The Life of Raphael

LIVES OF RAPHAEL

GIORGIO VASARI

introduced by JILL BURKE

CONTENTS

Introduction by JILL BURKE

p. 7

The Life of Raphael

GIORGIO VASARI

p. 27

List of illustrations

p. 126

INTRODUCTION

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On 6th April 1520, the city of Rome was in mourning. So shocked was the papal court by the sudden death of a young man of incredible achievement and promise, there was no talk of anything else. The Pope himself, it was said, openly wept when he heard the news. A grand funeral cortège of 100 torchbearers was organised to bury the dead man in the Pantheon, a sacred space formerly reserved to canons of the church. Raphael –painter, architect, surveyor of antiquities, and sparkling socialite – had died, on Good Friday, his 3th birthday. The reaction of the Roman court gives us some idea of the impact that Raphael had on his contemporaries. In an age when painters were only just starting to be considered artists – people who worked with their imaginations, as opposed to craftsmen, who worked with their hands – Raphael was a trail-blazer. He rubbed shoulders with the very highest in society, counting popes, cardinals, dukes, and the literati amongst his friends; he was

Opposite: The Alba Madona, c. 1510

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universally known for his gentility towards all who approached him; his knowledge of the classical world was prodigious, at just the time that such talents were fully appreciated; and, of course, he was a brilliantly talented painter.

Giorgio Vasari’s Life of Raphael is an account of one of the Renaissance’s greatest artists by its greatest art historian. The Life remains a major source for our understanding of the artist’s career, but gives us much more than valuable information. Vasari’s enthusiasm for his subject allows us to recapture some of that sense of awe and wonder that must have struck contemporaries when they saw the works of Raphael for the first time. This is especially valuable because Raphael has been so influential on the development of Western art, and so much reproduced, that it can be difficult to appreciate his works with fresh eyes.

Vasari’s biography of Raphael was only one of a series of artists’ lives that he published together in two editions, the first in 1550 and the second, much expanded, in 1568. His purpose was to trace developments in Italian art over the previous 350 or so years, the period we now call the Renaissance. He started his story with the Opposite: Drawing for the Alba Madona, c. 1510

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first people who, he believed, revived the dormant arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture – Cimabue and Giotto – and he ended with the ‘perfection’ of his own day. Vasari divided his biographies into three parts, roughly coinciding with the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Each of these three ages, according to Vasari, improved on the former. The third age, in which the Life of Raphael belongs, started with the work of Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) – who, according to Vasari, revolutionised the ‘stilted’ art of the second age. The biographies culminate in the Life of Michelangelo (145-1564), who for Vasari represented the pinnacle of all three arts of painting, sculpture and architecture. The life of Raphael occupies a particular position in Vasari’s plan. It is a near contemporary account by an enthusiastic consumer of Raphael’s life and works, someone who did not only want to paint like Raphael, but also wanted to be Raphael. He might never have ‘excelled that wonderful groundwork of ideas, and that groundwork of art’ that Vasari sees in Leonardo; he might never have reached the peak of Michelangelo’s ‘terribilità’ in his perfected painting and architecture; yet neither did Raphael suffer from the social eccentricities that dogged the careers of these two men. As Vasari put it, ‘Nature created Michelangelo to excel and conquer in art, but Raphael to excel in art and in manners also’.

Raphael managed to be a great painter and a great dinner guest. This was of no small importance in the life of the burgeoning Renaissance courts, where a good social bearing could be almost as important to career advancement as artistic talent.

Vasari holds Raphael up as a model for young artists to follow. As well as stressing his genteel social bearing, and his ability to hold his own in all social ranks, Vasari constantly emphasises Raphael’s ability to absorb the lessons of great masters, and through this to create his own style. His was not a genius, according to Vasari, that emerged fully formed, untouchable and unchangeable. It was a talent brought about by hard work and study. Others should learn from his example, so that they ‘may rise superior to disadvantages as Raphael did by his prudence and skill’. Vasari had already profited from his own advice. Elsewhere in the Lives he recounts how as a young painter in Rome in the early 1530’s, he and his friend Francesco Salviati rushed to the Vatican to draw after Raphael’s frescos whenever the Pope was absent, staying ‘from morning until night, eating nothing but a bit of bread and almost freezing to death’.

