life-sized bronze of an older man, and in many ways the likeness to
the Gonzaga bust is notable. But wherever Gonzaga's features lack
distinction this portrait shows fine qualities and good breeding.
Nothing could better illustrate how minute are the plastic details
which will revolutionise a countenance; how easily noble and handsome
features can degenerate into what is sordid and vulgar. In this bust
the chin, though receding, is far from weak; the lips are full but not
sensual; the nose has the faint aquiline curve of distinction. There
is benevolence in the eyes, meditation in the brow, dignity and
reserve throughout the physiognomy: it is the portrait of a man who
may be great, but who must be good. When a bronze _abozzo_ has to be
finished the detail is added by hammering the metal, or incising it
with gravers. Thus the bronze has to be reduced, it being seldom
possible to enlarge it at any point. But the Gonzaga bust would
require to be enlarged in several places to make it a lifelike head.
In the case of the portrait just described, the metal was cast from a
rough sketch which, in the first place, had the qualities of a living
and consistent head, and which, in the second place, was modelled with
sufficient amplitude to permit the entire head to be hammered, and the
exquisite details to be added. Technically this head is almost
unequalled among Donatello's bronze portraits; it is quite superb.
Comparison with the Gattamelata at Padua is fair to neither. But it
can be suitably compared with the bronze portrait in the Bargello
generally known as the Young Gattamelata. The tomb of Giovanni
Antonio, son of the famous Condottiere, is in the Santo at Padua. The
effigy resembles this bust. Giovanni died young in 1456, and on the
whole there is sufficient reason for considering it to be his
portrait. On this assumption the bust can be dated about 1455. It is a
happy combination of youth and maturity. On the one side we have the
smooth features, still unmarked by frowns and furrows, the soft
youthful texture of the skin, and something young in the thick curly
hair. On the other hand, the character of the face shows perfect
self-confidence in its best sense, as well as self-control and
determination. A scrap of drapery covers the outer edge of either
shoulder, and round his neck is a riband, at the end of which hangs a
large oval gem, Cupid in a chariot making his horses gallop. Thus the
throat and breast are bare, and show exceptionally good rendering of
those thin bones and thick tendons which must always be a severe test
to the modeller. As for the bronze itself, the surface is wrought with
much care and finish, though the Berlin bust is unapproached in this
respect. A few other portrait-busts remain to be noticed, which at
one time or another have been attributed to Donatello. The Vecchio
Barbuto, a thoroughly poor piece of work, and the Imperatore
Romano[166] with its sadly disjointed and inconsequential appearance,
are works which scarcely recall the touch of Donatello. The bust of a
veiled lady is more interesting.[167] In the old Medici catalogue it
used to be called _Donna velata incognita_, or _sacerdotessa velata_:
and it was also called Annalena Malatesta: a suggestion has been
recently made that it represents the Contessina de' Bardi, who married
Cosimo de' Medici. Vasari certainly mentions a bronze bust of the
Contessina by Donatello; but the family records would scarcely have
called so important a person a nun or an _incognita_: moreover, she
did not die till 1473, and as this bust is obviously made from a
death-mask, it is clear that Donatello could not be its author. The
custom of making death-masks is described by Polybius: in Donatello's
time it became very popular, and Verrocchio became one of the foremost
men in this branch of trade, which combined expedition and accuracy
with cheapness. The wax models were coloured and used as chimney-piece
decorations, _in ogni casa di Firenze_. The bronze bust of San Rossore
in the Church of Santo Stefano at Pisa has been attributed to
Donatello. From the _denunzia_ of 1427 we know that Donatello was
occupied on a bust of the saint, and certain payments are
recorded.[168] But beyond this fact there is no reason for assigning
the Pisa bust to him. No explanation is offered of its removal from
Florence to Pisa, and had we not known that Donatello made such a
bust, this uncouth and slovenly thing would never have been ascribed
to him. It is a reliquary, the crown of the head being detachable,
and the head can also be separated from the bust. It is heavily gilded
and minutely chased with the trivial work of some meagre craftsman;
the eyes seem to have been enamelled. It is merely interesting as a
school-piece. Speaking generally, Donatello's portraits are less
important as busts than when they are portions of complete statues.
