The Figino, or On the Purpose of Painting: Art Theory in the Late Renaissance 9781442681279

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Gregorio Comanini THE FIGINO, OR ON THE PURPOSE OF PAINTING Art Theory in the Late Renaissance Translated and Edited by Ann Doyle-Anderson and Giancarlo Maiorino Gregorio Comanini's dialogue // Figino overo del fine della Pittura (1591) offers one of the most comprehensive overviews of aesthetic theory and practice in the late sixteenth century. The dialogue takes the form of a conversation among the author's friends about the fine, or ultimate purpose, of art. Comanini's interlocutors draw extensively from classical and contemporary theory - Plato, Aristotle, Horace, Mazzoni, Tasso, Paleotti - in addressing the vigorously debated aesthetic issues of their day: the nature of imitation and the role of the artist's imagination; verisimilitude in literature and painting; correspondences and differences among literature, painting, and music; the superiority of one art to another; and the question of artistic decorum, a delicate issue in the climate of the Counter-Reformation. Accompanying this theoretical discussion are comments on works by Michelangelo, Giulio Romano, Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, andTorquato Tasso. Two painters, Ambrogio Figino and Giuseppe Arcimboldo, are presented as emblematic of the two opposing aesthetic stances - art is to teach / art is to please - that structure the dialogue. Although the discussion ends with the apparent triumph of the moral, didactic aesthetic, an ambiguity remains. What emerges from Comanini's blending of ethical and aesthetic considerations is his absolute conviction that art plays a critical role in human existence, whether as entertainment, mirror of human activity, or teacher of moral truths. Ann Doyle-Anderson and Giancarlo Maiorino provide the first complete English translation of Comanini's text, along with an introduction and extensive notes. Their work is a welcome addition to the field of Renaissance studies. (Toronto Italian Studies) ANN DOYLE-ANDERSON is Associate Professor, Department of Modern Languages, Stephen F. Austin State University. GIANCARLO MAIORINO is Rudy Professor of Comparative Literature, Indiana University.

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GREGORIO

COMANINI

The Figino, orThe Figino, or On the Purpose of Painting ART THEORY IN THE LATE RENAISSANCE

Translated, with introduction and notes, by Ann Doyle-Anderson and Giancarlo Maiorino

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com © University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2001 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-3574-4 (cloth) ISBN 0-8020-8446-X (paper)

Printed on acid-free paper Toronto Italian Studies

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Comanini, Gregorio The Figino, or, On the purpose of painting : art theory in the late Renaissance (Toronto Italian studies) Translation of: II Figino, published 1591. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-3574-4 (bound) ISBN 0-8020-8446-X (pbk.) 1. Arts - Philosophy - Early works to 1800. 2. Painting Philosophy - Early works to 1800. 3. Aesthetics - Early works to 1800. I. Doyle-Anderson, Ann II. Maiorino, Giancarlo, 1943III. Title. IV. Title: On the purpose of painting. V. Series. ND1130.C6413 2001 700M C2001-901964-5 This book has been published with the help of grants from the Grupo Espiritu Santo. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Vll

Introduction ix On the Translation xviii THE FIGINO 1 Dedication 3 The Dialogue 5 NOTES 111 SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 147 INDEX

149

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Acknowledgments

Throughout this project we have benefited from the aid and cooperation of both institutions and individuals. We are grateful to our respective universities for grants and research leaves that have enabled us to complete our work. We are deeply indebted to Professor Albert P. Steiner, Jr, for allowing us to use his translations of Latin poetry, in particular excerpts from Sannazaro's De partu virginis, and for offering us invaluable advice on Greek, Hebrew, and Latin texts. Jody Shiftman's efforts as research assistant were both tireless and meticulous. Among others who have been particularly generous with their time and support, we wish to thank David Armstrong, David Bollotin, Mark Clark, Mary Devine, Richard Lounsbury, Richard Lower, and James Magruder for their advice in matters of classical aesthetics; and Enrique Alarcon, Ignazio Angelelli, Ted Baeninger, John Dahmus, Ron Groschen, Louis Mackey, and Kenneth Steinhauser for their assistance with medieval philosophy, theological terms, Church history, and patristic literature. Louis Waldman gave us excellent advice on Renaissance iconography. At the University of Toronto Press, Theresa Griffin's superb editing greatly improved the manuscript, and we also wish to thank Ron Schoeffel and Anne Laughlin for their interest and professionalism throughout the project. We further express our appreciation to Lone Wittliff for her assistance with works in Swedish, and to Robert Young of Special Collections at the Ernst Mayr Library, Harvard University, for his aid in locating Renaissance texts on alchemy and zoology. We extend thanks to the Dartmouth University Library and the Lilly Library of Indiana University, and special thanks to Jackie Ferguson and Richard Ford of the Interlibrary Loan office of Stephen F. Austin State University, without whose perseverance and dedication this book would not have been possible.

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Introduction

Gregorio Comanini's dialogue // Figino overo del fine della Pittura (1591) offers one of the most comprehensive overviews of aesthetic theory and practice in a period characterized by a proliferation of treatises on art indeed, an 'age of criticism/ as Baxter Hathaway has so aptly described the late sixteenth century.1 As Comanini's interlocutors attempt to resolve the issue of the fine, or ultimate purpose, of art, they draw extensively from classical and contemporary theory - Plato, Aristotle, Horace, Mazzoni, Tasso, Paleotti - in order to deal with the most discussed, and sometimes most hotly debated, aesthetic issues of their day: whether art is to teach or to please; the nature of imitation and the role of the artist's imagination; verisimilitude in literature and in painting; correspondences and differences among literature, painting, and music; the superiority of one art to another; and the question of artistic decorum, a delicate issue in the climate of the Counter-Reformation. Accompanying this exhaustive treatment of theory are numerous analytical comments on works by Michelangelo, Giulio Romano, Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Torquato Tasso. Indeed, two painters, Ambrogio Figino and Giuseppe Arcimboldo, are presented as emblematic of the two opposing aesthetic stances - art is to teach / art is to please - that structure the dialogue. Although the discussion ends with the apparent triumph of the moral, didactic aesthetic, there remains a certain ambiguity, a lack of resolution in some issues that shows Comanini more closely aligned with his friends Paolo Lomazzo, Torquato Tasso, and Giacopo Mazzoni, all passionately engaged in artistic debate, than with the strictly doctrinal Paleotti.2 In short, Comanini's dialogue is a compendium of issues from an age in which debates are characterized by true scholarly precision, elaborate discussion, and, perhaps most tellingly, conclusions less conclusive than they seem.

x Introduction Apart from evidence of his literary friendships, relatively little biographical information about Comanini is available. A Lateran canon, he wrote, besides the Figino, a religious work, De gli Affetti della Mistica Teologia, as well as a number of poems.3 There is a record of two orations, one in praise of Gregory XIV and one on the death of the Duke of Mantua. Despite this modest literary output, it is clear that Comanini enjoyed the respect and friendship of some of the major literary and artistic figures of his age. Indeed, the first mention of his name occurs in the Discorsi del Poema Eroico, in which Tasso refers to both Comanini and Mazzoni as friends with whom he begs to differ on the matter of imitation: 'benche 1'uno sia fornito di gran dottrina, e 1'altro di grande eloquenza, anzi ambedue dotati d'ambedue, e miei amici parimente' [although the one is endowed with great learning, the other with great eloquence, and indeed both are gifted in both ways, and both equally my friends].4 A poem of Comanini's appears at the end of Lomazzo's Idea del Tempio della pittura, attesting to Comanini's familiarity with both the work and the author. Following Comanini's death in 1608, Tasso edited a volume of Comanini's poetry, Canzoniere spiritale, morale e d'onore.5 Meagre as the details may be, they clearly establish Comanini's participation in a significant literary, critical, and artistic circle. The Figino represents Comanini's distillation of the concerns of that circle. Set in Lombardy, the dialogue takes the form of a conversation among and about a group of Comanini's friends, although, in typical Renaissance dialogue fashion, the figures act as representatives of appropriate points of view rather than being realistically drawn characters. For example, while the three main interlocutors - Ambrogio Figino, Stefano Guazzo, and Ascanio Martinengo - are historical figures and were indeed friends of the author, it is obvious that their personae in the dialogue speak as painter, poet, and prelate in the generic sense. In the debate, which centres on the proper goal of art, Guazzo the poet takes the position that the point of art is pleasure, while Martinengo, the man of religion, insists that art must be morally instructive. The painter Figino serves a dual function: he offers comments from the point of view of the practitioner while his works represent the utilitarian, doctrinal, and didactic orientation in painting. Arcimboldo does not appear as one of the interlocutors, but his works, discussed at length, represent the playful, the pleasurable, and the inventive. Comanini himself plays a critical role in the dialogue, but in absentia; Guazzo's reading aloud of a poem Comanini has sent to Figino provides the catalyst for the entire debate. On hearing the poem, Guazzo objects to the statement that an artist's concern should be 'what is best for us' - that is,

Introduction xi the declaration of the superiority of the moral/didactic impulse in art - and presents an argument to the contrary. Martinengo counters, supporting the notion that art must be directed by moral concerns. The dialogue thus falls into two halves, with Figino representing the concerns of the practising artist in both. Obviously, the outcome of the debate is a foregone conclusion. Since Comanini is the author of the dialogue as well as of the poem read into it, his characters are not likely to contradict him, especially when Martinengo's copious citations from sacred history, the Bible, and the proceedings of the Council of Trent place the entire weight of the Counter-Reformation on his side. None the less, the bipartite structure of the dialogue allows Comanini to present and explore a broad range of aesthetic issues. In the first section of the debate, Guazzo, the exponent of pleasure as the goal of art, uses the wellknown Platonic distinction of types of art (arts that use objects, arts that make them, arts that imitate them) as a point of departure for his thesis: that if the arts imitate (as copious examples from both Plato and Aristotle indicate), then their goal must be pleasure, since imitation aims at pleasure, not teaching. In these sections as in many others, especially those dealing with Plato and Aristotle, Comanini follows Mazzoni's highly influential Delia Difesa della Comedia di Dante so closely that he reproduces long passages practically verbatim.6 With classical mimetic theory as support, Guazzo hinges his argument on an analogy between art and games, one also explored by Tasso in // Gonzaga II, overo del Gioco. Reduced to its simplest form, Guazzo's argument is that games imitate life as art imitates nature; that the imitative quality of games offers pleasure; and that, therefore, the imitative quality of art has entertainment as its ultimate goal. Within the context of the Italian Cinquecento, Guazzo's analogy is far less frivolous than it might seem. As Thomas Crane's exhaustive study demonstrates, games were directly linked to social conduct as well as sharing some aesthetic territory with art; accordingly, they were an essential thread in the social fabric.7 Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier, for example, evolved out of what was essentially a parlour game. Indeed, throughout his remarks, Guazzo consistently emphasizes the mimetic quality of games: a relay, for example, imitates the course of human life, as one generation passes the torch to another; a card game reflects a particular political order. Even the defender of the concept that art exists primarily to please, therefore, includes in his definition the notion that art, through its analogy to human life, instructs. Guazzo's consideration of the nature of imitation also includes a lengthy exploration of the role played by the artist's imagination. The discussion

xii Introduction

hinges on two terms derived from a reading of a passage in Plato: the icastic and the fantastic. As Guazzo defines them, icastic imitation (I'imitazione icastica) deals with things that exist in nature, while its fantastic counterpart (I'imitazione fantastica] invents things that exist only in the mind of the artist. Panofsky points out that Comanini's treatment represents a major shift from the original focus of the Platonic text; however, Comanini, here as on numerous other occasions, simply follows Mazzoni.8 Moreover, he joins numerous theoreticians and practitioners, among them Lomazzo and Benedetto Varchi, who explore the same issue using identical or similar terms. Varchi, for example, makes a distinction between substantial and contingent forms: natural forms are substantial, whereas the forms of art, which are contingent, originate 'not in the things that are made, but in him who makes them/9 At the heart of the discussion lies a struggle to define the role of the artist's creativity within the context of imitation. In other words, given that an artist imitates, what exactly does he imitate? Does he copy only that which is in nature ? Does he rearrange what nature produces ? If he invents, can he be said to imitate ? The discussion in II Figino centres on the painter Arcimboldo, an 'ingegnosissimo pittore fantastico/ Arcimboldo's artistic capricci present forms that 'do not exist outside the mind' ['cose che non hanno 1'essere fuor della mente'].10 According to Guazzo's analysis, Arcimboldo's Flora and VertumnuSf 'portraits' in which vegetable forms are composed to resemble human faces, actually offer examples of both icastic and fantastic imitation: the fruits and flowers are treated realistically, but their use in creating grotesque portraits serves to categorize Arcimboldo as a 'pittore fantastico.'11 In the artistic practice of the period, of course, fantasy often steered originality toward the excessive mode of the grotesque. Capricci, ghiribizzi, and grottesche flaunted the inventive capacity of the artist and strained the concept of imitation as it granted increasing freedom to the inventive capacity of the artist. In the matter of literature, it is on this very point of icastic/fantastic imitation that Tasso specifically takes issue with Comanini, pointing out, as he does so, Comanini's debt to Mazzoni: 'Dunque il poeta facitor dell'imagini non e fantastico imitatore, come parve al Mazzone, e dopo lui don Gregorio Comanino ...' [Thus the poet as maker of images is not a phantastic imitator, as Mazzoni held, and after him Don Gregorio Comanini ...].12 Here in the Discorsi del Poema Eroico, Tasso replaces the preference for invention apparent in his earlier Discorsi dell'Arte Poetica with a greater emphasis on historical truthfulness, a shift that also characterizes the revision of his Gerusalemme liberata. Having stated his disagreement with Mazzoni and

Introduction

xiii

Comanini, Tasso goes on to insist that poetic imitation must be icastic rather than fantastic. His next comment reveals the source of his underlying uneasiness about the fantastic: 'Con un'altra ragione possiam provare ch'l sogetto del poeta sia piu tosto il vero che'l falso ../ [To prove that the poet's subject is rather the true than the false we can offer yet another argument ...].13 Although his poetics allows for the use of the probable, 'what might have been/ and indeed for the marvellous, Tasso views Comanini's position, which echoes Mazzoni's, as associating poetry too closely with the impossible and with lies, a dangerous prospect. As Tasso's comments indicate, the issue of imitation relates directly to that of verisimilitude. Discussions of verisimilitude were, of course, commonplaces in Renaissance criticism, deriving ultimately from Aristotle's discussion of acceptable and unacceptable plots in literature but applied wholesale to the visual arts as well. Here again, Comanini accepts Mazzoni's conclusions and his terminology regarding the credible, the impossible, and the marvellous, culminating in the 'credible marvellous.'14 However, unlike Tasso or Mazzoni, Comanini devotes no time to defining or defending his position; without subjecting the idea to scrutiny, he assumes that the marvellous is essential to the viewer's enjoyment and is perfectly consistent with Aristotle. As Baxter Hathaway has observed, theorists and practitioners in this period increasingly combined a concern for realism with 'the age-old demand for the marvelous in myth and poetry - the escaping from this world of brass into a golden one of fantasy.'15 While art was to imitate, excellence in art was also to outdo nature, an idea that occasionally leads late sixteenth-century critics to display strange mixtures of reverence and defiance for tradition, including the classical past. In his insistence on the marvellous within an Aristotelian framework, as in his praise of Arcimboldo's fantasy within a didactic context, Comanini manifests one of the central contradictions of his age. While both aesthetic theory and practice increasingly emphasized the inventive and the marvellous, however, the climate of the Counter-Reformation was one in which all art was subjected to moral scrutiny. Although Comanini celebrates the idiosyncratic inventiveness of Arcimboldo, in the dialogue Guazzo finds his argument immediately countered by Martinengo, who champions the cause of the moral in art. Martinengo's shifting the focus of the argument from the pleasurable to the didactic function of art produces a corresponding shift in sources: along with Plato, Aristotle, Pliny, Mazzoni, and Tasso, he cites Chrysostom, the Bible, the Council of Trent, the Lives of the saints, and, most notably among contemporary ecclesiastical sources, Cardinal Paleotti and Johannes Molanus.16

xiv Introduction In this section, Comanini displays close affinities with Paleotti, especially in his emphasis on the tremendous impact of the visual arts, painting in particular, and their potential for influencing an audience for good or ill. Martinengo insists that artists have a moral obligation to direct art's tremendous affective power toward the moral and the good (in all cases synonymous with the orthodox). However, even at his most doctrinal, Comanini differs from his sources in that he devotes relatively little space to denouncing current artistic practices, a matter of great concern for both Paleotti and, of course, Molanus. Moreover, even while emphasizing art's instructive function, Comanini's aesthetic allows for far greater sophistication and subtlety in individual works. For example, in considering the audience of visual art, Paleotti emphasizes art's impact on the common people, who are particularly influenced by pictures, and consequently stresses the importance of clarity and simplicity. Comanini's Martinengo not only accepts but even encourages the use of sophisticated metaphors and elaborate allegories (his own allegorical interpretation of a statue at the end of the dialogue is an inventive tour-de-force), obviously aimed at a far more sophisticated and discerning segment of the population. Not surprisingly, allegory as both topic and technique figures importantly in the dialogue, since its traditional association with morality makes it an ideal method for discerning (or in some cases creating) the moral message of a work. However, Comanini's application of allegory to both literature and painting centres as much on the formal and theoretical as on the moral. His presentation of the fable of Porus and Penia offers the most notable literary example. Martinengo uses the fable to support his point that philosophers create poetic images to serve utilitarian ends, part of his refutation of Guazzo's argument: 'Queste imagini filosofiche, le quali, nudamente e come imagini considerate, non hanno altro ufficio che di somigliare e rappresentare, ma come giuochi hanno per fine il diletto, queste medesime, come regelate dalla filosofia, rimirano 1'utile come principale e propio lor fine' [These philosophical images, considered as nothing but images, have no business other than that of resembling and representing; but as games they have pleasure as their aim. Still, being governed by philosophy, these same images aim at the useful as their principal and appropriate goal] (297). A brief summary of the fable then serves as a point of departure for copious commentary, in this case taken directly from Ficino's commentary on Plato's Symposium. After this elaborate presentation, Martinengo concludes, Tero cosa chiara e che, quando i filosofi formano idoli di poesia, riguardano principalmente all'utile, e non al diletto di chi gli ascolta' [It's clear that, when philosophers create poetic images, they are concerned principally with benefiting, rather than

Introduction xv pleasing, whoever listens to them] (302-3). Thus, while Comanini emphasizes the moral of the story, he offers it less for its didactic content than as an illustration of technique; that is, he presents the story not in order to instruct the reader in Neoplatonic love, but to support his argument about the goal of art. Furthermore, for Comanini allegory plays a major role in resolving issues of verisimilitude, as demonstrated in Martinengo's defence of Michelangelo's Last Judgment.17 The defence arises out of a discussion of formal unity in literature and painting, in which the characters (predictably) apply Aristotelian literary notions, as filtered through Castelvetro, Minturno, and others, to the visual arts. Figino, speaking as a practising artist, mentions certain errors attributed to Michelangelo, such as his depiction of a beardless Christ. Martinengo responds that painters can answer objections about verisimilitude 'di quel modo che dice Aristotele potersi difendere i poeti' [in the same way that Aristotle says poets can defend themselves].18 Some poems, read literally, appear incredible, but with the application of allegory all apparent incongruities disappear 'in quel modo che allo spuntare della luce del giorno partono e spariscono le larve e le tenebre' [just as ghosts and darkness depart and vanish at the first light of day] (both quotations 351). Martinengo then proceeds to explicate the allegorical significance of Michelangelo's images. His use of allegory as defence is therefore based on two assumptions: that in matters of verisimilitude, what applies to literature must also apply to painting; and that allegory makes formally coherent what appears to be otherwise. The extended allegorization of the painting thus serves as a defence for Michelangelo on aesthetic as well as moral grounds, although the dividing line between aesthetics and morality during this period was frequently blurred to the point of invisibility. Moreover, although Martinengo responds to specific points raised by Michelangelo's detractors, most notably Dolce and Gilio, he does not, as they do, deal with the issue of ranking Michelangelo among artists. In the larger context of the debate, comparisons between Michelangelo and other artists (to Michelangelo's detriment) reflect a growing rebellion on the part of both critics and practitioners against the Florentine hegemony in the arts, personified by Michelangelo and institutionalized by Vasari. Comanini ignores the issue, thereby underscoring the fact that his concerns are theoretical. His defence departs from a consideration of formal issues and expands to encompass the theological. Allegory thus joins the credible marvellous and fantastic imitation as a means of explaining or justifying apparent aberrations from the norm; all permit the artist a certain creative latitude within the bounds of the verisimilar and the appropriate.

xvi Introduction

The assumption that the aesthetic principles for literature and painting are identical appears early in the dialogue and remains consistent throughout. Essentially, having departed from the definition of art as imitation, and having classified both painting and poetry as imitative arts, Comanini applies the same general aesthetic principles to both artistic modes while allowing for differences in content. His approach is entirely consistent with that of other texts from the period, in which the ut pictura poesis topos has become a critical commonplace.19 Comanini structures a step-by-step comparison of poetry and painting around Aristotle's discussion of the parts of tragedy, presenting specific elements of one art as exact equivalents of another: metre in poetry, for example, corresponds to (calculated) proportion in painting; the use of antonyms in diction corresponds to the use of contrasting figures in painting; rules about the unity of action apply to both arts; and so on. Though generally more representative than original, Comanini's extended comparison of the arts frequently betrays the extent to which the obviously artificial, whether in literature or in painting, has become not merely acceptable but worthy of admiration. His slight but significant alteration of Baldassar Castiglione's well-known term sprezzatura offers a case in point. In discussing the use of antithesis in poetry, Comanini advocates a certain sprezzatura artificiosa, the stylistic consequences of which he then applies to painting as well. Of course, in The Book of the Courtier, sprezzatura is the quality that allows the Courtier 'to conceal all art and make whatever is done or said appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it/20 Loosely translated as 'nonchalance/ Castiglione's neologism defies simple translation, as it incorporates an array of different qualities ranging from grace to virtue to excellence of conduct and uniqueness of style, all expressed in such a way as to appear utterly spontaneous. In all its manifestations, sprezzatura contrasts with the mannered or the obviously artificial. By adding the qualifying artificiosa, Comanini shifts the emphasis of Castiglione's term away from the concealment of art (the seemingly effortless grace of sprezzatura} to a celebration of artfulness. Of course, he is quick to add that a 'noble negligence' is always preferable to the manifestly forced, emphasizing that even artfulness should look natural, as suggested by Castiglione's original use of the term; but Comanini's combination of sprezzatura with the seemingly contradictory artificiosa underscores the extent to which the obviously artful and the capricious have become part of a changing social and artistic aesthetic. Comanini makes his most elaborate comparison not between poetry and painting but between painting and music. The structuring of his comparison

Introduction xvii

around Aristotle's elements of tragedy leads Martinengo to harmony, 'the sixth part of tragedy/ which, he says, pertains not to poetry, but to music and to painting. As proof of the relationship, he reviews in great technical detail Arcimboldo's creation of a highly complicated system that matches specific colours with musical tones. By way of introduction, Comanini takes great pains to link Arcimboldo's experiment, which carried the notion of artistic correspondences to the extreme, with Pythagoras's discovery of musical harmonies. Austin Caswell suggests that Arcimboldo's system of tonal equivalents goes far beyond synaesthesia to point toward a new (and strikingly modern) aesthetic; but Comanini does not pursue that issue.21 Although he lavishes praise on Arcimboldo's inventiveness and technical expertise, his consideration of Arcimboldo remains enclosed within his classical framework. Once again flirting with the eccentric, Comanini retreats. That combination of innovation and orthodoxy in many ways characterizes the dialogue as a whole and frequently creates highly ambiguous conclusions. For example, since Martinengo has by this time won the argument about the function of art - at least, Guazzo has declared himself defeated and since Comanini has reintroduced Arcimboldo, one might logically expect a re-evaluation of his work. If the function of art is didactic, then Figino, whose works are resoundingly so, should be declared the better painter. No such comparison takes place, nor is there a re-examination of the icastic and the fantastic. Since the fantastic has been associated with the pleasurable, and the icastic, akin to realism, with the didactic, one might expect Comanini to edge away from Mazzoni to arrive at a position closer to Tasso's. He does not do so. Guazzo's argument stands, even though he admits defeat; his conclusions are not so much refuted as replaced by Martinengo's. In fact, Comanini's interlocutors do not in reality resolve the issue of ranking the arts, despite what the title says. Guazzo has claimed that poetry, which presents more complete images than does painting, pleases more which, according to his aesthetic position, makes it superior to painting. Martinengo, emphasizing the didactic, fills his argument with examples of the power of painting to move and to instruct, and thus might reasonably conclude that painting is superior to poetry, but he does not. After addressing the points Guazzo has made in order to establish the superiority of poetry, Martinengo tells him that 'we have no basis for saying that painting's imitation does not equal that of poetry,' and goes on to insist that painting does as well as poetry in representing the passions of the soul. In other words, the arts appear to be equal. Figino the practitioner offers no more of a resolution than the theorists when he says that poetry delights with its story and teaches with its allegory, while painting pleases and

xviii Introduction instructs with the same image; he does not conclude that painting is therefore superior to poetry. What does emerge unequivocally from the dialogue is Comanini's absolute conviction that art plays a critical role in human existence, whether as entertainment, mirror of human activity, or teacher of moral truths. On the didactic side, rather than focusing on the dangers inherent in the images of painting, a concern central to both Paleotti and Molanus, Comanini emphasizes painting's potential for bringing about moral and ethical change. Although he acknowledges that art may be dangerous, Comanini instead stresses its power to transform. In the realm of aesthetics, his unqualified appreciation for the eccentric Arcimboldo, whose pictorial alchemy creates things not made by nature, reflects a theoretical position that tolerates, and even encourages, a broadening range of formal possibilities. Regardless of the label one chooses to affix to either the age or the text - late Renaissance, Counter-Renaissance, Counter-Re formation, or Mannerist22 - // Figino encompasses and balances, if at times precariously, the contradictions of an age. Comanini combines ethical and aesthetic considerations, linking a distinctly secular aesthetic with the theological preoccupations of the Counter-Reformation, just as he relies on both classical and ecclesiastical sources to support arguments concerning formal and ethical issues in art. Comanini's is a particularly eclectic approach, and it is precisely this blend of keen aesthetic sensitivity, moral concern, and careful logic that lends the essay its unique character. Comanini's work reflects the complexities of a complex period. Our intention in preparing this translation is to make a significant text more accessible to today's scholars. ON THE TRANSLATION Our translation, which we have based on Paola Barocchi's definitive edition of the Italian text, is the only complete English version of // Figino.23 Comanini's sources, on the other hand, are for the most part well-known works that already exist in translation. We have therefore used previously published English versions of those works and have identified them in the notes. On the extremely rare occasions on which a reliable English translation is not readily available, we have provided our own. On the matter of sources, Comanini's considerable erudition is an invaluable aid to both the reader and the translator. His attributions are generally accurate, and when he employs the sometimes obscure vocabulary of the expert, he invariably explicates his terms. In his discussions of theories of poetry, painting, and music as well as in his exposition of Church doctrine,

Introduction xix Comanini employs his terms precisely and accurately. When his vocabulary becomes technical, therefore, we have allowed it to remain so within the text, providing explanatory notes for non-specialists. For example, when Comanini discusses music, only a musicologist would be on familiar ground with the diatesseron and the diapason. However, the term diatesseron means exactly what Comanini says it does: a proportion of 4:3, as he explains at some length. Moreover, he structures his comparison of musical tones and Arcimboldo's colour tones so carefully that readers easily grasp the gist of the analogy without needing to comprehend the totality of the harmonic theory involved. We have therefore left the terms as they are, and have offered a schematic overview of the system in the notes. Translation of Comanini's philosophical terms involves added layers of complexity. He relies heavily (and predictably) on Plato and Aristotle; his classics (also predictably) have been filtered through multiple layers of interpretation, from the ancient to the contemporary. In translating these terms we have aimed at a double fidelity, to Comanini and to his sources, and have sought to make the terms as recognizably and authentically Aristotelian or Platonic to modern readers as they would have been to Comanini's. Following this procedure, in a series of passages we have translated Comanini's term idolo as 'image' rather than as the more literal 'idol,' for both linguistic and historical reasons. In discussions of literary theory, Comanini's 'idolo' is of course a transliteration of the Greek eiBooXov (eidolon), which is usually rendered in English as 'image.' Comanini's contemporaries would recognize his idolo as a technical term defined by and in Greek texts, translated into Latin (as idolum], and commented on for centuries. The English 'idol/ though the most obvious translation, and one frequently used in English renderings of texts from the period, does not appear to us to suggest the same complex of ideas to modern readers; moreover, it sounds somewhat awkward. Using 'image,' the other common English translation of the term, is complicated by the coexistence in the text of the Italian imagine, the best equivalent of which is also 'image.' Comanini generally treats idolo and imagine as synonyms, although he tends to use imagine rather than idolo in describing the visual arts.24 Although in dealing with aesthetic issues Comanini uses the terms interchangeably, a sharp distinction occurs when he shifts from aesthetic to theological ground. Representations of Christ, the Virgin, or the saints are always imagini and never idoli, for the obvious (post-Tridentine) reason: the term idoli suggests pagan idols, the veneration of which is, of course, idolatry. Comanini himself acknowledges the linguistic problem when Martinengo cautions Guazzo that he cannot apply his term idolo to Christian images,

xx Introduction because the Council of Nicaea 'ferisce di scommunica tutti coloro che 1'imagini de' santi uomini ardiscono di chiamare idoli ../ [the Council of Nicaea excommunicates all those who dare call the images of saints idols].25 Faced with much the same dilemma - the use of the same word, idolo, as a technical term borrowed from the Greek in some cases and as a narrowly defined theological term (with negative connotations) in others - we have translated idolo as 'image' when it clearly means 'image' and as 'idol' when it means 'idol/ and have in a few cases rendered it as eidolon when Comanini makes an issue of its definition according to Greek authors. Imagine ismakes an issue of its definition according to Greek authors. Imagine is always translated as 'image.' In all cases, we have attempted to provide a readable text that conveys Comanini's meaning clearly while providing indications of significant differences in usage. We have departed most from the literal in our rendering of Comanini'style, which is characterized by oratorical sweep and extended periods. Sentences of more than a hundred words are not unusual, and Comanini frequently places his proposition/subject at the beginning and his conclusion/verb perilously close to the end. English, with its numberless and genderless relative pronouns, will not allow Comanini's strings of subordinate clauses, nor will modern readers of English tolerate periods of such length. Consequently, we have broken Comanini's sentences into shorter units and in the process have turned some dependent into independent clauses. The need to shorten and restructure the sentences becomes critical as the discussion becomes more theoretical, with complex problems presented at the beginning of a sentence, subjected to a series of qualifications in a string of clauses, and resolved only at the last moment. In Italian, despite these lengthy postponements, Comanini's command of language and his rigorous logic always lead to a resolution. Rather than appearing to have digressed endlessly before getting to the point, he gives the impression of having encompassed all possible qualifiers in his consideration before neatly tying the package together at the end. By dividing single long sentences we have sought to give English readers a sense of the careful logic and intelligence of the original. Comanini is verbose, but he does not ramble; and if we have sacrificed something of his notion of elegance, we have done so in order to convey the precision of his thought. For the same reason we have not attempted to maintain Comanini's metre or rhyme scheme in the poems, though we have taken care to preserve the images and stanza structure. Comanini's frequent inversions and convolutions of syntax are more often pedantic than successful. His are not great works of poetry, and their principal interest lies in the aesthetic position they convey. In other words, the poems are primarily intellectual exercises, and

Introduction xxi

we have therefore treated them like the rest of the text, untangling constructions that would distract readers from the main thrust of the argument. Our overall aim in translating // Figino has been to make this sixteenthcentury Italian work accessible to modern readers of English without unduly simplifying or modernizing it. The speakers in the Figino operate on an elevated intellectual level and deal in a highly sophisticated manner with theories of and debates about literature, painting, and theology. Moreover, through their comments Comanini addresses a community of intellectuals who, if they do not necessarily share his opinions, do share his knowledge of classical and ecclesiastical literature, his assumptions about the nature of art, and his concept of eloquence. Today's readers are very different from that original audience. Our stylistic preferences are different, and we neither read the classics nor evaluate works of art from Comanini's perspective. Certain aspects of his dialogue cannot but appear alien to us; to attempt to render them less so in translation would do violence to the text.

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The Figino, or On the Purpose of Painting

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[239] To the highly illustrious and reverend Monsignor and my most respected patron, Monsignor Settimio Borsieri, Bishop-elect of Alessano If in our present age we are to honour at all the ancient Parthian custom of never appearing before the king without a gift,1 we should at least do so for the coronations and weddings of princes, when every expression of warm good wishes both confirms the loyalty of the well-wisher and contributes to the general happiness of the people. Our Lord has recently chosen Your Reverence for the ecclesiastical principality, and the wedding of consecration in which you marry your Church will soon take place. You have been my most special benefactor, particularly in my formative years, when you encouraged me in my studies and watered this young plant so that it might take root and grow; so I owe you far too much to come empty-handed to this celebration of the well-deserved prize, this token of esteem and high regard that His Holiness Pope Gregory XIV has bestowed on you. Though I can offer so little, I do not hesitate to send you my poor gift; for I know that generous spirits like yours receive everything offered them, no matter how small, as though it were as great as the affection of the giver. Therefore, here is a dialogue of mine, [240] born under your protection, its title page engraved with your name. This is the gift I present to you, a new Prince of the Church; this is the token of my spirit's happiness at this, your spiritual wedding. Fear of overcrowding your wedding feast keeps me from presenting you delectable dishes, as would a polished urbanite; but at least, like a humble villager, I can offer flowers and herbs to adorn and perfume the table. I say nothing else of my happiness at Your Reverence's ascent of

4

Gregorio Comanini

the ladder of honours (and may God grant that you reach its summit soon), since you know that I shout with affection what I do not say with words. And I humbly kiss your holy hands. From Mantua on the twelfth of September, 1591 From Your Reverence's most devoted servant, Gregorio Comanini [241]

The Figino, or On the Purpose of Painting Interlocutors: Father Ascanio Martinengo, Stefano Guazzo, and Giovan Ambrogio Figino

In the year of Our Lord 1590, Father Ascanio Martinengo, canon of the Lateran Council and at that time abbot of San Salvatore in Brescia, went to Milan. A gentleman renowned for his good breeding and urbanity as well as for his learning, Martinengo had been drawn there by Signer Ambrogio Figino's reputation for excellence in the art of painting. The canon knew Figino's works only through their resounding public acclaim, a familiarity he considered inadequate; he therefore wanted to meet this excellent, elegant painter and admire the paintings firsthand. Figino's reputation had also attracted a gentleman from Pavia, Signer Stefano Guazzo, who has given birth to such learned, pleasant, and beneficial writings that his reputation for style and nobility extends far beyond the Alps.2 [242] A shared desire as well as a shared fate brought both Martinengo and Guazzo to Figino's residence at the same time on the same day. Known to each other by reputation though not by sight, the two gentlemen met at the door. There they found that Figino was in bed recovering from an illness that had oppressed him for several days. A servant escorted them to the bedroom, where their Figino, whom they honoured as a friend even before meeting him, was lying. As these two noble guests entered, they noticed that in order to give them a suitable welcome, at least insofar as his convalescent state permitted, he folded and placed beneath his pillow something he had been reading. After introducing themselves and exchanging pledges of friendship, his guests sat down on two chairs that had been brought to them, remaining at a short distance from Figino's bed in order to avoid increasing his discomfort, since the summer heat was making itself felt with a vengeance. Martinengo broke the silence by beginning the following conversation: MAR.: Signer Giovan Ambrogio, I would not have you fan the blaze of your

6 Gregorio Comanini

past illness by adding fuel to it. When Signer Guazzo and I joined you, we saw you reading something, and there is no doubt that reading inflames the brain. Plato's Timaeus affirms that the brain is the coldest part of the body, and the coldness of the brain tempers the heat of the heart. Aristotle and Averroes confirm it more than once, though Galen denies it.3 When someone has a fever, [243] his heart is extremely hot; and if his brain is hot as well, it cannot cool the heart as it should. As a result, the sick person will become even more gravely ill. FIG.: I was reading something soothing and delightful, not long or fatiguing - a canzone of Comanini's that he sent me shortly before your most welcome arrival. GUA.: Figino, since we are all friends of Comanini's, please share with us what you have received from him. Let us read this poem. Don't be selfish with the pleasure - which, to tell you the truth, you appeared to be when you hid the page under your pillow as we joined you. FIG.: The reason was modesty rather than selfishness. The composition is about my illness - and therefore about me - so you shouldn't tease me about hiding it, Guazzo. But since I have spent far too long explaining what I was reading, it's only fair to let my face do penance for my tongue by blushing when I hear someone read words of praise about me. As you like, then. Here is the canzone. MAR.: You be the reader, Guazzo. I'm ready to listen most attentively. GUA.: You would be a far worthier reader than I. But since reading might overheat you now that the sun is at its most intense, I'll take the burden on myself in order to spare you the effort. MAR.: You make me sound like someone who confers a weighty honour! But I didn't intend it that way. Please read the piece; it is short, in any case. GUA.: Since you wish it, I'll read: [244] The ailing Apelles languishes, Figino languishes and moans, Figino, whose praise resounds In a thousand places.

The Figino 7 He languishes, and with him languish The lovely, divine Graces; Art and Nature seem to droop. Idle lies that brush With which he once imitated The true with the illusory Until the true was conquered By the false, which seemed truer Than truth; Until fruits and flowers were mere shadows Of those he shadowed with his colours. The pallor of his lips, The livid colour of his face And all the arid, sickly flesh Make even cinnabar Pale and melt away, No longer coming to redden The soft mouth. You see the rose Past its prime, Because it does not warm The feigned cheek, nor restore Its native colour. The colour white Appears as muted shadows of the lily In a darkened horror as it forms chest or side. The good painter imagines A cool brook in a lovely meadow, Planning to paint it someday. Now, while he is weakest, He also imagines a boulder At the foot of an oak or an ash; It spills liquid silver That flees with a soft and peaceful sound, [245] And bathes the grassy field With its slow wandering. But it is the ardour that so burns him That brings him to this state, and the false drinking Poisons him.

8

Gregorio Comanini

The wave teases Tantalus's proud mouth, But flees if he tries to drink, And he swallows sand. Between leafy branch and leafy branch Red apples, which he barely touches, Bring sorrow to his lips. For when the eternal rage Of his empty stomach moves him To bite them, Suddenly All Autumn's harvest rises and escapes From his jaws, leaving Only air and hunger, Then returns again and again. My Figino is not The Thunderer's prisoner, Yet he must endure greater suffering. Good-scented wine Flows over his panting chest, But does not quench his burning thirst. He buries his ravenous teeth in the fruit And crushes it, but the more he gorges The more he craves, His vigour unrestored, his heart more troubled. And as often happens in war, He falls back in pain as he rises. You, who with a benign glance Clear the sky of winter When it flashes lightning and thunders, Highest Sun, rescue from mortal danger This man who hopes in you And return him safe to us. [246] Quiet the tempest That sounds and shudders Around him, make it flee So that it destroys neither him Nor us for his sake.

The Figino 9 Ah, do not hold back your aid Against the death blows Aimed at his life. You know that he refuses to portray Immodest forms with learned style, Like the shape of that one Whose base shell in the immense waves Was mother and cradle in the salty water. He takes pleasure only in forming The beauty of friendly virtue, Which, while it rewards the eye, Does not sully the soul, Enemy of all less than lovely desires; Enemy, yes, who strips man Of lowly thoughts, and makes him long only for heaven. Instead he praises the divine image of the one Whose foot presses down On the serpent where it coils; Sweet and shining free from pride, She wounds and crushes it, While others praise her modest beauty. The naked child who plays with the fierce Dragon Seems to rejoice, breathing love, But he so lashes it That its scales cannot shield it. O holy spectacle, Which forces tears From our eyes. Thus, if the able painter turns His art and his genius Toward their true goal, Committed to what is best for us, Heal him; and we will see the [247] King of Egypt, driven by arrogance, Ride on the waves, and finally drown. We will see cymbals, sistra, and strings Joined with poetry, We will see lovely Hebrew maidens

10 Gregorio Comanini

Sweeten the air and the sea, and Make harmony in mute sound on a wide canvas. Therefore heal him, and turn The ailing right hand back to the noble work. Hurry, then, Canzone, to my Figino Who lies in anguish, And say: Endure, for you earn certain peace. MAR.: How elegantly Guazzo read us the poem! FIG.: I agree, and I am amazed at how he took on Comanini's sentiments so completely that he seemed to be Comanini himself. GUA.: You both do me more honour than I deserve. Figino, I'm glad that you are healthier now than when Comanini began composing his poem, which is touching, yet displays a pleasing gravity as well. Still, on reading it I noticed something I'd rather not pass over in silence, since I'm quite uncertain about it. At the beginning of the ninth and last stanza he says these words: Thus, if the able painter turns His art and his genius Toward their true goal, Committed to what is best for us ... It seems to me that he considers utility, or the beneficial, to be the aim of painting. The words themselves suggest it, and the context [248] supports the idea. For this reason he has mentioned a painting - perhaps the one I see leaning against the wall here - in which you, Figino, have represented the Virgin holding down the serpent with her foot (a concept taken from Genesis: 'She will press your head under her foot').4 He also mentions another painting you plan to do, in which you intend to depict the drowning of the Pharaoh, and says that he hopes you will turn your hand exclusively to works like these, since they can please the viewer with holy examples, exhorting him to perform worthy actions and imitate courageous and just men, which is the true and proper goal (to use his words) of the art of painting. I'm not sure that I entirely approve. FIG .: And what can be wrong with saying that the aim of painting is utility? GUA.: If I'm not mistaken, there is a great deal wrong with it. All the

The Figino 11 representational, or imitative, arts have pleasure as their proper aim; and since painting is one of them, it is appropriate to say that its purpose is pleasure, and not utility. FIG.: Please explain to me more clearly what you mean by representational or imitative art. G u A .: Gladly. But I'm afraid of boring you with a lengthy exposition - which could happen easily, I suspect, since you are just recovering from your illness. GUA.: Don't worry; you'll help me avoid a relapse, I assure you. GUA.: As you wish. I say, then, as does Plato in the tenth book of the Republic, that all the arts can be consolidated into three groups or types.5 The first type includes arts that use objects; the second, arts that make them; and the third, arts that imitate them. Arts that use objects are like the art of bearing arms, of sailing, or of playing a musical instrument, [249] and others. They are so called because those performing them only use, and do not make, their instruments. The art of horsemanship uses the lance, the sword, and the shield; the art of seamanship uses the ship, the sail, and the anchor; the musical art uses the pick, the lyre, and the strings; but none of these three arts makes the thing it uses. Of course, they direct and design and order how the instruments should be made, and prescribe the rules of making them. If it should happen that a horseman should make his own shield, or a sailor a cable or a musician a lute, he would do so not as horseman, sailor, or musician, but as though taking on the role of the maker. An art that makes objects is designated as such because it makes and executes them according to the dictates of the art that uses them. Thus, an art that makes objects is that of the blacksmith, who makes the sword for the horseman; of the carpenter, who makes nautical instruments; and of the musical instrumentmaker. Aristotle calls the first of these two arts the master art and the second, the subordinate, since it obeys the precepts of the master art and is subject to its laws.6 An imitative art imitates the things made by the art that makes objects, or the subordinate art. Painting fits this category precisely in that with its colours it imitates the arms made by the blacksmith, the ship made by the carpenter, and the viola made by the instrument maker. The art of poetry similarly imitates and expresses in words the same things produced by the arts that make. Plato has said, therefore, that this imitative art is at three removes from the truth, and so are the artists.

