The following letter, from Guarini to his sister, proves that the arrangement was completed to the satisfaction of both parties; and an entry in the Duke's Diary shows that, notwithstanding a desire to return home, his departure from that court did not take place until July, 1604.

A letter from him condoling with the Duchess of Urbino on the death of her sister Leonora has been printed in Black's Life of Tasso, II., 451, but this brief notice may suffice to close the literary annals of our mountain principality.

CHAPTER LII

THE zenith of Italian art, especially of Italian painting, was attained between 1490 and 1520. That brief span, scarcely a generation of human life, not only embraced the entire artistic life of Raffaele and witnessed the finest efforts of Leonardo, Luini, Bellini, Giorgione, Francia, Ghirlandaio, Fra Bartolomeo, Sodoma, Perugino, Pinturicchio, Spagna, and Salerno; it also ripened the earlier and better fruits of Buonarroti's genius, of del Sarto's too quickly degenerate palette, and of Titian's

"Pencil pregnant with celestial hues."

It saw the metropolitan St. Peter's commenced, the Stanze and Logge well advanced; it assembled in the Vatican halls the noblest band of painters ever united by one scholarship. That bright spot, the Pausilippo of our pictorial journey, has been passed. Our onward way lies through dreary days of progressive degeneracy, often fitfully illuminated by its reflected lights, but more rarely gladdened by gleams of original genius, or efforts of self-forgetting zeal.

In reviewing the history of painting, its stages of progress will be readily distinguished. The Byzantine period may be regarded as its starting point of stationary conventionalism.[*200] This was followed by an age of sentiment, when earnest thought gradually ameliorated penury of invention, and supplied intensity to expression. To it succeeded an epoch of effort, the hand failing to realise the aims of mind,[*201] the eye awaking to truths of nature, but bewildered by their hidden meanings. Next came the age of mastery;[*202] one of difficulties surmounted and doubts made clear. But the summit when attained was speedily quitted; the period of facility was too soon one of decline. In the words of Fuseli, painters then "uniformly agreed to lose the subject in the medium." Mechanism became the great object, copiousness a prized merit, until mediocrity sought refuge in a multitude of figures, or fell back upon theatrical artifice. The close of the fifteenth century was indeed a cycle of rapid progression, opening many new channels for the efforts of mind, and it was in Italy that this expansion was primarily felt. The ultramontane invention of printing was then eagerly adopted; the cultivation of revived philosophy, and the convulsions consequent upon foreign inroads, introduced elements of change into the Peninsular mind as well as its politics. In nothing was this movement more felt than in the fine arts. During early times, the ideas of artists exceeded their means of expression.[*203] Yet their works, even when trammelled by fetters, partly of limited skill, but more of traditionary mannerism, are often fit exponents of simple thoughts, while the coincidence between the conception and style renders solecisms of execution less startling. The forms may be timid or stiff, but they are always careful and earnest. But now a further range has been given to individual fancy. The choice and conception of the theme, its character and composition, were alike freed from conventional trammels, and became subjective (in the German sense) rather than objective. Religion and its ritual remained the same, the hero-worship of saints continued among its prominent features, art still furnished aids to devotion. But, as books became abundant and readers multiplied, pictures were no longer the written language of holy things for the multitude. The high mission of Christian art had been fulfilled; its limners, less impressed with their themes, thought more of themselves; they appealed rather to the judgment than to the feelings. They aimed at imitating nature to the life more than at embodying transcendental abstractions.[*204] We have already seen how the devotional inspirations of early painting, which Beato Angelico's pencil had mellowed into loveliness, attained, under the guidance of Raffaele, to consummate beauty of form. But the impulse that had forced pictorial art to its culminating point allowed it no rest, and the descending path was too quickly entered. The speculative minds of its creators and its admirers craved for novelty, for fresh themes and further powers. Elevation of sentiment or purity of design no longer sufficed,[*205] and with the competition which ensued for the guidance of public taste, there sprang up many solecisms to degrade it. Much that was in itself valuable was exaggerated into deformity. The knowledge of anatomy which enabled Michael Angelo to embody the terrible, that element of invention which he was the first fully to develop, also tempted him to combinations outraging nature and harmony;[*206] and his style has transmitted to our own day an influence dangerous to genius,[*207] fatal to mediocrity. Less permanent, because less healthful,[*208] was the opposite quality, introduced by Correggio, whose grace, founded upon artifice, degenerated under Parmegianino and Baroccio into meretricious affectation. A third ingredient, not so perilous and more pleasing, was brought to perfection in Venice, where alone can be appreciated the golden tints of Titian[*209] and the silvery harmony of Veronese. It is indeed remarkable that all the schools most celebrated for colouring have arisen in maritime localities, and been deficient in accurate design.

