Andrea Mantegna and the Italian Renaissance. Joseph Manca

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      Among the reliefs in the Trial of Saint James (Fig. 10) are portraits of two Roman emperors, probably Augustus and Nero, and above the emperors is a rectangular panel representing a pagan sacrifice. This last relief is evidence of the ambivalent attitude held in the fifteenth century toward the classical past: Renaissance men admired its artistic forms and certain aspects of its thought, but they lamented the opposition of Roman paganism to Christianity. Mantegna’s depiction of a pagan sacrifice was a reminder to fifteenth-century viewers that the Romans practised, not the ritual sacrifice of Christ’s own flesh and blood, but the sacrificial slaughter of animals. In another part of the picture, Mantegna adumbrates the victory of Christianity over paganism: the ancients celebrated their victories, as seen by the presence of female allegorical Victory figures on the spandrels just atop the arch, but the inclusion of those allegories here would have been interpreted by Renaissance viewers as an indication that Christianity would triumph over pagan religion and secular power.

      Mantegna’s mastery of space and illusionism grew as he worked in the chapel, and the Saint James Led to Execution surpasses all his earlier efforts (Fig. 13). Here the figures and the massive triumphal arch – roughly based on the now-lost Arch of the Gavi in Verona – are shown in worm’s-eye view, foreshortened from below as one would see them from the very floor of the chapel. All this echoes the miraculous event taking place. According to the account in the Golden Legend of Jacobus de Voragine, on the way to his execution James cured a scribe, who is kneeling on the road. The soldier on the far left holding the rope was inspired by this miracle and looks on with quiet sympathy. A well-armed centurion toward the centre gestures in amazement. On the far right, in the kind of gripping motif that helped to establish his reputation as an exciting painter, Mantegna shows one onlooker trying to push his way into the area where the saint stands. A Roman soldier forces him away and they shout at each other, their anger echoed by the flapping banner above and the turning of the corner of a crenellated building toward the viewer. Space rushes back to the left of this pair, the eye drawn to a soldier with a shield anchoring his body position, the motif drawn from Donatello’s marble Saint George at Orsanmichele in Florence, a work Mantegna must have known through a copy. Mantegna wanted to make his painting as vigorous and vivid as possible, qualities which come out also in the boldly executed sketch he made in preparation for painting this remarkable composition (Fig. 12).

      The climax of Mantegna’s work on this wall is the Execution of Saint James, his youthful masterpiece and indeed one of the great paintings of the Early Renaissance (Fig. 16). The saint is lying on the ground, and is about to be beheaded by an executioner who will strike a sharpened board with a mallet, a clumsy system lacking the humane precision of the later guillotine. Mantegna’s clever invention comes through in his use of the tearing motif: as the neck of the saint is about to be severed, one sees overhead a snapped branch, a split building in the upper left, a fissure in the upper part of the wall on the right, and a tear in the cloak on the arm of the executioner. The illusionism Mantegna had been developing in all the earlier scenes finally results in the ultimate, explosive spatial device: the viewer might expect that in a moment the head of Saint James will fall at his feet in the chapel of the Ovetari. The Execution of Saint James vividly makes it appear that the scene depicted and the world of the viewer are coterminous.

      21. The Agony in the Garden, c. 1455. Tempera on panel, 63 × 80 cm. The National Gallery, London.

      22. Giovanni Bellini, The Agony in the Garden, c. 1460. Tempera on panel, 81.3 × 127 cm. The National Gallery, London.

      Antonio degli Ovetari was not alive to see Mantegna’s work progress in his family chapel, but his wife was, and she had occasion to question the artist’s execution of the next scene, the Assumption of the Virgin, which still survives on the far wall of the chapel (Fig. 19). Imperatrice filed a complaint and a minor civil suit against Mantegna because he did not include all twelve Apostles. Renaissance artists were often paid by the figure, and she argued the artist should receive less money than originally agreed because of the omission. Mantegna, given the restriction of space, thoughtfully limited the number of Apostles to eight, avoiding a consequent crowding and weakening of the composition.

      One artist testified in court that Mantegna would have to have made the figures much smaller to fit them in, but he could have done so if he wished. Another master was more supportive of Mantegna. The sculptor Pietro da Milano argued Mantegna truly had room only for eight figures; adding the heads of the other Apostles would have spoiled the perspective of the picture. Pietro stated Mantegna’s painting was made “cum magna arte,” with great artfulness, and he should receive the payment the Ovetari family promised, which is how the matter was finally resolved. It is significant that Mantegna was willing to turn his back on tradition and represent not what was literally correct and usually done but what worked best artistically. Certainly this is a new dramatic type of Assumption, including vigorously gesturing Apostles who twist and turn in amazement as the Virgin ascends to Heaven. Mantegna increases the impact by making the action take place at night, set against a black backdrop. There is a flurry of active angels around Mary, and brilliant, eye-catching stars adorn the underside of the fictive arch.

      Mantegna had other legal difficulties during these early years in the Ovetari Chapel. We have mentioned Niccolò Pizzolo as a contributor to the decoration of the Ovetari Chapel and, like Mantegna, as an artist working in the new Renaissance style, however he also engaged in official challenges to Mantegna’s work. Pizzolo fought to get as great a share as he could in the commission, and in September 1449 Pizzolo and Mantegna sought the arbitration of an outside expert. There was so much ill will between the painters it was necessary for the judge to decree neither should physically obstruct the work of the other, and Pizzolo must not block Mantegna’s light by erecting a screen in the chapel. The arbitrator stated Pizzolo should be allowed to paint one of the histories on the Saint James wall, but the artist never took advantage of this opportunity. Mantegna had wanted to design the altarpiece, so the commission for the terracotta piece to Pizzolo was another favourable ruling for him from the arbitrator.

      This altar and the ceiling vault paintings by Pizzolo (Figs. 11 and 20) show he was indeed a serious challenger, his bold foreshortenings and expressive figures at least equal to the work of Mantegna, who had also studied with the famous Squarcione. In 1448, one pupil wanted to study with Pizzolo with the intent of learning to “pingere in recente”, to paint in the modern style, an indication it was well known that Pizzolo СКАЧАТЬ