Giotto and His Publics: Three Paradigms of Patronage 9780674060975

Citation preview

Giotto and His Publics

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The Bernard Berenson Lectures on the Ital­ian Renaissance sponsored by villa i tatti har vard university center for italian renaissance studies f lorence, italy

Giotto and His Publics Three Paradigms of Patronage

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JUL IAN GAR D NER

harvard university press cambridge, massachusetts london, england 2011

Copyright © 2011 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Gardner, Julian. Giotto and his publics : three paradigms of patronage / Julian Gardner. p. cm.—(Bernard Berenson lectures on the Ital­ian Renaissance) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-­0-­674-­05080-­8 (alk. paper) 1. Giotto, 1266?–1337—Criticism and interpretation.  2. Art patronage—Italy— History—To 1500.  3. Francis, of Assisi, Saint, 1182–1226—Art.  I. Giotto, 1266?–1337.  II. Title.  III. Series. ND623.G6G28 2011 759.5—dc22    2010038494

Contents

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Preface  vii Introduction  1

1.  Giotto at Pisa: The Stigmatization for San Francesco 

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2.  Giotto among the Money-­Changers: The Bardi Chapel in Santa Croce  47 3.  The Lull before the Storm: The Vele in the Lower Church at Assisi  Conclusion 

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Appendix: Inscriptions of the Vele  129 Chronology  133 Notes  139 Index  227

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Preface

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The decision to hold the 2009 exhibition devoted—though only in part—to the works of Giotto di Bondone in the bowels of the Vittoriano (the monument to Vittorio Emmanuele dominating the Piazza Venezia in Rome) was from several points of view symbolic. The first major exhibition of his works, the “Mostra Giottesca”—all exhibitions concerning Giotto are necessarily torsos, for they cannot include his major achievements in fresco—was also po­lit­i­cal. It took place in 1937, the fif­teenth year of the Era Fascista, and coincided with, and was indeed perhaps overshadowed by, the “Mostra Augustea della Romanità,” which was personally opened by the Duce on the bi-­millennium of the emperor’s birth.1 The Giotto exhibition of 1937 was a major event commemorated in a still enormously useful catalogue compiled vii

Preface by Giulia Brunetti and Luisa Marcucci. It was held in Florence. Giotto was self-­evidently, undiscussedly a Florentine painter. By 2008 Giotto had become pan-­Ital­ian. He was still indubitably the painter of the Legend of the Life of Saint Francis in the Upper Church at Assisi, but the Roman experience of the early part of his career was now regarded as crucial and formative. The Roman exhibition of 2009 was sandwiched between the exhibitions of Pablo Picasso and Surrealism and Dada. It was, in contrast to the 1937 exhibition, a profoundly trivial event, unworthy of the painter whose name it bore. The monument in which it was housed, whose construction saw the demolition of the cloister where Edward Gibbon, on hearing the barefooted friars of Aracoeli singing Vespers, was prompted in 1764 to contemplate writing the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, was wholly unfitted for such an exhibition.2 The author of another Decline and Fall would have proved an apt reviewer. Giotto survived the subsequent armed con­flict—just. The ill-­judged attempt to remove the Arena Chapel frescoes was thankfully halted, but Andrea Mantegna’s brilliantly precocious frescoes in the Eremitani—a church whose clergy had complained bitterly in 1305 that Enrico Scrovegni’s palatine chapel was too close to be permitted a campanile with bells —were shattered by bombs.3 In 1997 an earthquake struck Umbria, and the crossing-­vault murals by Cimabue in the Upper Church at Assisi were irretrievably damaged. The frescoes in the Upper and Lower churches at Assisi have been several times conserved and cleaned. The chapels in the Franviii

Preface ciscan church of Santa Croce are under investigation at the moment of writing. Indeed it has been possible in my lifetime for the moderately energetic scholar to study virtually all the works by or at­trib­uted to Giotto from the scaffold. The work done there by recent generations of restorers and conservators has transformed our view of Ital­ian Duecento and Trecento painting. Partly for that reason I chose to devote this book in large part to Giotto’s mural painting, and also because, in the case of the frescoes, it was easier to discuss patronage in context. Another consideration was the richly informative work done on the Franciscan Order and on the ideal of poverty by scholars such as John Moorman, Théophile Desbonnets, Cesare Cenci, Rosalind Brooke, Luigi Pellegrini, Chiara Frugoni, Jacques Dalarun, and many others. Perspectives from within and without the Franciscan Order were essential. My longtime friend Joe Connors had, as a young graduate student, heard me deliver—as a barely older colleague— a public lecture at the Bibliotheca Hertziana on Giotto and the Stefaneschi triptych in 1972. The lively arguments and friendly discussion which followed on that occasion lasted for several hours. After forty years the altar painting for Saint Peter’s remains one of the great enigmas of Giotto scholarship. At times, it has to be confessed, I have felt a little like the Ancient Mariner with the albatross around my neck for having early nailed my colors to the mast so presumptuously. More recently some of what I said then appears to have gained wider currency, although consensus is, it must be said, ix

Preface still remote. When nearly forty years later, as director of the Harvard University Center for Ital­ian Renaissance Studies, Joe invited me to deliver the fourth series of Berenson Lectures, the subject was self-­evidently to be a Giottesque one. Giotto had been dear to Bernard Berenson’s own heart, and the venue of the lectures was his Florentine villa. The hospitable warmth and generosity which Joe and his wife, Françoise, provided for the lecture series will remain an indelible memory. I accepted the director’s invitation very gladly: it was both a signal honor and a privilege. Berenson was an indefatigable student of Giotto, even if, as he once confided to his journal, he found “the Giotto nut . . . hard to crack.” For Berenson, Giotto was to remain an insoluble prob­lem. But my acceptance was twinned with trepidation, for I stood after all on the shoulders of three giants who had spoken before me: Edward Muir, Charles Dempsey, and Dale Kent. It is not easy to frame lectures appealing to the multifaceted polyglot and polymath audience that attends lectures at I Tatti. My chosen subject was earlier chronologically than those of any of my predecessors, medieval even, and acceptable at I Tatti only, perhaps, because of the intellectually generous and inclusive view of the Renaissance which Joe Connors, characteristically, ­adopted. The preparation of the lectures was immensely helped by the possibility of being a visiting professor at I Tatti, together with my wife, Christa Gardner von Teuffel, for the academic year 2005–6, among the sylvan joys of the Villino and the x

Preface boundless hospitality of Françoise. During the year of our stay we made a memorable group trip with the Fellows to Assisi over two days. My own early experiences of Assisi had been warmed by the unstinting generosity of two friars, the late Fra Giuseppe Palumbo and the late Fra Gerhard Ruf. At I Tatti the library was always an unrivaled resource under the benevolent aegis of Michael Rocke, and Angela Dressen achieved marvels in find­ing rare items for me. Gianni Trambusti, Gianni Mirtilli, and Giovanni Pagliarulo were unfailingly helpful in the preparation of my lectures. Among Fellows who helped me in innumerable ways I thank especially Agata Pincelli and Patrick Nold. In my own field I am very grateful to Serena Romano for reading and commenting on several drafts, and the nearness of Chiara Frugoni was a constant plea­sure. Among the many kindnesses I received from museums, I remember with deep gratitude assistance given by Erich Schleier at Berlin, David Steel at Raleigh, and more recently Dominique Thiébaut at the Louvre. That in­ exhaustible fount of enthusiasm and wise advice Fabrizio Mancinelli of the Musei Vaticani was snatched from us far too early. Bruno Zanardi on the scaffolds at Assisi and in Rome at the Sancta Sanctorum was an alert, knowledgeable, enthusiastic, and appropriately skeptical colleague. Cecilia Frosinini, Roberto Bellucci, and Marco Ciatti made my many visits to the Opificio di Pietre Dure consistently enlightening and enjoyable. John White, whose creative contribution to Trecento studies is unrivaled, might not recognize the Giotto who appears in these pages, although my debt to his incisive xi

Preface thinking is enormous. To be able to try out arguments and defend hypotheses with my wife, Christa, has always been an inestimable bene­fit. In that these lectures were delivered in the last year of Joe’s outstanding directorship, they can serve in some small mea­ sure as a sincere tribute.

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Giotto and His Publics

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Introduction

= Bowled over by a pig being driven from the monastery of Sant’Antonio to the market beside San Lorenzo in the Via Cocomero (the present-­day Via Ricasoli, which runs between the Piazza San Marco and the right flank of the cathedral of Florence), Giotto is recorded as picking himself up and remarking, “They are right of course: I’ve made thousands using their bristles for my brushes and they never got as much as a bowl of soup from me.” The literary legend of Giotto di Bondone is of a man of rapierlike repartee, humorous, notably unprepossessing, but widely esteemed.1 Respect, indeed, was universal. The contemporary chronicler Giovanni Villani famously praised him at his death in 1337 as the most majestic painter of the age. At the end of his life, when he was chief architect of the gigantic new cathedral proj­ect in Florence, sought after by the rulers of Naples and Milan, such eulogies 1

Introduction were evidently well deserved.2 The Florentine authorities stated what they knew to be true: that they would not find a more expert and famous man anywhere in the world.3 For Giotto’s earlier career, however, the archival record is relatively sparse and disappointingly uninformative. In 1973 a document was found—the most sig­nifi­cant new find on Giotto for many years—which demonstrated that he had been present at Assisi in 1309. To those scholars for whom it was an article of faith that Giotto had painted the Legend of the Life of Saint Francis in the Upper Church of San Francesco, the discovery was of limited solace only, since it was certainly later than the fresco cycle in the Upper Church.4 Nevertheless it proved the painter’s presence there. The surviving documentary record, which encompasses the Necrology of Saint Peter’s in Rome, local chronicles, Dante’s Divine Comedy, and Petrarch’s will, as well as the more conventional archival entries, establishes with varying degrees of certainty the peripatetic nature of Giotto’s career, which included sojourns at Rome, Pisa, Padua, Naples, Bologna, and Milan. But the record nonetheless remains strikingly fragmentary for an artist almost uniquely famous for four de­cades, and its sig­nifi­cance needs to be winkled out by specialists. It does not provide a satisfactory answer to two fundamental questions: Why was Giotto so overwhelmingly im­por­tant for European art, and why should we continue to seek—as the following chapters will attempt—to understand more about his works? Apart from being recognized as a genius in his own lifetime, Giotto was a revolutionary artist from the beginning of 2

Introduction his career.5 Monumental mosaics, painted crucifixes, altarpiece design, chapel decoration, and portraiture were all indelibly marked by his individual contributions. His largely lost mosaic the Navicella, a symbolic representation of the apostles in their boat on the storm-­tossed lake, was the most celebrated artistic work of the age, created for the atrium of Saint Peter’s, where it confronted countless multitudes of worshippers and pilgrims leaving the Early Christian basilica.6 At the end of the fourteenth century it appeared to Saint Catherine of Siena in a terrifying vision which left her paralyzed for the remainder of her life.7 Equally, it was the only pictorial composition which Leon Battista Alberti singled out for praise in Della Pittura, for the sharply characterized emotions and gestures of the apostles in their storm-­ threatened craft. For the humanist critic it was a triumph of affect. It showed “eleven disciples all moved by fear at seeing one of their companions passing over the water. Each one expresses with his face and gesture a clear indication of a disturbed soul in such a way that there are different movements and positions in each one.”8 This single-­handed transformation of the contemporary visual landscape is an exceptional achievement. That an awareness of Giotto’s accomplishment had become part of the mental furniture of the Renaissance is illustrated by an aside in a letter of October 1431 written by Cosimo de’ Medici and aimed at stiffening the resolve of his cousin Averardo when the war with Lucca was going badly: “Although we do not possess the experience in warfare of 3

Introduction those who engage in it continually, that is no reason why, having seen what others have done, we are unable to judge who is acting more appropriately. I believe that although you are not a great painter, nevertheless you would judge the fig­ures of Giotto to be better than those of Balzanello.”9 A hundred and twenty years earlier, in an epideictic trope on vainglory, Dante had described him as the dernier cri, surpassing Cimabue in popular acclaim. More concretely, the jurist Francesco da Barberino, a youn­ger contemporary of both Dante and Giotto, in making the same comparison adapted a phrase, familiar to him from the Institutes of Justinian, on the division of property, substituting the modern painters Cimabue and Giotto for Parrhasius and Apelles of the Roman legal text. Later Francesco vividly described Giotto’s startling personification of Envy in the Arena Chapel at Padua burning both outwardly and inwardly.10 These early sources concerning Giotto sustain further ­re­flection. Giovanni Villani and Dante Alighieri were his ­Florentine contemporaries, and the poet predeceased him. Dante’s famous comparison makes no reference to the artistic mastery of Giotto or to his training, but stresses the vanity of human endeavor and the fickleness of popular acclaim.11 Villani was for a time, like Giotto himself, an employee of the Peruzzi banking firm. Francesco da Barberino was the notary and testamentary executor of the ­bishop of Florence, Antonio d’Orso di Biliotto; he was himself a designer of manuscript illuminations and wall paintings.12 Born a few 4

Introduction years before Giotto, in 1264, Villani outlived him by a de­cade, dying, like Francesco da Barberino, a victim of the plague.13 Giovanni Boccaccio more than other contemporaries commented on Giotto’s appearance and character, whether truthfully or with humorous exaggeration is not always clear.14 Franco Sacchetti’s Giotto is the creation of a writer born a mere five years before the painter’s death. Whether based on fac­tual report or the comments of others, it is an invented character. There are undeniably strong similarities between the character sketches in the Decameron and Sacchetti’s Novelle.15 Yet these characterizations of Giotto, his humility as well as his humorousness, should also be treated with skepticism as ­adopted topoi. The painter’s modesty, however, in eschewing the appellation “Master,” for which Boccaccio is our source, can be viewed from two angles. It has an element of legality, which may depend on the date of his father’s death. This sensibility can be documented in a famous public monument put up in the Duomo during the artist’s lifetime, the tomb of Bishop Antonio d’Orso di Biliotto (d. July 1321), in which another of our sources, Francesco da Barberino, played a substantial role. Its sculptor, Tino di Camaino, states in his inscription for the tomb that he would not term himself “Magister” since his father, Camaino, the capomaestro of the Duomo at Siena, was still living.16 A comparable practice can, however, also be substantiated from another source: Dominican legislation from the General Chapter held at Florence the year before. Friars, however distinguished, par5

Introduction ticularly those in possession of university doctorates, were never to be termed “Master” by their confreres but simply “Brother.”17 Time’s scythe has been particularly unkind to Giotto, and we have lost virtually all his secular painting, particularly the im­por­tant and in­flu­en­tial late works for the Angevin court at Naples. It is surely wrong to see him as purely a religious painter, although such evidence as survives suggests that he was suf­fi­ciently impressed by the Franciscan ideal to name two of his children Francesco and Chiara. Yet if Franco Sacchetti is to be credited, Giotto was also capable of sardonic comment about religious painting, and a canzona traditionally ascribed to his pen is scathing about poverty. Responding to a companion who inquired why Joseph was so often represented as melancholy—and indeed the Joseph in the Arena Chapel Adoration of the Magi is, at the very least, notably re­ flective—Giotto immediately responded: “Non ha egli ragione che vede pregna la moglie e non sa di cui?” (­Wouldn’t you be if your wife was pregnant and you ­didn’t know who was respon­ sible?).18 Millard Meiss ended his in­flu­en­tial lecture on Giotto and Assisi with a trenchant apothegm: “If the Isaac Master is not Giotto, then he and not Giotto is the founder of modern painting.”19 This judgment has not worn well, although a very considerable number of scholars would still agree that the Isaac Master, a painter named after two scenes of the life of Isaac in the nave of the Upper Church of San Francesco at Assisi, is in all probability the young Giotto.20 But one im6

Introduction portance of Meiss’s comment is its implicit disassociation of Giotto’s origin from the historiographical tradition which extends back to Vasari, and before him the sculptor and goldsmith Lorenzo Ghiberti, linking him to the workshop of Cimabue.21 If the relationship with the Isaac Master carries weight, which it undeniably does—quite distinct from the prob­lem of identity—it suggests a Roman origin for the Assisi painter, or at the very least an early and im­por­tant Roman con­stit­u­ent in his artistic formation. Modern scholarship, like modern museology, has ac­tually distanced Giotto from us. The unnecessarily elaborate entry procedures at Padua permit the ordinary spectator about ten minutes inside Giotto’s chapel, the internal space of which has been brutally falsified by raising the original floor level and bathing the frescoes in a uniform, ahistorical light. Giotto’s carefully calibrated façade entry and exit are now a thing of the remembered past.22 This over-­lighting, albeit in a more primitive fashion, still damages the visual accessibility of the chapel frescoes in Santa Croce at Florence. The Baroncelli polyptych, an altarpiece from the end of the painter’s career, which still occupies its original altar block in the spacious Baroncelli Chapel opening off the south transept of Santa Croce, is the one painting which has resisted the even more radical decontextualization that has assailed his panel paintings, even though a surprising number of his surviving polyptychs are still essentially complete.23 This decontextualization has also had a deleterious effect on scholarship. While we have modern studies of Giotto’s 7

Introduction space, his light, his color, and even his mnemotechnology, we increasingly abjure discussions of the artist in the round. This book makes some attempt to remedy this, although it primarily approaches the painter through the prism of patronage. His patrons merit sustained attention to be sure. Exclusively male, they included a reigning monarch and im­ por­tant aristocratic rulers; many were clerical, celibate, and cultivated. The Franciscans for whom Giotto painted in Florence included learned men, often university graduates and as such far removed from the austere ideals of the Order’s founder, Francis of Assisi. For his mendicant patrons at both Pisa and Florence, he painted modern saints to enhance their new churches. Here too it should perhaps be borne in mind that it was the Franciscan Order, rather than individual friars, for whom Giotto painted. It was a new figural culture— in­flu­enced by sculpture which we increasingly recognize as originally polychromed.24 Giorgio Vasari has been another major hindrance to a proper un­der­stand­ing of the painter. His account of Giotto’s life and work is more revealing of Vasari himself than of Giotto.25 The eager courtier who traveled selectively to see the works—he almost certainly never visited the Arena Chapel—peopled Italy with eminent and appreciative patrons for whom he created imaginary works by Giotto. To a considerable extent the painter is still often characterized by the works Vasari claims he painted. His typically shaky medieval chronology made the Roman painter Pietro Cavallini and the Sienese Duccio youn­ger than Giotto, although they both 8

Introduction were in fact the Florentine painter’s substantially older contemporaries. As Vasari traveled around Italy in the interval between the two editions of his Vite (1550 and 1568), so Giotto became considerably busier. Vasari visited Assisi three times at least; it was relatively accessible from his native Arezzo.26 But the anthropomorphic biographical model elaborated by Vasari on the basis of earlier sources such as Ghiberti, who himself knew the chapters on ancient art from Pliny’s Natural History, still does violence. Boccaccio had also drawn on Pliny for his fig­ure of Giotto in the Decameron.27 The in­ flu­ence of the model can be seen in the attempts to synthesize the diverse strands of Assisi and Florence. The Isaac Master’s scenes demonstrate a profound un­der­stand­ing of classical painting—its space, its colorism, and its technique. Yet by their placement beside the windows, high on the nave wall of the Upper Church at Assisi, they must, for inescapable technical reasons, chronologically precede the Saint Francis Legend frescoed on the walls below them. There are similarities, undeniably, which include both figural repertory and spatial composition between the Isaac scenes and the Franciscan cycle, but whether they are suf­fi­cient to demonstrate partial identity of hand—or simply later painters reacting to the striking innovations of a pioneer working nearby—is impossible to state with certainty. The frescoes of the Arena Chapel show a Giotto deeply familiar with other aspects of ancient painting—polished marble veneers and the exact placement of the spectator by visual cues—but also the fabric of medieval Rome, in the insistent use of Cosmati mosaic 9

Introduction ornament for the fresco framework and for his representations of church furniture within the narratives themselves.28 It is the Paduan Giotto who, in his great Virgin and Child for the Umiliati at Ognissanti in Florence, demonstrates a familiarity with the strict symmetries of forms and colors which are so insistent in Cimabue’s Santa Trinita Madonna. It is the attempt to homogenize this development, from the Isaac scenes through the Francis Legend, Padua, and Ognissanti which distorts a credible chronology and artistic development. Our explanatory models for medieval painters need to be more open and exploratory. Biography is not a helpful model for writing the his­tory of medieval art, and the modern historian is rarely trained to write it. The preserved documentary record is quite simply not of the kind to provide information which might illumine Giotto’s personality, and the anecdotal evidence which I have examined con­trib­utes more toward the literary construction of Giotto than anything else.29 The shepherd boy sketching sheep is a myth, and we know nothing of the childhood of any medieval artist. The sparse surviving documentation can provide only the most skeletal chronological or­ga­ni­za­tion for the paintings, which in many instances stylistic analysis is manifestly unable to validate. Conflicting chronologies and contested attributions still abound. Nevertheless, the internal contradictions should be prob­lematized rather than forced into reductive anthropomorphic synthesis. Only then will we be able more plausibly to approach the immensely dif­fi­cult— 10

Introduction and much more im­por­tant—prob­lem of constructing Giotto’s artistic identity and visual culture. Too much has been read into the sparse documentary framework which has come down to us. Cimabue appears as a witness in the entourage of Cardinal Ottobuono Fieschi in Rome in June 1272.30 That episode is in­suf­fi­cient to reconstruct a Roman impact for him, and the recent cleaning of the frescoes of the papal oratory of the Sancta Sanctorum in the Old Lateran Palace serves to demonstrate his extraneity as protagonist or receptor of late-­thirteenth-­century Roman painting.31 Analyses based on linear tics in drapery, or facial details of the few monumental paintings which happen to survive, to establish absolute chronologies of great painters are absurdly reductive and impossible to demonstrate. The in­flu­ence of Vasari’s distorting Tuscan, or more precisely Florentine, Renaissance lens continues to hamper our vision of Ital­ian medieval painting. The Vasarian teleology still flour­ ishes. At Florence in his work in Santa Croce, Giotto was the employee of those families who were themselves creating the architectural environment with the great new reconstruction of the Franciscan church. The Alberti, the patrons of the main choir chapel, and the Peruzzi were constructing streets and familial enclaves in the vicinity of Santa Croce.32 The Bardi, a family of immense European po­lit­i­cal and economic weight, were drawn across town from their Oltrarno establishment to the huge new building site, whether by genuine 11

Introduction piety or the perceived opportunity for ostentatious artistic patronage we cannot now be sure. Their chosen painter, Giotto di Bondone, had earlier worked for a patron of much more elevated social sta­tus, the aristocratic Roman cardinal Giacomo Stefaneschi, and subsequently for the papal banker Enrico Scrovegni in his native Padua. Yet was Scrovegni the reason for Giotto’s sojourn in Padua, or was it, as claimed in the somewhat garbled account of a local civic chronicler, Riccobaldo of Ferrara, through the network of the Franciscan Order?33 Enrico Scrovegni too was commemorated in his chapel program not only by Giotto’s donor portrait in the Last Judgment on the entry wall but also by a life-­sized polychrome sculpture. The painter’s patrons were later to include a reigning monarch, Robert I of Anjou; Antonio d’Orso, the ­bishop of Florence; and the lord of Milan. The only source which survives to document unequivocally the painter’s workshop ­comes from the last de­cade of Giotto’s career, when as an older and prolific painter he traveled to Naples to work for Robert in May 1331.34 It records the completion of the paintings in the great Chapel and fin­ ishing the secret chapel of the castle and also the painting of an altarpiece, together with the salary or wages of various masters, either painters or craftsmen and workmen working on a daily basis on these painting proj­ects.”35 Yet the cycle at Padua painted a generation earlier unmistakably reveals the presence of assistants. It is not here a question merely of the art historian’s perception of greater or lesser levels of artistic ability, but rather of simple mistakes: the initial misplacing 12

Introduction of Christ’s halo in the Last Supper or the legs of a falling fig­ ure in the Last Judgment grotesquely folded forward at the knees.36 Assistants were required to snap the cords to mark the guidelines of the stars on the chapel vault and the frames of the narrative fields.37 Sacchetti, incidentally, in one of his Novelle mentions Giotto passing on a shield he has jokingly designed for a presumptuous bumpkin would-­be patron to an assistant to complete its painting.38 Sacchetti’s testimony has a certain intrinsic weight, for he had been himself the concepteur of the iconographic program of the vault of Orsanmichele, of whose confraternity he had been trea­surer, operaio, and captain.39 For Vasari, as for Plutarch, character was revealed in actions. The moral dimensions of character are im­por­tant, and as we shall see, it is the high moral seriousness with which Giotto, uniquely, invests his fig­ures that makes him so compelling a painter for the modern spectator.40 As in Sacchetti, of whom Vasari makes liberal use, it is off-­duty moments that reveal character—another historiographical topos which goes back to Plutarch.41 Besides those of Giacomo Stefaneschi and Enrico Scrovegni, there is some evidence of other portraits of patrons in the works by Giotto and his atelier: the kneeling Orsini clan who flank the standing Christ on the reverse façade of the Saint Nicholas Chapel at Assisi, the ghostly heads of the Peruzzi punctuating the framing band between the narratives of their family chapel in Santa Croce, the shadowy presence in the Ricorboli Madonna. We do not need 13

Introduction to  invent patrons, as did Vasari, or indeed the great critic Friedrich Rintelen, who momentarily mistook the Jacob and Isaac of the Baroncelli polyptych for donor fig­ures.42 Giotto’s patrons were real people, with personal and religious agendas which had their effect on the paintings they commissioned. Yet despite this, the documentary record yields no legal contract—such as exists for both Cimabue at Pisa in 1302 and earlier for Duccio di Buoninsegna at Florence in 1285—which links the painter and his patrons. Both these contracts tell us much about patronal wishes, the saints a patron might wish to have included, the cost of materials and labor, the expected time between commission and completion, how the painting was to be set on its altar.43 None of this information exists for any painting by Giotto. The documentary record for the Sienese painter Duccio is considerably richer and more nuanced than that which has survived for Giotto. In his will of April 1370 Francesco Petrarca bequeathed a panel painting by Giotto, which had been sent to him from Florence by his friend Michele di Vanni degli Albizzi, to the lord of Padua, Francesco il Vecchio da Carrara.44 This is more concrete than the legacy of Ricuccio for the perpetual maintenance of votive lights in front of not only Duccio’s Rucellai Madonna but also “the Crucifix painted by the excellent painter Giotto di Bondone who is from the neighborhood of Santa Maria Novella.”45 Petrarch’s bequest also came with a critical appreciation: “my panel of the Virgin Mary . . . whose beauty cannot be comprehended by the ignorant, but which stupefies the masters of art.”46 This gift came with 14

Introduction an apotropaic coda, but the critical judgment coincides with the insistent implication of contemporary sources that Giotto was to be judged by the standards of the liberal arts and not as a mere mechanical.47 After Giotto, Ital­ian art was changed forever. Not only did the subsequent generation of painters, several of whom were his direct pupils, disseminate his compositions and his style throughout all Italy and beyond, but the greatest Florentine artists of the High Renaissance held him in palpable regard as well. While Leonardo da Vinci revealed his respect in a private if rather conventional comment in his notebook, early drawings by Michelangelo demonstrate an analytic interest in the frescoes of the Peruzzi Chapel in Santa Croce.48

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ONE

Giotto at Pisa: The Stigmatization for San Francesco

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B

ernard of Besse, secretary to the Franciscan minister-­ general Bonaventure, devoted a whole chapter of his Mirror of Discipline, intended for novices in the Franciscan Order, to presumption. I have read it attentively, and it strikes home.1 When the subject of this book, first delivered as lectures in memory of Bernard Berenson in the idyllic surrounding which he created at Villa I Tatti, concerns three episodes in the career of Giotto di Bondone involving Franciscan themes, the scale of my presumption be­comes truly daunting. Discussion of Saint Francis is unending, and on Giotto di Bondone, the greatest of Florentine painters, almost equally limitless. Both are great rivers which continue to flow in spate. The Franciscan Order has long experience of explaining— and of defending itself. (One is hesitant to claim topicality 19

Giotto and His Publics for one’s theme, but as will appear more clearly in my third chapter, that in the very month of the eight hundredth anniversary of Francis’s Order, a pope who himself as a young chaplain at Cologne cathedral wrote a book of enduring authority on the historical theology of Bonaventure should, in his anniversary message to the Order, firmly emphasize that obedience was central to the modern Franciscan charis is not without irony.)2 Something of the representations of Saint Francis of Assisi will become clearer as we prog­ress, but it may be of some use if initially I outline my point of departure for Giotto’s works and career. Ital­ian and non-­Ital­ian scholarship still remains divided, if less categorically than heretofore, about Giotto’s authorship of the Legend of the Life of Saint Francis in the Upper Church at Assisi. In recent years the restorer of the Assisi Legend, Bruno Zanardi, and the distinguished Ital­ian critic Federico Zeri have breached Ital­ian unanimity by disavowing Giotto’s authorship of the Assisi cycle and proposing alternative attributions.3 This constituted an epochal shift. Scholarly opinion has hardened toward acceptance of an early dating for the Saint Francis Legend, ascribing it more frequently to the pontificate of the Franciscan pope Nicholas IV (1288–1292).4 This supposition is far from new. As Robert Davidsohn noted over a century ago, Franciscans holding vehemently opposing views could agree in 1311 that Assisi had been decorated auctoritate sedis apostolice.5 While a dating within Nicholas’s four-­year pontificate is not inherently implausible, it overlooks the circumstance that one of Nicholas IV’s major 20

giotto at pisa Roman commissions was in fact completed several years after his death by his faithful supporters, the Cardinals Giacomo and Pietro Colonna. The apse mosaic in Santa Maria Maggiore is dated, unambiguously, 1295.6 To accept Giotto’s authorship of the Saint Francis Legend at such a precocious date undeniably also leaves a troublingly empty period in Giotto’s early career. At most the young painter may have had a minor participatory role. The Saint Francis Legend can no ­longer be regarded as Giotto’s creation, but rather must be considered the product of several interlocking workshops.7 It must also be admitted, however, that Richard Offner’s memorable demolition of a monolithic painter of the Assisi Legend (his non-­Giotto) is now sadly dated.8 Giotto di Bondone is, for all scholars, the artist responsible for the conception and the execution of the finest parts of the frescoes at the Arena Chapel in Padua, painted for the banker Enrico Scrovegni between 1303, after he purchased the site in the Roman Arena, and March 25, 1305, when the chapel was consecrated and the canonically necessary consecration crosses were added on top of the completed frescoes of the basamento.9 Scholarly unanimity also prevails concerning Giotto’s responsibility for the Virgin and Child from Ognissanti, the Florentine church of the Umiliati, which must be very close in date to the Paduan frescoes.10 Both these works, neither of which is in the strictest sense documented, will here too be accepted as the touchstone of authenticity. Chapel and altarpiece are both earlyish commissions, while two of the three episodes with which I shall deal—the Bardi 21

Giotto and His Publics Chapel cycle in Santa Croce, and the Vele or crossing-­vault frescoes in the Lower Church of San Francesco at Assisi— are from substantially later in the painter’s career. Three signed works by Giotto survive, the earliest of which, the Stigmatization now in the Louvre, is my theme in this chapter, while the two signed polyptychs, datable toward the end of his career—the Madonna and Four Saints in the Pinacoteca in Bologna and the Coronation of the Virgin for the Cappella Baroncelli in Santa Croce—still continue to divide critical opinion. I begin with two images of Francis of Assisi, the best loved and perhaps the best known of all medieval saints. He was born about 1181 and died during the night of October 3–4, 1226. The first panel is generally, and I believe correctly, at­trib­uted to Giunta Pisano; the second, the Stigmatization, is signed by Giotto.11 They are perhaps the most accomplished representations of Saint Francis in Ital­ian medieval panel painting. Giunta was already a celebrated painter who had earlier been summoned by Fra Elia to paint the revolutionary new Crucifixion image with Francis kneeling at Christ’s feet for the saint’s new burial church at Assisi.12 Giunta’s Francis wears the cowl of his habit up, as friars were required by their Rule to do when outside their convent, while Giotto shows the “Poverello” receiving the stigmata alone at La Verna.13 In the half-­century or so which separates the two panel paintings, the pictorial world had moved. In trying to account for this seismic shift, and in the pro­cess beginning an examination of Giotto’s achievement and the roles of his patrons, I 22

giotto at pisa draw on visual and historical evidence which has too seldom been taken into consideration in current debates concerning Giotto. Nevertheless, here too I am extremely conscious of the sixth admonition which Francis himself addressed to his friars: “It is to our great shame . . . that it was the saints who achieved things, while we wish, in recalling their deeds, to receive honor and glory.”14 Astonishingly enough, both paintings originate from the same church, San Francesco at Pisa: Giunta Pisano’s panel is mentioned in San Francesco by Antonio Billi in the sixteenth century, although it is unlikely ever to have been an altarpiece.15 It represents Francis as a tall, bearded, gaunt ascetic in a narrow habit which hangs just above his heels; he is flanked by six posthumous miracles.16 Several aspects merit our attention. The protagonists of three episodes, half the content of the panel, are ­women.17 A noblewoman afflicted by an unsightly goiter visits her local Franciscan church in search of a cure and finds there a legendry of the saint, or perhaps Thomas of Celano’s Vita Prima. Convinced by what she reads about Francis, she presses the manuscript of his miracles to her breast and is healed.18 This is a new scene in the repertory, and it occurs in the recently compiled Tractatus de Miraculis by Thomas of Celano, the latest of the hagiographical treatises concerning Francis which he composed circa 1253 at the request of the Order.19 Giunta’s narratives unwittingly reveal a central aspect of the cult of Francis: his direct miraculous cures were relatively few, and their geographical incidence is surprisingly concentrated—in the Roman Campagna 23

Giotto and His Publics and the region south of it, modern Campania.20 None of Giunta’s miracle scenes concerns Pisa. This rather meager diffusion contrasts astonishingly with the near universal ­popularity of his cult. Franciscan communities had already spread the length and breadth of Christendom, and the number of friars at the time when Giunta painted his Vita panel, shortly after 1250, approached seventeen thousand.21 Francis was above all a moral exemplar, not a great thaumaturge. This basic discrepancy helps explain a shift in the iconography of Francis from generic wonder worker to a sanctity historically grounded in time and place. Giunta’s Francis documents the promotion of Francis’s cult by attesting his healing powers in action and its dissemination by texts in images.22 In some mea­sure this remarkable panel assuredly served as the model for the painting signed by Giotto which came from a family chapel in San Francesco. I turn now to the Stigmatization by Giotto which entered the Louvre under Napoleon.23 This panel records only four episodes of the saint’s earthly life, none of which may strictly be called miraculous. In an embryonic predella sequence, the Dream of Pope Innocent III, The Approval of the Franciscan Rule, and the Sermon to the Birds provide a chronological prologue to the transformative event of Francis’s life, the reception of the stigmata at La Verna in September 1224, which fills the main picture field. All the episodes can be approximately dated, are in­de­pen­dently attested, and are intentionally biographical: they recount Francis’s life and mission. How do we begin to account for the larger contours of this profound shift of ap24

giotto at pisa proach to his sanctity, his place in the thirteenth-­century church, and, very sig­nifi­cantly, the Order’s pro­jec­tion of his cult? First, let us locate the painting in its patronal milieu. Many years ago I drew attention to the heraldry on the frame of the Louvre panel and linked it to identical shields in two choir chapels in the north transept of San Francesco at Pisa.24 My initial suggestion has subsequently been re­fined by others. The coats of arms are certainly identifiable as those of the Cinquina family.25 The Cinquina were one of the arriviste group of new families who invaded the upper echelons of Pisan society during the last quarter of the Duecento.26 By the end of the century the joint Cinquina-­Bonconti bank had become one of the most successful and competitive in Italy, as Pisan bankers consolidated their position around Pope Boniface VIII. Not for nothing does there occur in a sermon preached in 1260 by the arch­bishop of Pisa, Federigo Visconti, the trope that Francis was a merchant who was canonized “in our own lifetime” (“fuit mercator et sanctificatus in ­tempore nostro”).27 The Cinquina-­Bonconti partnership epitomizes a systemic change in the way Pisans conducted business: the shift from itinerant merchant venturer to sedentary merchant banker.28 A similar transformation had already made great prog­ress in Florence with the rise of the Spinelli, Bardi, and Peruzzi banking families—all, incidentally, later to become patrons of Giotto. It is now time to investigate this Cinquina patronage further. The proprietorial shields on the original frame of the Stigmatization locate the panel in a 25

Giotto and His Publics profoundly sig­nifi­cant way in spe­cific temporal and social frameworks. In 1270 Guiscardo Cinquina was already co-­partner with Banduccio Bonconti in a great mercantile company. A “Iacobus Cinquinus . . . civis et mercator pisanus” is documented trading at the Provins fair in 1273.29 Like other Pisan merchants, Guiscardo was insistent on achieving a peace with the papal-­ backed invader Charles I d’Anjou, realizing the necessity of such an alliance if Pisa were to break into the lucrative markets of southern Italy.30 Early on the Cinquina had prudently hedged their bets, for they are also documented as the fiduciary bankers of Corradino, the last of the doomed Hohenstaufen claimants, who was crushed by Charles d’Anjou on the battlefield at Tagliacozzo in 1268 and executed shortly afterwards.31 In Pisa itself, by 1300 the Cinquina-­Bonconti bank was the principal financier of the regime. Despite a publicly pro-­Angevin stance, the Cinquina family appear privately, however, to have been intransi­gently Ghibelline, and threw in their lot with Emperor Henry VII of Luxembourg during his disastrous Ital­ian expedition.32 This stubborn Ghibellinism ensured that the family had lost almost all po­lit­i­cal in­flu­ence in Pisa by the second de­cade of the Trecento, and this social ostracism and consequent fi­nan­cial decline provides a powerful corroborative argument for an early dating of their painting commission to Giotto.33 The joint Cinquina-­Bonconti bank is last certainly attested in 1304, although a June 1307 document from Clement V requires Guiscardo Cinquina and 26

giotto at pisa Banduccio Bonconti to transfer cash deposits to Cardinal Pietro Colonna.34 That a family member—possibly Guiscardo Cinquina or his brothers Benenato and Pericciolo—was the patron of the chapel in San Francesco is very likely. The family’s intimate links with papal banking circles may also provide the clue to their patronage of Giotto: a similar link lay behind the painter’s subsequent move to the ser­vice of Enrico Scrovegni at Padua. Family chapels themselves were a rather new phenomenon in thirteenth-­century Europe, and in Italy they are related to the adoption by the friars of a characteristic church ground plan, and very probably a linked funding strategy, which enabled the mendicant orders—ostensibly prizing poverty and architectural austerity—to build huge new churches.35 They also helped cement that evident but in­ suf­fi­ciently observed alliance between the mendicants and the ruling echelons of the Ital­ian communes. In Florence between 1311 and 1345, of eleven morti eccellenti mentioned by the chronicler Giovanni Villani, nine were buried in Franciscan churches.36 The friars could guarantee dig­ni­fied tombs and the suffrages of a religious community. In April 1278 the Florentine citizen Severino del fu Jacopo made his nuncupative testament in the infirmary of San Francesco at Pisa: he left money to provide ser­vice books for Santa Croce in Florence and also endowed an altar and its decoration (ornamentis altaris), presumably with a painted panel.37 At Santa Maria in Aracoeli, the Franciscan church in Rome on the Capitoline 27

Giotto and His Publics Hill, Aduardo di Pietro Sassone left one hundred gold florins in 1296 for the foundation of a sepulchral chapel.38 That it was built we know from the fact that his inscribed tomb slab still survives in the church.39 In November 1292 Donato di Arnaldo Peruzzi had left money for the establishment of a family chapel at Santa Croce within the next de­cade. Again at Pisa, Giucco del fu Lotto Cuochi left 150 lire in May 1302 for a chapel to be built in San Francesco.40 Giucco himself lived in the rapidly developing Kinzica quarter, the same neighborhood where the Cinquina lived, and he was also involved in business dealings with them. Nearby dwelt the Bonconti and the Gambacorta, the latter family already the patrons of the main choir chapel of San Francesco.41 The pictorial decoration of such family chapels of the late thirteenth century in central Italy can be partly reconstructed by considering the altar wall decoration recently rediscovered at Santa Maria in Aracoeli, the Franciscan Order’s headquarters in Rome. Some of the great Roman aristocratic families deeply entwined with the papacy, such as the Savelli and the Colonna, owned chapels at Aracoeli.42 These recently uncovered murals, and a mosaic altar dossal for one of the Colonna chapels, suggest surprising links with the much more elaborate and ostentatious family chapels added by Cardinal Napoleone Orsini to the Lower Church at Assisi, where the original decoration is more completely preserved. It is within a context resembling the private chapels at Aracoeli that we should probably locate Giotto’s Stigmatization. At Pisa, San Francesco was actively being rebuilt throughout 28

giotto at pisa the last third of the thirteenth century, and a new operaio had been appointed in 1286.43 Like other second-­generation Tuscan mendicant churches, it has a flat east end, chapels grouped on either side of the main choir, and a single wooden-­roofed nave.44 Each of the Cinquina chapels is a little over five meters wide, and they open off a raised podium, itself one step above the floor of the transept. The Stigmatization panel, which mea­sures 314 by 163.5 centimeters, fits comfortably within this chapel space. Giotto’s Stigmatization was not the first piece of private patronage within the new Franciscan church. Another emergent Pisan family, the Gambacorta, were earlier very likely responsible for commissioning another Florentine, Cimabue, to paint the monumental Virgin and Child with Six Angels, which is now also in the Louvre.45 There is some slight evidence that the Cinquina themselves were active elsewhere in Pisa as patrons: a crucifix commissioned by Benenatus Cinquina and dated 1309 was once in the church of San Lorenzo a Rivolta.46 The frescoed altarpieces which occupy the altar walls at Aracoeli and the Orsini transept chapels at Assisi are triptychs with bust-­length fig­ures of saints, hieratic and gazing fixedly outward. The old-­fashioned format of the mural triptychs in the Orsini chapels may have been prompted by a requirement to conform to mural triptychs which had already been painted in the nave of the Lower Church. Be that as it may, their difference from Giotto’s Pisan altarpiece composition is total.47 The Louvre panel’s sens de lecture is unusual, beginning at 29

Giotto and His Publics the bottom left and proceeding chronologically across the base of the composition, culminating above in the prodigious apparition to Saint Francis. In contrast to the thirteenth-­ century Vita panels, there are no posthumous miracles—and indeed the miraculous content of the Stigmatization altarpiece is sparse. The episodes are historical and biographical, attested by witnesses or surviving documents, and almost exclusively drawn from the now standard Franciscan text. The General Chapter of the Order meeting at Narbonne in 1260 had apparently commissioned a new synthetic life of Francis from the recently elected minister-­general, Bonaventura da Bagnoregio. His Legenda Maior was ­adopted by the successive chapter at Pisa in 1263.48 The subsequent General Chapter, held at Paris in 1266, ordered, with an almost totalitarian ruthlessness, that all earlier biographies were to be destroyed.49 Posthumous miracles, it should also be remembered, normally tell us nothing about the biography or historicity of the holy person. There is now a large consensus that the Louvre Stigmatization is an autograph work, although there is some discussion as to its chronological position in Giotto’s career. Thus far I have simply accepted the attribution and assumed an early date, although supporting arguments for its  autograph sta­tus and early dating in the painter’s career will be argued later on and in the course of the next two chapters. Several im­por­tant iconographical issues must now be addressed. Quite apart from the biographical and historical nature of the scenes on the Pisan panel, there is the prob­lem 30

giotto at pisa of editorial choice: four scenes out of a potential thirty or more current in hagiographical cycles of the saint. What reasons might be posited for the choice of these four episodes? First, the institutional thrust of Giotto’s painting should be remarked. Two scenes out of four exemplify papal encouragement and approval of the Franciscan Order. In a general way this emphasis may partially re­flect the Pisan commune’s somewhat checkered relations with Rome in the previous thirty years: Pisa had had a record of interdict unapproached by any other central Ital­ian city in the late Duecento.50 By circa 1300 a new modus vivendi had been achieved, and the papacy, even more vigorously than had been the case elsewhere in central Italy, had intervened directly in the choice of  arch­bishop. Boniface VIII nominated his trusted ally, the  Orvietan cardinal Theodoric, as Pisa’s arch­bishop-­elect, shortly thereafter replacing him with Giovanni Conti, an aristocratic Roman Dominican, who initiated an extraordinary tenure by the Dominican Order of the arch­bishopric which lasted for almost half a century.51 It is well known that the Dream of Innocent III, and the pope’s subsequent verbal approval, was a crucial moment, enabling the Franciscan Order to develop its own rule of life rather than being compelled, by a decision of the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, to adopt the rule of an existing religious order—as indeed the Dominicans were forced to do. Our ultimate source of knowledge of Innocent’s dream can only be the Conti pontiff himself.52 What is remarkable, however, in the first predella scene of the Louvre Stigmatiza31

Giotto and His Publics tion is both its topographical accuracy and the ahistorical, yet wholly explicable, intrusion of Saint Peter. The representation of the Lateran basilica to the side of the papal palace— its correct topographical relationship, incidentally—is uncommonly detailed and accurate. The façade mosaic of the standing Christ, in ac­tuality little larger than a postage stamp, is recorded in the late twelfth century.53 It was remade by the  Franciscan pope Nicholas IV, and a fragment of this thirteenth-­century version, very likely from the workshop of the papal mosaicist Jacopo Torriti, is still incongruously incorporated in Galilei’s façade.54 The spolia columns of the Constantinian nave, later to be encased by Borromini’s reconstruction, are also clearly shown.55 As a view of a standing building it compares with Cimabue’s celebrated vignette of Rome in the Saint Mark sev­ery of the Upper Church crossing.56 Giotto’s familiarity with Rome at a very early stage in his career can be elsewhere demonstrated unequivocally by the adoption of motifs such as the groom holding the camel’s bridle in the Adoration of the Magi at Padua, taken from the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal, one of the most prominent classical groups standing throughout the Middle Ages.57 Perhaps more remarkable still is the presence of Peter, indicating to the dreaming pontiff Francis averting the collapse of the Roman church. As Michael Schwarz has also noted, this has a spe­cific sig­nifi­cance for Pisa, in that a few miles outside the city is San Piero a Grado, where Saint Peter is claimed first to have alighted on Ital­ian soil when journeying to Rome.58 This remarkable basilica still survives, and its 32

giotto at pisa decoration, by Deodato di Orlando, remains the most reliable surviving version we have of the lost nave cycles in Old Saint Peter’s.59 Arch­bishop Federigo Visconti preached several sermons at San Piero, which had become a popular place of pilgrimage in the later Duecento.60 Pope Boniface VIII made vigorous attempts to install a Caetani from the eponymous —but apparently unrelated—Pisan family to the lucrative priorate of San Piero a Grado; their coat of arms appears in the fresco cycle.61 It was the Legend of the Three Companions, composed circa 1246, which first included the episode of Innocent III’s dream.62 That Giotto deliberately included Saint Peter in his version of the papal dream is im­por­tant proof that there was a tangible and demonstrable Pisan patronal input into the Stigmatization altarpiece, an insertion that would have made full sense only to a Pisan clientele, and must have been spe­ cifi­cally stipulated of the painter. It is highly likely, however, that it was a Franciscan input. In Gregory IX’s canonization bull of July 19, 1228, Mira circa Nos, Saint Francis is compared to Simon, the high priest in Ecclesiasticus “who in his life propped up the house and in his days fortified the temple.”63 It is an image only a Franciscan friar is likely to have been familiar with. Simon was surnamed Peter, and the homonymy forges an unequivocal link between the apostle, Innocent, and Francis.64 Dreams played a substantial role in Innocent III’s encounters with prospective saints or their promoters. In 1202 he dreamt before meeting the En­glish delegation promoting the 33

Giotto and His Publics cause of Gilbert of Sempringham, and earlier again in the case of Omobono da Cremona (d. 1197).65 The first scene of the Pisan predella thus grounds the Order historically and gives Innocent III’s approval an unmistakable local nuance. Furthermore, the intrusion of Saint Peter into a historically attested episode clearly demonstrates that the Pisan Dream of Innocent III is a later version of the Franciscan scene also present in the nave of the Upper Church at Assisi, and serves thus, in some mea­sure, as a terminus ante quem for the Assisi cycle. Giotto’s longtime pupil Taddeo Gaddi, who worked at the Campo Santo in Pisa and also for the Gambacorta family, reiterated the presence of Peter in the Dream of Innocent III, which forms part of his cycle of small-­scale quatrefoils decorating the sacristy cupboard of Santa Croce in Florence.66 (Parenthetically it should perhaps be stated here that the badly damaged and probably cut-­down version of the Stigmatization now in the Fogg Art Museum is not a replica as is sometimes claimed.)67 Bonaventure in his Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, composed before he became minister-­general in 1257, admitted that dreams could at times tell the truth, and, as had Thomas of Celano before him, he always uses the words “in somnis” (dreaming) for Francis’s appearance to Pope Innocent.68 But the Pisa panel shows both papal dream and Francis’s own vision at La Verna, although by the end of the thirteenth century, the epistemological interrelationship between the two phenomena had substantially changed. Bonaventure was to emphasize the wakefulness of Francis at La Verna and assert that the apparition of the 34

giotto at pisa seraphim at the Stigmatization was a divine vision.69 It would become increasingly dif­fi­cult in the fourteenth century to support a canonization pro­cess by the authority of papal dreams. The second, central scene of papal approval, like the Dream of Innocent III, moves from oneiric Rome to the terrestrial city, indicating the shift in Francis’s personal and spiritual trajectory from intuition to institution. It once more reveals a close knowledge of Roman and spe­cifi­cally papal settings. The Rule is approved in formal consistory, and the pope is clad in tiara and cappa rubea, appropriate for such a public ceremonial.70 He is flanked by cardinals and advisers, while Francis and his companions kneel before him on an elaborate Anatolian carpet.71 Comparable carpets are documented in papal possession by the great inventory of the Holy See of 1295.72 Despite the miniature scale of the predella scene, Francis’s band consists of twelve friars, a number inserted by Bonaventure in the Legenda Maior, evidently to emphasize the Christlike aspect of the Franciscan mission.73 His faithful secretary Bernard of Besse in his De Laudibus Sancti Francisci later spe­cifi­cally stated that the founder “gave nearly the same commands as Christ did to the Apostles,” and it was the degree of similarity claimed between the apostles and Franciscan friars that was to inflame subsequent controversy.74 The final predella scene attests the Franciscan apostolate of preaching, when in 1213 Francis preached to the birds at  the wayside near Bevagna, an episode first recorded by 35

