Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects/Introduction to Second Part
INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND PART.
When I first undertook to write these lives, it was not ray
purpose to make a mere list of the artists, or to give an inventory, so to speak, of their works. Nor could I by any means
consider it a worthy end of ray—I will not say satisfactory
—but assuredly prolonged and fatiguing labours, that I should
content myself with merely ascertaining the number, names,
and country of the artists, or with informing my reader in
what city or borough precisely, their paintings, sculptures, or
buildings, were to be found. This I could have accomplished
by a simple register or table, without the interposition of my
own judgment in any part. But I have remembered that
the writers of history,—such of them, that is to say, as by
common consent are admitted to have treated their subject
most judiciously,—have in no case contented themselves with
a simple narration of the occurrences they describe, but have
made zealous enquiry respecting the lives of the actors, and
sought with the utmost diligence to investigate the modes
and methods adopted by distinguished men for the furtherance of their various undertakings. The efforts of such writers
have, moreover, been further directed to the examination of
the points on which errors have been made, or, on the other
hand, by what means successful results have been produced,
to what expedients those who govern have had recourse, in
what manner they have delivered themselves from such embarrassments as arise in the management of affairs; of all
that has been effected, in short; whether sagaciously or injudiciously, whether by the exercise of prudence, piety, and
greatness of mind, or by that of the contrary qualities, and
with opposite results; as might be expected from men who are
persuaded that history is in truth the mirror of human life.
These writers have not contented themselves with a mere
dry narration of facts and events, occurring under this prince
or in that republic, but have set forth the grounds of the
various opinions, the motives of the different resolutions, and the character of the circumstances by which the prime
movers have been actuated; with the consequences, beneficial or disastrous, which have been the results of all. This
is, without doubt, the soul of history. From these details
it is that men learn the true government of life; and to secure
this effect, therefore, with the addition of the pleasure which
may be derived from having past events presented to the
view as living and present, is to be considered the legitimate
aim of the historian.
Moved by these considerations, I determined, having undertaken to write the history of the noblest masters in our arts, to pursue the method observed by these distinguished writers, so far as my powers would permit; imitating these ingenious men, and desiring, above all things, to honour the arts, and those who labour in them. I have endeavoured, not only to relate what has been done, but to set forth and distinguish the better from the good, and the best from the better, the most distinguished from the less prominent qualities and works, of those who belong to our vocation. I have further sought, with diligence, to discriminate between the different methods, manners, and processes adopted and displayed by the different painters and sculptors, not omitting to notify their various phantasies, inventions, and modes of treatment, all which I have investigated to the best of my ability, that I might the better make known to those who could not pursue the enquiry for themselves, the sources and causes of the different methods, as well as of that amelioration and deterioration of the arts which have been seen to take place at different periods, and by the agency of different persons.
In the First Part of these Lives I have spoken of the nobility and antiquity of these our arts, as at that point of our work was desirable, omitting many remarks by Pliny, and other writers, of which I might have availed myself, if I had not preferred—perhaps in opposition to the opinion of many readers—rather to permit that each should remain free to seek the ideas of others in their original sources. And this I did to avoid that prolixity and tediousness which are the mortal enemies of attention. But on this occasion it appears to me beseeming that I should do what I did not then permit myself—namely, present a more exact and definite explication of my purpose and intention, with the reasons which have led me to divide this collection of Lives into Three Parts.
