Then he went home and wrote what he had in mind as clearly as he could on a sheet of paper, to be given to the tribunal, as follows:
My lords, I have considered the difficulties involved in this structure and I find that there is no possible way in which it can be made perfectly round, seeing that the surface bearing the lantern would be so great that if any weight were put on it it would immediately collapse. Now it seems to me that architects who do not try to ensure that what they build will last for ever have no love for lasting memorials and do not understand what they are doing. For my part, I have decided to turn the inner part and also the exterior faces of this vault in gores, using the proportions and curves of the pointed arch; this is because the curve of this kind of arch always thrusts upwards, and so when the lantern is loaded both will unite to make the fabric durable. At the base the vaulting must be seven and a half feet thick and it must rise like a pyramid narrowing towards where it closes at the juncture to support the lantern. At this point it must be two and a half feet thick. And then over this vaulting there must be another vault, five feet thick at the base, to protect the inner one from the weather. This must also diminish proportionately like a pyramid, so that it meets the lantern like the other; and at this point it should be one and a half feet thick. There must be a rib at each of the angles, making eight in all; there must be two ribs for the middle of each face, giving sixteen; two ribs must be built between the angles, for the inside and the outside, each one being eight feet thick at the base. The two vaults, built pyramidically, must rise together in proportion up to the eye at the top closed by the lantern. As well as the twenty-four ribs with the vaults built round them there must be six cross arches of grey-stone blocks, stout and long and well braced with irons; the irons must be covered with tin, and over the blocks there must be an iron chain to bind the vaulting to the ribs.1 The construction must be solid, leaving no space between the vaults, up to a height of ten and a half feet; from there the ribs must be continued and the two vaults separated. The first and second courses at the base must be reinforced throughout with long blocks of grey-stone laid horizontally so that both the vaults of the cupola may rest on them. At the height of every eighteen feet the vaults should have little cross-arches stretching from one rib to another, with thick ties of oak, to bind together the ribs supporting the inner vault; and then the oak ties must be covered with iron plates for the sake of the stairways. All the ribs must be made of grey-stone and hard-stone, and the sides of the cupola must also all be of hard-stone and coursed into the ribs up to a height of forty-eight feet. From there to the summit use should be made of brick or pumice, as the builder may decide in making the fabric as light as possible. A passage must be built on the outside above the windows, forming a gallery below, with pierced parapets four feet high, corresponding with those of the little tribunes below; or rather there should be two passages, one above the other, resting on a richly ornamented cornice, with the one above left uncovered. The rain-water must run from the cupola to a marble gutter, eight inches across, and must run off below the gutter through outlets made of hard-stone. On the outside faces of the cupola there should be eight marble ribs for the angles, as thick as may be thought necessary, rising two feet above the cupola with a four-foot-wide cornice to act as a roof and serve as gable and eaves for the whole structure. The ribs should rise like a pyramid from their base up to the summit. The two vaults of the cupola must be built as I described, without framework, up to a height of sixty feet, and from there on in whatever way the builders decide, since experience shows what has to be done.
When he had finished writing this Filippo went along in the morning to the tribunal and gave them the sheet of paper, which they then carefully studied. They were incapable of grasping what he had written, yet considering how ready and willing Filippo seemed and that none of the other architects stood on better ground (for Filippo appeared absolutely confident, repeating the same words all the time so that it appeared certain that he had raised ten cupolas already), after they had gone into a huddle they showed themselves inclined to give him the work. They did, however, want to see how the cupola could in practice be raised without any centering, being ready to approve all the rest. As it happens they were fortunate in their wishes, because Bartolommeo Barbadori had spoken to Filippo about a chapel he wanted to have built in Santa Felicita, and Filippo had set to work and had this chapel, which is at the entrance of the church on the right by the holy-water stoup, vaulted without using framework. He was also responsible at that time for another vault in San Jacopo sopr’ Arno, beside the chapel of the high altar, which was done for Stiatta Ridolfi. These inspired more confidence than his words did.
So, being reassured by what Filippo had written and by the work they had seen, the consuls and the wardens gave him the commission for the cupola, voting with the beans to make him the chief superintendent. But they contracted for him to go ahead only up to a height of twenty-four feet, saying that they wanted to see how the work succeeded and that, if it did turn out as he had forecast, then they would certainly allocate the rest to him. Filippo was puzzled to see such obstinacy and mistrust, and if he had not known that he was the only one capable of executing the work he would have had nothing to do with it. But he was anxious for the fame it would bring and so he took it on, giving a pledge that he would finish it perfectly. His written statement, as well as this pledge, was copied into the book used by the steward for keeping the accounts for wood and marble; and Filippo was granted the same allowance as had formerly been given to the other superintendents.