Giotto and His Publics Thomas of Celano.75 Much could be said of this scene—the implicit acceptance by Francis of all divine creation as worthy of un­der­stand­ing and solicitude, and its integration in his apostolate.76 It has been regarded as de­fin­ing Francis’s relationship to nature, a symbolic restoration of original harmony and Adam’s dominion over nature.77 The encounter has also been interpreted as a coded polemic—a defense of the layman Francis’s right to preach.78 Here some other, more painterly aspects need comment. Late-­thirteenth-­century advances in the exact representation of birds, first discernible in En­glish illuminated manuscripts, have spe­cific links with Franciscan circles. The mag­nifi­cent birds which inhabit the acanthus scrolls in Nicholas IV’s apse mosaic in Santa Maria Maggiore reveal a novel vivacity and verisimilitude, but there it is a naturalism which Jacopo Torriti evidently assimilated from classical floor mosaics.79 Giotto’s predella shows a dozen different kinds of birds, all testifying to careful observation and recording.80 They are more varied and precisely rendered than those in the Assisi fresco, irresistibly suggesting the use of model books.81 Yet birds of prey and tiny passerines would never congregate on the ground together. In short, the individual birds are remarkably accurate, but their group behavior is ornithologically implausible—brought about only by the pa­cificatory miracle of Francis’s discourse.82 The Pisan birds are painted by the artist who later presents an accurate sparrow hawk beside Francis at La Verna in the Bardi fresco.83 Here, once again the scene develops imaginatively beyond its  model, the fresco on the reverse façade, to the right of 36

giotto at pisa the  entrance to the Upper Church.84 When the Pisan friars and their Cinquina patron required Giotto to provide a painted epitome of the Assisi cycle, they may only have wanted something recognizably similar to the canonical version in Francis’s burial church, but they received a subtle and sophisticated topographical, epistemological, and naturalistic updating. As I have elsewhere argued, the Pisan altarpiece certainly does not provide a demonstration that Giotto was the artist of both fresco cycle and altarpiece. Reflections of the Assisi cycle of varying degrees of completeness and accomplishment are widespread in Ital­ian Franciscan churches.85 The profound conceptual differences, in addition to the early chronology of the Assisi Legend, would appear to preclude an identity of artists. Giotto’s mod­i­fi­ca­tions at Pisa also predicate a particularized theological input from the local Franciscans themselves. Only they would have been conscious of the  increasingly perceived differentiation between truthful dreams and divine visions, while it is surely unlikely that the lay patrons were. But as Federigo Visconti pointed out in a vivid simile, the Cinquina could perfectly well understand how Francis bore the wounds of Christ as a knight bore a coat of arms.86 Both parties could doubtless have pressed for the allusion to San Piero a Grado as a theme of local pride, while accurate heraldry was surely a familial concern. Such requirements would have been impressed on the painter, who most likely executed the panel in Florence and subsequently transported it to Pisa.87 Whether the friars sent representa37

Giotto and His Publics tives to Florence to specify the detailed program or, like Sassetta visiting Sansepolcro in 1437, Giotto traveled personally to Pisa to consult his patrons and inspect the chapel site must remain uncertain.88 By the time of the painting of Giotto’s Pisa altarpiece, Francis’s Stigmatization had lost some of the controversial charge it had possessed earlier on. In 1251 Fra Bonizo, a companion of the saint, and the cardinal protector of the Order, Rinaldo of Jenne, the future Alexander IV, both felt the need to declare in public that they personally had seen (“propriis oculis”) the wounds on Francis’s body.89 By 1300 the veridicity of the Stigmatization was no ­longer doubted, even among such traditional opponents as the Order of Preachers. Aldobrandino of Toscanella, a celebrated Dominican preacher, could assert that God lovingly painted the wounds of Christ on Francis’s body.90 In the Order’s development of the presentation of Francis’s life, the Stigmatization had come to be seen as the de­fin­ing, indeed the terminal, moment.91 Unlike the Dream of Innocent III, however, it seems certain that the representations of the apparition of the seraph to Francis derive in part from the eyewitness account of Brother Leo, and in the narrative cycle in the Upper Church, a Franciscan friar is present.92 The book he holds is not indeed a simple distraction from the sacred event but a reference to the sortes Biblicae which Francis’s companion had just performed. Following a widespread and long-­standing practice of the divinatory use of Scripture, he had thrice opened the Bible, each time to reveal a reference to Christ’s Passion.93 38

giotto at pisa Bonaventure while composing the Legenda Maior had both visited La Verna himself and taken care to consult the surviving companions of Francis, those whose role in the earliest accounts was distinguished by the revealing phrase nos qui cum ei fuimus: “those of us who were with him.”94 Not all the companions were sat­is­fied by Thomas of Celano’s stylized account. An En­glish source, Thomas of Eccleston, writing in the late 1250s, records Brother Leo’s strongly felt opinion that Celano could have said more concerning Francis’s ecstatic contemplation, and we know from Bonaventure himself that he personally consulted Leo.95 For a panel painted by Giotto in the very first years of the fourteenth century, circa 1303– 1305, these would have been the Franciscan written sources communicated to him. But buttressing the texts of Celano, Bonaventure, and others must also be reckoned the massive authority of subsequent papal pronouncement. Nicholas III’s bull Exiit qui seminat of August 1279 proclaimed that Francis and his Rule were incontrovertibly divinely inspired, and that Christ had con­firmed his own Passion in Francis’s Stigmatization.96 One should add here that there has been perhaps too great a tendency among historians of art to derive the pictorial iconography from too restricted a group of texts, the writings of Thomas of Celano and Bonaventure. Oral traditions cannot be excluded.97 Not only were there suf­fi­ cient other variants to make exact derivations improbable, but also this approach undervalues the contribution of great artists. The Stigmatization forms the irreducible core of Francis’s 39

Giotto and His Publics witness and of his iconography. Thomas of Celano gradually modi­fied his initial de­scrip­tion in the Vita Prima by placing the seraph on the cross and specifying its six wings.98 Bonaventure’s Legenda Maior gave a spe­cific time and place to the apparition, thus providing a spatial and temporal frame for the miraculous. Giotto’s version of the Assisi scene adds a further psychological dimension. Whereas at Assisi the seraph is largely covered by the wings, at Pisa the seraph has clearly assumed the physiognomy of Christ, and the naked torso makes the fifth wound, in his side, utterly unambiguous.99 This somatic sensitivity is an element which the Louvre panel shares with the early Crucifix from Santa Maria Novella, although it is notably absent from the fresco in the Saint Francis Legend. The onrush of the divine apparition is far more pronounced, and the pregnant exchange of gazes fixes the dramatic core of the encounter. The rays from the “Christified” seraph are tripled as they lacerate Francis’s body. The encounter is now solitary, unmediated by any witness. It is a silent confrontation: Giotto has no place for the verba efficacissima which Thomas of Celano introduced in the Legenda Chori, composed some fif­teen years after theVita Prima.100 The physicality of the Stigmatization is palpable and emphatic. Francis be­comes the spectator of his own metamorphosis into a living icon.101 The open portal of the chapel at the right, which reveals the sorrowing Virgin in the left terminal of a painted crucifix, underlines this transformation.102 Whether in fact the Stigmatization at La Verna can be regarded as the point where Francis accepted the Order’s diver40

giotto at pisa gence from his initial inspiration and rejected the temptation to disobey the Roman Church, as Giovanni Miccoli thought, is for others to judge.103 What is certain is that in the first years of the fourteenth century, Giotto had given the Stigmatization iconography an undeniably new direction. It was to form the basis for his later Florentine re­flection on the event: the frontispiece fresco of the Bardi Chapel. What has been less often realized is that it was se­nior members of the Order—Bonaventure himself, but also Matteo d’Aquasparta, minister-­general between 1287 and 1289 and later cardinal, and Cardinal Gentile da Montefiore, the later patron of Simone Martini at Assisi—who developed their own personal conceptions of the Stigmatization as the divine seal placed by God on Francis, Dante’s ultimo sigillo, and that they themselves commissioned remarkable seal matrices.104 Both Bonaventure and his successor as minister-­ general, Girolamo d’Ascoli, had employed the image of Pentecost as their of­fi­cial seal.105 As an episode encapsulating capitular consensus and divine mandate to proselytize, it was uncommonly expressive. The ancient topos of sealing, employing the biblical theme of man conceived in God’s image developed by Bonaventure, reinforced the Franciscan perception of the Order’s founder, Francis, as alter Christus. Bonaventure stressed the intense ardor with which Francis received the stigmata from the seraph, flaming and splendid, and it was of course warmth which transformed the wax into  the perfect receptor of the seal matrix.106 For Matteo d’Aquasparta, Francis saw corporeally the divine image and 41

Giotto and His Publics received the divine signacula on his body.107 Sealing for Franciscan cardinals also possessed an essentially apocalyptic dynamic. The seal metaphor was ­adopted by Spiritual Franciscans such as Angelo Clareno, and Ubertino da Casale himself possessed a seal matrix depicting the Stigmatization.108 In the  remarkably sophisticated seal images of the Franciscan cardinals Matteo d’Aquasparta and Gentile da Montefiore the seal metaphor had come full circle.109 They sealed with the Word, just as the Word had been reincarnated in Francis. On a less exalted theological level, it also should be recalled that the merchant class for which the Pisan altarpiece was created was increasingly likely to use seals in business transactions.110 More emphatically than any earlier altarpiece which has survived, Giotto’s Louvre Stigmatization is a narrative scene, in which the recording of a spe­cific temporal incident is portrayed. Its daring precocity be­comes all the more apparent when we compare it with the other early narrative altarpiece themes such as the Annunciation or the Dormition.111 These Marian scenes, intimately linked to the Dodekartion, the Great Feast Cycle of Byzantine painting, have a grounding in liturgical and iconographical precedent which the Stigmatization conspicuously lacked.112 It was an unprecedented miraculous episode in the life of a modern saint. Like it, though, the Marian scenes were excerpted from a ­longer cycle, and their very separateness accorded them an autonomy and power which their cyclical versions lacked. The Stigmatization is now given a monumental scale, and it is located in a 42

giotto at pisa genuine, recognizable landscape setting rather than the generic staffage which accompanied the small-­scale representations of the early Vita panels.113 This increase in scale also provided Giotto with the opportunity to make the analogy between Francis’s Stigmatization and Christ’s Agony in the Garden more formally explicit.114 Yet as in the Agony in the Garden, the protagonists are seen obliquely and do not directly engage with the viewer.115 It seems likely, too, that the shift toward the seraphic Christ may in some part be due to the effectiveness of the campaign to destroy Celano’s accounts and promote the Legenda Maior as the canonical and indisputable life of Francis.116 This was, after all, a decision taken by the General Chapter meeting at Paris in 1266.117 The shift from the public sphere of papal Rome and the daily apostolate of the predella to Francis’s last private com­mu­ nion with the Deity is unforgettably conveyed by the radical change of fig­ure scale between predella and main field. I hope you will agree that the Stigmatization has richly repaid careful scrutiny. There can, I think, be no doubt about its attribution. It may well be the earliest signed work by Giotto di Bondone. The Stefaneschi altarpiece, which apparently once bore the cardinal’s coat of arms—presumably on a lost element of the original predella—is of more controversial date.118 The Stigmatization is complete, save perhaps for a simple outer frame element.119 Thus, not only is the name on the frame, but also the painter is undeniably in the picture. Remarkably, it is the one inscription in an otherwise textless painting. Yet by its sheer dramatic power this single panel 43

Giotto and His Publics articulated the space of a private chapel. It is also a major painting commission which was certainly created for a site outside Florence. Its place among Giotto’s early paintings thus needs some consideration as this chapter draws to a conclusion. Our conception of Giotto’s early panel painting has been transformed by the cleaning and structural examination of the Crucifix from Santa Maria Novella, whose ascription to Giotto is documented as early as June 1312, when Ricuccio del  fu Puccio del Magnaio makes a gift of oil for votive lamps, one of which must burn before the Crucifix (“pulcra tabula”) of the excellent painter Giotto di Bondone.120 Richard Offner’s other construct, a discrete “Master of the Santa Maria Novella Cross,” has become the roadkill of historical prog­ress.121 Surprisingly, this huge early Crucifix appears also to end Giotto’s association with the Order of Preachers, which in Florence apparently predated his link with the Franciscan Order, which was to endure, as we shall see in the next two chapters, throughout the painter’s career. The Louvre Stigmatization also is a very early occurrence of a predella—a predula had very recently been speci­fied at Pisa, in November 1301, for Cimabue’s lost high altarpiece for the Franciscan hospital church of Santa Chiara—and its presence is a powerful con­fir­ma­tion that the Stigmatization was designed as an altarpiece.122 A predella served two principal functions: as a structural device, it was intended to help fix the altarpiece firmly on the stone altar block (the Cimabue document specifies “fixam et firmam”), while serving the further function of 44

giotto at pisa raising the main image above the head of the celebrant and making it more visible to the worshipper.123 But given the setting and the scale of its pictorial imagery, a predella was inevitably less accessible. Its subject matter served both to concentrate the priest’s mind on the divine ser­vice he celebrated and, quite possibly, to act as a mnemonic device as well.124 It provided information about the family responsible for the upkeep of the altar and chapel. It is no accident that the Cinquina shields on the frame flank the predella scenes. Another im­por­tant aspect is the panel’s early date. Minister-­General Gonsalvo raised the liturgical grading of the Feast of the Stigmatization to a duplex or major feast within the Order immediately after his election in 1304, and this circumstance may well be of sig­nifi­cance in dating the Pisa panel.125 As we shall see, the relationship between the iconography of the Stigmatization scenes at Assisi and Pisa is later radically transformed for the Bardi Chapel. Clearly im­por­tant iconographic innovations point once again to the Franciscan patrons, but they were equally in contact with an extraordinarily perceptive painter. They, and their Cinquina financiers, were responsible for the Stigmatization altarpiece, but Giotto was the painter who transformed verbal instruction and theological conviction into a pathbreaking image.

45

T WO

Giotto among the Money-­ Changers: The Bardi Chapel in Santa Croce

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I

n preparation for the Council of the Church at Vienne, Pope Clement V called together the leaders of the self-­styled “Community” of the Franciscan Order and the dissident friars for discussions which he hoped might resolve the internecine debate on the interpretation and proper observance of the Rule.1 One assertion, made in August 1311 by Fra Ubertino da Casale, a spokesman for the spiritual Franciscans, who had himself been a lector at Santa Croce between 1287 and 1289, was uncontested. “No [Franciscan] building,” he claimed, “could be put up without the agreement of the provincial minister.” It was thus common ground that Franciscan churches and their decoration were the responsibility of the provincials. Ubertino continued, “and there exists no province in the Order in which grave excesses have not been per49

Giotto and His Publics petrated and yet, not a single minister has been properly punished.”2 Implacably he named the guilty, among them Fra Jacopo de’ Tondi, Fra Manfredo Bonfì, Fra Andrea Tolomei, and Fra Illuminato. We know a good deal about several of these friars, most of whom were at Santa Croce—a building which was certainly in Ubertino’s gun sights.3 Illuminato Caponsacchi of the prominent Florentine lineage was one of the convent’s most assiduous bookcollectors.4 But what particularly shocked Ubertino was that Jacopo de’ Tondi, after his extravagance at Santa Croce, had been promoted in 1310 to be provincial minister for Umbria, where his main seat would have been San Francesco at Assisi.5 He remained provincial of the province of Saint Francis, as Umbria was of­fi­ cially known, until 1314, when he was replaced by Fra Francesco Damiani of Montefalco.6 We therefore have a clear and uncontested nexus between the friars responsible for the construction and decoration at both Santa Croce and Assisi. Other Santa Croce friars had links with the Bardi banking family.7 In 1296 Domina Tingua, widow of Lapo di Bonaguida Bardi, one of the principal founders of the company’s fortunes, who was buried in her parish church of Santa Maria sopr’Arno, bequeathed ten soldi to her Franciscan confessor Fra Giuseppe di San Donato in Poggio and left another sixty soldi for masses to be sung at the high altar of Santa Croce.8 Two family members, Matteo and Benedetto Bardi, are recorded as Santa Croce friars in the early fourteenth century, and Federigo di Bartolo Bardi was from 1300 onward an ambitiously assertive canon of Florence’s cathedral.9 The 50

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s Cerchi had a chapel in Santa Croce by 1306, and also an ostentatious tomb in the Lower Church at Assisi.10 Cardinal Jacques de Vitry had anatomized the early Franciscan recruits. Traveling through Italy in October 1216, he was consoled to find “many rich and worldly people, both men and ­women, giving up ev­ery­thing to flee the world for Christ. These people are called Fratres Minores [Lesser Brothers]—already by God’s grace they have had great success.”11 Jacques put his finger on a crux of the Franciscan movement: from the Order’s inception, its new adepts were former proprietors. Voluntary poverty was attainable only by the well-­off, and Franciscan spirituality was conditioned by, and a determining factor in, the new urban society which had developed rapidly throughout the Ital­ian peninsula. The speed with which huge new churches breached the urban skyline perhaps speaks more eloquently of the economic strength of Francis’s primary con­stit­u­en­cy than its embrace of his imitatio Christi.12 Not for nothing did Arch­bishop Federigo Visconti and Cardinal Eudes de Châteauroux in the 1260s term Francis a mercator who sold spiritual cloth.13 This message resonated with bankers like the Cinquina at Pisa and textile importers like the Bardi and the Peruzzi in Santa Croce. They themselves were to pioneer testamentary restitution of ill-­gotten ­profit (male ablata) with the same perspicuity they brought to their prototypical cap­italism. In the Vienne debates other, bitter truths were enunciated. In a withering summary of the shortcomings of the Order and its current leaders, Ubertino wrote: “There are many 51

Giotto and His Publics buildings of our order which are . . . gross distortions of our perfection—they are not dwelling places of the poor but look like the palaces of kings . . . For no good reason do we go and destroy one beautiful and large church so that we can make a bigger and more beautiful one.”14 Ubertino’s broadside against the monstrous churches of Assisi and Padua—to both of which he explicitly referred—was only partially deflected by the Order’s leadership, who claimed that the contributions of the papacy, or civic authorities and other seculars, were responsible.15 Ubertino also inveighed against the prominent collection boxes: “It was for this that Christ drove the money changers from the Temple.”16 Throughout Italy in  the later Duecento, communal regimes were making annual subventions to the enormous mendicant churches rising within their walls.17 This was true in Florence of both Santa Croce and Santa Maria Novella. Ubertino’s mordant analysis left an unmistakable mark on Clement V’s conciliatory bull Exivi de Paradiso, promulgated at Vienne on May 6, 1312.18 The present church of Santa Croce is one of the largest mendicant churches ever constructed. Never a major site of pilgrimage like Assisi or Padua, it had a widespread reputation as a learned house with a notable library.19 Its dedication to the Holy Cross meant that a cycle dedicated to Francis was necessarily located elsewhere than in the main choir chapel. Painted decoration followed surprisingly soon after construction, and the dominant mode became hagiographical cycles in the family chapels which flanked the main choir.20 The Bardi Chapel dedicated to Saint Francis is the first to 52

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s the right (south) side of the main choir. As the main choir chapel is considerably narrower than the nave, the Bardi Chapel forms a triptych with the Tolosini Chapel to the north. One should bear in mind that today’s vista was not originally intended. A lofty and deep choir screen, fronted by altars and embellished with relief sculpture, obscured the choir façade for the lay congregation.21 The visual effect of the screen’s demolition in the mid-­sixteenth century is well summarized in a groveling letter written by the Operai to the grand duke in 1566: “When the said screen is totally removed, the church should appear most beautiful and mag­nifi­cent, and the whole nave incomparably more handsome and pleasing to the eye: this is the unanimous opinion of all eyewitnesses, particularly the architects and experts, and we are deeply content.”22 This profoundly misleading long view down the nave remains with us to this day. Ubertino condemned the Community’s avid pursuit of wealthy donors, tombs, and private masses, and for all three Santa Croce was exemplary. The Alberti, a prominent banking family, had acquired the ius patronatus of the main chapel, where their coat of arms gleams ostentatiously on the choir arch and is carved on the high altar piscina; they also fi­nanced inlaid wooden choir stalls which pro­jected into the nave behind the choir screen.23 The other choir chapels quickly passed into the ownership of other leading families, among them the Bardi, Tolosini, and Peruzzi. Differences of sta­tus—the Bardi were magnati, the Peruzzi popolani—appear to have been immaterial in this takeover. The Bardi were the most im­por­ 53

Giotto and His Publics tant and in­flu­en­tial banking family to emerge in the 1260s, entering the papal Camera records in the later 1290s under Boniface VIII. Declared magnates in the Ordinamenti di Giustizia of 1293, they were debarred from communal of­ fice.24 They lent heavily to Charles II of Anjou, Boniface’s principal po­lit­i­cal ally, and their power and wealth grew swiftly as the credit lines they opened up to the Angevin monarchy became ever more capacious and their southern Ital­ian business more lucrative.25 The registered turnover of the Bardi company in 1318 exceeded 870,000 gold florins.26 The Bardi Chapel frescoes appear to have been commissioned by Ridolfo de Messer Jacopo de Ricco Bardi, who had worked in both Naples and London. Director of the company together with his uncle Lapo after the death of his father in 1309, he became sole head of the company at Lapo’s death in 1322.27 The Bardi coat of arms, “Or seven fusils in bend gules,” now very damaged, appears twice on the left window splay of the chapel. Discordant opinions still exist over the relative priority of the Bardi and Peruzzi Chapel programs, and it will be as well here to review briefly the historical evidence for the chapels’ construction and decoration. Donato di Arnaldo Peruzzi, on November 21, 1292, assigned the Franciscans a substantial sum of money contingent on their constructing “una cappella in decta ecclesia.”28 The phrase is proleptic, pending a decision to expand or rebuild, and neither the placement of this chapel nor its dedication is speci­fied. On May 3, 1295, the Feast of the Invention of the Cross, the foundation stone was laid. 54

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s Villani remarked that construction began at the east end, “prima dalla parte di dietro.”29 In 1297 a hundred florins was left to found a chapel, and two years later Domina Lapa Russi left a legacy of one hundred libri toward the construction or completion of a chapel in the new church.30 The transept was swiftly roofed by Betto di Ranuccio Cari from Lucca and Ruota di Guidoccio of Montelupo, who were paid five hundred florins on September 10, 1310, by the procurator of the church opera, Richupero Caccini.31 This, incidentally, must provide a terminus post quem for the fresco of the Stigmatization. In November 1318 the patriarch of Aquileia, Gastone della Torre, died during his visit to Florence and was buried in a tomb set high on the right aisle wall, near its junction with the transept.32 Thus the first nave bay must certainly have been standing by 1310. Fra Illuminato de Caponsacchi, one of Ubertino’s guilty men, was involved in many of these transactions. To these fixed dates certain slightly less precise information may be added. Shortly after 1295 the Venetian goldsmith Magister Bertuccius mounted the fragment of the True Cross, the most im­por­tant relic of the new church, in a rock-­crystal cross.33 After September 1310 the Compagnia de Santa Maria delle Laude, the oldest Florentine Laudesi confraternity—it is already documented in 1255—was meeting in a corner of the left transept before a large panel, the Virgin Enthroned with Angels, which it had very likely commissioned, and which still survives in the National Gallery in London.34 Severino del fu Iacopo, whom we met dictating his will at Pisa, had left 55

Giotto and His Publics money for this confraternity in 1278, and the roofing of the transept also provides a terminus post quem for the London panel.35 About a de­cade later Ugolino di Nerio completed the great buttressed polyptych for the high altar. His father, Nero Ugolini of Radicofani, may have been one of the syndics of Santa Croce appointed by the custos Fra Bonanno in January 1317.36 Santa Croce, like San Francesco at Bologna later, had a great polyptych on its high altar; the tomb church of Saint Francis at Assisi did not. The presence in Ugolino’s high altarpiece of Saint Louis of Toulouse, who was canonized by Pope John XXII on April 7, 1317, almost certainly provides its terminus post quem—as it also does for the Bardi Chapel frescoes.37 The pope, a former confidant of Louis, was still reigning when Giotto and Ugolino depicted the new Angevin saint in Santa Croce. Occasional exceptions are of course known, but Franciscan provincial ministers had been called sharply to order on precisely this point by Minister-­ General Gonsalvo in 1307, and only properly canonized saints could be represented. When the Beato Gherardo da Villamagna was later frescoed in the choir, he received the correct, rayed halo.38 Still weighty, it seems to me, remains the argument that the Bardi Chapel occupies the place of honor on the right of the main choir and proclaims Santa Croce’s Franciscan af­fili­ a­tion. The Stigmatization frontispiece surmounting the chapel entrance confers a prestige which the Peruzzi Chapel could never match. The Bardi Chapel, like the Tolosini Chapel immediately to the left of the choir, stands within the width of 56

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s the nave and is further distinguished by the presence above of a stained-­glass window which portrays the three male Franciscan saints, Francis, Anthony of Padua, and Louis, together with three popes.39 It seems highly improbable that this chapel was left undecorated and the Francis cycle painted after the Peruzzi cycle, in a narrower chapel farther to the right. Another, thus far unobserved element would seem to support this hypothesis. A small cupboard-­like space survives behind the altar block within the thickness of the east wall of the Bardi Chapel. Ninety centimeters deep and closed by a wooden door, it has a small pietra serena niche in its right wall.40 At the time of the chapel’s construction, when the new sacristy had yet to be built, this tiny room must have served as a private sacristy. Comparable arrangements for the safekeeping of the sacred vessels for family chapels are known elsewhere—in the Orsini Chapel at Assisi, for instance—and similar, fictive arrangements were frescoed in the basamento of the Cappella Baroncelli.41 Taken as a whole, the arguments of chapel titulus—a matter which concerned Community and Order rather than the Bardi family itself—the prominence of Louis of Toulouse, internal cult arrangements, and the fact that it contained the principal cycle of the Order’s founder point overwhelmingly to its precedence. The Bardi Chapel decoration is earlier than the Peruzzi program, and both mural technique and style in my view con­firm this.42 Other arguments bearing on the completion date emerge from examination of the sequence of chapel painting in the south transept. The Velluti Chapel was completed by Monna 57

Giotto and His Publics Gemma Velluti after the death of her son Alessandro in December 1321. Gemma’s grandson, Messer Donato di Berto Velluti, noted in his Cronaca Domestica that their family chapel had been “comminciata per altrui” (begun by others), and that she had had it completed and decorated with the Velluti arms.43 Donato himself later paid for an iron cancello for the chapel entrance.44 The undistinguished quality of the painting in the Velluti Chapel frescoes—in which Alessandro is spe­cifi­cally commemorated—consistently misled scholars into assuming an early date for their execution. They should in fact be dated after the Bardi Chapel, since their painter copied several motifs from Giotto’s Francis cycle, although he nowhere re­flects the Peruzzi scenes. A group of heads among the crowd in the Miracle of Monte Gargano imitates the knot of friars in the Apparition to Bishop Guido, the lowest, and latest, level of the Bardi cycle.45 The Velluti painter is retardataire as well as second rate.46 Yet his frescoes yield a terminus ante quem for Giotto’s cycle of circa 1321, further restricting the period within which the Bardi cycle was painted. These dates will prove to be im­por­tant subsequently for the Vele at Assisi. Precise relationships to the Posthumous Miracles of Saint Francis in the Lower Church at Assisi, which I explore in my final chapter, con­firm this dating. Giotto’s Saint Francis cycle in the Bardi Chapel has been severely damaged and is now incomplete.47 The original stained-­glass window in the altar wall, which almost certainly formed part of the original decorative program, is missing, the busts of Evangelists and Church Fathers on the entry 58

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s arch intrados are now barely legible, and only three of the Franciscan Virtues in the vault severies survive.48 Poverty occupies the entrance web, flanked on the north by Obedience and on the south by Chastity. If, as seems very probable, the lost allegory above the altar was the Triumph of Francis, then the disposition would have been identical to that in the Vele, and as in the Vele, these personifications have faceted haloes. In contrast to the comprehensive cycle of twenty-­eight scenes in the Upper Church at Assisi, the Bardi Chapel possesses only six, with the Stigmatization excerpted from its chronological place in the narrative and separately set over the entrance. Giotto begins with Francis Renouncing His Inheritance, the fifth scene of the Assisi cycle, and the narrative implies that the viewer follows the story from left to right in the lunettes, moves downward to the Trial by Fire, retraverses the chapel for the Apparition of Francis at Arles, down to the death scene beneath it, and fi­nally returns to the right wall for the Vision of Agostino. This direction of reading approximates to a boustrophedon, crossing the interior space of the chapel.49 Below the Stigmatization are two haloed busts of anonymous youthful saints, which must have been painted from the same scaffold. Within the chapel both side walls end with death and afterlife. The same was to recur in the neighboring Peruzzi Chapel. It can hardly be a coincidence that such terminal scenes occur in sepulchral chapels. The Franciscan scenes are framed by a painted giant order, set on a high fictive marble base, which appears to support the ribs of the Gothic vault.50 These painted columns are 59

Giotto and His Publics wrapped around the corners of the chapel, and they enclose the paired Gothic niches framing the standing saints of the window wall. The overall effect is of a stilted baldachin through which the side scenes and the two registers of standing saints are perceived. There is a sustained attempt to minimize the built architectural articulation and privilege this fictive armature. The architectonic or­ga­ni­za­tion of the altar wall has suffered greatly. Saint Clare’s niche has solid Cosmati spandrels, while that of Saint Louis is lighter, with a crocketed gable pierced by a sexfoil rose. This tracery is, however, doubly fictive, for the rose above Saint Louis is inlaid with porphyry and serpentine.51 The architectural base of the saints’ niches is set at the same level as the original windowsill; its rounded front edge sits just above a giornata, and there are many surviving traces of snapped cords and compass incisions which reveal the design pro­cess. The basement and the fictive wooden podia reduce the discrepancy in fig­ure size between the altar wall saints and the narrative scenes, and also occupy exactly the height of the sloping windowsill. The decoration thus lined up with the original sill level of the east window. After the catastrophic flood of 1333, the height of the windowsill was raised substantially.52 Like the narratives, the fictive frames are primarily calculated from the viewpoint of an observer standing just outside the cancello which originally barred the chapel’s entrance, as can rapidly be appreciated by comparing the cap­itals and their astragals on either side of Saint Clare. The choice of scenes in the Bardi Chapel is thought-­ 60

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s provoking, and their narrative sequence differs instructively from that of the Assisi Legend. It is a question of not merely a more restricted space being available for the narrative, but also the operation of conscious preference. This discrimination is more likely that of the Franciscans themselves, not the Bardi family—nor indeed their painter.53 This supposition will be con­firmed by similarities in the Lower Church decoration at Assisi, where the recent provincial minister had been a Santa Croce friar. In the Bardi Chapel, Francis’s early visions and experiments with the ascetic life, which formed a prologue at Assisi, are excised, and poverty is reduced to an emblematic sta­tus. The friars’ habits are amply cut, with wide sleeves. They overlap the cord at the waist and reach to the floor, all elements which had been criticized by Bernard of Besse in the late thirteenth century and by Ubertino da Casale thereafter.54 There is little of minoritas to be seen here. The narrative sequence begins with Francis’s primal disobedience, the revolutionary renunciation of his paternal inheritance. It omits the Dream of Innocent III, which separates the Renunciation from the Approval of the Rule in Assisi, an elision of some importance. For still cogent historical reasons, it was impossible to omit the Approval of the Rule, con­firmed by Pope Honorius III’s so-­called Regula Bullata in 1223.55 Both the Saint Francis Legend at Assisi and the Bardi Approval scenes  clearly intend to represent the Regula Bullata in the scroll text which the pope hands to the kneeling Francis. This is written not oral approval, yet witness to papal approbation of the Order was central to any painted biography of the 61

Giotto and His Publics founder.56 Apart from this essential episode, all other papal scenes are omitted. This could be mere coincidence but may be symptomatic of growing tensions in the relationship between the reigning pontiff, John XXII, and the Franciscan Order. It certainly suggests a politico-­religious subtext, co­ vert as well as overt, in the chapel program. The succeeding scenes, the Trial by Fire and the Apparition of Saint Francis at Arles, stress Francis’s desire for martyrdom and evangelizing zeal, as well as his power—the miraculous ability to be simultaneously present in both Provence and Umbria. The final scene on the left side is a conflation of two scenes from the Assisi cycle, the Death of Francis and the Proof of the Stigmata. Opposite is a representation of contemporaneous apparitions in two different locations, the Vision of Bishop Guido II of Assisi during a pilgrimage to Monte Gargano—Michael was a favorite saint of Francis’s—and the deathbed Vision of Fra Agostino, then provincial minister of the Terra di Lavoro.57 There is, once again, an absence of the truly miraculous in the scenes of the Bardi Chapel, a circumstance which did not escape the acute eye of Friedrich Rintelen.58 Equally, those revolutionary affective episodes in Francis’s ministry which most impressed contemporaries, the Miracle at Greccio and the Preaching to the Birds, are omitted. With the exception of the Stigmatization, that quin­tes­sen­tial Franciscan miracle, for which a landscape setting was essential, Giotto constructed an elliptic urban narrative cycle, interlinked by compositional resonances and color symmetries. Town replaces 62

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s countryside, the city the hermitage. Francis, standing before the sultan in Cairo or appearing at Arles, bears scant resemblance to the historic Poverello—homo dispectus. This is heroic sainthood. The debt of the Bardi cycle to the Saint Francis Legend at Assisi (and the limit of that indebtedness) is perhaps nowhere clearer than in the opening scene of the Renunciation of the Inheritance.59 In Assisi the Renunciation formed the center of a triptych fill­ing the whole second bay from the crossing on the north nave wall. The preceding scene, Francis Praying in San Damiano, and the successive Dream of Innocent III both slant inward to the moment of renunciation in the central episode. The compositional caesura stressing the rift between Pietro Bernardone and his son thus gains an agonizing intensity.60 This brilliant triple composition was created for and by the Gothic bay system in San Francesco, and its impact is demonstrated by repetition in several de­pen­dent Franciscan cycles. Giotto’s Bardi Renunciation produces a remarkable reinterpretation. With surely conscious irony, Francis’s de­fi­ance is placed beneath the vault roundel of Obedience. It is also the only narrative in which ­women are present. The Gothic lunette setting prompted a radical architectural solution. The episcopal palace at Assisi be­comes the only building in the scene, and it both focuses attention on the recalcitrant Francis and provides a backdrop which allows Giotto to develop the narrative time frame by careful attention to the texts.61 The topographical dimension of the renunciation in the main piazza at Assisi, attested by both Thomas of Celano 63

Giotto and His Publics and Bonaventure, is minimized. Yet despite the fact that the scene has been sundered from its original triadic context at Assisi, its dramatic and psychological range is far wider. Nowhere in the Franciscan sources is the location in Rome of the Approval of the Rule speci­fied.62 It is allusively iden­ti­ fied in the Bardi fresco by a monochrome roundel of Saint Peter in the gable of the basilica where Francis and his companions kneel before the pope. The encounter lacks the opulence of the curial setting at Assisi. The pope occupies a gabled Gothic throne, but his entourage is smaller and the number of attendant cardinals fewer; the bird-­patterned carpet present in the Pisan predella is absent. In Florence the narrow chapel, and the physical proximity of the scenes, allowed Giotto to contrast pointedly the rift between father and son with the solicitous papal acceptance of Francis’s petition. It intensifies the compositional trope of formal symmetry and contentual difference, unforgettably initiated by the Betrayal and the Visitation on either side of the triumphal arch at Padua. Parallelism between the episodes of Vision and Mission in the second register of the Bardi cycle had not been achievable at Assisi, even though the Trial by Fire and the Apparition at Arles occur exactly opposite each other in the nave. A family chapel afforded greater intimacy, and encouraged Giotto to employ dramatic parallels and resonances with a concentrated intensity impossible for the Assisi painters. Francis’s repeated attempts to reach the Holy Land punctuate the early biographies, although their chronology is uncertain: zeal for 64

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s martyrdom is a constant theme in Bonaventure’s Legenda.63 Yet despite the fervent Franciscan gloss, it is dif­fi­cult to regard the saint’s encounter with the humane Ayyubid sultan as a success story. Bonaventure, who derived his information from Francis’s traveling companion Fra Illuminato, developed the episode considerably.64 Francis offered to undergo a trial by fire to demonstrate his firmer faith. At Assisi the saint forms the compositional pivot between the sultan and his fleeing mullahs. Giotto made a fundamental change by setting the sultan centrally. It is now the sultan, al-­Malik al-­Kâmil, who judges between Francis and his own pusillanimous ’alims. His lofty throne resembles late Roman tomb niches, such as that of the Prisciani in Šempeter in Slovenia.65 At Assisi, by contrast, the throne was borne by gilded lions, an evidently Solomonic allusion for a judicial scene.66 More subtle is the echo of trial by ordeal. Clerical par­tic­i­pa­tion in ordeals had been outlawed in 1215 by the Fourth Lateran Council, but the memory of such pro­cesses must still have lingered during Francis’s childhood in late-­twelfth-­century Assisi.67 In Giotto’s fresco the magnanimous sultan is clearly psychologically torn between his admiration for Francis, attested in the hagiographies, and his Muslim faith: in a complex pose, he looks in one direction while gesturing in another. The Apparition at Arles plays on a typical structure of a chapter house set within its cloister.68 When Thomas of Celano described Francis’s appearance at the provincial chapter at Arles in his Vita Prima, the main protagonists were still alive: the preacher, Anthony of Padua, and Giovanni Bonelli 65

Giotto and His Publics of Florence, the provincial minister of Provence. A third par­ tic­i­pant, Fra Monaldo—himself a Florentine—had died only around 1224.69 Once again, Giotto adopts the narrative substance of the Assisi scene and quite literally turns it inside out. He can thus emphasize Francis’s apparition—“non phantastica visione sed revelatione divina”—as a second Christ floating before the frescoed Crucifix on the chapter house wall.70 Giotto stresses the visionary aspect, for the saint is visible only to Fra Monaldo, while his confreres are absorbed in Anthony’s sermon on Christ’s Passion.71 In a brilliantly complex image, discrete levels of perceived reality within the narrative, localized spatial ambiguity, and Franciscan belief interact. The exfoliation of the frescoed Crucifixion, once clearly depicted on the chapter house altar wall behind the saint’s shoulder, renders this iteration of Francis’s imitatio Christi less obvious to the modern observer.72 The certitude of the centrally placed Francis contrasts poignantly with the indecision of the sultan. Significantly enough, the friar who sits on the chapter house floor at Assisi, clearly performing a penance prescribed for an infraction of the Rule, finds no place at Florence a generation later.73 In the penultimate scene, Giotto conflates and transposes two episodes which had appeared as discrete compositions in the Legend. At Assisi the Proof of the Stigmata is set opposite  the  Approval of the Franciscan Rule, although there appears  no particular reason for this juxtaposition. This con­ flation of death and verification was prompted partly by limitations of space, but also by the wish to underscore the 66

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s Christomimetic aspect, starkly exemplified above it in the Apparition at Arles.74 Paratactic juxtaposition was more dramatically effective than the linear narrative chronology at Assisi. The wound in Francis’s side, passed over in silence in the canonization bull, had always been hotly contested by critics of the Stigmatization.75 Pope Gregory IX harbored initial doubts but became a firm believer in its existence and composed a hymn about it.76 Already by the 1230s the Franciscans at Assisi appear to have been collecting oral testimony from surviving eyewitnesses, among whom was a Girolamo d’Assisi who had personally touched the side wound.77 In the Saint Francis Legend and subsequently, the scene became both a rebuttal of the critics and a visual reminder of Thomas’s doubt and subsequent witness to Christ’s resurrection. The Bardi composition convincingly unites liturgical solemnity and communal grief with the solitary friar’s vision of Francis’s soul ascending heavenward, which confers a universal dimension on the scene.78 Giotto’s total transformation of the spectator’s relationship to the imagined world is nowhere more penetratingly exemplified than in the posthumous miracle which concludes the sequence on the south wall. Despite its mutilated state and the par­tic­i­pa­tion of several of the weaker workshop assistants, it is a truly revolutionary creation. Artists of the previous generation, like the hugely gifted painter of the Isaac scenes at Assisi, and Giotto himself in the Arena Chapel, made consistent efforts to create a plausible space faring inward from the picture plane. In the Vision of Fra Agostino, 67

Giotto and His Publics Giotto employs the bewildered yet inquisitive friar, who draws back the curtain to confront the spectator’s own inward gaze, and thus constructs a wholly transparent spatial composition. This is not mere fashionable interplay between veiling and epiphany but the interaction of an imagined spectator with the observer’s ac­tual world. Real and fictive spectators lock glances across the deathbed from which Fra Agostino rises to bid Francis wait for him. It is rather as if Giotto had taken a tomb composition, like that created by  Arnolfo di Cambio for Cardinal Guillaume de Bray at Orvieto, or the Orsini tomb at Assisi, and reimagined it from  inside.79 The sense of medieval space as determinate and contained crumbles, and an extensive new continuum, homogeneous and vivid with human incident, is born. It is a conception of breathtaking novelty.80 The placement of the Stigmatization above the Bardi Chapel entrance makes it dif­fi­cult to establish whether it was the first or final scene to be painted. Certainly it is conceived as a discrete episode, and to that end Giotto sig­nifi­cantly modi­ fied his earlier composition for San Francesco at Pisa. The frame is given added weight by a heavy billet molding which de­fines it as a separate picture.81 Certainly it was accessible to a much wider public than could ever have entered the Bardi Chapel, and as frontispiece to the chapel program it may be assumed to have engaged the detailed attention of the Franciscan community in its composition. The Stigmatization is lit from the window to the right in the south transept, further distancing it from the interior scenes. In contrast to Assisi, 68

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s but as in the Pisa panel, Fra Leo, the witness and the miracle’s ultimate source, is absent. As at Pisa, Francis is alone on the mountain, the visual reminiscence of Christ’s Agony at Gethsemane even more accentuated.82 Certain later elements such as the friendly falcon (here an accurately observed sparrow hawk), which, Celano tells us, nested at La Verna, and the cave behind the saint have been added, but they do not detract from the awe-­inspiring solemnity of the scene.83 The seraphic Christ of Bonaventure’s Legenda has become a full-­ fledged Christ on the cross, an aerial Crucifix.84 Francis reels back at the divine assault, and the whole gestural relationship between divine apparition and submissive saint is transformed. The charged interchange of gazes, the incendium amoris, which had suffused the Pisan altarpiece gives place to an emphasis on other aspects of the miracle.85 Francis’s body is now twisted to an almost frontal pose, so much so that the ray which passes from the seraph’s right hand to that of Francis passes behind the saint’s halo. As the single rays now race from right hand to right hand and left to left, Francis has become a perfect mirror of Christ.86 More clearly than ever this is the high theology of alter Christus.87 Giotto has made the Bardi Chapel Saint Francis more Christlike. This specularity must surely be the input of the Franciscans rather than their financier patrons.88 Once again, the contribution of the painter, and his astonishing capacity to synthesize visual, textual, and perhaps oral sources, should not be underestimated.89 69

Giotto and His Publics The cutting of the seraph’s upper wings by the frame conveys, for the first time, the speed (celerrimo volatu) with which it rushed on Francis, and the gold rays pin the saint against the rock face. The intense contemplative ­union of seraph and saint at Pisa has become an agonizing assimilation to the Crucified. The light from the divine apparition again recalls the Celestial Hierarchy of Pseudo-­Dionysius; Hugh of Saint Victor’s commentary on this in­flu­en­tial text was in the book cupboard at Santa Croce.90 In essence the Stigmatization is a manifestation of a mystery of the cross, and thus particularly appropriate for Santa Croce. By excerpting the scene from its narrative context and casting it as the chapel frontispiece, Giotto announces the titulus of the chapel (and Santa Croce’s Franciscan af­fili­a­tion), dramatizing the quin­tes­sen­tial Franciscan miracle in a new and heroic idiom. Again, there is little of minoritas here. Giotto’s mod­i­fi­ca­tions for this second version are instructive. Self-­evidently it is Christ who appears on the cross, which has a suppedaneum, although it necessarily retains the archaic four-­nail iconography. This increases the incarnational corporeality of the scene. In place of the second chapel, present in the Pisan panel, there is now the jagged mouth of a cave.91 The scene more closely re­flects Bonaventure’s conceptualization of the Stigmatization as the seventh appearance of the cross to Francis: “Toward the end of your life you were shown at the same time the sublime vision of the seraph and the humble fig­ure of the Crucified inwardly inflaming you and outwardly marking you.”92 By emphasizing 70

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s that the miracle on La Verna manifested a devotion to the mysteries of the cross, the painter linked the scene unequivocally to the church’s titulus, Santa Croce. A Florentine topographical nuance here replaces a Pisan one. By immemorial requirement of their Rule, reiterated in May 1312 by the bull Exivi de Paradiso, the Franciscans were constrained to wear habits of coarse undyed cloth and uniform design.93 This precept made the painting of Franciscan narratives something of a trial for artists, and in the Bardi Chapel, Giotto shows great ingenuity in variation and balance of color. Giotto’s color in the Bardi cycle differs substantially from that of the Arena Chapel, and also from the neighboring Peruzzi Chapel. The original stained glass is missing, but as the present glass, from the Velluti Chapel, is approximately contemporary, the visual environment of the frescoes cannot differ very much from that encountered by the Trecento spectator.94 The light source, both ac­tual and fictive, is the lancet window in the east wall, with scenes on the left (south) wall lit from the right, and those on the north wall illumined in the more conventional manner, from left to right. Even the fire before the sultan is lit from the window. The ample habits of softly falling cloth are appropriate to a textile magnate’s chapel. In the Vienne debates the former minister-­general Raymond Geoffroy bitterly complained that those friars who wore mean and shabby habits, faithfully following their founder’s practice, were now treated contemptuously by the community and scorned as fanatics.95 At Santa Croce the friars were visibly unsympathetic to the 71

Giotto and His Publics “ascetic use” (usus pauper) championed by the spiritual Franciscans. Both the Apparition at Arles and the Death of Francis are lit from the right. The chapter house is conceived as a building of subdued rose and gray stone, although its façade has inappropriately expensive marble veneers.96 In the row of friars nearest the viewer, the habits closest to the window are lighter than those near the chapel entrance, although this rule is not followed unvaryingly. In the second row of friars, who sit on the inner side of the cloister walk with their backs to Saint Anthony, the habits are all of a considerably darker brown. Francis’s Death, too, is essentially an essay in monochrome.97 The corpse of the saint is surrounded by friars, and the same convention of depicting those at the back in darker brown habits is maintained. But the color of the narrative is subtly vivified and dramatically accentuated in several ways. The celebrant at the head of the bier is vested in yellow, and he is flanked by two acolytes in white surplices.98 Against this subdued setting the kneeling Girolamo d’Assisi, who inserts his fingers into the wound in Francis’s side, is clad in vivid red, a strong central, blood-­like accent which both emphasizes the verification of the stigmata and, by his pose, seen from the back, encourages the spectators to par­tic­i­pate empathetically in the drama of discovery. The pope in consistory for the Approval of the Rule wears the cappa rubea and is flanked by two cardinals in white, a color parenthesis which matches the celebrant in Francis’s exequies. The friars nearest the window again wear habits of 72

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s lighter hue, but the kneeling Francis and his immediate companion have habits of a roseate tinge which immediately distinguishes them. The Trial by Fire, in the sultan’s court, is understandably more colorful. In a chamber originally with a blue, gold-­bordered hanging, the sultan in a gold-­embroidered white tunic partly covered by a carmine-­rose robe occupies a marble throne decorated with Cosmati mosaic work. He makes a clear coloristic and dramatic fulcrum, while the blazing fire toward which Francis unhesitatingly advances is ­balanced by the yellow robe of the frightened ’alim. Color ­underscores the dramatic tension. Bishop Guido envelops the naked Francis in his blue cope, while Francis’s furious father, in a vivid yellow robe, is restrained by the consuls of Assisi.99 The scene is coloristically as turbulent and unsettling as the episode it recounts. It emphasizes two unobserved, performative aspects of Giotto’s color. The enraged Pietro Bernardone wears the same color Judas wears in the Capture of Christ at the Arena Chapel when he envelops Christ in his robe. Giotto insinuates the moral aspects of yellow as an opprobrious color of alienation and infidelity.100 It was, it should be remembered, a color often prescribed for Jews to wear, following the Fourth Lateran Council’s canon on distinctive clothing.101 The Franciscan saints who flank the lancet window must always have provided a largely monochrome frame for the stained-­glass program. Yet here too an im­por­tant statement is made by color. In the narratives we noted the relative absence of the papacy when compared to the Assisi Legend. At Santa 73

Giotto and His Publics Croce, however, the presence of the Angevins, Florence’s other great po­lit­i­cal ally, is intrusive. Saint Louis of Toulouse stands out with clarion immediacy, for the lower part of his niche is draped with the red and white stripes of the Angevin heraldic tinctures, which can be found in contemporary enamels on the saint’s reliquaries.102 Louis was preeminently a dynastic saint, about whose canonization the Order’s leadership had initially been strikingly reluctant.103 This heraldic ­accent must once have been considerably more insistent, with Bardi shields studding the lancet splays. Ostentatiously placed at Louis’s feet is the crown he forswore for the Franciscan habit. Here a friar unequivocally surrenders temporal dominion. Conical in shape, and studded with fictive enamels, the spurned crown markedly resembles the imperial crown of the recently deceased Henry VII of Luxembourg, which Louis’s youn­ger brother, now Robert I d’Anjou, was eager to purchase.104 At the time the Bardi Chapel was being painted, Florence, it should be recalled, was under the signoria of Robert d’Anjou.105 The Bardi had long had close commercial and po­lit­i­cal ties with the Angevin royal house, and this allegiance could scarcely be more emphatically displayed. Politics, indeed, may be the distinctive contribution of the Bardi to their chapel decoration. Politics may also have smoothed the painter’s later move to Naples.106 The Franciscan cycle in the Bardi Chapel is a densely argued pictorial text. It represents the earliest surviving af­fir­ ma­tion in Florence of Giotto’s mature fresco style. From the external evidence and other coordinates, it seems certain that 74

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s the Bardi Chapel was executed between late 1317 and late 1319, probably in the earlier part of that period. By the middle of the second de­cade of the Trecento, Giotto certainly directed a highly skilled team of assistants.107 Yet while the qualitative level of the painting in the Bardi Chapel varies, it is never less than high. Some areas clearly betray the presence of less gifted painters, for example, the now ar­ti­fi­cially isolated group of friars who once attended the dying Fra Agostino. There are sublime passages of technical virtuosity in the ser­ vice of that grave moral seriousness which characterized the Arena Chapel. Among these are certainly the fig­ure of the furious Pietro Bernardone, the kneeling Francis of the Approval lunette, the pensive sultan and his first ’alim. Other passages of superb accomplishment are the heads of Francis in the Apparition at Arles and the dead saint in the scene beneath. Both these heads glow with an inner transparency which owes much to Giotto but has seemed to some to betray a slightly different psychological sensibility. Whether this is suf­fic­ ient reason to deny them to Giotto himself may perhaps be doubted. The contrast between the re­fined head of the dead saint and the powerful three-­dimensionality of the friar who sees Francis’s soul ascending is very apparent. In this fig­ure the vigorous pentimenti of head and left hand surely show a great painter creating forms on the final picture surface. Yet another factor needs to be considered. The head of Francis in the Apparition at Arles has the same visionary conviction as the Francis who kneels before the pope, yet the hands of the floating saint are somewhat boneless and ill-­ 75

Giotto and His Publics articulated. Could we here be right in seeing Giotto as painter of the heads and not their supporting bodies? The condition of much of the fresco surface, and widespread loss of many details added a secco, makes overfine discriminations unwise, and unlikely to be correct. But it seems clear that there was one directing painter, perhaps an extremely gifted assistant, and one or two subordinates whose idiosyncratic styles, and somewhat weaker execution, can be tentatively isolated. This is, however, still to remain at one remove from the central issue. The Bardi cycle proclaims compelling dramatic urgency and narrative accomplishment. Even though its designer was partly constrained by the canonicity of the Saint Francis Legend at Assisi, perhaps—as with the Pisa Stigmatization—at the wish of his patrons, he was constantly capable of transcending that earlier version. The abbreviated nature of the Florentine cycle undoubtedly reduced the painter’s scope for privileging spe­cific moral virtues of Francis over the required chronology of his saintly life and posthumous wonders.108 Yet the narrative is now motivated by those chosen elements in Francis’s person and apostolate perceived as requiring pro­jec­tion, rather than emerging from a pedestrian sequential illustration of the received hagiographical texts For Giotto’s patrons, mendicant and mercantile, it was a particular po­lit­i­cal moment. The raspingly authoritarian approach to the Franciscan Order of the new pope, John XXII, could already be discerned, although the convulsions of the 1320s still lay in an un­imag­in­able future.109 This awareness can 76

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s hardly have been without in­flu­ence on the Franciscan Order’s patronage and how it chose to display the life of its founder in one of its grandest new churches. Prudence rather than contentious iconography was probably the order of the day: omission of points of friction, and emphasis on conformity to the point of view of the self-­styled Community, is surely to be expected. The Bardi Chapel is emphatically not a manifesto of Bonaventuran harmony.110 Both painters and politics  had subsequently been at work on the presentation of Francis. It is the commission of a particularly relaxed convent of the Order for the wealthiest Florentine banking family. The core of the Community’s defense of such splendor was unabashed: dominion over their property rested with the  papacy. The decoration at San Francesco at Assisi and Sant’Antonio at Padua, which appalled Ubertino and the spiritual Franciscans, was, they contended, originally achieved either under the aegis of Nicholas IV or through the subventions of the commune.111 Santa Croce was a similar case, and it was largely through lay pressure that the church was in the pro­cess of being so splendidly decorated. In the Community’s view, more beautiful churches attracted larger, better-­ satisfied, and more generous congregations.112 While both Pierre-­Jean Olivi and Ubertino da Casale had been friars at Santa Croce in the late thirteenth century, any in­flu­ence the Franciscan spirituals might have had was surely a thing of the past when the new choir chapels were decorated. The Franciscans at Santa Croce, and the banking families 77

Giotto and His Publics who commissioned the decoration of their family chapels within, were two strands of the same urban society. If not themselves members of in­flu­en­tial families, the friars served as their confessors, testamentary executors, and confidants.113 The laity who customarily formed their congregations, and heard outstanding preachers such as Servasanto da Faenza, were unusually literate, numerate, cosmopolitan, and entrepreneurial. In Florence, which lacked a university, the great mendicant houses were a sig­nifi­cant force in lay education.114 Santa Croce was a studium generale of the Order. Dante records how, in the 1290s, he frequented “li scuole de li religiosi,” among which was certainly Santa Croce.115 Painters like Giotto also par­tic­i­pated enthusiastically in commercial enterprise.116 It is hard to overestimate the role of lay patrons in the development of Florentine art in the first half of the Trecento. The cycle in the Bardi Chapel is notably unmiraculous in general tenor. The necessity of reading the cycle primarily from the oblique vantage point of the chapel threshold prompted viewing strategies utterly different from those in the Scrovegni Chapel. In the lofty, narrow Gothic chapel, the scope for repeating the sophisticated sens de la lecture of the Arena Chapel, or indeed the apsidal side of Duccio’s Maestà, was severely restricted.117 Nevertheless, the gravitas of the narrative style, the intellectuality and consistent inventiveness of the compositions, demonstrate beyond doubt that Giotto’s was the bold designing mind behind the Bardi cycle, and the major executant of the damaged pictorial text which still 78

g i o t t o a m o n g t h e m o n e y - ­c h a n g e r s remains before us. Through a holistic approach, far more than searching for his hand in individual passages of painting, better un­der­stand­ing of his autograph work will lie. It also presents teasing prob­lems of chronology and execution in the Vele of the Lower Church, to which I turn in the next chapter.

