by Grant Allen
PITTI PALACE.
Cross the picturesque Ponte Vecchio, with its jewellers’ shops, topped by the connecting passage from the Uffizi, and continue along the straight street in front till you come on the left to a huge prison-like building, which crowns a slight eminence. That is the Pitti Palace. At first sight, you will probably find it just sombre and repulsive; after many visits, its massive masonry, its dignified architecture, its fine proportions will slowly grow upon you. The central portion alone, in three stories, represents Brunelleschi’s work; notice the huge blocks of which it is built, true Etruscan in their solidity, only worked at the edge so as to give an increased effect of vastness and ruggedness. Originally, as in most other castle-like Florentine palaces, there were no windows at all on the ground floor (save the little square openings above), and the façade must then have looked even gloomier than now; but under the Medici Grand Dukes, Bartolommeo Ammanati boldly introduced the round-arched windows below, — a feat which would seem almost impossible in so solid a building without endangering the stability of the entire superstructure. The wings in line with the centre were added in the seventeenth century; those at an angle to it, running out toward the street, not till the eighteenth.
The entrance to the Picture Gallery is in the wing to the left, through an unimposing doorway. Mount the shabby stairs, and pass through the still shabbier gallery passage into the too magnificent and gorgeously decorated suite of apartments.
We enter first the Hall of the Iliad. (The names written over the doors are those of the next rooms, to which they give access.) Here, more even than elsewhere, recollect that I do not pretend to dispense critical opinions.
To the left of the door, as you enter, 236, is a Bassano; Christ in the house of Mary and Martha; Lazarus carving. In this late Venetian picture, painted in the High Renaissance style, we have still a faint reminiscence of the traditional gesture of Martha, shown long before in the Giovanni da Milano at Santa Croce. Otherwise, the picture is a Venetian domestic interior of its date, largely painted for the sake of its buxom fair-haired Magdalen and its picturesque accessories. Observe the transformed cruciform halo.
Above it, *235, is an excellent Holy Family by Rubens (probably a copy); of course frankly Flemish and sixteenth century. Note how the infant St. John of Florence with his lamb is now transferred to northern art through the influence of Raphael.
Number 232, by Sustermans, calls itself a Holy Family. In reality, it consists of good portraits of uninteresting contemporaries.
In number 233, Pontormo’s St. Anthony is equally transformed from his earlier type.
Over the door is an affected, long-necked Madonna, with sprawling Child, by Parmigianino.
Beyond the door, *229, is a good portrait of a lady in a red dress with green sleeves, known as La Gravida, and ascribed to Raphael. Above it, 228, half-length of Christ, by Titian, of his early period.
Number 225, *Andrea del Sarto’s Assumption, is a noble example of his beautiful colouring. The Madonna in clouds, above, in a fine luminous glory, with her ring of baby angels, is a charming portrait of the artist’s wife, Lucrezia, whom you will meet again in this gallery. Below, the Apostles look up in wonder: one gazes into the empty sarcophagus: there are just twelve of them. Conspicuous among them is St. Thomas, in a red and blue costume, by the steps of the sepulchre, holding up his hands with some surviving reminiscence of his earlier position, as if in expectation of the Sacra Cintola. (See the reliefs in the Cathedral and in Or San Michele, and the pictures in the Uffizi and Belle Arti.) In the foreground kneel two later spectator saints, — Nicholas of Bari, with his golden balls, and St. Margaret of Cortona, — whence it comes, — the Franciscan. Such a picture as this can only fully be understood by the light cast by earlier paintings.
Beyond again, 224, 223, 222, are three good portraits by Ridolfo Ghirlandajo; a Flemish artist (perhaps Quintin Matsys); and Bonifazio.
Over the next door is a Christ in a glory, with saints, by Annibale Carracci, very characteristic of this painter’s composite manner. There are touches in it of Correggio and of many others.
Number 219, by Perugino, the Madonna adoring the Child, is a beautiful picture.
Number 216, a *Paolo Veronese, is a portrait of Daniele Barbaro.
On the end wall are several good portraits by Paolo Veronese, Titian, and others. In 214, Baroccio (a copy from Correggio), observe the complete transformation of the earlier conceptions of the Madonna and Child, St. Jerome and St. Catherine, and adoring angels. Number 212 is a good portrait of Cosimo I. by Bronzino.