Excluding Niccolò da Uzzano and the old man at Berlin, the heads he
made cannot compare with the portraits of John XXIII., Brancacci,
Habbakuk and St. Francis at Padua. Donatello helped to lay the
foundations of the tremendous school of portraiture which flourished
after his death, both in sculpture and painting; based, in certain
parts of Italy, on the principles he had laid down, though thriving
elsewhere upon independent lines; such, for instance, as the
remarkable group of portraits ascribed to Laurana or Gagini. But at
his best Donatello rarely approached the comprehensive powers of
Michael Angelo. With the latter we see the whole corpus or entity made
the vehicle of portraiture; everything is forced to combine, and to
concentrate the [Greek: êthos] of the conception; everything is driven
into harmony. Michael Angelo gives a portrait which is also typical,
while preserving the real. Donatello seldom got beyond the real; but
he went far towards realising the highest forms of portraiture, and
two or three of his works, though differing in standard from the
Brutus or the Penseroso, surpass anything achieved by his
contemporaries.
[Footnote 166: Bargello, No. 18, and No. 6, life-sized bronze.]
[Footnote 167: Bargello, 17.]
[Footnote 168: Gaye, i. 121.]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Relief-portraits.]
A few portraits in relief require a word of notice. As a rule they are
later in date, though they are often given to Donatello. It became
fashionable to have one's portrait made as a Roman celebrity: an
Antonine for instance; a Galba or a Faustina; or as some statesman,
like Scipio or Cæsar. Donatello was not responsible for these
portraits, though several have been attributed to him. But he made one
or two such reliefs, such as the little St. John in the Bargello which
has already been described. The oval-topped portrait in the same
collection, made of pietra serena--a clean-shaved man with longish
hair and an aquiline nose, is wrongly ascribed to Donatello. There is
a much more interesting portrait, two copies of which exist; one is in
London, the other in Milan.[169] It is a relief-portrait of a woman in
profile to the right; her neck and breast are bare, treated similarly
to the magnificent bust in the Bargello (177). The two reliefs, of
which the Milan copy is oval, while ours is rectangular with a
circular top, are modelled with brilliant and exquisite _morbidezza_:
the undercutting is square, so that the shadows assert themselves; the
wavy hair is brushed back and retained by a fillet, leaving the neck
and temples quite free. In many ways it is the marble version of those
portraits attributed to Piero della Francesca in the National
Gallery[170] and elsewhere, but treated so that while the painting is
curious the marble is beautiful. These reliefs cannot be traced to
Donatello, though they show his style and influence in several
particulars. Madame André has a marble relief of an open-mouthed boy
crowned with laurels, and with ribands waving behind. It is very close
to the Piot St. John in the Louvre, and analogous in some respects to
two other reliefs of great interest, both in Paris, belonging
respectively to La Marquise Arconati-Visconti and to M. Gustave
Dreyfus. These are marble reliefs of St. John and Christ facing each
other, exquisite in their childhood. The former is round, the latter
square. It is usual to ascribe them to Desiderio, and there are
details which lead one to agree on the point. They show, however, that
Donatello's influence was strong enough to survive his death in
particulars which later men might well have ignored. And the two
reliefs combine the strength of Donatello with the sweetness of
Desiderio.
[Footnote 169: Victoria and Albert Museum, No. 923, 1900, and Museo
Archeologico, No. 1681, both marble.]
[Footnote 170: Nos. 585 and 758.]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: San Lorenzo.]