Vasari’s assessment of Raphael as a brilliant appropriator of the best of other people’s styles is borne out in a brief examination of the painter’s artistic career. Raphael was born in Urbino in 1483, the son of a court painter,

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Giovanni Santi. By around 1500 he was associated –Vasari say apprenticed, though this is not certain – with the Umbrian painter, Pietro Perugino (c. 1450-1523), then at the height of fashion. Vasari notes that in some paintings ‘he imitated [Perugino] so exactly in everything’ that it is hard to tell their works apart. To take an example, the earliest extant altarpiece by Raphael, the Mond Crucifixion (1503, National Gallery), does indeed owe a great debt to Perugino. This is immediately apparent in the stable geometry of the composition, which lends a feeling of calm permanence to the image; the idealised oval faces of his figures, their almond eyes, small mouths and whimsically tilted heads; and the landscape background, with its slender trees emerging from rolling hills.

In 1504, Raphael went to Florence. According to Vasari, Raphael’s contact with the Florentine milieu brought about ‘an extraordinary improvement in his art and style’, and it is true that his paintings visibly change under the influence of the more muscular, physically charged and psychologically tense work of the Florentine masters. A good example of this is his altarpiece of the Entombment, commissioned in 1505- for the Baglioni chapel in San

Opposite: The Mond Crucifixion, 1503

Francesco al Prato in Perugia (now Borghese Gallery; ill. p. 43). Through the surviving preparatory drawings, we can witness Raphael’s absorption of Florentine visual idiom. The earliest compositional sketch (Ashmolean Museum) suggests that the young Umbrian first conceived of the painting as similar to that of Perugino’s Deposition of 1495 – an essentially static group of standing and sitting mourners surrounding Christ’s supine body. By the time of the finished painting, however, we have a complete re-articulation of the story. Here the two men of the central group seem to heave Christ’s body from an unseen cross, while Mary Magdalen’s hair flies behind her as she moves to support Christ’s hand and reaches out to touch his head. Just behind them to the right, the Virgin Mary, swooning in grief, is caught by three women. From an originally static compositional idea, therefore, emerges a final painting where everyone is in movement. Raphael had clearly been looking at Leonardo’s Virgin and Child with St Anne groups, which are masterly expositions of action suspended in time. Judging by the straining muscles in the bare arm of the young man carrying Christ, he had also learned from Michelangelo’s painstaking depiction of nude male anatomy.

Opposite: Sheet of drawings, c. 1506-07

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The twisting pose of the seated woman in the Virgin Mary group is also a reworking of the pose of the Virgin on Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo (Uffizi).

Draughtsmanship was key to Raphael’s learning process. One can witness this in a sheet of rapidly sketched Virgin and Child studies (British Museum, ill. p. 14), where he creatively engages with Michelangelo and Leonardo to rework the familiar image of the Virgin and Child, here experimenting with the startling diagonal movement of the Christ Child in Michelangelo’s Taddei Tondo (Royal Academy, London).

Raphael was able to see many of Michelangelo’s and Leonardo’s works because they were all patronised by a tight-knit group of élite Florentine patrons, for whom he produced several portraits (such as those of Agnolo Doni and his wife, Uffizi) and domestic religious images (such as the Madonna del Cardellino, Uffizi, ill. p. 36).

Despite his successes in Florence, he only had one commission for an altarpiece for the city. This was the Madonna del Baldacchino, (Pitti Palace). It was destined for the church of Santo Spirito, but left unfinished when Raphael was enticed to Rome on the promise of richer artistic pickings in 1508.

It is in the Rome of Pope Julius II (ruled 1503-13) and Leo X (ruled 1513-1523) that Raphael secured his place in posterity in just over a decade of extraordinary

artistic creativity. During this time, with the help of a large and successful workshop, he was responsible for decorating several rooms in the Vatican. He started, in 1508-12, with the Stanza della Segnatura, originally almost certainly a papal library, with frescos that include his celebrated Disputà (ill. pp. 56-5) and the School of Athens (ill. pp. 46-4). He went on to design two more rooms in the papal apartments – now called the Stanza d’Eliodoro (1512-14, ill. pp. 66-6, 0-1) and the Stanza dell’Incendio (1514-1, ill. pp. 90-91) – and supplied some of the designs for an audience chamber, now called the Sala di Constantino, that was mainly executed by his workshop after his death. The paintings in the Vatican Stanze show a great deal of experimentation with the use of motifs from the classical artefacts Raphael was enthusiastically studying at this time, a playing with effects of light and colour – especially noticeable in the nighttime scene of the Liberation of St Peter (ill. pp. 66-6) in the Stanza d’Eliodoro – and an astonishing gift for inventive composition. His talent for design was also called upon by Leo X in 1515 in the project for tapestries for the Sistine Chapel. Raphael designed ten cartoons of the Acts of the Apostles, eight of which can now be

Overleaf: The Charge to Peter, tapestry cartoon, 1515-16

seen in the V&A Museum (ill. pp. 18-19 and 104-105). The tapestries themselves, made in Brussels, remain in the Vatican.