12 Gregorio Comanini FIG.: I do not understand this passage completely. Please express yourself more clearly. GUA.: Gladly. Let us consider three bridles: the first in terms of the art that uses objects, in the mind of the horseman; the second made by the art that makes objects, which is that of bridle-making; and the third represented by [250] the imitative art, which is painting. According to Plato, the bridle in the horseman's mind attains the first level of truth, since the horseman will understand the bridle and its form better than the one who makes it. The art that uses objects commands, and the art that makes them obeys. The bridle made by the art of bridle-making, which is an art that makes and is subordinate to the master art, will occupy the second level, since it follows immediately upon the bridle in the mind of the commanding practitioner. Consequently, since painting is an imitative art, the painted bridle is located on the third level from truth, as it is third from the imagined bridle of the master art. I haven't given you Plato's example of the three beds in the third book of the Republic, Martinengo - one bed in the mind of God, one formed by the subordinate art, and one drawn by the imitative art because I would not have you think that I accept the Platonic notion of the idea of the crafted object. I know quite well that everything Plato said serves only as an example. He concludes that the imitator is three removes from the truth and therefore more distant from the truth than are the other artists. But do not press me any further on this argument, Figino, because it would greatly displease you. FIG .: What? Do you think I don't enjoy hearing fine intellectual discussions? GUA.: You certainly wouldn't enjoy this one. And since by reputation Martinengo has dealt extensively with academics, let him be my witness. MAR.: You mean to say that Plato, with his fundamental idea that the imitator makes a thing three removes from the truth, reviles painting and poetry because they imitate appearances rather than the truth. He goes on to take Homer to task quite harshly. Since you, Figino, are so learned and so devoted a lover of painting, you couldn't [251] bear such attacks patiently. Now you see why Guazzo hesitates; he does not want to offend you in your own home. I do not know what he would do elsewhere. GUA.: I will defend both these most noble arts, and will always be their dedicated champion.

The Figino 13 MAR.: Fine words in someone else's house. GUA.: I will back them up with deeds even after I've left. FIG.: I'm pleased that you will, even if you do so only in your own defence. You have written poetry of such sweetness and purity that men of judgment quite rightly have called you the Tuscan Horace. GUA.: Now let us return to the first part of our argument. This conclusion is certain: of these three arts - that one that uses objects, the one that makes them, and the one that imitates them - the first has to do with the conceivable, the second with the practicable, and the third with the imitable. To return to the first example: the object of the master art is the bridle as conceivable, and the object of the subordinate art is the same bridle, but as practicable; and the object of the imitative art is the same bridle, but as imitable. That is, the object of the first will be the idea, of the second, the product; and of the third, what Plato calls the eidolon [idolo], that is, the image [imagine] and simulacrum that originates in the skill, fantasy, and intellect of man, which his will and choice put into operation.7 Mazzoni treats the matter at length in the introduction to his defence of Dante.8 FIG .: Wait a moment, because one part of your conclusion does not convince me. You say that the image [idolo] is the object of the imitative arts. But unless I am mistaken, since there is not a single art that does not imitate to some extent, the image is the object of all of them. What does the bridlemaking art do but imitate as nearly as it can the idea of the bridle the master art shows it? Besides that, since voices are the outward signs of the passions of the soul, [252] doesn't anyone who speaks make an image of his thoughts with words ? Doesn't the orator describe, and doesn't he imitate with description? Doesn't the historian do the same? How can it be true, then, that the image is the object of the imitative arts exclusively? GUA.: An ingenious objection, and one that the learned Patrizi has already made to Aristotle, who classifies poetry as an imitation.9 In order to solve this problem, I say that though all arts imitate in one way or another, the only ones classified as imitative are those that imitate only - that is, they imitate only in order to represent and resemble. The others have a purpose other than imitating, and the image they make serves an end other than imitation. The image of the bridle made by the art of bridle-making does not represent the idea of the bridle, but controls the horse and serves the art of

14 Gregorio Comanini horsemanship. On the other hand, the image of the bridle made by the art of painting has no use other than to represent the bridle made by the art of bridle-making. Even though anyone who speaks makes an image of the concept he has in mind, if it happens that this image has a purpose other than imitating, the speaker cannot be called an imitator. The philosopher who reads to his students, therefore, creates the image of his thoughts with words, but he cannot be called in any way imitative. His image is not a true and perfect image, since its use is to manifest the truth of things and to teach, rather than to represent or resemble. I do not deny that the orator and the historian make images when they describe human actions or natural things; but I do say that when they make an image in order to teach and to direct, they do not achieve a true and perfect image, and consequently cannot be called imitators. The poet, who imitates only in order to resemble and represent, is a true imitator and maker of images. It goes without saying that the painter and the poet alike form perfect images in their figures and their retellings because they delineate and describe things so minutely. They represent [253] every part of the thing drawn or described so perfectly that nothing remains to be desired. This is not true with orators and historians, who relate things simply, avoiding affectation, since they are not imitators. They leave the task of individualizing and imitating part by part to the imitative arts. Listen to the way Pliny describes Mount Etna in the third book of the Natural History, chapter 5:'... and Mount Etna with its wonderful displays of fire at night: the circuit of its crater measures two and a half miles; the hot ashes reach as far as Taormina/10 Now listen to Virgil, and see how he makes a complete image of this mountain: That harbor is wide and free from winds; but Etna is thundering nearby with dread upheavals. At times it belches into upper air dark clouds with tar-black whirlwinds, blazing lava, while lifting balls of flame that lick the stars. At times it vomits boulders as the crater's bowels are torn; it moans and tosses molten stones up to heaven; from its deep bedrock the mountain boils and foams ... [Aeneid, III, 570-7]11

I cannot praise those historians who dress themselves in poetic garb and compose ambitious descriptions that would almost be inappropriate in a

The Figino 15 poem. Tatius's description of Charicles's horse is really beautiful, but anyone would find it as poetic as it is historical.12 Since he called the fable a history he should have adopted a historical style in writing it, and not let his pen slip into the poetic. The very eloquent Maffei, true Sallust of our age, has done an equally beautiful one about artillery in the first book of his Indian Histories. It is so noble and graceful that I have never forgotten it:'... These peoples had not yet become aware of the artillery made of bronze, cast with new thinness, and a marvellous work at that, in the form of a long and round barrel. It did not carry a metallic lance launched by stretched ropes or by force of muscles, but by means of a method never before thought of by the ancients: [254] by fire inserted from behind in a small hole which then passes throughout, by multiplied growth, first blended with a special proportion of nitre and of sulphur, which then shoots balls of iron artfully made, or chains placed in the open mouth, and other ammunition, shooting forth flames in the manner of lightning with a frightful roar/13 If poetic metre were added to these sonorous words, they would form a perfect image of the canon. Figino, I trust that I have answered your questions; but if you feel otherwise, I will try to give you greater satisfaction. FIG.: I am indeed satisfied; please go on. GUA.: We have defined the image as the appropriate object of imitative art. Now, this image either represents real things outside the mind of the maker who forms it, or resembles something imaginary existing only in the imitator's fantasy. Let me explain. Isn't this painting on your wall a portrait of Monsignor Panigarola?

FIG.: It is. MAR.: How natural and how artful! This work really transcends its reputation, and is truly a worthy subject for Comanini's madrigal. GUA.: What madrigal? MAR.: Haven't you ever read it? GUA.: Never, as far as I know. If you know it, please recite it for me. MAR.: I do, and it goes like this:

16 Gregorio Comanini An eloquent painting Is this, and the mute colour That paints the golden mouth Resounds sweetly and speaks artfully. With live words Panigarola paints. [255] With dead colour My wise Figino speaks. They are rivals; but who can say if the winner Is the painter or the painted? GUA.: It is remarkable how he praises the painted, the painter, and the painting in a few words! This portrait of Monsignor Panigarola is an image of something real, which has its existence outside the painter's mind. In fact, this great bishop, of whom this painting is the living semblance, is still alive; and may he live for many more years, shining light of our times and intrepid champion of the Holy Church. Painted representations either of natural objects or of historical events would be the same; but if the painter were to paint a chimera, or something fanciful never before imagined or expressed by another artist, he would make an image of an imaginary thing, something that existed only in his mind. MAR.: St Paul commented on this kind of image in the First Letter to the Corinthians, where he says that the idol [idolo] is nothing that exists in this world; not because the idol is nothing in terms of its material, but because it represents something that does not exist and never has existed in nature.14 But one must take into account St Thomas's commentary on this passage in Paul: that is, that the apostle says that the simulacrum is something and the idol is nothing because the simulacrum is a representation of something else that has existed, or that still exists;15 whereas an idol is a figure that is not a semblance of anything that has ever existed, as would be the case if someone were to portray the monster Horace describes at the beginning of the Ars poetica.16 According to this distinction, Guazzo, the image [imagine] of an existing thing cannot be called an eidolon [idolo]; yet you have applied the term to an image that resembles things that exist, or actually have existed. [256] GUA.: Perhaps the holy Doctor took this distinction from Suidas, who says that eidola [idoli] are effigies of things that have no substance, like tritons, sphinxes, centaurs, and other fabulous monsters, whereas similitudes are

The Figino 17 images [imagini] of things that truly exist, like beasts, people, and other natural objects.17 However, I do not base my argument on these terms; I base it rather on the authority of Plato, who expands on the meaning of the word eidolon [idolo]. In the tenth book of the Republic he says that the object of all imitation is the image [idolo]. In The Sophist he says that imitation is of two types: the first he called resemblance or icastic, and the other fantastic.18 The first imitates things that are, and the second represents things that do not exist. Plato says that the proper object of both is the image [idolo], which Marsilio Ficino calls 'simulacrum' in his translation. According to Ficino the word 'simulacrum' is generally and commonly used to mean an image of something real (allow me the term) as well as an image of something unreal. A painter who imitates something formed by nature, such as a man, a beast, a mountain, a sea, a plain, and other similar things, makes an icastic imitation; but the one who paints a fanciful creation of his own, never before drawn by anyone else, at least as far as he knows, makes a fantastic imitation.19 Therefore, Virgil with the character of Aeneas, Ariosto with Orlando, and Tasso with Goffredo would be icastic poets, since they represent men who have really existed. However, with the characters of Acate, Rodomonte, and Argante, the same poets should be called fantastic and makers of images representing things that have no existence outside the mind, because they have represented men who never were. FIG.: Let's see if I understand. You say that the painter who performs fantastic imitation is one who paints things of his own fantasy and invention, things that do not exist outside his own mind. Isn't that so? [257] GUA.: Exactly. FIG.: Then listen. Giuseppe Arcimboldo, a gentleman of our city and His Imperial Majesty's painter, has painted a Flora composed of flowers and a Vertumnus composed of different fruit.20 Should we say that he has created fantastic images in these two works? GUA.: Why not? He is a tremendously ingenious fantastic painter, and one to be most highly commended. The fables of Flora and Vertumnus have been provided by outside sources, from poets who have imitated them in verse and from other painters who have painted them; but it was his own fantasy and invention that formed a woman all with flowers and a man all with fruit - something that has no existence in any other intellect. But tell me, where does he live?

18 Gregorio Comanini FIG.: Here in Milan; the works were done here as well. GUA.: Your description makes me want to go see both of them. FIG.: You will not be able to see the Flora, because Arcimboldo has already sent it to the Emperor, for whom it was done; but as for the Vertumnus, I'm sure that he will allow you to see it in his rooms. You could enlist the aid of Comanini, who is a very good friend of his. He spends many hours with Arcimboldo and with Signor Gio. Filippo Gherardini, who resides in the same place. Comanini can introduce you to both these esteemed gentlemen; but if in the meantime you would like a foretaste of these two paintings, pick up the sheets you see lying on that table. In them you will find Comanini's madrigal on the Flora as well as a new sort of poem. In it, Vertumnus describes his own portrait and reveals the art of this excellent painter, unveiling some secrets of great importance. GUA.: I would like to read both compositions. [258] MAR.: Go ahead, then. The pleasure of the reading will allow you to rest before continuing the course you have begun to run. GUA.: I'm sure it will. Am I Flora, or flowers ? If a flower, how can my features Laugh like Flora? And if I am Flora, How can I be Flora and only flowers ? But I'm not flowers, and I'm not Flora. I am both Flora and flowers. A thousand flowers, a single Flora, Since flowers make Flora, and Flora the flowers. How? An artful painter Changed flowers into Flora, Flora into flowers. MAR.: This madrigal truly imitates Arcimboldo's painting. FIG.: Turn the sheet over and you'll find the poem on the Vertumnus.

The Figino 19 GUA.: Here it is: Whoever you are, looking at me, A strange and deformed image, With a laugh on your lips That flashes in your eyes And stamps your face With novel happiness At the sight of a new monster, Who was called Vertumnus By the ancient learned Sons of Apollo In their songs; If in looking you don't admire The ugliness that makes me handsome, It's that you don't know how Ugliness surpasses Every beauty. [259] I vary from myself, And thus, so varied, I am One only, and from various things With my varied countenance I portray resemblances. But compose your expression And turn inward, Lend an attentive ear, So that I may confide The secret of a new art. There was a time when the world Was all confused within itself, The sky was mixed with fire, And the fire and sky with the air, And the waves With the air and earth And fire and sky; And it all lay without order, Ugly and unformed. But the right hand of Jove

20 Gregorio Comanini Then set .the earth free Above the water, and spread the air Over the waves and the earth, And over the air the fire, Suspended one from the other, Interwoven and held, With the wet and the dry And the hot and the cold, As if with four links That bond many gems Into a single necklace. Of these elements the sky Drew the noblest realm, The sky that oversees all And gathers all into its lap. Thus, just as an animal - [260] Lively, proud, perfectly whole Steps unsteadily out of the vast, confused, pulsating mould As if from a heavy, fertile womb, So came the joyous birth of the World, Whose many-eyed face Is the starry Olympus, Whose breast is the air, and whose belly Is the earth, and whose feet the abysses; Fire is the soul that warms, Gives pulse to, and animates the great body And dresses it in beneficial fruits and plants, Destined to meet many needs. Now what do you think The ingenious Arcimboldo, In portraying me With his brush, has done to surpass Even that of Zeuxis, or that Of the one who performed the trick Of the delicate painted veil In the competition for glory? He has been a brave, worthy Rival of the great Jove; Choosing from the field

The Figino 21 A thousand flowers, a thousand fruits From nature's lovely mixture, He wove an artful garland And fashioned my members from them. Look at what binds my temples, Adorns and colours them; As many prickly ears As dusty June Ripens, gilds, and warms; [261] As the reaper grasps with tight left fist To offer them to the curved steel That severs them at the root; So many fallen tops Of golden millet, welcome To the alpine shepherd in winter, Who, on the hearth Of his humble hut Prepares the pure, sweet dish For his wife and children. Soft hanging grapes, That the Sun, with a wandering brush Dipped in warm rays Paints in vermilion and yellow, And the month of the wine-god Plucks from the limbs of the elm. You will see that this wrapping That weighs on my forehead, High, round, and swollen, Makes me resemble the Thracian, Who twists long bands And with a thousand turns surrounds His head, and sends forth Disdain and anger from his eyes. Look at the summer melon When the celestial Dog barks And the inflamed Lion makes His hot roars felt here on earth, Whether in rich lodging or in a cave,

22 Gregorio Comanini Near a fountain or a river-bank, Humble and savoury, It refreshes the burning throat Of lofty rulers and lowly Ploughmen, of errant nymphs, [262] Of weary soldiers; Look at its rough, wrinkled rind Furrow my brow, So that I resemble Some mountain ploughman, Grimacing, and with a strange Figure and dark lips, Who tends the Bohemian earth Toward the cold pole Among the rock and forest and ice. Look at the apple and the peach Round, red, and fresh That form both cheeks; Turn your mind to my eyes One is a cherry, The other a red mulberry. Wouldn't you say that, If I do not resemble Narcissus, I at least resemble His joyous and strong twin, Who sends the force and virtue of the harvest Shining from his eyes and face, Who drinks until the cup is empty With the happy throng Of his loving consorts? Look at the two nuts, Whose green husks Are opened here and there Over the lip, and in falling Form the double locks Of a pointed beard; They are matched by the rough husk [263} Of a chestnut, affixed

The Figino 23 To the chin and completing to perfection The rest of the virile ornament. Ah, what clever Iberian Has so well composed The wool of his face Long, pointed, and tight, Which he caresses, catches up, and curls Around his finger, raising it Toward his brow That he dares To compare his with mine ? With mine so new? Look also at this fig Hanging ripe and open from my ear, And you would say that I am A genteel Frenchman, Who on the banks of the Seine Weights the lobe of his ear With a shining pearl and, lovely As a flower, Breathes grace and love. Look at last at this baldric (For I wish to pass over the other Robust and lovely members), Bound with various flowers, As though woven Of fine gold, Which falls from my right shoulder And crosses my chest; And you will consider me A proud and strong follower of proud Mars, who, [264] Gladly following, Wears the colours of his leader's banner. But I pride myself Most of all, I delight in, I arrogantly stretch myself to the sky, In that I am like a Silenus, as dear

24 Gregorio Comanini To the young Greek as to the old one; Esteemed by Plato, for on the outside I seem a monster, and on the inside I hide a kingly image and A heavenly resemblance. Now tell me, if it pleases you To see what I hide Now that I lift the veil. Holy, invincible, supreme, august And righteous Rudolph, honour of Austria and glory Of warlike Germany, to whom The world kneels devotedly, and in whose breast Reside all the virtues that ever Walked the earth, Worthy of the golden mantle you wear And the throne where you reign so greatly; I resemble, I figure, I show you forth, I who gather into one the fruit that the still young Year produces and paints, growing, until Ripe and at last old and weary, Made grey-haired and listless by snow, It dies to be reborn, and thus is preserved; Just as you, as much as a man is able, Whether in the soft playful age, or in that Which most strikes sparks and burns, possessed In your breast at once A tender child and a daring youth; and thus, On reaching the age when the mind is more fertile [265] With courage and with wisdom, you unveil Such an abundance of glorious, burning spirit, And beneath blond locks nourish such greying Thoughts, so sublime and wise That nothing of the trappings of a hero, the force Of arms remains for others to desire in you. Worthy, oh worthy are you, of being praised with silence More than with tongues, by others; For it is safer to admire sacred things in silence Than to babble inadequacies. Thus like a learned Egyptian Arcimboldo covered Your royal face with a veil of lovely fruits,

The Figino 25 The most loyal, the best servant That consecrates his heart and work to your crown. Do not be offended that such a small thing Mantles your infinite virtues in its small space; For even God was pleased, when he wished to Give birth to the world, for the things Of minutest form to reveal to man The highest and most immense, the most admirable power. Now go, Spectator, For in a few lines I have said What I am, what I disguise. Go, and in departing — If you bear A noble and rare soul Sing the praises of the painter, And kneel to the great Rudolph. MAR.: Comanini's poem makes me appreciate how Arcimboldo's painting combines marvellous appeal and great skill; and if listening to the description is so delightful, what will seeing it be like? FIG.: Bear in mind that all the fruit and flowers in the painting imitate real ones with the greatest [266] possible accuracy; but the use of the fruits for the parts of the body is so ingenious that admiration turns into wonder. And what would you say if you could see that portrait of the emperor done with the heads of different animals, painted in Germany and later sent to His Catholic Majesty in Spain?21 The forehead contains all these animals: an Indian gazelle, a doe, a leopard, a dog, a fallow-deer buck, a stag, and a moose.22 At the nape of the neck there is an ibex, an animal that is born in the mountains of the Tyrol, and it is accompanied by a rhinoceros, a mule, a monkey, a bear, and a boar. The camel, the lion, and the horse are over the forehead. The horned animals form a royal crown around the forehead with their antlers, an extraordinary invention that greatly ornaments the head. The right part of the cheek (for the head is in profile) is formed from an elephant, whose ear serves as the ear of the head. A donkey below the elephant completes the jaw. A wolf opening its mouth to catch a mouse forms the front part of the cheek; the open mouth makes the eye, and the mouse the light of the eye. The tail and thigh of the mouse make a bit of beard, or really a moustache over the lip. On the forehead below the animals

26 Gregorio Comanini

already mentioned is the fox, which, waving its tail, makes the eyebrow. A hare sitting on the wolf's back forms the nose, and the head of a cat makes the upper lip. A tiger with the elephant's trunk around its throat is placed at the chin, and the waving trunk makes the lower lip. At the corner of the mouth there is a green lizard. A reclining ox rounds out the throat, and a goat helps to finish it. Two animal skins are draped across the chest, one from a lion and the other from a ram; and the work ends here. What do you say, gentlemen? Don't you find this painting both skilful and appealing? Moreover, Arcimboldo has taken every head from life, since the emperor was accommodating enough [267] to let him see all these animals. Look at this masterful representation of man, and marvel. To represent the forehead, with which man sometimes feigns pain though he is happy and sometimes appears to love when he hates, Arcimboldo has chosen the fox, an extremely astute animal, and has placed it in the midst of all the other animals. To form the cheek, where shame resides, he has chosen the elephant. Pliny writes in the eighth book of the Natural History that the elephant's sense of shame is extraordinary: if defeated, it flees the voice of its victor, and it never couples with the female in public, but only in places where it will not be seen.23 As for the wolf, we read that certain hairs of its tail contain a love serum; and among wolves there are also those called lynxes, which have extremely keen sight. Arcimboldo therefore has used a wolf to form the eye, which has the power to poison hearts with love and is the instrument of sight. According to Pliny, Theophrastus writes that on an island in the Aegean, mice have even gnawed iron, and the painter therefore has used a mouse to make the light of the eye, which gnaws at and tames the hardest minds with amorous passions.24 To shape the nose he has chosen the hare, not because it has a better sense of smell than the other animals, but because, since it is highly imprudent and does not know how to defend itself except by taking flight, the painter wished to reveal a secret of philosophy. The secret is that men who have excellent senses of smell tend to be imprudent. As for the cat, I don't have to tell you why he placed it to form the mouth, since the voraciousness of this animal clearly reveals the meaning. Regarding the ox, which forms the throat, I want to tell you a most worthy moral fable that this equally worthy painter illustrates. Among all the animals in existence, only the ox walks backward while grazing (at least among the Garamanti), as Pliny writes in the eighth book of his History. This ox, then, which Arcimboldo placed at the throat, means that whoever eats or drinks to excess does not live as a man inclined toward virtue, but rather [268] walks backward, turning his back on his true goal and resembling the brutes.25 The lion's skin

The Figino 27 of Hercules and the other of the order of the Golden Fleece, which form the chest, demonstrate that one attains honour and glory by means of strength and labours. GUA.: I don't recall ever before having seen such charmingly inventive paintings or such learned allegories as these. I know that the good painter needs to be as well read as the good poet, because his knowledge enables him to become another Proteus, transforming himself into diverse forms and dressing in the costumes of others, as is appropriate for a good imitator. MAR.: I agree, although some people stubbornly defend the contrary, claiming that it is not legitimate for the poet to imitate scientific or artistic things. Thus, they dare to censure not only Pontano for singing of heavenly things in a poem, but Virgil as well, because he dealt with agriculture in the Georgics. The detractors base themselves on the authority of Aristotle, who says Empedocles was a philosopher rather than a poet. GUA.: I think Aristotle regarded Empedocles as more philosopher than poet not because he dealt with philosophical matters, but because he did not treat them in a poetic mode.26 He did not sing of them or represent them with concrete images, as was appropriate for a poet. But much worse is the painter who does not adopt images and figures that reveal the underlying sense of the philosophical concepts he expresses. Figino, your Arcimboldo was most judicious and most proper in this expression of intangible things with concrete simulacra. FIG .: Please have Comanini show you Arcimboldo's playful treatment of the Four Seasons; you will see a lovely work.27 A knotty tree trunk forms the chest and the head, in which certain cavities serve as mouth and eyes and a protruding knob as the nose. Knots covered with moss form the beard, and some branches in front form horns. This stump, [269] stripped of its own leaves and fruit, represents Winter, which produces nothing but enjoys what is produced by other seasons. Some flowers placed on the breast and over the shoulder signify Spring. Summer is represented by bundles of wheat and a few attached twigs, a straw cloak that covers the shoulders, two cherries hanging from a branch that forms the ear, and two plums arranged behind the head. Autumn is represented by two bunches of grapes, one white and one red, hanging from a branch, and by some apples showing among green ivy branches that spring from the top of the head. One of the branches of the

28 Gregorio Comanini head has been peeled slightly around the middle, and the little scraps of bark curl back from the white part, which is inscribed ARCIMBOLDUS P. All in all, the work will please you wonderfully when you see it. MAR.: If these aren't images of fantastic imitation, I can't imagine what sorts of things would be. FIG.: Arcimboldo's portrait of a certain Doctor of Law, commissioned by Emperor Maximilian, was hilarious. The whole face was eaten up with syphilis, and very few hairs remained on the chin. Arcimboldo composed it of various animals and roast fish, and succeeded so well that whoever saw the portrait immediately recognized the good lawmaker. You can imagine for yourselves the pleasure it gave His Majesty and the laughter it inspired in the imperial court. GUA.: The poets write that Sleep has three ministers: Morpheus, who transforms himself into the semblance of all men and imitates their habits, their voices, the way they walk, their clothes, and the words they use, but does not represent anything other than men; Phobetor, who changes himself into a wild beast, a bird, or a serpent, but not into men or inanimate things; and Phantasos, who represents only inanimate things, transforming himself into earth, into a rock, a wave, a rafter, and other similar forms.28 If they weren't mere fables, I would say that these three ministers of sleep were Arcimboldo's familiars, [270] because he knows how to perform magic and transformations just as they do. He even surpasses them, transforming animals, birds, serpents, branches, flowers, fruit, fish, grass, leaves, wheat, straw, and grapes into men and men's clothes, into ladies and their adornment. MAR.: Then let's admit that Arcimboldo has an extraordinary imagination, the function of which is to receive impressions carried from the external senses, retain them, and combine them. He unites the images of visible things and transforms them into strange inventions and images never before created by the power of fantasy. He makes anything he wants to make by skilfully joining things that seem impossible to link. FIG.: These images are even more marvellous in that no one has ever done anything similar before. All the crudely composed figures in many painters' studios are imitations of Arcimboldo's; they are mere thefts. But no more of this; I have so much to say on the subject that there would be no time to talk of anything else.

The Figino 29 MAR.: This interlude has been extremely enjoyable. Figino, I hope all this discussion hasn't harmed you. FIG .: I wish my body were as energetic as my tongue. Talking doesn't tire me at all. GUA.: Figino, I think I've said all that is appropriate for the present discussion about the nature of the imitative arts and the images that are their proper object. Now let's see whether the aim of these imitative arts is pleasure or utility; and if we prove that it is pleasure, we will also prove without a doubt that pleasure is the aim of painting, as well. Now, who does not know that men are naturally delighted by imitations, and take a great deal of pleasure from them? The prince of the Peripatetics confirms it in that chapter of the [271] Poetics in which he discusses the origin of poetry and its types, and says that nature instils imitation in men from the time they are children. We are different from other animals in that we have an aptitude for imitation, we acquire our first skills by imitating, and each of us enjoys imitation. Let painting serve as an example. We willingly look at the images of wellpainted and horribly frightening beasts, horrendous monsters, and cadavers, whereas we would experience discomfort and even great distaste looking at real beasts, real monsters, and real cadavers, since in general everyone detests these things.29 In Mantua, in a room in the Palazzo del Te, Giulio Romano has painted giants struck by lightning at Flegra.30 They are crushed under the rubble of rock and mountain, in positions so strange and horrible that anyone who saw such a spectacle in reality would surely be horrified and feel great distress. None the less, since this is an imitation and a painting, anyone would welcome a chance to see it and would be highly pleased with it, as can be attested to by the frequency with which visitors flock to view it. Moreover, sympathetic eyes could never look with pleasure on the spectacle of the unfortunate Iphigenia about to be sacrificed at the altar, the priest standing near her with the naked blade in his right hand; the family gathered around; and the afflicted Agamemnon waiting for the cruel blow to fall on his daughter. Still, everyone who looked at Timanthes's painting of this story - in which, not daring to express Agamemnon's extreme grief, he veiled the father's face, hiding his expression - experienced marvellous delight.31 What I say about imitation done with a variety of colours, I say also about imitation done with words. No one would be heartless enough to watch poor Job as he searched for his sons and daughters lying [272] bloodless on the ground. The children had been sitting at the table enjoying a meal together when the house suddenly cracked and was

30 Gregorio Comanini

rent asunder, and the children's bodies were mixed with the stones and timbers. Yet whoever reads the description of this spectacle in St John Chrysostom's first homily on the patience of Job admires the imitation and the images the good saint has formed from it. He says: This generous warrior went forth to that funereal house, at once shelter and sepulchre for his poor children, banquet hall and tomb, celebration and weeping. He dug among the rubble and found the limbs of his children, wine and blood, bread and hands and dust. Here he drew out a hand, here a foot; now a dustcovered head together with stones and bits of wood; and now part of the stomach, now part of the intestines; the viscera muddled with earth and plaster. This warrior, who had been higher than the sky, sat down gathering up the scattered limbs of his dear children. He sat joining limb to limb, fitting hand to arm, head to shoulder, and knee to thigh. He sat separating limb from limb, being careful not to mix the feminine with the masculine.'32 There is no sight stranger, more horrendous, frightening, or bloodcurdling than that of demonic spirits when they appear before our eyes in a thousand ugly forms; yet Vida's image of the demons in the first book of the Christiad still pleases and delights. I hope you don't mind if I recite it from memory: At once he orders his dread brothers and all his people, a horrible crew, to be summoned to the royal portals. Hark! A mighty trumpet gives the signal. The rumble suddenly fills the gloomy caverns of the underground abode, vast and everywhere dark. The deep recesses rumble, and far away earth's gravid mass is shaken. Straightway the whole tribe rush to the gates, and in the throngs that hate the light there come all manner of two-bodied monsters whose shapes are men's to the groin but end as snakes, the bristly tails [273] twisting into huge coils. Some are like gorgons and sphinxes with foul bodies, and some like centaurs, hydras, and chimeras belching fire. Hundreds more are like scyllas and putrid harpies and the many loathsome shapes which men imagine. But the tyrant who rules over the blazing vortex of hell himself has a hundred bodies. Hundred-handed, he flaps his hundred arms about, and belches forth flames from as many jaws. All blow out baleful smudge and blasts of patchy fire from their insolent mouths and eyes and huge nostrils. All have a tangle of snakes hanging down in place of hair, knotting together and intertwining over their necks. In their hands are ruddy torches and three-pronged forks with which they drive guilty souls below and force them into the fires.33

Tasso then adopted, or rather imitated, this description in the fourth canto of his Jerusalem Delivered, when he said:

The Figino 31 In varied throngs the gods of the abyss from everywhere to the high portals run. Oh, what horrendous, what uncommon shapes! What death and terror in their glances lurk! With beastly footprints some now tread the ground, with serpents twirled around their human brows. Behind them hangs in circles a huge tail which is curled up or loosened as a flail. A thousand loathsome Harpies now you see, a thousand Sphinxes, Centaurs, Gorgons pale; many a barking Scylla mad with greed, and Hydras hissing Pythos sibilant, chimeras vomiting sparks of darkling fire, horrible Geryons and Polyphemes. New monsters, never seen or heard above, in one ferocious congregation move. Before their cruel king they come and sit, some to his left and some to his right side. There at the center, Pluto sat on his throne, a heavy, knotty scepter in his hand. The mightiest cliff above the waves, the Alps, [274] the soaring Calpe and the world-bearing Atlas Would seem a little hill beneath his eyes, so tall his horns and haughty forehead rise. Majestic is the horror of his face, which doubles fear around and pride in him. His eyes flash red; his pupils, venom-shot like two bright comets of disaster shine. A stiff, long bushy beard falls from his chin, which is half hidden on his hairy chest; and like a chasm deep for evermore his mouth yawns loathsome trickling blackish gore. [Jerusalem Delivered, IV, 4-7]34 Now, who wouldn't admit to feeling delight on hearing these poetic imita-

32 Gregorio Comanini tions of fictional devils, whereas people would be terrified by such ugly spectacles if they really appeared before their eyes? FIG.: Pardon me for interrupting you. You said that there were two kinds of imitation: icastic and fantastic,. The icastic is an imitation of things that exist in nature, and the fantastic, of things that exist only in the mind of the imitator. But I'm not sure whether to call images of angels or demons, whether in poetry or painting, icastic or fantastic. It seems that, since angels and demons are real beings of true and noble substance, imitations of them should be classified as icastic. On the other hand, since they do not have bodies, much less those beautiful or ugly forms that poets and painters give them, it could be said that their imitations should be classified as fantastic. What is your opinion ? GUA.: In my opinion, imitations of demons and angels are icastic, and not fantastic, since, even though they do not truly have physical bodies, they really have appeared in those physical and visible forms that poets and painters customarily give them. Tasso thus described the angel that was sent from God as a messenger to Goffredo: [275] These words he spoke to him, and Gabriel was ready to obey the ordered things. He girt his form invisible with air, And then with mortal sense rounded it. Man's aspect and man's limbs he seemed to take, with a celestial majesty composed: the age he feigned that turns child into old, and, quick, adorned with rays his golden head. White wings he donned, with tips of beaming gold, agile and indefatigably swift. Cutting with them the winds and clouds, he flew sublime above the earth, above the sea. [Jerusalem Delivered, 1,13-14]

Since this poet knows, then, that angels have taken on lovely and youthful human form when they appeared to men (as we read in the Holy Scriptures about the angel who accompanied Tobias), he has said that Gabriel took on human features so that his age appeared to be somewhere between youth and childhood.35 It's quite true that painting the angel with wings is a

The Figino 33 fantastic imitation, since nowhere do we read that any angel appeared with wings on his shoulders. But any poet or painter who represents angels as feathered has not imitated inaccurately and has not made a mistake. Although no angel has allowed men to see him with wings on his back, the meaning of these feathers is none the less true, since it is true that angels are agile and quick in the execution of divine commandments. MAR.: How can you say that angels have not appeared with wings? Weren't the two seraphim who appeared to Esau winged, as the prophet himself says? GUA.: Surely you jest. You know very well that the vision was imaginary, as all prophetic visions usually are. But I'm speaking of real, external visions, and not of those fabricated by the imagination. Accounts prove that the angels of darkness have sometimes taken on horrible semblances to frighten men. [276] In the Lives of the Holy Fathers, St Jerome includes Bishop Athanasius's life of St Anthony, in which the Devil often appeared to that great saint in the form in which Vida and Tasso represent him.36 You, Figino, used that image for your painting in the chapel of the Collegio de' Dottori in this city. The painting is of Lucifer under the feet of the angel Michael, and in order to better express the greatness of satanic pride, you made that figure with robust members, strong limbs, horrible aspect, black visage, shaggy hair, and horns on his forehead, the lower half resembling a satyr. On the contrary, to make manifest the goodness and strength of the combatant Michael, you have so tempered your style in forming his image that, although he is delicate of aspect, he radiates a certain fierceness. His arm is raised in order to strike a great blow with the sword, while his body is suspended by his wings and his right leg is stretched out straight; the left is foreshortened and suspended in the air. The whole figure displays a marvellous fury and energy; and the limbs are beautiful, yet strong none the less. If I may say so, it seems to me that you have formed this celestial warrior to be just as the writers on military arts say a good soldier should be: having head held high, alert eyes, broad shoulders, long arms, strong fingers, muscular chest, flat stomach, strong thighs, sturdy legs, and slender feet. Your having portrayed him armed (as is the custom of all painters) does not keep the image from being icastic; because, even if no text says that this angel ever appeared bearing arms, angels have been seen girded in steel and with sword in hand, as in the time of the war between Lothair and Theodoric.37 MAR.: And in the time of King David as well. He saw in the heavens and on earth an angel with a sword in his right hand. On God's orders this angel laid

34 Gregorio Comanini waste to David's people with a plague in order to punish him for the sins [277] he had committed in counting them.38 GUA.: There are more examples. As you know, Martinengo, many Doctors of the Holy Church maintain that this angelic battle in the sky was real. If it was, even though the angels fought with invisible weapons, which were their wills, these weapons cannot be imitated by any means other than through resemblance to ours. Whoever wishes to represent this war must paint the angels armed. Besides, though one should not falsify the essential parts of a story - and this applies to the poet as well, if he wishes to remain within the limits of verisimilitude - the imitative arts may alter non-essentials. It is also praiseworthy to represent some things and take away or add others and mix in some of one's own invention, though any alterations could be called fantastic. Raphael of Urbino invented some things in painting the Fire in the Borgo, which is in the Vatican. The painting is of a young man who carries an old man on his back, with a child in front and an old woman behind, a detail that causes some to mistake it for the burning of Troy.39 However, the fact that Raphael invented some things does not mean that this great painter's imitation is not icastic, or that he should not be called an icastic imitator. FIG .: But when we painters paint the First Person of the Trinity in the form of an old man full of majesty, would you say that we perform icastic imitation? GUA.: Let Martinengo answer you, since he is more familiar than I with the mysteries of the Holy Scriptures. MAR.: I'll tell you what I think. When God appeared to men in the Old Testament, it was through apparitions of angels dressed in bodily form. They manifested themselves to the mortal senses, and these apparitions were said to be God, [278] because they were created to represent him. But St Augustine says in the second book of the Trinity that Scripture neither explains nor mentions whether these physical forms represent the Person of the Father alone, or the Son alone, or the Holy Spirit alone, or the Three Persons together. Nevertheless, it's common knowledge that the Person of the Father has never appeared to men alone and separate in any shape or form.40 When Adam, therefore, heard the voice of God as He strolled about in the afternoon, and saw Him in human form (as Augustine himself believes), it was an apparition either of the Second or of the Third Person or of all three unified, and not that of the First separately from the others.41 We say the

The Figino 35 same of that flame that burned the bush without consuming it, and of the two angels who were guests in the house of Lot, and of many other apparitions in the Holy Scriptures. It is quite true that Augustine himself, speaking of the three angels who appeared to Abraham in human form, says that, if only one man had appeared, we might believe that he was the Son of God.42 But since there were three, nor did one of them seem older or larger than the others, it follows that all three of the Divine Persons appeared in these visible creatures. In light of all this, my opinion is that, since the First Person of the Trinity never appeared in a way that allowed it to be distinguished from the others, you painters, when you wish to represent this Person in the form of an old man, imitate something that never was, and therefore perform fantastic imitation. This cannot be said of the representation of the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove or a cloud or flames, because the Holy Spirit really appeared in those forms. Since you paint something that existed, you are icastic imitators rather than fantastic. GUA.: I too am convinced that it is so. But let's get back on the path from which your questions [279] caused us to stray, Figino. Let's say that, if the imitation of something naturally unpleasant can please and delight, something that pleases in nature and that men look at willingly will delight more and please more. Accordingly, the tragedian Seneca's image of the fisherman is delightful: From wave-worn rocks The fisher leans and baits anew His cunning hook; he feels his line A-tremble with the struggling fish ... [Hercules Furens, III, 154-58]43 And Sannazaro's image of the phoenix, which he compares with the Blessed Virgin, also succeeds in pleasing: Such is the Phoenix when she moves into our world, ever so shining with the ruddy gleam of her purple feathers, around whom various birds crowd as she goes. As she flies she rivals the sun with her natural golden hue, she of tawny head and blue tail smeared with rosy dots. The attending flock itself is awestruck and with a resounding applause from countless wings roars throughout bright sky. [De partu virginis, II, 415-21]44

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And when Virgil speaks of the figure of the she-wolf nursing two human babies sculpted on Aeneas's helmet, his representation is far more delightful than either sculpture or painting can achieve: There, too, he made a mother-wolf, reclining in Mars' green cavern; and at play beside her, twin boys were hanging at her dugs; fearless, they sucked their mother. She, at this, bent back her tapered neck to lick them each in turn. [Aeneid, VIII, 630-5]

MAR.: Guazzo, I don't think Figino can accept some of the things you say. [280] I don't think he understands the idea that imitation in poetry delights more than imitation in painting, or that an excellent poet is a better maker of images than is an excellent painter. Horses neighed at the horses painted by Apelles; birds flew to peck at the grapes painted by Zeuxis; a painter represents a yawning man, and viewers yawn in response.45 What do you think of these images? Shouldn't we admit that they are utterly perfect? How can you expect Figino to go along with your pronouncement, especially since I have been told that he did a portrait of a gentleman that is so lifelike and such a good likeness that the gentleman's dog believed the picture was his master? The dog capered and jumped around it, wagging its tail, with the result that, if someone hadn't hidden the portrait from him, the loving animal could easily have destroyed it. What do you think of that? GUA.: You've attacked when my guard was down. But I'll make an effort to fend off the blow as best I can, though only after I have proved the conclusion I set out to defend at the beginning. I add one more item to all the other things we discussed earlier: it's certain that imitation delights, because even the inventors of games, wishing to offer some pleasant distraction to spirits weary and worn out by the performance of serious work, do so with imitation more often than with anything else. I know that those who study antiquity have raised the question of who invented chess, and I remember that Giacopo Mazzoni in the second book of the Defence of Dante denies that Palamedes or any other Greek was the inventor. He does so because in Homer's time, elephants, which are represented in chess by the rook, were unknown in Greece, and Homer lived after [281] the Trojan War, in which Palamedes fought. But Tasso, in the Dialogue of Games, while he admits that at the time of the Trojan defeat the Greeks had not heard of these animals, none the less maintains that this warrior could have been the inventor;

The Figino 37 because instead of elephants, which are now used in chess, they adopted Scythian chariots, and others afterward introduced the use of the elephant in place of these chariots.46 Be that as it may (since these curious and vain arguments reveal little or nothing), it is obvious that the inventor of this game, whoever he was, wanted to make an image and imitation of war, as Vida avows in The Art of Chess: A shadowy war we wage, a mock-realistic strife; Boxwood set in array, false kingdoms staged to the life.47 By making one set of chess pieces white and the other black, he imitated the military insignias and baldrics that today are used to distinguish soldier from soldier and company from company. With the eight pawns he represented the phalanx made up of eight, twelve, or sixteen soldiers, as Eliano writes. With the archers who run diagonally across the board and can strike in the farthest part of it, he alluded to the archers, who can shoot arrows far away. With the knights, who move in jumps, he feigned the cavalry. With the rooks he represented the wooden towers that were constructed on the backs of elephants. With the king, who goes from place to place in a single move, he made a symbol of the general in battle and of the prudence required of him to save himself and his men. With the queen, who stays near the king and who rules the field, going everywhere, he made a reminder (in my opinion) not of Penelope, nor of Semiramis, nor did he wish to show that even ladies are suited to bearing arms, as Plato writes in Book IV of the Republic and Book V of the Laws.48 Rather, his intention was to remind us of the good fortune that should accompany the prince [282] and be always at his side, she being the one who has principal command of events in battles. We Christians identify this fortune with God, for he is the universal cause that commands these inferior causes, which are shapeless and dispersed, bringing them together in the form of one unexpected occurrence. But with the chessboard, which, painted in black and white, resembles the shell of a turtle, he wanted to teach us that the good captain should be slow and mature in resolving things of importance, just as a turtle is slow in moving. This same Palamedes was also a judicious imitator of something else when he invented backgammon, which is full of a great deal of philosophy, as Suidas affirms. The twelve rows, which are part of backgammon, signify the twelve signs of the zodiac. The seven pieces that were used in past times and that were shaken up in a cylinder, called fretillo by the Latins, represent the seven planets. The board represents the inferior world, and men in particular. The pirgo, or little tube with which the dice are thrown on the table,

38 Gregorio Comanini

represents the influence of the heavens, which the pagans, wrapped in the darkness of heathenism, imagined to be the source of all mortal good or evil. In the treatise on The Tranquillity of the Soul, Plutarch praises Plato because in Book XII of the Laws he compared this game to human life.49 He said that a man should deal with all that befalls him in the best way he can, just as the player, who does not have the power to make the dice show the number he wishes, or throw the dice again if the number is unfavourable, arranges the board as chance forces him, with as little damage as he can manage. Terence stole this same concept from Plato, when in the Adelphoe he said, Life is a dice-game: if you make a throw That's bad, why, you make up for it with skill.50 [283] Mazzoni says that the inventor of the game of primero wanted to represent ochlocracy, that form of government in which the plebs prevail and the nobles are powerless. For that reason he made the cards that are worth a great deal in other games count very little in this one, less than the other cards.51 Nor should I omit the ancient game of the relay, in which the one who ran ahead carried a lighted torch; as the torch burned low, he would offer it to the one behind him, and that one to the one behind him, and thus from hand to hand until the last one. As soon as one had relinquished the torch to the one who came after him, he dropped out of the game. Consider how well this game imitates the course of our lives; we all run toward death, and they run toward the finish line. The father, begetting children, offers them the torch of life, and then departs this world in death, leaving his son after him, according to the order of nature. That son begets another son, and passes on to him the same vital light that he received from his father when he engendered him; thus this life passes in succession through each of us. To state it even more clearly: Adam was the first runner in the field of this world, and was also the first to receive from God the torch of life. Cain was born from Adam, and he received this same flame. Adam died, Cain remained and engendered Enoch; and Enoch, Irad; and Irad, Mehujael. Cain died, Enoch remained; Enoch died (this is not the one who was carried to the earthly paradise, but another), Irad remained; Irad died, Mehujael remained. You can discern how life passed from the generator to the generated, just as each one of us, in dying, leaves the world but leaves behind a child. Thus, in the game of which we speak, the first in the race [284] gave the torch to the second and dropped out; the third to the fourth, and did as the first two. The same can be said of all those following. Can there be a more vivid imitation of our life than this one? It is true that the inventor of games imitated heavenly things, for the most part, like the game of backgammon; or artifi-

The Figino 39 cial things, as in chess; or human actions, as in primero; or natural things, as in the one we have just discussed. In the first and tenth books of the Laws, Plato said that God created man as a game. He meant that man was created to imitate his creator in goodness and for the good of both - as nearly as he could, being simply a creation; just as a game imitates the real things it was made to resemble.52 It is no different in the tale of Prometheus's theft of fire and knowledge from the workshop shared by Vulcan and Minerva, a tale Plato himself recounted in the Protagoras.53 Compared with God's, our wisdom is almost a game, and when we operate prudently we do nothing but imitate our Maker. This human prudence is a theft of, or (to speak more accurately) a participation in, the divine. But let's get back to the point. You, Figino, answer what I ask you. Based on what we have said, what is the purpose of a game? FIG.: Pleasure. GUA.: Aren't the games I talked about imitations? FIG.: They are. GUA.: Why did the inventors of these games want to imitate? F i G .: To please more. GUA.: Does imitation bring pleasure? FIG.: Yes, it does. [285] GUA.: Doesn't someone who imitates make a sort of game, as Plato says in the tenth book of the Laws'?54 FIG.: He does. GUA.: And isn't painting an imitation?