In a preceding portion of this work we have alluded to the innovations of naturalism in painting, by men who introduced perspective, created chiaroscuro, cultivated design, and mastered nude action. Through their example, it not only extended a predominating influence over pictorial treatment, but quickly obtained that place as a canon of artistic criticism which it has since continued commonly to hold. It may seem rash to impugn a principle so universally adopted; and if perfection in art really depends upon an accurate imitation of nature, it would be folly to gainsay it. But the principle may be carried too far; and if we are to allow to art a nobler mission,—if we recognise in painting and sculpture a language wherein gifted men can embody, develop, and elaborately adorn the conceptions of beauty and sublimity, or it may be the sallies of humour and the scintillations of wit that flit across the fancy—a key whereby they can impart to their fellows, and transmit to all ages and nations, their emanations of genius, their poetic flashes, their benevolent sympathies, their devotional aspirations,—then surely a higher standard should be applied to what are often ranked as merely imitative arts, and are tested by their supposed fidelity as transcripts of external objects.[*210]

Such views will to many seem visionary and strange heresies. Yet they are truths by which painting reached its golden era, and which, even in its decline, have been largely drawn upon. Under Louis XIV., a vile epoch of a faulty school,[*211] allegory triumphed over reality, and the best feelings of humanity were forced into masquerade. But what shall we think of the taste which admits such solecisms against nature, whilst objecting to the conventionalities practised by the early Christian masters, and adopted by the purists of our own day? What, indeed, is art but a tissue of conventionalities, even when the imitation of external objects is its aim? Upon what laws of nature are regulated the gradations of aerial perspective, or the receding or flattened surfaces of basso-relievo? Does not the landscape painter, in modifying the tones of his colouring, remember that his mimic scenes are to be enclosed in gilt frames, an appendage for which Providence has made no provision in the real ones? But to such imitations art neither is nor ought to be confined. As the language of genius, it expresses loftier themes, and none but kindred spirits can fitly judge of its style, or set bounds to its range. The rustic who spells through Burns or Bloomfield would pause upon Paradise Lost, and throw down Hamlet in despair; whilst, to the presbyterian who ornaments his walls with Knox's portrait, or the Battle of Bothwell-brig, the Last Judgment would seem unintelligible, the Transfiguration blasphemous, the Judgment of Paris a flagrant indecency. In like manner, those who have neither imbibed the spirit of the Roman ritual, nor studied the forms of Christian art, may fully appreciate the dishevelled goddesses of Rubens, or the golden sunsets of Claude,—the glowing tints of Titian, or the transparent finish of Teniers; but let them understand ere they sneer at those sacred paintings which for successive ages have confirmed the faith of the unlettered, elevated their hopes, and inspired their prayerful ejaculations.