Donatello must have completed the most important decorative work in
the Sacristy of San Lorenzo by 1443. Brunellesco was the architect,
and there were differences between them as to their respective spheres
of work. Donatello made the bronze doors, a pair of large reliefs,
four large circular medallions of the Evangelists, as well as four
others of scenes from the life of St. John the Evangelist. Excluding
the doors, everything is made of terra-cotta. The reliefs over the
inner doors of the Sacristy represent St. Stephen and St. Laurence on
one side, and St. Cosmo and St. Damian on the other. They are nearly
life size, modelled in rather low-relief upon panels with circular
tops, and of exceptional size for works in terra-cotta. The reliefs
are enclosed in Donatello's framework of latish Renaissance design,
but the figures themselves are very simple. There is a minimum of
ornament, and they harmonise with the remarkable scheme of the bronze
doors below them, with which they have so many points in common. The
ceiling of the chapel has been repeatedly whitewashed, and the eight
medallions are consequently blurred in surface and outline. It is a
real misfortune, for, so far as one can judge, they contain
compositions and designs of great interest, by which a new light would
probably be thrown upon several doubtful problems were it possible to
study them with precision. Criticism must therefore be guarded, and
their position is such as to make examination difficult. The Roundels
of the Evangelists are modelled with boldness and severity, qualities
which one is not surprised to find in Donatello, but which are here
emphasised, for they stand out in spite of the coats of whitewash. In
some ways they resemble the Evangelists of the Capella Pazzi. Here one
notices a delicacy of decoration on the seats, desks, &c., contrasting
with the rugged grandeur of the figures themselves, and with the
absence of ornament, which is so marked a feature of the other reliefs
in the Sacristy. The four scenes from the life of St. John (Vasari
says from the lives of the Evangelists) are even more interesting than
the panels just mentioned. It appears from the few words Vasari
devotes to the Sacristy that Donatello also painted views upon the
ceiling, but no trace remains. The incidents depicted in the roundels
are St. John's Apotheosis, Martyrdom, and Sojourn on Patmos, and the
Raising of Drusiana. There are landscapes and architectural
backgrounds; many figures are introduced, and there is a good deal of
nude study. We also notice a feature of frequent occurrence--a trick
of giving depth to the scene and vividness to the foreground, by
letting figures be cut off short by the frames. Men seem to be
standing on the spectator's side of the relief, and only appear at the
point where they can be partly included in the composition. The field
becomes one that would be included within the range of vision as seen
through a round window or telescope. Mantegna made great use of this
idea. The more one looks at these eight medallions the more one
regrets their present condition: washing is all that is required. If
they could be carefully cleaned we would certainly find details of
interest, and in all probability facts of importance. The frieze of
angels' heads which surrounds the Sacristy is of secondary interest,
as there are only two different cherubs, which are reproduced by
moulds all along its entire length. Signs of gilding and colour are
still visible. Pretty as they are, these angels cannot challenge
comparison with the Pazzi frieze or with Donatello's similar work
elsewhere--for instance, on the base of the Cantoria or upon the Or
San Michele niche. The marble balustrade of the altar may have been
designed by Donatello. The Sacristy shows how well adapted terra-cotta
was for decoration on a large scale. But Donatello was too wise to
cover the walls with his reliefs, as is the case in the Capella
Pellegrini at Verona. Here the sculpture is used to decorate the
chapel walls, there the walls are merely used to uphold the sculpture.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Alinari_
BRONZE DOORS
SAN LORENZO, FLORENCE]
[Sidenote: The Bronze Doors.]
There is no more instructive study than the bronze doors of Italian
churches. They are the earliest specimens of bronze casting to be
found in Italy of Christian times; they show the gradual transition
from Eastern to Western forms of art, and they were usually made by
the most prominent sculptor of the day. Their size is considerable,
they are frequently dated, and their condition is often
extraordinarily good. Donatello's are relatively small, but they
adhere to the best traditions. Excluding the great doors made by Luca
della Robbia for the Sacristy of the Duomo, these in San Lorenzo are
among the latest which were produced according to the ancient model
and the correct idea. Thenceforward the doors ceased to be doors; the
reliefs ceased to show the qualities of bronze, and disregarded the
principles of sculpture. Donatello made two pairs of doors, one on
either side of the altar. The doors open in the middle; there are thus
four long-hinged panels of bronze, and each panel has five reliefs
upon it. It is doubtful if the most archaic doors in Italy show such
uniformity of design, for all the twenty bronze reliefs illustrate one
single theme, namely, the conversation of two standing men. The panels
simply consist of two saints, roughly sketched in somewhat low-relief
upon an absolutely flat background: there is great variety in the
drapery, and some of the figures might come out of thirteenth-century
illuminations. Never was a monotonous motive invested with such
variety of treatment: never was simplicity better attained by
scrupulous elimination. Donatello's symmetrical idea had been
previously employed, and Torrigiano put his figures in couples on what
Bacon called one of the "stateliest and daintiest monuments of
Europe."[171] Luca della Robbia put his figures in threes on the
Cathedral gates, a seated figure in the centre, with a standing figure
on either side. But Donatello had to make twice as many panels as
Luca. Martyrs, apostles and confessors are talking on the San Lorenzo
doors. Thus St. Stephen shows the stone of his martyrdom to St.
