CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY, NORTHRIDGE

The Palazzo del Te: Art, Power, and Giulio Romano’s Gigantic, yet Subtle, Game in the Age of Charles V and Federico Gonzaga

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements

For the degree of Master of Arts in Interdisciplinary Studies with emphases in

Art History and Political Science

By

Diana L. Michiulis

December 2016

The thesis of Diana L. Michiulis is approved:

______Dr. Jean-Luc Bordeaux Date

______Dr. David Leitch Date

______Dr. Margaret Shiffrar, Chair Date

California State University, Northridge

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to convey my deepest, sincere gratitude to my Thesis Committee

Chair, Dr. Margaret Shiffrar, for all of her guidance, insights, patience, and encourage- ments. A massive "merci beaucoup" to Dr. Jean-Luc Bordeaux, without whom completion of my Master’s degree thesis would never have been fulfilled. It was through

Dr. Bordeaux’s leadership, patience, as well as his tremendous knowledge of Renaissance art, Mannerist art, and museum art collections that I was able to achieve this ultimate goal in spite of numerous obstacles. My most heart-felt, gigantic appreciation to Dr. David

Leitch, for his leadership, patience, innovative ideas, vast knowledge of political-theory, as well as political science at the intersection of aesthetic theory. Thank you also to Dr.

Owen Doonan, for his amazing assistance with aesthetic theory and classical mythology.

I am very grateful as well to Dr. Mario Ontiveros, for his advice, passion, and incredible knowledge of political art and art theory. And many thanks to Dr. Peri Klemm, for her counsel and spectacular help with the role of "spectacle" in art history. A colossal thank you to the Getty Research Institute of the J. Paul Getty Museum of Los Angeles – which very generously supported me in my research, especially with rare, historic books. I am also indebted to the wonderful Carol Togneri of the Norton Simon Museum of Art, near

Los Angeles, for her support and graciousness. "Danke sehr" to Dr. Martina Hesser, for her very kind assistance to me in my research. Finally, “grazie mille” to Ugo Bazzotti, former director of Palazzo del Te, whose book uniquely helped to light my path.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Signature Page ii

Acknowledgements iii

List of Images v

Abstract viii

Chapter 1: Introduction 1

Chapter 2: Political Context 5

Chapter 3: Methodology 20

Chapter 4: Renaissance Cultural Context: Covert Messages as Political Criticism, Games, Contradiction, and the “Fusion of Extremes” 24

Chapter 5: Giulio Romano’s Early Career in Rome: Raphael’s Studio and Independent Works ~~ c. 1515-24 30

Chapter 6: Mantua: Federico II Gonzaga as Patron 41

Chapter 7: Giulio Romano’s Competition: Local Artistic Milieu in Mantua ~~ 1460-1546 43

Chapter 8: Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te ~~ c. 1525-36 45

Architecture 47

Interior Decorations: Sala di Psiche 52

Interior Decorations: Sala dei Giganti 65

Chapter 9: After Federico Gonzaga’s Death ~~ 1540-46 81

Chapter 10: The Critical Fortune of Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te 83

Conclusion 88

References 91

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LIST OF IMAGES

Page

Image 1 Portrait of Giulio Romano (c. 1536), Titian 3

Image 2 Portrait of Federico II Gonzaga (c. 1529), Titian 4

Image 3 Political Map of Italian Peninsula ~~ 1494 6

Image 4 H.R. Emperor Charles V, King François I of France, & Cardinal Alessandro Farnese (c. 1559), T. Zuccari 8

Image 5 Portrait of Baldassare Castiglione (1516), Raphael 11

Image 6 Portrait of Pietro Aretino (c. 1520s), Engraving, M. Raimondi 12

Image 7 Panoramic View of Mantua, 1575 15

Image 8 Fall of the Giants (c. 1531-33), Perino del Vaga 18

Image 9 Loggia di Psiche (c. 1517-18), Villa Chigi-Farnesina, Raphael, Giulio Romano, Giovanni da Udine, & Assistants 34

Image 10 Loggia di Raffaello (c. 1518), Raphael & Assistants; Vaulted Ceiling (c. 1520-24), Giulio Romano ~~ Villa Madama (c. 1518-27) 36

Image 11 I Modi Posture 11, Engraving, Raimondi (c. 1524); I Modi Posture 9, Woodblock print (c. 1550) with Sonnet by Pietro Aretino 38

Image 12 Plan of Palazzo del Te (1783) 46

Image 13 Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36), Aerial View, Giulio Romano 48

Image 14 Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36), North Façade, Giulio Romano 49

Image 15 Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36), Courtyard, Giulio Romano 51

Image 16 Wedding of Cupid and Psyche (c. 1526-28) Fresco, Sala di Psiche, Palazzo del Te, South Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 53

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Page

Image 17 Cupid and Psyche (c. 1526-28) Fresco, Sala di Psiche, Palazzo del Te, South Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 54

Image 18 Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) Frescoes, Palazzo del Te, West Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 55

Image 19 Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) Frescoes, Palazzo del Te, North Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 56

Image 20 Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) Frescoes, Palazzo del Te, East Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 57

Image 21 Jupiter seduces Olympias (c. 1526-28), Palazzo del Te, East Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 58

Image 22 Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) Vaulted Ceiling, Palazzo del Te, Giulio Romano & Assistants 61

Image 23 Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) Ceiling Detail, Palazzo del Te, Giulio Romano & Assistants 62

Image 24 Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) Frescoes, Sala dei Giganti, Palazzo del Te, North and West Walls, Giulio Romano & Assistants 67

Image 25 Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) Fresco, Sala dei Giganti, Palazzo del Te, North Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 68

Image 26 Frescoes with Illusionism (c. 1530-34), Sala dei Giganti, Palazzo del Te, South and West Walls, Giulio Romano & Assistants 69

Image 27 Frescoes with Illusionism (c. 1530-34), Sala dei Giganti, Palazzo del Te, Domed Ceiling and South Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 71

Image 28 Assumption of the Virgin (c. 1526-30), Cupola of Cathedral Duomo (Dome), Parma, Correggio (A. Allegri) 72

Image 29 Camera degli Sposi, Ceiling Oculus (c. 1473) with Illusionism, Palazzo Ducale, Andrea Mantegna 74

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Page

Image 30 Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) Fresco Detail, Sala dei Giganti Palazzo del Te, East Wall, Giulio Romano & Assistants 79

Image 31 Assembly of Gods around Jupiter’s Throne (c. 1530-34), Sala dei Giganti, Ceiling Detail, Palazzo del Te, Giulio Romano & Assistants 90

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Abstract

The Palazzo del Te: Art, Power, and Giulio Romano’s Gigantic, yet Subtle, Game in the Age of Charles V and Federico Gonzaga

By

Diana L. Michiulis

Master of Arts in Interdisciplinary Studies with emphases in

Art History and Political Science

This thesis examines Giulio Romano’s Late Renaissance masterwork, Palazzo del Te

(c. 1525-36) in Mantua, in the context of playing a critical role in the political success of his patron, Federico II Gonzaga, vis-à-vis Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. At the Palazzo del Te,

Giulio combined a multiplicity of techniques throughout, as well as viewer engagement in the

Sala dei Giganti (c. 1530-34). The clever complexity of Giulio’s palazzo stood in contrast to the conventional, two-dimensional portraits executed by many Cinquecento court artists for their benefactors.

For centuries, scholars have deliberated Giulio’s underlying intentions for his mysterious

Room of the Giants at the palace. The debates range from Vasari’s praise of the chamber in the

16th century; to the 20th and 21st centuries, when many academics have surmised that Giulio’s

Sala dei Giganti exalted the Gonzaga and somehow referred – or paid tribute – to the Imperial

Emperor. In contrast, I assert that Giulo’s Room of the Giants represented something

viii dramatically different. The space, with its Fall of the Giants frescoes, conceivably held covert criticism of Emperor Charles V and the authoritarian political regime of the Holy Roman Empire.

Giulio’s masterpiece-chamber potentially comprised indirect political dissent against foreign,

Imperial occupation of the Italian peninsula, and also condemned the vicious quagmire of dynastic politics in early 16th century Italy. During the savagery of the Italian Wars (1494-1559), deliberately obscure discourse was of crucial importance, as the State and Church limited all forms of critical dialogue.

This thesis additionally considers the duality of Giulio’s Palazzo del Te – although the palace was an autonomous work of art, according to Adorno’s Aesthetic Theory – it was also an exhibit of Federico’s princely power, whilst demonstrating an oppositional stance against the totalitarian political environment of early 16th century Italy, mostly via Giulio’s “ugly” giants in the Sala dei Giganti.

After his visit to Palazzo del Te in 1530, the Imperial Emperor was so stupefied by

Giulio’s palazzo and the Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28), the companion room to the Sala dei Giganti, that the Habsburg monarch elevated Federico II Gonzaga to the first Duke of Mantua.

Conversely in 1532, Charles V visited Palazzo del Te again and viewed the Sala dei Giganti – when he had to interpret for himself the enigmatic iconography of Giulio’s Fall of the Giants frescoes. I argue that it was plausible that the emperor comprehended Giulio’s arcane, political game of protest, which was similar to the Humanist Annibale Caro’s construal of the moral allegory at the gardens of Bomarzo: Monarchs must not abuse their power, nor should they position themselves higher than the gods.

Giulio Romano’s genius and sophisticated, subtle wit, especially at his Late

Renaissance chef d’ oeuvre, Palazzo del Te, solidified his own artistic reputation while enabling his patron to triumph – in the midst of the treachery and chaos of Charles V’s gigantic, political re-structuring of early 16th century Italy and her loss of political autonomy.

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CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION

In contrast to the conventional, two-dimensional portraits executed by many Late Renaissance court artists for their patrons, Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te (c.1525-36), built for his patron Federico II Gonzaga, combined a multiplicity of techniques throughout, vast and complex interior decorations, as well as viewer engagement in his Sala dei Giganti. In his “Chamber of the Giants” – one of the most celebrated interior spaces of the entire Renaissance – the artist seamlessly combined a colossal whirlpool of wall frescoes, illusionistic ceiling decorations, disturbing dizziness from the floor’s river- pebbles, eerie sound effects, and flickering flames from giants’ chests – all of which contributed to an almost cosmic experience, or even a momentary state of oneiric unconsciousness of the viewer.

This stupefying mystification of the beholder was induced when confronted with Giulio’s richly imagined space-continuum and multi-form techniques in his Sala dei Giganti. The decorations in this room were partly planned by the artist to heighten the spectator’s engagement, as well as to overwhelm and intimidate them. Giulio’s chamber – with its enigmatic frescoes – led to centuries of scholarly debate about the artist’s underlying intentions for the design of this legendary room in his Palazzo del Te. Back in the 16th century, Vasari admired the chamber, emphasizing that spectators experienced awe and fear when in the chamber, as planned by Giulio. In the 20th century, Gombrich declared that the Palazzo del Te had reached its “grizzly culmination” in the Sala dei Giganti (1981). Later in the 20th and 21st centuries, scholars such as Hartt, Verheyen, Hickson, Furlotti, Rebecchini, Bazzotti, and Carabell argued that – in addition to glorifying the Gonzaga and in some way alluding to Charles V – Giulio’s multi- dimensional techniques aroused in the visitor mixed feelings of delight and dread, thereby transforming the spectator into an active participant. One viewer – Holy Roman Emperor Charles V – was so overwhelmed and astounded by Giulio’s spectacular Palazzo del Te, that he promoted Federico II Gonzaga to the rank of the first Duke of Mantua, during the Emperor’s visit to the Palazzo del Te in 1530.

This thesis also briefly examines the duality of Giulio’s Palazzo del Te – whilst an autonomous work of art, as defined by Adorno – the palace was also a display of princely power while exhibiting an oppositional stance against the authoritarian, imperial political milieu in the famous room, Sala dei Giganti. Recent scholarship has revealed that the custom of covert criticism of political rulers played a critical function during the Italian Wars (1494-1559) of the Renaissance period, and that it was practiced by quite a few writers and artists as well (Connor, 2010; Elmer, 2000; Ward, 2015).

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This thesis builds upon the work of the last groups of scholars. I assert that Giulio Romano was the only Cinquecento court artist who utilized a multi-media, multi- dimensional approach – unheard of at that time – and his revolutionary method played a crucial role in the political success of his patron, Federico II Gonzaga (reign 1519-40). Federico utilized the palazzo as a political tool to impress Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (reign 1519-58). It was particularly at the Palazzo del Te that Giulio’s art played a decisive part in his patron’s political success – especially when viewed against the backdrop of political turmoil: Late-Renaissance Italy was torn apart by the brutal invasions of the Holy Roman Empire and other European nation-states, including France, during the entire first half of the 16th century.

However, I break with the centuries-long tradition of scholars who have interpreted Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti as somehow possibly paying homage to the Holy Roman Emperor (reign 1519-56). I argue that in his legendary Room of the Giants, Giulio did the contrary. The artist conceivably concealed an oblique message to Emperor Charles V – which dared to criticize the contemporaneous political regime of the Empire, which was marked by totalitarianism and turmoil. In effect, Giulio’s artwork constituted a courageous game – a subtle, yet devastating, political protest against the Imperial Empire.

Even previously, the undisguised libertinism of Giulio’s erotic I Modi drawings of sexual positions (c. 1523-24), executed while still in residence in Rome, in concert with Marcantonio Raimondi’s engravings and Pietro Aretino’s Sonetti Lussuriosi (Lascivious Sonnets, published by 1527), had synergistically merged to unveil and revile the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church during the period of the Sack of Rome (Nagel, 2011; Tafuri, 1998). In the entire history of the Renaissance, there was no single artist – except for Giulio – who had the audacity to criticize not only the Imperial Empire, but the Catholic Church as well. Giulio was one of the few figures of the Late Renaissance who could pull off such staggering tours de force.

Giulio Romano (1492/99-1546) was one of the most famous innovators of Late Renaissance art and architecture. He was a painter, architect, draughtsman, decorator, and designer. Of all the influential Late Renaissance artists, Giulio was the only native of Rome. At his masterwork in Mantua, Palazzo del Te, Giulio impeccably combined painting, fresco, stucco-relief, illusionism, and gilding throughout. And it was in his Sala dei Giganti that the artist additionally achieved a flawlessly executed environment – a fantastic fusion of the above techniques, combined with disorienting, ephemeral lighting and acoustic effects, destabilizing floor-effects, and provocative spectator engagement. All the elements of the artist’s innovative method contributed to Giulio’s artistic success during the Imperial Emperor’s gigantic, political re-structuring of early 16th century Italy and the ensuing political chaos.

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Image 1

Portrait of Giulio Romano (c. 1536)

Titian

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Image 2

Portrait of Federico II Gonzaga (c. 1529)

Titian ~~ Museo del Prado, Madrid

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CHAPTER 2: POLITICAL CONTEXT

The art of Giulio Romano, especially his magnum opus Palazzo del Te (c. 1525- 36) for Federico II Gonzaga in Mantua, was created during one of the most dangerous, tumultuous, and complex periods of European history. The sequence of wars and conflicts that surrounded this artist, known collectively as the Italian Wars, lasted from 1494 to 1559. Giulio was born in Rome in 1492 or 1499 (historical documents provide conflicting dates) – about the time the wars began – and he died in 1546. 1494 marked the year the Italian Wars started, due to the horrific invasion of Italy by the French king Charles VIII. Francesco Guicciardini, the Italian statesman and major political writer who recorded his Historia d’Italia at the end of the 1530s, split the Late Renaissance into two contrasting periods of political development – with 1494 as the year of differentiation. In that year, the French troops – “summoned by our own princes” – inflicted tremendous suffering and “all those calamities” on Italy (as cited in Skinner, 1978, p. 113). Charles VIII’s successor, Louis XII, launched three more invasions – constantly attacking Milan – and creating rampant warfare throughout Italy. Charles V, who reigned as Holy Roman Emperor from 1519 until his 1556 abdication – added to the fury in the early 1520s, by contesting French control of Milan, and rendering the Italian peninsula a battlefield for an additional 30 years (Green, 1964, as cited in Skinner, 1978). The savagery and brutality that the North Europeans and Italians inflicted on each other during this period stuns, even today, the most advanced of intellects. Thus Giulio lived his entire life in the midst of political turmoil. Despite the political tumult that surrounded him, the irony is that Giulio created some of the most stupendous artworks of the early 16th century. The famous art historian Edgar Wind asserted that great art can actually be produced during times of political disintegration, with the notable example being the Italian Renaissance (1985). The first half of the 16th century, known as the era of the Late Renaissance, witnessed the colossal political dissolution of Italy. During this era, many of the large nation-states of Europe – especially France, Germany, and Spain – waged numerous wars in an effort to rule the Italian peninsula. The French kings and the Habsburgs of Germany continuously battled for control of North Italy – in addition to clashing over Milan, they fought over the city-state of Mantua, where Giulio Romano was court artist to Federico Gonzaga. In his book, The Civilization of the Renaissance, Burckhardt emphasized the “anarchy, strife and despotism, the violent eruptions of human passion, by which the Italian city-states were lacerated” (as cited in Wind, 1985, p. 6). Burckhardt named the chapter in which he described the political chaos of 16th century Italy as “The State as a Work of Art” (Der Staat als Kunstwerk), referring to Hegel’s Philosophy of History. Hegel had pointed out that earlier, that the Greek city-states had been rocked by the artistic imagination, and that the “Spirit” (Geist) of the city-states remained “magnificent” even during the disintegration of the city-states themselves (as cited in Wind, 1985, p. 6).

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Image 3

Political Map of Italian Peninsula ~~ c. 1494

(Image courtesy of M. Ennis)

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When looking at the political situation on the Italian peninsula of the early 16th century, it must be remembered that Italy was not yet a unified state – official unification of Italy occurred only in 1871. During the Late Renaissance era, the Italian peninsula was composed of many city-states, the Papal States, as well as the Kingdom of Naples, which was ruled by both the French and Spanish Empires. Certain city-states were republics – such as Venice, as well as Florence, during the times of the Medici expulsions (1494-1512; 1527-1532). The Italian city-states of the early 16th century were usually small, but powerful and independent. In Northern Italy, the ultimate goal of the city- states was to maintain autonomy from the Germanic Holy Roman Empire, which had for centuries controlled, or tried to control, Northern Italy. In Northern Italy, many of the Renaissance-era city-states were an outgrowth of the medieval communes. However, the Italian city-states of the early 16th century were not modern states, nor were they absolute states. Despite this, the essential feature of the Italian city-states was their premodern character. The city-states were marked by “lack of centralization, fragmentation of authority, and the persistence of administrative and judicial patterns clearly associated with medieval governance” (Kirshner, 1996, p. 102). However in 1502, the Italian peninsula witnessed a judicial reorganization, echoing administrative reform that had taken place in the early 15th century (Zorzi in Kirshner, 1996). In the 15th and 16th centuries, the beginnings of a tendency existed on the peninsula for a new “coherent regional-wide system of power” (Chittolini in Kirshner, 1996, p. 127). By the 16th century, numerous Italian people were interested in reforming the political domain of the city-states; so as to invigorate the outmoded political order of the peninsula in the context of foreign and domestic invasions, as well as an abhorred loss of political autonomy. Despite the advantages of the political reforms mentioned above, the city-states still faced the disadvantage of vulnerability to attack by authoritarian oppressors of other city-states, the Papacy, and the Holy Roman Empire. Furthermore, the small city-states could not defend themselves against the larger nation-states of North Europe, especially France and Spain, contributing to an un-equal balance of power in Europe. Eventually, the burning question was “how long Italy would remain a battleground before a new balance of power could be established” (Ruggiero, 2015, p. 412). The incessant fighting of the Italian Wars dragged on until the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559, some years after Giulio Romano had died. Under this accord, the major powers of Europe divided Italy into a reduced number of city-states mostly dominated by the Habsburgs. Some were under direct Spanish control (Milan, Naples, and Sicily); some were “clients of Spain” (Genoa); and virtually all of the remainder were bound to the larger nation-states of Europe or the Holy Roman Empire. Ultimately, the Cateau-Cambrésis agreement signaled the devastating loss of political independence for Italy (Ruggiero, 2015, p. 412). Many city-states also had violent splinter groups based on family. Certain communes and city-states were additionally incapable of maintaining order and suppressing party strife, so a class of ruling Lords – known as the Signorie – rose to power as a reaction to this failure. The Signorie were local ruling Lords who characteristically served as condottieri; they often opposed the republics, as well as the institution of the commune or city-state. In essence, the Signorie functioned within one- party states in which the dominant party vested the Signoria (ruling Lord) of the state in one family or dynasty.

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Image 4

H.R. Emperor Charles V, King François I of France, & Cardinal Alessandro Farnese (c. 1559)

Taddeo Zuccari ~~ Palazzo Farnese, Rome

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The dynasty’s right to the Signoria was sometimes sanctioned by the people and conceded by the Pope or Holy Roman Emperor. Although the term Signoria also meant the ruling council in Renaissance Florence during its republican phases, the expression Signorie typically referred to the dictatorial power exercised by an individual tyrant or dynasty. However, not all of the Signorie were tyrannical, and yet certain city-states were. During the Late Renaissance period, numerous city-states were petty tyrannies, with “authoritarian relations between the ruler, the ruling family and their subjects” (Gibbons, 1968, p. 5). Other scholars have also emphasized the dominance of cruel tyrants and despotic rulers during the Italian Renaissance, to the point of naming this era in Italy “the age of the despots” (Symonds, 1920).

