It was in the time of Cosimo that the written history of art began its first feeble efforts. Its forerunner was Cennino Cennini of Colle in the Elsa valley, a pupil of Angelo Gaddi apparently at Padua, where he was in the service of Francesco da Carrara. Towards the end of the fourteenth century he wrote a book on painting, which is of great value for the study of artistic practice before the victory of oil-painting over tempera, as it is also for the history of modelling, casting, plaster-work, gilding, &c.[161] This book treats merely of technicalities; but in Lorenzo Ghiberti’s commentaries an unfinished treatise on architecture and the proportion of figures is combined with notices of ancient art and also of modern, from its re-awakening in the second half of the thirteenth century down to the writer’s own time and works.[162] The latter portion is the principal source whence Giorgio Vasari drew his knowledge of past times. Ghiberti’s contemporary Filarete has given many notices, valuable for the history of art, referring to Medicean times, in his treatise on architecture, which he dedicated—in styles differing according to the persons and circumstances, to two patrons, Piero de’ Medici and Francesco Sforza, in 1460.[163] These notices, as well as technical remarks, were also made use of by Vasari, whose judgment on Filarete’s confused book is just, though rather severely expressed.
CHAPTER XIII.
BUILDING IN THE DAYS OF LORENZO DE’ MEDICI.
Architecture was always a subject of great interest to Lorenzo de’ Medici; he possessed an unusual knowledge of the art.[164] It was he who made the plan for the façade of Sta. Maria del Fiore, which was executed in wood by Jacopo Sansovino and painted in chiaroscuro by Andrea del Sarto more than twenty years after the designer’s death, when his son, Pope Leo X., made his public entry into Florence.[165] We shall see what share he took in the project for the completion of this façade. He was intimate with several of the chief architects of the time. A letter, written to him from Rome by Alberti,[166] unluckily not on the subject of art but about a proposed exchange of property, shows on what good terms they were: ‘I am glad that thou dost address me in confidence worthy of our old friendship; and as I am conscious of my obligations, I am ready to do for thee and at thy desire anything that can be agreeable to one who loves thee. If what thou askest of me were not founded on reason, thou wouldest neither have consented to act as mediator thyself, nor have sought out a third party to do so.’ The brothers Da Majano and Sangallo enjoyed his interest and assistance both in and outside of Florence, where a great deal of building was carried on. Yet he built nothing more himself than a convent and a villa. Of the convent not a trace is left, and the façades of the cathedral and of the church of the Santo Spirito—in which he was so much interested—still await completion, as does that of San Lorenzo, though Pope Leo X. made preparations for the immediate execution of the works. The finest building of Lorenzo’s time in Florence was erected, not for him but for a family which, although connected with his, was destined to maintain a long struggle with it—namely, the Strozzi.
Considering how intimate Lorenzo was with the brothers Da Majano, it seems strange that he employed them so little. There is no authentic record of Giuliano having been employed in Florence except as a worker in wood. He was engaged on the choir-stalls in Sta. Maria del Fiore in 1471 and the following years, and in the audience-chamber of the palace of the Signoria (finished ten years later), where his younger brother Benedetto executed the marble doors, and where he was associated with Francesco di Giovanni, called Francione, master of Baccio Pontelli, who did a great deal of work at Rome and Urbino.[167] Giuliano’s works in Rome, where, according to Vasari, he built—under Paul III.—the palace of San Marco and a galleried court, now no longer in existence, are buried in impenetrable obscurity. It is certain that he was there in the time of Sixtus IV., and also that he began the stalls in the choir of Perugia Cathedral, which were finished in 1491 by Domenico del Tasso, one of the Florentine family of wood-workers and architects.[168] It is needless to repeat how the calling and labours of architect and wood-worker (magistri lignaminum, legnaiuoli) merged one into the other, even in the next century, like those of sculptor and goldsmith. In his latter years Giuliano was more abroad than at home. In 1478 he was at Recanati, in the States of the Church, building a palace for Antonio Giacomo Venier, Cardinal of Cuença, who appealed to Lorenzo that he might urge the dilatory artist to go on with his work:[169] ‘As the said Master Giuliano is a most devoted servant of your Magnificence and eulogist of your excellent qualities, and apparently cannot be moved unless stirred up by you, we beg you to address him on the subject, and to see that he goes to Recanati at the appointed time to finish what he has begun.’ In the spring of 1481 Giuliano was passing through Urbino, where the palace of Federigo of Montefeltro made such an impression on him that he induced Lorenzo to ask the duke for a drawing of it. This the duke had executed by Baccio Pontelli, who continued the beautiful work of Luciano Lauranna. ‘My lord the duke,’ wrote Pontelli to Lorenzo,[170] ‘answered very graciously that I was to make the drawing, but that he would prefer sending your Magnificence the house itself, that you might rule in it as in your own.’ It was doubtless Lorenzo’s doing that Giuliano was summoned to Naples. This must, therefore, have happened after the reconciliation in 1480. Notwithstanding the many commissions he received there—for King Ferrante and his eldest son were both much given to building, and after the expulsion of the Turks from Otranto the kingdom enjoyed a few years’ peace—there is no need to suppose that he took up his abode there permanently, for artists were generally given to wandering. The famous triumphal arch of King Alfonso in Castelnuovo—not finished till the sixteenth century—is probably in no part his work; but certainly to him may be attributed the Porta Capuana, excellent in point of architecture but disfigured by modern additions.[171] Giuliano died at Naples in the autumn of 1490, and Lorenzo’s expressions concerning his loss, in a letter to the Duke of Calabria,[172] show how highly he esteemed him: ‘Your Excellency’s letter informs me of the death of Giuliano da Majano, which causes me sincere regret, both on account of our intimacy and because he was engaged in your Excellency’s service, and his death will leave many a work unfinished. As you contemplate continuing these, I hear that you want me to procure you another architect, on which subject Paol’ Antonio Soderini writes to me in detail. It will give me pleasure if your Excellency will command my services and be satisfied with my arrangements, as was the case with Giuliano; at whose death I have at least the satisfaction that you have been pleased with the work of one who entered your service on my recommendation.’