Laurence. Elsewhere St. Peter's movement suggests that he is
upbraiding his fellow, for the argument excites these saints. They
gesticulate freely; martyrs seem to fence with their palm-leaves. One
will turn away abruptly, another will pay sudden attention to his
book, while his companion continues to talk. One man slaps his book to
clinch the discussion, another jots down a note; two others are ending
their controversy and prepare to leave--in opposite directions. But,
though these are literal descriptions of the scenes, there is no
levity; everything is ordained according to Donatello's strict
formula. He was none the less determined to adhere to the old
conventional and non-pictorial treatment of the gates, and at the same
time to give animation to every panel. In this he has succeeded, but
the symmetrical arrangement in pairs preserves a decorum in spite of
the vigorous movement pictured on the doors. These doors open and
shut: they were meant to do so, especially to shut. Ghiberti's second
pair of doors for the Baptistery do not _shut_: they are closed, but
they do not give the sense of shutting anything in or keeping anything
out. They are more like windows than doors. They give no impression of
defence or resistance: they are doors in nothing but name, and the
chance that they hang on hinges. Were it merely a contest between
Ghiberti and Donatello as to which sculptor were the more skilled
constructor of doors, further comment would be unprofitable; but it
raises the wider question of the laws and limitations of
bas-relief--the application to sculpture of the principles of
painting; in short, the broad line of demarcation between two
different arts. Michael Angelo probably realised the unity of the arts
better than Donatello, but Donatello knew enough to treat sculpture
with due respect: he valued it too highly to confuse the issue by
pictorial embellishments. It is no question of a convention, still
less of a canon. But there are inherent boundaries between the two
arts; and where the boundaries are overstepped, one or the other art
must lose some of its essential quality and charm. Donatello's reliefs
at Padua are crowded: Ghiberti's (on the second gates) are
overcrowded. The difference in degree produces a difference in
principle. If Ghiberti had made pictures instead of reliefs, the
atmosphere would keep the objects in their right places, while
differences of colour would give distinction to certain parts and the
chief figures would still predominate. In other reliefs Ghiberti
lavished so much care on landscape and architecture that the figures
become of secondary importance: on one relief a tree casts its shadow
on a cloud.[172] Ghiberti, in fact, with all his plastic elegance,
with a grace, suavity and sense of beauty which Donatello never
approached, was a painter at heart. "_L'animo mio alla pittura era in
grande parte volto_," he says in his Commentary,[173] and the faults
of his sculpture are due to this versatility. Donatello only used his
pictorial knowledge to perfect form and feature; and, complex as his
architectural backgrounds often are, they never suggest experiments in
perspective, and they never detract from the primacy of the people and
the incident. Michael Angelo was under no illusion on this point: he
never confused painting and sculpture. Yet he said Ghiberti's gates
would be worthy portals of paradise. "_Ce n'est pas la seul sottise
qu'on lui fasse dire_," drily remarked the Chevalier des Brosses;[174]
and, curiously enough, about the time that Michael Angelo made his
famous Judgment, an amateur of the day made a much shrewder criticism,
long since forgotten, that the doors would be adequate to stand at the
gates of Purgatory:--"_sarebbon bastanti a stare alle porte del
Purgatorio._"[175] The ambiguity is not without humour. Sculpture,
indeed, had no reason to ape or imitate painting. Sculpture, in fact,
was in advance of painting during the first half of the fifteenth
century. Donatello, Luca della Robbia, Jacopo della Quercia, and
Ghiberti were greater men in sculpture than their contemporaries in
painting. The arts were in rivalry; the claim for precedence was
zealously canvassed. The sculptors claimed superiority because their
art was older, because statuary has more points of view than one. You
can walk round it, while a picture has only one light and one view.
Moreover, the argument of utility applies most to sculpture, which can
be used for tombs, columns, fountains, caryatides, &c. Sculpture has
finality, for, though it takes longer to make, it cannot be constantly
altered like a picture. While all arts try to imitate nature,
sculpture gives the actual form, but painting only its semblance. A
man born blind has a sense of touch which gives him pleasure from
sculpture, which is better suited to theology, which has greater
durability, and so forth. The painter replied that, if a statue has
more than one point of view, a picture containing many figures can
give even greater variety. Then the argument of utility denies the
essence of art, which is to imitate nature, not to adorn brackets and
pilasters; but even if decoration be an end in itself, painting can be
used where sculpture would be too heavy. The painter continues that
his art requires higher training in such things as atmosphere and
perspective. As to the greater durability of sculpture, the material
and not the art is responsible; but, in any case, painting lasts long
enough to be worth achieving. Finally, sculpture cannot always imitate
nature: the sense of colour can make a sunset, a storm at sea,
moonlight, landscape and human emotions, which are best translated by
varying colour and light. The controversy is unsettled to this
day.[176] The wise man, like Donatello, selected his art and never
overstepped the boundary.
[Footnote 171: "Life of Henry VII.," ed. 1825, iii. 417.]