All of the above were critical topics for the eminent political thinkers of the beginning decades of the 16th century, such as Niccolò Macchiavelli – author of the treatise Il Principe (The Prince), published in 1532 – and Baldassare Castiglione, writer of Il Cortegiano (The Book of the Courtier), published in 1528. Machiavelli (1469-1527) was a Humanist and had earlier served as a senior official in the Florentine Republic for many years. Castiglione (1478-1529) had received a Humanist education, and then worked as a courtier and diplomat for the Duke of Urbino, Pope Clement VII, as well as for the Gonzaga in Mantua. Castiglione, who was also a key mentor of Giulio, had assisted the Gonzaga in procuring the artist for the Mantuan court. Furthermore these vital, political concerns were rooted in the seemingly less political texts of writers such as Pietro Aretino and Francesco Colonna (Ruggiero, 2015).

Aretino sought patronage with Federico Gonzaga in Mantua; the poet-playwright had also penned the salacious sonnets (Sonetti Lussuriosi, 1527) which accompanied Giulio’s scandalous I Modi drawings of 16 sexual positions (c. 1523-24). Aretino’s satirical poems, together with Giulio’s graphic drawings and Marcantonio Raimondi’s engravings of the drawings, exposed the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church, adding to the outrage in Rome and forcing Aretino to flee north to Mantua and later to Venice (Nagel, 2011). And Colonna was the author attributed to the 1499 dream romance, Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, the arcane allegory which Giulio would later utilize for some of his iconography at the Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36) in Mantua. Colonna’s book was viewed as a moral tale for reason and enlightenment – the main character Poliphilo emerges from a dark cave and is welcomed by a queen who symbolizes free will (Hartt, 1958). In the Sala dei Giganti at the Palazzo del Te, Giulio designed all of the walls (with the exception of the window walls) in such a way, as to allow the spectator views into the distance through caves. These issues of aggression on Italian soil and loss of political autonomy still remained critically important – not only for the thinkers and writers of Italy, but for all Italians – during the years of the Late Renaissance and for decades afterwards.

The period of the Italian Wars witnessed a disturbing trend in Italy, the “extension and consolidation of increasingly despotic forms of princely rule”. The Humanists of the Late Renaissance usually presumed a milieu of princely rule, even when it was obvious that – as in the example of Machiavelli – their private predilection would have been for a republic. In 1512, Machiavelli had been briefly imprisoned for his republican sympathies

9 when the return of the Medici overthrew Piero Soderini’s republic. In cities with republican traditions – such as Florence, as well as Rome – where Giulio Romano worked at the beginning of his career – the consequence was a prolonged struggle between republican “liberty” and tyrannical methods (Skinner, 1978, p. 113). Even Guicciardini in his Historia d’Italia (published in 1561) had lamented the prevalence of secret articles in treaties – such as those included in the 1495 pact drawn up for the formation of the League of Venice, also called the Holy League – with their concomitant lack of transparency. Guicciardini – who was a friend of Machiavelli and also a Humanist – furthermore provided a realistic analysis of his own times, mourning the new political realism in Italy. Although Machiavelli’s Prince is typically considered as “the most radical statement of the new realism”, Guicciardini named the new realism the “reason of state” – which he thought would rationalize “cruel and immoral deeds like murdering prisoners of war, if necessary”. Guicciardini also believed that “all states are illegitimate and, excepting republics, inside their own city walls and not beyond them, there is no power whatsoever that is legitimate” (as cited in Brown, 2009, pp. 255-6). Machiavelli remains famous for his pro-republican sentiments – but it must be emphasized that he was forced to express these views covertly in The Prince and in other texts – as these were written during an era of princely rule. Despite that precaution, the Court of Rome nonetheless outlawed The Prince (Ward, 2011). Like Machiavelli, Castiglione was also compelled to express certain opinions secretly due to the treacherous times in which they lived. Hence in his Book of the Courtier, Castiglione was obliged to disguise some of his advice to courtiers and their princes in a series of fictional dialogues among courtiers of the Duke of Urbino (Skinner, 1978). In parallel, the Catholic Church – one of the largest political and religious players of the Late Renaissance – engaged in its intrigues, battles, and bloodshed during this time. The best example of a militant foreign policy was that held by Pope Julius II, infamous as the “Warrior Pope” and “Il Papa Terrible”. These epithets came about from Julius’ aggressive, hostile foreign policy, with which he attempted to enlarge the Papal territories by waging wars. Julius personally commanded troops into battle at least twice, during his reign as Pope from 1503 to 1513. This Pope, born Giuliano della Rovere, was also famous for grand building projects – such as commissioning the decoration of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel (1508-12) from Michelangelo. Julius had earlier commissioned the re-building of St. Peter's Basilica (c. 1505), from Donato Bramante. After Julius’ death in 1513, Bramante was replaced by Giuliano da Sangallo, Fra Giocondo, and Raphael. Later in 1546, Paul III would endeavor to commission Giulio Romano to become the Capomaestro of St. Peter’s, but unfortunately Giulio died that year. Paul then attempted to employ Jacopo Sansovino, who refused to leave Venice. Finally in 1547, the frustrated Pope appointed Michelangelo as the superintendent of the building program at St. Peter’s. Julius II had succeeded Alexander VI as Pope. Alexander VI, born Rodrigo Borgia, reigned as Pope from 1492 until his death in 1503. The pontificate of Alexander VI was almost as corrupt as that of Julius II. The Borgia pope was involved in aggressive military maneuvers, as well as the constant promotion of his family, including elevating his 18 year-old son, Cesare, to Cardinal.

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Image 5

Portrait of Baldassare Castiglione (1516)

Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino) ~~ Louvre

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Image 6

Portrait of Pietro Aretino (c. 1520s)

Engraving by Marcantonio Raimondi

(Image courtesy of J. Paul Getty Museum)

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Also promoted to Cardinal was Alessandro Farnese, the brother of one of the Pope’s many mistresses. The papacy of Alexander VI became infamous for its libertinism and nepotism. Later Alessandro would become Pope Paul III, and convene the Council of Trent in 1545 – starting the Counter Reformation against the pressures of Luther’s Protestantism. The military policies of Alexander VI, Julius II, and their successor Leo X, were all marked by the constant changing of political allegiances. In the early decades of the Cinquecento (1500s), the political environment of the Italian peninsula was so turbulent and chaotic that the Papacy and many political rulers were forced to constantly shift political allegiances in order to survive. Examples of changing political allegiances were those which occurred during the War of Cambrai, during 1508 to 1516. This major conflict of the Italian Wars was also known as the War of the Holy League. The Holy League (or League of Cambrai) was formed by Julius II to put an end to Venetian influence in North Italy. The resulting Holy League, an anti-Venetian alliance, consisting of the Pope, King Louis XII of France, King Ferdinand II of Aragon, and the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian I. At the beginning of the war, the Pope was allied with France against the Republic of Venice. Later, the Papacy shifted allegiance to Venice, fighting against France. By 1513, Venice had allied itself with France, abandoning the Pope. During the War of Cambrai, almost every major power in Western Europe also participated in the fighting at various times. Later, even during the 1530 Imperial coronation of Charles V as Holy Roman Emperor, the ruling princes of Italy were still switching loyalties (Hook in Hickson, 2009a). Among the North Italian states, the balance of power was constantly fluctuating. In Mantua, the ruling family of the Gonzaga were also forced to change political allegiance from time to time. The small state of Mantua was located in Lombardy, between two enemies – the Duchy of Milan and the Republic of Venice. Each attempted to exploit Mantua as a barrier state; the Gonzaga overcame the conflicts of the two states by establishing advantageous political alliances with each adversary at different times. The Gonzaga reign of power began in 1328 in Mantua, when Luigi Gonzaga (c. 1268-1360) seized power from the ruling Bonacolsi family by force. The Gonzaga family had customarily been allied with the Guelfi (Guelphs), the pro-Papacy faction in Central and Northern Italy. However, Luigi Gonzaga allied himself with the warrior leader of the rival Ghibellini (Ghibellines) or pro-Imperial party, Verona’s Cangrande della Scala. Luigi, along with Cangrande della Scala, who was also the patron of the poet Dante Alighieri and ruling Lord of Verona, brought about 1,000 Veronese soldiers to Mantua. During the bloody coup d’état that ensued, Rinaldo Bonacolsi was brutally assassinated (Syre, 2000). Luigi Gonzaga was then named Capitano Generale del Commune e del Popolo (“Captain General of the Commune and of the People”), and Gonzaga authority was put in place. Luigi became the founder of the Gonzaga dynasty, which ruled Mantua until 1708. The Gonzaga dynasty also came to rule Monferrato in Piedmont as well as Nevers in France; and ultimately the Gonzaga influenced the history of Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. Later on, Ludovico III Gonzaga, who was patron of the court artist Andrea Mantegna (discussed in a later chapter), exemplified both despotic rule and the clever changing of allegiances. Ludovico III centralized power to himself by murdering his relatives; and in 1433, he married Barbara of Brandenburg,

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Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund’s niece. During the 1440s and 1450s, Ludovico changed allegiances often to attain peace for Mantua, by working as a condottiere (mercenary troop commander) – serving Milan, Venice, Florence, and even Naples in the south. The Gonzaga possessed “skillful diplomatic maneuvering between the great powers of Milan and Venice, between the Pope and the Emperor,” and their “highly successful marriage policy, through which they allied themselves with all of the major dynasties of Europe, and … the office of condottiere … traditionally held by members of the family brought the Gonzagas political weight and immense riches” (Amadei & Marani in Syre, 2000, p. 129). During the Late Italian Renaissance, the Gonzaga family became less despotic. They also elevated the degree of culture in Mantua, with their city rising to become a significant hub of Renaissance art and Humanism. The Gonzaga, along with other ruling families such as the Visconti and Sforza families of Milan, wanted to legitimize their claims to the state through Imperial titles. Titles conferred by the Holy Roman Emperor officially conceded the territorial claims of Italian Signorie and put them under Imperial sovereign protection. The Gonzaga desired to give their rule “the sanction of legality by seeking investiture from the Emperor” (Masson, 1959, p. 43). Thus in 1329, Luigi Gonzaga had acquired the title of Imperial Vicar of Mantua from Emperor Louis IV; in 1433, Gianfrancesco I Gonzaga obtained the Imperial title of Marchese (Marquis) from Emperor Sigismund; and in 1530, Federico II Gonzaga – who had become the main patron of Giulio Romano six years earlier – was granted the Imperial title of Duke by Emperor Charles V. Although the Gonzaga had traditionally been allied with the Holy Roman Empire since the days of Luigi Gonzaga, the subsequent Gonzaga found it advantageous to re- ally with the Papacy at times during their dynastic history, in order to maintain Mantuan stability. And the Papal States, which had actually been allied with the Holy Roman Empire since the 1122 Concordat of Worms, also switched unions when it was politically advantageous. As we have seen, in addition to trading sides during the War of Cambrai (1508-16), the Pope continued to change alliances in the next decades. Prior to the War of the League of Cognac (1526- 30), Clement VII shifted alliance away from the Holy Roman Empire, and instead cunningly established the Holy League of Cognac: composed of France, the Duchy of Milan, the Republic of Venice, and the Republic of Florence. This League was a secret alliance founded by the Pope. As the rivalry between the emperor and the king of France had become more intense, the sovereignty of the Papal States had come to be increasingly threatened. Clement’s strategy was to “play one power off against the other, constantly shifting his own position in the vain hope of maintaining the balance of power” (Hall, 2005, p. 164). In 1527, Clement’s alliance with François I of France, along with his anti-Imperial policy, contributed to the catastrophic Sack of Rome by the mercenary troops of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. The calamity of the Sack – combined with other poor political decisions made by Clement – earned him the sobriquet of the “Disastrous Pope” (Connor, 2010, p. 8).

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Image 7

Panoramic View of Mantua, Italy

From Braun and Hogenberg ~~ Civitates Orbis Terrarum (Published 1575)

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Federico II Gonzaga, the main patron of Giulio Romano (discussed in later chapters), similarly contributed to the 1527 Sack of Rome, albeit indirectly. Federico apparently knew about the secret deal made by Clement and his Holy League of Cognac. Federico was legally bound to serve the Pope, because he was Captain General of the Armies of the Papal States and of Florence. Yet the paradox was that Federico had no interest in fighting Charles V, as he believed that the political future of the Mantuan state depended on the emperor (Verheyen, 1977). And so, although Federico was the Papal Captain, he authorized the Imperial troops of Charles V to pass through his domain – signifying his political shift away from the Papacy and instead toward the Holy Roman Empire. Furthermore, as part of the Gonzaga’s political strategy, Federico managed to keep his title of “Captain of the Papal Armies and the Florentine Republic” – even though he fought with Emperor Charles V, and against François I of France, during the two Battles of Pavia in 1522 and 1525. There is some scholarly debate as to Federico’s actual conduct during the Battles of Pavia. Verheyen argued that during the 1522 battle, Federico “had withdrawn from Pavia before the battle so that the French defeat was more the achievement of his soldiers than his own” (1977, p. 33). Hickson also emphasizes that during the 1522 Battle of Pavia, Federico deserted the field, yet later dared to assert that he had “distinguished himself”. At any rate, Federico’s troops performed well, successfully confirming Habsburg ascendancy over the French in Italy (2012, p. 127). Verheyen, as a reconsideration, elucidated that “the battle of 1522 as well as the one of 1525 in which Francis I was captured marked the path of Federico’s increasing political and military power”; and that Federico “ruined the king of France” (1977, p. 33). Hartt asserted that Federico “took part” in the 1525 Battle of Pavia, “lent military support to Charles V”, and was rewarded by the Emperor for this (1958, p. 71). Elmer maintains that during the 1525 Battle of Pavia, Federico switched allegiance and fought with the Emperor – bringing about the capture of François I of France, the downfall of Papal secular authority in Italy, and the later Sack of Rome – thereby assuring Federico's “rising star” in political circles (2000, p. 73). At any rate after the 1525 Battle of Pavia, Charles V handsomely rewarded the young marquis for his services to the Empire, by bestowing on Federico the famous impresa of Mount Olympus. And it was about this time that Castiglione urged Federico not to abandon the Emperor. After the second Battle of Pavia, Charles’ troops moved south towards Rome. As we saw above, the imperial troops went unmolested through Gonzaga territory. Federico thus failed to fulfill his responsibilities to the Pope, and to the Florentines as well – thereby losing all his credibility. For these acts, Federico received the Emperor’s acknowledgment – but also the contemptuous, screaming derision of the Italians (Verheyen, 1977). On the 6th of May, 1527, the imperial troops sacked the Papal city of Rome. During the dreadful spectacle of the Sack of Rome, Pope Clement VII was taken prisoner; he was confined at Castel Sant'Angelo, until he later escaped to Orvieto, and still later to Viterbo. The Sack of Rome indicated a critical imperial victory in the struggle between Charles V and the League of Cognac. The Sack of Papal Rome allowed Charles V to tackle next the unruly German princes allied with Luther. And furthermore, the Sack of the Eternal City was a sign of the end of the Roman Renaissance, as it had marred the prestige of the Papacy.

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During the months of the Sack, numerous atrocities were committed. Besides the Pope, many people – including artists – suffered or were killed during the Sacco di Roma. Sebastiano (Luciani) del Piombo stayed with the Pope during his confinement at Castel Sant’Angelo. Sebastiano had painted at the Villa Chigi-Farnesina in Rome, where Giulio and Raphael had also worked. Baldassare Peruzzi, architect of the same villa, was held for ransom during the Sack. Parmigianino (Francesco Mazzola) was imprisoned and held for ransom, along with Rosso Fiorentino, Jacopo Sansovino, and Perino del Vaga (Piero Bonaccorsi) – these artists were interned in the palazzo of Cardinal Andrea della Valle (Franklin, 2004). Furthermore, the Florentine sculptor Baccio (Bartolommeo) Bandinelli, who had worked with Giulio at the Villa Madama in Rome for Cardinal de’ Medici (later Pope Clement VII), was detained for payoff money during the attacks. Later these artists all escaped Rome; and except for Rosso, they fled to various cities in Italy. Sebastiano del Piombo fled to his native Venice, the anti-Papal city. Parmigianino escaped to Bologna for three years and then returned to Parma. Sansovino also fled to Venice, where his friend, the poet and political influencer Aretino, had already settled. Peruzzi returned to his native Siena, and Bandinelli eventually returned to Florence. Rosso Fiorentino (Giovanni Battista di Jacopo) ultimately reached France, where in 1530 he procured a position at the court of François I. Together with Giulio Romano’s assistants Francesco Primaticcio and Luca Penni, Rosso became part of the “First School of Fontainebleau”, the French adaptation of Northern Mannerism. Giulio himself had already left Rome three years prior to the Sack, to work as court artist for Federico Gonzaga in Mantua – where the artist would create his Fall of the Giants frescoes (c. 1530-34) at the Palazzo del Te in that city (discussed in a later chapter). Perino del Vaga went to Genoa to work for the naval admiral, Andrea Doria. Doria was also a condottiere and an expert in the political game of changing allegiances, similarly to Federico Gonzaga. Whereas the Genovese naval commander had previously been allied with Pope Clementine VII and King François I of France, Doria had switched sides. In the year following the Sack of Rome, Doria entered the service of Emperor Charles V. Doria then expelled the French out of Genoa and re-established the city as a Republic under Imperial protection. In 1531 Charles rewarded Doria, by granting to him the Title of Prince of Melfi, along with the lands of Melfi. In Genoa, Perino would execute his version of a Fall of the Giants ceiling fresco (c. 1531-33) in the Salon of the Giants at Palazzo Principe for Doria. Stylistically, Perino’s enormous fresco of the Fall of the Giants differed from Giulio’s version in that Perino did not utilize illusionism in his version at Palazzo Doria Principe; whereas Giulio made the most of illusionism in his Sala dei Giganti at Palazzo del Te, to the point of making the viewer think that all walls in the chamber of the giants had been dissolved. In 1533, Perino’s Salon of the Giants served as a temporary throne room for the Emperor during his visit to Palazzo Doria Principe and Genoa. Thus iconographically, Perino’s fresco of the Fall of the Giants has usually been construed as some type of compliment to both Charles V and Doria (Hansen, 2013; Paoletti & Radke, 2011). However, more research is needed in this area.

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Image 8

Fall of the Giants (c. 1531-33)

Palazzo Doria Principe ~~ Genoa

Perino del Vaga

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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After the Sack of Rome – which had been unwanted by Emperor Charles V – the French army invaded Italy yet again. The French were finally defeated at Landriano in 1529. Afterwards, the Pope and Emperor signed the Treaty of Barcelona, agreeing to unite against the Ottoman Turks and heresy. In addition, the Emperor’s aunt Margaret of Austria, Regent of the Netherlands, agreed to a peace with the French king via his mother, Louise of Savoy – bringing about the Ladies’ Peace of Cambrai of 1529. Furthermore, the emperor’s sister, Eleanor, agreed to marry François I. And finally, Clement VII consented to crown the emperor, as a feature of this “universal peace”. So in 1530, the triumphant Imperial coronation of Charles took place in Bologna – during which Charles was crowned King of Italy and Holy Roman Emperor – along with the most ostentatious display of imperial power. (Previously, Charles had reigned as King of the Romans from 1519 to 1530.) Thus after the long, drawn-out decades of political upheaval in the country, Charles V was actually considered by some Italians as achieving the end of French hegemony in Italy and providing an enormous resolution to the Italian Wars. There existed in the country the hope that “one ruler would provide a universal solution to the breakdown of the old European order. This was to be a recurrent theme in political thought into the next century…” (Strong, 1984, pp. 78-85). But after the Sack also came something else: the turning point of Charles V’s gigantic political re-structuring of Italy, which continued until the Napoleonic wars. In 1530, Charles V granted Federico II Gonzaga the titles of the first Duke of Mantua and Commandante Generale delle Truppe Imperiali in Italia. In 1532, the Emperor and Clement VII fashioned Alessandro de’ Medici as the “Duke of the Florentine Republic”; in actuality restoring autocratic Medici rule and bringing about the collapse of the republic in that city. Despite Milan having been restored to the Sforza in 1529, the Duchy was converted into a repressive, dependent state of the Habsburgs six years later. And in the South, the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily was already governed by an Imperial Viceroy. Only Venice remained as the solitary republican state. This political reality mirrored the ideological crisis of this epoch (Strong, 1984). Consciousness of a lack of national identity had become important to the Italians by the time of the Sack of Rome, which had resulted in the devastating loss of liberty. In the years following the Sack, the imperial entries of Charles V into city after city in Italy would “anticipate exactly what was to happen during the coming decades to the once republican cities of Italy … The imperial entries … demonstrated for a temporary period the objectives of what were to become the aims of long term building, the subjection of once republican cities to a princely mythology by means of the palace, [and] the princely villa …” (Strong, 1984, pp. 86-7).