Raphael’s main secular patron in Rome was the wealthy Sienese merchant Agostino Chigi. He designed and partially executed two chapels for him – his funerary chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo, and another in Santa Maria della Pace. Chigi had also created a suburban villa (now called the Villa Farnesina), and, with the help of Raphael and other artists transformed it into a palace of pleasure. Chigi’s dinner parties were legendary for their decadence – at one all his diners were famously told to toss their gold plates into the Tiber after finishing each course – and they were held against the backdrop of frescos by the best artists working in Rome. Raphael painted his Triumph of Galatea (frontispiece) in the loggia in 1512 and his workshop decorated the entrance loggia to the villa with suitably sensuous scenes from the story of Cupid and Psyche in 1518 (ill. opposite and pp. 100-101).

It is in his account of Raphael’s work with Chigi that Vasari introduces his only real criticism of Raphael – the artist’s love of what Vasari delicately terms ‘secret pleasures’, which he notes disapprovingly were indulged by Opposite: Detail from Loggia di Psiche, Venus, Ceres and Juno, 1517-18

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his patron: when Raphael was constantly distracted from his work in Chigi’s villa by his love for his mistress, the merchant just asked her to move in to keep Raphael working. It has to be said that Raphael’s amatory excesses were fairly typical for members of the Roman court in the early 1500’s. In a town where being married was a positive bar to career advancement – many of the best jobs in the curia were only open to clerics who had to be single – keeping concubines and engaging in a flourishing courtesan culture was expected behaviour.

Raphael’s amatory adventures certainly did not adversely affect his standing in Rome. Along with his workshop, he executed several altarpieces for members of the papal court. These include the Madonna di Foligno (1512, Vatican Museums, ill. p. 62), with its extraordinary depiction of light over clouds, the fresco of the Prophet Isaiah, for the chapel of Johann Goritz in S. Agostino (1512, ill. opposite) and the Transfiguration (ill. p. 106), commissioned by Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici in early 151. Raphael’s relationship with Michelangelo is key to understanding these last two works. Michelangelo had too been enticed to Rome from Florence by the promise of papal patronage, and between 1508 and

Opposite: The Prophet Isaiah, 1511-12

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1512 had painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Seemingly to Michelangelo’s chagrin, Raphael managed to see the ceiling before it was finished, and it had a great effect on his subsequent paintings. Nowhere is this clearer than the Prophet Isaiah, which still can be seen in the church of S. Agostino, and which is transparently a homage to the prophets in the Sistine in its basic composition (a seated prophet surrounded by two boys), the sweeping grandeur of the prophet’s gesture, and even the acidic hues of the drapery.

The Transfiguration, on the other hand, was commissioned with the explicit intention of pitting the two masters against each other. It was originally intended to be shipped to the cathedral of Narbonne, Cardinal Giulio’s see, alongside a painting of the Raising of Lazarus painted by Sebastiano del Piombo using designs by Michelangelo (National Gallery). Raphael took the competition very seriously indeed, executing the painting entirely with his own hands. His painstaking preparation is revealed in several existing drawings, including some beautiful studies for heads of apostles (ill. opposite and p. 115). Raphael was struck down by a fever – the result, Vasari says of ‘an unusually wild debauch’ – and the Transfiguration was to be the last work he completed. It was displayed, together with the Lazarus, in the Vatican on Raphael’s death. Both were much praised, but it was Raphael’s painting

that was kept for the Romans to enjoy. The Lazarus was duly sent to France, but the Transfiguration was placed on the high altar of the church of San Pietro in Montorio, suggesting that the painter’s soul would rise to heaven and his fame would last for posterity.

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Vasari, Raphael’s most passionate biographer, also acted to preserve for posterity the memory of a man who, he believed, had perfected the arts of painting and living alike, in the hope that it would inspire future generations of artists to follow his example. As he insists at the end of the Life, ‘those who imitate [Raphael’s] labours in art will be rewarded by the world, as those who copy his virtuous life will be rewarded in heaven.’

The

Life of Raphael Sanzio of Urbino, painter and architect