‘You’re insulting me, and you’ve spoilt my buckler.’
He left, went to the justice, and had Giotto summoned.
Giotto appeared, had him summoned in return, sued him for the payment of two florins for the painting, and was sued for the same amount. When the officials had heard their pleas, Giotto putting his case far better than the other, they decided that the workman should take his painted buckler and pay Giotto six lire, as the latter was in the right. So the fellow took the buckler, paid what was due, and was dismissed.
In this way, someone who didn’t know his place had it shown to him; and this should happen to all such wanting to have coats-of-arms and found noble houses, and whose fathers have often as not come from the foundling hospital.
There is a story that when Giotto was still a young man in Cimabue’s workshop, he once painted on the nose of one of the figures Cimabue had executed a fly that was so lifelike that when Cimabue returned to carry on with his work he tried several times to brush it off with his hand, under the impression that it was real, before he realized his mistake. I could recall many other of Giotto’s tricks and witticisms, but I shall be content with what I have said above about things that are important to art, referring to Franco and other writers for the rest.
Let me say finally that it was thought that Giotto’s memory should be preserved not only in the works he painted but also in the work left by the writers of those times; for it was Giotto who set painting once more on the right path, from which it had strayed many years before. And so by public decree, through the personal devotion and command of the elder Lorenzo de’ Medici, in admiration of Giotto’s artistic abilities his bust, sculptured in marble by that excellent artist Benedetto da Maiano, was placed in Santa Maria del Fiore, along with the following verses by the inspired Angelo Politian.1 This was done so that others coming after Giotto, who excelled in their various professions, might hope for similar memorials to the one which Giotto’s abilities so fully earned and deserved:
Ille ego sum, per quem pictura extincta revixit,
Cui quam recta manus, tam fuit et facilis.
Naturae deerat nostrae quod defuit arti:
Plus licuit nulli pingere, nec melius.
Miraris turrim egregiam sacro aere sonantem?
Haec quoque de modulo crevit ad astra meo.
Denique sum Jottus, quid opus fuit illa referre?
Hoc nomen longi carminis instarerit.2
In future, artists will be able to see drawings from Giotto’s own hand and so recognize fully his excellence as an artist, because in my book, which I mentioned before, there are some splendid examples; I went to a lot of time and trouble to collect these, and a great deal of expense.
PREFACE TO PART TWO
WHEN I first undertook these Lives I did not intend to compile a list of artists with, say, an inventory of their works; and I was far from thinking it a worthwhile objective for my work (which, if not distinguished, has certainly proved long and exhausting) to give details of their numbers and names and places of birth and describe in what city or exact spot their pictures or sculptures or buildings might be found. I could have done this simply by providing a straight-forward list, without offering any opinions of my own. But I have remarked that those historians who are generally agreed to have produced the soundest work have not been satisfied just to give a bald narration of the facts but have also, with great diligence and the utmost curiosity, investigated the ways and means and methods used by successful men in forwarding their enterprises; they have tried to point out their mistakes, as well as the fine strokes, the expedients, and the prudent courses of action they sometimes followed in the management of their affairs. In short, the best historians have tried to show how men have acted wisely or foolishly, with prudence or with compassion and magnanimity; recognizing that history is the true mirror of life, they have not simply given a dry, factual account of what happened to this prince or that republic but have explained the opinions, counsels, decisions, and plans that lead men to successful or unsuccessful action. This is the true spirit of history, which fulfils its real purpose in making men prudent and showing them how to live, apart from the pleasure it brings in presenting past events as if they were in the present. For this reason, having set out to write the history of distinguished artists in order to honour them and to benefit the arts to the best of my ability, I have tried as far as I could to imitate the methods of the great historians. I have endeavoured not only to record what the artists have done but also to distinguish between the good, the better, and the best, and to note with some care the methods, manners, styles, behaviour, and ideas of the painters and sculptors; I have tried as well as I know how to help people who cannot find out for themselves to understand the sources and origins of various styles, and the reasons for the improvement or decline of the arts at various times and among different people.
