Architectural Temperance: Spain and Rome, 1700-1759

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Architectural Temperance Spain and Rome, 1700–1759

Architectural Temperance examines relations between Bourbon Spain and papal Rome (1700–1759) through the lens of cultural politics. With a focus on key Spanish architects sent to study in Rome by the Bourbon Kings, the book also discusses the establishment of a program of architectural education at the newly-founded Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in Madrid. Victor Deupi explores why a powerful nation like Spain would temper its own building traditions with the more cosmopolitan trends associated with Rome; often at the expense of its own national and regional traditions. Through the inclusion of previously unpublished documents and images that shed light on the theoretical debates which shaped eighteenth-century architecture in Rome and Madrid, Architectural Temperance provides an insight into readers with new insights into the cultural history of early modern Spain.

Victor Deupi teaches the history of art and architecture at the School of Architecture and Design at the New York Institute of Technology and in the Department of Visual and Performing Arts at Fairfield University. His research focuses on cultural politics in the early modern Ibero-American world. Routledge Research in Architecture

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Architectural Temperance Spain and Rome, 1700–1759 Victor Deupi Architectural Temperance Spain and Rome, 1700–1759

Victor Deupi First published 2015 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2015 Victor Deupi The right of Victor Deupi to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him 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. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Deupi, Victor. Architectural temperance: Spain and Rome, 1700–1759 / Victor Deupi. pages cm.—(Routledge research in architecture) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Architecture and society—Spain—History—18th century. 2. Architecture—Spain—History—18th century. 3. Architecture—Spain— Italian influences. 4. Real Academia de Nobles Artes de San Fernando. 5. Architecture—Study and teaching—Spain—Madrid. 6. Architecture— Study and teaching—Italy—Rome. I. Title. NA2543.S6D475 2014 720.9456c320946—dc23 2014006114

ISBN: 978-0-415-72439-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-76054-4 (ebk)

Typeset in Sabon by Book Now Ltd, London To Jill ieri, oggi, domani… This page intentionally left blank Contents

List of figures ix Preface xiii Abbreviations xvii

Introduction – Architectural temperance 1

1 Spain and Rome in the early eighteenth century 4 Bourbon Spain and the War of Succession 4 Celebrations of Spanish Succession 8

2 Italian grandeur 23 Spanish Rome 23 Spanish Italy 45

3 Metropoli dell’universo 62 The Spanish Grand Tour 63 Roman and Spanish academies 71

4 Iberian architects in Rome 77 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos 78 Francisco Preciado de la Vega 85 Ventura Rodríguez 92 Miguel Fernández 94 José de Hermosilla 97

5 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli in Via Condotti 105 Trinitarian Rome 105 viii Contents

The case against Rodriguez Dos Santos 120 Hermosilla’s contribution 123

6 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 135 Reales sitios 135 Solomonic imagery 147

7 The written word and the artifact 160 Vitruvian authority 160 The Madrid Academy and the course of architecture 168

Notes 175 Bibliography 184 Index 208 Figures

1.1 Carlo Fontana, elevation of a meta, with bier and medallion, for the memorial service for Leopold I in Santa Maria dell’Anima, Rome (1705) 14 1.2 Carlo Fontana, façade decoration for the memorial service to King Pedro II of Portugal, Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi, Rome (1707) 16 1.3 Carlo Fontana, perspective view of the Catafalque and Baldacchino in the crossing for the memorial service to King Pedro II of Portugal, Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi, Rome (1707) 17 1.4 Carlo Fontana, plan and elevation of the portico of Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome (1709–11) 18 1.5 Filippo Juvarra, monumental throne, from Le simpatie della città di Messina… (1720) 21 2.1 Giuseppe Vasi, “Piazza di Spagna,” from Le porte e mura di Roma… Rome (1747) 24 2.2 San Giacomo degli Spagnoli, Rome 25 2.3 Giuseppe Vasi, “San Giacomo degli Spagnoli,” from I collegj, spedali e luoghi pii… Rome (1759) 26 2.4 Max Hutzel, Santa Maria in Monserrato, Rome 27 2.5 Sant’Antonio dei Portoghese, Rome 28 2.6 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 29 2.7 San Pasquale Baylon, Rome 29 2.8 Max Hutzel, San Bartolomeo all’Isola, Rome 30 2.9 Giambattista Nolli, plan of the Piazza di Spagna, from La nuova topografia di Roma (1748) 31 2.10 Via Condotti, Rome 32 2.11 Giuseppe Vasi, “Palazzo (Caetani) Ruspoli,” from Le basiliche e chiese antiche di Roma… Rome (1753) 33 2.12 Spanish Steps (Scalinata della Trinità dei Monti), Rome 34 2.13 Giovanni Giacomo de’ Rossi, “Palazzo Nunez,” from Il nuovo teatro delle fabriche, et edificii, in prospettiva di Roma moderna…, Rome (1665–99) 34 x Figures

2.14 Palazzo di Spagna, Rome 35 2.15 Ferdinando Fuga and José de Hermosilla, Pianta del Piano Terreno del Teggio Palazzo di Spagna esistente in Roma (1747) 36 2.16 Ferdinando Fuga and José de Hermosilla, Prospetto della Facciata Principale del Reggio Palazzo di Spagna esistente en Roma (1747) 37 2.17 Nicola Salvi, Apparato efimero per i regi sponsali (1728) 40 2.18 Santa Cecilia, Rome 41 2.19 Girolamo Ticciati, elevation, from the Esequie di Luigi il Cattolico Re di Spagna… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1724), etching by Ferdinando Ruggieri 47 2.20 Girolamo Ticciati, interior section, from the Esequie di Luigi il Cattolico Re di Spagna… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1724), etching by Ferdinando Ruggieri 48 2.21 Girolamo Ticciati, catafalque, from the Esequie di Luigi il Cattolico Re di Spagna… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1724), etching by Ferdinando Ruggieri 49 2.22 Ferdinando Ruggieri, Ornato delle tre porte… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1725) 51 2.23 Ferdinando Ruggieri, triumphal arch for Carlo di Borbone, from the Descrizione dell’ arco inalzato dalla nazione Britannica… (1732) 52 2.24 Marcus Tuscher, Cuccagna monument in front of the royal palace…, Livorno (1732) 54 2.25 Aerial view of the Rocca Sanvitale, Sala Baganza 55 2.26 Palazzo Reale, Colorno 56 2.27 Ferdinando Sanfelice, façade, San Lorenzo Maggiore, from the Relazione della solennità…, Naples (1734) 58 2.28 Ferdinando Sanfelice, altar, San Lorenzo Maggiore, from the Relazione della solennità…, Naples (1734) 59 4.1 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, façade, S. Maria Maddalena, Rome (1735) 82 4.2 Francisco Preciado de la Vega, Aeneas and the Cuaean Sibyl, Rome (1744) 86 4.3 Louis-Joseph Le Lorrain, Chinea, Rome (1746) 88 4.4 Francisco Preciado de la Vega, Chinea, Rome (1746) 89 4.5 José de Hermosilla, façade, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena (1746–47) 99 4.6 José de Hermosilla, interior, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena (1746–47) 100 4.7 José de Hermosilla, detail, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena (1746–47) 100 5.1 Giuseppe Vasi, “Chiesa della SS. Trinità,” from Magnificenze di Roma 1747–1761, Rome (1756) 107 Figures xi

5.2 Transfer of Morcillo’s remains to the Chapel of the Purissima Concepción in the Cathedral of Lima from the Magnifica parentacion… (1744) 109 5.3 Max Hutzel, sacristy with Gaspare Sibilla’s Bust of Morcillo, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 109 5.4 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, ground floor plan, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733) 111 5.5 Casa per Secolari, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 111 5.6 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, cross section, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733) 112 5.7 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, elevation, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733) 113 5.8 Max Hutzel, chancel, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 114 5.9 Façade, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 115 5.10 Baldassare Mattei, Spanish Coat of Arms, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1750) 116 5.11 Pietro Pacilli, Angel Releasing two Christian Prisoners, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1750) 116 5.12 Max Hutzel, interior, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 117 5.13 Dome, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 118 5.14 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, longitudinal section, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733) 118 5.15 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, longitudinal section, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733) 119 5.16 Gregorio Guglielmi, Allegory of the Trinitarian Order, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 125 5.17 Gregorio Guglielmi, St. Ambrose with the Founders of the Trinitarian Order, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 126 5.18 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, detail, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733) 126 5.19 Side chapel with Gaetano Lapis’ St. John of Matha, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 127 5.20 Max Hutzel, side chapel, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 128 5.21 Max Hutzel, high altar with Corrado Giaquinto’s The Holy Trinity Liberating a Christian Slave, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 128 5.22 Antonio González Velázquez, Abraham and the Three Angels and Moses and Three Other Prophets, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 129 5.23 Juan Bautista Villalpando, the “Order of Orders” from Roland Fréart, A Parallel of the Ancient Architecture with the Modern (1733) 130 xii Figures

5.24 José de Hermosilla, interior, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena 130 5.25 Max Hutzel, choir balcony, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 131 5.26 Max Hutzel, side chapel with Francisco Preciado de la Vega’s Immaculate Conception, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome 132 6.1 Santiago Bonavía, church of San Antonio, Aranjuez 138 6.2 Façade, Royal Palace, Madrid 139 6.3 Andrea Procaccini, Patio de la Herradura, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja 145 6.4 Andrea Procaccini, Colegiata, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja 145 6.5 Filippo Juvarra et al., garden façade, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja 146 6.6 Virgilio Rabaglio, Palacio Real de Riofrío (1752–1759) 147 6.7 Tomás Vicente Tosca, “Solomonic Order,” from the Tratado de Arquitectura Civil, Montea y Canteria, y Reloxes (1727) 151 6.8 Filippo Juvarra, Chambre du lit, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja (1736–37) 152 6.9 Atanasio Genaro Brizguz y Bru (Agustín Bruno Zaragoza y Ebri), “Spanish Order,” from the Escuela de arquitectura civil (1738) 153 6.10 Sempronio Subisati et al., tomb of Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja (1748, 1756–58) 157 6.11 Francesco Sabbatini et al., tomb of Ferdinand VI, Las Salesas Reales, Madrid (1759) 158 7.1 Claude Perrault, frontispiece, from the Compendio de loz diez libros de arquitectura de Vitruvio (1761) 165 7.2 Christian Rieger, frontispiece, from Elementos de toda la architectura civil (1763) 167 7.3 Christian Rieger, view of the Royal Palace at Caserta, from Elementos de toda la architectura civil (1763) 168 Preface

In the middle decades of the twentieth century, George Kubler and Fernando Chueca Goitia introduced the study of eighteenth-century Spanish architecture and culture to a broad academic audience, bringing to light Spain’s masters of building and the countless churches, plazas, and palaces that defined the major cities and towns of the Iberian Peninsula. A quarter of a century later, Carlos Sambricio, Thomas Ford Reese, and Delfín Rodríguez Ruiz shed new light on the topic through their vigorous publication efforts, further illuminating the richness of early modern Spanish architecture and urban planning. Much work has followed, though a great deal remains to be done as very little of this material is available in English. New points of departure and varied interpretations need to be considered, and historians need to reach beyond the confines of Spain, situating Spanish architecture and culture in a broader context by examining its interaction with other centers of Enlightenment culture. These considerations form the basis of Architectural Temperance, in which I have attempted to approach pivotal moments in the architecture and culture of early eighteenth-century Spain through an examination of the latter’s engagement with Rome. The inquiry focuses primarily on architects and their work, though painters, sculptors, patrons, and diplomats are also considered. As it is not, however, a history of Spanish architecture during this period, no attempt has been made to provide a thorough account of the cities, buildings, and landscapes of the Iberian Peninsula, or a complete survey of Spanish monuments in Italy. The emphasis is on Madrid and Rome, though occasionally other centers such as Florence and Seville are considered. Naples is mentioned briefly as well, as it had significant artistic relations with Papal Rome. (Readers wishing to explore further are invited to consult the Bibliography, which lists many works in addition to those cited in the text.) Nevertheless, a complete study of Neapolitan relations with Rome in the eighteenth century is a book by itself; a work presently under consideration by another scholar of the same surname, Dr. Jill Deupi. The reigns of Philip V (1700–46) and Ferdinand VI (1746–59) are given attention over those of Charles III (1759–88) and Charles IV (1788–1808), as the latter two monarchs have received significantly greater study already. xiv Preface

Moreover, as one of the principal aims of engaging with Rome was the establishment of an academy of art in Madrid (along the lines of Rome’s Accademia di San Luca), the relations of the first half of the century shed far more light on Spain’s cultural intentions than do the study of academic projects in the latter half of the century, when the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando (officially opened in 1752) and exchanges with Rome were more established. It is also during this time that the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli was designed and built in Rome (c. 1730– 50), providing Iberian architects and artists with a rare opportunity to work first hand on a major monument in the city. The completion of the church and convent represents what is perhaps the most important Spanish contribution to the face of Rome. More than anything, this book aims to provide the missing link between the rich body of extant work on Spanish Rome before 1700, and parallel studies of Bourbon Naples and Spain in the latter half of the eighteenth century. The years 1700–1759 set the framework for an examination of the architectural diplomacy between Spain and Rome at a time when Europe was in turmoil over the Spanish Succession, and the papacy was ambiguously neutral in its allegiances to the Bourbon and Hapsburg causes. To that end, Architectural Temperance explores why a nation such as Spain would temper her own building traditions with the larger, global trends of Roman art – both ancient and modern – rather than cultivate her own national and regional architectural traditions.

* * * The present text represents the culmination of a long and arduous journey. Along the way there were a number of important individuals and institutions that enabled the process to take shape. First, I would like to thank Fran Ford, Jennifer Schmidt, Alex Hollingsworth and Sadé Lee of the Taylor & Francis Group for making the publication of this work so smooth and easy. Their faith and support in my project was extraordinarily humbling. My copy editor, Gary Birch also deserves mention for clarifying a number of points throughout, and making the work that much more readable. I would also like to thank the faculty and staff of the School of Architecture and Design at the New York Institute of Technology (NYIT), and the Department of Visual and Performing Arts (VPA) at Fairfield Uni- versity for making my time at both institutions so enjoyable and rewarding. In particular, Judith DiMaio (Dean at NYIT) and Dr. Marice Rose (Chair of VPA at Fairfield) deserve special mention for their generous support and encouragement. I would also like to thank the staff at the many libraries and archives that welcomed me and facilitated my research over the past several years. The list is far too great to include here, but in particular the American Academy in Rome, the Archivio Storico dell’Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, the Preface xv

Archivo di Stato di Roma, the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fer- nando in Madrid, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and the DiMenna Nyselius Library at Fairfield University deserve special mention. I would like to thank Father Felipe Trigueros Buena of Santissima Trinità dei Domenicani Spagnoli in Rome for his generous assistance in documenting the interiors of the church and in researching its archives. I am deeply grateful to him and the entire community at Santissima Trinità for welcoming me to their wonderful church and monastery. I am extremely grateful to several architects and writers on architecture that have assisted me over the past several years. In particular, Thomas Ford Reese first pointed me towards Spanish activities in Rome, and Delfín Rod- ríguez Ruiz introduced me to the fascinating figure of José de Hermosilla. Joseph Rykwert, Thomas Dandelet, John Varriano, and Carlos Sambricio provided me with helpful insights on Rome, Spain, and early modern Europe that I would have otherwise missed. A number of personal friends deserve mention too. Dr. Pablo Vázquez Gestal and Dr. Richard John of the University of Miami both read the manuscript and provided invaluable commentary. Without their critical insight and sincere generosity, this project would have never fulfilled my initial ambitions. The architect Pier Carlo Bontempi of Parma deserves mention as well, for without him I would have never understood the remarkable role that his city played in the culture and politics of early eighteenth-century Spain and Italy. My greatest debt undoubtedly goes out to my wife Jill, who has been with me throughout every phase of this book, visiting nearly every monument included in the text. Despite her own remarkably busy schedule as the Founding Director and Chief Curator of the Bellarmine Museum of Art at Fairfield University, Jill has been continuously supportive and active in my project. Not only did she read the manuscript and provide necessary commentary, she helped clarify several arguments. Her faithful assurance and encouragement throughout the process has not only made my work that much more enjoyable and fulfilling, but has also made me realize how truly precious life is. This book is as much hers as it is mine.

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AGA Archivo General de la Administración, Alcalá de Henares (Madrid) AGS Archivio General de Simancas (Valladolid) ASF Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid ASR Archivo di Stato di Roma ATSR Archivio dei Trinitari Spagnoli, Rome BHR Bibliotheca Hertziana, Max-Planck-Institut für Kunstgeschichte, Rome BNE Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid COAM Colegio Oficial de Arquitectos de Madrid CSIC Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas DBI Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani DIA Detroit Institute of Arts GCS Gabinetto Comunale delle Stampe (Museo di Roma) GRI Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, CA ING Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica, Rome MA Museo de América, Madrid MMA Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York MR Museo di Roma NGA National Gallery of Art, Washington DC UAM Universidad Autónoma de Madrid V&A Victoria and Albert Museum, London This page intentionally left blank Introduction – Architectural temperance

Broadly speaking, it seems to me that the customs of the Spaniards are more suited to the Italians than those of the French, because the calm dignity characteristic of the Spaniards seems to me more appropriate to us than the ready vivacity we see in almost everything the French people do. (Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier)1

The cultural relations between Spain and Rome in the early eighteenth century are a study of delicate diplomacy and artistic nuance. At the beginning of the century, Spain was a nation in search of reform, and the new Bourbon monarch, Philip V (r. 1700–46) made it his goal to reaffirm the strength and grandeur that Spaniards once enjoyed in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries as one of the most powerful nations in Europe and colonizers of the Americas. Philip’s policies of widespread political and cultural regenera- tion were continued under his successors Ferdinand VI (r. 1746–59), Charles III (r. 1759–88), and Charles IV (r. 1788–1808). Under Bourbon rule, the literature and visual arts of Spain witnessed fundamental changes that were unprecedented in her history. Though the Bourbon succession primarily occurred on the Iberian Peninsula, relations between the Spanish crown and the Hapsburg court that it succeeded were played out largely by foreign diplomats in Rome, with the papacy maintaining an unpredictable role. Engaging directly with Roman artistic – and more specifically architectural – culture was also one of the principal ways that Spain achieved its re-emergence in European politics and culture, as Rome remained the paradigm for all of Europe. The general perception was that Spain was far removed from the mainstream currents of Italian and European art. The common view or “myth” of Spanish culture at the turn of the century was one of decline, insularity, and crudeness (Kamen 2004: 40–56; Morán Turina 2002: 23–40). But, at the start of the eighteenth century, can it truly be said that Spanish art and architecture were in desperate need of radical reform? Was the problem a matter of sincerity, perception, or simply adjustment? However one inter- prets the question, in terms of what really happened, artistic relations 2 Introduction between Spain and Rome in the early eighteenth century proved to be extremely beneficial to both. Spain was forced to engage directly with Papal Rome in order to reclaim its possessions lost during the War of Spanish Succession, and to remain one of the leading Catholic powers in Europe. Yet at the same time Spain needed to embrace the dominant strains of European Enlightenment thought in order to restore a sense of creative energy at home. Rome on the other hand received some of the most cogent examples of Spanish artistic patronage in its history, changing the face of the city with a distinctly Ibero–American character. The art of building is of course a difficult discipline within which to examine such complex cultural relations, as cities, monuments, and landscapes take time to be conceived and built. The long, slow process of building is a collective effort that challenges any regional perspective or individual from emerging as a single dominant force at any given moment. This is certainly true of eighteenth-century Spain, where French, Italian, and Spanish architectural traditions vied with one another for preeminence. Buildings do not travel particularly well either, except in descriptions and images, and therefore the transmission of architectural thought is always one of adaptation and reinterpretation. As ideas travel across nations or continents, they gain momentum and shed unnecessary weight. Like a sirocco that covers the sky with a thick orange glow, architectural ideas can be both exhilarating and unsettling. Architectural thought in eighteenth-century Spain was especially complex as ideas were not only imported from Italy and France, but also adapted to Spanish building types, constructional practices, and decorative traditions. Finally, architecture is an art whose forms are shaped by those who build them and in turn whose influence is extended to those who use them. There is a kind of reciprocity in architectural thought and practice that is analogous to an individual’s capacity to grow and mature in character and conduct. In this sense one can say that buildings, like people, have tempera- ments, and the architectural relations between Spain and Rome in the eighteenth century certainly mirrored such relations. Architecture can also be a very effective political tool, its imagery and content serving as powerful symbols of ambition and intent. The Bourbons had been aware of this since at least the 1660s when Louis XIV failed in his efforts to build the great staircase (scalinata) at the foot of the French church of the Trinità dei Monti overlooking Bernini’s famous barcaccia fountain in the Piazza di Spagna. A great equestrian statue of the French monarch by Bernini would have culminated the iconography of the space by providing a visible contrast to the barcaccia and its associated imagery with the papacy of Urban VIII Barberini (1623–44).2 But Bernini’s equestrian statue of Louis would have resulted in a conspicuously French version of the Campidoglio that Alexander VII Chigi (1655–67), under whose papacy the monument would have been erected, simply could not tolerate. Philip V must have known that these kinds of architectural interventions in Rome resonated profoundly, even if they never materialized. To that end, a Introduction 3 significant number of built structures and ephemeral monuments would serve the new Spanish monarch in his claims of legitimacy, and Rome provided the perfect arena for such displays of architectural diplomacy. Yet relations between Spain and Rome were more than political, as the two had been intimately related since antiquity. In fact it could be said that Spain was a creation of Rome, and hence it comes as no surprise that Spain and the Spanish world witnessed a particularly resonant version of Roman architecture and space in the early modern period under the Hapsburg dynasty. Rome too was also influenced by the presence and patronage of Spaniards in the Eternal City. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Spanish nation built several churches, convents, and hospices throughout Rome and Italy, and patronized many churches where Spanish interests were particularly evident, bringing Spaniards into ever closer contact with the Papal States. As noted by Thomas Dandelet (2001: 34–35):

[a]s an important part of the Roman Empire and the birthplace of two of Rome’s greatest emperors, Trajan and Hadrian, Spain was dotted with visible reminders of its ancient relationship with the city in the form of aqueducts, amphitheaters, and various other ruins. This past, combined with the experience of empire under Charles [Charles I of Spain and Charles V of Germany], was a potent inspiration for play- wrights, political theorists, historians and poets, who made Rome the subject of their work and a major point of comparison and contrast with Spain. Over time, they created a distinctly Spanish myth of Rome that was shaped by, and reflected, the deepening political and social relations between Spain and Rome.

But how would Spanish relations with Rome fare in the early eighteenth century under the Bourbon kings? Would a new monarchy signal a major shift in politico-cultural relations? Would a French-born ruler align the nation with dramatically new ideals and transform it overnight into a different political entity? Would the architecture of eighteenth-century Spain abandon its traditions of Roman influence and character for a new French version of contemporary fashion and taste? These questions and many others related to the cultural relations between Spain and Rome peaked at the start of the eighteenth century, when Philippe, Duc d’Anjou (1683–1746), the first Bourbon king of the dynasty that still rules Spain today, succeeded the Hapsburg Charles II in a heavily disputed final testament. 1 Spain and Rome in the early eighteenth century

Si vidde in questa mattina terminato il teatro per la serenata in honore del nome di Filippo V, re di Spagna … Occupava questo teatro con la larghezza l’imbocco della piazza de’ Mignanelli, avanti alla quale era situato. Sorgeva nel mezzo del prospetto sopra il primo ripiano una base, sopra la quale era altra simile con cartella di finto lapis lazuli e vi si leggeva la seguente iscrizzione: “FILIPPO V HISPANORUM REGI”. (Diario di Roma, April 30, 1701)1

Bourbon Spain and the War of Succession On October 2, 1700, the young Hapsburg king Charles II, terminally ill and heirless, declared that the throne of Spain should pass to the French duke of Anjou, Philip, grandson of Louis XIV, whose wife Maria Teresa was the eldest daughter of the Spanish Hapsburg Philip IV (r. 1621–65), who preceded Charles (Kamen 2001). Charles had been torn between two candidates, the Austrian Emperor Leopold I’s younger son, the Archduke Charles, and Louis XIV’s grandson, Philip, so he turned to the Neapolitan pope Innocent XII Pignatelli for advice on his succession (Martin Marcos 2007). After consulting privately with various cardinals, the Pope conveyed his endorsement of the French candidate to the recently appointed Spanish ambassador in Rome, Don Juan Francisco Pacheco de Mendoza y Toledo, Duke of Uceda. Charles though was not alone in facing his mortality, as Innocent XII fell ill on August 1, 1700, and died before the month of September was over. His death threw the Vatican into an unexpected conclave of tremendous political importance, as the balance of power in Europe hung on two turbulent suc- cessions. Though the terms of Louis XIV’s marriage to Maria Teresa had precluded any claims to the Spanish throne by either monarch, or indeed her descendants, the final will of Charles II made any such renunciations seem irrelevant. And so on November 1, 1700, the last of the Spanish Hapsburg kings died and the succession of the French duke of Anjou as Philip V began, much to the concern of western Europeans who feared that a union between France and Spain would thrust the Continent into turmoil, with England, the United Provinces and Austria ready to pounce. The new Pope, Clement XI Spain and Rome 5

Albani, from Urbino, had no political allegiance to Spain, France, or Austria, and therefore remained ambiguously neutral. Quite naturally, France assumed that the political and cultural organization of Spain would be modeled upon that of her own court. Louis’ often quoted advice to his grandson reveals his determination to diffuse French influence not only in Spain but also throughout Europe: “[b]e a good Spaniard; that is now your first duty; but remember you were born a Frenchman to uphold the union of the two nations. That is the means to make them happy and preserve the peace of Europe” (Saint-Simon 1899: 212). Such counsel was not entirely rooted in the King’s self-interest. France had secured a dominant position in Europe by the close of the seventeenth century, and she was the principal vehicle from which Enlightenment culture spread across the Pyrenees and into the Iberian Peninsula. Yet, was Bourbon Spain really any different from Hapsburg Spain? As John Lynch has noted (1989: 1):

[t]he new dynasty did not suddenly transform the lives of the Spaniards, improve the quality of their government, or increase the power of their country. The year 1700 was not a parting of ways, a transition from weak to strong monarchy, from old to new empire, from depressed to buoyant economy. The decades before and after 1700 were a continua- tion of the unbroken course of Spanish history, merging into a middle ground of proximate solutions to permanent problems.

Certainly the Bourbons enhanced the welfare of Spain, introducing widespread political reforms and social programs that transformed the country from an imperial dynasty into a nation-state more in line with other European countries, but this was a slow process that required a clear sense of monarchical imagery and a careful balance between tradition and modernization (Herr 1958; Vázquez Gestal 2013). From a cultural perspective, Spain was not a tabula rasa upon which the new Bourbon monarchs could simply paint their artistic visions. For nearly two centuries, the Hapsburgs had sustained a remarkably creative momentum, a “Golden Age,” contributing immeasurably to European and American civilization (Elliott 1977; Kamen 2005). These were the Hapsburgs of the Escorial, Madrid’s Plaza Mayor, El Greco, Velázquez, and Zurbarán, as well as the colonizers of the New World and all of the art and architecture that came with building a global empire. There is little disagreement about the remarkable success of Spain 1469–1700 under the Catholic monarchs and Hapsburg kings, and despite the so-called economic decline that occurred largely under Charles II, Spanish imports (particularly precious metals from America), population, and culture remained surprisingly robust at the end of the seventeenth century (Kamen 2004: 40–56). At first, Philip’s introduction of French taste in matters of food, fashion, and furnishings was shocking to a society that valued its traditions (Kamen 6 Spain and Rome

2001: 8–9). Over time, however, the new monarch would accept Spanish customs and etiquette, becoming a champion of Spain (Vázquez Gestal 2013: 97 ff.). Political compromise was less evident, though Louis did encourage his grandson to make peace with Italy, and in particular the kingdom of Naples and the duchy of Milan, whose allegiance to Spain remained extremely tenuous (Kamen 2001: 17–22). The situation in Naples was particularly delicate as it was a fief of the church and shared a common border with the Papal States. Whoever controlled Naples could exert tremendous pressure on the Pope. Louis’ advice resulted in a six-month trip to Italy by Philip in 1702, when he visited the two capitals and had his first real encounter with Italian politics, art, and warfare. Rome was even more complicated, as Clement XI’s neutrality with respect to the Spanish succession was in no way a convincing vote of confidence for either France or Spain, and in May 1702, the Allied forces, led by England and the United Provinces, with Portugal joining the following year, declared war on the two nations. Philip’s visit to Milan though proved to be immensely valuable as it was nearby in Emilia Romagna that he engaged in his first military activity, at a place called Santa Vittoria, near the town of Luzzara where the principal fighting between the Franco-Spanish forces and the Allied troops took place on August 15, 1702. Though the result was indecisive, Philip was encouraged by the possession of Luzzara, and shortly thereafter he left Italy for Spain in order to mobilize his military, and to be reunited with his new wife Marie Louise, the daughter of the duke of Savoy, a loyal ally of France. The War of Spanish Succession (1702–13) was in effect a global crisis as it was concerned not just with the stability of Europe, but also trade in the Mediterranean, and control of the Americas (Kamen 1969; Alvarez-Ossorio Alvariño et al. 2007; Albareda Salvadó 2010). Spain was also trapped, as it had always maintained close ties to Italy and the papacy (Martín Marcos 2011). So when Clement XI officially recognized the Austrian Archduke Charles on January 14, 1709, as the legitimate heir of Spain and “Re Cattolico,” Philip V followed with a decree on December 11 of the same year that ordered all remaining Spaniards in Rome to return to Spain within four months (Dandelet 2001: 215; Ochoa Brun 2002: 50). The representatives of Philip V in Rome – the Duke of Uceda, the Marquis of Monteleón and the Neapolitan Cardinal Francesco del Giudice – all abandoned the city, effectively closing the Spanish embassy, commonly known as the Palazzo di Spagna.2 Richard Herr (1958: 13) has noted that at the beginning of Philip’s reign:

[T]wo thirds of the appointments to Spanish church offices were made in Rome, and the pope enjoyed a large income from vacant Spanish sees and benefices and from the fees charged Spaniards in ecclesiastical courts. The Pope’s support of the Hapsburg pretender during the War of the Spanish Succession gave [Philip] an excuse to break off relations with the Holy See. Spain and Rome 7

Ultimately, peace negotiations ended with the Treaties of Utrecht (April 1713) in which Spain ceded its European holdings, including the southern Netherlands, Sicily, Gibraltar and Menorca. All of Spain’s possessions in Italy, including Naples, Sardinia, and Milan, were handed over to the Empire by the French by the terms of the Treaty of Rastatt (March 6, 1714). Philip also had to renounce his claim to the French throne, though Spain and the Indies were formally guaranteed to him. With peace established and relief that Spain had emerged as a politically unified nation with its colonies intact, Philip V set out on a new Mediterranean policy to address the loss of his Italian holdings (León Sanz 2010). This of course was helped immensely by the unexpected death of his wife Marie Louise in February 1714, and his subsequent marriage in December of the same year to the Italian Princess Elizabeth Farnese. Together Philip and Elizabeth would define the new Bourbon monarchy and determine to a great extent diplomacy in the Mediterranean. Like Philip, Elizabeth was initially hesitant to embrace Spanish customs. As noted by Kamen (2001: 104):

Elizabeth retained all her personal tastes and continued the preference at court for Italian and French style in dress. Unaccustomed to Spanish food, she had Italian wines, cheese and ham (notably that of Parma) specially imported for herself. All her clothes were made in Italy (later she also had them made in Paris), and even her Italian horses were imported. She was a great lover of the theatre but found the theatre in Madrid (performed moreover in a language she did not understand) unsatisfactory, and imported a troupe of Italian actors in 1718 to per- form three times a week at the Pardo. All her innovations were an important step forward in bringing more sophistication to the court for like other foreigners who visited the peninsula in these years, she found Spain very provincial and restricted in its culture.

The new queen also effectively governed the country 1715–46, as Philip became increasingly plagued by mental illness (Vázquez Gestal 2013: 104–8). Through Elizabeth’s extraordinary agility and skill, and with the exceptional help of her advisers – the Italian Cardinal Giulio Alberoni, the Spanish statesman José de Grimaldo, and the Milanese-born Galician José Patiño – a new policy towards Italy emerged, and the period of French political influence began to wane. Culturally, however, French influence would continue throughout the century, even if a new emphasis on Italy would gradually supplant the former’s early supremacy. In that sense, Philip, guided by the advice of his former tutor François Fénelon, the archbishop of Cambrai, was not politically absolutist like his grandfather, exercising instead royal authority in moderation (Kamen 2001: 223). There was also Spanish culture, which Philip and Elizabeth would gradually embrace. By the early eighteenth century Spain had amassed a rich architectural heritage that consisted of many 8 Spain and Rome diverse approaches to design, planning, and decoration. On the one hand, there was Roman Spain with its ancient monuments scattered about the countryside, more recent Renaissance and Baroque interventions, and of course Spanish variants in Plateresque and Rococo surface decoration. On the other hand, there was the heritage of Medieval and Islamic building that dominated the peninsula from the fifth to the fifteenth centuries, culminating in the great cathedrals of Toledo, León, Burgos and Santiago, and the Mosque of Córdoba, and Alhambra Palace in Granada, among the many examples that are too numerous to mention. There were additional Northern European influences in Germanic, French, and Flemish styles that augmented the late-antique and Gothic architecture of Spain. Yet the architecture of the late seventeenth-century Hapsburgs remained for the most part true to Counter-Reformation Rome, and though Italian influence had in many areas adapted to Spanish regional traditions, her Roman forms were apparent. Culturally and artistically then, Philip found himself moder- ating between French, Italian, and native Spanish influences, resulting in a period of Late Baroque eclecticism that would last until his death in 1746, when his son Ferdinand, from his first wife Marie Louise, would succeed him as the first Spanish-born Bourbon on the throne.

Celebrations of Spanish Succession The death of Charles II and succession of Philip V triggered a propaganda war, as well as numerous celebrations and memorials throughout Spain and Italy to the delight and anxiety of Europeans alike (González Tornel 2013b). These festivities of course were powerful political symbols expressed primarily through the plastic arts. After his death, for example, Charles’ body was laid in state as was customary, before it was taken to the Escorial on November 6 to be interred in the Pantheon of the Kings underneath the high altar of the monastery’s basilica. The situation in France was rather different, as noted by Henry Kamen (2001: 5): “[w]hile diplomats and governments busied themselves trying to sort out the political implications of the decision, the French court tranquilly made preparations for the new king’s journey to his kingdom.” Philip’s large retinue made its way to Spain celebrating in every town they passed until they arrived at the Buen Retiro Palace just outside of Madrid on February 19, 1701. Philip’s formal entry into the capital was officially celebrated after Easter on April 14, when his entourage left the Buen Retiro at 3:00 p.m., traversed the city from east to west via the Puerta del Sol, and arrived at the Alcázar Palace after having witnessed an abundance of poetry, music, and spectacle (Bottineau 1986a: 228–32; Villena and Saenz De Miera 1987). Though Philip had stated his preference for avoiding exagger- ated celebrations, along the way he passed clamorous throngs of enthusiastic residents and visitors, observed magnificent decorations on streets, houses, and plazas, and marched through ephemeral structures of potent iconographical imagery that were built specifically for the occasion. Spain and Rome 9

Teodoro Ardemans (1664–1726), a Spanish architect of German descent, and the deputy municipal architect of the city, was likely responsible for the design of several ephemeral projects for Philip V’s entry (Corral 1974; Moya 1984; Blasco Esquivias 2002b: 265–72). Ardemans had first trained as a painter under Claudio Coello before becoming an architect and writer. He had a penchant for urban planning and engineering, making him the ideal figure responsible for Philip’s celebrations. Among his designs were an elaborate triumphal arch and an artificial Mount Parnassus, continuing the previous century’s tradition of scenographic entries to Madrid by the queens Marie Louise of Orleans and Mariana of Neuburg, the two wives of Charles II (Barbeito 2009). To that end, an artificial street was created connecting the entry gate of the Buen Retiro palace and the Torecilla de Música (turret of music) on the Prado Viejo, with the triumphal arch at one end of the street near the San Jerónimo entrance of the palace and the Parnassus mount at the other (Zapata Fernández de la Hoz 2000).3 Several Spanish architects, including José Benito de Churriguera, Miguel de Arredondo, Juan de Ribera, Pedro Araujo, and Francisco Álvarez, were charged with making certain the temporary constructions were completed by April 14, the date of Philip’s entry to the city. Thanks to the anonymous Descripcion del adorno, que se hizo en esta Corte à la Real entrada de su Magestad (Descripcion del adorno 1701) and Antonio de Ubilla y Medina, the Marques de Ribas’ Succession de el Rey D. Phelipe V (Ubilla y Medina and García Infanzon 1704), detailed accounts of the decorative schemes survive. Philip received the keys to Madrid on a golden platter underneath the triumphal arch designed by Ardemans (Bottineau 1986a: 230). Described by Ubilla (Ubilla y Medina et al. 1704: 150–57) as “Tuscan” in its disposition (even though the entablature contained a Doric triglyph/metope frieze), the structure consisted of a three-bay, single entry portal on two stories with coupled columns flanking the central opening, and framed panels with images of Mantho and Manzanares – tutelary deities of the city – centered between the columns on the lower level.4 Above, estípites (herm-like pilasters) and volutes framed a large window-like arched opening, which made the transition from three bays to one. A crowned escutcheon with the symbols of both France and Spain was centered above the upper opening, and supported an orb with Hercules atop. The whole structure was decorated with ornate silver foliage, festoons, and statuary symbolizing the dominions of the king and heralding the monarch’s entry to the city. A second arch, also by Ardemans, was in the form of Mount Parnassus, with nymphs and figures representing the six celebrated Spanish authors, Lópe de Vega, Góngora, Quevedo, Argensola, Zárate, and Calderón de la Vega.5 Much less architectonic, and certainly more capricious in character, this structure was not meant to be passed through but rather passed by. Both designs clearly reveal Ardemans’ penchant for the “barroco florido,” a uniquely Spanish variant of Rococo design that was also the predominant style employed by his colleagues in the realization of the celebrations.6 10 Spain and Rome

Ardemans is often unfairly criticized as a decorative architect who quickly fell out of favor with the ascendant Bourbon monarchy. Nevertheless, as we shall see, he was a tremendously important figure, serving as Maestro Mayor of the cathedrals of Granada and Toledo, Maestro Mayor of the Royal Works of the City of Madrid, and Royal Painter.7 As the municipal architect of the city, he was certainly at the forefront of architectural thought and reform in eighteenth-century Spain; so much so that he received the continued support of Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese until his death in 1726 working on several royal projects. And yet, Ardemans was still very much a Spanish Rococo, or “barroco florido” architect, with a penchant for intricate compositional strategy and elaborate scenic decoration. There were several other arches erected in honor of Philip V throughout Madrid, illustrated by Pieter Schenk in Amsterdam in 1713 (Alaminos López and Fernández del Campo 1998: 60–1). Though it is not known who designed these structures, they generally fall within the tradition of Late Baroque urban scenography, displaying a penchant for exuberant decoration that is matched by monumental grandeur and formality. Seen in tandem with Ardemans’ schemes, the ephemeral designs for Philip’s arrival to Madrid suggest perhaps that Spanish Rococo decorative styles and Roman architectural trends were not that far apart in character. If anything, the celebrations in Madrid displayed a profound similarity to the kinds of celebratory monuments that were typically produced in Rome (and in every other capital city in Europe) around the same time.

* * * In Rome, the funeral rites to mourn the death of Charles II were carried out at both the Spanish church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli on the Piazza Navona and in the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, both important monuments to the Spanish community in the city. San Giacomo was the main Spanish church in Rome and had been since the time of the Spanish pope, Alexander VI Borgia, the principal seat of Spanish patronage in the city (Dandelet 2001: 62–5; González Tornel 2013a: 180–3). The basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore had been a center of Spanish patronage at least since the late fifteenth century, when Alexander VI paid for its magnificent gilded coffer ceiling to complement the already rich mosaics in the apse and its framing arch, a work that was completed by Giuliano da Sangallo in 1498 (Pietrangelli 1988: 31, 202–4; Luciani and Amato 1996: 152). The gold, it was said, came from the New World and was among the first such dona- tions presented to the pope by the Catholic monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabel of Spain, though the claim remains highly questionable as there is no evidence to support this assertion. The church of San Giacomo celebrated the funeral rites of Charles II on Wednesday December 22, 1700, nearly two months after the Hapsburg king of Spain, Naples, and Sicily had passed away. The entire church was draped Spain and Rome 11 in black, and a large catafalque designed by the Roman architect, Tomasso Mattei (called lo Spadarino because he was the official architect of the Spada family 1684–1721), was situated before the crossing (Valesio 1977: I, 178–80; Fagiolo 1997: II, 4). Mattei’s design at San Giacomo was in the form of a large escutcheon of the Spanish nation resting on a platform base with a dedicatory inscription to Charles and torchères at the four corners. Above the escutcheon a globe surmounted by a statue of the deceased king was framed by figures representing Fame. Though Mattei’s design at the church of San Giacomo celebrated the life of the last Hapsburg monarch, his association with the Spanish community in the city would differentiate him from his teacher Carlo Fontana (1638–1714) who, as we shall see, remained largely loyal to the Austrian cause. The two would find themselves on opposite sides of the debate on Spanish succession, and their work in early eighteenth-century Rome would highlight the complex political significance of the new Bourbon dynasty in Spain and its relations with Rome. On Saturday January 22 of the following year, the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore celebrated the funeral rites of Charles II with a magnificent design by the Venetian architect Domenico Rossi (1657–1737), who was visiting Rome at the time (Valesio 1977: I, 272–6; Fagiolo 1997: II, 5).8 Situated in the middle of the nave, underneath the Borgia bulls in the ceiling, Rossi’s catafalque was a three-stepped platform surmounted by two portraits of the deceased Hapsburg monarch, one facing the high altar and the other the basilica’s entrance. Draped in black, and surrounded by silver candelabras and torchères, the monument was a somber and fitting tribute to a structure that had been an important seat of Spanish patronage for more than two centuries. Domenico Rossi was a peculiar choice for the commission as he was a middle-aged architect with little experience to his name other than having worked for his maternal uncle Giuseppe Sardi (1621–99) in Venice (Bassi 1962: 207–32).9 Unlike Mattei and Fontana, both of whom were cavalieri, Rossi was an unknown figure in Roman circles. But Rossi would return to Rome several times throughout his career and become an acquaintance of Filippo Juvarra, who was in Rome 1704–14, and the latter’s influence would remain with him throughout his life. Rossi would later become one of the leading architects in northern Italy in the early eighteenth century, designing such well-known Venetian structures as the façade of Santa Stae (1709) and the magnificent church of S. Maria Assunta dei Gesuiti (1715–28). Therefore his catafalque at S. Maria Maggiore, one of the earliest works, would undoubtedly put him on the path towards a late-career breakthrough. Between April 30 and May 1, 1701, Tommaso Mattei was once again working for the Spanish community in Rome on a design to celebrate the proclamation of Philip V. Described as a “teatro per la serenata di Filiippo V,” the design was commissioned by the Spanish ambassador, the Duke of Uceda, and situated in front of the Palazzo di Spagna in the space known as the Piazza Mignanelli (after the family palace it fronts), a branch of the 12 Spain and Rome larger Piazza di Spagna. Though no images of the celebrations exist, the designs were carefully described in the Diario di Roma of 1701 (Valesio 1977: I, 366–71; Fagiolo 1997: II, 7–8). From this account, one learns that the teatro occupied the whole of the piazza and had at the center a double pedestal painted to look like lapis lazuli with inscriptions on the lower level celebrating Philip’s succession to the throne, and an equestrian portrait of the new monarch above. Images of Fame and Munificence contrasted with the military imagery of the king, while other depictions of Hercules emphasized the challenges of the new dynasty. At the foot of the structure was the orchestra pit for the musicians and vocalists. The decorations of the teatro were completed the morning of April 30 and that afternoon a serenata was performed in the space. In an effort to emphasize the legitimacy of the succession, and in order to maintain peace and tranquility at the event, the Spanish ambassador ordered more than 300 armed guards to be stationed around the piazza. The next day a wine fountain was placed in the teatro, and fireworks were exploded at 2:00 a.m. The festive atmosphere, however, would not last long, as relations between Spain and Rome would quickly deteriorate with the War of Spanish Succession. On November 5, 1702, diplomacy was tested by an unfortunate carriage incident on the Via del Corso, between the Spanish ambassador’s wife and the Venetian Cardinal Vincenzo Grimani, representative of the Imperial faction in Rome (Anselmi 2001: 181). As tensions rose, Clement XI ordered troops to be stationed between the Spanish and Austrian ambassadors’ residences as a clear signal of his neutrality.10 The street chosen was the Via Bocca di Leone, midway between the Palazzo di Spagna and the Palazzo Caetani on the Via del Corso (formerly Ruccellai and now Ruspoli), where the Imperial ambassador Leopold Joseph Graf, Count of Lamberg, resided (Ochoa Brun 2002: 129). Cardinal Grimani lived in the Palazzo Manfroni opposite the Palazzo Caetani on the east side of the Via del Corso between Via Borgognona and Via Frattina, facing the Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina (Salerno 1961a: 156–7).11 The Venetian ambassador intervened and settled the matter, though security was heightened in both residences. Tensions continued the following year on September 30 and October 1, when the Imperial church in Rome, Santa Maria dell’Anima, attempted to celebrate a feast for Charles III (of Austria) pretender to the throne of Spain (Fagiolo 1997: II, 14; Polleroß 2009: 144). The church was draped inside, and portraits of the Pope and the Emperor were placed above the church portal, while below on either side were pictures of the Spanish King Charles III and his older brother Joseph I, King of the Romans. The French Cardinal Forbin de Janson protested and with, the support of the Pope, the celebrations were cancelled and the portrait of Charles was re-hung in the great Salone of the Palazzo Caetani. On December 19, 1705, the funeral rites of the deceased Holy Roman Emperor Leopold I of Austria were celebrated in the church of Santa Maria dell’Anima, with sumptuous designs by Carlo Fontana (Braham and Hager Spain and Rome 13

1977: 89–97; Fagiolo 1997: II, 19–20). Fontana was by this time the most reputable architect in the city having been elected Director (principe) of the venerable Accademia di San Luca in 1686 and again 1694–99. He was made a cavaliere by Pope Clement X Altieri in 1670 and a Count by Leopold I in 1702. For the church of Santa Maria dell’Anima, Fontana originally proposed a series of twenty two roundels, which would have contained allegorical reliefs depicting the virtues of Leopold’s life. The entire church was to be treated as a catafalque and the roundels were to be placed on the church walls, but for whatever reason the design never materialized. Instead, the scheme for the celebrations consisted of both interior and exterior decorations of a more conventional approach. The façade was decorated in mourning with a large drape hung from the main portal, with emblems of the Imperial eagle and Hapsburg crown. Inside the church, the counter-façade was decorated with a large medallion in which the Emperor was depicted as Hercules between the seven Liberal Arts, signifying immortality. Carlo Fontana’s magnificent catafalque was placed in the middle of the hallenkirche (hall church), and painted black, gold, and yellow. The structure took the form of a circular crowned baldachin supported by four spiraling columns (Roman metae or small circus turning posts) with sculpted reliefs depicting the life of the Emperor, capped with eagles (Figure 1.1). Recalling ancient Roman columns such as those of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius, as well as the Solomonic arche- types, the four pillars were dedicated to Charity, Devotion, Justice, and the expansion of the Empire (largely in relation to the war against the Turkish advance in Europe), qualities associated with the Emperor as well as Hapsburg ambitions in Spain and the New World. The spiraling columns also reflected the imagery associated with the Hapsburgs since Charles V, particularly in the motto “Plus ultra” with the twin pillars of Hercules represented by two twisted columns.12 Despite the War of Spanish Succession, Iberian festivities continued in the Eternal City, in particular on March 24, 1707, to celebrate the nomination of Cardinal Francesco Acquaviva d’Aragona, a descendent of the ancient and powerful Neapolitan dukes of Atri who were also related to the Aragona family (Fagiolo 1997: II, 22).13 A polyglot who was not only a cleric but also a humanist, Acquaviva was an ideal candidate for entry to pontifical diplomatic service.14 For the festivities of his nomination in 1707, the façade of the Palazzo Salviati alla Lungara (Trastevere), where the Cardinal resided, was draped with images representing the civic and theological virtues, with the arms of the Pope and king of Spain amidst festoons of flowers (Valesio 1977: III, 785–87). The palazzo, which was built on Farnese-owned land, was commissioned in 1520–27 by Filippo Adimari, treasurer of Leo X Medici, to a design from Giulio Romano (Carpaneto and Sanfilippo 2000: 902).15 It was acquired in 1552 by the Salviati family and reconfigured by Nanni di Baccio Bigio in 1569. An important palace on a strategic location near the Vatican and the centro, Acquaviva’s residence was a highly visible structure. Additionally, a cavalcade that included eighteen cardinals, two of Figure 1.1 Carlo Fontana, elevation of a meta, with bier and medallion, for the memorial service for Leopold I in Santa Maria dell’Anima, Rome (1705). Royal Collection © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, RCIN 909837. Spain and Rome 15 which were nephews of the pope, Carlo and Alessandro Albani, departed from the Piazza del Popolo in the morning and headed down the Via del Corso adding to the newly elected cardinal’s presence in Rome. In 1708, after Naples had been conquered by Austria, Philip V named Acquaviva cardinal protector of Spain and in 1716, after the War of Spanish Succession had subsided and Naples had been formally ceded to Austria, Philip appointed him as the new ambassador to Rome, setting in place a sequence of cardinal-ambassadors at the Palazzo di Spagna that would represent Bourbon interest in Rome throughout the eighteenth century (Storace 1738: 94–9; Anselmi 2001: 107; León Sanz 2010). Later that year on September 13, 1707, impressive funeral rites for the deceased king of Portugal, Pedro II, were celebrated in the church of Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi, with magnificent designs by Carlo Fontana (Braham and Hager 1977: 98–103; Fagiolo 1997: II, 23–5). Like the celebrations for Leopold I at Santa Maria dell’Anima in 1705, Fontana designed the façade with extensive dark drapery, coats of arms, and a portrait of the deceased monarch underneath the pediment (Figure 1.2). The interior of the church was covered with more dark drapery, and the king’s catafalque was placed at the center of the crossing beneath a great crown that was suspended from the dome above. The catafalque consisted of four giant angular piers atop of which skeletons held aloft a great urn crowned by the King’s portrait (Figure 1.3). Imagery of Virtue, Conquest, and Catholic Faith completed the iconographic program of a monarch who sided with the Allied troops against Spain in the War of Spanish Succession. If this were not enough to unsettle the Spanish community in the city, onomastic feasts honoring Charles III, the pretender to the throne of Spain, were celebrated on November 4, 1709, at the Palazzo Caetani and the adjacent Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina, as well as at the Palazzo Firenze and the Palazzo Farnese (Fagiolo 1997: II, 26). The Spanish and French factions in the city remained largely silent. A notable exception occurred also in 1709 when Clement XI sought to restore the portico of the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, which was erected by Martino Longhi the Elder for Gregory XIII Boncompagni (1572–85) in 1575, by providing it with five large ornamental gates (Figure 1.4) designed by Carlo Fontana (Braham and Hager 1977: 179–80; Johns 1993: 151–5). His choice of Fontana was not without good reason as the papal architect had completed a similar portico renovation at the church of Santa Maria in Trastevere in 1701. Moreover, Santa Maria Maggiore had traditionally been the stronghold of Spanish influence in Rome, and Carlo Fontana had been previously commissioned by the Spanish Jesuits to prepare designs for the Collegium Regium at Loyola in 1681 (Hager 1974). As noted by Christopher Johns (1986: 291):

[a]lthough the sacred and structural justifications for Albani’s portico project at Santa Maria Maggiore were sufficient, there was also a strong political aspect to the undertaking. The basilica was traditionally Figure 1.2 Carlo Fontana, façade decoration for the memorial service to King Pedro II of Portugal, Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi, Rome (1707). Royal Collection © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, RCIN 909369. Figure 1.3 Carlo Fontana, perspective view of the Catafalque and Baldacchino in the crossing for the memorial service to King Pedro II of Portugal, Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi, Rome (1707). Royal Collection © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, RCIN 909381. 18 Spain and Rome

a bastion of Spanish influence in Rome and the Spanish Cardinal Porto- Carrero, who earlier had contributed a large sum for the Lateran Apostles, also gave 3,000 gold écus for “une balustrade à Ste-Marie Majeure,” a reference which must concern the portico gates. The mention of the gift in 1709 by the Director of the French Academy in Rome was given in regard to a protest against the papal decision to recognize the Imperial candidate, the Archduke Charles, as King of Spain, at the expense of the French Bourbon contender, Philip V. Albani, under immense political and military pressure, had maintained official neutrality but had privately favored the Bourbon succession.

