Artistic Circulation between Early Modern Spain and Italy 9781138605817, 9780429467936

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series
Title
Copyright
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Introduction: Spanish Italy/Italian Spain
1 Domenico Fancelli and the Tomb of the Catholic Kings: Carrara, Italian Wars and the Spanish Renaissance
2 The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal (“El Tostado”) in the Cathedral of Ávila—The Monumentalization of the “Autorbild”
3 Architecture of the Retablo between Spain and Italy: On the Work of Jacopo L’Indaco, Alonso Berruguete and Diego de Siloé (1520–1530)
4 An Italian Fountain for the Emperor: The Fuente del Águila (1539)
5 Michelangelo Re-read: A Note on the Reception of His Pictorial Language in Spanish Sculpture of the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century
6 Circulation of Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire: The Case of Martino Regio’s Genoese Workshop and the Multiple Variations of His Name
7 Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus
8 Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries: Italian Books in the Collections of Velázquez, Carducho and Guerra Coronel
9 Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville Through Originals, Copies and Prints
10 Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections: The Legacy of the Iberian Journey of Cosimo III de’ Medici
Bibliography
Author Biographies
Index

Citation preview

Artistic Circulation between Early Modern Spain and Italy

This collection of essays by major scholars in the field explores how the rich intersections between Italy and Spain during the early modern period resulted in a confluence of cultural ideals. Various means of exchange and convergence are explored through two main catalysts: humans—their trips or resettlements—and objects—such as books, paintings, sculptures, and prints. The visual and textual evidence of the transmission of ideas, iconographies and styles are examined, such as triumphal ephemera, treatises on painting, the social status of the artist, collections and their display, church decoration, and funerary monuments, providing a more nuanced understanding of the exchanges of styles, forms and ideals across southern Europe. Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio is Professor of Art History at the University of Vermont, USA. Tommaso Mozzati is Assistant Professor of the Università degli Studi of Perugia, Italy.

Visual Culture in Early Modernity Series Editor Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio University of Vermont

A forum for the critical inquiry of the visual arts in the early modern world, Visual Culture in Early Modernity promotes new models of inquiry and new narratives of early modern art and its history. The range of topics covered in this series includes, but is not limited to, painting, sculpture and architecture as well as material objects, such as domestic furnishings, religious and/or ritual accessories, costume, scientific/medical apparata, erotica, ephemera and printed matter. Renaissance Porticoes and Painted Pergolas Nature and Culture in Early Modern Italy Natsumi Nonaka and Federico Barocci Inspiration and Innovation in Early Modern Italy Edited by Judith W. Mann The Realism of Piero della Francesca Joost Keizer Thresholds and Boundaries Liminality in Netherlandish Art (1385–1550) Lynn F. Jacobs Images of Sex and Desire in Renaissance Art and Culture Edited by Angeliki Pollali and Berthold Hub Art and Reform in the Late Renaissance After Trent Edited by Jesse M. Locker Artistic Circulation between Early Modern Spain and Italy Edited by Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati Architectural Rhetoric and the Iconography of Authority in Colonial Mexico The Casa de Montejo C. Cody Barteet For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/Visual-Culturein-Early-Modernity/book-series/ASHSER2107

Artistic Circulation between Early Modern Spain and Italy Edited by Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati

First published 2020 by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Taylor & Francis The right of Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-60581-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-46793-6 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of Illustrationsvii Acknowledgmentsxii

Introduction: Spanish Italy/Italian Spain

1

KELLEY HELMSTUTLER DI DIO AND TOMMASO MOZZATI

  1 Domenico Fancelli and the Tomb of the Catholic Kings: Carrara, Italian Wars and the Spanish Renaissance

21

MICHELA ZURLA

  2 The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal (“El Tostado”) in the Cathedral of Ávila—The Monumentalization of the “Autorbild”

38

JOHANNES RÖLL

  3 Architecture of the Retablo between Spain and Italy: On the Work of Jacopo L’Indaco, Alonso Berruguete and Diego de Siloé (1520–1530)

56

CARLOS PLAZA

  4 An Italian Fountain for the Emperor: The Fuente del Águila (1539)

78

MARÍA JOSÉ REDONDO CANTERA

  5 Michelangelo Re-read: A Note on the Reception of His Pictorial Language in Spanish Sculpture of the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century

100

MANUEL ARIAS MARTÍNEZ

  6 Circulation of Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire: The Case of Martino Regio’s Genoese Workshop and the Multiple Variations of His Name

109

FERNANDO LOFFREDO

  7 Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus LISANDRA ESTEVEZ

131

vi  Contents   8 Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries: Italian Books in the Collections of Velázquez, Carducho and Guerra Coronel

152

MARTA CACHO CASAL

  9 Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville Through Originals, Copies and Prints

173

RAFAEL JAPÓN

10 Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections: The Legacy of the Iberian Journey of Cosimo III de’ Medici

192

MIGUEL TAÍN GUZMÁN

Bibliography208 Author Biographies236 Index240

Illustrations

Cover: Francesco Niculoso Pisano, tile in the convent of Santa Ana, Seville (photo: José Luis Filpo Cabana)

Spanish Italy/Italian Spain Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati   0.1

Alonso Berruguete, The Coronation of the Virgin with Angels, c. 1517, Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Louvre).   0.2 Enrique Egas, Capilla Real, Granada, 1504–1517 (photo by Olivier Bruchez).   0.3 Escorial high altar chapel, Basilica of San Lorenzo, El Escorial, 1579–1588 (photo by Kelley Di Dio).   0.4 Copy of the Mariblanca, Puerta del Sol. Original purchased in 1619; copy from 1985 (photo by Magerit-Luis Montes).

3 7 9 12

Domenico Fancelli and the Tomb of the Catholic Kings: Carrara, Italian Wars and the Spanish Renaissance Michela Zurla   1.1   1.2   1.3   1.4

Domenico Fancelli, Putto with a pomegranate (part of the Tomb of the Catholic Kings), 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author). Domenico Fancelli, Eve with her children (part of the Tomb of the Catholic Kings), 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author). Domenico Fancelli, Baptism of Christ (part of the Tomb of the Catholic Kings), 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author). Girolamo Viscardi, Baptism of Christ (part of the Altar of the Holy Trinity), 1507, Abbey Church of the Holy Trinity, Fécamp. (photo by the author).

26 28 29 31

viii  Illustrations

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal (“El Tostado”) in the Cathedral of Ávila—The Monumentalization of the “Autorbild” Johannes Röll   2.1 Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal, 1520–1524, Cathedral, Ávila (photo by the author).   2.2 Mark the Evangelist, Cathedral, Ávila (photo by the author).   2.3 Detail of the Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal, Cathedral, Ávila (photo by the author).   2.4 Alonso de Madrigal, Tostado sobre el eusebio, Salamanca, 28 September 1506, Hans Gysser of Silgenstat (upper image) and Alonso de Madrigal, Fidissimi sacrar[rum] littera[arum] Interpretis Divi Alpho[n]si Thostati Ep[iscop]i Abulensis sup[er] Paralipomenon opus preclarissimu[m], page c.[2]r, Bernardino Vercellese, 20 April 1507 (photo: British Library, London).   2.5 Alonso de Madrigal, Tostado sobre el eusebio, Salamanca, 28 September 1506, Hans Gysser of Silgenstat (left) and Alonso de Madrigal, Alphonsi Tostati Episcopi Abulen[sis] in librum Paradoxarum, ‘Joannes et Gregorius de Gregoriis’ for ‘Joannes Jacobus de Angelis’, Venice, August 1508, Title page (photo: British Library, London).   2.6 Alonso de Madrigal, Super secundum libru[m] Regu[m], printed in ‘in edibus Gregorij de Gregorijs, anno a virginali partu 1527. Die 20. mense Julij., fol. 2 recto (photo: British Library, London).   2.7 Super librum Numerorum, Venice, Peter Liechtenstein, 1528 (photo: British Library).   2.8 Alphonsi Thostati in Paralipomenon Explanatio litteralis amplissima, 1507 (upper) Alonso de Madrigal, Alphonsi Tostati Episcopi Abulen[sis] in librum Paradoxarum, ‘Joannes et Gregorius de Gregoriis’ for ‘Joannes Jacobus de Angelis’, Venice, August 1508, title page, detail (photo: British Library, London).

39 41 42

44

45 46 47

48

Architecture for the Retablo between Spain and Italy: On the Work of Jacopo L’Indaco, Alonso Berruguete and Diego de Siloé (1520–1530) Carlos Plaza   3.1

Alonso Berruguete, Retablo Mayor del Monasterio de la Mejorada, 1523–1526, Museo Nacional de Escultura, Valladolid (photo: Javier Muñoz y Paz Pastor).   3.2 Alonso Berruguete, Retablo Mayor de San Benito el Real, 1526–1532, Museo Nacional de Escultura, Valladolid (photo: Javier Muñoz y Paz Pastor).   3.3 Diego de Siloè, Retablo de San Pedro, Chapel of the Condestable, Cathedral of Burgos, 1523 (photo: Rafael Gómez).   3.4 Diego de Siloè, Retablo Mayor, Chapel of the Condestable, Cathedral of Burgos, 1523–1524 (photo: Rafael Gómez). 

64 66 69 70

Illustrations ix

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor: The Fuente del Águila (1539) María José Redondo Cantera   4.1 Silvio Cosini (attr.), Fontana dei Delfini, ca. 1530s–1540s, Palazzo Doria, Genoa (photo by the author).   4.2 Copy of the Fuente del Águila, 2000, Universidad María Cristina, El Escorial (photo by the author).   4.3 Tritons, copy of the Fuente del Águila (photo by the author).   4.4 Copy of the Fuente del Águila, nudes on the middle level (photo by the author).   4.5 View of the Casa de Campo, Museo de Historia de Madrid, c.1634 (photo: trust of the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Madrid).

82 86 87 88 90

Michelangelo Re-read: A Note on the Reception of His Pictorial Language in Spanish Sculpture of the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century Manuel Arias Martínez   5.1

Michelangelo Buonarroti, Orazione nell’orto, Gabinetto dei Disegni e delle Stampe degli Uffizi, Inv. GDSU n. 230 F (photo: Galleria degli Uffizi).   5.2 Juan Fernández de Vallejo, Agony in the Garden, high altar, Lanciego, 1567–1569 (photo by the author).   5.3 Pedro de Arbulo, Prayer in the Garden, from the Monasterio de la Estrella, 1596. Museo de La Rioja (photo by the author).

101 103 105

Circulation of Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire: The Case of Martino Regio’s Genoese Workshop and the Multiple Variations of His Name Fernando Loffredo   6.1   6.2   6.3   6.4   6.5   6.6

Martino Regio, Leonardo Spinola, c. 1624, Genoa, Palazzo San Giorgio (photo: courtesy of Fondazione Spinola); and St. Bridget, late 1620s, Genoa, Arco di Santa Brigida (photo by Mariangela Bruno). Martino Regio, Andrea Costa, c. 1642, and Giovan Battista Sisto, c. 1620, Genoa, Ospedale di San Martino (photo: courtesy of Luciano Rosselli). Martino Regio, St. George, c. 1626, Genoa, San Pietro in Banchi (photo by Mariangela Bruno); and Virgin and Child, Staiti, Santa Maria della Vittoria, 1622 (photo by the author). Martino Regio, Hercules Slaying the Hydra, 1638, Aranjuez, Jardín de la Isla (photo by the author). Martino Regio, St. Francis and St. Jerome, 1608–1613, Varese, Sacro Monte (photo by the author). Martino Regio, The Flagellation, and in the background, Morazzone, fresco scenes of the Passion of Christ, 1608–1613, Varese, Sacro Monte, Chapel of the Flagellation (photo by the author). 

111 112 114 116 118 120

x  Illustrations   6.7 Martino Regio, detail of a Flagellator; in the background, Morazzone, detail of a Flagellator, 1608–1613, Varese, Sacro Monte, Chapel of the Flagellation (photo by the author).

121

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus Lisandra Estevez   7.1 After Jusepe de Ribera, Saint Martin and the Beggar, plate 48 from Giovanni Bodoni, Le più insigni pitture Parmensi: indicate agli amatori delle belle arti, engravings by Francesco Rosaspina after Francisco Vieira (Parma: Dalla Tipografia Bodoniana, 1809), Getty Research Institute (photo: Getty).   7.2 El Greco, Saint Martin and the Beggar, 1597–1599, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (photo: National Gallery of Art).   7.3 Jusepe de Ribera, Susannah and the Elders, ca. 1617–1618, private collection (photo: The Picture Art Collection / Alamy Stock Photo).   7.4 Annibale Carracci, Susannah and the Elders, c.1590–1595, The British Museum, London (photo: The Trustees of the British Museum).

134 137 140 143

Courtiers, Compasses, Fables and Dictionaries: Italian Books in the Collections of Velázquez, Carducho and Guerra Coronel Marta Cacho Casal   8.1 Patricio Cajés, title-page from the Regla de las cinco órdenes de Arquitectura, 1593, engraving and etching, National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London (photo: Victoria and Albert Museum).156   8.2 Francisco Fernández, title-page from Vicente Carducho, Diálogos de la Pintura, Madrid, 1633 (colophon 1634), Engraving and etching, The Warburg Institute, London (photo by the author). 158   8.3 Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo, The Family of the Painter, 1664–1665, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (photo: Kunsthistorisches Museum). 163   8.4 Anon., Personification of Pazzia, from Cesare Ripa, Iconologia, woodcut, Padua, 1624–1625, The Warburg Institute, London (photo by the author). 166

Guido Reni in Seville: Originals, Copies, Engraving and Influence Rafael Japón   9.1   9.2   9.3

Guido Reni, Immaculate Conception, 1627, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (photo: the Metropolitan Museum of Art). Guido Reni, The Coronation of the Virgin, c. 1607, bequeathed by William Wells, 1847 (NG214). National Gallery (photo: The National Gallery, London / Art Resource, NY). Francisco Pacheco, Christ Served by Angels, ca. 1615, Ville de Castres - Musée Goya, Musée d’Art Hispanique (photo: Musée Goya).

174 177 180

Illustrations xi   9.4 Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, The Immaculate Conception of the Venerable Ones, or of ‘Soult’, ca. 1678. Museo del Prado, Madrid (photo: Museo Nacional de Prado / Art Resource, NY).   9.5 Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Saint Felix of Cantalice holds the Christ Child, ca. 1664–1666. Museo de Bellas Artes, Seville (photo: Museo de Bellas Artes).   9.6 Guido Reni, Saint Joseph and the Christ Child, 1640, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (photo: Art Resource, NY).

183 184 185

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections: The Legacy of the Iberian Journey of Cosimo III de’ Medici Miguel Taín Guzmán 10.1 Engraving of Cosimo III, made just a few months after travelling to Compostela; anonymous; 1670, collection of Fernando Reyes (photo courtesy of the owner). 10.2 Map of Spain showing the route of the journey by Cosimo III (computer graphics by Miguel Cajigal). 10.3 Portrait of Mariana of Austria, c. 1667, Galleria Palatina, Florence (photo by the author). 10.4 Portrait of the child King Carlos II of Spain, c. 1667, Galleria Palatina, Florence (photo by the author).

Plates 1. Domenico Fancelli, Tomb of the Catholic Kings, 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author). 2. Jacopo L’Indaco, Retablo de la Santa Cruz, 1521, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author). 3. Eusebius, Cronaca, around 1488–1489; MSS Illuminados 117–121, Biblioteca Nacional, Lisbon (photo by the author).  4. View of the gardens of the Casa de Campo with the statue of Philip III, 1634, Museo de Historia de Madrid, Madrid (photo: Museo Nacional del Prado). 5. Pedro de Arbulo, Oration in the Garden, high altar, Desojo, 1571–1579 (photo by the author). 6. Jusepe de Ribera, The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence, c. 1620–1624, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne (photo: National Gallery of Victoria). 7. Diego Velázquez, The Jester Calabazas, 1631–1632, the Cleveland Museum of Art, purchased with funds donated by Allan and Maria Myers and Andrew Sisson, 2006.390 (photo: Cleveland Museum of Art). 8.  The Virgin of the Kings, Cathedral of Seville; Ufficio di Ricerche de la Soprintendenza per I Beni Artistici e Storici, Florence, inv. 1890, n. 2210 (photo by the author).

193 194 196 198

Acknowledgments

We wish to thank Harvard’s Institute for Renaissance Studies ‘I Tatti’, where we first met and began thinking of ways to bring our research together. Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio is thankful for the institutional support received from the University of Vermont, and is especially grateful for the help of her fantastic research assistant, Alice Matthews. Tommaso Mozzati is grateful to Alessandro Nova for his constant help and useful suggestions; his gratitude also goes to the Kunsthistorisches Institut and all its staff for the years of research spent in Via Giusti. Mozzati also wishes to thank Denise Allen and the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts Department of the Metropolitan Museum of Art for their generous support.

Introduction Spanish Italy/Italian Spain Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati

The rich intersections between Italy and Spain during the early modern period resulted in a confluence of cultural ideals. Italy’s artistic ideals, and identity as a well-­established artistic and cultural force since the very beginning of the sixteenth century, appealed to the Spanish crown.1 In particular, Italy’s roots in Roman antiquity and the humanistic revival, which had been nurtured through the Quattrocento from north to south, from Milan to Naples (cities, consequently, under Spanish rule, and through which, along with others, cultural and artistic exchanges were conducted) aligned with the stylistic and iconographic preferences of the Spanish courts. But Italian art and ideas did not displace those of the Iberian Peninsula, nor were they merely tacked on like fancy ornaments. Instead, the forms and styles of Italian cities, when merged with those of Spain, produced a koiné that well suited the Spanish court’s political ambitions and piety. Spanish artists and art forms likewise informed new perspectives in Italian visual culture. Cities under Habsburg rule, like Milan and Naples, perhaps saw the influx of these objects and ideals first, but the impact they had outside of Habsburg territory was nevertheless significant. In this volume, various means of exchange and convergence are explored through two main catalysts: humans—their trips or court visits, or resettlements—and objects—such as books, paintings, sculptures and prints. The visual and textual evidence of the transmission of ideas, iconographies and styles are examined, such as triumphal ephemera, treatises on painting, the social status of the artist, collections and their display, church decoration and funerary monuments. As is brought to light here, Italian artists working in Spain or for Spain, many of whom came from Spanish Italian cities or the cities otherwise tied to Spain, like Florence, created a new, international language where elements from their native cultures cohabited with the exigencies and traditions of Spanish court and some formed communities of foreign artists, like the Tuscan artists did in Madrid. The interest in art forms current in Italy began in the time of Isabel la Católica of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragón. Their marriage forged together their kingdoms and together they began wide-scale building and decorative programs, which included the involvement of “maestranze” from Italy or Flanders (or local artists aware of the artistic ideas coming from those countries). Concurrently, some areas of Spain sought to renew its ancient heritage, and the Crown proclaimed itself heir to the Roman Empire.2 This political program made the Spanish monarchy turn increasingly towards Italy and its humanistic ‘revolution’, renewing its own politics of images on the model of this modern adaptation of ancient motifs. Not only did the sovereigns collect work and commission projects that conveyed their taste, they also commissioned a major

2  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati architectural project in Rome, Bramante’s Tempietto and the monastery of San Pietro in Montorio, which marked the spot of St. Peter’s martyrdom, a project undertaken by them as a means of fulfilling a vow for the birth of their first son in 1478.3 With that enterprise, they continued the preferential relationship that the Iberian world had already initiated with the pontifical court during the reign of Alexander VI Borgia, who died in 1503, granting an eminent position to the Valencian region and its representatives on the European playing field. Indeed, they were compelled to fight for dominance in Europe against France, and Italy was the battleground of this war. Spain’s efficacy in the protracted conflict, which ended in 1559, resulted in its primacy in the peninsula, with strongholds in Milan, Sardinia, Sicily and Naples. Indeed, in the places that came under Spanish rule in Italy —Naples, in particular—major building projects and other artistic commissions had been initiated by Ferdinand’s uncle Alfonso the Magnanimous, who had transformed the city into a leading center in Quattrocento visual culture (though most surveys of the period rarely acknowledge this fact). Concurrent with this political situation, by the end of the fifteenth century and first decade of the sixteenth century, Spanish artists were coming to Italy and contributing significantly to the cultural life in the cities they visited, as is the case of the ‘Maestro de Bolea’ (who worked for the Atri Cathedral).4 At the same time, an opposite wave of migration led ‘maestranze’ from the peninsula to the other side of the Mediterranean Sea, from East to West. This was the case—still during the Quattrocento—of Paolo da San Leocadio, who worked with Francesco Pagano in the Cathedral Anunciación Cathedral of Valencia between 1472 and 1481 with the support of Cardinal Rodrigo de Borgia.5 But soon after this exploit, around the very beginning of the sixteenth century, two Iberian artists, Fernando Yañez de la Almedina and Fernando Llanos, traveled to Italy, where they were in contact with Leonardo da Vinci and then came back to Spain, again to Valencia, creating the imposing altarpiece for the cathedral with the stories of the Virgin Mary.6 Just after their return—when, for the first time in the Spanish monarchy’s history, the Catholic Kings had sent a representative of their power in Rome, the influential ambassador Jerónimo Vich y V ­ alterra (Ferdinand’s emissary there since 1507)—this traffic of artistic exchanges grew in intensity.7 Alonso Berruguete, the son of the painter Pedro (who probably worked in Urbino during the 1470s), was already documented in Rome by 1508, and he is perhaps the most well studied of these presences, but Bartolomé Ordóñez and Diego de Siloé also worked on major artistic projects in Italy, particularly in the South, where they are attested around 1515 in Naples. The Italian oeuvre of Alonso, which has been contested since its first proposed reconstruction in 1953 by Roberto Longhi, surprisingly exemplifies, in a broader way, the apprenticeship of a painter, denouncing a visual culture anchored in contemporary Florentine figurative trends between Michelangelo, Raphael and the crowded atelier of Andrea del Sarto. To this very updated koiné, close to contemporary experiments by Rosso and Pontormo, Berruguete adds the free handling of the brush, devoted to ghostly effects (like in the autograph parts of the San Girolamo and San Francesco alla Costa altarpiece and San Francesco alla Costa, made for Florence and now in Paris, Musée du Louvre, dated around 1517; Figure 0.1), together with an even freer compositional inspiration (as is the case of the Borghese Madonna and Child with Saint John)—original formal values that could have had a certain echo in the context of Tuscan artistic society, if we think that Alonso’s fame during his stay between Florence and Rome assured him a place in 1510 with Jacopo Sansovino, Domenico Aimo and Zaccaria Zacchi

Figure 0.1 Alonso Berruguete, The Coronation of the Virgin with Angels, c. 1517, Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Louvre).

4  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati amidst the sculptors summoned to the Vatican Belvedere to realize a copy of the Laocoön, under the supervision of Bramante.8 Ordóñez and Siloé, for their part, divided their sojourn between Campania and, probably, Carrara. Their virtuosic expertise in working marble demonstrates a certain acquaintance with the stoneworkers gathered around the Apuan quarries (where, later on in the century, Ordóñez held his own fondaco, until his death in 1520). It is even more significant that the extraordinary quality of their works was passed on to sculptors such as Girolamo Santacroce, who collaborated with them around 1516 for the Caracciolo altar in San Giovanni in Carbonara. The Caracciolo altar was immediately recognized as an undisputed masterpiece, and was celebrated in 1524 in a letter to Marcantonio Michiel from Pietro Summonte, in which the most important Neapolitan works of art of the time are described. However, the presence of Ordóñez and Siloé in the southern metropolis, once the capital of the Aragonese vice-realm and at that time one of the most important cities under the dominion of the Catholic Kings, followed other extended stays of Iberian artists.9 Limiting the analysis to the very beginning of the sixteenth century, Pedro Fernández is a notable exemplar. He was in Lombardy and Rome, where he arrived during the very first years of the decade. He worked in Naples around 1508, and his last paintings for the city date back to 1512–1513. He proposed to the municipal religious patronage (in primis the church San Domenico Maggiore) a very peculiar declination of a leonardesque lexicon, which pre-dated even the lesson imported to southern Italy by more direct followers of the master, like Cesare da Sesto. In doing so, Fernández contributed to a new vogue in the pictorial tendencies of the realm, testified by the simultaneous updating of painters as Andrea da Salerno in the language of Leonardo and Raphael.10 During these same years, Domenico Fancelli traveled to Andalusia to build the sepulcher of the Cardinal Diego Hurtado de Mendoza in the Cathedral of Santa María de la Sede of Seville around 1509, and then received prestigious commissions from the sovereigns’ entourage, starting from the tomb of Prince Juan in Santo Tomás of Ávila.11 These projects initiated a particular new trend in Spain, updating the tastes of the Crown and of its associates with the new European interest in Carrara marble and its use as a preferential medium for kingly patronage.12 Concurrently, they were part of an original search for a language ‘a la romana,’ as it is often specified in the contracts (including that of Mendoza’s tomb), which became characteristic of the modern exigencies of the antiquarian allure sought out by continental monarchies. This peculiar trade of men and works—involving, in particular, Florence, Rome, and Genoa (as the most important harbor for the market of stones extracted from the Apuan quarries)—intensified the artistic circulation between Italy and Spain at the very beginning of the century. For example, marble columns and architectural decorations were brought from Liguria to the Iberian Peninsula for the construction of fortified palatial buildings all over Spain, such as La Calahorra, a commission of the Mendoza family in Andalusia, or the castle of Coca, a possession of the Fonseca near Segovia. During one of his Italian stays, between the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of sixteenth century, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar y Mendoza bought for his personal library the Codex Escurialensis, an extraordinary antiquarian notebook full of drawings after the Antique compiled in Rome at the end of Quattrocento.13 This one source encouraged a renovation of the Spanish ornamental language in a classicizing way more than any other archeological acquisition of the time. (A direct reflection of this same celebrated catalogue of graphic sources can be seen also in the

Introduction 5 decorated patio of the castle of Vélez Blanco, whose construction started at the behest of Pedro Fajardo y Chacón during the first decade of the XVI century).14 Another example of these exchanges was the practice of hiring Italian ‘maestranze’ for these same enterprises and for other important commissions, financed by the Crown and by the courtiers around Ferdinand and Isabel. Such was the case for Michele Carlone, a Lombard sculptor who worked in La Calahorra as one of the principle figures involved in that extraordinary building near Granada, a beautiful early example of the dialogue between two different architectural traditions (the Spanish and the LombardGenoese one) and the juxtaposition of forms and elements.15 In these exchanges, it is also important to keep in mind the relevance of ceramics production, which provided a rather easy way of spreading motifs and compositional ideas through the flourishing international market it enjoyed in this period. The import of Spanish majolica, influenced by Arabian techniques of manufacture, had had a great impact on central Italian production since the Quattrocento. During the following century, in return, important figures such as the members of Della Robbia family (through the European success of their works, testified in Spain by the works of Andrea in the Cathedral of Seville) or Francesco Niculoso Pisano (also employed in Seville, for example for the convents of Santa Ana and Santa Paula, from 1503 on) introduced new patterns and themes to Iberian ceramics production. In particular, the imposing interventions of Pisano, whose career abroad was rooted in the Andalusian milieu, are good examples of a compromise between an ‘all’antica’ decoration and traditional modes of glazing or employing ceramics tiles as a complement to architecture. His creations were often sent back to Italy (to Florence or Rome), and the pavements probably executed by him around 1515 for the chapel installed by Leo X in Castel Sant’Angelo adopted an arista technique common in Seville and in its surroundings, and importantly added to the Pontiff’s commission with its precious effects of luster and translucence.16 During the sixteenth century, the territories under Spain’s control through birthright, and those added through exploration and territorial warfare, made its dominion one of the most eminent presences in Europe, more so than even neighboring France. In Italy, the Duchy of Milan would be added to the Spanish possessions, and in doing so, pose a significant threat to the hegemony of the Papal States; the duchies of Savoy, Parma, Mantua, Modena, Florence, Ferrara; the Principate of Massa; the Republics of Venice, Lucca, San Marino and Genoa; and the marquisates of Saluzzo and Montferrat. The surging power of the Habsburgs was incorporated into the Spanish crown in the form of Charles I, Isabel and Ferdinand’s grandson, who was also the grandson of Maximillian I and Mary of Burgundy. Charles was officially nominated King of Castile and Aragon in 1518 and elected Roman Emperor—under the name of Charles V—one year later, in 1519, further strengthening his claim to power and his role as defender of the faith.17 Charles was naturally drawn to both Netherlandish and Italian artistic languages, but he accelerated the adaptation of a classicizing style with his patronage, especially in sculpture and architecture. In the years between 1516 and 1519, he exponentially increased his Spanish commissions, choosing to follow the path already indicated by his predecessors, so as to emphasize the legitimacy of his dynastic privilege. At the beginning he focused his attention on the Capilla Real (Figure 0.2), the royal burial chapel founded by Isabel and Ferdinand, where he ordered a decoration fully inspired by updated ‘Italianate’ taste in the paintings for the retablos as well as in the sculptural furnishings of the sacred space (here Domenico Fancelli had already built the

6  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati sepulcher for the Catholic Kings, between 1513 and 1517; see Plate 1). Thanks to these munificent interventions, the small building, originally conceived by Enrique Egas (who started to project it in 1504), became a symbol of the coexistence of traditional architectural vocabulary and allogenous choices in terms of decoration and artistic preferences. The vertical Gothic structure of the chapel is in fact tempered by the more sober, regular, ornamental patterns followed, by the Catholic Kings’ patronage in buildings like the Monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes in Toledo or the later Hospital Real in Granada. At the same time the building, which is filled with symbolism and heraldry, creates through its luxurious treasures (from the imposing reja to the classicizing altarpieces, from the tombs to the sculptural group of the Annunciation) a more intense dialogue with the ‘all’antica’ prototypes modeled on Italian examples. Significantly, it was to receive the contributions of Spanish artists such as Berruguete and Ordóñez, whose recent training had taken place in Italy, along with others who came from Florence and Tuscany in search of a generous, foreign maecenas. The Capilla Real can be read as the best example of the profitable interchanges between these diverse ‘maestranze’, which were stimulated by royal artistic patronage during the second and third decades of Cinquecento.18 The path followed by Francesco Fiorentino and Jacopo Torni, called ‘Indaco,’ is in this light, extraordinarily significant. Both were involved in the sculptural furnishing of the royal mausoleum in Granada around 1518–19 Then, later on, they took part in another important enterprise: the bell tower of the Murcia cathedral of Santa María. Started in 1519 by Francesco, the construction was undertaken by Indaco—whose qualities as an architect appear undocumented before this task—at least until 1526, when Jacopo died. The tower was then completed by Jerónimo Quijano, but its first two cuerpos, constructed under the subsequent direction of the two Tuscans, evidence a syncretism, updated to a Romanizing taste thanks to the recourse of a more conscientious use of the orders and a complex relationship with a Vitruvian orthodoxy. (Not by chance, the first Spanish translations of the classical treatise about architectural rules was completed in 1564 by Lázaro de Velasco, the son of Jacopo Torni).19 In the following years, in his travels along the Italian Peninsula, Charles admired the palaces and churches of the country, and his experiences there informed his subsequent patronage in Spain. Concurrently, local princes who were in Charles V’s favor, or wanted to be, built and decorated their residences with objects that would appeal to Charles’ interests in iconography and preferences in artistic style. Some of these artistic projects were carried out on the occasion of Charles’s tour through Italy nine years after the Sack of Rome. Indeed, in preparation for his triumphant return to Rome, the pope enacted a series of urban renewal projects that involved clearing some of the old neighborhoods, expanding the streets, and artistic projects, like the new plan for the Capitoline Hill. When Charles retired to Spain, he brought with him a taste for the antique and ambitions for celebratory memorials to his ancestors, and for building and garden design for his residences in Granada and elsewhere. Meanwhile, in Rome, the Spanish community thrived and did not exist there in a passive role; instead, as a unified whole, it inserted itself into the shaping of every aspect of Roman life, whether political, religious or social. 20 As in Naples and Milan, court representatives enjoyed high status during their time in the city, and, naturally, this was true as well for the members of the clergy who came to Rome. Many actively participated in the artistic life there. To take one example of many, the aforementioned Jerónimo Vich y Valterra was a significant patron of artists in Rome; he commissioned a triptych from Sebastiano del Piombo

Introduction 7

Figure 0.2  Enrique Egas, Capilla Real, Granada, 1504–1517 (photo by Olivier Bruchez).

(which included the Pietà, now in the Hermitage, and the Descent into Limbo, now in the Prado), and he brought back to Spain the architectural vocabulary he absorbed in the eternal city and employed it for the buildings he commissioned in Valencia.21 The viceroys in Naples that served during the reign of Charles V, beginning with Pedro de Toledo (1532–53), initiated important artistic commissions, including the construction of a new hospital, a new vice-regal residence, a new fortification and urban planning projects that included the expansion of the boundaries of the city.22 Naples flourished as a center for the production of all sorts of luxury products, particularly textiles. Likewise, the viceroys in Sicily executed innovative projects, like the series of public sculptures in Messina and urban renewal projects in Palermo. Genoa played a critical role in naval defense and trade under the able hand of Andrea Doria. In no small part, the city remained the locus of sculpture production and shipments

8  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati of marble for building and decorative projects to Spain. Important pieces of furniture from its port were shipped for the most relevant buildings whose construction was promoted by Charles, such as the imposing chimneypieces for the kingly, modern palace in the Alhambra in Granada, whose erection started after 1526. The project has been attributed to Pedro Machuca, another artist educated in Italy in the 1510s and believed to be one of the affiliates of the Roman atelier of Raphael, while the master was working for the challenging decoration of the Vatican Logge around 1518–1519. Machuca formulated a very personal declination of Raphael’s style, as seen in the Madonna del Soccorso (now at the Prado). His documented management of the construction campaign of the royal residence built for Charles V in the old Nazarí fortress in Granada seems to prove such a prestigious apprenticeship, whether this appointment was based on an autograph project for the palace, or on a plan by another Italian artist. In Milan, Spanish governors were put in place to oversee the Emperor’s interests there.23 They, too, were major players in the cultural and intellectual lives of the city. Indeed, Leone Leoni, who became the chief sculptor of Charles V, settled in Milan after working as a sort of itinerant medalist and coin maker.24 Through initial commissions for medals and a promised commission of a major monument to one of the governors, Alonso d’Avalos, Leoni came to the Emperor’s attention. Leoni was rewarded for artistic projects for the Emperor and members of the court in Brussels, Besançon, Madrid, Toledo and in Milan in a way no modern artist had been—with a house, noble titles, a hefty stipend and other benefices. His sculptural style suited the Habsburgs perfectly, as it combined just the right ratio of realism, classicism and idealism, as, for example, in the bronze bust of Charles V, now in the Prado. Leoni’s son, Pompeo, eventually traveled with some of his father’s sculptures to the court in Spain and in the end, remained there for the rest of his career working for Charles V’s son, Philip II, who initiated building on a grand scale with palaces, immense gardens and, in particular, a complex of buildings at El Escorial.25 The architectural projects were commissioned from artists well versed in Italian architecture who had the capacity to infuse it with Philip’s predilection for less ornament and a greater interest in line and geometry. The decorations of the palaces and other edifices he sponsored were predominantly Italian in style, if not in origin. Philip enriched his artistic projects and his collections by having Italian artists come to work at the court. Pompeo Leoni and his team were tasked with creating the largest bronze sculpture ensemble of the sixteenth century, the retablo and entierros for the Escorial (­Figure 0.3). The retablo was further decorated with paintings by Italian artists. Philip II was also sent many gifts of art objects from Italian princes seeking to solidify their favor with the King. They especially sent ancient sculptures and modern Venetian paintings, which continued the taste set at the court by Philip’s father. The King’s taste was mimicked by both the members of his court or those who aspired to be among those elites, following tendencies that were clear already under the reign of the Catholic Kings and of Charles V. For example, during the first quarter of the century, the patronage of the Fajardo, Mendoza and Tendilla families followed the Crown’s lead, and Cardinal Cisneros and the executors of his estate ordered his tomb in Alcalá de Henares to be a perfect replica of Ferdinand and Isabel’s own sepulcher. Several of the viceroys of Naples who served during Philip’s reign were avid collectors and patrons. Per Afan de Ribera, Juan Alonso Pimentel y Herrera and Pedro TéllezGirón commissioned art for local institutions, but also bought it in large quantities and had it shipped back to Spain at the end of their terms.26 Their collections, like that of the Crown, juxtaposed modern masterworks from Italy, Spain and Flanders with

Introduction 9

Figure 0.3 Escorial high altar chapel, Basilica of San Lorenzo, El Escorial, 1579–1588 (photo by Kelley Di Dio).

antiquities. Philip continued his great-grandparents’ investments in the building fabric of Rome, shouldering both the financial and material needs for the rebuilding of St. Peter’s. Philip III was generally a less ambitious patron than his father or grandfather, but his favorite, the Duke of Lerma, and other high-ranking members of the court dramatically increased the breadth and depth of the artistic collections in Spain and took up a wide-scale program of building and decorating churches, convents and residences throughout Spain. Artistic communities of foreigners developed in Madrid, Toledo and Seville, among others, as patrons, including the Crown, continued to favor Italian and Flemish artistic styles. Some native artists cultivated traditional forms, like polychrome sculptures, and employed a hyper-realistic style so as to evoke the greatest emotive response from their viewers.27 Such sculptures were often placed in churches alongside the elaborate altarpieces that were also a long-standing tradition in Spain,

10  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati like those by Juan de Juni in Valladolid. These retablos were a mix of Italian, Flemish and native styles and iconographical traditions, and were a continued, major focus of artistic patronage. Art collecting was a considerable occupation of the élites of Spain during this period and this interest was quickly noticed by Italian princes seeking favors. Gifts of artistic and luxury objects were sent from all over Italy.28 Artists sometimes took the opportunity to send an unsolicited work of art in hopes of receiving payment and future commissions, like Pietro Tacca, when he sent a crucifix to the King along with the equestrian monument he had made on orders of the Grand Duke.29 The Duke of Lerma was a particularly avid patron and collector, especially at the sites he owned in Valladolid and Lerma.30 Because of his position at court, he was sent gifts of exceptional artistic and intrinsic worth, such as Giambologna’s Samson and the Philistine. As shipments of works of art became more and more common, Italian sculptors began fashioning their products to withstand the difficult trip and to appeal to Spanish collectors’ taste in terms of iconography, object type and style. Religious works were a safe bet, but also those of revered objects in Italy—like the Florentine image of the Annunciation in SS. Annunziata—were emulated by Italian artists and made especially to be sent to Spanish recipients. Paintings by Venetian Renaissance artists remained the most sought-after among Italian paintings in Spain, as they had been during the reign of Philip II. Contemporary sculptures from Genoa and Florence, especially those made by Giambologna or members of his studio, were very popular, and antiquities or copies of antiquities were sent from Rome. During the time of Philip IV (r. 1621–1665), new palaces were constructed and lavishly decorated on par with the great building programs happening at most of the great European courts at this time, such as Whitehall Palace in London, the Louvre in Paris, and the vast renovation and building projects in Rome, including St. Peter’s. Philip and the other members of the Spanish élite continued the now long-standing preference for Italian and Flemish art, but also cultivated the deep wealth of Spanish artists. Philip, in particular, had one of the greatest painters of all time, Diego Velázquez, a native of Seville, at his service. Velázquez was a quick study and easily adopted and adapted the artistic approaches of Philip’s favorite painters—those of the Venetian Renaissance and the Flemish artist they inspired, Rubens—and forged a new style that had an impact on the Iberian milieu for several generations. Moreover, his two trips to Italy were critical both for his oeuvre and for the importation of sculptures from Rome, which he oversaw.31 Spanish aristocracy eagerly expanded their collections with objects from the various trade networks active and flourishing at this time, bringing objects from the New World, newly explored areas of Asia and Africa, and from all over Europe. The center of Madrid was the site of major urban planning and architectural projects as were other major cosmopolitan cities in different areas, like Seville. The surge of wealth at the private level, as opposed to the increasing financial crises of the state, translated into the building and decoration of palaces and gardens throughout the country.32 Italian merchants, taking advantage of the sustained, vibrant trade routes between Genoa, Livorno and the ports of Spain, sent sculptures in large quantities, and some merchants, like Ludovico Turchi, specialized in this import/export business.33 As a result, public sites throughout Madrid were increasingly decorated with Italian sculptures, like the so-called Mariblanca (Figure 0.4), placed in the Puerta del Sol. The end of the Spanish Habsburg line came with the end of the reign of Charles II. Financial challenges paired with crises in leadership and an infertile King were a

Introduction 11 truly unfortunate combination. On the other hand, though the King was not particularly interested in artistic patronage, the élite of Spain charged full ahead in their ambitious collecting and patronage programs. Again, those who served as viceroys in Naples took the opportunity to obtain and commission Italian art and bring it back to decorate their residences in Spain. Indeed, one of the most impressive collections in all of Europe at this time belonged to one of them—the Marques del Carpio. Several important visitors recorded their trips and remarked on their favorable impressions of the beauty of the country and its built environment. Gardens were a particular focal point for the placement of enormous sculpture collections. Church decoration became increasingly elaborate in scale and style and traditional native forms, like polychrome sculptures, found new proponents, like the great Luisa Roldán, but they were also imported with increasing frequency from Naples and Terra d’Otranto (and other sites in southern Italy), particularly during the later seventeenth century and throughout the eighteenth century. These were, of course, locales under Spanish rule, and artists there made work that would appeal to the great number of Spaniards who lived there, particularly the viceroys who would often buy works of art to take back with them to Spain at the end of their term of service.34 Meanwhile, Italian artists continued to flock to Spain and work alongside Spanish practitioners on grand decorative programs for residences and religious institutions, and Italian works of art, from antiquities to contemporary works, continued to be shipped in large numbers. Inextricably tied to the history of Spain and Spanish Italy in this period is the role of diplomacy. Viceroys from Spain stationed in Italy usually traveled with an entourage, became involved in the cultural lives of the cities where they lived, traveled to interact and see other parts of Italy, reported back to friends, family and the court about what they learned and saw in Italy and, upon their return to their native lands, took back with them all sorts of objects—furniture, books, paintings, sculptures, relics, textiles, jewelry, arms and armor, and so on. At the court in Spain, agents and ambassadors were sent with full retinues to settle at court, learn the protocols, make deals, assess activity and the mindset of the court and report back with frequency.35 They determined to whom and when a gift of art should be given and what type of object was most suitable. When gifts were sent, the ambassador or agent would be charged with presenting it to the recipient. However, before the gift arrived at court, a complex network was required to handle the making of the object (not to mention acquiring the materials and identifying the proper artist or artisan to make it), packing it up, securing its transport by land or sea (identifying and employing men, oxen, carts, ships, well-equipped docks, machinery necessary to move heavy objects, etc.), paying customs taxes, obtaining passports, men sent along with the object to do repairs as needed or install the object, and so on. Transportation companies situated at the major ports especially flourished during this time, and communities of Italians involved in the trade settled in Spain, just as the Spanish did at Italian ports. There were other types of human exchanges as well—intermarriage, for example, like the famous marriage of Cosimo I de’ Medici to Eleonora de Toledo. And, as the Italian princes sought to stabilize or improve their relations with Spain, some sought out Spanish mates for their children. Italian élites also sought out high-ranking Spaniards to be the godparents for their children as another means to tie families together. Another important means of exchange was religion. The concern for the strength of the Catholic Church was a cause fiercely taken up by the Spanish Habsburgs, who saw themselves as the defenders of the faith. As the ideals of the

12  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati

Figure 0.4 Copy of the Mariblanca, Puerta del Sol. Original purchased in 1619; copy from 1985 (photo by Magerit-Luis Montes).

Counter-Reformation spread and were adapted in Italy and Spain, certain aspects, like the teachings of renowned Spanish religious figures, like Ignatius of Loyola and Teresa of Avila, or Carlo Borromeo was from Spanish Milan, found enormous followings and eventually resulted in their canonization. In Italy, the Spanish constructed national churches dedicated to Santiago from Rome to Palermo; in Spain, the Italians similarly formed religious communities and institutions, like the Italian church hospital in Madrid, the Hospital de los Italianos, founded by Philip II in 1579. Yet another religious ideal brought Spain and Italy together—the belief in the Immaculate Conception. While it did not become an official church doctrine until the nineteenth century, both countries saw altarpieces and religious institutions dedicated to the Virgin’s immaculacy. As a result, objects bearing the iconography associated with it were sent in both directions.36

Introduction 13 Spanish Rome, Spanish Milan, Spanish Naples—these are not the way we may think of these cities during the early modern era, but it is historically accurate.37 The bias in Anglophone scholarship, particularly before the twenty-first century, continued to harbor the disdain for Spain that began with the leyenda negra. Progress has certainly been made in the last couple of decades with groundbreaking scholarship that reexamined early modern Spain and its artistic monuments. Scholars have begun to examine Spain in terms of its diplomatic and artistic exchanges with the courts of Europe; art historians of Renaissance and Baroque Italy have begun moving beyond the Florentine-centered studies of their field, and concurrently re-examining the role Vasari had in constructing this bias in the field, and focused increasingly on Milan, Naples, Rome and Genoa, and their role in the global circulation of visual culture.38 Their scholarship has elucidated the primacy of Spain for those cities during this period, especially in regards to artistic projects, governmental and diplomatic structures, and social practices. Of course, the Medicis of Florence were very dependent on Spain as well for their financial and political stability, and used the artistic products of their city to send as state gifts to win the favor of the king or of the members of his court. Genoa’s position was one of strength in its alliance with the Emperor, but Spanish influence was felt here as well, as it was in other major cities in Italy, through trade of luxury goods, exchange of ideas about religious and secular practices and in the types of art objects collected and given as gifts. Some scholars have examined the lives and careers of Italian artists working in Spain or for Spain, many of whom came from Spanish Italian cities or the cities otherwise tied to Spain, like Florence or Milan, such as the previously mentioned Leone and Pompeo Leoni, but also Giulio Sormano, Milan Vimercato, the Carducho brothers, Eugenio and Patrizio Cascesi, Federico Zuccari, etc.39 These studies illustrate how these artists created a new, international language where elements from their native cultures cohabited with the exigencies and traditions of Spanish court and some formed communities of foreign artists, like the Tuscan artists did in Madrid. Fewer have examined the presence of Spanish artists (beyond Ribera and Velázquez) who came to Italy to study and/or work.40 Broadly speaking, scholarship has focused on Italy’s influence on Spain, but the exchange was bilateral. Scholars have begun exploring this more closely by recognizing more fully Italy’s dependency on Spanish rule, and the impact of artistic exchange and circulation of goods in creating style and facilitating diplomatic relations. In this volume, various means of exchange will be explored: humans—their trips, court visits, or resettlements; and objects—such as books, paintings, sculptures and prints. The evidence of the transmission of ideas, iconographies and styles will also be explored, such as triumphal ephemera, treatises on painting, the social status of the artist, collections and their display, church decoration and funerary monuments. The essays are arranged in chronological order so that changes, developments and consistencies over time can be more easily traced. In the first chapter, Michaela Zurla examines the patronage of Isabel and Ferdinand, particularly for the Capilla Real in Granada, the construction of which began around 1504–1505. Domenico Fancelli was chosen for the tomb project, in part because he had also been commissioned with the tomb of their son, Prince Juan, mentioned earlier. Ferdinand’s choice of an Italian sculptor, Zurla argues, who would employ Italian artistic vocabulary and marble in the tombs, was part of his desire to signal his status as a modern patron and, in part, to compete with the French King

14  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati Louis XII. She traces some of the formal and stylistic qualities of the tomb monuments Ferdinand commissioned to similar projects in Italy, like the bronze tomb of Sixtus IV by Antonio del Pollaiuoulo (1484–93) for its form, and decorative elements seen in north-central Italy, such as the Soffitto dei Semidei by Pintoricchio in Rome (c. 1490) or the Sala dei Gigli in Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, among others, as well as other elements that seem related to Lombard sculptors working in Genoa. Like Zurla, Johannes Röll also examines tomb monuments in Spain; however, Röll focuses on one made in Spain by a Spanish sculptor—the tomb of Bishop Alfonso de Madrigal in the Cathedral of Ávila by Vasco del Zarza—that, in its broader history, documents image exchange going both to and from Italy and Spain. Röll provides important information about the understudied artist who made the tomb; he also reveals the Italian sources for it and suggests how del Zarza could have been familiar with those examples. In the sepulchral monument, the Bishop is shown seated and writing, a type, the Autorbild, seen in some tombs in Italy and one, Röll argues, that forms part of a programme in the construction of Alfonso de Madrigal’s identity as a scholar and theologian, a project undertaken by Cardinal Cisneros. Röll traces the patronage of Cardinal Cisneros in publishing of Alfonso de Madrigal’s writings in Venice and Salamanca and how it relates to the motivations Cisneros had in commissioning the tomb project, which was carried out 70 years after the death of the bishop. Carlos Plaza offers an important reconsideration of retablos as architectural forms, as opposed to discussing their individual elements as previous scholarship has done. Plaza sees the retablos as important areas for experimentation with classicizing forms, but also ones that had to conform in some ways to prevailing Spanish taste. By looking at a trio of artists —Alonso Berruguete, Diego de Siloé, and Jacopo L’Indaco—who knew each other, trained in Italy and worked on projects in Italy and Spain, Plaza discerns that their experiences in Italy, where they saw or worked on triumphal apparati, tabernacles and altarpieces, would have informed their philological approach to their work in Spain, cultivated via ancient sources and modern examples. Some of their patrons specified their desire to have retablos ‘al romano’, while others demanded other modes. That these three artists were asked to carry out architectural projects, along with paintings and sculptures, has been rather neglected in scholarship thus far, while the multiple responsibilities tasked of Italian artists to work in all media is well known. Moreover, Plaza’s study illuminates aspects of the successful careers of these three artists, and demonstrates clearly that the geographic and cultural borders were more porous than traditionally believed. Another important aspect of artistic exchange across borders is brought to light in María José Redondo Cantera’s essay, which, like Zurla’s contribution, offers an in-depth consideration of a work whose materials were shipped from Italy and then manufactured in Spain. In this case, it is the Fuente del Águila, which, she persuasively suggests, is the fountain sent with the aid of Andrea Doria of Genoa to Charles V in 1540. Redondo Cantera considers the impressive shipment in the context of the plans to redesign the royal residences and gardens, and, in particular, the Alcázar of Madrid, where the fountain was intended to be placed. She argues that the remodeling plans were influenced by the Emperor’s travels in Italy and especially by what he saw in Genoa, and the fountain was part of a larger plan that was likely meant to evoke, albeit in a Spanish context, Doria’s residence at Fassolo. Her essay illustrates well the difficulties faced in moving objects like this between the two countries, but that these

Introduction 15 difficulties were deemed worthwhile as important diplomatic gestures for an Emperor who wished to recreate the all’antica residences he admired in his travels. Manuel Arias Martínez addresses the multiple roles of Gaspar Becerra as artist and de facto transmitter of Michelangelo’s artistic forms into Spain, and offers an important survey of artistic projects outside of the major cities on which much scholarship has focused. Becerra was one of the artists who followed in Berruguete and Diego de Siloé’s footsteps and traveled to Italy for work and study. In Rome, he studied the lesson of the ‘maniera moderna’, collaborating with Giorgio Vasari and living in the same milieu that integrated, at the same time, other Spanish presences such as that of Pedro de Rubiales. During the 1550s he returned to Spain, where he spent the rest of his career. Arias illustrates that Becerra’s drawings, paintings and stucco work, and the circulation of prints of Michelangelo’s and Becerra’s work, contributed to the phenomenon of Michelangelesque paintings and sculptures beginning to be made throughout Spain. Arias traces particular threads of transmission of Buonarroti’s Oration in the Garden via Becerra to sculptures in Spain, like the relief of the retablo mayor in Laciego, Álava (1567–1569) by Juan Fernández de Vallejo or the retablo in the church of Desojo (1571–1579) by Pedro de Arbulo, among others. Traces of transmitted iconographic or formal elements, borrowed wholescale or adapted from Italian prototypes to sites beyond the major cities of Spain, illustrate the modes of circulation and the impact on local taste. Fernando Loffredo, instead, looks beyond the major artists that are usually the focus in scholarship and turns his attention to a somewhat elusive figure, a sculptor named Martino who likely came from Lugano but worked mainly in Liguria. Loffredo argues that the varied notices regarding Martino Rezi, Regio, Reggio, Rezzo, Retti, etc. refer to one sculptor, who worked for clients across the Spanish Mediterranean. While acknowledging some stylistic disparities, Loffredo surveys the works in marble, bronze, stone and clay ascribed to this figure in Italy—in Genoa, Varese and Calabria—and in Spain, like the Hercules and Hydra in the Royal Gardens of Aranjuez, previously attributed to Algardi despite the signature on the figure of the demigod. The confusion around the sculptor’s name has, in the end, been a detriment to his critical fortune, but here Loffredo resurrects his identity and ties together his work by looking at its dissemination as a means of understanding how Italian artists produced works to appeal to clients in the broad geography of Spain and Spanish Italy. Lisandra Estevez’s essay keeps us in Spanish Italy, with a study of the early career of Jusepe Ribera. Unlike the other artists discussed in this volume, Ribera began his career in Spain but left for Italy, where he spent the rest of his life. Ribera’s success at the vice-regal court in Naples is well studied, but Estevez offers a reexamination of his journeys in northern Italy. As David Kim brought to light, artists ‘on the move’ often transferred to new locales new artistic sources (in terms of style, iconography, subjects, etc.). This was certainly true for Ribera, who brought his Spanish training, but also his sense of Spanish taste, to his study in northern Italy, which then was melded with Neapolitan taste and traditions to form a new language, a new impulse in Southern art that lasted for decades. Ribera’s early years remain mysterious, as does the exact itinerary he followed once he arrived on the Italian peninsula. Estevez sorts through the accounts of his early biographers to discern where Ribera visited and why he left Spain in the first place. She argues that his interest in working across media, and his ambitions to enjoy a higher status as an artist, led him to leaving his native country. Estevez further propounds that Ribera especially profited from his stays in

16  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati Lombardy, not just for the influence Caravaggio’s art had on him, but also because of what he saw there of Leonardo’s, Correggio’s and the Carracci’s works. After settling in Naples, Ribera worked for both Italian and Spanish clients. Indeed, though he famously claimed that “Spain was a cruel stepmother to her own sons”, his paintings were widely and enthusiastically collected by the elite of his native country and thus represented a unique case of a Spanish artist producing Italian-influenced work for Spain while living in Italy. Again, we find the boundaries of artistic nationalities and geographies in this period to be blurred. While Estevez sees Ribera’s choice to leave Spain as being in part a result of his discontentment with the social status artists had there, Marta Cacho Casal examines the careers of three exceptional artists who enjoyed considerable status in Spain: Diego Velázquez, Vincente Carducho and, to a lesser extent, Domingo Guerra Coronel. These three each amassed collections of books, a healthy percentage of which were Italian or translations of Italian books. Cacho examines the context in which these artists were working, and especially considers the community of Italians employed by the Crown. Carducho and his circle of expatriates were actively involved in disseminating Italian artistic theories through publishing translations at the court. The circulation of Italian artistic theory in published form was significant, as it had been in Italy, for bolstering the intellectual cachet of art. Rafael Japón’s essay moves the reader away from the capital of the Spanish court, down the Iberian Peninsula to one of early modern Europe’s most important, and most cosmopolitan cities: Seville. Its inhabitants enjoyed the riches imported into its port from all over Europe and from the Americas. They amassed impressive collections of art and other luxury objects. Their tastes tended to be more eclectic than their counterparts in other areas of Spain. Here, Japón explores the sustained predilection among Sevillian collectors for painting from the Bolognese school, especially of Guido Reni, whose oeuvre was perceived to conform well to Spanish ideals of Counter-Reformatory religious art. Reni was in direct contact with Spanish clients in Naples and probably in Rome as well and, in some cases, the works produced for them were intended to be sent back to Spain, like the paintings made for Philip IV through his ambassador to the Holy See in Rome. The Crown, in fact, were considerable collectors of Reni’s creations, owning dozens of them. Originals by Reni were also in other private collections and in churches, like the altarpiece of the Immaculate Conception for the cathedral of Seville. (As discussed above, Immaculate Conception imagery was yet another tie that bound the Italian and Spanish faithful and resulted in many paintings of this subject to be made in both countries.) In addition to originals, copies by Reni were avidly produced and collected, and are peppered through Sevillian churches and private collections. Engravings of Reni’s work were a likely source for the painted copies. Together, the originals, copies and engravings provided a multitude of sources for painters and patrons in Seville. Japón traces iconographic and stylistic elements that illustrate Reni’s long-reaching impact on Sevillian artists, like the great Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, whom Antonio Ponz even called the Guido Reni of Spain. Murillo’s paintings were avidly acquired by elite European collectors beyond Italy and Spain. In the final essay, Miguel Taín Guzmán studies a member of one of the greatest collecting families in early modern Europe, Cosimo III de’ Medici. Cosimo toured Spain, among other countries, while Prince of Tuscany between 1668 and 1669. As he went through the country, he acquired numerous paintings, drawings, glass, silverware, weapons and devotional objects. Few are identifiable today, but some notable

Introduction 17 exceptions allow Taín to surmise critical information about Cosimo’s voyage, his motivations in acquiring the objects he did, and how he came to understand Spain’s history and culture through this trip. Even years after his return to Florence, Cosimo continued to seek out Spanish works of art and have them shipped to him in Florence. He did not acquire significant paintings by the leading artists of Spain; instead, he sought out those that served a more documentary purpose regarding the spiritual life of the country. Multiple themes emerge from this collection of essays that will, we hope, lead to further attention in future scholarship: Arias and Japón consider the transmission of particular Italian artists’ works through multiple types of sources (prints, copies, originals) while Cacho illustrates the transmission of Italian artistic theory through prints and books at the Spanish court. Cacho and Estevez also contribute to a better understanding of the functions and composition of artistic communities and how they concurred to improved social status in both countries. Arias, Röll and Plaza bring to light little-studied monuments, many of which are found outside of the better-studied artistic centers of Seville and Madrid, and long-neglected artists that demand further investigation. Redondo Cantera, Zurla, Röll and Plaza pull us away from the prevailing sense of Spanish patrons as undiscerning clients who wished to adopt Italian forms wholesale, with little understanding of them. They instead demonstrate the ways classicizing forms were adapted to better suit the taste and ideals for decorum, or introduced into complex iconographical programs or elaborate decorative schemes with intentionality and learning. Estevez, Cacho, Loffredo and Taín demonstrate the importance of not only the travel of objects, but also the travel of humans, as they move and interact and cultivate their knowledge and appreciation of other artistic and cultural traditions. In sum, while this volume cannot be comprehensive, it aims to significantly add to transcultural art historical scholarship by providing new frameworks and avenues for further study in the rich artistic history of the greatest political power of early modern Europe—Spain—and further illuminate the roles of the important artistic exchanges that took place with its dependent states in Italy.

Notes 1 For the artistic exchanges between the two countries, see, among others, Edward L. Goldberg, “Artistic Relations Between the Medici and the Spanish Courts, 1587–1621.” Burlington Magazine 138 (1996), 105–14 and 529–40; Luigi Zangheri, “Artisti toscani per la corte di Spagna.” Antichità viva (1996), 14–20; Arte y diplomacia de la monarquía hispánica del siglo XVII, José Luis Colomer, ed. (Madrid: CEEH/Villaverde, 2003); España y Génova. Obras, artistas y coleccionistas. Piero Boccardo, José Luis Colomer, and Clario Di Fabio, eds. (Madrid: CEEH/Fundación Carolina, 2003); El modelo italiano en las artes plásticas de la peninsula ibérica durante el renacimiento. Maria José Redondo Cantera, ed. (Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid, 2004); España y Bolonia. Siete siglos de relaciones artísticas y culturales. Amadeo Serra and José Luis Colomer, eds. (Madrid: CEEH/Villaverde, 2006); Spain in Italy. Thomas Dandelet and John Marino, eds. (Leiden: Brill, 2007); España y Nápoles Coleccionismo y mecenazgo virreinales en el siglo XVII. José Luis Colomer, ed. (Madrid: CEEH/ Villaverde, 2009); Michael Cole, “Toward an Art History of Spanish Italy.” I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 16 (2013), 37–46; Norma e capriccio. Spagnoli agli esordi della ‘maniera moderna.’ Antonio Natali and Tommaso Mozzati, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 5 March– 26 May 2013 (Florence: Giunti Editore, 2013); The Spanish Presence in ­Sixteenth-Century Italy. Piers Baker-Bates and Miles Pattenden, eds. (New York: Routledge, 2015); and Marzia Faietti, Corinna T. Gallori and Tommaso Mozzati, eds. exhibition catalogue, 27 February – 27 May 2018, Spagna e Italia in dialogo nell’Europa del Cinquecento (Florence: Galleria Uffizi, 2018).

18  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati 2 On this topic, see El imperio y las Hispanias de Trajano a Carlos V. Sandro De Maria and Manuel Parada López de Corseals, eds. (Bologna: Bononia University Press, 2014). 3 See Bramante en Roma, Roma en España: un juego de espejos en la temprana Edad Moderna, Ximo Company, Borja Franco and Iván Rega Castro, eds. (Lleida: Universatat de Lleida, 2014); Jack Freiberg, Bramante’s Tempietto: The Roman Renaissance and the Spanish Crown (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 4 Fiorella Sricchia Santoro, “Tra Aragona e Napoli: ricerche sul ‘Maestro di Bolea’. ” Prospettiva 133 (2009), 22–45. 5 Ximo Company i Climent, Il Rinascimento di Paolo da San Leocadio (Palermo: Gruppo Editoriale Kalos, 2009); Rinascimento italiano e committenza valenzana, Massimo Miglio and Anna Maria Oliva, eds. (Rome: Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, 2011). 6 Ferrando spagnolo e altri maestri iberici nell’Italia di Leonardo e Michelangelo. Fernando Benito Domenech and Fiorella Sricchia Santoro, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 19 May–30 July 1998 (Florence: Casa Buonarroti, 1998); José Gómez Frechina, Los Hernandos pintores 1505–1525/c. 1475–1536 (Madrid: Arco Libros, 2011). 7 Piers Baker-Bates, Sebastiano del Piombo and the World of Spanish Rome (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), 95–115. On the foreigner ambassadors in Rome during the early modern period see Catherine Fletcher, Diplomacy in Renaissance Rome. The Rise of the Resident Ambassador (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). 8 See Manuel Arias Martínez, Alonso Berruguete, promoteo de la escultura (Palencia: Diputación de Palencia: 2011); Tommaso Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete in Italia: nuovi itinerari,” in Norma e capriccio. Spagnoli agli esordi della “maniera moderna.” Antonio Natali and Tommaso Mozzati, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 5 March–26 May 2013 (Florence: Giunti Editore, 2013), 16–47; Hijo del Laocoonte; Alonso Berruguete y la antigüedad pagana. Manuel Arias Martínez and María Bolaños, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 5 July–5 November (Valladolid: Museo Nacional de Escultura, 2017). 9 Luciano Migliaccio, “Carrara e la Spagna nella scultura del primo Cinquecento,” in Le vie del marmo: aspetti della produzione e della diffusione dei manufatti marmorei tra ’400 a ’500, Roberto Paolo Ciardi and Severina Russo, eds. Exhibition catalogue 1992, 101–36; Riccardo Naldi, Magnificence in Marble: Bartolomé Ordóñez and Diego de Silóe; sculpture of the Renaissance in Naples (Munich, 2015). 10 Marco Tanzi, Pedro Fernández da Murcia, lo Pseudo Bramantino: un pittore girovago nell’Italia del primo Cinquecento (Milan: Leonardo arte, 1997). 11 Michela Zurla, Domenico Fancelli, i re di Spagna e la congiuntura carrarese, in Norma e cap­ riccio. Spagnoli agli esordi della ‘maniera moderna.’ Antonio Natali and Tommaso Mozzati, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 5 March–26 May 2013. (Florence: Giunti Editore, 2013), 132–45. 12 See the essays in El modelo italiano en las artes plásticas de la peninsula ibérica durante el Renacimiento. Maria José Redondo Cantera, ed. (Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid, 2004). 13 Fernando Marías, “Sobre el Castillo de La Calahorra.” Quaderni dell’Istituto di Storia dell’Architettura, 15/20 no. 1 (1992), 539–53; Fernando Marías, “El Codex Escurialensis, problemas e incertidumbres de un libro de digujos de antigüedades del último quattrocento.” Reales sitios, 42 no. 163 (2005), 14–35; for a different reconstruction see Giustina Scaglia, “El ‘Codex Escurialensis’ llevado por el artista a La Calahorra en el otoño de 1509.” Archivo español de arte 77 (2004), 375–83. 14 Olga Raggio, “The Vélez Blanco patio: an Italian renaissance monument from Spain.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, 23 (1964), 142–76. El Castillo de Vélez Blanco 1506–2006, José Lentisco Puche, ed. (Vélez Rubio: Consejería de Cultura de la Junta de Andalucía Centro de Estudios Velezanos, 2007). 15 For a general view on the building and its history, see Miguel Á. Zalama, El Palacio de La Calahorra (Granada: Caja General de Ahorros de Granada, 1990). 16 Alfredo J. Morales, Francisco Niculoso Pisano (Seville: Excma. Diputación Provincial 1991). Marco Spallanzani, “Antonio Pucci e le mattonelle spagnole di Leone X in Castel Sant’Angelo.” Faenza 91 nos 1/6 (2005), 79–88. 17 For the first patronage of Charles of Habsburg as King of Spain, see C. Monte García, “Carlos I y los artistas de Corte en Zaragoza: Fancelli, Berruguete y Bigarny.” Archivio español de Arte 64 (1991), 317–35; F. Checa Cremades, Carlos V: la imagen del poder en el Renacimiento (Madrid: Ediciones El Viso, 1999); Carlos V/Karl V 1500–2000. Alfred Kohler, ed. (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2001).

Introduction 19 18 See El libro de la Capilla Real. José Manuel Pita Andrade, ed. (Granada: Miguel Sánchez, 1994). 19 See Alfredo Vera Botí, La Torre de la Catedral de Murcia. De la teoría a los resultados (Murcia: Real Academia Alfonso X El Sabio, 1993). 20 For Spanish Rome, see Thomas James Dandelet, Spanish Rome 1500–1700 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2001) and I rapporti tra Roma e Madrid nei secoli XVI e XVII: arte diplomazia e politica. Alessandra Anselmi, ed. (Rome: Gangemi editore, 2014). 21 See Piers Baker-Bates, Sebastiano del Piombo and the World of Spanish Rome (London and New York: Routledge, 2017), especially pages 95–130 for Vich, and the rest of the volume for the important Spanish patronage networks from which Sebastiano profited. 22 See Ida Mauro, “Le acquisizioni di opere d’arte di Gaspar de Bracamonte y Guzmán, conte di Peñaranda e viceré di Napoli (1659–1664).” Locus amoenus 9 (2008), 155–69, and Carlos José Hernando Sánchez. “La vida material y el gusto artístico en la Corte de Nápoles durante el Renacimiento. El inventario de bienes del Virrey Pedro de Toledo.” Archivo español de arte, 66 no. 261 (1993), 35–55, for two prominent examples. 23 For their role in political and cultural lives of Milan, see Antonio Álvarez-Ossorio Alvariño, Milán y el legado de Felipe II: gobernadores y corte provincial en la Lombardía de los Austrias (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2001). 24 For Leoni and his social status as chief sculptor to Charles V, see Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio, Leone Leoni and the Status of the Artist at the End of the Renaissance (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011). 25 For the Escorial, see Rosemarie Mulcahy, The Decoration of the Royal Basilica of El Escorial (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 26 See Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Rosario Coppel, Sculpture Collections in Early Modern Spain (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013) and, specifically on the royal collections of bronzes, see Brillos en Bronce: Colecciones de reyes. Rosario Coppel and María Jesús Herrero Sanz, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 13 November 2009 - 24 January 2010 (Madrid: Patrimonio Nacional, 2009). 27 For cultural exchanges as diplomatic tools, particularly during the reigns of Philip III and Philip IV, see the groundbreaking articles on art and other precious objects sent from Florence: Goldberg, “Artistic Relations between the Medici and the Spanish Courts, 1587–1621., 105–14 and 529–40, and for its broader practice, see the essays in Marieke von Bernstorff and Susanne Kubersky Piredda, eds. L’Arte del Dono. Scambi artistici e diplomazia tra l’Italia e la Spagna, 1550–1650 (Milan: Silvana editore, 2013); Cristina Bravo Lozano and Roberto Quirós Rosado, eds. En tierra de confluencias: Italia y la monarquía de España: siglos XVI–XVIII (Valencia: Albatros, 2013). For the costs, benefits and risks in shipping sculptures as state gifts, see Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio, “Shipping Sculptures, Shaping Diplomacy: Gifts of Sculpture for Spain,” in Making and Moving Sculpture in Early Modern Italy. Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio ed. (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015), 167–90. 28 For an overview of this in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, see Alicia Cámara Muñoz and Diana Carrió-Invernizzi, Historia del arte de los siglos XVII y XVIII. Redes y circulación de modelos artísticos (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Ramón Areces, 2014). 29 For Tacca and his works for the courts of Europe, see Falletti, Franca, ed. Pietro Tacca: Carrara, la Toscana, le grandi corti europee. Franca Fallettu, ed. Exhibition catalogue, 5 May–19 August 2007 (Florence: Mandragora, 2007). 30 For this period, see El Greco to Velázquez: art during the reign of Philip III. Sarah Walker Schroth and Ronni Baer, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 20 April–27 July 2007 (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts Publications, 2008). 31 See José María Lozón Nogué, Velázquez: Esculturas para el Alcázar (Madrid: Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, 2007) and Salvador Salort Pons, Velázquez en Italia (Madrid: Fundación de Apoyo a la Historia del Arte Hispánico, 2002); and, more broadly, for his work and relationship with Philip IV, see the publications by Jonathan Brown, including Velazquez, Painter and Courtier (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1986). 32 As, for example, the Casa de Pilatos in Seville, owned by the Duque de Alcála. See Vicente Lleó Cañal, La casa de Pilatos (Madrid: Electa, 1998). Another important example is the palace of the Marques del Carpio, and its incredible collection of art, examined thoroughly in Leticia Frutos Sastre, El templo de la fama. Alegoría del marqués del Carpio (Madrid: Fundacion Caja Madrid, 2009).

20  Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Tommaso Mozzati 33 See Peter Cherry, “Ludovico Turchi, importador de escultura italiana,” in Arte y Diplomacia de la monarquía hispánica del siglo XVII. José Colomer, ed. (Madrid: CEEH, 2003), 335–50 and Cinzia Sicca, “ ‘Con disegno di hauere a far grande utile’: Andrea Compagni’s sculpture trade with Madrid, 1616–23.” Sculpture Journal 19 (2010), 7–32. 34 See the excellent essays in Sculture di età barocca tra Terra d’Otranto, Napoli e Spagna. Raffaele Casciaro and Antonio Cassiano, eds. (Rome: De Luca, 2007), and Margarita Estella, “La escultura napolitana en España: comitentes, artistas y dispersion,” in La scultura meridionale in età moderna nei suoi rapport con la circolazione mediterranea. Letizia Gaeta, ed. (Lecce: M. Congedo, 2007), 93–110. 35 See, for example, Edward L. Goldberg, “State Gifts from the Medici to the Court of Philip III. The Relazione segreta of Orazio della Rena,” in Arte y Diplomacia de la monarquía hispánica en el siglo XVII, José Luis Colomer, ed. (Madrid: CEEH, 2003), 115–33. 36 For religious beliefs exchanged between Spain and Italy, see James Amelang, “Exchanges between Italy and Spain: Culture and Religion,” in Spain in Italy: Politics, Society and Religion, Thomas Dandelet and John Marino, eds. (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 433–56. 37 As argued forcefully by Michael Cole, “Toward an Art History of Spanish Italy.” I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 16 (2013), 37–46. 38 See, David Young Kim, The Traveling Artist in the Italian Renaissance: Geography, Mobility and Style (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014); the essays in Approaches and Challenges to a Global Art History Review of: Circulations in the Global History of Art, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Catherine Dossin, and Béatrice Joyeux-Prunel, eds., Studies in Art Historiography (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015) and in The New World in Early Modern Italy 1492–1750, Elizabeth Horodowich and Lia Markey, eds. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), for excellent examples of these new approaches. 39 See essays and books by the present authors, as well as, for example, On Art and Painting: Vicente Carducho and Baroque Spain, Jean Andrews, Jeremy Roe, and Oliver Noble-Wood, eds. (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2016). 40 Norma e capriccio. Spagnoli agli esordi della ‘maniera moderna.’ Antonio Natali and Tommaso Mozzati, eds. Exhibition catalogue, 5 March–26 May, 2013 (Florence: Giunti Editore, 2013); Piers Baker-Bates and Miles Pattenden, The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015).