At the beginning of the Lives I said as much as was necessary about the noble origins and antiquity of the arts; I left out many things from Pliny and other authors which I could have used had I not wanted, perhaps in a controversial way, to leave everyone free to discover other people’s ideas for himself in the original sources. It now seems the right place for me to do what I could not do before (if I wanted to avoid writing tediously and at a length fatal to attention) and give a clearer idea of my purpose and intention, explaining my reasons for dividing the contents of these Lives into three parts.1
It is certainly true that some men become great artists by diligent application and others by study; some by imitation, some by knowledge of the sciences (which are all useful aids to art), and some by combining all or most of these things. However, in my biographies I have spent enough time discussing methods, skills, particular styles, and the reasons for good, superior, or pre-eminent workmanship; so here I shall discuss the matter in general terms, paying more attention to the nature of the times than to the individual artists. In order not to go into too much detail, I have divided the artists into three sections or, shall we say, periods, each with its own recognizably distinct character, running from the time of the rebirth of the arts up to our own times.
In the first and oldest period the three arts evidently fell a long way short of perfection and, although they may have shown some good qualities, were accompanied by so much that was imperfect that they certainly do not deserve a great deal of praise. All the same, they did mark a new beginning, opening the way for the better work which followed; and if only for this reason I have to speak in their favour and to allow them rather more distinction than the work of that time would deserve if judged by the strict rules of art.
Then in the second period there was clearly a considerable improvement in invention and execution, with more design, better style, and a more careful finish; and as a result artists cleaned away the rust of the old style, along with the stiffness and disproportion characteristic of the ineptitude of the first period. Even so, how can one claim that in the second period there was one artist perfect in everything, producing works comparable in invention, design, and colouring to those of today? Who at that time rendered his figures with the shadows softly darkened in, so that the lights remain only on the parts in relief, and who achieved the perforations and various superb finishings seen in the marble statues executed today?
These achievements certainly belong to the third period, when I can say confidently that art has achieved everything possible in the imitation of nature and has progressed so far that it has more reason to fear slipping back than to expect ever to make further advances.
Having very carefully turned all this over in my mind, I have come to the conclusion that it is inherent in the very nature of these arts to progress step by step from modest beginnings, and finally to reach the summit of perfection. And I believe this is so from having seen almost the same progression in other branches of learning; the fact that the liberal arts are all related to each other in some way is a persuasive argument for what I am saying. As for paintin
g and sculpture in former times, they must have developed on such similar lines that the history of one could stand for the history of the other with only a change in their names. We have to trust the word of those who lived soon afterwards and could see and judge the work of the ancient world; and from these we learn that the statues of Canacus were very hard and lifeless, with absolutely no sense of movement, and therefore far from giving a true representation; and the same is said of the statues made by Calamides, though these did possess rather more charm. Then there came Myron who, even if he did not altogether reproduce the truth that we find in nature, nevertheless gave to his works such grace and proportion that they could justifiably be called very beautiful. In the third stage flourished Polycletus as well as other famous sculptors who, it is credibly reported, produced works that were absolutely perfect. The same progression must have occurred in the art of painting, for it has been said (and surely correctly) that the work of those who used only one colour, the monochromatists, fell a long way short of perfection. Then the works of Zeuxis, Polygnotus, Timanthes, and others, who used only four colours, were enthusiastically praised as linear compositions, though of course still leaving something to be desired. And then we come to Erione, Nicomachus, Protogenes, and Apelles, who produced beautiful work which was perfect in every detail and could not possibly have been improved on; for these artists not only painted superb forms and gestures but also depicted the emotions and passions of the spirit.
However, I shall say no more about them since (though I have gone to the best authors for my remarks) we do have to rely on the opinions of others, whose evaluations and, still more, whose dates sometimes conflict. Let us look at our own times, where we can rely on the guidance and verdict of our own eyes, which is far better than going by hearsay.