The selection of Carlo Fontana as the architect for the portico project at Santa Maria Maggiore assuredly brought some degree of disquiet to the Spanish community in the city, as the architect had previously been associated with the Spanish and Austrian Hapsburgs. Nevertheless, as the great Renaissance architect and writer Leon Battista Alberti had once claimed, great architecture is even capable of preventing war and devastation, as its nobility humbles viewers however intent on destruction they might be.16 Even if it is not certain whether the design was actually executed, this modest little portico project by Clement XI and Carlo Fontana must have

Figure 1.4 Carlo Fontana, plan and elevation of the portico of Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome (1709–11). Royal Collection © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, RCIN 910623. Spain and Rome 19 seemed like an incredible act of peace, if not a clear signal that the Pope still supported the Franco-Spanish alliance.17

* * * In the kingdom of Naples, the ceremonies celebrating Philip V’s succession were as grand as those in Rome, though much less diplomatically conspicuous, as these were already Spanish territories (Bulifon 1703; Ubilla y Medina et al. 1704).18 In Naples for instance, Ferdinando Sanfelice, the city’s most renowned architect at the turn of the century, designed a series of “apparati festivi” to celebrate the new Spanish king’s visit on April 17, 1702 (De Dominici 1846: IV, 504–5; Marías 2005: 48–9). Philip arrived at the late fifteenth-century villa by Giuliano da Maiano at Poggio Reale, just outside of Naples. For this, Sanfelice decorated the “padiglione” where the monarch rested prior to his entry to the city proper on May 20.19 Sanfelice decorated the ancient arch at Porta Capuana, already renovated with a new triumphal façade by da Maiano when the Aragonese restructured the city walls in 1485, with a new four-bay triumphal arch in front of it. The façade of the Cathedral was also decorated with medallions, reliefs, and inscriptions by the archbishop of Naples, Cardinal Giacomo Cantelmo, who eventually greeted Philip and informed the new monarch that the most beautiful celebrations created throughout the city were those designed by Sanfelice. In front of the basilica of San Lorenzo Maggiore, Sanfelice designed a small amphitheater with an equestrian statue of Philip V surrounded by festoons of flowers, inscriptions, and other royal emblems, and at the Piazza di Portanova he placed a series of statues representing the virtues of the king. Sanfelice produced so many schemes that Bernardo De Dominici (1846: IV, 504–05), the great chronicler of Neapolitan artists, claimed it impossible that one man could carry out so many magnificent designs. There were other monuments to Philip as well, such as Francesco Bibiena’s “Temple of the Sun,” placed just outside of the Castello Capuano (Bottineau 1986a: 259). Consisting of four porticoes buttressed by large corner piers that supported a pyramidal roof structure capped by a great fleur-de-lis, it was underneath this gold covered monument that Philip received the keys to the city. Bibiena designed two triumphal arches as well for the piazza behind the apse of San Domenico Maggiore, representing the two poles with their associated constellations as potent symbols of the Bourbon monarchy’s hemispherical reach. As in Madrid, everywhere Philip visited he witnessed clamorous crowds of spectators, decorations on streets, buildings, and piazze, and ephemeral structures of powerful imagery. Philip remained in Naples until June 2, 1702, residing at the Palazzo Reale that Domenico Fontana had designed around 1600 (Bottineau 1986a: 257). During his stay he visited several churches and monasteries, including the Cathedral with its Capella di San Gennaro and the Certosa di San Martino, witnessing at first-hand works of art and architecture by Luca Giordano, Domenichino, Giovanni Lanfranco, Giovanni Battista Caracciolo, 20 Spain and Rome

Jusepe de Ribera, and Cosimo Fanzago, among others. It was during this stay as well that Francesco Solimena (1657–1747), one of the most important Neapolitan painters at the time, was called away from his work at Montecassino to return to prepare the official portrait of the new nineteen year old monarch (Settecento napoletano 1994: 206–7; Spinosa 1988: I, 106). The portrait of Philip dressed in armor and staring intently at the viewer, shows a determination that defied the rumblings of war then ema- nating elsewhere in Italy and throughout Europe. Around the same time that Solimena was completing Philip’s official portrait, Lorenzo Vaccaro also conceived a maquette equestrian statue of the new King (Bulifon 1704: 330–3; Bottineau 1986a: 261; Bodart 2007: 115–23). A full-scale bronze version of Vaccaro’s model was eventually unveiled under the supervision of two lesser known sculptors, Giuseppe Consorte and Antonio Romeo, in the Piazza del Gesú Nuovo on September 16, 1705, precisely the time that the Pope was recognizing the Austrian pretender as Charles III. The memory of the celebrations in honor of Philip V’s visit to Naples would end abruptly with the War of Spanish Succession, and the large equestrian statue that was built in honor of his visit would be systematically destroyed by the Imperial troops who arrived in Naples shortly thereafter, in 1707. Was Philip’s voyage to Naples all in vain? Was there anything he could take away with him other than the fond memories of visiting the opera and seeing great works of art and architecture first-hand? Certainly there were. As a young man who had grown up in the French court at Versailles, Philip understood the importance of Italian culture, but it was his visit to Italy that finally enabled him to appreciate the various factors that gave Italian civilization its remarkable originality, uniting architecture, scenography, painting, and music, within the larger humanist tradition of literary discourse (Bottineau 1986a: 258). Philip’s visit to Naples, perhaps more so than having grown up at Versailles, instilled in him a great desire to emulate Italian culture in his newly adopted country; a task he achieved largely through the building and remodeling of several royal palaces in and around Madrid. Thus, the celebrations that took place in Naples in 1700 served as a prelude for what would come later in Madrid. Though Philip V never visited Sicily on his tour of Italy in 1702, festivities in honor of his coronation were celebrated enthusiastically throughout the island. In Palermo, a curious disegno per apparato effimero was produced by the military engineer Gaetano Lazara, to celebrate the arrival of Philip V in Naples (Sáez 1983: 255; Giuffré et al. 2000: 312–16). A surviving pen and ink drawing of the structure presents a proscenium that contains a central platform upon which twisted Solomonic columns – three in a row – support an arch above.20 Most likely conceived for an opera, the design is one of the many artistic and theatrical schemes that were produced in celebration of Philip’s tour, shedding light on how clearly the new Bourbon monarchy was intent on maintaining close cultural relations between the two realms. Spain and Rome 21

In Messina in particular, a young architect named Filippo Juvarra (1678–1736) was charged with preparing ephemeral designs throughout the city in celebration of Philip’s succession and visit to Italy (Millon 2000: 519). Trained as a silversmith in the closing decades of the seventeenth century, Juvarra entered the priesthood in 1703 and began studying architecture. His first significant commission, and the only evidence of his architectural activity during this period, was for the celebrations in Messina, for which he would design eight drawings, including a teatro, macchina trionfale, fountain, and a pyramid for fireworks (Bonnet Correa 1994: 30–1). Additionally, he decorated the façades of the Jesuit College and palace of the Prince of San Teodoro with drapery, shields, and imagery of the new monarch to serve as a backdrop for a cavalcade that took place during the festivities. The designs were published in Messina as the Amore ed ossequio di Messina in solennizzare l’acclamazione di Filippo Quinto Borbone, gran monarca delle Spagne e delle due Sicilie, descritti e presentati a Sua Cattolica Maestà da Nicolò Maria Sclavo,… (Sclavo 1701), with a frontispiece by the Sicilian painter Antonio Filocamo who, after having studied with Carlo Maratta in Rome, returned to the city to open a drawing academy (Siracusano 1990). Juvarra moved to Rome in 1704, where he was presented to Carlo Fontana. He would remain there for a decade, producing over a thousand drawings, before moving to Turin and being named principal architect for Victor-Amadeus II; a position he held 1714–34. Ironically, the same designs produced for Philip V’s succession were re-used in 1720 to celebrate the triumph of Emperor Charles VI of Austria, who effectively became the ruler of Sicily after the War of the Quadruple Alliance (in which Britain, France, Austria, and Savoy were pitted against Spain) resulted in peace with the Treaty of The Hague (Kamen 2001: 131). The publication (Figure 1.5)

Figure 1.5 Filippo Juvarra, monumental throne, from Le simpatie della città di Messina… (1720). Courtesy MMA, Thomas J. Watson Library, MFICHE 247 O-2005. 22 Spain and Rome simply changed its title to Le simpatie della città di Messina coll’aquila augusta rinfiammate nella solenne acclamazione dell’imperator Carlo VI, terzo rè delle Spagne e di Sicilia (Juvarra 1720). At first glance, the blatant re-cycling of these designs for such antithetical political events throws into question their validity. Could it be that they were simply ephemeral conventions or decorations expected to signify anything of importance, or do they suggest a more complex phenomenon? As we shall see, architects and artists during this period frequently re-used material unashamedly for political and cultural purposes that were often seemingly incompatible. Sculptors reutilized molds, painters repeated poses, and architects employed previously designed elements to create composite new wholes. Moreover, artists and architects like Fontana, Sanfelice, and Juvarra would often switch political allegiances with little consequence to their professional reputations. This is not so much an indictment of the artistic process as it is a reflection of the emerging academic tradition in which emulation and imitation were prized. A tried and trusted recipe was good for more than one serving. In fact, Juvarra would later in life re-connect with Philip V, as the architect moved to Madrid in 1735 to work on the building of the new Royal Palace in Madrid and on the Royal Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja, near Segovia, where he would once again rely on highly-valued recycled material. Perhaps no architect, Italian or French, played a more instrumental role in the formation of eighteenth-century Spanish architecture than Filippo Juvarra. His time in Rome and Turin provided him with the opportunity to work on several major monuments, making him the most renowned architect in Italy (particularly after the death of Carlo Fontana). His work in Spain, completed largely by his successor Giovanni Battista Sacchetti, would shape the face of the nation with a decisively Roman character. Yet before Philip could carry out his great works on the Spanish royal palaces, he and Elizabeth would need to re-connect with Italy and re-establish a discernible Spanish presence not only in Rome but also in the Farnese’s ancestral territories of Parma and Piacenza. 2 Italian grandeur

In the early eighteenth century the western Mediterranean and Italy were dominated by Spain, where the new Bourbon dynasty, galvanized into activity by the ambition of Elizabeth Farnese, achieved a remarkable revival. From 1714, when she arrived in Spain as the second wife of Philip V, till 1746, when the death of her husband removed her from the centre of Spanish political life, Elizabeth and a series of able advisers acted with an energy and daring that gave Spain the initiative in the diplomatic negotiations affecting the Mediterranean region. (Jean Olivia Lindsay)1

Spanish Rome While Spanish Rome has typically been associated with the Borgia popes and Spain’s Hapsburg monarchs, the tradition of early-modern Spanish donation would certainly continue throughout the eighteenth century with the new Bourbon dynasty intent on securing the possessions it had lost in Italy during the War of Spanish Succession. The war had significantly tarnished the perception of Spain as the heir to the Christianized Roman Empire, and for a brief time 1709–12, relations between Spain and Rome were severely strained (Pastor and Graf 1941: 71–5). Philip V issued a royal edict from Madrid on October 30, 1709, forbidding all his subjects to have anything to do with the court of Rome, and an ordinance on December 12 of the same year ordering all Spaniards, under risk of forfeiture of their property, to leave Rome and the Papal States within four months. As we have already seen in Chapter 1, the Palazzo di Spagna had to be evacuated, though it remained in Spanish hands. Philip argued his point from a secular position, letting it be known in Rome that he had no intention of renouncing obedience to the Vatican. The Pope nevertheless invoked the mediation of Louis XIV to solve the issue and Philip eventually conceded. Once peace was established with the Treaties of Utrecht and Rastatt, Philip set out quickly to stabilize relations with the papacy by putting in place a series of cardinal-ambassadors that would reside at the Palazzo di Spagna, and represent both the Spanish community in Rome as well as the interests of the Spanish nation (Barrio Gozalo 2007c; León Sanz 2010). 24 Italian grandeur

After that, Rome witnessed a remarkable increase in the number of Iberian architects and artists in the city, a presence that was unparalleled up until that point (Moleón Gavilanes 2003; Urrea Fernández 2006). Spanish Rome in the early eighteenth century was nevertheless the same Spanish Rome of the previous century when the Hapsburg monarchs were on the throne in Spain and Naples. The Spanish presence was visible in both sacred structures throughout the city and at the ministerial center represented by the Spanish embassy, the Palazzo di Spagna, and its adjacent piazza (Figure 2.1). There were already several Spanish churches in the city, representing distinct Spanish groups, such as the Castilians, Portuguese, Aragonese and Catalans (Barrio Gozalo 2007a; Anselmi 2012). Their churches were dedicated to St. James, or Santiago (San Giacomo degli Spagnoli in the Piazza Navona), Saint Anthony (Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi on Via dei Portoghesi in the Campo Marzio), and the Virgin Mary (Santa Maria in Monserrato on Via Monserrato near the Campo dei Fiori), each providing distinct affiliation to their respective neighborhoods, catering to the spiritual needs of their immediate community, and providing lodging and assistance to the many pilgrims who annually visited the city (Dandelet 1997; Nussdorfer 1997). Since the twelfth century, the site of the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli on the Piazza Navona (Figures 2.2 and 2.3), now Nostra Signora del Sacro Cuore, had been occupied as a Spanish property under the protection of

Figure 2.1 Giuseppe Vasi, “Piazza di Spagna,” from Le porte e mura di Roma… Rome (1747). BHR: Dg 536-3470/1 gr raro. Italian grandeur 25 the patron saint of Spain (Fernández Alonso 1960; Barrio Gozalo 2004; May 2011). The construction of the church of San Giacomo was started in 1458 under the patronage of Alfonso Paradinas, a Vatican official and canon of the Cathedral in Seville. The church began as a modest structure in the tradition of a Northern European hall church with its apse facing the Piazza Navona. Over time, however, it developed into the national church of Spain and a symbol of Spanish identity in Rome. The Imperial church of Santa Maria dell’Anima, which employed a similar hall church scheme, was being constructed at the same time, and the formal similarity between the two churches suggests a shared aesthetic (González Tornel 2013a: 181). No doubt, this would very quickly translate into a unified political and cultural sensibility. In 1525, the Florentine architect Antonio da Sangallo the Younger began a major remodeling of the church. Sangallo was not only busy at the time designing a new plan for Saint Peter’s but, as we shall see, he was also engaged in the design of the Aragonese church of Santa Maria in Monserrato nearby. Sangallo unified the structure, which had already been extended, and proposed a centralized dome to give the interior greater light. Though the dome was never built, Sangallo’s interior renovations remain to this day. The church of San Giacomo occupied an oratory dedicated to Saint Andrew as well as the adjacent monastery of the Benedettini del Soratte, and other private houses. The hospice of San Giacomo united the two existing Spanish male

Figure 2.2 San Giacomo degli Spagnoli, Rome. BHR: bhpd31418a. 26 Italian grandeur

Figure 2.3 Giuseppe Vasi, “San Giacomo degli Spagnoli,” from I collegj, spedali e luoghi pii… Rome (1759). BHR: Dg 536-3470/9 gr raro. and female hospices that were located elsewhere in the city. It was run by the Cofradía de la Santísima Resurrección, or confraternity of the church, which was founded on March 15, 1579, during the papacy of Gregory XIII Boncompagni (1572–85), and placed under the protection of Philip II, King of Spain. Among the many activities carried out by the confraternity, perhaps none was as popular as their Easter celebrations on the Piazza Navona. Santa Maria in Monserrato (Figure 2.4) had been founded in the mid- fourteenth century as a hospice for the Aragonese community in Rome (Fernández Alonso 1968; Barrio Gozalo 2009b; Anselmi 2012: 41–6). The Confraternita di Santa Maria in Monserrato was established in 1506, prior to the Cofradía de la Resurrección. The construction of the church by Antonio da Sangallo the Younger commenced in 1518, prior to his remodeling of San Giacomo. Not surprisingly, the two churches competed with each other as to which one had the right to consider itself the “National” church of Spaniards in Rome. As wealthy Castilians tended to patronize the church of San Giacomo, it became the de facto church of Spaniards in the city.2 Aside from these two, there were other Spanish related churches in Rome, including Sant’Ambrogio e Carlo al Corso (also known as San Carlo al Corso), the Lombard basilica in Rome, and Spirito Santo dei Napoletani, the Neapolitan church in the city (Anselmi 2012: 49–60). San Carlo al Corso was built by Onorio Longhi and Martino Longhi the Younger in the early seventeenth century, shortly after the canonization of Saint Charles Borromeo in 1610. Its tribune and dome were completed by Pietro da Cortona and others in 1665–69. Italian grandeur 27

Figure 2.4 Max Hutzel, Santa Maria in Monserrato, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8.

The church of the Spirito Santo dei Napoletani was built in the late sixteenth century by Ottaviano Mascherino and its façade was completed by Cosimo Fanzago c. 1644 (altered in the nineteenth century by the Neapolitan architect Antonio Cipolla). Both churches represented specific Italian regions whose allegiances to Spain were central for both Hapsburg and Bourbon relations with Rome, and therefore one finds in them a great Spanish presence in both art and patronage. Similarly, the national church of the Portuguese community in Rome, Sant’Antonio dei Portoghese (Figure 2.5), also by Martino Longhi the Younger, had a specific Spanish period 1580–1640, though, as we have seen, Portugal was opposed to the Bourbon cause in the War of Spanish Succession. As both Elías Tormo y Monzó (1942), and Alessandra Anselmi (2012) have noted, there were also many other Spanish related churches throughout the city that represented distinct kingdoms or duchies such as the Sicilians and Calabrians. There were also many churches that were patronized by Spanish individuals or religious orders. We have already seen the important role that Santa Maria Maggiore played in the late fifteenth century and then again in the early eighteenth. Equally important in the late fifteenth century was the Franciscan church of San Pietro in Montorio, as its foundation was related to funds provided directly by the Catholic Monarchs (Dandelet 2001: 2–3). Bramante’s monumental Tempietto (1499–1512), set within the cloister, was perhaps the most significant early Spanish work in Rome, as it exalted 28 Italian grandeur

Figure 2.5 Sant’Antonio dei Portoghese, Rome. Photo by author. both the Spanish crown and the Petrine origins of the Roman Church. The church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane was built in the mid seventeenth century by Francesco Borromini for the Spanish Trinitarians, and a century later the Spanish Trinitarians would build the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli in Via Condotti (Figure 2.6) to a design by the Portuguese architect Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos (c. 1730–50). As we shall see in Chapter 5, Santissima Trinità would also employ a series of Spanish architects and artists in its completion, making it the most recognizable Spanish church in the city. Around the same time that Santissima Trinità was being constructed, Giuseppe Sardi (c. 1680–1768), a Marchesan master builder and architect who worked for the Spanish Trinitarians, would design the church of Santi Quaranta Martiri, also dedicated to San Pasquale Baylon, in Trastevere (Figure 2.7). The church was commissioned by the Spanish order of San Pedro de Alcantarà in 1734 and completed in 1745–47. From 1721 to 1739, the Spanish cardinal Antonio Cienfuegos, titular head of the church of San Bartolomeo all’Isola, funded the restoration of the church (Figure 2.8), providing it with new balustrades for the lateral chapels (bearing the cardinal’s coat of arms), new paving, and elaborate stucco work on the nave of Italian grandeur 29

Figure 2.6 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. Photo by author. the basilica (Pupillo 1998). As we shall see in Chapter 4, between September 24 and October 1, 1727, the church of Santa Maria in Aracœli (the Franciscan church on the Capitoline Hill) celebrated the canonization of the

Figure 2.7 San Pasquale Baylon, Rome. Photo by author. Figure 2.8 Max Hutzel, San Bartolomeo all’Isola, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8. Italian grandeur 31

Franciscan saints Jacopo della Marca and Francisco Solano (a Spanish missionary in Lima) with ephemeral designs by Rodriguez Dos Santos (c. 1702–64). The Portuguese architect would again be involved in the church’s canonization of Saint Margaret of Cortona (September 8–16, 1728), and in the funeral decorations for John V of Portugal at the church of Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi (May 24, 1751). In the eighteenth century, the new Bourbon dynasty would strategically bring together the Spanish nation churches in Rome under royal authority in an effort to strengthen its presence in the Eternal City.

* * * The most recognizable Spanish section of the city was the quartiere spagnoli, with its distinctive bow-tie shaped piazza, whose southern half was named di Spagna after the Spanish embassy that was located there (Figure 2.9), and

Figure 2.9 Giambattista Nolli, plan of the Piazza di Spagna, from La nuova topografia di Roma (1748). Courtesy of the Earth Sciences and Map Library, University of California, Berkeley. 32 Italian grandeur whose northern half was called sotto la Santissima Trinità de Monti, after the French Trinitarian church that stood above the Pincian hill overlooking the space from the east (Salerno 1967; Anselmi 2001: 169–89; González Tornel 2013a: 168–80). There were other Spanish-named streets in the city, such as the Via dei Spagnoli near Sant’Eustachio, after a family of the same name who owned properties there, and the Vicolo di Spagna in Trastevere, but these were not extraterritorial zones like the quartiere spagnoli with distinct rights of immunity (Romano 1949: 426; Barrio Gozalo 2007b). Among the significant streets and monuments that surrounded the Piazza di Spagna were the Via Condotti, Bernini’s barcaccia fountain, the French church of the Trinità dei Monti with its magnificent scalinata (staircase), the Palazzo Núñez, and the Collegio di Propaganda Fide. The Via Condotti (Figure 2.10) had been cut through in the 1540s by Paul III Farnese (1534–49) as part of the Via Trinitatis, the cross street of the Piazza del Popolo Trivium, as it led to the French church of the Trinità dei Monti on top of the Pincian hill (Romano 1949: 155). Its name was given after the water conduits – condotti – built under the street by

Figure 2.10 Via Condotti, Rome. Photo by author. Italian grandeur 33

Giacomo Della Porta and Bartolomeo Gritti during the papacies of Gregory XIII and Sixtus V, connecting the Acqua Vergine aqueduct at the foot of the Pincio with the newly-built Palazzo Caetani at the intersection of the Via Condotti with the Via del Corso (Figure 2.11). The Via Condotti terminated at the Piazza di Spagna in Bernini’s well-known barcaccia fountain which cut the piazza in two (Hibbard and Jaffe 1964). The importance of the Via Condotti would only increase in the first half of the eighteenth century, with the transformation in 1703–04 of the Porto di Ripetta by Alessandro Specchi (Marder 1980) and the construction of the famous staircase (scalinata) at the foot of the Trinità dei Monti (Figure 2.12), conceived by Specchi between 1717–20, and completed by Francesco de’ Sanctis between 1723–26, two scenic interventions in the Campo Marzio that provided a visual link from the Tiber to the piazza (Pecchiai 1941; Salerno 1967: 95–108). The Spanish steps in particular were completed to celebrate the peace treaty between France and Spain in 1720, linking the French Trinità dei Monti on top of the hill with the Spanish embassy below (Mallory 1977: 84–101; Settimi 1989: 112–16). Having abandoned the idea of commemorating Louis XIV, the French Minims of the Trinità dei Monti conceived the new staircase as a symbol alluding to the Holy Trinity with three flights divided into three sections. Nearby on the Via Condotti, Giovanni Antonio De Rossi, architect of the confraternity of S. Giacomo degli Spagnoli 1652–95, designed

Figure 2.11 Giuseppe Vasi, “Palazzo (Caetani) Ruspoli,” from Le basiliche e chiese antiche di Roma… Rome (1753). BHR: Dg 536-3470/3 gr raro. 34 Italian grandeur

Figure 2.12 Spanish Steps (Scalinata della Trinità dei Monti), Rome. Photo by author. the Palazzo Nuñez (Figure 2.13), a prestigious residence for the Spanish marquis in 1658, one of the more recognizable properties in the quarter (Spagnesi 1964: 72–4).

Figure 2.13 Giovanni Giacomo de’ Rossi, “Palazzo Nunez,” from Il nuovo teatro delle fabriche, et edificii, in prospettiva di Roma moderna…, Rome (1665–99). BHR: Dg 532-2650/1 gr raro. Italian grandeur 35

The area of the Piazza di Spagna immediately in front of the Spanish embassy was also called the Forum Hispanicum, a term coined by the Flemish priest Lievin Cruyl (1640–1720), whose plan of Rome in 1665, and various views of the piazza, supplanted the previously described Platea Trinitatis from Antonio Tempesta’s Plan of Rome (1593) in favor of a more distinctly Spanish phrase (Anselmi 2001: 38–9).3 Just to the east of the piazza was the adjacent Piazza Mignanelli where, as we have seen, the celebrations for Philip’s succession were held (Romano 1949: 301–2). Finally to the south of the piazza was the Collegio di Propaganda Fide, whose remodeling by Francesco Borromini (c. 1646–67) had been completed around the same time the architect was working on the Palazzo di Spagna. The Palazzo di Spagna (Figure 2.14) was of course the political seat of Spanish patronage. The palace was acquired in 1654 by the Spanish crown from its former ambassador the Count of Oñate, Íñigo Vélez de Guevara (1597–1658), becoming the first permanent foreign embassy building in Rome (Salerno 1967: 77–80; Anselmi 2001: 13–35; Barrio Gozalo 2009a). Prior to the acquisition, the Spanish ambassadors lived in various rented properties throughout the city, but from 1622 they resided in a building on the site of the present palace, called the Palazzo Monaldeschi. The Count of Oñate had acquired the building in the hope of achieving a quick

Figure 2.14 Palazzo di Spagna, Rome. BHR: U.Pl. D 48117. 36 Italian grandeur

cardinalate, and Borromini’s many Spanish connections, in particular his work for the Spanish Trinitarians at San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, led Oñate to commission the architect to devise a plan for an enlarged sumptuous palace (Anselmi 2001: 54–65). Oñate never achieved his aim, though he was named viceroy of Naples, leaving behind a work in progress that was subsequently modified by Antonio Del Grande (Minguito Palomares 2011). The Spanish crown bought the structure and its adjacent properties and transformed it into a unified new whole with the aim of securing a permanent residence for future ambassadors (Figure 2.15). At the time of the Spanish occupation, the palace’s façade was asymmetrically composed

Figure 2.15 Ferdinando Fuga and José de Hermosilla, Pianta del Piano Terreno del Teggio Palazzo di Spagna esistente in Roma (1747). AGA: Sección Asuntos Exteriores, caja 54/00261. España, Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte. Italian grandeur 37 with the main entrance off center in the form of a rustic triple-portal (Figure 2.16). Two running balconies separated the lower base floors from the piano nobile, providing external viewing over the piazza. Despite this informality, any visitor in Rome would have naturally been drawn to the area around the Piazza di Spagna, and impressed by the Spanish presence in the barrio. In the eighteenth century a number of high-profile cardinal-ambassadors occupied the Palazzo di Spagna, including Francesco and Troiano Acquaviva.4 As we have seen, the Neapolitan Cardinal Francesco Acquaviva was appointed as Philip V’s representative in Rome in 1708, and served as the ambassador from 1716 until his death in 1725 (Storace 1738: 94; Nicolini 1960a; Anselmi 2001: 107–10). He departed his comfortable lodgings at the Palazzo Salviati and moved to the Palazzo di Spagna which he described as in desperate need of repair, much of which he accomplished in the following decade. Francesco Acquaviva was succeeded first by Félix Cornejo (1725–26) in an interim capacity, and then by Cardinal Cornelio Bentivoglio d’Aragona(1726–32) who would assist the young Spanish prince Carlo di Borbone upon his arrival to Parma and Piacenza in 1731. Bentivoglio was then followed by Cardinal Luis Belluga y Moncada (1733),

Figure 2.16 Ferdinando Fuga and José de Hermosilla, Prospetto della Facciata Principale del Reggio Palazzo di Spagna esistente en Roma (1747). AGA: Sección Asuntos Exteriores, caja 54/00261. España, Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte. 38 Italian grandeur a Bishop from Murcia and a loyalist for the Bourbon cause. Belluga was made Cardinal by Clement XI in 1719, although the pontiff was opposed to the position, voicing his opinion that the Spanish church needed dramatic reform. Francesco Acquaviva’s nephew, Troiano, succeeded him as the titular head of Santa Cecilia in 1739, and also served as ambassador to Philip V in Rome and Carlo di Borbone in Naples 1734–47 (Storace 1738: 104 ff.; Nicolini 1960b; Anselmi 2001: 111–13; León Sanz 2010; Barrio Gozalo 2013). Giovanni Paolo Panini’s celebrated painting of Carlo di Borbone visiting Benedict XIV at the Quirinal Coffee House (1746) depicts the young monarch’s first visit to Rome in 1744, a historic meeting in which Cardinal Acquaviva is waiting to greet the Neapolitan King outside of the garden pavilion, while the Pontiff remains seated inside (Urrea Fernández 1989: 112–15). Panini had previously depicted the celebrations in front of the Palazzo di Spagna in 1727 (Festa per la nascita dell’Infante di Spagna), designed by Sebastiano Conca, and in 1728 (Apparato efimero per i regi sponsali), designed by Nicola Salvi, both for Cardinal Bentivoglio who occupied the palazzo between the two Acquaviva cardinals (Fagiolo 1997: 64–5, 68–9; Anselmi 2001: 110–11, 185–6). Acquaviva would also negotiate a series of paintings by Panini as part of the quadrattura decorative scheme for the royal residence of Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese at La Granja, just north of Madrid (Guerra de la Vega 1994: 25–32). More than anyone who resided in the Palazzo di Spagna in the early eighteenth century, Cardinal Troiano Acquaviva personified the Spanish Bourbon presence in the city. So great was his reputation that the dying Giambattista Vico dedicated his definitive edition of The New Science to him in 1744.

* * *

The most important Spanish festivals in Rome were typically sponsored by the ambassadors, all of whom sought to influence Papal policy through public spectacles involving monumental set pieces. The Spanish feasts and serenatas usually took place in the open space in front of the Palazzo di Spagna, between the Propaganda Fide and the barcaccia fountain, though many other sites throughout the city would stage them as well (Moli Frigola 1992; Muniaín Ederra 2005a: 62–77; Torremocha Hernández et al. 1994: 865–81). The embassy employed the best architects and presented sumptuous displays that celebrated marriages, births, deaths, sacred feasts, and other alliances. The set pieces designed for these celebrations were usually constructed of timber, cloth and plaster, sometimes larger than any of the surrounding buildings, and often served as a base for pyrotechnic displays. The annual presentation of the Chinea, the gift of a white Neapolitan horse delivered to the pope by the ambassadors extraordinary in gratitude for the fiefdom of Naples, was perhaps the most symbolic ritual in the city, taking place annually on the feast of saints Italian grandeur 39

Peter and Paul on June 28–29 (Gori Sassoli 1994; Moore 1995). Since 1689, the two-day celebration took place in the Piazza dei Santi Apostoli next to the Palazzo Colonna whose patriarch held a virtual monopoly on the office of ambassador extraordinary, and then after 1738 – with the triumph of Carlo di Borbone in Naples – at the Piazza Farnese. As already noted, among the most important celebrations at the Piazza di Spagna were the festivities to celebrate the birth of the Spanish infante Don Luis in 1727, designed by the Neapolitan painter Sebastiano Conca (1680–1764), and the set piece to celebrate the royal union of Spain and Portugal in 1728, designed by the Roman architect Nicola Salvi (1697– 1751), both of which were also painted by Giovanni Paolo Panini. The festivities celebrating the birth of Luis, son of Philip and Elizabeth and younger brother of Carlo di Borbone, took place in the Piazza di Spagna on September 23, 1727 with a great pyrotechnic structure in the form of a circular temple to Glory capped by the figure of Fame. The ephemeral structure was placed atop a massive rock outcropping and set immediately in front of the Propaganda Fide façade towering above the cornice line. Panini’s painting depicts the great structure to the left with the Palazzo di Spagna in the center and the barcaccia fountain to the right. The palazzo is draped with the escutcheons of the Bourbon and Farnese dynasties and crowds of people intermingling with elegant carrozze fill the piazza in great displays of awe and admiration. On July 4, 1728, the marriage of Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias and heir to the Spanish throne, and Bárbara of Braganza from Portugal, was mag- nificently celebrated in Rome (Fagiolo 1997: 68–9). To celebrate the double event that united the two royals as well as the two nations, the Piazza di Spagna and the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli on the Piazza Navona were sumptuously decorated. At the church of San Giacomo, a Te deum was performed in the presence of the Venetian ambassador and other dignitaries. The Piazza di Spagna was given a great pyrotechnic structure designed by Nicola Salvi (Figure 2.17). Located directly above Bernini’s barcaccia fountain and facing south towards the Palazzo di Spagna, Salvi’s two-story structure was situated over a celestial cloud- scape surrounding a globe with a reclining figure of Amore. The lower story was in the form of a centralized core with semicircular arms extending to the four corners of the structure. At the center of the lower story was a sculpture of Hymenaeus, the god of marriage ceremonies, seated on a throne. Above that a circular temple of coupled columns supported the figure of Apollo, the nine muses and the personification of Fame. In addition to the structure which exploded with fireworks, the façade of the church of the Trinità dei Monti was decorated with lanterns and globes of various colors. Finally the façade of the Palazzo di Spagna was given a deep four-story scaffolding of giant Corinthian pilasters to provide exceptional viewing to the elite residents and visitors of the palace. Figure 2.17 Nicola Salvi, Apparato efimero per i regi sponsali (1728). AGS: MPD, 52, 011. Ubicación Anterior: EST.LIB, 00203. España, Ministerio de Cultura. Italian grandeur 41

Among the many figures that graced the Spanish court in Rome in the early eighteenth century, none was more well-known or prolific than the Florentine architect Ferdinando Fuga (1699–1782), one of the most successful Italian architects of the eighteenth century (Kieven 1988; Gambardella 2001). Fuga was the favorite of Troiano Acquaviva who in 1736 recommended him to replace Filippo Juvarra as Philip V’s architect in Madrid (Antinori 2001). Pope Clement XII Corsini, a Florentine as well, insisted that the architect remain in Rome as his services were highly needed. Indeed, it was during Clement XII’s papacy that Fuga became the leading architect of the city as well as a cavaliere dell’Ordine di Cristo. Despite his high profile and busy schedule, Fuga would design several projects for Spanish interests in the city, including an ephemeral structure to celebrate the marriage of Carlo di Borbone with Maria Amalia of Saxony (1738), the new atrium and entrance to the church of Santa Cecilia (1741), and the catafalque for the death of Philip V (1746), celebrated at the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli (Muniaín Ederra 2005b: 70 ff; Kieven 1988: 72–7; Antinori 2001: 115 ff.; Fagiolo 1997: 105, 133–4). All of these projects were commissioned by Acquaviva as part of his efforts to promote Spanish interests in the city. For the feast celebrating the marriage of Carlo di Borbone, King of Naples and the Two Sicilies, with Maria Amalia of Saxony, the Piazza di Spagna was fitted out on the weekend of September 6–7, 1738, with a magnificent pavilion dedicated to Parthenope.5 The adjacent Palazzo di Spagna was decorated with continuous balconies for viewing the firework displays on the evening of Saturday, and the church of the Spirito Santo dei Napoletani near the Campo de’ Fiori, also decorated with festive drapery, celebrated a Te deum mass on Sunday morning. Fuga’s pavilion, in the form of a quadripartite pedimented temple supporting a mushroom dome, was placed on a high platform with double flights of stairs leading up to it from the piazza right in

Figure 2.18 Santa Cecilia, Rome. Photo by author. 42 Italian grandeur front of the Propaganda Fide. Giant obelisks were located at the four corners of the platform like minarets and a statue of a crowned nymph occupied the center of the pavilion. Symbols of Fertility and Abundance alluded to both the nuptial couple and the reign of Naples. This was not only one of Fuga’s more elaborate ephemeral structures for the Spanish community in Rome, but also his first for the Neapolitan monarch to whom he would later serve as architect from 1748 until his death in 1782. Fuga’s new atrium and entrance to the church and convent of Santa Cecilia (1741) cannot really be described as a Spanish project per se, as much as a commission by the Spanish cardinal Troiano Acquaviva (Figure 2.18). Fuga was on friendly terms with Acquaviva having had the cardinal baptize one of his daughters previously, so the commission was not entirely unexpected (Vitti 1993: 115). Francesco Acquaviva had carried out several interventions to the church in 1724 and it was now Troiano’s task to expand the structure with a new triumphal arch entry piece to frame the vista to the early Christian basilica, while providing two stories of lodging above the portal as well. Fuga’s solution, recalling Nicola Salvi’s scenic work at the Trevi fountain, was a great Doric triple arch set against a neutral palace façade of stripped pilasters, with the Cardinal’s escutcheon situated in the broken pediment above the central opening of the arch. The contrast between the monumental portal and the more practical backdrop was a theme Fuga had developed in his manica lunga extension for the Quirinal Palace in 1731, and the Palazzo della Consulta façade in 1732. Fuga was also responsible for the maintenance and supervision of a number of Spanish properties in Rome including those belonging to the churches of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli, and Santa Maria in Monserrato, all done in a similar stripped vocabulary (Saraceni 1994, 1998). It was not uncommon for Roman architects during this period to be versatile in the decorative aspects of contrasting architectural styles. So, if simple sobriety was one of Fuga’s trademarks, Rococo exuberance was another, and perhaps nothing was more theatrical than his designs for the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli on the Piazza Navona for the funeral rites of Philip V on September 18, 1746 (Fagiolo 1997: 133–5). Commissioned by Troiano Acquaviva, Fuga produced seven designs in ink and wash that included two facades, three sections, a plan, and an interior perspective of the catafalque. These were then made into etchings by the Spanish engraver Miguel Sorelló from Barcelona who arrived in Rome in 1720 (Urrea Fernández 2006: 271–2). The decoration of the two facades, the front entrance on the Via della Sapienza (now Corso Risnascimanto), and the rear façade overlooking the Piazza Navona, contained lavish drapery and Bourbon coats of arms. Inside, Fuga covered the nave with solemn drapery and placed the catafalque of the deceased monarch in the third bay before the high altar.6 A square block with an equestrian portrait of the king flanked by allegorical figures of Virtue, capped by an urn on which Faith is resting with the cross and a small putto is holding a portrait of the deceased Philip, the structure celebrated the monarch’s military victories and religious zeal. Italian grandeur 43

After the death of Acquaviva, the Palazzo di Spagna was occupied 1747–48 by the Spanish diplomat Don Alfonso Clemente de Aróstegui, a central figure to the Spanish artistic community in Rome (Urrea Fernández 2006: 27–37). Aróstegui occupied the palace for approximately fifteen months as an interim minister when Cardinal Joaquín María Portocarrerro assumed the responsibility until 1760. In his capacity as minister, Aróstegui would be in charge of the Spanish pensioners sent to Rome to complete their artistic studies by the Junta preparatoria of the soon-to-be-established Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in Madrid. To that end, he was charged with the task of studying whether it would be feasible to house the pensioners in the palazzo, along the lines of the Palazzo Mancini on the Via del Corso, which housed the French Academy 1725–93 (Michel 2002), or Sebastiano Conca’s school for Neapolitan pensioners in the Palazzo Farnese (Michel 1981). Aróstegui commissioned Fuga to carry out the work, and with the help of José de Hermosilla (1715–76), one of his Spanish pupils sent by the Junta, they prepared six drawings of the existing building (Simal López 2004). The study led Aróstegui to concede that an academy of fine arts housed in the palazzo would regrettably exceed the spatial and financial resources of the embassy. And though the drawings were never signed, they do shed further light on the more mun- dane aspects of Fuga’s professional practice in eighteenth-century Rome (see above, Figures 2.15 and 2.16). They were also annotated in Castilian and the calligraphy clearly points to the presence of his assistant, Hermosilla, whose subsequent contribution to Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli on the Via Condotti would set him apart from any other Spanish architect at the time.7 Finally, Cardinal Joaquín Portocarrero (1681–1760) played an important role in the cultural life of Spain and Rome in the eighteenth century. He was of the same family as the famous Archbishop of Toledo, who had negotiated the succession of Philip V, though early in his career he would curiously side with the Austrian cause (Ochoa Brun 2002: 169–70). After stints in Vienna, Sicily and Naples, he was ordained in 1730 and was raised to the rank of cardinal in 1743. He returned to the Bourbon cause under Ferdinand VI, serving as the Spanish ambassador in Rome from 1748 until his death in 1760. Despite his shifting allegiances, he contributed funds towards building projects at the Lateran complex and Santa Maria Maggiore. He was also closely affiliated with the French Academy and became responsible for the monitoring of the Spanish pensioners in Rome, according to the regulations stipulated by the academy’s provisional council in 1747. He was subsequently buried in the church of Santa Maria del Priorato di Malta on the Aventine hill, his sepulcher designed by Piranesi and sculpted by the Spaniard Francisco Vergara, with a mosaic by Ignazio Stern (Urrea Fernández 2006: 256).

* * * While the Piazza di Spagna was the main forum of Spanish activities in Rome and the Palazzo di Spagna was the principal seat of Spanish patronage in the 44 Italian grandeur city, there were also other areas of the quarter and beyond that were important politically and artistically. The Largo Goldoni, a small re-entrant piazza, was situated at the main intersection of the Roman trident where the Via del Corso crossed the Via Condotti. The small piazza was named after the playwright who lived there briefly in 1758–59, though formerly it was known as the Piazza Gaetana, a reference to the Palazzo Caetani or Gaetani which stands at the intersection of Via del Corso and Via della Fontanella di Borghese and defines the south-west corner of the space (Salerno 1961a: 153–7; Pietrangeli and Liverani 1992). The Palazzo Caetani was built in the mid fifteenth century by Bartolomeo Ammanati for the Rucellai family of Florence, who also commissioned Jacopo Zucchi to fresco the ceiling vault of the great Salone with images of the mythological gods and the walls with portraits of the emperors of Rome (D’Amelio et al. 2011). Images of Ruccellai properties throughout Florence and Tuscany completed the iconographic program. The Caetani, who acquired the property in 1629, were a noble Roman family from Sermoneta with powerful links to the papacy. They added the surname Aragona in the sixteenth century after Cardinal Luigi (1595–1642) married Anna Acquaviva d’Aragona (the daughter of Ferdinand I of Naples) in 1618, further sealing their relations with the Neapolitan and Spanish crowns. As we have already seen, the Austrian ambassador occupied the palazzo in the early eighteenth century when tensions rose with Spain, and Clement XI had to intervene by declaring a neutral boundary between the palace on the Corso and the Spanish equivalent on the Piazza di Spagna. The Caetani’s opposition to Philip V ultimately resulted in the con- cession of the palace and its collection of antiquities to the Ruspoli family in 1713. The building would again play a major role in the life of Rome in 1730, when the Spanish Trinitarians decided to build a new church, hospice, and monastery on the block opposite the palace, occupying the south east corner of the Largo defined by the Via Condotti and the Corso. Further down the Via Trinitatis (Condotti) was the residence of the Spanish Cardinal Pedro Deza from Toledo, a structure begun by Vignola in the 1560s for the Gigli family, and subsequently occupied by the Cardinal 1586–1604 before being acquired by Cardinal Camillo Borghese, who later became Paul V 1605–21 (Hibbard 1962). Deza employed Martino Longhi the Elder to complete the palace, providing it with the appropriate iconography of an influential Spanish Cardinal in Rome. Deza had been made a Cardinal at the urging of Philip II in 1578 and he would spend the remainder of his life in Rome as the central figure of Spanish social, ecclesiastical, and political activity (Dandelet 2001: 136–7). Paul V was on particularly good terms with Deza and the Spanish faction in the city. Thomas Dandelet (2007: 194–5) has recently pointed out the remarkable contribution of Spanish funding in the construction of New Saint Peter’s 1506–1620, in particular during the Papacy of Paul V when efforts to complete the nave and façade of the basilica were of tremendous political importance. Between 1605 and 1620 more was spent on the completion of Saint Peter’s than in the previous 100 years, a dramatic increase in spending that was ultimately made possible by the revenues that Italian grandeur 45 were paid to the church from Spanish holdings in the new world. Spanish patronage in the city would continue in the 1630s when Martino Longhi the Younger was involved in the church of Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi nearby the Palazzo Borghese, and in the great staircase of the previously mentioned Palazzo Caetani (Varriano 1971: 106–7). By the early eighteenth century, the Via Condotti had clearly become the new Via degli Spagnoli in Rome. The brief survey above, some of which will be considered in greater depth in the following chapters, provides insight into how pervasive the Spanish influence in Rome remained after Philip V’s ascension to the throne of Spain in 1700, and after the War of Spanish Succession had resulted in peace. Rome was not alone though, as Spanish interests in the Papal States would continue the tradition of artistic patronage throughout Italy.

Spanish Italy The history of Spanish relations with Italy in the early modern world is a long and complex study that exceeds the capacity of a work such as this that is focused primarily on relations between Spain and Rome in the eighteenth century. Northern Italian cities such as Milan, Genoa, and Venice all had close ties with the Spanish nation and the Hapsburg monarchs. The central Italian duchies of Tuscany, Parma, and Piacenza also maintained intimate relations with Spain, and the marriage of Philip V to Elizabeth Farnese only increased the desire of the Spanish crown to continue the tradition of Spanish donation and patronage after the War of Spanish Succession had culminated in peace. As we have seen, Rome, of course, was the principal center of interest, though, with the maturing of Philip and Elizabeth’s first son Carlo, a desire to secure a kingdom for the young prince led the Bourbons to renew their interests in Tuscany, Parma, and eventually the Kingdoms of Naples and the Two Sicilies.

* * * Florence is a city whose history is not typically associated with Spain. Nevertheless, the marriage in 1539 of Eleanor of Toledo, daughter of the Neapolitan viceroy Pedro de Toledo (the marquis of Villafranca), and the sovereign prince Cosimo I de’ Medici (second duke of Florence), sealed a close alliance between Florence, Naples, and the Spanish monarchy (Goldberg 1996; Hernando Sánchez 2007b). Even though Florence was not under the rule of Spanish viceroys like Sicily and Naples, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Spanish presence was always nearby, particularly during the reign of the Emperor Charles V who governed the Duchy of Milan directly, investing his son Philip with it in 1545 (Peytavin 2007: 335–82). The Medici Grand Dukes Francesco I (1541–87) and Ferdinando I (1549–1609) were both half-Spanish by birth, through their mother Eleonor of Toledo, and subsequent Grand Dukes continued the Spanish alliance through strategic 46 Italian grandeur marriages with Spanish princesses and continuous cultural exchanges with Spain. Though the Spanish strategy towards its possessions in Italy was long term, it did so without forcing any one of its territories to abandon its indi- viduality or cultural pride. In Tuscany, however, the situation was the inverse, as the Spanish community was in desperate need of making its presence more noticeable. And so, Eleanor of Toledo gave the Spanish colony in Florence a dedicated chapel for worship at the Dominican church and convent of Santa Maria Novella (Mecatti 1737; Brown 1902: 139–70; Lunardi 1983). Originally the Chapter House containing Andrea Buonaiuto’s celebrated fresco of The Church Militant and Triumphant (c. 1365–67), the space was rededicated in 1556 as the Spanish Chapel in honor of Santiago de Compostela. Common burial space for the Spanish community was also provided in the space underneath the chapel floor. In 1592, Alessandro Allori reconfigured the high altar of the chapel with frescos on the life of St. James, and other Spanish saints such as Vincent Ferrer, Lawrence, Dominic, Isidore, and Vincent Martyr. The apotheosis of the Spanish coat of arms was centered on the vault above. The church of Santa Maria Novella would play a pivotal role within the Spanish community in Florence, making it one of the more recognizable monuments for Spaniards in early modern Italy. At the start of the eighteenth century, the Medici court under Cosimo III (r. 1670–1723) was one of the more magnificent in Italy, despite its political weakness and uncertain future. Cosimo’s two sons, Ferdinando (1663–1713) and Giovanni (Gian) Gastone (1671–1737) would both die heirless throwing into debate the whole question of Tuscan succession. Nevertheless, as noted by Harold Acton (1974: 15), the last Medici dukes “added the most brilliant colors to their sunset.” While the dynasty of the Medici Grand Dukes came to an end in the early eighteenth century, its alliance with Spain during this period reveals the delicate political situation that the Tuscan court faced as it was still a part of the Holy Roman Empire, at least nominally, and therefore artistic relations with Spain were always seen in opposition to Austria. The War of Spanish Succession and the surrendering of Spanish territories in Italy would challenge relations between Spain and Tuscany, even though Cosimo III, like Clement XI, wished for neutrality. The uncertainty of the Grand Dukes’ future, coupled with the rival claims by Austria and Spain, made for a difficult situation. Relations were smoothed somewhat in 1709 when Philip V sent a Dominican monk from Málaga, Fr. Salvador de Ascanio (c. 1655– 1741), to Florence as his ambassador to the court of Tuscany (Cavalieri 1696: II, 144–5; Quétif and Échard 1959: II, 768–9; Tanucci 1980: I, 27).8 Fr. Ascanio had spent thirty four years in the Real Convento de Santo Domingo in Málaga, and then thirteen years in Rome, but his subsequent thirty two years in Florence would forever seal his reputation as one of the most important figures in Italo-Spanish political and cultural relations. Under Ascanio’s leadership, the Spanish presence in Tuscany flourished, particularly in Florence at the church of Santa Maria Novella where he resided. The tragic and unexpected death of Philip’s first son Luis in August 1724 brought about tremendous sympathy in Florence, and subsequently Fr. Ascanio Figure 2.19 Girolamo Ticciati, elevation, from the Esequie di Luigi il Cattolico Re di Spagna… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1724), etching by Ferdinando Ruggieri. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. 48 Italian grandeur

ordered the funeral rites to take place in absentia at the Dominican church on October 26 of the same year.9 Drawn and engraved by the renowned Florentine architect, Ferdinando Ruggieri (1691–1741), the decorations to the façade and interior of the church were published by Niccolò Marcello Venuti as the Esequie di Luigi I… (Venuti and Ascanio 1724). Having trained under Carlo Fontana, whom he assisted in 1710 at the Palazzo Capponi in Florence (Mosco 1974: 87), Ruggieri would then become the architect of the Medicis and principal architect of the city of Florence (Fanelli 1973: II: 146–47). The decorations at Santa Maria Novella, however, were by the Florentine architect, sculptor, and medalist, Girolamo Ticciati (1676–1744), who designed the catafalque and decorations of the church’s interior and exterior (DIA 1974: 144). For the façade (See Figure 2.19 on the previous page), Ticciati solemnly draped the three entrances and adjacent niches, and placed above the central portal a large dedicatory escutcheon flanked by two female figures representing Spain and America. The theme continued on the interior with drapery on every arch in the nave, crossing, and transepts (Figure 2.20). Swags and escutcheons from the different provinces of Spain were placed in the lunettes of the vault, above each arch. Ticciati’s great catafalque occupied the entire fifth bay of the nave, and consisted of a large quadripartite arch with angular piers and scrolled volutes supporting a broken segmental pediment that contained a portrait of the deceased monarch (Figure 2.21). The entire structure was decorated with drapery, candelabras, and statuary representing the civic virtues, and was topped off by a giant crown held aloft by four skeletal figures. Above that, a baldachin canopy with the symbols of León and Castile was suspended from the central vault of the nave. Below, two skeletal figures held open the drapery that allowed visitors to view the centrally placed bier in the form of a crowned pedestal and urn with further candelabras. Seen together, nothing could have been more magnificent or somber.

