worthy of +expression. At the same time, about the year 1440, this process of +secularisation was hastened by the influences of the classical revival, +renewing an interest in the past life of humanity, and stirring a zeal for +science. The painters, on the one hand, now aimed at accurate delineation +of actual things: good perspective, correct drawing, sound portraiture, +occupied their attention, to the exclusion of more purely spiritual +motives. On the other hand they conceived an admiration for the fragments +of the newly discovered antiques, and felt the plastic beauty of Hellenic +legends. It is futile to attempt, as M. Rio has done, to prove that this +abandonment of the religious sphere of earlier art was for painting a +plain decline from good to bad, or to make the more or less of spiritual +feeling in a painter's style the test of his degree of excellence; <a name="Page_133"></a>nor +can we by any sophistries be brought to believe that the Popes of the +fifteenth century were pastoral protectors of solely Christian arts. The +truth is, that in the Church, in politics, and in society, the fifteenth +century witnessed a sensible decrease of religious fervour, and a very +considerable corruption of morality. Painting felt this change; and the +secularisation, which was inevitable, passed onward into paganism. Yet the +art itself cannot be said to have suffered, when on the threshold of the +sixteenth century stand the greatest painters whom the world has +known—neither Catholics nor Heathens, but, in their strength of full +accomplished art and science, human. After Italy, in the course of that +century, had been finally enslaved, then, and not till then, painting +suffered from the general depression of the national genius. The great +luminaries were extinguished one by one, till none were left but Michael +Angelo in Rome, and Tintoret in Venice. The subsequent history of Italian +painting is occupied with its revival under the influences of the +counter-Reformation, when a new religious sentiment, emasculated and +ecstatic, was expressed in company with crude naturalism and cruel +sensualism by Bolognese and Neapolitan painters.</p> + +<p>I need scarcely repeat the tale of Cimabue's picture, visited by Charles +of Anjou, and borne in triumph through the streets with trumpeters, +beneath a shower of garlands, to S. Maria Novella.<a name="FNanchor123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123"><sup>[123]</sup></a> Yet this was the +birthday festival of nothing less than what the world now values as +Italian painting. In this public act of joy the people of Florence +recognised and paid <a name="Page_134"></a>enthusiastic honour to the art arisen among them from +the dead. If we rightly consider the matter, it is not a little wonderful +that a whole community should thus have hailed the presence in their midst +of a new spirit of power and beauty. It proves the widespread sensibility +of the Florentines to things of beauty, and shows the sympathy which, +emanating from the people, was destined to inspire and brace the artist +for his work.<a name="FNanchor124"></a><a href="#Footnote_124"><sup>[124]</sup></a></p> + +<p>In a dark transept of S. Maria Novella, raised by steps above the level of +the church, still hangs this famous "Madonna" of the Rucellai—not far, +perhaps, from the spot where Boccaccio's youths and maidens met that +Tuesday morning in the year of the great plague; nor far, again, from +where the solitary woman, beautiful beyond belief, conversed with +Machiavelli on the morning of the first of May in 1527.<a name="FNanchor125"></a><a href="#Footnote_125"><sup>[125]</sup></a> We who can +call to mind the scenes that picture has looked down upon—we who have +studied the rise and decadence of painting throughout Italy from this +beginning even to the last work of the latest Bolognese—may do well to +visit it with reverence, and to ponder on the race of mighty masters whose +lineage here takes its origin.</p> + +<p>Cimabue did not free his style from what are called Byzantine or +Romanesque mannerisms. To unpractised eyes his saints and angels, with +their stiff draperies and angular attitudes, though they exhibit +stateliness and majesty, belong to the same tribe as the grim mosaics and +gaunt frescoes of his predecessors. It is only after careful comparison +that we discover, in this picture of the Rucellai for example, a +distinctly fresh endeavour to express emotion and to depict life. The +outstretched arms of the infant Christ have been <a name="Page_135"></a>copied from nature, not +merely borrowed from tradition. The six kneeling angels display variety of +attitude suited to several shades of devout affection and adoring service. +The head of the Madonna, heavy as it is and conventional in type, still +strives to represent maternal affection mingled with an almost melancholy +reverence. Prolonging our study, we are led to ask whether the painter +might not have painted more freely had he chosen—whether, in fact, he was +not bound down to the antique mode of presentation consecrated by devout +tradition. This question occurs with even greater force before the +wall-paintings ascribed to Cimabue in the church of S. Francis at Assisi.</p> + +<p>It remained for Giotto Bondone, born at Vespignano in 1276, just at the +date of Niccola Pisano's death, to carry painting in his lifetime even +further than the Pisan sculptor had advanced the sister art. Cimabue, so +runs a legend luckily not yet discredited, found the child Giotto among +the sheep-folds on the solemn Tuscan hill-side, drawing with boyish art +the outline of a sheep upon a stone.<a name="FNanchor126"></a><a href="#Footnote_126"><sup>[126]</sup></a> The master recognised his +talent, and took him from his father's cottage to the Florentine +<i>bottega</i>, much as young Haydn was taken by Renter to S. Stephen's at +Vienna. Gifted with a large and comprehensive intellect, capable of +sustained labour, and devoted with the unaffected zeal of a good craftsman +to his art, Giotto in the course of his long career filled Italy with work +that taught succeeding centuries of painters. As we travel from Padua in +the north, where his Arena Chapel sets forth the legend of Mary and the +life of Christ in a series of incomparable frescoes, southward to Naples, +where he adorned the convent of S. Chiara, we meet with Giotto in almost +<a name="Page_136"></a>every city. The "Passion of our Lord" and the "Allegories of S. Francis" +were painted by him at Assisi. S. Peter's at Borne still shows his mosaic +of the "Ship of the Church." Florence raises his wonderful bell-tower, +that lily among campanili, to the sky; and preserves two chapels of S. +Croce, illuminated by him with paintings from the stories of S. Francis +and S. John. In the chapel of the Podestà he drew the portraits of Dante, +Brunetto Latini, and Charles of Valois. And these are but a tithe of his +productions. Nothing, indeed, in the history of art is more remarkable +than the fertility of this originative genius, no less industrious in +labour than fruitful of results for men who followed him. The sound common +sense, the genial temper, and the humour of the man, as we learn to know +him in tales made current by Vasari and the novelists, help to explain how +he achieved so much, with energy so untiring and with excellence so even.</p> + +<p>It is no exaggeration to say that Giotto and his scholars, within the +space of little more than half a century, painted out upon the walls of +the churches and public palaces of Italy every great conception of the +Middle Ages. And this they achieved without ascetic formalism, +energetically, but always reverently, aiming at expressing life and +dramatising Scripture history. The tale told about Giotto's first essay in +drawing might be chosen as a parable: he was not found beneath a church +roof tracing a mosaic, but on the open mountain, trying to draw the +portrait of the living thing committed to his care.</p> + +<p>What, therefore, Giotto gave to art was, before all things else, vitality. +His Madonnas are no longer symbols of a certain phase of pious awe, but +pictures of maternal love. The Bride of God suckles her divine infant with +a smile, watches him playing with a bird, or stretches out her arms to +take him when he turns crying from the hands of the <a name="Page_137"></a>circumcising priest. +By choosing incidents like these from real home-life, Giotto, through his +painting, humanised the mysteries of faith, and brought them close to +common feeling. Nor was the change less in his method than his motives. +Before his day painting had been without composition, without charm of +colour, without suggestion of movement or the play of living energy. He +first knew how to distribute figures in the given space with perfect +balance, and how to mass them together in animated groups agreeable to the +eye. He caught varied and transient shades of emotion, and expressed them +by the posture of the body and the play of feature. The hues of morning +and of evening served him. Of all painters he was most successful in +preserving the clearness and the light of pure, well-tempered colours. His +power of telling a story by gesture and action is unique in its peculiar +simplicity. There are no ornaments or accessories in his pictures. The +whole force of the artist has been concentrated on rendering the image of +the life conceived by him. Relying on his knowledge of human nature, and +seeking only to make his subject intelligible, no painter is more +unaffectedly pathetic, more unconsciously majestic. While under the +influence of his genius, we are sincerely glad that the requisite science +for clever imitation of landscape and architectural backgrounds was not +forthcoming in his age. Art had to go through a toilsome period of +geometrical and anatomical pedantry, before it could venture, in the +frescoes of Michael Angelo and Raphael, to return with greater wealth of +knowledge on a higher level to the divine simplicity of its childhood in +Giotto.</p> + +<p>In the drawing of the figure Giotto was surpassed by many meaner artists +of the fifteenth century. Nor had he that quality of genius which selects +a high type of beauty, and is scrupulous to shun the commonplace. The +faces of even his most sacred personages are often almost vulgar. In his +choice <a name="Page_138"></a>of models for saints and apostles we already trace the Florentine +instinct for contemporary portraiture. Yet, though his knowledge of +anatomy was defective, and his taste was realistic, Giotto solved the +great problem of figurative art far better than more learned and +fastidious painters. He never failed to make it manifest that what he +meant to represent was living. Even to the non-existent he gave the +semblance of reality. We cannot help believing in his angels leaning +waist-deep from the blue sky, wringing their hands in agony above the +Cross, pacing like deacons behind Christ when He washes the feet of His +disciples, or sitting watchful and serene upon the empty sepulchre. He +was, moreover, essentially a fresco-painter, working with rapid decision +on a large scale, aiming at broad effects, and willing to sacrifice +subtlety to clearness of expression. The health of his whole nature and +his robust good sense are everywhere apparent in his solid, concrete, +human work of art. There is no trace of mysticism, no ecstatic piety, +nothing morbid or hysterical, in his imagination. Imbuing whatever he +handled with the force and freshness of actual existence, Giotto +approached the deep things of the Christian faith and the legend of S. +Francis in the spirit of a man bent simply on realising the objects of his +belief as facts. His allegories of "Poverty," "Chastity," and "Obedience," +at Assisi, are as beautiful and powerfully felt as they are carefully +constructed. Yet they conceal no abstruse spiritual meaning, but are +plainly painted "for the poor laity of love to read." The artist poet who +coloured the virginal form of Poverty, with the briars beneath her feet +and the roses blooming round her forehead, proved by his well-known +<i>canzone</i> that he was free from monastic Quixotism, and took a practical +view of the value of worldly wealth.<a name="FNanchor127"></a><a href="#Footnote_127"><sup>[127]</sup></a> His homely humour saved him from +the exaltation and the childishness that formed the weakness of the +Franciscan <a name="Page_139"></a>revival. By the same firm grasp upon reality he created more +than mere abstractions in his <i>chiaroscuro</i> figures of the virtues and +vices at Padua. Fortitude and Justice, Faith and Envy, are gifted by him +with a real corporeal existence. They seem fit to play their parts with +other concrete personalities upon the stage of this world's history. +Giotto in truth possessed a share of that power which belonged to the +Greek sculptors. He embodies myths in physical forms, adequate to their +intellectual meaning. This was in part the secret of the influence he +exercised over the sculptors of the second period;<a name="FNanchor128"></a><a href="#Footnote_128"><sup>[128]</sup></a> and had the +conditions of the age been favourable to such development, some of the +allegorical types created by him might have passed into the Pantheon of +popular worship as deities incarnate.</p> + +<p>The birth of Italian painting is closely connected with the religious life +of the Italians. The building of the church of S. Francis at Assisi gave +it the first great impulse; and to the piety aroused by S. Francis +throughout Italy, but mostly in the valleys of the Apennines, it owed its +animating spirit in the fourteenth century. The church of Assisi is +double. One structure of nave, and choir, and transept, is imposed upon +another; and the walls of both, from floor to coping-stone, are covered +with fresco-painted pictures taking here the place occupied by mosaic in +such churches as the cathedral of Monreale, or by coloured glass in the +northern cathedrals of the pointed style. Many of these frescoes date from +years before the birth of Giotto. Giunta the Pisan, Gaddo Gaddi, and +Cimabue, are supposed to have worked there, painfully continuing or feebly +struggling to throw off the decadent traditions of a dying art. In their +school Giotto laboured, and modern painting arose with the movement of new +life beneath his brush. Here, pondering in his youth upon the story of +Christ's suffering, and in his later manhood on the <a name="Page_140"></a>virtues of S. Francis +and his vow, he learned the secret of giving the semblance of flesh and +blood reality to Christian thought. His achievement was nothing less than +this. The Creation, the Fall, the Redemption of the World, the moral +discipline of man, the Judgment, and the final state of bliss or +misery—all these he quickened into beautiful and breathing forms. Those +were noble days, when the painter had literally acres of walls given him +to cover; when the whole belief of Christendom, grasped by his own faith, +and firmly rooted in the faith of the people round him, as yet unimpaired +by alien emanations from the world of classic culture, had to be set forth +for the first time in art. His work was then a Bible, a compendium of +grave divinity and human history, a book embracing all things needful for +the spiritual and the civil life of man. He spoke to men who could not +read, for whom there were no printed pages, but whose heart received his +teaching through the eye. Thus painting was not then what it is now, a +decoration of existence, but a potent and efficient agent in the education +of the race. Such opportunities do not occur twice in the same age. Once +in Greece for the pagan world; once in Italy for the modern world;—that +must suffice for the education of the human race.</p> + +<p>Like Niccola Pisano, Giotto not only founded a school in his native city, +but spread his manner far and wide over Italy, so that the first period of +the history of painting is the Giottesque. The Gaddi of Florence, +Giottino, Puccio Capanna, the Lorenzetti of Siena, Spinello of Arezzo, +Andrea Orcagna, Domenico Veneziano, and the lesser artists of the Pisan +Campo Santo, were either formed or influenced by him. To give an account +of the frescoes of these painters would be to describe how the religious, +social, and philosophical conceptions of the fourteenth century found +complete expression in form and colour. By means of allegory and pictured +scene they drew the portrait of the Middle Age in Italy, performing +jointly and <a name="Page_141"></a>in combination with the followers of Niccola Pisano what +Dante had done singly by his poetry.</p> + +<p>It has often been remarked that the drama of the life beyond this +world—its prologue in the courts of death, the tragedy of judgment, and +the final state of bliss or misery prepared for souls—preoccupied the +mind of the Italians at the close of the Middle Ages. Every city had its +pictorial representation of the "Dies Iræ;" and within this framework the +artist was free to set forth his philosophy of human nature, adding such +touches of satire or admonition as suited his own temper or the +circumstances of the place for which he worked. Dante's poem has +immortalised this moment of Italian consciousness, when the belief in +another world was used to intensify the emotions of this life—when the +inscrutable darkness toward which men travel became for them a black and +polished mirror reflecting with terrible luminousness the events of the +present and the past. So familiar had the Italians become with the theme +of death artistically treated, that they did not shrink from acted +pageants of the tragedy of Hell. Giovanni Villani tells us that in 1304 +the companies and clubs of pleasure, formed for making festival throughout +the town of Florence on the 1st of May, contended with each other for the +prize of novelty and rarity in sports provided for the people. "Among the +rest, the Borgo S. Friano had it cried about the streets, that whoso +wished for news from the other world, should find himself on Mayday on the +bridge Carraja or the neighbouring banks of Arno. And in Arno they +contrived stages upon boats and various small craft, and made the +semblance and figure of Hell there with flames and other pains and +torments, with men dressed as demons horrible to see; and others had the +shape of naked souls; and these they gave unto those divers tortures with +exceeding great crying and groaning and confusion, the which seemed +hateful and appalling unto eyes and ears. The novelty of the sport drew +many citizens, <a name="Page_142"></a>and the bridge Carraja, then of wood, was so crowded that +it brake in several places and fell with the folk upon it, whereby were +many killed and drowned, and many were disabled; and as the crier had +proclaimed, so now in death went much folk to learn news of the other +world."</p> + +<p>Such being the temper of the people, we find that some of the greatest +works of art in this age were paintings of Death and Hell, Heaven and +Judgment. Orcagna, in the Strozzi Chapel of S. Maria Novella, set forth +these scenes with a wonderful blending of beauty and grotesque invention. +In the treatment of the Inferno he strove to delineate the whole geography +of Dante's first <i>cantica</i>, tracing the successive circles and introducing +the various episodes commemorated by the poet. Interesting as this work +may be for the illustration of the "Divine Comedy" as understood by +Dante's immediate successors, we turn from it with a sense of relief to +admire the saints and angels ranged in goodly row, "each burning upward to +his point of bliss" whereby the painter has depicted Paradise. Early +Italian art has nothing more truly beautiful to offer than the white-robed +Madonna kneeling at the judgment seat of Christ.<a name="FNanchor129"></a><a href="#Footnote_129"><sup>[129]</sup></a></p> +<a name="Page_143"></a> +<p>It will be felt by every genuine student of art that if Orcagna painted +these frescoes in S. Maria Novella, whereof there is no doubt, he could +not have executed the wall-paintings in the Campo Santo at Pisa attributed +to him by Vasari. To what artists or artist we owe those three grave and +awful panels, may still be regarded an open question.<a name="FNanchor130"></a><a href="#Footnote_130"><sup>[130]</sup></a> At the end of +the southern wall of the cemetery, exposed to a cold and equal north light +from the cloister windows, these great compositions, after the lapse of +five centuries, bring us face to face with the most earnest thoughts of +mediæval Christianity. Their main purpose seems to be to illustrate the +advantage of the ascetic over the secular mode of life, and to school men +into living with the fear of death before their eyes. The first displays +the solitary vigils, self-imposed penances, cruel temptations, firm +endurance, and beatific visions of the anchorites in the Thebaid. The +second is devoted to the triumph of Death over the pomp, strength, wealth, +and beauty of the world. The third reveals a grimly realistic and yet +awfully imaginative vision of judgment, such as it has rarely been granted +to a painter to conceive. Thus to the awakening soul of the Italians, on +the threshold of the modern era, with the sonnets of Petrarch and the +stories of Boccaccio sounding in their memories, this terrible master +presented the three saddest phantoms of the Middle Ages—the spectre of +death omnipotent, the solitude of the desert as the only refuge from a +sinful and doomed world, the dread of<a name="Page_144"></a> Divine justice inexorable and +inevitable. In those piles of the promiscuous and abandoned dead, those +fiends and angels poised in mid-air struggling for souls, those blind and +mutilated beggars vainly besieging Death with prayers and imprecations for +deliverance, while she descends in her robe of woven wire to mow down with +her scythe the knights and ladies in their garden of delight; again in +those horses snuffing at the open graves, those countesses and princes +face to face with skeletons, those serpents coiling round the flesh of +what was once fair youth or maid, those multitudes of guilty men and women +trembling beneath the trump of the archangel—tearing their cheeks, their +hair, their breasts in agony, because they see Hell through the +prison-bars, and hear the raging of its fiends, and feel the clasp upon +their wrists and ankles of clawed hairy demon hands; in all this terrific +amalgamation of sinister and tragic ideas, vividly presented, full of +coarse dramatic power, and intensified by faith in their material reality, +the Lorenzetti brethren, if theirs be indeed the hands that painted here, +summed up the nightmares of the Middle Age and bequeathed an ever +memorable picture of its desolate preoccupations to the rising world. They +have called to their aid poetry, and history, and legend. Boccaccio +supplies them with the garden scene of youths and damsels dancing among +roses, while the plague is at their gates, and death is in the air above. +From Petrarch they have borrowed the form and mystic robe of Death +herself<a name="FNanchor131"></a><a href="#Footnote_131"><sup>[131]</sup></a>. Uguccione della Faggiuola has sat for the portrait of the +Captain who must quail before the terrors of the tomb, and Castruccio +Castracane is the strong man cut off in the blossom of his age. The +prisons of the Visconti have dis<a name="Page_145"></a>gorged their victims, cast adrift with +maiming that makes life unendurable but does not hasten death.<a name="FNanchor132"></a><a href="#Footnote_132"><sup>[132]</sup></a> The +lazar houses and the charnels have been ransacked for forms of grisly +decay. Thus the whole work is not merely "an hieroglyphical and shadowed +lesson" of ascetic philosophy; it is also a realisation of mediæval life +in its cruellest intensity and most uncompromising truth. For mere beauty +these painters had but little regard.<a name="FNanchor133"></a><a href="#Footnote_133"><sup>[133]</sup></a> Their distribution of the +subjects chosen for treatment on each panel shows, indeed, a keen sense +for the value of dramatic contrast and a masterly power of varying while +combining the composition. Their chief aim, however, is to produce the +utmost realism of effect, to translate the poignancy of passion, the dread +certainty of doom, into forms of unmistakable fidelity. Therefore they do +not shrink from prosaic and revolting details. The knight who has to hold +his nose above the open grave, the lady who presses her cheek against her +hand with a spasm of distress, the horse who pricks his ears and snorts +with open nostrils, the grooms who start aside like savage creatures, all +suggest the loathsomeness of death, its physical repulsiveness. In the +"Last Judgment" the same kind of dramatic force is used to heighten a +sublime conception. The crouching attitude and the shrouded face of the +Archangel Raphael, whose eyes alone are visible above the hand that he has +thrust forth from his cloak to hide the grief he feels, prove more +emphatically than any less realistic motive could have done, <a name="Page_146"></a>how +terrible, even for the cherubic beings to whose guardianship the human +race has been assigned, will be the trumpet of the wrath of God.<a name="FNanchor134"></a><a href="#Footnote_134"><sup>[134]</sup></a> +Studying these frescoes, we cannot but reflect what nerves, what brains, +what hearts encased in triple brass the men who thought and felt thus must +have possessed. They make us comprehend not merely the stern and savage +temper of the Middle Ages, but the intense and fiery ebullition of the +Renaissance, into which, as by a sudden liberation, so much imprisoned +pent-up force was driven.</p> + +<p>A different but scarcely less important phase of mediæval thought is +imaged in the frescoes of the Cappella degli Spagnuoli in S. Maria +Novella.<a name="FNanchor135"></a><a href="#Footnote_135"><sup>[135]</sup></a> Dogmatic theology is here in the ascendant. While S. Francis +bequeathed a legend of singular suavity and beauty, overflowing with the +milk of charity and mildness, to the Church, S. Dominic assumed the +attitude <a name="Page_147"></a>of the saint militant and orthodox. Dante's words about him—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i21">L'amoroso drudo<a name="FNanchor136"></a><a href="#Footnote_136"><sup>[136]</sup></a></p> +<p>Della fede Cristiana, il santo atleta,</p> +<p>Benigno a' suoi, ed a' nemici crudo,</p> +</div></div> + +<p>omit nothing that is needed to characterise the impression produced upon +the Christian world by this remorseless foe of heresy, this champion of +the faith who dealt in butcheries and burnings. S. Francis taught love; S. +Dominic taught wrath: and both, perhaps, were needed for the safety of the +mediæval Church—the one by resuscitating the spirit of the Gospels, the +other by resisting the intrusion of alien ideals ere the time for their +triumph had arrived. What the painters of these frescoes undertook to +delineate for the Dominicans of Florence, was the fabric of society +sustained and held together by the action of inquisitors and doctors +issued from their order. The Pope with his Cardinals, the Emperor with his +Council, represent the two chief forces of Christendom, as conceived by +the mediæval jurists and the school of Dante. Seated on thrones, they are +ready to rise in defence of Holy Church, symbolised by a picture of S. +Maria del Fiore. At their feet the black and white hounds of the Dominican +order—<i>Domini canes</i>, according to the monkish pun—are hunting heretical +wolves. Opposite this painting is the apotheosis of S. Thomas Aquinas. +Beneath the footstool of this "dumb ox of Sicily," as he was called, +grovel the heresiarchs—Arius, Sabellius, Averroes. At again a lower +level, as though supporting the saint on either hand, are ranged seven +sacred and seven profane sciences, each with its chief representative. +Thus Rhetoric and Cicero, Civil Law and Justinian, Speculative Theology +and the Areopagite, Practical Theology and Peter Lombard, Geometry and +Euclid, Arithmetic and Abraham, are grouped together. It will be <a name="Page_148"></a>seen +that the whole learning of the Middle Age—its philosophy as well as its +divinity—is here combined as in a figured abstract, for the wise to +comment on and for the simple to peruse. None can avoid drawing the lesson +that knowledge exists for the service of the Church, and that the Church, +while she instructs society, will claim complete obedience to her decrees. +The <i>ipse dixit</i> of the Dominican author of the "Summa" is law.</p> + +<p>Such frescoes, by no means uncommon in Dominican cloisters, still retain +great interest for the student of scholastic thought. In the church of S. +Maria Sopra Minerva at Rome, where Galileo was afterwards compelled to +sign his famous retractation, Filippino Lippi painted another triumph of S. +Thomas, conceived in the spirit of Taddeo Gaddi's, but expressed with the +freedom of the middle Renaissance. Nor should we neglect to notice the +remarkable picture by Traini in S. Caterina at Pisa. Here the doctor of +Aquino is represented in an aureole surrounded by a golden sphere or disc, +on the edge of which are placed the four evangelists, together with Moses +and S. Paul.<a name="FNanchor137"></a><a href="#Footnote_137"><sup>[137]</sup></a> At his side, within the burnished sphere, Plato and +Aristotle stand upright, holding the "Timæus" and the "Ethics" in their +hands. Christ in glory is above the group, emitting from His mouth three +rays upon the head of S. Thomas. Single rays descend in like manner upon +the evangelists and Moses and S. Paul. They, like Plato and Aristotle, +hold open books; and rays from these eight volumes converge upon the head +of the angelical doctor, who becomes the focus, as it were, of all the +beams sent forth from Christ and from the classic teachers, whether +directly effused <a name="Page_149"></a>or transmitted through the writers of the Bible. S. +Thomas lastly holds a book open in his hand, and carries others on his +lap; while lines of light are shed from these upon two bands of the +faithful, chiefly Dominican monks, arranged on each side of his footstool. +Averroes lies prostrate beneath his feet with his book face downwards, +lightning-smitten by a shaft from the leaves of the volume in the saint's +hand, whereon is written: <i>veritatem meditabitur guttur meum et labia mea +detestabuntur impium</i>.<a name="FNanchor138"></a><a href="#Footnote_138"><sup>[138]</sup></a></p> + +<p>This picture, afterwards repeated by Benozzo Gozzoli with some change in +the persons,<a name="FNanchor139"></a><a href="#Footnote_139"><sup>[139]</sup></a> has been minutely described, because it is important to +bear in mind the measure of inspiration conceded by the mediæval Church to +the fathers of Greek philosophy, and her utter detestation of the +peripatetic traditions transmitted through the Arabic by Averroes. +Averroes, though Dante placed him with the great souls of pagan +civilisation in the first circle of Inferno,<a name="FNanchor140"></a><a href="#Footnote_140"><sup>[140]</sup></a> was regarded as the +protagonist of infidelity. The myth of incredulity that gathered round his +memory and made him hated in the Middle Ages, has been traced with +exquisite delicacy by Renan,<a name="FNanchor141"></a><a href="#Footnote_141"><sup>[141]</sup></a> who shows that his name became a +rallying point for freethinkers. Scholars like Petrarch were eager to +confute his sect, and artists used him as a symbol of materialistic +disbelief. Thus we meet with Averroes among the lost souls in the Pisan +Campo Santo, distinguished as usual by his turban and long beard. On the +other hand, the frank acceptance of pagan philosophy, insofar as it could +be accommodated to the doctrine of the Church, finds full expression in +the art of this early period. On the walls of the Palazzo Pubblico at +Siena were painted the figures of<a name="Page_150"></a> Curius Dentatus and Cato,<a name="FNanchor142"></a><a href="#Footnote_142"><sup>[142]</sup></a> while +the pavement of the Duomo showed Hermes Trismegistus instructing both a +pagan and a Christian, and Socrates ascending the steep hill of virtue. +Perugino, some years later, decorated the Sala del Cambio at Perugia with +the heroes, philosophers, and worthies of the ancient world. We are thus +led by a gradual progress up to the final achievement of Raphael in the +Vatican. Separating the antique from the Christian tradition, but placing +them upon an equality in his art, Raphael made the "School of Athens" an +epitome of Greek and Roman wisdom, while in the "Dispute of the Sacrament" +he symbolised the Church in heaven and Church on earth.</p> + +<p>Another class of ideas, no less illustrative of mediævalism, can be +studied in the Palazzo Pubblico at Siena. There, on the walls of the Sala +della Pace or de' Nove, may be seen the frescoes whereby Ambrogio +Lorenzetti expressed theories of society and government peculiar to his +age.<a name="FNanchor143"></a><a href="#Footnote_143"><sup>[143]</sup></a> The panels are three in number. In the first the painter has +delineated the Commune of Siena by an imperial male figure in the prime of +life, throned on a judgment-seat, holding a sceptre in his right hand and +a medallion of Justice in his left.<a name="FNanchor144"></a><a href="#Footnote_144"><sup>[144]</sup></a> He wears no coronet, but a +burgher's cap; and beneath his footstool are the Roman twins, suckled by +the she-wolf.<a name="FNanchor145"></a><a href="#Footnote_145"><sup>[145]</sup></a> Above his head in the air <a name="Page_151"></a>float Faith, Charity, and +Hope—the Christian virtues; while Justice, Temperance, Magnanimity, +Prudence, Fortitude, and Peace, six women, crowned, and with appropriate +emblems, are enthroned beside him. The majestic giant of the Commune +towers above them all in bulk and stature, as though to indicate the +people's sovereignty. The virtues are his assessors and inspirers—he is +King. Beneath the daïs occupied by these supreme personages, are ranged on +either hand mailed and visored cavaliers, mounted on chargers, the +guardians of the State. All the citizens in their degrees advance toward +the throne, carrying between them, pair by pair, a rope received from the +hands of Concord; while some who have transgressed her laws, are being +brought with bound hands to the judgment-seat. Concord herself, being less +the virtue of the government than of the governed, is seated on a line +with the burghers in a place apart beneath the throne of Civil Justice, +who is allegorised as the dispenser of rewards and punishments, as well as +controller of the armed force and the purse of the community. The whole of +this elaborate allegory suffers by the language of description. Those who +have seen it, and who are familiar with Sienese chronicles, feel that, +artistically laboured as the painter's work may be, every figure had a +passionate and intense meaning for him<a name="FNanchor146"></a><a href="#Footnote_146"><sup>[146]</sup></a>. His picture is the epitome of +government conducted by a sovereign people. Nor can we fail to be struck +with the beauty of some details. The pale earnest faces of the horsemen +are eminently chivalrous, with knightly <a name="Page_152"></a>honour written on their calm and +fearless features. Peace, reclining at ease upon her pillow, is a lovely +woman in loose raiment, her hair wreathed with blossoms, in her hand an +olive branch, her feet reposing upon casque and shield. She is like a +painted statue, making us wonder whether the artist had not copied her +from the "Aphrodite" of Lysippus, ere the Sienese destroyed this statue in +their dread of paganism<a name="FNanchor147"></a><a href="#Footnote_147"><sup>[147]</sup></a>.</p> + +<p>In the other two panels of this hall Ambrogio Lorenzetti painted the +contrast of good and bad government, harmony and discord. A city full of +brawls and bloodshed is set in opposition to one where the dance and viol +do not cease. Merchants are plundered as they issue from the gates on one +side; on the other, trains of sumpter mules are securely winding along +mountain paths. Tyranny, with all the vices for his council and with +Terror for prime minister, presides over the ill-governed town. The +burghers of the happy commune follow trade or pleasure, as they list; a +beautiful winged genius, inscribed "Securitas," floats above their +citadel. It should be added that in both these pictures the architecture +is the same; for the painter has designed to teach how different may be +the state of one and the same city according to its form of government. +Such then were the vivid images whereby Ambrogio Lorenzetti expressed the +mediæval curse of discord, and the ideal of a righteous rule. It is only +necessary to read the "Diario Sanese" of Allegretto Allegretti in order to +see that he drew no fancy picture. The torchlight procession of burghers +swearing amity by couples in the cathedral there described, receives exact +pictorial illustration in the fresco of the Sala della Pace<a name="FNanchor148"></a><a href="#Footnote_148"><sup>[148]</sup></a>. Siena, +by her bloody <a name="Page_153"></a>factions and her passionate peacemakings, expressed in +daily action what the painter had depicted on her palace walls.</p> + +<p>The method of treatment adopted for these chapters has obliged me to give +priority to Florence, and to speak of the two Lorenzetti, Pietro in the +Pisan Campo Santo and Ambrogio in the Sala della Pace at Siena, as though +they were followers of Giotto; so true is it that the main currents of +Tuscan art were governed by Florentine influences, and that Giotto's +genius made itself felt in all the work of his immediate successors. It +must, however, be observed that painting had an independent origin among +the Sienese, and that Guido da Siena may claim to rank even earlier than +Cimabue.<a name="FNanchor149"></a><a href="#Footnote_149"><sup>[149]</sup></a> In the year 1260, just before engaging in their duel with +Florence, the Sienese dedicated their city to the Virgin; and the victory +of Montaperti, following immediately upon this vow, gave a marked impulse +to their piety.<a name="FNanchor150"></a><a href="#Footnote_150"><sup>[150]</sup></a> The early masters of Siena devoted themselves to +religious paintings, especially to pictures of Madonna suited for chapels +and oratories. We find upon these mystic panels an ecstasy of adoration +and a depth of fervour which are alien to the more sober spirit of +Florence, combined with an almost infantine delight in pure bright +colours, and in the decorative details of the miniaturist.</p> + +<p>The first great painter among the Sienese was Duccio di Buoninsegna.<a name="FNanchor151"></a><a href="#Footnote_151"><sup>[151]</sup></a> +The completion of his masterpiece—a picture of the Majesty of the Virgin, +executed for the high altar of the Duomo—marked an epoch in the history +of Siena. Nearly two years had been spent upon it; the painter receiving +sixteen soldi a day from the Commune, together with his <a name="Page_154"></a>materials, in +exchange for his whole time and skill and labour. At last, on June 9, +1310, it was carried from Duccio's workshop to its place in the cathedral. +A procession was formed by the clergy, with the archbishop at their head, +followed by the magistrates of the Commune, and the chief men of the Monte +de' Nove. These great folk crowded round their Lady; after came a +multitude of burghers bearing tapers; while the rear was brought up by +women and children. The bells rang and trumpets blew as this new image of +the Sovereign Mistress of Siena was borne along the summer-smiling streets +of her metropolis to take its throne in her high temple. Duccio's +altar-piece presented on one face to the spectator a Virgin seated with +the infant Christ upon her lap, and receiving the homage of the patron +saints of Siena. On the other, he depicted the principal scenes of the +Gospel story and the Passion of our Lord in twenty-eight compartments. +What gives peculiar value to this elaborate work of Sienese art is, that +in it Duccio managed to combine the tradition of an early hieratic style +of painting with all the charm of brilliant colouring and with dramatic +force of presentation only rivalled at that time by Giotto. Independently +of Giotto, he performed at a stroke what Cimabue and his pupil had +achieved for the Florentines, and bequeathed to the succeeding painters of +Siena a tradition of art beyond which they rarely passed.</p> + +<p>Far more than their neighbours at Florence, the Sienese remained fettered +by the technical methods and the pietistic formulæ of the earliest +religious painting. To make their conventional representations of +Madonna's love and woe and glory burn with all the passion of a fervent +spirit, and to testify their worship by the oblation of rich gifts in +colouring and gilding massed around her, was their earnest aim. It +followed that, when they attempted subjects on a really large scale, the +faults of the miniaturist clung about them. I <a name="Page_155"></a>need hardly say that +Ambrogio and Pietro Lorenzetti form notable exceptions to this general +statement. It may be applied, however, with some truth to Simone Martini, +the painter, who during his lifetime enjoyed a celebrity only second to +that of Giotto.<a name="FNanchor152"></a><a href="#Footnote_152"><sup>[152]</sup></a> Like Giotto, Simone exercised his art in many parts +of Italy. Siena, Pisa, Assisi, Orvieto, Naples, and Avignon can still +boast of wall and easel pictures from his hand; and though it has been +suggested that he took no part in the decoration of the Cappella degli +Spagnuoli, the impress of his manner remains at Florence in those noble +frescoes of the "Church Militant" and the "Consecration of S. +Dominic."<a name="FNanchor153"></a><a href="#Footnote_153"><sup>[153]</sup></a> Simone's first undisputed works are to be seen at Siena and +at Assisi, where we learn what he could do as a <i>frescante</i> in competition +with the ablest Florentines. In the Palazzo Pubblico of his native city he +painted a vast picture of the Virgin enthroned beneath a canopy and +surrounded by saints;<a name="FNanchor154"></a><a href="#Footnote_154"><sup>[154]</sup></a> while at Assisi he put forth his whole power in +portraying the legend of S. Martin. In all his paintings we trace the +skill of an exquisite and patient craftsman, elaborately careful to finish +his work with the utmost refinement, sensitive to feminine beauty, full of +<a name="Page_156"></a>delicate inventiveness, and gifted with a rare feeling for grace. These +excellent qualities tend, however, towards affectation and over-softness; +nor are they fortified by such vigour of conception or such majesty in +composition as belong to the greatest <i>trecentisti</i>. The Lorenzetti alone +soared high above the Sienese mannerism into a region of masculine +imaginative art. We feel Simone's charm mostly in single heads and +detached figures, some of which at Assisi have incomparable sweetness. +"Molles Senæ," the delicate and femininely variable, fond of all things +brilliant, and unstable through defect of sternness, was the fit mother of +this ingenious and delightful master.</p> + +<p>After the days of Duccio and Simone Martini, of Ambrogio and Pietro +Lorenzetti, were over, there remained but little for the Sienese to do in +painting. Taddeo di Bartolo continued the tradition of Duccio as the later +Giottesques continued that of Giotto. His most remarkable wall-painting is +a fresco of the Apostles visiting the Virgin, the motive of which is +marked by great originality.<a name="FNanchor155"></a><a href="#Footnote_155"><sup>[155]</sup></a> Our Lady is seated in an open loggia +with a company of holy men and women round her. Descending from the sky +and floating through the arches are three of the Apostles, while one who +has just alighted from his aërial transit kneels and folds his hands in +adoration. Seldom have the longing and the peace of loving worship been +more poetically expressed than here. The seated, kneeling, standing, and +flying figures are admirably grouped together; their draperies are +dignified and massive; and the architectural accessories help the +composition by dividing it into three balanced sections.</p> + +<p>Such power of depicting movement was rare in the fourteenth century. To +find its analogue, we must betake ourselves to the frescoes of Spinello +Aretino, a master more decidedly Giottesque than his contemporary Taddeo +di<a name="Page_157"></a> Bartolo.<a name="FNanchor156"></a><a href="#Footnote_156"><sup>[156]</sup></a> A Gabriel, rushing down from heaven to salute Madonna, +with all the whirr of arch-angelic pinions and the glory of Paradise +around him, is a fine specimen of Spinello's vehemence. The same quality, +more tempered, is noticeable in his frescoes of the legend of S. Ephesus +at Pisa.<a name="FNanchor157"></a><a href="#Footnote_157"><sup>[157]</sup></a> Few faces in the paintings of any period are more +fascinating than the profiles under steel-blue battle-caps of that godlike +pair—the knightly saint and the Archangel Michael—breaking by the +irresistible force of their onset and their calm youthful beauty through +the mailed ranks of the Sardinian pagans. Spinello was essentially a +warlike painter; among the best of his compositions may be named the +series of pictures from the history of the Venetian campaign against +Frederick Barbarossa.<a name="FNanchor158"></a><a href="#Footnote_158"><sup>[158]</sup></a> It is a pity that the war of liberation carried +on by the Lombard communes with the Empire should have left but little +trace on Italian art; and therefore these paintings of Spinello, in +addition to their intrinsic merit, have rare historical interest. +Delighting in the gleam of armour and the shock of speared warriors, +Spinello communicated something of this fiery spirit even to his saints. +The monks of Samminiato near Florence employed him in 1388 to paint their +newly-finished sacristy with the legend of S. Benedict. In the execution +of this task Spinello displayed his usual grandeur and vigour, treating +the grey-robed brethren of Monte Cassino like veritable champions of a +militant Church. When he died in 1410, it might have been truly said that +the flame of the torch kindled by Giotto was at last extinguished.</p> + +<p>The student of history cannot but notice with surprise that a city famed +like Siena for its vanity, its factious quarrels, <a name="Page_158"></a>and its delicate +living, should have produced an almost passionately ardent art of +piety.<a name="FNanchor159"></a><a href="#Footnote_159"><sup>[159]</sup></a> The same reflections are suggested at Perugia, torn by the +savage feuds of the Oddi and Baglioni, at warfare with Assisi, reduced to +exhaustion by the discords of jealous parties, yet memorable in the +history of painting as the head-quarters of the pietistic Umbrian school. +The contradiction is, however, in both cases more apparent than real. The +people both of Siena and Perugia were highly impressible and emotional, +quick to obey the promptings of their passion, whether it took the form of +hatred or of love, of spiritual fervour or of carnal violence. Yielding at +one moment to the preachings of S. Bernardino, at another to the +persuasions of Grifonetto degli Baglioni, the Perugians won the character +of being fiends or angels according to the temper of their leaders; while +Siena might boast with equal right of having given birth to S. Catherine +and nurtured Beccadelli. The religious feeling was a passion with them on +a par with all the other movements of their quick and mobile temperament: +it needed ecstatic art for its interpretation. What was cold and sober +would not satisfy the men of these two cities. The Florentines, more +justly balanced, less abandoned to the frenzies of impassioned impulse, +less capable of feeling the rapt exaltation of the devotee, expressed +themselves in art distinguished for its intellectual power, its sanity, +its scientific industry, its adequacy to average human needs. Therefore, +Florentine influences determined the course of painting in Central Italy. +Therefore Giotto, who represented the Florentine genius in the fourteenth +century, set his stamp upon the Lorenzetti. The mystic painters of Umbria +and Siena have their high and honoured place in the history of Italian +art. They supply an element which, except in the work of Fra Angelico, was +defective at Florence; but to the Florentines was committed the great +charge of interpreting the spirit of Italian civilisation in all its +branches, not for the cloister only, or the oratory, but for humanity at +large, through painting.</p> + +<p>Giotto and his followers, then, in the fourteenth century painted, as we +have seen, the religious, philosophical, and social conceptions of their +age. As artists, their great discovery was the secret of depicting life. +The ideas they expressed belonged to the Middle Ages. But by their method +and their spirit they anticipated the Renaissance. In executing their work +upon the walls of palaces and churches, they employed a kind of fresco. +Fresco was essentially the Florentine vehicle of expression. Among the +peoples of Central Italy it took the place of mosaic in Sicily, Ravenna, +and Venice, as the means of communicating ideas by forms to the unlettered +laity, and as affording to the artist the widest and the freest sphere for +the expression of his thoughts.<a name="FNanchor160"></a><a href="#Footnote_160"><sup>[160]</sup></a></p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor118">[118]</a><div class="note"><p> In the <i>History of Painting in Italy</i>, by Messrs. Crowe and +Cavalcaselle.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor119">[119]</a><div class="note"><p> Nothing is more astonishing than the sterility of Genoa and +of Rome. Neither in sculpture nor in painting did these cities produce +anything memorable, though Genoa was well placed for receiving the +influences of Pisa, and had the command of the marble quarries of Carrara, +while Rome was the resort of all the art-students of Italy. The very early +eminence of Apulia in architecture and the plastic arts led to no +results.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor120">[120]</a><div class="note"><p> Milan, it is true, produced a brilliant school of +sculptors, and the Certosa of Pavia is a monument of her spontaneous +artistic genius. But in painting, until the date of Lionardo's advent, she +achieved little.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor121">[121]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, pp. 182-188, for the +constitutional characteristics of Florence and Venice; and Vol. II., +<i>Revival of Learning</i>, pp. 118-120, for the intellectual supremacy of +Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor122">[122]</a><div class="note"><p> A glance at the map shows to what a large extent the +Italians owed the progress of their arts to Tuscany. Pisa, as we have +already seen, took the lead in sculpture. Florence, at a somewhat later +period, revived painting, while Siena contemporaneously developed a style +peculiar to herself. This Sienese style—thoroughly Tuscan, though +different from that of Florence—exercised an important influence over the +schools of Umbria, and gave a peculiar quality to Perugian painting. +Through Piero della Francesca, a native of Borgo San Sepolcro, the +Florentine tradition was extended to Umbria and the Roman States. Perugia +might be even geographically claimed for Tuscany, inasmuch as the Tiber +divides the old Etrurian territory from the Umbrians and the duchy of +Spoleto. Lionardo was a Tuscan settled as an alien in Milan. Raphael, +though a native of Urbino, derived his training from Florence, indirectly +through his father and his master Perugino, more immediately from Fra +Bartolommeo and Michael Angelo.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor123">[123]</a><div class="note"><p> If Vasari is to be trusted, this visit of Charles of Anjou +to Cimabue's studio took place in 1267; but neither the Malespini nor +Villani mention it, and the old belief that the Borgo Allegri owed its +name to the popular rejoicing at that time is now somewhat discredited. +See Vasari, Le Monnier, 1846, vol. i. p. 225, note 4. Gino Capponi, in his +<i>Storia della Repubblica di Firenze</i>, vol. i. p. 157, refuses however to +reject the legend.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor124">[124]</a><div class="note"><p> See Capponi, vol. i. pp. 59, 78, for a description of the +gay and courteous living of the Florentines upon the end of the thirteenth +century.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor125">[125]</a><div class="note"><p> See the <i>Descrizione della Peste di Firenze</i>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor126">[126]</a><div class="note"><p> I wish I could here transcribe the most beautiful passage +from Ruskin's <i>Giotto and his Works in Padua</i>, pp. 11, 12, describing the +contrast between the landscape of Valdarno and the landscape of the hills +of the Mugello district. I can only refer readers to the book, printed for +the Arundel Society, 1854.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor127">[127]</a><div class="note"><p> See Trucchi, <i>Poesie Italiane Inedite</i>, vol. ii. p. 8.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor128">[128]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, pp. <a href="#Page_87">87</a>-<a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor129">[129]</a><div class="note"><p> The wonderful beauty of Orcagna's faces, profile after +profile laid together like lilies in a garden border, can only be +discovered after long study. It has been my good fortune to examine, +through the kindness of Mrs. Higford Burr, of Aldermaston, a large series +of tracings, taken chiefly by the Right Hon. A. H. Layard, from the +frescoes of Giottesque and other early masters, which, by the selection of +simple form in outline, demonstrate not only the grand composition of +these religious paintings, but also the incomparable loveliness of their +types. How great the <i>Trecentisti</i> were as draughtsmen, how imaginative +was the beauty of their conception, can be best appreciated by thus +artificially separating their design from their colouring. The semblance +of archaism disappears, and leaves a vision of pure beauty, delicate and +spiritual. The collection to which I have alluded was made some years ago, +when access to the wall-paintings of Italy for the purpose of tracing was +still possible. It includes nearly the whole of Lorenzetti's work in the +Sala della Pace, much of Giotto, the Gozzoli frescoes at S. Gemignano, +frescoes of the Veronese masters and of the Paduan Baptistery, a great +deal of Piero della Francesca, Mantegna, Luini, Gaudenzio Ferrari, +Pinturicchio, Masolino, &c.c. The earliest masters of Arezzo, Pisa, Siena, +Urbino are copiously illustrated, while few burghs or hamlets of the +Tuscan and Umbrian districts have been left unvisited.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor130">[130]</a><div class="note"><p> See Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. i. pp. 445-451, for a +discussion of the question. They incline to the authorship of Pietro and +Ambrogio Lorenzetti. But the last Florentine edition of Vasari renders +this opinion doubtful.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor131">[131]</a><div class="note"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Ed una donna involta in veste negra,</p> +<p>Con un furor qual io non so se mai</p> +<p>Al tempo de' giganti fosse a Flegra.</p> +<p class="i4"><i>Trionfo della Morte</i>, cap. i. 31.</p> +</div></div> +<br></div> + +<a name="Footnote_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor132">[132]</a><div class="note"><p> On a scroll above these wretches is written this legend:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Dacchè prosperitade ci ha lasciati,</p> +<p>O morte, medicina d'ogni pena,</p> +<p>Deh vieni a darne omai l'ultima cena.</p> +</div></div> +<br></div> + +<a name="Footnote_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor133">[133]</a><div class="note"><p> This might be used as an argument against the Lorenzetti +hypothesis; for their work at Siena is eminently beautiful.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor134">[134]</a><div class="note"><p> The attitude and the eyes of this archangel have an +imaginative potency beyond that of any other motive used by any painter to +suggest the terror of the <i>Dies Iræ</i>. Simplicity and truth of vision in +the artist have here touched the very summit of intense dramatic +presentation.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor135">[135]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Triumph of S. Thomas Aquinas," in this +cloister-chapel, has long been declared the work of Taddeo Gaddi. "The +Triumph of the Church Militant," and the "Consecration of S. Dominic," +used to be ascribed, on the faith of Vasari, to Simone Martini of Siena. +Independently of its main subject, this vast wall-painting is specially +interesting on account of its portraits. The work has a decidedly Sienese +character; but recent critics are inclined to assign it to a certain +Andrea, of Florence. See Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. ii. p. 89. The same +critics doubt the hand of Taddeo Gaddi in the "Triumph of S. Thomas," vol. +i. p. 374, and remark that "these productions of the art of the fourteenth +century are, indeed, second-class works, executed by pupils of the Sienese +and Florentine school, and unworthy of the high praise which has ever been +given to them." Whatever may be ultimately thought about the question of +their authorship and pictorial merit, their interest to the student of +Italian painting in relation to mediæval thought will always remain +indisputable. Few buildings in the length and breadth of Italy possess +such claims on our attention as the Cappella degli Spagnuoli.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor136">[136]</a><div class="note"><p> The amorous fere of the Christian faith, the holy athlete, +gentle to his own, and to his foes cruel.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_137"></a><a href="#FNanchor137">[137]</a><div class="note"><p> Everything outside this golden region is studded with stars +to signify an epoyranios topos or heaven of heavens. S. Thomas +and the Greeks are inside the golden sphere of science, and below on earth +are the heresiarchs and faithful. Rosini gives a faithful outline of this +picture in his Atlas of Illustrations.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_138"></a><a href="#FNanchor138">[138]</a><div class="note"><p> "For my mouth shall speak truth; and wickedness is an +abomination to my lips."—Prov. viii. 7.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_139"></a><a href="#FNanchor139">[139]</a><div class="note"><p> Gozzoli's picture is now in the Louvre. I think Guillaume +de Saint Amour takes the place of Averroes.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_140"></a><a href="#FNanchor140">[140]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Inf.</i> iv. 144.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_141"></a><a href="#FNanchor141">[141]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Averroès et l'Averroïsme</i>, pp. 236-316.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_142"></a><a href="#FNanchor142">[142]</a><div class="note"><p> In the chapel. They are the work of Taddeo di Bartolo, and +bear this inscription: "Specchiatevi in costoro, voi che reggete." The +mediæval painters of Italy learned lessons of civility and government as +willingly from classical tradition, as they deduced the lessons of piety +and godly living from the Bible. Herein they were akin to Dante, who chose +Virgil for the symbol of the human understanding and Beatrice for the +symbol of divine wisdom, revealed to man in Theology.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_143"></a><a href="#FNanchor143">[143]</a><div class="note"><p> He began his work in 1337.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_144"></a><a href="#FNanchor144">[144]</a><div class="note"><p> A similar mode of symbolising the Commune is chosen in the +bas-reliefs of Archbishop Tarlati's tomb at Arezzo, where the discord of +the city is represented by an old man of gigantic stature, throned and +maltreated by the burghers, who are tearing out his hair by handfuls. Over +this figure is written "Il Comune Pelato."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_145"></a><a href="#FNanchor145">[145]</a><div class="note"><p> These were adopted as the ensign of Siena, in the Middle +Ages.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_146"></a><a href="#FNanchor146">[146]</a><div class="note"><p> In the year 1336, just before Ambrogio began to paint, the +Sienese Republic had concluded a league with Florence for the maintenance +of the Guelf party. The Monte de' Nove still ruled the city with patriotic +spirit and equity, and had not yet become a forceful oligarchy. The power +of the Visconti was still in its cradle; the great plague had not +devastated Tuscany. As early as 1355 the whole of the fair order +represented by Ambrogio was shaken to the foundation, and Siena deserved +the words applied to it by De Commines. See Vol. L, <i>Age of the Despots</i>, +p. 162, note 2.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_147"></a><a href="#FNanchor147">[147]</a><div class="note"><p> Rio, perversely bent on stigmatising whatever in Italian +art savours of the Renaissance, depreciates this lovely form of Peace. +<i>L'Art Chrétien</i>, vol. i. p. 57.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_148"></a><a href="#FNanchor148">[148]</a><div class="note"><p> See Muratori, vol. xxiii., or the passage translated by me +in Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 480.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_149"></a><a href="#FNanchor149">[149]</a><div class="note"><p> His "Madonna" in S. Domenico is dated 1221. For a full +discussion of Guido da Siena's date, see Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. i. +pp. 180-185.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_150"></a><a href="#FNanchor150">[150]</a><div class="note"><p> On their coins the Sienese struck this legend: "Sena vetus +Civitas Virginis." It will be remembered how the Florentines, two +centuries and a half later, dedicated their city to Christ as king.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_151"></a><a href="#FNanchor151">[151]</a><div class="note"><p> Date of birth unknown; date of death, about 1320.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_152"></a><a href="#FNanchor152">[152]</a><div class="note"><p> He is better known as Simone Memmi, a name given to him by +a mistake of Vasari's. He was born in 1283 at Siena. He died in 1344 at +Avignon. Petrarch mentions his portrait of Madonna Laura, in the 49th and +50th sonnets of the "Rime in Vita di Madonna Laura." In another place he +uses these words about Simone: "Duos ego novi pictores egregios, nec +formosos, Jottum Florentinum civem, cujus inter modernos fama ingens est, +et Simonem Senensem."—<i>Epist. Fam.</i> lib. v. 17, p. 653. Petrarch proceeds +to mention that he has also known sculptors, and asserts their inferiority +to painters in modern times.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_153"></a><a href="#FNanchor153">[153]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_149">149</a>. Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle reject, +not without reason, as it seems to me, the tradition that Simone painted +the frescoes of S. Ranieri in the Campo Santo at Pisa. See vol. ii. p. 83. +What remains of his work at Pisa is an altar-piece in S. Caterina.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_154"></a><a href="#FNanchor154">[154]</a><div class="note"><p> To Simone is also attributed the interesting portrait of +Guidoriccio Fogliani de' Ricci, on horseback, in the Sala del Consiglio. +This, however, has been so much repainted as to have lost its character.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_155"></a><a href="#FNanchor155">[155]</a><div class="note"><p> In S. Francesco at Pisa.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_156"></a><a href="#FNanchor156">[156]</a><div class="note"><p> Spinello degli Spinelli was born of a Ghibelline family, +exiled from Florence, who settled at Arezzo about 1308. He died at Arezzo +in 1410, aged 92, according to some computations.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_157"></a><a href="#FNanchor157">[157]</a><div class="note"><p> South wall of the Campo Santo, on the left-hand of the +entrance.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_158"></a><a href="#FNanchor158">[158]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Sala di Balia of the public palace at Siena.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_159"></a><a href="#FNanchor159">[159]</a><div class="note"><p> See <i>Inferno</i>, xxix. 121; the sonnets on the months by Cene +dalla Chitarra, <i>Poeti del Primo Secolo,</i> vol. ii. pp. 196-207; the +epithet "Molles Senæ," given by Beccadelli; and the remarks of De +Comines.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_160"></a><a href="#FNanchor160">[160]</a><div class="note"><p> I have not thought it necessary to distinguish between +tempera and fresco. In tempera painting the colours were mixed with egg, +gum, and other vehicles dissolved in water, and laid upon a dry ground. In +fresco painting the colours, mixed only with water, were laid upon plaster +while still damp. The latter process replaced the former for +wall-paintings in the fourteenth century.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_V"></a><h2>CHAPTER V--PAINTING</h2> + +<h4>Mediæval Motives exhausted—New Impulse toward Technical +Perfection—Naturalists in Painting—Intermediate Achievement needed +for the Great Age of Art—Positive Spirit of the Fifteenth +Century—Masaccio—The Modern Manner—Paolo Uccello—Perspective—Realistic +Painters—The Model—Piero della Francesca—His Study of Form—Resurrection +at Borgo San Sepolcro—Melozzo da Forli—Squarcione at Padua—Gentile da +Fabriano—Fra Angelico—Benozzo Gozzoli—His Decorative Style—Lippo +Lippi—Frescoes at Prato and Spoleto—Filippino Lippi—Sandro +Botticelli—His Value for the Student of Renaissance Fancy—His Feeling +for Mythology—Piero di Cosimo—Domenico Ghirlandajo—In what sense he +sums up the Age—Prosaic Spirit—Florence hitherto supreme in +Painting—Extension of Art Activity throughout Italy—Medicean Patronage.</h4> + +<p>After the splendid outburst of painting in the first half of the +fourteenth century, there came a lull. The thoughts and sentiments of +mediæval Italy had been now set forth in art. The sincere and simple style +of Giotto was worked out. But the new culture of the Revival had not as +yet sufficiently penetrated the Italians for the painters to express it; +nor had they mastered the technicalities of their craft in such a manner +as to render the delineation of more complex forms of beauty possible. The +years between 1400 and 1470 may be roughly marked out as the second period +of great, activity in painting. At this time sculpture, under the hands of +Ghiberti, Donatello, and Luca della Robbia, had reached a higher point +than the sister art. The debt the sculptors owed to Giotto, they now +repaid in full measure to his successors, in obedience to the <a name="Page_159"></a>law whereby +sculpture, though subordinated, as in Italy, to painting, is more +precocious in its evolution. One of the most marked features of this +period was the progress in the art of design, due to bronze modelling and +bas-relief; for the painters, labouring in the workshops of the goldsmiths +and the stone-carvers, learned how to study the articulation of the human +body, to imitate the nude, and to aim by means of graduated light and dark +at rendering the effect of roundness in their drawing. The laws of +perspective and foreshortening were worked out by Paolo Uccello and +Brunelleschi. New methods of colouring were attempted by the Peselli and +the Pollajuoli. Abandoning the conventional treatment of religious themes, +the artists began to take delight in motives drawn from everyday +experience. It became the fashion to introduce contemporary costumes, +striking portraits, and familiar incidents into sacred subjects, so that +many pictures of this period, though worthless to the student of religious +art, are interesting for their illustration of Florentine custom and +character. At the same time the painters began to imitate landscape and +architecture, loading the background of their frescoes with pompous vistas +of palaces and city towers, or subordinating their figures to fantastic +scenery of wood and rock and seashore. Many were naturalists, delighting, +like Gentile da Fabriano, in the delineation of field flowers and living +creatures, or, like Piero di Cosimo, in the portrayal of things rare and +curious. Gardens please their eyes, and birds and beasts and insects. +Whole menageries and aviaries, for instance, were painted by Paolo +Uccello. Others, again, abandoned the old ground of Christian story for +the tales of Greece and Rome; and not the least charming products of the +time are antique motives treated with the freshness of romantic feeling. +We look in vain for the allegories of the Giottesque masters: that stage +of thought has been traversed, and a new cycle of poetic ideas, fanciful, +idyllic, corresponding to Boiardo's episodes <a name="Page_160"></a>rather than to Dante's +vision, opens for the artist. Instead of seeking to set forth vast +subjects with the equality of mediocrity, like the Gaddi, or to invent +architectonic compositions embracing the whole culture of their age, like +the Lorenzetti, the painters were now bent upon realising some special +quality of beauty, expressing some fantastic motive, or solving some +technical problem of peculiar difficulty. They had, in fact, outgrown the +childhood of their art; and while they had not yet attained to mastery, +had abandoned the impossible task of making it the medium of universal +expression. In this way the manifold efforts of the workers in the first +half of the fifteenth century prepared the ground for the great painters +of the Golden Age. It remained for Raphael and his contemporaries to +achieve the final synthesis of art in masterpieces of consummate beauty. +But this they could not have done without the aid of those innumerable +intermediate labourers, whose productions occupy in art the place of +Bacon's <i>media axiomata</i> in science. Remembering this, we ought not to +complain that the purpose of painting at this epoch was divided, or that +its achievements were imperfect. The whole intellectual conditions of the +country were those of growth, experiment, preparation, and acquisition, +rather than of full accomplishment. What happened in the field of +painting, was happening also in the field of scholarship; and we have good +reason to be thankful that by the very nature of the arts, these tentative +endeavours have a more enduring charm than the dull tomes of contemporary +students. Nor, again, is it rational to regret that painting, having +started with the sincere desire of expressing the hopes and fears that +agitate the soul of man, and raise him to a spiritual region, should now +be occupied with lessons in perspective and anatomy. In the twofold +process of discovering the world and man, this dry ground had inevitably +to be explored, and its exploration could not fail to cost the sacrifice +of much that was impassioned and imaginative in the earlier and less +scientific age of art.<a name="FNanchor161"></a><a href="#Footnote_161"><sup>[161]</sup></a> The spirit of Cosimo de' Medici, almost +cynical in its positivism, the spirit of Sixtus IV., almost godless in its +egotism, were abroad in Italy at this period;<a name="FNanchor162"></a><a href="#Footnote_162"><sup>[162]</sup></a> indeed, the fifteenth +century presents at large a spectacle of prosaic worldliness and unideal +aims. Yet the work done by the artists was the best work of the epoch, far +more fruitful of results and far more permanently valuable than that of +Filelfo inveighing in filthy satires against his personal foes, or of +Beccadelli endeavouring to inoculate modern literature with the virus of +pagan vices. Petrarch in the fourteenth century had preached the evangel +of humanism; Giotto in the fourteenth century had given life to painting. +The students of the fifteenth, though their spirit was so much baser and +less large than Petrarch's, were following in the path marked out for them +and leading forward to Erasmus. The painters of the fifteenth, though they +lacked the unity of aim and freshness of their master, were learning what +was needful for the crowning and fulfilment of his labours on a loftier +stage.</p> + +<p>Foremost among the pioneers of Renaissance-painting, towering above them +all by head and shoulders, like Saul among the tribes of Israel, stands +Masaccio.<a name="FNanchor163"></a><a href="#Footnote_163"><sup>[163]</sup></a> The Brancacci Chapel of the Carmine at Florence, painted in +fresco almost entirely by his hand, was the school where all succeeding +artists studied, and whence Raphael deigned to borrow the composition and +the figures of a portion of his Cartoons. The "Legend of S. Catherine," +painted by Masaccio in 8. Clemente at Rome, though an earlier work, is +scarcely less remarkable as evidence that a new age had begun for art. In +his frescoes the qualities essential to the style of the Renaissance—what +Vasari calls the modern manner—appear precociously full-formed. Besides +life and nature they have dignity and breadth, the grand and heightened +manner of emancipated art. Masaccio is not inferior to Giotto in his power +of telling a story with simplicity; but he understands the value of +perspective for realising the circumstances of the scene depicted. His +august groups of the Apostles are surrounded by landscape tranquillising +to the sense and pleasant to the eye. Mountain-lines and distant horizons +lend space and largeness to his compositions, and the figures of his men +and women move freely in a world prepared for them. In Masaccio's +management of drapery we discern the influence of plastic art; without +concealing the limbs, which are always modelled with a freedom that +suggests the power of movement even in stationary attitudes, the +voluminous folds and broad masses of powerfully coloured raiment invest +his forms with a nobility unknown before in painting. His power of +representing the nude is not less remarkable. But what above all else +renders his style attractive is the sense of aërial space. For the first +time in art the forms of living persons are shown moving in a transparent +medium of light, graduated according to degrees of distance, and +harmonised by tones that indicate an atmospheric unity. In comparing +Masaccio with Giotto we must admit that, with so much gained, something +has been sacrificed. Giotto succeeded in presenting the idea, the feeling, +the pith of the event, and pierced at once to the very ground-root of +imagination. Masaccio thinks over-much, perhaps, of external form, and is +intent on air-effects and colouring. He realises the phenomenal truth with +a largeness and a dignity peculiar to himself. But we ask whether he was +capable of <a name="Page_161"></a>bringing close to our hearts the secret and the soul of +spiritual things. Has not art beneath his touch become more scenic, losing +thereby somewhat of dramatic poignancy?