When the Christian mythology, which had supplied art with subjects derived from inspired writ or venerated tradition, was supplanted by an idolatry of nature content to feed spiritual longings with common forms copied without due selection from daily life, men no longer painted what religion taught them to believe, but what their senses offered for imitation, modified by their own unrestrained fancies. Painting thus became an accessory of luxurious life, and its productions were regarded somewhat as furniture, indicating the taste rather than the devotion of patrons and artists. These accordingly followed a wider latitude of topics and treatment. In proportion as devotional subjects fell out of use, a demand arose for mythological fable and allegory. Profane history, individual adventure or portraiture, supplied matter pleasing to vanity, profitable to adulation. But while the objects of painting became less elevated, its mechanism gained importance; it became ostentatious in sentiment, ambitious in execution. The aim of professors, the standard of connoisseurs, declined from the ideal to the palpable. A fresh field for exertion was thus opened up. Schools attained celebrity from their successful treatment of technical difficulties. Michael Angelo attracted pupils by his power in design; Titian by his mastery in colour; Correggio by his management of light; while the eclectic masters of Bologna vainly aspired to perfection by nicely adjusting their borrowed plumes; and the tenebristi of Naples sought, by impenetrable shadows, to startle rather than to please. A demand for domestic decoration led to further exercise of ingenuity. Landscapes, first improved by the Venetian masters as accessories, became a new province of art; and transcripts from nature in her scenes of beauty were succeeded by the clang of battles, the inanities of still life, the orgies or crimes of worthless men.[*212] In architecture and in sculpture, the departure was scarcely less remarkable from the pure style and simple forms of the fifteenth century: a free introduction of costly materials and elaborate decoration deteriorated taste, without compensating for the absence of ideal beauty. The masters of this, which we may distinguish as the "newest" manner, must accordingly be tried by a new standard. Those of the silver and golden ages, Angelico and Raffaele, sought a simple or vigorous development of deep feeling; the Giordani and Caravaggii, men of brass and iron, whose technical capacity outstripped their ideas, aspired not beyond effect. Effect is, therefore, the self-chosen test to which artists of the decline should be subjected, though it may detect in them false taste and vulgar deformity. Under their guidance, energy was substituted for grandeur, bustle for dramatic action; while flickering lights and fluttering draperies ill replaced the solidity and stateliness of earlier men. Art thus, like literature, became copious rather than captivating. Ambitious attempts were not wanting, but the effort to produce them was ever palpable. Ingenuity over-taxed gave birth to bewildering allegories, affected postures, startling contrasts, exaggerated colouring, meretricious graces. Nature was invoked to stand godmother to the progeny, but she disavowed them as spurious.

The rapid decline of art when imitation of nature became more strictly its object, has led to scepticism in some quarters as to the expediency of adopting such a guide. Until human ingenuity shall attain the means of embodying and preserving perfect copies of external objects, it would be presumptuous to decide how far such copies realise that standard of beauty which high art demands. The daguerreotype and kalotype, which give the nearest known approach to such a result, are far from solving the question in accordance with naturalist views; for, on their metallic plates and porous paper, a beautiful woman is, in general, coarsely caricatured; whilst a bust of her, or a bas-relief, always retains the grace of the sculptured original, and a chalk drawing is exquisitely reproduced. Were it enough to depict with perfect precision the forms and incidents reflected on the retina, a painter would be little more than a mechanic, in whom original genius might be almost dispensed with. But, though he will treasure in his portfolios a judicious selection of such impressions as he can daily gather from actual life, these, however nearly they may approach to nature and truth, are only materials of future creations. For high art,—and of such alone would we speak whilst Italy is our theme,—something more than mere nature was undoubtedly required;[*213] yet her guidance became indispensable after the revolution in taste and feeling which dismissed mediæval traditions and types. So various, however, are the freaks of individual fancy, so fantastic the vagaries of reason uncontrolled by authority, that the new path was beset by new pitfalls. The mediocrity of early masters found a refuge in mean but inoffensive commonplace; that of their successors, mistaking freedom and novelty for original genius, revelled in extravagant creations. The acute agonies, physical and moral, which sadly consummated the Atonement for man, were figured by the former in limbs wasted as by prolonged disease, stiffened as by a lingering death: the deep affliction of the Madonna Addolorata over the Saviour's body assumed in their hands an expression of such grief as knew not the relief of tears. But the artists of the "new manner" gave to crucifixions anatomical accuracy developed in spasmodic writhings, and bespoke sympathy for the mother of Christ by convulsive weepings, with perchance the accessory of a pocket-handkerchief! In pictures of this class, corporeal sufferings were rendered with horrible truth, muscular energy was substituted for mental woe. Living in times which needed fresh subjects as well as added powers, these painters laid aside such themes as treated of the mysteries of faith, the legends of primitive times, but especially such as, demanding spiritualised feelings in the author and the spectators, were uncongenial to both. To a contemplative religion, untroubled by sectarian movements, had succeeded a church militant, armed by bigotry, and struggling for existence. The revived Catholicism of Caraffa and Ghislieri required art of a character as gloomy as itself, and commissioned works wherein the terrors of the Inquisition replaced the promises of the Gospel, earthly martyrdoms supplanted celestial hopes, and pure faith was clouded by priestcraft. Henceforward, religious representations were reserved chiefly for church decorations, and even there they assumed an historical character, as in the miracles of our Lord, or the acts of his apostles. Alexander VI. had decorated the pontifical palace with incidents from the Gospel; but those which Paul III. and his successors selected for the Sala Regia commemorate the triumphs of an aggressive church in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, and the naval action of Lepanto. Michael Angelo, in depicting the Last Judgment, the chief glory of that pontificate, introduced Charon as a prominent personage; and, with inconsistency, if possible, more glaring, Poussin has painted Moses, the type of Christ, watched in infancy by a river-god, in classical allusion to his preservation from the perils of the Nile.