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CHAPTER 3: METHODOLOGY

”Art does not say what it shows.” James Hellings

This chapter briefly examines whether Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te (c. 1525- 36) in Mantua was an autonomous work of art or not, according to the concept of autonomy as defined by the German philosopher and sociologist, Theodor W. Adorno. I argue that the Palazzo del Te was autonomous overall, despite the roles the palace served – the most notable function was that Giulio’s patron, Federico Gonzaga, utilized the Palazzo del Te as a political tool to impress Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. The Palazzo del Te was autonomous because of the social meaning inherent in Giulio’s artwork inside his most famous room at the palazzo, the Sala dei Giganti (c. 1530-34). In this chamber, Giulio conceivably criticized – in a secret manner – the totalitarian political environment of the times. His covert criticism of the contemporaneous political regime of the Holy Roman Empire epitomized meaning in art, according to Adorno’s definition of autonomous art. In the interior decoration of the Sala dei Giganti, there existed an oppositional stance to society and the political milieu – Giulio possibly concealed a recondite message within his artwork. The artist’s arcane protest was to Emperor Charles V, and it dared to criticize the contemporary political environment, which was marked by tyranny and authoritarianism, as well as the lack of individual rights and liberties. Giulio also consciously inverted the imperial imagery in the decorative program of the Sala dei Giganti, and rendered the giants in the frescoes of the Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) as utterly ugly – thereby creating an artwork that achieved an enhanced degree of autonomy, and which additionally went against the traditional code of aesthetics of that period (Adorno, 1970). The central concept of the autonomy of art was examined by Adorno in his Aesthetic Theory (Ästhetische Theorie), published posthumously in 1970. This concept had been previously considered in Dialectic of Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments, co-authored by Adorno and Max Horkheimer, published in 1947. In addition to his ideas in Aesthetic Theory, Adorno’s contributions to the discussion of autonomy in art in Dialectic of Enlightenment are more pertinent to this chapter than are those of

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Horkheimer. Adorno’s philosophy of aesthetics was interdisciplinary, as he abhorred boundaries in methodology. Hence, Adorno integrated features of political philosophy, sociology, and metaphysics, as well as the philosophical study of art into his philosophy of aesthetics. Adorno’s theory looks at time-honored concepts in aesthetics, such as the beautiful and the Sublime. Moreover, his theory emphasizes the crucial importance of the strong relationship between art and society. Recalling Marx, Adorno and Horkheimer stress that art has always been embedded in society, because it is a product of the labor of society. However, Adorno and Horkheimer deviate from orthodox Marxism in their view that social and cultural factors play just as important a role as economics does in oppression (Fagan, 2016). While Adorno and Horkheimer additionally considered the impacts of production, capitalism, the demands of the marketplace, and the economic functions that modern art fulfills, these topics are beyond the scope of this concise chapter. Rather, this chapter focuses on the concept of the autonomy of art, as it applies to the Late Renaissance art of Giulio’s Palazzo del Te. Adorno contended that art possesses a dual essence: it is social fact as well as holding the possibility of autonomy (O’Connor, 2000). Adorno argued that autonomy was related to art’s independence from society, which had been growing since the Medieval era (Nolan, 2004). Giulio’s Palazzo del Te was built during the succeeding era, during 1525 to 1536, the Late Renaissance of the early 16th century – hence the artist created his artwork at a defining moment in history. It was about the time of the Medieval to Renaissance periods that art began to be released from its restrictive cultic and imperial functions, which had beset earlier eras of art (Adorno, 1970). Although Ray Strong (1984) asserted that certain 16th century art had an imperial purpose, specifically the objective of glorifying the Holy Roman Emperor through the use of Roman imperial imagery – it was Giulio Romano who was renowned for his deliberate inversion of antique, imperial images at his Palazzo del Te. Adorno emphasized that by virtue of art being embedded in society, art “both affirms and criticizes the society to which it belongs” (Zuidervaart, 1990, p. 61). Autonomous art is social and historical because it is externally determined by society in part (Horowitz, 1997). For Adorno, art has a ”critical” or ”oppositional” link to society; “art becomes social by its opposition (Gegenposition) to society, and it occupies this position only as autonomous art”. The critical relationship of art “is historically specific: [art] criticizes the society in which it is produced” (as cited in O’Connor, 2013, p. 179). And as Adorno wrote, “Art … is social primarily because it stands opposed to society. Now this opposition art can mount only when it has become autonomous. By congealing into an entity unto itself – rather than obeying existing social norms and thus proving itself to be ‘socially useful’ – art criticizes society just by being there” (as cited in Horowitz, 1997, p. 264). When Adorno referred to the social character of art in general, he meant that art fulfills certain functions – and yet, the fulfillment of functions prevents art from being autonomous. Autonomous art, for Adorno, could have no function, other than the inherent task of criticizing society. Earlier in the Dialectic of Enlightenment, Adorno and

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Horkheimer had stressed that autonomous art was characterized specifically by purposelessness – which approximated a lack of function – other than the inherent role of criticizing society (1947, pp. 129-130). Adorno put it thus: “Insofar as a social function can be predicated for artworks, it is their functionlessness” (1970, p. 227). Adorno’s idea that art is socially critical infers that art is steered by an external purpose. Yet autonomous art – by virtue of its definition – cannot have a purpose. Adorno gets around this thorny difficulty, by clarifying that when art is socially critical, that is the “meaning” of art, and not its “purpose” (O’Connor, 2013, p. 179). This is the well-known paradox in the Adornian theory of autonomous art. The paradox, as Adorno conceptualized it, is that only the autonomous work of art could serve as the locus of opposition to a corrupt reality. Thus, it is autonomy which also endows “a base of resistance to political … prescription” (Harrison & Wood, 2003, p. 692). The dual nature of the art object – that it is concurrently a product of society and yet opposed to society in its autonomy – is what brings about its revolutionary capacity. As Adorno phrased it: ‘Art’s asociality is the determinate negation of a determinate society’. Art was thus viewed by the philosopher as “potentially liberatory” in its asociality (Lewis, 2005, p. 48). Taken as a whole, Giulio’s Palazzo del Te can be considered an autonomous artwork according to the Adornian model, even though the palazzo served several functions. As a palace built by Giulio for a Renaissance prince – the Palazzo del Te played a crucial role in securing political success for his patron – the Emperor promoted Federico II Gonzaga to Duke of Mantua after the monarch’s 1530 visit to the palazzo. Notwithstanding the utility of the overall building, it was Giulio’s interior artwork in the Sala dei Giganti that brought a high level of social meaning to the palace, rendering the Palazzo del Te autonomous in the Adornian conception. In this room, the artist possibly criticized – in an obscure way – the unjust political milieu of the times. The artist’s non- direct censure of the current political regime of the Holy Roman Empire exemplified meaning in art, as defined by Adorno in his notion of autonomous art. In the interior decoration of the chamber Sala dei Giganti, there existed an oppositional stance to society and the political milieu – due to Giulio’s possibly concealed covert message criticizing the despotism and authoritarianism of the times. Adorno believed that if a measure of autonomy could be reached in art, it would then enable oppositional artistic production (Nolan, 2004). By this he meant that autonomous art could take an oppositional stance to the problems of society, including the political environment. Moreover, many spectators of the Sala dei Giganti – including Charles V – who viewed Giulio’s depictions of the giants, perceived them to be hideously ugly. Adorno’s Aesthetic Theory unequivocally accentuated the prominence of the ugly in art (Hohendahl, 2005). The representation of the ugly in the artwork was a type of social criticism for Adorno, as the ugly in art had a concomitant oppositional stance to society. The critical function of the artwork, particularly its “opposition to the social status quo …

22 is supported and enhanced by the presentation of the ugly” (Hohendahl, 2013, p. 93). In his Aesthetic Theory, Adorno refers to the role allocated to the ugly in German aesthetics, “beginning with Schiller and Friedrich von Schlegel and culminating in Karl Rosenkranz’s Ästhetik des Häßlichen (‘Aesthetic of the Ugly’, 1853)” (Hohendahl, 2005, p. 171). Adorno advocated the ugly, because he held that the ugly in art heightens the autonomy of the artwork. At minimum, ugly art was considered advanced art by Adorno, because of the traditional view that the ugly in art violated the conventional aesthetic code. It is due to this last quality that ugly aesthetics have the capacity to upset society (Hohendahl, 2013). For Adorno, autonomy is a “function of the bourgeois consciousness of freedom, which in turn is tied up with a specific social structure. Before that, art may have been in conflict with the forces and mores dominating society, but it was never ‘for itself’. Such conflicts have always existed; desultorily they are reflected in Plato’s condemnation of art in the Republic” (O’Connor, 2000, p. 241). Ultimately, Adorno regarded art “as hope and promise” (Lewis, 2005, p. 47). It is “the idea of autonomous art, however degraded in practice, [which kept] alive a memory of the promise of freedom” for Adorno (Thomson, 2006, p. 68). Adorno’s concept of the autonomy of art provides a lens through which one may better understand Giulio’s intentions underlying his mysterious Sala dei Giganti at the Palazzo del Te, especially when considered within the turbulent and oppressive political context of the Italian Wars (1494 to 1559) and early 16th century Italy. In particular, Adorno’s notion that overtly political art is actually propaganda and cannot be considered autonomous art is discussed further in Chapter 8 on the Palazzo del Te.

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CHAPTER 4: RENAISSANCE CULTURAL CONTEXT: COVERT MESSAGES AS POLITICAL CRITICISM, GAMES, CONTRADICTION, AND THE “FUSION OF EXTREMES”

As we have seen above, the most notable task of Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36) was that his patron, Federico II Gonzaga, utilized the palazzo as a political tool to impress Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. Yet there also existed an oppositional stance to society and the political milieu in the interior decoration of the Sala dei Giganti – in this room, Giulio possibly hid a covert message within his artwork. Giulio’s arcane message was to Emperor Charles V, and it dared to criticize the contemporaneous political environment of the time, which was marked by the tyranny and totalitarianism of the Holy Roman Empire. Giulio’s Palazzo del Te was built during the Late Renaissance of the early 16th century; hence the artist created his artwork at the cataclysmic crossroads of history – when Italy lost her political autonomy and the Imperial Emperor Charles V subjected the Italians to his centralized, dictatorial regime. In Mantua, after the original villa on the Te Island had evolved into the Palazzo del Te – as built by Giulio – it was utilized by his patron Federico Gonzaga as a political instrument – to boost his image in the eyes of the Emperor, especially during the Imperial sovereign’s two visits to the palazzo in 1530 and 1532. Furthermore, Giulio’s Palazzo del Te played a crucial role in securing political success for his patron – the Imperial Emperor promoted Federico II Gonzaga to the title of the first Duke of Mantua after the monarch’s 1530 visit to the Palazzo del Te. In the Sala dei Giganti are frescoes depicting the Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34), based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The iconography of these frescoes has traditionally been interpreted as some type of acknowledgment of the power of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. The frescoes were executed around the time of Charles’ gigantic political re- organization of Italy; and Giulio’s patron Federico Gonzaga was – at times – an ally of the Emperor. However as we have seen above, I suggest that the iconography could additionally be interpreted in an alternative way – as a covert message from Giulio to the Emperor, to be seen by the authoritarian ruler during his second visit to the palace in 1532. (Although most of the frescoes in this room were completed by the sovereign’s second visit – some of them were provisional – and were later changed by Giulio.) Hartt, one of the world’s foremost authorities on Giulio Romano, was open to the possibility of the Sala dei Giganti being imbued with multiple layers of meaning by the artist. The great scholar posited the still unresolved question of the room’s meaning: “What earthly use can such a horror chamber have fulfilled in a pleasure palace like the Palazzo del Te?” (1958, p. 156). Hartt deduced that the Room of the Giants somehow referred to the new despotism of Charles V and the concomitant, shattering political chaos which ensued. The academic’s analysis of the Sala dei Giganti is discussed later in this thesis.

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Prior to the completion of the Sala dei Giganti – which was designed, in part, to entertain the visitors of his patron – Giulio‘s intention of the room had been to astonish the monarch (Bazzotti, 2013). Notice that the artist’s goal was not to "please" the absolute monarch; the artist’s objective was to “astonish” the mighty ruler. The verb “astonish” comes from the Latin tonare, which meant thunder. To astonish entailed a double meaning: the word meant to amaze and to stun – yet, to astonish also meant to shock and to leave aghast. And an obsolete meaning additionally meant to strike with sudden fear. It is possible that in addition to alluding to the Emperor’s absolute power, the artist concealed an additional, recondite message to Charles V within his artwork, which served to remind the Imperial ruler to respect the political rights and liberties of his subjects. Giulio’s shocking admonition was consistent with the interpretation given later by the writer and poet Annibale Caro for the same Fall of the Giants theme in Orsini’s gardens at Bomarzo: monarchs must not abuse their power, and must not position themselves higher than the gods. In the political mayhem of the 16th century, the impudence to reprimand the universe’s most absolute monarch was tantamount to ensuring one’s own death warrant. Of course Giulio’s potential admonishment to the Emperor had to be covert, due to the extremely dangerous political environment of the time. Emperor Charles V was seen by most Italians as the ruthless, foreign invader who brought an authoritarian regime to the Italian peninsula – along with his armies, their weapons, their methods of torture, as well as developments in military technology and tactics. Hence any critical, political statement made by the artist could not be obvious. Some years later, a related meaning would be concealed in Pier Francesco Orsini’s gardens (from c. 1547) in the Sacro Bosco (Sacred Grove) at Bomarzo, near Rome, along with its sculptures of monstrous giants (Tellini Perina, 1989). Duke Orsini, an intellectual as well as a brave condottiere, was forced to disguise certain ideas into obscure messages in his Sacro Bosco, due to the dangers of the political environment (Campbell, 2008). The design of the gardens was attributed to the architect and antiquarian, Pirro Ligorio. As in many Late Renaissance works of art, the symbolism that Ligorio employed utilized arcane and enigmatic features. The gardens at Bomarzo were consciously intended to provoke the viewer. And what is more, just as in Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti – Orsini’s and Ligorio’s intent behind the gardens was to “astonish” – not to “please” – the spectator. The various elements of the gardens appear to be un- connected to any rational plan; the statues of massive giants, attributed to Simone Moschino, gave the impression of being strewn almost randomly about the gardens. Possible sources for the gardens existed in literary texts by the writers Dante, Ariosto, and Petrarch. For the sculptures, a possible literary source could be found in Colonna’s Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (published 1499). Colonna’s allegorical dream-romance was utilized by Giulio in his room Sala di Psiche at Palazzo del Te; this is discussed further in Chapter 8.

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Ligorio’s and Moschino’s creation would also portray the matching theme of Ovid’s Fall of the Giants, similar to the frescoes in the Room of the Giants conceived by Giulio at Palazzo del Te. Later in 1564, Annibale Caro would interpret the myth of the giants as “a moral allegory designed to demonstrate that rulers must be gentle and not place themselves above the gods” (Tellini Perina, 1989, as cited in Hickson, 2009a, p. 56). And Caro – who was a Humanist – was himself famous for his use of brilliant, mysterious euphemisms (Ward, 2015). Tellini Perina emphasizes that during this era, the same fable of the giants was used as a communication to rulers, with “Imperial political implications” (as cited in Hickson, 2009a, p. 56). Other modern scholars also discern an allegorical message in the gardens at Bomarzo. Sheeler suggests that the Late Renaissance gardens presented a Manichean dialogue, emphasizing the opposing dualities of life. Orsini, who was fond of arcane subjects, as well as of Humanist and Neo-Platonic ideas, desired that the viewer would look beyond the obvious games in his garden and underneath find his serious message that political power should not be abused (as cited in Campbell, 2008). During the Late Renaissance, participation in games, hoaxes, and ruses was customary – often the objective was to discover a hidden, moralizing meaning. And in parallel, some of the greatest Renaissance works of art had deliberate obliqueness in the use of metaphor, as well as a veil of obscurity. Wind stressed that during this age, mystical Platonism “combined the obscure with the familiar” (1968, p. 97). Giulio, in his turn, played a game that was very complex and very indirect. Settis superbly describes the games of Giulio, as the artist: “Canons deduced from the antique were simultaneously re-proposed and questioned, by means of the sophisticated weapons of allusion and irony ... in the novel and amazing palace of delights at the gates of Mantua. Giulio ‘plays’ with the observer while he pays him homage … while he presupposes a cultivated observer, one who is capable of understanding the game’s subtle rules …” (as cited in Belluzzi, 1998, p. 8). Mannerist artists, such as Giulio, utilized several devices – including complexity, disguise, allegory and repetition – in their art. Cole, referring to Vasari, proposes that “sympathetic court patronage allowed artists to indulge their mannerist wit to a degree unthinkable in the context of a republic” (1995, as cited in Elmer, 2000, p. 73). At times the element of subversion introduced into an artwork signified “a sophisticated intellectual exercise or joke”. Giulio in particular “subverted the regular order and balance associated with the Renaissance all’antica mode of art” (Elmer, 2000, pp. 73-4). And as we have seen earlier, despite Strong (1984) asserting that certain 16th century art had an imperial purpose, with the objective of glorifying the Holy Roman Emperor through the use of Roman imperial imagery – it must be remembered that Giulio was famous for his intentional inversion of antique, imperial images in the interior decoration of the Sala dei Giganti and throughout his Palazzo del Te. This gives rise to the issue of whether the artist had an intention of mocking the invading, oppressive Imperial Empire?

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As we saw above, recent scholarship is revealing that the Italian Renaissance witnessed the practice of covert criticism of political rulers. At about the same time that Giulio built the Palazzo del Te in Mantua, Michelangelo (Michelagnolo Buonarroti) worked on his Sagrestia Nuova (New Sacristy) at the Medici Chapel at San Lorenzo Basilica in Florence during the periods of 1521-23, 1524-27, and 1530-34; the breaks were a consequence of political upheavals. Instead of being a compliment to his Medici patrons, Michelangelo actually intended the Chapel as an obscure criticism of the ruthless Medici reign of power in Florence. In parallel, there also existed the Florentine custom of affixing critical texts to works of public sculpture, as a way of elucidating their political meaning. And Michelangelo, who had been influenced by Humanism and held life-long republican sympathies, did more than condemn his Medicean patrons through his art (Connor, 2010; Ward, 2015). After the 1527 Sack of Rome, the artist also played an important role in the revolution, which allowed Florence to become a republic for the last time in the city’s history. In 1530, Michelangelo was pardoned by Pope Clement VII (the Medici pope), but only on the condition that the artist would continue his work on the family’s chapel. Although Michelangelo resumed some work on the Medici Chapel, in 1534 he left the project unfinished, and permanently left Florence for Rome. Left unfinished by Michelangelo, as well, was the Laurentian Library (begun 1524), also at San Lorenzo Basilica in Florence. The Laurentian Library, renowned for Michelangelo’s Mannerist architecture and free-standing staircase in the ricetto (vestibule), had also been commissioned by his detested Medici patrons (Wilde & Shearman, 1978). In his ricetto, Michelangelo’s architectural teasing “creates an illusion that simultaneously compresses and stretches the room. This particular work is a perfect example of Mannerism, an intellectual game played by the educated upper class of Cinquecento Florence” (Schulz, 2016). During the cruel Medici reigns, the political climate in Florence was hostile to the free expression of critical views; thus any criticisms had to be expressed in an indirect manner. Against this repressive background, famous figures such as Vasari and Machiavelli, in addition to Michelangelo, were forced to voice their opinions – which were critical of autocratic Medici rule – in an oblique manner. These artists and the writer had to encode their censure of the Medici in works of art which were directed to these same leaders. At the same time, these authors had to achieve a measure of safety for themselves, in relation to the patrons upon whom they depended for their livelihood. In 1534, Giorgio Vasari executed his portrait of Alessandro de’ Medici, in which the conquering duke was depicted seated on a stool with figures of bound, furious captives. Vasari, who was a Humanist, later made clear that his portrayal of the Duke had been intended as a cloaked rebuke of Alessandro’s domination of the Florentine populace and his tyrannical suppression of any rebellion on the part of the Florentines. Several years later Alessandro was assassinated; his successor, Cosimo I de’ Medici, gained Imperial recognition as head of the Florentine state. During Cosimo’s rule of Florence, dissenting

27 voices were controlled so harshly, that his reign was more of a “modern police state”, instead of a “beneficent commonwealth” (Ward, 2015, p. 1). And Machiavelli’s Prince was intended as a “very subtle, but nevertheless forceful, condemnation of the Italian princes of his day, the Medici in particular”. Machiavelli, who was on the side of the people and desired liberty, as well as a republic, was coerced to pen his Prince as a covert critique of the despotic rulers of the time (Ward, 2011; 2015, p. 2). The extreme fluctuations and savage warfare of early 16th century North Italian political affairs forced artists and writers alike to express their political beliefs extremely cautiously. And similarly to Machiavelli, Castiglione – who served as Ambassador to the Gonzaga in Rome – was exceedingly careful in the concealment of his personal beliefs in Il Cortegiano, by utilizing the devices of fictitious dialogues (as we saw earlier) and by obscuring his knowledge of letters. Castiglione advised artists to engage in a very specific manner of conduct, which was planned out in advance and oriented toward precisely defined objectives, to bestow a foundation. And in general, Renaissance culture placed before itself the mission of the “fusion of extremes: the reference to solid foundations and the appeal to subjective choice”. Tafuri discussed Renaissance culture as beholding a “multiplicity of techniques … which found new articulation with the advent of the ‘culture of calculation’” (2006, p. 19). Previously, Batkin had pointed out that during the Renaissance, there had existed a “complexio oppositorum, a culture of contradiction” (as cited in Tafuri, 2006, p. 19). Eisler brilliantly points out the colossal irony of the high level of calculation discernable in Giulio’s Palazzo del Te. There was absolutely “no direct, unmistakable reference to Charles anywhere in the palace [and Federico’s] association with the emperor is referred to only in symbolic terms … In the permanent decorations of a palace, homage was paid to the emperor in a type of code … Perhaps Federico feared a sudden reversal of Charles’ political fortunes, which would transform an explicit apotheosis of the Emperor into an embarrassing reminder of a past mistake” (as cited in Elmer, 2000, p. 73). All iconographic programs had to be explained verbally to the monarch – and it was Federico himself who did the clarifying for the eminent guest during the Emperor’s 1530 visit to the Palazzo del Te. Federico shrewdly angled his elucidation of the decorative program to Charles V along the lines that they were a tribute to his Majesty, and that Federico really was on the same side as the Imperial Emperor (Hickson, 2009a). Yet the situation was tricky in the extreme for the Marquis during the Emperor’s 1530 visit to the palace. Federico, as a condottierre, had previously been in the service of the Empire's enemies – the Papacy and Florence. Federico and Charles V dined alone in the Sala di Psiche during this visit. In this room, an inscription on the architrave announced:

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"Federico II Gonzaga, Fifth Marquis of Mantua, Captain General of the Florentine Republic, ordered this palace built for honest leisure after work to restore strength in quiet”.