79

THREE

The Lull before the Storm: The Vele in the Lower Church at Assisi

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P

ope Clement V attempted to halt the virulent dispute on ownership and ascetic use (usus pauper) within the Franciscan Order through the bull Exivi a Paradiso of May 1312.1 The attempt foundered, although the principal reasons for its failure were accidental. In April 1314 Clement himself died, to be replaced, only in August 1316, by a choleric and authoritarian seventy-­two-­year-­old lawyer, Jacques Duèze, a former counselor to Charles II d’Anjou, who took the name of John XXII.2 Shortly afterward the Aragonese ambassador wrote to Jayme II: “It was believed, on his election, that he would prove to be just and incorrupt. Would it were the case! Many believe, justifiably, that he takes his own opinion too seriously, which in so lofty a prelate is extremely dangerous.”3 Close to the Dominicans, John was innately unsympathetic 83

Giotto and His Publics to Franciscan exceptionalism, and he remorselessly bullied the Franciscan cardinals in consistory.4 The phraseology of his bull Quorundam Exigit, promulgated October 7, 1317, sets the tone: “Poverty is great, but purity is greater, and greatest of all is obedience—if it is protected from harm.”5 On October 5, 1314, Alessandro d’Alessandria, the Franciscan minister-­general, also died, and was not replaced until the next General Chapter of the Order, held at Naples in 1316.6 In the interim the Order was effectively in the control of the spiritual Franciscans’ persecutors, who ruthlessly seized their opportunity. This brewing storm is an essential backdrop to our theme, the decoration of the crossing of the Lower Church. At Assisi there occurs a shift from hagiographical explicitness to com­plex­ity of content, and the fusion of nonnarrative elements into a convincing message, re­ flect­ing its patrons’ wishes and the identity of its intended public. In discussing the Bardi Chapel, I mentioned the dif­fi­culty of disentangling the Florentine frescoes from the crossing-­ vault decoration at Assisi. Nevertheless, an internal chronology of the Lower Church painting must first be outlined. Napoleone Orsini, Roman aristocrat, nephew of Pope Nicholas III, and cardinal-­deacon of Sant’Adriano since 1288, commissioned two sepulchral chapels in the Lower Church, whose construction necessitated piercing both end walls of the transepts.7 This architectural breakthrough was enthusi­ astically imitated elsewhere, not least in the Baroncelli Chapel in Santa Croce and the Strozzi Chapel in Santa Maria No84

the lull before the stor m vella.8 The Saint Nicholas Chapel, named after Napoleone’s uncle, opening off the right transept, was certainly designed after 1296, for its tomb arrangement replicated Boniface VIII’s own tomb chapel in Old Saint Peter’s, in use that year.9 The Orsini Chapel was certainly complete by March 1306 when a document was witnessed there, and saints from its fresco decoration were copied by Giuliano da Rimini in a painting dated 1307.10 It was only in these familial, private spaces in the Lower Church that heraldry flour­ished. The intonaco spread for the Annunciation scene on the exterior of the Nicholas Chapel was partly taken over by the later painters of the Posthumous Miracles of Saint Francis, and the intonaco of the Annunciate Virgin was overlaid—and therefore followed by—the scenes of the Infancy of Christ on the right transept vault. The transepts and crossing were frescoed from north to south (Assisi is an occidented church): the right arm of the transept was painted first, followed by the Vele, and the Passion Cycle by Pietro Lorenzetti completed the decorative proj­ect.11 This relative chronology has been definitively established by examining the sequence of giornate overlaps. An absolute chronology is much more dif­fi­cult to ground firmly, but it is im­por­tant in establishing a plausible interpretation of the Vele that this enterprise also be attempted.12 The frescoes in the severies of the crossing vault (customarily termed the Vele on account of their sail-­like shape) differ in a number of fundamental ways from any of the other paintings at­trib­uted to Giotto or his collaborators in San Francesco. An essentially self-­contained program was applied 85

Giotto and His Publics to the Gothic vault above the high altar, and thus directly above Francis’s tomb. The individual vault segments have long, explicatory inscriptions. These frescoes replaced an earlier, probably aniconic program, which originally clothed both nave and crossing. Furthermore, the Vele primarily addressed not visitors or pilgrims, nor the users of the private chapels opening off the nave, but spe­cifi­cally the Franciscan community itself, congregated around the high altar of the Lower Church. The Vele are the largest and most sophisticated compositions that survive from Giotto’s workshop after the Last Judgment in Padua. They were designed for a learned public whose requirements we must seek to understand. Subsequently, the pictorial iconography and the success of the designing painter in ful­fill­ing an exceptionally demanding commission will require scrutiny. The Vele are sui generis, with limited direct formal re­flections of their content, either within the Order or beyond. Some repercussions can be detected in the Franciscan churches at Pistoia and Prato, and elsewhere, more indirectly, in other learned commissions for the Dominicans and Augustinians. The more widely disseminated effects of their pictorial revolution are to be sought farther afield, in Siena, Naples, and Avignon—to name only the most prominent sites. I am not aware of any convincing overall interpretation. Very early in the fourteenth century, it was decided to modify the spaces and functions of the Lower Church and, consequently, its decoration. Cardinal Orsini’s tomb chapels 86

the lull before the stor m had already compromised the integrity of the transept. Severe flooding damaged the Lower Church during July 1311.13 The demolition of the recently erected mosaic-­encrusted marble choir screen which spanned the nave of the Lower Church near the crossing was probably connected.14 Although pilgrimage has recently been proposed as a con­trib­u­tory factor, no pilgrim badges, of the type that could then readily be purchased on the steps of Saint Peter’s, have been found at, or for, Assisi.15 Certainly the insistence of powerful clerical patrons, and prob­lems of liturgical circulation in the Lower Church, played a major role.16 In any event, the repainting of the apse was apparently left unfin­ished in the Trecento, and that incomplete decoration was itself replaced in 1623. It may well have been abandoned because of the severe unrest following Muzio di Francesco’s coup d’état of 1319, since it would very likely have been begun only after scaffolding for painting the Vele itself was dismantled. In the crossing vault of the Upper Church, Cimabue’s seated Evangelists were originally rendered more prominent by being painted against a gold ground.17 Evidently the decorative ensemble above the high altars in both Upper and Lower churches demanded unusual expense and solemnity, and thus the Vele also purposively stood out from the rest of the Lower Church decoration through the use of an ostentatious and certainly expensive gold background. Any judgment of the date of completion of the frescoes must accommodate two external events: the brutal Ghibelline coup d’état in Assisi of September 1319 and the consequent 87

Giotto and His Publics long-­drawn-­out papal interdict.18 It seems inherently improbable that lavish decoration of the Lower Church crossing would have continued during that tumultuous interlude, and equally unlikely that it would have been started during a papal interdict. Consequently, if we conclude that the Vele was frescoed before September 1319—perhaps some considerable time before, given the necessarily consecutive decoration of the left transept by Pietro Lorenzetti—it can be categorically excluded that the Vele program can refer directly to the escalating dispute between the 0rder and Pope John XXII, which became incandescent only in the early 1320s. In May 1316 the Paris University master Michele da Cesena had been elected minister-­general in absentia at the General Chapter held in Naples under the intrusive attentions of King Robert and Queen Sancia. The new minister-­general was at one with John XXII in his attitude to the spiritual Franciscans.19 Immediately after the Naples chapter, a group of twelve se­nior friars returned to Assisi to revise the Constitutions.20 They may perhaps have thought then that the mother church needed to refresh its message. Be that as it may, the Vele can be broadly assigned to a period, perhaps of mounting unease about papal intentions regarding the dispute over property, but assuredly not to the period of open con­flict. The Vele frescoes must be interpreted on their own terms, and it would be profoundly mistaken to consider them as anything other than a decoration approved and sponsored by the conventual majority. Minoritas, like paupertas, was not on the agenda. 88

the lull before the stor m In the sev­ery abutting the apse appears Francis enthroned, inscribed “Gloriosus Franciscus,” and surrounded by jubilant angels making music and dancing. Opposite is the Marriage of Francis with Lady Poverty. The right transept sev­ery shows the Allegory of Chastity, while to the left is the Allegory of Obedience. This arrangement means that the Marriage of Francis and Poverty is fully visible only to those friars placed in the apse behind the high altar. Francis in Glory is visible down the Lower Church nave, seeming indeed to hover above the arcaded altar block surmounting the founder’s tomb—the optimum viewing point is the middle of the third bay of the nave—the titular saint set above the high altar of his church.21 It seems probable that it would have been visible above the nave screen, although it may well have already been demolished when the Vele was painted. Chastity can be seen in its entirety only by those friars placed in the left transept, while Obedience confronts those in the right transept. These friars would also have been able to see Poverty and the glorified Francis, albeit incompletely and from an oblique viewpoint. It seems likely that it was the more se­nior friars who sat in the apse behind the high altar, if the precedent of the papal throne—centrally placed in the apse of the Upper Church—can be taken as an indication.22 In no other painting from Giotto’s circle is meaning so contingent on inscriptions. The four compositions are underscored by elaborate texts in leonine hexameters; in their complex allusiveness they exceed any other fresco inscriptions at Assisi.23 Whereas the tituli beneath the Saint Francis Legend 89

Giotto and His Publics were narrative epitomes of the Legenda Maior, the Vele inscriptions predicate highly educated readers, and they allow us to make a number of deductions about this intended public. The verse inscriptions emphasize inner meanings: they aim not merely at elucidation but rather to encourage meditation on the allegories surmounting them. The decorative frames of the Infancy Cycle scenes were punctuated with inset busts of prophets, angels, and friars, a decorative convention subsequently imitated by Pietro Lorenzetti in the opposite transept. Where the Vele differs comprehensively from both the Infancy and Passion cycles is in its adoption of a multicolored band with a herringbone pattern which separates the picture field from the frame.24 This compositional device is used throughout the Bardi Chapel, but not apparently elsewhere. Giotto had already interpolated the framing bands of the Arena Chapel with busts. The Vele is more radical.25 The circular keystone shows the Apocalyptic Christ from the Book of Revelation, his eyes ablaze, hair like snow-­white wool; he holds the Key and the Book of Divine Wisdom, while double-­edged swords protrude from his mouth.26 From this central point all facets of the vault ribs are decorated with symbols drawn from Revelation, so that the Franciscan allegories must be read within this framework, at once apocalyptic armature and marginal gloss.27 Their critical importance is demonstrated by the fact that the square profiles of the crossing ribs themselves were modi­fied by beveling their edges, which must have occurred during the pro­ 90

the lull before the stor m cess of painting, in order to make these vignettes more easily legible.28 This apocalyptic gloss is central to un­der­stand­ing the Vele. Yet it would be misconceived to take its program as other than mainstream Franciscan belief. Bonaventure had firmly iden­ti­fied Francis as the angel of the sixth seal of Revelation (7:2), “ascending from the sunrise with the seal of the living God,” and enshrined this interpretation in the Legenda Maior, the of­fic­ ial, indeed the only, authorized life of Francis.29 This iden­ti­fic­ a­tion recurs in the sermons of the later minister-­ general Matteo d’Acquasparta.30 The apocalyptic frame has the contingent effect of linking the crossing-­vault program to the end of time, a concept to which we must presently return. Francis in Glory dominates the view toward the apse. This must always have been the intention, given that the apse decoration was begun later and left unfin­ished.31 Francis occupies an elaborate throne coruscating with gold inlay. His placement consciously imitated the enthroned Saviors of the great early Christian basilicas of Rome, such as Saint Peter’s or San Paolo fuori le Mura, remade by Innocent III and Honorius III, respectively.32 From its foundation Assisi had been directly subject to the papacy.33 Francis wears a habit spangled with gold rect­an­gles; he is barefoot, and all five wounds of the stigmata are visible. Above the embroidered throne canopy, which forms a niche around him, appears a standard bearing a gold cross and seven gold stars against a 91

Giotto and His Publics red ground. In Revelation the seven stars in the right hand of God stood for the seven churches, and Bonaventure’s Legenda Maior is constructed on a pattern of sevens.34 The text “Gloriosus Franciscus” flanks the standard. As an epithet it is uncommon in Scripture, but it occurs in the early Legend of the Three Companions, where Friar Pacificus has a vision of an empty jewel-­encrusted throne in heaven prepared for the humble Francis.35 The verses below speak of him as exemplifying poverty, chastity, and obedience, but in a profound sense Francis enthroned in glory among the angelic host is once again alter Christus, flanked to the left and right by Christ’s own infancy and Passion. The celestial throne is underpinned by fluffy clouds—the Legenda Maior prologue envisioned Francis glittering in heaven above the clouds—and before his throne two ranks of nine barefoot angels clad in albs dance demurely. Their number is not random but re­flects the Celestial Hierarchy of Pseudo-­ Dionysius, a text which experienced a renaissance in the thirteenth century and was deeply in­flu­en­tial in Franciscan circles.36 Comparable heavenly delight had earlier enlivened the choir arch of the Arena Chapel, where the angels linked fingers and danced for joy at God’s decision to initiate the Incarnation. The circular composition at Assisi is very remarkable, with angels completely turning their backs on the spectator, their color symmetry as controlled as the strict formal balance. The pale hues of the angels before the throne “float” the fig­ure of Francis above and away from the other vault webs. Understandably, this awe-­inspiring fig­ure of Fran92

the lull before the stor m cis in majesty in­flu­enced a select group of enthroned mendicant saints, preeminently Simone Martini’s Saint Louis of Toulouse.37 Simone’s Angevin panel may well provide a terminus ante quem for the Vele: he had, after all, been frescoing the Martin Chapel of Cardinal Gentile da Montefiore a few meters away.38 Opposite is the Marriage of Francis with Lady Poverty, set axially on the main public route toward the high altar. Fully visible, however, only to those friars behind the altar, the scene is underscored by the long­est text. Only from this viewpoint is the keystone of the apocalyptic Christ intelligible, surmounting this scene and sig­nifying its timelessness. The placement of Francis’s twelve original companions along the rib face beneath the Marriage to Poverty, punctuating the inscription, reminded the se­nior friars of Francis as alter Christus, and equally of their own apostolic calling.39 Christ performs the nuptial ceremony, and Francis places a ring on Poverty’s finger. Lady Poverty, tall, graceful, and emaciated, with the hexagonal halo of a Virtue and her patched shift secured by a cord, is barefoot. In front of her a thorn thicket flour­ishes; behind her flower a rose bush and lilies, and she is attended by Hope and Charity.40 Francis is barefoot and wears an ample habit of a mysterious silvery sheen. At the lower left a youth hands a cloak to a bearded beggar, while at the right another angel grasps the wrist of a fashionably dressed young man, upon whose gauntleted left wrist is a hooded hawk. This youth with his right hand makes a startlingly obscene gesture. Beside him a hooded fig­ure clutching 93

Giotto and His Publics a money bag pat­ent­ly contemplates flight. He completes a triad: charitable giving at the left, the surrender of property to God at the apex, and, fi­nally, its sinful retention.41 In the apex of the vault web two angels clad in blue carry upward a garment and a small house with a walled garden to a waiting heavenly fig­ure. In the foreground a child casts a stone at Poverty, while another brandishes a stick, and a dog barks at her feet. This is indeed the contempt for Poverty mentioned in the inscription, recalling the unruly children of the Bardi Chapel Renunciation.42 The Sacrum Commercium S. Francisci cum Domina Paupertate was one of the most vivid early writings on Franciscan poverty. Anonymous, its composition was certainly early, although probably not 1227, as some manuscript colophons imply.43 It offers some iconographical keys, although much had already fil­tered into the Legenda Maior. Francis, in Bonaventure’s words, regarded Lady Poverty as his mother, his bride, and his beloved.44 Understandably enough, aggressive begging could anger people, and Bonaventure himself remarked, on taking of­fice as minister-­general, that many travelers on the road would fear encountering a mendicant friar almost as much as a brigand.45 The Sacrum Commercium iconography had taken firm root by the early Trecento, perhaps unsurprisingly among the so-­called Fraticelli. In an inquisition pro­cess of 1334, the seal of their leader, Angelo Clareno, was said to be the Marriage of Francis with Poverty, although it had also appeared earlier on the seal matrix of the Franciscan custody of Chiusi.46 The setting exemplifies the 94

the lull before the stor m stony ascent to Poverty recounted in the text, and the plateau occupied by the protagonists resembles the summit of the mountain of brightness. This is fidelity to the Sacrum Commercium text rather than a precocious impact of Dante. The fashionably dressed youth scoffs at Poverty and makes a gesture toward Christ and Francis suf­fi­ciently indecent for it to have already provoked the indignation of Fra Ludovico da Pietralunga, who exhaustively described San Francesco in the Cinquecento.47 It inevitably recalls the “fiche” of Vanni Fucci in Canto 25 of the Inferno.48 His hooded sparrow hawk perhaps re­flects a comment of the Sacrum Commercium that Poverty was hidden to the birds of the air.49 Yet to interpret ev­ery­thing in the scene through the Sacrum Commercium would be misconceived: the youth handing his tunic to the bearded beggar at the left surely recalls Francis giving his coat to the poor knight at the gate of Assisi.50 The opulent red garment, the purse, and the house rendered to heaven in the apex of the scene sig­nify the surrender of all dominium over goods and the change of life implied by embracing poverty. This was still what leaders of the Assisi community—such as Fra Jacopo de’ Tondi, whom we encountered earlier in Florence, former custos at Santa Croce, where he incurred the contumely of Ubertino, and now provincial minister for Umbria—could willingly endorse, for both Community and Franciscan spirituals could still hold that private and corporate expropriation was the core of the Franciscan charis.51 They differed, violently, in their interpretations of usus.52 The personification of Charity with flaming 95

Giotto and His Publics hair, proffering her heart, is a variant of the Charity who appears in the Arena Chapel.53 At Padua, Caritas trampled bags of coin and grain while holding a bowl of fruit and offering her heart heavenward. The sim­pli­fied image at Assisi is surely explicable by her attendant role. The crossing decoration of the Lower Church has been termed the first monumental painted allegory.54 This is partially true but simplistic, for techniques of allegory had long been extensively developed, particularly religious allegory— and not only in clerical circles. In his letter to Cangrande della Scala, written between 1315 and 1317, Dante declares that he deploys a fourfold allegorical method in the Divine Comedy.55 If allegory, and it is a term I too have a­ dopted for brevity’s sake, is construed as a way of instrumentally stating an argument, it yields an im­por­tant, if incomplete, explanation for the Vele. Too many historical fig­ures appear there for it to be wholly allegorical, and some resemblance to the mystery play has plausibly been suggested.56 Even where, as with the Allegory of Chastity, aspects of its iconography can be traced back, as we shall see, to Anglo-­Norman homilectic, the final composition, made up of a bewildering va­ri­ety of visual topoi, is not exclusively comprehensible as allegory, nor indeed narrative in any commonly accepted sense. Fundamentally, allegory is imitation and has no primary existence of its own: the painter of allegory begins with an idea and gives it form. For this type of paratactic painting in the Vele, more suggestive precedents can be found in such twelfth-­century paintings as those of Pope Calixtus II, formerly in the Old 96

the lull before the stor m Lateran Palace, celebrating papal triumph in the Investiture Contest.57 The primary allegorical mode of the Vele is personification. One should perhaps emphasize that many of the Vele personifications are rare, and some are apparently unique survivors. This might initially suggest a learned program communicated to the painter, yet the brilliantly inventive personifications of the Virtues and Vices in the Scrovegni Chapel were conceived earlier, for a lay patron, Enrico Scrovegni, and their selection may derive in large part from penitential handbooks aimed at the laity.58 Many of the individual Virtues and Vices at Padua also occur in the Summa Theologica of Aquinas, although whether that is the direct source requires further investigation. Enthusiasm for Thomist personifications might well have been less ardent at Assisi. Were one to regard the right transept as a more inherently prestigious location than the left, then it might be possible to claim that Chastity was more highly prized than Obedience, but this would probably be mistaken. The three personifications Francis encountered near San Quirico d’Orcia were of identical age, stature, and beauty.59 The cowled personification of Obedience is seated in a chapter house in front of the Crucifixion, customarily frescoed on the altar wall, accompanied by holy Prudence and Humility. This sev­ery is the most formally novel composition of the Vele, although its link with the brilliant architectural composition invented for the Apparition at Arles in the Bardi Chapel is clear. A capitular setting was in any case appropriate for a visual meditation on the Franciscan Rule. But its iconography is more profound, for at 97

Giotto and His Publics its core lies a memorable de­scrip­tion coined by Francis himself, and reported by Celano in his Vita II. The truly obedient man, said Francis, is like a dead body, mute and unmoving. The highest obedience was without flesh and blood.60 This instantly clarifies the extraordinary fig­ure in the Franciscan habit kneeling to receive the yoke from Obedience. Beneath the cowl is visible the contour of a skull. The gesture of Obedience in placing his left forefinger to his lips indicating silence had appeared also in the précis of Franciscan Virtues on the Bardi Chapel vault. Certainly it was a moment in the Order’s existence when loose talk was especially dangerous. This was performative silence, and indeed death may be seen as radical silence as well as obedience.61 The inscription terms Obedience the yoke of Christ, and it was, for John XXII, the preeminent virtue. A Janus-­faced Prudence and Humility accompany Obedience. Bonaventure in his unfin­ished Collationes in Hexaëmeron described Prudence as knowing past, present, and future things.62 At Padua, Prudence also held a mirror—the mirror which allows her, in Matteo d’Acqua­ sparta’s words, to know eternal things.63 Celano in the Tractatus de Miraculis described Francis as “obedientiae sanctae speculum et exemplar.”64 At Assisi, Prudence has, however, learned circumspection. She holds a compass, and her mirror is turned away as she gazes at Obedience. On the wooden rail before her is apparently a planispheric astrolabe. Several astrolabes were recorded in the papal trea­sure at Perugia in 1311, and as the instrument for establishing time’s pluralities—sidereal, 98

the lull before the stor m solar, and the unequal divisions of night and day—it serves to emphasize the eternity of perfect obedience.65 On the chapter house roof stands Francis, yoked and holding a cross. He is accompanied by two angels carrying apocalyptic texts, while a Franciscan cord descends from heaven.66 Again, his habit has a silvery sheen, a technical finesse which did not pass unobserved later. The chapter house Crucifixion on the east wall is set between paired lancet windows; several surviving chapter house programs, such as at Pomposa and Treviso, still preserve this con­figu­ra­tion.67 The interior closely recalls the Bardi Apparition at Arles, though lacking its visionary clarity. At the left a bearded centaur, personifying the Presumption (Superbia) mentioned in the inscription, shies violently away from the yoke. His unruliness stems from his mixed human and bestial characteristics. Both the Physiologus and the Bestiary contained centaurs, while, virtually contemporaneously, pitiless centaurs guarded the seventh circle in Canto 12 of Dante’s Inferno.68 Here the centaur represents the bestialized and hypocritical humanity expelled, as are the Vices from the Allegory of Chastity. Puzzling, for a different reason, are the two kneeling fig­ ures. An angel holds the wrist of the youth in blue, who wears a transparent cuffia over his blond hair. His companion, who may be tonsured, wears a red robe with slashed sleeves over a paler tunic. It has been suggested that these fig­ures are donors, although this iden­ti­fi­ca­tion, made by Martin Gosebruch, cannot be right.69 For Gosebruch the fig­ure in red was 99

Giotto and His Publics Giacomo Stefaneschi, chosen as cardinal protector of the Franciscan Order in 1334. Stefaneschi would have been in his late forties when the Vele was painted. Crucially also, it is not he but his companion who is presented by the angel. It is almost equally improbable that they are Cardinal Napoleone Orsini and his brother Giangaetano Orsini. Giangaetano had died in 1294 and was buried in the Saint Nicholas Chapel, where, however, his effigy is vested as a deacon.70 In the fourth sev­ery Chastity is incarcerated in a lofty tower set like a keep inside a fortress with four rect­an­gu­lar corner towers. The castle itself can be regarded as an elaborate architectural metaphor for the Virgin.71 It is defended by warriors wielding scourges, whose shields bear a red cross on a gold ground, representing the arms of the Church.72 Leaning over the battlements, personifications of Purity and Strength, Munditia and Fortitudo, gesture toward the neophyte being baptized beneath.73 Behind the angels baptizing the youth another pair hold a Franciscan habit. At the left Francis himself wel­comes onto the rocky promontory three fig­ures, representing the orders of friars, nuns, and tertiaries. To the right is a psychomachia: angels with cross, lance, and aspergillum, and the aged fig­ure of Franciscan Penitence brandishing a scourge fiercely expel the monstrous personifications of Mors, Amor, Ardor, and Immunditia.74 Claw-­ footed Amor, blindfolded, wreathed in roses, his quiver belt hung with hearts, clutches his bow. In their pell-­mell flight, the swinish Uncleanness topples backwards off Chastity’s unforgiving fastness.75 The presence of the personification of 100

the lull before the stor m Penitence in a Franciscan habit emphasizes two im­por­tant aspects of the Vele program. The mendicant orders had to a  very considerable extent taken over penitential preaching, which had become more common in the later thirteenth century, and also the spe­cific settings. Only the truly contrite and confessed brethren could take the Eucharist prepared at the altar directly underneath.76 Holy Chastity appears, fashionably dressed, framed within a tabernacle-­like window, in whose pediment a naked winged genius, in an extraordinary classical allusion to the infant Hercules, grips two birds by the neck.77 An angel proffers Chastity a gold crown, while a second bears a vase of flowers. Chastity has no eyes even for the angels; rather she prays before a folding gold-­ground triptych hung on her chamber wall. This is, once again, the pars pro toto panel painting we initially encountered in the Pisa Stigmatization, but it now forms a vignette of marvelous com­plex­ity. In her castle chamber a personified Virtue fortifies her resolve through private prayer before a domestic triptych.78 The central tower of Chastity’s fortress has a cantile­vered gallery or ballatoio whose unmistakable model is the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence. This had just been completed—the documents suggest 1313—and it would certainly have been known to the Florentine painter of the Assisi fresco.79 That it was so soon considered worthy of a symbolic role is proved by its inclusion, a de­cade or so later, in Gautier de Coincy’s Miracles Notre Dame.80 The new communal tower had become a topos of virtue. 101

Giotto and His Publics Chastity enabled man to conform more nearly to God and avoid the plea­sures of the flesh.81 Francis welcoming the three orders counterbalances the expulsion of the monstrous Vices, who are repelled with cross, holy water, and a lance. This suggests an explanation for the angelic baptism witnessed by Purity and Fortitude. Bonaventure had emphasized God’s love of purity, and the discussion of Purity (Munditia) by Saint Thomas appears in his Treatise on the Divine Names of Pseudo-­Dionysius.82 Pseudo-­Dionysius was present in the library at Assisi, a gift from Cardinal Matteo d’Acquasparta.83 But probably its most pertinent occurrence is in the rite for the preparation of holy water for the sacrament of baptism, which spiritually cleanses the recipient. Baptism is the fundamental sacrament, a moment of changing allegiance, rebirth, and renewal—particularly in the case of adult baptism, which was uncommon in the later Middle Ages.84 Here it symbolizes embracing the vow of chastity on entering the Franciscan Order. It was also a protection against concupiscence. Baptism washed away sin, and adult baptism required thorough penitence.85 Compositionally, Chastity’s fortress derives from French Gothic ivory mirror covers and caskets representing the siege of the Castle of Love, and thus here the mirror exemplum  adopts a visual form, whereas in Obedience its sig­nifi­ cance had been moral.86 Francis had notoriously been enthralled by the chivalric ethos as a young man, and something of the courtly and chivalric ethos endures also in the Sacrum Commercium.87 The siege of the Castle of Love is a con102

the lull before the stor m fused and com­pli­cated tradition, but the lines of filiation which prompted its adoption at Assisi are clear enough. An Anglo-­Norman poem, Le Château d’Amour was composed by the ­bishop of Lincoln, Robert Grosseteste, an enthusiastic friend of the Order, whose works were in the Santa Croce book cupboard.88 The poem outlines Christian theology for a  popular audience. Recently it has been suggested that it was  composed for the Franciscan community at Oxford, where Grosseteste lectured in the early thirteenth century. Grosseteste used an elaborate architectural image of Mary to or­ga­nize the Virtues and, implicitly, to deflect courtly romance toward an image of erotic chastity. The inviolate Marian fortress and the citadel of virginity are fused. Grosseteste’s text was evidently known in Franciscan circles in central Italy, for several in­flu­en­tial En­glishmen were prominent in the Order, including the minister-­general Haymo of Faversham, Thomas of Eccleston, and John Pecham. Grosseteste’s philosophical works were familiar to Bonaventure, Matteo d’Acquasparta, and Pierre-­Jean Olivi.89 The didactic aim of Le Château d’Amour made it appropriate for the instruction and ed­i­fic­ a­tion of the friars in the apse and transepts of the Lower Church. The four rect­an­gu­lar corner towers of Chastity’s stronghold are described in the poem.90 The siege of the Castle of Love was often represented on ivory mirror cases for a female clientele, and its compositional adaptation to the defense of Chastity as the Castle of Virtue was in some sense inevitable.91 In the late 1270s Cardinal Ancher de Troyes had employed the motif in an elaborate piscina for his uncle Pope 103

Giotto and His Publics Urban IV’s church of Saint Urbain at Troyes.92 At Assisi the castle repelled vice and protected virtue within: Lust was vanquished by Chastity. Franciscan virtues once more overwhelm wordly vice. Perhaps not only Ubertino da Casale might scent hypocrisy here. Any full un­der­stand­ing of the crossing vault would be incomplete if it did not take into account the framing program. This re­flects the growing academic practice of glossing  texts in ever more complex and decorative ways, a development in page layout driven more by the needs of the purchaser than those of the author.93 Prompted by the rediscovery of Ar­is­totle, new methods of accurate reference developed, and Franciscans such as Alexander of Hales and Bonaventure himself were prominent in this pro­cess.94 Around the keystone appear the horned lamb, the altar, the cloud, and the crystal sea, while lower down the ribs Death spurs his pale horse alongside other images from Revelation. Apocalypticism was endemic in the Franciscan Order. Bonaventure’s iden­ti­fic­ a­tion of Francis as the angel of the sixth seal, and his acceptance of Joachim of Fiore’s prophetic vision of his­tory, was shared by later generations of friars.95 This is emphatically not to claim that the apocalyptic images of the Vele are a manifesto of the Franciscan “spiritual” wing. Rather the contrary is true: they are an outspokenly con­fi­dent expression of the Community’s leadership in the second de­cade of the Trecento. The chain of patronage is transparent. The convent of Assisi itself was the responsibility of the provincial ministers, Jacopo de’ Tondi and subsequently Francesco Veroni 104

the lull before the stor m from Todi, and its visitation was reserved to the minister-­ general. It is they who are the patrons of the Vele.96 The Vele is unique as an ensemble, and astonishingly innovative in its individual motifs. Hans Belting rightly regarded the Vele as both episodic and poetic, but these are incidentals.97 More fundamentally the Vele re­flects Franciscan legislation, and in this it can be compared with the elaborate iconographical schemes contemporaneously being invented for legal treatises. There too disparate incidents were often represented side by side within the overarching argument of a  single legal proposition.98 Current preaching made widespread use of exempla.99 A debt to earlier conciliar iconography is also palpable. It should be recalled that the Franciscan mission dispatched by Pope Gregory IX in 1232 to negotiate ­union with the Byzantine emperor at Nicaea had deliberately been shown earlier conciliar murals. Conciliar iconography often depicted the extirpation of heresy, and, like the Dominicans, the Franciscans had joined the papal thought police.100 Santa Croce had been the seat (and prison) of the Tuscan Inquisition since 1254.101 Chapter house decoration was to be indelibly marked by tribunal iconography. And yet one must fi­nally admit that veiling is essential to both personification and allegory, and hidden aspects of the Vele undoubtedly require further exegesis. There remains, however, one im­por­tant distinction between the Vele, the Pisa Stigmatization, and the Bardi Chapel, a difference partly adumbrated by the elaborate apocalyptic framework. Chronology lies at the heart of narrative, both 105

Giotto and His Publics sacred and secular. Unlike the Pisan or the Florentine Franciscan sequences, the Vele is timeless. When Bonaventure iden­ti­fied Francis as the angel of the sixth seal and made it a leitmotiv of the Legenda Maior, he placed the Franciscan Order within a developmental pro­cess moving ineluctably toward the Last Days. The End was approaching, even if the precise circumstances of its arrival remained uncertain. We are, unsurprisingly, again confronted with the prob­ lems of models and model books. Matteo d’Aquasparta noted that painters, like writers, had the models on which they drew before their eyes.102 Precedents for the Vele frescoes lie more in the ­genre of motifs than in compositions. A search for comparable motifs leads directly to Giotto’s workshop and points clearly to the Bardi Chapel frescoes, which had already been cited in the Posthumous Miracles of Saint Francis in the right transept. The Bardi Chapel chapter house occupied the east walk of a cloister, a common architectural typology. At Assisi, where the site made a chapter house flanking the cloister physically impossible, the painted chapter house has become autonomous, surely demonstrating the precedence of the Bardi Chapel composition. Instead of a room viewed through a cloister arcade, the interior space is now uni­fied. Obedience receives the novice, as the guardian would a postulant, before the frescoed Crucifixion. At Florence Francis floats above the threshold at Arles, his arms extended as if crucified. The Assisi chapter house is more prosaically employed for a customary ceremony. The laymen at the left and the haughty centaur are formally debarred from 106

the lull before the stor m its precinct. This subtle reworking of the chapter house concept of the Bardi Chapel is predicated on a firm un­der­stand­ ing of the Order’s Rule. The Posthumous Miracles flanking the Orsini Chapel at the end of the right transept permit further tightening of the absolute chronological sequence. The Resurrection of the Injured Boy is a sim­pli­fied, flattened version of the Bardi Renunciation.103 In Florence the external stair allowed Bishop Guido to descend from his salone and rescue Francis from his irate father. At Assisi this outer stair is better preserved but less obviously serves the narrative, once again suggesting that the design initially traveled with Giotto’s workshop from Florence to Assisi, where it was reiterated largely by workshop subordinates. Since the Bardi Chapel postdates the canonization of Saint Louis of Toulouse in April 1317, the period for the completion of the Vele and, subsequently, the left transept decoration by Pietro Lorenzetti before the Ghibelline coup d’état of 1319 is further contracted. The Vele scenes are new creations, and only isolated motifs, like the stone-­throwing child in the Marriage of Francis and Poverty, re­flect earlier Florentine inventions. In the Gloriosus Franciscus the angels who dance with linked fingers are prefig­ ured at Padua; a de­cade later this celestial choreography had become a topos. How to explain, then, the underlying reminiscences and re­flections? Surviving drawings of the Assisi frescoes are unhelpful. Invariably later copies by de­pen­dent artists, they con­trib­ute nothing to the creative pro­cess.104 The absence of sinopie (underdrawings) in the Giottesque frescoes 107

Giotto and His Publics at Assisi is virtually total. The widespread use of figural patroni or stencils has been claimed, but these concern motifs rather than compositions.105 And yet dif­fi­cult subject matter was transferred from commissioner to artist. Verbal instruction is probably the most plausible channel, and here the transference of leading friars between Santa Croce and Assisi should be remembered. Written indications of the kind occasionally found in contemporary French manuscripts may have existed, but these have left almost no trace in Italy. Franco Sacchetti records, jokingly, Giotto discussing a heraldic commission with a doltish patron.106 The close relationship of pictorial conception and fresco technique has led some scholars to invent an alter ego, the so-­called Parente di Giotto, whose iden­ti­fi­ca­tion has proved as troublesome as his kinship.107 At Assisi learned patrons were continuously on site to advise, suggest mod­i­fi­ca­tions, and approve; subsequently they would become the Vele’s regular public. This patronal situation differs fundamentally from anything we have yet encountered. An early date for the Vele and its links with the Orsini and Magdalen chapels, as well the right transept cycles, exemplifies the fissiparous, at times almost centrifugal, tendencies within Giotto’s workshop during the second de­cade of the Trecento.108 To understand this pro­cess better, more scrupulous discrimination between types of commissions is vital. Elaborate, many-­storied polyptychs were customarily painted in settled urban workshops, then delivered and reassembled on site. Fresco cycles of necessity were painted in situ, 108

the lull before the stor m the master’s physical presence inescapable.109 Any discussion about the autograph sta­tus of the fresco cycles in the Lower Church must bear this essential fact firmly in mind. The demanding subject matter and the intricate compositions it predicated, taken together with the relatively restricted time within which the program was painted, imply a workshop of considerable size, and a group of painters of notable expertise. The Vele evinces a greater level of stylistic homogeneity, and a more consistent level of quality, than does the earlier Saint Nicholas Chapel. Whereas painters whose hand can be recognized in the Magdalen Chapel are also identifiable in the Infancy Cycle, the Posthumous Miracles of San Francesco, and subsequently in the Vele, painters whose stylistic traits are identifiable in the Orsini Chapel are absent.110 Something of the stylistic heterogeneity of the Saint Nicholas Chapel decoration was conditioned by the fact that it re­flects an early stage in the development of Giotto’s style, revolutionary and susceptible to rapid change.111 Not all his assistants could cope. It seems probable that a considerable time intervened between the completion of the chapel and the painting of the transept, a hiatus demonstrable on technical as well as stylistic grounds. The group of painters active in the Nicholas Chapel appears to have dispersed. The episodic presence of painters from the workshop responsible for the Magdalen Chapel within the Infancy Cycle and, more consistently, in the painting of the Vele suggests a close temporal connection. Giotto’s own personal style developed distinctively in the de­cade after the Arena Chapel; this reveals itself 109

Giotto and His Publics in color variation, physiognomic traits, and drapery style. The shift toward broader, flatter faces and a greater rect­an­gu­ larity in the painting of the eyes chart changes in Giotto’s personal style rather than the allegedly “dissident” traits of an imaginary alter ego. In Florence and Pisa the combined patronage of banking families and Order received a historical Francis, located in mensurable historic time, domesticated by family heraldry, local cults, and civic allegiances. At Assisi, at the behest of the Order itself, there emerges an allegorical Francis, set in an apocalyptic frame, for an articulate and theologically competent clientele. In this the Vele resembles an ad sta­tus sermon.112 Francis is enthroned in heaven, and earthly chronology cedes place to a timeless eschatology tinged with the apocalyptic chiliasm implicit in the Order since its founder, and institutionalized by Bonaventure. The Vele stands beyond his­tory; it invited its Franciscan spectators to meditate on the central verities of their Order, at least as these were perceived by their leaders, in the second de­cade of the Trecento. It achieves this aim in a nonlinear, episodic mode, outside conventional narrative structures, animated by moral personifications. Like sermons, the vault compositions are studded with exempla and similitudes within an overall artistic symmetry.113 Hagiographic narrative finds no place. Nor, one might repeat, has minoritas much of a part to play. The Community was simply less interested in its historical founder than were private families, who increasingly, like Giotto himself, would name their children in honor of the modern saints. For the Community, 110

the lull before the stor m Francis had already passed into his­tory.114 The era of the living memory of the saint had ended. His tomb was his permanent memorial, and his moral exemplarity could be safely interpreted. Whereas the Pisan Stigmatization and the Bardi Chapel cycle were ultimately about Saint Francis, he paradoxically plays a much lesser role in the frescoes directly over his tomb. Neither Pisa nor Florence possessed sig­nifi­cant relics of Francis, whereas at Assisi, mother church and burial place, the relic cult was implicit. In the Vele Francis is enthroned alone. Anthony, Clare, and Louis are absent. Their presence in Assisi is peripheral—in private chapels or over side altars.115 In both the Stigmatization and the Bardi Chapel, Giotto and his patrons deliberately modi­fied the chronology of Francis’s life to make religious and artistic statements. In a biographical praxis extending back at least to Plutarch, linear chronology was sac­ri­ficed to proj­ect moral and cultic aspects of the saint.116 The narrative message was unmediated by texts. In the Vele religious allegory obviated the need for biography or chronology, and the exposition is both meditative and hortatory. It was a mode which later flour­ished in chapter houses and refectories, as well as town halls, in central Italy. It privileged texts, and—unlike the Cinquina or Bardi chapels—it had no place for heraldry.117 In the Lower Church heraldry informs only the penumbra of private chapels which open off the nave and transepts.118 It also attests to patronage changing over time. The Dream of Innocent III at Pisa was created when the papacy remained an active religious and po­lit­ 111

Giotto and His Publics i­cal presence in Italy. A de­cade or so later, when the Bardi Chapel and the Vele were painted, the appalling permanence of the Avignonese absence was beginning to dawn. The papacy’s historical role in the Order’s iconography was proportionately restricted. In Florence two posthumous miracles replaced historical episodes. Perceptions of Francis changed with current politics, and in the more or less contemporaneous commissions of the Bardi Chapel and the Vele, in­flu­en­tial and distinct patrons with differing artistic imperatives played their part in this pro­cess and accepted different out­comes. Giotto played an exceptional part in Francis’s transfor­ mation.

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he Franciscans, who, as the patrons of Giotto, have played an im­por­tant role in the preceding pages, were in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries intensely local. This was particularly true of Florence, where many of the friars were also members of the leading civic families.1 It meant in practice that the internationalism of the Order was marked by local preferences and traditions. Yet fourteenth-­century Florentines themselves were also, and to an extraordinary degree, international. Boniface VIII remarked that they constituted a fifth element after air, fire, earth, and water.2 Yet of the three episodes of patronage described in the preceding pages, only the Bardi Chapel immediately to the right of the high altar in Santa Croce is located in Florence. As a wall painter Giotto was of necessity itinerant, and to a considerable extent at the 115

Conclusion beck and call of im­por­tant patrons. At the end of his life he was summoned to Milan to work for Azzone Visconti, and a few years before this was a period of intensive activity in the ser­vice of Robert d’Anjou at his court in Naples.3 Yet as we have seen, Giotto also painted for a whole spectrum of ecclesiastical or­ga­ni­za­tions, the papacy and curia, the communal episcopacy, the old monastic orders and the mendicants, and anomalous groups such as the Umiliati. Of these patron groups it was undoubtedly the Franciscans who obtained the lion’s share of his ser­vices, certainly at Pisa, Assisi, and very probably Padua. Rimini may also have attracted him, although he does not appear to have painted for the Franciscans in Rome. First, perhaps it would be wise to say what this book aspires to be and what it clearly is not. Painting in San Francesco at Assisi has, apart from the crossing program of the Lower Church, largely been omitted. It is indisputable that the Legend of the Life of Saint Francis is re­flected in the Stigmatization painted for the Cinquina family chapel at Pisa, and that this re­flection (in all senses of the word) takes the form of an authoritative, if tightly focused, critique of the earlier fresco cycle. The three programs we have investigated cover the early and middle parts of the painter’s career. Whereas the frescoes of the Bardi Chapel and the Vele of the Lower Church are closely linked in both time and content, the Stigmatization originally in San Francesco at Pisa is an early work on panel, albeit a revolutionary achievement. One fig­ure, much referred to in the discussion of Giotto, 116

Conclusion has left relatively little trace in these pages: Dante Alighieri, the painter’s contemporary. Dante died an exile at Ravenna in September 1321. Too much is customarily read into the famous lines in Purgatorio where Giotto’s fame is said to have eclipsed that of Cimabue. This does not imply judgment of the stature of either painter, but is part of an extended re­ flection on the transience of artistic fame.4 The passage indeed begins with a similar contrast between Oderisio da Gubbio and Franco Bolognese. Equally it is simply wishful thinking to read the Last Judgment at Padua through a Dantesque prism. The Arena precedes Inferno. The spe­cific cruelties of Giotto’s hell attest rather a growing tendency for particular sins to be appropriately, and graphically, punished.5 For a va­ri­ety of reasons I have thought it best to distance Giotto from Dante. Certainly the impact of the poetry on the painter, if it exists at all, ­comes from the later period of the artist’s career, when Dante was already dead. The relationship of poet to painter is largely a discussion of Dante reception and in some mea­sure posthumous appropriation. I shall return to this topic when I discuss the Vele. The contrasting attitudes of Giotto and Dante to Rome are indicative. For the painter, both the physical remains of ancient Rome and its contemporary reality remained an enduring and transformative memory. From quotations of ancient statuary such as the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal, classical busts, or the techniques of classical painting reutilized in the Arena Chapel and in the Peruzzi Chapel, Rome was always vividly present in the painter’s imagination.6 For the Pisa pre117

Conclusion della Giotto carefully represented the Lateran as it appeared circa 1300, just as the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio was ­adopted for the fortress of Chastity in the Lower Church. For Dante, Rome too was a constant of the imagination, and his idea of Rome was of unsurpassed resonance.7 But it was also a strangely abstract city. He took little personal interest in its majestic ruins or modern churches. It was exemplum as much as reality: pride in its past was matched by an awareness of its contemporary limitations. The reverence toward the physical testimony of that mysterious and imposing past which attracted the Florentine painter, as it had earlier entranced Hildebert of Lavardin and was later to absorb ­Petrarch, is wholly absent.8 And Dante pointedly preferred Florentine views.9 In a similar way the poet was curiously indifferent to the commercial revolution which was rapidly transforming his native city. He shows little interest in and less comprehension of the stature and international importance of the merchant bankers who drove forward Florence’s economy and who were major patrons of Giotto’s art.10 So perhaps the wished-­for symbiosis is overemphasized. The relationship of Giotto and Dante may well be a prob­lem in such commissions as the Cappella della Maddalena in the Palazzo del Bargello, but that concerns the later part of the artist’s career and is not one which concerns the present argument. In reconstructing in the mind’s eye the original setting of the Stigmatization of Saint Francis now in the Louvre, I have traced the setting of the gabled panel within its discrete ar118

Conclusion chitectural space. This space was, however, also a familial environment marked by the heraldry of the Cinquina both on the chapel wall and on the frame of the panel. Self-­evidently this setting is a construct, and it remains uncertain whether the structure of the Cinquina Chapel itself was ever decorated, with either murals or stained glass—although both types of decoration existed in Franciscan churches before that date.11 The gabled shape of the panel, just like aspects of its figural program, re­flect the requirements of its original site. In shape it followed, or perhaps was required to imitate, the shape of Cimabue’s stately Madonna and Child, which by this date already decorated the high altar of San Francesco. The Franciscan scenes of the predella had also been given a notably Pisan nuance. When we move to the Bardi Chapel, the prob­lems of virtual reconstruction remain but now impinge at a different level of magnitude. The chapel’s original stained glass is lost, and is now, somewhat misleadingly, replaced by a contemporary window program transferred from the Velluti Chapel.12 It remains uncertain whether there was originally an altar painting, and the present altar block is a later replacement. Only at the end of Giotto’s career does the potential com­ plex­ity of such a chapel program become realized in the Baroncelli Chapel, erected for the consorteria of another prominent banking family by piercing the wall of the right transept. There the polyptych of the Coronation of the Virgin signed by Giotto forms a central element of the frescoed Marian program by Taddeo Gaddi which clothes the chapel 119

Conclusion walls. The polyptych stands in front of a stained-­glass window decorated with standing saints and Franciscan scenes which enriches and elucidates the iconographical program of the chapel. So too does the Annunciation group by the Pisan sculptor Giovanni di Balduccio which flanks the entrance: it attests the dedication of the chapel to the Virgin Annun­ ciate.13 The polyptych stands on its original sculpted altar block. To the right of the chapel entrance, taking advantage of the more ample space provided by the chapel’s insertion into the transept wall, is a family tomb whose inscription establishes the original purpose of the chapel foundation and by its own sculptural program adds to the meanings of po­ lyptych and frescoes.14 It provides the identities of the commissioners, and in this the Baroncelli Chapel is enviably well documented. The public for which the Bardi Chapel decorative program was created some two de­cades after the Louvre Stigmatization nevertheless had much in common with its Pisan counterpart. The Bardi were a powerful, wealthy family who had acquired the rights to one of the most prominent and honored chapel sites within the newly built Franciscan church, which as at Pisa constituted one of the major modern ecclesiastical constructions of the city. Because of their nearness to the high altar, both chapels ­adopted, or were directed to receive, a dedication to Francis as the patron saint of the Order. At Pisa, Francis was also titular of the church. The Bardi were immeasurably wealthier than the Cinquina, and Santa Croce, even in its incomplete state, was a far more imposing church 120

Conclusion than San Francesco in Pisa. But the physical dimensions of both family chapels were quite similar. How long the Bardi Chapel took to execute is by no means clear. Its painted program is too incomplete to yield an accurate count of the giornate. Even within its restricted space, however, it is evident that the qualitative level is not consistently high. The now isolated group of friars’ heads in the Vision of Fra Agostino is surely the work of an assistant, and by the date of the Bardi Chapel, Giotto must systematically have been employing a substantial and accomplished workshop. If Cennino Cennini is to be believed, Taddeo Gaddi worked for more than two de­cades in Giotto’s workshop. Such a duration, however, was likely exceptional. There must have been a number of painters who were active for shorter or ­longer periods of time as Giotto’s assistants, who then moved on, either to set up workshops on their own account or for other reasons. But one should stress that the general level of execution in the Bardi Chapel is nevertheless highly accomplished —so much so that even if the suggestions which have been made about the par­tic­i­pa­tion of Giotto’s son in the paternal workshop should prove to be correct, the works at­trib­uted to Giotto e figli are so substantially inferior in quality to the surviving frescoes in the Bardi Chapel that they add nothing to our un­der­stand­ing of Giotto’s personal artistic development. The Bardi cycle moves substantially beyond the Upper Church at Assisi in its treatment of the Franciscan Legend. This is not merely a result of familial preferences on the part of the Bardi, nor one entirely of Franciscan editorial choices, 121