Whilst we have thus had to consider the prevalent imitation of external objects as an element tending to the corruption of purist feeling, it unquestionably enlarged the scope and stimulated the mechanism of painting. Such was the naturalism by which Raffaele, Michael Angelo, and Titian developed the comparatively feeble and stunted efforts of their predecessors into forms ennobling nature, and redolent of intelligence. But, in studying these palpable qualities, the more subtle ingredients of spirit and feeling were often overlooked; indeed, most of the creators of the new style outlived it, and saw it supplanted by a yet newer and far more degrading naturalism, which, with few bright intervals, has continued to cramp and pervert the manner of their successors. Such were and are those painters who, on the strength of their sketches from the life, and their studies of landscape and architecture, or with the plea of occasionally introducing portraits into sacred or historical compositions, proclaim themselves followers of nature, whilst their works outrage or caricature her. There may be great anatomical accuracy, and much truth in the separate heads, combined with inventions the most unreal, movements the most constrained, mannered attitudes, draperies meagre or overloaded, and a general substitution of mean conceptions for pleasing realities. The elaborate finish invariably found in the early masters was either bestowed upon accessories in themselves trifling, but stamping an extraordinary verity upon their works, or, as in the Sienese or Venetian schools, it was lavished upon gorgeous costumes illustrative of national manners. But similar details in later pictures are justly considered to remove them in some degree from the category of artistic performances to that of mere decoration, and are despised by those who, aiming at breadth of effect, sometimes adopt the most hopeless of all affectations, that of slovenly superficiality. Whence then this difference? and why should jewels and embroidery, that seem beautiful in Crivelli's saints or Dello's pageants, be vulgar gewgaws on recent canvasses? Merely because, in the former, all is minutely worked, but all is subsidiary to the general sentiment, whilst, in the latter, the absence of a simply pervading expression leaves each individual detail crudely prominent; because the ancient masters made everything subservient to that one overruling feeling of the picture, which, in most modern works, is totally wanting.

The Dukes della Rovere of Urbino had hereditary duties as patrons of art. Popes Sixtus IV. and Julius II., the founders of their family, had munificently encouraged it; the antecedent princes of Montefeltro had been its generous and discriminating friends. If the later dynasty fell short of these examples, they were not without excuse. Though the divine Raffaele parted his mantle among many pupils, no shred of it fell to his native duchy. Francesco Maria I., on succeeding to that state, found in it no lack of churches, palaces, or pictures, and little native genius meriting support; so he was content to call Titian from Venice to portray himself and his Duchess.[*214] His two successors were less devoted to arms, and more liberal to arts. They numbered among their subjects Baroccio and the Zuccari, who once more gave a pictorial name to Urbino, and they judiciously divided their commissions between these natives and foreign painters.