</p> + +<p>Born in 1402, Masaccio left Florence in 1429 for Rome, and was not heard +of by his family again. Thus perished, at the early age of twenty-seven, a +painter whose work reveals not only the originality of real creative +genius, but a maturity that moves our wonder. What might he not have done +if he had lived? Between his style in the Brancacci chapel and that of +Raphael in the Vatican there seems to be but a narrow gap, which might +perchance have been passed over by this man, if death had spared him.</p> + +<p>Masaccio can by no means be taken as a fair instance of the painters of +his age. Gifted with exceptional powers, he overleaped the difficulties of +his art, and arrived intuitively at results whereof as yet no scientific +certainty had been secured. His contemporaries applied humbler talents to +severe study, and wrought out by patient industry those principles which +Masaccio had divined. Their work is therefore at the same time more +archaic and more pedantic, judged by modern standards. It is difficult to +imagine a style of painting less attractive than that of Paolo +Uccello.<a name="FNanchor164"></a><a href="#Footnote_164"><sup>[164]</sup></a> Yet his fresco of the "Deluge" in the cloisters of S. Maria +Novella, and his battlepieces—one of which may be seen in the National +Gallery—taught nearly all that painters needed of perspective. The lesson +was conveyed in hard, dry, uncouth diagrams, ill-coloured and deficient in +the quality of animation. At this period the painters, like the sculptors, +were trained as goldsmiths, and Paolo had been a craftsman of that guild +before he gave his whole mind to the study of linear perspective and the +drawing of animals. The precision required in this trade forced artists +<a name="Page_162"></a>to study the modelling of the human form, and promoted that crude +naturalism which has been charged against their pictures. Carefully to +observe, minutely to imitate some actual person—the Sandro of your +workshop or the Cecco from the marketplace—became the pride of painters. +No longer fascinated by the dreams of mediæval mysticism, and unable for +the moment to invest ideals of the fancy with reality, they meanwhile made +the great discovery that the body of a man is a miracle of beauty, each +limb a divine wonder, each muscle a joy as great as sight of stars or +flowers. Much that is repulsive in the pictures of the Pollajuoli and +Andrea del Castagno, the leaders in this branch of realism, is due to +admiration for the newly studied mechanism of the human form. They seem to +have cared but little to select their types or to accentuate expression, +so long as they were able to portray the man before them with +fidelity.<a name="FNanchor165"></a><a href="#Footnote_165"><sup>[165]</sup></a> The comeliness of average humanity was enough for them; the +difficulties of reproducing what they saw, exhausted their force. Thus the +master-works on which they staked their reputation show them emulous of +fame as craftsmen, while only here and there, in minor paintings for the +most part, the poet that was in them sees the light. Brunelleschi told +Donatello the truth when he said that his Christ was a crucified +<i>contadino</i>. Intent on mastering the art of modelling, and determined +above all things to be accurate, the sculptor had forgotten that something +more was wanted in a crucifix than the careful study of a robust +peasant-boy.</p> + +<p>A story of a somewhat later date still further illustrates the dependence +of the work of art upon the model in Renaissance Florence. Jacopo +Sansovino made the statue of a youthful "Bacchus" in close imitation of a +lad called Pippo Fabro. Posing for hours together naked in a cold studio, +Pippo fell into ill health, and finally went mad. In <a name="Page_163"></a>his madness he +frequently assumed the attitude of the "Bacchus" to which his life had +been sacrificed, and which is now his portrait. The legend of the painter +who kept his model on a cross in order that he might the more minutely +represent the agonies of death by crucifixion, is but a mythus of the +realistic method carried to its logical extremity.</p> + +<p>Piero della Francesca, a native of Borgo San Sepolcro, and a pupil of +Domenico Veneziano, must be placed among the painters of this period who +advanced their art by scientific study. He carried the principles of +correct drawing and solid modelling as far as it is possible for the +genius of man to do, and composed a treatise on perspective in the vulgar +tongue. But these are not his only titles to fame. By dignity of +portraiture, by loftiness of style, and by a certain poetical solemnity of +imagination, he raised himself above the level of the mass of his +contemporaries. Those who have once seen his fresco of the "Resurrection" +in the hall of the Compagnia della Misericordia at Borgo San Sepolcro, +will never forget the deep impression of solitude and aloofness from all +earthly things produced by it. It is not so much the admirable grouping +and masterly drawing of the four sleeping soldiers, or even the majestic +type of the Christ emergent without effort from the grave, as the +communication of a mood felt by the painter and instilled into our souls, +that makes this by far the grandest, most poetic, and most awe-inspiring +picture of the Resurrection. The landscape is simple and severe, with the +cold light upon it of the dawn before the sun is risen. The drapery of the +ascending Christ is tinged with auroral colours like the earliest clouds +of morning; and His level eyes, with the mystery of the slumber of the +grave still upon them, seem gazing, far beyond our scope of vision, into +the region of the eternal and illimitable. Thus, with Piero for +mystagogue, we enter an inner shrine of deep religious revelation. The +same high imaginative faculty marks the fresco of the<a name="Page_164"></a> "Dream of +Constantine" in S. Francesco at Arezzo, where, it may be said in passing, +the student of art must learn to estimate what Piero could do in the way +of accurate foreshortening, powerful delineation of solid bodies, and +noble treatment of drapery.<a name="FNanchor166"></a><a href="#Footnote_166"><sup>[166]</sup></a> To Piero, again, we owe most precious +portraits of two Italian princes, Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta and +Federigo of Urbino, masterpieces<a name="FNanchor167"></a><a href="#Footnote_167"><sup>[167]</sup></a> of fidelity to nature and sound +workmanship.</p> + +<p>In addition to the many great paintings that command our admiration, Piero +claims honour as the teacher of Melozzo da Forli and of Luca Signorelli. +Little is left to show the greatness of Melozzo; but the frescoes +preserved in the Quirinal are enough to prove that he continued the grave +and lofty manner of his master.<a name="FNanchor168"></a><a href="#Footnote_168"><sup>[168]</sup></a> Signorelli bears a name illustrious +in the first rank of Italian painters; and to speak of him will be soon my +duty. It was the special merit of these artists to elevate the ideal of +form and to seek after sublimity, without departing from the path of +conscientious labour, in an age preoccupied on the one hand with +technicality and naturalism, on the other with decorative prettiness and +pietism.</p> + +<p>While the Florentine and Umbro-Tuscan masters were perfecting the arts of +accurate design, a similar direction toward scientific studies was given +to the painters of Northern Italy at Padua. Michael Savonarola, writing +his panegyric <a name="Page_165"></a>of Padua about 1440, expressly mentions Perspective as a +branch of philosophy taught in the high school;<a name="FNanchor169"></a><a href="#Footnote_169"><sup>[169]</sup></a> and the influence of +Francesco Squarcione, though exaggerated by Vasari, was not +inconsiderable. This man, who began life as a tailor or embroiderer, was +early interested in the fine arts. Like Ciriac of Ancona, he had a taste +for travel and collection,<a name="FNanchor170"></a><a href="#Footnote_170"><sup>[170]</sup></a> visiting the sacred soil of Greece and +sojourning in divers towns of Italy, everywhere making drawings, copying +pictures, taking casts from statues, and amassing memoranda on the relics +of antiquity as well as on the methods practised by contemporary painters. +Equipped with these aids to study, Squarcione returned to Padua, his +native place, where he opened a kind of school for painters. It is clear +that he was himself less an artist than an amateur of painting, with a +turn for teaching, and a conviction, based upon the humanistic instincts +of his age, that the right way of learning was by imitation of the +antique. During the course of his career he is said to have taught no less +than 137 pupils, training his apprentices by the exhibition of casts and +drawings, and giving them instruction in the science of perspective.<a name="FNanchor171"></a><a href="#Footnote_171"><sup>[171]</sup></a> +From his studio issued the mighty Andrea Mantegna, whose life-work, one of +the most weighty moments in the history of modern art, will be noticed at +length in the next chapter. For the present it is enough to observe that +through Squarcione the scientific and humanistic movement of the fifteenth +century was communicated to the art of Northern Italy. There, as at +Florence, painting was separated from ecclesiastical tradition, and a new +starting-point was sought in <a name="Page_166"></a>the study of mathematical principles, and +the striving after form for its own sake.</p> + +<p>Without attempting the detailed history of painting in this period of +divided energy and diverse effort, it is needful here to turn aside and +notice those masters of the fifteenth century who remained comparatively +uninfluenced by the scholastic studies of their contemporaries. Of these, +the earliest and most notable was Gentile da Fabriano, the last great +painter of the Gubbian school.<a name="FNanchor172"></a><a href="#Footnote_172"><sup>[172]</sup></a> In the predella of his masterpiece at +Florence there is a little panel, which attracts attention as one of the +earliest attempts to represent a sunrise. The sun has just appeared above +one of those bare sweeping hill-sides so characteristic of Central Italian +landscape. Part of the country lies untouched by morning, cold and grey: +the rest is silvered with the level light, falling sideways on the +burnished leaves and red fruit of the orange trees, and casting shadows +from olive branches on the furrows of a new-ploughed field. Along the road +journey Joseph and Mary and the infant Christ, so that you may call this +little landscape a "Flight into Egypt," if you choose. Gentile, with all +his Umbrian pietism, was a painter for whom the fair sights of the earth +had exquisite value. The rich costumes of the Eastern kings, their train +of servants, their hawks and horses, hounds and monkeys, are painted by +him with scrupulous fidelity; and nothing can be more true to nature than +the wild flowers he has copied in the framework of this picture. Yet we +perceive that, though he felt in his own way the naturalistic impulse of +the age, he had scarcely anything in common with masters like Uccello or +Verocchio.</p> + +<p>Still less had Fra Angelico. Of all the painters of this <a name="Page_167"></a>period he most +successfully resisted the persuasions of the Renaissance, and perfected an +art that owed little to sympathy with the external world. He thought it a +sin to study or to imitate the naked form, and his most beautiful faces +seem copied from angels seen in visions, not from any sons of men. While +the artists around him were absorbed in mastering the laws of geometry and +anatomy, Fra Angelico sought to express the inner life of the adoring +soul. Only just so much of realism, whether in the drawing of the body and +its drapery, or in the landscape background, as seemed necessary for +suggesting the emotion or for setting forth the story, found its way into +his pictures. The message they convey might have been told almost as +perfectly upon the lute or viol. His world is a strange one—a world not +of hills and fields and flowers and men of flesh and blood, but one where +the people are embodied ecstasies, the colours tints from evening clouds +or apocalyptic jewels, the scenery a flood of light or a background of +illuminated gold. His mystic gardens, where the ransomed souls embrace, +and dance with angels on the lawns outside the City of the Lamb, are such +as were never trodden by the foot of man in any paradise of earth.</p> + +<p>Criticism has a hard task in attempting to discern the merit of the +several painters of this time. It is clear that we must look not to Fra +Angelico but to Masaccio for the progressive forces that were carrying art +forward to complete accomplishment. Yet the charm of Masaccio is as +nothing in comparison with that which holds us spell-bound before the +sacred and impassioned reveries of the Fiesolan monk. Masaccio had +inestimable value for his contemporaries. Fra Angelico, now that we know +all Masaccio can teach, has a quality so unique that we return again and +again to the contemplation of his visions. Thus it often happens that we +are tempted to exaggerate the historical importance of <a name="Page_168"></a>one painter +because he touches us by some peculiar quality, and to over-estimate the +intrinsic value of another because he was a motive power in his own age. +Both these temptations should be resolutely resisted by the student who is +capable of discerning different kinds of excellence and diverse titles to +affectionate remembrance. Tracing the history of Italian painting is like +pursuing a journey down an ever-broadening river, whose affluents are +Giotto and Masaccio, Ghirlandajo, Signorelli, and Mantegna. We have to +turn aside and land upon the shore, in order to visit the +heaven-reflecting lakelet, self-encompassed and secluded, called Angelico.</p> + +<p>Benozzo Gozzoli, the pupil of Fra Angelico, but in no sense the +continuator of his tradition, exhibits the blending of several styles by a +genius of less creative than assimilative force. That he was keenly +interested in the problems of perspective and foreshortening, and that +none of the knowledge collected by his fellow-workers had escaped him, is +sufficiently proved by his frescoes at Pisa. His compositions are rich in +architectural details, not always chosen with pure taste, but painted with +an almost infantine delight in the magnificence of buildings. Quaint birds +and beasts and reptiles crowd his landscapes; while his imagination runs +riot in rocks and rivers, trees of all variety, and rustic incidents +adopted from real life. At the same time he felt an enjoyment like that of +Gentile da Fabriano in depicting the pomp and circumstance of pageantry, +and no Florentine of the fifteenth century was more fond of assembling the +personages of contemporary history in groups.<a name="FNanchor173"></a><a href="#Footnote_173"><sup>[173]</sup></a> Thus he showed himself +sensitive to the chief influences of the earlier Renaissance, and combined +the scientific and naturalistic tendencies of his age in a manner not +devoid of native poetry. What he lacked was <a name="Page_169"></a>depth of feeling, the sense +of noble form, the originative force of a great mind. His poetry of +invention, though copious and varied, owed its charm to the unstudied +grace of improvisation, and he often undertook subjects where his idyllic +rather than dramatic genius failed to sustain him. It is difficult, for +instance, to comprehend how M. Rio could devote two pages to Gozzoli's +"Destruction of Sodom," so comparatively unimpressive in spite of its +aggregated incidents, when he passes by the "Fulminati" of Signorelli, so +tragic in its terrible simplicity, with a word.<a name="FNanchor174"></a><a href="#Footnote_174"><sup>[174]</sup></a></p> + +<p>This painter's marvellous rapidity of execution enabled him to produce an +almost countless series of decorative works. The best of these are the +frescoes of the Pisan Campo Santo, of the Riccardi Palace of Florence, of +San Gemignano, and of Montefalco. It has been well said of Gozzoli that, +though he attempted grand subjects on a large scale, he could not rise +above the limitations of a style better adapted to the decoration of +<i>cassoni</i> than to fresco.<a name="FNanchor175"></a><a href="#Footnote_175"><sup>[175]</sup></a> Yet within the range of his own powers +there are few more fascinating painters. His feeling for fresh nature—for +hunters in the woods at night or dawn, for vintage-gatherers among their +grapes, for festival troops of cavaliers and pages, and for the +marriage-dances of young men and maidens—yields a delightful gladness to +compositions lacking the simplicity of Giotto and the dignity of +Masaccio.<a name="FNanchor176"></a><a href="#Footnote_176"><sup>[176]</sup></a> No one knew better how to sketch the quarrels of little +boys in their nursery, or the laughter of serving-women, or children +<a name="Page_170"></a>carrying their books to school;<a name="FNanchor177"></a><a href="#Footnote_177"><sup>[177]</sup></a> and when the idyllic genius of the +man was applied to graver themes, his fancy supplied him with multitudes +of angels waving rainbow-coloured wings above fair mortal faces. Bevies of +them nestle like pigeons on the penthouse of the hut of Bethlehem, or +crowd together round the infant Christ.<a name="FNanchor178"></a><a href="#Footnote_178"><sup>[178]</sup></a></p> + +<p>From these observations on the style of Benozzo Gozzoli it will be seen +that in the evolution of Renaissance culture he may be compared with the +romantic poets for whom the cheerfulness of nature and the joy that comes +to men from living in a many-coloured world of inexhaustible delight were +sufficient sources of inspiration. It should be mentioned lastly that he +enjoyed the patronage and friendship of the Medicean princes.</p> + +<p>Another painter favoured by the Medici was Fra Filippo Lippi, whose life +and art-work were alike the deviation of a pleasure-loving temperament +from its natural sphere into the service of the Church. Left an orphan at +the age of two years, he was brought up by an aunt, who placed him, as a +boy of eight, in the convent of the Carmine at Florence. For monastic +duties he had no vocation, and the irregularities of his behaviour caused +scandal even in that age of cynical indulgence. It can scarcely be doubted +that the schism between his practice and profession served to debase and +vulgarise a genius of fine imaginative quality, while the uncongenial work +of decorating choirs and painting altar-pieces limed the wings of his +swift spirit with the dulness of routine that savoured of hypocrisy. Bound +down to sacred subjects, he was too apt to make angels out of +street-urchins, <a name="Page_171"></a>and to paint the portraits of his peasant-loves for +Virgins.<a name="FNanchor179"></a><a href="#Footnote_179"><sup>[179]</sup></a> His delicate sense of natural beauty gave peculiar charm to +this false treatment of religious themes. Nothing, for example, can be +more attractive than the rows of angels bearing lilies in his "Coronation +of the Virgin;"<a name="FNanchor180"></a><a href="#Footnote_180"><sup>[180]</sup></a> and yet, when we regard them closely, we find that +they have no celestial quality of form or feature. Their grace is earthly, +and the spirit breathed upon the picture is the loveliness of colour, +quiet and yet glowing—blending delicate blues and greens with whiteness +purged of glare. The beauties as well as the defects of such compositions +make us regret that Fra Filippo never found a more congenial sphere for +his imagination. As a painter of subjects half-humorous and half-pathetic, +or as the illustrator of romantic stories, we fancy that he might have won +fame rivalled only by the greatest colourists. One such picture it was +granted him to paint, and this is his masterpiece. In the prime of life he +was commissioned to decorate the choir of the cathedral at Prato with the +legends of S. John Baptist and S. Stephen. All of these frescoes are +noteworthy for their firm grasp upon reality in the portraits of +Florentine worthies, and for the harmonious disposition of the groups; but +the scene of Salome dancing before Herod is the best for its poetic +feeling. Her movement across the floor before the tyrant and his guests at +table, the quaint fluttering of her drapery, the well-bred admiration of +the spectators, their horror when she brings the Baptist's head to +Herodias, and the weak face of the half-remorseful Herod are expressed +with a dramatic power that shows the genius of a poet painter. And even +more lovely than Salome are a pair of girls locked in each other's arms +close by Herodias on the daïs. A natural and spontaneous melody, <a name="Page_172"></a>not only +in the suggested movements of this scene, but also in the colouring, +choice of form, and treatment of drapery, makes it one of the most musical +of pictures ever painted.</p> + +<p>Fra Filippo was not so successful in the choir of the cathedral at +Spoleto, where he undertook; to paint scenes from the life of the Virgin. +Yet those who have not examined these frescoes, ruinous in their decay and +spoiled by stupid restoration, can form no just notion of the latent +capacity of this great master. The whole of the half-dome above the +tribune is filled with, a "Coronation of Madonna." A circular rainbow +surrounds both her and Christ. She is kneeling with fiery rays around her, +glorified by her assumption into heaven. Christ is enthroned, and at His +side stands a seat prepared for His mother, as soon as the crown that He +is placing on her head shall have made her Queen. From the outer courts of +heaven, thronged with multitudes of celestial beings, angels are crowding +in, breaking the lines of the prismatic aureole, as though the ardour of +their joy could scarcely be repressed; while the everlasting light of God +sheds radiance from above, and far below, lies earth with diminished sun +and moon. The boldness of conception in this singular fresco reveals a +genius capable of grappling with such problems as Tintoretto solved. Fra +Filippo died at Spoleto, and left his work unfinished, to the care of his +assistant, the Fra Diamante. Over his tomb Lorenzo de' Medici caused a +monument to be erected, and Poliziano wrote Latin couplets to commemorate +the fame of a painter highly prized by his patrons.</p> + +<p>The space devoted in these pages to Fra Lippo Lippi is justified not only +by the excellence of his own work, but also by the influence he exercised +over two of the best Florentine painters of the fifteenth century. Whether +Filippino Lippi was in truth his son by Lucrezia Buti, a novice he is said +to have carried from her cloister in Prato, has been called in <a name="Page_173"></a>question +by recent critics; but they adduce no positive arguments for discrediting +the story of Vasari.<a name="FNanchor181"></a><a href="#Footnote_181"><sup>[181]</sup></a> There can, however, be no doubt that to the +Frate, whether he was his father or only his teacher, Filippino owed his +style. His greatest works were painted in continuation of Masaccio's +frescoes in the Carmine at Florence. It is the best warrant of their +excellence that we feel them worthy to hold the place they do, and that +Raphael transferred one of their motives, the figure of S. Paul addressing +S. Peter in prison, to his cartoon of "Mars' Hill." That he was not so +accomplished as Masaccio in the art of composition, that his scale of +colour is less pleasing, and that his style in general lacks the elevation +of his mighty predecessor, is not sufficient to place him in any position +of humiliating inferiority.<a name="FNanchor182"></a><a href="#Footnote_182"><sup>[182]</sup></a> What above all things interests the +student of the Renaissance in Filippino's work, is the powerful action of +revived classicism on his manner. This can be traced better in the Caraffa +Chapel of S. Maria sopra Minerva at Rome and in the Strozzi Chapel of S. +Maria Novella at Florence than in the Carmine. The "Triumph of S. Thomas +Aquinas" and the "Miracle of S. John" are remarkable for an almost +insolent display of Roman <a name="Page_174"></a>antiquities—not studied, it need scarcely be +observed, with the scientific accuracy of Alma Tadema—for such science +was non-existent in the fifteenth century—but paraded with a kind of +passion. To this delight in antique details Filippino added violent +gestures, strange attitudes, and affected draperies, producing a general +result impressive through the artist's energy, but quaint and +unattractive.</p> + +<p>Sandro Botticelli, the other disciple of Fra Lippo, bears a name of +greater mark. He is one of those artists, much respected in their own +days, who suffered eclipse from the superior splendour of immediate +successors, and to whom, through sympathy stimulated by prolonged study of +the fifteenth century, we have of late paid tardy and perhaps exaggerated +honours.<a name="FNanchor183"></a><a href="#Footnote_183"><sup>[183]</sup></a> His fellow-workers seem to have admired him as an able +draughtsman gifted with a rare if whimsical imagination; but no one +recognised in him a leader of his age. For us he has an almost unique +value as representing the interminglement of antique and modern fancy at a +moment of transition, as embodying in some of his pictures the subtlest +thought and feeling of men for whom the classic myths were beginning to +live once more, while <a name="Page_175"></a>new guesses were timidly hazarded in the sphere of +orthodoxy.<a name="FNanchor184"></a><a href="#Footnote_184"><sup>[184]</sup></a> Self-confident sensuality had not as yet encouraged +painters to substitute a florid rhetoric for the travail of their brain; +nor was enough known about antiquity to make the servile imitation of +Greek or Roman fragments possible. Yet scholarship had already introduced +a novel element into the culture of the nation. It was no doubt with a +kind of wonder that the artists heard of Fauns and Sylvans, and the birth +of Aphrodite from the waves. Such fables took deep hold upon their fancy, +stirring them to strange and delicate creations, the offspring of their +own thought, and no mere copies of marbles seen in statue galleries. The +very imperfection of these pictures lends a value to them in the eyes of +the student, by helping him to comprehend exactly how the revelations of +the humanists affected the artistic sense of Italy.</p> + +<p>In the mythological work of Botticelli there is always an element of +allegory, recalling the Middle Ages and rendering it far truer to the +feelings of the fifteenth century than to the myths it illustrates. His +painting of the "Spring," suggested by a passage from Lucretius,<a name="FNanchor185"></a><a href="#Footnote_185"><sup>[185]</sup></a> is +exquisitely poetic; and yet the true spirit of the Latin verse has not +been seized—to have done that would have taxed the energies of +Titian—but something special to the artist and significant for Medicean +<a name="Page_176"></a>scholarship has been added. There is none of the Roman largeness and +freedom in its style; Venus and her Graces are even melancholy, and their +movements savour of affectation. This combination or confusion of artistic +impulses in Botticelli, this treatment of pagan themes in the spirit of +mediæval mysticism, sometimes ended in grotesqueness. It might suffice to +cite the pregnant "Aphrodite" in the National Gallery, if the "Mars and +Venus" in the same collection were not even a more striking instance. Mars +is a young Florentine, whose throat and chest are beautifully studied from +the life, but whose legs and belly, belonging no doubt to the same model, +fall far short of heroic form. He lies fast asleep with the corners of his +mouth drawn down, as though he were about to snore. Opposite there sits a +woman, weary and wan, draped from neck to foot in the thin raiment +Botticelli loved. Four little goat-footed Cupids playing with the armour +of the sleeping lad complete the composition. These wanton loves are +admirably conceived and exquisitely drawn; nor indeed can any drawing +exceed in beauty the line that leads from the flank along the ribs and arm +of Mars up to his lifted elbow. The whole design, like one of Piero di +Cosimo's pictures in another key, leaves a strong impression on the mind, +due partly to the oddity of treatment, partly to the careful work +displayed, and partly to the individuality of the artist. It gives us keen +pleasure to feel exactly how a painter like Botticelli applied the dry +naturalism of the early Florentine Renaissance, as well as his own +original imagination, to a subject he imperfectly realised. Yet are we +right in assuming that he meant the female figure in this group for +Aphrodite, the sleeping man for Ares? A Greek or a Roman would have +rejected this picture as false to the mythus of Mars and Venus; and +whether Botticelli wished to be less descriptive than emblematic, might be +fairly questioned. The face and attitude of that unseductive Venus, wide +awake and melancholy, <a name="Page_177"></a>opposite her snoring lover, seems to symbolise the +indignities which women may have to endure from insolent and sottish boys +with only youth to recommend them. This interpretation, however, sounds +like satire. We are left to conjecture whether Botticelli designed his +composition for an allegory of intemperance, the so-called Venus typifying +some moral quality.</p> + +<p>Botticelli's "Birth of Aphrodite" expresses this transient moment in the +history of the Renaissance with more felicity. It would be impossible for +any painter to design a more exquisitely outlined figure than that of his +Venus, who, with no covering but her golden hair, is wafted to the shore +by zephyrs. Roses fall upon the ruffled waves, and the young gods of the +air twine hands and feet together as they float. In the picture of +"Spring" there is the same choice of form, the same purity of line, the +same rare interlacement in the limbs. It would seem as though Botticelli +intended every articulation of the body to express some meaning, and this, +though it enhances the value of his work for sympathetic students, often +leads him to the verge of affectation. Nothing but a touch of affectation +in the twined fingers of Raphael and Tobias impairs the beauty of one of +Botticelli's best pictures at Turin. We feel the same discord looking at +them as we do while reading the occasional <i>concetti</i> in Petrarch; and all +the more in each case does the discord pain us because we know that it +results from their specific quality carried to excess.</p> + +<p>Botticelli's sensibility to the refinements of drawing gave peculiar +character to all his work. Attention has frequently been called to the +beauty of his roses.<a name="FNanchor186"></a><a href="#Footnote_186"><sup>[186]</sup></a> Every curl in their frail petals is rendered +with as much care as though they were the hands or feet of Graces. Nor is +it, perhaps, a mere <a name="Page_178"></a>fancy to imagine that the corolla of an open rose +suggested to Botticelli's mind the composition of his best-known picture, +the circular "Coronation of the Virgin" in the Uffizzi. That masterpiece +combines all Botticelli's best qualities. For rare distinction of beauty +in the faces it is unique, while the mystic calm and resignation, so +misplaced in his Aphrodites, find a meaning here<a name="FNanchor187"></a><a href="#Footnote_187"><sup>[187]</sup></a>. There is only one +other picture in Italy, a "Madonna and Child with S. Catherine" in a +landscape by Boccaccino da Cremona, that in any degree rivals the peculiar +beauty of its types<a name="FNanchor188"></a><a href="#Footnote_188"><sup>[188]</sup></a>.</p> + +<p>Sandro Botticelli was not a great painter in the same sense as Andrea +Mantegna. But he was a true poet within the limits of a certain sphere. We +have to seek his parallel among the verse-writers rather than the artists +of his day. Some of the stanzas of Poliziano and Boiardo, in particular, +might have been written to explain his pictures, or his pictures might +have been painted to illustrate their verses<a name="FNanchor189"></a><a href="#Footnote_189"><sup>[189]</sup></a>. In both Poliziano and +Boiardo we find the same touch upon antique <a name="Page_179"></a>things as in Botticelli; and +this makes him serviceable almost above all painters to the readers of +Renaissance poetry.</p> + +<p>The name of Piero di Cosimo has been mentioned incidentally in connection +with that of Botticelli; and though his life exceeds the limits assigned +for this chapter, so many links unite him to the class of painters I have +been discussing, that I can find no better place to speak of him than +this. His biography forms one of the most amusing chapters in Vasari, who +has taken great delight in noting Piero's quaint humours and eccentric +habits, and whose description of a Carnival triumph devised by him is one +of our most precious documents in illustration of Renaissance +pageantry.<a name="FNanchor190"></a><a href="#Footnote_190"><sup>[190]</sup></a> The point that connects him with Botticelli is the +romantic treatment of classical mythology, best exemplified in his +pictures of the tale of Perseus and Andromeda.<a name="FNanchor191"></a><a href="#Footnote_191"><sup>[191]</sup></a> Piero was by nature +and employment a decorative painter; the construction of cars for +pageants, and the adornment of dwelling rooms and marriage chests, +affected his whole style, rendering it less independent and more quaint +than that of Botticelli. Landscape occupies the main part of his +compositions, made up by a strange amalgam of the most eccentric +details—rocks toppling over blue bays, sea-caverns, and fantastic +mountain ranges. Groups of little figures disposed upon these spaces tell +the story, and the best invention of the artist is lavished on the form of +monstrous creatures like the dragon slain by Perseus. There is no attempt +to treat the classic subject in a classic spirit: to do that, and to fail +in doing it, remained for Cellini.<a name="FNanchor192"></a><a href="#Footnote_192"><sup>[192]</sup></a> We have, on the contrary, before +us an image of <a name="Page_180"></a>the orc, as it appeared to Ariosto's fancy—a creature +borrowed from romance and made to play its part in a Greek myth. The same +criticism applies to Piero's picture of the murdered Procris watched by a +Satyr of the woodland.<a name="FNanchor193"></a><a href="#Footnote_193"><sup>[193]</sup></a> In creating his Satyr the painter has not had +recourse to any antique bas-relief, but has imagined for himself a being +half human, half bestial, and yet wholly real; nor has he portrayed in +Procris a nymph of Greek form, but a girl of Florence. The strange animals +and gaudy flowers introduced into the landscape background further remove +the subject from the sphere of classic treatment. Florentine realism and +quaint fancy being thus curiously blended, the artistic result may be +profitably studied for the light it throws upon the so-called Paganism of +the earlier Renaissance. Fancy at that moment was more free than when +superior knowledge of antiquity had created a demand for reproductive art, +and when the painters thought less of the meaning of the fable for +themselves than of its capability of being used as a machine for the +display of erudition.</p> + +<p>It remains to speak of the painter who closes and at the same time gathers +up the whole tradition of this period. Domenico Ghirlandajo deserves this +place of honour not because he had the keenest intuitions, the deepest +thought, the strongest passion, the subtlest fancy, the loftiest +imagination—for in all these points he was excelled by some one or other +of his contemporaries or predecessors—but because his intellect was the +most comprehensive and his mastery of art the most complete. His life +lasted from 1449 to 1498, and he did not distinguish himself as a painter +till he was past thirty.<a name="FNanchor194"></a><a href="#Footnote_194"><sup>[194]</sup></a> Therefore he does not properly fall within +the <a name="Page_181"></a>limit of 1470, assigned roughly to this age of transition in +painting. But in style and spirit he belonged to it, resuming in his own +work the qualities we find scattered through the minor artists of the +fifteenth century, and giving them the unity of fusion in a large and +lucid manner. Like the painters hitherto discussed, he was working toward +the full Renaissance; yet he reached it neither in ideality nor in +freedom. His art is the art of the understanding only; and to this the +masters of the golden age added radiance, sublimity, grace, +passion—qualities of the imagination beyond the scope of men like +Ghirlandajo.</p> + +<p>It is almost with reluctance that a critic feels obliged to name this +powerful but prosaic painter as the Giotto of the fifteenth century in +Florence, the tutelary angel of an age inaugurated by Masaccio. He was a +consummate master of the science collected by his predecessors. No one +surpassed him in the use of fresco. His orderly composition, in the +distribution of figures and the use of architectural accessories, is +worthy of all praise; his portraiture is dignified and powerful;<a name="FNanchor195"></a><a href="#Footnote_195"><sup>[195]</sup></a> his +choice of form and treatment of drapery, noble. Yet we cannot help noting +his deficiency in the finer sense of beauty, the absence of poetic +inspiration or feeling in his work, the commonplaceness of his colour, and +his wearisome reiteration of calculated effects. He never arrests +attention by sallies of originality, or charms us by the delicacies of +suggestive fancy. He is always at the level of his own achievement, so +that in the end we are as tired with able Ghirlandajo as the men of Athens +with just Aristides. Who, however, but Ghirlandajo could have composed the +frescoes of "S. Fina" at S. Gemignano, the fresco of the "Death of S.<a name="Page_182"></a> +Francis" in S. Trinità at Florence, or that again of the "Birth of the +Virgin" in S. Maria Novella? There is something irritating in pure common +sense imported into art, and Ghirlandajo's masterpieces are the apotheosis +of that quality. How correct, how judicious, how sagacious, how +mathematically ordered! we exclaim; but we gaze without emotion, and we +turn away without regret. It does not vex us to read how Ghirlandajo used +to scold his prentices for neglecting trivial orders that would fill his +purse with money. Similar traits of character pain us with a sense of +impropriety in Perugino. They harmonise with all we feel about the work of +Ghirlandajo. It is bitter mortification to know that Michael Angelo never +found space or time sufficient for his vast designs in sculpture. It is a +positive relief to think that Ghirlandajo sighed in vain to have the +circuit of the walls of Florence given him to paint. How he would have +covered them with compositions, stately, flowing, easy, sober, and +incapable of stirring any feeling in the soul!</p> + +<p>Though Ghirlandajo lacked almost every true poetic quality, he combined +the art of distributing figures in a given space, with perspective, fair +knowledge of the nude, and truth to nature, in greater perfection than any +other single painter of the age he represents; and since these were +precisely the gifts of that age to the great Renaissance masters, we +accord to him the place of historical honour. It should be added that, +like almost all the artists of this epoch, he handled sacred and profane, +ancient and modern, subjects in the same style, introducing contemporary +customs and costumes. His pictures are therefore valuable for their +portraits and their illustration of Florentine life. Fresco was his +favourite vehicle; and in this preference he showed himself a true master +of the school of Florence: but he is said to have maintained that mosaic, +as more durable, was superior to <a name="Page_183"></a>wall-painting. This saying, if it be +authentic, justifies our criticism of his cold achievement as a painter.</p> + +<p>Reviewing the ground traversed in this and the last chapter, we find that +the painting of Tuscany, and in particular the Florentine section of it, +has absorbed attention. It is characteristic of the next age that other +districts of Italy began to contribute their important quota to the +general culture of the nation. The force generated in Tuscany expanded and +dilated till every section of the country took part in the movement which +Florence had been first to propagate. What was happening in scholarship +began to manifest itself in art, for the same law of growth and +distribution affected both alike; and thus the local differences of the +Italians were to some extent abolished. The nation, never destined to +acquire political union in the Renaissance, possessed at last an +intellectual unity in its painters and its students, which justifies our +speaking of the great men of the golden period as Italians and not as +citizens of such or such a burgh. In the Middle Ages United Italy was an +Idea to theorists like Dante, who dreamed for her an actual supremacy +beneath her Emperor's sway in Rome. The reasoning to which they trusted +proved fallacious, and their hopes were quenched. Instead of the political +empire of the "De Monarchiâ," a spiritual empire had been created, and the +Italians were never more powerful in Europe than when their sacred city +was being plundered by the imperial bandits in 1527. It is necessary, at +the risk of some repetition, to keep this point before the reader, if only +as an apology for the method of treatment to be followed in the next +chapter, where the painters of the mid-Renaissance period will be reviewed +less in relation to their schools and cities than as representatives of +the Italian spirit.</p> + +<p>Since the intellectual unity gained by the Italians in the age of the +Renaissance was chiefly due to the Florentines, it is a matter of some +moment to reconsider the direct influences <a name="Page_184"></a>brought to bear upon the arts +in Florence during the fifteenth century. I have chosen Ghirlandajo as the +representative of painting in that period. I have also expressed the +opinion that his style is singularly cold and prosaic, and have hinted +that this prosaic and cold quality was caused by a defect of emotional +enthusiasm, by preoccupation with finite aims. Herein Ghirlandajo did but +reflect the temper of his age—that temper which Cosimo de' Medici, the +greatest patron of both art and scholarship in Florence before 1470, +represented in his life and in his public policy. It concerns us, +therefore, to take into account the nature of the patronage extended by +the Medici to art. Excessive praise and blame have been showered upon +these burgher princes in almost equal quantities; so that, if we were to +place Roscoe and Rio, as the representatives of conflicting views, in the +scales together, they would balance each other, and leave the index +quivering. This bare statement warns the critic to be cautious, and +inclines him to accept the intermediate conclusion that neither the Medici +nor the artists could escape the conditions of their century. It is +specially argued on the one hand against the Medici that they encouraged a +sensual and worldly style of art, employing the painters to decorate their +palaces with nude figures, and luring them away from sacred to profane +subjects. Yet Cosimo gave orders to Donatello for his "David" and his +"Judith," employed Michellozzo and Brunelleschi to build him convents and +churches, and filled the library of S. Marco, where Fra Angelico was +painting, with a priceless collection of MSS. His own private chapel was +decorated by Benozza Gozzoli. Fra Lippo Lippi and Michael Angelo +Buonarroti were the house-friends of Lorenzo de' Medici. Leo Battista +Alberti was a member of his philosophical society. The only great +Florentine artist who did not stand in cordial relations to the Medicean +circle, was Lionardo da Vinci. This sufficiently shows that the Medicean +patronage was commensurate with <a name="Page_185"></a>the best products of Florentine genius; +nor would it be easy to demonstrate that encouragement, so largely +exhibited and so intelligently used, could have been in the main injurious +to the arts.</p> + +<p>There is, however, a truth in the old grudge against the Medicean princes. +They enslaved Florence; and even painting was not slow to suffer from the +stifling atmosphere of tyranny. Lorenzo deliberately set himself to +enfeeble the people by luxury, partly because he liked voluptuous living, +partly because he aimed at popularity, and partly because it was his +interest to enervate republican virtues. The arts used for the purposes of +decoration in triumphs and carnival shows became the instruments of +careless pleasure; and there is no doubt that even earnest painters lent +their powers with no ill-will and no bad conscience to the service of +lascivious patrons. "Per la città, in diverse case, fece tondi di sua mano +e femmine ignude assai," says Vasari about Sandro Botticelli, who +afterwards became a Piagnone and refused to touch a pencil.<a name="FNanchor196"></a><a href="#Footnote_196"><sup>[196]</sup></a> We may, +therefore, reasonably concede that if the Medici had never taken hold on +Florence, or if the spirit of the times had made them other than they were +in loftiness of aim and nobleness of heart, the arts of Italy in the +Renaissance might have shown less of worldliness and materialism. It was +against the demoralisation of society by paganism, as against the +enslavement of Florence by her tyrants, that Savonarola strove; and since +the Medici were the leaders of the classical revival, as well as the +despots of the dying commonwealth, they justly bear the lion's share of +that blame which fell in general upon the vices of their age denounced by +the prophet of S. Marco. We may regard it either as a singular misfortune +for Italy or as the strongest sign of deep-seated Italian corruption, that +the most brilliant <a name="Page_186"></a>leaders of culture both at Florence and at +Rome—Cosimo, Lorenzo, and Giovanni de' Medici—promoted rather than +checked the debasing influences of the Renaissance, and added the weight +of their authority to the popular craving for sensuous amusement.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, what was truly great and noble in Renaissance Italy, found its +proper home in Florence; where the spirit of freedom, if only as an idea, +still ruled; where the populace was still capable of being stirred to +super-sensual enthusiasm; and where the flame of the modern intellect +burned with its purest, whitest lustre.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_161"></a><a href="#FNanchor161">[161]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 12.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_162"></a><a href="#FNanchor162">[162]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, pp. 122-129.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_163"></a><a href="#FNanchor163">[163]</a><div class="note"><p> His real name was Tommaso di Ser Giovanni, of the family of +Scheggia. Masaccio means in Tuscan, "Great hulking Tom," just as Masolino, +his supposed master and fellow-worker, means "Pretty little Tom." +Masolino was Tommaso di Cristofero Fini, born in 1384 in S. Croce. It is +now thought that we have but little of his authentic work except the +frescoes at Castiglione di Olona, near Milan. Masaccio was born at San +Giovanni, in the upper valley of the Arno, in 1402. He died at Borne in +1429.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_164"></a><a href="#FNanchor164">[164]</a><div class="note"><p> His family name was Doni. He was born about 1396, and died +at the age of about 73. He got his name Uccello from his partiality for +painting birds, it is said.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_165"></a><a href="#FNanchor165">[165]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, for what has been said about Verocchio's +"David."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_166"></a><a href="#FNanchor166">[166]</a><div class="note"><p> A drawing made in red chalk for this "Dream of Constantine" +has been published in facsimile by Ottley, in his <i>Italian School of +Design</i>. He wrongly attributes it, however, to Giorgione, and calls it a +"Subject Unknown."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_167"></a><a href="#FNanchor167">[167]</a><div class="note"><p> The one in S. Francesco at Rimini, the other in the +Uffizzi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_168"></a><a href="#FNanchor168">[168]</a><div class="note"><p> Two angels have recently been published by the Arundel +Society who have also copied Melozzo's wall-painting of Sixtus IV. in the +Vatican. It is probable that the picture in the Royal Collection at +Windsor, of Duke Frederick of Urbino listening to the lecture of a +Humanist, is also a work of Melozzo's, much spoiled by re-painting. See +Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, p. 220.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_169"></a><a href="#FNanchor169">[169]</a><div class="note"><p> Muratori, vol. xxiv. 1181.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_170"></a><a href="#FNanchor170">[170]</a><div class="note"><p> For Ciriac of Ancona, see Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, +p. 113.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_171"></a><a href="#FNanchor171">[171]</a><div class="note"><p> The services rendered by Squarcione to art have been +thoroughly discussed by Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle, <i>Painting in North +Italy</i>, vol. i. chap. 2. I cannot but think that they underrate the +importance of his school.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_172"></a><a href="#FNanchor172">[172]</a><div class="note"><p> He was born between 1360 and 1370, and he settled at +Florence about 1422, where he opened a <i>bottega</i> in S. Trinità. In 1423 he +painted his masterpiece, the "Adoration of the Magi," now exhibited in the +Florentine Academy of Arts.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_173"></a><a href="#FNanchor173">[173]</a><div class="note"><p> See, for instance, the valuable portraits of the Medicean +family with Picino and Poliziano, in the fresco of the "Tower of Babel" at +Pisa.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_174"></a><a href="#FNanchor174">[174]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>L'Art Chrétien</i>, vol. ii. p. 397.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_175"></a><a href="#FNanchor175">[175]</a><div class="note"><p> The same remark might be made about the Venetian Bonifazio. +It is remarkable that the "Adoration of the Magi" was always a favourite +subject with painters of this calibre.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_176"></a><a href="#FNanchor176">[176]</a><div class="note"><p> I may refer to the picture of the hunters in the Taylor +Gallery at Oxford, the "Vintage of Noah" at Pisa, the attendants of the +Magi in the Riccardi Palace, and the <i>Carola</i> in the "Marriage of Jacob +and Rachel" at Pisa.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_177"></a><a href="#FNanchor177">[177]</a><div class="note"><p> "Stories of Isaac and Ishmael and of Jacob and Esau" at +Pisa, and "Story of S. Augustine" at San Gemignano. Nothing can be +prettier than the school children in the latter series. The group of the +little boy, horsed upon a bigger boy's back for a whipping, is one of the +most natural episodes in painting.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_178"></a><a href="#FNanchor178">[178]</a><div class="note"><p> Riccardi Chapel.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_179"></a><a href="#FNanchor179">[179]</a><div class="note"><p> For an example, the picture of Madonna worshipping the +infant Christ upheld by two little angels in the Uffizzi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_180"></a><a href="#FNanchor180">[180]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Academy of Fine Arts at Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_181"></a><a href="#FNanchor181">[181]</a><div class="note"><p> Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. ii. chap. 19. Nothing was more +common in the practice of Italian arts than for pupils to take their names +from their masters, in the same way as they took them from their fathers, +by the prefix <i>di</i> or otherwise.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_182"></a><a href="#FNanchor182">[182]</a><div class="note"><p> The most simply beautiful of Filippino's pictures is the +oil-painting in the Badia at Florence, which represents Madonna attended +by angels dictating the story of her life to S. Bernard. In this most +lovely religious picture Filippino comes into direct competition with +Perugino (see the same subject at Munich), without suffering by the +contrast. The type of Our lady, striven after by Botticelli and other +masters of his way of feeling, seems to me more thoroughly attained by +Filippino than by any of his fellow-workers. She is a woman acquainted +with grief and nowise distinguished by the radiance of her beauty among +the daughters of earth. It is measureless love for the mother of his Lord +that makes S. Bernard bow before her with eyes of wistful adoration and +hushed reverence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_183"></a><a href="#FNanchor183">[183]</a><div class="note"><p> The study of the fine arts offers few subjects of more +curious interest than the vicissitudes through which painters of the type +of Botticelli, not absolutely and confessedly in the first rank, but +attractive by reason of their relation to the spirit of their age, and of +the seal of <i>intimité</i> set upon their work have passed. In the last +century and the beginning of this, our present preoccupation with +Botticelli would have passed for a mild lunacy, because he has none of the +qualities then most in vogue and most enthusiastically studied, and +because the moment in the history of culture he so faithfully represents, +was then but little understood. The prophecy of Mr. Ruskin, the tendencies +of our best contemporary art in Mr. Burne Jones's painting, the specific +note of our recent fashionable poetry, and, more than all, our delight in +the delicately poised psychological problems of the middle Renaissance, +have evoked a kind of hero-worship for this excellent artist and true +poet.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_184"></a><a href="#FNanchor184">[184]</a><div class="note"><p> A friend, writing to me from Italy, speaks thus of +Botticelli, and of the painters associated with him: "When I ask myself +what it is I find fascinating in him—for instance, which of his pictures, +or what element in them—I am forced to admit that it is the touch of +paganism in him, the fairy-story element, <i>the echo of a beautiful lapsed +mythology which he has found the means of transmitting.</i>" The words I have +printed in italics seem to me very true. At the same time we must bear in +mind that the scientific investigation of nature had not in the fifteenth +century begun to stand between the sympathetic intellect and the outer +world. There was still the possibility of that "lapsed mythology," the +dream of poets and the delight of artists, seeming positively the best +form of expression for sentiments aroused by nature.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_185"></a><a href="#FNanchor185">[185]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>De Rerum Naturâ</i>, lib. v. 737.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_186"></a><a href="#FNanchor186">[186]</a><div class="note"><p> The rose-tree background in a Madonna belonging to Lord +Elcho is a charming instance of the value given to flowers by careful +treatment.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_187"></a><a href="#FNanchor187">[187]</a><div class="note"><p> I cannot bring myself to accept Mr. Pater's reading of the +Madonna's expression. It seems to me that Botticelli meant to portray the +mingled awe and tranquillity of a mortal mother chosen for the Son of God. +He appears to have sometimes aimed at conveying more than painting can +compass; and, since he had not Lionardo's genius, he gives sadness, +mournfulness, or discontent, for some more subtle mood. Next to the +Madonna of the Uffizzi, Botticelli's loveliest religious picture to my +mind is the "Nativity" belonging to Mr. Fuller Maitland. Poetic +imagination in a painter has produced nothing more graceful and more +tender than the dance of angels in the air above, and the embracement of +the angels and the shepherds on the lawns below.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_188"></a><a href="#FNanchor188">[188]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Academy of Fine Arts at Venice. I do not mention +this picture as a complete pendant to Botticelli's famous <i>tondo</i>. The +faces of S. Catherine and Madonna, however, have something of the rarity +that is so striking in that work.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_189"></a><a href="#FNanchor189">[189]</a><div class="note"><p> I might mention stanzas 122-124 of Poliziano's <i>Giostra</i>, +describing Venus in the lap of Mars; or stanzas 99-107, describing the +birth of Venus; and from Boiardo's <i>Orlando Innamorato</i>, I might quote the +episode of Rinaldo's punishment by Love (lib. ii. canto xv. 43), or the +tale of Silvanella and Narcissus (lib. ii. canto xvii. 49).</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_190"></a><a href="#FNanchor190">[190]</a><div class="note"><p> I hope to make use of this passage in a future section of +my work on the Italian Poetry of the Renaissance. Therefore I pass by this +portion of Piero's art-work now.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_191"></a><a href="#FNanchor191">[191]</a><div class="note"><p> Uffizzi Gallery.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_192"></a><a href="#FNanchor192">[192]</a><div class="note"><p> See the bas-relief upon the pedestal of his "Perseus" in +the Loggia de' Lanzi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_193"></a><a href="#FNanchor193">[193]</a><div class="note"><p> In the National Gallery.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_194"></a><a href="#FNanchor194">[194]</a><div class="note"><p> His family name was Domenico di Currado di Doffo Bigordi. +He probably worked during his youth and early manhood as a goldsmith and +got his artist's name from the trade of making golden chaplets for the +Florentine women. See Vasari, vol. v. p. 66.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_195"></a><a href="#FNanchor195">[195]</a><div class="note"><p> What, after all, remains the grandest quality of +Ghirlandajo is his powerful drawing of characteristic heads. They are as +various as they are vigorous. What a nation of strong men must the +Florentines have been, we feel while gazing at his frescoes.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_196"></a><a href="#FNanchor196">[196]</a><div class="note"><p> In many houses he painted roundels with his own hand, and +of naked women plenty.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI"></a><h2><a name="Page_187"></a>CHAPTER VI--PAINTING</h2> + +<h4>Two Periods in the True Renaissance—Andrea Mantegna—His Statuesque +Design—His Naturalism—Roman Inspiration—Triumph of Julius +Cæsar—Bas-reliefs—Luca Signorelli—The Precursor of Michael +Angelo—Anatomical Studies—Sense of Beauty—The Chapel of S. Brizio at +Orvieto—Its Arabesques and Medallions—Degrees in his Ideal—Enthusiasm +for Organic Life—Mode of treating Classical Subjects—Perugino—His +Pietistic Style—His Formalism—The Psychological Problem of his +Life—Perugino's Pupils—Pinturicchio—At Spello and Siena—Francia—Fra +Bartolommeo—Transition to the Golden Age—Lionardo da Vinci—The Magician +of the Renaissance—Raphael—The Melodist—Correggio—The Faun—Michael +Angelo—The Prophet.</h4> + +<p>The Renaissance, so far as Painting is concerned, may be said to have +culminated between the years 1470 and 1550. These dates, it must be +frankly admitted, are arbitrary; nor is there anything more unprofitable +than the attempt to define by strict chronology the moments of an +intellectual growth so complex, so unequally progressive, and so varied as +that of Italian art. All that the historian can hope to do, is to strike a +mean between his reckoning of years and his more subtle calculations based +on the emergence of decisive genius in special men. An instance of such +compromise is afforded by Lionardo da Vinci, who belongs, as far as dates +go, to the last half of the fifteenth century, but who must, on any +estimate of his achievement, be classed with Michael Angelo among the +final and supreme masters of the full Renaissance. To violate the order of +time, with a view to what may here <a name="Page_188"></a>be called the morphology of Italian +art, is, in his case, a plain duty.</p> + +<p>Bearing this in mind, it is still possible to regard the eighty years +above mentioned as a period no longer of promise and preparation but of +fulfilment and accomplishment. Furthermore, the thirty years at the close +of the fifteenth century may be taken as one epoch in this climax of the +art, while the first half of the sixteenth forms a second. Within the +former falls the best work of Mantegna, Perugino, Francia, the Bellini, +Signorelli, Fra Bartolommeo. To the latter we may reckon Michael Angelo, +Raphael, Giorgione, Correggio, Titian, and Andrea del Sarto. Lionardo da +Vinci, though belonging chronologically to the former epoch, ranks first +among the masters of the latter; and to this also may be given Tintoretto, +though his life extended far beyond it to the last years of the century. +We thus obtain, within the period of eighty years from 1470 to 1550, two +subordinate divisions of time, the one including the last part of the +fifteenth century, the other extending over the best years of the +sixteenth.</p> + +<p>The subdivisions I have just suggested correspond to two distinct stages +in the evolution of art. The painters of the earlier group win our +admiration quite as much by their aim as by their achievement. Their +achievement, indeed, is not so perfect but that they still make some +demand upon interpretative sympathy in the student. There is, besides, a +sense of reserved strength in their work. We feel that their motives have +not been developed to the utmost, that their inspiration is not exhausted; +that it will be possible for their successors to advance beyond them on +the same path, not realising more consummate excellence in special points, +but combining divers qualities, and reaching absolute freedom.</p> + +<p>The painters of the second group display mastery more <a name="Page_189"></a>perfect, range of +faculty more all-embracing. What they design they do; nature and art obey +them equally; the resources placed at their command are employed with +facile and unfettered exercise of power. The hand obedient to the brain is +now so expert that nothing further is left to be desired in the expression +of the artist's thought.<a name="FNanchor197"></a><a href="#Footnote_197"><sup>[197]</sup></a> The student can only hope to penetrate the +master's meaning. To imagine a step further in the same direction is +impossible. The full flower of the Italian genius has been unfolded. Its +message to the world in art has been delivered.</p> + +<p>Chronology alone would not justify us in drawing these distinctions. What +really separates the two groups is the different degree in which they +severally absorbed the spirit and uttered the message of their age. In the +former the Renaissance was still immature, in the latter it was perfected. +Yet all these painters deserve in a true sense to be called its children. +Their common object is art regarded as an independent function, and +relieved from the bondage of technical impediments. In their work the +liberty of the modern mind finds its first and noblest expression. They +deal with familiar and time-honoured Christian motives reverently; but +they use them at the same time for the exhibition of pure human beauty. +Pagan influences yield them spirit-stirring inspiration; yet the antique +models of style, which proved no less embarrassing to their successors +than Saul's armour was to David, weigh lightly, like a magician's +breast-plate, upon their heroic strength.</p><a name="Page_190"></a> + +<p>Andrea Mantegna was born near Padua in 1431. Vasari says that in his +boyhood he herded cattle, and it is probable that he was the son of a +small Lombard farmer. What led him to the study of the arts we do not +know; but that his talents were precociously developed, is proved by his +registration in 1441 upon the books of the painter's guild at Padua. He is +there described as the adopted son of Squarcione. At the age of seventeen +he signed a picture with his name. Studying the casts and drawings +collected by Squarcione for his Paduan school, the young Mantegna found +congenial exercise for his peculiar gifts.<a name="FNanchor198"></a><a href="#Footnote_198"><sup>[198]</sup></a> His early frescoes in the +Eremitani at Padua look as though they had been painted from statues or +clay models, carefully selected for the grandeur of their forms, the +nobility of their attitudes, and the complicated beauty of their drapery. +The figures, arranged on different planes, are perfect in their +perspective; the action is indicated by appropriate gestures, and the +colouring, though faint and cold, is scientifically calculated. Yet not a +man or woman in these wondrous compositions seems to live. Well provided +with bone and muscle, they have neither blood nor anything suggestive of +the breath of life within them. It is as though Mantegna had been called +to paint a people turned to stone, arrested suddenly amid their various +occupations, <a name="Page_191"></a>and preserved for centuries from injury in some Egyptian +solitude of dewless sand.</p> + +<p>In spite of this unearthly immobility, the Paduan frescoes exercise a +strange and potent spell. We feel ourselves beneath the sway of a gigantic +genius, intent on solving the severest problems of his art in preparation +for the portraiture of some high intellectual abstraction. It should also +be observed that notwithstanding their frigidity and statuesque composure, +the pictures of "S. Andrew" and "S. Christopher" in the chapel of the +Eremitani reveal minute study of real objects. Transitory movements of the +body are noted and transcribed with merciless precision; an Italian +hill-side, with its olive trees and winding ways and crown of turrets, +forms the background of one scene; in another the drama is localised amid +Renaissance architecture of the costliest style. Rustic types have been +selected for the soldiers, and commonplace details, down to a patched +jerkin or a broken shoe, bear witness to the patience and the observation +of the master. But over all these things the glamour of Medusa's head has +fallen, turning them to stone. We are clearly in the presence of a painter +for whom the attractions of nature were subordinated to the fascinations +of science—a man the very opposite, for instance, to Benozzo Gozzoli. If +Mantegna had passed away in early manhood, like Masaccio, his fame would +have been that of a cold and calculating genius labouring after an ideal +unrealised except in its dry formal elements.</p> + +<p>The truth is that Mantegna's inspiration was derived from the +antique.<a name="FNanchor199"></a><a href="#Footnote_199"><sup>[199]</sup></a> The beauty of classical bas-relief entered deep into his +soul and ruled his imagination. In later life he spent his acquired wealth +in forming a collection of Greek and Roman <a name="Page_192"></a>antiquities.<a name="FNanchor200"></a><a href="#Footnote_200"><sup>[200]</sup></a> He was, +moreover, the friend of students, eagerly absorbing the knowledge brought +to light by Ciriac of Ancona, Flavio Biondo, and other antiquaries; and so +completely did he assimilate the materials of scholarship, that the spirit +of a Roman seemed to be re-incarnated in him. Thus, independently of his +high value as a painter, he embodies for us in art that sincere passion +for the ancient world which was the dominating intellectual impulse of his +age.</p> + +<p>The minute learning accumulated in the fifteenth century upon the subject +of Roman military life found noble illustration in his frieze of "Julius +Cæsar's Triumph."<a name="FNanchor201"></a><a href="#Footnote_201"><sup>[201]</sup></a> Nor is this masterpiece a cold display of +pedantry. The life we vainly look for in the frescoes of the Eremitani +chapel may be found here—statuesque, indeed, in style, and stately in +movement, but glowing with the spirit of revived antiquity. The +processional pomp of legionaries bowed beneath their trophied arms, the +monumental majesty of robed citizens, the gravity of stoled and veiled +priests, the beauty of young slaves, and all the paraphernalia of spoils +and wreaths and elephants and ensigns are massed together with the +self-restraint of noble art subordinating pageantry to rules of lofty +composition. What must the genius of the man have been who could move thus +majestically beneath the weight of painfully accumulated <a name="Page_193"></a>erudition, +converting an antiquarian motive into a theme for melodies of line +composed in the grave Dorian mood?</p> + +<p>By no process can the classic purity of this bas-relief be better +understood than by comparing the original with a transcript made by Rubens +from a portion of the "Triumph."<a name="FNanchor202"></a><a href="#Footnote_202"><sup>[202]</sup></a> The Flemish painter strives to add +richness to the scene by Bacchanalian riot and the sensuality of imperial +Rome. His elephants twist their trunks, and trumpet to the din of cymbals; +negroes feed the flaming candelabra with scattered frankincense; the white +oxen of Clitumnus are loaded with gaudy flowers, and the dancing maidens +are dishevelled Mænads. But the rhythmic procession of Mantegna, modulated +to the sound of flutes and soft recorders, carries our imagination back to +the best days and strength of Rome. His priests and generals, captives and +choric women, are as little Greek as they are modern. In them awakes to a +new life the spirit-quelling energy of the republic. The painter's severe +taste keeps out of sight the insolence and orgies of the empire; he +conceives Rome as Shakspeare did in "Coriolanus."<a name="FNanchor203"></a><a href="#Footnote_203"><sup>[203]</sup></a></p> + +<p>In compositions of this type, studied after bas-reliefs and friezes, +Mantegna displayed a power that was unique. Those who have once seen his +drawings for Judith with the head of Holofernes, and for Solomon judging +between the two mothers, will never forget their sculpture. The lines are +graven on our memory. When this marble master chose to be tragic, his +intensity was terrible. The designs for a dead Christ carried to the tomb +among the weeping Maries, concentrate within the briefest space the utmost +agony; it is as though the very ecstasy of grief had been congealed and +fixed for ever. What, again, he could produce of purely beautiful within +the region <a name="Page_194"></a>of religious art, is shown by his "Madonna of the +Victory."<a name="FNanchor204"></a><a href="#Footnote_204"><sup>[204]</sup></a> No other painter has given to the soldier saints forms at +once so heroic and so chivalrously tender.</p> + +<p>With regard to the circumstances of Mantegna's biography, it may be said +briefly that, though of humble birth, he spent the greater portion of his +life at Court and in the service of princes. It was in 1456, after he had +distinguished himself by the Paduan frescoes, that he first received an +invitation from the Marquis Lodovico Gonzaga. Of this sovereign I have +already had occasion to speak.<a name="FNanchor205"></a><a href="#Footnote_205"><sup>[205]</sup></a> Reared by Vittorino da Feltre, to whom +his father had committed almost unlimited authority, Lodovico had early +learned to estimate the real advantages of culture. It was now his object +to render his capital no less illustrious by art than by the residence of +learned men. With this view he offered Mantegna a salary of fifteen ducats +a month, together with lodging, corn, and fuel—provided the painter would +place his talents at his service. Mantegna accepted the invitation; but +numerous engagements prevented him from transferring his household from +Padua to Mantua until the year 1460. From that date onwards to 1506, when +he died, Mantegna remained attached to the Gonzaga family serving three +Marquises in succession, and adorning their palaces, chapels, and +country-seats with frescoes now, alas!<a name="Page_195"></a> almost entirely ruined. The grants +of land and presents he received in addition to his salary, enabled him to +build a villa at Buscoldo, where he resided during the summer, as well as +to erect a sumptuous mansion in the capital.</p> + +<p>Between Mantua, Goito, and Buscoldo, Mantegna spent the last forty-six +years of his life in continual employment, broken only by a short visit to +Florence in 1466, and another to Bologna in 1472,<a name="FNanchor206"></a><a href="#Footnote_206"><sup>[206]</sup></a> and by a longer +residence in Rome between the years 1488 and 1490. During the latter +period Innocent VIII. was Pope. He had built a chapel in the Belvedere of +the Vatican, and wished the greatest painter of the day to decorate it. +Therefore he wrote to Francesco, Marquis of Mantua, requesting that he +might avail himself of Mantegna's skill. Francesco, though unwilling to +part with his painter in ordinary, thought it unadvisable to disappoint +the Pope. Accordingly he dubbed Mantegna knight, and sent him to Rome. The +chapel painted in fresco for Innocent was ruthlessly destroyed by Pius +VI.; and thus the world has lost one of Mantegna's masterpieces, executed +while his genius was at its zenith. On his return to Mantua he finished +the decorations of the Castello of the Gonzaghi, and completed his +greatest surviving work, the "Triumph of Julius Cæsar."