[Footnote 172: See Westmacott's lectures on Sculpture, II. III.,
_Athenæum_, 1858.]
[Footnote 173: 2nd Comm. Vasari, I. xxx.]
[Footnote 174: Letter of 1739, p. 186.]
[Footnote 175: 17, viii. 1549, Antonio Doni, printed in Bottari, iii.
341.]
[Footnote 176: These dialogues will be found at great length in
Borghini, Vasari, Leonardo da Vinci, Alberti, &c. Castiglione also
devotes a canto of the "Cortegiano" to the subject.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Alinari_
JUDITH
LOGGIA DEI LANZI, FLORENCE]
[Sidenote: The Judith.]
The bronze statue of Judith was probably made shortly before
Donatello's journey to Padua. It is his only large bronze group, and
its faults are accentuated by the most unfortunate position it
occupies in the lofty Loggia de' Lanzi. It was meant to be the
centrepiece of some large fountain. The triangular base, and the
extremities of the mattress on which Holofernes sits, have spouts from
which the water would issue, though the bronze is not worn away by the
action of water. As we see the statue now, it looks small and dwarfed.
In a courtyard it would look far more imposing, and when it came from
Donatello's workshop, placed upon a pedestal designed for it, its
present incongruities would have been absent. For instance, the feet
of Holofernes would have been upheld by something from below, as the
marks in the bronze indicate. With all its disadvantages, the statue
is extremely interesting. Judith stands over Holofernes. With her left
hand she holds him up by clutching his hair: her right arm is
uplifted, in which she holds the sword. The action seems arrested
during a moment of suspense: one doubts if the sword will ever fall.
Judith, who was the ideal of courage and beauty, seems to hesitate;
there is nothing to show that her arm is meant to descend, except
her inexorable face--and even that is full of sadness and regrets. It
is more dramatic that this should be so. Cellini's Perseus close by
has already committed his murder. The crisis has passed, the blood
spurts from the severed head and trunk of the Medusa; so we have
squalid details instead of the overpowering sense of impending
tragedy. With Cellini there was no room for mystery: no imagination
could be left to the spectator. "_Celui qui nous dict tout nous
saousle et nous dégouste._" Holofernes is an amazing example of
Donatello's power. He is a really drunken man: we see it in the
comatose fall of the limbs, in the drooping features, the languid
inanition of the arms. The veins throb in his hands and feet: the
spine has ceased to be rigid, and were it not for the support of
Judith's hands buried in his hair, he would topple over inanimate. The
treatment of the bronze is successful and its patina is admirable.
Judith's drapery, it is true, has a restless crackling appearance. It
is furrowed into small and rather fussy folds, almost suggesting, like
the figures of the Parthenon pediment, the pleats of wetted linen on a
lay figure. Judith's arm is overweighted by the heavy sleeve. There
are, however, pleasing details, especially the band of embroidery over
her breast decorated with the flying _putti_; and her veil, Michael
Angelesque in its way, is treated with skill and distinction. The base
consists of three bronze reliefs joined into a triangle, separated at
each angle by a narrow bronze plaque, beyond which is a curved
pilaster giving extra support to the figures above. These reliefs are
bacchic in idea and Renaissance in execution. Children dance, play and
sleep around the mask from which the jet of water would issue. These
reliefs, much inferior to the bronze capital at Prato, have been
over-rated. As a group the Judith is not really successful. It is a
pile of figures, less telling in some ways than the Abraham and Isaac,
though, having no niche, it has to undergo the severer test of
criticism from every aspect. But before Michael Angelo the Italian
free-standing group was tentative. Even in Michael Angelo's sculpture,
when we consider its massive scale, the extent and number of his
commissions, and the ease with which he worked his material, it is
astonishing how few free-standing groups were made. His grouping was
applied to the relief. The free group is, of course, the most
comprehensive vehicle of intensified emotion or action; it gives an
opportunity of doubling or trebling the effect on the spectator.
Sculpture has never realised to the full the chances offered by
grouped plastic art of heroic proportions. Classical groups cannot be
fairly judged by the Laocoon, the Farnese Bull, or even the Niobe
reliefs. Their theatrical character is so patent, that it is obvious
how far inferior they must be to the work of greater men whose genuine
productions have perished. But, even so, the group being the medium
through which emotions could be intensified to the uttermost, it is
not necessary to assume that they were common in classical times;
partly owing to the technical difficulties and expense, and partly
owing to their disinclination to make sculpture interpret profound
impressions, mental or intellectual.