It is an indubitable fact, that distinction in the arts is attained by one man through his diligent practice; by another, from his profound study; a third seeks it in imitation; a fourth, by the acquirement of knowledge in the sciences, which all offer aid to the arts; others arrive at the desired end by the union of many of these; some by the possession of all united. But as I have sufficiently discoursed, in the lives of various masters, of the modes, processes, and causes of all sorts, which have contributed to the good, the better, or the excellent results of their labours, so I will here discuss these matters in more general terms, and insist, rather, on the qualities which characterize periods, than on those which distinguish individuals. To avoid a too minute inquiry, I adopt the division into three parts, or periods—if we so please to call them—from the revival of the arts, down to the present century, and in each of these there will be found a very obvious difference. In the first, and most ancient, of these periods, we have seen that the three formative arts were very far from their perfection; and that, if it must be admitted that they had much in them that was good, yet this was accompanied by so much of imperfection, that those times certainly merit no great share of commendation. Yet, on the other hand, as it is by them that the commencement was made; as it was they who originated the method, and taught the way to the better path, which was afterwards followed, so, if it were but for this, we are bound to say nothing of them but what is good—nay, we must even accord to them a somewhat larger amount of glory than they might have the right to demand, were their works to be judged rigidly by the strict rules of art.[1]
In the second period, all productions were, obviously, much ameliorated; richer invention was displayed, with more correct drawing, a better manner, improved execution, and more careful finish. The arts were, in a measure, delivered from that rust of old age, and that coarse disproportion, which the rudeness of the previous uncultivated period had left still clinging to them. But who will venture to affirm that there could yet be found an artist perfect at all points? or one who had arrived at that position, in respect of invention, design, and colour, to which we have attained in the present day? Is there any one who has been able so carefully to manage the shadows of his figures, that the lights remain only on the parts in relief? or who has, in like manner, effected those perforations, and secured those delicate results, in sculpture, which are exhibited by the statues and rilievi of our own day? The credit of having effected this is certainly due to the third period only; respecting which it appears to me that we may safely affirm the arts to have effected all that it is permitted to the imitation of nature to perform, and to have reached such a point, that we have now more cause for apprehension lest they should again sink into depression, than ground for hope that they will ever attain to a higher degree of perfection.
Reflecting attentively within myself on all these things, I conclude that it is the peculiar nature, and distinctive characteristic of these arts, that, rising from mean beginnings, they should proceed to elevate themselves, by gradual effort, and should finally attain to the summit of perfection; and I am confirmed in this opinion by the perception of an almost similar mode of progression in others of the liberal arts. And since there is a close relationship between them all, I am strengthened in the conviction that this, my view, is the just one. With respect to painting and sculpture more especially, their fate, in older times, must have been so exactly alike, that we have only to make a certain change in the names, when the same facts might be related of each. For if the writers who lived near to those times, and who could see and judge of their works, be worthy of credit, the statues of Canacus were stiff, hard, without life or movement of any kind, and therefore very unlike the reality. The same thing has been affirmed respecting the works of Calamis, although they are described as possessing somewhat more of softness than those of the first-named artist. Then came Miron, who, if he did not very closely approach to the successful imitation of nature, did yet impart to his works such an amount of grace, and correct proportion, that they could be justly called beautiful. In the third degree, there followed Policletus, with the other masters so highly celebrated, and by whom, as is affirmed—and we are bound to believe—the art was carried to its entire perfection. A similar progress must have been perceived in painting also. Writers declare, and it is reasonable to suppose that they do so on just grounds, that the works of those artists who painted with one colour only, and from that circumstance were called Monochromatists, did not display a very high degree of perfection. In respect to the works of Zeuxis, Polygnotus, Timanthes, and others, who used only four colours, the outlines, contours, and lineaments of their figures were inva riably commended; yet there doubtless remained something still to be desired. But in the works of Erion,[2] Nicomacus, Protogenes, and Apelles, everything was seen to be perfect, and most beautiful; nothing better could be even imagined, these masters having not only depicted the forms, attitudes, and movements of their figures most admirably, but also attained the power of eloquently expressing the affections and passions of the soul.