This inscription highlighted Federico’s previous contract with Charles’ competitor, the Pope, as Captain General of the Papacy and of the Florentine Republic. This pact meant that Federico was obligated to support the renewed Florentine republic under the Medici. The vicissitudes of North Italian politics imposed a “cautious and frequently devious approach to foreign policy, a point well made by Machiavelli’s contemporary treatise The Prince. Federico had learned the lesson well and was, temporarily at least, on the right side. The decoration of the newly constructed Palazzo Te suggests that he incorporated such caution into his artistic projects. Not until 1532, and Charles V’s second trip to Mantua, did Federico feel sufficiently confident to proclaim his support for the emperor in the iconographical programme carried out by Giulio for the newly refurbished Sala dei Giganti … as well as in other rooms …” (Elmer, 2000, pp. 72-3). Some years later, Guicciardini would re-emphasize this crucial demand for vigilance, when the statesman referred to the need for typical, “Italian caution” (1561, p. 87). Previously in 1530, after Federico had verbally explained the iconographical program of the palace to the Imperial Emperor in a way which had emphasized Federico being an ally of the Empire, Emperor Charles V had elevated Federico to the rank of the first Duke of Mantua. Yet in 1532, Charles V visited the Palazzo del Te for a second time. During his second stay, the Habsburg monarch saw the Sala dei Giganti, including frescoes which had been recently completed and some of which were provisional. Although the scaffolding in the room had been removed for the emperor’s visit, no one enlightened Charles V as to the meaning of the decorative scheme (Furlotti & Rebecchini, 2008). The monarch had to interpret for himself the meaning of the battling giants and gods in the frescoes of the Fall of the Giants. It is plausible that the Imperial Emperor understood Giulio’s allusive message in the chamber, which possibly was similar to Caro’s construal of Orsini’s moral allegory: Monarchs must not abuse their power, nor should they put themselves higher than the gods. One can imagine that Giulio’s implication that rulers must respect the political rights and liberties of their subjects – presented in an era when torture and death were meted out for offending a sovereign – must have been as electrifying to Charles V as being struck by Jupiter’s thunderbolts. After the Emperor’s 1532 visit to the Palazzo del Te, he never promoted Federico Gonzaga again.

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CHAPTER 5: GIULIO ROMANO’S EARLY CAREER IN ROME: RAPHAEL’S STUDIO AND INDEPENDENT WORKS ~~ c. 1515-24

Giulio was born in Rome, as Giulio Pippi, or Giulio di Pietro di Filippo de’ Giannuzzi. Apprenticed to the great Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, 1483-1520) as a teenager in about 1515, Giulio became the Master’s most important assistant, while Raphael was court painter to Pope Leo X. In Rome, Giulio worked with Raphael on the frescoes in the Vatican Stanze (c. 1508-1524), the tapestry cartoons (1515-16) for the Sistine Chapel, as well as the decorations at the Villa Chigi-Farnesina (c. 1517-19) and the Villa Madama (c. 1518-1527). In 1508, Pope Julius II had commissioned Raphael and his studio to redecorate the interiors of a suite of reception rooms in the papal apartments at the Vatican Palace. The four Stanze di Raffaello (Raphael Rooms) were comprised of the Stanza della Segnatura (1508-11), Stanza di Eliodoro (1511-14), Stanza dell’Incendio di Borgo (1514-17), and the Sala di Costantino (1519-21, 1523-24). The fresco scheme of the Stanze, along with Michelangelo’s ceiling frescoes (1508-12) at the Sistine Chapel, are characteristic of the High Renaissance in Rome. After the death of Julius in 1513, Pope Leo X continued the project of the Stanze. Raphael’s workshop assisted him in the Stanze; the Fire in the Borgo frescoes (1514-17) – including the Battle of Ostia (1514-15) – in the Stanza dell’ Incendio di Borgo, were painted mainly by Giulio, based on Raphael‘s drawings (Ferrari & Belluzzi, 1992; Shearman, 1972). In Rome, Raphael’s studio included Giulio, Gianfrancesco Penni, Raffaellino del Colle, and Perino del Vaga (Piero Buonaccorsi). While working at the Vatican, Giulio came into contact with Perino del Vaga (1501-47), who had been a pupil of Ridolfo Ghirlandaio and who was the Master’s major assistant. Raphael’s workshop also included Giovanni da Udine (Giovanni Nanni), whom Raphael had made capo of the team of artists who decorated the Pope’s private Loggia; in this gallery, Da Udine had executed the stucco grotesque decorations (1517-19). Perino had assisted Da Udine in the stucco decorations of the Loggia, and had executed some of the small scriptural subjects in the Stanze. Perino, along with Da Udine, had also decorated the ceiling in the Sala dei Pontefici (1520-21) in the Appartamento Borgia, all after Raphael’s designs. In 1515, Pope Leo X had commissioned Raphael to design 10 large cartoons for tapestries; these tapestries were to be displayed on the lower register of the walls of the Sistine Chapel, underneath Michelangelo’s famous vaulted ceiling (1508-12), which depicted scenes from the Book of Genesis. Raphael was to design the tapestries to likewise hang alongside the famous frescoes on the walls of the chapel, which had been painted in the late 15th century by a team of leading artists. The artists had included Sandro Botticelli, Pietro Perugino, Domenico Ghirlandaio, and Pinturicchio (Bernardino di Betto); their frescoes depicted episodes of Christ and Moses from the Old and New Testaments. Many years later, after the Sack of Rome, Michelangelo would execute The Last Judgment (1535-41) for Popes Clement VII and Paul III on the altar wall of the chapel. The tapestries were to be displayed in the chapel on special occasions; and taken together with the ceiling and walls, would form a large decorative scheme within the Sistine Chapel, illustrating the doctrine of the Catholic Church. The tapestry cartoons

30 depict the Acts of the Apostles, with scenes from the lives of Saints Peter and Paul, founders of the early Christian Church. The sumptuous tapestries highlighted the Papal majesty of Leo X, and some of the episodes held a theological and political significance for educated persons of that time (Penny & Jones, 1983). For the cartoons and other projects, Raphael often delegated work to collaborators and his top assistants – Giulio, Penni, Da Udine, and Perino. Although questions of attribution regarding Raphael and his workshop always loom, it is clear that Raphael was mostly assisted by Giulio and Penni on the tapestry cartoons (Penny & Jones, 1983; Shearman, 1972). On the Disciples in Mission cartoon, Raphael was assisted by Giulio; there also existed the possibility that this cartoon was completed by Giulio (Bordeaux, 2015). After the cartoons were finalized in 1516, the Vatican tapestries were woven (1516-21) at the Brussels workshop of the master weaver, Pieter Van Aelst. Although it was customary practice for tapestry cartoons to be returned to a commissioner during that era, that did not happen in this case. Instead, the cartoons were circulated among various weaving workshops in Brussels throughout the 16th century. On St. Stephen’s Day, December 26, 1519, seven of the tapestries were put on display in the Sistine Chapel. As Leo X had specified, the tapestries were woven with silk and with thread made of gold and silver. In 1527, during the Sack of Rome, soldiers looted at least one set of tapestries to extract the precious metals. Later in the 1540s, other sets of these tapestries were made for monarchs, including one for King François I of France and another one for Henry VIII of England. The tapestry cartoons for the Sistine Chapel are among the most important artworks of the entire Renaissance; they were well known to all artists of the Renaissance and Baroque eras. Giulio assisted Raphael at another project in Rome, the Villa Chigi-Farnesina. The villa was built on the banks of the Tiber for Agostino Chigi, a wealthy Sienese banker and the treasurer of Pope Julius II. Chigi was also a patron of the arts and literature; he was a protector of the poet and political influencer, Pietro Aretino, as well. Chigi had commissioned Baldassare Peruzzi, the Sienese artist and architect and pupil of Bramante, to design a villa. Peruzzi designed and erected the villa during 1505 to 1511. Chigi also commissioned the fresco decoration of the villa by Peruzzi, Raphael, the Venetian Sebastiano del Piombo, and from Piedmont, Il Sodoma (Giovanni Antonio Bazzi). The decorative program was entirely classical: Sodoma’s frescoes were based on Lucian; Peruzzi’s and Sebastiano del Piombo’s on Ovid, and Raphael’s on the Latin author, Apuleius. In the Loggia di Psiche (c. 1517-18), Raphael’s decorative scheme depicts scenes from the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche. Giulio contributed to the ceiling frescoes in this Loggia. The two large scenes on the ceiling had been conceived by Raphael as tapestries, which were to be hung from the surrounding pergola. Apuleius had related the story of Cupid’s love for the mortal Psyche in The Golden Ass or Metamorphoses. In the fable, the maiden Psyche had to endure hardships because of the jealousy of Venus, prior to celebrating her marriage in Olympus in the presence of the gods. The marriage of Cupid and Psyche, which alluded to Chigi’s upcoming marriage to Francesca Ordeaschi, appears in the ceiling fresco (1518). The figure of Venus has been attributed to Giulio and that of Cupid to Raphael (Vicenzi, 2014) Other frescoes in this Loggia were painted by Raphael and his assistants, Penni, Raffaellino, and Da Udine. Da Udine executed his

31 celebrated fruit-laden wreaths – complete with the imagery of fruits and genital jests. Vasari would fondly describe the fruits’ images as the “grace” of genital puns (as cited in Bayer, 2008, p. 179). During the Italian Renaissance, the depiction of fruits served as fertility symbols, whereas festoons symbolized re-birth. In Rome, the elite Humanistic culture was imbued with a language that to a contemporary observer appears erotically charged. The early 16th century witnessed an “eroticization of vision”, with a huge growth in imagery that was intentionally created to arouse the viewer sexually, in parallel with a new erotic literature, which relied on classical sources (Burke, 2006, pp. 482-91). In the 16th century, eroticism and spirituality were not separate. At his villa, Chigi entertained many guests who were dignitaries of the Church. Even though today it may seem surprising that pagan depictions adorned the interiors of the residence, it must be remembered that pagan imagery involved moral teachings, and served as “the mind’s spur to God” (Magri, 2004, p. 64). The Humanist circle patronized by Chigi and Pope Leo X was also a sphere of Renaissance Neo-platonism (Barkan, 1999). Plato, as well as Socrates, had distinguished between two kinds of desire: “sacred” and “profane”. For Ficino and every good Platonist, Divine love was superior to human love. The Platonic theory of love grew in popularity during the first quarter of the 16th century. “Originally… it had been part of a philosophical system which must be reckoned among the boldest intellectual structures ever erected by the human mind” (Panofsky, 1936, p. 129). During the Renaissance, the story of Cupid and Psyche was one of the “defining fables of the Platonic ladder of love, which draws us in an unbroken ascent from our carnal desires toward heavenly love” (Barkan, 1999, p. 234). To Boccaccio in the 14th century, the marriage of Cupid and Psyche symbolized the union of soul and God. The myth of Psyche’s trials and her rise to heaven were interpreted by the Christian Fathers and others as an allegory of the psyche – or Soul – as conflicted by fleshly desires, and that it was the Soul which won this battle. Later, Ridolfi would allude to the tale of Psyche as a parable of “the human soul filled with divine love” (1914, as cited in Pope-Hennessy, 1970, p. 173). In the Loggia di Galatea (c. 1511-14), Peruzzi, Sebastiano del Piombo, and Raphael executed the frescoes with mythological scenes; these are among Raphael’s few purely secular paintings. The main subject, Galatea, had been inspired by the poetry of Angelo Poliziano, a member of Lorenzo de’ Medici’s circle. Here, Raphael executed The Triumph of Galatea (c. 1514). The Master had designed the composition of Cupid and Psyche as a continuation of the story of Galatea. In Greek mythology, the sea-nymph Galatea had fallen in love with the peasant shepherd Acis. The one-eyed giant Polyphemus, after seeing the two lovers together, threw a huge pillar and killed Acis (Vicenzi, 2014). In this loggia, Chigi demanded that Sebastiano paint an image of Polyphemus, the Cyclop in love with Galatea, side by side with the image of Raphael’s Galatea (D’Ancona, 1955). Later, Giulio would paint scenes from Cupid and Psyche, as well as a huge Polyphemus, in his Sala di Psiche at the Palazzo del Te in Mantua. Bellori pointed out in 1695 that the decorative cycle in the Loggia di Psyche was incomplete. The work had been interrupted when new scaffolding had to be built for the walls, and both Raphael and Chigi had died within a few days of each other in April of 1520. Later in 1577, the villa became the property of the Farnese family, who renamed the building to Villa Farnesina. The Farnese were relatives of Alessandro Farnese, who

32 reigned as Pope Paul III in the turbulent period after the Sack of Rome, during 1534 to 1559. In 1545, Paul III convened the Council of Trent, the quintessence of the Counter Reformation. Earlier in 1537, he and the Holy Roman Emperor had ordered the council to be held in Mantua, but this plan had collapsed after yet another war arose between Charles V and France. Paul III preferred Giulio for chief architect of St. Peter’s Basilica, after Antonio da Sangallo the Younger’s death in 1546. Although Giulio was summoned to the Eternal City to complete St. Peter’s, he regrettably died before the journey took place. With Raphael’s death, the Master had left Giulio as his chief artistic executor, and as one of his principal heirs, along with Penni. And after the Master’s death, Perino married Penni’s sister, ostensibly to attach himself to the Penni and Giulio connection (Penny, 1984). Giulio completed some of Raphael’s works, including the Sala di Costantino. In this stanza, Giulio altered Raphael’s plans and “created the first statement of Mannerism on a grand scale in Rome” (Getty, 2015). Penni and Raffaellino helped to finish the Sala di Costantino, though now under the direction of Giulio. The artists completed the frescoes, which depict the victory of Christianity over paganism; one of the better known frescoes in this stanza is The Battle of Milvian Bridge (1520-24). After the death of his master, Giulio likewise completed Raphael’s last great altarpiece, the Transfiguration (1520). This painting had been commissioned by Cardinal Giuliano de’ Medici, cousin of Leo X, who later would become Pope Clement VII in 1523. Raphael had conceived this altarpiece for the Narbonne Cathedral in France.

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Image 9

Loggia di Psiche (c. 1517-18) Villa Chigi-Farnesina ~~ Rome Raphael, Giulio Romano, Giovanni da Udine, and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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After the Master’s death, Giulio also completed the decorations of the Villa Madama in Rome, one of the first 16th century suburban villas which revived the style of villas from antiquity. Cardinal Giuliano de’ Medici had commissioned the design of the villa from Raphael, and construction had begun in 1518. After Raphael’s death in 1520, Sangallo the Younger completed the plans. The villa is known for Raphael’s loggia (Loggia di Raffaello) and Giulio’s magnificent vaulted ceiling (c. 1520-24) in the salone. Giulio depicted a sleeping Polyphemus, inspired by Pliny’s description of the Cyclops painted by Timanthes. The Villa Madama Polyphemus, as well as the one at the Farnesina, foreshadowed the giant Polyphemus of Giulio’s Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) at Palazzo del Te in Mantua. Additional decorations were by Peruzzi, who was also a major architect just as Giulio was; Da Udine executed the stucco bas-reliefs; and Baccio Bandinelli created the sculptures. Work on the Villa Madama stopped in 1527, when it was damaged during the Sack of Rome, and the building was not completed. In 1537, Margaret of Austria, for whom the villa is named, came into possession of the villa. She was the young widow of Alessandro de’ Medici, who had been assassinated earlier that year by his cousin, Lorenzino de’ Medici; she was also the illegitimate daughter of Emperor Charles V. The next year, Margaret married Ottavio Farnese, Duke of Parma and grandson of Pope Paul III. Ironically, the Villa Madama, which had been consciously built to rival the villas of ancient, democratic Rome – including the one owned by Pliny himself – would be purchased by the fascist dictator of modern Italy, Benito Mussolini, centuries later in 1941.

Under Raphael, Giulio had been taught the High Renaissance veneration of classical antiquities. Giulio had also become familiar with the art of his master Raphael, as well as of Michelangelo, Correggio, Titian, and Bramante. In his Palazzo Stati (1520- 24) in Rome, Giulio was influenced by Bramante’s Palazzo Caprini (c. 1505-10), the home of Raphael since 1517. Giulio designed his palazzo for the patrician Stati family, re-named to Palazzo Maccarani in 1786, after the Marchese Maccarani purchased the residence. Giulio was also influenced by Antonio da Sangallo the Younger’s Palazzo Baldassini (c. 1516-19), which Perino del Vaga had decorated during 1520 to 1522 (Forster, 1991; Rowe & Satkowski, 2002).

Giulio continued working under the patronage of Clement VII during 1523 to 1524; the artist also became a painter and architect to Pope Julius II, as well as to the aristocracy in Rome. In the Eternal City, Giulio also had numerous, independent commissions for other architectural projects, panel paintings and altarpieces. When Giulio had earlier worked at the Stanze, Raphael had put his favorite pupil in charge of the Biblical narratives at the Vatican. This experience stood Giulio in good stead in his altarpieces, including his Stoning of St. Stephen (c. 1523), for the church of Santo Stefano in Genoa, as we will soon see.

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Image 10

Loggia di Raffaello (c. 1518) ~~ Raphael and Assistants

Vaulted Ceiling (c. 1520-24) with Giant Polyphemus ~~ Giulio Romano

Villa Madama (c. 1518-27) ~~ Rome

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Giulio’s pictures included themes ranging from the religious to secular, including allegorical and mythological topics as well. The mythological paintings by Giulio were often based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, and Homer‘s works. The projects from Giulio’s Roman period contained numerous allusions to the antique. Giulio’s profound interest in the antique, just like that of Raphael, was appreciated by his patrons, who were “connoisseurs of antiquity“ (Burns, 1998, p. 135). During his Roman years, Giulio had been influenced by Roman Imperial art. Roman continuous narrative especially inspired Giulio in forming his compositions, which were diametrically opposed to Raphael’s centralized type of presentation. This pictorial-style began to show even while Giulio was still working with Raphael, and was further developed in the Sala di Costantino. Giulio had also been influenced by attitudes to eroticism and evangelism. He additionally observed a revival of Roman theater, along with the increasing importance of theater in court culture. All of these influences came together for Giulio, and while he was in Rome, the artist developed a very forceful and original style. The satirical poet Pietro Aretino accurately summed up his friend’s personal style, referring to “your concepts which are modern in an ancient way and ancient in a modern way” (as cited in Burns, 1998, p. 131).

In 1524, Giulio left Rome for Mantua. The possibility existed that Giulio was forced to leave Rome, due to his series of 16 pornographic drawings, known as I Modi (c. 1523-24). The Modi caused such an uproar, that the engraver and distributor of the prints, Marcantonio Raimondi – also the engraver of Raphael’s works, including those at the Vatican – was arrested and imprisoned by Pope Clement VII. One vital issue was that Giulio’s and Raimondi’s I Modi did not “disguise” sexual acts as mythological tableaux, nor as Biblical scenes. In contrast, Giulio’s scene of Abimelech Spying upon Isaac and Rebecca in Raphael’s Loggias (c. 1519) in the Vatican is an example of eroticism being “ ‘protected’ by its biblical reference”. Giulio’s and Raimondi’s I Modi thus presented anti-clerical implications, as they highlighted “the dubious morality of the pontifical court from the Borgia pope on”, as well as exhibiting social critique (Tafuri, 1998, p. 13).

Another crucial issue was that I Modi were distributed at about the same time that Clement VII and his datary, Giovanni Matteo Giberti, a zealous religious reformer, had commenced an agenda of reform in Rome. This improvement-program was based “at the center of church power, on the principle that internal reform would render baseless the criticisms of [Luther and his Protestant] reformers and would spread naturally from the head to the members … Apart from their immediate assault on morality, the prints that constitute I Modi … emanated from the power center, and they seemed to offer a peek under the elegant drapery of its noble iconography. They unmasked Papal Rome, stripping the clothes off its figurations. Giberti recognized that this, and not simply the affront to morality, was the true offense delivered by the publication of I Modi.”

