peopled with Titans, and he realised his ambition of portraying
generic humanity: not, indeed, by making conventional, but by
eliminating everything that was not typical. The earliest plastic art
took clay and moulded the human form; the next achievement was to make
specific man--the portrait; lastly, to achieve what was universal--the
type. The progress was from man, to man in particular, and ultimately
to man in general. There was a final stage when the typical lost its
type without reverting to the specific, to the portrait. The
successors of Michael Angelo were among the most skilful craftsmen who
ever existed; but their knowledge only bore the fruit of unreality.
Donatello did not achieve the typical except in his children: it was
only in children that Michael Angelo failed. He missed this supreme
opportunity; those on the roof of the Sistine Chapel are solemn and
grown old with care: children without childhood. With Donatello all is
different. His greatness and title to fame largely rest upon his
typical childhood: his sculpture bears eloquent witness to the closest
observation of all its varying and changeful moods. Others have
excelled in this or that interpretation of child-life: Greuze with his
sentimentalism, the Dutch painters with their stolidity. In Velasquez
every child is the scion of some Royal House, in Murillo they are all
beggars. They are too often stupid in Michelozzo: in Andrea della
Robbia they are always sweet and winsome; Pigalle's children know too
much. Donatello alone grasped the whole psychology. He watched the
coming generation, and foresaw all that it might portend: tragedy and
comedy, labour and sorrow, work and play--plenty of play; and every
problem of life is reflected and made younger by his chisel. How far
the sculptors of the fifteenth century employed classical ideas is not
easily determined. There was, however, one classical form which was
widely used, namely, the flying _putti_ holding a wreath or
coat-of-arms between them: we find it on the frieze of the St. Louis
niche, and it is repeated on Judith's dress. The wreath or garland, of
which the Greeks were so fond, became a favourite motive for the
Renaissance mantelpiece. The classical _amoretti_, of which many
versions in bronze existed, were also frequently copied. But there was
one radical difference between the children of antiquity and those of
the Renaissance. Though children were introduced on to classical
sarcophagi and so forth, it is impossible to say that it was for the
sake of their youth. There are genii in plenty; and in the imps which
swarm over the emblematic figure of the Nile in the Vatican the
sculptor shows no love or respect for childhood. There is no child on
the Parthenon frieze, excepting a Cupid, who has really no claim to be
reckoned as such. Donatello could not have made a relief 150 yards
long without introducing children, whether their presence were
justified or not. He would probably have overcrowded the composition
with their young forms. Whether right or wrong, he uses them
arbitrarily, as simple specimens of pure joyous childhood. Antique
sculpture, too, had its arbitrary and conventional adjuncts--the Satyr
and the Bacchic attendants; but how dreary that the vacant spaces in a
relief should have to rely upon what is half-human or offensive--the
avowedly inhuman gargoyles of the thirteenth century are infinitely to
be preferred. Donatello was possessed by the sheer love of childhood:
with him they are boys, _fanciulli ignudi_,[141] very human boys,
which, though winged and stationed on a font, were boys first and
angels afterwards. And he overcame the immense technical difficulties
which childhood presents. The model is restive and the form is
immature, the softness of nature has to be rendered in the hardest
material. The lines are inconsequent, and the limbs do not yet show
the muscles on which plastic art can usually depend. Nothing requires
more deftness than to give elasticity to a form which has no external
sign of vigour. So many sculptors failed to master this initial
difficulty--Verrocchio, for instance. He made the bronze fountain in
the Palazzo Pubblico, and an equally fine statue of similar dimensions
now belonging to M. Gustave Dreyfus. Both have vivacity and movement,
but both have also a fat stubby appearance; the flesh has the
consistency of pudding, and though soft and velvety in surface is
without the inner meaning of the children on the Cantoria. In this
work, where Donatello has carved some three dozen children, we have a
series of instantaneous photographs. Nobody else had enough knowledge
or courage to make rigid bars of children's legs: here they swing on
pivots from the hip-joint. It is the true picture of life, rendered
with superlative skill and _bravura_. But Donatello's children serve a
purpose, if only that of decoration. At Padua they form a little
orchestra to accompany the duets. The singing angels there are among
the most charming of the company; and whether intentionally or not,
they give the impression of having forgotten the time, or of being a
little puzzled by the music-book! But Donatello fails to express the
exquisite modulation by which Luca della Robbia almost gives actual
sound to his Cantoria: where one sees the swelling throat, the
inflated lungs, the effort of the higher notes, and the voice falling
to reach those which are deep. Luca's children, it is true, are bigger
and older; but in this respect he was unsurpassed, even by painters
whose medium should have placed them beyond rivalry in such a respect.