But, to leave these masters, respecting whom we are compelled to confide in the opinions of others, who do not always agree among themselves; nay, what is worse, whose testimony, even as to the periods, is frequently at variance;—let us come to our own times, wherein we have the guidance of our eyes—a much safer and better conductor and judge than hearsay. Do we not clearly see to what extent architecture had been ameliorated, from the Greek Buschetto—to begin with one of the most distinguished masters—to the German Arnolfo,[3] and to Giotto? For our perfect conviction of this truth, we need only to glance at the fabrics of the earlier period: the pilasters, the columns, the bases, the capitals, and the cornices, with their ill-formed members, as we see them, for example, in Santa Maria del Fiore, in Florence; in the exterior incrustations of San Giovanni; at San Miniato al Monte; in the cathedral of Fiesole; the Duomo of Milan; the church of San Vitale at Ravenna; that of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome; and the Duomo Vecchio, outside the city of Arezzo; wherein, with the exception of those few fragments from the antique, which remain in different parts, there is nothing which deserves to be called good, whether as regards arrangement or execution. But, by the masters above named, architecture was, without doubt, greatly ameliorated, and the art made considerable progress under their influence, since they brought the various parts to more correct proportion, and not only erected their buildings in a manner which imparted strength and durability, but also added the grace of ornament to certain parts of them. It is, indeed, true that their decorations were complicated, confused, and very far from perfection, so that they could scarcely be said to contribute in any great measure to the beauty of the fabric. In the columns, for example, the measure and proportion required by the rules of art were not observed, nor were the orders distinguished, whether Doric, Corinthian, Ionic, or Tuscan; all were mingled together, after a rule of their own, which was no rule at all, and were constructed of excessive thickness, or exceedingly slender,[4] as seemed good in their eyes. Their inventions were partly confused notions of their own, partly as irregular adaptations of the ancient relics with which they were acquainted. Their plans were derived in part from good sources, but partly also from their own caprices; insomuch, that when the walls were raised, they sometimes presented a very different form from that of their so-called model. But, notwithstanding all this, whoever compares the labours of that period with those of an earlier day, will see that they had materially improved in all respects, even though there should still be found many particulars wherein the critics of our times find cause for dissatisfaction; as, for example, the small oratories constructed of brick, covered over with stucco, at San Giovanni Laterano, in Rome. The same remarks may be applied to sculpture, which, at the first moment of its revival, had some remains of excellence. Being once freed from the rude Byzantine manner, which was, indeed, so coarse that the works produced in it displayed more of the roughness of the raw material, than of the genius of the artist; those statues of theirs being wholly destitute of flexibility, attitude, or movement of any kind, and their draperies entirely without folds, so that they could scarcely be called statues—all this became gradually ameliorated, and when G-iotto had improved the art of design, the figures of marble and stone improved also: those of Andrea Pisano, of his son Nino, and of his other disciples, were greatly superior to the statues that had preceded them; less rigid and stiff, displaying some approach to grace of attitude, and in all respects better. The works of the two Sienese masters, Agostino and Agnolo, may here be particularized, (by whom, as we have before related, the sepulchre of Guido, bishop of Arezzo, was constructed), and those of the Germans, by whom the fat^ade of the cathedral of Orvieto was executed: upon the whole, therefore, sculpture was at this time perceived to make some little progress,—its figures received less rigid forms; the vestments were permitted to flow more freely; certain of the attitudes lost a portion of their stiffness, and some of the heads acquired more life and expression. There was, in short, a commencement of effort to reach the better path, but defects still remained in great numbers on every point; the art of design had not yet attained its perfection, nor were there many good models for the artists of those times to imitate. All these impediments and difficulties considered, the masters of those days, and who have been placed by me in the first period, deserve all the praise and credit that can be awarded to their works, since it must not be forgotten that they had received no aid from those who preceded them, but had to find their way by their own efforts. Every beginning, moreover, however insignificant and humble in itself, is always to be accounted worthy of no small praise.