</p> + +<p>By his wife, Nicolosia, the sister of Giovanni and Gentile Bellini, +Mantegna had several children, one of whom, Francesco, adopted painting as +a trade. The great artist was by temper arrogant and haughty; nor could he +succeed in living peaceably with any of his neighbours. It appears that he +spent habitually more money than he could well afford, freely indulging +his taste for magnificence, and dis<a name="Page_196"></a>bursing large sums in the purchase of +curiosities. Long before his death his estate had been involved in debt; +and after his decease, his sons were forced to sell the pictures in his +studio for the payment of pressing creditors. He was buried in Alberti's +church of S. Andrea at Mantua, in a chapel decorated at his own expense. +Over the grave was placed a bronze bust, most noble in modelling and +perfect in execution. The broad forehead with its deeply cloven furrows, +the stern and piercing eyes, the large lips compressed with nervous +energy, the massive nose, the strength of jaw and chin, and the superb +clusters of the hair escaping from a laurel-wreath upon the royal head, +are such as realise for us our notion of a Roman in the days of the +Republic. Mantegna's own genius has inspired this masterpiece, which +tradition assigns to the medallist Sperando Maglioli. Whoever wrought it, +must have felt the incubation of the mighty painter's spirit, and have +striven to express in bronze the character of his uncompromising art.</p> + +<p>Of a different temperament, yet not wholly unlike Mantegna in a certain +iron strength of artistic character, was Luca Signorelli, born about 1441 +at Cortona. The supreme quality of Mantegna was studied purity of outline, +severe and heightened style. As Landor is distinguished by concentration +above all the English poets who have made trial of the classic Muse, so +Mantegna holds a place apart among Italian painters because of his stern +Roman self-control. Signorelli, on the contrary, made his mark by +boldness, pushing experiment almost beyond the verge of truth, and +approaching Michael Angelo in the hardihood of his endeavour to outdo +nature. Vasari says of him, that "even Michael Angelo imitated the manner +of Luca, as every one can see;" and indeed Signorelli anticipated the +greatest master of the sixteenth century, not only in his profound study +of human anatomy, but also in his resolution to express high thought and +tragic passion by pure <a name="Page_197"></a>form, discarding all the minor charms of painting. +Trained in the severe school of Piero della Francesca, he early learned to +draw from the nude with boldness and accuracy; and to this point, too much +neglected by his predecessors, he devoted the full powers of his maturity. +Anatomy he practised, according to the custom of those days, in the +graveyard or beneath the gibbet. There is a drawing by him in the Louvre +of a stalwart man carrying upon his back the corpse of a youth. Both are +naked. The motive seems to have been taken from some lazar-house. +Life-long study of perspective in its application to the drawing of the +figure, made the difficulties of foreshortening and the delineation of +brusque attitude mere child's play to this audacious genius. The most +rapid movement, the most perilous contortion of bodies falling through the +air or flying, he depicted with hard, firmly-traced, unerring outline. If +we dare to criticise the productions of a master so original and so +accomplished, all we can say is that Signorelli revelled almost too +wantonly in the display of hazardous posture, and that he sacrificed the +passion of his theme to the display of science.<a name="FNanchor207"></a><a href="#Footnote_207"><sup>[207]</sup></a> Yet his genius +comprehended great and tragic subjects, and to him belongs the credit in +an age of ornament and pedantry of having made the human body a language +for the utterance of all that is most weighty in the thought of man.</p> + +<p>A story is told by Vasari which brings Signorelli very close to our +sympathy, and enables us to understand the fascination of pure form he +felt so deeply. "It is related of Luca that he had a son killed at +Cortona, a youth of singular beauty in face and person, whom he had +tenderly loved. In his grief the father caused the boy to be stripped +naked, and with extra<a name="Page_198"></a>ordinary constancy of soul, uttering no complaint +and shedding no tear, he painted the portrait of his dead son, to the end +that he might still be able, through the work of his own hand, to +contemplate that which nature had given him, but which an adverse fortune +had taken away." So passionate and ardent, so convinced of the +indissoluble bond between the soul he loved in life and its dead tenement +of clay, and withal so iron-nerved and stout of will, it behoved that man +to be, who undertook in the plenitude of his power, at the age of sixty, +to paint upon the walls of the chapel of S. Brizio at Orvieto the images +of Doomsday, Resurrection, Heaven, and Hell.<a name="FNanchor208"></a><a href="#Footnote_208"><sup>[208]</sup></a></p> + +<p>It is a gloomy chapel in the Gothic cathedral of that forlorn<a name="Page_199"></a> Papal +city—gloomy by reason of bad lighting, but more so because of the +terrible shapes with which Signorelli has filled it<a name="FNanchor209"></a><a href="#Footnote_209"><sup>[209]</sup></a>. In no other work +of the Italian Renaissance, except in the Sistine Chapel, has so much +thought, engaged upon the most momentous subjects, been expressed with +greater force by means more simple and with effect more overwhelming. +Architecture, landscape, and decorative accessories of every kind, the +usual padding of <i>quattrocento</i> pictures, have been discarded from the +main compositions. The painter has relied solely upon his power of +imagining and delineating the human form in every attitude, and under the +most various conditions. Darting like hawks or swallows through the air, +huddling together to shun the outpoured vials of the wrath of God, +writhing with demons on the floor of Hell, struggling into new life from +the clinging clay, standing beneath the footstool of the Judge, floating +with lute and viol on the winds of Paradise, kneeling in prayer, or +clasping "inseparable hands with joy and bliss in overmeasure for +ever"—these multitudes of living beings, angelic, diabolic, bestial, +human, crowd the huge spaces of the chapel walls. What makes the +impression of controlling doom the more appalling, is that we comprehend +the drama in its several scenes, while the chief actor, the divine Judge, +at whose bidding the cherubs sound their clarions, and the dead arise, and +weal and woe are portioned to the saved and damned, is Himself +unrepresented.<a name="FNanchor210"></a><a href="#Footnote_210"><sup>[210]</sup></a> We breathe in the presence of embodied consciences, +submitting, like our own, to an unseen inevitable will.</p> + +<p>It would be doing Signorelli injustice at Orvieto to study only these +great panels. The details with which he has filled all the vacant spaces +above the chapel stalls and round the <a name="Page_200"></a>doorway, throw new light upon his +power. The ostensible motive for this elaborate ornamentation is contained +in the portraits of six poets, who are probably Homer, Virgil, Lucan, +Horace, Ovid, and Dante, <i>il sesto tra cotanto senno</i>.<a name="FNanchor211"></a><a href="#Footnote_211"><sup>[211]</sup></a> But the +portraits themselves, though vigorously conceived and remarkable for bold +foreshortening, are the least part of the whole design. Its originality +consists in the arabesques, medallions, and <i>chiaroscuro</i> bas-reliefs, +where the human form, treated as absolutely plastic, supplies the sole +decorative element. The pilasters by the doorway, for example, are +composed, after the usual type of Italian <i>grotteschi</i>, in imitation of +antique candelabra, with numerous stages for the exhibition of the +artist's fancies. Unlike the work of Raphael in the Loggie, these +pilasters of Signorelli show no birds or beasts, no flowers or foliage, +fruits or fauns, no masks or sphinxes. They are crowded with naked +men—drinking, dancing, leaning forward, twisting themselves into strange +attitudes, and adapting their bodies to the several degrees of the +framework. The same may be said of the arabesques around the portraits of +the poets, where men, women, and children, some complete, some ending in +foliage or in fish-tails, are lavished with a wild and terrible profusion. +Hippogriffs and centaurs, sirens and dolphins, are here used as adjuncts +to humanity. Amid this fantastic labyrinth of twisted forms we find +medallions painted in <i>chiaroscuro</i> with subjects taken chiefly from +Ovidian <a name="Page_201"></a>and Dantesque mythology. Here every attitude of men in combat and +in motion has been studied from the nude, and multitudes of figures draped +and undraped are compressed into the briefest compass. All but the human +form is sternly eliminated; and the body itself is treated with a mastery +and a boldness that prove Signorelli to have held its varied capabilities +firmly in his brain. He could not have worked out all those postures from +the living model. He played freely with his immense stores of knowledge; +but his play was the pastime of a Prometheus. Each pose, however +hazardous, carries conviction with it of sincerity and truth; the life and +liberty of nature reign throughout. From the whole maze of interlaced and +wrestling figures the terrible nature of the artist's genius shines forth. +They are almost all strong men in the prime or past the prime of life, +chosen for their salient display of vital structure. Signorelli was the +first, and, with the exception of Michael Angelo, the last painter thus to +use the body, without sentiment, without voluptuousness, without any +second intention whatsoever, as the supreme decorative principle. In his +absolute sincerity he made, as it were, a parade of hard and rugged types, +scorning to introduce an element of beauty, whether sensuous or ideal, +that should distract him from the study of the body in and for itself. +This distinguishes him in the arabesques at Orvieto alike from Mantegna +and Michael Angelo, from Correggio and Raphael, from Titian and Paolo +Veronese.</p> + +<p>This point is so important for its bearing on Renaissance art that I may +be permitted to dilate at greater length on Signorelli's choice of types +and treatment of form in general. Having a special predilection for the +human body, he by no means confined himself to monotony in its +presentation. On the contrary, we can trace many distinct grades of +corporeal expression. First comes the abstract nude, illustrated by the<a name="Page_202"></a> +"Resurrection" and the arabesques at Orvieto<a name="FNanchor212"></a><a href="#Footnote_212"><sup>[212]</sup></a>. Contemporary life, with +all its pomp of costume and insolence of ruffling youth, is depicted in +the "Fulminati" at Orvieto and in the "Soldiers of Totila" at Monte +Oliveto<a name="FNanchor213"></a><a href="#Footnote_213"><sup>[213]</sup></a>. These transcripts from the courts of princes and camps of +condottieri are invaluable as portraits of the lawless young men who +filled Italy with the noise of their feuds and the violence of their +adventures. They illustrate Matarazzo's Perugian chronicle better than any +other Renaissance pictures; for in frescoes like those of Pinturicchio at +Siena the same qualities are softened to suit the painter's predetermined +harmony, whereas Signorelli rejoices in their pure untempered +character<a name="FNanchor214"></a><a href="#Footnote_214"><sup>[214]</sup></a>. These, then, form a second stage. Third in degree we find +the type of highly idealised adolescence reserved by Signorelli for his +angels. All his science and his sympathy with real life are here +subordinated to poetic feeling. It is a mistake to say that these angels +are the young men of Umbria whom he loved to paint in their striped +jackets, with the addition of wings to their shoulders. The radiant beings +who tune their citherns on the clouds of Paradise, or scatter roses for +elect souls, could not live and breathe in the fiery atmosphere of +sensuous passions to which the Baglioni were habituated. A grave and +solemn sense of beauty animates these fair male beings, clothed in +voluminous drapery, with youthful faces and still earnest eyes. Their +melody, like that of Milton, is severe. Nor are Signorelli's angelic +beings of one uniform type like the angels of Fra Angelico. The athletic +cherubs of <a name="Page_203"></a>the "Resurrection," breathing their whole strength into the +trumpets that awake the dead; the mailed and winged warriors, keeping +guard above the pit of "Hell," that none may break their prison-bars among +the damned; the lute-players of "Paradise," with their almost feminine +sobriety of movement; the flame-breathing seraphs of the day of doom; the +"Gabriel" of Volterra, in whom strength is translated into +swiftness:—these are the heralds, sentinels, musicians, executioners, and +messengers of the celestial court; and each class is distinguished by +appropriate physical characteristics. At the other end of the scale, +forming a fourth grade, we may mention the depraved types of humanity +chosen for his demons—those greenish, reddish, ochreish fiends of the +"Inferno," whom Signorelli created by exaggerating the more grotesque +qualities of the nude developed in his arabesques. We thus obtain four +several degrees of form: the demoniac, the abstract nude, the adolescent +beauty of young men copied from choice models, and the angelic.</p> + +<p>Except in his angels, Signorelli was comparatively indifferent to what is +commonly considered beauty. He was not careful to select his models, or to +idealise their type. The naked human body, apart from facial distinction +or refinement of form, contented him. Violent contrasts of light and +shadow, accentuating the anatomical structure with rough and angular +decision, give the effect of illustrative diagrams to his studies. Harmony +of proportion and the magic of expression are sacrificed to energy +emergent in a powerful physique. Redundant life, in sinewy limbs, in the +proud carriage of the head upon the neck, in the sway of the trunk +backward from the reins, the firmly planted calves and brawny thighs, the +thick hair, broad shoulders, spare flanks, and massive gluteal muscles of +a man of twenty-two or upwards, whose growth has been confined to the +development of animal force, was what delighted him. Yet there is no +coarseness or <a name="Page_204"></a>animalism properly so called in his style. He was attracted +by the marvellous mechanism of the human frame—its goodliness regarded as +the most highly organised of animate existences.</p> + +<p>Owing, perhaps, to this exclusive predilection for organic life, +Signorelli was not great as a colourist. His patches of blues and reds in +the frescoes of Monte Oliveto are oppressively distinct; his use of dull +brown for the shading of flesh imparts a disagreeable heaviness to his +best modelled forms; nor did he often attain in his oil pictures to that +grave harmony we admire in his "Last Supper" at Cortona. The world of +light and colour was to him a comparatively untravelled land. It remained +for other artists to raise these elements of pictorial expression to the +height reached by Signorelli in his treatment of the nude.</p> + +<p>Before quitting the frescoes at Orvieto, some attention should be paid to +the medallions spoken of above, in special relation to the classicism of +the earlier Renaissance. Scenes from Dante's "Purgatorio" and subjects +from the "Metamorphoses" of Ovid are treated here in the same key; but the +latter, since they engaged Signorelli's fancy upon Greek mythology, are +the more important for our purpose. Two from the legend of "Orpheus" and +two from that of "Proserpine" might be chosen as typical of the whole +series. Mediæval intensity, curiously at variance with antique feeling, is +discernible throughout. The satellites of Hades are gaunt and sinewy +devils, eager to do violence to Eurydice. Pluto himself drives his jarring +car-wheels up through the lava-blocks and flames of Etna with a fury and a +vehemence we seek in vain upon antique sarcophagi. Ceres, wandering +through Sicily in search of her lost daughter, is a gaunt witch with +dishevelled hair, raising frantic hands to tear her cheeks; while the +snakes that draw her chariot are no grave symbols of the germinating corn, +but greedy serpents ready <a name="Page_205"></a>to spit fire against the ravishers of +Proserpine. Thus the tranquillity and self-restraint of Greek art yield to +a passionate and trenchant realisation of the actual romance. The most +thrilling moments in the legend are selected for dramatic treatment, grace +and beauty being exchanged for vivid presentation. A whole cycle of human +experience separates these medallions from the antique bas-relief at +Naples, where Hermes hands the veiled Eurydice to Orpheus, and all three +are calm. That Signorelli, if he chose to do so, could represent a classic +myth with more of classic feeling, is shown by his picture of "Pan +Listening to Olympus"<a name="FNanchor215"></a><a href="#Footnote_215"><sup>[215]</sup></a>. The nymph, the vineleaf-girdled Faun, and the +two shepherds, all undraped and drawn with subtle feeling for the melodies +of line, render this work one of his most successful compositions.</p> + +<p>It would be interesting to compare Signorelli's treatment of the antique +with Mantegna's or Botticelli's. The visions of the pagan world, floating +before the mind of all men in the fifteenth century, found very different +interpreters in these three painters—Botticelli adding the quaint alloy +of his own fancy, Signorelli imparting the semi-savagery of a terrible +imagination, Mantegna, with the truest instinct and the firmest touch, +confining himself to the processional pageantry of bas-relief. Yet, were +this comparison to be instituted, we could hardly refrain from carrying it +much further. Each great master of the Renaissance had his own relation to +classical mythology. The mystic sympathies of "Leda and the Swan," as +imaged severally by Lionardo and Michael Angelo; Correggio's romantic +handling of the myths of "Danaë" and "Io;" Titian's and Tintoretto's rival +pictures of "Bacchus and Ariadne;" Raphael's "Galatea;" Pollajuolo's +"Hercules;" the "Europa" of Veronese; the "Circe" of Dosso<a name="Page_206"></a> Dossi; Palma's +"Venus;" Sodoma's "Marriage of Alexander"—all these, to mention none but +pictures familiar to every traveller in Italy, raise for the student of +the classical Revival absorbing questions relative to the influences of +pagan myths upon the modern imagination.</p> + +<p>Signorelli was chiefly occupied, during the course of his long career, +upon religious pictures; and the high place he occupies in the history of +Renaissance culture is due partly to his free abandonment of conventional +methods in treating sacred subjects. The Uffizzi Gallery contains a +circular "Madonna" by his hand, with a row of naked men for +background—the forerunner of Michael Angelo's famous "Holy Family." So +far had art for art's sake already encroached upon the ecclesiastical +domain. To discuss Signorelli's merits as a painter of altar-pieces would +be to extend the space allotted to him far beyond its proper limits. It is +not as a religious artist that he takes his rank, but as having powerfully +promoted the rehabilitation of the body achieved for art by the +Renaissance.</p> + +<p>Unlike Mantegna, Signorelli never entered the service of a prince, though +we have seen that he executed commissions for Lorenzo de' Medici and +Pandolfo Petrucci. He bore a name which, if not noble, had been more than +once distinguished in the annals of Tuscany. Residing at his native place, +Cortona, he there enjoyed the highest reputation, and was frequently +elected to municipal office. Concerning his domestic life very little is +known, but what we do know is derived from an excellent source<a name="FNanchor216"></a><a href="#Footnote_216"><sup>[216]</sup></a>. His +mother was the <a name="Page_207"></a>sister of Lazzaro, great-grandfather of Giorgio Vasari. In +his biography of Signorelli, Vasari relates how, when he was himself a boy +of eight, his illustrious cousin visited the house of the Vasari family at +Arezzo; and hearing from little Giorgio's grammar-master that he spent his +time in drawing figures, Luca turned to the child's father and said, +"Antonio, since Giorgio takes after his family, you must by all means have +him taught; for even though he should pay attention to literature as well, +drawing cannot fail to be a source of utility, honour, and recreation to +him, as it is to every man of worth." Luca's kindness deeply impressed the +boy, who afterwards wrote the following description of his personal +qualities: "He was a man of the most excellent habits, sincere and +affectionate with his friends, sweet of conversation and amusing in +society, above all things courteous to those who had need of his work, and +easy in giving instruction to his pupils. He lived splendidly, and took +delight in dressing handsomely. This excellent disposition caused him to +be always held in highest veneration both in his own city and abroad."</p> + +<p>To turn from Signorelli to Perugino is to plunge at once into a very +different atmosphere<a name="FNanchor217"></a><a href="#Footnote_217"><sup>[217]</sup></a>. It is like quitting the rugged gorges of high +mountains for a valley of the Southern Alps—still, pensive, beautiful, +and coloured with reflections from an evening sky. Perugino knew exactly +how to represent a certain mood of religious sentiment, blending meek +acquiescence with a prayerful yearning of the impassioned <a name="Page_208"></a>soul. His +Madonnas worshipping the infant Jesus in a tranquil Umbrian landscape, his +angels ministrant, his pathetic martyrs with upturned holy faces, his +sexless S. Sebastians and immaculate S. Michaels, display the perfection +of art able by colour and by form to achieve within a narrow range what it +desires. What this artist seems to have aimed at, was to create for the +soul amid the pomps and passions of this world a resting-place of +contemplation tenanted by saintly and seraphic beings. No pain comes near +the folk of his celestial city; no longing poisons their repose; they are +not weary, and the wicked trouble them no more. Their cheerfulness is no +less perfect than their serenity; like the shades of Hellas, they have +drunk Lethean waters from the river of content, and all remembrance of +things sad or harsh has vanished from their minds. The quietude of +holiness expressed in this ideal region was a legacy to Perugino from +earlier Umbrian masters; but his technical supremacy in fresco-painting +and in oils, his correct drawing within certain limits, and his refined +sense of colour enabled him to realise it more completely than his less +accomplished predecessors. In his best work the Renaissance set the seal +of absolute perfection upon pietistic art.</p> + +<p>We English are fortunate in possessing one of Perugino's sincerest +devotional oil pictures<a name="FNanchor218"></a><a href="#Footnote_218"><sup>[218]</sup></a>. His frescoes of "S. Sebastian" at Panicale, +and of the "Crucifixion" at Florence, are tolerably well known through +reproductions<a name="FNanchor219"></a><a href="#Footnote_219"><sup>[219]</sup></a>; while the "Vision of S. Bernard" at Munich and the +"Pietà" in the Pitti Gallery are familiar to all travelled students of +Italian painting. These masterpieces belong to Perugino's best period, +when his inspiration was fresh, and his enthusiasm for artistic excellence +was still unimpaired; and when, as M. Rio thinks, the failure of his faith +had not yet happened. It is only at<a name="Page_209"></a> Perugia, however, in the Sala del +Cambio, that we are able to gauge the extent of his power and to estimate +the value of his achievement beyond the pale of strictly religious themes.</p> + +<p>Early in the course of his career Perugino seems to have become contented +with a formal repetition of successful motives, and to have checked the +growth of his genius by adhering closely to a prescribed cycle of effects. +The praises of his patrons and the prosperity of his trade proved to his +keen commercial sense that the raised ecstatic eyes, the upturned oval +faces, the pale olive skin, the head inclined upon the shoulder, the thin +fluttering hair, the ribands and the dainty dresses of his holy persons +found great favour in Umbrian palaces and convents. Thenceforward he +painted but little else; and when, in the Sala del Cambio, he was obliged +to treat the representative heroes of Greek and Roman story, he adopted +the same manner<a name="FNanchor220"></a><a href="#Footnote_220"><sup>[220]</sup></a>. Leonidas, the lionhearted Spartan, and Cato, the +austere Roman, who preferred liberty to life, bend their mild heads like +flowers in Perugino's frescoes, and gather up their drapery in studied +folds with celestial delicacy. Jove is a reproduction of the Eterno Padre, +conceived as a benevolent old man for a conventional painting of the +"Trinity;" and Ganymede is a page-boy with the sweet submissive features +of Tobias. Already Perugino had opened a manufactory of pietistic +pictures, and was employing many pupils on his works. He coined money by +fixing artificially beautiful faces upon artificially elegant figures, +placing a row of these puppets in a landscape with calm sky behind them, +and calling the composition by the name of some familiar scene. His +inspiration was dead, his invention exhausted; his chief object seemed to +be to make his trade thrive.</p> +<a name="Page_210"></a> +<p>Perugino will always remain a problem to the psychologist who believes in +physiognomy, as well as to the student of the passionate times in which he +lived. His hard unsympathetic features in the portraits at Perugia and +Florence do not belie, but rather win credence for Vasari's tales about +his sordid soul.<a name="FNanchor221"></a><a href="#Footnote_221"><sup>[221]</sup></a> Local traditions and contemporary rumours, again, +give colour to what Vasari relates about his infidelity; while the +criminal records of Florence prove that he was not over-scrupulous to keep +his hands from violence.<a name="FNanchor222"></a><a href="#Footnote_222"><sup>[222]</sup></a> How could such a man, we ask ourselves, have +endured to pass a long life in the <i>fabrication of devotional pictures?</i> +Whence did he derive the sentiment of masterpieces, for piety only +equalled by those of Fra Angelico, either in his own nature or in the +society of a city torn to pieces by the factions of the Baglioni? How, +again, was it possible for an artist who at times touched beauty so ideal, +to be contented with the stencilling by his pupils of conventional figures +on canvases to which he gave his name? Taking these questions separately, +we might reply that "there is no art to find the mind's construction in +the face;" that painting in the sixteenth century was a trade regulated by +the demand <a name="Page_211"></a>for particular wares; that men can live among ruffians without +sharing their mood; that the artist and the moral being are separate, and +may not be used to interpret each other. Yet, after giving due weight to +such answers, Perugino, being what he was, living at the time he did, not +as a recluse, but as a prosperous <i>impresario</i> of painting, and +systematically devoting his powers to pietistic art, must be for us a +puzzle. That the quietism of his highly artificial style should have been +fashionable in Perugia, while the Baglioni were tearing each other to +pieces, and the troops of the Vitelli and the Borgia were trampling upon +Umbria, is one of the most striking paradoxes of an age rich in dramatic +contradictions.</p> + +<p>It is much to be regretted, with a view to solving the question of +Perugino's personality in relation to his art, that his character does not +emerge with any salience from the meagre notices we have received +concerning him, and that we know but little of his private life. Vasari +tells us that he married a very beautiful girl, and that one of his chief +pleasures was to see this wife handsomely dressed at home and abroad. He +often decked her out in clothes and jewels with his own hand. For the +rest, we find in Perugino, far more than in either Mantegna or Signorelli, +an instance of the simple Italian craftsman, employing numerous +assistants, undertaking contract work on a large scale, and striking keen +bargains with his employers. Both at Florence and at Perugia he opened a +<i>bottega</i>; and by the exercise of his trade as a master-painter, he +realised enough money to buy substantial estates in those cities, as well +as in his birthplace.<a name="FNanchor223"></a><a href="#Footnote_223"><sup>[223]</sup></a> In all the greatest artworks of the age he took +his part. Thus we find him painting in the Sistine Chapel between 1484 and +1486, treating with the commune of Orvieto for the completion of the +<a name="Page_212"></a>chapel of S. Brizio in 1489, joining in the debate upon the façade of S. +Maria del Fiore in 1491, giving his opinion upon the erection of Michael +Angelo's "David" at Florence in 1504, and competing with Signorelli, +Pinturicchio, and Bazzi for the decoration of the Stanze of the Vatican in +1508. The rising of brighter stars above the horizon during his lifetime +somewhat dimmed his fame, and caused him much disquietude; yet neither +Raphael nor Michael Angelo interfered with the demand for his pictures, +which continued to be lively till the very year of his death. That he was +jealous of these younger rivals, appears from the fact that he brought an +action against Michael Angelo for having called his style stupid and +antiquated. In the celebrated phrase cast at him by the blunt and scornful +master of a new art-mystery<a name="FNanchor224"></a><a href="#Footnote_224"><sup>[224]</sup></a>, we discern the abrupt line of division +between time-honoured tradition and the <i>maniera moderna</i> of the full +Renaissance. The old Titans had to yield their place before the new +Olympian deities of Italian painting. There is something pathetic in the +retirement of the grey-haired Perugino from Rome, to make way for the +victorious Phoebean beauty of the boy Raphael.</p> + +<p>The influence of Perugino upon Italian art was powerful though transitory. +He formed a band of able pupils, among whom was the great Raphael; and +though Raphael speedily abandoned his master's narrow footpath through the +fields of painting, he owed to Perugino the invaluable benefit of training +in solid technical methods and traditions of pure taste. From none of his +elder contemporaries, with the exception of Fra Bartolommeo, could the +young Raphael have learnt so much that was congenial to his early +instincts. What, for example, might have befallen him if he had worked +with Signorelli, it is difficult to imagine; for while nothing is more +obvious on the one hand than Raphael's originality, his strong +assimilative bias is scarcely less remarkable. The time has not yet come +to <a name="Page_213"></a>speak of Raphael; nor will space suffice for detailed observations on +his fellow-students in the workshop at Perugia. The place occupied by +Perugino in the evolution of Italian painting is peculiar. In the middle +of a positive and worldly age, declining fast to frigid scepticism and +political corruption, he set the final touch of technical art upon the +devotion transmitted from earlier and more enthusiastic centuries. The +flower of Umbrian piety blossomed in the masterpieces of his youth, and +faded into dryness in the affectations of his manhood. Nothing was left on +the same line for his successors.</p> + +<p>Among these, Bernardo Pinturicchio can here alone be mentioned. A thorough +naturalist, though saturated with the mannerism of the Umbrian school, +Pinturicchio was not distracted either by scientific or ideal aims from +the clear and fluent presentation of contemporary manners and costumes. He +is a kind of Umbrian Gozzoli, who brings us here and there in close +relation to the men of his own time, and has in consequence a special +value for the student of Renaissance life. His wall-paintings in the +library of the cathedral of Siena are so well preserved that we need not +seek elsewhere for better specimens of the decorative art most highly +prized in the first years of the sixteenth century<a name="FNanchor225"></a><a href="#Footnote_225"><sup>[225]</sup></a>. These frescoes +have a richness of effect and a vivacity of natural action, which, in +spite of their superficiality, render them highly charming. The life of +Æneas Sylvius Piccolomini, Pius II., is here treated like a legend. There +is no attempt at representing the dress of half a century anterior to the +painter's date, or at rendering accurate historic portraiture. Both Pope +and Emperor are romantically conceived, and each portion of the tale is +told as though it were a fit in some popular ballad. So much remains of +Perugian affectation as gives a kind of childlike grace to <a name="Page_214"></a>the studied +attitudes and many-coloured groups of elegant young men.</p> + +<p>We must always be careful to distinguish the importance of an artist +considered as the exponent of his age from that which he may claim by +virtue of some special skill or some peculiar quality of feeling. The art +of Perugino, for example, throws but little light upon the Renaissance +taken as a whole. Intrinsically valuable because of its technical +perfection and its purity of sentiment, it was already in the painter's +lifetime superseded by a larger and a grander manner. The progressive +forces of the modern style found their channels outside him. This again is +true of Francesco Raibolini, surnamed Francia from his master in the +goldsmith's craft. Francia is known to Englishmen as one of the most +sincerely pious of Christian painters by his incomparable picture of the +"Dead Christ" in our National Gallery. The spirituality that renders Fra +Angelico unintelligible to minds less ecstatically tempered than his own, +is not found in such excess in Francia, nor does his work suffer from the +insipidity of Perugino's affectation. Deep religious feeling is combined +with physical beauty of the purest type in a masterpiece of tranquil +grace. A greater degree of <i>naïveté</i> and naturalness compensates for the +inferiority of Francia's to Perugino's supremely perfect handling. This is +true of Francia's numerous pictures at Bologna; where indeed, in order to +be rightly known, he should be studied by all lovers of the <i>quattrocento</i> +style in its most delightful moments<a name="FNanchor226"></a><a href="#Footnote_226"><sup>[226]</sup></a>. For mastery over oil painting +and for charm of colour Francia challenges comparison with what is best in +Perugino, though he did not quite attain the same technical excellence.</p> + +<p>One more painter must delay us yet awhile within the limits of the +fifteenth century. Bartolommeo di Paolo del<a name="Page_215"></a> Fattorino, better known as +Baccio della Porta or Fra Bartolommeo, forms at Florence the connecting +link between the artists of the earlier Renaissance and the golden +age<a name="FNanchor227"></a><a href="#Footnote_227"><sup>[227]</sup></a>. By chronological reckoning he is nearly a quarter of a century +later than Lionardo da Vinci, and is the exact contemporary of Michael +Angelo. As an artist, he has thoroughly outgrown the <i>quattrocento</i> style, +and falls short only by a little of the greatest. In assigning him a place +among the predecessors and precursors of the full Renaissance, I am +therefore influenced rather by the range of subjects he selected, and by +the character of his genius, than by calculations of time or estimate of +ability.</p> + +<p>Fra Bartolommeo was sent, when nine years old, into the workshop of Cosimo +Rosselli, where he began his artist's life by colour-grinding, sweeping +out the shop, and errand-running. It was in Cosimo's <i>bottega</i> that he +made acquaintance with Mariotto Albertinelli, who became his intimate +friend and fellow-worker. In spite of marked differences of character, +disagreements upon the fundamental matters of politics and religion, and +not unfrequent quarrels, these men continued to be comrades through the +better part of their joint lives. Baccio was gentle, timid, yielding, and +industrious. Mariotto was wilful, obstinate, inconsequent, and flighty, +Baccio fell under the influence of Savonarola, professed himself a +<i>piagnone</i>, and took the cowl of the Dominicans<a name="FNanchor228"></a><a href="#Footnote_228"><sup>[228]</sup></a>. Mariotto was a +partisan of the Medici, an uproarious <i>pallesco</i>, and a loose liver, who +eventually deserted the art of painting for the calling of an innkeeper. +Yet so sweet was the temper of the Frate, and so firm was the bond of +friendship established in boyhood between this ill-assorted couple, that +they did not <a name="Page_216"></a>part company until 1512, three years before Mariotto's death +and five before that of Bartolommeo. During their long association the +task of designing fell upon the Frate, while Albertinelli took his orders +and helped to work out his conceptions. Both were excellent craftsmen and +consummate colourists, as is proved by the pictures executed by each +unassisted. Albertinelli's "Salutation" in the Uffizzi yields no point of +grace and vigour to any of his more distinguished coadjutor's paintings.</p> + +<p>The great contributions made by Fra Bartolommeo to the art of Italy were +in the double region of composition and colouring. In his justly +celebrated fresco of S. Maria Nuova at Florence—a "Last Judgment" with a +Christ enthroned amid a choir of Saints—he exhibited for the first time a +thoroughly scientific scheme of grouping based on geometrical principles. +Each part is perfectly balanced in itself, and yet is necessary to the +structure of the whole. The complex framework may be subdivided into +numerous sections no less harmoniously ordered than is the total scheme to +which they are subordinated. Simple figures—the pyramid and the triangle, +upright, inverted, and interwoven like the rhymes in a sonnet—form the +basis of the composition. This system was adhered to by the Frate in all +his subsequent works. To what extent it influenced the style of Raphael, +will be afterwards discussed. As a colourist, Fra Bartolommeo was equal to +the best of his contemporaries, and superior to any of his rivals in the +school of Florence. Few painters of any age have combined harmony of tone +so perfectly with brilliance and richness. It is a real joy to contemplate +the pure and splendid folds of the white drapery he loved to place in the +foreground of his altar-pieces. Solidity and sincerity distinguish his +work in every detail, while his feeling is remarkable for elevation and +sobriety. All that he lacks, is the boldness of imagination, the depth <a name="Page_217"></a>of +passion, and the power of thought, that are indispensable to genius of the +highest order. Gifted with a sympathetic and a pliant, rather than a +creative and self-sustained nature, he was sensitive to every influence. +Therefore we find him learning much in his youth from Lionardo, deriving a +fresh impulse from Raphael, and endeavouring in his later life, after a +visit to Rome in 1514, to "heighten his style," as the phrase went, by +emulating Michael Angelo. The attempt to tread the path of Buonarroti was +a failure. What Fra Bartolommeo sought to gain in majesty, he lost in +charm. His was essentially a pure and gracious manner, upon which +sublimity could not be grafted. The gentle soul, who dropped his weapon +when the convent of S. Marco was besieged by the Compagnacci<a name="FNanchor229"></a><a href="#Footnote_229"><sup>[229]</sup></a>, and who +vowed, if heaven preserved him in the tumult, to become a monk, had none +of Michael Angelo's <i>terribilità</i>. Without possessing some share of that +spirit, it was vain to aggrandise the forms and mass the raiment of his +prophets in imitation of the Sistine.</p> + +<p>Nature made Fra Bartolommeo the painter of adoration<a name="FNanchor230"></a><a href="#Footnote_230"><sup>[230]</sup></a>. His masterpiece +at Lucca—the "Madonna della Misericordia"—is a poem of glad worship, a +hymn of prayerful praise. Our Lady stands elate, between earth and heaven, +appealing to her Son for mercy. At her footstool are her suppliants, the +men and women and little children of the city she has saved. The peril is +past. Salvation has been won; and the song of thanksgiving ascends from +all those massed and mingled forms in unison. Not less truly is the great +unfinished picture of "Madonna surrounded by the Patron Saints of +Florence" a poem of adoration<a name="FNanchor231"></a><a href="#Footnote_231"><sup>[231]</sup></a>. This painting was ordered by the +Gonfalonier Piero Soderini, the man who <a name="Page_218"></a>dedicated Florence to Christ as +King. He intended it to take its place in the hall of the Consiglio +Grande, where Michael Angelo and Lionardo gained their earliest laurels. +Before it could be finished, the Republic perished.<a name="FNanchor232"></a><a href="#Footnote_232"><sup>[232]</sup></a> "That," says Rio, +"is the reason why he left but an imperfect work—for those at least who +are only struck by what is wanting in it. Others will at first regard it +with the interest attaching to unfinished poems, interrupted by the +jailer's call or by the stern voice of the executioner. Then they will +study it in all its details, in order to appreciate its beauties; and that +appreciation will be the more perfect in proportion as a man is the more +fully penetrated with its dominant idea, and with the attendant +circumstances that bring this home to him. It is not against an abstract +enemy that the intercession of the celestial powers is here invoked: it is +not by a caprice of the painter or his patron that, in the group of +central figures, S. Anne attracts attention before the Holy Virgin, not +only by reason of her pre-eminence, but also through the intensity of her +heavenward prayer, and again through her beauty, which far surpasses that +of nearly all "Madonnas" painted by Fra Bartolommeo."<a name="FNanchor233"></a><a href="#Footnote_233"><sup>[233]</sup></a> But artist and +patron had indeed good reason, in this crisis of the Commonwealth, to +select as the most eminent advocate for Florence at the bar of Heaven that +saint, on whose day, July 26, 1343, had been celebrated the emancipation +of the city from its servitude to Walter of Brienne.</p> + +<p>The great event of Fra Bartolommeo's life was the impression produced on +him by Savonarola.<a name="FNanchor234"></a><a href="#Footnote_234"><sup>[234]</sup></a> Having listened to the Dominican's terrific +denunciations of worldliness <a name="Page_219"></a>and immorality, he carried his life studies +to the pyre of vanities, resolved to assume the cowl, and renounced his +art. Between 1499, when he was engaged in painting the "Last Judgment" of +S. Maria Nuova, and 1506, he is supposed never to have touched the pencil. +When he resumed it Savonarola had been burned for heresy, and Fra +Bartolommeo was a brother in his convent of S. Marco. Savonarola has +sometimes been described as an iconoclast, obstinately hostile to the fine +arts. This is by no means a true account of the crusade he carried on +against the pagan sensuality of his contemporaries. He desired that art +should remain the submissive handmaid of the Church and the willing +servant of pure morality. While he denounced the heathenism of the style +in vogue at Florence, and forbade the study of the nude, he strove to +encourage religious painting, and established a school for its exercise in +the cloister of S. Marco. It was in this monastic <i>bottega</i> that Fra +Bartolommeo, in concert with his friend Albertinelli, worked for the +benefit of the convent after the year 1506. The reforms Savonarola +attempted in the fine arts as in manners, by running counter to the +tendencies of the Renaissance at a moment when society was too corrupt to +be regenerated, and the passion for antiquity was too powerful to be +restrained, proved of necessity ineffective. It may further be said that +the limitations he imposed would have been fatal to the free development +of art if they had been observed.</p> + +<p>Several painters, besides Fra Baccio, submitted to Savonarola's influence. +Among these the most distinguished were the pure and gentle Lorenzo di +Credi and Sandro Botticelli, who, after the great preacher's death, is +said to have abandoned painting. Neither Lorenzo di Credi nor Fra Baccio +possessed a portion of the prophet's fiery spirit. Had that but found +expression in their cloistral pictures, one of <a name="Page_220"></a>the most peculiar and +characteristic flowers of art the world has ever known, would then have +bloomed in Florence. The mantle of Savonarola, however, if it fell upon +any painter, fell on Michael Angelo, and we must seek an echo of the +friar's thunders in the Sistine Chapel. Fra Bartolommeo was too tender and +too timid. The sublimities of tragic passion lay beyond his scope. Though +I have ventured to call him the painter of adoration, he did not feel even +this movement of the soul with the intensity of Fra Angelico. In the +person of S. Dominic kneeling beneath the cross Fra Angelico painted +worship as an ecstasy, wherein the soul goes forth with love and pain and +yearning beyond any power of words or tears or music to express what it +would utter. To these heights of the ascetic ideal Fra Bartolommeo never +soared. His sobriety bordered upon the prosaic.</p> + +<p>We have now reached the great age of the Italian Renaissance, the age in +which, not counting for the moment Venice, four arch-angelic natures +gathered up all that had been hitherto achieved in art since the days of +Pisano and Giotto, adding such celestial illumination from the sunlight of +their inborn genius that in them the world for ever sees what art can do. +Lionardo da Vinci was born in Valdarno in 1452, and died in France in +1519. Michael Angelo Buonarroti was born at Caprese, in the Casentino, in +1475, and died at Borne in 1564, having outlived the lives of his great +peers by nearly half a century. Raphael Santi was born at Urbino in 1483, +and died in Rome in 1520. Antonio Allegri was born at Correggio in 1494, +and died there in 1534. To these four men, each in his own degree and +according to his own peculiar quality of mind, the fulness of the +Renaissance, in its power and freedom, was revealed. They entered the +inner shrine, where dwelt the spirit of their age, and bore to the world +without the message each of them had heard. In their work posterity still +may read the <a name="Page_221"></a>meaning of that epoch, differently rendered according to the +difference of gifts in each consummate artist, but comprehended in its +unity by study of the four together. Lionardo is the wizard or diviner; to +him the Renaissance offers her mystery and lends her magic. Raphael is the +Phoebean singer; to him the Renaissance reveals her joy and dowers him +with her gift of melody. Correggio is the Ariel or Faun; he has surprised +laughter upon the face of the universe, and he paints this laughter in +ever-varying movement. Michael Angelo is the prophet and Sibylline seer; +to him the Renaissance discloses the travail of her spirit; him she endues +with power; he wrests her secret, voyaging, like an ideal Columbus, the +vast abyss of thought alone. In order that this revelation of the +Renaissance in painting should be complete, it is necessary to add a fifth +power to these four—that of the Venetian masters, who are the poets of +carnal beauty, the rhetoricians of mundane pomp, the impassioned +interpreters of all things great and splendid in the pageant of the outer +world. As Venice herself, by type of constitution and historical +development, remained sequestered from the rest of Italy, so her painters +demand separate treatment.<a name="FNanchor235"></a><a href="#Footnote_235"><sup>[235]</sup></a> It is enough, therefore, for the present +to remember that without the note they utter the chord of the Renaissance +lacks its harmony.</p> + +<p>Lionardo, the natural son of Messer Pietro, notary of Florence and landed +proprietor at Vinci, was so beautiful of person that no one, says Vasari, +has sufficiently extolled his charm; so strong of limb that he could bend +an iron ring or horse-shoe between his fingers; so eloquent of speech that +those who listened to his words were fain to answer "Yes" or "No" as he +thought fit. This child of grace and persuasion was a wonderful musician. +The Duke of Milan sent for him to play upon his lute and improvise Italian +canzoni. The <a name="Page_222"></a>lute he carried was of silver, fashioned like a horse's +head, and tuned according to acoustic laws discovered by himself. Of the +songs he sang to its accompaniment none have been preserved. Only one +sonnet remains to show of what sort was the poetry of Lionardo, prized so +highly by the men of his own generation. This, too, is less remarkable for +poetic beauty than for sober philosophy expressed with singular brevity of +phrase.<a name="FNanchor236"></a><a href="#Footnote_236"><sup>[236]</sup></a></p> + +<p>This story of Da Vinci's lute might be chosen as a parable of his +achievement. Art and science were never separated in his work; and both +were not unfrequently subservient to some fanciful caprice, some bizarre +freak of originality. Curiosity and love of the uncommon ruled his nature. +By intuition and by persistent interrogation of nature he penetrated many +secrets of science; but he was contented with the acquisition of +knowledge. Once found, he had but little care to distribute the results of +his investigations; at most he sought to use them for purposes of +practical utility.<a name="FNanchor237"></a><a href="#Footnote_237"><sup>[237]</sup></a><a name="Page_223"></a> Even in childhood he is said to have perplexed +his teachers by propounding arithmetical problems. In his maturity he +carried anatomy further than Delia Torre; he invented machinery for +water-mills and aqueducts; he devised engines of war, discovered the +secret of conical rifle-bullets, adapted paddle-wheels to boats, projected +new systems of siege artillery, investigated the principles of optics, +designed buildings, made plans for piercing mountains, raising churches, +connecting rivers, draining marshes, clearing harbours.<a name="FNanchor238"></a><a href="#Footnote_238"><sup>[238]</sup></a> There was no +branch of study whereby nature through the effort of the inquisitive +intellect might be subordinated to the use of man, of which he was not +master. Nor, richly gifted as was Lionardo, did he trust his natural +facility. His patience was no less marvellous than the quickness of his +insight. He lived to illustrate the definition of genius as the capacity +for taking infinite pains.</p> + +<p>While he was a boy, says Vasari, Lionardo modelled in terra-cotta certain +heads of women smiling. This was in the workshop of Verocchio, who had +already fixed a smile on David's face in bronze. When an old man, he left +"Mona Lisa" on the easel not quite finished, the portrait of a subtle, +shadowy, uncertain smile. This smile, this enigmatic re<a name="Page_224"></a>velation of a +movement in the soul, this seductive ripple on the surface of the human +personality, was to Lionardo a symbol of the secret of the world, an image +of the universal mystery. It haunted him all through his life, and +innumerable were the attempts he made to render by external form the magic +of this fugitive and evanescent charm.</p> + +<p>Through long days he would follow up and down the streets of Florence or +of Milan beautiful unknown faces, learning them by heart, interpreting +their changes of expression, reading the thoughts through the features. +These he afterwards committed to paper. We possess many such sketches—a +series of ideal portraits, containing each an unsolved riddle that the +master read; a procession of shadows, cast by reality, that, entering the +camera lucida of the artist's brain, gained new and spiritual +quality.<a name="FNanchor239"></a><a href="#Footnote_239"><sup>[239]</sup></a> In some of them his fancy seems to be imprisoned in the +labyrinths of hair; in others the eyes deep with feeling or hard with +gemlike brilliancy have caught it, or the lips that tell and hide so much, +or the nostrils quivering with momentary emotion. Beauty, inexpressive of +inner meaning, must, we conceive, have had but slight attraction for him. +We do not find that he drew "a fair naked body" for the sake of its carnal +charm; his hasty studies of the nude are often faulty, mere memoranda of +attitude and gesture. The human form was interesting to him either +scientifically or else as an index to the soul. Yet he felt the influence +of personal loveliness His favourite pupil Salaino was a youth "of +singular grace, <a name="Page_225"></a>with curled and waving hair, a feature of personal beauty +by which Lionardo was always greatly pleased." Hair, the most mysterious +of human things, the most manifold in form and hue, snakelike in its +subtlety for the entanglement of souls, had naturally supreme +attractiveness for the magician of the arts.</p> + +<p>With like energy Lionardo bent himself to divine the import of ugliness. +Whole pages of his sketch-book are filled with squalid heads of shrivelled +crones and ghastly old men—with idiots, goîtred cretins, criminals, and +clowns. It was not that he loved the horrible for its own sake; but he was +determined to seize character, to command the gamut of human physiognomy +from ideal beauty down to forms bestialised by vice and disease. The story +related by Giraldi concerning the head of Judas in the "Cenacolo" at +Milan, sufficiently illustrates the method of Lionardo in creating types +and the utility of such caricatures as his notebooks contain.<a name="FNanchor240"></a><a href="#Footnote_240"><sup>[240]</sup></a></p> + +<p>It is told that he brought into his room one day a collection of +reptiles—lizards, newts, toads, vipers, efts—all creatures that are +loathsome to the common eye. These, by the magic of imagination, he +combined into a shape so terrible that those who saw it shuddered. +Medusa's snake-enwoven head exhaling poisonous vapour from the livid lips; +Leda, swanlike beside her swan lover; Chimæra, in whom many natures +mingled and made one; the conflict of a dragon and a lion; S. John +conceived not as a prophet but as a vine-crowned Faun, the harbinger of +joy:—over pictorial motives of this kind, attractive by reason of their +complexity or mystery, he loved to brood; and to this fascination of a +sphinx-like charm we owe some of his most exquisite drawings. Lionardo +more than any other artist who has ever lived (except perhaps his great +predecessor Leo Battista Alberti) felt the primal sympathies <a name="Page_226"></a>that bind +men to the earth, their mother, and to living things, their brethren.<a name="FNanchor241"></a><a href="#Footnote_241"><sup>[241]</sup></a> +Therefore the borderland between humanity and nature allured him with a +spell half æsthetic and half scientific. In the dawn of Hellas this +sympathetic apprehension of the world around him would have made him a +supreme mythopoet. In the dawn of the modern world curiosity claimed the +lion's share of his genius: nor can it be denied that his art suffered by +this division of interests. The time was not yet come for accurate +physiological investigation, or for the true birth of the scientific +spirit; and in any age it would have been difficult for one man to +establish on a sound basis discoveries made in so many realms as those +explored by Lionardo. We cannot, therefore, but regret that he was not +more exclusively a painter. If, however, he had confined his activity to +the production of works equal to the "Cenacolo," we should have missed the +most complete embodiment in one personality of the twofold impulses of the +Renaissance and of its boundless passion for discovery.</p> + +<p>Lionardo's turn for physical science led him to study the technicalities +of art with fervent industry. Whatever his predecessors had acquired in +the knowledge of materials, the chemistry of colours, the mathematics of +composition, the laws of perspective, and the illusions of <i>chiaroscuro,</i> +he developed to the utmost. To find a darker darkness and a brighter +brightness than had yet been shown upon the painter's canvas; to solve +problems of foreshortening; to deceive the eye by finely graduated tones +and subtle touches; to submit the freest play of form to simple figures of +geometry in grouping, were among the objects he most earnestly pursued.<a name="Page_227"></a> +At the same time his deep feeling for all things that have life, gave him +new power in the delineation of external nature. The branching of +flower-stems, the outlines of fig-leaves, the attitudes of beasts and +birds in motion, the arching of the fan-palm, were rendered by him with +the same consummate skill as the dimple on a cheek or the fine curves of a +young man's lips.<a name="FNanchor242"></a><a href="#Footnote_242"><sup>[242]</sup></a> Wherever he perceived a difficulty, he approached +and conquered it. Love, which is the soul of art—Love, the bondslave of +Beauty and the son of Poverty by Craft—led him to these triumphs. He used +to buy caged birds in the marketplace that he might let them loose. He was +attached to horses, and kept a sumptuous stable; and these he would draw +in eccentric attitudes, studying their anatomy in detail for his statue of +Francesco Sforza.<a name="FNanchor243"></a><a href="#Footnote_243"><sup>[243]</sup></a> In the "Battle of the Standard," known to us only +by a sketch of Rubens,<a name="FNanchor244"></a><a href="#Footnote_244"><sup>[244]</sup></a> he gave passions to the horse—not human +passion, nor yet merely equine—but such as horses might feel when placed +upon a par with men. In like manner the warriors are fiery with bestial +impulses—leonine fury, wolfish ferocity, fox-like cunning. Their very +armour takes the shape of monstrous reptiles. To such an extent did the +interchange of human and animal properties haunt Lionardo's fancy.</p> + +<p>From what has been already said we shall be better able <a name="Page_228"></a>to understand +Lionardo's love of the bizarre and grotesque. One day a vine-dresser +brought him a very curious lizard. The master fitted it with wings +injected with quicksilver to give them motion as the creature crawled. +Eyes, horns, and a beard, a marvellous dragon's mask, were placed upon its +head. This strange beast lived in a cage, where Lionardo tamed it; but no +one, says Vasari, dared so much as to look at it.<a name="FNanchor245"></a><a href="#Footnote_245"><sup>[245]</sup></a> On quaint puzzles +and perplexing schemes he mused a good part of his life away. At one time +he was for making wings to fly with; at another he invented ropes that +should uncoil, strand by strand; again, he devised a system of flat corks, +by means of which to walk on water.<a name="FNanchor246"></a><a href="#Footnote_246"><sup>[246]</sup></a> One day, after having scraped the +intestines of a sheep so thin that he could hold them in the hollow of his +hand, he filled them with wind from a bellows, and blew and blew until the +room was choked, and his visitors had to run into corners. Lionardo told +them that this was a proper symbol of genius.</p> + +<p>Such stories form what may be called the legend of Lionardo's life; and +some of them seem simple, others almost childish.<a name="FNanchor247"></a><a href="#Footnote_247"><sup>[247]</sup></a> They illustrate +what is meant when we call him the wizard of the Renaissance. Art, nature, +life, the mysteries of existence, the infinite capacity of human thought, +the riddle of the world, all that the Greeks called Pan, so swayed and +allured him that, while he dreamed and wrought and never <a name="Page_229"></a>ceased from +toil, he seemed to have achieved but little. The fancies of his brain +were, perhaps, too subtle and too fragile to be made apparent to the eyes +of men. He was wont, after years of labour, to leave his work still +incomplete, feeling that he could not perfect it as he desired: yet even +his most fragmentary sketches have a finish beyond the scope of lesser +men. "Extraordinary power," says Vasari, "was in his case conjoined with +remarkable facility, a mind of regal boldness and magnanimous daring." Yet +he was constantly accused of indolence and inability to execute.<a name="FNanchor248"></a><a href="#Footnote_248"><sup>[248]</sup></a> +Often and often he made vast preparations and accomplished nothing. It is +well known how the Prior of S. Maria delle Grazie complained that Lionardo +stood for days looking at his fresco, and for weeks never came near it; +how the monks of the Annunziata at Florence were cheated out of their +painting, for which elaborate designs had yet been made; how Leo X., +seeing him mix oils with varnish to make a new medium, exclaimed, "Alas! +this man will do nothing; he thinks of the end before he makes a +beginning." A good answer to account for the delay was always ready on the +painter's lips, as that the man of genius works most when his hands are +idlest; Judas, sought in vain through all the thieves' resorts in Milan, +is not found; I cannot hope to see the face of Christ except in Paradise. +Again, when an equestrian statue of Francesco Sforza had been modelled in +all its parts, another model was begun because Da Vinci would fain show +the warrior triumphing over a fallen foe.<a name="FNanchor249"></a><a href="#Footnote_249"><sup>[249]</sup></a> The first motive seemed to +him tame; the <a name="Page_230"></a>second was unrealisable in bronze. "I can do anything +possible to man," he wrote to Lodovico Sforza, "and as well as any living +artist either in sculpture or painting." But he would do nothing as +taskwork, and his creative brain loved better to invent than to +execute.<a name="FNanchor250"></a><a href="#Footnote_250"><sup>[250]</sup></a> "Of a truth," continues his biographer, "there is good +reason to believe that the very greatness of his most exalted mind, aiming +at more than could be effected, was itself an impediment; perpetually +seeking to add excellence to excellence and perfection to perfection. This +was without doubt the true hindrance, so that, as our Petrarch has it, the +work was retarded by desire." At the close of that cynical and positive +century, the spirit whereof was so well expressed by Cosimo de' +Medici,<a name="FNanchor251"></a><a href="#Footnote_251"><sup>[251]</sup></a> Lionardo set before himself aims infinite instead of finite. +His designs of wings to fly with symbolise his whole endeavour. He +believed in solving the insoluble; and nature had so richly dowered him in +the very dawntime of discovery, that he was almost justified in this +delusion. Having caught the Proteus of the world, he tried to grasp him; +but the god changed shape beneath his touch. Having surprised Silenus +asleep, he begged from him a song; but the song Silenus sang was so +marvellous in its variety, so subtle in its modulations, that Lionardo +could do no more than recall scattered phrases. His Proteus was the spirit +of the Renaissance. The Silenus from whom he forced the song was the +double nature of man and of the world.</p> +<a name="Page_231"></a> +<p>By ill chance it happened that Lionardo's greatest works soon perished. +His cartoon at Florence disappeared. His model for Sforza's statue was +used as a target by French bowmen. His "Last Supper" remains a mere wreck +in the Convent delle Grazie. Such as it is, blurred by ill-usage and +neglect, more blurred by impious re-painting, that fresco must be seen by +those who wish to understand Da Vinci. It has well been called the +compendium of all his studies and of all his writings; and, +chronologically, it is the first masterpiece of the perfected +Renaissance.<a name="FNanchor252"></a><a href="#Footnote_252"><sup>[252]</sup></a> Other painters had represented the Last Supper as a +solemn prologue to the Passion, or as the mystical inauguration of the +greatest Christian sacrament.<a name="FNanchor253"></a><a href="#Footnote_253"><sup>[253]</sup></a> But none had dared to break the calm of +the event by a dramatic action. The school of Giotto, Fra Angelico, +Ghirlandajo, Perugino, even Signorelli, remained within the sphere of +symbolical suggestion; and their work gained in dignity what it lost in +intensity. Lionardo combined both. He undertook to paint a moment, to +delineate the effect of a single word upon twelve men seated at a table, +and to do this without sacrificing the tranquillity demanded by ideal art, +and without impairing the divine majesty of Him from whose lips that word +has fallen. The time has long gone by for detailed criticism or +description of a painting known to everybody. It is enough to observe that +the ideal representation of a dramatic moment, the life breathed into each +part of the composition, the variety of the types chosen to express +varieties of character, and the scientific distribution of the twelve +Apostles in four groups of three around the central Christ, mark the +appearance of a new spirit of power and freedom in the arts. What had +hitherto been treated with religious timidity, with conventional +stiffness, <a name="Page_232"></a>or with realistic want of grandeur, was now humanised and at +the same time transported into a higher intellectual region; and though +Lionardo discrowned the Apostles of their aureoles, he for the first time +in the history of painting created a Christ not unworthy to be worshipped +as the <i>præsens Deus</i>. We know not whether to admire most the perfection +of the painter's art or his insight into spiritual things.<a name="FNanchor254"></a><a href="#Footnote_254"><sup>[254]</sup></a></p> + +<p>If we are forced to feel that, with Da Vinci, accomplishment fell short of +power and promise, the case is very different with Raphael. In him there +was no perplexity, no division of interests. He was fascinated by no +insoluble mystery and absorbed by no seductive problems. His faculty and +his artistic purpose were exactly balanced, adequate, and mutually +supporting. He saw by intuition what to do, and he did it without let or +hindrance, exercising from his boyhood till his early death an unimpeded +energy of pure productiveness. Like Mozart, to whom he bears in many +respects a remarkable resemblance, Raphael was gifted with inexhaustible +fertility and with unwearied industry. Like Mozart, again, he had a nature +which converted everything to beauty. Thought, passion, emotion, became in +his art living melody. We almost forget his strength in admiration of his +grace; the travail of his intellect is hidden by the serenity of his +style. There is nothing over-much in any portion of his work, no <a name="Page_233"></a>sense of +effort, no straining of a situation, not even that element of terror +needful to the true sublime. It is as though the spirit of young Greece +had lived in him again, purifying his taste to perfection and restraining +him from the delineation of things stern or horrible.</p> + +<p>Raphael found in this world nothing but its joy, and communicated to his +ideal the beauty of untouched virginity. Brescia might be sacked with +sword and flame. The Baglioni might hew themselves to pieces in Perugia. +The plains of Ravenna might flow with blood. Urbino might change masters +and obey the viperous Duke Valentino. Raphael, meanwhile, working through +his short May-life of less than twenty [Handwritten: 40] years, received +from nature and from man a message that was harmony unspoiled by one +discordant note. His very person was a symbol of his genius. Lionardo was +beautiful but stately, with firm lips and penetrating glance; he conquered +by the magnetism of an incalculable personality. The loveliness of Raphael +was fair and flexible, fascinating not by power or mystery, but by the +winning charm of open-hearted sweetness. To this physical beauty, rather +delicate than strong, he united spiritual graces of the most amiable +nature. He was gentle, docile, modest, ready to oblige, free from +jealousy, binding all men to him by his cheerful courtesy.<a name="FNanchor255"></a><a href="#Footnote_255"><sup>[255]</sup></a> In morals +he was pure. Indeed, judged by the lax standard of those times, he might +be called almost immaculate. His intellectual capacity, in all that +concerned the art of painting, was unbounded; but we cannot place him +among the many-sided heroes of the Renaissance. What he attempted in +sculpture, though elegant, is comparatively insignificant; and <a name="Page_234"></a>the same +may be said about his buildings. As a painter he was capable of +comprehending and expressing all things without excess or sense of labour. +Of no other artist do we feel that he was so instinctively, unerringly +right in what he thought and did.</p> + +<p>Among his mental faculties the power of assimilation seems to have been +developed to an extraordinary degree. He learned the rudiments of his art +in the house of his father Santi at Urbino, where a Madonna is still +shown—the portrait of his mother, with a child, perhaps the infant +Raphael, upon her lap. Starting, soon after his father's death, as a pupil +of Perugino, he speedily acquired that master's manner so perfectly that +his earliest works are only to be distinguished from Perugino's by their +greater delicacy, spontaneity, and inventiveness. Though he absorbed all +that was excellent in the Peruginesque style, he avoided its affectations, +and seemed to take departure for a higher flight from the most exquisite +among his teacher's early paintings. Later on, while still a lad, he +escaped from Umbrian conventionality by learning all that was valuable in +the art of Masaccio and Fra Bartolommeo. To the latter master, himself +educated by the influence of Lionardo, Raphael owed more, perhaps, than to +any other of his teachers. The method of combining figures in masses, +needful to the general composition, while they preserve a subordinate +completeness of their own, had been applied with almost mathematical +precision by the Frate in his fresco at S. Maria Nuova.<a name="FNanchor256"></a><a href="#Footnote_256"><sup>[256]</sup></a> It reappears +in all Raphael's work subsequent to his first visit to Florence<a name="FNanchor257"></a><a href="#Footnote_257"><sup>[257]</sup></a> +(1504-1506). So great, indeed, is the resemblance of treatment between the +two painters that we know not well which owed the other most. Many groups +of women and children in the Stanze, for example—<a name="Page_235"></a>especially in the +"Miracle of Bolsena" and the "Heliodorus"—seem almost identical with Fra +Bartolommeo's "Madonna della Misericordia" at Lucca. Finally, when Raphael +settled in Rome, he laid himself open to the influence of Michael Angelo, +and drank in the classic spirit from the newly discovered antiques. Here +at last it seemed as though his native genius might suffer from contact +with the potent style of his great rival; and there are many students of +art who feel that Raphael's later manner was a declension from the divine +purity of his early pictures. There is, in fact, a something savouring of +overbloom in the Farnesina frescoes, as though the painter's faculty had +been strained beyond its natural force. Muscles are exaggerated to give +the appearance of strength, and open mouths are multiplied to indicate +astonishment and action. These faults may be found even in the Cartoons. +Yet who shall say that Raphael's power was on the decline, or that his +noble style was passing into mannerism, after studying both the picture of +the "Transfiguration" and the careful drawings from the nude prepared for +this last work?</p> + +<p>So delicate was the assimilative tendency in Raphael, that what he learned +from all his teachers, from Perugino, Fra Bartolommeo, Masaccio, Da Vinci, +Michael Angelo, and the antique, was mingled with his own style without +sacrifice of individuality. Inferior masters imitated him, and passed +their pictures off upon posterity as Raphael's; but to mistake a genuine +piece of his painting for the performance of another is almost impossible. +Each successive step he made was but a liberation of his genius, a stride +toward the full expression of the beautiful he saw and served. He was +never an eclectic. The masterpieces of other artists taught him how to +comprehend his own ideal.</p> + +<p>Raphael is not merely a man, but a school. Just as in his genius he +absorbed and comprehended many diverse styles, <a name="Page_236"></a>so are many worthy +craftsmen included in his single name. Fresco-painters, masters of the +easel, workmen in mosaic and marquetrie, sculptors, builders, +arras-weavers, engravers, decorators of ceilings and of floors, all +laboured under his eye, receiving designs from, his hand, and executing +what was called thereafter by his name.<a name="FNanchor258"></a><a href="#Footnote_258"><sup>[258]</sup></a> It was thus partly by his +facility and energy, partly by the use he made of other men, that Raphael +was able to achieve so much. In the Vatican he covered the walls and +ceilings of the Stanze with historical and symbolical frescoes that +embrace the whole of human knowledge. The cramping limits of +ecclesiastical tradition are transcended. The synod of the antique sages +finds a place beside the synod of the Fathers and the company of Saints. +Parnassus and the allegory of the virtues front each other. The legend of +Marsyas and the mythus of the Fall are companion pictures. A new +catholicity, a new orthodoxy of the beautiful, appears. The Renaissance in +all its breadth and liberality of judgment takes ideal form. Nor is there +any sense of discord; for the genius of Raphael views both revelations, +Christian and pagan, from a point of view of art above them. To his pure +and unimpeded faculty the task of translating motives so diverse into +mutually concordant shapes was easy. On the domed ceilings of the Loggie +he painted sacred history in a series of exquisitely simple compositions, +known as Raphael's Bible. The walls and pilasters were adorned with +arabesques that anticipated the discovery of Pompeii, and surpassed the +best of Roman frescoes in variety and freedom. With his own hands he +coloured the incomparable "Triumph of Galatea" in Agostino Chigi's villa +on the Tiber, while his pupils traced the legend <a name="Page_237"></a>of Cupid and Psyche from +his drawings on the roof of the great banquet hall. Remaining within the +circuit of Rome, we may turn from the sibyls of S. Maria della Pace to the +genii of the planets in S. Maria del Popolo, from the "Violin-player" of +the Sciarra palace to the "Transfiguration" in the Vatican: wherever we +go, we find the masterpieces of this youth, so various in conception, so +equal in performance. And then, to think that the palaces and +picture-galleries of Europe are crowded with his easel-pictures, that his +original drawings display a boundless store of prodigal inventive +creativeness, that the Cartoons, of which England is proud, are alone +enough to found a mighty master's fame!