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Image 11

I Modi Posture 11 ~~ Engraving by Marcantonio Raimondi, after Giulio Romano’s Drawing (c. 1524) ~~ (Top Left) I Modi Posture 9 ~~ Woodblock print (c. 1550) with Sonnet by Pietro Aretino ~~ (Bottom Right)

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To make matters worse, Aretino wrote the Sonetti Lussuriosi (Lascivious Sonnets) to accompany Raimondi’s prints of Giulio’s drawings, and the poems appeared in print by 1527. The “verses added by Aretino compounded the insult [of Giulio’s drawings] by taking overt aim at the clergy and culture of papal Rome, announcing, among other things, that sodomy is ‘the food of prelates’, the trademark of ‘all the grandi’ and of ‘Fra Mariano’ – Fra Mariano da Firenze, a Dominican friar who was a favorite of the Medici popes. The poems are studded with the names of famous courtesans of Rome known to service members of the papal court.” As mentioned in Chapter 2, Aretino’s satirical sonnets revealed the duplicity of the Catholic Church, contributing further to the scandal in Rome, and compelling Aretino to escape north to Mantua. Aretino’s “anti-Rome writings during this period provoked protests from the pope, making his continued residency in Gonzaga’s court impractical, and in March 1527 [the polemicist] moved to Venice … Thus, the effort of [papal] repression backfired. Giberti’s strong-arm tactics provoked Aretino, in the safe havens of Mantua and then Venice, to propagate the pornography in open resistance to Rome …” (Nagel, 2011, pp. 225-8).

Aretino‘s crude poetry in his Sonetti Lussuriosi accompanying I Modi, moreover, mocked the tradition of lyrical love-writing that had come down from Petrarch, and served to heighten the prints’ notoriety (Barolsky, 2000). Petrarch, the famous Renaissance poet, scholar, and companion of princes, was likewise one of the founders of Humanism. As we saw before, this movement was generally in favor of individual liberty and Republicanism; Humanism also emphasized the lessons of ancient texts as a means to better the contemporaneous world. The study of antiquity under Humanism greatly influenced the visual arts, as well. Artists used ancient models for inspiration and created their own artworks, thereby associating Humanism with the highest triumphs of the Renaissance. Giulio was so well-versed in the study of classical antiquity, that the ancient world often influenced his inventions.

Talvacchia contends that Giulio’s I Modi could be traced to the “sex manuals of the Hellenistic world, in Ovid’s catalogue of amorous positions … more specifically, they are indebted to ancient Roman medals or spintriae ” (as cited in Barolsky, 2000, p. 767). Talvacchia also points out that the writings of Pirro Ligorio, the designer of the gardens at Bomarzo, refer to the terms spintria and spintrie. In his Antichità romane, Ligorio discoursed on these ancient, erotic medals. Ligorio’s texts, probably written during 1571 to 1583, remained in manuscript form, despite being intended for publication (1997).

Giulio’s I Modi were viewed as anything but an artistic triumph by Papal officials; they wanted to arrest the artist for his shocking drawings of sexual positions. Barolsky relates the legend that held that Giulio had no choice but to flee Rome, because he was afraid of the Pope’s wrath (2000). If Giulio had remained in Rome, would he have been imprisoned? Belluzzi argues against this, stressing that the relationship between Giulio and the Pope remained mostly positive even after this scandalous incident, due to the high esteem the Pope had for Giulio. Vasari had also underscored that Giulio was a “very intimate friend” of Giberti, as well. It was Giberti who had earlier commissioned the Stoning of St. Stephen from the artist for the Genoese monastery of Santo Stefano (as cited in Tafuri, 1998, p. 15). And so it came to pass that Giulio

39 escaped Raimondi’s doom, and spent the remainder of his life in Mantua (Belluzzi & Forster, 1998).

Vasari wrote about the Modi scandal in his life of Raimondi. The biographer alluded to Giulio’s obscene prints and Aretino’s mocking sonnets:

“In which regard, I do not know which is uglier, the spectacle of Giulio’s drawings to the eye, or Aretino’s words to the ears.”

(as cited in Gombrich, 1998, p. 7).

While still in Rome, Giulio acted as an agent to Castiglione, acquiring Roman artworks for the courtier and Humanist author, when he was in Mantua. Castiglione additionally served as the Mantuan ambassador to Pope Leo X; during his tenure, Castiglione kept the Gonzaga informed of artistic events in the Vatican. In 1519, Marchese Francesco Gonzaga died. His son and successor, Federico II Gonzaga, contacted Castiglione – who was friends with Raphael and Giulio – for tomb designs. Arrangements were made to have Raphael provide these, yet Raphael himself had died the next year. About this time, Castiglione's wife also died; in 1523, Castiglione wrote his will, directing that Giulio would design his family burial chapel in the Church of Santa Maria delle Grazie near Mantua. Around this time, negotiations for Giulio to serve as the Gonzaga court artist were then begun by Castiglione, whose role in influencing Giulio’s career was significant.

Giulio was likewise recommended to Federico by Aretino, who also worked as an art agent and political influencer, when he was not busy composing Sonetti Lussuriosi and unveiling the double standards of the Church. By 1524, Giulio's prospect to enter the service of Federico II Gonzaga was stimulated by his stature as Raphael's successor. Yet it was Giulio’s profound expertise in the antique that was a key factor in his obtaining the position of court artist to Federico Gonzaga. Giulio’s move to Mantua from Rome proved to be critical to his continuing career. Artistic patronage in the Eternal City decreased, following Leo X’s death in 1521 and the devastating Sack of Rome in 1527.

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CHAPTER 6: MANTUA: FEDERICO II GONZAGA AS PATRON

Giulio’s new patron, Federico II Gonzaga, was the son and heir of the Marquis of Mantua, Francesco II Gonzaga (1466-1519), and his wife Isabella d’Este (1474-1539). In 1530, Holy Roman Emperor Charles V elevated Federico II Gonzaga from Marquis to the first Duke of Mantua, and Mantua to a Duchy, after being impressed with Giulio’s masterwork, Palazzo del Te (as discussed above). In 1531, Federico wed Margherita Paleologa. In 1536 – partly due to his association with Margherita – Charles V granted Federico the disputed Piedmontese Duchy of Monferrato, thereby supplementing Gonzaga territory. In the 1530s, Federico II Gonzaga reached the height of his power. He had numerous military obligations stemming from his early marquisate. Despite his responsibilities as a ruler, he involved himself in major artistic projects, including building projects. He was a great builder, as an Italian prince was obligated to be – in The Courtier, Castiglione had written that the desire to construct great buildings was one of the necessary virtues of a great prince (Chambers & Martineau, 1981).

Federico II Gonzaga was also a discriminating patron, who sought out the best artists from Rome, Venice, and other European centers. Of the foremost Italian artists, he patronized Titian (Tiziano Vecellio, c. 1488-1576) and Correggio (Antonio Allegri, 1489-1534), in addition to hiring Giulio as his court artist. The Venetian Titian began painting for Federico in 1523, the year prior to Giulio’s arrival in Mantua. Federico’s mother, Isabella d’Este, was the sister of Titian’s earlier patron, Alfonso I d’Este. Although Titian mainly painted portraits for the Mantuan court in the 1520s, he was exposed to the Romanist art of Giulio while in Mantua. Titian provided a variety of works for several of his princely patrons, including 11 portraits of Roman emperors (destroyed) and the Madonna with the Rabbit (c. 1530, Louvre) for the Gonzaga.

While in Venice, Titian had become friends with Jacopo Sansovino (Jacopo Tatti), the sculptor and architect, as well as Pietro Aretino. This was the same Aretino, who had contributed salacious sonnets to Giulio’s I Modi drawings of sexual positions, thereby contributing to the outrage in Papal Rome. While Raimondi had been jailed during the scandal, Aretino had been forced to temporarily flee from Rome. Even during the early 1520s, the writer had sought new patrons away from Rome; he focused his efforts on Federico II Gonzaga in Mantua. In 1525, Aretino commissioned from Sansovino a Laocoön sculpture for Federico (Boucher, 1991; Pope-Hennessy, 1970).

After Giulio arrived in Mantua, Correggio executed a set of eight mythological paintings depicting the Loves of Jupiter, as described in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Four paintings were commissioned, in all probability, by various members of the Gonzaga family; these were the School of Love (1525, London), Venus and a Satyr (c. 1528, Louvre), as well as The Virtues and The Vices (1532-34, both Louvre). Federico commissioned an additional four pictures, possibly to decorate his private Ovid Room in

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Giulio’s Palazzo del Te in Mantua. However, Federico would give these paintings to the visiting Imperial Emperor Charles V, probably in 1532, during the second of the monarch’s two visits to Palazzo del Te. The pictures for Federico included Danaë (c. 1531, Rome), Jupiter and Io (1531-2, Vienna), Leda and the Swan (1531-2, Berlin), as well as Ganymede Abducted by the Eagle (1531-2, Vienna). Gould pointed out that “a taste for mythological pictures has always been associated with princes, and there was no court at Parma when Correggio was living there in the 1520s. Apart from a brief period of French occupation, the city at that time was a papal appanage” (1970, p. 5).

At Mantua, Federico Gonzaga not only created a glittering court, he also amplified the cultural supremacy of the city-state, partly because the range of his artistic patronage was so impressive. Under Federico’s leadership, the court’s authority and cachet increased. Since Giulio’s appointment as Mantua’s official court artist occurred during this period, the artist had to create edifices and visual representations that showcased the ever-more prestigious status of Federico. All of the Duke’s artists endeavored to boost Federico’s public image. The goals were to present the Duke as a “munificent and cultured player on the stage of Europe‘s courts”; as well as to call forth his status and alliance with Charles V (Cox-Rearick, 1999, p. 14; Forster & Tuttle, 1971).

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CHAPTER 7: GIULIO ROMANO’s COMPETITION: LOCAL ARTISTIC MILIEU IN MANTUA ~~ 1460-1546

The historical and aesthetic context of Giulio’s decorative innovations at his Palazzo del Te revolves around the fact that prior to the Roman artist’s arrival in Mantua in 1524, Federico had already established working relationships with several court artists. These court artists, who would serve as Giulio’s competitors, included: Francesco “Francia” Raibolini, Lorenzo Costa the Elder, the Dossi brothers Dosso and Battista, as well as Lorenzo Leonbruno. And earlier Federico’s father, Francesco II Gonzaga, had patronized Mantegna in addition to other local artists. Mantegna had acted as court artist to various Gonzaga during 1460 to 1506; the artist had been hired by Ludovico III Gonzaga in 1460.

After Mantegna’s death in 1506, several artists came to Mantua to replace him; one of these was the Bolognese artist Francesco Raibolini (1447-1517), known as “Francia”. During Francia’s tenure as official court artist, he painted portraits for the Gonzaga, including one of Federico II as a youth (1510) and one of his mother, Isabella d’Este (1511). Francia was better known for his religious altarpieces, which were of good quality. However, his forms were weak; and ultimately, Francia’s main contribution to the Mantuan court lies in his portraits for his patrons (Freedberg, 1971; Pope-Hennessy, 1987). Not long after Francia came to Mantua, he was joined by the Ferrarese-Bolognese artist, Lorenzo Costa the Elder (1460-1535), who also came to Mantua in the position of official court painter. Also succeeding Mantegna, Costa worked for the parents of Federico, Francesco II Gonzaga and Isabella d’Este. Some years previously, Costa had worked for Duke Ercole I d’Este in Ferrara. Costa’s works consisted of religious paintings, as well as allegorical and mythological paintings; some of these were based on Mantegna’s drawings. Certain works by Costa were located in the Palazzo Ducale in Mantua; his best known works were for Isabella d’Este’s studiolo there. This court artist also painted conventional portraits for his patrons. After Giulio arrived in Mantua and his reputation spread, Costa’s reputation receded into the shadows of the young master, partly due to Costa being an “elderly representative of a courtly style that was passing out of favor…” (Furlotti & Rebecchini, 2008, p. 116).

Dosso Dossi (Giovanni de Luteri, c.1490-1542), another late Renaissance court artist, was a member of the Ferrara school of painting. Dosso was born near Mantua and trained by Costa. In 1514, Dosso began as the principal court artist at Ferrara; Dosso worked with his brother Battista, to support their patrons Duke Alfonso I d’Este and Duke Ercole II d’Este. Dosso worked for three decades at the Ferrara court. This artist produced altarpieces and secular works for the Ferrara court, as well as for the Ferrarese nobility. For the Humanist Ferrarese court, Dosso utilized allegory, mythology, and religious themes in his paintings. The artist’s designs for his patrons also included interior decorations at the Ferrara ducal residences, tapestries, and ephemeral theater sets. Dosso had a close association with the Gonzaga court in Mantua; he and Giulio corresponded with each other about their assignments, and they competed against each

43 other (Fiorenza, 2004). Vasari and Paolo Giovio, the main adviser of the first edition of Vasari’s Vite (1550), described Dosso as a good painter of landscapes (Colby, 2008). Dosso painted portraits for his patrons, the Dukes of Ferrara and the d’Este family, as well. However, as Colantuono points out, Dosso’s portraits comprised part of a “standard genre of courtly portraiture” (2010, p. 220).

The artist and architect Lorenzo Leonbruno (c. 1489-1537), a pupil of Mantegna, also completed artworks for the court in his local Mantua. The art historian Carlo D’Arco related how Leonbruno was receiving a regular salary from Francesco II Gonzaga by 1512, for his services as the principal, official artist at the Gonzaga court (1857). After Giulio’s arrival in Mantua in 1524, Leonbruno’s painting for his Gonzaga patrons decreased. Leonbruno did paint some portraits, but of the Gonzaga horses (considered lost). Leonbruno’s works included religious, allegorical, and mythological paintings, some located in the Palazzo Ducale. Also, certain decorative frescoes in various rooms of Gonzaga residences were attributed to Leonbruno; however, Popham denigrated Leonbruno’s frescoes (1523) at the Castello in Mantua as “naïve productions” (1957, p. 26). As a court artist, Leonbruno’s style soon fell out of favor. And it was not long before Giulio “eclipsed the provincial Leonbruno” (Bourne, 2010, p. 169). Leonbruno and Costa were both considered “old-fashioned artists” by Federico as early as 1519, when he succeeded his father as Marquis of Mantua (Hope, 1981, p. 73).

Hartt argued that Giulio’s arrival in Mantua “drastically changed what had been a situation of provincial backwardness since Mantegna died in 1506, existing on… the late works of the resident Lorenzo Costa, the minor Leonbruno, and on assorted imports” (1958, pp. 68-70). Centuries earlier, Vasari had observed that in sharp contrast to the traditional, local artists Federico employed as court artists, the Duke was so captivated by Giulio’s artistic genius and versatility that the ruler granted Giulio a princely status, and the artist became a citizen of Mantua in 1525. Eventually, Federico entrusted Giulio with the management of virtually all of the artistic activity in the city of the Gonzaga.

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CHAPTER 8: GIULIO ROMANO’S PALAZZO DEL TE ~~ c. 1525-36

Giulio shared his chief patron's sophisticated taste and passion for antiquity. Federico Gonzaga had acquired his love of antique art as a youth, while he had been held hostage by Pope Julius II in Rome for several years. Federico’s father, Marquis Francesco II Gonzaga, had been forced to hand Federico over as a captive, in order to obtain his own release after being captured and imprisoned by Venice. Although Francesco had then been an adversary of Venice, as leader of Julius II’s anti-Venetian Holy League (discussed above), previously he had fought in the service of the Serene Republic, as Captain General of the Venetian armies. These were all conditions of Francesco working as a condottiere during the fluctuating political alliances of the times. In 1510, Julius II had organized it that the child Federico would be kept hostage at the Papal court in Rome instead of in Venice.

Federico, in addition to his enthusiasm for antiquity and imperial themes, was also passionate about horses and his mistress, Contessa Isabella Boschetti, wife of Giovanni Calvisano of Mantua. Although Verheyen believed that the relationship between Federico and Boschetti was acknowledged and even supported by the public, with Boschetti often acting as Marchesa of Mantua (1977); Furlotti and Rebecchini disagree, maintaining that the affair between Federico and the married Boschetti was surrounded by disgrace (2008). Federico and Boschetti had two children, Emilia and Alessandro, born in 1517 and 1520 respectively. Gombrich maintained that close to the time when Charles V promoted Federico to ducal status, Boschetti’s sway over Federico was at its peak (1980). Federico’s mistress actually surpassed his mother, Isabella d’Este, in influence over him, rendering Federico’s mother extremely jealous. Nonetheless, the layout of Isabella d'Este's studiolo in the Mantua Castello was used as a guide for the arrangement of Boschetti's apartment in the original villa which developed into the Palazzo del Te.

The Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36), to a certain extent a pleasure-retreat for Federico and Boschetti, was designed and built by Giulio on an island, Isola Te. This island connected the fortified city of Mantua, then surrounded entirely by lakes, with the mainland. The site chosen was on the edge of marshes outside of the city walls. The meadows of the Te were where the Gonzaga bred their famous horses, which were used in racing and warfare. The original plan, probably from 1525 or 1526, was to add a frescoed banquet hall to pre-existing stables (Hartt & Wilkins, 2003). In 1527, the building of Palazzo del Te began, when Giulio improved some existing structures, which were west of Mantua. After Federico saw that Giulio had tremendous talent and a vast imagination, the Marquis began thinking about extending the structure into a princely palace. Verheyen contends that Federico desired that the palace would “express his power and status, and provide him a refuge from official cares” (1977, p. 13).

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Image 12

Plan of Palazzo del Te (1783) ~~ Mantua

Antonio Maria Campi and Cristofo Dall’Acqua Vicentino

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Belluzzi, who conducted a monumental, detailed analysis of Palazzo del Te (1998), concludes that from the beginning, the palazzo was mostly envisioned for the recreation of the marquis. The palace was also to be a place of splendid entertainments. It was only later that Federico intended that the palazzo would serve the purpose of impressing Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (Bazzotti, 2013; Chambers & Martineau, 1981). The ultimate result was the Palazzo del Te: a horse-farm for the court, a place of entertainment for royalty and nobility, and a magnificent suburban villa-palace (Schneider Adams, 2001).

Architecture

The suburban location of Palazzo del Te on the outskirts of Mantua permitted a combining of both palace and villa architecture, similar to that of the Villa Chigi- Farnesina in Rome. The shell of the building, which was to evolve into the Palazzo del Te, was erected in about 18 months. The palazzo is a square house built around a cloistered cortile (courtyard). A formal garden complemented the house; this was enclosed by colonnaded out-buildings. Later, a semi-circular colonnade, known as the Esedra, was added. The three exterior façades have flat pilasters against rusticated walls, unified by Giulio’s use of a Roman Doric order. This order contains the ground story and a mezzanine. The second story is rusticated in flat, Albertian blocks, foreshadowing similar ones repeated later by Peruzzi in his Palazzo Massimo alle Colonne in Rome (begun in 1532). At Giulio’s Palazzo del Te, the windows and arches of the first story are so heavily rusticated, that their quoins and archivolts appear to expand. Overall, the unusual rustication creates feelings of tension and compression. Giulio intentionally created a conflict, in which formlessness and form appear to struggle against each other (Hartt & Wilkins, 2003). Giulio’s design recalled architecture of the Ancient Romans, who had mixed rustication with the orders, especially in monuments of the reign of Claudius. For Giulio “the mixture was a sophisticated Mannerist trait intended … to enhance the visual fascination of his designs. The notion expressed by Serlio [was] that the rusticated orders also conveyed impregnability…” (Howard, 1975, p. 45).

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Image 13

Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36) ~~ Mantua Aerial View Giulio Romano

(Image courtesy of R. Merlo)

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Image 14

Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36) ~~ Mantua North Façade Giulio Romano

(Image courtesy of M. Sullivan)

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The East façade differs from the other two, with Palladian motifs on its pilaster, as well as an open loggia at its center, rather than an arch to the cortile. Although the façades appear symmetrical, they are not. Also, the spans between the columns are irregular. The center of the North and South façades are punctuated by two-story arches without portico or pediment; there is just a covered way leading to the interior cortile. In the cortile (courtyard) of the palace, the colonnaded walls are decorated on all sides by deep niches and blind windows. During the early 16th century, an important element of the exterior décor at the Palazzo del Te had been that Federico’s large collection of antique sculptures had been displayed in the niches of the exterior walls. By 1536, the sculptor Alfonso Lombardi had observed that the Duke had “half a small Rome of antiquities in Mantua” (as cited in Furlotti & Rebecchini, 2008, p. 170). Giulio utilized spezzato (broken and blemished plaster) to spatter the intervening surfaces between the colonnaded walls. In the courtyard, the Albertian blocks have grown larger, and some are roughened, as if “the conflict between form and formlessness in the outer façades had ended in the fusion of extremes”. Few windows overlook the inner cortile. The windows that do exist are capped by pediments, whose sharp angles do not quite meet at the apex. The rusticated keystones are raised slightly in comparison to the neighboring stones. Between every two columns, the central triglyph drops down, leaving a blank hole above it. Although Giulio’s treatment occurs on only two of the inner façades of the courtyard; the earlier Renaissance harmony of forms and sense of order are overall confronted by what seem to be internal forces. There is a large amount of texture and relief, and the various architectural elements appear to press against each other in Giulio’s innovative scheme. Giulio intentionally exhibited a disregard for the rules of both High Renaissance and classical architecture at his Mantuan palace. The effect on the contemporaneous viewer must have been extremely striking (Hartt & Wilkins, 2003, p. 627). Despite going against the accepted, Renaissance architectural tradition at his Palazzo del Te, Giulio succeeded in creating a “harmony of experiences out of dissonant effects” (Rowe & Satkowski, 2002, p. 80). At his famous palace, Giulio additionally made exceptional challenges to architectural convention, on a level as profound as that achieved by Michelangelo. Notable were Michelangelo’s Laurentian Library (begun in 1524) for the Medici in Florence (as we saw above). And later in Rome, in Michelangelo’s design for the remodeling of the Piazza del Campidoglio (1536-46) for Paul III, along with its floor space and façades of the surrounding buildings. The Piazza del Campidoglio was a monumental civic plaza on Capitoline Hill, where Michelangelo re-established the grandeur of ancient, Republican Rome. It is significant that Michelangelo’s patron of the Piazza del Campidoglio, the Farnese Pope Paul III, wanted to make an impression on the Emperor; Charles V was anticipated to arrive in the Eternal City in 1538 – and the Pope desired a symbol of the new Rome for the benefit of the visiting monarch. Some years earlier Giulio’s patron, Federico II Gonzaga, had also intended to impress the Emperor at his Palazzo del Te in the city of the Gonzaga.