Giuliano’s brother Benedetto, ten years his junior, was not employed as an architect by Lorenzo. His share—as wood-carver—in the works at the palace of the Signoria has been already referred to. But his masterpiece was a work of architecture executed in the last years of Lorenzo’s life, and—if we except the Pitti Palace, which stands alone—the most perfect specimen of palatial architecture that Florence has to show. The story of the building begun by Filippo Strozzi the elder in 1489 makes a curious study of manners and an interesting chapter in the history of art. When Cosimo de’ Medici contemplated building himself a house, he was afraid of rousing disapproval by too much splendour; more than half a century later another rich citizen felt the same anxiety. He saw the commonwealth and city in altered circumstances, and had before his eyes the warning example of Luca Pitti. Lorenzo Strozzi, who wrote a life of his father, tells of this grand undertaking:[173] ‘When Filippo had made due provision for his descendants—as he thought more of fame than of money, was fond of building, and intelligent in the art—he decided, as the surest way of handing down his name to posterity, to erect such a building as should make a name for him and his throughout Italy and beyond it. He found, however, one great hindrance in the way. The man who was at the head of the Government might take it into his head that the reputation of another would put his own into the shade, and Filippo was in great dread of exciting envy. So he had it rumoured about the city that his children were so numerous and his house so small that, now they were grown up, he must provide an abode for them, which could be better done in his lifetime than after his death. Then he began, with all sorts of circumlocutions, to talk—first to master-masons and then to architects—on the necessity of building a new house. At times he spoke as though he would begin soon; then made a show of being still undecided and unwilling to spend in a hurry the fruits of many years’ labour. Thus artfully did he conceal the object he had in view in order to attain it better. He used to repeat, a comfortable citizen-like house was enough for him, good but not grand. Now the masons and architects, after their kind, kept enlarging upon his plans, which was just what pleased Filippo, though he pretended to the contrary, and declared that they drove him to what he was neither willing nor able to do.
Now it happened that he who then governed the destinies of the city desired to see it embellished in every way; his opinion being that if he was responsible for good and evil, so would beauty or ugliness be laid to his account. Deeming that so large and costly an undertaking would be difficult to estimate and superintend, and might (as often happens with merchants) either destroy the originator’s credit or ruin him altogether, he began to meddle in the matter, and asked to see the plans. When he had examined them, he suggested divers embellishments, and advised the use of opus rusticum. But the more Filippo was encouraged the more he pretended to draw back. He declared he would on no account have opus rusticum, as it was unsuitable to the condition of a citizen, and would entail heavy expense. He was building, he said, with a view to his own comfort, and not for pomp; and thought of making shops on the ground floor, to produce an income for his sons. To this everybody objected, pointing out how ugly and inconvenient it would be. Still Filippo continued his remonstrances, and said complainingly to his friends that he had begun an undertaking which he only hoped he might bring to a successful end; he wished he had never spoken of it, rather than have got into such a labyrinth. The more he pretended to be afraid of the cost, to conceal the greatness of his intentions and the extent of his wealth, the more he was urged and encouraged to the building. Thus by adroitness and caution, he managed what, had he conducted himself otherwise, would either have been forbidden or have brought him under no little suspicion.
The first thing to be done was to gain space for the casa grande. And space was limited. The Strozzi palace lies at the west end of the old town, in a quarter now, perhaps, the liveliest in the city, and doubtless animated even at that time, being close to the old market and to the square named after the church of Sta. Trinità, whence may be seen the bridge of the same name. Several distinguished families dwelt, and some still dwell, in the immediate neighbourhood: the Buondelmonti, Altoviti, Gianfigliazzi, Bartolini, Alamanni, Viviani, Tornabuoni, Vacchietti, Antinori, and others. According to the original plan, the building was to stand free, with a square and garden on the south, extending as far as the Via Portarossa, where stand the houses of the Davanzati and Torrigiani. But the plan was imperfectly executed. A tolerably large square is on the eastern side, but on the south only a narrow space, now bridged over, divides the palace from neighbouring buildings; on the west the street (Via de’ Legnaiuoli) is of moderate width, and on the north it is only since the front of the Tornabuoni house was rebuilt a few years ago (see p. 125), that sufficient space and light has been gained to get a view of the noble edifice, which on this side was formerly quite hidden.