Conclusion although the role of the Order must have been im­por­tant. The changing po­lit­i­cal scene in Italy, and especially in Florence, played its part: the Franciscan experience was seen within an Angevin hagiographic frame. The relationship between the Order and the Roman Church was more distant geographically and ideologically, and the relationship with the papacy would soon change further still. The royal saints, like the standing fig­ures flanking a polyptych or punctuating a pulpit narrative, frame the altar wall window. In another sense the Bardi program moves beyond the Louvre Stigmatization both in its representation of the miraculous event and also in the way its spatial frame surmounts the narratives of Francis’s life and death disposed in the chapel beneath. They act in some sense once again as a predella to the Stigmatization above the chapel entrance. The seven scenes of Francis’s earthly existence painted by Giotto for the Bardi Chapel were conceived for a largely lay audience—members of the Bardi family themselves, their celebrating priests, and a larger and more miscellaneous lay public who would have seen or prayed before the chapel from the transept space of Santa Croce. Such a public was little different from those who saw the Cinquina Chapel at Pisa. Florence was now probably more cosmopolitan than Pisa, the Franciscan community was certainly larger and more distinguished, the Bardi one of the most prominent and well-­ connected merchant banking families in Europe. But this lay public nucleated around the family of the patron, which linked the two chapel commissions. This relationship was to 122

Conclusion change radically with the final commission I have discussed, the crossing vault of the Lower Church at San Francesco at Assisi, the burial church of the Order’s founder, and a decorative scheme commissioned for and daily contemplated by the friars themselves. Chapel pictorial cycles are primarily a development of the Trecento, intimately connected with developments in ecclesiastical architecture, which increasingly fragmented the space enclosing individual groups of worshippers. The Bardi frescoes were also a cycle painted for a family of huge wealth and international connections, and the standing saints on the window wall broadcast the range and social sta­tus of these international links. But Florence, one should remind oneself, was a republic: there was no court and no single individual, however wealthy or po­lit­i­cally in­flu­en­tial, who could act as arbiter and determine the development of Florentine society or dictate cultural fashion. The Vele composition leads the modern viewer, as it intentionally took its original public, into the realm of moral allegory. This was a suggestive and imaginative terrain where Dante also worked, but the roots of the Vele iconography differ profoundly from those of the poet. It was also a monumental wall painting commission in which the workshop Giotto had built up, several times renewed and re­fined in its working practices, ­adopted a sig­nifi­cantly more im­por­tant role than in either earlier commission. As his original assistants aged and set up in proprio, so others followed them, initiating their own careers in a later stratum of the master’s 123

Conclusion style. This is an im­por­tant and too rarely understood argument. Thus those assistants of Giotto who worked on the Vele began their careers in the workshop very probably early in the second de­cade of the Trecento, well after the completion of the Arena Chapel in Padua or the Cappella San Nicola in the Lower Church. They grew to ma­tu­ri­ty during the stylistic phase of the Bardi Chapel in Florence. Our earlier examination has shown how close the Vele in the Lower Church and the Bardi Chapel are in style and chronology. They themselves can therefore also be seen as preparation for major later commissions, such as the Peruzzi Chapel, which physically adjoined the Bardi Chapel in Santa Croce, the sadly fragmentary work in Naples, and the in­flu­ en­tial late polyptychs painted for Bologna and for the Baroncelli Chapel in the right transept of Santa Croce.15 The de­cade which followed the completion of the Bardi Chapel saw the acceleration of another sig­nifi­cant feature in painting at Florence: the arrival of the Sienese. It was a phenomenon not entirely new. Already in the late thirteenth century, Duccio’s great Madonna for the Compagnia dei Laudesi in Santa Maria Novella had proved the attractions of Sienese painting for Florentine patrons. It may very well be that a successor to the Rucellai Madonna by Duccio, again conceived for a Laudesi confraternity, was already present in Santa Croce, the work of a more modestly talented Sienese artist sometimes called the Maestro di Casole.16 But this practice of importation reached its greatest importance with the commissioning of a direct follower of Duccio, Ugolino 124

Conclusion di Nerio, to paint the high altarpiece of Santa Croce itself. This huge Franciscan polyptych must have been completed and installed in the interval between the completion of the Bardi Chapel program and the start of the Baroncelli Chapel in the transept. Already by 1319 a Sienese painter, Simone Martini, had completed the great mendicant high altarpiece for San Domenico at Pisa, and shortly thereafter another Sienese painter, Pietro Lorenzetti, was commissioned by the ­bishop of Arezzo, Guido Tarlati, to paint the altarpiece of the Pieve at Arezzo. Ugolino’s high altarpiece for Santa Croce can thus be seen within the framework of this export of Sienese altarpiece types and Sienese painters in the second and third de­cades of the Trecento. It would be astonishing if Giotto had not himself reacted to this intrusion. In fact its impact can be seen in the manner in which Giotto ­adopted Sienese elements of polyptych construction, formal design, and also surface handling, most especially the prolific use of elaborate punches to decorate haloes and frames of his late panel paintings. But it was not only in the realm of altarpiece design that there were new developments which stemmed from the intervention of non-­Florentine artists. The Sienese sculptor at hand, Tino di Camaino, had been commissioned to make the tomb for the patriarch of Aquileia, Gastone della Torre, who had died in consequence of a fall from his horse near Florence in 1318. This monument, closely modeled on Tino’s tomb of Cardinal Ricardo Petroni in the Duomo at Siena, was set up in the newly completed transept of Santa Croce itself. It 125

Conclusion is likely that the Bardi Chapel had very recently been completed when the new marble tomb was erected.17 It, like the polyptych by Ugolino di Nerio, brought recent developments in Sienese biblical iconography into the Franciscan church at Florence. The executors of Bishop Antonio d’Orso di Biliotto (d. July 1321) subsequently commissioned Tino di Camaino to make his tomb in Florence cathedral. One of the people responsible for that design was Orso’s personal notary and testamentary executor, Francesco da Barberino, himself a known admirer of Giotto.18 Bishop Antonio was almost certainly connected with the commissioning of the double-­sided high altarpiece for Florence cathedral produced by Giotto’s workshop in the second de­cade of the fourteenth century.19 But the prolonged contact which Giotto had with Tino at Angevin Naples, where the sculptor served almost as court mason, producing tomb monuments for the royal house, may well have marked the revisiting of an acquaintance already initiated at Florence a de­cade earlier. These Sienese intrusions would prove im­por­tant for the later stylistic phases of Giotto’s career, but not for the moment of the Bardi and Vele commissions. The period of sustained creativity in the ser­vice of the Franciscan Order which the Vele and the Bardi Chapel commissions attested was also an im­por­tant one in the development of Giotto’s mature artistic identity. The transformative power of his art was already evident throughout Tuscany and in Rome. It was, additionally, a period which saw the culmination of his long interrelationship with the Franciscan Or126

Conclusion der’s artistic assumptions and wishes, first seen through the prism of its historical development, as well as the complex and diffuse world of Franciscan thought and the Order’s internal regulation. This potent amalgam would make an enduring impact on, and receive further sig­nifi­cant stimuli from, the courtly art of Angevin Naples. In the Louvre Stigmatization, the Bardi Chapel frescoes, and the Vele, we have observed Giotto develop a narrative of penetrating moral seriousness and sustained dramatic power. The Vele program proved that, building on this essentially narrative base, he could produce plausible compositions of complex subjects in which the narrative pulse was less evident. It was an art that existed outside the spaces which circumscribe the Pisan panel painting and his first Florentine chapel to have survived. In the Peruzzi Chapel the fictive architecture extends emphatically beyond the painted frame. In the Annunciation to Zacharias, the ciborium, which had long ago acted as a pictogram for the church interior as a whole in the Arena cycle, is now itself circumscribed by the lunette frame, suggesting the exceptional scale of the Temple within whose sanctuary the episode takes place. Here the fictive architectural framework of the chapel merely provides the diaphragm through which we view a wider and more expansive space in existence beyond the church wall. In the Vele this is a vision which is developed ideologically. It is not merely a pic­ torial space which exists beyond the con­fines of its fictive architectural surround, but rather a heavenly space where allegory and symbolic content are freed from a merely contin127

Conclusion gent terrestrial environment. Nonlinear compositional designs weaken the tenacious grip which narrative procedures had placed on earlier Tuscan painting, and the newly liberated painter could now create other versions of reality beyond the surface of the wall. The exigencies of biography or historical event were sloughed off, and the spectator was rigorously engaged in a pictorial composition which demanded theological preparation, informed analysis, and imaginative agility to reveal its full intellectual power.

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APPENDIX

Inscriptions of the Vele

1. St. Francis in Glory ATOR RENOVAT IAM NORMAM EVANGELICAM FRANCISCUS CUNCTIS PREPARAT VIAM SALUTIS CELICAM PAUPERTATEM DUM REPARAT CASTITATEM ANGELICAM OBEDIENDO COMPARAT TRINITATEM DEIFICAM ORNATUS HIS VIRTUTIBUS ASCENDIT REGNATURUS HIIS CUMULATUS FRUCTIBUS PROCEDIT IAM SECURUS CUM ANGELORUM CETIBUS ET CHRISTO PROFECTURUS FORMAM QUAM TRADIT FRATRIBUS

Francis already renews the gospel law and prepares the way to heavenly salvation for all. While cherishing Poverty coupled with angelic chastity he prepares for the divine Trinity. Ornamented with these virtues he ascends to where he will reign. After having gathered these fruits he now proceeds serenely with the host of angels toward Christ and all follow the model which he entrusts to his brothers.

Appendix

2. The Allegory of Chastity E CASTITATIS ORANTI PRO VICTORIA CORONE DATUR CARITAS AD HANC QUERENS ACTINGERE HONESTATE SE TEGAT LOCO DATUR PERTINGERE SI FORTITUDO PROTEGAT DUM CASTITAS PROTEGITUR PER VIRTUOSA MUNERA NAM CONTRA HOSTES TEGITUR PER PASSI CHRISTI VULNERA DEFENDIT PENITENTIA CASTIGANDO SE CREBRIUS MORTIS REMINISCENTIA DUM MENTEM PULSAT SEPIUS FRATRES SORORES ADVOCAT ET CONTINENTES CONIUGES CUNCTOS AD EAM PROVOCAT FRANCISCUS

To Chastity who prays for victory the veil is given as a crown. Whoever seeks to join her covers themselves with honesty. One may reach her only with the protection of Fortitude, while Chastity is herself defended through virtuous gifts. Indeed she is protected against foes by the wounds of the suffering Christ. Penitence defends herself with constant punishment while the thought of death hastens to the mind more often. Francis advocates chastity to his brothers and sisters and recommends it to continent spouses.

3. The Marriage of Saint Francis and Lady Poverty SIC CONTEPNITUR DUM SPERNIT MUNDI GAUDIA VESTE VILI CONTEGITUR QUERIT CELI SOLATIA COMPUNGITUR DURIS SENTIBUS MUNDI CARENS DIVITIIS ROSIS PLENA VIRENTIBUS  .  .  . ANT CELESTIS SPES ET CARITAS ET ANGELI COADIUVANT UT PLACEAT NECESSITAS HANC SPONSAM CHRISTUS TRIBUIT FRANCISCO UT CUSTODIAT NAM OMNIS EAM RE

Poverty is condemned thus for refusing earthly plea­sures. She is clad in a wretched garment but seeks heavenly joys. She is pricked by harsh briars and without worldly riches, yet she is surrounded by blooming

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Appendix roses and celestial joy. Divine hope and Charity always aid Francis, and the angels ensure that poverty is agreeable. Christ gives such a bride to Francis because he cherishes her although others reject her.

4. The Allegory of Obedience VIRTUS OBEDIENTIE IUGO CHRISTI PERFICITUR CUIUS IUGO DECENTIE OBEDIENS EFFICITUR ASPECTUM HUNC MORTIFICAT SET VIVENTIS SUNT OPERA LINGUAM SILENS  CLARIFICAT CORDE SCRUTATUR OPERA COMITA­ TUR PRUDENTIA FUTURAQUE PROSPICERE SCIT SIMUL AC PRAESENTIA IN RETRO IAM DEFICERE QUASI PER SEXTI CIRCULUM AGENDA CUNCTA REGULAT ET PER VIRTUTIS SPECULUM OBEDIENTI FRENULAT SE DEFLECTIT HUMILITAS PRESUMPTIONIS NESCIA CUIUS IN MANU CLARITAS VIRTUTUM SISTIS CON

The virtue of Obedience is attained through the yoke of Christ and who obeys bears his yoke lightly. Obedience may resemble death, but his works are those of one alive. Whoever stands in silence cleanses his tongue and in his heart examines his deeds. It is done in the company of Prudence who is able to see contemporaneously present and future but can also recall the past, measuring all things as with the arm of a compass. The mirror of virtues regulates obedience. Humility knows not Pride and kneels to discover the splendor of virtue at her hands.

= Note: The Latin texts given here are based on Padre Giuseppe Palumbo’s rereadings from the scaffold after the 1968 restoration, and what now survives. Some additional words, now lost or illegible, were transcribed by Fra Ludovico da Pietralunga in the sixteenth century. I have not reproduced these, but have taken them into account in my translations.

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Chronology

=

The Franciscan Order, 1287–1322 1287 1288

1289 1296 1298 1300 1302

1304

Matteo d’Aquasparta, minister-­general 1287–1289 Nicholas IV, Girolamo d’Ascoli, O.F.M., February 22, 1288–April 4, 1292 Matteo d’Aquasparta be­comes cardinal May 16, 1288 Raymond Geoffroy, minister-­general 1289—deposed October 1295 Giovanni da Murrovalle, minister-­general 1296–1304 March: d. Pierre-Jean Olivi Gentile da Montefiore, O.F.M., be­comes cardinal March 2–d. October 27, 1312 Giovanni da Murrovalle be­comes cardinal December 15– d. August 1313 Matteo d’Aquasparta d. October 28, 1302 Gonsalvo Hispanus, minister-­general 1304–1313 General Chapter, Assisi

Chronology 1307

1310 1311 1312 1312 1313 1314 1316

1317 1320 1322

Gonsalvo raises Feast of Stigmatization to duplex General Chapter, Toulouse: Giovanni da Murrovalle appointed cardinal protector Gonsalvo prohibits depiction of uncanonized “saints” and beati as saints General Chapter, Padua September: Cardinal Gentile da Montefiore, O.F.M., returns from Hungary May 6: Exivi de Paradiso; Council of Vienne closes Vital du Four, O.F.M., be­comes cardinal December 23, 1312– d. August 16, 1327 Alessandro d’Alessandria, minister-­general 1313–1314 General Chapter, Barcelona Michael of Cesena, minister-­general 1316–1328 General Chapter, Naples New Statutes of the Order agreed at Assisi April 7: canonization bull of Saint Louis of Toulouse, O.F.M., Sol oriens mundo Bertrand de Tour, O.F.M., be­comes cardinal December 19 or 20, 1320–d. 1329 General Chapter, Perugia

Papacy and Curia, 1288–1322 1288 1294

1296 1300

Nicholas IV, Girolamo d’Ascoli, O.F.M., February 22, 1288– d. April 4, 1292 Celestine V, Pietro da Morrone, O.S.B., July 5, 1294–abdicated December 13, 1294 d. May 19, 1296. Canonized as Saint Peter Celestine May 5, 1313. Boniface VIII, Benedetto Caetani, December 24,1294–d. October 11, 1303 May: Boniface VIII’s tomb chapel in Old Saint Peter’s in use Jubilee of the Church

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Chronology 1303 1305 1310

1311 1312 1312 1313 1316 1317 1322

Benedict XI, Niccolo Boccasini, O.P., October 22, 1303–d. July 7, 1304 Clement V, Bertrand de Goth June 5, 1305–d. April 20, 1314 Dudum ad apostolatus April 14, 1310. Spirituals spokesmen exempted from Community’s Rule. Community censured for not correcting abuses of poverty. Council of Church opens at Vienne October 16 May 6: Exivi de Paradiso. Church Council of Vienne closes. Cardinal Gentile da Montefiore stores part of papal trea­sure at San Frediano, Lucca; d. October 27 in Lucca June 14, 15: Castruccio Castracani loots papal trea­sure at Lucca John XXII, Jacques Duèse August 7, 1316–d. December 4, 1334 October 7: Quorundam exigit legislates on Franciscan habit March: Quia nonunquam permits discussion of Nicholas III’s Exiit qui seminat December 8. Ad conditorem canonum cancels Holy See’s dominium and alters the legal basis of Franciscan property.

San Francesco, Pisa, 1260–ca. 1321 1260 1286 1301

1302 1303 1304 1305 1321

New church of San Francesco under construction Operaio elected for San Francesco August 30–February 19, 1302: Cimabue works on Duomo apse mosaic November 1: Cimabue and Iohannes dictus Nuchulus stipulate contract for Santa Chiara high altarpiece for 105 Pisan denarii Giucco di Lotto Cocchi leaves 150 lire for a family chapel Pisan comune adopts Feast of San Francesco as civic feast Gonsalvo Hispanus raises Feast of Stigmatization to duplex October 21: Cardinal Napoleone Orsini as papal legate allows 500 gold florins to be used to complete church building Tomb of Conte della Gherardesca

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Chronology

Santa Croce, Florence, 1287–1322 1287 1287– 1289 1292 1295 1299 1306 1309 1310 1314 1317 1318 1321 1322

Pierre-­Jean Olivi, lector Ubertino da Casale, lector November 21: testament of Donato di Arnaldo Peruzzi May 3: foundation stone of church laid January 7: Lapa Russi leaves 100 lire in subsidium unius capelle fiende sive complende in choro ecclesie December 17: Fra Enrico Cerchi’s chapel recorded January 4: d. Jacopo de Ricco Bardi September 10: payment for transept roof Umiliana de’ Cerchi’s remains moved to Cerchi Chapel January 22: Guardian Fra Bonanno appoints syndics August 20: d. Gastone della Torre, patriarch of Aquileia December: d. Alessandro Velluti March: d. Lapo Bardi

San Francesco, Assisi, 1288–1322 1288 1288 1289 1296 1300 1306 1307 1309 1310

May 14: Nicholas IV exempts San Francesco from interdicts May 15: Reducentes ad sedulae allows friars to use monies for church decoration and own needs August 7: Nicholas IV donates an altar frontal February 13: Teobaldo Pontano, O.F.M., elected ­bishop of Assisi; d. 1329 February 14: April painting near altar of San Giovanni documented March 6: Saint Nicholas Chapel in use Saint Nicholas Chapel paintings copied in panel dated 1307 by Giuliano da Rimini January 4: Giotto di Bondone documented at Assisi September 10: Fra Jacopo de Tondi elected provincial minister of Umbria

136

Chronology 1311 1312 1318 1319 1320 1321 1322

July 16: flooding damages Lower Church March: Cardinal Gentile da Montefiore, O.F.M., at Assisi; 600 florins assigned for Saint Martin Chapel November 9: Venetian Senate permits Venetian glaziers to work for San Francesco Assisi September 29–March 1322: papal tenth and trea­sure looted from sacristy June 25: Assisi placed under papal interdict August: Assisi sues for peace in war with Perugia March 29: Assisi surrenders to Perugia

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Notes

=

Preface 1. October 23, 1937; Mostra Avgvstea della Romanità Catalogo, 4th definitive edition (Rome, 1938). The inaugural oration of Professor Giulio Quirino Giglioli, v–viii, states that it was or­ga­nized “con il massimo rigore sci­en­tifico e con ardore fascista” (v). 2. Edward Gibbon, The Autobiography of Edward Gibbon, Everyman Edition (London, n.d. [1911]), 124. 3. Oliviero Ronchi, “Un documento inedito del 9 gennaio 1305 intorno alla Cappella degli Scrovegni,” Atti e Memorie dell’ Accademia Patavina di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti 52 (1935–1936): 205–211, quotation on 210–211; Chiara Frugoni, L’affare migliore di Enrico Giotto e la cappella Scrovegni (Saggi 899) (Turin, 2008), 40.

Introduction 1. The anecdote concerning the pigs ­comes from Franco Sacchetti, Il Trecentonovelle, ed. Valerio Marucci (Rome, 1996), novella 75,

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Notes to Pages 1–3 220–221, at 220; Anita Simon, “Letteratura e arte figurativa: Franco Sacchetti, un testimone d’eccezione?” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome: Moyen Age 103 (1993): 443–479, esp. 473; Enid Falaschi, “Giotto: The Literary Legend,” Ital­ian Studies 27 (1972): 1–27. 2. Giovanni Villani, ed. Giuseppe E. Sansone and Giulio C. Cura ed. (Rome, 2002), 796, 12.xii: “maestro Giotto nostro cittadino, il più sovrano maestro stato in dipintura che ssi trovasse al suo tempo, e quelli che più trasse ogni figura e atti al naturale.” 3. The document is printed by Cesare Guasti, S. Maria del Fiore (Florence, 1887), 43–44, no. 44. See Walter Paatz, “Die Gestalt Giottos im Spiegel einer zeitgenössischen Urkunde,” in Eine Gabe der Freunde für Carl Georg Heise zum 28.vi.1950 (Berlin, 1950), 85– 102. 4. Valentino Martinelli, “Un documento per Giotto ad Assisi,” Storia dell’Arte 19 (1973): 193–208. The demonstration by John White that the painting dated 1307 by Giuliano da Rimini now in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston re­flects the Stigmatization in the Saint Francis Legend has not been credibly impugned. John White,The Date of ‘The Legend of St. Francis’ at Assisi,” Burlington Magazine 98 (1956): 344–351. See also the discussion later in this chapter. 5. Ulrich Pfisterer, “Erste Werke und Autopoiesis: Der Topos künstlerischer Frühbegabung im 16. Jahrhundert,” in Visuelle Topoi: Erfindung und tradiertes Wissen in den Künsten der italienischen Renaissance, ed. Ulrich Pfisterer and Max Seidel (Munich, 2002), 263– 302, esp. 264. 6. Georg Graf Vitzthum, “Zu Giotto’s Navicella,” in Italienische Studien: Paul Schubring zum 60. Geburtstag gewidmet (Leipzig, 1929), 144–145; Werner Körte, “Die ‘Navicella’ des Giotto,” in Festschrift Wilhelm Pinder zum 60. Geburtstag (Leipzig, 1938), 223–263; Wolgang Kemp, “Zum Programm von Stefaneschi-­Altar und Navicella,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 30 (1967): 309–320; Helmtrud

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Notes to Pages 3–4 Köhren-­Jansen, Giottos Navicella: Bildtradition, Deutung, Rezeptionsgeschichte, Römische Studien der Bibliotheca Hertziana 8 (Worms, 1993). 7. While praying in Saint Peter’s on February 26, 1380, her subsequent paralysis lasting until her death. Suzanne Noffke, O.P., The Letters of Catherine of Siena, vol. 1, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 202 (Tempe, 2000), vol. 2, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 203 (Tempe, 2001), vol. 3, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 329 (Tempe, 2007), vol. 4, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 355 (Tempe, 2008), 4:354, 367–368: “frater Guillelmum ordinis Heremitarum . . . narrat, ipsa eunte, ut dictum est, ad Sanctum Petrum, ibidem habuit in visione qualiter, videlicet, Ecclesie navicula super eius spatulas posita ipsam opprimebat in tantum quod moriendo in terram cadebat.” See also Thomas Antonii de Senis “Caffarini” Libellus de Supplemento Legenda prolixe Virginis Beate Catherine de Senis, ed. Giuliana Cavallini and Imelda Foralossa (Rome, 1974), 285; Millard Meiss, Painting in Florence and Siena after the Black Death (Prince­ton, 1951), 106–107. 8. Leon Battista Alberti, Della Pittura, Raccolta di Fonti per la Storia dell’Arte 7, ed. Luigi Mallé (Florence, 1950), 95. 9. Dale Kent, The Rise of the Medici (Oxford, 1975), 275 (MAP 4, 246, October 3, 1431); Francesco Carlo Pellegrini, Sulla republica fiorentina a tempo di Cosimo il vecchio (Pisa, 1880), clxv–clxvi. Balzanello (a  spotted horse) may perhaps have the sense of a pantomime horse. 10. The phrase modi­fied by Francesco ­comes from the passage on the division of property in Corpus Iuris Civilis (2.1.34). The resemblance was first noticed by Joseph B. Trapp. See Falaschi, Giotto, 4 n. 22. For Envy, see Francesco da Barberino, I Documenti d’Amore, Barb. 4076; Francesco da Barberino, I documenti d’Amore di Francesco da Barberino, Società Filologica Romana, ed. Francesco Egidi, vol. 2 (Rome, 1905–1927), 165: “hanc padue in arena optime pinsit Giottus.” For a severe critique of the Egidi edition, see Maria

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Notes to Pages 4–5 C. Panzera, “Per l’edizione critica dei Documenti d’Amore di Francesco da Barberino,” Studi mediolatini e volgari 40 (1994): 91– 118. Eric Jacobsen, “Francesco da Barberino, Man of Law and Servant of Love,” Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 15, pt. 1 (1986): 87–118, and pt. 2, 16 (1987): 75–106; Emilio Pasquini, “Francesco da Barberino,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Ital­iani, vol. 49 (Rome, 1997), 686–690. Egidi published the miniatures from the Vatican MSS BAV Barb. Lat., 4076, 4077, of the Documenti d’Amore; Francesco Egidi, “Le miniature dei codici Barberiniani dei Documenti d’Amore,” L’Arte 5 (1902): 1–20, 78–95. The recently rediscovered Officiolum has been published by Kay Sutton, “The Lost ‘Officiolum’ of Francesco da Barberino Rediscovered,” Burlington Magazine 147 (2005): 152–164. 11. Falaschi, Giotto, 2; Hartmut Biermann, “Das ‘O’: Giottos Anmerkungen zur Fama Giottos,” in Aufsätze zur Kunstgeschichte Festschrift für Hermann Bauer zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. Karl Möseneder and Andreas Prater (Hildesheim, 1991), 109–127, esp. 111; Ernst Kris and Otto Kurz, Legend, Myth, and Magic in the Image of the Artist (New Haven, 1979), 23. For the story of Cimabue as Giotto’s teacher, the authors coin the telling phrase “his­tory faking” (24). 12. Sutton, “The Lost ‘Officiolum,’ ” 158; Eva FrojmoviÍ, “Giotto’s Allegories of Justice and the Comune in the Palazzo della Ragione in Padua,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 59 (1996): 24–47. 13. Pasquini, Francesco da Barberino, 686–690; Louis Green, Chronicle into History (Cambridge, 1972); Ernst Mehl, Die Weltanschauung des Giovanni Villani: Ein Beitrag zur Geistesgeschichte Italiens im Zeitalter Dantes, Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte des Mittelalters und der Renaissance 33 (Leipzig, 1927); Michele Luzzati, Giovanni Villani e la compagnia dei Buonaccorsi, Bibliotheca Biografica 5 (Rome, 1971); Giovanni Cherubini, “La Firenze di Dante e di Giovanni Villani,” Atti dell’ Accademia Peloritana dei Pericolanti, Classe di Lettere, Filosofia e

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Notes to Pages 5–6 Belle Arti 60 (1984): 5–26; reprinted in Scritti toscani: L’urbanesimo medievale e la mezzadria (Florence, 1991), 35–51. 14. Paul F. Watson, “The Cement of Fiction: Giovanni Boccaccio and the Painters of Florence,” Modern Language Notes 99, no. 1 (January 1984): 43–64, esp. 44. Despite the possibility that Boccaccio may personally have encountered Giotto in Naples, Watson believes that “most likely Boccaccio knew his painters only at second hand” (45). 15. Giovanni Boccaccio Decameron, ed. Vittore Branca (Florence, 1960), 723, 6.5.5. Paula Stewart, “Giotto e la rinascita della pittura: ‘Decameron’ VI.5,” Yearbook of Ital­ian Studies 5 (1983): 22–34, remains im­por­tant. See Watson, “The Cement of Fiction,” 43–64; Simon, “Letteratura e arte figurativa.” 16. The signature on the episcopal tomb reads: “opervm de senis natvs ex magro camaino in hoc sitv florentino tinvs sculpsit: oe lat. nun.p.patre genitivo decet inclinari vt magister illo vivo nolit appellari.” Watson, “The Cement of Fiction,” 48; Tiziana Barbavara di Gravellona, “Tino di Camaino a Firenze e il monumento funerario del vescovo Antonio d’Orso in Duomo. I. Per una lettura del sepolcro,” Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di Lettere e Filosofia, ser. 4, 6, no. 2 (2001 [2004]): 265–299. Figures from the Death miniature (ff. 117v–118r) in Francesco da Barberino’s Officiolum recur in the tomb relief. Sutton, “The Lost ‘Officiolum,’ ” 158. 17. Benedikt Maria Reichert, Acta Capitulorum Generalium, vol. 2, Monumenta Ordinis Fratrum Praedicatorum Historica 4 (Rome, 1899), 132, General Chapter of 1321 at Florence: “Item. Quia primis predicatoribus dictum est: “Nolite vocari rabbi, unus est enim magister vester, omnes autem vos fratres estis, [Matthew 23:8] inhibemus districte, ne frater aliquis nostri ordinis magister in theologia existens, quandocumque ab alio fratre ex nomine proprio designatur, obmisso nomine fratris prenominetur: magister, dicendo: magister Petrus aut magister Iohannes, et sic de aliis; que nominacio vana est et secularium vocancium nomina sua in terris

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Notes to Pages 6–7 suis, sed semper prenominentur fratres dicendo: frater Petrus aut frater Iohannes sicut consueverunt fratres alii nominari.” 18. Sacchetti, Trecentonovelle, novella 75, 221. There may indeed be a his­ toric substratum to this episode. Walking toward Santissima Annunziata to look at paintings, Giotto might well have seen an image of Joseph at the Servite house. The Servi were the first Order to institute a feast in honor of Joseph, husband of the Virgin. In 1324 the General Chapter at Orvieto proclaimed the feast; see Annales PP. Servorum B.M.V., vol. 1, 248; Joseph Seitz, Die Verehrung des hl. Joseph in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung bis zum Konzil von Trient dargestellt (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1908); Francis L. Filas, The Man Nearest to God: Nature and Historic Development of the Devotion to St. Joseph (London, 1947), 142. For the ancient sources of the story of artists’ wit and humor, see Kris and Kurz, Legend, Myth, and Magic, 99. 19. Millard Meiss, Giotto and Assisi (New York, 1960), 25. 20. Serena Romano, La O di Giotto (Milan, 2008), 84–89, reproduces both Isaac scenes, 322, 323. For a powerful contrary opinion, see Wolfgang Kemp, Die Räume der Maler: Zur Bildererzählung seit Giotto (Munich, 1996), 19–22. 21. Lorenzo Ghiberti, I Commentari, Biblioteca della Scienza Ital­iana 17, ed. Lorenzo Bartoli (Florence, 1998), 83. The link had been made slightly earlier by the Dante commentators; see Commento alla Divina Commedia d’Anonimo Fiorentino del secolo XIV, ed. Pietro Fanfani, vol. 2, 1866–1874 (Bologna, 1868), 187: “Cimabue fu da Firenze, grande e famoso dipintore . . . ; et fu maestro di Giotto dipintore”; and “Giotto similmente fu dipintore, et maestro grande in quella arte, tanto che, non solamente in Firenze d’onde era nato, ma per tutta l’Italia corse il nome suo. Et dicesi che ‘padre di Giotto l’avea posto all’arte della lana.’” 22. John White, The Birth and Rebirth of Pictorial Space, 3rd ed. (London, 1987), 57–71, remains basic. See also Romano, La O di Giotto, 213–216.; Anne Derbes and Mark Sindona, The Usurer’s Heart: Giotto, Enrico Scrovegni, and the Arena Chapel at Padua (University

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Notes to Pages 7–8 Park, 2008); Chiara Frugoni, L’affare migliore di Enrico Giotto e la Cappella Scrovegni (Turin, 2008). 23. Julian Gardner, “The Decoration of the Baroncelli Chapel in Santa Croce,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 34 (1971): 89–114. Simone Epking, Die Entwicklung des Altarstipes in Florenz vom 12. bis 15. Jahrhundert (Weimar, 2005), misguidedly regards the altar block as a later insertion. 24. Willibald Sauerländer, “‘Quand les statues étaient blanches’: Discussion au sujet de la polychromie,” in La couleur et la Pierre Polychromie des portails gothiques: Actes du colloque, Amiens, 12–14 octobre 2000, ed. Denis Verret and Delphine Steyaert (Paris, 2002), 27– 42; Ulrich Schiessl and Renate Kühnen, eds., Polychrome Skulptur in Europa: Technologie, Konservierung, Restaurierung. Tagungsbeiträge. 11–13 November 1999 (Dresden, 1999); Clario di Fabio, “Memoria e modernità: Della propria figura di Enrico Scrovegni e di altre sculture nella cappella dell’Arena di Padova, con aggiunte al catalogo di Marco Romano,” in Medioevo: Immagine e memoria; Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Parma, 23–28 settembre 2008, ed. Arturo C. Quintavalle (Milan, 2009), 532–546; Kathleen Ashley and Véronique Plesch, “The Cultural Process of ‘Appropriation,’ ” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 32, no. 1 (2002): 1–15. 25. Wolfgang Kallab, Vasaristudien, Quellenschriften für Kunstgeschichte und Kunsttechnik des Mittelalters 15 (Vienna, 1908); Thomas S. R. Boase, Giorgio Vasari: The Man and the Book (Prince­ ton, 1979); Patricia L. Rubin, Giorgio Vasari: Art and History (New Haven, 1995), 287–320, esp. 159–165, 308, 313. Rubin notes that Giotto was apparently much busier in the first edition of his Vita than in the second (314). See the review of Rubin by Charles Hope, “Can You Trust Vasari?” New York Review of Books, October 5, 1995, 10–13. See also Paul Barolsky, Giotto’s Father and the Family of Vasari’s Lives (University Park, 1992), 4, 20ff.; Hayden B. J. Maginnis, Painting in the Age of Giotto: A Historical Reappraisal (University Park, 1997), chaps. 1 and 2, and 198–200.

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Notes to Pages 9–12 26. Boase, Giorgio Vasari, 50, notes that Vasari visited Assisi at least three times: before 1563, in May 1563, and in April 1566. He may never have seen the Arena Chapel (45). 27. See Watson, “The Cement of Fiction,” 50, on Boccaccio and Pliny. 28. Leonetto Tintori and Millard Meiss, The Painting of the Life of St. Francis in Assisi (New York, 1962), 184 n. 4; idem, “Additional Observations on Ital­ian Mural Technique,” Art Bulletin 46 (1964): 377–380; Bruno Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto: Le storie di san Francesco ad Assisi (Milan, 1996). See the review of Zanardi by Julian Gardner in Burlington Magazine 140 (1998): 269–270. 29. Michael Prestwich, “Medieval Biography,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 40, no. 3 (2010): 325–346. 30. The document was originally published in Josef Strzygowski, Cimabue und Rom: Funde und Forschungen zur Kunstgeschichte und zur Topographie der Stadt Rom (Vienna, 1888); 158–160; Eugenio Battisti, Cimabue (Rome, 1963), 91. For an elaborate evaluation of the document, see Luciano Bellosi, Cimabue (Modena, 1998), 66, who in my view attaches too much weight to the document. 31. Sancta Sanctorum, Carlo Pietrangeli ed. (Milan, 1995). 32. Brenda Preyer, “‘Da chasa gli Alberti’: The ‘Territory’ and Housing of the Family,” in Leon Batista Alberti: Architetture e Committenti; Atti dei Convegni internazionali del Comitato Nazionale VI centenario della nascita di Leon Battista Alberti, Firenze, Rimini, Mantova, 12–16 ottobre 2004, Ingenium 12, ed. Arturo Calzona, Joseph Connors, Francesco Paolo Fiore, and Cesare Vasoli (Florence, 2009), 3–33; David Friedman, “Palace and the Street in Late-­Medieval and Renaissance Italy,” in Urban Landscapes: International Perspectives, ed. Jeremy W. R. Whitehand and Peter J. Larkham (London, 1992), 69–113. In general, see Franek Sznura, L’espansione urbana di Firenze nel Dugento (Florence, 1975). 33. A. Teresa Hankey, “Riccobaldo of Ferrara and Giotto: An Update,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 54 (1991): 244; idem, Riccobaldo of Ferrara: His Life, Works, and Influence, Istituto

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Notes to Pages 12–14 Storico Ital­iano per il Medio Evo, Fonti per la Storia dell’Italia Medievale Subsidia 2 (Rome, 1996). 34. Francesco Forcellini, “Un ignoto pittore napoletano del secolo XIV, e un nuovo documento sulla venuta di Giotto in Napoli,” Archivio Storico per le Provincie Napoletane 35 (1910): 545–552, demonstrated that Giotto was in Naples from early December 1328 (545). Francesco Aceto, “Pittori e documenti della Napoli angioina: Aggiunte ed espunzioni,” Prospettiva 67 (1992): 53–65. 35. Riccardo Filangieri di Candida, “Rassegna: Critica delle Fonti per la Storia di Castel Nuovo,” Archivio Storico per le Provincie Napoletane 61 (1936): 251–323, 62 (1937): 267–333, and 64 (1939): 237–322. Doc. 8 (1936): 320: “conversarum in opere picture dicte magne Capelle ac complemento picture dicte secrete Capelle dicti Castri necnon pictura unius Cone depicte de mandato nostro in domo Magistri Zocti prothomagistri operis dicte picture necnon salario seu mercede diversorum magistrorum tam pictorum quam manualium et manipulorum laborantium certis diebus in opere dicte picture.” Canc. Ang. reg. 285f. 213ff. Francesco Aceto, “Il ‘Castrum Novum’ Angioino di Napoli,” in Cantieri medievali, ed. Roberto Cassanelli (Milan, 1995), 251–267, esp. 266. 36. For the misdrawn fig­ure in the Last Judgment, see Giuseppe Basile, La Cappella degli Scrovegni (Milan, 1992), 77, just to the right of the right arm of the central cross. 37. Tintori and Meiss, “Additional Observations on Ital­ian Mural Technique,” 380; Eve Borsook, The Mural Painters of Tuscany, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1980), 10; Carmen Bambach, Drawing and Painting in the Ital­ian Renaissance Workshop (Cambridge, 1999), 152–153. 38. Sacchetti, Trecentonovelle, novella 63, 182 : “disse a un suo discepolo desse fine alla dipintura.” Simon, “Letteratura e arte figurativa,”, 461ff. 39. Simon, “Letteratura e arte figurativa,” 447. 40. Timothy E. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Vice and Virtue (Oxford, 1999), 15ff., 69–70. 41. Friedrich Rintelen, Giotto und die Giotto-­Apokryphen, 2nd ed. (Basel, 1923), 248 n. 217. 42. Ibid.

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Notes to Pages 14–15 43. Hannelore Glasser, “Artists’ Contracts of the Early Renaissance” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1965), remains fundamental. The contract for the Rucellai Madonna is published in John White, Duccio: Tuscan Art and the Medieval Workshop (London, 1979), 185– 187, no. 5; James H. Stubblebine, Duccio di Buoninsegna and His School, vol. 1 (Prince­ton, 1979), 192–194, no.5; Jane I. Satkowski and Hayden B. J. Maginnis, Duccio di Buoninsegna: The Documents and Early Sources (Athens, Ga., 2000), 49–53, no.7. See also Julian Gardner, “Giotto e Cimabue a Pisa: Two altarpieces in the Louvre,” Prospettiva, forthcoming. 44. Theodor Mommsen, Petrarch’s Testament (Ithaca, N.Y., n.d.[1957]), 78–80. 45. Michael V. Schwarz and Pia Theis, Giottus Pictor (Vienna, 2004), 249: “picti per egregium pictorem nomine Giottum Bondonis qui est de dicto populo sancte Marie novelle.” 46. Frithjof Schwartz, “In medio ecclesiae: Giottos Tafelkreuz in Santa Maria Novella,” Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 54 (2006): 95–114. 47. Sacchetti, Trecentonovelle, novella 75 : “Tutti si avvolsono l’uno l’altro affermando non che Giotto fusse gran maestro di dipingere, ma essere ancora mastro delle sette arti liberali.” See Simon, “Letteratura e arte figurativa,” 474; George M. Richter, The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci, vol. 1 (London, 1939), 331–332, no. 660: “ne’ pittori dopo i romani, i quali senpre imitarono l’uno dall’altro e di età in età senpre andava detta arte in declino; dopo questi venne Giotto Fiorentino il quale [non è stato contento allo imitare l’opere di Cimabue so maestro,] nato in monti soletari, abitati solo da capre e simil bestie,—questo sendo volto dalla natura a simile arte cominciò a disegniare sopra i sassi li atti delle capre delle quali lui era guardatore. e così cominciò a fare tutti li animali che nel paese si trovava in tal modo, che questo dopo molto avanzò non che i maestri della sua età, ma tutti quelli di molti secoli passati; dopo questo l’arte ricadde, perchè tutti imitivano le fatte pitture, e così di secolo in secolo ando declinando.” 48. Johannes Wilde, Ital­ian Drawings in the Department of Prints

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Notes to Pages 19–20 and Drawings in the British Museum: Michelangelo and His Studio (London, 1953), 2; Luitpold Düssler, Die Zeichnungen des Michelangelo (Berlin, 1959), 134, no. 212. See also Paul Joannides, Michel-­Ange Élèves et Copistes, Musée du Louvre Musée D’Orsay, Département des Arts Graphiques, Inventaire générale des dessins italiens 5 (Paris, 2003), 59–61, inv. 706, no. 1, fig­ures to the left of the Ascension of John the Evangelist.

1. Giotto at Pisa 1. Bernard of Besse, Speculum Disciplinae, printed in S. Bonaventurae, S.R.E., Cardinalis, Opera Omnia, vol. 8 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1898), appendix, 583–622, esp. 583, chap. 5, “De praesuntione tam in re quam in signo vitanda.” There is information on Bernard of Besse in David Amico, “Bernard of Besse: Praises of the Blessed Francis (Liber de Laudibus Beati Francisci),” Franciscan Studies 48 (1988): 213–268. 2. Joseph Ratzinger, foreword to Die Geschichtstheologie des heiligen Bonaventura (Munich, 1959). See, however, Kevin Hughes, “St. Bonaventure’s Collationes in Hexaëmeron: Fractured Sermons and Protreptic Discourse,” Franciscan Studies 63 (2005): 107–130. See also “Discorso del Santo Padre Benedetto XVI ai membri della famiglia francescana,” Osservatore Romano, April 18, 2009. 3. Bruno Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto: Le Storie di san Francesco ad Assisi (Milan, 1996), with excellent color reproductions. See also the review by Julian Gardner, Burlington Magazine 140 (1998): 269–270; Bruno Zanardi, Giotto e Pietro Cavallini: La questione di Assisi e il cantiere medievale della pittura a fresco (Milan, 2002); Federico Zeri, introduction to Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, 10–11. See the alternative suggestion of Michael V. Schwarz, Giottus Pictor, vol. 2 (Vienna, 2008), 331–344. 4. Peter Murray, “Notes on Some Early Giotto Sources,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 16 (1953): 58–80, esp. 70; Donal

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Notes to Pages 20–21









Cooper and Janet Robson, “Pope Nicholas IV in the Upper Church at Assisi,” Apollo 157 (2004): 31–35; Luciano Bellosi, “‘Nicholaus IV fieri precepit’: Una testimonianza di valore inestimabile sulla decorazione della Basilica Superiore di San Francesco ad Assisi,” Prospettiva 126–127 (April–July 2007): 2–13. But see Robert Davidsohn, Forschungen zur Geschichte Florenz, vol. 4 (Florence, 1908), 484. 5. Davidsohn, Forschungen zur Geschichte Florenz; Frank J. Mather Jr., The Isaac Master: A Reconstruction of the Work of Gaddo Gaddi (Prince­ ton, 1932), 11; Murray, “Notes on Some Early Giotto Sources,” 70. For further discussion, see Chapter 3. 6. Julian Gardner, “Pope Nicholas IV and the Decoration of Santa Maria Maggiore,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 36 (1973): 1–50; idem, “Bizuti, Rusuti Nicolaus and Johannes: Some Neglected Documents Concerning Roman Artists in France,” Burlington Magazine 129 (1987): 381–383; Alessandro Tomei, Jacobus Torriti Pictor (Rome, 1990), 99–118, who reproduces it, figs. xviii–xxiv. 7. This had earlier been argued by Leonetto Tintori and Millard Meiss, The Painting of the Life of Saint Francis in Assisi (New York, 1962), 54–55, 130. See also Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, 19–58; Serena Romano, La Basilica di san Francesco ad Assisi: Pittori, botteghe e strategie narrative (Rome, 2001), 171–175, reviewed by Irene Hueck, Journal für Kunstgeschichte 6 (2002): 129–135. 8. Richard Offner, “Giotto, non-­Giotto,” Burlington Magazine 74 (1939): 259–268. 9. Claudio Bellinati, La Cappella di Giotto all’Arena (1300–1306) (Padua, 1967). For the liturgical ceremony of consecration, see Michel Andrieu, ed., Le Pontifical de la Curie Romaine au XIIIe. Siècle, Studi e Testi 87 (Vatican City, 1940), 436, line 12, for places “in quibus debent esse totidem cruces depicte.” See also idem, Le Pontifical de Guillaume Durand, Studi e Testi 88 (Vatican City, 1940), 490, lines 20–21; Anselm Davril and Timothy M. Thibodeau, eds., Gvillelmi Dvranti Rationale Divinorum Officiorvm, Corpus Christianorum

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Notes to Pages 21–23 Continuatio Mediaevalis 115 (Turnholt, 1995), 73, Rationale Lib. 1.6.27: “Sane crismato altari, duodecim cruces in parietibus ecclesie depicte crismantur.” Color reproductions in Giuseppe Basile, Giotto: La Cappella degli Scrovagni (Milan, 1992). 10. Luisa Marcucci, Gallerie Nazionali di Firenze: I Dipinti Toscani del secolo XIV (Rome, 1965); Luciano Berti and Annamaria Petrioli Tofani, eds., La “Madonna d’Ognissanti” di Giotto restaurata, Uffizi Studi e Ricerche 8 (Florence, 1992), reproduced at 8, 11–13. 11. Edward B. Garrison, Ital­ian Romanesque Panel Painting: An Illustrated Index (Florence, 1949), 155, no. 408; Angelo Tartuferi, Giunta Pisano (Soncino, 1991), 46–55. Tartuferi reproduces the panel in color at 47. 12. Hans Belting, Die Oberkirche von San Francesco in Assisi (Berlin, 1977), 25, 43; Servus Gieben, “La croce con Frate Elia di Giunta Pisano,” in Il Cantiere Pittorico della Basilica Superiore di San Francesco in Assisi, Miracolo di Assisi 13, ed. Giuseppe Basile and Pasquale Magro (Assisi, 2001), 101–110; Joanna Cannon, “The Era of the Great Painted Crucifix: Giotto, Cimabue, Giunta Pisano and Their Anonymous Contemporaries,” Renaissance Studies 16 (2002): 571–581, esp. 575. 13. “Non est tamen caputium, sive coram Fratribus sive coram extraneis, nimis in capite sine rationabili causa profundandum”: Bernard of Besse, Speculum Disciplinae, no. 5, 608; Jens Röhrkasten, “Early Franciscan Legislation and Lay Society,” in Monasteries and Society in the British Isles in the Later Middle Ages, ed. Janet Burton and Karen Stöber (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 2008), 183–195, esp. 190. 14. Théophile Desbonnets, “Le Saint François de la communauté des origines au Concile de Vienne,” in Francesco d’Assisi nella Storia, ed. Servus Gieben, vol. 1 (Rome, 1983), 21–61, at 37. 15. Il Libro di Antonio Billi esistenti in due copie nella Biblioteca Nazionale di Firenze, ed. Carl Frey (Berlin, 1892), 5, records this panel as “et in Pisa uno santo Francesco scalzo” but at­trib­utes it to Cimabue. 16. William B. Miller, “The Franciscan Legend in Ital­ian Painting of

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Notes to Pages 23–24 the Thirteenth Century” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1961), 86–91; Tartuferi, Giunta Pisano, 46–54; Chiara Frugoni, “La tavola pisana con storie di s. Francesco,” in Società, istituzioni, spiritualità: Studi in onore di Cinzio Violante, vol. 1 (Spoleto, 1995), 375–382; William R. Cook, Images of St. Francis of Assisi in Painting, Stone and Glass from the Earliest Images to ca. 1320 in Italy: A Catalogue, Ital­ian Medieval and Renaissance Studies 7 (Florence, 1999), 169–147, no. 143. 17. Frugoni, “La Tavola pisana,” 381, sees this as “frutto di una devozione femminile particolarmente intensa, che attraverso la tavola si rivela, ma anche, si propaga.” 18. Thomas de Celano, Tractatus de Miraculis, chap.  193, in Analecta Franciscana, vol. 10 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1926–1941), 328; Eamonn Duffy, “Finding St Francis: Early Images, Early Lives,” in Medieval Theology and the Natural Body, York Studies in Medieval Theology 1, ed. Peter Biller and Andrew Minnis (York, 1997), 193–236, esp. 211; Frugoni, “La Tavola pisana,” 378. 19. Thomas de Celano, Tractatus de Miraculis (Analecta Franciscana, 10), 330; John R. H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order (Oxford, 1968), 283–284; Frugoni, “La Tavola pisana,” 379; Roberto Paciocco, “Come ho potuto e con parole improprie.” in Roberto Pacioco and Felice Accrocca, La leggenda di un santo di nome Francesco (Milan, 1999), 131–135. 20. Jacques Paul, “L’image de saint François dans le Traité ‘De Miraculis’ de Thomas de Celano,” in Gieben, Francesco d’Assisi nella Storia, 1:251–274, esp. 273; Desbonnets, “Le Saint François de la communauté,” 26. 21. For an estimate of the Order’s size, see Rosalind B. Brooke, Early Franciscan Government: Elias to Bonaventure (Cambridge, 1959), 282– 283. 22. Duffy, “Finding St Francis,” 211. 23. Louis Hautecoeur, La Peinture au Musée du Louvre: Écoles italiennes XIIIe, XIVe, XVe Siècles (Paris, n.d.), 19–21. See Dominique-­Vivant

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Notes to Pages 25–26 Denon, L’oeil de Napoléon, Musée du Louvre (Paris, October 20, 1999–January 17, 2000), 243–244, no. 237. The panel left Pisa on October 23, 1812, and arrived in Paris in 1813, where it was restored and given its present (outer) frame. Denon himself noted: “Tableau authentique de ce peintre primitif. Il est signé” (243). 24. Julian Gardner, “The Louvre Stigmatization and the Problem of the Narrative Altarpiece,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 45 (1982): 217–247, esp. 220. 25. The iden­ti­fic­ a­tion was suggested by Carl B. Strehlke, “Francis of Assisi: His Culture, His Cult and His Basilica,” in The Trea­sury of Saint Francis of Assisi, Metropolitan Museum of Art, March 16– June 27, 1999, ed. Giovanni Morello and Laurence B. Kanter (Milan, 1999), 23–51. Strehlke, “Francis of Assisi,” 42, suggested that Natuccio (Benenato) Cinquini was the patron. 26. Alma Poloni, Trasformazioni della società e mutamenti delle forme politiche in un Comune italiano: Il Popolo a Pisa (1220–1330), Studi Medioevali 9 (Pisa, 2004), 76, 137, 420–424. 27. Les sermons et la visite pastorale de Federico Visconti archevêque de Pise (1253–1277), Sources et Documents d’Histoire du Moyen Âge 3, ed. Nicole Bériou and Isabelle Le Masne de Chermont (Rome, 2001), 778–779; Alexander Murray, “Arch­bishop and Mendicants in Thirteenth-­Century Pisa,” in Stellung und Wirksamkeit der Bettelorden in der städtischen Gesellschaft, Berliner Historische Studien 3, Ordensstudien 2, ed. Kaspar Elm (Berlin, 1981), 19–75, esp. 41. 28. Poloni, Trasformazioni della società, 137; Alma Poloni, “Gli uomini d’affari pisani e la perdita della Sardegna: Qualche spunto di riflessione sul commericio pisano nel XIV secolo,” in Per Marco Tangheroni: Studi su Pisa e sul Mediterraneo medievale offerti dai suoi ultimi allievi, ed. Cecilia Iannella (Pisa, 2005), 157–184, esp. 160, 180–182. For this development, see Richard Goldthwaite, The Economy of Renaissance Florence (Baltimore, 2009), 220–221, 246– 248. 29. David Herlihy, Pisa in the Early Renaissance (New Haven, 1958),

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Notes to Pages 26–27 170; Robert H. Bautier, “Les foires de Champagne: Recherches sur une évolution historique,” in La Foire: Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin, vol. 5 (Brussels, 1953), 97–145; Michel Bur, “Note sur quelques petites foires de Champagne,” in Studia in memoria di Federigo Melis, vol. 1 (Naples 1978), 255–267. 30. Emilio Cristiani, “Gli avvenimenti pisani del periodo ugoliniano in una cronaca inedita,” Bollettino Storico Pisano 76 (1957–58): 3–104, esp. 75ff.; David Abulafia, “Southern Italy and the Florentine Economy, 1265–1370,” Economic History Review, ser. 2, 34 (1981): 376–388, esp. 379; Poloni, Trasformazioni della società, 138. 31. Poloni, Trasformazioni della società, 154–155, 423. 32. Ibid., 265. 33. Ibid., 239, 349, 351. 34. Regestum Clementis Papae V, ed. Monachorum Ordinis S. Benedicti, vol. 3 (Rome, 1885–1892), no. 2261 (Poitiers, June 3, 1307). 35. Julian Gardner, “The Family Chapel: Artistic Patronage and Architectural Transformation in Italy c. 1275–1325,” in Art, Cérémonial et Liturgie au Moyen Âge: Actes du Colloque Romand de Lettres, Lausanne­Fribourg, 24–25 mars, 14–15 avril, 12–13 mai 2000, ed. Nicholas Bock, Peter Kurmann, Serena Romano, and Jean-­Michel Spieser (Rome, 2002), 545–558; Annegritt Höger, “Studien zur Entstehung der Familienkapelle und zu Familienkapellen und -­altären des Trecento in Florentiner Kirchen” (diss., University of Bonn, 1976); Irene Hueck, “Die Kapellen der Basilika San Francesco in Assisi: Die Auftraggeber und die Franziskaner,” in Patronage and Public in the Trecento: Proceedings of the St. Lambrecht Symposium, Abtei St. Lambrecht, Styria, 16–19 July, 1984, ed. Vincent Moleta (Florence, 1986), 81–104; Ena Giurescu, “Family Chapels in Santa Maria Novella and Santa Croce: Architecture, Patronage, and Competition” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1997). 36. Grado Merlo, Tra eremo e città: Studi su Francesco d’Assisi e sul francescanesimo medievale (Assisi, 1991), 101. 37. Cesare Cenci, “Silloge di documenti francescani trascritti dal P.