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Image 15

Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36) ~~ Mantua Cortile (Courtyard) Giulio Romano

(Image courtesy of K. Mencher)

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Interior Decorations

Giulio strategically planned that the exterior of Palazzo del Te would coordinate with his interior decorations. It was in the interiors at Palazzo del Te that Holy Roman Emperor Charles V was lavishly entertained in 1530 and again in 1532. To decorate the interiors of the Palazzo del Te, a team of plasterers, carvers, fresco-painters, and stucco-artists labored for an entire decade (c. 1526-36) under Giulio’s direction. Local decorative painters, such as Rinaldo Mantovano and Benedetto Pagni, worked extensively on the frescoes, which remain the most spectacular feature of Palazzo del Te. The frescoes’ subjects range from erotic, Olympian banquets in the Sala di Psiche (Room of Psyche), based on the legends of Apuleius, to giants wreaking havoc in the Sala dei Giganti, based on the fables of Ovid. The two most important rooms in Palazzo del Te, the Sala di Psiche and the Sala dei Giganti, are those that created the greatest impact on Holy Roman Emperor Charles V during his two visits to the palace in the early 1530s. Hartt maintained that to understand the Sala di Psiche and the Sala dei Giganti, the two rooms must be analyzed in connection with one another, because the two rooms are counterparts (1958).

Sala di Psiche

In Giulio’s Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28), the decorative scheme features extremely audacious, amorous themes revolving around the life of Cupid and Psyche, as related by Apuleius. For the Sala di Psiche, Furlotti and Rebecchini provide a description: “The decoration is spread across the ceiling, the lunettes, and the upper parts of the walls, and the individual scenes, illuminated by a soft, nocturnal light, are represented with extreme foreshortening. The frescoes on the walls themselves [include the] remarkable vision of Cupid and Psyche’s Wedding Banquet, … as well as the solitary and gigantic figure of Polyphemus… He … prefigures the giants painted in the Sala dei Giganti.” The walls feature a vista of gods, nymphs, satyrs, and animals set against lush, green foliage. The passionate themes in this room suggest that Giulio and Federico shared the same taste in sensual subject matter. In the 16th century, artist, patron, and visitors alike enjoyed the huge, erotic scene of Jupiter Seducing Olympias – in which the copulating Jupiter symbolizes Federico and Olympias is depicted with the features of Isabella Boschetti. The contemporary viewer, conversely, usually finds this tableau shocking, considering the now public location (2008, p. 143).

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Image 16

Wedding of Cupid and Psyche (c. 1526-28) Frescoes ~~ Sala di Psiche ~~ South Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 17

Cupid and Psyche (c. 1526-28) Fresco ~~ Sala di Psiche ~~ South Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 18

Sala di Psiche Frescoes (c. 1526-28) ~~ West Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 19

Sala di Psiche Frescoes (c. 1526-28) ~~ North Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 20

Sala di Psiche Frescoes (c. 1526-28) with Polyphemus ~~ East Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 21

Jupiter seduces Olympias (c. 1526-28) Fresco ~~ Sala di Psiche ~~ East Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Tafuri dug deeper, when he argued that the seeming libertinism of Giulio’s Jupiter Seduces Olympias in the Sala di Psiche, although cloaked as a mythological representation, nonetheless recalled the libertinism of Giulio’s explicit I Modi. As we saw previously, at the time of the I Modi scandal, Giulio’s drawings, Raimondi’s engravings, and Aretino’s lascivious sonnets synergistically merged to denounce the duplicity of Papal Rome, in the most overt and outrageous manner possible. Tafuri suggested that the strong social critique inherent in I Modi was also at work in Giulio’s Sala di Psiche at Palazzo del Te (1998).

Verheyen believed that Aretino was an inspiration for the imagery in Giulio’s Sala di Psiche. The noted scholar interpreted the mythological stories of Ariadne, as well as of Pasiphaë and Olympias, as “allusions to the love of Federico for the married Boschetti” (1977, p. 26). Bazzotti acknowledges that it could be possible to interpret Apuleius’ myth as a metaphor for the love affair between Federico and Boschetti, with a mistrustful Venus portraying Federico’s jealous mother, Isabella d’Este (2013).

In the Sala di Psiche, Giulio’s decorations depict mythological themes on a massive scale. In this room, the frescoes may be interpreted after Filippo Beroaldus’ Commentary on Apuleius from 1500, in which the famous Humanist noted that the literary source of the tales of Amor and Psyche (Federico and Boschetti, respectively) was Apuleius’ Golden Ass or Metamorphoses (Bertelli, Cardini, & Zorzi, 1986). Beroaldus referred to Fulgentius' reading of the myth, in which Fulgentius had declared that the entire fable should be interpreted allegorically. According to Fulgentius, “the state (civitas) of which Psyche’s father is king is the world (mundus), the king is really God (deus), the queen is matter (materia), and their three children are Flesh (caro), Free Will (libertas arbitrii), and of course the Soul (Anima). Cupid is naturally Desire (cupiditas) which can be for both good and evil” (Hartt, 1950, p. 167).

In addition, several modern scholars contended that Colonna’s famous dream romance, Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, published in 1499, was an inspiration for the imagery in the Sala di Psiche (Gombrich, 1980; Hartt, 1958; Verheyen, 1977). The Hypnerotomachia Poliphili was a mysterious allegory in which Poliphilo pursued his love Polia through a landscape within layers of dreams; he was reconciled with her at last by the fountain of Venus. The Hypnerotomachia represented part of the Humanist tradition of arcane writings which demonstrated classical thought. The Hypnerotomachia gave emphasis to the union of contraries, through ciphers, which entertained while they instructed the hero (Wind, 1968). In the Sala di Psiche, the Hypnerotomachia supplied creative stimulus to Giulio, and to his patron Federico as well — prompted by Colonna’s description of the sumptuous banquet of the gods on the Island of Cythera, also known as the Island of Venus. In this room of Giulio’s, the frescoed banquets of Cupid and Psyche may be construed as taking place on the Island of Cythera, while bringing to mind the Island of the Te (Etlin, 2012).

In 1527, Aretino had written a letter to the Marquis about a marble Venus sculpture by Jacopo Sansovino which was so voluptuous that every viewer who beheld the statue would be aroused. Federico then planned that this Venus sculpture should be

59 placed in the center of the Sala di Psiche, to make Colonna’s reference to the goddess of love on her island all the more explicit. It remains unknown whether the statue ever reached Mantua, and the figure has been lost (Huse & Wolters, 1990).

Hartt furthermore put forth the idea that Mario Equicola, the illustrious Humanist at the Gonzaga court, influenced the iconographic program in the Sala di Psiche. From 1495 to 1525, Equicola had written his compilation of love legends, Di Natura d'Amore, in which an entire chapter had been dedicated to Cupid and Psyche. Equicola cited Fulgentius' construal of the myth, just as Beroaldus had done. From Equicola as well, one is able to infer that a Neo-Platonic reading of the fable of Cupid and Psyche was possible at the court of Mantua (1958). Gombrich pointed out that Hartt “followed the trend of the post-war period in emphasizing the allegorical import of the topics represented, seeing in the Psyche room ‘a sort of Neoplatonic ascensio, from inanimate matter to the godhead’ “ (1980, p. 70). Bazzotti agrees: “The journey … from eroticism and the weaknesses of the flesh to the tale of Cupid and Psyche, can be seen as a neo- Platonic progression, extolling the sacredness of marriage, pacification of the spirit, and immortality” (2013, p. 169).

As discussed in Chapter 5 in the section on Raphael’s and Giulio’s Loggia di Psiche at the Villa Chigi-Farnesina in Rome, Apuleius’ tale of Cupid and Psyche was during the Renaissance one of the major fables of Plato’s ladder of love, which pulls us in an unbroken climb from our carnal desires toward divine love. Apuleius’ story of Psyche’s ordeals and her rise to heaven were interpreted by Church dignitaries and others as a metaphor of the psyche – or Soul – as conflicted by sensual longings, and that it was the Soul which won this battle (officially, at least).

Throughout Giulio’s Room of Psyche at the Palazzo del Te in Mantua, painting is combined with sculptural ornamentation, and Giulio’s “supreme adaptability … is expressed in one technique after another. Raphael’s love of the classical world and serene vision dwell side by side with the striking physicality of Michelangelo” (as cited in Furlotti & Rebecchini, 2008, p. 169).

Hartt highlighted the ceiling of the Sala di Psiche at the Palazzo del Te. In discussing Giulio’s gods and goddesses, the academic maintained that “Giulio goes back to Raphael still. The deities are arranged on their clouds with some similarity to the … poses of the Farnesina” (1950, p. 166). Ambrosio agrees with Hartt, arguing that the Loggia di Psiche at the Villa Chigi-Farnesina is a precursor to the Sala di Psiche at Palazzo del Te (1991). Later in Rome, Perino del Vaga’s frescoes of the Marriage of Cupid and Psyche (1545-7) in the Castel Sant’Angelo for Pope Paul III would recall Giulio’s frescoes of the same subject matter in his Sala di Psiche at Palazzo del Te in Mantua, as well as Raphael’s and Giulio’s Loggia di Psiche at the Villa Chigi-Farnesina in Rome.

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Image 22 Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) ~~ Vaulted Ceiling Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 23

Sala di Psiche (c. 1526-28) ~~ Ceiling Detail ~~ with Extreme Foreshortening Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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In the vaulted ceiling of the Sala di Psiche at Palazzo del Te, Hartt explained, moreover, that one sees examples of adaptation of the North Italian illusionist style (1958). Gilbert furthermore asserted that in the Sala di Psiche, Giulio was influenced by Correggio’s illusionism in his frescoed dome (1526-30) at the Parma Cathedral; the scholar argued that Correggio and Giulio actually impacted each other (1959).

By 1530, the Palazzo del Te was not yet complete, but more than half of the decorative scheme was finished prior to the first visit of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. The imperial monarch visited the Palazzo del Te twice, in 1530 and 1532. The Sala di Psiche was finished before the emperor’s first visit, but the Sala dei Giganti was not yet completed. Nonetheless, Federico wanted to show off his building to the Emperor. For Federico, the palace’s partial completion was an attempt to rival – even outshine – the marvels of Rome (Bourne, 2010).

On Saturday, the 2nd of April, 1530, Charles V was a guest of Marquis Federico II Gonzaga. The Holy Roman Emperor travelled in procession – with “all the Princes, Lords and noblemen and with the Lord Marquis [Federico]” – to the Palazzo del Te, where he spent a long time admiring the palace and its superb decoration (Bazzotti, 2013, p. 191). As we saw earlier, Federico “himself explained the decoration of the palace to the emperor, and the emperor’s delight with and approval of this building and its splendor was as much a success for Federico as was any political settlement which resulted from the emperor’s visit” (Verheyen, 1977, p. 22).

Luigi Gonzaga provided an account of the emperor’s 1530 visit to Mantuan territory and the Palazzo del Te, in the former’s Cronaca (chronicle):

His Majesty arrived at the Palazzo Te, dismounted, and entered into that large and beautiful hall, where he stood looking for a long time. Then he progressed on to the Camerone [Sala di Psiche], and, seeing it, His Majesty remained awed and stood there for more than half an hour looking, contemplating, praising highly each thing. Next he entered another room, which is called the Room of the Planets and the Winds, where the above-mentioned Signor Marchese [Federigo] now lodges. His Majesty liked this room a great deal. Then they went into another room, called the Room of the Eagles, which is very beautiful and which has two splendid doors of oriental jasper... The room also has fireplaces made with a very fine mixture of stone, where fires are made. His Majesty carefully turned to see everything. From there they passed into the Loggia, which was not yet decorated, but His Majesty understood all [of the decoration] that would result. And then he went into the garden, all of which he liked, including the progress of the buildings begun around that garden. From there His Majesty returned to dine, eating in the large Camerone [Sala di Psiche] at the left, where there is that window which overlooks the garden.

(as cited in Verheyen, 1977, p. 22).

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As we saw in Chapter 4, Charles V and Federico Gonzaga dined alone in the Sala di Psiche during the Emperor’s 1530 visit to the palace. The situation was extremely awkward for the marquis, because Federico had previously been in the service of the Empire's enemies. We saw before that in this camerone (large room), the inscription on the architrave pronounced: "Federico II Gonzaga, Fifth Marquis of Mantua, Captain General of the Florentine Republic, ordered this palace built for honest leisure after work to restore strength in quiet” (Elmer, 2000, p. 72). This inscription underscored Federico’s previous contract with Charles’ enemy, the pope, as Captain General of the Papacy and of the Florentine Republic. And yet surprisingly, the Imperial Emperor apparently was not put off by this shocking declaration. During his first visit to Palazzo del Te, the royal monarch was especially astounded by Giulio’s Sala di Psiche. Luigi’s Cronaca confirmed that Charles V returned to this room over and over again, because it “had pleased His Majesty exceedingly”. The Cronaca also proclaimed that the emperor spent a long time greatly admiring all of the rooms at the palace. And as recorded in this account of the imperial visit, “His Majesty found it all to be marvelous”. Charles also praised “the Maestro and inventor of these [Giulio] and of a diversity of things that will be…, and so minutely did His Majesty wish to know everything”. Thus did Giulio and his patron Federico receive from the Holy Roman Emperor the highest form of public recognition (as cited in Bazzotti, 2013, p. 191).

Although all of the work had not yet been finished at the Palazzo del Te during his 1530 visit – and even in the face of the obvious notice in the Sala di Psiche about Federico’s previous allegiance to Florence – Charles V was so impressed with the brilliance of Giulio’s Palazzo del Te that the monarch became overwhelmed. Afterwards, Holy Roman Emperor Charles V elevated Federico II Gonzaga to the first Duke of Mantua, a “significant event in Federico Gonzaga’s ascendancy”. The rise in rank for Federico held additional significance: it established his position within the powerful Habsburg dynasty (Chambers & Martineau, 1981, p. 79). At the same time, the city-state of Mantua was also promoted to a Duchy by the Emperor. It was then that Federico II Gonzaga achieved some of his highest political ambitions. Verheyen asserted that Giulio’s work at the Palazzo del Te had comprised a “propagandistic effort” to create for the duke an image which increased Federico’s reputation outside his territory (1977, p. 22). Verheyen’s definition of “propagandistic” differs somewhat from that of Adorno, as we will soon see.

As we discussed in Chapter 4, the constantly fluctuating political allegiances of North Italian politics entailed an extremely cautious and complex approach to foreign policy, as emphasized by Machiavelli in his Prince. Federico had learned his lesson, and was on the right side of the Empire, at least for the interim. The noncommittal decorative scheme of the Palazzo del Te – in which there were absolutely no direct, unmistakable references to Charles V anywhere in the palace – implies that Federico was exhibiting the typical, Italian caution in his artistic undertakings. Federico was hesitant to be that associated with the Holy Roman Emperor. And as we saw in Chapter 4, Eisler had pointed out that there was a huge amount of calculation evident in Giulio’s Palazzo del

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Te. Federico’s alliance with the emperor was “referred to only in symbolic terms … Perhaps Federico feared a sudden reversal of Charles’ political fortunes, which would transform an explicit apotheosis of the Emperor into an embarrassing reminder of a past mistake” (as cited in Elmer, 2000, p. 73).

Not until 1532, and the Imperial Emperor’s second trip to Mantua, did Federico have the confidence to make his backing of the emperor known in the iconographical program executed by Giulio in the newly decorated Sala dei Giganti, as well as in other rooms at the Palazzo del Te (Elmer, 2000). For the emperor’s second visit to the Palazzo del Te, the new duke ordered Giulio and his assistants to complete certain rooms in the palace, along with the first two walls of the Sala dei Giganti, so that Federico could further impress Charles V.

Sala dei Giganti

In juxtaposition to Giulio’s Sala di Psiche is the Sala dei Giganti (c. 1530-34) – the most stupefying room in the Palazzo del Te. In this chamber, the viewer sees a cycloramic fresco cycle which depicts the Fall of the Giants myth from Ovid’s Metamorphoses (1.151-168). Giulio portrays the high point of Ovid’s narrative: Jupiter hurls thunderbolts against the rebellious giants, while the Olympian gods and goddesses scream as they try to get away, and below, the trounced-upon giants appeal to Jupiter with their hands. There is a contrast in types and poses -- classical for the gods, grotesque for the giants -- that Giulio used to communicate the clash between Good and Evil (Taylor, 1999). The Giants are “crushed by the rocks they had piled up in order to storm Olympus” (Belluzzi, 1998, p. 440). The destruction of the colossal giants and the collapse of their palaces upon them are so graphically depicted, that most spectators feel as if they are part of the dramatic setting. Hartt summed up the Sala dei Giganti as “the most fantastic and frightening creation of the entire Italian Renaissance in any medium” (1958, p. 153). Centuries earlier, Vasari had declared: “Let no one ever imagine seeing a work of the brush that is more horrible and terrifying, or more realistic than this one… and whosoever enters that room… cannot but fear that everything will fall upon him…” Vasari devoted four pages to this room in Giulio’s Vita, portraying it as “the most fantastic composition that he was able to invent”. The artist-biographer described how the “fanciful and ingenious” artist had invented an illusionist space that appeared to be collapsing over one’s head, making it seem that ”the world is upside down and, as it were, come to its last day” (as cited in Taylor, 1999, p. 100).

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Giulio’s powerful type of illusionism in his Sala dei Giganti at the Palazzo del Te held an allure for those who visited the court of the Gonzaga. Carabell examines the decentering elements of the Sala dei Giganti’s unusual decorations and structure, as well as its bewildering effects on the viewer. In the Sala dei Giganti the entire room shows a continuous scene, painted throughout the entire space, and “conceived as a seamless painted environment“. The ceiling, walls, floors, doors, and windows blend together; it is virtually impossible to perceive where the ceiling ends, and where the walls begin. There are no three-dimensional architectural elements to interrupt the walls and floors. Giulio’s floor in the Room of the Giants, originally made from uneven river stones laid on edge, provided a de-stabilizing effect to the visitor (1997, p. 99). Giulio’s original floor was replaced in the second half of the 18th century by Paolo Pozzo, so visitors no longer experience this dimension as intended by the artist.

Bazzotti also mentions the floor effects, as well as the ephemeral lighting effects:

“A pavement of river pebbles and a fireplace … originally positioned in the center of the wall between the windows, increased this sense of alienation, while the flicker of the flames once gave the impression of darting movement to the whole composition. Stretched out above the now vanished chimneypiece is the giant Typhon… and the real fire in the chimneypiece appeared to issue from the giant’s chest”

(2013, p. 248).

Centuries ago, Vasari had described the effect of the fireplace, “which, when there is a fire in it, makes it appear as if the giants are burning” (as cited in Furlotti & Rebecchini, 2008, p. 170). Hartt confirmed that the fireplace used to exist in the Sala dei Giganti. There were actually two fireplaces in the chamber – the real one and the illusionistic one above – where it appeared that the illusionary flames were issuing from the chest of one of the giants (1958). As planned by Giulio, the burning fire provided special, ephemeral lighting effects – the flashing flames illuminated the frescoes of the Fall of the Giants in the most haunting and eerie way, disconcerting viewers of the room.

The Sala dei Giganti has a unique structure. Vasari described how the large space was built with corners which became rounded on top, “after the manner of an oven” (as cited in Furlottti & Rebecchini, 2008, p. 162). Due to the structure of the room, there are acoustic effects which are so shattering that they actually become disorienting to the visitor. Bazzotti describes this “grandiose and bizarre room, which was also notable for its unusual acoustic effects.” The Sala dei Giganti was “shown off for the amusement of guests and was also used as a dining hall and music room” (2013, p. 249). One visitor who was amused by Giulio’s fantastic room was the painter Federico Zuccari, a guest of the Gonzaga in 1603. Zuccari described the famous room and its sound effects:

“The chamber of the Giants struck down by Jove’s thunderbolts was splendid and magnificent for its painting, and for the artifice of that vaulted ceiling, which the musical concerts held here rendered doubly harmonious and pleasing, and furthermore for the secret conversations that can be held in the

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Image 24

Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) Frescoes ~~ Sala dei Giganti ~~ North and West Walls Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of K. Mencher)

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Image 25

Fall of the Giants Fresco (c. 1530-34) ~~ Sala dei Giganti ~~ North Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 26

Frescoes with Illusionism (c. 1530-34) ~~ Sala dei Giganti ~~ South and West Walls Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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corners of this room, which is square-shaped, as those who are in opposite corners may discourse comfortably and chat together even though they are far apart without being overheard by others who are in the same room (a marvelous thing, and a great deal of fun)“

(as cited in Bazzotti, 2013, p. 249).