1 Domenico Fancelli and the Tomb of the Catholic Kings Carrara, Italian Wars and the Spanish Renaissance Michela Zurla Five hundred years after its installation, the funerary monument of the Catholic Kings—the visual focus of the Capilla Real in Granada together with the sepulchre of Philip the Fair and Joanna the Mad—still provokes a sense of unfamiliarity in the modern observer (Plate 1). The shining surface of the Carrara marble, made opaque by the passing of time, reflects the golden light of the magnificent retablo of the high altar by Felipe Bigarny, and of the other structures carried out later, in a construction of Gothic style with traces of Italianism. Ferdinand of Aragon, who commissioned the sepulchre in 1513, wished to enhance the value of the work as well as to make its political and symbolic meanings clear through the absolute novelty of the tomb, marked by its deep contrast with Spanish artistic tradition. The choice of Carrara marble and of the Renaissance artistic vocabulary were a clear reference to Italy and a direct commemoration of the Spanish victories in the Kingdom of Naples; yet the iconography of the sepulchre enhanced the image of the kings as defenders of the Christian religion, with reference to their successes inside their kingdom against the Moors and heresy. Due to its rich decorative lexis a la romana, which was enjoying popularity in the Iberian Peninsula during the 16th century, the antique look of the monument elucidated the classical idea of Magnificence and formed part of a coherent programme of artistic propaganda of the Catholic Kings. The monument is the climax of a celebratory programme that had started in 1504 with the foundation of the Capilla Real, a symbolic place characterized by its main political value that immediately became an image of the complete reign of the Catholic Kings, a summa of all the ventures made during their long rule. After the conquest of Granada on January 2, 1492, and the end of the victorious Crusade which definitively expelled the infidels from the Iberian Peninsula, Ferdinand and Isabel promoted the institution of some significant sites to complete the military (and also the cultural and religious) conquest of the Andalusian town, leaving a deep sign in its ancient urban texture. This climate generated a series of architectural commissions in the new territories converted to Christianity: the names of the new sites referenced the direct patronage of the Kings, such as the church of San Juan de los Reyes, the first holy building consecrated the day after the entrance of the troops in the city,1 the convents of Santa Cruz Real, Santa Isabel Real or the Hospital Real.2 This policy found its climax in Ferdinand and Isabel’s decision to be buried in Granada. For this purpose, they organized the construction of a new building next to the cathedral of Santa María de la O that would celebrate the deeds of the couple permanently.3 A similar choice answered a need the Catholic Kings had felt since the first years of their reign: namely, to identify a symbolic locus for their dynasty, which

22  Michela Zurla originated from the union of the two main kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula, CastileLeón and Aragon. Therefore, the political mission that the King and Queen undertook made the complexes erected by the single dynasties rather unsuitable: the monastery in Poblet, pantheon of the Aragonese kings,4 and the Miraflores Charterhouse in Burgos, started under John II of Castile and carried on by his daughter Isabel, who dedicated the erection of the sumptuous alabaster monument by Gil de Siloé to her parents.5 In 1476, Isabel took permanent control over Castile after the defeat of Joanna la Beltraneja, and the Catholic Kings took their first standpoint by starting the construction of the complex of San Juan de los Reyes in Toledo, which was intended for their corpses.6 A similar project was then replaced in the course of the events: the successes of the reconquista moved the centre of power of the kingdom towards Andalusia, and Ferdinand and Isabel were pushed to concentrate their attentions on Granada, which appeared as more appropriate to embrace the ideological message of the dynasty and to disclose a symbolic conversion of high propagandistic value. In the meantime, we can suppose that the choice of an Italianate language was also intended as a contrast with the mudéjar style that was typical of the Andalusian tradition: by adopting Carrara marble and the Renaissance style, Ferdinand wanted to emphasize the drastic change determined by the conquest of Granada in 1492, both on historical and artistic levels. The history of the mausoleum in Granada began on September 13, 1504, with the foundation act and the concession of the privileges.7 The “honrada capilla” was dedicated to the saints John the Baptist and John the Apostle, a choice with strong dynastic significance, as it recalled both the parents of Ferdinand and Isabel and their son who died in 1497. The chapel would become the resting place of the bodies of the founders, and the chaplains would celebrate masses for their souls. The passing of Isabel, on November 26, 1504, gave further impetus to the construction, which began in 1505 and was officially assigned to Enrique Egas in 1506.8 Though both Ferdinand and Isabel wished for the foundation of the Capilla, the death of the latter left to the first the responsibility to provide for its completion and its decoration. Ferdinand chose the tapestries from the collection of Isabel which, according to her bequest, should decorate the Capilla,9 and he arranged for the burial of his dead wife and himself. In her testament, Isabel had expressed her wish to be buried either in one of the Franciscan convents in Granada—San Francisco de la Alhambra or Santa Isabel la Real—or in another place of her spouse’s choosing.10 During the years between her death and Ferdinand’s, on January 23, 1516, the project of the Capilla Real had advanced decisively. Ferdinand could realize what was already expressed in the “carta de privilegio” of 1504, disposing the burial of the couple in the building or, if the construction was not ready to receive the corpses yet, a temporary burial in the church of San Francisco de la Alhambra.11 Moreover, in 1513 Ferdinand provided the commission of the funerary monument for his wife and himself, entrusting this task to the Florentine sculptor Domenico Fancelli. The scholarship on the Capilla Real has frequently investigated the meaning the Catholic Kings gave to the building, exploring if their will was to create a private mausoleum or to give a dynastic meaning to it. While the foundation actually lacks any reference to the burials of the successors to the throne that would confirm the first hypothesis,12 it seems rather unlikely that the kings had not foreseen those possibilities for interpretation. In the foundation act issued in 1504, the silence about the burials might have been caused by the uncertainties about the succession to the throne. After

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 23 the deaths of Prince John in 1497, and of Michael, the son of Isabel de Trastamara and Manuel of Portugal, in 1500, and then Isabel’s death in 1504, the legitimate heir of Castile was her daughter Joanna, who had already shown signs of mental instability and who was then labelled with the epithet of “the Mad”. In such a confused context, a further source of concern was the ambiguous political position of Joanna’s husband, Philip the Fair, the prince consort of Castile, who may have aroused Ferdinand’s suspicions due to his Francophile leanings. After the death of Philip in 1506 and the solution of the succession problem in the years 1509–1510,13 Ferdinand could finally return to celebrate his dynasty through a series of commissions that included the Capilla Real, where the Aragonese decided to immortalize the presence of the two founders with a monument in Carrara marble. Adding to the dynastic significance of the building, Ferdinand’s politics of image was made clear by the decision to exclude the son born from his marriage with Germaine de Foix in 1509. The little prince, who immediately died, was then buried in the monastery of Poblet.14 Nevertheless, a place was reserved in the Capilla Real for Prince Michael, who died when he was just two, after he had been designated as the heir of the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon.15 Therefore, in the wishes of Ferdinand, the Capilla should become not only the symbol of the Catholic Kings and of their deeds, but also a place of deep dynastic significance. This hypothesis finds further confirmation in the will expressed by Philip the Fair to be buried in Granada next to Isabel, should his death happen in Spain.16 The son of Philip and Joanna, Charles V, focused his attention on the chapel in Granada in order to conspicuously reiterate his lineage and to stabilize his position as the king of Spain, made difficult by the fact that his mother, the legitimate heir of Castile, was still alive. From 1518 on, Charles provided for the decoration and the transport of the bodies of Ferdinand and Isabel that remained in the church of San Francisco de la Alhambra until 1521.17 Among other projects there, his patronage provided for the retablo by Felipe Bigarny,18 the gate separating the main part of the building from the presbytery19 and the tomb of Philip the Fair and Joanna the Mad, which was commissioned in 1518 from Domenico Fancelli and executed by Bartolomé Ordóñez and his assistants after the death of the Florentine.20 While the project of the Capilla Real was the common will of the Catholic Kings, the burial was specifically planned by Ferdinand and reflects his own ambitions and the recent historical events. In 1513, the monument was commissioned to Domenico Fancelli, then carried out in Carrara and installed in 1517.21 The choice of an Italian sculptor and of the precious marble were signs of a new phase of Ferdinand’s patronage, which had already started some years before with the choice of the same sculptor and material for the tomb of Prince John22 in the church of the Dominican complex of Santo Tómas in Ávila.23 This interest in the Italian Renaissance style came in a period characterized by a renovated attention of Ferdinand on the events of the Peninsula, and was determined by the necessity to face an increasingly uncertain internal situation due to the succession of Castile during the years after the death of Isabel. The event sealing a direct contact with Italy and with its forms of art was the journey to assume control of the territories of the Kingdom of Naples recently conquered (1506–1507). At his arrival in the capital of the Kingdom, the Aragonese was received triumphantly with an apparato all’antica normally followed in Italy, but that constituted a decisive novelty for Spain, as shown by the sudden recovery of the classic paradigm in the entrances set up at the return of the King to the homeland in the towns of Valencia, Seville and Valladolid.24

24  Michela Zurla Therefore, it is not accidental that even the sepulchres commissioned by Ferdinand from Fancelli are rich in classical decorative elements, to be read as parts of a wider celebrative programme to enhance the Aragonese in the light of the famous examples of the Roman past.25 With his preference for the Italian Renaissance, Ferdinand had to consider the example offered by some members of the aristocracy who had already adopted the new artistic vocabulary during the first decade of the 16th century. This is the case of some representatives of the Mendoza family and particularly of Iñigo López de Mendoza Count of Tendilla, who was closely connected to the Catholic Kings, who sent him to Italy for an important diplomatic mission to Pope Innocent VIII in 1486–1487; he was then appointed capitán general of Granada and alcalde of Alhambra the day after its conquest.26 In 1508, Mendoza distinguished himself for being the first Spanish protector of Domenico Fancelli, from whom he commissioned the monument of his brother Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, the archbishop of Seville, a work in Carrara marble that adopted a famous model, the sepulchre of Pope Paul II in the Vatican.27 The Count of Tendilla himself was also the mediator between the Florentine sculptor and Ferdinand the Catholic when the latter decided to dedicate a sepulchre to the memory of Prince John in 1511. The passion of Ferdinand for the Italian Renaissance, and for marble sculpture in particular, is part of a wider desire to present himself as a modern patron in order to emulate the deeds of the French King Louis XII, his main enemy in the conquest of the south of Italy. In 1502, Louis XII had availed himself with a marble monument to legitimate his rights on the territories of the Duchy of Milan, of which he had just taken possession. On his passage to Genoa in 1502, he commissioned a sepulchre dedicated to his predecessors, the Dukes of Orléans, in order to restate his direct lineage from a Visconti lady, his paternal grandmother Valentina.28 For this work, Louis XII chose a team of four sculptors: the Lombards Michele d’Aria and Girolamo Viscardi, and the Tuscans Donato Benti and Benedetto da Rovezzano. Furthermore, the choices of Louis were soon imitated by his closer collaborators, who adopted Carrara marble and the Renaissance forms with mainly political aims, in order to mark their prestige and their proximity to the royal power.29 Ferdinand was most likely influenced by the model of Orléans, with whom the relationship had come to easier terms around the first decade of the 16th century, after the marriage of the Spanish King with the niece of Louis XII, Germaine de Foix, in 1505, and the solemn meeting between the two sovereigns in Savona in July 1507. During his journey from Naples to Spain, Ferdinand and his large entourage made a first stop in Genoa (June 26–28) and then moved to Savona, where they stayed from June 28 to July 2 together with Louis XII and his court.30 These historical events seem to have direct repercussions on the artistic field, charging the choices made by Ferdinand with strong political meanings. Furthermore, two other events that occurred in 1510, and marked political stabilization both inside the Spanish borders and in Italy, are related to Ferdinand’s commissions. By ratifying the treaty of Blois, the Cortes reunited in Madrid recognized Charles as the legitimate heir of the Kingdom of Castile and Ferdinand as the ruler for the young sovereign up to the first completion of his 20 years, excluding from the government Joanna the Mad31 and definitively solving the longstanding problem of succession.32 Also in 1510, Julius II officially granted Ferdinand the investiture on the Kingdom of Naples, thus ending a first phase of the Italian Wars.33 These two circumstances may have influenced the later commissions of the Spanish king,34 which increasingly focused

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 25 on dynastic celebration, through the burial of Prince John and the Capilla Real, and on the commemoration of his political victories in Italy and his legitimation by the Pope. A similar reconstruction explains the wide lapse of time in between the death of the crown Prince (1497) and the commission of the tomb (1511), as well as the slow development of works during the construction of the Capilla Real. The choice of an Italian sculptor and the reference to an unusual sepulchral model, the bronze tomb of Sixtus IV executed by Antonio del Pollaiuolo between 1484 and 1493, are of great importance for the two marble monuments. With no followers in Italy, the Vatican tomb has an innovative structure, in the shape of a truncated pyramid, that seems to enjoy a short but intense fortune in Spanish sculpture during the first part of the 16th century, from the tombs of Ávila and the Capilla Real.35 The choice of such a specific type apparently carries a symbolic value and can be read as a direct gift to Julius II, the nephew of Sixtus IV and the patron of the monument, in thanks for the crowning of the King. On the other hand, the two mausoleums realized by Fancelli elaborate the prototype of the Vatican monument in a particular variation, combining the innovations coming from Italy with some elements of the Spanish tradition. The works are included with some continuity in the line marked by the funerary monument of John II of Castile in Miraflores Charterhouse, which appears to be the inspiration of both the marble sepulchres of John, the crown prince, and the one of the Catholic Kings in many ways. Firstly, the place adopted for the burial of all three cases is strikingly similar: the centre of the cross vault, the most relevant place from the visual and the symbolic point of view. All three sepulchres are actually isolated structures and in direct relation with the place where the celebrations took place, in order to emphasize their holy value. In the same way, both in Burgos and Ávila, and finally in Granada, the monuments were conceived inside a wider programme in favour of the dynastic validation of the patrons. In the first case, Isabel the Catholic actually intended to restate her rights to the throne of Castile against the claims of Joanna la Beltraneja.36 In the other two, Ferdinand instead wanted to show himself as the guarantor of the unity of his Spanish kingdoms and the victorious conqueror of his Italian territories. Secondly, the predecessor of Burgos seems to influence the iconographical choices adopted in the two later works. The mausoleum of John II of Castile actually shows an extremely well-structured figurative cycle, where several symbolic inclusions can be recognized, such as the Virtues and some characters from the Old Testament in the base or the Apostles and the Evangelists at the level of the gisants.37 The tomb of John in Ávila is connected to this previous work, recalling the theme of the Virtues, suggesting the qualities of the young prince,38 while the sepulchre of the Catholic Kings seems to deduce from the same prototype the 12 Apostles, who are inserted inside the niches opening on the sides of the base. The representation of the deceased seems on the contrary determined by different criteria: while in the effigy of John II of Castile, the character of the king is actually emphasized through the sceptre39 that he originally held in his hands, both Prince John and Ferdinand are portrayed in military garments, with the armour and the sword clearly laid on the corpse instead. Therefore, the common idea of the warrior king that suits the Aragonese properly prevailed: Ferdinand was strong after his successes in Andalusia and in the south of Italy, but the idea was also referred to the image of the prince who died at the age of 19, but who was armed as a knight by his father right on the battlefield in Granada in 1490.40

26  Michela Zurla Queen Isabel is excluded from this dialogue on symbols of power: the effigy executed by Fancelli is provided with the crown, but no other royal symbols,41 such as the sceptre that often appears in the iconography of Isabel as one of her specific features.42 Such a dearth shows a political situation in which Ferdinand was ruling in Castile in the place of his daughter Joanna and in which he wished to be the only sovereign, even if to the detriment of the memory of the deceased wife. Nevertheless, the iconography adopted in the sepulchre of the Capilla Real is conceived to celebrate the married couple who reunified the Spanish kingdoms, and consequently to pass down a united image of the two spouses. This aspect is found in the way the heraldry is employed on the walls of the sepulchre. Unlike the tomb of Philip the Fair and Joanna the Mad,43 the mausoleum of their predecessors lacks a symmetrical subdivision on the long sides of the base and between the two gisants. The emblems of the Catholic Kings, the yoke and the arrows and the coats of arms of their kingdoms—the lion, the castle, the dragon, the pomegranate, the Jerusalem cross, the eagle—are scattered in a continuous decoration all along the third level of the high base, to be transformed into decorations. The same happens to the group placed beside one of the corner griffins where the pomegranate, the emblem of Granada, becomes the pretext for a narrative scene where a little playing putto pushes the fruit away from the aim of a bird (Figure 1.1). Instead, in the middle of three of the four faces of the upper part of the base, the coats of arms of the spouses are supported by angels. This wide use of the emblems is typical of several other civil and

Figure 1.1 Domenico Fancelli, Putto with a pomegranate (part of the Tomb of the Catholic Kings), 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author).

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 27 religious deeds patronised by the Catholic Kings. Both in the inside and the outside of the Capilla Real, there are examples showing a sequence of royal shields, the initials of Ferdinand and Isabel, the emblems of the yoke and the arrows, as well as their motto “tanto monta, monta tanto”. Similarly, even in the figurative parts, there is no separation between the two deceased; the aim is to pass on an idea of unity instead, in line with the principle ruling the actions of the Kings during their lives. For this reason, the representations of the two patron saints of Aragon and Castile, Saint George and Saint James, are inserted in the two short sides of the sepulchre respectively, the first facing the nave and the second the high altar. The chosen themes in both scenes—the defeat of the dragon and the one of the Moors—invoke the deeds of the Catholic Kings, in their fight against the heresy and the infidels, and are included in the complete celebrative programme of the sepulchre. On the long sides instead, alongside the gisants, there are two tondos representing the Baptism of Christ (Figure 1.2) and the Resurrection, two scenes that evoke the salvation and the spread of the Christian religion, with particular reference to the imposed conversion of the Moors and the Jews,44 but also to one of the two saints protecting the building, Saint John the Baptist, to whom both of the kings were deeply devoted. The presence of the 12 Apostles on the faces of the base references the Crown’s commitment to evangelization as well, while the one of the four Church Fathers on the corners of the second level of the sepulchre recalls their commitment to defend orthodoxy, made real through the support of the Inquisition. These two interpretations are reinforced both in the text of the epitaph, where the Catholic Kings are defined as “mahometice secte prostratores et heretice pervicacie extintores”, and the inscription on the wall of the presbytery, stating that the Kings “distruyeron la herejía, y echaron los moros y judíos de estos reinos, y reformaron las religiones”. It is rather difficult to explain the meaning of the decorations on the festoons depicted on the level over the base (Figure 1.3), occupying the spaces between the Church Fathers and the little angels holding the crest. Similar interventions reveal a clear classical inspiration, since they evoke a motif largely adopted in the ancient sarcophagus and spread through some drawings like those included in the Codex escurialensis, a sketchbook that arrived in Spain around the end of the first decade of the 16th century, and that was employed in the Renaissance style decoration of the castle of La Calahorra, promoted by Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar y Mendoza since c. 1509.45 Both the festoons surmounted by a figurative insert46 and the triton from the back47 are represented in the Codex and also appear in the monument of the Catholic Kings. Besides the observation of the ancient prototypes and their modern graphic transpositions, Fancelli seems to take into account some expressions that are closer in time, such as, for example, those elaborated by Benedetto da Maiano, a sculptor who should have been quite influential in his education.48 The already quoted theme of the festoon adorned by an ancient element decorates the architrave of the portal of the Sala dei Gigli in Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, while the couple of little angels holding a coat of arms is in Mary of Aragon’s funerary monument in Sant’Anna dei Lombardi in Naples. These observations, together with other stylistic comments, can constitute a starting point for further studies on Domenico Fancelli, a sculptor whose information about the activity in Italy before the contacts with the Spanish world are completely ignored, except for a declaration at the building site in Palazzo Strozzi in Florence in the years 1491–1493.49

28  Michela Zurla

Figure 1.2 Domenico Fancelli, Eve with her children (part of the Tomb of the Catholic Kings), 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author).

In the tomb of the Catholic Kings, some similar ancient insertions have a clear value inside the semantics of the monument.50 Some themes are easy to decipher: the pelican is a reference to the salvific sacrifice of Christ, the phoenix is the symbol of the Resurrection, and the skull with the snakes is a clear memento mori. Other two representations have been explained as Eve with her children (Figure 1.3) and Adam,51

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 29

Figure 1.3 Domenico Fancelli, Baptism of Christ (part of the Tomb of the Catholic Kings), 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author).

a hypothesis that seems to be confirmed both by the presence of the spindle in the first scene and of the snake in the second, and by the comparison with the sepulchre of the cardinal Francisco Ximénez de Cisneros, whose execution was given to Fancelli and to Bartlomé Ordóñez after the death of the latter in 1519.52 On July 14, 1518, the contract of this work was signed, with a clear reference to the scene of Adam working in the fields with his two sons.53 This agreement clearly suggest that the models for the monument for Cisneros were the two tombs of Prince John and the Catholic Kings already executed by Fancelli both for the quality of Carrara marble and the work as a whole. It is interesting to notice how in the document above mentioned the aspect “a la antigua” of the sepulchre is clearly recalled in reference to both the carving of the base and the epitaph placed on one of the short sides.54 Consequently, in the eyes of the contemporaries, the all’antica look of this monument and of the two marble sepulchres as its prototypes was one of the distinctive elements of the Renaissance lexis coming from Italy, breaking with the Iberian tradition completely. This classical language, evident especially in the decorative parts, is readapted inside an iconographic setup to be read in an eminent religious key, as it appears in the monument of Ferdinand and Isabel. The elements denouncing a profane origin, like the festoons and the representations decorating them, should be attributed to a celebrative programme enhancing the orthodoxy of the Kings and their commitment in this direction, as underlined by the label of “Reyes Católicos” given to them by Alexander VI after the conquest of Granada. Further studies on the circle of intellectuals around the court may reveal the author of the iconographic programme of the mausoleum.55

30  Michela Zurla Some more cryptic representations are the couple of female ichthyocentaurs with a little putto, the two-tailed siren and the winged hippocampus.56 It is interesting to note how these similar themes appear in the so called Soffitto dei Semidei, executed by Pintoricchio in the palace of Domenico Della Rovere in Rome around 1490, and have been explained by scholars in terms of moral or allegorical meanings, that assimilate antique motifs into Christian iconography.57 This use of the classical language was not new in Florence when Fancelli made his first steps as an autonomous sculptor at the end of the 15th century. The scarce documentary evidence about him does not allow tracing a complete profile. Nevertheless, the analysis of his Spanish works may suggest more about him. The Florentine matrix of the language of Fancelli is clarified by his affinities with the already mentioned Benedetto da Maiano and other two contemporary sculptors, i.e. Andrea Sansovino and Andrea Ferrucci, an artist originally from Fiesole who was active in Naples for some years and who worked for some Spanish clients too. This is clear from the analysis of some texts from the tomb of Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, as Saint John the Baptist, to be read next to the homonym figure executed by Sansovino for the Chapel of Saint John the Baptist in the Cathedral of Genoa, or Saint Isidore, completely similar to San Romulus by Ferrucci on the altar of the Sacrament in the Cathedral of Fiesole. Nevertheless, in the Mendoza monument and in later sepulchres, some inflections are alien to the Florentine style, but closer to the language carried out by some Lombard sculptors in Genoa, and by Girolamo Viscardi in particular.58 These similarities are found in the draperies characterized by subtle and pulled folds, as in a comparison with Saint Andrew in the sepulchre in Sevilla and San Jude Thaddeus realized by Viscardi in the marble reliquary of the abbey of Fécamp in Normandy.59 Other comparative examples are the Madonna with the Child on the tomb of Prince John with God the Father in the scene of the Trinity of the altar in Fécamp, and, finally, the Virtues of the same complex in Ávila with those of the frontal of the church of San Gerolamo in Quarto next to Genoa, executed by Viscardi in collaboration with Michele d’Aria.60 Further affinities can be observed between the tondo with the Baptism inserted in one of the long sides of the monument of the Capilla Real in Granada (Figure 1.2) and the relief with the same subject of the previously mentioned altar in Fécamp (Figure 1.4); these affinities are extended to the composition of the scene in addition to the characterization of the figure of the Baptist. In regards to these considerations, Fancelli could have entered in direct contact with Genoa, cultivating a deep knowledge of the language that developed there. This is confirmed by some documents on the sepulchres commissioned by Ferdinand the Catholic, where some Genoese mediators appear as the ones who provided for the payment in their branches in the Ligurian centre,61 and by a further testimony rather unconsidered until today, though already published by Luigi Augusto Cervetto in 1903.62 According to this document, in 1515 Fancelli was summoned to Genoa by the Spanish agent, Ramiro de Guzmán, to evaluate the price to pay the stonemason Antonio da Bissone for the carving of more than 100 marble columns realized for Antonio de Fonseca, with the mediation of Agostino Grimaldi, Agostino Vivaldi and Nicola Grimaldi.63 This document is very interesting for several reasons. First of all, it confirms not only the familiarity of the Florentine sculptor with Genoa, but also the trust he gained among his Spanish clients. Antonio de Fonseca was actually an eminent man in the entourage of the Catholic Kings, for whom he fulfilled some important responsibilities: more than being chosen by Isabel as her testamentary executor, he was appointed contador mayor of Castile, and he was sent to Italy in 1493 to carry

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 31

Figure 1.4 Girolamo Viscardi, Baptism of Christ (part of the Altar of the Holy Trinity), 1507, Abbey Church of the Holy Trinity, Fécamp (photo by the author).

out a diplomatic mission for the Kings.64 The aristocrat also intervened in the commission of the Italian marble monument of the Capilla Real by signing the contract with the Genoese merchants in September 1513.65 The document dated 1515 also offers a further example of the diffusion of the fashion for marble among the Iberian aristocracy during the first decades of the 16th century. The columns required by Fonseca would decorate the court and the other spaces in his castle in Coca, as it happened in La Calahorra, which was expressly taken as a model.66 The interest of Fonseca for the Italian Renaissance is also clear in another commission he dispatched, the marble sepulchres of some exponents of his family in the church of Santa Maria la Mayor de Coca: these works were entrusted to Fancelli and ended by Ordóñez and his atelier.67 Ferdinand the Catholic could not see his funerary monument installed in the presbytery of the Capilla Real, since death took him on January 26, 1516, while the marbles were still in Carrara. The mausoleum celebrating the deeds of the King and of his spouse became emblematic of the European ambitions of the Spanish dynasty that would find a worthy crowning in their grandson Charles, the King of an empire on which the sun never set.

32  Michela Zurla

Notes 1 The church, which occupied what was previously a mosque, was consecrated on January 5, 1492. See José Manuel Gómez-Moreno Calera, “Emprensas artísticas e imagen de poder en la Granada isabelina,” in Modernidad y cultura artística en tiempos de los Reyes Católicos, ed. Juan Manuel Martín García (Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada, 2014), 198. 2 On this aspect, see: Ibid., 198–206, 217–19, with previous bibliography. 3 After the conquest of Granada, the cathedral was first established in San Francisco de la Alhambra and then in San Francisco Casa Grande (1495). In 1502, it was transferred to Santa María de la O, a church founded in 1501 on the site occupied by the main mosque of the city. See: Earl Edgar Rosenthal, The Cathedral of Granada: A Study in the Spanish Renaissance (Princeton: University Press, 1961), 5–17, 116–17. 4 Gener Gonzalvo i Bou, Poblet, panteó reial (Barcelona: Rafael Dalmau, 2001). 5 The tomb of John II of Castile and of his wife Isabel of Portugal was carried out between 1489 and 1493. Joaquím Yarza Luaces, “Los sepulcros reales de la Cartuja de Miraflores,” in La Cartuja de Miraflores. I. Los sepulcros (Madrid: Ediciones el Viso, 2007), 15–73. 6 The construction of the convent for the Franciscan community was given to Juan Guas. On this complex, see: Balbina M. Caviró, “El Monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes,” in El Monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes de Toledo (Madrid: Ediciones el Viso, 2002), 9–61. On the connections among the Miraflores Charterhouse, the convent in Toledo and the following Capilla Real see: Rafael Domínguez Casas, “San Juan de los Reyes. Espacio funerario y aposento regio,” Boletín de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología de Valladolid 56 (2009), 365; Gisela Noehles-Doerk, “Die Realisation der Grabmalplanungen der Katholischen Königen,” in Grabkunst und Sepulkralkultur in Spanien und Portugal, ed. Barbara Borngässer et al. (Frankfurt am Main: Vervuert, 2006), 379–402; Carmen María Labra González, “De la chartreuse de Miraflores à la chapelle royale de Grenade. L’expression du pouvoir après la mort au cours du Moyen Âge hispanique.” E-Spania. Revue électronique d’études hispaniques médiévales 3 (2007), accessed February 15, 2017, http://e-spania. revues.org/171#bodyftn52. 7 The “carta de privilegio” is transcribed in: El libro de la Capilla Real, ed. José Manuel Pita Andrade (Granada: Ediciones Miguel Sánchez, 1994), 300–4. On the Capilla Real see: Manuel Gómez-Moreno, “Sobre el Renacimiento en Castilla. 2. La capilla real de Granada.” Archivo Español de Arte y Arqueología 1 (1925), 245–88; Antonio Gallego y Burín, La Capilla Real de Granada (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1952); Rosenthal, The Cathedral of Granada, 10–17; El libro de la Capilla Real; María José Redondo Cantera, “La Capilla Real de Granada como panteón dinástico durante los reinados de Carlos V y Felipe II: problemas e indecisiones. Nuevos datos sobre el sepulcro de Felipe el Hermoso y Juana la loca,” in Grabkunst und Sepulkralkultur in Spanien und Portugal, ed. Barbara Borngässer et al. (Frankfurt am Main: Vervuert, 2006), 403–18. 8 The contract with Egas was signed on September 30, 1506. Earl Edgar Rosenthal, “El prime contrato de la Capilla Real de Granada.” Cuadernos de arte de la Universidad de Granada 11 (1974), 13–36. 9 Ferdinand increased this donation with different tapestries and ornaments, according to the will expressed in the testament (see Archivo de la Corona de Aragon, Cancilleria, Registros, num. 3604, cc. 276r., 281v.). On the collection of the tapestries of the Capilla Real, see: Miguel Ángel Zalama, “Tapices donados por los Reyes Católicos a la Capilla Real de Granada.” Archivo español de arte 87 (2014), 1–14. 10 The decision of Isabel was actually due to the fact that at her death (November 26, 1504) the construction of the Capilla Real had not started yet. She was eventually buried in San Francisco de la Alhambra. On the testament, see: Testamento de Isabel la Católica, ed. by Tomás Romojaro Sánchez (Valladolid: Archivo General de Simancas, 1949). 11 See Ferdinand’s testament: Archivo de la Corona de Aragon, Cancilleria, Registros, num. 3604, cc. 247r-290r. 12 The bibliography dedicated to this subject has brought back the transformation of the Capilla Real from familiar pantheon to dynastic pantheon to Charles V: Gallego y Burin, La Capilla Real, 27; Miguel Ángel León Coloma, “Los Mausoleos reales y la cripta,” in El libro de la Capilla Real, ed. José Manuel Pita Andrade (Granada: Ediciones Miguel Sánchez,

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 33 1994), 70; Miguel Ángel León Coloma, “Lenguajes plásticos y propaganda dinástica en la Capilla Real de Granada,” in Jesucristo y el Emperador Cristiano, ed. Francisco Javier Martínez Medina (Córdoba: Publicaciones obra social y cultural Cajasur, 2000), 378; Redondo Cantera, “La Capilla Real”, 404–5; Cécile d’Álbis, “Sacralización real y nacimiento de una ciudad simbólica: los traslados de cuerpos reales a Granada, 1504–1549.” Chronica Nova 35 (2009), 258; María José Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros de la Capilla Real de Granada.” In Juana I en Tordesillas. Su mundo, su entorno, ed. by Miguel Ángel Zalama (Valladolid: Grupo Página, 2010), 191. On the contrary, Rosenthal thinks that since its construction, the Capilla Real was conceived as a royal pantheon, as it is stated again in this paper: Rosenthal, The Cathedral of Granada, 114–16. 13 On this aspect, see below. 14 Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 190. 15 Michael was buried in the church of San Francisco de la Alhambra. His corpse was moved to the Capilla Real on November 10, 1521, together with those of the Catholic Kings. Gallego y Burin, La Capilla Real, 130 note 25, 170–71 note 97. 16 See the testament dictated in Bruges on December 26, 1505. Rafael Domínguez Casas, Arte y etiqueta de los Reyes Católicos. Artistas, residencias, jardines y bosques. (Madrid: Editorial Alpuerto, s.a., 1993), 17. Philip’s corpse was transferred from Tordesillas to Granada only in 1525; Redondo Cantera, “La Capilla Real,” 405–6. 17 The decision to transfer the corpses of Ferdinand and Isabel to the Capilla Real was already expressed by Charles on September 20, 1520, but the transfer happened on November 10, 1521. Gallego y Burín, La Capilla Real, 24, 127–31 note 25; María Dolores Parra Arcas and Luis Moreno Garzón, “Granada: Panteón Real de los Reyes Católicos y de la Casa de Austria,” in Jesucristo y el Emperador Cristiano, ed. Francisco Javier Martínez Medina (Córdoba: Publicaciones obra social y cultural Cajasur, 2000), 395–6; Redondo Cantera, “La Capilla Real,” 405; D’Álbis, “Sacralización Real,” 256–8. 18 The assignment dated 1519. See Gallego y Burín, La Capilla Real, 60–4. 19 The gate was carried out by “maestre Bartolomé”, as witnessed by the documents of the years 1525–1538 and by the signature in the frieze of the work. María José Martínez Justicia, “Las Rejas,” in El libro de la Capilla Real, ed. José Manuel Pita Andrade (Granada: Ediciones Miguel Sánchez, 1994), 114–18. 20 On the sepulchre, see: Tommaso Mozzati, “Charles V, Bartolomé Ordóñez and the Tomb of Joanna of Castile and Philip of Burgundy in Granada: an iconographical perspective of a major royal monument of Renaissance Europe.” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 59 (2017), 175–201. 21 On September 13, 1513, the representatives of Ferdinand the Catholic and Joanna the Mad (Antonio de Fonseca, Juan Rodríguez de Fonseca and Juan Velázquez) signed an agreement with the Genoese bankers Agostino Vivaldi and Nicola Grimaldi who should have advanced the capital for the work and provided for the payments in favour of the sculptor in Genoa (Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 195–7). On March 21, 1514, Fancelli was in Italy and bought the marbles for the tomb in Carrara (Pietro Andrei, Sopra Domenico Fancelli fiorentino e Bartolommeo Ordognes spagnolo. Memorie estratte dai documenti per cura del canonico Pietro Andrei [Massa: Tipografia di C. Frediani, 1871], 47–8). The work was finished during the year 1517, probably before March 26, when Fancelli confirmed his testament, being about to leave for Spain (Andrei, Sopra Domenico Fancelli, 38–46). On May 11, 1517, a payment to Gonzalo de Morales, the emissary of the clients in Carrara, was made in order to move the monument to Granada (Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 197). The last payments were registered in the months of March, October and November 1518 (José María de Azcárate, Datos histórico-artísticos de fines del siglo XV y principios del XVI [Madrid-Zaragoza: Obra Social de la Caja de Ahorros de Zaragoza, Aragón y Rioja, 1982] nn. 166–8, 129–31; Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 197–8). In addition to the testimony of the Venetian ambassador Andrea Navagero in 1526 (see Gallego y Burín, La Capilla Real, 132–3 note 27), the sepulchre is mentioned by some sources of the 17th and 18th century recommended by Tommaso Mozzati, to whom I am grateful: Francisco Bermúdez de Pedraza, Antigüedad y excelencias de Granada (Madrid: Luis Sanchez impressor, 1608), 82v–83r.; Francisco Bermúdez de Pedraza, Historia eclesiástica. Principio y progressos de la ciudad y religión católica de Granada (Granada: Andres de Santiago, 1638),

34  Michela Zurla 201r.; Francisco Henríquez de Jorquera, Anales de Granada. Descripción del reino y ciudad de Granada, crónica de la reconquista (1482–1492), sucesos de los años 1588 a 1646, ed. Antonio Marín Ocete (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1987), vol. I, 70; Tomás Antonio Álvarez, Excelencias de Granada o descripción histórica geográfica de esta ciudad (Granada: 1787), ed. Cristina Viñes (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1999), 97; Antonio Conca, Descrizione odeporica della Spagna in cui spezialmente si dà notizia delle cose spettanti alle belle arti, degne dell’attenzione del curioso viaggiatore (Parma: Dalla stamperia reale, 1793–1797), vol. IV, 429–30. The main bibliography about the tomb is: Alexandre de Laborde, Voyage pittoresque et historique de l’Espagne (Paris: P. Didot l’aîné, 1806–1820), vol. II.1, 25 and tav. LXX; Barola, “Sepolcro di Ferdinando il Cattolico e d’Isabella sua moglie.” Museo scientifico, letterario ed artistico 2 (1840), 287–8; José Gimenez-Serrano, Manual del artista y del viagero en Granada (Granada: Editor J. A. Linares, 1846), 228–32; Pedro de Madrazo, “Mausoleo de los Reyes Catolicos Don Fernando y Dona Isabel en la Capilla Real de Granada obra de Bartolomé Ordóñez.” Museo Español de Antigüedades 1 (1872), 431–47; Jean-Charles Davillier, L’Espagne […] illustrée de 309 gravures dessinées sur bois par Gustave Doré (Paris: Librairie Hachette et c., 1874), 199, 201 figure 26; Carl Justi, “Bartolomé Ordoñez und Domenico Fancelli.” Jahrbuch der Preußischen Kunstsammlungen 12 (1891), 80–3; Manuel Gómez-Moreno, Guía de Granada (Granada: Impr. De Indalecio Ventura, 1892), 291–3; José Martí y Monso, Estudios histórico-artísticos relativos principalmente a Valladolid (Valladolid-Madrid: Impr. De Leonardo Miñon, 1901), 59–64; Émile Bertaux, “La Renaissance en Espagne et au Portugal,” in André Michel, Histoire de l’art: depuis les premiers temps chrétiens jusqu’à nos jours (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1905–1929), vol. IV.2, 920–30; Gómez-Moreno, “Sobre el Renacimiento,” 254; Manuel Gómez-Moreno, Las Águilas del Renacimiento español: Bartolomé Ordóñez, Diego Silóee, Pedro Machuca, Alonso Berruguete (Madrid: Instituto Diego Velázquez del Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1941), 13; Beatrice Gilman Proske, Castilian sculpture: Gothic to Renaissance (New York: The hispanic Society of America, 1951), 348; Gallego y Burín, La Capilla Real, 53–5; Jesús Hernández Perera, Escultores florentinos en España (Madrid: Instituto Diego Velázquez, 1957), 12–13; José María de Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI, vol. 13 of Ars Hispaniae. Historia universal del arte hispánico (Madrid: Editorial Plus-Ultra, 1958), 26; André De Bosque, Artistes italiens en Espagne du XIV siècle aux Rois Catholiques (Paris: Édition du Temps, 1965), 373–4; Manuel GómezMoreno, Renaissance Sculpture in Spain (New York: Hacker Art Books, 1971), 7; Fernando Checa Cremades, Pintura y escultura del Renacimiento en Espana, 1450–1600 (Madrid: Ediciones Catedra, 1983), 71–3; María José Redondo Cantera, “El sepulcro de Sixto IV y su influencia en la escultura del Renacimiento en España.” Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología 52 (1986), 274–5; María José Redondo Cantera, El sepulcro en España en el siglo XVI (Madrid: Centro Nacional de Información y Documentación del Patrimonio Histórico, 1987), 103, 230–1; Annie Cloulas, “La sculpture funéraire dans l’Espagne de la Renaissance. Le mécénat royal.” Gazette des Beaux-Arts 133 (1991), 68; Luciano Migliaccio, “Carrara e la Spagna nella scultura del primo Cinquecento,” in Le vie del marmo. Aspetti della produzione e della diffusione dei manufatti marmorei tra ’400 e ’500, ed. Roberto Paolo Ciardi et al. (Florence: Giunti Editore, 1992), 108–10; León Coloma, “Los mausoleos,” 70–82; Patrick Lenaghan, “The Arrival of the Italian Renaissance in Spain: The Tombs by Domenico Fancelli and Bartolomé Ordóñez” (PhD diss., New York University, 1995), 39–41, 382–8; León Coloma, “Lenguajes plásticos,” 384–5; Patrick Lenaghan, “It Shall all be Roman. Early Patrons of Italian Renaissance Tombs in Spain,” in Art in Spain and the Hispanic World. Essays in honor of Jonathan Brown, ed. Sarah Schroth (London: Paul Holberton publishing, 2010), 223–5; Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 195–203; María José Redondo Cantera, “La intervención de Felipe Bigarny en el sepulcro de los Reyes Católicos,” in Pulchrum. Scripta varia in honorem M. Concepción García Gainza, ed. Ricardo Fernández Gracia (Pamplona: Gobierno de Navarra, 2011), 684–9; Michela Zurla, “Domenico Fancelli, i re di Spagna e la congiuntura carrarese,” in Norma e capriccio. Spagnoli in Italia agli esordi della “maniera moderna”, catalogue of the exhibition, ed. Tommaso Mozzati et al. (Florence: Giunti Editore, 2013), 135–8. 22 In July 1511, Iñigo López de Mendoza introduced Fancelli to Juan Velázquez, “contador mayor” of Prince Juan and responsible for the commission of the funerary monument,

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 35 specifying that the sculptor brought with him a portrait of the dead he carried out at the Mendozas in Granada (Correspondencia del Conde de Tendilla (1508–1513), ed. Emilio Meneses García [Madrid: Real Academia de Historia, 1973–1974], vol. 2, 50). After he received the task, the sculptor returned to Italy to execute the tomb, settling in Carrara until December 1512. The monument was installed by October 1513, according to an order of payment in favour of Gonzalo de Morales (Manuel Remón Zarco del Valle, Documentos inéditos para la Historia de las Bellas Artes en España, vol. 55 of Colección de documentos inéditos para la Historia de España [Madrid: Imprenta de la Viuda de Calero, 1870], 338–9). On the tomb, see finally Zurla, “Domenico Fancelli,” 135–7. 23 The monastery of Santo Tómas was a royal foundation, witnessing the tight relation between the Catholic Kings and the Dominican order, responsible for the Inquisition. See Irene González Hernando and Diana Olivares Martínez, “Los Reyes Católicos y los lugares de memoria de los santos dominicos,” in Los monasterios medievales en sus emplazamientos: lugares de memoria de lo sagrado, ed. José Ángel García de Cortázar et al. (Aguilar de Campoo: Camus Impresores, 2016), 271–81. 24 Miguel Falomir Faus, “Entradas triunfales de Fernando el Católico en España tras la conquista de Nápoles,” in La visión del mundo clásico en el arte español (Madrid: Editorial Alpuerto, s.a., 1993). 25 As Miguel Falomir Faus pointed out, the recall of ancient times also appears in some panegyric texts dedicated to Ferdinand, as for example the Historia Baetica by Carlo Verardi. See Falomir Faus, “Entradas triunfales,” 54. 26 María Cristina Hernández Castelló, “El II conde de Tendilla como representante de los Reyes Católicos en Italia: su paso por Bolonia, Florencia, Roma y Nápoles,” in El imperio y las Hispanias de Trajano a Carlos V. Clasicismo y poder en el arte español, ed. Sandro De Maria et al. (Bologna: Bononia University Press, 2014), 261–70. 27 On August 7, 1508, Fancelli bought in Carrara a quantity of marble that was most likely destined to the Mendoza monument (Andrei, Sopra Domenico Fancelli, 33–5). The work was installed in the chapel of the Virgen de la Antigua in the Cathedral of Seville during 1510. On this tomb, see: Zurla, “Domenico Fancelli,” 135, with previous bibliography. 28 On the monument, see: Tommaso Mozzati and Michela Zurla, “Alcune novità sulle sculture della Cattedrale di Genova. Benedetto da Rovezzano, Donato Benti e la famiglia Fieschi.” Nuovi studi 20 (2014), 42–6, with previous bibliography. 29 See, for example, Cardinal Georges d’Amboise, who called some Italian artists to decorate his castle in Gaillon (Flaminia Bardati, “Il bel palatio in forma di castello”. Gaillon tra Flamboyant e Rinascimento [Rome: Campisano, 2009]), or Antoine Bohier, who commissioned Girolamo Viscardi to realize a cycle of marble sculptures for the Abbey of Fécamp in Normandy in 1507 (Michela Zurla, “Souvenirs d’Italie. Girolamo Viscardi e i marmi genovesi dell’abbazia di Fécamp in Normandia.” Paragone 127 (2016), 3–28). 30 See Riccardo Musso, “En la ville de Savone, pays du roi. La signoria francese a Savona tra sottomissione a Genova e aspirazioni autonomistiche.” Atti e memorie. Società savonese di storia patria 44 (2007), 179–212. 31 From March 1509 onwards, Joanna the Mad was exiled in the convent of Santa Clara in Tordesillas, where she spent the rest of her life until her death in 1555. 32 Jerónimo Zurita, Los cinco libros postreros de la historia del Rey Don Hernando el Catholico, de las emprensas y ligas de Italia (Saragoza: Officina de Domingo de Portonarijs, 1580), 206v.–207r., 232v.–234r. 33 Ibid. (libro IX, cap. IX). 34 María José Redondo Cantera underlines two further events that could have had consequences on the choice of Ferdinand to commission the two funerary monuments, i.e. the reclusion of Joanna the Mad in the palace in Tordesillas in March 1509 and the death, on May 3 of the same year, of the son of Ferdinand and Germaine de Foix. Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 190; Redondo Cantera, “La intervención,” 686. 35 On the fortune of the sepulchre of Sixtus IV in Spanish sculpture; see Redondo Cantera, “El sepulcro de Sixto IV”, 271–82. 36 Yarza Luaces, “Los sepulcros,” 22. 37 A reading on the iconography of the sepulchre in Miraflores is in: Felipe Pereda, “El cuerpo muerto del rey Juan II, Gil de Siloé, y la imaginación escatológica. (Observaciones sobre el

36  Michela Zurla lenguaje de la escultura en la alta Edad Moderna).” Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoría del Arte 13 (2001), 53–86. 38 The personifications of the Virtues also appear in some literary works composed on the occasion of the death of the Prince. Jacobo Sanz, “Literatura consolatoria en torno a la muerte del príncipe Don Juan,” in Ángel Alcalá and Jacobo Sanz, Vida y muerte del príncipe Don Juan. Historia y literatura (Valladolid: Junta de Castilla y León, Consejería de Educación y Cultura, 1999), 233, 285, 287–8, 341–53. 39 Joaquím Yarza Luaces underlines the importance of the sceptre, attributed to justice, compared to other military symbols. Joaquím Yarza Luaces, Los Reyes Católicos: paisaje artístico de una monarquía (San Sebastián: Editorial Nerea, 1993), 59–60. 40 On the military connotation of Ferdinand see: Leon Colóma, “Los mausoleos,” 73–4; Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 202–3. 41 Isabel wears on her neck a medal with the cross of the Order of Santiago, protector of Castile, while Ferdinand wears the one with the effigy of Saint George, the patron saint of Aragon. 42 In a series of representations of the Catholic Kings, the features of the sword and the sceptre are associated with Ferdinand and Isabel respectively. See: Yarza Luaces, Los Reyes Católicos, 70–2; Joaquím Yarza Luaces, Isabel la Católica. Promotora artística (Trobajo del Camino: Edilesa, 2005), 157–8. 43 For the iconographical analysis of this tomb see: Mozzati, “Charles V, Bartolomé Ordóñez”. 44 In 1492, the expulsion of the Jews from the Spanish kingdoms was declared, while the apparently more tolerant attitude adopted towards the Moors took a radical turn in 1500 with the obligation of conversion and the mosques being transformed into churches. On this last aspect, see: Rosenthal, The Cathedral of Granada, 7. 45 On La Calahorra, see: Hanno-Walter Kruft, “Un cortile rinascimentale italiano nella Sierra Nevada: la Calahorra.” Antichità viva 8.2 (1969): 35–51; Hanno-Walter Kruft, “Ancora sulla Calahorra: documenti.” Antichità viva 11.1 (1972): 35–45; Fernando Marías, “Sobre el Castillo de la Calahorra y el Codex Excurialensis.” Anuario del Departamento de historia y teoría del arte 2 (1990), 117–29. 46 Codex escurialensis. Ein Skizzenbuch aus der Werkstatt Domenico Ghirlandaios, ed. Hermann Egger (Vienna: Hölder, 1905), vol. II, cc. 34r., 44v. See also Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 202. 47 Codex escurialensis, vol. II, c. 62r. 48 This hypothesis has been advanced by Gómez-Moreno, Las aguilas, 13–14 and Hernández Perera, Escultores florentinos, 8–9. 49 Zurla, “Domenico Fancelli,” 134. 50 An interpretation of the iconography of the monument is in: Redondo Cantera, “El sepulcro,” 228–9 figg. VII, VIII e 230–32; León Coloma, “Los mausoleos,” 79–82; Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 199–202. 51 The presence of the two scenes that followed the fall refers to the mortal destiny of humanity, also evoked by the presence of the skull with the snakes. Redondo Cantera, “El sepulcro,” 230; León Coloma, “Los mausoleos,” 82; Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 202. 52 Fancelli dictated his testament in Zaragoza on April 19, 1519 and died some time later (Carmen Morte García, “Carlos I y los artistas de Corte en Zaragoza: Fancelli, Berruguete y Bigarny.” Archivo Español de Arte 64 [1991]: 317–35, 319–20, 332–3, doc. II). On the tomb of Cisneros; see: Antonio Marchamalo Sánchez and Miguel Marchamalo Main, El sepulcro del cardenal Cisneros (Alcalá de Henares: Fundación Colegio del Rey, 1985); Migliaccio, “Carrara e la Spagna,” 118–23. 53 Verardo García Rey, “El sepulcro del Cardenal Cisneros en Alcalá de Henares y los documentos de los artífices.” Arte Español 10 (1928–29): 483–6. 54 Ibid., 484, 485. 55 For a summary of the humanists connected to the Catholic Kings, see: José González Vázquez, “El humanismo en la Granada de los Reyes Católicos,” in Modernidad y cultura artística en tiempos de los Reyes Católicos, ed. Juan Manuel Martín García (Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada, 2014), 233–55. 56 An interpretation of these elements is in Redondo Cantera, “El sepulcro,” 214–16. 57 On the Soffitto dei Semidei; see: Anna Cavallaro, “La decorazione pittorica,” in Il Palazzo di Domenico Della Rovere in Borgo, ed. Maria Giulia Aurigemma et al. (Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, 1999), 165–281.

Fancelli & the Tomb of the Catholic Kings 37 58 Migliaccio has already placed Fancelli close to some Lombard sculptors, without giving the right importance to this intuition. Migliaccio, “Carrara e la Spagna,” 106–9. 59 On the cycle of marbles of the abbey of Fécamp and Viscardi, last see: Zurla, “Souvenirs d’Italie,” 3–28. 60 The frontal was originally part of the funerary monument of Agostino and Giovanni Adorno, realized by Michele d’Aria and Girolamo Viscardi between 1499 and 1501. Zurla, “Souvenirs d’Italie,” 13–15. 61 See note 21. 62 Luigi Augusto Cervetto, I Gaggini da Bissone. Loro opere in Genova ed altrove (Milan: Hoepli, 1903), 266–7, doc. XXXII. 63 The document is dated April 14, 1515, and makes reference to 162 columns of different dimensions. A further unpublished declaration dates to Dicember 19, 1515, when Antonio da Bissone had already prepared for the shipping of a series of columns that would soon be sent to Cartagena (Archivio di Stato of Genoa, Notai antichi, 1453, n. 355). In addition to Fancelli, Gonzalo de Morales, who was in Carrara to control the work of the sculptor, was also summoned to Genoa. 64 Redondo Cantera, “Los sepulcros,” 198. 65 See note 21. 66 The relationship between the two complexes is declared by a memorial sent from Tendilla to Luis de Pareja on April 20, 1513, where a reference is made to the intention of Antonio de Fonseca to build up a house in Granada and one in Coca “tales como la de La Calahorra”. Correspondencia, II, 267. Moreover, Rodrigo de Mendoza had contracted a second marriage with Maria de Fonseca, daughter of Alonso and niece of Antonio. The latter had acquired the castle of Coca in 1505. The sources declare that the patio of the building was decorated with a double gallery of marble columns that were removed in 1828. Carmen Rallo Gruss, “El castillo de Coca y su ornamentación,” Anales de historia del arte, 6 (1996), 13–34. 67 María P. Moreno Alcalde, “Los Fonseca y la iglesia de Santa María de Coca,” Anales de historia del arte 2 (1990), 57–78; Migliaccio, “Carrara e la Spagna,” 123–4.

2 The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal (“El Tostado”) in the Cathedral of Ávila— The Monumentalization of the “Autorbild”1 Johannes Röll The monument of Bishop Alonso Ribera de Madrigal, also known as “El Tostado”, in the Cathedral of Ávila ranks among the outstanding tomb monuments of the first decades of the 16th century in Castile.2 “El Tostado”3 was born around 1410 in Madrigal de las Altas Torres (Ávila) and studied at the University of Salamanca, where he subsequently was Rector and Maestrescuela of the University. Pope Nicholas V appointed him as bishop of Ávila on 11 February 1454, where he died one year later.4 He was then buried in the Cathedral of Ávila. Although the tomb of the eminent theologian has been mentioned frequently in the art historical literature, some important aspects have not been explored. In particular, the iconography of the pose of the bishop, who is sitting at his desk and writing, has not been examined in depth; this will be the focus of the present study. The monument of Alonso de Madrigal in the Cathedral was erected on the outside of the capilla mayor along the ambulatory. It consists of two major elements: the bronze tomb slab and the sculpted tomb (Figure 2.1). The engraved bronze slab in front of the tomb shows the lying figure of the bishop. It is repeatedly referred to as being a Flemish work, imported from Flanders shortly after the death of the bishop in 1455.5 But the libros de Gastos de la fábrica from 1520 report that the tomb slab (laude del Tostado) was transported from Burgos to Ávila cathedral in that year, thus establishing that it is a work of the 16th century, which replaced the old, provisional and possibly undecorated slab.6 Since there is no documentation on bronze foundries in Ávila during this period, it was necessary to commission the tomb slab in another town, and it is likely that it was not only transported from but also cast in Burgos, since it seems to be a Spanish work.7 The date of the transport makes it highly probable that the tomb slab had been commissioned at the same time as the sculptures of the tomb monument in Ávila cathedral. The style is quite conventional and conservative. It gives a “Northern” impression, untouched by any new Italian influences. The sculpted parts of the monument also belong to the beginning of the 16th century. A magnificent screen was erected, dividing the ambulatory from the capilla mayor with five sculpted panels. Four of the panels show the Evangelists, writing their gospels, while the central, axial panel holds the monument of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal.8 The sculptures were executed by the Spanish sculptor Vasco de la Zarza. Not much is known about Zarza. He was probably born about 1450/60, although no early work

Figure 2.1 Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal, 1520–1524, Cathedral, Ávila (photo by the author).

40  Johannes Röll has been identified. He died in 1524 in Ávila, where he had lived and worked for most of his life.9 His style was influenced by Italian sculpture, and one might assume that he had either visited Italy (e.g. Genoa, Rome, Naples) himself or had gained this knowledge from Italian sculptors working in Spain, for instance Domenico Fancelli, with whom he possibly worked at the tomb of Cardinal Diego de Mendoza in Seville Cathedral.10 The bishop’s monument was thought to have been finished in 1518,11 but the publication of documents by M. J. Ruiz-Ayúcar in 1981 revealed that the tomb was already under way and even possibly finished in 1511.12 A contract between the Chapter of the Cathedral and Vasco de la Zarza, dated 22 September 1511, reads: “referring to the chapel behind the choir that was made by the said Çarça with statuary in the Roman style and referring to the other four chapels on the trascoro they ask him to make”.13 This contract also reveals another important fact, previously neglected in the interpretation of the tomb. Several passages refer to the five capillas as one commission: “what one has to give to Çarça for that what he has done behind the choir . . . and to establish with him what one has to pay him for it as well as for the other four chapels”.14 The contract continues, “said Çarça has to have made and completed the said four chapels which are to be made within the next two years following the histories which said señores order and command”.15 This shows that it was not simply a burial place for the famous scholar that was to be established about 60 years after his death, but that a memorial consisting of five capillas was to be erected. This memorial was to embrace the choir of the cathedral, representing the bishop as a humanist and theologian.16 This is an entirely new concept within Spanish architecture and sculpture, as it is reminiscent of chapels of saints in Italy, for example the Chapel of San Antonio in S. Antonio in Padua. It has been rightly pointed out that it was unusual for a tomb figure to be shown sitting and writing. In the context of the tomb of El Tostado, several models or parallels have been named with more or less justification: the memorial of Dante in Ravenna,17 some tombs of university teachers in Bologna,18 reliefs on the façade of the Certosa di Pavia, and, above all, the tomb of Pope Innocent VIII in St Peter’s in Rome, a work by Antonio Pollaiuolo.19 Innocent’s tomb was instrumental in promoting tombs with sitting protagonists, for example the tombs of Pope Leo X and Clement VIII in Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome.20 But although all these examples fit neatly into the category of “sitting”, the active pose of “writing”, so important in Alonso’s tomb, is missing in all of them. Taking the entire ensemble into account it becomes apparent that this unusual posture is not unique to the monument: Alonso de Madrigal is shown in the same pose as the four Evangelists, sitting and writing. The monument thus has a different approach with respect to previous tombs in Spain. It shows the deceased not only as a gisant, but as a figure engaged in some activity. This seems also to be influenced by Italian tombs of the time, where tombs also illustrate an important scene from the life of the deceased, such as presenting Innocent VIII with the Holy Lance, or the coronation of Pope Pius III on his tomb, originally in St Peter’s and now in S. Andrea della Valle in Rome.21 The scholar is not merely presented as a writer among writers, but as a writer on ecclesiastical subjects among the evangelists (Figures 2.2 and 2.3). As such, his image follows closely the iconographical model of the “Autorbild”, showing the Bishop as a scholar at work. This way of representing him was only possible due to the enormous reputation the Bishop had earned during his lifetime. His writings comprise

Figure 2.2  Mark the Evangelist, Cathedral, Ávila (photo by the author).

42  Johannes Röll

Figure 2.3 Detail of the Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal, Cathedral, Ávila (photo by the author).

commentaries on St Eusebius, on various books of the Old Testament and on the Gospel of St Matthew.22 Respect for his learning was sustained long after the death of Alonso in 1454, and it seems that in the 1480s a renewed interest arose in his biography and writings. Fernando de Pulgar in his “Lives of Famous Men” (Claros varones de Castilla), written in the mid-1480s, gives a brief account of Alonso’s life.23 “Don Alonso, obispo de Ávila is praised there for his great learning and memory”. He died “with the reputation of having been the wisest man of his time in the Church of God”.24 The commission for the new tomb monument came, as the documents show, from the Chapter of the cathedral. In those years, from 1497 to 1514, Don Alonso Carillo de Albornoz was bishop of Ávila. It is, however, likely that this renewed interest in Alonso derives not only from the Chapter of Ávila, but more directly from the circle of the “Catholic Kings” Isabel and Fernando, and of Cardinal Francisco Ximénez de Cisneros, and their dedication to all things “Catholic”. To strengthen the mainly military Reconquista by raising the profile of writers on theological and Christian subjects was certainly an aim of the rulers—using lead, to paraphrase a quotation attributed to Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, not only for shotguns but also for printing.25 The printing press was an important factor in enhancing Alonso’s reputation and fame. A few works appeared in the 1490s, the earliest of which was his commentary

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 43 on the Gospel of St Matthew, published for the first time in Seville in 1491 (Floretum sancti Matthaei, Compendium del comentario a san Matéo).26 The Tratado sobre el Eusebio de las Crónicas o tiempos was printed in Salamanca from September 1506 to September 1507 by the press of “Hans Gysser de Silgenstat”. This treatise contains the important Sobre los dioses de los gentiles, an encyclopedic study of classical writers on Greek and Roman gods and heroes.27 These years also mark the starting point of the Opera omnia of Bishop Alonso. The initiative was due to Cardinal Ximénez de Cisneros.28 In 1506, the Latin manuscripts were sent to the editor, Gian Jacobo de Angelis in Venice, and printing started in 1507.29 Work progressed slowly, due to difficult circumstances, and the final, 13th volume of this edition appeared only in 1531, printed “in aedibus Petri Liechtenstein” in Venice. The main motives behind this renewed interest in Alonso de Madrigal as a theologian and writer are explained in the Prologus to Tostado sobre el eusebio, printed in Salamanca on 28 September 1506. The Prologus contains a letter addressed to Cardinal Cisneros.30 This letter makes it clear that Cisneros was the driving force behind the printing of Alonso’s works.31 Cisneros is, in this letter, praised for his search for unedited material to strengthen the Christian faith. The works of Alonso had not been published previously because there was no one interested in these writings and the printing cost would have been high. Cisneros took the initiative to send Alonso’s Latin manuscripts to Venice so that they could be printed there. The Eusebio and the other vernacular works should remain in Salamanca and be printed there.32 Cardinal Ximénez de Cisneros’ interest in publishing the edition of the Opera omnia of Alonso de Madrigal was obviously similar to his interest in printing the work he is most famous for, the Complutesian, or Polyglot, Bible. Three motives were behind Ximénez’ sponsoring of the Polyglot Bible: his desire to encourage piety, his recognition of the need for accurate texts of the scriptures, and his urge to unify the disparate religious and cultural elements of early modern Spain.33 It is not difficult to see that the publication of the complete works of Alonso would serve the same purpose, but this important link between Cisneros’ first major venture into printing, the Biblia Complutense and the tomb monument of the author he wished to promote, has not yet received any attention. The project for the Polyglot Bible and Alonso’s Opera omnia both emerge in the first decade of the 16th century,34 as does the idea and execution of the tomb monument and the entire decoration of the outside of the capilla mayor along the ambulatory of Ávila cathedral. Given all this, it is not surprising to find that the first book to be issued by the printing press of Arnao Guillen de Brocar in Alcalá de Henares, the press chosen by Cisneros for the impressive volumes of his own Biblia Complutense, was in fact a work by Alonso de Madrigal (26 February 1511).35 Interest in Alonso de Madrigal was, however, not restricted to the printing of his written work. Pulgar’s account of the life of Alonso, and the subsequent start of publishing his manuscripts, needed to be backed up by an instructive image of the writer, adding a face to the scholarly work. This was done in two ways: first, by supplying an image of Alonso for the printed edition of his works, and second, by refurbishing his presumably modest original tomb monument, thus creating a unique memorial. The first woodcut executed for the printed edition was used in the Tostado sobre el eusebio, printed in Salamanca on 28 September 1506 by the press of Hans Gysser of Silgenstat (i.e. Seligenstadt, plate 8).36 An author, most likely Alonso de Madrigal, sits in his study and writes in a book placed on a lectern on the desk; next to it is a

44  Johannes Röll large bookshelf holding several weighty tomes. A manuscript of Eusebius’s Cronaca, datable to around 1488–1489, shows a very similar miniature which could have been the model for the woodcut in Gysser’s edition.37 Although it seems that the printed text was not based on this manuscript, it—or a close copy—might have been known to Gysser, since not only the subject of the illustration, but also the ornaments and the layout of the entire page, are similar.38 This image of the scholar writing in his study must have been very important to the editor of Alonso’s works, for we find it only seven months later in the first volume of his Opera omnia, printed in Venice. It is in the Paralipomenon opus preclarissimum (there on fol.2), from the press of Bernardino Vercellese, dated 20 April 1507 (Figure 2.4); it was re-used in the second edition by Gregorio de Gregori of 13 October 1507 (Figure 2.4).39 The woodcut is signed with the initial “L”, and the cutter has been identified as Luc’Antonio degli Uberti.40 It is clear that this image is reversed and a slightly altered version of the Salamanca woodcut. The writer now faces the opposite direction. He sits at an identical desk, with the recognizable leaf-like ornament on the edge. The books are again stored on a shelf in the background, while a window above a small bench opens onto a landscape to the writer’s left. An important change should be noted: the author in the Salamanca edition did not possess any iconographic attribute to enable a secure identification as Alonso de Madrigal.41 The author in the Venice edition, however, has placed his miter prominently on the corner of the table adjacent to the desk, underlining the connection between the writer and his work. Further proof that the 1508 Venice edition uses images from the earlier Salamanca volume is provided by another woodcut, the Donation of the Chasuble to St Isidore by the Virgin Mary.

Figure 2.4 Alonso de Madrigal, Tostado sobre el eusebio, Salamanca, 28 September 1506, Hans Gysser of Silgenstat (upper image) and Alonso de Madrigal, Fidissimi sacrar[rum] littera[arum] Interpretis Divi Alpho[n]si Thostati Ep[iscop]i Abulensis sup[er] Paralipomenon opus preclarissimu[m], page c.[2]r, Bernardino Vercellese, 20 April 1507 (photo: British Library, London).

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 45 The title page of the 1506 Salamanca Eusebio with this image (Figure 2.5) is, as well as the image of the writer, used in an identical way in a 1507 and a 1508 Venice edition (Figure 2.5).42 It shows the legendary donation of the chasuble to St Isidore by the Virgin Mary. This image was first used, in a late Gothic design, by Pedro Hagembach for the 1498 Toledo printing of Juliano Gutierrez’s Cura de la Piedra y del dolor de la yjada, Toledo 1498. It was changed into a more modern version in Hagembach’s Missalem mixtum, Toledo 1500. It was also used by Fadrique de Basilea for Saint Anthoninus of Florence’s Suma de Confesion, Burgos 1499.43 This famous Toledan legend was complemented by another scene above it, with St Francis receiving the stigmata, for the first time in the Vita et processus sancti Thome Cantuariensis, printed in Salamanca on 4 April 1506.44 This book was also commissioned by Cardinal Cisneros from the press of Hans Gysser.45 Cisneros, as archbishop of Toledo, seems to have especially venerated St Isidore. A portrait relief by Felipe Bigarny and Fernando de Rincón from around 1515 in Madrid University shows him wearing a medallion with this scene.46 The foundation of the Colegio de San Ildefonso in Alcalá de Henares and Cisneros’ wish to be buried in its church, and not the older and more important Magistral de San Justo y Pastor in Alcalá, are further witnesses to his devotion.47 The title page of the Salamanca Eusebio edition has St Francis kneeling on the top left, receiving

Figure 2.5 Alonso de Madrigal, Tostado sobre el eusebio, Salamanca, 28 September 1506, Hans Gysser of Silgenstat (left) and Alonso de Madrigal, Alphonsi Tostati Episcopi Abulen[sis] in librum Paradoxarum, ‘Joannes et Gregorius de Gregoriis’ for ‘Joannes Jacobus de Angelis’, Venice, August 1508, Title page (photo: British Library, London).

46  Johannes Röll the stigmata from the cross on the right. The central coat-of-arms shows St Ildefonso kneeling on the left, with the Madonna sitting on the right.48 The c­ oat-of-arms of Alonso de Madrigal is below on the right, that of Toledo on the left. The Venice edition presents a modernized version of this woodcut, with St Francis kneeling on the top right, and the coat-of-arms arranged in a more clarified, and also in respect to Salamanca, wrong way round—apart from the central coat-of-arms—order.49 The Venetian image of the scholar writing in his study was replaced in later editions by a modified woodcut based on the same design (Figure 2.6). It appears first on fol. 2r of Super secundum librum Regum, printed in “in edibus Gregorij de Gregorijs, anno a virginali partu 1527. Die 20. mense Julij”.50 This illustration shows the scene in more detail, with some important alterations. The coat-of-arms of Alonso de Madrigal is now placed prominently under the window on the left, and Alonso’s features are given in a more distinct manner. The bookshelf has been erased, the books are now found, in disorder as before, in a space under and within the desk. An angel appearing in a cloud who points with his right hand towards the writer now takes up the space formerly occupied by the bookshelf. Under the scene the words “Hic stupor est mundi, qui scibile discutit omne” are inscribed. The introduction of the angel is a significant change in the perception of Alonso de Madrigal. It recalls the “one believes that God did help him somehow to write” [“se cojetura que dios con alguna especialidad le ayudaua a escriuir”] of the letter of the

Figure 2.6  Alonso de Madrigal, Super secundum libru[m] Regu[m], printed in ‘in edibus ­Gregorij de Gregorijs, anno a virginali partu 1527. Die 20. mense Julij., fol. 2 recto (photo: British Library, London).

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 47 Prologus to the 1506 Salamanca Tostado sobre el eusebio, quoted above. The relation to images of the evangelist St Matthew and the angel is obvious. A modified version of this image appears once more in the 1528 edition of Super librum Numerorum (Venice, Peter Liechtenstein).51 In this woodcut, which is executed in a less skilful manner, the bishop is wearing the miter and his episcopal coat (Figure 2.7). The title page of the 1507 edition of Alonso’s In Paralipomenon Explanatio litteralis amplissima illustrates a further portrait of Alonso de Madrigal (Figure 2.8). The lower border shows, on the right, Alonso de Madrigal writing at his desk, and on the left a bearded hermit, surely St Jerome, who sits on a rock or a tree trunk, explaining the Scriptures to the bishop.52 The Venetian edition of Alonso’s In librum Paradoxarum, printed in August 1508,53 uses the same frame, but exchanges the woodcut of the lower border, returning to the theme of the inspiring angel (Figure 2.8). This time the scholar is brought into direct comparison with the evangelist St Matthew: the woodcut in the border of the title page shows both sitting and writing. The connection of all of these images to Alonso’s tomb in Ávila is evident. The woodcut’s connection of Alonso with St Matthew is expanded in such a manner that the bishop is seen surrounded by all four evangelists in the choir of Ávila. The emphasis is thus placed on writing holy scriptures by saintly persons. Alonso being surrounded by all four evangelists thus moves not only the bishop to the ranks of those venerated authors, but also serves to compare, and raise, his writings to theirs. We do not know who thought of illustrating the outstanding importance of the scholar on his tomb via the iconographic image of the “Autorbild”. For the history of the monument, this step was crucial. It established the image of El Tostado, who was previously known only to the letterati, as a learned theologian for everyone to see.

Figure 2.7 Super librum Numerorum, Venice, Peter Liechtenstein, 1528 (photo: British Library).

Figure 2.8  Alphonsi Thostati in Paralipomenon Explanatio litteralis amplissima, 1507 (upper) Alonso de Madrigal, Alphonsi Tostati Episcopi Abulen[sis] in librum Paradoxarum, ‘Joannes et Gregorius de Gregoriis’ for ‘Joannes Jacobus de Angelis’, Venice, August 1508, title page, detail (photo: British Library, London).

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 49 This is surely not the place to discuss in extenso the origins and history of the “Autorbild”,54 but it is important to note that in Alonso’s case, two main strands of the iconographic tradition come together: the image of the author and scholar as presented in manuscripts and early printed books, and the image of St Jerome in his study. It seems most likely that the idea for this new tomb iconography was once again connected to the circle of Cardinal Cisneros, or quite possibly to the cardinal himself. Looking back at the dedication letter of the 1506 Salamanca edition, it is obvious that the overall aim was not merely to make Alonso de Madrigal’s work accessible to the public, but also to raise Spain’s reputation by doing so. The letter compares Alonso to other well-known Spaniards, such as Seneca or Quintillian. This stands as a confirmation of the new unity of Spain after the Reconquista, and also makes explicit the competition with Italy at the time.55 By spreading Alonso de Madrigal’s word and image and thus establishing within church history a major figure who had been little known outside Spain, Cardinal Cisneros’ intention to raise Spain’s ranking and reputation, and its influence, would also gain in the long run. Choosing an Italian framework was, in those years, almost inevitable. But nevertheless, it is an important step, thus moving the bishop who had been dead for more than 60 years into the ranks of the royal family and other illustrious contemporaries. The impact of Italian Renaissance sculpture on the tomb of Alonso de Madrigal has many facets. Looking at the ornamental decoration, one can decipher various examples in use in Italy, from the Certosa di Pavia to Venice, Florence and Rome, and also to antiquity. Considering the individual style of the figures, one is able to discern various influences, but cannot link directly to a master with whom Vasco de la Zarza might have trained in Italy. The iconography and typology is connected in manifold ways to Italian sculptures.56 The Venus Medici57 is quoted in the figure of Eve, an ancient funerary altar58 is used as the crib for the scene of the Nativity (in a way also reminiscent of Ghirlandaio’s Nativity in the Cappella Sassetti in Santa Trinità in Florence from 1485) and certain reliefs at the Certosa di Pavia find their reflection (probably transmitted via drawings or prints).59 Contemporary Italian sculpture in Spain, such as the tomb of Prince Juan in S. Tomaso in Ávila, executed by Domenico Fancelli, also plays a significant role. But the most important interconnection between Spain and Italy is not a matter of style or of influence, but rather the intellectual goal to raise the profile of an eminent theologian who otherwise might have been unknown. This happened mainly through book illustrations, both in Italy and Spain (and executed mainly by German printers) and the use of the image of the author, be it printed or sculpted, thus underlining the internationality of this sepulchral project.

Notes 1 This is the expanded version of a paper presented at the Robert H. Smith Renaissance Sculpture Conference “International Connections: Renaissance Sculptors and their Impact Abroad” at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London in March 2015. I do thank Peta Motture, Lois Salter, Holly Trusted and Paul Williamson for the invitation to the conference and their comments. A very early version of this paper benefitted much from the comments by Jill Kraye, Elizabeth McGrath and David Chambers. I also thank Antonina Tetzlaff for help with preparing this text for printing. 2 For the tomb see: María J. Ruiz-Ayúcar, “El sepulcro y la laude de ‘El Tostado’.” Archivo Español de Arte 54 (1981), 93–100; Francisco-José Portela Sandoval, “El escultor Vasco

50  Johannes Röll de la Zarza y el sepulcro del Tostado en la catedral de Ávila,” in As relações artísticas entre Portugal e Espanha na época dos Descobrimentos, ed. Pedro Dias (Coimbra: Livraria Minerva, 1987), 215–32; María J. Ruiz-Ayúcar, La primera generación de escultores del s. XVI en Ávila: Vasco de la Zarza y su escuela 1 (Ávila: Institución Gran Duque de Alba, 2009), 196–214; see also Annie Cloulas, “La sculpture funéraire dans l`Espagne de la Renaissance: Les commandes ecclésiastiques.” Gazette des Beaux -Arts 121 (1993), 139–63, esp. 145–9 and n. 39. 3 Although Luisa Cuesta had already pointed out in 1950 that “Tostado” was his father’s name (“don Alonso Tostado, o Fernández Tostado,” in: Luisa Cuesta, “La edición de las obras del Tostado, empresa de la corona española,” Revista de archivos, bibliotecas y museos 56 [1950]: 321–34) the origin of the name “El Tostado” has remained in dispute. Nuria Belloso Martín (Política y humanismo en el siglo XV: El maestro Alonso de Madrigal, el Tostado, [Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid, 1989], 13) thinks that his dark skin (“tez morena”) was responsible for the supposed nickname. Another explanation suggests that the bishop burned himself when reading or writing by candlelight (see Gisela ­Noehles-Doerk, Madrid und Zentralspanien: Kunstdenkmäler und Museen [Stuttgart: Reclam, 1986], 323). For a biographical account see esp. Belloso Martín, Política y humanismo. There is also some confusion about “Alonso” and “Alfonso” as first name, here it is always given as “Alonso” unless “Alfonso” has been used in a bibliographic reference. 4 There is some confusion about these dates. The date for his election as Bishop of Ávila is given in the Diccionario de historia ecclesiastica de España, ed. Tomás Marín Martínez et al. (Madrid: Instituto Enrique Flórez/Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1972–1975) s.v. “Madrigal, Alfonso de” as 11.2.1445; the date given in the same Diccionario, s.v. “Ávila,” is 11.2.1454. Both are found frequently in the literature. The latter is the correct date; see Belloso Martín, Política y humanismo, 32 and n. 78, quoting the papal document of 1454. It also corresponds to the sequence of bishops in Ávila. The tomb slab gives 3 September 1455 as the date of his death, this is the one usually quoted. Another date, however, appears in a contemporary document: 4 December 1455; see Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 93–4 and n. 1. 5 Beatrice Gilman Proske, Castilian Sculpture: Gothic to Renaissance (New York: The Hispanic Society of America, 1951), 6; José M. de Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI (Madrid: Editorial Plus-Ultra, 1958), 99. 6 Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 99. For the tomb slab, see also: María Á. Franco Mata, Escultura gótica en Ávila, (Valladolid: Fundación Las Edades del Hombre, 2004), 51–2. 7 This assumption can be confirmed by the inscription, where “excelentissimus” is spelt with only one “l”—the Spanish form—and not with double “ll,” as it is usually spelled in Latin in this period, and also in Italy. 8 The iconographic programme of the trasaltar is composed of many figures and scenes, all more or less conventional within the con-text of sepulchral monuments. The relation of the scenes and saints to each other is not always clear. All panels, apart from the central one, have the same structure. The bottom row shows the four Evangelists and Alonso de Madrigal, the “writers”. Above there are representations of four Saints, St. Martin, St. Eustachius (or St. Hubertus? The relief shows some resemblance to Albrecht Dürer´s engraving of St. Eustace, ca. 1501; see Walter L. Strauss, The Intaglio Prints of Albrecht Dürer: Engravings, Etchings & Drypoints [New York: Kennedy Galleries, 1976], no. 34.), St. James and St. George, the central tondo above El Tostado represents the Adoration of the Magi. All four saints are knights or hunters (St. James is shown as “Santiago Matamoros”, in the act of fighting against the Moors, a representation typical for Spain). The central scene is surely a reference to the “altar de los Reyes” which was “delante del altar de Santa Maria de las espaldas del coro” (Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 95; “in front of the Altar of The Virgin at the back of the choir”. The central chapel of the choir is dedicated to the “Nuestra Señora de Gracia”. See also Portela Sandoval, “El escultor Vasco de la Zarza,” 229 f.). Although some of the subjects could be linked to those of the surrounding chapels of the “Girola,” the top row of panels seems not to be connected in a programmatic sense, showing the Assumption of Mary, the scene of “Noli me tangere,” the Birth of Christ, the Beheading of St. John the Baptist, and the Baptism of Christ. María J. Redondo Cantera (El sepulcro en España en el siglo XVI: tipologia e iconografia [Madrid: Centro Nacional de Información

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 51 y Documentación del Patrimonio Histórico, 1987]) gives an exhaustive list of monuments where the same iconographic scenes occur: Ascension, 172; Noli me tangere, 171; Baptism, 160–1; Nativity 158; The Journey of the Three Wise Men, 159; Epiphany, 159; Adam and Eve, 154; San Jorge, 185; San Juan Bautista 186; San Martín, 191; Santiago, 195. 9 A brief account of Vasco de la Zarza’s life and work is given by Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI, 96–104. He is first mentioned in 1499 in Ávila, working on the high altar of the cathedral which he finished in 1508. Around 1515, he was active in Toledo, working on the tomb of Alonso Carillo de Albornoz, but otherwise his activities seem to have been limited to Ávila. See also also Portela Sandoval, “El escultor Vasco de la Zarza,” esp. 215–6. 10 Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI, 99. Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 97, mentions two Italian influences: “lombardo-véneta” and “florentina”; also Portela Sandoval, “El escultor Vasco de la Zarza,” 216, refers to Fancelli and “obras de escultores como Pietro y Tullio Lombardo, Giovanni Antonio Amadeo, Rossellino o Pollaiuolo, entre otros”. Apart from these general remarks, no detailed study attempts to narrow the suggestions down. For Domenico Fancelli, see Patrick Lenaghan, The Arrival of the Italian Renaissance in Spain: The Tombs by Domenico Fancelli and Bartolomé Ordóñez (PhD diss., New York University, 1995); for the collaboration between Zarza and Fancelli esp. 355–8; and Patrick Lenaghan, “Reinterpreting the Italian Renaisance in Spain: Attribution and Connoisseurship.” The Sculpture Journal 2 (1998), 13–23. 11 Proske, Castilian Sculpture, 337; Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI, 99. Since the body of the bishop was transferred to the new tomb only in 1521 or 1522 (Redondo Cantera, El sepulcro en España, 273, quotes the inscription on the tomb “TRASLADARONSE LOS HVESOS DEL TOSTADO HA X DE FEBRERO ANO DE MIL D XXII ANOS”), it seems not unlikely that this also points to the finishing date of the work. This is confirmed by the fact that the next documented commission for Vasco de la Zarza in Ávila, the altar of S. Catalina, dates from the year 1522. Redondo Cantera, El sepulcro en España, 40, gives a brief account of the works: 1511 Vasco de la Zarza received 40,000 maravedís for the “Capilla que es de tras del coro,” which was identified as the location of the bishop’s tomb. 4835 maravedís were paid in 1520 to a citizen from Burgos who looked after the transport of the “lápida sepulchral.” Four years later, in 1524, Vasco de la Zarza received 1112 ducados for the tomb of the Bishop and other works for the cathedral. 12 Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 96 and Ruiz-Ayúcar, Vasco de la Zarza y su escuela. Documentos (Ávila: Ediciones de la Institución “Gran Duque de Alba,” 1998), 23 f. (the quotations in the text follow the 1998 edition). 13 “sobre razón de la Capilla ques detrás del coro que avia fecho el dicho Çarça de imageneria e obra romana e sobre las otras quatro capillas de tras del coro que quedan por fazer”; RuizAyúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 96, presents good arguments for this date; but see Cloulas, “La sculpture funéraire,” esp. 145–9 and n. 39; who is opposed to linking the mentioned document to the tomb, but fails to give a different explanation. 14 “lo que se de dar a Çarça de lo que tiene fecho tras el coro . . . e asentar con el lo que se le aya de dar por ella como por las otras quatro capillas”; Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 95. 15 “quel dicho Çarça haya de dar fechas e acabadas las dichas quatro capillas que están por faser dentro de dos años primeros siguentes de las estorias que los dichos señores ordenaren e mandaren”. Ibid., 96. 16 That the entire monument was understood as a unity at the time of its erection is documented by the remarks of Gonzalo de Ayora, Epílogo de algunas cosas dignas de memoria pertenecientes a la ciudad de Ávila, ed. Antonio del Riego (1519; Madrid: Imprenta Andres y Diaz, 1851), 43: “una solemnísima figura en lo principal del trascoro, a las espaldas del altar mayor, entre las dellos evangelistas, por famosísimo esponedor del sancto Evangelio”. This passage is quoted by Manuel Gómez Moreno, Catalogo monumental de la Provincia de Ávila, ed. Aurea de la Morena et al. (Ávila: Ministerio de Cultura/Institución Gran Duque de Alba, 1983), 101. Gómez-Moreno does not draw any conclusions from this passage; see also Cloulas, “La sculpture funéraire,” no. 37. 17 E.g. Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI, 99 (but locating the monument “en Verona”, in this error following Gómez Moreno, “Vasco de la Zarza, escultor.” La Lectura [1907]: 110–24); Redondo Cantera, El sepulcro en España, 133. 18 Redondo Cantera, El sepulcro en España, 133.