In a former portion of this work it was our endeavour to interweave the artistic notices which we had to offer in connection with Urbino, into a rapid sketch of Christian painting in Umbria. Resuming the subject, it will no longer be possible thus to generalise our views, for the time had arrived when each aspirant selected his own course to the temple of Fame; and in glancing at the various paths which chance or fancy suggested to them, our readers must be prepared for occasional repetitions. The ground, in itself less interesting, is more beaten; and though none of the competitors approximated the elevation gained by Raffaele, their numbers may be considered as some compensation for their comparative mediocrity. Lazzari, in his Dictionary of Artists belonging to his native duchy, has enumerated, under the Feltrian dukes, five painters, one sculptor, one architect, and one military engineer; while under the Princes della Rovere, these numbers are increased to twenty painters, eight architects, and sixteen military engineers. Of sculptors, during the latter period, there is no account; but along with eighteen followers of mechanical arts connected with the higher branches, we find workers in bronze, stucco, wood-carving, engravers, and makers of watches and mathematical instruments, besides two potters and three painters of majolica. It would be not less irksome than useless to follow all this catalogue, but we shall endeavour to throw together whatever is generally interesting of art in Urbino, during the sixteenth century, whether by native painters, or foreigners employed by the dukes; concluding with a chapter on minor arts, especially that of majolica, or earthenware, for which the duchy was long celebrated.

Our catalogue of artists under the della Rovere dynasty may be fittingly commenced with a name not unknown to their predecessors, the Feltrian dukes. Girolamo della Genga was born at Urbino, in 1476, of respectable parents, who destined him for the woollen trade, by which the wealth of Florence had, in a great measure, been gained. But the bent of his youthful mind was decidedly towards design, and his pencil so interfered with his proper business, that, after much vain opposition, his friends yielded, and sent him, at fifteen, to the studio of Luca Signorelli. It was the mission of this able painter to engraft upon the devotional traditions of Umbrian art, imbibed from Pietro della Francesca, a novel energy of thought and pencil; and Girolamo had the advantage of aiding him upon those wonderful compositions in the duomo of Orvieto, which Michael Angelo scrupled not to imitate in his Last Judgment, as well as warmly to commend. After attending his master during the execution of other commissions, he passed into the school of Perugino, where he found his precocious countryman, the young Raffaele. There he remained for three years, devoting himself chiefly to perspective, and thence repaired to Florence to complete his education. At Siena he was largely employed, along with Signorelli, by Pandolfo Petrucci; returning from whence to Urbino, he formed an enduring intimacy with Timoteo della Vite. They wrought together upon a chapel in the cathedral, which no longer exists; but the works there assigned to Genga were chiefly scenic and decorative, from his acknowledged superiority in architectural perspective; and for these, the various festive amusements then in fashion, such as pastoral dramas, triumphal processions, cavalry trappings, and temporary arches, occasioned in that gay capital a perpetual demand, during the latter days of Guidobaldo I., and the first years of his successor. His invention was especially called into play to welcome Duchess Leonora to her states, and to supply scenery for the representation of Bibbiena's La Calandra in 1513. These apparently mechanical performances were not, however, irreconcileable with excellence and fame in the higher branches of art; and it was whilst thus engaged that, during a short visit to Rome, he painted, for the oratory of Sta. Caterina of Siena in the Via Giulia, an altar-piece of the Resurrection, justly considered his chef-d'œuvre.[*215] The figure of Christ, soaring upwards amid sprawling angels, somewhat anticipates Raffaele's Transfiguration, but with a copious infusion of Michael Angelesque feeling. The latter influence predominates in the violent attitudes and excited action of the guards, four of whom, suddenly aroused by the supernatural event, are rushing about without aim or self-possession; yet, the movement of one who awakens a still slumbering comrade is extremely natural. The Marys, approaching from the other side of the picture, recall Timoteo's manner. The colour, concealed however under an accumulation of dirt, is of a solid quality, and the chiaroscuri are skilfully managed, while the inscription, Girolamo Genga Urbinas facieb., satisfactorily secures its authenticity.