When it became known to the craftsmen and citizens that Filippo had been given the commission, some of them approved but others resented it, in a way that is typical when it comes to the opinions of the populace, of the thoughtless, and the envious. And while the preparations for building were being made a faction was formed among the workmen and citizens, and representations were made to the consuls and wardens that the decision had been too precipitate. A project of this kind, they argued, should not be undertaken on the advice of one individual and they could be excused for doing so only if they were short of first-class artists, whereas there was in fact an abundance of them. The decision brought no credit to the city, it was said, because if there were some accident, as sometimes happened when a building was being put up, they would rightly be blamed for having given too much responsibility to a single man without considering the loss and disgrace that might result for the people. And so to restrain Filippo’s impetuosity, it was argued, he should be given a partner.
Lorenzo Ghiberti, as it happened, had earned high praise for the great skill he displayed when he made the doors of San Giovanni, and now in addition it was clearly shown how affectionately he was regarded by certain men who were very influential in the government of Florence; for when they saw how Filippo was carrying all before him, under the cloak of love and devotion for the building they so successfully influenced the consuls and wardens that Ghiberti was commissioned to share the work. The extent of Filippo’s despair and bitterness when he heard what the wardens had done may be gauged from the fact that he was on the point of running away from Florence; and if it had not been for the way Donatello and Luca della Robbia comforted him he might even have gone out of his mind. The impious spite of those who are so blinded by envy that they let their jealousy and ambition threaten the honour and fine works of others is truly incredible! It was no fault of theirs that Filippo did not smash his models, burn his drawings, and in a matter of minutes wreck what it had taken him many years to complete. At first the wardens made excuses for themselves and encouraged Filippo to continue, saying that he and no one else was the inventor and creator of that fabric; all the same they gave Lorenzo the same salary. Filippo carried on without enthusiasm, knowing that he had to sweat over the work that was to be done, and would then have to divide, equally with Lorenzo, the honour and fame it would bring. However, he made up his mind that he would find some way of ensuring that Lorenzo woul
d not last too long on the job, and content with that he continued the work with him, following on the lines of the written description given to the wardens.
In the meantime Filippo conceived the ambition to make a model surpassing anything done previously; he set his hand to making the design, and then he had it executed by a carpenter called Bartolommeo, who lived near the studio. In this model, which was exactly to scale, he made all the difficult structures, such as the lighted and the dark stairways, and all kinds of round window, door, tie, and buttress, as well as part of the gallery. When he heard of the model Lorenzo tried to see it. But when Filippo refused, he lost his temper and arranged to have his own model made so that it would seem that he was in fact earning his salary and that he was a man who counted for something. For his model Filippo was paid fifty lire and fifteen soldi, as we can see from an entry in the account book of Migliori di Tommaso, dated 3 October 1419, whereas 300 lire are entered to the credit of Lorenzo Ghiberti for the work and expense involved in his model. But Lorenzo was paid more than Filippo because of the favour and friendship he enjoyed rather than because his model would be of any use or benefit to the building itself.
Filippo had to endure this aggravation until 1426. The friends of Lorenzo were claiming that he was the designer equally with Filippo, and Filippo suffered agonies of mind from this annoyance. He had meanwhile thought up various new devices and he determined finally to rid himself of Lorenzo, whom he knew to be of little account in the work. He had already raised the cupola all the way round, including both vaults, to a height of twenty-four feet, and now he had to place on them the wooden and stone ties. This was a difficult operation and so he wanted to discuss it with Lorenzo to find out whether he had given any thought to the problems involved. But he discovered that far from having considered the matter Lorenzo was content to say that he left it to him, as he was the designer. Filippo was delighted to hear this answer because it seemed to him that it showed how he could have Lorenzo taken off the work, reveal that he was not as intelligent and capable as his friends imagined, and expose the favour that had put him where he was.
Now all the masons had stopped work and were waiting to be told to start on the new section above the twenty-four feet, making the vaults and binding them with ties. The cupola had started to be drawn in towards the summit and because of this scaffolding had to be erected so that the workmen and masons could work without risk, seeing that the height was such that even the bravest man felt frightened and terrified on looking down. So there were the masons and other master-builders waiting for directions as to the ties and the scaffolding, and when neither Lorenzo nor Filippo gave them any instructions they started to grumble, sensing that there was no longer the urgency that had been shown earlier. They were poor people who lived by their hands and they suspected that neither of the architects had the courage to go on with the work; and so as best they knew and were able they found things to do on the site, replastering and retouching all that had been constructed up to then.
One morning or other Filippo failed to put in an appearance on the site; instead, he bandaged his head and took to his bed, and then, groaning all the time, he had everyone anxiously warming plates and cloths while he pretended to be suffering from colic. When they heard what was happening the master-builders who were standing around waiting for their instructions asked Lorenzo what they should do next. He replied that the schedule was Filippo’s and that they would have to wait for him. One of the builders asked:
‘But don’t you know what he has in mind?’
‘Yes,’ said Lorenzo, ‘but I would do nothing without him.’
