The Duomo—Its interior—Michael Angelo’s farewell—Vasari—Congress of artists convoked—A dome of pumice stone—Brunelleschi turned out as a madman—The egg—His colleague Ghiberti—His feigned illness—The difficulties divided—Height of the dome—Giotto—The Campanile—Pietro Farnese—His gilded mule—Dante—Condemned to be burned at the stake—Peter of Toledo—Conrad the traitor—The sacristy—The Pazzi—Julian murdered—Salviati hanged in his cardinal’s robes—Seventy executions—The artist nicknamed Andrea of the Hanged—The Baptistery—The withered elm restored—The story of Joseph—John the Twenty-third from pirate become pope—Palazzo Riccardi—Gardens of Lorenzo—Michael Angelo—The Strada del Traditore—Lorenzino—The Duke Alessandro—Made unpopular through his vices—The plot—Anecdote told by Benvenuto Cellini—The rendezvous—The murder—Lorenzino assassinated in turn—The Galleria—The Palazzo Pitti—Cosmo—His sons’ quarrel—The eldest killed by his brother—The father’s revenge—His wife poisoned—Duke Francesco and Bianca Capello—Her story and death.
October 13th.
Went to the Duomo to hear the celebration of high mass, which was not performed at the principal altar, now under repair, but in one of the side chapels. The effect of the cathedral is grand from its immensity. Divided into three aisles, the octagon choir, surrounded by its marble balustrade, is placed beneath the dome, with which it corresponds, and the spaces, octagon also, on either side, form the cross, each containing, as well as that behind the choir, five chapels. Though richly ornamented with paintings and stained glass, and the marble statues of prophet and apostle; though the unfinished figure of Pity, behind the high altar, is the work of Michael Angelo; the pavement round the choir laid after his designs; the frescoes of its cupola by Vasari; it yet disappointed me, seen after the Duomo of Milan. The construction of this church, named Santa Maria del Fiore from the lily, the arms of Florence, occupied a space of one hundred and sixty-nine years; it had been commenced in 1298, and the year 1417 arrived before any of its successive architects had raised a stone of that cupola, to which Michael Angelo said, when, before quitting Florence to build that of St. Peter’s at Rome, he paid it a farewell visit: “Adieu, I am going to build your likeness, not your equal!”
In Vasari’s Life of Filippo Brunelleschi, he gives interesting details of the struggles to persuade, and the success when permitted to act, of this extraordinary man. He was a Florentine, but residing in Rome, and appreciated there at the time of which I speak; and the members of the “Opera del Duomo,” weary of their architect’s indecision, agreed to summon him; and the syndics of the woollen trade, who supplied the funds, offered to his consideration all the difficulties of execution which had been presented to themselves. Brunelleschi answered vaguely: he said, “That as the temple was dedicated to God and to the Virgin, there was little doubt of their conferring on him who was destined to conclude this great work the science and invention necessary;” and added, he doubted not if himself were concerned, that he might find resources and master obstacles. He advised that they should convoke at Florence a congress of the most skilful artists of Italy, France, and Germany, and confide the direction to the ablest when all should have given counsel. He forbore, however, to bestow his own, evaded making the models demanded of him, and returned to Rome, where he passed the next three years in the most arduous studies, all tending to the solving of this problem. In 1420 there met, as he had advised, a company of foreign and Tuscan artists at Florence, and Brunelleschi left Rome to join them. The meeting was held in the church, the members of the “Opera,” the syndics of the woollen trade, and the principal citizens being present; and it was amusing to hear the strange propositions made. Some spoke of constructing the dome of pumice-stone, for the sake of its lightness; a number adopted the idea of supporting its centre by a pillar like the pole of a tent. Several advised the first raising within the church a mountain of earth, mingled with coins of small value, so that when the dome should be built over it, the multitude would gladly free the church of its presence on account of that of the money. Brunelleschi alone condemned all plans proposed, asserting the necessity of a double roof; and following up his own idea, without explaining the manner of its execution, entering into minute details, and not comprehended by the assembly; till at last, after having been several times prayed to retire, and refusing to depart, the consul’s pages laid hands on him, and pushed him forth as a madman. Still undiscouraged, he resolved on persuading separately the consul, and some of the members and more enlightened citizens, and persevering till he succeeded, it was decided that the choice to be made should lie between himself and the foreign architects; and another meeting was convoked for the purpose of hearing their arguments for the last time.
It was then that took place the famous dispute, which had an egg for subject. The rivals of Brunelleschi desired that he, as they had done, should exhibit plans and models. The Florentine refused, but he dared them to stand an egg upright on the marble table, saying, that he who should succeed in so doing could certainly raise the cupola also. Each attempted the feat vainly, and Brunelleschi, his turn come, quietly striking one end of the egg against the table, it stood erect on its cracked shell. Those present exclaimed, “We could all have done as much;” and Brunelleschi answered, “Very true, and you could raise the dome if you had my model!”
The syndics were henceforth decided, but the annoyance of the artist was not yet over. It was agreed that his work should proceed to a certain height, with a promise only of continuing if it so far satisfied. When this first condition was fulfilled, Lorenzo Ghiberti, who had attained celebrity by the bronze doors of the Baptistery, was named his colleague—having powerful protectors in Florence; and Brunelleschi, in vexation and fury, had almost abandoned an enterprise whose difficulties were thus to remain, while its glory would vanish. Determined on ridding himself of his coadjutor, he, after a time, pretended illness, and, instead of arriving to superintend as usual, remained in his bed, complaining of pains in his side—submitting to frictions and remedies. The master workmen applied for directions to Ghiberti, who answered that they must wait his colleague’s recovery, as he could issue no order singly, and evaded confessing that he neither knew Brunelleschi’s plans, nor had seen his model.
The latter’s malady proving obstinate, the workmen repaired to his bedside, but obtained neither orders nor satisfaction; for he turned to the wall, saying, “Have you not Ghiberti, and can he not work a little in turn?” As it was vain to urge him farther, they departed, as he desired, to seek his fellow architect, but as time went on, and a stop was decidedly put to the building, the workmen began, as he had hoped, to murmur, and to doubt Ghiberti’s capacity, and at last resolved on going in a body to Brunelleschi’s lodgings, to make known to him the cessation of the work, the disorder ensuing on Ghiberti’s ignorance, and the unhappy consequences to them who were poor, and dependent on their exertions for the support of themselves and their families.
“Wherefore is Ghiberti idle?” asked the mock patient; “have you not him to issue all needful directions?”
“He can do nought without you,” said the workmen.
“Ah,” rejoined Brunelleschi, “without his co-operation I could proceed very well.”