The choir of Piero della Francesca's Nativity is so well contrived
that one can distinguish the alto from the tenor; but Luca was able to
do even more. He gives cadence, rhythm and expression where others did
no more than represent the voice. Donatello's dancing children are
more important than his musicians. He was able to give free vein to
his fancy. We have flights of uncontrollable children, romping and
rioting, dashing to and fro, playing and laughing as they pass about
garlands among them. And their self-reliance is worth noticing;
they are absorbed in their dance--children dance rather heavily--and
only a few of them look outwards. There is no self-consciousness, no
appeal to the spectator: they are immensely busy, and enjoy life to
the full. Then we have a more demure type of childhood: they are
shield-bearers on the Gattamelata monument, or occupy an analogous
position on the lower part of the Cantoria. Others hold the cartel or
epitaph as on the Coscia tomb. And again Donatello introduces children
as pure decoration. The triangular base of the Judith, for instance,
and the bronze capital which supports the Prato pulpit, have childhood
for their sole motive. He smuggles children on to the croziers of St.
Louis and Bishop Pecci: they are the supporters of Gattamelata's
saddle: they decorate the vestments of San Daniele. They share the
tragedy of the Pietà, and we have them in his reliefs. The entire
frieze of the pulpits of San Lorenzo is simply one long row of
children--some two hundred in all.
[Footnote 141: Contract with Domopera of Siena. Payment for wax, for
making the bronze figures for the Baptistery. 16, iv. 1428. Lusini,
38.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Alinari_
CANTORIA (DETAIL)
FLORENCE]
[Sidenote: The Cantoria.]
The Cantoria, or organ-loft, of the Florentine Cathedral was ordered
soon after Donatello's return from Rome, and was erected about 1441.
It was placed over one of the Sacristy doors, corresponding in
position with Luca della Robbia's cantoria on the opposite side of the
choir. The ill-fortune which dispersed the Paduan altar and
Donatello's work for the façade likewise caused the removal of this
gallery. Late in the seventeenth century a royal marriage was
solemnised, for which an orchestra of unusual numbers was required,
and the two _cantorie_ were removed as inadequate. The large brackets
remained _in situ_ for some time, but were afterwards taken away also.
The two galleries have now been re-erected at either end of the chief
room of the Opera del Duomo. But the size of the galleries is
considerable, and they occupy so much of the end walls to which they
are fixed, that it is impossible to see the sides or outer panels of
either cantoria. In the case of Luca's gallery, the side panels have
been replaced by facsimiles, and the originals can be minutely
examined, being only four or five feet from the ground, and very
suggestive they are. As the side panels of Donatello's gallery are
equally invisible in their present position they might also be brought
down to the eye level. Comparison with Luca's work would then be still
more simplified. But though in a trying light, and too low down, the
sculpture shows that it was Donatello who gave the more careful
attention to the conditions under which the work would be seen. The
delicacy and grace of Luca's choir make Donatello's boys look coarse
and rough-hewn. But in the dim Cathedral, where Donatello's children
would appear bold and vivacious, the others would look insipid and
weak. Moreover, the lower tier of Luca's panels beneath the projection
and enclosed by the broad brackets, would have been in such a subdued
light that some of the heads in low-relief would have been scarcely
emphasised at all. In reconstructing Donatello's gallery an error has
been made by which a long band of mosaic runs along the whole length
of the relief, above the children's heads. M. Reymond has pointed out
that the ground level should have been raised in order to prevent what
Donatello would undoubtedly have avoided, namely, a blank and
meaningless stretch of mosaic.[142] M. Reymond's brilliant
suggestion about a similar point in regard to the other cantoria, a
criticism which has been verified in a remarkable manner, entitles his
suggestion to great weight. The angles of the cantoria where the side
panels join the main relief lack finish: something like the pilasters
which cover the angles of the Judith base are required. As for the
design, the gallery made by Luca della Robbia has an advantage over
Donatello's in that the figures are not placed behind a row of
columns. There is something tantalising in the fact that the most
boisterous and roguish of all the troop is concealed by a pillar of
spangled white and gold. These pillars were perhaps needed to break
the long line of the relief: but they have no such significance, as,
for instance, the row of pillars on the Saltarello tomb,[143] behind
which the Bishop's effigy lies--a barrier between the living and the
dead, across which the attendant angels can drop the curtain.