52  Johannes Röll 19 Azcárate, Escultura del siglo XVI, 99; Ruiz-Ayúcar, “Sepulcro y laude,” 98; Redondo Cantera, El sepulcro en España, 133, describes the tomb as a “consecuencia indudable del sepulcro de Innocencio VIII.” 20 See Stefan Kummer, “Vom Grabmal Innozenz’ VIII. des Antonio Pollaiuolo zum Grabmal Urbans VIII. von Gianlorenzo Bernini,” in Forschungen zur Reichs-, Papst- und Landesgeschichte, Peter Herde zum 65. Geburtstag von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen dargebracht, ed. Karl Borchardt and Enno Bünz, vol. 2 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1998), 885–98. 21 See Johannes Röll, “Das Grabmonument Papst Pius’ III,” in Praemium Virtutis. Grabmonumente und Begräbniszeremoniell im Zeichen des Humanismus, ed. Joachim Poeschke et al. (Münster: Rhema, 2002), 233–56. 22 He had planned to write commentaries on all the Gospels, but could not finish this plan; see Klaus Reinhardt and Horacio Santiago-Otero, Biblioteca Bíblica Ibérica Medieval. Medievalia et humanistica 1 (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1986), 64–79. 23 Fernando de Pulgar, Claros varones de Castilla, ed. Robert Brian Tate (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 71–3. 24 Ibid., 73: “con fama del más sabio ome que en sus tienpos ovo en la iglesia de Dios”. 25 “Mehr als das Gold hat das Blei die Welt verändert, und mehr als das Blei in der Flinte das Blei im Setzkasten des Druckers”. This quotation, sometimes connected to Georg Christoph Lichtenberg’s Sudelbüchern, is, however, not to be found there and is not in fact by Lichtenberg (I am grateful for this information to Professor Ulrich Joost, Lichtenberg-Gesellschaft, Darmstadt). 26 Reinhardt and Santiago-Otero, Bibliotheca Bíblica, 66. Pedro Ximenes de Prexano, El tostado sobre sanct matheo. Floretum San Mathei. Hispali, 1491. 2 vols. In the second volume: “Floretum sancti Mathei diligentissime collectum a reuerendo presule Lauriensi domino petro de prexano in sacra scriptura professore dignissimo: explicit felicissime. Jmpressum hispali per paulum coloniensem & Johannem pegnicer de nuremberga atque Magnum & Thomasem Allemanos . . . Johannes de Arellano canonicus pacensis ac Tutelensis. Johannes de Reuenga eiusdem domini Episcopi secretarius . . . finis ultima die mensis Septembris. Anno salutis nostre Millesimo quadringentesimo nonagesimo primo”. 27 See José Fernández Arenas, “ ‘Sobre los Dioses de los Gentiles’ de Alonso Tostado Ribera de Madrigal.” Archivo Español de Arte 49 (1976), 338–43, who underlines the significance of this work for the history of mythological studies. A reprint of the entire text is now available: Alonso Fernández de Madrigal (El Tostado), Sobre los dioses de los gentiles, ed. Pilar Saquero Suárez-Somonte et al. (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1995). See also Ronald G. Keightley, “Alfonso de Madrigal and the Chronici Canones of Eusebius”. The Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 7 (1977), 225–48. 28 For Cisneros’ involvement in the edition see Felipe Fernández-Armesto, “Cardinal Cisneros as a Patron of Printing”, in God and Man in Medieval Spain. Essays in Honour of J. R. L. Highfield, ed. Derek. W. Lomax and David Mackenzie (Warminster: Aris & Philipps, 1989), 149–68; and Pedro Sáinz Rodríguez, La siembra mística del Cardenal Cisneros y las reformas en la Iglesia (Madrid: Fundación Universitaria Española, 1979), esp. 134–50. 29 Reinhardt and Santiago-Otero, Bibliotheca Bíblica, 66–7, with a short history of the edition. See also Vicente Beltrán de Heredia, Cartulario de la Universidad de Salamanca, vol. 2 (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1970), ch. XVI: “Edición de las obras del Tostado en Venecia bajo la dirección del maestro Alonso Polo”, 641–52. Cuesta’s (“Edición de las obras del Tostado”, 325–6) assumption that Juan López de Vivero, better known as Doctor Palacios Rubios, was responsible for commissioning the edition is therefore incorrect; he was, however, involved in the edition at a later stage, supervising practical matters. This task was taken over by Alonso Polo, canon of the Cathedral of Cuenca, until the Venetian edition came to an end in 1531. 30 The author of the letter is unknown, though he was definitely a member of the Colegio de San Bartolomé in Salamanca; see Keightley, “Alfonso de Madrigal”, 229 and Curt Wittlin, “El oficio de traductor según Alonso Tostado de Madrigal en su comentario al prólogo de san Jerónimo a las Cronicas de Eusebio”. Quaderns. Revista de traducció 2 (1998), 9–21, 10. 31 This has sometimes been assumed in previous literature, but without much evidence. See e.g. Rosario Díez del Corral Garnica, Arquitectura y Mezenazgo: La imagen de Toledo

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 53 en el Renacimiento (Madrid: Alianza Ed., 1987), 59: “en un inventario de testamentería encontramos una de las obras del Tostado, en cuya publicacíon puso Cisneros especial interés”. The location of this inventario de testamentería is unknown, it is not to be found in Antonio Marchamalo Sánchez and Miguel Marchamalo Main, El sepulcro del Cardenal Cisneros (Alcalá de Henares: Fundación Colegio del Rey, 1985). See also Díez del Corral Garnica’s note 26: “Cisneros tiene gran interés en que se publiquen las obras del Tostado, llegando a ver algunas impresas, y dejando una cantidad de dinero en su testamento para que se imprimiera el resto”. Ver Jerónimo López de Ayala (Conde de Cedillo), El cardenal Cisneros, gobernador del reino: estudio histórico 1 (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 1921), 196–7. This quotation is wrong: Cedillo offers instead the following (197): “Era antiguo deseo del Cardenal haceer imprimir las obras del Tostado, Obispo de Ávila. En este sentido interesó al monarca y puso en juego su influencia y aun alguno de los tratados del Abulense se publicó en vida de Cisneros; pero sobreviniéndola muerte, mandó y dejó hacienda para que se sacasen a luz a sus expensas, lo qual se puso por obra seis años después de su fallecimiento”. Cedillo quotes (n. 1) a document of 1517: “En el archivo general de Simancas (Secretaría de Estado, leg. 4, fol. 19) se conserva una Real provisión de D.a. Juana y D. Carlos, fecha en Arande, a 5 de Septiembre de 1517. . . a Maestre Fadrique Aleman, vecino de Burgos, y allí impresor y librero, en que se le dice: que stando acordada la impresión de las obras del Tostado, ha mandado a los impresores que trabajan en España para ‘tomar asiento’ acerca de la tal impresión”, entire document in vol. 3, 623–5. A slightly overzealous account in Sáinz Rodríguez, La siembra mística, esp. 134–50; while FernándezArmesto, “patron of printing”, 149–68 is too cautious, without mentioning the Venice edition at all. An extract from this letter is published in: Fernández de Madrigal, Sobre los dioses, 8–9. 32 Alonso Fernández de Madrigal (El Tostado), Tostado sobre el Eusebio (Salamanca: Hans Gysser, 1506), fol. ii r–v: “Epistola sobre las obras del Tostado dirigida al . . . frey Fra[n] cisco ximenez arçobispo de Toledo”. See also Lorenzo Ruiz Fidalgo, La imprenta en Salamanca (1501–1600) (Madrid: Arco Libros, 1994), vol. 1, no. 56, 201–3. 33 Jerry H. Bentley, Humanists and Holy Writ (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 73–4. For Cisneros see: López de Ayala, El cardinal Cisneros; José García Oró, Cisneros y la reforma del clero español en tiempo de los Reyes Católicos (Madrid: Consejo superior de investigaciones científicas, 1971); Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, “Humanist, Inquisitor, Mystic: Cardinal Jiménez de Cisneros”. History Today 38 (1988), 33–40; Adro Xavier, Cardenal Cisneros: hombre del renacimiento (Barcelona: Ed. Cassals, 1988); Erika Rummel, Jiménez de Cisneros: On the Threshold of Spain’s Golden Age (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 1999). 34 Bentley, Humanists, 72, “but probably the idea of publishing a Polyglot Bible emerged only around 1510”. 35 Marcel Bataillon, Erasmo y España, trans. Antonio Alatorre (fr. Orig. Paris: 1937; Mexico City: Buenos Aires Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1950), no. 53, 38: “El primer libro que salió de la imprenta de Brocar en Alcalá es, según parece, el Tratado de oír Misa del Tostado (26 de febrero de 1511)”. Bataillon’s opinion is confirmed by Frederick J. Norton, A Descriptive Catalogue of Printing in Spain and Portugal 1501–1520 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), no. 9, and Julián Martín Abad, La imprenta en Alcalá de Henares (1502–1600) 1 (Madrid: Arco Libros, 1991), no. 10, 211–2, with the correct title: Tratado al Conde don Alvaro de Stuñiga sobre la forma que a vie te tener en el oyr de la missa. 36 The colophon reads: “Acabose la primera parte del Eusebio por mandato del reuerendissimo señor arçobispo de Toledo. Empressa en la noble cibdad de Salamanca por mi Hans gysser Aleman de Silgenstat en el año de mill e quinientos y seis años a. xxviii. del mes de septiembre. Cum preuilegio”. For Hans Gysser see Ruiz Fidalgo, La imprenta en Salamanca, 1: 43–5, who points out that Gysser was Cisneros’ preferred printer: “Sin embargo hay que hacer mención de que es él el encargado de imprimir todas las ediciones financiadas por el Cardenal Cisneros que se realizan en Salamanca”. 37 Lisbon, Biblioteca Nacional, MSS Illuminados 117–21; see Keightley, “Alfonso de Madrigal”, 227. 38 See Ibid.

54  Johannes Röll 39 Giuseppina Zappella, Il ritratto nel libro italiano del Cinquecento (Milano: Ed. Bibliografica, 1988), vol. 2., plates 343 and 236. For some of the woodcuts of Alonso see also the useful, but brief, overview in Ugo Rozzo, Lo studiolo nella silografia italiana, 1479–1558 (Udine: Forum, 1998), esp. 65–8. 40 For Luc’Antonio degli Uberti see Paul O. Kristeller, Early Florentine Woodcuts (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1897), xl–xlv; Victor Masséna Prince d’Essling, Les livres à figures vénitiens de la fin du XVe siècle et du commencement du XVIe 3 (Florence: Olschki/ Paris: Leclerc, 1914), 98–107, both without mention of the Tostado woodcut; Zappella, Il ritratto, 235f. 41 The image was used again in the Leyes de Madrid, Salamanca c. 1511, printed by the press of Juan de Porras. See Norton, Catalogue of Printing, no. 497, 183–4: “The large initial P (scribe at work) on 2a was used by Liomdedei in 1513. . . and doubtless had belonged to Gysser”. Norton rectifies Vindel’s erroneous dating of the book to 1500; Francisco Vindel, El arte tipográfico en España durante el siglo XV 2 (Madrid: Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores, Relaciones Culturales, 1946), no. 133 and figure on p. 216. 42 Alphonsi Tostati Episcopi Abulensis in librum Paradoxarum, printed by “Joannes et Gregorius de Gregoriis” for “Joannes Jacobus de Angelis”, Venice, August 1508; see also below. The 1507 edition is the Alphonsi Thostati in Paralipomenon Explanatio litteralis amplissima. 43 For these examples see Francisco Vindel, Escudos y marcas de impresores y libreros de España durante los siglos XV a XIX, 1485–1850 (Barcelona: Editorial Orbis, 1942), nos. 19 and 51. 44 This combination of images is described as the printers’ marca by Blanca García Vega, El Grabado del Libro Español, siglos X, XVI, XVII 1 (Valladolid: Institución Cultural Simancas, 1984), nos. 455 and 456, 76, s.v. “Gyffer [sic], Juan”. García Vega describes it also as “las armas de Fr. Francisco Ximenez, Arzobispo de Toledo”, which is not correct. Cisneros’ coat-of-arms shows alternating black and white squares. Jesusa Vega, “Estampas de la imprenta de Toledo. Portadas e iniciales del Renacimiento”. Goya 174 (1983), 343–55, esp. 347, figure 7, describes the image as the “divisa de la Catedral Primada”. 45 See James P. R. Lyell, La ilustración del libro antiguo en España, trans. Héctor Silva Miguel (London: 1926; Madrid: Ollero y Ramos, 1997), 114 and figure 58; and Ruiz Fidalgo, La imprenta en Salamanca, 1.199, no. 52. “Colofón: . . . Acurate et diligenter impressum Salamantice per Joannem gysser alemanum de Silgenstat. Jussu reuerendissimi dni Francisci ximenez Archiepiscopi Toletani. Anno salutatis M.ccccc.vj. pridie nonas aprilis”. 46 See Angelica Francke in Kaiser Karl V. (1500–1558), Macht und Ohnmacht Europas, ed. Petra Kruse (Milan: Skira, 2000), cat. no. 57, 144–5 with the attribution to Felipe Bigarny and Fernando del Rincón. 47 For Cisneros’ choice of his burial place, and the surprise this caused among the Cabildo Magistral; see Marchamalo Sánchez and Marchamalo Main, Sepulcro del Cardenal, 26. 48 The Toledan tradition usually gives this scene the other way around; see e.g. Felipe Bigarny’s altar in the Cathedral of Toledo, dated 1527, or the woodcut based on this altar in Pedro Ciruelo, Expositio libri missalis per egregia (Alcalá de Henares: Miguel de Eguía, 1528); see García Vega, El Grabado, vol. 1, figure 66 and vol. 2, cat. no. 61. 49 See figure 163 in: Essling, Les livres à figures, 2. 1, no. 1599. 50 Zappella, Il ritratto, 42, does not mention this 1527 edition, but instead the Super librum Iudicum et Ruth commentaria, which appeared in 1530, also printed by Peter Liechtenstein. It can also be found in Exquisita doctrina philosophi, historici, geographi rerumque omniu eruditione copiosissimi Alphonsi Thostati episcopi Abulensis expectata repetitio de statu animarum post hanc vitam feliciter inchoatur, “in edibus Petri Liechtenstein, anno 1529”. 51 Beati Alphonsi Thostati Episcopi Abulensis super libro Numerororum explanatio litteralis amplissima nunc primum edita in apertum. 52 The parallels between Alonso de Madrigal and St. Jerome must also have been obvious to the editors of the Opera omnia, with Alonso’s commentary on, and translation of, St. Jerome’s Latin translation of Eusebius’s Chronicle being the closest link. The bishop and the cardinal are brought together in another woodcut in Contra clericos concubinarios (Venice: “in edibus Petri Liechtenstein”, 1529). (figure 8). 53 Essling, Les livres à figures, 2.1, no. 1599, 163–4. Essling also pointed out that the title page is an adapted version of the Herodoti Halicarnasei libri novem, printed in Venice by Joannes

The Tomb of Bishop Alonso de Madrigal 55 and Gregorius de Gregoriis, 8 March 1494 (see Essling, Les livres à figures, 1.2, 196–8, no. 735, figure 12). The central woodcut, as well as the smaller ones in the upper and lower border, have been replaced. Essling, however, does not mention that the depiction of Alonso and St. Matthew is already a modification of the title page of the 1507 In Paralipomenon explanatio litteralis amplissima; see above. 54 Good overviews with previous literature can be found in the following: Wolfgang Liebenwein, Studiolo: Die Entstehung eines Raumtyps und seine Entwicklung bis um 1600 (­ Berlin: Mann, 1977), 53–5; Kerstin Kühnast, Studien zum Studiolo zu Urbino (PhD diss., Universität zu Köln, 1983); Petra Kathke, Porträt und Accessoire: Eine Bildnisform im 16. Jahrhundert (Berlin: Reimer, 1997), esp. chapter 4d: “Das Autorenporträt in der ­französisch-burgundischen Buchmalerei”; Dora Thornton, The Scholar in His Study: Ownership and Experience in Renaissance Italy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997); Susanne Skowronek, Autorenbilder: Wort und Bild in den Porträtkupferstichen von Dichtern und Schriftstellern des Barock (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2000), esp. 26–42; Gerald Kapfhammer, Wolf-Dietrich Löhr and Barbara Nitsche, eds., Autorbilder: Zur Medialität literarischer Kommunikation in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit (Münster: Rhema, 2007). For the iconography of St. Jerome in his study see Otto Pächt, “Zur Entstehung des Hieronymus im Gehäus”. Pantheon 21 (1963), 134; Millard Meiss, “French and Italian Variations on an Early Fifteenh Century Theme: St. Jerome in his Study”. Gazette des Beaux-Arts 62 (1963), 147–70; Renate Jungblut, Hieronymus: Darstellung und Verehrung eines Kirchenvaters (PhD diss. Universität Tübingen, 1966; Bamberg: Urlaub, 1967); see Bernhard Ridderbos, Saint and Symbol: Images of Saint Jerome in early Italian Art (Groningen: Bouma’s Boekhuis, 1984); Eugene F. Rice, Saint Jerome in the Renaissance (Baltimore, London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985). For illustrations in books see Zappella, Il ritratto, and Rozzo, Lo studiolo. 55 The relevant passage of the letter: “Porque a queste dotor eminentissimo tuuo muy alto ingenio vniuersal en todas las sciencias humanas et diuinas et singular en cada vna de llas gasto la mejor parte de su vida en la exposicion dela sagrada escriptura declarando la por vn estilo tan catolico et tan nueuo que ymita en grande manera la sabiduria ingeniosa delos santos dotores et sobrepuja los entendimientos de españa presentes y passados no enbargante que en ellos ouo personas notables et de juyzio singular: assi como el Comendador en philosophia Seneca enel enseñamiento delas virtudes. Quintiliano en la eloquencia. et Lucano en la poesia. Marcial excellente versificador silio trogo et Pomponio mela cosmografo Auicena medico singular: et como dize san ysidro Aristoteles prima de los philosophos en nuestra españa touo origen et nacimiento avnque athenas et grecia se honrraron con su dotrina”. 56 See Ruiz-Ayúcar, La primera generación, 196–214. 57 Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi, inv. No. 224; see Guido A. Mansuelli, Galleria degli Uffizi: Le sculture 1 (Roma: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato, 1958), no. 45, 69–74. 58 Similar to the funerary altar of T. Flavius Sedatus Antonianus in the W.R. Hearst Estate in San Simeon (Calif.), documented in the sketchbook by Battista Brunelleschi, Florence, Biblioteca Marucelliana, inv. A. 78.1, fol. 34r. 59 See Ruiz-Ayúcar, La primera generación, 108. See also Janice Shell, “Amadeo, the Mantegazza and the Facade of the Certosa di Pavia”, in Giovanni Antonio Amadeo. Scultura e Architettura del suo tempo, ed. Janice Shell et al. (Milan: Cisalpino, 1993), 189–222; Andrew Burnett and Richard Schofield, “The Medaillons of the Basamento of the Certosa di Pavia: Sources and Influence”. Arte Lombarda 120 no. 2 (1997), 5–27; Richard Schofield, “The Certosa Medaillons: An Addendum”. Arte Lombarda 127 no. 3 (1999), 74–85.

3 Architecture of the Retablo between Spain and Italy On the Work of Jacopo L’Indaco, Alonso Berruguete and Diego de Siloé (1520–1530) Carlos Plaza Studies on the retablo in Renaissance Spain usually focus on the expressive sculptural apparatus and to a lesser extent on the pictorial one. The architectural structure of the retablo and its role in the architecture of the time is frequently overlooked, especially within a framework of reference which views Italy and Spain as sharing a common ground for experimentation.1 Architectural, sculptural and entalladura work cannot be separated in the interpretation of the production of the great Renaissance masters, especially the Florentine work from the workshop of the Sangallo family, Jacopo Sansovino, Michelangelo and Bartolomeo Ammannati. The same cannot be said regarding the work of the most important artists and architects of the 16th century in Spain, such as the Spaniards, Diego de Siloé and Alonso Berruguete, or Italians like Jacopo L’Indaco. Despite the critical praise lavished upon the work of the three artists during the first ten years of activity in Spain (1520–1530) and its historical influence on Spanish art and architecture from the sixteenth century on, the architecture of their retablos has not been widely studied. The interaction of the arts as a distinguishing feature of the work of Berruguete is limited to painting and sculpture, while the sculptures by Diego de Siloé in this initial period remain separate from their architectural framework, even though he was later well known as an architect. The same was true of the less-studied work of the Italian comprimario of the ‘Águilas’ in Spain, Jacopo L’Indaco. The hybrid nature of the retablo in Spain, which links the ‘stories’—‘las historias’—it contains in the form of paintings or sculptures to the architectural structure, and the fact that the artists themselves were fully responsible for the design, has influenced the critical interpretations of this work, which focus on paintings or sculpture while neglecting the overall readings and analysis of the architecture of the retablos. In this regard, Antonio Ponz, speaking about the design of Alonso Berruguete for the retablo of the monastery of San Benito el Real, states that ‘Another condition was that the whole work had to be produced by the artist himself, clearly proving that he was a painter, a sculptor and an architect’, while Eugenio Llaguno y Amírola also said of him that ‘it is known with certainty that Berruguete executed the decorative architecture used in the retablos and altars in churches. All three arts in the church of San Benito and that of La Mejorada, a Hieronymite monastery near Olmedo, in Castilla la Vieja, are his’.2 The retablos are seen as one of the greatest contributions of Spanish artistic culture for their doctrinal and expressive significance.3 They have been studied both as individual cases of great importance linked to major artists4 and as broad readings covering extended periods of time, especially the case of Renaissance retablos in Seville.5

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 57 Despite the critical success of the retablo, there is little analysis of its architectural design beyond the examination of what Diego de Sagredo referred to as ‘pieças’, individual elements of architectural decoration. However, retablos were a major area of architectural experimentation in late Renaissance Spain, and a topic of wide debate between 1520 and 1530 in relation to the architectural language of the time. Some of the most important artists and architects, including Jacopo L’Indaco, Diego de Siloé, Felipe Bigarny, Pedro Machuca and Alonso Berruguete also designed major architectural Retablos which, unlike other typologies such as wall tombs, have not been recognized as part of the history of sixteenth-century architecture in Spain. The main aim of this study is the analysis of the architectural structure and the evolution of the retablo in Spanish architecture in the 1520s, through the work of Siloé, Berruguete and L’Indaco, artists who were at the centre of the architectural debate between Spain and Italy. Although well-versed in architecture and the experiments in Italy, they had to face Spanish tastes, patrons, contexts and traditions. The exchange between Spain and Italy came to renew the artistic typology of the wooden retablo, considered characteristically Spanish from the early Middle Ages on.

Leonine Architecture Between Florence and Rome In the 1510s, Alonso Berruguete, Jacopo L’Indaco and Diego de Siloé coincided in Italy. Although the first two can definitely be placed in the circles of Florentine and Roman artistic culture,6 experts agree that Diego de Siloé may also have spent time in these cities before returning to Burgos in 1519, either before or after his Neapolitan works, so that the careful analysis of both these contexts takes this date as a starting point. From the papacy of Alexander VI, and especially during that of Julius II, well-known architects and artists congregated in Rome. Many of them had come from Florence and benefitted from the close economic, political and cultural ties with Rome. The election of Leo X in 1513 further strengthened the privileged relationship between Rome and Florence, which involved all the arts, but particularly architecture.7 From the early sixteenth century, the artistic culture of Florentine origin was renewed between Florence and Rome, combined with new experiments and modern searches all’antica, as reflected in smaller architectural works often at the heart of the most important architectural innovation. In Florence, Michelozzo had adapted the tabernacle to the Florentine revival of antiquity, where smaller architectural pieces are in dialogue with the religious and urban spaces they inhabit, as in the cases of the della Mercanzia altar, the chapel of the Crucifix in San Miniato al Monte, which houses an earlier wooden retablo, and the tabernacle in the Basilica della Santissima Annunziata. Towards the end of the century, Giuliano da Sangallo continued with this strategy in the now-lost architectural carvings of a wooden tabernacle for Brunelleschi’s church of the Ospedale degli Innocenti, which housed the wooden panel by Domenico Ghirlandaio and his collaborators, young Michelangelo and possibly Jacopo L’Indaco, who was in Ghirlandaio’s workshop.8 An even more significant example is that of the main altar of the church of Santa Maria delle Carceri in Prato. The great marble structure in this centralplan church, ordered by Lorenzo de’ Medici and built from 1485, contrasts with the rest of the architecture, in terms of both material and composition. In this work, which was designed at the same time as the rest of the church but completed in 1514, Giuliano added to Michelozzo’s search for recognizable all’antica models such as the aediculae of the Pantheon, which he drew in the his Libro dei Disegni or Codice Barberiniano.9

58  Carlos Plaza In the 1510s, the study of the architectural language of façades and ‘minor’ architecture—doors, monuments, wall tombs or wall articulations—was renewed in the cultural centres of Florence and Rome. Their architectural designs were adapted to the overall iconographical programme with sculptures, reliefs or paintings. These were often executed by artists who practiced architecture as well as painting and sculpture. A drawing by Baldassarre Peruzzi conserved in the British Museum and probably intended for the chapel of S. Giovanni in the cathedral of Siena shows the study of two solutions for the door. In it, there is a remarkably harmonious language of order combined with a rich sculptural repertoire. On the right-hand side, the proposed architectural order was articulated by two free-standing columns—with small pillars projecting behind—supporting an overhanging entablature with an attic in relief and a group of sculptures completing the triangular composition. Peruzzi found this solution more satisfactory than the alternative, which he described as ‘Modernaccia’, and the pillars framing the entrance arch were filled with panels ‘to accommodate the stories’—‘p[er] acomodar le ystorie’.10 The search for harmony between a compositional and tectonic structure all’antica and a rich sculptural apparatus—termed ‘le ystorie’ by Peruzzi—was implemented from 1509 in Bramante’s design for the Santa Casa di Loreto, and later continued in the time of Leo X by Andrea Sansovino and Antonio da Sangallo. In this small building Bramante continued his work with a triumphal rhythm for the wall, following the design of the Travata ritmica in the courtyard of the Belvedere. The wealth of sculptures on each one of the façades does not detract from the clear architectural composition for the Santa Casa, which makes use of pairs of Corinthian columns supporting a joint divided entablature. In the smaller façades, sculptures are used in the composition of three different sections; the sections or intercolumniations are used to provide niches for free-standing sculptures, while the central altar wall incorporates a relief. In the longer façades, the composition is expanded with entrance doors below each relief. The overall sculptural profusion does not compromise Bramante’s architectural design or the use of the travata ritmica, and its iconographic apparatus displays greater plasticity and three-dimensional richness. Two major instances of contemporary architectural culture combining architecture and sculpture in the time of Pope Leo X (when Berruguete, Siloé and L’Indaco may possibly have coincided in Florence) are the ephemeral Façade of the triumphal entry of Leo X into Florence in November 1515, executed by Jacopo Sansovino, and the competition for the façade of the church of San Lorenzo, on which Sansovino also worked. This ephemeral façade was the culmination of an ambitious civic programme with the participation of many painters, sculptors, architects and woodcarvers residing in the city at the time, including Jacopo Sansovino, Antonio da Sangallo the Elder, Andrea del Sarto and Giovan Francesco Rustici. Both sculptors and painters were interested in architectural issues, as seen in the example of Sansovino, discussed below, or in the work of Rosso Fiorentino, who designed a highly praised triumphal arch in the canto de’Bischeri.11 Alonso Berruguete was in Florence during the pope’s extended stay there between December 1515 and February 1516, and may have been involved, either individually or in collaboration with some of the other artists, in the extensive work carried out.12 At the time, Alonso was very involved in artistic commissions for important figures with varying degrees of connection to the Medicis. He worked for Giovanni Bartolini—brother of Lorenzo, protonotary to Leo X—in 1513, perhaps painting the Madonna with Child in the Galleria degli Uffizi,13 shortly before Bartolini commissioned the Bacchus from Jacopo Sansovino (Alonso’s rival in the competition

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 59 quoted by Vasari) for the Laocoön in 1510. He also worked on the large panel of the altar of the church of San Girolamo e San Francesco sulla Costa, commissioned by Antonio Pucci, a chamber clerk to Leo X and apostolic diplomatic delegate to Castile.15 This major commission introduced Alonso to the most important artistic circles in the city, in a church where artists such as Ridolfo Ghirlandaio and Francesco Granacci also worked on smaller pieces. In fact, in a letter to his father from Rome in 1512, Michelangelo asked him to contact Granacci to enquire after Alonso’s health, which suggests a close relationship between the two artists. In professional terms, their relationship would have taken material form at least in their collaboration for the major work of the main altar of Sant’Apollonia.16 Indeed, according to Vasari, Granacci was highly involved in the creation of ephemeral apparati and, along with his collaborators, he produced an ephemeral building between the palace of the Podestá and the Badia Fiesolana.17 Whether or not he was involved in the apparati, Berruguete would have known of the major preparations, and above all, the great undertaking of the façade designed by Jacopo Sansovino with large columns, reliefs and paintings by Andrea del Sarto, Andrea Feltrini and Giovan Francesco Rustici, and reconstructed by Arnaldo Bruschi based on Vasari’s description and measurements of the church.18 For the false façade, Sansovino designed a highly original solution with an architectural order composed of pairs of columns with a joint divided entablature. Just as in the Santa Casa di Loreto, the resulting sections between the columns house niches for sculptures and reliefs above the doors. The travata ritmica bramantesca is further highlighted with the central solution completing the layout of the triumphal arch. The relationship between architecture and sculpture in Sansovino’s design has been considered characteristic of the Florentine, and of Leo X’s interest in the complementary dialogue between architectural frames and sculptural decoration, seen in contemporary projects by Giuliano da Sangallo for church façades, and equally visible in projects for the competition for the façade of San Lorenzo which Leo X requested from Giuliano da Sangallo, Jacopo Sansovino, Raphael and Michelangelo.19 Caroline Elam holds that all the projects for San Lorenzo took inspiration from triumphal arches and Sansovino’s temporary façade for the cathedral, all of which emphasize the use of types of order and the profusion of sculptural motifs.20 The definitive project was commissioned from Michelangelo in January 1518, with a very different design from the earlier versions he had produced. The designs of Giuliano da Sangallo, Raphael and Michelangelo proposed an emphasis on the central part, which was raised in relation to the main nave. Giuliano da Sangallo and Raphael opted for a lower register in the form of a robust Doric base which enhances the solid horizontality of the façade. While Giuliano proposed placing sculptures at the ends to finish off, Raphael and Michelangelo emphasize verticality in aediculae with semi-circular spandrels which Michelangelo believed should be part of a second level. The solutions chosen were pairs of semi-columns or pilasters whose rhythm determined the positioning of the sculptures: the Doric entablature somewhat hindered the divided entablature solution chosen by Michelangelo to draw attention to the volume overhanging from the end sections of his initial project. Jacopo Sansovino chose the trabeatio triumphalis, that is, the divided entablature corresponding to the columns. The definitive project from Michelangelo, which is represented in the model in the Casa Buonarroti, chooses to only emphasize the height of the central corpus with a façade all’antica, although it 14

60  Carlos Plaza appears there is no variation in the strategy of vertically articulating the end sections and the central corpus as volumes, which stand out on their own. The freestanding columns on the lower level, the divided entablatures and the overhanging volumes highlighted by the projected pilasters at the back combine the compositional value of the dispositio of architectural elements with its tectonic value and the dialogue established in architectural design with the rest of the reliefs and freestanding sculptures planned for the façade.

Diego de Siloé, Alonso Berruguete, Jacopo L’Indaco and the Retablo Architecture In their first years in Spain, Jacopo L’Indaco, Alonso Berruguete and Diego de Siloé proved themselves with commissions for retablos in which they deployed rich pictorial and sculptural apparati. They were also the authors of the architectural design, sometimes collaborating in a body of work, which to some extent has been overlooked and ignored in the interpretation of the history of Spanish architecture at a time when uses, models and languages were being discussed and renewed. The contract signed by Diego de Siloé for the altar of Santa Ana, also known as La Concepción, states that this had to be expressly ‘al romano’, which prompts reflection on the context in which these artists were experimenting with their work at the time. The need to stipulate the style or the way in which art was carved or decorated, expressly al romano, confirms the presence of other modos, clearly recognizable in the cathedral of Burgos, which Bigarny and Siloé were working on at the time. Decades later, Lázaro de Velasco explicitly stated that their different methods ranged from ‘the German style which they call Modern, or the Roman style which is now being built’.21 However, beyond the association of moderno with Late Gothic and romano with the generalized use of the classical elements, Fernando Marías convincingly argued that ‘a lo romano’ or ‘al romano’ in 1520s Spain referred to the design prevailing in architectural composition through an overall syntax that is based on a carefully employed language of orders.22 Four years after the contract was signed by Siloé, Diego de Sagredo published in Toledo a work in dialogue form on Medidas del Romano, where ‘the measurements known by builders who want to imitate and reproduce Roman buildings are described: lacking these instructions builders have made and daily make many mistakes of lack of proportion and ugliness in the creation of bases and capitals and pieces carved for such buildings’.23 Although a chapter was dedicated to ‘Of some essential geometry principles much used in the art of design’,24 this arte did not aspire to Alberti’s concinnitas, with architecture reduced to a mere combination of pieças taken from the classical repertoire and used as decoration. In addition to Vitruvius and Leon Battista Alberti, Sagredo mentions the master ‘Felipe de Borgoña’, whom he describes as a ‘A most singular craftsman in the art of sculpture and statuary’ but also ‘greatly schooled in all the architectural sciences’.25 In fact, from a comparison between a work by Bigarny and another by Jacopo L’Indaco—who is considered by Fernando Marías to be the link between the contemporary creations in Spain in the 1520s and the ‘new forms’ in architecture al romano from 1520,26 the different meanings of the ‘Roman use’ in Spanish architecture in the 1520s can be studied comparing also the retablos of Alonso Berruguete, Diego de Siloé and Jacopo L’Indaco.

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 61 The first retablos relevant to this study are found in the royal chapel in Granada. In May 1519, Felipe Bigarny was paid for ‘the retablo he was constructing for the Royal chapel in Granada’.27 A few months earlier in January 1519 during his stay at court following his return from Italy, Berruguete, ‘Painter of our lord the King and a courtier’, signed a ‘capitulación de compañía’—professional agreement—with Filippo di Borgogna for the next four years according to which profits would be distributed for works of ‘Painting or sculpture or masonry’.28 This professional agreement supports the theory of Berruguete’s involvement in the great retablo, and experts have identified some of its sculptures, such as the scenes of Los martirios de los Santos Juanes, la Anunciación or that of Santiago Matamoros as his contributions.29

Jacopo L’Indaco In the Vitruvian edition, Lázaro de Velasco, son of Jacopo L’Indaco and Juana de Velasco, mentions the ‘retablo de la Cruz’ among the items painted by his father in Granada, making special mention of ‘la cena y apóstoles’.30 His pictorial contribution to the retablo, alongside that of Pedro Machuca31 has been widely studied, and he is credited with the authorship of the panels of Pentecostés, La Cena and Encuentro de Cristo con los discípulos de Emaús, while Machuca is believed to be the author of Prendimiento, Oración en el huerto and Descendimiento del Limbo.32 As this retablo demonstrates, while Jacopo’s paintings and sculptures have received considerable critical acclaim, his work as an architect or a sculptor between Granada and Murcia has not been as widely researched.33 On February 8, 1521, Jacopo agreed with Pedro Patiño, majordomo and treasurer of the Hospital Real in Granada, ‘to fabricate the retablo of the Royal Chapel of this city, the frontispiece of the chapel of the main door of the church’.34 Jacopo was obliged to ‘Personally construct and carve the whole wooden retablo’ following a ‘muestra’—a model—almost certainly a model submitted previously. L’Indaco laid down very precise conditions in the contract for the execution of the retablo, which was to be finished within five months.35 On the same day, Jacopo and Pedro Machuca agreed to panels where the subject and layout were equally well established in the contract: ‘Paint the seven scenes which I the aforesaid Master Jácome, will execute, and to restore three scenes from the retablo to be placed in the centre’.36 Hence Jacopo, who had already been working in the chapel since October 1520, shared the commission for the series of paintings in the retablo with Pedro Machuca but remained in complete charge of the architectural design of the retablo, and of its execution.37 The contract established a deadline for the completion of the work, as the gilding and painting of the retablo had been arranged with Antonio Plasencia and Alonso de Salamanca ‘thus As Master Jácome Florentin ordered it should be done’.38 It is worth noting the contrast between the architecture of the contemporaneous retablo mayor and that of the Santa Cruz in the royal chapel (Plate 2). Nevertheless, Camón Aznar believed the architectural design of the retablo mayor was the work of L’Indaco,39 he was the author of the retablo of the Santa Cruz, while the main retablo of the chapel was the joint work of Bigarny and Berruguete. Concentrating solely on architectural design, L’Indaco’s design for the retablo of the Santa Cruz may well be the first composition of superimposed al romano architectural orders in Spanish architecture. All that remains today is the raised bench which acts as a base for

62  Carlos Plaza the pedestals of the architectural order and for the first composition with columns, fluted and decorated shafts and Corinthian capitals supporting the trabeatio triumphalis, further accentuating the triumphant rhythm already imposed in the Flemish panels by Dierick Bouts. The retablo was completed with a second level in the form of a semi-circular lunette ‘above the last cornice or crowning’.40 The great retablo, immediately visible on entrance into the chapel, appeared as a lofty composition in which the absence of sculptures heightened the perception of an architectural apparatus revolving around order, emphasized by free-standing elements such as the column ‘two thirds of which are protruding’,41 and the trabeatio triumphalis.

Alonso Berruguete The considered, syntactical correctness of the architectural design of the retablo of the Santa Cruz contrasted with that of the main retablo on which Bigarny and Berruguete were already working. When analysing the architectural design of the main retablo, a few elements can be found which resemble with other individual works by Bigarny; they aid in clarifying his role, his models and his experiments in one of the most important pieces of architectural design in Spain at that time. The retablo takes up the whole of the wall of the main chapel, but does not extend to the eight sections of the vault which were left for some frescos commissioned from Alonso Berruguete, but never executed. It will never be known whether these would have rivalled the plasticity of the great retablo or would have unified the composition, extending the design of the retablo to the eight sections using trompe l’oeil. The fact that Berruguete did not complete these separate retablos commissioned for the royal chapel, or the wall and sacristy frescos adds further weight to the theory that he used his stay in Granada to focus on the collaboration with Bigarny on the main retablo as well as on some of the sculptures confirmed as his work. Therefore, the probable degree of his contribution to the architectural design of the retablo should be reviewed. At the time when the payment to Bigarny for the retablo was recorded, they had both signed the partnership contract and Berruguete had already planned a retablo in Zaragoza before travelling to Granada. Although Berruguete’s contribution to the groups of sculpture has been analysed,42 his contribution to the architecture of the retablo as confirmed by analysis of his later production has not. Behind the profuse sculptures of the retablo there lies an architectural design that does not seek the same compositional clarity as that of the Santa Cruz but rather a variety of models and the resolution of ‘piezas’ through complex syntactic solutions within a whole. The plasticity provided by the sculptures is emphasized by the architectural design which plays with different volumes between the central section, which is finished off with a pediment above the Calvario, and the side sections finished off with semi-circular lunettes. The two registers rising from a pedestaled base are organized through a superimposed architectural order that is only visible in the central part, given that the end sections are divided into two small tabernacle niches with semi-­ circular architraves. The lower one has its own order, housing sculptures of the Fathers of the Church, the apostles and the evangelists. The central section stands out for the trabeatio triumphalis, which in its upper register frames semi-circular niches upon which the whole entablature rests. The solution is reminiscent of the apse of the Pantheon, but treated here as a fragment on a smaller scale and loaded with a very heavy cornice. In the retablo, the balustered columns are also free-standing like those of the

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 63 Pantheon, and in this case are described by Sagredo as ‘monstruosas’ o abalaustrada while the more canonical classical model is projected on the background as a pilaster as in the tabernacles of the ancient Roman temple. The general composition echoes some experiments carried out in the Florentine competition for the façade of San Lorenzo, and is a reflection of the debates of the time between Florence and Rome. This is especially true of the proposals of Michelangelo, who reflects on the introduction of sculpture into the general design in his projects and on the solution for the union between the central corpus and the sides using plastic volumes. In his first project,43 the side sections, full of bas-reliefs, are separated from the central corpus and the semi-circular finish on some prominent end sections, which are featured in another later version of the project.44 In the Granada retablo, the composition strategy of superimposition of orders is patently clear but appears jumbled due to the resolution of the side sections, perhaps due to the need to introduce numerous sculptures into the iconographic apparatus, in complete contrast to the ‘al romano’ composition of the retablo of Santa Cruz. Also in 1521, although the exact date is not known, Alonso Berruguete agreed to the completion of two ‘rretablos de ystorias de bulto’, one with the Descent from the Cross and the Pietà, and the other with a Christ at the Column and a Crucifixion also for the royal chapel. The retablos were intended for ‘the two altars which are empty in the main chapel’45 and were not executed, but they do not seem to be linked to the retablo of the Santa Cruz or have been intended for the same chapel. This was not his first order for a retablo, as on December 20, 1518 he had signed a contract in Zaragoza for the execution of a retablo in polychromed wood with paintings and an alabaster sepulchre for the chapel of San Juan Bautista de Santa Engracia, later destroyed.46 The exact reason for these retablos in Granada not being executed may have been Alonso’s involvement in other work in the chapel, such as the main retablo or the frescos for ‘the two octagonal vaults of the main chapel of the retablo’.47 During his stay in Granada, which was linked to imperial commissions, Berruguete also worked in Valladolid, where he appears in the census of November 1523. On November 2, 1523, the widow of Álvaro de Daza, Francisca de Zúñiga, hired him and Vasco de la Zarza from Ávila to renovate the retablo of the church of the monastery of Mejorada in Olmedo near Valladolid. Vasco de la Zarza died in September 1524, having completed only a third of the work; after pleading unsuccessfully with Felipe Bigarny, Berruguete took up the work anew on October 12, 1525, committing to the completion by Easter 1526 of what is now considered his first work in Spain, of which he was then the sole author, and which is currently preserved in the Museo Nacional de Escultura in Valladolid (Figure 3.1).48 The retablo of the monastery of Mejorada del Campo was believed by Manuel Gómez Moreno to be derived from the retablo of the Santa Cruz, based on the partially fluted columns, grotesques, the semi-circular framing element at the pex, and other decorative motifs.49 This derivation resulted from Berruguete’s search for concinnitas, greater correspondence and balance between the different parts as well as harmony between architectural design and sculptures. A smaller programme of sculptures and Bigarny’s absence contributed to a design wherein Berruguete experimented for the first time with the diagram of the Bramantesque travata ritmica and its possibilities for housing sculptures, as in the Santa Casa di Loreto. This is even more striking in the ephemeral façade Sansovino created for the Duomo in Florence. The strategy of combining groups of paired columns with divided entablature framing the central section, also finished off by a group representing the

64  Carlos Plaza

Figure 3.1 Alonso Berruguete, Retablo Mayor del Monasterio de la Mejorada, 1523–1526, Museo Nacional de Escultura, Valladolid (photo: Javier Muñoz y Paz Pastor).

Calvario, side sections and a free-standing column with trabeatio triumphalis, adapts to the needs of the apse of the monastery church while delimiting the central section of the retablo with its wealth of iconography. Parallel with the work on San Benito in late 1529, the archbishop of Toledo Alonso de Fonseca y Ulloa commissioned the retablo of the chapel of the School of Santiago Zebedeo in Salamanca. Berruguete signed the contract for the retablo on November 3, 1529, as Antonio Ponz stated based on a document, now lost but partially transcribed, which commented on the ‘condiciones’ imposed on the artist by the archbishop.50 According to Ponz, ‘the founder leaves the choice of the width and height

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 65 of the retablo to the artist as he sees fit for the chapel’,51 as well as ‘one condition was that when Berruguete had put together the paintings that were to go in the retablo, he would send the sketch of these for his Lordship to see and if he wished to innovate he could do so and Berruguete could finish the retablo following his instructions’.52 Ponz held that Berruguete appeared in the contract as the author of the architectural design of the retablo and not only the ‘imágenes’, panels and groups of sculptures also specified in the ‘condiciones’.53 In 1529 Berruguete collaborated in Salamanca with Diego de Siloé, who was in charge of designing the courtyard and façade of the school, completing the work begun by Juan de Álava in 1521.54 Just as in the retablo of Mejorada, in Salamanca Berruguete combined the simple overhanging architrave with that of the paired columns in an overall design reminiscent of the experiments for the competition of San Lorenzo: paired orders covering two levels of sculptures with the main emphasis on the central corpus as in the first of Michelangelo’s projects. The Colossol order balustered columns are only found in the lower register and there are pilasters in the rest of the retablo, both projected against the background or in the upper register. At the same time, Diego de Siloé also adhered to mixing modos in the galleries of the school courtyards, combining the balustered columns of the upper level with a fluted semicolumn all’antica and trabeatio triumphalis below. After completing the retablo in Olmedo, Berruguete focused his activity permanently in Valladolid, where he married in 1526, founding an entailed estate a year later. On November 8, 1526, he was awarded the contract for the execution of the ambitious project for the retablo of the monastery of San Benito el Real in Valladolid (Figure 3.2).55 With the collaboration of the prior, Brother Alonso de Toro, Berruguete designed a rich iconographic programme housed within an ambitious and innovative architectural structure.56 These features were probably the reason for Felipe Bigarny’s criticism when asked to give his opinion upon the completion of the work in 1532.57 While working on the main retablo, he was ordered to create two symmetrical retablos for the retrochoir of the church of the monastery under construction in 1530, designed and supervised by Berruguete, Cornielles of Holland and Juan de Cambray.58 The retablo of San Benito el Real may well be the example of Berruguete’s work which best illustrates his knowledge and dialogue with the most innovative architectural culture of the time, using new forms based on the architecture of antiquity, and especially on the work of Bramante.59 Speculation on this approach to architecture from Alonso complements Manuel Arias Martínez’s previous research on sculpture, combining the contemporary direct interest in antiquity with the study of the work of major well-established artists who reinterpreted antiquity in their works.60 Just as in the retablo of Mejorada, Berruguete decided to adapt the structure of the octagonal apse of the church, thus complicating the composition design. In this case, he did not limit himself to rendering with straight sections the three or five-eighths of the head, but rather designed a structure independent from the monastery church, a new scheme in which the new semi-circular central space becomes the head. This is covered with a semi-circular vault structure, with two corpuses at the side finished off with pediments right across and following architectural orders. As was the case with his retablos in the royal chapel and in Salamanca, on each level the balustered columns cover two sublevels of ‘historias’—groups of sculptures or paintings—while the pilasters at the back are designed in more canonical proportions. The sculptures and painted panels are an intrinsic part of the architectural design as a whole, and the innovative and experimental features can be traced back to the

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Figure 3.2 Alonso Berruguete, Retablo Mayor de San Benito el Real, 1526–1532, Museo Nacional de Escultura, Valladolid (photo: Javier Muñoz y Paz Pastor).

experimental atmosphere in Florence and Rome under Leo X. All the elements of the lower and upper levels, from the sides to the central niche, are spread over the entire surface of the retablo. The bench, with niches and sculptures, serves as a pedestal for the architectural order combining paired columns and niches in the intercolumniation on both levels, as in the Santa Casa di Loreto, with paintings and groups of sculptures

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 67 between each pillar. Each pair of columns supports a split architrave with a large overhang decorated with grotesques on the lower level and with a high solid Doric order on the upper level, conferring on the whole with great plasticity. The side volumes, with double columns at each end, form a tectonic support for triangular pediments, between which Alonso placed the group of the Calvario in a great semi-circular vault like that built by Bramante in the choir of the Roman church of Santa Maria del Popolo and designed for the Iulia chapel in San Pietro. For the entire front of the retablo, which incorporated mixed lines and different coverings, Berruguete designed the Bramantesque motif of the travata ritmica, widely used in Tuscan Roman circles in the early sixteenth century. One of the most significant examples of its use as a covering for flat surfaces, based on the Cortile del Belvedere, was in the chapel of Caracciolo di Vico where atypically the horizontal straight lines of the Doric order curve like those of the tempietto of San Pietro in Montorio, On this occasion however, he combined the travata ritmica and a divided Doric entablature like that designed by Berruguete for the retablo of Valladolid. The use of such a directly derivative solution suggests that arrangements had been made with Diego de Siloé or that Alonso had visited the chapel during a trip in Naples. The Caracciolo di Vico chapel is an exceptional piece of work within the Italian context, which is truly innovative at many levels, and has been recognized as one of the first experiments influenced by Bramante outside Rome. Hence the retablo of San Benito may well reflect a visit to the Neapolitan chapel or Berruguete’s ideas directly in line with those of Bramante in Rome and Florence. Diego de Siloé In fact, Diego de Siloé is the author of the final retablos of interest to this study. While Felipe Bigarny was working on the main retablo of the royal chapel in Granada in July 1519, his dissatisfied pupil Diego de Siloé returned to Burgos to continue his professional activity (following his time with Bartolomé Ordoñez in Italy).61 His earliest work on retablos was in Italy, where, according to Pietro Summonte, he collaborated with Bartolomé Ordoñez on the Doric retablo of the Caracciolo di Vico chapel in the church of San Giovanni a Carbonara (1515–1517). Experts believe that Ordoñez built the central bas-relief while Diego was responsible for the rest of the figures.62 However, little attention has been paid by experts to the interesting Doric retablo since Manuel Gómez Moreno’s attribution of its complete authorship to Diego, with the exception of the bas-relief, while he made no comment on the architectural design.63 The marble retablo, under the arch of the triumphal rhythm of the circular travata ritmica, differs from the overall composition strategies with a design which includes different elements, such as the entire upper body. It also adopts some of the principal characteristics of a circular floorplan chapel, particularly the use of the Doric order with rudentate columns and sharp edges, used in this construction for the first time in the Renaissance.64 Niches with sculptures are located between pairs of columns supporting a joint divided entablature in both the retablo and the paratactic design of the inside of the chapel, while the retablo, like the door of the chapel, adopts the motif of the trabeatio triumphalis. Back in Spain from July 1519, Diego did not look to Granada in search of imperial commissions related to the royal chapel but instead chose to remain in his hometown of Burgos where he earned vital commissions linked to the cathedral, including the

68  Carlos Plaza tomb of bishop Acuña and the altar in the chapel of Santa Ana, the golden staircase, the funerary monument to Diego de Santander and the works in the Chapel of Condestable, including the images of the retablo of Santa Ana begun by his father, the retablo of San Pedro and the main retablo of the Presentation in the temple.65 The retablo of Santa Ana by Gil de Siloé was executed in one of the side chapels and at the time of his death the images commissioned to his son Diego were still to be completed. Opposite, in the symmetrical collateral chapel, Diego worked on the retablo of San Pedro, already completed in 1523 when León Picardo gilded it (­Figure  3.3).66 Bigarny has been identified as the author of some images and a part of the retablo of San Pedro based on the ‘double authorship’ documented in the retablo of the Presentation. The exhaustive documentation published by Brother Carlos Villacampa does not mention the authorship of the retablo, while Manuel Gómez Moreno attributed the architectural design to Diego de Siloé. This consists of two levels with columns from which the pedestals stand out, and a Chapitel designed by Bigarny ‘exuberant in crests and pinnacles’,67 while some images, such as that of San Pedro in the centre or San Francisco and Santo Domingo at the sides, and San Jerónimo,68 are attributed to Diego. In this major architectural work Diego applies his command of the language of architectural orders, already demonstrated in the refined architectural design of the marble retablo of the chapel of Caracciolo di Vico. He proposed a retablo in Burgos that is fully all’antica in its use of language and superimposition of orders in two volumes over a raised bench which supports the pedestals under free-standing columns, like that of L’Indaco in the royal chapel. The structural design of the retablo shows his syntactical command of the language of orders, matured by his Neapolitan experience, but not implemented in his previous work in Burgos. Cristiano Tessari suggests that this is the first case in Spain of the superimposition of free-standing Doric and Ionic columns.69 While Felipe Bigarny was the author of some of the images and the moderno finish, Diego de Siloé was the sole author of the architecture of the retablo, one of the most important architectural works in Spain at that time and proof of the intense debates on contemporary architectural culture. The retablo was built in one of the small chapels at the side of the apse, with a short façade opening to the interior of the chapel and not to the central space. Therefore, Diego designed a three-dimensional structure which brought forward, symmetrically, the lateral sections. This created an even shorter side façade which was part of the overall design, opening out to the central space and to the main retablo of the chapel, overlooked by the groups of sculptures in the side niches framed with pilasters and lintels. In November 1523, payment was made to ‘Master Felipe and Diego de Siloe for the work on the main retablo of this Chapel of Burgos’, for work that León Picardo began to ‘dorar y pintar’ in May 1524 and for which they received payment between January and May 152570 (Figure 3.4). Gómez Moreno divides the sculpture of the retablo between both authors based on the collaboration in this document. It is confirmed that the central group with the Presentation and a woman in the background, as well as the Visitation and Adoration on the base, and Christ at the Column were by Diego de Siloé while the rest are by Felipe Bigarny.71 As is usually the case, less attention has been paid to the architecture of the retablo than to the groups of sculptures; Gómez Moreno mentions in passing that the columns that are not balustered may have been produced by Siloé. María José Redondo Cantera identifies a complete

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 69 project by Diego de Siloé, while Fernando Marías highlights that in this work Diego ‘subverts the traditional concept of retablo, which goes from being a flat “panel” to a spacious “stage” ’,72 a form that Cristiano Tessari recognizes as that of ‘an exterior curved wall’ relating to the contemporary research by Baldassarre Peruzzi.73 According to Wolfgang Lotz, with the exception of Michelangelo’s research on the inner space of the tomb of Julius II, Peruzzi was the author of the most important investigation of spaces with oval curve directrices in the first half of the sixteenth century, like the design for Villa Trivulzio in Salone (GDSU, 453A r-v) or the project for the

Figure 3.3 Diego de Siloè, Retablo de San Pedro, Chapel of the Condestable, Cathedral of Burgos, 1523 (photo: Rafael Gómez).

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Figure 3.4 Diego de Siloè, Retablo Mayor, Chapel of the Condestable, Cathedral of Burgos, 1523–1524 (photo: Rafael Gómez).

competition of the church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (GDSU 510 Ar),74 which took place in the years before Diego’s permanent move to Spain and was widely discussed by the most important architects active in Florence and Rome. The retablo mixes modern and Roman ornamental elements, but the central nucleus is governed by a precise compositional strategy, with the exception of the balustered side columns forming an architectural order which begins above the mensulae at the level of the bench and finishes off with the prolonged entablature. At the lower level the ‘stage’ is a void in the form of a curved architectural space, built at the same time as the Junterón chapel that Jacopo L’Indaco designed in Murcia Cathedral. The space

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 71 where the Presentation is located is conceived as an almost oval shrine with Corinthian columns all’antica in the form of semi-columns at the back and free-standing columns at both sides of the front, while the centre is left free to show the scene. These columns support an interior and exterior entablature below a vault combining elements reminiscent of a coffered ceiling all’antica and the characteristic ribs and Late Gothic vaulting of the chapel. The free-standing Corinthian columns with decorated shafts follow the same curved directrix at the upper level as at the lower one, and support a divided entablature in the form of a trabeatio triumphalis. The only work completely by Diego is found in the chapel of Santa Ana or de la Concepción for which he agreed with the ‘Prebendary of the holy church García de Medina’, ‘To make a retablo of Santa Ana’ on July 22, 1522.75 A fascinating document establishes the conditions of the images, especially those of ‘Santa Ana with our Lady and child between two images’, and of ‘A sculpture of our Lady with our Lord reclining’. However it also stipulates that Diego would be in charge of completing the design of the entire retablo according to ‘a design he had submitted’, making it ‘carved and decorated in Roman fashion, design, in Roman style’.76 This work documents both the individual ‘traça’ by Diego and its recognition as a work ‘al romano’ with none of the modern elements which are characteristic of the other examples of fusion where Diego was forced to find a way all’antica to innovate in the overall design by superimposing the language of the orders on the ornamental repertoires of classical or Late Gothic origins.

Final Considerations When interpreting the work of major Italian architects from the first half of the sixteenth century, it is impossible to separate architecture, sculpture and intaglio, as they are all part of a single line of research on the new all’antica language. To conclude, this study has shown that the design of the retablo became a fertile ground for experimentation in the search for the language of early modernity in Spain between 1520 and 1530. In fact, it is in the retablos that the renovation of all’antica language started to take shape from 1519, when work had not yet begun on the architectural form which was to change the architectural panorama from 1526. Close examination of the work of Jacopo L’Indaco, Diego de Siloé, and Alonso Berruguete—in the retablos of the royal chapel in Granada, in Mejorada in Olmedo, in the chapel of the school of Santiago in Salamanca, in San Benito in Valladolid and in Burgos Cathedral—clearly shows the connection of the progress of architecture in Spain with that of the most important Italian cities, especially Rome and Florence, at the time of the pontificate of Leo X. This relationship should be explored, seeking to analyse additional categories outside the linear dependency between an Italian centre and a Spanish periphery. During the rule of the first Medici pope in these Italian cities experimentation became particularly important in the search for a new language used in architectures that were considered to be of less importance, such as sixteenth-century Spanish retablos, although in fact these played an important role in the introduction into Spain of a new architectural vocabulary, as can be seen in this study.

Notes 1 In this regard, it is worth noting the relevant recent observations in Cristiano Tessari, “Y aún sería mejor empleado’: modos de lo antiguo y arquitectura de retablos,” in El Greco.

72  Carlos Plaza Simposio internacional, ed. F. Marías (Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza: Madrid, 2014), 145– 57; Cristiano Tessari, “aunque siempre con alguna mezcla de la obra moderna, que nunca la pudieron olvidar del todo’: considerazioni su l’uso romano nell’architettura spagnola del XVI secolo,” in The Gordian Knot. Studi offerti a Richard Schofield, eds. M. Baso, J. Gritti and O. Lanzarini (Rome: Campisano Editore, 2014), 121–9. 2 Antonio Ponz, Viage de España, en que se da noticia de las cosas mas apreciables, y dignas de saberse, que hay en ella (Madrid: Joachin Ibarra, 1783), XII, 234; Eugenio Llaguno y Amírola, Noticia de los arquitectos y arquitectura de España desde su Restauración (Madrid: Imprenta Real, 1829), II, 11; “Era también condición, que toda la obra había de ser de propia mano de este artífice: clarísima prueba de que fue pintor, escultor y arquitecto”; “lo que se sabe con certeza es que Berruguete ejerció la arquitectura de ornato, usada en los retablos y altares de los templos. El de San Benito y el de la Mejorada, monasterio de gerónimos cerca de Olmedo, en Castilla la Vieja, son suyos en las tres artes”. 3 Alfredo Morales Sánchez, “El retablo” in Manual de documentación de patrimonio mueble, ed. Juan Antonio Arenillas Torrejón and Luis F. Martínez Montiel (Seville: Instituto Andaluz del Patrimonio Histórico, Universidad Internacional de Andalucía, 2014), 20–35. 4 As in the case of retablos from the late fifteenth century: Joaquín Yarza Luances, Gil Siloé: el retablo de la Concepción del obispo Acuña (Burgos: Asociación de Amigos de la catedral, 2000); Joaquín Yarza Luances, El retablo de la flagelación de Leonor de Velasco (Madrid: Ediciones El Viso, 1999). 5 Fátima Halcón et al., El Retablo Sevillano. Desde sus orígenes a la actualidad (Seville: Diputación Provincial de Sevilla-Real Maestranza de Caballería-Fundación Cajasol, 2009), 72–122; Jesús Miguel Palomero Páramo, El retablo sevillano del Renacimiento, análisis y evolución (1560–1629) (Seville: Diputación Provincial de Sevilla, 1983). Special attention has been paid to the Spanish and Andalusian retablo of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: F. J. Herrera García, El retablo sevillano en la primera mitad del siglo XVIII. Evolución y difusión del retablo de estípites (Seville: Diputación Provincial de Sevilla, 2001); M. A. Raya Raya, El retablo barroco cordobés (Córdoba: Monte de Piedad y Caja de Ahorros de Córdoba, 1987); Alfonso Rodríguez Gutiérrez de Ceballos, El retablo barroco (Madrid: Historia 16, 1992). 6 On Berruguete see Tommaso Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete in Italia: nuovi itinerari,” in Norma e capriccio: spagnoli in Italia agli esordi della maniera moderna, ed. Tommaso Mozzati and Antonio Natali (Florence: Giunti Editore, 2013), 16–47 and on Jacopo L’Indaco see Michela Zurla, “Jacopo Torni detto l’Indaco, pittore e scultore tra Italia e Spagna,” Proporzioni. Annali della fondazione Roberto Longhi 11–12 (2010–2011), 39–76 and Carlos Plaza, “Torni, Jacopo,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 2019, forthcoming. 7 Given the extensive bibliography on the subject see Nello splendore mediceo: Papa Leone X e Firenze, ed. Nicoletta Baldini, Monica Bietti (Livorno: Sillabe Casa Editrice, 2013), on architecture in particular see Mauro Mussolin, “La committenza architettonica fra Roma e Firenze al tempo di Leone X,” 193–203. 8 Jean K. Cadogan, “Sulla bottega del Ghirlandaio,” in Domenico Ghirlandaio, ed. Wolfram Prinz et al. (Florence: Centro DI, 1996), 89–96; Jean K. Cadogan, “Michelangelo in the workshop of Domenico Ghirlandaio.” Burlington Magazine 135 (1993), 30–1. 9 On the church, see Sabine Frommel, Giuliano da Sangallo (Florence: Edifir, 2014), 59–70; the altar in 325–27, with bibliography and documentary annex ; Paul Davies, “Giuliano da Sangallo e decorum negli edifici a pianta centrale: Santa Maria delle Carceri e la sagrestia di Santa Spirito”, and Jens Niebaum, “La chiesa di Santa Maria delle Carceri: presenza urbana, “prospettiva aedificandi”, in Giuliano da Sangallo, eds. Amedeo Belluzzi, Caroline Elam, Francesco P. Fiore (Milan; Officina Libraria, 2017), pp. 304–318 and 319–329. Interesting reflections on the altar-aedicula in Massimo Bulgarelli, “Com’è difficile salire sulle spalle dei giganti. Luci e ombre in una Monografía su Giuliano da Sangallo.” Casabella 855 (2015), 92–3. A drawing of an interesting tabernacle all’antica can be found in Gabineto Disegni Stampe degli Uffizi, 1669 A, studied in Dario Donetti, “1669 A,” in Baldini, Bietti, Nello splendore mediceo, 538. 10 Baldassare Peruzzi, 1527–32, 207x281 mm. British Museum, London, 1848.1125.12; published in Heinrich Wurm, Balsassarre Peruzzi. Architekturzeichnungen (Tübingen: Easmuth, 1984), 159.

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 73 11 On the entrance, see John Shearman, “The Florentine entrata of Leo X in 1515” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 39 (1975), 136–45; Ilaria Ciseri, L’ingresso trionfale di Leone X in Firenze nel 1515 (Florence: Olschky, 1990); Ilaria Ciseri, “Con tanto grandissimo e trionfante onore’. Immagini dall’ingresso fiorentino di papa Leone X nel 1515,” in Nello splendore mediceo, 237–49; Caroline Elam, “Firenze 1500–1505,” in Il primo Cinquecento. Storia dell’architettura italiana, ed. Arnaldo Bruschi (Milan: Electa, 2002), 212–13. 12 According to Luca Landucci, more than 2,000 people worked there “di diverse arti, legnaiuoli, muratori, dipintori, carette, portatori, segatori”: Luca Landucci, Diario fiorentino dal 1450 al 1516 continuato da un anónimo fino al 1542, ed. I. Del Badia (Florence: Sansoni, 1883), 359 quoted in Ciseri, “Con tanto grandissimo,” 240. 13 Francesco Caglioti, “Alonso Berruguete in Italia: un nuovo documento fiorentino, una nuova fonte donatelliana, qualche ulteriore traccia,” in Scritti di storia dell’arte in onore di Sylvie Béguin, ed. Mario di Giampaolo et al. (Naples: Paparo Edizioni, 2001), 109–46; Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete,” 22; Tommaso Mozatti, “Alonso Berruguete, Madonna col Bambino,” in Norma e capriccio, 196. 14 Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite de’più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architetti nelle redazioni del 1550 e 1568 [1550, 1568], ed. Rosanna Bettarini and Paola Barocchi (Florence: Sansoni, 1966– 1997), VI, 178; see Tomasso Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete y el Laocoonte. Erudición arqueológica y sentimiento de la escultura en la Roma de principios del siglo XVI”, in Hijo del Laocoonte. Alonso Berruguete y la antigüedad pagana, ed. M. Arias Martínez (Valladolid: Museo Nacional de Escultura, 2017), 36–49. 15 Tommaso Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete en Italia: Antonio Pucci, la Coronación de la Virgen para la iglesia de San Jerónimo y San Francisco, una circunstancia hispano-florentina,” in Alonso Berruguete: su obra e influencia, 1–31; Tommaso Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete,” 33–8; Louis A. Waldman, “L’Incoronazione della Vergine per San Girolamo sulla Costa, nel passagio fra Rinascimento e ‘maniera’,” in Norma e Capriccio, 87–105. 16 Letter in Il carteggio di Michelangelo, ed. Giovanni Poggi and Paola Barocchi et al. (Florence: Sansoni, 1965–1983), I (1965), XCII, 125; Mozzati, “Alonso Berruguete,” 40–1, Simone Giordani, “Francesco Granacci, Alonso Berruguete (?), Apollonia giudicata da re Tarso e rinchiusa in prigione,” in Norma e Capriccio, 274. 17 Vasari disagrees with Granacci’s collaborators mentioning Aristotele da Sangallo, Baccio da Montelupo and Pontormo, among other unidentified ones: Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite, vol. IV, 603. 18 Ephemeral architecture in Arnaldo Bruschi, “Una tendenza linguistica medicea,” in Firenze e la Toscana dei Medici nell’Europa del ‘500 (Florence: Olschky, 1983), III, 1005–28; cfr. Manfredo Tafuri, Ricerca del Rinascimento: principi, città, architetti (Torino: Einaudi 1992), il. 35, Manuela Morresi, Jacopo Sansovino (Venice: Electa, 2000), 15–16; Elam, “Firenze 1500–1550,” 212–3; Francesco Paolo Fiore, “Roma: le diverse maniere,” in Il primo Cinquecento, 140–1. 19 Reflections on Leonine architecture in Howard Burns, “Raffaello e ‘quella antiqua architectura,” in Raffaello architetto, ed. Christoph L. Frommel et al. (Milan: Electa, 1984), 381–404. Further study of the designs for the façade in Tafuri, Ricerca, 145–59. 20 Elam, “Firenze 1500–1550,” 215–6. 21 Published in Earl E. Rosenthal, The Cathedral of Granada. A Study in Spanish Renaissance Architecture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), 192: “modo tudesco o de Alemania, que dizen al Moderno, o al uso Romano, que agora se pratica”; see the considerations in Fernando Marías, El largo siglo XVI. Los usos artísticos del Renacimiento español (Madrid: Taurus, 1989), 99, and Tessari, “Y aún sería mejor empleado,” 145–50. Velasco also mentions this in his commentary on Vitruvius: “ay en algunas partes obras curiosamente labradas y templos magníficamente hechos aún que algunos dellos no son hechos a lo antiguo sino a lo moderno como son Toledo, Sevilla Burgos León y las que agora se hacen en muchas partes,” Lázaro de Velasco, Los X libros de Arquitectura de Marco Vitrubio Polión: según la traducción castellana de Lázaro de Velasco, ed. J. Pizarro Gómez and P. Mogollón Cano-Cortés (Cáceres: Cincon, 1999), s.f. (“in some places there are ingeniously carved works and magnificently built churches, although some of them are not built all’antica but in the modern style like those in Toledo, Seville, Burgos, León and those built in many other places”). 22 Marías, El largo siglo XVI, 268–9.

74  Carlos Plaza 23 Diego de Sagredo, Medidas del Romano: necesarias a los oficiales que quieren seguir las formaciones de las Basas/Colunas/Capiteles/ y otras pieças de los edificios antiguos (Toledo: Ramón de Petras, 1526): “se trata[n] las medidas q[ue] ha[n] de saber los oficiales q[ue] q[ui] ere[n] imitar y co[n]trahazer los edificios romanos: por falta de las q[ua]les ha[n] cometido y cada dia comete[n] muchos errores d[e] desproporció[n] y fealdad en la formació[n] de las basas y capiteles y pieças q[ue] labran para tales edificios”. On this work, see the facsimile edition and studies in Diego de Sagredo, Medidas del Romano, ed. Fernando Marías and Felipe Pereda (Toledo: Antonio Pareja, 2000). 24 “De algunos principios de geometría necesarios muy usados en el arte del traçar”. 25 Diego de Sagredo, Medidas del Romano, s.f.: “singularissimo artífice en el arte de escultura y estatuaria”; “no menos muy resoluto en todas las sciencias de architectura”. 26 Marías, El largo siglo XVI, 268, 366, 423. 27 “el retablo que hace para la capilla Real de Granada”; Jesús Superbiola, “Felipe de Borgoña autor del retablo mayor de la Capilla Real. Prueba documental,” Boletín de arte 13–14 (1992–1993), 391, with a bibliography on the history of this attribution. 28 “pintor del rey nuestro senyor y siguiente su corte”; “pintura o de bulto o de maçoneria”; On Berruguete see at least Manuel Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas del Renacimiento español: Bartolomé Ordoñez, Diego Siloé, Pedro Machuca, Alonso Berruguete: 1517–1558 (Madrid: Instituto Diego Velázquez del Consejo Superior de investigaciones Científicas, 1941, 19832), 121–62 and Manuel Arias Martínez, Prometeo de la escultura. Document in Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, doc. n°35, 222–4. 29 Marías, El largo siglo XVI, 289; Manuel Arias Martínez, Alonso Berruguete, Prometeo de la escultura (Palencia: Diputación de Palencia, 2011), 73–8. 30 de Velasco, Los X libros de arquitectura de Marco Vitrubio Polión, n.d. 31 Unfortunately, there is no sketch of the retablo of Nuestra Señora de la Consolación from the cathedral of Jaén. Machuca was contracted to produce this in 1520 with the sculptor Juan López de Velasco, father-in-law of Jacopo L’Indaco; in Gómez Moreno, Águilas, 100. 32 Manuel Gómez Moreno, “Sobre el Renacimiento en Castilla II. La capilla real de Granada.” Archivo Español de Arte y Arqueología 3 (1925), 273–5; Zurla, “Jacopo Torni”; Michela Zurla, “Jacopo Torni detto l’Indaco. Incontro sulla via di Emmaus,” in Norma e capriccio, 348–9. 33 Some studies have mentioned L’Indaco’s work as an architect: Fernando Chueca Goitia, Arquitectura del siglo XVI (Ars Hispaniae) (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 1950); Jesús Hernández Perera, Escultores florentinos en España (Madrid: Instituto Diego Velázquez del Consejo Superior de investigaciones Científicas, 1957); Marzia Villela, “Jacopo Torni detto l’indaco (1476–1526) e la cappella fúnebre ‘a la antigua’ di Don Gil Rodríguez de Junterón nella cattedrale di Murcia.” Annali di Architettura 10–11 (1998–1999), 82–102; Marzia Villella, “Don Gil de Junterón: committente architettonico e Artístico tra Roma e Murcia.” Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoría del Arte 14 (2002), 81–102; Tessari, “aunque siempre con alguna mezcla de la obra moderna” 125–7; research carried out by the author on the architecture of Jacopo L’Indaco in autumn 2015 while Mellon Fellow in Villa I Tatti-The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies is due to be published shortly. 34 “hazer el retablo de la Capilla real desta dicha çibdad, el frontero de la capilla de la puerta principal que sale a la yglesia”; Manuel Gómez Moreno, “Documentos referentes a la capilla real de Granada.” Archivo Español de Arte y Arqueología 4–5 (1926), doc. XXII, 118. 35 “labrar a mi costa de madera e talla todo el dicho retablo”, also in the document: ‘the mouldings, carved pillars and cornices of this retablo should respect the example mentioned above for the most part so that the pillars should be a quarter of a vara thick, with two thirds of the thickness standing out and the panels for the stories on the bench should be half a vara high without the mouldings, and likewise in width; and also above this bench the retablo consisting of three stories should be placed, so that none of these stories affect the height of the pillars; with a cornice and entablatures above the retablo following the design, and on top of this three other panels, each five foot high and the same width as the lower retablo, totalling nine panels, with another semi-circular story above the last cornice or crowning, of the same width as the central panel, and proportional in height, so that all these panels will fit together and be fabricated of strong dry wood two fingers thick,’ Ibid. 36 “pyntar las siete ystorias que yo el dicho maestre Jácome hago, e de renovar tres ystorias del retablo que se a de poner enmedio,” Gómez Moreno, “Capilla Real,” doc. XXIV, 119–120.

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 75 37 Even if he on occasion delegated to sculptors as was the case of the execution of an unidentified retablo in Granada ordered from the sculptor Martín Bello, Gómez Moreno, “Capilla Real,” doc. XXVI, 121. 38 “de la manera e modo que maestre Jácome Florentin hordenare que debe ser ansy”, Gómez Moreno, “Capilla Real,” doc. XXV, 120. The retablo designed and executed by Jacopo L’Indaco is not the same as the current retablo of la Pasión now in the sacristy, at present the museum of the royal chapel. As has been mentioned it may be advisable to read about the reconstruction of the original retablo: finally; see Antonio Calvo Castejón, El Libro de la capilla, 217). It was originally designed for the chapel of Santa Cruz, facing the door to the royal chapel from the transept of the cathedral. In March 1753 it was decided to replace the retablo for another one by Blas Antonio Moreno, then dismantling the “antiguo” which was installed in the chapel of San Ildefonso; see Antonio Gallego y Burín, “Nuevos datos sobre la Capilla Real de Granada.” Boletín de la Sociedad Española de Excursiones LVII (1953), 15, 21; cf. El libro de la Capilla Real, 339, 340. This chapel is under the choir so that the structure had to be changed eliminating the upper corpus which supported the semi-circular finish of the panel of Pentecostés. 39 José Camón Aznar, La escultura y la rejerías españolas del siglo XVI (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 1967/1981), 30. 40 “encima de la postrera cornija o coronamento”. 41 “salida dos terçias partes de la gordura dellos”. 42 See Arias Martínez, Prometeo, 73–7. 43 This version is in Florencia, Casa Buonarroti, 45A, corpus 497r. 44 Florencia, Casa Buonarroti, 44A, corpus 498. 45 “los dos altares que no tienen nada dentro en la capilla mayor”. 46 Arias Martínez, Prometeo de la escultura, 73–4. Documents in M. Abizanda, Documentos para la historia artística y literaria de Aragón procedentes del Archivo de Protocolos de Zaragoza. Siglo XVI (Zaragoza: Tip. La Editorial, 1915–1917), 254–5 and Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 238 ff. See also Carmen Morte García, “Carlos I y los artistas de corte en Zaragoza: Fancelli, Berruguete y Bigarny,” Archivo Español de Arte 255 (1991), 317–55. 47 “los dos ochavos de la capilla mayor del retablo” and for the sacristy, Gómez Moreno, “Capilla Real,” doc. XV, 113; Gallego y Burín, “Nuevos datos,” 22; cf. José Manuel Pita Andrade et al., El libro de la Capilla Real (Granada: Cabildo de la Capilla Real, 1994), 319. 48 Despite an unfortunate polychromy from the early seventeenth century, the retablo in the Museum corresponds for the most part to Berruguete, and is only missing most of the sculpture groups from the central section, La Virgen de la Mejorada y San Jerónimo Penitente and the custody in the lower part. See sources and assessment in Julián Hoyos Alonso, “La obra de Alonso Berruguete en Valladolid,” in Alonso Berruguete: su obra e influencia, ed. Julián Hoyos Alonso (Palencia: Diputación Provincial de Palencia, 2011), 94–105. Marías, El largo siglo XVI, 290; Arias Martínez, Prometeo, 83–91. On the monastery see José Menéndez Trigos, María José Redondo Cantera, “El monasterio de Nuestra Señora de la Mejorada (Olmedo) y la capilla del Crucifijo o de los Zuazo,” Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología, 62 (1996), 257–80: 266. 49 Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 128. 50 “conditions”, Antonio Ponz, Viage de España, en que se da noticia de las cosas mas apreciables, y dignas de saberse, que hay en ella (Madrid: Joachin Ibarra, 1783), XII, 234. 51 “dexa el fundador al arbitrio del artífice el ancho, y alto del retablo, según pareciere que pide la capilla”. 52 “Era condición que quando tuviere Berruguete ordenados los quadros, que habían de ir en el retablo, enviase la traza de ellos, para que su Señoría los vea, y si le pareciere innovar, lo pueda hacer, y conforme a lo que diga, acabar Berruguete su retablo”. 53 Ibid. The retablo was completed in 1532 and modified over the next decade as Manuel Arias Martínez suggests (Martínez, Prometeo, 122 [plate 60]) 54 Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 61–2. 55 Contract document in Isidoro Bosarte, Viage artístico a varios pueblos de España (Madrid: 1804), ed. 1978, 359–76. On the retablo see the critical review in Martínez, Prometeo, 97–116 and Hoyos Alonso, “Alonso Berruguete,” 105–19. 56 At present, part of the retablo is in the Museo Nacional de Escultura de Valladolid (see the general fiche for the ensemble by Manuel Arias Martínez in www.ceres.mcu.es, A1conjunto, and fiches for the pieces in CE0271–01/125). The monastery of San Benito was one of the

76  Carlos Plaza religious institutions disentailed in 1835, and its artistic heritage was transferred to the Museo Provincial and from there to the Museo Nacional de Escultura, where fragments are now on display following different restoration processes and numerous studies on the original configuration, prior to recent major reconstructions. For the studies of the reconstruction see C. Villar Bueno, “Intervención en el retablo de San Benito en el Museo Nacional de Escultura de Valladolid,” Museos.es 0 (2004), 80–9; J. Agapito y Revilla, “Los retablo s de San Benito el Real.” Boletín de la Sociedad Castellana de Excursiones 6 (1913–1914), 193– 206; J. Agapito y Revilla, “Los restos del retablo mayor de San Benito.” Boletín del Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes de Valladolid 5 (1926); Constantino Candeira Pérez, “Estudio y reconstrucción del retablo de San Benito el Real, obra de Alonso Berruguete,” in Alonso Berruguete en el retablo de San Benito el Real de Valladolid, ed. Constantino Candeira Pérez (Valladolid: Graf. Andrés Martín, 1959), 15–44. 57 Reconstructed in Hoyos Alonso, “Alonso Berruguete,” 108–09. 58 On the retablo Hoyos Alonso, “Alonso Berruguete,” 119–20 following the contribution of Bosarte, Viage, 156–7 and Esteban García Chico, Documentos para el estudio del arte en Castilla. II. Escultores (Valladolid: Gráficas Afrodisio Aguado), 14; Arias Martínez, Prometeo, 117–18. By the same process through which the main retablo is preserved, with one of them exhibited in the Museo Nacional de Escultura (see the fiche of the ensemble by Manuel Arias Martínez in www.ceres.mcu.es, A30conjunto, and pieces CE0248/253). 59 The relationship between this work and some solutions implemented by Bramante between Milan and Rome are first evidenced in the studies by Constantino Candeira and in further depth by Manuel Arias Martínez: Candeira Pérez, Estudio y reconstrucción, 27–30 and Arias Martínez, Prometeo, 98–9; Id., “A la sombra de una gran venera”, in Hijo del Laocoonte, 220–242. 60 Manuel Arias Martínez, “Alonso Berruguete y el proceso de asimilación de sus fuentes: entre ‘antiguallas’ y grandes maestros,” in Alonso Berruguete: su obra e influencia, 33–48; Manuel Arias Martínez, “La recepción de las fuentes clásicas y de los grandes maestros en la escultura. El caso del primer renacimiento castellano” in Nápoles-Roma 1504. Cultura y literatura española y portuguesa en Italia en el Quinto centenario de la muerte de Isabel la Católica (Salamanca: Seminario de Estudios Medievales y Renacentistas, 2004), 245–67; see also María Concepción García Gaínza, “Alonso Berruguete y la Antigüedad.” Boletín del Museo Nacional de Escultura de Valladolid 6 (2002). 61 On Diego de Siloé basic works are Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 33–108 (ed. 1983, 41–98); Manuel Gómez Moreno, Diego Siloe (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1963), critical reviews in Marías, El largo siglo XVI, cap. IV, particularly 281–3. 62 On Diego de Siloé and Bartolomé Ordoñez in Naples see Riccardo Naldi, “Bartolomé Ordoñez, Diego de Siloé e la scultura a Napoli nel primo Cinquecento,” in Norma e capriccio, 120–31, with bibliography in n. 6. 63 Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 26, 43. 64 Pier Nicola Pagliara, “Sanmicheli e gli ordini,” in Michele Sanmicheli. Architettura, linguaggio e cultura artística nel Cinquecento, ed. Howard Burns et al. (Vicenza: Electa 1995), 140. On the use of Doric see Adriano Ghisetti Giavarina, “La Basilica Emilia e la rivalutazione del Dorico nel Rinascimento.” Bollettino del Centro di Studi per la Storia dell’Architettura 29 (1983), 7–36. 65 Lastly, on his first works in Burgos, mainly sculpture, see María José Redondo Cantera, “Luci e ombre al ritorno in Spagna di Diego de Siloé e Bartolomé Ordoñez (1517–1527),” in Norma e capriccio, 180–91. The imagery is studied in Margarita Estrella Marcos, La imaginería en los Retablos de la capilla del Condestable (Burgos: Cabildo Metropolitano, 1995). 66 Carlos G. Villacampa, “La capilla del condestable de la Catedral de Burgos. Documentos para su historia.” Archivo Español de Arte y Arqueología 10 (1928), 33. 67 “exuberante en cresterías y pináculos”. 68 Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 47. 69 Tessari, “Y aún sería mejor empleado,” 149; see also the reflections in Tessari, “aunque siempre con alguna mezcla de obra moderna” 123–4. 70 “Maestre Felipe e Diego de Siloé por la obra que hacen del retablo mayor de la dicha Capilla de Burgos,” “Gild and Paint,” Carlos G. Villacampa, “La capilla del condestable,” 36 ff.

The Retablo between Spain and Italy 77 71 Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, 48–9; Gómez Moreno, Diego de Siloé, 20; see finally Redondo Cantera, Luci e ombre, 188–9. 72 “subvierte el tradicional concepto de retablo, que pasa de ‘panal’ plano a espacioso ‘escenario’,” Marías, El largo siglo XVI, 281. 73 “salidizo curvilíneo,” Tessari, “Y aún sería mejor empleado,” 149. 74 Wolfgang Lotz, “Die ovalen Kirchenräume des Cinquecento.” Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 7 (1955), 7–98: 19–33. 75 “racionero en la santa iglesia”, “hazer un retablo de señora Santana”, Document in Manuel Gómez Moreno, Las Águilas, doc. n°5, 181–2. See Manuel Martínez y Sanz, Historia del templo catedral de Burgos (Burgos: 1866, 21983), 290–1 and finally Redondo Cantera, Luci e ombre, 185–7. 76 “santa Ana con nuestra Señora con su niño entre dos ymágenes” “nuestra Señora con nuestro Señor tendido de bulto”, “una traça que dio”, “labrada y ornada al romano”.