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Notes to Page 28 Riccardo Pratesi O.F.M.,” Studi Francescani 62 (1965): 364–419, esp. 369–371, no. 4: “libras quinquaginta pro opere cappelle infirmorum dicti conventus [s. Crucis] vel pro altari sive fornimentis aut ornamentis altaris.” 38. Robert Brentano, “Death in Gualdo Tadino and in Rome (1340, 1296),” in Mélanges G. Fransen, Studia Gratiana 19, vol. 1 (Rome, 1976), 79–100, esp. 99. Antonella Mazzon, “Una famiglia di mercanti della Roma duecentesca: I Sassoni,” Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria 123 (2000): 59–84, prints the will (81–84). See also Ivana Alt, “Tracce della presenza celestiniana a Roma e a Tivoli tra la fine del XIII secolo e i primi decenni del XIV secolo,” in Celestino V cultura e società: Atti della Giornata di Studio (Ferentino, 17 maggio 2003), ed. Ludovico Gatto and Eleonora Plebani (Rome, 2007), 137–171, esp. 143–144. 39. For the tomb slab of 1298, see Jörg Garms et al., Die mittelalterlichen Grabmäler in Rom und Latium von 13. bis 15. Jahrhundert, vol. 1, Die Grabplatten und Tafeln, Publikationen de Österreichischen Kulturinstituts in Rom, Abteilung 2, Quellen 5, Reihe 1 (Rome and Vienna, 1981), 114–115, no. 28.3. It is the oldest surviving lay tomb slab in Aracoeli. For the family chapel, ASS Firenze Diplomatico Fondo Strozzi-­Uguccioni, November 21, 1292, in Eve Borsook, “Notizie su due cappelle in Santa Croce a Firenze,” Rivista d’Arte 36 (1961–62): 89–106; Leonetto Tintori and Eve Borsook, The Peruzzi Chapel (New York, 1965), 95. See also Chapter 3. 40. Mauro Ronzani, “Il francescanesimo a Pisa fino alla metà del Trecento,” Bollettino Storico Pisano 54 (1985): 1–55, 35 n. 92: “pro faciendo fieri et construi unam cappellam.” After the delivery of the lectures on which this book is based, Gail Solberg published an im­ por­tant article on Taddeo di Bartolo’s altarpiece for the sacristy of San Francesco which provides new information about later family patronage. Gail Solberg, “Taddeo di Bartolo’s Altarpiece at San Francesco at Pisa: New Discoveries and a Reconstruction,” Burlington Magazine 152 (2010): 144–151.

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Notes to Pages 28–29 41. David Herlihy, Pisa in the Early Renaissance (New Haven, 1958), 39, calls it “Pisa’s business quarter.” See also Philip Jones, The Ital­ian City-­State: From Commune to Signoria (Oxford, 1997), 212. 42. Tommaso Strinati, Aracoeli: Gli Affreschi ritrovati (Milan, 2004); Livario Oliger, “Due musaici con S. Francesco della chiesa di Aracoeli in Roma,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 4 (1911): 213– 251, esp. 218ff.; Valentino Pace, “Committenza aristocratica e ostentazione araldica nella Roma del Duecento,” in Roma Medievale Aggiornamenti, ed. Paolo Delogu (Rome, 1998), 175–191; Serena Romano, “L’Aracoeli, il Campidoglio, e le famiglie romane nel Duecento,” in Delogu, Roma Medievale Aggiornamenti, 193–209. 43. Ronzani, “Il francescanesimo a Pisa fino alla metà del Trecento”; Mauro Ronzani, “La Chiesa e il convento di S. Francesco nella Pisa del Duecento,” in Il francescanesimo a Pisa (sece. XIII e XIV) e la missione del Beato Agnello in Inghilterra a Cantelbury e Cambridge (1224–1236), Atti del Convegno Pisa 2001, ed. Ottavio Banti and Marina Soriano Innocenti (Pisa, 2005), 31–45. 44. Kurt Biebrach, Die holzgedeckten Franziskaner-­und Dominikanerkirchen in Umbrien und Toskana, Beiträge zur Bauwissenschaft 11 (Berlin, 1908), 45; Alessandro del Bufalo, La Chiesa di San Francesco in Pisa (Rome, n.d.); Wolfgang Schenkluhn, Architektur der Bettelorden (Darmstadt, 2000), 64–71; Antonio Cadei, “La chiesa di S. Francesco a Cortona,” Storia della Città 13 (1978): 16–23; Julian Gardner, “A Thirteenth-­Century Franciscan Building Contract,” in Medioevo: Le officine Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi Parma, 22–26 settembre 2009, ed. Arturo C. Quintavalle (Milan, 2010), 457–467. 45. Hautecoeur, La Peinture au Musée du Louvre, 16–19; Eugenio Battisti, Cimabue (University Park, 1967), 68–71; Luciano Bellosi, Cimabue (Modena, 1998), 274–275 and figs. 95–112; Mariagiulia Burresi and Antonino Caleca, Cimabue a Pisa: La pittura Pisana del Duecento dal Giunta a Giotto, Museo Nazionale di S. Matteo, Pisa, 25 marzo–25 giugno 2005 (Pisa, 2005), 76; Julian Gardner, “Ci-

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Notes to Pages 29–30 mabue and Giotto at Pisa: Two Altarpieces in the Louvre,” Prospettiva (forthcoming). 46. Raffaello Roncioni, Delle Famiglie Pisane supplite ed annotate da Francesco Bonaini, Archivio Storico Ital­iano, ed. Francesco Bonaini,): 817–980, esp. 947–955, mentions a crucifix once in S. Lorenzo alla Rivolta at Pisa with the inscription: “Hoc opus fieri fecit Dominus Benedictus [recte Benenatus?], rector hujus ecclesie Sancti Laurentii et peritus in iure canonico et civili, pro anima sua et F. Cinquini sui patris de eius pechunia. Anno Domini MCCCVIIII die XIIII mensis Junii” (947). For the church, see Pietro Guidi and Martino Giusti, Rationes Decimarum Italiae nei secoli XIII e XIV, Tvscia, Studie e Testi 58, no. 98 (Vatican City, 1932, 1942), Tuscia 1, no. 3685 (Pisa 1276/7), 185. 47. For the badly damaged early mural triptych by the Maestro di San Francesco on the nave wall left of the entrance to the Magdalen Chapel, see Joanna Cannon, “Dating the Frescoes by the Maestro di San Francesco at Assisi,” Burlington Magazine 124 (1982): 65–69; Serena Romano, “Le storie parallele di Assisi: Il Maestro di San Francesco,” Storia dell’Arte 14 (1982): 15–48; Joachim Poeschke, “Der ‘Franziskusmeister’ und die Anfänge der Ausmalung von San Francesco in Assisi,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 26 (1983): 15–48; Giorgio Bonsanti, ed., La Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi, Mirabiliae Italiae 11 (Modena, 2002). 48. Desbonnets, “Le Saint François de la communauté,” 26; Ignatius Brady, “The Writings of Saint Bonaventure Regarding the Franciscan Order,” Miscellanea Franciscana 75 (1975): 89–112, esp. 99ff. The note of caution about the commission of the Legenda Maior was sounded by Michael Cusato, “‘Esse ergo mitem et humilem corde, hoc est esse vere fratrem minorem’: Bonaventure of Bagnoregio and the Reformulation of the Franciscan Charism,” in Charisma und religiöse Gemeinschaften im Mittelalter: Akten des 3. Internationalen Kon-

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Notes to Pages 30–31 gresses des Italienisch-­deutschen Zentrums für Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte, Vita Regularis Abhandlungen 26, ed. Giancarlo Andenna, Mirko Breitenstein, and Gert Melville (Münster, 2005), 343–382, esp. 357 n. 39. No capitular decree from either the General Chapter of Narbonne (1260) or Pisa (1263) commissioned the text: Constitutiones Generales Ordinis fratrum Minorum I (Saeculum XIII), in Analecta Franciscana, vol. 13, n.s., Documenta et Studia 1, ed. Cesare Cenci and Romain G. Mailleux (Grottaferrata, 2007), 65–103; Stephen J.  P. van Dijk, “The Statutes of the General Chapter of Pisa (1263),” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 45 (1952): 299–322. 49. Andrew G. Little, “Definitiones Capitulorum Generalium Ordinis fratrum Minorum 1260–1282,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 7 (1914): 676–682, esp. 678, no. 10: “Item precepit generale capitulum per obedientiam, quod omnes legende de beato Francisco olim facte deleantur, et ubi extra ordinem inveniri poterunt, ipsas fratres studeant amovere, cum illa legenda que facta est per generalem ministrum fuerit compilata prout ipse habuit ab ore eorum, qui cum b. Francisco quasi semper fueruntet cuncta certitudinaliter sciverint et probata ibi sint posita diligenter.” That this derived directly from Bonaventure himself as minister-­general is demonstrated in the slightly fuller version of the Parisian decrees published by Giuseppe Abbate, “Le ‘Diffinitiones’ del Capitulo Generale di Parigi del 1266,” Miscellanea Francescana 32 (1932): 3–5, esp. 5, no. 12: “Item vult Generalis Minister quod omnes diffinitiones Narbonensis Capituli et Pisanis a Ministris omnibus habeantur et fratribus exponatur.” See Giovanni Miccoli, Francesco d’Assisi: Realtà e memoria di un’esperienza cristiana (Turin, 1991), 293; Paciocco, “Come ho potuto e con parole improprie,” 51–53; Pietro Zerbi, “Intorno a due recenti libri di argomento francescano,” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia 47, no. 1 (1993): 116–153, esp. 144; Grado G. Merlo, Nel nome di san Francesco (Padua, 2003), 172–175. 50. Mauro Ronzani, “La chiesa cittadina pisana tra Due e Trecento,”

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Notes to Page 31 Genova, Pisa e il Mediterraneo tra Due e Trecento: Per il VII centenario della battaglia della Meloria, Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, n.s., 24, no. 2 (1984): 281–347; on Theodoric, 318ff. Nicholas IV put Pisa under interdict, which was lifted February 15, 1296, by Boniface VIII (ibid., 319). See also Peter D. Clarke, The Interdict in the Thirteenth Century: A Question of Collective Guilt (Oxford, 2007), 203. The friars had long been criticized for admitting laity to the Third Order, enabling them to hear of­fice in friars’ churches during interdict. This practice was forbidden, on pain of excommunication, by Clement V in Quum ex eo. See Clementinarum 5.10.3, ed. Emil L. Friedberg, in Corpus Iuris Canonici, vol. 2 (Leipzig, 1881), 1192; Clarke, The Interdict, 137. 51. Daniel Waley, Mediaeval Orvieto (Cambridge, 1952), appendix 4, 156–157; Mauro Ronzani, “‘Figli del Comune’ o fuorusciti? Gli arcivescovi di Pisa di fronte alla città stato tra la fine del duecento e il 1406,” in Vescovi e diocesi in Italia dal XIV alla metà del XVI Secolo: Atti del VII convegno di storia della Chiesa in Italia, Brescia, 21–25 settembre 1987, ed. Giuseppina De Sandre Gasparini, Antonio Rigon, Francesco Trolese, and Gian Maria Varanini, Italia Sacra 43, 44, vol. 2 (Rome, 1990): 772–835, esp. 780–783; Marc Dykmans, “Giovanni Conti, O.P.,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Ital­iani, vol. 28 (Rome, 1983), 413–415. 52. Julian Gardner, “Papstliche Träume und Palastmalerei: Ein essay über mittelalterliche Träumikonographie,” in Träume im Mittelalter: Ikonologische Studien, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliani and Giorgio Stabile (Stuttgart, 1990), 113–124; André Vauchez, “Les songes d’Innocent III,” in Studi sulle società et le culture del Medioevo per Guglielmo Arnaldi, ed. Ludovico Gatto and Paola Supino Martini, vol. 2 (Rome, 2002), 695–706, esp. 697. Innocent III’s dream resembled what has been termed an “epiphany dream,” in which the sleeper is visited by an authority fig­ure who makes a sig­nifi­cant pronouncement. See William V. Harris, Dreams and Experience in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge, Mass., 2009), 23–56, 76–81. I am

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Notes to Pages 31–32 somewhat more skeptical than I once was about whether Innocent III ac­tually dreamt that Francis sustained the church. This is emphatically not to say, however, that he did not claim that he had dreamt something similar. Idem, “Constantine’s Dream,” Klio 87, no. 2 (2005): 488–494; and Dreams and Experience, 116. The iconographical argument remains unaffected. 53. Murray, “Notes on Some Early Giotto Sources,” 73; Gardner, “The Louvre Stigmatization,” 326; Richard Krautheimer, Spencer Corbett, and Alfred Frazer, Corpus basilicarum christianarum Romae, vol. 5, Monumenti di Antichità Cristiana 2, ser. 2 (Vatican City, 1977), 91; Volker Hoffmann, “Die Fassade von San Giovanni in  Laterano 313/14–1649,” Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunsteschichte 17 (1978): 1–46, esp. 8, 43. See Eugène Müntz, “Notes sur les mosaiques chrétiennes d’Italie VI,” Revue Archéologique 38 (1879): 109–117, 116 n. 1, quoting a twelfth-­century variant from Paris BN Lat. 2287, fol. 169v: “exterius, super . . . fores ecclesiae est imago Salvatoris. Hinc et hinc imagines Michaelis et Gabrielis.” See also Roberto Valentini and Giuseppe Zucchetti, Descriptio Lateranensis Ecclesiae, in Codice Topografico della Città di Roma, vol. 3 (Rome, 1946). 326–373, esp. 350, note to line 9; Cyrille Vogel, “La Descriptio Ecclesiae Lateranensis du Diacre Jean Histoire du Texte Manuscrit,” in Mélanges en l’Honneur de Monseigneur Michel Andrieu (Strasbourg, 1956), 457–476, esp. 475: “un texte constamment interpolé depuis la mort d’Alexandre III [d. 1181] jusqu’au début du XIVe.s”; Francesco Gandolfo, “Assisi e il Laterano,” Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria 106 (1983): 63–113, esp. 71–72; Peter C. Claussen, Die Kirchen der Stadt Rom im Mittelalter 1050–1300, vol. 2, S. Giovanni in Laterano (Corpus Cosmatorum II, 2), Forschungen zur Kunstgeschichte und Christliche Archäologie 21 (Stuttgart, 2008), 48–50 and fig. 13. 54. Alessandro Baldeschi and Giovanni M. Crescimbeni, Stato della SS. Chiesa Lateranense nell’ anno MDCCXXIII (Rome, 1723), 52. Gali­

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Notes to Pages 32–33 lei’s façade dates from 1732–1737; Krautheimer, Corbett, and Frazer, Corpus basilicarum, 15; Müntz, “Notes sur les mosaiques,” 110 n. 1; Gardner, “The Louvre Stigmatization,” 326–327; Tomei, Jacobus Torriti Pictor, 93 and fig. 111. 55. Ronald Malmstrom, “The Building of the Nave Piers of San Giovanni in Laterano after the Fire of 1361,” Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana 43 (1967): 155–164; Krautheimer, Corbett, and Frazer, Corpus basilicarum, 44; Claussen, Die Kirchen der Stadt Rom, 167– 178. 56. Josef Strzygowski, Cimabue und Rom: Funde und Forschungen zur Kunstgeschichte und zur Topographie der Stadt Rom (Vienna, 1888): 84 (“Cimabue’s Ansicht von Rom in Assisi,” 95); Alfred Nicholson, Cimabue: A critical Study (Prince­ton, 1932), 4; Maria Andaloro, “Ancora una volta sull’Ytalia di Cimabue,” Arte Medievale 2 (1984): 143–177; Bellosi, Cimabue, 169–174. 57. Phyllis P. Bober and Ruth Rubinstein, Renaissance Artists and Antique Sculpture (London, 1986), 159–161, no. 125, figs. 125–125, ii. 58. Schwarz, Giottus Pictor, 2:394. Giotto’s addition of another authority fig­ure, Saint Peter, strengthens the resemblance to an epiphany dream; Harris, Dreams and Experience, 79; Jean-­Claude Schmitt, “The Liminality and Centrality of Dreams in the Medieval West,” in Dream Cultures: Explorations in the Comparative History of Dreaming, ed. David Shulman and Guy G. Stroumsa (Oxford, 1999), 274–287; Carolyn M. Carty, “The Role of Gunzo’s Dream in the Building of Cluny III,” Gesta 27 (1988): 113–123. 59. Maria Luisa Ceccarelli Lemut and Stefano Sodi, eds., Nel segno di Pietro: La Basilica di San Piero a Grado da luogo della prima evangelizzazione a meta di pellegrinnagio medievale (Pisa, 2003), 19–26; Maria Luisa Ceccarelli Lemut, “San Piero a Grado e il culto Petrino nella diocesi di Pisa,” ibid., 19–26; Pietro d’Achiardi, “Gli affreschi di S. Piero a Grado presso Pisa e quelli già esistenti nel portico della Basilica Vaticana,” Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Sci-

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Notes to Page 33 enze Storiche (Roma, 1–9 Aprile 1903), VII Atti della Sezione, IV Storia dell’Arte (Rome, 1905), 193–285; Jens Wollesen, Die Fresken von San Piero a Grado bei Pisa (Bad Oeynhausen, 1977). 60. Les sermons et la visite pastorale de Federico Visconti archevêque de Pise (1253–1277): Sources et Documents d’Histoire du Moyen Âge, vol. 3, ed. Nicole Bériou and Isabelle Le Masne de Chermont (Rome, 2001), 592–594, esp. 968. In his Sermon 34 preached at San Piero, Arch­ bishop Visconti remarks, “veniendo pedes huc ad Beatum Petrum apostolum [ad Gradum] sumus aliquantulum fatigati” (ibid., 592). 61. D’Achiardi, “Gli affreschi,” 79: “uno scudo partito, inquartato di rosso e argento nella metà sinistra, e palato di sei pezzi in rosso ed oro nella metà destra.” These must be the arms of Benedetto di Oddone Gaetani. See Wollesen, Die Fresken von San Piero a Grado, 146–148. For Oddone Gaetani, see Gaetano Ciccone and Salvatore Polizzi, “Le vicende di un nobile pisano alla corte di Bonifacio VIII,” Bollettino Storico Pisano 5 (1986): 67–83; Mauro Ronzani, “Gaetani, Oddone,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Ital­iani, vol. 51 (Rome, 1998), 193–195. 62. Vauchez, “Les songes d’Innocent III,” 695. 63. Ecclesiasticus (Sirach) 50:1–2: “Simon, Onii filius sacerdos magnus, qui in vita sua suffulsit domum, et in diebus suis corroboravit templi etiam altitudo.” Roberto Paciocco, Sublimia Negotia: Le canonizzazioni dei santi nella curia papale e il nuovo Ordine dei frati Minori (Padua, 1996), 116–118. The relationship with Simon, son of Onias, is also noted by Michael F. Cusato, “Francis of Assisi, Deacon? An Examination of the Claims of the Earliest Franciscan Sources, 1229–1235,” in Defenders and Critics of Franciscan Life: Essays in Honor of John V. Fleming, The Medieval Franciscans 6, ed. Michael F. Cusato and Guy Geltner (Leiden, 2009), 9–39, esp. 25. 64. The whole passage, indicatively, is quoted by the Franciscan Fra Salimbene; Salimbene de Adam Cronica, Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 125, ed. Giuseppe Scalia (Turnhout, 1998), 190. Salimbene had himself been a friar at Pisa between

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Notes to Pages 34–35 1243 and 1247 and so would certainly have been aware of the local connection. He recalled it in his chronicle, written between 1283 and 1288; see ibid., viii, for the date. 65. Vauchez, “Les songes d’Innocent III,” 697. 66. Luisa Marcucci, “Per gli ‘Armarj’ della sacrestia di Santa Croce,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 9 (1959–60): 141–158; Andrew Ladis, Taddeo Gaddi (Columbia, Mo., 1982), 114– 126, no. 6; August Rave, Christiformitas: Studien zur franziskanischen Ikonographie des florentiner Trecento am Beispiel des ehemaligen Sakristeischrankzyklus von Taddeo Gaddi in Santa Croce (Worms, 1984), 123–131, esp. 129; Miklòs Boskovits, Frühe Italienische Malerei: Gemäldegallerie Berlin Katalog de Gemälde (Berlin, 1988), 41–47, no. 21; Cataloghi della Galleria dell’Accademia di Firenze, vol. 1, Dal Duecento a Giovanni da Milano, ed. Miklòs Boskovits and Angelo Tartuferi (Florence, 2003), 251–283, no. 48 (Sonia Chiodo), 269, fig. 138. 67. Personal communication from the curator, Stefan Wochojian. For a contrary view, see Hans Belting, “Franziskus: Der Körper als Bild,” in Bild und Körper im Spätmittelalter, ed. Kristin Marek, Raphaèle Preisinger, Marius Rimmele, and Katrin Kärcher (Paderborn, 2006), 21–36, esp. 24. 68. Philippe Faure, “Vie et Mort du Séraphin de Saint François d’Assise,” Revue Mabillon 62 (1990): 143–177, esp. 148; Vauchez, “Les songes d’Innocent III,” 698. 69. Bonaventura, Legenda Maior, Legendae S. Francisci Assisiensis saec. XIII et XIV conscriptae, in Analecta Franciscana, vol. 10 (Quaracchi, 1926– 1941), 616; “De S. Patre nostro Francisco Sermo V,” in Opera Omnia, vol. 9 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1901), 593: “oculis eius apparebat”; Faure, “Vie et Mort du Séraphin,” 143–177, esp. 144; Peter Dinzelbacher, Vision und Visionsliteratur im Mittelalter (Stuttgart, 1981); idem, “Körperliche und seelische Vorbedingungen religiöser Träume und Visionen,” in I sogni nel medioevo: Seminario internazionale, Roma, 2–4 ottobre 1983, ed. Tullio Gregory (Rome, 1985), 57–86; Harris, Dreams and Experience, 46.

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Notes to Page 35 70. During the pontificate of Innocent III (1198–1216), what later came to be called consistory was termed auditorium publicum. Werner Maleczek, Papst und Kardinalskolleg von 1191 bis 1216, Publikationen des Historischen Instituts beim Österreichischen Kulturinstitut in Rom, Abteilung Abhandlungen 6 (Vienna, 1984), 300. In any case, the scene probably re­flects the papal consistory of Giotto’s lifetime. There the pope in cappa rubea and tiara presided over the cardinals and sometimes notaries and judges. Marc Dykmans, Le cérémonial papal de la fin du Moyen Age à la Renaissance: De Rome en Avignon ou le cérémonial de Jacques Stefaneschi, Bibliothèque de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome 25 (Rome, 1981), 463: “more consistoriali, videlicet cum manto seu pluviali rubeo, et mitra aurifrigiata cum perlis, et omnes cardinales et prelati cum communibus vestibus.” Guglielmus Durandus, Rationale Divinorum Officiorum 3.21.18, Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 340, ed. Anselm Davril and Timothy J. Thibodeau (Turnhout, 1995), 238: “summus pontifex cappa rubea semper apparet indutus” since the red symbolizes compassion. For its origins, see Percy E. Schramm, Herrschaftszeichen und Staatssybolik, Schriften der Monumenta Germaniae Historica 13, vol. 1 (Stuttgart, 1954), 57. For the use of the tiara, see Eduard Eichmann, Weihe und Krönung des Papstes im Mittelalter, Münchener Theologische Studien 3, Kanonistische Abteilung 1 (Munich, 1954), 31. 71. Klaus Erdmann, “Neue orientalische Tierteppiche auf abendländischen Bildern des XIV. und XV. Jahrhunderts,” Jahrbuch der preussischen Kunstsammlungen 63 (1942): 121–126, esp. 123; John Mills, “Early Animal Carpets in Western Paintings: A Review,” Hali 1 (1978): 234–243, esp. 240–241; idem, Carpets in Paintings (London, 1983); idem, “The Coming of the Carpet to the West,” in The Eastern Carpet in the Western World: Hayward Gallery, London, ed. Donald King and David Sylvester (London, 1983), 11–24, esp. 12; Volkmar Gantzhorn, Oriental Carpets: Their Iconology and Iconography from the Earliest Times to the 18th Century (Cologne, 1988), 100.

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Notes to Pages 35–36 Friedrich Spuhler, Oriental Carpets in the Museum of Oriental Art, Berlin (London, 1987), 22, suggests that carpets in paintings need not always represent knotted pile carpets but may at times be flat­woven or embroidered pieces. See Werner Brüggemann, “The Islamic-­Oriental Carpet in Giotto’s Fresco Christmas Mass at Greccio in Assisi,” in Facts and Artefacts: Art in the Islamic World; Festschrift for Jens Kröger on His 65th Birthday, ed. Annette Hadegorn and Avinoam Shalem (Leiden, 2007), 373–393, esp. 375. 72. Émile Molinier, “Inventaire du Trésor du Saint Siège sous Boniface VIII (1295),” Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 43 (1882): 277–310, 626–646; 45 (1884): 31–57; 46 (1885): 16–44; 47 (1886): 646–667; 49 (1888): 226–237; see 47 (1886): 663 n. 1460. Marco Spallanzani, Oriental Rugs in Renaissance Florence (Florence, 2007), 76, doc. 5, publishes a document of July 1296 for a Florentine merchant’s purchase of a tappeto at a Champagne fair. 73. Legenda Maior, 569; Celano, Vita Prima, chap. 13 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:25), had said eleven. 74. Amico, “Bernard of Besse: Praises of the Blessed Francis,” chap. 1, 224. 75. Celano, Vita Prima, chap. 21 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:44–45). 76. According to Roger Sorrell, St. Francis of Assisi and Nature: Tradition and Innovation in Western Christian Attitudes toward the Environment (Oxford, 1988), 66, it is no accident that many of the thirteenth-­ century advances in botany and natural science were made within the mendicant orders. 77. Roger Sorrell, “Tradition and Innovation, Harmony and Hierarchy in St. Francis of Assisi’s Sermon to the Birds,” Franciscan Studies 43 (1983): 396–407, esp. 406; cf. Legenda Maior, 597, chap. 8, 11. 78. Daniel Bornstein, review of Chiara Frugoni, Francesco e l’invenzione delle stimmate: Una storia per immagini fino a Bonaventura e Giotto (Turin, 1993), Church History 65 (1996): 262–264, esp. 262; Rolf Zerfass, Der Streit um die Laienpredigt (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1974), 282–298; Augustine Thompson, Cities of God: The Religion of the

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Notes to Pages 36–37 Ital­ian Communes, 1125–1325 (University Park, 2005), 88–89. Francis was following literally Christ’s injunction (Mark 16:16) to preach to all creatures: “Euntes in mundum universum, predicate evangelium omni creaturae.” 79. Julian Gardner, “Torriti’s Birds,” in Medioevo: I Modelli; Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Parma, 27 settembre–1 ottobre 1999, ed. Arturo C. Quintavalle (Milan, 2002), 605–614, esp. 608–610 and fig. 11. There exist striking similarities between the birds in Torriti’s apse mosaics and ancient floor mosaics in Libya which must re­flect metropolitan models. Salvatore Aurigemma, “Mosaico con volute decorative ed animali in una villa romana a Zliten in Tripolitania,” Dedalo 5 (1924): 197–219, esp. 200, 208; Georges Ville, “Essai de datation de la mosaique des gladiateurs de Zliten: La Mosaique Gréco-­Romane,” in Colloques Internationaux de CNRS, Paris, 29 août–3 septembre 1963 (Paris, 1965), 147–154. For an overview, see Antero Tammisto, Birds in Mosaics: A Study on the Representation of Birds in Hellenistic and Romano-­Campanian Tessellated Mosaics to the Early Augustan Age, Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae 18 (Rome, 1997). 80. Those pairs which can con­fi­dently be iden­ti­fied include goldfinches, blackbirds, magpies, geese, and a cockerel; less certain are a little bittern and a chough. There are several somewhat generic finches. The frescoed birds are less accurate, fewer in number, and more damaged. 81. Robert Scheller, Exemplum Model-­Book Drawings and the Practice of Artistic Transmission in the Middle Ages (ca. 900–ca. 1470) (Amsterdam, 1995). For the im­por­tant role played by Franciscan manuscripts in the rediscovery of accurately observed birds, see Gardner, “Torriti’s Birds,” 606; and particularly W. Brunsdon Yapp, Birds in Medieval Manuscripts (London, 1981), 71–78. 82. Sorrell, St. Francis of Assisi, 66. 83. See Chapter 3. 84. Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, 222–229, reproduced at 223. The birds

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Notes to Pages 37–38 represented in the fresco are too generic and the painted surface is too damaged for them to be iden­ti­fied with any con­fi­dence. 85. Dieter Blume, Wandmalerei als Ordenspro­pa­ganda: Bildprogramme im Chorbereich franziskanischer Konvente Italiens bis zur Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts (Worms, 1983), 37ff. I do not share all the author’s conclusions. Cf. the review by Joanna Cannon, Burlington Magazine 137 (1985): 234–235; Louise Bourdua, The Franciscans and Art Patronage in Late Medieval Italy (Cambridge, 2004), 61–62, 149–150. 86. Les sermons et la visite pastorale, Sermon 15 on San Francesco, 757– 765, esp. 762: “voluit Christus quod stigmata sive signa quinque plagarum in beati Francisci corpore apparerent, tamquam miles novus alicuius magni domini qui portat signum de armis illius qui fecit eum militem, ut possit dicere cum apostolo Galatians VI [6:17]: Stigmata Domini mei Iesu porto in corpore meo.” 87. Maria Luisa Altamura, Roberto Bellucci, Ciro Castelli, Marco Ciatti, Cecilia Frosinini, Mauro Parri, and Andrea Santacesaria, “Appunti per una ricerca sulla tecnica artistica della pittura pisana del Duecento,” in Burresi and Caleca, Cimabue a Pisa, 287–294, is the most comprehensive discussion of Pisan thirteenth-­century pictorial carpentry. For some comments on contemporary transport costs between Florence and Pisa, see Allan Evans, ed., Francesco Balducci Pegolotti: La Pratica della Mercatura, Medieval Academy of America Publications, no. 24 (Cambridge, Mass., 1936), 209– 212; Goldthwaite, The Economy, 97–98. 88. Christa Gardner von Teuffel, “Niccolò di Segna, Sassetta, Piero della Francesca and Perugino: Cult and Continuity at Sansepolcro,” Städel Jahrbuch, N.F., 17 (1999): 163–208; idem, “Sassetta’s Franciscan Altarpiece at Borgo San Sepolcro: Precedents and Context,” in Sassetta: The Borgo San Sepolcro Altarpiece, ed. Machtelt Israels, vols. 1 and 2 (Florence, 2009), 1:211–229, esp. 218; James R. Banker, “Appendix of Documents,” in Israels, Sassetta, 2:566–589, esp. 569–570, no. 15 (September 5, 1437). 89. “Fratris Thomae vulgo dicti de Eccleston,” in Tractatus De Adventu

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Notes to Pages 38–39 Fratrum Minorum in Angliam, ed. Andrew G. Little (Manchester, 1951), 74; Alexander IV, Benigna operatio, in Bullarium Franciscanum, vol. 1, ed. Joannes H. Sbaralea (Rome, 1759), 44: “Cum igitur gloriosae vitae ipsius insignia ex multa familiaritate, quam nobiscum habuit in minori officio constitutis, plene cognita nobis essent.” Oktavian a Rieden, “De Sancti Francisci Assisiensis Stigmatum Susceptione,” Collectanea Franciscana 34 (1964): 5–62, 241–338, esp. 291–292. 90. Arianna Pecorini Cignoni, “Un sermone latino Francisci confessoris di Aldobrandino da Toscanella,” Studi Francescani 98 (2001): 285–299: “Fuit configuratus divino signaculo, quia manus et pedes habuit stigmatibus consignatos et carneis clavis affixos et latus divino vulnere insignitum. Ist sunt flores in quibus in Cantico dicitur : flores apparuerunt in terra nostra [Ps. 2:12]. Quos flores in beato Francisco depinxit ille depictor caelestis cum pincello amoris.” Desbonnets, “Le Saint François de la communauté,” 39. 91. Giovanni Miccoli, Francesco d’Assisi (Turin, 1991), 81–84; Pietro Zerbi, “‘L’ultimo sigillo’ (Par. XI, 107): Tendenze della recente storiografia italiana sul tema delle stigmate di s. Francesco. A proposito di un libro recente,” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia 48, no. 1 (1994): 7–42, esp. 9, 11. 92. Étienne Gilson, “L’interprétation traditionelle des stigmates,” Revue de l’Histoire Franciscaine 2 (1925): 467–479, esp. 474; Gardner, “The Louvre Stigmatization,” 340. 93. Legenda Maior, 616: “investigans beneplacitum Dei .  .  . aperiri fecit per socium, virum utique Deo devotum et sanctum.” For earlier practice, see Pierre Courcelle, “L’enfant et les ‘sorts bibliques,’ ” Vigiliae Chrstianae 7 (1953): 194–220. 94. Raoul Manselli, Nos Qui cum Eo Fuimus: Contributo alla questione francescana, Bibliotheca Seraphico-­Capuccina 28 (Rome, 1980). In the Parisian decree of 1266 for the destruction of earlier Legendae it was noted that Bonaventure had scrupulously used these testimonies: “ipse habuit ab ore eorum, qui cum b. Francisco quasi semper fuerunt et cuncta certitudinaliter sciverint et probata ibi sint posita diligenter.”

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Notes to Pages 39–40 Little, “Definitiones Capitulorum Generalium,” 278; Paciocco, Sublimia Negotia, 104ff.; Giovanni Miccoli, “Bonaventura e Francesco,” S. Bonaventura Francescano Todi, 14–17 ottobre 1973: Convegni del Centro di Studi sulla Spiritualità Medievale XIV (Todi, 1974), 47– 73, esp. 57; Jacques Dalarun, Vers un résolution de la question franciscaine: La Légend ombrienne de Thomas de Celano (Paris, 2007), 218. 95. Eccleston, Tractatus De adventu fratrum minorum, chap. 13, 75; Legenda Maior, Prologus, 559; Grado Merlo, “Francesco di Assisi e la sua eredità,” in Tra Eremò e città (S. Maria degli Angeli, 1991), 10–11; Faure, “Vie et Mort du Séraphin,” 148. 96. Jules Gay and Suzanne Vitte, eds., Les Registres de Nicholas III, 1277–1280), Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome s. 214, 1–5 (Paris, 1898–1938), no. 564, August 14, 1279, 232–241, esp. 232: “Christus passionis sue stigmatibus con­firmavit.” 97. Philippe Faure, “Corps de l’homme et corps du Christ: L’iconographie de la Stigmatisation de S. François en France et Angleterre,” I discorsi dei corpi/Discourses of the Body, Micrologus 1 (1993): 327–346, esp. 331; Dalarun, Vers un résolution, 227—230. 98. Faure, “Vie et Mort du Séraphin,” 144. The Legenda Chori mentions six wings; Thomas of Celano, Legenda ad usum chori, in Analecta Franciscana, 10:144. The Tractacus de Miraculis speaks of the “seraph in cruce positum”; Faure, “Corps de l’homme et corps du Christ,” 332—334. 99. Faure, “Corps de l’homme et corps du Christ,” 163. It is reproduced in color in Zanardi, Il cantiere de Giotto, 265. 100. Celano, Legenda ad usum chori, 123; Faure, “Vie et Mort du Séraphin,” 144. 101. Legenda Maior, 13.5, 617. John Pecham, writng circa 1270, uses a similar phrase; Fratris Johannis Pecham quondam archiepiscopi Cantuariensis, Tractatus Tres de Paupertate, British Society of Franciscan Studies 1, vol. 1, ed. Charles L. Kingsford, Andrew G. Little, and Francesco Tocco (Aberdeen, 1910), 7.23: “exemplo beati Francisci . . . rege glorie passionis suis signaculis contestante et se ipsum crucifixum pene a

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Notes to Pages 40–41 memoria hominum elapsum in Francisco quasi viva ymagine representante.” 102. The Virgin’s gesture, with both hands crossed over her breast, occurs neither in the Crucifixes of Giunta and his circle nor indeed in the repertoire of Giotto. Its closest comparator is in the Crucifix signed by Petrus from Campi Basso, (Norcia), for which see Evelyn Sandberg Vavalà, La Croce Dipinta Ital­iana e l’Iconografia della Passione (Verona, 1929): 137, 732–737, figs. 49, 102; Garrison Ital­ian Romanesque Panel Painting, 205, no. 530. Its date has been variously read as 1242 (Garrison) or, less probably, 1212 by Filippo Todini, La Pittura Umbra dal Duecento al primo Cinquecento, vol. 1 (Milan, 1989), 282. It was certainly at the time of Giotto’s Pisan Stigmatization a consciously archaic gesture. This pars pro toto of course stresses the Christomimesis of the main scene. 103. Miccoli, Francesco d’Assisi, 82–83. Cf. Zerbi, “L’ultimo sigillo,” 140–141 (11.107). 104. Julian Gardner, “Some Cardinals’ Seals of the Thirteenth Century,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 38 (1976): 72– 96, esp. 89, 95; idem, “Memoria sotto Sigillo: Descrizione e ­autenticità,” in Medioevo: Immagine e memoria; Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Parma, 23–28 settembre 2008, ed. Arturo C. Quintavalle (Milan, 2009): 319–324, esp. 322–323. 105. Michael Bihl, “De Capitulo Generali O. M. Metensi anno adsignando deque antiquo sigillo Ministri Glis,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 4 (1911): 425–435. The matrix is attested at least from 1254, the generalate of Giovanni da Parma. For the preaching theme, see Silvana Vecchio, “Langues de Feu Pentecôte et rhétorique sacrée dans les sermons des XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” in La Parole du Prédicateur: Ve.–XVe. Siècle, Collection du Centre d’études médiévale de Nice 1, ed. Rosa Maria Dessi and Michel Lauwers (Nice, 1997), 255–269. 106. Legenda Maior, 617; “S. Bonaventurae Bagnoregis H. R. E. Episc. Albae atque Doctor Ecclesiae Universalis,” in Commentaria in

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Notes to Page 42 Quatuor Libros Sententiarum, Opera Omnia S. Bonaventurae (Ad Claras Aquas, 1885–1889), II lib. sent., dist. 3, P. 1, art. 2, quaest. 3, conclusio 109. 107. As a preacher Aquasparta had lovingly developed the topos of sealing: Creavit Deus hominem ad imaginem suam (Gen. 1:27). Man’s soul might be reformed and perfected “[ad] instar imaginis fusae,” an ultimately classical topos which had been appropriated from earlier Victorine writers by the first Franciscan cardinal, Bonaventure. Matteo speaks of impressing Christ upon Francis’s body, “ut imago crucifixi tibi efficaciter imprimatur,” several times reiterating the Order’s iden­ti­fi­ca­tion of Francis as the angel of the sixth seal of Revelation. Gardner, “Some Cardinals’ Seals,” 90. 108. For Angelo Clareno’s seal, see Livario Oliger, “De Sigillo Fr. ­Angeli Clareni,” Antonianum 12 (1937): 61–64. 109. Gardner “Some Cardinals’ Seals,” 89, 95, and figs. 13a, 14d; Irene Hueck, “Una crocefissione su marmo del primo Trecento e alcuni smalti senesi,” Antichità Viva 8, no. 1 (1969): 22–34; Elisabetta Cioni, Scultura e Smalto nell’Oreficeria Senese dei secoli XIII e XIV (Florence, 1998), 70–74; Valentino Pace, “La committenza artistica del cardinale Matteo d’Acquasparta nel quadro della cultura figurativa del suo tempo,” in Matteo d’Acquasparta Francescano, Filosofo, Politico: Atti del XIX Convegno storico internazionale, Todi, 11–14 ottobre 1992 (Spoleto, 1993), 311–330; Julian Gardner, “Curial Narratives: The Seals of Cardinal Deacons, 1280–1305,” in Good Impressions: Image and Authority in Medieval Seals, British Museum, ed. Noël Adams, John Cherry, and James Robinson (London, 2008), 85–90, esp. 88, with a color reproduction of Acquasparta’s seal, fig. 11, at 89; Ruth Wolff, “The Sealed Saint: Representations of Saint Francis of Assisi on Medieval Ital­ian Seals,” in Adams, Cherry, and Robinson, Good Impressions, 91–99. 110. Giacomo Bascapè, Sigillografia: Il Sigillo nella Diplomatica, nel Diritto, nella Storia, nell’Arte, vol. 1,Sigillogafia generale: I sigilli pubblici e quelli privati (Milan, 1969): 405–406; Andrea Muzi, Bruna Tomasello,

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Notes to Pages 42–43 and Attilio Tori, Sigilli nel Museo Nazionale del Bargello, vol. 3, Civili (Florence, 1990), nos. 52, 168, 309, 310, 313, 314. 111. Gardner, The Louvre Stigmatization, 245–246. 112. Ernst Kitzinger, “Reflections on the Feast Cycle in Byzantine Art,” Cahiers Archéologiques 36 (1988): 51–61; Karoline Kreidl-­ Papadopoulos, “Koimesis,” in Reallexikon zur byzantinischen Kunst, vol. 4 (Stuttgart, 1990), cols. 136–182. 113. Ute Feldges, Landschaft als topographische Porträt: Der Wiederbeginn der europäischen Landschaftsmalerei in Siena (Bern, 1980), 101–102. Salimbene records that he, like Bonaventure before him, and surely many other friars, made the pilgrimage to La Verna in 1284: “vidi omnia devotionis loca que ibi erant.” Salimbene de Adam Cronica, Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 140, ed. Giuseppe Scalia, vol. 2 (Turnhout, 1998), 836. In a remarkable sermon at Oxford in October 1291, the minister-­general, Raymond Geoffroy, used an extensive image of the humble olive tree and its habitat, noting the white and green colors of both sides of its leaves. Andrew G. Little, “Two Sermons of Fr. Raymond Gaufredi Minister General Preached at Oxford, 1291,” Collectanea Franciscana 4 (1934): 161–174, esp. 165–169. 114. Gardner, The Louvre Stigmatization, 226; Zerbi, “L’ultimo sigillo,” 7 (11.107). 115. P.-­A. Fabre, “The Sleep of the Flesh: The Agony of the Visible at the Limits of the Frame in the Iconography of the Prayer of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane,” in Image and Imagination of the Religious Self in Late Mediaeval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Reindert L. Falkenburg, Walter S. Melion, and Todd M. Richardson (Turnhout, 2007) 163–194. 116. Duffy, “Finding St Francis,” 231. 117. See note 49. 118. Giacomo Grimaldi, Index omnium et singulorum librorum Bibliothecae Sacrosanctae Vaticanae Basilicae, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana In-

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Notes to Pages 43–45 ventario 5, fol. 121r: “In base stemmata ipsius cardinalis cernuntur.” For a review, see Schwarz, Giottus Pictor, 2:501ff. 119. The simple outer frame batten was added in 1813. See Denon, L’oeil de Napoléon, 243–244. For the outer framework, see Monika Cämmerer-­George, Die Rahmung der toskanischen Altarbilder im Trecento, Zur Kunstgeschichte des Auslands 139 (Strasbourg, 1966), 32. 120. This text is corrected in Roberto Lunardi, “Santa Maria Novella e la Croce di Giotto,” in Giotto: La Croce di Santa Maria Novella, ed. Marco Ciatti and Max Seidel (Florence, 2001), 159–181, 179–181, esp. 179, with color reproductions at 18–22; Frithjof Schwartz and Michael V. Schwarz, “Noch einmal zur Frage der ursprünglichen Aufstellungsort von Giottos Tafelkreuz in S. Maria Novella,” Kunstchronik 56 (2003): 650–652; Frithjof Schwartz, “In medio ecclesiae: Giottos Tafelkreuz in S. Maria Novella,” Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 54 (2006): 95–114. 121. Richard Offner, A Critical and Historical Corpus of Florentine Painting, sec. 3, vol. 6 (New York, 1965), 9–18; Cannon, “The Era of the Great Painted Crucifix,” 571. 122. Arno Preiser, Das Entstehen und die Entwicklung der Predella in der ­italienischen Malerei, Studien zur Kunstgeschichte 2 (Hildesheim, 1973), 7ff., provides a partial discussion of the etymology. See Nicholson, Cimabue, 45–46. For the importance of the church within the Hospitalis Novi Misericordie opposite the Duomo, see Mauro Ronzani, “Nascita e affermazione di un grande ‘Hospitale’ cittadino: Lo Spedale Nuovo di Pisa dal 1257 alla metà del Trecento,” in Città e Servizi Sociali nell’Italia dei secoli XII–XV, Pistoia, 9–12 ottobre 1987, Centro Ital­iano di studi di Storia e d’Arte Pistoia, Dodicesimo Convegno di Studi (Pistoia, 1990), 201–235. 123. Battisti, Cimabue, 94: “tabulam unam [cum] colonnellis tabernaculis et predula pictam storiis divine maestatis beate Marie Virginis, apostolorum, angelorum et aliis figuris et picturis” (November 1, 1301, Archivio de

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Notes to Pages 45–50 Stato, Pisa, Ser Giovanni di Bonagiunta, 012:29). Hellmut Hager, Die Anfänge des italienischen Altarbildes: Untersuchungen zur Entstehungsgeschichte des toskanischen Altarbildes, Römische Forschungen der Bibliotheca Hertziana 17 (Munich, 1962), 113–114, shows a hypothetical reconstruction (fig. 164). The reconstruction of the Santa Chiara polyptych postulated by Elisabeth Ayer, “A Reconstruction of Cimabue’s Lost 1301 Altarpiece for the Hospital of Saint Clare in Pisa,” Rutgers Art Review 4 (1983): 12–17, is untenable. 124. Julian Gardner, “Cimabue and Giotto at S. Francesco in Pisa,” Prospettiva (forthcoming). 125. Fr. Gonsalvi Hispani O.F.M.: Quaestiones Disputatae et de Quodlibet, Bibliotheca Franciscana Scholastica Medii Aevi 9, ed. León Amorós (Ad Claras Aquas, 1935): xxiv; José Pou y Martí, “Fr. Gonzalo de Balboa, primer General Español de la Orden,” Revista de Estudios Franciscanos 7 (1911): 171–180, 332–343.