Donatello's gallery is, perhaps, over-decorated. There is less gilding
now than formerly, and the complex ornament does not materially
interfere with the broad features of the design: but a little more
reserve would not have been amiss.
[Footnote 142: Reymond, I., p. 107.]
[Footnote 143: By Nino Pisano, in Sta. Caterina, Pisa.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Alinari_
THE PRATO PULPIT]
[Sidenote: The Prato Pulpit.]
The second work in which Donatello took his inspiration exclusively
from childhood is at Prato. It is an external pulpit, fixed at the
southern angle of the Cathedral façade, and employed to display the
most famous relic possessed by the town, namely, the girdle of the
Virgin. The first contract was made as early as 1428 with Donatello
and Michelozzo, _industriosi maestri_, to whom careful measurements
were given.[144] The sculptors promised to finish the work by
September 1, 1429. Five years later, there was still no pulpit, and
having vainly invoked the aid of Cosimo, they finally sent to Rome,
where Donatello had by then gone, and a revised contract was made with
the industrious sculptors, though Michelozzo is not mentioned by
name.[145] The work was finished in about four years, and within three
weeks of signing the new contract one of the reliefs was completed; it
may, of course, have been already begun. Its success was immediate.
"All say with one accord that never has such a work of art been seen
before;" and the writer of the entertaining letter from which this
eulogy is quoted goes on to say that Donatello is of good disposition;
that such men are not found every day, and that he had better be
encouraged by a little money.[146] The Prato pulpit has seven marble
reliefs on mosaic grounds, separated by twin pilasters: there are
thirty-two children in all.[147] It is a most attractive work,
cleverly placed against the decorous little Cathedral and not
surrounded by sculpture of the first order with which to make
invidious comparisons. But beside the cantoria it is almost
insignificant. The Prato children dance too, but without the perennial
spring; they have plenty of movement, but seem apt to stumble. They do
not scamper along with the feverish enthusiasm of the other children:
they must get very tired. Moreover, several of the panels are
confused. They are, of course, crowded, for Donatello liked crowds,
especially for his children; but his crowds were well marshalled and
the individual figures which composed them were not allowed to
suffer by their surroundings anatomically. The Prato children belong
to a chubby and robust type. They have a tendency to short necks and
unduly big heads which sink on to the torso. Michelozzo never grasped
the spirit of childhood; those at Montepulciano were not a success,
and he was largely responsible for the Prato Pulpit; it has been
suggested that Simone Ferrucci also assisted. Certainly it would be
Michelozzo's idea to divide the frieze into compartments, which
interrupt the continuity of the relief and necessitate fourteen
terminal points instead of four on the cantoria. We can also detect
Michelozzo's hand in the rather stiff and professional details of the
architecture. But he seems to have also executed some of the reliefs,
even if the general idea from which he worked should have been
Donatello's. Thus the panel most remote from the cathedral façade is
involved in design and faulty in execution; and the children's
expression is aimless and dull. But it must not be inferred that the
Prato Pulpit is in any sense a failure, or even displeasing. Its
popularity is thoroughly well deserved. The test of comparison with
the cantoria is most searching, too severe indeed, for such a high
standard could not be maintained. But if the _capo d'opera_ of
sculptured child-life be excluded, the Prato Pulpit will always retain
a well-deserved popularity. Two further points should be noted. Below
the pulpit is a bronze relief, shaped like the capital of a large
column. There should be two of them, and it used to be believed that
the second was destroyed in 1512 when the Spanish troops sacked the
town. But the story is apocryphal, for the documents show that payment