4 An Italian Fountain for the Emperor The Fuente del Águila (1539)* María José Redondo Cantera

The widespread notion that Charles V (1500–1558) had scant interest in architecture, and consequently in the layout of his palaces, which could be deduced based on his numerous (and often continuous) travels,1 does not strictly coincide with reality. In 1552, Francisco de Villalpando (ca. 1510–1561), who at that time was working on the staircase of the Alcázar of Toledo,2 had already recognized the momentum that the Emperor had granted to certain architectural undertakings when he referred, in an undoubtedly hyperbolic tone, to “the many and very sumptuous building projects begun by his majesty.”3 The ancient fortress of Toledo was the third and final link of the plan conceived by the sovereign to remodel the royal alcázares located in three of the principal cities of the Corona de Castilla, which were Madrid, Seville, and Toledo.4 The first to be remodeled and to which he paid great attention was the now lost Alcázar of Madrid, whose expansion and renovation was continued by Spanish monarchs until the middle of the 17th century. In this way, the ancient medieval castle of Madrid was converted into a palace par excellence of the Spanish Habsburgs, who amassed artistic collections there that were among the greatest of their time.5 During the 16th century, there is no news of any sculptures placed in the middle of the courtyards of the Alcázar, much less any fountains, because it was very difficult to provide them with an adequate water supply. But, as we shall see in this essay, the marble elements of an Italian fountain came to the Palace of Madrid in 1539.

The Beginning of the Remodeling and Expansion of the Alcázar of Madrid in 1535 At the end of May 1535, just before departing for Barcelona to launch the military expedition that would lead to the conquest of Tunisia, Charles V gave a series of instructions that can be considered the beginning of a “plan of alcázares,” which was then carried out in the subsequent years and decades.6 The monarch knew that even though the military campaign he was preparing to undertake would be successful, it would take time to return, given that he planned to visit—in the sense of presenting himself to his subjects and exercising his authority—the Italian states belonging to the Crown of Aragón (Sicily and Naples). Thus, before departing, the Emperor thought it necessary to solve or, at the very least, provide the means for accomplishing the updating required for his three urban fortresses in Madrid, Seville, and Toledo. Since his arrival in Spain in 1517, the monarch’s itinerant journey throughout his Spanish kingdoms—or outside of them—had

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 79 caused him to change lodgings on numerous occasions and frequently take up residence in the houses or palaces of certain nobles and royal servants. Following his marriage and the birth of his children—of which he already had three by 1535—the alcázares provisional occupancy, their dysfunctional organization, and their lack of space began to be felt in a more noticeable way. It was hoped that the works planned for the three selected royal alcázares would transform them into spaces suitable to the imperial dignity of the sovereign, not just in regards to their scale of representation (with some ceremonial spaces, where the decoration of the Castilian tradition was combined with the new “al romano” style), but also in their size and capacity to withstand diverse functions in the interior of the palace. The growth of the royal family would require the spatial distinction of the “quarters” or distinguished groups of rooms, set aside for the Emperor, the Empress, the Prince, and the Infantas, from those that would connect to the accommodations of the closest servants. The functions of governing and other services had to be added to the ceremonial and residential needs of the palace, with their own spaces differentiated within the palace. The works that must have been started in 1535 had already been inspected and discussed prior to Charles V leaving the Court. From the first moment, he gave clear preference to supervising the Alcázar of Madrid, which needed to conform to the “design” or plan that the Emperor had approved. The remodeling of the Alcázar of Madrid presented itself as an urgent need, as it had ceased being the royal residence in 1529 during the Court’s sojourn in the city of Manzanares.7 Before his departure, the joint management of the building project was allocated to the architects Alonso de Covarrubias (1488–1570) and Luis de Vega († 1562), and the Emperor provided the expected funds required as well as the structure for the administration of the project, which many years later, during the reign of Philip II, became the Sitios Reales. The most important change in the reconstruction of the Alcázar of Madrid was its eastward expansion, with the creation of a second nucleus around a wide, empty space, which was arranged as a courtyard surrounded by corridors known as the “Patio de la Reina,” as it was the area designated for the rooms of the spouses of the subsequent Spanish kings until 1734, when the building caught on fire. The plan for the doubling of the palace also already had its graphic expression in a floor plan at that time that, if not exactly the one we are familiar with attributed to Alonso de Covarrubias, would be very similar to it.8

Charles V’s Knowledge of Italian Palaces as a Precedent for the Renovations in the Royal Alcázares (1529–1538) Charles V’s own knowledge of the new designs being employed in contemporary Italian palatial architecture, based on his trips throughout the Italian peninsula, undoubtedly influenced his resolve to renovate the three ancient Castilian royal residences. The Trip of the Imperial Coronation and the Return from Vienna (1529–1533) On the occasion of his trip to Bologna to be crowned Emperor by Pope Clement VII (1478–1534), Charles V undertook his first tour of the northern Italian peninsula from 1529 to 1530, after which he traveled to Austria. Two and a half years later, between the autumn of 1532 and the beginning of 1533, after his return from Vienna

80  María José Redondo Cantera to Spain, he again traversed northern Italy with his itinerary inverted and to a large extent different from that of the previous trip. In the most important stages of his route, the Emperor was the object of magnificent ceremonial receptions and was lodged in buildings that were most representative of the cities, such as the Palazzo Grande della Signoria in Genoa, the Comunale in Bologna,9 and the Castello Sforzesco in Milan,10 as well as in others owned by powerful people seeking to maintain their alliance with the Emperor. Among those were great collectors and artistic patrons, such as Alonso I d’Este the Duke of Ferrara (1476–1534),11 and Federico II Gonzaga (1500–1540), upon whom the sovereign bestowed the title of Duke of Mantua. The latter housed Charles V for more than three weeks (MarchApril 1530) in his private quarters in Mantua, and threw parties in his honor in the new and suburban Palazzo del Te, where Giulio Romano (ca. 1499–1546) had been overseeing artistic projects since 1524, as well as in Marmirolo.12 Upon his return from Austria, the Emperor also stopped for nearly a month (November-December 1532) in Mantua and became acquainted with the new residence, the Palazzina created for Margarita Paleologa. Finally, before setting out to return to Spain, Charles V stayed for more than a week in Genoa (March–April 1533). During this second stay in the city, the Emperor was lodged by Andrea Doria (1466–1560) in his new palace of Fassolo,13 to whose construction Charles V appears to have contributed 25,000 escudos, which he had delivered to Doria during his first stay in the Ligurian capital in 1529, in addition to awarding him entry into the Order of the Golden Fleece and appointing him the Prince of Melfi.14 The previous year, Charles V and Doria had established an alliance, highly beneficial for both parties and with extraordinary repercussions for the imperial interests in the Italian peninsula, given that the Ligurian capital came to be, as Ambassador Lope de Soria said, “the key and gateway to Italy.”15 Contrary to the majority of the lodgings that the Emperor had occupied up to this time during his trips to Italy, consisting of buildings located in the center of cramped urban nuclei or in fortresses, with the exception of Palazzo del Te in Mantua, the so-called Palazzo del Principe was a suburban villa removed from the narrowness and noise of the city. It was situated outside of the city walls, on the slope of a hillside of Granarolo, facing the sea. Its southern front, where windows of the principal halls opened onto porticos, offered privileged views of the city and the bay, where ships belonging to Doria’s squadron were anchored. In 1533, an initial phase of the construction on the palace was considered finished,16 during which time Perino del Vaga (Pietro Bonacorsi, 1501–1547), who in 1529 had already designed ephemeral structures for Charles V’s entryway,17 had taken charge of the splendid pictorial decoration of the main halls and of the Portico degli Eroi, along with the design for other parts of the palace. The sculptor Silvio Cosini, active during the second quarter of the 16th century, collaborated with the Florentine painter on the creation of various sculptural works, such as some figures on the northern façade, as well as the fireplace of the Salon dei Giganti18 and perhaps the Fontana dei Delfini, which will be discussed below. From that point on, Doria’s palace was converted into the imperial residence during future royal visits (1536, 1538, 1541, and 1543) not only for the Emperor, but also later for his son, Prince Philip,19 and for other members of the imperial family.20 According to Capelloni, a chronicler of Doria, Charles V knew how to appreciate the excellence of the Genoese abode: “praising the room, he claimed to find better and

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 81 more comfortable lodging there than in any other location.”21 Its very configuration, the decorative programs with their themes of triumph displayed on the walls and ceilings, and the lavishness of the multiple sumptuary pieces that decorated it (tapestries, works of silver, antiquities, etc.) were those belonging to a great prince, exactly as the powerful Andrea Doria proclaimed himself to be. The Tour of Charles V through Italy in 1535–1536 Familiarization with the residential ways of the Italian elite and the triumphal manifestation of power were strengthened by the Emperor’s experiences while touring Italy, following the victorious military campaign on Tunisia that he had organized with the goal of evicting Khair-ed-Din, known more widely as “Barbarossa” († 1546), and the replacement of its monarch Muley Hassan († 1549), for which he had relied upon collaboration with Andrea Doria, Pope Paul III (1468–1569), and King John III of Portugal (1502–1557). The Emperor appeared before the residents of the Italian cities through which he passed as the great defender of Christianity, in the style of a new Scipio or of a “Caesar Africanus,” which he had obtained by vanquishing the TurkishBerber alliance which threatened both navigation throughout the Mediterranean and the populations on its coasts, especially of southern Italy. Along his long route, which began in Sicily, Charles V passed through such significant urban nuclei as Palermo, Messina, Naples, Rome, Siena, Florence, and Lucca. He was received in extraordinary splendor with ephemeral architecture, sculpture, and painting which included machines and other artificia.22 The cosmographer Santa Cruz, who was part of Charles V’s entourage, identified some palaces which hosted the monarch. The Palazzo Apostolico lodged him in Rome, where he occupied the chambers of the Borgia. In Siena, he stayed in the Palazzo del Magnifico, the house of Antonio Maria Petruccio, which had been constructed by his ancestor, the powerful Pandolfo Petrucci, at the beginning of the 15th century. In Florence, he stayed in the Palazzo Medici, the family with which he had already established a close alliance due to the arranged marriage of Alessandro (1510–1537) with the illegitimate daughter of the Emperor, Margarita (1522–1586); and in Lucca, he stayed in the Palazzo Episcopale.23 In the autumn of 1536, which saw the end of this important tour and the fruitless attack on Provence to drive back the invasion of Savoy by Francis I, Charles V remained in Genoa for a month and a half before returning to Spain, and once again stayed in the Palazzo Doria, whose architecture and décor continued to be completed. Charles V’s Stop in Genoa in 1538 In the days leading up to the celebration of the meeting of French King Francis I in Aigues-Mortes (France), after having agreed upon the Truce of Nice at the beginning of the summer (June–July) of 1538, the Emperor returned to stay at Fassolo. Work upon the palace finished in that same year, according to the commemorative inscription which also made reference to the “honest leisure” that could be enjoyed there.24 The subjugation of Nature in the garden could not be left out of such a framework of delight. According to Vasari, Doria put Fra Giovan Angelo da Montorsoli (1507–1563) in charge of certain expansions of the buildings and the organization of some gardens during the 1540s.25 But certain landscaped areas had probably

82  María José Redondo Cantera already begun to be cultivated before this, perhaps designed by Perino del Vaga and adorned with sculptures and fountains, such as the aforementioned Fontana dei Delfini (Figure 4.1), which is currently located in the western courtyard and whose attribution to Silvio Cosini has generally been accepted.26 Its dating and the author of its design are more controversial. Its creation around 1531–153327 would make it compatible with a design by Bonacorsi. But the existing relationship between this work and the Fontana d’Orione in Messina (1547–1553), completed by the Servite friar, based on the use of figures of mermen in the lower area of the shaft, recalls a concept of Montorsoli’s, brought about by Cosini, as Laschke proposes.28 Even so, it would not be necessary to push back the existence of the work to the following decade, given that the Florentine began to receive commissions from Genoa in 1538 to sculpt busts of Charles V, Andrea Doria, and Alfonso V of Naples.29

Figure 4.1 Silvio Cosini (attr.), Fontana dei Delfini, ca. 1530s–1540s, Palazzo Doria, Genoa (photo by the author).

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 83 During his various stays in Genoa, the Emperor had observed how the palace of Fassolo was expanded and enriched. It was perhaps in 1538 when he became interested in the gardens and the fountains that were being made or were planned to be made. We know that Charles V was curious about certain aspects of the locations he visited, in particular about certain fortresses, as certain commentaries recorded by historians report. But he was also attentive to other issues, as seen in the account telling of the impression made upon him by the Alhambra of Granada in 1526 where “the ingenious design of the waters” captured his attention.30 In effect, one of the greatest attractions of the ancient Nasrid fortress and its gardens, as at the Palacio del Generalife, was the integration of water in various forms, including pools, canals, basins, fountains, and pumps. Since the end of the Middle Ages, the availability of an immediate garden at the palace was an aspiration to the designs of elite residences. That sensibility was felt in the Emperor’s closest surroundings, given that just a few years before, in 1536, his own wife had made his desire a reality by creating a locus amoenus by means of the establishment of a “huerta,” or villa with a garden, on the outskirts of Toledo.31

The Fountain Sent by Andrea Doria to Charles V in 1540 The documentation published hereafter allows us to formulate the hypothesis that, because of his residential experience in Fassolo, Charles V decided to commission, or accepted as a gift, a fountain hailing from Genoa and destined for the Alcázar of Madrid in 1538. Such an ornamental piece was extraordinarily novel in Spanish palaces for its dimensions and its development of the figure. Andrea Doria was in charge of its production; it was finally completed by the end of 1539. At the beginning of 1540, the imperial ambassador in Genoa, Gómez Suárez de Figueroa, informed the sovereign, among other things, that: “The fountain that the prince made for Y[our] M[ajesty] has been completed and packed. I shall have it transported with the first ship to Cartagena so that it may be brought from there to Madrid as Y[our] M[ajesty] commanded.”32 From the text, it can be deduced that Charles V knew about the completion of the fountain, Andrea Doria was the one who had ordered it from the sculptors, and that the monarch was awaiting its arrival, given that he had commanded that it be unloaded in Cartagena, the port at which elements of his parents’ tomb had arrived the previous year.33 The brief text referring to the fountain does not specify if it was meant as a gift from the Admiral or if he had followed instructions left by the Emperor and its payment would come from the account of the Real Hacienda. The fact that the 62 boxes that contained the pieces of the fountain were not stowed in a galley belonging to Andrea Doria, but rather in what seems to be a Basque ship which left Genoa the February 17, 1540,34 could indicate that this was a shipment created at the cost of the monarch. He was not to be found in Spain at that time, given that he had left for Flanders by land routes across France at the end of 1539 following the death of his wife in May of that same year. It was Cardinal Tavera, who had remained in charge of the regency of Castille and of the responsibility of the works of the Alcázar of Madrid, and Enrique Persoens, “quartermaster of the palace of his Majesty and inspector of the works of the Alcázar of Madrid,” who, once they received notice of the disembarkation of the boxes in the port of Murcia, were charged with organizing its transfer from Cartagena, where it was being kept in the custody of Tomás Garri, Jurado de la Ciudad, to Madrid.

84  María José Redondo Cantera The transport expenses of the heavy “pieces of the marble fountain” to the Alcázar of Madrid were documented in detail.35 The shipment was in fact slow-moving,36 and was composed of 32 ordinary wagons (drawn by a pair of mules) and a double (drawn by three pairs of mules), which had to undergo the trek again, given that it had to return to Cartagena once more in order to transport “another piece of large marble,” which could not be included in the first shipment. The various elements of the fountain were always kept packed up in their closed boxes, their maintenance throughout the journey over land assigned to a carpenter, who repaired the imperfections sustained during the journey. The receipt dated May 28, 1540 recorded their arrival in Madrid and that the cases were those “in which they say comes a marble fountain.” After that, we lack further information about what happened to the fountain.

A Missing Fountain? The marble pieces that arrived from Italy were undoubtedly destined to be part of an ornamental fountain at the Alcázar of Madrid. The anticipated location for its installation remains unknown. The two most usual sites for a work of this type were the courtyard of a palace or the gardens surrounding it. The absence of the monarch, our lack of knowledge as to whether he had left directions for it, and the state in which the works of the Alcázar of Madrid found themselves in 1540, would all complicate the placement of the fountain. At that time, the center of the main courtyard, known as the King’s, was still undergoing repairs, and it lacked the water supply necessary for a pump to function. In 1541, work was being undertaken to secure water storage in the subsoil of the courtyard by means of two drainage wells which would collect rainwater and lead it to a cistern through two underground pipes or “minas.”37 Even at that time, the existing garden to the north of the Alcázar could not be considered an adequate location for the installation of a fountain since the pipes were not found at a suitable level, thus no use was made of the aquifer which would have allowed it to operate. A means of conducting water originating from the exterior which would provide for the uses of the Alcázar did not even begin to be planned until the 1560s in the age of Philip II, but even at the time it would still not have the necessary pressure for the fountain’s pumps to operate. Thus, in the same manner as the pieces of the tomb of Felipe el Hermoso and Juana la Loca, which were kept for decades in Granada before being assembled, and lacking orders on how to proceed,38 the fountain hailing from Genoa must have been stored in a place and during a period of time about which we have no information.

Proposal for the Identification of the Genoese Fountain Arriving from Italy in 1540 as the Fuente del Águila It can be supposed that the Genoese fountain would follow the type that dominated Italy during the 1530s, the so-called “candelabrum,” which was comprised of a basin and a central shaft upon which one or more smaller tiers would be overlain, which would progressively reduce in size as the height increased, and which were generally held up by decorative supports, all to culminate at the fountain’s peak with a figure.39 By their marked ornamental character, the quality of their sculptures, and their decorative carved work, these pieces were reserved for the private space of certain courtyards and gardens of palaces and villas belonging to the most powerful members of

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 85 the elite, where they acted as reference points which contributed to the organization of the surrounding space. This fountain type is found in diverse examples from the Middle Ages to the 15th century. One of the most ancient and most ambitious in its vertical approach, given that it was composed of three tiers, would be the drawing included in the scene of the Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist,40 in the Louvre, attributed to Jacopo Bellini (ca. 1396-ca. 1470) and datable from 1430–1460. A fountain with a more horizontal composition was included in the fresco of Susanna and the Elders (1492–1494), by Pinturicchio (Bernardino di Betto, ca. 1452–1513), in the Hall of the Saints, Borgia Apartments, Vatican Palace, where Charles V stayed in 1535, as previously mentioned. Evidence of the spread of this type from Italy to Germany is found in the AQVILA DIVVS IMPERIALIS,41 by Hans Burgkmair the Elder (1473–1531) around 1507, made for Maximilian I, which contains a FONS MVSARUM where nine young, nude muses bathe. From at least the beginning of the 16th century, Genoese workshops were sculpting fountains in the form of candelabra. Among them was the one Wiles considered the most ancient to be known of those completed, erected in the center of the courtyard of the Château de Gaillon (France). It was the product of a workshop of Genoese marble workers overseen by Agostino Solario in 150642 and known thanks to Du Cerceau.43 With its pronounced verticality and its three superimposed tiers, the Fuente del Águila44 (Figure 4.2) conforms to the model that was current until the middle of the 16th century. In turn, as previously exhibited, this fountain shows a close correlation to the Fontana dei Delfini in the palace of Andrea Doria.45 Both share an octagonal basin with an undulated profile, formed by the combination of a lower, flat plank and a thick upper convex frame, which continues to the rim by a concave piece, animated by narrow vertical grooves. Lion protomes, located in the center of four sides of the Genoese fountain, project out from this profile, though they are located in the angles of the octagon on the Spanish fountain. Corbels with claws, which in Genoa alternate with animal figures, are found in the center of each side of the Spanish fountain. Above them are carved high reliefs with masks and imperial eagles, which are joined to the protomes by means of fine reliefs of the ruffs of the Golden Fleece, which hang as garlands. The greatest difference between the two fountains is the height achieved by the Fuente de Águila, given that three tiers are supported on it, with their corresponding supporting figures as opposed to the two on Doria’s fountain. Finally, the Spanish fountain possessed a crowning element, currently lost, in the form of a twoheaded eagle with a metal imperial crown, which gave the fountain its name from what appears to be the very beginning. As was typical in the composition of this type of fountain and with the objective of obtaining a similar view from every side,46 three carved figures were on each side of the central shaft whose arms or clothes intertwine among themselves, and act as supporting figures for the upper tiers. Maritime monsters are depicted on the lower level of the shaft of both fountains, as if rising up from the water with which they are in contact, an almost mandatory motive in the decoration of ponds and water features. On Doria’s fountain and the Emperor’s fountain, this imagery could also serve to allude to power and to the maritime triumphs of their owners. On the Spanish fountain (Figure 4.3), it is only that the mermen’s legs end in long fishtails that impede them from being fully human. Their heads, covered with hair animated by bulky curls, present less brutal features than those on the Genoese fountain, and their anatomy is more athletic.

Figure 4.2 Copy of the Fuente del Águila, 2000, Universidad María Cristina, El Escorial (photo by the author).

Figure 4.3  Tritons, copy of the Fuente del Águila (photo by the author).

Figure 4.4  Copy of the Fuente del Águila, nudes on the middle level (photo by the author).

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 89 The faces of two mermen, one with a certain echo of Michelangelo’s David, conform to the classic model which presents them as youths with serene expressions. The third is different, given that he appears more advanced in age, and his features are animated by an accentuated expressivity obtained by means of a greater plasticity in the modeling. There is a certain resemblance of this figure to Laocoön, emphasized by the elevation of his right arm; to highlight his nature as a maritime monster, small trails of water springing from his nose fall below his open mouth, just as in another of his companions. A trio of nude males is located on the middle level (Figure 4.4). Sculpted at a smaller scale than the mermen, their anatomy is equally a conception less monumental and more stylized. They all lift one of their arms, more in order to raise it to their heads than to hold onto the tier, and cross their legs, which provides their figures with angular profiles that imposes a certain dramatic energy, further emphasized by their expressive faces with open mouths and furrowed brows. One of them appears older, has a beard, and is wearing a turban, possibly alluding to the victory of Charles V in the campaign of Tunis. Some of the defeated figures in the fresco The Fall of the Giants (1530–1532) in Doria’s palace are similarly portrayed in such postures, which, in addition to suggesting an influence from or design by Perino del Vaga, can also share a similar meaning, which in this case would be of the peoples submitting to imperial authority. The final group of three child-like figures, typical in this location on fountains, is presented once again on a greater scale. Their chubby bodies seem to call attention to the highest part of the shaft. This is another feature shared with the Doria fountain, as in the case of the shell niches with hideous masks situated on top of them. Though the intermediary receptacle on the imperial fountain presents a smooth surface (with the exception of the hideous masks which frame the water pumps) in the paintings from the 17th century, it appears with its talons, which would point to the substitution of a lost piece. On the lower tier, bas-reliefs of sinuous, forked dolphins are superimposed on the talons, which are separated by shells in a pattern around the circular perimeter. Pipes were placed in their open mouths which pour water into the basin. Above the upper tier, a spherical form was erected, on top of which rose a heraldic, two-headed eagle wearing a crown. This image of imperial dignity, already widespread with Maximilian I, was used in theatrical devices in Italy to celebrate Charles V, and are particularly well documented in Genoa. In 1529, for example, “a grandiose ball made in the shape of the World with all its seas and lands with a large eagle above signifying His Ma[jesty]. King of the world”47 was constructed in the city, and was opened when the Emperor arrived and, after hurling perfumed water onto him and his companions, it was opened in order to allow a boy to exit from its interior who offered the monarch the key to the city. A similar trick was organized in 1548 during the visit of Prince Philip to Genoa, in which “the shape and roundness of the world were positioned in the manner of a globe in front of the palace with an imperial crown above; from which whenever a prince or dignitary entered the palace, so many fireworks were set off and with such uproar that it seemed the artillery had discharged.”48 The lower tier, measuring two meters in diameter, was perhaps one of the two large pieces that was necessary to transport by land in the double wagon previously mentioned. The other could be the group of mermen, if they were sculpted from a single block. For its part, the imperial eagle was the most delicate piece, owing to its

90  María José Redondo Cantera

Figure 4.5 View of the Casa de Campo, Museo de Historia de Madrid, c.1634 (photo: trust of the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Madrid).

protruding pieces constituting the heads and spread wings. Perhaps that fragility or its major deterioration—being the part most exposed to the atmospheric elements—influenced its disappearance, the circumstances of which are unknown.

The Fuente del Águila in the Casa de Campo in Madrid Following his return to Spain as King in 1559, Philip II exhorted the continuation of the works in the Alcázar of Madrid, overseen by Juan Bautista de Toledo (1515– 1567). The new monarch must have been aware of the existence of the fountain in storage, but he could not install it in his palace in Madrid for various reasons. First, its presence was not appropriate because the Emperor had already died, and the new monarch who resided in the Alcázar lacked the imperial dignity that the fountain symbolized. Furthermore, the palace was unable to provide a sufficient amount of water for the fountain to function at that time. The Fuente del Águila was located in the Casa de Campo at least since 1584. In this year the piping was made to supply it with water.49 The artificial paradise that

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 91 Philip II achieved in that extensive recreational villa located opposite the western side of the Alcázar of Madrid, on the other side of the Manzanares river,50 would not have been possible without the creation of a series of ponds, located at higher levels, to the west, which were fed by the waters of the Vadillo River and which were created by the Dutchman Peeter Janson or Jansen. Due to this and to the corresponding piping, the gardens could be watered and the fountains and other water features could operate. Had it not relied upon that engineering infrastructure, it would have been very difficult for the Fuente del Águila to be able to draw water through its pumps. For technical reasons, for its natural surroundings, and for the close spatial and visual relationship with the Alcázar of Madrid, the Casa de Campo thus became the appropriate site to place the Fuente del Águila. Given its height, the fountain was visible from the western sector of the palace, where the King’s chambers were located, as the painting Vista de la Casa de Campo (Figure 4.5), belonging to the Museo Arqueológico Nacional de Madrid,51 roughly replicates, which shows the grouping of the Royal Palace. With a height and figurative development superior to the other similar pieces installed at the Casa de Campo, it was the most prominent work of all, which reaffirmed the greater hierarchy of its symbolism. Perceived with a sensibility more fitting of later ages, it might be said that the fountain was transformed into a monument evocative of the Emperor as in the center of Nature. The first written reference in literature confirming the presence of the Fuente del Águila in the Casa de Campo is found in the account written by Cassiano del Pozzo (1588–1657) regarding the stay of Cardinal Francesco Barberini (1597–1679) in Madrid in 1626.52 This timeframe ante quem could be expanded to include 1617, based on the verses with which Lope de Vega celebrated the Royal Palace, in the beginning of the second act of the comedy Lo que pasa en una tarde, where what seems to be a reference to the Fuente del Águila is followed by another related to the equine sculpture of Philip III (1578–1621),53 cast in bronze by Pietro Tacca (1577–1640), based on the plans of Giambologna (1529–1608). The association of these two ambitious works of Italian provenance was visually fixed in the Vista de los jardines de la Casa de Campo con la estatua de Felipe III (Plate 3), which belongs to the Museo Nacional del Prado.54 This and the aforementioned paintings, both of unknown date and author, could be related to the positioning of the equestrian monument. In any case, the two images provide valuable visual information about the location and configuration of the Fuente del Águila, as well as other aspects of the group. According to what these paintings communicate,55 the Fuente del Águila was ultimately raised from the calle del caballo, the “street of the horse,” so called due to its sculpture of Philip III. There, it occupied the center of an octagonal, open plaza, limited by fences, behind which tall trees rose which comprised the most “forested” area of the little palace’s surroundings. The painting in the Prado clarifies how the fountain functioned, that water streamed from all the pipes, from what seems to be a globular gallonado jug—and not an orb—located below the imperial eagle, passing through the successive tiers, down to the open orifices in the basin, beneath the Golden Fleece, in such a way that its edge appears covered with water. In the other image, tiered ponds are seen at the bottom, which supply water. We do not know the exact moment in which the Fuente del Águila was installed at the Casa de Campo but, as previously noted, it seems undeniable that the decision to

92  María José Redondo Cantera incorporate it in his gardens is attributed to Philip II, while it was his successor, Philip III, who wanted to be connected to it by means of positioning it in a way to display the majestic symbolism on its shaft, thereby connecting it to the villa. With the equestrian statue erected in 1617, its placement in the design of the gardens would leave it protected at its back by the triumphant imperial monument, Charles V’s fountain, which inevitably fostered a new meaning, not just dynastic, but also of prestige, by presenting King Philip, with his necklace of the Golden Fleece on his chest, as a dignitary and direct descendant of the powerful Emperor. In this sense, the fact that the size of the sculpture of the monarch is clearly exaggerated on the canvas of the Museo del Prado attracts attention, not just with respect to the fountain, which would be explicable by finding this more at a distance, but also—in a more evident way—with respect to the flowerbeds between which the monument is located. Such magnification of the equine portrait indicates the intention to flatter, because of which it could be thought that it was the first Duke of Lerma, Francisco de Sandoval y Rojas (1553–1625), who was Philip III’s favorite and had been appointed the warden of the Casa de Campo, who ordered the painting and offered it to the monarch. In any case, whether it was Philip II or Philip III who was responsible for providing a definitive way for the placement of the Fuente del Águila in the Casa de Campo, the result quite eloquently points to dynastic intervention in the recovery of such a piece from storage, as well as its installation and contribution not just as an ornament of one of the most ambitious landscape areas of the Spanish Crown, but also to the survival of the evocation of imperial glory throughout the centuries. Its state of conservation, however, did not take long to suffer from changes in the weather and carelessness in its upkeep. In the report that Count Magalotti compiled about the trip that Cosimo de’ Medici took throughout the Iberian peninsula in 1668 and 1669, during the youth of Charles II (1661–1700), the last of the Spanish Habsburgs, he confirmed that the fountain did not operate.56 It could be said that this predicted the decline and eventual conclusion of the dynasty at the close of the 17th century. Fortunately, the renovations carried out by the Bourbons in the Casa de Campo in the following century allowed the fountain to operate once again, and it was found to be in a good state when Antonio Ponz (1725–1792) included it in his description of Madrid.

The Historiography of the Dating and Authorship of the Fuente del Águila With his typical good sense, when Ponz made reference to the crowning element of the fountain in the form of a two-headed eagle, he stated, “this indicates that the fountain was made in the time of Emperor Charles V,” and added, “perhaps it would not have been assembled then, or it would have been placed in a different location, from which Philip II brought it to this Palace.”57 Esquerra probably was following Ponz by dating the fountain to the reign of Charles V,58 but Íñiguez Almech believed that the abbot was mistaken and attributed it to the age of Philip II, though he confessed that he had disregarded the origin of the fountain and the reason for it being installed there.59 In turn, Juan Agustín Ceán Bermúdez (1749–1829), after having consulted the documentation of the Junta de Obras y Bosques, in which the Italian Juan Antonio

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 93 Sormano (?-1575), specialized in marble sculpting, was listed as having performed various tasks for the fountains of the Casa de Campo, stated that he “worked on the fountain of the Casa de Campo,”60 which was identified as the Fuente del Águila by being the most emblematic of the Royal Palace. Initially, it would not be totally baseless that Sormano, or Juan Bautista Bonanome, who is also documented in sculptural jobs related to fountains at the Casa de Campo,61 or even other marble workers or Italian sculptors, would have participated in the installation or the repair of certain pieces of the imperial fountain. In the case of Sormano, it should be kept in mind that he would have had to do it before 1575, which seems too early a date, and does not coincide with the creation of the piping.62 Subsequent investigations, which brought to light new documentary data about the works in the Casa de Campo, such as the arrival of pieces of Italian marble destined for the decoration of this recreational villa, contributed to the diffusion of the attribution to Sormano.63 Nevertheless, other scholars frame the fountain with greater precision, either because they thought it was a piece created in Italy,64 or they considered that, by its evident reference to Charles V, it corresponded to the years of his reign.65 Estella revived the affirmation of Cassiano del Pozzo about the Italian craftsmanship of the lowest tier—and, by extension, of the mermen that support it—and observed the similarity of the description of the basin that Ponz had made (polygonal and with lion heads in the corners)66 with the fountain of I Delfini of the Doria Palace, with which he also compared the tiers of the Fuente del Águila.67 Additionally, she discerned a different style between the sculptures of the distinct levels of the shaft, and considered the lower ones the result of Genoese workshops, opposite the more Florentine style of the upper bodies, in addition to signaling the similarity of the imperial group with the Fontana d’Orione in Messina (Sicily),68 completed by Montorsoli in 1547–1553.69 Laschke proposed that the Servite was the author of the design of the Genoese Fontana dei Delfini, though she later dated it to 1540. Montorsoli’s time in Genoa in 1539 and the contracted commissions would perhaps also pave the way for the imperial fountain, but there is no evidence of that. Tejero questioned the attribution to Sormano for stylistic reasons and for the fact that Sormano died nine years before the piping of the fountain was complete.70 In her research into the Italian provenance of the imperial fountain, she located the document of the delivery of two pieces of this type, created in marble and hailing from Genoa, destined for the Spanish Court, which arrived in 38 boxes in 1571.71 Despite interest in this piece of information, in our opinion it must reference another fountain, as the type to which the Fuente del Águila conforms was no longer fashionable, given that beginning in the 1540s, Italian fountains were conceived in a more varied way, and they acquired a different monumental character, with a much wider basin and figurative representations of a much larger size, a good example of which is the very work of Montorsoli in Messina, such as the aforementioned Fontana d’Orione and the Nettuno (1553–1557), and in the Doria Palace, the Fontana del Tritone (between 1540 and 1543) and another Nettuno (1543–1547).72

Conclusion The new dating and the context in which the commission was made and the arrival of the Fuente del Águila that have been presented here cast light on a piece around which unresolved questions still linger, such as the identification of its authorship, the

94  María José Redondo Cantera circumstances in which it was completed, and the dating of its transfer to the Casa de Campo, among others. The Fuente del Águila was not the first piece of this type of Italian provenance in civil Spanish architecture, but it would have been the most monumental of its time and, having been installed upon its arrival, would have been the first Italian fountain to adorn a Spanish royal palace. With its placement in the Casa de Campo, the dynastic significance was unified with the triumph of its original conception, while its location in Nature bestowed upon it a more atemporal sense and probably greater survival than if it had been in the Alcázar of Madrid, where other kings subsequently would have expressed their power with a different language. Distinct hands probably contributed to various elements of the Fuente del Águila, but this did not hinder the work from becoming a beautiful, harmonious composition that deserves reconstruction. Currently in fragments preserved in storage at the Palacio Real of Madrid, reconstructing the complete structure would offer visual proof of its extraordinarily innovative language and place as one of the most significant Italian sculptures in the Spanish royal collections.

Notes * This work has been undertaken as part of Proyecto I + D “La materialización del proyecto. Aportación al conocimiento del proceso constructivo desde las Fuentes documentales (siglos XVI-XIX),” HAR2013–44403, financed by the Ministerio de Economía y Competividad and within the framework of GIR “IDINTAR” (Identidad e intercambios artísticos. De la Edad Media al Mundo Contemporáneo) of the University of Valladolid. I want to thank Doctor Da Margarita Estella Marcos y Da Almudena Pérez de Tudela for help given on the development of this study. The essay was translated by Matthew Greene. 1 In the speech he gave during his solemn act of abdication (Brussels, October 25, 1555), Charles V noted that he had traveled 40 times through kingdoms or countries; each trip would have demanded considerable organization. The speech was recorded by Prudencio de Sandoval, Historia de la vida y hechos del Emperador Carlos V, máximo, fortissimo, Rey Católico de España y de las Indias, Islas y tierra firme del mar Océano (Madrid: Biblioteca de autores españoles, 1956), 479. 2 Fernando Marías, La Arquitectura del Renacimiento en Toledo (1541–1631) (Toledo: Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos, 1983), t. I, 315. 3 Dedication of the author to the Prince, the future Philip II, in the edition of his translation into Spanish. Francisco de Villalpando, Tercer y Quarto Libro de Arquitectura de Sebastian Serlio Boloñes (Toledo:1 552), II; (ed. facs. Barcelona: Alta Fulla, 1990). 4 Unconnected and independent of that plan, though prior to the beginning of his works, in 1531, was the so-called Palacio de Carlos V, in the Alhambra of Granada, built ex novo. Earl E. Rosenthal’s book El Palacio de Carlos V en Granada (Madrid: Alianza, 1998) and the catalogue of the exposition, Pedro Galera Andreu, ed. Carlos V y la Alhambra (Granada: Junta de Andalucía, 2000) stand out among the large amount of information about this building. The role of redeemed architector in this enterprise by the warden of the Alhambra, don Luis Hurtado de Mendoza (1489–1566), and III Marqués de Mondéjar y Il Conde de Tendilla, has been highlighted on various occasions by Fernando Marías; the most recent in “Don Luis Hurtado de Mendoza y la Arquitectura de la Alhambra,” in Los Tendilla. Señores de la Alhambra (Granada: Patronato de la Alhambra y Generalife, 2016), 85–91. 5 See Veronique Gerard, De castillo a palacio: El Alcázar de Madrid en el siglo XVI (Madrid: Xarait, 1984); José Manuel Barbeito, El Alcázar de Madrid (Madrid: Colegio Oficial de Arquitectos de Madrid, 1992); El Real Alcázar de Madrid: Dos siglos de arquitectura y coleccionismo en la Corte de los reyes de España, dir. Fernando Checa (Madrid: Comunidad de Madrid, 1994). For a good synthesis on fountains and the historiography of the Alcázar of Madrid; see Juan José Martín González, “Crónica bibliográfica del Real Alcázar de Madrid.” Academia. Boletín de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando 79 (1994), 75–106.

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 95 6 Published by María José Redondo Cantera, “La arquitectura de Carlos V y la intervención de Isabel de Portugal: Palacios y fortalezas,” in Carlos V y las Artes. Promoción artística y familia imperial, ed. María José Redondo Cantera and Miguel Ángel Zalama (Valladolid: Junta de Castilla y León y Universidad de Valladolid, 2000), 104–5. The Emperor trusted his wife, Isabel of Portugal (1503–1539), who would act as governor or regent in his absence, to put this construction program into motion, with the help of Cardinal of Toledo Juan Pardo de Tavera (1472–1545), who would also undertake the duties of governing, and Enrique Persoens, who would be tasked with the administration of expenses. 7 Already during the first long absence of her husband, when he marched to Italy to be crowned Emperor by the Pope, the Empress denied staying there, considering it unhealthy. Isabel could not forget that in 1528, while the imperial family was residing in the fortress of Madrid, Prince Philip, who was just a year old, became gravely ill, and she feared for his life. The following year, the archbishop of Toledo, Alonso de Fonseca, wrote to Charles V about the Alcázar: “tiene fama de no ser bien sano, estos dos meses no quiso Su Mt., ni pareçio que era bien se viniese a él con su casa real,” Manuel Fernández Álvarez, Corpus documental de Carlos V, t. I (1516–1539) (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1975), 165. Regarding the decisions that Isabel of Portugal adopted in regards to the places and buildings that she selected as a residence when she acted as regent, see María José Redondo Cantera, “Palacios para una Emperatriz itinerante. Usos residenciales de Isabel de Portugal (1526–1539),” in Matronazgo y Arquitectura: De la Antigüedad a la Edad Moderna, ed. Cándida Martínez López and Felipe Serrano Estrella (Granada: Editorial de la Universidad de Granada, 2016), 249–99. 8 Published by Francisco Íñiguez Almech, Casas Reales y jardines de Felipe II (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1952), 100, and published and analyzed by Gerard, De Castillo a palacio, 20–5. The authorship of Covarrubias and the dating have been disputed by Juan Herranz, “Dos ‘nuevos’ dibujos del maestro real Gaspar de Vega: el primer plano del Alcázar de Madrid, atribuido a Alonso de Covarrubias, y el plano de la casa de servicios del Palacio del Pardo.” Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoría del Arte 9–10 (1997–1998), 117–32. 9 Anonymous, Cronaca del soggiorno di Carlo V in Italia (dal 26 Luglio 1529 al 25 aprile 1530) (Milan, 1892), 84, 113 Alonso de Santa Cruz, Crónica del Emperador Carlos, vol. 3 (Madrid, 1922), 72, 80. 10 In 1533, Santa Cruz, Crónica, vol. 3, 176. 11 In the Citadella of Reggio, Cronaca: 110; also Santa Cruz, Crónica, vol. 3, 66: “the Duke brought His Majesty to the fortress, which he had very richly decorated, especially a hall which had very rich, embellished cloths of gold and of silk that they said were worth more than 100,000 ducats, and because they had seemed very good to the Emperor, the Duke implored him very affectionately to help himself to them, but the Emperor did not want to do that.” 12 Cronaca: 251–78; Amedeo Belluzzi, “Carlo V a Mantova e Milano,” in La città effimera e l’universo artificiale del giardino. La Firenze dei Medici e l’Italia del ’500, ed. Marcello Fagiolo (Roma: Officina Edizioni, 1980), 47–54. 13 Santa Cruz, Crónica, vol. 3, 176; Vicente de Cadenas y Vicent, El Protectorado de Carlos V en Génova. La “condotta” de Andrea Doria (Madrid: Instituto Salazar y Castro, 1977), 171. When Doria bought the land in 1521 there was a palazzo there, but it was destroyed during the assault of French troops on Genoa which took place the following year. 14 Cadenas y Vicent, El Protectorado, 156. 15 About the importance of Genoa in Carolingian politics, Arturo Pacini, La Genova di Andrea Doria nell’Impero di Carlo V (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 1999) and “ ‘Poiché gli stati non sono portatili. . .’: geopolítica e strategia nei rapporti tra Genova e Spagna nel Cinquecento,” in Génova y la Monarquía Hispánica (1528–1713), Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, vol. LI (CXXV), fasc.1, ed. Manuel Herrero Sánchez et al., vol. 2 (Génova, 2011), 413–57. 16 For the different phases of construction, see Clara Altavista, “Intorno a un folio dell’album di disegni di Giovanni Casale della Biblioteca Nacional de España. Il palazzo di Andrea Doria a Fassolo-Genova: così è si vi pare.” Annali di architettura 24 (2012), 93–108, along with the previous entry.

96  María José Redondo Cantera 17 Laura Stagno, “Soberanos españoles en Génova. Entradas triunfales y «hospedajes» en casa Doria,” in España y Génova. Obras, artistas y coleccionistas, dir. Piero Boccardo et al. (Madrid: Fernando Villaverde Ed., 2004), 69–72. 18 Laura Stagno, Palazzo del Principe. Villa di Andrea Doria (Genoa: Sagep Libri & Comunicazione, 2005), 19 and 39. 19 At the end of 1548, de Cadenas y Vicent, El Protectorado, 243; Juan Christóval Calvete de Estrella, El felicíssimo viaje del Muy Alto y Muy Poderoso Príncipe Don Phelippe (Antwerp, 1552), ed. Paloma Cuenca (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la conmemoración de los centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2001), 45–6. 20 Stagno, “Soberanos españoles,” 71–9. 21 Lorenzo Capelloni, Vita del prencipe Andrea Doria (Venice: Gabriel Giolito de Ferrari, 1565), 51. Also cited by Stagno, “Soberanos españoles,” 83 (n. 48). 22 For a complete survey of these entrances and their multiple meanings, Maria Luisa Madonna, “El viaje de Carlos V por Italia después de Túnez: el triunfo clásico y el plan de reconstrucción de las ciudades,” in La fiesta en la Europa de Carlos V (cat. exp. Sevilla, 19/09–26/11 2000), Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2000), 119–53. Maria Antonietta Visceglia, “Il viaggio ceremoniale di Carlo V dopo Tunisi,” in Carlos V y la quiebra del Humanismo político en Europa (1530–1558), vol. II, ed. José Martínez Millán (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2001), 133–72. For the one in Florence, Vincenzo Cazzato, “Vasari e Carlo V: L’ingresso trionfale a Firenze del 1536,” in Giorgio Vasari. Tra decorazione ambientale e storiografia artística, ed. Gian Carlo Garfagnini (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 1985), 179–204. For other Italian entries, see Vincenzo Cazzato, “Le feste per Carlo V in Italia. Gli ingressi in tre centri minori del sud (1535–1536),” in La città effimera. . ., 1980, 22–37. These ephimera have been connected with The Fuente del Águila by Beatriz Tejero Villareal, “Las fuentes genovesas en los jardines de Felipe II,” in Felipe II. El Rey íntimo. Jardín y naturaleza en el siglo XVI, Actas del Congreso Internacional Jardín y Naturaleza en el siglo XVI (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 1998), 413. 23 Santa Cruz, Crónica, 329, 355, 357, and 365. 24 Transcribed by Stagno, Palazzo del Principe, 12 (n. 2). A similar expression was also used in Palazzo Te in Mantua: “HONESTO OCIO POST LABORES,” an inscription painted on the baseboard of the Hall of Amor and Psyche. 25 “Il medesimo príncipe Doria fecce mettere mano al suo palazzo, e fargli nuove aggiunte di fabriche e giardini bellissimi, che furono fatti con ordine del frate,” Giorgio Vasari, “Vita di Fra’ Giovann’Agnolo Montorsoli scultore,” in Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultoti e architettori, vol. V (Florence: Giunti Editore, 1568), 500–1. 26 This has been proposed by Lauro Magnani, Il Tempio di Venere. Giardino e Villa nella Cultura Genovese (Genova: Sagep Editrice, 1987), 39–40. He more recently suggested that the fountain occupied a location of supremacy in the southern, pre-Montorsolian garden, Stagno, Palazzo del Principe, 108. 27 Elena Parma Armani, “Una svolta internazionale,” in La scultura a Genova e in Luguria, vol. I. (Genoa: Cassa di Risparmio di Genova e Imperia, 1987), 304–7. 28 For the Fountain of the Dolphins and the Fountain of Triton in the Doria Palace, made by Montorsoli in 1540–3, see Birgit Laschke, Fra Giovan Angelo da Montorsoli. Ein Florentiner Bildhauer des 16. Jhahunderts (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1993), 64, 161, and 227, figure 47. 29 Laschke, Fra Giovan Angelo, 59–61, and 160. 30 Santa Cruz, Crónica, vol. 2 (Madrid, 1920), 245–6. 31 Redondo Cantera, “La arquitectura de Carlos V,” 102–3. 32 Letter from Gómez Suárez de Figueroa to Charles V, dated in Genoa, January 21, 1540. Archivo General de Simancas (hereafter AGS), Estado, leg. 1373, f. 2v. “La fuente que el príncipe hazia para V[uestra] M[ajestad] esta acabada y encaxada. La qual embiare con la primera nave a cartagena para que de alli la lleven a madrid como V[uestra] m[ajestad] lo embio a mandar.” 33 Adolf Poschmann, “Algunos datos nuevos y curiosos sobre el monumento de don Felipe ‘el Hermoso’ y doña Juana ‘la Loca’ en la Real Capilla de Granada.” Revista de Archivos, Bibliotecas y Museos, XXXVIII no. 1 (1918), 44–6.

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 97 34 “A xvii de hebrero partio de aquí la nave de la Renteria, en la qual se cargaron las lxii caxas de mármoles de una fontana q[ue] enbia el s[eñ]or príncipe para su m[ajes]ta[d la qual fue remitida para q[ue] se entregasse a tomas garri Jurado de aquella ciudad al qual se escrivio q[ue] hiziesse de los dichos mármoles lo que v[uestra] s[eñoria] le enbiasse a mandar,” Letter from Gómez Suárez de Figueroa to Francisco de los Cobos, Secretary of the Emperor, Genoa, April 5, 1540. AGS, Estado, leg. 1373, f. 90v. 35 AGS, Contaduría Mayor de Cuentas, Primera Época (hereafter AGS, CMC, I), leg. 592, 9 (1540). Six ducats were paid to the shippers of the boxes; five ducats to Pedro Negro, “correo de pie” for carrying the message to Madrid; 200 maravedis daily to Hernando del Corral, who was responsible for the transport to Madrid and had to cover eight leagues per day; 3,300 maravedis were paid for each pair of mules; one real was paid daily to the six men who carried the boxes in their wagons; other expenses such as ropes, nails, repairs, etc., are related. 36 Two days were needed for six men to load all the boxes onto the wagons. AGS, CMC, I), leg. 592, 9 (1540). 37 AGS, CMC I, leg. 522, f. XIX. 38 María José Redondo Cantera, “La Capilla Real de Granada como panteón dinástico durante los reinados de Carlos V y Felipe II: Problemas e indecisiones. Nuevos datos sobre el sepulcro de Felipe el Hermoso y Juana la Loca,” in Grabkunst und Sepulkralkultur in Spanien und Portugal/ Arte funerario y cultura sepulcral en España y Portugal, ed. Barbara Börngässer, Henrik Karge and Bruno Klein (Frankfurt am Main: Vervuert/ Iberoamericana, 2006), 412–13. 39 Bertha Harris Wiles, The Fountains of Florentine Sculptors and Their Followers from Donatello to Bernini (New York: Hacker Art Books, 1975), 22 40 Drawing on vellum, inv. 401484. RMN-Grand Palais. 41 Albertina, Vienna, inv. DG 1934, no 12. See, with the previous entry, the study of Larry Silver, “The Imperial Eagle of Conrad Celtis,” in Emperor Maximilian I and the Age of Dürer, ed. Eva Michel and Marie Luise Sternarth (Vienna: Albertina and Prestel Verlag, 2012), 192. 42 Harris Wiles, The Fountains, 23. 43 Jacques Androuet Du Cerceau, Les plus excellents bastiments de France, ed. David Thomson (Paris: Editions Sand, 1988), 153. Regarding this castle, with numerous references to the fountain, see Flaminia Bardati, “Il bel palatio in forma de Castello”. Gaillon tra Flamboyant e Rinascimento (Rome: Campisano Editore, 2009), passim. 44 Currently, it is preserved in the Almacén de Mármoles of the Royal Palace of Madrid, inv. No 10033666. It is composed of marble from Carrara. The basin measures 3.40m in diameter, the shaft reaches a height of 5m, and the highest tier has a diameter 2m wide, according to Mónica Luengo Añón, Felipe II. El Rey íntimo. Jardín y Naturaleza en el siglo XVI, cat. exp. (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 1998), 102. During the reign of Isabel II (1833–1868), it was brought to the gardens of the Campo del Moro, in the Royal Palace of Madrid; this transfer should have coincided with that of the equestrian statue of Philip III to the Plaza Mayor of Madrid, around 1840, Joaquín Ezquerra del Bayo, “Fountains,” in Exposición del antiguo Madrid. Catálogo general ilustrado (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Amigos de Arte, 1926), 145. It should have once again remained stored in pieces, Marquesa de Casa Valdés, Jardines de España (Madrid: Aguilar, 1973), 104. In 1895, the shaft of the fountain, with its sculptures and tiers, was installed, by desire of the reigning queen, María Cristina de HabsburgoLorena (1858–1929), in the center of the courtyard of the ancient building of La Compaña, converted into the Universidad María Cristina, in El Escorial (Madrid); it was then endowed with a new basin, wider and lower, with a circular base and limited height, and the shaft was lifted from the tiers with a padded, cylindrical base. Due to the exposition Felipe II. El Rey íntimo, a reconstruction with the original base was undertaken, of which the photographs of Pedro Navascués, María del Carmen Ariza, and Beatriz Tejero Villareal were published in “La Casa de Campo,” in Jardín y Naturaleza en el reinado de Felipe II, ed. Carmen Añón and José Luis Sancho (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoriación de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 1998), 432. In 2011, it was transported to the warehouses of the Royal Palace of Madrid, and a copy was left in its place, with a basin that was a reproduction of the original, which was identified by José Luis Sancho,

98  María José Redondo Cantera La Arquitectura de los Sitios Reales. Catálogo histórico de los Palacios, Jardines y Patronatos Reales del Patrimonio Nacional (Madrid: Ed. Patrimonio Nacional, 1995), 638 (n. 4). Given the difficulty of gaining direct access to the original and of the scarcity of photographic material, the analysis that follows has been completed based on the copy that is found installed in the Universidad María Cristina in El Escorial (Madrid). This will be the life-sized replica created in 1991, made “in mortar of powder bound together with polyester resin,” Juan Armada Díez de Rivera et al. “El jardín de Felipe II en la Casa de Campo. La génesis de un proyecto de restitución,” in Gregorio de los Ríos, A propósito de la Agricultura de Jardines de Gregorio de los Ríos, ed. Joaquín Fernández Pérez e Ignacio González Tascón (Madrid: Tabapress, 1991), 187. 45 Margarita Estella, “Temas mitológicos en los jardines de los siglos XVI y XVII. Obras inéditas o poco conocidas de Camillani, Regio, Algardi o anóminas,” in La visión del mundo clásico en el arte español (Madrid: CSIC, 1993), 69. Tejero Villareal, “Las fuentes genovesas,” 412–13. 46 In the description of the Fountain sent by Antonio Doria, the nephew of Andrea Doria, the following year to Francisco de los Cobos (ca. 1477–1547), the Secretary of Carlos V, he affirmed that it had three figures of monsters and many others of female supporting figures on the first tier. The existence of such a fountain was published by Marta Gómez Ubierna, “Tra Italia e Spagna, le sculture per Francisco de los Cobos/Entre Italia y España, esculturas para Francisco de los Cobos,” in Il San Giovannino di Úbeda restituido/El San Juanito de Úbeda restituido, ed. Maria Cristina Improta (Florence: Edifi, 2014), 170–1. The descriptive report of the fountain is found in AGS. Estado, leg. 1374, 89. Sergio Ramiro Ramírez, “La fuente regalada por Antonio Doria a Francisco de los Cobos en 1541: Una posible obra de Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli y un error de Vasari,” in El legado hispánico: manifestaciones culturales y sus protagonistas, ed. Abel Lobato Fernández et al. (León: Universidad de León, 2016), 279–85. 47 “Una grandissima balla finta in foggia dil Mondo con tutti i mari e terre con sopra un acquila grande significando sua Ma[est]á. Re dil Mondo.” Cadenas y Vicent, El Protectorado, 161. 48 Calvete de Estrella, El felicíssimo, 46: “estaba puesta la figura y redondez del mundo a la manera de un globo delante de palacio con una imperial corona encima; del qual siempre que algún Príncipe o Grande entrava en palacio salían tantos cohetes y con tanto estruendo que parecía dispararse artillería.” 49 Tejero Villareal, “Las Fuentes genovesas,” 408–9. The reference is Archivo General de Palacio, Administraciones Patrimoniales, caja 7, exp. 13. The text of the payment (30 August, 1584), which attests that it was installed there: “A Sebastián Matheo, alcaller, vecino de la dicha villa, mil y quinientos reales . . . por myll y doçientos caños de barro gruessos que dio para el encañado de la fuente del Águila que esta en la Casa del Campo, a real y quartillo cada uno.” 50 The study done by Pedro Navascués, María del Carmen Ariza, and Beatriz Tejero, “La Casa de Campo,” 137–59, especially stands out among the literature available on the group. 51 Inventory number 3130, oil on canvas, 136 x 165 cm. Both are found in the Museo de Historia de Madrid. Traditionally attributed to Félix Castello, doubts are currently held about its authorship. They are dated to the 20s or 30s of the 17th century. 52 The fragment relating to the fountain was compiled by José Simón Díaz, “La estancia del cardenal legado Francesco Barberini en Madrid el año 1626,” Anales del Instituto de Estudios Madrileños 17 (1980), 199. The complete Spanish translation of the text is in El diario del viaje a España del Cardenal Francesco Barberini, ed. Alessandra Anselmi (Madrid: Fundación Carolina-Doce Calles), 2004. Despite Diego Pérez de Mesa’s detailed description of the Casa de Campo, Primera y segunda parte de las Grandezas y cosas notables de España compuesta primeramente por el maestro Pedro de Medina [. . .] (Alcalá de Henares: Juan Gracián, 1590), 205–206, there is no mention of the fountain. 53 “Trujéronle de Italia aquella fuente cuya escultura a Praxiteles diera envidia justa en esta edad presente [. . .] Hallo añadido, entre bellezas tantas, este retrato, en bronce de Filipo, de cuya vista con razón te espantas.”

An Italian Fountain for the Emperor 99 Obras de Lope de Vega publicadas por la Real Academia Española. Obras dramáticas, t. II. Madrid, 1916, 302. Partially cited by Beatriz Tejero Villareal, Casa de Campo (Madrid: El Avapiés, 1994), 35. 54 Catalogue number P01288, oil on canvas, 149 x 181 cm. For more information, see the fact sheet and bibliography of the Museo del Prado: www.museodelprado.es/coleccion/ obra-de-arte/vista-de-los-jardines-de-la-casa-de-campo-con-la/7e7a936f-0f18-415f-9596bfff6cf6babb?searchid=dc214b6c-2795-bdf3-0ef8-45a730fb07ba (consulted November 11, 2016). 55 To these it is necessary to add another painting of a smaller size held in the Museo de Burgos, inventory number 308, 105 x 136cm, of unknown author and dated to the 17th century, reproduced in Felipe II. El Rey íntimo, 149. 56 Lorenzo Magalotti, Viaje de Cosme de Médicis por España y Portugal (1668–1669), ed. Ángel Sánchez Rivero and Ángela Mariutti de Sánchez Rivero (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Históricos, 1933), 89. 57 Antonio Ponz, Viage de España, t. VI (Madrid: Viuda de D. Joaquín Ibarra, 1793; 3ª impr., ed. fasc., Madrid, 1972), 143–4. 58 Exposición del antiguo Madrid. Catálogo general ilustrado (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Amigos del Arte, 1926), 145–6. 59 Íñiguez Almech, Casas Reales, 137. 60 Juan Agustín Ceán Bermúdez, Diccionario histórico de los mas ilustres profesores de las Bellas Artes en España, t. IV (Madrid: Real Academia de San Fernando, 1800), 389. 61 Javier Rivera, Juan Bautista de Toledo y Felipe II (La implantación del Clasicismo en España) (Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid, 1984), 249. 62 See note 49. 63 José Miguel Morán Turina y Fernando Checa Cremades, Las Casas del Rey. Casas de Campo, Cazaderos y Jardines. Siglos XVI y XVII (Madrid: El Viso, 1986), 117. Javier Rivera, “Juan Bautista de Toledo y la Casa de Campo de Madrid: Vicisitudes del Real Sitio en el siglo XVI,” en Ríos, A propósito de la Agricultura, 118 and 123. 64 Marquesa de Casa Valdés, Jardines, 104; Juan José Martín González. El escultor en palacio (Viaje a través de la escultura de los Austrias) (Madrid: Ed. Gredos, 1991), 136. Sancho, La Arquitectura, 638 (n. 4). 65 Navascués et al., “La Casa del Campo,” 149 y “La Casa de Campo,” 429–31. 66 Ponz, Viage, 143. 67 Estella, “Temas mitológicos,” 71. 68 Ibid. 69 The essential pieces of information about this work and its bibliography in Laschke, Fra Giovan Angelo, 161–2. 70 Tejero Villareal, “Las fuentes genovesas,” 408–9. 71 Published by Jean Babelon, Jacobo da Trezzo et la construction de l’Escurial. Essai sur les arts à la cour de Philippe II. 1519–1589 (Burdeos: Feret & Fils, 1922), 99; Tejero Villareal, “Las fuentes genovesas,” 411–12. 72 About them, Laschke, Fra Giovan Angelo, 161, 162, and 167.

5 Michelangelo Re-read A Note on the Reception of His Pictorial Language in Spanish Sculpture of the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century Manuel Arias Martínez As Giorgio Vasari had said about the pictorial cycles of the Sistine Chapel, artists should be grateful to Michelangelo because he had passed on to them a marvellous catalogue of gestures—a brilliant and varied repertoire of forms, full of suggestive differences. Obviously, the dissemination of Michelangelesque language, above all from printed sources, became an unquestionable reality. To this was added, on many occasions, the direct contemplation of his oeuvre through the training trips of those who moved to Italy only to return to their places of origin with drawings and models as a precious treasure of novelties. Gaspar Becerra (1520–1568) is one of those most fortunate ambassadors, in the Spanish case, who fully incorporated Michelangelo’s language through his direct relationship with such outstanding figures as Vasari and Volterra, with whom he worked in Rome.1 In the high altarpiece of the cathedral of Astorga (1558–1562) he set in motion an effective working method, providing a set of drawings and three-­ dimensional models in ductile materials, which a group of experienced sculptors transferred to wood, thus establishing a formal code that succeeded all over the north of Spain for half a century. It was these sculptors who were entrusted with spreading Becerra’s inventions by using the resources they had learned in contact with their master. The use of prints is detected in some cases, but in others it is evident that the models emerged from direct observation of the originals. Sculptors like Juan Fernández de Vallejo (d. 1601) and Pedro de Arbulo (d. 1608), who worked mainly in the geographical area of La Rioja, present careers dependent on Michelangelo’s language through their relationship with Becerra, and provide an effective example of a long and profitable influence. We now have documentary information on the way Becerra, who had a mainly pictorial training, although he had acquired some skills in stucco modelling from Mazzoni’s workshop, had handled the execution of the altarpiece in Astorga. According to the Spanish fashion, it was commissioned to be made in wood, and its polychromy was left for a second phase. In order to carry out its woodcarving, the master had to hire a group of good experts in that technique who were capable of executing his designs very accurately.2 Besides his drawings, Becerra provided his team with three-dimensional models of free-standing sculptures and reliefs, made in clay, wax or plaster, which gave a much clearer understanding of what they were to carry out. These were models of forms that came to establish a radical innovation in sculpture and were repeated for many years.

Michelangelo Re-read 101 Indeed, their reiteration was the cause of an ever-increasing deterioration, so much so that these types became over-used and lost their strength in comparison with their original compositions. This contact with Becerra supplied his master craftsmen not only with new models of themes used in Astorga, but also with many other references at the forefront of innovation led by Italy, despite the fact that he had left the country decades earlier. The information provided by the small reproductions of drawings, plasters, and the indispensable prints, and perhaps some small painted copies, clearly showed what was happening in the centre of European artistic production and, above all, within the orbit of Michelangelo. What we intend in this paper is to trace those patterns from a very specific case: its presence and rereading in what was an important focus of Spanish sculpture in the late sixteenth century. We are referring to the partial use, though strictly literal, of the interesting cartoon by Michelangelo of the Prayer in the Garden and which is kept in the Gabinetto dei Disegni e delle Stampe (Figure 5.1).3 We have not found evidence that this scene was engraved, although other small compositions of Michelangelo certainly were, even from a very early date, like, for example, those that came out of Beatrizet’s workshops.4 Therefore, the transmission of the model must have been made either through its direct contemplation and notes, drawing, or painted copies. The composition, like many others produced by the artist’s hands in the last period of his life, fits within the framework of a group that were transferred to painting by Marcello Venusti (c. 1512–1579), one of his closest associates till the end of his days

Figure 5.1 Michelangelo Buonarroti, Orazione nell’orto, Gabinetto dei Disegni e delle Stampe degli Uffizi, Inv. GDSU n. 230 F (photo: Galleria degli Uffizi).

102  Manuel Arias Martínez and one of those who contributed the most to the initial dissemination of his oeuvre.5 Michelangelo, committed to the great architectural works, provided different small format drawings to those closest to him and his surroundings, to painters among whom were Calcagni, Volterra and Venusti, so that they were transferred to painting. In this way he intended to please his clients and meet the demand for his production.6 The collaboration between Venusti and Michelangelo started in the late 1540s and lasted until the death of the master in 1564. Venusti obtained from it the benefit of the master’s creativity, which served as the basis for small paintings like the Crucifixion and the Pietà, both offered to Vittoria Colonna, as well as the Expulsion of the Merchants from the Temple, Christ and the Samaritan Woman, the Madonna of Silence, and the different versions of the Crucifixion, which became enormously popular.7 The Agony in the Garden falls within this context. Several painted versions of it attributed to Venusti are extant. One of the finest copies is kept in the Kunsthistorisches Museum of Vienna, although some others of undeniable quality have come down to us, like those exhibited in the Doria and Barberini Galleries.8 It is a really exceptional composition. When Michelangelo was working on it, he must have been thinking of some private devotion, as its small size suggests.9 A double scene is unfolding on a single plane, which, in Tolnay’s view, shows the aspect of a low relief where the sculptural values do not correspond to depth values. Tolnay points out that Wilde saw in it the specific trait of Michelangelo’s last compositions—part of a new sculptural concept.10 This reflection can be taken into consideration when looking upon the reuse of the original, although it has been in a partial way, for the construction of the Spanish polychrome wood reliefs representing the same theme. Perhaps as part of that final recapitulation in the master’s career, his inspiration came from mediaeval sequences that employed continuous narration. Some outlines of this process have been preserved in Italy, even with the same double scene, as in the case of the painting by Duccio di Buoningsegna in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo in Siena.11 Here, while we see on the left Christ lonely and in concentrated prayer, on the right he appears again in a very different attitude, calling to his apostles so that they do not fall asleep. The solitary man in prayer is an absolutely frontal block showing a figure turned in on itself with the only variation of a slight arm movement, as if it were a real free-standing representation. However, on the right hand side, he appears admonishing the disciplines, again in a three-quarter view, virtually with his back to the spectator and affirming his calling to his disciples with a gesture of his right arm. In some way there is a shift in protagonism towards the apostles, two of whom have fallen asleep in the foreground, while only the third one is lowering his head and listening to the reprimand humbly. The narration of the deeds has a clear Evangelical source. It is a celebrated episode of the Passion cycle, and perhaps one of the most popular ones in artistic representation, mentioned in Luke 22: 39–46; Matthew 26: 36–46; and Mark 14: 32–42. They narrate Christ’s retreat to Gethsemane accompanied by Peter, James and John, to go through one of the most agonizing moments in the course of his life, aware of his role and betraying the human sorrow of his wilful and necessary delivery at the time prior to his arrest. Mathew and Mark recount that even on as many as three occasions Christ leaves his prayer to come back to his disciples, who, overcome by sleep, have not had the strength to keep awake. Perhaps it is that sensation of motion between both attitudes,

Michelangelo Re-read 103 being awake and being drowsy, that Michelangelo’s composition is trying to capture. Moreover, by employing continuous narration, he also adds the idea of the proximity between both groups, who, as Luke notes, were about a stone’s throw away from each other. The preparatory drawings made by the master for this composition are dated in the 1550s, whereas the final design kept in the Uffizi is dated in the last stage of the artist’s life, although a specific date cannot be provided. Neither are there precise timeline data for Venusti’s pictorial interpretations, which must have been quite close in time. It would be very interesting to know them in greater detail when trying to trace their path to Spain. The first place where the literal use of the source is detected is on one of the reliefs of the predella in the high altarpiece of Lanciego, in Álava, which may have been started in 1567 and was finished in 1569 (Figure 5.2).12 Its craftsman was Juan Fernández de Vallejo, a sculptor documented in the Basque-Rioja area between 1566 and 1599, identified, quite rightly, with the Juan Fernández who was working, under the orders of Gaspar Becerra, on the high altarpiece of the cathedral of Astorga, executed between 1558 and 1562.13 Fernández de Vallejo formed a working company with Pedro de Arbulo, another close collaborator of Becerra in Astorga.14 Although we only know the date of dissolution of that professional association, in 1571, we must think that it may have been formed in 1565, when, after finishing their link with Becerra in Madrid, both of them returned to La Rioja. Therefore they shared, for a

Figure 5.2 Juan Fernández de Vallejo, Agony in the Garden, high altar, Lanciego, 1567–1569 (photo by the author).

104  Manuel Arias Martínez few years, not only common objectives but also designs and formal resources. The architectural structure of the Lanciego altarpiece is actually a sum of outlines derived from Becerra’s language, although it does not follow a regular criterion, as of someone who has only the superficial knowledge of a much deeper concept which they have not had the access to. There the relief of the Agony in the Garden is arranged in one of the most visible places of the predella, on the epistle side.15 Becerra had not represented this scene on the Astorga altarpiece, dedicated to the life of Mary and turned into a catalogue of reiterated use for decades, so the composition does not respond to something used in that indispensable starting point. The episode unfolds in an enclosed garden. In it the disciples occupy the foreground, to leave the background for a kneeling Christ praying, but not before an angel; rather, before one of the putti that are to be found on the Astorga retable carrying the cup and the cross while, in the background, Judas and the soldiers are coming into the enclosure. Barrón has related the figure of Christ to the corresponding image in the Small Passion by Dürer,16 which, incidentally, was frequently used in the Spanish art for centuries. This reference is interesting because it confirms that symbiosis of sources, one of which has been sanctioned, as far as its validity is concerned, by a proven efficiency over time. It corresponds to the main holy figure, whereas the other, the one dealing with the two apostles on the right end, comes from a vanguard world which was by no means common in the environment of Vallejo and Lanciego. It is precisely the designs of those two disciple figures, taken directly from the Michelangelo’s composition disseminated by Venusti, which, with small variations, were to be repeated, above all, in Pedro de Arbulo’s oeuvre. In one of the reliefs on the altarpiece of the small locality of Desojo,17 initiated in 1571 and finished in 1579, in a vertical format, the group of the sleeping apostles is arranged in the foreground, and whereas one of them is rendered with no variation at all, the one on the right end was slightly amended in respect to the source in its upper part (Plate 4). Something similar happens with the corresponding relief on the altarpiece in the monastery of Estrella, at present in the Museo de Logroño, which was contracted by Arbulo in 1596 (Figure 5.3).18 Here Christ and his disciples are shown in the foreground, and again, the figures of the apostles are rendered faithfully, although something like a mirror effect was used on one of them to turn him around and amend him slightly. The same outline was repeated again in one of the Pedro de Arbulo’s later works executed alongside Hernando de Murillas the Elder. It is the altarpiece of Rodezno, also in La Rioja, which, in spite of having been contracted in 1600, was not going to be finished until 1615.19 We can also add another example of how this formula was followed in a much briefer version, as far as its treatment is concerned, on the retable of Matute,20 which was undertaken by Miguel de Ureta in 1571 and was valued in 1601.21 The representation of the Agony in the Garden seems to correspond to the same outlines, but executed in a rather clumsy way, as if there had been a deterioration in patterns, which were not known first-hand by then. The reference, though, responds to the same subject matter, contrary to what happens on other occasions when the formal model has nothing to do with the new context where the image is placed. But, as noted from the beginning, the use of the source was only partial, as it was taken literally or with slight amendments in the figures of the two sleeping disciples but not in the whole scene.

Michelangelo Re-read 105 In no case is the double episode reproduced, but the underline is reduced to the representation of Christ praying, comforted by the angel mentioned by St. Luke, with the apostles at Christ’s side but on the same level, considering no hierarchy, even on the same plane, as happens in Michelangelo’s source. However, the calling sequence has been eliminated and what is intended is to clearly show the contrast between the harshness of the situation lived by Christ alone, and the indolence of mankind rendered in some disciples who succumbed to sleep and were not capable of keeping awake, because “though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak”. The Spanish reliefs, therefore, do not intend to go deeper into iconographic readings they instead integrate this chapter into the cycle of the Passion scenes within a clear discourse unequivocal in its interpretation. The artists that knew the reference composition used some of the formal outlines which rendered it unique because they acknowledged its novel character, and perhaps because the models were endorsed by a halo of original superiority, like the figure of Michelangelo. However, its interpretation was made according to an accurate appropriateness, and also for technical reasons. On the one hand, the praying Christ, shown in a frontal position in the pictorial source, was not reproduced, perhaps because of the difficulty that a too-violent foreshortening might imply to attain the sufficient depth in a

Figure 5.3 Pedro de Arbulo, Prayer in the Garden, from the Monasterio de la Estrella, 1596. Museo de La Rioja (photo by the author).

106  Manuel Arias Martínez wood relief. Therefore, the figure in profile was simpler, and for it, more conventional sources, like Dürer’s known images, could be used. Also, this profile figure was more in accordance with the Scripture than the upright, brave posture, as St. Matthew states that Christ “fell on his face and prayed” and St. Mark points out that he “threw himself on the ground”. On the other hand, the postures of the disciples and their arrangement in the general outline do not fit within an overall approach, and the truth is, they follow only the criterion of summing up different postures that do not correspond to a unified treatment. What we can certainly appreciate is an independent scheme and a balanced sense of volumes, as well as a capacity to make innovations in the depiction of gestures. The small transformations made by Fernández de Vallejo and/or Arbulo in the final concept of the reliefs, perhaps out of decorum, to come even more closely to the Tridentine observance are really remarkable. Thus the naked arms were totally covered, in some cases with those very subtle imitation fabrics which allow for the musculature to be observed, following patterns frequently present in Daniele da Volterra’s paintings, while, on other occasions, the polychromy ultimately hides the anatomy altogether. We have already noted that the episode of the Agony in the Garden was not reflected in the iconographic cycle of the Astorga altarpiece, but neither was it going to appear in the paintings of the retable of the Descalzas Reales in Madrid, on which Becerra was working in the last stage of his life, during his stay in the service of the King Felipe II from 1562. However, the fact that the model was used by two sculptors from his immediate environment allows us to think that he was the transmitting vehicle.22 So far, we do not know that a pictorial representation of the Agony in the Garden, which might have served as a guide, has been preserved in Spain; however, its existence cannot be ruled out in the least. Giovanni Baglione (1566–1643) notes in the biography of Venusti a very interesting fact concerning what we are dealing with here: “Marcello made many works for different princes, and for other persons, and particularly to send to Spain, because his way of painting was so devout, diligent, and enjoyable”.23 This information acquires a dimension that deserves to be taken into consideration in this context. The fact of indicating the shipment to Spain of works appreciated especially because of their formal characteristics, and also because of their expressly devote content, implies a direct transmission carried out not by means of printing but through pictorial works. Small Michelangelesque compositions like those made by Venusti have come down to us in Spain. That is the case of small Calvaries like the celebrated Vittoria Colonna one, which could possibly be included in this kind of shipment, made by Venusti and by his different imitators. Precisely in the Rioja area, specifically in the co-cathedral of Santa María de la Redonda in Logroño, there is one of these copies, which is clearly proclaiming the spread of such themes and compositions and which perhaps could be related to the success of those models and their reception.24 But there is some other testimony in Becerra’s immediate surroundings which might be revealing. In the church of the Premonstratensian monastery of Villoria de Órbigo, in the diocese of Astorga, there is a small retable which was commissioned by Martín Pérez, the majordomo of the convent and parish priest of Estébanez, a nearby village, who died in 1569.25 In the centre of the retable there is

Michelangelo Re-read 107 a free-standing sculpture of the Pietà, which reproduces the one that was designed by Becerra for the cathedral altarpiece and could have been executed by his disciple Bartolomé Hernández, who remained at his master’s side until the death of the latter, in Madrid, in 1568. One of the apostles, who literally follows the same source we are commenting on, appears again in one of the discreet lateral paintings of this retable, devoted to the Agony in the Garden. It must have been made by some of the local painters who followed Becerra’s models. Its existence far away from the Rioja area, but in the surroundings of Becerra’s work in Astorga, corroborates his role of vehicle for the arrival of influences and as a connecting link when the novelties from Italy were incorporated into Spanish art.

Notes 1 An update on his formative stay in Italy, his work, and his connections can be seen in Gonzalo Redín Michaus, Pedro Rubiales, Gaspar Becerra y los pintores españoles en Roma 1527–1600 (Madrid: CSIC, 2007). 2 Manuel Arias Martínez, “Los modelos tridimensionales de Gaspar Becerra y la uniformidad del romanismo en España,” Hispanic Research Journal 16 no. 5 (October 2015), 423–40. Regarding Becerra’s activities in Spain, as well as his working method and how successful his work was, which ended up by transforming his status of painter into an indispensable sculptor, see Manuel Arias Martínez, Gaspar Becerra (1520–1568) en España: entre la pintura y la escultura (at the press). 3 It is not only this carton that has been preserved, but also various preparatory drawings on the arrangement of the apostles. These studies help to visualize, in a very eloquent way, the master’s reflection on forms before their final stage. Concerning these drawings, see Charles de Tolnay, Corpus dei Disegni di Michelangelo, vol. III (Novara: Agostini, 1978), 62–5. 4 Bernadine A. Barnes, Michelangelo in Print. Reproductions as Response in the Sixteenth Century (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2010). 5 Giovanni Baglione, Le vite de’ Pittori, Scultori, Architetti ed Intagliatori, dal pontificato di Gregorio XIII, del 1572 fino a’ tempi di papa Urbano VIII nel 1642 (Naples, 1733), 19: “Prese egli poi amicizia, e servitù con Michelangelo Buonarroti Fiorentino, il quale diegli molte opere a lavorare co’ suoi disegni, e gli fe ritrarre una copia del giudicio di esso Michelagnolo per lo Cardinal’Alessandro Farnese in un quadretto, ed egli lo condusse tanto eccellentemente, che il Buonarroti gli pose grand’affezione, ed imposegli molte altre cose”. 6 William E. Wallace, “Michelangelo and Venusti Collaborate: The Agony in the Garden,” Source 22 (2002), 36–43. Later on, this author returned to the same subject in “Michelangelo and Marcello Venusti a case of Multiple Authorship,” in Reactions to the Master: Michelangelo’s Effect on Art and Artists in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Francis Ames-Lewis and Paul Joannides (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003), 137–56. 7 Wallace, “Michelangelo and Venusti,” 36. 8 Ibid., 38. 9 The small carton in the Uffizi measures 360 x 600 mm. Tolnay, Corpus, 65. 10 Ibid., 65. Tolnay indicates that the treatment given to the figure of the apostle standing up shows a sweet chiaroscuro modelling with a lively expression very characteristic of Michelangelo’s autographical works. 11 Ibid., 62. 12 Aurelio Barrón García, “Juan Fernández de Vallejo en Lanciego y Obécuri,” Sancho el Sabio: Revista de cultura e investigación vasca 6 (1996), 339–56. 13 José Manuel Ramírez Martínez, La evolución del retablo en La Rioja. Retablos mayores (Logroño: Obispado de Calahorra, La Calzada-Logroño, 2009), 87. 14 José Ángel Barrio Loza, La escultura romanista en La Rioja (Madrid: Ministerio de Cultura, 1981), 35–47 and 148–71.

108  Manuel Arias Martínez 15 It is quite common that the tabernacle is flanked by the episodes of the Last Supper, as the moment of the institution of the Eucharist, and of the Agony in the Garden with the angel carrying the cup as a visual reference to the same subject. 16 Barrón García, “Juan Fernández de Vallejo,” 347. 17 The altarpiece was documented as being a work of Pedro de Arbulo by José Ángel Barrio Loza, “Otra obra importante del pintor Pedro de Arbulo,” Archivo Español de Arte, 50 no. 200 (1977), 415–17. Desojo is now in the diocese of Pamplona, but at the time when the retable was executed it belonged to the diocesan district of Calahorra-La Calzada, which explains its link with Rioja artists. The retable was dismantled in the late eighteenth century, but the old reliefs are preserved in a new architectural structure. Mª Concepción García Gainza et al., Catálogo Monumental de Navarra. II Merindad de Estella (Pamplona: Universidad de Navarra, 1982), 427–33. 18 Barrio Loza, La escultura romanista, 46 and 64–7. 19 Ibid., 511–12. 20 Ramírez Martínez, La evolución del retablo en La Rioja, 438–43. 21 His brother Benito de Ureta empowered him in 1578 to complete the works he had left unfinished in different towns and villages of the diocese of León. Ramírez Martínez, La evolución del retablo en La Rioja, 441. Ramírez suggests that that stay in Leonese lands was connected with the training of artists around Becerra’s great creation in the altarpiece of Astorga. To it we should add the early presence, in their native land, of two of the journeymen sculptors who worked under Gaspar Becerra in Astorga, the Rioja men Arbulo and Fernández de Vallejo. 22 Juan Agustín Ceán Bermúdez in his Diccionario histórico de los más ilustres profesores de las Bellas Artes en España, I (Madrid, 1800), 43–4, says about Arbulo that “if he did not study in Florence, he cannot have failed to be one of the most outstanding disciples of Alonso Berruguete in Castile” (“si no estudió en Florencia no pudo dexar de ser uno de los discípulos más aventajados de Alonso Berruguete en Castilla”), and indicates that his reliefs and free-standing sculptures “leave no doubt that he studied in the school of Buonarota or of Berruguete, which is the same thing” (“no dexan duda de haber estudiado en la escuela de Buonarota o de Berruguete, que es lo mismo”). Effectively, Berruguete drank from Michelangelo’s fountains, but he reinterpreted his main aspects in a very personal way, contrary to what happens with Becerra’s literal imitation. However, Ceán, who did not know that Arbulo had been an associate of Becerra’s, links him directly to Berruguete, thus skipping a generation in some way. The proposal of his travelling to Florence is not likely at all. During the evidence offered at the trial concerning the property of the sculpture of the Virgen de la Soledad in Madrid, in the early seventeenth century, Arbulo says that Becerra’s oeuvre is of high quality, and that he, who has travelled all over Spain, has not seen anything like it; but he never states that he has been to Italy. 23 Baglione, Le vite de’ Pittori, 20: “fece Marcello molte opere per diversi Principi, e per altre persone, e particularmente per mandare a Spagna, perchè il suo modo di dipingere era assai divoto, diligente e vago.” 24 José Manuel Ramírez Martínez and Eliseo Sainz Ripa, El Miguel Ángel de La Redonda. El obispo don Pedro González del Castillo y su legado artístico (Logroño: Diputación Provincial, 1977), 86–7. The Calvary of Logroño is only one of the many compositions containing this theme which are preserved in Spanish ecclesiastical collections. 25 Manuel Arias Martínez, “Piedad,” in Encrucijadas (Astorga: Las Edades del Hombre, 2000), 375–7.