FIG.: It is. GUA.: Therefore, if painting is an imitation and a game, and if imitation always brings pleasure with it and pleasure is the point of a game, it follows that the proper purpose of painting is pleasure, not utility, as Comanini appears to affirm in the poem. And I conclude the same thing about poetry, since it too is an imitative art. But here there is a problem we cannot ignore.

40 Gregorio Comanini Now, we have divided imitation into two types - icastic and fantastic - and we have more than adequately proved (as far as I am concerned) that the aim of both is pleasure and that pleasure is the aim of all imitations. Since we have done so, it might be good to discuss whether icastic imitation delights more than fantastic, or, on the contrary, fantastic more than icastic. In attempting to resolve this question, I would say that painterly and poetic imitations differ in this regard: in the poet, fantastic imitation pleases more than does icastic imitation, but the opposite occurs with the painter, because in painting the icastic is more delightful than the fantastic. I'm sure neither of you doubts it for a moment, because it is quite obvious that Ariosto pleases his readers more with his fantastic imitations than do other poets who do not employ them as often; just as Virgil still pleases, but not Silicus Italicus or Lucan and other similar writers.55 But when we look again at a story familiar to us, painted on a panel or on a wall, we are happier than we would be on seeing a painting made up of fanciful objects and bizarre things. I think the difference stems from this: that when the poet makes an icastic imitation, he puts little effort or thought into it and therefore pleases little; but when he works inventively and makes fantastic simulacra, [286] he really exercises talent and skill and therefore offers more delight and pleases more. lust the reverse occurs with the painter, because he displays much more skill and talent in icastic imitation than in fantastic, since it is more difficult to imitate a real thing, as in the case of painting a portrait of a living man, than to paint a false one, such as a portrait of a man without the constraint of the original. This greater difficulty is what I think gives the viewer greater satisfaction and enjoyment. MAR.: Who is more attached to his own imitations and simulacra, the painter or the poet? GUA.: The poet, I think, since he makes the material and the form of his poem. The material is the story, and the form, including the metre and rhyme of his verses, is the ornament and apparel in which he dresses his conceits. The painter, on the other hand, takes the material of his images the colours - from nature, just as the sculptor takes the material for his statues, which is marble, from nature herself, and only introduces form into the material and adorns it. The painter, therefore, produces only one part of his work, while the poet produces everything. The fact that everything in poetic imitations comes from the poet, but not everything in the imitations of painting comes from the painter, causes the poet to love his images more tenderly than the painter does his. At this point, Martinengo, I can surmount

The Figino 41 the obstacle you put in front of me when I said that poetic imitation delighted more than imitation in painting, so listen. The more completely one grasps and understands a thing, the more one enjoys it, since it is true that, just as the shadow follows the body, so pleasure follows awareness and intelligence, as Averroes says in the twelfth book of the Metaphysics.56 Now, let us examine which kind of imitation makes things more comprehensible, poetry or painting. Thus, according to the degree of understanding they bring about, we will know which of them brings more delight. Certainly [287] our intellect considers perfect all those things that leave a perfect and complete sensory impression; just as, by the same token, it considers things unfinished and imperfect on account of the imperfection of the impressions they leave. The intellect therefore will perceive a figure in bas relief to be incomplete, since it cannot leave on the eye a perfect impression of a man or an animal, but leaves an impression only of that part that stands out and is visible. On the contrary, a figure in the round sends the contour of the whole figure to the eye, and it will be recognized as an entire and completed image and not half of one, like bas relief. Since our intellect understands perfect things to be perfect and imperfect things to be imperfect, it understands both perfectly. Delight derives from the comprehension of things, because things please more or less according to our greater or lesser knowledge of them. For that reason we must confess that the poet, who represents more perfect images to the intellect than does the painter, causes greater delight and greater pleasure. Given the same subject, the poet offers us a better and more perfect understanding with his images than the painter does with his. If we consider the following, we reach the conclusion that poetic images express the thing imitated better and more vividly than do the images of painting: let's imagine a huge canvas depicting the duel between Rinaldo and Sacripante, or Tancredi and Argante; then, comparing these representations with those by Ariosto and Tasso, let us consider which of them makes a more perfect imitation. Everyone knows that the painter cannot show these warriors performing more than one action, or represent them from more than one point of view. He cannot express all the acts of feinting, retreating, [288] undercutting, and wounding in a single figure. If painters wanted to do that, they would have to make as many images as there are actions by the combatants in their attacks; but to do so would be pointless and inappropriate on all counts. Now listen to how perfectly Ariosto describes a duel, and how accomplished an image he makes of the whole: Sometimes they lunge, then feign the thrust and parry; Deep master of the desperate game they play;

42 Gregorio Comanini

Or rise upon the furious stroke, and carry Their swords aloft, or stoop and stand at bay. Again they close, again exhausted tarry; Now hide, now show themselves, and now give way, And where one knight an inch of ground has granted, His foeman's foot upon that inch is planted. [Orlando Furioso, II, 9]57

Listen next to Tasso's description, which is similar to Ariosto's: Cautiously, with their arms stretched forth to strike, controlling every glance and every step, in varied ways and countless moves they fought, stalking awhile then charging and retreating. Eager to find a vulnerable spot, on some unthreatened region fell their swords, each wounding suddenly a naked part, and battling thus and scorning art with art. [Jerusalem Delivered, VI, 42]

No matter how the painter tries, he will never imitate the duel between these champions as minutely with his brush as have these two great poets with their most learned pens, nor will he present them as perfectly for the eyes as these poets have for the ears. Thus, we should say that the poet's representation is more perfect than the painter's, since it demonstrates things more vividly to the eyes of the intellect than does the painted image. It follows that the intellect, which better understands things on the basis of the poetic image [289] than on the basis of the painted image, enjoys the former more than the latter. The greater satisfaction produced by poetic imitation stems also from the fact that the poet's image carries with it a double beauty, and the painter's image only a single one. There are two senses that perceive beauty: sight and hearing. Accordingly, we call both sounds and colours beautiful, but one doesn't say that scents or flavours are beautiful. The beauty of colours pertains to the eye, and the beauty of sounds to the ear. The painter pleases through the eyes, and the poet through the ears; the painter pleases with colours, and the poet with words - one by representing the beauty of the body, and the other through the beauty of sound and harmony. But beneath this harmonic beauty the poet represents not only the beauty of the body but the beauty of the spirit as well, imitating the moral conduct and the virtues of his heroes and their noble and glorious

The Figino 43 actions. Therefore, whereas the painter has only one way of producing pleasure in the appetitive intellect, that is, in the will of man, the poet has two ways, and therefore the poetic image affords greater pleasure than does the simulacrum of painting. Martinengo, I trust that with this response I have untied the knot you so suddenly tied for me. As for you, Figino, I think that everything I've said so far has proved that pleasure, not the beneficial or the useful, is the aim of painting. FIG.: Guazzo, you are quite wrong if you have mistaken our silence for acceptance of all the things you have said. Certainly, if I were not so weakened by illness, I would have the strength to say something to refute both of your conclusions. But since I am so fatigued, I reserve only one issue for myself - the last, since it is the one most pertinent to my profession. I leave the other to you, Martinengo. Please - as that old Platonic proverb says - be a brother to man. Help me defend Comanini, who, as you are well aware, [290] is your friend as much as he is mine. I have heard him mention you with great fondness many times. MAR.: I accept the task you have imposed on me. Defending an absent friend and helping one who has not yet fully recovered are acts of charity. I therefore do not shrink from the ordeal, though I know it to be beyond my strength. GUA.: I should have let sleeping dogs lie. It would have been better for me to remain silent. Still, I am glad that I did not, since my idle discourse will provide me with a good opportunity to learn a great deal. MAR.: Careful, Guazzo. Don't flatter us; it won't make us less cruel. GUA.: Aim your arrows as you please. I'll prepare myself to withstand the attack. FIG .: Since the first question is yours, Martinengo, you be the first to engage in battle. MAR.: As you wish. The entire lofty tower of your discourse, Guazzo, rests on only two statements - on two columns, as it were. Since I don't see how they can bear the weight of the whole e'difice, I intend to collapse both. First, arming yourself with the authority of Aristotle, you said that men enjoy imitation and that imitation delights. As proof you provided many examples,

44 Gregorio Comanini all plausible and all serving your purpose. Then, on this foundation - and almost as if to play a friendly trick on us — you have constructed a far-fetched conclusion and said: therefore, pleasure is the aim of imitation, and consequently the aim of painting, which is an imitative art. I doubt that you yourself regard this conclusion as any more valid than the following one: that men delight in knowing things, so knowledge pleases; therefore, the purpose of knowledge is pleasure. In other words, pleasure is just as much a part of knowledge as it is of imitation. On the testimony of Aristotle himself in the tenth book of the Ethics, the greatest delight is that which is more certain and uncontaminated because it operates in accordance with knowledge.58 [291] Moreover, some degree of sadness is not antithetical to it, just as it is not to imitation, strictly speaking, because nothing is incompatible with the object of contemplation. Pleasure, which one may enjoy in warmth, is the contrary of that sadness one feels from cold; but we perceive that the reasons behind these two contraries are not contradictory. One contrary gives rise to the perception of the other, cold being recognized through heat, and heat through cold. It follows that no sadness can be at odds with that delight that is born of contemplation. It is not contrary to it, but neither does it necessarily accompany it. This phenomenon does not occur with physical delight, to which pain is always attached, as the good Socrates said. When the prison guard had removed the philosopher's chain, he scratched his leg, which hurt from the rubbing of the iron, and felt pleasure. 'Look/ he said to his friends, 'how marvellous is this thing that men call pleasure, and in what a marvellous manner it is naturally united with pain, which we call its opposite. They say that the two do not exist together in man. None the less, whoever takes up one of them is constrained to take up the other as well. Just a short while ago my leg, constricted by irons, hurt me greatly, and now I've rubbed it with the palm of my hand, and it brings me pleasure/59 If we speak of physical pleasure, Guazzo, it is certain that pleasure always brings with it some discomfort, and discomfort in its turn leaves pleasure as soon as it departs. This phenomenon does not occur with spiritual things, because the delight of contemplation arises in men not because delight chases away its contrary, but because contemplation is delightful in and of itself by its very nature. It may very well happen that some pain is accidentally mixed with the delight, as would occur when there is some failure in the perceptive capacity; or when what is perceptible is incompatible with the proper complexion of the organ; or when, even if the perceptible thing is appropriate, it continues [292] too long. But with all this, sadness, which indirectly accompanies the delight of contemplation, is not at all its contrary, since the displeasure arising from some impediment to the said contemplation is not

The Figino 45 an enemy of pleasure. Rather, it is more nearly a friend and neighbour. Physical afflictions or fatigue are not the same kind as the pleasure that arises from contemplation, since they are not joined and are in fact separate. I have chosen to remind you of this so that you will admit that the pleasure derived from knowledge and from contemplation is not less than the delight that comes from imitation. Nevertheless, the putting of knowledge into practice, and not delight, is the aim of knowledge. This aim is perfected by delight, but only incidentally, and not absolutely. I also say that the useful, and not the pleasurable, is the aim of imitation, to the achievement of which delight contributes. Therefore, imitation delights, because it prepares the intellect and aids in contemplation. Aristotle himself says so when, investigating why men delight so in imitation and what makes imitation please, he says what you, Guazzo, have so conveniently omitted: that this occurs because learning is a very pleasing thing not only to philosophers, but to all other mortals as well. Therefore, whoever looks at images enjoys himself, because from the contemplation of them he learns and becomes familiar with the things first seen, and as Averroes adds in the Exposition, he has a much quicker and more rapid and an easier grasp of them.60 And let us be guided by the opinion of the same commentator: the soul, he says, is the happier the more perfectly it receives; and because images, being imitations, bring happiness, they are therefore means and instruments that lead to an understanding of those things we long to know. Could he explain the nature of imitation more clearly? And don't you think we should admit (as Aristotle himself does) that imitation has to do with the useful, which guides us to the knowledge of things by means of pleasure? [293] And doesn't painting in particular express all these things? And the same prince of the Peripatetics, dealing with music and its effects and incidentally speaking of painting in the eighth book of the Politics, says that young children should not look at Pauson's images, but may well view those of Polygnotus, or of another ethical painter or sculptor.61 Why does he do so except because Pauson did not consider the useful in painting his figures, while Polygnotus did, representing good conduct and therefore directing all his images to the proper end of art? GUA.: Stop, Martinengo. Imitation, as imitation, has no aim other than that of resembling or representing directly. Maximus of Tyre, speaking in the seventeenth chapter about the goal of painting, says, 'From art the task was that the figures and bodies would serve as images of truth .../62 In the second dialogue of the Laws, Plato, in dealing with what kind of music one should listen to, says these same words: 'In fact, we explained the Tightness of a

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representation to lie in reproduction of the proportions and quality of the original/63 But imitation, as imitation, has neither the useful nor the beneficial, nor even pleasure or delight, as its aim. Considered as a game, it does indeed have delight for its immediate aim; and you can recognize from the things I said about the invention of games that I treated imitation accordingly. I do not deny that the useful can be the aim of imitation in that it is a game, as long as both of you concede that delight is its principal aim; utility is the secondary aim. As for imitation's being a game, you should remember that Plato says so in the passage I mentioned more or less in the middle of my argument. MAR.: I remember. And this is the second authority you used to support your opinion. It's all very well for you to have considered imitation according to your whim. Now let me consider it [294] in my way, and you will see me derive from it a conclusion contrary to yours. I cannot and should not deny that imitation is almost like a game, and that as such it has delight as its goal. But I frankly deny that imitation, insofar as it is defined and governed by moral philosophy, has delight as its principal aim.64 It is unquestionable that the civil faculty rules and governs imitation and the delight derived from it, since all the Platonic writings are full of these laws. Plato banishes all immoral poets from his republic; he demands that no poet invent anything that transgresses the laws of the city or the boundaries of the appropriate that is, the honest and the good; and he doesn't want any poet to publish his works generally, or even to show poems to some private person without the approval of those responsible for passing judgment on them. He says that the first law governing music, which is an imitation of customs, is that it should be used in blessings and hymns; the second is that it should be used in prayers addressed to the gods; and the third (since prayers are certain requests made of God by men), is that poets should avoid asking for bad rather than good in their verses. He also wants to prevent children from imitating new things, whether in song or dance, and wants no one to entice them into any novelty with the lure of new delights. He praises the Egyptians for training their children with good songs. Aristotle similarly teaches that harmony should serve not for one use only, but for many; and he says that since there are many types of music - some moral, some motivational, others uplifting - we should avail ourselves of the moral for our own edification, and of the others for teaching. He adds that it is appropriate for the young to learn the Doric, since it is constant and firm and ultimately fosters manly habits.65 Let's speak of imitation in painting and sculpture. Don't you see how [295] morality determines the rules for both these arts,

The Figino 47 and gives them laws and precepts ? As we mentioned only a short while ago, Aristotle does not want the young to view Pauson's images, since they do not imitate proper morals. The Egyptians did not permit painters or sculptors to do figures of immoral things or novelties, or to invent things that weren't common custom in their country. Pliny complains that, since it is impossible to paint or sculpt the soul, people also scorn representations of the human body.66 He tells us that the ancient Romans arranged images of their elders around their doors, where they also attached the trophies taken from their enemies; and he says that this was a source of inspiration to the inhabitants of the house, because having to enter through the triumphs of others served as a reproof to the cowardly owner every day. Under Roman law the buyer of a new house could not remove the image of the seller's ancestors from the door. It was a custom in the earliest times to honour only great men with public statues. Here, then, is the manner in which the imitative arts have been governed by the civil faculty, and thus directed to a purpose other than pleasure. Haven't philosophers themselves used words to paint images that have no purpose other than utility? GUA.: Don't talk to me about the images philosophy teachers create, because they are not the sort of images we are discussing. As I reminded you at the beginning of my argument, the images that are the object of the imitative arts have no purpose other than to resemble and represent. In this they are different from the images made by the arts that make objects, the aim of which is not representation, but utility. You should not have forgotten that I said that, when the teacher makes an image of his mental concept with words in order to teach and train the student, he does not make an image of the kind we are discussing, since this one has a purpose different from that in the nature of imitation, which is to imitate only. Therefore, although the philosopher may be a maker of images, he still should not be called an imitator [296] because he is one of those who direct their images to an end that artists do not. Talking about such simulacra therefore does not serve our purpose. MAR.: Please allow me to explain. The images I am about to discuss, though they may be the invention of philosophers, should be included with those of the imitative arts, because philosophers, when they make things, dress themselves in the garments of poetic imitation, and also in those of painting. But you say that the image of imitative art is good for no use apart from representation, while that of philosophy is the tool of instruction. If this is true, how can you then say that the aim of imitation is pleasure? I think it's inappropriate to say that the image made by the imitator serves only to

48 Gregorio Comanini imitate and represent, and to say at the same time that this same image has pleasure as its principal aim. But I know how you will get out of the difficulty. You will say what you said a few moments ago - that is, that it is true that an imitation, as imitation, serves no purpose other than pure representation, but that, as a game, it serves to please, and its image, apart from its purpose of resembling, has this other function of delighting as well. I concede it all to you. But listen to what I draw from that concession. Philosophers make these images, of which I will give you an example in a moment, by using the techniques of the imitative arts, and therefore they have no object other than to represent the concepts of the mind. Even though they may be games and jokes, they still have delight as their goal; they are therefore the same kind of images as those made by imitators. I can demonstrate my conclusion clearly by revealing to you which philosophical images I am using in my argument. First, I do not want you to get the impression that, in speaking of the images made by philosophers, I mean all that they have expressed with words. I mean only those stories they invented based on the credible marvellous.67 Now, since the invention of such tales is really the business of one of the imitative arts - that is, [297] the poetic - there is no doubt that the philosopher, in creating his tale, has taken on the costume of the poet, and thus, dressing in it, has made a similitude of what he had conceived in his mind. Composing tales is like a playful pastime, and the fable itself is a game. In creating a fable, therefore, the philosopher's goal as a teller of tales is the making of a plaything. Thus, it is quite clear that his images are not of a type different from those of the poet, nor are they different from those of the painter, because painting is nothing other than mute poetry.68 But let us return to where we began just now. These philosophical images, considered as nothing but images, have no business other than that of resembling and representing; but as games they have pleasure as their aim. Still, being governed by philosophy, these same images aim at the useful as their principal and appropriate goal. I will use one example to clarify all the others. Plato says that Penia entered the gardens of Jove and lay down with Porus, who was drunk on nectar. By lying with him she became pregnant with Carnal Love.69 Because Carnal Love is the son of abundance and poverty (because Porus means abundance, and Penia, need), he is thin and destitute, goes barefoot, and flies from place to place. He has neither home nor bed nor roof, but always sleeps in the street. Having inherited the nature of his mother, he is always poor. But from his father he gets these qualities: he sets snares for the beautiful and the good; he is virile, daring and charming, astute and rapacious; he is always weaving new deceptions; he is studiously cautious and shrewd; he is enchanting, evil, a sophist

The Figino 49 and a wizard. His nature is neither completely immortal nor completely mortal, and sometimes on one day he springs to life, lives, dies and on another day he is reborn. Whatever he gains, he loses; he is therefore neither a beggar nor a rich man. Anyone can see that in this fable Plato has created a poetic image of earthly love and carnal lust. This Porus, god of abundance, drunk on nectar and sleeping in the garden of Jove, signifies man, whom Plato calls god of abundance on account [298] of the many gifts he has received from the giver of all good. Don't you agree that his going to sleep in Jove's gardens, drunk on nectar, represents his failure to preserve his virtue when he is surrounded by every sweetness in the garden of this world? Penia, starving, enters the garden of Jove to obtain food, finds Porus immersed in a deep sleep, and stretches out at his side. Don't you see how appropriately he represents the nature of love, which is born out of poverty, since the lover is deprived of what he loves, desires, and does not possess ? Paintings marvellously depict the effects of this love. Diotima presents him [Love] as thin and languishing, characteristics typical of those who become carnal lovers by following the desires of the flesh. A thing without humours is said to be arid; and the man or woman whose blood has little heat is pale. The force of nature cannot perform two operations at the same time without leaving something lacking in one of them. Because the lover always has his thoughts fixed on the beloved object, all the elements of his natural complexion go straight to his brain and abandon his stomach. As a result, the blood, spreading through the body in insufficient quality and quantity, leaves all the parts of the body thin and pallid, especially the face. Thus, when the lover exhales, his soul takes with it most of the vital humours. Since the clearest and brightest parts of the blood must necessarily rush back to restore those humours, what remains is thick and dry and black. This is the way bruises come about, and is why choler and melancholy abound in men in love. But what meaning shall we attach to Love's going barefoot, Guazzo ? Someone who goes barefoot has his foot pierced by thorns, or hurt by the sharpness of rocks and pebbles; or he has his feet cracked by ice, or scratched by stickers, or bitten by scorpions, or cut by nails, or injured by some other obstacle. [299] Diotima has therefore interpreted it to mean that someone who lets lust rule and guide him is incautious, exposes himself insanely to danger, and disregards his own honour and health. Similarly, this person never raises himself from the earth to the contemplation of heavenly good, just as someone who goes around barefoot never raises his eyes from the ground for fear of wounding himself. Diotima has poetically imitated the nature of these madmen (for the amorous passion is nothing other than madness) by telling us that Love grazes the earth in his flight. When she

50 Gregorio Comanini then says that Love has neither house nor bed nor roof, she teaches that the soul of the lover, carried away by the delight of thinking about the beloved object, leaves the shelter of his own body and passes on to inhabit that of another. Look at how much philosophy is symbolized by Carnal Love's sleeping in the street. This proportion and harmony of the body, which is called beauty, is nothing but a path one follows to the knowledge of God; accordingly, Petrarch says that these mortal things

... are, if you think well, the ladder to our maker.70 A man who finds himself in the grip of lust, spurred on by this physical beauty, rolls in the mud of licentiousness and does not reach the goal of his journey, which is God; that is, the wretch remains asleep on the road of beauty. For this reason the wise Diotima says that Love sleeps like a miserable beggar along the street. She adds that Love, like his mother, is always poor; and it is true, because the lascivious lover never becomes sated with carnal pleasures. Moreover, there is no easier way to impoverish oneself in terms of worldly goods than to become a slave to lust, as the [story of the] prodigal son in the Gospels illustrates.71 Ovid, in the ninth epistle, says that love sets snares for the beautiful and the good: Fairness and modesty are mightily at strife.72 [300] The reason is not difficult to find. Ficino says that Love originates in physical appearance, and appearance is the mediator between the sense of touch and the mind.73 It is through appearance that the spirit of lust is entrapped and impaled. When a man consents to his desires for the filthy enjoyment of the beautiful, he schemes to acquire it and in a thousand ways tries to possess it. Like a hunter he spreads nets, cuts off ways of escape, sets snares for his prey, surrounds it with dogs, stalks it; he strains after it, pursues it, is filled with desire for it, and never rests until he has captured it. Diotima says that love is a virile, daring, brave, and rapacious hunter; a deviser of tricks and studiously prudent, no matter how crazy he is otherwise; always shrewd, evil; an enchanter who uses words, signs, acts, and gifts to become the owner of the beauty he loves. I also remember having read in Ficino's works that bestial and vulgar love is none other than a certain fascination. He proves it as follows: A young person's blood is thin, and because it is thin, it is still clear. Because generation consists of the hot and the moist, in the young the blood is similarly moist and warm and therefore

The Figino 51

sweet, generating sweetness from the mixing of these two qualities. The spirits come from the blood, and the spirits are like the blood that produced them. For that reason, the spiritis of the young are delicate, clear, moist, and sweet. These spirits produce certain rays, and the rays resemble the spirits that produced them. They spring from the eyes as if from two glass windows, because these sparkling rays, being light, flow from the lower members to the highest parts of the body. On reaching the eyes, which are transparent and pure, they have a free and easy exit. Those animals whose eyes shine at night and the circles one sees on rubbing the corner of an eye with a finger give evidence of these rays, as does the example of Tiberius, who, when he got up at night, was able to see for some time with no light other than that of his eyes. Ficino says moreover [301] that a spiritual vapour issues with these rays, and that blood issues with this vapour, as we know from red and running eyes, which infect the eyes of someone who looks at them (which would not happen if a vapour of corrupt blood did not issue with the ray). We can also discern this phenomenon in the case of a menstruating woman, who darkens and spots a mirror with her glance. Now, this bloody vapour, he says, issuing from the heart of the beloved and passing through the heart of the lover as if in its own residence and dwelling, wounds the heart and, finally coming to rest in the hardest part of it, returns to blood. This blood, because it is in some ways foreign to the place, contamir nates all the rest with its poison. Two ill effects ensue: just as the gaze of a stinking old man and a woman in her time of the month infect the child, the gaze of a young person makes the old sick. However, because in the old man the humours are cold and extremely slow, his gaze barely grazes the surface of the young person's heart. It has no force there, and thus moves it very little (unless the heart is extremely tender owing to childhood). Stung by these poisonous stimuli, the man feels the ardours of lust. If he does not restrain it, he falls into filthy vices and lives a contemptible life, since these lustful desires make him see true for false and vice for virtue, and make ugliness seem to be beauty and beauty seem much greater than it really is. These effects cause Diotima to say that Love is a great sophist. I still call Love a wizard, because its attraction is like that of natural magic. Fire is drawn upward by the concavity of the last sphere, and the air by the cavity of fire; the earth is pulled down by the centre of the world; water is drawn forth from its place; magnets attract iron; amber attracts straw; sulphur attracts fire; the sun turns many flowers and leaves toward it; the moon attracts water; Mars makes the wind blow; and many herbs attract various animals. Love thus operates according to universal precepts, in that the lover is attracted to the beloved and vice versa. Primitive instinct spurs desire for the

52 Gregorio Comanini [302] transfusion of one body into another, as Lucretius sang and as the tooloving Artemisia demonstrated when, having cremated the body of her beloved husband, King Mausolus of Caria, she drank the ashes dissolved in water.74 What Diotima herself added is true, that is, that Love is neither mortal nor immortal, whereas the act of concupiscence either dies or is born; and often, when it is least convenient, it surges up wilder than before. She says further, in conclusion, that love loses everything it gains, because the delights of concupiscence pass and dissolve in a flash of lightning. Now what do you say, Guazzo? Would you insist that this poetic image, which conceals so much wisdom and encloses so much morality, has pleasure as its aim? Philosophers don't use poetic things to please; they employ them to instruct. How can you maintain that it's good for philosophers to mix fables with the rigour of their arguments for such an unworthy purpose? In the Protagoras, following a discussion of what Simonides the poet said about doctrine, Plato has Socrates say that a discussion based on things taken from poets seemed to him like a gathering of ignorant and plebeian men.75 Because they are ignorant as to how to speak to one another with their own voices and with their own arguments, they hire musicians, and thus pass the time with voices other than their own. But where good and noble educated men come together, one does not see musicians, or acrobats, or singers. Putting aside idle chatter and games, they celebrate the occasion with their own voices, question each other, and respond, modestly discussing things among themselves. Similarly, he says, when these praiseworthy men come together, they do not perform their duties with foreign voices and the obscure words of the poets, who, since they are not present, cannot be asked what they meant in their verses. You see from these words, Guazzo, that Plato rejects the use of poetic techniques in philosophical discussions. And how much more so with pleasure? It's clear that, when philosophers create poetic images, they are concerned [303] principally with benefiting, rather than pleasing, whoever listens to them. Since, then, painting is governed by moral philosophy, you must concede that, in this sense, it has utility as its principal aim. But besides being at the command of moral philosophy, painting is also subject to Christian philosophy, which takes into account the artist, the work of art, and its purpose. Christian philosophy takes into account the person of the painter, because the Eighth [Ecumenical] Council of Constantinople says that unworthy men should not be allowed to paint or sculpt sacred images, and forbids that any excommunicated person paint or sculpt in sacred temples. The Second Council of Nicaea teaches that God himself was the first shaper of images, when he created man out of earth and made him in His own image. It also reminds us that Moses formed the two cherubim of the

The Figino 53 ark, and the brazen serpent, by divine commandment, and that Solomon made the cherubim in the temple he had built with such grandeur in honour of God. Some theologians go on from here to mention that Christ impressed the image of his face on a veil and sent it to Abgar, king of Edessa, as Eusebius recounts in the fourth book of the Ecclesiastical Histories.76 They also recall that our Master did the same with St Veronica's veil, which is now in Rome; and that other one of the Redeemer, painted by the evangelist St Luke, that is in San Giovanni Laterano; and many others of the Blessed Virgin herself are said to have been painted by his own hand. The Second Council of Nicaea goes on to consider the images of painting, while the Sixth [Ecumenical] Council of Constantinople declared that the making of pictures that cloud the vision and corrupt the mind for the purpose of inflaming brute passions should be forbidden in the future; because Solomon warned men in the Book of Proverbs that their eyes should see only righteous things, and that they should take every precaution to maintain their hearts intact, for the senses of the body easily implant themselves in the soul.77 If only God would grant us compliance with such an edict in our time! [304] But it seems that the majority of modern painters mainly dedicate themselves to creating immoral images, perhaps because it is more profitable in this corrupt age of ours, which runs precipitously down twisted ways, pursuing vice and searching for every occasion to indulge the senses. Figino, you are all the more worthy of praise because you withdraw from the ranks of those artists who add more garbage to the rotten world with their paintings, and you refrain from putting your hand to works inappropriate for the Christian religion and for piety. GUA.: I would never have thought it inappropriate for the painter to imitate immorality occasionally, since doing so is not even denied to the poet. Virtue stands out when contrasted with vice, just as in music certain harsh sounds, judiciously mixed in at certain tempos, render the sweetness of the perfect harmonies even more pleasing to the ear; and just as in painting black makes white stand out. Even in the pages of sacred works there are accounts of terrible actions by terrible men. Placed in contrast to those of the very good, these actions repel us even more by their ugliness and evil, and we abhor them even more. MAR.: It is true that imitations of immoral behaviour are not prohibited to the poet, so that he can offer us greater benefit in his imitation of the good; but if he makes an image of immodest actions and represents them minutely, bit by bit, he certainly will not escape the title of immoral poet, and will be exiled from Plato's republic. Nor can I quite bring myself to praise Ariosto

54 Gregorio Comanini for having Ricciardetto describe the ugly act of lasciviousness at such length, in the stanza that begins: Not the sound of drums nor of trumpets ... [Orlando Furioso, XXV, 68] [305] Virgil did not do this in the fourth book of the Aeneid, where he related the same act by his Aeneas with Dido in the mountain cave. He dispatched it in a few extremely chaste words when he said: ... Dido and the Trojan chieftain had reached the same cave. Primal Earth and Juno, queen of marriages, together now gave the signal: lightning fires flash, the upper air is witness to their mating, and from the highest hilltops shout the nymphs. [Aeneid, IV, 165-8]

It is therefore permissible for the poet to imitate the cowardice of a knight in order to make the courage of another champion stand out afterward, as this same Ariosto did in the person of the vile Martano.78 Thus, he can form the image of discourtesy in one in order to emphasize the gentility of another. But as for immodest things, one either should not imitate them or, if one does, should more allude to than describe them. Such imitations cannot have any good effect on men, who are unfortunately inclined to carnal filth, which is not so with other vices that one can more effectively combat. I say the same of the painter. He may well escape reproach if he shows us some figures engaging in acts of cowardice, or pride, or cruelty, or other vices. However, he will not escape charges of indecency if he paints reprehensible and dishonest actions, which will appeal to the worst instincts of whoever sees them. As I have said, the imitation of lascivious acts cannot plant the seeds of any good thought in the minds of men; whereas the contrast of the other vices with virtue may well lead the person who views those images to love praiseworthy actions. The Council of Constantinople also spoke of immodest paintings in its decree against painting images that corrupt the morals, not only in temples but in any other place as well; and it is about these images that I have spoken. In addition, Bishop Germain, [306] in a letter included in the fourth session of the Second Council of Nicaea, discusses the difference between the idols [idoli] of Jews and pagans and the images [imagini] of Christians.79 He says that when the Hebrews said toimages [imagini] of Christians.79 He says that when the Hebrews said to

The Figino 55 Aaron, 'Make us gods that may go before us/ they thought, the wretches, that God was neither true nor false, apart from the idol they would form; and they wanted to believe that the golden calf they worshipped was their God, which was to lead them out of the desert.80 But then he says of the pagans that they raised statues in honour of those gods they worshipped, such as Jove, Saturn, Juno, and others, whose names are in all the pages of their books. These statues, before which they practised their religion, their cults and sacrifices, represented impure acts by these false gods, acts that were nothing but fornication, wickedness, displays of every ugliness, licentiousness, and even blasphemy. He says that Christian images of saintly men who resisted sin even to the point of shedding their blood and who were ministers of the word of God and were his true servants are none other than an illustration of their strength. These images are a manifestation of the saints' virtue, of their having been chosen by God; they are an admonition and an exhortation to glorify God, whom these saints served in this life. What harm is there, he asks, in representing the form of our God in the flesh, to chastise the heretics who said that he came only in imagination and not in true and real body, especially when it pleases those who, unable to arrive at the heights of divinity through contemplation, need a certain physical understanding to confirm what they have felt? Nor should it be said that, because Christians kneel before these images of the Saviour, they worship the mixture of colours or of woods; rather, they adore the invisible God, who is in the bosom of the Father and receives this worship in spirit and in truth. St Paul, in the eleventh chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews, says that Jacob worshipped the pommel of his son Joseph's staff, not because [307] he adored the piece of wood, but because with that act of reverence he demonstrated his love for the one who held the rod in his hand.81 Gregory I said the same in his decrees when he wrote to Secondino, from whom he had requested an image of the Saviour. Gregory remarks that he is certain Secondino knows quite well that he does not ask for the image of the Redeemer in order to adore it as God or almost God, but rather to inflame himself with the memory of the Son of God, whom he longed to see. To this effect the Second Council of Nicaea in the fourth session approves of the image of the Precursor who points at the lamb. Pope Adrian also approves of the image in a letter recorded in the second session of the same Council of Nicaea. In another letter written to Emperor Constantine and his mother Irene, later recorded in the council, Pope Adrian refers to St John Chrysostom's sermon on the parable of the seeds. In the sermon he says that anyone who does violence to the royal robes violates the king himself, and whoever offends the image of the emperor offends the imperial majesty itself. Whoever treats the image in

56 Gregorio Comanini wood or in colours irreverently is condemned not for performing sinister acts on an inanimate thing but for insulting the emperor himself. The aforementioned Council of Nicaea considered holy images to be on a level with the sacred vessels. In the third canon of the Eighth [Ecumenical] Council of Constantinople it is determined that the image of the Saviour should be worshipped with honour equal to that accorded the book of the Gospels. Bellarmino deduces from these words that sacred images should be honoured not by association, as one honours the purple robe or the crown of the king, or inappropriately, as was that statue of Emperor Trajan, which following his death was placed on a triumphal chariot and revered as Trajan himself; rather, these sacred images should be honoured in and of themselves, as the person of the king and the royal dignity are honoured for themselves; and they should be honoured appropriately, as the ambassador of the prince is honored when he acts in his official capacity.82 They are considered to be [308] the object of veneration in themselves, not merely representatives of an exemplar. That is, the book of the Gospels and the holy vessels - holy images included - are to be honoured in and of themselves. Since the council declares that holy images should be honoured like the things mentioned [the Gospels and the holy vessels], it therefore follows that they should be honoured in and of themselves. It is quite true that images and what they represent are not honoured in the same way. The attentive reader can discern this [distinction] in the conclusion of the Second Council of Nicaea, at the end of the seventh session, regarding the veneration of images of our Saviour and of his most holy Mother, and of angels, and of all the other saints. The council generally defines all the images that should be honoured, but not with latria, which is reserved exclusively for the divine nature.83 It speaks of the type of veneration with which the images should be revered in and of themselves, because to worship the effigy of the Saviour as Christ himself is worshipped, that is, with latria, is to worship it incorrectly and improperly. The council says that this effigy should not be worshipped with true latria, since this form of worship is reserved for and should be given only to God. Therefore, we may properly honour the image of our Saviour in and of itself with another type of veneration. This veneration amounts to an analogy of that type of worship due the thing itself, but in a much lesser degree. Thus, to accord both the image of Our Lord and what it represents a single form of worship is to worship both with latria, which is improper. When this image is honoured in itself and properly, the veneration is not latria, but a lesser form of worship, quite distant from it but still derived from it. I say the same of the veneration of the images of the Blessed Virgin and the other saints. [309] It is improper

The Figino 57 to worship images of the Virgin Mary with hyperdulia, a sort of worship, inferior to latria, given to such a being for some particular excellence and privilege over other beings. These images are properly honoured with veneration rather than hyperdulia, but a veneration that derives from hyperdulia. It is improper to worship the other images of saints with dulia, which is a certain recognition of some excellence and virtue confirmed by extrinsic signs. They are properly worshipped with veneration, not with dulia but with a veneration that is a lesser derivation of dulia. Here, Guazzo, I must tell you that the liberty you took at the beginning of your argument, extending the meaning of the word eido~lon [idolo] to images of existing things, cannot be allowed you in matters of the worship of Christian images. The Council of Nicaea excommunicates all those who dare refer to images of saints as idols, saying, 'Anathema to anyone who worships anything called an idol/84 Finally, the Council of Trent in the twenty-fifth session distinguishes paintings pertaining to the worship of God from other paintings, and says, 'Let all lewdness be avoided, let no images be indecently painted or decorated/ Furthermore, it teaches the goal toward which they are directed by the Church, which is to be a reminder of the blessings received from Christ and an imitation of those heroes whose deeds are represented. The Eighth [Ecumenical] Council of Constantinople says in the third canon that, just as everyone achieves salvation through the words of the Gospels, so both the learned and the unlearned derive utility from the imaginary effects of colours placed before their eyes. The scripture done with colours narrates and explains to us everything that the sermon preaches to us and teaches us with words. Whenever Gregory of Nyssa passed by a painting that movingly represented a certain sacred history, he felt tears come to his eyes. He says so himself in the 'Oration' on God and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and in the one [310] on Abraham. This was the picture: Isaac was kneeling on the altar and had his hands tied behind his back; and behind the young man was his father, who, grasping the boy by the hair, drew him near. Inclining his face over that of his much beloved son, he gazed at him compassionately, but still clutched the naked blade in his right hand. The point was almost touching and piercing the body when the divine voice called him from the sacrifice. In the Second Council of Nicaea there is a reference to St John Chrysostom's loving a wax painting [encaustic] in which an angel armed with a sword chased hordes of barbarians, and David seemed to say, 'Lord, in your kingdom reduce their image to nothing/ The deacon Constantine read to the aforementioned Council of Nicaea an ekphrasis by Asterion, bishop of Amasia, about a painting, executed with marvellous art, that he saw below the portico of a temple. It was the martyrdom of the virgin Euphemia.85 The painting

58 Gregorio Comanini

showed a judge seated on high, who directed a harsh and menacing look toward the young woman. All around was the crowd of guards. On one side were the scribes, with tablets and styluses in hand. One of them, with right hand raised from the tablet on which he was writing, looked at the virgin with a grave air and inclined his face toward her. It was as if he commanded her to speak a little louder, so that the noise of the soldiers would not interfere with his hearing to the point that he would mistakenly write the opposite of what was said, and thus indicate the false for the true or the doubtful for the certain. In front of this tribunal was the saintly lady, dressed in black (the painter wisely chose the black gown to symbolize Christian philosophy); her expression was pleasant and undisturbed. She was conducted toward the judge by two soldiers, one of whom, walking in front of her, brought her before the judge, while the other, behind her, shoved her forward. The virgin's attitude was a mixture of maidenly modesty and manly fortitude. She had her eyes fixed on the ground, [311] as though embarrassed by the presence of the men, but remained intrepid, in no way fearing the bitterness of the battle. Here the bishop goes on to praise the painters of the horrible spectacle of Medea. In that painting one could see clearly that the features of the rejected woman wore a mixture of pity and anger. While she was plunging the blade into the entrails of the children, one eye showed fury and the other revealed that maternal affection that made the impious lady regard her crime with horror and long to spare her own flesh and blood. He goes on to say that the painter of the story of St Euphemia had surpassed those who painted the criminal lady of Colchis [Medea] in displaying with his colours the mixture of modesty and virility, qualities that are mutually repellent. He then resumes his discussion of the painting, and continues by saying that a torturer, holding the virgin's head and bending her back, turned her face toward another, so that he could brutally torment her. He wrenched the teeth from her mouth with hammer and tongs, and the drops of blood with which they came out were painted in such a way that one would swear her lips were actually bleeding. After these things the saintly lady was conducted to prison, where, seated, she raised her hands to heaven and talked with God, alleviator of all ills. After a while the cross, that sign worshipped by Christians, appeared over her head. Finally, the painter had lighted a great fire at several points and represented it with a flaming colour. In the midst of this conflagration was the invincible martyr with her hands joined, wearing a happy expression because she was passing to an incorporeal and blessed life. Here the painter stopped and so did the bishop, though without refraining from mixing many tears with his words. The council fathers were so moved on hearing just the account of this painted story that they wept for their sins.