was only made for one relief, and that Michelozzo was entirely
responsible for the casting. It is a most decorative panel, the
motive being ribands and wreaths, among which there are eleven winged
_putti_ of different sizes. At the top of the capital is a big baby in
high-relief peeping over the edge; an exquisite fancy reminding us of
the two inquisitive children clambering over the heraldic shields on
the Pecci monument. On the base of the capital are two other _putti_
of equal charm, winged like the rest, and sedately looking outwards in
either direction. The volutes of the bronze are decorated with other
figures, less boyish and almost suggesting the touch of Ghiberti, who,
it may be remarked, was appointed assessor of the contract by the
Wardens of the Girdle. Finally, one may inquire what Donatello's
motive can have been in designing the frieze: what may be the relation
of the sculpture to the precious Girdle. No conclusive answer can be
given. In the organ-loft of Luca della Robbia the object was to show
praise of the Lord "with all kinds of instruments"[148]: Donatello's
was to "let them praise his name in the dance."[149] At Prato we have
dance and music for no apparent reason, except perhaps as a display of
joyfulness appropriate to the great festival of exhibiting the
_Cingolo_. It is possible that the curious little reliquary in which
the Girdle is actually preserved may supply the clue to some legend or
tradition connected with the relic. This _cofanetto_ was remodelled
about this time, and the primitive motive and design may have been
impaired. But we have a series of winged _putti_ made of ivory, who
dance and play about much as those on the pulpit, but amongst whom one
can see scraps of rope, signifying the Girdle, from which they derive
their incentive to joy and vivacity.
[Footnote 144: 14, vii. 1428.]
[Footnote 145: 27, v. 1434.]
[Footnote 146: Letter from Matteo degli Orghani, printed with the
other documents in C. Guasti, opere, iv. 463-477.]
[Footnote 147: A pair of terra-cotta variants of these panels are
preserved in the Wallace Collection at Hertford House.]
[Footnote 148: Psalm cl.]
[Footnote 149: Psalm cxlix.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Alinari_
BRONZE AMORINO
BARGELLO]
[Sidenote: Other Children by Donatello.]
There are six _putti_ above the Annunciation in Santa Croce. They are
made of terra-cotta, while the rest of the work is in stone, and
designed in such a way that the children are superfluous. They are,
however, undoubtedly by Donatello, and may have been added as an
afterthought. Two stand on either side of the curved tympanum,
clinging to each other as they look downwards, and afraid of falling
over the steep precipice. Their attitude is shy and timid, as Leonardo
said was advisable when making little children standing still.[150]
Though unnecessary, their presence on the relief is justified by
Donatello's skill and humour. In the great reliefs at Padua, Siena and
Lille he introduces them without any specific object, though he
contrives that they shall show fear or surprise in response to the
incident portrayed. It is puzzling to know what the bronze boy in the
Bargello should be called. Perseus, Mercury, Cupid, Allegory and
Amorino have been suggested: he combines attributes of them all
together with the budding tail of a faun, and the _gambali_, the
buskin-trouser of the Tuscan peasant[151]--"_vestito in un certo modo
bizzarro_" as Vasari says. Cinelli thought it classical, and it
resembles an undoubted antique in the Louvre. Donatello has clearly
taken classical motives; the winged feet and the serpents twining
between them are not Renaissance in form or idea. But the statue
itself is closely akin to the Cantoria children, but being in bronze
shows a higher polish, and, moreover, is treated in a less summary
fashion. It is a brilliant piece of bronze: colour, cast and
chiselling are alike admirable, and there is a vibration in the
movement as the saucy little fellow looks up laughing, having
presumably just shot off an arrow; or possibly he has been twanging a
wire drawn tightly between the fingers. It throws much light on the
bronze boys at Padua made ten or fifteen years later. This Florentine