Is it not clear, to take one of the arts, that architecture advanced and improved considerably during the period from Buschetto the Greek to the German Arnolfo and Giotto? The buildings of that time show this in their pilasters, columns, bases, capitals, and all the cornices with their deformed members. Examples are provided by Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, the incrustation of the exterior of San Giovanni, San Miniato sul Monte, in the bishop’s palace at Fiesole, the cathedral at Milan, San Vitale in Ravenna, Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, and the old Duomo outside Arezzo. Except for the fine workmanship of some antique fragments, there are no signs of good style or execution. Arnolfo and Giotto, all the same, certainly improved matters, and under them the art of architecture made reasonable progress. They improved the proportions of their buildings, making them not only stable and strong but also in some measure ornate. To be sure, their ornamentation was muddled and imperfect and, if I may say so, far from ornamental. This was because in their columns they failed to observe the correct measurements and proportions, nor did they distinguish the orders: instead of being distinctively Doric, Corinthian, Ionic, or Tuscan they were all confused and based on some anarchic and improvised rule. They made them extremely thick or extremely slender, just as they thought best. All the designs they invented were copied from antique remains or sprang from their own imaginations. Thus the building plans of that time showed the influence of sound architecture as well as contemporary improvisation, with the result that when the walls were raised the results were very different from the models. Nevertheless, whoever compares the work of that time with what was done previously will see that it was better in every way, even though there were some things that we find displeasing nowadays, such as the little brick churches, covered with stucco, at St John Lateran in Rome.
The same holds true for sculpture. In the first period of its rebirth some very good work was done, for the sculptors had abandoned the stiff Byzantine style which was so crude that it suggested more the quarry than the skill of the artist, and which produced statues, if they can be called that, completely devoid of folds, movement, or pose. After Giotto had improved the quality of design several artists did good work in marble and stone; among them were Andrea Pisano, his son Nino, and other pupils of his, all of whom were far more skilful than their predecessors. Their statues were more plastic and better posed; as we see, for example, in the work of the two Sienese, Agostino and Agnolo, who as I said made the tomb for Guido, bishop of Arezzo, and the Germans who made the façade of Orvieto.
So at that time sculpture made definite progress: the figures were better formed, their folds and draperies flowed more beautifully, their heads were sometimes better posed, and their attitudes less rigid; in short, the sculptors were on the right path. But just as clearly there were innumerable defects, because at that time design still fell a long way short of perfection and there were only too few good works to imitate. Consequently, the artists whom I have placed in the first period deserve to be praised and valued for what they did, if one considers that, like the architects and painters of the day, they had no help from their predecessors and had to find the way forward by themselves; and any beginning, however modest, always deserves more than a little praise.
Painting enjoyed no better fortune in those days, except in so far as popular enthusiasm meant that it was more in demand and there were more painters than architects and sculptors, and therefore it made more definite progress. Thus the old Byzantine style was completely abandoned – the first steps being taken by Cimabue and followed by Giotto – and a new style took its place: I like to call this Giotto’s own style, since it was discovered by him and his pupils and was then generally admired and imitated by everybody. In this style of painting the unbroken outline was rejected, as well as staring eyes, feet on tiptoe, sharp hands, absence of shadow, and other Byzantine absurdities; these gave way to graceful heads and delicate colouring. Giotto, especially, posed his figures more attractively, started to show some animation in his heads, and by depicting his draperies in folds made them more realistic; his innovations to some extent included the art of foreshortening. As well as this, he was the first to express the emotions, so that in his pictures one can discern expressions of fear, hate, anger, or love. He evolved a delicate style from one which had been rough and harsh. It is true that he painted the eyes without their natural vivacity, that his weeping figures were expressionless, that his hair and beards lacked their true downiness and softness, his hands did not show their natural muscles and articulations, and his nudes were not realistic; but he must be excused by the difficulties of the art and because he had not seen any painters better than himself. And we must concede that Giotto showed sound judgement in his paintings at a time of general and artistic decay. Look at the way he observed human expressions, and the ease with which he could translate his ideas into pictures. One can see how his figures correspond with his intentions, showing that his judgement was extremely sound even if imperfect.
We can see the same with the painters who followed him, in the works of Taddeo Gaddi, for example, whose colouring is more forceful and charming, especially in the flesh-tints and draperies, and whose figures move more dramatically; and then in the paintings of Simone Martini, who composed his scenes with such decorum, and Stefano Scimmia and his son Tommaso, whose draughtsmanship showed considerable gains and who gave new dimensions to perspective and improved the shading and blending of colours, though still following Giotto’s style. Similar skill and dexterity were shown by Spinello of Arezzo, his son Parri, Jacopo of Casentino, Antonio of Venice, Lippi, Gherardo Starnini, and other painters who worked after Giotto, following his manner, outlines, colour, and style, sometimes even making improvements though never decisively breaking away.