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GUA.: Martinengo, I swear to you that on hearing your description, I, too, [312] have felt the sting of compassion and pity. I was close to shedding tears of devotion. MAR.: I'm glad that it has helped you begin to enjoy those benefits I am still trying to convince you are the aim of painting. From here on I hope it will be easier to get you to agree with me. But listen. According to an order read in the Second Council of Nicaea, the Sixth Universal Council had decreed that in future, instead of the lamb painted with St John the Baptist - the lamb being the symbol and model of Christ - one should portray the Lamb who is Christ our Lord in human form. As we consider the grandeur of the Son of God's humility, this image leads us to the memory of his passion in the flesh. By reflecting on the blessings derived from his death we achieve greater liberation from the world. Guazzo, here you have the goal toward which the Church directs images of the Saviour - that is, to guide us to the prototype and impress on our memories the blessing of our redemption and health. The deacon Stephen read a book by Bishop Leontius to the entire Second Council of Nicaea. This book said that, just as someone who receives a command from the emperor honours neither the wax or the figure nor the lead when he kisses the seal, but the emperor, so any Christian who kneels and worships the figure of the holy cross does not adore the nature of the wood, but, gazing on the seal and the lamb and the emblem, salutes and worships Christ himself, who was crucified on that cross and died. When their father is away on a long journey, children show their filial affection toward everything they see in the house, be it a cane or a chair or clothing. With tears in their eyes they touch, embrace, honour, and long for their father; but they do not venerate the objects themselves. In the same way we worship the cross of Christ as his rod, the tomb as his resting place and bed, [313] the manger and Bethlehem as his house. Thus we also honour the apostles and martyrs and the other saints as his friends, embrace Nazareth as his homeland and the Jordan as his baptismal font. We worship the places where he ascended, where he sat, where he appeared, where he touched, where he went into retreat. We do so with inexpressible love for him, for these are places belonging to God. We do not honour the site or the stones, but Christ himself, our Lord God, who in this place conversed, let himself be seen, was known by men in the flesh, and freed us from error. We Christians use the sign of the cross in temples, in public squares, in houses, on clothing, and in all places only to remind ourselves of the suffering of Our Lord. In the same book we also read that the Israelites, who inhabited Babylon, had pipes and zithers and other similar musical instruments like those the Babylonians had, but that their purposes were different. The Hebrews used

60 Gregorio Comanini them to praise God, and the Babylonians employed them in the service of the devil. Thus, we Christians retain images for the glory of God and for the memory of heavenly gifts, whereas the pagans customarily used them for the adoration of demons. But let us now say something about the images of the saints, from the Old as well as the New Testament. Listen to how the Second Council of Nicaea, at the end of the sixth session, discusses the function of painting. It says that the Holy Church, in its zeal to reform our behaviour in every possible way, is not satisfied with leading us to repentance and the observation of the divine precepts only through our ears, but also appeals to our eyes. For this reason it shows the image of the apostle Matthew to the person who allows himself to be carried away by the desire for riches - because Matthew abandoned the frenzy of avarice to follow when Christ called him, renouncing worldly goods and the love of them. The Church places before someone who cheats another the image of Zaccharias, who had climbed a tree to see Christ and was prepared to render fourfold reparation to the person he had defrauded. The Church paints the chaste Joseph for someone who finds himself caught up in the snares of prostitutes and involved in the sins of the flesh. [314] It shows Joseph leaving his cloak in the hands of the adulterous Egyptian lady and fleeing from her as from a terrifying and raging beast. To a senile old man who hides a hairy soul beneath a bald head and tries to rekindle the ashes of his almost exhausted lust, it presents the image of Susannah, who cries for help from heaven, and that of Daniel, who condemns the wickedness of the two priests. To the selfindulgent person, who lives immodestly and ostentatiously and does not give to the poor all he could spare from what he spends on elegant clothes and easy living, it offers the image of John dressed in camel hair living on wild honey, pointing to that pure Lamb who takes on himself all the sins of the world. These and other, similar pictures gladden the hearts of those who fear God, and they laugh, and the contrite soul transforms itself into sweetness. Moreover, although people are not always preaching and reading in temples, paintings teach us constantly; for in the morning and at noon and at night and at all times they can be seen and are visible, living scripture. They surpass the written word, which strikes the eyes only of learned men, as they concentrate on their lesson. Painting, on the other hand, strikes the eyes of the learned and of the humble and the ignorant, whether or not they are paying attention. Isn't the benefit of sacred images obvious? Gregory the Theologian [Gregory of Nazianzus] wrote verses about a certain prostitute who had been summoned by an intemperate young man. On seeing the effigy of Polemon in his bedroom she stopped in her tracks, overcome by the spectacle, and revered that painted man as though he were alive.

The Figino 61 The verses, translated into Latin and recorded in the Council of Nicaea, are these: Nor will I be silent about Polemon. This wonderful event has been made evident by the words of many. Prior to this he was never sober, and was an exceedingly shameful slave of pleasures. [315] But after he engaged himself with an honourable love, obtaining an advisor, whoever he was, I know not well enough, whether someone prudent or he himself, immediately he seemed so far superior to his feelings, that I am compelled to relate one of his remarkable deeds. 'A certain intemperate youth had called a prostitute to himself: She, in fact, after she had reached the doorway from which she began to look at Polemon in a painting, after gazing at it, (for it was something to be admired), overcome by the spectacle soon withdrew, in awe of the painting as if it were alive/86 GUA.: This was a marvellous event. If other examples like these come to mind, don't hesitate to relate them to us, because this discussion delights me a great deal. MAR.: I remember another one, which surpasses the one I have related. Cyril, bishop of Jerusalem, writes to St Augustine about the miracles St Jerome performed after his death. In this book he tells about a young nobleman who was insanely attracted to a nun who was more beautiful than all the other ladies then living. She was young in years but old in wisdom, and cared for nothing but prayer, the singing of hymns, and similar spiritual exercises. Since the wretched young man did not know how else to satisfy his filthy desires, he had recourse to a wizard, who was to cast spells to give the young man some relief from the blaze of the sacrilegious flames in his heart. This wicked enchanter called forth a demon and sent him at night to the virgin to overcome her with his tricks, but a most marvellous thing occurred: as soon as the devil reached the threshold of the cell, he was suddenly frightened by the image of St Jerome he saw there. Unable to enter, he returned to the wizard and told him that the image had barred his entry to the young woman's cell. Then the evil man scoffed at him and rebuked him because he had been frightened by a painting, [316] and chased him off. Calling another demon, he sent him on the same errand. But what happened to the first also

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happened to the second, and it was even worse, because he was forced to remain there for more than an hour bound to the threshold. He began to shout in an extremely loud voice, 'Jerome, if you let me go from here, I will never come back/ This shouting greatly startled and frightened the saintly lady, who was at prayer in her cell, speaking with her celestial husband. But as the demon redoubled his screams, he awakened all the nuns of the cloister. Trembling with fear, they ran there with the cross and, recognizing him to be an infernal spirit, questioned and conjured him to say why he had come there. He told them everything from the beginning, and, shouting that St Jerome had bound him there with a thousand chains of fire, he begged them to intercede with the saint to let the demon go. Then the saintly company, rendering thanks to God and praising St Jerome, supplicated him to drive the filthy spirit out of that house. The prayer was barely finished when the devil departed roaring through the air. He returned to the one who had sent him and began to strike him fiercely and beat him soundly, shouting that he wanted to avenge himself on the wizard, who was responsible for his torment. The miserable man was almost dead from the beating when he called on St Jerome and prayed that the saint would not deny him the gift of mercy, but would come to defend him from the rage of that enemy. He promised St Jerome never again to take up the infamous practice of magic. Once the promise was made, the devil disappeared. The wizard remained in bed for a year, unable to get up. When that period ended, he immediately shut himself up in a certain cave in which St Jerome had spent four years, and there he spent the rest of his days living a saintly life, performing many harsh acts of penance. [317] FIG.: When Giovanni Gualberti offered up both his enemy and his naked sword to our Saviour, before his holy image hanging on the cross, he saw the figure on the crucifix incline his head and give a sign that he was pleased with the offering. What do you think of that miracle? The good knight greatly benefited from that image, since he was moved by the worship of the cross to abandon the world and become an angelic dweller of the wilderness. There, in the company of the birds, he sang lovingly to his God, as our Comanini has sung in the fifth canzone of the second book of the Affections of Mystical Theology.87 MAR.: Cyril of Jerusalem also relates another miracle having to do with the image of St Jerome. An Arian heretic entered the church of Jerusalem. When he saw the image of the saint, he said, trembling: 'I wish to God that I had had you in my hands when you were alive, Jerome, as I see you painted at

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this moment. I would have slit your throat with this dagger/ On saying this he withdrew his dagger from the scabbard, and then with all his strength he struck the holy image in the neck with the blade. But when he tried to pull the knife out of the wound, he could not do it; nor could he remove his hand from it. In the meantime a stream of blood ran from the wound, leaving traces that could be seen up until the time in which Cyril wrote. At the same time that this occurred, St Jerome, with the dagger plunged in his throat, appeared before a judge and demanded that he avenge the outrage, telling him exactly what had happened to his image. Stunned, the judge and his entourage walked to the temple and saw the heretic, who still had his hand affixed to the knife. Only when the newly arrived company had taken charge of him was he given the freedom to withdraw his hand. Once taken prisoner, the impious one, obstinately persevering in his original ill will, was quickly killed by the populace with stones, stakes, and lances. But enough of these miracles. [318] It would take me more than a year to tell you even a small part. Now, I continue to be baffled and amazed by two things. The first is that, even though the honour done by the Christian family to the images of his saints pleases the blessed God so much that he himself affirms it with miracles, men still dare to come before these sacred figures with their souls soiled by sin. Yet the Second Council of Nicaea, at the end of the sixth session, says, 'However, let a person who is about to worship a painting of an image that ought to be venerated, if he is worthy, approach; if he should be unworthy, let him be cleansed, then let him approach/ The second thing is that, though our saints have surpassed the heroic virtue of the ancient pagans, Christians are not ashamed to put the profane image before the sacred, and to indulge themselves in adorning rooms and chambers with figures of pagans more than with those of glorious martyrs and all the blessed host of the just. GUA.: Do you think it unseemly for a Christian man to have pagan images in his house? Please give me your opinion, because it's an important point, and I need to know how to proceed in this matter. MAR.: When we speak of pagan images, we mean images that are idols of false gods or images of some particular man, and that are either history or mere fable; or those that represent some popular adage or proverb, such as the hieroglyphs of the Egyptians. If we wish, therefore, to speak of idols, I tell you that in the seventh chapter of Deuteronomy God commands the Hebrew people to destroy the altars of the idolatrous, break up the statues, cut down their sacred pillars, and burn the sculptures.88 No one is to covet

64 Gregorio Comanini the gold or the silver of which the statues are made, or to dare to take a single thing from them, since they are abominations to him. The people are to take nothing of the idol into their homes, but are to hate it and hold it to be foul as ugliness and filth and garbage. When Emperor Theodosius gave the Christians permission to tear down idols, Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria, destroyed all of them in his diocese [319] except one, which was the image of an ape. He ordered that this one be placed and preserved in a public spot, so that from then on the pagans could not deny having adored similar gods. We also read that in Rome, St Gregory ordered that many beautiful statues be mutilated and broken up because they enticed and distracted pilgrims from making their visits to the holy basilicas and the relics of saints. Clement of Alexandria stands out more than any other in this business; he scrupulously avoids contact with idols, and says so in the third book of the Pedagogy, when he discusses what figures can be carved on rings.89 St Augustine (in what he writes about the Ninety-third Psalm) objects to naming days after fabulous gods, such as Mars, Mercury, Jove, Venus, and Saturn. Instead, he wants us to say Sunday, second day, third day, and so on in order until Saturday, according to ecclesiastical custom.90 How blameworthy are those men who go around patching up broken idols and placing them in niches in houses! It's true that, since the present time is not as dangerous in terms of idolatry as was the time of the earliest Church, when men were newly converting to God, statues can be tolerated purely for the mastery and accomplishment of their artifice. I will now tell you freely what I think of the images of the second kind. John Chrysostom, in the twenty-first homily to the people of Antioch, harshly reproves those who wore the image of Alexander of Macedonia. 'Tell me/ he says, 'you who wear the image of Alexander on a gold medal on your cloak or on your feet: even after the Cross and the death of Our Lord do we place our hopes in the image of a pagan king? Don't you know how many things the Cross has done? It has brought down death, eliminated sin, emptied hell, loosened the power of the Devil; and you refuse to believe that it can give you physical health? All the world has been reborn, and you have no confidence.'91 You see that this great [320] bishop was not pleased that his people had the image of an idolatrous man with them. He highly praised those pious men who, on their rings, their cups, and the walls of their houses, had depicted the saintly image of Meletius.92 Thus, my opinion is that the images of our saints, besides providing us with enjoyment, also serve as ornaments of noble rooms; and paintings of sacred histories have as much charm and grace as profane histories. The perfect Christian, therefore, should banish from his house all images of paganism and replace them with those of Christianity. One hangs

The Figino 65 the image of the Roman Lucretia in one's chamber as an example of chastity. But this lady, even though we grant that she was not guilty of adultery (about which someone or other says: 'A wonderful tale! There were two and only one committed adultery!'), was still guilty of homicide, since it is illicit for anyone to be the murderer of himself.93 Why not have rather the image of Barbara, killed by her own father for refusing to worship idols and for refusing to consent to marriage so that she would preserve the virginal flower consecrated to the love of Christ?94 One has painted the effigy of Mucius Scaevola with his right hand in the fire before the King of Tuscany, an example of a man capable of withstanding torment.95 Why not paint the two young men of Antioch? Diocletian accused them of being Christians, and first asked them and then tried to force them to make sacrifices to idols. They responded that they wanted to prove their patience and placed their hands in the flames burning on the altar, holding them steadily in the fire until the flesh had been consumed and the bones left stripped and bare. Doesn't this patience exceed that of Scaevola? Others want the portrait of Xenocrates in their studies, an example of a man so kind that he defended a sparrow that had flown into his lap from the talons of a sparrow hawk that was pursuing it, saying that it was unseemly to betray a suppliant. Why not rather have the portrait of Abbot Giles?96 Leading a solitary life at the mouth of the Rhone, the abbot lived only on the milk of a tame deer. It happened one day that this [321] animal was set upon by dogs. Afflicted and bellowing with extraordinary pain, it fled to the thicket where the saint was. Falling at his feet, it lay down on the ground, as though humbly asking his protection from the hunger of the hounds. The loving old man, once he realized what was happening, prayed that the dogs would be unable to find and follow the scent. Then one of the hunters shot an arrow that wounded the abbot. The hunters made their way among the thorns, and when they reached the most secret part of them they found the venerable old man and the deer drawn next to him. Stung by religious conscience, they begged the hermit's pardon for their rashness, and he forgave them with the same simplicity with which he had prayed to God for the deer. They left the animal alive and unharmed, and departed. It does someone else good to hang the image of Titus Caesar on the wall as an example of a generous emperor, so inclined toward the benefit of mankind that once, on remembering after dinner that he had not done anything to help anyone during the entire day, he turned to his retinue and said, 'Friends, I have wasted the day.' But why not satisfy oneself rather with the image of Craton of Ephesus, who smashed up some gems of inestimable value as a demonstration of his contempt for wealth? The apostle John rebuked him for this act because it earned him a

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certain false glory, and urged Craton to sell the gems and give the money to the poor. Some write that the apostles made the gems whole again, and that Craton, who had converted to our faith because of this miracle, immediately carried out the advice, sold the gems, and converted them to the use of the needy. It is proper for Christian perfection to ignore images even of those pagans well known for moral virtues, and by the same token it is unsuitable to preserve the effigies of heretics, corrupted customs, and infamous Lives in our houses. In his book on painting, John Molanus points out, quite rightly, that the Council of Trent decreed that no one should have books written by modern heretics, [322] no matter what the books contained; and that, by the same token, ecclesiastical authority might well prohibit images fashioned by the impious.97 The ancients issued a decree that no one should record the name of the man who burned the temple of Ephesus. How can we allow people to keep portraits of the profane, who have lighted the fire of heresy in Christianity, which is the temple of God? Shouldn't we rather condemn them to the flames with their b^oks and all their memorabilia? FIG.: You don't mean to condemn the custom of keeping the images of our ancestors in our homes, do yoju? Though they weren't saints, they lived virtuously, and their splendid qualities were as numerous as our weaknesses. What do you say? MAR.: Far from condemning this affection of descendants for their ancestors, I praise it. It springs from the jlove of virtue, toward which the images of virtuous men spur us, as I have said before, and as Sallust also says at the beginning of the book on the Jugurthine War.98 John the Deacon writes that St Gregory had commissioned a painting of Gordianus, his father, with St Peter holding his right hand, and another of Silvia, his mother, with the inscription SILVIA, MOTHER OF GREGORY.99 This image shows her making the sign of the cross on her breast. Thus, the author himself says that the saint, while he was alive, had himself painted with the cross in his right hand and the Gospels in his left. He did so not out of vanity or for selfaggrandizement, but to give a valuable reminder of the manner in which he lived, and a topic of conversation to his monks. The virtuous person may leave his likeness to posterity for this purpose, even though Cato the Censor disdains these things for their insignificance, and never allowed a statue of himself to be placed among those of the nobles. He said he was more pleased by men's arguing about why he had not deserved it than by the fanfare that would accompany [323] his receiving the honour.100 What I said about the illustrious men of paganism, I say now about their stories, since there are so

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many beautiful things available in Scripture and from Christian historians that we Christians can have painted in our lodgings and public places in the city. It is unnecessary, not to mention vain and ridiculous, to resort to alien things for adornment, regarding them as more valuable than our own. GUA.: That mixture of the portraits of profane men with those of the saints, and of ecclesiastical histories with pagan, which I have seen more than once in many palaces of the great, seems indecent to me. I assure you, there is nothing that more offends my sight. MAR.: With good reason. But if this displeases you so much in the homes of gentlemen and secular princes, it will displease you much more in churches and in the homes of prelates and other religious persons. I don't say that someone who has himself portrayed in an altarpiece in an act of devotion and humility necessarily commits an error. On the contrary, he does something the early Christians did: in the thirtieth chapter of his book on painting, Molanus affirms having observed it in the images of antiquity. Paintings like these therefore should not be considered profane. I do say that it would be an error for anyone to want to place in a temple what Virgil, in the first book of the Aeneid, says Dido placed in hers - paintings of wars or other profane histories, like the one of the fall of Ilium.1011 add, moreover, that it is unsuitable to paint natural things that do not serve piety in sacred places. The Seventh [Ecumenical] Council instructs us on this point, offering in support a letter from Nilus to the proconsul Olimpiodorus. Nilus says that it is childish to want temple walls decorated with rabbits, deer hunters who put beasts to flight, nets in the sea, fish caught in the nets, and fishermen, as the proconsul wanted, and that it was madness to entice the eyes of the faithful with such spectacles. These and other such pictures should not be mixed with the sacred [324] in cloisters, where everything should breathe humility, sanctity, and devotion, displaying a true contempt for the world and its pomp. In the 'Apology' to William, abbot of St Theodoric, St Bernard says on this subject: 'What is that ridiculous monstrosity, that marvellous ugly beauty and beautiful ugliness doing in the cloister, in the presence of penitent monks? What are filthy apes doing here? fierce lions? monstrous centaurs? half men? spotted tigers? warring soldiers? hunters who sound their horns?' A little later he adds, 'Good God, if you are not embarrassed by the indecency, at least be ashamed of the expense.'102 It remains for me to tell you some things about painting fables; but on the subject of fables, we should first know that some are true, and some do not deserve that name, and could be called false.

68 Gregorio Comanini GUA.: I don't understand you. Aren't all fables equally mendacious? Since they are lies, how can one say that some of them are true and others false? MAR.: St Thomas says so in his commentary on the words 'However, avoid empty and old womanish stories ...'in St Paul's first epistle to Timothy.103 To be more precise, St Thomas invokes Aristotle's statement from the Poetics that is, that fables composed of marvellous things were invented to represent to men some truth hidden beneath the allegory of their words, and to incline men toward the acquisition of virtue, and therefore to flee vice. Among the simple and the ignorant one achieves this goal better with representation than with reason. Two things are essential to the fable: one is that its message be true and represent something useful; the other is that it be appropriate to that truth it is meant to represent. When the first quality is missing, the fable is pointless; when the second is missing, the fable is inept. When the two are combined, the fable is useful and appropriate; and I call such a fable true, in that it has the parts it should. The other I call false, [325] because it lacks the qualities necessary to it. What truth does the fable about Venus and the rose contain beneath its words? The fable says that first all roses were white; but that when Venus ran to help Adonis and save him from the jealous Mars, she pierced her foot with a thorn, and the blood that flowed from the wound made all roses red from that time on. How does this fable help us understand what really produces the red in these flowers? But it is pointless and inept, and according to my definition, it can be called a false fable. But poets create a true fable, and one that includes all the parts necessary to its composition, with the story of Thetis, Achilles's mother. They say that Thetis, holding her son by the heels, quickly dipped him in the waters of the Stygian marshes as soon as he was born. Because of it, Achilles's body could not be penetrated by the force of a blade except in the heel, which hadn't got wet because his mother's hand covered it. Paris found it out and wounded Achilles with a dart while he was in the temple of Apollo kneeling before the idol. Paris struck him in the heel, which was not enchanted, and Achilles died from the wound. Representing Achilles as someone who could not be wounded by any blade in his whole life except for a wound in the heel, which cost him his life, contains and signifies a truth, which is this: that this warrior was armed from within with virtue against all vices except that of the flesh, which even the strongest resist only with great difficulty. These delights cause a man to wander away from himself and abandon his true nature. You see then how aptly the elements of the story represent the truth. Polyxena, with whom Achilles was insanely smitten, is the cause of his death; and in Greek this name Polyxena means 'the one who

The Figino 69 leads many astray/ for a beautiful woman draws many off the path. Moreover, the location of the wound is quite appropriate for demonstrating how easily men tumble off the cliff of lust - because the naturalists say that the veins of the heel correspond [326] to the kidneys and to the virile member. Similarly in the eighth canto Ariosto has the dog bite Ruggiero's heel, meaning that the memory of past delights enjoyed on Alcina's island held him back from fleeing that immodest life.104 Let us also say that no wise man should represent those [false] fables in painting, because they are pointless and inept. They do not deserve the name of fable, since they are of no benefit and teach nothing. But he may well paint the others as he wishes, as long as they do not contain libidinous acts or lascivious forms, since they contain true meaning and are suitable for expressing the truth contained. Plato reproves Homer because in his fables he introduced some gods who performed dishonest acts and had loose morals, however honest the meaning of the fables, and however full of moral philosophy.105 Now, how can we doubt that what is unseemly in writing is also unseemly in painting? The Council of Trent prohibits keeping books that explicitly narrate and teach lascivious things, since one should be concerned for the preservation not only of the faith but also of moral habits, which are corrupted by the reading of such obscene books. And why shouldn't we do the same with immodest paintings? Doesn't what we see move our souls just as forcefully as what we hear or read? Horace says in his Poetics that its effect is even stronger: ... But things entrusted to the ear Impress our minds less vividly than what is exposed To our trustworthy eyes so that a viewer informs himself Of precisely what happened ... [Ars poetica, 180-3]

John Molanus recalls what someone else wrote about images: that having less than modest pictures on view is just as improper as holding lascivious discussions in the family. Silent painting is a loquacious thing, and slips little by little into the minds of men. There are some who adorn [327] the most private parts of their houses with the delights of dishonesty, as if the young didn't already have enough enticements and incitements to indecency. 'And for what reason,' he says, 'do you display on canvases, and have constantly before the eyes of your children, those naked parts that you cover out of shame?' The same author says that 'the tongue speaks to the ear, and painting discourses with the eye, and is far more loquacious than the tongue, and often over a long time plunges deeper into a man's heart. How can I

70 Gregorio Comanini express the extent of the licence taken in drawings and pictures? They parade before our eyes things it is foul to name/ He goes on at length and, furthermore, condemns the negligence of laws and magistrates regarding the disorder and unseemliness of paintings in temples, public buildings, and private homes.106 Nor do we lack examples of the pernicious effect of such images. Pliny writes that Apelles painted a hero nude, and that the painting aroused him. We read that Praxiteles formed the statue of Venus in Cnidos so beautifully that a young man, having fallen in love with it, left stains in the temple demonstrating his too unrestrained and insane lust during the night.107 God speaks to Ezekiel of Jerusalem on the name of Ooliba, and says that, having seen men painted on the walls - images of Chaldeans done in a variety of colours, with girdles around their loins and mitres on their heads, forms of warriors and semblances of sons of Babylon - she went mad with lust and sent for them. Once they arrived, they befouled her until she was satisfied.108 At the end of the seventh chapter of the second book of the City of God, St Augustine recalls that in The Eunuch Terence presents a young man who was moved to commit rape by looking at a picture. The painting represented the fable of Danae impregnated by Jove, who had transformed himself into a shower of gold falling into her lap.109 Since Jove was a god revered among the pagans, the young man uses this example to defend himself against charges of a similar misdeed - to prove [328] that it was also permissible for him to imitate a god in violating a virgin. Terence has him say these words: But what a God! The one who smites the temples From the lofty height of heaven with his thunder Should I, poor creature that I am, not do The same? Indeed I did it and with pleasure. [The Eunuch, 590ff.]110

Therefore, to prevent such images from causing anyone to slide into lasciviousness, the wise father of a family should reject all images of nudes, and those that represent immodest acts. He should not allow the eyes of his sons and daughters to look on forms harmful to sound morals in his house. How much more should one avoid nude figures in temples, where everything should stir the spirit? Moreover, the Greeks were such rigid observers of modesty in decorating their churches that they prohibited nudes in painting, and did not allow even clothed images unless they were painted only from the navel up. We still see this observed in Venice in that noble and magnificent temple they have erected there. They were deeply afraid that Christians

The Figino 71 who came to the church to worship and pray might have their minds distracted from prayer and allow some impure thoughts to take root in their souls by seeing the lower parts of the body, though these were covered with drapery in the figures on panels or on the walls. The object we look at produces the thoughts of our souls. Jacob's sheep became pregnant with lambs of different-coloured spots because he placed poles of different colours, part with the bark still on and part peeled, in the water drunk by the flock.111 FIG.: You have made me aware of something that had not occurred to me before. I have certainly seen many devotional pictures used by the Greek Church and done in the way you have just described; but I never considered why it was so, or reached a [329] conclusion about it. I am grateful for the information. None the less, I still have doubts as to whether this practice was universally observed by the entire nation, or was a matter of some particular Church. My doubt springs from the story of St Euphemia, concerning which the bishop you mentioned wrote the ekphrasis in the letter to the council. In the letter he says he saw it painted in a temple. That painting had all the figures in full length, and not painted only from the navel up, as you say was the Greek custom in their temples. MAR.: William Durand observed this Greek custom, and wrote about it in the Justification of the Divine Offices.112 As for the painting of the aforemen-Justification of the Divine Offices.112 As for the painting of the aforementioned history, this saintly bishop did not write of having seen it painted in the apse of the temple, but outside, under a loggia. It may well be that the painting of full-length images was allowed there, since they were far from the eyes of those who prayed before the altars and listened to the divine hymns. FIG.: I am satisfied. Resume your discussion. MAR.: From what I have said to you up to now, Guazzo, you can easily discern where I stand on the use of pagan images among Christians.113 It follows that I should tell you something about the ethical or moral paintings, of which there was a considerable number, among the pagans. By ethical pictures I mean those figures and images that have a place midway between the folkloric and the profane, such as the hieroglyphics of the Egyptians. Though they are images, they still instruct us and shape our habits. These pictures are definitely banned from temples, where only those things taken from Scripture are to be painted, with the histories of the holy martyrs and

72 Gregorio Comanini the other friends of God. It would not be fitting to represent the providence of the Divine Majesty in a church by painting a sceptre with an eye in the hilt, as the Egyptians did, according to Pierio's testimony.114 It is legitimate to paint them as long as they are placed outside the temples. Among these paintings you may reasonably include [330] Apelles's image of Calumny.115 He depicted a judge with long ears like an ass, near whom some women whispered, one of whom was Ignorance and the other Suspicion. The judge, extending an arm, offered his hand to Calumny, who came to him in the form of a lady who was beautiful and well dressed but had a menacing, furious expression. A lighted torch burned in her left hand; with her right hand she dragged a nude young man forward by his hair. His hands were joined, and he seemed to wound the stars with his screams. There was also Envy, who was an old man, thin and sinewy, his skin seemingly drawn tight over his bones. Behind followed two women in the act of celebration and flattery, praising Calumny, adorning her, draping her, and rejoicing in her beauty. One of these was called Fraud, the other Treachery; Penitence came behind in worn-out, tattered garments. She was weeping openly, displaying violent grief, because Truth came after her. One may well enrich and ornament one's house with these and other similar paintings without running any risk of blame. Now, Guazzo, I think that these things, which I have related to you as they occurred to me, have informed you sufficiently regarding what I said at the beginning. Painting is at the service of Christian and moral philosophy. Considered in this way, painting has usefulness to the viewer as its principal aim; just as, considered as a game, it has no aim other than pleasure. When Comanini said that Figino directed his painting to its proper aim, and understood that aim as utility, not pleasure, he considered painting to be under the jurisdiction of the theological and civil faculty, and not as you have considered it. He did well, and he honoured the role of the painter with this treatment of the subject, much more than you did with yours. [331] GUA.: Comanini could not have found a better champion for his defence than you. Come, then; here I raise my hands and surrender to you, though I raised the doubts in jest, and not to annoy a friend. FIG .: Martinengo, now that you have discussed the treatment of theology in painting at such length, please, dispel certain doubts about sacred images that I have been turning over in my mind for a long time. Tell me, please, how can you consider it acceptable to paint the First Person of the Trinity and to represent that Person in the form of an old man as we painters commonly do? Critics have said to me that we do wrong in drawing the

The Figino 73 Divinity, which cannot be drawn, and in giving him human features, as if he had a body when he has none. MAR.: When Guazzo divided paintings into icastic and fantastic, we said that this imitation of the First Person of the Trinity as an old man should be placed within the genre of the fantastic. The three men who appeared to Abraham and represented all three Divine Persons were of equal stature and appeared to be of the same age. Therefore, we cannot say that because one of them appeared older he represented more the Person of the Father than that of the Son or of the Holy Ghost. We said of the other apparitions that the Scriptures do not indicate that one of these Persons appeared more often than the others, or than all three together. Furthermore, though the First of the Divine Persons never appeared in visible form in such a way that he could be distinguished from one of the other two, he none the less appeared in imaginary forms different from those of the others: and precisely in the guise of an old man, as you painters paint him, for with that appearance the prophet Daniel and the apostle St John saw him. Thus, Thomas Walden argues in his Doctrine, in the nineteenth article, that painters do not err when they form the similitude of this [332] First Person of the Trinity in the aforementioned manner; and he says that what is allowed the pen should also be conceded to the brush.116 Therefore, if Daniel in the seventh chapter and John in the fourth chapter of the Apocalypse describe him as having this form, painters can paint him in the same manner, especially since there is no one now among us Christians (as far as I know) who is so uncouth as to think that divinity really expresses and manifests itself in such images.117 And even if there were, according to the record of the Council of Trent, in the twenty-fifth session, it would be appropriate to instruct him that when one of the Persons of the Trinity is painted with certain symbols and certain signs, the colours represent not the divinity of that Person, but some properties or actions attributed to God. The painter who paints the Person of the Father in the form of an old man on a bench with books all around him, as Daniel writes of having seen him, intends to express God's eternity and the infinite wisdom with which he knows men's thoughts, in order to be a supremely fair judge in this or any other life. I conclude therefore that, since the First Person of the Trinity appeared as an old man in imaginary visions, you painters do not do ill in representing him in the same form. We established before that, since the Person of the Father has never appeared visibly to anyone alone and unaccompanied by the other two, and the image you make falls under the category of the fantastic, one can also draw a contrary conclusion in another respect. Since this representation in the form

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of an old man was in the imagination of Daniel and St John, the image of the First Person may be categorized as icastic imitation. FIG.: I accept your conclusion. But listen to another doubt of mine. In pontifical bulls, I have seen St Paul's head at the right of St Peter's, and I have [333] read that the ancient painters generally painted the image of St Peter on the left of that of St Paul. None the less, all the moderns do the reverse.118 I should not and cannot say that the ancients were in error. Neither is it proper to concede that the moderns are wrong, because theology, which you have explained to us has the power to command painting, would correct this error, and would not permit modern painters to err indecently in such a thing, which is of no little importance. What is the source of this difference in the position of the apostles between the ancient and the modern painters ? I confess that, even though I am an artist, I remain confused on this matter; nor can I trace the origin of this diversity in execution. Please, Martinengo, give me some sort of light that will lift me from the darkness of this ignorance. MAR.: The reason the whole group of contemporary painters put St Peter to the right and St Paul to the left is that they follow current practice, which holds the right to be nobler than the left; and they wish the position to indicate St Peter's supremacy and princehood over all the apostles. Someone who wishes to honour someone else descends on the left and leaves his better on the right; but in earlier times it was not so, because the honouring person was on the right of the honoured, since at that time they regarded the left as nobler than the right. But in the first chapter of The Triumph of Fame, Petrarch, who without doubt regarded letters as nobler than arms, placed the men of war on the right and said, At her right hand, where first I set mine eyes, Were Scipio and Caesar; but which one Was closer to her I could not discern. [The Triumph of Fame, 1:22-4]119

Then at the beginning of the third chapter of the same Triumph, he puts the men of letters on the left, saying: I turned to the left; and Plato there I saw Who of all of them came closest to the goal Whereto by Heaven's grace man may attain, [The Triumph of Fame, III, 4-6]

The Figino 75 [334] with that which follows. And we can argue that Petrarch conceded greater nobility to letters than to arms from the words he says before this account: I scarce could take my eyes from such a sight Until a voice said: 'Look to the other side: Tis not in arms alone that fame is won/ [The Triumph of Fame, III, 1-3]

The phrase "Tis not in arms alone that fame is won/ understood according to its common and usual significance, shows that the prestige of letters surpasses that of arms. According to Bellarmino in his Controversies, Antonio Nebrija writes of this custom of placing the greater on the left in early times, as does Giacopo Mazzoni in the third book of the Defence of Dante, in which he offers testimony taken from the Scriptures and from poets as to this custom.120 One of these pieces of evidence is those words of the 109th Psalm, in which the father tells his son to follow on his right.121 Now, what propriety, he says, could there be in the son's having the place of honour? King David therefore gave the left side to his father. Moreover, he says that in public the greatest place belongs to the king, not to the queen; and therefore David himself sings, The queen stood on thy right hand, in gilded clothing, surrounded with variety/122 The fact that the king has the left and the queen the right demonstrates that the former was nobler than the latter. He also mentions some of Ovid's verses in the fifth book of the Fasti. Speaking of an old man (to whom the young owe the greatest respect), the poet says that when he walked down the street in the company of the young, he was in the midst of all of them, but that when he was in the company of only one, he walked on the left side. The verses are these: An elder man used to walk between younger men, at which they do not repine, and if he had only one companion, the elder walked on the inner side.123 [335] And to prove that the word interior means the person who is on the left side, he offers as testimony the authority of Virgil in the fifth book of the Aeneid, in the verse: ... now shaves the left-hand channel... [Aeneid, V, 170] And he adds another, a little farther along than the one cited, which is this:

76 Gregorio Comanini

For while Sergestus, wild in spirit, drove his prow beside the shoals, upon the inside [Aeneid, V, 203]

in which Servius, explicating his word 'inside/ says, 'Inside, left/ Horace, in the sixth satire of the second book, wishing to name the southern part, regarded as being on the left, says thus: ... whether the north wind is raking the land Or winter drags snow-laden days through diminishing curves. [Satires, II, 6, 25]124

And with all these authorities mentioned by Nebrija, Mazzoni recalls another from Silicus Italicus in the sixteenth book: But kept to the inside and grazed the turning-post with his near wheel.125 He takes another, even more important example from Xenophon, who writes in the eighth book of the Cyropaedia that Cyrus did not place his guests haphazardly or carelessly with him at the dinner table, but that the one he honoured more he placed on the left, because it was a more enviable position.126 We may say then that the difference between ancient and modern painting in the placement of Peter and Paul comes from the difference in the customs of the ages. For that reason ancient painters placed the image of St Peter on the left of that of St Paul, because in those days the left was the greater place; but now we do the opposite, because the right is held to be nobler than the left. This contemporary custom is founded in nature, because among the animals, as [336] Aristotle says, the right part is stronger than the left and therefore is nobler.127 In the commentary on the second book of the Heavens, Averroes also says that the right side is nobler than the left, just as before is nobler than behind, and above than below.128 He does so even though Plato writes, in the seventh book of the Laws, that the left is as noble as the right, and that the superior strength of the one over the other derives from the deteriorating tendency of nature. In producing us nature makes both sides of equal vigour and dexterity; but they are ruined by mothers and nurses who, by encouraging us to use the right hand more than the left, make us end up clumsy in moving them, whereas no difference in movement is discernible in the feet.129 He praises the Scythians because they do not simply hold the arrow in the right hand and the bow in the left,

The Figino 77 but use both hands indiscriminately for the one thing and the other. Molanus offers another reason for the ancient custom of placing the image of Paul on the right of that of Peter. He says that this positioning was perhaps followed by pontiffs and painters to emphasize the great humility with which the vicar of Christ lived and died, and which his successors should demonstrate on calling themselves servants of the servants of God.130 But Bellarmino presents other reasons for the practice. He says that since Paul had preached to the Gentiles and Peter to the Hebrews, Paul was placed at the right of Peter as a Doctor of the Gentiles, who should be placed before Judaea; or perhaps this placement pleased the ancients because St Paul had worked harder than St Peter; or perhaps because the former was called by the Saviour when He was incorruptible and immortal, and the latter when He was subject to suffering and death; or perhaps because St Paul was of the tribe of Benjamin, whose father called him the son of his right hand, though he was the youngest of all the brothers.131 This reason satisfies me most of all. This is as much as I can say to you in response to your questions, Figino, though I believe that the true significance [337] of that ancient ritual is not clearly revealed to us. But this doesn't matter a great deal, because the reasons for the things that are most important are hidden from our ignorance. God does not want our minds to have an intellectual grasp of all mysteries, so that we may continue to regard them with reverence. FIG .: If that is the case, I regret having asked such questions. None the less, I am determined to ask you some others, which I think will benefit me greatly. I do not ask out of idle curiosity, but from a desire to proceed correctly in the inventions of painting. In the case of secular images, some think that there are times when it is inventive and praiseworthy to create metaphors and allegories, but that it still is not legitimate to do so in the composition of sacred images, whose meaning should be clear and easily understood, since they serve as the book of the ignorant. Otherwise, the simple would not derive from them that usefulness for which the Church not only condones but even orders their use. Now, I don't know if we should listen to these people or not. You advise me what to do. MAR.: Those who speak in this way must have very little familiarity with the paintings of the primitive Church. Painting the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, the angels with the appearance of young men, Christ as a lamb (I refer to ancient paintings) - are they not metaphors and allegories? And those cherubim that Moses put in the tabernacles, placing them so that they faced the altar - were they not symbols of the angels who contemplate the Son of

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God? It is also true of that serpent of the desert, which was likewise a prefiguring of the Saviour. Can it be permissible for the pen to depict images in a metaphorical and allegorical sense, while this licence is forbidden to the brush? Read the images described in the Apocalypse of St John. Who does not see that they are all symbolic? They say that the ignorant will derive no benefit from these images, because the sharpness of their intellects cannot penetrate to the mystical meanings contained beneath them. But what does it matter if they don't understand all the allegories of painting? It's enough that they know many of them. In some places, Scripture is like a clear [338] stream that allows someone looking into it to count all the rocks on the bottom; in others, it is like a torrent that runs murkily and does not permit the eye to extend its gaze all the way down to the bed. Where it speaks simply, even the ignorant understand; but where it uses metaphors and parables, even the most learned make blunders. For that reason, St Augustine said in the twelfth book of the Confessions: 'Wonderful is the depth of thy words, whose surface, see, is before us, gently leading on the little ones; and yet a wonderful deepness, O my God, a wonderful deepness. It is awe to look into it, even an awfulness of horror and a trembling of love.'132 The Holy Spirit has chosen to do all this so that both those who know and those who do not yet know may have the proper food for the nourishment of the soul. Thus, painting should present unambiguous images for the use of learned men and images representing parables for the benefit of men of letters.133 FIG .: Should everything I put into these parables using sacred images have a particular meaning, or can I also put in some things for the sake of ornament alone ? MAR.: Searching for the meaning of every word in parables would be a waste of time. Similarly, with sacred images the viewer should not try to explain everything allegorically or demand such rigid correspondences in art, but rather should permit the painter sometimes to mix in an invention for the embellishment of the work. I have seen a painting by Raphael given by the most excellent Don Ferrando Gonzaga to the Countess of Sala, showing the Virgin with a small basket full of needlework at her feet. A sleeping cat lies over it.134 Wouldn't it be ridiculous to go looking for the meaning of that sleeping animal? Wouldn't someone who didn't find it and tried to criticize the painter look like an irritating slanderer? FIG.: But some would insist that we not add anything to the story when we

The Figino 79 form sacred paintings - which restriction, none the less, we do not observe. [339] MAR.: We have already spoken about what you add for the sake of ornament. Regarding what you add not principally for its visual appeal but as part of the story, it seems to me that you add either things that are probable, or that are not probable and therefore inappropriate. If you add inappropriate things, you do ill. However, if you add probable things to the sacred history, and these things, though they are not written, can none the less be believed to have happened, then you should have no fear of censure. In fact, I say that on many occasions you are forced to do it. The Gospels do not relate what the Virgin was doing when she was visited by the angel. It is therefore necessary to portray her in some act when you represent this angelic mission. You are quite judicious in showing her at prayer, because Daniel also prayed when the angel Gabriel announced to him the time of Christ's birth. Zaccharias the priest was doing the same when he heard it said that his prayers, in which he had requested the coming of the Saviour, had received an audience in heaven. The Gospels do not say that Christ lay between the ox and the donkey in the manger; still, in painting his nativity, you place him between them, and rightly so, in light of the oracle of Isaiah, who says, The ox knows its owner and the ass its master's crib,' and of that other by Habukkuk, 'You will recognize between two animals/135 Nor are you alone in representing these two animals kneeling before the child, since the poets have done the same, among them Sannazaro, who sang thus Recognizing the Lord at once, the ox, bowing forward, falls to the ground, and without delay the ass, at the same time, lowering its head, falls forward and adores with a trembling hoof. [De partu virginis, II, 381-3]

and moreover goes on to give them a most graceful encomium with these verses: Both fortunate! Neither will pollute you, not the Cretan myth which relates the lies of the ancient theft, [340] that a Sidonian girl had ridden away through the middle of the sea; not the myth of the drunken Cithaeron, employing his own strange signs, amid the infamous Bacchic dances and wine-filled rites proving that he has sweated in the service of the wicked old man.