2. Giotto among the Money-­Changers 1. Ewald Müller, O.F.M., Das Konzil von Vienne 1311–1312: Seine Quellen und seine Geschichte, Vorreformationsgeschichtliche Forschungen 12 (Münster, 1934); Michael Cusato, “Whence ‘The Community’?” Franciscan Studies 60 (2002): 39–92: “The term was self-­referential, applied by the Franciscan leadership to itself. It was a declaration that they were the Order. The ‘Community’ existed only from the poverty debates of 1309/11” (65). 2. “Et cum nulla edificia possint fieri sine dispositione provincialium ministrorum, cum non sit provintia in ordine, in qua non sint multi excessus edificiorum ostendant ipsi unum ministrum qui pro talibus sit digne punitus, quia nullum in ordine scimus, sed vitiosos in hiis bene novimus exaltatos.” Franz Ehrle, “Zur Vorgeschichte des Concils von Vienne,” Archiv für Literatur und Kirchengesschichte 2 (1886): 353–416; 3 (1887): 1–195, quotation on 163. In his Declaratio, Ubertino declared the punishments meted out by the provincial, Fra Gonsalvo, superficial

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Notes to Page 50 (ibid., 3:173). See also Silvain Piron, “Un couvent sous in­flu­ence: Santa Croce autour de 1300,” Économie et religion: L’expérience des ordres mendiants (XIIIe–XV siècles) 1 (2008): 321–355, quotation on 323. 3. Daniel Lesnick, Preaching in Medieval Florence: The Social World of Franciscan and Dominican Spirituality (Athens, Ga., 1989); Charles T. Davis, “The Early Collection of Books of S. Croce in Florence,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 107, no. 5 (October 1963): 399–414; Piron, “Un couvent sous in­flu­ence,” 326, 331–333. In his Rotulus, Ubertino remarked that Giovanni da Murrovalle had unavailingly attempted to limit the number of local friars: “Unde et in aliquibus provinciis Ytalie attemptavit dominus frater Johannes cum esset generalis ad predictum abusum tollendum statuere quod in conventibus non possent locari fratres nativi de terris ultra tertiam partem conventus.” Ehrle, “Zur Vorgeschichte,” 3:112. 4. Illuminato de Caponsacchi was a friar in the convent by 1279. Davis, “The Early Collection of Books,” 401. Between 1297 and 1310: guardian 1298, custos 1310; Lesnick, Preaching in Medieval Florence, 85, 186. He was still a friar in 1318. Davis, “The Early Collection of Books,” 401; books connected with him are nos. 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 18, 19, 22, 23, 26, 32, 33, 36, and 38 in Davis’s list. An avid bibliophile, he also probably taught. Robert Davidsohn, Forschungen zur Geschichte von Florenz, vol. 4 (Berlin, 1908), directly links Jacobus Tundo to Santa Croce as Tuscan provincial (484) and links Illuminato da Caponsacchi with Saverinus quond. Jacobi de populo S. Proculi de Florentia, who bequeathed a legacy to Fra Aluminato in his 1278 will at Pisa (485). 5. Jacopo del Tondo of Siena was provincial minister of Tuscia, 1310–1314; see Nicola Papini, L’Etruria franciscana (Siena, 1779), 10; Ehrle, “Zur Vorgeschichte,” 3:164 n. 1; Bonaventura Bartolomasi, “Series chronologico-­historica Ministrorum Provincialium et Commissarium Generalium qui Seraphicam S.P.N. Provinciam dictam quoque de Umbri a primaeva institutione Ordinis Mino-

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Notes to Page 50







rum inde Conventualium nuncupatorum,” Miscellanea Francescana 32 (1932): 201–226, esp. 207; I. M. Bastianini, Brevis Conspectus Seraphicae Provinciae Umbriae S.P.N. Francisci Ordinis Fratrum Minorum Conventualium (Perugia, 1964), 41. The tomb slab of Jacopo de’ Tondo miles of 1300, probably a relation, still survives in San Francesco in Siena. Silvia Colucci, Sepolcri a Siena tra Medioevo e Rinascimento, Millennio Medievale 38 (Tavarnuzze, 2003), 193, no. 7, and fig. 6. The very interesting article by Donal L. Cooper and Janet Robson, “‘A great sumptuousness of paintings’: Frescoes and Franciscan Poverty at Assisi in 1288 and 1312,” Burlington Magazine 151 (2009): 656–662, was published some months after the Berenson Lectures on which this book is based were delivered. 6. Bastianini, Brevis Conspectus, 41. 7. Armando Sapori, La crisi delle compagnie mercantile dei Bardi e dei Peruzzi (Florence, 1926); Arnaldo D’Addario, “Bardi, Bartolo,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Ital­iani, vol. 6 (Rome, 1964), 281–182. 8. Cesare Cenci, “Silloge di documenti francescani trascritti dal P. Riccardo Pratesi O.F.M.,” Studi Francescani 62 (1965): 364–418. In 1282 the Bardi had a palace in the popolo of Santa Maria sopr’Arno; Franek Sznura, L’espansione urbana di Firenze nel Dugento (Florence 1975), 103 n. 30. Benedetto de’ Bardi was Inquisitor in 1297; Cesare Cenci, “Costituzioni della Provincia Toscana tra I secoli XXX e XIV,” Studi Francescani 79 (1982): 369–409, esp. 387. On May 6, 1299, a Fra Matteo de’ Bardi was left a legacy of one hundred libri “pro libris emendis.” Cenci, “Costituzioni della Provincia,” 392 n. 9. 9. Salvino Salvini, Catalogo Cronologico de’ Canonici della Chiesa Metropolitana Fiorentina compilato l’anno 1751 (Florence, 1782), 156; Elena Rotelli, Il capitolo della cattedrale di Firenze dalle origini al XV secolo, Quaderni di Studi e Ricerche 9 (Florence, 2005), 50–51; George Dameron, Florence and Its Church in the Age of Dante (Philadelphia, 2005), 27–28.

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Notes to Page 51 10. Davidsohn, Forschungen, 4:486. Fra Arrigo Cerchi (1297–1303) was the son of Vieri Cerchi; see Lesnick, Preaching in Medieval Florence, 186. He appears in Davis’s book lists (“The Early Collection of Books,” 409, and nos. 14, 17, and 46). See also Cenci, “Silloge di documenti francescani,” 380; Enrica Neri Lusanna, “Interni fiorentini e pittura profana tra Duecento e Trecento: Caccie e giostre a Palazzo Cerchi,” in Opere e giorni: Studi su mille anni di arte europea dedicati a Max Seidel, ed. Klaus Bergdolt and Giorgio Bonsanti (Venice, 2001). 123–130. For the Cerchi tomb, see Emma Zocca, Assisi, Catalogo delle Cose d’Arte e di Antichità d’Italia 9 (Rome, 1936), 18; also Giorgio Bonsanti, ed., La Basilica di San Francesco di Assisi, Mirabilia Italiae 11 (Modena, 2002), 295–297, figs. 95–98. 11. Lettres de Jacques de Vitry, ed. Robert B. C. Huygens (Leiden, 1960), 75: “multi enim utriusque sexus divites et seculares omnibus pro Christo relictis seculum fugiebant, qui Fratres Minores et Sorores Minores vocabantur . . . Et iam per gratiam Dei magnum fructum fecerunt.” 12. Kenneth B. Wolf, The Poverty of Riches: St. Francis of Assisi Reconsidered (Oxford, 2003), 93; Lester Little, Religious Poverty and the Profit Economy in Medieval Europe (Ithaca, 1978), 203–206. The question of the extent to which the genuinely indigent bene­fited from the mendicant orders remains. The New Testament does not show Christ engaged in systematic begging; his life suggests voluntary poverty rather than begging. Stephen Munzer, “Beggars of God: The Christian Ideal of Mendicancy,” Journal of Religious Ethics 27, no. 2 (1999): 305–330. In his Apologia Pauperum contra calumniatorem (S. Bonaventurae S.R.E. Cardinalis, Opera Omnia, vol. 8 [Ad Claras Aquas, 1898], 327–328), Bonaventure cites Matthew 10:9–10 and 19:21: “It is more perfect to be in need with Christ and to receive alms together with him than to be a friend of the poor and sustain them.” Michael Cusato, “‘Esse ergo mitem et humilem corde, hoc est esse vere fratrem minorem’: Bonaventure of Bagnoregio and the Reformulation of the Franciscan Charism,” in Charisma

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Notes to Pages 51–52 und religiöse Gemeinschaften im Mittelalter, Akten des 3. Internationalen Kongresses des Italienisch-­deutschen Zentrums für Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte, Vita Regularis Abhandlungen 26, ed. Giancarlo Andenna, Mirko Breitenstein, and Gert Melville (Münster, 2005), 343–382, esp. 347. 13. Alexander Murray, “Arch­bishop and Mendicants in Thirteenth-­ Century Pisa,” in Stellung und Wirksamkeit der Bettelorden in der städtischen Gesellschaft, Berliner Historische Studien 3, Ordensstudien 2, ed. Kaspar Elm (Berlin, 1981), 19–75; Les sermons et la visite pastorale de Federico Visconti archevêque de Pise (1253–1277), Sources et Documents d’Histoire du Moyen Âge 3, ed. Nicole Bériou and Isabelle Le Masne de Chermont (Rome, 2001); Jacques Bougerol, “Saint François dans les premiers sermons universitaires,” in Francesco d’Assisi nella Storia, ed. Servus Gieben, vol. 1 (Rome, 1983), 173–199, esp. 175; Père Gratien, “Sermons franciscains d’ Eudes de Châteauroux (†1273),” Études franciscaines 29 (1913): 171–195, 647– 655; 30 (1913): 291–317, 415–437, esp. 296–302, and “Sermo VII De Sancto Francesco,” 303–317: “Ipse enim negociator fuit et mercator, pannorum” (305), and “Pannos ergo spirituales vendidit” (309). 14. See Ehrle, “Zur Vorgeschichte,” 3:93–137, for the Avignon debates of 1309–10. Ubertino da Casale quoted ibid., 115–116: “sunt multa edificia nostri ordinis . . . sed palatia apparent regum et in eis multipliciter paupertas infringitur, quia fiunt nimis alta, ampla, longa et curiosa. .  .  . [P]ro nihilo ducimus unam pulcram et magnam ecclesiam diruere, ut possimus maiorem et pulcriorem facere.” 15. Ibid., 3:146: “et primo ad id quod obiiciunt, quod in aliquibus locis dicti ordinis substinetur excessus in edifitii, dicitur: . . . que sint illa loca dicti ordinis, in quibus sint dicti excessus, nec per quos fratres facti sunt. Quia si magna et ampla edifitia facta sunt per per seculares sicut Padue per communitatem civitatis et alios devotos homines in honore sancti Antonii vel in sancto Francisco,—ubi etiam auctoritate privilegii sedis apostolice mandatur, quod certa pars oblationum convertatur in edifitiis in ipsa ecclesia ad decorem ipsius loci vel in aliis hec facta reperiantur a secularibus vel aucto-

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Notes to Page 52 ritate sedis apostolice, quod ex secularium devotione in fundo vel superfitie ecclesie romane ad honorem dei vel intuitu pietatis fit vel factum est, non spectat ad fratres tollere.” 16. Ibid., 3:105: “Item in aliquibus locis sacristi ipsimet candelas de sacristia acceptas faciunt super discum poni in ecclesia, ut intrantes viri et mulieres candelas emant, accipiant et offerant in loco earum super discum vel capsulam pecuniam deponant; et famulus fratrum discum custodit et pecuniam recepit, ita quod eadem candela decies revendetur. Et hec fallacia videtur illi communicare quam dominus Yhesus de templo dicitur eiecisse.” 17. See Filippo Moisè, Santa Croce di Firenze illustrazione storico-­artistica (Florence, 1845): 465–467, doc. 3, for the first annual subvention of the commune of April 8, 1295. Fernanda Sorelli, “L’atteggia­ mento del governo veneziano verso gli ordini mendicanti: Dalle deliberazioni del Maggior Consiglio (Secoli XIII–XIV),” Esperienze Minoritiche nel Veneto del Due-­Trecento, Atti del Convegno Nazionale di Studi Francescani (Padova, 28–29–30 settembre 1984), Le Venezie Francescane, n.s. 2 (1985): 37–47; Grado Merlo, Tra eremo e città: Studi su Francesco d’Assisi e sul francescanesimo medievale (Assisi, 1991), 102. 18. Geroldus Fussenegger, “Relatio Commissionis in Concilio Viennensi institutae ad decretalem ‘Exivi de paradiso’ praeparandum,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 50 (1957): 145–177, esp. 153–154. 19. Davis, “The Early Collection of Books,” 410–412; idem, “Education in Dante’s Florence” (1965), reprinted in Dante’s Italy (Philadelphia, 1984), 137–165 (on Santa Croce, see 147). From 1254 the Inquisition for Tuscany was based there (148). Mariano D’Alatri, L’Inquisizione Francescana nell Italia centrale del Duecento, Bibliotheca Seraphico-­Capuccina 49 (Rome, 1996), 347. For Benedetto de’ Bardi as Inquisitor in 1297, see note 8. By 1280 Santa Croce was a studium generale (Davis, “Education in Dante’s Florence,” 153). See also Bert Roest, A History of Franciscan Education (c. 1210–1517) (Leiden, 2000), 47–50. 20. Julian Gardner, “The Early Decoration of Santa Croce in Flor-

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Notes to Pages 52–53 ence,” Burlington Magazine 113 (1971): 391–392; Alessandro Conti, “Pittori in Santa Croce: 1295–1341,” Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di Lettere e Filosofia, ser. 3, 2, no. 1 (1972): 247–263; Franco Carbonai, Gianni Gaggio, and Mario Salmi, “Nuove acquisizioni sulla cripta e sul transetto di S. Croce in Firenze,” Città di Vita 38 (1983): 31–59;idem, “Santa Croce: Interpretazione attraverso le indagini metriche e documentarie,” in S. Maria del Fiore e le chiese fiorentine del Duecento e del Trecento nella città delle fabbriche arnolfiane, ed. Giuseppe Rocchi Coopmans de Yoldi (Florence, 2004), 243–262; Claudia Bolgia, “Santa Maria in Aracoeli and Santa Croce: The Problem of Arnolfo’s Contribution,” in Arnolfo’s Moment: Acts of an International Conference, Florence, Villa I Tatti, May 26–27, 2005, ed. David Friedman, Julian Gardner, and Margaret Haines, I Tatti Studies 23 (Florence, 2009), 91–106. 21. Marcia Hall, Renovation and Counter-­Reformation: Vasari and Duke Cosimo in Sta. Maria Novella and Sta. Croce, 1565–1577 (Oxford, 1979), 2–6; Marcia Hall, “The Ponte in S. Maria Novella: The Problem of the Rood Screen in Italy,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 37 (1974): 157–173; idem, “The Ital­ian Rood Screen: Some Implications for Liturgy and Function,” in Essays Presented to Myron P. Gilmore, ed. Sergio Bertelli and Gloria Ramakus (Florence, 1978), 213–218. See the reconstruction drawing in Leon Satkowski, Giorgio Vasari: Architect and Courtier (Prince­ton, 1993), 93 and figs. 32, 193. 22. Hall, Renovation and Counter-­Reformation, 169, doc. 3, Operai S. Croce to Duke, July 21, 1566: “quando detto coro si levasse del tutto, apparirebbe bellissimo et magnifico tempio, et tutto il corpo della chiesa saria senza comparatione più bello et dilettovole all’occhio; e questa è opinione universale edi ciascuno che l’ha vista, e particularmente di più architettori et periti, et a noi molto satisfà.” Moisè, Santa Croce di Firenze, 122–123. 23. Their arms are “Azure Four chains in saltire meeting in a wreath on the fess-­point argent.” Brenda Preyer, “‘Da chasa gli Alberti’: The ‘Territory’ and Housing of the Family,” in Leon Batista Alberti:

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Notes to Page 54 Architetture e Committenti, Atti dei Convegni internazionali del Comitato Nazionale VI centenario della nascita di Leon Battista Alberti Firenze, Rimini, Mantova, 12–16 ottobre 2004, Ingenium 12, ed. Arturo Calzona, Joseph Connors, Francesco Paolo Fiore, and Cesare Vasoli (Florence, 2009), 3–33; Mario Tasso, “Il ‘canto’ degli Alberti di Firenze,” Antichità viva 10 (1971): 20–36; Due Libri Mastri degli Alberti: Una grande compagnia di Calimala 1348–1358, ed. Richard A. Goldthwaite, Enzo Settesoldi, and Marco Spallanzani (Florence, 1995); Thomas J. Loughman, “Signaling Alberti Patronage at the Church of Santa Croce,” in The Patron’s Payoff: Conspicuous Commissions in Ital­ian Renaissance Art, ed. Jonathan K. Nelson and Richard J. Zeckhauer (Prince­ton, 2008), 133–148, esp. 136; Ulrich Middeldorf and Bruce Cole, “Some Discoveries in the Cappella Maggiore in Santa Croce, Florence,” Antichità Viva 5 (1975): 8–12. 24. Bruno Dini, “I mercanti-­banchieri e la sede apostolica (XIII– prima metà del XIV secolo),” in Gli spazi economici della Chiesa nell’Occidente mediterraneo (secoli XII–metà XIV) (Pistoia, 1999), 43–62, reprinted in Manifattura commercio e banca nella Firenze medievale (Florence, 2001), 67–81; Carol Lansing, The Florentine Magnates (Prince­ton, 1991), 202–207, 239–240; John Najemy, A History of Florence, 1200–1575 (Oxford, 2006), 85–86. 25. David Abulafia, “Southern Italy and the Florentine Economy, 1265–1370,” Economic History Review, ser. 2, 34 (1981): 376–388, esp. 380; Richard A. Goldthwaite, The Economy of Renaissance Florence (Baltimore, 2009), 68–70, 106; Norman Housley, The Ital­ian Crusades: The Papal-­Angevin Alliance and the Crusades against Christian Lay Powers, 1254–1343 (Oxford, 1982), 237–238, 240–241. Robert I continued to have huge debts with the Bardi; see Marco Spallanzani, “Una carta inedita della compagnia Bardi (ca. 1316–1320),” in La storia e l’economia: Miscellanea in onore di Giorgio Mori, vol. 1, ed. Anna Maria Falchero (Varese, 2003), 691–700. Like the Cinquina, the Bardi had at first prudently lent also to the Hohenstaufen; for Urban IV’s 1263 ultimatum to them, see Les Registres d’Urbain IV

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Notes to Pages 54–55 (1261–1264), Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, s. 2.13, 1–11, ed. Jean Guiraud and Suzanne Clémencet (Paris, 1892–1958), no. 410. 26. Armando Sapori, La crisi delle compagnie mercantile dei Bardi e dei Peruzzi (Florence, 1926). 27. Ibid., 243–245. Ser Lapo Bardi and Doffo di Bartolo di messer Iacopo Bardi served as joint heads. This partnership was dissolved in 1331 and reconstituted as Messer Ridolfo de’ Bardi e Compagni (248). His associate and successor in London as head of “ragione d’ Inghilterra” (1318–1321) was Francesco Pegolotti. Francesco Balducci Pegolotti, La Pratica della Mercatura, Medieval Academy of America Publications, no. 24, ed. Allan Evans (Cambridge, 1936): xvii. Pegolotti had been on the Bardi payroll from before 1310. 28. Eve Borsook, “Notizie su due cappelle in Santa Croce a Firenze,” Rivista d’Arte 36 (1961–62): 89–106, esp. 98–99, 105; Leonetto Tintori and Eve Borsook, The Peruzzi Chapel (New York, 1965). Donato di Arnaldo, however, made a similar bequest to Santa Cecilia in Florence: “Si contingat Corum Ecclesie S. Cecilie Florent. ampliari, voluit in ipso hedificio expendi de bonis suis . . . florenos 10 Flor. Parvorum.” Giuseppe Richa, Notizie istoriche delle chiese fiorentine, divise ne’ suoi quartieri, vol. 3 (Florence, 1754), 53. On Edwin S. Hunt, The Medieval Super-­Companies: A Study of the Peruzzi Company of Florence (Cambridge, 1994), see the comment of Goldthwaite, The Economy of Renaissance Florence, 236 n. 64. 29. Giovanni Villani, Nuova Cronaca, ed. Giuseppe E. Sansone and Giulio C. Cura (Rome, 2002), 375, Liber IX, cap. 7 (Santa Croce): “E comminciarsi fundamenti prima da la parte di dietro ove sono le cappelle, però che prima v’era la chiesa vecchia, e rimase all’oficio de’frati infino che furono murate le cappelle nuove.” Giovanni Villani began his career as an employee of the Peruzzi bank. Michele Luzzati, Giovanni Villani e la compagnia dei Buonaccorsi (Rome, 1971), 11; Franca Ragone,

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Notes to Page 55 Giovanni Villani e i suoi continuatori: La scrittura delle Cronache a Firenze nel Trecento, Nuovi Studi Storici 43 (Rome, 1998), 226–228. 30. Cenci, “Costituzioni della Provincia Toscana,” 389 (September 11, 1297): “Talanus olim d. Pegolotti de Gherardinis de Florentia centum florenos parvorum pro una capella fienda apud locum fr. Min. de Florentia scilicet in nova ecclesia que fit distributores fr. Taddeum et guardianum.” Davidsohn, Forschungen, 4:487. 31. Gardner, “The Early Decoration of Santa Croce,” 391. 32. Robert Davidsohn, Geschichte von Florenz, vol. 3 (Berlin, 1896– 1927), 617. Gastone della Torre died August 20, 1320. Davidsohn, Forschungen, 4:487–488; Giuliana L. Fantoni, “Cassone della Torre,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Ital­iani, vol. 37 (Rome, 1989), 521–526; Wilhelm R. Valentiner, Tino di Camaino: A Sienese Sculptor of the Fourteenth Century (Paris, 1935), 59–60; Tiziana Barbavara di Gravellona, “Tino di Camaino a Firenze e il monumento funerario del vescovo Antonio d’Orso in Duomo. I. Per una lettura del sepolcro,” Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di Lettere e Filosofia, ser. 4, 6, no. 2 (2001 [2004]): 265–299; Lisa M. Rafanelli, “Seeking Truth and Bearing Witness: The ‘Noli Me Tangere’ and Incredulity of Thomas on Tino di Camaino’s Petroni Tomb (1313–1317),” Comitatus 37 (2006): 32–64; Francesca Baldelli, Tino di Camaino (Morbio Inferiore, 2007), 170–189. The tomb is Tino’s first Florentine commission, although its execution is in considerable part by the workshop. Tino is documented in Florence on November 29, 1322, in connection with the Baptistery doors. Baldelli, Tino di Camaino, 442, no. 50. In all likelihood the completion of Gastone della Torre’s tomb predates this. 33. Julian Gardner, “Magister Bertuccius Aurifex and the Bronze Doors of San Marco: A Programme for the Year of Jubilee,” Revue de l’Art 134 (2001 [2004]): 9–26; Hans R. Hahnloser and Susanne Brugger-­Koch, Corpus der Hartsteinschliffe des 12.–15. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1985), 114, no. 105, and fig. 88; Nancy M. Thompson,

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Notes to Pages 55–56 “Saint Francis, the Apocalypse, and the True Cross: The Decoration of the Cappella Maggiore of Santa Croce in Florence,” Gesta 43, no. 1 (2004): 61–79, esp. 76 n. 29. 34. Julian Gardner, “Duccio, Cimabue and the Maestro di Casole: Early Sienese Paintings for Florentine Confraternities,” in Iconographica Mélanges offerts à Piotr Skubiszewski, ed. Robert Favreau and Marie-­Hélène Debiès (Poitiers, 1999), 109–113; Blake Wilson, Music and Merchants: The Laudesi Companies of Republican Florence (Oxford, 1992) (for the Santa Croce company, see 89–91). For subsequent discussion of the painter, see Maria Merlini, “Maestro degli Aringheri,” in Duccio: Siena fra tradizione bizantina e mondo gotico, ed. Alessandro Bagnoli, Roberto Bartalini, Luciano Bellosi, and Michel Laclotte (Siena, 2003), 332–337; Alessandro Bagnoli, “I pittori ducceschi,” in Bagnoli et al., Duccio, 292–303, esp. 294; Carl B. Strehlke, Ital­ian Paintings, 1250–1450, in the John G. Johnson Collection and the Philadelphia Museum of Art (Philadelphia, 2004), 129–130. 35. Cenci, “Silloge di documenti francescani,” 366–367, no. 1, letters of confraternity to the Compagnia dei Laudesi at Santa Croce from Giovanni da Parma, 1255. 36. Ibid., 385, no. 12, Nerium Ugolini de Radicofano. 37. For his canonization, see Margaret Toynbee, S. Louis of Toulouse and the Process of Canonisation in the Fourteenth Century (Manchester, 1929), 201; Edith Pásztor, Per la storia di san Ludovico d’Angiò (1274– 1297), Studi Storici 10 (Rome, 1955). See also the review of Pásztor by Geroldus Fussenegger in Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 40 (1956): 196–198. For Ugolino’s high altarpiece, see Gertrude Coor, “Contributions to the Study of Ugolino di Nerio’s Art,” Art Bulletin 37 (1955): 153–165; Christa Gardner von Teuffel, “The Buttressed Altarpiece: A Forgotten Aspect of Tuscan Fourteenth­Century Altarpiece Design,” Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen 21 (1979): 21–65; Miklós Boskovits, Frühe Italienische Malerei, Gemäldegallerie Berlin Katalog der Gemälde (Berlin, 1988); Norman E. Muller,

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Notes to Pages 56–57 “Reflections on Ugolino di Nerio’s Santa Croce Polyptych,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 57 (1994): 43–74; Stephan Weppelman, ed., Geschichten auf Gold: Bilderzählungen in der frühen italienischen Malerei (Berlin, 2006), 164–175. 38. Giuseppe Abate, “Memoriali, statuti ed atti di Capitoli Generali dei Frati Minori,” Miscellanea Francescana 33 (1933): 15–45, 320–336; 34 (1934): 248–253; José Pou y Martí, “Fr. Gonzalo de Balboa, primer General Español de la Orden,” Revista de Estudios Franciscanos 7 (1911): 171–180, 332–343, esp. 179. 39. Hildegard van Straelen, Studien zur Florentiner Glasmalerei des Trecento und Quattrocento (Wattenscheid, 1938); Giuseppe Marchini, Le Vetrate Ital­iane (Milan, 1955), 30, 31. Marchini iden­ti­fied the popes as Honorius III (1216–1227), Gregory IX (1227–1241), and Boniface VIII (1294–1303). Ferdinando Bologna, “Vetrate del Maestro di Figline,” Bollettino d’Arte 41 (1956): 193–199 and figs. 1–4 (fig. 4 is misiden­ti­fied as Pope John XII); Frank Martin, Die Glasmalerein von San Francesco in Assisi, Entstehung und Entwicklung einer Gattung in Italien (Regensburg, 1997), 177; Nancy M. Thompson, “The Fourteenth-­Century Stained Glass of Santa Croce in Florence” (Ph.D. diss., Indiana University, 1999). 40. I am very grateful to Cecilia Frosinini and Alberto Felici for assisting me in photographing and measuring this space, which I first noted in the early 1990s. 41. Bonsanti, La Basilica di San Francisco, vol. Inferiore, 405, fig. 717, vol. Schede, 393, no. 717; Charles de Tolnay, “Les origines de la nature morte moderne,” La Revue des Arts 2 (1953): 151–152; idem, “Postilla sulle origini della natura morta moderna,” Rivista d’Arte 36 (1960– 1962): 3–10; Andrew Ladis, Taddeo Gaddi (Columbia, Mo., 1982), 35,88 42. Jane C. Long, “Bardi Patronage at Santa Croce in Florence c. 1320–1343” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1988). I am entirely unpersuaded by the arguments for the contemporaneity of both chapel programs advanced by Creighton Gilbert, “L’ordine

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Notes to Pages 58–59 cronologico degli affreschi Bardi e Peruzzi,” Bollettino d’Arte 53, no. 4 (1968): 192–197. 43. “Gules three annulets or, chief of the same.” Howell Wills, Florentine Heraldry: A Supplement to the Guide-­books (London, n.d.), 183; La Cronica Domestica di Messer Donato Velluti scritta fa il 1367 e il 1370, ed. Isidoro Del Lungo and Guglielmo Volpe (Florence, 1914), 106: “fece compiere la cappella”; Gardner, “The Early Decoration,” 392; Julian Gardner, “Giotto:‘First of the Moderns’ or Last of the Ancients?” Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 44 (1991): 63–78, esp. 72–73, figs. 14, 15. Monna Gemma de Pulci was the second wife of Filippo Velluti, whom she married in 1296; see Cronica Domestica, 104. Their son Alessandro, who is commemorated in the cycle, died wildfowling in Sicily in December 1321; Cronica Domestica, 105; Charles de la Ronciére, “Une famille florentine au XIVe. siècle: Les Velluti,” in Famille et Parenté dans l’Occident Médiévale, ed. Georges Duby and Jacques Le Goff (Rome, 1977), 227–248; Andrew Ladis, “The Velluti Chapel in Santa Croce, Florence,” Apollo 120 (October 1984): 238–245. 44. “Di io feci compiere le graticole ferro dopo la mortalità del 1348” (Cronica Domestica, 106). The Velluti cancello has disappeared. The earliest to survive in Santa Croce is the cancello of the Bardi a Vernio grill in the north transept, which reads, “ChONTE⋅ ⋅ LELLI ⋅ dE SENIS ⋅ ⋅ ME FECIT ⋅ ANO ⋅ dNI ⋅ ⋅ M⋅ CCC ⋅ X⋅X⋅X⋅ V.” Conti, “Pittori in Santa Croce,” 249, fig e. 45. Gardner, “Giotto: “‘First of the Moderns,’ ” 72–73, figs. 14–15. This suggestion was accepted subsequently by Michael Schwarz, Giottus Pictor, vol. 2 (Vienna, 2008), 424. 46. I cannot accept Ladis’s attribution of the chapel frescoes to Jacopo del Casentino. Ladis, “The Velluti Chapel,” 238. 47. The basamento is lacking, and the fig­ure of the standing Saint Louis IX to the right of the altar wall lancet is a nineteenth-­ century invention. 48. The four Evangelists in barbed quatrefoils on the north side are

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Notes to Pages 59–61 generically identifiable by their smaller haloed symbols. Of the Church Fathers, Jerome as cardinal and Pope Gregory the Great are identifiable. 49. Boustrophedon—alternately from left to right like the successive furrows made by a plow. Florens Deuchler, “Le Sens de la lecture: À propos du boustrophédon,” in Études d’Art médiéval offertes à Louis Grodecki (Paris, 1981), 251–258; Marilyn A. Lavin, The Place of Narrative: Mural Decoration in Ital­ian Churches, 431–1600 (Chicago, 1990); 53–55. See the review by the present writer in Burlington Magazine 135 (1993): 42–43, esp. 42. 50. Christian A. Isermeyer, Rahmengliederung und Bildfolge in der Wandmalerei bei Giotto und den Florentiner Malern des 14. Jahrhunderts (Würzburg, 1937), 20; John White, The Birth and Rebirth of Pictorial Space, 3rd ed. (London, 1987), 72–76. 51. This conceit had earlier appeared in the spandrels of the Siena pulpit by Nicola Pisano and Arnolfo di Cambio’s San Paolo fuori le Mura ciborium of 1285. 52. Villani, Nuova Cronica, 776, Lib. XII, cap. 12.1: “e simile salì a Santa Croce al luogo de’ frati minori infino a piè de l’altare maggiore.” See also Gardner, “The Early Decoration,” 391 n. 5. In the Bardi and Peruzzi chapels these inserted panels closely approximate to a braccio (59 cm) in height. 53. For a similar conclusion, see Jane C. Long, “The Program of Giotto’s Saint Francis Cycle at Santa Croce in Florence,” Franciscan Studies 52 (1992 [1996]): 85–134. 54. Gratien de Paris, “Saint François au Musée de Trocadéro,” Études Franciscaines 38 (1926): 493–507; Bernard of Besse, Speculum Disciplinae, printed in S. Bonaventurae S.R.E. Cardinalis, Opera Omnia, vol. 8 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1898), appendix, 583–622, esp. 583, chap. 25, De disciplina circa habitum: “Honesta exigit vestimentorum formatio, ut non sint nimis lata, vel stricta. Amplitudo vel longitudo vestimenti superflua, sive in manicis sive in caputio, sive in collario caputii, est admodum fugienda” (607). In his Historia septem tribulationem, Angelo Clareno

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Notes to Pages 61–64 claims, on the authority of Leo, Bernardo Quintavalle, Egidio, and Masseo, the earliest companions, that habits should be “tantae longitudinis, quod succinct absque colligatione super cingulum terram non attingeret.” Text in Franz Ehrle, “Die Spiritualen ihr Verhältnis zum Franciscanerorden und zu den Fraticellen,” Archiv für Literatur-­ und Kirchengeschichte 2 (1886): 106–164, quotation on 153; Gratien, “Saint François au Musée,” 498. 55. Canon 13 of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) forbade the institution of new orders unless they assumed the rule of an existing order. Innocent’s prior oral approval exempted the Franciscans from this prohibition. Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta, ed. Joseph Alberigo, Perikle Joannou, Claudio Leonardi, Paolo Prodi, and Hubert Jedin (Rome, 1962), 218. 56. It may be read as “REG(U)LA (ET VI)TAM (IN)ORUM FRAT(RUM) HEC E(ST) S(CILICET) D(OMINU)M N(OST) RI IE(S)V XRI.” 57. Barbara Bühler Walsh, “A Note on Giotto’s ‘Visions of Brother Agostino and the Bishop of Assisi,’ Bardi Chapel, S. Croce, Florence,” Art Bulletin 62 (1980): 20–23; Aimé Solignac, “Multilocation,” in Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, vol. 10 (Paris, 1980), cols. 1837– 1840, esp. 1837. 58. Friedrich Rintelen, Giotto und die Giotto-­Apokryphen, 2nd ed. (Basel, 1923), 135. 59. Julian Gardner, “A Minor Episode of Public Disorder in Assisi: Francis Renounces His Inheritance,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 68 (2005): 275–285, esp. 279–282. The Assisi scene is reproduced in Bruno Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto (Milan, 1966), at 105. 60. White, Birth and Rebirth, 42; Gardner, “A Minor Episode of Public Disorder,” 280. 61. Gardner, “A Minor Episode of Public Disorder,” 280, 284. 62. Fr. Thomae de Celano Vita Prima S. Francisci I merely says “coram domino” (Analecta Franciscana sive Chronica aliaque varia documenta ad Historiam Fratrum Minorum spectantia, vol. 10 [Ad Claras Aquas,

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Notes to Page 65 1926–1941], 54; hereafter I), while the “ad romanam curiam” of the Legenda Maior (Analecta Franciscana, 10:570) is hardly more spe­cific. The Assisi scene is reproduced in Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, at 129. 63. Legenda Maior 9.5 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:599). The Assisi scene is reproduced in Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, at 175. 64. Legenda Maior 9.8 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:600), characterizes Fra Illuminato as “viro utique luminis et virtutis.” Leonard Lemmens, “De sancto Francisco Christum praedicante coram sultan Aegypti,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 19 (1926): 559–578. See also John V. Tolan, Saint Francis and the Sultan (Oxford, 2009), 4. The date of the encounter was probably September 1219. This apect of Francis’s encounter with the sultan was absent from the Bardi panel scene. Vincent Moleta, From St. Francis to Giotto: The Influence of St. Francis on Early Ital­ian Art and Literature (Chicago, 1983), 22; Eamon Duffy, “Finding St Francis: Early Images, Early Lives,” in Medieval Theology and the Natural Body, York Studies in Medieval Theology 1, ed. Peter Biller and Alastair Minnis (York, 1997), 193–236, esp. 223. 65. Gardner, “Giotto: ‘First of the Moderns,’ ” 234; Josip Klemenc, Rimske izkopanine v Šempetru (Ljubljana, 1961); idem, “Das erste Baldachingrab auf dem römischen Civilfriedhof in Šempeter in Sanntale,” in Hommages à Waldemar Deonna, Collection Latomus 28 (Brussels, 1957), 292–299; Josip Klemenc, “Die Familie Prisciani und ihre Verwandten auf den Grabdenkmalern von St. Peter,” in Hommages à L. Herrmann Collection Latomus 44 (Brussels, 1957), 470–475; idem, Anticne gobnice v Šempetru (Ljubljana, 1961), fig. 11. The tomb of C. Spectatius Priscianus was excavated in 1952–1955. The tomb type was certainly in widespread use. 66. Bologna, “Vetrate del Maestro di Figline,” 193–199. See Isa Ragusa, “Terror Demonum et Terror Inimicorum: The Two Lions of the Throne of Solomon and the Open Door of Paradise,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 40 (1977): 93–114, esp. 102ff.

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Notes to Pages 65–66 67. Canon 18: “Nec quisquam purgationi aque ferventis vel frigide seu ferri candentis ritum.” Innocent III recon­firmed the prohibition in his decretals (5.35.3), a position con­firmed by Gregory IX in Decretalium 5.35; Emil Friedberg, ed., Corpus Iuris Canonici, vol. 2 (Leipzig, 1881), cols. 877–878; Raoul Naz, “Ordalies,” in Dictionnaire de Droit Canonique, vol. 6 (Paris, 1957), cols. 1117–23; Robert Bartlett, Trial by Fire and Water: The Medieval Judicial Ordeal (Oxford, 1986), 21. 68. Julian Gardner, “Andrea di Bonaiuto and the Chapterhouse Frescoes in Santa Maria Novella,” Art History 2 (1979): 107–138, esp. 116; Hiltrud Stein-­Kecks, Der Kapitelsaal in der mittelalterlichen Klosterbaukunst: Studien zu den Bildprogrammen, Italienische Forschungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, vol. 4 (Munich, 2004), 255–267. The Assisi scene is reproduced in Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, at 255. 69. Pierre Péano, “Saint François au Chapitre d’Arles,” in San Francesco nella Storia: Atti del primo convegno di studi per VIII centenario della nascita di S. Francesco 1182–1282 (Rome, 1983), 239–249, esp. 240; Celano, Vita I, chap.  18 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:39), had located the provincial chapter generically in Provence. It was Bonaventure, Legenda Maior, chap. 4, n. 10 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:576) who placed it precisely. 70. Celano, Vita I, chap. 38: “in aëre sublevatum extensis velut in in cruce manibus,” repeated unaltered in Legenda Maior (Analecta Franciscana, 10:576). 71. Celano, Vita I, chap. 38 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:38): “frater Monaldus respexit ad ostium.” See Chapter 3, note 29, for the other apparitions. 72. A surviving Tuscan example with a frescoed Crucifixion on the east wall survives at S. Domenico, Pistoia, for which see Miklós Boskovits, “The Origins of Florentine Painting, 1100–1270,” in Richard Offner, Klara Steinweg, Miklós Boskovits, and Mina Gregori, A Critical and Historical Corpus of Florentine Painting, sec. 1,

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Notes to Pages 66–67 vol. 1 (Florence, 1993), 552–565, plates XLVII, XLVII.1, XLVII.7. Other examples may be found at S. Niccolò at Treviso and at Pomposa, for which see Gardner, “Andrea di Bonaiuto,” 116; Bruce Cole, “Giotto’s Apparition of St. Francis at Arles: The Case of the Missing Crucifix,” Simiolus 7 (1974): 163–165, esp. 163. 73. Geroldus Fussenegger, “Gunsalvus Hispanus, Minister Generalis visitat Provinciam Thusciae,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 45 (1952): 227–231. Gonsalvo’s 1304 Constitutions, 230, ruled that lazy friars, once warned, should fast for two days and sit on the floor of the refectory: “cogant eos duobus diebus ieiunare in pane tantum et aqua, sedentes illis duobus diebus nichilominus in terra coram fratribus in refectorio.” 74. Bonaventure himself provided another version; Robert Lerner, “A Collection of Sermons Given in Paris c. 1267, Including a New Text by Saint Bonaventura on the Life of Saint Francis,” Speculum 49 (1974): 466–498, esp. 497: “Item in morte se totum nudum et quasi in cruce extensum se poni in terra precepit, et eciam in cruce sepultus fuit.” The Assisi scene is reproduced in Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, at 273. 75. André Vauchez, “Les stigmates de Saint François et leurs détracteurs dans les derniers siècles du moyen âge,” Mélanges d’Archéologie et d’Histoire 80 (1968): 595–625, esp. 599–600; Bonaventura, Legenda Maior, Miracula, 1.2 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:627–628): “Gregorius papa nonus . . . scrupulum quemdam dubitationis in corde gerebat de vulnere laterali.” 76. Caput draconis ultimum (Analecta Franciscana, 10:401) spe­cifi­cally refers to the side wound. Vauchez, “Les stigmates de Saint François,” 600. 77. Michael Bihl, “De quondam elencho Assisano testium oculatorum S. Francisci stigmatum,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 19 (1926): 931–936, esp. 932. Dominus Ieronimus is listed among those who saw the stigmata after Francis’s death, for whom see Legenda Maior 15.4 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:624). In 1230 he was po-

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Notes to Pages 67–69 destà of Assisi; see Bihl, “De quondam elencho,” 932 n. 5. At the General Chapter at Genoa in 1251 Fra Bonizo tearfully testified, “Isti oculi peccatores ea viderunt et istae manus peccatrices contractaverunt ea.” Fratris Thomae vulgo dicti de Eccleston, Tractatus de adventu Fratrum Minorum in Angliam, ed. Andrew G. Little (Manchester, 1951), 74; Vauchez, “Les stigmates de Saint François,” 600 n. 6. 78. Legenda Maior 14.6 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:623). See the comment by Donal Cooper, “The Franciscan Genesis of Sassetta’s Altarpiece,” in Sassetta: The Borgo San Sepolcro Altarpiece, ed. Machtelt ­Israëls, vol. 1 (Florence and Leiden, 2009), 285–302, esp. 299; Stephan Weppelmann, “‘Acciò il fuoco non si spenga’: Zum Ministranten mit Rauchfass in Annibaldi-­Grab des Arnolfo di Cambio,” in Docta Manus Studien zur italienischen Skulptur für Joachim Poeschke, ed. Johannes Myssok and Jürgen Wiener (Münster, 2007), 99–100. 79. Julian Gardner, The Tomb and the Tiara (Oxford, 1992), 97–101, figs. 85, 89 (de Bray), 81–82, fig. 52 (Giangaetano Orsini). 80. It goes well beyond the reemployment of the ancient affective motif of the fig­ure seen from the back leading the spectator into the scene. Margarete Koch, Die Rückenfigur im Bild: Von der Antike bis zu Giotto, Münstersche Studien zur Kunstgeschichte 2 (Recklinghausen, 1965), 61ff. (“Die Rückenfigur bei Giotto”); Michael Schwarz, “Bodies of Self-­transcendence: The Spirit of Affect in Giotto and Piero,” in Representing Emotions: New Connections in the Histories of Art, Music and Medicine, ed. Penelope Gouk and Helen Hills (Aldershot, 2005), 69–87, esp. 76. 81. Julia Gyarfes-­Wilde, “Giotto-­Studien,” Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 7 (1930): 45–94. Its frontal impact is of course related to that originally made by the Stigmatization in the Cinquina Chapel at San Francesco, Pisa. 82. The verbal echoes in Bonaventure’s Legenda Maior, chap. 13, are sig­ nifi­cantly more of the Transfiguration: the locum excelsum of 13.2 echoing Matthew 17:1 and 9. The marks of the nails (signum clavo-

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Notes to Pages 69–70 rum of Legenda Maior 13.3) echo doubting Thomas of John 20:25. Interestingly this episode soon reappeared in Santa Croce on Tino di Camaino’s tomb of Gastone della Torre; cf. Rafanelli, “Seeking Truth and Bearing Witness.” The Assisi scene is reproduced in Zanardi, Il cantiere di Giotto, at 265. 83. Celano, Vita I (Analecta Franciscana, 10:72); Oktavian a Rieden, “De Sancti Francisci Assisiensis Stigmatum Susceptione,” Collectanea Franciscana 34 (1964): 5–62, 241–338, esp. 34–35. For the hawk, see Celano, Vita II, chap. 2 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:228). 84. Philippe Faure, “Vie et Mort du Séraphin de Saint François d’Assise,” Revue Mabillon 62 (1990): 143–177, esp. 163; idem, “Corps de l’homme et corps du Christ: L’iconographie de la Stigmatisation de S. François en France et Angleterre,” I discorsi dei corpi/ Discourses of the Body, Micrologus 1 (1993): 332–335. 85. Faure, “Corps de l’homme,” 330. 86. Chiara Frugoni, Francesco e l’invenzione delle stigmate: Una storia per parole e immagini fino a Bonaventura e Giotto (Turin, 1993), for the origin of the drawings, 229 n. 53; Pietro Zerbi, “‘L’ultimo sigillo’ (Par. XI, 107): Tendenze della recente storiografia italiana sul tema delle stigmate di s. Francesco. A proposito di un libro recente,” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia 48, no. 1 (1994): 7–42. 87. Duffy, “Finding St Francis,” 216. 88. The mirror theme runs through the Lives. Thomas of Celano terms Francis “speculum quoddam sanctissimum dominicae sanctitatis” (Vita II, Introitus, in Analecta Franciscana, 10:147), and Bonaventure terms him “sanctitatis speculum” in Legenda Maior, chap. 15 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:623). 89. Faure, “Corps de l’homme et corps du Christ,” 331. 90. Davis, “The Early Collection of Books,” 406, no. 35. 91. The Actus B. Francisci et sociorum eius, chap. 9, nn. 28–31, speaks of “unam pauperculam cellam in latere dicti montis.” See Oktavian a Rieden, “De Sancti Francisci Assisiensis Stigmatum Susceptione,” Collectanea Franciscana 34 (1964): 5–62, 241–338, esp. 30. The Actus

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Notes to Pages 70–71 was compiled between 1327 and 1337; see Ernesto Menestò in Fontes Franciscani, ed. Ernesto Menestò and Stefano Brufani (Assisi, 1995), 2079. John V. Fleming, From Bonaventura to Bellini: An Essay in Franciscan Exegesis (Prince­ton, 1982), 97, noted its connection to the cave on Mount Horeb (Sinai) where Elijah experienced God (3 Kings 19:13). It was also where Moses saw the burning bush in Exodus 3:2. See Alastair Smart, The Assisi Problem and the Art of Giotto (Oxford, 1972), 204. A rather similar cave appears in the Ascension of the Magdalen in the Magdalen Chapel at Assisi. For contemporary Ital­ian developments in landscape painting, see Ute Feldges, Landschaft als topographisches Porträt: Der Wiederbeginn der europäischen Landschaftsmalerei in Siena (Bern, 1980). 92. Legenda Maior, chap. 14 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:620: “Iam denique circa finem, quod simul tibi ostenditur et sublimis similitudo Seraph et humilis effigies Crucifixi, interius te et exterius te consignans.” 93. Servus Gieben, “Per la storia dell’abito Francescano,” Collectanea Franciscana 66 (1996): 431–478; Bonaventura, Expositio super regulam Fratrum Minorum, in Opera Omnia, 8:402: “Color etiam naturalis non ar­ti­fi­cialis in veste haberi debet”; Gratien, “Saint François au Musée,” 498. 94. For a contemporary comment on the effect of light on color, see Fr. Matthaei ab Aquasparta, O.F.M., S.R.E., Cardinalis, Quaestiones Disputatae de Gratia, Bibliotheca Franciscana Scholastica Medii Aevi 11 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1935), quaestio 9, 237–238; Wolfgang Schöne, Über das Licht in der Malerei (Berlin, 1954), 37ff.; James R. Johnson, The Radiance of Chartres (London, 1964), 14, 18–24, who does not, however, mention Italy; Paul Hills, The Light of Early Ital­ian Painting (New Haven, 1987), 83. 95. Ehrle, “Zur Vorgeschichte” 2 (1886): 353–416; 3 (1887): 1–195, esp. 142–143: “Sed in hoc magis videtur ledi paupertas, quia vix aliquis frater audet uti habitus repetiatis vel mantellis vel habitibus despectis, quin a multis fratribus singularis et quasi superstit / iosus iudicetur et contempnetur.” Cf. Müller, Das Konzil von Vienne, 262.

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Notes to Pages 72–73 96. Compare the surviving cloister façade of the chapter house at Santa Maria Novella, which has carved ornament and marble inlay. Gardner, “Andrea di Bonaiuto,” esp. 113 and fig. 7. 97. The prob­lems of maintaining uniformity of color among friars’ habits are writ long in Franciscan legislation. The Narbonne constitutions, repeated at Assisi in 1279 and Paris in 1292, stated, “Omnino nigrae vel penitus albae tunicae desuper non portentur.” Constitutiones Generales Ordinis fratrum Minorum, ed. Cesare Cenci and Romain Mailleux, vol. 1, Saeculum XIII, in Analecta Franciscana, 13, n.s., Documenta et Studia 1 (Grottaferrata, 2007), 112 (Assisi), 289 (Paris); idem, “Ordinazioni dei Capitoli Provinciali Umbri dal 1300 al 1305,” Collectanea Franciscana 55 (1985): 5–31, esp. 15, 26. Spoleto 1300, habits were not to be “albae notabiliter sive nigrae.” Gieben, “Per la storia dell’abito,” 433. 98. Franciscan exequies had been codified at the General Chapter of Pisa; see Stephen J.  P. van Dijk, “The Statutes of the General Chapter of Pisa (1263),” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 45 (1952): 299–322, esp. 320, no. 30: “In .  .  . exequiis mortuorum qui portat aquam benedictam precedebat, deinde ceroferarii, postea thuribularius, induti superpelliciis; postea unus subdiaconus albis indutus, qui crucem deferat, quem fratres bini et bini ordinanter sequantur pro dispositione cantorum; ultimo vero diaconus et subdiaconus sacris indutis vestibus, quos sacerdos ultimus contra medium comitetur.” 99. Gardner, “A Minor Episode of Public Disorder,” 280. 100. Ibid.; Michel Pastoureau, “Formes et couleurs du désordre: Le jaune et le vert,” Médiévales 4 (1983): 62–73; idem, Couleurs, Images, Symboles (Paris, n.d. [1989]), 50. 101. Canon 68: “Ut Judaei discernantur a christianis in habitus”; see Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta (Rome, 1962), 44; Solomon Grayzel, “The Church and the Jews in the XIIIth Century” (Ph.D. diss., Dropsie College, Philadelphia, 1933), 61, 67; Jeremy Cohen, The Friars and the Jews: Evolution of Medieval Anti-­Judaism (Ithaca, 1983), 43, for the mendicants’ often virulent animosity toward the Jews.

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Notes to Page 74 102. Pierluigi Leone de Castris, “Une attribution à Lando di Pietro le bras-­reliquaire de saint Louis de Toulouse,” Revue du Louvre 30 (1980): 71–75; Danielle Gaborit-­Chopin, “Le Bras reliquaire de saint Luc au Musée du Louvre,” in Antologia di Belle Arti, Mélanges Verlet 1 (Turin, 1985), 5–18, esp. 9; Julian Gardner, “Saint Louis of Toulouse, Robert of Anjou and Simone Martini,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 39 (1976): 12–33; idem, “The Cult of a Fourteenth­Century Saint: The Iconography of Louis of Toulouse,” in I Francescani nel Trecento: Atti del XIV Convegno Internazionale, Assisi, 16–18 Ottobre 1986 (Perugia, 1988), 167–193; Michel Popoff, “Le ‘Capo dello scudo’ dans l’héraldique florentine XIIIe.–XIVe. siècles,” in Brisures, augmentations et changements d’armoiries: Actes du 5e. colloque international d’héraldique, Spolète, 12–16 octobre 1987 (Brussels, 1988), 252–255, esp. 253. 103. Louis had been made a ­bishop six days after entering the Order. Edith Pásztor, Per la storia di san Ludovico d’Angiò (1274–1297), Studi Storici 10 (Rome, 1955), 26. The minister-­general Giovanni da Murrovalle was absent from the initial canonization procedures. Ibid., 25–26; Toynbee, S. Louis of Toulouse, 154. 104. Percy E. Schramm, “Die kegelförmigen Kronen Kaiser Heinrichs VII. und anderer Herrscher des späten Mittelalters,” in Herr­ schaftszeichen und Staatssymbolik, vol. 3 (Stuttgart, 1956), 1015ff. A letter from Robert I of September 20, 1316, reads, “coronam, que fuit quondam Henrici se Romanorum regem dicentis aliaque iocalia .  .  . ostenturi nobis ea intendentibus coronam et iocalia ipsa emere.” Monumenta Germaniac Historica, Legum Sectio, IV, 1, in Jakob Schwalm, ed., Constitutiones et Acta Publica Imperatorvm et Regvm (Hanover, 1908), 1307, no. 1247. That crowns might occasionally come into bankers’ possession is shown by a later document concerning the Peruzzi: Ferdinando Lionti, “Le società dei Bardi, dei Peruzzi e degli Accaiuoli in Sicilia,” Archivio Storico Siciliano, n.s., 14 (1889): 189–230, Peruzzi doc. of 1337. Among securities given to a Peruzzi agent in 1337, “Item coronam aliam de argento deauratam.”