</p> + +<p>The vast mass of Raphael's works is by itself astounding. The accuracy of +their design and the perfection of their execution are literally +overwhelming to the imagination, that attempts to realise the conditions +of his short life. There is nothing, or but very little, of rhetoric in +all this world of pictures. The brain has guided the hand throughout, and +the result is sterling poetry. The knowledge, again, expressed in many of +his frescoes is so thorough that we wonder whether in his body lived again +the soul of some accomplished sage. How, for example, did he appropriate +the history of philosophy, set forth so luminously in the "School of +Athens," that each head, each gesture, is the epitome of some system? +Fabio Calvi may, indeed, have supplied him with serviceable notes on Greek +philosophy. But to Raphael alone belongs the triumph of having personified +the dry elements of learning in appropriate living forms. The same is true +of the "Parnassus," and, in a less degree, of the "Disputa." To the +physiognomist these frescoes will always be invaluable. The "Heliodorus," +the "Miracle of Bolsena," and the Cartoons, display a like faculty applied +with more dramatic purpose. Passion and action take the place of +representative ideas; but the capacity for translating into <a name="Page_238"></a>perfect human +form what has first been intellectually apprehended by the artist, is the +same.</p> + +<p>If, after estimating the range of thought revealed in this portion of +Raphael's work, we next consider the labour of the mind involved in the +distribution of so many multitudes of beautiful and august human figures, +in the modelling of their drapery, the study of their expression, and +their grouping into balanced compositions, we may form some notion of the +magnitude of Raphael's performance. It is, indeed, probable that all +attempts at reflective analysis of this kind do injustice to the +spontaneity of the painter's method. Yet, even supposing that the +"Miraculous Draught of Fishes" or the "School of Athens" were seen by him +as in a vision, this presumption will increase our wonder at the +imagination which could hold so rich a store of details ready for +immediate use. That Raphael paid the most minute attention to the details +of his work, is shown by the studies made for these two subjects, and by +the drawings for the "Transfiguration." A young man bent on putting forth +his power the first time in a single picture that should prove his +mastery, could not have laboured with more diligence than Raphael at the +height of his fame and in full possession of his matured faculty.</p> + +<p>When, furthermore, we take into account the variety of Raphael's work, we +arrive at a new point of wonder. The drawing of "Alexander's Marriage with +Roxana," the "Temptation of Adam by Eve," and the "Massacre of the +Innocents," engraved by Marc Antonio, are unsurpassed not only as +compositions, but also as studies of the nude in chosen attitudes, +powerfully felt and nobly executed. In these designs, which he never used +for painting, the same high style is successively applied to a pageant, an +idyll, and a drama.<a name="FNanchor259"></a><a href="#Footnote_259"><sup>[259]</sup></a> The rapture of<a name="Page_239"></a> Greek art in its most youthful +moment has never been recaptured by a modern painter with more force and +fire of fancy than in the "Galatea." The tenderness of Christian feeling +has found no more exalted expression than in the multitudes of the +Madonnas, one more lovely than another, like roses on a tree in June, from +the maidenly "Madonna del Gran' Duca" to the celestial vision of the San +Sisto, that sublimest lyric of the art of Catholicity.<a name="FNanchor260"></a><a href="#Footnote_260"><sup>[260]</sup></a> It is only by +hurrying through a list like this that we can appreciate the many-sided +perfection of Raphael's accomplishment. How, lastly, was it possible that +this young painter should have found the time to superintend the building +of S. Peter's, and to form a plan for excavating Rome in its twelve +ancient regions?<a name="FNanchor261"></a><a href="#Footnote_261"><sup>[261]</sup></a></p> + +<p>When Lomazzo assigned emblems to the chief painters of the Renaissance, he +gave to Michael Angelo the dragon of contemplation, and to Mantegna the +serpent of sagacity. For Raphael, by a happier instinct, he reserved man, +the microcosm, the symbol of powerful grace, incarnate intellect. This +quaint fancy of the Milanese critic touches the truth. What distinguishes +the whole work of Raphael, is its humanity in the double sense of the +humane and human. Phoebus, as imagined by the Greeks, was not more +radiant, more victorious by the marvel of his smile, more intolerant of +things obscene or ugly. Like Apollo chasing the Eumenides from his +Delphian shrine, Raphael will not suffer his eyes to fall on what is +loathsome or horrific. Even sadness and sorrow, tragedy and death, take +loveliness from him. And here it must be mentioned that he shunned stern +and painful <a name="Page_240"></a>subjects. He painted no martyrdom, no "Last Judgment," and no +"Crucifixion," if we except the little early picture belonging to Lord +Dudley.<a name="FNanchor262"></a><a href="#Footnote_262"><sup>[262]</sup></a> His men and women are either glorious with youth or dignified +in hale old age. Touched by his innocent and earnest genius, mankind is +once more gifted with the harmony of intellect and flesh and feeling, that +belonged to Hellas. Instead of asceticism, Hellenic temperance is the +virtue prized by Raphael. Over his niche in the Temple of Fame might be +written: "I have said ye are gods;"—for the children of men in his ideal +world are divinized. The godlike spirit of man is all in all. Happy indeed +was the art that by its limitations and selections could thus early +express the good news of the Renaissance; while in the spheres of politics +and ethics, science and religion, we are still far from having learned its +lesson.</p> + +<p>Correggio is the Faun or Ariel of Renaissance painting. Turning to him +from Raphael, we are naturally first struck by the affinities and +differences between them. Both drew from their study of the world the +elements of joy which it contains; but the gladness of Correggio was more +sensuous than that of Raphael; his intellectual faculties were less +developed; his rapture was more tumultuous and Bacchantic. Like Raphael, +Correggio died young; but his brief life was spent in comparative +obscurity and solitude. Far from the society of scholars and artists, +ignorant of courts, unpatronised by princes, he wrought for himself alone +the miracle of <a name="Page_241"></a>brightness and of movement that delights us in his +frescoes and his easel-pictures.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Like a poet hidden</p> +<p class="i2">In the light of thought,</p> +<p>Singing hymns unbidden,</p> +</div></div> + +<p>was this lyrist of luxurious ecstasy. In his work there was nothing +worldly; that divides him from the Venetians, whose sensuousness he +shared: nothing scientific; that distinguishes him from Da Vinci, the +magic of whose <i>chiaroscuro</i> he comprehended: nothing contemplative; that +separates him from Michael Angelo, the audacity of whose design in dealing +with forced attitudes he rivalled, without apparently having enjoyed the +opportunity of studying his works. The cheerfulness of Raphael, the +wizardry of Lionardo, and the boldness of Michael Angelo, met in him to +form a new style, the originality of which is indisputable, and which +takes us captive—not by intellectual power, but by the impulse of +emotion. Of his artistic education we know nothing; and when we call him +the Ariel of painting, this means that we are compelled to think of him as +an elemental spirit, whose bidding the air and the light and the hues of +the morning obey.</p> + +<p>Correggio created a world of beautiful human beings, the whole condition +of whose existence is an innocent and radiant wantonness.<a name="FNanchor263"></a><a href="#Footnote_263"><sup>[263]</sup></a> Over the +domain of tragedy he had no sway; nor could he deal with subjects +demanding pregnancy of intellectual meaning. He paints the three Fates for +instance like young and joyous Bacchantes; if we placed rose-garlands and +thyrsi in their hands instead of the distaff and the thread of human +destinies, they might figure upon the panels of a <a name="Page_242"></a>banquet-chamber in +Pompeii. Nor, again, did he possess that severe and lofty art of +composition which seeks the highest beauty of design in architectural +harmony supreme above the melodies of gracefulness in detail. He was +essentially a lyrical as distinguished from an epical or dramatic poet. +The unity of his work is derived from the effect of light and atmosphere, +the inbreathed soul of tremulous and throbbing life, which bathes and +liquefies the whole. It was enough for him to produce a gleeful symphony +by the play of light and colour, by the animation of his figures, and by +the intoxicating beauty of his forms. His angels are genii disimprisoned +from the chalices of flowers, houris of an erotic Paradise, elemental +sprites of nature wantoning in Eden in her prime. They belong to the +generation of the fauns. Like fauns, they combine a certain wildness, a +dithyrambic ecstasy, a delight in rapid motion as they revel amid clouds +and flowers, with the permanent and all-pervading sweetness of the +painter's style. Correggio's sensibility to light and colour—that quality +which makes him unique among painters—was on a par with his feeling for +form. Brightness and darkness are woven together on his figures like an +impalpable veil, aërial and transparent, enhancing the palpitations of +voluptuous movement which he loved. His colouring does not glow or burn; +blithesome and delicate, it seems exactly such a beauty-bloom as sense +requires for its satiety. That cord of jocund colour which may fitly be +combined with the smiles of daylight, the clear blues found in laughing +eyes, the pinks that tinge the cheeks of early youth, and the warm yet +silvery tones of healthy flesh, mingle, as in a pearl-shell, on his +pictures. Within his own magic circle Correggio reigns supreme; no other +artist having blent the witcheries of colouring, <i>chiaroscuro</i>, and wanton +loveliness of form, into a harmony so perfect in its sensuous charm. To +feel his influence, and at the same moment to be the subject of strong +<a name="Page_243"></a>passion, or intense desire, or heroic resolve, or profound contemplation, +or pensive melancholy, is impossible. The Northern traveller, standing +beneath his master-works in Parma, may hear from each of those radiant and +laughing faces what the young Italian said to Goethe: <i>Perchè pensa? +pensando s' invecchia</i>.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo is the prophet or seer of the Renaissance. It would be +impossible to imagine a stronger contrast than that which distinguishes +his art from Correggio's, or lives more different in all their details, +than those which he and Raphael or Lionardo lived respectively. During the +eighty-nine years of his earthly pilgrimage he saw Italy enslaved and +Florence extinguished; it was his exceeding bitter fate to watch the rapid +decay of the arts and to witness the triumph of sacerdotal despotism over +liberal thought. To none of these things was he indifferent; and the +sorrow they wrought in his soul, found expression in his painting.<a name="FNanchor264"></a><a href="#Footnote_264"><sup>[264]</sup></a> +Michael Angelo <a name="Page_244"></a>was not framed by nature to fascinate like Lionardo or to +charm like Raphael. His manners were severe and simple. When he spoke, his +words were brief and pungent. When he wrote, whether in poetry or prose, +he used the fewest phrases to express the most condensed meaning. When +asked why he had not married, he replied that the wife he had—his +art—cost him already too much trouble. He entertained few friends, and +shunned society. Brooding over the sermons of Savonarola, the text of the +Bible, the discourses of Plato, and the poems of Dante, he made his spirit +strong in solitude by the companionship with everlasting thoughts. +Therefore, when he was called to paint the Sistine Chapel, he uttered +through painting the weightiest prophecy the world has ever seen expressed +in plastic form. His theme is nothing less than the burden of the prophets +and the Sibyls who preached the coming of a light upon the world, and the +condemnation of the world which had rejected it, by an inexorable judge. +Michelet says, not without truth, that the spirit of Savonarola lives +again in these frescoes. The procession of the four-and-twenty elders, +arraigned before the people of Brescia to accuse Italy of sin—the voice +that cried to Florence, "Behold the sword of the Lord, and that swiftly! +Behold I, even I, do bring a deluge on the earth!" are both seen and heard +here very plainly. But there is more than Savonarola in this prophecy of +Michael Angelo's. It contains the stern spirit of Dante, aflame with +patriotism, passionate for justice. It embodies the philosophy of Plato. +The creative God, who divides light from darkness, who draws Adam from the +clay and calls forth new-born Eve in awful beauty, is the Demiurgus <a name="Page_245"></a>of +the Greek. Again, it carries the indignation of Isaiah, the wild +denunciations of Ezekiel, the monotonous refrain of Jeremiah—"Ah, Lord, +Lord!" The classic Sibyls intone their mystic hymns; the Delphic on her +tripod of inspiration, the Erythræan bending over her scrolls, the +withered witch of Cumæ, the parched prophetess of Libya—all seem to cry, +"Repent, repent! for the kingdom of the spirit is at hand! Repent and +awake, for the judgment of the world approaches!" And above these voices +we hear a most tremendous wail: "The nations have come to the birth; but +there is not strength to bring forth." That is the utterance of the +Renaissance, as it had appeared in Italy. She who was first among the +nations was now last; bound and bleeding, she lay prostrate at the +temple-gate she had unlocked. To Michael Angelo was given for his +portion—not the alluring mysteries of the new age, not the joy of the +renascent world, not the petulant and pulsing rapture of youth: these had +been divided between Lionardo, Raphael, and Correggio—but the bitter +burden of the sense that the awakening to life is in itself a pain, that +the revelation of the liberated soul is itself judgment, that a light is +shining, and that the world will not comprehend it. Pregnant as are the +paintings of Michael Angelo with religious import, they are no longer +Catholic in the sense in which the frescoes of the Lorenzetti and Orcagna +and Giotto are Catholic. He went beyond the ecclesiastical standing ground +and reached one where philosophy includes the Christian faith. Thus the +true spirit of the Renaissance was embodied in his work of art.</p> + +<p>Among the multitudes of figures covering the wall above the altar in the +Sistine Chapel there is one that might well stand for a symbol of the +Renaissance. It is a woman of gigantic stature in the act of toiling +upwards from the tomb. Grave clothes impede the motion of her body: they +shroud her eyes and gather round her chest. Part only of her face <a name="Page_246"></a>and +throat is visible, where may be read a look of blank bewilderment and +stupefaction, a struggle with death's slumber in obedience to some inner +impulse. Yet she is rising slowly, half awake, and scarcely conscious, to +await a doom still undetermined. Thus Michael Angelo interpreted the +meaning of his age.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_197"></a><a href="#FNanchor197">[197]</a><div class="note"><p> "La man che ubbedisce all' intelletto" is a phrase pregnant +with meaning, used by Michael Angelo in one of his sonnets. See Guasti, +<i>Le Rime di Michael Angelo</i>, p. 173. Michael Angelo's blunt criticism of +Perugino, that he was <i>goffo</i>, a fool in art, and his rude speech to +Francia's handsome son, that his father made better forms by night than +day, sufficiently indicate the different aims pursued by the painters of +the two periods distinguished above.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_198"></a><a href="#FNanchor198">[198]</a><div class="note"><p> Though Mantegna seems to have owed all his training to +Padua, it is impossible to regard him as what is called a +Squarcionesque—one among the artistic hacks formed and employed by the +Paduan <i>impresario</i> of third-rate painting. No other eagle like to him was +reared in that nest. His greatness belonged to his own genius, +assimilating from the meagre means of study within his reach those +elements which enabled him to divine the spirit of the antique and to +attempt its reproduction. In order to facilitate the explanation of the +problem offered by his early command of style, it has been suggested with +great show of reason that he received a strong impression from the work +executed in bas-relief by Donatello for the church of S. Antonio at Padua. +Thus Florentine influences helped to form even the original genius of this +greatest of the Lombard masters.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_199"></a><a href="#FNanchor199">[199]</a><div class="note"><p> Vasari, vol. v. p. 163, may be consulted with regard to +Mantegna's preference for the ideal of statuary when compared with natural +beauty, as the model for a painter.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_200"></a><a href="#FNanchor200">[200]</a><div class="note"><p> See Crowe and Cavalcaselle's <i>History of Painting in North +Italy</i>, vol. i. p. 334, for an account of his antiquarian researches in +company with Felice Feliciano. His museum was so famous that in 1483 +Lorenzo de' Medici, passing through Mantua from Venice, thought it worthy +of a visit. In his old age Mantegna fell into pecuniary difficulties, and +had to part with his collection. The forced sale of its chief ornament, a +bust of Faustina, is said to have broken his heart. <i>Ib.</i> p. 415.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_201"></a><a href="#FNanchor201">[201]</a><div class="note"><p> Painted on canvas in tempera for the Marquis of Mantua, +before 1488, looted by the Germans in 1630, sold to Charles I., resold by +the Commonwealth, bought back by Charles II., and now exposed, much +spoiled by time and change, but more by villainous re-painting, on the +walls of Hampton Court.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_202"></a><a href="#FNanchor202">[202]</a><div class="note"><p> An oil painting in the National Gallery.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_203"></a><a href="#FNanchor203">[203]</a><div class="note"><p> The so-called "Triumph of Scipio" in the National Gallery +seems to me in every respect feebler than the Hampton Court Cartoons.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_204"></a><a href="#FNanchor204">[204]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Madonna della Vittoria," now in the Louvre Gallery, +was painted to commemorate the achievements of Francesco Gonzaga in the +battle of Fornovo. That Francesco, General of the Venetian troops, should +have claimed that action, the eternal disgrace of Italian soldiery, for a +victory, is one of the strongest signs of the depth to which the sense of +military honour had sunk in Italy. But though the occasion of its painting +was so mean, the impression made by this picture is too powerful to be +described. It is in every detail grandiose: masculine energy being +combined with incomparable grace, religious feeling with athletic dignity, +and luxuriance of ornamentation with severe gravity of composition. It is +worth comparing this portrait of Francesco Gonzaga with his bronze medal, +just as Piero della Francesco's picture of Sigismondo Malatesta should be +compared with Pisanello's medallion.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_205"></a><a href="#FNanchor205">[205]</a><div class="note"><p> Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, p. 212.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_206"></a><a href="#FNanchor206">[206]</a><div class="note"><p> Nothing is known about Mantegna's stay in Florence. He went +to meet the Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga at Bologna. This Cardinal, a great +amateur of music and connoisseur in relics of antiquity, came to Mantua in +August, 1472, where the "Orfeo" of Messer Angelo Poliziano was produced +for his amusement.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_207"></a><a href="#FNanchor207">[207]</a><div class="note"><p> That he could conceive a stern and tragic subject, with all +the passion it required, is, however, proved not only by the frescoes at +Orvieto, but also by the powerful oil-painting of the "Crucifixion" at +Borgo San Sepolcro.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_208"></a><a href="#FNanchor208">[208]</a><div class="note"><p> This story has been used for verse in a way to heighten its +romantic colouring. Such as the lines are, I subjoin them for the sake of +their attempt to emphasize and illustrate Renaissance feeling:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Vasari tells that Luca Signorelli,</p> +<p>The morning star of Michael Angelo,</p> +<p>Had but one son, a youth of seventeen summers,</p> +<p>Who died. That day the master at his easel</p> +<p>Wielded the liberal brush wherewith he painted</p> +<p>At Orvieto, on the Duomo's walls,</p> +<p>Stern forms of Death and Heaven and Hell and Judgment.</p> +<p>Then came they to him, cried: 'Thy son is dead,</p> +<p>Slain in a duel: but the bloom of life</p> +<p>Yet lingers round red lips and downy cheek.'</p> +<p>Luca spoke not, but listened. Next they bore</p> +<p>His dead son to the silent painting-room,</p> +<p>And left on tip toe son and sire alone.</p> +<p>Still Luca spoke and groaned not; but he raised</p> +<p>The wonderful dead youth, and smoothed his hair,</p> +<p>Washed his red wounds, and laid him on a bed,</p> +<p>Naked and beautiful, where rosy curtains</p> +<p>Shed a soft glimmer of uncertain splendour</p> +<p>Life-like upon the marble limbs below.</p> +<p>Then Luca seized his palette: hour by hour</p> +<p>Silence was in the room; none durst approach:</p> +<p>Morn wore to noon, and noon to eve, when shyly</p> +<p>A little maid peeped in and saw the painter</p> +<p>Painting his dead son with unerring hand-stroke,</p> +<p>Firm and dry-eyed before the lordly canvas."</p> +</div></div> +<br></div> + +<a name="Footnote_209"></a><a href="#FNanchor209">[209]</a><div class="note"><p> See the article on Orvieto in my <i>Sketches in Italy and +Greece</i>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_210"></a><a href="#FNanchor210">[210]</a><div class="note"><p> The earlier frescoes of Fra Angelico, on the roof, depict +Christ as Judge. But there is nothing in common with these works and +Signorelli's.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_211"></a><a href="#FNanchor211">[211]</a><div class="note"><p> This is the conjecture of Signor Luzi (<i>Il Duomo di +Orvieto</i>, p. 168). He bases it upon the Dantesque subjects illustrated, +and quotes from the "Inferno":— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i15">"Omero poeta sovrano;</p> +<p>L' altro è Orazio satiro che viene,</p> +<p>Ovidio è il terzo, e l' ultimo Lucano."</p> +</div></div> +<br> +<p>Nothing is more marked or more deeply interesting than the influence +exercised by Dante over Signorelli, an influence he shared with Giotto, +Orcagna, Botticelli, Michael Angelo, the greatest imaginative painters of +Central Italy.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_212"></a><a href="#FNanchor212">[212]</a><div class="note"><p> The background to the circular "Madonna" in the Uffizzi, +the "Flagellation of Christ" in the Academy at Florence and in the Brera +at Milan, and the "Adam" at Cortona, belong to this grade.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_213"></a><a href="#FNanchor213">[213]</a><div class="note"><p> We may add the pages in a predella representing the +"Adoration of the Magi" in the Uffizzi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_214"></a><a href="#FNanchor214">[214]</a><div class="note"><p> Vasari mentions the portraits of Nicolo, Paolo, and +Vitellozzo Vitelli, Gian Paolo, and Orazio Baglioni, among others, in the +frescoes at Orvieto.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_215"></a><a href="#FNanchor215">[215]</a><div class="note"><p> Painted for Lorenzo de' Medici. It is now in the Berlin +Museum through the neglect of the National Gallery authorities to purchase +it for England.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_216"></a><a href="#FNanchor216">[216]</a><div class="note"><p> I must not omit to qualify Vasari's praise of Luca +Signorelli, by reference to a letter recently published from the <i>Archivio +Buonarroti, Lettere a Diversi</i>, p. 391. Michael Angelo there addresses the +Captain of Cortona, and complains that in the first year of Leo's +pontificate Luca came to him and by various representations obtained from +him the sum of eighty Giulios, which he never repaid, although he made +profession to have done so. Michael Angelo was ill at the time, and +working with much difficulty on a statue of a bound captive for the tomb +of Julius. Luca gave a specimen of his renowned courtesy by comforting the +sculptor in these rather sanctimonious phrases: "Doubt not that angels +will come from heaven, to support your arms and help you."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_217"></a><a href="#FNanchor217">[217]</a><div class="note"><p> Pietro, known as Perugino from the city of his adoption, +was the son of Cristoforo Vannucci, of Città della Pieve. He was born in +1446, and died at Fontignano in 1522.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_218"></a><a href="#FNanchor218">[218]</a><div class="note"><p> The triptych in the National Gallery.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_219"></a><a href="#FNanchor219">[219]</a><div class="note"><p> They have been published by the Arundel Society.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_220"></a><a href="#FNanchor220">[220]</a><div class="note"><p> These frescoes were begun in 1499. It may be mentioned that +in this year, on the refusal of Perugino to decorate the Cappella di S. +Brizio, the Orvietans entrusted that work to Signorelli.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_221"></a><a href="#FNanchor221">[221]</a><div class="note"><p> Uffizzi and Sala del Cambio.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_222"></a><a href="#FNanchor222">[222]</a><div class="note"><p> "Fu Pietro persona di assai poca religione, e non se gli +potè mai far credere l'immortalità dell' anima: anzi, con parole, +accomodate al suo cervello di porfido, ostinatissimamente ricusò ogni +buona vita. Aveva ogni sua speranza ne' beni della fortuna, e per danari +arebbe fatto ogni male contratto." Vasari, vol. vi. p. 50. The local +tradition alluded to above relates to the difficulties raised by the +Church against the Christian burial of Perugino: but if he died of plague, +as it is believed (see C. and C., vol. iii. p. 244), these difficulties +were probably caused by panic rather than belief in his impiety. For +Gasparo Celio's note on Perugino's refusal to confess upon his death-bed, +saying that he preferred to see how an impenitent soul would fare in the +other world, the reader may consult Rio's <i>L'Art Chrétien</i>, vol. ii. p. +269. The record of Perugino's arming himself in Dec. 1486, together with a +notorious assassin, Aulista di Angelo of Perugia, in order to waylay and +beat a private enemy of his near S. Pietro Maggiore at Florence is quoted +by Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. iii. p. 183.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_223"></a><a href="#FNanchor223">[223]</a><div class="note"><p> "Guadagnò molte ricchezze; e in Fiorenza murò e comprò +case; ed in Perugia ed a Castello della Pieve acquistò molti beni +stahili." Vasari, vol. vi. p. 50.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_224"></a><a href="#FNanchor224">[224]</a><div class="note"><p> "Goffo nell arte." See Vasari, vol. vi. p. 46. See too +above, p. 196.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_225"></a><a href="#FNanchor225">[225]</a><div class="note"><p> I select these for comment rather than the frescoes at +Spello, beautiful as these are, because they have more interest in +relation to the style of the Renaissance.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_226"></a><a href="#FNanchor226">[226]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Assumption" in S. Frediano at Lucca should also be +mentioned as one of Francia's masterpieces.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_227"></a><a href="#FNanchor227">[227]</a><div class="note"><p> His father was a muleteer of Suffignano, who settled at +Florence, in a house and garden near the gate of S. Piero Gattolino. He +was born in 1475, and he died in 1517.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_228"></a><a href="#FNanchor228">[228]</a><div class="note"><p> In S. Domenico at Prato in 1500. He afterwards resided in +S. Marco at Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_229"></a><a href="#FNanchor229">[229]</a><div class="note"><p> May 23, 1498.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_230"></a><a href="#FNanchor230">[230]</a><div class="note"><p> In addition to the pictures mentioned above, I may call +attention to the adoring figure of S. Catherine of Siena, in three large +paintings—now severally in the Pitti, at Lucca, and in the Louvre.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_231"></a><a href="#FNanchor231">[231]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Uffizzi. As a composition, it is the Frate's +masterpiece.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_232"></a><a href="#FNanchor232">[232]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 487, for this +consequence of the sack of Prato.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_233"></a><a href="#FNanchor233">[233]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>L'Art Chrétien</i>, vol. ii. p. 515.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_234"></a><a href="#FNanchor234">[234]</a><div class="note"><p> Two of our best portraits of Savonarola, the earlier +inscribed "Hieronymi Ferrariensis a Deo Missi Prophetæ Effigies," the +later treated to represent S. Peter Martyr, are from the hand of Fra +Bartolommeo. See Crowe and Cavalcaselle, vol. iii. p. 433.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_235"></a><a href="#FNanchor235">[235]</a><div class="note"><p> See below, chapter vii.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_236"></a><a href="#FNanchor236">[236]</a><div class="note"><p> This sonnet I have translated into English with such +closeness to the original words as I found possible:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>He who can do not what he wills, should try</p> +<p class="i2">To will what he can do; for since 'tis vain</p> +<p class="i2">To will what can't be compassed, to abstain</p> +<p class="i2">From idle wishing is philosophy.</p> +<p>Lo, all our happiness and grief imply</p> +<p class="i2">Knowledge or not of will's ability:</p> +<p class="i2">They therefore can, who will what ought to be.</p> +<p class="i2">Nor wrest true reason from her seat awry.</p> +<p>Nor what a man can, should he always will:</p> +<p class="i2">Oft seemeth sweet what after is not so;</p> +<p class="i2">And what I wished, when had, hath cost a tear.</p> +<p>Then, reader of these lines, if thou wouldst still</p> +<p class="i2">Be helpful to thyself, to others dear,</p> +<p class="i2">Will to can alway what thou ought to do.</p> +</div></div> +<br></div> + +<a name="Footnote_237"></a><a href="#FNanchor237">[237]</a><div class="note"><p> See the letter addressed by Lionardo to Lodovico Sforza +enumerating his claims as a mechanician, military and civil engineer, +architect, &c.c. It need scarcely be mentioned that he served Cesare Borgia +and the Florentine Republic as an engineer, and that much of his time at +Milan was spent in hydraulic works upon the Adda. It should be added here +that Lionardo committed the results of his discoveries to writing; but he +published very little, and that by no means the most precious portion of +his thoughts. He founded at Milan an Academy of Arts and Sciences, if this +name may be given to a reunion of artists, scholars, and men of the world, +to whom it is probable that he communicated his researches in anatomy. The +<i>Treatise on Painting</i>, which bears his name, is a compilation from notes +and MSS. first printed in 1651.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_238"></a><a href="#FNanchor238">[238]</a><div class="note"><p> The folio volume of sketches in the Ambrosian Library at +Milan contains designs for all these works. The collection in the Royal +Library at Windsor is no less rich. Among Lionardo's scientific drawings +in the latter place may be mentioned a series of maps illustrating the +river system of Central Italy, with plans for improved drainage.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_239"></a><a href="#FNanchor239">[239]</a><div class="note"><p> Shelley says of the poet:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>He will watch from dawn to gloom</p> +<p>The lake-reflected sun illume</p> +<p>The yellow bees in the ivy bloom;</p> +<p>Nor heed nor see what things they be,</p> +<p>But from these create he can</p> +<p>Forms more real than living man,</p> +<p>Nurslings of immortality.</p> +</div></div> +<br></div> + +<a name="Footnote_240"></a><a href="#FNanchor240">[240]</a><div class="note"><p> See De Stendhal, <i>Histoire de la Peinture en Italie</i>, p. +143, for this story.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_241"></a><a href="#FNanchor241">[241]</a><div class="note"><p> In the <i>Treatise on Painting</i>, da Vinci argues strongly +against isolating man. He regarded the human being as in truth a microcosm +to be only understood in relation to the world around him, expressing, as +a painter, the same thought as Pico. (See Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning,</i> +p. 35.) Therefore he urges the claims of landscape on the attention of +artists.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_242"></a><a href="#FNanchor242">[242]</a><div class="note"><p> I might refer in detail to four studies of bramble +branches, leaves, and flowers and fruit, in the royal collection at +Windsor, most wonderful for patient accuracy and delicate execution: also +to drawings of oak leaves, wild guelder-rose, broom, columbine, asphodel, +bull-rush, and wood-spurge in the same collection. These careful studies +are as valuable for the botanist as for the artist. To render the specific +character of each plant with greater precision would be impossible.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_243"></a><a href="#FNanchor243">[243]</a><div class="note"><p> See the series of anatomical studies of the horse in the +Royal Collection.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_244"></a><a href="#FNanchor244">[244]</a><div class="note"><p> Engraved by Edelinck. The drawing has obvious Lionardesque +qualities; but how far it may be from the character of the original we can +guess by Rubens' transcript from Mantegna. (See above, p. <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.) De +Stendhal says wittily of this work, "C'est Virgile traduit par Madame de +Staël," op. cit. p. 162.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_245"></a><a href="#FNanchor245">[245]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Royal Collection at Windsor there are anatomical +drawings for the construction of an imaginary quadruped with gigantic +claws. The bony, muscular, and venous structure of its legs and feet is +accurately indicated.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_246"></a><a href="#FNanchor246">[246]</a><div class="note"><p> See the drawings engraved and published by Gerli in his +<i>Disegni di Lionardo da Vinci</i>, Milan, 1784.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_247"></a><a href="#FNanchor247">[247]</a><div class="note"><p> Vasari is the chief source of these legends. Giraldi +Lomazzo, the Milanese historian of painting, and Bandello, the novelist, +supply further details. It appears from all accounts that Lionardo +impressed his contemporaries as a singular and most commanding +personality. There is a touch of reverence in even the strangest stories, +which is wanting in the legend of Piero di Cosimo.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_248"></a><a href="#FNanchor248">[248]</a><div class="note"><p> Even Michael Angelo, meeting him in Florence, flung in his +teeth that "he had made the model of a horse to cast in bronze, and could +not cast it, and through shame left it as it was unfinished." See <i>Arch. +St. It.</i>, serie terza, xvi. 226.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_249"></a><a href="#FNanchor249">[249]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Royal Collection at Windsor there is a whole series +of studies for these two statues, together with drawings for the mould in +which Lionardo intended to cast them. The second of the two is sketched +with great variety of motive. The horse is rearing; the fallen enemy is +vainly striving to defend himself; the victor in one drawing is reining in +his steed, in another is waving a truncheon, in a third is brandishing his +sword, in a fourth is holding the sword in act to thrust. The designs for +the pedestals, sometimes treated as a tomb and sometimes as a fountain, +are equally varied.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_250"></a><a href="#FNanchor250">[250]</a><div class="note"><p> "Concevoir," said Balzac, "c'est jouir, c'est fumer des +cigarettes enchantées; mais sans l'exécution tout s'en va en rêve et en +fumée." Quoted by Sainte-Beuve, <i>Causeries du Lundi</i>, vol. ii. p. 353.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_251"></a><a href="#FNanchor251">[251]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, p. 128, 129.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_252"></a><a href="#FNanchor252">[252]</a><div class="note"><p> It was finished, according to Fra Paciolo, in 1498.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_253"></a><a href="#FNanchor253">[253]</a><div class="note"><p> Signorelli, with his usual originality, chose the moment +when Christ broke bread and gave it to His disciples. In that rare picture +at Cortona, we see not the betrayed chief but the founder of a new +religion.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_254"></a><a href="#FNanchor254">[254]</a><div class="note"><p> The Cenacolo alone will not enable the student to +understand Lionardo. He must give his attention to the master's sketch +books, those studies in chalk, in tempera, on thin canvas and paper, +prepared for the stylus or the pen, which Vasari calls the final triumphs +of designing, and of which, in spite of the loss of many of his books, the +surviving specimens are very numerous. Some are easily accessible in +Gerli, Chamberlaine, and the autotype reproductions. It is possible that a +sympathetic student may get closer to the all-embracing and all-daring +genius of the magician through these drawings than if he had before him an +elaborate work in fresco or in oils. They express the many-sided, mobile, +curious, and subtle genius of the man in its entirety.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_255"></a><a href="#FNanchor255">[255]</a><div class="note"><p> "Raffaello, che era la gentilezza stessa ... restavano +vinti dalla cortesia e dall' arte sua, ma più dal genio della sua buona +natura; la quale era si piena di gentilezza e si colma di carità, che egli +si vedeva che fino agli animali l'onoravano, non che gli uomini."—Vasari, +vol. viii. pp. 6, 60.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_256"></a><a href="#FNanchor256">[256]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_257"></a><a href="#FNanchor257">[257]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Holy Family" at Munich, and the "Madonna del +Baldacchino" in the Pitti, might be mentioned as experiments on Raphael's +part to perfect the Frate's scheme of composition.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_258"></a><a href="#FNanchor258">[258]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vasari, vol. viii. p. 60, for a description of the +concord that reigned in this vast workshop. The genius and the gentle +nature of Raphael penetrated the whole group of artists, and seemed to +give them a single soul.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_259"></a><a href="#FNanchor259">[259]</a><div class="note"><p> The fresco of "Alexander" in the Palazzo Borghese is by an +imitator.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_260"></a><a href="#FNanchor260">[260]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Madonna di San Sisto" was painted for a banner to be +borne in processions. It is a subtle observation of Rio that the banner, +an invention of the Umbrian school, corresponds in painting to the hymn in +poetry.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_261"></a><a href="#FNanchor261">[261]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. II., <i>Revival of Learning</i>, p. 316, for Raphael's +letter on this subject to Leo X.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_262"></a><a href="#FNanchor262">[262]</a><div class="note"><p> "La Spasimo di Sicilia" is the single Passion picture of +Raphael's maturity. The predella of "Christ carrying the Cross" at Leigh +Court, and the "Christ showing His Wounds" in the Tosi Gallery at Brescia, +are both early works painted under Umbrian influence. The Borghese +"Entombment," painted for Atalanta Baglioni, a pen-and-ink drawing of the +"Pietà" in the Louvre collection, Marc Antonio's engraving of the +"Massacre of the Innocents," and an early picture of the "Agony in the +Garden," are all the other painful subjects I can now remember.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_263"></a><a href="#FNanchor263">[263]</a><div class="note"><p> For a fuller working out of this analysis I must refer to +my <i>Sketches in Italy</i>, article "Parma." Much that follows is a quotation +from that essay.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_264"></a><a href="#FNanchor264">[264]</a><div class="note"><p> Much of the controversy about Michael Angelo, which is +continually being waged between his admirers and his detractors, might be +set at rest if it were acknowledged that there are two distinct ways of +judging works of art. We may regard them simply as appealing to our sense +of beauty, and affording harmonious intellectual pleasure. Or we may +regard them as expressing the thought and spirit of their age, and as +utterances made by men whose hearts burned within them. Critics trained in +the study of good Greek sculpture, or inclined by temperament to admire +the earlier products of Italian painting, are apt to pursue the former +path exclusively. They demand serenity and simplicity. Perturbation and +violence they denounce as blemishes. It does not occur to them that, +though the phenomenon is certainly rare, it does occasionally happen that +a man arises whose art is for him the language of his soul, and who lives +in sympathetic relation to the sternest interests of his age. If such an +artist be born when tranquil thought and serene emotions are impossible +for one who feels the meaning of his times with depth, he must either +paint and carve lies, or he must abandon the serenity that was both +natural and easy to the Greek and the earlier Italian. Michael Angelo was +one of these select artistic natures. He used his chisel and his pencil to +express, not merely beautiful artistic motives, but what he felt and +thought about the world in which he had to live: and this world was full +of the ruin of republics, the corruption and humiliation of society, the +subjection of Italy to strangers. In Michael Angelo the student of both +art and history finds an inestimably precious and rare point of contact +between the inner spirit of an age, and its external expression in +sculpture and painting.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII"></a><h2><a name="Page_247"></a>CHAPTER VII--VENETIAN PAINTING</h2> + +<h4>Painting bloomed late in Venice—Conditions offered by Venice to +Art—Shelley and Pietro Aretino—Political circumstances of +Venice—Comparison with Florence—The Ducal Palace—Art regarded as an +adjunct to State Pageantry—Myth of Venezia—Heroic Deeds of +Venice—Tintoretto's Paradise and Guardi's Picture of a Ball—Early +Venetian Masters of Murano—Gian Bellini—Carpaccio's little Angels—The +Madonna of S. Zaccaria—Giorgione—Allegory, Idyll, Expression of +Emotion—The Monk at the Clavichord—Titian, Tintoret, and +Veronese—Tintoretto's attempt to dramatise Venetian Art—Veronese's +Mundane Splendour—Titian's Sophoclean Harmony—Their Schools—Further +Characteristics of Veronese—of Tintoretto—His Imaginative +Energy—Predominant Poetry—Titian's Perfection of Balance—Assumption of +Madonna—Spirit common to the Great Venetians.</h4> + +<p>It was a fact of the greatest importance for the development of the fine +arts in Italy that painting in Venice reached maturity later than in +Florence. Owing to this circumstance one chief aspect of the Renaissance, +its material magnificence and freedom, received consummate treatment at +the hands of Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese. To idealise the +sensualities of the external universe, to achieve for colour what the +Florentines had done for form, to invest the worldly grandeur of human +life at one of its most gorgeous epochs with the dignity of the highest +art, was what these great artists were called on to accomplish. Their task +could not have been so worthily performed in the fifteenth century as in +the sixteenth, if the development of the æsthetic sense had been more +premature among the Venetians.</p><a name="Page_248"></a> + +<p>Venice was precisely fitted for the part her painters had to play. Free, +isolated, wealthy, powerful; famous throughout Europe for the pomp of her +state equipage, and for the immorality of her private manners; ruled by a +prudent aristocracy, who spent vast wealth on public shows and on the +maintenance of a more than imperial civic majesty: Venice, with her +pavement of liquid chrysoprase, with her palaces of porphyry and marble, +her frescoed façades, her quays and squares aglow with the costumes of the +Levant, her lagoons afloat with the galleys of all nations, her churches +floored with mosaics, her silvery domes and ceilings glittering with +sculpture bathed in molten gold: Venice luxurious in the light and colour +of a vaporous atmosphere, where sea-mists rose into the mounded summer +clouds; arched over by the broad expanse of sky, bounded only by the +horizon of waves and plain and distant mountain ranges, and reflected in +all its many hues of sunrise and sunset upon the glassy surface of smooth +waters: Venice asleep like a miracle of opal or of pearl upon the bosom of +an undulating lake:—here and here only on the face of the whole globe was +the unique city wherein the pride of life might combine with the lustre of +the physical universe to create and stimulate in the artist a sense of all +that was most sumptuous in the pageant of the world of sense.</p> + +<p>There is colour in flowers. Gardens of tulips are radiant, and mountain +valleys touch the soul with the beauty of their pure and gemlike hues. +Therefore the painters of Flanders and of Umbria, John van Eyck and +Gentile da Fabriano, penetrated some of the secrets of the world of +colour. But what are the purples and scarlets and blues of iris, anemone, +or columbine, dispersed among deep meadow grasses or trained in quiet +cloister garden-beds, when compared with that melodrama of flame and gold +and rose and orange and azure, which the skies and lagoons of Venice yield +almost <a name="Page_249"></a>daily to the eyes? The Venetians had no green fields and trees, no +garden borders, no blossoming orchards, to teach them the tender +suggestiveness, the quaint poetry of isolated or contrasted tints. Their +meadows were the fruitless furrows of the Adriatic, hued like a peacock's +neck; they called the pearl-shells of their Lido flowers, <i>fior di mare</i>. +Nothing distracted their attention from the glories of morning and of +evening presented to them by their sea and sky. It was in consequence of +this that the Venetians conceived colour heroically, not as a matter of +missal-margins or of subordinate decoration, but as a motive worthy in +itself of sublime treatment. In like manner, hedged in by no limitary +hills, contracted by no city walls, stifled by no narrow streets, but open +to the liberal airs of heaven and ocean, the Venetians understood space +and imagined pictures almost boundless in their immensity. Light, colour, +air, space: those are the elemental conditions of Venetian art; of those +the painters weaved their ideal world for beautiful and proud humanity.</p> + +<p>Shelley's description of a Venetian sunset strikes the keynote to Venetian +painting:<a name="FNanchor265"></a><a href="#Footnote_265"><sup>[265]</sup></a>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>As those who pause on some delightful way,</p> +<p>Though bent on pleasant pilgrimage, we stood</p> +<p>Looking upon the evening and the flood,</p> +<p>Which lay between the city and the shore,</p> +<p>Paved with the image of the sky: the hoar</p> +<p>And airy Alps, towards the north appeared,</p> +<p>Through mist, a heaven-sustaining bulwark, reared</p> +<p>Between the east and west; and half the sky</p> +<p>Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry,</p><a name="Page_250"></a> +<p>Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew</p> +<p>Down the steep west into a wondrous hue</p> +<p>Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent</p> +<p>Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent</p> +<p>Among the many-folded hills—they were</p> +<p>Those famous Euganean hills, which bear,</p> +<p>As seen from Lido through the harbour piles,</p> +<p>The likeness of a clump of peaked isles—</p> +<p>And then, as if the earth and sea had been</p> +<p>Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen</p> +<p>Those mountains towering, as from waves of flame,</p> +<p>Around the vaporous sun, from which there came</p> +<p>The inmost purple spirit of light, and made</p> +<p>Their very peaks transparent. "Ere it fade,"</p> +<p>Said my companion, "I will show you soon</p> +<p>A better station." So, o'er the lagune</p> +<p>We glided: and from that funereal bark</p> +<p>I leaned, and saw the city; and could mark</p> +<p>How from their many isles, in evening's gleam,</p> +<p>Its temples and its palaces did seem</p> +<p>Like fabrics of enchantment piled to heaven.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>With this we may compare the following extract from a letter, addressed in +May 1544 to Titian, by one of the most unprincipled of literary bandits +who have ever disgraced humanity, but who nevertheless was solemnised to +the spirit of true poetry by the grandiose aspect of nature as it appeared +to him in Venice. That Pietro Aretino should have so deeply felt the charm +of natural beauty in an age when even the greatest artists and poets +sought inspiration in human life rather than the outer world, is a +significant fact. It seems to illustrate the necessity whereby Venice +became the cradle of the art of nature.<a name="FNanchor266"></a><a href="#Footnote_266"><sup>[266]</sup></a> "Having, dear Sir, and my +best gossip, supped alone to the injury of my custom, or, to speak more +truly, supped in the company of all the boredoms of a <a name="Page_251"></a>cursed quartan +fever, which will not let me taste the flavour of any food, I rose from +table sated with the same disgust with which I had sat down to it. In this +mood I went and leaned my arms upon the sill outside my window, and +throwing my chest and nearly all my body on the marble, abandoned myself +to the contemplation of the spectacle presented by the innumerable boats, +filled with foreigners as well as people of the city, which gave delight +not merely to the gazers, but also to the Grand Canal itself, that +perpetual delight of all who plough its waters. From this animated scene, +all of a sudden, like one who from mere <i>ennui</i> knows not how to occupy +his mind, I turned my eyes to heaven, which, from the moment when God made +it, was never adorned with such painted loveliness of lights and shadows. +The whole region of the air was what those who envy you, because they are +unable to be you, would fain express. To begin with, the buildings of +Venice, though of solid stone, seemed made of some ethereal substance. +Then the sky was full of variety—here clear and ardent, there dulled and +overclouded. What marvellous clouds there were! Masses of them in the +centre of the scene hung above the house-roofs, while the immediate part +was formed of a grey tint inclining to dark. I gazed astonished at the +varied colours they displayed. The nearer masses burned with flames of +sunset; the more remote blushed with a blaze of crimson less afire. Oh, +how splendidly did Nature's pencil treat and dispose that airy landscape, +keeping the sky apart from the palaces, just as Titian does! On one side +the heavens showed a greenish-blue, on another a bluish-green, invented +verily by the caprice of Nature, who is mistress of the greatest masters. +With her lights and her darks, there she was harmonising, toning, and +bringing out into relief, just as she wished. Seeing which, I who know +that your pencil is the spirit of <a name="Page_252"></a>her inmost soul, cried aloud thrice or +four tines, 'Oh, Titian! where are you now?'"</p> + +<p>In order to understand the destiny of Venice in art, it is not enough to +concentrate attention on the peculiarities of her physical environment. +Potent as these were in the creation of her style, the political and +social conditions of the Republic require also to be taken into account. +Among Italian cities Venice was unique. She alone was tranquil in her +empire, unimpeded in her constitutional development, independent of Church +interference, undisturbed by the cross purposes and intrigues of the +Despots, inhabited by merchants who were princes, and by a free-born +people who had never seen war at their gates. The serenity of undisturbed +security, the luxury of wealth amassed abroad and liberally spent at home, +gave a physiognomy of ease and proud self-confidence to all her edifices. +The grim and anxious struggles of the Middle Ages left no mark on Venice. +How different was this town from Florence, every inch of whose domain +could tell of civic warfare, whose passionate aspirations after +independence ended in the despotism of the bourgeois Medici, whose +repeated revolutions had slavery for their climax, whose grey palaces bore +on their fronts the stamp of mediæval vigilance, whose spirit was +incarnated in Dante the exile, whose enslavement forced from Michael +Angelo those groans of a chained Titan expressed in the marbles of S. +Lorenzo! It is not an insignificant, though a slight, detail, that the +predominant colour of Florence is brown, while the predominant colour of +Venice is that of mother-of-pearl, concealing within its general whiteness +every tint that can be placed upon the palette of a painter. The +conditions of Florence stimulated mental energy and turned the forces of +the soul inwards. Those of Venice inclined the individual to accept life +as he found it. Instead of exciting him to think, they disposed him to +enjoy, or to acquire by industry the means of manifold enjoyment. To +<a name="Page_253"></a>represent in art the intellectual strivings of the Renaissance was the +task of Florence and her sons; to create a monument of Renaissance +magnificence was the task of Venice. Without Venice the modern world could +not have produced that flower of sensuous and unreflective loveliness in +painting, which is worthy to stand beside the highest product of the Greek +genius in sculpture. For Athena from her Parthenon stretches the hand to +Venezia enthroned in the ducal palace. The broad brows and earnest eyes of +the Hellenic goddess are of one divine birth and lineage with the golden +hair and superb carriage of the sea-queen.</p> + +<p>It is in the heart of Venice, in the House of the Republic, that the +Venetian painters, considered as the interpreters of worldly splendour, +fulfilled their function with the most complete success. Centuries +contributed to make the Ducal Palace what it is. The massive colonnades +and Gothic loggias of the external basement date from the thirteenth +century; their sculpture belongs to the age when Niccola Pisano's genius +was in the ascendant. The square fabric of the palace, so beautiful in the +irregularity of its pointed windows, so singular in its mosaic diaper of +pink and white, was designed at the same early period. The inner court and +the façade that overhangs the lateral canal, display the handiwork of +Sansovino. The halls of the palace—spacious chambers where the Senate +assembled, where ambassadors approached the Doge, where the Savi +deliberated, where the Council of Ten conducted their inquisition—are +walled and roofed with pictures of inestimable value, encased in framework +of carved oak; overlaid with burnished gold. Supreme art—the art of the +imagination perfected with delicate and skilful care in detail—is made in +these proud halls the minister of mundane pomp. In order that the gold +brocade of the ducal robes, that the scarlet and crimson of the Venetian +senator, might, be duly harmonised by the richness of their surroundings, +it was necessary that <a name="Page_254"></a>canvases measured by the square yard, and rendered +priceless by the authentic handiwork of Titian, Tintoret, and Veronese, +should glow upon the walls and ceilings. A more insolent display of public +wealth—a more lavish outpouring of human genius in the service of State +pageantry, cannot be imagined.</p> + +<p>Sublime over all allegories and histories depicted in those multitudes of +paintings, sits Venezia herself enthroned and crowned, the personification +of haughtiness and power. Figured as a regal lady, with yellow hair +tightly knotted round a small head poised upon her upright throat and +ample shoulders, Venice takes her chair of sovereignty—as mistress of the +ocean to whom Neptune and the Tritons offer pearls, as empress of the +globe at whose footstool wait Justice with the sword and Peace with the +olive branch, as a queen of heaven exalted to the clouds. They have made +her a goddess, those great painters; they have produced a mythus, and +personified in native loveliness that bride of the sea, their love, their +lady. The beauty of Venetian women and the glory of Venetian empire find +their meeting point in her, and live as the spirit of Athens lived in +Pallas Promachos. On every side, above, around, wherever the eye falls in +those vast rooms, are seen the deeds of Venice—painted histories of her +triumphs over emperors and popes and infidels, or allegories of her +greatness—scenes wherein the Doges perform acts of faith, with S. Mark +for their protector, and with Venezia for their patroness. The saints in +Paradise, massed together by Tintoretto and by Palma, mingle with +mythologies of Greece and Rome, and episodes of pure idyllic painting.</p> + +<p>Religion in these pictures was a matter of parade, an adjunct to the +costly public life of the Republic. We need not, therefore, conclude that +it was unreal. Such as it was, the religion of the Venetian masters is +indeed as genuine as that of Fra Angelico or Albert Dürer. But it was the +faith, not <a name="Page_255"></a>of humble men or of mystics, not of profound thinkers or +ecstatic visionaries, so much as of courtiers and statesmen, of senators +and merchants, for whom religion was a function among other functions, not +a thing apart, not a source of separate and supreme vitality. Even as +Christians, the Venetians lived a life separate from the rest of Italy. +Their Church claimed independence of the see of Rome, and the enthusiasm +of S. Francis was but faintly felt in the lagoons. Siena in her hour of +need dedicated herself to Madonna; Florence in the hour of her +regeneration gave herself to Christ; Venice remained under the ensign of +the leonine S. Mark. While the cities of Lombardy and Central Italy ran +wild with revivalism and religious panics, the Venetians maintained their +calm, and never suffered piety to exceed the limits of political prudence. +There is, therefore, no mystical exaltation in the faith depicted by her +artists. That Tintoretto could have painted the saints in glory—a +countless multitude of congregated forms, a sea whereof the waves are +souls—as a background for State ceremony, shows the positive and +realistic attitude of mind from which the most imaginative of Venetian +masters started, when he undertook the most exalted of religious themes. +Paradise is a fact, we may fancy Tintoretto reasoned; and it is easier to +fill a quarter of an acre of canvas with a picture of Paradise than with +any other subject, because the figures can be arranged in concentric tiers +round Christ and Madonna in glory.</p> + +<p>There is a little sketch by Guardi representing a masked ball in the +Council Chamber where the "Paradise" of Tintoretto fills a wall. The men +are in periwigs and long waistcoats; the ladies wear hoops, patches, fans, +high heels, and powder. Bowing, promenading, intriguing, exchanging +compliments or repartees, they move from point to point; while from the +billowy surge of saints, Moses with the table of the law and the Magdalen +with her adoring eyes of penitence look down <a name="Page_256"></a>upon them. Tintoretto could +not but have foreseen that the world of living pettiness and passion would +perpetually jostle with his world of painted sublimities and sanctities in +that vast hall. Yet he did not on that account shrink from the task or +fail in its accomplishment. Paradise existed: therefore it could be +painted; and he was called upon to paint it here. If the fine gentlemen +and ladies below felt out of harmony with the celestial host, so much the +worse for them. In this practical spirit the Venetian masters approached +religious art, and such was the sphere appointed for it in the pageantry +of the Republic. When Paolo Veronese was examined by the Holy Office +respecting some supposed irreverence in a sacred picture, his answers +clearly proved that in planning it he had thought less of its spiritual +significance than of its æsthetic effect.<a name="FNanchor267"></a><a href="#Footnote_267"><sup>[267]</sup></a></p> + +<p>In the Ducal Palace the Venetian art of the Renaissance culminates; and +here we might pause a moment to consider the difference between these +paintings and the mediæval frescoes of the Palazzo Pubblico at Siena.<a name="FNanchor268"></a><a href="#Footnote_268"><sup>[268]</sup></a> +The Sienese painters consecrated all their abilities to the expression of +thoughts, theories of political self-government in a free State, and +devotional ideas. The citizen who read the lesson of the Sala della Pace +was instructed in his duties to God and to the State. The Venetian +painters, as we have seen, exalted Venice and set forth her acts of power. +Their work is a glorification of the Republic; but no doctrine is +inculcated, and no system of thought is conveyed to the mind through the +eye. Daily pacing the saloons of the palace, Doge and noble were reminded +of the greatness of the State they represented. They were not invited to +reflect upon the duties of the governor and governed. Their imaginations +were dilated and their pride roused by the spectacle of Venice <a name="Page_257"></a>seated +like a goddess in her home. Of all the secular States of Italy the +Republic of S. Mark's alone produced this mythical ideal of the body +politic, self-sustained and independent of the citizens, compelling their +allegiance, and sustaining them through generations with the life of its +organic unity.<a name="FNanchor269"></a><a href="#Footnote_269"><sup>[269]</sup></a> The artists had no reason to paint thoughts and +theories. It was enough to set forth Venice and to illustrate her acts.</p> + +<p>Long before Venetian painting reached a climax in the decorative triumphs +of the Ducal Palace, the masters of the school had formed a style +expressive of the spirit of the Renaissance, considered as the spirit of +free enjoyment and living energy. To trace the history of Venetian +painting is to follow through its several stages the growth of that +mastery over colour and sensuous beauty which was perfected in the works +of Titian and his contemporaries.<a name="FNanchor270"></a><a href="#Footnote_270"><sup>[270]</sup></a> Under the Vivarini of Murano the +Venetian school in its infancy began with a selection from the natural +world of all that struck them as most brilliant. No other painters of +their age in Italy employed such glowing colours, or showed a more marked +predilection for the imitation of fruits, rich stuffs, architectural +canopies, jewels, and landscape backgrounds. Their piety, unlike the +mysticism of the Sienese and the deep thought of the Florentine masters, +is somewhat superficial and conventional. The merit of their devotional +pictures consists of simplicity, vivacity, and joyousness. Our Lady and +her court of saints seem living and breathing upon earth.<a name="Page_258"></a> There is no +atmosphere of tranced solemnity surrounding them, like that which gives +peculiar meaning to similar works of the Van Eycks and Memling—artists, +by the way, who in many important respects are more nearly allied than any +others to the spirit of the first age of Venetian painting.<a name="FNanchor271"></a><a href="#Footnote_271"><sup>[271]</sup></a></p> + +<p>What the Vivarini began, the three Bellini,<a name="FNanchor272"></a><a href="#Footnote_272"><sup>[272]</sup></a> with Crivelli, Carpaccio, +Mansueti, Basaiti, Catena, Cima da Conegliano, Bissolo, Cordegliaghi, +continued. Bright costumes, distinct and sunny landscapes, broad +backgrounds of architecture, large skies, polished armour, gilded +cornices, young faces of fisherboys and country girls,<a name="FNanchor273"></a><a href="#Footnote_273"><sup>[273]</sup></a> grave faces of +old men brown with sea-wind and sunlight, withered faces of women hearty +in a hale old age, the strong manhood of Venetian senators, the dignity of +patrician ladies, the gracefulness of children, the rosy whiteness and +amber-coloured tresses of the daughters of the Adriatic and lagoons—these +are the source of inspiration to the Venetians of the second period. +Mantegna, a few miles distant, at Padua, was working out his ideal of +severely classical design. Yet he scarcely touched the manner of the +Venetians with his influence, though Gian Bellini was his brother-in-law +and pupil, and though his genius, in grasp of matter and in management of +composition, soared above his neighbours. Lionardo da Vinci at Milan was +perfecting his problems of psychology in painting, offering to the world +solutions of the greatest difficulties in the delineation of the spirit by +expression. Yet not a trace of Lionardo's subtle play of light and shadow +upon thoughtful features can be <a name="Page_259"></a>discerned in the work of the Bellini. For +them the mysteries of the inner and the outer world had no attraction. The +externals of a full and vivid existence fascinated their imagination. +Their poetry and their piety were alike simple and objective. How to +depict the world as it is seen—a miracle of varying lights and melting +hues, a pageant substantial to the touch and concrete to the eyes, a +combination of forms defined by colours more than outlines—was their +task. They did not reach their end by anatomy, analysis, and +reconstruction. They undertook to paint just what they felt and saw.</p> + +<p>Very instructive are the wall-pictures of this period, painted not in +fresco but on canvas by Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, for the decoration +of the Scuole of S. Ursula and S. Croce.<a name="FNanchor274"></a><a href="#Footnote_274"><sup>[274]</sup></a> Not only do these bring +before us the life of Venice in its manifold reality, but they illustrate +the tendency of the Venetian masters to express the actual world, rather +than to formulate an ideal of the fancy or to search the secrets of the +soul. This realism, if the name can be applied to pictures so poetical as +those of Carpaccio, is not, like the Florentine realism, hard and +scientific. A natural feeling for grace and a sense of romance inspire the +artist, and breathe from every figure that he paints. The type of beauty +produced is charming by its negligence and <i>naïveté</i>; it is not thought +out with pains or toilsomely elaborated.<a name="FNanchor275"></a><a href="#Footnote_275"><sup>[275]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Among the loveliest motives used in the altar-pieces of this period might +be mentioned the boy-angels playing flutes and mandolines beneath Madonna +on the steps of her throne.<a name="Page_260"></a> There are usually three of them, seated, or +sometimes standing. They hold their instruments of music as though they +had just ceased from singing, and were ready to recommence at the pleasure +of their mistress. Meanwhile there is a silence in the celestial company, +through which the still voice of the praying heart is heard, a silence +corresponding to the hushed mood of the worshipper.<a name="FNanchor276"></a><a href="#Footnote_276"><sup>[276]</sup></a> The children are +accustomed to the holy place; therefore their attitudes are both reverent +and natural. They are more earthly than Fra Angelico's melodists, and yet +they are not precisely of human lineage. It is not, perhaps, too much to +say that they strike the keynote of Venetian devotion, at once real and +devoid of pietistic rapture.</p> + +<p>Gian Bellini brought the art of this second period to completion. In his +sacred pictures the reverential spirit of early Italian painting is +combined with a feeling for colour and a dexterity in its manipulation +peculiar to Venice. Bellini cannot be called a master of the full +Renaissance. He falls into the same class as Francia and Perugino, who +adhered to <i>quattrocento</i> modes of thought and sentiment, while attaining +at isolated points to the freedom of the Renaissance. In him the +colourists of the next age found an absolute teacher; no one has surpassed +him in the difficult art of giving tone to pure tints in combination. +There is a picture of Bellini's in S. Zaccaria at Venice—Madonna +enthroned with Saints—where the skill of the colourist may be said to +culminate in unsurpassable perfection. The whole painting is bathed in a +soft but luminous haze of gold; yet each figure has its individuality of +treatment, the glowing fire of S. Peter contrasting with the pearly +coolness of the drapery and flesh-<a name="Page_261"></a>tints of the Magdalen. No brush-work is +perceptible. Surface and substance have been elaborated into one +harmonious richness that defies analysis. Between this picture, so strong +in its smoothness, and any masterpiece of Velasquez, so rugged in its +strength, what a wide abyss of inadequate half-achievement, of smooth +feebleness and feeble ruggedness, exists!</p> + +<p>Giorgione, did we but possess enough of his authentic works to judge by, +would be found the first painter of the true Renaissance among the +Venetians, the inaugurate of the third and great period.<a name="FNanchor277"></a><a href="#Footnote_277"><sup>[277]</sup></a> He died at +the age of thirty-six, the inheritor of unfulfilled renown. Time has +destroyed the last vestige of his frescoes. Criticism has reduced the +number of his genuine easel pictures to half a dozen. He exists as a great +name. The part he played in the development of Venetian art was similar to +that of Marlowe in the history of our drama. He first cut painting +altogether adrift from mediæval moorings, and launched it on the waves of +the Renaissance liberty. While equal as a colourist to Bellini, though in +a different and more sensuous region, Giorgione, by the variety and +inventiveness of his conception, proved himself a painter of the calibre +of Titian. Sacred subjects he seems to have but rarely treated, unless +such purely idyllic pictures as the "Finding of Moses" in the Uffizzi, and +the "Meeting of Jacob and Rachel" at Dresden deserve the name. Allegories +of deep and problematic meaning, the key whereof has to be found in states +of the emotion rather than, in thoughts, delighted him. He may be said to +have invented the Venetian species of romance picture, where an episode in +a novella forms the motive of the painting.<a name="FNanchor278"></a><a href="#Footnote_278"><sup>[278]</sup></a> Nor was he <a name="Page_262"></a>deficient in +tragic power, as the tremendous study for a Lucrece in the Uffizzi +collection sufficiently proves. In his drawings he models the form without +outline by massive distribution of light and dark. In style they are the +very opposite of Lionardo's clearly defined studies touched with the metal +point upon prepared paper. They suggest colouring, and are indeed the +designs of a great colourist, who saw things under the conditions of their +tints and tone.</p> + +<p>Of the undisputed pictures by Giorgione, the grandest is the "Monk at the +Clavichord," in the Pitti Palace at Florence.