80 Gregorio Comanini Indeed, God has allowed you alone to know even the signs of heaven, you alone has He allowed to behold so great a cradle. Therefore, as long as Mother Earth surrounded by receding water, remains, as long as the sky turns in a rushing whirl, as long as a devoted priest properly tends the Roman temples, your honours will always be told, your trust will always be celebrated on our altars. [De partu virginis, II, 384-96]

GUA.: Sannazaro masterfully adorns this conceit in combining the tale of Europa's bull with that of the ass of Bacchus. In short, it is true that outstanding talents know how to dress the concepts of our religion with poetic art that equals the artifice of the noblest poets among the infidels. But continue your reply to Figino, Martinengo. MAR.: Similarly, one cannot tell from the Scriptures if the Devil, when he tempted the Saviour in the desert, pointed to the stones on the ground or offered them to him with his hands. None the less, because the latter is more credible, you hold to it rather than to the former in painting. Nor do the Gospels say that Christ had bands of angels rejoicing around him when he ascended into heaven; yet many painters are in the habit of painting them in the representation of this story, alluding to those words of the psalm: The chariot of God is attended by ten thousands; thousands of them that rejoice. / The Lord is among them in Sinai, in the holy place. / Thou hast ascended on high, thou hast led captivity captive .../136 David quite frequently calls angels 'chariots' because God uses them to make war and to conquer, just as the emperors used chariots in battle and in the ceremonies celebrating their triumphs. Solomon also calls bands of angels 'cavalry' in the Song of Songs, when he says, 'To my company of horsemen, in Pharaoh's chariots, I have likened thee, O my love/ because God made use of them in parting the water of the Red Sea and in making [341] the Egyptians drown in its waves, in the same way that kings send cavalry to pursue and strike the enemy.137 On David's authority, therefore, the brush may form angels around the ascending Christ, even though the story does not place them there. Accordingly, on the day of Pentecost the Holy Spirit descended on the apostles in the form not of a dove, but in tongues of flame. Still, in expressing this descent of the Holy Spirit over the Apostolic Senate, all of you prefer the dove to the flames because the Spirit once appeared over Christ in that form. And thus, in illustrating the story of the conversion of St Paul, you paint the horse. In doing so you assume that Paul was not travelling on foot to Damascus to

The Figino 81 carry out the duties given him by the Synagogue. None the less, St Luke does not include all this in the Acts of the Apostles. Your brush can add these and other similar things with confidence and without being guilty of falsifying the story, because they could happen and do not contradict the Scriptures. FIG.: Perhaps my requests have troubled you more than they should. I will therefore not make any others and will allow you to remain silent. MAR.: I wish to add two more words, Guazzo, to put the seal on my discussion. According to Socrates's statement in the Phaedo, all the things we see within this wide theatre of the world are images and shadows.138 The sky is a simulacrum of its idea. All sublunary things are shadows, fleeting and impermanent. Besides, if we proceed to consider man according to his parts, which are innumerable, we can go on saying forever, This part is not man, nor that other one either/ but we can say of the whole, This is man/ And so with the horse, so with the other animals and of everything made up of parts. The Timaeus says that the elements are made up of two parts, matter and form, and that fire is called fire; water, water; air, air; and earth, earth not because of the matter, but because of the form.139 This thing is called fire; and that thing, water; and that, [342] air; and that other, earth not according to the whole, but according to a single part. The whole is therefore not really fire, but fiery; not water, but watery; not air, but airy; not earth, but earthy. The Timaeus concludes that above these soiled and imperfect forms of matter there are others, pure and separate and whole, which are the ideas. In the Phaedo, Socrates speaks of these forms, of which the natural ones are only images and simulacra.140 Now, Guazzo, join me in considering the nature and effect of these shadows and these images; and, since they were created because of men, let's see what service they perform. The sky is always mobile, always rapid, revolving around us. Now it illuminates the whole world with a single flash, now it flames with thousands and thousands of lights. Doesn't the sky delight us and fill us with the greatest pleasure, however many times we look attentively at it and contemplate its [visual] appeal? Nevertheless, its usefulness surpasses its beauty, benefiting us much more with its light and motion than it delights us with its displays. Pythagoras said that the sky is a lyre, to whose sound all sublunary things dance and leap.141 Its strings are the lower spheres, the soundbox is the first cause, and the musician is the prime mover. The nature of harmony is to cause motion in mobile things, and thus its sound produces in men the desire to dance: Arion attracted the dolphins with his zither, the deer stops to listen to the

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sound of reed pipes, a fountain in Eleusina bubbles and gurgles to the sound of a wooden flute, and Alexander the Great felt himself enflamed for battle by the lyre of Timotheus of Miletus.142 Thus, the harmony of the whole mass of the heavens, which consists of the proportion of one circle to the other, and of this motion with that, and of the movers among them with the moved, and of these stars with those, is the reason that fire flames upward, air circulates, water flows, the earth becomes fertile, plants flower, trees produce fruit, the beasts play, fish leap, and birds sing. If the heavenly mantle were taken away, nothing here below would move, just as nothing could be generated or decay. Look at how many benefits come from the sky through the delight afforded us by the sight of it. [343] How delightful this air is, now clear, now murky, now painted by the rainbow, now scattered with transparent little clouds, now soft with an early morning blush, now flaming, now orange in the east, now vermilion in the west, now inscribed with long comets, now still, now murmuring among the leaves of the trees! But none the less, the useful surpasses pleasure. This utility makes the earth fertile, and nourishes our birds; it is the means of the senses of sight, hearing, and smell; with its coldness it screens out putrefaction; it adjusts itself to the nature of all things, because with the heavy it is heavy, with the light, light; in short, through mutual attraction it keeps us alive. How pleasant the earth is, particularly in the temperate seasons of the year! It is dressed in so many varieties of herbs - tall, short, rough, soft, sharp, round, pungent, fertile, sterile, sweet, bitter, scented, upright, creeping; ornamented with so many flowers - white ones, blue ones, red ones, yellow ones, light blue ones, pale ones, dark ones, spotted ones, orange ones; decorated with so many trees - gnarled, smooth, strong, weak, evergreen, deciduous, fruit trees, non-bearing trees, mossy trees, trees with many branches or few, thriving in the countryside, on hills, and by the water. But if we think of the benefits the earth provides, we will see that their utility far surpasses the pleasure we derive from looking at them. The earth sustains us, nourishes us, gives us wood to make roofs, stones for buildings, plants for medicine, metals for our instruments of war, gems for virtue; it maintains animals for our use and gives us salt to season our food as well as a thousand other similar things we enjoy, if we but recall them. But how could I have left out water? What delight there is in looking at the expanse of the sea, to see how it breaks on the shore, how it foams, how the winged fins fly through its depth, how the leaping dolphins go jumping through the waves! What pleasure for the eyes there is in a lake that ruffles at the breath of a wind, a fountain that trickles from the cleft of a rock, a little stream [344] that runs clear through a little gravel bed; yet the benefits of water surpass the

The Figino 83

enjoyment it affords. With it we travel to the lands farthest from ours; we temper heat; we quench the ardour of thirst; we remove every stain; we prepare our food; we heal our limbs; we make distillations; we purge the body; we water our fields; and from it we also take fish for our sustenance. I say all this in order to demonstrate the following analogy between nature and painting. Natural things, which are images of the divine, have two functions: pleasure and utility. The all-knowing God has created these visible things for our delectation, yes, but more for the benefit of men. In the same way the wise painter directs his paintings, which are images of natural things, more toward the useful, though they have to do with pleasure. To sum up I say that, just as nature employs breathed air for cooling the body and for the formation of the voice, and the tongue for taste and for speech (as Aristotle writes in the second book of On the Soul], so the civil and theological faculties make use of painting for delight, yes, but principally for utility, placing the latter before the former as a worthier and more appropriate goal.143 Now, Figino, you must begin to defend the honour of your art and prove to Guazzo that the painter is not inferior to the poet in the realm of imitation. I am satisfied with having spoken at such length in Comanini's defence. FIG.: Guazzo, I do not wish to deny that the poet, whose task is to imitate human actions, imitates and expresses in his images more things at once than does the painter, who mainly represents bodies. But I do say that the painter is in no way inferior to the poet in the art of imitation - that is, the painter imitates and represents things with the same artfulness as does the poet. To prove the validity of this statement, let us consider all the parts of a tragedy, since painting more nearly resembles dramatic poetry than narrative, and tragedy is the pre-eminent type of poetry. [345] By parts I refer not to the quantitative parts, which are the prologue, the episode, the exordium, and the chorus, but to the qualitative parts, which consist of the plot, the characterization, the verse, the thought, the spectacle, and the melody. I want us to see how the painter is not inferior to the poet in the observation of the classical precepts regarding each of these elements. Your Aristotle says that the plot should be single, representing one action of one person. The composers of the Heracleid and the Theseid and of other similar poems erred on this point.144 They implied that, since Hercules was a single man, just like Theseus, all his actions taken together constituted a single plot. They were wrong, because the plot we call single takes its unity from the unity of action, and not only from the unity of the subject. Thus, in the Odyssey Homer did not seek to recount all Ulysses's actions, such as the

84 Gregorio Comanini wound he received on Mount Parnassus and his feigning madness, one of which did not necessarily follow from the other. This unity of the poetic plot corresponds to the invention of the good painter, who paints only one action, and not several, on a single panel, since it is just as unseemly to have more than one subject in a painting as it is to have two men wear the same cloak at once. In a tragedy the poet represents a single action of a single person, and all the speakers of the poem serve that one action. The wise painter does the same in representing a single action, which determines all the images he creates with his brush. MAR.: You have shown yourself to be no less learned in the poetic art than you are excellent in that of painting. But tell me: if a painter paints Samson fighting a lion and strangling it, does he do an imitation of one or two actions - one on the part of the man and another on the part of the beast? [346] FIG.: He does only one. Though there are two figures, the painter has in mind the representation of one single action, that is, the killing of the lion by the warrior, and not another. MAR.: Then would you say the same about someone who painted David's battle with Goliath? FIG.: I would say the same thing. MAR.: But in the Last Judgment, Michelangelo painted a figure, or two or three figures together, separated from all the others, performing actions quite different from those of the other images and having nothing to do with them.145 In this case, wouldn't all the figures he did in this way be just so many imitations of individual actions? F i G .: They would be. MAR.: You none the less said that on a single panel the good painter paints a single action of a single subject. Therefore, either the thing is not as you have affirmed it, or Michelangelo committed a great error in this work that is so famous and so praised by you painters. FIG.: When I said that the imitation done by the painter on a single panel

The Figino 85 should be unified, I did not mean a perfect and whole unity, material and formal, which exists when one represents a single thing about a single element of a single subject. I meant that when a good painter paints a story, he does not mix it with another story; or that, painting a fantasy of his, he does not leave any figure out of order, but rather orders all of them according to one goal and gives them formal unity. Michelangelo has done so in that he has arranged so much variety in figures and actions that they represent a single action, the universal judgment that the Son of God will make of the living and the dead. Moreover, the imitation should be so unified that it can represent nothing other than that which it was meant to represent. A portrait is truly good to the extent that it represents the nature of the man or woman it portrays, and imitates each part of his or her features and appearance so minutely that others know immediately, on looking at it, that it is the image of such a gentleman or such a lady. Such were the portraits by Damon of Lacedaemonia, which so resembled the real thing that all [347] the natural qualities of those portrayed were discernible: one could tell who was short-tempered, who meek, who cruel, who stingy, who lustful, and who chaste.146 Such also were those of Apelles, of whom Apion the Grammarian writes (and Pliny refers to it) that a certain physiognomer was able to judge the year of death, future or past, of those who were painted. Thus, in painting, a story will be truly good if it so represents a single story - such as a war - that the viewer cannot mistake one battle for another. It is necessary for the painter to be very well informed in order to do so. Thus, when he sees that the incidents of the story he has chosen to illustrate correspond to those of another in such a way that they would raise doubt as to its meaning, he strives to find inventions that will distinguish that story from another like it. For example, Nealces, wishing to paint a naval battle between the Egyptians and the Persians in the Nile, a river with water similar to the colour of the sea, suspected that others would take it for a sea battle.147 He therefore placed a donkey drinking and a crocodile lying in wait to seize it on the banks of the river. This invention removed any possibility of confusion as to whether the armada was placed in the Nile or in the sea, a confusion that could arise from the similarity in colour between the waves of the sea and those of the river. The crocodile demonstrated that it was in the River Nile, which habitually abounds in such reptiles. Though Raphael's Fire in the Borgo in Rome has certain incidents that resemble those of Troy, many other details make it obviously different from Troy and identifiable as what it is. From these brief remarks of mine you can understand the painter's unity of invention, which corresponds to the poet's unity of plot.

86 Gregorio Comanini GUA.: I still am not fully satisfied about this matter. You say that the poet's unity of plot [348] depends on the unity of the subject and the unity of the action, and so does the painter's. You say, none the less, that the painter is freer than the poet in this matter of unity, since the painter can sometimes put aside the unity of subject, which you have called material, and make a single action performed by more than one person, or many actions that are really a single action according to their formal function. Thus, what would be an error in poetry would not be an error in painting. Those poets who composed the Argonautica committed an error in poetry, because they sang of a single action by various heroes.148 However, a painter who chose to paint that nautical adventure on a single panel would not commit an error, just as those who place on a single panel various figures that have no relationship to each other but none the less fit together to form a single action do not commit an error. An example is your canvas in the Collegio dei Borromei in Pavia, in which you represented St Justina on one side and St Ambrose on the other, but in such a way that both perform the same action of worshipping the Blessed Virgin. The painter may or may not observe the unity of material. You have observed it in the St Matthew in the Church of San Raffaello, in which the angel placed near the saint does not take away from the unity of the subject because it is a symbol of the saint.149 You did not observe it in the painting mentioned earlier. What I am trying to find out is whether or not the painter can imitate several actions, which nevertheless have a single formal unity, in a single painting. Let me express the doubt in my mind with this example. Aeneas's sea voyage to Italy is one action; the war he waged on land is another action; still, considering the sea voyage and his wars in Italy as the wandering and travails of the same prince, these are not two or more actions, but one. I'm therefore trying to find out if it is legitimate for the painter to paint Aeneas sailing on the sea and Aeneas battling on land in the same picture, just as it is legitimate for Virgil to sing of Aeneas on board ship among the waves and in the countryside on the battlefield. [349] FIG .: I don't think that a judicious painter would be inclined to do that, since in this case the tasks of the painter and the poet are not comparable. The poet's many images of many actions, which are one in formal unity, pass and flee because they are formed of words, which resound in the ear one after the other and not all at once; whereas the painter's images are immobile, and the eye takes in all the stories at a single glance. Thus, it is not appropriate for the painter to clutter his panel with so many images and create a displeasing

The Figino 87 confusion with them; rather, he should be extremely sparing in the multiplication of the figures, if he wishes to please the sight. Varro writes that one should never invite more than nine guests to a banquet. I do not say that the painter, according to the story he chooses to paint, cannot go beyond this number.150 I do say that, if he desires to do something good, he should not create a riot with the excessive number of his images, but should represent only a few of them and very skilfully suggest them when the invention requires it. It is not good to combine diverse actions in a picture, even though they have a single formal unity, since it is as important for the painter to observe verisimilitude as it is for the poet - especially since we have said that painting should resemble dramatic poetry rather than narrative. Dramatic poetry avoids great length and shies away from variety of actions, which could not plausibly be done in such a little space of time as that which is taken up by hearing a comedy or tragedy. How can it be plausible for a single man from one vantage point to see as many actions as there are painted on a canvas - ships battling the waves and the winds, and soldiers set upon in the countryside by their enemies? Certainly it can be said of such a painter what Horace said of that poet who represented incredible things: ... Whatsoever such stuff You show me, I won't believe it, I'll simply detest it. [Ars poetica, 188]

[350] Not only in this matter but in all others as well the good painter observes verisimilitude in his works. Thus, if Saul was the tallest of the Hebrew people, the painter will not portray him among his troops as being the same size as his soldiers, but will make him head and shoulders above them all. If the battle between David and Goliath took place in the valley of Terebinth, the good painter will not represent it on top of a hill, or in the middle of a plain. If Samson carried off the doors of Gaza at midnight, the painter will not represent this action as taking place during the day. If water springs forth from the stone struck by Moses in a rocky and horrible desert, the painter will avoid painting flowers and grass and knolls and hills in forming the image of this miracle; he will instead depict cliffs, sand, knotted trunks, slabs of rock, and similar things. If David predicted that our Saviour was to be beautiful above all the sons of man, the painter will not paint him with an ignoble face, as in Donatello's wooden image of Christ on the cross, for which portrayal the artist was deservedly criticized.151 Thus, the painter will represent Moses as having a grave yet genteel aspect, since it is veri-

88 Gregorio Comanini similar that the face of this lawgiver would indicate his nature and habits, which according to the Scriptures were full of gravity and gentleness. The judicious did not praise Albrecht Diirer for having portrayed the Jews with German moustaches, and with an appearance similar to that of the Germanic nation, since this is beyond verisimilitude and far from what we discern every day. Michelangelo is similarly charged with an error for having painted Christ almost beardless in the representation of the Last Judgment, since theology teaches us that men are to rise again with beards and to be remade according to the age of fullness of the Saviour. It has been argued, therefore, that Michelangelo deviated from the verisimilar in this matter. If, theologically speaking, the resurrection of Christ is the exemplary cause of the resurrection of men, who will rise again bearded, it is obvious that Michelangelo should not paint our Redeemer with a chin practically bare. The exchange of kisses that the same painter [351] has portrayed among some of the saints in heaven greatly annoys the rigid censors of painting. They say that he certainly fell into impropriety with this gesture, since it is not plausible that the blessed should kiss in this manner when they have been restored to their bodies, no matter how much they may love one another and rejoice in one another's glory. MAR.: Would there be any way for you to defend Michelangelo from this malicious charge of impropriety? I regard him as such a great man that I cannot envision his portraying that act of the kiss among the bands of the blessed except with a great deal of judgment and a great deal of discernment. FIG .: I will listen most willingly to what you have to say in defence of such a divine painter, of whose works I am more than a little fond. Proceed, and show me some way to defend him against this accusation. MAR.: I think that painters could save themselves from objections about scant observance of verisimilitude in the same way that Aristotle says poets can defend themselves from the charge of inappropriateness.152 Here is how. Quite often in poems one reads fables that are incredible and far from every appearance of truth if taken literally and just as they sound. But when we appeal to allegory, what appeared at first to be indecorous will flee and dissolve, just as ghosts and darkness depart and vanish at the first light of day. Homer portrays Jove as tying Juno's hands with a golden cord and suspending her among the clouds in the sky, and says that Jove attached an anvil to each foot, which dragged her down with their weight. Was Juno, an

The Figino 89 esteemed goddess and moreover the wife of Jove, treated this way by her own husband? What verisimilitude does that fable have? But if we allegorize, what at first appeared inappropriate seems appropriate. By Juno, Homer meant the air; the stars are the golden chains from which she hangs because of their nearness; and the two anvils signify water and the earth, which are her subjects. Furthermore, we can say the same about [352] many things in the Holy Scriptures, and about one in particular, which serves our purpose more than the others. In the Song of Songs the Bride says to the Bridegroom, 'Kiss me with the kiss of your mouth/153 How is it proper for the Church to ask for a kiss from its Spouse, who is God? What do the amorous acts of men have to do with divine love? Here is where allegory dissolves every cloud of unseemliness. This kiss the Bride desires so ardently should be understood to mean the incarnation of the Word, in which the two natures, human and divine, are joined together. Communication is made between the two languages, just as the kiss unites two mouths, mixing and fusing the breaths of those who kiss. Just as allegory removes the unseemliness and the impossibility of the letter in poetry, the hidden meaning the good painter intended to represent in the work removes any apparent incredibility or impossibility from the images and actions. With the following argument, therefore, someone could perhaps raise a shield against the lances of Michelangelo's adversaries and prove that this excellent painter did not depart at all from the fitting, as they have alleged: Michelangelo portrayed some of the blessed kissing one another in heaven not because the blessed really kiss one another, but because they all love one another ardently in God. They cannot better express this love than with a kiss, which is an action of lovers. FIG.: You have argued with great skill and with great ingenuity to defend Michelangelo against the accusations directed at him by the composer of a certain 'Dialogue/ which compares Michelangelo to Raphael.154 But I doubt that you will have as easy a time preserving verisimilitude in many paintings, even though these allegories have served you well in removing the unseemly from poems and Aristarcus expunged all of them from Homer. Although the arts of writing poetry and of painting are within the same group of imitative arts, [353] there are certain properties they cannot share. It is a characteristic of poetry to please with the fable and to benefit with allegory; but with painting the same thing delights and benefits, because the same image delights by its resemblance to the natural, and benefits us by refreshing our memories of some honourable deed. Poetry and painting are

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not comparable in this matter. Still, I do not deny absolutely your proof of the existence of many allegorical compositions in painting. I have conceded that you are correct on this point. MAR.: Let this be as it may. I ask you, what moves Michelangelo's detractors to say that it is not credible for the blessed to embrace and kiss one another after the general resurrection of the body? Isn't it possible? The schools of theology already teach us that the sense of touch in that state must be functional, given that the glorified bodies, being (if I may say so) of a tangible nature, can be touched by other bodies and, through the natural property that enables them to withstand the touching body, can be felt. However, it is in their control not to allow themselves to be touched by a body not in glory, just as, because of the perfect domination of the spirit over them, they can alter or not alter the sense of touch with those qualities that arise from changing it. One cannot deny, therefore, that the blessed can embrace and kiss one another. Since they can, what indecency can we say Michelangelo committed in portraying embraces in heaven? FIG.: These detractors say he went too far - that, though he should have portrayed them attentive to the contemplation of God, he portrayed them turning to greet one another in a friendly manner. MAR.: They have drunk very little at the fountain of theology. The good painter demonstrates that he is more familiar than they are with the secrets of our faith. Michelangelo demonstrated that, when there are two actions and one is the cause of another, the soul's activity in one of them does not impede or spoil its engagement [354] in the other action. Similarly, when the painter considers his work, he cannot fail to take the rules of his art into consideration; on the contrary, he is far more cognizant of them than is anyone else. Michelangelo recognized that, since the blessed are to understand and learn that God is the cause of all things they know or do, their feeling sensible things, or understanding and contemplating anything, will not keep their intellects from divine contemplation, no matter how inferior these sensible things are. Thus, without fear of falling into any unseemliness at all, he wished to portray them embracing and rejoicing in one another's company. In this way he emphasized the doctrine of beatitude taught him by Christian philosophy. FIG .: I'm glad you have provided me with a weapon to defend such a painter; and I am obliged to you.

The Figino 91 GUA.: But Figino, what will we say about those painters of St George who have him break the lance in the breast of the dragon from the right-hand side? Do you think they observe verisimilitude? The masters of equestrian arts say it is too clumsy to strike from the right of the charger, since one cannot use the rest to put enough force into the lance. However, if one rather wishes to strike forcefully, it is necessary to cross the horse's neck toward the left. FIG .: I do not think there is anything inappropriate in it. Painters know that poets take the credible, yes, but the credible marvellous as the subject of their poems; otherwise, they could offer little delight. Painters, therefore, think that their paintings please more and are more delightful to look at when the action has something of the marvellous. Breaking the lance from the left side is not a major event; but shattering it from the right side is the act of a powerful knight, such as they want to portray the saint. An even more impressive way to portray the blow would be to show it done with the left hand; or to represent the knight as doing it with the staff while feinting with the right hand. [355] The painter agrees with the poet in composing his simulacra even in this part of the credible marvellous, just as he also resembles the poet in the observation of order, concerning which Horace says, ... As for order itself, Its power and charm consist, if I'm not mistaken, In saying just then what ought to be said at that point, Putting some things off, leaving others out, for the present... [Ars poetica, 42-5]

These verses tell you that many people knowledgeable about the poetic art conclude that poetic order begins the fable not at the beginning but in the middle, and then returns from the middle to the beginning and from there goes on to the end. If it were true, as they affirm, the poet's order would not be in accord with the painter's. But if (as some others would have it) the true poetic order is the essential order of things, which is when the middle essentially is born from its beginning and the end from the middle, the order will be the same for both the poet and the painter. In painting a story, the painter should not put what goes after, before, and what goes before, after; rather, he should arrange the events of all things as they were, and in the order they followed. We see that Tasso did so in his poem, in which, wanting to recount the recovery of Jerusalem, he began with the captaincy of Buglione and followed the whole enterprise in orderly fashion. Before him, Virgil had

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done the same by beginning his narration of Aeneas's wanderings with the goddess Juno's hatred of the Trojans. From there he proceeded by explaining in a straight thread, which was not broken in the account by the taking and burning of Ilium, or by what Aeneas did to Dido, because all that was an episode and not a primary part of the fable, as was the whole discussion of Ulysses at King Alcinoiis's table in Homer. Thus, we know that the painter's order and the poet's are the same. What should I say to you about characterization? It is obvious that the painter expresses perfectly with his colours what the poet does with words. [356] Young children often play at odds and evens, or ride stick horses. We see so ourselves, and Horace says it as well: ... playing 'you're it!' or riding Horsie on a willowy cane ... [Satires, II, 3,248]

We also know about playing marbles. Persius alludes to it when he says, ... and indeed everything that we have been doing since the days when we gave up our marbles, and put on the wise airs of uncles.155

Similarly, running with pinwheels, turning cartwheels, and laughing and crying easily are habits of children. Painting is a subtle imitator of these things, and in this regard is not inferior to poetry. Pliny relates that Parrhasius painted Filiscus and Bacchus with a Virtue nearby; but what was regarded as marvellous in this work was the art with which he had represented two little children, who displayed the lack of self-consciousness and the candour of their age. Nor is the art of working with a brush less suited than the art of poetry to portraying the habits of adolescence, such as hunts, wrestling, jousts, and similar things. Parrhasius also painted a young man who was running in a competition in such a way that whoever looked at him would say, 'He is sweating.' He portrayed another who seemed to pant while taking off his armour.156 But I do not wish to waste time enumerating for you all the types of behaviour, or how painting imitates them all. I need only remind you of a few, as the memory of their imitation comes to me. Action painted an old woman carrying the nuptial flame before a new bride, who was marvellously shown to be overcome by shyness, with vermilion in both cheeks and a lowering of her eyes to the ground.157 GUA.: There is something here about which one should be careful. Figino, if you wanted to invent a painting [357] of a wedding couple in the ancient manner, how many torches would you light before the bride ? If you wanted

The Figino 93 to avoid an error, you would be constrained to imitate the ancient customs of the marriage ceremony. FIG .: I truly don't know what I would do in that case, since in his account of Action's image Pliny doesn't say how many torches the painter put into the old woman's hand. GUA.: I think there must have been five, neither more nor less; and I am led to believe so by the authority of Plutarch. He says in his Problems that the Romans lit exactly five torches in their nuptial solemnities.158 That number, which cannot be divided into equal parts because it is odd, is most congenial to marriage, since husbands were to have all things in common with their wives, and not separate and divided between them. He adds that, among all the odd numbers, none is more suitable to express the condition of matrimony than this number five. It is formed of the first odd number, which is three, and the first even one, which is two, as of a male and a female. Besides, according to the common order of nature women cannot have more than five children at one time. FIG.: I am glad to have this information, all the more so because the observation of different peoples' customs is necessary to the painter, just as you have pointed out. If he were to err in such a thing the error would not be intolerable, since it would be merely incidental; still, mistakes are always mistakes. Your opinion on the number of lights Action placed in the old woman's hand could be challenged, however. This painter was Greek, and I do not know if the Greeks observed the custom of five torches for wedding celebrations. GUA.: If Pliny had spoken of a lesser number and said that Action had represented a single lamp in the old woman's hand, we could think that Action wanted to represent for us the torch of Hymen; but Pliny spoke of a greater number and said, 'An old woman carrying forth lamps.' I don't remember [358] having read in any of the writers of similar ancient memoirs that the Greeks carried more lights before the bride in the solemnities of the marriage ceremony. I am therefore persuaded that the painter observed the Roman custom, which must have been widely disseminated over all Greece because of the Roman domination of the whole world. But let's not discuss it further. Continue your remarks. FIG.: When Zeuxis painted the fable of the infant Hercules strangling the serpents, he imitated all the types of behaviour of the frightened and horri-

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fied in Alcmena, his mother, and in Amphitryon, his grandfather, making them pale, trembling, and almost on the point of fleeing.159 MAR.: I now wish I could speak other than in your presence, Figino, for I would like to say how much your painting of the face of the dying Saviour raises you above the multitude of painters who imitate the gestures of fear. I saw a copy in Venice, and in it one can see the lips tremble and swell, the nostrils contract, the mouth open, the light of the eyes languish, the flesh lose colour and tremble, the hair tangle, the brow furrow, and the breath catch in the chest, with the result that anyone who looks at it feels a chill run in his bones and the blood congeal in his veins. FIG.: You claim that you prefer to say nothing so as not to offend me, and then say it anyway and do me an offence. How would you describe Apelles's images of the dying, if you saw them?160 That exhalation of the soul was so naturally imitated that it seemed the last sigh could be heard issuing from the lips. And Aristides was miraculous in expressing the gestures of the ill their languishing, cravings, contortions, nausea, fainting, and other actions.161 Dante was miraculous in the description of a lazy man when he said: There was one there who, you could tell, was tired, for he sat with his arms hugging his knees, letting his head droop down between his legs. [359] 'O my dear master, look at him!' I said, 'See that man? Lazier he could not look, not even if "Lazy" were his middle name.' That shape then turned to look at us, and said, raising his face no higher than his thigh: 'If you're so energetic, run on up.' And then I knew who this soul had to be! Exhausted, out of breath, nevertheless, I struggled toward him. Finally, when I stood by his side, he raised his head a bit and said: 'Is it quite clear to you by now just why the sun drives past you on the left?'

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His lazy ways and his sarcastic words made me half smile, and I replied to him: 'Belacqua! I'll not have to worry now ../ [Purgatory, IV, 106-23]162

and what follows. But Nicophanes was not less ingenious than he.163 When he wanted to paint the image of a lazy man, he painted one who was weaving a long rope out of straw, with a little donkey nearby eating it. You see how well he expressed the nature of sloth in making the figure of the donkey, an animal extremely slow in its movements, and in representing the man as being so lazy that he did not turn around to chase it off and so keep it from ruining his work. Tasso very nicely made the image of one who assumes an attitude of humility and speaks submissively, saying: Alete, his right hand placed on his heart, bowed with his head and looked upon the floor, and greeted him with utmost gentleness, such as the custom of his people was. And now he starts (and from his lips come out, sweeter than honey, rills of eloquence ...) [Jerusalem Delivered, II, 61]

Then read what Pliny says of the image of a suppliant painted by the Theban Aristides, and you will know how much painting parallels poetry in imitating this attitude.164 He said that the gesture of pleading humbly was so natural [360] that the figure lacked only a voice and words. Tasso was also an excellent imitator of the behaviour of a prideful man in the person of Argante: He lifted, then, his mantle by its edge, curved it, and made an urn of it, and then, thrusting it forward in contempt, these words, with greater anger than before, he spoke: To you, contemner of most dubious deeds, in this urn both peace and war I bring. Yours is the choice: so with no more delay pick from my hands which of the two you say/ [Jerusalem Delivered, II, 89] And after having made him open up the folds, the poet adds:

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Thus from beneath his opened cloak he seemed to draw mad Fury and wild Discord out, and soon in his horrendous glance appeared Alecto's and Megaera's mighty torch. Such must have been the one who dared to raise against the sky his topless tower of error, and Babel must have watched, in such a guise, his lifted forehead threatening the skies. [Jerusalem Delivered, II, 91]

How fierce was Apelles's image of Alexander the Great with lightning in his hand in the temple of Diana at Ephesus! Pliny affirms that the fingers of that hand appeared to be in relief, and that lightning seemed to come forth from the painting.165 But let these examples of the imitation of gestures in painting suffice. Next, we should look briefly at what element in painting corresponds to verse in poetry. If I'm not mistaken, the images or figures in painting correspond to poetry's verse forms. Just as one type of verse is appropriate for the heroic poem while another is required for the lyric poem, so in painting a hero it is necessary to maintain a type of proportion different from the one used to portray a common man; since it would be suitable to give greater stature [361] to the image of the former than of the latter. And as verses are woven according to the proportion of the feet, so figures are formed according to the proportions of the face. I clarify this concept of mine with the following example. If the poet wishes to compose a heroic poem, he adopts the hexameter, which has six feet; and the painter, if he wishes to represent a hero, will represent him as being the size of ten face lengths, in the order that I will indicate. The first unit will be from the roots of the hair to the tip of the chin; the second from the collar-bone to the nipples of the chest; the third from the chest to the navel; the fourth from the navel to the base of the virile member; the fifth from the member to the middle of the thigh; the sixth from the middle of the thigh to the knee, leaving for the knee half the length of a face; the seventh from the bottom of the knee to the middle of the shin; the eighth from the middle of the shin to the arch of the foot; the ninth includes the height of the foot, adding to it the half face-length of the knee; the tenth and last goes from the hairline to the nape of the neck, joining all that space that extends from the chin to the collar-bone. This is the most beautiful and most elegant proportion of all. It is true that quite often it is necessary for the painter at work to have (as Michelangelo said) a compass within his eyes, since he cannot easily observe the proper measure with the compass when he makes a foreshortened figure.

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Albrecht Diirer has shown how to foreshorten with lines, but this rule of his is not employed very often and is of little or no use to the working artist. No one could easily calculate the proportions of that huge figure of Jonah above Michelangelo's Last Judgment. It is completely foreshortened, except for the legs; yet from the size of the legs it would be possible to calculate the size of the rest of the body. I say the same about that other beautiful image in the same work, a figure whose arms are pulled by another figure, also foreshortened. It appears to have such perfect, such marvellously elegant proportion that nothing more could be desired, yet [362] it is almost entirely foreshortened. Here then is how symmetry in the art of painting corresponds to the measure of feet in the art of versification. The formation of figures of nine, of eight, of seven face lengths, and of five and of four as well in the representation of children, is nothing other than a game that painting plays along with poetry, which augments and diminishes the number and metre of the feet in the verses, according to the loftiness or lowness of the subjects of which it sings. Nor can I resist mentioning to you that just as the poet in the weaving of his verses tempers the harshness of two words by putting a soft one between them, so the painter spreads a middle colour between two colours that are extreme opposites, and in the midst of many sinewy and muscular images he mixes others that have more of the graceful and the agile, in order to soften the work and keep it from being overcome by severity. As the poet plays with antitheses, or opposites, the painter counterbalances the figures of women with those of men, of children with those of the aged, ocean bays with the earth, and valleys with mountains in a single painting. These and other similar contrasts in painting are no less appealing than those arising from the contraries in a good poem. It is wonderful to consider how the painter's appeal equals that of the poet in such matters. In a serious composition he avoids matching contrappostosuch matters. In a serious composition he avoids matching contrapposto with contrapposto, but with an artful carelessness,166 in order to counterbalance the previous words, he adds one that has nothing corresponding to it above, since he knows that these antitheses breed commonness and lowness, and do not suit a magnificent type of style. In his reading of a sonnet by Monsignor Delia Casa, Tasso praises the artifice of that great man in this tercet:167 thus the pure, soft air and that bright light, that reveals the world to our eyes You brought forth from dark and shadowy abysses; [363] and he says that, in order not to fall into mere affectation, having

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countered the words 'pure' and 'bright' with the words 'dark' and 'shadowy/ Delia Casa chose to give the additional quality of 'soft' to the air, for which there is no corresponding term. He says that Petrarch displays this same attention to diction in that most solemn canzone,168 O, my own Italy though words be useless; the poet has sung, Those hearts enclosed and hardened by fierce and haughty Mars, and has chosen to respond to the two words 'harden' and 'enclosed' with three, one of which does not have a corresponding term: Open them Father, free and soften them. In this line, the verb 'to open' is the response to the verb 'to enclose/ and the verb 'to soften' is the antithesis of the verb 'to harden.' But the third word, 'free/ is without any opposite, though some say the verb 'to free' is the response, together with 'to soften/ to the verb 'to harden.' They say that in this instance 'to free' means the removal of hardness, taking it to indicate the removal of the knot, which is the hardest part of wood, just as the Latins still use the verb enodare. But whether or not this sounds right is up to you, sirs, to whom both the rules of languages and the secrets of the poetic art are far clearer than to me, a professor not of the pen but of the brush. It is still true, however, that in the dignified and magnificent forms of style, the overfrequent use of metaphors and of antitheses seriously diminishes the greatness and majesty of the poem's discourse, just as a judicious disdain for those ornaments adorns and elevates it. Similarly, it is true that, if the painter, whenever [364] he paints the image of a child, puts it next to the image of an old man, or beside a man always puts a woman, and next to a giant a dwarf, and next to a beautiful young woman an ugly old woman, and beside a white Scythian a black Moor, he will produce something marred and affected from one end to the other. He should employ his dexterity in the variation of the figures and use his ingenuity to reveal in his work a noble negligence rather than a vile diligence. I say the same thing of poses: that if, every time he has occasion to do an image standing up or reveals the chest and the entire front part of the body, he chooses to represent it near another that is seated or that displays the shoulders and the whole back, he will end up being an affected

The Figino 99 and ridiculous artist. But no more of this. The weakness caused by my illness prevents me from continuing; and besides, I don't want to sound like a presumptuous art teacher lecturing you. Let's go on to say only two words about the thought, which (as you probably remember) we listed among the parts of tragedy. In the Troades, Seneca says of us men: Greedy time and void consumes. Death is not separable, it is destructive of the body ... [Troades, 400ff.]169

Both painters and sculptors ingeniously express the sense of this maxim with the figure of Saturn, who devours his children. Seneca says in the Agamemnon: O Fortune, who dost bestow the throne's high boon with mocking hand, in dangerous and doubtful state thou settest the too exalted. Never have sceptres obtained calm peace or certain tenure; care on care weighs them down, and ever do fresh storms vex their souls ... [Agamemnon, I, ii, 57-63]

And don't you think that Phidias expressed this maxim extremely well when he made the image of Fortune, who was a nude woman, [365] winged, with her feet on a wheel, and her locks tumbled over her brow so that the nape of her neck was uncovered?170 In the Hercules Furens, Seneca says: At the appointed time the Parcae come. No one may linger when they command, no one may postpone the allotted day; the urn receives the nations hurried to their doom. [Hercules Furens, 188-91]

But don't you agree that there is a painter who completely explained the meaning of this maxim? Within a circle he painted a young male nude seated on a small mound of earth, with his face buried in his hands. At his feet lay a nude, winged child leaning his left elbow on the skull of a dead man, who held a shin-bone crosswise in his mouth while his right hand rested on his right knee. Near him burned a flame, and behind his back a bit of green thicket ornamented with some flowers was visible. LACHESIS was written over this man's head, and over the skull it said ATROPOS, and over the young man it said CLOTHO. Just as Plato says in the tenth book of the Republic that Lachesis sings of things past, Clotho the present, and Atropos

100 Gregorio Comanini the future, the painter chose to signify with these three images that it was necessary for men in the past to die, is so for those of the present, and will be so for those who come after.171 GUA.: Though I do not wish to deny that this painter was ingenious, I venture none the less to say that I do not agree with the placement of the names of the three Fates. If Lachesis sings of things past, it seems to me that this name should have been assigned not to the child, but to the skull of the dead man, since the dead man has passed on and is no more. If Clotho sings of things present, why wasn't this name written over the child, rather than over the young man? The child signifies the present better than does the young man, because the child, according to the ordinary course of nature, will last longer than the young man, and much more so in that [366] the young man was covering his face and eyes with the palms of his hands and thus could perceive nothing of the present. For this reason it seems that the name of Atropos, who sings of future things, which are not known to us, would be more appropriate for him than the name of Clotho, singer of things present, which are in progress. Yet the name Atropos is not over the young man, but over the skull. I conclude therefore that these three names have been assigned inappropriately, and all backward. What do you say about it, Martinengo? MAR.: We can defend the painter with the wisdom of Proclus.172 This scholar says the past contains three times: the past, the present, and the future. All that is past is already past; and before it was past, it was present, and before it was present, it was to be. There are also three times in the present: the present, the past, and the future: the present, because that which is, is present; the past, which was before; and the future, which is not yet but will be. In the time to come there is only the future, and not the present or the past, because the future is not yet and never has been. Let us then say in the good painter's defence: the placement of the flowers over the child's shoulder signifies past time; the flame that burns at his side, the present; and the left elbow on the skull, the future. The learned painter has chosen the child to be the figure of Lachesis, who sings of the past, because the child is by nature forgetful, and forgetfulness is of things past. The young man indicates these same three times; his nudity means that he was so born into the world; and this is past time. Hiding his face in his hands, by means of which men recognize that they are present, is a symbol of present time. Covering his eyes, with which one sees things though they be far away (as long as the distance between the visible object and the sensory organ is not too great)

The Figino 101 denotes future time. The painter wrote the name of Clotho, who sings of present things, over the young man, because the young man loves present worldly things more than does the child, who does not have perfect knowledge, and even more [367] than does the old man, whose lack of natural warmth keeps the blood from boiling. The painter also displayed a great deal of refined judgment in representing the young man as being depressed, wanting to demonstrate to us that death distresses us more in youth than it does in the greying years when it comes to strike us. He painted the future, in which there is only future, with the skull of the dead man, reminding us that all of us have to depart from this life and turn to ashes and dry bones. Accordingly, he displayed it under the name of Atropos, who sings of things to come. Whoever this painter was, therefore, he did not commit an error in the application of these three names, but rather correctly ordered them and arranged them with a great deal of philosophy in his painting. GUA.: Whoever strikes flint brings forth sparks. I have needled you with the objections I raised about this painter, and look at how many noble thoughts you have revealed to me! Certainly I do not regret having spoken. But Figino, if you will, take us back to your first discussion. FIG .: What Martinengo and I have said helps one appreciate the artifice with which the ancient painters explained Seneca's maxim.173 They demonstrated with colours that it is not given to the old man, or to the young man, or to the child to prolong the day of death, which is determined by divine providence for all those who come to wander on the earth. From this example and from the others I have cited, you can easily discern that the painter, like the poet, has the power and ability to form maxims, and can express them with no less nobility than does the poet. I need say no more than a word to you about the fifth element of tragedy, which is the stage set - including houses, towers, lightning machines, movable stairs, backdrops, catapults, sliding platforms, and similar instruments that are adopted in tragedies. I choose not to elaborate because these things do not pertain to the poet, for the beauty of tragedy can exist without actors and off the stage. Besides, the art of making machinery does not pertain to the poet, but to the designer, [368] as Aristotle says.174 Furthermore, trying to prove that the painter has this element would be superfluous, since everything is visible on the panels of painters, which display representations of stories, columns, arches, theatres, loggias, and inns when they are appropriate to the subject the painter chooses to depict. We may well say that painting's machinery includes the clothing that adorns the images. Michelangelo, Raphael, Gaudenzio Ferrari, Leonardo, and

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others of this group have diligently carried out the imitation of clothing. None the less, all have done so differently and in accordance with the image they have chosen to dress, observing decorum in this as in every other thing. They give few and large folds to the clothing of rough men with harsh lives; moderate folds to the clothes of men of middle stature, between thick and thin; and small and numerous ones to the dress of the slender and the delicate. As for the sixth and last element of tragedy, that is, harmony, you know that it is not a function of the poetic faculty but of music, which has nothing to do with painting either. Nevertheless, painting does approach music, as poetry sometimes does. On this point I would offer Arcimboldo as proof. He has discovered tones and semitones and the diatesseron and the diapente and the diapason and all the other musical consonances within the colours, with the same art with which Pythagoras invented the harmonic proportions.175 Pythagoras observed in blacksmiths' forges that hammer blows on the anvils produced harmonies according to the weights of the hammers. He then collected these numbers, which with their diversity combined to form a single melody from many harmonies. Then he stretched some cords, to which he attached as many different weights as he had observed in the blacksmiths' hammers. Thus, it became apparent that one string, which was greater in length than the next in sesquioctaval proportion, when played against the other produced a tone that was a perfect and full sound in the proportion of nine to eight. The painter, putting on canvas an extremely white colour and gradually darkening [369] it with black, has employed the nine-to-eight proportion and the tone itself. He surpassed Pythagoras in doing so. The perspicacious philosopher could not divide the tone into two equal semitones, because not even the ninth number would allow division into equal parts, but he did find a semitone somewhat greater than the half, and another a little less than the half (commonly called a diesis by professors of music). The superingenious painter, however, not only has managed to re-create these greater and lesser semitones in his colours, but has done even the division of the tone into two equal parts as well, delicately and gradually darkening white with black, always ascending step by step to greater blackness, just as from the lowest pitch one rises to the higher and the higher still. Pythagoras touched a string that had a double weight and therefore was stressed doubly more than another, and simultaneously plucked the one that was exceeded in double proportion by the first. In doing so he discovered the diapason or octave, as we say, for one of the strings, on account of its being stretched by double weights, returned to its original state with double energy and speed, giving off a high tone; and the other, stretched doubly less than its neighbour, recovered with greater slowness to

The Figino 103 its original state than did the first, giving off the low tone. None the less, the two tones were so compatible that they seemed to give off a single sound, but in one string tighter and in the other fuller. Similarly, Arcimboldo, by darkening white in double proportion, has formed the same proportion of the octave, ascending with eight steps of darkness from the most profound white, including the whitest white and placing it as the first step. Moreover, just as Pythagoras, searching among the cords for the sesquitertial proportion, found the diatesseron, or fourth, so Arcimboldo, giving to one white in sesquitertial proportion the darkness given to another, likewise formed this same measure, from which the diatesseron is produced, [370] since it is the proportion between the four and the three, in which the four contains one times the three and a third part, which is the one, because the one, three times repeated, makes three. He has done the same with the diapente, or the fifth. Pythagoras found it in the proportion that is called the sesquialteral, which is when the greater number contains the smaller number one and a half times (as with the three and the two, because the three contains one times two, and adds one unit, which, twice repeated, makes the two). Arcimboldo, extending the black over the white with the same proportion and giving it five steps of darkness, as in the fifth there are five sounds, directly expressed the nature of this same consonance. What more can I say? Pythagoras saw that the diapason was born from the diatesseron and the diapente. Arcimboldo, observing these two proportions, has produced the octave with his colours. Pythagoras, by tripling the proportion, came out with the diapason diapente, which is the twelfth; and with the same proportion Arcimboldo gave twelve steps of darkness to white. As he did in forming the twelfth, he also did with the fifteenth, which is generated from the quadruple proportion. What I say of the colours white and black is true of all the other colours as well, because just as Arcimboldo progressed bit by bit shadowing white and reducing it to sharpness, so has he done with yellow and with all the other colours, employing white for the lowest part found in singing, and green and also blue for the middle ranges, and purple and brown for the highest parts - since in these colours one follows and darkens the other. White is shaded by yellow, and yellow by green, and green by blue, and blue by purple, and purple by brown as the bass is followed by the tenor, and the tenor by the alto, and the alto by the soprano. Having been instructed in this system, Mauro Cremonese dalla Viuola, the musician of Emperor Rudolph II, played on the cembalo all those harmonies that Arcimboldo had marked in colours on a sheet of paper. So you see, Guazzo, how the arts of painting and of poetry go [371] hand in hand and follow the same laws in forming their simulacra. Just because the painter cannot paint

