This command was received with dismay at Florence,—for was not that portrait one of the glories of the city? In this strait Ottaviano sent for Andrea, took counsel with him, and it was arranged between them that Del Sarto should make an exact copy of this capo d’ opera of Raphael, which he executed with such skill in every respect,—not only as regarded the excellence of the drawing and colouring, but also the reproduction of certain little marks and after-touches and other details,—so much so that, when completed, Ottaviano himself confessed he could scarcely detect the original. The two conspirators were delighted with the success of their scheme, and the Duke was in like manner delighted with the picture when it was unpacked at Mantua. Giulio Romano, Raphael’s disciple and own familiar friend, who was there at the time, never doubted its authenticity for a moment. But there was a small bird of the air that carried the matter, and this was young Giorgio Vasari, who had been brought up in the household of the Medici, and who, when asked by Giulio Romano if he did not think the portrait in question a splendid work of Raphael, replied that it was indeed splendid, although not the work of Raphael, but of Andrea del Sarto. ‘As if it were likely,’ said Giulio, ‘that I should not recognise the painting! Why, I can see the very touches I myself added to it.’ ‘For all that,’ persisted the youth, ‘this picture is from the hands of Del Sarto, and I saw him working at it with my own eyes; and I will prove it to you. If you will look at the back, you will see a mark which shows that it was executed in Florence.’ Giulio Romano turned the picture, and finding the mark which confirmed Vasari’s words, he could only shrug his shoulders and acknowledge the wonderful talent of the painter, who had made a perfect facsimile of one of Raphael’s masterpieces.
Yet one more anecdote, to illustrate the admiration which Andrea’s works inspired, and we have done.
At the siege of Florence, in 1529, the infuriated soldiery were sacking the town, especially the sacred buildings. They had already destroyed the church and belfry of San Salvi, and rushing into the convent, undisciplined as they were, their attention was arrested by the fresco of Andrea del Sarto’s Last Supper, by some esteemed the rival of Leonardo’s Cenacolo at Milan. This divine painting had such an effect on the minds of those rude men, excited as they were, that, after gazing on it for a short time in reverence, they left the room in silence, thus sparing that incomparable work for the wonder and reverence of upwards of three centuries. After the siege was over, Andrea still cherished a hope of some day regaining the favour of Francis I., and kept revolving in his mind how to do so, when he was taken suddenly ill. Some soldiers who had returned to Florence were said to have brought back the plague, and food was supposed to have become infected. Whether or not Andrea’s sickness were of this nature, it is certain he took to his bed, and gave himself up for lost. His worthless wife fled in terror, leaving him to die alone, without help or comfort. The brethren Del Scalzo, for whom he had worked so assiduously, gave him burial, though with great haste and little ceremony, and a monument was raised to him in the Annunziata by one of his pupils, with a Latin epitaph, most eulogistic. Lucrezia del Fede survived Andrea many years, and received payment after his death for the works of that husband whose life she had helped to make miserable. Her death took place in 1570.
No. 4.
PORTRAIT OF AN ITALIAN LADY.
By Andrea del Sarto.
No. 5.
PORTRAIT, SUPPOSED TO BE THAT OF THE FATTORE OF SAN MARCO, AT FLORENCE.