<a name="FNanchor279"></a><a href="#Footnote_279"><sup>[279]</sup></a> The young man has his +fingers on the keys; he is modulating in a mood of grave and sustained +emotion; his head is turned away towards an old man standing near him. On +the other side of the instrument is a boy. These two figures are but foils +and adjuncts to the musician in the middle; and the whole interest of his +face lies in its concentrated feeling—the very soul of music, as +expressed in Mr. Robert Browning's "Abt Vogler," passing through his eyes. +This power of painting the portrait of an emotion, of depicting by the +features a deep and powerful but tranquil moment of the inner life, must +have been possessed by Giorgione in an eminent degree. We find it again in +the so-called "Begrüssung" of the Dresden Gallery.<a name="FNanchor280"></a><a href="#Footnote_280"><sup>[280]</sup></a> The picture is a +large landscape, Jacob <a name="Page_263"></a>and Rachel meet and salute each other with a kiss. +But the shepherd lying beneath the shadow of a chestnut tree beside a well +has a whole Arcadia of intense yearning in the eyes of sympathy he fixes +on the lovers. Something of this faculty, it may be said in passing, +descended to Bonifazio, whose romance pictures are among the most charming +products of Venetian art, and one of whose singing women in the feast of +Dives has the Giorgionesque fulness of inner feeling.</p> + +<p>Fate has dealt less unkindly with Titian, Tintoret, and Veronese than with +Giorgione. The works of these artists, in whom the Venetian Renaissance +attained completion, have been preserved in large numbers and in excellent +condition. Chronologically speaking, Titian, the contemporary of +Giorgione, precedes Tintoretto, and Tintoretto is somewhat earlier than +Veronese.<a name="FNanchor281"></a><a href="#Footnote_281"><sup>[281]</sup></a> But for the purpose of criticism the three painters may be +considered together as the representatives of three marked aspects in the +fully developed Venetian style.</p> + +<p>Tintoretto, called by the Italians the thunderbolt of painting, because of +his vehement impulsiveness and rapidity of execution, soars above his +brethren by the faculty of pure imagination. It was he who brought to its +perfection the poetry of <i>chiaroscuro</i>, expressing moods of passion and +emotion by brusque lights, luminous half-shadows, and semi-opaque +darkness, no less unmistakably than Beethoven by symphonic modulations. He +too engrafted on the calm and natural Venetian manner something of the +Michael Angelesque sublimity, and sought to vary by dramatic movement the +romantic motives of his school. In his work, more than in <a name="Page_264"></a>that of his +contemporaries, Venetian art ceased to be decorative and idyllic.</p> + +<p>Veronese elevated pageantry to the height of serious art. His domain is +noonday sunlight ablaze on sumptuous dresses and Palladian architecture. +Where Tintoretto is dramatic, he is scenic. Titian, in a wise harmony, +without either the Æschylean fury of Tintoretto, or the material +gorgeousness of Veronese, realised an ideal of pure beauty. Continuing the +traditions of Bellini and Giorgione, with a breadth of treatment, and a +vigour of well-balanced faculties peculiar to himself, Titian gave to +colour in landscape and the human form a sublime yet sensuous poetry no +other painter in the world has reached.</p> + +<p>Tintoretto and Veronese are, both of them, excessive. The imagination of +Tintoretto is too passionate and daring; it scathes and blinds like +lightning. The sense of splendour in Veronese is overpoweringly pompous. +Titian's exquisite humanity, his large and sane nature, gives proper value +to the imaginative and the scenic elements of the Venetian style, without +exaggerating either. In his masterpieces thought, colour, sentiment, and +composition—the spiritual and technical elements of art—exist in perfect +balance; one harmonious tone is given to all the parts of his production, +nor can it be said that any quality asserts itself to the injury of the +rest. Titian, the Sophocles of painting, has infused into his pictures the +spirit of music, the Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders, making +power incarnate in a form of grace.</p> + +<p>Round these great men are grouped a host of secondary but distinguished +painters—Palma with his golden-haired large-bosomed sirens; idyllic +Bonifazio; dramatic Pordenone, whose frescoes are all motion and +excitement; Paris Bordone, who mingled on his canvas cream and mulberry +juice and sunbeams; the Robusti, the Caliari, the Bassani, and others +<a name="Page_265"></a>whom it would be tedious to mention. One breath, one afflatus, inspired +them all; and it is due to this coherence in their style and inspiration +that the school of Venice, taken as a whole, can show more masterpieces by +artists of the second class than any other in Italy. Superior or inferior +as they may relatively be among themselves, each bears the indubitable +stamp of the Venetian Renaissance, and produces work of a quality that +raises him to high rank among the painters of the world. In the same way +the spirit of the Renaissance, passing over the dramatists of our +Elizabethan age, enabled intellects of average force to take rank in the +company of the noblest. Ford, Massinger, Heywood, Decker, Webster, +Fletcher, Tourneur, Marston, are seated round the throne at the feet of +Shakspere, Marlowe, and Jonson.</p> + +<p>In order to penetrate the characteristics of Venetian art more thoroughly, +it will be needful to enter into detailed criticism of the three chief +masters who command the school. To begin with Veronese. His canvases are +nearly always large—filled with figures of the size of life, massed +together in groups or extended in long lines beneath white marble +colonnades, which enclose spaces of clear sky and silvery clouds. Armour, +shot silks and satins, brocaded canopies, banners, plate, fruit, sceptres, +crowns, all things, in fact, that burn and glitter in the sun, form the +habitual furniture of his pictures. Rearing horses, dogs, dwarfs, cats, +when occasion serves, are used to add reality, vivacity, grotesqueness to +his scenes. His men and women are large, well proportioned, +vigorous—eminent for pose and gesture rather than for grace or +loveliness—distinguished by adult more than adolescent qualities.</p> + +<p>Veronese has no choice type of beauty for either sex. We find in him, on +the contrary, a somewhat coarse display of animal force in men, and of +superb voluptuousness in women. He prefers to paint women draped in +gorgeous <a name="Page_266"></a>raiment, as if he had not felt the beauty of the nude. Their +faces are too frequently unrefined and empty of expression. His noblest +creatures are men of about twenty-five, manly, brawny, crisp-haired, full +of nerve and blood. In all this Veronese resembles Rubens. But he does +not, like Rubens, strike us as gross, sensual, fleshly;<a name="FNanchor282"></a><a href="#Footnote_282"><sup>[282]</sup></a> he remains +proud, powerful, and frigidly materialistic. He raises neither repulsion +nor desire, but displays with the calm strength of art the empire of the +mundane spirit. All the equipage of wealth and worldliness, the lust of +the eye, and the pride of life—such a vision as the fiend offered to +Christ on the mountain of temptation; this is Veronese's realm. Again, he +has no flashes of poetic imagination like Tintoretto; but his grip on the +realities of the world, his faculty for idealising prosaic magnificence, +is even greater.</p> + +<p>Veronese was precisely the painter suited to a nation of merchants, in +whom the associations of the counting-house and the exchange mingled with +the responsibilities of the Senate and the passions of princes. He never +portrayed vehement emotions. There are no brusque movements, no extended +arms, like those of Tintoretto's Magdalen in the "Pietà" at Milan, in his +pictures. His Christs and Maries and martyrs of all sorts are composed, +serious, courtly, well-fed personages, who, like people of the world +accidentally overtaken by some tragic misfortune, do not stoop to +distortions or express more than a grave surprise, a decorous sense of +pain.<a name="FNanchor283"></a><a href="#Footnote_283"><sup>[283]</sup></a> His angelic beings are equally earthly.</p> + +<p>The Venetian Rothschilds no doubt preferred the ceremonial to the +imaginative treatment of sacred themes; and to do him justice, Veronese +did not make what would in his <a name="Page_267"></a>case have been the mistake of choosing the +tragedies of the Bible for representation. It is the story of Esther, with +its royal audiences, coronations, and processions; the marriage feast at +Cana; the banquet in the house of Levi, that he selects by preference. +Even these themes he removes into a region far from Biblical associations. +His <i>mise en scène</i> is invariably borrowed from luxurious Italian +palaces—large open courts and <i>loggie</i>, crowded with guests and +lacqueys—tables profusely laden with gold and silver plate. The same love +of display led him to delight in allegory—not allegory of the deep and +mystic kind, but of the pompous and processional, in which Venice appears +enthroned among the deities, or Jupiter fulminates against the vices, or +the genii of the arts are personified as handsome women and blooming boys. +In dealing with mythology, again, it is not its poetry that he touches; he +uses the tale of Europa, for example, as the motive for rich toilettes and +delightful landscape, choosing the moment that has least in it of pathos. +These being the prominent features of his style, it remains to be said +that what is really great in Veronese is the sobriety of his imagination +and the solidity of his workmanship. Amid so much that is distracting, he +never loses command over his subject; nor does he degenerate into fulsome +rhetoric.</p> + +<p>Tintoretto is not at home in this somewhat vulgar region of ceremonial +grandeur. He requires both thought and fancy as the stimulus to his +creative effort. He cannot be satisfied with reproducing, even in the +noblest combinations, merely what he sees around him of resplendent and +magnificent. There must be scope for poetry in the conception and for +audacity in the projection of his subject, something that shall rouse the +prophetic faculty and evoke the seer in the artist, or Tintoretto does not +rise to his own altitude. Accordingly we find that, in contrast with +Veronese, he selects by preference the most tragic and dramatic subjects +to be found in <a name="Page_268"></a>sacred history. The Crucifixion, with its agonising deity +and prostrate groups of women, sunk below the grief of tears;—the +Temptation in the wilderness, with its passionate contrast of the +grey-robed Man of Sorrows and the ruby-winged, voluptuous fiend;—the +Temptation of Adam in Eden, a glowing allegory of the fascination of the +spirit by the flesh;—Paradise, a tempest of souls, whirled like Lucretian +atoms or gold dust in sunbeams by the celestial forces that perform the +movement of the spheres;—the Destruction of the world, where all the +fountains and rivers and lakes and seas of earth have formed one cataract, +that thunders with cities and nations on its rapids down a bottomless +gulf; while all the winds and hurricanes of the air have grown into one +blast, that carries men like dead leaves up to judgment;—the Plague of +the fiery serpents, with multitudes encoiled and writhing on a burning +waste of sand;—the Massacre of the Innocents, with its spilth of blood on +slippery pavements of porphyry and serpentine;—the Delivery of the tables +of the law to Moses amid clouds on Sinai, a white ascetic, +lightning-smitten man emerging in the glory of apparent godhead;—the +anguish of the Magdalen above her martyred God;—the solemn silence of +Christ before the throne of Pilate;—the rushing of the wings of Seraphim, +and the clangour of the trumpet that awakes the dead;—these are the +soul-stirring themes that Tintoretto handles with the ease of +mastery.<a name="FNanchor284"></a><a href="#Footnote_284"><sup>[284]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Meditating upon Tintoretto's choice of such subjects, we feel that the +profoundest characteristic of his genius is the determination toward +motives pre-eminently poetic rather than proper to the figurative arts. +The poet imagines a situation in which the intellectual or emotional life +is paramount, and the body is subordinate. The painter selects <a name="Page_269"></a>situations +in which physical form is of the first importance, and a feeling or a +thought is suggested. But Tintoretto grapples immediately with poetical +ideas; and he often fails to realise them fully through the inadequacy of +painting as a medium for such matter. Moses, in the drama of the "Golden +Calf," for instance, is a poem, not a true picture.<a name="FNanchor285"></a><a href="#Footnote_285"><sup>[285]</sup></a> The pale ecstatic +stretching out emaciated arms, presents no beauty of attitude or outline. +Energy of thought is conspicuous in the figure; and reflection is needed +to bring out the purpose of the painter.<a name="FNanchor286"></a><a href="#Footnote_286"><sup>[286]</sup></a></p> + +<p>It is not, however, only in the region of the vast, tempestuous, and +tragic that Tintoretto finds himself at home. He is equal to every task +that can be imposed upon the imagination. Provided only that the spiritual +fount be stirred, the jet of living water gushes forth, pure, +inexhaustible, and limpid. In his "Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne," that +most perfect lyric of the sensuous fancy from which sensuality is +absent;<a name="FNanchor287"></a><a href="#Footnote_287"><sup>[287]</sup></a> in his "Temptation of Adam," that symphony of grey and brown +and ivory more lustrous than the hues of sunset; in his "Miracle of S. +Agnes," that lamb-like maiden with her snow-white lamb among the soldiers +and the priests of Rome, Tintoretto has proved beyond all question that +the <a name="Page_270"></a>fiery genius of Titanic artists can pierce and irradiate the placid +and the tender secrets of the soul with more consummate mastery than falls +to the lot of those who make tranquillity their special province.<a name="FNanchor288"></a><a href="#Footnote_288"><sup>[288]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Paolo Veronese never penetrated to this inner shrine of beauty, this +Holiest of Holies where the spiritual graces dwell. He could not paint +waxen limbs, with silver lights and golden and transparent mysteries of +shadow, like those of Bacchus, Eve, and Ariadne. Titian himself was +powerless to imagine movement like that of Aphrodite floating in the air, +or of Madonna adjuring Christ in the "Paradiso," or of Christ Himself +judging by the silent simplicity of his divine attitude the worldly judge +at whose tribunal He stands, or of the tempter raising his jewelled arms +aloft to dazzle with meretricious brilliancy the impassive God above him, +or of Eve leaning in irresistible seductiveness against the fatal tree, or +of S. Mark down-rushing through the sky to save the slave that cried to +him, or of the Mary who has fallen asleep with folded hands from utter +lassitude of agony at the foot of the cross.</p> + +<p>It is in these attitudes, movements, gestures, that Tintoretto makes the +human form an index and symbol of the profoundest, most tragic, most +delicious thought and feeling of the inmost soul. In daylight radiancy and +equable colouring he is surpassed perhaps by Veronese. In mastery of every +portion of his art, in solidity of execution, and in unwavering hold upon +his subject, he falls below the level of Titian. Many of his pictures are +unworthy of his genius—hurriedly designed, rapidly dashed upon the +canvas, studied by candlelight from artificial models, with abnormal +effects of light and dark, hastily daubed with pigments that have not +stood the test of time. He was a gigantic <i>improvitsatore</i>:<a name="Page_271"></a> that is the +worst thing we can say of him. But in the swift intuitions of the +imagination, in the purities and sublimities of the prophet-poet's soul, +neither Veronese nor yet even Titian can approach him.</p> + +<p>The greatest difficulty meets the critic who attempts to speak of Titian. +To seize the salient characteristics of an artist whose glory it is to +offer nothing over-prominent, and who keeps the middle path of perfection, +is impossible. As complete health may be termed the absence of obtrusive +sensation, as virtue has been called the just proportion between two +opposite extravagances, so is Titian's art a golden mean of joy unbroken +by brusque movements of the passions—a well-tempered harmony in which no +thrilling note suggests the possibility of discord. In his work the world +and men cease to be merely what they are; he makes them what they ought to +be: and this he does by separating what is beautiful in sensuous life from +its alloy of painful meditation and of burdensome endeavour. The disease +of thought is unknown in his kingdom; no divisions exist between the +spirit and the flesh; the will is thwarted by no obstacles. When we think +of Titian, we are irresistibly led to think of music. His "Assumption of +Madonna" (the greatest single oil-painting in the world, if we except +Raphael's "Madonna di San Sisto") can best be described as a symphony—a +symphony of colour, where every hue is brought into harmonious +combination—a symphony of movement, where every line contributes to +melodious rhythm—a symphony of light without a cloud—a symphony of joy +in which the heavens and earth sing Hallelujah. Tintoretto, in the Scuola +di San Rocco, painted an "Assumption of the Virgin" with characteristic +energy and impulsiveness. A group of agitated men around an open tomb, a +rush of air and clash of seraph wings above, a blaze of glory, a woman +borne with sideways-swaying figure from darkness into light;—that is his +picture, all <i>brio</i>, excitement, <a name="Page_272"></a>speed. Quickly conceived, hastily +executed, this painting (so far as clumsy restoration suffers us to judge) +bears the impress of its author's impetuous genius. But Titian worked by a +different method. On the earth, among the Apostles, there is action enough +and passion; ardent faces straining upward, impatient men raising impotent +arms and vainly divesting themselves of their mantles, as though they too +might follow her they love. In heaven is radiance, half eclipsing the +archangel who holds the crown, and revealing the father of spirits in an +aureole of golden fire. Between earth and heaven, amid choirs of angelic +children, rises the mighty mother of the faith of Christ, who was Mary and +is now a goddess, ecstatic yet tranquil, not yet accustomed to the skies, +but far above the grossness and the incapacities of earth. Her womanhood +is so complete that those for whom the meaning of her Catholic legend is +lost, may hail in her humanity personified.</p> + +<p>The grand manner can reach no further than in this picture—serene, +composed, meditated, enduring, yet full of dramatic force and of profound +feeling. Whatever Titian chose to touch, whether it was classical +mythology or portrait, history or sacred subject, he treated in this large +and healthful style. It is easy to tire of Veronese; it is possible to be +fatigued by Tintoretto. Titian, like nature, waits not for moods or +humours in the spectator. He gives to the mind joy of which it can never +weary, pleasures that cannot satiate, a satisfaction not to be repented +of, a sweetness that will not pall. The least instructed and the simple +feel his influence as strongly as the wise or learned.</p> + +<p>In the course of this attempt to describe the specific qualities of +Tintoretto, Veronese, and Titian, I have been more at pains to distinguish +differences than to point out similarities. What they had in common was +the Renaissance spirit as this formed itself in Venice. Nowhere in Italy +was <a name="Page_273"></a>art more wholly emancipated from obedience to ecclesiastical +traditions, without losing the character of genial and natural piety. +Nowhere was the Christian history treated with a more vivid realism, +harmonised more simply with pagan mythology, or more completely purged of +mysticism. The Umbrian devotion felt by Raphael in his boyhood, the +prophecy of Savonarola, and the Platonism of Ficino absorbed by Michael +Angelo at Florence, the scientific preoccupations of Lionardo and the +antiquarian interests of Mantegna, were all alike unknown at Venice. Among +the Venetian painters there was no conflict between art and religion, or +art and curiosity—no reaction against previous pietism, no perplexity of +conscience, no confusion of aims. Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese were +children of the people, men of the world, men of pleasure; wealthy, +urbane, independent, pious:—they were all these by turns; but they were +never mystics, scholars, or philosophers. In their æsthetic ideal religion +found a place, nor was sensuality rejected; but the religion was sane and +manly, the sensuality was vigorous and virile. Not the intellectual +greatness of the Renaissance, but its happiness and freedom, was what they +represented.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_265"></a><a href="#FNanchor265">[265]</a><div class="note"><p> From the beginning of <i>Julian and Maddalo</i>, which relates a +ride taken by Shelley with Lord Byron, on the Lido, and their visit to the +madhouse on its neighbouring island. The description, richly coloured and +somewhat confused in detail, seems to me peculiarly true to Venetian +scenery. With the exception of Tunis, I know of no such theatre for +sunset-shows as Venice. Tunis has the same elements of broad lagoons and +distant hills, but not the same vaporous atmosphere.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_266"></a><a href="#FNanchor266">[266]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Lettere di Messer Pietro Aretino</i>, Parigi, MDCIX, lib. +iii. p. 48. I have made a paraphrase rather than a translation of this +rare and curious description.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_267"></a><a href="#FNanchor267">[267]</a><div class="note"><p> See Yriarte, <i>Un Patricien de Venise</i>, p. 439.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_268"></a><a href="#FNanchor268">[268]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_269"></a><a href="#FNanchor269">[269]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 183.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_270"></a><a href="#FNanchor270">[270]</a><div class="note"><p> I must refer my readers to Crowe and Cavalcaselle for an +estimate of the influence exercised at Venice by Gentile de Fabriano, John +Alamannus, and the school of Squarcione. Antonello da Messina brought his +method of oil-painting into the city in 1470, and Gian Bellini learned +something at Padua from Andrea Mantegna. The true point about Venice, +however, is that the Venetian character absorbed, assimilated, and +converted to its own originality whatever touched it.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_271"></a><a href="#FNanchor271">[271]</a><div class="note"><p> The conditions of art in Flanders—wealthy, bourgeois, +proud, free—were not dissimilar to those of art in Venice. The misty +flats of Belgium have some of the atmospheric qualities of Venice. As Van +Eyck is to the Vivarini, so is Rubens to Paolo Veronese. This expresses +the amount of likeness and of difference.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_272"></a><a href="#FNanchor272">[272]</a><div class="note"><p> Jacopo and his sons Gentile and Giovanni.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_273"></a><a href="#FNanchor273">[273]</a><div class="note"><p> Notice particularly the Contadina type of S. Catherine in a +picture ascribed to Cordegliaghi in the Venetian Academy.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_274"></a><a href="#FNanchor274">[274]</a><div class="note"><p> These Scuole were the halls of meeting for companies called +by the names of patron saints.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_275"></a><a href="#FNanchor275">[275]</a><div class="note"><p> Notice in particular, from the series of pictures +illustrating the legend of S. Ursula, the very beautiful faces and figures +of the saint herself, and her young bridegroom, the Prince of Britain. +Attendant squires and pages in these paintings have all the charm of +similar subordinate personages in Pinturicchio, with none of his +affectation.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_276"></a><a href="#FNanchor276">[276]</a><div class="note"><p> The most beautiful of these <i>angiolini</i>, with long flakes +of flaxen hair falling from their foreheads, are in a Sacra Conversazione +of Carpaccio's in the Academy. Gian Bellini's, in many similar pictures, +are of the same delicacy.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_277"></a><a href="#FNanchor277">[277]</a><div class="note"><p> What follows above about Giorgione is advanced with +diffidence, since the name of no other great painter has been so freely +used to cover the works of his inferiors.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_278"></a><a href="#FNanchor278">[278]</a><div class="note"><p> Lord Lansdowne's Giorgionesque picture of a young man +crowned with vine, playing and singing to two girls in a garden, for +example. The celebrated Concert of the Louvre Gallery, so charming for its +landscape and so voluptuous in its dreamy sense of Arcadian luxury, is +given by Crowe and Cavalcaselle to an imitator of Sebastian del Piombo. +See <i>History of Painting in North Italy</i>, vol. ii. p. 147.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_279"></a><a href="#FNanchor279">[279]</a><div class="note"><p> Under the fire of Crowe and Cavalcaselle's destructive +criticism, it would require more real courage than I possess to speak of +the "Entombment" in the Monte di Pietà at Treviso as genuine. Coarse and +unselect as are the types of the boy angels, as well as of the young +athletic giant, who plays the part in it of the dead Christ, this is a +truly grandiose and striking picture. Nothing proves the average greatness +of the Venetian masters more than the possibility of attributing such +compositions to obscure and subordinate craftsmen of the school.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_280"></a><a href="#FNanchor280">[280]</a><div class="note"><p> Crowe and Cavalcaselle assign this picture with some +confidence and with fair show of reason, to Cariani, on whom again they +father the frescoes at Colleoni's Castle of Malpaga. I have ventured to +notice it above in connection with Giorgione, since it exhibits some of +the most striking Giorgionesque qualities, and shows the ascendency of his +imagination over the Venetian School.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_281"></a><a href="#FNanchor281">[281]</a><div class="note"><p> Giorgione, b. 1478; d. 1511. Titian, b. 1477, d. 1576. +Tintoretto, b. 1512; d. 1594. Veronese, b. 1530; d. 1588.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_282"></a><a href="#FNanchor282">[282]</a><div class="note"><p> I cannot, for example, imagine Veronese painting anything +like Rubens' two pictures of the "Last Judgment" at Munich.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_283"></a><a href="#FNanchor283">[283]</a><div class="note"><p> For his sacred types see the "Marriage at Cana" in the +Louvre, the little "Crucifixion" and the "Baptism" of the Pitti, and the +"Martyrdom of S. Agata" in the Uffizzi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_284"></a><a href="#FNanchor284">[284]</a><div class="note"><p> These examples are mostly chosen from the Scuola di S. +Rocco and the church of S. Maria dell' Orto at Venice; also from "Pietàs," +in the Brera and the Pitti, the "Paradise" of the Ducal Palace, and a +sketch for "Paradise" in the Louvre.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_285"></a><a href="#FNanchor285">[285]</a><div class="note"><p> S. Maria dell' Orto.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_286"></a><a href="#FNanchor286">[286]</a><div class="note"><p> What is here said about Tintoretto is also true of Michael +Angelo. His sculpture in S. Lorenzo, compared with Greek sculpture, the +norm and canon of the perfect in that art, may be called an invasion of +the realm of poetry or music.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_287"></a><a href="#FNanchor287">[287]</a><div class="note"><p> There are probably not few of my readers who, after seeing +this painting in the Ducal Palace, will agree with me that it is, if not +the greatest, at any rate the most beautiful, oil picture in existence. In +no other picture has a poem of feeling and of fancy, a romance of varied +lights and shades, a symphony of delicately blended hues, a play of +attitude and movement transitory but in no sense forced or violent, been +more successfully expressed by means more simple or with effect more +satisfying. Something of the mythopoeic faculty must have survived in +Tintoretto, and enabled him to inspire the Greek tale with this intense +vitality of beauty.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_288"></a><a href="#FNanchor288">[288]</a><div class="note"><p> The first of these pictures is in the Ducal Palace, the +other two in the Academy at Venice.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><h2><a name="Page_274"></a>CHAPTER VIII--LIFE OF MICHAEL ANGELO</h2> + +<h4>Contrast of Michael Angelo and Cellini—Parentage and Boyhood of Michael +Angelo—Work with Ghirlandajo—Gardens of S. Marco—The Medicean +Circle—Early Essays in Sculpture—Visit to Bologna—First Visit to +Rome—The "Pietà" of S. Peter's—Michael Angelo as a Patriot and a Friend +of the Medici—Cartoon for the Battle of Pisa—Michael Angelo and Julius +II.—The Tragedy of the Tomb—Design for the Pope's Mausoleum—Visit to +Carrara—Flight from Rome—Michael Angelo at Bologna—Bronze Statue of +Julius—Return to Rome—Ceiling of the Sistine Chapel—Greek and Modern +Art—Raphael—Michael Angelo and Leo X.—S. Lorenzo—The new +Sacristy—Circumstances under which it was designed and partly +finished—Meaning of the Allegories—Incomplete state of Michael Angelo's +Marbles—Paul III.—The "Last Judgment"—Critiques of Contemporaries—The +Dome of S. Peter's—Vittoria Colonna—Tommaso Cavalieri—Personal Habits +of Michael Angelo—His Emotional Nature—Last Illness.</h4> + +<p>The life of Italian artists at the time of the Renaissance may be +illustrated by two biographies. Michael Angelo Buonarroti and Benvenuto +Cellini were almost opposite in all they thought and felt, experienced and +aimed at. The one impressed his own strong personality on art; the other +reflected the light and shadow of the age in the record of his manifold +existence. Cellini hovered, like some strong-winged creature, on the +surface of human activity, yielding himself to every impulse, seeking +every pleasure, and of beauty feeling only the rude animal compulsion. +Deep philosophic thoughts, ideas of death and judgment, the stern +struggles of the soul, encompassed Michael Angelo; the service <a name="Page_275"></a>of beauty +was with him religion. Cellini was the creature of the moment—the glass +and mirror of corrupt, enslaved, yet still resplendent Italy. In Michael +Angelo the genius of the Renaissance culminated; but his character was +rather that of an austere Republican, free and solitary amid the +multitudes of slaves and courtiers. Michael Angelo made art the vehicle of +lofty and soul-shaking thought. Cellini brought the fervour of an +inexhaustibly active nature to the service of sensuality, and taught his +art to be the handmaid of a soulless paganism. In these two men, +therefore, we study two aspects of their age. How far both were +exceptional, need not here be questioned; since their singularity consists +not so much in being different from other Italians of the sixteenth +century as in concentrating qualities elsewhere scattered and imperfect.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo was born in 1475 at Caprese, among the mountains of the +Casentino, where his father Lodovico held the office of Podestà. His +ancestry was honourable: the Buonarroti even claimed descent, but +apparently without due reason, from the princely house of Canossa.<a name="FNanchor289"></a><a href="#Footnote_289"><sup>[289]</sup></a> +His mother gave him to be suckled by a stone-cutter's wife at Settignano, +so that in after days he used to say that he had drawn in the love of +chisels and mallets with his nurse's milk. As he grew, the boy developed +an invincible determination towards the arts. Lodovico from motives of +pride and prudence opposed his wishes, but without success. Michael Angelo +made friends with the lad Granacci, who was apprenticed to Domenico +Ghirlandajo, and at last induced his father to sign articles for him to +the same painter. In Ghirlandajo's workshop he learned the rudiments of +art, helping in the execution of the frescoes at S. Maria Novella, until +such <a name="Page_276"></a>time as the pupil proved his superiority as a draughtsman to his +teacher. The rupture between Michael Angelo and Ghirlandajo might be +compared with that between Beethoven and Haydn. In both cases a proud, +uncompromising, somewhat scornful student sought aid from a master great +in his own line but inferior in fire and originality of genius.<a name="FNanchor290"></a><a href="#Footnote_290"><sup>[290]</sup></a> In +both cases the moment came when pupil and teacher perceived that the eagle +could no longer be confined within the hawk's nest, and that henceforth it +must sweep the skies alone. After leaving Ghirlandajo's <i>bottega</i> at the +age of sixteen, Michael Angelo did in truth thenceforward through his life +pursue his art alone. Granacci procured him an introduction to the Medici, +and the two friends together frequented those gardens of S. Marco where +Lorenzo had placed his collection of antiquities. There the youth +discovered his vocation. Having begged a piece of marble and a chisel, he +struck out the Faun's mask that still is seen in the Bargello. It is worth +noticing that Michael Angelo seems to have done no merely prentice-work. +Not a fragment of his labour from the earliest to the latest was +insignificant, and only such thoughts as he committed to the perishable +materials of bronze or paper have been lost. There was nothing tentative +in his genius. Into art, as into a rich land, he came and conquered. In +like manner, the first sonnet composed by Dante is scarcely less precious +than the last lines of the "Paradiso." This is true of all the highest +artistic natures, who need no preparations and have no period of groping.</p> +<a name="Page_277"></a> +<p>Lorenzo de' Medici discerned in Michael Angelo a youth of eminent genius, +and took the lad into his own household. The astonished father found +himself suddenly provided with a comfortable post and courted for the sake +of the young sculptor. In Lorenzo's palace the real education of Michael +Angelo began. He sat at the same table with Ficino, Pico, and Poliziano, +listening to dialogues on Plato and drinking in the golden poetry of +Greece. Greek literature and philosophy, expounded by the men who had +discovered them, and who were no less proud of their discovery than +Columbus of his passage to the Indies, first moulded his mind to those +lofty thoughts which it became the task of his life to express in form. At +the same time he heard the preaching of Savonarola. In the Duomo and the +cloister of S. Marco another portion of his soul was touched, and he +acquired that deep religious tone which gives its majesty and terror to +the Sistine. Much in the same way was Milton educated by the classics in +conjunction with the Scriptures. Both of these austere natures assimilated +from pagan art and Jewish prophecy the twofold elements they needed for +their own imaginative life. Both Michael Angelo and Milton, in spite of +their parade of classic style, were separated from the Greek world by a +gulf of Hebrew and of Christian feeling.</p> + +<p>While Michael Angelo was thus engaged in studying antique sculpture and in +listening to Pico and Savonarola, he carved his first bas-relief—a +"Battle of Hercules with the Centaurs," suggested to him by +Poliziano.<a name="FNanchor291"></a><a href="#Footnote_291"><sup>[291]</sup></a> Meantime Lorenzo died. His successor Piero set the young +man, it is said, to model a snow statue, and then melted like a shape of +snow himself down from his pedestal of power in Florence. Upon the +expulsion of the tyrant and the proclamation of the new republic, it was +dangerous for house-friends of the Casa<a name="Page_278"></a> Medici to be seen in the city. +Michael Angelo, therefore, made his way to Bologna, where he spent some +months in the palace of Gian Francesco Aldovrandini, studying Dante and +working at an angel for the shrine of S. Dominic. As soon, however, as it +seemed safe to do so, he returned to Florence; and to this period belongs +the statue of the "Sleeping Cupid," which was sold as an antique to the +Cardinal Raffaello Riario.</p> + +<p>A dispute about the price of this "Cupid" took Michael Angelo in 1496 to +Rome, where it was destined that the greater portion of his life should he +spent, and his noblest works of art should be produced. Here, while the +Borgias were turning the Vatican into a den of thieves and harlots, he +executed the purest of all his statues—a "Pietà" in marble.<a name="FNanchor292"></a><a href="#Footnote_292"><sup>[292]</sup></a> Christ +is lying dead upon his mother's knees. With her right arm she supports his +shoulders; her left hand is gently raised as though to say, "Behold and +see!" All that art can do to make death beautiful and grief sublime, is +achieved in this masterpiece, which was never surpassed by Michael Angelo +in later years. Already, at the age of four-and-twenty, he had matured his +"terrible manner." Already were invented in his brain that race of +superhuman beings, who became the hieroglyphs of his impassioned +utterance. Madonna has the small head and heroic torso used by this master +to symbolise force. We feel she has no difficulty in holding the dead +Christ upon her ample lap and in her powerful arms. Yet while the "Pietà" +is wholly Michael Angelesque, we find no lack of repose, none of those +contorted lines that are commonly urged against his manner. It is a sober +and harmonious composition, combining the profoundest religious feeling +with classical tranquillity of expression. Again, though the group is +forcibly original, <a name="Page_279"></a>this effect of originality is produced, as in all the +best work of the golden age, not by new and startling conception, but by +the handling of an old and well-worn motive with the grandeur of +consummate style. What the genius of Italian sculpture had for generations +been striving after, finds its perfect realisation here. It was precisely +by thus crowning the endeavours of antecedent artists—by bringing the +opening buds of painting and sculpture to full blossom, and exhausting the +resources of a long sustained and common inspiration, that the great +masters proved their supremacy and rendered an advance beyond their +vantage ground impossible. To those who saw and comprehended this "Pietà" +in 1500, it must have been evident that a new power of portraying the very +soul had been manifested in sculpture—a power unknown to the Greeks +because it lay outside the sphere of their spiritual experience, and +unknown to modern artists because it was beyond their faculties of +execution and conception. Yet who in Rome, among the courtiers of the +Borgias, had brain or heart to understand these things?</p> + +<p>In 1501 Michael Angelo returned to Florence, where he stayed until the +year 1505. This period was fruitful of results on which his after fame +depended. The great statue of "David," the two unfinished medallions of +Madonna in relief, the "Holy Family of the Tribune" painted for Angelo +Doni, and the Cartoon of the "Battle of Pisa" were now produced; and no +man's name, not even Lionardo's, stood higher in esteem thenceforward. It +will be remembered that Savonarola was now dead, but that his constitution +still existed under the presidency of Pietro Soderini—the <i>non mai +abbastanza lodato Cavaliere</i>, as Pitti calls him, the <i>anima sciocca</i> of +Machiavelli's epigram.<a name="FNanchor293"></a><a href="#Footnote_293"><sup>[293]</sup></a> Since Michael Angelo at this time was employed +<a name="Page_280"></a>in the service of masters who had superseded his old friends and patrons, +it may be well to review here his attitude in general toward the house of +Medici. Throughout his lifetime there continued a conflict between the +artist and the citizen—the artist owing education and employment to +successive members of that house, the citizen resenting their despotism +and doing all that in him lay at times to keep them out of Florence. As a +patriot, as the student of Dante and the disciple of Savonarola, Michael +Angelo detested tyrants.<a name="FNanchor294"></a><a href="#Footnote_294"><sup>[294]</sup></a> One of his earliest madrigals, conceived as +a dialogue between Florence and her exiles, expresses his mind so +decidedly that I have ventured to translate it;<a name="FNanchor295"></a><a href="#Footnote_295"><sup>[295]</sup></a> the exiles first +address Florence, and she answers:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Lady, for joy of lovers numberless</p> +<p class="i2">Thou wast created fair as angels are.</p> +<p class="i2">Sure God hath fallen asleep in heaven afar,</p> +<p class="i2">When one man calls the boon of many his.</p> +<p class="i2">Give back to streaming eyes</p> +<p class="i2">The daylight of Thy face, that seems to shun</p> +<p class="i2">Those who must live defrauded of their bliss!"</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"Vex not your pure desire with tears and sighs;</p> +<p class="i2">For he who robs you of my light, hath none.</p> +<p class="i2">Dwelling in fear, sin hath no happiness;</p> +<p class="i2">Since amid those who love, their joy is less</p> +<p class="i2">Whose great desire great plenty still curtails,</p> +<p class="i2">Than theirs who, poor, have hope that never fails."</p> +</div></div> + +<p>As an artist, owing his advancement to Lorenzo, he had accepted favours +binding him by ties of gratitude to the Medici, <a name="Page_281"></a>and even involving him in +the downfall of their house. For Leo X. he undertook to build the façade +of S. Lorenzo and the Laurentian Library. For Clement VII. he began the +statues of the Dukes of Urbino and Nemours. Yet, while accepting these +commissions from Medicean Popes, he could not keep his tongue from +speaking openly against their despotism. After the sack of Prato it +appears from his correspondence that he had exposed himself to danger by +some expression of indignation.<a name="FNanchor296"></a><a href="#Footnote_296"><sup>[296]</sup></a> This was in 1512, when Soderini fled +and left the gates of Florence open to the Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici. +During the siege of Florence in 1529 he fortified Samminiato, and allowed +himself to be named one of the Otto di Guerra chosen for the express +purpose of defending Florence against the Medici.<a name="FNanchor297"></a><a href="#Footnote_297"><sup>[297]</sup></a> After the fall of +the city he made peace with Clement by consenting to finish the tombs of +S. Lorenzo. Yet, while doing all he could to save those insignificant +dukes from oblivion by the immortality of his art, Michael Angelo was +conscious of his own and his country's shame. The memorable lines placed +in the mouth of his "Night," sufficiently display his feeling after the +final return of the Medici in 1530:<a name="FNanchor298"></a><a href="#Footnote_298"><sup>[298]</sup></a>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Sweet is my sleep, but more to be mere stone,</p> +<p>So long as ruin and dishonour reign;</p> +<p>To hear nought, to feel nought, is my great gain:</p> +<p>Then wake me not, speak in an under-tone.</p> +</div></div> +<a name="Page_282"></a> +<p>When Clement VII. died, the last real representative of Michael Angelo's +old patrons perished, and the sculptor was free to quit Florence for ever. +During the reign of Duke Cosimo he never set foot in his native city. It +is thus clear that the patriot, the artist, and the man of honour were at +odds in him. Loyalty obliged him to serve the family to whom he owed so +much; he was, moreover, dependent for opportunities of doing great work on +the very men whose public policy he execrated. Hence arose a compromise +and a confusion, hard to accommodate with our conception of his upright +and unyielding temper. Only by voluntary exile, and after age had made him +stubborn to resist seductive offers, could Michael Angelo act up to the +promptings of his heart and declare himself a citizen who held no truce +with tyrants. I have already in this work had occasion to compare Dante, +Michael Angelo, and Machiavelli.<a name="FNanchor299"></a><a href="#Footnote_299"><sup>[299]</sup></a> In estimating the conduct of the two +last, it must not be forgotten that, by the action of inevitable causes, +republican freedom had become in Italy a thing of the past; and in judging +between Machiavelli and Michael Angelo, we have to remember that the +sculptor's work involved no sacrifice of principle or self-respect. +Carving statues for the tombs of Medicean dukes was a different matter +from dedicating the "Prince" to them.</p> + +<p>This digression, though necessary for the right understanding of Michael +Angelo's relation to the Medici, has carried me beyond his Florentine +residence in 1501-1505. The great achievement of that period was not the +"David" but the Cartoon for the "Battle of Pisa."<a name="FNanchor300"></a><a href="#Footnote_300"><sup>[300]</sup></a> The hall of the<a name="Page_283"></a> +Consiglio Grande had been opened, and one wall had been assigned to +Lionardo. Michael Angelo was now invited by the Signory to prepare a +design for another side of the state-chamber. When he displayed his +cartoon to the Florentines, they pronounced that Da Vinci, hitherto the +undisputed prince of painting, was surpassed. It is impossible for us to +form an opinion on this matter, since both cartoons are lost beyond +recovery.<a name="FNanchor301"></a><a href="#Footnote_301"><sup>[301]</sup></a> We only know that, as Cellini says, "while they lasted, +they formed the school of the whole world,"<a name="FNanchor302"></a><a href="#Footnote_302"><sup>[302]</sup></a> and made an epoch in the +history of art. When we inquire what was the subject of Michael Angelo's +famous picture, we find that he had aimed at representing nothing of more +moment than a group of soldiers suddenly surprised by a trumpet-call to +battle, while bathing in the Arno—a crowd of naked men in every posture +indicating haste, anxiety, and struggle. Not for its intellectual meaning, +not for its colour, not for its sentiment, was this design so highly +prized. Its science won <a name="Page_284"></a>the admiration of artists and the public. At this +period of the Renaissance the bold and perfect drawing of the body gave an +exquisite delight. Hence, perhaps, Vasari's vapid talk about "stravaganti +attitudini," "divine figure," "scorticamenti," and so forth—as if the +soul of figurative art were in such matters. The science of Michael +Angelo, which in his own mind was sternly subordinated to thought, had +already turned the weaker heads of his generation.<a name="FNanchor303"></a><a href="#Footnote_303"><sup>[303]</sup></a> A false ideal took +possession of the fancy, and such criticism as that of Vasari and Pietro +Aretino became inevitable.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, a new Pope had been elected, and in 1505 Michael Angelo was +once more called to Rome. Throughout his artist's life he oscillated thus +between Rome and Florence—Florence the city of his ancestry, and Rome the +city of his soul; Florence where he learnt his art, and Rome where he +displayed what art can do of highest. Julius was a patron of different +stamp from Lorenzo the Magnificent. He was not learned in book-lore: +"Place a sword in my hand!" he said to the sculptor at Bologna: "of +letters I know nothing." Yet he was no less capable of discerning +excellence than the Medici himself, and his spirit strove incessantly +after the accomplishment of vast designs. Between Julius and Michael +Angelo there existed a strong bond of sympathy due to community of +temperament. Both aimed at colossal achievements in their respective +fields of action. The imagination of both was fired by large and simple, +rather than luxurious and subtle thoughts. Both were <i>uomini terribili</i>, +to use a phrase denoting vigour of character made formidable by an abrupt +uncompromising temper. Both worked <i>con furia</i>, with the impetuosity of +dæmonic natures; and both left the impress of their individuality graven +indelibly upon their age.</p> + +<p>Julius ordered the sculptor to prepare his mausoleum. Michael Angelo +asked, "Where am I to place it?" Julius replied, "In S. Peter's." But the +old basilica of Christendom was too small for this ambitious pontiff's +sepulchre, designed by the audacious artist. It was therefore decreed that +a new S. Peter's should be built to hold it. In this way the two great +labours of Buonarroti's life were mapped out for him in a moment. But, by +a strange contrariety of fate, to Bramante and San Gallo fell respectively +the planning and the spoiling of S. Peter's. It was only in extreme old +age that Michael Angelo crowned it with that world's miracle, the dome. +The mausoleum, to form a canopy for which the building was designed, +dwindled down at last to the statue of "Moses" thrust out of the way in +the church of S. Pietro in Vincoli. "La tragedia della Sepoltura," as +Condivi aptly terms the history of Giulio's monument, began thus in 1505 +and dragged on till 1545.<a name="FNanchor304"></a><a href="#Footnote_304"><sup>[304]</sup></a> Rarely did Michael Angelo undertake a work +commensurate with his creative power, but something came to interrupt its +execution; while tasks outside his sphere, for which he never +bargained—the painting of the Sistine Chapel, the façade of S. Lorenzo, +the fortification of Samminiato—were thrust upon him in the midst of +other more congenial labours. What we possess of his achievement, is a +<i>torso</i> of his huge designs.</p> +<a name="Page_285"></a> +<p>Giulio's tomb, as he conceived it, would have been the most stupendous +monument of sculpture in the world.<a name="FNanchor305"></a><a href="#Footnote_305"><sup>[305]</sup></a> That mountain of marble covered +with figures wrought in stone and bronze, was meant to be the sculptured +poem of the thought of Death; no mere apotheosis of Pope Julius, but a +pageant of the soul triumphant over the limitations of mortality. All that +dignifies humanity—arts, sciences, and laws; the victory that crowns +heroic effort; the majesty of contemplation, <a name="Page_286"></a>and the energy of +action—was symbolised upon ascending tiers of the great pyramid; while +the genii of heaven and earth upheld the open tomb, where lay the dead man +waiting for the Resurrection. Of this gigantic scheme only one imperfect +drawing now remains.<a name="FNanchor306"></a><a href="#Footnote_306"><sup>[306]</sup></a> The "Moses" and the "Bound Captives"<a name="FNanchor307"></a><a href="#Footnote_307"><sup>[307]</sup></a> are +all that Michael Angelo accomplished. For forty years the "Moses" remained +in his workshop. For forty years he cherished a hope that his plan might +still in part be executed, complaining the while that it would have been +better for him to have made sulphur matches all his life than to have +taken up the desolating artist's trade. "Every day," he cries, "I am +stoned as though I had crucified Christ. My youth has been lost, bound +hand and foot to this tomb."<a name="FNanchor308"></a><a href="#Footnote_308"><sup>[308]</sup></a> It was decreed apparently that Michael +Angelo should exist for after ages as a fragment; and such might Pheidias +among the Greeks have been, if he had worked for ephemeral Popes and +bankrupt princes instead of Pericles. Italy in the sixteenth century, +dislocated, distracted, and drained of her material resources, gave no +opportunity to artists for the creation of monuments colossal in their +unity.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo spent eight months at this period among the stone quarries +of Carrara, selecting marble for the Pope's tomb.<a name="FNanchor309"></a><a href="#Footnote_309"><sup>[309]</sup></a> There his brain, +always teeming with gigantic conceptions, suggested to him a new fancy. +Could not the headland jutting out beyond Sarzana into the Tyrrhene Sea +<a name="Page_287"></a>be carved by his workmen into a Pharos? To transmute a mountain into a +statue, holding a city in either hand, had been the dream of a Greek +artist. Michael Angelo revived the bold thought; but to execute it would +have been almost beyond his power. Meanwhile, in November 1505, the marble +was shipped, and the quays of Rome were soon crowded with blocks destined +for the mausoleum. But when the sculptor arrived, he found that enemies +had been poisoning the Pope's mind against him, and that Julius had +abandoned the scheme of the mausoleum. On six successive days he was +denied entrance to the Vatican, and the last time with such rudeness that +he determined to quit Rome.<a name="FNanchor310"></a><a href="#Footnote_310"><sup>[310]</sup></a> He hurried straightway to his house, sold +his effects, mounted, and rode without further ceremony toward Florence, +sending to the Pope a written message bidding him to seek for Michael +Angelo elsewhere in future than in Rome. It is related that Julius, +anxious to recover what had been so lightly lost, sent several couriers to +bring him back.<a name="FNanchor311"></a><a href="#Footnote_311"><sup>[311]</sup></a> Michael Angelo announced that he intended to accept +the Sultan's commission for building a bridge at Pera, and refused to be +persuaded to return to Rome. This was at Poggibonsi. When he had reached +Florence, Julius addressed, himself to Soderini, who, unwilling to +displease the Pope, induced Michael Angelo to seek the pardon of the +master he had so abruptly quitted. By that time Julius had left the city +for the camp; and when Michael Angelo finally appeared before him, +fortified with letters from the Signory of Florence, it was at Bologna +that <a name="Page_288"></a>they met. "You have waited thus long, it seems," said the Pope, well +satisfied but surly, "till we should come ourselves to seek you." The +prelate who had introduced the sculptor now began to make excuses for him, +whereupon Julius turned in a fury upon the officious courtier, and had him +beaten from his presence. A few days after this encounter Michael Angelo +was ordered to cast a bronze statue of Julius for the frontispiece of S. +Petronio. The sculptor objected that brass-foundry was not his affair. +"Never mind," said Julius; "get to work, and we will cast your statue till +it comes out perfect."<a name="FNanchor312"></a><a href="#Footnote_312"><sup>[312]</sup></a> Michael Angelo did as he was bid, and the +statue was set up in 1508 above the great door of the church. The Pope was +seated, with his right hand raised; in the other were the keys. When +Julius asked him whether he was meant to bless or curse the Bolognese with +that uplifted hand, Buonarroti found an answer worthy of a courtier: "Your +Holiness is threatening this people, if it be not wise." Less than four +years afterwards Julius lost his hold upon Bologna, the party of the +Bentivogli returned to power, and the statue was destroyed. A bronze +cannon, called the "Giulia," was made out of Michael Angelo's masterpiece +by the best gunsmith of his century, Alfonso Duke of Ferrara.</p> + +<p>It seems that Michael Angelo's flight from Rome in 1506 was due not only +to his disappointment about the tomb, but also to his fear lest Julius +should give him uncongenial work to do. Bramante, if we may believe the +old story, had whispered that it was ill-omened for a man to build his own +sepulchre, and that it would be well to employ the sculptor's genius upon +the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Accordingly, on his return to Rome in +1508, this new task was allotted him. In vain did Michael Angelo remind +his master of the months wasted in the quarries of Carrara; in vain he +pointed to his <a name="Page_289"></a>designs for the monument, and pleaded that he was not a +painter by profession.<a name="FNanchor313"></a><a href="#Footnote_313"><sup>[313]</sup></a> Julius had made up his mind that he should +paint the Sistine. Was not the cartoon at Florence a sufficient proof that +he could do this if he chose, and had he not learned the art of fresco in +the <i>bottega</i> of his master Ghirlandajo? Whatever his original reluctance +may have been, it was speedily overcome; and the cartoons for the ceiling, +projected with the unity belonging to a single great conception, were +ready by the summer of 1508.<a name="FNanchor314"></a><a href="#Footnote_314"><sup>[314]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The difficulty of his new task aroused the artist's energy. If we could +accept the legend, whereby contemporaries expressed their admiration for +this Titanic labour, we should have to believe the impossible—that +Michael Angelo ground his own colours, prepared his own plaster, and +completed with his own hand the whole work, after having first conquered +the obstacles of scaffolding and vault-painting by machines of his own +invention,<a name="FNanchor315"></a><a href="#Footnote_315"><sup>[315]</sup></a> and that only twenty months <a name="Page_290"></a>were devoted to the execution +of a series of paintings almost unequalled in their delicacy, and +surpassed by few single masterpieces in extent. What may be called the +mythus of the Sistine Chapel has at last been finally disproved, partly by +the personal observations of Mr. Heath Wilson, and partly by the +publication of Michael Angelo's correspondence.<a name="FNanchor316"></a><a href="#Footnote_316"><sup>[316]</sup></a> Though some +uncertainty remains as to the exact dates of the commencement and +completion of the vault, we now know that Michael Angelo continued +painting it at intervals during four successive years; and though we are +not accurately informed about his helpers, we no longer can doubt that +able craftsmen yielded him assistance. On May 10, 1508, he signed a +receipt for five hundred ducats advanced by Julius for the necessary +expenses of the undertaking; and on the next day he paid ten ducats to a +mason for rough plastering and surface-finishing applied to the vault. +There is good reason to believe that he began his painting during the +autumn of 1508. On November 1, 1509, a certain portion was uncovered to +the public; and before the end of the year 1512 the whole was completed. +Thus, though the legend of Vasari and Condivi has been stripped of the +miraculous by careful observation and keen-sighted criticism, enough +remains to justify the sense of wonder that expressed itself in their +exaggerated statements. No one but Michael Angelo could have done what he +did in the Sistine Chapel. The conception was entirely his own. The +execution, except in subordinate details and in matters pertaining to the +mason's craft, was also his. The rapidity with which he laboured was +astounding. Mr. Heath Wilson infers from the condition of the plaster and +the joinings observable in different parts, that the figure of Adam, +<a name="Page_291"></a>highly finished as it is, was painted in three days. Nor need we strip +the romance from that time-honoured tale of the great master's solitude. +Lying on his back beneath the dreary vault, communing with Dante, +Savonarola, and the Hebrew prophets in the intervals of labour, locking up +the chapel-doors in order to elude the jealous curiosity of rivals, eating +but little and scarcely sleeping, he accomplished in sixteen months the +first part of his gigantic task.<a name="FNanchor317"></a><a href="#Footnote_317"><sup>[317]</sup></a> From time to time Julius climbed the +scaffold and inspected the painter's progress. Dreading lest death should +come before the work were finished, he kept crying, "When will you make an +end?" "When I can," answered the painter. "You seem to want," rejoined the +petulant old man, "that I should have you thrown down from the scaffold." +Then Michael Angelo's brush stopped. The machinery was removed, and the +frescoes were uncovered in their incompleteness to the eyes of Rome.</p> + +<p>Entering the Cappella Sistina, and raising our eyes to sweep the roof, we +have above us a long and somewhat narrow oblong space, vaulted with round +arches, and covered from end to end, from side to side, with a network of +human forms. The whole is coloured like the dusky, tawny, blueish clouds +of thunderstorms. There is no luxury of decorative art;—no gold, no +paint-box of vermilion or emerald green, has been lavished here. Sombre +and aërial, like shapes condensed from vapour, or dreams begotten by Ixion +upon mists of eve or dawn, the phantoms evoked by the sculptor throng that +space. Nine compositions, carrying down the sacred history from the +creation of light to the beginning of sin in Noah's household, fill the +central compartments of the roof. Beneath <a name="Page_292"></a>these, seated on the spandrils, +are alternate prophets and sibyls, twelve in all, attesting to the future +deliverance and judgment of the world by Christ. The intermediate spaces +between these larger masses, on the roof and in the lunettes of the +windows, swarm with figures, some naked and some draped—women and +children, boys and young men, grouped in tranquil attitudes, or adapting +themselves with freedom to their station on the curves and angles of the +architecture. In these subordinate creations Michael Angelo deigned to +drop the terrible style, in order that he might show how sweet and full of +charm his art could be. The grace of colouring, realised in some of those +youthful and athletic forms, is such as no copy can represent. Every +posture of beauty and of strength, simple or strained, that it is possible +for men to assume, has been depicted here. Yet the whole is governed by a +strict sense of sobriety. The restlessness of Correggio, the violent +attitudinising of Tintoretto, belong alike to another and less noble +spirit.</p> + +<p>To speak adequately of these form-poems would be quite impossible. +Buonarroti seems to have intended to prove by them that the human body has +a language, inexhaustible in symbolism—every limb, every feature, and +every attitude being a word full of significance to those who comprehend, +just as music is a language whereof each note and chord and phrase has +correspondence with the spiritual world. It may be presumptuous after this +fashion to interpret the design of him who called into existence the +heroic population of the Sistine. Yet Michael Angelo has written lines +which in some measure justify the reading. This is how he closes one of +his finest sonnets to Vittoria Colonna:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere</p> +<p>More clearly than in human forms sublime;</p> +<p>Which, since they image Him, compel my love.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>Therefore to him a well-shaped hand, or throat, or head, a <a name="Page_293"></a>neck superbly +poised on an athletic chest, the sway of the trunk above the hips, the +starting of the muscles on the flank, the tendons of the ankle, the +outline of the shoulder when the arm is raised, the backward bending of +the loins, the curves of a woman's breast, the contours of a body careless +in repose or strained for action, were all words pregnant with profoundest +meaning, whereby fit utterance might be given to the thoughts that raise +man near to God. But, it may be asked, what poems of action as well as +feeling are to be expressed in this form-language? The answer is simple. +Paint or carve the body of a man, and, as you do it nobly, you will give +the measure of both highest thought and most impassioned deed. This is the +key to Michael Angelo's art. He cared but little for inanimate nature. The +landscapes of Italy, so eloquent in their sublimity and beauty, were +apparently a blank to him. His world was the world of ideas, taking +visible form, incarnating themselves in man. One language the master had +to serve him in all need—the language of plastic human form; but it was +to him a tongue as rich in its variety of accent and of intonation as +Beethoven's harmonies.</p> + +<p>In the Sistine Chapel, where plastic art is so supreme, we are bound to +ask the further question. What was the difference between Michael Angelo +and a Greek? The Parthenon with its processions of youths and maidens, its +gods and heroes, rejoicing in their strength, and robed with raiment that +revealed their living form, made up a symphony of meaning as full as this +of Michael Angelo, and far more radiant. The Greek sculptor embraced +humanity in his work no less comprehensively than the Italian; and what he +had to say was said more plainly in the speech they both could use. But +between Pheidias and Michael Angelo lay Christianity, the travail of the +world through twenty centuries. Clear as morning, and calm in the +unconsciousness of beauty, are those <a name="Page_294"></a>heroes of the youth of Hellas. All +is grace, repose, strength shown but not asserted. Michael Angelo's Sibyls +and Prophets are old and wrinkled, bowed with thought, consumed by vigils, +startled from tranquillity by visions, overburdened with the messages of +God. The loveliest among them, the Delphic, lifts dilated eyes, as though +to follow dreams that fly upon the paths of trance. Even the young men +strain their splendid limbs, and seem to shout or shriek, as if the life +in them contained some element of pain. "He maketh his angels spirits, and +his ministers a flame of fire:" this verse rises to our lips when we seek +to describe the genii that crowd the cornice of the Sistine Chapel. The +human form in the work of Pheidias wore a joyous and sedate serenity; in +that of Michael Angelo it is turbid with a strange and awful sense of +inbreathed agitation. Through the figure-language of the one was spoken +the pagan creed, bright, unperturbed, and superficial. The sculpture of +the Parthenon accomplished the transfiguration of the natural man. In the +other man awakes to a new life of contest, disillusionment, hope, dread, +and heavenward striving. It was impossible for the Greek and the Italian, +bearing so different a burden of prophecy, even though they used the same +speech, to tell the same tale; and this should be remembered by those +critics who cast exaggeration and contortion in the teeth of Michael +Angelo. Between the birth of the free spirit in Greece and its second +birth in Italy, there yawned a sepulchre wherein the old faiths of the +world lay buried and whence Christ had risen.<a name="FNanchor318"></a><a href="#Footnote_318"><sup>[318]</sup></a></p> +<a name="Page_295"></a> +<p>The star of Raphael, meanwhile, had arisen over Rome. Between the two +greatest painters of their age the difference was striking. Michael Angelo +stood alone, his own master, fashioned in his own school. A band of +artists called themselves by Raphael's name; and in his style we trace the +influence of several predecessors. Michael Angelo rarely received visits, +frequented no society, formed no pupils, and boasted of no friends at +Court. Raphael was followed to the Vatican by crowds of students; his +levées were like those of a prince; he counted among his intimates the +best scholars and poets of the age; his hand was pledged in marriage to a +cardinal's niece. It does not appear that they engaged in petty rivalries, +or that they came much into personal contact with each other. While +Michael Angelo was so framed that he could learn from no man, Raphael +gladly learned of Michael Angelo; and after the uncovering of the Sistine +frescoes, his manner showed evident signs of alteration. Julius, who had +given Michael Angelo the Sistine, set Raphael to work upon the Stanze. For +Julius were painted the "Miracle of Bolsena" and the "Expulsion of +Heliodorus from the Temple," scenes containing courtly compliments for the +old Pope. No such compliments had been paid by Michael Angelo. Like his +great parallel in music, Beethoven, he displayed an almost arrogant +contempt for the conventionalities whereby an artist wins the favour of +his patrons and the world.</p> + +<p>After the death of Julius, Leo X., in character the reverse of his fiery +predecessor, and by temperament unsympathetic to the austere Michael +Angelo, found nothing better for the sculptor's genius than to set him at +work upon the façade of S. Lorenzo at Florence. The better part of the +years between 1516 and 1520 was spent in quarrying marble at Carrara, +Pietra Santa, and Seravezza. This is the most arid and unfruitful period +of Michael Angelo's long life, a period of delays and thwarted schemes and +servile labours. What makes the sense of disappointment greater, is that +the façade <a name="Page_296"></a>of S. Lorenzo was not even finished.<a name="FNanchor319"></a><a href="#Footnote_319"><sup>[319]</sup></a> We hurry over this +wilderness of wasted months, and arrive at another epoch of artistic +production.</p> + +<p>Already in 1520 the Cardinal Giulio de' Medici had conceived the notion of +building a sacristy in S. Lorenzo to receive the monuments of Cosimo, the +founder of the house, Lorenzo the Magnificent, Giuliano Duke of Nemours, +Lorenzo Duke of Urbino, Leo X., and himself.<a name="FNanchor320"></a><a href="#Footnote_320"><sup>[320]</sup></a> To Michael Angelo was +committed the design, and in 1521 he began to apply himself to the work. +Nine years had now elapsed since the roof of the Sistine chapel had been +finished, and during this time Michael Angelo had produced little except +the "Christ" of S. Maria sopra Minerva. This new undertaking occupied him +at intervals between 1521 and 1534, a space of time decisive for the +fortunes of the Medici in Florence. Leo died, and Giulio after a few years +succeeded him as Clement VII. The bastards of the house, Ippolito and +Alessandro, were expelled from Florence in 1527. Rome was sacked by the +Imperial troops; then Michael Angelo quitted the statues and helped to +defend his native city against the Prince of Orange. After the failure of +the Republicans, he was recalled to his labours by command of Clement. +Sullenly and sadly he quarried marbles for the sacristy. Sadly and +sullenly he used his chisel year by year, making the very stones cry that +shame and ruin were the doom of his country. At last in 1534 Clement died. +Then Michael Angelo flung down his mallet. The monuments remained +unfinished, and the sculptor set foot in Florence no more.<a name="FNanchor321"></a><a href="#Footnote_321"><sup>[321]</sup></a></p> +<a name="Page_297"></a> +<p>The Sacristy of S. Lorenzo was built by Michael Angelo and panelled with +marbles to receive the sculpture he meant to place there.<a name="FNanchor322"></a><a href="#Footnote_322"><sup>[322]</sup></a> Thus the +colossal statues of Giuliano and Lorenzo were studied with a view to their +light and shadow as much as to their form; and this is a fact to be +remembered by those who visit the chapel where Buonarroti laboured both as +architect and sculptor. Of the two Medici, it is not fanciful to say that +the "Duke of Urbino" is the most immovable of spectral shapes eternalised +in marble; while the "Duke of Nemours," more graceful and elegant, seems +intended to present a contrast to this terrible thought-burdened +form.<a name="FNanchor323"></a><a href="#Footnote_323"><sup>[323]</sup></a> The allegorical figures, stretched on segments of ellipses +beneath the pedestals of the two dukes, indicate phases of darkness and of +light, of death and life. They are two women and two men; tradition names +them "Night" and "Day," "Twilight" and "Dawning." Thus in the statues +themselves and in their attendant genii we have a series of abstractions, +symbolising the sleep and waking of existence, action and thought, the +gloom of death, the lustre of life, and the intermediate states of sadness +and of hope that form the borderland of both. Life is a dream between two +slumbers; sleep is death's twin-brother; night is the shadow of death; +death is the gate of life:—such is the mysterious mythology wrought by +the sculptor of the modern world in marble. All these figures, by the +intensity <a name="Page_298"></a>of their expression, the vagueness of their symbolism, force us +to think and question. What, for example, occupies Lorenzo's brain? +Bending forward, leaning his chin upon his wrist, placing the other hand +upon his knee, on what does he for ever ponder? The sight, as Rogers said +well, "fascinates and is intolerable." Michael Angelo has shot the beaver +of the helmet forward on his forehead, and bowed his head, so as to clothe +the face in darkness. But behind the gloom there is no skull, as Rogers +fancied. The whole frame of the powerful man is instinct with some +imperious thought. Has he outlived his life and fallen upon everlasting +contemplation? Is he brooding, injured and indignant, over his own doom +and the extinction of his race? Is he condemned to witness in immortal +immobility the woes of Italy he helped to cause? Or has the sculptor +symbolised in him the burden of that personality we carry with us in this +life and bear for ever when we wake into another world? Beneath this +incarnation of oppressive thought there lie, full-length and naked, the +figures of Dawn and Twilight, Morn and Evening. So at least they are +commonly called: and these names are not inappropriate; for the breaking +of the day and the approach of night are metaphors for many transient +conditions of the soul. It is only as allegories in a large sense, +comprehending both the physical and intellectual order, and capable of +various interpretation, that any of these statues can be understood. Even +the Dukes do not pretend to be portraits: and hence in part perhaps the +uncertainty that has gathered round them. Very tranquil and noble is +Twilight: a giant in repose, he meditates, leaning upon his elbow, looking +down. But Dawn starts from her couch, as though some painful summons had +reached her sunk in dreamless sleep, and called her forth to suffer. Her +waking to consciousness is like that of one who has been drowned, and who +finds the <a name="Page_299"></a>return to life agony. Before her eyes, seen even through the +mists of slumber, are the ruin and the shame of Italy. Opposite lies +Night, so sorrowful, so utterly absorbed in darkness and the shade of +death, that to shake off that everlasting lethargy seems impossible. Yet +she is not dead. If we raise our voices, she too will stretch her limbs +and, like her sister, shudder into sensibility with sighs. Only we must +not wake her; for he who fashioned her, has told us that her sleep of +stone is great good fortune. Both of these women are large and brawny, +unlike the Fates of Pheidias in their muscular maturity. The burden of +Michael Angelo's thought was too tremendous to be borne by virginal or +graceful beings. He had to make women no less capable of suffering, no +less world-wearied, than his country.