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Notes to Pages 74–75 105. Davidsohn, Forschungen, 4:544–547, lists the Angevin royal rectors. See also Romolo Caggese, Roberto d’Angiò e i suoi tempi (Florence 1922, 1930); in 1310 Robert had been the guest of the Peruzzi (22). 106. There is nothing even allusively spiritual in the representation of Louis of Toulouse in Florence at this date. David Anderson, “‘Dominus Ludovicus’ in the Sermons of Jacobus of Viterbo,” in Literature and Religion in the Later Middle Ages: Philological Studies in Honor of Siegfried Wenzel, ed. Richard Newhauser and John Alford (Binghamton, 1995): 275–295. The post-­1317 lives of Saint Louis emphasized obedience to church and episcopal responsibility. As Jacques Duèze, Pope John XXII had earlier been chancellor of both Charles II d’Anjou and Robert. The Franciscan Order had initially been lukewarm to Louis’s canonization because of his spiritual leanings. See Pásztor, Per la storia di san Ludovico d’Angiò, 41. At the canonization in­quiry Francesco Brun, his confessor, stated that Louis’s habit “fuit truncatus in manicis et abbreviatus parte inferiori usque ad mediam tybiam.” Processus Canonizationis et Legendae Variae Sancti Ludovici O.F.M Episcopi Tolosani, in Analecta Franciscana, vol. 7 (Quaracchi, 1951), 113. For a differing view, see Fussenegger in Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 40 (1956): 197. 107. May 20, 1331, Naples, Canc. Ang., reg. 285ff., 213ff.; Riccardo Filangieri di Candida, “Rassegna Critica delle Fonti per la Storia di Castel Nuovo,” Archivio Storico per le Provincie Napoletane 61 (1936): 251–323; 62 (1937): 267–333; 64, (1939): 237–322. On Giotto, see 61 (1936): 271–273 and doc. 8, 319–322, esp. 320: “Magistri Zocti prothomagistri operis dicte picture necnon salario seu mercede diversorum magistrorum tam pictorum quam manualium et manipulorum laborantium.” For Giotto’s Neapolitan sojourn, see Francesco Forcellini, “Un ignoto pittore napoletano del secolo XIV, e un nuovo documento sulla venuta di Giotto in Napoli,” Archivio Storico per le Provincie Napoletane 35 (1910): 545–552, esp. 545. See further Francesco Aceto, “Pittori e documenti della Napoli angioina: Aggiunte ed es-

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Notes to Pages 75–78 punzioni,” Prospettiva 67 (1992): 53–65, 40; and for a differing view, P. L. Leone de Castris, Giotto a Napoli (Naples, 2006), 10–11. 108. The argument as articulated in Julian Gardner, “The Louvre Stigmatization and the Problem of the Narrative Altarpiece,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 45 (1982): 217–247, needs mod­i­fi­ca­tion in the light of, among others, Thomas Heffernan, Sacred Biography: Saints and Their Biographers in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1988), 31, 146, and particularly Timothy E. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford, 1999), chap. 9, “The Politics of Parallelism: Greeks and Romans in the Parallel Lives.” 109. Annaliese Maier, “Annotazioni autografici di Giovanni XXII in Codici Vaticani,” Rivista di Storia dell Chiesa in Italia 6 (1952): 317– 332. For a differing interpretation and chronology, see Patrick Nold, “Pope John XXII’s Annotations on the Franciscan Rule: Content and Contexts,” Franciscan Studies 65 (2007): 295–324; Malcolm Lambert, “The Franciscan Crisis under John XXII,” Franciscan Studies 32 (1972): 123–147; Malcolm Lambert, The Doctrine of the Absolute Poverty of Christ and the Apostles in the Franciscan Order, 1210–1323, 2nd ed. (St. Bonaventure, N.Y., 1998); Jürgen Miethke, “Papst Johannes XXII. und der Armutstreit,” in Angelo Clareno Francescano: Atti del XXXIV Convegno Internazionale, Assisi, 5–7 ottobre 2006 (Spoleto, 2007), 263–313, esp. 269ff. 110. Rona Goffen, Spirituality in Conflict: Saint Francis and Giotto’s Bardi Chapel (University Park, 1988). See the critical review by William R. Cook in American Historical Review 95 (1990): 1179. 111. Ehrle, “Zur Vorgeschichte” (1887): 163. 112. Ibid., 147: “Preterea habitationes et ecclesie fratrum ut plurimum fiunt per seculares ad laudem dei et cultum divinum ampliandum; quia etiam frequenter devotius celebratur et melius conveniunt seculares ad audiendum divina offitia in ecclesiis pulcris quam in deformibus.” See also Piron, “Un couvent sous in­flu­ence,” 321–355. 113. For this symbiosis, see Lesnick, Preaching in Medieval Florence, 46ff. (Franciscans), 73ff. (Dominicans); Davis, “The Early Collection of Books,” 413; Piron, “Un couvent sous in­flu­ence,” 326 n. 25,

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Notes to Pages 78–83 340–345. Apart from the friars from prominent families mentioned earlier, a Fra Tedicio Fabri Tolosini is recorded as guardian in 1318; Alexander Murray, “The Medieval Inquisition: An Instrument of Secular Politics,” Peritia 5 (1986): 161–200, esp. 171. 114. Davis, “Education,” 153; David D’Avray, “Some Franciscan Ideas about the Body,” in Modern Questions about Medieval Sermons, Biblioteca di “Medioevo Latino” 11, ed. Nicole Bériou and David D’Avray (Spoleto, 1994), 155–174. Servasanto da Faenza often preached at Santa Croce (164 ff.). He pointedly enquired of his congregation, “Si enim creditur litteris mercatorum, cur non credatur litteris apostolorum?” D’Avray “Some Franciscan Ideas about the Body,” 172. See also Johannes B. Schneyer, Repertorium der lateinischen Sermones der Mittelalter für die Zeit 1150–1350, vol. 5 (Münster, 1969–1990), 380, no. 63; 171, no. 46; David D’Avray, “Philosophy in Preaching: The Case of a Franciscan Based in Thirteenth-­ Century Florence (Servasanto da Faenza),” in Newhauser and Alford, Literature and Religion in the Later Middle Ages, 267. For a sermon by Servasanto which discusses the Stigmatization in phraseology based on the Legenda Maior, see Vergilio Gamboso, “I sermoni ‘De Communi’ e ‘De Proprio Sanctorum’ di Servasanto nei codici 520 3 530 di Assisi,” Il Santo 13, nos. 2–3 (1973): 211–278, esp. 262–266, 265. 115. Convivio 2.12.7; Davis, “Education,” 153. 116. Marvin J. Becker, “Notes on the Monte Holdings of Florentine Trecento Painters,” Art Bulletin 46 (1964): 376–377, esp. 377. 117. Deuchler, “Le Sens de la lecture”; Lavin, The Place of Narrative, 43ff.

3. The Lull before the Storm 1. Ewald Müller, O.F.M., Das Konzil von Vienne 1311–1312: Seine Quellen und seine Geschichte Vorreformationsgeschichtliche Forschungen, vol. 12 (Münster, 1934), 308–352. 2. John E. Weakland, “John XXII before His Pontificate: Jacques

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Notes to Pages 83–84 Duèse and His Family,” Archivum Historiae Pontificiae 10 (1972): 161–185; Edith Pázstor, “Un raccolta di sermoni di Giovanni XXII,” Bullettino dell’Archivio Paleografico Ital­iano, n.s., 2/3 (1956–57): 265–289; Patrick Nold, Pope John XXII and His Franciscan Cardinal, Bertrand de la Tour, and the Apostolic Poverty Controversy (Oxford, 2003); David Flood, review of Nold, Pope John XXII, Franciscan Studies 62 (2004): 225–235. 3. Heinrich Finke, Acta Aragonensia: Quellen zur deutschen, italienischen, französischen, spanischen, zur Kirchen- und Kulturgeschichte, vol. 1 (Berlin and Leipzig, 1908), 216, no. 141: on “Post creacionem suam cre­ ditur, quod erit homo iustus et sine corrupcione. Utinam ita sit! Set multi dubitant, et merito, quod [nimis?] innitatur sensui suo, quod in tanto prelato est periculosisimum” (royal procurator Johannes Lupi to Jayme II of Aragon, August 11, 1316). 4. “Cronica della quisitione insorta nella Corte di papa Giovanni XXII a Vignone, circa la povertà di Cristo,” in Storia di fra Michele Minorita come fu arso in Firenze nel 1389, ed. Francesco Zambrini (Bologna, 1864), 59–82, cited by Charles T. Davis, “Le Pape Jean XXII et les Spirituels Ubertin de Casale,” in Franciscains d’Oc: Les Spirituels ca. 1280–1324, Cahiers de Fanjeaux 10 (Toulouse, 1975), 263–283. See, however, the comments of Jean Dunbabin, A Hound of God: Pierre de la Palud and the Fourteenth-­Century Church (Oxford, 1991), 91–94. 5. “Magna quidem paupertas, sed maior integritas, horum est obedientia maximum, si custoditur illesa.” Extrauagantes Iohannis XXII, (Monumenta Iuris Canonici, ser. B, Corpus Collectionum 6, ed. Jacqueline Tarrant (Vatican City, 1983), 163–181, no. 6, quotation on 178–179. 6. It had been established at Narbonne in 1260 that if the minister-­ general should die between chapters, his successor would be elected at the subsequent General Chapter. Michael Bihl, “Statuta Generalia Ordinis edita in Capitulis Generalibus, celebratis Narbonae an. 1260, Assisii, an. 1279, atque Parisiis an 1292,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 34 (1941): 13–94, 284–358, 203, nos. 7, 8;

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Notes to Pages 84–85 Cesare Cenci and Romain G. Mailleux, eds., Constitutiones generales Ordinis Fratum Minorum, vol. 1, Saeculum XIII (Analecta Franciscana, vol. 13), n.s., Documenta et Studia 1 [Grottaferrata, 2007]), 92. 7. Carl H. Willemsen, Kardinal Napoleon Orsini (1263–1342), Historische Studien 172 (Berlin, 1927), 153. For the surviving codicil to his will (dated February 13, 1341), see Agostino Paravicini Bagliani, I Testamenti dei Cardinali del Duecento, Miscellanea della Società Romana di Storia Patria 25 (Rome, 1980), 459–467. See also Franca Allegrezza, Organizzazione del Potere e Dinamiche Familiari: Gli Orsini dal Duecento agli inizi del Quattrocento, Nuovi Studi Storici 44 (Rome, 1998); Irene Hueck, “Il cardinale Napoleone Orsini e la cappella di S. Nicola nella basilica francescana ad Assisi,” in Roma Anno 1300: Atti della IV Settimana di Storia dell’Arte Medievale dell’Università di Roma, “La Sapienza” (19–24 maggio 1980), ed. Angiola Maria Romanini (Rome, 1983), 187–198; idem, “Die Kapelle der Basilika San Francesco in Assisi: Die Auftraggeber und die Franziskaner,” in Patronage and Public in the Trecento, ed. Vincent Moleta (Florence, 1986), 81–104; Julian Gardner, “Sea-­faring Saints and Landlubber Painters: Maritime Miracles and Ital­ian Mediaeval Painters,” in I Santi venuti dal Mare: V Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Bari–Brindisi, 14–18 dicembre 2005, ed. Maria S. Calò Mariani (Bari, 2009), 13–34, esp. 28; Serena Romano, “Le botteghe di Giotto. Qualche novità sulla cappella di San Nicola nella basilica inferiore di Assisi,” in Medieoevo: le officine Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Parma, 22–26 settembre 2009, ed. Arturo C. Quintavalle (Milan, 2010), 584–596, esp. 592, suggested a dating of the chapel frescoes circa 1300–1301. 8. Julian Gardner, “The Family Chapel: Artistic Patronage and Architectural Transformation in Italy, ca. 1275–1325,” in Art, Cérémonial et Liturgie au Moyen Âge: Actes du Colloque Romand de Lettres, Lausanne–Fribourg, 24–25 mars, 14–15 avril, 12–13 mai 2000, ed. Nicholas Bock, Peter Kurmann, Serena Romano, and Jean-­Michel Spieser (Rome, 2002), 545–558; Annegrit Höger, Studien zur Ent-

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Notes to Page 85 stehung der Familienkapelle und zu Familienkapellen und -­altären des Trecento in Florentiner Kirchen (Bonn, 1976); Ena Giurescu, “Tre­ cento Family Chapels in Santa Maria Novella and Santa Croce: Architecture, Patronage, and Competition” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1997). 9. Julian Gardner, “Arnolfo di Cambio and Roman Tomb Design,” Burlington Magazine 115 (1973): 420–439, esp. 439; Michele Maccarrone, “Il sepolcro di Bonifacio VIII nella Basilica Vaticana,” in Roma Anno 1300, 753–771; Julian Gardner, The Tomb and the Tiara (Oxford, 1992), 80–82. Nicholas had not been a common name in the Orsini family; Allegrezza, Organizzazione del Potere e Dinamiche Familiari, 137–148. 10. Cesare Cenci, Documentazione di vita assisiana, Spicilegium Bonaventurianum 10, 11, and 12, vol. 1 (Grottaferrata, 1974–1976), 45, March 6, 1306; John White, “The Date of ‘The Legend of St. Francis’ at Assisi,” Burlington Magazine 98 (1956): 344–351. The conclusiveness of White’s argumentation was doubted by James H. Stubblebine, Assisi and the Rise of Vernacular Art (New York, 1985). See, however, the review of Stubblebine’s book by John White in Burlington Magazine 128 (1986): 828–830. Giuliano’s painting is reproduced in Alessandro Volpe, Giotto e i Riminesi (Milan, 2002), at 82, 83. 11. See Enzo Pagliani, “Note sui restauri degli affreschi giotteschi nella chiesa inferiore di San Francesco,” in Giotto e i giotteschi in Assisi, ed. Giuseppe Palumbo (Rome, 1969), 199–209, and Palumbo’s, introduction, xiv–xv; Anna Tantillo Mignosi, “Osservazioni sul transetto della basilica inferiore di Assisi,” Bollettino d’Arte 60 (1975): 129–142; Hayden B.  J. Maginnis, “The Passion Cycle in the Lower Church of San Francesco, Assisi: The Technical Evidence,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 39 (1976): 193–208; idem, “Pietro Lorenzetti: A Chronology,” Art Bulletin 66 (1984): 183–211. 12. Hayden B. J. Maginnis, “Assisi Revisited: Notes on Some Recent Observations,” Burlington Magazine 117 (1975): 511–517.

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Notes to Page 87 13. Giuseppe Zaccaria, “Diario Storico della Basilica e Sacro Convento di S. Francesco in Assisi (1220–1927),” Miscellanea Francescana 63 (1963): 290–361, esp. 292–293 (July 16, 1311), doc. no. 147; Silvestro Nessi, Inventario e regesti d’ Archivio del Sacro Convento d’Assisi (Padua, 1991), 90 n. 223. 14. Irene Hueck, “Der Lettner der Unterkirche von S. Francesco in Assisi,” Mitteilungen der Kunsthistorisches Instituts in Florenz 28 (1984): 173–202; Jürgen Wiener, Die Bauskulptur von San Francesco in Assisi, Franziskanische Forschungen 37 (Werl, 1991), 156–162; Michael V. Schwarz, “Zerstört und wiederhergestellt: Die Ausmalung der Unterkirche von S. Francesco in Assisi,” Mitteilungen der Kunsthistorisches Instituts in Florenz 37 (1993): 1–28; idem, Giottus Pictor, vol. 2 (Vienna, 2008), 327–329. 15. Servus Gieben, “San Francesco nell’arte popolare,” in Francesco d’Assisi nella Storia, ed. Servus Gieben, vol. 1 (Rome, 1983), 339–348, esp. 340. The purchase of pilgrimage privileges and indulgences through surrogates, however, was widespread. For some Bo­ lognese  examples, see Acta Franciscana e tabularius Bononiensibus deprompta (Analecta Franciscana, vol. 9) (Ad Claras Aquas, 1927), nos. 563, 722, 848, 1440; Pio Pecchiai, “Banchi e botteghe dinanzi alla basilica Vaticana nei secoli XIV, XV e XVI,” Archivi, ser. 2, 18 (1951): 81–123. For surviving pilgrim tokens, see Mario D’Onofrio, ed., Romei e Giubilei: Il Pellegrinaggio a San Pietro (350–1350) (Rome, October 29, 1999–February 26, 2000), nos. 97–115. 16. When Angela of Foligno visited Assisi in 1300, she was stopped at the screen; Il Libro della Beata Angela da Foligno, ed. Ludger Thier and Abele Calufetti (Grottaferrata, 1985), 624–630, esp. 624. 17. Prior to the painting of the Upper Church crossing vault, the keystone had, exceptionally, been picked out in mosaic. Julian Gardner, “Rezension,” review of Hans Belting, Die Oberkirche von San Francesco in Assisi (Berlin 1977), Kunstchronik 32 (1979): 63–84, esp. 65; John White and Bruno Zanardi, “Cimabue and the Decorative Sequence in the Upper Church of S. Francesco, Assisi,” in

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Notes to Pages 88–89 Roma Anno 1300, 113–118, reprinted in idem, Studies in Late Medieval Ital­ian Art (London, 1984), 110–134, esp.  111; Maria Andaloro, “Tracce della prima decorazione pittorica nella Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi,” in Il Cantiere Pittorico della Basilica Superiore di San Francesco in Assisi, Il Miracolo di Assisi 13, ed. Giuseppe Basile and Pasquale Magro (Assisi, 2001), 71–100. 18. Stefano Brufani, Eresia di un Ribelle al tempo di Giovanni XXII: Il Caso di Muzio di Francesco d’Assisi, Quaderni del “Centro per il Collegamento degli Studi Medievali e Umanistici nell’Università di Perugia” 19 (Perugia, 1989); Peter D. Clarke, The Interdict in the Thirteenth Century: A Question of Collective Guilt (Oxford, 2007), 202– 204. 19. David Burr, The Spiritual Franciscans (University Park, 2001), 169– 170; Michael Bihl, “Formulae et documenta a cancellaria fr. Michaelis a Caesena O.F.M. ministri generalis 1316–1328,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 23 (1930): 106–171, esp. 110, 120–122. Michele was not present at the Naples chapter, and Sancia wrote to congratulate him on his election (107). See also Carlo Dolcini, Il pensiero politico di Michele da Cesena 1328–1338, Quaderni degli “Studi Romagnoli” 10 (Faenza, 1977); Samantha Kelly, “King Robert of Naples (1309–1343) and the Spiritual Franciscans,” Cristianesimo nella storia 20 (1999): 41–80, esp. 52–53 on Michael’s opposition to the spiritual Franciscans. 20. Ferdinand Delorme, “Acta et Constitutiones Capituli Generalis Assisiensis (1340),” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 6 (1913): 251– 266, esp. 251: “addendo, diminuendo, mutando sicut eis videbitur expedire”; Bihl, “Formulae et documenta,” 109. 21. This would have agreed with the requirements of current legislation, re­flected later in altarpieces, where the titular of the altar was iden­ti­fied by an image or an inscription. Le Pontifical Romain de Guillaume Durand, vol. 23, De ecclesie dedicatione, ed. Michel Andrieu, in Le Pontifical Romain au Moyen-­Âge (Studi e Testi 86, 87, 88, and 99), vol. 3 (Vatican City, 1938–1941), 455–478.

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Notes to Pages 89–91 22. Francesco Gandolfo, “Assisi e il Laterano,” Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria 106 (1983): 63–113, esp. 89–96; Wiener, Die Bauskulptur von San Francesco in Assisi, 162–191, esp. 184, which dates the throne 1278–1280; Irene Hueck, “La Basilica Superiore come luogo liturgico: L’arredo e il programma della decorazione,” in Basile and Magro, Il Cantiere Pittorico della Basilica Superiore, 43– 69. 23. These inscriptions are now dif­fic­ ult to read and have certainly been altered. Even Kleinschmidt, who gives the most complete transcription, confessed their dif­fic­ ulty. See Beda Kleinschmidt, Die Basilika San Francesco in Assisi, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1915–1928), 182 n. 1: “Der Text dieser Inschrift ist selbst mit bewaffnetem Auge äusserst schwer festzustellen.” My reading and interpretation of the inscriptions has been greatly helped by the patient kindness and erudition of Agata Pincelli. The inscriptions are printed in the Appendix to this volume. 24. Christian-­A. Isermeyer, Rahmengliederung und Bildfolge in der Wandmalerei bei Giotto und den Florentiner Malern des 14. Jahrhunderts (Würzburg, 1937), 20; John White, The Birth and Rebirth of Pictorial Space, 3rd ed. (London, 1987), 72–76. 25. Rachel Meoli Toulmin, “L’ornamento nella pittura di Giotto con particolare riferimento alla cappella degli Scrovegni,” in Giotto e il suo tempo: Atti del Congresso Internazionale per la celebrazione del VII Centenario della nascita di Giotto 24 settembre–1 ottobre 1967, Assisi, Padova, Firenze (Rome, 1971), 177–190. 26. Rev. 1:14: “capilli erant candidi tamquam lana alba tamquam nix et oculi eius velut flamma ignis.” 27. Reproduced in La Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi: Basilica Inferiore, Mirabiliae Italiae 11, ed. Giorgio Bonsanti (Modena, 2002), 429– 445, figs. 750–933. 28. For the rib profiles in the Lower Church, see Beda Kleinschmidt, Die Basilika San Francesco in Assisi, vol. 1 (Berlin, 1915–1928), 84 and fig. 73, 1–3.

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Notes to Page 91 29. First adumbrated in the De perfectione Evangelica of the Quaestiones Disputatae, in Opera Omnia, vol. 5 (Quarracchi, 1891), 117–198, quotation on 164; subsequently the prologue of the Legenda Maior, in Opera Omnia, vol. 8 (Quarracchi, 1898), 504, and explicitly in chap. 13, De Stigmatibus Sacris: “Iam denique circa finem, quod simul tibi ostenditur et sublimiis similitudo Seraph et humilis effigies Crucifixi, interius te incendens et exterius te consignans tanquam alterum Angelum ascendentem ab ortu solis, qui signum in te habeas Dei vivi, et praedictis dat firmitatem fidei et ab eis testimonium veritatis” (545). Joseph Ratzinger, Die Geschichtstheologie des heiligen Bonaventura (Munich, 1959), 33. 30. Palémon Glorieux, “D’Alexandre de Hales à Pierre Auriol: La suite des maîtres franciscains de Paris au XIII siècle,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 26 (1933): 257–281, esp. 269–270; Matthaei ab Aquasparta, O.F.M., S.R.E., Cardinalis Sermones de S. Francisco de S. Antonio et de S. Clara (Bibliotheca Franciscana Ascetica Medii Aevi, vol. 10), ed. Gedeon Gál (Quaracchi, 1962), Sermo II de S. Francisco, 23, 58; David Burr, “Mendicant Readings of the Apocalypse,” in The Apocalypse in the Middle Ages, ed. Richard K. Emmerson and Bernard McGinn (London, 1992), 88–102; Edith Pásztor, “L’età di Matteo d’Acquasparta,” in Matteo d’Acquasparta Francescano, Filosofo, Politico: Atti del XIX Convegno storico internazionale, Todi, 11–14 ottobre 1992 (Spoleto, 1993), 19–50, esp. 46; Stefano Brufani, “Matteo d’Acquasparta generale dell’ordine francescano,” in Matteo d’Acquasparta Francescano, Filosofo, Politico, 51–77, esp. 57. 31. Kleinschmidt, Die Basilika San Francesco in Assisi, vol. 2, plate between 288 and 289; Bonsanti, Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi, 506, illustrated 508–509, fig. 1076a, b; Elvio Lunghi, “La perduta decorazione trecentesca nell’abside della chiesa inferiore del S. Francesco ad Assisi,” Collectanea Francescana 66 (1996): 479–510. 32. Julian Gardner, “Innocent III and His Influence on Roman Art of the Thirteenth Century,” in Innocenzo III, Urbs et Orbis: Atti del

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Notes to Pages 91–92 Congresso internazionale (Roma, 9–15 settembre 1998), ed. Andrea Sommerlechner (Rome, 2003), 1245–60, esp. 1249–1251; Otto Demus, The Mosaics of S. Marco, vol. 2 (Chicago, 1984), 18–20; Antonio Iacobini, “Il mosaico absidale di S. Pietro in Vaticano,” in Fragmenta Picta: Affreschi e mosaici staccati del Medioevo romano, Roma Castel S.’Angelo, 15 dicembre 1989–18 febbraio 1990, ed. Maria Andaloro (Rome, 1990), 119–129; Jean-­Michel Spieser, “The Representation of Christ in the Apses of Early Christian Churches,” Gesta 37, no. 1 (1998): 63–73. 33. Bullarium Franciscanum, vol. 1, ed. Joannes H. Sbaralea (Rome, 1759), 46. Gregory IX’s indulgence, Recolentes qualiter (October 22, 1228), stated that “eadem ecclesiam .  .  . nulli alii, quam Romano pontifici sit subiecta.” The bull Is qui ecclesiam (April 22, 1230, Bullarium Franciscanum, 1:  60–61, termed it “caput et mater” of the Order. Amato Frutaz, “Il centenario della elevazione a basilica patriarcale e capella papale della chiesa di S. Francesco in Assisi, ‘Ordinis Fratrum Minorum caput et mater,” Ephemerides Liturgicae 68 (1954): 201–229, esp. 221–224. The phrase “caput et mater” echoed the “mater cunctarum ecclesiarum” of Innocent III’s Vatican apse. See Richard Krautheimer, Rome: Profile of a City, 312–1308 (Prince­ton, 1980), 205–206. 34. Bernard McGinn, “John’s Apocalypse and the Apocalyptic Mentality,” in Emmerson and McGinn, The Apocalypse in the Middle Ages, 15; Ratzinger, Die Geschichtstheologie, 16–21, 50. Joachim of Fiore was an im­por­tant in­flu­ence; Ratzinger, Die Geschichtstheologie, 106ff. 35. Scripta Leonis, Rufini et Angeli Sociorum S. Francisci, Oxford Medieval Texts, ed. Rosalind B. Brooke (Oxford, 1980), 128: “vidit unam [scil. Thronum] eminentiorem ceteris, gloriosam et fulgentem et ornatam omni lapide.” Eamon Duffy, “Finding St. Francis: Early Images, Early Lives,” in Medieval Theology and the Natural Body, York Studies in Medieval Theology 1, ed. Peter Biller and Alastair Minnis (York, 1997), 193–236, esp. 206. See further in Thomas of Celano,

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Notes to Pages 92–93 Tractatus de miraculis, 16.152, in Analecta Franciscana, vol. 10 (Quaracchi, 1926–1941), 318, a woman in the Marittima in another vision: “Vidit enim beatum Franciscum super solium sedere pulcherrimum.” 36. Ratzinger, Die Geschichtstheologie, 89–94. 37. Julian Gardner, “Saint Louis of Toulouse, Robert of Anjou and Simone Martini,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 39 (1976): 12–33, reproduced as fig. 1; idem, “The Cult of a Fourteenth-­Century Saint: The Iconography of Louis of Toulouse,” in I Francescani nel Trecento: Atti del XIV Convegno Internazionale, Assisi, 16–18 Ottobre 1986 (Perugia, 1988), 167–193; Samantha Kelly, The New Solomon: Robert of Naples (1309–1343) and Fourteenth-­Century Kingship, The Medieval Mediterranean 48 (Leiden, 2003), 98–99, 211; Pierluigi Leone de Castris, Simone Martini (Milan, 2003), 136–143. See also Klaus Krüger, “‘A deo solo et a te regnum teneo’: Simone Martinis ‘Ludwig von Toulouse’ in Neapel,” in Medien der Macht: Kunst zur Zeit des Anjous in Italien, ed. Tanja Michalsky (Berlin, 2001), 79–120. For some later enthroned fig­ures, see Dorothea Hansen, Das Bild des Ordenslehrers und die Allegorie des Wissens: Ein gemaltes Programm der Augustiner (Berlin, 1995), 113–115 and figs. 1, 40, and 55. 38. Adrian Hoch, “A New Document for Simone Martini’s Chapel of St. Martin at Assisi,” Gesta 24 (1985): 143–146; Andrew Martindale, Simone Martini (Oxford, 1988), 18 and cat. no. 16, 192–194. The other panel is Thomas Aquinas in Glory in Santa Caterina at Pisa. Millard Meiss, “The Problem of Francesco Traini,” Art Bulletin 15 (1933): 97–173, esp. 115–116; Michael Mallory, “Thoughts Concerning the ‘Master of the Glorification of St. Thomas,’ ” Art Bulletin 57 (1975): 9–20; Joseph Polzer, “The ‘Triumph of Thomas’ Panel in Santa Caterina, Pisa: Meaning and Date,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 37 (1993): 29–70; Hayden B. J. Maginnis, Painting in the Age of Giotto (University Park, 1997), 157. 39. This setting of historical fig­ures in roundels framing a narrative

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Notes to Pages 93–94 prefig­ures the insertion of members of the Peruzzi family in the frames surrounding the Johannine scenes in Santa Croce. 40. While both roses and lilies have well-­established virginal symbolism, the roses behind Paupertas are reminiscent of the recently developed iconography of the Madonna, for which see Ewald Vetter, Madonna im Rosenhag (Düsseldorf, 1956), 13. Its first occurrence appears to have been on the choir screen of Strasbourg cathedral. Hans Reinhardt, La cathédrale de Strasbourg (Paris, 1972), 119–121; Peter Kurmann, La Façade de la Cathédrale de Reims: Architecture et sculpture des portails; Étude archéologique et stylistique (Lausanne, 1987), 26 and n. 91; Paul Williamson, Gothic Sculpture, 1140–1300 (New Haven, 1995), 187–188. 41. The disposition of elect and expelled is strongly reminiscent of a Last Judgment composition. 42. “[PAUPERTAS] SIC CONTEPNITUR.” Amy Neff, “Wicked Children on Calvary and the Baldness of Saint Francis,” Mitteilungen der Kunsthistorisches Instituts in Florenz 34 (1990): 215–244, esp. 229, 235–236. 43. Stefano Brufani, ed., Sacrum commercium sancti Francisci cum domina Paupertate (Santa Maria degli Angeli, 1990); Kajetan Esser, “Untersuchungen zum ‘de Sacrum commercium beati Francisci cum domina Paupertate,’ ” in Miscellanea Melchor Pobladura, ed. Isidoro a Villapadierna, vol. 1 (Rome, 1964), 1–33, esp. 3–7; Mario Bigaroni, “Sacrum Commercium Sancti Francisci cum domina Paupertate: Nuova ed. critica,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 86 (1993): 99–105. Stefano Brufani, the editor, with whom Bigaroni agrees, places the text in the circle of Bonaventura. Esser, “Untersuchungen” 7, dated it before 1250. Michael Cusato, “Talking about Ourselves: The Shift in Franciscan Writing from Hagiography to History (1235–1247),” Franciscan Studies 58 (2000): 37–75, prefers a dating in the 1230s (42 n. 15) and suggests Caesar of Speyer as its author.

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Notes to Pages 94–95 44. Legenda Maior 8.6: “In privilegio paupertatis, quam modo matre, modo sponsam, modo dominam nominare solebat.” 45. In his first letter as minister-­General; S. Bonaventurae Bagnoregis H. R. E. Episc. Albae atque Doctor Ecclesiae Universalis, in Opera Omnia, vol. 8 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1898), 469: “Occurrit importuna petitio propter quam omnes transeuntes per terras adeo abhorrent Fratrum occursum, ut eis timeant quasi praedonibus obviare.” Gonsalvo as minister-­ general in his Tuscan provincial constitutions of 1304 insisted that to maintain the primordial humility of the Order, the leading members of ev­ery convent should beg at least twice a year as simple friars, “sine fraude petendo elemosina.” Those who did not, without legitimate excuse, were deprived of a voice in the next provincial chapter. Geroldus Fussenegger, “Gunsalvus Hispanus, Minister Generalis visitat Provinciam Thusciae,” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 45 (1952): 227–231, esp. 230; José Pou y Martí, “Fr. Gonzalo de Balboa, primer General Español de la Orden,” Revista de Estudios Franciscanos 7 (1911): 171–180, 332–343, esp. 176. 46. Andrea Muzi, Bruna Tomasello, and Attilio Tori, Sigilli nel Museo Nazionale del Bargello (Florence, 1988), 260, no. 682, fig. 125. 47. Ludovico da Pietralunga, Descrizione della Basilica di San Francesco e di altri santuari di Assisi, ed. Pietro Scarpellini (Treviso, 1982), 58: “il qual gentilhomo fa vista non curarlo et ne volerlo bene.” 48. “Al fine de le sue parole il ladro / le mani alzò con amendue le fiche.” Emilio Bigi, ed., Enciclopedia Dantesca, vol. 5 (Rome, 1976), 852, 878–879. See also Fernando Salsano, “Fica” and “Ficcare,” ibid., vol. 2 (Rome, 1970), 852–853. 49. “[Paupertas] . . . abscondita est ab oculis eorum et volucres celi latet.” Fontes Franciscani, ed. Ernesto Menestò and Stefano Brufani (assisi, 1995), 1709. The phrase is virtually a quotation of Job 28:22. 50. Ruth Wolff, Der Heilige Franziskus in Schriften und Bildern des 13. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1996), 228–231; Julian Gardner, “The Iconography of the Legend of the Life of Saint Francis of Assisi: An Alternative Approach,” in Raccolte di Vite di Santi dal XIII al XVIII

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Notes to Pages 95–96 Secolo: Strutture, Messaggi, Fruizioni, ed. Sofia Boesch Gajano (Brindisi, 1990), 91–101; idem, “A Minor Episode of Public Disorder in Assisi: Francis Renounces His Inheritance,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 68 (2005): 275–285. 51. Declaratio Magistrorum et Baccalariorum de Paupertate Christo et Apostolorum, ed. Luke Wadding, Annales Minorum, vol. 6 (Quaracchi, 1931), ad annum 1322, 448–452, no. 55, reprinted in Nicolaus Minorita: Chronica, ed. Gedeon Gál and David Flood (St. Bonaventure, N.Y., 1996), 71–82; Michael Cusato, “‘Esse ergo mitem et ­humilem corde, hoc est esse vere fratrem minorem’: Bonaventure of Bagnoregio and the Reformulation of the Franciscan Charism,” in Charisma und religiöse Gemeinschaften im Mittelalter, Akten des 3. Internationalen Kongresses des Italienisch-­deutschen Zentrums für Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte, Vita Regularis Abhandlungen 26, ed. Giancarlo Andenna, Mirko Breitenstein, and Gert Melville (Münster, 2005), 343–382, esp. 362–368. 52. David Burr, Olivi and Franciscan Poverty (Philadelphia, 1989), 163– 172; Cusato, “Talking about Ourselves,” 51–53; David Flood, “Franciscan Poverty (A Brief Survey),” in Gál and Flood, Nicolaus Minorita, 31–53, esp. 43ff. 53. Robert Freyhan, “The Evolution of the Caritas Figure in the 13th and 14th Centuries,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 11 (1948): 68–86; Selma Pfeiffenberger, “The Iconography of Giotto’s Virtues and Vices at Padua” (Ph.D. diss., Bryn Mawr, 1966), chap. 5, 51–55; Anne Derbes and Mark Sandona, “‘Ave Charitate plena’: Variations on the Theme of Charity in the Arena Chapel,” Speculum 76 (2001): 599–637. 54. Hans Belting, “The New Role of Narrative in Public Painting of the Trecento: Historia and Allegory,” in Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Studies in the History of Art 16, ed. Herbert L. Kessler and Marianna Shreve Simpson (Washington, D.C., 1985), 151–170. 55. John Hollander, Allegory in Dante’s Commedia (Prince­ton, 1969),

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Notes to Pages 96–98 41; cf. Dante, Convivio 2.1.3–4; John Hollander, Dante: A Life in Works (New Haven, 2001), 98–104. 56. Kajetan Esser, “Untersuchungen zum Sacrum Commercium beati Francisci cum Domina Paupertate,” in Isidoro a Villapadierna, Miscellanea Melchor de Pobladura,, 1:1–33, esp. 25. 57. Gerhard B. Ladner, Die Päpstbildnisse des Altertums und des Mittelalters, Monumenti di Antichità Cristiana, ser. 2, no. 4, vol. 1 (Vatican City, 1941–1984), 195–201. See Jérôme Croisier in Serena Romano, Riforma e Tradizione 1050–1198, vol. 4, La Pittura Medievale a Roma 312–1431, ed. Maria Andaloro and Serena Romano (Milan, 2006), 270–271, no. 45. 58. Pfeiffenberger, “The Iconography of Giotto’s Virtues and Vices at Padua.” 59. Celano, Vita II, pars 11, cap. 60, para 2 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:185– 186; FF 529): “Et ecce tres mulieres pauperculae apparuerunt iuxta viam in transitu Sancti Francisci. Sic utem staturae aetate et facie similes erant ut materiam triplicem una crederes forma perfectam.” 60. Celano, 2.12.152 (Analecta Franciscana, 10:218, FF 579): “At ille [Francis] describens obedientem sub figura corporis mortui respondit. ‘Tolle corpus exanime et ubi placuerit pone. Videbis non oppugnare mortum, non murmurae, non reclamare dimissum.’.  .  . Summam vero et in qua nihil haberet caro et sanguis.” Giovanni Miccoli, Francesco d’Assisi (Turin, 1991), 58, noted that the term “obedience” occurred forty-­eight times in Francis’s own writings. See Alan E. Bernstein, “The Exemplum as ‘Incorporation of Abstract Truth’ in the Thought of Humbert of Romans and Stephen of Bourbon,” in The Two Laws: Studies in Medieval Legal History Dedicated to Stephan Kuttner, ed. Laurent Mayali and Stephanie A.  J. Tibbetts (Washington, D.C., 1990), 82–96, esp. 91, for behavioral exempla. 61. Claudia Benthien, “Ambiguities of Silence: The Provocation of the Void for Baroque Culture,” in Orthodoxies and Heterodoxies in Early Modern German Culture: Order and Creativity, 1500–1700, Studies in Central European Histories 42, ed. Randolph Head

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Notes to Pages 98–99 and Daniel Christensen (Leiden, 2007), 253–277, who does not, however, consider the reality of regular silence. 62. Fernand Delorme, ed., Collationes in Hexaëmeron et Bonaventuriana quaedam selecta, Bibliotheca Franciscana Scholastica Medii Aevi 8 (Quaracchi, 1934), 95: “Prudentia est bonorum et malorum scientia et utrorumque discretio . . . de praeteritis praesentibus et futuris.” 63. Matthaei ab Aquasparta, Sermones de S. Francisco de S. Antonio et de S. Clara, 39–40. Francis in the Vele provides visual models for behavior reminiscent of a phrase of Domenico Cavalca: “la vita de’ santi sia una viva lezione . . . e quasi uno specchio ove l’uomo può considerare e specchiare sè.” Cited in Timothy Kircher, “The Modality of Moral Communication in the Decameron’s First Day, in Contrast to the Mirror of the Exemplum,” Renaissance Quarterly 54, no. 4 (2001): 1035–73, esp. 1040 and n. 17; Domenico Cavalca, Vite de’ Santi Padri, ed. Bartolommeo Sorio (Trieste, 1858), 13. 64. Celano, Tractatus de miraculis (Analecta Franciscana 10:312). 65. Regesti Clementis Papae V .  .  . cura et studio Monachorum Ordinis S. Benedicti appendices, vol. 1 (Rome, 1892), 369–464, esp. 445: “Item tria axtralabia, quorum duo non videntur esse completa, et tertium videtur esse completa; et habeant tecam.” See also 443. 66. The texts read, “TOLLITE JUGUM OBEDIENTIE SUPER VOS” and “JAM FIXUS SUM / [SANCTAE] CRUCI POENITENTIAE.” I have found no direct source, although the first text is evidently an elaboration of Matthew 11:29. 67. Julian Gardner, “Andrea di Bonaiuto and the Chapterhouse Frescoes in Santa Maria Novella,” Art History 2 (1979): 107–138; Hiltrud Stein-­Kecks, Der Kapitelsaal in der mittelalterlichen Klosterbaukunst: Studien zu den Bildprogrammen, Italienische Forschungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, 4 vols., vol. 4 (Munich, 2004). 68. Physiologus, vol. 15, trans. Michael J. Curley (Chicago, 1979), 23– 24; Physiologus Latinus, preliminary ed., version B, ed. Francis J. Carmody (Paris, 1939), 26; Nikolaus Henkel, Studien zum Physiolo-

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Notes to Pages 99–100 gus im Mittelalter, Hermaea Germanistische Forschungen, NF 38 (Tübingen, 1976), 173–175; Ron Baxter, Bestiaries and Their Owners in the Middle Ages (London, 1974), 35–36. In the Physiologus the centaur is often paired with another hybrid, the mermaid. For a contemporary reference, see Giordano da Pisa Avventuale fiorentino 1304, ed. Silvia Serventi (Bologna, 2006), 161–162 (centaurs): “che sono altre diverse bestie, e dicono quelle favole che cci sono le bestie mischiate con uomo, e écci il cavaliere e ’l cavallo.” They guard the violent in Inferno 12.55ff.; see Giuseppe Izzi, “Centauri,” in Enciclopedia Dantesca, vol. 1 (Rome, 1970), 909–910. The Latin Physiologus cites both Isaiah 12:13, 21–22, and the Second Epistle to Timothy 3:5: “habentes speciem quidem pietatis virtutus eius abnegantes.” Among such men are the homines superbi of verse 3. The centaur archers on the dado of Porte Rouge at Notre Dame, carved circa 1260, have been plausibly assigned a moral dubiety by Jean Bayet, “Le symbolisme du cerf et du centaure à la Porte Rouge de Notre Dame de Paris,” Revue Archéologique 44 (1954): 21–68. See also Debra Hassig, Me­ dieval Bestiaries: Text, Image, Ideology (Cambridge, 1995); Wilma George and Brunsdon Yapp, The Naming of the Beasts: Natural History of the Medieval Bestiary (London, 1991), 78–79. 69. Martin Gosebruch, “Giottos römischer Stefaneschi-­Altar und die Fresken des sog. “‘Maestro delle vele’ in der Unterkirche S. Francesco in Assisi,” Kunstchronik 11 (1958): 288–291; Giuseppe Palumbo, Giotto e i giotteschi in Assisi (Rome, 1969), 129–198, esp. 174. 70. For Giacomo Stefaneschi, Ignaz Hösl, Kardinal Jacobus Gaietani Stefaneschi, Historische Studien 61 (Berlin, 1908), remains valuable. Marc Dykmans, “Jacques Stefaneschi, élève de Gilles de Rome et cardinal de Saint-­Georges,” Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia 29 (1975): 536–554. For Giangaetano’s death at Perugia, see Peter Herde, Cölestin V (1294) (Peter vom Morrone): Der Engelpapst, Päpste und Papsttum 16 (Stuttgart, 1981), 66. For the Assisi tomb, see Gardner, Tomb and Tiara, 80–84; Jürgen Wiener, Die Bauskulptur

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Notes to Pages 100–101 von San Francesco in Assisi, 230–238; Bonsanti, Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi, 606, figs. 1255, 1258. 71. Julian Gardner, “Legates, Cardinals, and Kings: En­gland and Italy in the Thirteenth Century,” in L’Europa e l’Arte Ital­iana: Internationaler Kongress zum hundertjährigen Jubiläum des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, ed. Max Seidel (Florence, 2000), 74–93, esp. 87. Anselm, Homiliae, 9.10.38, in Patrologia Latina 158.645: “castellum in quod intravit Iesus, singularem et intemeratam Virginem .  .  . per similitudinem accipimus. Castellum enim dicitur quqelibet turris et murus in circuitu ejus.” See Malcolm Hebron, The Mediaeval Siege: Theme and Image in Middle En­glish Romance (Oxford, 1997). Elements of the psychomachia are obviously present. In Robert Grosseteste’s poem the siege is of the soul. See note 88 below. 72. Donald H. Galbreath, Papal Heraldry, 2nd ed., ed. Geoffrey Briggs (London, 1972, 5. 73. Thomas Aquinas linked Munditia to baptism; see Summa Theologiae Pars Tertia, quaestio 38, art. 1–3. 74. For Bonaventure Immunditia was a sin of luxuria; “Sermo III post Epifaniam, S. Bonaventurae S.R.E. Cardinalis,” in Opera Omnia, vol. 9 (Ad Claras Aquas, 1901), 184; Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Secunda Secundae, quaestio 148., art. 6c. 75. Erwin Panofsky, “Blind Cupid,” in Studies in Iconology (Boulder, 1972), 95–128, esp. 115; Creighton D. Gilbert, “Blind Cupid,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 33 (1970): 304–305. The God of Love who appears on contemporary Gothic ivory mirror cases is not blindfolded. See Raymond Koechlin, Les ivoires gothiques français (Paris, 1924), nos. 1068, 1071. Among other blind personifications in the Middle Ages were Death and Synagogue. 76. The universal requirement for annual confession was enunciated in Canon 21, Omnis utriusque sexus fidelis, of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215). For the nexus between the Franciscans and pentitential preaching, see Jean-­Charles Payen, “La pénitence dans le contexte culturel des XIIe. et XIIIe. siècles: Dès doctrines contri-

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Notes to Page 101 tionelles aux pénitentiels vernaculaire,” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 61 (1977): 399–428, esp. 414, 418. 77. The episode of the child Hercules strangling snakes occurs in Pindar’s Nemean Ode 1.33. It recurs in Boccaccio; see Giovanni Boccaccio: Opere, vol. 11, Deorum Gentilium, ed. Vincenzo Romano (Bari, 1951), 13.1.633. The kneeling pose clearly derives from a representation of the infant Hercules transmitted by a relief or cameo such as the lost grave stele of Phoebus or the cameo once in the Harari Collection. See Susan Woodford in Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae, vol. 4, pt. 1 (Zu­rich/Munich 1988), nos. 1602, 1606, p. 829, reproduced in vol. 4, pt. 2, at 552, 553; Brunilde S. Ridgway, “The Boy Strangling the Goose: Genre Figure or Mythological Symbol?” American Journal of Archaeology 110 (2006): 643–648, esp. 647. For an example, see Museo Nazionale Romano: Le Sculture, vol. 1, pt. 5, I Marmi Ludovisi nel Museo Nazionale Romano, ed. Antonio Giuliano (Rome, 1983), 111, no. 47 (Beatrice Palma), fig. on 110. 78. A comparable surviving folding triptych is Duccio’s Madonna and Child with SS. Dominic and Aurea in the National Gallery in London. John White, “Carpentry and Design in Duccio’s Workshop: The London and Boston Triptychs,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 35 (1973): 92–105; Martin Davies (rev. Dillian Gordon), National Gallery Catalogues: The Early Ital­ian Schools before 1400 (London, 1988), 14–16; David Bomford, Jill Dunkerton, Dillian Gordon, and Ashok Roy, Art in the Making: Ital­ian Painting before 1400, National Gallery (London, 1989), 90–97. The fresco provides a demonstration that small folding triptychs could be hung on a wall within a domestic space, and that their common loose defi­ni­tion as portable altarpieces is untenable. The fictive triptych at Assisi is not noticed by Victor M. Schmidt, Painted Piety: Panel Paintings for Personal Devotion in Tuscany, 1250–1400 (Florence, 2005). 79. Nicolai Rubinstein, The Palazzo Vecchio, 1298–1352: Government, Ar-

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Notes to Pages 101–102 chitecture, and Imagery in the Civic Palace of the Florentine Republic (Oxford, 1995); Jürgen Paul, Der Palazzo Vecchio in Florenz (Florence, 1969). 80. Miracles Notre Dame by Gautier de Coincy, ms. from Grand ­Séminaire de Soissons in deposit at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, fol. 70v, illustrated in Henri Focillon, Le Peintre des Miracles Notre Dame (Paris, 1950), fig. 18. The miracle is of an image of the Virgin and Child wounded by a crossbow bolt (“Le Miracle comment Nostre Dame fut ferue d’un quarrel au genoil”). Léopolde Delisle, Recherches sur la Librairie de Charles V, vol. 1 (Paris, 1907), 285–305, no. 83, 303. Interestingly the panel (“une ymage fresche et nouvelle de Nostre Dame”) is represented within a castle chapel. 81. Bonaventura, De Sanctis Angelis, sermon 5, in Opera Omnia, 9:622– 631, esp. 628: “castitas reddit hominem conformem Deo.” 82. S. Thomae Aquinatis, In Dionysii de Divinis Nominibus, chap. 12, in Opera Omnia, vol. 4 (Stuttgart, 1980), 583; Bonaventura, De Sanctis Angelis, sermon 5, Dominus diligit munditiam et castitatem, in Opera Omnia, 9:628. 83. Ernesto Menestò, “La Biblioteca di Matteo d’Acquasparta,” in Matteo d’Aquasparta Francescano, Filosofo, Politico, 257–289, esp. 283 n. 33b. 84. Baptism of adults had become unusual by the Middle Ages. John D. C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, Alcuin Club Collections 47 (London, 1965), 120 ff.; Pierre Torquebiau, “Baptême en Occident,” in Dictionnaire de Droit Canonique, vol. 2 (Paris, 1937), cols. 110–174, esp. 143–145. 85. Bonaventura, Commentaria in Quatuor Libros Sententiarum, bk. 4, Dist. 21, ii, quaestio 2, in Opera Omnia, 4:405 “baptismus omnem culpam delet.” Adult baptism commonly took place at Pentecost, the customary season for Franciscan chapters. 86. Bernstein, “The Exemplum as ‘Incorporation of Abstract Truth’”; David J. A. Ross, “Allegory and Romance on a Mediaeval French Marriage Casket,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 11

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Notes to Pages 102–103 (1948): 112–142; Olivier Beigbeder, “Le château d’amour dans l’ivroirerie et son symbolisme,” Gazette de Beaux-­Arts 38 (1951): 63–76; Elizabeth Tabouret Delahaye and Xavier Dectot, “Une exceptionel coffret d’ivoire gothique,” La Revue des Musées de France: Revue du Louvre 3 (2008): 6–8. 87. Esser, “Untersuchungen zum Sacrum Commercium,” 17ff. 88. Christiania Whitehead, “A Fortress and a Shield: The Repre­ sentation of the Virgin in the Château d’Amour of Robert Grosseteste,” in Writing Religious Women (Cardiff, 2000), 109–132. I  am very grateful to Christiania Whitehead for discussing the imagery of the poem with me. Evelyn A. Mackie, “Robert Grosseteste’s Chasteu d’Amur: A Text in Context” (Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 2002). The siege of the Castle of Love appears in the Peterborough Psalter, fol. 91v; Lucy F. Sandler, The Peterborough Psalter in Brussels and Other Fenland Manuscripts (London, 1974), illustrated 31, fig. 57. It was made for Abbot Geoffrey of Crowland (d. before 1318), who presented it to the papal legate Gaucelin d’Euse, who subsequently gave it to his uncle, ironically enough Pope John XXII. Idem, En­glish Gothic Manuscripts, 1285– 1385, vol. 2 (London, 1984), 45–47, nos. 40, 46. Another representation appears in the Luttrell Psalter. See Michelle Brown, The Luttrell Psalter: A Facsimile (London 2006), fol. 75v, 38–39, as bas-­ de-­page (a blue castle with a red door). The iconography of these miniatures is, however, more distant from the fresco than are the ivory mirror cases. 89. Grosseteste is cited as an authority in defense of Franciscan poverty against John XXII in 1322. Declaratio Magistrorum et Baccalariorum de Paupertate Christo et Apostolorum, in Gál and Flood, Nicolaus Minorita, 81. 90. Le Château d’Amour de Robert Grosseteste évêque de Lincoln, ed. Jessie Murray (Paris, 1918), 108. 91. Ross, “Allegory and Romance on a Mediaeval French Marriage Casket”; Hebron, The Mediaeval Siege; Danielle Gaborit Chopin,

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Notes to Pages 104–105 Musée du Louvre Département des Objets d’Art, Catalogue Ivoires médiévaux Ve.–XVe siècle (Paris, 2003), 415, no. 172; 437–438, no. 189. 92. Julian Gardner, “Cardinal Ancher and the Piscina of Saint-­ Urbain at Troyes,” in Architectural Studies in Memory of Richard Krautheimer, ed. Cecil L. Striker (Mainz, 1996), 79–82. Paul Binski discussed the point in his 2009 Slade Lectures. 93. Malcolm Parkes, “The Influence of the Concepts Ordinatio and Compilatio on the Development of the Book,” in Mediaeval Learning and Literature: Essays Presented to Richard William Hunt, ed. Jonathan J.  G. Alexander and Margaret T. Gibson (Oxford, 1976), 115–141. See, however, Richard H. Rouse and Mary A. Rouse, “Ordinatio and Compilatio Revisited,” in Ad Litteram: Authoritative Texts and Their Medieval Readers, ed. Mark D. Jordan and Kent Emery Jr. (Notre Dame, 1992), 113–134, for a powerful critique. See also Suzanne L’Engle and Robert Gibbs, Illuminating the Law: Legal Manuscripts in Cambridge Collections, Fitzwilliam Museum (Cambridge, 2001), 54–74. 94. Bert Roest, A History of Franciscan Education (c. 1210–1517), Education and Society in the Middle Ages and Renaissance 11 (Leiden, 2000), 126, 141, 185ff.; Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory (Cambridge, 1990), 118. 95. Ratzinger Die Geschichtstheologie, 33; Servus Gieben, review of Stanislao da Campagnola, “L’angelo del sesto sigillo e l’alter Christus,” Collectanea Franciscana 43 (1973): 423–425. 96. The provincial minister of the province of San Francesco was one of the signatories of the Declaratio Magistrorum et Baccalariorum de Paupertate Christo et Apostolorum; see Gál and Flood, Nicolaus Minorita, 70. 97. Belting, “The New Role of Narrative in Public Painting of the Trecento,” 151–170. 98. Anthony Melnikas, The Corpus of the Miniatures in the Manuscripts of the Decretum Gratiani, Studia Gratiana 16–18, vol. 1 (Rome, 1975),

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Notes to Pages 105–107 17–19, 41–44; Suzanne L’Engle, “Trends in Bolognese Legal Illustration: The early Trecento,” in Juristische Buchproduktion im Mittelalter, ed. Vincenzo Colli (Frankfurt am Main, 2002), 219–244; L’Engle and Gibbs, Illuminating the Law, 92–95. 99. Alan E. Bernstein, “The Invocation of Hell in Thirteenth-­ Century Paris,” in Svpplementvm Festivvm: Studies in Honor of Paul Oskar Kristeller, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 49, ed. James Hankins, John Monfasani, and Frederick Purnell Jr. (Binghamton, 1987), 13–54, esp. 42ff. In general see Claude Bremond, Jacques Le Goff, and Jean-­Claude Schmitt, L’exemplum, Typologie des Sources du moyen âge occidental 40 (Turnhout, 1982). 100. Christopher Walter, L’iconographie des conciles dans la tradition byzantine, Archives de l’orient chrétien 13 (Paris, 1970); idem, “Konzilien,” in Reallexikon zur byzantinischen Kunst, ed. Klaus Wessel and Marcel Restle (Stuttgart, 1990), 4, cols. 737–746, esp. 743; Gardner, “Andrea di Bonaiuto and the Chapterhouse Frescoes in Santa Maria Novella,” 121. 101. Alexander Murray, “The Medieval Inquisition: An Instrument of Secular Politics,” Peritia 5 (1986): 161–200, esp. 166. 102. Matthaei ab Aquasparta, Sermones de S. Francisco de S. Antonio et de S. Clara, 32–33: “Quemadmodum enim isti pictores habent ante se exemplaria, secundum quae depingunt et formant imagines.”. See also Julian Gardner, “Some Cardinals’ Seals of the Thirteenth Century,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 38 (1975): 72–96. 103. Gardner, “A Minor Episode of Public Disorder in Assisi,” 275– 285. The Posthumous Miracles are reproduced in La Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi: Basilica Inferiore, as figs. 1140, 1142, 1144. 104. Millard Meiss, Giotto and Assisi (New York, 1960), 3. See Bernhard Degenhart and Annegritt Schmitt, Corpus der italienischen Zeichnungen 1300–1450, vol. 1 (Berlin, 1968), 107–110, cat. 46, I,i, Taf. 79, for a Florentine drawing on parchment (ca. 1350) which copies the right side of the Marriage of Francis and Poverty. See also cat.