Now if the reader reflects on what I have been saying he will realize that up to this point the three arts remained, as it were, very rough and ready and still fell short of the perfection they deserved; indeed, if the story ended here the progress so far recorded would not amount to much and would have been of no great value. I do not want anyone to think me so stupid and lacking in judgement as to ignore the fact that if we compare the work of Giotto, Andrea Pisano, Nino, and all the others w
hom I have grouped in the first period (because of their similarities in style) with what was done later, the former do not deserve even modest, let alone unqualified, praise. And of course I was well aware of this when I praised them. All the same, if one considers when it was that they lived, the few of them that there were, and the difficulty of obtaining good assistance, one is forced to conclude not that their work was, as I said, excellent but rather that it was downright miraculous. It is surely gratifying in the extreme to discern the first beginnings, the first glimmerings of excellence, as they appeared in painting and sculpture. The victory which Lucius Marcius won in Spain was not so great that the Romans could boast of none greater! But in view of the timing, the place, and the circumstances, and the nature and numbers of those involved, it was considered a stupendous achievement, and even today it is still held to deserve all the praises the historians have lavished on it.
So considering all these things I have decided that the artists in the first period deserve not only a careful record of what they did but also all the warm and enthusiastic praise I have bestowed on them. I do not think that my fellow artists will have found it boring to hear the story of their lives and study their styles and methods, and perhaps they will derive no little benefit from this. This would certainly bring me great pleasure, and I would consider it a wonderful reward for my work, in which my only aim has been to serve and entertain them to the best of my ability.
Now that we have, as it were, taken the three arts away from the arms of their nurse and seen them through their childhood we come to the second period, in the course of which there is a tremendous, overall advance. We shall see compositions being designed with a greater number of figures and richer ornamentation, and design becoming more firmly grounded and more realistic and lifelike. Above all we shall see that even in works of no great quality there is careful organization and purpose: the style is lighter, colours are more charming, and the arts are approaching the state of complete perfection in which they exactly reproduce the truth of nature. For first of all, through the studies and diligence of Filippo Brunelleschi, architecture rediscovered the proportions and measurements of the antique, applying them in round columns, flat pilasters, and plain or rusticated projections. Then it carefully distinguished the various orders, leaving no doubt about the difference between them; care was taken to follow the classical rules and orders and the correct architectural proportions; design became more forceful and methodical. Architecture revealed its excellence in the graceful work which was produced; it rediscovered how to make cornices and capitals of great beauty and variety. The plans for churches and other edifices were well conceived, and the buildings themselves were beautifully proportioned, ornate, and magnificent. Examples are provided by the stupendous structure of the cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore at Florence, by the beauty and grace of its lantern, by the varied, beautifully decorated and graceful church of Santo Spirito, and by the no less lovely San Lorenzo, by the fanciful invention shown in the octagonal church of the Angioli, by the wonderfully airy church and convent of the Badia at Fiesole, and by the ambitious and magnificent commencement of the Pitti Palace. There are other examples to be seen in the great and commodious building for which Francesco di Giorgio was responsible, namely, the palace and church of the Duomo at Urbino, the strong and sumptuous castle at Naples, and the impregnable castle of Milan, not to mention the many other notable buildings of that time. Later on, architects made their cornices with a certain delicacy and exquiste grace, carved their leaves lightly and smoothly, and perfected the detail of their foliage; these were accompanied by other refinements, as we shall see in the third section where we shall study those who, unlike the old architects, executed everything I mentioned above perfectly, effortlessly creating a wealth of graceful and beautifully finished work. Although the architecture we are discussing here fell short in these respects, none the less it was certainly beautiful and good. I cannot say that the buildings of that time were perfect, since as the art of architecture was to prove itself capable of greater achievements they can reasonably be said to have been lacking something. All the same there was some marvellous work which has not been surpassed even in our own times, nor perhaps ever will be: as, for example, the lantern of the cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore, and, for size, the cupola itself, where Filippo determined not only to rival the ancients in the body of the building but also to surpass them in the height of the walls. However, we are talking of the period as a whole, and one should not use the fineness and excellence of a single work to prove that everything was perfect.
Lives of the Artists Page 9