Nor had painting much better fortune during those times; but the devotion of the people called it more frequently into use, and it had more artists employed; by consequence, the progress made by it was more obvious than that of the two sister arts. Thus we have seen that the Greek, or Byzantine manner, first attacked by Cimabue, was afterwards entirely extinguished by the aid of Giotto, and there arose a new one, which I would fain call the manner of Giotto, since it was discovered by him, continued by his disciples, and finally honoured and imitated by all. By Giotto and his disciples, the hard angular lines by which every figure was girt and bound, the senseless and spiritless eyes, the long pointed feet planted upright on their extremities, the sharp formless hands, the absence of shadow, and every other monstrosity of those Byzantine painters, were done away with, as I have said; the heads received a better grace, and more softness of colour. Giotto himself, in particular, gave more easy attitudes to his figures; he made some approach to vivacity and spirit in his heads, and folded his draperies, which have more resemblance to reality than those of his predecessors; he discovered, to a certain extent, the necessity of foreshortening the figure, and began to give some intimation of the passions and affections, so that fear, hope, anger, and love were, in some sort, expressed by his faces. The early manner had been most harsh and rugged; that of Giotto became softer, more harmonious, and—if he did not give his eyes the limpidity and beauty of life, if he did not impart to them the speaking movement of reality, let the difficulties he had to encounter plead his excuse for this, as well as for the want of ease and flow in the hair and beards: or if his hands have not the articulations and muscles of nature, if his rude figures want the reality of life, let it be remembered that Giotto had never seen the works of any better master than he was himself. And let all reflect on the rectitude of judgment displayed by this artist in his paintings, at a time when art was in so poor a state; on the large amount of ability by which alone he could have produced the results secured; for none will deny that his figures perform the parts assigned to them, or that in all his works are found proofs of a just—if not a perfect—judgment, in matters pertaining to his art. The same quality is evinced by his successors, by Taddeo Gaddi, for example, whose colouring is distinguished by greater force, as well as more softness, whose figures have more spirit and movement, whose carnations are more lifelike, and his draperies more flowing. In Simon of Siena we mark increased facility in the composition of the stories. In Stefano the Ape[5] (Stefano Schimmia), and in Tommaso his son, we see important ameliorations of the practice in design, as well as in the general treatment and harmony of colouring. By these masters the study of perspective, also, was promoted, to the great benefit of art. They displayed some fertility of invention, with softness and harmony of colouring, but adhered closely to the manner of Giotto. Not inferior to these in ability or practice were Spinello Aretino, Parri, his son, Jacopo di Casentino, Antonio Yeneziano, Lippo, Gherardo Stamina, and the other masters who succeeded Giotto, and imitated his manner, outline, expression, and colour; these they perhaps improved, in some degree, but not to such an extent as to give the impression that they proposed to originate a new direction. He, therefore, who shall carefully consider this my discourse, will perceive that these three arts—Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture—have, up to the times here alluded to, been, so to speak, but roughly sketched out, and have wanted very much of their due perfection; insomuch, that if they had not made further progress, the slight improvements here enumerated would have availed but little, neither would they have merited to be held of much account. Nor would I have any to suppose me so dull of perception, or endowed with so little judgment, as not to perceive that the works of Giotto, of Andrea Pisano, of Nino, and all the rest, whom, because of their similitude of manner, I have placed together in the first part, could claim but a small amount of praise, if compared with those of their successors, or that I did not perceive this when I commended them. But, whoever will consider the character of the times in which these masters laboured, the dearth of artists, with the difficulty of obtaining any assistance of value, will admit— not only that they are beautiful, as I have said—but even that they are wonderful; and will doubtless take infinite pleasure in the examination of those first beginnings, those gleams of light and good which then began to be rekindled in the paintings and sculptures of the day. The victory of Lucius Marcius, in Spain, was assuredly not so great, but that the Romans had won much more important triumphs, yet, as they had regard to the period, to the place, to the peculiarities of the occasion, to those engaged, and the number of the combatants, it was admitted to be stupendous, and is even yet held to be worthy of the praises which have been perpetually and largely bestowed on it by the different historians. And thus it has appeared to me, that, for all the above-named causes, I am bound, not only to describe the lives of the older masters with all possible diligence, but likewise to apportion to each his due measure of praise, with all love and confidence, as I have done. Nor do I think that it can be wearisome to my brother artists to hear these, my narrations, or to see the manner of those masters considered, nay, they may possibly derive no small aid from my work. The conviction of this would be most grateful to me, and I should consider it the dearest reward for my labours, in which I have sought no other end than their benefit, and to administer—so far as I am able—to their enjoyment.