Figure 2.20 Girolamo Ticciati, interior section, from the Esequie di Luigi il Cattolico Re di Spagna… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1724), etching by Ferdinando Ruggieri. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. Figure 2.21 Girolamo Ticciati, catafalque, from the Esequie di Luigi il Cattolico Re di Spagna… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1724), etching by Ferdinando Ruggieri. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. 50 Italian grandeur

The following year, 1725, would prove to be equally important for the Spanish colony in Florence. It is important to remember that Spain and Austria had never established any peace treaties following the War of Spanish Succession, so they were still very much principal enemies. Therefore, when Philip and Elizabeth’s adviser, Jan Willem Ripperda, secured a treaty on April 30, 1725, between Spain and the Empire (the Treaty of Vienna), with the hope of finally bringing the War of Spanish Succession to an end – and perhaps even securing some Spanish possessions in Italy – a renewed emphasis of Spanish- Italian relations emerged (Kamen 2001: 154). So great was the importance of stability to Europe, and Italy in particular, that on Pentecost Sunday, May 20, 1725, the church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence celebrated the peace that Philip V of Spain and Charles VI of Austria had established by decorating the three interior doors of the church with portraits of the two monarchs and escutcheons of the two nations with additional swags, curtains, and symbols of Peace (the Holy Spirit as a dove between the two realms) and Fame (laurels tied together). Ordered by Fr. Ascanio (and carried out by Ferdinando Ruggieri who also produced an etching of his scheme), the decorations of the counter- façade were superimposed on the fifteenth-century portals originally designed by Leon Battista Alberti in the mid-sixteenth century (Figure 2.22). The Biblical inscription Factus est repente de coelo sonus (suddenly there came a sound from heaven) was held aloft by two putti heralding the peace and signaling the Communion Mass for Pentecost which celebrates the Descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Apostles, fifty days after the Resurrection of Christ. Salvador Ascanio was an enormously influential figure in early eighteenth- century Florence who dedicated himself to the Spanish community in Tuscany. As a final act of patronage, he commissioned in 1731 the complete restoration of the Spanish Chapel at Santa Maria Novella (Mecatti 1737: 29–36; Lunardi 1983: 83). During the War of Spanish Succession, the chapel had been largely abandoned, so Fr. Ascanio oversaw the restoration at his own expense. He provided the structure with elaborate wrought iron screens, and in 1735–36 he commissioned Agostino Veracini (1689–1762), an Italian painter and engraver, to restore the frescos in the chapel. Following Ascanio’s lead, the Grand Duke Gian Gastone de’ Medici donated a large crucifix that was placed above the high altar. Finally in 1741, Fr. Ascanio’s body was laid to rest in the chapel at the foot of the high altar, underneath the space he loved so much and to which he dedicated most of his religious life. At the same time that Fr. Ascanio was paying for the finishing touches on the Spanish Chapel, Ferdinando Ruggieri was busy presenting his celebrated Pianta della città di Firenze (1731), which he dedicated to the last Medici duke, Gian Gastone, and preparing the design of a triumphal arch for the entry of Carlo di Borbone, the future grand duke of Parma and Piacenza and heir presumptive to Gian Gastone in Tuscany (DIA 1974: 464–5, 484–5). The death on January 20, 1731, of Antonio Farnese, the grand duke of Parma and Elizabeth’s uncle, set into motion the Treaty of Vienna in March of the same year, in which Britain maintained control of Gibraltar, and Carlo di Borbone Figure 2.22 Ferdinando Ruggieri, Ornato delle tre porte… Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1725). AGS: MPD, 26, 046. Ubicación Anterior: EST, 07765. España, Ministerio de Cultura. Figure 2.23 Ferdinando Ruggieri, triumphal arch for Carlo di Borbone, from the Descrizione dell’ arco inalzato dalla nazione Britannica… (1732). © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI. Italian grandeur 53 was officially given Parma and Piacenza (Kamen 2001: 180).10 As Elizabeth was also the great-niece of Cosimo II, her hereditary claim to Tuscany was equally declared. The Emperor, whose disdain towards Philip was well- known, allowed Carlo to take possession of Parma and Piacenza, though he held on to the more lucrative vice-royalty of Naples. In this way, Philip’s claim for his family in Italy had been validated, Spanish troops were allowed to enter Italy, and peace in the western Mediterranean was assured. The young prince Carlo, who left Spain at the age of fifteen in 1731, to take possession of the duchies his mother Elizabeth Farnese had secured for him in Italy, landed in Livorno on December 26, and remained in Italy until 1759 when he would return to Spain as Charles III (Urrea Fernández 1989). In Livorno, Carlo was greeted with a celebratory triumphal arch designed by Ferdinando Ruggieri under the patronage of the British residents of the city (Figure 2.23). The stately structure, subsequently published in 1732 as the Descrizione dell’ arco inalzato dalla nazione Britannica sulla piazza della città di Livorno… (Ruggieri 1732), was a rectangular quadripartite arch with a sail vault in the crossing, the whole structure capped by a pediment inscription and scrolled volutes in place of the traditional attic story. In contrast to the simple form of the arch, the rich surface decoration and statuary referred to the infante and his mission, giving the structure a distinctly festive quality. Even more celebratory was the great cuccagna (an ephemeral structure made out of comestibles) erected in front of the royal palace in Livorno on February 14, 1732, commissioned by the Hebrew community of the city, most of whom were of Spanish origin having arrived in Italy via North Africa and Turkey (Milano 1967: 106). The cuccagna was a particular type of bur- lesque set piece that was celebrated on Sundays during carnival season and on special feast days, with the masses allowed to devour the monument. The Livorno cuccagna, famously depicted by the German architect, painter, and engraver Marcus Tuscher, was designed as a giant pyramid decorated with swags, food, and animals, and capped by a figure of Abundance holding a great cornucopia (Figure 2.24).11 The edible set piece was flanked by fountains of wine, and greased climbing poles for further entertainment. Among the largest Hebrew communities in Italy, the Jews of Livorno benefitted from the liberal environment of the port city under the Medici Grand Dukes (Milano et al. 2007). The arrival of an enlightened Spanish prince only increased their desire to ensure that the goodwill remained unaltered. Carlo slowly made his way through Tuscany, moving from Livorno to Pisa before arriving in Florence on March 9, 1732, where he would officially reside for six months at the Palazzo Pitti. Carlo was entertained with feasts for several days before he settled into a more informal routine touring the many Medici villas and gardens in the city and its environs. He was also visited by both the Spanish ambassador to Rome, Cardinal Cornelio Bentivoglio, and the Ambassador to Tuscany, Fr. Salvador Ascanio. Cardinal Bentivoglio presented the young Prince with a painting by Carlo Maratta, whereas Fr. Ascanio gave him a small canvas of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa his mother Elizabeth Farnese had painted while she was a young princess in Parma (Urrea Fernández 1989: 59). 54 Italian grandeur

Figure 2.24 Marcus Tuscher, Cuccagna monument in front of the royal palace…, Livorno (1732). GRI, 2001.M.12. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

Carlo’s first official portrait was produced while he resided in Florence, a work by the Genoese painter Giovanni Maria delle Piano (1660–1745), called Molinaretto, who depicted the young Prince in full length and with full ambition. Carlo was also depicted in a portrait by the Florentine painter Giulio Pignatta (1684–1751), and more importantly by Sebastiano Conca (regrettably untraced) who was in Siena at the time working on his magnificent fresco of the Pool of Bethesda behind the high altar of the hospital chapel at Santa Maria della Scala (Urrea Fernández 1989: 63–4). The Tuscan sculptors Vincenzo and Giulio Foggini, sons of the Florentine sculptor and architect Giovanni Battista Foggini, also produced a fine equestrian statue of Carlo with molds their father had previously used for his equestrian portraits of Charles II of Spain (1698) and Joseph I of Austria (c. 1706) (DIA 1974: 76–9). After an enjoyable six- month stay in the Tuscan capital, it was determined that Carlo should move on to Parma to assume his stately duties there. He left Florence on September 6, and passed through Bologna and Modena before arriving on the outskirts of Parma two days later, where he met his grandmother the Duchess Dorotea. He entered Parma the following day to the sound of canon fire, church bells, and the festive cries of the city’s residents.

* * * Carlo di Borbone received the keys to the city of Parma in a temporary wood chapel that was built specifically for his arrival just outside of the porta reale Italian grandeur 55

(Urrea Fernández 1989: 44–50). From there he processed through the city towards the cathedral where an ephemeral triumphal arch awaited him in the piazza. The church was sumptuously decorated and illuminated inside, and there Carlo heard a Te deum. Afterward, he proceeded to the ducal palace (the pilotta) where he would reside while in Parma. The following month on October 22, Carlo took possession of Piacenza. He returned to Parma on November 10 and installed himself at the ducal palace in the same suite of rooms his mother Elizabeth had occupied as a young princess. Once settled in Parma, Carlo di Borbone focused his energies on hunting and fishing, and the study of architecture. The former would be achieved on the periphery of Parma at the great summer palaces of Sala Baganza and Colorno, whereas the latter would be a continuous pursuit in all of the capitals where he would reside. The Rocca Sanvitale in Sala Baganza was situated south west of Parma on the Via Francigena, also known as the Via Romea, the great pilgrim- age road that terminated in Rome (Dall’Acqua et al. 1999). The palace stood on a small hill overlooking the valley below, with an extensive hunting park and walled garden adjacent to a small village (Figure 2.25). Several nearby streams also made its location ideal for fishing. The Rocca, as the name suggests, was a renovated late-medieval castello that was built in the fifteenth century and passed from the Sanvitale family to the Farnese in the seventeenth century, eventually becoming a Bourbon property in 1731. Originally a square block with corner towers, its splendor and magnificence was not so much on the exterior as on the interior, where several fresco cycles by Cesare Baglione (1525–90), Bernardino Campi (c. 1522–92), and Sebastiano Galeotti (1676– 1741), created a suite of rooms that Carlo di Borbone described as “sumptuous and well-furnished.” Carlo also compared the vista from the Rocca as comparable to the view from the Escorial towards Madrid (Urrea Fernández 1989: 60). Though he resided in Sala Baganza for only a brief period during the

Figure 2.25 Aerial view of the Rocca Sanvitale, Sala Baganza. Copyright Marco Buzzoni. 56 Italian grandeur summer of 1733, the Rocca’s remarkable setting and hunting park would remain with him as a model landscape for future residences, blending memories of the Escorial with a distinctively Parmesan castello. Unlike the Rocca at Sala Baganza, that retained to a great extent its medieval character on the exterior, the ducal palace in Colorno, situated directly north of Parma near the river Po and equidistant from Sala, was transformed into a piccola Versailles in the late seventeenth century (Mambriani 2000: 454). The original transformation was by the Bolognese designer Ferdinando Galli-Bibiena (1697–1707), the chief painter and architect at the court of Parma and Piacenza under the Farnese. He was followed 1711–31 by the sculptor-architect from Carrara, Giuliano Mozzani (d. 1734). The palace, a rectangular block with corner towers and a courtyard, was decorated both on the exterior and interior in a decisively Rococo manner when Carlo di Borbone visited it in 1733 (Figure 2.26). The young Duke found the palace in Colorno the most beautiful he had seen in Italy, describing it as sumptuous, well furnished, and with a beautiful garden comparable to those of his father’s recently built royal palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja, near Segovia (Urrea Fernández 1989: 60). Carlo spent a considerable portion of his time at Colorno fishing, using a silk net that his grandmother had exclusively sewn for him and a Venetian gondola that was given to him as gift to tour the Po River. Carlo di Borbone’s time in Parma and its environs was not simply a matter of courtly ritual and pleasure hunting or fishing. Despite the many gifts he received there, he also developed a profound understanding of Italian sprez- zatura.12 Like his father whose tour of Italy thirty years earlier had implanted in him a profound sense of Italian culture, Carlo’s initial years in the Tuscan court and in the duchies of Parma and Piacenza exposed him to the rich architectural

Figure 2.26 Palazzo Reale, Colorno. Photo by author. Italian grandeur 57 heritage of Italy, its visual and performing arts, and magnificent landscapes. Perhaps more importantly than any diplomatic or military success, Carlo’s arrival in Italy instilled in him a profound sense of artistic inclination and taste, a sensibility that would guide him for the rest of his extraordinary life. The following year, in February 1734, Carlo di Borbone, aged eighteen, was named supreme commander of the Spanish army in Italy, with the aim of securing the Imperial possessions of Naples and Sicily, territories that had been conceded with the War of Spanish Succession (Kamen 2001: 194–6). Encouraged by his mother to conquer the Two Sicilies, Carlo set out from Parma and was supported by Spanish warships in the Mediterranean and a significant military force sent from Spain. The passage through the Papal States was smooth, much to the efforts of the Spanish ambassador in Rome, Cardinal Luis Belluga. Moreover, the Neapolitans had never really embraced Austrian or vice-regal rule, and therefore Carlo was welcomed with great enthusiasm, as the Neapolitan populace was delighted that for the first time in well over two centuries their nation would be governed by an autonomous ruler. On May 9, 1734, Naples offered its obedience to Spain and, following Carlo’s victory over the Imperial troops at Gaeta on August 6 of the same year, the young Spaniard was proclaimed Charles VII. Officially he was known as Carlo di Borbone, King of Naples and the Two Sicilies, the monarch who initiated one of the greatest dynastic epochs of Spanish-Italian history.

* * * Like his father Philip, whose ascendance to the throne of Spain in 1700 was wildly celebrated in Naples and Sicily, Carlo was welcomed with magnificent feasts of art and architecture (Vázquez Gestal 2009). On May 15, 1734, the elected officials of Naples, having already declared their allegiance to Carlo, commissioned feasts to be celebrated at the church of San Lorenzo Maggiore in the heart of the old city (Mancini 1979: II: 3112; Muzii Cavallo 1997). Ferdinando Sanfelice, who had previously designed the celebrations of Philip’s entry to the city in 1702 – and had since become the leading architect of the Austrian viceroys in Naples – was commissioned with the task of producing the decorations of the church (Marías 2005: 49). For the exterior of the structure (Figure 2.27), Sanfelice designed a solemn triumphal arch that covered the entire façade, and consisted of pairs of composite columns, supporting a pedimented upper story with a celebratory inscription in the central panel. Beneath the inscription and above the central arch, a segmental tympanum was draped in dark cloth with the coat of arms of the Bourbon and Farnese families centered in the space. At the very top of the monument, the pediment was broken to reveal a statue of San Gennaro, the city’s patron saint upon whom the Neapolitans placed their trust. Below the saint and on either side of the dedicatory inscription were two allegorical figures of Charity and Liberality, the virtues of the new monarch. Inside the church, Sanfelice designed a great altar in the form of a triptych panel crowned with a segmental pediment, the structure set on three semicircular stepped bases (Figure 2.28). On the pedestal Figure 2.27 Ferdinando Sanfelice, façade, San Lorenzo Maggiore, from the Relazione della solennità…, Naples (1734). © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI. Figure 2.28 Ferdinando Sanfelice, altar, San Lorenzo Maggiore, from the Relazione della solennità…, Naples (1734). © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI. 60 Italian grandeur bases between the composite pilasters that separated the panels were the statuary figures of Faith and Prudence, and other symbols of the city in the form of small putti. Sanfelice also provided a canvas for the central panel that depicted Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese in the act of offering their son Carlo to San Gennaro who is standing underneath the Virgin and Child. The tympanum above was in the form of a monstrance displaying the Sacramental host, and above that Carlo’s crown was heralded by trumpeting angels. A Te deum was celebrated in the church with Carlo and other nobility present. On May 16, a great cuccagna designed by the engineer Nicolò Tagliacozzi Canale – representing the garden of the Hesperides in reference to Carlo’s Spanish origin – was celebrated in the piazza in front of the Palazzo Reale (Mancini 1997: II, 311–13). Praised for its architectural wonder, the cuccagna took the form of a great mountain full of animals and topped by an equestrian statue of the new Neapolitan monarch. Sirens, fountains of wine, and a host of food products completed the monument that was frenetically ransacked by the energetic populace. The engineer Tagliacozzi Canale also produced two set pieces at the Arsenal and the Largo di Palazzo. Shortly after Carlo di Borbone’s arrival to Naples, in the fall of 1734, Francesco Solimena began his great canvas depicting the Triumph of Carlo di Borbone at the Battle of Gaeta, a composition that celebrated the Prince’s victory over the Austrian troops at the fortezza in Gaeta (Spinosa 1988: 118; Urrea Fernández 1989: 86–9). The painting depicting Carlo dressed in armor on horseback under the protection of San Gennaro was commissioned for the Palazzo Reale in Naples, and as early as 1735 hung in the salon of the viceroys. The great canvas was regrettably destroyed and only a preparatory study remains. The following year in July 1738, Solimena participated in the rag- guaglio (a narration of events) organized by Sanfelice as part of a festival to celebrate the wedding between Carlo di Borbone and Maria Amalia of Saxony that took place on June 19 at Gaeta (Bologna 1958: 199). Sanfelice created a series of streets and structures that extended from the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli to the theater of San Carlo at the Palazzo Reale, filling the piazza with statuary, pavilions, fountains, arches, and columns supporting statues of San Gennaro and the newly married king and queen (Mancini 1979: II: 314–17).13 This was followed up by Solimena’s fresco painting of the Allegoria delle virtù coniugali (Allegory of the Virtues of Marriage) for the ceiling of the Gabinetto Reale in the Palazzo Reale, also known through a preparatory study kept at the Royal Palace of El Pardo, just outside of Madrid (Urrea Fernández 1989: 96–7; Pavone 1997: 156). More portraits would continue throughout Carlo’s reign, and celebrations of royal births, cuccagnas and the Chinea in Rome would all contribute to the sophisticated imagery the Neapolitan court would project in the early eighteenth century. Unlike his father Philip, who renounced his claim to the throne of France as part of the treaties concluding the War of Spanish Succession, Carlo di Borbone enjoyed the support of Spain, both militarily and economically, and especially benefitted from a Neapolitan populace that was proud to have him as their Italian grandeur 61 monarch. His twenty-five years on the throne of Naples and the Two Sicilies would result in one of the most artistically rich periods of Italian history, one in which the cultural relations with Rome would parallel those of Spain (Deupi 2006). Part of this is due to the fact that he had proprietary claims to the extensive holdings of his mother, sole surviving member of the once-great Farnese dynasty, and had been named presumptive heir to the last of the Medici Grand Dukes, Gian Gastone, in 1731. A wealth of palaces and villas throughout Emilia-Romagna, Tuscany and northern Lazio, together with their inestimable treasures, were his to enjoy. But there were also remarkable resources in Naples and its surrounding countryside, and the discoveries of Herculaneum, Pompeii and Stabiae would make Naples the de rigeur destination of artists, collectors, and antico-maniacs in general throughout Europe. Finally there was the artistic heritage of Naples itself, which Carlo would support and encourage, propelling new generations of Neapolitan artists onto the world’s stage.

* * * There is a tendency to think that in the early eighteenth century, Rome became a source for Spanish artistic accumulation more than anything else. As noted by Yves Bottineau (1986a: 373), between 1715 and 1734, the Spanish court in Rome was less concerned with artistic inspiration and more with the recruit- ment of artists, and the acquisition of statuary and paintings. Consequently during this period there was less of a focus on Roman architecture. However, as we have seen, the many works of art and architecture that were produced in Italy in the early eighteenth century as permanent or ephemeral structures in honor of the ascending new Bourbon monarchy, to celebrate Philip the V’s tour of Italy in 1702, and Carlo di Borbone’s arrival in Parma in 1731, or in celebration of Spanish interests in Italy in general, were discernible by their design excellence, scenography, and diplomatic nuance. Moreover, these works reveal how the Spanish succession had clearly not altered the artistic landscape of Italy in terms of architectural practice and festive celebrations. Philip’s preference for all things French is hardly recognizable outside of the political arena. If anything, the works of art produced in his honor all reveal how Italian, and largely Roman, the initial face of Spanish succession really was. His son Carlo would only increasingly strengthen that image. Artistically, relations between Spain and Rome in the early eighteenth century were very much the same as they were under the Hapsburgs, with the same artists and architects working in the same stylistic tradition for the two dynasties, even if their loyalties differed in relation to the Bourbons or the Emperor. And while it may be true that there was a great Spanish focus on collecting as well, the many works of art and architecture produced in Rome and the Papal States during this period were nothing short of inspirational. 3 Metropoli dell’universo

Lo singular, que tiene Roma para Instrucción de Architectos es el conjunto de ruinas, y fragmentos ia de Theatros, ia de Arcos, ia de Templos de la Era de los Césares, en que la magnifizencia de Edificios, y la perfección de la Architectura llegaron a su maior auge. Aquí sí que un Capitel medio enter- rado, una vassa dislocada, un trozo de cornisón por el suelo, con el resto de la ruinosa antigualla, están exiviendo al aprovechado Architecto un Canon de la más perfecta Architectura. Que proporcion de unas partes con otras! Que exactitud a las Reglas! Que bella distribución de Molduras! Que colocación de Entallos! Que buen gusto de adornos! Y que fatica y nimiedad para conducirlos a una inimitable delicadeza y perfección! (Fr. Alonso Cano)1

Rome was the natural center for wealthy travelers, artists, and scholars from Europe to congregate. Her seductive magnetism was illustrated by the promise of intellectual and artistic fulfillment. It had been customary since the sixteenth century to visit Rome and experience ancient and modern works of art first-hand, as no artistic training would have been considered complete without a grand tour of Italy (Assunto 1978; Wilton and Bignamini 1996). Even between the years of 1675 and 1725, when a dearth of contemporary building activity had reached its peak, Rome continued to host a large number of foreign visitors and artists. Often they were connois- seur travelers who streamed into the city in search of antique remains and to admire the great collections of ancient and modern works of art. Increasingly they were students of art and architecture (Curcio 1998). By the early eighteenth century, the idea that artistic fulfillment could be achieved solely in one’s native land had become obsolete, as the most extensive collections of ancient and modern works of art were found in Rome or nearby. Her proximity to the rest of Europe and the extraordinary collection of art within her walls made the idea of a “Grand Tour” too tempting to resist. Although Rome was the likely base for artistic education in Europe, the earliest academy for the schooling of artists was not in Rome but rather Florence, the Accademia del Disegno, founded by Giorgio Vasari in 1562 Metropoli dell’universo 63

(Pevsner 1973: 42). Rome soon followed by establishing an academy of drawing, the Accademia Romana di Belle Arti on October 13, 1577, under the patronage of Gregory XIII Boncompagni (Missirini 1823; Pietrangeli 1974). Officially opened as the Accademia di San Luca in 1593, under the direction of Federico Zuccaro, the aim of the academy was “to create an institution under aristocratic protection that pooled the intellectual and material resources of the artistic community, and provided an environment of freedom and excellence not possible in the guild system” (Smith 1993: 3). In the latter half of the seventeenth century, the court of France took the lead in controlling and cultivating both art and the academic teaching of art throughout Europe. In 1666, the French Academy in Rome was founded as an extension of the Royal Academy in Paris, with the goal of providing French students with the same, if not better, education than the students of the Accademia di San Luca received. The Prix de Rome became the most distinguished award a French artist could win. In 1672, Charles Errard, the director of the French Academy in Rome became the first French director (principe) of the Accademia di San Luca, and soon thereafter in 1676 the two academies were joined (Missirini 1823: 137–42; Smith 1993: 1–25). From the fusion of the two academies, emerged the idea of public competitions in architecture, painting and sculpture, and students were able to work and compete for prizes in both schools. In 1702, Clement XI Albani officially brought the academy under papal patronage in demonstration of his desire to rejuvenate Roman artistic culture. Under his papacy, the student competitions (henceforth called concorsi clementini) were reorganized into a more “systematic, uniform, and classicizing point of view that stressed both practice and theory in the education of aspiring public artists” (Johns 1988: 2). This of course was the academic environment that the new Bourbon monarchs wanted to exploit, sending their brightest architects and artists to Rome to immerse them in the culture of Roman excellence.

The Spanish Grand Tour Since the early fifteenth century, Spain had enjoyed a long tradition of sending artists and architects to Italy, though not in any structured way, and certainly not under any system of royal pensions (Moleón Gavilanes 2003). The first discernible presence of Spanish artists on the Italian peninsula began in 1442 after Alfonso I of Aragon conquered Naples. Alfonso brought to Naples such noted architects and artists as Luciano Laurana, Donatello, and Giuliano da Sangallo to work on various projects throughout the city. The Mallorcan architect and sculptor Guillem Sagrera (c. 1380–1454) was summoned to Naples in 1447 by Alfonso, to carry out the reconstruction of the Castel Nuovo, the royal residence which sealed his reputation even if it was his last major work. The great hall with its octagonal star vault was completed by his son Jaime and cousin Juan, along with several assistants. It remains among the most impressive spaces in the city today. The Castel 64 Metropoli dell’universo

Nuovo’s triumphal arch too employed a Catalán sculptor, Pere Joan in 1453–56, in achieving its classicizing character (Frommel 2007: 47). As a Spanish possession and seat of Spanish viceroys 1505–1707, Naples offered great opportunities for Spanish architects and engineers. A good example is Diego de Siloé (c. 1495–1563) who visited the city in 1516 prior to moving on to Florence and Rome. His Italian journey would inspire him enormously when he returned to Spain in 1519 to work on the cathedral of Granada (Rosenthal 1961). His new plan for the church’s apse and nave introduced such classicizing elements as piers composed of classical pilasters and engaged columns, raised on pedestals, and impost blocks in the form of a three-part entablature, transforming the structure from a late Gothic cathedral to an early example of Spanish Roman, or al romano architecture. The first two decades of the sixteenth century witnessed a significant presence of Spanish architects and artists in Italy. The sculptor and painter Alonso Berruguete (1488–1561) visited Florence and Rome between 1505 and 1518, studying the ruins of antiquity as well as the recent works of Bramante, Raphael, and Michelangelo, the latter whom he met (Camón Aznar 1980: 22–7). Though upon his return to Spain he practiced little architecture. His retable altarpiece (retablo) for the Benedictine monastery of San Benito, Valladolid (1526), shows signs of classicizing elements, even if the overall decorative scheme recalls the plateresque (silversmith-like) surface treatment that was typical of the era. Yet the scalloped niches and pediments of the altarpiece unmistakably recall Bramante’s work in Rome. The Spanish painter and architect from Toledo, Pedro Machuca (c. 1490–1550), was in Rome and Florence 1512–20, where he was connected with Raphael’s workshop (Rosenthal 1985: 13–17). Upon returning to Spain he was given the extraordinary commission to design Charles V’s royal palace at the Alhambra in Granada, a work that occupied him for the rest of his life and remains one of the more contentious buildings in Spain, as its over-classicizing vocabulary, however mannerist, is decidedly out of context with the great Nasrid citadel. The Spanish writer Diego de Sagredo (c. 1490–1528) was in Rome and Florence as well, probably between 1518 and 1522, just prior to the publication of his groundbreaking Medidas del romano (Sagredo 1986 [1526]), the first architectural book published in Spain, and more importantly the first published work on the orders of architecture and Renaissance theory in general (Marías and Bustamente García 1986). All of these figures would play an instrumental role in trans- mitting Italian renaissance theory and practice to the Iberian Peninsula in the early sixteenth century. The middle decades of the sixteenth century also witnessed a strong presence of Spanish architects and artists in Italy. Francisco de Holanda (1517–84), educated in the Portuguese humanist court at Évora, arrived in Rome in the late summer of 1538, quickly making the acquaintance of Michelangelo (Bury 1981; Holanda 2006). While there he produced his album of Metropoli dell’universo 65 antiquities, As antigualhas, and his dialogues on painting, the Diálogo da pintura, which constitutes Book II of his Da pintura antigua (1548). He was in contact with several Italian architects and artists during his stay in Italy, including Antonio da Sangallo the Younger and Sebastiano Serlio, prompting him to start his exceptional collection of drawings and etchings after the antique. He returned to Lisbon in 1540 as a celebrated artist, and made several journeys to Spain where he shared his theoretical knowledge of Italian art and architecture with the court of Philip II. Gaspar Becerra, or Bezzerra (c. 1520–68), and Pablo de Céspedes (c. 1548–1608), two well-known Spanish painters, had been in Rome in the 1550s and engaged with Roman artists during their visit (Palomino de Castro y Velasco 1987: 17–22, 62–6). Becerra was a friend of the Spanish goldsmith and sculptor Juan de Arfe y Villafañe, and it is likely the latter’s influence that contributed greatly to his visiting Rome (Ceán Bermúdez 1965: I, 112). While in Rome, Becerra worked at the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli on the Piazza Navona, producing the tabernacle for the high altar (1551), though the work no longer exists, and a fresco of The Apparition of Christ, now at the Castel Sant’Angelo (Serrano Marqués 1999: 210–11). Arfe is also the one who credited Becerra with bringing Michelangelo’s style to Spain, even if there is no direct evidence that he collaborated with the Tuscan master. Becerra undoubtedly studied Michelangelo’s works, as evidenced in his design for the main altar for the church of the Descalzas Reales in Madrid, a work that was destroyed by fire in 1862 and is known only from a surviving drawing by the artist (Martín González 1969: 335–7).2 While in Rome, Pablo de Céspedes worked alongside Cesare Arbasia on the frescos for the Annunciation chapel (also known as the Bonfili chapel) at the church of the Trinità dei Monti (Diaz Cayeros 2000). Anticus Bonfili was a mysterious Spaniard in Rome on affairs with the Curia when he commissioned Céspedes to complete the chapel (Fallay d’Esté 1990: 57). Seen in its entirety, the chapel reads like a thesis on the correspondence between the Old and New Testaments more than anything. Finally, a relatively unknown Spanish architect, Francisco del Castillo el Mozo (c. 1528–86) was in Rome 1546–53 working at Saint Peter’s under Michelangelo and another Spaniard, Juan Bautista de Toledo, and at the Villa Giulia under Ammanati, and Vignola, before practicing his trade in Andalucía (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 69). In the later sixteenth century, Spanish architects in Rome displayed a more theoretical approach to Italian classicism, engaging more directly with the ancient Roman writer Vitruvius’ treatise on architecture De architectura in libri decem (in translation Vitruvius 1999). The humanist architect, mathematician, and theologian from Granada, Lázaro de Velasco (c. 1525–85) traveled to Italy prior to producing his epic translation of Vitruvius into Spanish in 1564, the first Spanish edition of the ancient author, though regrettably it was never published and remained in manuscript form (Velasco 1999). Juan Bautista de Toledo (c. 1515–67) 66 Metropoli dell’universo and Juan de Herrera (c. 1530–97) both traveled to Italy and are responsible for what is unquestionably the most important early modern monument on the Iberian peninsula, the royal monastery of the Escorial (Kubler 1982).3 Juan Bautista de Toledo worked in Rome under Antonio da Sangallo the Younger at Castel Sant’Angelo 1544–48, and then with Michelangelo at Saint Peter’s 1546–48. The following year he was in Naples working at the Castel Nuovo before Philip II summoned him to Spain (Vicuña 1964). Juan de Herrera traveled through Italy, Germany and Flanders 1548–51 in a diplomatic capacity (Wilkinson-Zerner 1993: 2). He returned to Italy in 1553 as a soldier and continued to Brussels the following year. He became Juan Bautista de Toledo’s assistant at the Escorial before becoming head architect after the latter’s death. In the 1590s, the Jesuit Juan Bautista de Villalpando (1552–1608) produced his treatise and commentary on the Temple of Solomon, In Ezechielem Explanationes et Apparatus Urbis ac Templi Hierosolymitani, in collaboration with another Jesuit, Jerónimo Prado. Inspired by his previous experience working at the Escorial under Herrera, the treatise was later published in Rome in four volumes 1596–1604 (Prado and Villalpando 1596–1604; Ramírez 1991). Based on the writings of the prophet Ezekiel, Villalpando sought to re-establish the origins of ancient architecture in accordance with Vitruvius and scripture, making Solomonic imagery a mainstream topic of Spanish architectural theory. In the wake of Prado and Villalpando, two seventeenth-century Spanish architects and writers on architecture, Fray Juan Rizi (1600–81) and Juan Caramuel de Lobkowitz (1606–82), returned to the question of Solomonic imagery and, like their predecessors, both of them did so in Italy. Rizi, a Benedictine monk, painter, writer, and architect, produced his Tratado de la pintura sabia (MS. c. 1659–62) in Spain, and the Brebe tratado de arquitectura a cerca del Orden Salomónico Entero (1663) in Rome, dedicating it to Alexander VII and Queen Christina of Sweden (Tormo y Monzó et al. 1930; Salort Pons 1999). The unpublished pintura sabia is a graphic treatise on geometry, the orders of architecture (largely taken from Vignola), anatomy, and perspective, with brief explanations. The Brebe tratado de arquitectura is a study on Bernini’s Baldacchino at Saint Peter’s, with a new chancel, as well as a proposed Solomonic column dedicated to the Immaculate Conception for the Piazza in front of the Pantheon (which at that time still contained Bernini’s twin bell towers). The extremely eccentric Spanish Cistercian and polymath, Juan Caramuel de Lobkowitz (Bishop of Vigevano), produced his exceptional Architectura civil recta y obliqua (Caramuel de Lobkowitz 1678), a defense of what he called nova ars, namely how to build using oblique angles and optical correctives (Ramírez 1991: 109–14; Fernández-Santos Ortiz-Iribas 2005). Called to Rome in 1655 by the Chigi Pope, Alexander VII, he would remain in Italy for the rest of his life writing on various matters, theological, architectural, and artistic. The sixteenth century, however, witnessed few practicing Spanish architects Metropoli dell’universo 67 in Italy. The Sevillian painter, architect, and stage designer, Francisco de Herrera el Mozo (1622–85), was according to Palomino (1987: 270) in Rome at some point in the late 1640s, though there is no evidence to support this. He was appointed Royal architect on July 31, 1677, working in Saragossa and Madrid (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 72). The painter José Jimémez Donoso (c. 1632–90) was in Rome from approximately 1650 to 1657, studying painting and architecture. Upon his return to Madrid, he worked on the façade of the Casa de la Panadería in the Plaza Mayor. While few Spanish architects traveled to Italy in the sixteenth century, Italian influence arrived in Spain directly via architectural treatises and illustrations more than anything else. Painting was a different matter altogether, as Jusepe de Ribera (1591–1652) and Diego Velázquez (1599–1660), two of the most important and influential sixteenth century Spanish painters, had profound relations with Italy. The hugely prolific Ribera, a painter known as “lo spagnoletto” (the little Spaniard), moved to Italy around 1611 and arrived in Rome in October of 1613, where he would be elected the following year to the Roman Accademia di San Luca (Brown 1998: 147). He eventually settled in Naples, remaining there for the rest of his life, as both Neapolitan and Spanish patrons and painters were drawn to his art, and many of his works were imported to Madrid. By far the most important Spanish artist to have visited Italy was Velázquez, whose first visit was between 1629 and 1631 (Brown 1986: 69–79; Coliva 1999; Salort Pons 2002). He spent over a year of that particular journey in Rome, and everywhere he traveled he was received with honors. Velázquez’s second trip to Italy occurred between 1649 and 1651, when he was at the height of his maturity. It was during that journey that Velázquez painted what many consider his finest portrait, that of Pope Innocent X Pamphili. Aside from these well-known figures, there were a number of lesser- known Spanish artists in Rome throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that were associated with the Accademia di San Luca (Martínez de la Peña y González 1968). The list includes some twenty-seven painters, sculptors, and embroiders, but unfortunately no architects. Compounding this situation is the fact that between 1665, when the sculptor Francisco García was last mentioned in the Congregationi dell’Accademia di S. Luca, and the early 1730s, an enormous gap existed in the number of Spanish artists visiting Rome.4 This dearth of Spanish activity in Italy was undoubtedly a reflection of the difficult political relations that existed between Spain and the Papacy at the turn of the century.

* * * Despite the lack of contact with Italy at the start of the eighteenth century, there were still a number of compelling figures and tendencies that Spanish artists and architects found enormously appealing. Carlo Maratta 68 Metropoli dell’universo

(1625–1713), principe of the Accademia di San Luca in 1664 and again in 1700, was considered the supreme statesman of the “grand manner” in painting, following in the tradition of the Carracci, Poussin, Andrea Sacchi and Guido Reni.5 As we have seen previously, the Spanish Cardinal in Rome, Cornelio Bentivoglio, gave the young Carlo di Borbone a portrait by Maratta when the Spanish prince arrived in Italy in 1731. Maratta’s immediate successors, Andrea Procaccini and Sempronio Subisati would be summoned to Spain to work as artists and architects for Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese at the new Royal Palace of San Ildefonso La Granja in the 1720s.6 They not only brought with them Maratta’s “grand manner,” and a Roman Rococo sense of light and transparency of colors, they would also shape eighteenth- century Spanish art and architecture significantly, providing an early alternative to the many French artists and architects who had arrived in Spain with Philip V. An exceptional group of Neapolitan painters that included Luca Giordano (1634–1705), Corrado Giaquinto (1703–65) and Sebastiano Conca (1679–1764) also emerged as leading artists in early eighteenth- century Rome and Naples. Their works, both in Italy and subsequently in Spain, would dramatically shape the art of the early Bourbon courts. Giordano had been in Spain 1692–1702, working for Charles II on the great ceiling fresco, Triumph of the Spanish Hapsburgs, for the Escorial staircase (Pérez Sánchez 2000; Portela Sandoval 2002; Hermoso Cuesta 2008: 83–91). Though he returned to Italy shortly after Philip’s succession, his legendary speed enabled him to complete several works at the Escorial, as well as in Toledo (Cathedral sacristy), Madrid (San Antonio de los Portugueses o Alemanes), and for many private clients, leaving behind some two hundred paintings that Jonathan Brown (1998: 251–3) has described as “good value for money”.7 Corrado Giaquinto was frequently in contact with Spain in the 1730s producing works for the Royal Palace at La Granja, and with the Spanish community in Rome the following decade, in particular at the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli where he was commissioned to paint The Holy Trinity Liberating a Christian Slave for the high altar.8 He spent several years in Spain (1753–62) as court painter (primer pintor de cámara) to Ferdinand VI and Charles III, completing the fresco decorations for the Royal Chapel, main Staircase, and Hall of Columns at the new Royal Palace in Madrid (Pérez Sánchez 2006). He would transmit his sketchy Neapolitan manner to many of his Spanish pupils at the Academia de San Fernando where he served as director 1753–62 (Cioffi 1997; Bray 1999; Pérez Sánchez 2006: 75–92). Sebastiano Conca had already worked for the Spanish community in Rome designing the festivities to celebrate the birth of the Spanish infante Don Luis in 1727, and presumably painted a portrait of Carlo di Borbone while the two were in Tuscany in the early 1730s. Conca became the principe of the Accademia di San Luca 1729–32 and again in 1739–40, making him one of the more important artists in Rome (Missirini 1823: 208–09; Sestieri 1981). Once Carlo di Borbone was on the throne in Naples, Conca set up an important school for Neapolitan artists in the Eternal City at the Metropoli dell’universo 69

Palazzo Farnese (Michel 1981: 590–7; Deupi 2006: 290–309). Eventually, Conca’s studio was replaced by the academy that Carlo di Borbone set up officially in Naples in 1752 (Giannetti 1985). In light of these new developments in early eighteenth-century Italian art, the Sevillian painter Francisco Preciado de la Vega (1712–89) and the Galician sculptor Felipe de Castro (c. 1704–75) traveled on their own accord to Italy in 1732, living modestly while studying the art and architecture of Rome (Urrea Fernández 2006: 141–65, 237–40). This of course was the time when the Bourbon court was residing in Seville, the period known as the “lustro real” when the royal family was fêted as if they had just succeeded to the throne (Morales and Quiles García 2010). The young infante Charles (Carlo di Borbone) had just departed for Italy to assume his duties in the duchies of Parma and Piacenza, and so the time seemed ripe for an Italian journey. Encouraged by the Portuguese painter D. Francisco Vieira, pintor de cámara del rey, who had just returned to Seville after having visited Rome, the two young Spanish artists were impressed by the idea that a visit to Italy would be the best way to advance their careers. Preciado de la Vega had trained in the workshop of the history painter and teacher Domingo Martínez in Seville before joining the studio of Sebastiano Conca in Rome. Felipe de Castro’s early training had been in Santiago de Compostela before he moved to Seville to study under Pedro Duque Cornejo y Roldan, a great exponent of the Andalucian Rococo. In Rome, he first joined Giuseppe Rusconi’s workshop before moving on to Filippo della Valle’s studio. Not surprisingly, the two young artists caught the attention of Cardinal Troiano Acquaviva for having received awards in sculpture and drawing in the concorsi clementini at the Accademia di San Luca. Felipe de Castro was awarded first prize in the 1738 First Class of sculpture competition for a terracotta shallow relief of Esther, Haman and Ahasveros. Preciado’s second prize finish in the 1739 First Class of painting competition was for a highly polished drawing of the Martyrdom of the Seven Maccabean Brothers (Cipriani and Casale 1990: 144–5). Thereafter, with support from Cardinal Acquaviva, Preciado de la Vega and Felipe de Castro were awarded royal pensions to remain in Rome. Preciado de la Vega would stay in Rome for the remainder of his life, marrying in 1750 Caterina Cherubini, a respected Italian portraitist. He was appointed Secretary of the Accademia di San Luca 1762–66 and then again 1770–77, after having been its director in 1766–70. He was also a member of the Accademia degli Arcadi, assuming the pseudonym of Parrasio Tebano, under which he wrote his most influential work, the Arcadia pictórica en sueño, alegoría ó poema prosaico sobre la teórica y práctica de la pintura (Preciado de la Vega 1789). Felipe de Castro was also a member of the Arcadi with the name Galesio Libadico, though he was not so fortunate to remain in Rome for long, as in 1746 he was named accademico di merito at the Roman academy, and this led to his being recalled to Spain by Ferdinand VI to assist on the sculptures for the new Royal Palace in Madrid. 70 Metropoli dell’universo

While Francisco Preciado de la Vega and Felipe de Castro made their way to Italy independently, the new Bourbon monarch Philip V understood well that this was not a sustainable long-term solution to improving the nation’s cultural patrimony. Initially Philip embraced a number of Spanish artists and architects, such as Antonio Palomino (1655–1726), Miguel Jacinto Meléndez (1679–1734), and Teodoro Ardemans (1664–1726), providing whatever trust and support the new court could extend. By the 1720s though, Philip – secure in his position and conscious of his legacy – began to summon a number of successful French artists to work in Madrid, including Jean Ranc, Michel-Ange Houasse, Robert de Cotte (who eventually remained in France), and René Carlier. These figures would represent the first major diffusion of French artistic taste in Spain (aside from fashion and etiquette that had arrived much earlier). Nevertheless, Philip understood that pensioning young Spanish artists to study in Italy and then have them return to work within his court was a much better financial plan than bringing celebrity artists from abroad to teach them first-hand. Having been raised in Paris and Versailles and knowing well that his grandfather Louis XIV had established a presence in Rome at the French Academy – sending his brightest prospects there to flourish alongside their Italian counterparts – it was simply a matter of time before Philip V would do the same. The first Spaniards to benefit from Philip V’s plan were Juan Bautista de la Peña (1710–73) and Pablo Pernicharo (d. 1760), both of whom had studied under Michel-Ange Houasse, who Philip had brought to Spain in 1715 (Urrea Fernández 2006: 168–74). Houasse was the son of René- Antoine Houasse, a pupil of Lebrun and director of the French Academy in Rome from 1699 until 1704 (Bottineau 1986a: 467). Therefore, when Philip sent Peña and Pernicharo to Rome in 1730, both were permitted to work alongside the pensioners at the French Academy, copying ancient and modern works of art. Peña visited Naples before he returned to Madrid in 1738, where he was appointed Pintor de Cámara. Pernicharo entered the Accademia di San Luca and was appointed accademico di merito in 1736, just prior to his returning to Spain in the following year. Like Juan Bautista de la Peña, Pernicharo was also made Pintor de Cámara in Madrid. The Valencian sculptor Francisco Vergara Bartual (1713–61) arrived in Rome in 1745 after having trained in Madrid under Giovanni Domenico Olivieri, sculptor to Philip V (Urrea Fernández 2006: 240–56). Like Felipe de Castro, Vergara studied in Rome with the Rococo sculptor Filippo della Valle, and achieved a degree of success in the competitions at the Roman academy, being appointed accademico di merito in 1749. He would remain in Rome working diligently for the next eleven years, until his death in 1761. Among his celebrated works in the city are the colossal statue of Saint Peter of Alcántara (1753) in the nave of Saint Peter’s, and the mausoleum of Cardinal Joaquín Portocarrero at Santa Maria del Priorato in 1761. Metropoli dell’universo 71

Whereas Pernicharo and Peña were involved with the French Academy, and Preciado de la Vega, Castro, and Vergara frequented the Accademia di San Luca, others, such as the painters Antonio González Ruiz (1711–88) and José Luzán Martínez (1710–85), and the engraver Miguel Sorello (1700–65), ventured to Rome without any royal assistance or academic affiliation. Gónzalez Ruiz, a pupil of Houasse as well, traveled to Paris, Rome, and Naples (Bottineau 1986a: 472). While in Italy, he acquired an interest in academic education, and after returning to Madrid he began working for the Junta preparatoria (preparatory council) of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in 1744. When the academy officially opened in 1752 he was appointed director of painting, and in 1756 he became Pintor de Cámara. Through the generosity of the Pignatelli family, the Aragonese painter José Luzán Martínez traveled to Naples in 1730, and remained there for five years studying under the direction of Giuseppe Mastroleo, a pupil of Paolo de Matteis (Bottineau 1986a: 473). Luzán will forever be remembered as the teacher of Francisco de Goya. The Catalan engraver Miguel Sorello was active in Rome in the early eighteenth century, achieving a considerable reputation among Spanish and Italian patrons before returning to Barcelona (Urrea Fernández 2006: 271–2). It was not until 1747, however, when he returned to Rome to take up permanent residency that he was appointed engraver for the Vatican and achieved his greatest success. It is important to note that all of these Spanish pioneers traveled to Italy on their own accord or in diplomatic missions. Few, except in the case of Naples, were summoned there by royal decree. It was not until the Junta preparatoria of the Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in Madrid was established in 1744 that royal pensions were finally made available, allowing Spanish artists and architects to travel to Italy in search of Roman grandeur and excellence.