6 Circulation of Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire The Case of Martino Regio’s Genoese Workshop and the Multiple Variations of His Name Fernando Loffredo This essay explores the circulation of early modern sculpture across the Spanish Mediterranean through the analysis of the eloquent but overlooked example of a sculptor named Martino di Simone Regio, whose family name is subject to many variations. A native of Canton Ticino, Martino established his workshop in Genoa, where he produced monumental works of sculpture for the Genoese market and beyond. In fact, from the Ligurian city he sent his works to many different places that were part of or connected with the Spanish Empire, from Madrid to Calabria. Thanks to an extensive analysis of diverse works of art that traversed the sea, this article aims to reconstruct the trans-Mediterranean activity of a late Renaissance workshop.1 Martino is not one of those personalities who needs no introduction. The first— although very short—biography devoted to this sculptor appears in Raffaello Soprani’s Lives of Genoese artists.2 Soprani asserts that “Martino Rezi” was a native of the Lombard city of Lugano, today in Switzerland, who moved to Genoa, got married there, and never left the Ligurian city (“Il detto Martino si trattenne sempre in Genoa”). This statement follows a mention to Martino’s son, named Simone, who was also a sculptor, but who left Genoa and died elsewhere, in an unspecified place. While insisting on Martino’s immobility, Soprani, at the same time, seems to highlight his son Simone’s mobility. It is even more interesting for our purpose that, at the very beginning of his biographical sketch, Soprani states that Martino was a talented master of the chisel (“operava Martino con scalpelli mirabilmente”) who sent numerous works of sculpture from Genoa to places outside the city (“fece molte figure per fuori”). Focusing on this specific trade, this essay studies the dynamics of mobility of the monumental sculptures produced in an early modern Genoese workshop, and what they tell us about a complex political space such as the Spanish Mediterranean.

The Issue of Martino’s Family Name “Quieren decir que tenía el sobrenombre de Quijada, o Quesada, que en esto hay alguna diferencia en los autores que deste caso escriben; aunque por conjeturas verosímiles se deja entender que se llamaba Quejana. Pero esto importa poco a nuestro cuento; basta que en la narración dél no se salga un punto de la verdad.”3 As paradoxically stated right at the beginning of the first chapter of Don Quijote de la Mancha (1605), it seems that not even the narrator of Miguel de Cervantes’ famous novel

110  Fernando Loffredo was sure about his wandering hero’s last name. Nonetheless, the narrator says that the issue of Don Quijote’s real name is of but little importance to his tale; “it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the telling of it.” The story I will be telling here takes place in the same years in which the Quijote was written and published, and just like the narrator of Cervantes’s novel, I am not sure what was Martino’s real surname. In the following pages, I will refer to him simply as Martino, or our Martino. As it frequently happens in the Early Modern Period, in fact, the spelling of his surname is a complicated issue for which this essay aims to find an explanation. As I argue here, in the documentation scattered across disparate parts of Europe, Martino has been named in very diverse ways, such as Rezi, Regi, Redi, Regio, Retti, Rezzi, Reggio, Reggio, Rezzo, Rezio, up to the Latinized “de Aretio.” According to my investigation, all these apparently different characters are solidly identifiable as a single artist, Martino di Simone, who was producing sculptures in diverse materials for different regions of the Spanish world in the first half of the seventeenth century. The analysis of the geographically stretched activity of Martino’s workshop will disclose a facet of the circulation of sculpture in the early modern world. As we have seen, Soprani mentions Martino “Rezi,” and this way of spelling his last name was followed by Pellegrino Antonio Orlandi in his Abecedario pittorico (1704),4 and Federigo Alizeri’s Guida of Genoa (1875).5 Rezi is also the option chosen by Venanzio Belloni in his short but very helpful profile of Martino published in 1988.6 Belloni’s biographical sketch is mainly based on Soprani’s Life, but with the succulent addition of some new documents. “Martinus Retius” and his son Simone are recorded among the sculptors active in Genoa in the 1630 list for extraordinary taxation due to the construction of the new city wall.7 As “Martinus Retius quondam Simonis,” that is to say son of Simone, Martino is recorded in a 1634 contract for the marble effigy of Marcello Durazzo destined to the Hospital of Genoa, which we will discuss in the next paragraph.8 “Maestro Martino Rezio quondam Simone,” this time in Italian vernacular, was also contracted to carve a still unidentified marble group of Tobias and the Angel for Giacinto Piazza in 1643.9 A rarely cited short article published by Onorato Pastine in 1963 provides additional and relevant pieces of information about Martino. On August 21, 1637, Lorenzo Redi, one of the consuls of the guild of sculptors, with some guards went to the workshop of “Martino Rezzi scultore in Strada Nova del Vastato,” currently Via Balbi, in order to strongly request the guild tax. This visit generated a brawl between on one side Redi and his men, and on the other side Martino and his son Giacomo, armed with their drills. After an arrest request, Martino and Giacomo formally sent a supplica to the Cancelleria dei Padri del Comune on September 7, promising to pay their dues. They obtained the pardon from the Padri del Comune the same day. Thanks to this entertaining episode of everyday life, we know that Martino had his workshop in Via Balbi and had another son, named Giacomo. In the supplica Martino’s last name is spelled “Reggio.”10 In addition, Pastine refers to a 1624 payment of 200 ducatoni in favor of Martino for the statue of Leonardo Spinola in the Palazzo San Giorgio (Figure 6.1). The marble sculpture dated 1624 is still in situ in the Sala delle Compere (also called delle Congreghe) among the benefactors of the city of Genoa.11 Even if I was not able to find the source of Pastine’s piece of information, as we will see, the style of the statue would probably confirm this ascription to Martino.

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 111 These are some of the mentions of Martino in Genoa during the second third of the seventeenth century. Thanks to this documentation, we know that Martino was often known by his patronymic, “Martino di Simone,” and that—in line with a long tradition—he named his son Simone as well. The name of Martino’s father turns out to be very helpful for the identification of the sculptor in other contexts, since his family name is spelled in several different ways. In what follows, through the examination of those variations, I will explore the geography of Martino’s activity. However, just like in a film noir investigation, we will discover Martino’s life and oeuvre à rebours, taking into consideration diverse works and sources in four different geographical areas: Genoa, Spain, Calabria and Lombardy, all territories within the political network of the Spanish Empire.12

Martino Rezio’s Statues of the Benefactors for the Hospitals of Genoa The cycle of the statues portraying the benefactors of the Hospital of Pammatone in Genoa, and the so-called Ospedaletto, contiguous to it, is probably one of the city’s most ambitious and long-lasting sculptural projects. From approximately 1590 to

Figure 6.1 Martino Regio, Leonardo Spinola, c. 1624, Genoa, Palazzo San Giorgio (photo: courtesy of Fondazione Spinola); and St. Bridget, late 1620s, Genoa, Arco di Santa Brigida (photo by Mariangela Bruno).

112  Fernando Loffredo 1890, at least 99 large-scale marble statues of donors were executed and displayed in the monumental spaces of the Pammatone and the Ospedaletto, also known as Ospedale dei Cronici. After the almost complete destruction of the hospitals during World War II, the vast majority of the statues were placed in the gardens of the Hospital of San Martino.13 Martino sculpted five of the Benefactors statues in a lapse of about a quarter of a century.14 According to the archival investigations made by Lorenzo Lucattini, Martino begun in 1620 with the Giovan Battista Sisto (290 cm), signed with the initials “M.R.,” originally displayed in the Ospedaletto (Figure 6.2). In 1634, Martino got the commission for the statue of Marcello Durazzo (250 cm) in the Pammatone, which he probably finished in the first months of 1635.15 During the 1640s, Martino was in charge of two effigies of Andrea Costa (290 cm) (Figure 6.2), one for each hospital and both made around 1642, and of the statue of Pier Francesco Saluzzo (310 cm) in the Pammatone, made in 1644. Besides these five, many are the statues that are still waiting for an attribution. It seems to me that some of them might be close to Martino’s style, but here I shall focus only on the documented works in order to provide a more comprehensive study of the sculptor. Even if the statues Martino unequivocally carved for the hospitals are not shining stars in the firmament of the history of sculpture, they attest to a confidence placed in Martino’s ability to master colossal scale marble statues. Moreover, it is an enduring trust, spanned over more than twenty years. In the same vein, Soprani’s ascription to Martino of the marble statue of Saint Bridget (Figure 6.1) on the homonymous Arco di Santa Brigida in Genoa can easily be confirmed. When the latter is compared with the Benefactors, stylistic evidence

Figure 6.2 Martino Regio, Andrea Costa, c. 1642, and Giovan Battista Sisto, c. 1620, Genoa, Ospedale di San Martino (photo: courtesy of Luciano Rosselli).

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 113 strongly suggests that Martino also executed this other public statue, as indicated by Soprani, followed by Alizeri. In addition, the similarities between the drapery of the statue of Giovan Battista Sisto and that of the aforementioned one portraying Leonardo Spinola in Palazzo San Giorgio (Figure 6.1), further reinforce the ascription of the latter to Martino.

Martino Redi’s Genoese Works in Marble and Bronze Another sculptor named Martino is often cited in the bibliography of early ­seventeenthcentury Genoese sculpture: Martino Redi. To my knowledge, the family name “Redi” is not based on any documentary evidence. This Martino is, in fact, the same one we are focusing on, as we will see in three cases. First, Martino Redi is traditionally considered one of the sculptors involved in the decorations of the Chapel of the Madonna Incoronata in Santa Maria delle Vigne, Genoa.16 This is actually based on a contract, paraphrased and not transcribed, published by Santo Varni in 1879. According to Varni, the document mentions “Martino Rezzi del qm. [quondam] Simone della Valle di Lugano,”17 who is undoubtedly our Martino. He was commissioned to execute two bronze angels for the chapel, and two crowns to be placed on the heads of the marble Virgin and Child. Thanks to this contract, we learn that Martino knew how to cast in bronze as well. It is equally likely that he was not properly a founder, since this is, as far as I know, the only mention of him working in this material.18 While I must confess that I was not able to double check the contract quoted by Varni, one would wonder if Martino might have been responsible for the modeling instead of the casting, but this possibility is unlikely. The bronze Angels of Santa Maria delle Vigne are extremely elegant and refined creations, and in their modeling they are not at all close to Martino’s more static style. Moreover, the invention of the Angels is always and correctly given to Francesco Fanelli, the very talented Florentine sculptor who was working in Genoa, in marble and bronze, and who was indeed commissioned the bronzes of the Chapel of the Incoronata several years earlier.19 Second, the name of Martino Redi is often linked to the Chapel of the Assumption of the Virgin in the Church of the Gesù in Genoa. This information is grounded on a payment dated 1626 in favor of “Martino Rezzo,” and published by Federica Lamera, who identifies him as “Redi.”20 In this case as well, Martino Rezzo is obviously identifiable with our Martino. Interestingly enough, the Durazzos were the patrons of the grandiose project of the Cappella dell’Assunta, for whose altar Agostino Durazzo ordered a painting to Guido Reni, which was sent from Bologna.21 Perhaps it is not a coincidence that Martino sculpted the statue of Marcello Durazzo for the Hospital of Pammatone commissioned by Iacopo Filippo Durazzo in 1634.22 Regarding the Gesù and patronage linkages, please allow me a brief digression. The Chapel of Saint John the Baptist in the Gesù was founded by Giovan Battista Sisto, a great supporter of the Jesuits who died in 1617. The marble statues of the chapel represent Saint John the Baptist’s parents, Saint Zachary and Saint Elizabeth.23 They are attributed to a certain “Martino Carrara,” according to the Historia Domus Professae Genuensis Societatis Iesu, namely the chronicle of the Society of Jesus in Genoa from 1603 to 1773. It was written at least until 1623 by the superior of the order Giulio Negrone, and it was subsequently composed by several other authors, some of whom remain unidentified. Thus, it is the Superior himself who informs us that in 1619 both statues sculpted by “Martino Carrara” were placed in the chapel of Giovan Battista Sisto.24

114  Fernando Loffredo As far I know, nor Martino Carrara neither Martino from Carrara was active in Genoa in those years, nor can I demonstrate that this artist never actually existed. Curiously, though, our Martino carved the statue portraying Giovan Battista Sisto for the Ospedaletto in 1620. I wonder if there might be a confusion of the chronicler or a misreading of the Latin text, and this passage actually refers to our Martino.25 Third, Martino Redi is usually mentioned among the artists of the Chapel of the Immaculate Conception in the church of San Pietro in Banchi. There is documentary evidence that the marble statue of Saint George (Figure 6.3) was executed by Martino Rezzi, whose name has been again juxtaposed to the one—inexistent—of Redi.26 At any rate, on January 31, 1626, Martino gave a declaration in justification of the price of 1,000 lire that he received for the Saint George.27 These specifications are quite important, because if one takes a look at the index of names in the second volume of the extremely relevant La Scultura a Genova e

Figure 6.3 Martino Regio, St. George, c. 1626, Genoa, San Pietro in Banchi (photo by Mariangela Bruno); and Virgin and Child, Staiti, Santa Maria della Vittoria, 1622 (photo by the author).

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 115 in Liguria, for instance, one finds “Martino Redi” and “Martino Rezzi (o Redi),” a double mention that can generate confusion; that is the splitting of one single ­sculptor into two different artists.

Martino Regio’s Hercules and the Hydra in the Royal Gardens of Aranjuez The Jardín de la Isla is a garden on an island in the Tajo River. It is part of the Spanish royal site of Aranjuez. At its entrance, the Fuente de Hércules receives visitors coming from the palace. It is the largest fountain of Aranjuez and is designed as an island on an island.28 This octagonal plan fountain consists of a colossal white marble statue of Hercules slaying the Hydra of Lerna (Figure 6.4) on a basin supported by an articulated pillar, both of which are carved in a grey local stone, mármol de San Pablo. The most impressive characteristic of the Fuente de Hercules is that it is surrounded by four bridges decorated with eight white marble statues. It seems clear that the fountain was not the result of a single commission, since the sculptures are very different in style. In all probability it was created with pieces that were already in the royal Spanish collections, in a sort of collage that is not unusual for ­seventeenth-century Spanish royal gardens.29 José Luis Sancho shed light on the fountain construction, which took place between 1661 and 1662.30 It was certainly completed before 1668, when the Earl of Sandwich visited Aranjuez, and his secretary William Ferrer made a drawing of the fountain and its plan.31 Furthermore, in the same year the Fuente de Hercules was similarly described in the diary of Lorenzo Magalotti, who was accompanying Cosimo III de’ Medici during his journey throughout the Iberian Peninsula.32 I am particularly interested here in discussing the gigantic Hercules and the Hydra, which was formerly—and baselessly—attributed to Alessandro Algardi, a possibility that was correctly discarded by Jennifer Montagu.33 Paradoxically, in fact, the Hercules is signed in capital letters by “Martino Regio.” It was Margarita Estella who noted the signature, which she initially read “Martínez Reyna.”34 In the same year, Juan José Martín González published the signature with its correct spelling, although confessing that he had no idea about who this sculptor was.35 In a subsequent publication, Estella was brilliantly able to connect the statue of Aranjuez with a notice of a “Hercules” that a sculptor based in Genoa and named Martino was executing in 1638 to be shipped to Madrid. Estella cited Piero Boccardo, who published the content of the letter, suggesting that Martino could be identifiable with Martino “Rezzi.”36 It is absolutely plausible that it was our Martino the one who was sculpting a Hercules in 1638 destined for Spain. Therefore, it is likewise very probable that this statue is actually the one in Aranjuez that reads the signature “Martino Regio.”

Martino Regi’s Virgin and Child in Staiti, Calabria Art historians should always keep their eyes open, because something could be found precisely where one is not looking for it. One of the most attainable attributions to Martino can in fact be found in an apparently unexpected region, namely in Calabria, more precisely in the hamlet of Staiti, in the province of Reggio Calabria. A marble statue of the Virgin and Child, signed and dated “Martino Regi f. 1622”, is preserved in the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria (Figure 6.3). I propose that this sculptor

Figure 6.4 Martino Regio, Hercules Slaying the Hydra, 1638, Aranjuez, Jardín de la Isla (photo by the author).

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 117 named “Regi” is none other than our Martino, and that the statue was shipped from Genoa.37 In its composition, the Virgin of Staiti, holding the blessing Baby Jesus with both hands, recalls the typology of the Madonna delle Vigne carved in 1616 by Tommaso and Giovanni Orsolino.38 In terms of quality, the Calabrese statue does not tower above Martino’s production, but quite the contrary. It looks a very rigid and less refined creation, but, for instance, it is close to Martino’s very schematic Angels for the pediment of the Chapel of the Assumption in the Gesù. The presence of the statue in the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria in Staiti is documented at least since 1670. It is already mentioned in the Visita pastorale that Marco Antonio Contestabile, bishop of Bova, made in that year, when the Virgin was placed in the chapel of the Cristiano family.39 It is very likely that the sculpture arrived in Staiti in the early 1620s, that is, a couple of decades after the foundation of the chapel dedicated to the Holy Rosary and built by the abbot Sebastiano Cristiano in 1602 for the benefit of his family.40 All this historical information about the Virgin of Staiti is available thanks to Monica De Marco’s research. De Marco has been looking for references to Regi in Messina and Naples, both cities strongly linked to the province of Reggio Calabria in terms of artistic network. But neither in Messina nor in Naples was De Marco able to find any trace of him.41 In fact, it seems very likely to me that the statue arrived directly from Genoa, even if it remains unclear how the Cristiano family was connected with a Genoese workshop. I wonder if the family might have felt a special devotion for the Madonna delle Vigne and thus commissioned a sort of marble replica of it. The case of the Genoese Virgin of Staiti is not an isolated one, though. The circulation of sculpture throughout the Mediterranean Sea, and above all the Spanish Mediterranean, was a very robust phenomenon. It is well known that many southern Italian cities had incredibly strong mercantile relations with Genoa. The commission and the shipping of a marble work from the Ligurian capital to the extreme south of the Italian boot does not have to be considered unexpected or unique. On the contrary, it attests to a solid network of Mediterranean artistic relations even in the so-called “periphery,” and in an average skilled workshop. Circulation does not necessarily involve great masters and/or elite patrons, but rather needs to be analyzed on multiple levels and geographies.

Martino Retti’s Sculptures in Stone and in Clay for the Sacro Monte at Varese Martino’s early career has never been studied. According to Genoese sources, he was a Lombard who came from Lugano as many sculptors active not only in Genoa, but also throughout the entire Italian peninsula did.42 I suggest that in his first years, between 1608 and 1613, Martino was working on the Chapel of the Flagellation (Figures 6.6–6.7) at the Sacro Monte at Varese.43 A sculptor named in Latin “Martinus de Aretio” signed a contract on April 29, 1608, with the procurator Francesco Ramponi for the decoration of a new chapel in the Sacro Monte, funded by the Milanese noblemen Francesco and Gerolamo Litta.44 More precisely, this was a convenzione, a sort of preliminary contract between the parties. At the same time, Pier Francesco Mazzucchelli, nicknamed Morazzone, was painting the spectacular frescos inside the chapel and outside in the pronaos, paintings that he finished most probably in 1609.45 According to local historiography “Aretio” has always been

118  Fernando Loffredo interpreted as “Retti,” that is to say, as a deformation due to its Latinized form.46 Interestingly enough, every single detail tells us that this must be our Martino. The sculptor who signed the contract was a native of Viganello, which is a quarter of Lugano, and Genoese sources affirm that Martino Rezi came actually from there. The Martino active in the Sacro Monte is identified also with his patronymic “Simeonis,” and we know that Martino Rezi’s father’s name was in fact Simone. In addition, the 1608 contract specifies that Martino was living in Genoa, but that he moved to Varese to work at the chapel.47 The most interesting part of the contract is the description of the sculptures that Martino was in charge of making. A statue of Saint Francis and one Saint Jerome— the names of the patrons—(Figure 6.5) had to be sculpted in the local grey stone of Brenno, and they were meant to be placed in the niches of the façade of the chapel, according to the project drawn by Giuseppe Bernascone. In the second part of the contract, though, Martino is asked to produce the massive terracotta group of sculptures representing the Flagellation of Christ intended for the interior of the chapel (Figures 6.6–6.7). The description explicitly obliges Martino to model large scale figures (“della misura et grandezza di più del naturale”) that must have been as realistic as possible (“rappresentino d’il naturale più che sia possibile”). This double face of Martino as a sculptor in stone as well as in clay should not surprise us. In fact, Soprani was already aware that Martino was particularly skilled in clay modeling and that he used to accurately finish his models (“Modellava assai di cretta e finiva assai bene li suoi modelli”). What one should really be struck by is the surprising quality of Martino’s clay sculptures. The Flagellation is among the highest artistic achievements in the terracotta sculptural groups of the Sacro Monte. Its excessively muscular dynamic characters seem to be moved simultaneously by

Figure 6.5 Martino Regio, St. Francis and St. Jerome, 1608–1613, Varese, Sacro Monte (photo by the author).

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 119 centripetal and centrifugal forces generated by the central figure of Christ. This kind of dynamism is completely absent from Martino’s stone and marble sculptures, and might have been stimulated by Morazzone’s frescoes, which are populated by overexpressive figures. Martino seems to have worked in response to, or even in dialogue with, Morazzone. This is the case of the frescoed figure of the mustached man dressed in green and pulling a cord that is very close in its features to the standing flagellator molded in terracotta by Martino (Figure 6.6). It looks almost as if the same character were living in two different media. It might be possible that Martino was taking inspiration from the creative genius of Morazzone, who probably first started painting the chapel. Likewise, it might also be possible that both artists were mutually inspiring each other, since they were working approximately at the same time; therefore, we can imagine they were in close contact and were perhaps willing to create a visual artistic unity in the chapel. Looking at the remarkable quality of the Flagellation terracotta group (Figure 6.7), one might wonder if it was really our Martino who was commissioned for this work. As a possible answer, it has to be said that the stone statues of the exterior of the chapel, Saint Francis and Saint Jerome, look entirely compatible with the style of the Hercules in Aranjuez and the Genoese Benefactors. This means that in the same chapel there is a visible gap in style and quality between the exterior stone statues and the clay group, and documents attest that the same Martino realized both. The suspicion remains that Martino could have subcontracted the job to someone else. This possibility might persist, even if it seems very unlikely. Martino moved to Varese intentionally to work at the Chapel of the Flagellation, and the sole stone statues for the exterior would have not justified his displacement. In addition, two later contracts for two other chapels of the Sacro Monte prove that Martino was highly considered as a master sculptor in clay. As a matter of fact, on December 18, 1608—that is to say, just eight months or so after the contract for the Flagellation Chapel—“Martinus de Aretio de Viganello” signed another convenzione in order to execute the sculptures for two more chapels, whose dedications unfortunately are not specified.48 What is specified, though, is that Martino would have made the figures in clay (“di bella et buona terra”), as well as the ones in stone (“di bella et buona pietra”), and that he was supposed to deliver them within eight months, starting from March 1609. However, the most relevant information contained in this document is probably another one. At the end of the agreement it is stated that the Deputati of the Sacro Monte must provide Martino with housing and a furnace to bake the clay statues (“Che i deputati siano tenuti dar al detto Martino casa per abitare et una fornace fatta per cuocere le dette figure”). This last statement strongly suggests that Martino was personally taking care of the making of the terracotta groups. Unfortunately, it has not yet been possible to identify these two chapels. It has been argued that at least one could be the Chapel of the Nativity.49 Indeed, the stone statues of Saint John the Baptist and Zachary in two niches of the Nativity Chapel’s façade are close to Martino’s style, but I would prefer to leave this question open, since I am trying to draw a solid base upon which one can reconstruct Martino’s profile. Furthermore, Martino, together with Giovanni “Tabachetti” (the Belgian Jan de Wespin’s nickname) signed another convenzione on June 22, 1611, for the execution of approximately 35 clay figures for the Chapel of the Disputation in the Temple (“tutte quelle figure di cotto [. . .] nella capella dil mistero di Cristo Nostro Signore

Figure 6.6 Martino Regio, The Flagellation, and in the background, Morazzone, fresco scenes of the Passion of Christ, 1608–1613, Varese, Sacro Monte, Chapel of the Flagellation (photo by the author).

Figure 6.7 Martino Regio, detail of a Flagellator; in the background, Morazzone, detail of a Flagellator, 1608–1613, Varese, Sacro Monte, Chapel of the Flagellation (photo by the author).

122  Fernando Loffredo quando disputò nel tempio, le quali figure haverano di essere in numero di 35, o più o meno che anderanno”). As Silvano Colombo has stated, the name of Martino was likely added in the course of the writing of the contract.50 Neither Tabacchetti nor Martino realized the figures of the Disputation, which were, in the end, made by Francesco Silva. However, this document is supplementary proof of Martino’s versatile skills in terms of sculpture materials. The convenzione signed in 1611 additionally tells us that Martino was still living in Varese, more precisely in the neighbouring town of Biumo Inferiore (“moram trahens in loco Biumij Inferioris”). Another notary act dated February 18, 1613, definitively “freed” (“liberat”) Martino, which means that he had finished the sculptures for the Flagellation Chapel to the satisfaction of the procurator Francesco Ramponi.51 This further confirms that Martino finished his job at least at this chapel, because we have the initial convenzione and the final document. In the other cases mentioned, we only have the preliminary contract, which does not guarantee that the work was actually concluded, or even started. Although it cannot be affirmed without doubt, 1613 might be the time in which Martino returned to Genoa.

Proliferation of Names as Circulation of Artworks: Martino in Focus “What’s in a name?” Or, playing with this famous quote from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, what’s in many names? As this article suggests, the circulation of works of art occasionally generates proliferation of variations of names. By following those names in a sort of treasure hunt or word game, we realize how revealing the study of circulation can be for understanding not only the career of a single artist, but also a complex network of artistic relations. According to my reconstruction, Martino moved to Genoa from Viganello, near Lugano, undoubtedly before 1608. In that year, in fact, he travelled to Varese, where he likely remained until 1613 in order to work—at least—on the Chapel of the Flagellation, but maybe also at other projects. Approximately from 1620 to 1644, Martino was certainly active in Genoa. There, he realized works for different patrons and diverse contexts: the statues of the Benefactors for the Genoese hospitals (within a very extended chronological range, 1620 to 1644), the sculptures for the pediment of the Chapel of the Assumption at the Gesù (1626), the Saint George (Figure 6.3) in San Pietro in Banchi (1626), and the Saint Bridget for the Arco di Santa Brigida (Figure 6.1). He had the opportunity to collaborate with Francesco Fanelli on the bronzes of the Chapel of the Incoronata in Santa Maria delle Vigne (begun in 1620 and completed only around 1629). Finally, from Genoa, Martino shipped the Virgin and Child to Calabria (1622) and the Hercules and the Hydra to Spain (circa 1638), and probably several other works, according to Soprani. I chose Regio for the title of this essay as it seems to me the easiest among the many possibilities we have analyzed. This is the case for several different reasons. Firstly, because the signature of the Aranjuez Hercules reads “Martino Regio.” Secondly, the Genoese documents found by Belloni suggest to be read as “Rezio,” which might the more plausible or realistic variant as well as a last name that can be naturally made gentler, distorted or Latinized into Regio.52 Thirdly, the family name “Aretio” in the notary acts in Latin for the Sacro Monte gives the same impression of being an alteration of Rezio or Regio. I am very aware that my choice is susceptible to error, and that the

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 123 only way to philologically answer this problem would perhaps be to find original documentation on Martino’s family in Lugano. Turning things upside-down, though, I am much more interested in the elasticity of Martino’s family name and in what this tells us about the mobility of his works. Indeed, the multiple variants that we have analyzed here seem to be at least in part a result of the dissemination of Martino’s sculptures. In terms of style and quality, it is hard to say that Martino was consistent. In primis, Martino is still a Late Renaissance sculptor until the very end of his career, and his style does not show almost any reverberation of the exciting Baroque novelties. If we compare him with his seventeenth-century contemporaries in Rome, Martino looks inevitably anachronistic. Nonetheless, it is also true that a very traditional vein in monumental sculpture was still alive in Genoa, as we can see in the works by the Orsonilos or the Carlones. Moreover, despite Martino’s stylistic tardiness, at least in the Saint George of San Pietro in Banchi, one may notice his efforts towards a greater dynamism. Regarding the quality of Martino’s sculptures, on the one hand, there are very articulated creations, such as the imposing Hercules of Aranjuez, which is without doubt a highly ambitious statue in terms of technique and composition, even if its posture is perhaps not completely accomplished. On the other hand, we have to contemplate very meager works, such as the Virgin of Staiti. Furthermore, Martino’s extraordinary accomplishments in clay for the Sacro Monte at Varese remain problematic if compared with the rest of his production. As we have seen, it is easy to include the stone statues of the Flagellation Chapel in Martino’s hypothetical catalogue raisonné, but the same cannot be said of the outstanding terracotta figures that are inside of the same chapel. Since these two materials are indeed different, could Martino have felt much more comfortable sculpting in clay?53 Or, to justify this discontinuity, should we perhaps consider the existence of an uneven workshop, including the possible contribution of Martino’s sons, Simone and Giacomo? Although I do not have an answer for this and other questions, the purpose of this essay is to gather the first materials for the reconstruction of the oeuvre of an artist whose works are disseminated in many regions and were waiting to be reunited under the same name. From the mere perspective of the study of a prolific workshop, this article aims to open up a new path that has necessarily to be refined and extended through new documentary findings. New works will probably be identified and placed in relation to Martino’s activity. From a broader perspective, this essay is meant to illustrate a certain kind of artistic circulation, which can be visualized within the geography of the Spanish Empire. Indeed, it is probably not by chance that Martino was working from Genoa for patrons based in territories under Spanish rule. Returning to Soprani’s biography and the mention of Martino’s supposed immobility, it is actually plausible that his workshop was solidly based in Genoa. Soprani is certainly wrong in saying that Martino never left Genoa, since he did move to Varese, for a time, for example. Nevertheless, in the documents related to the Sacro Monte it is always stated that he was living in the Ligurian city. Genoa was, indeed, the place to be for the trade of sculpture. What is more, the Genoese Republic and the Spanish Empire were joined at the hip. Sometimes moving to a specific place, sometimes shipping his statues overseas, the story of Martino is, at the end of the day, a successful one. Even though there is no place for him among the brilliant and innovative sculptors of the seventeenth century, it is extremely significant that the signature

124  Fernando Loffredo of Martino Regio has been shining in the royal garden of Philip IV, el Rey Planeta, the king who at that time was still considered the ruler of the entire world. As usual, this coin, too, has another side. The name of Martino has been likewise shining on the base of the mediocre statue of the Virgin and Child in Staiti. How is it possible to combine these two opposite realities and contexts? I would like to argue that circulation does not have to be considered an exceptional phenomenon; rather, it has to be navigated and analyzed through the lens of the geopolitical circumstances. The shipment of a marble statue across the Mediterranean does not necessarily imply a royal or otherwise elite commission. Though it is clear that the Hercules’ quality and complexity are incomparable with those of the Staiti Virgin, and that this is most probably due to two completely different levels of patronage, it is also true that Martino was accepting different kinds of commissions, and his sculptures—beautiful or mediocre as they were—travelled through the same sea. In conclusion, if we think about circulation of monumental sculpture not as an exception, we will possibly find a way to better understand this massive phenomenon.

Appendix Archivio di Stato di Milano, Notarile 23813, Notaio Modesto Dralli, 29 aprile 1608 (Colombo, Sculture, 113–114)

“Martinus de Aretio de Viganello filius quondam Simeonis solitus abitare in loco Viganello iurisditionis DD. Elvetiorum Episcopatus Comi et tenens domicilium in Civitate Januae sed nunc moram in burgo Varisii parte sua, et Franciscus Ramponus filius quondam Bernardi [. . .] et Hieronimi fratrum Littarum pro quibus et promisit et de rato [. . .] convenerunt che detto Martino sia tenuto et obligato da qui et per tutto il mese di luglio prossimo a venir fare et lavorare le due statue di bella pietra di Breno [Brenno Useria], cioè una di Santo Francesco e l’altro di Santo Gerolamo, et della grandezza che li sarà designata da M.ro Gioseffo Bernascone ingegnero, per riponerle nelle due nizze della facciata della cappella dei signori Litta posta sopra il Sacro Monte, et che siano bene fatte et collaudate da periti et esperti in simile arte, et per il prezzo et mercato de scuti cento de lire sei per cadauno, computate tutte due le dette figure con questa conditione però che il detto Rampone sia obligato a dar la pietra per far dette figure, condotta et cavata dove si vorrà fabbricare, et anco a spesa de li detti signori Litta farla condurre per metter in opra in detta cappella con l’assistenza però del suddetto Martino. Item che sia tenuto et obligato detto Martino di fabricar di bella et buona terra, chiamata creda, tutte quelle figure che gli saranno dette et imposte di fare per il misterio della Flagellatione che si hanno di metter dentro in detta Capella [. . .] et che rappresentino d’il naturale più che sia possibile, conforme anco al modello che già si è fatto, et che si farà della misura et grandezza di più del naturale a giudizio di detto M.ro Gioseffo Bernascone ingegnero, et questo per prezzo di scudi dodici per cadauna figura, dandoli ben cotte, lavorate et fabbricate a spese di esso Martino fuor che la condotta di dette figure a’ quale sarà obligato detto Rampone [. . .], et di più sia obligato dar fornite dette figure per mezzo il mese di settembre prossimo a venir [. . .]. Che detto Rampone a nome come sopra sia tenuto et obligato dare et pagare al detto Martino per la mercede di dette figure di presente a buon conto scuti cinquanta quali confesso haver havuto qui presentialmente, et il restante per rispetto delle suddette figure di vivo finire et che [. . .] de scuti cinquanta sia tenuto darli collaudate che siano, et altri scuti trenta sia tenuto darli et pagarli subito che siano fatte la metà di figure di terracotta, et il restante al fine quando saranno finite et collaudate come sopra, et così promette sotto obbligatione.”

Notes 1 My greatest thanks to Mariangela Bruno. As theoretical references on the notions of circulation and mobility see Daniela Bleichmar and Meredith Martin, “Objects in Motion in the Early Modern World.” Art History (September 2015), 605–19; Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Towards a Geography of Art (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 1–16,

126  Fernando Loffredo 341–51; Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Catherine Dossin and Béatrice Joyeux Prunel, “Reintroducing Circulations: Historiography and the Project of Global Art History,” in Circulations in the Global History of Art, ed. Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann et al. (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2015), 1–22; Stephen Greenblatt, “Cultural Mobility: An Introduction” and “A Mobility Studies Manifesto,” in Cultural Mobility: A Manifesto, ed. Stephen Greenblatt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 1–20, 250–3; Mary Louise Pratt, “Arts of the Contact Zone.” Profession (1991), 33–40. More specifically on circulation of sculpture, see Christiane Klapisch-Zuber, Les maîtres du marbre. Cararra 1300–1600 (Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N., 1969); Letizia Gaeta, ed., La scultura meridionale in età moderna nei suoi rapporti con la circolazione mediterranea (Lecce: Mario Congedo editore, 2007); Roberto Paolo Ciardi et al. eds., Le vie del marmo. Aspetti della produzione e della diffusione dei manufatti marmorei tra ’400 e ’500 (Florence: Giunti Editore, 1992); Roberto Paolo Ciardi et al. eds., Le vie del marmo. Aspetti della produzione e della diffusione dei manufatti marmorei tra ’400 e ’500 (Florence: Giunti Editore, 1994); Michael Greenhalgh, Marble Past, Monumental Present. Building with Antiquities in the Mediaeval Mediterranean (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2009); Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio, ed., Making and Moving Sculpture in Early Modern Italy (Farnham, Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2015). 2 Raffaele Soprani, Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti genovesi e de’ forastieri che in Genova operarono (Genoa: per Giuseppe Bottaro e Giovan Battista Tiboldi compagni, 1674), 321: “Martino Rezi scoltore lombardo. Fu questo scoltore oriondo dal luogo di Lugano in Lombardia e, venuto in Genova, ove si acasò, operava Martino con scalpelli mirabilmente, e fece molte figure per fuori, e per Genova, una delle quali è quella figura della beatissima Vergine che si vede in Strada Balbi sopra l’Arco di Santa Brigida; in Santa Fede di sua mano vi è la Nostra Signora di Misericordia; in quali cose mostrava talento grande. Modellava assai di cretta e finiva assai bene li suoi modelli, molti de’ quali si vedono gratiosi e bene intesi. Fece una gran statua di senatore all’Hospitale e diverse altre figure di signori in loro case, e fu molto stimata da tutti in generale la di lui virtù. Haveva un figliuolo nominato Simone, che seguitava la professione del padre, quale andò fuori, dove morse. Il detto Martino si trattenne sempre in Genova et essendo d’età competente se ne passò all’altra vita con dolore non poco dell’amatori della virtù.” No variations or additional footnotes are contained in the expanded edition of Soprani’s Vite by Carlo Giuseppe Ratti, Vite de’ pittori, scultori ed architetti genovesi di Raffaello Soprani patrizio genovese, in questa seconda edizione rivedute, accresciute ed arricchite di note da Carlo Giueppe Ratti (Genoa: nella stamperia Casamara, 1768), vol. 1. 430. 3 Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra, El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha [(Madrid: 1605), fol. 1v], ed. John Jay Allen, vol. I (Madrid: 1996), 98. “They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the telling of it” (English translation by John Ormsby). 4 Soprani is the source of information for the brief account on Rezi given by Orlandi in his Abcedario pittorico, nel quale compendiosamente sono descritte le patrie, i maestri ed i tempi ne’ quali fiorirono circa quattro mila professori di pittura, di scultura e d’architettura, diviso in tre parti (Bologna: per Costantino Pisarri, 1704), 280: “Martino Rezi scultore, oriundo di Lugano, si accasó in Genova, ivi le sue statue fecero bella e gradita comparsa in pubblico. Simone, il figlio, non meno del padre portò bene, ma giovane morì, e poco dopo lo seguì il genitore in età virile. Soprani fol. 321.” 5 Federigo Alizeri, Guida illustrativa del cittadino e del forastiero per la città di Genova e sue adiacenze (Genova: dai tipi dell’editore Luigi Sambolino, 1875), 445: “Rimangono a pena le insegne del sacro tempio [the church of Santa Brigida] in quella statua della beata (lavoro del Rezi lombardo) sull’arco in prospetto per la salita.” Alizeri’s documentary studies are the fundamental source for Geonoese art history still today. Nevertheless, it looks clear that Alizeri took this specific information from Soprani’s Lives and not from another documentary source. 6 Venanzio Belloni, La grande scultura in marmo a Genova (secoli XVII e XVIII) (Genova: G.B.G., 1988), 87–8. 7 Ibid., 88, 270, doc. 2: “Martinus Retius 1.12; Simon filius 1.6.”

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 127 8 Belloni, La grande scultura, 88. The contract is dated December 4, 1634: “Martinus Retius quondam Simonis promittit Jacobo Philippo Duratio quondam Augustini costruere et sculpire effigiem nunc quondam M.ci Marcelli Duratii stantem, longitudinis seu altitudinis quot aliae statuae quae sunt in Hospitaleto et inventionis prout modello dato.” The statue had to be delivered by March 25, 1635. 9 This commission particularly deserves to be further investigated in the future. The contract is dated May 20, 1643: “Maestro Martino Rezio quondam Simone scultore di pietre promette a Giacinto Piazza di farle una statua dell’Angelo custode con Tobia di marmo fino, di altezza di palmi otto, di figura netta, ben fatta e finita di sua mano, fra qui e il dì di Natale di quest’anno, per prezzo di lire mille sino in milleduecento.” Martino received the final payment on June 1, 1644. See Belloni, La grande scultura, 88. 10 Onorato Pastine, “Un episodio della vita genovese dello scultore Martino Rezzi.” Genova. Rivista mensile del Comune 43 no. 8 (1963), 38–9. This two-page article is quoted by Roberto Santamaria, “La Cappella dell’Immacolata Concezione nella chiesa di San Pietro in Banchi a Genova: dinamiche di lavoro all’interno della bottega di Daniele Casella,” Arte Lombarda 144 (2005), 54. On the contrary, it seems that Belloni did not know it. Pastine quotes Soprani and Alizeri, and he acknowledges that Martino was named in different ways. 11 On the palace see Isabella Ferrando Cabona, Palazzo San Giorgio: pietre, uomini, potere 1260–1613 (Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana, 1998), 80, dates the statue of Leonardo Spinola 1524. This is probably because there is a visible error in the inscription: the year “MDVXIIII” (which does not make any sense in Roman numerals), was in fact changed into “MDCXXIIII” by carving the C on the previous V. In addition, the Leonardo Spinola in its style and cloths is evidently a seventeenth-century piece of sculpture. 12 On so-called “Spanish-Italy” see Thomas James Dandelet, Spain in Italy: Politics, Society, and Religion 1500–1700 (Leiden: Brill, 2007); Piers Baker-Bates and Miles Pattenden, eds., The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2015). Of particular interest is the radical and thought-provoking position suggested by Michael W. Cole, “Toward an Art History of Spanish Italy.” I Tatti 16 (2013), 37–46, who proposes to analyze the whole Italian Cinquecento under the lens of Spanish Empire. 13 On the statues of the Ospedale di Nostra Signora di Misericordia, known as Pammatone, and the Ospedale degli Incurabili, known as Ospedaletto or Ospedale dei Cronici; see the essential and meritorious website created ad hoc by Luciano Rosselli, which includes the catalogue of all the statues, busts and inscriptions: www.statuesanmartino.altervista.org/ index.html. 14 Lorenzo Lucattini, Arte e ceramiche nel Museo dell’Ospedale di San Martino di Genova. Il patrimonio d’arte degli ospedali civili di Genova. Le ceramiche del Museo dell’Ospedale di San Martino (Genova: Museo degli Ospedali civili, 1975), 40–1, n. 412 (Andrea Costa), n. 418 (Giovanni Battista Sisto), n. 425 (Pier Francesco Saluzzo), n. 438 (Andrea Costa), n. 441 (Marcello Durazzo di Agostino). In these five cases, Lucattini cites documents from the Archivio degli Ospedali Civili di Genova. Many of the statues formerly had an inscription on the base. All inscriptions are recorded by Giuseppe Banchero, Genova e le due riviere (Genova: L. Pellas, 1846), 60–86 (Pammatone), 103–20 (Ospedale degli Incurabili, also called Ospedaletto or Ospedale dei Cronici). 15 See the aforementioned contract published by Belloni, La grande scultura, 88. A second statue portraying Marcello Durazzo for the Ospedaletto has been recognized by Luciano Rosselli and ascribed to Martino. Unfortunately, it is in very bad conditions, and its torso and head are lost. The related inscription is dated 1636. 16 See recently Daniele Sanguiteti, “Francesco Fanelli: considerazioni sull’attività genovese.” Prospettiva 53/54 (2014), 166. 17 Santo Varni, Ricordi di alcuni fonditori in bronzo (Genova: Tipografi a del Regio Istituto Sordo-Muti, 1879), 53. According to Varni, the document is preserved in the archive of Santa Maria delle Vigne, Libro mastro e manuale dal 1617 al 1630. 18 Daniele Sanguiteti, “Francesco Fanelli,” 174, footnote 32, defines Martino a “fonditore lombardo,” who, in his opinion, was casting Francesco Fanelli’s works. 19 The contract between the Deputati della Cappella di Nostra Signora Incoronata alle Vigne and Francesco Fanelli is dated September 4, 1620, and was published by Santo Varni,

128  Fernando Loffredo Ricordi, 74–5, doc. X. See also the biographical entry by Franca Franchini Guelfi in the Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani 54 (Rome: 1994) ad vocem. 20 According to the entry by Federica Lamera in La scultura a Genova e in Liguria (Genova: Cassa di Risparmio di Genova e Imperia—Fratelli Pagano Editori, 1988), vol. 2, 200: “Martino Rezzo (o Redi)” was paid in 1626 for works of sculpture to be placed on the pediment of the chapel and the document is in the Archivio Durazzo Pallavicini, cartulare di Agostino Durazzo, n. 492, 1618–1628, c. 128. 21 Giovanna Terminiello Rotondi, “Il restauro dell’Assunta di Guido Reni della chiesa del Gesù a Genova.” OPD Restauro 6 (1994), 128–33 (Redi is cited at page 133). 22 See the aformentioned contract published by Belloni, La grande scultura, 88; see also Piero Boccardo, “Ritratti di Genovesi di Rubens e di Van Dyck: contesto e identificazioni.” Studies in the History of Art 46 (1994), 91. 23 La chiesa del Gesù e dei Santi Ambrogio e Andrea a Genova: vicende, arte e restauri, ed. Gianni Bozzo (Genoa: Sagep, 2004); see in particular: Gianni Bozzo, “L’architettura del Gesù di Genova,” 82; and Anna Dagnino, “Per una storia della decorazione marmorea,” 108–24. See also Elena Parma Armani, “Diffusione dei santuari nel territorio della Repubblica e rinnovamento dell’iconografia mariana,” in La scultura a Genova e in Liguria (Genova: Cassa di Risparmio di Genova e Imperia—Fratelli Pagano Editori, 1988), vol. 2, 30, who discards Ratti’s attribution of both statues to Taddeo Carlone (who died in 1615, four years before the statues were completed). The Saint Zackary and the Saint Elizabeth are indeed close to Taddeo Carlone’s statues of the same subjects in the Church of San Pietro in Banchi. Their composition is however drawn from the sculptures by Matteo Civitali in the Cathedral of Genoa. 24 The translation from Latin into Italian by Giuliano Raffo, “I Gesuiti a Genova nei secoli XVII e XVIII. Storia della Casa Professa di Genova della Compagnia di Gesù dall’anno 1603 al 1773. Introduzione e traduzione dal manoscritto latino di Giuliano Raffo.” Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria 36 (1996), 211 says: “In questo stesso anno 1619, a destra dell’altar maggiore, in una nicchia appositamente preparata, fu collocata una statua di marmo bianco di San Giovanni Evangelista, opera di Francesco Fanelli fiorentino. Così pure nella cappella di Giovanni Battista Sisto furono poste due statue dello stesso marmo dei genitori di San Giovanni Battista, scolpite da Martino Carrara.” 25 I would prefer to leave the question open, since I do not have enough information, but it would undoubtedly be interesting to explore this possibility in the future. 26 See Santamaria, “La Cappella,” 51–4. Santamaria correctly states that “Martino Rezzi, detto anche Redi, figlio di Simone e nativo di Lugano.” 27 Santamaria, “La Cappella,” 53. Archivio di Stato di Genova, Camera della Repubblica di Genova, 172, Atti, 31 gennaio 1626, 211: “Martino Rezzi scultore” declares about the “fatura del Santo Giorgio che è in Santo Pietro in Banchi, nella cappella della Concecione. Vale lire 1000 di fatura, levando però la valuta del marmo, e questo è il medesimo meglio pretio che io posi fare, essendo deta figura di molta fatura, e molte altre figure che ho fatto a diversi signori genovesi, che erano di medesima fatura, sono state pagate il medesimo pretio.” 28 On the specific typology of the so-called fontana in isola see Claudia Conforti, “L’isola nel giardino: genealogie, modelli, archetipi,” in Boboli 90, ed. Cristina Acidini Luchinat et al., 1 (Firenze: EDIFIR, 1991), 493–502. 29 See, for instance, Fernando Loffredo, “La vasca del Sansone del Giambologna e il Tritone di Battista Lorenzi in un’inedita storia di duplicati (con una nota sul Miseno di Stoldo per la villa dei Corsi).” Saggi e memorie di storia dell’arte 36 (2013), 57–114. 30 The complete analysis of the documents related to the construction was published by José Luis Sancho, “La Fuente de los Tritones y la renovación del Jardín de la Isla en Aranjuez, por Felipe IV (1655–1663).” Anales del Instituto de Estudios Madrileños 40 (2000), 352–6. Sancho also points out that we have no information about the statues around the fountain at the entrances of the bridges. See also Luis Sancho, “S. M. ha estado estos días en Aranjuez a ver una fuente que allí se hace. . . ’ Felipe IV y las fuentes del Jardín de la Isla.” Reales Sitios 37, no. 146 (2000), 33–4, 37. 31 Javier Portús Pérez, “El Conde de Sandwich en Aranjuez (las fuentes del Jardín de la Isla en 1668).” Reales Sitios 41, no. 159 (2004), 50–1.

Sculpture Across the Spanish Empire 129 32 Lorenzo Magalotti, Viaje de Cosme III por España (1668–1669). Madrid y su provincia, ed. Angel Sánchez Rivero (Madrid: Imprenta Municipal, 1927), 146: “La prima [fontana] è arricchita di statue, e nel mezzo, sopra una gran tazza di marmo scuro di Toledo, v’è un Ercole di marmo bianco, che strangolando l’Idra ne fa uscir l’acqua per diverse bocche. Intorno alla vasca dove questa tazza è locata sorgono per la parte di dentro moltissimi spilli, che quando son battuti dal sole fanno una mostra assai ricca.” For more on Cosimo’s trip, see the essay by Miguel Taín, “Some Spanish Paintings in the Florentine Collections. The Legacy of the Journey of Cosimo III,” in this volume. 33 Jennifer Montagu, Alessandro Algardi (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985), vol. 2, 471, entry n. R.L.30. 34 Margarita M. Estella Marcos, “Sobre la escultura del Jardín de la Isla en Aranjuez,” in Velázquez y el arte de su tiempo (Madrid: CSIC—Editorial Alpuerto, 1991), 347. 35 Margarita M. Estella Marcos, “Temas mitológicos en los jardines de los siglos XVI y XVII. Obras inéditas o poco conocidas de Camillani, Regio, Algardi o anóminas,” in La visión del mundo clásico en el arte español (Madrid: CSIC—Editorial Alpuerto, 1993), 74; Juan José Martín González, El escultor en palacio (Viaje a través de la escultura de los Austrias (Madrid: Ediciones Gredos, 1991), 182–3. 36 Cited by Piero Boccardo, “Produzione e scambio in un emporio internazionale,” in La scultura a Genova e in Liguria (Genoa: Cassa di Risparmio di Genova e Imperia—Fratelli Pagano Editori, 1987), vol. 1, 172–3 and 211 (Milan, Biblioteca Braidense, AF.XIII.13/3). The letter is dated December 17, 1638 and was sent by Giovan Battista Baliani to Antonio Balbi, a Genoese based in Madrid. It mentions three statues by a sculptor named Martino: a Neptune and a Cristopher Colombus were ready to be shipped to Madrid, while Martino was still working on a Hercules (there is also mention of a statue of Charles V and a Diana by one of the Carlones). Boccardo argues, with a question mark, that this Martino might be Martino “Rezzi.” The following is my trascription: “Quattro statue sono finite, incassiate et imbarcate per quanto mi ha detto messer Giovan Maria: due, che sono Nettuno et il Colombo fatte da Martino scultore, son per mio avviso riuscite molto bene, e spero che saranno in gusto di Vostra Signoria,; le altre due, che sono la Diana e l’imperator Carlo Quinto fatte da Carlone, non stimo io che arrivino alle due prime di gran lunga, però intendo che altri son di parere che siano più belle di quelle, come Vostra Signoria ne haverà da messer Giovan Maria; comunque ciò sia, è certo che anche il Carlone si è ingegnato di far quanto ha saputo. Io le ho rivedute tutte più volte e andato dicendo all’uno e all’altro maestro ciò che mi occorreva per lo desiderio grandissimo che io haveva che vostra signoria restasse ben servito, come anderò facendo anche per l’Erchule che detto Martino anderà facendo.” Baliani was a Genoese mathematician, physicist and astronomer who often corresponded with Galileo Galilei. I would like to thank Anna Elisa Ravenna and Aldo Coletto for making this document available. 37 The inscription has been noted by Francesco Antonio Cuteri, and published by Monica De Marco, Dal primo Rinascimento all’ultima Maniera. Marmi del Cinquecento nella Provincia di Reggio Calabria (Pizzo: Esperide, 2010), 116–17. An image of the statue was previously published by Stella Serranò, “Percorso delle memorie artistiche,” in Reggio Calabria e la sua provincia. L’arte e i segni della storia, ed. Cettina Nostro (Naples: Electa Napoli, 2000), 210, with an attribution to an unknown southern Italian sculptor and the wrong date “1652.” 38 See the particularly compelling comparison of several similar Madonnas in Saguineti, Francesco Fanelli, 177–9: Tommaso and Govanni Orsolino’s Madonna delle Vigne displayed in the chapel in which Martino worked; Tommaso Orsolino’s statue in the convent of San Martino d’Albaro; and the Madonna in the Church of Santa Maria Maddalena attributed to Francesco Fanelli, with whom Martino collaborated. In particular, all these Madonnas put their left hand on Baby Jesus’ belly, just like the Virgin does in the painting attributed to Taddeo di Bartolo, also in the Church of Santa Maria delle Vigne. 39 According to De Marco, Dal primo Rinascimento, 117, footnote 213, the Visite pastorali di Monsignor Contestabile are preserved in the Archivio Diocesano di Reggio Calabria. The aforementioned notice about the Cristiano Chapel is in the visit dated 1670, fol. 17v. 40 Sebastiano granted the juspatronato of the chapel to Fabiano Cristiano and his heirs. This information is also contained in the Visita pastorale, 1670, fol. 20c—21v. De Marco, Dal primo Rinascimento, 117, footnote 213.

130  Fernando Loffredo 41 According to De Marco, Dal primo Rinascimento, 118, footnote 213, the “otherwise unknown [non altrimenti noto]” sculptor Martino Regi was more likely active in Messina than in Naples. 42 See for instance Antonino Bertolotti, Artisti lombardi a Roma nei secoli XV, XVI, e XVII (Milan: Ulrico Hoepli Editore, 1881); or Antonino Bertolotti, Artisti subalpini in Roma nei secoli XV, XVI e XVII (Mantova: Premiato Stabilimento Mondovi, 1884). 43 On the Sacro Monte sopra Varese see essentially Silvano Colombo, Sculture; Il Sacro Monte sopra Varese (Gavirate: Nicolini, 2002); Costantino Del Frate, S. Maria del Monte sopra Varese (Chiavari: Civicchioni, 1933). 44 Colombo, Sculture, 113–4. 45 On Morazzone’s frescoes see Jacopo Stoppa, Il Morazzone (Milan: 5 Continents, 2003), 191–5 (n. 19), 280–1. In the pronaos’ frescos can be read the date “1609,” which is usually accepted as year of conclusion of the paintings. 46 See the biographical entry on “Martino Retti” provided by Colombo, Sculture, 144–50. However, in his important volume Del Frate, S. Maria, 78, cites the sculptor as “Martino Rezio.” 47 In her survey book La scultura del Seicento (Milan: UTET, 1982), 252, Antonia Nava Cellini correctly juxtaposes the Martino of the Sacri Monti with the Martino active Genoa in a short biographical profile on “Martino Rezio,” as she calls him. Nava Cellini only mentions very generically Martino’s works “forse anche nel marmo e nel bronzo in Santa Fede a in San Marco [sic Maria] delle Vigne a Genova,” showing legitimate doubts about his skills as sculptor in diverse materials. Nava Cellini, however, has words of great appreciation for Martino’s Flagellation in the Sacro Monte. It is interesting to notice that Martino is discussed in a general book of seventeenth-century sculpture. 48 Colombo, Sculture, 114–5. 49 See Ibid., 148–50, with the previous bibliography. 50 Ibid., 116–17. 51 The document says that Francesco Ramponi “liberavit ac liberat Martinum de Aretio de Viganello filius quindam Simonis de presenti moram trahens in burgo Varisii [. . .] pro omni et toto et quod dictus Ramponus pretendere consequi et habere posset contra eum et eius bona.” Colombo, Sculture, 120. 52 Perhaps, it is worth remembering that a stucco sculptor named “Francesco Rezio” was active in Germany in the second half of the seventeenth century (see the entry of the Carcano family of sculptors in the Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 19 [Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana, 1976] by Ludwig Döry). Furthermore, Rezio is also a rare given name in the area of Lugano. 53 On the relation between a sculptor and different materials between the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries, it is particularly interesting to consider Camillo Mariani. See C. D. Dickerson, “Camillo Mariani and the Nobility of Stucco,” in Making and Moving Sculpture in Early Modern Italy, ed. Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2015), 137–66; and Fernando Loffredo, “Sculpting Against the Grain: Camillo Mariani in the Roman Context at the Turn of the Sixteenth Century,” in Dopo il 1564: l’eredità di Michelangelo a Roma nel tardo Cinquecento/After 1564: Michelangelo’s Legacy in Late Cinquecento Rome, ed. Marco Simone Bolzoni, Furio Rinaldi, and Patrizia Tosini (Rome: De Luca, 2016), 186–207.

Plate 1 Domenico Fancelli, Tomb of the Catholic Kings, 1513–1517, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author).

Plate 2 Jacopo L’Indaco, Retablo de la Santa Cruz, 1521, Capilla Real, Granada (photo by the author).

Plate 3 Eusebius, Cronaca, around 1488–1489; MSS Illuminados 117–121, Biblioteca Nacional, Lisbon (photo by the author).

Plate 4  View of the gardens of the Casa de Campo with the statue of Philip III, 1634, Museo de Historia de Madrid, Madrid (photo: Museo Nacional del Prado).

Plate 5 Pedro de Arbulo, Oration in the Garden, high altar, Desojo, 1571–1579 (photo by the author).

Plate 6 Jusepe de Ribera, The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence, c. 1620–1624, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne (photo: National Gallery of Victoria).

Plate 7 Diego Velázquez, The Jester Calabazas, 1631–1632, the Cleveland Museum of Art,­ purchased with funds donated by Allan and Maria Myers and Andrew Sisson, 2006.390 (photo: Cleveland Museum of Art).

Plate 8  The Virgin of the Kings, Cathedral of Seville; Ufficio di Ricerche de la Soprintendenza per I Beni Artistici e Storici, Florence, inv. 1890, n. 2210 (photo by the author).

7 Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus Lisandra Estevez

Studies of Jusepe de Ribera’s (1591–1652) art have devoted significant attention to charting the varied trajectories of his early career. Many questions remain open about the specific chronology and reasons for his departure from his native Valencia, as well as the course of his initial training and travels in Italy around 1606. Major publications by Gianni Papi, Viviana Farina, Gabriele Finaldi, and Silvia Danesi Squarzina and exhibitions such as El joven Ribera (Il giovane Ribera) (Museo Nacional del Prado and Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte, 2011) have reappraised Ribera’s youthful activity in Northern Italy, a pivotal phase in the artist’s education and career in which he assimilated the theatrical tenebrism of Caravaggio and the colore and disegno of the Carracci. This essay examines Ribera’s early career following a geographic nexus that connects Lombardy, Emilia-Romagna, and Liguria, as described by art biographer and doctor Giulio Mancini (1558/9–1630) in his Considerazioni sulla pittura (c. 1619— after 1624), among others. Mancini is one of the few biographers of Ribera who was one of the artist’s near-contemporaries; thus, his biography of the artist is relatively reliable. In re-examining the impact of Ribera’s trips to Northern Italy on his youthful style, this essay also considers how mobility, by of virtue of his travels, fundamentally affected the development of Ribera’s manner of painting. Ribera’s initial experiences in Italy, especially those facilitated by his sojourns, resulted in a style that was somewhat experimental and heterogeneous.

Ribera’s Mobility Art historians have focused on establishing the parameters of Ribera’s formative years based on archival documentation and textual references. A reassessment of Ribera’s early career, though, warrants a fuller consideration of the impact of mobility and travel on the young artist’s style. The ideas I have extrapolated from David Young Kim’s engaging study, The Traveling Artist in the Italian Renaissance: Geography, Mobility, and Style, are relevant in measuring how Ribera’s first travels in Italy had a powerful effect on his art. Kim outlines twelve relevant points or “coordinates” that illuminate the impact of travel on the formation of an artist’s style.1 His germane arguments about artistic mobility are wholly appropriate to the study of artists and artistic centers beyond Renaissance Italy, especially to foreign artists who left their home countries, such as Ribera. In writing about émigré artists, Kim points out that mobility can be understood “as a cultural practice that compromises an artist’s displacement, either voluntary or unwilling, from a homeland; confrontation with or

132  Lisandra Estevez work within an alien environment; and finally, the reception of that mobility by both foreign counterparts and compatriots.”2 Ribera was, in fact, the rare example of a Spanish artist who permanently resettled in another country. This essay will thus consider Ribera’s mobility, especially during his first years in Italy, as a case study in cultural transfer. It will examine the artistic and religious reasons for Ribera’s relocation from Spain to Italy in view of Kim’s aforementioned approach to mobility, geography, and the artistic enterprise. Ribera’s youthful travels in Italy profoundly affected his early style as he registered the idiom of Caravaggio’s realism as well as the art of Leonardo da Vinci, Correggio, and the Carracci to generate a novel artistic idiom. While Ribera’s assimilation of Italian sources is well understood in the art historical literature, the impact of Ribera’s mobility, not only on his early style but also on his initial cultivation of a social network in Italy, merits further consideration.

Mapping Ribera’s Route: Original Departure from Spain to Italy Ribera left his native Spain as an ambitious young artist seeking a profitable and fruitful career in Italy.3 Ribera’s artistic training in his native city of Játiva (near Valencia) and the reasons why he might have left Spain for Italy altogether remain in question. In order to get a better sense of the events and circumstances that informed and shaped Ribera’s strategies for achievement as a young artist, I shall briefly consider Ribera’s early years in Valencia before assessing the reasons why Ribera might have left Spain for Italy, and then examining his travels in Northern Italy before he briefly settled in Rome and permanently in Naples thereafter. Ribera was born in 1591 in Játiva (also spelled Xátiva) in the region of Valencia to Simon Ribera, a shoemaker, and Margarita Cuco.4 Scant information tells us about Ribera’s primary education and possible apprenticeship to another artist. Based on historical studies of education and literacy in Golden Age Spain, one can infer that Ribera learned to read and write at a young age.5 According to the eighteenth-century Spanish art biographer Antonio Palomino, Ribera trained with the Valencian painter Francisco Ribalta (1565–1628).6 At first glance, Palomino’s statement seems plausible, because Ribalta had moved to Valencia in 1599 and was active there until his death. Before his arrival in the city, Ribalta had worked in Madrid and at the royal complex and monastery of the Escorial. He was enormously receptive to the work of other artists, and his early style was strongly influenced by Italian Mannerism. He studied the paintings in the royal collection, came in contact with Spanish and Italian artists such as Romulo Cincinnato, Juan Fernandez de Navarrete “El Mudo,” Federico Zuccaro, Pellegrino Tibaldi, and Luca Cambiaso, who were carrying out the decoration of the royal complex of El Escorial. There is documentary evidence for Ribalta’s activity in Madrid, including his earliest known work, the signed and dated The Preparation for the Crucifixion (1582, Saint Petersburg, Hermitage) that he painted in Madrid, and that shows his interest in luminous, Venetian color and use of dusky lighting. While the style of Ribalta’s painting is radically different from the dramatic Caravaggesque forms that Ribera favored in his youthful years, Ribalta’s formulation of his regional identity as a Catalan painter appears in the signature of The Preparation for the Crucifixion (1582, Saint Petersburg, Hermitage Museum). Ribalta’s signing practices perhaps served as an important model for Ribera’s use of patronymics in his lengthy signatures. Ribalta’s painting is inscribed in the bottom right-hand corner

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 133 (with digraphs and abbreviations) against a white background in the shape of a label: “FRANCO RIBALTA CATALA LO PINTO EN MADRID ANO DE MDLXXXII (Franco Ribalta painted this in Madrid the year 1582).”7 While no firm proof supports the claim that Ribalta taught Ribera, the plausibility of Palomino’s claim—that Ribera apprenticed with Ribalta—should not be entirely discounted. While the exact date of Ribera’s departure from Spain to Italy remains uncertain, documents recovered by Giuseppe Porzio and Domenico Antonio D’Alessandro confirm that Ribera arrived in Italy by 1606.8 The long-standing itinerary of the young painter’s travels suggests that he left Spain through the port of Alicante (which then was a major point of entry from Italy into Southern Spain), either alone or in the company of his two brothers, Jerónimo and Juan. He arrived directly in Naples and after that traveled to Rome before he left for Parma in about 1610. In 1611, his presence was recorded in Parma, where he painted a Saint Martin and the Beggar for the church of San Prospero. The original is now lost, but known through a painted replica (Parma, Galleria Nazionale, 1610–1611) and reproductive prints (Figure 7.1), and was regarded at the time as an important work by the painter.9 Ribera then left for Rome, where he resided from about 1612 to 1616. In July 1616, he departed Rome and permanently settled in Naples.10 A second theory has proposed that Ribera did not leave through the port of Alicante to Naples, but that he instead arrived in Genoa, a city that historically had close political ties to the Spanish crown. He then traveled through Lombardy, possibly visiting the cities of Cremona and Milan, and then perhaps taking a quick trip to Venice before arriving in Parma in 1611. In 1612, he left Parma for Rome, as Michele Cordaro has suggested based on Mancini’s biography of the painter, because he had antagonistic relations with local painters. He then departed Rome in 1616 and moved to Naples.11 His Neapolitan biographers proposed alternate routes of Ribera’s early travels in Italy. Carlo Celano wrote that Ribera first studied in Naples before he departed for Rome.12 De Dominici also noted that Ribera first arrived in Naples and then went to Rome; he mentioned Ribera’s admiration of Annibale Carracci’s fresco in the Farnese Gallery during his Roman years. De Dominici also mentioned Ribera’s travels in Modena and Parma and underscored how these trips were fundamental to Ribera’s acquisition of drawing skills. Luigi Lanzi’s biography charts a route that took the artist from Puglia to Naples and after that to Rome, Parma, Modena, and Lombardy. He is also among the art writers who staunchly claimed that Ribera studied with Caravaggio.13 An important question, though, remains to be addressed: why did Ribera leave Spain for Italy in the first place? I contend that the socio-economic conditions of painters who worked and resided in Valencia played a critical role in shaping Ribera’s decision to leave for Italy. Artistic practice in the city was largely controlled by a college (Sp. colegio) of painters, which functioned much like a guild: It educated and trained young artists, guarded their interests to some extent, and ensured the quality of artistic production within the city. The Valencian college was established in 1520, but it was short-lived. By the early seventeenth century, there was a renewed attempt to create a new “academy.”14 Among the surviving documents that attest to its organization are its ordinances of 1616. In order to protect their interests, local painters imposed restrictions on foreign and amateur painters. They established rules that comprised mandatory membership for painters and a requisite masters’ exam upon the completion of apprenticeships.15 In seventeenth-century Valencia, the artistic profession was dominated by the colegio of painters for a short period. In 1607, soon after Ribera had left Valencia for Italy,

Figure 7.1 After Jusepe de Ribera, Saint Martin and the Beggar, plate 48 from Giovanni Bodoni, Le più insigni pitture Parmensi: indicate agli amatori delle belle arti, engravings by Francesco Rosaspina after Francisco Vieira (Parma: Dalla Tipografia Bodoniana, 1809), Getty Research Institute (photo: Getty).

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 135 the painter Francisco Ribalta supported other leading Valencian painters in a move to form the Colegio de Pintores (College of Painters) to safeguard the interests of the profession. In April 1607, the city of Valencia ordered the creation of this organization after approving their ordinances. These included several laws that “favored their monopoly over the production and marketing of painting.”16 Some of the measures taken by the Colegio included advising or limiting the rising number of painters, and requiring painters to become members of the institution and to pass an exam to practice painting. The prices of exams were “fixed” so that certain artists were favored. The rules of the college also prohibited artists from producing works that were solely intended for resale. In December 1607, many painters who were not members of the Colegio objected to twenty-eight of the organization’s rules, which were then suspended until August 1616. Then, Ribalta once again took an active role in its management and signed a petition to Philip III seeking support for the college. A ruling from the Royal Audience then declared in favor of the Colegio. Although certain amendments were introduced in the statutes, disagreements about them continued.17 In September 1616, the city of Valencia received a petition that the ordinances of the Colegio be reformed. Complaints were not only lodged by the same painters who protested in 1607, but also by average citizens who could be identified as potential art buyers. They included a glove maker, an organ player, a wool processor, a notary, and a priest. Three objections were raised about the Colegio’s laws. Firstly, they disallowed many men (and women) who were not officially trained and licensed by the college from selling works. These artists were secretly painting their works at home and sold them at cheaper prices. Secondly, they made it difficult for foreign artists to settle and work in Valencia. Thirdly, in an effort to curb international competition, the college prohibited the sale of paintings from other parts of Europe, mainly from Italy, France, and the Northern countries, which were cheaper than those created in Valencia.18 Interestingly enough, the plaintiffs justified their demands by appealing to the status of painting as a liberal art, and thereby used this argument against the interests of painters.19 If painting was, in fact, a liberal art, as painters had wished it to be recognized, then artists should be paid according to their “work and ability.”20 The plaintiffs’ aim was apparent; greater supply meant lower prices and decreased demand. The plaintiffs perhaps sought to position paintings as commodities within a growing economic market so that people of all social classes could afford to purchase them. The authorities ruled in favor of the plaintiffs, but the college later appealed to the Royal Audience. This appeal created a rift between royal and local jurisdictions and was not resolved until Philip III intervened in 1617, when he sided with the local authorities and against the interests of the Colegio, which ultimately marked the failure of the institution.21 The Colegio also passed regulations in 1607 related to a painter’s heritage and religious background that restricted admission into the academy. It required limpieza de sangre (purity of blood), thus prohibiting the teaching of painting to Jews and Muslims.22 It is possible that Ribera might not have been qualified to train in the Colegio, because of possible evidence of either Jewish or North African ancestry.23 In addition, tensions were mounting between the Valencian church and the Morisco (converted Muslims) communities of Valencia, especially during the tenure of Archbishop Juan de Ribera (b. 1532–d. 1611). During his forty-three years in office (r. 1568–1611), Archbishop Ribera supported policies that reflected his intolerance and hatred toward the Morisco community; Moriscos were not allowed to hold public office, enter the

136  Lisandra Estevez priesthood, or take up other professions that included artistic ones. His xenophobic policies ultimately led to the expulsion of the Moriscos in 1609, only three years after Ribera had departed Spain for Italy.24 Compounded by the severe economic crisis affecting Valencia at the time, these dire circumstances indeed could have prompted Ribera to seek training and work elsewhere. I contend that Ribera thus left Spain for Italy to escape the prejudices and bigotry that were significant barriers to his success in Valencia. Ribera was also an ambitious and versatile young artist who became a prolific painter and draftsman, and a talented printmaker. Such diversification was rare for a pre-modern Spanish artist. In Spain, professional specialization tended to be rigid and well controlled by confraternities, guilds, or colleges. Most Renaissance Spanish painters such as Fernando Yañez de Almedina, Pedro Machuca, Alonso Berruguete and Gaspar Becerra who also worked as either architects or sculptors were all trained in Italy.25 Interdisciplinary artistic activity encountered obstacles in Spain, mainly because a painter’s training did not necessarily consider drawing or disegno as the foundation for the arts, and, in many instances, was reduced to the copying of models. Furthermore, the legal situation encouraged and protected specialization. Even within the category of painting, the ordinances of the Colegio distinguished between painters of images, banners, panel, and guilders.26 Ribera might have moved to Italy because artists there were afforded training that encouraged interdisciplinarity (regarding learning and practicing the related disciplines of drawing and painting) and enjoyed a better economic and professional status.27

Ribera’s Initial Network in Italy Gianni Papi, Valentina Macro, and Silvia Danesi Squarzina have all argued that when Ribera went to Rome, he not only came into contact with Spanish residents of the city, but also prominent individuals who provided him with letters of recommendation or introductions to prominent art patrons and collectors.28 The path of Ribera’s early career in Italy, as he moved from Parma to Rome to Naples, further supports the notion that Ribera availed himself of every possible strategy to market his work as a young painter working in Italy. He sold works on the art market and cultivated relationships with prestigious patrons and established artists, both Italian and Spanish. While he was in Parma in 1610 or 1611, Ribera might have spent time with Luis Tristán, the renowned Toledan painter, as their trips in Parma overlapped.29 Tristán was El Greco’s most accomplished follower. In fact, Ribera’s Saint Martin and the Beggar is compositionally similar to El Greco’s depiction of the same subject that was painted for the Chapel of San José in Toledo in 1597–99 (Figure 7.2).30 One can speculate that Ribera might have become better acquainted with El Greco’s art and career through his contact with Tristán. According to documents recently uncovered by Danesi Squarzina, Ribera was already residing in Rome as early as June 5, 1612.31 Ribera’s youthful works in Rome entered into the collections of art connoisseurs and patrons such Cardinal Scipione Borghese32 and the Giustianini family.33 He was also retained in the household of the Giustianini and painted fourteen works for them.34 In addition to the ties Ribera cultivated with aristocratic families, research has shown that prominent ecclesiastics such as Cardinals Francesco Maria del Monte,35 Federico Savelli,36 and Scipione Cobelluzzi37 were also among Ribera’s earliest collectors in Rome. Ribera also

Figure 7.2 El Greco, Saint Martin and the Beggar, 1597–1599, National Gallery of Art, ­Washington, D.C. (photo: National Gallery of Art).

138  Lisandra Estevez produced works for Spanish patrons in Rome, most famously a series of the Five Senses (c. 1611/13–1616) for the Spanish agent, diplomat, and collector Pedro Cosida.38

The Young Ribera in Lombardy The impact of Caravaggio’s innovations without a doubt left an indelible mark on the art of the young Ribera. The literature on the artist has extensively made this point. This essay looks at other Northern Italian artists, such Leonardo and the Carracci, who might have had an impact on the young Ribera’s style. This essay builds on studies by Lubomir Konečný and Viviana Farina, who have written about the impact of the Lombard style on Ribera’s physiognomic studies.39 Giulio Mancini’s biography of Ribera also mentions his trip to Lombardy, probably in 1610 or 1611, when the artist first arrived in Parma, and 1615–16, toward the end of his stay in Rome. By 1622, when Ribera had been well established in Naples for six years, his work as a printmaker and draftsman illustrated a keen interest in physiognomy. His earliest such exercises took two forms: studies of physiognomic details such as eyes, ears, noses, and mouths, and drawn grotesque heads whose deformed features reflect Ribera’s fascination with the human form.40 Giulio Mancini’s Considerazione sulla pittura is the earliest and most detailed source discussing Ribera’s intial years in Italy.41 Mancini’s short yet informative biography appeared shortly after Ribera departed Rome for Naples. Mancini not only wrote about Ribera’s art, as he mentions five paintings by the artist in his text, but he also collected it. According to two letters exchanged by Mancini and his brother Deifebo in 1617, Mancini had acquired Ribera’s Saint Jerome, the artist’s first signed work, (c. 1613, Art Gallery of Ontario) and sent the painting to his brother in Siena.42 Mancini begins by celebrating Ribera as a highly gifted painter, extraordinary praise given the number of talented artists working in Rome during the first decades of the seventeenth century. He then writes that Ribera spent his earliest years in Italy in Lombardy, probably spending his wanderjahre in cities such as Milan, Genoa, and Parma: It cannot and ought not to be denied that Giuseppe de Ribera of Valencia, commonly called Lo Spagnoletto, is the most naturally gifted artist to have appeared for many years. For while still quite young, having journeyed throughLombardy to see the work of those able men, and finding himself in Parma, he aroused the jealous fear of those who served his Highness [Ranuccio Maria Farnese], that, coming to the notice of that Prince, he might be taken into the latter’s service, causing them to lose their positions; for that reason they forced him to leave.43

Ribera and Leonardo da Vinci If Mancini is correct, while Ribera was in Lombardy, he very likely studied Leonardo’s art. Leonardo’s celebrated grotesque heads and physiognomic studies, in particular, his Five Grotesque Heads (c. 1494, pen and ink on paper, Royal Library, Windsor) offered significant iconographic precedents for artists working in the mid-to-late sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries. Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo (1538–92), Aurelio Luini (c. 1530–93), and members of the Accademia del Val di Blenio, the Milanese academy of scholars established in 1560 and active into the 1580s, all produced

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 139 grotesques after Leonardo. Other renowned examples include those drawn by Martino Rota (c. 1520–83), Giovanni Battista Della Porta (1535?-1615) in his De Humana Physiognomia, Book III, published in 1588, Camillo Procaccini (c. 1555–1629), and Ribera himself.44 Ribera’s knowledge of Lombard artistic traditions was indubitably gathered firsthand during his travels as a young artist. Nevertheless, Leonardo’s designs were widely circulated through copies and productive prints, particularly the engraving The Pagan Gods by Martino Rota, which had a profound influence on Ribera.45 Rota’s sheet depicts the twelve gods and goddesses of the Olympic pantheon in profile view, with facial deformities such as snubbed noses, cleft lips, and bulbous tumors and warts. In addition, Giulio Mancini’s biography of Ribera also mentions his trip to Lombardy, probably between 1611, when the artist traveled to Parma, and 1615 to 1616, toward the end of his stay in Rome. By 1622, when Ribera had been well established in Naples for six years, his work as a printmaker and draftsman was already displaying an interest in physiognomy. His earliest such exercises took two forms: studies of physiognomic details such as eyes, ears, noses, and mouths and drawn grotesque heads whose deformed features reflect Ribera’s fascination with the human form.46 Ribera’s depiction of individual physiognomic details is a practice informed by Leonardo’s art theory.47 Leonardo’s description of different types of facial features (from a lengthy passage dating to 1508–10 and later recorded in his Libro di pittura) illustrates the meticulous procedure that he advised artists to follow in drawing the human face: If you want to acquire facility for bearing in mind the expressions of a face, first make yourself familiar with a variety of [forms of] several heads, eyes, noses, mouths, chins, and throats, and necks and shoulders And to give an example, noses are of ten types: straight, bulbous, concave, prominent above or below the center [of the length], aquiline, regular, flat, round, or pointed. These hold good as to profile. In full face they are of eleven types; these are equal, thick in the middle, thin in the middle,with the tip thick and the root narrow, or narrow at the tip and wide at the root; with the nostrils wide or narrow, high or low, and the openings wide or hidden by the point; and you will find an equal variety in other details; which things you must draw from nature or in your mind. Or else, when you have to draw a face by heart, carry with you a little book in which you have noted such features; and when you have noted such features; and when you have cast a glance at the face of the person you wish to draw, you can observe in private, which nose or mouth is most like, and there make a little mark to recognize it at home. Of grotesque faces [visi mostruosi] I need say nothing, because they are kept in mind without difficulty.48 Thus, the kind of careful study advised by Leonardo shaped Ribera’s systematic approach to studying different parts of the human body.