And now that we have raised these three arts, so to speak, from their cradle, and have conducted them through their childhood, we come to the second period, in which they will be seen to have infinitely improved at all points: the compositions comprise more figures; the accessories and ornaments are richer, and more abundant; the drawing is more correct, and approaches more closely to the truth of nature; and, even where no great facility or practice is displayed, the works yet evince much thought and care; the manner is more free and graceful; the colouring more brilliant and pleasing, insomuch that little is now required to the attainment of perfection in the faithful imitation of nature. By the study and diligence of the great Filippo Brunelleschi, architecture first recovered the measures and proportions of the antique, in the round columns as well as in the square pilasters, and the rusticated and plain angles. Then it was that the orders were first distinguished one from another, and that the difference between them was made manifest. Care was taken that all should proceed according to rule; that a fixed arrangement should be adhered to, and that the various portions of the work should each receive its due measure and place. Drawing acquired force and correctness, a better grace was imparted to the buildings erected, and the excellence of the art was made manifest: the beauty and variety of design required for capitals and cornices were restored; and, while we perceive the ground plans of churches and other edifices to have been admirably laid at this period, we also remark that the fabrics themselves were finely proportioned, magnificently arranged, and richly adorned, as may be seen in that astonishing erection, the cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore, in Florence, and in the beauty and grace of its lantern; in the graceful, rich, and variously ornamented church of Santo Spirito; and in the no less beautiful edifice of San Lorenzo; or again, in the fanciful invention of the octangular church of the Angioli; in the light and graceful church and convent belonging to the abbey of Florence; and in the magnificent and lordly commencement of the Pitti Palace, to say nothing of the vast and commodious edifice constructed by Francesco di Giorgio, in the church and palace of the Duomo, at Urbino; of the strong and rich castle of Naples; or of the impregnable fortress of Milan, and many other remarkable erections of that time. And if, in certain portions of the works executed during that period,—in the cornices, for example, in the light carving of foliage, and delicate finish of other ornaments,— we fail to perceive the exquisite refinement and grace exhibited in later times, as will be seen in the Third Part of my book, we are yet bound to admit that they are, to a certain extent, good and beautiful, although we may not accord to them the praise due to those who afterwards displayed a perfection of lightness, richness, grace, and refinement, equalled only by the best architects of antiquity. We do not, then, consider the second period perfect; for we have seen later times produce works superior, and may therefore reasonably affirm that something was still wanting. Certain individual works then executed are indeed so admirable, that nothing better has been accomplished, even to our own times, nor perhaps will be in times to come—as, for example, the lantern of the cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore; or, for grandeur, we may instance the noble cupola itself, wherein Filippo had not only the courage to imitate the ancients as to the vastness of the erection, but even surpassed them in the height of the walls. But we are here speaking in general terms of a period, and are not permitted to infer the excellence of the whole from the undisputed goodness, or even perfection, of a part.
