The Ugly Renaissance (25 page)

It was a remarkable conceit. Although it was not unusual for patrons
to be included as “
participants in, or witnesses to, sacred dramas,” what made the
Journey of the Magi to Bethlehem
unique was the fact that the biblical story had been infused with echoes of civic ritualism before being totally annexed to the Medici’s sense of pride. Indeed, “
never before had an entire family integrated itself so explicitly into sacred history.” And not for a long time afterward would any family dare to use
art so obviously to display such a powerful sense of self-confidence and ambition.

T
HE
R
ISE OF THE
P
ATRON

On looking more closely at Gozzoli’s frescoes, Galeazzo Maria Sforza could not have helped recognizing that in Cosimo de’ Medici he had met a man of supreme culture and refinement. Not only had he had the good taste to commission a truly breathtaking series of paintings from one of Florence’s most brilliant artists, but he had also had himself depicted in the company of some of the foremost intellects of the day. There was no doubt that he was a very sophisticated human being, and there was little question that he was exactly the sort of person whom anyone would trust with money or political power.

This was precisely what Cosimo had intended. It was an image he had worked hard to cultivate. Having made an absolute fortune out of banking, he took immense pleasure in acquiring a thorough knowledge of the arts and in employing the very best artists. Having commissioned Michelozzo to redesign the Palazzo Medici Riccardi, he had enthusiastically bestowed his patronage on the most talented artists of the day. Works in their dozens were sought from
Donatello, Brunelleschi,
Fra Angelico, and Fra
Filippo Lippi, and the family palazzo thronged with the constant buzz of artistic debate. Cosimo was always welcoming new talent into his house, befriending those of particular ability, considering new commissions, and discussing models and sketches for future projects.

Cosimo had endeavored to foster a reputation not merely as a patron but also as a learned connoisseur in his own right. Supported by his seemingly endless reserves of cash, artists, poets, and musicians competed with one another to celebrate his learning in the most extravagant terms and—in keeping with Cosimo’s image of himself—lost no time in equating his cultural sophistication with public virtue. As his great friend the bookseller
Vespasiano da Bisticci put it:

When giving an audience to a scholar, he discoursed concerning letters; in the company of theologians, he showed his acquaintance with theology, a branch of learning always studied by him with delight. So also with regard to philosophy … Musicians in like manner perceived his mastery of music, wherein he took great pleasure. The same was true about sculpture and painting; both of these arts he understood completely, and showed much favour to all worthy craftsmen. In architecture he was a worthy judge; and without his opinion and advice no public building of any importance was begun or carried to completion.

By virtue of his learning and
patronage, Cosimo had succeeded in appearing to be all things to all men. His discernment was not only laudable in its own right but deserved particular praise because of his willingness to place it at the disposal of his city. Who, Vespasiano seemed to ask, could possibly dislike such a man? Enamored with his patronage and learning, a contemporary later mused, “
Ah, how much discretion he showed in uncertain things, how much love of country filled his waking thoughts!”

The
Journey of the Magi to Bethlehem
was just the latest installment in a lengthy campaign to project a dazzlingly impressive image of Cosimo’s sophistication and wealth, and testified to the tremendous lengths he was prepared to go to ensure this impression was communicated to maximum effect. Far from having simply paid Gozzoli to get on with the decoration of the chapel, Cosimo and
Piero de’ Medici had worked closely with the artist. They had, in fact, been actively involved in the creation of the frescoes themselves and had good cause to think of themselves as co-creators. Drawing on their appreciation of the character and power of art, they had exercised a palpable control over the content and design of the work itself both by imposing specific contractual obligations on Gozzoli and by maintaining an ongoing dialogue with the artist. In this way, Cosimo and his son had succeeded in harnessing Gozzoli’s skill to their own cultural aspirations and had ensured that they would be perceived as laudable, public-spirited connoisseurs of the most impeccable learning. Binding the artist to their will, they had effectively given their status a big boost.

As a manifestation of Cosimo’s efforts to better his standing through art and culture, the
Journey of the Magi to Bethlehem
illustrates the importance of patronage to the development of Renaissance culture and represents the culmination of what might be called the “rise of the patron.” Paralleling—and fueling—the “rise of the artist,” this process of development had involved a transformation not just of the social and intellectual background of patrons but also of the manner in which patrons interacted with artists. And as a result it was to have monumental effects on the manner in which art itself was produced.

Insofar as Renaissance patronage revolved around spending money on works of art, two main factors contributed to the “rise of the patron.” On the one hand, the Renaissance had witnessed the socioeconomic transformation of the “culture business.” Artistic patronage was, of course, nothing new. Since the earliest times, the patronage of art had been acknowledged to be a sure indicator of wealth and status, and powerful figures from Augustus and Maecenas to Charlemagne and Frederick II had augmented their public standing through lavish spending on the arts. But as a result of the radical political and economic changes of the Renaissance, there had been an explosion in the number and range of patrons who were actively involved in commissioning works of art. With the expansion of trade and the fragmentation of political authority from the mid-thirteenth century on, those who had the money and the motivation to commission artworks that testified to their power and status became dramatically more numerous.

By the early fifteenth century, it was not merely emperors, kings, and popes who were investing in architecture, painting, and sculpture; local lords (
signori
), communes, guilds, merchants, notaries, and even humble tradesmen were also getting in on the act. From small devotional works to enormous secular paintings and elaborate bequests to mendicant churches, everybody who could afford to was buying art, eager to bask in the glory of their purchasing power. The Medici—who had risen from very obscure origins in the Mugello—were just one of the more striking examples of patrons who had suddenly become extremely wealthy and wanted to cloak themselves in the splendor that had previously only belonged to the truly great.