Roman and Spanish academies As previously noted, the student competitions at the Accademia di San Luca were reorganized to promote Clement XI’s architectural needs and ambitions (Marconi et al. 1974). Clement’s involvement included the selection of competition themes, many of which were of a purely theoretical nature, whereas others were for actual projects, such as a new facade for San Giovanni in Laterano (1705), or a new sacristy for Saint Peter’s (1711). In an effort to increase and centralize the power of the academy, Clement sanctioned new statutes in 1715, among which the direction of instruction was entrusted strictly to members of the academy. As noted by Christopher Johns (1988: 7), “[t]he net effect was to institutionalize thoroughly the course of instruction and production and to instill the artistic vision of the Accademia while protecting the institution’s economic hegemony.” The academic structure of the institution under Clement XI continued until 1869 72 Metropoli dell’universo

(the year before Rome’s annexation by the Kingdom of Italy), with only one major addition, a school for nude figure drawing. The teaching of architecture at the Accademia di San Luca was based on a system of three levels of escalating difficulty. These levels were referred to as classes (First, Second, and Third), the First Class being the most difficult. The Third Class was usually asked to prepare a measured and rendered drawing of a single architectural element, such as a niche from the nave of San Giovanni in Laterano (1702). The Second Class was often asked to prepare a design for a portion of the First Class subject, for example an altar for the First Class theme of a church with priest’s quarters, college, and hospital (1702). The Second Class was occasionally given a particularly relevant theme, such as a façade for San Giovanni in Laterano (1705), a project under consideration until 1732, a public fountain (1706) in light of the designs being prepared for the Fontana di Trevi, or a new sacristy for Saint Peter’s (1711), a structure eventually completed between 1776 and 1783 by Carlo Marchionni, the architect of Clement XI’s nephew Alessandro Albani. The First Class was usually asked to design a large building, urban space or master plan. Examples include a papal administrative center and associated offices (1704), an academy of fine arts (1708), a grand piazza (1728), or a fortified city with a port (1732). To gain entrance into the academy, a student had to be accepted by one of its members. After a certain amount of preliminary study, usually determined by the tutor, the student was encouraged to enter the competitions. The themes of the competition were selected by the academy and written by a senior professor. As already noted, the pope often concerned himself with the selection of themes in an effort to convert the academy into a workshop for his artistic ideas and visions, even if the members judged the competitions. The winning of a first prize in the Third or Second Class propelled the student to the next higher class, whereas winning first prize in the First Class relieved the student from further competitions, admitting him among those considered for election to the academy. To become an elected member of the academy (accademico di merito), the applicant was required to prepare a design of adequate substance and quality that would be donated to the academy for review. Members of the Academy would judge the design and consequently determine the merit of the nominee. The fine arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture were primarily taught at the Accademia, although other competing schools quickly appeared in order to fill in the gaps left by the Roman academy. As already mentioned, the Neapolitan painter, Sebastiano Conca had apartments for his studio and a small school in the Farnese palace. The departure of the Conca School drove Benedict XIV Lambertini to found the Accademia del Nudo at the Campidoglio (1754) as an arena for students and artists to engage in live figure drawing and painting (Pietrangeli 1962). Tuition at the academy was free, and sessions took place in the evenings under the direction of a member from the Accademia di San Luca. The Accademia del Metropoli dell’universo 73

Nudo was based in a rotunda that had been fitted out by Ferdinando Fuga in 1748 under the Galleria Capitolina dei Quadri, on the side of the Monte Tarpeo. Giovanni Paolo Panini had added another gallery adjacent to Fuga’s in 1752. Figure drawing at the time was limited exclusively to the male body as the papacy prohibited females from modeling in the nude. The Academia del Nudo was the first public academy dedicated to the art of figure drawing and painting, and remained a potent intellectual force in eighteenth-century Roman culture for some fifty years, with such well- known directors as Anton Raffaele Mengs, Pompeo Battoni, and the Spaniards Francisco Preciado de la Vega and Francisco Vergara (ASL 1754). In addition to Italian students, the academy had representatives from all over Europe, including twenty-four from France, twenty from Spain, twenty from Germany, sixteen from Flanders, and fewer numbers from Switzerland, Portugal, England, Poland and Russia (Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989).

* * * On April 12, 1752, Ferdinand VI signed a Royal decree to form the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in Madrid to promote the fine arts in Spain (Caveda y Nava 1867; Bédat 1989). Placed under the protection of Saint Ferdinand – the monarch’s namesake – the academy was modeled upon the highly esteemed Accademia di San Luca in Rome.9 The Spanish academy grew out of an informal gathering (tertulia) founded in 1739 by the Turinese sculptor Giovanni Domenico Olivieri (1708–62) who in the following year was appointed sculptor to Philip V (primer escultor del rey). The primary aim of the tertulia was to teach design (disegno, or diseño in Castillian), the concept formed in the artist’s mind that enabled one to apprehend objects and to carry out practical work accordingly, though, for the most part, students were instructed in life drawing, the orders of architecture, arithmetic, gnomonics, and perspective (Marías and Bustamente García 1989). An additional aim of the academy was to familiarize artists, as well as laymen who exhibited an interest in the arts, with the inherent benefits of entering into debate and discussion. With the approval of Philip V, the tertulia started by Olivieri took possession of apartments in the Real Casa de la Panadería in the Plaza Mayor, and a preparatory council (Junta preparatoria) was established on May 20, 1744, to serve as a crucial link in the evolution of the new academy (Navarrete Martínez 2007). The Junta issued a provisional constitution, the Reglas que se proponen al excelentísimo señor Marqués de Villarías para que, después de dos años de práctica que parecen convenientes por ahora, puedan contribuir a la formación de leyes para la Academia de Escultura, Pintura y Arquitectura que se intenta fundar en Madrid debajo de la protección del Rey, which laid the foundation for the future academy.10 From then on classes were taught 74 Metropoli dell’universo in the evenings. Olivieri himself selected the various professors, Louis Michel van Loo and Antonio González Ruiz in painting, Antoine Dumandré and Juan Bautista de la Peña in sculpture, and Giovanni Battista Sacchetti and Giacomo Pavia in architecture (Bédat 1989: 33). Though the Reglas stipulated that the Junta preparatoria would exist for only two years, after which it would transform into an official academy, it was not until almost eight years later that the transformation finally occurred. In the meantime, the members of the Junta recognized that simply establishing a presence in Madrid was not enough to transform Spanish architectural culture. The need to establish formal relations with Rome and create pensions for architectural study there was pressing. The Junta formally investigated the idea, and on December 16, 1745, by royal decree, the Junta approved the idea of sending a number of gifted students to Rome (Moleón Gavilanes 2003).11 Six positions were to be awarded, two of which already belonged to Francisco Preciado de la Vega (painting) and Francisco Vergara (sculpture) who had been receiving pensions in Rome since 1740. The Junta held a competition for the remaining four positions which were awarded to the painter Antonio González Velázquez (1723–94), the sculptor Francisco Gutiérrez (1727–82), and the architects Diego de Villanueva (1713–74), and Alejandro González Velázquez (1719–72), who although a painter like his younger brother, was also inclined to architecture. The two architects were quickly plagued by personal problems. First, Alejandro González Velázquez declined his pension as his wife had not properly con- sented to his travels. Consequently Miguel Fernández (c. 1726–86), a young architecture student in the recently established school of the Junta, was named as his substitute. On January 9, 1747, Miguel Fernández, Antonio González Velázquez, and Francisco Gutiérrez set off for Rome. Soon thereafter, Diego de Villanueva refused to depart, as he too was a married man and the likelihood of being separated from his wife was becoming increasingly untenable. Ferdinand VI, unhappy with the situation, consequently decided on May 2, 1747 to award the pension instead to José de Hermosilla (1715–76), a military engineer who had been working as a draftsman (delineador) alongside Ventura Rodríguez and Diego de Villanueva in the new Royal Palace in Madrid. Hermosilla’s appointment, however, was not as straightforward as one might think. As Claude Bédat (1989: 251) pointed out in his history of the academy, the members of the Junta were under the impression that the direction and organization of the academy was ultimately their responsibility, and therefore they were not accustomed to having decisions taken directly by the King. Such an intervention provoked the professors of the Junta, who were already suspicious of the quality of architects they were sending to Rome. Nevertheless, the King had been impressed with Hermosilla’s work at the new Royal Palace, and with the backing of José de Carvajal y Lancaster, his first minister, and Fernando Triviño, the vice-protector of the Junta, Hermosilla’s appointment was guaranteed. In this sense it can be said Metropoli dell’universo 75 that Miguel Fernández and José de Hermosilla were the first two Spanish architects to receive royal pensions to study in Rome, bringing to a close nearly three centuries of informal and unstructured journeys to Italy by Spanish architects. The statutes of the 1747 Junta made very clear the regulations concern- ing the organization of the Spanish pensioners in Rome. The six pensioners were to spend six years in Rome furthering their education. The pensioners were placed under the supervision of Manuel de la Roda y Arrieta, the King’s agent in Rome, and Alfonso Clemente de Aróstegui, the Spanish interim minister to the Vatican. Francisco Preciado de la Vega, the Spanish painter who had already been in Rome for several years, was appointed to assist the students in their work. Nevertheless, the pensioners were required to send examples of their work back to Madrid frequently for approval by the professors of the Junta. This form of supervision ensured that the pensioners’ time in Rome was not only productive but also worth the effort spent. Yet the Spaniards were often left alone. Aside from the personal contacts they made in Rome, usually on the suggestion of the Spanish crown, or the few architects within whose studios they worked, there was very little direct supervision. A significant aspect of the Junta’s program was the desire to imitate the French by establishing a unique presence in Rome comparable to that of the French Academy at the Palazzo Mancini on the Via del Corso (Salerno 1961b: 244–6). Unfortunately, the first pensioners sent to Rome by the Junta were not provided with the sumptuous lodgings and prestigious faculty that the students of San Luca, the French academy, or the Conca School at the Palazzo Farnese enjoyed (López de Menesés 1933–34). Initially, the Spanish students were instructed to reside at the hospice of San Giacomo, located adjacent to the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli on the Piazza Navona. The choice of the hospital was obvious, for the church had been historically the nucleus around which the Spanish community in Rome gathered. In addition, the church’s prime location on the Piazza Navona would make it possible for the king’s agent, Manuel de la Roda, to monitor the students’ progress much more easily. Due to unforeseen complications, however, the pensioners had to rely on their own abilities to find proper room and board. As a result, the students tended to be disorganized and difficult to supervise. In his correspondence with the Academy in Madrid, Preciado complained of his scant means, envying the French Academy with its own magnificent palace on the Via del Corso and substantial allowances (Bédat 1989: 260). Despite the difficulties associated with establishing an academic presence in Rome, the Junta believed that no other mode of education or exposure would be as effective in promoting the fine arts in Spain or cultivating a generation of new Spanish artists and architects. The combination of Roman grandeur with the influx of noted artists, scholars, and travelers from Italy and elsewhere in Europe created a fertile environment for young 76 Metropoli dell’universo

Spaniards to be immersed in the study of ancient and modern works of art. Rome was the key ingredient, but as we shall see, it was not a one-way relationship. The many Spanish architects and artists that visited the city in the first half of the eighteenth century were not simply concerned with absorbing Roman precedent. On the contrary, they left behind a discernible trace of architectural and artistic works that confirmed the city’s reputation as the metropoli dell’universo. 4 Iberian architects in Rome

As far as architecture is concerned, we say that the architect must conceive a noble Idea and establish an intellect to serve him as law and reason, and his inventions will consist in order, disposition, and the measure and harmonious proportion of the whole and its parts. But with respect to the decoration and ornaments of the orders, let him be sure to discover for himself the Idea that is established and confirmed by the examples of the ancients, who through the success of long study endowed this art with style. (Giovanni Pietro Bellori, The Lives of the Modern Painters, Sculptors and Architects)1

The years 1700–58 represented a period in Rome marked by unique buildings and projects of fascinating controversy that resulted in the transformation of the character of the city (Debenedetti 1989; Contardi and Curcio 1991; Kieven 1991; Minor 2010). The change in Rome’s intellectual and artistic life during this period was due largely to the initiatives of three pontiffs and their families, Clement XI Albani (1700–21), Clement XII Corsini (1730–40), and Benedict XIV Lambertini (1740–58). Through their vision and patronage some of the most important urban interventions in the city were created, the renewed interest in antique structures resulted in the restoration of several medieval churches, and Roman Rococo architecture reached its peak (Curcio 2000; Kieven 2000). Architecturally, Rome received an imaginatively embellished revival of Borrominian and Tuscan mannerist forms and monuments (Mallory 1977). A more sober Late Baroque classicism, inspired by Bernini, Carlo Fontana and the grand manner of the Roman Baroque, continued well into the middle decades of the century under the figures of Nicola Salvi (1697–1751), Ferdinando Fuga (1699–1782) and Luigi Vanvitelli (1700– 33), as the prevailing manner of all’antica design and building. These three architects in particular would have a pronounced impact on Spanish architecture in Rome, Naples and Madrid. Finally, in the 1740s, Giuseppe Vasi (1710–82), Giovanni Battista Nolli (1701–56) and Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720–78) began to define the topography of Rome and provide a new rigorist vision of antique monumentality. 78 Iberian architects in Rome

It was in this context that early eighteenth-century Spanish architects began to forge their own identity, and position themselves against the backdrop of mainstream European classicism. Indeed, the Spanish architects of the first half of the eighteenth century were extremely fortunate. They lived through a period in European history that not only witnessed a growing uneasiness about the recent and distant past, but also brought to light a desire for a new architectural order. Yet in their efforts to negotiate a critical path between these two seemingly incompatible views, they neither solved the complex historical, philosophical, and cultural uncertainties of the past, nor provided a clean slate for the future. Aware of the peculiar contingencies that characterized their own period, these Spaniards revealed how the architectural debates taking shape in Spain around 1750 were neither simply historicist nor positivist, but rather centered on notions of continuity and the struggle that each generation has in defining itself in relation to an increasingly distant past and an indeterminate future.

* * * As we have seen in the previous chapter, there were already two Iberian artists living and working in Rome when Miguel Fernández and José de Hermosilla were given royal pensions to travel to Italy by the Junta preparatoria of the Academia de San Fernando in 1747. Francisco Preciado de la Vega and Felipe de Castro arrived in Rome in 1732, and by the time the pensions had been awarded fifteen years later, both had achieved recognition at the Accademia di San Luca. A third Iberian artist, the Portuguese architect Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos (c. 1702–64) had been living in Rome since at least 1721 when he was first mentioned working there (Donò and Marino 1989). Almost nothing is known of his early architectural training or even how he arrived in Italy, but he would have an enormous impact on the face of Spanish Rome, and play a major role in promoting Iberian interests in the city.

Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos Trained as a cabinet-maker and master mason, Rodriguez Dos Santos’ formation as an architect was more practical than theoretical, having never attended the Accademia di San Luca or competed for its prizes. He was active in the early half of the eighteenth century at a time when the Roman Rococo flourished and, like many of his contemporaries, the unorthodox architecture of Borromini, and to a lesser extent the Tuscan mannerism of Pietro da Cortona and Michelangelo, were his primary inspirations. He would play a prominent role in setting the standard for future Iberian architects in Rome to follow, leaving a discernible trace of works under his name available for all to see, an accomplishment that remains to this day unmatched by any architect from Spain or Portugal. Iberian architects in Rome 79

It was not until 1721 that Rodriguez Dos Santos was mentioned as an architect working in Rome, his name mentioned in conjunction with an anonymous plan drawing for a Roman palace (Kieven 1988: 96; Donò and Marino 1989: 97).2 He was likely responsible for the façade decoration at the church of Santa Maria in Aracœli (the Franciscan church on the Capitoline Hill) to celebrate the proclamation of Pope Benedict XIII Orsini from May 29 to June 4, 1724 (Rodríguez Ruiz 2009: 27–8). An unsigned drawing of the façade with an abbreviated plan below resembles two other ephemeral designs that Rodriguez Dos Santos would produce for the same church in the subsequent years.3 The unfinished façade of the church was given two undulating stories of convex and concave surfaces, adorned with Corinthian columns, draped roundels, rich statuary, and the pontifical shield above the main portal. The curvilinear forms clearly recall Borromini’s façade for the church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane. The window and door surrounds reflect Borromini’s love of the aedicule niche, an element he experimented with at the Propaganda Fide façade, a building that Rodriguez Dos Santos must have also known as he resided in the Spanish quarter (ATSR, Breve Reseña: 2). Curiously, Rodriguez Dos Santos employed Solomonic columns on the second floor, with the undulating surface on the upper two thirds of the shaft and the lower part smooth, a treatment that was popular among Spanish architects in Andalusia but clearly not canonical in Roman circles, at least not among the followers of Bernini whose Baldacchino at Saint Peter’s was the paradigm for the type. Perhaps here too the inclusion of such an unusual variant to the Solomonic disposition reinforced his admiration of Borromini’s unorthodox approach to Roman classicism. Much more acceptable was the crowning balustrade, and baldachin over the central segmental pediment that framed a sunburst and symbol of the Holy Spirit. From September 24 to October 1, 1727, Rodriguez Dos Santos was again at the church of the Aracoeli to design the festivities for the canonization of the Franciscan saints Jacopo della Marca and Francisco Solano (Fagiolo 1997: 65). The interior and exterior decorations were commissioned by the Portuguese general of the order Josè Maria de Fonseca y Evora, whose family was loyal to the Spanish monarchs (Pietrangeli 1965a). It is worth noting that Francisco Solano (1549–1610) was a Spanish missionary, whose work at the Franciscan convent in Lima extended over a period of twenty years in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The celebrations for his canonization were equally celebrated in Lima under the direction of Fr. Diego Morcillo, who was the city’s archbishop at the time and a figure who would provide Rodriguez Dos Santos with his greatest architectural commission in Rome, the design for the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli (Mendiburu et al. 1931: VI, 365, VII, 357–9). In any event, the decorations of the façade of the Aracœli church were painted on canvas rather than built in situ.4 Nevertheless, they continued the Borrominian themes of the 1724 decorations, with three levels of 80 Iberian architects in Rome superimposed orders and multiple combinations of curvature on what was otherwise an unfinished blank surface. Described by Paolo Portoghesi (1970: 451) as “grammatically absurd,” because a number of columns on the upper story rest directly on the intermediate stringcourse with no visible support beneath, the design was in every other respect an extraordinary variation on Borrominian prototypes. Adorned with Corinthian columns, a broken pediment at the top, roundels, rich statuary, and aedicule windows, niches, and doors, the entire structure resembled a distinctively elaborate Spanish retable. An image of the two saints in glory was placed in the center of the second story, while statues of the two saints flanked the entrance portal below. Inside, the church was decorated with lavish drapery, and eighteen medallions representing the virtues and miracles of the two saints were placed on the clerestory walls above the arches lining the nave. Finally, a pyrotechnic set piece designed by Giuseppe Aldovrandini was placed in the piazza of the Campidoglio at the top of the cordonata (stair ramp) just behind the statues of Castor and Pollux (Gori Sassoli 1994: 178–9). The two story structure was capped with figures of Europe and Africa representing the universality of evangelization. The following year on September 8–16, Rodriguez Dos Santos employed the same basic layout for the celebration by Pope Benedict XIII of the octave of the canonization of Margaret of Cortona, a penitent of the Third Order of Saint Francis (Kieven 1988: 96; Fagiolo 1997: 70). The celebrations took place at Santa Maria in Aracoeli, and were also commissioned by Josè Maria de Fonseca y Evora. As in the previous year, the façade of the church was painted on canvas with the only real difference between the two schemes being that Rodriguez Dos Santos changed the basic iconography to reflect Margaret’s life, miracles, and virtues.5 The arms of the grand duke of Tuscany and the city of Cortona were also added. Otherwise the three story structure with alternating curved surfaces and a broken pediment top remained identical. The great staircase leading up to the church, however, was adorned with cornucopias and flanked by piers of coupled columns and pilasters supporting broken segmental pediments and globes. Inside, the church was cloaked in drapery and twelve medallions with images of the Saint’s life and miracles were placed on the clerestory walls above the arches of the nave. An additional four medallions representing the Saint’s virtues were located in the crossing. Precisely why the Portuguese architect would be commissioned to design an ephemeral façade for the Aracoeli church only to have it painted in subsequent celebrations remains unclear. However, the celebrations for the 1724 proclamation of Benedict XIII were celebrated throughout Rome rather than in any singular monument. Therefore, decorating the façade may have been the only necessary intervention in the church, justifying the expense of temporary wood, plaster, and paint. For the subsequent two canonizations in 1727–28, both the interior and exterior of the church needed to be decorated. Moreover, in 1727, a great pyrotechnic set piece was put up at the Iberian architects in Rome 81

Campidoglio whereas, in 1728 the great staircase leading up to the church was decorated with three-dimensional artifice. Perhaps, given the scale of the later celebrations, the facades could not be built out according to the drawings and therefore painted canvases had to suffice. This was not an uncommon practice. In the same year, on September 16, 1728, Rodriguez Dos Santos was entrusted with the shoring of the northern walls of the Spanish Staircase towards the Via di San Sebastianello (Settimi 1989: 116). Though modest in scope, the work was at least a permanent intervention. The scalinata had suffered structural damage from a rainstorm during its construction. The French Minims from the church of the Trinità dei Monti at the top of the hill commissioned Rodriguez Dos Santos after filing a legal case against the architect, Francesco de Sanctis, and capomastri, Giuseppe Sardi and Francesco Bianchi. Though not a major work, it was Rodriguez Dos Santos’ first engagement with the Trinitarians in Rome and certainly excellent exposure in general. Rodriguez Dos Santos’ first major work was at the church of Santa Maria Maddalena located in the Campo Marzio near the Pantheon, a structure built by the order of Saint Camillus de Lellis to take care of the sick (Mortari 1987). Acquired by the order in 1586, the new church, convent, and infirmary was started in 1659 by the Bolognese painter and architect, Giovanni Francesco Grimaldi (1606–80), though his work is difficult to confirm as no drawings exist. Subsequent interventions by Carlo Fontana (1673), Giovanni Antonio de Rossi (1676) and Carlo Giulio Quadri (1696–99) completed the church as it stands today. Carlo Francesco Bizzaccheri (1656–1721), however, was the principal architect who reconfigured the convent and cloister in 1680–1709 prior to Rodriguez Dos Santos’ intervention. On August 17, 1732, Rodriguez Dos Santos began the project to complete the northern wing of the monastery, bringing into cohesion several structures from different eras that surrounded the cloister. He also provided a new entrance to the courtyard from the Via del Collegio Capranica to the north. His façade for the monastery nevertheless maintained the informal arrangement established previously by Bizzaccheri in the 1680s, with the irregular spacing of windows reflecting the internal contingencies of the convent’s plan and section. Within the convent, Rodriguez Dos Santos also reconfigured the west-facing wing of the cloister, providing provisional space for the refectory on the ground floor, a room that would later be reconfigured into the sacristy. Finally, Rodriguez Dos Santos intervened in one of the more intimate and important spaces in the convent, the chapel of S. Camillus, a room in the old infirmary where the Saint had died and had subsequently been transformed into a private chapel for the monks. The chapel was elevated to the first floor above ground level and reconstructed to its original state. There has been great debate as to who designed the façade of the Maddalena church, what is often considered the most Rococo façade in 82 Iberian architects in Rome

Rome (Mallory 1967; Marino 1990–92). Historically it has been attributed to the Marchesan capomastro and autodidact Giuseppe Sardi (1680–1768), though the differences in character between the Maddalena façade and others by him throw the attribution into doubt. More recently, Rodriguez Dos Santos has been associated with the design. It is likely that the three-bay curved façade on two stories with an unusual apsidal niche pediment was originally conceived as early as 1696–98 by Carlo Giulio Quadri, and all that remained by the early eighteenth century was the decorative stucco work. The interventions in 1735 transformed the façade in a way never seen previously in any Roman church, introducing aedicule windows, doors, and niches with a kind of decorative strapwork that was typically associated with furniture (Figure 4.1). A similar kind of decoration was included inside the church on the singing gallery (cantoria) of the counter façade, and in a similar cantoria at the church of Santa Chiara in Anagni, also designed by Rodriguez Dos Santos around the same time. Sardi was not involved in the work at Anagni and his name was never mentioned in relation to the church of the Maddalena, suggesting that the author of the decorative aspects of the façade must have been the Portuguese architect. It was while working on the Maddalena complex that Rodriguez Dos Santos received his most important commission, the design of the church, convent, and hospice of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, a work that will be the sole focus of the following chapter. During this time, the Portuguese architect was also involved in the church of the Bambin Gesú, designing the Corsini Chapel in 1736 (Gärms 1979). The church was founded by the Oblate

Figure 4.1 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, façade, S. Maria Maddalena, Rome (1735). Photo by author. Iberian architects in Rome 83

Sisters of the Holy Child Jesus in 1672, dedicated to educating young girls, and in particular helping young women who had fallen into prostitution. In 1708, they started a new school and convent on the Esquiline Hill near Santa Maria Maggiore. Alessandro Specchi was the first architect of the site producing two idealized schemes that never materialized. He was followed by Carlo Buratti who initiated the construction of the church in 1731. Ferdinando Fuga took over the following year completing the church in 1736. A centralized plan with two lateral chapels, a vestibule and a sanctuary for the high altar, Rodriguez Dos Santos was commissioned with the retable altar for the left chapel.6 Commissioned by the Portuguese Archbishop of Pyrgi, Cristoforo Almeyda from Fregenal de la Sierra, the chapel was probably donated as a result of the Spaniard having just recently been elevated to the College of Cardinals. The Archbishop consecrated the chapel on September 16, 1736, and though it bears the Almeyda arms, it was dedicated to the fourteenth-century Italian saint, Andrea Corsini, the “Apostle of Florence,” whose descendant Lorenzo was Pope Clement XII (Mancini 1997: 105). A canvas by Giacomo Zoboli, showing the Florentine saint venerating a vision of the Madonna, was placed within Rodriguez Dos Santos’ aedicule frame. The retable consisted simply of two composite pilasters supporting a broken pagoda pediment with a second segmental pediment inserted within as part of the frame for the painting. Borrominian elements such as inverted volutes and winged cherubs completed the decorative scheme of the altar. Though modest in scope, Rodriguez Dos Santos had the great opportunity to work alongside the most important architect in Rome at the time, on a project dedicated to the patron saint of the papal family. South of Rome, Rodriguez Dos Santos worked on two projects in Anagni, the church of Santa Chiara and the church of Santa Maria di Palazzo. Santa Chiara was built within the existing foundations of the medieval convent for the Order of Saint Claire around 1255 (Donò, and Marino 1989: 98). A new church for the convent was conceived by the Order in 1723, and an unknown architect named Michelangelo Bertone was commissioned to investigate the possibility. Rodriguez Dos Santos produced the final scheme, with the foundation stone placed on June 2, 1733, though it was not consecrated until June 23, 1754. Rodriguez Dos Santos’ scheme consisted of an oval plan with two lateral chapels, a vestibule, and a presbytery, behind which was the choir as stipulated by the regulations of the Order. Four diagonal spaces occupied the corners of the scheme, and consisted of sacristy, vestry, confessional, and sacramental chapel. Eight composite pilasters with inverted volutes lined the nave of the church, separating the various functions at ground level, and a continuous cornice – broken at the entrance and high altar – separated the lower story from the vault above. The vault was pierced by six arched windows, and four decorative ribs culminated in a central panel with the symbol of the Holy Spirit. The ribs sprang from the apex of the four main arches in the nave and conveyed 84 Iberian architects in Rome a non-tectonic quality similar to Borromini’s treatment of the vault at the oratory of the Propaganda Fide in Rome. The high altar had its own vault in the form of a shallow oval dome with four pendentives set perpendicular to the nave vault. The main retable consisted of two free-standing composite columns supporting a broken segmental pediment with a second pediment rising from the tympanum, similar to the Corsini altar at the Bambin Gesú. The entrance was divided into two stories with the ground floor containing a wooden sentry box (bussetto), and the upper loft serving as a singing gallery (cantoria). The two spaces were separated by a strapwork parapet that resembled carpenters’ woodwork in furniture rather than the traditional baluster-cornice arrangement. Throughout, Rodriguez Dos Santos employed decorative motifs derived largely from Borromini, such as inverted volutes, segmental pediments, angels with wings, and ribbed vault- ing, all of which ornamented the simple logic of the structure. The flat façade of Santa Chiara is the product of the plasterer, Pietro Stoppani, who in 1775 completed the unfinished work. In 1737, Rodriguez Dos Santos was involved in the reconfiguration of another church in Anagni, Santa Maria di Palazzo or del Popolo, which was largely in ruins (Raspa 1986: 369, 1986: 235–6; Donò and Marino 1989: 100–1). The decision was taken to reconstruct the building rather than restore it. Rodriguez Dos Santos produced a Greek cross plan of four equal arms terminating in rectilinear ends. A cupola set on four pendentives marked the center, and a simple barrel vault covered the extended arms. The interior was articulated with Composite pilasters lining the walls, and retable altars terminating the three arms of the cross. Additionally, windows were located in the lunettes above each extended arm. The whole was much more cerebral and ideal, like the Bambin Gesú, than Santa Chiara with its oval plan and undulating surfaces. The façade continued the reductive scheme, with each arm of the cross clearly identified in volume, and with emphasis on centrality and axial projection. However, it was marked by a heavy attic story that resembled Filippo Raguzzini’s chapel façade at the hospital of San Gallicano in Rome (1724–26). Construction on the church was slow and the only in 1754 was the project nearly complete. It is important to remember that Rodriguez Dos Santos resided permanently in Rome during this time. Moreover he was busy working on the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli. The dating of the Anagni churches coin- cide with the Roman project, and their protracted construction point to a delay that, as we shall see in the next chapter, was due to Rodriguez Dos Santos’ heavy involvement with the Spanish Trinitarians in Rome. Finally, between 1733 and 1750, Rodriguez Dos Santos was the architect of the church of Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi in Rome, where he carried out his last great project, the decorations to commemorate the funeral of John V of Portugal on May 24, 1751 (Fagiolo 1997: 146–8). The façade of the church was heavily draped. A great medallion, with images of the Church and Religion, was placed underneath the upper story pediment, and the arms Iberian architects in Rome 85 of Portugal were located above the entry portal. Two additional medallions representing the four parts of the world were placed above the lateral portals. Inside, the church was draped throughout, and more medallions symbolizing the monarch’s virtues were placed above each pilaster lining the nave. The Tumulo Regio (royal catafalque), consisting of a circular pavilion with four sets of coupled columns supporting a great crown above, was placed directly beneath the dome at the crossing. A statue of the monarch in armor stood atop an urn that was suspended in the middle of the pavilion by four figures representing the four parts of the globe. Unlike the Aracoeli decorations, which were largely painted on canvas, here the work was marvelously fleshed out in wood, stucco, cloth, and paint. Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos remains an architect largely neglected and, for the most part, misunderstood. His projects, with the exception of Santissima Trinità, are considered of minor importance or exaggerations on Roman Rococo themes. Yet, Rodriguez Dos Santos is an excellent example of a foreign architect completely immersed in the currents of Roman Rococo architecture, producing some highly competent work, even if some of his early ephemeral projects were not entirely plausible. Compared with the many foreign architects who were in Rome in the first half of the eighteenth century, most notably the pupils of Carlo Fontana, such as Johan Bernhard Fischer von Erlach and James Gibbs, Rodriguez Dos Santos stands out as a rare figure insofar as significant traces of his work still remain in Italy. Whereas most of his foreign counterparts had to leave Rome and seek work elsewhere, Rodriguez Dos Santos had the good fortune of being patronized by both the Portuguese and Spanish communities in the city.

Francisco Preciado de la Vega The Spanish painter Francisco Preciado de la Vega is known primarily as an artist who lived and worked in Rome and administered the activities of Spaniards sent there by the academy in Madrid. He is also distinguished by his multiple tenures as director of the Accademia di San Luca, but his architectural designs are rarely considered. Like his mentor, Sebastiano Conca, Preciado de la Vega engaged in the design of important architectural set pieces, particularly for the Chinea celebrations in Rome 1744–50 (Fagiolo 1997: 127–46; Cornudella i Carré 1997: 102–4). As previously noted in Chapter 2, the Chinea was a particularly important festival as it symbolically represented Neapolitan gratitude to the papacy for the fiefdom of Naples (Gori Sassoli 1994; Moore 1995). After Carlo di Borbone assumed the throne of Naples in 1738, the celebrations took place in the Piazza Farnese directly in front of his mother Elizabeth Farnese’s family palace, with two set pieces erected, one of which was also a pyrotechnic structure. In the early eighteenth century, the majority of set pieces for the Chinea were designed by French pensioners in Rome, so the inclusion of the Spaniard, Preciado de la Vega, in the 1744 celebrations was certainly 86 Iberian architects in Rome unusual. Previously the only Spanish artist involved in the celebrations was Miguel Sorelló, who engraved many of the designs. Preciado’s first scheme for the 1744 Chinea, a pastoral scene depicting the history of Aeneas and the Cumaean Sibyl, lacked any kind of architectural artifice or framework (Figure 4.2). Rather, Preciado presents a landscape representing Cumae and the entrance to the sibyl’s grotto, the setting in which the Roman legend codified in Virgil’s Aeneid takes place. Preciado’s contemporary at the French academy, Louis-Joseph Le Lorrain (1715–59), was responsible for the other set piece, a similarly a-tectonic scene depicting Mercury leading a Goddess to Olympus. The two would face each other again in several Chinea festivals, and their designs would move away from paintings to making set pieces. Yet Preciado’s 1744 scheme is not without intrigue, as it was produced just before the famous visit of Carlo di Borbone to Rome, when the Neapolitan monarch met Benedict XIV Lambertini at Ferdinando Fuga’s Coffee-House in the Quirinal Palace gardens on November 3, 1744. The visit, inspired by Charles’ victory over the Imperial troops at Velletri (August 12, 1744) during the War of Austrian Succession, was brilliantly depicted by Giovanni Paolo Panini in a large canvas. Panini’s painting included within the composition images of the Spanish Cardinal Troiano Acquaviva and the Neapolitan ambassador extraordinary Fabrizio Colonna (Urrea Fernández 2006: 112–15). Acquaviva had mediated on behalf of the Bourbon Court to have the Pope recognize Carlo as the

Figure 4.2 Francisco Preciado de la Vega, Aeneas and the Cuaean Sibyl, Rome (1744). Courtesy NGA, acc. no. 1996.48.5. Iberian architects in Rome 87 rightful king of Naples and the Two Sicilies, and Colonna of course was the Neapolitan ambassador who annually delivered the Chinea. So the choice of having Francisco Preciado de la Vega design one of the two set pieces for the 1744 celebrations in the Piazza Farnese is a clear indication of the emerging presence of the Bourbon court in Roman politics and culture. Moreover, the Cumaean sibyl’s prophesy that Aeneas would reach the kingdom he sought paralleled Carlo di Borbone’s assumption to the Neapolitan throne. Given the charged political content of the 1744 Chinea, it is not surprising then that Preciado de la Vega would design the set pieces for the celebrations over the next five years. It should also be noted that Panini considerably altered Fuga’s design for the Coffee House in his famous painting, by adding curved balustrades with vases out front, additional windows in the end bays, a balustrade parapet above with a much more ornamental cartouche at the center, and coupling the Doric pilasters except at the corners, making the whole seem richer than the original modest structure (Rykwert 1980: 341–2). This is surprising, as Panini had painted several of Fuga’s buildings on the Quirinal, as well as his façade for Santa Maria Maggiore, never altering them. It seems that the issue of what constituted an appropriate scenic backdrop was at the top of Panini’s mind when he depicted the Coffee House, as the building’s severe simplicity was perhaps too plain for the veduta painter. The question between plain or decorative would be a recurring theme in the subsequent Chinea celebrations of the late 1740s, making them some of the most impressive and resonant architectural designs of the eighteenth century. For the 1745 Chinea, Le Lorrain designed a set piece in the form a triple arch open on four sides, surmounted by a circular tempietto recalling Bernini’s aedicule niche at the Cornaro chapel (dedicated to Saint Teresa of Avila) at Santa Maria della Vittoria. The tempietto had a conical top with a winged victory above, and a coffered dome within. On the lower section, spirally garlanded Ionic columns framed the central arch and lateral sides, and secondary Tuscan columns supported the central arch and side openings. The iconographical program represented the return of Carlo di Borbone to Naples after the victory at Velletri, with appropriate garlands, relief panels, and statuary. What made Le Lorrain’s scheme so noticeable was its architectural restraint, a reductive volume with columnar elements suggesting antique accuracy. To celebrate the Chinea of June 28–29, 1746, two structures were erected in the Piazza Farnese, one by Le Lorrain and the other by Preciado de la Vega. Le Lorrain’s scheme, a temple dedicated to Minerva, was even more ambitious and restrained. The scheme took the form of a two-story structure consisting of a simple rectangular block set on a high base, with straight flights of stairs leading to porticoes of coupled columns in front and back, and open hemicycle apses along the sides (Figure 4.3).7 The central block was capped by a cylindrical top reminiscent of Castel Sant’Angelo, with a statue of Minerva instead of Michael, from which the pyrotechnics 88 Iberian architects in Rome

Figure 4.3 Louis-Joseph Le Lorrain, Chinea, Rome (1746). Courtesy NGA, acc. no. 1996.48.4. would explode. The proto-neoclassical forms were mostly stripped of any decoration, except for statuary in the lower niches and above the cornice line, and as a running frieze in the upper cylinder, and the entire set piece seems to have hovered on a cloud. In contrast, Preciado’s scheme consisted of a compact two-story structure with superimposed pilasters and niches. At the center, a deep-set columnar niche – superimposed on two-stories with an equestrian statue of Carlo di Borbone below and Virtue above – was capped by a broken segmental pediment displaying the crest of Naples (Figure 4.4). Recalling in composition the structure of the Trevi fountain just under construction, Preciado’s scheme was planar, upright, and grammatically accurate with respect to the classical elements. The only major decoration was in the allegorical emblems and statuary that appropriately celebrated the distinct parts of the kingdom of Naples and the Two Sicilies. Curiously, the plinth below the equestrian statue of Carlo contained an image of the three-legged symbol of Sicily, the triskelion, with the Greek inscription IEPΩO∑ just beneath it on the pave- ment. The inscription was actually a name and it referred to Hiero II of Syracuse, the wise king who summoned Archimedes to determine how one could measure the relative density of gold and silver, as the king had received a votive gold crown that he was not convinced was pure. Archimides discovered a way to solve the problem while taking a bath, real- izing that by dividing the mass of the crown by the volume of water Iberian architects in Rome 89 displaced, he could determine the density of the crown and whether it had been made of pure gold or filled with silver. He was so excited by his discovery that he famously proclaimed “eureka” (I’ve found it) and ran through the streets naked with pride. The test was conducted and indeed the crown had been doctored. The story first appeared in Vitruvius’ Ten Books on Architecture, and its inclusion within the allegorical program of Preciado’s Chinea is not without interest. Seen together with the equestrian statue of Carlo, and the figure of Virtue above, the allusion is quite clear. Carlo, like Hiero, was a virtuous man who rose to prince hood from a private station, but he was also wise in a Solomonic sense, as his prudent nature governed his actions as ruler. Preciado de la Vega’s scheme for the 1746 Chinea has often been criticized as conservative and uninspired, very much in the Late Baroque style of Ferdinando Fuga, whereas the visionary monumentality of Le Lorrain’s set piece has been greatly praised (Harris 1969; Rykwert 1980: 358).8 However, an anonymous etching from the around the same time shows the procession of the Chinea heading towards the Vatican with Le Lorrain’s set piece located opposite the Castel Sant’Angelo, with Saint Peter’s axially visible in the distance.9 The backdrop is clearly not the Piazza Farnese, though the great palace is seen to the left. Additionally, Le Lorrain’s set piece is not hovering on a cloud in the piazza but rather seems to be part of the procession, as if it were being carried alongside the white horse. Clearly, the image

Figure 4.4 Francisco Preciado de la Vega, Chinea, Rome (1746). Courtesy NGA, acc. no. 1996.48.6. 90 Iberian architects in Rome is a composite view of the procession from the Piazza Farnese to the Vatican, without making any precise topographical sense. As John Moore (1995: 584) has pointed out, one of the challenges in evaluating Chinea etchings is that the artists who produced them usually worked in their studios rather than in situ. Their representations were in fact re-presentations of events rather than photographic snap shots that accurately documented specific moments. Moreover, as the ephemeral set pieces no longer exist, interpreting their true size and character can often be difficult. The anonymous etching of the Chinea then poses a problem as Le Lorrain’s set piece seems enormous compared to the Farnese façade, but miniature and cartoon-like compared to the figures in the procession. It is difficult to know which of the two is more accurate, and if it is the latter case, then we could justifiably question how monumental and visionary the French architect’s design really was. Preciado de la Vega would design four other set pieces for the Chinea celebrations of 1747–50, always depicted in engravings by Miguel Sorrelló, and always set opposite those of French pensioners such as Louis-Joseph Le Lorrain, Ennemond-Alexandre Petitot (1727–1801), and Jérôme-Charles Bellicard (1726–86). For the 1747 feast, Preciado placed a miniature Castel Sant’Angelo, topped by a white horse – instead of St. Michael – on a large platform base with four octagonal minarets at the corners terminating in Borromini-like spiraling cones. The eclectic structure, symbolizing the orti pensili (hanging gardens) of Campania, was situated on a rock outcropping not unlike his mentor Sebastiano Conca’s set piece to celebrate the birth of the Spanish infante Don Luis in 1727. For the 1748 Chinea, Preciado presented an octagonal two-story pavilion with projecting porticoes on the four angles of the lower story and the Neapolitan crest above. Simple, clear and upright, Preciado’s scheme was framed by statuary groups along the perimeter symbolizing the four regions of the globe. For the 1749 Chinea, Preciado produced a small Bernini-like open pavilion dedicated to Peace, consisting of four single bay Corinthian pediment fronts, and a shallow dome. The little temple stood on clouds surrounded by figures representing the concord brought about by the Bourbons, and at the center, the figure of Peace rested on the armor of her defeated enemies. The final Chinea of 1750 presented a tranquil and easily accessible Mount Vesuvius, symbolizing the royal clem- ency of the Bourbon court. This would be the last of Preciado’s six schemes, as well as Sorelló’s last etching. Thereafter two Italians would dominate the celebrations, the architect Paolo Posi and engraver Giuseppe Vasi, bringing to a close the intense competition between French and Spanish artists. In general, these designs continued the architectural themes set out in the 1746 set piece, displaying clever variants on contemporary Roman classicism. In contrast, Le Lorrain’s designs for the 1747 and 1748 Chinea celebrations continued his fascination with abstract reductive volumes based on archaeological investigations, signaling an attitude towards stripped classicism that was gaining ground in the middle decades of the eighteenth century, particularly among students at the French academy who Iberian architects in Rome 91 were influenced by Giovanni Battista Piranesi’s studies of antiquities (Oechslin 1978a).10 His unique vision, based on bold reductive volumes and columnar compositions, was unprecedented and certainly intoxicating to students and patrons alike, its immediate influence most evident in the Chinea festival designs of Le Lorrain, Petitot, and Bellicard. Ennemond-Alexandre Petitot spent four years in Rome before becoming court architect to Carlo di Borbone’s younger brother Philip, Duke of Parma (r. 1748–65), remodeling in 1753 the ducal residence of Colorno where the young Carlo had resided prior to conquering Naples (Bédarida 1989). Petitot’s 1749 Chinea design consisted of an enormous amphitheater on two stories that celebrated the recent discovery of the theater at Herculaneum. Described as an Idea, or imaginary conception, the rusticated lower arcade with four appended porticoes of coupled Ionic columns was surmounted by an uninterrupted ring of engaged Corinthian columns with intermediate statuary niches. A continuous entablature broken only by a winged escutcheon at the center, capped the colossal structure, reinforcing its relentless cerebral quality. Jérôme-Charles Bellicard produced a curious tower design for the 1750 Chinea, set opposite Preciado de la Vega’s Mount Vesuvius. The scheme, also referred to as an Idea, celebrated the new lighthouse and pier to be built in the port of Naples. Composed of two superimposed towers – square and circular in plan – above a rectangular base with four appended portico entrances, the fancy invention rested on a grand fortified pier. Bellicard had arrived in Rome the previous year and had made a journey to Pozzuoli in 1749. He also produced etchings for Piranesi’s Varie vedute di Roma antica e moderna (c. 1748–78). His career took off shortly after the Chinea festival as he was selected to travel in Italy with Abel-François Poisson de Vandières, the Marquis of Marigny (Gordon 1990). Brother of Mme. de Pompadour, the mistress of Louis XV, Vandières was designated in 1746 to become the Directeur-Général des Bâtiments, Jardins, Arts, Académies et Manufactures du Roi, effectively becoming the art tzar of France. To that end, in 1749–51 he went on an extended Grand Tour of Italy accompanied by the Abbé Le Blanc, the engraver Charles-Nicolas Cochin II and the architect Jacques-Germain Soufflot, who would become ill and be replaced by Bellicard. Travelling through Naples and the Campania, Bellicard would produce his Observations sur les antiquités de la ville d’Herculanum (1754; in translation Bellicard and Cochin 1756), as well as a remarkable sketchbook of the antiquities from Rome, Campania, and elsewhere in Italy.11 While it is tempting to take sides with the French architects in the Chinea celebrations of 1746–50, preferring the visionary antico-monumental schemes of the French architects over Preciado de la Vega’s very Roman Late Baroque designs, the theoretical split is somewhat superficial. It is hardly plausible to characterize such figures as Ferdinando Fuga, Sebastiano Conca, and Francisco Preciado de la Vega as conservative and uninspired artists, especially since all three still had their best years before them, particularly in 92 Iberian architects in Rome

Naples where, after 1750, Fuga and Conca would receive important royal and private commissions. Moreover, Fuga already experimented with stripped pilasters and simple planar forms in many of his projects in Rome in the 1730s and 40s, such as the so-called manica lunga wing of the Palazzo Quirinale (1731), the nearby Palazzo della Consulta (1732), or the atrium and portal of the church of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere (1741), demonstrating that an architect could be both practical and exuberant at the same time. Likewise, Preciado’s career as a painter would take off at the same time he was designing the Chinea set pieces. In 1748, he was nominated accademico di merito by the Roman academy and his reputation there would only increase in the following decades. If anything then, it seems that Preciado, like many of his contemporaries in architecture and sculpture in the 1730s and 40s, was promoting the grand manner of contemporary Roman classicism over the more pictorial and highly plastic Rococo style of the earlier decades. In this sense, his schemes for the Chinea celebrations have more in common with the archaeological monumentality of the French pensioners’ projects, even if they differ in precedent and temperament.

Ventura Rodríguez Perhaps more than anyone in the early eighteenth century, Ventura Rodríguez (1717–85) stands as the most exemplary Spanish architect, for he exhibited an outstanding character and ability that was unmatched by any of his immediate contemporaries (Reese 1976). Though he never made it to Italy, Rodríguez’ direct link with Italian artistic currents is well known, having been trained in the ateliers of the royal residences of Aranjuez, San Ildefonso (La Granja), and Madrid. In addition to his training with Filippo Juvarra and Giovanni Battista Sachetti at Madrid, he had worked under the Piacenzan architect and decorator Giovanni Battista Galluzzi, who had arrived in Spain about 1730 and placed in charge of the decoration of the interiors of the Royal Palace at Aranjuez (Bottineau 1986a: 453). Galluzzi brought with him his assistant Giacomo Bonavía, a painter-architect also from Piacenza. Though Galluzzi died early in 1735, Bonavía remained in Spain until his death in 1759, working primarily as the architect and planner in charge of rebuilding the palace and renovating the town of Aranjuez. There is, perhaps, no project in Rodríguez’ portfolio that illustrates the debates on the emerging Italian influence in Spain better than his Idea de un templo magnifico for the Accademia di San Luca in Rome (Marconi et al. 1974: II, 9). Late in 1745, when Rodríguez was teaching architecture in the Junta preparatoria in Madrid, the Roman academy elected him an accademico di merito, but it was not until three years later that he submitted his final design as a dono accademico. That an architect would submit a completed project several years after receiving a diploma is certainly a curious situation, though by doing so he fulfilled the academy’s requirement that he present a design of his own invention. Thomas Reese (1976: 48) Iberian architects in Rome 93 has suggested that this was likely the result of the Roman academy’s requirement that a member be thirty years of age. Yet the issue of experience extended well beyond the minimum age requirement. The Junta had originally appointed four professors to teach architecture: three Italians, Giovanni Battista Sacchetti, Giacomo Pavia, Giacomo Bonavía; and one Spaniard, Francisco Ruiz. All of the professors were over-burdened with their professional responsibilities and, as a consequence, the teaching of architecture at the Junta waned under the weight of early growing pains (Bédat 1989: 52 ff). Since February of 1745, Rodríguez had been teaching as a substitute for Sacchetti, who was committed to his Royal commissions over his obligations to the academy. In 1745, following the death of Francisco Ruiz, Rodríguez applied for the vacant teaching post. He was turned down, as the Junta felt he was insuffi- ciently qualified, but after a year of remaining unfilled, the position was finally awarded to him under the caveat that he was serving as Sacchetti’s substitute. Nevertheless, the Junta maintained their position that he was still too inexperienced to be a director of architecture, even though the students preferred his teaching methods to those of his colleague, the Frenchman François Carlier (Caveda y Nava 1867: 124). Rodríguez was intent on reversing the opinion that he was unqualified to hold an academic post, and therefore he applied to be recognized by the Roman academy. His Idea de un templo magnifico was evidence of his merit and mastery of design. Rodríguez was so confident of his skills that he even sent copies of the drawings to the new monarch Ferdinand VI, in the hope that the king might approve of them as well and recommend him to the Junta. In spite of his efforts, Rodríguez never achieved the degree of recognition one would have imagined given his prom- ising background, and, even though the Roman academy elected him an accademico di merito, he never did make it to Rome. The principal aim of Rodríguez’ design was to tackle the single most important building type of contemporary Roman architecture – the centralized church plan as perfected in the Basilica of Saint Peter’s. Gil Smith (1993) has drawn attention to the importance of the centralized plan in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Rome, particularly with respect to the frequency with which it was given as a theme in the architectural competitions at the Accademia di San Luca. The teaching methods of the Roman academy were key to the development of Late Baroque architecture in Spain. As pointed out by Reese (1976: 31):

the faculty of architecture under the Junta preparatoria was dominated by Italian architects working in the Spanish court who were all educated in the traditions of the Italian Baroque. Their task was to educate the pupils in these Italian traditions, their method involved the copying and imitation of the most celebrated monuments of the past, and their tools were the treatises, engravings, and illustrated books which were disseminated throughout Europe by publication. 94 Iberian architects in Rome

Hence, Rodríguez’ design for a magnificent church signaled a turning point in the way that Spaniards would consider Roman architecture in the future. As already noted in the previous chapter, Miguel Fernández and José de Hermosilla were the first Spanish architects awarded a royal pension to study architecture in Rome. On January 9, 1747, Miguel Fernández set off for Italy in the company of his fellow pensioners, Antonio González Velázquez, and Francisco Gutiérrez. Hermosilla was awarded a pension in May of 1747 and he set off on his journey to Italy shortly thereafter. It is likely that both Fernández and Hermosilla had seen Ventura Rodríguez’ Idea de un templo magnifico. Moreover, they understood that the latter’s relationship with the Roman academy was a requisite step in completing his education and setting him on the correct path to achieving artistic excellence. Prior to their respective departures, Fernández had been a pupil of Rodríguez in the Junta preparatoria, and Hermosilla had been working as a draftsman (delineador) alongside Rodríguez at the new Royal Palace in Madrid. And, even though Rodríguez did not complete his scheme until August 24, 1748, he had been working on the design for nearly three years. Moreover, aside from his professional and academic responsibilities at the Royal Palace and the Junta preparatoria, Rodríguez’ most important personal goal at the time was to establish a reputation as a critically-independent architect. Of all of Rodríguez’ early works, none displayed his interest with the notion of Roman grandeur and mastery of the Baroque formal vocabulary as intensely or profoundly as the Idea de un templo magnifico. Therefore, when Fernández and Hermosilla set off for Rome in the late 1740s, they had a very clear idea of what their initial task had to be, and what sources they needed to verify in order to proceed with their own ideas for a magnificent church.