What is here said of architecture, may, with equal propriety be affirmed of painting and sculpture, in both of which are still to be seen many extraordinary works executed by the masters of the second period, as that of Masaccio in the church of the Carmine, for example, where the artist has depicted a naked figure shivering with the cold, besides many spirited and life-like forms, in other pictures. But, speaking generally, the second period did not attain to the perfection exhibited by the third, and of which we propose to speak in due time. For the present we have to occupy ourselves with the second, wherein—to speak first of the sculptors—the art made so decided an improvement on the manner of the first, as to leave but little remaining for the third to accomplish. The method adopted by the masters of the second period was so much more efficient, their treatment so much more natural and graceful, their drawing so much more accurate, their proportions so much more correct, that their statues began to assume the appearance of living men, and were no longer lifeless images of stone, as were those of the earlier day. Of this there will be found proof in the part we are now about to treat, wherein the works of the Sienese, Jacopo della Quercia, will be remarked as possessing more life and grace, with more correct design, and more careful finish; those of Filippo Brunelleschi exhibit a finer developement and play of the muscles, with more accurate proportions, and a more judicious treatment—remarks which are alike applicable to the works produced by the disciples of these masters. Still more was performed by Lorenzo Ghiberti, in his work of the gates of San Giovanni: fertility of invention, judicious arrangement, correct design, and admirable treatment, being all alike conspicuous in these wonderful productions, the figures of which seem to move and possess a living soul. Donato also lived at the same period, but respecting this master, I could not for some time determine whether I were not called on to place him in the third epoch, since his productions are equal to good works of antiquity;—certain it is, that if we assign him to the second period, we may safely affirm him to be the type and representative of all the other masters of that period; since he united within himself the qualities which were divided among the rest, and which must be sought among many, imparting to his figures a life, movement, and reality which enable them to bear comparison with those of later times—nay even, as I have said, with the ancients themselves.
Similar progress was made at the same time in painting, which the excellent and admirable Masaccio delivered entirely from the manner of Giotto, as regards the heads, the carnations, the draperies, buildings, and colouring; he also restored the practice of foreshortening, and brought to light that modern manner which, adopted in his own time, has been followed by all artists, and is pursued by our own, even to this day; gradually receiving the addition of a better grace, more fertile invention, and richer ornament; embellished and carried forward, in short, as may be seen more particularly set forth in the life of each artist; nor can we fail to remark that a new mode of colouring and foreshortening was introduced, with more natural attitudes, and a much more effectual expression of feeling in the gestures and movements of the body, art seeking to approach the truth of Nature by more correct design, and to exhibit so close a resemblance to the countenance of the living man, that each figure might at once be recognized as the person for whom it was intended. Thus the masters constantly endeavoured to reproduce what they beheld in Nature, and no more; their works became, consequently, more carefully considered and better understood. This gave them courage to impose rules of perspective, and to carry the foreshortenings precisely to the point which gives an exact imitation of the relief apparent in Nature and the real form. Minute attention to the effects of light and shade, and to various difficulties of the art, succeeded, and efforts were made to produce a better order of composition. Landscapes, also, were attempted. Tracts of country, trees, shrubs, flowers, the clouds, the air, and other natural objects, were depicted, with some resemblance to the realities represented, insomuch that we may boldly affirm, that these arts had not only become ennobled, but had attained to that flower of youth from which the fruit afterwards to follow might reasonably be looked for, and hope entertained that they would shortly reach the perfection of their existence.
We will now then, with the help of God, give commencement to the life of Jacopo della Quercia, the Sienese, and afterwards narrate those of other architects and sculptors until we reach that of Masaccio, who, being, as he was, the first to ameliorate the practice of design among painters, may be said to have contributed largely to the new' revival of art. I have selected Jacopo della Quercia for the honoured leader of this Second Part, and, following the order of the different manners, I will gradually proceed to lay open and elucidate, in the lives themselves, the difficulties of these beautiful, laborious, and most honourable arts.
- ↑ The praises which the author had previously bestowed on the works of the first period, and which might seem excessive, are here justified, and moderated at the same time. —Ed. Flor. of 1832-8.
- ↑ This name is not to be found among the Greek Painters enumerated by Pliny, and by his copyist Adriani. There is, indeed, an “Echion.” “Erion,” therefore, is to be accounted an error of the press.
- ↑ It has already been shown that Buschetto was not a Greek, and Arnolfo not a German.
- ↑ This confusion of order, and deformity of parts, proceeded principally, as we have remarked elsewhere, from the circumstance that fragments of ancient edifices were employed for the construction of the new ones; yet some of these—as the Baptistery of Pisa—may safely invite comparison with buildings of an earlier date.
- ↑ The ape of nature, as has been explained. — Ed. Flor. 1832.