</p> + +<p>Standing before these statues, we do not cry. How beautiful! We murmur, +How terrible, how grand! Yet, after long gazing, we find them gifted with +beauty beyond grace. In each of them there is a palpitating thought, torn +from the artist's soul and crystallised in marble. It has been said that +architecture is petrified music. In the sacristy of S. Lorenzo we feel +impelled to remember phrases of Beethoven. Each of these statues becomes +for us a passion, fit for musical expression, but turned like Niobe to +stone. They have the intellectual vagueness, the emotional certainty, that +belong to the motives of a symphony. In their allegories, left without a +key, sculpture has passed beyond her old domain of placid concrete form. +The anguish of intolerable emotion, the quickening of the consciousness to +a sense of suffering, the acceptance of the inevitable, the strife of the +soul with destiny, the burden and the passion of mankind:—that is what +they contain in their cold chisel-tortured marble. It is open to critics +of the school of Lessing to object that here is the suicide of sculpture. +It is easy to remark that those strained postures and writhen limbs may +have perverted the <a name="Page_300"></a>taste of lesser craftsmen. Yet if Michael Angelo was +called to carve Medicean statues after the sack of Rome and the fall of +Florence—if he was obliged in sober sadness to make sculpture a fit +language for his sorrow-laden heart—how could he have wrought more +truthfully than thus? To imitate him without sharing his emotions or +comprehending his thoughts, as the soulless artist of the decadence +attempted, was without any doubt a grievous error. Surely also we may +regret, not without reason, that in the evil days upon which he had +fallen, the fair antique "Heiterkeit" and "Allgemeinheit" were beyond his +reach.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo left the tombs of the Medici unfinished; nor, in spite of +Duke Cosimo's earnest entreaties, would he afterwards return to Florence +to complete them. Lorenzo's features are but rough-hewn; so is the face of +Night. Day seems struggling into shape beneath his mask of rock, and +Twilight shows everywhere the tooth-dint of the chisel. To leave +unfinished was the fate of Michael Angelo—partly too, perhaps, his +preference; for he was easily deterred from work. Many of his marbles are +only just begun. The two medallion "Madonnas," the "Madonna and Child" in +S. Lorenzo, the "Head of Brutus," the "Bound Captives," and the "Pietà" in +the Duomo of Florence, are instances of masterpieces in the rough. He +loved to fancy that the form dwelt within the stone, and that the chisel +disencumbered it of superfluity. Therefore, to his eye, foreseeing what +the shape would be when the rude envelope was chipped away, the marble +mask may have taken the appearance of a veil or mantle. He may have found +some fascination in the incompleteness that argued want of will but not of +art, and a rough-hewn Madonna may have been to him what a Dryad still +enclosed within a gnarled oak was to a Greek poet's fancy. We are not, +however, justified in therefore assuming, as a recent critic has +suggested, that Michael Angelo sought <a name="Page_301"></a>to realise a certain preconceived +effect by want of finish. There is enough in the distracted circumstances +of his life and in his temper, at once passionate and downcast, to account +for fragmentary and imperfect performance; nor must it be forgotten that +the manual labour of the sculptor in the sixteenth century was by no means +so light as it is now. A decisive argument against this theory is that +Buonarroti's three most celebrated statues—the "Pietà" in S. Peter's, the +"Moses" and the "Dawn"—are executed with the highest polish it is +possible for stone to take.<a name="FNanchor324"></a><a href="#Footnote_324"><sup>[324]</sup></a> That he always aimed at this high finish, +but often fell below it through discontent and <i>ennui</i> and the importunity +of patrons, we have the best reason to believe.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo had now reached his fifty-ninth year. Lionardo and Raphael +had already passed away, and were remembered as the giants of a bygone age +of gold. Correggio was in his last year. Andrea del Sarto was dead. +Nowhere except at Venice did Italian art still flourish; and the mundane +style of Titian was not to the sculptor's taste. He had overlived the +greatness of his country, and saw Italy in ruins. Yet he was destined to +survive another thirty years, another lifetime of Masaccio or Raphael, and +to witness still worse days. When we call Michael Angelo the interpreter +of the burden and the pain of the Renaissance, we must remember this long +weary old age, during which in solitude and silence he watched the +extinction of Florence, the institution of the<a name="Page_302"></a> Inquisition, and the +abasement of the Italian spirit beneath the tyranny of Spain. His sonnets, +written chiefly in this latter period of life, turn often on the thought +of death. His love of art yields to religious hope and fear, and he +bemoans a youth and manhood spent in vanity. Once when he injured his leg +by a fall from the scaffolding in the Sistine Chapel, he refused +assistance, shut himself up at home, and lay waiting for deliverance in +death. His life was only saved by the forcible interference of friends.</p> + +<p>In 1534 a new Eurystheus arose for our Hercules. The Cardinal Alessandro +Farnese, a fox by nature and infamous through his indulgence for a vicious +bastard, was made Pope under the name of Paul III.<a name="FNanchor325"></a><a href="#Footnote_325"><sup>[325]</sup></a> Michael Angelo had +shed lustre on the reigns of three Popes, his predecessors. For thirty +years the Farnese had watched him with greedy eyes. After Julius, Leo, and +Clement, the time was now come for the heroic craftsman to serve Paul. The +Pope found him at work in his <i>bottega</i> on the tomb of Julius; for the +"tragedy of the mausoleum" still dragged on. The statue of Moses was +finished. "That," said Paul, "is enough for one Pope. Give me your +contract with the Duke of Urbino; I will tear it. Have I waited all these +years; and now that I am Pope at last, shall I not have you for myself? I +want you in the Sistine Chapel." Accordingly Michael Angelo, who had +already made cartoons for the "Last Judgment" in the life of Clement, once +more laid aside the chisel and took up the brush. For eight years, between +1534 and 1542, he laboured at the fresco above the high altar of the +chapel, devoting his terrible genius to a subject worthy of the times in +which he lived. Since he had first listened while a youth to the +prophecies of Savonarola, the woes announced in that apocalypse had all +<a name="Page_303"></a>come true. Italy had been scourged, Rome sacked, the Church chastised. +And yet the world had not grown wiser; vice was on the increase, virtue +grew more rare.<a name="FNanchor326"></a><a href="#Footnote_326"><sup>[326]</sup></a> It was impossible after the experience of the +immediate past and within view of the present and the future, to conceive +of God as other than an angry judge, vindictive and implacable.</p> + +<p>The "Last Judgment" has long been the most celebrated of Michael Angelo's +paintings; partly no doubt because it was executed in the plenitude of his +fame, with the eyes of all Italy upon him; partly because its size arouses +vulgar wonder, and its theme strikes terror into all who gaze on it. Yet +it is neither so strong nor so beautiful as the vault-paintings of the +Sistine. The freshness of the genius that created Eve and Adam, unrivalled +in their bloom of primal youth, has passed away. Austerity and gloom have +taken possession of the painter. His style has hardened into mannerism, +and the display of barren science in difficult posturing and strained +anatomy has become wilful. Still, whether we regard this fresco as closing +the long series of "Last Judgments" to be studied on Italian church-walls +from Giotto downwards; or whether we confine our attention, as +contemporaries seem to have done, to the skill of its foreshortenings and +groupings;<a name="FNanchor327"></a><a href="#Footnote_327"><sup>[327]</sup></a> or whether we analyse the dramatic <a name="Page_304"></a>energy wherewith +tremendous passions are expressed, its triumph is in either case decided. +The whole wall swarms with ascending and descending, poised and hovering, +shapes—men and women rising from the grave before the judge, taking their +stations among the saved, or sinking with unutterable anguish to the place +of doom—a multitude that no man can number, surging to and fro in dim +tempestuous air. In the centre at the top, Christ is rising from His +throne with the gesture of an angry Hercules, hurling ruin on the guilty. +He is such as the sins of Italy have made Him. Squadrons of angels, +bearing the emblems of His passion, whirl around Him like grey +thunder-clouds, and all the saints lean forward from their vantage ground +to curse and threaten. At the very bottom bestial features take the place +of human lineaments, and the terror of judgment has become the torment of +damnation. Such is the general scope of this picture. Of all its merits, +none is greater than the delineation of uncertainty and gradual awakening +to life. The middle region between vigilance and slumber, reality and +dream, Michael Angelo ruled as his own realm; and a painting of the "Last +Judgment" enabled him to deal with this metaichmios skotos—this +darkness in the interval of crossing spears—under its most solemn aspect.</p> + +<p>When the fresco was uncovered, there arose a general murmur of +disapprobation that the figures were all nude. As society became more +vicious, it grew nice. Messer Biagio, the Pope's master of the ceremonies, +remarked that such things were more fit for stews and taverns than a +chapel. The angry painter placed his portrait in Hell with a mark of +<a name="Page_305"></a>infamy that cast too lurid a light upon this prudish speech. When Biagio +complained, Paul wittily answered that, had it been Purgatory, he might +have helped him, but in Hell is no redemption. Even the foul-mouthed and +foul-hearted Aretino wrote from Venice to the same effect—a letter +astounding for its impudence.<a name="FNanchor328"></a><a href="#Footnote_328"><sup>[328]</sup></a> Michael Angelo made no defence. Perhaps +he reflected that the souls of the Pope himself and Messer Biagio and +Messer Pietro Aretino would go forth one day naked to appear before the +judge, with the deformities of sin upon them, as in Plato's "Gorgias." He +refused, however, to give clothes to his men and women. Daniel da +Volterra, who was afterwards employed to do this, got the name of +breeches-maker.</p> + +<p>We are hardly able to appreciate the "Last Judgment;" it has been so +smirched and blackened by the smoke and dust of centuries. And this is +true of the whole Sistine Chapel.<a name="FNanchor329"></a><a href="#Footnote_329"><sup>[329]</sup></a> Yet it is here that the genius of +Michael Angelo in all its terribleness must still be studied. In order to +characterise the impression produced by even the less awful of these +frescoes on a sympathetic student, I lay my pen aside and beg the reader +to weigh what Henri Beyle, the versatile and brilliant critic, pencilled +in the gallery of the Sistine Chapel on January 13, 1807:<a name="FNanchor330"></a><a href="#Footnote_330"><sup>[330]</sup></a> "Greek +sculpture was unwilling to <a name="Page_306"></a>reproduce the terrible in any shape; the +Greeks had enough real troubles of their own. Therefore, in the realm of +art, nothing can be compared with the figure of the Eternal drawing forth +the first man from nonentity. The pose, the drawing, the drapery, all is +striking: the soul is agitated by sensations that are not usually +communicated through the eyes. When in our disastrous retreat from Russia, +it chanced that we were suddenly awakened in the middle of the dark night +by an obstinate cannonading, which at each moment seemed to gain in +nearness, then all the forces of a man's nature gathered close around his +heart; he felt himself in the presence of fate, and, having no attention +left for things of vulgar interest, he made himself ready to dispute his +life with destiny. The sight of Michael Angelo's pictures has brought back +to my consciousness that almost forgotten sensation. Great souls enjoy +their own greatness: the rest of the world is seized with fear, and goes +mad."</p> + +<p>After the painting of the "Last Judgment," one more great labour was +reserved for Michael Angelo.<a name="FNanchor331"></a><a href="#Footnote_331"><sup>[331]</sup></a> By a brief of September, 1535, Paul III. +had made him the chief architect as well as sculptor and painter of the +Holy See. He was now called upon to superintend the building of S. +Peter's, and to this task, undertaken for the repose of his soul without +emolument, he devoted the last years of his life. The dome of S. Peter's, +as seen from Tivoli or the Alban hills, like a cloud upon the Campagna, is +Buonarroti's; but he has no share in the façade that screens it from the +piazza. It lies beyond the scope of this chapter to relate once more the +history of the vicissitudes through which S. Peter's went between the days +of Alberti and Bernini.<a name="FNanchor332"></a><a href="#Footnote_332"><sup>[332]</sup></a> I can but refer to<a name="Page_307"></a> Michael Angelo's letter +addressed to Bartolommeo Ammanati, valuable both as setting forth his +views about the structure, and as rendering the fullest and most glorious +meed of praise to his old enemy Bramante.<a name="FNanchor333"></a><a href="#Footnote_333"><sup>[333]</sup></a> All ancient jealousies, +even had they ever stirred the heart of Michael Angelo, had long been set +at rest by time and death. The one wish of his soul was to set a worthy +diadem upon the mother-church of Christianity, repairing by the majesty of +art what Rome had suffered at the hands of Germany and Spain, and +inaugurating by this visible sign of sovereignty the new age of +Catholicity renascent and triumphant.</p> + +<p>To the last period of Buonarroti's life (a space of twenty-two years +between 1542 and 1564) we owe some of his most beautiful +drawings—sketches for pictures of the Crucifixion made for Vittoria +Colonna, and a few mythological designs, like the "Rape of Ganymede," +composed for Tommaso Cavalieri. His thoughts meanwhile were turned more +and more, as time advanced, to piety; and many of his sonnets breathe an +almost ascetic spirit of religion.<a name="FNanchor334"></a><a href="#Footnote_334"><sup>[334]</sup></a> We see in them the old man +regretting the years he had spent on art, deploring his enthusiasm for +earthly beauty, and seeking comfort in the cross alone.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Painting nor sculpture now can lull to rest</p> +<p>My soul, that turns to His great love on high,</p> +<p>Whose arms to clasp us on the cross were spread.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>It is pleasant to know that these last years were also the happiest and +calmest. Though he had lost his faithful friend and servant Urbino; though +his father had died, an old man, and his brothers had passed away before +him one by one, his nephew Lionardo had married in Florence, and <a name="Page_308"></a>begotten +a son called Michael Angelo. Thus he had the satisfaction of hoping that +his name would endure and flourish, as indeed it has done almost to this +very day in Florence. What consolation this thought must have brought him, +is clear to those who have studied his correspondence and observed the +tender care and continual anxiety he had for his kinsmen.<a name="FNanchor335"></a><a href="#Footnote_335"><sup>[335]</sup></a> Wealth now +belonged to him: but he had never cared for money; and he continued to +live like a poor man, dressing soberly and eating sparely, often taking +but one meal in the day, and that of bread and wine.<a name="FNanchor336"></a><a href="#Footnote_336"><sup>[336]</sup></a> He slept little, +and rose by night to work upon his statues, wearing a cap with a candle +stuck in front of it, that he might see where to drive the chisel home. +During his whole life he had been solitary, partly by preference, partly +by devotion to his art, and partly because he kept men at a distance by +his manner.<a name="FNanchor337"></a><a href="#Footnote_337"><sup>[337]</sup></a> Not that Michael Angelo was sour or haughty; <a name="Page_309"></a>but he +spoke his mind out very plainly, had no tolerance for fools, and was apt +to fly into passions.<a name="FNanchor338"></a><a href="#Footnote_338"><sup>[338]</sup></a> Time had now softened his temper and removed +all causes of discouragement. He had survived every rival, and the world +was convinced of his supremacy. Princes courted him; the Count of Canossa +was proud to claim him for a kinsman; strangers, when they visited Rome, +were eager to behold in him its greatest living wonder.<a name="FNanchor339"></a><a href="#Footnote_339"><sup>[339]</sup></a> His old age +was the serene and splendid evening of a toilsome day. But better than all +this, he now enjoyed both love and friendship.</p> + +<p>If Michael Angelo could ever have been handsome is more than doubtful. +Early in his youth the quarrelsome and vain Torrigiani broke his nose with +a blow of the fist, when they were drawing from Masaccio's frescoes in the +Carmine together.<a name="FNanchor340"></a><a href="#Footnote_340"><sup>[340]</sup></a> Thenceforth the artist's soul looked forth from a +sad face, with small grey eyes, flat nostrils, and rugged weight of +jutting brows. Good care was thus taken that light love should not trifle +with the man who was destined to be the prophet of his age in art. Like +Beethoven, he united a loving nature, sensitive to beauty and desirous of +affection, with a rude exterior. He seemed incapable of attaching himself +to any merely mortal object, and wedded the ideal. In that century of +intrigue and amour, we hear of nothing to <a name="Page_310"></a>imply that Michael Angelo was a +lover till he reached the age of sixty. How he may have loved in the +earlier periods of his life, whereof no record now remains, can only be +guessed from the tenderness and passion outpoured in the poems of his +latter years. That his morality was pure and his converse without stain, +is emphatically witnessed by both Vasari and Condivi.<a name="FNanchor341"></a><a href="#Footnote_341"><sup>[341]</sup></a> But that his +emotion was intense, and that to beauty in all its human forms he was +throughout his life a slave, we have his own sonnets to prove.</p> + +<p>In the year 1534 he first became acquainted with the noble lady Vittoria, +daughter of Fabrizio Colonna, and widow of the Marquis of Pescara. She was +then aged forty-four, and had nine years survived the loss of a husband +she never ceased to idolise.<a name="FNanchor342"></a><a href="#Footnote_342"><sup>[342]</sup></a> Living in retirement in Rome, she +employed her leisure with philosophy and poetry. Artists and men of +letters were admitted to her society. Among the subjects she had most at +heart was the reform of the Church and the restoration of religion to its +evangelical purity. Between her and Michael Angelo a tender affection +sprang up based upon the sympathy of ardent and high-seeking natures. If +love be the right name for this exalted and yet fervid attachment, Michael +Angelo may be said to have loved her with all the pent-up forces of his +heart. None of his works display a predilection for girlish beauty, and it +is probable that her intellectual distinction and mature womanhood touched +him even more than if she had been younger. When they were together in +Rome they met frequently for con<a name="Page_311"></a>versation on the themes of art and piety +they both held dear. Of these discourses a charming record has been +preserved to us by the painter Francis of Holland.<a name="FNanchor343"></a><a href="#Footnote_343"><sup>[343]</sup></a> When they were +separated they exchanged poems and wrote letters, some of which remain. On +the death of Vittoria, in 1547, the light of life seemed to be +extinguished for our sculptor. It is said that he waited by her bed-side, +and kissed her hand when she was dying. The sonnets he afterwards composed +show that his soul followed her to heaven.</p> + +<p>Another friend whom Michael Angelo found in this last stage of life, and +whom he loved with only less warmth than Vittoria, was a young Roman of +perfect beauty and of winning manners. Tommaso Cavalieri must be mentioned +next to the Marchioness of Pescara as the being who bound this greatest +soul a captive.<a name="FNanchor344"></a><a href="#Footnote_344"><sup>[344]</sup></a> Both Cavalieri and Vittoria are said to have been +painted by him, and these are the only two portraits he is reported to +have executed. It may here be remarked that nothing is more characteristic +of his genius than the determination to see through nature, to pass beyond +the actual to the abstract, and to use reality only as a stepping-stone to +the ideal. This artistic Platonism was the source both of his greatness +and his mannerism. As men choose to follow Blake or Ruskin, they may +praise or blame him; yet, blame and praise pronounced on such a matter +with regard to such a man are equally impertinent and insignificant. It is +enough for the critic to note with reverence that thus and thus the spirit +that was in him worked and moved.</p> +<a name="Page_312"></a> +<p>When we read the sonnets addressed to Vittoria Colonna and Cavalieri, we +find something inexpressibly pathetic in this pure and fervent worship of +beauty, when the artist with a soul still young had reached the limit of +the years of man. Here and there we trace in them an echo of his youth. +The Platonic dialogues he heard while yet a young man at the suppers of +Lorenzo, reappear converted to the very substance of his thought and +style. At the same time Savonarola resumes ascendency over his mind; and +when he turns to Florence, it is of Dante that he speaks.</p> + +<p>At last the moment came when this strong solitary spirit, much suffering +and much loving, had to render its account. It appears from a letter +written to Lionardo Buonarroti on February 15, 1564, that his old servant +Antonio del Francese, the successor of Urbino in his household, together +with Tommaso Cavalieri and Daniello Ricciarelli of Volterra, attended him +in his last illness. On the 18th of that month, having bequeathed his +soul to God, his body to the earth, and his worldly goods to his kinsfolk, +praying them on their death-bed to think upon Christ's passion, he +breathed his last. His corpse was transported to Florence, and buried in +the church of S. Croce, with great pomp and honour, by the Duke, the city, +and the Florentine Academy.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_289"></a><a href="#FNanchor289">[289]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vasari, vol. xii. p. 333, and Gotti's <i>Vita di +Michelangelo Buonarroti</i>, vol. i. p. 4, for a discussion of this claim, +and for a letter written by Alessandro Count of Canossa, in 1520, to the +artist.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_290"></a><a href="#FNanchor290">[290]</a><div class="note"><p> That Michael Angelo was contemptuous to brother artists, is +proved by what Torrigiani said to Cellini: "Aveva per usanza di uccellare +tutti quelli che dissegnavano." He called Perugino <i>goffo</i>, told Francia's +son that his father made handsomer men by night than by day, and cast in +Lionardo's teeth that he could not finish the equestrian statue of the +Duke of Milan. It is therefore not improbable that when, according to the +legend, he corrected a drawing of Ghirlandajo's, he may have said things +unendurable to the elder painter.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_291"></a><a href="#FNanchor291">[291]</a><div class="note"><p> Engraved in outline in Harford's <i>Illustrations of the +Genius of Michael Angelo Buonarroti</i>, Colnaghi, 1857.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_292"></a><a href="#FNanchor292">[292]</a><div class="note"><p> This group, placed in S. Peter's, was made for the French +Cardinal de Saint Denys. It should be said that the first work of Michael +Angelo in Rome was the "Bacchus" now in the Florentine Bargello, executed +for Jacopo Gallo, a Roman gentleman.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_293"></a><a href="#FNanchor293">[293]</a><div class="note"><p> Pitti approved of the form of government represented by +Soderini. Machiavelli despised the want of decision that made him quit +Florence, and the euêtheia of the man. Hence their curiously +conflicting phrases.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_294"></a><a href="#FNanchor294">[294]</a><div class="note"><p> See the chapter entitled "Della Malitia e pessíme +Conditioni del Tyranno," in Savonarola's "Tractato circa el reggimento e +governo della Citta di Firenze composto ad instantia delli excelsi Signori +al tempo di Giuliano Salviati, Gonfaloniere di Justitia." A more terrible +picture has never been drawn by any analyst of human vice and cruelty and +weakness.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_295"></a><a href="#FNanchor295">[295]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti's edition of the <i>Rime</i>, p. 26.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_296"></a><a href="#FNanchor296">[296]</a><div class="note"><p> He defends himself thus in a letter to Lodovico Buonarroti: +"Del caso dei Medici io non ò mai parlato contra di loro cosa nessuna, se +non in quel modo che s' è parlato generalmente per ogn' uomo, come fu del +caso di Prato; che se le pietre avessin saputo parlare, n' avrebbono +parlato."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_297"></a><a href="#FNanchor297">[297]</a><div class="note"><p> It seems clear from the correspondence in the Archivio +Buonarroti, recently published, that when Michael Angelo fled from +Florence to Venice in 1529, he did so under the pressure of no ignoble +panic, but because his life was threatened by a traitor, acting possibly +at the secret instance of Malatesta Baglioni. See Heath Wilson, pp. +326-330.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_298"></a><a href="#FNanchor298">[298]</a><div class="note"><p> See Guasti, p. 4.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_299"></a><a href="#FNanchor299">[299]</a><div class="note"><p> Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 251.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_300"></a><a href="#FNanchor300">[300]</a><div class="note"><p> To these years we must also assign the two unfinished +medallions of "Madonna and the infant Christ," the circular oil picture of +the "Holy Family," painted for Angelo Doni, and the beautiful unfinished +picture of "Madonna with the boy Jesus and S. John" in the National +Gallery. The last of these works is one of the loveliest of Michael +Angelo's productions, whether we regard the symmetry of its composition or +the refinement of its types. The two groups of two boys standing behind +the central group on either hand of the Virgin, have incomparable beauty +of form. The supreme style of the Sistine is here revealed to us in +embryo. Whether the "Entombment," also unfinished, and also in the +National Gallery, belongs to this time, and whether it be Michael Angelo's +at all, is a matter for the experts to decide. To my perception, it is +quite unworthy of the painter of the Doni "Holy family;" nor can I think +that his want of practice in oil-painting will explain its want of charm +and vigour.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_301"></a><a href="#FNanchor301">[301]</a><div class="note"><p> It has long been believed that Baccio Bandinelli destroyed +Michael Angelo's; but Grimm, in his Life of the sculptor (vol. i. p. 376, +Eng. Tr.), adduces solid arguments against this legend. A few studies, +together with the engravings of portions by Marc Antonio and Agostino +Veneziano, enable us to form a notion of the composition. At Holkham there +is an old copy of the larger portion of the cartoon, which has been +engraved by Schiavonetti, and reproduced in Harford's <i>Illustrations</i>, +plate x.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_302"></a><a href="#FNanchor302">[302]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Vita</i>, p. 23. Cellini, the impassioned admirer of Michael +Angelo, esteemed this cartoon so highly, that he writes: "Sebbene il +divino Michelagnolo fece la gran cappella di Papa Julio da poi, non arrivò +mai a questo segno alla meta: la sua virtù non aggiunse mai da poi alla +forza di quei primi studj."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_303"></a><a href="#FNanchor303">[303]</a><div class="note"><p> The cartoon was probably exhibited in 1505. See Gotti, vol. +i. p. 35.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_304"></a><a href="#FNanchor304">[304]</a><div class="note"><p> Gotti, pp. 277-282.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_305"></a><a href="#FNanchor305">[305]</a><div class="note"><p> Springer, in his essay, <i>Michael Agnolo in Rome</i>, p. 21, +makes out that this large design was not conceived till after the death of +Julius. It is difficult to form a clear notion of the many changes in the +plan of the tomb, between 1505 and 1542, when Michael Angelo signed the +last contract with the heirs of Julius.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_306"></a><a href="#FNanchor306">[306]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Uffizzi at Florence. See Heath Wilson, plate vi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_307"></a><a href="#FNanchor307">[307]</a><div class="note"><p> Boboli Gardens, Bargello, Louvre. These captives are +unfinished. The "Rachel" and "Leah" at S. Pietro in Vincoli were committed +to pupils by Michael Angelo.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_308"></a><a href="#FNanchor308">[308]</a><div class="note"><p> "Che mi fosso messo a fare zolfanelli.... Son ogni di +lapidato, come se havessi crucifisso Cristo.... io mi truovo avere perduta +tutta la mia giovinezza legato a questa sepoltura."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_309"></a><a href="#FNanchor309">[309]</a><div class="note"><p> Gotti, p. 42. Grimm makes two visits to Carrara in 1505 and +1506, vol. i. pp. 239, 243.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_310"></a><a href="#FNanchor310">[310]</a><div class="note"><p> See his letter. Gotti, p. 44.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_311"></a><a href="#FNanchor311">[311]</a><div class="note"><p> Our authorities for this episode in Michael Angelo's +biography are mainly Vasari and Condivi. Though there may be exaggeration +in the legend, it is certain that a correspondence took place between the +Pope and the Gonfalonier of Florence, to bring about his return. See Heath +Wilson, pp. 79-87, and the letter to Giuliano di San Gallo in Milanesi's +Archivio Buonarroti, p. 377. Michael Angelo appears to have had some +reason to fear assassination in Rome.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_312"></a><a href="#FNanchor312">[312]</a><div class="note"><p> See Michael Angelo's letters to Giovan Francesco Fattucci, +and his family. Gotti, pp. 55-65.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_313"></a><a href="#FNanchor313">[313]</a><div class="note"><p> See the sonnet to Giovanni da Pistoja:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p class="i9">La mia pittura morta</p> +<p>Difendi orma', Giovanni, e 'l mio onore,</p> +<p>Non sendo in loco bon, nè io pittore.</p> +</div></div> +<br></div> + +<a name="Footnote_314"></a><a href="#FNanchor314">[314]</a><div class="note"><p> According to the first plan, Michael Angelo bargained with +the Pope for twelve Apostles in the lunettes, and another part to be +filled with ornament in the usual manner—"dodici Apostoli nelle lunette, +e 'l resto un certo partimento ripieno d' adornamenti come si usa." +Michael Angelo, after making designs for this commission, told the Pope he +thought the roof would look poor, because the Apostles were poor +folk—"perchè furon poveri anche loro." He then began his cartoons for the +vault as it now exists. See the letter to Ser Giovan Francesco Fattucci, +in the <i>Archivio Buonarroti</i>, Milanesi, pp. 426-427. This seems to be the +foundation for an old story of the Pope's complaining that the Sistine +roof looked poor without gilding, and Michael Angelo's reply that the +Biblical personages depicted there were but poor people.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_315"></a><a href="#FNanchor315">[315]</a><div class="note"><p> Bramante, the Pope's architect, did in truth fail to +construct the proper scaffolding, whether through inability or jealousy. +Michael Angelo designed a superior system of his own, which became a model +for future architects in similar constructions.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_316"></a><a href="#FNanchor316">[316]</a><div class="note"><p> See chapters vi. vii. and viii. of Mr. Charles Heath +Wilson's admirable <i>Life of Michel Angelo</i>. Aurelio Gotti's <i>Vita di +Michel Agnolo</i>, and Anton Springer's <i>Michael Agnolo in Rome</i>, deserve to +be consulted on this passage in the painter's biography.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_317"></a><a href="#FNanchor317">[317]</a><div class="note"><p> The conditions under which Michael Angelo worked, without a +trained band of pupils, must have struck contemporaries, accustomed to +Raphael's crowds of assistants, with a wonder that justified Vasari's +emphatic language of exaggeration as to his single-handed labour.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_318"></a><a href="#FNanchor318">[318]</a><div class="note"><p> In speaking of the Sistine I have treated Michael Angelo as +a sculptor, and it was a sculptor who designed those frescoes. <i>Nè io +pittore</i> is his own phrase. Compare an autotype of "Adam" in the Sistine +with one of "Twilight" in S. Lorenzo: it is clear that in the former +Michael Angelo painted what he would have been well pleased to carve. A +sculptor's genius was needed for the modelling of those many figures; it +was, moreover, not a painter's part to deal thus drily with colour.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_319"></a><a href="#FNanchor319">[319]</a><div class="note"><p> The Laurentian Library, however, was built in 1524.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_320"></a><a href="#FNanchor320">[320]</a><div class="note"><p> See Gotti, pp. 150, 155, 158, 159, for the correspondence +which passed upon the subject, and the various alterations in the plan. As +in the case of all Michael Angelo's works, except the Sistine, only a +small portion of the original project was executed.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_321"></a><a href="#FNanchor321">[321]</a><div class="note"><p> Cosimo de' Medici found it impossible to induce him to +return to Florence. See B. Cellini's Life, p. 436, for his way of +receiving the Duke's overtures.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_322"></a><a href="#FNanchor322">[322]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_323"></a><a href="#FNanchor323">[323]</a><div class="note"><p> Vasari names the gloomy statue, called by the Italians <i>Il +Penseroso</i>, "Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino," the sprightly one, "Giuliano, Duke +of Nemours;" and this contemporary tradition has been recently confirmed +by an inspection of the Penseroso's tomb (see a letter to the <i>Academy</i>, +March 13, 1875, by Mr. Charles Heath Wilson). Grimm, in his <i>Life of +Michael Angelo</i>, gave plausible æsthetic reasons why we should reverse the +nomenclature; but the discovery of two bodies beneath the Penseroso, +almost certainly those of Lorenzo and his supposed son Alessandro, +justifies Vasari. Neither of these statues can be accepted as a portrait.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_324"></a><a href="#FNanchor324">[324]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Bacchus" of the Bargello, the "David," the "Christ," +of the Minerva, the "Duke of Nemours," and the almost finished "Night," +might also be mentioned. His chalk drawings of the "Bersaglieri," the +"Infant Bacchanals," the "Fall of Phaëthon," and the "Punishment of +Tityos," now in the Royal Collection at Windsor, prove that even in old +age Michael Angelo carried delicacy of execution as a draughtsman to a +point not surpassed even by Lionardo. Few frescoes, again, were ever +finished with more conscientious elaboration than those of the Sistine +vault.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_325"></a><a href="#FNanchor325">[325]</a><div class="note"><p> See Varchi, at the end of the <i>Storia Fiorentina</i>, for +episodes in the life of Pier Luigi Farnese, and Cellini for a popular +estimate of the Cardinal, his father.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_326"></a><a href="#FNanchor326">[326]</a><div class="note"><p> This extract from Cesare Balbo's <i>Pensieri sulla Storia d' +Italia</i>, Le Monnier, 1858, p. 57, may help to explain the situation: "E se +lasciando gli uomini e i nomi grandi de' governanti, noi venissimo a +quella storia, troppo sovente negletta, dei piccoli, dei più, dei +governati che sono in somma scopo d' ogni sorta di governo; se, coll' +aiuto delle tante memorie rimaste di quell' secolo, noi ci addestrassimo a +conoscere la condizione comune e privata degli Italiani di quell' età, noi +troveremmo trasmesse dai governanti a' governati, e ritornate da questi a +quelli, tali universali scostumatezze ed immoralità, tali fiacchezze e +perfidie, tali mollezze e libidini, tali ozi e tali vizi, tali avvilimenti +insomma e corruzioni, che sembrano appena credibili in una età d' +incivilmento cristiano."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_327"></a><a href="#FNanchor327">[327]</a><div class="note"><p> Vasari's description moves our laughter with its jargon +about "attitudini bellissime e scorti molto mirabili," when the man, in +spite of his honest and enthusiastic admiration, is so little capable of +penetrating the painter's thought. Mr. Ruskin leaves the same impression +as Vasari: he too makes much talk about attitudes and muscles in Michael +Angelo, and seems to be on Vasari's level as to comprehending him. The +difference is that Vasari praises, Ruskin blames; both miss the mark.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_328"></a><a href="#FNanchor328">[328]</a><div class="note"><p> "È possibile che voi, che <i>per essere divino non degnate il +consortio degli huomini</i>, haviate ciò fatto nel maggior tempio di Dio?.... +In un bagno delitioso, non in un choro supremo si conveniva il far +vostro." Those who are curious may consult Aretino's correspondence with +Michael Angelo in his published letters (Parigi, 1609), lib. i. p. 153; +lib. ii. p. 9; lib. iii. pp. 45, 122; lib. iv. p. 37.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_329"></a><a href="#FNanchor329">[329]</a><div class="note"><p> Braun's autotypes of the vault frescoes show what ravage +the lapse of time has wrought in them, by the cracking of the plaster, the +peeling off in places of the upper surface, and the deposit of dirt and +cobwebs. Mr. Heath Wilson, after careful examination, pronounces that not +only time, but the wilful hand of man, re-painting and washing the +delicate tint-coats with corrosive acids, has contributed to their ruin.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_330"></a><a href="#FNanchor330">[330]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Histoire de la Peinture en Italie</i>, p. 332.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_331"></a><a href="#FNanchor331">[331]</a><div class="note"><p> That is not counting the frescoes of the Cappella Paolina +in the Vatican, painted about 1544, which are now in a far worse state +even than the "Last Judgment," and which can never have done more than +show his style in decadence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_332"></a><a href="#FNanchor332">[332]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, pp. <a href="#Page_65">65</a>-<a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_333"></a><a href="#FNanchor333">[333]</a><div class="note"><p> See Gotti, p. 307, or <i>Archivio Buonarroti</i>, p. 535.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_334"></a><a href="#FNanchor334">[334]</a><div class="note"><p> I have reserved my translation of the sonnets that cast +most light upon Michael Angelo's thought and feeling for an Appendix, No. +II.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_335"></a><a href="#FNanchor335">[335]</a><div class="note"><p> The majority of Michael Angelo's letters are written on +domestic matters—about the affairs of his brothers and his father. When +they vexed him, he would break out into expressions like the following: +"Io son ito, da dodici anni in qua, tapinando per tutta Italia; sopportato +ogni vergognia; patito ogni stento; lacerato il corpo mio in ogni fatica; +messa la vita propria a mille pericoli, solo per aiutar la casa mia." They +are generally full of good counsel and sound love. How he loved his father +may be seen in the <i>terza rima</i> poem on his death in 1534.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_336"></a><a href="#FNanchor336">[336]</a><div class="note"><p> Notice this expression in a letter to his father, written +from Rome, about 1512, "Bastivi avere del pane, e vivete ben con Cristo e +poveramente; come fo io qua, che vivo meschinamente." It does not seem +that he ever altered this poor way of living. For his hiring at Bologna, +in 1507, a single room with one bed in it, for himself and his three +workmen, see Gotti, p. 58. His father in 1500 rebuked him for the meanness +of his establishment; <i>ibid</i>. p. 23. It appears that he was always sending +money home.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_337"></a><a href="#FNanchor337">[337]</a><div class="note"><p> "Io sto qua in grande afanno, e con grandissima fatica di +corpo, e non ò amici di nessuna sorte, e none voglio: e non ò tanto tempo +che io possa mangiare el bisognio mio." Letter to Gismondo, published by +Grimm. See, too, Sebastian del Piombo's letter to him of November 9, 1520: +"Ma fate paura a ognuno, insino a' papi." Compare, too, the letter of +Sebastian, Oct. 15, 1512, in which Julius is reported to have said, "È +terribile, come tu vedi, non se pol praticar con lui." Again, Michael +Angelo writes: "Sto sempesolo, vo poco attorno e non parlo a persona e +massino di fiorentini." Gotti, p. 255.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_338"></a><a href="#FNanchor338">[338]</a><div class="note"><p> When anything went wrong with him, he became moody and +vehement: "Non vi maravigliate che io vi abbi scritto alle volte cosi +stizosamente, che io ò alle volte di gran passione, per molte cagioni che +avengono a chi è fuor di casa." So he writes to his father in 1498. A +letter to Luigi del Riccio of 1545, is signed "Michelagnolo Buonarroti non +pittore, nè scultore, nè architettore, ma quel che voi volete, ma none +briaco, come vi dissi, in casa."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_339"></a><a href="#FNanchor339">[339]</a><div class="note"><p> See the letters of Cosimo de' Medici, Gotti, pp. 301-313, +the letter of Count Alessandro da Canossa, <i>ibid.</i> p. 4, and Pier +Vettori's letter to Borghini, about the visit of some German gentlemen, +<i>ibid.</i> p. 315.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_340"></a><a href="#FNanchor340">[340]</a><div class="note"><p> See the story as told by Torrigiani himself in Cellini, ed. +Le Monnier, p. 23.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_341"></a><a href="#FNanchor341">[341]</a><div class="note"><p> After saying that he talked of love like Plato, Condivi +continues: "Non senti mai uscir di quella bocca se non parole onestissime, +e che avevan forza d' estinguere nella gioventù ogni incomposto e sfrenato +desiderio che in lei potesse cadere." Compare Scipione Ammirato, quoted by +Guasti, "Le Rime," p. xi.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_342"></a><a href="#FNanchor342">[342]</a><div class="note"><p> Her intense affection for the Marquis of Pescara, to whom +she had been betrothed by her father at the age of five, is sufficiently +proved by those many sonnets and <i>canzoni</i> in which she speaks of him as +her Sun.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_343"></a><a href="#FNanchor343">[343]</a><div class="note"><p> See Grimm, vol. ii.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_344"></a><a href="#FNanchor344">[344]</a><div class="note"><p> See the Sonnets translated in my Appendix and in my +<i>Sonnets of Michael Angelo and Campanella</i>, London, Smith & Elder, 1878. +See also the letters to Cavalieri, quoted by Gotti, pp. 231, 232, 234. It +is surely strained criticism to conjecture, as Gotti has done, that these +epistles were meant for Vittoria, though written to Cavalieri. Taken +together with the sonnets and the letter of Bartolommeo Angiolini (Gotti, +p. 233), they seem to me to prove only Michael Angelo's warm love for this +young man.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX"></a><h2><a name="Page_313"></a>CHAPTER IX--LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI</h2> + +<h4>His Fame—His Autobiography—Its Value for the Student of History, +Manners, and Character, in the Renaissance—Birth, Parentage, and +Boyhood—Flute-playing—Apprenticeship to Marcone—Wanderjahr—The +Goldsmith's Trade at Florence—Torrigiani and England—Cellini leaves +Florence for Rome—Quarrel with the Guasconti—Homicidal Fury—Cellini a +Law to Himself—Three Periods in his Manhood—Life in Rome—Diego at the +Banquet—Renaissance Feeling for Physical Beauty—Sack of Rome—Miracles +in Cellini's Life—His Affections—Murder of his Brother's +Assassin—Sanctuary—Pardon and Absolution—Incantation in the +Colosseum—First Visit to France—Adventures on the Way—Accused of +Stealing Crown Jewels in Rome—Imprisonment in the Castle of S. +Angelo—The Governor—Cellini's Escape—His Visions—The Nature of his +Religion—Second Visit to France—The Wandering Court—Le Petit +Nesle—Cellini in the French Law Courts—Scene at Fontainebleau—Return to +Florence—Cosimo de' Medici as a Patron—Intrigues of a petty +Court—Bandinelli—The Duchess—Statue of Perseus—End of Cellini's +Life—Cellini and Machiavelli.</h4> + +<p>Few names in the history of Italian art are more renowned than that of +Benvenuto Cellini. This can hardly be attributed to the value of his +extant works; for though, while he lived, he was the greatest goldsmith of +his time, a skilled medallist and an admirable statuary, few of his many +masterpieces now survive. The plate and armour that bear his name, are +only in some rare instances genuine; and the bronze "Perseus" in the +Loggia de' Lanzi at Florence remains almost alone to show how high he +ranked among the later Tuscan sculptors. If, therefore, Cellini had been +judged merely by the authentic <a name="Page_314"></a>productions of his art, he would not have +acquired a celebrity unique among his fellow-workers of the sixteenth +century. That fame he owes to the circumstance that he left behind him at +his death a full and graphic narrative of his stormy life. The vivid style +of this autobiography dictated by Cellini while still engaged in the +labour of his craft, its animated picture of a powerful character, the +variety of its incidents, and the amount of information it contains, place +it high both as a life-romance and also as a record of contemporary +history. After studying the laboured periods of Varchi, we turn to these +memoirs, and view the same events from the standpoint of an artisan +conveying his impressions with plebeian raciness of phrase. The sack of +Rome, the plague and siege of Florence, the humiliation of Clement VII., +the pomp of Charles V. at Rome, the behaviour of the Florentine exiles at +Ferrara, the intimacy between Alessandro de' Medici and his murderer, +Lorenzino, the policy of Paul III., and the method pursued by Cosimo at +Florence, are briefly but significantly touched upon—no longer by the +historian seeking causes and setting forth the sequence of events, but by +a shrewd observer interested in depicting his own part in the great game +of life. Cellini haunted the private rooms of popes and princes; he knew +the chief actors of his day, just as the valet knows the hero; and the +picturesque glimpses into their life we gain from him, add the charm of +colour and reality to history.</p> + +<p>At the same time this book presents an admirable picture of an artist's +life at Rome, Paris, and Florence. Cellini was essentially an Italian of +the Cinque-cento. His passions were the passions of his countrymen; his +vices were the vices of his time; his eccentricity and energy and vital +force were what the age idealised as <i>virtù</i>. Combining rare artistic +gifts with a most violent temper and a most obstinate will, he paints +himself at one time as a conscientious craftsman, at another as a +desperate bravo. He obeys his instincts and <a name="Page_315"></a>indulges his appetites with +the irreflective simplicity of an animal. In the pursuit of vengeance and +the commission of murder he is self-reliant, coolly calculating, fierce +and fatal as a tiger. Yet his religious fervour is sincere; his impulses +are generous; and his heart on the whole is good. His vanity is +inordinate; and his unmistakable courage is impaired, to Northern +apprehension, by swaggering bravado.</p> + +<p>The mixture of these qualities in a personality so natural and so clearly +limned renders Cellini a most precious subject for the student of +Renaissance life and character. Even supposing him to have been +exceptionally passionate, he was made of the same stuff as his +contemporaries. We are justified in concluding this not only from +collateral evidence and from what he tells us, but also from the meed of +honour he received. In Europe of the present day he could hardly fail to +be regarded as a ruffian, a dangerous disturber of morality and order. In +his own age he was held in high esteem and buried by his fellow-citizens +with public ceremonies. A funeral oration was pronounced over his grave +"in praise both of his life and works, and also of his excellent +disposition of mind and body."<a name="FNanchor345"></a><a href="#Footnote_345"><sup>[345]</sup></a> He dictated the memoirs that paint him +as bloodthirsty, sensual, and revengeful, in the leisure of his old age, +and left them with complacency to serve as witness of his manly virtues to +posterity. Even Vasari, whom he hated, and who reciprocated his ill-will, +records that "he always showed himself a man of great spirit and veracity, +bold, active, enterprising, and formidable to his enemies; a man, in +short, who knew as well how to speak to princes as to exert himself in his +art."</p> + +<p>Enough has been said to prove that Cellini was not inferior to the average +morality of the Renaissance, and that we are <a name="Page_316"></a>justified in accepting his +life as a valuable historical document.<a name="FNanchor346"></a><a href="#Footnote_346"><sup>[346]</sup></a> To give a detailed account of +a book pronounced by Horace Walpole "more amusing than any novel," +received by Parini and Tiraboschi as the most delightful masterpiece of +Italian prose, translated into German by Goethe, and placed upon his index +of select works by Auguste Comte, may seem superfluous. Yet I cannot +afford to omit from my plan the most singular and characteristic episode +in the private history of the Italian Renaissance. I need it for the +concrete illustration of much that has been said in this and the preceding +volumes of my work.</p> + +<p>Cellini was born of respectable parents at Florence on the night of All +Saints' Day in 1500, and was called Benvenuto to record his father's joy +at having a son.<a name="FNanchor347"></a><a href="#Footnote_347"><sup>[347]</sup></a> It was the wish of Giovanni Cellini's heart that his +son should be a musician. Benvenuto in consequence practised the flute for +many years attentively, though much against his will. At the age of +fifteen so great was his desire to learn the arts of design that his +father placed him under the care of the goldsmith Marcone. At the same +time he tells us in his memoirs: "I continued to play sometimes through +complaisance to my father either upon the flute or the horn; and I +constantly drew tears and deep sighs from him every time he heard me." +While engaged in the workshop of Marcone, Benvenuto came to blows with +some young men who had attacked his brother, and was obliged to leave +Florence for a time. At this period <a name="Page_317"></a>he visited Siena, Bologna, and Pisa, +gaming his livelihood by working in the shops of goldsmiths, and steadily +advancing in his art.</p> + +<p>It must not be thought that this education was a mean one for so great an +artist. Painting and sculpture in Italy were regarded as trades, and the +artist had his <i>bottega</i> just as much as the cobbler or the +blacksmith.<a name="FNanchor348"></a><a href="#Footnote_348"><sup>[348]</sup></a> I have already had occasion to point out that an +apprenticeship to goldsmith's work was considered at Florence an almost +indispensable commencement of advanced art-study.<a name="FNanchor349"></a><a href="#Footnote_349"><sup>[349]</sup></a> Brunelleschi, +Botticelli, Orcagna, Verocchio, Ghiberti, Pollajuolo, Ghirlandajo, Luca +della Robbia, all underwent this training before they applied themselves +to architecture, painting, and sculpture. As the goldsmith's craft was +understood in Florence, it exacted the most exquisite nicety in +performance as well as design. It forced the student to familiarise +himself with the materials, instruments, and technical processes of art; +so that, later on in life, he was not tempted to leave the execution of +his work to journeymen and hirelings.<a name="FNanchor350"></a><a href="#Footnote_350"><sup>[350]</sup></a> No labour seemed too minute, no +metal was too mean, for the exercise of the master-work<a name="Page_318"></a>man's skill; nor +did he run the risk of becoming one of those half-amateurs in whom +accomplishment falls short of first conception. Art ennobled for him all +that he was called to do. Whether cardinals required him to fashion silver +vases for their banquet-tables; or ladies wished the setting of their +jewels altered; or a pope wanted the enamelled binding of a book of +prayers; or men-at-arms sent swordblades to be damascened with acanthus +foliage; or kings desired fountains and statues for their palace courts; +or poets begged to have their portraits cast in bronze; or generals needed +medals to commemorate their victories, or dukes new coins for their mint; +or bishops ordered reliquaries for the altars of their patron saints; or +merchants sought for seals and signet rings engraved with their device; or +men of fashion asked for medallions of Leda and Adonis to fasten in their +caps—all these commissions could be undertaken by a workman like Cellini. +He was prepared for all alike by his apprenticeship to <i>orfevria</i>; and to +all he gave the same amount of conscientious toil. The consequence was +that, at the time of the Renaissance, furniture, plate, jewels, and +articles of personal adornment were objects of true art. The mind of the +craftsman was exercised afresh in every piece of work. Pretty things were +not bought, machine-made, by the gross in a warehouse; nor was it +customary, as now it is, to see the same design repeated with mechanical +regularity in every house.</p> + +<p>In 1518 Benvenuto returned to Florence and began to study the cartoons of +Michael Angelo. He must have already acquired considerable reputation as a +workman, for about this time Torrigiani invited him to go to England in +his company and enter the service of Henry VIII. The Renaissance was now +beginning to penetrate the nations of the North, and Henry and Francis +vied with each other in trying to attract foreign artists to their +capitals. It does not, however, appear <a name="Page_319"></a>that the English king secured the +services of men so distinguished as Lionardo da Vinci, II Rosso, +Primaticcio, Del Sarto, and Cellini, who shed an artificial lustre on the +Court of France. Going to London then was worse than going to Russia now, +and to take up a lengthy residence among <i>questi diavoli ... quelle bestie +di quegli Inglesi</i>, as Cellini politely calls the English, did not suit a +Southern taste. He had, moreover, private reasons for disliking +Torrigiani, who boasted of having broken Michael Angelo's nose in a +quarrel. "His words," says Cellini, "raised in me such a hatred of the +fellow that, far from wishing to accompany him to England, I could not +bear to look at him." It may be mentioned that one of Cellini's best +points was hero-worship for Michael Angelo. He never speaks of him except +as <i>quel divino Michel Agnolo, il mio maestro</i>, and extols <i>la bella +maniera</i> of the mighty sculptor to the skies. Torrigiani, as far as we can +gather from Cellini's description of him, must have been a man of his own +kidney and complexion: "he was handsome, of consummate assurance, having +rather the airs of a bravo than a sculptor; above all, his fierce gestures +and his sonorous voice, with a peculiar manner of knitting his brows, were +enough to frighten everyone that saw him; and he was continually talking +of his valiant feats among those bears of Englishmen." The story of +Torrigiani's death in Spain is worth repeating. A grandee employed him to +model a Madonna, which he did with more than usual care, expecting a great +reward. His pay, however, falling short of is expectation, in a fit of +fury he knocked his statue to pieces. For this act of sacrilege, as it was +deemed, to the work of his own brain and hand, Torrigiani was thrown into +the dungeons of the Inquisition. There he starved himself to death in 1522 +in order to escape the fate of being burned. This story helps to explain +why the fine arts were never well developed in Spain, and why they +<a name="Page_320"></a>languished after the introduction of the Holy Office into Italy.<a name="FNanchor351"></a><a href="#Footnote_351"><sup>[351]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Instead of emigrating to England, Benvenuto, after a quarrel with his +father about the obnoxious flute-playing, sauntered out one morning toward +the gate of S. Piero Gattolini. There he met a friend called Tasso, who +had also quarrelled with his parents; and the two youths agreed, upon the +moment, to set off for Rome. Both were nineteen years of age. Singing and +laughing, carrying their bundle by turns, and wondering "what the old +folks would say," they trudged on foot to Siena, there hired a return +horse between them, and so came to Rome. This residence in Rome only +lasted two years, which were spent by Cellini in the employment of various +masters. At the expiration of that time he returned to Florence, and +distinguished himself by the making of a marriage girdle for a certain +Raffaello Lapaccini.<a name="FNanchor352"></a><a href="#Footnote_352"><sup>[352]</sup></a> The fame of this and other pieces of jewellery +roused against him the envy and malice of the elder goldsmiths, and led to +a serious fray, in the course of which he assaulted a young man of the +Guasconti family, and was obliged to fly disguised like a monk to Rome.</p> + +<p>As this is the first of Cellini's homicidal quarrels, it is worth while to +transcribe what he says about it. "One day as I was leaning against the +shop of these Guasconti, and talking with them, they contrived that a load +of bricks should pass by at the moment, and Gherardo Guasconti pushed it +against me in such wise that it hurt me. Turning suddenly and seeing that +he was laughing, I struck him so hard upon <a name="Page_321"></a>the temple that he fell down +stunned. Then turning to his cousins, I said, That is how I treat cowardly +thieves like you; and when they began to show fight, being many together, +I, finding myself on flame, set hand to a little knife I had, and cried, +If one of you leaves the shop, let another run for the confessor, for a +surgeon won't find anything to do here." Nor was he contented with this +truculent behaviour; for when Gherardo recovered from his blow, and the +matter had come before the magistrates, Cellini went to seek him in his +own house. There he stabbed him in the midst of all his family, raging +meanwhile, to use his own phrase, "like an infuriated bull."<a name="FNanchor353"></a><a href="#Footnote_353"><sup>[353]</sup></a> It +appears that on this occasion no one was seriously hurt; but the affair +proved perilous to Cellini, since it was a mere accident that he had not +killed more than one of the Guasconti. These affrays recur continually +among the adventures recorded by Cellini in his Life. He says with comical +reservation of phrase that he was "naturally somewhat choleric;" and then, +describes the access of his fury as a sort of fever, lasting for days, +preventing him from taking food or sleep, making his blood boil in his +veins, inflaming his eyes, and never suffering him to rest till he +revenged himself by murder or at least by blows. To enumerate all the +people he killed or wounded, or pounded to a jelly in public brawls or +private quarrels, in the pursuit of deliberate <i>vendetta</i> or under a +sudden impulse of ungovernable rage, would take too long. We are forced by +an effort to recall to mind the state of society at that time in Italy, in +order to understand how it is that he can talk with unconcern and even +self-complacency about his homicides. He makes himself accuser, judge, and +executioner, and is quite satisfied with the goodness of his cause, the +justice of his sentence, and the equity of his administration. In a sonnet +written to<a name="Page_322"></a> Bandinelli, he compares his own victims with the mangled +statues of that sculptor, much to his own satisfaction.<a name="FNanchor354"></a><a href="#Footnote_354"><sup>[354]</sup></a></p> + +<p>There is the same callousness of conscience in his record of spiteful acts +that we should blush to think of—stabs in the dark, and such a piece of +revenge as cutting the beds to bits in the house of an innkeeper who had +offended him.<a name="FNanchor355"></a><a href="#Footnote_355"><sup>[355]</sup></a> Nor does he speak with any shame of the savage cruelty +with which he punished a woman who was sitting to him as a model, and whom +he hauled up and down his room by the hair of her head, kicking and +beating her till he was tired.<a name="FNanchor356"></a><a href="#Footnote_356"><sup>[356]</sup></a> It is true that on this occasion he +regrets having spoiled, in a moment of blind passion, the best arms and +legs that he could find to draw from. Such episodes, to which it is +impossible to allude otherwise than very briefly, illustrate with +extraordinary vividness what I have already had occasion to say about the +Italian sense of honour at this period.<a name="FNanchor357"></a><a href="#Footnote_357"><sup>[357]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The consciousness of physical courage and the belief in his own moral +superiority sustained Cellini in all his dangers and in all his crimes. +Armed with his sword and dagger, and protected by his coat of mail, he was +ready to stand against the world and fight his way towards any object he +desired. When a man opposed his schemes or entered into competition with +him as an artist, he swaggered up with hand on hilt and threatened to run +him through the body if he did not mind his business. At the same time he +attri<a name="Page_323"></a>butes the success of his own violence in quelling and maltreating +his opponents to the providence of God. "I do not write this narrative," +he says, "from a motive of vanity, but merely to return thanks to God, who +has extricated me out of so many trials and difficulties; who likewise +delivers me from those that daily impend over me. Upon all occasions I pay +my devotions to Him, call upon Him as my defender, and recommend myself to +His care. I always exert my utmost efforts to extricate myself, but when I +am quite at a loss, and all my powers fail me, then the force of the Deity +displays itself—that formidable force which, unexpectedly, strikes those +who wrong and oppress others, and neglect the great and honourable duty +which God has enjoined on them." I shall have occasion later on to discuss +Cellini's religious opinions; but here it may be remarked that the feeling +of this passage is thoroughly sincere and consistent with the spirit of +the times. The separation between religion and morality was complete in +Italy.<a name="FNanchor358"></a><a href="#Footnote_358"><sup>[358]</sup></a> Men made their own God and worshipped him; and the God of +Cellini was one who always helped those who began to help themselves by +taking justice into their own hands.</p> + +<p>From the date of his second visit to Rome in 1523, Cellini's life divides +itself into three periods, the first spent in the service of Popes Clement +VII. and Paul III., the second in Paris at the Court of Francis, and the +third at Florence under Cosimo de' Medici.</p> + +<p>On arriving in Rome, his extraordinary abilities soon brought him into +notice at the Court. The Chigi family, the Bishop of Salamanca, and the +Pope himself employed him to make various jewels, ornaments, and services +of plate. In consequence of a dream in which his father appeared and +warned him not to neglect music, under pain of the paternal malediction, +he accepted a post in the Papal band. The <a name="Page_324"></a>old bugbear of flute-playing +followed him until his father's death, and then we hear no more of it. The +history of this portion of his life is among the most entertaining +passages of his biography. Drawing the Roman ruins, shooting pigeons, +scouring the Campagna on a pony like a shaggy bear, fighting duels, +prosecuting love-affairs, defending his shop against robbers, skirmishing +with Moorish pirates on the shore by Cerveterra, stabbing, falling ill of +the plague and the French sickness—these adventures diversify the account +he gives of masterpieces in gold and silver ware. The literary and +artistic society of Rome at this period was very brilliant. Painters, +sculptors, and goldsmiths mixed with scholars and poets, passing their +time alternately in the palaces of dukes and cardinals and in the lodgings +of gay women. Bohemianism of the wildest type was combined with the +manners of the great world. A little incident described at some length by +Cellini brings this varied life before us. There was a club of artists, +including Giulio Romano and other pupils of Raphael, who met twice a week +to sup together and to spend the evening in conversation, with music and +the recitation of sonnets. Each member of this company brought with him a +lady. Cellini, on one occasion, not being provided for the moment with an +<i>innamorata</i>, dressed up a beautiful Spanish youth called Diego as a +woman, and took him to the supper. The ensuing scene is described in the +most vivid manner. We see before us the band of painters and poets, the +women in their bright costumes, the table adorned with flowers and fruit, +and, as a background to the whole picture, a trellis of jasmines with dark +foliage and starry blossoms. Diego, called Pomona, with regard doubtless +to his dark and ruddy beauty, is unanimously proclaimed the fairest of the +fair. Then a discovery of his sex is made; and the adventure leads, as +usual in the doings of Cellini, to daggers, midnight ambushes, and +vendettas that only end with bloodshed.</p><a name="Page_325"></a> + +<p>An episode of this sort may serve as the occasion for observing that the +artists of the late Renaissance had become absorbed in the admiration of +merely carnal beauty. With the exception of Michael Angelo and Tintoretto, +there was no great master left who still pursued an intellectual ideal. +The Romans and the Venetians simply sought and painted what was splendid +and luxurious in the world around them. Their taste was contented with +well-developed muscles, gorgeous colour, youthful bloom, activity of limb, +and grace of outline. The habits of the day, voluptuous yet hardy, +fostered this one-sided development of the arts; while the asceticism of +the Middle Ages had yielded to a pagan cult of sensuality. To draw <i>un bel +corpo ignudo</i> with freedom was now the <i>ne plus ultra</i> of achievement. How +to express thought or to indicate the subtleties of emotion, had ceased to +be the artist's aim. We have already noticed the passionate love of beauty +which animated the great masters of the golden age. This, in the less +elevated natures of the craftsmen who succeeded them, and under the +conditions of advancing national corruption, was no longer refined or +restrained by delicacy of feeling or by loftiness of aim. It degenerated +into soulless animalism. The capacity for perceiving and for reproducing +what is nobly beautiful was lost. Vulgarity and coarseness stamped +themselves upon the finest work of men like Giulio Romano. At this crisis +it was proved how inferior was the neo-paganism of the sixteenth century +to the paganism of antiquity it aped. Mythology preserved Greek art from +degradation, and connected a similar enthusiasm for corporeal beauty with +the thoughts and aspirations of the Hellenic race. The Italians lacked +this safeguard of a natural religion. To throw the Christian ideal aside, +and to strive to grasp the classical ideal in exchange, was easy. But +paganism alone could give them nothing but its vices; it was incapable of +communicating its real source of life—its poetry, its faith, <a name="Page_326"></a>its cult of +nature. Art, therefore, as soon as the artists pronounced themselves for +sensuality, merged in a skilful selection and reproduction of elegant +forms, and nothing more. A handsome youth upon a pedestal was called a +god. A duke's mistress on Titian's canvas passed for Aphrodite. Andrea del +Sarto's faithless wife figured as Madonna. Cellini himself, though +sensitive to every kind of physical beauty—as we gather from what he +tells us of Cencio, Diego, Faustina, Paolino, Angelica, Ascanio—has not +attempted to animate his "Perseus," or his "Ganymede," or his "Diana of +Fontainebleau," with a vestige of intellectual or moral loveliness. The +vacancy of their expression proves the degradation of an art that had +ceased to idealise anything beyond a faultless body. Not thus did the +Greeks imagine even their most sensual divinities. There is at least a +thought in Faun and Satyr. Cellini's statues have no thought; their blank +animalism corresponds to the condition of their maker's soul.<a name="FNanchor359"></a><a href="#Footnote_359"><sup>[359]</sup></a></p> + +<p>When Rome was carried by assault in 1527, and the Papal Court was besieged +in the castle of S. Angelo, Cellini played the part of bombardier. It is +well known that he claims to have shot the Constable of Bourbon dead with +his own hand, and to have wounded the Prince of Orange; nor does there +seem to be any adequate reason for discrediting his narrative. It is +certain that he was an expert marksman, and that he did Clement good +service by directing the artillery of S. Angelo. If we believed all his +assertions, however, we should have to suppose that nothing memorable +happened without his intervention. In his own eyes his whole life was a +miracle. The very hailstones that fell upon his head could not be grasped +in both hands. His guns and powder brought down birds no other marksman +had a chance of hitting.<a name="Page_327"></a> When he was a child, he grasped a scorpion +without injury, and saw a salamander "living and enjoying himself in the +hottest flames." After his fever at Rome in 1535, he threw off from his +stomach a hideous worm—hairy, speckled with green, black, and red—the +like whereof the doctors never saw.<a name="FNanchor360"></a><a href="#Footnote_360"><sup>[360]</sup></a> When he finally escaped from the +dungeons of S. Angelo in 1539, a luminous appearance like an aureole +settled on his head, and stayed there for the rest of his life.<a name="FNanchor361"></a><a href="#Footnote_361"><sup>[361]</sup></a> These +facts are related in the true spirit of Jerome Cardan, Paracelsus, Lord +Herbert of Cherbury, and Sir Thomas Browne. Cellini doubtless believed in +them; but they warn us to be cautious in accepting what he says about his +exploits, since imagination and self-conceit could so far distort his +judgment.</p> + +<p>It may be regretted that Cellini has not given a fuller account of the +memorable sack of Borne. Yet, confining himself almost wholly to his own +adventures, he presents a very vivid picture of the sad life led by the +Pope and cardinals, vainly hoping for succour from Urbino, wrangling +together about the causes of the tragedy, sewing the crown jewels into +their doublets, and running the perils of the siege with common soldiers +on the ramparts. When peace at last was signed, Cellini paid a visit to +Florence, and found that his father and some other relatives had died of +plague.<a name="FNanchor362"></a><a href="#Footnote_362"><sup>[362]</sup></a> His brother Cecchino, however, who was a soldier in the Bande +Nere of Giovanni de' Medici, and his sister Liperata survived. With them +he spent a pleasant evening; for Liperata having "for a while lamented her +father, her sister, her husband, and a little son that she had been +deprived of, went to <a name="Page_328"></a>prepare supper, and during the rest of the evening +there was not a word more spoken of the dead, but much about weddings. +Thus we supped together with the greatest cheerfulness and satisfaction +imaginable." In these sentences there is no avowal of hard-heartedness; +only the careless familiarity with loss and danger, engendered by war, +famine, plague, and personal adventures in those riotous times.