In 1497, Guidobaldo had granted to the Counts della Genga an exemption from taxes, for which Girolamo showed his gratitude by sharing the exile of Francesco Maria, when deprived by the tyrannical usurpation of Leo X. He retired with his family to Cesena, where, as at Forlì and other places in Romagna, he executed various church pictures of merit; of these, the Baptism of Christ, the Conversion of St. Augustine, and one representing the Almighty, with the Madonna, and the Doctors of the Church, have found their way to the Brera, at Milan. On the Duke's restoration, he was appointed his architect and engineer, and thereafter discontinued painting, devoting himself almost entirely to his new duties. Among the churches which he built, were those of the Zoccolantines at Urbino and Sinigaglia, but it was chiefly on the ducal palaces that he was employed. Of these, the first committed to him was the Imperiale villa, already mentioned.[216] Vasari describes it as a "very beautiful and well-contrived fabric, full of chambers, colonnades, courts, balconies, fountains, and delightful gardens, which every prince passing that way goes to see; and which Paul III. visited, with his court, when on his way to Bologna, and was quite pleased with all he saw." It would seem from his account that the most important ameliorations made by Genga upon that long-neglected residence, were the tower and internal decorations. The former remains, of handsome proportions; but its chief merit is said, by the Tuscan biographer, to have consisted in the management of a concealed wooden stair, reaching the summit in thirteen flights of steps, one hundred and twenty feet in all. In 1543, Bembo wrote to Leonora,—"I have visited your Excellency's Imperiale with much pleasure, both because I greatly wished to see it, and because it seems to me constructed with more intelligence and true artistic science, as well as with more antique fashions and finely contrived conceits, than any modern building I have seen. I heartily congratulate your Ladyship upon it, for certainly my gossip Genga is a great and gifted architect, far surpassing all my anticipations." The frescoes, illustrating his employer's life, were distributed by him to several foreign artificers, the duchy not boasting any painter of talent since the recent death of his friend Timoteo Vite. Among these was his pupil Francesco Minzocchi of Forlì, who, living on the limits of the old manner and the new, succeeded in uniting many excellences of both; yet, his works at Padua, Venice, Forlì, and Loreto, though highly creditable, scarcely merit the exaggerated praise bestowed on some of them by Vasari. That biographer's oversight, and his own modesty, have, on the other hand, done scrimp justice to Raffaele del Colle, whose attractive pencil is scarcely appreciated, notwithstanding Lanzi's eulogy. A pupil of the incomparable Sanzio, and of Giulio Romano, he preserved a healthy style amid prevailing deterioration; and many of his pictures still adorn the churches of Central Italy.[217] Contemporary with these was Angelo Bronzino, who maintained at Florence, during an age of general feebleness, the reputation transmitted by Andrea del Sarto and Pontormo. The grace of a Cupid, which he painted upon a corbel at the Imperiale, gained for him the patronage of Prince Guidobaldo, who employed him in small productions more congenial to his genius, including his portrait, and a harpsichord cover, both of them greatly admired, but now lost. The landscape ornaments in the villa were entrusted to the brothers Dossi, of Ferrara, or rather perhaps to Giovanbattista, the younger, and less able of them; but so total was their failure, that they were immediately thrown down, and replaced by others from Genga's designs. More successful in that light style were the portions committed to Camillo of Mantua, whose rural decorations are praised by Vasari and Lanzi.

We have thus far chiefly followed Vasari's authority, reconciling, as best we might, inconsistencies and errors, the result of his imperfect acquaintance with the locality. The paintings he describes at the Imperiale were probably part of Duchess Leonora's labour of love, to welcome her lord's return from his long campaigns. But the condition to which they are reduced, by time and unworthy degradation of the building, renders it impossible now to form an opinion of the various hands that have wrought upon them, or to discover their respective merits and subjects. The roofs of two saloons are occupied by small historical compositions, from the actions of Francesco Maria; but these are irrecoverably defaced. Two of them, ascribed to Bronzino, are said to have represented the Duke haranguing the band of adventurers whom he collected in Lombardy, for the invasion of his duchy in 1517; and his reception by the Venetian senate in 1523, as their captain-general. The ornaments of the remaining rooms are merely decorative.