Miguel Fernández Unknown for the most part, Miguel Fernández (c. 1726–86) played an important role in the development of eighteenth-century Spanish architecture, and moments in his life were marked by great accomplishment (Bérchez 1993). Alongside José de Hermosilla, he was the first Spanish architect to travel to Italy with a royal pension and immerse himself in the study of Roman architecture. During his stay in Rome, Fernández not only met a number of important Italian architects, but also acquired an appreciation for Roman Baroque classicism that would remain with him throughout his life. His subsequent professional and academic endeavors in Madrid and Valencia clearly illustrate the degree to which Roman influence spread throughout Spain in the eighteenth century. Little is known of Fernández’ training other than he was one of the first students to study architecture at the newly established Junta preparatoria of the Academia de San Fernando. It is probable that of the twelve artists Iberian architects in Rome 95 enrolled in the first class of the academy in 1745, Fernández was among the youngest. At the Junta, Fernández studied under Ventura Rodríguez and Giacomo Pavia, an Italian architect from Bologna and member of the Accademia Clementina of the same city (Quintana Martínez 1983: 39–40). During this time, Fernández developed an interest in Italian Late Baroque architecture, a trend that, as we have seen, was particularly robust. In 1746, he competed for the Rome prize and was awarded the position as a substitute, receiving a pension to study architecture in Rome where he remained for eleven years. Miguel Fernández claimed that while he was in Rome he had the good fortune of studying under Luigi Vanvitelli, the famous Italian architect and son of the Dutch vedutista Gaspar van Wittel (Bérchez 1993: 371). As the chief architect of Saint Peter’s, Vanvitelli was certainly active in Rome during the late 1740s and early 1750s. Among his notable works of this period were the design to stabilize Michelangelo’s dome at Saint Peter’s, which had developed cracks, and the enlargement of the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, which had originally been Michelangelo’s transformation of the Baths of Diocletian. If Fernández studied under Vanvitelli in Rome, then it is probable that through his master’s teaching he became fascinated with the work of Michelangelo. Ferdinando Fuga most likely introduced Fernández to Vanvitelli, for the two Italian masters were associated both with the Spanish community in Rome and the Court of Carlo di Borbone in Naples.12 It is unclear what Fernández’ association with the various academies in Rome may have been, as his name does not appear in the records of the Accademia di San Luca, or that of the Accademia del Nudo. Moreover, given that there were no competitions at San Luca in the 1740s and only three in the 1750s, it is not surprising that Fernández’ name does not appear in the academy’s archives. Neverthless, after an eleven-year interruption the First Class competition of 1750 (an Academy of Fine Arts) was won by Francesco Sabbatini (Marconi et al. 1974: 18–19). The brief for an academy had already been the subject of the 1708 and 1732 competitions, and it was clear that the academy was in the process of re-defining itself in the first half of the eighteenth century (Challingsworth 1992).13 This impulse to re- consider architectural education both in content and context would have an enormous impact on the young Spaniard. He would not only become a teacher of architecture at the newly established academy in Madrid, but also work on major monuments in the capital under Sabbatini, who would move there permanently when Carlo di Borbone became Charles III, King of Spain, in 1759. It is likely that Fernández met Sabbatini in Rome during this period and that their relationship solidified quickly. Similarly, Sabbatini most likely met Vanvitelli in Rome during the concorso of 1750, for shortly thereafter he was off to Naples to work at the Palace of Caserta for Carlo di Borbone. It is generally held that Vanvitelli was the tutor for the three prizewinners, 96 Iberian architects in Rome

Sabbatini, Gaetano Sintes and Francesco Collecini, though there is no factual evidence to support this claim (Gärms 1993: 61). Nevertheless, following the competition, the three followed Vanvitelli to Naples where they were employed in his studio at Caserta. Sabbatini was a direct descendant of the Roman tradition of austere, sober, massive and solemn architecture. From Vanvitelli, and before that Fontana and Bernini, Sabbatini inherited a sense of Roman grandeur that he would bring to the court of Charles III (Rodríguez Ruiz 1993). It is not difficult to imagine the young Fernández visiting the studio of Vanvitelli in Rome in 1749–50 and coming into close contact with Sabbatini. Despite the limited quantity of factual evidence pertaining to Fernández’ activities in Rome, he had prepared several designs which were presented to the Academia de San Fernando in 1752 (Sambricio 1986: 329n9).14 The various designs – church, palace and monastery – are not surprising given the interest in these building types by the architectural competitions of the Accademia di San Luca in the first half of the eighteenth century. Fernández was also likely guided by the Spanish painter, Francisco Preciado de la Vega, who was very active in the Roman academy. Under Preciado’s direct influence, the young Spaniard was likely encouraged to follow a similar path of study to the students at the French and Roman academies. However, Miguel Fernández was not blessed with an innate artistic sensibility that would distinguish him from his contemporaries. Unlike Francesco Sabbatini, who was awarded first prize in the competition of 1750, Fernández would never achieve such academic recognition. Nor would he produce any significant written works. From the drawings contained in the Madrid academy’s archive, it seems clear that Fernández’ aim in studying in Rome was to familiarize himself with a handful of architects whose work he particularly admired. He concerned himself primarily with the language of Late Baroque classicism and the formal solutions to problems typically addressed by contemporary Roman architects. This study in itself was enough for him to be appointed académico de mérito by the Madrid academy in 1757. Upon his return from Rome, Fernández became a member of the Academia de San Fernando in Madrid. His career at the academy lasted for over twenty-six years, culminating in his appointment as Director of Architecture and Perspective in 1774. In addition to his academic post, Fernández was also appointed delineador (draftsman) at the new Royal Palace in Madrid under the direction of Francesco Sabbatini, who had arrived in Spain with Carlo di Borbone in 1759. The following year, Fernández became Teniente director of the works at the palace. Alongside Sabbatini, Fernández worked on several projects throughout Spain, including the Collegiate Church of Lebanza, the Royal Infantry Barracks at the Escorial, the Sagrario or Shrine for the Cathedral of Seville, and the church of San Francisco el Grande in Madrid. His own works in Madrid include the high altar for the church of San Antonio de los Portugueses, and the Iberian architects in Rome 97 restoration of the church and convent of Nuestra Señora de las Maravillas. His most celebrated work is the church and convent of the order of Montesa in Valencia of 1761, a building usually referred to as El Templo (the Temple), as it introduced the austere language of Vitruvian Late Baroque classicism to the southeast province of Spain before the Real Academia de San Carlos officially opened in 1768 (Schubert 1924: 439). Unfortunately, Miguel Fernández died in the town of Talavera de la Reina in 1786 having lived his life, for the most part, in the shadows of his mentor at the academy, Ventura Rodríguez, and his contemporary Francesco Sabbatini. Diego de Villanueva, who had previously declined a pension to travel to Italy, was the most zealous critic of Fernández’ work. In his Colección de diferentes papeles críticos sobre todas las partes de arquitectura (Valencia 1766), Villanueva denounced Fernandez’ recently completed high altar for the Church of San Antonio de los Portugueses as extravagant and capricious (Villanueva 1979: 23 ff.). The retablo mayor, completed in 1762–65 with sculptures by Francisco Gutiérrez and Manuél Pereira, recalls the spatially complex aedicule niches of Bernini and Borromini in Rome, with alternating concave and convex surfaces and rich sculptural iconography (Arranz Otero and Gutiérrez Pastor 1999: 238). Villanueva, nevertheless, accused Fernández of not having sufficiently understood Roman architecture, and having copied and appropriated a series of fashionable decorative details. A close reading of Villanueva’s comments reveals that they were not strictly targeted on Fernández’ design. Rather, Villanueva’s criticisms were aimed at a much larger audience of silversmiths (plateros), engravers (cince- ladores), and decorators (adornistas) that he believed had departed from the true and beautiful. Though bitingly satirical, Villanueva claimed that he was only concerned with the future education of Spanish architects, helping them to think for themselves before providing them with formal rules. Villanueva insisted, moreover, that architects and designers should follow the advice of Vitruvius and others who expounded upon both the theoretical and practical aspects of architecture (Villanueva 1979: 170). Written in 1766, Villanueva’s insistence on the search for a balanced approach to theory and practice, particularly in relation to Roman architecture, had already found its greatest proponent several decades earlier in the figure of José de Hermosilla, the architect chosen to replace him as one of the first Spanish pensioners in Rome.

José de Hermosilla While Ventura Rodríguez and Miguel Fernández clearly represent the influence of Late Baroque architecture in Spain, neither took a wider approach to the study or practice of architecture, neglecting to examine the ancient monuments of Rome first-hand, or the many historical treatises from Vitruvius to the present. In contrast, José de Hermosilla represented a much 98 Iberian architects in Rome more comprehensive approach to Roman classicism, one integrating the various disciplines of academic study, research, writing, and architectural practice (Rodríguez Ruiz 1985). José de Hermosilla was born on May 21, 1715, in the town of Llerena in the southwestern province of Extremadura. Llerena was famous for boasting several parish churches and monasteries, as well as a court of the Inquisition (Carrasco García 1985; Peña Gómez 1991). Among the notable residents of the town was Francisco de Zurbarán, whose several paintings for the church of Nuestra Señora de la Granada, must have been well- known to the young Hermosilla (Baticle 1987: 53–68, 203–7; Brown 1998: 133–7; Delenda 2007). A number of notable projects were also found at the Convent of Santa Clara in Llerena, including a remarkable Solomonic retable by the sculptor and architect Juan de Oviedo the Younger with a magnificent statue of St. Jerome by the Sevillian sculptor Juan Martínez Montañés (Hernández Díaz 1949: 32–3). The combination of Zurbaran’s severe-style paintings, with the Sevillian barroco florido tradition in architecture, sculpture, and surface ornamentation, would shape Hermosilla tremendously, resulting in a unique passion for Andalusian art that he would retain throughout his life. Little is known of Hermosilla’s early years, but one can imagine that as a young man he was aware of his surroundings. The small city of Merida, relatively close by, contained numerous ancient Roman Imperial monuments, including a small amphitheater, a temple to Jupiter, and a magnificent theatre by Marcus Agrippa. It is uncertain whether Hermosilla ever visited these monuments or even knew of their existence, although later in life both he and his younger brother Ignacio would return to the south and west of Spain to document the remains of the Roman and Moorish structures there (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1796; Sánchez Cantón 1974: 257–64). Hermosilla studied Grammar in Llerena and then moved to Seville, where he enrolled in the university to study philosophy and theology (Llaguno y Amírola 1829: IV, 264). It is likely that he was inspired to pursue a career in architecture at that time, for Seville was the center of Andalusian art and had been from 1729 to 1733 the seat of the Bourbon monarchy in Spain (Morales and Quiles García 2010). After the death of his parents, Hermosilla relocated to Madrid to dedicate himself to an ecclesiastical life, a pursuit highly encouraged by his family. However, his inclination towards mathematics led him to join the Royal Corps of Engineers, where he pro- gressed in the art of military architecture. Hermosilla’s experience in the Corps of Engineers and his commitment to civic architecture proved fruitful, for in 1745 he obtained a position as a draftsman alongside Ventura Rodríguez and Diego de Villanueva in the atelier of the new Royal Palace in Madrid. José Caveda, in his Memorias para la historia de la Real Academia de San Fernando (Caveda y Nava 1867) described this period as the beginning of a new era, because the efforts of these three young men significantly altered the course of Spanish architecture Iberian architects in Rome 99 in the second half of the eighteenth century. Hermosilla had been working at the Royal Palace for nearly two years when, in May of 1747, he was awarded a pension to study architecture in Rome by the Minister of State and Protector of the Junta, D. José de Carvajal y Lancaster.15

* * * In 1746, while working at the new Royal Palace in Madrid, Hermosilla remodeled the lateral façade of the late medieval church of Nuestra Señora de la Granada (Figure 4.5) in his hometown of Llerena – a work that remains undocumented as well as incomplete (Rodríguez Ruiz 1985: 77; Carrasco García 1985: 15 ff.; Peña Gómez 1991: 84–139). He was given permission to leave the Royal Palace in Madrid and work in Llerena from mid-November 1746 until 31 January 1747. Hermosilla provided the façade of the church of Nuestra Señora with a Doric tetra-style portico that was meant to serve as the new entrance to the church. The façade was completed only halfway, but clearly recalls the colossal order on the lower story of the façade of the Escorial basilica.16 The comparison with the basilica façade of the Escorial is clear, though the latter has coupled end columns resulting in six columns total, whereas the church of Nuestra Señora de la Granada has only four. The Doric order continued on the interior (Figure 4.6), which was also remodeled around the same time. Hermosilla provided the medieval composite columns with Doric capitals, and designed an entablature with a unique frieze that contained garlands between the triglyphs (Figure 4.7). Had the project been completed in its entirety, the new church would have been transformed into a centralized Doric structure. Shortly thereafter, in 1747, Hermosilla was awarded a pension to study architecture

Figure 4.5 José de Hermosilla, façade, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena (1746–47). Photo by author. 100 Iberian architects in Rome

Figure 4.6 José de Hermosilla, interior, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena (1746–47). Photo by author.

Figure 4.7 José de Hermosilla, detail, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena (1746–47). Photo by author. in Rome, and it would be in the Eternal City that the young Spaniard would seek to establish himself as an authority on architecture. Hermosilla set off for Rome shortly after receiving his nomination in May 1747 and was already in the city by June 20 of the same year (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 88). Once there, he and his fellow colleague Miguel Fernández were placed under the protection of Francisco Preciado de la Vega, Manuel de Roda (the King’s agent in Rome), and Alfonso Clemente de Aróstegui, the King’s minister in Rome. Aróstegui introduced Hermosilla to Iberian architects in Rome 101

Ferdinando Fuga, encouraging the Spaniard to work in the cavalier’s studio (Quintana Martínez 1983: 96). Often on Sundays, the two could be found at the Palazzo di Spagna discussing their various projects, bringing Hermosilla into intimate contact with the Spanish ministry in the city (Simal López 2004). Among the early projects carried out together was the set of carefully detailed drawings of the Palazzo di Spagna discussed in Chapter 2. Hermosilla’s time in the city was marked by the academic study of iconic works from antiquity to the present, in addition to extensive research on architectural matters, both ancient and modern.17 He spent a considerable amount of time drawing the great works of the Renaissance, such as Michelangelo’s façade for the Palazzo Nuovo on the Campidoglio and Vignola’s church of the Gesu, as well as more recent examples, such as Alessandro Specchi’s courtyard façade for the Palazzo dei Conservatori (1720). The selection of Michelangelo’s masterpiece is not surprising as it had been the subject of the Third Class competition at the Accademia di San Luca in 1677, the very first year competitions were held (Marconi et al. 1974: I, 3). Since then, new students at the Accademia had become accustomed to producing measured drawings of noted buildings and their individual parts, usually focusing on the central or corner bays, individual chapels or aedicule frames and niches. On February 8, 1748, Hermosilla sent his measured drawings, approved by Fuga, back to Madrid as evidence of his work in Rome (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 89).18 Unfortunately, the drawings were heavily criticized by the members of the Junta preparatoria for displaying a proportional dissonance between the main pilasters and their respective crowning statuary. Hermosilla replied to the Junta on August 5, 1750, with a vehement defense of his work claiming that he had measured the building in situ, and had acquired permission to access the building from Arostegui who was monitoring his progress on a daily basis.19 The criticisms shed light on a key point related to Hermosilla’s stay in Italy. The members of the Junta had clearly never been to Rome or had drawn the monuments there first-hand, so their knowledge of the city’s great monuments was primarily theoretical; through books and prints. Hermosilla, on the other hand, had actually measured the Campidoglio façade in situ, discovering that the extreme size of the statuary was a real solution to the visual cohesion of the palace, a contin- gency that the academics could never understand from so far away. This instance of knowledge gained through practical experience would remain with Hermosilla throughout his stay in Rome and significantly shape his future activities in the city. In March 1748, Hermosilla submitted his design for a centrally planned church for a Jesuit novitiate in Rome, a project that revealed his eagerness to immerse himself in contemporary Roman architecture, and a problem that both Rodríguez and Fernández felt compelled to tackle as well.20 Hermosilla’s scheme was clearly modeled on Saint Peter’s and consisted of a Greek cross plan set within a quadrangular building mass. A perimeter aisle intersected the extended arms of the cross connecting four circular 102 Iberian architects in Rome corner chapels. The extended arms were terminated in apsidal ends, with two rectangular chapels framing the main apse at the back, and a semi- circular portico with clustered columns at the entrance. In elevation, the church contained two superimposed stories divided by a pronounced entablature. Engaged Corinthian columns defined the lower story, with statuary niches and aedicule windows and doors placed in between them. The central portico was likely inspired by Martino Longhi’s façade for the church of Santi Vincenzo e Anastasio in Rome. The upper story – an enlarged attic – was articulated by a series of sculpted figures, aedicule windows, and framed panels. The quadrangular mass of the church was punctuated by four corner stairways, the front two emerging as open bell-towers in the Roman tradition. A great dome modeled on that of Saint Peter’s, with a high drum and engaged columns framing alternating triangular and segmental pediment windows, rose at the center. Sculpted figures punctuated the drum, and a heavily columned lantern clearly imitated Michelangelo’s prototype. Like the façade of Sant’Agnese in the Piazza Navona, and to a great extent Rodríguez’ Idea, Hermosilla’s façade repeats the five-bay plan schema in order to achieve the perfect reconciliation between interior and exterior, presenting the viewer with a complete visual arrangement for the exterior of the church. In section, Hermosilla’s design repeats the schema of the cross, introducing a triumphal arch motif to define the nave and perimeter chapels. The crossing is treated in the traditional manner, with diagonal bays forming pendentives to support the high drum and dome. The section also concurs with the elevations, so that the two-story division of the exterior is almost faithfully maintained inside. The rhythm of alternating solid and void bays along the nave is contrasted with a highly de-materialized wall surface containing statuary niches, and ornate aedicule windows and doors. Above the nave, the vault is treated with coffered bands, decorative in-fill panels, and tall windows piercing the lunettes. The dome adopts Bernini’s formula of combining structural ribs and a coffered surface in between. Hermosilla’s design is a demonstration of his skill in exploring the range of permissible variation that the centralized church could sustain without losing its sense of familiarity or clarity of purpose. As such, it is a clear example of the academic approach promoted by the Accademia di San Luca. But it was also a design that could only come about by having visited and seen first-hand the many exemplary centrally planned churches in the city. In that sense it was an academic exercise carried out for the most part from a profound understanding of the typology rather than from a purely graphic approach. Hermosilla would design another centrally planned church while he was in Rome for his treatise Architectura civil (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750), and he would also work on the interiors of the church of Santissima Trinità, a centralized oval church begun by Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos in the previous decade, making him uniquely experienced among Spaniards in the Roman typology. Iberian architects in Rome 103

Hermosilla’s approach to the centrally planned church was also applied to the Roman palazzo, with studies of the Farnese, Lateran, Quirinal, Borghese, and Altieri palaces serving as a basis for a design of his own invention that he submitted to Madrid for approval in November 1749 (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 90). Regrettably the drawings no longer exist, but we can discern the character of the design via his letter of defense that he sent to the Junta on August 5, 1750, where it is also discussed. The criticisms from the Junta were even more severe than those leveled at his earlier measured drawing of the Campidoglio, noting that the two principal stories (base and piano nobile) were too tall, the staircase was too long, the structural walls were too thin, and finally that the entrance gate was too narrow for a coach to pass. Hermosilla’s lengthy response was again measured and carefully based on both Roman precedent and his experience working at the new Royal Palace in Madrid. By this time his confidence was unflappable knowing that he had the benefit of first-hand experience in Rome, an advantage that his critics clearly lacked. While in Rome, Hermosilla made the acquaintance of a Jesuit mathematician at the Collegio Romano, Ruggero Giuseppe Boscovich (1711–87), a native of Dubrovnik and one of the leading scientific minds of the century (Gross 1990: 256–7).21 Honored as he was in scientific circles, Boscovich was also learned in architecture, having read numerous versions of Vitruvius. His most important architectural contribution was unquestionably a survey entitled Riflessioni... sopra alcune difficoltà spettanti i danni, e rifarcimenti della cupola di S. Pietro, written in collaboration with two French Minims from the monastery of the Trinità dei Monti, Thomas Leseur and François Jacquier (Leseur et al. 1743). The dome of Saint Peter’s had been deteriorating for some time, as Carlo Fontana had pointed out in his survey of the cupola from 1695 (Braham and Hager 1977: 53–5). But the cracks had become significantly more pronounced by the 1740s. A committee of several well-known architects, mathematicians, and capomastri had been appointed to consider ways to stabilize the dome. The group consisted of Domenico Gregorini, Pietro Hostini, Ferdinando Fuga, Nicola Salvi, and Luigi Vanvitelli (architect of the Reverendissima Fabrica), and the capomastri Nicola Giobbe (capomastro of the Reverendissima Fabrica), and Giuseppe Sardi. Though Boscovich, Jacquier and Leseur were not architects, they were all highly acclaimed mathematicians and honorary members of the Accademia di San Luca (Missirini 1823: 476). The case was of particular significance in eighteenth-century Rome, for it brought to light – like the case of the Milan Cathedral in the late fourteenth century – the difficulty of using geometry as a technical instrument of architecture. Boscovich and his colleagues had applied a geometrical hypothesis as a way of determining the lateral thrusts of the dome. At the same time, they also recommended the introduction of five, iron tension rings at the base of the dome to avoid any further deterioration. The noted mathematician Giovanni Poleni (1683–1761) and the architect of the Reverendissima Fabrica, Luigi Vanvitelli followed his recommendations (Rykwert 1980: 313 ff.; Pérez-Gómez 1980: 248–50). Poleni, however, 104 Iberian architects in Rome criticized Boscovich’s geometrical hypothesis for being excessively theoretical, and not taking into account the nature of materials or their mechanical properties. Poleni believed that a shape in the form of a suspended chain – a catenary curve – was the ideal configuration for a masonry vault or arch, and that when superimposed on the figure of Michelangelo’s dome, it not only con- curred with the mass of the structure but also guaranteed its stability. Poleni believed that, although mathematics was central to architecture, it should not have priority in the architect’s decisions. He believed that a number of empir- ical factors such as the strength of materials and methods of construction, as well as the natural effects of heat, humidity, and wind, for instance, contributed greatly to the structural stability of buildings. Whereas Poleni had previously criticized Boscovich and his colleagues for beings too theoretical, he did, however, agree with their proposal to reinforce the dome with iron tension rings. In the end, the case of the dome of Saint Peter’s underlined the conclusions arrived at in the case of the Milan Cathedral nearly three hundred and fifty years earlier. Essentially, it is irrelevant to question which of the two – art or science – is preeminent in architecture, and that a balance between theory and traditional practice remains the primary goal. The emergence of architectural committees aimed at reviewing controver- sial design and constructional strategies played an important role in the culture of early eighteenth-century Roman architecture (Ferraris 1991). Their significance, however, was far more than simply precautionary, for they could easily upset the balance that existed between theory and practice, inserting in its place a new model that according to Alberto Pérez-Gómez (1980: 250) “could be transformed into an instrument for the domination of the physical world.” These consulting bodies, consisting of expert witnesses – usually from within the ranks of the Accademia di San Luca – wielded a tremendous amount of influence, particularly in ecclesiastical architecture. They could easily alter the designs of other architects, or force them to adopt or discard certain elements for the benefit of the greater whole. These experts became the intellectual guardians of Roman architecture, and Boscovich and his fellow clerics had joined this elite group of architects in the 1740s. It is in the context of these committees too, that José de Hermosilla became involved in one of the most intriguing situations in mid eighteenth-century Roman architecture. The conflict involved the Spanish Trinitarians and the completion of the church and monastery of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli on the Via Condotti. Whereas in his previous design for a centralized church, Hermosilla had been working outside of any contextual or practical contingencies, the church of Santissima Trinità offered the young Spaniard an excellent opportunity to work independently on a major ecclesiastical building in Rome. 5 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli in Via Condotti

Essendosi del tutto terminata la fabrica della nuova chiesa fatta costruire con tutta magnificenza dale Rev. Padri Trinitari Calzati della Provincia di Castiglia, unita al di loro nuovo Ospizio nel principio di strada Condotti, corrispondente al Corso, riuscita di particolar bellezza, e di assai buon gusto, talché può dirsi essere questo uno dei nobili Tempij che in tanta copia si ammirano in questa Metropoli dell’Universo, come sede principale della S. Chiesa Catt.. Egli è compito perfettamente in tutte le sue parti; aven- done fatta l’archittetura, come lo fù anche del grandioso Ospizio, il sig. Emmanuele Rodriguez de Santes Portoghese di cui ancora è il disegno della Facciata … Siccome poi la stessa chiesa è tutta ornate di vaghissimi stucchi, sono stati lavorati egreggiamente dal sig. Baldassare Mattei di Foligno, sotto la Direzione del sig. D. Giuseppe Hermosilla spagnolo Professore di Matematica e Architettura al servizio di S. Maestà Cattol. e da esso sono stati diretti anche gl’ ornati di tutte le sudette capelle. (Diario ordinario, December 3, 1750)1

Trinitarian Rome Situated in the heart of the Roman trident at the Largo Goldoni – the intersection of the Via del Corso with the Via Condotti – the hospice, church, and monastic complex of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli brilliantly captures the panorama of architectural and artistic currents in early eighteenth-century Rome (Blanco 1932; Villarroel 1998; Anselmi 2007; Antellini 2009). As Manfredo Tafuri suggested in his early study of the church, no examination of Roman architecture in the first half of the eighteenth century can overlook the continuity of seventeenth-century scenic urban planning (Tafuri 1964: 1). It is also impossible to ignore the all’antica aspects of Late Baroque architecture, as the church of Santissima Trinità is noted for its picturesque and classicizing tendencies. Conceived and constructed within twenty years, from approximately 1730 to 1750, the Trinitarian complex presents a unique moment in the life of the city as the funds to build the church came from the new world. Unlike most buildings in Rome that were funded or built by the Spanish nation, the Trinitarian complex was paid for and largely realized by an exceptional group of Spanish benefactors, architects and artists, representing what 106 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli is perhaps the most cogent example of Ibero–Italian artistic patronage in Rome. The church also presented a notable circumstance in Roman artistic culture, for its construction gave rise to a lengthy legal case that challenged the traditional role of the architect and the value of his services.

* * * The Order of the Holy Trinity for the Redemption of Captives was founded by two French Saints, John of Matha (1154–1213) and Felix of Valois (1127– 1212) to ransom Christians taken captive by Muslims during the Crusades (Deslandres 1903). Pope Innocent III recognized the Order on December 17, 1198, and presented it with the church of San Tommaso in Formis in 1203. The Trinitarians, who were renowned for their poverty and austerity, expanded rapidly with many foundations in France and Spain, the Greek cross being their signature emblem. In the late sixteenth century, the Turkish invasions of Eastern Europe prompted a revival of the Order. The impending force of the Catholic Counter-Reformation further expanded the Order, and Clement VIII Aldobrandini recognized a discalced branch in Spain (Valdepeñas) in 1599. Shortly thereafter the Order founded a chapel at the church of the Quattro Fontane in Rome. The monastery was enlarged in 1634 and work on the church of San Carlo began in 1637 under the direction of Francesco Borromini. The French Trinitarians had already built a church and convent in Rome as early as 1502, the highly visible Trinità dei Monti, situated atop the hill overlooking the Piazza di Spagna, on axis with the short Via Condotti. Santissima Trinità was a late addition to the development of the area between the Porto di Ripetta and the Piazza di Spagna (Salerno 1967; Anselmi 2001). With the completion in 1725 of the scalinata of the Trinità dei Monti, the Spanish quarter was expanded to include the great flight of steps, and extended as far west as the Via Bocca di Leone. The Trinitarian complex, however, occupied an entire block defined by the Via del Corso, Via Condotti, Via Borgognona, and the Vicolo degli oratori di San Lorenzo in Lucina (today Via Belsiana), an area outside of the quarter’s privileged immunity. Therefore, on August 10, 1734, the quarter was expanded to insure that the new complex be placed under Spanish Royal protection (Anselmi 2007: 919–20). This kind of immunity was not uncommon, as the Spanish crown had previously granted the Trinitarian church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, and the Franciscan church of San Pasquale Baylon in Trastevere, a similar status (Villarroel 2000: 180). Giuseppe Vasi’s image of the “Chiesa della SS. Trinità,” from his Magnificenze di Roma 1747–1761, highlights the Via Condotti, with the Palazzo Núñez, Bernini’s barcaccia, and the French church of the Trinità dei Monti all in the background as significant monuments surrounding the Piazza di Spagna (Figure 5.1). More importantly, it shows how the Via Condotti, the “the queen of Roman streets” was terminated at both ends by sacred buildings, in this case two extraordinary Trinitarian complexes (Romano 1949: 155; Villarroel 1998: 275). Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 107

Figure 5.1 Giuseppe Vasi, “Chiesa della SS. Trinità,” from Magnificenze di Roma 1747–1761, Rome (1756). BHR: Dg 536-3470/7 gr raro.

The church was located on the Via Condotti near the intersection of the Largo Goldoni, allowing the façade to be visible from afar. In an effort to amplify the multiple instances from which the church could be viewed, the façade was given a concave shape and inflected slightly towards the intersection. This way, the façade of Santissima Trinità would terminate the axis looking down Via Tomacelli from the Porto di Ripetta, redirecting one’s eyes up the Via Condotti towards the Piazza di Spagna and the French church of the Trinità dei Monti (the view that Giuseppe Vasi would immortalize in his magnificent veduta). From the top of the scalinata, one’s gaze could be directed south along the Via Sistina to the church of San Carlo alle Quatro Fontane. Therefore, when standing in the Largo Goldoni, one would have immediately perceived the trident street pattern internally, a configuration that reaffirmed the cross-section of the Roman trident as the preeminent Spanish quarter of the city. Moreover, the Largo Goldoni presented a more centralized perspective of the Roman trident, a point that would not have escaped the Trinitarians, as the triangle was a powerful symbol of the order and for churches dedicated to the Holy Trinity (Sebastián 1973).2 Lazaro de Velasco’s Spanish translation of Vitruvius (c. 1564) contained a diagram of three overlapping circles in the form of an equilateral triangle as the appropriate plan for Spanish churches dedicated to the Sacred Trinity (Velasco 1999).3 In Rome, Borromini employed the triangular plan at the church of Sant’Ivo alla Sapienza, and used two equilateral triangles to generate the undulating 108 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli oval plan for the church of San Carlo. Seen in this light, the Largo Goldoni represented the center point of the Roman trident and therefore was considered an appropriate location for a new Trinitarian church. The foundation of Santissima Trinità was prompted by the efforts of Fr. Diego Morcillo Rubio Auñón, an illustrious Spanish Trinitarian from Villarrobledo, not far from Toledo. As Bishop of León, Nicaragua (1701), La Paz, Bolivia (1708), Archbishop of La Plata, Alto Perú (1714), Archbishop of Lima (1723), and interim Viceroy of Peru (1716, and again in 1720–24), Morcillo accumulated tremendous power and wealth (Mendiburu et al. 1931: IV: 357–67; Hernández Alfonso 1930: 131–3).4 Through his efforts and munificence, he enlarged the Order and filled its coffers, donating 200,000 Spanish pesos in 1728 to build the Trinitarian complex in Rome and sustain its congregation. Of the total contribution, 24,860 scudi romani and 94 baiocchi went towards purchasing the property for the Trinitarian complex. Previously in 1724, he had sent 60,000 pesos on a British frigate, but the funds were confiscated in Cádiz because they had been transported as unregistered goods. Two years later in 1730 he donated another 21,400 scudi romani and 70 baiocchi towards the beatification of Fr. Simón de Rojas, a Spanish Trinitarian who was finally venerated on May 16, 1766, at Saint Peter’s Basilica (Villarroel 1998: 277). Morcillo died in Lima on March 12, 1730, having never witnessed the developments of his extraordinary munificence. Diego Morcillo was nevertheless celebrated throughout his life, as Melchor Pérez Holguín’s painting of the Entrada del Virrey Arzobispo Morcillo en Potosí shows the new Viceroy visiting the mining town of Potosí on April 25, 1716 (Wuffarden 1999; Kagan and Marías 2000: 189–91).5 For the festivities celebrating the Viceroy’s visit, Pérez Holguín included two views within his painting, the arrival of Morcillo in the plaza mayor, and an evening mas- carada (masquerade) for the town’s citizens. An equally celebratory event was the túmulo (catafalque) built to celebrate the 1744 transfer of Morcillo’s remains to the Chapel of the Purissima Concepción in the Cathedral of Lima, again demonstrating the far-reaching festival traditions of Late Baroque Rome in the imperialist cities of the new world (Pouncey 1985: 27–8). Additionally, Fr. Alonso del Río Salazar y Figueroa, the archbishop of Lima, ordered a publication to commemorate the late Viceroy’s life, the Magnifica parentacion, y funebre pompa (Río Salazar y Figueroa et al. 1744), providing a full account of the structure. Though the designer of the túmulo remains unknown, the publication included an etched image of it signed by the engraver Juan Francisco Rosa, suggesting perhaps its author (Estabridis Cárdenas 2002: 250–3). The túmulo was an eight-stepped pyramid lined with candelabra on each level, supporting a four-poster bed with canopy, all beneath a tasseled baldachin (Figure 5.2). Finally, in 1760, the Roman sculptor Gaspare Sibilla (1723–82) carved a portrait bust of Morcillo presenting the oval plan of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli for the sacristy of the church (Figure 5.3), forever cementing his place in the annals of Spanish Rome (Blanco 1932: 40–1; Guerrieri Borsoi 2001: 154–5). Figure 5.2 Transfer of Morcillo’s remains to the Chapel of the Purissima Concepción in the Cathedral of Lima from the Magnifica parentacion… (1744). Courtesy John Carter Brown Library at Brown University.

Figure 5.3 Max Hutzel, sacristy with Gaspare Sibilla’s Bust of Morcillo, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8. 110 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

The Superior of the Trinitarians in Rome, Fr. Lorenzo Monasterio, accepted the funds sent by Morcillo and, with the support of Cardinal Fabio Olivieri (1658–1738), the Protector of the Trinitarian Order, requested permission from Clement XII to proceed with the building of the new complex – a request that was approved by the Pontiff on December 5, 1731, with the caveat that the location opposite Palazzo Caetani on the Via del Corso be reserved for the hospice. The Pope credited the busy noisy street as the primary reason for not locating the church or monastery there, but the memory of the conflicts between the Austrian ambassador who resided at the Palazzo Caetani and the Spanish ambassador nearby at the Palazzo di Spagna during the War of Succession, must have remained fresh in the pontiff’s mind. On November 25, 1732, the Trinitarians acquired the dilapidated Palazzo Brusato (also known as the Teatro de Pioli) from Orazio Ruccellai, its owner.6 Soon thereafter, a limited competition was declared with the shortlist including such well-known Italian architects as Nicola Salvi and Filippo Barigioni, as well as the lesser- known Emanuele Rodriguez Dos Santos, a Portuguese architect who resided in the quartiere of the Piazza di Spagna (ATSR, Breve Reseña: 2). Though no records of the proceedings survive, the commission was unexpectedly awarded to Rodriguez Dos Santos. As previously mentioned in Chapter 4, Rodriguez Dos Santos was well known in early eighteenth-century Rome, working on several architectural projects at the time he received the commission for the Trinitarian complex (Donò and Marino 1989). He was an appropriate choice for the Spanish Trinitarians, as his familiarity with Ibero–American concerns would have underlined his authority. The construction of the church and convent of Santissima Trinità (1741–44) came under the direction of the Marchesan capomastro and autodidact Giuseppe Sardi (Mallory 1977: 53–75; Portoghese 1966: 127–35). Not to be confused with the late seventeenth- century Ticinese architect of the same name, the Marchesan Sardi (1680– 1768) was a self-trained mason and architect. His own designs include the façade of Santa Maria in Cosmedin (1718), a work subsequently torn down to restore the church to its medieval splendor, and the church of San Pasquale Baylon (1745–47) in Trastevere (Mallory 1967: 83–5). Sardi’s collaboration with Francesco de Sanctis on the construction of the famous staircase at the foot of the Trinità dei Monti (1723–26) also brought him to the attention of the Trinitarians.

* * * The hospice, or Casa per Secolari (1733–34), was the first building constructed for the Trinitarians, a retro-fitted structure that would buffer the church and convent from the busy Via del Corso. In plan the hospice consisted of eight two-room units connected by a continuous corridor and a central staircase (Figure 5.4).7 Shops in the form of Roman tabernae occupied the ground floor, each unit containing its own staircase to a mezzanine level above. In elevation, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 111 the hospice was a perfect example of the Roman Rococo predilection for scenic composition (Figure 5.5). When seen from the intersection of the Largo Goldoni, the hospice consisted of a series of discreet elements whose rhythmic

Figure 5.4 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, ground floor plan, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733). ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/1. Copyright Ministero per i Beni e la Attività Culturali.

Figure 5.5 Casa per Secolari, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. Photo by author. 112 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli arrangement presented the viewer with the appearance of a continuous organism. Wrap-around balconies connected the corner bays, a popular motif in Rome since the mid-seventeenth century when Giovanni Antonio De Rossi executed his façade for the Palazzo D’Aste (Spagnesi 1964: 60–6). A further similarity with De Rossi’s palazzo is that “pagoda” pediments punctuate the piano nobile windows, providing an undulating rhythm to the otherwise repetitive elevation. Rodriguez Dos Santos also stacked elements vertically, with the upper story windows located immediately above one another, dissolv- ing the visible boundary between levels. This compositional approach appears as well at the corners where the wrap-around balconies not only united the two end windows horizontally but also joined the piano nobile windows with the less important mezzanine windows below. The monastic complex and church were situated around a formal cortile with the church and sacristy straddling one entire side, and the dormitories and refectory occupying the other three wings (Figure 5.6). Vertical circula- tion within the cloister was provided by two internal staircases, an honorific one accessed from the northeast corner of the cortile, and a functional one inconspicuously located along the southern flank of the block. The remaining part of the monastic block was given over to cleric’s cells of varying sizes and arrangements – some single others with double rooms.

Figure 5.6 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, cross section, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733). ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/8. Copyright Ministero per i Beni e la Attività Culturali. Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 113

The combination of a church and monastery surrounding a formal cortile was a standard building type in eighteenth-century Rome, and had been given as a student competition at the Accademia di San Luca as recently as 1728 (Marconi et al. 1974: I, 13–15). And though Rodriguez Dos Santos never competed for prizes at the Accademia, he must certainly have been aware of their growing importance. At the same time, the Trinitarian complex recalled the functionalist architecture typical of Roman monasteries, in particular the work of Ferdinando Fuga, such as can be seen at the Manica Lunga extension at the Quirinal Palace, and the Casa di Correzione at the Ospizio di San Michele (1735). Unlike the hospice on the Via del Corso, the monastery was composed of severe masses with simply framed window and door openings (Figure 5.7). A continuous stripped cornice consisting mainly of an oversized cavetto (cove molding) punctuated the eaves, and the external corners of the block were accentuated with quoins. Otherwise, the monastery was reduced to a minimum number of elements, with the only compositional intrigue being the rhythmic sequence of window and door openings across the three external façades. The church of Santissima Trinità was situated along the western edge of the rectangular cortile adjacent to the hospice. The foundation stone was laid on September 29, 1741 (Mancini 1997: II, 25), and the primary construction of the church and monastery continued until July 23, 1746, when only a number of finishing touches remained to be completed (ATSR, Recibos de Obras). The church’s plan was a centralized oval arranged along its longitudinal axis, a Roman model instead of the triangular form preferred by the

Figure 5.7 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, elevation, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733). ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/9. Copyright Ministero per i Beni e la Attività Culturali. 114 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

Figure 5.8 Max Hutzel, chancel, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8.

Trinitarians. The church was divided symmetrically with three chapels along both sides of the main axis, and two larger bays – the chancel with the high altar and the sotto-choir vestibule – at the ends. The latter two spaces, in particular, were treated as autonomous spaces, the chancel being capped with a semi-circular cupola and lantern (Figure 5.8), and the choir loft with a shallow vault. Of the six lateral chapels, the two central ones were barrel vaulted whereas sail vaults with smaller lanterns capped their adjacent counterparts. This differentiation in treatment stemmed from the curious arrangement of an oval plan set within a rectangular exterior building mass, resulting in the two central chapels being much narrower in depth than the others – a problem Borromini faced at San Carlo as well. Finally, two smaller spaces were adjacent to the sotto-choir vestibule. To the right was a square chapel dedicated to B. Simón de Rojas (until 1896); now given over to the Sacred Heart. Opposite was a storage room with stair access to the choir loft and library above. Like San Carlino, the façade of Santissima Trinità was treated as an autonomous organism, independent from the main body of the church or the neighboring monastic complex. Set back from the Via Condotti, it was shaped as a highly sculpted concave plane (Figure 5.9), and inflected towards the Largo Goldoni, thus ensuring a certain contiguity with the intersection. The three-story façade (unusual in Rome) was divided into three bays, with Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 115

Figure 5.9 Façade, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. Photo by author. superimposed Ionic and Composite columns achieving a typically Baroque increase in the volume of the order as it approaches the center. The center of the façade was punctuated by two overlapping concave pediments, a larger segmental one encasing a smaller triangular one. The contrast between the two shapes – circular and triangular – was not only found in reverse at Fuga’s Santa Maria dell’Orazione e Morte, but also accentuated both the concave shape of the façade and the powerfully projecting pediments. The aedicule niches located on the upper story of the façade were character- istically Borrominian as well. These consisted of “pagoda” pediments resting above semi-circular shallow recesses, with ear-like volutes turned flat on their sides as part of the surrounding frame. The quartered escutcheon near the top of the concave façade by Baldassare Mattei (Figure 5.10) represented the royal house of Spain, whereas the sculptural group over the main door by Pietro Pacilli (1720–73) portrayed an angel releasing two reclining chained figures (Figure 5.11), a symbol of the Spanish Trinitarian’s mission to rescue Christian slaves from their Muslim captors (Debenedetti 2001b: 59 ff.).8 If Rodriguez Dos Santos’ previous design for the façade for the church of the Aracoeli was an ephemeral spectacle, then his solution for Santissima Trinità was an exceptionally clever variant to the Borrominian prototype at San Carlino. The Diario Ordinario noted on December 10, 1746, that the façade of the church was finished and that its architecture by Rodriguez Dos Santos was of the highest quality, as were the stucco decorations by Baldassare Mattei of Foligno.9 116 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

Figure 5.10 Baldassare Mattei, Spanish Coat of Arms, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1750). Photo by author.

Figure 5.11 Pietro Pacilli, Angel Releasing two Christian Prisoners, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1750). Photo by author.

The interior of Santissima Trinità was equally based on Roman precedent. Corinthian pilasters framing minor arches punctuated the nave (Figure 5.12). The order supported a full entablature, and the arched openings separated the main body of the church from the lateral chapels and end bays. The relief of the wall mass was accentuated by overlapping pilasters, thus separating the rhythmic sequence of supporting arches from the Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 117

Figure 5.12 Max Hutzel, interior, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8. primary order. Both the entrance and main sanctuary were framed by larger arched openings that provided a much more dramatic view of each. An attic story crowned the entablature and supported the oval dome above. A series of arched windows interrupted the division between the attic story and dome, occupying space in both levels. Eight structural ribs defined the dome, framing the large oval panel that contained Gregorio Guglielmi’s allegorical fresco of the Trinitarian order (Figure 5.13). Between the ribs, exquisitely refined coffers in the unique form of a basket weave gave the impression of a continuously woven surface beyond. The plan of Santissima Trinità was clearly modeled on Bernini’s two centralized churches, Santa Maria dell’Assunzione in Ariccia, and San Andrea al Quirinale in Rome. Additionally, the church bears a striking resemblance to Fuga’s Santa Maria dell’Orazione e Morte, constructed shortly before the Trinitarian complex in 1733–37. Like San Andrea, Santissima Trinità’s plan is oval, though, as mentioned previously, its orientation was along the longitudinal axis. The solution of a centralized plan with three lateral chapels is also found at Bernini’s Santa Maria dell’Assunzione, Rainaldi (and Bernini’s) Santa Maria di Monte Santo in Piazza del Popolo, and Volterra’s hospital church of San Giacomo degli Incurabili nearby. In dimension as well, the Trinitarian church resembles San Andrea al Quirinale and Santa Maria dell’Orazione, having a width of just under 62 palmi, about 14 meters, and a length of just over 82 palmi, about 18 meters. 118 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

Figure 5.13 Dome, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. Photo by author.

Curiously, the finished church did not follow Rodriguez Dos Santos’ original scheme, which included several solutions for the nave and vault (Figures 5.14 and 5.15).10 One proposal was for a semicircular dome along

Figure 5.14 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, longitudinal section, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733). ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/6. Copyright Ministero per i Beni e la Attività Culturali. Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 119

Figure 5.15 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, longitudinal section, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733). ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/7. Copyright Ministero per i Beni e la Attività Culturali. the longitudinal axis, whereas the other specified a shallow oval vault with a recessed central cove, a solution much more in harmony with the plan. The dome would have required a full external expression, whereas the vault could have been covered over by a simple conical roof. Internally, Rodriguez Dos Santos provided several solutions as well: a ribbed dome versus a vault in two variations (smooth and ribbed). Finally, the dome solution was capped by a lantern, whereas the vault contained four smaller lights surrounding the central cove. Apparently, the Trinitarians were not interested in having a prominent dome and lantern, and therefore asked Rodriguez Dos Santos to produce the second alternative. The Portuguese architect accepted the request and carried out the scheme that included a shallow oval dome with four small lanterns set axially around a central cove. However, the present vault has no lanterns, and its unique basket-weave coffering is not found in the original drawings. Similarly, the aedicule windows designed by Rodriguez Dos Santos above the main entablature, breaking through the low attic story, are not the same as the ones that are currently in place. Finally, Rodriguez Dos Santos’ design for the main sanctuary with center-occupied pilasters and a ribbed cupola has been clearly revised. All of these disparities point to a significant change in direction that took place during the final phase of construction, a shift that permanently altered the appearance of the Trinitarian complex. 120 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

The case against Rodriguez Dos Santos As the church of Santissima Trinità was nearing its completion in 1746, a group of workers noted what they took to be structural problems in the main vault and water infiltration in the lanterns (ATSR, Pleitos). The new head of the Trinitarians, Alonso Cano, immediately requested a survey (perizia) on the state of the unfinished church by Ferdinando Fuga (Ferraris 1991: 239 ff.). In 1736, Fuga had been in contact with Rodriguez Dos Santos, when the latter was carrying out designs for the Corsini Chapel in the church of the Bambin Gesù (Gärms 1979: 18, 67). The following year, the two also prepared reports for the congregation on the cost of purchasing the property. There is little evidence to suggest that there was any animosity between the two, although a decade is long time and any number of events could have brought about a break down in their relationship. In any event, Fuga’s report (dated December 29, 1746) pointed out several design problems in the church, as well as a number of minor errors throughout the monastic complex. Fuga’s report was based on a site visit he made on December 8, 1746, and began by noting the existing problems of the monastery, before he discussed the church itself, which at the time remained unfinished. Among the minor errors of the monastery, Fuga pointed out that the entry way to the cortile from the Via Belsiana was too low and cut awkwardly by an unnecessary mezzanine level. The height of the passage, he also noted, should have been aligned with the height of the exterior portal, resulting in a better correspondence between the two. Fuga also argued that a number of the priests’ cells were too small to accommodate a bed and study desk. Finally, Fuga noted that the short corridor on every floor – leading from the middle of the cloister to a single window immediately above the Via Belsiana entrance – was wasteful and unnecessary given that the cortile already had five window openings along its length. As for the church itself, Fuga noted that the plan was excellent and well- proportioned, in the great tradition of Roman centralized churches, though he did single out several errors that he felt needed to be repaired immediately. Fuga argued strongly for precedence, maintaining that unless novelty coincided with ingenuity, the desire to depart from established building types and decorative details was wholly unnecessary if not objectionable. Most conspicuously, he pointed out, the four lanterns in the dome not only had an unsightly effect (cattivissimo effetto), but also provided insufficient light to justify their existence. Also, he noted that the arch separating the sotto-choir vestibule from the main body of the church was far too low and considerably wide, a solution he described as hideous (assai mostruoso). He suggested this could easily be resolved by introducing two freestanding columns to support the choir balcony above and further separate the nave from the vestibule. On the exterior, Fuga felt that the façade contained too many windows – three levels in total – an arrangement that was rare in Roman churches and Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 121 lacking in recognized exemplars. On the interior, Fuga pointed out that the attic-story windows in the church should not be segmental, but rather fully arched in order to provide a more graceful effect (miglior grazia). Fuga insisted in his report that his interventions should be carried out with the greatest care (giudizio) and taste (buon gusto), for they could otherwise result in an awkward modification to an already flawed design. With Fuga’s remarks, Rodriguez Dos Santos’ relationship with the Trinitarians collapsed, and the latter’s participation in the design and supervision of the construction of the church came to an abrupt end. The comments were too incriminatory for the hapless Portuguese architect to rebut on his own, and Ferdinando Fuga’s reputation as the papal architect was far too established and secure to be discredited by a foreign architect. As a consequence, Fuga was commissioned in May of 1748 to carry out the suggested modifications to the church, with his pupil José de Hermosilla – who had recently arrived in Rome – responsible for completing the interiors.11 Their collaboration commenced immediately and continued through the summer months of 1748. Meanwhile, on May 27, 1748, Rodriguez Dos Santos responded to Fuga’s criticisms by submitting a report to the Tribunale del Vicario (the judicial assembly for ecclesiastical affairs), requesting a sum of 14,525 scudi for his efforts, an exorbitant amount considering that the entire project had cost approximately 50,000 scudi (excluding the cost of the site). He ada- mantly defended his fees claiming that he had supervised the design of the site and produced all of the necessary design documents.12 Shortly thereafter, Baldassare Mattei (the main plasterer), and his colleagues, Giovanni Gheni and Ludovico Faggi, issued a report on November 22, 1748, that confirmed the structural damage to the vault due to water infiltration. The Trinitarians responded by instigating a full inquiry – also within the Tribunale del Vicario – against Rodriguez Dos Santos, questioning the legitimacy of his design fees, the technical and formal merits of his work, and his role as the principal architect in relation to the capomastro’s responsibility in supervising the project. Fuga’s initial report was followed by a number of investigations by several well-known architects, including Carlo Marchionni (January 7, 1749), Gaetano Fabrizi (January 15, 1749), and Gabriele Valvassori (February 25, 1749). At the same time, Giuseppe Marchetti submitted a defense (extragiudiziale) of Rodriguez Dos Santos’ efforts on January 19, 1749. The Trinitarians requested an additional report from Hermosilla (March 18, 1749), whose findings became the basis for a new inquiry brought to the Tribunale dell’Auditor Camerae di Montecitorio (the principal judicial assembly for both lay and ecclesiastical affairs). Hermosilla’s report was in effect a detailed description of the repairs he had already carried out in the church, and his intentions regarding the completion of the project. With respect to the main body of the church, he noted that the pilaster capitals were so conspicuously different in height that the ones on the left side 122 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli facing the high altar exceeded the others by at least half a palm (mezzo palmo). He also pointed out that the arched openings of the lateral chapels should have been equal, rather than varying in width. Like Fuga, he insisted that the attic-story windows should have all been semi-circular, rather than segmental (di un malissimo sesto elipse). Hermosilla then noted that he had removed the lanterns in the main dome because they were unnecessary (totalmente inutile) and unattractive (rendevano notabilmente deforme la Fabrica). Regarding the chancel, Hermosilla noted that he had also removed the center-occupied pilasters as they served no purpose and were placed where the lateral door to the sanctuary ought to have been located. He also pointed out that the cupola above the high altar was flawed, insofar as ribs divided the dome axially into four quadrants, a solution he altered so that the cupola could be frescoed over. With respect to the main entrance, Hermosilla noted that he had reconfigured the arched opening of the sotto- choir vestibule in a less offensive manner (una meno cattiva figura). Finally, he pointed out several problems in the monastery, nearly all of which had already been specified in Fuga’s report. Though Hermosilla had already repaired a number of errors outlined in his report, the debate on the quality of the church as well as the merits of Rodriguez Dos Santos’ design was far from settled. On September 1, 1750, Giuseppe Sardi signed a deposition in favor of the Trinitarians for payments, and damages, specifying his involvement from July 22, 1733, until November 16, 1734, in the monastery, and then again from May 1741 until October 1745 in the church, a period that did not accord with Rodriguez Dos Santos’ previous claim. Several well-known architects in Rome were called upon by the Tribunale della Sacra Rota (the Vatican High Court of Appeals) to present arguments in support of and against the Portuguese architect.13 Paolo Posi (January 17, 1750) defended the Trinitarians, whereas Nicola Michetti’s report (May 31, 1751) provided a stern defense of the Portuguese architect’s ability and character. Depositions by Domenico Gregorini (April 21, 1749, and June 10, 1750), Tommaso De Marchis, and Mauro Fontana (February 14, 1750) supported Rodriguez Dos Santos, while reports by Filippo Barigioni and Francesco Nicoletti (April 1, 1750), and Marco David (April 15, 1752) favored Posi. The case centered on three critical issues, the implementation of the required payment, the additional tax, and the design errors or accomodatione delineamentorum. Meanwhile, work on the church interiors and finishes continued unabated. Regarding the first two issues, Rodriguez Dos Santos produced a body of sworn evidence by a number of colleagues confirming that he had used a standard form of agreement between architect and client. Based on that submission, the Sacra Rota voted in his favor on March 2, 1750, claiming that the outstanding balance of 2,325 scudi should be paid. Defending his design of the church and convent, on the other hand, would prove a far more arduous task, as changes to the original scheme were already under- way. In the end, the Sacra Rota voted on July 16, 1751, in favor of the Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 123

Trinitarians, attributing the bulk of the design errors to Rodriguez Dos Santos. In particular, the four unprecedented lanterns in the main vault, the temporary roof covering over the same space, and the problems associated with the location of the campanile were all deemed his responsibility. Rodriguez Dos Santos argued vehemently against the harsh sentence until the charges were reduced to only two, the structural damages to the vault and the ill-sited campanile. As noted by Paola Ferraris (1991: 250), Rodriguez Dos Santos was a marginal figure in eighteenth-century Roman architecture insofar as he was neither politically motivated nor closely allied with the important ruling families of the time. Given his training outside of the Accademia di San Luca, Rodriguez Dos Santos fell within the tradition of a master builder. This set him apart from the emerging professional architect, who since the time of Carlo Fontana had been steadily gaining in political power and prestige. The case against Rodriguez Dos Santos was not simply a clear demonstration of the Trinitarian’s desire to maintain the orthodoxy of papal politics, it was also a testimony in favor of the classicizing tendencies emerging from the Roman academy. It was within this context too that the young Spanish architect, José de Hermosilla, who was working in the studio of Ferdinando Fuga, became inextricably involved in the church’s completion.