Ribera’s Colore While Ribera’s physiognomic studies reflect his understanding of Leonardo’s naturalism, his early paintings demonstrate an impressive command of color that reflects his thoughtful study of the Lombard school of painting.49 In their comments on the painter’s

140  Lisandra Estevez style, Ribera’s biographers stress the importance of his coloring (It. colore or colorito and Sp. colorido) and saw it as a fundamental aspect of Ribera’s style.50 While most modern scholars have rightly tended to think of Ribera as a tenebrist painter who was “born under the sign of Caravaggio,” they have accorded less importance to the painter’s sense of color. Scholars of Caravaggio’s art have also dealt with this very same issue. ­Seventeenth-century art biographers noted Caravaggio as a painter known for his sense of rich, bold color. This aspect of Caravaggio’s style has been bypassed by modern scholars, who have tended to focus either on his innovative compositions and dramatic tenebrism, or the negative criticisms of his work culled from pre-modern art biographies.51 As an artist profoundly influenced by Caravaggio’s system of lighting and saturated colors, Ribera incorporated these elements into his early works such as Susannah and Elders (Figure 7.3) and The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence (Plate 6). According to Giulio Mancini’s biography of the painter, Ribera, as a follower of Caravaggio, was even more radical in adopting Caravaggio’s coloring, making it “more tinted and more fierce (pìu tento e pìu fiero).”52 Among Ribera’s significant collectors, Vincenzo Giustiniani commented on Ribera’s command of color and lighting. In a famous letter written to Teodoro Amayden (circa 1617–18), Giustiniani devised a hierarchy of art in which there were twelve kinds of painting, which were ranked on a scale of easiest to most difficult. In his discussion of the eleventh category of painting, Giustiniani described the challenges an artist faced

Figure 7.3  Jusepe de Ribera, Susannah and the Elders, ca. 1617–1618, private collection (photo: The Picture Art Collection / Alamy Stock Photo).

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 141 in imitating the colors of nature. The artists he includes in this category are Rubens, Ribera, and Gerrit von Honthorst, among others: The eleventh method is to paint directly from natural objects before one’s eyes. Be warned however that it is not enough to make a mere reproduction. Rather it is necessary that the work be well designed, with fine well-proportioned contours. It must have pleasing and appropriate coloring, which comes from the experience of knowing how to handle colors and almost from instinct, and is a gift granted to few. Above all, one has to know how to give the right light to each part so that the eye is satisfied by the blending of the lights and the darks with alternation of true color and without harming the spirit of the painting. Leaving the ancients aside, those who painted this way in our time are Rubens, Giuseppe the Spaniard [Jusepe de Ribera], Gherardo [Gerrit von Honthorst], Enrico [Henrick Berckmans], Teodoro [Theodore Heemskerck], and others like them. Most of them were Flemish but were active in Rome and had a good sense of color.53 Ribera’s sense of dense, textured color was also praised later in the seventeenth century by the Spanish artist and art theorist Francisco de Pacheco, who also noted the Northern Italian origins of Ribera’s colore: “Antonio Correggio used color very beautifully, and I admire him very much, but the great Titian was superior to all others in color. In our times in Andalusia, Pablo Cespédes used color with the greatest mastery. And now, in the use of color, Jusepe de Ribera, called Españolete in Italy, is the finest to be found.”54 Pacheco also explicitly states that among the three necessary components of successful coloring in painting, relief is the most crucial element because it shapes and creates forms. While Ribera’s forms might lack beauty or softness, Pacheco praises Ribera’s ability to model forms and paint using colors that are bold and fiercely tinted, echoing Mancini’s praise of Ribera’s style.55

Ribera’s Travels in Parma In mapping Ribera’s sojourns, Mancini wrote that Ribera traveled to Parma after his sojourn in Milan (or Lombardy).56 Parma was the first artistic center where Ribera received his earliest commissions for altarpieces and possibly frescos.57 The city offered a wealth of art—namely Correggio’s frescoes in Parma’s Cathedral and San Giovanni Evangelista as well as Parmigianino’s frescoes for Santa Maria della Steccata. Ducal and palace collections contained works by Raphael, Titian, and Parmigianino among others.58 As previously mentioned, Ribera’s Saint Martin and the Beggar (Figure 7.1) existed in a painted copy and reproductive engravings after it. Art treatises and guidebooks also identified other commissions Ribera received. Unfortunately, these works are all lost or untraced. Clemente Ruta’s 1793 guide mentioned Ribera’s altarpiece of the Assumption of the Virgin with Saints Cosmas and Damian in the church of Saint Quintin [Santo Quentino]. Luigi Scaramuccia noted that Rivera decorated the church of Santa Maria Bianca in Parma. A painting of the Lamentation over the Dead (c. 1610–1611, Naples, Capodimonte) has been attributed to Ribera.59 According to Mancini, the young artist had to leave Parma because of the jealousy and envy that developed between him and the established artists of the city. Although not famous as his other relatives, Mario Farnese was the Duke of Latera, “a soldier,

142  Lisandra Estevez collector, and protector of Francesco Mochi and a friend of Cardinal Benedetto Giustiniani, also a collector of Ribera’s works.”60 Farnese also sponsored and paid a salary to both the Dutch painter Leonard Braemer and Ribera. In all likelihood, it was Mario Farnese who facilitated Ribera’s travel between Parma and Rome and who even initiated Ribera’s contact with the Giustiniani, if Mancini’s account of Ribera’s journeys is correct. Ribera benefited from the protection given to him by a member of a prominent Roman family who had such a sophisticated taste for art, and he would have had open doors to other important Italian collectors and their collections. As Danesi Squarzina has rightly observed, “The sojourn in Rome, the association with French, Dutch, and Franco-Flemish painters, and the stimulation provided by a cultivated person were of inestimable importance in the Spanish artist’s career.”61 According to Mancini’s text, the young Ribera was introduced to an artistic culture that was defined by rivalry and competition.62 That culture of rivalry certainly had an impact on the young Ribera as he became a fierce opponent to any artist who sought to compete against him for public commissions during his mature years in Naples. It is in Parma that Ribera perhaps was given his nickname “Spagnoletto” or “little Spaniard” as is noted in documentary sources. The appellation was used fairly early in his career and can be traced to his earliest commissions in the city of Parma in 1611, as well as to Mancini’s biography of the painter. Although Ribera was also frequently referred to as “Spagnoletto” in documents and art biographies and even in collectors’ marks and inscriptions, he never included the nickname in his signature.63 The nickname was probably given the artist because he was quite young when he arrived in Rome or because he was short, as stated in De Dominici’s description of the painter.64

Ribera and the Carracci Ribera’s art was not only sought after by collectors such as Mario Farnese, but also praised by artists such as Ludovico Carracci. A letter written by Ludovico Carracci to the academician, patron, collector, and amateur dealer Ferrante Carlo in 1618 describes Ribera as a follower of the school of Caravaggio and that Mario Farnese was a protector of the young artist.65 The Bolognese master Ludovico Carracci celebrated Ribera’s youthful talent and his informed opinions about art. Carracci corresponded extensively with Carlo. In a letter dated December 11, 1618, Carracci wrote that he had been impressed by Ribera’s comments on Carlo’s collection: It has been an immense pleasure to read your letter, so full of news on the paintings of his lordship, who works continuously and to learn of the opinions of those painters who have excellent taste, especially that Spanish painter who is a follower of the school of Caravaggio. If it is he who painted Saint Martin in Parma, who was with Sir Mario Farnese, you should be mindful not to do less for poor Ludovico Carracci.66 Ribera’s talent and perspicacity were such that they were of great interest to Carracci. In the same letter, Carracci wrote that one of his clients, Bartolommeo Dolcini, mentioned to him that he wished to show his art collection to Ribera to get the young Spanish painter’s opinion: “Sir Bartolommeo Dolcini greets your lordship and seems to be interested in the opinion of the Spaniard. He said: I wish to show him my paintings to see what he [the Spaniard] says. One must excuse Sir Bartolommeo, as he is in

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 143 love with his own things.” According to Finaldi, Carlo’s return letter to Ludovico, which was said to have reported Ribera’s opinions, has been lost.68 While it is challenging to establish a direct relationship between Ribera and the Carracci, curious reciprocity among them emerges nonetheless. Ribera’s synthesis of dramatic tenebrism, luminous color, and classical elements is well illustrated in his early career work, Susannah and the Elders (Figure 7.3). While the dating and provenance of the painting have been the sources of lengthy discussion, certain aspects of the painting’s style merit further consideration.69 Ribera emphasizes firm contours and luminous color. More so, this painting is among Ribera’s few representations of 67

Figure 7.4 Annibale Carracci, Susannah and the Elders, c.1590–1595, The British Museum, London (photo: The Trustees of the British Museum).

144  Lisandra Estevez a partially nude or unclothed female form, the composition of which was influenced by the Caracci, perhaps also Annibale Carracci’s famous engraving of Susannah and Elders (Figure 7.4).70 The lessons that Ribera gleaned in his travels in Northern Italy can be seen in his Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence (Plate 6), which is considered to be the autograph version of by the artist.71 Ribera’s approach to form in this painting synthesizes his bold tenebrism with a more classicizing style that not only draws from the precedent of Caravaggio, but also, again, on the color and drawing style of the Carracci. Similar to the Susannah and the Elders, the calm demeanor of the saint and careful modeling of Saint Lawrence’s body reflect Ribera’s synthesis of Lombard and Emilian art. Nicola Spinosa has aptly written that: “What makes the Saint Lawrence seem dependent on Emilian and late-sixteenth century models [. . .] is the young Ribera’s regard for drawing (disegno) as a means of organizing observations from nature in a composition.”72 Might it have been possible that Ribera also traveled to Bologna in his youth or maturity?

Ribera’s Inroads into Genoa Aside from his inroads in Lombardy and Parma, one cannot rule out that Ribera might have traveled to Genoa, keeping in mind that the artist was in contact with Genoese patrons and collectors very early in his career. Viviana Farina has made the case that Ribera might have come into contact with Giovan Bernardino Azzolino, his mentor and (future) father-in-law after the latter’s trip to Genoa.73 While Ribera’s commissions for the prominent collector and patron Genoese Marcantonio Doria have been studied,74 his relation to other collectors and patrons, such as the poet and politician Giovanni Vincenzo Imperiale, remain to be considered more fully. While the role that Spanish viceroys played in facilitating Ribera’s first network in Italy is a well-known aspect of his career, the artist’s reliance on a network of agents merits further consideration. To sell and promote his work within local and international circles, Ribera relied on a network of agents, such as the Genoese Lanfranco Massa and Florentine Cosimo del Sera, who acted as intermediaries on behalf of the painter and their respective clients. This essay will discuss the former, as he proves to be critical in introducing Ribera’s art to the Genoese market. Lanfranco Massa was a well-known and well-established agent who facilitated a good deal of artistic commerce between Naples and Genoa. He acted on behalf of Prince Marcantonio Doria and protected the grandee’s commercial and cultural interests. Massa was renowned for being “vigilant and efficient.” Concerning facilitating artistic commissions, he was known for promptly locating the appropriate painter for a given project, establishing contact with him, apparently stipulating the conditions of the contact (including specific deadlines for the completion of work), and following up on projects with due diligence.75 Numerous records of payment found in the Banco di Napoli attest to Massa and Ribera’s close ties between 1616 and 1628. In fact, Massa himself owned two paintings by the artist.76 On March 23, 1620, Massa paid Ribera twenty-five ducats for A Guardian Angel and Pietà for Marcantonio Doria.77 The painter received the remaining balance of payment of twenty ducats out of fifty for the Guardian Angel on August 26, 1620, from Massa, and the agent also lent Ribera thirty ducats.78

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 145 As a result of the skillful marketing of his art by agents such as Massa, Ribera’s paintings also came to the attention of Giovanni Vincenzo Imperiale (1582–1648). An important art collector, Imperiale was a poet and senator of the Genoese republic whose likeness was recorded in a skillful portrait by Anthony van Dyck (1626, oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.). Imperiale assembled a formidable art collection, and owned three works by Ribera that include a half-length figure that is identified as a Pilgrim and representations of Saint James and Saint Peter.79

Final Reflections on Ribera’s Early Years Charting Ribera’s formative years in Italy along this northern nexus helps one to appreciate more fully the impact of Lombard and Emilian visual traditions on his early style. The joining of color and design, imperative to the art of the Carracci, can be evinced in Ribera’s Susannah and the Elders (Figure 7.3) and The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence (Plate 6). Ribera’s youthful sojourns enabled him to draw upon a diversity of vibrant and contrasting styles. The artist artfully synthesized the moody tenebrism of Caravaggio with the idealized forms of the Renaissance tradition and the Carracci academy.80 Measuring the impact of travels or mobility on an artist such as Ribera gives further nuance to one’s understanding of what “influence” means for early modern Spanish artists. Ribera’s inroads in Northern Italy can also indeed be owed to his association with Giovan Bernardino Azzolino, his mentor, and father-in-law, as well as to agents such as Lanfranco Massa. While an assessment of Ribera’s early years in Spain remains a murky enterprise given the paucity of documents, mapping the course of his early travels in Italy allows one to appreciate more fully the range of artists who left an indelible mark on the young artist’s style, and the collectors and agents who helped him to establish a network to market and sell his art.

Notes 1 David Young Kim, The Traveling Artist in the Italian Renaissance: Geography, Mobility, and Style (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014), 7. 2 Ibid., 3. 3 See Justus Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza”: Studien zum Frühwerk Jusepe de Riberas mit Katalog der Gemälde bis 1626 (Würzburg: ERGON-Verlag, 2003); Nicola Spinosa, Jusepe de Ribera. Bajo el signo de Caravaggio (Valencia: Generalitat Valenciana, 2005); and Gianni Papi, Ribera a Roma (Soncino [Cremona]: Edizioni dei Soncino, 2007); Nicola Spinosa, Ribera. La obra completa (Madrid: Fundación Arte Hispanico, 2008), 25–31; and José Milicua and Javier Portús, eds., El joven Ribera (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado, 2011). 4 Primary accounts present different dates and places of birth for Ribera, as well as various narratives of his family’s origins. According to the eighteenth-century Neapolitan art biographer Bernardo De Dominici, the artist was born in 1593 in “Gallipoli, a city in the province of Lecce, to D. Antonio Ribera, a native of Valencia, principal city of Tarraconese Spain, where he was an officer.” (“Nacque Giuseppe l’anno 1593, in Gallipoli, Città della Provincia de Lecce, da D. Antonio Ribera, nativo di Valenza Città principale della Provincia della Spagna Tarraconese, il quale era Ufficiale in quel Castello.”) (Bernardo De Dominici, Vite de’ pittori, scultori ed architetti Napoletani, 1742–1745. Bologna: A. Forni, 1742–5 III, 2; translation mine). The eighteenth-century Spanish art biographer Palomino offered a distinct account of Ribera’s origins: “José de Ribera, a Spaniard, was a native of Játiva

146  Lisandra Estevez in the Kingdom of Valencia, even though his origins were in Murcia, as is attested to by the last name Ribera, which is Castilian and of a very well-known illustrious family in the kingdom” (Antonio Palomino, Lives of the Eminent Spanish Painters and Sculptors, trans. Nina Ayala Mallory (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 121). Modern art historians have also disagreed on Ribera’s origins. Shaping his observations, in part, based on De Dominici’s and Palomino’s accounts, Ronald Cohen maintains that Ribera hailed from a noble Spanish family. See Ronald Cohen, Jusepe (Gioseppe Or Giuseppe) De Ribera: An Alternative View of His Origins, Apprenticeship, and Early Works (London: Trafalgar Fine Art Publications Ltd., 1996). Other Ribera specialists, including Gabriele Finaldi and Justus Lange, contend that Ribera came from a modest family, based on the information gleaned from Jativan parish records that include Ribera’s baptismal certificate and those of his two brothers, Visent Miguel and Juan. See Gabriele Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix: The Life and Work of Jusepe de Ribera,” in Jusepe de Ribera 1591–1652, ed. Alfonso E. Pérez Sanchez and Nicola Spinosa (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), 231. 5 See Richard L. Kagan, Students and Society in Early Modern Spain (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974). 6 “He was a pupil of Francisco Ribalta, an outstanding painter.” Palomino, Lives of the Eminent Spanish Painters and Sculptors, 1987, 122. 7 An infrared examination has revealed two other inscriptions beneath the upper one. The first is barely visible and not in its entirety: “FRANCISCO RIBALTA CATALAN LO PINTO.” Above this inscription, another one appears with digraphs and abbreviations: “FRANCISCO RIBALTA CATALA LO PINTO EN MADRID ANO DE MDCXXIIIII.” See Ludmila L. Kagané, The Hermitage Catalogue of Western European Painting: Spanish Painting from the Fifteenth to Nineteenth Centuries (Florence: Giunti Editore, 1997), 180. 8 In an affidavit dated to November 7, 1616 that accompanied his processo matrionale (a dossier of documents were submitted as a prerequisite to marriage), Ribera declared that ten years had elapsed since his departure from Spain to Rome. See Giuseppe Porzio and Domenico Antonio D’Alessandro, “Ribera between Rome and Naples: New Documentary Evidence.” The Burlington Magazine 157 (October 2015), 682–683. 9 Maurizio Zappata mentions the painting in his Florarum Parmese (c. 1690, Parma, Bib. Pal., Ms. Parm. 3806) and his Notizie Ecclesiarum in Civitate Parmae nunc existentitium (c. 1700, Parma, Bib. Pal., Ms. Parm. 19), published in Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza” 2003, 261. A note in an eighteenth-century manuscript copies the record of a payment made to Ribera for the Saint Martin in Parma in 1611. The title of the manuscript is “Descrizione dei famosi pittori.” The reference to the painting reads: “Ribera de.to Spagnoletto Giuseppe è l’Ancona di San Martino a cavallo, che divide la sua veste a un povero.” A marginal notation in the same document, albeit written in a different hand, also states: “Detta tavola fú divozione del Consorzio eretto nella Chiesa Parrochiale di S. Prospero sotto il Titolo di S. Martino sud.o, e dal libro p.o. do d.o. Consorzio si ricava essere stato fatto li 11 di Giugno dell’anno 1611 pagate a d.o Giuseppe Ribera L.209.s fú poi transportato nella chiesa Prossima di S. Andrea nell’anno 1629 in occasione della soppressioni di d.a Parrochiale unita alla Chiesa di S. Andrea.” (Parma, Biblioteca Sopr. Beni A.A.S.S., inv. n. 131A f.1). The document is reprinted in Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix: The Life and Work of Jusepe de Ribera,” 232. 10 Nicola Spinosa, Ribera: la obra completa (Madrid: Fundación Arte Hispánico, 2008), 26–30. 11 Michele Cordaro, “Sull’attivitá del Ribera giovane a Parma.” Storia dell’arte 38–40 (1980), 323–7. 12 Carlo Celano, Notizie del bello, dell’antico, e del curioso della città di Napoli, vol. 4, ed. G.B. Chiarini (Naples: Stamperia Floriana, 1856–60), 67–8. 13 Luigi Lanzi, Storia pittorica della Italia del Risorgimento del Belle Arti fin presso al fino del XVIII secolo, 6th ed., vol. 2 (Milan: Per Giovanni Silvestri, 1823), 350. 14 Documents related to the formation of the Valencian academy are published in: Luis Tramoyeres Blasco, Un colegio de pintores: documentos ineditos para la historia del arte pictórico en Valencia (Madrid: Victoriano Suárez, 1912). 15 Miguel Falomir Faus, “The Value of Painting in Renaissance Spain,” in Economia e arte secc. XIII–XVIII. Atti della “Trentatreesima Settimana di Studi” 30 aprile–4 maggio, ed. Simonetta Cavaciocchi (Florence: Le Monnier, 2002), 248.

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 147 16 Miguel Falomir Faus, “Artists’ Responses to the Emergence of Markets for Paintings in Spain, c. 1600,” in Mapping Markets for Europe, 1450–1750, ed. Neil De Marchi and Hans J. Van Migroet (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 152–3. 17 Ibid., 152–3. 18 Ibid., 153. 19 In defense of painting as a liberal arts, the organist Alonso Sanchís claimed, “It is important that all should learn and exercise any other liberal art, and each will be paid according to his work and ability [. . .] In this way, no one shall be offended, for painting is something that is seen with the eye, and each buys what he likes and spends on it what he wishes and can, for not everyone is to own costly pictures.” Cited in and translated by Falomir Faus, “The Value of Painting in Renaissance Spain,” 2002, 249. 20 Faus, “The Value of Painting in Renaissance Spain,” 249. 21 Falomir Faus, “Artists’ Responses to the Emergence of Markets for Paintings in Spain, c. 1600,” 153. 22 Ibid., 159. 23 In the early seventeenth century, Játiva had a population of about 8,000 to 12,000 Jews and converted Muslims (or Moriscos). Shoemaking was an occupation associated with the Morisco community. As evidenced in parish records, Ribera’s father was a cobbler. Conditions in Valencia for these two communities worsened when systematic expulsions were enforced by the Spanish crown during the reigns of Philip II and Philip III, most infamously the expulsion of 1609: José Milicua, “From Játiva to Naples,” in Jusepe de Ribera 1591–1652, ed. Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez and Nicola Spinosa (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), 10–11. For evidence of Ribera’s possible Jewish heritage, see Giuseppe De Vito, “Segni e disegni (possibilità che Ribera fosse di lontana origine ebraica).” Richerche sul ‘600 napoletano (2003), 41–6. Fernando Marías has argued that Ribera might have hailed from a converso family. See Fernando Marías, “Arte y arquitectura en Toledo: artistas y clientes conversos,” in Spanische Kunst von El Greco bis Dalí. Ambuiguitäten statt Stereotype, ed. Michael Scholz-Hänsel and David Sánchez Cano (Berlin: Frank + Timme, 2015), 81–107. 24 Benjamin Ehlers’ book on the tenure of Archbishop Ribera remains the standard monograph on the subject: Between Christians and Moriscos: Juan de Ribera and Religious Reform in Valencia, 1568–1614 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006); see also Fernando Marías, “El problema de los artistas conversos en el Siglo de Oro,” in Temas y formas hispánicas: arte, cultura y sociedad, ed. Carlos Mata Induráin and Anna Morozova (Pamplona: Servicios de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Navarra, 2015), 241–62. 25 Falomir Faus, “The Value of Painting in Renaissance Spain,” 235. 26 Ibid., 236. 27 When the painter and theorist Jusepe Martínez visited Naples in 1625, he interviewed Ribera. When Martínez questioned Ribera the about the reasons for his extended residence in Naples and his unwillingness to return to Spain, Ribera commented on the low status of painters in Spain in a famous and often-cited reply: “My dear friend, I desire it very much, but through the experience of many well-informed and sincere persons I find it an impediment [to that extent], which is, to be received the first year as a great painter, but upon the second year to be ignored because, once the person is present, respect is lost; and this has been confirmed to me by having seen several works by excellent masters of [those kingdoms of] Spain held in little esteem, and I thus judge that Spain is a merciful mother to foreigners but a most cruel stepmother to her own children.” Martínez, 1950, trans. Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix: The Life and Work of Jusepe de Ribera,” 240. 28 Valentina Macro, “Gli anni romaine di Jusepe Ribera: due nuovi documenti, il rapporto con i Giustiniani e una proposta attributiva,” in Decorazione e collezionismo a Roma nel Seicento. Vicendi, di artisti, commitenti mercanti, ed. Francesca Cappelletti (Rome: Gangemi Editore, 2003), 75–80; Silvia Danesi Squarzina, “New Documents on Ribera, ‘pictor in Urbe,’ 1612–16.” The Burlington Magazine 148 no. 1237 (April 2006), 244–51. 29 Ronni Baer, “El Greco to Velázquez: Artists of the Reign of Philip III,” in El Greco to Velázquez (New Haven, CT, London: Yale University Press, 2008), 43; Ismael Gutíerrez Pastor, “El viaje a Italia de Luis Tristán. A propositó de una Crucifixión firmada (1609).” Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoria del Arte (UAM) 5 (1993), 99–104.

148  Lisandra Estevez 30 For Ribera’s engagement with the art of El Greco; see Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza,” 46–8. 31 Danesi Squarzina, “New Documents on Ribera, ‘pictor in Urbe,’ ” 2006, 244. Danesi Squarzina discovered the lease between Ribera and his landlord Giovanni Battista di Antenore Levarinus. See Danesi Squarzina, “New Documents on Ribera, ‘pictor in Urbe,’ ” Appendix I, 250. 32 One of Ribera’s beggar-philosopher is identified in an entry in the inventory of Borghese’s collection (which dates to about 1615–1630): “Un quadro d’un Mendicante cornice di noce alto 4 1/3 largo 3 Spagnoleto.” Sandro Corradini, “Un antico inventario della quadreria del Cardinale Borghese,” in Bernini scultore: La nascita del Barroco in Casa Borghese, ed. Anna Coliva and Sebastian Schütze (Roma: De Luca, 1998), 454. 33 Danesi Squarzina, “New Documents on Ribera, ‘pictor in Urbe,’ ” 244. 34 Ibid. 35 A painting by Ribera of Mary Magdalene (“Una Santa Maria Maddalena di mano di Giuseppe Spagnuolo con cornice tutta indorata di palmi sei.”) is documented in the 1627 inventory of Del Monte’s collection: Christoph Luitpold Frommel, “Caravaggios Frühwerk und der Kardinal Francesco Del Monte.” Storia dell’arte 9/10 (1971), 31. The picture was acquired by Cardinal Francesco Barberini in the following year: “Una Santa Maria Madalena lacrimante, con una testa di morte in mano, figurina del Naturale di Giuseppe Spagnuolo, con cornice tutte dorate, largo p[al]mi 4 1/3 alto p[al]mi 5 2/3 stimato sc[udi] 50. pag[a]to sc[udi] 30”: Marilyn Aronberg Lavin, Seventeenth-Century Barberini Documents and Inventory of Art (New York: New York University Press, 1975), 86; Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza,” 86. 36 Dated February 3, 1650, the inventory of Savelli’s paintings records only one work by Ribera, his Saint Athanasius (now untraced): “Un S.Attanasio del Spagnoletto cornice simil [nera].” (Laura Testa, “Presenze caravaggesche nella collezione Savelli.” Storia dell’Arte 93 no. 94 (1998), 352; Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza,” 87). 37 An entry dated August 13, 1626 shows that Cobelluzi owned “un quadro de San Pietro che piange dello Spagnuolo.” The painting was purchased for twenty-two scudi. See Fausto Nicolai, “Le collezioni di quadri de Cardinale Scipione Cobelluzi. Cavarozzi, Grammatica e Ribera in un inventario inedito del 1626.” Studi Romani 52 (2006), 453, 457. 38 Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza,” 80–97; Gianni Papi, “Ribera a Roma: dopo Caravaggio, una seconda rivoluzione,” in Caravaggio e l’Europa. Il movimento caravaggesco internazionale da Caravaggio a Mattia Preti (Milan: Skira, 2005), 45–55. 39 Lubomir Konečný “Shades of Leonardo in an Etching by Jusepe de Ribera.” Gazette des beaux-arts 95 (1980), 91–4; Viviana Farina, “Ribera mirando a Leonardo. Nuevas observaciones, una desconocida cabeza de vieja y otra inedita cabeza grotesca.” Ars & Renovatio (2015), 72–92. 40 Lange, “Opera veramente di rara naturalezza,” 80–97. 41 José Milicua, “En el centenario de Ribera. Ribera en Roma (El manuscrito de Mancini).” Archivo español de arte 25 (October–December 1952), 309–22. 42 Spinosa, Obra completa, A23, 315–16. 43 Translation in Finaldi,1992, “Documentary Appendix” 237; Felton, “Ribera’s Early Years in Italy,” 81; original text in Giulio Mancini, Considerazioni sulla pittura, ed. Adrianna Marucchi and Luigi Salerno (Roma : Accademia nazionale dei Lincei,1956–7), I, 249: “Non si può nè deve negare che Giuseppe Ribera, valentiano, communemente detto il Spagnoletto, non habbia havuto una disposition tale da natura che da molt’anni in qua, fra i suggetti comparsi, non si sia vista la maggiore; perchè, ancor giovanetto, / essendosene andato per la Lombardia per veder le cose di quei valent’huomini, capitando in Parma, messe gelosia in quelli che servivan quell’Altezza che, venendo questo sugetto a notitia di quell Principe, lo pigliasse al suo servitio et cosí fusser levati da quella servitù, onde lo necessitorno a partirsene.” 44 Carmen C. Bambach, “A New Ribera Drawing Among Michelangelos.” Apollo 170 (September 2009), 52. 45 Ibid., 52. 46 Ibid., 52. 47 Ibid., 53–4; For Leonardo’s grotesque drawings; see also Carmen C. Bambach, Leonardo da Vinci Master Draftsman (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2003), 416–19, 451–67, 508–11, 640–48, cat. nos. 59, 60, 69–76, 92, 120–123.

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 149 48 Cited in Bambach, Leonardo da Vinci Master Draftsman, cat. no. 69, 452. Translation from Jean Paul Richter, The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci. Compiled and Edited from the Original Manuscripts, 3rd edition (London: Phaidon, 1970), vol. 1, 338–9, no. 572. This passage is derived from the Codex Urbinas Latinus 1270 (Bibloteca Apostolica Vaticana, Rome), fols. 108v-109r. Francesco Melzi assembled the Libro di Pittura based on these notes by Leonardo: the compilation was produced between 1515 and 1570. The transcription of the Italian text reads: “Del modo del tenere in me[n]te la forma d’u[n] volto. Se uolli avere facilità in tenere a me[n]te una. aria d’uno volto. i[m]para a me[n]te una.aria d’uno volto.,i[m]para. prima a me[n]te di molte teste, occhi, nasi, boche, me[n]ti. e gole . . . e colli e spalle: e poniamo caso: j[n] nasi sono di 10 ragioni.,dritto.,gobo, cavo, col rilievo più sù o piu che ‘l mezzo, aqulino, pari., simo.e. ton[d]o e acuto; questi sono boni in qua[n] to al proffilo; In faccia i nasi sono di 11 ragioni: equale, grosso in mezzo, sottil’ in mezzo, la pu[n]ta grossa e sottile nell’appiciatura., sottile nella,pu[n]ta e grosso nell’appicatura., di large narici., di strette, d’alte e basse, di busi scoperti e di busi occupati dalla pu[n]ta, e così troverai diversità nella alter particolare, delle quali.cose tu de’ ritrare di natural e metterle a me[n]te, overo qua[n]do ài a fare uno volto a me[n]te. porta con teco uno piccolo libretto, doue sieno notate simili fationi., e qua[n]do ài dato una ochiata al uolto della persona che uoi ritrare, guarderai poi i[n] parte quale naso o bocca se somiglia e fa ui uno piccolo segnio, per riconoscierle poi a casa. De’ visi monstruosi no[n] parlo perchè sa[n]za fatica sit e[n] gono a me[n]te.” 49 The art theorist Malvasia wrote that artists hoped to emulate “un certo morbido e carnosa Lombardo” (“a certain Lombard softness and fleshiness.” Anne Summerscale, trans. Malvasia’s Life of the Carracci: Commentary and Translation (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000), 85 and no. 10. Cited in Andrea Bayer, Painters of Reality: The Legacy of Leonardo and Caravaggio in Lombardy (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004), 11–12, 20 no, 26. 50 On the challenges of accurately understanding the use of the term colore or colorito, particularly in a Lombard context, see Charles Dempsey, Annibale Carracci and the Beginnings of the Baroque Style (Fiesole: Edizioni Cadmo with Harvard University Press, 2000), 7–16, xvii. 51 Janis C. Bell, “Some Seventeenth-Century Appraisals of Caravaggio’s Coloring.” Artibus et Historiae 14 (1993), 103. 52 Mancini, Considerazioni sulla pittura, I, 249. 53 Enggass and Brown, Italian and Spanish Art 1600–1750: Sources and Documents, 19. 54 Translated by Véliz, Artists’ Techniques in Golden Age Spain, 75. 55 Pacheco, 404: “Lo más importante de las tres partes en que dividimos el colorido es esta postrera, que es el relieve, de que se tratará en este capitulo: digo que es la más importante, porque tal vez se hallará alguna buena pintura que caresca de hermosura y de suavidad, que por tener esta parte de la fuerza y relieve, y parecer redonda como el bulto y como el natural, y engañar a la vista saliéndose del cuadro, se le perdonen las otras dos partes; las cuales no son tanta de obligación como está, Porque muchos valientes pintores pasaron sin la hermosura y suavidad, pero no sin el relieve, como el Basan, Micael Angelo Caravacho y nuestro español Jusepe de Ribera; y aún también podemos poner en este número a Dominico Greco, porque aunque escribimos en algunas partes contra algunas opinions y paradoxas suyas, no lo podemos excluir del número de los grandes pintores, viendo algunas cosas de su mano tan reveladas y tan vivas (en aquella su manera), que igualan a las de los mayores hombres (como se dice en otro lugar); y no solo se ve la verdad de lo que vamos diciendo en estos pocos que hemos puesto por exemplo, pero en otros muchos, que los siguen: que no solo no pintan cosas hermosas, mas antes ponen su principal cuidado en efectar la fieldad y la fiereza.” 56 Michele Cordaro, “Sull’attivita del Ribera giovane a Parma.” Storia dell’arte 38 no. 40 (1980), 323–6. Cordaro was the first to evaluate systematically the sources that attest to Ribera’s sojourn and activity in Parma. For a recent reappraisal of Ribera’s stay in Parma; see Gabriele Finaldi, “ ‘Se è quello che dipinse un S. Martino in Parma. . .’ Más sobre la actividad del joven Ribera en Parma,” in El Joven Ribera, ed. José Milicua and Javier Portús (Madrid: Museo del Prado, 2011) 57 Finaldi, “ ‘Se è quello che dipinse un S. Martino in Parma’ Más sobre la actividad del joven Ribera en Parma,”, 17. 58 Ibid., 18. 59 Ibid., 23–6.

150  Lisandra Estevez 0 Danesi Squarzina, “New Documents on Ribera,” 249. 6 61 Ibid., 250. 62 An extensive literature exists on the culture of rivalry and competition in early modern art history. Rona Goffen’s Renaissance Rivals: Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael, Titian (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002) examines the contentious and acrimonious relationships among these artists and their patrons who were similarly in competition with one another. Art theorists such as Vasari embraced artistic competition as is attested in their writings. See James Clifton, “Vasari on Competition.” Sixteenth-Century Journal 27 (Spring 1996), 23–41. For the context of artistic competition in seventeenth century in Italy and Spain respectively; see Beverly Louise Brown, “The Black Wings of Envy: Competition, Rivalry and the Paragone,” in The Genius of Rome 1592–1623, ed. Beverly Louise Brown (London: Royal Academy of Fine Arts, 2001), 248–73; and Javier Portús, “Envidia y consciencia creativa en el Siglo de Oro.” Anales de Historia de Arte (2008), 135–49. 63 The use of the nickname “Spagnoletto” in association with Ribera began early in his career. It appears in the record of payment to Ribera for his Saint Martin on a Horse (untraced) for the Church of San Prospero in Parma (Cordaro, 1980, 324; Finaldi, 1992b, 232; Lange, 2003, 53, 262; Epifani, 242). The nickname “Spagnoletto” is not exclusive to Ribera. The painter G.M. Crespi is also referred to “Il Spagnoletto.” For the possible misattribution of works by Crespi to Ribera resulting from the misidentification of this moniker, and vice versa, see Lange, 2003, 28–31 and Edward J. Olszewski, The Inventory of Paintings of Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni (1667–1740) (New York: Lang, 2004). In addition, another Spanish painter working in Rome, who was named Girolamo Francolino, was also called Spagnoletto around 1635 [Patrizia Cavazzini, Painting as Business in Early Seventeenth-Century Rome (University Park, PA: Penn State Press, 2018, 16)]. 64 De Dominici, 1742–45 (1979), III, 17–18. 65 “Mi è stato di grandissimo gusto sentire dalla sua lettera, copiosa d’avissi, intorno alli quadri di V.S. . . . e sentire li pareri di quelli pittori che hanno un gusto ecclentissimo, particolarmente quel pittore, Spagnuolo, che tiene dietro alla scoula di Caravaggio. Se è quello che dipinse un S. Martino in Parma che stave col signor Mario Farnese, bisogna star lesto che non diano la colonia al povero Lodovico Carracci: bisogna tenersi in piedi con le stringhe. Lo so bene che non trattano con persona addormentata . . . Il signor Bartolommeo Dolcini salute V.S., e mostrò di avere questo particolare delle parole dello Spagnuolo. Disse: Io vorria poterli mostrare le mie pitture per vedere quello che dicesse Ma bisogna scusare il signor Bartolomeo che è inamorato delle sua cose.” Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix,” 236. 66 Cited in Giovanni Gaetano Bottari, Raccolta di lettere sulla Pittura, Scultura ed Architettura scritte da’più celebri personaggi che in dette arti fioriono dal secolo XV al XVII, vol. 1 (Rome, 1754–55), 211–12; Giovanni Bottari y Stefano Ticozzi, Raccolta di lettere sulla Pittura, Scultura ed Architettura scritte da’più celebri personaggi dei secolo XV, XVI, e XVII (Milan: Giovanni Silvestri,1822–25), 289–91; Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix,” 236; Finaldi, “ ‘Se è quello che dipinse un S. Martino in Parma’ Más sobre la actividad deljoven Ribera en Parma,” in El joven Ribera, ed. José Milicua and Javier Portús (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado, 2011), 27 no. 18: “Mi è stato di grandissimo gusto sentire dalla sua lettera, copiosa d’avvisi intorno alli quadri di V.S., che vi é la furia di giorno e di note, e sentire li pareri di quelli pittori che hanno un gusto eccellentissimo, particolarmente quel pittore, Spagnuolo, che tiene dietro alla scuola di Caravaggio. Se è quello che dipinse un S. Martino in Parma che stava col signor Mario Farnese, bisogna star lesto che non diano la colonia al povero Ludovico Carracci: bisogna tenersi in piedi con le stringhe. Io sono bene che non trattano con persona addormentata.” 67 “Il signor Bartolommeo Dolcini salute V.S., e mostrò di avere questo particolare delle parole dello Spagnuolo. Disse: Io vorria poterli mostrare le mie pitture per vedere quello che dicesse. Ma bisogna scusare il signor Bartolommeo, che è inamorato delle sue cose.” Italian text cited in Finaldi, 2011b, 19. 68 Gabriele Finaldi, “A Documentary Look at the Life and Work of Jusepe de Ribera,” in Jusepe de Ribera 1591–1652, ed. Alfonso E. Pérez Sanchez, and Nicola Spinosa (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), 4. 69 See Nicola Spinosa, cat. 14, 133–4 in El joven Ribera (2011).

Ribera’s Northern Italian Nexus 151 70 For further discussion of the impact of the Carracci on Ribera, see Viviana Farina, Al sole e all’ombra di Ribera: Questioni di pittura e disegno a Napoli nella prima metà del Seicento (Castellammare di Stabia, NA: Nicola Longobardi Editore, 2014), 42–72 and Viviana Farina, “Les Carracci et Naples: échos et assonances chez Ribera, Falcone, et Rosa.” ArtItalies 22 (2016), 38–49. 71 There are at least eight known copies and variations on this theme. See Craig Felton, “Ribera’s Early Years in Italy: ‘The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence’ and the ‘Five Senses.’ ” The Burlington Magazine 133 (Feb. 1991), 71–81. 72 Nicola Spinosa, “Martyrdom of Saint Lawerence,” in Jusepe de Ribera 1591–1652, ed. Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez and Nicola Spinosa (New York: Harry N Abrams, Inc., 1992), cat. no. 1, 58. 73 Viviana Farina, “Giovan Bernardino Azzolino: Il mancato soggiorno genovese e interesse per Ribera.” Prospettiva 93 no. 94 (1999), 158–64. 74 Craig Felton, “Marcantonio Doria and Jusepe de Ribera’s Early Commissions in Naples.” Ricerche sul ‘600 napoletano 10 (1991), 123–8. 75 Gérard Labrot, Peinture et sociéte à Naples. XVIe—XVIIIe siècle. Commandes. Collections. Marchés (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2010), 334. 76 For all individual transactions between Massa and Ribera (which are too many to enumerate herein), see Eduardo Nappi, “Un regesto di documenti editi ed inediti, tratti prevalemente dall’Archivo Storico del Banco di Napoli riguardanti Giuseppe Ribera e una conferma della presenza a Napoli del November 1630 di Velázquez.” Richerche sul’600 napoletano 9 (1990), 177–86. 77 “A Lanfranco Massa D. venticinque et per lui a Gioseppe ribera disse jn conto del prezzo di dui quadric cioè uno di un angelo custode et l’altro di una pieta li ha da fare per servitio del signor marcantonio doria.” ASBN, Banco del Popolo, Giornale di cassa, Matr. 1620, f. 377, Published in Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix,” 237. The Guardian Angel and Pietá were identified in a postmortem inventory of Massa’s belongings of June 13, 1630. 78 “A Lanfranco Massa D. 50 E per lui a Giuseppe de Ribera, dite sono cioè D. 20. E per un quadro dell’Angelo Custode l’ha fatto e consignato per servitio di Marcantonio Doria di Genua e ducati 30 per impronto per doverli restituire fra il termine d’un mese.” ASBN, Banco dello Spirito Santo, Giornale del 1620, Matr. 157, 26 agosto, Published in Finaldi, “Documentary Appendix,” 237. 79 Renato Martinoni, Gian Vincenzo Imperiale, Politico, Letterato e Collezionista Genovese del Seicento (Padua: Editrice Antenore, 1983), 187, 253, 254, 239, 316–17, 234, 316, 232. 80 In the catalogue raisonné of Ribera’s drawings, Gabriele Finaldi aptly observes that: “Ribera thus embodies what seems a perplexing synthesis of opposing positions: he is a pioneer of Caravaggesque painter wed throughout his career to the language of Caravaggism, as well as an academic artist committed to idealising tradition of Renaissance art and the practice of drawing in all its manifestations. He is, to use a paradoxical title employed by Farina, ‘un caravaggista disegnatore.’ ” See Gabriele Finaldi, “Ribera, Master Draughtsman,” in Jusepe de Ribera: The Drawings. Catalogue raisonné, ed. Gabriele Finaldi (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado, 2016), 11–51.

8 Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries Italian Books in the Collections of Velázquez, Carducho and Guerra Coronel Marta Cacho Casal Leonardo da Vinci pictured his ideal painter as an elegant and well-dressed individual, versed in music, having books read aloud to him, above all a practitioner of the liberal arts.1 His observations are extracted from a section of his treatise on painting where he defends the superiority of painting over sculpture. He, together with authors such as Leon Battista Alberti and Vitruvius before him, had constructed an image of a painter that lingered in the western imagination for centuries: the painter-intellectual. Painters that aspired to be ‘gentlemen’, ‘erudite’ (doctos), or ‘perfect’ did so in several ways, and recent comparative scholarship has shed new light on how—similarly to painters—members of other professions in Italian early modern society became upwardly mobile by claiming their ‘eccellenza’, i.e. their individual excellence.2 These individuals channelled excellence through their displays of knowledge and the cultivation of skills that would have made them noticeable to society. This chapter will look at how some artists living in Spain in the Golden Age may have aimed to be ‘excellent’ by associating themselves with books. In particular, I will examine how artists (Italian and Spanish) acquired, read, translated and published Italian books in Spain. I will examine the effects of these literary activities, on the spread of Italian ideas (such as Disegno and Prospettiva), and national identities (Spanish and Italian). This happened in part when Italian publications inspired publications in Spanish, increasing the spread of Italian ideas across Spain. Books are not conspicuous objects and can be difficult to display and flaunt. Unlike collections, books sat on bookshelves or, even worse, in trunks: only kindred spirits likely appreciated books in an artist’s home or workshop. However, books became bearers of a message to both Spanish and Italian artists: they were a sign and/or vehicle of the erudition, knowledge and culture for which they deserved a place in the liberal arts. This, it seems, is the message behind Vicente Carducho’s Self-Portrait, where he is seen painting, writing and possibly reading simultaneously. Carducho started a trend that caught on among other artists in Spain, who enjoyed displaying their multiple talents in portraits; Juan Baptista Simó, for instance, may have been inspired by Carducho’s portrait for the one he made of his teacher Antonio Palomino (private collection). Simó portrayed Palomino at his easel, near his desk and in front of an open book (likely a copy of the third volume of Palomino’s own Museo Pictórico). The sitter is seen adjacent to a well-stocked library.3 In Golden Age Spain, just like in Renaissance Italy, books were traditional markers of education and erudition, and were associated with social standing. Humanist authors such as Juan Lorenzo Palmireno, who wrote for youngsters ‘from the countryside’ (‘estudiosos de la

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 153 aldea’), certainly associated books with knowledge, advising his pupils to ‘be sure to always carry the book in your hand’.4 While many artists in the early modern period could probably barely read, and indeed barely wrote, a number of artists, particularly those active in main cities such as Madrid or Rome, started gathering books (just like any of us today) out of curiosity, need or chance. Many Spanish artists could not travel to Italy for lack of means or other reasons, but books could often travel faster and further. The artists’ inventories we have selected offer a limited spectrum of artists’ responses to books, but it is hoped that the analysis will enhance our knowledge of book acquisition, circulation and consumption among the artistic community in general. While there was not an ‘obligatory’ reading list among artists, some books do seem to appear often in inventories, and some of these were indeed either by Italian authors or translators (this is the case for Dürer, for instance, who—unsurprisingly—seems to have been hardly ever read in his native language in Spain). Italians were braver entrepreneurs, and their resourcefulness was inspirational to Spanish artists who then published (or tried to) themselves. The three painters based in Madrid I have chosen to focus on are an Italian-born and two Spaniards: Vicente Carducho (d. 1638), Diego Velázquez (d. 1661) and Domingo Guerra Coronel (d. 1651), better known for his collection of art, which included the Rokeby Venus. The first half of the seventeenth century, and particularly the decade from 1623 to 1633, saw profound changes on the material, economic and social life of artists in general. There was the ‘pleito de los pintores’ sometimes known as the ‘pleito de Carducho’.5 The pleito, that is a lawsuit, was a dispute started by the Gremio de Pintores y Doradores, that is, the guild of painters and gilders, in Madrid in 1623 against the Royal Treasury (the Real Hacienda). The latter was keen to charge painters the alcabala, that is, the tax that merchants and manufacturers had to pay to the Treasury on every sale they made. Being exempt from this tax, which had not been systematically charged to painters in the past, became a matter of utmost importance to painters of the time, not just for economic reasons. They saw it as a signal that they were regarded as merchants and not members of the liberal arts. In short, the tax made painters poorer and less respectable in the eyes of Golden Age society. While painters of the previous generation, such as El Greco, had already quarrelled about the tax, this time the revolution was mainly led (although not exclusively) by Italian-born or Italianrooted artists. The pleito was a group effort that included Vicente Carducho. It was a lengthy process in which several artists (and friends of artists) took part.6 For our purposes, we shall briefly consider the role that the ‘Italian faction’ had in these matters and how these actions may have affected the general disposition of artists towards Italianate ideas and generally, Italian publications. We should consider the people who introduced Italian artistic ideas at Court: these were mainly but not exclusively, artists. Important steps towards understanding the different Italian identities in Spain have been taken recently by Laura Bass, Jean Andrews and Javier Portús. Bass advances our knowledge of Carducho’s dual identity,7 and Portús has already signalled Carducho’s ambiguous identification with both Italy and Spain.8 While neither Spain nor particularly Italy were unified countries at the time, and Spain dominated a large part of Italy, it is still nevertheless interesting to investigate artists’ perceptions of these countries.9 It has already been suggested that although Vicente Carducho proudly sang the praises of his native Florence, he also did not completely identify himself as Italian, since he had only lived there in his

154  Marta Cacho Casal very early life and in his prologue to the Diálogos de la Pintura he says that because his education took place at the Spanish Court, then ‘justamente me juzgo por natural de Madrid’.10 Indeed most Italian artists who came to Court ended up adopting their hispanized name—notably the Carducho brothers, originally called Carduccio.11 Several artists that came from Italy in order to work at the Spanish Court were from Tuscany, specifically either from Florence or Arezzo. A centralised community of artists, who had learned art from the same or nearby workshops, such as Angelo Nardi, originally from the Mugello, a short distance from Florence, became friends with Vicente Carducho. They were neighbours, with Carducho living in the Calle de Atocha and Nardi in the Calle Magdalena. They fought together against the alcabala and looked after each other’s interests.12 An illuminating document published recently, and loosely dated to 1614, makes a cursory reference to the status of Italian artists at the Court and is signed by three painters of Italian extraction: Fabricio Castelo (born in Genoa but lived in Spain from about the age of five), Eugenio Cajés (born in Madrid to a Tuscan family) and Vicente Carducho.13 In this missive the artists complained to the King about some painters, whose nationality is unknown but were probably Spanish, who had been hired to work in two rooms of the Pardo Palace and who apparently were not, in the Italian artists’ estimation, suited to such a task. An interesting passage reads as follows: ‘We plead before your Majesty, considering this and that we are painters salaried and trained by His Majesty and we are the most eminent men known in our profession; and if we had not been here, you would have sent for [painters] to Italy, as it had been done in the past, with great expense, honouring and bestowing favours to those who came, and many of them may not have comparable qualities to ours’.14 The passage can seem ambiguous in that it comes from Italians, yet the suggestion seems to be that some of the Italians who were called out to come to Spain were not as good as them. Indeed, it appears that Castelo, Cajés and Carducho, along with other Italians at court such as Angelo Nardi, felt part of a special group of Italians, ‘the good ones’, who stayed on. Unlike Federico Zuccaro, these artists settled and made their homes in Spain while maintaining contacts with Italy and with other expatriates. While these Italians in the Spanish court identified with their country of origin, they were more concerned with Spain, as this was their country of residence. Several of these artists lived close to each other, such as, as mentioned above, Carducho and Angelo Nardi, and in general, they often—but not exclusively—gravitated to the south of the Plaza Mayor. The competition for the King’s patronage was obviously central to their complaints, and artists who came from abroad received a mixed welcome from their Spanish peers even later in the century.15 Together, they used their Italian lineage and borrowed Italian discourse in order to elevate their rank and make a better life for themselves and their descendants in Spain.

Patricio Cajés, Antonio Mancelli and Artistic Publishing by Italians in Madrid The Italian network at Court went beyond painters and artists who worked for the King: Italians had, for instance, their own institution, the Iglesia y Hospital de los Italianos in the Carrera de San Jerónimo, which was a spiritual and cultural meeting point for Italians in Madrid for over 300 years from its foundation in 1579.16

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 155 Coincidentally, the hospital had been designed by the Arezzo-born Patricio Cajés (Patrizio Cascesi), the father of the painter Eugenio Cajés.17 Patricio Cajés came to the Escorial by invitation of Luis de Requesens, when he was ambassador to the Holy See for Philip II. He was both employed as a painter and a designer and his painted works could sometimes verge on the mediocre, although this may have been due to his workshop. He was also appointed to do modest jobs; for instance, he was once made to apply plaster in the house of the Count of Miranda in Valladolid so that Bartolomé Carducho could decorate it. Despite this, and perhaps as a way to show his ‘excellence’, Patricio was able to move from painting to architecture, and also showed his entrepreneurial skills by translating and personally overseeing the publication of the first translation of Vignola’s treatise of architecture in Spanish, the Regla de las Cinco órdenes de Arquitectura, Madrid 1593 (Figure 8.1). Other than painting, architecture and writing, Patrizio was also a printmaker, and was responsible for designing and etching the frontispiece to his translation of Vignola.18 He was active in the Italian artistic network of Madrid, also associating himself with Spanish Court artists.19 The Italian original version, the Regola, has been defined by Richard Tuttle as ‘arguably the leading architectural textbook of all time’.20 In Spain, the Italian book was circulated soon after its publication, with artists such as El Greco and of course, the ‘bibliophile’ architect Juan de Herrera owning copies, among others.21 Indeed, Herrera may have himself encouraged Cajés’s translation of Vignola.22 Most of what we know about the publication of the Spanish Reglas may be read in the very short incipit by Cajés. The introduction, one page, is addressed to King Philip II, and it contains the usual name-dropping strategies of the Renaissance incipit genre. After addressing the King and referring to his love of architecture, Cajés explains that he had started translating the text, as a pastime (‘por mi pasatiempo’) soon after he had arrived in Spain in 1567, when the Escorial was being built. He apparently wished to publish the work ‘for the profit of those who in this Kingdom do not understand the [Italian/Toscano] language’. Although his words are deliberately ambiguous, it seems that Cajés was implying that he had done the translation of his own volition, initially without a patron, and with the sole wish to ‘do good’ for Spanish colleagues and for architecture enthusiasts. The publication history of the Spanish Regla is quite complex, as was already the case with the original book by Vignola in Italian.23 The Spanish volume is essentially a collection of circa 45 engravings or láminas and two letterpress pages. There are at least three editions known after 1593, but 1587 is the year when Cajés received permission for publication (known as privilegio in Spanish). There are different addresses of publication on the title page: the editio princeps of 1593 has Patricio Cajés’s own home ‘En Madrid, en casa del Autor en la Calle de la Chruz’. Further editions give the house of Vicente Carducho, and the book was later sold at the house of the Italian cartographer Antonio Mancelli, at least from 1619.24 It seems that at some point, Mancelli had exclusive rights to this title, as some of the copies show the address of Carducho’s home crossed out. Antonio Mancelli was one of those Italians in Spain who stimulated the publishing market. Originally from Modena, he was a cartographer who had moved to Spain in the second decade of the seventeenth century. He made his first engraved map of Valencia in 1608, which he dedicated to the Marqués de Caracena, and a larger and more ambitious one of Madrid followed. Interestingly, his dedication to the Marqués highlighted the fact that he was foreign. There, he says: ‘and I hope that you will trust me, a foreign

Figure 8.1 Patricio Cajés, title-page from the Regla de las cinco órdenes de Arquitectura, 1593, engraving and etching, National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum, London (photo: Victoria and Albert Museum).

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 157 person (persona extranjera), along with her [that is, the map of Valencia] in the future’.25 This extranjero had, like Cajés and Carducho, other occupations on the side: mainly, he was a bookseller. His will gives us the first real clue that printing and selling the book translated by Cajés was a profitable business. In the will, he orders that a debt he had with one Jusep Canela be settled by giving him the plates of the Vignola: ‘and if the aforementioned would want to take the plates that I have of the book by Vignola, which are worth a lot’.26 The practice of using older plates for new issues of a book is, of course, not new. It is interesting though to follow the different owners of the original plates around Madrid in the late sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth century. They were all consistently Italian and had worked at Court.27

Vicente Carducho, Author and Publisher Vicente Carducho’s endeavours as book publisher have, to the best of my knowledge, been virtually unexplored. Most artists/authors in the Golden Age such as Francisco Pacheco, El Greco, Jusepe Martínez, Jusepe Ribera, José García Hidalgo and later Antonio Palomino were more concerned with authoring text than tending to its publication.28 While we know that Pacheco’s painting treatise was only published posthumously in 1649, and that Ribera’s manual was never issued as a complete treatise, some artists were more involved in printing than is usually recognised.29 Carducho’s famous Diálogos (Figure 8.2) were published by the Madridbased Francisco Martínez rather than at Carducho’s home in Calle de Atocha. Yet Carducho’s publishing was consequential in Spain as, as shown above, it is thanks to Carducho that Cajés’s translation of Vignola was further spread to readers in Spain; Carducho’s experience in publishing may also have led him to aspire to publish his own book. Although the content of the Diálogos is completely different from Vignola’s Reglas, the title-page design, for instance, shows some similarities. They both show a ‘Vignolesque’ structure, in Cajés’s case featuring a portal, with two female allegorical figures on each side, holding attributes that represent the art discussed in each book: compasses, rulers and other measuring aids for architecture, and palettes, books and brushes for painting. From this point of view, and considering the involvement of Carducho in Vignola’s translation later on, one can suggest that the Diálogos was almost written as a natural follow-up to Cajés’s book on architecture. Of course, Carducho’s Diálogos is a much longer and more complex book in terms of content than Cajés’s. While Cajés and Vignola focus on praxis, and on applying the new regola to new buildings, Carducho is very preoccupied by theory as well as practical matters. The use of vocabulary is also vastly more confident in Carducho’s book. Cervera has already pointed out that Cajés’s translation is poor, as it often just uses terms that are simply the same Italian word with funny endings.30 He uses, for instance, the Italian term Zoccolo, which Cajés translates in Spanish as Zócolo,31 or gocciolatoio is gocciolatoyo, with a Y. To his credit, Spanish Renaissance architectural vocabulary at the time was still very much emerging, and Cajés says that he had started the translation soon after he had arrived from Italy. Cajés may have used help from the Tuscan network in Spain when revising his translation for publication, perhaps from one of the Carducho brothers, who had better command of the language.

Figure 8.2 Francisco Fernández, title-page from Vicente Carducho, Diálogos de la Pintura, Madrid, 1633 (colophon 1634), Engraving and etching, The Warburg Institute, London (photo by the author).

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 159

Vicente Carducho’s Italian Books Vicente Carducho’s library has attracted a significant amount of attention since María Luisa Caturla’s publication of his extensive post-mortem inventory in 1968.32 Carducho stored in his house-studio 308 titles along with hundreds of artefacts, prints, drawings and painting materials. He also kept 147 unbound copies of his Diálogos and eight bound, perhaps to ensure his book would always be available to interested buyers and readers who would contact him directly. From what we know, distribution of specialised books, such as ones dealing with painting and architecture, was poor outside Madrid. For instance, Antonio Palomino, who was active during the late seventeenth century and the first two decades of the eighteenth, laments in his own book that during his student days in Córdoba he could only access specialised books on the arts in Spanish and that he only started to read the foreign ones once he moved to Madrid.33 This was probably also the case for other smaller cities of Europe: the visual arts were considered of ‘specialised’ interest, as opposed to, for instance, devotional books, and so, naturally, books devoted to these disciplines were harder to come by. Vasari’s Vite was the only book devoted to painting or sculpture that went through more than one edition in Italy in the sixteenth century other than Alberti’s De Pictura.34 However, books on visual arts and foreign books were often present in Spanish artists’ libraries, thanks to a number of factors, one being artists’ networks which meant that artists would often acquire books from other artists either in life (a token of friendship, an exchange, or due to borrowing) or at artists’ public sales of goods. We have evidence of this, for instance, in extant almonedas, where artists would buy art tools, drawings, prints and books from a deceased colleague’s estate. For instance, Alonso Cano had bought from the executors of Vicente Carducho some works on paper, models and a single volume of Vasari’s Vite.35 Another example concerning the Vite: a copy of the book was passed on to El Greco, possibly as a present from Federico Zuccaro. The extant copy was annotated by both artists and by El Greco’s pupil, Luis Tristán.36 Extant inventories of Italian book dealers settled in Spain do not seem to hold any books on the visual arts printed in Italy. This does not necessarily mean that dealers did not acquire them, as they could have easily bought on demand (as one-offs) for specific customers.37 Although the circulation of books was lively, particularly in the capital, copies of the titles that circulated were likely to be few, and popular books were often used and battered by the regular change of owners. This is also reflected by some inventories that specify the condition of some of the books listed. In Carducho’s inventory, for instance, we find an unidentified ‘libro Viejo de perspectiva’ (an old book on perspective), probably missing a title page but valued by the tasador at sixteen reales.38 Carducho had a varied library which was by no means only concerned with the visual arts. Like most private libraries, its contents had been formed through the years, and it is likely that some of the books in it had previously belonged to his elder brother, Bartolomé. The subjects comprised religion, history, literature, art, travel literature, natural philosophy, fiction and more. Much of the books deal with religion, particularly hagiography. Carducho, like many of his contemporaries, was a very devout man, an active member of three religious confraternities in Madrid including being on the governing council of the Third Order of Saint Francis, and it is thus natural that he should have owned books dealing with devotional subjects.39 His interest in books in general would have also been nourished by his brother and the education they had

160  Marta Cacho Casal received in Florence. Young Bartolomé had been trained by Bartolomeo Ammanati, who was involved in Florentine literary circles and was married to the Italian poet Laura Battiferri.40 Ammanati, who was both a sculptor and an architect and had been trained in the school of Baccio Bandinelli, had probably left an important mark on Bartolomé’s education and, indirectly, on Vicencio. Although not a writer himself, Ammanati was a book lover and we can assume that he would have transferred his taste for books to his pupils.41 The Diálogos is, after all, an expanded conversation between a master and a pupil, and it reflects the importance of these relationships in early modern Italy and Spain. Looking at Vicente Carducho’s Italian volumes in his library, it is interesting to note that only about 12% of the books found in his inventory are in Italian.42 As a way of comparison, the library of books that was formed also in Madrid by Domingo Guerra Coronel, whom we will discuss later, had over 17% of books in Italian whereas that of Velázquez included at least 40% of books in Italian. We can gather therefore that Carducho’s library was mostly put together in Spain. The range of titles included does not differ enormously from private libraries of other Spanish professionals of the early modern age.43 As mentioned earlier, both Vitruvius, Alberti and others recommended that artists be knowledgeable in several disciplines. However, there were very few recommendations available to artists on what specifically to read and where to start. It is not until the publication of the valuable book by Giovan Battista Armenini that artists could read—at least in print—a list of what books (but not what editions) to acquire in order to become a ‘pittore eccellente’ (an excellent painter).44 This list of twenty-odd books appears in the last chapter of his famous book, De’ veri precetti della pittura (1587). The book does not feature too much in inventories of artists’ libraries of Golden Age Spain, nor in the holdings of the three selected painters we discuss here. However, Antonio Palomino, Velázquez’s biographer, noted that Velázquez not only had read Armenini, but that he also followed his ‘preceptos’.45 The manual was certainly known by artists/writers such as Palomino and before him by Francisco Pacheco, who quotes it in the two chapters of his Arte de la Pintura (Seville, 1649), that deal with painters perfecting their careers and with drawing.46 The painter from Valencia, Vicente Salvador Gómez who had compiled a cartilla, or book to teach youngsters to draw, knew of Armenini, and he had probably acquired a copy indirectly from Alonso Cano (a pupil of Pacheco and an avid collector of prints, drawings and books) who had left a chest of his books behind in Valencia.47 Another of Pacheco’s pupils, Velázquez, could have known of Armenini via his master in Seville, or generally by word of mouth. Individuals interested in painting, such as the poet Francisco de Quevedo, who was the subject of portraits by both Pacheco and Velázquez, also owned the book by Armenini and took some notes in his copy.48 Although it is interesting to know whether artists in Spain had read and used for guidance the list of books recommended in Armenini’s Precetti, it is more useful for our purposes to know what books Armenini had selected in the first place, since he was a practising painter and his list reflects the range of books artists read in the early modern period.49 Armenini’s reading recommendations are divided into three groups: sacred subjects, profane subjects and books on painting. Sacred subjects included the Bible and the New Testament, lives of saints and female saints, the Golden Legend and St John’s Apocalypse. Profane subjects included authors such as Plutarch, Livy, Valerius Maximus, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Cartari and one work of fiction, the Spanish

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 161 chivalric romance Amadís de Gaula. If we follow Armenini, only four books directly concerning painting (and architecture) were essential to the art of painting; these were by Vitruvius, Alberti, Serlio and Daniele Barbaro. Other painter-theorists of the time gave similar directions, but without providing any specific authors; for instance, Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo in his Tempio (1590) recommended the painter look closely at books on poetry, anatomy and philosophy.50 What is interesting about these authors and the ones that came later, such as Luigi Scaramuccia (1674) and Roger de Piles (1668), is that instead of limiting their recommendations to general branches of knowledge (religion, mathematics, history, etc.), they invite artists, and particularly painters, to find knowledge by themselves consulting books directly. Armenini, for instance, realises that some artists may not have any Latin, so he acknowledges that painters may read them in lingua volgare (vernacular). It seems, then, that by the late sixteenth century the figure of the ‘adviser’, who would help pick subjects and assess iconographical programmes, was in decline, or at least had morphed into something else.51 While consulting learned men and conversing with them was a sign of prestige for artists, it seems that artists showed increased autonomy and social mobility by consulting books and materials such as other works of art and preparing things in their studio, like a scholar would have done. This does not mean that artists did not actively seek advice from learned men, including men of the Church; it just means that books that were previously off-limits because they were written in Latin and Greek, or too expensive, rare and difficult to trace, were now widely available in translation at an affordable price. If we take Armenini’s list of recommended readings as a point of reference and collate it with the holdings in Vicente Carducho’s library, for instance, we can certainly see some connections. Carducho has over thirteen of the books recommended by Armenini. But it also suggests that Armenini’s ideal library cannot be fully considered as a guide. In fact, Armenini’s compilation lacks some of those books that often feature in early modern painters’ inventories: books on geometry (Euclid or Dürer, to cite a classical author and a modern one), anatomy (Vesalius or Valverde), books on modern history, dictionaries and Pliny. We can conclude that Armenini’s ideal library had been compiled hastily and without too much ambition to be taken to the letter. It was included in a larger chapter on how to be an excellent painter, and being well-read was only one of his recommendations. More accurate readings lists were produced only around the eighteenth century, coinciding with the opening of the art academies of the Enlightenment.52

Diego Velázquez The subject of Velázquez’s library has been explored several times from Palomino’s times to the discovery of his post-mortem inventory in 1923.53 As we know, Velázquez lived on royal grounds during the last years of his life (from 1655), in the Casa del Tesoro, and we have no inventory of the house he kept previously in the Calle Concepción Jerónima, which stayed under his ownership.54 It is possible that the famous inventory of Velázquez’s goods, drawn in August 1660, may only reflect Velázquez’s later courtly reading practices. Indeed, even if Velázquez had been employed by the King for most of his adult life and becoming a perfect painter/courtier was the driving force of his career, it is during the last decade of his life that he really gathered the fruits of his efforts.55 The Knighthood of Santiago, which was conferred on him by

162  Marta Cacho Casal the King in 1658, has often been interpreted as a prize that was given to Velázquez for his services to the King, and biographers such as Palomino presented the event in such a way.56 The knighthood would therefore reflect the achievement of nobility, if not by blood (it is well known that Velázquez’s expediente was inconclusive), definitely ‘honoris causa’. The library of late Velázquez can therefore be interpreted as that of an artist intellectual and ‘curator’ instead of that of an average court painter. Antonio Palomino is responsible for spreading, early on, the notion that Velázquez was a nobleman and an erudite painter. In his more widely read book three, on the life of painters, he extols Velázquez’s erudition by citing all the authors that had inspired him. Among the authors listed are Albrecht Dürer, Vesalius, Giovan Battista della Porta, Daniele Barbaro, Euclid, Juan Pérez de Moya, Vitruvius, Vignola, Romano Alberti, Armenini, Michelangelo Biondo, Vasari and Raffaele Borghini. Because of the apparent precision of the list appearing in Velázquez’s life, and because Velázquez’s actual book inventory was less popularised than the book by Palomino, the passage in Velázquez’s biography is sometimes taken to be more faithful to Velázquez’s reading practices than his post-mortem inventory. However, in this passage, Palomino seems rather to be composing an ideal library than detailing the books and authors that Velázquez truly had read. Interestingly, nine out of thirteen of the authors were Italian. Only one (Pérez de Moya) is Spanish. A similar reading list for ‘buenos pintores’ was supplied by Carducho, in a passage towards the beginning of his Diálogos, so Palomino was writing his list following an established ‘genre’ of recommended reading lists for artists, with Armenini leading the way.57 During the last decade of his life, Velázquez (unlike Carducho, who died almost twenty years before) could have turned to what has been defined as ‘the first modern art bibliography’: a list of books on painting compiled by Leonardo da Vinci’s translator and bibliophile, Raphael Trichet Du Fresne and published in the preliminaries to Leonardo’s treatise in 1651.58 The bibliography, which occupies over two pages, also contains books published outside Italy, such as Van Mander’s treatise and lives of painters published in Amsterdam. A general look at Velázquez’s library reveals that its owner had gathered a wellrounded collection of 154 books dealing with most things an early modern gentleman should know about. Following the advice of Castiglione, in the Cortigiano, a book that Velázquez owned in one of its many Italian editions, Velázquez seems to have been ‘mediocremente erudito’ (reasonably erudite).59 Additionally, Velázquez may well have had access to the Royal Library, as he certainly did of the royal art collection, of which he was named ‘Aposentador Mayor de Palacio’ in 1652, a position which came with significant curatorial duties.60 If we compare Velázquez’s with Carducho’s library, the first difference that emerges is that Carducho’s library was the spontaneous result of a lifetime collecting books for several purposes, but generally, to paint and to pray. Velázquez’s library at the Torre del Tesoro seems almost to have been put together in a self-conscious manner, perhaps through trying to be one of those ‘persone eccellenti’ mentioned at the beginning of this essay.61 The biggest difference between the two libraries is that Velázquez hardly had any devotional books or books on religious subjects. This almost conspicuous absence may be explained by the fact that he may have kept them elsewhere in the house where they were not inventoried or, as we have mentioned earlier, they may have stayed in Velázquez’s old house. It is possible, therefore, that Velázquez made a selection of his books to be taken to the Torre, the ones he found more useful or wanted to read further. It is also likely he had some for sentimental value; perhaps his copy of his master’s

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 163 Arte de la Pintura was among those. It is also important to remember that Velázquez’s home was not the only space where he spent time. Indeed, he would have spent most of his day serving the King, either at the Alcázar or elsewhere, or painting at the ‘Obrador de los pintores de Cámara’ (the studio of Court artists) which, interestingly, was close to Philip IV’s library or reading room, since documents quote a ‘room that was used as library of His Majesty’.63 The King’s Library is known to have contained over 2,000 books as of 1637, when a catalogue was drawn up.64 Philip IV had only 38 books dealing specifically with the arts, but there, Velázquez could have consulted any of the books and prints which he did not own personally.65 The room mentioned in the documents dealing with Velázquez may be the ‘Retiradizo’, the King’s smaller reading room, which contained only two bookshelves with 126 books of unknown subject matter.66 Both the reading room and Velázquez’s home overlooked the Jardín de la Priora. An idea of what the obrador looked like is conveyed in Velázquez’s son-in-law’s painting of his own family (Figure 8.3), where Mazo (previously identified with Velázquez) is seen, to far right, painting a picture of the Infanta Margarita.67 Books could otherwise be sourced in many other ways at the Palace, and in Madrid in general, where booksellers, friends and colleagues were always at hand. Not least there was Francisco de Rioja, poet, scholar and librarian to Philip IV. Rioja was a 62

Figure 8.3 Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo, The Family of the Painter, 1664–1665, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (photo: Kunsthistorisches Museum).

164  Marta Cacho Casal good friend both of Velázquez’s father-in-law Pacheco and of Velázquez himself from his early years: we know, for instance, that he attended Velázquez’s wedding.68 If we focus specifically on Italian books, they can be divided chronologically into two groups: those that he may have acquired on his first trip to Italy (1629–1631), and those that he may have acquired on the second trip (1648–1651).69 While there was no need to source Italian books directly from Italy, it is plausible that Velázquez brought some back with him. He seems not to have acquired any Italian books published after 1651. A topic with which he engaged throughout his career is perspective and architecture. The Meninas, for instance, shows Velázquez’s interest in linear perspective which he may have acquired partly by looking at books he owned on the subject such as Alberti’s De Pictura (which he may have owned) and Dürer’s book on geometry which he owned, or Euclid’s on perspective (no. 49), or Daniele Barbaro’s La pratica della perspettiva (no. 50).70 Mario Boschini wrote in his 1660 Carta del navegar pitoresco that Velázquez favoured Renaissance Venetian painting over the Roman school (particularly Raphael, who he apparently said ‘he did not like at all’).71 Venice was also the leading source for books on architecture which he owned, sometimes in more than one edition, such as Serlio, Scamozzi, Pietro Cattaneo’s Vitruvius and many more. Velázquez’s double trip to Italy and his search for antique statues for the King must have rekindled his interest in antiquities, which he would have originally developed in Seville during his early training with Pacheco. It is significant that he had so few prints and drawings in his later life: the inventory only lists one ‘Libro de dibujos y estampas grandes’ (no. 144), which was kept in his book collection, and a similar folder of mixed prints and drawings which he kept in the same room.72 In this, he differed from his colleagues Carducho and Guerra Coronel, both of whom possessed an ample collection of both prints and drawings, which they kept gathered in folders according to subjects and/or authors. While it is not clear from the inventory where these works on paper were kept, Carducho remarks in Dialogue number 8 of his Diálogos that painting should be made in the ‘obrador’, i.e. work room, whereas there should be a second space specifically to draw and study, the ‘estudio’, that is, study.73 Carducho must have had a considerable amount of space at his disposition in the Calle de Atocha in Madrid, where he would share his ‘obrador’ with several pupils. Of course, this was not always the case for Golden Age artists. Velázquez did, however, own several illustrated books on Roman antiquities and Italian monuments, such as the classic book on Roman religion and military life, the Discorso della religione antica de Romani by Guillaume Du Choul (no. 40). This was common among artists of the time, as it contained several prints reproducing scenes from Trajan’s column, but also littleknown monuments and coins.74 More difficult to trace, and certainly more expensive, would have been Antonio Bosio’s Roma Sotterranea (no. 19). The volume contained fascinating illustrations of the discoveries of the Roman catacombs, which would have probably been difficult to find in Spain. The trip to Rome made Velázquez very much aware of the art academies. He became a member of the Academy of St Luke, and his library reflects his interest in the nobility of the art of painting, such as Federico Zuccaro’s L’Idea de’ Pittori, de’ Scultori e degli architetti (no. 30) and Benedetto Varchi’s Due Lezioni (no. 92), which would have widened his knowledge of the subject of the paragone. He also had the three volumes of Vasari’s Vite (no. 100). An instance of Velázquez’s use of the Vite can be traced to around 1654. It seems that Velázquez and/or the fellow-court artist Angelo Nardi declined the acquisition—on behalf of the

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 165 Spanish royal collection—of Correggio’s School of Love now at the National Gallery, London, on the basis that the picture was probably not an original, since it had not been included in the Vite.75 It is difficult to trace the effect that some of Velázquez’s readings may have had on his iconographical repertoire. However, some of his choices can be pinned down to readings of Italian books. For instance, it is well known that Velázquez knew Ovid’s Metamorphosis via Dolce’s edition (no. 133), and that one of the prints accompanying the text must have inspired his painting Las Hilanderas from c. 1657.76 He may also have been inspired by Cesare Ripa’s Pazzia woodcut (Figure 8.4) when he painted his picture of the fool Calabacillas (pl. 6), who holds a small windmill in his hand, just like in Ripa’s personification.77 However, Velázquez’s choices were never taken literally from a source, and his originality lies in how he manipulated information and images when he composed narrative pictures. Velázquez was also interested in cultivating the etiquette of courtly life, and, together with the aforementioned Cortigiano (no.77) he had a book on horse-riding (no. 83), which would have been useful both for practising on a horse as well as making equestrian portraits. He also owned a book by Petrarch and a copy of Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso. Unfortunately, we do not have any evidence of Velázquez’s reading practices, but it seems that Palomino was right when placing Velázquez ‘practicing’ amongst books. We know too little of Velázquez’s relationship with Rubens during the latter’s visit to the Court in 1628–1629. While it is possible that they shared the studio during his visit, and we know that they visited El Escorial together, it is tempting to think that they became friends. We do not know whether Rubens entertained Velázquez by reading aloud some passages from his favourite books, including Tacitus, just like we are told he did back at home, but the possibility of their sharing books would certainly open new avenues of exploration.78

Domingo Guerra Coronel Little is known about the painter Guerra Coronel except that he owned, at some point, the Rockeby Venus by Velázquez.79 He was based in Madrid and the art collection he left after his death was conspicuous, with works by Velázquez and El Greco. Little has also been said about his interesting collection of books, some of them Italian. Artists based at Court knew of Guerra Coronel’s collection, since many flocked to buy what they could at his estate sale in 1651. Indeed, while the small collection of books he owned is interesting in itself, it is the network of artists, loaning, swapping and buying that makes Guerra Coronel’s inventory and estate sale all the more compelling. The news of the sale may have been spread further by the artists who praised the collection, Juan Martínez del Mazo, Angelo Nardi and Bernabé de Contreras. Mazo, Velázquez’s son-in-law, was used to valuing goods, and he would return to this task again, not least for the sale of Velázquez’s estate. Angelo Nardi, as we know, Italian by birth, was also often called in for this kind of task. It is therefore possible that they spread the news of what would be in his almoneda, since Alonso Cano, Antonio Pereda and Juan Carreño turned up for the sale. Domingo de Ulloa, a lesser-known painter to whom Guerra Coronel owed money, took several things from the sale, four of them books or sheets from books, but none were Italian (if we count Carducho as a Spaniard): a Diálogos de la Pintura by Carducho, twelve sheets

Figure 8.4 Anon., Personification of Pazzia, from Cesare Ripa, Iconologia, woodcut, Padua, 1624–1625, The Warburg Institute, London (photo by the author).

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 167 from Vesalius, and a small book and an Algebra by Pedro Núñez.80 The painter Pedro de Obregón bought the Italian translation of Dürer’s book on geometry (the same edition is in Velázquez’s and probably in Carducho’s inventory), and paid the considerable sum of 40 reales for it.81 Sebastián Herrera Barnuevo bought a second copy of Dürer’s book on geometry, presumably again in Italian, for 44 reales.82 Antonio de Pereda, famous for his still lives and images of St Jerome, acquired six small books for twelve reales.83 Of his 57 volumes, Guerra Coronel had around ten that were either in Italian, or by Italian authors. Like in Carducho’s and Velázquez’s inventories, architecture was well represented among his books, with the usual Serlio, Vignola and Vitruvius (this one, Giovanni Antonio Rusconi’s edition). Another interesting volume on perspective was Lorenzo Sirigatti’s La pratica di prospettiva (Venice 1596 and 1625), which had beautiful and unusual engravings consisting of projections of objects and buildings, including musical instruments. Guerra Coronel also owned two editions of Ovid’s Metamorphosis, one probably the Dolce edition, and Alciato’s Emblems. As with the two previous libraries discussed, Guerra Coronel had Vasari’s Vite and like Carducho, he had an interesting print collection, which he arranged by schools. While Guerra Coronel’s library was not impressive, and not particularly italo-centric, it was symptomatic of Spanish artists’ book collections of the time, and provides a point of reference/comparison for the other libraries we discuss here.

Conclusions A new feeling of confidence prevailed among artists in Madrid from the late sixteenth century. Some of it was expressed through book ownership and book publishing. While many of the books that circulated among contemporaries were not in Italian or by Italians, we can say that some that were certainly contributed to important changes in the way Spanish painters acquired knowledge and, ultimately, in the way they identified themselves in society. The Spanish court provided an ideal backdrop for cultural exchange, and while Italians were not always held in the highest regard, some of their ideas were particularly resonant to the Spanish artistic community. As to advancement in their social status, some artists did try to emulate gentlemen, a good case being Pompeo Leoni, who was not only interested in the content of his library, but also very much in its presentation and display, caring also for his bindings.84 However, Leoni poses an ‘extreme case’, and most Golden Age artists did not have his social awareness, nor indeed the means and contacts that Leoni had. Velázquez is another interesting case. While the quality and size of his collection is lesser than Leoni’s, it seems to have been built along the lines of a nobleman’s library, in terms of content, at least. It can be compared, for instance, to that of Ruy Gómez de Silva, third Duke of Pastrana (d. 1626) who had also travelled to Italy and had a small collection of paintings.85 The Duke of Pastrana had only 94 books at the time of his death. Although he only owned one book concerned with the visual arts (a Serlio), like Velázquez, he owned books by Ovid, books on Roman antiquities (Du Choul), books on contemporary history, an Orlando Furioso by Ariosto and books on astronomy (Gallucci). While Velázquez’s primary concern was the visual arts, and indeed his library can be labelled as the private library of a ‘professional’, he was nevertheless collecting like a nobleman: diversifying his interests and deepening his knowledge of various subjects. The role of Italy in both Pastrana’s and Velázquez’s libraries is very

168  Marta Cacho Casal significant; thanks to their libraries they could both revisit their experiences of Italy via the pages of their treasured books.