And he said this to cover himself, because never having seen Filippo’s model and never having asked him about the schedule he intended to follow he was compelled to hedge when he talked about the work, in order not to appear ignorant; so his words were always ambiguous, especially as he knew that he was sharing the work against Filippo’s will. Meanwhile, after Filippo’s illness had already lasted more than two days, the steward and many of the master-builders went to see him and kept asking him to tell them what they should do. But all he answered was: ‘You have Lorenzo; let him do something.’
Nor could they persuade him to say anything else. And when this became known the whole project was widely argued over and condemned. Some said that Filippo had taken to his bed from grief because he did not have it in him to raise the cupola, and that he regretted ever having stepped forward; and his friends said in his defence that if he were angry it was because of the way he had been outraged by being given Lorenzo as a partner in the work, but that he was genuinely ill with a colic that had been brought on by his exertions for the cupola. While all these ideas were being aired operations were at a standstill and almost all the work of the masons and stone-cutters was suspended. The men murmured against Lorenzo, saying: ‘He is good enough at drawing his salary, but when it comes to planning the work then there’s nothing doing. Now if we did not have Filippo, or if he were ill for a long time, how would Lorenzo manage then? Is it Filippo’s fault if he’s ill?’
Seeing that they were being shamed by this state of affairs the wardens decided to go and find Filippo; and when they arrived they first sympathized with him over his illness and then told him what great confusion the building had fallen into and what terrible trouble his illness had brought upon them. When he heard this, Filippo’s feigned illness and his devotion to the work made him say very heatedly: ‘Oh, isn’t that fellow Lorenzo there? Can he do nothing? I’m astonished – and at you too!’
The wardens answered: ‘He will do nothing without you.’
And then Filippo retorted: ‘I would do it well enough without him.’
This sharp, double-edged reply was more than enough for them and they went their way having realized that Filippo had fallen ill because he wanted the work to himself. Then they sent his friends to persuade him to leave his bed, and they firmly resolved to dismiss Lorenzo from the project. And so Filippo returned to the building. But when he discovered that Lorenzo was still very highly favoured and would be paid his salary without having to work for it, he thought of another way to disgrace him and demonstrate conclusively how little knowledge he had of the profession. In the presence of Lorenzo he reasoned with the wardens as follows:
Sirs, if we were as sure about how long we have to live as we are of the fact that we must the then certainly many projects which are started would be finished. But as things are they tend to stay unfinished. My unfortunate illness could have robbed me of my life and stopped this work. So in case I should ever fall ill again, or, which God forbid, in case Lorenzo should, in order to ensure that one or the other of us would be able to continue with his own part of the work I suggest that, just as your lordships have divided the salary between us, so you should also divide the work between us. In this way each of us will be spurred on to show what he knows and can be sure to win honour and profit from the republic. Now at the moment there are two very difficult stages to complete. First the scaffolding must be put up so that the masons can carry on their work, and it needs to be erected inside and outside the building to support men, stones, and lime, and carry the crane for lifting weights and other devices of that kind. Then we must see to the ties above the twenty-four-foot level in order to bind the eight sides of the cupola and clamp the framework together, securing all the mass laid above, preventing the weight from forcing or stretching the ties, and letting the whole structure press down firmly on itself. I suggest, therefore, that Lorenzo be allowed to undertake one of these tasks, the one he thinks he can best carry out, and I shall undertake to do the other. And we shan’t waste any more time.
After this had been said Lorenzo was compelled for the sake of his good name not to refuse one of the tasks, and, though very unwillingly, he decided to take the ties, thinking this was easier, relying on being given advice by the masons and remembering that in the vaulting of San Giovanni there was a chain of stone ties which would give him some if not all of
the design. So Filippo started work on the scaffolding and Lorenzo on the chain, and eventually they both finished what they had to do.
Filippo’s scaffolding was put up with such intelligence and skill that it completely belied what people had been saying before, because the masons stood there, working safely and drawing up materials, as securely as if they were on solid earth. (The models of his scaffolding are preserved in the Office of Works.) Only with the greatest difficulty did Lorenzo complete the tie for one of the eight sides; and when it was finished the wardens showed it to Filippo, who made no comment. However, he did talk about it to some of his friends, saying that another kind of fastening was needed, that it should have been placed differently, and that it was not adequate for the weight to be put above, since it did not bind the structure as it should. The materials Lorenzo had been given, he added, along with the chain he had made, had been as good as thrown away. Filippo’s opinion became known, and he was charged to demonstrate the way in which the chain ought to be constructed. At this, he immediately showed them the designs and models which he had already made; and when the wardens and the other artists saw them they at once realized what a mistake they had made in favouring Lorenzo. Wanting to make up for this and to show that they understood what was good, they made Filippo overseer and superintendent for life of the entire building, stipulating that nothing was to be done save on his orders. And to show their approval further they paid Filippo a hundred florins down, which is shown as allocated by the consuls and wardens under an entry dated 13 August 1423, written by the hand of Lorenzo Paoli, notary of the Office of Works, and debited to Gherardo di Filippo Corsini; and they also made him a grant for life of a hundred florins a year.
Lives of the Artists Page 16