Hermosilla’s contribution José de Hermosilla was undoubtedly aware of the delicate predicament he was entering when he accepted the commission to complete the interiors of Santissima Trinità, and it is also likely that he found the case against Rodriguez Dos Santos extremely disconcerting. The commission to work on a notable building site in Rome alongside some of the most important architects in the city was an opportunity that no Spaniard before him had ever experienced. The conflict Hermosilla faced was that, as a devoted pupil of Fuga, he felt compelled to agree with his master’s criticisms of Rodriguez Dos Santos’ scheme. His description of the Portuguese architect’s shortcomings – both in his report of 1749 and his subsequent treatise Architectura civil (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750: 113) – confirmed his belief that Fuga’s criticisms were for the most part fair and accurate. Yet, at the same time, Hermosilla was like Rodriguez Dos Santos, a stranger in Rome having arrived there to establish himself as a critically independent architect. His reaction to the treatment Rodriguez Dos Santos received was likely tinged with sympathy, for he surely knew that the power wielded by the various architects and giudici was enough to damage one’s personal reputation – if not career – permanently. Therefore, it is not surprising to find that when Hermosilla was appointed as the architect in charge of Santissima Trinità, he would only trust Roman precedent or proven authority. Following his appointment, Hermosilla and Father Alonso Cano assem- bled a team of artists and craftsmen who were not only capable of carrying 124 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli out their respective commissions but also were ready to modify and improve the existing structure (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750: 113). The ornamental work and plastering of the church interior commenced on June 5, 1748, and continued through the summer months.14 Under the direction of Hermosilla, Baldassare Mattei carried out much of the stucco work in general, Antonio Cervoni was responsible for gilding, Domenico Palacios completed the decoration of the main vault, Pedro Bernabé was responsible for the decorative work in the sotto-choir narthex, and Pietro Pacilli carved the coats of arms (Villarroel 1998: 282–3). As noted by Elisa Debenedetti (2001b: 60–1), the expense books of the Trinitarian archive show, however, that in 1749 Pietro Pacilli received more than 2,000 scudi for statuary work at Santissima Trinità. This would have included the sculpture group framing the main arch of the sanctuary and crowning the retable of the high altar, and sculpture work in general for all the lateral chapels, making him the most important figure in the church’s plastic ornamentation. Although Hermosilla’s name is not recorded in the expense books of the Trinitarians, from June 1748 through December of the following year, annual payments, as well as gifts of chocolate, tobacco, and silk handkerchiefs, were given to the architect in charge of the work.15 To complete the interior, Hermosilla removed the lanterns in the main vault and rendered the surface with a combination of eight decorative ribs and basket weave coffers (a canestro), creating perhaps the most striking surface treatment of any Roman vault to date. As noted by Manfredo Tafuri (1964: 11–12), the basket-weave coffering must have been inspired by Fuga’s diamond-shaped coffers in the dome of Santa Maria dell’Orazione e Morte, though Fuga also used them to articulate the barrel vault of the new portico for the church of Santa Maria Maggiore (1741–43), and the cappella maggiore of Sant’Apollinare (1742–48). The French architect, Antoine Deriset, decorated the interior of San Luigi dei Francesi (1749–53) with a similar treatment as well. Hermosilla would have also been familiar with the rich decorative treatment that graced the Mozarabic structures in southern Spain, as well as the more recent Baroque architecture of Seville and his hometown Llerena, where such latticework (cestería) was quite common. Though Hermosilla was responsible for the rich surface treatment of the interior, the full stucco work was not completed until 1767 when the vault was gilded and the pilasters marbleized to celebrate the beatification of Fr. Simón de Rojas (Mancini 1997: II, 163–4). Hermosilla nevertheless increased the oval panel in the center of the dome so that Gregorio Guglielmi’s fresco of the Allegory of the Trinitarian Order (1748–49) could occupy a more prominent position within the dynamic space (Barroero 1990: 404–6; Barreda 2009: 69–70).16 Guglielmi, a Roman painter, had studied under Sebastiano Conca and in 1741 was appointed accademico di merito by the Accademia di San Luca, making him an ideal candidate to paint the central panel.17 His image depicts the vision of St. John of Matha, in which the Virgin appears in white, alongside two angels holding the cross and Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 125 another angel below bearing the chains of a captive Christian slave (Figure 5.16). Previously, Guglielmi had executed a fresco of St. Ambrose with the Founders of the Trinitarian Order (Figure 5.17) for the Sacristy vault (Barreda 2009: 69–70).18 Guglielmi would finish his work at Santissima Trinità in 1749 painting the fresco of the Apparition of the Virgin and Angels to Felix of Valois above the choir vault (Barreda 2009: 71–2). Remarkably, Hermosilla’s interventions to the main space were noted on Rodriguez Dos Santos’ original drawings (Figure 5.18).19 Specifically, he indicated in free-hand that only the lanterns should be removed (levati solamente) and that the rest of the covering should remain intact. Hermosilla also noted in his Architectura civil that there was no need to carry out any further structural alterations to the vault, though he did provide a secondary layer of roof tiles over the exterior to prevent any further water infiltration (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750: 113–14). Hermosilla modified the attic story beneath the dome as well, and here his efforts were also noted on Rodriguez Dos Santos’ drawing. The upper right hand corner of the interior section contains a pencil sketch of the proposed new attic-story window, a rectangular opening capped by a semi-circular arch. The aedicule windows in Rodriguez Dos Santos’ section all have the letter “A” inscribed in pencil on their pediments, accompanied by the words tutto sesto on the further-most window on the right, suggesting that all of the attic-story

Figure 5.16 Gregorio Guglielmi, Allegory of the Trinitarian Order, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. BHR, bhpr32831a. Figure 5.17 Gregorio Guglielmi, St. Ambrose with the Founders of the Trinitarian Order, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. BHR: bhpr32830a.

Figure 5.18 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, detail, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome (c. 1733). ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/6. Copyright Ministero per i Beni e la Attività Culturali. Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 127 windows were to be replaced by the one shown in the pencil sketch. For the six side chapels, Hermosilla produced a number of creative variations on the altar/retable motif (Figure 5.19). In all of these, aedicule surrounds framed the painted central panels, and statuary groups provided further sculptural effect. The chapels were further articulated with diamond shaped coffers on the central chapels and small ribbed domes on the diagonal ones (Figure 5.20). The arches separating the lateral chapels from the main body of the church were treated with shallow coffers. Hermosilla also designed all of the prayer rails that were carved by Francesco Cerrotti (Villarroel 1998: 284). Hermosilla was also responsible for the scenic decoration of the main sanctuary with its monumental retable framing the high altar. As already noted, Pietro Pacilli carved the two angels atop the retable, and the celebrated Neapolitan painter, Corrado Giaquinto (1703–65), was commissioned to produce an altarpiece (Figure 5.21) with an image of The Holy Trinity Liberating a Christian Slave (Briganti 1990: I, 404 ff.). Giaquinto would eventually move to Spain in 1753 to assume the post of primer pintor del rey to Ferdinand VI (Pérez Sánchez 2006). Around the same time, the Spanish artist, Antonio González Velázquez, completed the paintings of the dome and pendentives above the main sanctuary (Figure 5.22), representing Abraham and the Three Angels and Moses and Three Other Prophets (Ríus 1968; Urrea Fernández 2006: 175–9). After training in Madrid at the drawing school of the Junta preparatoria of the Real Academia de San Fernando, he obtained a grant to

Figure 5.19 Side chapel with Gaetano Lapis’ St. John of Matha, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. Photo by author. Figure 5.20 Max Hutzel, side chapel, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8.

Figure 5.21 Max Hutzel, high altar with Corrado Giaquinto’s The Holy Trinity Liberating a Christian Slave, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8. Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 129

Figure 5.22 Antonio González Velázquez, Abraham and the Three Angels and Moses and Three Other Prophets, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. Photo by author. study in Rome in 1746, and he stayed there until 1752, working in the studio of Giaquinto. In 1748 he executed a canvas of the Good Shepherd for the entry chapel of the church, and portraits of Pope Innocent III Recognizing the Trinitarian Order, and The Two Founders of the Trinitarian Order for the chancel walls. To accommodate these works, Hermosilla removed the central pilasters along the lateral sides (the words deve levarsi can be found inscribed on Rodriguez Dos Santos’ drawing), and the central rib in the cupola (which had the word levato stamped on it). Additionally, the lunettes between the pendentives were articulated with coffered bands providing the space with a much more sculptural and scenic effect that contrasted beautifully with the basket weave treatment of the main vault.20 The chancel was undoubtedly the most important space in the church with its monumental retable whose columns resembled the “Order of Orders” from Villalpando’s reconstruction of the Temple in Jerusalem (Figure 5.23). The two Corinthian columns – both semi-engaged, fluted and gilded – were set slightly on the diagonal to enhance the drama of Corrado Giaquinto’s painting of The Holy Trinity. More importantly, the two columns supported a frieze that was painted with floral garlands suspended in such a way that they appear to be defining a series of Doric triglyphs, like Villalpando’s order. Additionally, the frieze was arched between the two columns, with the triglyphs simply following the curve, a motif similarly 130 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

Figure 5.23 Juan Bautista Villalpando, the “Order of Orders” from Roland Fréart, A Parallel of the Ancient Architecture with the Modern (1733). © Heidelberg University Library. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. employed on the interior of the church of Nuestra Señora de la Granada in Llerena (Figure 5.24). Certainly, by the middle decades of the eighteenth- century, the motif was well-known and much used, though the repetition of

Figure 5.24 José de Hermosilla, interior, Nuestra Señora de la Granada, Llerena. Photo by author. Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 131 the exact same version in both Rome and Llerena clearly points to Hermosilla’s involvement. To complete the retable, Hermosilla articulated the lunette above with a gilded sunburst and symbol of the Holy Trinity in the center, all surrounded by putti, a motif clearly inspired by Bernini’s Cathedra at Saint Peter’s. Finally, Hermosilla altered the sotto-choir vestibule by refining the arched balcony that divided the two levels, introducing two Ionic columns (from Michelangelo’s Palazzo dei Conservatori) to soften the transition from major to minor order. Hermosilla further refined the balcony with an elaborate cartouche celebrating the Jubilee year of 1750, when the structure was finally completed. When seen from the nave, the arched opening and balcony perfectly frame Gregorio Guglielmi’s fresco of the Apparition of the Virgin atop the choir vault (Figure 5.25). Though modest in scope, all of these designs and alterations provided Hermosilla with the perfect opportunity to fulfill many of his architectural ambitions in Rome. Among the important altarpieces commissioned for the church was the Immaculate Conception (1750) for the first chapel to the left of the high altar (Figure 5.26), by Francisco Preciado de la Vega (Cornudella i Carré 1997: 109–10). His painting touched upon a theme of unsurpassed importance to artists from Seville (Brown 1998: 222–3). Dispute of the Virgin’s immaculacy had divided the church since at least the Renaissance with the Immaculists, led by the Franciscans, believing that the Virgin was miracu- lously conceived without original sin, and the Sanctification party, led by

Figure 5.25 Max Hutzel, choir balcony, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8. 132 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli

Figure 5.26 Max Hutzel, side chapel with Francisco Preciado de la Vega’s Immaculate Conception, Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Rome. © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI 86.P.8. the Dominicans, holding that Mary was conceived in sin and later purified in the womb of her mother. Both the Crown and Church of Castile were ardent Immaculists, so when Alexander VII Chigi declared Mary immune from original sin in 1661, the news was met with great joy in Spain, and Seville in particular where the faithful were extraordinarily passionate. Yet the Immaculada theme was not only of unsurpassed importance to painters from Seville, such as Juan de Valdés Leal and Bartolomé Esteban Murillo – both of whom would have been great inspirations to Preciado – it was also common in many Spanish churches and convents in Rome (Anselmi 2008: 239–300). It would have been inconceivable not to have one in a new Spanish church even if the theme had by now become somewhat tired. In addition to his Immaculada altarpiece, Preciado painted an even more symbolic canvas for the church, the Vision at the Mass of St. John of Matha (1757), an allegory on the foundation of the Trinitarian Order (Cornudella i Carré 1997: 112). The painting was placed above an altar in the sacristy opposite the portrait bust of Fr. Diego Morcillo. The vault of the sacristy already contained a fresco by Gregorio Guglielmo depicting the two founding saints of the order, John of Matha and Felix of Valois. Seen together, the Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli 133 three works completed the allegory of the Trinitarian church and their new foundation in Rome. Finally, Preciado produced a portrait of Simón de Rojas, a work that was first exhibited at Saint Peter’s Basilica on May 19, 1766, to celebrate the saint’s beatification (Fagiolo 1997: 178–9; Cornudella i Carré 1997: 113–14).21 The church was decorated by the Roman architect Marco David and Preciado’s portrait was placed in the tribune, in front of Bernini’s Cathedra. The existence of this work remains in question as it may not have been the same painting he produced for the church of Santissima Trinità, a work which was signed and dated 1767 and produced for the Triduum feast for the Saint’s beatification on June 14–16 of the same year (Fagiolo 1997: 180). For this celebration, Preciado collaborated with D. Michele de Espinosa e la Torre to decorate the church’s façade and interior. His painting of the Saint was placed in the entry chapel to the right dedicated to Simón de Rojas, where Antonio González Velázquez’ Good Shepherd already hung. The painting remained there until the 1970s when it was re-located to the church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane (Villarroel 1998: 291). For the remaining chapels, altarpieces were commissioned to various Roman and foreign artists, all of whom had studied under Sebastiano Conca or were connected with the Spanish community in Rome (Villarroel 1998: 284–6). These included the Martyrdom of St. Agnes (patron of the Trinitarian Order) by the Roman Marco Benefial (1684–1764), St. John of Matha by the Marchesan Gaetano Lapis (1706–76), a pupil of Conca, St. Catherine of Alexandria by the Sicilian Giuseppe Paladini (1721–94), and a portrait of St. Felix of Valois by the little known German painter and pupil of Benefial, Lambert Krahe (1712–90), who also produced a painting of St. Peter of Alcántara Giving Communion to St Teresa of Avila (c. 1751–56) for the church of San Pasquale Baylon. Krahe’s altarpiece for Santissima Trinità no longer exists, replaced by the Roman Andrea Casali’s portrait of St. Felix of Valois in 1775. A pupil of Conca, Andrea Casali (1705–84) also provided a painting of the Passion of Christ for the remaining altar and another eleven paintings in total that were located throughout the church and monastery. On September 29, 1750, the ninth anniversary of the laying of the foundation stone, the church was consecrated (Villarroel 1998: 286). The Roman Diario Ordinario noted a few days later on October 3, 1750, that the church of Santissima Trinità had been completed, with the exception of the sacristy and a series of paintings for the remaining side chapels (Mancini 1997: II, 88–9). In 1752, Baldassare Mattei would complete the Spanish coat of arms for the façade of the church. The Roman architect, Marco David (1739–65) finished the sacristy in 1758 by designing the wooden furniture to store the liturgical vestments and other sacred vessels. David also designed the wooden entrance (bussetto) to the church. In 1760, Gaspare Sibilla would complete the sculptural portrait of Morcillo for the sacristy. And as already mentioned, in the 1770s Andrea Casali 134 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli would provide the Trinitarians with several canvases to complete the artistic build-out of the church. But perhaps most importantly, the Trinitarians’ expense book shows that in December 1750, José de Hermosilla was paid 250 scudi for his design of the church interiors (ATSR, Cuento del Gasto de la Fábrica). At this point, Hermosilla achieved what no Spaniard before him had accomplished, the realization of a major monument in Rome and the recognition that comes with it.

* * * The case of Santissima Trinità reveals a number of compelling design issues and cultural problems that extend well beyond the value of relating a particular moment in eighteenth-century Rome. Funding for the project came largely from South America, and it was associated with the exalting of the Trinitarian Order and the promotion of Spanish saints. The principal architects and artists involved in its completion came from the Iberian peninsula, and their contributions highlighted the importance that Roman planning strategies, building typologies and decorative vocabularies would continue to play in the early-modern world. More importantly though, the case of Santissima Trinità reveals how ardently the new Bourbon monarchs hoped to continue the tradition of Spanish donation in Rome, creating at the same time a distinct artistic culture that represented a truly global perspective of Ibero–American patronage. 6 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

En la fabrica del Templo de San Lorenzo el Real, que oy se edifica cerca dela Villa del Escurial, por orden del poderoso, y Catolico Rey Felipe Segundo, señor nuestro, se acabò de poner en su punto el arte de Arquitectura por Juan Bautista, natural de Toledo, que fue el primero Maestro de aquella famosa traza, y comenzò à levanter su montea con tan maravilloso effecto, que no solo iguala con toda la antuguedad, pero en este solo Templo podria ser excedida. (Juan de Arfe y Villafañe, De varia commensuración)1

Reales sitios In his magisterial work Building the Escorial, George Kubler (1982: 42) noted that “[w]herever a King builds, Solomon comes to mind.” The eighteenth- century Bourbon monarchs in Spain certainly built a great deal, and yet, whenever they renovated existing royal palaces or put up entirely new ones, they did so in an unexpectedly restrained manner. The royal sites (reales sitios) situated in and around Madrid were the political and cultural symbols of Spanish majesty, and so the new Bourbons were determined early on to transform the image of these palaces from Hapsburg properties to national ones (Sancho 1995). More than simply royal residences, they were the main symbols of the Bourbon monarchy’s new spirit of crowned majesty. The royal collection of antiquities, ancient and modern sculptures and paintings, and the decorative arts that were housed in the various royal sites were central to conveying to the public the Bourbon’s commitment to the continuity of imperial imagery, virtue, magnificence, and grandeur (Allende 2010). But the War of Spanish Succession limited Philip’s resources and the many palaces that already existed made it unnecessary to construct any new ones. Renovation was Philip’s initial strategy. To that end, Philip V relied to a great extent on Spaniards, employing such Late Baroque and Rococo architects as Teodoro Ardemans, Pedro de Ribera, José Benito de Churriguera and others to work on the royal sites and other projects during the first three decades of his reign (Tovar Martín 1994; Blasco Esquivias 2002b). While a handful of French and Italian artists and architects graced the early court of Philip V, it was not until 136 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence the mid-1730s that a significant number of foreigners began to arrive in the capital. Yet despite this mix of national and foreign influences, Roman architectural tendencies remained the paradigm. Like his Hapsburg predecessors, Philip V set up a regular pattern of movement throughout the various royal sites according to the seasons and religious holidays, a pattern that would continue under his successor Ferdinand VI (Kamen 2001: 138). The Alcázar and Buen Retiro palaces in Madrid were the principal residences of Philip V and the court (Bottineau 1986a: 291 ff.), though the various suburban and rural residences surrounding the capital accommodated his private interests, as well as those of his wives. As noted by Pablo Vázquez Gestal (2013: 300 ff.), Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese in particular used the royal sites as a way of maintaining their privacy from the court and from their official duties as monarchs, a policy that served them particularly well after Philip’s abdication in 1724 and his return to the throne after the unexpected death of his first son Luis, who had succeeded him only briefly.

The Alcázar of Madrid

The winter months were typically spent at the Alcázar in Madrid, the Muslim fortress originally built in the ninth century and transformed by Charles V in 1536 and Philip II in 1559 into the “seat and heart” of the monarchy (Bottineau 1986a: 300; Checa Cremades 1994; Barbeito 1992). In 1636, Philip IV ordered Juan Gómez de Mora to reconfigure its exterior, enclosing the composite whole with classical orders and a central portal, making it seem like a unified whole in the style of Juan de Herrera’s Escorial. In the first decade of the eighteenth century, Philip V and his first wife Marie Louise commissioned significant renovations to the palace’s interiors to accommodate their immediate needs and tastes, as well as those of the princess of Ursins, the Queen’s head of the household (Bottineau 1956; Sancho 1994, 2002b). These were carried out under the supervision of the Spaniard Teodoro Ardemans, with the assistance of the French diplomat, architect, and amateur painter, Antoine du Verger, and the French architect René Carlier (d. 1722), both of whom had come to Spain to work on royal commissions. In 1712, Philip initiated plans to make the palace more French in taste and character, commissioning designs by Carlier and the Parisian architect Robert de Cotte (1656/7–1735), though these remained unexecuted and, in any event, De Cotte refused to move to Spain (Bottineau 1986a: 300 ff.). The Alcázar would suffer from a tragic fire on Christmas Eve 1734 that left it in total ruin. Its replacement, the new Royal Palace, would occupy the efforts of every eighteenth-century Bourbon monarch, and nearly every single architect and artist in the capital. The new palace though would not be occupied until December 1, 1764, when Charles III made it the permanent royal residence in the capital. From 1734 to 1764, the palace of the Buen Retiro would have to fulfill the early Bourbon ambitions. Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 137

Buen Retiro

The Buen Retiro was a suburban palace in the east of Madrid built from 1630 on the site of the monastery of San Jerónimo el Real, adjacent to the Prado de San Jerónimo, a long thoroughfare that was lined with trees and fountains forming a buffer between the town and countryside (Brown and Elliott 1980). As its name suggests, the palace was built as a kind of villa for retreat and recreation, its proximity to the Alcázar making it an ideal place to escape from the official duties of court. The palace with its vast gardens and two large open squares in front was a popular site for royal processions, funerals, and religious festivals. In 1712–13, Philip V attempted to renovate the palace and gardens along the ambitious lines of Versailles and Marly, but the designs by René Carlier and Robert de Cotte were abandoned as being too extravagant (Bottineau 1986a: 292 ff.; Tovar Martín 1989; Gärms 2002). Nevertheless, the Buen Retiro was remodeled internally in a French Rococo style to meet Philip’s and his successor Ferdinand’s tastes.2 Both the Alcázar and Buen Retiro clearly demonstrate the early architectural aims of Philip V and his wife, Marie Louise, supporting the existing Spanish residences and introducing an element of French and antique taste without spending vast sums of money. After all, the War of Spanish Succession had yet to subside and the idea of diverting funds to the royal properties seemed conspicuously inappropriate. The presence of Teodoro Ardemans alongside the French architects Robert de Cotte and René Carlier also underlined the king’s dual allegiances.

Aranjuez

Spring was usually spent away from the city, in nearby Aranjuez, the royal residence originally built in 1387 and extensively transformed by Philip II in the 1570s by Juan Bautista de Toledo and Juan de Herrera (Palacio Real de Aranjuez 1987). The work continued under Juan Gómez de Mora maintaining the austere style of the sixteenth-century palace. After the War of Spanish Succession had ended in 1714, Philip V added the north wing according to plans by the military engineer Pedro Caro Idogro (d. 1732), an addition that respected the schemes of Juan Gómez de Mora, Juan Bautista de Toledo and Juan de Herrera (Bottineau 1986a: 452–54; Sancho 2002b: 336). Caro Idogro was followed by two French military engineers, Étienne Marchand and Léandre Brachelieu, who were assisted after 1731 by Giacomo (Santiago) Bonavía (1705–59), an Italian architect, painter, urban planner, and stage designer from Piacenza. Originally summoned to Spain by Elizabeth Farnese and the Marchese Annibale Scotti (Elizabeth’s secretary), to work on royal projects that were already under way and to supplant the French style that had been in place with a new Italian influence, Bonavía immediately began to shape the palace’s architecture and decorative arts (Tovar Martín 1997). In 1735, he conceived of a new entry vestibule and honorific triple-flight 138 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence staircase for the palace. The central section of the palace’s main facade can also be attributed to him. Bonavía also worked at the Buen Retiro as well as designing in 1739 the church of the Saints Justo y Pastor in Madrid, an elliptically planned structure that recalls Guarino Guarini’s design for Santa Maria della Divina Provvidenza in Lisbon. After a fire in June 1748, Bonavía was ordered by Ferdinand VI to restore the palace and to conceive of a new town plan to surround the royal residence, and provide lodging space for followers of the court as well as visiting dignitaries (Chueca Goitia 1987: 173–5; Lozano Bartolozzi 2011: 560–3). Bonavía was assisted by the French architect Jaime Marquet (d. 1782) and the Spaniard Alejandro González Velázquez (1719–72), whose brother Antonio had worked at the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli in Rome. Though Alejandro had previously declined a pension to travel and study in Italy, his work at Aranjuez under Bonavía would perhaps approxi- mate the experience better than anywhere else in Spain. The new town was laid out in a perfectly regular grid, with a triple avenue that extended the axis of the palace gardens in a manner resembling the tridents of Rome and Versailles. A large plaza was aligned perpendicular with the avenue, and to the south the oval church of San Antonio (Figure 6.1), also by Bonavía, was linked to the palace by a long covered passageway that also connected the Casa de Oficios (administrative offices) and Casa de Caballeros (office of the knights). A solution typical of Spanish plazas, the covered gallery was repeated on the opposite side of the plaza with the Casa de Infantes (house of the Princes), a structure Charles III commissioned to Juan de Villanueva in 1773. The new composite whole underlined Ferdinand VI’s artistic priorities of developing a more cosmopolitan and Italian presence in the Spanish royal sites (Bottineau 1986b: 257–68). During Ferdinand’s reign, a number of important

Figure 6.1 Santiago Bonavía, church of San Antonio, Aranjuez. Photo by author. Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 139

Italian artists arrived in Spain, including the painter Corrado Giaquinto (Pérez Sánchez 2006), and the singer and stage designer Carlo Broschi Farinelli, whose presence at Aranjuez was famously celebrated (Sancho 2000; De Martini and Morillas Alcázar 2001). Ferdinand was also responsible for the official opening of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes in Madrid, which was named in honor of his patron saint in 1752, with the aim of educating young Spaniards along the lines of the Italian and French academies in Rome. Yet as previously noted in Chapter 3, the design and construction of the new Royal Palace in Madrid would contribute more to the establishment of an academic program of architecture than any other royal site.

New royal palace in Madrid

Of all the royal projects commissioned by the Bourbons in the eighteenth century, the case of the new Royal Palace in Madrid (Figure 6.2) deserves the greatest attention, for the building, described by Fernando Chueca (quoted in Kubler 1959: 44) as “the chalky bone enclosing the marrow of Spain,” mirrors the history of the Bourbon monarchy. After the great fire, it was inconceivable that Philip V would do anything other than make the reconstruction of the palace the focus of his artistic patronage (Plaza Santiago 1975; Sancho and Suffield 2004). However, Philip’s aim was not limited to repairing the damages caused by the tragedy, or simply reconstructing the previous building. As noted by Yves Bottineau (1986a: 548), Philip wanted to build the seat and symbol of an international monarchy following the model of Versailles. Consequently, the commission for the design of the new Royal Palace could only be given to an architect of seminal importance and international prestige.3 The task was awarded to the Piedmontese architect Filippo Juvarra, who in 1735 came to Spain at the age of 57 to prepare designs for the new palace (Bottineau 1986a: 531–601; Bonet Correa and Blasco Esquivias 1994).

Figure 6.2 Façade, Royal Palace, Madrid. Photo by author. 140 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Juvarra’s remarkable scheme consisted of a vast four-court structure that would have exceeded any other palace in Europe (for example Blenheim, Versailles, Berlin) in scale and magnificence (Gärms 1994: 239–49). The large rectangular “Patio Principal” was flanked by smaller square “Patios Colaterales y de Oficios” and followed by a “Patio de los Consejos,” creating a dominant central axis throughout the scheme. Unfortunately, Juvarra died unexpectedly within a year of his arrival in Madrid. His pupil and successor Giovanni Battista Sacchetti (1690–1764) began working on the plans for the new Royal Palace in 1738, substantially reducing Juvarra’s vast scheme into a more man- ageable centralized single-court structure. His altered scheme followed Philip’s decision that Juvarra’s design was too costly and that an adapted version on the site of the old palace be built instead (Sancho and Suffield 2004: 21). The decoration of the building was entrusted primarily to Corrado Giaquinto, Giovanni Domenico Olivieri, and other Italian and Spanish artists during the reign of Ferdinand VI, who continued the Late Baroque manner of Juvarra and Sacchetti (Sancho 2002a). The construction of the new palace, built entirely out of masonry to avoid future fires (with the exception of windows, doors and other interior finishes), lasted until Charles III established it as his principal residence in 1764. Charles’ preferred architect, Francesco Sabbatini (1721–97), worked at the palace 1773–78 adding a new south-east wing and completing the chapel as well as the great central staircase in a more austere classicizing manner.4 Anton Rafael Mengs and Giambattista Tiepolo succeeded Corrado Giaquinto on the interiors, introducing a more academic and classicizing sensibility to the palace’s decoration. Work on the interiors continued under Charles IV, and the surrounding park and entrance court (Plaza de Armas) would not be complete until the late nineteenth century. Over the course of nearly forty years, the Royal Palace of Madrid was the principal hub of artistic patronage in Spain, occupying nearly every eighteenth-century architect in the Bourbon court, and a number of distinguished foreign architects and artists as well. The atelier employed over two hundred and forty Italian craftsmen and specialists as the core of the working force, and thus schooled a new generation of Spanish architects and artists in Italian architectural traditions (Plaza Santiago 1975: 47 ff.). More importantly, since the day that Charles III occupied the palace for the first time, the Royal Palace in Madrid has been the principal residence of the King of Spain and a symbol of the nation’s monarchy. Shortly after the foundation stone of the new Royal Palace had been laid in 1738, Sacchetti’s design was brought to the attention of a tribunal from the Roman Accademia di San Luca, with the Spanish Cardinal-ambassador Troiano Acquaviva, and the noted architects Ferdinando Fuga, Nicola Salvi, and Luigi Vanvitelli all intervening in the project (Sancho 1991a). We have already seen in Chapters 4 and 5 how design committees in Rome contributed to the debates on the structural integrity of the dome at Saint Peter’s (1743), with Nicola Salvi, and Luigi Vanvitelli serving on a review committee, as well as the completion of the church of Santissima Trinità degli Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 141

Spagnoli, with Ferdinando Fuga inaugurating the critique of Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos’ scheme (1748). Sacchetti was indeed fortunate to be given the task of completing the new Royal Palace, but his lack of experience and recognition made him an easy target, especially for Annibale Scotti, the unofficial guardian of Italian taste in Bourbon Spain. As secretary and confidante of Elizabeth Farnese, Scotti began to question Sacchetti’s scheme in 1741–42, sending drawings of the palace to Cardinal Aquaviva in Rome with the aim of having architects from the Roman academy review them. Scotti’s criticisms were based on the functional distribution of spaces within the plan as well as the overall visual composition. The dictamen from Rome, received on July 5, 1742, was largely insubstan- tial, as Fuga, Salvi, and Vanvitelli approved of the scheme in general, making only minor criticisms regarding the thickness of the exterior walls, and the two staircases flanking the entrance, which they suggested should be enlarged. The placement of the Chapel between the two staircases on the piano nobile was also discussed with the suggestion that it be moved to an external location with a separate atrium entrance or vestibule. A more contentious point concerned the excessive number and scale of columns on the principal façade, as they were deemed too costly and unnecessary. Perhaps the most damaging remark by the three Roman architects was that they felt Sacchetti’s scheme was too small and that it lacked sufficient grandeur for a royal palace. A single courtyard for a palace of that magnitude was simply insufficient, particularly considering Juvarra’s earlier scheme. The critiques certainly made Sacchetti’s task increasingly challenging, particularly in light of Philip’s insistence that Juvarra’s scheme be reduced. The solution would prove to be both less and more, keeping in mind that the foundation stone noted that the new Royal Palace was constructed to last for eternity (Plaza Santiago 1975: 91). Shortly thereafter on August 3, 1745, Fuga and his Roman colleagues reviewed a new sectional drawing of the royal staircase produced by Sacchetti, after Annibale Scotti and his preferred architect Santiago Bonavía – who at the same time was developing the principal staircase at Aranjuez – insisted that the design be further reconsidered (Sancho 1991b). Juvarra’s original proposal consisted of a magnificent double staircase flanking the cross axis, in a rectangular three flight configuration typical of Spanish Imperial staircases (Wilkinson-Zerner 1975). Sacchetti proposed two theatrical twin-facing staircases flanking the central axis of the palace, the one on the right leading to the King’s quarters and the one on the left to those of the Queen (an idea proposed by Scotti based on Juvarra’s earlier proposal). Each staircase would have a nine-bay configuration with a central landing and symmetrical switchbacks leading to nine exit points each, all beneath a great vaulted space pierced by oval windows. Though the Roman architects viewed Sacchetti’s staircase favorably, debates continued, and in 1746 Philip V requested a competition to determine a conclusive solution. This time the arbiter of taste would be the directors of the soon-to-be-established academy in Madrid, Gian Domenico 142 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Olivieri, Giacomo Pavia, and François Carlier, following the pattern of the Roman academy. Even Vanvitelli submitted his own scheme for the project around this time, though his sketch drawing is undated and is not mentioned in his letters until 1758 when he was already well established in Naples as Carlo di Borbone’s principal architect for the Royal Palace at Caserta (Sancho 1991b: 221). The directors of the Real Accademia de Bellas Artes reviewed the various schemes and settled on Sacchetti’s proposal and Ferdinand VI approved the decision on December 2, 1746. The magnificent twin stairwells were slowly executed and the individual flights were installed temporarily in wood so that the King could appreciate the results. Nevertheless, by the time of Ferdinand VI’s death in 1759, the stairs remained incomplete. Strangely, Charles III was dissatisfied with the configuration of the stairs and ordered his architect, Francesco Sabbatini, to construct a single triple flight stair like the one Luigi Vanvitelli had constructed for him at Caserta. Charles stipulated that the stair be on the left of the palace’s central axis and that a guard room be located at the top of the stair, leading to a great ballroom that would occupy the well of the twin stair. The guard room would also provide access to the King’s audience room overlooking the main façade of the palace. Charles IV flipped the stair to the right of the central axis and turned the guard room into a ballroom (the Halberdiers hall), a solution which remains today. This space in turn led to a monumental hall of columns in the empty well of the twin staircase which would have led to the Queens quarters in Sacchetti’s original proposal. The royal staircase was flanked on the ground floor by a great niche containing a monumental statue of Charles III dressed in Roman military victory (Sancho and Suffield 2004: 61–3; Allende 2010: 8–9). The larger than life statue of Charles standing contrapposto was carved by the French sculptor Pierre-Joseph Michel, the brother of Clodion (Claude Michel), in 1791, and reminds the viewer how much the new Royal Palace in Madrid, like the Escorial, is indebted to Greco–Roman antiquity.

El Escorial and El Pardo

The royal monastery and palace of the Escorial built by Philip II in 1563–84, which later served as a pantheon for the Spanish Hapsburg dynasty, remained an important property under the Bourbons, and in the late summer and autumn, the entire court moved there for about six weeks (Kamen 2001: 138).5 Neither Philip V nor Ferdinand VI patronized the Escorial in any meaningful way; the great monastery would have to wait until the reign of Charles III before a new town would complete the site. The palace and hunting lodge of El Pardo just outside of Madrid was the popular hunting park for both the Hapsburgs and Bourbons. Philip V commissioned François Antoine Carlier (1707–50), the son of the French architect René Carlier to design a new royal chapel for the palace and adjoining town. Expansion of the town of El Pardo commenced at this time, though it was not until Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 143

Charles III that the majority of the work was completed. In the meantime however, Philip began to build his own private retreat in 1720, the new palace of San Ildefonso “La Granja” in the hills south of Segovia near Valsaín, replacing the Pardo as the preferred destination in late summer and autumn.

The Palace of San Ildefonso La Granja

In 1720, Philip V ordered the purchase of a site just north of Madrid in the foothills near Segovia that served as a recreational granja (grange) for the Jeronymite Order of El Parral, to build a small retreat dedicated to San Ildefonso (Bottineau 1986a: 417 ff.; Rodríguez Ruiz et al. 2000; Callejo Delgado and Lorrio 1996). As early as 1717, the new monarch had become increasingly more religious. The tireless duties of managing his kingdom after an exhausting war had depleted him of his youthful energy, and like many of his Hapsburg predecessors, salvation became his most persistent obsession (Vázquez Gestal 2013: 279 ff.). That, coupled with the deaths of his father Louis, the Dauphin of France (1711), his wife Marie Louise (1714), his brother Charles, Duke of Berry (1714), and grandfather, Louis XIV (1715), increased his desire for privacy and prayer. Therefore, the original plan was to occupy the rustic farm structure of the Jeronymite monastery of El Parral and transform its rectangular plan and courtyard into a modest residence. On July 27, 1720, Philip and Elizabeth signed a joint document declaring their intention to renounce the throne as early as 1723, and retire to a life of modesty and piety. In 1724, Philip would abdicate in favor of his eldest son Luis (1707–24) from his first marriage to Marie Louise of Savoy. Unfortunately the young prince would only last seven months on the throne, dying prema- turely from smallpox (Kamen 2001: 147–50). After that, Philip resumed the throne and remained in place until his death in 1746. At this point, a significant change in the character of La Granja emerged. The modest retirement residence that Philip began in 1720 slowly evolved into a vast pleasure palace with gardens and a town to house the royal retinue and workers on the future estate. The original construction of the royal residence began to a design by Teodoro Ardemans (Corral 1974; Moya 1984). His plan, a gridiron with a main central court, corner towers and a chapel along the central axis, recalls the schema of sixteenth-century Spanish Habsburg alcázars, if not more conspicuously the nearby Jeronymite monastery of the Escorial (Chueca Goitia 1983 [1966]: 222). The plan is certainly curious, as Philip V inherited the monarchical ideal from his grandfather Louis XIV, and implemented a political program in Spain that was decisively French from the beginning, a contrast to the prevailing Hapsburg model (Bottineau 1986a: 181–225; Rodríguez Ruiz 2000: 313–2). That the Escorial served Philip better than Versailles not only underscored the Spanish predilection for Royal monasteries over palaces, but also signaled a shift in the perception of the Escorial from a Hapsburg monastery and residence to a national icon and appropriate symbol for the new Bourbon dynasty. It also highlights how culturally 144 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Spain was not France, nor would she yield to French taste in matters of art and architecture. In any event, the alcázar-monastery hybrid fitted Philip’s desire for restraint much better than the idea of a new Versailles. Between 1724 and 1734, a second stage of construction initiated by Elizabeth Farnese came under the direction of the Roman painter and architect Andrea Procaccini, who converted the old-fashioned alcázar into a scenic Late Baroque palace, open to newly-planned gardens with courtyards and loggias (Bottineau 1986a: 450 ff.; Gärms 2000). Procaccini had trained at the Accademia di San Luca in Rome as a painter, though he would have been familiar with contemporary trends in Roman architecture. His scheme for the palace expansion, including the notable horse-shoe-shaped Patio de la Herradura and the oval terminus to the collegiate chapel, brought an eclectic mix of late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century architectural trends to the distinctively Spanish alcázar (Gärms 2000). The central section of the Patio was modeled on Serlio’s treatment of the courtyard at Ancy-le-Franc, and incorporated decorative details that would have easily been found in Domenico de Rossi’s recently published Studio d’architettura civile (Rome 1702–21), combining both Berninian and Borrominian influences with those of the more recent architects Carlo Fontana and Filippo Juvarra (Figure 6.3). Procaccini also transformed Ardemans’ basilican church into a Greek cross with an apsidal terminus flanked by twin towers and an octagonal dome above the crossing (Figure 6.4). The new apsidal façade – recalling Bernini’s treatment of the apse of the church of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome – was also similar to the more recently published proposal for the collegiate church in Salzburg by Johann Bernhard Fisher von Erlach. Additionally, a large rectangular plaza flanked by administrative buildings was laid out in front of the palace creating a much more monumental court of honor arrival, and providing a decidedly religious face to the otherwise secular palace (Callejo Delgado and Lorrio 1996: 28–33). If Ardemans’ scheme was Spanish Hapsburg to the core, the new additions departed from radically different models, combining French and Italian urban, architectural, and landscape typologies with ornate classical decorative vocabularies to create a composite new whole. The new synthetic palace perfectly captured the Bourbon family’s dynastic and nation- alistic intentions, marrying Hapsburg precedent with international style to create a seamless transition from one century and monarchy to the next, however fragmented and contradictory it may have appeared in reality. In 1735 Filippo Juvarra, who had come to Spain to work on the new Royal Palace in Madrid, completed the eastern façade of La Granja facing the gardens by designing a monumental, scenic frontispiece (Bottineau 1986a: 556 ff; Ortega and Sancho 1994; Bonet Correa 1998: 17–63). The construction of the new façade, completed by Juvarra’s successor Sacchetti, continued the additive and incremental pattern of design at the palace, resulting in the demolition of the two eastern towers of Ardemans’ alcázar, as well as the modernization and decorative embellishment of the garden- facing suites (Figure 6.5). Therefore, when seen in its entirety, La Granja Figure 6.3 Andrea Procaccini, Patio de la Herradura, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja. Photo by author.

Figure 6.4 Andrea Procaccini, Colegiata, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja. Photo by author. 146 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Figure 6.5 Filippo Juvarra et al., garden façade, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja. Photo by author. accurately lives up to its well-known description by George Kubler (1957: 201) as “Spanish in its nucleus, French in its landscape setting, and Italian in its decoration and ornament.”

Riofrío

With Philip V’s death in 1746, Elizabeth Farnese’s privileged position was quickly restricted by Ferdinand VI and his wife Bárbara of Braganza. The dowager Queen retired to the palace of San Ildefonso La Granja. However, as Philip’s mausoleum was being erected within the collegiate chapel at La Granja, it was necessary for the new monarchs to visit the royal palace on occasion. It is well-known that the widowed Queen’s relations with Ferdinand and Bárbara were poor. This spurred Elizabeth to build her own private retreat nearby in Riofrío from 1752, to designs from the Italian architect Virgilio Rabaglio, a project approved by Ferdinand VI (Bottineau 1986b: 268–72; Sancho and Aparicio 2000: 86–93). The palace (Figure 6.6) was in many ways a product of the Queen’s secretary, the Marchese Scotti, who had previously intervened at Aranjuez and the new Royal Palace in Madrid. Its square plan with a courtyard is similar to the palace in Madrid, but also recalls the parmesan equivalents of Colorno and Piacenza. But here the twin flight staircases facing each other, and the placement of the chapel at the far wing opposite the stairs, are a reflection of what Scotti had originally intended for the new Royal Palace in Madrid and which Sacchetti ultimately provided. Elizabeth never resided at Riofrío as her son Carlo di Borbone assumed the throne of Spain as Charles III in 1759 before the palace was complete and, moreover, her new position as Queen Mother allowed her to return to the capital triumphantly.6 Despite its limited use, the palace of Riofrío remains perhaps the best example of an Italian palazzo in Spain. Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 147

Figure 6.6 Virgilio Rabaglio, Palacio Real de Riofrío (1752–59). Photo by author.

While it would be a stretch to draw any politically overt associations with King Solomon in any of the Bourbon palaces, or with Philip V and Ferdinand VI as father and son kings similar to the Hapsburgs Charles V and Philip II, the similarities can at times seem uncanny. Philip V, who reigned twice, was a David-like ruler in his first term and Solomonic wise king in his second. Similarly, Philip V started the new Royal Palace in Madrid, a project that his son Ferdinand VI completed during a reign marked by peace and prosperity. Finally, both monarchs would patronize many works of art in which Solomonic imagery was conspicuous, however much it may have been associated with the previous Hapsburg dynasty. So Kubler’s assertion that royal building is in itself characteristic of Solomon continued to resonate throughout the eighteenth century, and here too the link with Rome was unmistakable.