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Notes to Pages 108–109 47, 1:110–111, I,I, Taf. 80a, and Cat. 52, 1:117–118, 1:1, 82, which copy the Visitation in the right transept and the Cappella San Nicola respectively. In general, see Robert Scheller, Exemplum Model-­Book Drawings and the Practice of Artistic Transmission in the Middle Ages (ca. 900–ca. 1470) (Amsterdam, 1995). 105. Bruno Zanardi, “Project dessiné et ‘patrons’ dans le chantier de la peinture murale au Moyen age,” Revue de l’Art 124 (1999): 43–55. 106. Franco Sacchetti, Il Trecentonovelle, ed. Valerio Marucci (Rome, 1996), novella 63, 181. Giotto is commisionned to paint the coat of arms of “un grossolano artifice.” 107. Miklós Boskovits, “Restaurata la croce giottesca di San Felice in  Piazza,” Arte Cristiana 81 (1993): 133–137; Giorgio Bonsanti, “Giotto? O solo un ‘parente’? Una discussione,” Arte Cristiana 82 (1994): 299–306. 108. For recent discussions of Giotto’s workshops, see Serena Romano, La basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi: Pittori, botteghe, strategie narrative (Rome, 2001), reviewed by Irene Hueck, Journal für Kunstgeschichte 6 (2002): 129–135. There is little of substance in Giovanna Ragionieri, “Allievi e gregari nella bottega di Giotto,” in La bottega dell’artista tra Medioevo e Rinascimento, ed. Roberto Cassanelli (Milan, 1998), 55–70. 109. Christa Gardner von Teuffel, “The Buttressed Altarpiece: A Forgotten Aspect of Tuscan Fourteenth-­Century Altarpiece Design,” Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen 21 (1979): 21–65, reprinted with an afterword in idem, From Duccio’s Maestà to Raphael’s Transfiguration: Ital­ian Altarpieces in Their Settings (London, 2005): 119–182, 622–628; Norman F. Muller, “Reflections on Ugolino di Nerio’s Santa Croce Altarpiece,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 57 (1994): 45–74; Marco Ciatti, Ciro Castelli, and Andrea Santacesaria, Dipinti su tavola: La tecnica e la conservazione dei supporti (Florence, 1999); Julian Gardner, “Giotto in America (and Elsewhere),” in Ital­ian Panel Paintings of the Duecento and Trecento, Studies in the History of Art 61, ed. Victor Schmidt, National Gallery of Art (Washington,

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Notes to Pages 109–111 D.C., 2002), 161–181; idem, “The European Context of the Westminster Retable,” in The Westminster Retable: History, Technique, Conservation, ed. Paul Binski and Ana Massing (Cambridge, 2006), 66–78, esp. 70; Ciro Castelli, “The Construction of Wooden Supports of Late Medieval Altarpieces,” in Sassetta: The Borgo San Sepolcro Altarpiece, ed. Machtelt Israels, vol. 1 (Leiden, 2009), 319– 335 (which, however, concentrates on Sienese examples); Diego Cauzzi, Ciro Castelli, Pierpaolo Monfardini, and Claudio Seccaroni, “Il supporto ligneo: Costruzione, struttura e proporzioni,” in Il polittico di Giotto nella Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna: Nuove letture, ed. Diego Cauzzi, and Claudio Seccaroni (Bologna, 2009), 61–78. The frescoes of the Saint Nicholas Chapel are reproduced in La Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi: Basilica Inferiore, as figs. 1224–1254, 1259–1264, 1294–1318. The frescoes of the Infancy of  Christ are reproduced as figs. 1124–1139, and those of the Magdalen Chapel as figs. 630–676, 699–715. 110. An attempt to discriminate between these artists is made by Ragionieri, “Allievi e gregari,” 58–60. 111. Romano, “Le botteghe di Giotto.” 112. For ad sta­tus sermons, see Carlo Delcorno, “Medieval Preaching in Italy (1200–1500),” in The Sermon in Typologie des sources du Moyen­Âge, ed. Beverley M. Kienzle, fascs. 81–83 (Turnhout, 2000), 449– 560, esp. 459; and Nicole Bériou, “Les sermons latins après 1200,” ibid., 363–446, esp. 393. 113. Louis-­Jacques Bataillon, “Similitudines et exempla dans les sermons du XIIIe. siècle,” in The Bible in the Medieval World: Essays in Memory of Beryl Smalley, Studies in Church History Subsidia 4, ed. Katharine Walsh and Diane Wood (Oxford, 1985), 191. 114. Michael Cusato, “Whence ‘The Community’?” Franciscan Studies 60 (2002): 39–92, 79–80. 115. Joseph Polzer, “Simone Martini’s Two Frescoes in the Lower Right Transept of the Church of San Francesco in Assisi,” Arte Cristiana 72 (1984): 353–368; Martindale, Simone Martini, 173–174;

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Notes to Pages 111–115 Leone de Castris, Simone Martini, 121–134; Bonsanti, Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi, Basilica Inferiore, 554–555, figs. 1150–1154, Schede 424–426, nos. 1159–60 (Maria M. Donato). 116. See Thomas Heffernan, Sacred Biography: Saints and Their Biographers in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1988), 31, 146; and particularly Timothy E. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford, 1999), chap. 9, “The Politics of Parallelism: Greeks and Romans in the Parallel Lives.” 117. Maria M. Donato, “Nomi nascosti: Qualche caso toscano per una ricerca difficile,” in Le opere e i nomi: Prospettive sulla “firma” medioevale, ed. Maria M. Donato (Pisa, 2000), 51–53; idem, “Le Opere e i Nomi: Problemi e Ricerche,” ibid., 9–14, for self-­conscious signatures. 118. For the incidence of heraldry, see Julian Gardner, “Seated Kings, Sea-­faring Saints and Heraldry: Some Themes in Angevin Iconography,” in L’État Angevin: Pouvoir, Culture et Société entre XIIIe. et XIVe. siècle, Collection de l’École Française de Rome 245 (Rome, 1998), 115–126; Valentino Pace, “Committenza aristocratica e ostentazione araldica nella Roma del Duecento,” in Roma Medievale Aggiornamenti, ed. Paolo Delogu (Florence, 1998), 175–192. Whereas there was no heraldry in the predella scene of the Dream of Innocent III in the Pisa Stigmatization, Taddeo Gaddi freely employed heraldry for the same scene, and also The Approval of the Rule and Francis before Honorius III, painted for the sacristy of Santa Croce.

Conclusion 1. Daniel Lesnick, Preaching in Medieval Florence: The Social World of Franciscan and Dominican Spirituality (Athens, Ga., 1989); review by Julius Kirshner, Journal of Religion 71 (1991): 261; Silvain Piron, “Un couvent sous in­flu­ence: Santa Croce autour de 1300,” Économie et religion: L’expérience des ordres mendiants (XIIIe–XV siècles)

223

Notes to Pages 115–117 1  (2008): 321–355, esp. 326 n. 25, 340–345; Stefano Orlandi, Il Necrologio di S. Maria Novella, 1235–1504 (Florence, 1955). 2. “Il mondo è ghovernato da quattro alimenti, cioè: aria, fuocho, acqua et terra et io dicho che i fiorentini sono il quinto alimento, et chosì appruovo.” Paolo Pirillo, Famiglia e Mobiltà sociale nella Toscana medioevale: I Franzesi della Foresta da Figline Valdarno (secoli XII–XV) (Florence, 1992), 63 n. 100. 3. Creighton Gilbert, “The Fresco by Giotto in Milan,” Arte Lombarda 47 (1977): 31–72; Giovanni Agosti, “Il più antico ricordo lombardo di Giotto,” in Scritti per l’Istituto Germanico di Storia dell’Arte di Firenze, ed. Cristina Acidini Luchinat, Luciano Bellosi, Miklós Boskovits, Pier Paolo Donati, and Bruno Santi (Florence, 1997), 43–46; Riccardo Filangieri di Candida, “Rassegna Critica delle Fonti per la Storia di Castel Nuovo,” Archivio Storico per le Provincie Napoletane 61 (1936): 251–323; 62 (1937) 267–333; 64 (1939): 237–322; on Giotto, see (1936): 271–273 and doc. 8 (319–322); idem, “Giotto a Napoli e gli avanzi di pittura nella Cappella Palatina Angioina (pel VI Centenario della morte di Giotto),” Archivio Storico Ital­iano 95 (1937): 129–145. See also Francesco Caglioti, “Giovanni di Balduccio a Bologna: L’Annunciazione per la rocca papale di Porta Galliera (con una digressione sulla cronologia napoletana e bolognese di Giotto),” Prospettiva 117–118 (2005): 21–63; Pierluigi Leone de Castris, Giotto a Napoli (Naples, 2006), 40, for a comment on Filangieri and Caglioti. 4. Purgatorio 11.79–95. 5. Jérôme Baschet, “Satan prince de l’enfer: Le développement de sa puissance dans l’iconographie italienne (XIII.–XVe. siècle),” in L’autunno del diavolo, ed. Eugenio Corsini and Eugenio Costa (Milan, 1990), 383–396; idem, Les Justices de l’audelà: Représentations de l’Enfer en France et en Italie (XIIe.–XVe. Siècle), Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 279 (Rome, 1993). 6. In the Mocking of Christ in the Arena Chapel, the head of Pilate clearly derives from an ancient bust. Similar appropriations occur in Nicola Pisano’s Siena pulpit (Cicero).

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Notes to Pages 118–120 7. Charles T. Davis, Dante and the Idea of Rome (Oxford, 1957), 32ff.; idem, “Rome and Babylon in Dante,” in Rome in the Renaissance: The City and the Myth, Papers in the Thirteenth Annual Conference of the Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, ed. Paul A. Ramsey (Binghamton, 1982), 19–40. 8. “Quam magna fueris integra, fracta doces.” Davis, Dante and the Idea of Rome, 1957, 6. See also Paolo Zanna, “‘Descriptiones urbium’ and Elegy in Latin and Vernaculars in the Early Middle Ages: At the Crossroads between Civic Engagement, Artistic Enthusiasm and Religious Meditation,” Studi Medievali 32 (1991): 523–596, esp. 568– 571, 573. 9. Paradiso 31.31–36, 15.109–111. See Davis, Dante and the Idea of Rome, 33. 10. Giovanni Cherubini, “Dante e le attività economiche del tempo suo,” Rivista di storia dell’agricoltura 29, no. 2 (1989): 3–17, reprinted in Scritti toscani: L’urbanesimo medievale e la mezzadria (Florence, 1991), 315–325, esp. 324: “Di quei nuovi mercanti [Dante] non capì la grandezza.” 11. Stained glass with Franciscan scenes existed in both the Barfusserkirche at Erfurt and the Upper Church at Assisi well before the construction of the Cinquina Chapel. Erhard Drachenberg, Karl-­Joachim Maercker, and Christa Schmidt, eds., Die Mittelalterliche Glasmalerei in den Ordenskirchen und im Angermuseum in Erfurt, Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi Deutsche Demokratische Republik 1, no. 1 (Vienna, 1976); Hans Wentzel, Meisterwerke der Glasmalerei (Berlin, 1951); idem, “Die ältesten Farbfenster in der Oberkirche von S. Francesco zu Assisi und die deutsche Glasmalerei des XIII. Jahrhunderts,” Wallraf-­Richartz-­Jahrbuch 14 (1952): 45–72. 12. Hildegard van Straelen, Studien zur Florentiner Glasmalerei des Trecento und Quattrocento (Wattenscheid, 1938) 13. Caglioti, “Giovanni di Balduccio a Bologna,” 25–33. 14. Julian Gardner, “The Decoration of the Baroncelli Chapel in Santa Croce,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 34 (1971): 89–114, esp. 111

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Notes to Pages 120–126 n. 15.; Fritz Burger, Geschichte des Florentinischen Grabmals von den ältesten Zeit bis Michelangelo (Strassburg, 1904), 56–59; Caglioti, “Giovanni di Balduccio a Bologna.” 15. Caglioti “Giovanni di Balduccio a Bologna,” 38. Caglioti makes the thought-­provoking suggestion that it was from Bologna, almost immediately after the expulsion of the papal legate Cardinal Bertrand de Poujet on March 28, 1334, that the painter was summoned back to Florence to become capomaestro of Santa Maria del Fiore (42). 16. Julian Gardner, “Duccio, ‘Cimabue’ and the Maestro di Casole: Early Sienese Paintings for Florentine Confraternities,” in Iconographica: Mélanges offerts a Piotr Skubiszewski, ed. Robert Favreau and Marie–Hélène Debiès (Poitiers, 1999), 109–113. Martin Davies (rev. Dillian Gordon), National Gallery Catalogues: The Early Ital­ian Schools before 1400 (London, 1988), 74–75, Master of the Casole Fresco, no. 565, reproduced as pl. 53. 17. Tino is documented in Siena as chapomaestro in the first half of 1320; Francesca Baldelli, Tino di Camaino (Morbio Inferiore, 2007), 441, doc. 45. 18. See Elena Rotelli, Un vescovo fiorentino del trecento: Antonio d’Orso di Biliotto, Studium 8 (Florence, 2000), 22, for the correct date: “probabilmente 18 luglio 1321.” 19. Julian Gardner, “Giotto in America (and Elsewhere),” in Ital­ian Panel Paintings of the Duecento and Trecento, Studies in the History of Art 61, ed. Victor Schmidt, National Gallery of Art (Washington, D.C., 2002), 161–181.

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Index

=

Adam, 36 Agostino, Fra, 62, 67, 75 Alberti, Leonbattista, 3; Della Pittura, 3 Alberti family, 11, 53; coat of arms, 53, 180n23 Albizzi, Michele di Vanni degli, 14 Aldobrandino of Toscanella, 38, 168n90 Alessandro d’Alessandria, 84, 134 Alexander IV, Pope, 38 Alexander of Hales, 104 Alighieri, Dante, 2, 4, 41, 78, 95, 96, 117, 118, 123; Divine Comedy, 96; Inferno, 95, 99, 117; letter to Cangrande della Scala, 96; Purgatorio, 117 ’Alim (religious scholar), 65, 73, 75

Allegory, 90, 95, 96, 97, 105, 111, 123 Al-­Malik al-­Kâmil, Sultan, 65, 71, 73, 189n64 Altar, 7, 14, 44, 57, 58, 59, 60, 66, 111, 154n37 Altarpieces, 3, 7, 12, 44, 126, 135, 204n21 Alter Christus, 41, 69, 92, 93 Amor, 100 Ancher de Troyes, Cardinal, 103 Ancient Mariner, ix Angela da Foligno, 203n16 Angelo Clareno, 42, 94, 187n54 Angels, 89, 92, 94, 99, 101 Angevins, 6, 74, 93, 122, 126 Anglo-­Norman literature, 96, 103 Annunciation to the Virgin, 42, 85, 120 Anselm, Saint, 215n71

227

Index Anthony of Padua, Saint, 57, 65, 66, 72, 111 Antonio d’Orso di Biliotto, 4, 5, 12, 126, 143n46 Apelles, 4 Apocalypse, 90, 91, 92, 104 Apocalypticism, 104, 110 Aquileia, 55, 125 Aragonese ambassador, 83 Architectural metaphor, 100, 103, 127 Ardor, 100 Arezzo, 9, 125; Pieve, 125 Ar­is­totle, 104 Arles, 63, 106, 190n69 Arnolfo di Cambio, 79, 187n51 Aspergillum, 100 Assisi, 9, 107, 136; coup d’état (1319), 87, 107, 137; episcopal palace, 63; library, 102; papal interdict, 88; piazza, 63; San Francesco, 22, 50, 52, 55, 77, 91, 111, 118, 136 San Francesco, Lower Church, viii, 84, 88, 123; apse, 87, 91, 103; Cerchi tomb, 51; choir screen, 87, 203n16; flood (July 16, 1311), 87, 137; high altar, 85, 89, 101; Magdalen Chapel, 108, 193n91; nave, 88, 111; St. John the Evangelist (Orsini) Chapel, 29; St. Martin Chapel, 93; St. Nicholas (Orsini) Chapel, 13, 28, 29, 57, 84, 85, 108, 109, 136, 201n7, 220n104; Orsini tomb, 68, 86, 100; tomb of St. Francis, 85, 89 crossing vault (Vele), 22, 58, 59,

228

78, 84, 85, 87, 89, 93, 100, 101, 105, 106, 108, 123; Allegory of Chastity, 89, 96, 99, 100, 102, 104, 118; Allegory of Obedience, 89, 98, 99, 102, 106; Franciscus Gloriosus, 89, 91; inscriptions, 89; Marriage of Francis with Lady Poverty, 89, 93, 94, 95, 97, 220n104 transept, 84, 87, 88, 103, 106, 111; Annunciation, 85; Infancy of Christ, 85, 90, 92, 108, 109, 220n104; Passion of Christ, 85, 90, 92; Posthumous Miracles of St. Francis, 58, 85, 106, 107, 108, 109; Resuscitation of the Injured Boy, 107 San Francesco, Upper Church, viii, 37, 63, 225n11; apse, 88; crossing vault, 32, 87, 203n17; high altar, 87; nave, 63; papal throne, 89, 205n22; Isaac Scenes, 6, 9, 10 Legend of the Life of Saint Francis, viii, 2, 9, 20, 21, 34, 37, 59, 61, 63, 73, 76, 89, 116, 121; Apparition of Saint Francis at the Chapter at Arles, 64, 66; Approval of the Rule, 61, 66; Death of St. Francis, 62; Dream of Innocent III, 61, 63; Francis and the Poor Knight, 95; Francis Praying at San Damiano, 33; Francis Renounces His Inheritance, 59, 61, 63; Preaching to the Birds, 36; Proof of the Stigmata, 62, 66, 67; Stigmatization, 40, 45, 68; Trial

Index by Fire, 59, 64, 65; Vision of Bishop Guido of Assisi, 62; Vision of Fra Agostino, 62 Astrolabe, 98 Augustinians, 85 Augustus, vii Avignon, 85, 112 Ayyubids, 64 Ballatoio. See Florence: Palazzo Vecchio Balzanello, 4, 141n9 Banking/bankers, 4, 12, 25, 26, 54, 77, 110, 118, 122 Baptism, 100, 102, 217n84 Bardi family, 11, 25, 51, 54, 120, 122, 181n25; Benedetto, Fra, 50, 74, 176n8; coat of arms, 54, 74; Doffo di Bartolo, 182n27; Federigo di Bartolo, 50; Jacopo de Ricco Bardi, 136; Lapo di Bonaguida, 50, 54, 136, 182n27; Matteo, Fra, 50, 176n8; Ridolfo de Messer Jacopo de Ricco Bardi, 54, 182n27; Tingua, 50 Belting, Hans, 105 Benedict XI, Pope, 135 Benedict XVI, Pope, 20 Berenson, Bernard, x, 19 Bernard of Besse, 19, 35, 61; De Laudibus Sancti Francisci, 35; Mirror of Discipline, 19 Bernardone, Pietro, 63, 73, 75, 107 Bertrand de Goth. See Clement V, Pope Bertuccius, Magister, 55 Bestiary, 99

Betto di Ranuccio Cari, 55 Bevagna, 24, 35 Bible, 38; Ecclesiasticus, 33. See also Apocalpyse Billi, Antonio, 23 Biography, 9, 10, 24, 30, 61, 64, 128 Birds, 35, 36, 64, 95, 101, 166nn79–81, 166n84 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 5, 143n14, 216n77; Decameron, 5, 9 Boccasini, Niccolo. See Benedict XI, Pope Bologna, 2, 226n15; San Francesco, 56 Bolognese, Franco, 117 Bonanno, Fra, 56, 136 Bonaventura, Cardinal, 19, 20, 34, 39, 41, 64, 65, 70, 77, 91, 92, 94, 102, 103, 104, 106, 110, 158n49, 168n94, 170n107, 172n113, 177n12, 191n74, 215n74; Collationes in Hexaëmeron, 98; Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, 34; composition in sequences of seven, 70, 92; De Perfectione Angelica, 206n29; Legenda Maior, 35, 40, 43, 65, 69, 91, 92, 94, 106, 157n48, 190n69, 192n82, 199n114, 206n29 Bonconti, Banduccio, 26, 27 Bonconti family, 25, 28 Bonelli, Giovanni, Fra, 65 Bonfì, Manfredo, Fra, 50 Boniface VIII, Pope, 25, 31, 54, 115, 134, 158n50 Bonizo, Fra, 38

229

Index Books/book collections, 50, 70. See also Assisi; Florence, churches: Santa Croce Borromini, Francesco, 32 Boustrophedon, 59, 187n49 Brunetti, Giulia, viii Buonarotti, Michelangelo, 15 Burial, 27, 50, 55, 111 Byzantine emperor, 105 Caccini, Richupero, 55 Caetani, Benedetto. See Boniface VIII, Pope Caetani family (Pisa), 33, 162n61 Caetani family (Rome), 33 Cairo, 63 Calixtus II, Pope, 96 Camaino di Crescenzio, 5 Campagna, 23 Campania, 24 Cancello, 58, 60, 186n44 Cangrande della Scala, 96 Caponsacchi, Illuminato, Fra, 50, 55, 175n4 Cappa rubea, 35, 72, 164n70 Carpentry, 167n87 Carpets, 35, 64, 165n72 Carrara, Francesco il Vecchio da, 14 Caskets, ivory, 102 Castle of Love. See Château d’Amour Castracani, Castruccio, 135 Catherine of Siena, Saint, 3, 141n7 Cavallini, Pietro, 8 Cave, 69, 193n91 Celestine V, Pope, 134 Cennini, Cennino, 121

Centaur, 99, 106, 213n68 Cerchi, Enrico (Arrigo), Fra, 177n10 Cerchi family, 51 Chapels, 27, 28, 40, 44, 45, 54, 55, 57, 59, 64, 78, 84, 86, 111, 119, 122, 123, 182n29 Chapterhouse, 65, 66, 72, 97, 99, 105, 106, 107, 111, 195n96 Charity (personification), 93, 95, 96 Charles I d’Anjou, 26 Charles II d’Anjou, 54, 83 Chastity, 97, 101, 102, 118 Château d’Amour, 102, 103, 218n88 Chiusi, 94 Chivalry, 102 Choir screens, 53, 87, 203n16, 209n40 Christ: Agony in the Garden, 43, 69; Passion, 38, 39; Resurrection, 67; Transfiguration, 192n82 Christomimesis, 35, 37, 39, 43, 51, 67, 69, 169nn96–101, 170n102, 194n92 Church Fathers, 186n48 Cimabue, viii, 4, 7, 10, 11, 14, 117, 119, 135, 144n21, 146n30, 151n15; Madonna and Child with Six Angels, 29, 119; Santa Chiara altarpiece, 44, 173n123 Cinquina family, 25, 28, 37, 45, 111, 116, 119, 122; Benenato, 27, 29; Guiscardo, 26, 27; Jacobus, 26; Natuccio (Benenato), 153n25, 157n46; Perriciolo, 27 Cinquina-­Bonconti bank, 25 Clare, Saint, 60, 111 Classical painting, 9, 117 Cleanliness (Munditia), 100

230

Index Clement V, Pope, 26, 49, 52, 83, 135, 158n50 Cloister, 65, 72, 106 Colonna, Giacomo, Cardinal, 21 Colonna, Pietro, Cardinal, 21, 27 Color, 62, 71, 72, 73, 92, 110, 193n93 Compagnia de Santa Maria delle Laude. See Florence, churches: Santa Croce Communes, 27, 31, 77 Companions of St. Francis, 38, 39, 93, 187n54 Compass, 98 Conciliar iconography, 105 Consecration crosses, 21, 150n9 Consorteria, 119 Conti, Giovanni, 31 Contracts, 14 Corradino (Conradin) of Hohen­ staufen, 26 Cosmati, 9, 73 Crowns, 74, 196n104 Crucifix, 3, 14, 40, 44, 69, 122, 157n46, 170n102 Crucifixion, 22, 66, 70, 97, 99, 106, 190n72 Cuochi, Giucco del fu Lotto, 28, 135 Cupid, 215n79

de’Conti, Ugolino. See Gregory IX, Pope Della Torre, Gastone, 55, 125, 136, 183n32, 192n82 Deodato di Orlando, 33 De’Tondi (Tundo/Tondo), Jacopo, Fra, 50, 61, 95, 104, 136, 175nn4–5 De Tour, Bertrand, Cardinal, 134 Dodekartion (Great Feast Cycle), 42 Dominicans, 5, 6, 31, 44, 83, 85, 105, 143n17 Donors, 53, 99 Dormition of the Virgin, 42 Drawings, 107, 220n104 Dreams, 34, 35, 159n52, 161n58 Duccio di Buoninsegna, 8, 14, 216n78; Maestà for Siena Cathedral, 78; Rucellai Madonna, 14, 124 Duèze, Jacques. See John XXII, Pope Du Four, Vidal, Cardinal, 134 Ecclesiasticus (Sirach). See Bible Elia, Fra, 22 Enamels, 74 En­glish manuscript illumination, 36 Erfurt Barfusserkirche, 220n10 Eucharist, 101 Eudes de Châteauroux, Cardinal, 51 Evangelists, 58, 87, 186n48 Exemplum, 105, 110 Exiit qui seminat (1279), 39, 135 Exivi de Paradiso (May 6, 1312), 52, 71, 83, 134, 135 Eyewitness, 38, 67, 191n77

Damiani of Montefalco, Francesco, Fra, 50 Davidsohn, Robert, 20 Death (Mors) (personification), 94, 100 Decontextualization, 7 de’Conti, Lotario. See Innocent III, Pope

231

Index Fair, 26, 165n72 Fieschi, Ottobuono, Cardinal, 11 Florence, 25, 37, 38, 66, 71, 74, 95, 107, 110, 111, 115, 118, 123, 179n17; Angevin signoria, 74; ­bishop, 4; flood (1333), 60; Oltrarno, 11; Piazza San Marco, 1; Via Cocomero (now Via Ricasoli), 1 Palazzo del Bargello, 118; Cappella della Maddalena, 118 Palazzo Vecchio, 118; ballatoio (gallery), 101; tower, 101 See also Florence, churches Florence, churches: Ognissanti, 10; Orsanmichele, 13; San Lorenzo, 1; Santa Cecilia, 182n28; Santa Maria sopr’Arno, 50, 176n8; Sant’Antonio monastery, 1; Santa Trinita, 10 Duomo, 1, 50; high altarpiece, 126; tomb of Bishop Antonio d’Orso di Biliotto, 5, 126 Santa Croce, ix, 7, 11, 22, 27, 28, 49, 50, 52, 55, 57, 61, 63, 70, 74, 77, 115, 119, 120, 122, 125, 183n30; book cupboard/library, 52, 70, 176n8; Cappella Bardi, 52, 53, 56, 64, 68, 84, 187n82; Cappella Bardi a Vernio, 186n44; Cappella Baroncelli, 7, 58, 84, 119, 120, 145n23; Cappella Cerchi, 51, 136; Cappella Peruzzi, 53, 56, 58, 187n82; Cappella Tolosini, 53, 56; Cappella Velluti, 57, 71, 119, 186n43; choir chapel, 52, 53, 56;

choir screen, 53; Compagnia di Santa Maria delle Laude, 55, 56, 124, 184n35; custos, 56, 95; friars, 51, 71; high altar, 53, 56, 59, 120, 125; Miracle of Monte Gargano (Cappella Velluti), 58; Operai, 53, 55; piscina, 53; sacristy, 34; stained glass, 57, 71; studium generale, 78, 179n19; titulus, 52, 70; tomb of Gastone della Torre, 55, 125, 126; transept, 55, 56, 122, 125, 136 Santa Maria Novella, 52, 84, 124; Cappella Strozzi, 84; chap­ terhouse, 193n96, 194n97; Compagnia dei Laudesi, 124 Fogg Art Museum, 34 Folding triptych, 101, 216n78 Fortitudo. See Strength (Fortitudo) Fourth Lateran Council (1215), 65, 73, 188n55 Frames/framing motifs, 25, 43, 68, 90, 173n119 Francesco da Barberino, 4, 5, 126 Francis of Assisi, Saint, 8, 19, 22, 33, 57, 61, 63, 65, 67, 73, 76, 98, 111; Alter Christus, 41, 66, 69 Life: admonitions, 23; Angel of the Sixth Seal, 91, 104, 106, 206n29; approval of the Franciscan Rule, 24; canonization, 67; death, 66, 191n74; dream of Pope Innocent III, 24, 34; fifth (side) wound, 67, 72, 168n90, 191n76; miracle at Greccio, 63; miracles, 23, 24,

232

Index 62; posthumous miracles, 23, 30, 112; receives the stigmata, 35, 69, 70, 71; relics, 111; sermon to the Birds near Be­ vagna, 24, 63; Stigmatization, 24, 29, 38, 39, 67; tomb, 89, 111 Franciscan Order, 8, 19, 20, 24, 44, 61, 62, 69, 74, 83, 86, 102, 105, 106, 110, 115, 116, 122, 126, 127; cardinal protector, 100, 134; community, 49, 53, 71, 77, 84, 95, 104, 110, 174n1; Constitutions of Assisi (1316), 88; cult of Francis, 25; custodies, 94; Franciscan penitence, 100; Franciscan Virtues, 59; Franciscan vows, 102; Fraticelli (see Franciscan Order: Spiritual Franciscans); habit, 22, 23, 61, 71, 72, 74, 93, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 151n13, 187n54, 194n95, 195n97, 197n106; legislation, 105, 191n74, 195n98; provincial ministers, 49, 62, 66, 95, 104, 174n2, 219n96; Rule, 22, 49, 66, 71, 107, 191n73; Spiritual Franciscans, 49, 71, 72, 77, 84, 94, 95, 104, 204n19; Third Order (Tertiaries), 158n50 General chapters: Assisi, 133; Barcelona, 134; Naples, 84, 88, 134, 204n19; Narbonne, 30, 157n48, 195n97, 200n6; Padua, 134; Paris, 30, 43, 158n49, 195n98; Pisa, 30, 157n48, 195n97; Toulouse, 134 French illuminated manuscripts, 108

Fresco technique, 60, 66, 76, 85, 87, 108, 121 Frescoed altarpieces, 28, 29 Gaddi, Taddeo, 34, 119, 121, 223n118; Stigmatization, 34, 163n67 Galilei, Alessandro, 32 Gambacorta family, 28, 29, 34 Gentile da Montefiore, Cardinal, 41, 42, 93, 133, 134, 135, 137 Geoffroy, Raymond, 71, 133, 172n113 Gethsemane, 69 Gherardo da Villamagna, Blessed, 56 Ghibellines, 26, 87, 107 Ghiberti, Lorenzo, 7, 9 Gibbon, Edward, viii Gilbert of Sempringham, Saint, 34 Giotto di Bondone, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 11, 12, 14, 19, 20, 23, 26, 38, 43, 44, 45, 56, 68, 71, 74, 78, 109, 112, 115, 125, 126, 136, 148n47, 226n15; architecture, 1; biography, 2, 8; children, 6, 110, 121; color, 62, 71, 72, 110; literary legend, 1; sense of humor, 1, 5, 6, 13, 144n18; signature, 43. See also Giotto di Bondone, works Giotto di Bondone, works Assisi: Gloriosus Franciscus, 107; Magdalen Chapel, 109; Marriage of Francis with Lady Poverty, 97, 107; San Francesco, Lower Church, 109; St. Nicholas Chapel, 109, 124, 201n7; Vele, 22, 88, 97, 106, 109, 112, 116, 117, 123, 124, 126, 127

233

Index Giotto di Bondone, works (continued) Bologna: polyptych, 22, 124 Florence: Palazzo del Bargello, Cappella della Maddalena, 118; cathedral high altarpiece, 126; Ognissanti Madonna, 10, 21; Ricorboli Madonna, 13; Santa Maria Novella Crucifix, 40, 44 Santa Croce: Annunciation to Zacharias, 126; Apparition of Saint Francis at the Chapter of Arles, 59, 62, 64, 65, 67, 72, 75, 97, 99, 106, 107, 112, 116, 121; Approval of the Franciscan Rule, 61, 64, 72, 73, 75; Bardi Chapel, 21, 54, 56, 57, 58, 62, 63, 75, 90, 98, 106, 111, 115, 119, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127; Baroncelli polyptych, 7, 14, 22, 119, 124, 125; Death of Francis, 67, 72, 75; fictive architecture, 59, 60, 63, 97; Francis Renounces His Inheritance, 59, 63, 94, 107; Obedience, 59, 63, 98; Saint Clare, 60, 73; Saint Louis of Toulouse, 60, 73; Stigma­tization, 36, 41, 45, 59, 63, 68; Trial by Fire, 59, 62, 64, 73; Vision of Fra Agostino, 59, 67, 12 Naples, 147n35 Padua Arena Chapel, 6, 21, 67, 75, 78, 85, 90, 92, 107, 117, 124; Adoration of the Magi, 6, 32; Betrayal, 64; Capture of Christ, 73; Charity (Caritas), 96; Envy, 4, 141n10; Last Judgment, 12, 13, 86, 117; Mocking of Christ, 224n6;

Prudence, 98; Virtues and Vices, 97; Visitation, 64 Pisa: Approval of the Franciscan Rule, 35, 64; Dream of Innocent III, 35, 38, 111; Preaching to the Birds, 35, 36; Stigmatization, 22, 24, 25, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 37, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 68, 69, 70, 76, 101, 111, 116, 117, 118, 119, 122, 127, 152n23, 153n25, 173n119 Rome: Navicella mosaic, 3; Stefaneschi triptych, ix, 43 Workshop, 12, 13, 67, 75, 76, 85, 106, 107, 108, 109, 121, 123, 124, 126, 127, 147n35 Giovanni da Murrovalle, Cardinal, 133, 175n3, 196n103 Giovanni di Balduccio, 119 Girolamo d’Ascoli. See Nicholas IV, Pope Girolamo d’Assisi, 67, 72, 191n77 Giuliano da Rimini, 85, 140n4 Giunta Pisano, 22, 23, 24, 151n15, 170n102; Assisi, 22; Pisa, 22, 23, 151n15 Giuseppe di San Donato in Poggio, Fra, 50 Glosses, 104 Gonsalvo Hispanus, 45, 56, 133, 134, 135, 174n2, 191n73, 210n45 Gosebruch, Martin, 99 Gregory IX, Pope, 33, 68, 105, 191n75 Grosseteste, Robert, 103 Guido (­bishop of Assisi), 73, 107 Guillaume de Bray, Cardinal, 67 Hagiography, 23, 31, 65, 76, 110 Haloes, 13, 56, 59, 69, 93

234

Index Hawk, 69, 93 Haymo of Faversham, Fra, 103 Henry VII of Luxembourg, Emperor, 26, 74, 196n104 Heraldry, 25, 33, 37, 43, 53, 54, 57, 74, 85, 100, 110, 111, 162n61, 167n86, 183n23, 186n43, 223n118 Hercules, 101, 216n77 Hildebert of Lavardin, 118 Hohenstaufen family, 26, 181n25 Holy Land, 64 Holy See, inventory of (1295), 35 Honorius III, Pope, 61, 91 Hope (personification), 93 Horse Tamers (Dioscuri), 32, 117 Hugh of St. Victor, 70 Humility (personification), 97, 98 Illuminato, Fra, 65, 189n64 Imitatio Christi, 66 Immunditia (Uncleanness), 100 Incendium amoris, 69 Innocent III, Pope, 24, 31, 33, 34, 91, 188n55, 190n67, 207n33; dreams, 33, 159n52, 161n58 Inquisition, 94, 105, 174n8 Inscriptions, 89, 90, 93 Interdict, 31, 88 Investiture contest, 97 Isaac Master, 6, 7, 9, 67 Ivories, 102, 103 Jacopo del Casentino, 186n46 Jacques de Vitry, Cardinal, 51 Janus, 98 Jayme II of Aragon, 83 Jews, 73, 195n101 Joachim of Fiore, 104

John XXII, Pope, 56, 62, 76, 83, 84, 88, 98, 135, 197n106, 218nn88–89 Joseph, Saint, 6, 144n18 Jubilee (1300), 134 Judas Iscariot, 73 Justinian, 4, 141n10 Key, 90 Landscape, 3, 43, 62, 69, 193n91 Laudesi companies, 55. See also Florence, churches: Santa Croce and Santa Maria Novella La Verna, 22, 24, 34, 36, 39, 40, 69, 70, 172n113 Legend of the Three Companions, 33, 92 Legendry of St. Francis, 23 Leo, 38, 39, 69 Leonardo da Vinci, 15, 148n47 Light, 7, 68, 70, 71, 72 Liturgical feasts: Invention of the Cross, 54; Stigmatization of St. Francis, 45, 133 London, 54 Lorenzetti, Pietro, 85, 88, 90, 107, 125 Louis IX, Saint, 186n47 Louis of Toulouse, Saint, 56, 57, 60, 74, 107, 111, 134, 193n103, 197n106 Louvre, 22, 24, 25, 29, 30, 41, 118, 122 Lucca, 3, 55 Ludovico da Pietralunga, Fra, 95, 131 Lust, 104 Maestro di Casole, 55, 124, 184n34 Maestro di San Francesco, 157n47

235

Index Mantegna, Andrea, viii Marble veneer, 9, 72 Marcucci, Luisa, viii Martini, Simone, 41, 125; frescoes in St. Martin Chapel, 41, 93; Pisa polyptych, 125; St. Louis of Toulouse, 93 Master of the Santa Maria Novella Cross, 44 Mathew of Aquasparta, Cardinal, 41, 42, 91, 98, 102, 103, 106, 133, 170n107 Medici family: Averardo de’, 3; Cosimo de’, 3; Grand Duke Cosimo, 53 Meiss, Millard, 6, 7 Miccoli, Giovanni, 41 Michele da Cesena, 88, 134, 204n19 Milan, 2, 116 Minoritas, 61, 70, 88 Mira circa nos (1228), 33, 67 Miracles Notre Dame (Gautier de ­Coincy), 101 Mirror, 98, 102, 103, 193n88, 213n63, 215n76, 218n88 Mnemonics, 8, 45 Model books, 36, 106, 220n102 Monaldo, Fra, 66, 67, 75 Monochrome, 64, 72, 73 Montefalco, 50 Monte Gargano, 58, 62 Montelupo, 55 “Mostra Augustea della Romanità” (1937), vii, 139n1 “Mostra Giottesca” (1937), vii Motifs, 106, 108 Munditia. See Cleanliness (Munditia) Muzio di Francesco, 87

Naples, 2, 6, 54, 74, 85, 116, 124, 126, 127; great palace Chapel, 12, 147n35; secret chapel, 12 Napoleon, 24 Narrative, 5, 30, 42, 59, 60, 62, 64, 66, 68, 69, 70, 72, 76, 78, 90, 105, 106, 110, 122, 127, 128 Neri di Ugolino, 56 Nicaea, 105 Nicholas III, Pope, 39, 84, 135 Nicholas IV, Pope, 20, 32, 36, 41, 77, 133, 134, 136, 158n50 Nicola Pisano, 224n6 Obedience, 20, 84, 97, 98, 99, 106, 212n60 Oderisio da Gubbio, 117 Offner, Richard, 21, 44 Olivi, Pierre-­Jean, 77, 103, 133, 136 Omobono of Cremona, Saint, 34 Oral tradition, 39, 67, 69 Ordinamenti di Giustizia (1293), 54 Orsini family, 13; Giangaetano (d. ca. 1292), 68, 100; Giovanni Gaetano (see Nicholas III, Pope); Napoleone, Cardinal, 28, 84, 100, 135 Orvieto: San Domenico, 68 Oxford, 103 Pacificus, Fra, 92 Padua, 2 , 12, 27, 116; Arena, 21; Arena Chapel, viii, 4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 21, 150n9; Campanile, viii; Eremitani, Ovetari Chapel, viii; Santo (Sant’Antonio), 52, 77 Papal camera, 34, 54

236

Index Papal consistory, 35, 72, 84, 164n70 Papal inventory (1311), 98, 213n65 Papal tiara, 35 Parallelism, 64 Paratactic composition, 67, 96 Parente di Giotto, 108, 110 Paris: Notre-­Dame, 213n68; University, 88 Parrhasius, 4 Patronage, 8, 25, 27, 45, 76, 87, 104, 108, 110, 115, 122 Patroni. See stencils Pecham, John, Fra, 103 Pegolotti, Francesco, 182n27 Penitence, 101, 102, 215n76 Penitential handbooks, 97 Pentecost, 41, 170n105, 217n85 Personification, 59, 95, 97, 100, 101, 105, 110 Perugia, 98, 137 Peruzzi family, 4, 11, 25, 51, 208n39; Donato di Arnaldo, 28, 54, 136, 182n28, 197n105 Peter, Saint, 32, 33, 161n58, 162n60 Peterborough Psalter, 218m88 Petrarch, 2, 14, 118; Madonna (Giotto), 14 Petroni, Riccardo, Cardinal, 125 Physiologus, 99 Pietro da Morrone. See Celestine V, Pope Pilgrims/pilgrimage, 62, 86, 87, 172n113, 203n15 Pisa, 2, 8, 14, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 31, 37, 38, 40, 45, 55, 70, 71, 110, 111; Camposanto, 34; Hospital Church of Santa Chiara, 44,

135; interdict, 158n50; Kinzica, 28; Operaio (San Francesco), 29, 135; San Domenico, 125; San Francesco, 23, 25, 28, 68, 111, 116, 119, 121, 122, 135, 162n64; San Lorenzo a Rivolta, 29, 157n46; San Piero a Grado, 32, 33, 37 Piscina, 53, 103 Pistoia: San Domenico, 190n72; San Francesco, 85 Pliny, 9 Plutarch, 13, 111 Polyptychs, 7, 14, 56, 108, 119, 120, 125 Pomposa Abbey Chapterhouse, 99, 192n72 Pontano, Teobaldo, 136 Poverty/voluntary poverty (paupertas), 6, 51, 61, 84, 88, 177n12 Prato: San Francesco, 85 Preaching, 25, 33, 35, 36, 38, 78, 101, 105 Predella, 43, 44, 45, 64, 116, 119, 122, 173n123 Presumption. See Superbia Prisciani tomb, 65, 189n65 Provence, 62, 66, 190n69 Province of St. Francis, 50 Provins, 26 Prudence (personification), 97, 98 Pseudo-­Dionysius: Celestial Hierarchy, 70, 92; Treatise on the Divine Names, 102 Psychomachia, 100, 215n71 Punches, 125 Purity, 84, 100, 102 Quorundam Exigit, 84

237

Index Radicofani, 56 Ratzinger, Joseph. See Benedict XVI, Pope Ravenna, 117 Refectory, 111 Regula Bullata (1223), 61, 188n56 Relics, 111 Riccobaldo of Ferrara, 12 Ricuccio del fu Puccio del Magnaio, 14, 44 Rimini, 116 Rinaldo of Jenne. See Alexander IV, Pope Rintelen, Friedrich, 14, 62 Robert I d’Anjou, 1, 8, 12, 74, 88, 116, 197n105 Roman Church, 41, 122 Rome, 2, 9, 27, 32, 43, 63, 116, 117, 118; Capitol, 28; Lateran Palace, 11, 32, 97; Quirinal Hill, 32, 117; Sancta Sanctorum, 11; San Paolo fuori le mura, 91; Sant’Adriano in Foro, 84; Santa Maria Maggiore, 21; St. John Lateran (San Giovanni in Laterano), 11, 23, 32, 118, 160n53 Santa Maria in Aracoeli, viii, 27, 28, 29; Colonna Chapel, 28; Co­ lonna mosaic, 27; Savelli ­Chapel, 28 St. Peter’s, 33, 64, 87; apse mosaic, 91, 207n33; atrium, 3; Navicella mosaic, 3; necrology, 2; tomb chapel of Boniface VIII, 85, 134 Rose, 93, 131, 209n40

Ruota di Guidoccio, 55 Russi, Lapa, 55, 136 Sacchetti, Franco, 1, 5, 6, 13, 108, 139n1, 144n18, 147n47; Novelle, 5, 13 Sacrum Commercium S. Francisci cum Domina Paupertate, 94, 95, 102, 209n43 Salimbene de Adam, Fra, 162n64, 170n113 Sancia da Majorca, Queen, 88, 204n19 San Piero a Grado. See Pisa: San Piero a Grado San Quirico d’Orcia, 97 Sansepolcro, 38 Sassetta, 38 Sassone, Aduardo di Pietro, 28, 155n39 Savelli, 28 Schwarz, Michael, 32 Scourge, 100 Scrovegni, Enrico, viii, 12, 13, 21, 27 Seals, 41, 91, 94, 170n105, 171n107 Šempeter, 65 Sens de lecture, 29, 78 Seraph, 39, 40, 41, 69, 70 Sermons, 25, 33, 66, 110, 172n113, 199n114 Servosanta da Faenza, Fra, 78, 199n114 Severino del fu, Iacopo, 27, 55, 154n37 Shields, 25, 37, 45 Siege of the Castle of Love, 102, 103 Siena, 85; Duomo, 5; high altarpiece, 78; tomb of Cardinal Riccardo Petroni, 125 Signatures, 22, 143n16, 152n23, 223n117 Simon (son of Onias), 33, 162n63 Sinopia (underdrawing), 107

238

Index Slovenia, 65 Solomon, 65 Sortes biblicae, 38, 168n93 Sparrow hawk, 36, 69, 95 Specularity, 69 Spinelli family, 25 Stained glass, 71, 119, 225n11 Stefaneschi, Giacomo Gaetani, Cardinal, ix, 12, 13, 100 Stencils, 108 Stigmatization. See Francis of Assisi, Saint: Life; Giotto di Bondone, works: Florence and Pisa Strasbourg Cathedral, 209n40 Strength (Fortitudo) (personification), 100, 102 Studium generale. See Florence, churches: Santa Croce Superbia (personification), 99 Suppedaneum, 70 Tagliacozzo battle (1268), 26 Tarlati, Guido, 125 Terra di Lavoro, 62 Theodoric, Cardinal, 31 Thomas, Saint, 67, 192n82 Thomas Aquinas, Saint, 97; Summa Theologiae, 97, 215n73; Treatise on the Divine Names of Pseudo­Dionysius, 102 Thomas of Celano, Fra, 34, 36, 39, 40, 43, 63, 65, 69; Legenda Chori, 40; Tractatus de Miraculis, 23, 98; Vita Prima, 23, 39, 40, 63, 65, 190n69; Vita Secunda, 98 Thomas of Eccleston, Fra, 39, 103

Throne, 65, 73, 91, 205n22, 207n35 Tino di Camaino, 5, 125, 126, 143n16, 183n32, 193n82, 226n17 Titulus, 57, 70, 71, 120, 204n21 Todi, 105 Tolomei, Andrea, Fra, 51 Tolosini, 53, 56, 199n113 Tombs, 27, 28, 53, 65, 68, 85 Tomb slabs, 28, 155n39 Torriti, Jacopo, 32, 36 Treviso: San Niccolò Chapterhouse, 99, 192n72 Trial by ordeal, 65, 190n67 Triptych, 101, 157n47, 216n78 Troyes: St. Urbain, 104 True Cross, 55 Ubertino da Casale, 42, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 55, 61, 77, 95, 104, 136, 178n14 Ugolino di Nerio, 56; high altarpiece for Santa Croce, 56, 124, 125, 126 Umbria, 50, 62, 95 Umiliati Order, 10, 116 Uncleanness. See Immunditia (Uncleanness) Urban IV, Pope, 104, 181n25 Usus pauper, 72, 83, 95 Vanni Fucci, 95 Vasari, Giorgio, 7, 8, 9, 11, 13, 14, 146n26; Vite, 9 Velluti family: Alessandro, 57, 136, 186n43; chapel (see Florence, churches: Santa Croce); coat of arms, 186n43; cronaca domes-

239

Index Velluti family (continued) tica, 57; Donato di Berto, 57; Monna Gemma, 57, 58, 186n43 Venice, 134 Veroni, Francesco, Fra, 104 Vienne Church Council (1311–1312), 49, 51, 52, 71 Viewpoint, 78, 88 Villani, Giovanni, 1, 4, 5, 27, 55, 140n2, 182n29 Virtues and vices, 97, 103 Visconti, Azzone, 1, 12, 116 Visconti, Federigo, 25, 33, 37, 51 Visions, 34, 62, 66, 163n69

Vita panels, 23, 30, 43 Vittorio, Emmanuele, vii White, John, xi Workshop, 7, 12, 21, 32, 67, 85, 108, 121. See also Giotto di Bondone, works Yoke, 99, 131, 213n66 Zanardi, Bruno, 20 Zeri, Frederico, 20 Zliten (Libya), 166n79

240