In addition to the chamber’s distinctive structure, there is a vaulted ceiling. Tremendous visual impact is seen in the ceiling vault (c. 1530) of the Sala dei Giganti, due to its illusionism and imagery. Although Hartt (1958) and Shearman (1959) allowed that it is generally held that the influence of Correggio’s Parma dome (1526-30) is significant for the formulation of the ceiling in Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti, Hartt finds that only the idea of painting the interior of a dome with figures on clouds can be traced to Correggio. Giulio’s figures are near the rim of clouds; but they never get away from the shell, to fly in the airy interior in Correggio’s manner. A continuous illusionistic arrangement links the assemblage of gods among the clouds in the dome with the tumultuous images frescoed on the walls (Belluzzi, 1998).

In both the Sala di Psiche and Sala dei Giganti, Giulio was likely impacted as well by Correggio’s illusionary ceiling at the Benedictine church of San Giovanni Evangelista (c. 1520-24), also in Parma. At San Giovanni Evangelista, Correggio had taken the illusionistic ceiling (c. 1520-22) to new heights, in his frescoes of Christ and the Apostles for the cupola at the church, especially in his Vision of St. John the Evangelist on Patmos (c. 1520-22).

In his frescoes, Correggio treated the entire surface as the vast vault of heaven, in which figures float. The artist created a visual continuity between the architectural interior and its painted surfaces. Correggio's aureole of clouds and figures appear to reside in the same architectural space in which the spectator is situated.

Correggio’s Coronation of the Virgin (1522) at San Giovanni Evangelista, was “a crucial influence on the development of the genre [of] … illusionistic visions of sky and clouds…” Giulio’s and Michelangelo Anselmi’s later Coronation of the Virgin (1540-8) for the church of Santa Maria della Steccata in Parma is an example of this (Kliemann & Rohlmann, 2004, p. 56). At the Steccata, Parmigianino (Francesco Mazzuoli) would execute the fresco decorations (1534-40) above the altar. Earlier, a young Parmigianino had decorated a chapel at San Giovanni Evangelista, while Correggio worked there. Correggio, in his domes, was in turn influenced by Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling (1508-12), Raphael’s dome in the Cappella Chigi (1516) at Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome, and Mantegna’s Camera degli Sposi (1465-74) in Mantua (Gould, 1970).

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Image 27

Frescoes with Illusionism (c. 1530-34) ~~ Sala dei Giganti ~~ Domed Ceiling and South Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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Image 28

Assumption of the Virgin (c. 1526-30) with Illusionism Cupola of Cathedral Duomo (Dome) ~~ Parma Correggio (Antonio Allegri)

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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For the ceiling in Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti, Gilbert observed that Hartt had not thoroughly discussed Giulio’s debt to Mantegna‘s Camera degli Sposi (c. 1465-74) ceiling, which was also located in Mantua; Hartt had pointed out the Camera degli Sposi only as a general influence on Giulio (1959). Yet Giulio’s ceiling vault in the Sala dei Giganti was strongly inspired by Mantegna’s “di sotto in sù ” perspective (perspective from below) in his Camera degli Sposi. The Camera degli Sposi was Mantegna’s masterpiece; it was commissioned by Marquis Ludovico III Gonzaga for a different palace in Mantua, the Palazzo Ducale. Mantegna’s famous chamber features both an illusionistic, di sotto in sù ceiling with trompe l’oeil details; as well as illusionistic wall murals – which include portraits of the Gonzaga family – especially those of Ludovico III (Christiansen, 2009).

Although Mantegna included portraits of his patrons in his wall frescoes, he was also extremely innovative in his illusionistic treatment of the walls and ceiling in the Camera degli Sposi. Mantegna’s ceiling was one of the earliest di sotto in sù ceilings. It features an oculus (c. 1473) – through it, the viewer sees an illusionistic, blue sky. Around the oculus are putti which romp around a balustrade; these putti are heavily foreshortened. On the north wall of the room is the Court Scene, in which Ludovico III Gonzaga is depicted in informal dress; his wife Barbara of Brandenburg is next to him. Their relatives are seated near them, nearby are courtiers who interact in an illusionistically expanded space. On the west wall is the Meeting Scene, in which Ludovico is depicted in his official robes in an idealized meeting with his son, Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga, as well as with the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick III and Christian I of Denmark.

The Camera degli Sposi was the stateliest room in the Palazzo Ducale. It served as the main reception-room at the ducal palace until the middle of the 1530s, when Giulio started to renovate the quarters for the duke. Prestigious visitors like Charles V stayed in the Palazzo Ducale; some even lived in the Camera degli Sposi. However, Giulio believed that this room was not appropriate for a person like the Duke of Mantua; the Roman artist considered the illusionistic treatment of Mantegna’s ceiling and walls as not having the proper decoro needed for a stateroom (Verheyen, 1977).

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Image 29

Camera degli Sposi ~~ Ceiling Oculus (c. 1473) with Illusionism Palazzo Ducale ~~ Mantua Andrea Mantegna

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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For the Palazzo del Te, Giulio and Federico had strategized to some extent that Emperor Charles V, other political rulers, and aristocratic guests would be kept amused. Hartt asserted that the artist and the patron had planned, in part, that this palace and the Sala dei Giganti would be for splendid entertainments for royalty and other noble guests. Yet, there was much more involved behind the scenes. Giulio had consciously calculated that the Sala dei Giganti would produce certain, specific effects in the viewer: the artist had wanted the spectator to feel awe, as well as fear. And the Emperor himself was one of the intended viewers (1950). Giulio succeeded in his mission – the Emperor, the Duke, and other visitors to the Sala dei Giganti were thunderstruck by the artist’s intoxicating illusionism, seamless painted environment, disorienting floor-effects, as well as the ephemeral lighting and sound effects. Giulio’s multi-dimensional techniques aroused in the beholder the mixed feelings of delight and dread – all according to plan (Carabell, 1997).

To this day, the Sala dei Giganti continues to inspire enchantment and fright in the viewer. Carabell contends that the Sala dei Giganti derives its strength from its unusual pictorial construction. More than any other work of the Cinquecento, the room continues “the Albertian notion that painting is like a window in order to exist as a fully autonomous spatial continuum that transforms the spectator into an active participant”. The unique structure of the chamber “enabled the beholder to enter into an acutely visceral and absorptive relationship with representational space … But such a reduction of the liminal field … also instilled in [the visitor] a sense of the uncanny by decentering his status as viewer.” The Sala dei Giganti overcame the two-dimensionality of the picture-plane; also its virtual absence of perimeters required the viewer to “transgress the boundaries between the real and the imaginary“ (1997, pp. 87-91). Ultimately, Giulio’s spectacular Sala dei Giganti is the climax of the Palazzo del Te.

The iconography of the formidable images in Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti have often been interpreted in a political light, usually referring to Federico Gonzaga and H. R. Emperor Charles V. Bazzotti maintains that the frescoes of the Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) in this room may have been intended “as a glorification of Federico, who had triumphed over those who had plotted against him in his court. Federico and Isabella Boschetti, represented by Jove and Juno, are united in adversity and are victorious over the traitors“ (2013, p. 248). Talvacchia contends that in Giulio’s educated frescoes, the artist was also able to pay tribute to both the Duke’s and the Imperial monarch’s expanding power and political triumphs (1988). Bazzotti further adds that Giulio and his patron Federico wanted to reveal to Charles V the corresponding nature of its iconographical subject matter that “alluded to the emperor’s supreme, inviolable power” (2013, p. 247). Furlotti and Rebecchini claim that the subject of the frescoes was meant to honor Emperor Charles V; its political message denoted the Empire’s diplomatic and military success in dealing with its foes (2008).

The iconographical license of the frescoes may eclipse yet another meaning: it is possible that the paintings’ theme honors the power of the leader of the gods, and celebrates the defeat of those who rebel against him. Hartt identified Jupiter as Emperor

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Charles V, and the giants as the Italian princes rebelling against him. Giulio’s Fall of the Giants represents a type of “search for punishment around the time of the Sack of Rome and in the decade immediately following. It is no accident that the Palazzo Doria giants of Perino del Vaga … are also close in time” (Hartt, 1958, p. 158). The scenes of punishment depicted in the frescoes could be inferred as Charles V wanting to punish the evil Signori who attempted to resist the imperial power of the emperor (Hickson, 2009a).

The iconography of the battle in the Fall of the Giants makes reference to the “destruction of one generation by a succeeding one … the Olympians bring a new order to the universe …” (Schneider Adams, 2001, p. 394). Giulio’s shocking massacre-scene in his Fall of the Giants frescoes also reflects the annihilation of many values that had been held in high regard by Italians until the Sack of Rome of 1527. Afterward, the Italian people were forced to embrace the new order of absolutism. And so, “the new despotism [was] enjoined upon body and spirit in the Sala dei Giganti …” (Hartt, 1958, p. 158). As mentioned earlier, the Imperial Monarch was keen to replace the independent Italian republics and city-states with dynastic rule dependent on the Empire. The forced submission to Charles V in Bologna in 1530 was a compulsory capitulation to despised Imperial authority (Hartt, 1950). Paoletti and Radke concur, arguing that Giulio’s building and decorations at Palazzo del Te reflected the “increasingly autocratic and authoritarian political and social realities” of the era (2011, p. 442).

Adorno argued that autonomous artworks reveal to us the ailments of political or social existence – provided that we can interpret the artworks (O’Connor, 2013). He believed that art, especially autonomous art, possesses a critical capacity to criticize society – and that moreover, it is the responsibility of art to do so. Adorno defended this critical function of autonomous art. The theorist thought that if art loses its autonomy, it also loses this key, critical function (Harrison & Wood, 2003). Adorno maintained that an artwork is “always already critical: it is inherently a negotiation with the tradition, with other art works, and thus implicitly evaluation or commentary on the conceptual material” (Thomson, 2006, p. 67). The criticism “inherent in autonomous works, can be made explicit by interpretation” (O’Connor, 2013, p. 179). Adorno’s argument rests on the provision that one may interpret artworks. As discussed earlier, contrary to the scholars who construe Giulio’s Fall of the Giants frescoes as possible praise for the Holy Roman Emperor, I propose that the iconography could also be interpreted in an alternative way – as a covert protest from Giulio to the Emperor, to be seen by the ruler during his second visit to the palace in 1532. (Most of the frescoes in the Sala dei Giganti were completed by then, including some of which were provisional.) It is plausible that Giulio’s intent in his outrageous, oblique message to Charles V was to reproach the absolute monarch for his lack of respect for the political rights and liberties of his subjects. Giulio’s frescoes depicting the Fall of the Giants were executed around the time of Charles V’s gigantic political re-organization of Italy; and Giulio’s patron, Federico Gonzaga, acted – at times – as an ally of the Emperor.

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As mentioned in Chapter 4, a secret meaning similar to that of Giulio’s indirect political protest in his Room of the Giants in Mantua was concealed in Orsini’s gardens (from c. 1547) in the Sacro Bosco at Bomarzo, near Rome, along with its sculptures of monstrous giants executed by Simone Moschino. As in many Late Renaissance works of art, the symbolism that the garden’s designer, Pirro Ligorio, employed often utilized arcane features. Yet, Ligorio’s and Moschino’s creation also bears quite a few similarities to the Fall of the Giants frescoes conceived by Giulio. As we saw before, the Humanist Annibale Caro would later interpret the legend of the giants as “a moral allegory designed to demonstrate that rulers must be gentle and not place themselves above the gods”. Tellini Perina stressed that during this period, the same Ovidian myth of the giants was employed as a message to monarchs – with “Imperial political implications” (as cited in Hickson, 2009a, p. 56). We have seen that Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti had been designed, in part, to entertain Federico’s guests. Additionally, Giulio’s building and decorations at Palazzo del Te, especially in the Sala dei Giganti, served to give Federico and his guests “pleasure in being able to comprehend the sly wit” of the sagacious artist (Paoletti & Radke, 2011, p. 442). Giulio used his sly wit to full advantage in his Room of the Giants, which was also characterized by an oppositional stance to society, as Adorno conceptualized it – in the sense that the artist conceivably concealed a daring political message within his artwork. Although Furlotti and Rebecchini surmise that Giulio’s intent for the Sala dei Giganti ”must have been … to astonish visitors to the palace who … would be startled to witness this cataclysmic scene” (2008, p. 170); Bazzotti explains that in the Sala dei Giganti, a pictorial narrative was conceived by Giulio, with the specific aim of “astonishing” the monarch (2013, p. 247). As discussed in Chapter 4, Giulio had developed the chamber with its multiplicity of techniques with the intent to “astonish” the emperor – not to "please" the imperial monarch. To “astonish” had a dual meaning: it meant to amaze; yet also to strike with sudden fear. Centuries before, Vasari had recorded that Giulio’s figurative scheme indeed had the most alienating and “terrible” effect on its viewers (as cited in Bazzotti, 2013, p. 247).

Giulio’s potential communication to the Imperial Emperor had to be covert, due to the extremely dangerous political environment of the time. The Habsburg monarch was viewed by most Italians as the horrifyingly brutal, foreign invader. Hence any artist’s statement could not be obvious, and as we saw earlier, the Italian Renaissance witnessed the practice of covert criticism of political rulers. At about the same time that Giulio built the Palazzo del Te in Mantua, Michelangelo created his Medici Chapel in Florence (c. 1520s), which was intended as an obscure criticism of the pernicious Medicean reign of power in Florence (Ward, 2015). Adorno thought that artworks should not transparently communicate positions; he believed that this is the purpose of propaganda (Hellings, 2014). Thus Adorno probably would have favored Giulio’s Palazzo del Te, as well as Michelangelo’s Medici Chapel, as these artworks were not blatantly political.

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Adorno actually disapproved of overtly political art – part of the paradox of his theory of autonomous art. The theorist criticized all directly political art (Arato & Gebhardt, 1978). Adorno thought that the autonomy of art is damaged when the artwork expresses overt political or social protest. He also thought that obvious political content in art was not the greatest critical strength of such art. Adorno even distrusted artists who attempted to turn their art toward explicitly political ends (Cook, 2008). Art that is blatantly political was not art, for this philosopher, but rather propaganda. For Adorno, real art was juxtaposed with propaganda. He made a “distinction between real art and ‘art’ that only serves to reify the dominant political landscape.” Adorno wished to propose that real art is the means by which “positive political and cultural change in the direction of true democracy may be occasioned.” And so, Adorno viewed real art as the “catalyst and vehicle for the realization of a much richer and democratic political life” (Lewis, 2005, pp. 45-47). In a different vein, Belluzzi proposes that a precise socio-political interpretation of the decoration might not reflect the intentions of a patron and an artist, who shared an educated and aesthetic appreciation for the purely visual impact of evocative representations of mythological tales (as cited in Cox-Rearick, 1999).

Guthmüller’s research (1977), moreover, revealed that contemporaneous translations of Ovid’s myth had overstated its theme of the defeat of superbia, with a moralizing message in which Jupiter symbolized the Christian God, a powerful connotation which portrayed Charles V as the guardian of religious order. The images of Jupiter overcoming the Giants’ uprising symbolized the victories of the Holy Roman Emperor over the Protestant rebellion during that time. Furthermore, another error in translation curiously led to images of small monkeys being included among the giants in the frescoes of the Fall of the Giants, despite the absence of any monkeys in the original version of Ovid’s fable. It is likely that Niccolò degli Agostini‘s translation (published 1522) was used for these frescoes (Bazzotti, 2013).

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Image 30

Fall of the Giants (c. 1530-34) Fresco Detail with Monkey ~~ Sala dei Giganti ~~ East Wall Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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In 1536, work on the Palazzo del Te dwindled, as Federico became interested in other undertakings. One important project was the Duke’s commission for Giulio to remodel Federico’s official apartment, the Appartamento di Troia (Apartment of Troy, c. 1536-40) at a different palace in Mantua, the Palazzo Ducale. Giulio’s imagery in the Appartamento di Troia was based on Homer’s Iliad; it was additionally derived from the German Humanist Jacobus Micyllus’ compendium of mythological writings, Fabularum Liber, published in 1535. Included was the first printed edition of the Fabulae of Hyginus; this was the critical text for the Hall of Troy images (Talvacchia, 1988).

Federico had been extremely demanding as a patron, putting severe pressure on Giulio to complete numerous projects quickly, in addition to the work at both palazzi. Thus at the Palazzo del Te, Giulio was forced to rely heavily on his workshop of assistants to execute his designs. Many of the frescoes were painted by Giovanfrancesco Penni, Rinaldo Mantovano, Benedetto Pagni da Pescia, Luca da Faenza, Fermo di Stefano Ghisoni, Girolamo da Treviso, Fermo da Caravaggio, Luca Scaletti (“Il Fugurino”), and other assistants. The stucco artists included Giovanni Battista Scultori, Nicolò da Milano, and Francesco Primaticcio. Giulio and his assistants worked on the Palazzo del Te for about a decade, during 1526 to 1536.

While working in Mantua, Giulio innovated a mélange of fresco and stucco relief that is seen throughout the decorations of Palazzo del Te, as well as at Château Fontainebleau in France (Cox-Rearick, 1999). Primaticcio, a student of Giulio, became one of the leading artists to work at Château Fontainebleau, eventually taking charge of artistic direction there. Primaticcio, along with Rosso Fiorentino (Giovanni Battista di Jacopo), who had executed murals framed in stucco ornament at Château Fontainebleau (1533-39), became part of the First School of Fontainebleau. It was at Fontainebleau that Mannerism was introduced to France. Rosso, as we saw earlier, had fled Rome after the Sack of 1527, and had obtained a position at the court of the French King, François I, in 1530. A year later, Primaticcio left Italy to work in France. Primaticcio had worked at Palazzo del Te for six years, mostly contributing to the Sala degli Stucchi (Room of the Stuccoes). With their work at Fontainebleau, Primaticcio and Rosso entered the service of the French King. François I had actually requested that Giulio enter his service, but Duke Federico could not allow for the loss of his own esteemed court artist, and so he sent Primaticcio instead. Professional opportunities were selected carefully by the duke, so that granting the services of his court artist became a sign of munificence, a “calculated move in a game of political and personal chess“ (Belluzzi & Forster, 1998, p. 111).

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CHAPTER 9: AFTER FEDERICO GONZAGA’S DEATH ~~ 1540-46

Giulio was finally released from the daily confinement of court service after Federico’s death in 1540, when the latter’s brothers, Ferrante Gonzaga and Cardinal Ercole Gonzaga, took over the roles of chief patrons to the artist. The two brothers acted as the artist’s benefactors until Giulio’s death in 1546.

Ferrante was a condottiere who had participated in the 1527 Sack of Rome. In 1530, Charles V had appointed him commander-in-chief of the Imperial army in Italy; Ferrante also served the Empire as Imperial Viceroy of Sicily (1535-46) and Governor of Milan (1546-55). Ferrante commissioned Giulio mostly for prized works in silver and cartoons for costly tapestries. The most famous of the latter included cartoons for the set of eight large tapestries with a military theme, called Fructus Belli or Fruits of War (1545-46, Louvre). In contrast, Cardinal Ercole was the peaceful, ducal regent of Mantua; he was also a pious religious reformer, who would take part in the Council of Trent beginning in 1545. Ercole customarily commissioned Giulio for religious works of art, as well as for the renovation of the Church of San Benedetto Polirone (1540-44) and Mantua Cathedral (1545-46).

Taken together with his other creations in the same city, Giulio was responsible in large part for the transformation of Mantua into a celebrated city during the first few decades of the Cinquecento. During the regency of Ercole, the external projects which were offered to Giulio proliferated, indicating a new creative breadth to the artist (Belluzzi & Forster, 1998). In addition to the offer by the King of France, opportunities for professional practice were occasionally offered to Giulio by other foreign patrons, as well as by courtiers and religious institutions.

In 1540, the confraternity of the Church of Santa Maria della Steccata in Parma offered Giulio a contract to complete the frescoes in the church begun by Parmigianino, who had left the assignment unfinished. Although Giulio initially accepted the contract, he later withdrew from it, writing to the confraternity that the project was too complex. This could have been the main reason, yet it is also possible that Giulio took into account a letter that Parmigianino had sent him from Casalmaggiore, shortly before the latter’s death in 1540, imploring Giulio not to accept the commission (Freedberg, 1971). Before Giulio had begun work on the Palazzo del Te, Parmigianino had executed a frescoed ceiling of Ovid’s Diana and Actaeon (1523-24) in the small camerino at Rocca Sanvitale in Fontanellato, near Parma. The frescoes had been commissioned by Gian Galeazzo Sanvitale, Count of Fontanellato, for his wife Paola Gonzaga. Parmigianino modeled his decoration for Paola Gonzaga’s camerino on Correggio’s Camera di San Paolo (Kliemann & Rohlmann, 2004).

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In Corregio’s Camera di San Paolo (1518-20), located at the Benedictine San Paolo Convento in Parma, the artist had executed the domed ceiling and wall decorations for the Abbess Donna Giovanna da Piacenza. Correggio’s mural paintings clearly present themes that refer to antiquity, but they are not based on a single classical text, nor are they based on an iconographic tradition. The iconography of the frescoes is complex. On the fireplace are frescoed images of the pagan goddess Diana and her chariot. Correggio combined these images with those of cherubs and classical marbles on the ceiling and walls. The artist painted between the ribs of the room to simulate a pergola, which is pierced by oculi. Through the oculi, the viewer sees smiling cherubs and Diana’s hunting dogs. Although Panofsky (1961) had connected Correggio’s Diana with Raphael’s Galatea at the Villa Chigi-Farnesina in Rome, Stechow claims that there is a debt to the Diana of the Cappella Chigi at Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome (1963). It is likely that Giulio, in his turn, was influenced by Correggio’s Diana. Later, Giulio would depict his version of the rising moon driven by Diana (c. 1527), accompanied by the setting sun driven by Apollo, in the vault of the Sala del Sole at the Palazzo del Te (Ronen, 1977).