Additions were made by Francesco Maria to his other residences at Urbino, Pesaro, and Castel Durante; on all of which, and Gradara, Genga seems to have been employed. Him also he entrusted to build a casino, within the walls of Pesaro, called the Barchetto, in which a ruin was imitated, with a spiral stair commended by Vasari: this house was subsequently assigned by Duke Guidobaldo to Bernardo Tasso, as a home to himself and his son Torquato; and part of it is now occupied by a gardener. Another work of Girolamo was the reparation of the fortress at Pesaro, which, however, he undertook merely in obedience to his sovereign, military architecture being little to his taste. In acknowledgment of these services, he had, in 1528, a grant of Castel d'Elce, with its feudal immunities, afterwards confirmed by Guidobaldo II. Some years later, he remodelled the episcopal palace at Mantua, and began an imposing church to St. John the Baptist at Pesaro, which was completed by his son. Among his minor efforts in the immediate service of the ducal family may be mentioned funeral decorations for Francesco Maria, and a monument to him, erected by Bartolomeo Ammanati of Florence, in Sta. Chiara of Urbino, but long ago removed. Enriched and honoured, he spent his declining years in leisure, and died in 1551. Vasari thus testifies to his exemplary character:—"Girolamo was an excellent and honest man, of whom no evil was ever heard. He was not only a painter, sculptor, and architect, but also a good musician, an excellent and most amusing talker, and was full of courtesy and affection to his relations and friends." Among his numerous pupils, Baldassare Lancia, of Urbino, was distinguished as a military engineer, whilst Bartolomeo his second son, Bellucci of San Marino his son-in-law, and Federigo Baroccio his nephew, all ably maintained his artistic reputation. In the person of Leo XII., one of his family has recently attained the highest station offered to the ambition of the Roman Catholic world.

Bartolomeo della Genga was born at Cesena in 1518, during his father Girolamo's emigration, and was sent to Florence at eighteen to study design in its various branches, under Vasari and Ammanati. At twenty-one he returned to his father, who, seeing his talent lie towards architecture, advised him to acquaint himself at Rome with the best models. His first commission on returning home was to prepare festive arches for Duchess Vittoria's reception after her marriage. He then accompanied Guidobaldo to Lombardy, as his military engineer, and, by examining the celebrated fortresses in that country, added greatly to his professional experience. He at this time refused very eligible appointments from the King of Bohemia, and subsequently from Genoa, wishing to dedicate his services to his own sovereign. Accordingly, on his father's death, he became ducal architect, and built large additions to the palaces of Urbino and Pesaro, especially the wing of the former, facing S. Domenico. He also erected a number of churches in the duchy, and prepared plans for a harbour at Pesaro, which were not carried into effect. Having attended the Duke to Rome in 1553, he gave some hints to Julius III. for the new fortifications of Borgo S. Spirito.

His reputation being thus established, the Order of Malta selected him to superintend the new defences proposed for their island, and in 1557 sent two knights on a mission to obtain the Duke of Urbino's sanction of Genga's engagement. During two months Guidobaldo resisted all importunities, and they at length succeeded only through a Capuchin friar, who, possessing his ear, represented the work as one in which all Christendom was interested. On Bartolomeo's arrival, he had but time to prepare a series of plans for civil and military architecture, when he was cut off by fever consequent upon exposure in the burning heat, having scarcely completed his fortieth year. Of this family also was Simone Genga, who, after fortifying many Tuscan strongholds, carried his engineering talents to Gratz, in Austria. From Stephen, King of Poland, he had, in 1587, a monthly salary of 76 dollars, besides allowances for four servants and as many horses, whilst completing the defences of Varadino. Other architects of Urbino are mentioned by the Marchese Ricci as leaving structures in La Marca, such as Lattanzio Venturi, who, in 1581, built the communal palace at Macerata, with an allowance of 30 scudi for his plan, and 40 more for overseeing its execution. Six years later, he completed the façade of Loreto church, in the charge of which he was succeeded by his son Venturo. His countryman, Ludovico Carducci, having accompanied him to Macerata, was employed on various ecclesiastical edifices there, his designs for which were submitted for approval to the Duke of Urbino. From Venturo Venturi the superintendence of Loreto devolved, about 1614, upon Giovanni Branca, of S. Angelo in Vado, who died there in 1645, aged seventy-four. His Manual of Architecture had passed through six editions previous to the present century.