104 Gregorio Comanini on one panel all the actions of two warriors engaged in a duel without fatiguing the eye by representing the same men a thousand times, it does not follow that he cannot do a perfect imitation of the same actions treated separately. He can apply the actions to different combatants and order them into a clear representation on a small space of wall. Look at the battle of the Horatii and the Curiae in the works of Raphael, and you would say that nothing could be added.176 And how many things does a single glance of the eye encompass in small panels that would require a long time for their consideration and would occupy the reader for many hours if read in verse? A painting by Albrecht Durer, given by the Duke of Saxony to Cardinal Granvela, represents all the martyrs of the future persecution of the Antichrist.177 In the middle, Durer has painted himself, and has painted all with so much skill and such a lovely order that the eye suffers not in the least from the multitude of figures. Rather, everything pleases. Now, how many words would the poet have to use in the description of these torments, and how much would others have to tire themselves in reading, in order to know them! How many things, and all well ordered, are included in Raphael of Urbino's painting of the Sacrament, which is in the Vatican Palace in Rome, in the room that takes its name from the aforementioned mystery!178 Here is the altar; and over the altar, the Sacrament; and over the Sacrament, the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove; and over the Holy Spirit there is Christ; and over Christ, God the Father. At Christ's side are various bands of holy men: apostles, kings, prophets, martyrs. At the ends of the altar are the Doctors of the Holy Church, who seem to be discussing something, and among them are many portraits taken from life. To the right of the Saviour is the blessed disciple St John, and beautiful bands of angels surround God the Father. What more could you want? Could you ask for a more delightful and richer and better-ordered representation than this? [372] Leo X placed a great marble in the Belvedere courtyard.179 In this marble a most sagacious sculptor formed the figure of the Nile around which played sixteen children, who signify the tributaries of this river, which normally rises to form sixteen branches. The image is supported by a Sphinx, which, since it has the head of a virgin and the rest of the body like a lion, demonstrates the two signs of the zodiac, Virgo and Leo, because the Nile swells and overflows its banks when the sun is in these two houses. In the thickest part of the stone, Serapis, the Egyptian god, is carved in the form of an ox, and Isis (or, as it is more pleasing to call her, lo) in the form of a cow. Poets created the fable of how Jove, her lover, transformed her into a heifer for fear of the goddess Juno, who came upon them in adultery; but they say that lo was returned to her original form on the sands of the Nile. You also have aquatic crocodiles

The Figino 105 and hippopotamuses, of which that stream is full; and there you have the ibis, which is born only in Egypt and is said to devour the snakes brought there by the African wind from Libya. One likewise sees the little bird called the wren; here the terrestrial crocodile; and nearby the homunculi, called Tentyrites, who inhabit an island of the Nile, and who are the ones who frighten the crocodiles and put them to flight with only a shout.180 Besides this, the most ingenious artisan sculpted the grasses that are scattered along the banks - the Egyptian bean, reeds, and the tender papyrus plants. Nor can I resist telling you about that other great marble in Rome that represents the activities of the excellent farmer with such profound philosophy.181 A young peasant is in the middle with his right knee on the spine of a bull lying on the ground. The peasant holds the bull's upper lip with his left hand and with the right plunges a great knife into the animal's chest. Many drops of blood drip from the wound. A dog, raising itself on its hind legs and leaning on the bull, appears to fawn on its owner. Along the belly of the ox coils a great serpent, near which lies a lion exuding fierceness. A crab grips the bull's genitals [373] in its claws, and the extremity of its member is gripped by those of a scorpion. From the right side of the peasant rises a tree loaded with fruit, with a scorpion nearby and a torch pointing toward the ground. On the left there is yet another tree, but without fruit and with a torch turned toward the sky and with the head of an ox attached to the trunk. Behind the peasant, up high, you see a crow carved; and in the highest part of the stone two young men, one of whom carries a lighted torch upright, the other a torch that is lighted but turned upside down. Above, at the edge of the stone, is the sun with its chariot drawn by four chargers, and behind the sun a lady bound in the knots of a long snake; and behind the lady there are three flames; behind the flames a winged child with a lance in his hand, wrapped in the coils of a little serpent; behind the child another four flames; and behind the flames the moon in a chariot with two falling horses. GUA.: This is a strange invention, but still it seems to have very profound meanings. Since you have told us about it, explain it. FIG .: If you will help me, I will not refuse the task; but when I falter, come to my rescue. MAR.: Giants do not call on dwarfs for help. FIG.: But dwarfs such as I do ask for help from giants. Even if I were a giant, don't you know that dwarfs, placed on the shoulders of giants, see farther

106 Gregorio Comanini than those who bear them? Now let's leave pleasantries aside and get at the meaning of this sculpture. I believe that the bull trampled and wounded by the peasant is intended to signify the earth, on which the farmer tires himself and sweats, while with the plough and the hoe he divides her sides and breaks and turns the clods of earth. Blood issues from the wound, because fruits come from the cultivation of the land. The dog, symbol of fidelity and of love, perhaps demonstrates that the good farmer should be faithful to the fields and give them lovingly whatever is necessary for the softness and fecundity of the earth. I think the serpent [374] that crawls and stretches along the bull's belly represents the prudence the farmer needs with regard to the observation of the place, the weather, the seeds, and the nature of trees, in order to be able to fertilize, weed, sow, reap, prune, graft, water, and perform the rest of his duties correctly, for which he needs a strong back, steady nerves, and tireless energy. Perhaps for this reason the sculptor chose to form the lion, bravest among all the animals we call brave. Some say the crab attached to the testicles means the reproduction performed by the earth, impregnated by the farmer with seeds. But why do they think so? GUA.: I think it's because the crab, an animal that walks sideways, signifies the sun, since this great planet always makes its voyage obliquely and, when it is found in the house of Cancer, begins to descend toward the lower signs and to hide itself from us, travelling behind - as Macrobius says in the first book of the Saturnalia with these words, The sidelong movement of the Crab unquestionably illustrates the march of the sun, whose lot it is never to follow a straight path, but always [in the words of Virgil] "that by which the system of signs might slant and turn" [Georgics, I, 239]. And we should note in particular that it is in the sign of the Crab that the sun begins to move sideways from the upper part of its course and now to make for the parts below.'182 The sun, heating the earth with its flames, gives it that generative and productive ability with which it multiplies the received seeds. FIG.: They would have it then that the scorpion squeezing the extremity of the bull's member with its claws signifies creation. What do you say to this interpretation? MAR.: I think it is reasonable. The scorpion, an animal that seems almost dead in winter, in spring sharpens the needle of its tail and shows that the cold has not at all harmed it, just as the earth, when the sun enters the sign of Scorpio, loses its natural ornaments, since the leaves fall from the trees

The Figino 107

and the flowers and grasses dry up by the force of that star, which poisons (so to speak) the air. Pliny, in the sixteenth book of his Natural History, wrote, The mathematician Timaeus thinks [375] that they [leaves] fall when the sun is passing through Scorpio owing to the strength of that constellation and a certain poison in the air/183 Then in the spring the earth dresses itself once more in its first beauties and regains everything it has lost in the season of ice. If what Macrobius writes is true, one could offer another explanation, which is that Aries is the proper house of Mars and the Bull that of Venus, but that the Scorpion is a house common to both of them. The posterior part, where the sting and the poison are, is from Mars, a fierce and brawling planet; the front part, with which this animal embraces and caresses, belongs to Venus, a benign planet that joins in marriage, creates friendships, and fosters peace.184 Now, because the world, according to the doctrine of Empedocles, draws its origin from conflict and friendship, the scorpion could be appropriately understood as the symbol of creation, as a sign of concord and discord.185 But because the astrologers will not accept that the Scorpion is the common house of Venus and Mars, let this consideration be put aside. We could none the less add an explanation similar to the one you, Guazzo, adopted with regard to the meaning of the crab: that is, that astrologers assign the crab to the house of the moon. The moon is the shaper of bodies in that as the moon increases many of them grow, and as it wanes they also wane. This figure of the crab attached to the bull's genitals therefore expresses the idea of generation very well by demonstrating that it is created out of moisture. FIG.: So I am becoming convinced that this sculptor, in order to represent moisture itself (which is the nourishment of the trees and falls at night over the countryside) sculpted the scorpion, which lives from moisture, next to the plant with fruit and the upside-down torch, which denotes the night. With all these things he wanted to represent to us those trees that the earth produces by itself and that bear their fruit without cultivation; just as, on the contrary, with that plant that does not yet have fruit he represented the trees that either do not grow if not planted by the farmer, or do not bear fruit if [376] he does not cultivate them, or are wild if they are not domesticated by grafts. For that reason he placed near them the head of the ox, which works the earth, and the upright torch, which means the day, a time farmers spend in work and in their rustic activities. The crow up high behind the young man's shoulders signifies the care and diligence the farmer needs in the cultivation of the fields, if he desires to get the maximum usefulness from them and fill the granaries with fodder and the barrels with a good vintage.

108 Gregorio Comanini We know the crow to be a bird most diligent in procuring food. Aristotle writes in the ninth book of the History of Animals that in limited areas where there is no abundance of food, only two crows live together, and as their children become fully fledged, to the point that they can fly, the parents first expel them from the nest and then chase them out of the whole area.186 The two young men and the two torches, one upright and the other inclined toward the earth, clearly signify the day and the night, just as Apollo in his chariot is the figure of the sun that rises, and the lady twisted about by the snake is the symbol of nature. But one may wonder what the three flames signify. MAR.: The three periods into which the day is divided: the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. FIG.: I think so, too. But what shall we say about the winged child with the serpent coiled around him? MAR.: It could be placed there as a sign of the quickness and speed of nature, which follows the moon. I am inclined to think so by the four flames the sculptor placed beside the child and by the wings on his shoulders. I can't give another sense to the flames than that of representing the four lunar aspects - that is, the new moon, half moon, full moon, and half full again. FIG.: I judge then that the moon, placed in the chariot pulled by two falling horses carved in the extremity of the stone, signifies the western moon. Many things are shaped exquisitely and arranged [377] in the limited space of this marble. It isn't true, therefore, that the painter cannot represent many actions in a small composition without creating an unpleasant tumult of images, as you were saying, Guazzo. Accordingly, we have no basis for saying that painting's imitation does not equal that of poetry and is not on a par with it, and that therefore it does not delight equally with poetry. Nor should it be said that the images of poetry surpass those of painting because the poetic image represents to us the beauty of the soul; I have already proved to you that there is no passion of the soul that the brush does not express in a fashion as true to life as does the pen. Pliny writes that Aristides's principal work was the one of the taking of a certain castle. It showed a little child clutching the breast of its mother, who was dying of a wound; and it seemed the woman feared that the child would suck the blood with the dead milk. And these are the words: '[This picture shows] an infant creeping to the breast of its mother who is dying of a wound; it is felt that the

The Figino 109 mother is aware of the child and is afraid that as her milk is exhausted by death it may suck blood/187 MAR.: This same Aristides did an outstanding work that represented the war with the Persians. Pliny said that the painting contained a hundred men. You see how many actions it must have contained! Mnason, Prince of Elatea, bought it and paid a hundred gold scudi for each of the aforementioned figures.188 FIG.: Do you think that in our time we can find similar connoisseurs of mastery and buyers of works ? But it is good that I - thank God - do not need to beg my bread with toil. I am therefore not forced by necessity to corrupt art and part with my works for a piece of bread from whoever wishes to pay for them. When it is not a matter of payment, there is no loving-kindness that I do not practise with someone who requests something of me in courteous terms. MAR.: You show a great deal of judgment in not allowing virtue to be despised and trampled on. If ever it was despised and crushed, it is in our age, in which the baseness of souls is too great, avarice overflows all bounds, ignorance is far greater than it seems, [378] the persecution of the professors both of science and of the noble arts is more malicious than ever before, the virtuous are betrayed countless times, and backbiters are innumerable. For my part, I have always thought highly of painting and regarded it as being of great nobility, as an art not only recognized in ancient times but also studied and practised by great men. We know that Emperor Charles V gave Pope Paul IV a picture painted by his own hand, sending word to him that he should number it among the most expensive and precious gems he possessed. I feel great irritation when I hear the filthy words of some prattlers who call painting vanity. They wonder why it should be held so dear if it is not gold or silver, especially when no one can avail himself of the properties of a painting to provide for his daily needs, which he would do if it were something else. Shall something that the Holy Church employs as a tool for teaching be called worthless? Moreover, because it is neither gold nor silver, it should be valued above gold. Francis, king of France, wanted to carry beyond the Alps the entire wall of the refectory of the Grazie of this city, where Leonardo da Vinci had painted the Last Supper. What did he esteem more - money or painting? Think how much that king would have spent in transporting it with so much equipment, if it had been possible to carry it off without danger of damage. But since he could not transfer it to his realm, he

110 Gregorio Comanini had a print made of it in silver, which he later sent to Pope Clement VII on the marriage of Margherita de' Medici to Henry II. GUA.: My coming to Milan to meet you can attest to my great respect for this art of painting. However, I am so moved by the arguments you have adopted, Martinengo, as well as by those that you, Figino, added in the comparison between the simulacra of painting and those of poetry, that from now on I will be so consumed with esteem for painting that I will be counted among those who love it most. [379] FIG.: In return I will recognize you as such and will remain deeply obliged to you; just as I feel indebted by your having been so courteous to me with your friendship and your visit. I say the same to you, Martinengo, and I will mark this day with a white stone in the urn. MAR.: Figino, I would be hard pressed to say which of us three has gained most from this day. I know quite well that I have gained so much that I will always consider the hour that brought me to meet you to have been a happy one. FIG.: I too will always bless this same hour that brought you here and has brought me so much good. It pains me that the sun inclines so toward the west, and seeks to part you from me far too quickly, depriving me so soon of your conversation. MAR.: I will not go on to Brescia without returning to see you. GUA.: Nor will I return to Pavia without first coming to take my leave of you. FIG.: Then I will look forward to your next gracious visit.

Notes

Introduction 1 Baxter Hathaway, The Age of Criticism: The Late Renaissance in Italy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962). Hathaway mentions Comanini only briefly in connection with Tasso and Mazzoni. Indeed, there has been relatively little scholarship on Comanini to date, almost none in English. Bernard Weinberg's A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), for example, does not deal with Comanini at all. The Arcimboldo Effect: Transformations of the Face from the 16th to the 20th Century, ed. Pontus Hulten (New York: Abbeville Press, 1987), contains a translation of excerpts from the Figino (pp. 142-202) in the section entitled 'An Anthology of 16th Century Texts' edited by Piero Falchetta. Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann deals with Comanini's treatise in his discussion of Arcimboldo in 'The Allegories and Their Meaning' (The Arcimboldo Effect, pp. 89-108), and refers to Comanini in other studies; of particular interest are 'Metamorphoses of Nature: Arcimboldo's Imperial Allegories' and 'Arcimboldo and Propertius: A Classical Source for Rudolf II as Vertumnus,' pp. 100-35 of The Mastery of Nature: Aspects of Art, Science, and Humanism in the Renaissance (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). The third chapter of Giancarlo Maiorino's The Portrait of Eccentricity: Arcimboldo and the Mannerist Grotesque (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1991) focuses on Comanini and Arcimboldo, with other references to Comanini throughout the study. In Italian, Paola Barocchi's superb edition of the Figino in vol. 3 of her Trattati d'arte del Cinquecento, 3 vols (Bari: Laterza, 1962), on which we have based our translation, includes extensive and invaluable notes. The only full-length study of the Figino is Anna Ferrari-Bravo's excellent '// Figino' del Comanini: Teoria

112 Notes to pages ix-xi

2

3

4

5 6

della pittura di fine '500 (Rome: Bulzoni, 1975). Carlo Ossola includes discussions of Comanini in his L'Autunno del Rinascimento: 'Idea del Tempio' dell'arte nell'ultimo Cinquecento (Florence: Olschki, 1971). Cardinal Paleotti played a significant role in the Council of Trent, to which he was sent by Pius IV, and was widely recognized for his dedication to promoting Tridentine reforms. Barocchi has meticulously documented points of contact between Paleotti's Discorso intorno alle imagini sacre e profane, actually a collaborative work, and the Figino, both included in her edition of the Trattati. While Comanini's discussion of sacred imagery owes much to Paleotti, in the Figino theological issues are interwoven into the context of a much broader aesthetic argument; the Discorso focuses entirely on presenting and explicating the position of the Church. The full title is De gli Affetti della Mistica Theologia, tratti dalla Cantica di Salomone et sparsi di varie guise di poesie. Ne' quali favellandosi continuamente con Dio et ispiegandosi i desiderii d'un 'anima innamorata della divina bellezza, s'eccita maravigliosamente lo spirito alia divotione. Torquato Tasso, Discorsi del poema eroico, in vol. 1 of Prose diverse di Torquato Tasso, ed. Cesare Guasti, 2 vols (Florence: Successori Le Monnier, 1873 and 1875), p. 102. The translation is from Discourses on the Heroic Poem, ed. and trans. Mariella Cavalchini and Irene Samuel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1973), p. 32; we have used this translation for all passages from the Discorsi. Since Barocchi, on whose edition of Comanini's text we have based our translation, cites Guasti's edition of Tasso and includes extensive quotations from that edition in her notes, we have also consulted that edition of Tasso in preparation of our text. However, Cavalchini and Samuel have based their translation on Luigi Poma's excellent modern edition, Discorsi dell'Arte Poetica e del Poema Eroico (Bari: Laterza, 1964). We therefore include page numbers from Guasti's edition and from Poma's when referring to the Discorsi. The scant biographical details are summarized in Barocchi, pp. 414-17, and in Ferrari-Bravo, pp. 107-10. Comanini's debt to Mazzoni's work is enormous, and has been meticulously documented by Barocchi in her edition of the text. Ferrari-Bravo deals extensively with Comanini's relationship to other theorists of the period. As she points out, Comanini's debt to Tasso (and vice versa) is far more difficult to unravel given the documented friendship of the two, Tasso's constant revisions of his Discorsi, and Mazzoni's influence on both Tasso and Comanini. Besides its significance as a defence of Dante, Mazzoni's treatise touches on most of the important theoretical considerations of the period. It is clearly Comanini's principal source for his discussion of imitation, the image, and icastic and fantastic art, as well as of the 'credible marvellous.' There were in actuality two

Notes to pages xi-xiii 113

7 8

9

10

11

12 13 14

'defences/ the first published in 1573 as the Discorso in difesa della Comedia del divino poeta Dante. The second, Delia difesa della Comedia di Dante, expanded considerably on the arguments set forth in the rather brief first version. In its final form the work includes seven volumes, the first three of which were published in 1587; an edition including the four remaining books was published posthumously in 1688. Obviously, Comanini could have known only the 1587 edition; however, the 1688 is today far more widely available. Therefore, we have indicated page numbers from both the 1587 Raverij and the 1688 Verdoni edition, both published in Cesena. It should be noted that the Introduction of the 1587 edition is not paginated; references are to section numbers printed at the sides of the pages. The Verdoni Introduction is paginated; but as in the Raverij edition the Introduction is treated separately, with numbers in Book I starting over at page one. Thomas Crane, Italian Social Customs of the Sixteenth Century (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1920), especially chapter 6, pp. 263-322. See the note on Comanini on pp. 212-13 of Erwin Panofsky, Idea: A Concept in Art Theory, trans. Joseph J.S. Peake (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1968). Benedetto Varchi, Della maggioranza e nobilta dell'arti, in Barocchi, Trattati, vol. 1, p. 9. David Summers explores the implications of these distinctions between art and nature in his Michelangelo and the Language of Art (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), pp. 210-11; see also the comments on pp. 103,109-10,128-9. Gregorio Comanini, // Figino in Barocchi, Trattati, vol. 3, p. 257. All translations from the Figino are ours. Subsequent references to Comanini will be within the text and refer to page numbers in Barocchi's edition. Comanini's 'pittore fantastico' appears to resemble Gilio's 'pittore misto' in Degli errori de' pittori. Gilio's 'mixed painter' may combine 'cose vere e finte et a le volte per vaghezzza de 1'opera v'aggiunge le favolose' [true and false things and at the same time add the fabulous to increase the appeal of the work] (in Barocchi, Trattati, vol. 2, p. 89). The ensuing discussion, however, suggests that for Gilio the mixture of the true and the false concerns the story represented in painting and has to do more with pictorial plot and less with the creation of a form never seen before. The concept of the 'mixed painter' thus relates directly to that of the credible marvellous, discussed in n. 14 below. Tasso, Discorsi, p. 102; p. 90 in Poma; translation from Discourses on the Heroic Poem, ed. Cavalchini and Samuel, p. 32 Tasso, Discorsi, p. 103; p. 91 in Poma; translation from Discourses, p. 33. For the credible marvellous in Comanini and his contemporaries, see Ossola, L'Autunno del Rinascimento, pp. 100-10; and Ferrari-Bravo's chapter on

114 Notes to pages xiii-xv imitation, pp. 51-62. Murray Krieger offers an astute analysis of Mazzoni's theoretical position in 'Jacopo Mazzoni, Repository of Diverse Critical Traditions or Source of a New One?' in Poetic Presence and Illusion: Essays in Critical History and Theory (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979), pp. 28-38. Robert Montgomery also emphasizes the concept of the credible marvellous in the preface to his translation of Mazzoni's introduction to the Defence. See Robert L. Montgomery, trans., Giacopo Mazzoni: On the Defense of the Comedy of Dante: Introduction and Summary (Tallahassee: University Presses of Florida, 1983). 15 Baxter Hathaway, Marvels and Commonplaces: Renaissance Literary Criticism (New York: Random House, 1968), p. vii. 16 As noted previously, Comanini draws from Paleotti's Discorso intorno alle imagini sacre e profane; he also relies extensively on Molanus's De historia ss. imaginum et picturarum pro vero earum usu contra abusus. Both form part of a large body of Counter-Reformation apologetic literature concerned with particular points on which the Church had suffered attacks. The work by Molanus, a professor at the University of Louvain, was considered a standard in defining the Church's position on sacred imagery. 17 The debate over Michelangelo's Last Judgment was both heated and complex. Pietro Aretino, who had earlier written to Michelangelo to propose a design for the work, was among the first to attack it for its impropriety. Aretino's motives in this case - as in many others - are highly questionable. Notorious himself for artistic lasciviousness, he had previously produced, among other works, the infamous Sonetti lussuriosi, poems written to accompany Marcantonio Raimondi's engravings of Giulio Romano's I Modi, a series of drawings depicting various modes of sexual congress. The production of I Modi incurred the displeasure of Clement VII; Raimondi was put in jail. Moreover, Aretino was not above extortion and blackmail. As Marcia Hall suggests in After Raphael (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), given the current religious climate, the denunciation of Michelangelo may well have been Aretino's attempt to distance himself from his own reputation (p. 189); it seems clear that it was also an attempt to coerce Michelangelo into giving Aretino a drawing or drawings. In any event, Aretino was joined by a host of others, including Dolce (Aretino's former disciple, to be sure), Gilio, Bellarmino, Pius IV, and Galileo. Michelangelo's detractors far outnumber his defenders, such as Michelangelo Biondo, Ludovico Domenichi, Vasari, and, as evidenced by the Comanini. The accusations against which Comanini defends MichelfFigino angelo - the nude figures, the beardless Christ, the embraces of the saints - are standard items in all the attacks, but appear to have come most immediately from Dolce's Dialogo della pittura, to which Comanini alludes. For a detailed

Notes to pages xv-xvi 115 treatment of this issue, see Romeo De.Maio, Michelangelo e la Controriforma (Florence: Sansoni, 1978; repr. 1990), pp. 17-108; see also Bernadine Barnes, Michelangelo's 'Last Judgment': The Renaissance Response (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). Barnes briefly discusses Comanini's remarks on the Last Judgment at the end of her chapter on contemporary criticism of the work, commenting that 'Comanini's dialogue offers a good example of how painters could excuse themselves by reference to allegory or other metaphorical explanations, precisely what Paleotti complained about' (p. 101). Aretino's letters are in Lettere sull'arte, ed. F. Fertile and E. Camesasca, 3 vols (Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1957-60); English translations of the letters to Michelangelo may be found in Robert Klein and Henri Zerner, eds, Italian Art, 15001600: Sources and Documents (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1966). See also Christopher Cairns, Aretino and the Republic of Venice: Researches on Aretino and His Circle, 1527-1556 (Florence: Olschki, 1985); Lora Anne Palladino, 'Pietro Aretino: Orator and Art Theorist/ Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1981; Mark Roskill, Dolce's 'Aretino' and Venetian Art Theory of the Cinquecento (Toronto: University of Toronto Press and the Renaissance Society of America, 2000; first published College Art Association of America, 1968). 18 Aristotle does not, in fact, say so, but Mazzoni says he does. The passage in question is the well-known discussion in the Poetics of likely impossibilities and unconvincing possibilities (beginning at 1460a27). Toward the end of the passage, Aristotle suggests that Homer's 'other excellences' allow him to veil the absurdity of some incidents (in this case, the setting ashore of Ulysses). By the time Mazzoni writes, the notion that Homer was to be (and always had been) understood allegorically had become a critical commonplace. Mazzoni therefore interprets Aristotle's reference to 'other excellences' as a comment about Homer's use of allegory: 'Soggiungo che, quando egli disse che Omero con altre cose buone avea fatta sparire quella sconvenevolezza, voile dire ch'egli colla bella allegoria dichiarata di sopra coperse in tutto quello che pareva sconvenevole nel senso letterale ...' [I add that, when he says that Homer's other excellences had made that inappropriateness disappear, he means that he covered all that seemed inappropriate in the literal sense with that beautiful allegory mentioned above ...] The discussion of allegory occurs in Delia Difesa della Comedia di Dante (Cesena: Raverij, 1587; Verdoni, 1688), pp. 586ff., Raverij; pp. 839ff., Verdoni. Our translation. 19 For an extensive examination of the topic, see Rensselaer E. Lee, Ut Pictura Poesis: The Humanist Theory of Painting (New York: Norton, 1967). FerrariBravo deals with Comanini's inter-arts comparisons in her second chapter (pp. 29-48), in which she demonstrates that Comanini's technical remarks on

116 Notes to pages xvi-xx painting throughout the Figino are strongly influenced by Lomazzo, with whom the historical Figino had studied. Comanini obviously was familiar with both Lomazzo's Idea del tempio della pittura and his Trattato dell'arte della pittura. 20 Charles Singleton, trans., The Book of the Courtier (New York: Doubleday, 1959), p. 43. 21 Austin Caswell, 'Giuseppe Arcimboldo: Mannerist in Music/ in Metamorphosis and the Arts: Proceedings of the Second Lilly Conference held at Indiana University, February 22-24,1979, ed. Breon Mitchell (Bloomington: Comparative Literature Program, Indiana University, 1979), pp. 115-27. A revised version of the article appears as The Pythagoreanism of Arcimboldo' in Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 39 (Winter 1980): 155-61. 22 For some of these differences in approach and terminology, see the works by Hathaway, Maiorino, and Ossola, cited above; Eugenio Battisti, L'antirinascimento (Milan: Garzanti, 1989); Walter Friedlaender, Mannerism and AntiMannerism in Italian Painting (New York: Columbia University Press, 1957); Hiram Haydn, The Counter-Renaissance (New York: Scribner, 1950); James Mirollo, Mannerism and Renaissance Poetry: Concept, Mode, Inner Design (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984); John Shearman, Mannerism (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967). 23 The most extensive translation to date is the brief excerpt on pp. 182-94 of The Arcimboldo Effect, ed. Hulten. Maiorino's The Portrait of Eccentricity also includes translations of some passages. 24 Scholars have arrived at various solutions for the translation of idolo. In A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), Weinberg translates idolo as 'image' in texts from the period, sometimes identifying it as idolo in brackets. In translating passages from Mazzoni for his Literary Criticism: Plato to Dry den (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1962), Gilbert renders idolo as 'image' unless it is used in conjunction with imagine, in which case he uses 'idol' for idolo and 'image' for imagine. Montgomery uses 'idol' for idolo throughout his translation of Mazzoni's Introduction. Cavalchini and Samuel also translate the term as 'idol' in their edition of Tasso's Discorsi. 25 The issue of terminology was a thorny one, and Comanini's dual focus secular and religious - places him in a delicate position. As Comanini employs them in his purely aesthetic discussions, idolo and imagine are neutral terms; but when his interlocutors turn their attention to religious imagery, idolo becomes negatively charged. In contrast, Paleotti's Discorso, with its purely religious focus, has no such ambiguity. There the term idolo is applied only and exclusively to images of false gods - 'quelle imagini che, con falsa somiglianza

Notes to pages 3-6 117 figurando cose di religione, ricevono dagli uomini culto che non si deve ../ [those images that, falsely representing religious things, wrongly receive worship from men ...] (Barocchi, Trattati, vol. 2, p. 179) - while the term imagine designates any object made to resemble another (p. 132) and is therefore neutral. Chapter XIII contains a lengthy comparison of idolo, imagine, simolacro, and other terms, concluding that idolo and imagine should never be used as synonyms. Indeed, the 'eretici nemici della catolica pieta' [heretics, enemies of Catholic piety] are accused of having deliberately and maliciously employed the negative term idolo in translating any text containing a reference to an image, thus making any use of images appear idolatrous ('col suono di questo nome mettessero in orrore al popolo ogni imagine, chiamandola con vocabolo abominevole alle leggi/ p. 182). Interestingly, Comanini does not attempt to reconcile this more restricted and negative definition of idolo with his earlier use of the term; he simply notes that the Council of Trent forbids the application of the term to Christian images and scrupulously complies with the decree in the remainder of his text. The Figino 1 The Parthians were known for the opulence of their rulers as well as for their skills as horsemen and archers. In The Parthians (London: Thames and Hudson, 1967), p. 85, Malcolm Colledge notes that 'at the head of the Parthian society stood the king. Normally he was inaccessible. His throne was golden; he slept on a golden couch. Those granted an audience had to bring a gift.' 2 The three speakers - Martinengo, Guazzo, and Figino - are historical personages, although, as pointed out in the Introduction, it is obvious that the selection of prelate, poet, and painter as interlocutors was determined by the nature of the issues discussed in the dialogue. Martinengo was born in Brescia in 1541, founded the Accademia degli Animosi in Padua, and was recognized as a patron of the arts. Guazzo, born in Casale Monferrato in 1530, was the author of poems and dialogues in the courtly and academic vein. He died in 1593. Figino, a former student of Lomazzo, had achieved considerable recognition for his works, particularly those of the Duomo in Milan. 3 Plato's Timaeus does contain a discussion of the heart (70b-d), but Plato's observations centre on the relationship between the heart and the lungs and thus do not correspond precisely to Martinengo's analysis. Various comments in Aristotle (Generation of Animals, II, 743al-743b32; Parts of Animals, II, 652a24-653alO, for example) are much closer to Comanini's version. All translations of Plato's dialogues in this text are from The Collected Dialogues of Plato, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, Bollingen Series LXXI,

118 Notes to pages 10-13

4

5

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8

Pantheon Books (New York: Bollingen Foundation, 1966); translations of the works of Aristotle are from The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation, ed. Jonathan Barnes, 2 vols, Bollingen Series LXXI (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). Gen. 3:15:' ipsa conteret caput tuum/ Unless otherwise noted, we have used the Douay Version for all biblical quotations: The Holy Bible, Douay Version (London: Catholic Truth Society, 1956). We are grateful to Professor Albert P. Steiner, Jr, of the Department of Classical Languages and Archaeology, Butler University, for his advice on all Greek, Hebrew, and Latin translations. Comanini refers to the well-known discussion of imitation in Book X, beginning at 595c. Comanini's terms are arti usanti, arti operanti, and arti imitanti. We have translated them initially as 'arts that use objects/ 'arts that make them' and 'arts that imitate them.' Thereafter we have rendered 'arti imitanti' as 'imitative arts' for the sake of smoothness. It should be repeated that in his treatment of aethetics throughout the text Comanini closely follows the discussions in Mazzoni's Defence of Dante (see the Introduction and nn. 6, 8,17,18, 26, 46, 51, 62, 64, 67,118, 120,147, and 162 below). Comanini's term is 'architettonica,' as is Mazzoni's. Artistotle mentions this concept in passing in the Physics, 194a34-194b7, and in the Ethics, 1094a9-15. In the ensuing discussion, Comanini reproduces the argument as presented by Mazzoni, including the example of the three bridles or bits (freno can be either), in the Introduction and in Book III, 1 of the Defence (pp. 392ff., Raverij; pp. 557ff., Verdoni). In discussions of classical aesthetics, Comanini's idolo derives from Greek eidolon; he uses it as the equivalent of 'image' or 'representation.' See the discussion of the term idolo in the Introduction; in addition, see the notes on Comanini's use of idolo and imagine in theological discussions, nn. 14, 79, and 84 below. In this summary, as at many other points, Comanini's phrasing matches that of Mazzoni. For example, in the Introduction to the Defence (section 8; beginning at the bottom of p. 6 in the Verdoni edition) Mazzoni writes: 'E perche in questo soggetto io non trovo dottrina piu copiosa e piu soda di quella, che ci ha insegnato Platone riel X. della Republica ... dico che tre sono gli oggetti c'hanno differente maniera d'artificiabile, le quali per conseguente constituiscono tre specie d'arti nella prima divisione. Sono gli oggetti idea, opera, et idolo ... I modi adunque degli oggetti dell'arti, in quanto che sono diversamente artificiabili, saranno tre, cioe il considerabile, il fattibile e 1'imitabile' [And since on this topic I find no doctrine more extensive or sound than that of Plato in the tenth book of the Republic ... I say that there are three types of objects that can

Notes to pages 13-16 119 be executed in three different ways; consequently, they constitute three kinds of art in the first category. The objects are idea, work, and image ... Therefore there are three modes of execution for the objects of the arts: that is, the conceptual, the practical, and the imitative]. Our translation. Gilbert has translated excerpts from the Introduction and Books I-V of the Defence in Literary Criticism: Plato to Dry den, pp. 358-403. For a translation of the complete introduction, see Montgomery's Giacopo Mazzoni: On the Defense of the Comedy of Dante, an edition we have found extremely helpful. Montgomery is also the translator of the previously published excerpts from Mazzoni in Hazard Adams, ed. Critical Theory since Plato (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971). 9 Francesco Patrizi, philosopher and encyclopaedist (b. Cherso di Dalmazia, 1529; d. Rome, 1597). After serving in the Venetian navy, Patrizi became a medical student at the University of Padua, but he abandoned medicine for philosophy and literature. In 1578, Duke Alfonso II d'Este appointed Patrizi professor in Ferrara, where he remained until 1592, when Clement VII called him to the University of Rome. In his Trattato della poetica, Patrizi objected to Aristotle's mimetic theory, asserting that art was instead a 'mania, un divino furore,' from which passion artists' true creativity derived. 10 All translations from the Natural History are from Pliny, Natural History, trans. H. Rackham, W.H.S. Jones, and P.E. Eichholz, 10 vols, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1938). 11 All translations from the Aeneid are from The Aeneid of Virgil, trans. Allen Mandelbaum (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971). 12 The passage is from Clitophon and Leucippe, 1,12, 2-6; a servant describes to Clinias how the horse bolts, dragging and finally trampling Charicles. For an English translation, see Achilles Tatius, trans. S. Gaselee, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969). 13 Giovanni Pietro Maffei, Historiarum Indicarum libri XVI (Florentiae: Philippum lunctam, 1588), Book I, section 42B. Our translation. Comanini's quotation is from the Latin, although Maffei's history was translated into many of the vernacular languages, including Italian. A contemporary edition of the text is Le historie delle indie Orientali del R.P. Giovan Pietro Maffei (Florence: Filippo Giunti, 1589). 14 1 Cor. 8:4: Tdolum nihil est.' Comanini's aesthetic and theological terms overlap. The topic of discussion in 1 Corinthians is that of offerings to (pagan) idols. As discussed in the Introduction, the Christian tradition's (and the Vulgate's) idolum (Italian idolo) denotes a concrete representation of a (false) god - an idol. Comanini makes some attempt to reconcile his classical with his Christian heritage and terminology here, but quickly drops the issue to resume

120 Notes to pages 16-17 the aesthetic discussion. The matter of terminology (idolo and imagine] arises again when the interlocutors consider art from a Christian perspective. See nn. 79 and 84 below. 15 St Thomas's commentary on St Paul: Comanini refers to the commentary on 1 Corinthians. We have consulted the Marietti edition of Aquinas's Opera omnia (Turin, 1953). The commentary on 1 Corinthians is in vol. 1 of Super Epistolas Sancti Pauli Lectura, ed. Raffaele Cai, p. 314 (vol. 28 of the Opera omnia). It should be noted that the text of Aquinas's commentary has not survived in complete form. Early editors of printed versions of the work supplied its missing portions from commentaries by two other authors, Peter of Tarentaise (Petrus a Tarantasia, Pope Innocent V) and Nicholas of Gorran. Only two portions of the commentary are in fact by Aquinas: the section beginning with chapter 1 and continuing through chapter 7, verse 2; and the one dealing with chapters 11-16. The commentary on chapter 8, which Comanini paraphrases here, is actually by Nicholas of Gorran. See the notes in Cai's edition, which includes both Aquinas's text and the interpolations. 16 The reference is to the opening lines of the Ars poetica: Suppose you'd been asked to come for a private view Of a painting wherein the artist had chosen to join To a human head the neck of a horse, and gone on To collect some odds and ends of arms and legs And plaster the surface with feathers of differing colors, So that what began as a lovely woman at the top Tapered off into a slimy, discolored fish Could you keep from laughing, my friends? All quotations from Horace are from Satires and Epistles of Horace, trans. Smith Palmer Bovie (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1959). 17 Suidas (probably late 10th c. B.C.) His Lexikon, something of an ancient encyclopaedia, contains not only grammatical and etymological notes but quotations from ancient writers and biographical information as well. Both Mazzoni and Tasso make reference to Suidas's distinction between images of fabulous creatures (sphinxes, centaurs, etc.) and images of those that exist (men and beasts). Mazzoni considers and rejects the distinction, which would limit application of the term idolo to images arising from 'il capriccio' of the artist's fantasy. Mazzoni finds this application of the term 'troppo ristretta'; Comanini reproduces Mazzoni's argument. Tasso takes exception not so much to Mazzoni's comments about idoli as to his classification of poetry as a sophistic art. See Mazzoni's Introduction, sections 15-16, Raverij; pp. 12-13, Verdoni; and

Notes to pages 17-25 121 Tasso, Book II of the Discorsi in Prose diverse, ed. Guasti, vol. 1, pp. 98-103; pp. 86-92 in Poma. 18 Plato, The Sophist, 235d-236d. Again, both Mazzoni, whose argument Comanini follows quite closely, and Tasso discuss the subject. Mazzoni's elaboration on the subject is in Book III, 1 (pp. 393ff., Raverij; pp. 560ff., Verdoni). As noted in the Introduction, Tasso takes issue with Mazzoni's and (after him) Comanini's interpretation of the Platonic distinction: 'Mazzoni writes, in the Introduction to his Difesa della Comedia di Dante, that imitation is of two kinds, the one icastic, the other phantastic, here following Plato's doctrine in the Sophist. He calls the kind that imitates things present or past icastic and the kind that imitates non-existent things phantastic. And this latter is what he chooses to call perfect poetry ... Yet this, if I am not mistaken, is the very kind Socrates and Plato in so many passages argued against. I cannot therefore concede ... that the phantastic is the most perfect kind of poetry.' He develops this argument, then concludes that 'the poet as maker of images is not a phantastic imitator, as Mazzoni held, and after him Don Gregorio Comanini, a canon in orders, although the one is endowed with great learning, the other with great eloquence, and indeed both are gifted in both ways, and both equally my friends.' The passage is in Prose diverse, vol. 1, p. 102; p. 90 in Poma. The translation is from Discourses on the Heroic Poem, ed. Cavalchini and Samuel, pp. 28-32. 19 Comanini calls this sort of work a capriccio, a term widely used during the period to designate a bizarre and original artistic or literary invention, a work of pure fantasy. Since Comanini uses the term to refer to the inventive faculty that produces the work as well as to the work itself, we have translated capriccio according to the sense of each passage. 20 Giuseppe Arcimboldi (or Arcimboldo, 1527-93), Milanese painter. With the exception of a few sketches of court costumes, his entire production centres on eccentric portraiture. He was court painter to the Habsburgs at Prague from 1562 to 1587, where he also was in charge of collecting antique and exotic objects for the prince's Wunderkammern, a room devoted to unusual and often grotesque art. His portrait of Rudolph II as the pagan god Vertumnus offers a representative example of his portrait technique in that the features of the monarch are composed of agricultural products associated with the four seasons. 21 Philip II. Comanini may be mistaken about the painting's being sent to Spain. • According to Barocchi, the work Comanini describes here, which she identifies as II Cacciatore, appears to be the one that remained in Vienna and was donated to the Graz by Franz Joseph I in 1872. However, as is the case with other works by Arcimboldo, there may have been a copy or another, slightly different

122 Notes to pages 25-7

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version. The painting is known in English as The Earth. For a discussion of Comanini's allegory, see Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, The Allegories and Their Meaning/ pp. 89-109 of The Arcimboldo Effect. The animal is alces alces, called a moose in North America and an elk in Europe. Comanini refers to the moose as 'la gran bestia/ as do other Italian treatises of the period. See, for example, Andrea Bacci, Le xii pietre pretiose ... con un sommario dell'altre pietre pretiose: discorso dell'alicorno et delle sue singolarissime virtu: e della gran bestia detta alee da gli antichi...' (Roma: G. Martinelli, 1587); and Apollonius Menabus (Apollonio Menabeni), Trattato del grand'animale, 6 gran bestia, cosi detta volgarmente, & delle sue parti, e faculta; e di quelle del Cervo, che servono a medici..., trans. Constantius Felicius (Constanzo Felici) (Rimini: G. Simbeni, 1584), published orginally in Latin as Tractatus de magno animali, quod alcen nonnulli vacant... (Coloniae: Maternum Cholinum, 1581). Among Menabeni's sources is Olaus Magnus's well-known Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus, available in English as Description of the Northern Peoples, trans. Peter Fisher, John Granlund, and Humphrey Higgens, ed. Peter Foote (London: Hakluyt Society, 1998). See also Antonio Aguissola, Compendium simplicium et compositorum medicamentorum quorum est frequens usus apud medicos et pharmacopolas (Placentiae: Jo. Bazachii, 1587), in which, although writing in Latin, the author notes that the animal is commonly called 'la gran bestia.' Comanini adheres closely to Pliny, Natural History, VIII.13: 'for the elephant has a remarkable sense of shame, and when defeated shrinks from the voice of its conqueror, and offers him earth and foliage. Owing to their modesty, elephants never mate except in secret, the male at the age of five and the female at ten; and mating takes place for two years, on five days, so it is said, of each year and not more; and on the sixth day they give themselves a showerbath in the river, not returning to the herd before.' Natural History, VIII. 222: 'Theophrastus states that on the island of Chiura [one of the Cyclades] when they had banished the inhabitants they [the mice] even gnawed iron, and that they also do this by a sort of instinct in the iron foundries in the country of the Chalybes.' Natural History, VIII. 178: 'Oxen are the only animals that graze even while walking backward; indeed among the Garamantes that is their only way of grazing.' Empedocles (ca. 493 to ca. 433 B.C.), philosopher, scientist, poet, orator, and political figure of considerable renown. He is traditionally associated with the Pythagoreans; Theophrastus identifies him as a follower of Parmenides. His works include two hexameter poems, On Nature and Purifications, only fragments of which are extant. In his Defence of Dante, Mazzoni also refers to

Notes to pages 27-9 123 Aristotle's mention of Empedocles, though he does so in order to quibble with certain interpretations of Aristotle. The Aristotelian passage is in Poetics, 1447bl7-19; Mazzoni's remarks are in his Introduction, section 52, Raverij; p. 42, Verdoni. 27 Comanini's term is scherzo, literally, a joke. In music, of course, a scherzo is a fantastic and humorous composition; in the plural, scherzi can be special effects (such as lighting, jets of water, etc.). Comanini's description indicates that he means to suggest all three senses of the term. 28 The reference is to Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book XI, 640ff. Sleep had a thousand sons, and of that number, He made the choice of waking Morpheus. He was an actor; no one had more skill At walking like a man, at looking like one, At dressing like a man in all his fashions, And when he spoke - no ghostly noise or chatter One heard a man about to make a speech. And all his business was of men alone; One of his brothers was an expert at Zoology; he could be bird or beast, And he could writhe like any long-tailed snake. Gods name him Icelos (which means 'like' in Greek); Men call him Phobetor (in Greek the word Means 'fear') which was in tribute to his acting. As for Phantasos, still another brother, He imitated rocks, stones, waterfalls, Trees, rushes, things that a nobleman Might see at night, while other natural things He chose haunted the worthy common people. Ovid, The Metamorphoses, trans. Horace Gregory (New York: Viking, 1958). 29 Aristotle, Poetics, 1448b5-12. Tt is clear that the general origin of poetry was due to two causes, each of them part of human nature. Imitation is natural to man from childhood, one of his advantages over the lower animals being this, that he is the most imitative creature in the world, and learns at first by imitation. And it is also natural for all to delight in works of imitation. The truth of this second point is shown by experience: though the objects themselves may be painful to see, we delight to view the most realistic representa-