On the other hand, the political and economic changes of the early Renaissance had occasioned a shift in the value that this new class of patrons attached to the learning on which art depended, and thus also in the appetite for culture in itself. At least as early as the mid-thirteenth century, it had become clear that it was impossible to manage the affairs
of a territorial state without a body of people who had a good grasp of Latin and the liberal arts. Laws needed drafting, records needed to be kept, embassies needed to be dispatched, and people both high and low needed to be persuaded. The study and emulation of classical literature—which historians have recognized as one of the defining characteristics of humanism—thus became an essential prerequisite not only for the growing class of professional bureaucrats (such as
Coluccio Salutati and
Leonardo Bruni) but also for mercantile oligarchies and noble
signori
.

But as
learning became more and more essential to the practice of government, it also became an essential status symbol and a mark of the “virtues” necessary for public life. Anybody who wished to be thought well suited to political power rapidly realized it was vital to gain a thorough acquaintance with the latest cultural and intellectual trends. It was typical, for example, not only that
Petrarch advised Francesco “il Vecchio” da Carrara to cultivate his appreciation of the liberal arts so that he might rule justly and wisely, but also that
Machiavelli viewed the true prince as a man of learning as well as a man of action. But it was also no surprise that before long the repertoire of “necessary” skills had expanded to include an acquaintance with the visual arts and vernacular literature as well as with the ancient classics. In
The Book of the Courtier
, for example,
Baldassare Castiglione argued, “
I should like our courtier to be a more than average scholar at least in those studies which we call the humanities.” “And,” Castiglione continued,

he should have a knowledge of Greek as well as Latin, because of the very different things that are so beautifully written in that language. He should be very well acquainted with the poets, and no less with the orators and historians, and also skilled at writing both verse and prose, especially in our own language.

The same was no less true of painting and sculpture.
For Castiglione, it behooved the courtier to acquire a good knowledge of these arts, not only because they could confer “many useful skills … not least for military purposes,” but also because they could give him a full understanding of the complexity and majesty of the world he would help to govern.

As the liberal arts came to be seen as integral markers of status, the new class of patrons wished to display their learning by patronizing
artists and litterateurs to as great an extent as possible. A household, court, or city that thronged with painters, sculptors, poets, and philosophers was, by definition, worthy of respect and esteem. It was for this reason that the “mirrors of princes” written during this period stressed the importance of patronizing the arts, and everyone who engaged in
patronage—especially Cosimo de’ Medici—learned that lesson well.

As a result of the significance that art had assumed both as a status symbol and as a display of learning, the new class of clever, knowledgeable patrons fostered ever closer relationships with the artists they employed. Used to the practicalities of business and government, they understood the importance of contracts and wanted to make sure they would get the best value for their money. Just as Michelangelo would later see when
Piero Soderini offered his “advice” on the
David
, patrons—whether private individuals or representatives of institutions—were keen to suggest little changes and even to demand sweeping revisions. Cosimo and
Piero de’ Medici in particular were constantly engaged in dialogue with the artists they commissioned. Around the time of Galeazzo Maria’s visit, for example, Piero asked Gozzoli to remove the angels from his frescoes on the grounds that he found their presence disturbing and contrary to the contractual agreement. But while Gozzoli was generally happy to listen (although he did not, in fact, remove the angels), the Medici’s interventions were not always popular. Having devoted tremendous effort to making a “
large and very beautiful model” of his design for the Palazzo Medici Riccardi, for example,
Filippo Brunelleschi was horrified when Cosimo rejected it as being too ostentatious and was, in fact, so enraged that he smashed the model to smithereens.

By the time Galeazzo Maria Sforza arrived in Florence to meet Cosimo de’ Medici, the patronage of art had reached extraordinary heights not only due to the growing number of people who wanted to demonstrate that they had “arrived,” but also as a result of the remarkable value that had come to be placed on learning and the arts. For “new men” and emergent institutions, works like Gozzoli’s
Journey of the Magi to Bethlehem
represented a sure way of expressing their status through patronage and of revealing their public merits through discernment. And to ensure that they would get exactly what they wanted, they were not afraid to bind artists ever more closely to their will with contracts and ongoing negotiations.

With this in mind, it is perhaps no coincidence that Renaissance
patrons of the arts are today often seen as cultural supermen in their own right. Given their stated devotion to the cultivation of painting, sculpture, architecture, music, and literature, and the huge amount of effort they devoted to employing the very best talent, it is often easy to view them as paragons of good taste and to regard them with the awe that is commonly inspired by the works they commissioned. Given the closeness of the relationship between artists and patrons, it is difficult not to succumb to the temptation to view the latter as harbingers of a golden age whose importance is equal to that of those who worked for them. If we stand in Galeazzo Maria Sforza’s place and look up at the
Journey of the Magi to Bethlehem
, Cosimo de’
Medici and his ilk do indeed seem to be bathed in an aura of supreme culture that carries with it a sense of
public virtue and decency. What man of taste could possibly be bad?

T
HE
P
OWER OF
A
RT

But this was only part of the story. Just as there is good reason to resist the temptation to view artists as near-perfect beings endowed with superhuman brilliance, so a deeper look at the social world of the Renaissance patron and the ends that patronage was intended to serve cautions against looking at such men through rose-tinted spectacles. It all stems from the fact that art wasn’t just art.

As Galeazzo Maria Sforza peered closer at the
Journey of the Magi to Bethlehem
, he would have become conscious that the Medici had contrived to use the frescoes to communicate a specific political message that went well beyond a simplistic celebration of their status and learning. Surveying the figures portrayed in the paintings—from artists and philosophers to prelates,
signori
, emperors, and patriarchs—and decoding their hidden meaning, he would gradually have seen that the whole point of the chapel was to “
legitimate [the Medici’s] domination of Florentine politics” through art.