CHAPTER LIII

IT was just after the fatal sack of Rome had dispersed the goodly company of painters, who, reared by Raffaele, and linked together by the recollection of his genius and his winning qualities, gave promise of long maintaining in the Christian capital that manner which he had brought to perfection,—that there was born to Ottaviano Zuccaro, or Zucchero, an indifferent artist of S. Angelo in Vado, a son destined to revive the pictorial reputation of Urbino. Taddeo Zuccaro saw the light in 1529, and, while yet a boy, perceiving little hope of excellence under such instruction as Umbria could then afford, or of remedying the poverty of his paternal fireside, he boldly sought a wider field of improvement and enterprise, and at fourteen found his way to Rome. The hardships which he there underwent are touchingly described by Vasari. Aided by no friendly hand, his education was neglected, and he was driven to menial labour for the support of a precarious existence. Wandering from one studio to another, he earned a crust of bread by colour-grinding; and, unable to afford light for his evening studies, he spent the moonlight nights in drawing, till sleep surprised him beneath some portico. Under this hard life his health gave way, whilst his spirit remained indomitable, and he sought rest and renewed vigour in his native mountain air. But his thirst for improvement was not stayed by these sufferings. On his return to Rome with recruited energies, he was received into the studio of Jacopone Bertucci of Faenza, a follower of Raffaele, whose few independent works entitle him to more honourable mention than has been afforded him by Vasari or Lanzi, and who united the tasteful design of that master with somewhat of Lombard feeling. Taddeo subsequently aided one Daniello di Por, who carried to Rome much of the Parmese manner, imitating Correggio and Parmegianino. At eighteen he executed on his own account, on the exterior of the Mattei Palace, a series of nine events in the life of Camillus, which attracted general admiration, and established his popularity as a historical painter. These, and several other works in fresco done soon after, have been destroyed.

His rising reputation having reached Urbino, Guidobaldo II. summoned him there, when about fifteen, to undertake the exterior decorations of a chapel in the cathedral, which had been painted by Battista Franco, and soon after carried him on his tour of inspection of the Venetian terra-firma fortresses. On his return, he was established in the palace at Pesaro, where he painted the Duke's portrait and some other cabinet pictures. Two years thus passed away without his being able to commence the chapel, although the designs for it were well advanced; and being dissatisfied with this loss of time, he availed himself of his sovereign's absence at Rome to follow him thither. Orders now crowded upon him, for no contemporary painter was better qualified to supply those slight and rapidly executed works then in fashion for the external and internal decoration of Roman palaces and villas. Most of these have perished; but somewhat superior in character were the incidents in the Passion, painted in 1556, in the Church of Consolation under the Capitol. They are still in good preservation, but though cleverly conceived and carefully executed, these merits scarcely compensate for the exaggerated mannerism of their sprawling attitudes and solid draperies, whilst their violent emotions are anything but devotional. From this time his brother Federigo was associated in most of his labours, and the speed with which their commissions were finished brought them easy gains, and gave satisfaction in an age when taste had sadly degenerated. An arrangement, whereby Taddeo agreed to accompany the Duke of Guise to France, with a salary of 600 scudi, was interrupted by the Duke's death; but soon after our artist had a more important commission, from Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, to paint in his palace of Caprarola, near Viterbo, the heroic actions of his family. This was precisely the class of subject for which the manner and ideas of the Zuccari were most adapted, and the results were highly satisfactory. Accordingly, these paintings, engraved by Prenner in 1748, remain a standard of that style of palatial decoration. Taddeo's allowance was 200 scudi a year, for which he undertook to prepare all the cartoons, and to superintend their execution by his brother and other young artists. Among those whom he was thus enabled to bring forward, several, including Baroccio, were his seniors, a natural consequence of the good fortune which brought him early into repute as a clever head-master of the contract work then in vogue. His mural paintings in the Sala Regia of the Vatican, and his sacred subjects in the chapel of S. Marcello there, were also undertakings of considerable extent, sharing his attention with Caprarola during the latter years of his life. His last work was the Assumption of the Madonna in the Trinità del Monte, upon which death surprised him in 1566, and his dust reposes in the Pantheon, near that of his more illustrious countryman Raffaele, like whom, he died on the day his thirty-seventh year was completed.