124 Notes to pages 29-32

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tions of them in art, the forms for example of the lowest animals and of dead bodies.' Giulio Romano (Giulio Pippi) (b. Rome, 1499; d. Mantua, 1546), Italian Mannerist painter and architect. He entered Raphael's workshop while quite young and played a significant part in the execution of some of Raphael's major works, including the completion of the Transfiguration, left unfinished when Raphael died. After his master's death, Giulio emerged as an artist in his own right and worked in Rome before going in 1524 to Mantua, where he remained until his death. His Mantuan Palazzo del Te is considered one of the prime examples of Mannerist architecture. The Sala dei Giganti, mentioned here, employs illusionistic frescos to intensify an impression of architectural instability to the point that the room itself appears to collapse. See Frederick Hartt, Giulio Romano (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958; reissued New York: Hacker, 1981). Natural History, XXXV. 73: 'Orators [e.g., Cicero, De Oratore, 74] have sung the praises of his Iphigenia, who stands at the altar awaiting her doom; the artist has shown all present full of sorrow, and especially her uncle, and has exhausted all the indications of grief, yet has veiled the countenance of her father himself, whom he was unable adequately to portray/ No such complete homily on Job survives. There are fragments on Job attributed to Chrysostom in J.-P. Migne, ed., Patrologiae cursus completus ... series Graeca (Paris, 1862), vol. 64, pp. 503-656, but none matches the passage presented here. It is most likely that in this case, as in many others, the homily was generally attributed to Chrysostom but was not in fact his. Comanini quotes the text in Italian. Vida, Christiados, 1,135-55; trans, from Marco Girolamo Vida's 'The Christiad,' ed. and trans. Gertude Drake and Clarence Forbes (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 1978). This work in Latin hexameters, dedicated to Clement VII, is an epic poem treating sacred history in the classical mode. The poem figured importantly in Renaissance (and subsequent) considerations of the proper character of the Christian heroic poem. See Mario A. Di Cesare, Vida's Christiad and Vergilian Epic (New York: Columbia University Press, 1964). For more information about Vida's other works, see n. 47 below on the Scacchia ludus. All translations from Jerusalem Delivered are from Torquato Tasso, Jerusalem Delivered, trans, into verse and with an introduction by Joseph Tusiani (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1970). Tobias (Old Testament Apocrypha): Tobias's adventures with his companion, the archangel Raphael, are recounted in the Book of Tobit, generally accepted by the early Western Fathers though denied canonical status in the East. The

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recognition by nineteenth-century scholars that the story (probably composed in the 2nd c. B.C.) utilizes older secular folktales persuaded most scholars of the story's fictional character. Elements of the story, such as the curing of Tobit's blindness, the 'guardian angel' with Tobias, and Tobias with his dog were frequent motifs in Renaissance Italian art and literature. Saint Jerome's Vitae patrum contains a Latin version of Athanasius's Life of Anthony (or Antony), in which Anthony is besieged by demons in the form of beasts. A translation of the Latin version of the Life may be found in Early Christian Lives, ed. and trans. Carolinne White (New York: Penguin, 1998). For a translation from the original Greek, see Athanasius, The Life of Anthony and the Letter to Marcellinus, trans, and introduction by Robert C. Gregg, preface by William A. Clebsch (New York: Paulist, 1980). Comanini's reference is somewhat obscure. He may refer to Theodoric the Great, king of the Ostrogoths (474-526 A.D.); however, this Theodoric's great war was with Odoacer, not with Lotharic or Lothair. The war lasted from 489 to 493; when Odoacer surrendered. He was assassinated by Theodoric a month after a peace treaty was signed. The numbering of David's people is in 2 Sam. 26. The painting is in the Stanza dell'Incendio together with the Battle of Ostia, the Oath of Leo III, and the Coronation of Charlemagne. Work on the room began in 1514 and was completed by 1517. St Augustine, The Trinity, II, 12, section 22, on the two angels sent to Lot: 'Since the two are addressed as one, is it the one Lord God of the same substance? But what two persons are we to understand here? The Father and the Son? Or the Father and the Holy Spirit? Or the Son and the Holy Spirit? The last-mentioned hypothesis is perhaps the most acceptable, for they spoke of themselves as being sent. This is what we usually say of the Son and the Holy Spirit, for nowhere in the Scripture do we meet any reference to the Father as being sent.' Translations are from The Trinity, trans. Stephen McKenna, vol. 18 of The Fathers of the Church (Washington, DC: Catholic University Press of America, 1963). For all Comanini's citations of Augustine we have found helpful the Opere di Sant' Agostino in the Nuova biblioteca agostiniana series (Rome: Citta Nuova, 1967-77), which includes both the Latin text and an Italian translation on facing pages. The Trinity is in vol. 4. II, 10, section 17: 'God appears to be speaking to man in the form of man.' The discussion of the three 'men' begins in section 19 and continues through section 21. The excerpt that follows is from section 20: This passage of Scripture stands in need of no little or passing study. For if one man had appeared, what else would they now cry out, who maintain that the Son was visible by His own substance even before He was born of the Virgin, but that it is He

126 Notes to pages 35-7

43

44

45

46

47

Himself? For, they assert, the words, "To the invisible, the only God," were spoken of the Father. And yet I could still ask the question how "was he in habit found as a man" before taking our flesh, if it was He whose feet were washed, and who ate human food? How could that possibly be, if He was still in the form of God and "thought it not robbery to be equal to God" ? For had He already "emptied himself taking the form of a slave," being made in the likeness of man and in habit found as a man when we know when He did this through His birth of the Virgin? How then did He appear as one man to Abraham before He had done this? Or was not that form a true one? I could ask these questions if one man had appeared to Abraham, and if that same one were believed to the Son of God. But since these three men were seen, and not one of them is said to be greater than the others in form, or in age, or in power, why do we not believe that the equality of the Trinity is intimated here by the visible creature, and the one and the same substance in the three persons?' The translation is from Seneca, Tragedies, trans. Frank Miller, 2 vols, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968). We have used Miller's translations of Seneca's tragedies throughout, except where otherwise indicated. Problems in translation or text have been treated in notes on individual passages. We are grateful to Professor Albert Steiner for providing us with his translation of excerpts from Sannazaro's De partu virginis. An English prose translation of the complete work may be found in The Major Latin Poems of Jacopo Sannazaro, trans, and ed. Ralph Nash (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1996). Both incidents are recorded in Natural History, XXXV. The mention of the competition between Zeuxis and Parrhasius is in 65; the account of the horses' reaction to Apelles's work is in 95-7. The 'Dialogue of Games' is Tasso's // Gonzaga II, overo del Gioco, included in Prose, ed. Francesco Flora (Milan: Rizzoli, 1935), pp. 255-98. Tasso mentions that Palamedes could have been the originator of chess in one passage, but he does not discuss elephants until later. Mazzoni's discussion of chess and other games, which Comanini follows quite closely, is indeed in Book II, 6 (pp. 250ff., Raverij; pp. 353ff., Verdoni). The quotation is from the opening lines of Vida's Scacchia ludus, an extremely popular and frequently translated Latin poem about a chess game between Apollo and Mercury. Vida is the first to use the term 'castle' for the rook, calling it a 'castled elephant.' The translation is from M. Girolamo Vida, The Game of Chess, introduction by Richard Lambert (London: Stanton, 1921); see also the edition of Mario A. Di Cesare, The Game of Chess: Marco Girolamo Vida's 'Scacchia Ludus/ with English Verse Translation and the Three Earlier

Notes to pages 37-9 127

48

49

50

51 52

Versions (Nieuwkoop: B. De Graaf, 1975). For an examination of the significance of games during the period, see Crane, Italian Social Customs of the Sixteenth Century, especially chapter 6, pp. 263-322. Despite the poem's popularity, Vida's more significant literary contributions are two other Latin works, the Christiad, cited earlier, and The Art of Poetry, a critical work particularly influential in its treatment of imitation. See The 'De Arte Poetica' of Marco Girolamo Vida, ed. and trans. Ralph G. Williams (New York: Columbia Unviersity Press, 1976). Book IV, Plato's Republic: The discussion to which Comanini apparently refers does not appear in Book IV of modern editions but in Book V, in which Socrates discusses the training of female guardians and concludes that they should be trained in martial pursuits along with their male counterparts (453a-457c). In Plato's Laws, the reference to women bearing arms comes not from Book V, as Comanini says, but from VII, 813e-814a: 'While they are still in their girlhood, they must practice dancing and fighting in armor thoroughly, and as women they must take their share in the manoeuvring, company-drill, and grounding and shouldering of arms, for this reason if for no other; if circumstances should ever require our whole force to take the field en masse outside the city, there will be a defence for the children and the city at large equal to its immediate purpose.' 'On Tranquillity of Mind' in Plutarch's Mora/fa, 112e-f, which refers in turn to Plato's Republic, 604c: 'Plato, for instance, compared life to a game of dice in which we must try, not only to throw what suits us best, but also, when we have thrown, to make good use of what turns up.' All quotations from Plutarch's Moralia are from Plutarch's 'Moralia' in 14 Volumes, trans. W.C. Helmbold, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1939). In Book XII of Plato's Laws (969a), the Athenian states that 'if we are ready, as they say, to stake the whole future of our polity on a throw of triple six or triple ace, why, so we must, and I, for one, will take my share of the risk.' The Brothers, 11. 739-41, in The Complete Comedies of Terence, trans. Palmer Bovie, Constance Carrier, and Douglass Parker (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1974). Mazzoni's reference to primero is in his Introduction, section 72, Raverij; p. 59, Verdoni. Laws, I, 644d: 'We may imagine that each of us living creatures is a puppet made by gods, possibly as a plaything, or possibly with some more serious purpose.' The passage in Book X occurs in the discussion of man's position in the universe (beginning at 903b). Man is a fragment of the whole, and subject to the ruling force of the universe, who, like a player moving pieces, arranges all the fragments for the common good.

128 Notes to pages 39-44 53 Plato, Protagoras, 321c-d: 'Prometheus came to inspect the work [of Epimetheus] and found the other animals well off for everything, but man naked, unshod, unbedded, and unarmed, and already the appointed day had come, when man too was to emerge from within the earth into the daylight. Prometheus therefore, being at a loss to provide any means of salvation for man, stole from Hephaestus and Athena the gift of skill in the arts, together with fire - for without fire it was impossible for anyone to possess or use this skill - and bestowed it on man.' 54 Laws, X, 889d: 'Art, the subsequent lateborn product of these causes, herself as perishable as her creators, has since given birth to certain toys with little real substance in them, simulacra as shadowy as the arts themselves, such as those which spring from painting, music, and the other fellow crafts/ 55 Silicus Italicus (ca. 26-101 A.D.), Latin poet possibly born in Patavium (Padua). After a career in politics he withdrew into a cultured retirement in Rome and Campania. His only known work is an epic, the Punica, which is a poetic history of the Second Punic War. Completed sometime after 96, the poem is the longest in Latin literature. It was rediscovered in the early fifteenth century and printed twice in 1471. Lucan (39-65 A.D.), nephew of Lucius Annaeus Seneca, was born at Cordoba. Although he briefly enjoyed Nero's favour, he was condemned for conspiring against Nero and forced to commit suicide. His sole extant work is the Pharsalia, an unfinished epic recounting the conflict between Caesar and Pompey. 56 Averroes, twelfth book of the Metaphysics: The Aristotelian passage is in Book XII, 1072bl6-30. The comment about pleasure's following intelligence as the shadow follows the body is part of Averroes's explication of Aristotle's 'If, then, God is always in that good state [of contemplation] in which we sometimes are ../ For all references to Averroes we have consulted Aristotelis Opera Cum Averrois Commentariis (Frankfurt: Minerva, 1962), a modern facsimile of the 1562-4 Venetian edition in Latin. The discussion of this particular passage is in vol. 8, p. 322. 57 All translations of Ariosto are from Orlando Furioso, trans. William Stewart Rose, ed. Stewart Baker and A. Bartlett Giamatti (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1968). 58 Aristotle, Book X of the Ethics: The entire book discusses the nature of pleasure and happiness. Comanini apparently refers to 1177all ff., in which Aristotle arrives at the conclusion that a life of intellectual contemplation, while unattainable, would theoretically offer man the greatest happiness. 59 Phaedo, 60b-c. The incident takes place as Socrates is unfettered, for it is the day he will die. Comanini quotes the text in Italian, and we have translated his version. Tredernnick's translation of the passage from the Greek (in Hamilton

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and Cairns) is as follows: 'Socrates sat up on the bed and drew up his leg and massaged it, saying as he did so, What a queer thing it is, my friends, this sensation which is popularly called pleasure! It is remarkable how closely it is connected with its conventional opposite, pain. They will never come to a man both at once, but if you pursue one of them and catch it, you are nearly always compelled to have the other as well... That is exactly what seems to be happening to me. I had a pain in my leg from the fetter, and now I feel the pleasure coming that follows it.' 60 Averroes, Exposition: Averroes's commentary on Poetics, 1448blO-25; in vol. 2, p. 219 of the Averroes commentaries. 61 Aristotle, Politics, VIII, 1340a33-5: 'Again, figures and colours are not imitations, but signs, of character, indications which the body gives of states of feeling. The connexion of them with morals is slight, but in so far as there is any, young men should be taught to look, not at the works of Pauson, but at those of Polygnotus, or any other painter of sculptor who expresses character.' 62 Maximus of Tyre, Sermones sive Disputationes, XLI, no. 16: 'From .art the task was that the figures and bodies would serve as images of truth ...' The entire passage reads as follows: 'And to put it more briefly, the poetry of Homer is of the same kind as the painting of Polignotus or Zeuxis, for those pictures of theirs were philosophical ideas, and only in the smallest degree the act of painting. Their task was double: on the one hand it derived from art, on the other from excellence. From art the task was that the figures and bodies would serve as images of truth; from excellence, however, it came that the comely arrangement of lines should represent the imitation of beauty.' Translated in Montgomery, Giacopo Mazzoni: On the Defense of the Comedy of Dante, pp. 109-10. Both Comanini's argument and the text cited as an example echo Mazzoni's discussion in his Introduction, section 86, Raverij; p. 71, Verdoni. 63 Laws, II, 668b on music. 64 Comanini again follows Mazzoni, this time to qualify the earlier statement that art has delight as its primary goal. Mazzoni comments as follows in his Introduction (section 78, Raverij; p. 64, Verdoni): 'Dico adunque, che la vera Poesia e gioco, e qualificato dalla facolta civile, in quanto, che e gioco ha ella per fine il diletto: ma inquanto che e qualificata, e per cosi dire, charatterizata dalla Philosophia morale mette innanzi il diletto per apportarci dopo giovamento' [Therefore I say that true poetry is a game and qualified by the civil faculty; insofar as it is a game it has delight as its end, but insofar as it is qualified and, so to speak, characterized by moral philosophy, it puts delight first in order to benefit us after]. Our translation. Mazzoni repeats and elaborates on these comments in II, 4. 65 Aristotle, Politics, VII, 1342a24-bl7.

130 Notes to pages 47-50 66 Pliny's comment is somewhat obscure: That is exactly how things are: indolence has destroyed the arts, and since our minds cannot be portrayed, our bodily features are also neglected/ Natural History, XXXV. 6-7. The reference to ancestral trophies is also in this passage. 67 The reference is to the discussion of the marvellous in Aristotle's Poetics, 1460alO-b5, also central to Mazzoni's argument: 'I say therefore that the credible insofar as it is credible is the subject of rhetoric and the credible insofar as it is marvellous is the subject of poetry, for poetry must not only utter credible things but also marvellous things.' Mazzoni, Introduction, section 61, Raverij; p. 50, Verdoni (translation by Montgomery, p. 85). The elaboration of this argument in Mazzoni begins in chapter 5 of Book III (p. 408, Raverij; p. 582, Verdoni). 68 Tainting is nothing other than mute poetry ...,' Plutarch, Moralia, IV. 346f347: 'Simonides, however, calls painting inarticulate poetry and poetry inarticulate painting ...' 69 The tale of Porus and Penia (Resource and Need) is from Plato's Symposium, 203b-e: '[b] On the day of Aphrodite's birth the gods were making merry and among them was Resource, the son of Craft. And when they had supped, Need came begging at the door because there was cheer inside. Now, it happened that Resource, having drunk deeply of the heavenly nectar - for this was before the days of wine - wandered out into the garden of Zeus and sank into a heavy sleep, and Need, thinking that to get a child by Resource would mitigate her penury, lay down beside him and in time was brought to bed of Love, [c] So Love became the follower and servant of Aphrodite because he was begotten ...' 70 Petrarch, Canzoniere, 360 ('Quel' antique mio dolce empio signore'). All translations from the Canzoniere are by Mark Musa, Petrarch: The Canzionere or Rerum vulgarium fragmenta (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996). 71 Luke 15:11-32. 72 Although Comanini refers to this poem as the ninth epistle, the poem is in fact the sixteenth in modern editions (Epistulae [Heroides] poem 16,1. 290). Translated in Ovid, 'Heroides' and 'Amores,' trans. Grant Showerman, Loeb Classical Library (New York: Macmillan, 1914). 73 Marsilio Ficino: Comanini's entire discussion of the Porus and Penia fable closely follows Ficino's highly influential commentary on Plato's Symposium. The commentary was well known in both its Latin and its Italian version, which Ficino himself produced 'accio che quella salutifera manna, a Diotima dal Cielo mandata, a piu persone sia comune e facile' [so that that beneficial manna sent to Diotima from heaven might be easily available to more people]. It is difficult to determine to which version Comanini refers, although his Italian

Notes to pages 52-4 131 parallels Ficino's quite closely. For the Italian, see the edition of G. Rensi, Sopra lo amore ovvero Convito di Platone (Lanciano: Carabba, 1914); for an English translation, see Commentary on Plato's 'Symposium on Love/ trans. Sears Jayne (Dallas: Spring, 1986). Jayne bases his translation on the Latin text. 74 Artemisia ruled Caria with her husband Mausolus, who was also her brother. On his death, she was reported to be so grief-stricken that she drank his ashes. The remarks may be found in Aulus Gellius, Nodes Atticae, 10.18. See The Attic Nights of Aulus Gellius, trans. John C. Rolfe (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), which has the Latin text with parallel English translation. 75 Plato, Protagoras, 347c-348a: '[c] ... Conversation about poetry reminds me too much of the wine parties of second-rate and commonplace people. Such men, being too uneducated to entertain themselves as they drink by using [d] their own voices and conversational resources, put up the price of female musicians, paying well for the hire of an extraneous voice - that of the pipe - and find their entertainment in its warblings. But where the drinkers are men of worth and culture, you will find no girls piping or dancing or harping. They are quite capable of enjoying their own company without such frivolous nonsense, using their own voices in sober discussion and each taking his turn to speak or listen.' 76 Eusebius of Caesarea (ca.260-340 A.D.), He became bishop of Caesarea ca. 314 and was a moderate supporter of Arius; the Council of Nicaea exonerated him from the charge of heresy. He was in close touch with Constantine until the emperor's death. The Ecclesiastical History mentioned here is his most important work; it traces the history of the Church from its origins. It was a model for all subsequent Church histories, particularly in the use of documents and quotations. In current editions of the history, the exchange between Christ and Abgar appears not in Book IV but in Book I, section 13. Eusebius reports an exchange of letters between Christ and Abgar. In his letter, Abgar supposedly offered Christ sanctuary in Edessa as well as asking to be cured of a terrible disorder. These letters are of course spurious. See The History of the Church, trans. G.A. Williamson (New York: Penguin, 1965), 30^1. 77 Prov. 4:25-6. 78 Martano in Orlando Furioso, Cantos XV-XVII: Martano of Antioch, Orrigilla's lover. Grifon, Martano, and Orrigilla travel to Damascus together and are there invited to be guests at, and then to participate in, a tournament sponsored by Norandin, the king of Damascus. During the tournament, Martano thinks of running away out of fear but is pushed forward to fight by Grifon. Martano loses miserably, which embarrasses Grifon, who resolves to fight even harder when it is his turn. He defeats all eight of the people waiting to be challenged, and causes the tournament to end prematurely after only an hour. 79 Throughout the passage that follows, Comanini scrupulously refers to Chris-

132 Notes to pages 55-7

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81

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tian images as imagini in contrast to the idoli of the pagans. A comment later in the discussion emphasizes the need for making the distinction. As the language of the Council of Trent makes clear (see n. 84 below), the Church considers the Latin idolum (Italian idolo} to denote idols of (false) gods, and therefore prohibits the use of the term in referring to Christian images. Comanini's concern therefore arises ultimately from a conflict between his classical and his Christian sources and traditions. While his idolo is a neutral term in a classical context, it carries highly negative connotations within the Christian tradition. Although Comanini skirts the issue earlier in the text, he cannot avoid addressing it directly when he deals specifically with the imagery of Christian art. Exod. 32:1: 'And the people, seeing that Moses delayed to come down from the mount, gathering together against Aaron, said: Arise, make us gods that may go before us: for as to this Moses, the man that brought us out of Egypt, we know not what has befallen him/ Heb. 11:20-1: 'By faith also of things to come, Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau. By faith Jacob dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph, and adored the top of his rod.' Bellarmino: Roberto Bellarmino (b. Montepulciano, 1542; d. Rome 1621), Jesuit theologian and jurist, a champion of the Counter-Reformation. Gregory XIII had Bellarmino give a series of lectures at the Collegio Romano on controversies in matters of faith; these lectures, which were given during 1576-88, were collected in the three volumes of the Disputationes de controversiis christianae fidei adversus hujus temporis haerticos (definitive edition published 1596). Although the work caused a great deal of debate, it was generally regarded as a model of balanced and impartial anti-Protestant theology, and was reprinted repeatedly until the end of the seventeenth century. Bellarmino was beatified in 1923 and canonized in 1930 by Pius XI. In Catholic doctrine, the adoration of God, or latria, is sharply distinguished from dulia, the veneration of saints, which in turn is distinguished from hyperdulia, the veneration reserved for Mary, the Mother of God. The Latin is 'Qui venerandas imagines idola appellant, anathema.' This unequivocal statement gives Comanini no choice but to alter his terms. Although he has used the term idolo to refer to artistic images in general throughout Guazzo's argument, he must now qualify his use of the term as his characters discuss art in a Christian context. According to the story as contained in The Golden Legend, Euphemia was the daughter of a senator in the time of Diocletian. On seeing Christians tortured, she openly declared herself a Christian and was subsequently martyred after having miraculously withstood extensive torture. She is frequently cited as an example of constancy.

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86 Translation by Steiner. 87 Comanini's own work, cited earlier, published in Venice by Gil. Battista Somasco, 1590. 88 Deut. 7:1-7: 'When Yahweh your God has led you into the land you are entering to make your own, many nations will fall before you ... tear down their altars, smash their standing stones, cut down their sacred poles and set fire to their idols. For you are a people consecrated to Yahweh your God; it is you that Yahweh our God has chosen to be his very own people out of all the peoples on the earth/ 89 Clement of Alexandria in // Pedago go: The reference to rings is in Book III, chapter 11. See the modern edition, ed. with an introduction by Sac. Boatti Abele, in vol. 2 of Corona Patrum Salesiana, Serie Greca (Turin: Societa Editrice Internazionale, 1953), pp. 474-9. 90 St Augustine's remarks are in his commentary on the title and first verses of Psalm 93. The commentary may be found in Saint Augustine: Expositions on the Book of Psalms, vol. 8 of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Church (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmanns, 1956), pp. 456-9. The Esposizioni sui salmi, ed. Tomasso Mariucci and Vincenzo Tarulli (Rome: Citta Nuova, 1976), are in vols 25-8 of the Nuova biblioteca agostiniana series. This passage is in vol. 27, pp. 240-2. 91 This particular comment comes from instructions to candidates for baptism. Its focus is on the putting off of worldly things; Chrystosom denounces in particular the vanity of ostentation and ornamentation, emphasizing their incompatibility with Christianity. See J.-P. Migne, Patrologiae cursus completus, series Graeca (Paris, 1862), vol. 49, p. 239. For an English translation of this passage, see vol. 9 of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Church, First Series (repr. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1995), p. 171. 92 St Meletius, bishop of Antioch (d. 381). He was born in Armenia Secunda and died as presiding officer of the First Council of Constantinople. John of Damascus says Chrysostom wrote a sermon on Meletius, bishop and martyr, praising his name and image, which the faithful placed everywhere, 'so as not only to hear his holy discourses, but also gaze everywhere on.his bodily image, thus gaining a double consolation to make up for his departure from us.' Quoted in St John of Damascus, On the Divine Images, trans. David Anderson (Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir's Seminary, 1980), p. 69. 93 The tale of Lucretia comes primarily from Livy, Ab urbe condita, I, 57-69. The quotation 'Mirabile dictu ...' is from Book I, chapter 19 of St Augustine's City of God: A certain declaimer developed this theme admirably and accurately: A wonderful tale! There were two and only one committed adultery!' The City of God, trans. George McCracken, 7 vols, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957), vol. 1, p. 85; vol. 5 of the Nuova biblioteca agostiniana.

134 Notes to pages 65-6 94 Barbara, venerated from the seventh century A.D. The daughter of Dioscorus, a rich pagan, she was carefully guarded in a tower. When she not only rejected an offer of marriage but also admitted to being *a Christian, her father handed her over to the local prefect, who tortured her and condemned her to death by beheading. Her own father carried out the sentence, but he was struck by lightning on the way home. Barbara thus came to be revered as the patron saint of things having to do with fire - lightning, artillery, and mining. 95 According to legend, when Lars Porsena was besieging Rome in 509 B.C., Caius Mucius Scaevola went to Porsena's camp with a concealed dagger, intent on killing the king. He mistakenly killed the king's secretary instead and was captured. Threatened with death if he did not reveal the details of the assassination plot, the Roman hero thrust his right hand into the sacrificial fire burning on a nearby altar and allowed the flame to destroy his flesh and bones. Porsena was so impressed by this extraordinary disregard for pain that he released his captive. The story appears in Plutarch's Lives in the comparison between Policola and Solon. 96 Aegidius, the Latinized name of St Giles. Immensely popular in the Middle Ages, he is the patron saint of beggars and cripples. The story told here is from The Golden Legend. 97 Johannes Molanus (Jan Ver Meulen), a Flemish prelate and professor of theology at Louvain, wrote the work, published in 1570, as a rebuttal of the iconoclasm of Protestantism. Comanini relies heavily on Molanus for his discussion of religious imagery. We have used the 1594 edition (Johannes Molanus, De historia ss. imaginum et picturarum pro vero earum usu contra abusus [Louvain: 1594]). It should be noted that this edition has been bound with numbered pages on the left and unnumbered pages on the right. We have followed the convention of designating the left page as 'verso,' the right as 'recto'; accordingly, '16v' designates the numbered page, '16r' designates the unnumbered facing page. This particular passage in Comanini echoes Book II, 2,16r-17v. 98 Sallust, The War with ]ugurtha, IV, 5-6: T have often heard that Quintus Maximus, Publius Scipio, and other eminent men of our country, were in the habit of declaring that their hearts were set mightily aflame for the pursuit of virtue whenever they gazed upon the masks of their ancestors. Of course they did not mean to imply that the wax or the effigy had any such power over them, but rather that it is the memory of great deeds that kindles in the breasts of noble men this flame that cannot be quelled until they by their own prowess have equalled the fame and glory of their forefathers/ Sallust, trans. J.C. Rolfe, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931). 99 For his discussion of the portraits of ancestors, Comanini closely echoes Molanus, II, 62, 95r-97r.

Notes to pages 66-70 135 100 The source is Plutarch's Life of Marcus Cato. Plutarch reports: 'And to those who expressed their amazement that many men of no fame had statues, while he [Marcus Cato] had none, he used to say: "I would much rather have men ask why I have no statue, than why I have one." In short, he thought a good citizen should not even allow himself to be praised, unless such praise was beneficial to the commonwealth.' The passage is in vol. 2 of Plutarch's Lives in Ten Volumes, trans; B. Perrin, Loeb Classical Library (New York: Macmillan, 1914), pp. 356-9. 101 Molanus's remarks on the propriety of having oneself painted in an act of devotion, along with the discussion of Dido, are in Book II, 38, 61v. The reference to Virgil is to Aeneid, I, 456ff.: 'He [Aeneas] sees in due order the battles of Ilium, the warfare now known by fame throughout the world, the sons of Atreus and Priam, and Achilles, fierce in his wrath against both ...' 102 St Bernard, in the 'Apology' to William, abbot of Saint Theodoric: Comanini's source is again Molanus, II, 38, 59v ff. 103 1 Tim. 4:7: in Cai's edition, vol. 2, p. 242. Comanini's comments about fables echo those of Aquinas: 'Si ergo proponatur fabula, quae non potest repraesentare aliquam veritatem, est inanis; sed quae non proprie repraesentat, est inepta, sicut fabulae de Thalmuth.' 104 The reference is to Ruggiero on the island of the enchantress Alcina, Orlando Furioso, VIII, 1-11. As Ruggiero flees Alcina's island, he is set upon by various creatures who attempt to thwart his escape. 105 Republic, III, 388c-392c. 106 See Molanus II, 42, 66v-68v. 107 The reference to Apelles is in Natural History, XXXV. 36, though Comanini seems to misread Pliny's 'et heroa nudum eaque pictura naturam ipsam provocavit.' The one to Praxiteles is in VII. 127: 'Praxiteles is famous for his marbles, and especially for his Venus of Cnidos, which is celebrated because of the infatuation that it inspired in a certain young man, and because of the value set on it by King Nicomedes, who attempted to obtain it in return for discharging a large debt owed by Cnidians.' Natural History, XXXVI. 21: There is a story that a man once fell in love with it [the statue of Aphrodite] and hiding by night, embraced it and that a stain betrays this lustful act.' 108 Ezek. 23:11-17: 'And when her sister Ooliba saw this, she was mad with lust more than she [her sister Oholah]; and she carried her fornication beyond the fornication of her sister ... and when she had seen men painted on the wall, the images of the Chaldeans set forth in colours, and girded with girdles about their reins, and with dyed turbans on their heads ... She doted upon them with the lust of her eyes, and she sent messengers to them into Chaldea. And when the sons of Babylon were come to her to the bed of love, they defiled her with their fornications.'

136 Notes to pages 70-3 109 Book II, chapter 7: Tor all the worshippers of such gods, when once they have been driven by lust, "imbued," as Persius says, "with burning poison," would rather contemplate the deeds of Jupiter than the teaching of Plato or the opinions of Cato. So the young rake in Terence gazes at a certain picture painted on a wall: "Where in the painting was the tale / How into Danae's lap a golden shower fell / Dispatched by Jove, men say," and finds in so great an authority a sponsor for his own disgraceful act, boasting that in what he does, he is copying the god/ St Augustine, The City of God, trans. McCracken, vol. 1, p. 167. 110 The Eunuch, in The Complete Comedies, trans. Bovie, Carrier, and Parker. 111 Gen. 30:32^0. 112 William Durand (Gulielmus Durandus, 1237?-96), French canonist. His Rationale divinorum officiorum, ca. 1286, is an extensive and detailed study of the nature and symbolism of the Roman Catholic liturgy. Comanini's phrasing in this reference again echoes Molanus, II, 42, 65r.HF 113 Comanini's term here is etnico, normally employed as a synonym for Italian gentile, meaning 'pagan/ 114 Pierio Valeriano, humanist name of the Italian scholar Giovan Pietro Bolzani (b. Belluno, 1477; d. Padua, 1560). He dedicated himself to study of the classics, first at home and later in Venice. He was protected by the Medici, and acted as tutor to Ippolito (later a cardinal) and Alessandro (later duke). In Rome he enjoyed the patronage of both Julius II and Leo X. Most of his works are in Latin, among them mythological fables and religious hymns (Amorum libri quique et alia poema}; an epistle on the art of poetry (Studiorum conditio); and the Contarenus sive de litteratorum infelicitate, useful as a historical source. 115 On Apelles's painting of Calumny, see Lucian: 'On the right of it sits a man with very large ears, almost like those of Midas, extending his hand to Slander while she is still at some distance from him/ Lucian in Seven Volumes, trans. A.M. Harmon, Loeb Classical Library (New York: Putnam, 1919), vol. 1, pp. 363-7. Comanini's description closely matches the image and description in Vicenzo Cartari's Imagini delli dei de gl'antichi. See Vincenzo Cartari: Imagini delli dei de gl'antichi, Nachdruck derAusgabe Venedig 1647, Instrumentaria Artium, Band 1, introduction by Walter Koschatzky (Graz: Akademische Druck-und Verlagsanstalt, 1963), pp. 243-4. 116 Thomas Walden in his Doctrine: Comanini again follows Molanus, II, 3,18v. 117 In Dan. 7:9, Daniel's dream of the four beasts includes God the Judge as an old man: 'I beheld till thrones were placed, and the Ancient of days sat: his garments were white as snow, and the hair of his head like clean wool: his throne like flames of fire: the wheels of it like a burning fire/ The reference to the

Notes to pages 74—6

137

Apocalypse is to the beginning of chapter 4. Verses 3-4 are 'And he that sat, was to the sight like the jasper and the sardine stone; and there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald. And round about the throne were four and twenty seats; and upon the seats, four and twenty ancients sitting, clothed in white garments, and on their heads were crown of gold/ 118 Comanini blends passages from Molanus and Mazzoni. The discussion of the positions of Peter and Paul follows Molanus, III, 24,134r ff.; but the subsequent discussion of the primacy of left or right, including the specific literary examples, comes from Mazzoni's Book III. 119 All translations from the Trionfi are from The Triumphs of Petrarch, trans. Ernest Hatch Wilkins (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962). 120 Comanini cites Bellarmino's Disputationes de controversiis christianae fidei adversus hujus temporis haerticos, but he appears to have taken the text, including the reference to Nebrija, directly from Book III of Mazzoni's Defence (pp. 704ff., Raverij; pp. lOllff., Verdoni). Nebrija is the noted Spanish humanist and grammarian Elio Antonio de Nebrija (ca. 1442-1532). A prolific writer, he produced works on theology, law, archaeology, pedagogy, history, and rhetoric. Although he is cited as a theological authority here, Nebrija's best-known works are not ecclesiastical but linguistic: his Latin-Spanish (1492) and Spanish-Latin (1495) dictionaries were the point of departure for all subsequent Spanish lexicography, and his Gramdtica de la lengua castellana (1492) was the first grammar printed in the vernacular. 121 The psalm to which Comanini refers is 109 in the Vulgate, though it appears as 110 in modern editions of the Bible. The Septuagint and the Vulgate differ from the Hebrew text in the divisions and resulting numbering of the Book of Psalms. Versions of the psalms based on those texts consequently show different numbers, although Roman Catholic versions now also follow the Hebrew tradition. See vol. 1 of the Jerome Biblical Commentary, ed. Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, and Roland E. Murphy (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1968), pp. 569ff. 122 Ps. 44:10 in the Vulgate. 123 Ovid's Fasti on reverence for old men: Book V, 67ff. In Ovid's 'fasti,' trans. Sir James Frazer, Loeb Classical Library (New York: Putnam, 1931). 124 The Latin is 'Ceu bruma nivalem / Interior diem gyro trahit.' Interior in the sense of 'left' derives from the path of the chariots in a race in the Circus Maximus. The interior team in the counterclockwise race is on the left or 'inside' track. 125 Punica, XVI, 361; in Silicus Italicus, Punica, trans. J.D. Duff, 2 vols, Loeb Classical Library (New York: Putnam, 1934), vol. 2, pp. 412-13.

138 Notes to pages 76-9 126 Xenophon, Cyropaedia, Book VIII: 'So when invited guests came to dinner, he [Gadatas, chief of the mace-bearers] did not assign them their seats at random, but he seated on Cyrus's left the one for whom he had the greatest regard, for the left side was more readily exposed to treacherous designs than the right; and the one who was second in esteem he seated on his right.' Cyropedia, trans. Walter Miller, Loeb Classical Library (New York: Macmillan, 1914), vol. 2, p. 375. 127 See Aristotle's Progression of Animals, IV, 705bff. 128 Right side is nobler than the left: Averroes's remark appears in his commentary on Book II, 284b6 ff. of Aristotle's On the Heavens. The main issue in Aristotle is whether or not we can justifiably speak of right and left in discussions of the heavens. Averroes's commentary on this particular passage is in vol. 5, pp. 98-109. The reference to the right side's being nobler than the left is on p. 100, where Averroes rehearses the three distinctions of the parts of the movements of animals, the three nobler being right rather than left, before rather than behind, and above rather than below. 129 Plato, Laws, VII, 794d-795d. 130 Comanini's discussion closely follows Molanus, III, 24,134r ff. 131 Bellarmino: The reference is again to the Controversies; however, Comanini repeats Molanus's argument so exactly as to suggest that Molanus may be his immediate source. 132 Confessions, XII, 14; in St Augustine, Confessions, trans. William Watts, 2 vols (New York: Macmillan, 1912), vol. 2, p. 313. 133 The Italian is 'Cosi la pittura dee rappresentare imagini di schietti sensi per utilita degli uomini dotti et imagini di sensi parabolici per giovamento de' letterati.' The comment does not appear to make sense, since the point of both Martinengo's remarks and Molanus's commentary on the subject (Book II, 21) is a contrast between the ignorant and the learned, not between two groups of the learned, as here. The idea throughout the passage is that painting operates on two levels: it has an immediate and superficial impact on the unlearned while suggesting deeper and more sophisticated meanings to the educated. To say that painting should offer the 'uomini dotti' images of 'schietti sensi' contradicts the whole argument. 134 The painting known as the Madonna della Gatta is by Giulio Romano, not by Raphael. Vasari also (wrongly) identifies the painting as Raphael's. For an English translation of Vasari's Le vite del piu eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, see The Lives of the Artists, trans. Julia Conway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991). 135 The citation of Isaiah is from 1:3; the passage from Habukkuk is problematical in that the condition of the Hebrew versions of the text has allowed many

Notes to pages 80-3 139 variants. The Greek Septuagint does contain a passage that, if translated into Latin, would be 'In medio duorum animalium cognosceris'; however, the Latin Vulgate reads, 'In medio annorum vivifica illud' for the same passage (3:2). Molanus mentions the Septuagint in his commentary on this passage in III, 57,165r-166r. 136 Ps. 67:18-19. 137 Song of Sol. 1:8. Comanini's interpretation of these lines derives from the orthodox allegorization of the Song of Songs. 138 Plato, Phaedo, 83a-c: 'She [philosophy] points out that observation by means of the eyes and ears and all the other senses is entirely deceptive, and urges the soul to refrain from using them unless it is entirely necessary to do so, and encourages it to collect and concentrate itself by itself, trusting nothing [b] but its own independent judgement upon objects considered in themselves.' 139 Plato, Timaeus; passages in 32c, 49b-d, and 52c deal specifically with the elements, matter and form. 140 Plato, Phaedo, 75a-b. 141 Pythagoras, the sky is a lyre: Pythagorean cosmology as interpreted by the Renaissance. The universe was an eight-corded lyre, with earth at the centre playing the lowest note; the other planets were also assigned specific musical notes. See the discussion (and illustration on p. 123) in S.K. Heninger, Jr., Touches of Sweet Harmony: Pythagorean Cosmology and Renaissance Poetics (San Marino, CA: Huntington Library, 1974). 142 According to Quintus Curtius, Alexander loved music, but his father asked him if he was not ashamed to sing so well. He began to neglect it as an art unbecoming to his dignity: 'After that he took pleasure in manly singing and particularly favored Timotheus who was famous for that kind of music; for with the mode they call "Phrygian" he sometimes so aroused Alexander that he at once ran to arms, as if the enemy was near/ Quintus Curtius, Life of Alexander, trans. John Rolfe, 2 vols, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1946), vol. 1, p. 10. 143 Aristotle, On the Soul, II, 420b: 'Nature uses it for two different purposes, as the tongue is used both for tasting and for articulating; in that case of the two functions tasting is necessary for the animal's existence (hence it is found more widely distributed), while articulate speech serves its possessor's wellbeing; similarly in the former case Nature employs the breath both as an indispensable means to the regulation of the inner temperature of the living body and also as the matter of articulate voice ...' 144 Aristotle, Poetics: Comanini reviews Aristotle's comments on the elements and plot of tragedy. The remarks about the elements of tragedy are in 1450al-

140 Notes to pages 84-7 14; those on the sections or divisions are in 1452bl4-25; those on the preferability of single plots, 1453al2-13: The perfect plot, accordingly, must have a single, and not (as some tell us) a double issue ...' Comments about the Heradeid and the Theseid are in Poetics, 1451a20-l: 'One sees therefore the mistake of all the poets who have written a Heracleid, a Theseid, or similar poems; they suppose that, because Heracles was one man, the story also of Heracles must be one story.' 145 See the note on this section and on the controversy over the Last Judgment in the Introduction. Comanini, obviously one of Michelangelo's defenders, considers some of the most common points of contention. 146 Pliny mentions Damon of Sparta (Natural History, XXXIV. 87) as one who made statues of philosophers. He says in XXXV. 88: 'He also painted portraits so absolutely lifelike that, incredible as it sounds, the grammarian Apion has left it on record that one of those persons called "physiognomists," who prophesy people's future by their countenance, pronounced from their portraits either the year of the subjects' death hereafter or the number of years they had already lived.' 147 Natural History, XXXV. 142: This Nealces was a talented and clever artist, inasmuch as when he painted a picture of a naval battle between the Persians and the Egyptians, which he desired to be understood as taking place on the river Nile, the water of which resembles the sea, he suggested by inference what could not be shown by art: he painted an ass standing on the shore drinking, and a crocodile lying in wait for it.' Mazzoni uses the same example in III, 53 (p. 633, Raverij; p. 908, Verdoni). 148 Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius (born between 296 and 260 B.C. in Alexandria; date of death unknown). A pupil of Callimachus, Apollonius composed the poem in his youth; as a result of its condemnation he exiled himself to Rhodes, where he revised it. According to one of the two extant Lives, he then returned to Alexandria, where the poem met with success. The objection to the Argonautica is that it is composed of a series of episodes rather than being a unified epic. The work was best known for the episode (in Book II) describing the love between Jason and Medea. 149 The Church of San Raffaello in Milan. St Carlo Borromeo ordered the church, which dated from the Middle Ages, to be redone. Figino's St Matthew is to the right of the altar; his St Luke is to the left. 150 Macrobius, Saturnalia, I, 7,12: '"I take it," said Evangelus, mollified by the unanimity of the request, "I take it that you are all acquainted with the book by Varro - one of his Menippean satires - called 'You Never Can Tell What the Evening Has in Store for You.' In it he lays down the rule that the number of diners should not be less than the number of the Graces nor more than the

Notes to pages 87-92 141

151

152

153 154

155

156

number of the Muses. [Aulus Gellius 13.11; John of Salisbury 8.10 (748CO)]. But here, not counting the master of the feast, I see there are as many of you as there are Muses. So why seek to add to a perfect number?"' Macrobius, The Saturnalia, trans, with introduction and notes by Percival Vaughan Davies (New York: Columbia University Press, 1969), 56-7. The wooden crucifix by Donatello is in the Santa Croce in Florence. The attribution of the work has been hotly debated, but at this point most art historians agree that it was done by Donatello ca. 1412/15. According to Vasari, Brunelleschi accused Donatello of having 'crucified a peasant/ Opinion has since then shifted. According to Bertela, the crucifix 'reflects Donatello's creative force, his incessant search for new forms of expression, free from established rules, with which he could experiment/ G. Gaeta Bertela, Donatello (Florence: Scala, 1978), p. 6. John Pope-Hennessy offers a similar evaluation of the work. He states that the original report of the wooden crucifix was offered in the Libra di Antonio Billi, then followed by Vasari and other writers on art (27). He cites the work's originality in its representation of the dead body's weight, the first time such a thing was shown in a crucifix. He says 'the head, with its high cheekbones and coarse hair, has the same part realistic, part visionary qualities as Donatello's St John/ John Pope-Hennessy, Donatello Sculptor (New York: Abbeville Press, 1994), p. 28. Aristotle, Poetics: the discussion of poetic impossibilities is in 1460b61461b25. See the discussion of this passage, with related notes, in the Introduction. Song of Sol. 1:1: (The Bride): 'Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth/ Comanini refers to Dolce's Dialogo della Pittura, which compares Michelangelo (unfavourably) to Raphael and ends with an encomiastic treatment of Titian. Since Dolce was a former protege of Aretino, one of Titian's most active promoters, his position is not surprising. Persius Flaccus, Saturae, 1,10f£; in Juvenal and Persius, trans. G.G. Ramsay, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1951), p. 58. Natural History, XXXV. 70, on Parrhasius's painting of Filiscus and Bacchus: 'He also painted a Thracian Nurse, with an Infant in her Arms, a Philiscus, and a Father Liber or Dionysus attended by Virtue, and Two Children in which the carefree simplicity of childhood is clearly displayed, and also a Priest attended by a Boy with Incense-Box and Chaplet/ On the young man who seemed to sweat, Natural History, XXXV. 71: There are also two very famous pictures by him, a Runner in a Race in Full armour who actually seems to sweat with his efforts, and the other a Runner in Full Armour Taking off his Arms, so lifelike that he can be perceived to be panting for breath/

142 Notes to pages 92-6 157 Pliny on Action, Natural History, XXXV. 78: 'Famous paintings by Action are a Father Liber or Dionysus, Tragedy and Comedy and Semiramis the Slave Girl Rising to the Throne; and the Old Woman carrying Torches, with a Newly Married Bride, remarkable for her air of modesty/ 158 Plutarch discusses the number of torches in The Roman Questions. See Plutarch's Moralia, IV.6-9. 159 Natural History, XXXV. 63, on Zeuxis's painting of Hercules: 'His Zeus seated on a throne with the gods standing by in attendance is also a magnificent work, and so is the Infant Hercules throttling two Snakes in the presence of his mother Alcmena, looking on in alarm, and of Amphitryon/ Comanini refers to Amphitryon as Hercules's 'avolo/ a Latinate term which usually means 'grandfather' or, more generally, 'ancestor/ According to the myth, however, Amphitryon is Alcmena's husband, in whose shape Zeus impregnated Alcmena during her husband's absence. 160 Natural History, XXXV. 90, on Apelles's images of the dying: 'Among his works there are also pictures of persons at the point of death/ 161 Aristides, a contemporary of Apelles: Pliny comments on his images of a sick man in Natural History, XXXV. 100: 'He also painted a Sick Man which has received unlimited praise; and he was so able an artist that King Attalus is said to have bought a single picture of his for a hundred talents/ 162 Dante's 'Purgatory,' trans. Mark Musa (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1981). All translations from Dante are by Musa. Mazzoni also praises this passage from the Purgatorio, offering it as an example of Dante's 'particolarizatione/ which Mazzoni regards as essential to poetic narration. See his Introduction, section 26, Raverij; p. 21, Verdoni. 163 Pliny, Natural History, XXXV. 137, attributes the work not to Nicophanes but to Socrates: 'Some persons also admire Nicophanes, who was likewise a pupil of Pausias, for his careful accuracy which only artists can appreciate, though apart from that he is hard in his colouring and lavish in his use of ochre. As for Socrates, he is justly a universal favorite; popular pictures by him are a group of Asclepius with his daughters Health, Brightness, All-Heal and Remedy, and his Sluggard, bearing the Greek name of Ocnos, Laziness, and represented as twisting a rope of broom which an ass is nibbling/ 164 Natural History, XXXV. 99, on Aristides's portrayal of a suppliant: 'He also painted a Four-horse Chariots Racing, a Suppliant, who almost appeared to speak, Huntsmen with Quarry, Leontion Epicurus's mistress, and Woman at Rest through Love of her Brother ../ 165 Natural History, XXXV. 92, on Apelles's image of Alexander the Great with lightning in hand: 'He also painted Alexander the Great holding a Thunderbolt, in the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, for a fee of twenty talents in gold.