Number 208, by Fra Bartolommeo, is a splendid and unusually pleasing example of his Enthroned Madonnas, with saints and angels. Our Lady sits under a canopy, most characteristic of this painter. The child Christ is placing a ring on the finger of St. Catherine of Siena. To the left, the most conspicuous figure is that of St. George, in attitude reminiscent of Donatello (often called St. Michael, but he bears a martyr’s palm). To the right stands the painter’s namesake, St. Bartholomew, with his knife. Among the other saints, one can vaguely recognise Dominic with his lily, St. Thomas Aquinas, and perhaps Santa Reparata of Florence, in red and green. The angels in the foreground are highly characteristic. So is the distribution of light and shade, and the varied composition.
Number 207, a fine portrait of a goldsmith, by Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, was formerly attributed to Leonardo — of whom it is quite worthy.
Over the door, 202, a Biliverti — subject, the angel receiving the gifts of Tobias and Tobit — is chiefly interesting as exhibiting the later theatrical manner.
Number 201, * *Titian’s noble portrait of Cardinal Ippolito de’ Medici, in Hungarian military costume, after his campaign against the Turks, is a study in red.
Above it, 200, is a copy (or replica?) of a portrait by Titian of Philip II. of Spain.
On the right wall, 199, is a Granacci, a Madonna and Child, with infant St. John, a good example of the later development of this Florentine subject.
Above it, 198, is a portrait by Velasquez; over the door, 196, a Paolo Veronese, St. Benedict and saints. Number 195, by Giacomo Francia, is a portrait of a man, admirable in its simple severity and excellent painting.
Number 191, an Andrea del Sarto, is another Assumption of the Madonna, unfinished, closely resembling that opposite, and doubtless ordered on the strength of it. The two should be compared together. Note the similar position and costume of the St. Thomas, with his foot on the base of the sarcophagus. The kneeling saints in the foreground are, however, here two of the Apostles, and the background is different. The upward-straining faces of the spectators are full of reality. (One of the kneeling saints, in red cloak and blue vest, is Andrea’s own portrait, in the character of St. Andrew.)
Number 190, by Sustermans, is an excellent portrait of a Prince of Denmark.
Over the door, 186, by Paolo Veronese, is a Baptism of Christ. We again observe the Venetian faces, and the complete transformation of earlier motives, such as the angel with the towel. Recollect what baptisms used to be in the fourteenth century. The pretty Venetian in the rear is meant for St. Catherine.
Near the window, 184, is Andrea del Sarto’s fine portrait of himself, injured.
SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO. — MARTYRDOM OF ST. AGATHA.
Number 185, a * *Titian — an early work, attributed to Giorgione — represents a musical concert, with three fine portraits of men playing instruments, the middle one full of character, the hands and drapery especially admirable. The central head alone retains much of the primitive touch; the other two have been repainted with disastrous effect till all individuality is gone from them.
In 237, by Rosso Rossi, the total transformation of the traditional St. Sebastian and other saints is very noteworthy. Every room contains many fine works which I do not notice.
Enter the Sala di Saturno. Right of the door, as you enter, is a Pontormo, the Santi Coronati (see Mrs. Jameson).
Over the door, notice the * *Sebastiano del Piombo,
the martyrdom of St. Agatha, whose breasts are just being seared by the executioners; a magnificent treatment of the nude, with the splendid colour of this Venetian painter, still visible after he had come under the influence of Michael Angelo’s style of drawing and composition. Every detail of this noble work is worthy of close attention, in spite of the intense painfulness of the subject. Its flesh tints are splendid. The St. Agatha is Giorgionesque; but the executioners are entirely in the style of Michael Angelo. This seems to me Sebastiano’s masterpiece. It was painted for a cardinal of St. Agatha.
Number 178 is * *Raphael’s Madonna del Granduca, of his early Florentine period, the most exquisite picture by this master in Florence, and, perhaps, with the exception of the Sposalizio at Milan, in the whole world. You cannot look too long at it. Simple, pure, and beautiful; reminiscent of Perugino, whose type it embodies, but clearer in colour, daintier, softer. It has even a touch of his earliest Urbino manner.