boy shows how completely Donatello, perhaps with the assistance of a
caster, could render his meaning in bronze. In two or three cases at
Padua the work is clumsy and slipshod, showing how he allowed his
assistants to take liberties which he would never have countenanced in
work finished by his own hands. The Bargello has another Amorino of
bronze, a nude winged boy standing on a cockleshell, and just about to
fly away; quite a pleasing statuette, and executed with skill except
as regards the extremities of the fingers, where the bronze has
failed. It resembles Donatello's _putti_ who play and dance on the
corners of the tabernacle of Quercia's font at Siena; but the base of
this figure differs from that of the other four. A fifth of the
Sienese _putti_ was recently bought in London for the Berlin Gallery,
an invaluable acquisition to that growing collection.[152] This group,
however, is less important than the wonderful pair of bronze _putti_
belonging to Madame André.[153] These are much larger: they carry
candle-sockets and are lightly draped with a few ribands and garlands:
judging from the way they are huddled up, it is possible that they
formed part of a larger work. They appear to be a good deal later than
the Cantoria, though they do not show any technical superiority to
the large Bargello Amorino; but they have not quite got that freshness
which cannot be dissociated from work made between 1433 and 1440.
Madame André has another superb Donatello--a marble boy: his attitude
is unbecoming, but the modelling of this admirable statue--the urchin
is nearly life-sized--is almost unequalled. There is a similar figure
in the Louvre made by some imitator. It need hardly be said that
Donatello's children, especially the free-standing bronze statuettes,
were widely copied. According to Vasari, Donatello designed the wooden
_putti_ carrying garlands in the new Sacristy of the Duomo. There are
fourteen of these boys, and they overstep the cornice like
Michelozzo's angels in the Capella Portinari at Milan. Donatello may
have given the sketch for one or two, but there is a lack of
intelligence about them, besides a certain monotony. Moreover, it is
improbable that Donatello would have designed garlands so bulky that
they threaten to push the little boys who carry them off the cornice.
In spite of its faults, this frieze is charming. The _naïveté_ of the
quattrocento often invests its errors with attraction. It would be
wearisome to catalogue the scores of bronze children which show
undoubted imitation of Donatello. They exist in every great
collection, one of exceptional merit being in London.[154] A large
school sprang into existence, chiefly in Padua and Venice, whence it
spread all over Northern Italy, and produced any number of bronze
works which recall one or other feature of Donatello's children. But
they never approached Donatello. Their work was a sort of
_minuteria_--table ornaments, plaquettes, inkstands, and the ordinary
decoration of a sitting-room. Monumental childhood almost ceased to
exist in Italian plastic art, and, after Michael Angelo, degenerated
into stout and prosperous children lolling in clouds and diving among
the draperies which adorned the later altars and tombs. Their didactic
value was soon lost to Italian sculpture, and with it went their
inherent grace and significance. Donatello was among the first as he
was among the last seriously to apply to sculpture the words _ex ore
infantium perfecisti laudem_.
[Footnote 150: "Trattato della Pintura," Richter, i. 291.]
[Footnote 151: This open form of trouser, of which one sees a variant
on the Martelli David, was also classical. The Athis or Phrygian
shepherd usually wears something of the kind.]
[Footnote 152: Very similar classical types are in the British Museum,
No. 1147; and the Eros springing forward in the Forman Collection
(dispersed in 1899) is almost identical.]
[Footnote 153: From the Piot Collection. Figured in "Gaz. des Beaux
Arts," 1890, iii. 410.]
[Footnote 154: Victoria and Albert Museum, No. 475, 1864. A winged boy
carrying a dolphin.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Alinari_
SAN GIOVANNINO
FAENZA MUSEUM]
[Sidenote: Boys' Busts.]