Notes to pages 97-100 143 The fingers have the appearance of projecting from the picture - readers must remember that all these effects were produced by four colours; the artist received the price of this picture in gold coin measured by weight, not counted/ 166 Sprezzatura artificiosa, which is translated as 'artful carelessness/ obviously echoes Castiglione's concept of sprezzatura, a neologism that is central to the conduct of the perfect courtier. In Comanini, however, the qualification of sprezzatura as artificiosa focuses on matters of artistic procedure. See thesprezzatura as artificiosa focuses on matters of artistic procedure. See the discussion in the Introduction. 167 Monsignor Delia Casa's sonnet: Tasso's explication of the sonnet, which Comanini reproduces quite faithfully here, can be found in vol. 2 of Prose diverse di Torquato Tasso, ed. Guasti, p. 129. 168 Petrarch, Canzone 128 ('Italia mia, benche '1 parlar sia indarno'). 169 Translation by Elaine Fantham, Seneca's 'Troades': A Literary Introduction with Text, Translation, and Commentary (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982). Comanini truncates the quotation, omitting the nee parcens animae [without sparing the soul], which closes the phrase. Fantham points out that the presentation of death as total annihilation, spoken by the chorus, is at variance with the treatment of death in the play as a whole. One need hardly add that it is also sharply at variance with Comanini's Christian ethical orientation. As specified in n. 43 above, the translations of the Agamemnon and Hercules Furens are by Miller. Both passages are somewhat problematical, although those issues need not concern us here; Comanini clearly cites the texts as sententiae expressing the inevitability of death and the uncertainty of life, and does not deal with subtleties of interpretation of the text. However, it should be noted that today's accepted text of the passage from the Agamemnon differs from the one Comanini cites: see R.J. Tarrant, ed., Seneca: Agamemnon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), pp. 180ff. For a close analysis of problems of interpretation and textual variants in these particular lines from the Hercules Furens, see John Fitch, ed., Seneca's Hercules Furens: A Critical Text with Introduction and Commentary (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987), pp. 178-9. 170 Fortune as a nude woman with her feet on a wheel: Comanini's description closely resembles that of Vicenzo Cartari, Imagini delli del de gli'antichi, p. 249, in which the image of Fortune is described as follows: There was a nude lady with her feet on a wheel, or rather on a round ball, and she had long hair falling over her forehead, so that the nape of her neck was uncovered and bare, and her feet were winged like Mercury's.' 171 Plato, Republic, X, 617c: The reference to Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos is in the tale of the bold warrior Er, son of Armenius, killed in battle. Er's soul

144 Notes to pages 100-4

172

173 174 175

witnesses the following:'... the Fates, daughters of Necessity, clad in white vestments with filleted heads, Lachesis, and Clotho, and Atropos, who sang in unison with the music of the Sirens, Lachesis singing the things that were, Clotho the things that are, and Atropos the things that are to be.' The description of this painting also corresponds closely to that of Cartari, p. 162. Proclus, Neoplatonist (410 or 412 to 485 A.D.), pupil of Syrianus and later head of the Platonic Academy. A prolific writer, he produced extensive and extremely influential commentaries on Plato's thought. The maxim from the Hercules Furens, quoted above. Poetics, 1450b. The story of Pythagoras's invention of musical harmonies in this fashion was widely accepted, though its origins are somewhat obscure. Comanini's immediate source is probably the Commentarii in Somnium Scipionis by Macrobius. For an English translation of the passages, see Commentary on the Dream of Scipio, trans. William Harris Stahl (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), Book II, chapter 1. See the discussion by Heninger in Touches of Sweet Harmony (beginning on p. 95) and the analysis in Caswell's 'Giuseppe Arcimboldo: Mannerist in Music/ pp. 117-27, and its revised version, 'The Pythagoreanisrn of Arcimboldo.' The schematic representation of the system, below, is derived from Heninger and Caswell:

Interval diatesseron (perfect fourth) diapente (perfect fifth) diapason (octave) tonus (whole tone) diapason diapente (twelfth) disdiapason (double octave)

Proportion sesquiterza sesquialtera proportio dupla sesquiottava proportio tripla proportio quadrupla

Mathematical ratio 4:3 3:2 2:1 9:8 3:1 4:1

176 The original source of the material is Livy, Ab urbe condita, I, 23-4, who reports a quarrel between the people of Rome and of Alba. The Horatii, who win, represent ancient Roman valour. A Horatian sister is betrothed to one of the Curiae and is murdered by her brother. 177 The painting cited here is the Martyrdom of the 10,000 (1508), currently in the Kuntshistorisches Museum, Vienna. 178 This is the painting known as the Disputa del Sacramento. Vasari's discusses it in his Lives, IV; pp. 316-17 of the Bondanella translation. 179 This image is also discussed by Cartari. The statue itself was discovered in

Notes to pages 105-9 145 Rome, at the site of the temple of Isis and Serapis (now the site of Santa Maria sopra Minerva). A year earlier (1512) a similar statue of the Tiber was discovered at the same site. Julius II had the Tiber statue placed in the Belvedere statue courtyard shortly after it was found; in 1523 a Venetian ambassador also refers to a Nile statue in that courtyard. According to Phillis Bober and Ruth Rubinstein, Renaissance Artists and Antique Sculpture: A Handbook of Sources (London: Miller, 1986), pp. 103ff. and illustration 67, the statue, now in the Vatican Braccio Nuovo, 'is thought to be a copy of the famous Alexandrian statue of the Egyptian stone looted by Nero and placed by Vespasian in the Temple of Peace and there described by Pliny (Natural History, XXVI. 58).' 180 Aelian's On the Characteristics of Animals, X, 24: 'The Crocodile ... is alert to seize and plan against its victims, but it dreads all noises and is afraid even of loud shouts of men and has a violent fear of those who boldly attack it. Now the people of Egypt called Tentyrites know the best way to master the beast...' On the Characteristics of Animals, trans. A.F. Scholfield, 3 vols, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1959), vol. 2, pp. 316-17. 181 Cartari's work refers to this statue's being in the Campidoglio. In his discussion of the period's use of allegory, Panofsky refers to Comanini's allegorical interpretation as 'truly amusing.' See Idea: A Concept in Art History, pp. 237-8. 182 Macrobius, Saturnalia, I, 21, 23; in The Saturnalia, trans. Davies, p. 145. 183 Natural History, XVI. 82. 184 Macrobius, Saturnalia, 1,12,10-11: 'Certainly in the 12 signs of the Zodiac as well, each of which is to be the appointed abode of an appointed deity, the first sign, the Ram, has been allotted to Mars and thereafter the next in order, the Bull, to Venus. [11] Again, the Scorpion, which is placed over against these two signs, is so divided as to be common to Mars and Venus. And in this division there is held to be evidence of a divine plan, for the hinder part of the Scorpion, which is armed with a sting as with a powerful dart, is the house of Mars, and the part in front, which the Greeks call "the Yoke" and we call "the Balance" belongs to Venus who (as it were with a yoke of harmony) joins in marriage and unites in friendship.' 185 Empedocles's cosmos is made up of the classic four elements, which combine and separate under the contrary impulses of Love, which unifies unlikes, and Strife, which divides. Love and Strife predominate alternately in a four-stage cycle. 186 Aristotle's History of Animals, IX, 618b. 187 Natural History, XXXV. 98, on Aristides: 'His works include ... the capture of

146 Notes to page 109. a town, showing an infant creeping to the breast of its mother who is dying of a wound; it is felt that the mother is aware of the child and is afraid that as her milk is exhausted by death it may suck blood; this picture had been removed by Alexander the Great to his native place, Pella.' 188 Natural History, XXXV.99: The same artist painted a Battle with the Persians, a panel that contains a hundred human figures, which he parted with to Mnason the Tyrant of Elatea on the terms of ten minae per man.' Mnason lived in the time of Alexander the Great. According to Timaeus, he was a student of Aristotle.

Selected Bibliography

Adams, Hazard, ed. Critical Theory since Plato. New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1971. The Arcimboldo Effect: Transformations of the Face from the 16th to the 20th Centuury. Ed. Pontus Hulten. New York: Abbeville Press, 1987. Barocchi, Paola. Trattati d'arte del Cinquecento. 3 vols. Bari: Laterza, 1962. Battisti, Eugenio. L'antirinascimento. Milan: Garzanti, 1989. Crane, Thomas. Italian Social Customs of the Sixteenth Century. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1920. De Maio, Romeo. Michelangelo e la Controriforma. Florence: Sansoni, 1978; repr. 1990. Ferrari-Bravo, Anna.'// Figino' del Comanini: Teoria della pittura di fine '500. Rome: Bulzoni, 1975. Ficino, Marsilio. Sopra lo Amove ovvero Convito di Platone. Ed. G. Rensi. Lanciano: Carabba, 1914. Friedlaender, Walter. Mannerism and Anti-Mannerism in Italian Painting. New York: Columbia University Press, 1957. Gilbert, Allan H. Literary Criticism: Plato to Dryden. 2 vols. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1962. Hathaway, Baxter. The Age of Criticism: The Late Renaissance in Italy. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962. - Marvels and Commonplaces: Renaissance Literary Criticism. New York: Random House, 1968. Haydn, Hiram. The Counter-Renaissance. New York: Scribner, 1950. Kaufmann, Thomas DaCosta. The Mastery of Nature: Aspects of Art, Science, and Humanism in the Renaissance. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. Krieger, Murray. Poetic Presence and Illusion: Essays in Critical History and Theory. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979.

148 Selected Bibliography Lee, Rensselaer E. Ut Pictura Poesis: The Humanist Theory of Painting. New York: Norton, 1967. Lomazzo, Gian Paolo. Scritti sulle arti, ed. R.P. Ciardi. 2 vols. Florence: Marchi and Bertolli, 1973^. Maiorino, Giancarlo. The Portrait of Eccentricity: Ardmboldo and the Mannerist Grotesque. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1991. Mazzoni, Giacopo. Delia Difesa della Comedia di Dante. Distinta in sette libri. Cesena: Raverij, 1587; Verdoni, 1688. Mirollo, James. Mannerism and Renaissance Poetry: Concept, Mode, Inner Design. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984. Montgomery, Robert L., trans. Giacopo Mazzoni: On the Defense of the Comedy of Dante: Introduction and Summary. Tallahassee: University Presses of Florida, 1983. - The Reader's Eye: Studies in Didactic Literary Theory from Dante to lasso. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979. Ossola, Carlo. L'Autunno del Rinascimento: 'Idea del Tempio' dell'arte nell'ultimo Cinquecento. Florence: Olschki, 1971. Panofsky, Erwin. Idea: A Concept in Art Theory. Trans. Joseph J.S. Peake. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1968. Shearman, John. Mannerism. Hardmondsworth: Penguin, 1967. Summers, David. Michelangelo and the Language of Art. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981. Tasso, Torquato. Discorsi dell'Arte Poetica e del Poema Eroico. Ed. Luigi Poma. Bari: Laterza, 1964. - Discourses on the Heroic Poem. Ed. and trans. Mariella Cavalchini and Irene Samuel. Oxford: Clarendon, 1973. - Prose diverse di Torquato Tasso. Ed. Cesare Guasti. 2 vols. Florence: Sucessori Le Monnier, 1873 and 1875. Vasari, Giorgio, The Lives of the Artists. Trans. Julia Conway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Weinberg, Bernard. A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance. 2 vols. University of Chicago Press, 1961.

Index

Abgar, king of Edessa, 53,131n. 76 Abraham, 35, 57, 73,126n. 42 Acate, 17 Achilles, 68,135n. 101 Achilles Tatius, Clitophon and Leucippe, 15,119n. 12 Adonis and Venus, fable of, 68 Adrian I, Pope, 55 Aegidius, 134n. 96 Aelian, 145n. 180 Aeneas, 17, 36, 86, 92,135n. 101 Aeneid: see Virgil Aetion, 92, 93,142n. 157 affectation: avoided by philosophers and historians, 14; as defect in poetry, 97-8 Agamemnon, 29 Agamemnon: see Seneca, Lucius Annaeus Alcina, 69,135n. 104 Alcinoiis, 92 Alcmena, 94,142n. 159 Alessano: see Borsieri, Settimio Alete, 95 Alexander the Great, 82, 96,142n. 165, 146n. 188 allegory: applied in defence of

Michelangelo's Last Judgment, xv-xvi, 89-90,114-15n. 17,115n. 18; in literature, xiv, xvii, 68; in painting, 79-81; Panofsky on Comanini's use of, 145n. 181; in poetry and painting, 88 Alps, 5, 31,109 Ambrose, St, 86 Amphitryon, 94,142n. 159 angels: representation of, 32-4, 77, 104; as symbols, 77, 80, 86,125n. 40; veneration of images of, 56-7 Annunciation, 78 Antioch, 131n. 78,133n. 92 antithesis, as technique in poetry and painting, 97-9 Apelles, 6, 36, 70, 72, 85, 94, 96,126n. 45,135n. 107,136n. 115,142nn. 160, 161,165 Apion the Grammarian, 85,140n. 146 Apollo, 19,108,126n. 47 apostles, 66, 74, 80-1,104 appeal (aesthetic), 25, 79, 81-3, 97, 113n. 11 Aquinas: see Thomas Aquinas, St Arcimboldo, Giuseppe, ix, x, xiii, xviii, 17-28,102-3, llln. 1,116n. 23,

150 Index 121n. 20; allegory in, 26-7; experiment with musical tones and colours, xvii, xix, 102-3,116n. 21, 144n. 175; fantastic imitation in, xii, 17, 27-8; poem on Flora, 18; poem on Vertumnus, 19-25; Works: The Earth, 25-7,121n. 21,122n. 22; Flora, 17-18; The Four Seasons, 27-8; Vertumnus, 17-25 Argante, 17, 41, 95 Ariosto, Ludovico, ix, 17, 40; Orlando Furioso, 41-2, 53-4, 69,128n. 57, 131n. 78,135n. 104 Aristides of Thebes, 94, 95,108,109, 142nn. 161,164,145-6n. 187 Aristotle, ix, xi, xiii, xv, xvi, xvii, xix, 6, 11,13, 47,117n. 3; on Empedocles, 27; on imitation, 13, 29, 43,45; on likely impossibilities, 88,115n. 18; on parts of tragedy, 83,101; on plot, 83; Works: Ethics, 44,118n. 6,128n. 58; Generation of Animals, 117n. 3; History of Animals, 108,145n. 186; Metaphysics, 41,128n. 56; On the Heavens, 138n. 128; On the Soul, 83,139n. 143; Parts of Animals, 117n. 3; Physics, 118n. 6; Poetics, 29, 68, 83,101,115n. 18,123n. 29,129n. 60,130n. 67,139-40n. 144,141n. 152,144n. 174; Politics, 45,46, 129nn. 61, 65; Progression of Animals, 76,138n. 127 Artemisia, 52,131n. 74 arts: classification of, xi, 11-13; comparison of, xvi-xviii, 83-104; and games, xi, 36-9; purpose of, ix, x-xi, xiii-xiv, 13-17, 29-32, 39, ' 43-8, 81-3. See also imitation; painting; poetry Asterion, bishop of Amasia, 57

Athanasius, St, 33,125n. 36 Atropos, 99-101,143-4n. 171 Augustine, St, 34, 61, 65, 70, 78,125n. 40,133n. 90,136n. 109,138n. 132 Austria, 24 avarice, 60,109 Averroes, 6, 41,45, 76,128n. 56,129n. 60,138n. 128 Babylon, Babylonians, 59, 60, 70,135n. 108 backgammon, 37-8 Barbara, St, 65,134n. 94 Barocchi, Paola, xviii, llln. 1,112nn. 2,4, 5, 6,113nn. 9,10,11,117n. 25, 121-2n. 21 Belacqua, 95 Bellarmino, Roberto, 56, 75, 77, 114-15n. 17,132n. 82,137n. 120, 138n.131 Benjamin, 77 Bernard, St, 67,135n. 102 Bethlehem, 59 Bible, xi, xiii, 118n. 4,137nn. 121,122 Borsieri, Settimio, 3 Brescia, 5,110,117n. 2 Buglione, Goffredo, 17, 32, 91,144 Cain, 38 Calumny, Apelles's image of, 72 Cancer (astrological sign), 106-7 canzone: by Comanini on Figino, 6-10; by Petrarch, 98,143n. 168 canzoniere: by Comanini, x; by Petrarch, 130n. 70 capriccio, capricci, xii, 121n. 19 Caria: see Mausolus of Caria, King Cato the Censor, 66,135n. 100 Charicles, 15,119n. 12 Charles V, 109

Index 151 cherubim, 77 chess, 36-7, 39,126nn. 46, 47 chimera, 16, 30, 31 Christ, xv, xix, 53, 55-6,59-60, 62, 65, 73, 77-8, 79,114n. 17 Christians, 37, 54, 55,58, 59, 63, 64, 65, 67, 70, 73,119-20n. 14,124n. 33, 125n. 36,132nn. 82, 85,134n. 94, 143n.69 Church, Christian, xviii, 3,16, 34, 57, 59, 60, 64, 77, 89,104,109,112n. 2, 114n. 16,131n. 76,132n. 79 Church, Greek, 71 Clement VII, Pope, 110 Clement of Alexandria, 64,133n. 89 Clitophon and Leucippe: see Achilles Tatius clothing, imitation of, 102 Clotho, 99-101,143-4n. 171 Colchis, 58 Comanini, Gregorio, ix, x, xi, xii, xiii, xiv, xv, xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, xx, xxi, 4, 6,10,15,18, 25, 27, 39, 43, 62, 72, 83, lll-12n. 1,112-13nn. 2, 4, 6, 113nn. 8,10,11,113-14n. 14,114n. 16,114-15n. 17,115-16n. 19, 116-17n. 25,117n. 3,118nn. 5, 6, 7, 118-19n. 8,119-20n. 14,120nn. 15, 17,121nn. 18,19,121-2nn. 21, 22, 23,123n. 27,124n. 32,125nn. 37, 40,126n. 46,127n. 48,128-9nn. 58, 59,129nn. 62, 64,130nn. 72, 73, 131-2n. 79,132n. 84,133n. 87, 134nn. 97, 99,135nn. 102,103,107, 136nn. 112,113,115,116,137nn. 118,120,121,138nn. 130,131,139n. 137,139^0n. 144,140n. 145,141n. 154,142n. 159,143nn. 166,167,169, 170,144n. 175,145n. 181 Constantine, Deacon, 57

Constantine the Great, 55,131n. 76 Council of Constantinople III (Sixth Ecumenical Council), 59 Council of Constantinople IV (Eighth Ecumenical Council), 52, 56, 57 Council of Nicaea, Second (Seventh Ecumenical Council), xx, 52, 54, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63,131n. 76 Council of Trent, xi, xiii, 66, 69, 73, 112n. 2,116-17n. 25,131-2n. 79 Craton of Ephesus, 65-6 credible marvellous, the, xiii, xv, 48, 91, 112-13n. 6,113-14nn. 11,14 cross, Christian symbol of the, 58, 59, 62, 64, 66, 87 Cyril of Jerusalem, St, 61, 62 Damascus, 80 Damon of Lacaedemonia, 85 Danae, 70 Daniel, 60, 74, 79,136n. 117 Dante Alighieri, ix, 94,142n. 162 David, 33-4, 57, 75, 80, 84, 87,125n. 38 decorum, ix, 102 Defence of Dante: see Mazzoni, Giacopo delight: afforded by imitation, 29, 36, 43, 45; aim of imitation, 46, 48, 129n. 64; carnal, 50, 68-9, 70; and contemplation, 44-5; and the credible marvellous, 91; in horrible images, 29-32,123-4n. 29; in icastic and fantastic imitation, 40; of the natural world, 81-3; in painting and poetry, xvii-xviii, 35-6, 41-3, 89-90, 108; related to comprehension, 41-2, 44. See also pleasure Delia Casa, Giovanni, 97,143n. 167 demons, 30-2, 96-7,125n. 36 Diana, temple of at Ephesus, 96

152 Index Dido, 54, 67, 92,135n. 101 Difesa della Comedia di Dante: see Mazzoni, Giacopo diligence, vulgar, to be avoided, 98 Diocletian, 65,132n. 85 Diotima, 49-51,130 Divine Comedy: see Dante Alighieri Dolce, Ludovico, xv, 114-15n. 17,141n. 154 Donatello, 87,141n. 151 drama, dramatic poetry, 83, 87. See also tragedy Dream of Scipio: see Macrobius, Ambrosius Theodosius dulia, 56-7,132n. 83 Durand, William, 71,136n. 112 Diirer, Albrecht, 88, 97,104,144n. 177 Edessa: see Abgar, king of Edessa Egypt, 9,132n. 80,145n. 180 Egyptian, Egyptians, 24, 46, 47, 60, 63, 72, 80, 85,104 eidolon, eidola, xix-xx, 16-17,118n. 7 Elatea, 109 Eleusina, 82 Empedocles, 27,107,122-3n. 26,145n. 185 Enoch, 38 Ephesus, temple of, 66,142-3n. 165. See also Craton of Ephesus epic, 124n. 33,128n. 55,140n. 148 Etna, 14 Euphemia, St, 57-8, 71,132n. 85 Europa and the bull, myth of, 79-80 Eusebius, 53,131n. 76 fable or story, xiv-xv, 15,17, 28,48-50, • 52, 63, 70, 83, 88-9, 91-2, 93,104, 130-ln. 73,135n. 103,136n. 114; true and false fables, xii-xiii, 67-9

fantastic images, fantastic imitation: see image, images; imitation fantasy, faculty of, xii, xiii, 13,15,17, 28, 85. See also imitation. Ferrari-Bravo, Anna, lll-12n. 1, 112nn. 5, 6,113-14n. 14 Ficino, Marsilio, xiv, 17, 50-2,130-ln. 73 Figino, Giovan Ambrogio, ix, x, xi, xv, xvii, 5-6,117n. 2; canzone by Comanini on, 6-10; dedication of to serving Christian morality, 53; lifelike quality of portraits by, 36; painting of the Crucifixion, 94; painting of the Virgin, 10; Parting of the Red Sea, 10; portrait of Panigarola, 16; St Ambrose and Stjustina, 86; St Matthew, 86,140n. 149; St Michael and Lucifer, 33 figure: see painting Filiscus, 92 Flegra, 29 Flora: see Arcimboldo, Giuseppe Francis 1,109-10 Gabriel, 32 Galen, 6 games, 41, 52,126-7nn. 46, 47,127n. 49; and art, xi, xiv, 36-9, 46, 48, 72, 97,129n. 64 Garamanti, 26 Gaza, 87 George, St, 91 German, Germany, 24, 25, 88 Gherardini, Filippo, 18 Gilbert, Allan H., 116n. 24,118-19n. 8 Giles, St, 65,134n. 96,147 Giovanni Gualberti, St, 62 Giulio Romano, ix, 29,114-15n. 17, 124n. 30,138n. 134

Index God, 12, 25, 32, 33, 34, 37, 38, 39,46, 50, 52, 53, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 62, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 72, 73, 77, 78, 80, 83, 89, 90,104,125-6nn. 40, 41, 42, 132n. 83,133n. 88,136-7n. 117 gods, 31, 46,49, 55, 63, 64, 69, 70, 88-9,104,116-17n. 25,119-20n. 14, 121n. 20,127n. 52,130n. 69,1312nn. 79, 80,136-7n. 109,142n. 159 Gonzaga, Ferrando, 78 Gordianus (father of St Gregory), 66 Granvela, Antonio, Cardinal, 104 Greece, 36, 93 Greek language, xix, xx, 118nn. 4, 7, 125n. 36,128-9n. 59,138-9n. 135, 142n. 163 Greeks, 24, 36, 68, 70, 71, 93,145n. 184 Gregory I, Pope (St Gregory the Great), 55, 64, 66 Gregory XIV, Pope, x, 3 Gregory of Nazianzus, St (Gregory the Theologian), 60 Gregory of Nyssa, St, 57 Guazzo, Stefano (historical figure), x, 117n.2 harmony: in poetry, painting, and music, 42,102; of the universe, 81-2 Hathaway, Baxter, ix, xiii, llln. 1, 114n. 15,116n. 22 hearing, sense of, as having the beautiful as its object, 42 Henry II, 110 herbs, 5, 51, 82 Hercules, 27, 83, 93,142n. 159 Hercules Furens: see Seneca, Lucius Annaeus hero, heroes, 42, 57, 70, 86, 96 heroic poetry, 96

153

hieroglyphics, 63, 71 historians: Christian, 67; compared with poets and philosophers, 13-15 history, sacred, 80-1,124n. 33 Holy Spirit, 34-5, 57, 58, 78, 80,104 Homer, 12, 36, 69, 89, 92,115n. 18, 129n. 62 Horace, ix, 13,16, 69, 76, 87, 91, 92, 120n.16 horrible and strange, aesthetic effect of the, 29-33 hyperdulia, 56-7,132n. 83 icastic image, icastic imitation: see image, images; imitation Icelos, 123n. 28 idea, Platonic, 12,13-14, 81,118-19n. 8 idol, xix-xx, 16, 54-5, 57, 63-5, 68, 116-17nn. 24, 25,119-20n. 14, 131-2nn. 79, 84,133n. 88 idolatry, xx, 64,116-17n. 25 idolo (term), xix-xx, 13, 16-17, 57, 116-17nn. 24, 25,118-19nn. 7, 8, 119-20n. 14,120-ln. 17,132n. 84 ignorant, compared with the learned, 57, 60, 78 Ilium, 67,135n. 101. See also Troy image, images, xii, xiv-xv, ix-xx, 9,19, 24, 27, 30, 33, 35, 37, 47-8, 81, 96-8, 108; as facilitating understanding, 42-3; icastic or fantastic, 17, 28-9, 32-5, 40-1, 73-4,112-13n. 6; of immoral subjects, 53-5, 69-71; as object of the imitative arts, 13-15, 47-8, 52; purpose of in art, 13-15, 29, 40-1; sacred, compared to pagan, 52-67, 73-4; translation of terms for, xix-xx; visual compared to poetic, xvii, 36, 40-3

154 Index imagination, ix, xi-xii, 28, 33, 55 imitation: and games, 36-9; icastic and fantastic, xi-xiii, xv, xvii, 15-17, 28, 40-3, 73-4; of immoral acts, 53-5, 69-71 imitative arts: definition of, 11-13; pleasure as purpose of, 10-43 (Guazzo's argument); utility as purpose of, 43-83 (Martinengo's argument). See also image, images; imitation; delight; pleasure; utility lo, 104 Iphigenia, 271 Irad, 38 Isaiah, 79,138-9n. 135 Jacob, 55, 71,132n. 81 Jerome, St, 33, 61-3,125n. 36 Jerusalem, 61, 62, 91 Jerusalem Delivered: see Tasso, Torquato John Chrysostom, St, xiii, 30, 55, 57, 64,124n. 32,133n. 92 John Gualbert, St: see Giovanni Gualberti, St John the Apostle, St, 65, 73, 74, 78, 104 John the Baptist, St, 59, 60 John the Deacon, 66 Joseph, 55, 60,132n. 81 Jove, 19, 20,48, 49,55, 64, 70, 88,104, 136n.109 Juno, 54, 55, 88-9, 92,104 Justina, St, 86 Kaufmann, Thomas Da Costa, lll-12n. 1,121-2n. 21 Krieger, Murray, 113-14n. 14 Lachesis, 99-101,143-4n. 171

lascivious acts, representation of in literature and painting, 69-71 Last Judgment: see Michelangelo latria, 56-7,132n. 83 Leo (astrological sign), 104 Leo X, Pope, 104,136n. 114 Leonardo da Vinci, 101,109 Leontius, Bishop, 59 Libya, 105 Lomazzo, Giovanni Paolo, ix, xi, xii, 115-16n. 19,117n. 2 Lot, 35,125n. 40 Lothair, 33,125n. 37 Lucian, 136n. 115 Lucretia, 65,133n. 93 Lucretius, 52 Luke, St, 53, 81,130n. 71,140n. 149 lust: dangers of, 49-52, 60, 85,135n. 108,136n. 109; images as leading to, 69-71 Macrobius, Ambrosius Theodosius, 106,107,140-ln. 150,145nn. 182, 184; Dream of Scipio, 144n.l75 Maffei, Giampietro, 15,119n. 13 Mantua (city), 4, 29,124n. 30 Mantua, Duke of, x Mars, 23,36, 51, 64, 68, 98,107 Martano, 54,131n. 78 Martinengo, Ascanio (historical figure), x, 117n. 2 marvellous, the, xiii, 48, 91,112-13n. 6 Matthew, St, 60, 86,140n. 149 Mauro Cremonese dalla Viuola, 103 Mausolus of Caria, King, 52 Maximilian II of Habsburg, Emperor, 28 Maximus Tirius, 45,129n. 62 Mazzoni, Giacopo, ix, x, xi, xii, xiii, xvii, 13, 36, 38, 75, llln. 1,112-13n.

Index 155 6,113-14n. 14,115n. 18,116n. 24, 118-19nn. 5, 6, 8,120-ln. 17,121n. 18,122-3n. 26,126n. 46,127n. 51, 129nn. 62, 64,130n. 67,137nn. 118, 120,140n. 147,142n. 162; Defence of Dante, xi, 13,36, 75,112-13n. 6, 114n. 14,115n. 18,118n. 5,118-19n. 8,121n. 18,129n. 62 Medea, 58,140n. 148 Medici, Margherita de', 110 Medici family, 136n. 114 Meletius, St, 64,133n. 92 melody, 83,102 Mercury, 64,126-7n. 47,143n. 170 metaphor, xiv, 77-8, 98,114-15n. 17 metre and rhyme in verse, 40, 96-7 Michelangelo, ix, 96,101,113n. 9, 141n. 154; Last Judgment, xv, 84-5, 88-90, 97,114-15n. 17,140n. 145 Milan, 5,10,117n. 2 Mnason, 109,146n. 188 Molanus, Johannes, xiii, xviii, 66, 67, 69, 77,114n. 16,134nn. 97, 99, 135nn. 101,102,106,136nn. 112, 116,137n. 118,138-9nn. 130,131, 133,135 Montgomery, Robert, 113-14n. 14, 116n. 24,118-19n. 8,130n. 67 Morpheus, 28,123n. 28 Moses, 52-3,77,87-8 Mucius Scaevola, 65,134n. 95 music: compared to painting, 102-3; types of, 46 Narcissus, 22 narration, narrative poetry, 83, 87 Nativity of Christ, 79,138-9n. 135 nature, xii, xiii, xviii, 7, 21, 32, 35, 38,40, 76, 84,108,113n. 9,139n. 143

Nealces, 85,140n. 147 Nebrija, Antonio de, 75, 76,137n. 120 negligence, noble, as preferable to vulgar diligence, xvi, 98 Nicophanes, 95,142n. 163 Nilus, St, 67 nude, nudes, 69-70,114-15n. 17 ochlocracy, 38 Olimpiodorus, 67 Ooliba, 70,135n. 108 orator, compared to poet and historian, 13-14 order, in poetry and painting, 84-5, 91-2,103^ Orlando, 17 Orlando Furioso: see Ariosto, Ludovico Ovid, 50, 75,123n. 28,130n. 72,137n. 123 painter: compared to poet, 14, 27, 36, 40-3, 47-8, 83-103; icastic and fantastic imitation by, 16-17, 32-5; moral obligation of, 52-9, 71-2; verisimilitude in work of, xv, 78-81, 87-9, 90-1. See also painting; poet; poetry; individual painters painting: compared to music, xvi-xvii, 102-4; compared to poetry, xvi, xvii-xviii, 36, 39-43, 83-103,108; figures of as corresponding to verse in poetry, 96-7; icastic and fantastic imitation in, 16-17, 32-5; moral intention of, 52-67, 69-72, 77-8; number of figures in, limitations on, 86-7; St Peter and St Paul in, 74-7; purpose of, xiv, xvii-xviii, 10-11, 13-15, 29-32,39,43-7, 52-3, 72; value of, 109; versimilitude in, ix, xiii, xv, 78-81, 87-9, 90-1. See also

156 Index painting; poet; poetry; individual painters Palamedes, 36, 37,126n. 46 Paleotti, Gabriele, ix, xiv, xviii, 112n. 2, 114n. 16,114-15n. 17,116-17n. 25 Panofsky, Erwin, xii, 113n. 8,145n. 181 parable, 55, 78 Parmenides, 122-3n. 26 Parrhasius, 5, 92,126n. 45,141n. 156 Parthians, 3,117n. 1 Patrizi, Francesco, 13,119n. 9 Paul, St, 16, 55, 68, 74-7, 80,120n. 15, 137n.118 Paul IV, Pope, 109 Pauson, 45, 47,129n. 61 Penelope, 37 Penia, fable of Porus and, 48-52,130Inn. 69, 73 Persia, Persians, 85,109,140n. 147, 146n. 188 Peter, St, 66, 74-7,137n. 118 Petrarch, Francesco, ix, 50, 74-5, 98, 130n. 70,137n. 119,143n. 168 Phantasos, 28,123n. 28 Pharaoh, 10, 80 Phidias, 99 philosophers, as creators of images, xiv-xv, 45, 47-53 philosophy, xiv-xv, 26, 37,101,105, 139n. 138; Christian, and art, 52-3, 58, 69, 72, 90,129n. 64. See also philosophers Phobetor, 28,123n. 28 Pierio, Giovanni, 72,136n. 114 Plato, ix, xi, xiii, xix, 24, 38, 52, 74, 116n. 24,118-19n. 8,135n. 109, 144n. 172; banishment of poets, 46, ' 53; censure of Homer, 69; classification of the arts, xi, 11-15; fable of Porus and Penia, 48-52; on imita-

tion, xi-xii, 17; on music, 46; Works: Laws, 37, 39,45, 76,127nn. 48,49; Phaedo, 44, 81,128n. 59,139nn. 138, 140; Protagoras, 39, 52,128n. 53, 131n. 75; Republic, 11-13,17, 37, 99, 127nn. 48, 49,143^n. 171; Sophist, 17,121n. 18; Symposium, xiv, 4852,130n. 69,130-ln. 73; Timaeus, 6, 117n. 3,139n. 139 play: see game pleasure: and comprehension, 41, 128nn. 56, 58; as goal of art, x, xi, xiii, 10-11, 29, 39, 40, 44, 46,48; physical and spiritual, 44-5,128-9n. 59; in poetry and painting, 41-3. See also delight Pliny, xiii, 14, 26,47, 70, 85,92, 93, 95, 96,107,108,109,119n. 10,122nn. 23, 24, 25,124n. 31,130n. 66,135n. 107,140n. 146,141n. 156,142nn. 157,160,161,163,164,165,144-5n. 179,145-6n. 187 plot, literary, xiii, 83-4, 86-7,113n. 11, 139^0n. 144 Plutarch, 38, 93,127n. 49,130n. 68, 134n. 95,135n. 100,142n. 158 poet: compared to painter, 14, 27, 36, 40-3, 47-8, 83-104; icastic and fantastic imitation by, 40; images of compared to painter's, 41-3; moral obligation of, 53 poetry: classification of as imitative art, 11; compared to painting, xv, xvi-xviii, 35-6, 39-43,48, 83-103, 108; as delighting more than painting, 35-6, 41; icastic and fantastic imitation in, 40; purpose of, 39-40; as teaching and pleasing through allegory, 89 Polemon, 60-1

Index 157 Polygnotus, 45,129n. 62 Polyxena, 68 portraits, 40, 66, 67, 85,134n. 99,140n. 146. See also individual artists Porus: see Penia, fable of Porus and Praxiteles, 70,135n. 107 primero, game of, 38, 39 probable, the, xiii, 79-81 Proclus, 100,144n. 172 proportion: of figures, 96-7; harmonic, 102-3,144n. 175 Proteus, 27 Pythagoras, xvii, 81,102-3,116n. 21, 139n. 141,144n. 175 Raphael, 34, 78, 85, 89,101,104,11415n. 17,124n. 30,138n. 134,151n. 154 Ricciardetto, 54 Rinaldo, 41 Rodomonte, 17 Romans, 47, 93,134n. 95,144n. 176 Rome, 53, 64, 85,104,105,119n. 9, 124n. 30,128n. 55,132n. 82,134n. 95,136n. 114,144n. 176,145n. 179 Ruggiero, 69, 135n. 104 Sacripante, 41 saints, xiii, xix, 55, 56, 57, 59, 60, 63, 64, 66, 67, 88,114n. 17,132n. 83. See also individual saints Sala, Countess of, 78 Sallust, 15, 66,134n. 98 Samson, 84, 87 Sannazaro, lacopo, 35, 79-80,126n. 44 Saturn, 55, 64, 99 Saxony, Duke of, 104 scorpion, 49,105,106,107 Scorpion (astrological sign), 107,145n. 184

sculptor, 40, 45,47, 99,104,106,107, 108,129n. 61. See also statues Secondino, 55 Semiramis, 37,142n. 157 Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, 35, 99,101, 126n. 43; Works: Agamemnon, 99, 143n. 169; Hercules Furens, 35, 99, 143n. 169,144n. 173; Troades, 99, 143n.169 seraphim, 33 Serapis, 104 serpent, 9,10, 31, 53, 78, 93,105,106, 108 Servius the Grammarian, 76 sight, sense of, as having the beautiful as its object, 42 Silicus Italicus, 40, 76,128n. 55,137n. 125 Silvia (mother of St Gregory), 66 similitudes, 16-17 Simonides, 52,130n. 68 simulacrum, 13,16,17, 43, 81 skill, artistic, 40,104,128n. 53 sky, beauty and utility of, 82 Socrates (in Plato), 44, 52, 81,121n. 18, 128-9n. 59 Socrates (painter), 142n. 163 Solomon, 53, 80,139n. 137,141n. 153 Song of Solomon, 80, 89, 139n. 137, 141n.153 Spain, 25,121n. 21 sphinxes, 30, 31,104,120n. 17 sprezzatura, xvi, 143n. 166 statues, 40, 46, 55, 63-4, 66,135n. 100, 140n. 146. See also sculptor Stephen the Deacon, 59 stories, 40,113n. 11,139-40n. 144; and allegory, xv; essential parts of, 34; history and fable, 15, 63, 68, 78;

158 Index mixing, 85-6; order of, 91-2; parables, 78-81 Stygian marshes, 68 Suidas, 16-17, 37,120n. 17 Susannah, 60 Tancredi, 41 Tantalus, 8 Tasso, Torquato, ix, x, xi, xii-xiii, 17, 36, llln. 1,112n. 4,113nn. 12,13, 120n. 17,121n. 18,126n. 46,143n. 167; Jerusalem Delivered, 31, 32, 42, 95-6,124n. 34; on Monsignor Delia Casa, 97-8 Taurus (astrological sign), 107 Tentyrites, 105 Theodoric, 33,125n. 37 Theodosius, Emperor, 64 theology, xxi, 62, 72, 74, 88, 90,132n. 82,134n. 97,137n. 120 Theophilus of Alexandria, 64 Theophrastus, 26,122nn. 24, 26 Thomas Aquinas, St, 16, 68,120n. 15, 135n.103 Timotheus of Miletus, 82,139n. 142 Timothy, 68 Titus Caesar, 65,139n. 142 Tobias, 32,124-5n. 35 touch, sense of, 50, 90 tragedy, xvi, 139-40n. 144,142n. 157; parts of as basis for comparing the arts, 83-103 trees, beauty and utility of, 82 Trojans, 36, 54, 92 Trojan War, 36 Troy, 34, 85 true and false fables: see fables Ulysses, 83-4, 92,115n. 18

unity of action, 83-7 utility: as goal of art, 10,11, 29, 39, 46, 47, 48, 52, 57, 72; of natural world, 81-3 Varro, 87 veneration, 55-7 Venice, Church of San Marco in, 70 verisimilitude, 87-9 Veronica, St, 53 verse: as corresponding to image or figure, 96-8; diverse types of as corresponding to figures in painting, 96; as a qualitative part of tragedy, 83 Vertumnus: see Arcimboldo, Giuseppe Vida, Marco Girolamo, 30, 33, 37, 124n. 33,126-7n. 47 Virgil, 17, 27,40,106; Aeneid, 14, 36, 54, 67, 75, 76,119n. 11,135n. 101 Virgin, xix, 10,35, 53, 56, 57, 78, 79, 86,125-6n. 42 Vulcan, 39 Walden, Thomas, 73,136n. 116 water, beauty and utility of, 82-3 Weinberg, Bernard, llln. 1,116n. 24 William, abbot of St Theodoric, 67 worship, proper types of, 55-7 Xenocrates, 65 Xenophon, 76 Zaccharias (father of John the Baptist), 79 Zaccharias, image of used to admonish the fraudulent, 60 Zeuxis, 20, 36, 93,126n. 45,142n. 159