RAPHAEL. — MADONNA DEL GRANDUCA.
Numbers * *61 and *59, also by Raphael, are portraits of Angiolo and Maddalena Doni, also of his early Florentine period. 61 must rank among his finest portraits. It is full of thought and earnestness. The hands, hair, and expression are admirable; they recall Francia. In 59, the young Umbrian painter, coming fresh to Florence from the school of Perugino, shows distinct evidences of being influenced by Leonardo’s Mona Lisa (now in the Louvre), especially in the face and the painting of the soft and luxurious hands. These two portraits, again, you cannot look at too carefully. Do not overlook the Umbrian landscape.
Number *172, an Andrea del Sarto, is a group of saints, absurdly called the Disputà sulla Trinità. To the right, St. Augustin, holding a crozier, is speaking with rapt eloquence: beside him mild St. Lawrence listens: to the left are St. Francis, then St. Peter Martyr (or Thomas Aquinas?) consulting the Scriptures; in the foreground, kneeling, are St. Sebastian and the Magdalen with her box of ointment; in the background, a Trinity. Admirable both as a bit of colour, and as an example of the way Andrea could give life to these chance assemblages. This is probably a plague picture.
Number *174 is Raphael’s Vision of Ezekiel, — God the Father, enthroned on the mystic beasts of the Evangelists, and adored by the angel of St. Matthew. This work is full of the influence of Michael Angelo.
Number *171, Raphael’s portrait of Cardinal Inghirami, of his Roman period, is a triumph of art over an unpicturesque subject with a bad squint. Raphael has succeeded in giving the intellectual and powerful character of the face,
while the statesmanlike hands are rendered in the most masterful manner. The reds are marvellously managed.
Number 165 is the Madonna del Baldacchino, attributed to Raphael, and in part by him: begun in Florence before he went to Rome, and left unfinished. The composition strongly recalls Fra Bartolommeo, under whose influence Raphael was then passing. The Child, however, is extremely Raphaelesque. The Madonna is of his later Florentine manner. The throne is in the style of the Frate. To the left stand St. Peter with the keys, and St. Bruno (or I think rather St. Bernard, reading, as when Our Lady appeared to him). To the right are St. James with his staff, and St. Augustin with the “De Civitate Dei.” At the foot of the throne are two dainty little angels, very like Fra Bartolommeo. How much is Raphael’s own is uncertain. The flying angels at least were added afterward, the last being copied from Raphael’s own fresco in Santa Maria della Pace at Rome. Later still, one Cassana glazed it over, added the top of the canopy, and gave it a false finish. The St. Augustin probably belongs to the finisher.
Number 167 is a Giulio Romano, Apollo and the Muses, dancing; a feeble work, based on Mantegna’s group in the Louvre, and spoilt in the stealing.
Number 164 is an Entombment, by *Perugino; one of his finest works. Yet even in this late composition, observe how the two saints near the right — Nicodemus and another to whom he is showing the three nails (now almost faded) — recall the exactly similar gestures in the great Fra Angelico in the Belle Arti, as well as the Giottino in the Uffizi (compare them). The women are beautifully painted. The head-dresses, the poses of the heads, the treatment of the dead nude, the somewhat vague and vapid expressions of the very abstract spectators, are all redolent of Perugino. Good Umbrian landscape background.
Above it, 163, is an Annunciation by Andrea del Sarto. Full of light and charming colour, but very typical of the change which came over later Renaissance conceptions of this subject. The angel is deliciously soft and boyish.
Number 159, a *Fra Bartolommeo, is the Risen Christ, enthroned in the midst of the four Evangelists. Compare this picture with the Madonna del Baldacchino. The Evangelists, alike in figure, gesture, and robes, foreshadow the Raphael cartoons and show whence Raphael derived many of his conceptions. The drapery of the Christ is masterly.
On the right wall, *158, is Raphael’s fine portrait of Cardinal Bibbiena, a work full of his developed Roman manner: but considered a copy.
Number 157, by Titian, is a Bacchanal, copy, in the same style as his Bacchus and Ariadne in the National Gallery.