Solomonic imagery Spanish architecture exhibited a remarkable fascination with Solomonic imagery, notably since Philip II’s building of the Escorial (Ramírez 1991). Dedicated to St. Lawrence and named San Lorenzo el Real del Escorial, the ground plan is thought to represent the grid on which the Roman saint of Hispanic origin was martyred (Kamen 2010: 29 ff.).7 Philip’s principal architect, Juan de Herrera (1530–97), who continued the work of his pre- decessor Juan Bautista de Toledo (1515–67), exhibited a predilection for divine proportion and cubic forms based on ancient Roman and contemporary Italian models (Wilkinson-Zerner 1993). Like the Temple of Solomon whose plan was a gridiron, the Escorial represented the figura cubica exceptionally well (Pereda 2005; González Cobelo 1986). However, Solomonic planning was not a novel invention in sixteenth-century Spain. Its origins in the ad quadratum cubic figure of late Gothic architecture is perhaps less 148 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence known but not unsurprising, particularly in light of the planimetric organization of monastic complexes, and cruciform court hospitals in both Italy and Spain (Chueca Goitia 1983 [1966]; Kubler 1982: 44–5; Cuadra Blanco 1997b). Similarly, images of the spirally twisted (Solomonic) columns from Saint Peter’s in Rome (purportedly spoils from the Temple in Jerusalem) were known in Spain through the works of Francisco de Holanda, whose 1545 graphic history of the world, De aetatibus mundi imagines (Holanda 1983) contained an image of the ‘Columna Salomónica,” and Giacomo Barozzi da Vignola, whose treatise on the orders of architecture (Regola delli cinque ordini d’architettura 1562 and eventually in Spanish: Vignola 1593) provided the first systematic method for calculating undulant column shafts (Holanda 1983; Deswarte 1983; Pereda 2003).8 From the outset, the Escorial was associated with Solomon’s Temple, both in its architecture and metaphorically in the prudent Philip as a new Solomon, even though the precise origin of the association is not clear (Kubler 1982: 128–34; García López 2002a: 463). In the wake of the Escorial, a number of Spanish interpretations and adaptations of Solomonic themes emerged that would forever be associated with Hispano–Roman imagery. Benito Arias Montano, the monastery’s librarian, iconographer, and keeper of relics (Villalba Muñoz 1912–16; Rekers 1972; Ozaeta 1990), produced his own reconstruction of the Temple (1571–72) following the original Hebrew text, a departure from the Vulgate translation that brought him under suspicion from the Inquisition (Martínez Ripoll 1991). A more acceptable interpretation was put forth by the Jesuit Juan Bautista Villalpando, who trained under Herrera, and whose treatise and commentary on the Temple, In Ezechielem Explanationes et Apparatus Urbis ac Templi Hierosolymitani (written in collaboration with Jerónimo Prado), was published in Rome in four volumes between 1598 and 1604 (Ramírez 1991). Based on the writings of the prophet Ezekiel, Villalpando sought to re-establish the origins of ancient architecture in accordance with Vitruvian norms and scripture. In the seventeenth century, Fray Juan Rizi, and Juan Caramuel de Lobkowitz explored Solomonic themes within the context of a global history of architecture, and of course in terms of their relevance to contemporary practice. As previously noted in Chapter 3, Rizi produced two manuscript works on the subject, the Tratado de la pintura sabia (c. 1659–62), and the Brebe tratado de arquitectura a cerca del Orden Salomónico Entero (1663). In both works he singled out an integrated composition of waving column, capital, and entablature – a complete Solomonic order, resembling the ones used by Bernini but infinitely more undulant (Bérchez and Marías 2002). Rizi’s approach, however effective, was still pictorial rather than architectural, making evident the need for a more adequate balance between form and content. To that end, Caramuel’s Architectura civil recta y obliqua (Caramuel de Lobkowitz 1678) provided an unusual answer, as the treatise was no ordinary work on architecture. Beginning with a theological justification of the Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 149 origins of building from Solomon’s Temple (primer principio de toda buena architectura) to the Escorial, Caramuel developed a chronological order for discussing the history of architecture. Concluding this history with the Escorial not only revealed his allegiance, but also set the standard for Spanish architecture to follow in the future. But Caramuel was also unorthodox, advocating patience and experiment in matters of faith and building. Unlike Villalpando, his reconstruction of the Temple was asymmetrical, and he believed also that a method for pursuing “license” in architecture (what could be described as the departure from rule) needed to be advanced (Guidoni-Marino 1973: 82–5; Fernández-Santos Ortiz-Iribas 2005: 137–40). Thus, in addition to describing the canonical Vitruvian orders, Caramuel proposed the distortions that were equally necessary. His answer came in the form of arquitectura obliqua, an explanation of how to build using oblique angles and optical correctives. This point would only underline his tremendous support of the Escorial as the “octava maravilla del mundo,” and the rightful heir of ancient architecture – the paradigm for future building, as its normative aspects, combined with remarkable stereo- metric precision provided the perfect model for both upright and oblique construction.9 It should be noted here that even Kubler (1982: 104, 108–9) recognized this distinction at the Escorial, describing it as “symmetrical warping,” a skewing of surfaces in places “where interior and exterior shells differ in plan, elevation, and spatial geometry,” in order to achieve the sem- blance of correspondence.10 Again, it appears that the Escorial preceded in practice what others subsequently developed in theory. In any event, the influences of Rizi and Caramuel found their way deep into the Counter- Reformation architecture of the Ibero–American world, and the use of Solomonic imagery on facades, portals, retables, and aedicule niches became a standard Spanish practice.11 In the early eighteenth century Spain witnessed a remarkably persistent use of both Escorial and Solomonic imagery for political, cultural, and religious purposes, and the Bourbon rulers were well aware of this. Perhaps the earliest use of this type of imagery in eighteenth-century Spain can be seen at the church of San Antonio de los Portugueses in Madrid, a structure built by the Jesuit architect, Pedro Sánchez (1569–1633), between 1624 and 1633 (Arranz Otero and Gutiérrez Pastor 1999). It is a unique church in Madrid insofar as its plan is oval in the tradition of the late-Renaissance churches of Rome, in particular Vignola’s church of Sant’Anna dei Palafrenieri (Bonet Correa 1961: 31–2). The principle attraction of the church is its fresco cycle by Francisco Rizi (1614–85) – brother of Fray Juan Rizi – and Juan Carreño de Miranda (1614–85), with scenes from the Life of Saint Anthony (1665). At around the same time, Juan Carreño de Miranda had completed his celebrated canvas of Belshazzar’s Feast (c. 1660), an episode from the Book of Daniel set within a vast dining hall adjacent to a domed centralized space full of loot from Solomon’s temple, including several spiraling columns in coupled clusters (Brown 1998: 196–7; 150 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Millon 1999: 260–1, 596). Perhaps this is why the Neapolitan master, Luca Giordano, who had been hastily summoned to Italy by Charles II in 1692 to complete the vault of the Imperial staircase at the Escorial with the fresco of Saint Lawrence in Glory, Adored by Charles V and Philip II, adjusted the cycle at San Antonio between 1698–1701 (Arranz Otero and Gutiérrez Pastor 1999: 221.ff; Hermoso Cuesta 2008: 186–201). Giordano added Solomonic columns to the quadratura of the dome, and completed the walls below with scenes from the Life of Saint Anthony. In architectural practice, José Benito de Churriguera (1664–1725) would emerge in the late seventeenth century producing a magnificent Solomonic retable for the Capilla del Sagrario in the Cathedral of Segovia in 1686 (Rodriguez G. de Ceballos 1971b: 18). His somber Catafalque for Queen Marie Louise (1689), a highly ornamental monument that was placed in the church of the Encarnación in Madrid was his only commission for Charles II (Rodriguez G. de Ceballos 1971b: 18–19; Chueca Goitia 1994: 92–3). The lugubrious túmulo, won in a competition that included among others Claudio Coello, was subsequently published by Juan de Vera Tassis y Villarroel in his Noticias historiales de la enfermedad y muerte y exsequias de la esclarecida Reyna de las Españas Doña Maria Luisa de Orleans (1690). There are no undulant columns in the túmulo, Churriguerra employs estípites (tapered pilasters) instead, but a subsequent series of retables including the one at the church in the monastery of San Esteban, Salamanca (1692), and for the church of la Merced, Madrid (1714–16), and the church of San Basilio, also in Madrid (1717), continued the Solomonic theme in the early eighteenth century (Blasco Esquivias 2002b: 272–9). Two of his five brothers, Joaquín and Alberto, would continue to experiment with Solomonic imagery well into the middle decades of the eighteenth century. Another early indication that Solomonic forms would not disappear in Spain came from Valencia, where Tomás Vicente Tosca (1651–1723), a pres- byter of the Oratory of Saint Philip Neri in Valencia, wrote his influential Compendio mathemático in 1715, the first work since Caramuel that tack- led the theoretical underpinnings of contemporary architecture in relation to mathematics, arts and sciences.12 Tosca had previously produced a topographical map of his hometown in 1705, so his interest in architecture and the city was evident (Lozano Bartolozzi 2011: 425–6). A second edition of the Compendio, which dealt with architectural matters only, appeared in Madrid in 1727 under the title Tratado de Arquitectura Civil, Montea y Canteria, y Reloxes.13 Most importantly, Tosca’s discourse on civil architecture was divided into two principal books that faithfully followed Caramuel’s distinction between upright and oblique architecture, providing accurate details for solving the problems of twisted columns, balusters, inclined planes and other non-canonical forms (Figure 6.7). If the Baroque authors discussed previously had sought to reconcile Vitruvian authority with Scripture, particularly in relation to the Solomonic disposition, Tosca was Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 151

Figure 6.7 Tomás Vicente Tosca, “Solomonic Order,” from the Tratado de Arquitectura Civil, Montea y Canteria, y Reloxes (1727). Courtesy of HathiTrust. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. not interested. His perfunctory account of the orders, of which the Solomonic was simply an oblique variant to the classical canon, underlined his Vitruvian conviction that architecture was the science of building.14 Around this time, the Bourbons began to employ Solomonic imagery in their residences. Among the rooms reconfigured by Juvarra at the Palace of San Ildefonso la Granja was the “chambre du lit” (gabinete de lacas chinas) built for Elizabeth Farnese in 1736–37 (Bottineau 1986a: 365 ff.; Guerra de la Vega 1994; Bonet Correa 2000). The lacquered room (Figure 6.8), situated enfilade along the garden front, was designed by Juvarra (in imitation of an earlier one he had built at the Palazzo Reale in Turin) for Elizabeth Farnese who had already developed a deep interest in collecting porcelain china and other Oriental decorative works (García Fernández 1994; Lavalle- Cobo 2002). More specifically, the room contained four large paintings by Giovanni Paolo Panini as part of the quadratura decorative scheme. The paintings were requested by Juvarra, and negotiated by the Spanish Cardinal- ambassador in Rome, Troiano Acquaviva. The theme of the four paintings, specified by Acquaviva, centered on the activities of Jesus Christ in the Temple in Jerusalem, and one in particular depicted the stoning of Jesus under a Solomonic ensemble resembling Bernini’s great Baldacchino at Saint 152 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Figure 6.8 Filippo Juvarra, Chambre du lit, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja (1736–37). Photo by author.

Peter’s. Pablo Vázquez Gestal (2013: 228–35) has pointed out the discreet piety of Elizabeth Farnese, noting that regular morning prayers and visits to churches and convents were not uncommon, though her participation in public religious ceremonies was rare. Her most evident display of religious devotion came in the form of artistic patronage, in the purchase of works of art of a religious theme (Murillo in particular), much of which was acquired while the royal family was residing in Seville during the so-called Lustro Real of 1729–33 (Morales and Quiles García 2010). It was in Seville too that Elizabeth developed her taste for Oriental lacquer work, as the port city of Cádiz was the principal hub of trade with the American colonies and the east (Kawamura 2003: 223). While much of this was done for the most part to satisfy her own personal preferences, the case of the “chambre du lit” clearly demonstrates that there was a desire on the part of Philip V and Elizabeth to please the Holy See by reaffirming their faith and piety, and by continuing the tradition of patronizing Roman art. Shortly thereafter in 1738, a curious treatise on architecture appeared in Valencia as a straight reprint of a previously written building manual by Agustín Bruno Zaragoza y Ebri, under the anagrammatic pseudonym of Atanasio Genaro Brizguz y Bru (Zamora Lucas and Ponce de Leon Freyre 1947: 108; Bonet-Correa 1980: 66). The treatise, titled Escuela de Arquitectura Civil (Zaragoza y Ebri 1738), dealt with the orders of architecture, plans of temples and private houses, and materials and methods of construction. Structured on Vitruvius’ principles of firmness (materials and methods), commodity (plans of public and private buildings), and delight (the orders of architecture), the Escuela de Arquitectura Civil exhibited a well-known framework for the discussion of contemporary architecture. The Escuela owes its greatest debt however to Tosca’s Compendio, for it began Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 153 with a short study of geometric relations, and then divided the discussion of architecture into the upright and oblique. Additionally, the treatise included an account of the Christian origins of building, and the Spanish contribution to the history of architecture – both practical and theoretical. Hence, the Spanish architects and writers, Alonso Covarrubias, Juan Bautista de Toledo, Juan de Herrera, Fray Lorenzo de San Nicolás, Señor Caramuel and P. Dr. Tomás Vicente Tosca were included alongside the great figures of Bramante, Raphael, Peruzzi and others. Clearly, by the middle decades of the eighteenth- century in Spain, the Solomonic disposition was a mainstream component of canonical Greco–Roman classicism. But the Escuela also depicted mannerist variants to the classical orders beyond the Solomonic, including French and Spanish versions (Pérouse de Montclos 1977; Rodríguez Ruiz 2000: 296 ff.). Inspired by a design from Sebastien Le Clerc’s Traité d’Architecture (Le Clerc 1714), the Spanish order resembled a robust Corinthian type containing crowned pomegranates (grana- dos) in the capital, a lion’s mask on the abacus (a symbol of the kingdom of Léon, and Spanish gravity and prudence in general), and a laureled cartouche on the frieze directly above the column showing Spanish dominion (Figure 6.9). The pomegranate in particular was described by Diego de Sagredo in his

Figure 6.9 Atanasio Genaro Brizguz y Bru (Agustín Bruno Zaragoza y Ebri), “Spanish Order,” from the Escuela de arquitectura civil (1738). © J. Paul Getty Trust. GRI. 154 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Medidas del Romano (Toledo, 1526; Sagredo 1986 [1526]), when describing a baluster order. Sagredo argued that the baluster column was derived from the Latin term balautium, referring to the flower of the pomegranate tree. As Nigel Llewellyn (1977: 292–300) has noted, the symbolic importance of this flower for Spain is hardly without interest. The Spanish word for the pomegranate tree is granado, the fruit is granada. Furthermore, the conquest of the southern kingdom of Granada in 1492 was the final step for Spanish unification under the Catholic monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabelle. Charles V, their grandson, commissioned for Granada the Capilla Real (1506–21) and the revised plan of the Cathedral (1528), and established his Royal Palace (begun 1533) adjacent to the old Alhambra (Rosenthal 1961, 1985). The deep red color of the pomegranate fruit and the presence of the red soil in the area make the element doubly allusive. Moreover, as a Christian symbol, the pomegranate was associated with notions of Resurrection, Fecundity, Charity and Hope. It appears symbolically associated with the Hapsburg family from Charles V onwards (Rosenthal 1971). By the early sixteenth century, the architectural style that was coined to express this period – now described as plateresque – was in fact al romano or a la antigua (Bury 1976; Marías and Bustamente Garcia 1986: 72 ff.). The Spanish column in the Escuela, then, was not only a clever variant to the classical orders of architecture, but also a suitable national symbol for Spain and, of course, the new Bourbon monarchs, even if its origins could be found in the mannerist architecture of Andalusia. Indeed, it would be in Andalusia as well (Seville in particular) that the plateresque and Solomonic traditions would merge in the eighteenth century, creating a style better known as the barroco florido, a unique variant to the Bourbon court architecture of Castile (Bottineau 1986a: 413–17).15 René C. Taylor (1952a: 9) noted that “[i]n spite of his origin, the influence of contemporary French developments on Philip V’s own buildings was surprisingly small.” And, hence, the Rococo in Spain was “never adopted as an integral style, that is one wherein all the various constituents … form part of a uniform and consistent scheme.” The similarities between a plateresque baluster column (later transformed into the estípite pilaster), and a twisted order were too uncanny to resist, and therefore we find that, in Seville, these two ornate supports formed a rather awkwardly familiar marriage (Sancho Corbacho 1952: 20–25). Among the notable structures of the city were, or course, Juan de Herrera’s Merchants’ Exchange (1582–99), a building whose “severe style” stood in stark contrast to the more ornate works throughout the city, and the Grande Casa de la Merced (1603–12; now Museo de Bellas Artes) by Juan de Oviedo the Younger (1565–1623). Herrera’s Merchants’ Exchange, with its quadrangular plan and cloister represented, perhaps, one of the most perfect examples of Renaissance classicism in Spain. And, despite its departure from the tradition for buildings of this type, commonly the covered hall, the Exchange did influence a number of architects practicing over the next two centuries, both in Spain and abroad (Cervera Vera 1981; Wilkinson-Zerner 1993: 81–3; Pleguezuelo Hernández 1990). The Grande Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 155

Casa de la Merced, while more indebted to Italian mannerist influences, still retained the traditional monastic organization of Latin-cross church, adjacent courtyards, and open-flight stair (Bonet Correa 1978: 32 ff.). While Herrera’s work would continue to resonate profoundly over the course of the eighteenth century as a national idiom, the Grande Casa de la Merced, designed in a hybrid decorative vocabulary that married Italian late-mannerist and Spanish plateresque surface treatments, laid the foundation for the barroco florido of the subsequent decades. In the early eighteenth century, several new buildings were being completed in Seville by Leonardo de Figueroa (1650–1730), marrying Herrera’s estilo desornamentado with Solomonic imagery, including the Mudéjar church of La Magdalena (formerly the convent of San Pablo), the façade of the Colegio de San Telmo, and the Jesuit church of San Luis (Sancho Corbacho 1952: 46 ff.; Bonet Correa 1978: 81–100). Figueroa remodeled La Magdalena (1691–1709), using both Solomonic and undulant (Rizi-like) orders on a variety of surfaces, including the unfinished espadaña (bell towers and central pediment) of the façade, on the internal cornices of the dome and lantern, on window and door surrounds, and perhaps most dramatically in the pilasters of the main cloister. Figueroa, with other members of his family, completed the portal of the Colegio de San Telmo (1722–34) façade by placing a Baroque, three-story retable with superimposed ornate columns against a flat “severe style” backdrop. Though the columns do not undulate, they were nevertheless foliated, strigilated, and spirally ornamented in the Solomonic and plateresque traditions. Yet the entire composition also displayed a serene, classicizing order comparable to Herrera’s retablo mayor at the Escorial. Scenic, orderly, and expressively ornamental, the San Telmo portal represents the most definitive example of the early Sevillian barroco florido. Figueroa also introduced undulant Rizi-like columns resting on foliate tapered legs in the novitiate church of San Luis (1699–1731), a structure whose plan recalls the centralized schemes of the Roman High Baroque, particularly Sant’Agnese in the Piazza Navona (Camacho Martínez 1989). The third church built by the Jesuits in the city, the structure was inaugurated at a time when Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese were residing in Seville (Morales and Quiles García 2010). The Solomonic columns project from the four piers that support the dome above, and frame ornate sculptural retables resulting in a Baroque (Solomonic) ensemble that according to F.J. Sánchez Cantón is rarely surpassed in Spain (1974: 272).16 In all of these cases, and in many more throughout Andalusia over the course of the century, Herreran, plateresque, and Solomonic forms were employed in Italian High Baroque compositions and dressed in Sevillian florid ornament. No doubt, when Philip commissioned Juvarra to complete the garden front of La Granja shortly thereafter, he must have been enormously pleased with the Solomonic painting by Panini in the Queen’s “chambre du lit,” for it must have reminded him of his immensely enjoyable stay in Seville. 156 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence

Ferdinand VI also employed Solomonic imagery during his reign, most notably in the decorations for the new Royal Palace in Madrid under the direction of the Benedictine monk Pedro José García de Balboa, better known as Fr. Martín Sarmiento (1695–1771), who developed an elaborate sculptural program emphasizing Ferdinand as a wise king (Muniaín Ederra 2002). Sarmiento’s Sistema de adornos de Escultura interiores y exteriores para el nuevo Real Palacio de Madrid (Sarmiento 1749) was a systematic and legitimizing iconographical program of the Bourbon monarchy for the new Royal Palace. The statues on the exterior by the principal sculptors of Ferdinand VI, Giovanni Domenico Olivieri and Felipe de Castro, consisted of a series of The Kings of Spain from the earliest medieval monarch to Ferdinand VI (Sancho and Suffield 2002: 50). Elsewhere on the exterior there were sculptures of the counts of Castile, kings of Navarra, Aragon, and Portugal, two emperors of the leading South American indigenous cultures (Moctezuma of Mexico and Atahualpa of Peru) and the two Bourbon kings of Spain, Philip V and Ferdinand VI along with their spouses Elizabeth Farnese and Bárbara of Braganza. Regrettably, the iconographical program was cancelled by Charles III who had all the sculptures removed from the façade of the Palace.17 As previously mentioned, it would be a stretch to associate the reales sitios or the first two Bourbon monarchs directly with Solomonic imagery, or with the Hebrew Kings David and Solomon. Nevertheless, the persistent employment of Solomonic imagery in eighteenth- century Spain, however discreet, underscores the Bourbon claim to legitimacy and the continuity of crowned majesty in Spain.

* * * After the death of Ferdinand VI in 1759, Carlo di Borbone, became King of Spain, leaving behind his beloved Naples where he had reigned since 1734, and assumed his duties in Madrid as Charles III. A great lover of architecture, Charles sought to transform Madrid into an enlightened capital city – a task he had set out for himself previously in Naples and had gone a great distance in achieving (Civiltà del ’700 a Napoli, 1734–1799 1979). Throughout his reign and that of his second son and successor Charles IV (r. 1788–1808) artistic relations with Rome flourished in a reciprocal manner that had previously never existed (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 105 ff.). Spanish artists at the Real Academia de San Fernando were pensioned to Rome on a more regular basis, Italian artists and architects continued to work on major monuments and teach as well, and the generation of Spanish architects who emerged in the first half of the century matured into well-established professionals. Charles III also paid attention to the reales sitios and in particular concerned himself with the Escorial, where he commissioned the Casa de Infantes (1771) opposite the west façade, and the Casa de Oficios (1785), both for the royal retinue, as well as two private villas for his sons (c. 1773), the Casita de Abajo (or del Príncipe), designed for the Prince of Asturias, later Charles IV, Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 157 and the Casita de Arriba, for the Infante Gabriel, all in a sober neo-Herreran style by Juan de Villanueva to complement the existing monastery (Moleón Gavilanes 1988: 57–112). However, Villanueva’s efforts at the Escorial were far more complex than the simple historical referencing of Herrera’s precedent. His interventions provided a new unity of character to the Escorial reinforcing the idea that Spanish architecture could be seen as an intellectual and rational discipline (Sambricio 1986: 233 ff.). Charles was also the first Bourbon monarch to be interred in the Royal Pantheon of Kings underneath the sanctuary of the Escorial (Cuadra Blanco 1997a; Sancho and Suffield 2002: 71–9), whereas his immediate predecessors, Philip V and Ferdinand VI, preferred to be interred in scenic monuments of their own choosing. Elizabeth Farnese oversaw the completion of the San Ildefonso mausoleum, completed between 1756–58, in the Capilla de las Reliquias of the collegiate church at La Granja (Figure 6.10), as the official site for the tombs of Philip and herself (Bottineau 1986b: 268–9; Novero Plaza 2009). The monumental work, inspired by Ferdinando Fuga’s catafalque for the death of Philip V at the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnoli (1746), was designed by the Italian painter and architect Sempronio Subisati in 1748 (Sancho and Aparicio 2000: 82). The design was complimented by sculptures of Charity, Sentiment, and Fame, by the French artists Hubert Dumandré and Pierre Puthois (Pitué) framing portrait medallions of the two deceased monarchs unveiled by the Angel of the Resurrection who heralds their triumphant reign. Ferdinand VI and Bárbara of Braganza were similarly interred in the convent of Las Salesas Reales in Madrid, the church and monastery designed by François Carlier in 1750 in a style similar to Jacques Lemercier’s church of

Figure 6.10 Sempronio Subisati et al., tomb of Philip V and Elizabeth Farnese, Palace of San Ildefonso, La Granja (1748, 1756–58). Photo by author. 158 Bourbon patronage and Italian influence the Sorbonne in Paris (Bottineau 1986b: 253–7). The convent was named after Saint Barbara, the Queen’s patron saint, and became the royal site most closely associated with their patronage. Like the Palace of La Granja, the Salesas Reales can also be compared to the Escorial in plan, though only in its monastic core (Chueca Goitia 1966: 223). Ferdinand’s monument (Figure 6.11), designed by the Italian architect, Francesco Sabbatini, and sculpted by the Spaniards Francisco Gutiérrez and Juan León is similarly disposed to that of Philip and Elizabeth’s, with figures of Justice and Abundance flanking the tomb, and a portrait medallion of the Spanish monarch held above by Time (Bottineau 1986b: 294). Both monuments recall the Baroque sepulchers of Roman churches more than the restrained Hapsburg coffins within the Escorial pantheon. But perhaps this is less a matter of taste and more a result of the fact that neither Elizabeth Farnese nor Bárbara of Braganza had given birth to a royal heir and therefore did not qualify to be buried in the Pantheon of Kings (Cuadra Blanco 1997a: 376). And though Charles III would succeed his brother Ferdinand in 1759, allowing Elizabeth her rightful place in the Escorial pantheon, she chose to be buried with her husband at La Granja. In the case of Ferdinand, his wife Bárbara died before him in 1758, plunging him into a deep depression. She was entombed at the royal convent she had promoted, and a year later he followed her there. Could it be that in both cases emotion trumped decorum – that personal matters prevailed over those of the state? The Bourbon kings developed their personal identity as hus- bands very prominently and allowed the queens to play a principal role in the new life of court culture in Spain, but their refusal to be interred at the Escorial Pantheon remains an exceptional circumstance to this day.18

Figure 6.11 Francesco Sabbatini et al., tomb of Ferdinand VI, Las Salesas Reales, Madrid (1759). Photo by author. Bourbon patronage and Italian influence 159

With the death of Charles III in 1788, the Pantheon of Kings was restored as the principal crypt of the Spanish monarchs, categorically reaffirming the Escorial as the seat of Spanish architecture and the most influential building in Spain. Antonio Ponz, one of the most respected Spanish writers on art and author of the Viaje de España (1772–94) claimed that “if a Spaniard abroad finds his country attacked on account of its famous buildings, he may defend himself in good reason with the magnificent edifice of the Escorial” (Ponz 1947: VII, 584; Crespo Delgado 2002b: 590). His sentiment continues to resonate today as the Escorial has shown to be tremendously robust in its design, interpretation, and influence. But perhaps its greatest legacy is in its remarkable ability to conjure up notions of Solomonic Wisdom, Vitruvian authority, and temperate classicism, and to that end the Bourbon monarchs were as equally astute as their Hapsburg predecessors in passing on to posterity the wonder (maravilla) of the Escorial. 7 The written word and the artifact

Dimostrasi per l’esperienza delle cose, che ogni utile instituzione di morale, e di politica, ogni insegnamento di scienze, di lettere, e d’arti è incerto in se medesimo ove non abbia un punto centrale in che si riposi, e una suprema magistratura, che lo dirigga, e l’assicuri nelle sue operazioni. Le cose impor- tanti al bello, e felice vivere civile non furono mai lasciate dai datori delle leggi, e dai fondatori de Popoli all’arbitrio della moltitudine: ma destinarono per ciò Consigli, e Collegi composti d’Uomini più prudenti, cui fosse affidato l’onorevole incarico d’indirizzare gli animi per le vie del retto, e del vero. (Melchior Missirini, Memorie)1

Vitruvian authority Vitruvian influence in eighteenth-century Spain was fuelled by the 1787 translation of the Ten Books on Architecture by the Spanish antiquarian Fray José Ortiz y Sanz (Los diez libros de arquitectura de Marco Vitruvio Polión), even though the first edition in Castillian had been produced by Miguel de Urrea in 1582, and a manuscript edition by Lázaro de Velasco had been circulating as early as 1564 (Sánchez Cantón 1923: I, 183–221; Velasco 1999). Vitruvius emerged in eighteenth-century Spain as a central concern of the new Bourbon monarchs who were intent on shaping Spanish society and culture away from the previous Hapsburg dynasty into a more national and monarchical sensibility, as well as in intellectual circles where Vitruvian theory continued to resonate as an ideal (Rodríguez Ruiz 1987). To that end, the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando made explicit the goal of addressing the emerging problems of architectural education in eighteenth-century Spain, including the role of beauty in building, the appropriateness of sacred and secular building typologies, and the image of the city as a whole. A library of great authors beginning with the Spanish translation of Vitruvius’ De architectura, by Miguel de Urrea (1582) made up a list of treatises (both ancient and modern) with which the students of architecture at the academy needed to be familiar. While Vitruvian influence on Spanish architecture can be easily traced in the early eighteenth century, the Roman author’s impact on the city and The written word and the artifact 161 planning is less discernible. It is generally thought that Philip V and Ferdinand VI had little interest in urban planning, unlike Charles III who saw it as a valuable tool for shaping society and culture. Nevertheless, urban reform was a concern that both Philip V and Ferdinand VI took seri- ously, particularly in respect to Madrid where the court principally resided (Blasco Esquivias 2002a). The relationship between urban planning and an idealized social vision was obvious – by organizing the space society occupied, it was possible to change people’s habits, as well as the larger community structure. In this sense, idealized urban plans were extremely useful symbols in early Bourbon Spain, and the impact of Vitruvius on Spanish urbanism was particularly noticeable. The first indication that Vitruvian principles would influence eighteenth- century Spain came unexpectedly from two Late Baroque Spanish architects known for their flamboyant designs, José Benito de Churriguera, and Teodoro Ardemans. Famous for his decorative retables, Churriguera would design the model town and palace of Nuevo Baztán near Madrid (1709–13) for Juan de Goyeneche, an influential political figure in the early court of Philip V (Rodríguez G. de Ceballos 1971b: 27–8; Bartolomé 1981; Chueca Goitia 1987: 156–7; Lozano Bartolozzi 2011: 588–90). The plan of the new town marked a decisive move towards greater rationality and stress on function over scenic decoration, though the latter was certainly not lacking. The town was also built to house a community of farmers and a small manufacturing plant specializing in fine domestic glassware, though the impressive Goyeneche family residence, a combination of church, palace, and square – not unlike the Escorial – occupied the center of the town. Additional market and festival squares flanked the lateral and rear sides of the palace and church. Unlike the Escorial, whose town would not be built until after 1767 under Charles III, in Nuevo Baztán rational planning was married to grandiose decoration, suggesting that the two were not entirely incompatible. The church façade and palace entrance in particular reveal how French and Italian decorative influences were already beginning to shape the architecture of early eighteenth-century Spain. The combination of town and palace would appeal greatly to Teodoro Ardemans, who, as we have already seen, became involved in 1720 in what would be his finest work for Philip V, the plan for the Royal Palace of La Granja de San Ildefonso. While Ardemans was busy working on the palace, a small town was growing informally on a declivity to the northwest that included modest residential dwellings, a hospital, cemetery and a glass fac- tory (Callejo Delgado and Lorrio 1996: 30–3). The adjacent town was completely reconfigured during the reign of Charles III (from around 1762), extending axially to the north with the great plaza extended into a trape- zoid and flanked by new service buildings, a theatre, and monumental gates (Chueca Goitia 1987: 170–72; Sancho 1995: 539–67; Lozano Bartolozzi 2011: 565–6). From there, new residences (casas particulares) replaced the previously shoddy ones, and filled out the rest of the town. A new street was 162 The written word and the artifact laid perpendicular to the main axis, and the town was given a new hospice, church, and royal glass manufacture plant. In this sense, La Granja could be seen as a model town that followed the principles of regularity, order, and cleanliness. This did not necessarily imply a geometric plan or ideal form, but rather suggested that it conform to the topography of the site and its pre-existing buildings by providing straight streets and regular blocks, as well as offering solutions to the social displacement that would occur with the new development. However, the principles for the layout of the town of La Granja closely follow those of Ardemans’ own treatise, the Ordenanzas de Madrid (Ardemans 1719), a work on urban planning and civil engineering that expanded on a previously-written treatise by Juan de Torija in 1664 (Rodríguez G. de Ceballos 1971a). Ardemans enhanced the original by providing it with a commentary and recommendations on the difficulties of building technology, concluding the work with an appendix of illustrious Spanish artists and architects alongside their European counterparts. From the start, Ardemans referred to Vitruvius and his principles of architecture (order, symmetry, disposition etc.), the education and role of the architect in society, and the proper way to lay out a healthy idealized city as described by the Roman author near the end of his First Book. Hygiene, meteorology, the regime of the winds, light, and the heat of the sun all conditioned the health of the inhabitants. From there his treatise moved from the specific needs of individual structures (both formal and technical) to the larger context of public space, streetscapes, and the servicing of a town. For an architect and artist typically associated with pageantry and splendor, Ardemans’ urban ideas (like those of his contemporary Churriguera) demonstrate how early eighteenth-century Vitruvian theory in Spain was not produced by Enlightenment or reform thinkers but rather Late Baroque and Rococo artisans and craftsmen. Moreover, while many insist that Philip V cared little for urban planning, the examples of Nuevo Baztán and La Granja suggest that that was not entirely the case. As already noted in Chapter 6, both Tomás Vicente Tosca’s Tratado de Arquitectura Civil, Montea y Canteria, y Reloxes (Tosca 1727), and Agustín Bruno Zaragoza y Ebri’s Escuela de Arquitectura Civil (Zaragoza y Ebri 1738) were structured around Vitruvius’ principles of firmness (materials and methods), commodity (plans of public and private buildings), and delight (the orders of architecture). They were followed by José de Hermosilla who in early 1750 began to organize and write a treatise titled La Architectura Civil de Dn Joseph de Hermosilla y de Sandovàl. Produced while he was still in Rome completing the church of Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, the work appeared in two manuscript forms (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750) but unfortunately never achieved the success one might have expected given its timely appearance at the middle of the century (Rodríguez Ruiz 1985: 33n39). It was never published afterwards, even though it received significant praise from such distinguished figures as The written word and the artifact 163

Ferdinando Fuga, Ruggero Giuseppe Boscovich, and P. Alonso Cano, the superior of the Trinitarians in Rome. Yet the Architectura civil proved to be of tremendous importance to Spain, for the King’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, José de Carvajal y Lancaster, who also happened to be the Academia de San Fernando’s Protector, had instructed Hermosilla to consider a future course of architecture for the new academy. His treatise, as well as his subsequent proposal for the academic program of study at the Academia, set the intellectual framework for architectural discourse and practice in Spain in the latter half of the eighteenth century, and contributed to the formation of several generations of Spanish architects. Arquitectura civil was structured around three books on civil architecture situated between a preliminary compendium on practical geometry and a final survey of architectural machinery. The three central books appropriately followed the Vitruvian triad – fortaleza, comodidad, y hermosura – with the latter category occupying a middle position between the two more practical ends. The first book, fortaleza, dealt mainly with materials and methods of construction, foundations, walls, paving, roofs, vaults, and timber trusses. The second book, hermosura, occupied a central position for it addressed the essential problem of beauty in building, namely in the disposition of the orders of architecture and the types (gen- eros) of buildings according to Vitruvius’ description of temple plans. In early-modern Spain, translations of Vitruvius tended to use two renditions of venustas to describe beauty in building: belleza which was the Castilian version of the Italian bellezza, and hermosura, which was a more expres- sive Spanish term used to signify physical beauty. Though the two were often interchangeable, belleza was more often used to describe beauty in general, whereas hermosura was typically associated with grandeur, excellence and perfection, with additional interpretations suggesting nobility, serenity, and correspondence of part to whole.2 Book two also followed Tosca’s division into civil and military architecture, followed by Caramuel’s distinction between upright and oblique dispositions. Even though Hermosilla believed that no singular building stood as a paradigm of perfection, he cited the Temple of Solomon as the model to which all architecture should aspire.3 Hermosilla also believed that the discussion of the orders of architecture was ultimately arbitrary in comparison to the three more important themes of fortaleza, comodidad and hermosura. This admission was perhaps the first time that a Spaniard readily acknowledged Claude Perrault’s distinction between the positive and arbitrary aspects of beauty in architecture. Like Tosca, Hermosilla also described the method for making spirally-twisted shafts, believing that Solomonic columns were legitimate variants to the canonical orders of architecture. Book three, comodidad, dealt with the larger context of urban planning, civic spaces, and public and private buildings. The relationship between urban planning and social reform was obvious (Oechslin 1978b: 406 ff). 164 The written word and the artifact

Hermosilla believed that it was possible to change people’s habits, as well as the larger community structure, by organizing the space society occupied. In this sense, his approach was a profoundly ethical one. It is important to note that at the time of Hermosilla’s writing there were very few architectural treatises or pattern books being published in Rome, or elsewhere in Europe.4 The great Baroque treatises of Lobkowitz, Guarini, Desgodets, and Daviler had been published more than half a century earlier and in many cases reprinted several times. The critique of Baroque and Rococo architecture, in the form of a rigorist approach to composition, the orders and planning – mainly through the treatises of Laugier, and Lodoli (via Algarotti) – would begin to appear in the years immediately following Hermosilla’s manuscript. With the exception, perhaps, of Giuseppe Vasi, Piranesi, the Galli Bibiena, and others whose theatrical stage sets and vedute of ancient and modern Rome would add a new dimension of drama and per- spectival fantasy to architectural representation, the dearth of theoretical treatises on architecture around 1750 was noticeable. Hermosilla’s treatise, therefore, stands at a critical moment in the history of architectural theory, for not only was it intended to be a synthesis of all previous works of architecture, but also posited the challenges that he and others would have to face if architecture was going to play a critical role in the future development of Spain. Yet in this respect Hermosilla’s ideas were clearly split: that is, while he believed that the canonical Roman exemplars served as the central doctrine for the education and practice of architecture, he understood from experience that every structure has its own temperament and unique character. In the wake of Hermosilla’s treatise, interest in Vitruvius’ treatise grew quickly at the Madrid academy, where architectural education was not only concerned with the grand manner of Roman classicism, but with regional Spanish variants as well. Among the most influential works that contributed to this notion was the Spanish translation of Claude Perrault’s French edition of Vitruvius (Perrault 1673), the Compendio de loz diez libros de arquitectura de Vitruvio (Madrid, 1761) by the professor of architecture Josef de Castañeda, with an introduction by Ignacio de Hermosilla, the younger brother of José de Hermosilla and Secretary of the Academia de San Fernando. As the Secretary of the academy, the younger Hermosilla had at that time offered to translate into Spanish a number of Latin, Italian, and French works to supplement the list of great authors on architecture that had been previously espoused by his older brother José. Perrault’s inclusion was therefore critical, as it was not a Roman or Renaissance treatise but rather a recent and novel adaptation of the ancient author. The frontispiece of the book (modeled on Perrault’s well-known image) showed the figure of architecture presenting to Spain the image and plan of ancient architecture according to the rules of Vitruvius (Figure 7.1). In plan the Escorial figures prominently, and, in the distance, the great monastery stands in place of Perrault’s celebrated east front of the Louvre. The attention given to the Escorial clearly underlined Juan de Arfe y Villafañe’s comment in his De Figure 7.1 Claude Perrault, frontispiece, from the Compendio de loz diez libros de arquitectura de Vitruvio (1761). Courtesy Biblioteca de Catalunya. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. 166 The written word and the artifact varia conmensuración (Arfe y Villafañe 1585, 3v) that the royal monastery was not only indebted to ancient Greco–Roman architecture and planning but rivaled it as well. However, Perrault’s distinction between positive and arbitrary beauty, and its corollary that the proportioning of the orders was ultimately a sub- jective task, challenged the long-held trust in proportional symbolism. Perrault also championed the Hebraic interpretation of Solomon’s Temple, producing his own reconstruction in the De Culto Divino of 1678, a work modeled closely on the code of Maimonides (Taylor 1991). His attempt – perhaps a reflection of his dislike of Villalpando’s reconstruction – presented the Temple in a “Jewish style” of architecture rather than in Greco–Roman classicism. Though Catholic, Perrault had Jansenist leanings and his archaeological inclinations were evident in his independence from theological preference. But the seeds of this transformation had already been pre-figured by Caramuel (who supported Villalpando) and they continued under Tosca, and Hermosilla, whose Vitruvian tendencies made him appear relatively neutral on the subject. Shortly thereafter, a published treatise compiling the essential components of all the previous literature on civil architecture appeared in Spain. The work entitled Elementos de toda la architectura civil (1763) was the product of an Austrian Jesuit and mathematician, Christian Rieger (1714–80), who had come to Madrid. The treatise was originally published in Vienna in 1756 as Universae architecturae civilis elementa, and later translated into Castillian by the Spanish Jesuit Miguel Benavente, a professor of mathematics at the Seminario de Nobles in Madrid. The aim of developing a new comprehensive treatise on architecture fit in well with the interests of the Madrid Academy, who at that time was still seeking a definitive course on architecture. The frontispiece of the Spanish edition (Figure 7.2) was produced in imitation of Abbé Laugier’s famous illustration from the Essai sur l’Architecture (1753). A naked figure was seated on a rock, inventing the orders of architecture from the form of the primitive hut. On the ground nearby was a basket around which acanthus leaves were sprouting, and in the far background a cluster of rock forms represented Stonehenge. Part III of Rieger’s treatise, the section on the ornaments of architecture, began with a perspective image of Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem from Villalpando’s reconstruction. The Solomonic order though was not singled out as an exemplar but included among other stereo- metric diagrams and details. By now, all that remained of Solomonic imagery in Spain was the Escorial itself. Finally, Part IV of Rieger’s treatise dealt primarily with the construction of buildings and the architectonic embellishment of cities, in particular that of streets, plazas, and entrances. Among the many examples he singled out was the Royal Palace at Caserta (1752–80), a colossal structure built by Luigi Vanvitelli for Carlo di Borbone, king of the Two Sicilies (Figure 7.3). Of course at the time of Rieger’s publication in 1763, Carlo di Borbone was already king of Spain, having left behind his beloved Naples to assume his duties in Madrid as Charles III. Figure 7.2 Christian Rieger, frontispiece, from Elementos de toda la architectura civil (1763). Courtesy Biblioteca de Catalunya. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. 168 The written word and the artifact

Figure 7.3 Christian Rieger, view of the Royal Palace at Caserta, from Elementos de toda la architectura civil (1763). Courtesy Biblioteca de Catalunya. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution- ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

With the definitive Spanish edition of Vitruvius’ Ten Books by José Ortiz y Sanz in 1787, dedicated to Charles III, the Spanish monarch achieved a distinction that had only been reserved to Augustus (Vitruvius), Pope Julius II (Fra Giacondo), Francis I (Guillaume Philander), Philip II (Miguel de Urrea), and Louis XIV (Claude Perrault). But among those, Charles III was the first to have had two editions of Vitruvius dedicated to him as the 1758 edition of L’architettura by Berardo Galiani had been dedicated when he was the King of Naples and the Two Sicilies (Vitruvius 2005). Add to that the fact that the Compendio of 1761 was also dedicated to Charles III, and it becomes absolutely clear what a great influence the Roman author had in eighteenth-century Bourbon Spain. Whether in the form of Rococo decorative ornament or Late Baroque classicism, or even Neoclassicism, Vitruvian influence was flexibly adapted to suit the urban and architectural needs of early eighteenth-century Spain without much fuss or reservation. Only in the latter half of the century would the Roman author be equated with the rigorist tendencies of pure Roman architecture.

The Madrid Academy and the course of architecture During the reign of Ferdinand VI (1746–59), the first Bourbon monarch born in Spain, a number of different architectural tendencies began to appear simultaneously (Sánchez Cantón 1959; Bonet Correa and Blasco The written word and the artifact 169

Esquivias 2002). His founding of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in 1752 was an effort to re-establish the credibility of Spain’s artistic culture, which in turn necessitated striking a middle course between the differing tendencies of Spanish and European art (Caveda y Nava 1867; Sánchez Cantón 1952; Bédat 1989). This entailed establishing new relation- ships with Roman architects and sharing knowledge with the Accademia di San Luca. Like the Roman academy, the basic purpose of the Real Academia was to provide a course of architecture (and the other fine arts) that promoted infallible rules and precedents that stood the test of time. Even though the aim was to provide students with the highest education possible, individuals of ordinary talent could follow the academic discipline and achieve a degree of acceptable competence. This approach may seem out- dated by contemporary academic standards but, at the very least, the most inferior form of design promoted by the academy was of a sufficiently higher standard than what would have been produced otherwise. As previously noted in Chapter 3, the academy took possession of apartments in the Real Casa de la Panadería in the Plaza Mayor, and thereafter classes were taught in the evenings. The King’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, José de Carvajal y Lancaster, was appointed as the academy’s Protector, providing the first oración and description of its mission. Baltasar Elgueta y Vigil and Juan Magadán were assigned as the academy’s Vice-Protector and Secretary. Additionally, the academy appointed a number of honorary members to serve as a councilors (consilarios) to the Protector and Vice- protector in the general assemblies.5 They wielded tremendous power at the academy – many of them also served as Grandees, Ministers of State, or consultants to the King – and were often more influential than the professors or honorary academics. The class of professors, called directores, consisted of a director general (appointed for a three year term), two directors each in painting, sculpture, architecture, and etching, and a number of honorary and assistant directors in the various arts. The formal instruction was entrusted to Louis-Michel Van Loo and Antonio González Ruiz (painting), Giovanni Domenico Olivieri and Felipe de Castro (sculpture), Ventura Rodríguez and José de Hermosilla (architecture), and Juan Bernabé Palomino and Tomás Francisco Prieto (etching). The honorary and assistant directors included Pablo Pernicharo, Juan Bautista de la Peña and Andres de la Calleja in painting, Juan de Villanueva, Antoine Dumandré, Robert Michel, and Luis Salvador Carmona in sculpture, and Diego de Villanueva, Giovanni Battista Sacchetti, François Carlier, and Giacomo Bonavía in architecture. Though the Junta preparatoria – the preparatory council of the academy – had been teaching courses on architecture since 1744, the idea of a much more succinct and clear course on architecture had become an immediate concern of the directors (Marías and Bustamente García 1989: 151 ff.). Felipe de Castro, fearing that the academy was being ruled by the aristocratic representatives of the King, proposed a plan in 1751 that increased the role of 170 The written word and the artifact artists in the academy, setting themselves equivalent to the consilarios. But his statutes of 1751 challenged the hierarchical structure of the academy, arousing renewed control by the administration. Perhaps even more condemning to Felipe de Castro’s plan was the intense rivalry between the professors and the disorder and lack of discipline exhibited by the students, a predicament which ultimately brought about the rejection of the 1751 statutes. As noted by José Caveda y Navas (1867: 279), there was a visible lack of a well-ordered plan in the academy, one that embraced the entire domain of the fine arts, placing its different disciplines into a harmonious whole, and nowhere was this more noticeable than in the discipline of architecture. The primary challenge, then, was to provide a geometrical textbook (cuaderno) that could serve as a general rule for the instruction of architecture. The task was given to the two directors of architecture, Ventura Rodríguez and José de Hermosilla, who had already prepared a treatise on geometry and architecture, the Architectura civil (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750),while he was a pensioner in Rome. Hermosilla presented his copy as a primary text and began referring to it during the first academic course in 1753–54. Rodríguez submitted his text in 1755, and in the following year it was combined with Hermosilla’s to produce a printed textbook in 1756.6 In 1757, Pedro Pablo Abarca de Bolea, the Conde de Aranda and the future First Minister of State, collected all of the existing and available texts on geometry written prior to Hermosilla’s Architectura civil in order to produce a more systematic course on architecture. As a consilario of the Madrid academy, Aranda had enormous control over his fellow directors and honorary members. His Dictamen sobre el estudio de la Arquitectura was presented in an effort to coordinate the teaching of architecture at the academy (Bédat 1989: 145).7 Its main purpose was to specify a proven way to teach the art of building, based on the study of all’antica architecture and the development of good taste. The statutes of 1757, which definitively formed the structure of the institution, had provided Ferdinand VI and his councilors with central control over the academy, effectively overturning the 1751 proposal by Felipe de Castro to place responsibility in the hands of the artists and educators. Aranda’s direct link with the academy’s Protector, Vice-protector, and Sovereign enabled him to exert his influence rather easily. Though the Dictamen was not dated, it was probably submitted to the academy in 1757, or soon thereafter, the same year that the academy requested that Hermosilla’s treatise on architecture be transferred from Rome to Madrid (Quintana Martínez 1983: 67–8). Not surprisingly, Aranda’s Dictamen was strikingly similar to Hermosilla’s Architectura civil, dividing the course into three main components, Firmeza, Hermosura, and Comodidad. Part I, Firmeza, was further divided into mathematics, geometry, materials and methods of construction, qualities of terrain, stone-carving, carpentry, plastering, and machinery. Part II, Hermosura, contained a brief account on beauty in architecture, ancient buildings, the orders and their attributes, The written word and the artifact 171 perspective, and optics. Like Hermosilla, Aranda considered hermosura the most important principal of architecture and the one demanding the greatest attention. Part III, Comodidad, dealt with the siting and disposition of buildings, fortifications, temples, plazas and public buildings, private houses, and hydraulics. In addition to the three main components, Aranda suggested that the academy should be responsible for the translation and publication of the most important treatises on architecture throughout history. These included the Spanish translation of Vitruvius’ De architectura, by Miguel de Urrea (1582), Claude Perrault’s French translation of the same work, the Spanish translation of Serlio’s Third and Fourth Books by Francisco de Villalpando (1552), and the works of Scamozzi, Alberti, Palladio, and Desgodets. Complementing this brief library, Aranda also recommended that the students pensioned in Rome should be responsible for collecting casts of ancient fragments such as ornaments, capitals and profiles. In the wake of Aranda’s Dictamen, the academy requested a second proposal, this time from Ventura Rodríguez, Diego de Villanueva, Alejandro González Velázquez, and Josef de Castañeda. Hermosilla had already presented his ideas in the form of the Architectura civil, so it was left to the remaining directors to prepare an altogether different proposal. Despite the academy’s earlier criticisms of Hermosilla’s work in Rome, the directors of the Academia prepared a course of study that was entirely indebted to his Architectura civil. Their Plan Presentado por los Directores de Arquitectura para el Curso de esta Facultad was submitted on February 24, 1759, and consisted of four parts; Mathematics (the science of numbers, algebra, geometry, conical and spherical sections, and gnomonics), Strength (principles of statics, qualities of terrain, materials and methods of construction, masonry, stone carving, and carpentry), Beauty (the five orders of architecture and their attributes, as well as the principles of optics and perspective), and Function (the siting and disposition of buildings, including temples, plazas, private houses and fortifications, hydraulics, and restoration).8 These four not only followed closely the division in Hermosilla’s Architectura civil, but were also subdivided according to his outline, with the notable exception of the study on building machinery. At the same time that the academy was busy trying to formulate the course of architecture in Madrid, the idea of sending Spanish pensioners to study in Rome was becoming increasingly more important. To that end, the Academy requested on September 10, 1758, proposals for the course of study for the Spanish pensioners in Rome (López de Menesés 1933–34). Antonio González Ruiz, Pablo Pernicharo and Antonio González Velázquez prepared the proposals for the painting course. Giovanni Domenico Olivieri, Felipe de Castro, and Juan Pascual de la Mena outlined the sculpture program. José de Hermosilla, Ventura Rodríguez, and Jaime Marquet (a French architect who had just recently been made académico de mérito) were responsible for the architecture component. Ventura Rodríguez, however, fell unexpectedly ill and did not submit his proposal as planned. 172 The written word and the artifact

Consequently, José de Hermosilla, whose previous experience in Rome had set the standard for future Spaniards to emulate, submitted his plan to the approval of the Academy on September 28, 1758 (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 109–12). On October 10, the proposals were read at the Academy listing some sixty instructions for the students to follow, of which twenty-two pertained solely to architects. The course was to have lasted six years, and was divided into three parts. The first two years were to have been spent studying in Rome and its environs, the next two years travelling to Bologna, Milan, Genoa, Venice, Germany, and Flanders, and the last two years in Holland, London, and France. The students were required to study geometry, statics, hydrostatics, perspective, and stereotomy, among other things. They were required to familiarize themselves with Vitruvius’ treatise and its modern commentaries by Daniele Barbaro, Philander, Alberti, Perrault, as well as the treatises of Serlio, Palladio, Scamozzi, Vignola, Arfe y Villafañe, Fray Lorenzo de San Nicolás, Caramuel, and Tosca. Additionally, the pensioners were required to undertake a number of activities while in Rome, including making copies of well-known works of art, imitating the styles of famous artists, carefully examining the monuments and ruins of Antiquity, and engaging in the design, assistance, and construction of buildings and projects. Finally, students were expected to study the larger context of the city and the natural landscape. Admittedly, Hermosilla’s course of study would have taken far too long to complete, and did not take into account individual inclinations or interests. His instructions were never formally approved by the academy, and the debates that ensued over the appropriate course of education only served to neutralize what would have resulted in a unique and exciting program. Debates on the course of architecture at the Academia de San Fernando would continue well into the latter half of the eighteenth century with proposals from José de Castañeda in 1760, Diego de Villanueva in 1766, and Benito Bails in 1768, among several others (Quintana Martínez 1983: 64–75; Marías and Bustamante García 1989). It was not until 1774 when the academy established itself permanently in the Palacio Goyeneche on the Calle de Alcalá that it would begin to put in place a more definitive course of architectural education, a process that continued well into the nineteenth century. Despite the debates regarding the appropriate course of architecture at the academy, pensions to study in Italy resumed in 1758 with Domingo Antonio Lois Monteagudo (1723–86) from Galicia, and Juan de Villanueva (1739–1811) from Madrid representing the first class of architects (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 114–53). Miguel Fernández was called back to Spain to make way for the young Spaniards, and Hermosilla’s instructions for the pensioners were issued as an ideal framework. While in Rome, Domingo Lois produced a set of exceptional drawings of ancient and modern architectural fragments which he later arranged into a book titled Libro de barios âdornos sacados de las mejores fabricas de Roma asi antiguas como modernas (Lois Monteagudo 1759–64), a collection of free-hand ink The written word and the artifact 173 sketches and notes that resembled the loose format of Hermosilla’s Architectura civil (Cervera Vera 1985). Consequently, Lois was made an accademico di merito at the Roman Academia di San Luca in 1764 for which he donated his project for a centralized church in plan, section, and elevation (Marconi et al. 1974: II, 8).9 Juan de Villanueva, nineteen years old at the time of his appointment, would also fulfill one of Hermosilla’s primary instructions by examining the ancient and modern works of architecture in Rome. His careful study of antiquities in situ, and loose pen and ink fantasy cityscapes, in the tradition of Juvarra and Piranesi, would distinguish him from Lois as both a scholar and visionary. More importantly, Villanueva’s experience in Rome would place him at the forefront of architecture in Spain in the latter half of the eighteenth century, a position he would never relinquish throughout his remarkable professional career. It is clear that Hermosilla’s various proposals for the study of architecture at the Academia de Bellas Artes provided a new framework for architectural education in Spain. They called for sharing in the many cultural and artistic activities in Rome and further afield, and the re-establishment of the tradition of Spanish al romano architecture through the study of the ancient and modern works of Italian art. And though his proposals were modeled primarily on those of the Accademia di San Luca and the Académie de France, from the point of view of celebrating certain recognized building types and forms of artistic patronage, the Spanish academy was far more modest in its goals. For the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando sought to promote the currents of enlightenment thought on the one hand, while on the other, it understood the necessity of upholding the traditions and customs that distinguished Spain from the rest of Europe.