The greatest external project of Giulio’s career came shortly before his death, from his birth city of Rome. As we saw at the beginning of this thesis, Giulio was the first choice of Paul III for chief architect of St. Peter’s Basilica, after Antonio da Sangallo the Younger’s death in 1546. Giulio was invited to return to the Eternal City to complete St. Peter’s, but sadly died before the journey took place. According to Forster, Giulio was “apparently the patron’s [Pope Paul’s] first choice for chief architect of St. Peter’s after Sangallo’s death – a post instead assumed by Michelangelo – and… he was consulted at length about the rebuilding of the Palazzo della Ragione in Vicenza – a commission that eventually fell to Palladio… – [all this] goes to show that Giulio’s achievement in architecture was considered of the first order, at once modern and exemplary”. Forster also maintains that recognition must be given to Giulio for “his highly inventive approach to the creative dilemmas that constantly arose around him... As heir to Raphael’s practice, and as a virtuoso in his own right, Giulio represented a new type of artist – the kind Popes Julius II and Leo X brought to prominence in the first two decades of the 16th century. Giulio represents the embodiment of the Roman High Renaissance artist, making a strong contrast to the newly re-emerging specialists in the various branches of the arts” (1991, p. 23).

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CHAPTER 10: THE CRITICAL FORTUNE OF GIULIO ROMANO’S PALAZZO DEL TE

Giulio’s magnificent Palazzo del Te exerted a profound influence on many of his contemporaries and other artists who lived during succeeding generations. Giulio’s spectacular palace in Mantua impacted many court painters and artists, as well as architects, in Europe: Correggio – he and Giulio influenced each other (as discussed above), Perino del Vaga, Parmigianino, Titian, Veronese, Vasari, Tintoretto, Rubens, Peruzzi, Sansovino, Machuca; and Serlio. In addition, as discussed above, Giulio’s innovations at his famous palazzo influenced Primaticcio, Rosso, and the Fontainebleau School in France. At his Palazzo del Te, the versatile artist filled the roles of painter, architect, decorator of large-scale murals and ceilings, draughtsman, as well as designer of tapestries and even precious works in silver. Giulio’s personal, flamboyant decorative style at his palazzo in the city of the Gonzaga inspired the great mural and ceiling decorations in Genoa, Rome, Parma, Venice, Florence, London in England, Granada in Spain, Landshut in Germany, and even Fontainebleau in France. The courtly style of art, as practiced by Costa the Elder, was already falling out of favor prior to Giulio’s arrival in Mantua in 1524. Giulio developed a new, avant-garde style of courtly art for the years to come. This artistic virtuoso pioneered “socially and stylistically, the court art that was to sweep through Europe in the next generations ...” And Giulio’s art was related to “the new style of 1540 among young painters“ (Gilbert, 1959, p. 193).

One of these young artists was Perino del Vaga. Perino paralleled Giulio’s Fall of the Giants decoration in Perino’s work at the Palazzo Principe (c. 1528-38) in Genoa, as we saw earlier. Perino emulated Giulio in his own huge ceiling-fresco of the Fall of the Giants (c. 1531-33) for Andrea Doria, executed at about the same time as Giulio was working on his frescoes of the same name at Palazzo del Te in Mantua. However, whereas Giulio exploited illusionism to the maximum in his Fall of the Giants frescoes, Perino’s version of the Fall of the Giants fresco at Palazzo Principe does not exhibit any illusionism. And as we saw earlier, later in Rome, Perino’s Marriage of Cupid and Psyche (1545-7) in the Castel Sant’Angelo for Pope Paul III also recalled Giulio’s fresco of the same subject matter in his Sala di Psiche at the Palazzo del Te in Mantua, as well as Raphael’s and Giulio’s Loggia di Psiche at the Villa Farnesina in Rome. Perino’s frescoes at the Castel Sant’Angelo are tied up with the development of the new Maniera style in Rome (Askew, 1956). Along with Giulio and Parmigianino, Perino del Vaga is considered a founder of the new “stylish style” in art, which began to appear in the late 1520s and 1530s in various cities in Italy (Cox-Rearick, 1993; p. 2).

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Parmigianino had come into contact with Giulio in Rome in 1524, before Giulio moved to Mantua. Although Parmigianino’s color and light were mostly influenced by Correggio, Friedländer pointed out that in the Uffizi Holy Family (c. 1533), Parmigianino’s column in the ruined landscape was “greatly influenced by Giulio Romano” (1957, p. 39). Along with Giulio and Perino del Vaga, Parmigianino would later become famous as another originator of the new Maniera style in Italy. Gombrich recognized the origins of Mannerism in Giulio’s dualism at the Palazzo del Te (1980). Hartt (1958) agreed with Gombrich about Giulio’s art revealing the beginnings of Mannerism. However, Pevsner claimed that both the artist and his art were full of contradictions. These included the contradictions between the Gonzaga’s positive praise of Giulio’s character, versus the artist as “the provider of pornography” and the “demoniac painter” of the Giganti, as well as the apparent contradictions among various rooms at the Palazzo del Te. Bazzotti disagrees with Pevsner about the rooms at Palazzo del Te being full of contradictions, arguing that despite the different themes of each room, there exists a stylistic homogeneity throughout (2013). Verheyen additionally disagreed with Pevsner about the alleged contradictions of the rooms at Palazzo del Te, pointing out that all of the rooms at the palazzo are linked by a common theme: the glorification of the Gonzaga in general, and of Federico as an individual. Throughout the Palazzo del Te, differing color schemes were employed intentionally by Giulio. In those rooms whose thematic schemes required a differentiation between two worlds, brighter colors were used for the depiction of the world which could be related to Federico’s own, and more subdued colors were employed for the characterization of the world of the gods (1977).

Miller positioned the wide range of Giulio in a positive light. The writer argued that when one considers together the refinement of Giulio’s religious paintings and the “gentle lyricism of his pastoral mythologies”, along with the “virile sensuality of I Modi“ and the pathos and brutality of some of the Palazzo del Te decorations, it becomes clear that Giulio‘s range ran the entire gamut of human emotion. Miller also enthused that Giulio’s extensive range was due to the incredible depths of his imagination, which functioned best “in the realm of the half-fantastical“ (1959, p. 192). Forster supports Miller’s conclusion, and goes even further when he applauds Giulio for being an “artistic polymath” (1991, p. 23).

Titian was exposed to and affected by the Romanist art of Giulio, while the Venetian was in Mantua several times, including in 1540. Titian’s Crowning with Thorns (1542-4, Louvre), painted for the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, brings to light his experience of Giulio and especially the Palazzo del Te. In Titian’s painting, his architecture resembles that of Giulio, and Titian sets Romanized anatomies in poses of forced action. Titian’s “self-consciously rhetorical exaggeration in these postures and the extreme stress of their plasticity is Giulio’s”. Titian’s “Old Testament” series of ceiling paintings (1543-4) in Santa Maria della Salute in Venice reflects Titian's interest in spatial illusionism, along with anatomical gigantismo, introduced by Giulio in his decorative works in the Palazzo del Te. The Venetian artist was also influenced by the Roman artist’s compositional influence (Freedberg, 1993, p. 346). In the year prior to

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Giulio’s death, Titian painted his most controversial work, a group portrait of Pope Paul III and his grandsons (1545-6). In his contentious painting, Titian clandestinely condemned the corruption of the papacy. It is possible that Titian was inspired by Giulio’s covert political protest against the Holy Roman Empire at Palazzo del Te, as well as Giulio’s, Raimondi’s, and Aretino’s censure of the Catholic Church via the explicit I Modi.

Veronese (Paolo Caliari) – in his illusionary ceiling frescoes in Venice after 1553 – was inspired by Giulio’s illusionistic ceiling in the Sala di Psiche at Palazzo del Te. The remains of a fresco decoration (1551) by Veronese originally in the Villa Soragna at Treville (now mostly in Castelfranco Cathedral) were mannered with a Giulian accent; it is Veronese’s illusionism in this context of decoration that was exemplary. Veronese had been in Mantua in the early 1550s, where he completed an altarpiece (1552) at Mantua Cathedral, commissioned by Cardinal Ercole Gonzaga; undoubtedly Veronese spent some time in Mantua studying the ceilings by Giulio (Freedberg, 1993; Penny, 2008).

In Florence, decades after Vasari had executed his portrait of Duke Alessandro de’ Medici (1534) as a veiled critique of Medicean authoritarian rule, the artist painted his Last Judgment (1572-79) in fresco for the massive dome of Santa Maria del Fiore Cathedral. It appears clearly that Vasari used Giulio’s Fall of the Giants fresco from the Palazzo del Te as the model for his design (Kliemann & Rohlmann, 2004). After Vasari’s death in 1574, his fresco was completed by Federico Zuccari, the same artist who would later provide the written account commending Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti (as discussed above).

Through his study of the art of Giulio, Tintoretto (Jacopo Comin) followed more of a Mannerist approach in his own art. The Venetian artist observed Giulio’s Romanist art while working in Mantua several decades after Giulio had died. Tintoretto’s figures may have been influenced by Giulio’s exuberance at his Palazzo del Te (Nichols, 2002). Tintoretto’s figures may be viewed in his Gonzaga Cycle (1579-80), a series of eight paintings chronicling the Gonzaga family’s rise to fame and high rank. The series was commissioned from Tintoretto by Duke Guglielmo Gonzaga, Federico’s second son, for the Palazzo Ducale in Mantua.

Giulio’s illusionistic ceilings at Palazzo del Te may have inspired the later Baroque ceiling by the Flemish Rubens at the Banqueting House (1636) at Whitehall in London, commissioned by Charles I of England (Shearman, 1959). In 1600, Peter Paul Rubens had travelled to Italy. The then-unknown Rubens had gone to Mantua, where he became employed as a court artist to Duke Vincenzo I Gonzaga, son of Guglielmo. While working at the Palazzo del Te, Rubens was exposed to the palace itself and Giulio’s other artworks, absorbing Giulio’s influence. Rubens made copies of Giulio's works, including drawings of the Palazzo del Te, which provided the Flemish artist with inspiration for his own drawings and paintings (Jaffé, 1958). Rubens was impressed by Giulio in his general compositional and decorative principles; the Flemish artist’s historical paintings were also influenced by Giulio’s basically Roman style, as well (Freedberg, 1998; Martin, 2003). In 1601, with financial support from Duke Vincenzo I

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Gonzaga, Rubens travelled to Rome; and in 1603, the Baroque artist travelled to Spain on a diplomatic mission for Vincenzo, delivering gifts from the Gonzaga to the court of Philip III. This journey marked the first of many during his career that combined art and political diplomacy. In 1604, Rubens returned to Italy, where he remained for the next four years, first in Mantua and then in Genoa and Rome. Rubens' experiences in Italy – including his exposure to Giulio’s Palazzo del Te – continued to impact his Baroque works (Jaffé, 1958; Marinelli, 1998).

In the architectural field, we saw previously that Peruzzi was inspired by Giulio’s Palazzo del Te in the former’s use of flat, rusticated, Albertian blocks at his Palazzo Massimo alle Colonne (c. 1532) in Rome. Jacopo Sansovino was also influenced by the Palazzo del Te in his architecture in Venice (Boucher, 1991; Hartt & Wilkins, 2003). Sansovino had increased the number of his commissions by learning architecture to supplement his sculpting skills; his studies included observing Giulio’s buildings. Giulio, at first in Rome and later in Mantua, made frequent use of the contrast of rough and smooth elements in his architecture; it consisted of the juxtaposition of clean-cut capitals and bases with crudely rusticated columns or pilaster. The contrast of these elements was regarded as “unorthodox, intriguing, and even daring” in the early 16th century (Howard, 1975, p. 45). Giulio’s design at Palazzo del Te, moreover, emphasized the palace’s cortile (courtyard). Likewise, Sansovino also accentuated the cortile at several of his buildings in Venice. These included the Palazzo Cornaro della Ca’ Grande (c. 1545) on the Grand Canal at San Maurizio. The cortile of Sansovino’s palazzo has “the same sequence of orders as the façade, here translated into a more clean-cut and urbane form. The three bays on each side of the court reflect the triple doorway on the Grand Canal … This triple entrance recalls the similar doorway of Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te near Mantua which Sansovino probably knew first-hand“ (Howard, 1975, p. 143, 184). Burns and Tafuri asserted that Giulio’s design for the Palazzo del Te additionally inspired the model for the palace of Charles V in Granada, Spain (c. 1528). Giulio’s concepts were carried to Granada around 1527, through Castiglione, who was the resident ambassador. The two architectural historians argued that Giulio’s notions could have been absorbed by the Spanish architect, Pedro Machuca (1998). And even before the Palazzo del Te was completely finished, many royals marveled at Giulio’s work. Ludwig X, Duke of Bavaria, was so amazed by Giulio’s Palazzo del Te that he had the Residenz (ducal palace, c. 1536-43) in Landshut, Germany built as a comparable building in virtually every detail. Giulio received some of the most extensive and important patronage in the 16th century – not only in Italy, but in several countries north of the Alps. Sebastiano Serlio, the Late Renaissance architect, claimed that it was the whimsical character of Giulio’s style that captivated his admirers, especially for those who had seen the Palazzo del Te. Serlio understood the playful polarity of Giulio’s style, in its essentially courtly aspect (1551). Serlio himself was influenced by Giulio’s Palazzo del Te in the former’s work at the Palace of Fontainebleau in France (c. 1528-47); Serlio was part of the Italian team at the Late Renaissance Château of François I. As early as 1537, Serlio had alluded to a complex duality in Giulio’s style. Serlio grasped that this

86 mixing was characteristic of Giulio’s style, and praised it as being exemplary. In his 1551 Extraordinario Libro, Serlio expounded that certain variations were meant as caprices; they had to be designed to meet the demands for novelty from bizarre men; thus, these variations were compromises to accommodate the ”eccentric taste of the patron” (as cited in Burns & Tafuri, 1998, p. 307). Gombrich also stressed that Giulio’s Palazzo del Te had to reflect the demands of his patron, who was “eager for fashionable novelty”, and therefore Giulio’s creations were absolutely not the work of a “decadent” Renaissance artist. At his palazzo in Mantua, Giulio emphasized the mood of antithesis, and created a true and proper poetry of contrasts. The artist delighted in the juxtaposition of contrary things; these stylistic deviations produced a tension, and created a distinction when held up against the style of Raphael (1980, p. 71).

Giulio asserted his own artistic personality, especially at the Palazzo del Te, and in doing so, he escaped from the shadow cast by Raphael (Belluzzi & Forster, 1998). Despite all of the praise bestowed upon Giulio, the influence of his work, especially of his Palazzo del Te, remains underrated today. During the 16th and 17th centuries, the visual impact of Giulio’s Palazzo del Te on other artists was more powerful than that of the simple scenography of figures, as seen in Michelangelo’s ceiling (1508-12) in the Sistine Chapel (Belluzzi, 1998; Bordeaux, 2015; Hartt, 1958). More than two centuries after work had ceased on the Palazzo del Te, the Jesuit writer Saverio Bettinelli published his monumental compliment to Giulio’s genius in his Delle Lettere e delle Arti Mantovane of 1774. In this famous history of Mantua, Bettinelli declared that Giulio Romano’s Sala dei Giganti at Palazzo del Te stood “above” the level of magnificence of that achieved by Raphael in his Vatican Stanze (as cited in Verheyen, 1977, p. 55).

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CONCLUSION

This thesis has examined Giulio Romano’s Palazzo del Te (c. 1525-36) in Mantua, his Late Renaissance chef d’ oeuvre, in the context of playing a key role in the political success of his patron, Federico II Gonzaga (reign 1519-40). Focus has been given to the chambers Sala di Psiche and especially Sala dei Giganti. The Palazzo del Te, built for Giulio’s chief patron, combined a multiplicity of techniques throughout, as well as viewer engagement in the Sala dei Giganti. Giulio’s palazzo stood in stunning contrast to the conventional, two-dimensional portraits executed by many Cinquecento court artists for their benefactors; these included Giulio’s predecessors Francia, Costa the Elder, the Dossi brothers, and Leonbruno. None of these 16th century artists, not even the court artists discussed in this thesis, ever replicated Giulio’s innovative, multi-media, multi-dimensional approach as used in his most famous room, the Sala dei Giganti. Although Giulio was inspired by Mantegna’s trompe l’oeil technique and Correggio’s illusionism – which could induce vertigo in the viewer – the Roman artist built on his predecessors’ accomplishments, especially in the Sala dei Giganti.

This thesis has highlighted some of the scholarly debate about Giulio’s underlying intentions for the Sala dei Giganti. In the 16th century, Vasari praised the chamber, emphasizing viewers’ reaction of awe and fear when in the space, as planned by Giulio. In the 20th century, Gombrich published mixed reviews about the Room of the Giants. In the 20th and 21st centuries, Hartt, Verheyen, Hickson, Furlotti, Rebecchini, Bazzotti, and Carabell argued that – besides exalting the Gonzaga and somehow referring to Holy Roman Emperor Charles V – Giulio’s multi-form techniques aroused in the viewer intermingled emotions of enchantment and enlightenment, thereby transforming the spectator into an active participant.

We have seen that Giulio planned and calculated in advance for the reaction of one particularly powerful viewer: Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (reign 1519-58). The Imperial monarch was so stunned by the Palazzo del Te, that he elevated Federico II Gonzaga to the rank of the first Duke of Mantua, during the Emperor’s first visit to Palazzo del Te in 1530. However in 1532, Charles V visited the Palazzo del Te once more. During this second visit, the Habsburg monarch viewed the Sala dei Giganti. No one enlightened Charles V as to the meaning of the decorative scheme – the monarch had to interpret for himself the frescoes of the Fall of the Giants. I have argued that it was plausible that the Imperial Emperor comprehended Giulio’s subtle, yet galvanizing, reprimand in the chamber, which possibly was similar to Caro’s construal of Orsini’s moral allegory at Bomarzo: Rulers must acknowledge the political rights and liberties of their subjects, and not position themselves above the gods. After the Emperor’s 1532 visit to the Palazzo del Te, he never again promoted Federico II Gonzaga.

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This thesis has additionally considered the duality of Giulio’s Palazzo del Te – although an autonomous work of art, as defined by Adorno – the palace was also an exhibit of princely power, whilst demonstrating in the Sala dei Giganti an oppositional stance against the totalitarian Holy Roman Empire controlling early 16th century Italy. This thesis, moreover, looked at recent scholarship, which has revealed that the practice of covert criticism of political rulers played a crucial function during the Italian Wars (Connor, 2010; Elmer, 2000; Ward, 2015). This custom was performed by quite a few writers who wanted political reform during the Late Renaissance, such as Machiavelli and Castiglione, Giulio’s mentor. It was also secretly practiced by several artists, notably Michelangelo, Vasari, and Giulio himself. Yet whereas Michelangelo dared to decry his Medici patrons, the despotic rulers of a city-state (and at times a republic) – Giulio seemingly had the courage to condemn the ultimate, absolute monarch of the vast Holy Roman Empire for the sovereign’s repudiation of the political rights and liberties of his subjects, in addition to his refusal to recognize Italy’s right to political autonomy.

It is here that I have broken with the interpretation of the Sala dei Giganti as put forth by centuries of scholars, who deduced that Giulio’s Sala dei Giganti possibly paid some type of tribute to the Holy Roman Emperor. I have asserted that in his Room of the Giants, Giulio did the opposite. The artist conceivably hid a secret message to Emperor Charles V – which dared to criticize the political regime of the Imperial Empire, which was marked by authoritarianism and chaos. Giulio’s masterpiece-chamber potentially comprised an extremely brave type of indirect game, a political protest against Imperial occupation and foreign rule of the Italian peninsula. It was also a possible, oblique protest against the quagmire of dynastic politics in Italy and the almost constant, savage fighting that had been dragging on for so many long decades. This form of dissent was especially important, because deliberately obscure discourse became a crucial weapon as the 16th century progressed, and the powers of State and Church became increasingly intent upon controlling and limiting all forms of critical dialogue (Ward, 2015).

Even earlier, the libertinism of Giulio’s graphic I Modi drawings (c. 1523-24), executed while the artist was still in residence in Rome, in concert with Marcantonio Raimondi’s engravings and Pietro Aretino’s Sonetti Lussuriosi (published by 1527), had synergistically come together to lay bare and condemn the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church during the period of the Sack of Rome (Nagel, 2011; Tafuri, 1998).

In the entire saga of the Renaissance, there was no single artist – except for Giulio – who was bold enough to disparage not only the Holy Roman Imperial Empire, but the Church as well. We have seen that Giulio was one of the few Late Renaissance artists who could pull off such unbelievable feats. Giulio was virtually the only Cinquecento court artist who utilized a multi-media, multi-dimensional approach, unheard of during the Late Renaissance. Giulio’s success with his revolutionary, fantastic fusion in his artwork was a vital factor in Federico II Gonzaga’s achievement of political success vis- à-vis Holy Roman Emperor Charles V – during the incessant warfare, political dissolution and loss of political autonomy for the Italian peninsula, as well as Charles V’s gigantic, political re-structuring of early 16th century Italy.

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Image 31

Assembly of Gods around Jupiter’s Throne (c. 1530-34) ~~ Sala dei Giganti ~~ Ceiling Detail Palazzo del Te ~~ Mantua Giulio Romano and Assistants

(Image courtesy of Web Gallery of Art)

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