Number 153 is an odious Carlo Dolci of Santa Rosa.
Number 150 is *Van Dyck’s excellent portrait of Charles I. and Henrietta Maria. The faces are rendered with all Van Dyck’s courtly grace, and the lace is (as always with this painter) a marvel of workmanship. You can see the very stitches that are not there; the illusion is only dispelled by close inspection. Charles’s face bears the character of the man — chivalrous and opinionated, false and yet honest.
Number 151, *Raphael’s Madonna della Sedia, of his Roman period, is the most popular but not the most beautiful of his Madonnas. In form, this is a Madonna with the infant St. John. Our Lady is represented by a comely and graceful but by no means spiritual and somewhat insipid Roman contadina. The child is a dainty, well-fed human baby, very charming, but not divine. The head-dress and shawl are pretty and prettily painted. Pure maternal love is the key-note. As art, this is a fine work, but it does not appeal to the soul like the Madonna del Granduca opposite it. Go frequently from one to the other if you would understand the difference between the great painter’s Florentine and Roman manners. Compare also the face and neck of the Granduca with the Perugino in the same room, and the infant Christ in the Sedia with the baby angels in Fra Bartolommeo’s Risen Christ. They throw much light upon Raphael’s evolution. The soft tints and evasive drawing of the infant St. John of Florence, on the other hand, show his increase in skill over the definiteness of the Granduca. But, as he gained in knowledge, he lost in purity.
The room contains many other good works to which I do not call attention.
In the Sala di Giove, right of the door, 18, is *Titian’s Bella, a beautiful and beautifully painted portrait of a calmly aristocratic Venetian lady with rich waving hair, which should be compared with the Caterina Cornaro in the Uffizi. The dress is charming. This is one of Titian’s most pleasing portraits in Florence. The slashed sleeves are rendered with consummate skill. The colouring is delicious.
Above it, 139, is *a charming Holy Family by Rubens, where the Christ and St. John recall in beauty the portrait of his own baby at Munich. This is a splendid bit of colour and drawing in Rubens’s best smaller style.
Left of the door, 64, is a * *Fra Bartolommeo, a Deposition; a noble and attractive work, with an exquisite Mater Dolorosa, and a fine figure of the Magdalen embracing the feet of Christ. The dead Saviour is admirably studied. The meaningless face of the St. John, however, somewhat mars the effect of the picture.
On the same wall are two interesting Paolo Veroneses, and a fine portrait by Tintoretto.
On the end wall are two excellent Moronis.
FRA BARTOLOMMEO. — DEPOSITION.
Number 125 is *Fra Bartolommeo’s St. Mark, in a niche resembling those beneath the dome of the Cathedral. (Observe in architecture these Renaissance niches.) This is a splendid colossal work, noble in form, and admirable in drapery, but a little too grandiose. It again shows whence Raphael deriv
ed many of his figures of Evangelists and Apostles. The picture was painted for the choir of San Marco, the church of the painter’s own monastery.
Over the door, *124, is a beautiful Annunciation by Andrea del Sarto. Note here, as a formal point, that the positions of the Madonna and angel, to right and left, are reversed from familiar usage. Yet observe even in this work the survival of a formal barrier (the prie-dieu) between Gabriel and Our Lady. The shrinking attitude of the Madonna, with her finger in her open book, is most charming, and the colour is of Andrea’s finest. In the background, we get a reminiscence of the traditional loggia, as we do also of several other early elements. From the top of the balcony, David beholds Bathsheba bathing (somewhat publicly), a mere excuse for the Renaissance love of the nude. The two additional angels in the background are unusual. Note the dove descending in a glory on the right.
Number 123, a luminous Andrea del Sarto of the glorified Madonna, with saints, not quite so beautiful as the last, is a Vallombrosan picture, and the saints in the foreground form a familiar Vallombrosan group, San Bernardo degli Uberti, St. George (or San Fedele?), San Giovanni Gualberto, and St. Catherine, whose broken wheel is just visible in the foreground. The colouring is not so fine as is usual with Andrea: but the picture has had hard treatment. Lafenestre attributes the upper portion alone to Andrea.
Beyond it are more good Moronis.