Notes 1 ‘The painter sits before his work at the greatest of ease, well-dressed and applying delicate colours with his light brush, and he may dress himself in whatever clothes he pleases. His residence is clean and adorned with delightful pictures, and he often enjoys the accompaniment of music or the company of the authors of various fine works that can be heard with great pleasure without the crashing of hammers and other confused noises’; Leonardo da Vinci, Leonardo On Painting, trans. and ed. Martin Kemp and Margaret Walker (London: Yale University Press, 2001), 39. 2 Renata Ago, Tanti modi per promuoversi, Artisti, letterati, scienziati nella Roma del Seicento (Rome: Enbach, 2014), 4–6. Ago defines them as: ‘artisti, letterati, studiosi, medici, giuristi, scienziati e altri membri delle professioni liberali, tutti provenienti dagli strati non aristocratici della società e tutti variamente di successo, e il loro obiettivo è far sì che quella che ritengono la propria «eccellenza»—che è il risultato di dottrina e di ingegno ed è quindi un carattere eminentemente individuale, legato alla persona e non ad altro—venga socialmente riconosciuta’, 4. 3 Susan Waldmann, El artista y su retrato en la España del siglo XVII: una aportación al estudio de la pintura retratista española (Madrid: Alianza, 2007), 143–59. 4 Juan Lorenzo Palmireno, El estudioso de la Aldea (Valencia: En casa Ioan May, 1568), 22–3; Richard Kagan and Fernando Marías, “El Pictor doctus en la Europa moderna y El Greco como pintor filósofo,” in La biblioteca del Greco, ed. Javier Docampo and José Riello (exhib. Cat., Madrid: Museo del Prado, 2014), 15–39; see 21. On the subject of artists’ libraries see Jan Białostocki, “The Doctus Artifex and the Library of the Artist in the XVIth and XVIIth Centuries,” in The Message of Images. Studies in the History of Art (Viena: IRSA, 1998), 150–65 and more recently, Heiko Damm, The Artist as Reader. On Education and Non-education of Early Modern Artists, ed. Michael Thimann and Claus Zittel (Leiden: Brill, 2013). 5 There is an extensive bibliography on this matter; see, for instance, Julián Gállego, El pintor de artesano a artista (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1976), Juan José Martín González, El artista en la sociedad española del siglo XVII (Madrid: Cátedra, 1993), 77–84 and 209– 14 and more recently: Andrés Úbeda de los Cobos, “Consideración social del pintor y academicista artístico en Madrid en el siglo XVII,” Archivo Español de Arte 62 (1989), 61–74 and Juan Antonio Díez-Monsalve Giménez with Susana Fernández de Miguel, “Documentos inéditos sobre el famoso pleito de los pintores: el largo camino recorrido por los artistas del siglo XVII para el reconocimiento de su arte como liberal,” Archivo Español de Arte 83 (2010), 149–58. 6 Díez-Monsalve Giménez and Fernández de Miguel, “Documentos inéditos sobre el famoso pleito de los pintores: el largo camino recorrido por los artistas del siglo XVII para el reconocimiento de su arte como liberal,” 150. 7 Laura R. Bass and Jean Andrews, “ ‘Me juzgo por natural de Madrid’: Vincencio Carducho, Theorist and Painter of Spain’s Court Capital.” Bulletin of Spanish Studies 93 (2016), 7–8, 1301–37; see 1307–19. 8 Javier Portús, El concepto de pintura española. Historia de un problema (Madrid: Editorial Verbum, 2012), 32–5. 9 On the usefulness of assessing identities in these countries during the early modern period, see the Conclusion of Piers Baker-Bates and Miles Pattenden, eds., The Spanish Presence in Sixteenth-Century Italy (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015), 231. 10 ‘I judge myself a native of Madrid’; see Rebecca J. Long, “Italian Training at the Spanish Court,” in On Art and Painting, Vicente Carducho and Baroque Spain, ed. Jean Andrews, Jeremy Roe, and Oliver Noble Wood (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2016), 223–39, 223. 11 The practice of adapting their names to the place where they were active was common practice among Italian artists of the early modern period; see, for instance, the case of Italian artists in France: Flaminia Bardati, “Napoli in Francia? L’arco di Alfonso e i portali

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 169 monumentali del primo Rinascimento francese,” I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 11 (2007), 115–45; see 127–8 and Flaminia Bardati and Tommaso Mozzati, “Jérôme Pacherot et Antoine Juste: artistes italiens à la cour de France,” Studiolo 9 (2012), 208–54. I thank Tommaso Mozzati for these references. 12 Díez-Monsalve Giménez and Fernández de Miguel, “Documentos inéditos sobre el famoso pleito de los pintores: el largo camino recorrido por los artistas del siglo XVII para el reconocimiento de su arte como liberal,” 156. 13 Magdalena Lapuerta Montoya, Los pintores de la corte de Felipe III: La casa Real de El Pardo (Madrid: Fundación Cajamadrid, 2002), Document no. 62, 502. 14 ‘Suplicamos a vuestra Magestad, considerando esto y a que somos pintores asalariados por vuestra Majestad y hechura de vuestra Magestad y hombres más eminentes que se conocen en nuestra facultad; y que a no estar aquí, se hubiera ynviado a Ytalia, como otras veces se ha hecho, con grandísima costa, honrrando y haciendo merced a los que an venido, que muchos dellos no an tenido las partes que en nosotros se allan’, Lapuerta Montoya, Los pintores, 502. 15 See, for instance, the reaction of Spanish courtly artists to Agostino Mitelli and Michele Colonna; David García Cueto, La estancia española de los pintores boloñeses Agostino Mitelli y Angelo Michele Colonna, 1658–1662 (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2005), 274–83. 16 Manuel Rivero Rodríguez, “El hospital de los italianos de Madrid y el Consejo de Italia en el reinado de Felipe IV: consejos territoriales y representación de los reinos,” in Actas de la XI reunión científica de la Fundación Española de Historia Moderna, 1 (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2012), 1142–52; see 1142, with bibliography. 17 Gloria Solache Vilela, “La actividad arquitectónica de Patricio Cajés y la obra del Hospital de los Italianos de Madrid.” Madrid: Revista de arte, geografía e historia 3 (2000), 413–32. On Patricio see Lapuerta Montoya, Los pintores de la Corte, 71–128, on Eugenio see 303–14. 18 The frontispiece states: ‘Patricius Caxiesi fe[cit]. et [s]cul[p]sit/ A.D. 1593’). Patricio Cajés’ post-mortem inventory reveals that he had other printing projects at hand in addition to the Reglas; he had nineteen large copper plates, all of them blank except one which had four nudes, he also had four smaller copper plates and twelve more, of which five were title pages. He also had several reams of paper and tools. For a transcription of Patricio Cajés’s inventory see Trinidad de Antonio Sáenz, Pintura española del último tercio del siglo XVI en Madrid: Juan Fernández de Navarrete, Luis de Carvajal y Diego de Urbina, unpublished thesis, Universidad Complutense de Madrid, 1987, III, 1101–9; see specifically 1105 and 1106. 19 Iacome de Vignola, Regla de las Cinco órdenes de Arquitectura (Madrid, 1593), prelims. 20 Tuttle, On Vignola, 200. 21 Javier Navarro de Zuvillaga, “El tratado de Perspectiva de Vignola en España.” Academia: Boletín de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando 86 (1998), 193–229; see 204–5. See also Alfonso Rodríguez Guitiérrez de Ceballos, “La regla de J. Barozzi de Vignola y su difusión en España,” in Regla de las cinco órdenes de architectura, ed. Jácome Vignola (Valencia: Albatros, 1985). A very interesting copy of Vignola, previously owned by a workshop from the circle of Martínez Montañés and with pasted drawings on its sheets; see Benito Navarrete Prieto, “El Vignola del Colegio de Arquitectos de Valencia y sus retablos de traza sevillana: Juan Martínez Montañés.” Archivo español de arte 78 no. 311 (2005), 235–44. 22 “Aviéndome mucho animado a ello la aprobación de Juan de Herrera”; Vignola, Regla, prelims. 23 Richard J. Tuttle, “On Vignola’s Rule of the five orders of Architecture,” in Paper Palaces, The Rise of the Renaissance Architectural Treatise, ed. Vaughan Hart and Peter Hicks (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997), 198–218. 24 Editions are discussed in DICTER. Diccionario de la ciencia y de la técnica del Renacimiento. Mª Jesús Mancho Duque (dir.), Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca. [checked on 4 December 2016] 25 “y quieras que yo, persona extranjera, sea confiado en un futuro a ti juntamente con ella,” from Antonio Mancelli, Nobilis ac regia Civita[s] Valentie in Hispania, 1608. 26 “y si el susodicho quisiera tomar las láminas que tengo del libro de Viñuelas, que vale mucha cantidad,” in José Miguel Muñoz de la Nava Chacón, “Antonio Mancelli: corógrafo, iluminador, pintor y mercader de libros en el Madrid de Cervantes (I and II).” Torre

170  Marta Cacho Casal de los Lujanes: Boletín de la Real Sociedad Económica Matritense de Amigos del País 57 (2005), 45–84 and 58 (2006), 165–220, 61. 27 After Cajés’s death in 1611, the plates were acquired by the painter Vincente Carducho. In Cajés’s inventory, the plates are described as ‘44 láminas de cobre cortadas en ella toda la arquitectura de Viñola’ (44 copper plates engraved with the Architectura by Vignola’); Lapuerta Montoya, Los pintores, 535. 28 On some of these authors and their publications, see Bibliotheca Artis, Tesoros de la Biblioteca del Museo de Prado (exhib, cat.), ed. Javier Docampo (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado, 2010). 29 For instance, we know that Francisco Pacheco was more involved in publishing the work of the poet Fernando de Herrera than was previously thought; see Juan Montero and Marta Cacho Casal, “Francisco Pacheco editor de obras de Fernando de Herrera: análisis de un documento inédito.” Bulletin of Spanish Studies: Hispanic Studies and Researches on Spain, Portugal and Latin America 91 (2014), 491–504. 30 Guillermo Herráez Cubino, “Características léxicas de la traducción de las Regla de las Cinco órdenes de Arquitectura de Jácome de Vignola de Patricio Cajés (1593),” in La comparación en los lenguajes de especialidad, ed. Eva Martha Eckkrammer (Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2009), 79–87. 31 Ibid., 85. 32 María Luisa Caturla, “Documentos en torno a Vicencio Carducho,” Arte Español 26 (1968–1969), 145–221. See also the introduction to the Diálogos by Francisco Calvo Serraller ed), Diálogos de la Pintura (Madrid: Turner, 1979), xx–xxv; Martín González, El artista en la sociedad española, 226 and Ramón Soler i Fabregat, El libro de arte en España durante la edad moderna (Gijón: Ediciones Trea, 2000), passim. More recently and concerned with Carducho’s religious books; see Marta Bustillo, “Carducho and Ideas about Religious Art,” in On Art and Painting, Vicente Carducho and Baroque Spain, ed. Jean Andrews, Jeremy Roe and Oliver Noble Wood, 163–81; see 166–72. 33 Soler i Fabregat, El Libro de Arte, 75. On the circulation of books in the Early Modern period, see Pedro Rueda, ed., El libro en circulación en el mundo moderno en España y Latinoamérica (Madrid: Calembur Editorial, 2012) and Specialist Markets in the Early Modern Book World ed. Richard Kirwan and Sophie Mullins (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015). 34 Charles Hope, “The Audiences for Publications on the Visual Arts in Renaissance Italy,” in Officine del nuovo: Sodalizi fra letterati, artisti, ed editori nella cultura italiana tra riforma e controriforma, ed. Harald Hendrix and Paolo Procaccioli (Rome: Vecchiarelli, 2008), 19–29. 35 Caturla, “Documentos en torno a Vicencio Carducho,” 215. See also David García López, “Lectores de Vasari en la España de la Edad Moderna en busca de un modelo para las vidas de artistas españoles.” Goya 342 (2013), 18–43; see 19–20. 36 Latest bibliography on this copy of Vasari in Riello, La biblioteca del Greco, cat no. 9, 130–5. 37 Pedro Rueda, “El mercader de libros veneciano Simone Vassalini en la Corte española: el Index librorum (Madrid, 1597) y la venta por catálogo,” in Villes et États d’Espagne et d’Italie aux XVe et XVIe siècles: échanges et interactions politiques, militaires et économiques, ed. Cécile Terreaux and Alice Carette (Rome, 2017), 101–24. 38 Caturla, “Documentos en torno a Vicencio Carducho,” 191. 39 Bustillo, “Carducho and ideas about Religious Art,” 164. 40 Long, “Italian Training at the Spanish Court,” 233. 41 Victoria Kirkham, “Creative Partners: The Marriage of Laura Battiferra and Bartolomeo Ammannati.” Renaissance Quarterly 55 (2002), 498–558; see 527 and 553. Unfortunately, Kirkham does not transcribe the full list of purchases in the Appendix. 42 This calculation and the following ones are only approximate, since the sources used are not always exact about the language in which the books are written. 43 Trevor J. Dadson, Libros, Lectores y lecturas, estudios sobre bibliotecas particulares españolas del Siglo de Oro (Madrid: Arco Libros, 1998); see 176–236. 44 Białostocki, The Doctus Artifex, 151 and 160. 45 Antonio Palomino, Vidas, ed. Nina Ayala Mallory (Madrid: Alianza, 1986), 157. 46 Francisco Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura, ed. Bonaventura Bassegoda i Hugas (Madrid: Cátedra, 1990), 266, 273–5 and 341–2.

Courtiers, Fables and Dictionaries 171 47 Benito Navarrete Prieto, “Sobre Vicente Salvador Gómez y Alonso Cano: nuevos documentos y fuentes formales.” Ars longa: cuadernos de arte 6 (1995), 135–40; see 137–8. For Salvador Gómez library see Víctor Marco García, El pintor Vicente Salvador Gómez (Valencia 1637–1678) (Valencia: Institució Alfons el Magnànim, Diputació de València, 2006), 87–91; see also Salvador Salort Pons, María José López Azorín y Benito Navarrete Prieto, “Vicente Salvador Gómez, Alonso Cano y la pintura valenciana de la segunda mitad del siglo XVII.” Archivo Español de Arte 296 (2001), 393–424. 48 See lately Rodrigo G. Cacho Casal, La esfera del ingeno, Las Silvas de Quevedo y la tradición europea (Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva, 2012), 90 and Adrián J. Sáez, “Quevedo y Armenini: lecturas pictóricas de un poeta.” Janus: Estudios sobre el Siglo de Oro (2015), 41–24. 49 Kagan and Marías, Pictor Doctus, 25–6. 50 Lomazzo and the following named authors are quoted in Bialostocki, The Doctus Artifex, 160–1. 51 Charles Hope, “Artists, Patrons, and Advisers in the Italian Renaissance,” in Patronage in the Renaissance, ed. Lytle Guy Fitch and Stephen Orgel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), 293–343. 52 Even in the library of the French academy of art, found in 1648, the early inventory of books were not picked with the idea of constructing a comprehensive repository of books on art, but rather books were acquired by chance, mainly through donations. See Eugène Müntz, “La Bibliothèque de l’ancienne Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture (1648– 1793).” Mémoires de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France 24 (1897), 33–50. 53 Francisco Rodríguez Marín, Francisco Pacheco, maestro de Velázquez (Madrid, 1923), 54–7; Francisco Javier Sánchez Cantón, “Cómo vivía Velázquez: Inventario descubierto por D. F. Rodríguez Marín.” Archivo español de arte 15 no. 50 (1942), 69–91; Martín González, El artista en la sociedad, 226; Ruiz Pérez, De la pintura y las letras; Ángel Aterido Fernández, “La cultura de Velázquez: lectura, saber y red social,” ed. Javier Portús, exh. cat. (Madrid: Museo del Prado, 2007), 72–93 and more broadly, Soler i Fabregat, El Libro de Arte, passim. The inventory of Velázquez’s goods has also been published with photographs of the document and full transcription by Beatriz Mariño in, ed., Carlos Batzán Lacasa, 25 Documentos de Velázquez en el archivo histórico de protocolos de Madrid (1626–1661) (Madrid, 1999), 22–85; Lisandra Estevez, “Velázquez as Reader and the Pictor Doctus in Early Modern Spanish Art.” Renaissance Papers (2016), 15–30. 54 Agustín Bustamante García, “Dónde vivía Velázquez.” Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología 51 (1985), 482–3; Sánchez Cantón, “Cómo vivía Velázquez”. See also Aterido Fernández, “La cultura de Velázquez,” 90. 55 For a fascinating overview of Velázquez’s life through documents of the decade 1640–1650, see: Ángel Aterido Fernández, “La ‘trastienda’ del genio, Velázquez y su familia en la década de 1640.” Archivo español de arte 71 (1998), 289–98. 56 Palomino, Vidas, 191–2. Palomino drew information about this from MS sources such as Lázaro Díaz del Valle; see for instance, Karin Hellwig, La literatura artística española del siglo XVII (Madrid: Visor, 1999), 108–19 y José Riello, “Lázaro Díaz del Valle y de la Puerta. Datos documentales para su biografía.” De arte: revista de historia del arte 3 (2004), 105–32. 57 The key to succeed was to, “Dibujar, especular y más dibujar,” that is to draw, meditate or reason, and draw some more but he also recommends reading on Anatomy: Vesalius, Valverde, Prospero [Antichi] Bresciano, Romulo Cincinnato; Geometry (Simetria): Dürer, Alberti, Lomazzo, Pomponio Gaurico, Michelangelo [in MS], Leonardo [in MS]; Phisiognomy: Giovanni Paolo Gallucci, Giovan Battista della Porta, Leonardo, Lomazzo; Perspective: Guidobaldo dal Monte, Vignola, Alberti, Lorenzo Sirigatti, Serlio, Euclid; See Carducho, Diálogos, 25–34. 58 Kate Steinitz, “Early Art Bibliographies. Who Compiled the First Art Bibliography?” The Burlington Magazine 114, no. 837 (1972), 829–37. 59 Book I, XLIV; see Baldassarre Castiglione, Il Libro del Cortegiano: 1. La prima edizione, ed. Amedeo Quondam (Rome: Bulzoni Editore, 2016), 100. 60 Jonathan Brown, Velázquez Painter and Courtier (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1986). 61 Ago, Tanti modi per promuoversi, 4. 62 “Libro de la pintura y su antigüedad”; Sánchez Cantón, “Cómo vivía Velázquez”, no. 43 in the inventory.

172  Marta Cacho Casal 3 Sánchez Cantón, “Como vivía Velázquez,” v. 6 64 Fernando Bouza, El Libro y el cetro, La Biblioteca de Felipe IV en la Torre Alta del Alcázar de Madrid (Salamanca: Instituto de historia del libro y de la lectura, 2005). 65 Ibid., 108–9 and 335–40. 66 Ibid., 51–2 and Sánchez Cantón, “Como vivía Velázquez,” 8. 67 Javier Portús, ed., Velázquez y la familia de Felipe IV (exhib. Cat.) (Madrid: Museo del Prado, 2013), no. 23, 140–42; Raquel Novero Plaza, “La familia de Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo, yerno de Velázquez. Consideraciones sobre los personajes del cuadro La familia del pintor.” Boletín del Seminario de Arte y Arqueología LXXII–LXXIII (2006–07), 177–91. 68 Ángel Aterido Fernández, ed., Corpus Velazqueño, I (Madrid: Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte, Dirección General de Bellas Artes y Bienes Culturales, 2000), 31. On Rioja and Pacheco see Bonaventura Bassegoda, Arte de la Pintura, 27–8. 69 Soler i Fabregat, El libro de arte, 69–70. 70 The inventory lists two books by Alberti, one his treatise on architecture (item fifteen in book inventory), which he owned in Italian and the other which has no specific title (96); we can only speculate that it was the treatise on painting. The book on geometry by Dürer (11) was probably the widely circulated Della Simmetria dei corpi humani, which had been translated by Giovanni Paolo Gallucci in Venice in 1591 (re-issued 1594). Velázquez’s master, Francisco Pacheco, owned this edition; see: Marta Cacho Casal, Francisco Pacheco y su Libro de retratos (Madrid: Fundación Focus-Abengoa, 2011), 93–4. For the inventory entries see Sánchez Cantón, “Como vivía Velázquez”, 11–14. For an anthology of the use of perspective and space-making in the Meninas see Fernando Marías, ed., Otras Meninas (Madrid: Ediciones Siruela, 1995). 71 Mario Boschini, Carta del navegar pitoresco (Venice 1660), 58. See also 56 and 57. Due to the late date of publication Velázquez did not own a Boschini. 72 Sánchez Cantón, “Como vivía Velázquez”, 14 and 15. 73 Carducho, Diálogos de la pintura, 385. 74 Marta Cacho Casal, “How to Paint a Roman Soldier: Early Modern Artists’ Readings of Guillaume du Choul’s Discours (1554–1556).” History of European Ideas 42 no. 5, 665– 82; see specifically 16–18. 75 Enriqueta Harris, “Velázquez as Connoisseur.” The Burlington Magazine 124, no. 952, (1982), 436 + 438–40; see 436; Maddalena Spagnolo, “Considerazioni in margine: Le postille alle ‘Vite’ di Vasari,” in Arezzo e Vasari: Vite e Postille: Arezzo, ed. Antonino Caleca, 16–17 giugno 2005, atti del convegno (Perugia: Cartei & Bianchi, 2007), 251–71; see 270. 76 Diego Angulo Iñiguez, “Las Hilanderas. Sobre la iconografía de Aracne.” Archivo Español de Arte XXV (1952), 81–3 and Elizabeth McGrath, “Rubens and his Books,” in Rubens: Subjects from History, ed. Arnout Balis (London: Harvey Miller, 1997), 55–67, 55. 77 John F. Moffit, “Velázquez, Fools, Calabacillas and Ripa.” Pantheon 40 (1982), 304–9. 78 Wolfgang Stechow, Rubens and the Classical Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968), 8–9. 79 Marqués del Saltillo, “Un pintor desconocido del siglo XVII: Domingo Guerra Coronel.” Arte Español XV (1944–1945), 43–8 and Ángel Aterido Fernández, “The First Owner of the Rockeby Venus.” The Burlington Magazine 143 (2001), 91–4; Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio and Rosario Coppel, Sculpture Collections in Early Modern Spain (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013), 93. 80 AHPM 6766, fols 427–586; See 549. 81 Ibid., 550. 82 Ibid., 550. 83 Ibid., 551. 84 Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio, Leone Leoni and the Status of the Artist at the End of the Renaissance (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011), 142–4. 85 Dadson, Libros, lectores y lecturas, 165–75, 357–67.

9 Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville Through Originals, Copies and Prints Rafael Japón

During the early modern period, Seville was one of the most important capital cities in Europe. Its port made this city an essential part of commerce between America and Europe. As a result, the notable merchant families, who were originally from other nations residing there and imported their own tastes, transformed Seville into an exceptional melting pot. Sevillian noblemen built their collections with works created by foreign artists. These works were bought in their travels or acquired from those painters and sculptors who arrived at the capital in an attempt to forge a great career in a city that was so avid for art. However, of all the artistic wealth that was accumulated in the so-called Spanish Golden Age, only a small portion has come down to us, as it was dispersed in sales, despoilment or armed conflicts in successive centuries. Reconstructing Seville’s patrimony of painting from the 16th and 17th centuries illuminates the city’s own artistic character, since its painters had diverse and numerous sources of influence and inspiration. Here, I shall explore the predilection in 17th century Spain for one of these sources: the art of the Bolognese school, and especially the work of Guido Reni . . . even though no autographed work of his is known today among Sevillian collections.1 Reni’s style easily appealed to Spanish taste of the 1600s, which is why he became the best-represented Bolognese painter in Seville. One of the elements that stands out as the most decisive when it comes to the reasons so many of his works arrived in Spain is counter-reformist ideals regarding decorum, of which Reni was an expert, having been trained at its epicenters, Bologna and Rome.2 Although Reni’s entire life cannot be analyzed here, it is important to emphasize those moments in which he was in contact with famed Spanish men. It seems obvious that Spaniards residing in Rome would be interested in him, since Reni was one of the most important painters in the city in the first quarter of the 17th century. It is important to mention, for example, his first trip to Naples in 1612, when he came into contact with the Spaniards that were around the Viceroy3; and his second visit there, which took place almost ten years later in 1621, along with Lanfranco, Domenichino and his disciple Gessi, during which he accepted the commission for the decoration of the Treasury of San Gennaro and three altarpieces. However, due to economic difficulties, and perhaps other factors that are still unresolved due to lack of documentation, Reni was immediately sent back to Rome. Some sources point to some sort of closed-shop policy from the Neapolitans, in which deeds like poisonings occurred, and also to the fact that this “Mafia-like” protectionism was supposedly organized by the Spanish Ribera.4 Another well-known episode that directly connects Reni to a Spanish commission occurred in 1627, the year when he started to receive numerous commissions from

Figure 9.1 Guido Reni, Immaculate Conception, 1627, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (photo: the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 175 great European patrons, including various royal houses. He was commissioned for the Immaculate Conception (Figure 9.1) and the Abduction of Helen, today preserved in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and in the Louvre Museum, respectively. These commissions were carried out for Philip IV through the count of Oñate, his Ambassador to the Holy See, as will be discussed below. In this same year, Fernando Álvarez de Toledo y Beaumont, VII Constable of Navarre (at the time Viceroy of Naples), commissioned a painting from Reni (its subject is still unknown) while he was in Rome as Ambassador to the Spanish Crown.5 Malvasia comments that by the end of his life, Reni was commissioned by Philip IV for a painting with a mythological scene of Leto’s life, a painting of large dimensions that he never finished.6

Original Paintings and Copies Although there are no other known documented facts that relate him directly with any major Spanish figure—or that prove that Guido Reni ever came to Spain—there were other agents that shipped works by him to Spain early on. These works were a great source of inspiration for all those Spanish painters that traveled to the court, and admired and studied the collection of the King in the 17th century. In his anthology on the cultural relations between Spain and Bologna, José Luis Colomer makes an extensive compilation of all of Reni’s existing works in the royal collection, and gathers information about dozens of Reni’s works that entered the royal residences from the beginning of the 17th century up to the mid-18th century.7 It is important to highlight pieces like the highly celebrated Atalanta and Hippomenes and Christ Embracing the Cross, preserved in the Museo Nacional del Prado and in the Academia Real de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in Madrid, respectively, acquired by the Count of Peñaranda for the King in 1664 from the auction of Marquis Giovan Francesco Serra’s collection in Naples.8 Additionally, the Conversion of Saul, preserved in the Real Botica inside the Palacio Real, was newly attributed to Reni a few years ago by the scholar Gonzalo Redín, at the same time as the other attributions to Guercino or Luca Giordano were discarded.9 It was also during the reign of Philip IV that Reni received his most important commission related to the city of Seville. In fact, it was to this Spanish city where one of Reni’s greatest paintings was sent: The Immaculate Conception (Figure 9.1), commissioned by the monarch through the count of Oñate. As mentioned previously, the commission was agreed upon in 1627 when the master was temporarily residing in Rome, executing his fresco paintings of the History of Attila in Saint Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican, which were commissioned by Cardinal Francesco Barberini. It seems that without the help of this legacy, the work would have never arrived in Spain, due to the fact that the arrogant Reni suddenly abandoned the city, leaving his mural paintings unfinished and carrying the completed Immaculate Conception with him to Bologna. It is often mentioned among the reasons for this fight that Oñate insisted that the painting be completed as soon as possible, without taking into account the amount of money required in its delivery. It was the Archduchess Maria of Austria, who was the monarch’s sister and future Holy Roman Empress, who undoubtedly had it donated to the Seville Cathedral.10 Although it has not yet been located in any of the church’s property inventories, the existence of a reliable copy—albeit of diverse measures and quality—suggests that it had been in Seville not in the Toledo Cathedral, as had been suggested previously.11 The powerful influence that this painting exercised upon the same-themed paintings of artists like Murillo or Zurbarán only supports the theory that the canvas was preserved in the Seville Cathedral.12 It is

176  Rafael Japón in the same church where the Saint Joseph with the Child Christ was also preserved (current location unknown), and could belong to the same manufacture of the one preserved in the Hermitage Museum due to the apparent influence that it had, which will be later discussed. It was also in this church, where Diego Vidal the Elder, who was the church’s prebendary and an amateur painter, made a Virgin with the Child in 1613 that followed Guido Reni’s models.13 In the Casa de Pilatos, which was the residence of Fernando Afán de Ribera y Téllez-Girón, third duke of Alcalá, in the 17th century, there were several paintings of the Bolognese School, among them two that were by or after Guido Reni: the Virgin and the Sleeping Child (a gift from cardinal Ludovico) and a version of his Cleopatra.14 Of great interest are the contemporary copies that have come down to us, like the Coronation of the Virgin, conserved in the sacristy of the Iglesia Colegiata del Divino Salvador in Seville, which reproduces the composition of the one in the National Gallery of London (Figure 9.2), and even shares the same color tones (from which it can be assumed that the painter must have seen the original work or a reliable reproduction). However, the Sevillian copies add in a representation of the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, which could be an innovation incorporated by the copyist, or may have been an element of the original painting before it was altered. Although its author is unknown, it must have been created by the end of the 17th century, and was likely donated to the parish.15 Another reproduction of the same painting is in the monastery of San Isidoro del Campo, in the Sevillian town of Santiponce.16 Even though the copies are superior in size compared to the original, the fact that there are so many similar copies is due to the fact that the original came from the Seville Cathedral.17 In addition to these, some other reproductions of Guido Reni-inspired models include a painting of Christ Crucified of the church of San Lorenzo in Lucina, Rome, which was preserved in the homonymous church in the Andalusian city until its disappearance,18 and The Virgin of the Chair, dated towards the second half of the 17th century, that was copied for the church of Santa María la Blanca (which belongs to Los Palacios and Villafranca).19 In addition, it is necessary to mention the archbishop of Seville, Domingo Pimentel de Zúñiga, who died in Rome in 1653. Three years earlier, the pictures that were in his Sevillian residence were inventoried, among which stand out a great deal of copies of well-known paintings that were treasured in noble Roman collections. There are reproductions of works by Titian, Raphael and Tintoretto, among many others, although Guido Reni is one of the painters who are mentioned most frequently (six times). There is a Crucifixion, two pairs of busts of Ecce Homo and Mater Dolorosa, an Annunciation to Mary, an Infant Jesus asleep on the Cross and a sheet of an Angel.20 In the following centuries, the taste for the works of the Bolognese Baroque painters increased, and gained prominence among private Sevillian collections. Thus, in the 19th century, Amador de los Ríos mentioned several of these paintings in his Sevilla Pintoresca.21 Though those are well known, nothing is known about their origins, but as Seville had a very active art market during the 18th and 19th centuries, they could have been acquired there. For instance, the residence of Aniceto Bravo contained an Ecce Homo, a Flogged Christ, Saint Catherine, Judith and the Martyrdom of Saint Agatha. Amador de los Ríos pointed out the influence that this last work had upon the city: “This is one of the paintings that enjoys great fame in Seville, and rightly so, and the number of copies that have been made of it are innumerable.”22

Figure 9.2 Guido Reni, The Coronation of the Virgin, c. 1607, bequeathed by William Wells, 1847 (NG214). National Gallery (photo: The National Gallery, London / Art Resource, NY).

178  Rafael Japón From López Cepero’s collection came a representation of Adam and Eve in Paradise, a version of a work that disappeared in the fire of the Alcázar of Madrid in 1734, although today the most famous version is the one conserved in the Dijon Museum, created in 1620.23 Another interesting canvas, the Virgin Praying over the Sleeping Christ Child in the Palacio de la Condesa de Lebrija, displays Renian characteristics. This iconography is similar to the one in the Casa de Pilatos. There are also other versions by the artist’s hand as well as later copies, like the one preserved at the Academia Real de Bellas Artes, Madrid, which was painted by Maella.24 However, the one in Lebrija seems to follow the original model, now in the Hunterian Museum and Art Gallery of Glasgow. However, it must be noted that the circulation of engravings by the painter is perhaps the most important factor, since he and his assistants recorded his own compositions that later spread throughout Italy and Europe, and that would also come to Seville as models,25 as we shall see later. Our knowledge of the presence of Bolognese art due to Guido’s paintings is not only based on his works or the copies we have discussed so far; he is also often mentioned in literary sources. As is well known, Reni was included, along with other painters of the Bolognese school, in a biography written by Carlo Cesare Malvasia in 1678. Malvasia’s intention was that of elevating the school to the same place as Vasari had placed the great masters of his generation. In Italy, there are many other treatises dated around the same time that mention Reni, like Giulio Mancini’s Considerazioni sulla pittura, written between 1619 and 162126: Introduttione al racconto de’ principali successi accaduti sotto il comando del potentissimo re Filippo IV, written by Virgilio Malvezzi in 1651,27 or Francesco Scannelli’s Il Microcosmo della pittura, published in 1657,28 among many others. In 17th-century Spain, one of the most important treatises on art, Francisco Pacheco’s El Arte de la Pintura, published in 1649, referenced Reni in the third book, comparing him to Ribera in his use of nature.29 There are also testimonies of Spanish painters who went to Italy, such as Jusepe Martinez, who in his 1673 work, Discursos Practicables del Nobilísimo Arte de la Pintura, mentions the Bolognese painter as one of the most famous in Italy. Also worthy of mention are the words of the painter José García, who wrote Los Principios para estudiar el Nobilísimo y Real Arte de la Pintura in 1693, where he admired the color of Reni’s works, along with that of Correggio.30 We also find praise for him in the Descripción de San Lorenzo del Escorial, written by the priest Francisco de los Santos in 1657, who described Reni’s paintings as some of the best ones belonging to the collection of the Royal Monastery.31 It is essential to mention the words of Antonio Palomino de Castro y Velasco, which introduce his treatise Museo Pictórico y Escala Óptica, because they articulate well what happened in Golden Age Seville: “They brought some paintings from Italy to Seville, which greatly inspired Velázquez to attempt with his wits no smaller undertakings. They were made by those artists who flourished in that age: Pomarancio, Baglioni, Lanfranco, Ribera, Guido and others.”32

Guido Reni’s Influence Upon the Sevillian Baroque School An especially important figure for the introduction of Reni’s style in Seville was José de Ribera (1591–1652). A big part of his production is tinted by the influence of the Bolognese School, especially of Reni, mostly from the works that arrived in the ancient Sevillian kingdom. This is true of works like the Saint Sebastian, preserved

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 179 in the Collegiate Church of Santa Maria de la Asunción (Osuna), which is described as “almost a tribute from the Spaniard to the older and already well-established Bolognese master [Guido Reni], whom he knew fairly well for his recent Roman production, and whom he admired greatly.”33 Similarly, the Immaculate Conception or the Baptism of Jesus, preserved in the Musée des Beaux-Arts of Nancy, is comparable to Reni’s homonymous work in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, in its formal qualities.34 Ribera had various opportunities to become acquainted with Reni’s work, either from his travels to Rome or from the fame that Reni already enjoyed throughout the Italian peninsula. Reni’s style arrived very early in Naples, where the local artists adopted “a sumptuous classicist influence of Guido Reni,” as we can see in the case of Massimo Stanzione, the so-called “Neapolitan Guido.”35 The Calvary, which is one of Ribera’s masterpieces, was sent to the Iglesia Colegiata of Osuna. The painting is closely related to the one Reni painted for the main altar of the Chiesa dei Capucchini of Bologna around 1617, not only in composition, but also in the psychological transmission of post-Tridentine Christian pain. There are common elements, such as the lyricism of the Venetian tones that Reni portrays, and the chromatic contrast from Ribera’s canvas.36 It is particularly curious that in the project of restoration of the painting of Osuna, a pentimento was carried out by the same artist, which can be perceived in the face of Mary, where he corrected the angle,37 and in doing so made it correspond to the angle of the face of the Virgin painted by Reni. There is a great resemblance between Ribera’s Ecce Homo preserved in the Museo de Cádiz and the numerous paintings by Reni that follow this iconography, and which today are preserved in the Musée de Louvre in Paris, the National Gallery in London, the Galleria Nazionale di Parma and the Galleria Nazionale di Bologna, among others.38 In relation to the Sevillian school, we must begin with artists from the first third of the 17th century who began to forge their own aesthetics with a tradition that came from the previous century and with new influences that came from northern Europe and Italy. In this way, we see how Francisco Pacheco (1564–1644) alludes to Guido Reni in his treatise, and although he pleads for a more Caravaggesque naturalism, the truth is that in many of his works we can detect a certain formal classicism that does not really develop into Baroque naturalism, which reaches its zenith in Spain with Pacheco’s son-in-law, Diego Velázquez. It is an arduous task to specify how intense an influence Bolognese art was upon Pacheco, and while a deeper analysis of this is much needed, we will try to make an approximation of the issue at hand. Pacheco must have been aware of the new proposals that had arisen, especially in Rome, thanks to the intellectuals who were close to his circle of cultural influence, most notably the painter from Córdoba and prebendary Pablo de Céspedes (1538–1608).39 In this context, we must remember that Pacheco served as a censor of the Holy Inquisition, and as such he had to make sure that maximum decorum was kept in the paintings produced by the guild of painters of Seville. In order to carry out this role, he had to accept or reject paintings, beyond his personal opinion, based on the guidelines in the Discorso intorno alle imagine sacre e profane that Cardinal Paleotti wrote and published in Bologna in 1581, which Pacheco paraphrased in his valuable treatise El Arte de la Pintura.40 Pacheco considered prints from Italian Romanism through the Flemish engravers of the turn of the XVII century, as well as from the most important Italians in this field, such as Marco Antonio Raimondi,

180  Rafael Japón Giulio Bonasone or Nicolas Béatrizet, and even Agostino Carracci and Francesco Villamena.41 To this list of Pacheco’s sources, we must add another volume of engravings from the Bolognese, made by one of his contemporaries, Francesco Curti (1603–1693), creator of Scelta di disegni a studenti pittori di Guido Reni, e del Parmigianino.42 After bringing Bologna closer to the Seville of Pacheco, an examination of the groups of angels that decorate his compositions is in order. It can be seen, for example, in his painting, Christ Served by Angels (Figure 9.3), considered one of his masterpieces, produced around 1615, and originally in the refectory of San Vicente el Real in Seville. Although it is true that the composition and the forms, in general, are treated with a Mannerist aesthetic,43 it introduces naturalistic motifs such as the objects of still life that adorn the table prepared by the angels, which may evidence Velázquez’s intervention at the end of his training.44 It could be argued that in Pacheco’s painting, the age of the three angels can be metaphorically distinguished: adults in charge of serving food, teenage musicians forming a choir, and the younger ones happily hovering above the scene, throwing flowers and fruits. The little angel who flies over the scene is the one who focuses most of the viewer’s attention through the charm he transmits in his actions, and he seems to have been taken from compositions made famous by Reni, such as the Coronation of the Virgin (Figure 9.2), which was known in Seville, as we have seen, and the Aurora of the Palazzo Pallavicini-Rospigliosi created in 1614, of which many contemporary copies were made.45

Figure 9.3 Francisco Pacheco, Christ Served by Angels, ca. 1615, Ville de Castres - Musée Goya, Musée d’Art Hispanique (photo: Musée Goya).

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 181 We can continue to track these graceful angels in other Sevillian works, such as those crowning the Virgin in the Assumption by Juan de Roelas (ca. 1570–1625), which is preserved in the Museo Nacional de Escultura in Valladolid. Other aspects that could be related to this piece to Reni’s painting include the figure of the Virgin with her intense expression and her eyes towards the sky. In addition, the angels that accompany her in her ascension, their way of transporting her, and, what might be more curious, the fact that they share the same tonality as the drapery of the Virgin, relate this painting to the National Gallery painting. The tonality of the drapery, in particular, is very close to the Venetian school, but in other areas of the work, the influence of Sevillian drawing is more prevalent, evidencing the crossroads of these sources in 17th-century Seville. Juan de Roelas is considered the initiator of the transition towards Baroque naturalism in the Sevillian School, because of his new uses of the pictorial technique, such as the warmth of tonalities or the vaporous drawing, as well as the introduction of new iconographic programs.46 In one of the most famous of his works, the Circumcision of Christ, produced around 1605, we continue to note the possible influence of Reni’s painting the Coronation of the Virgin and its copies, as the chorus of musical angels resembles it formally and intrinsically. In his original composition of the Virgin Sewing, August L. Mayer appreciates a certain relationship with the work of the same iconography, today in the Museum of the Hermitage of St. Petersburg.47 ­However, this comparison is perhaps not very sustainable, since Reni’s work was produced towards the end of his life, around the 1640s. Nevertheless, Guido Reni already worked on this same iconography at the very beginning of the 1600s, in the Pauline Chapel. The next painter who seems to have been influenced in some degree by the artist of the Bolognese school is Francisco Varela (1580?–1645), in whose Saint Catherine of Siena and Saint Catherine of Alexandria of the Museo de Bellas Artes of Seville show a closeness to the sweetness of Reni’s saints’ countenances.48 In Baroque Seville, the influence of the Bolognese painters is still perceptible, despite the strength of the Sevillian School at this time. The influence went beyond that of Guido Reni, thanks mainly to the activity of his disciples who were the direct heirs of the Bolognese style coined by the essential work of the artist, as well as other great ones that arose from the Academy of the Carracci. Nevertheless, we can trace a new route of influence wherein many of the old masters who will be discussed below were able to go to the court of Madrid, where the majority of the original Bolognese paintings were concentrated in Spain. Francisco de Zurbarán (1598–1664) continued to adopt models of musical angels from Italian sources, as his Sevillian predecessors had done. It can be seen, for example, in the upper half of the work The Adoration of the Shepherds produced in 1639 for the Cartuja de Jerez de la Frontera, currently in the Museum of Fine Arts in Grenoble. Although the Extremeño old master did not travel to Italy, the influence is evident, even in the sensitivity which he transmits, with a language “always much quieter and more intimate [than Ribera] and, in that half lyrical voice, he has an easy understanding of the language of Reni.”49 The Immaculate Conception that Zurbarán produced in 1656 seems to be based in great part on Reni’s engraving of the same subject.50 In addition, again, the choir of angels has many features in common with the paintings in the church of San Gregorio al Celio. Francisco de Zurbarán also approached the pious and sensitive sense of the Renian iconographic models already mentioned, such as The

182  Rafael Japón Virgin Sewing, whose semblance is known due to copies and engravings by Reni that are lost, but arrived in Spain, thanks to engravers like Sébastien Vouillemont.51 There is also a certain relationship between some of the canvases that make up both series of the Labours of Hercules. Although scholarly sources indicate that the Spanish painter took his inspiration in 1634 from the engravings of the Flemish Cornelis Cort,52 the formal and tonal proximity with some of the Labors that Reni made for Federico Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua, between 1617 and 1621 (now in the Louvre), is beyond doubt. The clearest example is Hercules and Cerberus, by Zurbarán, and Hercules Killing the Hydra of Lerna, painted by Reni. When compared, they turn out to be very similar compositions, although inversely arranged, with similar details like the expression of the hero almost hidden behind his own arm, or the similarity between the three-headed dog and the hydra of Lerna.53 In some works produced by Antonio del Castillo y Saavedra (1616–1668), the Renian taste is perceived upon analyzing his compositions, which fuse Bolognese style with Flemish sources, such as Hendrick Goltzius’s engravings. An example of this is his Saint Sebastian, in the retablo of the Assumption of the Virgin Cathedral in Jaén.54 Also, in the Museo de Bellas Artes in Córdoba, there is a series of drawings in which we can see compositions that are very close to those made by the painters of the Bolognese academy, such as the Holy Family with Saint John by Castillo, done in sanguine on antique laid paper. As Fuensanta García de la Torre states, this sketch follows Guido Reni’s compositions, as Murillo later did, which were widely diffused through engravings.55 Another sketch that follows the precepts of the Italian painter is the Assumption drawn with nib pen in sepia, by Antonio García Reinoso (1623–1677).56 Another painter who was also in the court of Madrid and was linked to the Sevillian School was Alonso Cano (1601–1667). In Seville, Cano studied with Francisco Pacheco and Juan Martínez Montañés. Cano is associated with Reni for being one of the most formally classicizing painters of this context, and as well as for displaying the same sort of counter-reformist sensitivity regarding decorum that permeates his work, and which he absorbs to the point of tying himself to an ecclesiastical institution, as prebendary of the Granada Cathedral. The comparison between Cano and Reni is not trivial, and already in the 18th century Antonio Ponz came to call him “the Guido Reni of Spain.”57 Technically, they are similar in the cold chromatic tonality, that Cano perhaps knew through the works of the royal collection, where he was able to copy a Virgin with the Christ Child by Reni.58 In Cano’s Granada period, after he joined the ecclesiastical council, he made some works for the Cathedral like The Adoration of the Shepherds, which closely resembles Reni’s painting of the same subject. Of his later work, we find other paintings that continue to show this influence, such as the tondo that portrays the Child Christ and Saint John the Baptist, conserved in the Hermitage Museum, made by Cano around 1666. It is important to highlight how Cano used one of Reni’s engravings of the same subject as inspiration for this painting. The engraving was so widespread in Europe, in fact, that it was probably a prayer-card known to Rubens as well.59 Cano’s fellow disciple, Diego Velázquez (1599–1660), also adapted the Bolognese influence to very different circumstances than the previous artists mentioned. After his training in Seville, the painter moved to Madrid, where he became Philip IV’s Court painter in 1626. In the Royal Collection, Velázquez was enriched by all the artistic treasures he saw there. In 1629, he went to Italy to complete his artistic training, and it was in Rome where he found the most classicizing Baroque current of the Bolognese school, with Guido Reni at its head. Velázquez also passed by Cento,

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 183

Figure 9.4 Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, The Immaculate Conception of the Venerable Ones, or of ‘Soult’, ca. 1678. Museo del Prado, Madrid (photo: Museo Nacional de Prado / Art Resource, NY).

according to historical sources, exclusively to visit Guercino,60 a painter of great talent whose renowned works Velázquez already knew.61 His contact with the works of Reni, Cortona and Guercino also provided a stimulus for the investigation of compositions with numerous characters.62 From Reni, he was exposed to great models,

Figure 9.5 Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Saint Felix of Cantalice holds the Christ Child, ca. 1664–1666. Museo de Bellas Artes, Seville (photo: Museo de Bellas Artes).

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 185 like the Abduction of Helen or the Massacre of the Innocents, for learning about the production of history paintings. In this context, we can see how in Joseph’s Tunic, which according to Palomino he produced in his first stay in Rome,63 he changes his pictorial technique to clarify the backgrounds, approaching them as Reni did in his last period, leaving transparent areas in parts of the surface by using fine glazes. The painting can be compared to Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife by Reni, painted around 1625–1626, in which the marked gesture of the hands of the characters become the main communicating language of

Figure 9.6 Guido Reni, Saint Joseph and the Christ Child, 1640, Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (photo: Art Resource, NY).

186  Rafael Japón the scenes while the traditional iconographical attributes have been suppressed. A certain Renian influence has also been noted in the Apollonion figure of the Crucified Christ, called “of San Placido,” today in the Museo del Prado, made around 1632, for its relation with other works by Reni, where masculine countenances are treated with such delicacy and revel in the beautiful muscular strength of the figure.64 This is seen as well in the Temptation of Saint Thomas, in the Museo Diocesano del de Arte Sacro, Orihuela, with its accentuated geometric composition formed by crossing diagonals, which can also be seen in works such as Atalanta and Hippomenes.65 However, it is in the production of Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1617–1682) where Reni’s influence is revealed in an especially evident and wonderful way.66 This judgment has been so commonly accepted and appreciated by specialists that even August L. Mayer describes Murillo in his Escuela Sevillana as follows: “This reunion of characteristics of Raphael and Correggio turn Murillo into Guido Reni’s companion, and we think we really should call him the Spanish Reni more than the Spanish Raphael.”67 José Luis Colomer also testifies to this thought when he declares that Murillo is the “Spanish artist who connected best with Reni’s religious and pictorial sensibility, which left his European fame and his critical fortune largely intertwined with those of his admired Bolognese master.”68 This statement was made while dealing with the connections between Guido Reni’s Immaculate Conception (Figure 9.3), which was in the Seville Cathedral, and those made by Murillo throughout his career, making it inevitable to associate the Sevillian painter with this iconography of which he produced so many versions. Everything must be understood in its context, that is, that the people of Seville vehemently defended the dogma of the Immaculate Conception long before its official proclamation by Pius IX in 1854. From the fertile production of Immaculates (Figure 9.4) of the Sevillian painter we can say that the inspiration he took from Reni’s painting is summed up in the verticality of the figure, the contrapposto that causes her to raise her knee, her gaze raised to the sky, both hands together in prayer, the movement of the clothes, the half moon at her feet as the only attribute, and the background of warm tones with profusion of cherubs and angels at her feet. Elements that he united with others of the Sevillian tradition, extracted from the examination of works by Pacheco or Zurbarán, thus creating his own model of great success in which the transmission of tenderness and charm—palpable also in the work of Reni—was brought closer to the people who defended Mary’s pure conception.69 The influence of the engravings can be verified thanks to the fidelity with which Murillo borrowed from them for works like the Holy Children with a Shell, kept in the Prado Museum, and the Young Jesus and St John the Baptist, kept in the Villa Mir Cultural Center, Madrid, as well as in the version kept in the Hermitage.70 Similarly, the paternal way in which Saint Felix of Cantalice Holds the Christ Child (Figure 9.5) in the painting of the Museo de Bellas Artes in Seville (from the desamortized convent of the Capuchins) bears a close resemblance to the Saint Joseph and the Christ Child (Figure 9.6) made by Reni, preserved in the museum of St. Petersburg or the version in Houston.71 A connection can also be made between the representations of several Magdalene painted by Murillo (as the one preserved in the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando) and those painted by Reni, thanks to the position of prayer, looking upwards in an expression of immense inner pain. In addition, the influence of Ribera is seen in the way he induces that feeling with chromatic contrast.72 Furthermore, a connection is evidenced in the representations of the Infant Christ Sleeping on

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 187 the Cross, popularized by Giacomo Francia (1486–1557) and taken by Guido Reni, since it was an iconographic motif very much in line with what was prescribed by the Council of Trent. We can compare the works of the Italian master preserved in the Art Museum of Princeton with the one of Murillo kept in the Osbert Dugley Smith collection.73 Murillo also used the engravings that Reni’s disciples made of their master’s works. Thus, the Sevillian painter seems to have taken inspiration for his St Michael Archangel from the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, which came from the Capuchins in Seville, from an engraving that Pieter de Bailliu (1613–1660) made of the famous work and which is venerated in the church of Our Lady of the Conception of the Capuchins in Rome. In addition, the Guardian Angel, also engraved by Simone Cantarini, has many points in common with the one of the same name that Murillo made in the Sevillian temple itself, and that can be seen today in the Seville Cathedral. In the same way, there are concomitances between the engraving of Saint Anthony of Padua with the Child Christ by Cantarini with the same painting made by Murillo, today in the Museum of the Hermitage.74 A very interesting relation that has never been pointed out before is the one between a group of panel paintings created by Murillo towards 1665 for the voussoir of the arch of the main altarpiece of the Saint Augustine Church in Seville, where we can see several Cherubs in the Clouds—distributed today in European and North American museums—that carry various attributes of the saint, such as a papal miter or a crosier, and the similar one that Reni painted for the church of the Servites of Bologna in 1611. The last great exponent of Sevillian Baroque painting in the 17th century was Juan de Valdés Leal (1622–1690). This painter, who is internationally known for his canvases on the vanity of life in the Hospital de la Caridad, made a trip to court, where he came into contact with certain novelties coming from Italy. It has to be especially mentioned his learning of the mural painting technique through the important works that Agostino Mitelli and Angelo Michelle Colonna made for the Crown.75 Antonio Palomino tells us about this trip, made in 1664, in which he also describes his interactions with court artists and his study the works of the royal collection.76 The link between Valdés Leal and the Bolognese school goes beyond the great contribution to mural painting; it is about the use of compositions of the great masters, such as Guido Reni for his Saint Sebastian, made in 1660 and kept in the Magdalene Church in Seville,77 which he had to borrow from an engraving after Reni’s original of this same iconography, conserved in the Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna and painted between 1640 and 1642.78 By examining the Renian influence in Sevillian paintings, it has been our intention to bring to light the existence of a large group of paintings, copies after them, or prints of the work of the Bolognese master in Seville, which enriched the canons of local school artists with the new arrivals from Italy. In this way, Sevillian painters managed to have a wide range of compositional patterns that brought them into direct contact with the types that were already successful in Rome in the first third of the 17th century. Guido Reni’s case is exemplary in this sense, for these types of works were sought after by the members of a rich and cosmopolitan society as Seville was at the time, while also appealing to the taste of the Spanish court.

Notes 1 This contribution is a result of Proyecto I + D HAR2014–52061-P, La copia pictórica en la Monarquía Hispánica, siglos XVI–XVIII, directed by David García Cueto, and a part of a

188  Rafael Japón chapter of my PhD thesis entitled “La influencia de la pintura italiana en la escuela barroca sevillana”. 2 Among the main sources and publications dedicated to the life and work of Guido Reni, we can mention Carlo Cesare Malvasia, Felsina pittrice: vite de’ pittori bolognesi, (Bologna: Davico, 1678), vol. 2, pages; Carlo Cesare Malvasia, Felsina pittrice: vite de’ pittori bolognesi, ed. G. Zanotti (Bologna: Tipografia Guidi all’Ancora, 1841), vol. 1, 4–66; Antonio Bolognini-Amorini, Vita del celebre pittore Guido Reni (Bologna: Volpe al Sassi, 1839); Cesare Gnudi, Guido Reni (Milan: Martello, 1955); Gian Carlo Cavalli, Guido Reni. Cronologia della vita e delle opera, catalogo ragionato, antologia critica e bibliografia (Florence: Vallecchi, 1955); Richard E. Spear, The “divine” Guido: Religion, Sex, Money and Art in the World of Guido Reni (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1977); Carlo Cesare Malvasia, The Life of Guido Reni, ed. Catherine Enggass (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1980); D. Stephen Pepper, Guido Reni: l’opera completa (Oxford: Phaidon, 1984), Andrea Emiliani, Guido Reni (Bologna: Nuova Alfa, 1988). 3 This is certified by the notarial document found in Archivio di Stato, Naples, Notai del Cinquecento, 1612, protocollo 608/12 numero 257, first published in Ferdinando Bologna, “Un documento napoletano per Guido Reni.” Paragone 11 no.129 (1960), 54–6. Bologna thought that Reni was in Naples working for the ephemeral decoration made for the marriage of Felipe IV and Isabel de Borbón. Although other later proposals place it in an initial phase of the decoration of the Treasure of San Gennaro. See for example: Wolfgang Prohaska, “Guido Reni e la pittura napoletana,” in Guido Reni e l’Europa. Fama e fortuna, ed. Sybille Ebert-Schifferer and Andrea Emiliani (Frankfurt am Main: Credito Romagnolo, 1988), 644–51; Andrea Zezza, “Appunti su Guido Reni e i napoletani,” in Napoli e l’Emilia: studi sulle relazioni artistiche, ed. A. Zezza (Naples: Luciano, 2010), 87–104, 244–51. 4 Moses F. Sweetser, Artist Biographies: in five volumes (Boston: Osgood Houghton, 1880), vol. 2, 59. This source, as Malvasia, documents how other artists considered Reni a great competitor, trying to kill him in the streets of Naples: Gabriele Finaldi, “ ‘Se è quello che dipinse un S. Martino in Parma. . . ’ Más sobre la actividad del joven Ribera en Parma,” in El Joven Ribera, ed. José Milicua et al. (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado, 2011), 18–19; Zezza, “Appunti su Guido Reni,” 89–91. 5 David García Cueto, “La embajada extraordinaria del Condestable de Navarra ante Urbano VIII en 1627 y Guido Reni,” in Embajadores culturales. Transferencias y lealtades de la diplomacia española de la Edad Moderna, ed. Diana Carrió-Invernizzi (Madrid: Uned, 2016), 263–87. 6 Malvasia, Felsina pittrice (1841), vol. 1, 42; “Rimase insomma un immenso telone, che costò quaranta scudi, in cui andava reppresentato la favola di Latona pel Re di Spagna, che risaputo il successo del ratto di Elena, dolutosene cogli Ambasciadori, aveva fatto ordinargli questo”; Recently, a new identification for this painting was proposed; see: Anthony Colantuono, “Guido Reni’s Latona for king Philip IV: an unfinished masterpiece. Lost, forgotten, rediscovered and restored.” Artibus et Historiae 58 (2008), 201–16. 7 José Luis Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones reales españolas,” in España y Bolonia: siete siglos de relaciones artísticas y culturales, ed. José Luis Colomer et al. (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Europa Hispánica and Fundación Carolina, 2006), 218. 8 Antonio Vannugli, “La colección del marqués Giovan Francesco Serra.” Boletín del Museo del Prado 9 (1988), 33–43; Antonio Vannugli, La collezione Serra di Cassano (Salerno: Edizioni 10/17, 1989), 31–3; Antonio Vannugli, “Giovan Francesco Serra (1609–1656),” in L’ età di Rubens: dimore, committenti e collezionisti genovesi, ed. Piero Boccardo et al. (Milano: Skira, 2004), 435–9; Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones,” 221. The same lot included other works by Italian and Spanish artists, such as Tiziano, Parmigianino or Ribera. 9 Gonzalo Redín Michaus, “Guido Reni’s ‘Conversion of Saul’: A Newly Attributed Painting in the Escorial.” The Burlington Magazine 155 (2013), 677; Daniele Benati, entry no. 13, in De Caravaggio a Bernini: obras maestras del Seicento italiano en las colecciones reales de Patrimonio Nacional, ed. Gonzalo Redín Michaus (Madrid: Patrimonio Nacional, 2016), 145–50. To reconstruct the display of these paintings in El Escorial; see: Bonaventura Bassegoda, El Escorial como museo: la decoración pictórica mueble en el monasterio de El Escorial desde Diego Velázquez hasta Frédéric Quilliet (1809) (Barcelona: Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, 2002). 10 Carlo Cesare Malvasia, Felsina pittrice: vite de’ pittori bolognesi (Bologna: Davico, 1678), vol. 2, 37; Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones,” 221–2.

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 189 11 Howard Hibbard, “Guido Reni’s Painting of the Immaculate Conception.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 28 (Summer 1969), 18–32; Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez, “Reni und Spanien,” in Guido Reni und Europa. Ruhm und Nachruhm, ed. Sybille Ebert-Schifferer et al. (Frankfurt am Main: Shirn Kunsthalle, 1988), 702; Enrique Valdivieso, “Presencia e influencia de las obras foráneas en el devenir del Barroco pictórico Sevillano,” in El arte foráneo en España: presencia e influencia, ed. Miguel Cabañas Bravo (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2005), 201–3; Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones,” 217. 12 Valdivieso, “Presencia e influencia,” 201–3; Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones,” 217. 13 Diego Angulo Íñiguez et al., La Catedral de Sevilla (Seville: Guadalquivir, 1991), 413–4. 14 Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez, Pintura italiana del siglo XVII en España (Ph.D. diss., Universidad de Madrid, 1965), 168–9; Pepper, Guido Reni: l’opera completa, 257, n. 115; Jonathan Brown and Richard L. Kagan, “The Duke of Alcalá: his collection and its evolution.” The Art Bulletin, 69 (1987), 239; Vicente Lleó, La Casa Pilatos (Seville: Caja San Fernando de Sevilla y Jerez, 1996), 84. 15 Emilio Gómez Piñol, Iglesia Colegial del Salvador: arte y sociedad en Sevilla (siglos XVIII al XIX) (Seville: Fundación Farmacéutica Avenzoar, 2000), 455. 16 Another copy of this painting is located in the Collection of the Duke of T’Sercales in Madrid: it is important to notice that even this work has a Sevillian provenance. Cfr.: Valdivieso, “Presencia e influencia,” 201. 17 The painting was sold by Christie’s in 1823 with a provenance from Sevilla; see: Pedro Respaladiza, San Isidoro del Campo (1301–2002): fortaleza de la espiritualidad y santuario del poder (Seville: Junta de Andalucía, 2002), 213; Valdivieso, “Presencia e influencia,” 201–3. 18 Antonio Ponz, Viage de España ó cartas en que se da noticia de las cosas más apreciables y digna de saberse que hay en ella (Madrid: Viuda de Ibarra, hijos, y compañía, 1777), vol. 3, 80. 19 Alfredo J. Morales, María Jesús Sanz, Juan Miguel Serrera, and Enrique Valdivieso, Guía artística de Sevilla y su provincia (Seville: Fundación José Manuel Lara, 2004), vol. 2, 109. The original version of the Virgin of the Chair was part of the collection of El Escorial now currently exhibited in the National Museum of the Prado. David García Cueto has analyzed the abundant fortune of the paintng through its copies; see David García Cueto, “Las copias y el copiado de pintura del Seicento en la Colección Real Española durante el siglo XVII” paper presented at the Palacio Real de Madrid, “El Barroco italiano en las Colecciones Reales,” September 22, 2016. 20 José Ignacio Tellechea Idígoras, “El legado pictórico de Fray Domingo Pimentel, O.P. Arzobispo de Sevilla.” Cuadernos de arte e iconografía 21 (2002), 3–16. 21 José Amador de los Ríos, Sevilla pintoresca o Descripción de sus más célebres monumentos artísticos (Seville: Francisco Álvarez y Compañía, 1844), 440–1. 22 Amador de los Ríos, Sevilla pintoresca, 440. 23 Pérez Sánchez, pintura italiana, 193. 24 To know more about the problematic around this iconography, Cfr.: Robert Enggass, “Variations on a Theme by Guido Reni.” The Art Quarterly 25 (Summer, 1962), 113–21. 25 Juan Miguel Serrera and Enrique Valdivieso, Historia de la pintura española: escuela sevillana del primer tercio del siglo XVII (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Históricos, Departamento de Historia del Arte Diego Velázquez, 1985), 12; David García Cueto, ‘Seicento’ boloñés y Siglo de Oro español (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Europa Hispánica, 2006), 213. 26 Giulio Mancini, Considerazioni sulla pittura, edition and preface of Adriana Marucchi (Rome: Accademia dei Lincei, 1956), 241. 27 Virgilio Malvezzi, Introduttione al racconto de’ principali successi accaduti sotto il comando del potentissimo re Filippo IV (Rome: Corbelletti, 1651). 28 Francesco Scannelli, Il Microcosmo della pittura overo Trattato diviso in due libri (Cesena: Peril Neri, 1657), 347–57. 29 Francisco Pacheco, Arte de la pintura, ed. Bonaventura Bassegoda i Hugas (Madrid: Cátedra, 1990), 443. 30 For an analytical study dedicated to the presence of the Bolognese School in the context of Spanish artistic historiography, see: García Cueto, Siglo de Oro, 213–7. 31 Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez, “Reni y España,” in De pintura y pintores: la configuración de los modelos visuales en la pintura española, ed. Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez (Madrid: Alianza, 1993), 95–7. 32 Palomino, El Museo, 894.

190  Rafael Japón 33 Nicola Spinosa, Ribera, la obra completa (Madrid: Fundación Arte Hispánico, 2008), 114; The links between Ribera’s oeuvre and Reni’s catalogue have been recently examined in Viviana Farina, Al sole e all’ombra di Ribera: questioni di pittura e disegno a Napoli nella prima metà del Seicento (Castellammare di Stabia: Longobardi, 2014), vol. 1, 72–97. 34 Diego Angulo Íñiguez, “Varias pinturas sevillanas,” in Archivo español de arte 56 (1983), 161–5; Pérez Sánchez, “Reni y España,” 108. 35 Spinosa, Ribera, 101–13. 36 This assimilation is included in the restoration project of the work, and then put it in doubt: Lourdes Núñez, Lourdes Martín and Gabriel Ferreras, “Intervención sobre El Calvario de José de Ribera (Colegiata de Osuna),” PH: Boletín del Instituto Andaluz de Patrimonio Histórico 59 (2006), 29; it is confirmed emphatically in Gabriele Finaldi, entry no. 26, in El joven Ribera, 167–8. 37 Núñez et al., “Intervención sobre El Calvario,” 34. 38 The production of copies after Ribera’s paintings in the milieu of Baroque Seville is confirmed by the replicas of the Virgin and Child that Murillo executed for the Hospital of Charity, for which he used as a model the Spagnoleto’s Madonna, in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Radiographic analyses allowed to clarify how the same composition was reused for another painting, an Ecce Homo, now in a private collection; see: Benito Navarrete Prieto, entry no. 21, in San Francisco de Borja, Grande de España: arte y espiritualidad en la cultura hispánica de los siglos XVI y XVII, ed. Ximo Company and Juan Aliaga (Gandía, Ajuntament de Gandía, 2011), 238–42. 39 Francisco M. Tubino, Pablo de Céspedes (Madrid: Imprenta de Manuel Tello, 1868), 31; Pedro Manuel Martínez Lara, “Novedades documentales en torno a Pablo de Céspedes. El expediente de limpieza de sangre.” Historia. Instituciones. Documentos 38 (2011), 5. In the recent bibliography, Pacheco’s knowledge about mannerist language is explained by his close relationship with Céspedes; see: Lleó, Casa Pilatos, 80. 40 Antonio Bonet Correa, preface to La imagen religiosa en la monarquía hispánica: usos y espacios, ed. María Cruz de Carlos Varona (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2008), XIII. 41 Bonaventura Bassegoda, “Pacheco y Velázquez,” in Velázquez y Sevilla, ed. Luis Méndez Rodríguez et al. (Seville: Junta de Andalucía, Consejería de Cultura, 1999), 128. 42 Francesco Curti, Scelta di disegni a’ studenti pittori di Guido Reni, e del Parmigianino (Bologna: Longhi Giuseppe, c. 1660). 43 José Luis Morales Marín and Enrique Valdivieso, “Pintura,” in Los Siglos del Barroco, ed. Cristóbal Belda Navarro (Madrid: Akal, 1997), 258–60. 44 Enrique Valdivieso, entry no. 25, in Velázquez y Sevilla, 64. 45 The crowded composition of angels the follows a Renaissance tradition, although it is clear that Reni created a specific typology. This peculiarity was replicated by numerous workshop engravings; see, for example, Adam Bartsch, The Illustrated Bartsch (New York: Abaris Books, 1995), 18, entry n. 283.8. 46 José Fernández López, Programas Iconográficos de la pintura barroca sevillana del siglo XVII (Seville: Universidad de Sevilla, 2002), 120–1. 47 August Mayer, La escuela sevillana de pintura, ed. Daniel Romero (Seville: Cajasol, 2012), 162. 48 Serrera and Valdivieso, Historia de la pintura española, 231. 49 Pérez Sánchez, “Reni y España,” 108. 50 Jeannine Baticle, Zurbarán (París: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 1988), 62. 51 Pérez Sánchez, “Reni y España,” 109. 52 Gabriele Finaldi and Benito Navarrete Prieto, Zurbarán: las doce tribus de Israel: Jacob y sus hijos (Madrid: Museo del Prado, 1995), 87. 53 María Isabel Sánchez Quevedo, Zurbarán (Madrid: Akal, 2000), 24–5; Mindy Nancarrow and Benito Navarrete Prieto, Antonio del Castillo (Madrid: Fundación de Apoyo a la Historia del Arte Hispánico, 2004), 113. 54 Nancarrow and Navarrete, Zurbarán, 113. 55 Fuensanta García de la Torre and José María Baez, En torno al Barroco. Fondos del Museo de Bellas Artes de Córdoba (Córdoba: Ayuntamiento de Córdoba, 2005), 94. 56 García de la Torre and Baez, En torno al Barroco, 102. 57 Antonio Ponz, Viage de España, vol. 9, 272, already mentioned in Daniel Crespo Delgado, Un viaje para la Ilustración: el "Viaje de España" (1772–1794) de Antonio Ponz (Madrid: Marcial Pons, 2012), 293. 58 Pérez Sánchez, “Reni y España,” 111.

Guido Reni’s Influence in Seville 191 59 Sebastián González Segarra, “Recopilaciones y apuntes: Alonso Cano Pintor y Málaga.” Isla de Arriarán: revista cultural y científica 26 (2005), 49. 60 Carl Justi, Velázquez y su época (London: Parkstone, 2012), 117. Pacheco also wrote about this journey, and said that Velázquez didn’t see Bologna, but he went directly to the sanctuary of Loreto in the Marches, published in Gabriele Finaldi, “Pintura y devoción,” in Fábulas de Velázquez: mitología e historia sagrada en el Siglo de Oro, ed. Javier Portús Pérez (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado, 2002), 179. For the Italian stay of Velázquez, see: Salvador Salort-Pons, Velázquez en Italia (Madrid: Fundación de Apoyo a la Historia del Arte Hispánico, 2002). 61 Julián Gállego, Diego Velázquez (Barcelona: Anthropos, 1983), 79. 62 Javier Portús Pérez, “Velázquez, pintor de historia. Competencia, superación y conciencia creativa,” in Fábulas de Velázquez, 22. 63 Antonio Palomino, Vida de don Diego Velázquez de Silva, ed. Miguel Morán Turina (Madrid: Akal, 2008), 91. In Manuela Mena “La Italia de Velázquez” paper presented at the conference Barroco en las colecciones reales, Palacio Real de Madrid, September 2016, mentioned above, the specialist focuses on the influence of Reni’s light on this canvas, but assumes that it was not executed in Italy as was being said before. 64 Enriqueta Harris, Velázquez (Madrid: Akal, 2003), 117–18. 65 Finaldi, entry no. 26, in Fábulas de Velázquez, 322–3. 66 Enrique Valdivieso, Murillo: catálogo razonado de pintura (Madrid: El Viso, 2010), 25. 67 Mayer, La escuela sevillana, 250 (Note 1). 68 Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones,” 217. 69 Some bibliographical contributions pointed out a hypothetical debt between the Immaculadas by Pacheco or Zurbaran and the paintings by Reni. Cfr.: Pérez Sánchez, “Reni y España,” 109; and Colomer, “Guido Reni en las colecciones,” 217. 70 Benito Navarrete Prieto, La pintura andaluza del siglo XVII y sus fuentes grabadas (Madrid: Fundación de Apoyo a la Historia del Arte Hispánico, 1998), 293; Valdivieso, Murillo: catálogo razonado, 165–6; The engraving is published in: Adam Bartsch, The Illustrated Bartsch (New York: Abaris Books, 1978), 28, 162. 71 Navarrete, La pintura andaluza, 293. 72 Valdivieso, Murillo: catálogo razonado, 83. The Ecce Homo mentioned above to hide a copy of Ribera’s composition is also a testify of stylistic affinities with Reni. This canvas was sold in Genoa in 1934 as an original Bolognese. Cfr.: Navarrete, entry no. 21, in San Francisco de Borja, 238. 73 Valdivieso, Murillo: catálogo razonado, 169. 74 Navarrete, La pintura andaluza, 293. 75 David García Cueto, La estancia española de los pintores boloñeses: Agostino Mitelli y Angelo Michele Colonna, 1658–1662 (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2005), 307. 76 Antonio Palomino, Vidas, ed. Nina Ayala Mallory (Madrid: Alianza, 1986), 1055. The updating granted to the artist by this relationship would be implemented in Seville in the context of architectural campaigns such as the one of the Hospital de los Venerables; see: Fernando Quiles García, “La cuadratura en el Barroco sevillano. Pintando arquitecturas a la manera italiana” in L’architettura dell’inganno. Quadraturismo e grande decorazione nella pittura di età barocca, ed. Fauzia Farneti and Deanna Lenzi (Florence: Alinea, 2002), 198–9. 77 For the contract signed by the artist for this painting, see Duncan Kinkead, Juan de Valdés Leal (1622–1690): His Life and Work (New York: Garland Publishing, 1978), 387–91. 78 Enrique Valdivieso, Valdés Leal (Seville: Junta de Andalucía y Museo del Prado, 1991), 158.

10 Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections The Legacy of the Iberian Journey of Cosimo III de’ Medici Miguel Taín Guzmán In 1668–1669, the 26-year-old Cosimo III de’ Medici, Prince of Tuscany, son of the Grand Duke Ferdinando II de’Medici, made a long trip through Europe, including Spain, Portugal, England, Holland, and France, between 1668 and 1669 (­Figure 10.1).1 The places he and his entourage visited, which were important for cultural, religious, economic, or political reasons, were carefully selected in order to prepare the Prince for becoming the next Grand Duke of Florence. In fact, he took over this position some months later. The visit to Spain involved one of the longest journeys (Figure 10.2).2 Leaving Livorno, he reached the Spanish coast, stopping for a few hours in Cadaqués, Roses, and Palamós on the coast of Catalonia. Finally, he debarked in Barcelona on 29 September 1668. From this city, he began his overland trip, in a carriage brought from Florence, visiting towns and cities such as Martorell, Montserrat, Igualada, Lleida, Zaragoza, Daroca, Guadalajara, and Alcalá de Henares, before finally arriving in Madrid, where he stayed between 24 October and 25 November. From there, he went south to towns and cities such as Toledo, Mora, Consuegra, Villanueva de los Infantes, Andújar, El Carpio, Córdoba, Castro del Río, Granada, Écija, Carmona, and Seville. From here he traveled to Zafra, Badajoz, and Portugal, where he stopped in Lisbon. He then continued his journey towards Galicia, entering Spain at Tui and stopping in Redondela, Pontevedra, Padrón, and Santiago de Compostela. In this last city, he visited the sanctuary of the Apostle Saint James. His stay in Spain lasted a total of 126 days, including the day of arrival to Cadaqués and the day of departure from Coruña, where on 19 March he embarked for England, having spent enough time in Spain to gain a proper understanding of the country’s culture. As a prince, he traveled with an entourage comprised of 27 people including nobles, servants, and a French cook. Some of the travelers kept accounts of the journey. Lorenzo Magalotti was one of the nobles, who had an important role as a diplomat, writer, and scientist, and was responsible for writing the official diary of the trip Relazione Ufficiale del Viaggio di Cosimo III de’ Medici and describing the places they visited, the local monuments and customs, ceremonies and religious life, receptions, and food.3 The young artist Pier Maria Baldi, also a member of the retinue, was charged with drawing views of the cities, villages, and inns they visited, and which serve as illustrations to the Relazione. Thanks to his work, we now have the most complete graphic testimony of Spanish locations in the seventeenth century, as he drew a total of 86 views of the country.4 A second interesting diary is the Memorie del viaggio by Filippo Corsini, Cosimo’s cupbearer on the journey (scalco), was the source from which Magalotti copied a large amount of information.5 The accounts by Giovan Battista Gornia, doctor of the retinue,6 and Jacopo Ciuti, the administrator

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 193

Figure 10.1 Engraving of Cosimo III, made just a few months after travelling to Compostela; anonymous; 1670, collection of Fernando Reyes (photo courtesy of the owner).

of provisions (spenditore),7 are much more anecdotal and spontaneous as regards the details of the visits. In contrast, the diary by the chaplain Felice Monsacchi is the most succinct.8 Finally, the expenses and tips detailed in the accounts book of the journey by Filippo Marchetti (maestro di casa) provide information about the people the Prince met on this visit, and the objects he acquired.9

194  Miguel Taín Guzmán

Figure 10.2 Map of Spain showing the route of the journey by Cosimo III (computer graphics by Miguel Cajigal).

These five diaries, together with the letters written by members of the entourage, the records of expenditures, and other documents, inform us that during the trip Cosimo acquired examples of Spanish culture and artistic developments in the form of paintings, drawings, glass, silverware, leather, items from the Americas, weapons, devotional objects, and books. These items reflected the Prince’s interests, curiosity, and concerns. This study focuses on a series of Spanish paintings which are associated in one way or another with the journey and which are now preserved in the city of Florence.10

Two Royal Portraits in the Galleria Palatina Before becoming Grand Duke, Cosimo does not seem to have had any great interest in acquiring paintings and drawings for his family’s collections. A clue to understanding this neglect is found in his letter to his uncle, Cardinal Leopoldo de’ Medici, on 15 November 1668,11 in which he gave his opinions on the paintings in the Escorial Monastery, which he had seen the previous day,12 and in the diaries of the journey where their authors describe the rich collections of paintings of the Buen Retiro Palace seen on 2 November, the Royal Alcázar Palace seen on 11 November, the Escorial seen on

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 195 14 November, and the Aranjuez Palace visited on 26 November. These four royal sites were known in Europe for their collections of hundreds of paintings from Spain and different nationalities, and deserved positive valuations in the accounts of Cosimo’s journey. Gornia, for example, states that the authors of the paintings displayed in the sacristy of the Escorial are “the most famous painters of the planet”.13 Significantly, this letter and these accounts mainly mention artworks attributed to Italian artists such as Raphael, Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, Correggio, Andrea del Sarto, Jacopo Bassano, Annibale Carracci, Guido Reni, and Caravaggio. In the case of the Royal Monastery, Cosimo states that “there is a great number of beautiful paintings in El Escorial, most of which are history paintings” and, quoting Martial, that “they are good, some are mediocre, and there are many more that are bad”.14 This means that the Prince and his retinue do not seem to have been interested in Spanish paintings, probably due to a lack of knowledge, which may explain the lack of acquisitions of good local paintings, for example by Diego Velázquez, the famous royal painter who had recently died in 1660. In fact, the only Spanish artist mentioned is José de Ribera, called Lo Spagnoletto by Corsini and Monsacchi, but probably because he was so well known in Italy through his workshop in Naples.15 Corsini also cites the canvases in the altars of the church of El Escorial by El Greco, Luca Cambiaso, and Federico Zuccaro, all of whom were foreigners but who were based in Spain. Cambiaso and Zuccaro were Italians, and the latter was known for having earlier worked for Cosimo I in Florence.16 Still, the accounts do contain references to some Spanish paintings, although they are mentioned because of their subject matter, without commenting on aesthetic qualities or providing details of authorship. For example, when Corsini and Gornia describe the paintings depicting the battles won by Felipe IV in the “Hall of the Kingdoms” of the Buen Retiro Palace, they mention the subject matter, but not their Spanish or foreign authors.17 Magalotti notes that several rooms in the palace are decorated with paintings “by the most famous painters of Spain”, including those in the Hall of the Kingdoms, celebrating the triumph in Germany of the Duke of Feria, Gómez Suárez de Figueroa, in 1633.18 Once again, the subject matter is the reason why Magalotti, Corsini, and Gornia emphasize the series of portraits of the kings of Asturias, León, and Castile, displayed between the two rooms of the “Gilded Hall” in the Real Alcázar palace.19 Although painted by different artists, mainly Spanish artists, Corsini and Gornia state that they were created by only one “famous” painter, who was “quite esteemed in Spain”.20 The only exception is the unidentified “The Strengths of Hercules”. We don’t know if this is one or a series of paintings, singled out by Gornia because of quality, attributed to a “famous” Spanish painter whose name he does not mention, displayed on the walls of the Real Alcázar.21 I do not think he is referring to the eight paintings from the series titled “The Labors of Hercules” by Rubens displayed in the Octagonal Room, but it could be a reference to a replica by Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo, Velázquez’s son-in-law, displayed in the Prince’s Room.22 However, I wonder if Gornia made a mistake and is, instead, referring to Francisco de Zurbarán’s series of “The Labors of Hercules” which decorated the Hall of the Kingdoms of the Buen Retiro Palace, which he had seen some days earlier.23 The presence of the Greek hero in these chambers and the citation in the account of the journey are justified, since Hercules was considered an ancestor of kings of Spain, and because of the association of the semi-god and the King Felipe IV with the sun, which is the emblem of the virtue of a good leader.