<a name="FNanchor363"></a><a href="#Footnote_363"><sup>[363]</sup></a> +Cellini gladly risked his life in a quarrel for his friends; but he would +not sadden the present by reflecting on inevitable accidents. This elastic +temper permeates his character. His affections were strong, but transient. +The one serious love-affair he describes, among a multitude of mere +debaucheries, made him miserable for a few days. His mistress, Angelica, +ran away, and left him "on the point of losing his senses or dying of +grief." Yet, when he found her again, a short time sufficed to satisfy his +longing, and he turned his back with jibes upon her when she bargained +about money.</p> + +<p>It is worthy of notice that, at the same time, he was an excellent son and +brother. His sister was left a widow with two children; whereupon he took +them all into his house, without bragging about what appears to have been +the best action of his life. In the same spirit he conscientiously +performed what he conceived to be his duty to Cecchino, murdered by a +musketeer in Rome. After nursing his revenge till he was nearly mad, he +stole out one evening and stabbed the murderer in the back.<a name="FNanchor364"></a><a href="#Footnote_364"><sup>[364]</sup></a> So +violent was the blow that he could not extricate his dagger from the man's +spine, but had to leave it sticking in his nape. Next to his own egotism +the strongest feelings in Cellini were domestic; and he showed them at one +moment by charity to his sister's family, at another by a savage +assassination.</p> +<a name="Page_329"></a> +<p>After killing the musketeer, Cellini retired for refuge to the house of +Alessandro de' Medici, Duke of Cività di Penna, who had been his brother's +patron. The matter reached the Pope's ears, for whom Benvenuto was at work +upon crown jewels. Clement sent for him, and simply said: "Now you have +recovered your health, Benvenuto, take care of yourself." This shows how +little they thought of homicide in Rome. After killing a man, some +powerful protector had to be sought, who was usually a cardinal, since the +cardinals had right of sanctuary in their palaces. There the assassin lay +in hiding, in order to avoid his victim's friends and relatives, until +such time as a pardon and safe-conduct and absolution had been obtained +from his Holiness. When Cellini, soon after this occurrence, stabbed a +private enemy, by name Pompeo, two cardinals were anxious to screen him +from pursuit, and disputed the privilege of harbouring so talented a +criminal.<a name="FNanchor365"></a><a href="#Footnote_365"><sup>[365]</sup></a> The Pope, with marvellous good-humour, observed: "I have +never heard of the death of Pompeo, but often of Benvenuto's provocation; +so let a safe-conduct be instantly made out, and that will secure him from +all manner of danger." A friend of Pompeo's who was present, ventured to +insinuate that this was dangerous policy. The Pope put him down at once by +saying, "You do not understand these matters; I would have you know that +men who are unique in their profession, like Benvenuto, are not subject to +the laws." Whether Paul really said these words, may be doubted; but it is +clear that much was conceded to a clever workman, and that the laws were a +mere <i>brutum fulmen</i>. No man of spirit appealed to them. Cellini, for +example, was poisoned by a parish priest near Florence:<a name="FNanchor366"></a><a href="#Footnote_366"><sup>[366]</sup></a> yet he never +brought the man to justice; <a name="Page_330"></a>and in the case of his own murders, he only +dreaded the retaliation of his victims' kinsmen. On one occasion, indeed, +the civil arm came down upon him; when the city guard attempted to arrest +him for Pompeo's assassination. He beat them off with swords and sticks; +and, after all, it appeared that they were only acting at the instigation +of Pier Luigi Farnese, whom Benvenuto had offended.</p> + +<p>During his residence at Rome, Cellini witnessed an incantation conducted +in the Colosseum by a Sicilian priest and necromancer. The conjurer and +the artist, accompanied by two friends, and by a boy, who was to act as +medium, went by night to the amphitheatre. The magic circle was drawn; +fires were lighted, and perfumes scattered on the flames. Then the +spirit-seer began his charms, calling in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, or what +passed for such, upon the leaders of the hosts of hell. The whole hollow +space now filled with phantoms, surging up by legions, rushing down from +the galleries, issuing from subterranean caverns, and wheeling to and fro +with signs of fury. All the party, says Cellini, were thrown into +consternation, except himself, who, though terribly afraid, kept up the +fainting spirits of the rest. At last the conjurer summoned courage to +inquire when Cellini might hope to be restored to his lost love, +Angelica;—for this was the trivial object of the incantation. The demons +answered (how we are not told) that he would meet her ere a month had +passed away. This prophecy, as it happened, was fulfilled. Then they +redoubled their attacks; the necromancer kept crying out that the peril +was most imminent, until the matin bells of Rome swung through the +darkness, freeing them at last from fear. As they walked home, the boy, +holding the Sicilian by his robe and Benvenuto by his mantle, told them +that he still saw giants leaping with fantastic gestures on their path, +now running along the house <a name="Page_331"></a>roofs, and now dancing on the earth. Each one +of them that night dreamed in his bed of devils.<a name="FNanchor367"></a><a href="#Footnote_367"><sup>[367]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The interest of this incident is almost wholly picturesque. It throws but +little light upon the superstitions of the age.<a name="FNanchor368"></a><a href="#Footnote_368"><sup>[368]</sup></a> The magnitude of the +Colosseum, the popular legends concerning its magical origin, and the +terrible uses of blood to which it had been put, invested this building +with peculiar mystery. Robbers haunted the huge caves. Rubbish and weeds +choked the passages. Sickly trees soared up from darkness into light among +the porches, and the moon peered through the empty vomitories. If we call +imagination to our aid, and place the necromancers and their brazier in +the centre of this space;—if we fancy the priest's chaunted spells, the +sacred names invoked in his unholy rites, the shuddering terror of the +conscience-stricken accomplices, and Cellini with defiant mien but +quailing heart, we can well believe that he saw more than the amphitheatre +contained. Whether the spectres were projected by the conjurer from a +magic lantern on the smoke that issued from his heaps of blazing wood, so +that the volumes of vapour, agitated by the wind and rolling in thick +spirals, showed them retreating and advancing, and varying in shape and +number, is a matter for conjecture. Cellini firmly believed that he had +been environed by living squadrons of the spirits of the damned.</p> + +<p>The next four years were spent by Cellini chiefly in Rome, in peril of his +life at several seasons, owing to the animosity of Pier Luigi Farnese. One +journey he took at this period to Venice, passing through Ferrara, where +he came to blows with the Florentine exiles. It is interesting to find the +respectable historian Jacopo Nardi involved, if only as a peace<a name="Page_332"></a>maker, in +this affray.<a name="FNanchor369"></a><a href="#Footnote_369"><sup>[369]</sup></a> He also visited Florence and cast dies for Alessandro's +silver coinage. It was here that he found opportunities of observing the +perilous intimacy between the Duke of Cività di Penna and his +cousin—<i>quel pazzo malinconico filosofo di Lorenzino.</i><a name="FNanchor370"></a><a href="#Footnote_370"><sup>[370]</sup></a> In April +1537, having quarrelled with the Pope, who seems to have adopted Pier +Luigi's prejudice against him, Cellini set out for France with two of his +workmen. They passed through Florence, Bologna, Venice, and Padua, staying +in the last place to model a medallion portrait of Pietro Bembo;<a name="FNanchor371"></a><a href="#Footnote_371"><sup>[371]</sup></a> then +they crossed the Grisons by the Bernina and Albula passes. We hear nothing +about this part of the journey, except that the snow was heavy, and that +they ran great danger of their lives. Cellini must have traversed some of +the most romantic scenery of Switzerland at the best season of the year; +yet not a word escapes him about the beauty of the Alps or the wonder of +the glaciers, which he saw for the first time. The pleasure we derive from +contemplating savage scenery was unknown to the Italians of the sixteenth +century; the height and cold, the gloom and solitude of mountains struck +them with a sense of terror or of dreariness. On the Lake of Wallenstadt +Cellini met with a party of Germans, whom he hated as cordially as an +Athenian of the age of Pericles might have loathed the Scythians for their +barbarism.<a name="FNanchor372"></a><a href="#Footnote_372"><sup>[372]</sup></a> The<a name="Page_333"></a> Italians embarked in one boat, the Germans in +another; Cellini being under the impression that the Northern lakes would +not be so likely to drown him as those of his own country. However, when a +storm swept down the hills, he took a terrible fright, and compelled the +boatmen at the point of the poniard to put him and his company ashore. The +description of their struggles to drag their heavily laden horses over the +uneven ground near Wesen, is extremely graphic, and gives a good notion of +the dangers of the road in those days.<a name="FNanchor373"></a><a href="#Footnote_373"><sup>[373]</sup></a> That night they "heard the +watch sing at all hours very agreeably; and as the houses of that town +were all of wood, he kept bidding them to take care of their fires." Next +day they arrived, not without other accidents, at Zurich, "a marvellous +city, as clear and polished as a jewel." Thence by Solothurn, Lausanne, +Geneva, and Lyons, they made their way to Paris.</p> + +<p>This long and troublesome journey led to nothing, for Cellini grew weary +of following the French Court about from place to place; his health too +failed him, and he decided that he would rather die in Italy than +France.<a name="FNanchor374"></a><a href="#Footnote_374"><sup>[374]</sup></a> Accordingly he returned to Rome, and there, not long after +his arrival, he was arrested by the order of Pope Paul III.<a name="FNanchor375"></a><a href="#Footnote_375"><sup>[375]</sup></a> The +charge against him, preferred by one of his own prentices, was this. +During the siege of Rome, he had been employed by Clement to melt down the +tiaras and papal ornaments, in order that the precious stones might be +conveyed away in secrecy. He did so; and afterwards confessed to having +kept a portion of the gold filings found in the cinders of his brazier +during the operation. For this crime Clement gave him absolution.<a name="FNanchor376"></a><a href="#Footnote_376"><sup>[376]</sup></a> +Now, however, he was accused of having stolen gold and <a name="Page_334"></a>jewels to the +amount of nearly eighty thousand ducats. "The avarice of the Pope, but +more that of his bastard, then called Duke of Castro," inclined Paul to +believe this charge; and Pier Luigi was allowed to farm the case. Cellini +was examined by the Governor of Rome and two assessors; in spite of his +vehement protestations of innocence, the absence of any evidence against +him, and the sound arguments adduced in his defence, he was committed to +the castle of S. Angelo. When he received his sentence, he called heaven +and earth to witness, thanking God that he had "the happiness not to be +confined for some error of his sinful nature, as generally happens to +young men." Whereupon "the brute of a Governor replied, Yet you have +killed enough men in your time." This remark was pertinent; but it +provoked a torrent of abuse and a long enumeration of his services from +the virtuous Cellini.</p> + +<p>The account of this imprisonment, and especially of the hypochondriacal +Governor who thought he was a bat and used to flap his arms and squeak +when night was coming on, is highly entertaining.<a name="FNanchor377"></a><a href="#Footnote_377"><sup>[377]</sup></a> Not less +interesting is the description of Cellini's daring escape from the castle. +In climbing over the last wall, he fell and broke his leg, and was carried +by a waterman to the palace of the Cardinal Cornaro. There he lay in +hiding, visited by all the rank and fashion of Rome, who were not a little +curious to see the hero of so perilous an escapade. Cornaro promised to +secure his pardon, but eventually exchanged him for a bishopric. This +remarkable proceeding illustrates the manners of the Papal Court. The +cardinal wanted a benefice for one of his followers, and the Pope wished +to get his son's enemy once more into his power. So the two ecclesiastics +bargained together, and by mutual kind offices attained their several +ends.</p> +<a name="Page_335"></a> +<p>Cellini with his broken leg went back to languish in his prison. He found +the flighty Governor furious because he had "flown away," eluding his +bat's eyes and wings. The rigour used towards him made him dread the worst +extremities. Cast into a condemned cell, he first expected to be flayed +alive; and when this terror was removed, he perceived the crystals of a +pounded jewel in his food. According to his own account of this mysterious +circumstance, Messer Durante Duranti of Brescia, one of Cellini's numerous +enemies, had given a diamond of small value to be broken up and mixed with +a salad served to him at dinner. The jeweller to whom this charge was +entrusted, kept the diamond and substituted a beryl, thinking that the +inferior stone would have the same murderous properties. To the avarice of +this man Cellini attributed his escape from a lingering death by +inflammation of the mucous membrane.<a name="FNanchor378"></a><a href="#Footnote_378"><sup>[378]</sup></a></p> + +<p>During his first imprisonment he had occupied a fair chamber in the upper +turret of the castle. He was now removed to a dungeon below ground where +Fra Fojano, the reformer, had been starved to death. The floor was wet and +infested with crawling creatures. A few reflected sunbeams slanting from a +narrow window for two hours of the afternoon, was all the light that +reached him. Here he lay, alone, unable to move because of his broken leg, +with his hair and teeth falling away, and with nothing to occupy him but a +Bible and a volume of Villani's "Chronicles." His spirit, however, was +indomitable; and the passionate energy of the man, hitherto manifested in +ungoverned acts of fury, took the form of ecstasy. He began the study of +the Bible from the first chapter of Genesis, and trusting firmly to the +righteousness of his own cause, compared himself to all the saints and +martyrs of Scripture, men of whom the world was not worthy. He sang +psalms, prayed continually, and <a name="Page_336"></a>composed a poem in praise of his prison. +With a piece of charcoal he made a great drawing of angels surrounding God +the Father on the wall. Once only his courage gave way: he determined on +suicide, and so placed a beam that it should fall on him like a trap. When +all was ready, an unseen hand took violent hold of him, and dashed him on +the ground at a considerable distance. From this moment his dungeon was +visited by angels, who healed his broken leg, and reasoned with him of +religion.</p> + +<p>The mention of these visions reminds us that Cellini had become acquainted +with Savonarola's writings during his first imprisonment.<a name="FNanchor379"></a><a href="#Footnote_379"><sup>[379]</sup></a> Impressed +with the grandeur of the prophet's dreams, and exalted by the reading of +the Bible, he no doubt mistook his delirious fancies for angelic visitors, +and in the fervour of his enthusiasm laid claim to inspiration. One of +these hallucinations is particularly striking. He had prayed that he might +see the sun at least in trance, if it were impossible that he should look +on it again with waking eyes. But, while awake and in possession of his +senses, he was hurried suddenly away and carried to a room, where the +invisible power sustaining him appeared in human shape, "like a youth +whose beard is but just growing, with a face most marvellous, fair, but of +austere and far from wanton beauty." In that room were all the men who had +ever lived and died on earth; and thence they two went together, and came +into a narrow street, one side whereof was bright with sunlight. Then +Cellini asked the angel how he might behold the sun; and the angel pointed +to certain steps upon the side of a house. Up these Cellini climbed, and +came into the full blaze of the sun, and, though dazzled by its +brightness, he gazed steadfastly and took his fill. While he looked, the +rays fell away upon the left side and the disk shone like a bath of molten +gold. This surface swelled, and from the glory came <a name="Page_337"></a>the figure of a +Christ upon the cross, which moved and stood beside the rays. Again the +surface swelled, and from the glory came the figure of Madonna and her +Child; and at the right hand of the sun there knelt S. Peter in his +sacerdotal robes, pleading Cellini's cause; and "full of shame that such +foul wrong should be done to Christians in his house." This vision +marvellously strengthened Cellini's soul, and he began to hope with +confidence for liberty. When free again, he modelled the figures he had +seen in gold.</p> + +<p>The religious phase in Cellini's history requires some special comment, +since it is precisely at this point that he most faithfully personifies +the spirit of his age and nation. That he was a devout Catholic there is +no question. He made two pilgrimages to Loreto, and another to S. Francis +of Vernia. To S. Lucy he dedicated a golden eye after his recovery from an +illness. He was, moreover, always anxious to get absolution from the Pope. +More than this; he continually sustained himself at the great crises of +his life, when in peril of imprisonment, while defending himself against +assassins, and again on the eve of casting his "Perseus," by direct and +passionate appeals to God. Yet his religion had but little effect upon his +life; and he often used it as a source of moral strength in doing deeds +repugnant to real piety. Like love, he put it off and on quite easily, +reverting to it when he found himself in danger or bad spirits, and +forgetting it again when he was prosperous. Thus in the dungeon of S. +Angelo he vowed to visit the Holy Sepulchre if God would grant him to +behold the sun. This vow he forgot until he met with disappointment at the +Court of Francis, and then he suddenly determined to travel to Jerusalem. +The offer of a salary of seven hundred crowns restored his spirits, and he +thought no more about his vow.</p> + +<p>While he loved his life so dearly and indulged so freely in the pleasures +of this earth, he made a virtue of necessity as <a name="Page_338"></a>soon as death approached, +crying, "The sooner I am delivered from the prison of this world, the +better; especially as I am sure of salvation, being unjustly put to +death." His good opinion of himself extended to the certainty he felt of +heaven. Forgetting his murders and debaucheries, he sustained his courage +with devotion when all other sources failed. As to the divine government +of the world, he halted between two opinions. Whether the stars or +Providence had the upper hand, he could not clearly say; but by the stars +he understood a power antagonistic to his will, by Providence a force that +helped him to do what he liked. There is a similar confusion in his mind +about the Pope. He goes to Clement submissively for absolution from +homicide and theft, saying, "I am at the feet of your Holiness, who have +the full power of absolving, and I request you to give me permission to +confess and communicate, that I may with your favour be restored to the +divine grace." He also tells Paul that the sight of Christ's vicar, in +whom there is an awful representation of the divine Majesty, makes him +tremble. Yet at another time he speaks of Clement being "transformed to a +savage beast," and talks of him as "that poor man Pope Clement."<a name="FNanchor380"></a><a href="#Footnote_380"><sup>[380]</sup></a> Of +Paul he says that he "believed neither in God nor in any other article of +religion;" he sincerely regrets not having killed him by accident during +the siege of Rome, abuses him for his avarice, casts his bastards in his +teeth, and relates with relish the crime of forgery for which in his youth +he was imprisoned in the castle of S. Angelo.<a name="FNanchor381"></a><a href="#Footnote_381"><sup>[381]</sup></a> Indeed, the Italians +treated the Pope as negroes treat their fetishes. If they had cause to +dislike him, they beat and heaped insults on him—like the Florentines who +described Sixtus IV. as "leno matris suæ, adulterorum minister, diaboli +vicarius,"<a name="Page_339"></a> and his spiritual offspring as "simonia, luxus, homicidium, +proditio, hæresis." On the other hand, they really thought that he could +open heaven and shut the gates of hell.</p> + +<p>At the end of the year 1539, the Cardinal Ippolito d'Este appeared in Rome +with solicitations from Francis I. that the Pope would release Cellini and +allow him to enter his service.<a name="FNanchor382"></a><a href="#Footnote_382"><sup>[382]</sup></a> Upon this the prison door was opened. +Cellini returned to his old restless life of violence and pleasure. We +find him renewing his favourite pastimes—killing, wantoning, disputing +with his employers, and working diligently at his trade. The temporary +saint and visionary becomes once more the bravo and the artist. A more +complete parallel to the consequences of revivalism in Italy could not be +found.<a name="FNanchor383"></a><a href="#Footnote_383"><sup>[383]</sup></a> Meanwhile the first period of his history is closed and the +second begins.</p> + +<p>Cellini's account of his residence in France has much historical interest +besides the charm of its romance. When he first joined the Court, he found +Francis travelling from city to city with a retinue of eighteen thousand +persons and twelve thousand horses. Frequently they came to places where +no accommodation could be had, and the suite were lodged in wretched +tents. It is not wonderful that Cellini should complain of the French +being less civilised than the Italians of his time. Francis among his +ladies and courtiers, pretending to a knowledge of the arts, sauntering +with his splendid train into the goldsmith's workshop, encouraging +Cellini's violence with a boyish love of mischief, vain and flattered, +peevish, petulant, and fond of show, appears upon <a name="Page_340"></a>these pages with a +life-like vividness.<a name="FNanchor384"></a><a href="#Footnote_384"><sup>[384]</sup></a> When the time came for settling in Paris, the +King presented his goldsmith with a castle called Le Petit Nesle, and made +him lord thereof by letters of naturalisation. This house stood where the +Institute has since been built; of its extent we may judge from the number +of occupations carried on within its precincts when Cellini entered into +possession. He found there a tennis-court, a distillery, a printing press, +and a factory of saltpetre, besides residents engaged in other trades. +Cellini's claims were resisted. Probably the occupiers did not relish the +intrusion of a foreigner. So he stormed the place and installed himself by +force of arms. Similar violence was needed in order to maintain himself in +possession; but this Cellini loved, and had he been let alone, it is +probable he would have died of <i>ennui</i>.</p> + +<p>Difficulties of all kinds, due in part to his ungovernable temper, in part +to his ill-regulated life, in part to his ignorance of French habits, +gathered round him. He fell into disfavour with Madame d'Estampes, the +mistress of the King; and here it may be mentioned that many of his +troubles arose from his inability to please noble women.<a name="FNanchor385"></a><a href="#Footnote_385"><sup>[385]</sup></a> Proud, +self-confident, overbearing, and unable to command his words or actions, +Cellini was unfitted to pay court to princes. Then again he quarrelled +with his brother artists, and made the Bolognese painter, Primaticcio, his +enemy. After being attacked by assassins and robbers on more than one +occasion, he was involved in two lawsuits. He draws a graphic picture of +the French courts of justice, with their judge as grave as Plato, their +advocates all chattering at once, their perjured Norman witnesses, and the +ushers at the doors vociferating <i>Paix, paix, Satan, allez, paix</i>. In this +cry Cellini recognised <a name="Page_341"></a>the gibberish at the beginning of the seventh +canto of Dante's "Inferno." But the most picturesque group in the whole +scene presented to us is that made by Cellini himself, armed and mailed, +and attended by his prentices in armour, as they walked into the court to +browbeat justice with the clamour of their voice. If we are to trust his +narrative, he fought his way out of one most dangerous trial by simple +vociferation. Afterwards he took the law, as usual, into his own hands. +One pair of litigants were beaten; Caterina was nearly kicked to death; +and the attorneys were threatened with the sword.</p> + +<p>In the midst of these disturbances, Cellini began some important works for +Francis. At Paris the King employed him to make huge silver candelabra, +and at Fontainebleau to restore the castle gate. For the château of +Fontainebleau Cellini executed the nymph in bronze, reclining among +trophies of the chase, which may still be seen in the Louvre. It is a +long-limbed, lifeless figure, without meaning—a snuff-box ornament +enlarged to a gigantic size. Francis, who cannot have had good taste in +art, if what Cellini makes him say be genuine, admired these designs above +the bronze copies of the Vatican marbles he had recently received. He +seems to have felt some personal regard for Benvenuto, and to have done +all he could to retain him in his service. The animosity of Madame +d'Estampes, and a grudge against his old patron, Ippolito d'Este, however, +determined the restless craftsman to quit Paris. Leaving his castle, his +unfinished works, and other property behind him in the care of Ascanio, +his friend and pupil, he returned alone to Italy. This step, taken in a +moment of restless pique, was ever after regretted by Cellini, who looked +back with yearning from Florence to the generosity of Francis.</p> + +<p>Cosimo de' Medici was indeed a very different patron from Francis. +Cautious, little-minded, meddling, with a true Florentine's love of +bargaining and playing cunning tricks, he <a name="Page_342"></a>pretended to protect the arts, +but did not understand the part he had assumed. He was always short of +money, and surrounded by old avaricious servants, through whose hands his +meagre presents passed. As a connoisseur, he did not trust his own +judgment, thus laying himself open to the intrigues of inferior artists. +Henceforward a large part of Cellini's time was wasted in wrangling with +the Duke's steward, squabbling with Bandinelli and Ammanati, and +endeavouring to overcome the coldness or to meet the vacillations of his +patron. Those who wish to gain insight into the life of an artist at Court +in the sixteenth century, will do well to study attentively the chapters +devoted by Cellini to his difficulties with the Duchess, and his wordy +warfares with Bandinelli.<a name="FNanchor386"></a><a href="#Footnote_386"><sup>[386]</sup></a> This atmosphere of intrigue and animosity +was not uncongenial to Benvenuto; and as far as words and blows went, he +almost always got the best of it. Nothing, for example, could be keener +and more cutting than the very just criticism he made in Bandinelli's +presence of his "Hercules and Cacus." "Quel bestial buaccio Bandinello," +as he delights to name him, could do nothing but retort with vulgar terms +of insult.<a name="FNanchor387"></a><a href="#Footnote_387"><sup>[387]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The great achievement of this third period was the modelling and casting +of the "Perseus." No episode in Cellini's biography is narrated with more +force than the climax to his long-protracted labours, when at last, amid +the chaos and confusion of innumerable accidents, the metal in his furnace +liquefied and filled the mould. After the statue was uncovered in the +Loggia de' Lanzi, where it now <a name="Page_343"></a>stands, Cellini achieved a triumph +adequate to his own highest expectations. Odes and sonnets in Italian, +Greek, and Latin, were written in its praise. Pontormo and Bronzino, the +painters, loaded it with compliments. Cellini, ruffling with hand on hilt +in silks and satins through the square, was pointed out to foreigners as +the great sculptor who had cast the admirable bronze. It was, in truth, no +slight distinction for a Florentine artist to erect a statue beneath the +Loggia de' Lanzi in the square of the Signory. Every great event in +Florentine history had taken place on that piazza. Every name of +distinction among the citizens of Florence was connected with its +monuments. To this day we may read the course of Florentine art by +studying its architecture and sculpture; and not the least of its many +ornaments, in spite of all that may be said against it, is the "Perseus" +of Cellini.</p> + +<p>Cellini completed the "Perseus" in 1554. His autobiography is carried down +to the year 1562, when it abruptly terminates. It appears that in 1558 he +received the tonsure and the first ecclesiastical orders; but two years +later on he married a wife, and died at the age of sixty-nine, leaving +three legitimate children. He was buried honourably, and a funeral oration +was pronounced above his bier in the Chapter House of the Annunziata.</p> + +<p>As a man, Cellini excites more interest than as an artist; and for this +reason I have refrained from entering into minute criticism of his few +remaining masterpieces. It has been well said that the two extremes of +society, the statesman and the craftsman, find their point of meeting in +Machiavelli and Cellini, inasmuch as both recognise no moral authority but +the individual will.<a name="FNanchor388"></a><a href="#Footnote_388"><sup>[388]</sup></a> The <i>virtù</i>, extolled by Machiavelli is +exemplified by Cellini. Machiavelli bids his prince ignore the laws; +Cellini respects no tribunal and takes justice into <a name="Page_344"></a>his own hands. The +word conscience does not occur in Machiavelli's phraseology of ethics; +conscience never makes a coward of Cellini, and in the dungeons of S. +Angelo he is visited by no remorse. If we seek a literary parallel for the +statesman and the artist in their idealisation of force and personal +character, we find it in Pietro Aretino. In him, too, conscience is +extinct; for him, also, there is no respect of King or Pope; he has placed +himself above law, and substituted his own will for justice. With his pen, +as Cellini with his dagger, he assassinates; his cynicism serves him for a +coat of armour. And so abject is society, so natural has tyranny become, +that he extorts blackmail from monarchs, makes princes tremble, and +receives smooth answers to his insults from Buonarroti. These three men, +Machiavelli, Cellini, and Aretino, each in his own line, and with the +proper differences that pertain to philosophic genius, artistic skill, and +ribald ruffianism, sufficiently indicate the dissolution of the social +bond in Italy. They mark their age as the age of adventurers, bandits, +bullies, Ishmaelites, and tyrants.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_345"></a><a href="#FNanchor345">[345]</a><div class="note"><p> "In lode e onor della vita sua e opere d'esso, e buona +disposizione della anima e del corpo." <i>La Vita di Benvenuto Cellini</i>, +Firenze, Le Monnier, 1852; <i>Documenti</i>, p. 578.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_346"></a><a href="#FNanchor346">[346]</a><div class="note"><p> I do not by this mean to commit myself to the opinion that +Cellini is accurate in details or truthful. On the contrary, it is +impossible to read his life without feeling that his vanity and +self-esteem led him to exaggeration and mis-statement. The value of the +biography consists in its picturesqueness, its brilliant and faithful +colouring, and its unconscious self-revelation of an energetic character.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_347"></a><a href="#FNanchor347">[347]</a><div class="note"><p> With regard to his pedigree Cellini tells a ridiculous +story about a certain Fiorino da Cellino, one of Julius Cæsar's captains, +who gave his name to Florence. For the arms of the Cellini family, see +lib. i. cap. 50.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_348"></a><a href="#FNanchor348">[348]</a><div class="note"><p> To enlarge upon this point is hardly necessary; or it would +be easy to prove from documentary evidence that artists so eminent as +Simone Martini, Gentile da Fabriano, Perugino, and Ghirlandajo kept open +shops, where customers could buy the products of their craft from a +highly-finished altar-piece down to a painted buckler or a sign to hang +above the street-door. The commercial status of fine art in Italy was +highly beneficial to its advancement, inasmuch as it implied a thorough +technical apprenticeship for learners. The defective side of the system +was apparent in great workshops like that of Raphael, who undertook +painting-commissions quite beyond his powers of conscientious execution.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_349"></a><a href="#FNanchor349">[349]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_350"></a><a href="#FNanchor350">[350]</a><div class="note"><p> See lib. ii. cap. 5, for the description of Francis I. +visiting Cellini in his work-room. He finds him hammering away at the +metal, and suggests that he might leave that labour to his prentices. +Cellini replies that the excellence of his work would suffer if he did not +do it himself.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_351"></a><a href="#FNanchor351">[351]</a><div class="note"><p> See Yriarte, <i>Vie d'un Gentilhomme de Venise</i>, p. 439, for +a process instituted by the Inquisition against Paolo Veronese.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_352"></a><a href="#FNanchor352">[352]</a><div class="note"><p> He calls it "un chiavaquore di argento, il quale era in +quei tempi chiamato cosi. Questo si era una cintura di tre dita larga, che +alle spose novelle s' usava di fare."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_353"></a><a href="#FNanchor353">[353]</a><div class="note"><p> "Si come un toro invelenito."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_354"></a><a href="#FNanchor354">[354]</a><div class="note"><p> "Living men have felt my blows: those many maimed and +mutilated stones one sees, attest to your disgrace: the earth hides my bad +work." See the lines quoted by Perkins, <i>Tuscan Sculptors</i>, vol. ii. p. +140.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_355"></a><a href="#FNanchor355">[355]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 79.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_356"></a><a href="#FNanchor356">[356]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. ii. cap. 34. The whole history of this woman Caterina, +and of the revenge he took upon her and his prentice Paolo, is one of the +most extraordinary passages in the life.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_357"></a><a href="#FNanchor357">[357]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. 1., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, pp. 377-380.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_358"></a><a href="#FNanchor358">[358]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. 1., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, pp. 362-363.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_359"></a><a href="#FNanchor359">[359]</a><div class="note"><p> This might be further illustrated by analysing Cellini's +mode of loving. He never rises above animal appetite.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_360"></a><a href="#FNanchor360">[360]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 85. "Nel qual vomito mi usci dello stomaco un +verme piloso, grande un quarto di braccio: e' peli erano grandi ed il +verme era bruttissimo, macchiato di diversi colori, verdi, neri e rossi."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_361"></a><a href="#FNanchor361">[361]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 128.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_362"></a><a href="#FNanchor362">[362]</a><div class="note"><p> Notice lib. i. cap. 40, p. 90, the dialogue between Cellini +and the old woman, on his return to the paternal house: "Oh dimmi, gobba +perversa," &c.c.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_363"></a><a href="#FNanchor363">[363]</a><div class="note"><p> "Per essere il mondo intenebrato di peste e di guerra," is +a phrase of Cellini's, i. 40.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_364"></a><a href="#FNanchor364">[364]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 51.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_365"></a><a href="#FNanchor365">[365]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 74. Clement was dead, and Paul III. had just +been elected, 1534. Paul sent Cellini a safe-conduct and pardon for +Pompeo's murder to Florence in 1535. Lib. i. cap. 81.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_366"></a><a href="#FNanchor366">[366]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. ii. cap. 104.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_367"></a><a href="#FNanchor367">[367]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 64.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_368"></a><a href="#FNanchor368">[368]</a><div class="note"><p> See, however, what is said about the mountain villages of +Norcia being good for incantations. That district in Roman times was +famous for such superstitions. Burckhardt, <i>Die Cultur der Renaissance in +Italien</i>, pp. 427-428, gives curious information on this topic.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_369"></a><a href="#FNanchor369">[369]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 76.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_370"></a><a href="#FNanchor370">[370]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 88. "That mad melancholy philosopher +Lorenzino." Cf. i. 80 and 81. "Molte volte lo trovavo a dormicchiare dopo +desinare con quel suo Lorenzino, che poi l'ammazzò, e non altri; ed io +molto mi maravigliavo che un duca di quella sorte così si fidava ... il +duca' che lo teneva quando per pazzericcio, e quando per poltrone." Cf. +again, cap. 89.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_371"></a><a href="#FNanchor371">[371]</a><div class="note"><p> This glimpse of Bembo in his Paduan villa is very pleasing. +Lib. i. cap. 94.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_372"></a><a href="#FNanchor372">[372]</a><div class="note"><p> "Quei diavoli di quei gentiluomini tedeschi." This is, +however, the language he uses about nearly all foreigners—Spaniards, +French, and English.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_373"></a><a href="#FNanchor373">[373]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 96. "Io ero tutto armato di maglia con +istivali grossi e con uno scoppietto in mano, e pioveva quanto Iddio ne +sapeva mandare," &c.c.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_374"></a><a href="#FNanchor374">[374]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 98.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_375"></a><a href="#FNanchor375">[375]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Ib.</i> cap. 101.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_376"></a><a href="#FNanchor376">[376]</a><div class="note"><p> See lib. i. cap. 38, 43.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_377"></a><a href="#FNanchor377">[377]</a><div class="note"><p> The Governor, perplexed by Cellini's vaunt that if he only +tried he was sure he could fly, put him under strict guard, saying, +"Benvenuto è un pipistrello contrafatto, ed io sono un pipistrello da +dovero."</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_378"></a><a href="#FNanchor378">[378]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 125.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_379"></a><a href="#FNanchor379">[379]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. i. cap. 105.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_380"></a><a href="#FNanchor380">[380]</a><div class="note"><p> "Il Papa diventato così pessima bestia," lib. i. 58; "Il +Papa entrato in un bestial furore," <i>ib</i>. 60; "Quel povero uomo di Papa +Clemente," <i>ib</i>. 103.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_381"></a><a href="#FNanchor381">[381]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Ib</i>. 36, 101, 111.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_382"></a><a href="#FNanchor382">[382]</a><div class="note"><p> The scene is well described, lib. i. 127. The Pope was wont +to have a weekly debauch, and the cardinal chose this favourable moment +for his appeal: "Gli usava una volta la settimana di fare una crapula +assai gagliarda, perchè da poi la gomitava.... Allora il papa, sentendosi +appressare all' ora del suo vomito, e perchè la troppa abbundanzia del +vino ancora faceva l' ufizio suo, disse," &c.c.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_383"></a><a href="#FNanchor383">[383]</a><div class="note"><p> See Vol. I., <i>Age of the Despots</i>, p. 485.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_384"></a><a href="#FNanchor384">[384]</a><div class="note"><p> See especially the visit to the Paris workshop, lib. ii. +cap. 15, and the scene in the Gallery at Fontainebleau, ib. 41.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_385"></a><a href="#FNanchor385">[385]</a><div class="note"><p> His quarrels, for example, with the Duchess of Florence.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_386"></a><a href="#FNanchor386">[386]</a><div class="note"><p> Lib. ii. cap. 83, 84, 87, 70, 71.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_387"></a><a href="#FNanchor387">[387]</a><div class="note"><p> "That beastly big ox, Bandinelli." Cf. cap. 70 for the +critique. It may be said here, in passing, that the insult of Bandinelli, +"Oh sta cheto, soddomitaccio," seems to have been justified by Benvenuto's +conduct, though of course he carefully conceals it in his memoirs. After +the charge brought against him by Cencio, for instance, he thought it +better to leave Florence.—<i>Ib</i>. cap. 61, 62.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_388"></a><a href="#FNanchor388">[388]</a><div class="note"><p> Edgar Quinet, <i>Les Révolutions d'Italie</i>, p. 358.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_X"></a><h2><a name="Page_345"></a>CHAPTER X--THE EPIGONI</h2> + +<h4>Full Development and Decline of Painting—Exhaustion of the old +Motives—Relation of Lionardo to his Pupils—His Legacy to the +Lombard School—Bernardino Luini—Gaudenzio Ferrari—The Devotion +of the Sacri Monti—The School of Raphael—Nothing left but +Imitation—Unwholesome Influences of Rome—Giulio Romano—Michael +Angelesque Mannerists—Misconception of Michael Angelo—Correggio founds +no School—Parmigianino—Macchinisti—The Bolognese—After-growth of Art in +Florence—Andrea del Sarto—His Followers—Pontormo—Bronzino—Revival of +Painting in Siena—Sodoma—His Influence on Pacchia, Beccafumi, +Peruzzi—Garofalo and Dosso Dossi at Ferrari—The Campi at +Cremona—Brescia and Bergamo—The Decadence in the second half of the +Sixteenth Century—The Counter-Reformation—Extinction of the Renaissance +Impulse.</h4> + +<p>In the foregoing chapters I have not sought to write again the history of +art, so much as to keep in view the relation between Italian art and the +leading intellectual impulses of the Renaissance. In the masters of the +sixteenth century—Lionardo, Raphael, Michael Angelo, Correggio, and the +Venetians—the force inherent in the Italian genius for painting reached +full development. What remained was but an after-bloom rapidly tending to +decadence. To surpass those men in their own line seemed impossible. What +they had achieved was so transcendent that imitation satisfied their +successors; and if they refused imitation, originality had to be sought by +deviating into extravagances. Meanwhile no new stock of thoughts had been +acquired; and students of history are now <a name="Page_346"></a>well aware that for really +great art ideas common to the nation are essential. The motives suggested +by mediæval Christianity, after passing through successive stages of +treatment in the <i>quattrocento</i>, had received the grand and humane +handling of the golden age. The motives of revived paganism in like manner +were exhausted, and at this time the feeling for antiquity had lost its +primal freshness. It might seem superfluous to carry this inquiry further, +when we have thus confessedly attained the culminating point of painting. +Yet the sketch attempted in this volume would be incomplete and liable to +misinterpretation, if no account were taken of the legacy bequeathed to +the next generation by the great masters.</p> + +<p>Lionardo da Vinci formed, as we have seen, a school at Milan. It was the +special good fortune of his pupils that what he actually accomplished, +bore no proportion to the suggestiveness of his teaching and the fertility +of his invention. Of finished work he left but little to the world; while +his sketches and designs, the teeming thoughts of his creative brain, were +an inestimable heritage. The whole of this rich legacy of masterpieces, +projected, but not executed, was characterised by a feeling for beauty +which has fallen to no other painter. When we examine the sketches in the +Royal Collection at Windsor, we perceive that the exceeding sense of +loveliness possessed by Lionardo could not have failed to animate his +pupils with a high spirit of art. At the same time the extraordinary +variety of his drawing—sometimes reminding us of German method, sometimes +modern in the manner of French and English draughtsmen—by turns bold and +delicate, broad and minute in detail—afforded to his school examples of +perfect treatment in a multiplicity of different styles. There was no +formality of fixed unalterable precedent in Lionardo, nothing for his +scholars to repeat with the monotony of mannerism.</p><a name="Page_347"></a> + +<p>It remained for his disciples, each in his own sphere, with inferior +powers and feebler intellect, to perpetuate the genius of their master. +Thus the spirit of Lionardo continued to live in Lombardy after he was +dead. There alone imitation was really fruitful, because it did not imply +mere copying. Instead of attempting to give a fresh and therefore a +strained turn to motives that had already received consummate treatment, +Lionardo's successors were able to execute what he had planned but had not +carried to completion. Nor was the prestige of his style so oppressive +through the mass of pictures painted by his hand as to check individuality +or to prevent the pupil from working out such portions of the master's +vein as suited his own talent. Each found enough suggested, but not used, +to give his special faculty free scope. This is in fact the reason why the +majority of pictures ascribed to Lionardo are really the production of his +school. They have the excellence of original work, but not such excellence +as Lionardo could have given them. Their completion is due, as searching +criticism proves, to lesser men; but the conception belongs to the +greatest.</p> + +<p>Andrea Salaino, Marco d'Oggiono, Francesco Melzi, Giovanni Antonio +Beltraffio, and Cesare da Sesto, are all of them skilled workmen, losing +and finding their individuality, as just described, in the manner of their +master. Salaino brings exquisite delicacy of execution; d'Oggiono, wild +and bizarre beauty; Melzi, the refinements of a miniaturist; Beltraffio, +hard brilliancy of light and colour; Cesare da Sesto, somewhat of +effeminate sweetness; and thus the qualities of many men emerge, to blend +themselves again in what is Lionardo's own. It is surely not without +significance that this metempsychosis of genius should have happened in +the case of Lionardo, himself the magician of Renaissance art, the lover +of all things double-natured and twin-souled.</p><a name="Page_348"></a> + +<p>Two painters of the Lombard school, Bernardino Luini and Gaudenzio +Ferrari, demand separate notice. Without Lionardo it is difficult to say +what Luini would have been: so thoroughly did he appropriate his teacher's +type of face, and, in oil-painting, his refinement. And yet Luini stands +on his own ground, in no sense an imitator, with a genius more simple and +idyllic than Da Vinci's. Little conception of his charm can be formed by +those who have not seen his frescoes in the Brera and S. Maurizio Maggiore +at Milan, in the church of the Angeli at Lugano, or in the pilgrimage +church of Saronno. To the circumstance of his having done his best work in +places hardly visited until of late years, may in part perhaps be +attributed the tardy recognition of a painter eminently fitted to be +popular. Luini was essentially a fresco-painter. None, perhaps, of all the +greatest Italian <i>frescanti</i> realised a higher quality of brilliancy +without gaudiness, by the scale of colours he selected and by the purity +with which he used them in simple combinations. His frescoes are never +dull or heavy in tone, never glaring, never thin or chalky. He knew how to +render them both luminous and rich, without falling into the extremes that +render fresco-paintings often less attractive than oil-pictures. His +feeling for loveliness of form was original and exquisite. The joy of +youth found in Luini an interpreter only less powerful and even more +tender than in Raphael. While he shared with the Venetians their +sensibility to nature, he had none of their sensuousness or love of pomp. +In idyllic painting of a truly great type I know of nothing more +delightful than his figures of young musicians going to the marriage feast +of Mary, nothing more graceful than the genius ivy-crowned and seated at +the foot of the cross.<a name="FNanchor389"></a><a href="#Footnote_389"><sup>[389]</sup></a> The sentiment for naive and artless grace, so +fully possessed by Luini, gave freshness to his treatment of conventional +religious themes. Under his touch they <a name="Page_349"></a>appeal immediately to the most +untutored taste, without the aid of realistic or sensational effects. Even +S. Sebastian and S. Rocco, whom it is difficult to represent with any +novelty of attitude or expression, became for him the motives of fresh +poetry, unsought but truly felt.<a name="FNanchor390"></a><a href="#Footnote_390"><sup>[390]</sup></a> Among all the Madonnas ever painted +his picture of Mary with the espalier of white roses, and another where +she holds the infant Christ to pluck a purple columbine, distinguish +themselves by this engaging spontaneity. The frescoes of the marriage of +the Virgin and of S. Catherine carried by angels to Mount Sinai might be +cited for the same quality of freshness and unstudied poetry.<a name="FNanchor391"></a><a href="#Footnote_391"><sup>[391]</sup></a></p> + +<p>When the subject demanded the exercise of grave emotion, Luini rose to the +occasion without losing his simplicity. The "Martyrdom of S. Catherine" +and the fresco of Christ after the Flagellation are two masterpieces, +wherein the depths of pathos have been sounded, and not a single note of +discord is struck.<a name="FNanchor392"></a><a href="#Footnote_392"><sup>[392]</sup></a> All harsh and disagreeable details are either +eliminated, or so softened that the general impression, as in Pergolese's +music, is one of profoundest and yet sweetest sorrow. Luini's genius was +not tragic. The nearest approach to a dramatic motive in his work is the +figure of the Magdalen kneeling before the cross, with her long yellow +hair streaming over her shoulders, and her arms thrown backwards in an +ecstasy of grief.<a name="FNanchor393"></a><a href="#Footnote_393"><sup>[393]</sup></a> He did well to choose moments that stir tender +sympathy—the piety of deep and calm devotion. How truly he felt +them—more truly, I think, than Perugino in his best period—is proved by +the <a name="Page_350"></a>correspondence they awake in us. Like melodies, they create a mood in +the spectator.</p> + +<p>What Luini did not learn from Lionardo, was the art of composition. Taken +one by one, the figures that make up his "Marriage of the Virgin" at +Saronno, are beautiful; but the whole picture is clumsily constructed; and +what is true of this, may be said of every painting in which he attempted +complicated grouping.<a name="FNanchor394"></a><a href="#Footnote_394"><sup>[394]</sup></a> We feel him to be a great artist only where the +subject does not demand the symmetrical arrangement of many parts.</p> + +<p>Gaudenzio Ferrari was a genius of a different order, more robust, more +varied, but less single-minded than Luini. His style reveals the +influences of a many-sided, ill-assimilated education; blending the +manners of Bramantino, Lionardo, and Raphael without proper fusion. Though +Ferrari travelled much, and learned his art in several schools, he, like +Luini, can only be studied in the Milanese district—at his birthplace +Varallo, at Saronno, Vercelli, and Milan. It is to be regretted that a +painter of such singular ability, almost unrivalled at moments in the +expression of intense feeling and the representation of energetic +movement, should have lacked a simpler training, or have been unable to +adopt a manner more uniform. There is a strength of wing in his +imaginative flight, a swiftness and impetuosity in his execution, and a +dramatic force in his conception, that almost justify Lomazzo's choice of +the eagle for his emblem. Yet he was unable to collect his powers, or to +rule them. The distractions of an age that had produced its masterpieces, +were too strong for him; and what he failed to find was balance. His +picture of the "Martyrdom of S. Catherine," where reminiscences of Raphael +and Lionardo mingle with the uncouth motives of an earlier style in a +medley without unity of composition or harmony of <a name="Page_351"></a>colouring, might be +chosen as a typical instance of great resources misapplied.<a name="FNanchor395"></a><a href="#Footnote_395"><sup>[395]</sup></a></p> + +<p>The most pleasing of Ferrari's paintings are choirs of angels, sorrowing +or rejoicing, some of them exquisitely and originally beautiful, all +animated with unusual life, and poised upon wings powerful enough to bear +them—veritable "birds of God."<a name="FNanchor396"></a><a href="#Footnote_396"><sup>[396]</sup></a> His dramatic scenes from sacred +history, rich in novel motives and exuberantly full of invention, crowd +the churches of Vercelli; while a whole epic of the Passion is painted in +fresco above the altar of S. Maria delle Grazie at Varallo, covering the +wall from basement to ceiling. The prodigality of power displayed by +Ferrari makes up for much of crudity in style and confusion in aim; nor +can we refuse the tribute of warmest admiration to a master, who, when the +schools of Rome and Florence were sinking into emptiness and bombast, +preserved the fire of feeling for serious themes. What was deadly in the +neo-paganism of the Renaissance—its frivolity and worldliness, corroding +the very sources of belief in men who made of art a decoration for their +sensuous existence—had not penetrated to those Lombard valleys where +Ferrari and Luini worked. There the devotion of the Sacri Monti still +maintained an intelligence between the people and the artist, far more +fruitful of results to painting than the patronage of splendour-loving +cardinals and nobles.<a name="FNanchor397"></a><a href="#Footnote_397"><sup>[397]</sup></a></p> +<a name="Page_352"></a> +<p>Passing from Lionardo to Raphael, we find exactly the reverse of what has +hitherto been noticed. Raphael worked out the mine of his own thought so +thoroughly—so completely exhausted the motives of his invention, and +carried his style to such perfection—that he left nothing unused for his +followers. We have seen that he formed a school of subordinates in Rome +who executed his later frescoes after his designs. Some of these men have +names that can be mentioned—Giulio Romano, of whom more hereafter; Perino +del Vaga, the decorator of Genoese palaces in a style of overblown but +gorgeous Raphaelism; Andrea Sabbatini, who carried the Roman tradition +down to Naples; Francesco Penni, Giovanni da Udine, and Polidoro da +Caravaggio. Their work, even while superintended by Raphael himself, began +to show the signs of decadence. In his Roman manner the dramatic element +was conspicuous; and to carry dramatic painting beyond the limits of good +style in art is unfortunately easy. The Hall of Constantine, left +unfinished at his death, still further proved how little his pupils could +do without him.<a name="FNanchor398"></a><a href="#Footnote_398"><sup>[398]</sup></a> When Raphael died, the breath whose might sustained +and made them potent, ceased. For all the higher purposes of genuine art, +inspiration passed from them as colour fades from eastern clouds at +sunset, suddenly.</p> + +<p>It has been customary to account for this rapid decline of the Roman +school by referring to the sack of Rome in 1527. No doubt the artists +suffered at that moment at least as severely as the scholars; their +dispersion broke up a band of <a name="Page_353"></a>eminent painters, who might in combination +and competition have still achieved great things. Yet the secret of their +subsequent failure lay far deeper; partly in the full development of their +master's style, already described; and partly in the social conditions of +Rome itself. Patrons, stimulated by the example of the Popes, desired vast +decorative works; but they expected these to be performed rapidly and at a +cheap rate. Painters, familiarised with the execution of such +undertakings, forgot that hitherto the conception had been not theirs but +Raphael's. Mistaking hand-work for brain-work, they audaciously accepted +commissions that would have taxed the powers of the master himself. +Meanwhile moral earnestness and technical conscientiousness were both +extinct. The patrons required show and sensual magnificence far more than +thought and substance. They were not, therefore, deterred by the vacuity +and poor conceptive faculty of the artists from employing them. What the +age demanded was a sumptuous parade of superficial ornament, and this the +pupils of Raphael felt competent to supply without much effort. The result +was that painters who under favourable circumstances might have done some +meritorious work, became mere journeymen contented with the soulless +insincerity of cheap effects. Giulio Romano alone, by dint of robust +energy and lurid fire of fancy flickering amid the smoke of his coarser +nature, achieved a triumph in this line of labour. His Palazzo del Te will +always remain the monument of a specific moment in Renaissance history, +since it is adequate to the intellectual conditions of a race demoralised +but living still with largeness and a sense of grandeur.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo formed no school in the strict sense of the word. Yet his +influence was not the less felt on that account, nor less powerful than +Raphael's in the same direction. During his manhood the painters Sebastian +del Piombo,<a name="Page_354"></a> Marcello Venusti, and Daniele da Volterra, had endeavoured to +add the charm of oil-colouring to his designs; and long before his death, +the seduction of his mighty mannerism had begun to exercise a fatal charm +for all the schools of Italy. Painters incapable of fathoming his +intention, unsympathetic to his rare type of intellect, and gifted with +less than a tithe of his native force, set themselves to reproduce +whatever may be justly censured in his works. To heighten and enlarge +their style was reckoned a chief duty of aspiring craftsmen; and it was +thought that recipes for attaining to this final perfection of the modern +arts might be extracted without trouble from Michael Angelo's +masterpieces. Unluckily, in proportion as his fame increased, his +peculiarities grew with the advance of age more manneristic and defined; +so that his imitators fixed precisely upon that which sober critics now +regard as a deduction from his greatness. They failed to perceive that he +owed his grandeur to his personality; and that the audacities which +fascinated them, became mere whimsical extravagances when severed from his +<i>terribilità</i> and sombre simplicity of impassioned thought. His power and +his spirit were alike unique and uncommunicable, while the admiration of +his youthful worshippers betrayed them into imitating the externals of a +style that was rapidly losing spontaneity and sense of beauty. Therefore +they fancied they were treading in his footsteps and using the grand +manner when they covered church-roofs and canvases with sprawling figures +in distorted attitudes. Instead of studying nature, they studied Michael +Angelo's cartoons, exaggerating by their unintelligent discipleship his +wilfulness and arbitrary choice of form.</p> + +<p>Vasari's and Cellini's criticisms of a master they both honestly revered, +may suffice to illustrate the false method adopted by these mimics of +Michael Angelo's ideal. To charge him with faults proceeding from the +weakness and <a name="Page_355"></a>blindness of the decadence—the faults of men too blind to +read his art aright, too weak to stand on their own feet without +him—would be either stupid or malicious. If at the close of the sixteenth +century the mannerists sought to startle and entrance the world by empty +exhibitions of muscular anatomy misunderstood, and by a braggadocio +display of meaningless effects—crowding their compositions with studies +from the nude, and painting agitated groups without a discernible cause +for agitation—the crime surely lay with the patrons who liked such +decoration, and with the journeymen who provided it. Michael Angelo +himself always made his manner serve his thought. We may fail to +appreciate his manner and may be incapable of comprehending his thought; +but only insincere or conceited critics will venture to gauge the latter +by what they feel to be displeasing in the former. What seems lawless in +him, follows the law of a profound and peculiar genius, with which, +whether we like it or not, we must reckon. His imitators were devoid of +thought and too indifferent to question whether there was any law to be +obeyed. Like the jackass in the fable, they put on the dead lion's skin of +his manner, and brayed beneath it, thinking they could roar.</p> + +<p>Correggio, again, though he can hardly be said to have founded a school, +was destined to exercise wide and perilous influence over a host of +manneristic imitators. Francesco Mazzola, called Il Parmigianino, followed +him so closely that his frescoes at Parma are hardly distinguishable from +the master's; while Federigo Baroccio at Urbino endeavoured to preserve +the sensuous and almost childish sweetness of his style in its +integrity.<a name="FNanchor399"></a><a href="#Footnote_399"><sup>[399]</sup></a> But the real attraction of Correggio was only felt when +the new <i>barocco</i> architecture called for a new kind of decoration. Every +cupola throughout the length <a name="Page_356"></a>and breadth of Italy began then to be +painted with rolling clouds and lolling angels. What the wits of Parma had +once stigmatised as a <i>ragoût</i> of frogs, now seemed the only possible +expression for celestial ecstasy; and to delineate the joy of heaven upon +those multitudes of domes and semi-domes was a point of religious +etiquette. False lights, dubious foreshortenings, shallow colourings, +ill-studied forms, and motiveless agitation suited the taste that cared +for gaudy brightness and sensational effects. The painters, for their +part, found it convenient to adopt a mannerism that enabled them to +conceal the difficult parts of the figure in feather beds of vapour, +requiring neither effort of conception nor expenditure of labour on +drawing and composition. At the same time, the Caracci made Correggio's +style the object of more serious study; and the history of Bolognese +painting shows what was to be derived from this master by intelligent and +conscientious workmen.</p> + +<p>Hitherto, I have had principally to record the errors of artists copying +the external qualities of their great predecessors. It is refreshing to +turn from the <i>epigoni</i> of the so-called Roman school to masters in whom +the flame of the Renaissance still burned brightly. Andrea del Sarto, the +pupil of Piero di Cosimo, but more nearly related in style to Fra +Bartolommeo than to any other of the elder masters, was himself a +contemporary of Raphael and Correggio. Yet he must be noticed here; +because he gave new qualities to the art of Tuscany, and formed a +tradition decisive for the subsequent history of Florentine painting. To +make a just estimate of his achievement is a task of no small difficulty. +The Italians called him "il pittore senza errori," or the faultless +painter. What they meant by this must have been that in all the technical +requirements of art, in drawing, composition, handling of fresco and oils, +disposition of draperies, and feeling for light and shadow, he was above +criticism. As a <a name="Page_357"></a>colourist he went further and produced more beautiful +effects than any Florentine before him. His silver-grey harmonies and +liquid blendings of hues cool, yet lustrous, have a charm peculiar to +himself alone. We find the like nowhere else in Italy. And yet Andrea del +Sarto cannot take rank among the greatest Renaissance painters. What he +lacked was precisely the most precious gift—inspiration, depth of +emotion, energy of thought. We are apt to feel that even his best pictures +were designed with a view to solving an æsthetic problem. Very few have +the poetic charm belonging to the "S. John" of the Pitti or the "Madonna" +of the Tribune. Beautiful as are many of his types, like the Magdalen in +the large picture of the "Pietà"<a name="FNanchor400"></a><a href="#Footnote_400"><sup>[400]</sup></a> we can never be sure that he will +not break the spell by forms of almost vulgar mediocrity. The story that +his wife, a worthless woman, sat for his Madonnas, and the legends of his +working for money to meet pressing needs, seem justified by numbers of his +paintings, faulty in their faultlessness and want of spirit. Still, after +making these deductions, we must allow that Andrea del Sarto not +unworthily represents the golden age at Florence. There is no affectation, +no false taste, no trickery in his style. His workmanship is always solid; +his hand unerring. If Nature denied him the soul of a poet, and the stern +will needed for escaping from the sordid circumstances of his life, she +gave him some of the highest qualities a painter can desire—qualities of +strength, tranquillity, and thoroughness, that in the decline of the +century ceased to exist outside Venice.</p> + +<p>Among Del Sarto's followers it will be enough to mention Franciabigio, +Vasari's favourite in fresco painting, Rosso de' Rossi, who carried the +Florentine manner into France, and Pontormo, the masterly painter of +portraits.<a name="FNanchor401"></a><a href="#Footnote_401"><sup>[401]</sup></a> In the <a name="Page_358"></a>historical pictures of these men, whether sacred +or secular, it is clear how much was done for Florentine art by Fra +Bartolommeo and Del Sarto independently of Michael Angelo and Lionardo. +Angelo Bronzino, the pupil of Pontormo, is chiefly valuable for his +portraits. Hard and cold, yet obviously true to life, they form a gallery +of great interest for the historian of Duke Cosimo's reign. His frescoes +and allegories illustrate the defects that have been pointed out in those +of Raphael's and Buonarroti's imitators.<a name="FNanchor402"></a><a href="#Footnote_402"><sup>[402]</sup></a> Want of thought and feeling, +combined with the presumptuous treatment of colossal and imaginative +subjects, renders these compositions inexpressibly chilling. The +psychologist, who may have read a poem from Bronzino's pen, will be +inclined to wonder how far this barren art was not connected with personal +corruption.<a name="FNanchor403"></a><a href="#Footnote_403"><sup>[403]</sup></a> Such speculations are, however, apt to be misleading.</p> + +<p>Siena, after a long period of inactivity, received a fresh impulse at the +same time as Florence. Giovanni Antonio Bazzi, or Razzi, called Il Sodoma, +was born at Vercelli about 1477. He studied in his youth under Lionardo da +Vinci, training his own exquisite sense of natural beauty in that +scientific school. From Milan, after a certain interval of time, he +removed to Rome, where he became a friend and follower of Raphael. These +double influences determined a style that never lost its own originality. +With what delicacy and <i>naïveté</i>, almost like a second Luini, but with +more of humour and sensuousness, he approached historic themes, may be +seen in his frescoes at Monte Oliveto.<a name="FNanchor404"></a><a href="#Footnote_404"><sup>[404]</sup></a> They were <a name="Page_359"></a>executed before his +Roman visit, and show the facility of a most graceful improvisatore. One +painting representing the "Temptation of Monks by Dancing Women" carries +the melody of fluent lines and the seduction of fair girlish faces into a +region of pure poetry. These frescoes are superior to Sodoma's work in the +Farnesina. Impressed, as all artists were, by the monumental character of +Borne, and fired by Raphael's example, he tried to abandon his sketchy and +idyllic style for one of greater majesty and fulness. The delicious +freshness of his earlier manner was sacrificed; but his best efforts to +produce a grandiose composition ended in a confusion of individually +beautiful but ill-assorted motives. Like Luini, Sodoma was never +successful in pictures requiring combination and arrangement. He lacked +some sense of symmetry and sought to achieve massiveness by crowding +figures in a given space. When we compare his group of "S. Catherine +Fainting under the Stigmata" with the medley of agitated forms that make +up his picture of the same saint at Tuldo's execution, we see plainly that +he ought to have confined himself to the expression of very simple +themes.<a name="FNanchor405"></a><a href="#Footnote_405"><sup>[405]</sup></a> The former is incomparable for its sweetness; the latter is +indistinct and wearying, in spite of many details that adorn it. Gifted +with an exquisite feeling for the beauty of the human body, Sodoma +excelled himself when he was contented with a single figure. His "S. +Sebastian," notwithstanding its wan and faded colouring, is still the very +best that has been painted.<a name="FNanchor406"></a><a href="#Footnote_406"><sup>[406]</sup></a> Suffering, refined and spiritual, without +contortion or spasm, could not be presented with more pathos in a form of +more surpassing loveliness. This is a truly demonic picture in the +fascination it exercises and the memory it leaves upon <a name="Page_360"></a>the mind. Part of +its unanalysable charm may be due to the bold thought of combining the +beauty of a Greek Hylas with the Christian sentiment of martyrdom. Only +the Renaissance could have produced a hybrid so successful, because so +deeply felt.</p> + +<p>Sodoma's influence at Siena, where he lived a picturesque life, delighting +in his horses and surrounding himself with strange four-footed pets of all +sorts, soon produced a school of worthy masters. Girolamo del Pacchia, +Domenico Beccafumi, and Baldassare Peruzzi, though they owed much to the +stimulus of his example, followed him in no servile spirit. Indeed, it may +be said that Pacchia's paintings in the Oratory of S. Bernardino, though +they lacked his siren beauty, are more powerfully composed; while +Peruzzi's fresco of "Augustus and the Sibyl," in the church of +Fontegiusta, has a monumental dignity unknown to Sodoma. Beccafumi is apt +to leave the spectator of his paintings cold. From inventive powers so +rich and technical excellence so thorough, we demand more than he can +give, and are therefore disappointed. His most interesting picture at +Siena is the "Stigmatisation of S. Catherine," famous for its mastery of +graduated whites. Much of the paved work of the Duomo is attributed to his +design. Both Beccafumi and Peruzzi felt the cold and manneristic Roman +style of rhetoric injuriously.</p> + +<p>To mention the remaining schools of Italy in detail would be superfluous. +True art still flourished at Ferrara, where Garofalo endeavoured to carry +on the Roman manner of Raphael without the necessary strength or ideality, +but also without the soulless insincerity of the mannerists. His best +quality was colouring, gemlike and rich; but this found little scope for +exercise in the dry and laboured style he affected. Dosso Dossi fared +better, perhaps through having never experienced the seductions of Rome. +His glowing colour and <a name="Page_361"></a>quaint fancy give the attraction of romance to +many of his pictures. The "Circe," for example, of the Borghese Palace, is +worthy to rank with the best Renaissance work. It is perfectly original, +not even suggesting the influence of Venice by its deep and lustrous hues. +No painting is more fit to illustrate the "Orlando Innamorato." Just so, +we feel in looking at it, did Dragontina show herself to Boiardo's fancy. +Ariosto's Alcina belongs to a different family of magnificent witches.</p> + +<p>Cremona, at this epoch, had a school of painters, influenced almost +equally by the Venetians, the Milanese, and the Roman mannerists. The +Campi family covered those grave Lombard vaults with stucco, fresco, and +gilding in a style only just removed from the <i>barocco</i>.