* * * As I have tried to demonstrate, Italian influence on Spain’s architecture in the early eighteenth-century was tied to very powerful Spanish artistic and cultural traditions. The celebrations in Spain and Italy surrounding the Bourbon succession, as well as the many built and ephemeral projects that followed Philip V’s rise, reveal how early eighteenth-century architecture could be so symbolically charged. Rome, of course, was the key; politically, culturally and artistically. The city and its magnificent monuments, streets, and piazze were the stage for testing European architecture and diplomacy. Maintaining close links with Rome further strengthened the Bourbon claims in Italy and underlined the Bourbon monarchs’ faith and piety. As Italian influence increasingly spread to Spain, it supplanted the French presence that immediately followed Philip’s ascendancy. If French taste was fashionable, Italian art and architecture was authoritative. The many Italian architects and artists that graced the early Bourbon courts of Philip V and Ferdinand VI brought to Spain a renewed sense of Roman artistic vigor and purpose that transformed the Spanish reales sitios into international 174 The written word and the artifact monuments. The lessons of Rome also translated directly into a coherent program of academic instruction that fundamentally shaped the newly established academy in Madrid, and educated several generations of Spanish artists and architects in Roman grandeur and excellence. Yet what made Italian influence in eighteenth-century Spain so remarkable, was that it transcended the strictly formal and academic approach and married national sympathies with practical considerations to achieve a truly distinct Spanish contribution to the architectural fabric of early modern cities and towns. The art and architecture of Spain and the Ibero–American world would certainly be worse off without the contributions of eighteenth- century Spanish artists and architects, but so would the face of Rome. Notes

Introduction 1 Castiglione 1976: 146. 2 The fountain, in the shape of a docked ship, contained the Barberini escutcheon with its signature bees symbolizing Providence and the Trinity, after which the northern half of the piazza was named. But the ship also included an image of a sunburst, which was associated with the Barberini papacy if not explicitly with Divine Wisdom. Louis XIV’s ministers, Cardinal Jules Mazarin and his successor Jean-Baptiste Colbert, both sought to glorify the French crown by commissioning the staircase and equestrian statue to Bernini, in the hope that the barcaccia fountain’s radiant imagery would also be interpreted as a symbol of the rising Sun King (Pecchiai 1941; Hibbard and Jaffe 1964).

Chapter 1 1 Valesio 1977: I, 366. 2 Though the Imperial faction in the city sought to take over the building, it remained in Spanish hands, monitored by the Inquisitor General and Auditor of the Roman Rota, José de Molines. Uceda would move to Genoa and a year later, in 1710, shift allegiance to the Austrian cause. 3 The Torecilla de Música was demolished in 1769 when the creation of the new Prado was started under Charles III (Lopezosa Aparicio 1995). 4 BNE, Madrid, Dib/18/1/8450. 5 BNE, Madrid, Dib/18/1/8448. 6 Yves Bottineau (1986a: 413–17) employed the expression barroco florido instead of the more familiar term Rococo to describe the architecture of this period, for the latter, he asserts, is used mostly in the pejorative sense. See also Tovar Martín 1994; Blasco Esquivias 2002b. 7 On his career as a painter, see Ángel Aterido Fernández 1995–96. 8 Not to be confused with the Roman sculptor and engraver Domenico De Rossi (1659–1729). 9 Not to be confused with the Marchesan Giuseppe Sardi who will be discussed later in Chapters 5 and 6. 10 An anonymous plan drawing of the “quartiere spagnoli” in Rome between the Via del Corso and the Piazza di Spagna (1702), noting the various ambassadorial 176 Notes

residences and military barracks, can be seen at the Albertina Museum, Vienna, no. AZRom28. 11 The Manfroni family inherited the three-story structure from the descendants of the great seventeenth-century sculptor Gianlorenzo Bernini, who noted in his will that his statue of Verità (Truth unveiled by Time) be situated in the palace’s courtyard, a condition that was fulfilled by his grandson Prospero. In the early eighteenth century, the palazzo was generally referred to as the Palazzo Grimani. Cardinal Grimani also resided at the Palazzo Riario alla Lungara, the former residence of Queen Christina of Sweden and future palace of the Corsini family. 12 Solomonic imagery was still very much prevalent in early eighteenth-century European architecture, and both Spain and Austria would lay claim to its inher- itance as a legitimizing symbol. In particular, see below, Chapter 6. 13 Faggiolo erroneously describes the feast as dedicated to Giovanni Girolamo Acquaviva d’Aragona, who was Francesco’s brother, though the former never entered the church. He was, instead, the Duke of Atri, and sergeant general for Philip V. He fought unsuccessfully against the Austrian troops in Italy during the War of Spanish Succession, and retired in 1707 to Rome where he died two years later on August 14, 1709 (Storace 1738: 86–94; Vázquez Gestal 2013: 141). 14 He had been nominated the previous year on May 17, 1706, but only received the red hat and title of Cardinal priest at the church S. Bartolomeo all’Isola in the summer of 1707, moving later to S. Cecilia in Trastevere in 1709. Acquaviva will, however, always be remembered as the man who negotiated the marriage between Philip V and Princess Elizabeth Farnese on August 25, 1714, a task to which he dedicated himself in both Rome and Parma (Pérez Samper 2003: 52–3). 15 Not to be confused with the Palazzo Salviati al Collegio Romano. 16 Alberti (1988: 156) writes: “[w]hat other human art might sufficiently protect a building to save it from human attack? Beauty may even influence an enemy, by restraining his anger and so preventing the work from being violated … No other means is as effective in protecting a work from damage and human injury as is dignity and grace of form.” 17 The definitive solution to the portico came in the mid-eighteenth century, when Benedict XIV commissioned Ferdinando Fuga to provide the church with a new monumental façade. 18 The succession of Philip V was not without conflict in Naples as the so-called “congiuria di Macchia” or plot by a group of Neapolitan nobles led by Gaetano Gambacorta, the príncipe di Macchia, in favor of the Archduke Charles revealed. The plot was supported by Cardinal Grimani and the Austrian ambassador Count Lamberg in Rome. Clement XI was not pleased that a Minister of God would engage in such politically dubious activities (Kamen 2001: 18; Vázquez Gestal 2013: 101). 19 The date had been fixed for the 15th, but rain delayed it until the 20th (“Diario napolitano dal 1700 al 1709” 1885: 221–2, 224–8). 20 The drawing titled Design for an Illusionistic Wall Decoration, with a King Accompanied by Soldiers (Esther and Ahasveras?) is preserved at the Cooper- Hewitt National Design Museum, Smithsonian Institution, acc. no. 1938-88-3348. Notes 177

Chapter 2 1 Lindsay 1957: 269. 2 Still, the two Borgia popes, Callistus III, and Alexander VI were transferred to Santa Maria in Monserrato in the nineteenth century. 3 A view of the Piazza di Spagna, from the anonymous Description de Rome Moderne (c. 1667), describes the piazza as the “Forum Hispanicum” as well. The author, presumably aware of Lievin Cruyl’s plan and views of the city (c. 1664–65), adopted the latter’s terminology for the piazza (Connors and Rice 1991: 155–7). 4 For a complete list see Urrea Fernández 2006: 21 ff. 5 A copy of Fuga’s Design for the marriage of Charles VII, King of Naples and the Two Sicilies, with Maria Amalia of Saxony (1738), can be seen at ING, F.N. 20093 (1267). 6 A copy of Fuga’s Catafalque for Philip V (1746), etched by Miguel Sorelló, can be seen at ING, F.N. 13846 (1274). 7 Aróstegui notes “El diseño de n[uest]ro Palacio q[ue] me hizo Hermosilla en Roma, no me lo han devuelto los Reyes, y se lo tienen en la Sala de la Conversacion. Lo siento, y me complazc” (Rodríguez Ruiz 1985: 70). 8 Ascanio entered the Real Convento de Santo Domingo in Málaga in 1674, and in 1692 celebrated the funeral rites for the city’s Bishop, Fr. Alonso de S. Thomas, published as the Oracion funebre en las exequias que la S. Iglesia Catedral de Málaga consagró, dia 13 de Agosto de 1692 años, a la venerable memoria de... D. Fr. Alonso de S. Thomas (Ascanio et al. 1692). His diplomatic career began in 1693 when he was ordered by Charles II to transfer to Rome. 9 Similar rites were celebrated in Rome at the church of S. Giacomo degli Spagnoli (Fagiolo 1997: 50–2). 10 The Treaty of The Hague (1720) following the War of the Quadruple Alliance (1718–20) had originally declared Carlo di Borbone as heir to the Duchy of Parma and Grand Duchy of Tuscany. 11 Tuscher spent several years in Italy 1728–41 drawing architectural monuments, festivals, and jewelry (DIA 1974: 458). 12 The term, meaning studied carelessness, was employed in Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier (1976: 67) as “a certain nonchalance, which conceals all artistry and makes whatever one says or does seem uncontrived and effortless.” 13 This would be Sanfelice’s last work for the Bourbons as Carlo considered his association with the previous Austrian viceroys too contentious if not antago- nistic (Marías 2005: 49).

Chapter 3 1 Introductory remarks to José de Hermosilla’s Architectura civil (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750). 2 Becerra’s design for the Retablo mayor del Convento de las Descalzas Reales de Madrid (1563) can be seen at BNE, Dib/16/34/1. 3 On the Escorial’s legacy in eighteenth-century Spain, see below, Chapter 6. 4 There was however, one last architect to make his way to Italy during this period, the little-known Vicente Acero y Acebo (d. 1733) who made his way to Italy 1710–14, traveling to Rome, Milan and back to Spain via France. Upon 178 Notes

his return he was active in the south largely in Cádiz, though also in Malaga (Moleón Gavilanes 2003: 75). 5 See Rensselaer Lee’s classic study “Ut pictura poesis: The Humanistic Theory of Painting” (Lee 1940), and Vernon Hyde Minor (2006). 6 See below, Chapter 6. 7 His nickname was “Luca fa presto” meaning makes haste. 8 See below, Chapter 5. 9 Saint Ferdinand (1198–1252) was the founder of modern Spain and a figure whose principal virtues were courage and humility. He was canonized in 1671 making his name among Spaniards popular in the eighteenth century (Rodríguez G. de Ceballos 1981). 10 In 1726, Francisco Antonio Meléndez, a miniaturist, presented his scheme for an academy of fine arts, though it was not until 1744 when Olivieri and Don Sebastián de La Quadra, the Marqués de Villarias, prepared the constitution of the Junta preparatoria that the idea really took off (Bédat 1989: 27–30; Bottineau 1986a: 647). 11 The idea of sending Spanish pensioners to Rome had been discussed as early as the reigns of Philip IV (1621–65) and Charles II (1665–1700) when figures such as Velázquez were touring Italy (Pérez Bueno 1947a).

Chapter 4 1 Bellori 2005: 61. 2 Palazzo dove habita il Sig. re Conte/Bassi Posto, MR, no. 16876. 3 Emanuel Rodriguez Dos Santos, Decoración de la fachada de Santa Maria in Aracoeli en Roma con motivo de la proclamación de Benedicto XIII (1724), BNE, Dib/14/46/54. 4 Rodriguez Dos Santos’ Spaccato della chiesa di S. Maria d’Araceli riccamente ornata nel solenne ottavario fatto da i rr. pp. Minori Osservanti per la seguita canonizzazione dei santi Giacomo della Marca, e Francesco Solano… (1727), etched by Andrea Rossi can be seen at ING FN9210. 5 Rodriguez Dos Santos’ Progetto della solenne decorazione della facciata di S. Maria d’Aracoeli in occasione della canonizzazione di S. Margherita da Cortona… (1728), drawn by Giacomo De Sanctis, can be seen at ING FN11726. 6 Rodriguez Dos Santos’ Progetti per la chiesa del Bambin Gesù (1732/33), Progetto di un altare laterale. Alzato e pianta in due variant, can be seen at ING, F.N. 13869. 7 The engraving, by Le Lorrain as well, shows the structure from the side. 8 It should be noted that Rykwert erroneously attributed the design of the Chinea to Franciso Preciado, an engineer, instead of Francisco Preciado de la Vega the painter, under the assumption there were two Spaniards with the same name in Rome. The error though can be originally attributed to Sir William Sterling Maxwell who Rykwert cites. 9 Anonymous, Procession in Rome on the occasion of the presentation of the Chinea… Rome (1740s). British Museum, 1871,1209.4638AN104195. 10 Piranesi (1720–78) arrived in Rome in 1740 and lived opposite the Palazzo Mancini, home of the French academy, where he regularly taught perspective to French and Italian students in the city (Wilton-Ely 1978). Notes 179

11 The sketchbook is housed in the European Drawings and Prints Collection at the MMA, acc. no. 40.59.6. 12 Delfín Rodríguez Ruiz (1988: 278) has noted that both Fernández and Hermosilla were in Fuga’s studio preparing drawings of the Ospizio di San Michele a Ripa in 1748. 13 By 1756, the brief for an academy of fine arts became the subject of the First Class competition at the Academia de San Fernando in Madrid (Arbaiza Blanco-Soler 1992: 49–51). 14 The following drawings, attributed to Miguel Fernández, are contained in the Gabinete de Dibujos of the ASF: Palacio – A/1681, A/1682, A/1683; Iglesia – A/4423, A/4424; and Untitled (Palacio Episcopal) – A/4425, A/4426, A/4427. 15 Hermosilla was probably introduced to Carvajal by his brother Ignacio de Hermosilla who became secretary to the Academy from 1753 until 1776. I owe the last suggestion to Delfín Rodríguez Ruiz. Carvajal was Protector of the Junta from 1746–52 when the Academy was formally established. He remained Protector of the Academy until 1754 (Bédat 1989: 12). 16 The Doric column in the background of Zurbaran’s Martyrdom of Saint James was an appropriate symbol for the saint, and perhaps the inspiration for Hermosilla’s intervention in the church. 17 ASF 49-6/1. 18 See Carvajal’s letter to Balthasar Elgueta, Vice-Protector of the Junta, dated July 9, 1748 (ASF, 49-6/1). 19 See D. Joseph Hermosilla – defensa satisfactoria de los reparos que le puso la Academia à los planos de un Palacio trazado por el [debido] siendo pensionado en Roma (ASF 62-1/5). 20 The drawings are contained at the ASF (4420–4422). A letter from Carvajal to Ferdinand VI confirms Hermosilla’s work and seeks the king’s opinion (ASF 49-6/1). 21 Boscovich would provide a complimentary preface to Hermosilla’s Architectura civil.

Chapter 5 1 Mancini 1997: II, 88–9. 2 Many French medieval churches and convents had triangular plans or Trinitarian symbols, such as the abbey of Saint Riquier in Picardy with its triangular courtyard, and the abbey of Saint-Benoît-de-Fleury in the Loire with its delta plan and three churches. 3 The diagram was included in Book I under the description of Vitruvius’ principle of “disposition” (dispositio), demonstrating the reciprocity between the arrangement of elements in a work and its effect on a viewer. 4 His wealth was accumulated largely through the silver mines of Potosí. 5 MA, Inv. 00087. A full description of the festivities surrounding his promotion to Viceroy is given in Torre (1716). 6 A drawing by Rodriguez Dos Santos reveals the existing conditions. ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/4. 7 ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/1. 180 Notes

8 Pacilli would subsequently work at the church of S. Maria Maddalena, sculpt- ing a group of angels on the high altar, and a small bozzetto of Saint Camillus in ecstasy (Mortari 1987: 106). 9 “Si vede già terminata la nobile Facciata della nuova chiesa de Rev. Padri Trinitari Calzati spagnoli della Provincia di Castiglia, situata nella strada detta de Condotti vicini al Convento costrutta con ottima Architettura dal sig. D. Emmanuele Rodriguez de Santes Portoghese; & ornata di vaghi stucchi lavorati a perfezione dal sig. Baldassare Mattei da Foligno assai perito in tale arte” (Mancini 1997: II, 63). 10 ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/6 and I/7. 11 On May 6, 1748, Hermosilla’s designs for the interiors of the church were approved over those of Rodriguez Dos Santos and Baldassare Mattei (the plasterer of the courtyard and exterior elevations of the adjacent monastery). On the very same day, the church fathers decided to replace Dos Santos with Hermosilla. Though the designs of Hermosilla and Mattei are lost, certain factual evidence makes it possible to recount the church fathers’ decisions. On August 30, 1747, the Trinitarians in Rome had requested 3,000 scudi to com- mence work on the interiors. The proceedings from May 6, 1748, reveal that a design by Rodriguez Dos Santos had been sent to Spain in April of 1747, and reviewed carefully by the best architects of Madrid. The design was delivered by a certain Father Pacheco who left Rome on April 30, 1747. The names of the Spanish architects that reviewed the drawings are not given. However, the committee of Madrid architects determined that Dos Santos’ scheme was unsatisfactory. It is likely that the schemes by Hermosilla and Mathei were neither sent to Spain, nor reviewed by the Spanish committee, and that the final decision in favor of Hermosilla had been taken by the Trinitarians in Rome, on the suggestion of Fuga (Porres Alonso 1965–66: 84). 12 These drawings included three site plans, four elevations, two sections, two perspectives and a number of details. Additionally, Dos Santos claimed he had prepared large-scale drawings and models of particular aspects of the building and supervised the site work throughout the various phases of construction. 13 The reports from the Tribunale della Sacra Rota, RDP Elephantutio, Romana Fabricae, 1752, are included in the Pleitos. 14 Two documents from the church’s archives confirm that José de Hermosilla was the architect in charge for the design of the six lateral chapels and high altar. The first, signed by Hermosilla, Cano, and Mattei, confirms that that latter carried out the stucco work on the interiors according to Hermosilla’s designs. The second, signed by Francesco Cerroti (dated May 26, 1749), confirms the completion of seven balusters (six for the lateral chapels and one for the high altar) according to the designs and dimensions determined by Hermosilla. Cerroti further claimed that the balusters, pedestals, bases, and pilasters were of the highest quality found in Rome (ATSR A-II 5-1, 13 and 15, Contabilidad). 15 ATSR, A-II, 2.1, Libro de gasto de la nueva fundacion desde el año 1731 hasta Julio del 1778. The Cuenta del Gasto de la Fábrica del Convento y de la Iglesia desde 1741 a 1753 (ATSR, A-II, 5-2.1) notes that the architect in charge was paid 315.5 scudi in June 1748, 350 scudi in March 1749, and 244 scudi in December 1749, for his assistance and designs. 16 The bozzetto is kept at the Museo del Prado in Madrid, Inv. 5352. Notes 181

17 He subsequently worked at the courts of Dresden (1752–53), Vienna (1760– 61), Berlin, Turin (1765–66), and St. Petersburg where he died in 1773. 18 December 1746–March 1747. 19 ASR, Collezione I: Disegni e Piante, Cart. 86, 536 I/6. 20 The motif could be found in several Roman examples. Bernini’s Altieri Chapel at S. Francesco a Ripa (1674), and Borromini’s apsidal vaults at S. Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, for example, both contained similar effects. Fuga’s project for the façade of S. Maria Maggiore also contained the motif at the extreme ends of the lower-story portico. 21 Preciado would produce many paintings for such celebrations (Ramallo Asensio 1999).

Chapter 6 1 Arfe y Villafañe 1585, 3v. 2 Charles III’s move to the new Royal Palace in 1764 marked the beginning of the end for the great Hapsburg palace, a gradual decline that resulted in its destruction in 1813 following Joseph Bonaparte’s occupation of the structure as a garrison. 3 An early proposal by the Spanish architect Pedro de Ribera (a Greek cross around a central court, with four smaller courts in each arm) was never seri- ously considered (Tovar Martín 1994: 227–31; Blasco Esquivias 2002b: 285–6). 4 Sabbatini had been trained in Naples under Luigi Vanvitelli at the great Palace at Caserta. Sabbatini would marry Vanvitelli’s daughter and succeed his father- in-law as Charles III’s preferred architect in Spain (Rodríguez Ruiz 1993). 5 The literature on the Escorial is too vast to be included here. For a comprehensive bibliography, see in particular Sancho 1995. 6 Elizabeth would never again set foot in La Granja, though at her death her body was transported there and re-united with her husband Philip’s. 7 It is traditionally believed that the Escorial was dedicated in memory of the victory at San Quentín, on the feast day of St. Lawrence (San Lorenzo in Spanish) on August 10, 1557. However, Kamen doubts that the analogy with the gridiron has any validity, as “the first formal high mass for the saint was not sung until 1571, at the dedication of the new church in the monastery” (Kamen 2010: 43). 8 Though Vignola’s treatise was not translated into Spanish until the Escorial was nearly complete, the work was well-known and the architect made drawings for the basilica at the Escorial in 1572 (Kubler 1982: 52–3). 9 See Descripción de la octava maravilla del Mundo, que es la excelente y santa casa de San Laurencio, el Real Monasterio de frailes Jerónimos compuesta por el doctor, Juan Alonso de Almela, médico, VI (1594). Kubler notes that “the expression [octava maravilla del mundo] first appeared in Spain in 1594, when Juan Alonso de Almela, a physician from Murcia, described the eighth wonder in great detail eleven years before the publication in 1605 of Fray José de Sigüenza’s masterpiece.” The implication is that the eighth wonder of the world supersedes all those before it, and not surprisingly Spanish panegyrists were nearly unanimous in their estimation of the monument (Kubler 1982: 4). Fernández-Santos Ortiz-Iribas suggests that Caramuel’s “effort to reconcile the 182 Notes

normative Classicist vocabulary of the Escorial with the structural and concep- tual framework inherited from late Gothic stonemasonry led to the rather strained identification of Philip II’s monastery as the paradigmatic modern embodiment of oblique architecture.” The identification refers of course to the fact that in seventeenth-century Italy, Saint Peter’s would have rightly occupied the privileged position as the paradigm of modern architecture, “erect” and “oblique” (Fernández-Santos Ortiz-Iribas 2005: 152). 10 “Because neither symmetry can be sacrificed, the wall itself must be warped to accommodate the conflict of symmetries, while permitting an aperture to function.” 11 Chueca Goitia suggests that the Escorial is conceptually the first Baroque structure of the Renaissance and that its influence in Baroque and Rococo Europe is potentially immense (Chueca Goitia 1983 [1966]: 218). It should also be noted that, like Rizi, the Theatine priest and architect, Guarino Guarini, experimented with an undulant variant to the Corinthian order (l’ordine corinzio supremo) in his Disegni d’architettura civile (Guarini 1964). However, it was not a new and distinct order, nor was it Solomonic in its imagery (Bérchez and Marías 2002: 270–2). 12 The complete title was Compendio mathemático en que se contienen todas las materias más principales de las ciencias, que tratan de la cantidad. Subsequent editions appeared in 1727, 1757, and 1794. 13 The 1727 edition contained four different discourses on architecture, covering such topics as civil architecture, stone cutting and stereotomy, military architecture and fortifications, and pyrotechnics. The 1794 treatise consisted of three discourses only – civil architecture, stone cutting and stereotomy, and gnomonics (Bonet Correa 1980: 132–4). 14 As an example, Tosca cites Caramuel’s insistence that upright columns have circular bases whereas oblique columns have elliptical ones, arguing that the distinction is not necessary as both diameters are adaptable to either upright or oblique circumstances (Tosca 1727: 69–70). 15 See also Sancho Corbacho 1952; Bonet Correa 1978. 16 “La profusión decorativa y la luminosidad producen efecto sorprendente, que … en pocos conjuntos españoles se supera.” 17 The recent restoration in 1973 returned many of them to their original location. 18 Note presented to author by P. Vázquez-Gestal on 16/1/2012.

Chapter 7 1 Missirini 1823: 1. 2 Diego de Sagredo first used the term hermosura in his Medidas del Romano (Toledo, 1526) when describing the Ionic column as having the stature of an elegant woman. The 1582 Spanish translation of Vitruvius by Miguel de Urrea employed the term hermosura in place of venustas, and when describing beauty in both general and specific terms, setting the standard for future editions to follow. Francisco Lozano also used the expression in his translation of Alberti’s treatise in 1582 (Marías 1989: 63). 3 Hermosilla notes, “no faltaría a mi imaginación el superior apoio del templo Palacio, y mas obras hechas por Salomón en Gerusalem, que aun oy se estíman, por el termino de perfección de que es capàz la Architectura” (Hermosilla y Sandoval 1750: 10). Notes 183

4 A brief glance through Dora Wiebenson’s Architectural Theory from Alberti to Ledoux (1982), reveals how very few architectural treatises were published in 1750. With the exception of Wren’s Parentalia, and reprints of previously written pattern books on the orders, the absence of theoretical speculation is discernible. For a more comprehensive list, see Meeks 1966: 463 ff. 5 The consilarios were divided into three classes: honor, and merito, both of which could attend the public and particular assemblies, and the supernumer- arios, which could only attend the public ones. 6 Marías and Bustamente have noted that this text no longer exists and that only Rodríguez’ manuscript remains in the Academia’s archives (Marías and Bustamente García 1989: 152). 7 ASF, Sign.: 62–1/5. 8 ASF, 91-12/6, Plan Presentado por los Directores de Arquitectura para el Curso de esta Fcultad, Madrid, 24 de Febrero de 1759. 9 ASL 2151–53. Bibliography

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Acquaviva d’Aragona Belluga y Moncada, Luis (Cardinal) Francesco (Cardinal) 13, 15, 37, 42, 37, 57 176n14 Benavente, Miguel 166 Troiano (Cardinal) 36–8, 41–2, 69, Benedict XIII (Orsini) 79–80 86, 140, 151 Benedict XIV (Lambertini) 38, 72, 77, Albani, Alessandro (Cardinal) 15, 72 86, 176n17 Alberoni, Giulio (Cardinal) 7 Benefial, Marco 133 Alberti, Leon Battista 18, 50, 171–2, Bentivoglio d’Aragona, Marco Cornelio 176n16, 182n2 (Cardinal) 37, 53, 68 Alexander VI (Borgia) 10, 177n2 Bernabé, Pedro 124 Alexander VII (Chigi) 2, 66, 132 Bernini, Gianlorenzo 2, 32–4, 39, 66, all’antica, al romano, a la antigua (in 77, 79, 87, 96, 97, 106, 117, the manner of the ancients) 64, 131, 133, 144, 148, 151, 77, 105, 154, 170, 173 175n2, 176n11, 181n20 Almeyda, Cristoforo (Cardinal) 83 Berruguete, Alonso 64 Ammanati, Bartolomeo 44, 65 Bertone, Michelangelo 83 Anagni Bianchi, Francesco 81 Santa Chiara 82–4 Bizzaccheri, Carlo Francesco 81 Santa Maria di Palazzo 83–4 Bonavía, Giacomo 92–3, 137–8, Aranda, Count of (Pedro Pablo Abarca 141, 169 de Bolea) 170–1 Bonfili, Anticus 65 Aranjuez (Royal Palace of) 92, 137–9, Borghese, Camillo (Cardinal) 44 141, 146 Borromini, Francesco 28, 35, 77, 78–9, Ardemans, Teodoro 9–10, 70, 135–7, 83, 84, 90, 97, 106, 107, 114, 143–4, 161–2 115, 144, 181n20 Arfe y Villafañe, Juan de 65, Boscovich, Ruggero Giuseppe 103–4, 164–6, 172 163, 179n21 Aróstegui, Alfonso Clemente de 43, 75, Brachelieu, Léandre 137 100–1, 177n7 Braganza, Bárbara of 39, 146, 156–7 Ascanio, Fr. Salvador de 46–50, 53, Buonaiuto, Andrea 46 177n8 Buonarroti, Michelangelo 64, 65, 66, 78, 95, 101, 102, 104, 131 Baglione, Cesare 55 Buratti, Carlo 83 Balboa, Pedro José García de (Fr. Martín Sarmiento) 156 Calleja, Andres de la 169 Barigioni, Filippo 110, 122 Callistus III (Borgia) 177n2 barroco florido 9–10, 98, 154–5, 175n6 Campi, Bernardino 55 Becerra, Gaspar 65, 177n2 Cano, Fr. Alonso 120, 123, 163, Bellicard, Jérôme-Charles 90–1 180n14 Index 209

Cantelmo, Giacomo (Cardinal) 19 Conca, Sebastiano 38, 39, 43, 54, Carlier 68–9, 72, 85, 91–2, 124, 133 François Antoine 93, 142, 157, 169 Cornejo, Felix 37 René 70, 136, 137, 142 Cornejo y Roldan, Pedro Duque 69 Carmona, Luis Salvador 169 Cortona, Pietro da (Berrettini) 26, 78 Carvajal y Lancaster, José de 74, 99, Cotte, Robert de 70, 136–7 163, 169, 179n15 Covarrúbias, Alonso 153 Casali, Andrea 133 Cruyl, Lievin 35, 177n3 Caserta (Royal Palace of) 95–6, 142, 166–8 David, Marco 122, 133 Castañeda, Josef de 164, 171, 172 Del Grande, Antonio 36 Castillo, Francisco del (el Mozo) 65 De Marchis, Tommaso 122 Castro, Felipe de 69–71, 78, 156, Deriset, Antoine 124 169–70, 171 Desgodets, Antoine 164, 171 Cerrotti, Francesco 127 Deza, Pedro (Cardinal) 44 Cervoni, Antonio 124 Donoso, José Jimémez 67 Céspedes, Pablo de 65 Dorotea, Duchess of Parma 54 cestería (basket-weave, lattice-work) 124 Dumandré Charles II (Hapsburg) 3, 4–5, 8, 9, Antoine 74, 169 10–12, 54, 68, 150 Hubert 157 Charles III (Bourbon) 1, 53, 68, 95–6, 136, 138, 140, 142–3, 146, Eleanor of Toledo 45–6 156–7, 159, 161, 166, 168, Elgueta y Vigil, Baltasar 169 175n3, 181n2 El Pardo (Royal Palace of) 7, 60, 142–3 Carlo di Borbone, King of the Two El Templo, the church and convent of Sicilies 37, 39, 41, 50–61, 68–9, the Order of Montesa 85–8, 95, 142, 146, 156, 166, (Valencia) 97 177n10 Errard, Charles 63 Charles IV (Bourbon) 1, 140, 142 Escorial (Royal Monastery of the) 8, Prince of Asturias 156 55–6, 66, 68, 96, 99, 142, 143, Charles V (Hapsburg) 3, 13, 45, 64, 147–50, 155, 156–9, 161, 164, 136, 147, 154 181n7–11 Charles VI (Hapsburg), Espinosa e la Torre, Michele de 133 Archduke of Austria 4, 6, 18, 176n18 Fabrizi, Gaetano 121 Charles III (Pretender to the throne Faggi, Ludovico 121 of Spain) 12, 15, 20 Fanzago, Cosimo 20, 27 Cherubini, Caterina 69 Farinelli, Carlo Broschi 139 Chinea 39, 60, 85–92, 178n8 Farnese Churriguera, José Benito de 9, 135, Antonio (Grand Duke of Parma) 50 150, 161 Elizabeth 7, 10, 38, 45, 53, 60, 68, Cienfuegos, Antonio (Cardinal) 28 85, 136, 137, 144, 146, 151, Clement VIII (Aldobrandini) 106 152, 155, 156–8, 176n14 Clement X (Altieri) 13 Felix of Valois (Saint) 106, 125, Clement XI (Albani) 4–5, 15, 18, 132, 133 63, 77 Ferdinand (Saint) 73, 178n9 Clement XII (Corsini) 41, 77, 83, 110 Ferdinand VI (Bourbon) 1, 43, 68, 69, Cochin, Charles-Nicolas 91 73–4, 93, 127, 136, 138, 140, Collecini, Francesco 96 142, 146, 147, 156–8, 161, Collegium Regium (Loyola) 15 168, 170, 173 Colonna, Fabrizio 86–7 Prince of Asturias 39 Colorno (Royal Palace of) 55–6, Fernández, Miguel 74–5, 78, 94–7, 100, 91, 146 172, 179n12–14 210 Index

Figueroa, Leonardo de 155 Hermosilla y Sandoval Filocamo, Antonio 21 Ignacio de 164, 179n15 Fischer von Erlach, Johan José de 43, 74–5, 78, 94, Bernhard 85 97–104, 121–34, 162–4, Florence 169, 170–3, 179n12, Palazzo Pitti 53 179n15–16, 180n11, Santa Maria Novella 46–51 180n14 Foggini Herrera, Francisco de (el Mozo) 67 Giovanni Battista 54 Herrera, Juan de 66, 137, 147–8, Giulio 54 153, 154–5 Vincenzo 54 Holanda, Francisco de 64, 148 Fonseca y Evora, Josè Maria de Holguín, Melchor Pérez 108 79–80 Hostini, Pietro 103 Fontana Houasse Carlo 11–18, 21, 48, 77, 81, 103 Michel-Ange 70–1 Mauro 122 René-Antoine 70 Fontana, Domenico 19 Forbin de Janson, Toussaint de Idogro, Pedro Caro 137 (Cardinal) 12 Innocent III (de’ Conti di Segni) 106, 129 Fuga, Ferdinando 41–3, 73, 77, 83, Innocent X (Pamphili) 67 86–7, 91–2, 95, 101, 103, 113, Innocent XII (Pignatelli) 4 115, 117, 120–4, 140–1, 157, 163, 176n17, 179n12, 180n11, Jacquier, François 103 181n20 Joan, Pere 64 John of Matha (Saint) 106, 124, Galeotti, Sebastiano 55 132–3 Galiani, Berardo 168 John V (King of Portugal) 31, 84 Galli-Bibiena, Ferdinando 56 Joseph I (Hapsburg) 12, 54 Galluzzi, Giovanni Battista 92 Junta preparatoria (preparatory council García, Francisco 67 of the Real Academia de Bellas Gheni, Giovanni 121 Artes de San Fernando) 43, 71, Giaquinto, Corrado 68, 127–9, 73–6, 92–5, 101, 103, 127, 169, 139, 140 178n10, 179n15 Giobbe, Nicola 103 Juvarra, Filippo 11, 21–2, 41, 92, Giordano, Luca 19, 68, 150 139–41, 144–6, 151–2 Giudice, Francesco del (Cardinal) 6 González Ruiz, Antonio 71, 74, Krahe, Lambert 133 169, 171 González Velázquez La Granja (Royal Palace of San Alejandro 74, 138, 171 Ildefonso de) 22, 38, 56, 68, Antonio 74, 94, 127–9, 133, 171 143–6, 151–2, 157–8, 161–2, Goyeneche, Juan de 161, 172 181n6 Gregorini, Domenico 103, 122 Lamberg, Count of (Leopold Joseph Gregory XIII (Boncompagni) 15, 26, Graf) 12, 176n18 33, 63 Lapis, Gaetano 133 Grimaldi, Giovanni Francesco 81 Laugier, Marc-Antoine 164, 166 Grimaldo, José de 7 Lazara, Gaetano 20 Grimani, Vincenzo (Cardinal) 12, Le Clerc, Sebastien 153 176n11, 176n18 Le Lorrain, Louis-Joseph 86–91 Guglielmi, Gregorio 117, León, Juan 158 124–6, 131 Leopold I (Holy Roman Emperor) 4, Gutiérrez, Francisco 74, 94, 12–15 97, 158 Leseur, Thomas 103 Index 211

Llerena Mattei, Baldassare 115–16, 121, 124, Convent of Santa Clara 98 133, 180n11, 180n14 Nuestra Señora de la Granada Mattei, Tomasso 11 98–100, 130 Medici Lobkowitz, Juan Caramuel de 66, Cosimo I (Grand Duke of Tuscany) 45 148–9, 150, 164, 166, 172, Cosimo III (Grand Duke of Tuscany) 46 181n9, 182n14 Ferdinando de’ (Grand Prince of Lodoli, Carlo 164 Tuscany) 45–6 Longhi Meléndez, Francisco Antonio 178n10 Martino (the Elder) 15, 44 Meléndez, Miguel Jacinto 70 Martino (the Younger) 26–7, 45 Mena, Juan Pascual de la 171 Onorio 26 Mengs, Anton Rafael 73, 140 Loo, Louis-Michel van, 74, 169 Michelangelo (Buonarotti) 64, 65, 66, Louis XIV (King of France) 2, 4, 23, 78, 95, 101, 104, 131 33, 70, 168, 175n2 Michel, Pierre-Joseph 142 Luis I (Bourbon) 46–9, Michel, Robert 169 Lustro Real (Seville) 69, 152 Michetti, Nicola 122 Miranda, Juan Carreño de 149 Machuca, Pedro 64 Monasterio, Fr. Lorenzo 110 Madrid Montañés, Juan Martínez 98 Alcázar 8, 136–7 Montano, Benito Arias 148 Buen Retiro 8–9, 136–8 Monteagudo, Domingo Lois 172 Casa de la Panadería 67, 73, 169 Monteleón, Marquis of (Isidro Casado Descalzas Reales 65 de Acevedo y Rosales) 6 Encarnación (church of the) 150 Mora, Juan Gómez de 136, 137 Royal Academy (Real Academia de Morcillo Rubio y Auñón, Fr. Diego 79, Bellas Artes de San Fernando) 108–10, 133 43, 68, 71, 73, 96, 139, 156, Mozzani, Giuliano 56 160, 163, 164, 169, 171–3 Murillo, Bartolomé 132, 152 Royal Palace 22, 68, 69, 74, 94, 96, 98–9, 136, 139–42, 146, 147, Naples 156, 181n2 Castello Capuano 19 Salesas Reales (convent of the) Castel Nuovo 63, 66 157–8 Cathedral 19 San Antonio de los Portugueses 68, Gesú Nuovo 20 96–7, 149 Palazzo Reale 19, 60 Torecilla de Música 9, 175n3 Piazza di Portanova 19 Magadán, Juan 169 Poggio Reale 19 Maiano, Giuliano da 19 Porta Capuana 19 Maratta, Carlo 21, 53, 67–8 San Domenico Maggiore 19 Marca, Jacopo della (Saint) 29, 79 San Giacomo degli Spagnoli 60 Marchand, Étienne 137 San Lorenzo Maggiore 19, Marchetti, Giuseppe 121 57–60 Marchionni, Carlo 72, 121 Nicoletti, Francesco 122 Margaret of Cortona (Saint) 31, 80 Nolli, Giovanni Battista 77 Maria Amalia (of Saxony) 41, 60 Nuevo Baztán 161–2 Marie Louise (Savoy) 6, 7, 8, 136, 137, 143, 150 Olivieri, Fabio (Cardinal) 110 Marquet, Jaime 138, 171 Olivieri, Giovanni Domenico 70, Martínez, Domingo 69 73–4, 140, 141–2, 156, 169, Martínez, José Luzán 71 171, 178n10 Mascherino, Ottaviano 27 Oñate, Count of (Íñigo Vélez de Mastroleo, Giuseppe 71 Guevara) 35–6 212 Index

Ortiz y Sanz, Fr. José 160, 168 Ribera, Juan de 9 Oviedo, Juan de (Younger) 98, 154 Ribera, Jusepe de 20, 67 Ribera, Pedro de 135, 181n3 Pacilli, Pietro 115–16, 124, 127, 180n8 Rieger, Christian 166–8 Palacios, Domenico 124 Riofrío (Royal Palace of) 146–7 Paladini, Giuseppe 133 Río Salazar y Figueroa, Alonso del 108 Palazzo della Pilotta (Parma) 55 Ripperda, Jan Willem 50 Palladio, Andrea 171–2 Rizi Palomino, Antonio 67, 70 Francisco 149 Palomino, Juan Bernabé 169 Fr. Juan, 66, 148–9 Panini, Giovanni Paolo 38, 39, 73, Rocca Sanvitale (Sala Baganza) 55 86–7, 151, 155 Roda y Arrieta, Manuel de la 75 Paradinas, Alfonso 25 Rodriguez Dos Santos, Emanuel 28, 31, Patiño, José 7 78–85, 102, 110–23, 125, 141, Paul V (Borghese) 44 180n11 Pavia, Giacomo 74, 93, 95, 142 Rodríguez y Tizón, Ventura 74, 92–4, Peña, Juan Bautista de la 70, 74, 169 95, 97, 98, 169–71 Pernicharo, Pablo 70, 169, 171 Rojas, Simón de (Saint) 108, 114, Perrault, Claude 163, 164–6, 168, 124, 133 171, 172 Rome Petitot, Ennemond-Alexandre 90–1 Academies Philander, Guillaume 168, 172 Accademia degli Arcadi 69 Philip (Bourbon), Duke of Parma 91 Accademia del Nudo 72–3, 95 Philip II (Hapsburg) 26, 44, 65, 66, French (Académie de France à 136, 137, 142, 147, 150, 168, Rome) 43, 63, 70, 75, 90–1, 181n9 178n10 Philip V (Bourbon) 1, 2, 4–11, 15, Saint Luke (Accademia di San 19–22, 23, 38, 41–6, 50, 60, 68, Luca) 13, 63, 67, 68, 69, 70, 70, 73, 135–47, 152, 155–8, 71–3, 78, 85, 92, 93, 95, 96, 161–2, 173, 176n14, 176n18 101, 103, 113, 124, 140–1, Duke of Anjou 3–4 144, 169 Piano, Giovanni Maria delle Miscellaneous (Molinaretto) 54 Castel Sant’Angelo 65, 66, 87, Pignatta, Giulio 54 89, 90 Piranesi, Giovanni Battista 43, 77, 91, Fontana della barcaccia 2, 32, 33, 164, 173, 178n10 38, 39, 106, 175n2 plateresque 8, 64, 154–5 Galleria Capitolina dei Quadri 73 Poleni, Giovanni 103–4 Porto di Ripetta 33, 106, 107 Ponz, Antonio 159 Quartiere Spagnoli 31–5, 175n10 Portocarrerro, Joaquín María Quirinal Coffee House 38, 86–7 (Cardinal) 43 Scalinata dei Trinità de Monti Posi, Paolo 90, 122 (Spanish Steps) 2, 33, 81, Prado, Jerónimo 66, 148 106, 107 Prieto, Tomás Francisco 169 Trevi Fountain 42, 72, 88 Procaccini, Andrea 68, 144–5 Palaces (palazzi) Puthois (Pitué), Pierre 157 Borghese 44–5, 103 Brusato (Teatro de Pioli) 110 Quadri, Carlo Giulio 81–2 Caetani (formerly Ruccellai, now Ruspoli) 12, 15, 33, 44–5, 110 Raguzzini, Filippo 84 Colonna 39 Rainaldi, Carlo 117 Corsini (formerly Riario alla Ranc, Jean 70 Lungara) 176n11 reales sitios 135–47, 156, 173 D’Aste 112 Index 213

dei Conservatori 101, 131 Santa Maria Maddalena 81–2, della Consulta 42, 92 180n8 di Spagna 6, 11–12, 15, 23–4, Santa Maria Maggiore 10, 11, 35–43, 101, 110 15–19, 87, 124, 144 Farnese 15, 43, 69, 75 Sant’Antonio dei Portoghesi 15, Firenze 15 24, 31, 45, 84 Lateran 43, 103 Sant’Apollinare 124 Mancini 43, 75, 178n10 Santi Ambrogio e Carlo al Corso 26 Monaldeschi 35 Santi Quaranta Martiri e S. Nuñez 32, 106 Pasquale Baylon 28–9, 106, Quirinal 38, 42, 86–7, 92, 110, 133 103, 113 Santissima Trinità degli Spagnoli, Salviati alla Lungara 13 28–9, 43, 68, 79, 82, 104, Piazze 105–34, 138, 162 Campidoglio 2, 72, 80, 81, 101 Santissima Trinità dei Monti 2, dei Santi Apostoli 39 32–4, 39,65, 81, 103, 106, 107 di Spagna 2, 12, 31–6, 39–42, Sant’Ivo alla Sapienza 107 106–7, 175n10, 177n3 San Tommaso in Formis 106 Farnese 39, 85, 87, 89–90 Spirito Santo dei Napoletani Largo Goldoni 44, 105, 107–8, 114 26–7, 41 Mignanelli 11–12, 35 Streets (vie) Navona 10, 24–6, 39, 42, 65, 75, Belsiana 106, 120 102, 155 Bocca di Leone 12, 106 San Lorenzo in Lucina 12, 15, 106 Borgognona 12, 106 Churches and monasteries Condotti (formerly Trinitatis) 28, Bambin Gesú 82–3, 84, 120 32–4, 44–5, 105–7, 114 Collegio di Propaganda Fide 32, dei Portoghesi 24 35, 38, 39, 42 79, 84 dei Spagnoli 32 Ospizio di San Michele a Ripa del Collegio Capranica 81 179n12 del Corso 12, 15, 33, 43, 44, 75, Saint Peter’s 25, 44, 65, 66, 70, 105, 106 110, 175n10 71, 72, 79, 89, 93, 95, 101–2, della Fontanella di Borghese 44 103–4, 108, 131, 133, 140, di San Sebastianello 81 148, 181n9 Sistina 107 San Bartolomeo all’Isola 28 Tomacelli 107 San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane Vicolo di Spagna 32 28, 36, 79, 106, 133 Rossi, Domenico 11 San Gallicano 84 Rossi San Giacomo degli Incurabili 117 Domenico de 144 San Giacomo degli Spagnoli 10, Giovanni Antonio de 33, 81, 112 24–6, 39, 41, 42, 65, 75, 157 Ruggieri, Ferdinando 48–53 San Luigi dei Francesi 124 Ruiz, Francisco 93 San Pietro in Montorio 27 Rusconi, Giuseppe 69 Santa Cecilia 38, 41–2, 92 Santa Maria dell’Anima 12–15, 25 Sabbatini, Francesco 95–7, 140, 142, Santa Maria della Vittoria 87 158, 181n4 Santa Maria dell’Orazione e Sacchetti, Giovanni Battista 22, 74, 93, Morte 115, 117, 124 140–2, 144, 146, 169 Santa Maria del Priorato di Malta 43 Sagredo, Diego de 64, 153, 182n2 Santa Maria in Aracœli 29, 79–80 Sagrera, Guillem 63 Santa Maria in Cosmedin 110 Salvi, Nicola 38, 39–40, 42, 77, 103, Santa Maria in Monserrato 24–7, 42 110, 140–1 Santa Maria in Trastevere 15 Sánchez, Pedro 149 214 Index

Sanctis, Francesco de’ 33, 81, 110 Uceda, Duke of (Juan Francisco Sanfelice, Ferdinando 19, 22, 57–60, Pacheco de Mendoza y Toledo) 177n13 4, 6, 11, 175n2 Sangallo Urrea, Miguel de 160, 168, 171, 182n2 Giuliano da 10, 63 Ursins, princess of 136 Antonio da, the Younger 25–6, 65, 66 Vaccaro, Lorenzo 20 San Nicolás, Fray Lorenzo de 153, 172 Valdés Leal, Juan de 132 Sardi, Giuseppe (Venetian) 11 Valle, Filippo della 69, 70 Sardi, Giuseppe (Marchesan) 28, 81–2, Valvassori, Gabriele 121 103, 110, 122 Vandières, Monsieur de (Marquis de Scotti, Annibale (Marquis of) 137, Marigny) 91 141, 146 Vanvitelli, Luigi 77, 95–6, 103, 140–2, Serlio, Sebastiano 65, 144, 166, 181n4 171, 172 Vasi, Giuseppe 77, 90, 106, 107, 164 Seville Velasco, Lázaro de 65, 107, 160 Colegio de San Telmo 155 Velázquez, Diego 5, 67 Grande Casa de la Merced 154–5 Veracini, Agostino 50 La Magdalena 155 Vergara Bartual, Francisco 43, 70–1, Merchants’ Exchange 154–5 73, 74 San Luis 155 Verger, Antoine du 136 Sibilla, Gaspare 108–9, 133 Via Francigena (also known as the Via Siloé, Diego de 64 Romea) 55 Sintes, Gaetano 96 Vieira, D. Francisco 69 Solano, Francisco (Saint) 29, 79 Vignola, Giacomo Barozzi da 44, 65, Solimena, Francesco 20, 60 66, 101, 148, 149, Solomon (Temple of, Solomonic) 13, 172, 181n8 20, 66, 79, 89, 98, 135, Villafranca, Marquis of (Pedro de 147–59, 163, 166 Toledo) 45 Sorelló, Miguel 42, 71, 86, 90 Villalpando, Francisco 171 Soufflot, Jacques-Germain 91 Villalpando, Juan Bautista 66, 129, Specchi, Alessandro 33, 83, 101 148–9, 166 Stern, Ignazio 43 Villanueva Stoppani, Pietro 84 Diego de 74, 97, 98, 169, 171, 172 strapwork 82, 84 Juan de 138, 157, 169, 172–3 Subisati, Sempronio 68, 157–8 Villarias, Marqués de (Don Sebastián de La Quadra) 73, 178n10 Tempesta, Antonio 35 Vitruvius 65, 66, 89, 97, 103, 107, Ticciati, Girolamo 47–9 152, 160–8, 171, 172, Tiepolo, Giambattista 140 179n3, 182n2 Toledo, Juan Bautista de 65–6, 137, Volterra, Francesco da 117 147, 153 Torija, Juan de 162 War of Spanish Succession 2, 6, 12, 15, Tosca, Tomás Vicente 150–1, 152, 20, 23, 27, 46, 50, 57, 135, 153, 162–3, 166, 172, 137, 176n13 182n14 Treaties of Utrecht 7, 23 Zaragoza y Ebri, Agustín Bruno Treaty of Rastatt 7, 23 152, 162 Treaty of Vienna 50 Zoboli, Giacomo 83 Triviño, Fernando 74 Zuccaro, Federico 63 Zurbarán, Francisco de 5, 98, 179n16