196  Miguel Taín Guzmán This complete lack of knowledge on the part of the Prince and his entourage with regard to Spanish painting may explain their disinterest in purchasing fine works for the Medici collections during their journey across the country. Cosimo’s advisers on artistic matters in the retinue, the courtier Paolo Falconieri and Baldi, did not have any training in Spanish art.24 It therefore comes as no surprise that there is only one documented acquisition in Spain, and it was clearly obtained because its subject matter. This was the oil painting of the Queen-Regent Mariana de Austria, which Cosimo acquired while he was visiting the Palace of Aranjuez on 26 November (Figure 10.3). The Guardaroba gave him the painting,25 presumably with the Queen’s permission,

Figure 10.3 Portrait of Mariana of Austria, c. 1667, Galleria Palatina, Florence (photo by the author).

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 197 at the express request of the Prince. This information is noted in Marchetti’s book of accounts, as Cosimo gave a tip of 15 scudi to the person who brought him the gift: “and on that day [26 November], 15 scudi more than the others, for the Guardaroba of this palace, who gave the portrait of the Queen”.26 This painting is currently kept in the storeroom of the Galleria Palatina in the Pitti Palace (inv. 5203; measurements: 76 x 58 cm). The Queen is well characterized in the portrait, which is by an anonymous artist. It is clearly based on the work of the new official portrait of Mariana as the widow of King Felipe IV and tutor of the new child King Carlos II, best exemplified by the famous portrait of the Queen (1666, National Gallery, London) which was the new official portrait created by Juan Bautista Martínez del Mazo, the King’s chamber painter until 1667.27 This model was repeated by Sebastián de Herrera Barnuevo, the King’s new chamber painter, between 1667 and 1671, as seen in the double portrait of the Queen with her son that is attributed to him, now in a private collection in Madrid.28 Therefore, in the portrait from Aranjuez, like those by Martínez de Mazo and Herrera Barnuevo, the queen is depicted as a young woman, with a cold, distant air, dressed in mourning, and in a nun’s white habit and long black veil in the style of the time. The canvas only shows her from the waist up, on a dark monochrome background, which avoids having to represent a particular palatial setting. However, the portrait was originally larger and wider and has been trimmed by the abrupt cropping of the sleeves and the hands. She also seems to be seated on a chair, as in the other portraits, due to the position of her arms. If this were the case, the chair would be a reference to the governance of the Queen, who only used it for audiences and ceremonies, as the general custom in the court was for the Queen and her ladies-in-waiting to sit on cushions on a platform on the floor.29 On the other hand, the neutral background is very degraded, and possibly retouched. The reverse of the painting shows inventory numbers corresponding to the Medici inventories. There are three numbers that this painting shares with an oil portrait of Carlos II as a child (Galleria Palatina, Florence, inv. 5145; measurements: 76.5 x 58.5 cm) (Figure 10.4): apparently the oldest number is 496 (in black and crossed out); the following one would be 670 (in black and crossed out), and the final one would have been 7902 (in black).30 This is uncommon in the Medici collections, and could be explained if both paintings were hung together. Moreover, this would be the reason why the Queen’s portrait was cropped: it was originally larger than the King’s portrait, from which his left hand, part of his hat and clothes also seems have been trimmed. Upon his arrival in Florence, the Prince presumably gave the painting from Aranjuez to his uncle Leopoldo, a collector of portraits of the members of European royal families. The King’s portrait would also have been destined for the Cardinal’s collection, thus explaining why they appear together in the inventory of Leopoldo’s paintings in the Stanza Grande of the Guardaroba of Pitti Palace. Completed between 1675 and 1676 after his death, this inventory describes the inheritance left to his nephew: “a painting on canvas, with a height of 1 ¼ braccia, a width of 1 braccia, upon which is painted the portrait of the reigning King of Spain, in an ordinary manner” and “a painting on canvas, similar to the previous, upon which is painted a portrait of the Queen Mother of Spain, dressed as a nun, with a white habit and black veil”.31 The two paintings are marked in this inventory with the initials “PR”, indicating that they were transferred to the Medicea Villa of Pratolino. In fact, they were given to Leopoldo Melli,32 the keeper of the Guardaroba of the villa, on 2 August 1680, and they were still listed there in an inventory from 1748.33 In the nineteenth century they were

198  Miguel Taín Guzmán

Figure 10.4 Portrait of the child King Carlos II of Spain, c. 1667, Galleria Palatina, Florence (photo by the author).

transferred to the Galleria degli Uffizi, after which they were separated and given different reference numbers: the painting of the Queen is shown as number 1641 in the 1881 inventory, and then with its present number in the inventory from 1890, after which it was hung in the Magazzino Lambertesca, corridor C, first wall. In turn, the portrait of the King is shown as number 816 in the inventory from 1881, and then with its present number in the 1890 inventory, after which it was hung in the Magazzino Lambertesca, room B, first wall. The portrait of Mariana de Austria has been stored in the Magazzino Occhi of the Pitti Palace since 1972.

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 199 Charles II is around seven years of age in the portrait, which is the time when Cosimo visited Madrid: in fact, the diaries describe how the Prince visited the Real Alcázar because of the royal birthday on 6 November. According to Rodríguez de Ceballos, the King is shown wearing red trousers and a chamberga, a long, ample coat (casaca),34 the uniform of his new personal bodyguard created in 1669 to protect him from the threat of his stepbrother Juan de Austria the Younger, according to a recent study by Álvarez-Ossorio Alvariño.35 If both of these facts are correct, as they would seem to be, it would mean that the portrait of Charles II could not have been acquired by the Prince during his stay in Madrid, but instead would have been commissioned by him before leaving the court. Indeed, it would have been unexpected for him to obtain only the portrait of the Regent for the collection of European Royal Portraits on display in the villas and palaces of the Medici. In fact, the English ambassador, Edward Montagu, received the portraits of both the regent and Charles II as a gift some months later.36 Herrera Barnuevo was responsible for the idea of portraying the King wearing a chamberga in 1669, as can be seen in the painting from the Leopoldo Gil Nebot collection in Barcelona, or in the previously mentioned double portrait of the Queen with her son from a private collection from Madrid, both dated around this year, which was then copied in several versions by anonymous authors, one of which is the portrait from the Galleria Palatina.37 In it, the face of the King is tender and innocent, and with his unique physiognomy, although this has been idealized. He is shown standing, looking towards the viewer, revealing his long, curly hair, a detail that characterizes his portraits of this period. He holds the baton (bengala) in his right hand, the hat of the uniform (chambergo) in his left, and has a sword at his waist, only the grip of which can be seen, indicating that he is the highest authority of the new guard. The golden toisón, an attribute of the House of Austria, hangs around his neck. All in all, the painting presents a healthy, idealized image of a child, in order to dispel any doubts about his well-known weak physical and mental constitution. This first acquisition was followed by other portraits of Charles II. For example, the inventories of Cosimo’s wardrobe from 1689 and 1690 include the Spanish King’s portrait as a young man (“da giovane”) dressed in black (“vestito di nero”).38 In another from the wardrobe of Vittoria della Rovere in the villa of Poggio Imperiale, there is one that forms a part of a series of the ruling houses of Europe, where he is shown in armor, with a crimson sash with laces (“armato, con ciárpa e galano ponsò alla pezzuola di trina”);39 and finally, the 1791 inventory of the Pitti Palace mentions another, oval portrait, in which he is shown still as a child (“da fanciullo”).40 Today only two are in the Galleria degli Uffizi: one is in the series of Illustrious Men41 (Ic106),42 and the other is in the series of “Douven Ovali” on the family of Johann Wilhelm Kurfürst von der Pfalz, Elector Palatine and the husband of Anna Maria Luisa de’Medici, Cosimo’s daughter (Ic791).43

The Virgin of the Kings in the Cathedral of Seville From a very young age, Cosimo spent long periods in the company of friars, went to mass once or twice a day, diligently recited prayers to the Virgin Mary, received communion on Sundays and feast days, and read all types of devotional books,44 all of which was quite normal behavior for an heir educated in the spirit of the CounterReformation.45 He attended mass every day in local churches during his journey across

200  Miguel Taín Guzmán Spain no matter where he was, as we know from the accounts by Magalotti, Corsini, and Gornia. When it was not possible, for example in desert regions of Andalusia, his chaplain Monsacchi celebrated mass in the rooms of his accommodation, something that is also indicated in the diaries. The Prince’s particularly pious nature explains why he purchased hundreds of devotional objects from the Spanish hermitages, churches, cathedrals, monasteries, and sanctuaries he visited. The inventory of his wardrobe from 1690 mentions many medals, small religious images, crosses, and other devotional articles which were probably acquired during the journey and which were intended to be gifts for relatives, friars, and friends.46 They include a number of cloth ribbons (medidas), silver crosses, and medals of the Virgin of Monserrat, whose sanctuary he visited on 6 and 7 October 1668; a number of cloth ribbons, a golden small statue for a rosary, and two small golden statues of the Virgin of El Pilar in Zaragoza, whose image he visited on 14 October; the silver medals of the reliquary of the Corporal of Daroca, which he saw on 18 October; several cloth ribbons and one silver portapaz of the Virgin of Atocha, whose temple he visited on 28 October and on 2, 10, 17, and 21 November; and the silver medals of the Apostle Saint James of Galicia, before whose altar he prayed on 4 and 6 March 1669. All these objects relate to images and relics for which the Prince felt a special devotion, and whose presentations in their respective churches, richly decorated with robes, silverwork, pearls, and precious stones are described in the accounts of Magalotti, Corsini, Gornia, Ciuti, and Monsacchi. Although a large number of items are included in the inventory of 1690, they would be only those not given to relatives and members of the court up until this date. Unfortunately, it seems that not even one of these objects has survived to the present day, or at least I have not been able to track them down. The absence of such Spanish commemorative medals in the extensive collection of the Museo Nazionale del Bargello may be due to the fact that they were melted down, together with many others, by the first dukes of Lorena, who had economic difficulties.47 Cosimo also purchased a number of items made of jet stone from Compostela (such as small boxes, shells, adornments, and small crucifixes), which were kept together in the Guardaroba in 1690. They are the typical devotional objects that pilgrims would buy, and this may also be the origin of a statuette of a Saint James as a Pilgrim, wearing a cape, a wide-brimmed hat adorned with a shell, a staff, a bag and a gourd, with two donors kneeling down in an attitude of prayer, which is now in the Collezione Medicea di Pietre Lavorate in the Museo di Storia Naturale di Firenze (inv. 13704). This inventory also refers to dozens of crosses of Caravaca. They could have originated from this trip, although he never visited the Murciano sanctuary, or from a gift of a Spanish friar at the court in Florence. Cosimo’s interest in the cross is also demonstrated by a copy that crowns the church of the convent of the Franciscan order of San Pedro de Alcántara, which he founded at his Villa Ambrogiana in 1678 and which he insisted should only be occupied by Spanish friars, whose masses he liked to attend.48 He must have been very impressed with this newly reformed order when he discovered it during his visit to the convent of San Gil El Real in Madrid on 17 November 1668. Cosimo’s devotion to the Virgin Mary from an early age, confirmed by his biographer Sandrini, explains his visits to Marian churches in Spain and the variety of Marian objects acquired during the journey.49 This piety for Spanish devotional images of the Virgin continued after he returned to Florence as is shown by his presentation of a silver lamp made by the Florentine silversmith Arrigo Brunich to the Virgin of Montserrat in 1671.50 Another example is the anonymous Andalusian oil painting on

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 201 canvas of the image of the Virgin of the Kings displayed in the Royal Chapel of the Cathedral of Seville (Virgen de los Reyes), displayed in one of the chapels in the Pitti Palace according to an inventory of 1761 (Plate 8). Cosimo had a particular regard for this Virgin when he visited the chapel on 28 December 1668, an event reported in the accounts of the journey. According to them, the Prince was attracted to the royal nature of the building, its pantheon of monarchs, and the fact that it served as a reliquary, containing the remains of the holy King St. Fernando. Corsini refers to the Marian sculpture as “a miraculous Virgin. It is said that she appeared to King Fernando just a few days before the Moors were driven out of Seville”,51 referring to the local tradition of the miraculous appearance of the Virgin Mary before Fernando III and the conquest of Seville.52 Magalotti offers more details, stating: “there is a chapel, which surrounds the area behind the high altar of the cathedral, where a notable imagine of the Virgin is revered, which appeared to King Fernando the Holy after the final defeat of the moors of Seville according to the tradition; whose uncorrupted body, with that of the queen, his consort, are in a great urn covered with a red cloth with different crowns above similar pillows and before the altar. This whole chapel is built of stone but of modern architecture with great ornaments of bas-reliefs”.53 The inventory of 1761 described this painting as “a similar painting [to the previous one mentioned in the register], 1 braccia high, ¾ bracchia wide, upon which is painted the Holy Virgin with the Christ Child in her arms, both with crowns on their heads, and beneath a tabernacle flanked with candelabra, and several cherubs to the sides and above; and in front there is an altar with four candlesticks and two saints to the sides, in the niches; and above this tabernacle is the Eternal Father amongst the clouds and surrounded by several cherubs, with the world in his hands, with the inscription below stating ‘conceived without sin’; all of the above is between two columns with golden adornments, and an arch above, and two vases with several flowers to the sides; with an undecorated frame, with arabesques carved in the corners, and all covered in gilt; registered as number 11862”.54 The canvas now measures 60 x 47 cm, and I was able to study it in 2013 in the offices of the Ufficio di Ricerche de la Soprintendenza per I Beni Artistici e Storici in Florence (inv. 1890, n. 2210).55 The painting depicts a fairly accurate representation of the altarpiece containing the image of the Virgin of the Kings, an object of great devotion amongst the local population. The altarpiece made for the image by the sculptor Luis Ortiz de Vargas between 1644 and 1647 is shown inserted in a niche and framed by two columns with gilt grotesques that mimic the architecture of the chapel.56 In the central section, beneath a silver canopy, is the wooden Gothic image of the Virgin, seated, articulated, and dressed, with the Christ Child seated in her lap. He is also dressed, articulated, and wearing a crown. The base, supported by cherubim, includes a medallion with the bust of Saint Joseph and the Christ Child. To the left and right there are two niches with the images of Saint Joachim and Saint Anne, topped by medallions showing the effigies of Saint Justa and Saint Rufina, the patron saints of Seville. Finally, pairs of angels and symbols of the litanies are distributed along the sides of the altarpiece. The painting in Florence has some value as a document, as it shows the appearance of the altar in the second half of the seventeenth century or early part of the eighteenth century, when it was probably created. It is also of interest as it contains information about one of the many lavish garments used for the image57 and the wedding crown of Beatrice of Swabia, probably donated by King Fernando III in the thirteenth century due to his devotion to this Virgin. This crown was unfortunately stolen in 1873 and is now only known

202  Miguel Taín Guzmán from a photograph by Jean Laurent from 1872. However, the author took a great deal of license in representing this jewel, mainly evoking its shape and precious stones, its most eye-catching aspects.58 This same topic is depicted in at least two engravings59 and numerous paintings,60 proof of the popularity of the sculpture and how extensively it was worshipped: one of them was painted by Estebán Márquez de Velasco for King Charles II in 1691.61 Some of them are very similar to the painting in Florence, such as the anonymous oil painting in the Museo de Bellas Artes of Seville (inv. CE0812P) or the painting by Francisco Meneses Osorio, from 1696, in the Museo Nacional de Escultura of Valladolid (inv. CE0914). The image was concealed during certain types of celebrations, using wooden doors. This may explain the presence of the curtains that are pulled back in the painting in Florence, although it seems more likely that the drapes were an artistic invention, together with the vases of flowers, to create a divine trompe l’oeil. I am referring to a type of religious depiction that shows images of devotion—­ generally sculptures—in the way they are worshipped on their altars, accompanied by the furniture in which they are exhibited, their attributes and accessories.62 The painting includes other freely interpreted elements, such as the metal canopy, simulating a Baroque piece, when it is actually Gothic and decorated with castles and lions.63 Also, the painting of the attic, showing God the Father in Glory, seems to have never actually existed. Furthermore, it is not possible to recognize the antependium depicted on the altar. Like the painting from Valladolid, the Florentine canvas bears the inscription “CONCEBIDA SIN PECADO” (“CONCEIVED WITHOUT SIN”) on the canopy of a second, smaller red curtain with lace trimmings, which is gathered behind the columns. The unresolved question here is whether Cosimo obtained the painting during his stay in Seville, or if it was sent to him at a later stage. In any event, this canvas is not the only example, as there are records of the delivery of another Spanish canvas of the Virgin Mary to Florence in 1687, which ended up in the Spanish Franciscan monastery of the Villa Ambrogiana.64 I am convinced that there are many more works yet to be discovered and documented, which could provide further evidence of the dedication to Spanish devotional images by Cosimo III, one of the longest living Grand Dukes of Florence. Altogether, only a small number of paintings have been identified as being connected with the Spanish leg of the Prince’s journey. They do not stand out for their aesthetic qualities, but instead as graphic documents. The portraits of the monarchs are important, because they bear witness to a complicated time of the House of Austria, with a widowed Queen, who was facing a growing number of difficulties in the government of the country, and a child King who wears the uniform of a newly created guard that was specifically intended to protect his personal safety. The painting from Seville is relevant, as it suggests that the Prince was devoted to certain Spanish sanctuaries, especially those dedicated to the Virgin Mary. All of them confirm the fact that Cosimo was involved in acquiring paintings for the Medici collections from an early date. From the information on numerous acquisitions provided by the documents from the journey, it is likely that there could still be many more Spanish paintings—especially Spanish religious paintings—that have not been identified in Florentine institutions. After becoming Grand Duke, Cosimo continued the family tradition of being a great collector, patron, and doyen of good taste, and promoted architecture, sculpture, painting, the fine arts, and the weaving of tapestries. However, he seems to be

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 203 disinterested in Spanish master painters in general, and Velázquez in particular—a lacuna in Florentine museums today—although he did acquire two works which are considered as Velázquez’s self-portraits for the series of artists’ portraits that now hang in the Galleria degli Uffizi. I hope that future research carried out into the documentation, the Medici collections, and the churches of Tuscany, will lead to a more complete understanding of Spanish art acquired by Cosimo III.

Notes 1 For the biography of the Prince in the years prior to the journey, see Franck Lafage, Côme III de Médicis Grand-Duc de Toscane. Un règne dans l’ombre de l’Historie (1670–1723) (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2015), 27–51. On his personality and concerns, also see Riguccio Galluzzi, Storia del Granducato di Toscana (Florence: L. Marchini, 1781), 8 (Florence: Leonardo Marchini, 1822), 3–68; George Frederick Young, The Medici (London: The Modern Library, 1909), 2 (London: Murray, 1911), 450–7; Harold M. M. Acton, The Last Medici (London: Thames and Hudson, 1932) (London: Methuen, 1958), 25–108; Christopher Hibbert, The Rise and Fall of the House of Medici (London: Lane, 1974), 287–93; Elena Fasano Guarini, Cosimo III de Medici, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 30 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana, 1984), 54–5; Marcello Vannucci, I Medici. Una famiglia al potere (Rome: Newton Compton, 1987), 392–5. On the details of his education, see the hand-written biography of Fra’ Domenico Maria Sandrini, Della vita di Cosimo 3° Gran Duca di Toscana, ms. by 1723–1725, now in the Archivio di Stato di Firenze (hereinafter ASF), Miscellanea Medicea (hereinafter MM) 458, ins. 11, ff. 2r–13r. On the scientific environment surrounding his education, see Paolo Galluzzi, ed., Scienziati a Corte. L’arte della sperimentazione nell’Accademia Galileiana del Cimento (1657–1667) (Florence: Sillabe Casa Editrice, 2001). On the Prince’s artistic interests during the years of the journey, see Marco Chiarini, “Il Granduca Cosimo III dei Medici e il suo contributo alle collezioni fiorentine,” in Gli Uffizi. Quattro secoli di una galleria, ed. Paola Barocchi et al. 1 (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore, 1983), 319–29. 2 On the journey through Spain, see Ángel Sánchez Rivero, and Angela Mariutti, “An introductory study,” in Lorenzo Magalotti, Viaje de Cosme de Médicis por España y Portugal (1668–1669), ed. Ángel Sánchez Rivero et al. (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Históricos, 1933); Paolo Caucci von Saucken, “Introducción,” in El viaje del Príncipe Cosimo dei Medici por España y Portugal, ed. Jacopo Aldighiero Caucci von Saucken (Santiago: Xunta de Galicia, 2004), 17–48, the introduction, with notes, is republished in Paolo Caucci von Saucken, “Un principe toscano nell’autunno del Granducato,” in Santiago e I Cammini della Memoria, ed. Paolo Caucci von Saucken (Pomigliano d’Arco: Edizioni compostellane, 2006), 102–23; Xosé A. Neira Cruz, ed., El viaje a Compostela de Cosme III de Médicis (Santiago: Consellería de Cultura, Comunicación Social e Turismo, 2004). 3 Lorenzo Magalotti, Relazione Ufficiale del Viaggio di Cosimo III de’ Medici, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Mediceo Palatino, Cod. 123, 1. The draft of the text, written by Magalotti himself, is kept at the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze (hereinafter BNCF, Conv. Soppr., G, IX, 1863), as well as a copy of the final Relazione in folio format (BNCF, Ms. II, III, 431). 4 The full text of the journey through Spain and its illustrations have been published by Sánchez Rivero and Mariutti, Viaje de Cosme de Médicis and by Caucci von Saucken, El viaje del Príncipe Cosimo dei Medici. On Magalotti see Cesare Preti and Luigi Matt, “Magalotti, Lorenzo,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani 67 (Rome: Istituto dell’enciclopedia italiana, 2006), 300–5. On Baldi, see Renzo Chiarelli, Baldi, Pier Maria, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani 5 (Rome: Istituto dell’enciclopedia italiana, 1960), 470–1. 5 Filippo Corsini, Memorie del viaggio fatto in Spagna, Portogallo, Inghilterra, Olanda e Francia dal Serenissimo Principe Cosimo di Toscana, private library of the current Prince Corsini, to whom I am grateful for having allowed me to consult it in 2013. On the author, see Luigi Passerini, Genealogia e storia della famiglia Corsini (Florence: Cellini, 1858), 155–6; Simonetta Prosperi Valenti Rodinò, Filippo Corsini, in The Dictionary of Art, ed. Jane Turner 7 (New York: Grove, 1996), 896–7. On his patronage of the arts in Florence,

204  Miguel Taín Guzmán see Stella Rudolph, “Mecenati a Firenze tra Sei e Settecento, I. I committenti privati,” Arte Illustrata 5 (1972), 230–2. 6 Giovan Battista Gornia, Viaggio fatto dal Serenissimo Principe Cosimo Terzo di Toscana per la Spagna, Inghilterra, Francia et altri luoghi negl’anni 1668 e 1669, British Library, ADD Ms. 16504. 7 Jacopo Ciuti, Relazione del secondo viaggio del Serenissimo Principe Cosimo di Toscana per le Spagne, Inghilterra, Irlanda, suo ritorno in Olanda, e passaggio in Francia, Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz, Rari, K 975 r, fols. 40r.–85v. 8 Felice Monsacchi, Viaggio di Spagna, d’Inghilterra e di Francia fatto dal Serenissimo Signore Principe Cosimo di Toscana, Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center of the University of Texas, Ranuzzi Family Manuscripts, vol. Ph 12742, folder 6, fols. 97r.–115r. 9 Filippo Marchetti, Libro dell’entrata e uscita del viaggio di Spagna et altre corone che è per fare il Serenissimo Principe Padrone questo presente anno 1668, tenuto da me Filippo Marchetti, suo Maestro di Casa in detto viaggio, ASF, Acquisti e Doni, 82, ins. 2. 10 Cf. Miguel Taín Guzmán, “De España a Florencia. Obras de arte y artículos de lujo adquiridos por Cosimo III de’ Medici durante su viaje hispánico,” Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz LVI (2014), 193–213; Miguel Taín Guzmán, “Cultura española en Palacio Pitti: libros de arte, antigüedades, medallas y otros temas adquiridos por Cosimo III de Medici durante su viaje hispánico,” Studi secenteschi 56 (2015), 225–62; Miguel Taín Guzmán, “Imágenes y objetos devocionales adquiridos en Santiago de Compostela y otros santuarios de España por el príncipe Cosimo III de Medici,” in Topografías culturales del Camino de Santiago/Kulturelle Topographien des Jakobsweges, ed. Javier Gómez-Montero (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang Verlag, 2016), 235–51. 11 According to Sandrini (Della vita di Cosimo 3°, f. 4r), the Prince had a special relationship with his uncle, with whom he would discuss princely or academic topics (“trattava seco spessissimo ma sempre di cose o principesche o studiose”). 12 ASF, Mediceo del Principato (hereinafter MdP), 5499, f. 327rv; this letter was published by Paola Barocchi and Giovanna Gaeta Bertelà, Collezionismo mediceo e storia artística (Florence: SPES, 2011), vol 4.1, 71–2. 13 Gornia, Viaggio, f. 34v. 14 “Madrid, li 15 de novembre 1668. Eminentissimo, Reverendissimo, Serenissimo mio zio Osservandissimo. Mantenendo la promessa a Vostra Eminenza di darli un breve ragualio delle pitture che ho visto nel Palazzo Escuri[a]le, le dirò in primo luogo che nel Palazzo ci è una grande quantità di quadri ma non ci sono grande istorie, eccetto una di Pavolo, che molto buona. Moltissimi ritratti di Tiziano, del Rubens, poi ce ne di tutte le grandezze, ma si puole dire con Marziale “Sunt bona, sunt quedam mediocria, sunt mala plura”. Nel Escuriale poi ci è una grandissima quantità di bellissimi quadri et quasi per la magiore parte istorie: di Pavolo molti, del Tintoretto molti, di Raffaello molti, di Tiziano moltissimi, et fra le altre tre grande istorie che sono senza paragone le più belle et le meglio che li habia fatto, ecetuato il San Pietro Martire di Venezia. Questi sono: il martirio di San Lorenzo dove sono molte figure al naturale; un Paradiso dove si vedono tutti li Patriarchi et molti Santi et la Madona, et non si puole vedere cosa più bella. Il terzo è una Cena dove c’è Cristo con li 12 Apostoli, magiori del naturale, con un ministro che serve, intero, et due altri che a uno se li vede la mano el piede et al altro un braccio solo, havendo tagliato il resto, che sono quasi due figure intere. Ho senta che barbaria: per potere mettere questa nobilissima gioia in un puzolentissimo refettorio di frati, acciò entrassi fra due finestre in testa al refettorio, cose che non si farebbono in Turchia. Mentre finendo questa maltenuta relazione, assicuro Vostra Eminenza del desiderio che tengo di servirla e di cuore le bacio le mani. Di Vostra Eminenza, affezionatissimo nipote il Principe di Toscana”; ASF, MdP 5499, f. 327rv. 15 Corsini, Memorie del viaggio, f. 91rv; Monsacchi, Viaggio di Spagna, ff. 101v and 112r. 16 Corsini, Memorie del viaggio, f. 91r. 17 “L’altro braccio del cortile viene occupato da tre gran sale in cui sono dipinte diverse battaglie” (Corsini, Memorie del viaggio, f. 64r); “Questi ancora si vedono sopra gl’arazzi in una sala delle maggiori ove sono rappresentate le maggiori imprese fatte da i re con l’imagine de i loro capitani” (Gornia, Viaggio, f. 22v). 18 “Le sale, alcune, sono adornate d’arazzi, altre di pitture de più celebri pittori di Spagna, e fra queste degna è di considerazione quella in cui si vedono rappresentate in gran quadri le azioni più illustri del Duca di Feria” (Magalotti, Relazione Ufficiale, 47). He is referring to

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 205 “The Relief of Constance” and “The Capture of Rheinfelden” by Vincenzo Carducci, and “The Relief of Brisach” by Jusepe Leonardo, both painters of Italian origin. These three paintings are currently in the Museo del Prado; cf. Jonathan Brown and John H. Elliot, Un Palacio para el Rey: el Buen Retiro y la corte de Felipe IV (Madrid: Taurus, 2003), 170–202. On the topic see Miguel Taín Guzmán, “The Buen Retiro Palace and its Italian and Florentine works of art in the diaries of the journey to Spain of prince Cosimo III of Medici,” Studi di Storia dell’Arte 26 (2015), 189–91. 19 “Vi è la Sala Dorata che è in sustanza una galleria con volta di legno a cassette, intagliata e dorata . . . Quivi, dalla parte opposta alle finestre, è la serie dei ritratti di re e regine di Castiglia”; Magalotti, Relazione Ufficiale, 51. 20 “Di qui s’entrò in una camera d’audienza parata di richissimi arazzi d’oro rappresentanti i sette peccati mortali all’usanza di quelli d’Inglhiterra; nello spazio che è tra questi e la soffitta, che è tutta dorata, vi è La Genealogia de Re di Spagna in ritratti interi fatti da un pittore spagnuolo da loro assai stimato. Di qui . . . s’entrò nella Sala che chiamano delle Commedie . . . Questa era parata con 13 pezi d’arazzi con oro, assai alti, dentro de quali si vedevono l’imprese di Carlo Quinto fatte in Affrica . . . La soffitta, che è tutta riccamata, intagliata e dorata, ha la forma di una pianera a rovescio. Vi è da tre parti attaccato ad essa un ballatoio che la ricorre. E dall’altra i ritratti della Casa d’Austria” (Corsini, Memorie del viaggio, f. 83rv); “La Genealogia de i Re di Spagna, di un pittore celebre spagnolo, con tutti i ritratti intieri, che si estendono nella Sala Dorata sino a Filippo 4, padre del re Carolo vivente . . . La Sala delle Commedie, tutta dorata, con i ritratti de i re” (Gornia, Viaggio, f. 29v). These works were painted by Antonio Arias, Francisco Camilo, Alonso Cano, Félix Castelo, Francisco Fernández, Jusepe Leonardo, Pedro Núñez del Valle, Diego Polo, and Francisco Rizi between 1639 and 1641, based on a model created by Vincenzo Carducci. Regrettably, most of them were destroyed in the fire of 1734; cf. Steven N. Orso, Philip IV and the Decoration of the Alcázar of Madrid (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), 125–35; Fernando Checa, “El Salón Dorado o de Comedias,” in El Real Alcázar de Madrid. Dos siglos de arquitectura y coleccionismo en la corte de los Reyes de España, ed. Fernando Checa (Madrid: Nerea, 1994), 395–8; Ángel Aterido Fernández, “Alonso Cano y ‘la alcoba de su majestad’: la serie regia del Alcázar de Madrid,” Boletín del Museo del Prado 38 (2002), 9–36; Gloria Martínez Leiva and Ángel Rodríguez Rebollo, El Inventario del Alcázar de Madrid de 1666. Felipe IV y su colección artística (Madrid: Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, 2016), 44–9. 21 “Le Forze d’Ercole, d’uno spagnuolo pittore famosissimo”; Gornia, Viaggio, f. 29r. 22 Cf. Orso, Philip IV and the Decoration of the Alcázar, 156 and 168; Martínez Leiva and Rodríguez Rebollo, El Inventario del Alcázar, 56, 101–2, 562–4, and 731–43. 23 Cf. Brown and Elliot, Un Palacio para el Rey, 163–70. 24 This role of Falconieri and Baldi as artistic trainers is mentioned in a letter by the Prince to his uncle: “Madrid li 10 di novembre 1668. Eminentissimo, Reverendissimo, Serenissimo mio zio Osservandissimo . . . Domani vo a vedere il Palazzo [the Royal Alcázar Palace], dove vedro moltissimi quadri de piu squisiti maestri che siono stati. Et secondo il parere del Falconiere e del Baldi ne manderò un pocho di relazione”; ASF, MdP 5499, f. 326r. 25 A person responsible for the custody of the royal wardrobe and clothing in general. 26 “E a dì detto, scudi quindici di più agl’altri, al Guardaroba di detto Palazzo che ha donato un ritratto della Regina”; Marchetti, Libro, f. 22v. 27 Cf. Alfonso Rodríguez de Ceballos, “Retrato de Estado y propaganda política: Carlos II (en el tercer centenario de su muerte),” Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoría del Arte UAM 12 (2000), 94–5; Álvaro Pascual Chenel, El retrato de estado durante el reinado de Carlos II. Imagen y propaganda (Madrid: Fundación Universitaria Española, 2010), 31–43, 456–9. 28 Cf. Rodríguez de Ceballos, “Retrato de Estado,” 98; Pascual Chenel, El retrato de estado, 45–6 and 460–1; Abraham Díaz García, “Sebastián de Herrera Barnuevo (1619–1671): obra pictórica,” Cuadernos de arte e iconografía 19 (2010), 90 and 222. 29 Cosimo saw these cushions and platform on his visit to the Queen’s rooms in the Buen Retiro Palace; see Magalotti, Relazione Ufficiale, 48. 30 Information from the Soprintendenza per i Beni Architettonici, Paesaggistici, Storici, Artistici ed Etnoantropologici per le Province di Firenze, Pistoia e Prato, Archivio Catalogo Beni Storici Artistici, File on the painting.

206  Miguel Taín Guzmán 31 “Un quadro in tela, alto braccia 1 ¼, largo braccia 1, dipintovi il ritratto del Re di Spagna regnante, de mano ordinaria” and “un quadro di tela, simile al sudetto, dipintovi il ritratto della Regina madre di Spagna, vestita da monaca, con abito bianco e velo nero”; ASF, Guardaroba Mediceo (GM), 826, f. 87r; document published by Miriam Fileti Mazza, Eredità del cardinale Leopoldo de’ Medici: 1675–1676 (Pisa: Scuola Normale Superiore, 1997), 169 and by Barocchi and Gaeta Bertelà, Collezionismo mediceo, vol. 2, 686. 32 ASF, GM, 870, f. 30v. 33 ASF, GM, APP, 83, f. 21v. 34 Cf. Rodríguez de Ceballos, “Retrato de Estado,” 97–8. 35 Cf. Antonio Álvarez-Ossorio Alvariño, “La Chamberga: el regimiento de la guardia del rey y la salvaguarda de la majestad (1668–1677),” in Carlos II y el arte de su tiempo, ed. Alfonso Rodríguez G. de Ceballos (Madrid: Fundación Universitaria Española, 2013), 21–103. 36 According to Alistair Malcolm, both by Herrera Barnuevo; cf. Alistair Malcolm, “Arte, diplomacia y política de la corte durante las embajadas del conde de Sandwich a Madrid y Lisboa (1666–1668),” in Arte y diplomacia de la monarquía hispánica en el siglo XVII, ed. José Luis Colomer (Madrid: Villaverde Ed., 2003), 169. 37 Cf. Rodríguez de Ceballos, “Retrato de Estado,” 97–8; José Luis Sancho and José Luis Souto, “El arte regio y la imagen del soberano,” in Carlos II. El rey y su entorno cortesano, ed. Luis Ribot (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Europa Hispánica, 2009), 169–70; Pascual Chenel, El retrato de estado, 55, 59–62, 333–43, 348–9 and 460–1; Díaz García, “Sebastián de Herrera Barnuevo,” 90–3, 220–2 and 227–9; Víctor Mínguez, La invención de Carlos II: apoteosis simbólica de la casa de Austria (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Europa Hispánica, 2013), 70–2. 38 ASF, GM, 904, ff. 222v and 250r. 39 ASF, GM, 992, f. 91r. 40 ASF, Imperiale e Reale Corte (hereinafter IRC), 4682, f. 362r. 41 A document certifies its arrival in the Uffizi on 13 November 1723, namely just a few days after Cosimo’s death; ASF, GM, 1292, f 113v. A catalogue of the collection from 1784 indicates that in this year, it formed a part of the group of portraits of the Spanish royal family, in the “series of portraits of sovereigns, illustrious captains and other great men”; cf. Miriam Fileti Mazza and Bruna M. Tomasello, eds., Catalogo delle pitture della Regia Galleria compilato da Giuseppe Bencivenni già Pelli. Gli Uffizi alla fine del Settecento (Florence: SPES, 2004), 64. 42 According to Pascual Chenel (El retrato de estado, 268–70 and 560–7), the painting would have been a copy of another painted by Carreño de Miranda in 1679, when the King was eighteen years old, which was sent to France when talks were under way to arrange his marriage with Marie Louise of Orléans. The original has been lost, although several copies remain, including the one from the Uffizi. 43 Cf. Luciano Berti, ed., Gli Uffizi: catalogo generale (Florence: 1979), (Florence: Centro Di, 1980), 617 and 725. 44 Cf. Sandrini, Della vita di Cosimo 3°, ff. 7v–8r. 45 Cf. Marcello Fantoni, “Il bigottismo di Cosimo III: da legenda storiografica ad oggetto storico,” in La Toscana nell’età di Cosimo III, ed. Franco Angiolini et al. (Florence: Edifir, 1993), 389–402. 46 ASF, GM, 959, Inventario di robe esistenti nella Guardaroba di Camera del Serenissimo Gran Duca, 12 lugglio 1690, ff. 76v–78v. On these objects, see Taín Guzmán, “Imágenes y objetos devocionales,” 235–51. When Cosimo made a pilgrimage to La Verna in 1666 and visited the monastery of Camaldoli, he bought several rosaries to the monks “which he gave as devotional presents in Florence later” as he would have done again with the devotional objects from Spain; cf. Sandrini, Della vita di Cosimo 3°, f. 12 bis rv. 47 Cf. Fiorenza Vannel and Giuseppe Toderi, Medaglie italiane del Museo Nazionale del Bargello, 4 vols (Florence: Edizioni Polistampa, 2003–07), vol. 2, Secolo XVII (2005). 48 Cf. Nicodemo Delli, Il convento del Granduca Cosimo III all’Ambrogiana (Florence: Pagnini, 1998). 49 Cf. Sandrini, Della vita di Cosimo 3°, f. 6r. 50 ASF, GM, 742, f. 20r. Unfortunately, the lamp was lost during the War of Independence; cf. Josep Galobart i Soler, “Cosme III de Mèdici i Montserrat,” Montserrat, Butlletí del Santuari (1996), 41–7.

Some Spanish Paintings in Florentine Collections 207 51 “Si vidde una cappella appartata dove è una Madonna miracolosa, la quale dicono che al quanti giorni avanti che fussero scacciati i mori di Siviglia, apparisse al Re don Fernando, il di cui sepolcro, con quello d’Alfonso Sesto e della sua moglie, quivi si vedono”; Corsini, Memorie del viaggio, f. 177rv. 52 Cf. Teresa Laguna Paúl, “Devociones reales e imagen pública en Sevilla,” Anales de Historia del Arte 23 (2013), 127–57. 53 “Una [chapel] ve n’è, che torna per appunto dietro all’altar maggiore, dove si venera un’imagine di rilievo della Vergine, quale è tradizione che, dopo l’ultima sconfitta dei mori di Siviglia, apparisse al re Ferdinando il Santo, il di cui corpo incorrotto riposa con quello della Regina, sua consorte, in una grand’urna coperta d’un panno rosso con diverse corone sopra guanciali simile a pie dell’altare. Tutta questa cappella è parimente di pietra ma di archittettura moderna con grandissimi ornamenti di bassi rilievi”; Magalotti, Relazione Ufficiale, 95. 54 “Un detto [picture] simile, alto bracchia 1, largo braccia ¾, dipintovi la SSma. Vergine con Gesù bambino in collo, ambi due con corona in capo sotto un tabernacolo con candelabri dalle parte, e diversi angioli e dalle parti e sopra; e per d’avanti un altare con quattro candeglieri e due santi dalle parti in una nicchia; e, sopradetto tabernacolo, il Padre Eterno fra de nuvole in mezzo a diversi angioli, con mondo nelle mani, con inscrizione sotto ‘Concebida sin pecado;’ tutto il sudetto in mezzo a due colonne con rabeschi d’oro, et arco sopra, e due vasi con diversi fiori dalle parti; con adornamento scornicemento(?) liscio, con rapporti su le cantonate intagliati e il tutto dorato; segnato di numero 11862”; ASF, IRC, 4675, ff.. 247v–248r: the chapel is indicated as “a chapel to the right hand of this chamber, with a circular window that looks out towards the church of Saint Felicity” (“cappella a mano manca alla sudetta camera con occhio che guarda verso S. Felicita.” The painting is also in the inventories of 1771 and 1791; ASF, IRC, 4678, f. 682v and 4682, f. 18v.) 55 It was restored in 1959; Archivio di Pietre Dure of Florence, file 2758. 56 Cf. Fátima Falcón, Francisco Herrera and Álvaro Recio, El retablo sevillano. Desde sus orígenes a la actualidad (Sevilla: Diputación de Sevilla, 2009), 200. 57 Cf. Juan Carlos Martínez Amores, “El atuendo de la Virgen de los Reyes, su evolución a través de la estampa (siglos XVII–XIX),” Boletín de las cofradías de Sevilla 498 (2000), 48–51. 58 Cf. Teresa Laguna Paúl, “El robo de la corona de la águilas y las coronas del siglo XIX de la Virgen de los Reyes,” Laboratorio del Arte 27 (2015), 345–61. I am grateful to the authoress of the cited article for supervising the analysis of the painting presented here. 59 One was made by Matías Arteaga, and illustrates the book Fiestas de la S. Iglesia Metropolitana y Patriarcal de Sevilla, al nuevo culto del señor rey S. Fernando el Tercero de Castilla y de León (Seville: En Casa de la Vidua de Nicolàs Rodriguez, 1671) by Fernando de la Torre Farfán. One copy of the other is included in the manuscript Religiosas estaciones que frecuenta la religiosidad sevillana by Abbot Alonso Sánchez Gordillo (c. 1635), now in the Colombina Library of Seville. There is a recent edition by Jorge Bernales Ballesteros (Sevilla: Patronato Ricardo Cantu Leal del Consejo General de Hermandades, 1982). 60 For some examples, see Ana Aranda Bernal and Fernando Quiles García, “La Virgen de los Reyes,” in La Virgen de los Reyes de Sevilla. Cien años de su coronación (Sevilla: Guadalquivir, 2004), 23–8. 61 Ibid., 28. 62 Cf. Alfonso E. Pérez Sánchez, “Trampantojos a lo divino,” in Lecturas de Historia del Arte 3 (Vitoria: Ephialte, 1992), 139–55. 63 Cf. Teresa Laguna Paúl, “Mobiliario medieval de la Capilla de los Reyes de la Catedral de Sevilla. Aportaciones a los ‘Ornamenta ecclesiae’ de su etapa fundacional,” Laboratorio del Arte 25 (2013), 69–70. 64 “Receví la cariñosa carta de Vuestra Caridad llena de afectos muy devotos a Nuestra Señora, la gran Madre de Dios, para encenderme a amarla y servirla aún en la santa imagen de la gloriosa Virgen del Ovillo (?), que se ha de colocar en el convento de la Ambrosiana, donde en verdad aquellos buenos religiosos sabrán rendirle major, que no yo, la devida veneración”; ASF, MM, 366, f. 54r: letter by Cosimo III in Florence, dated 6 May 1687 to Fray José de Canales in Madrid.

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Author Biographies

Manuel Arias Martínez is Doctor of Philosophy in History of Art and has been a member of the Cuerpo Facultativo de Conservadores de Museos since 1992, holding the position of Deputy Director of the Museo Nacional de Escultura of Valladolid since 1993. He has been a full Member of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes of Valladolid since 2008. Besides the field of museology and the coordination of exhibitions, his lines of research focus on the history of art, the use of sources and the circulation of artistic models, about which he has published several articles and books, especially concerning the Renaissance and the Baroque. Their specific objects of study have been sculptors like Juan de Juni and Alonso de Berruguete. About the latter he published, in 2011, a monography titled Alonso Berruguete, Prometeo de la escultura (Alonso Berruguete, Prometheus of Sculpture). In 2017, he was the commissioner of the exhibition Hijo del Laocoonte. Alonso Berruguete y la Antigüedad pagana (Son of Laocöon. Alonso Berruguete and Pagan Antiquity). At present, he is preparing a book on the personality and oeuvre of Gaspar Becerra in Spain, to whom he has already devoted several studies. He has already worked in the field of art collecting and sponsorship, in which he has studied the lineage of the Marquises of Astorga and carried out other projects like cataloguing art collections belonging to cloistered monasteries. Marta Cacho Casal is Research Associate at the Center for Research in the Arts, Social Sciences and Humanities, Cambridge. She holds a PhD, and an M.A. in the Renaissance, from the Warburg Institute, University of London. She has published extensively on iconography, portraiture, graphic arts and collecting in the Early Modern period, particularly in Spain and Italy. Her monograph Francisco Pacheco y su Libro de retratos (Marcial Pons, Madrid, 2011) was awarded the Alfonso Pérez Sánchez International Research Prize, from the Focus-Abengoa Foundation, Seville. She has published in numerous academic journals, including The Burlington Magazine, Master Drawings, I Tatti Studies and Renaissance Studies. She worked for several years at the Department of Prints & Drawings of The British Museum before obtaining fellowships at the Villa I Tatti, Florence, The Drawings Institute at the Morgan Library and Museum, New York, The Italian Academy, Columbia University and Oxford Brookes University. She is currently preparing a monograph on artists’ libraries in the Early Modern period in Spain and Italy. Lisandra Estevez is Associate Professor of Art History in the Department of Art + Visual Studies at Winston-Salem State University. She holds a PhD in Art History from Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey. Her areas of research include Spanish

Author Biographies 237 and Latin American art (1500 to the present), transatlantic cultural exchanges in early modern art history, the history of the print and the history of collecting. She is currently preparing two book manuscripts: a monograph titled Jusepe de Ribera and His Artistic Milieus in Early Modern Italy and Spain and an edited volume that deals with collecting early modern art in the US South. Kelley Helmstutler Di Dio is Associate Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences and Professor of Art History at the University of Vermont. She is a specialist of Italian and Spanish sixteenth- and seventeenth-century sculpture, collecting, state gifts, and artistic exchange. She has published widely on these issues; including books: Leone Leoni and the Status of the Artist at the End of the Renaissance (Ashgate, 2011); Sculpture Collections in Early Modern Spain (with Charo Coppel, Ashgate, 2014); Making and Moving Sculpture in Early Modern Italy (Ashgate, 2015); and Shipping Sculptures in and out of Early Modern Italy (forthcoming); and dozens of articles and essays. Her research has been supported by fellowships and grants from the Ministry of Arts and Culture of Spain, the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, the Medici Archive Project, and Harvard’s Center for Renaissance Studies “Villa I Tatti.” Rafael Japón is a PhD candidate in Art History at the Universities of Granada and Bologna. He got his degree at the University of Seville in 2013. He has research experience in Spanish and Italian archives, specially in Rome, where he was a fellow of the Escuela Española de Historia y Arqueología (CSIC), and Florence, where he got a grant from the Fondazione di Studi Storia dell’Arte Roberto Longhi. From 2015, he has the benefit of a Formación del Profesorado Universitario (FPU) grant of the Spanish Government. His thesis project considers the influence of Italian Art on the Sevillian Baroque School of Painting. His advisors are Dr. David García Cueto (U. of Granada), Dr. Gabriele Finaldi (National Gallery, London) and Dr. Daniele Benati (U. of Bologna). He has also published several articles on the relations between Seville and Italy, and at present, he is a member of the research team and webmaster of the Spanish National Project Copimonarch. La copia pictórica en la Monarquía Hispánica, siglos XVI-XVIII, directed by Dr. David García Cueto. Fernando Loffredo is Assistant Professor at the University of Colorado-Boulder. He received his PhD in Art History from the University of Naples Federico II in 2010, with a dissertation focusing on the circulation of Italian fountains in the early modern Mediterranean and the artistic and diplomatic relations between Italy and the Iberian Peninsula. He was postdoctoral fellow at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz— Max-Planck-Institut (2010) and was part of the board of advisors of the exhibition on Bartolomeo Ammanati at Museo Nazionale del Bargello (Florence, 2011). Subsequently, he held a European Research Council postdoctoral fellowship within the interdisciplinary project “Historical Memory, Antiquarian Culture, Artistic Patronage: Social Identities in the Centres of Southern Italy between the Medieval and Early Modern Period” (2011–2013). From 2014 to 2015, he held a joint appointment as Visiting Assistant Professor in the Departments of Art, and Hispanic Languages and Literature at the State University of New York at Stony Brook, where he designed and taught courses in English and Spanish on early modern Italian, Spanish and Colonial visual culture. He was Andrew W. Mellon Postdoctoral Fellow 2015–2017 at the

238  Author Biographies Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts (CASVA) at the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC. Tommaso Mozzati is Researcher in the Dipartimento di Lettere at the University of Perugia. He is the author of numerous contributions dedicated to Italian Renaissance and Mannerist sculpture. His studies have investigated the visual culture of the Renaissance, as the representation of the nude or the critical fortune of sculptural media, for example the success of bronze between Quattrocento and Cinquecento and the marble market in Tuscany, Liguria, France and Spain. He was a fellow at the Italian Academy for Advanced Studies of the Columbia University, at Villa I Tatti The Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies, at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz and at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In 2010 he was co-curator of the exhibition I grandi bronzi del Battistero. Rustici e Leonardo at the Museo Nazionale del Bargello. In 2013 he was co-curator of the exhibition Norma e capriccio. Spagnoli in Italia agli esordi della “maniera moderna” at the Galleria degli Uffizi. Most recently, in 2018, he co-curated the exhibition Spagna e Italia in dialogo nell’Europa del Cinquecento at the Gabinetto dei Disegni e delle Stampe degli Uffizi. Carlos Plaza received a Master in Architecture in 2008 at Universidad Hispalense in Seville and a PhD in History of Architecture in 2013, both at the University of Florence and the Universidad Hispalense in Seville, and currently he teaches History of Architecture and restoration at the University of Seville. In 2015 he was Mellon Fellow at “Villa I Tatti”, and in 2016 he was short-term fellow linked to the project New Research on Local Renaissance coordinated by the Kunsthistorisches institute in Florenz and the project HistAntArtSI. His research interests focus on European History of Architecture, from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century—with particular interests on Renaissance Architecture in Florence and contacts between Italy and Spain, restoration theory and contemporary architectural criticism. He has recently published his PhD dissertation on the Architecture of Spanish patrons in Renaissance Florence (2016), and as editor he published a volume on the Architecture and the Gardens of the Alcázar in Seville (2015). María José Redondo Cantera is Professor of Art History at the University of Valladolid in Spain. She has been Director of several national and regional research projects, and she has participated in multiple international research projects. She is Coordinator of the research group Identity and Artistic Exchanges from the Middle Ages to the Contemporary Art and Director of the annual scientific publication BSAA arte. She organized the 2003 international conference El modelo italiano en las Artes Plásticas de la Península Ibérica durante el Renacimiento, with the papers then published under her direction in 2004. Her scientific interests focus primarily on Renaissance Art in Spain, the Arts and cultural context of Emperor Charles V’s Court, and Castilian Art. She is the author of several papers about artistic questions linked to the figure of Empress Elizabeth of Portugal, as well as the introductory essay to the second volume of The Inventories of Charles V and the Imperial Family (Madrid, 2010). Johannes Röll studied at the universities of Würzburg and Munich and gained his PhD with a dissertation on the Renaissance sculptor Giovanni Dalmata. He was PhD fellow at the Bibliotheca Hertziana, Max Plack Institute for Art History, Rome, Henry

Author Biographies 239 Moore Fellow at University College London, Lecturer at The Warburg Institute, London and Assistant at the Humboldt University Berlin before moving to Rome in 2000, where he is now the Head of the Photographic Collection of the Bibliotheca Hertziana. He has published mainly on Italian and Spanish Renaissance sculpture, but also on drawings from the sixteenth to the late eighteenth century. Miguel Taín Guzmán received a Degree in History of Art at the University of Santiago de Compostela in 1990, a Diplôme d’Etudes Approfondies en Arts at the Haute Bretagne Rennes II University in 1992 and a PhD in History of Art, University of Santiago de Compostela in 1997. Between 1995 and 1999 he was Invited Teacher for the Summer Program at Wesleyan, Colgate and Vassar Universities; between 1995 and 2001 he held the chair of Assistant Professor of History of Art at the University of Santiago de Compostela. Since 2001 he is Associate Professor of History of Art at the University of Santiago de Compostela. He was also Visiting Scholar at the Fine Arts Department at Edinburgh University (April–June 2002), Invited Professor for the Summer Program at the Colgate University (2003–2008), fellow at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz, Max-Planck-Institut (May–June 2011), fellow at Villa I Tatti, Harvard University (April–June 2014), fellow at the Brandenburg Research Academy and International Network-Marie Curie programme, Brandenburgische Technische Universität in Cottbus (2015–2016). His most recent research deals with the journey of Cosimo III de’ Medici, Prince of Tuscany, across Spain between 1668 and 1669, and his visits to different cities, royal palaces, cathedrals, convents and gardens; his opinions on local monuments and art; and his acquisitions of paintings, drawings, books, etc. during the trip, some of which can currently be found in different libraries and museums in Florence, Italy. Michela Zurla is Curator of the Palazzo Ducale, Mantua. She graduated in art history at the University of Perugia (Italy) in 2010 with a master’s dissertation on the Florentine sculptor of the sixteenth century Domenico Fancelli and the arrival of the Italian Renaissance in Spain. In 2015 she defended her PhD at the University of Trento (Italy) with a thesis concerning the sculpture in Genoa during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and its fortune in other European countries. She had a fellowship from the Fondazione Roberto Longhi in Florence in 2010–2011 and a fellowship from the Staatliche Museen in Berlin in 2016. She collaborated to the exhibitions Giovanfrancesco Rustici e Leonardo (2010) and Baccio Bandinelli (2014) at the Bargello Museum in Florence and Norma e capriccio. Spagnoli in Italia agli esordi della maniera moderna (2013) at the Uffizi. Her main fields of research concern Renaissance sculpture and the spread of Italian art in Europe, in particular in Spain and France.

Index

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate a figure on the corresponding page. Abū al-Ḥasan, ʿAlī ibn Saʿd 82 Aimo called il Varignana, Domenico 2 Alberti, Leon Battista 60, 157, 165; De Pictura 169 Alexander VI, Pope 57; see also Borja, Rodrigo de, pope (as Alexander VI) Alfonso the Magnanimous see Aragon, Alfonso of, King of Aragon (as Alfonso V, called the Magnanimous) Algardi, Alessandro 118 Alizeri, Federigo 113, 116 Almech, Íñiguez 94 Almedina, Fernando Yañez de 139 Amador de los Ríos, José 181 Ammanati, Bartolomeo 165 Andrews, Jean 158 Aragon, Alfonso of, King of Aragon (as Alfonso V, called the Magnanimous) 1 – 2 Aranjuez, Jardín de la Isla 118; Fuente de Hércules 118 Arbulo, Pedro de, collaboration with Becerra 105 Armenini, Giovan Battista, De’ veri precetti della pittura 165 – 6 Astorga, the cathedral of 102 – 3, 105, 106 Ávila: Cathedral of Cristo Salvador, capilla mayor 38, 43; monastery of Santo Tómas 35n23 Aviz, John of, king of Portugal (as John III, called The Colonizer) 82 Azzolino, Giovan Bernardino 150 Baglione, Giovanni 109 Baldi, Pier Maria 197, 201 Barbaro, Daniele 166; La pratica della perspettiva 169, 172 Barberini, Francesco, cardinal 91, 179 Barnuevo, Herrera 202, 204 Barnuevo, Sebastián Herrera 172 Barozzi da Vignola, Giacomo, called Vignola, Regla de la cinco órdenes de Arquitectura 160

Bartolini, Giovanni 58 Bass, Laura 158 Battiferri, Laura 165 Becerra, Gaspar 15, 102, 106, 109, 139; collaboration with Arbulo 105; use of artistic models 102 – 3 Bellini, Jacopo 85; Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist 85 Belloni, Venanzio 113 Benci, Antonio, called del Pollaiolo 14, 25 Benedetto da Maiano 30 Bernardino di Betto, called Pinturicchio 86; Ceiling of the Demigods 14, 30; Susanna and the Elders 86, 144, 147, 150 Berruguete, Alonso 2, 14 – 15, 56, 57, 58, 60, 61, 63, 72, 139; collaboration with Diego de Silóe 66; commissions 59; The coronation of the Virgin in the midst of angels 3; Madonna and Child 58; retablo del Monasterio de San Benito el Real 66, 67, 68, 76 – 7n56; retablo del Monasterio de Santa María de la Mejorada 64, 65 Bigarny, Felipe 6, 21, 45, 57, 60, 61, 63, 68, 69, 70 Bigordi, Domenico, called Ghirlandaio 57 Boccardo, Piero 118 Bonanome, Juan Bautista 95 Borghese, Scipione, cardinal 141 Borgoña, Felipe de see Bigarny, Felipe Borja, Rodrigo de, pope (as Alexander VI) 2 Borromeo, Carlo, cardinal 13 Boschini, Marco, Carta del navegar pitoresco 169 Bosio. Antonio, Roma sotterranea 169 Bramante, Donato 58; Tempietto 2 Brunich, Arrigo 205 Buonarrotti, Michelangelo 2, 15, 57, 59, 64, 70; Agony in the Garden as source for Spanish sculpture 105, 106, 107, 108; artistic production 103, 104; collaboration with Venusti 104; Oration in the Garden 15; pictorial cycles of the

Index 241 Sistine Chapel 102; Pietà 104; Prayer in the Garden 103 Buoninsegna, Duccio di 104 Burgkmair, Hans, called The Elder 86 Burgos: Cathedral of 72; Miraflores Charterhouse 22, 25; retablo of San Pedro 69, 70 Cajés, Eugenio 159 Cajés, Patricio 160; post-mortem inventory 174n18; transition to architecture 160 Cambiaso, Luca 135 Camón Aznar, José 63 Canela, Jusep 157 Cano, Alonso 171; Reni’s influence on 187 Capet, Philip, king of France (as Philip IV, called The Fair) 23 Caravaggio see Merisi da Caravaggio, Michelangelo, called Caravaggio Carducho, Bartolomé 160 Carducho, Vicente 16, 157, 158, 169, 172; as book publisher 162; Diálogos de la Pintura 159, 162, 164, 165, 167; pleito de Carducho 158; private library of 164 – 6; Self-Portrait 157; Spanish identity of 158 – 9 Carlone, Michele 5 Carracci, Annibale 135, 136, 150; and Ribera 146, 147, 149 Carrara, Martino see Regio, Martino Carrara marble 4; quarries 4 Carreño de Miranda, Juan 171 Castelo, Fabricio 159 Castiglione, Baldassare: Il Cortegiano 167 Ceán Bermúdez, Juan Agustín 94 Celano, Carlo 136 Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de, Don Quijote de la Mancha 112, 113 Cervetto, Luigi Augusto 30 Céspedes, Pablo de 145, 184 Cincinnato, Romolo 135 Città del Vaticano, pictorial cycles in the Sistine Chapel 102 Cobelluzzi, Scipione 141 Codex Escurialensis 4 – 5 Codex Barberinianus 57 Colomer, José Luis 179 Colonna, Vittoria 104 Contestabile, Marco Antonio 120 Contucci, Andrea called Sansovino 30, 58 Correggio, Antonio 135, 145; Venus with Mercury and Cupid (School of Love) 171 Corsini, Filippo 205; Memorie del viaggio fatto [. . .] dal Serenissimo Principe Cosimo di Toscana 197 Cosida, Pedro 141 Cosini, Silvio 81

Costa, Andrea 115 Covarrubias, Alonso de 80 Cristiano, Sebastiano 117 Cuco, Margarita 132 Cuiti, Jacopo 192 Curti, Francesco 185 Da Salerno, Andrea 4 da Vinci, Leonardo 4, 135, 157, 167; Five Grotesque Heads 141; influence on Ribera 141 – 2; Madonna and Child with Saint John 2 Della Porta, Giovanni Battista, De Humana Physiognomia 141, 142 De los Santos, Francisco 183; Descripción de San Lorenzo del Escorial 183 Del Monte, Francesco Maria 141 Del Piombo, Sebastiano see Luciani, Sebastiano, called Sebastiano del Piombo Del Pollaiuoulo, Antonio see Benci, Antonio, called del Pollaiolo Del Pozzo, Cassiano 91, 95 Del Sarto, Andrea 2, 58, 59 Del Sera, Cosimo 149 De Piles, Roger 166 De Roelas, Juan 181; Circumcision of Christ 181 De Soria, Lope 80 Doria, Andrea 8, 15, 81, 82; shipment of the Alcázar of Madrid’s fountain 84 – 5 Doria, Marcantonio 149 Du Choul, Guillaume, Discorso della religione antica de Romani 169 Durazzo, Agostino 116 Durazzo, Iacopo Filippo 116 Durazzo, Marcello 115 Dürer, Albrecht 108, 158; Small Passion 106 Egas, Enrique 6 Elam, Caroline 59 El Escorial 9, 9, 10, 135, 160; Italian artists working in 159 El Greco 139, 158, 160, 162, 164 Este, Alfonso d’, Duke of Ferrara (as Alfonso I) 81 Falconieri, Paolo 201 Fancelli, Domenico 4, 14, 22, 27; Baptism of the Christ 27; commission for the Capilla Real 22 – 3; commission for the funerary monument of the Catholic Kings 5, 6, 35n22 Farina, Viviana 134, 141 Farnese, Alessandro, pope (as Paul III) 82 Farnés, Mario 145 – 6 Fernández, Pedro 4 Fernández de Madrigal, Alonso, called El Tostado 14, 38; Alphonsi Thostati

242  Index in Paralipomenon Explanatio litteralis amplissima 48; Opera omnia 43, 44; Sobre los dioses de los gentiles 43; Tostado sobre el Eusebio 43, 44, 45, 46; Tratado sobre el Eusebio de las Crónicas o tiempos 43; see also Zarza, Vasco de la, on the tomb of Alonso de Madrigal Fernández de Navarrete, Juan 135 Ferrer, William 118 Ferrucci, Andrea 30 Figueroa y Córdoba, Gómez Suárez de 84 – 5 Finaldi, Gabriele 134 Florence 17, 30, 57, 58, 66, 68; Cappella Sassetti 49; della Mercanzia altar 57; Medici Palace 82; Ospedale degli Innocenti 57; Palazzo del Magnifico 82; Palazzo Vecchio 27; Palazzo Vecchio, Sala dei Gigli 14; royal portraits in the Galleria Palatina 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204; San Girolamo and San Francesco alla Costa altarpiece 2 Fonseca, Antonio de 30 Fonseca y Ulloa, Alonso de 64 Francesco Fiorentino 6 Francia, Giacomo 192 Fuente del Águila 96; in the Casa de Campo 91, 92, 94; comparison with the Fontana dei Delfini 86, 89; historiography of the dating and authorship of 94, 95; installation of 95; proposal for the identification of 85, 86, 89, 91; supplying with water 91, 92, 95; as symbol of imperial dignity 89, 91; tiers of 86, 89, 91, 95 Genoa: Cappella dell’Assunta 113; Chapel of Saint John the Baptist 116; Chapel of the Assumption of the Virgin 116; Chapel of the Madonna Incoronata, Santa Maria delle Vigne 113, 122, 127; Fontana dei Delfini 83, 83, 86, 89; Fontana del Tritone 95; Hospital Pammatone 114, 115, 116; Palazzo del Principe 81; Portico degli Eroi 81; Ribera’s inroads into 149 – 50 Ghirlandaio, Domenico see Bigordi, Domenico, called Ghirlandaio Giamberti, Giuliano, called da Sangallo 57 Giambologna, real name Jean de Boulogne 10; Samson and the Philistine 10 Giustiniani, Vincenzo 144, 145 Gómez Moreno, Manuel 63, 67, 68 Gonzaga, Federico, duke of Mantua (as Federico I) 81 Gornia, Giovan Battista 197, 200, 205 Granada: Capilla Real 5, 6, 7, 14, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 32n10, 33n17; Capilla Real, retablo de la Santa Cruz 61, 62,

62, 63; decorations 27; festoons 27, 29, 30; funerary monument of the Catholic Kings 21 – 2, 35n22, 35n34; history of 22; Hospital Real 6, 21; iconography 25; tomb of Sixtus IV as model for 25; use of the classical language 30 Grimaldi, Agostino 30 Grimaldi, Nicola 30 Guerra Coronel, Domingo 158, 171 – 2 Gutiérrez, Julián, Cura de la Piedra y del dolor de la ijada 45 Guzmán, Gaspar de Haro y see Marques del Carpio Guzmán, Ramiro 30 Gysser, Hans 43, 44 Habsburg, Charles of, king of Spain (as Charles I), emperor (as Charles V) 5, 6, 15, 23, 79; artistic commissions of 8; artistic projects 7, 8; building projects 8; contribution to the Capilla Real 23; palace at La Alhamabra 96n4; patronage 7; remodeling of the Alcázar of Madrid 79 – 80; shipment of the Alcázar of Madrid’s fountain to 84 – 5; symbol of the two-headed eagle 89, 94; tour through Italy 82; trip of the Imperial coronation and return from Vienna as precedent for renovation of the Royal Alcázares 80 – 2; visit to Genoa 82, 83, 84 Habsburg, Charles of, king of Spain (as Charles II) 11, 94 Habsburg, Maria of, empress (as Archduchess Maria of Austria) 179 Habsburg, Philip of, king of Spain (as Philip II) 109, 160; El Escorial 9, 10 Habsburg, Philip of, king of Spain (as Philip III) 10, 91, 138 Habsburg, Philip of, king of Spain (as Philip IV) 10, 11, 127; commission for the Immaculate Conception 179, 181; private library of 168; Reni’s commissioned work for 178 – 9 Hagenbach, Pedro de, Missalem mixtum 45 Hernández, Bartolomé 109 Herrera de Maliaño, Juan de 160 Hidalgo, José García 162; Los Principios para estudiar el Nobilísimo y Real Arte de la Pintura 183 Historia Domus Professae Genuensis Societatis Iesus ab anno 1603 ad 1773, 116 Hurtado de Mendoza, Iñigo López 24, 35n22 Imperiale, Giovanni Vincenzo 149 Jansen, Peeter 91 Jiménez de Cisneros, Francisco 29, 43

Index 243 Kim, David 16, 134 – 5 Konecný, Lubomir 141 Lamera, Federica 116 Lanciego altarpiece 105, 106 Laocoön 4, 89 Leoni, Leone 8, 9 Leoni, Pompeo 9 Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph 42 L’Indaco see Torni, Jacopo, called L’Indaco Llanos, Fernando 2 Lomazzo, Giovanni Paolo 141, 166; Tempio 166 Longhi, Roberto 2 Lotz, Wolfgang 70 Loyola, Íñigo López de 13 Lucattini, Lorenzo 115 Lucca 5, 81; Palazzo Episcopale 82 Luciani, Sebastiano, called Sebastiano del Piombo, Descent into Limbo 8 Lugano y Amírola, Eugenio de 56 Luini, Aurielo 141 Machuca, Pedro 8, 57, 61, 139 Macro, Valentina 139 Madrid: Alcázar of Madrid, Patio de la Reina 79, 80; building projects 11; Caso de Campo as site for the Fuente del Águila 91, 92, 94; Casa del Tesoro 166; Fuente del Águila, comparison with the Fontana dei Delfini 86, 89; Fuente del Águila, installation of 95; Fuente del Águila, as symbol of imperial dignity 89, 91; Iglesia y Hospital de los Italianos 159 – 60; Mariblanca 11; remodeling of the Alcázar of Madrid 79 – 80; Vista de la Casa de Campo 91, 92, 94 Magalotti, Lorenzo 118, 205; Relazione Ufficiale del Viaggio di Cosimo III de’ Medici 197 Malvasia, Carlo Cesare 183 Mancelli, Antonio 160 Mancini, Giulio 144; Considerazioni sulla pittura 134, 141, 183 Marchetti, Filippo 198, 202 Mariana of Austria 196 – 7; Portrait of Mariana of Austria 196 Marías, Fernando 60, 70 Mariblanca 10, 12 Marques del Carpio 11 Martínez del Mazo, Juan Bautista 200 Martínez y Lurbez., Jusepe Nicolás 152n27, 162; Discursos Practicables del Nobilísimo Arte de la Pintura 183 Massa, Lanfranco 149 Mazzucchelli, Pier Francesco 121

Medici, Giovanni de’, pope (as Leo X) 57, 58, 59, 66 Medici, Giulio de’, pope (as Clement VII) 80 Medici, Leopoldo de’, cardinal 199 Medici, Lorenzo de’ 57 Melli, Leopoldo 202 Merisi da Caravaggio, Michelangelo, called Caravaggio 144, 150 Messina: Fontana d’Orione 83, 95 Michelozzo 57 Michiel, Marcantonio 4 Montalvo, Garci Rodríguez de, Amadis de Gaula 166 Montorsoli, Giovan Angelo 82; Nettuno 95 Morales, Gonzalo 33 – 4n21 Muley, Hacen see Abū al-Ḥasan, ʿAlī ibn Saʿd Murcia: bell tower of the cathedral of Santa Maria 6, 7; cathedral of Santa María 71 Murillo, Bartolomé Esteban 17, 188; Cherubs in the Clouds 192; Holy Children with a Shell 186; Reni’s influence on 191, 192; Saint Felix of Cantalice Holds the Christ Child 184, 186; Young Jesus and St John the Baptist 186 Naples: building projects 2; Caracciolo di Vico chapel 68; reasons for Ribera’s extended residence in 152n27; San Giovanni a Carbonara Church 68 Nardi, Angelo 159 Negrone, Giulio 116, 117 Niculoso Pisano, Francesco 5 Ordóñez, Bartolomé 2, 4, 23, 29, 68 Orlandi, Pellegrino Antonio 113; Abecedario pittorico 110, 113 Orléans, Louis of, king of France (as Louis XII)14 Pacheco del Río, Francisco 145, 162; Christ Served by Angels 185; El Arte de la Pintura 165, 168, 184; style of 184, 185 Pagano, Francesco 2 Palmireno, Juan Lorenzo 157 – 8 Palomino de Castro y Velasco, Antonio 135, 157, 162, 165 – 6, 167; Museo Pictórico y Escala Óptica 183 Paolo da San Leocadio 2 Pastine, Onorato 113 Patiño, Pedro 61 Pereda, Antonio 171 Persoens, Enrique 84 Peruzzi, Baldassarre 58 Petruccio, Antonio Maria 82 Picardo, León 69 Pimentel Zúñiga, Domingo 181

244  Index Pinturicchio see Bernardino di Betto, called Pinturicchio Ponz, Antonio 17, 56, 65, 94 Portús, Javier 158 Prato: Basilica of Santa Maria delle Carceri 57 Procaccini, Camillo 142 Pucci, Antonio 59 Pulgar, Fernando de 42; “Lives of Famous Men” 42 Quijano, Jerónimo 7 Raphael see Sanzio, Raffaello Redi, Lorenzo 113 Regi, Martino see Regio, Martino Regio, Martino 112; attribution of the Virgin and Child to 120; bronze sculptures 116, 117, 118; clay sculptures 124; commission for the decorations for the Chapel of the Madonna Incoronata 116, 117; Flagellation of Christ 121, 122, 124, 125; Hercules slaying the Hydra 115, 116; Leonardo Spinola 114; marble sculptures 116, 117, 118; Nettuno 95; proliferation of names as circulation of artworks 125 – 7; questions regarding his surname 112 – 13, 114; reconstruction of his travels 1608 to 1644 125 – 7; Saint Elizabeth 113, 128; Saint Francis 121, 122; Saint Jerome 118 – 19; Saint John the Baptist 187; Saint Zachary 113; sculptures in stone and clay for the Sacro Monte at Varese 120, 121, 122, 123, 125; statues of the benefactors for the hospitals of Genoa 114, 115, 116; St. Bridget 115, 116; supposed immobility of 126 – 7; Virgin and Child 120 Regio, Simone 113 Regla de las Cinco órdenes de Arquitectura 155, 156 Reni, Guido 16 – 17, 116, 178; Adam and Eve in Paradise 178; Atalanta and Hippomenes 179; Aurora 185; Baptism of Jesus 184; biographies of 193n2; Christ Embracing the Cross 179; commission for the Immaculate Conception 178 – 9; Conversion of Saul 179; copies of his paintings 181, 183; Coronation of the Virgin, The 182, 185, 186; History of Attila 179; Immaculate Conception 180, 184; Infant Christ Sleeping on the Cross 186 – 7; influence on the Sevillian Baroque school 183 – 94, 185, 186 – 8, 189, 190, 191, 192; Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife 185; Labors of Hercules 187, 200; mentions of in literary sources 183; Saint Joseph and the Christ Child 185, 186; Spanish

commissions 178 – 9; style of 187; Virgin Praying over the Sleeping Christ Child 183; Virgin with Child 181; The Virgin Sewing 186, 187 Requesens y Zúñiga, Luis de 160 Retti, Martino see Regio, Martino Rezzo, Martino see Regio, Martino Ribalta, Francisco: Colegio de Pintores 138; Preparation for the Crucifixion, The 135; Ribera’s apprenticeship with 135 Ribera, Juan de 138 – 9 Ribera, Jusepe de, called Spagnoletto 16, 134, 151, 162; apprenticeship with Ribalta 135 – 6; birth of 150 – 1n4; Calvary 184; and the Carracci 146, 147, 149; and da Vinci 141 – 2; early years in Valencia 135; Ecce Homo 184; extended residence in Naples 152n27; Five Senses 141; inroads into Genoa 149 – 50; and Lanfranco Massa 149, 150; Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence, The 148, 149; mobility and travel of 134 – 5; original departure from Spain to Italy 135 – 6, 138 – 9; physiognomic studies 142; reason for leaving Spain 136, 138; Reni’s influence on 183, 184; Saint Martin and the Beggar 133, 134, 136, 141; sense of color 142, 144, 145; social and professional network in Italy 139, 141; time in Lombardy 141; training as factor in his move to Italy 139; travels in Italy 136; travels in Parma 145 – 6 Ribera, Simon 135 Rincón de Figueroa, Fernando del 45 Ripa, Cesare, Pazzia 171 Roldán Villavicencio, Luisa Ignacia 11 Rome 2, 4 – 6, 9 – 10, 13 – 16, 40, 49, 57 – 9, 63, 66 – 7, 70 – 1, 81, 100, 123, 132 – 3, 136, 138 – 9, 141 – 2, 153, 164, 173, 175 – 6, 179, 182, 185, 187; artistic exchanges in 2; Leonine architecture 57 – 60; Palazzo Apostolico 82; Ribera’s professional and social network in 139, 141; Spanish community in 8 Rota, Martino, The Pagan Gods 142 Rubiales, Pedro de 15 Rustici, Giovanfrancesco 58 Sagredo, Diego de: Medidas del Romano 60 Saint Anthoninus of Florence 45; Suma de Confesion 45 Salamanca edition of the Tostado sobre el eusebio 43, 44, 45, 46 San Asensio: Estrella altarpiece 104, 105; Monasterio de la Estrella 105

Index 245 Sánchez de Cepeda y Ahumada, Teresa, called Teresa of Ávila 13 Sancho, José Luis 118 Sangallo, Giuliano da see Giamberti, Giuliano, called da Sangallo Sangallo il Giovane, Antonio da 58 Sansovino, Andrea see Contucci, Andrea called Sansovino Sansovino, Jacopo see Tatti, Jacopo, called Sansovino Santacroce, Girolamo 4 Sanzio, Raffaello 2, 4, 8, 59 Savelli, Federico 141 Scaramuccia, Luigi 166 Seville 4 – 5, 9, 10, 16, 40, 43, 56, 79, 165, 169, 178, 179, 180, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 192, 197, 206, 209 Siloé, Diego de 2, 4, 14 – 15, 56, 57, 60, 72; collaboration with Berruguete in Salamanca 66; La Concepción 60 (the real name is retablo of Santa Ana in the Cathedral of Burgos); retablo of San Pedro 68, 69, 70, 71 Siloé, Gil de 69 Silva y Velázquez, Diego Rodríguez de 11, 158, 165 – 6, 184; conferral of the Knighthood of Santiago to 166 – 7; Las Hilanderas 171; Rokeby Venus 158; Saint Joseph’s Tunic 185; Temptation of Saint Thomas 188 Simó, Juan Baptista 157 Sirigatti, Lorenzo 172 Sisto, Giovan Battista 115 Solario, Agostino 86 Soprani, Raffaello 112, 113, 115, 122 Spagnoletto see Ribera, Jusepe de, called Spagnoletto Squarzina, Silvia Danesi 134, 139 Stanzione, Massimo 184 Summonte, Pietro 4, 68 Tacca, Pietro 10, 91 Tatti, Jacopo, called Sansovino 2, 59; Bacchus 58 Teresa of Ávila see Sánchez de Cepeda y Ahumada, Teresa, called Teresa of Ávila Tessari, Cristiano 70 Theotokópoulos, Doménikos see El Greco Tibaldi, Pellegrino 135 Toledo: Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes 21 Toledo, Juan Bautista 91 Toledo, Pedro 8 Torni, Jacopo, called L’Indaco 6, 7, 14 –  1 5, 56, 57, 60, 63, 72; commission for the retablo de la Santa Cruz 61, 62,

62, 63; panels 61; work as an architect 75n33 “El Tostado” see Fernández de Madrigal, Alonso, called El Tostado Trastámara, Ferdinand of, king of Aragon (as Ferdinand II) 14, 21, 33 – 4n21; choice of Carrara marble for his commissions 24; commissions 23 Trastámara, Isabel of, queen of Castile (as Isabel I) 1, 22 Trastámara, Joanna of, queen of Spain 23, 33 – 4n21; exile of 35n31 Trastámara, John of, king of Castile (as John II) 25 Trichet du Fresne, Raphaël 167 Tristán, Luis 139 Turchi, Ludovico 11 Tuttle, Richard 160 Ureta, Miguel 106 Vaga, Perino del 81, 83, 89 Valdés Leal, Juan de 192 Valencia: Colegio de Pintores 138 Vallejo, Juan Fernández de 15, 105, 108; Agony in the Garden as source f or 103 – 4 Valois-Angoulême, Francis of, king of Frances (as Francis I) 82 Varchi, Benedetto 169, 171 Varela, Francisco 186 Varese: Sacro Monte 120, 121, 122, 123, 125 Vasari, Giorgio 102; Vite 164, 171, 172 Vecellio, Tiziano 145 Vega, Luis 80 Velasco, Lázaro de 7, 60, 61 Velázquez, Juan 35n22 Vélez de Guevara, Íñigo, count of Oñate 179 Venice 133, 164, 167 Venusti, Marcello 103; Agony in the Garden 102 – 3; Calvary 109; Christ and the Samaritan Woman 104; collaboration with Michelangelo 104; Expulsion of the Merchants from the Temple 102; Madonna of Silence 102; Pietà 102 Vich y Valtera, Jerónimo 2, 8 Vienna 80 – 2 Vignola see Barozzi da Vignola, Giacomo, called Vignola Villacampa, Carlos 69 Villalpando, Francisco de 79 Virgen de los Reyes 206, 209 Viscardi, Girolamo, Baptism of Christ 31; San Jude Thaddeus 30 Vista de la Casa de Campo 91, 92, 94

246  Index Vista de los jardines de la Casa de Campo con la estatua de Felipe III 91, 92 Vita et processus sancti Thome Cantuariensis 45Vitruvius 60, 157, 165 Vivaldi, Agostino 30 Vivar y Mendoza, Rodrigo Díaz de 4 Wispin, Jan de 123 Yañez de la Almedina, Fernando 2

Zacchi, Zaccaria 2 Zarza, Vasco de la 14, 38, 40, 64; contract with the Cathedral of Ávila 40, 42; on the tomb of Alonso de Madrigal 40 Zuccari, Federico 135, 159, 169 Zúñiga, Francisca 64 Zurbarán, Francisco de 186, 200; Adoration of the Shepherds, The 181, 182, 186, 187; Labours of Hercules 195