<a name="FNanchor407"></a><a href="#Footnote_407"><sup>[407]</sup></a> Brescia and +Bergamo remained within the influence of Venice, producing work of nearly +first-rate quality in Moretto, Romanino, and Lorenzo Lotto. Moroni, the +pupil of Moretto, was destined to become one of the most powerful +character painters of the modern world, and to enrich the studies of +historians and artists with a series of portraits impressive by their +fidelity to the spirit of the sixteenth century at its conclusion. Venice +herself at this period was still producing masterpieces of the genuine +Renaissance. But the decline into mannerism, caused by circumstances +similar to those of Rome, was not far distant.</p> + +<p>It may seem strange to those who have visited the picture galleries of +Italy, and have noticed how very large a number of the painters flourished +after 1550, that I should have persistently spoken of the last half of the +sixteenth century as a period of decadence. This it was, however, in a +deep and true sense of the word. The force of the Renaissance was +exhausted, and a time of relaxation had to be passed through, <a name="Page_362"></a>before the +reaction known as the Counter-Reformation could make itself felt in art. +Then, and not till then, a new spiritual impulse produced a new style. +This secondary growth of painting began to flourish at Bologna in +accordance with fresh laws of taste. Religious sentiments of a different +order had to be expressed; society had undergone a change, and the arts +were governed by a genuine, if far inferior, inspiration. Meanwhile, the +Renaissance, so far as Italy is concerned, was ended.</p> + +<p>It is one of the sad features of this subject, that each section has to +end in lamentation. Servitude in the sphere of politics; literary +feebleness in scholarship; decadence in art:—to shun these conclusions is +impossible. He who has undertaken to describe the parabola of a +projectile, cannot be satisfied with tracing its gradual rise and +determining its culmination. He must follow its spent force, and watch it +slowly sink with ever dwindling impetus to earth. Intellectual movements, +when we isolate them in a special country, observing the causes that set +them in motion and calculating their retarding influences, may, not +unreasonably, be compared to the parabola of a projectile. To shrink from +studying the decline of mental vigour in Italy upon the close of the +Renaissance, would be therefore weak; though the task of tracing the +impulse communicated by her previous energy to other nations, and their +stirring under a like movement, might be more agreeable.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_389"></a><a href="#FNanchor389">[389]</a><div class="note"><p> Frescoes in the Brera and at Lugano.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_390"></a><a href="#FNanchor390">[390]</a><div class="note"><p> S. Maurizio, on the Screen, inner church. Lugano in the +Angeli.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_391"></a><a href="#FNanchor391">[391]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Brera. See also the Madonna, with Infant Christ, S. +John, and a Lamb, at Lugano.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_392"></a><a href="#FNanchor392">[392]</a><div class="note"><p> Side chapel of S. Maurizio at Milan. These frescoes are, in +my opinion, Luini's very best. The whole church is a wonderful monument of +Lombard art.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_393"></a><a href="#FNanchor393">[393]</a><div class="note"><p> "Crucifixion" at Lugano.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_394"></a><a href="#FNanchor394">[394]</a><div class="note"><p> See, for example, the oil-paintings in the cathedral of +Como, so fascinating in their details, so lame in composition.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_395"></a><a href="#FNanchor395">[395]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Brera.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_396"></a><a href="#FNanchor396">[396]</a><div class="note"><p> Frescoes at Saronno and in the Sacro Monte at Varallo.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_397"></a><a href="#FNanchor397">[397]</a><div class="note"><p> The whole lake-district of Italy, where the valleys of +Monte Rosa and the Simplon descend upon the plain of Lombardy, is rich in +works of this school. At Luino and Lugano, on the island of San Giulio, +and in the hill-set chapels of the Val Sesia, may be found traces of +frescoes of incomparable beauty. One of these sites deserves special +mention. Just at the point where the pathway of the Colma leaves the +chestnut groves and meadows to join the road leading to Varallo, there +stands a little chapel, with an open loggia of round Renaissance arches, +designed and painted, according to tradition, by Ferrari, and without +doubt representative of his manner. The harmony between its colours, so +mellow in their ruin, its graceful arcades and quiet roofing, and the +glowing tones of those granite mountains, with their wealth of vineyards, +and their forests of immemorial chestnut trees, is perfect beyond words.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_398"></a><a href="#FNanchor398">[398]</a><div class="note"><p> This, the last of the Stanze, was only in part designed by +Raphael. In spite of what I have said above, the "Battle of Constantine," +planned by Raphael, and executed by Giulio, is a grand example of a +pupil's power to carry out his master's scheme.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_399"></a><a href="#FNanchor399">[399]</a><div class="note"><p> Baroccio had great authority at Florence in the seventeenth +century, when the cult of Correggio had overspread all Italy.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_400"></a><a href="#FNanchor400">[400]</a><div class="note"><p> Pitti Palace.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_401"></a><a href="#FNanchor401">[401]</a><div class="note"><p> Franciabigio's and Rosso's frescoes stand beside Del +Sarto's in the atrium of the Annunziata at Florence. Pontormo's portraits +of Cosimo and Lorenzo de' Medici in the Uffizzi, though painted from busts +and medallions, have a real historical value.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_402"></a><a href="#FNanchor402">[402]</a><div class="note"><p> The "Christ in Limbo" in S. Lorenzo at Florence, and the +detestable picture of "Time, Beauty, Love, and Folly," in our National +Gallery.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_403"></a><a href="#FNanchor403">[403]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Opere Burlesche</i>, vol. iii. pp. 39-46.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_404"></a><a href="#FNanchor404">[404]</a><div class="note"><p> Near Siena. These pictures are a series of twenty-four +subjects from the life of S. Benedict.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_405"></a><a href="#FNanchor405">[405]</a><div class="note"><p> In the church of S. Domenico, Siena.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_406"></a><a href="#FNanchor406">[406]</a><div class="note"><p> In the Uffizzi. See also Sodoma's "Sacrifice of Isaac" in +the cathedral of Pisa, and the "Christ Bound to the Pillar" in the Academy +at Siena.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_407"></a><a href="#FNanchor407">[407]</a><div class="note"><p> The church of S. Sigismondo, outside Cremona, is very +interesting for the unity of style in its architecture and decoration.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<h2><a name="Page_363"></a>APPENDICES</h2> + +<br> +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="APPENDIX_I"></a><h2>APPENDIX I</h2> + +<h3><i>The Pulpits of Pisa and Ravello</i></h3> +<br> + +<p>Having tried to characterise Niccola Pisano's relation to early Italian +art in the second chapter of this volume, I adverted to the recent doubts +which have been thrown by very competent authorities upon Vasari's legend +of this master. Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle, while discussing the +question of his birthplace and his early training, observe, what is no +doubt true, that there are no traces of good sculpture in Pisa antecedent +to the Baptistery pulpit of 1260, and remark that for such a phenomenon as +the sudden appearance of this masterpiece it is needful to seek some +antecedents elsewhere.<a name="FNanchor408"></a><a href="#Footnote_408"><sup>[408]</sup></a> This leads them to ask whether Niccola did not +owe his origin and education to some other part of Italy. Finding at +Ravello, near Amain, a pulpit sculptured in 1272 by Niccola di Bartolommeo +da Foggia, they suggest that a school of stone-carvers may have flourished +at Foggia, and that Niccola Pisano, in spite of his signing himself +<i>Pisanus</i> on the Baptistery pulpit, may have been an Apulian trained in +that school. The arguments adduced in favour of that hypothesis are that +Niccola's father, though commonly believed to have been Ser Pietro da +Siena, was perhaps called Pietro di Apulia,<a name="FNanchor409"></a><a href="#Footnote_409"><sup>[409]</sup></a> and that meritorious +artists certainly existed at Foggia and Trani. Yet the resemblance of +style between the pulpits at Ravello [1272] and Pisa [1260], if that +indeed exists (whereof hereafter more must be said), might be used to +prove that Niccola da Foggia learned his art from Niccola Pisano, instead +of the contrary; nor again, supposing the Apulian school to have +flourished before 1260, is it inconsistent with the tradition of Niccola's +life that he should have learned the sculptor's craft while working in his +youth at Naples. For the rest, Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle dismiss the +story of Pisano's studying the antique bas-reliefs at Pisa with +contempt;<a name="FNanchor410"></a><a href="#Footnote_410"><sup>[410]</sup></a> but they omit to notice the actual transcripts from those +marbles introduced into his first pulpit. Again, they assume that the +lunette at Lucca was one of his latest works, giving precedence to the +pulpits of Pisa and Siena and the fountain of Perugia. A comparison of +style no doubt renders this view plausible; for the lunette at Lucca is +superior to any other of Pisano's works as a composition.</p> + +<p>The full discussion of these points is rendered impossible by the want of +contemporary information, and each student must, therefore, remain +contented with his own hypothesis. Yet something can be said with regard +to the Ravello pulpit that plays so important a part in the argument of +the learned historians of Italian painting. Unless a strong similarity +between it and Pisano's pulpits can be proved, their hypothesis carries +with it no persuasion.</p> + +<p>The pulpit in the cathedral of Ravello is formed like an ambo of the +antique type. That is to say, it is a long parallelogram with flat sides, +raised upon pillars, and approached by a flight of steps. These steps are +enclosed within richly-ornamented walls, and stand distinct from the +pulpit; a short bridge connects the two. The six pillars supporting the +ambo itself are slender twisted columns with classic capitals. Three rest +on lions, three on lionesses, admirably carved in different attitudes. A +small projection on the north side of the pulpit sustains an eagle +standing on a pillar, and spreading out his wings to bear an open book. On +the arch over the entrance to the staircase projects the head of +Sigelgaita, wife of Niccola Rufolo, the donor of the pulpit to the church, +sculptured in the style of the Roman decadence, between two profile +medallions in low relief.<a name="FNanchor411"></a><a href="#Footnote_411"><sup>[411]</sup></a> The material of the whole is fair white +marble, <a name="Page_364"></a>enriched with mosaics, and wrought into beautiful scroll-work of +acanthus leaves and other Romanesque adornments. An inscription, "<i>Ego +Magister Nicolaus de Bartholomeo de Fogia Marmorarius hoc opus feci</i>;" and +another, "<i>Lapsis millenis bis centum bisque trigenis XPI. bissenis annis +ab origine plenis</i>," indicate the artist's name and the date of the work.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to understand how anyone could trace such a resemblance +between this rectangular ambo and the hexagonal structure in the Pisan +Baptistery as would justify them in asserting both to be the products of +the same school. The pulpit of Niccola da Foggia does not materially +differ from other ambones in Italy—from several, for instance, in Amalfi +and Ravello; while the distinctive features of Niccola Pisano's work—the +combination of classically studied bas-reliefs with Gothic principles of +construction, the feeling for artistic unity in the composition of groups, +the mastery over plastic form, and the detached allegorical figures—are +noticeable only by their total absence from it. What is left by way of +similarity is a sculpturesque refinement in Sigelgaita's portrait, not +unworthy of Pisano's own chisel. This, however, is but a slender point +whereon to base so large a pyramid of pure conjecture. Surely we must look +elsewhere than at Ravello or at Foggia for the origin of Niccola Pisano.</p> + +<p>Why then should we reject tradition in this instance? Messrs. Crowe and +Cavalcaselle reply; because the sculpture of no Tuscan city before his +period is good enough to have led up to him. Yet this may be contested; +and at all events it will not be easy to prove from the Ravello head of +Sigelgaita that a more advanced school existed in the south. The fact is +that the art of the stone-carvers or <i>marmorarii</i> had never entirely died +out since the days of Roman greatness; nor was Niccola without respectable +predecessors in the very town of Lucca, where he produced the first +masterpiece of modern sculpture. The circular font of S. Frediano, for +example, carved with figures in high relief by a certain Robertus of the +twelfth century, combines the Romanesque mannerism with the <i>naïveté</i> of +mediæval fancy. I might point in particular to two knights seated on one +horse in what I take to be the company of Pharaoh crossing the Red Sea, as +an instance of a successful attempt to escape from the formalism of a +decayed style. At the same time the general effect of the embossed work of +this font is fine; nor do we fail to perceive that the artist retained +some portion of the classic feeling for grandiose and monumental +composition. <a name="Page_365"></a>Far less noteworthy, yet still not utterly despicable, is +the bas-relief of Biduinus over the side-door of S. Salvatore at Lucca. +What Niccola added of indefeasibly his own to the style of these +continuators of a dead tradition, was feeling for the beauty of classical +work in a good age, and through that feeling a more perfect sympathy with +nature. It is just at this point that the old tale about the sarcophagus +of the Countess Beatrice conveys not only the letter but the spirit of the +fact. Niccola's genius, no less vivid and life-giving than that of Giotto, +infused into the hard and formal manner of his immediate predecessors true +nature and true art. Between the bas-relief of S. Salvatore and the +bas-relief over the north door of the Duomo at Lucca, there is indeed a +broad gulf, yet such as might have been passed at one bound by a master +into whose soul the beauty of a fragment of Greek art had sunk, and who +had received at his birth the gift of a creative genius.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_408"></a><a href="#FNanchor408">[408]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>History of Painting in Italy</i>, vol. i. chap. iv.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_409"></a><a href="#FNanchor409">[409]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Loc. cit</i>. p. 127, note.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_410"></a><a href="#FNanchor410">[410]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Loc. cit.</i> p. 127.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_411"></a><a href="#FNanchor411">[411]</a><div class="note"><p> Mr. Perkins, following the suggestion of Panza, in his +<i>Istoria dell' Antica Republica d'Amalfi</i>, is inclined to think that this +head represents, not Sigelgaita, but Joanna II. of Naples, and is +therefore more than a century later in date than the pulpit. See <i>Italian +Sculptors</i>, p. 51.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="APPENDIX_II"></a><h2><a name="Page_366"></a>APPENDIX II</h2> + +<h3><i>Michael Angelo's Sonnets</i></h3> +<br> + +<p>After the death of Michael Angelo, the manuscripts of his sonnets, +madrigals, and other poems, written at various periods of his life, and +well known to his intimate friends, passed into the hands of his nephew, +Lionardo Buonarroti. From Lionardo they descended to his son, Michael +Angelo, who was himself a poet of some mark. This grand-nephew of the +sculptor prepared them for the press, and gave them to the world in 1623. +On his redaction the commonly received version of the poems rested until +1863, when Signor Cesare Guasti of Florence, having gained access to the +original manuscripts, published a critical edition, preserving every +peculiarity of the autograph, and adding a prose paraphrase for the +explanation of the text.</p> + +<p>The younger Michael Angelo, working in an age of literary pedantry and +moral prudery, fancied that it was his duty to refine the style of his +great ancestor, and to remove allusions open to ignorant misconstruction. +Instead, therefore, of giving an exact transcript of the original poems, +he set himself to soften down their harshness, to clear away their +obscurity, to amplify, transpose, and mutilate according to his own ideas +of syntax, taste, and rhetoric. On the Dantesque ruggedness of Michael +Angelo he engrafted the prettiness of the seventeenth Petrarchisti; and +where he thought the morality of the poems was questionable, especially in +the case of those addressed to Cavalieri, he did not hesitate to introduce +such alterations as destroyed their obvious intention. In order to +understand the effect of this method, it is only necessary to compare the +autograph as printed by Guasti with the version of 1623. In Sonnet xxxi., +for example, the two copies agree in only one line, while the remaining +thirteen are distorted and adorned with superfluous conceits by the +over-scrupulous but not too conscientious <a name="Page_367"></a>editor of 1623.<a name="FNanchor412"></a><a href="#Footnote_412"><sup>[412]</sup></a></p> + +<p>Michael Angelo's poems, even after his grand-nephew had tried to reduce +them to lucidity and order, have always been considered obscure and +crabbed. Nor can it be pretended that they gain in smoothness and +clearness by the restoration of the true readings. On the contrary, +instances of defective grammar, harsh elisions, strained metaphors, and +incomplete expressions are multiplied. The difficulty of comprehending the +sense is rather increased than diminished, and the obstacles to a +translator become still more insurmountable than Wordsworth found +them.<a name="FNanchor413"></a><a href="#Footnote_413"><sup>[413]</sup></a> This being undoubtedly the case, the value of Guasti's edition +for students of Michael Angelo is nevertheless inestimable. We read now +for the first time what the greatest man of the sixteenth century actually +wrote, and are able to enter, without the interference of a fictitious +veil, into the shrine of his own thought and feeling. His sonnets form the +best commentary on Michael Angelo's solitary life and on his sublime ideal +of art. This reflection has guided me in the choice of those now offered +in English, as an illustration of the chapter in this volume devoted to +their author's biography.</p> + +<p>Though the dates of Michael Angelo's compositions are conjectural, it may +be assumed that the two sonnets on Dante were written when he was himself +in exile. We know that, while sojourning in the house of Gian Francesco +Aldovrandini at Bologna, he used to spend a portion of his time in reading +Dante aloud to his protector;<a name="FNanchor414"></a><a href="#Footnote_414"><sup>[414]</sup></a> and the indignation expressed against +Florence, then as ever fickle and ungrateful, the <i>gente avara, invidiosa, +e superba</i>, to use Dante's own words, seems proper to a period of just +resentment. Still there is no certainty that they belong to 1495; for +throughout his long life Michael Angelo was occupied with Dante. A story +told of him in 1506, together with <a name="Page_368"></a>the dialogues reported by Donato +Giannotti, prove that he was regarded by his fellow-citizens as an +authority upon the meaning of the "Divine Comedy."<a name="FNanchor415"></a><a href="#Footnote_415"><sup>[415]</sup></a> In 1518, when the +Florentine Academy petitioned Leo X. to transport the bones of Dante from +Ravenna to Florence, Michael Angelo subscribed the document and offered to +erect a statue worthy of the poet.<a name="FNanchor416"></a><a href="#Footnote_416"><sup>[416]</sup></a> How deeply the study of Dante +influenced his art, appears not only in the lower part of the "Last +Judgment:" we feel that source of stern and lofty inspiration in his style +at large; nor can we reckon what the world lost when his volume of +drawings in illustration of the "Divine Comedy" perished at sea.<a name="FNanchor417"></a><a href="#Footnote_417"><sup>[417]</sup></a> The +two following sonnets, therefore, whenever written, may be taken as +expressing his settled feeling about the first and greatest of Italian +poets:<a name="FNanchor418"></a><a href="#Footnote_418"><sup>[418]</sup></a>—</p> + +<p>DAL CIEL DISCESE</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>From heaven his spirit came, and robed in clay</p> +<p class="i2">The realms of justice and of mercy trod,</p> +<p class="i2">Then rose a living man to gaze on God,</p> +<p>That he might make the truth as clear as day.</p> +<p>For that pure star that brightened with his ray</p> +<p class="i2">The ill-deserving nest where I was born,</p> +<p class="i2">The whole wide world would be a prize to scorn;</p> +<p>None but his Maker can due guerdon pay.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I speak of Dante, whose high work remains</p> +<p class="i2">Unknown, unhonoured by that thankless brood,</p> +<p class="i2">Who only to just men deny their wage.</p> +<p>Were I but he! Born for like lingering pains,</p> +<p class="i2">Against his exile coupled with his good</p> +<p class="i2">I'd gladly change the world's best heritage!</p> +</div></div> +<br> + +<p>QUANTE DIRNI SI DE'</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>No tongue can tell of him what should be told,</p> +<p class="i2">For on blind eyes his splendour shines too strong;</p> +<p class="i2">'Twere easier to blame those who wrought him wrong,</p> +<p>Than sound his least praise with a mouth of gold.</p><a name="Page_369"></a> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>He to explore the place of pain was bold,</p> +<p class="i2">Then soared to God, to teach our souls by song;</p> +<p class="i2">The gates heaven oped to bear his feet along,</p> +<p>Against his just desire his country rolled.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Thankless I call her, and to her own pain</p> +<p class="i2">The nurse of fell mischance; for sign take this,</p> +<p class="i2">That ever to the best she deals more scorn:</p> +<p>Among a thousand proofs let one remain;</p> +<p class="i2">Though ne'er was fortune more unjust than his,</p> +<p class="i2">His equal or his better ne'er was born.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>About the date of the two next sonnets there is less doubt. The first was +clearly written when Michael Angelo was smarting under a sense of the +ill-treatment he received from Julius. The second, composed at Rome, is +interesting as the only proof we possess of the impression made upon his +mind by the anomalies of the Papal rule. Here, in the capital of +Christendom, he writes, holy things are sold for money to be used in +warfare, and the pontiff, <i>quel nel manto</i>, paralyses the powers of the +sculptor by refusing him employment.<a name="FNanchor419"></a><a href="#Footnote_419"><sup>[419]</sup></a></p> + +<p>SIGNOR, SE VERO È</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>My Lord! if ever ancient saw spake sooth,</p> +<p class="i2">Hear this which saith: Who can, doth never will.</p> +<p class="i2">Lo! thou hast lent thine ear to fables still,</p> +<p>Rewarding those who hate the name of truth.</p> +<p>I am thy drudge and have been from my youth—</p> +<p class="i2">Thine, like the rays which the sun's circle fill;</p> +<p class="i2">Yet of my dear time's waste thou think'st no ills</p> +<p>The more I toil, the less I move thy ruth.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Once 'twas my hope to raise me by thy height;</p> +<p class="i2">But 'tis the balance and the powerful sword</p> +<p class="i2">Of Justice, not false Echo, that we need.</p> +<p>Heaven, as it seems, plants virtue in despite</p> +<p class="i2">Here on the earth, if this be our reward—</p> +<p class="i2">To seek for fruit on trees too dry to breed.</p> +</div></div><a name="Page_370"></a> +<br> + +<p>QUA SI FA ELMI</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Here helms and swords are made of chalices:</p> +<p class="i2">The blood of Christ is sold so much the quart:</p> +<p class="i2">His cross and thorns are spears and shields; and short</p> +<p>Must be the time ere even his patience cease.</p> +<p>Nay let Him come no more to raise the fees</p> +<p class="i2">Of fraud and sacrilege beyond report!</p> +<p class="i2">For Rome still slays and sells Him at the court,</p> +<p>Where paths are closed to virtue's fair increase.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now were fit time for me to scrape a treasure,</p> +<p class="i2">Seeing that work and gain are gone; while he</p> +<p class="i2">Who wears the robe, is my Medusa still.</p> +<p>Perchance in heaven poverty is a pleasure:</p> +<p class="i2">But of that better life what hope have we,</p> +<p class="i2">When the blessed banner leads to nought but ill?</p> +</div></div> + +<p>A third sonnet of this period is intended to be half burlesque, and, +therefore, is composed <i>a coda</i>, as the Italians describe the lengthened +form of the conclusion. It was written while Michael Angelo was painting +the roof of the Sistine, and was sent to his friend Giovanni da Pistoja. +The effect of this work, as Vasari tells us, on his eyesight was so +injurious, that, for some time after its completion, he could only read by +placing the book or manuscript above his head and looking up.<a name="FNanchor420"></a><a href="#Footnote_420"><sup>[420]</sup></a></p> + +<p>I' HO GIÀ FATTO UN GOZZO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>I've grown a goitre by dwelling in this den—</p> +<p class="i2">As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy,</p> +<p class="i2">Or in what other land they hap to be—</p> +<p>Which drives the belly close beneath the chin:</p> +<p>My beard turns up to heaven; my nape falls in,</p> +<p class="i2">Fixed on my spine: my breast-bone visibly</p> +<p class="i2">Grows like a harp: a rich embroidery</p> +<p>Bedews my face from brush-drops thick and thin.</p> +<p>My loins into my paunch like levers grind;</p> +<p class="i2">My buttock like a crupper bears my weight;</p> +<p class="i2">My feet unguided wander to and fro;</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p><a name="Page_371"></a>In front my skin grows loose and long; behind,</p> +<p class="i2">By bending it becomes more taut and strait;</p> +<p class="i2">Backward I strain me like a Syrian bow:</p> +<p class="i2">Whence false and quaint, I know,</p> +<p class="i2">Must be the fruit of squinting brain and eye;</p> +<p class="i2">For ill can aim the gun that bends awry.</p> +<p class="i6">Come then, Giovanni, try</p> +<p class="i2">To succour my dead pictures and my fame;</p> +<p class="i2">Since foul I fare and painting is my shame.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The majority of the sonnets are devoted to love and beauty, conceived in +the spirit of exalted Platonism. They are supposed to have been written in +the latter period of his life, when he was about sixty years of age; and +though we do not know for certain to whom they were in every case +addressed, they may be used in confirmation of what I have said about his +admiration for Vittoria Colonna and Tommaso Cavalieri.<a name="FNanchor421"></a><a href="#Footnote_421"><sup>[421]</sup></a> The following, +with its somewhat obscure adaptation of a Platonic theory of creation to +his own art, was probably composed soon after Vittoria Colonna's +death.<a name="FNanchor422"></a><a href="#Footnote_422"><sup>[422]</sup></a></p> + +<p>SE 'L MIO ROZZO MARTELLO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>When my rude hammer to the stubborn stone</p> +<p class="i2">Gives human shape, now that, now this, at will,</p> +<p class="i2">Following his hand who wields and guides it still,</p> +<p>It moves upon another's feet alone.</p> +<p>But He who dwells in heaven all things doth fill</p> +<p class="i2">With beauty by pure motions of his own;</p> +<p class="i2">And since tools fashion tools which else were none,</p> +<p>His life makes all that lives with living skill.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now, for that every stroke excels the more</p> +<p class="i2">The closer to the forge it still ascend,</p> +<p class="i2">Her soul that quickened mine hath sought the skies:</p> +<p>Wherefore I find my toil will never end,</p> +<p class="i2">If God, the great artificer, denies</p> +<p class="i2">That tool which was my only aid before.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The next is peculiarly valuable, as proving with what intense and +religious fervour Michael Angelo addressed himself to the <a name="Page_372"></a>worship of +intellectual beauty. He alone, in that age of sensuality and animalism, +pierced through the form of flesh and sought the divine idea it +imprisoned:<a name="FNanchor423"></a><a href="#Footnote_423"><sup>[423]</sup></a>—</p> + +<p>PER RITORNAR LÀ</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>As one who will reseek her home of light,</p> +<p class="i2">Thy form immortal to this prison-house</p> +<p class="i2">Descended, like an angel piteous,</p> +<p>To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright.</p> +<p>'Tis this that thralls my heart in love's delight,</p> +<p class="i2">Not thy clear face of beauty glorious;</p> +<p class="i2">For he who harbours virtue, still will choose</p> +<p>To love what neither years nor death can blight.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>So fares it ever with things high and rare,</p> +<p class="i2">Wrought in the sweat of nature; heaven above</p> +<p class="i2">Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime;</p> +<p>Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere</p> +<p class="i2">More clearly than in human forms sublime;</p> +<p class="i2">Which, since they image Him, compel my love.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The same Platonic theme is slightly varied in the two following +sonnets:<a name="FNanchor424"></a><a href="#Footnote_424"><sup>[424]</sup></a>—</p> + +<p>SPIRTO BEN NATO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,</p> +<p class="i2">Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,</p> +<p class="i2">What beauties heaven and nature can create,</p> +<p>The paragon of all their works to be!</p> +<p>Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,</p> +<p class="i2">Have found a home, as from thy outward state</p> +<p class="i2">We clearly read, and are so rare and great</p> +<p>That they adorn none other like to thee!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;</p> +<p class="i2">Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes</p> +<p class="i2">Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.</p> +<p>What law, what destiny, what fell control,</p> +<p class="i2">What cruelty, or late or soon, denies</p> +<p class="i2">That death should spare perfection so complete?</p> +</div></div> +<br><a name="Page_373"></a> + +<p>DAI DOLCE PIANTO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>From sweet laments to bitter joys, from peace</p> +<p class="i2">Eternal to a brief and hollow truce,</p> +<p class="i2">How have I fallen!--when 'tis truth we lose,</p> +<p>Mere sense survives our reason's dear decease.</p> +<p>I know not if my heart bred this disease,</p> +<p class="i2">That still more pleasing grows with growing use;</p> +<p class="i2">Or else thy face, thine eyes, in which the hues</p> +<p>And fires of Paradise dart ecstasies.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Thy beauty is no mortal thing; 'twas sent</p> +<p class="i2">From heaven on high to make our earth divine:</p> +<p class="i2">Wherefore, though wasting, burning, I'm content;</p> +<p>For in thy sight what could I do but pine?</p> +<p class="i2">If God Himself thus rules my destiny,</p> +<p class="i2">Who, when I die, can lay the blame on thee?</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The next is saddened by old age and death. Love has yielded to piety, and +is only remembered as what used to be. Yet in form and feeling this is +quite one of the most beautiful in the series supposed to refer to +Vittoria Colonna:<a name="FNanchor425"></a><a href="#Footnote_425"><sup>[425]</sup></a>—</p> + +<p>TORNAMI AL TEMPO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Bring back the time when blind desire ran free,</p> +<p class="i2">With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight;</p> +<p class="i2">Give back the buried face, once angel-bright,</p> +<p>That hides in earth all comely things from me;</p> +<p>Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely,</p> +<p class="i2">So toilsome-slow to him whose hairs are white;</p> +<p class="i2">Those tears and flames that in one breast unite;</p> +<p>If thou wilt once more take thy fill of me!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Yet Love! Suppose it true that thou dost thrive</p> +<p class="i2">Only on bitter honey-dews of tears,</p> +<p class="i2">Small profit hast thou of a weak old man.</p> +<p>My soul that toward the other shore doth strive,</p> +<p class="i2">Wards off thy darts with shafts of holier fears;</p> +<p class="i2">And fire feeds ill on brands no breath can fan.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>After this it only remains to quote the celebrated sonnet used by Varchi +for his dissertation, the best known of all Michael<a name="Page_374"></a> Angelo's poems.<a name="FNanchor426"></a><a href="#Footnote_426"><sup>[426]</sup></a> +The thought is this: just as a sculptor hews from a block of marble the +form that lies concealed within, so the lover has to extract from his +lady's heart the life or death of his soul,</p> + +<p>NON HA L'OTTIMO ARTISTA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>The best of artists hath no thought to show</p> +<p class="i2">Which the rough stone in its superfluous shell</p> +<p class="i2">Doth not include: to break the marble spell</p> +<p>Is all the hand that serves the brain can do.</p> +<p>The ill I shun, the good I seek, even so</p> +<p class="i2">In thee, fair lady, proud, ineffable,</p> +<p class="i2">Lies hidden: but the art I wield so well</p> +<p>Works adverse to my wish, and lays me low.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Therefore not love, nor thy transcendent face,</p> +<p class="i2">Nor cruelty, nor fortune, nor disdain,</p> +<p class="i2">Cause my mischance, nor fate, nor destiny:</p> +<p>Since in thy heart thou carriest death and grace</p> +<p class="i2">Enclosed together, and my worthless brain</p> +<p class="i2">Can draw forth only death to feed on me.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The fire of youth was not extinct, we feel, after reading these last +sonnets. There is, indeed, an almost pathetic intensity of passion in the +recurrence of Michael Angelo's thoughts to a sublime love on the verge of +the grave. Not less important in their bearing on his state of feeling are +the sonnets addressed to Cavalieri; and though his modern editor shrinks +from putting a literal interpretation upon them, I am convinced that we +must accept them simply as an expression of the artist's homage for the +worth and beauty of an excellent young man. The two sonnets I intend to +quote next<a name="FNanchor427"></a><a href="#Footnote_427"><sup>[427]</sup></a> were written, according to Varchi's direct testimony, for +Tommaso Cavalieri, "in whom"—the words are Varchi's—"I discovered, +besides incomparable personal beauty, so much charm of nature, such +excellent abilities, and such a graceful manner, that he deserved, and +still deserves, to be the better loved the more he is known." The play of +words upon Cavalieri's name in the last line of the first sonnet, the +evidence of Varchi, and the indirect witness <a name="Page_375"></a>of Condivi, together with +Michael Angelo's own letters,<a name="FNanchor428"></a><a href="#Footnote_428"><sup>[428]</sup></a> are sufficient in my judgment to +warrant the explanation I have given above. Nor do I think that the doubts +expressed by Guasti about the intention of the sonnets,<a name="FNanchor429"></a><a href="#Footnote_429"><sup>[429]</sup></a> or Gotti's +curious theory that the letters, though addressed to Cavalieri, were meant +for Vittoria Colonna,<a name="FNanchor430"></a><a href="#Footnote_430"><sup>[430]</sup></a> are much more honourable to Michael Angelo's +reputation than the garbling process whereby the verses were rendered +unintelligible in the edition of 1623.</p> + +<p>A CHE PIÙ DEBB' IO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Why should I seek to ease intense desire</p> +<p class="i2">With still more tears and windy words of grief,</p> +<p class="i2">When heaven, or late or soon, sends no relief</p> +<p>To souls whom love hath robed around with fire?</p> +<p>Why need my aching heart to death aspire</p> +<p class="i2">When all must die? Nay, death beyond belief</p> +<p class="i2">Unto these eyes would be both sweet and brief,</p> +<p>Since in my sum of woes all joys expire!</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Therefore because I cannot shun the blow</p> +<p class="i2">I rather seek, say who must rule my breast,</p> +<p class="i2">Gliding between her gladness and her woe?</p> +<p>If only chains and bands can make me blest,</p> +<p class="i2">No marvel if alone and bare I go</p> +<p class="i2">An armed Knight's captive and slave confessed.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>VEGGIO CO' BEI VOSTRI OCCHI</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>With your fair eyes a charming light I see,</p> +<p class="i2">For which my own blind eyes would peer in vain;</p> +<p class="i2">Stayed by your feet the burden I sustain</p> +<p>Which my lame feet find all too strong for me;</p> +<p>Wingless upon your pinions forth I fly;</p> +<p class="i2">Heavenward your spirit stirreth me to strain;</p> +<p class="i2">E'en as you will, I blush and blanch again,</p> +<p>Freeze in the sun, burn 'neath a frosty sky.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Your will includes and is the lord of mine;</p> +<p class="i2">Life to my thoughts within your heart is given;</p> +<p class="i2">My words begin to breathe upon your breath:</p> +<p>Like to the moon am I, that cannot shine</p> +<p class="i2">Alone; for lo! our eyes see nought in heaven</p> +<p class="i2">Save what the living sun illumineth.</p> +</div></div><a name="Page_376"></a> + +<p>Whether we are justified in assigning the following pair to the Cavalieri +series is more doubtful. They seem, however, to proceed from a similar +mood of the poet's mind.<a name="FNanchor431"></a><a href="#Footnote_431"><sup>[431]</sup></a></p> + +<p>S' UN CASTO AMOR</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>If love be chaste, if virtue conquer ill,</p> +<p class="i2">If fortune bind both lovers in one bond,</p> +<p class="i2">If either at the other's grief despond,</p> +<p>If both be governed by one life, one will;</p> +<p>If in two bodies one soul triumph still,</p> +<p class="i2">Raising the twain from earth to heaven beyond,</p> +<p class="i2">If love with one blow and one golden wand</p> +<p>Have power both smitten breasts to pierce and thrill;</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>If each the other love, himself foregoing,</p> +<p class="i2">With such delight, such savour, and so well,</p> +<p class="i2">That both to one sole end their wills combine;</p> +<p>If thousands of these thoughts all thought outgoing</p> +<p class="i2">Fail the least part of their firm love to tell;</p> +<p class="i2">Say, can mere angry spite this knot untwine?</p> +</div></div> + +<p>COLUI CHE FECE</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>He who ordained, when first the world began,</p> +<p class="i2">Time that was not before creation's hour,</p> +<p class="i2">Divided it, and gave the sun's high power</p> +<p>To rule the one, the moon the other span:</p> +<p>Thence fate and changeful chance and fortune's ban</p> +<p class="i2">Did in one moment down on mortals shower:</p> +<p class="i2">To me they portioned darkness for a dower;</p> +<p>Dark hath my lot been since I was a man.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Myself am ever mine own counterfeit;</p> +<p class="i2">And as deep night grows still more dim and dun,</p> +<p class="i2">So still of more mis-doing must I rue:</p> +<p>Meanwhile this solace to my soul is sweet,</p> +<p class="i2">That my black night doth make more clear the sun</p> +<p class="i2">Which at your birth was given to wait on you.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>A sonnet written for Luigi del Riccio, on the death of his friend Cecchino +Bracci, is curious on account of its conceit.<a name="FNanchor432"></a><a href="#Footnote_432"><sup>[432]</sup></a> Michael<a name="Page_377"></a> Angelo says: +"Cecchino, whom you loved, is dead; and if I am to make his portrait, I +can only do so by drawing you, in whom he still lives." Here, again, we +trace the Platonic conception of love as nothing if not spiritual, and of +beauty as a form that finds its immortality within the lover's soul. This +Cecchino was a boy who died at the age of seventeen. Michael Angelo wrote +his epicedion in several centuries of verses, distributed among his +friends in the form of what he terms <i>polizzini</i>, as though they were +trifles.</p> + +<p>A PENA PRIMA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Scarce had I seen for the first time his eyes</p> +<p class="i2">Which to thy living eyes are life and light,</p> +<p class="i2">When closed at last in death's injurious night</p> +<p>He opened them on God in Paradise.</p> +<p>I know it and I weep, too late made wise:</p> +<p class="i2">Yet was the fault not mine; for death's fell spite</p> +<p class="i2">Robbed my desire of that supreme delight,</p> +<p>Which in thy better memory never dies.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Therefore, Luigi, if the task be mine</p> +<p class="i2">To make unique Cecchino smile in stone</p> +<p class="i2">For ever, now that earth hath made him dim,</p> +<p>If the beloved within the lover shine,</p> +<p class="i2">Since art without him cannot work alone,</p> +<p class="i2">Thee must I carve to tell the world of him.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>In contrast with the philosophical obscurity of many of the sonnets +hitherto quoted, I place the following address to Night—one, certainly, +of Michael Angelo's most beautiful and characteristic compositions, as it +is also the most transparent in style<a name="FNanchor433"></a><a href="#Footnote_433"><sup>[433]</sup></a>:—</p> + +<p>O NOTT', O DOLCE TEMPO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>O night, O sweet though sombre span of time!—</p> +<p class="i2">All things find rest upon their journey's end—</p> +<p class="i2">Whoso hath praised thee, well doth apprehend;</p> +<p>And whoso honours thee, hath wisdom's prime.</p> +<p>Our cares thou canst to quietude sublime,</p> +<p class="i2">For dews and darkness are of peace the friend;</p> +<p class="i2">Often by thee in dreams upborne I wend</p> +<p>From earth to heaven, where yet I hope to climb.</p><a name="Page_378"></a> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Thou shade of Death, through whom the soul at length</p> +<p class="i2">Shuns pain and sadness hostile to the heart,</p> +<p class="i2">Whom mourners find their last and sure relief!</p> +<p>Thou dost restore our suffering flesh to strength,</p> +<p class="i2">Driest our tears, assuagest every smart,</p> +<p class="i2">Purging the spirits of the pure from grief.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The religious sonnets have been reserved to the last. These were composed +in old age, when the early impressions of Savonarola's teaching revived, +and when Michael Angelo had grown to regard even his art and the beauty he +had loved go purely, as a snare. If we did not bear in mind the piety +expressed throughout his correspondence, their ascetic tone, and the +remorse they seem to indicate, would convey a painful sense of +cheerlessness and disappointment. As it is, they strike me as the natural +utterance of a profoundly devout and somewhat melancholy man, in whom +religion has survived all other interests, and who, reviewing his past +life of fame and toil, finds that the sole reality is God. The two first +of these compositions are addressed to Giorgio Vasari.<a name="FNanchor434"></a><a href="#Footnote_434"><sup>[434]</sup></a></p> + +<p>GIUNIO È GIÀ</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Now hath my life across a stormy sea</p> +<p class="i2">Like a frail bark reached that wide port where all</p> +<p class="i2">Are bidden ere the final judgment fall,</p> +<p>Of good or evil deeds to pay the fee.</p> +<p>Now know I well how that fond phantasy</p> +<p class="i2">Which made my soul the worshipper and thrall</p> +<p class="i2">Of earthly art, is vain; how criminal</p> +<p>Is that which all men seek unwillingly.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Those amorous thoughts which were so lightly dressed,</p> +<p class="i2">What are they when the double death is nigh?</p> +<p class="i2">The one I know for sure, the other dread.</p> +<p>Painting nor sculpture now can lull to rest</p> +<p class="i2">My soul that turns to His great love on high,</p> +<p class="i2">Whose arms to clasp us on the cross were spread.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>LE FAVOLE DEL MONDO</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>The fables of the world have filched away</p> +<p class="i2">The time I had for thinking upon God;</p> +<p class="i2">His grace lies buried deep 'neath oblivion's sod,</p> +<p>Whence springs an evil-crop of sins alway.</p><a name="Page_379"></a> +<p>What makes another wise, leads me astray,</p> +<p class="i2">Slow to discern the bad path I have trod:</p> +<p class="i2">Hope fades; but still desire ascends that God</p> +<p>May free me from self-love, my sure decay.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Shorten half-way my road to heaven from earth?</p> +<p class="i2">Dear Lord, I cannot even half-way rise,</p> +<p class="i2">Unless Thou help me on this pilgrimage:</p> +<p>Teach me to hate the world so little worth,</p> +<p class="i2">And all the lovely things I once did prize;</p> +<p class="i2">That endless life, not death, may be my wage.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The same note is struck in the following, which breathes the spirit of a +Penitential Psalm:<a name="FNanchor435"></a><a href="#Footnote_435"><sup>[435]</sup></a>—</p> + +<p>CARICO D' ANNI</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Burdened with years and full of sinfulness,</p> +<p class="i2">With evil custom grown inveterate,</p> +<p class="i2">Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,</p> +<p>Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.</p> +<p>No strength I find in mine own feebleness</p> +<p class="i2">To change or life or love or use or fate,</p> +<p class="i2">Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late,</p> +<p>Which only helps and stays our nothingness.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn</p> +<p class="i2">For that celestial home, where yet my soul</p> +<p class="i2">May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:</p> +<p>Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn</p> +<p class="i2">My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole</p> +<p class="i2">And pure before Thy face she may be brought.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>In reading the two next, we may remember that, at the end of his life, +Michael Angelo was occupied with designs for a picture of the Crucifixion, +which he never executed, though he gave a drawing of Christ upon the cross +to Vittoria Colonna; and that his last work in marble was the unfinished +"Pietà" in the Duomo at Florence.<a name="FNanchor436"></a><a href="#Footnote_436"><sup>[436]</sup></a></p> +<br> + +<p>SCARCO D' UN IMPORTUNA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Freed from a burden sore and grievous band,</p> +<p class="i2">Dear Lord, and from this wearying world untied,</p> +<p class="i2">Like a frail bark I turn me to Thy side,</p> +<p>As from a fierce storm to a tranquil land.</p><a name="Page_380"></a> +<p>Thy thorns, Thy nails, and either bleeding hand,</p> +<p class="i2">With Thy mild gentle piteous face, provide</p> +<p class="i2">Promise of help and mercies multiplied,</p> +<p>And hope that yet my soul secure may stand.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Let not Thy holy eyes be just to see</p> +<p class="i2">My evil past, Thy chastened ears to hear</p> +<p class="i2">And stretch the arm of judgment to my crime:</p> +<p>Let Thy blood only lave and succour me,</p> +<p class="i2">Yielding more perfect pardon, better cheer</p> +<p class="i2">As older still I grow with lengthening time.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>NON FUR MEN LIETI</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Not less elate than smitten with wild woe</p> +<p class="i2">To see not them but Thee by death undone,</p> +<p class="i2">Were those blest souls, when Thou above the sun</p> +<p>Didst raise, by dying, men that lay so low:</p> +<p>Elate, since freedom from all ills that flow</p> +<p class="i2">From their first fault for Adam's race was won;</p> +<p class="i2">Sore smitten, since in torment fierce God's son</p> +<p>Served servants on the cruel cross below.</p> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>Heaven showed she knew Thee, who Thou wert and whence,</p> +<p class="i2">Veiling her eyes above the riven earth;</p> +<p class="i2">The mountains trembled and the seas were troubled:</p> +<p>He took the Fathers from hell's darkness dense:</p> +<p class="i2">The torments of the damned fiends redoubled:</p> +<p class="i2">Man only joyed, who gained baptismal birth.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The collection of his poems is closed with yet another sonnet in the same +lofty strain of prayer, and faith, and hope in God.<a name="FNanchor437"></a><a href="#Footnote_437"><sup>[437]</sup></a></p> + +<p>MENTRE M' ATTRISTA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>Mid weariness and woe I find some cheer</p> +<p class="i2">In thinking of the past, when I recall</p> +<p class="i2">My weakness and my sins and reckon all</p> +<p>The vain expense of days that disappear:</p> +<p>This cheers by making, ere I die, more clear</p> +<p class="i2">The frailty of what men delight miscall;</p> +<p class="i2">But saddens me to think how rarely fall</p> +<p>God's grace and mercies in life's latest year.</p><a name="Page_381"></a> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<p>For though Thy promises our faith compel,</p> +<p class="i2">Yet, Lord, what man shall venture to maintain</p> +<p class="i2">That pity will condone our long neglect?</p> +<p>Still, from Thy blood poured forth we know full well</p> +<p class="i2">How without measure was Thy martyr's pain,</p> +<p class="i2">How measureless the gifts we dare expect.</p> +</div></div> + +<p>From the thought of Dante, through Plato, to the thought of Christ: so our +study of Michael Angelo's sonnets has carried us. In communion with these +highest souls Michael Angelo habitually lived; for he was born of their +lineage, and was like them a lifelong alien on the earth.</p> + +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<a name="Footnote_412"></a><a href="#FNanchor412">[412]</a><div class="note"><p> See Guasti's <i>Rime di Michel Agnolo Buonarrote</i>, Firenzi, +1863, p. 189. The future references will be made to that edition.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_413"></a><a href="#FNanchor413">[413]</a><div class="note"><p> "I can translate, and have translated, two books of Ariosto +at the rate nearly of one hundred lines a day; but so much meaning has +been put by Michael Angelo into so little room, and that meaning sometimes +so excellent in itself, that I found the difficulty of translating him +insurmountable."—Note to Wordsworth's English version of some sonnets of +Michael Angelo.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_414"></a><a href="#FNanchor414">[414]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, p. <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_415"></a><a href="#FNanchor415">[415]</a><div class="note"><p> See Gotti's Life, p. 48, and Giannotti's works (Firenze, Le +Monnier, 1850), quoted by Gotti, pp. 249-257.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_416"></a><a href="#FNanchor416">[416]</a><div class="note"><p> See Appendix to Gotti's Life, No. 25.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_417"></a><a href="#FNanchor417">[417]</a><div class="note"><p> See Gotti's Life, p. 256.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_418"></a><a href="#FNanchor418">[418]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, pp. 153-155.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_419"></a><a href="#FNanchor419">[419]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, pp. 156, 167.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_420"></a><a href="#FNanchor420">[420]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, p. 158.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_421"></a><a href="#FNanchor421">[421]</a><div class="note"><p> See above, pp. <a href="#Page_317">317</a>-<a href="#Page_319">319</a>.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_422"></a><a href="#FNanchor422">[422]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, p. 226.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_423"></a><a href="#FNanchor423">[423]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, p. 218.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_424"></a><a href="#FNanchor424">[424]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Ib.</i> pp. 182, 210.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_425"></a><a href="#FNanchor425">[425]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, p. 212.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_426"></a><a href="#FNanchor426">[426]</a><div class="note"><p> Delivered before the Florentine Academy in 1546. See +Guasti, p. 173, for the sonnet, and p. lxxv. for the dissertation. See +also Gotti, p. 249, for Michael Angelo's remarks upon the latter.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_427"></a><a href="#FNanchor427">[427]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, pp. 189, 188.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_428"></a><a href="#FNanchor428">[428]</a><div class="note"><p> See <i>Archivio Buonarroti</i>; and above, p. 318, note 2.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_429"></a><a href="#FNanchor429">[429]</a><div class="note"><p> <i>Rime</i>, p. xlv.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_430"></a><a href="#FNanchor430">[430]</a><div class="note"><p> Gotti's Life, pp. 231-233.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_431"></a><a href="#FNanchor431">[431]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, pp. 190-202.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_432"></a><a href="#FNanchor432">[432]</a><div class="note"><p> Ib. p. 162.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_433"></a><a href="#FNanchor433">[433]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, p. 205.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_434"></a><a href="#FNanchor434">[434]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, pp. 230-232.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_435"></a><a href="#FNanchor435">[435]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, pp. 244, 245.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_436"></a><a href="#FNanchor436">[436]</a><div class="note"><p> Ib. pp. 241-245.</p></div> + +<a name="Footnote_437"></a><a href="#FNanchor437">[437]</a><div class="note"><p> Guasti, p. 246.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="APPENDIX_III"></a><h2><a name="Page_382"></a>APPENDIX III</h2> + +<h3><i>Chronological Tables of the Principal Artists mentioned in this Volume</i></h3> +<br> + +<p>The lists which follow have been, drawn up with a view to assisting the +reader of my chapters on Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting. I have +only included the more prominent names; and these I have placed in the +order of their occurrence in the foregoing pages. In compiling them, I +have consulted the Index to Le Monnier's edition of Vasari (1870), Crowe +and Cavalcaselle's "History of Painting," and Milizia's "Dictionary of +Architects."</p> +<br> + +<h2><i>ARCHITECTS</i></h2> +<table align="center" border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="ARCHITECTS"> + +<tr><td align="left">Name</td><td align="left">Born</td><td align="left">Died</td><td align="left">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Arnolfo di Cambio</td><td align="left">1210</td><td align="left">1311</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giotto di Bondone</td><td align="left">1276</td><td align="left">1337</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Orcagna</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1369</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Filippo Brunelleschi</td><td align="left">1377</td><td align="left">1446</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Leo Battista Alberti</td><td align="left">1405</td><td align="left">1472</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Michellozzo Michellozzi</td><td align="left">1391</td><td align="left">1472</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Benedetto da Majano</td><td align="left">1442</td><td align="left">1497</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giuliano di San Gallo</td><td align="left">1445</td><td align="left">1516</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio di San Gallo</td><td align="left">1455</td><td align="left">1534?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio Filarete</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">1465?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bramante Lazzari</td><td align="left">1444</td><td align="left">1514</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cristoforo Rocchi</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ventura Vitoni</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Raffaello Santi</td><td align="left">1483</td><td align="left">1520</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giulio Romano</td><td align="left">1499</td><td align="left">1546</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Baldassare Peruzzi</td><td align="left">1481</td><td align="left">1536</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jacopo Sansovino</td><td align="left">1477</td><td align="left">1570</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Michele Sanmicheli</td><td align="left">1484</td><td align="left">1559</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Baccio d'Agnolo</td><td align="left">1462</td><td align="left">1543</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Michael Angelo Buonarroti</td><td align="left">1475</td><td align="left">1564</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Palladio</td><td align="left">1518</td><td align="left">1580</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giacomo Barozzi</td><td align="left">1507</td><td align="left">1573</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Vincenzo Scamozzi</td><td align="left">1552</td><td align="left">1616</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Galeazzo Alessi</td><td align="left">1500</td><td align="left">1572</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bartolommeo Ammanati</td><td align="left">1511</td><td align="left">1592</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<h2><i>SCULPTORS</i></h2> + +<table align="center" border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="SCULPTORS"> +<tr><td align="left">Name</td><td align="left">Born</td><td align="left">Died</td><td align="left">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Niccola Pisano</td><td align="left">after 1200</td><td align="left">1278</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Pisano</td><td align="left">about 1240</td><td align="left">1320</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lorenzo Maitani</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">1330</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Pisano</td><td align="left">about 1273</td><td align="left">about 1349</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giotto di Bondone</td><td align="left">1276</td><td align="left">1337</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Nino Pisano</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1360</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Balduccio</td><td align="left">about 1300</td><td align="left">about 1347</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Filippo Calendario</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">1355</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Orcagna</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1369</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lorenzo Ghiberti</td><td align="left">1378</td><td align="left">1455</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giacomo della Quercia</td><td align="left">1374</td><td align="left">1438</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Filippo Brunelleschi</td><td align="left">1377</td><td align="left">1446</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Donatello</td><td align="left">1366</td><td align="left">1466</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Verocchio</td><td align="left">1435</td><td align="left">1488</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Alessandro Leopardi</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">after 1522</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio Pollajuolo</td><td align="left">1429</td><td align="left">1498</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Piero Pollajuolo</td><td align="left">1441</td><td align="left">1489?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Luca della Robbia</td><td align="left">1400</td><td align="left">1482</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Agostino di Duccio</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">after 1461</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio Rossellino</td><td align="left">1427</td><td align="left">1478?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Matteo Civitali</td><td align="left">1435</td><td align="left">1501</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mino da Fiesole</td><td align="left">1431</td><td align="left">1484</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Desiderio da Settignano</td><td align="left">1428</td><td align="left">1464</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Guido Mazzoni</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">1518</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio Begarelli</td><td align="left">1479</td><td align="left">about 1565</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio Amadeo</td><td align="left">1447?</td><td align="left">about 1520</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Contucci</td><td align="left">1460</td><td align="left">1529</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jacopo Sansovino</td><td align="left">1477</td><td align="left">1570</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Michael Angelo Buonarroti</td><td align="left">1475</td><td align="left">1564</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Raffaello da Montelupo</td><td align="left">1505</td><td align="left">1567</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli</td><td align="left">1507</td><td align="left">1563</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Baccio Bandinelli</td><td align="left">1493</td><td align="left">1560</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bartolommeo Ammanati</td><td align="left">1511</td><td align="left">1592</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Benvenuto Cellini</td><td align="left">1500</td><td align="left">1571</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gian Bologna</td><td align="left">1524</td><td align="left">1608</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr></table> + + +<h2><i>PAINTERS</i></h2> +<table align="center" border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="PAINTERS"> + + +<tr><td align="left">Name</td><td align="left">Born</td><td align="left">Died</td><td align="left">Page</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Cimabue</td><td align="left">1240?</td><td align="left">1302?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giotto di Bondone</td><td align="left">1276</td><td align="left">1337</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Orcagna</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1369</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ambrogio Lorenzetti</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1348</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pietro Lorenzetti</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1350</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Taddeo Gaddi</td><td align="left">about 1300</td><td align="left">1366</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Francesco Traini</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">after 1378</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Duccio di Buoninsegna</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1320</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Simone Martini</td><td align="left">1285?</td><td align="left">1344</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Taddeo di Bartolo</td><td align="left">about 1362</td><td align="left">1422</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spinello Aretino</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">1410</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Masolino da Panicale</td><td align="left">1384</td><td align="left">1447?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td</tr> +<tr><td align="left">Masaccio</td><td align="left">1402</td><td align="left">1429</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Paolo Uccello</td><td align="left">1397</td><td align="left">1475</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea del Castagno</td><td align="left">1396</td><td align="left">1457</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Piero della Francesca</td><td align="left">1420?</td><td align="left">1506?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td</tr> +<tr><td align="left">Melozzo da Forli</td><td align="left">about 1438</td><td align="left">1494</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Francesco Squarcione</td><td align="left">1394</td><td align="left">1474</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gentile da Fabriano</td><td align="left">about 1370</td><td align="left">about 1450</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fra Angelico</td><td align="left">1387</td><td align="left">1455</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Benozzo Gozzoli</td><td align="left">1420</td><td align="left">1498</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lippo Lippi</td><td align="left">1412?</td><td align="left">1469</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Filippino Lippi</td><td align="left">1457</td><td align="left">1504</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sandro Botticelli</td><td align="left">1447</td><td align="left">1510</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Piero di Cosimo</td><td align="left">1462</td><td align="left">1521?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Domenico Ghirlandajo</td><td align="left">1449</td><td align="left">before 1498</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea Mantegna</td><td align="left">1431</td><td align="left">1506</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Luca Signorelli</td><td align="left">about 1441</td><td align="left">1523</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pietro Perugino</td><td align="left">1446</td><td align="left">1524</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bernardo Pinturicchio</td><td align="left">1454</td><td align="left">1513</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Francesco Francia</td><td align="left">1450</td><td align="left">1517</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fra Bartolommeo</td><td align="left">1475</td><td align="left">1517</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mariotto Albertinelli</td><td align="left">1474</td><td align="left">1515</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lionardo da Vinci</td><td align="left">1452</td><td align="left">1519</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Raffaello Santi</td><td align="left">1483</td><td align="left">1520</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Antonio Allegri da Correggio</td><td align="left">1494?</td><td align="left">1534</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Michael Angelo Buonarroti</td><td align="left">1475</td><td align="left">1564</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bartolommeo Vivarini</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">after 1499</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jacopo Bellini</td><td align="left">1400?</td><td align="left">1464?</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gentile Bellini</td><td align="left">1426</td><td align="left">1507</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Vittore Carpaccio</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">after 1519</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Bellini</td><td align="left">1427</td><td align="left">1516</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giorgione</td><td align="left">1478</td><td align="left">1511</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tiziano Vecelli</td><td align="left">1477</td><td align="left">1576</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Paolo Veronese</td><td align="left">1530</td><td align="left">1588</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tintoretto</td><td align="left">1512</td><td align="left">1594</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Antonio Beltraffio</td><td align="left">1467</td><td align="left">1516</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Marco d' Oggiono</td><td align="left">about 1470</td><td align="left">1530</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cesare da Sesto</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1524</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bernardino Luini</td><td align="left">about 1460</td><td align="left">after 1530</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_349">349</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gaudenzio Ferrari</td><td align="left">1484</td><td align="left">1549</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_351">351</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giulio Romano</td><td align="left">1499</td><td align="left">1546</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni da Udine</td><td align="left">1487</td><td align="left">1564</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Perino del Vaga</td><td align="left">1499</td><td align="left">1547</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Marcello Venusti</td><td align="left">—</td><td align="left">about 1584</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sebastian del Piombo</td><td align="left">1485</td><td align="left">1547</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Daniele da Volterra</td><td align="left">about 1509</td><td align="left">1566</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Il Parmigianino</td><td align="left">1504</td><td align="left">1540</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_356">356</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Federigo Baroccio</td><td align="left">1528</td><td align="left">1612</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_356">356</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrea del Sarto</td><td align="left">1487</td><td align="left">1531</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jacopo Pontormo</td><td align="left">1494</td><td align="left">1557</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Angelo Bronzino</td><td align="left">1502</td><td align="left">1572</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Il Sodoma</td><td align="left">1477</td><td align="left">1549</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Baldassare Peruzzi</td><td align="left">1481</td><td align="left">1536</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Domenico Beccafumi</td><td align="left">1486</td><td align="left">1551</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Benvenuto Garofalo</td><td align="left">1481</td><td align="left">1559</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dosso Dossi</td><td align="left">about 1479</td><td align="left">1542</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Il Moretto</td><td align="left">about 1500</td><td align="left">after 1556</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giovanni Battista Moroni</td><td align="left">1510</td><td align="left">1578</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Giorgio Vasari</td><td align="left">1511</td><td align="left">1574</td><td align="left">—</td></tr> +</table> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11559 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |