How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw the End of the World - Gilbert

How Fra Angelico & Signorelli Saw theE n d o f t h e p W o r l d

C r e i g h to n G i l b e rt

How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw the End of the World

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How Fra Angelico and Signorelli Saw the End o f t h e W o r l d

The Pennsylvania State University Press • University Park, Pennsylvania

C r e i g h to n e . G i l b e rt

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gilbert, Creighton E.How Fra Angelico and Signorelli saw the end of the world /

Creighton E. Gilbertp. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. 0-271-02140-3 (cloth : alk. paper)1. Signorelli, Luca, 1441?–1523. End of the world. 2. Signorelli,Luca, 1441?–1523—Criticism and interpretation. 3. Angelico, fra, ca. 1400–1455—Criticism and interpretation. 4. Mural painting and decoration, Renaissance—Italy—Orvieto.5. Judgment Day in art. 6. Cappella della Madonna di San Brizio(Duomo di Orvieto) I. Signorelli, Luca, 1441?–1523. II. Title.

623.S5 A66 2001759.5'09'024—dc21 2001021479

Copyright © 2003

All rights reservedPrinted in the United States of AmericaPublished by The Pennsylvania State University Press,University Park, PA 16802-1003

: Benozzo Gozzoli, Portrait of a Friari, drawing. Chantilly, Musée Condé, recto

It is the policy of The Pennsylvania State University Press to use acid-free paper. Publications on uncoated stock satisfy the minimumrequirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–1992.

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Disclaimer:Some images in the original version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook.

toJames Ackerman and Craig Smyth

and in memory ofH. W. Janson

for help proffered when it signified

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List of Illustrations ix

Introduction xi

The Place as a Precondition 1

Planning the Frescoes 23

Intermission, 1448–1499 61

Signorelli Paints the Inner Bay 71

The Imagery of the Outer Bay 117

Envoi 157

Notes 161

Bibliography 189

Index 195

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Unless otherwise noted, location of the works below is the Cappella Nuova of Orvieto Cathedral in Orvieto, Italy, and the work is by Luca Signorelli.

. 1 The Damned (detail of central area of Fig. 45). Reliquary of the “Corporal,” Orvieto Cathe-

dral, Cappella del Corporale. Orvieto Cathedral, general view. Copyright

Alinari / Art Resource, New York. Orvieto Cathedral, plan as of 1450. Orvieto Cathedral, plan showing original

curved apse and additions, to 1450. Orvieto Cathedral, façade. Copyright Alinari /

Art Resource, New York. Pier with reliefs of antetypes of Christ,

Orvieto Cathedral façade. Detail of Fig. 7, lower left section. View into the Cappella Nuova. Giotto, Last Judgment. Padua, Arena Chapel. Fra Angelico, Last Judgment. Florence, Museo

di San Marco. Fra Angelico and Signorelli, Vault of

Cappella Nuova . Fra Angelico, Prophets (detail of Fig. 12). Fra Angelico, Last Judgment. Berlin,

Gemäldegalerie. Barna, Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, left half.

San Gimignano, Collegiata. Barna, Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, right half.

San Gimignano, Collegiata. Fra Filippo Lippi, Martyrdom of the Baptist,

detail of left corner. Prato, Cathedral. Benozzo Gozzoli, Sheet of drawings.

Chantilly, Musée Condé, verso. Fra Angelico, Christ Judging (detail of Fig. 12). Dome with Last Judgment mosaic. Florence,

Baptistery. Attributed to Francesco Traini, Last Judgment.

Pisa, Campo Santo

. Nardo di Cione, Last Judgment. Florence,Santa Maria Novella, Strozzi Chapel

. Heaven (detail of Fig. 22, left wall) . Ascent to Heaven (detail of Fig. 14). Scheme of the altar wall, after Vischer. Scheme of the left wall, after Vischer. Scheme of the right wall, after Vischer. Self-portrait of Signorelli with Fra Angelico

(detail of Fig. 78). Benozzo Gozzoli, Portrait of a Friar, drawing.

Chantilly, Musée Condé, recto. Benozzo Gozzoli, Petrarch, Dante, and Giotto.

Montefalco, San Francesco, choir, wainscot. Fra Angelico, Last Judgment, Ascension, and

Pentecost. Rome, Galleria Nazionale. Pietro Baroni, Pietà and Saints. Pier with Last Judgment, Orvieto Cathedral

façade (detail of Fig. 6). Giovanni Dalmata, Last Judgment, lunette of

tomb of Pope Paul II. Rome, Saint Peter’s. Shop of Mino da Fiesole, Last Judgment,

lunette of tomb of Cardinal Ammanati.Rome, Sant’ Agostino, cloister

. Bishop saint, in window embrasure of altarwall

. Archangel Michael, in embrasure of sidewindow in altar wall

. Archangel Gabriel, in embrasure of side win-dow in altar wall

. Archangel Raphael with Tobias, in embrasureof side window in altar wall

. Archangel Phanuel/Uriel, in embrasure ofside window in altar wall

. Ascent of the Blessed, altar wall. Assembly of the Blessed at Josaphat, side wall

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. Anonymous Italian, c. 1500, Last Judgment,woodcut.

. Giovanni di Paolo, The Blessed (detail ofLast Judgment). Siena, Pinacoteca

. Assembly of the Damned at Josaphat, sidewall

. Limbourg Brothers, Hell, page in Très RichesHeures. Chantilly, Musée Condé. CopyrightGiraudon / Art Resource, New York

. Bertoldo, Battle, bronze. Florence, MuseoNazionale del Bargello

. Descent into Hell, altar wall. Nardo di Cione, detail of Fig. 22, right wall . Anonymous Florentine, 1497, Choice of

Heaven or Hell, woodcut. . Dante and scenes in cantos 1–4 of Purgatorio,

wainscot. Virgil and scenes of visits to Hell, wainscot. Claudian and scenes from De Raptu Proserpinae. Salutati and scenes from Purgatorio, cantos

5–8, wainscot. Detail of Fig. 51, scene from Canto 2 of

Purgatorio. Hercules Defeating Cacus, and grotesque

ornament (detail of Fig. 54). Scene from Canto 11 of Purgatorio. Charity and Envy. Scene from Canto 8 of Purgatorio (detail of

Fig. 54). Raphael, Faith, Hope, and Charity. Rome,

Pinacoteca Vaticana. Diana and Calisto. Devils and the Lustful. Monochromes on altar wall wainscot, right

side. Death of Achilles. Perseus and Phineus. Stories of Perseus and Hercules, drawings, in

Libellus de Imaginibus Deorum, Vat. Reg. Lat.1290

. Court of Pan. Formerly Berlin, KaiserFriedrich Museum

. Scheme of entrance wall (after Vischer). Raising of the Dead

. Raising of the Dead, Orvieto Cathedralfaçade, bottom section (detail of Fig. 33)

. Limbourg Brothers, Raising of the Dead, inTrès Riches Heures. Chantilly, Musée Condé

. Pietà with Saints Faustino and Pietro Parenzo . Pietà, altarpiece, Cortona, Museo Diocesano. Martyrdom of Saint Faustino. Martyrdom of Saint Pietro Parenzo. Raphael, Mass of Bolsena, fresco. Vatican,

Stanza d’Eliodoro. Anonymous Riminese, fourteenth century,

Last Judgment, fresco. Ravenna, Santa Mariain Porto

. Deeds of Antichrist. Wohlgemuth, Deeds of Antichrist, woodcut, in

Liber Chronicarum by H. Schedel. 1493.. Filippino Lippi, Resurrection of Drusiana,

fresco. Florence, Santa Maria Novella . Filippino Lippi, Simon Magus (detail from

Dispute of Simon and Saint Peter). Florence,Santa Maria del Carmine, Brancacci Chapel

. Self-Portrait of Signorelli with an Associate.Orvieto, Museo dell’Opera del Duomo

. Five Signs of the End of the World and theFire from Heaven, entrance wall. CopyrightAlinari / Art Resource, New York

. Five Signs of the End of the World (detail ofFig. 83)

. Filippino Lippi, Saint Thomas ConfutingHeretics, fresco. Rome, Santa Maria SopraMinerva

. Fire from Heaven, entrance wall, left half. Youth with Oak-Leaf Crown and scenes in

roundels. Judith, keystone of the arch “” in Fig. 27. Man in Turban. Bald Man and scenes in roundels. Niccolò Rosex da Modena, Apelles, engraving. Captives Judged (detail of Fig. 90). Maenad Among Men (detail of Fig. 90). Filippino Lippi, Death of Virginia (detail).

Paris, Louvre. Botticelli, The Story of Lucretia. Boston,

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

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a new approach to under-standing a famous mural cycle of the ItalianRenaissance depicting the end of the world. Thecycle is located in the Cappella Nuova (todayoften called the San Brizio Chapel) in the cathe-dral of the town of Orvieto in central Italy. Thefresco paintings of the Orvieto mural cycle havebeen discussed in many books, so a new book isobligated to offer the reader something different.This Introduction devotes itself chiefly to thosedifferences. It will emerge that a good deal ofhelpful material has been left out of existingbooks, and that some errors have thereforeresulted. First, however, the claim that the muralcycle is famous must be justified; in thatendeavor, two witnesses are brought, both verywell known themselves: one from the culture ofthe Renaissance, and one from our own culture.

The earlier witness is Giorgio Vasari, author ofthe Lives of the Artists (1550; second revised edi-tion 1568), the work that is the undisputed pri-mary basis for what we know about most of theartists it presents. With regard to the mural cyclethat is the subject of the present volume, Vasari’skey comment is in his Life of Luca Signorelli, thepainter who executed most of the cycle, finishingin or about 1503. (Like most modern writers onthe work, Vasari has little to say about the contri-bution of the painter who started the project in1447, Fra Angelico.)

Vasari introduces Signorelli with high generalpraise: “He was an excellent painter, held in his

time to be famous, and his works prized, to anextent that no one else has been in any period . . .because he showed the way activity is performedin nudes, and showed, with great difficulty and avery good method, that they can be made toseem alive.”1 But this praise, though presented ina general way, relates only to the artist’s Orvietocycle; Signorelli’s other nudes were both few andimmobile. When Vasari’s account comes to thisproject, he enlarges on the same aspects:

[Signorelli] was hired by the administrators of theCathedral of Santa Maria in Orvieto, and finished thewhole chapel of Our Lady,2 begun by Angelico, inwhich he did all the stories of the end of the world. It isa most beautiful, strange and willful invention in itsvariety, of so many angels, demons, earthquakes, fires,ruins, and a great part of the miracles of Antichrist,where he showed the great invention and familiarity hehad about nudes, with many foreshortenings, imagin-ing strangely the terror of those days. In this way hestimulated all those who came after him, to execute thedifficulties painted, in following that style.3

He then proceeds to say that the mural cycle andmany other works “so spread his [Signorelli’s]fame” that the pope called on the artist to paintin the Vatican. That is an error, however, for thepaintings Vasari then mentions were much ear-lier. (Signorelli did not get any more grand com-missions after Orvieto.) Vasari shortens thisassertion in his second edition, and adds a new

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. The Damned (detail of central area of Fig. 45)

point that all later observers found true: thatMichelangelo “always praised” the Orvieto work“very highly, and used some of his inventions inhis own work” on the same theme, the LastJudgment. Naturally this factor has remainedimportant in Signorelli’s fame.

Vasari cites just one other work of Signorelli’sas much praised, and that briefly: the Court of Pan,owned by Lorenzo de’ Medici the Magnificent,ruler of Florence. This is the artist’s only otherlarge-scale work with a group of nudes, which inthis case are motionless. Both works were mostunusual in their place and time in includingfemale nudes with the males, which was possiblya factor in their usefulness for later artists. Vasarifirst wrote that the Pan was produced “with

much anticipation among those who wanted tosee [Signorelli’s] works, and it was much com-mended.” He cuts this sentence down to the brieffinal phrase in his second edition.4 The result ofthe two changes, this and the added report aboutMichelangelo, is almost exclusive attention to theOrvieto cycle, and so it has remained. However,as suggested below, the Pan was important inbringing Signorelli the Orvieto job.

The surprising modern witness is SigmundFreud, who on page one of perhaps his most readbook, The Psychopathology of Everyday Life,5 tells astory about himself: on a train in 1898, he fell totalking with another traveler, who had also beenin Italy. Freud asked whether he had gone toOrvieto and seen the famous frescoes there by—

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and then he could not remember the artist’sname. Later, when he checked and found thatthe artist’s name was Signorelli, his main interestwas in figuring out why he had “blocked it,” aswe now would say.6 From there he moved on tobroad theories, and in the present context it istempting, even if absurd, to see psychoanalysis astherefore owing its birth to Signorelli.

More realistically, the background making theincident possible was that Freud had been edu-cated into a broad humanistic culture. In a latergeneration, a psychologist probably would havelacked that particular point of departure toinduce the question Freud asked himself. Thepoint here, too obvious to Freud for him tomention it, was that the Signorelli frescoes werea destination for educated tourists. Today,indeed, daily busloads of visitors come to Orvi-eto for the sole purpose of seeing them. Even forpeople who had not heard of the frescoes untilthen, they are offered as a principal reason forvisiting Italy. Elementary textbooks on art his-tory always cite them, most often reproducingone segment, “The Damned” (Fig. 1). The tan-gle of desperate nudes grappled by devils, paintedwith sharp muscular stress, reflects Vasari’s reac-tion and seems just right for Freud’s.

In Freud’s time and since, the normal way tofind out more about the cycle has been to readabout it in monographs on Signorelli. Mono-graphs—books on the whole work of an individ-ual artist—have been the most handy and reliablesource for such information. Monographs onSignorelli always have one chapter of twenty-fivepages or less devoted to his Orvieto project. Bycommon consent, there are five or six reliablemonographs on Signorelli: Maud Cruttwell(1899), Girolamo Mancini (1903), Mario Salmi(1924), Leopold Dussler (1927), and PietroScarpellini (1964), and a very short one byMargherita Moriondo (1966). All have the sametitle, simply Luca Signorelli, or a close variant,7 In

the absence of newer work, all continue to beused.

Two previously rare types of writing on Sig-norelli have become frequent since about 1970,and especially in the 1990s. Their significance ismore as an indication of the artist’s wideningfame than as a new understanding of him,although at times they do offer new observations.One type consists of short texts in well-illustratedbooks, of the coffee-table type or smaller. Usu-ally these claim no more than to restate for awider readership what had been publishedbefore, and they are likely to repeat old errorsand sometimes create new ones. As for the othertype, which is at the opposite extreme, graduatestudents in the United States, Britain, Germany,and Australia have submitted dissertations onparticular segments of the topic of Signorelli,such as his painting in specific time spans, his nar-rative process as seen from certain critical view-points, his drawings, certain documents, andconnections with liturgical forms. These presen-tations by beginning scholars under supervision,seeking admission to academia, commonly pres-ent new observations and approaches but arerarely published in full. Instead, those that arereceived positively generally have revised ver-sions of their most interesting parts published asarticles in specialized journals. The one disserta-tion that has been published in full, and the arti-cles, are cited in this book, but the unpublishedremaining writings are not, both because they arenot easily accessible and because they have notbeen used as bases for inferences here. The latterfactor also applies to the omission of references tothe short texts in illustrated books. In both casesthere are exceptions. A note here summarizesboth types.8

A number of books frankly address only onepart or one aspect of the work, such as the Danteillustrations, or the Antichrist scene and apoca-lyptic analogies.9 Like the many learned articles

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that also take up partial questions, these oftenpresent hypotheses that are subject to debate.The most ambitious and important work of thistype is a book published in 1996 to mark thecleaning of the frescoes.10 Although in this casetoo the title suggests a general work, the contentis different. It presents more than twenty essaysby as many scholars, who have quite properlybeen permitted to disagree with each other. Inaddition, quite a few of the essays are not aboutthe mural cycle itself, but have to do with suchthings as scientists’ reports on conservation prob-lems and nearby groups of paintings.

Indeed, because there is no full-length study ofthe mural cycle, the inquiring reader still uses thechapters in the monographs, along with theirmore recent equivalents in the illustrated books.If one reads all these chapters, an exercise that isunderstandably rare, the effect is surprising: therehave been few changes since 1899. The reader isoffered a lively description of these representedscenes, and the cycle is broken into manageableparts with praise for them all. Signorelli’s distinc-tive style is frequently pointed out. The descrip-tion has a rhetorical flavor, and is intended toconfirm readers in the view that the work is ofhigh quality.

The latter, and more specific, element workstoward the goal that seemed to be the main pur-pose of art-historical work in the earlier decadesand that is still given an important role eventhough it is no longer fashionable. That goal is tomake correct attributions—that is, to identify theartist of any painting. The data used are works ofknown authorship, such as the Orvieto cycle,established by documents. A corollary aim is todate the artist’s works, using works with knowndates, of which again the cycle is an example.The artist’s distinctive style in the cycle is thusdefined in such writings for use in these cases.The monographs’ chapters on the cycle of coursedo not have to argue that this cycle is Signorelli’s

and that it defines him; they only seek to teaseout what is essential.

Although not all do so, the monographs’ chap-ters themselves may explore some related sec-ondary questions: the internal chronology of thecycle during the period, some four and a halfyears, from its start to its finish; and the role ofassistants in executing some parts. It has not beenpossible to reach agreement on these issues,which helps to explain the reappearance ofnewer books of the same type.

The separation of master and pupil dependsalmost entirely on judgments about quality inmanual execution, which may be subjective.Where one student sees a pupil, another may seethe master on a bad day, or may just disagree thata given area is bad at all. The internal chronologyis similarly subjective. It tends to presume thatthe artist’s evolution is linear, not allowing forbacking and filling. Such irregular shifts might beespecially likely in a mural, however, with refer-ences intended from one segment to another forthematic reasons even if painted at differenttimes. Cumulatively with this, there is subjectiv-ity in the choice of factors thought to be criticalfor the linear development, such as shift from lin-ear to brushier work, or more to less emphasis ondetail. Such factors have often been the sameones thought to mark the large evolution of artin the era. Internal chronology is also less possibleto establish firmly in a short span like this, incontrast to the whole career of forty-odd years ofa painter such as Signorelli.11

There is also the question of how importantsuch judgments are, when used for a purposeother than the original one of comparison withundecided cases outside the cycle. When theentire cycle was under the firm control of themaster, whether a figure was executed by one oranother assistant may not be of great conse-quence, and likewise when the execution tookplace with little interruption, from segment to

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segment, it may not be possible to date the processwith respect to differences in style. If there werefirm information on these matters, it would behelpful to introduce it, even if judged not veryimportant. But the uncertainty and slightness ofeffect on the final product has led to the decisionhere to downplay drastically the major compo-nents of monographs, the arguments on author-ship by master and pupils, and the short internalchronology. These matters are brought in when apoint can be supported by evidence, generally notstylistic—such as whether it was common at thetime to assign pupil artists small-scale border ele-ments and the like, or technical information, suchas the plaster ground of one segment overlappinganother and thus being of later date. This volumedeals instead with matters that the monographchapters have addressed only to a small degree ornot at all. It is hoped that, in the process, theresults presented here can be accepted as morereliable than the proposals about stylistic variables,favored by monograph writers.

Because the monograph chapters on the Orvi-eto cycle do not themselves involve attributionpros and cons, the lively descriptions are theirchief content. They thus face at once the prob-lem of the vast scale of the work, with its hun-dreds of very individual figures. How could it bedescribed without confusion? All the writerssolved the problem in the same way, suggestedby the conditions in the chapel. They settled onsuccessive descriptions of the imagery in sectionsdefined by the architecture. The long side wallsof the chapel are each divided into two equalparts by half columns. To these four units areadded one of similar scale, at the far end, with thealtar and windows, and another one, at theentrance end, with wall segments at either side ofthe entrance. The vault, with its sets of arches,provides eight more smaller units.

The monograph writers all make the samedecision about the order in which these units

should be described. They invariably set up atour walking around the walls. (The vault, whichis always given shorter comment, may precede orfollow this.) The tour may be clockwise—as inCruttwell, who explains she will “work graduallyaround the walls”—or counterclockwise, theusual choice. It always begins with the story ofAntichrist, on the side wall at the viewer’s left onentering, for the natural reason that this is clearlyshown by the relevant texts to have been the ear-liest event. It then usually works past theentrance door, turns the corner to move alongthe other side wall, with the Raising of the Deadand the Assembly of the Damned, crosses thealtar wall, where the souls descend toward helland rise toward heaven, and finally reaches theAssembly of the Blessed on the wall where itbegan, next to Antichrist. Salmi correctly andrevealingly calls this a cronistoria, a chronicle-history. The same formula appears in other writ-ings, ranging from guidebooks to specializedstudies on the theory of narrative cycles.

This formula always encourages, and neverdoes anything to displace, a fallacy that thenbecomes a structural component of the studies.The central theme of the chapel imagery is theLast Judgment, a powerful subject that has a longand steady tradition in imagery, here fully main-tained. There are many segments, but they donot follow one on another, as a narrative. TheAssembly of the Damned and the Assembly ofthe Blessed are events simultaneous with eachother, and effectively so, in images, with thejudging that sorts them. This unit of imagery fillsthe whole inner half of the chapel, both the altarwall and the adjacent halves of both side walls, asfar outward as the half columns mentioned, andit fills the entire vault. It therefore fills more thanhalf of the area painted, indeed about two-thirds,since the paintable surface of the altar wall, bro-ken by windows, is larger than the correspondingsurface of the entrance wall, cut by the entrance

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arch. This smaller outer segment of the chapeldoes present a narrative chronicle, which is aninnovation in Last Judgment cycles. The scale ofthe chapel provided this extra space, which wasfilled with what an anonymous contemporarywriter, whose text will be discussed in detailbelow, called the “horrible preamble” of theJudgment: the deeds of Antichrist and more. Thequoted term will be used here. The frescoesshow this series of events, although the orderaround the walls does not match the order in thetexts used. The fallacy of the monographs was tocontinue the narrative pattern offered here intothe inner bay with the actual Judgment, so thatthe damned are seen assembled before Christjudges them, and the saved are assembled stilllater, as we have the scenes pointed out to us.

The authors of the monographs were wellaware of Last Judgment imagery and in generalhave not taken their narrative accounts to thelogical conclusion by stating the relationship justdescribed. Rather, they tend not to give a title tothe whole cycle—but only to the parts—which iscontrary to the natural and usual approach ofstarting with the former and then proceeding tothe latter. Scarpellini uses the name “Last Judg-ment” once, in parentheses, but gives the seg-ments headings set in type like chapter titles.They are in the usual order, and the Assembly ofthe Blessed is noted as in the “last” wall area.Moriondo offers the name only after discussingall the segments in a summary comparing thiscycle with the next one discussed. Dussler prop-erly speaks of the cycle of “Last Things,” but hecalls the last segment, the Assembly of theBlessed, an “epilogue” to the one discussed justbefore, the “Rise of the Blessed to Heaven.”12 Inthe approach he uses, however, in which theseare viewed as separate scenes, the time sequenceshould be the opposite. This problem is resolvedif the Last Judgment is understood as a singlescene, where one moment is shown in simulta-

neous parts, while also, in a typical Renaissancedevice, dramatic time is presented by showingsome interchangeable members of a chorus in anearlier phase of the movement common to them,and other members in a later phase. These puz-zles, particularly absence of a name for the cycle,might result from the authors’ understanding thattheir approach has an oxymoronic relationshipwith the standard formulation of the Last Judg-ment, which is represented here.

The different kind of description in the presentvolume is the result of taking the theme fully intoaccount. The narrative sequence is quite appro-priate for the smaller portion in the outer bay,met when first entering. Each scene correspondsto a segment framed by a column or a corner ofthe room, and the scenes as noted are incidents ina narrative series. The inner bay, however, con-sists entirely of a single grand image: the tradi-tional Last Judgment. Its focus is at the top andcenter, with the Judging Christ, and from there itspreads out and down symmetrically. Oppositewalls play against each other thematically, withthe saved and the damned embodying the deci-sions shown in Christ’s gestures of condemningand blessing. As for the columns and cornersinternal to this image, the artists, both Angelicoand Signorelli, sometimes let the imagery jumpover them or flow past them while still findingelegant ways to exploit them. This is easy to seewhen the tradition of earlier Last Judgments isrecalled in observing this one. But in the mono-graphs, that happens slightly or not at all, which iswhy they are not followed here.13

Why have the monograph writers not beenable to recognize all this—and specifically theway the parts of the frescos relate to oneanother—and why did they present the sequencewrong? There may be several reasons for this.First because the central image of the BlessingChrist is by Fra Angelico it was excluded fromthe descriptions in the Signorelli monographs.

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Second, the schema in the mural cycle has beenmodified from the traditional one (as happenedregularly within the tradition), notably in the dis-placement of the Raising of the Dead scene. Butcertainly the broadest and primary misleadingfactor, also a major cause of the two factors justmentioned, is the architectural element. Thesubdivision by columns, the extension to thevaults, and (in degree at least) the movementaround corners had not been elements in earlierLast Judgments.

What is fascinating is the way the artists handledthis new problem, and that is something themonographs do not realize. In fact, the mono-graphs omit any discussion of the architecturalambient of the cycle. Taking the wall areas asscenes and treating the segments in sequence, asthe monographs do, deals with them as if theywere paintings that could be hung anywhere. Insome cases this treatment is surely the result ofworking with photographs of the segments, whichentirely removes them from the important con-text of place. In the present volume, however,context is a major element and consideration.

Books on single mural cycles, like this one, area small but well-formulated category in art his-tory.14 They usually include information aboutcontext that takes varied forms but is generallyquite brief. Eve Borsook’s book on Giotto’sPeruzzi Chapel murals discussed the patrons andother people in the situation, the clergy and therulers of the city, though not the architecture.The latter may have seemed to be entirely ordi-nary. The best-known monograph on the Sistineceiling, that by Charles de Tolnay, discusses thearchitecture in a preliminary section; other fac-tors of context are cited throughout the study atkey points.

For the present volume, consideration of thearchitecture called for much more—indeed, awhole chapter. The chapel is very exceptional inscale—notably in height and the way it connects

to the church, as well as in having two bays. Thesearch for the reason for the chapel’s trulyextraordinary character takes us to the earlierconstruction of the church and to its administra-tion. The social history of Orvieto, notably itsspecial relationship to heretical movements, thenbecomes involved. Closer reading of the archiveselicits an astonishing observation, that the chapelhad no dedication either to a saint or to a patronfamily.

The chapter on these surprising matters comesfirst, because it precedes the murals in chronology,and it is able to make much use of scholarship onthe city, on heresy, and on the architecture. Thosestudies, however, have tended to remain isolatedfrom one another, as studies of the murals havebeen from all of them. The standard social historyof the town of Orvieto in this period never men-tions the cathedral church, and the standard archi-tectural history of the cathedral building does notmention that the chapel is in any way unusual. Anexcellent book on all the art-historical aspects ofOrvieto Cathedral (Carli 1965) treats the muralsagain in isolation, producing a chapter much likethose in the monographs. Thus, instead of merelyciting the relationships among these factors, thepresent volume newly defines the light that eachfactor sheds on the others. Here too the bulk ofthe wordage of this book is without a backgroundin preceding investigations.

This apparent improvement nevertheless pro-duced a negative problem. On the one hand, nomore monographs of the traditional kind seem tobe needed, but, on the other hand, professionalreaders opening a book about the murals mayexpect precisely that, and be disconcerted whenthey find something different. Instead of a fewpages on context and then a description of thepaintings, the reader of this book is faced with anentire chapter on the chapel architecture andrelated matters. Eager to find out about the paint-ings themselves, he or she might wonder what

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the connection is, why this opening chapter isthere at all. This is why it has seemed necessary toexplain the reason for this opening chapter and tooutline its contents. The coherent connection is,simply, chronology. The city precedes the cathe-dral, which in turn precedes the chapel, and thechapel precedes the murals. More critical is thatthe murals are the way they are because of theseprior givens—and that is a new observation.

This is a major issue for the reader, because the same need to go beyond the usual governsthe later chapters for still other reasons. After thechapel was built, the commission for the muralsfollowed. Documents give rich information onthis process, and these documents have alwaysbeen utilized, mainly for extracting the dates andnames of artists. There is also a separate scholarlyliterature of high quality on the documentsthemselves that goes back to the major work ofLuigi Fumi of 1891 and even earlier. (Yet eventhe latest study of 1996 omits some key records;see Chapter 5, notes 88 and 91 below.) The keyrecord of the commission to Angelico in 1447was of course published very early, in 1877, andit is regrettable that the 1891 work, which wasoften assumed to be complete, intentionallyomitted mention of it. The commission makesclear that it was the artist who chose the theme ofthe Last Judgment—which is surprising, but lessso, when it is recalled that the chapel was lackinga dedication. In this context too it has never beenrealized that Angelico left a drawing for thewhole inner bay presenting the standard LastJudgment. The reference has been taken todescribe a drawing of the vault only. This in turncasts new light on what Signorelli did when hecame to paint the cycle.

The present volume also brings out for the firsttime the importance of a series of popes for whathappened at Orvieto. The current interest inpatron and social studies has not taken this intoaccount. Between the work of Angelico (1447)

and Signorelli (from 1499), the most ambitiousimage of a Last Judgment in a nearby locus was onthe tomb of Pope Paul II. It is shown that thispope had ties to Orvieto, and the tomb imageitself is also here brought forward from remarkableart-historical inattention. Connections emergewith other popes too, from Pius II to Paul III.

The last chapters of this volume have to dowith an element that has been much discussed,but with much-debated findings. This is thewainscot area, which surprisingly has imagerytaken from secular poetry and similar sources.The present volume takes a separate approach tothe inner and outer bays, as in the case of thelarger paintings above, but also makes observa-tions about the interrelationship among several ofthe wainscot images. Earlier suggestions haveincluded cases of doubtful titles of single scenesthat are unrelated to those nearby.

In the process of making a distinction betweenthe inner and outer bays, this book brings inanother approach that is absent from the mono-graphs. Like discussions of many Renaissancecomplexes, the monographs tend to treat thework monolithically, presuming that the finalproduct is identical to a plan made at the start.This treatment is usually not pointed out, how-ever, for that would recall the fact that history isoften shifting. Here, however, it is argued thatthe cycle is better understood by locatingchanges in the project at various points along theway. The usual view is a tribute to the artists,who evidently sought to evoke unity in the lookof the work when complete.

This volume follows the shifts in the project inthat it uses a genetic approach. With its basis inthe chronology, it repeatedly introduces newfactors, sometimes stopping also to explore thebases for those factors. In the end, the mono-graphs reflect the power of the final unified mes-sage, and that power of the message is the raisond’être here too.

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In the early 1990s the frescoes underwent theirmost notable physical change in more than a cen-tury, in a full-scale conservation program. Thisprogram became the focus of the public’s atten-tion to the cycle for a time, for understandablereasons: the closing of the chapel to visitors forseveral years, and our culture’s general fascina-tion with technical processes. The visual andcommunicative qualities of the work, however,were hardly affected, as is clear from comparingnew photographs with the scarcely differentolder ones. It seems symptomatic that in thecommemorative publication (Testa 1996) thetechnical and the other papers almost never

interrelate; the latter could have been writtenearlier, and some no doubt were. The conserva-tion, which was excellent, was needed becausethe damp walls were a risk to the paintings, and italso removed dirt and grime. It revealed, too, afew quite small details of the work that had beenhidden, the chief ones being a head on the altarwall among the figures en route to hell, and anarm of an otherwise destroyed figure on theentrance wall. These will be noted below in con-text. Primarily, the fact of the conservation is tobe celebrated as a sign of modern appreciation ofthe familiar Renaissance masterpiece.

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Gilbert.FrontMatter 10/23/02 3:07 PM Page xx

The Place as a Precondition

p

he paintings that are the theme of this bookwere done on masonry walls and so are virtu-ally immovable. That is a normal arrange-

ment for paintings of that culture, the ItalianRenaissance. The walls themselves have theirown characteristics, which were among thegivens when the paintings were produced; theyare the walls (and vault, or ceiling) of a roomcalled a chapel, in a church called a cathedral, ina small town on a hill. Visitors are deeply awareof these contingencies, but viewers of photo-graphs and other reproductions often are not.Books about these paintings generally give someappropriate information on the town, and a littleon the cathedral, but usually do not stop to talkabout the nature of the chapel where the paint-ings are. Because it is a very unusual chapel, puz-zling and perhaps unique, that is unfortunate; anyassumptions that people have about what chapelsare, even if true, are not applicable to the Orvi-eto chapel.

It was in the thirteenth century that the townof Orvieto acquired the character that it largelyretains today. The cathedral was built around theend of that century and the early part of the nextone. In the thirteenth century the populationincreased greatly, commercial and professionalspecialties came into being, and governmentdeveloped, manifested in a monumental cityhall.1 Orvieto, some ninety miles north of Rome,shares these qualities with such nearby hill townsas Viterbo, Volterra, Cortona, Todi, Spoleto,

and, the largest, Siena and Perugia. Today allshow an urban fabric that has remained in placesince that earlier period. Further evolutionfocused on water-level towns, such as Florenceand Pisa.

The wealth of the towns attracted predators—generally military clans that took control that waslimited only by fights with other clans. Thetowns also became subject to larger neighbors,such as papal Rome to the south and Florence tothe north. A few of the largest retained inde-pendence for some generations more. Siena didso with the same sort of mercantile government,for the most part, and Perugia did so alternatingbetween clan rule and papal control. The restwere overshadowed by these greater powers,each in a slightly different way.

Orvieto was ruled during most of the four-teenth century and the first half of the fifteenth bythe Monaldeschi clan, whose branches oftenfought each other in a competition that includedassassinations. Yet, between bursts of violence,placid local affairs retained their importance. Anunusual factor is that the relationship with thepapacy was perhaps stronger than it was in any ofthe other towns mentioned. Competing groupsdefined themselves either as allied with thepapacy or as champions of autonomy. In the thir-teenth century, popes often lived in Orvietomore or less permanently, a fact that is reflected ina grand thirteenth-century papal residence. Thereis a similar residence in Viterbo (the nearest of

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these towns to Rome), and both Viterbo andPerugia (the largest of the group), still showtombs of popes of that era who happened to diethere. Urban IV (r. 1261–64) spent most of hisreign in Orvieto and never entered Rome. Todayit is natural to assume that popes were always inRome, apart from the Avignon period, but theyactually often preferred these other towns. Romehad stronger baronial clans and a less pleasant cli-mate in the warmer months than the towns, overwhich the popes also always wanted to reasserttheir feudal lordship. Around 1460 the papacy didpermanently gain effective control of Orvieto,and the Monaldeschi subsided into the role ofleading citizens. At this general period, northernand central Italy were consolidating into fewerand larger political units.

Religious heresy played an important role inOrvieto in the thirteenth century, compared withall the other towns. It was part of a larger move-ment of the era, known by various names. Theheretics were often called Albigensians, from thetown of Albi in southern France, and theDominican order grew up to fight them chieflyunder that name. Scholars today most often speakof the Cathari, or “pure,” a term used by the peo-ple themselves.2 They were “Patari” in Milan,and in Orvieto then and later they were known as“Manicheans.” That last term was picked up fromthe name Saint Augustine had used for theheretics of his time a millennium earlier, and it isnot unsuitable. In both cases the faith was dualis-tic, identifying good and evil with soul and bodyrespectively. It followed for the Manicheans,then, that Christ, who was totally good, couldnot have lived in a body. As an offshoot of that,they denied the Catholic doctrine in which, inany Mass, the priest’s ritual transforms bread andwine into Christ’s Body and Blood. Wholly goodpeople at death go at once to heaven, as souls,while the less good must be reborn as bodies.This denies the Catholic doctrine of purgatory as

a place where the souls of the moderately good orbad spend time after death, to be cleansed. It alsodenies the Last Judgment, at the end of time,when, Catholic doctrine says, bodies are resur-rected and sent definitively to hell or heaven, stillas bodies. Still other related doctrines of theManicheans, such as the evil of sex and of animalfood, have less connection with our present topic.All this, to be sure, is learned chiefly from thewritings of the enemies of the Cathari. Yetbecause the wall paintings in Orvieto were alsoproduced by the orthodox, this may not distortour reading of their references to heresy.

Outside southern France the Cathari flour-ished in various Italian towns. However, amongeleven such towns singled out in a recent survey,nine are north of the Apennines; Florence is thetenth; and the last, 190 kilometers still farthersouth, is Orvieto.3 The town was thus both iso-lated from other such centers and the only townwithin Rome’s sphere of influence. One couldthen expect Orvieto to be a flash point of conflictbetween the heretics and the papacy, exceedingthe general level, and that is just what happened.

Orvieto was in the midst of a virtual civil warin 1199, and the current pope, the redoutableInnocent III, sent an envoy to take control, a layRoman patrician named Pietro Parenzo. Parenzowas assassinated, reportedly by a Manichean,with a hammer blow to the head. It is not sur-prising that he was immediately viewed as a saintand that later his body and relics were preservedin the Orvieto Cathedral. Parenzo’s biographywas entered into the local catalogue of Masses forspecial days and is our main source on these mat-ters.4 The power of this set of events even threehundred years later is evoked in the inclusion ofthe assassination in Signorelli’s cycle of paintings(Fig. 75).

Orvieto’s moment on the world stage comestwo generations later, in 1264. The fame today ofthe Miracle of Bolsena is largely due to Raphael’s

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. Reliquary of the “Corporal,” Orvieto Cathedral,Cappella del Corporale

fresco depicting the miracle in the Vatican (c. 1512), commissioned by Pope Julius II (Fig.76). Up to that time, the miracle had retained itsimportance in religious contexts. The story isabout a priest who was saying Mass in the smalltown of Bolsena, on the shores of the lake of thesame name, and found himself doubting the truthof the miracle of bread and wine becomingChrist’s Body and Blood. He was then amazed tosee blood drip from the consecrated bread (called“the Host” in church terminology) onto the“corporal,” a small white linen cloth placedunder the chalice and paten (the cup and platefor the bread and wine) for Mass. The “corporal”therefore became a sacred relic,5 and since 1338 ithas been encased in a remarkable reliquary boxon which a set of narrative scenes in enamelshow what happened next (Fig. 2). The enamel,a masterpiece of that art, also includes a series ofscenes of Christ’s life, but it focuses on eightscenes reporting the miracle.6 The first shows theMass just as Raphael would later present it. In theother seven, we begin with the report beinggiven by the priest—who has traveled the twelvemiles to Orvieto, the nearest city—to PopeUrban IV. We then continue with the popeinstructing the bishop of Orvieto to go toBolsena to get the relic, the bishop doing so, thepope (in two scenes) venerating the relic when itreaches Orvieto, his showing it to the people,and finally Saint Thomas Aquinas kneelingbefore the pope, to present to him the liturgicaltext for the new holy day Corpus Christi (“Bodyof Christ”) the pope had established.7

The relic today still occupies a focal place inOrvieto Cathedral. It was transferred to the townfrom Bolsena probably not because Orvieto wasthe nearest sizable place, having a bishop, butbecause the pope was resident. It is generallyassumed without a debate that the miracle andthe response to it were simple products of theconcern at the time to fight the heresy about the

Mass and the miracle of the transformed breadand wine, so that it might have happened any-where. But it is more likely that it was a particu-larly Orvietan event, relating to the local force ofthat heresy. The resulting emphasis on the Bodyof Christ might seem to conflict with our con-ventional impression that the religious Middle

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Ages focused on the spirit and disdained this-worldly perception of material things. It is inkeeping, however, with a separate familiar con-vention that tells us how the new Franciscanmovement of that century admired nature andmoved toward Renaissance attitudes.

In Orvietan history, the next grand event isthe construction of the cathedral, the buildingthat would house our frescoes. It got under wayin the 1280s after long discussions.8 The cathedralis extraordinarily ambitious in scale relative to thetown’s scale and resources (Fig. 3). Especially inheight, it far surpasses the cathedrals of Viterboand Perugia, larger papal towns. In those, the

cathedral fits readily within the urban silhouette,but Orvieto stretches above its neighbor build-ings in a way that is famous in cathedral towns of France and Germany as well as in the largestcentral Italian cities, Florence, Siena, and Pisa. It seems evident that this grandeur and propor-tion embody the special extent of churchlyenergy in the town, exceeding the town’s localcivic energies.

In the past, writers linked this effect with theMiracle of Bolsena and the subsequent pilgrim-ages to Orvieto. Recently, however, the presenceof the popes has been called the primary reason.9

In early records, which are rich, it is true that

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. Orvieto Cathedral, general view


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there is little about pilgrims or the miracle, buton the other hand, the actual beginning of con-struction, around 1290, virtually coincides withthe tail end of papal sojourns. Papal presences hadbeen frequent, from Urban IV’s stay (1262–64),to the longest, by Martin IV (1281–84), but afterthat were limited to the fifteen months ofNicholas IV (1290–91) and the five months ofBoniface VIII (1297).10 Papal absence seems notto have affected the energetic pace of the cathe-dral’s construction, completed around 1308 withno pause and with unusual speed. After that therich work on the façade’s sculptures and mosaicscontinued steadily, at a time when the interest inthe Bolsena factor does become clear.

The plan of the cathedral (Figs. 4 and 5) isalmost peculiarly plain compared with others ofits period. Before the later additions, it presentedone very large rectangle modified slightly by thesmall semicircular exedra of the apse (Fig. 5) andthe rows of even smaller semicircular chapelsalong the sides.11 Inside, the rectangle was simplydivided into the standard nave and an aisle oneach side. In addition to the exceptional smallnessof the side chapels, what is odd here is the absenceof any cross arm. Such cross arms are consistentlypresent in Europe in large churches of this era,and large chapels often open onto them. Thebuildings thus show a cruciform perimeter; thecross arms are the transepts. The only way atransept might be claimed to be present in theoriginal structure at Orvieto is with respect toheight. The aisles, in the normal way, are onlyhalf as high as the 33-meter-high nave betweenthem, except in their final bay toward the altarend. There they rise to the same height as thenave, in a bay that is also longer than the others.These two bays, one on each side of the building,thus are differentiated spaces. They might becalled nonprojecting transepts12 or, more mod-estly, in relation to the transeptal chapels to bediscussed later, they could be regarded as transep-

tal bays. Thus the church, a rectangle at groundlevel, was cruciform at roof level. In between, atthe top of the aisles, it presented a cross inside arectangle, a form that the Middle Ages exploredin reliquaries of the true cross.13

Studies that seek to explain this remarkablestructure have most often suggested that it bor-rowed the model of a great church in Rome, thebasilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. An impressivesupport for this view is a document of Orvieto in1290. In this, an official of Pope Nicholas IV,then present in the town, instructed local officialsthat their church ought to be “noble and serious(solempnis) on the model of Santa Maria Mag-giore in Rome.”14 The churches do share thesame grand scale and the specifics of a timberroof—not unusual at the time in Italy—andsemicircular apse.15 However, beyond this it ismore difficult to match them. The Roman basil-ica offers no analogy to Orvieto’s most distinc-tive details just considered: the small chapels andthe missing cross arms. These cross arms in Romeare admittedly unusually short, but they wereadded to the church in a remodeling by this sameNicholas IV, reflecting a clear intent to show astandard cruciform profile.16 Nicholas certainlycould have omitted them and built a straightexternal wall, more cheaply than providing theslight extension. The absence of anything similarin Orvieto must be seen as a negative relation tothe Roman model rather then a reference to it.(It has been suggested that the transepts in Romewere short because of a drop in the ground levelat that point, implying that otherwise they wouldhave been of greater and normal length.17) Onemight then understand the pope’s wish to havethe Orvieto church be “on the model” (ad instar)of the one in Rome as being focused on theoverall qualities of nobility and seriousness—justwhat his text specifies. It indeed has such quali-ties. The idea that the copying of buildings in theMiddle Ages normally takes such a generalized

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form is well established. Yet while this readinghas been adopted by some scholars with respectto this instance,18 others have naturally beentempted by the rare document to seek likeness ofvisual detail, in another art-historical tradition.

The generalized likeness is consistent with thename given to the Orvieto church in early docu-ments in some cases: not simply Santa Maria butSanta Maria Maggiore, like the one in Rome.Visually, the buildings also differ in that theRoman structure does not have the small chapelsin exedra form. These chapels in Orvieto havedrawn attention as oddities, and a model forthem in a Roman secular building of the time hasbeen proposed by several writers. That model isthe papal palace of the Lateran, connected withthe church of the same name.19 Old views of thisnow-lost palace show the external aspect of sucha row of small exedrae, which could well haveinspired the Orvieto builder. The effect is cer-tainly quite like what one sees on the exterior of

Orvieto Cathedral when one approaches fromthe side.20 That is what a pope would see whenhe emerged from his Orvieto palace and walkedtoward the cathedral across a short space. Butfrom inside the cathedral it is a bit more difficultto claim a likeness. That would require thinkingthat the visual model from the Lateran hadextended its influence to produce the secondrow of exedrae on the other side. Inside, more-over, the exedrae as series of cups of spacestrongly proclaim their function as chapels.21 Thatwas mildly implicit from the outside, but insidethecathedral it is reinforced because they echothe semicircular apse—a chapel too, not to befound in the same outside view or in the Romanmodel. The semicircle of the apse can claim to bethe prime starting point for the rows of smallersemicircular spaces, the central statement thatthey reflect to left and right. One might thinkthat this design sequence was the result of a desireto make these chapels so unusually small, as part

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(above) . Orvieto Cathedral, plan as of 1450

(right) . Orvieto Cathedral, plan showing original curvedapse and additions, to 1450


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of the emphasis on rectangular simplicity. Stan-dard chapels of the period would have beenlarger; these at Orvieto can be so modest partlybecause their semicircular enclosing walls allowsome of the furniture to extend into the centralspace without seeming awkward.

Even when viewed from the outside, the rowsof chapels diverge from the Roman precedent ina visually strong way, another clue that their rea-son for being is not to be found there. TheRoman series runs along the entire length of thebuilding wall, but the exedrae in Orvieto fill onlyits central segment, leaving the last bays at bothends blank and flat. (The last bay at the altar endcorresponds to the transeptal bay inside.22) If it isthought that the inspiration came from theRoman structure, there have been alterations,evidently for a reason. The suggestion arises thatthere are connections between all these specialchoices in Orvieto: the simple plan so outside thenorms of a big church, the absence of cross arms,and the omission of exedrae at the ends of thewalls. One might hypothesize that all thesechoices are connected with a plan by the builderto counterbalance the simple main form withexternal attachments of some elaboration later, tobe attached where omissions had left space avail-able to fit them—for indeed such attachmentsdid get built later, in the form of large transeptalchapels, a special kind of cross arm.

Among those chapels is the one that concernsus, that would then receive the paintings ofAngelico and Signorelli: the Cappella Nuova.The only novelty in this hypothesis is the ideathat these modifications were envisioned fromthe start. (There were also modifications thatplainly had not been so envisioned—in particulara bigger apse, with a choir in it, which entailedtearing down the original small apse exedra.)

The most spectacular elaboration soon addedwas the unique and very rich façade treatment,combining large fields of mosaic above and

sculpture below (Fig. 6). To be sure, this had notneeded, for its implementation, the special sim-plicity of the primary scheme just described. Allit needed was a flat surface that could be filledwith imagery, a surface that was consistent withthat simplicity. Yet it may be regarded, like theother elaborations, as intended from the start andthus as one component of the same large con-cept, partly because it resembles the others andpartly because some sort of rich treatment is nor-mal in such façades in this period. This façade isunique, however, in that narrative or quasi-narrative figuration completely covers it from topto bottom. It uses two kinds of materials, bothtending to flatness: mosaic in the upper three-quarters and a special variant of low-relief sculp-ture below. Writers studying the building havetended to view the two in isolation from eachother and have given the mosaics much lessattention, partly no doubt because today whatwe see is largely a restoration of the nineteenthcentury. The splendid sculpture has beenintensely analyzed. Some of the many problemsopened up as a result may be clarified, it is sug-gested, if it is viewed as part of the whole façade,downplaying somewhat the division into twomedia.

Mosaics had been common on church façadesin the region for more than a century when thiswork began. Major examples survive at the Spo-leto cathedral (1207) and at San Miniato, Flo-rence, both representing Christ in Glory, and atSan Frediano, Lucca (c. 1250), with the Ascen-sion of Christ. All fill only a small part of the topcenter of the façade, and the rest is not orna-mented, beyond handsome slabs of colored mar-ble and architectural membering. The planareffect is strong. From about 1300 Rome showsgrander projects, with Nicholas IV’s Santa MariaMaggiore, already introduced, and Saint Peter’s,with its famous Navicella by Giotto. Both stretchacross wider surfaces and present narratives, but

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. Orvieto Cathedral, façade


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still leave the lower area around the doors with-out figure imagery. In style, they mark a shiftfrom an entirely Byzantine formulation seen inthe earlier façades mentioned to the modern Ital-ian approach famous at the same time in thework of Giotto.

Quite apart from these buildings, other grandchurches at the time show sculpture coveringtheir lower façades. It may extend upward, butmore sparsely. The richest case in the same geo-graphical area is at the cathedral of Siena. It iscommonly named as the model for Orvieto,23

both for that reason and because the Orvietosculpture plainly shows a Sienese style. TheSienese project also includes mosaics, if only in asmall area, and carved vine-leaf scrolls on thecolumns at the sides of Siena’s main door arequite similar to those that fill the carved panels atOrvieto, framing all the scenes. Yet in the majorways the two façades are very different. Siena’sfaçade is dominated by very large individual stat-ues, like cathedral façades in Florence and GothicFrance; it offers no source for Orvieto’s most dis-tinctive decision, which was to fill the wholelower façade with large panels of marble filled inturn with complex narrative cycles, in very lowrelief.

The Orvieto decorations with mosaic andsculpture were not likely to have been plannedwithout each paying attention to the other. Toview them in relation may, in particular, clarifythe basis for the unique kind of sculpture. Theuse of mosaic in this way at Orvieto was not at allinnovative, so one may think that it came first inthe planning, and that the sculpture developed inrelation to it, rather than the reverse. A concernthat the sculpture should relate comfortably tothe mosaic above could indeed evoke qualitieswe find: both the allover surface of narrative andthe pictorial and planar effect. In this contextvarious other possible inquiries that might go farafield from the central matter here are opened.

These include the large bronzes between themosaic and the planar marbles, and the roughsurfaces of the latter near the top.24 It is possiblethat later during the project the costlier mosaicgave way to stone below for budgetary reasons.25

Or one might begin with the fact that bothmosaic at the top and the sculpture below arequite traditional and that it is the blend that isnovel. Sculpture below might have been advisedas being safer against damage and vandalism.26

When the cathedral is approached from a dis-tance at first, the mosaic is more magneticbecause of its glittering color and gold and itslarger scale of imagery. Its relation to the farsmaller scale of figures below is not unlike thatfound in the period in painted altarpieces, withlarge saints above and small narrative predellasbelow—a new formula in the region around1300 that was first common in Siena and foundhelpful in teaching doctrine. To be sure, just asthe sculpture wins when we come close, at itslevel, so too it gained the favor of the builders.The mosaics remained unfinished for centuries,and came to look old-fashioned.

The Orvieto sculpture, still the most intricateand vivid part of the cathedral decoration a cen-tury after it was carved, seems in some ways toforetell the wall paintings of Angelico and Sig-norelli. This happens in two of the four seg-ments, on the second pier (between the left doorand the central one) and the fourth (to the rightof the right door, at the corner of the building).The first and third are devoted to rather commonthemes: the Creation story from Genesis and theLife of Christ, respectively. They do show moreincidents from those stories than average, as thesmall scale permits. The fourth panel shifts fromnarrative to a single big image, the Last Judgment(Fig. 33). This subject, if not so common, didhave a standard formulation, seen both here andlater in the chapel frescoes by Angelico and Sig-norelli. Its only unusual quality is the sculptural

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. Pier with reliefs ofantetypes of Christ, OrvietoCathedral façade

. Detail of Fig. 7, lower left section

medium, common for the subject in France atthe time (with quite different details) but quiterare in Italy.

Before concluding with the very strange sec-ond pier, this may be the point to notice theexceptional records evincing admiration for thiswhole cycle. Although the statements are few,the existence of any at all is unusual for such asmall town. The first report of this kind is in theautobiographical chronicle of Pope Pius II, whovisited in 1460. The pope was from Sienese terri-


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tory and thus a nearer neighbor to the Orvietansthan any pope in memory had been; this connec-tion, which continued in his family, will reappearin this study. A constant traveler, Pius gives usbrief accounts of the many places where hestopped, no doubt much helped by the localinformants pleased to boast. Works of art arementioned only rarely in these reports, and thesereliefs are given more space then any other paint-ing or sculpture.27 Pius II begins by praising thecathedral for yielding to none in all Italy in size,materials, art, and “memorable form.” The highand wide façade was carved by excellent mastersfrom Siena, he says, and “the faces,” both of menand animals, “seem alive in the white marble.”(He copies that phrasing from Virgil’s Aeneid.)The work “allows one to see the resurrection ofthe dead, the judgment by the Savior, the pun-ishment of the damned, the rewards of the cho-sen.” That series of four topics, in fact, notesevery section of the rightmost panel, which isalso the standard set for a normal complete Judg-ment scene at the time. His allusion to animalsevidently refers to a different panel of the series,quite probably the scene at the left of God creat-ing the animals, which is at eye level.

As has been observed,28 the text is exceptionalin 1460 in showing appreciation of work of theprevious century. At the time, art from the tre-cento in general appeared to be outdated, withrare exceptions. Such appreciation is thus evenmore surprising when the same sculpture ispraised again by a travel guidebook author, Lean-dro Alberti, in 1549, in this case too the onlywork of art of Orvieto so noticed.29 After callingthe cathedral “very sumptuous,” Alberti goes on:“In its façade are excellent marble figures doneby the hands of singular sculptors. Among theseis the story in which the supreme craftsman,God, draws out Adam’s rib to form Eve, donewith such artifice that it would seem almostimpossible for human skill to improve.” The

only other element of the church Alberti men-tions is the alabaster windows, and although hisbook reports on many works of art, these sculp-tures receive probably his most detailed and mostenthusiastic comments. He enjoys the rhetoricaldevice of calling God an artist, forming Eve, inparallel with what the sculptors did, but must alsobe credited with having looked. It is not surpris-ing that this author found this work more to histaste than such other works in the cathedral asthe mosaics, the trecento frescoes in the interior,and even Gentile da Fabriano’s Madonna (to bediscussed later), which could seem more archaicbecause it is less classical. But the silence aboutSignorelli’s work is more puzzling.

One of the four marble panels remains to bediscussed: the second panel from the left, with itsrare theme (Fig. 7). The easiest part of this panelto understand is the vertical row of figures alongits center line, all enclosed in a vine scroll. Toreach the Virgin at the top, it starts with abearded man reclining in sleep, at the base (Fig.8). This sleeping man allows the vertical series tobe identified as the Tree of Jesse, based on theopening lines of the Gospels of Matthew andLuke, where Christ’s ancestors are named. Atboth sides of the “tree” small narratives havebeen rightly understood to be a wide range ofOld Testament scenes, each chosen as an ana-logue with a scene from the life of Christ that iscarved at the corresponding place on the adjacentthird panel. Yet some of the scenes have provedquite hard to name. Even more puzzling is thethird and last set of images on the panel, wherethe sleeping Jesse is flanked by two rows ofmostly bearded figures (Fig. 8).

The solution was happily provided by scholarsin the 1930s when they found identical sets ofimages in an unexpected context: in fresco cyclesin various areas of the Balkans. These scenesoften included inscriptions naming the unusualsubjects.30 The early studies reported a few such

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cycles, but more were then added, and today noless than eighteen of them are known, in Serbia,Bulgaria, and Romania. The earliest, in Serbia,are of the 1260s. The assumption that the scenesare Old Testament analogues (or “types,” in theterminology of theologians) of Christ’s life isfully confirmed. The surprise is the identity ofthe rows of figures at the base. They are sages ofthe ancient classical world, including Plato, Aris-totle, and the Eritrean sibyl, as well as variousothers less famous. They too offer a model forSignorelli.

The presence of many such cycles in theBalkans from an early date, and only one in west-ern Europe, in Orvieto, has reasonably led mostobservers to infer that this imagery originated inthe Balkans and that the Orvieto cycle derivesfrom that base. Yet Michael Taylor, perhaps theone scholar who has studied the subject in mostdetail, has argued to the contrary. He finds thebasis for this iconography in Western intellectualcurrents, most notably in the revival of admira-tion for Aristotle by Thomas Aquinas and others.The assertion that the Old Testament eventsmatch Christ’s career was in general an old idea.It had long been used by theologians to proveboth the reasonableness of retaining the Old Tes-tament as a sacred text in Christianity (because itprophesies the New) and, more directly to thepoint here, the truth of the story of Christ’sactions (because they had been prophesied). Thelatter argument implicated as a major aspect, withmany others, Christ’s incarnation as a man with abody. The iconography can be read as supportfor this view, against the Cathari heretics, in theway it reports Christ’s ancestors from Jesse on.Taylor proposes that the presence of Aristotle isan echo of the idea that Aristotle and Christianityare compatible, which Thomas Aquinas and oth-ers argued strongly; grouping Aristotle and otherpagans with the Hebrew prophets of Christwould do this vividly. Orvieto would be a natu-

ral place for this set of attitudes to converge, andnot only because of the special role there of theCathari. Thomas Aquinas was resident at Orvietoat the time of Urban IV as a reader for the localDominican monastery. (The view that he wasteaching at a theological school there along withthe important translator of Aristotle, William ofMoerbeke, is no longer credited.31)

The chronology, however, makes this claim ofWestern origin doubtful. This western Aris-totelianism, previously limited to academic cir-cles, emerges as a wider current only in the1260s, just at the time of the Miracle of Bolsena,and the iconography is already present in thesame decade in rural Serbia, an unlikely speed oftransmission. It is also puzzling that if this is theactual sequence the imagery would never recurin the West, but appear there only once. More-over, the East already had its own older traditionof orthodox rebuttals of anti-Body heresies, tak-ing a generally similar form. Imagery of Christ’shuman ancestry in the Theodore psalter, a richByzantine manuscript of 1066, has been inter-preted as making a case against heresy.32 An epi-gram by the Byzantine prelate John Mauropous,also in the eleventh century, anticipates anotheraspect of this imagery, in including a prayer:33

If perchance you wish to exempt certain pagans frompunishment, my Christ,

May you for my sake spare Plato and Plutarch,For both were very close to your laws, in both

teaching and way of life.

After the decline in Byzantium of the earliericonoclastic battles, the great concern in the areaabout heretical doctrine focused on the Bogomils,whose doctrines were the basis of those whowent west with the Cathari and who were somuch attached to the Balkans that in the Westsuch heretics were dubbed “Bulgarians.”34 Thissuggests why in the Balkans countervailing ortho-

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dox imagery might well be active, in just the formthat is repeatedly found there. The single offshootin the West, in Orvieto, may have a link to theEast in the person of Pope Nicholas IV. Longbefore his involvement in 1290 with the foundingof Orvieto Cathedral, on the model of SantaMaria Maggiore in Rome, Nicholas had workedin the Balkans.35 In 1270 he had been the head ofFranciscan activities in that region, and fromthere he had gone to Constantinople as an envoyfrom the current pope to negotiate reunionbetween the Eastern and Western churches. Thiswork shows a main focus on what was properChristian doctrine, and in the Balkans he couldhardly have missed the fresh large frescoesdesigned to make the case against heresy. Whenin Orvieto, the local concern with heresy wouldhave reminded him of them, in particular whenhe was overseeing the form of the cathedral.

In the present context, the pagan figures onthe panel have a relevance that seems not to havebeen explored. Signorelli’s later frescoes on aChristian theme inside the church are accompa-nied below by a set of chiefly pagan portraits ofpeople that, presumably, imply these persons’correlation in some way with Christian doctrine.The very active discussion of these figures(extended later in this study) has rightly associ-ated them with the humanism of Signorelli’stime, which asserted the possible contributions ofother religions to Christian truth. Yet this maynot be so new, when it is noticed that somethingsimilar had appeared conspicuously on the samebuilding almost two hundred years earlier, a situ-ation that hardly seems to have been taken intoaccount. When each set of pagan images hasbeen considered separately, as usual, they mayhave seemed more odd than they actually are.

In the Balkan fresco cycles about a dozen suchsages commonly appear, with labels giving theirnames. Taylor notes that “a sibyl, Plato and Aris-totle appear in almost all of them; Plutarch,

Pythagoras and Homer in many; and Thucy-dides, Sophocles, Solon, Socrates and possiblyEuripides in some.”36 Six more appear once or ina few cases. The strangest of these figures on theOrvieto panel is Plato, who is accompanied bythe astonishing attribute of a skeleton in a coffin.Signorelli’s Last Judgment presented skeletons asa change from the usual formulas for the theme,as will be seen. He doubtless had additional rea-sons, but he cannot have been unaware of thislocally accepted precedent.

In recent times, before the work of Taylor andothers, the identity of these bearded figures onthe Orvieto façade had been entirely lost. Was itstill retained in Signorelli’s time? One cannot besure, but the view that it was seems to be sup-ported by the fact that the analogous Balkan fres-coes, with their names inscribed, were still beingproduced then and later. Nearer Orvieto, SienaCathedral included inscribed statues of Plato,Aristotle, and the Eritrean sibyl, alluding to asomewhat similar iconographic theme; theseworks of about 1300 were very visible in 1500.

There is a separate connection between Orvi-eto and the Balkan frescoes that is perhaps evenmore surprising.37 The best preserved of the lat-ter—a group in Romania of about 1525–50—areon the outsides of churches, which they com-pletely cover. Such a procedure seems unique.André Grabar argued, in an elegant study, that itssource was in fresco cycles in Serbia of the earlyfourteenth century, also on church exteriors butonly their façades.38 Orvieto shares with the sur-vivors in Romania both themes, of the Tree ofJesse with pagans and of the Last Judgment, andalso the format that in Orvieto seemed inexplica-ble: the total coverage of the façade with small-scale figurative narratives. Absent in the Westotherwise, this then makes it even more attrac-tive to see a link eastward. Orvieto differs fromthe Balkan cases in the media: mosaics above andsculpture below. However, it is precisely the

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media in Orvieto that did have Western tradi-tions behind them.

To summarize, one may see in Orvieto, quitepossibly under the stimulus of the much inter-ested Pope Nicholas IV, adoption of a Balkanscheme both in iconography with an antihereti-cal statement and in design with narratives allover the façade. What the Orvietans and theirartists contributed as something new was the spe-cial sculptural style. These little scenes, stronglytied to flat planes, may have been separatelyinspired by a local source in classical antiquity.(This possibility, which calls for closer study, wasoffered in note 24 above.)

In 1330 the façade sculpture was complete andthe mosaics were being projected. Almost at thesame moment, work was begun on the nextmajor job, the larger choir. It was vaulted in1337.39 Not only was this first change in the orig-inal simple plan important enough to requiretearing something down, but it was to remain thelargest during the centuries considered in thisstudy (Fig. 5). As usual, the records are full withrespect to payments and committee votes but saynothing at all about the broad reason for this crit-ical step. One may only infer that reason fromgeneral circumstances and from another action of1337. As for the general factor, choirs have thespecial role of being the locus of activity by theclergy, in Masses and other ceremonies. It seemslikely that such activities were now believed toneed more room because more people wereinvolved. The local population was not growing,nor was there any change in liturgy, but theBolsena relic may well have been calling forincreased attention.40

In the sixteenth century the procession ofCorpus Domini, in honor of the miraculous“corporal,” was the chief annual event in thetown.41 It may have brought more outsiders. It isrelevant that Pope Urban’s initial proclamationof the Feast of Corpus Domini in 1263 did not

gain broad adoption in Europe at first, butbecame universal in the early fourteenth century.It was thus natural that in 1337 the cathedralauthorities commissioned the extraordinarilyelaborate enamel reliquary to hold the “corpo-ral,” and it was being carried in the processionaround town in 1338.42 By exception, the reli-quary was not ordered by the lay committee incharge of cathedral projects and finances, thebody that will become familiar in connectionwith Angelico and Signorelli. Instead, we learnfrom the inscription on the reliquary that it wasordered by clerics, beginning with the bishop,who was a member of the ruling Monaldeschifamily. The other contributors, specified bynames and titles, were the archpriest (the cathe-dral’s second-ranking cleric), four canons, and thepapal chaplain, all of whom shared the enormouscost of 1,374 florins. The artists—Master Ugolinoand his associates (socios)—are also named in theinscription. Here again we find a quantity of verysmall narratives. The set of eight recounting thestory of the miracle, described earlier, tie theviewer’s experience closely to the familiar localcontext. In the scene in which the pope emergesfrom the city to venerate the arriving “corporal,”there is an astonishing panorama of the town ofOrvieto on its cliff, with its churches and laybuildings. It can only be compared at the time toAmbrogio Lorenzetti’s view of Siena in its townhall, part of his good-government frescoes of1338–40. The cityscape is often praised as auniquely real such image in its era, but the Orvi-eto view is actually much closer to the reality.

The thirty-two small scenes comprise theeight devoted to the miracle, just mentioned, andtwenty-four of the life of Christ. The latter, as isalways noticed, follow closely the model avail-able in Siena in Duccio’s great altarpiece for thecathedral there, of 1308–11. They thus reinforcethe indications of cultural dependence on Sienaseen in the sculpture. However, the choice of

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subjects shows its own changes and preferences.The base offers eight scenes of Christ’s infancyand adult career, while the sixteen above have todo with Christ’s Passion, a normal arrangementin the period. Yet the Passion is not at all usual,in that it focuses almost entirely on the early partof the passion story, from the entry intoJerusalem on Palm Sunday to the Crucifixionand the Lamentation over the Body. There is justone scene of the Resurrection, whereas Ducciohad given many scenes of the later events. Thechoice at Orvieto seems again to show the con-cern with the Christ as a man with a body whodied after being hurt, with the minimum citationpossible of the unique return to life. It seemsappropriate to a casket containing the relic of hisblood, and again shows the local sensitivity tothis theme.

The reliquary was certainly designed to makean impression in the annual procession. For therest of the year it soon gained a very special placeon its own altar, which it occupies still today, inits own chapel. This chapel’s construction wasbegun by 1350 and finished by 1356,43 with thesame speed that other construction in the cathe-dral had also shown. The chapel is not onlymuch larger than the quite small exedra chapels,which were the only ones in the original struc-ture. It has two bays, making it double the depthof standard chapels of this period everywhere.

If the grand reliquary were placed on an altarin one of the very small chapels, it would cer-tainly seem out of proportion, and placing it onthe high altar would compete with many otherrequired functions. If this implies that the newlarge chapel was planned in relation to this cult,long before its construction began in 1350, thesame deduction can be made from another factorthat has already been noted and that takes us backto the original cathedral project of 1290. That isthe omission of exedrae on the side walls of thebuilding just at the point where this new chapel

of 1350 was then placed. Its actual constructionwas even a little wider than had been allowed forin that way, and required demolition of one exe-dra (Fig. 5). There could have been severaldiverse reasons for this, but one obvious factormay be sufficient to explain it. In the interim,added buttresses had been introduced in this areato support the high nave vault, and they wereused to define the side walls of the new chapel,fixing its width.

The room with the reliquary on its altar is cer-tainly meant to be read as a chapel. A door intothis room from the main church space defines theshift of context (Fig. 4). Inside, the space is a bitnarrower and much lower than the transeptal bayfrom which we enter. It is narrower because ofthe buttresses mentioned, and lower because theheight is that of all the side aisle bays other thanthis transeptal one. Yet it is a “super chapel,” as ismarked not only by its double depth but also byits exceptionally long narrative cycle of frescoes.(These, from the later fourteenth century, recordthe Bolsena miracle again on one wall, and, onthe other, analogous miracles involving the breadand the wine.) This construction gave the cathe-dral a highly visible annex on one side.

Such annexes to churches appear elsewheretoo in this culture. Examples range from themuch earlier circular buildings on one side ofSaint Peter’s in Rome, to the funeral chapel of the cardinal of Portugal on the side of SanMiniato, Florence, in the mid-fifteenth century.A series of annexes is attached to a side wall atSanti Giovanni e Paolo, Venice. The exterior atOrvieto, however, differs from this recurringtype in a major way. The other annexes insist ontheir separateness from the church by their differ-ence in architectural style, evocative of a squareor circle with its own center and thus independ-ence. Orvieto’s chapel shows the same stripedwalls as the rest of the cathedral and analogousgable and roof pitch, leaning on its larger neighbor.

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It varies from the rest of the cathedral only in itsmuch lower roof line. What all this suggests isthat this added chapel is an integral part of thecathedral itself, and specifically that it is a transeptand hence not a chapel. This ambivalencebetween the presentation as a chapel from insideand the presentation as the building’s transeptoutside is remarkable.

Only after 1400 did building activity resumeon any scale, and it then took a form that helps toexplain this oddity. In the interim, energy wasmostly devoted to the large fresco cycles in thereliquary chapel, as mentioned, and in the apse.The latter replicated from the façade mosaics,then in slow process, the story of Mary, name-sake of the building, culminating at the top in herAssumption and Coronation in both cases.

In 1406 records begin of work on a secondlarge chapel, which is also two bays deep, directlyopposite the first one. That second chapel, theCappella Nuova, is the one that will be our focus(Fig. 4). It would become the cathedral’s lastmajor modification. (The connection of a docu-ment of 1396 with this work is common butseems unjustified; this will be discussed later.)The records first refer to a “very new chapelinside the old sacristy,” a sacristy that had occu-pied part of the area. Soon, however, greaterambition for the New Chapel required tearingdown that sacristy’s wall.44 Evidently a small doorin the side wall of the church had given access tothe sacristy, but now the larger chapel called for amuch bigger opening. This entire project wasprobably planned for much earlier, sincebetween 1355 and 1361 a new sacristy had beenbuilt elsewhere, next to the Chapel of the Reli-quary.45 A record of the New Chapel in 1411tellingly identifies it as “placed opposite theChapel of the Corporal in its likeness (ad ipsiussimilitudinem)”; indeed, the two are a visualmatch in important ways. The record of 1411deals with the tearing down of a second, smaller,

older structure that had been in the way.46 Thatwas the chapel “under the name of the ThreeMagi” owned by some of the Monaldeschi. TheMonaldeschi are to receive an adjacent chapel asrecompense, one “under the name of the Coro-nation of the Virgin,” to which their familytombs will be moved. A scene of the three magiwill also be painted there “to be assigned to theirname.” Dedicating chapels by assigning them aholy name, as with the Chapel of the Reliquary,was normal, so the fact that this new chapel, theCappella Nuova, being begun at this time, wasnot given such a name will appear special.

No record indicates why this new chapel wasbuilt, whether for a cult or for a family and itstombs, the usual reasons, just exemplified. Thiscurious absence of such a designated purpose callsout for attention. The cathedral’s lay board paidfor the chapel’s construction funds from its realestate, from alms, and from bequests to thechurch, as it did the expenses for the church ingeneral.

The construction may have been slow, for fur-nishings begin to appear only in 1447, whenplans were made (which were not carried out atthe time) for a stained-glass window with twomusical angels. The plans were no doubtintended for the single largest window, in thecenter of the end wall as today, itself newly pro-duced at that time.47 An altar was installed, twocandlesticks were bought for it, and an alms boxhad locks bought for it.48 Another lock bought inthe same year “for the tabernacle in the newchapel” is clarified later, first when we read ofbuying a rope for the lamp of the “Virgin of theAssumption (Assumpta) in the chapel.” Yearslater, this tabernacle reappears in a record speci-fied as “of the Assumpta,” when there was worryover damage from rain and wind.49 Another laterreference cites the “new chapel where the imageof the Assumpta is hidden (recondita) in a cup-board,” explaining the lock, and telling us that

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the statue was usually not meant to be viewed.50

Although this tabernacle was repainted in 1490, asecond one in the chapel seems to have beenmore emphasized, since the same document callsfor making this one, with a crucifix, ornatissimum,with gold and azure blue, as well as for addingfigures of Mary and John.51 However, it was thefirst tabernacle, the one containing the Assumpta,that was on the altar (although this is madeexplicit only in a record of 1622 that is con-cerned with removing the tabernacle). This sup-ports, one might think, the virtually invariableopinion that the chapel was dedicated to the cultof the Assumption, but the prime basis for such asupposition must be abandoned. The literaturehas long alluded to a citizen’s bequest to thecathedral in 1396 to establish a Chapel of theAssumption, but when the actual text was finallypublished it showed that he wanted a chapel ded-icated to the Coronation of the Virgin; the pointseems not yet to have been absorbed in studies.52

The two cults are indeed closely related, sharingthe same feast day, August 15, but the distinctionbetween the two is found in countless otherimages and dedications. A Chapel of the Corona-tion did exist in the cathedral not long after, in1411—the one given to the Monaldeschi, asmentioned above—and it would naturally reflectthe bequest of 1396.53 Thus, the motivation forthe large New Chapel—the Cappella Nuova, asit came to be known—cannot be a bequest forbuilding a chapel for a cult of the Assumption.

The statue of the Assumption in the taberna-cle appears in the Cappella Nuova as an existingobject; there is nothing in any record about acommission to execute it. That makes plausiblethe usual view that it was an older statue men-tioned in older records in other places in thebuilding. It had the special function of beingcarried in procession annually on AssumptionDay, as it continued to be after it was removedfrom the Cappella Nuova in 1622. In its earlier

place it had been endowed with a silver crownin 1401, and then in 1440 with another crownbearing pearls and jewels. After being movedinto the Cappella Nuova, it would appear, ifanything, to have been less favored. A discussionin 1461 about a new silk and gold robe for thestatue led to a negative vote; it was the consen-sus was that there were stronger claims on thefunds.54 Then in the process of drawing up thecontract for Signorelli’s frescoes in 1500, it wasvoted to raise the tabernacle to a higher positionbecause the frescoes would then be more beauti-ful, pulcriores, and that was duly done.55 Thispushing aside of the statue in favor of the fres-coes would be an even more striking act if the“hidden” statue, as thought, embodied the dedi-cation of the chapel.

Reinforcement of the concern with the themeof the Assumption in the Cappella Nuova didoccur in 1472, when the main window was at lastglazed and painted. The image was of theAssumption, flanked by angels.56 However, theimplied claim to the Assumption theme wasrather weak—as evidenced by a 1502 vote tomake the chapel brighter, “so that the figures init can show up better,” by glazing the windowswith clear glass; the one glazed window alreadythere might, if the administrator so decided,“either be removed or put in a different place.”This led, the next year, to the installing of twoclear windows, as noted;57 the measurementsshow that these were the two smaller side win-dows on the end wall with the altar, on eitherside of the Assumption window. They gavemore light than the cloth they replaced. Evi-dently the Assumption window did escape beingremoved or otherwise demoted, since there isnothing about a third clear window, and nothingagain about this context. The Assumption taber-nacle got fresh paint in 153058 and then is notmentioned until its removal in 1622, when it lostits place to another image. This also was an old

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one brought from elsewhere in the building: athirteenth-century Madonna panel.

This Madonna panel was informally distin-guished from other Madonnas by being calledthe Madonna of San Brizio, evidently because ithad previously been in a chapel dedicated to SanBrizio.59 It is notable that the Madonna had hadno status as the focus of the cult in that chapel,and this remained the case for a long time at itsnew site in the Cappella Nuova. The Madonnaof San Brizio remains on the altar of the chapel tothis day. It was the arrangement in 1622 to put itthere, “in the place where” the Assumpta hadbeen, that provides proof of the latter’s previouslocation on that altar.60 The Assumpta was “pro-visionally” taken to the choir of the cathedral,61

and we next hear of it, a century and a half later,in the library, which is its home today.62 It isagain hidden in a cupboard except for its annualrole in the procession.

In contrast to the Assumpta statue’s rathershadowy departure from the Cappella Nuova, thearrival of the Madonna of San Brizio was a greatsuccess. The “translation” was marked by a papalindulgence and musical celebrations for a week,donations of gold crowns and money, and laterthe grand new altar, an elaborate Baroque con-struction.63 The name used before in most docu-ments, “Cappella Nuova” (New Chapel),survived, but it shared its place with and then sur-rendered its place to “Chapel of the Madonna ofSan Brizio.”64 The chapel was not dedicated tothis Madonna, though; the name was simply ahandy label for the location. Only in the latenineteenth century was this name in turn replacedby “Chapel of San Brizio,” which is nothing butan abbreviation of the preceding name, though itsuse has become so much the norm that it suggestsa dedication to the saint. Yet San Brizio has neverhad any status in the chapel.65

The current use of the name “Chapel of SanBrizio” for the Cappella Nuova might suggest

the absence of an actual dedication name. Wasthere, though, a dedication to the Assumpta atleast during the time the statue of her was presentthere? There is no record of any such dedication,as there is none of any other dedication, andnone of a change in name when the statue wasremoved. Did the statue in some other waydetermine the perception of the chapel’s charac-ter, as articulated by those who caused the chapelto be built and by later officials of the church? Anenormous documentary record may throw lighton what the chapel meant, at least to the (pre-sumably large) extent that its name can tell us.66

The documents from 1447 to 1622, the entiretime the statue was present in the chapel, havebeen surveyed for this purpose. There are threehundred relevant documents, a quite unusualquantity of references to a single chapel in such aspan of time.67 More than half of these docu-ments assign a name to the chapel. The simpleterm “cappella nuova” (new chapel) appears 153times, and “cappella dell’ Assumpta” appearsseven times, of which two are cases when a sec-ond name, the usual “cappella nuova,” is alsoincluded. Despite this vast discrepancy in num-bers, one might propose that the seven rare caseshave a higher status, which might become clearupon examination—for example, if those textsproved to be the ones in which formal or liturgi-cal factors were involved, while the 153 textswere more casual. The simple name “CappellaNuova” indeed might well evoke such a hypoth-esis, but that does not turn out to be what thetexts tell us. The “Nuova” texts show a fullrange, from casual to formal, including bindinglegal documents based on civic decisions.68

The seven allusions to a Chapel of theAssumption can all be checked. The first is from1465, and thus some eighteen years after thestatue was installed and more than fifty years afterthe chapel began to be called “new.” (No othername, whether suggesting a cult or not, is found

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during those earlier years.) In this case theadministrator asks the cathedral committeewhether they want to hire a particular glass artistto do a window for the “cappella Assumpte.” Healready has a design with figures.69 The decisionwas postponed. Next, in 1472, we have a memo-randum that the window “in the chapel of theAssumpte” has been completed, followed bythree records of payments for it using the samewording. The theme of the window, indicated inpreceding records, was the Assumption.70 Aftereighty documents using the term “cappellanuova” only, the other name turns up in 1502 inthe form “chapel of the Assumpta otherwise(alias) called the Cappella Nuova.” The issuehere was whether to remove the window to gainmore light.71 Finally, after another century, aquite different factor is suggested when a citizenbuys the “chapel or (seu) altar of Mary Assumptain the chapel called the Cappella Nuova.”72

Six of these references are between 1465 and1502 (when there are thirty-odd citations of aname for the chapel altogether), and all are alikein being informal and in their concern with awindow. The later five record that this windowshowed an image of the Assumption. (The earliestdoes not name any theme, but it seems likelyenough that the same one used later was underconsideration.) References to the chapel in othercontexts, concerning its roof, frescoes, or the like,never speak of it as the Chapel of the Assumption.Evidently it is the concern about the Assumptionwindow that is the sole source of the use of thename in relation to the chapel itself. The idea of acult or dedication to the Assumption did notemerge from any other circumstances. It did noteven always emerge from reference to theAssumption window. Other references to theAssumption window are instead accompaniedonly by the more usual name of Cappella Nuova.Thus the record immediately following the oneof 1465 just cited speaks of the “window of the

Cappella nuova”; then in 1472 the same formulais used in three records that immediately precedethe four of that year cited above.73 The name“Chapel of the Assumpta” did not become firmeven in this restricted context.

The double use, as “Chapel of the Assumptaand/or New Chapel,” appeared twice in therecord, first in 1502, as discussed above. The sec-ond record, of 1602, casts an entirely differentlight on the puzzle. There the Cappella Nuova issaid to have inside itself a “chapel or altar” of theAssumpta. This is in itself not a strange idea; thepresence of two “little chapels” (cappellette) in theCappella Nuova was always a factor, and this willbe explored shortly. Those small chapels, how-ever, were partly separate spaces, niches extend-ing beyond the rectangular bounds of theCappella Nuova. That does not apply in the casedescribed in 1602, which involves a distinct senseof the term “chapel” often not realized. A chapelneed not have any walls but, as well described bythe archivist Peleo Bacci, may mean somethingless, perhaps only an altar with its cult image on itor perhaps some sort of frame around the image.Writers reading records of such chapels some-times do not understand this and therefore assumethe existence of chapel rooms that never existed.74

In the present case, the reference to the Chapel ofthe Assumpta within the New Chapel appears torefer to the altar with the tabernacle of theAssumpta on it, and perhaps also the Assumptionwindow behind it.

This lesser internal Chapel of the Assumptamight have come into existence perhaps onlypotentially, when the statue was moved to theCappella Nuova in 1447. It never controlled thename or cult of the new chapel, as the dominantcontinuation of the latter term in the records dulyindicates. Thus it did not necessarily influence thechoice of a theme for the frescoes75—a negativeinference that can be of basic importance later inthis study. Indeed, studies have usually silently

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omitted any allusion to the Assumption in dis-cussing the theme of the fresco cycle. That wasreasonable, although it might have been better tobe explicit about the exclusion.

The positive inference is that the name “Cap-pella Nuova” had no real competition, at leastuntil centuries later. In this it is unique in OrvietoCathedral, and apparently elsewhere; there are noanalogies for such a name. Normally chapels arereferred to by the name of the cult celebrated orthe family that is the owner. This is the case withall other chapels in Orvieto Cathedral, several ofwhich have been incidentally named already.Here the two little chapels within the CappellaNuova are reported in the records by naming the

bodies of Saints Faustino and Pietro Parenzo inone case, and Mary Magdalene or the Gualtierifamily in the other; other structures in the cathe-dral were referred to in the records as “new”when they were very new.76 What is special hereis the continued use of the term for our particularchapel over three centuries.

This apparently small point has a large implica-tion. It helps to clarify what this space is all aboutand why it was built. Though it is not otherwisethe case with chapels, other types of structuresare permanently called “new,” such as bridges, asin Paris; city gates, as in Verona; and entire cities,as in Naples. Such names allude, with pride, tothe improvement the named structures constituteover previously available similar structures. Theysignify a quantitative increase in amenity or thelike, without a differentiation of function butsimply more of the same. They often differ fromtheir predecessors in location, so that, for exam-ple, the new bridge allows one to cross the rivermore conveniently.

Chapels, instead, are normally different in cultfunction from previously existing chapels. In thecase of the Cappella Nuova, this cult functionwas apparently not a big consideration, so onemust ask the reason for this rather expensiveenterprise, something the literature appears neverto have addressed. Clues to this oddity are avail-able once it is made articulate.

Documents on the construction of the Cap-pella Nuova referred to the Chapel of the Reli-quary, as in the early one quoted above; theCappella Nuova is directly opposite, and similar,we are told. The location was significant enough,we are told in 1411, to require tearing down aprevious building on the site: the Monaldeschichapel was “torn down on account of the newconstruction of the big chapel.”77 This differsfrom other chapels; the unimportance of specificcults is compensated for by the importance oflocation.

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. View into the Cappella Nuova


Image not available

On the outside, the similarity of the CappellaNuova to the Chapel of the Reliquary, opposite,is very marked. Again, it does not look like achapel there, but like a transept arm on the basisof the same continuity with the masonry of thenave. Inside, however, it is visually a chapel,essentially because it is separated from the mainchurch area by a partial wall broken by anentrance door (Fig. 9), just as in the oppositechapel. Yet the two structures differ seriously inthat the older chapel had a standard chapel func-tion, for the cult of the relic, but the CappellaNuova had none.

While the older chapel carried an allusion toits double character as a transept and as a chapel,in the newer chapel only the transept aspect getsits full normal development. Its title as a chapel,“Cappella Nuova,” is informal, as is evoked in1500 by a document speaking of the “chapelpopularly (publice) called the new chapel.”78 What

is unusual is that there is no corresponding formalname at all.

Transepts in churches also have functions, ifonly of a generic kind. They offer welcomeadded space for church needs in general; foradditional altars, crucifixes, and tombs; and forentrances to small chapels. The Cappella Nuovahad all these functions, but the goal in the designwas to give the building matching cross arms—that is, a real transept. This desire to give achurch honorable completeness is familiarenough, except that it normally involves thefaçade or the crossing tower.79 There is nothingstrange in its being a transept. The oddity is thatthe older cross arm had doubled as the relicchapel, so this one had to double as a chapel too,even if it had no normal chapel function. Build-ing it brought honor and made things right, andso too in the next stage did the process of adorn-ing it with frescoes.

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Planning the Frescoes

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nterior construction of the Cappella Nuovawas finished in 1444, when it was vaulted; abeamed roof was still to come.1 Discussion of

arrangements for the altar and its image followedin 1446–47, as already discussed. Thought hadbeen given to wall paintings long before, in 1425,when two mosaicists were at work in anotherpart of the building and were considered for a jobhere too. But nothing happened at that time;perhaps the expectation that the building wouldbe ready soon was too optimistic.2

The first return to such plans for painting thatwe know of appears in the records in 1446. Thearchdeacon of the cathedral, Galeotto dei Miche-lotti, who was from Perugia, received a letterfrom Rome suggesting a possible artist. Duringthis period, the archdeacon was the top-rankingcleric in town after the bishop (who was often anabsentee). The holder of the office is rarely foundinvolving himself in construction issues, butMichelotti was an exception in that he becameinvolved several times. On a visit to Rome shortlybefore, he had admired a stained-glass artist work-ing for the pope, and on his return to Orvieto herecommended the artist to the cathedral’s laycommittee, which was in charge of construction.

On March 16 the committee accepted the idea,and soon afterward the artist, a Benedictine monknamed Don Francesco di Barone Brunacci, cameto town and signed a contract.3 He then immedi-ately went back to Rome to clear up some affairs,and from there wrote on May 10 to suggest two

more artists to the committee for other work theyneeded done.4 One was a mosaicist, who mightcome for expenses. The other was a painter,whom Don Francesco describes as “that Brother ofthe Observance of the Order of Preachers”—thestricter branch of the Dominicans—”who is such anotable (egregius) master painter”; he “wishes tocome this summer and reside in the city.” Welearn all this from the précis of his letter enteredinto the minutes of a meeting of the committee.They responded by inviting the painter to comefor discussion, but nothing happened for a year. Ayear later, on May 11, 1447, the committee assem-bled with ten other leading citizens, the procedureused for major decisions. These ten, added to thecommittee of four, included as the first-namedHonorable (spectabilis) Gentile de’ Monaldeschi,co-ruler of the town of Orvieto with his brotherArrigo.5 The purpose of the meeting was to“deliberate to the honor of the church.”

How concretely honor was at stake emergeswhen they observe that the walls of their newchapel are whitewashed (scialbida) but notpainted. (The group’s secretary here shifts fromLatin to an Italian word for which he evidentlyknew no dignified synonym.6) For the honor,again, of the church, the group concluded, thewalls ought to be painted, and that by some“good and famous” painter. They then come tothe Dominican, who is painting for the pope inthe Vatican and is “famous beyond all other Ital-ian painters.” They note that he has named his


terms for work during the three summer months,when he would not be working for the pope,and then vote to authorize Arrigo Monaldeschito hire the Dominican to paint the entire chapel,by working for the three months each year untilthe job is done. The last sentence adds: “And thesaid master is called Brother John.” The scribe,and perhaps the speakers, had failed to give hisname before. This person was Fra Angelico, anobservant Dominican then painting for the pope.

To call Fra Angelico the most famous painterin Italy was not unreasonable. If caution isproper, it is for the interesting reason that suchlabels are hardly known for painters at the time.From our viewpoint on the era, Pisanello wouldprobably have outshone him in esteem at thatmoment, but no one else. Pisanello had workedon frescoes in Rome for a pope twenty yearsbefore, but after that had been in other parts ofItaly, at various courts. In Orvieto, Angelicomight well not have been recognized, and evenin Rome he might have been overshadowed byyounger, successful visitors like Masolino.7

The patrons’ motives and attitudes are articu-lated sharply, and they are not what is oftenassumed, on less good evidence, to be the atti-tudes typical of such persons at the time. Yet itdoes not seem to have been the first time thiscommittee had taken this approach. DonFrancesco had been recommended with theargument that he was a papal artist, and twentyyears earlier the predecessor committee had hiredGentile da Fabriano, who also had status as themost famous painter in Italy.8 They had takenadvantage of the journey he was making fromFlorence to Rome to continue working for PopeMartin V. In the preceding century they hadinvited, as head masters of the cathedral works,first Andrea Pisano, who had succeeded Giottoin the same post at the Florence Cathedral, andthen Orcagna, the most prominent artist in histime in Florence.

On June 1, 1447, Angelico is recorded inRome as receiving the last of a series of paymentsfor his work there.9 On June 2 in Orvieto, thecommittee and the other citizens met and notedthat Angelico had agreed to come and shouldarrive before Corpus Domini, June 8.10 Thegroup’s administrator, the camerlengo, so informsthem, clearly having had word from Angelico.He then asks the committee a question, evidentlypropounded by Angelico in the same message. Itis the first of two extraordinary points in the min-utes of this meeting. It requests that provision bemade and ordered for “what should be paintedthere.” The second extraordinary point emergeswhen they respond, as the minutes describe.“After they repeatedly talked it over, they deter-mined and decided to wait for the said masterpainter and hear him, and then decide it, afterhaving heard his advice.” Thus, we learn that thetheme, or iconography, of the frescoes had notbeen set. They may have discussed some prefer-ences in their “repeated” discussions, but, if so,apparently none was persuasive.

The decision to wait for Angelico’s input mayhave been because of a lack of any appealingideas, or possibly the strategy of some membersto block an idea they did not like. In either case,the choice to wait for Angelico, and its beingtreated as natural, conflicts with a common cur-rent idea about the culture of this era: thatpatrons have specific ideas about subjects fromthe beginning of their plans to have work done,and hand them to artists to work up.11 Thesepatrons and their predecessors on the committeehad had forty years to formulate a theme since theyordered the construction of this large chapel. Inthe event, their concern about choosing the artistpreceded not only any such formulation but alsothe installation of an altar. They did this in early1447 and brought the Assumpta statue to set onthe altar. Although they evidently believed thatwas a better place than its earlier location, still, as

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was observed, it got less attention and care in thefollowing decades in its new location thanbefore. The statue’s aura notably did not extendto evoking a choice of theme for the frescoes, as presumably it would have if it had beenregarded as the image defining the chapel’s nameand dedication.

What seems peculiar in all this may perhapscease to be so if we return to the observation thatthe space was not a chapel in any simple orexclusive sense, but also functioned as a cross armor transept. Transepts in themselves do notimplicate any types of themes for decoration, anegative fact about them that tends to be leftunarticulated. Like their space, their walls areavailable for any religious need of the churchaltogether. One might expect that the onlyrestriction would be that it tend to honor thepatron and make clear to the viewer that it doesso. The committee may be presumed to havebeen committed to such general aims. But like awell-intentioned rich donor or board in morerecent times, it might have no specific ideas forits good works at a given time and be willing toconsult a respected specialist. In the Orvieto case,that specialist, we are told, was the painter, anexpert not only in fresco technique but also inreligious themes. The whitewashed walls wereobviously not good, in large part because theyindicated cheapness. Honor, expense, and theartist’s fame come together in the minutes of thecommittee.

Other documents of the time indeed showpatrons who have specific plans that are thenassigned to artists, notably in contracts. (Yet itshould be noted more often that such contractsusually only assign themes in a general sense, liketitles, not particular symbols or other details.12)Contracts, usually our only source for such infor-mation, are, however, an endpoint in the hiringprocess, which is also a factor often not consid-ered. The minutes of this committee meeting

offer an uncommon record of what preceded acontract. In the few other similar known cases, itagain emerges that the artist played either a largeor a small part in the choice of theme, whichthen became binding in the contracts.13 Patronsare apt to respect the artist as someone qualifiedto choose themes, because he produces religiousobjects all the time. Ruler or merchant, thepatron was faced with a decision outside his ownexpertise. Like the buyer of a package tour or acomputer today, he may well be pleased to getthe suggestions of the provider.

Angelico arrived in Orvieto on schedule, foron June 10 there was a payment for items pro-vided him: a flask and the like.14 Although themodern image of this artist is otherworldly, thereis much to suggest that he was an efficientworker.15 The contract, signed on June 14, givesevidence of that.16 Its preamble notes, once again,that it follows upon “many talks, debates and dis-cussions about all and each of the matters writtenbelow.” This makes it the more conspicuous thatthe long subsequent text says nothing at all aboutthe subject of the painting to be done, almostinvariably an item in similar contracts, and theone item the committee had voted to discuss.

The next five clauses of the contract committhe painter. He is to work diligently along withthree named assistants: Benozzo Gozzoli, Iovanni(sic) Antonio, and Jacopo de Poli. They had allworked with Angelico in Rome, and thus cameto Orvieto with him as a team. In this period it israre to find assistants named in contracts, aninclusion attractive to historians. It was requiredhere because Angelico’s pay came not to him butto his order. In the more usual case of lay artists,the master paid the assistants, who therefore werenot named in contracts between the master andthe patron.

The next clauses are standard, calling for“beautiful and praiseworthy” figures and faithfulwork in the judgment of any good master of

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painting. Angelico is to begin the next day, June15, and continue during the four months fromJune to September (that refers to the four namedmonths, three months in net time from mid-June), and to do the same yearly until the whole,tota cappella, is completed.

Seven clauses commit the administrator in therole of patron. Six agree to paying the fourpainters and providing their pigments, food andwine, and expenses, and to reimbursing expensesalready incurred. Only the seventh clause isremarkable. It provides that “in the meantime,while the scaffoldings are being built,” Angelico“will produce the design of the paintings and fig-ures which he is to paint in the vault of thechapel.”

It clearly saves time to design while the scaf-foldings rise, but this part of the agreement alsomeans that the contract precedes the drawings.This appears to be the only known such case inthe culture. Some contracts actually allude todrawings having been approved already by thepatron, and most seem to imply this by namingthe theme. But in the case of Angelico the themetoo is absent from the contract. The two omis-sions, of drawings and named theme, are hardlyto be regarded as unrelated. Both are evidence offull confidence in the artist even without anydemonstration of what the artist intends to do.Angelico had been quite unknown to the com-mittee members until they called him to come amonth earlier, so his fame and status as the pope’spainter apparently sufficed. No doubt a generaltheme was set, to the extent of the type of titlethat contracts commonly include. But havingwaived viewing of any drawings, the committeecould not have had much of an idea of what theywould get.

The theme, undetermined for forty years,began to take detailed shape in the drawingsbeing done while the scaffolding went up. In afew more weeks the drawings began to be exe-

cuted as frescoes. Within a week after the painterarrived, then, the theme was set. After fortyyears, it was the actual presence of the artist thatled to actual activity. The committee had askedfor his input, and their decision to have him pro-ceed without presenting drawings leads us toconclude that they accepted what he suggested.Viewing drawings before a contract was signedhad been common in Orvieto before and wouldbe so again. Recent writers have generallyaccepted the idea that the choice of theme origi-nated with Angelico.17 The one oddity, perhapseven more remarkable, is that the recent litera-ture on Angelico has not given his theme its cor-rect name, as we shall see.

How did Angelico arrive at a decision in aweek, at most? No doubt he had traveled toOrvieto with some possibilities in mind, themesthat might make doctrinal or aesthetic sense.Local conditions when he arrived might thenhave excluded some and brought forth new ones.Any new considerations added on arrival wereprobably not doctrinal, given the committee’slack of focus. Likewise, the theme we haveshows no particular connection to previousOrvietan concerns. The lack of modern attentionto this matter may be viewed as a tribute to thepower of the frescos on the walls by Angelicoand Signorelli; the scenes convey a sense of beingthere inevitably, so that we are unlikely to askwhat generated them.18

What Angelico certainly did soon on arrivalwas visit the chapel, where the particulars of itswall and vault surface had importance for hiswork. Such visits are on record when later artistscame to discuss work in the same chapel; Perug-ino spoke with the committee after “he had seenthe chapel and what was to be done in it,” andalmost the same words are used about Sig-norelli.19 In records of works by artists who couldnot visit sites where their paintings would go,information about room measurements and

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directions of the light is sent to them.20 WhatAngelico saw was a paintable area at least twice aslarge as anything in his twenty-five-year careerup to then. His largest previous work was proba-bly the Crucifixion fresco at San Marco, Flo-rence, on the thirty-foot-wide wall of theconvent chapter house. In Orvieto, the two sidewalls are each forty feet long, with a divider inthe middle, not to mention the vaults and endwalls (Fig. 9). All this could hardly have failed tomake a significant impression on him. Yet thatneed not suggest that he found the situationdaunting. He had coped readily before withprojects of similarly large scale, notably the seriesof forty-odd cell frescoes also at San Marco. Butthose were single images of moderate size, oneper room. Here the task was to compose a singleenormous unit.

In the effort to reconstruct how Angelicoexplored the problem, we are of course greatlyaided by knowing the outcome. The theme hebegan to paint on the Orvieto vault in June 1447was the Last Judgment. But that fact will need tobe explored, since it is astonishingly passed overor downplayed in the standard books on theartist. A special aspect of this theme at the periodwas its association, in painting and mosaic, withexceptionally large surfaces. It was the onlytheme more often represented on such a surfacethan on a moderate or small one; conversely,large surfaces are decorated with Last Judgmentsmore than with any other theme.21 Large frescoesof the period not of Last Judgments seem to beone of two types, neither found very often. Onetype simply blows up a standard theme like theCrucifixion. Notable examples of this areCimabue’s work in the upper church at Assisi(interestingly placed in transept arms); Angelico’sSan Marco fresco just mentioned; and several, atan intermediate date, in the Campo Santo at Pisa(where there is also a huge Last Judgment). Theother type is found when a unique theme is

developed for a site on a large scale, as in thechapter house of the Dominican church of SantaMaria Novella in Florence, which has topics cel-ebrating the order. Neither of these two typesevidently is readily evoked for someone lookingat a blank large space, but the Last Judgment is.Both types would require prior concern withthose themes, and in the former case, adjusting itsscale upward.

Angelico could have dealt with his big wallspace in a different way. Most obviously, hecould have subdivided the wall with a few ormore painted frames, and then, as is common,the images inside the frames could be episodes ina narrative. Orvieto had frescoed walls of thiskind as nearby as in the opposite Chapel of theReliquary and in the choir, both being spaces of asize much like that of the Cappella Nuova.Angelico painted such a narrative in the smallerChapel of Nicholas V in the Vatican. Yet at thetime there was apparently a trend among innova-tive painters to produce larger scenes on walls,extending to their full width (though not height)without internal frames. This is seen in Masac-cio’s Brancacci Chapel in Florence, in Fra Fil-ippo Lippi’s choir in Prato, and in Piero dellaFrancesca’s choir in Arezzo. Perhaps these werestimulated by the admired model of Giotto,which was visible in Giotto’s work in chapels atSanta Croce in Florence. The matter would needa fuller study.

A number of models of large frescoed LastJudgments can be found in or associated withcentral Italy. For us, Giotto’s work in the ArenaChapel is the obvious point of departure (Fig. 10).Although this work was painted farther north, itwas surely well known in Giotto’s own region ofcentral Italy. Proof of this is the virtual copy afterit in the small town of Tuscania, some thirty milessouth of Bolsena and thus in the orbit of Orvieto.Giotto had followed a local Byzantine precedentin northern Italy by giving this unified image the

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entire end wall of a church, over the entrancedoor. He had graphically emphasized its scale bythe contrast with the nearby small narrative sceneson the side walls. Artists following him offeredvariants on this general approach, some of whichwill be cited further for their relationships indetails with Angelico’s work. Nardo di Cionespread a Last Judgment over all three walls of alarge chapel at Santa Maria Novella, Florence,which was certainly very familiar to Angelico,who had painted for the same church. The fres-coed Last Judgment at the Campo Santo, Pisa,mentioned above, was spread along a major partof the building’s very long side wall. A church’s

side wall was also used by Orcagna at Santa Crocein Florence. And as a late member of this series,shortly after 1400, a Sienese painted the theme ona church entrance wall over the door andextended the subject to the adjacent side walls;this was in San Gimignano, nearer to Orvietothan any of these others.

Thus, given a large wall area and an undecidedtheme for it, a Last Judgment must have come tomind, and the new fashion for wide frescoeswould encourage it. The Orvieto people knewthe theme well because of their admired sculp-tured Last Judgment on the cathedral façade, andthere could not have been any objection to

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. Giotto, Last Judgment. Padua, ArenaChapel


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. Fra Angelico, Last Judgment. Florence, Museo di San Marco

repeating a theme, for the life of the Virginappears both on the façade mosaics and in thechoir frescoes. Needless to say, the theme satis-fied the one general criterion that was certainlypresent, that of being a religious theme.

It is unreasonable to imagine that in these cir-cumstances Angelico did not think of a Last Judg-ment as a good option. Moreover, he had paintedone himself, on a small panel—one of the veryrare treatments of the theme in central Italy after1400 (Fig. 11).22 Yet even if this is enough to settlethe matter, it certainly remains possible that thetheme might have been “overdetermined,” withfurther stimuli. One should ask whether thetheme might be associated in meaning with theAssumption, with which the chapel’s altar had justbeen associated. The one proposal along that lineknown to me, however, turns out to lack founda-tion.23 Another recent study has associated thework (as finished by Signorelli) with the ideas ofSaint Augustine.24 This is necessarily proper in ageneral way, because the saint’s account of theLast Judgment in the City of God, in its twenty-

second and last section, was the most detailed andauthoritative description known. (Biblical author-ity for the Last Judgment, which was very slight,will be discussed further.) Augustine’s text wasthus the point of departure for all Last Judgments,from their first known appearance in the eighthcentury. Angelico participates in that use, butnothing shows that he did so in any fresh way, orturned to it directly. Indeed, his imagery shows nomodification of the factors that were standard inthe immediately preceding tradition. He and oth-ers may have had fresh views on the matter, but ifso they did not register them here. It was set up tobe a large-scale devotional image, so that line ofinquiry seems impossible to pursue further.

Thus Signorelli’s task was set fifty years beforehim. After beginning on schedule on June 15,Angelico’s work proceeded with the same effi-ciency as in the preceding stages discussed. Thescaffolding had been built by June 25, or at leasthad risen high enough that a worker fell from itand died a few days later.25 The record mostrevealing for us is that of the purchase, from a

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Image not available

paper vendor (cartaro) on June 17, of a gavantone,which then was “given to the master painter tomake a certain drawing.”26 Drawing, it will berecalled, was one of the two initial activitiescalled for by the contract, along with the scaf-folding. The word gavantone is not found in Ital-ian dictionaries, but three earlier Orvietandocuments use it in a helpful way. A gavantonemmagnum is included in an inventory of cathedralproperty in 1377 and is said to have on it a repre-sentation (signum) of the façade. A similar recordfrom 1383 lists four gavantones that contain draw-ings of the façade, the wall gable, and the princi-pal window. These records have generally beenlinked to two surviving parchment drawings ofthe façade, measuring respectively 107 by 77 cmand 122 by 89 cm. Finally, in 1402, payment isrecorded for a gavantone of sheepskin (membrane)on which a drawing of a planned oratory is to beproduced by a master newly hired.27 Angelico’sgavantone is different because it was made ofpaper, but apparently not because of its large size(indicated by the suffix -one) or because it showeda large project.

Angelico’s gavantone was also similar to the oth-ers in that it was preserved in the building com-mittee’s files. This first emerges in a record of1490, when the committee wanted the painterFiorenzo di Lorenzo to visit to see “the drawingsof paintings to be done in the church.”28 It is truethat several projects for paintings were then beingdiscussed, and those for the choir presented prob-lems,29 perhaps as serious as those for the CappellaNuova did. It may well be that Fiorenzo was toconsult on both, as the plural “drawings” mightsuggest, and that would have been reasonable. Inany case, a record of November 25, 1499, makesit certain that Angelico’s drawing was in existenceat that time. Signorelli had begun working earlierand had used Angelico’s plans, but then he hadreached a point requiring a pause.30 Minutes of ameeting report that “half of the said New Chapel

had a drawing, given earlier by the venerable FraGiovanni, who began to paint the said chapel,and now that drawing is finished, and there is nodrawing of the other half.” It emerges here thatAngelico had not made a drawing of the wholevault, as his contract specified (unless it had beendiscarded, which is not likely). At this point, in1499, Signorelli was working under a contract topaint the two-bay vault only and had completedthe two triangular segments of the inner bay, nearthe altar, that had been left undone by Angelico.Signorelli was supposed to proceed to the outervault, near the door of the two-bay chapel, butwithout a drawing by Angelico to guide him, hecould not.

In compensation, however, the text informs usthat Angelico had drawn “half the chapel” (dicteCappelle nove medietas)—that is, not only the vaultbut also the walls of that inner half. This has beeninvariably misunderstood, for all studies state thathis drawing showed only half the vault. Theerror seems to arise from noticing that the draw-ing’s limited coverage prevented Signorelli fromcontinuing beyond the inner vault. That seemsto suggest that it showed only that vault, but failsto notice that his contract was only for the vaultand not for the walls at that time. Hence, what-ever the drawing showed outside the vaultwould not be of immediate concern.31

The report that there was a drawing, used bySignorelli, showing the chapel’s inner half is akey to what Signorelli did later for the walls,when he got his second contract. The indicationthat Angelico’s drawing did involve the walls isbased not only on the actual document but alsoon consideration of regular procedures. As willemerge, Angelico began the vault with the Judg-ing Christ, a main detail of any Last Judgmentimage. To paint it, he would have had to havebefore him the general scheme of his wholecomposition, in order to be sure of assigning thissegment its appropriate proportion. The client

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. Fra Angelico and Signorelli, Vault of Cappella Nuova

too would want a view of the whole representa-tion and would retain it, thereby making it avail-able to show to later artists in discussions ofcontinuing the work. A drawing of the vaultonly would be useless for either function. If thereis a puzzle here, it is why Angelico did not draw

the outer bay too. The likely reason will be con-sidered later.

On July 11, as the next major event, anotherartist was hired for the crew.32 This must havebeen a local man, because Angelico’s entire teamwas already at work. Evidently Angelico in his


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systematic way was further along with plans thanhis three assistants could keep up with. The newman, “Master Pietro Baroni,” presents theunusual case of a master assisting another master.The record of Baroni’s hiring shows sensitivity tothis, calling Angelico “head master,” a term notfound otherwise in these records.

The two bays of the chapel each have a vaultwith four triangular areas available for painting,areas that are formed by the supporting archesthat cross the vaults from corner to corner (Fig.12). It is common in Gothic construction forsuch arches to support the roof. Because each bayis rectangular, the four triangular fields comprisetwo that have acute angles at the center of thebay and two that have obtuse angles. The acutetriangles have bases resting on the chapel’s sidewalls, while the obtuse triangles, in the inner bay,rest in one case on the altar wall and in the other

case on the transverse arch that separates this bayfrom the outer bay.

Frescoes in such vaults, which are very com-mon in the Renaissance culture, normally do notshow narratives as the walls do. The shape makessuch a choice awkward. Instead, they commonlyshow a portrait-like series of immobile figures,often one to a triangle. Frequently they are a setof four standard holy figures, such as the fourevangelists, and have only a loose link with thetheme of the walls below. Angelico’s procedure isless common, and determined the entire schemafor the walls, even though he himself executedonly two of his eight triangles. In the obtuse tri-angle over the altar wall, Angelico painted Christseated, raising his right hand high and holding aglobe in his left. He gave this figure a position inthe chapel that can dominate the viewer enteringthe space. Crowds of angels flank him, extending

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. Fra Angelico, Prophets (detail of Fig. 12)


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to the narrow far corners of the triangle, where ineach case on angel blows a trumpet.

The second and last triangle that Angelicopainted is at Christ’s left, the observer’s right(Fig. 13). An inscription at its base announcesthat it shows prophets (such inscriptions appearin all the remaining six triangles also, thosepainted by Signorelli). The prophets at the frontare identifiable, Aaron with his rod (even thoughhe is not a prophet in a strict sense) and Moseswith his two tablets; David is behind them. Therest of the prophets are generic figures. They cer-tainly include the four major prophets, and weduly see—in the figure beside David and thethree in the next row—three graybeards, whowould then be Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, andone younger figure, matching the standard imageof Daniel. The eight in the back cannot beassigned names. The inclusion of four youngerfigures with the four graybeards there is not cus-tomary, and may suggest that no identificationswere intended. The one unusual inclusion isJohn the Baptist, sharing the front row withMoses and Aaron. Being a figure of the NewTestament, John is not commonly represented inany set of prophets, but a special reason for hisinclusion here will appear soon.33

What sense are we to make of these two trian-gles of figures? The most widely circulated bookin English about Angelico labels them as “Christin Glory” (sometimes “in Majesty with Angels”)and “Prophets” (sometimes “Sixteen Prophets”)without further reference.34 One can expect suchbrief labels in captions of illustrations and head-ings of catalogue entries, but here these are theonly descriptions of the themes of the frescoes inthe text of the book as well. Yet in this culturethere is no established church theme of sixteenprophets, and none of Christ in majesty alonewith angels. If this is a novel subject, it would callfor comment. The most widely circulated bookin Italian uses the same titles, again without com-

ment.35 An older, standard German book did thesame for the prophets, but did provide a moremeaningful title for the other triangle, calling it“Christ as Judge of the World.”36

If simply regarded as labels, these titles are onlybaffling. If taken more seriously, they can pro-duce misunderstanding. Another intelligentwriter on Angelico, also using the same names,then finds that the paintings are nothing morethan “ecclesiastical decoration, religious litera-ture.”37 This dubious conclusion might havebeen avoided if the writer had had available notsimply such identities for the pictures, as holymen in rows or Christ with angels, but the roleof the works in the great theme in which theyare integral parts.

In a standard procedure, one may seek tounderstand these images by locating similarworks of nearby dates and localities, which in thepresent case leads readily to a previous work byAngelico. This easily solves the puzzle, in a waythat has been understood without difficulty inthe literature devoted not to monographs on theartist but to the chapel. The group of Christ withangels appears in an identical way as a portion ofAngelico’s Last Judgment panel in Florence ofabout 1430 (Fig. 11). In the center at the top wefind the same Blessing Christ on a cloud withangels around him, two of whom at the baseblow trumpets. Only some gestures differ, a vari-ation accepted in the period in images of thesame theme. That point is confirmed in another,later Last Judgment by Angelico (in Berlin, Fig.14), where the gestures are the same as in Orvi-eto. Christ again lifts his right arm and lowers hisleft. Conversely, some details in this image varyfrom motifs found in common in the two otherversions cited, in Orvieto and Florence. Onlyone detail in Orvieto, the globe, does not recur.Thus the fresco does not reflect specific condi-tions or cults of the town, but church-wide for-mulations of this subject.

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This match with the other paintings by theartist provides the answer to the puzzle about thetheme. There is no need to claim a novel sub-ject—a “Christ with Angels,” as the books callthe work. The triangle simply shows one seg-ment of a Last Judgment. The match with thefigures in the other Last Judgments extendsanother earlier finding, that the large theme inOrvieto is the Last Judgment, based on its ulti-mate formulation, completed by Signorelli. Allthis tells us that this formulation was already set-

tled in June 1447, when the contract was drawnup (naming no subject) and Angelico started topaint these triangles.

So it will not be a surprise that the sameapplies to the Sixteen Prophets in the adjacenttriangle by Angelico. The same theme of seatedprophets appears in the other Last Judgment pan-els by Angelico; the prophets sit at Christ’s left(our right), just as the prophet triangle in Orvietois to the right of the Christ triangle. The numberof prophets is different, but these all include the

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. Fra Angelico, Last Judgment. Berlin, Gemäldegalerie


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John the Baptist, that less usual prophet, eachtime at the front left, hands in prayer, turning tolook at Christ. What seemed odd in the trian-gle—John’s separateness from the others—is now clear. As he looks at Christ, the focus of the prophet triangle is outside its frame. (In thetwo panel paintings of Last Judgments, not all the men seated with John are specificallyprophets; they are holy men of various kinds.The leading prophets seen in the triangle dorecur, and the major difference is that the genericones do not reappear, being replaced by impor-tant saints of other kinds.38 It will be argued thatthe grand scale of Orvieto permitted all types ofholy people, including prophets, to get morerepresentatives.)

We can now see why the reliable and promi-nent writers on Angelico gave the triangles mis-leading titles. Their failure to note that theimages are parts of a larger image, not uniqueseparate figurations but parts of a usual one,might at first seem forgivable in a literal way.They took titles only from what they directlysaw, not from what is implicated. However, theytook the opposite, and more helpful, approach inother cases—for instance, telling us that a panelin Turin is part of a larger set. What evidentlydistinguished the case of the triangles, and madethe method fail its task of explanation, was theheavy framing system. The triangles have tripleframes, the middle segment being three-dimen-sional. They give everything inside a powerfuleffect of completeness, at least in the case of theChrist. The prophets, with their tilt to one side,lack such apparent harmony. What is happening,and what was not addressed, is that the subjectmatter jumps the frame. John and his associatesare assistant witnesses when Christ judges theworld (Fig. 12). We the viewers receive twomessages that conflict. One from the frames isdivisive, the other, from the theme, is unifying.

If we know what the theme is, as the originalaudience certainly did, it will be legible here forus and we can discount the frame. If we have lostthat popular knowledge, we can come to thewrong conclusion.

It does seem odd to run a frame through themiddle of a figurative image, but there was muchprecedent for doing so. Our ability to read past theframe when we know the theme may lead us toassume that this situation is less common than itactually is. Near Orvieto, a conspicuous instance isthe fresco cycle by Barna in San Gimignano. (It isin the same church with a Last Judgment alreadycited, the one large such image nearest in date pre-ceding the Orvieto cycle.) The many scenes aredivided by painted frames that produce internalfields, generally of the same size, like a checker-board whose units were set up before the storieswere determined. There are some special excep-tions, and in one of them double width is assignedto a story: Christ’s entry into Jerusalem. Yet theusual painted frame appears, with the result thatthe left and right parts of the procession are slicedapart. At the left of the frame, Christ rides in; andat its right, citizens greet him (Figs. 15 and 16). Noone has trouble with this; it is understood as a toomechanical application of the routine system.Other cultures show the same thing, even withthree-dimensional frames, again with no loss ofclear story-telling.39

Stories can also ignore an architectural fact inquite a different way, by continuing one scenefrom one wall to another at right angles, in aroom. In frescoes in central Italy at this time, thePrato Cathedral cycle by Fra Filippo Lippi illus-trates this arrangement neatly. In one corner,killers stone Saint Stephen, and the stones mustbe thought of as taking a diagonal trajectory fromthe killers on one wall through our space to thesaint on the other. In another corner, John theBaptist’s killer hands his severed head across the

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diagonal space to Salome (Fig. 17).40 This devicecan also be found in other cultures and seems togive no trouble.41

Yet the imagery here on the Orvieto vaultmay be unprecedented, because it uses both thesedivisive factors at once. Between Christ and theBaptist we must jump over a frame and turn acorner too, though not a right angle. The vaultstructure imposes this result. Before Angelico,painters in this culture seem always to bow to thepower of such frames by giving such trianglesonly autonomous themes, usually single figures.Angelico was under pressure to use the vaults asparts of his unified theme, as a result of the deci-sion to choose a Last Judgment. A basic problemwas the window at the center of the altar wall.This central position traditionally belongs to theJudging Christ, and to keep him at the center theonly solution, a strange one, was to push him upinto the vault. Angelico presented this answerwith grace. He then does not try to hide the way

the frames interrupt the figuration, which wouldhave been futile in the case of such massiveforms. Instead, he enriches them with particu-larly active patterns, including human heads inrows, flowers, and complex geometries in per-spective. Their very different language helps usto retain the unity of the two fields on eitherside, whose imagery is identical in the two trian-gles. They are like stanzas in a narrative poem,separated by a recurrent refrain. The refrain in noway blocks the continuation of the story fromthe stanza preceding to the one following. Themost basic way in which the narrative is affirmed,leaving us undisturbed by the barriers, is thecommitment to the traditional theme, which theviewer knows before entering the chapel. It hasnever been troublesome for anyone in thechapel, including recent writers. The problemcomes when we use only photographs, whichcan only show segments, are almost always ofone plane, and tend to use the frames as handy

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. Barna, Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, left half. SanGimignano, Collegiata

. Barna, Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, right half. SanGimignano, Collegiata


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edges of each photograph. We cannot then lookpast the frames to anything, and we lose theeffect and the theme.

The frame between Christ and the prophets isnot the only one that viewers are required tojump. They must do this in this vault four times,at both sides of each of four triangles. They mustdo so three more times at the bases of the vault asit rests on the three walls. On the wall level, theymust turn two right angles. The outer bay callsfor further similar shifts. Even observers whodealt readily with the vaults have at times goneastray among these further complexities in thelarge scenes of the walls. They have called theframed scenes independent narratives, and indeedtheir unity is less obvious than that of the vault.

Plainly Angelico had to have a clear plan for allthis. He had at his disposal a normal method ofthe period for doing so—with drawings. A draw-ing of the vault alone, as it has been supposed isdescribed in the contract, would not help at all.The drawing of “half the chapel,” vault andwalls, would. Such a general drawing would alsobe called for not only by the patrons’ desire to seewhat they would get, and by later artists’ need tounderstand how the project had been set up, butsimply by conventions of the period, as brieflysuggested above.42 These called for general draw-ings of iconographic wholes as a starting point,even when there were no complications aboutframes (as usually there were not). The apparentpuzzle that only half the chapel was shown willbe related below to an argument that the innerhalf is an entire scene, and the outer half anoptional extension from it.

Much about the gavantone must remain a mys-tery, but a fair amount can be reconstructed.Some points will emerge later from seeing whatSignorelli later painted on the walls in question,in the inner bay. It will be proposed that thedrawing had extended beyond the main largefields on the walls to the wainscot below, where

Signorelli’s portrait heads appear. The evidencethat one person among them, Dante, was alreadyspecified by Angelico may be a surprising shiftfrom previous understanding.

The payment document for the gavantone,which has not been analyzed, tells us severalthings. “Item, pay Iacomo di Cartari [a cartaro is adealer in paper] for a gavantone, bought from himand given to the master painter to make a draw-ing.” It cost sixteen soldi.43 To buy only onepiece of paper is peculiar. It must have beenunusual paper, different from what would benormally be purchased. That fits the price—more than one unskilled worker’s day’s pay, andalmost as much as that of a skilled one44—andpossibly seventy-five times the price of a normalpiece of paper.45

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. Fra Filippo Lippi, Martyrdom of the Baptist,detail of left corner. Prato, Cathedral


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The high cost implies special quality and alsosuggests paper of large size. That fits the termgavantone, the earlier appearances of which in theOrvieto records have reasonably been related tothe parchments still on file there. Mills at theperiod produced paper in standard sizes up to 30by 20 inches, while one of the Orvieto parch-ments is 50 by 36. In one famous case in theperiod, a mill had an order to produce muchlarger sheets for an edition of a print, a situationthat would not apply here.46 The usual method ofgetting a larger surface was to glue sheets togetherskillfully. Four sheets of the maximum standard

size so glued would provide a surface like that ofthe parchments earlier and probably be whatAngelico needed for the indicated purpose.

The next step in such planning would be todraw small elements, mainly figures, on paper ofordinary size. Fortunately two drawings survivethat all agree relate to the planning of the trianglewith Christ.47 Both, now in museums in Chan-tilly and Dresden, once belonged to the sameowner, and both are drawn on both sides, rectoand verso. They have a total of nine separateimages. The draftsman, again by common con-sent, was Angelico’s chief assistant on the project,Benozzo Gozzoli. One of the nine images—anaked athletic youth moving briskly with alion—clearly has a function that is not connectedwith Orvieto; it occupies all of the Dresdenverso. As recently demonstrated, the youth wascopied from a sarcophagus then in Rome, mak-ing this one of the earliest firm cases in theRenaissance of copying from classical figures.48

Benozzo is only known to have been in Rome atone phase of his life, while working for Angelicojust before their one summer in Orvieto, and thattends to support a date for the drawing close tothe Orvieto project. A figure at the top on therecto of the Dresden sheet, a naked putto, wasmeant, according to one reasonable suggestion,as a motif in a painted frame of a fresco. It is quitesimilar to such figures in a later work byBenozzo.49 Because it is agreed that the figure inthe drawing is early, the natural inference is thatit was intended for a similar frame, such as theones in Orvieto. The Orvieto frames certainlyreceived elaborate attention, even if they do not,as finally painted, include such figures. A thirdfigure, occupying all of Chantilly recto, is a por-trait, to be discussed shortly.

The other six all involve a Blessing Christ andangels. The most prominent shows the Christseated with right arm high as he holds a globe inhis left hand. These details correspond only to

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. Benozzo Gozzoli, sheet of drawings. Chantilly,Musée Condé, verso


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the Christ in Orvieto, and to none of Angelico’sother variant Christs. In the drawing Christ cupsthe globe firmly in his palm (Fig. 18), but in thefresco the globe rests on Christ’s knee a bit inse-curely, held loosely from above by his fingers(Fig. 19). The difference is that the drawing wasdone from the living model, and so the prop washeld in a practical this-worldly fashion. The faceof Christ is different in the drawing and in thefresco in a similar way. The drawing showsChrist as youthful, certainly because the modelwas one of the studio assistants, as was commonin the period.

Writers on the drawings have held thatalthough the artist of the drawing was the shopassistant Benozzo, it nevertheless has the quality

of an original creation,50 but the suggestion thatthe master would then, in the fresco, copy fromhis assistant’s idea in the drawing is unsettling.The solution for some (though they are a minor-ity) is to deduce that the master let the assistantBenozzo paint the fresco of Christ’s head too.However, the recent cleaning has for most writ-ers reinforced the impression that the paintedChrist is by Angelico. As a matter of social prac-tice, it is almost inconceivable that the centralimage of the job would be handed to the lesswell paid assistant; to think so is to let a hypothe-sis of style eliminate all other kinds of evidence.51

An alternative and more complex scenario is thatAngelico made a drawing for his Christ that hassince been lost and that Benozzo admired it and

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. Fra Angelico, Christ Judging (detail of Fig. 12)


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here copied it.52 But this still leaves the puzzle ofthe lively original pen work in our drawing byBenozzo and is an artificial reconstruction ofevents.

The factor of the gavantone has not been takeninto account in this debate, and it may allow asimpler proposal. On the gavantone, the masterwould offer a preliminary general image of theposes of the figures, shown too small to includefull details. The crew chief would next have the“intermediate” job of producing various detailedfigures, somewhat larger in scale, using livemodels, while perhaps Angelico efficiently didsomething else. The master would then usethese studio drawings as aids in his final stage,the painting. Benozzo’s fresh drawing can bethus a live creation without either being createdby him from scratch or implying that he did the

fresco. A rational studio practice is thus hereleaving its traces.

On the drawing, the Christ occupies the mid-dle of the paper, and the corners show four otherfigures, one in each. The usual and reasonablepresumption in such cases is that the drawing inthe middle was done first, on the clean paper—that is, that the draftsman would not begin in acorner. Here, at the lower right, an angel looksdown and blows a trumpet; it corresponds to theone in the frescoed triangle of Christ, at thelower right (Fig. 12). While the figure is identicalin many details, such as the left leg thrust for-ward, the head is more upright in the painting.The motif in the drawing of leaning forwardover the wakening souls is marvelously alive, butin the painting might have seemed to disconnectit from the other angels. The framing gives the

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. Dome with Last Judgment mosaic. Florence, Baptistery


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relation to the latter the chief weight. In theupper right corner of the drawing, a kneelingangel is the evident model of three slightly variedones in the fresco, just above the trumpeter men-tioned. They differ in that the drawing includeslegs for the angel, giving the model who wasposing a practical support, but these are absentfrom the painting. The drawing’s other figuresalso relate to the Last Judgment project in aspectsstill to be discussed.

The planning of the Last Judgment projectwould of course involve the artist’s memory ofhis panel of the theme of about 1430 (Fig. 11).53

There was no other recent image of the theme ofany ambition in the geographical region.54

Angelico in it had naturally already taken intoaccount powerful older conventions of the sub-ject. A basic schema seen in the earliest suchworks known, of about .. 800, was still themodel, along general lines.55 Here it seems neces-sary to consider only the phases from around1300, in the time of Giotto, the earliest artist stillviewed with respect in Angelico’s time, and fromthe area of central Italy. Just one slightly earlierimage did certainly still loom large, the hugemosaic in the Baptistery of Florence, and tracesof it are found in the later works.

In that Baptistery, as in all these representa-tions, the Judging Christ is in the center andlarger than the other figures (Fig. 20). At his sidethe trumpeting angels summon the dead to riseand be judged. This follows the chief source inMatthew 24–25: “he will send forth his angelswith a trumpet . . . and they will gather his electfrom the four winds” (24:31). Farther to the sides,more angels carry the objects with which Christwas tortured, known as “symbols of the Passion,”especially the cross. The importance of these tothe Judgment was especially urged by the greathymn written at this time, the Dies Irae, whichhas been part of the liturgy ever since. The sinnerwho sings it asks for Christ’s mercy because it was

with the aim of redeeming us that Christ sufferedon the cross, and that sacrifice ought not to bevain: “You redeemed me, suffering on the cross,and that sacrifice should not be lost.”

On a level below the angels, Christ is alsoflanked by Mary on his right and John the Baptiston his left. Beyond them in turn sit twelve apos-tles, six on each side, who are part of the judgingcourt too. Under Christ’s feet the dead emergefrom their tombs (First Corinthians 15:32, “thetrumpet shall sound, and the dead shall ariseincorruptible”). We then see them sorted: to theright of Christ are the saved, or sheep, to his leftare the damned, or goats: “he will set the sheepon his right hand, and the goats on his left . . . hewill say to those on his right hand . . . Come,take possession of the kingdom . . . he will say tothose on his left hand, Depart from me, accursedones, into everlasting fire” (Matthew 25:32–41).An angel guides a cluster of the good, in prayerand many in clerical costume, to a door. Beyondit, connoting the kingdom of heaven, sit threebearded patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,each with souls in his lap. All this is evidently anextrapolation of the story of Lazarus “borne awayby angels into Abraham’s bosom” (Luke 16:22).There is such a scarcity of Bible texts aboutheaven that this one was precious, even if it givesno visual information about heaven. Still, theformula with the patriarchs disappears almostcompletely from the later images.

On the goat side, we first see a motionlesscluster of weeping souls, which are then hauled,beyond a small break, farther to our right, into ahell of rocks where toads, green demons, andothers torture them. A single dominant Satanpresides over the small, nasty creatures. TheBible contains no basis for any of this kind ofimage, which was actually developed in a seriesof medieval writings and as early as the eleventhcentury was visible in the great Last Judgmentmosaic at Torcello.

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The bilateral symmetry never diminishes:sheep, good, and heaven on the right opposegoats, evil, and hell on the left. In the FlorenceBaptistery and in Angelico, though not always,the sorting is in two phases. Saved and damnedare motionless below Christ, prayerful or fearful,in the first stage. It is the moment of judging.Then, perhaps through a gate, they move out-ward to their final assignments.

Giotto’s huge fresco in Padua (1305; Fig. 10),though far from his home base of Florence, wascertainly well known in the area. The close copyin the Orvieto region documents that. The Paduafresco became the second great model, after theBaptistery. A notable change is that it displacesthe opened tombs from the center, which spot isneeded for a unique motif: the donor presentingthe church to Mary. No doubt for that reason

Mary is absent from her usual place seated atChrist’s right, and the Baptist is also omitted fromthe matching left place. The tombs and very smallemerging souls are pushed off to the right (theviewer’s left).56 Such amendments to meet occa-sional special demands are normal in the period.Giotto also added a vast choir of angels at the verytop, and above it the old-fashioned motif of thescroll unrolled at the end of the world.57 Both areoutside the standard scheme, do not affect themessage, and may be adequately explained by theintrusion of the window.

A change by Giotto that is of more concernhere has to do with the saved and the damned.Each group is shown not in two phases but inone, and not the same phase on the two sides.The saved appear in their early assembling andpraying phase, but not beyond the gate at their

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. Attributed to Francesco Traini, Last Judgment. Pisa, Campo Santo


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destination in paradise. (To be sure, the motifwith Abraham seems to have been obsolescent.)They do lift slightly up from the ground, or atleast an upper subset of saved with haloes do so,but that is the end. Conversely, the damned areshown already inside hell, and we have nothingabout their preliminary assembly. They are verysmall in scale compared with the saved, and theiractions are determined by physical force externalto them, as they fall down a fiery chute, arepulled and hauled, are caught by a noose or treelimb. The saved are spirits, and their poses if any-thing negate physical location. This contrast maybe the point of Giotto’s unique formulation,which has not been explored in the literature.

The next great model in the Florence contextis from about 1340. It is a fresco of disputedauthorship in the great cemetery or CampoSanto in Pisa (Fig. 21). In this Judgment, inscrip-tions on two scrolls show the texts fromMatthew 25 about the assignments of the goodand the evil to the kingdom or to fire, reinforc-ing the symmetry. In the center the dead emerge,their tombs not boxes as before but simply squareholes in the ground. Michael, in the middle, sortsbusily and displaces the usual position of the crossand other Passion symbols. These, however,reappear overhead, as in some later cases. Oneaspect of the symmetry was to remain unique:Christ judges the goats only, and Mary showsmercy to the saved for whom justice has noroom. Below Mary, the saved resemble Giotto’s,in praying groups and, in the upper rows, haloed.They include the Baptist, displaced from hisusual position when Mary, his traditional coun-terpart, was moved to her new role. BelowChrist, the damned again cluster in fear. Thelargest novelty in Pisa is that, next to this frescoshowing the entire judgment, there is a secondone of equal size given solely to the scene insidehell; there is no balancing heaven, making anextreme unbalance. The shifting approach to the

issue of balance between heaven and hell may besummarized in the monuments just discussed,alluding to the five motifs from our left to ourright: (1) the saved in heaven, far left; (2) thesaved assembled, near left; (3) souls emerge fromtombs, center; (4) the damned assemble, nearright; (5) the damned in hell, far right. The Bap-tistery shows the five symmetrical scenes, Giottoshows only (2), (3), and (5), and Pisa shows (2),(3), (4), and (5).

Giotto’s omission of the final arrival in heaven(1) and of the early assembly of the damned (4)forced a complementarity of the early phase ofthe saved and the final phase of the damned. InPisa, the immense hell forced a complementarityof the early assembly of the saved and both phasesof damnation. The trend seems to be to offerviolent insistence on the physicality of hell incontrast to a spaceless heaven of spirits. This iscomparable to Dante’s approach. The huge sepa-rate hell in Pisa was a great success. One hundredyears later it was copied in an engraving, whenmost art of its date was dismissed as crude andobsolete. Angelico took motifs from it in hispanel of 1430. The physical would gain an effectof totality in Signorelli.

The last of the series, before Angelico, byNardo di Cione, is of the 1350s and in the mainchurch of the Dominicans in Florence, SantaMaria Novella; Angelico would later paint for thiscenter of his order. This Last Judgment is in atranseptal chapel of extra size, and Angelico cer-tainly knew the work (Fig. 22).58 The fresco occu-pies the three walls, giving the center one to theJudging Christ, assisting saints, and tombs and theside walls respectively to the saved on our left andthe damned on our right. The formula that wouldbe followed in Orvieto first emerges here, spread-ing the theme around the corners.59 It seems obvi-ous that when Angelico came to study the bigwalls in Orvieto, and thought of a big subject, theprecedent in Florence was available to show how

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it would work; it is surprising that the literaturehas scarcely considered such a connection.

Nardo had to work around a big window onthe altar wall, like Giotto before him andAngelico later. The one at Santa Maria Novelladoes not reach as high toward the vault as theone in Orvieto, and thus leaves a bit of wallabove itself to assign to imagery. It received theJudging Christ, the element that belongs to thetop center, and so Nardo had no need to pushthe Christ up into the vault triangle, as Angelicodid later, but assigned it to individual saints, inthe formula standard for vault triangles. The dis-advantage is that the small space squeezes theChrist, who is also in darkness over the window,making the meaning of the three-part imageryless than obvious. On the two sides of the win-dow, on this same wall, we work down belowChrist and the angels—with trumpets and sym-

bols of the Passion—to the usual sequence. Maryand the Baptist preside again over the twelveapostles. Still below, five tiers of assembling savedand damned are to be seen in the tall, narrowwall areas available. Among the saved, the toprow are haloed Old Testament patriarchs (Adam,Eve, Abel, Noah, Moses), but all the others lacksuch dignity. They are, however, strongly indi-vidualized, and at least one is meant to be identi-fied. This is Dante, to be considered shortly. Atthe base, the open tombs are again displaced fromthe center (where the window continues) toboth sides. Again they are square holes. Under-neath the whole, and its frame, the wainscot isadorned on three walls with a row of twentymonochrome heads in frames. This is a very earlyappearance in a Last Judgment of a formula thatbecomes very important in Orvieto, and one ofthe heads here gazes upward at the events of theJudgment; it has plausibly been suggested as amodel for a similar one by Signorelli.60

The side wall to our right in Nardo’s Last Judg-ment is entirely devoted to a rocky hell withcomplex subsections, as in Pisa. The difference isthat this one illustrates Dante’s Inferno in detail,starting with Charon’s boat, which will reappearin Orvieto (Fig. 49). This use of Dante’s text fullyexplains his portrait among the blessed. It is beingassumed that Dante described hell accurately, andsuch favor to him by God must mean that he issaved. Dante had already appeared among thesaved in this way in an earlier, large Last Judg-ment fresco in Florence painted by Giotto’s shopin 1338–40, just after the master’s death. In 1395Giotto’s biographer Filippo Villani reported thatin the chapel of the Bargello the artist “paintedhimself, and his contemporary Dante.”61 He doesnot mention that this is in a Last Judgment, butthe location he gives, in the chapel, makes thatcertain. In the now very damaged work the fig-ures cannot be identified. The grouping of Danteand the artist points forward to the appearance of

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. Nardo di Cione, Last Judgment. Florence, SantaMaria Novella, Strozzi Chapel


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both Dante and the artist Signorelli in the Orvi-eto frescoes. There are still other self-portraits inLast Judgments, as will be discussed. Artists tookadvantage of painting the theme to include them-selves in the favored company.62

Opposite Hell, the other side wall of the chapelby Nardo, on our left, presents Heaven (Fig. 23).Nardo rejects the asymmetry of Pisa, even whileborrowing so much from Pisa’s emphatic versionof hell. To have an entire wall for heaven bringsus back for the first time in this series to the five-part symmetry seen in the Baptistery mosaics.This is what Angelico and Signorelli will follow.We have both the preliminary and the finalphases of the fate of both sheep and goats.

Nardo’s heaven does not look at all like theone in the Baptistery. There is no bosom ofAbraham. The image we are offered here may bean invention driven by the available vast surface.Eleven rows of standing saints, with one row ofangels above, dominate the system as a pattern,but it is not quite as uniform as it first appears.Again we have spirits and no place. Nine rowsline up holy figures, a saint beside an angel inendless repetition. The lowest two rows showonly women saints. Yet all this occupies only theouter thirds of the wall, as in the design of a trip-tych. The center third shows Christ and Maryenthroned at the top, the latter as Queen ofHeaven—a composition taken from the traditionof the Coronation of the Virgin. Musical angelsare below them, and below them in turn areunhaloed men and women in slightly smallerscale. These figures are often overlooked. Theirrole is made clear by the single mobile and off-center element anywhere on this wall, a pairconsisting of a saved soul and an angel guidinghim to join the choir. They enter at a pointslightly lower than the nearby line of standingsaints. This footnote near our eye level, humanand irregular, is the small signal that this wallrelates in a continuum to the altar wall; this is a

soul that has emerged from one of the tombsthere. The two figures are a hinge around thecorner. There is nothing similar on the hell side.As in Pisa, rocks tightly enclose hell’s empire.

As is true in Orvieto, so here with Nardo itusually is not grasped that the three walls com-prise one quite standard subject, the Last Judg-ment. In the case of Nardo, each wall has beenassigned a title: Hell, Heaven, and the Last Judg-ment for the center wall. They are not erro-neous, yet it is plain that were it not for theturning of the corners the whole would belabeled as the Last Judgment, the title given tothe same group of images when found on a flatsurface.

Following these models available to Floren-tines, Angelico’s panel of 1430 (Fig. 11) was alsoaffected by its odd shape. It appears to have beenthe upper part of a benchback (where the priest,

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. Heaven (detail of Fig. 22, left wall)


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deacon, and subdeacon sat during appropriateparts of Masses) in the choir of the church ofSanta Maria degli Angeli in Florence. Hence, thepanel has a relatively narrow upper half, about 60percent of the breadth of the wider half below,roomy enough for the three clerics. Angelicomade this serve him when he used the traditionof the Judging Christ above and sorted soulsbelow. The upper part, in the pattern now virtu-ally fixed, presents the Judge with Mary and theBaptist and other assisting saints while angelsblow trumpets and hold the cross. The choir oftiny angels around Christ, a vast quantity withvaried costumes, no doubt alludes to the church’sdedication to Mary of the Angels. The assistingsaints show a major innovation in that they arenot limited to the twelve apostles. There are thir-teen on each side (a front row of seven and aback row of six, the latter neatly visible in theinterstices of the front figures). We are meant toidentify them individually. The range, all male,includes some patriarchs (Abel, Moses, David)and founders of monastic orders (Dominic, Fran-cis), along with a partial set of the apostles. Thechange is explained by another change justbelow, where Angelico abandoned the system ofhaloed figures as leaders of the saved assembly fora new theme, as we shall see, and so the exiledhaloed figures are relocated to the apostles area.Throughout this upper half, Angelico shows thistalent for ordering complex message systemsclearly, using brilliant small color units and sim-plified cubic modeling.

The lower half retains the five segments seenearlier. The damned side is virtually unchangedfrom the pattern seen in Pisa, where the empha-sis on that side had assumed much authority. Inits outer part, hell is a series of pits, and in theinner part a cluster of people are violently hauledand pulled. The center segment is entirely freshand inventive. The tombs are little squares, asbefore,63 but in emphatic perspective. In this they

exemplify the new fascination at just this time,among Florentine artists, with patterned floortiles to measure recession. Also new, and notfound elsewhere, is the emptiness of the tombs.No one is climbing out, as in earlier and also inlater Judgments. There are tomb lids scattered indisarray, a clue that the dead had emerged andhave departed. They have followed Christ’sorder to line up on both sides. Angelico assertsnot only rational space, usual enough in his gen-eration, but also rational time. The scene portraysa single moment, the judging, not a sequence ofevents, with judging preceded by emergencefrom the tombs. This visual token of a sense ofmodernity seems not to have been explored instudies of the artist.

On the saved side, the inner segment showsthe good in prayer, as earlier. They kneel andgaze upward, their heads surrounded by gold raysidentifying them as blessed. They are distinct inrank from the saints above, who have haloes.Angels are guiding some of the good souls out-ward to an area that must be called heaven, sinceit is in a segment of the panel complementary tohell. The identification needs emphasis because itis quite unlike earlier heavens and is furtherdivided into two parts. The souls first come to aflowery meadow, where they dance with theirangel guides in an elliptical ring. As the soulshave rays, the angels have haloes, making thealternate identities quite clear. This pairing withangels is Angelico’s one inheritance fromNardo’s heaven. The elliptical movement is inperspective. Thus heaven is a physical place likehell, not a nonplace of spirits, as earlier. Thisimage of dancers has become world famous, evenwhile its break with precedent has passed unno-ticed. No doubt its tie to our world on earth hasaided in its popularity.

The meadow occupies most of heaven, butanother aspect of it can be barely seen in the farupper corner. An angel and a soul have levitated

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and fly through an open gate of a walled city.Though this is also new, it alludes to a rare dis-tant tradition. The walled city is labeled asheaven in some images from the tenth centuryonward, most of them not Last Judgments.64 Thebasis is the text of Revelation 21, telling howafter Christ’s judgment “the holy city, NewJerusalem,” is seen “coming down out ofHeaven.” It needs no sun because God lights it,and it has gates that never shut. Angelico’s city,matching those details, has conspicuously landed,again reinforcing the physicality of his heaven.

This two-part heaven has a solid basis in mucholder Christian writing. Salvation, according toearly fathers, involved a first phase called para-dise, which is a garden, and a second calledheaven, the heavenly city of Jerusalem. After anearly treatment by Greek theologians, the ideaappears in the West in an anthem sung at funeralsfrom the tenth century and still in use.65 Yet inAngelico’s period there are few visual parallels. Anotable one of about 1425 is in a frescoed LastJudgment in faraway Abruzzi.66 Its upper area isof the usual kind, but the saved below move firstinto a garden, where they climb trees and pickfruits, and then into a walled city. Visually thisclosely matches a Florentine fresco not of theLast Judgment. This is part of the famous cycle atSanta Maria Novella of the triumph of thechurch painted in 1365 by Andrea Bonaiuti.Again souls in a garden climb trees and eat fruit,on one side, while on the other side Peter admitssouls to the gate of the heavenly city. Writershave called this garden a preparation for heavenrather than heaven, but in either case it is part ofthis version of what happens to the saved. How-ever, no precedent seems to show dancing in thegarden, as Angelico does. It too is validated by atleast one early Greek father, one probablyknown to the patron of Angelico’s panel. Thatpatron was the notable scholar Ambrogio Tra-versari, the ranking cleric of the convent of Santa

Maria degli Angeli. Thereafter, the idea emergesin an Italian anthem of the fifteenth century,found in several manuscripts. It tells how “awheel is formed in heaven of all the saints in thatgarden . . . they all dance for love . . . they aredressed in particolors, white and red. They havegarlands on their heads, they seem young peopleof thirty . . . the garlands are all flowered.”67 Yetneither Angelico nor anyone else repeated thisvision in later Last Judgments, a point that rein-forces the idea that it had special connectionswith Traversari.68

Angelico thus brought to Orvieto in 1447 apowerful awareness of the theme of the LastJudgment. He had offered imaginative innova-tions while using ancient schemes. It can be pre-sumed that he now did not freeze his formulasbut let them interact with the new given of thechapel’s vast walls. Whatever plans he had didnot come to fruition, but clues about his projectare fortunately much more accessible than thestudies indicate. Indeed, the studies have recog-nized hardly any clues to it.

After Orvieto, Angelico painted three moreLast Judgments on small panels. The latest ofthese, that of 1450, is of slight concern here.69

Perhaps its only relevance is in its heavy use ofinscriptions, which include the text about sheepand goats used earlier in Pisa. It further quotesthe Old Testament text (Joel 3:2) that was thestandard citation for a prophecy of the Judgment,in which the Lord says he will “gather all nationsinto the valley of Josaphat.” This validates thecommon use of that name for the places wherethe sheep and goats assemble, and it will beadopted here.

All scholars assign the other two small panelsto Angelico’s period of work in Rome around1447, which is close to the moment when hewent from there to spend a summer in Orvieto.Both are commonly considered to be in part byassistants. If they antedate the summer trip,

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Angelico would by a neat coincidence havefound the walls there most suitable for a themehe had been working on. It is more plausible,however, that the small panels are offshoots ofthe trip and utilized his planning and thought forthe big project.

The larger of the two (Berlin; Fig. 14) is a trip-tych, but it has been plausibly argued that itsthree panels have been sawn apart and that it wasfirst a single surface.70 Some figures at the edgeshave faces that are cut, which is not likely in theartist’s practice. When Angelico let his scenesjump over frames, it is clear that he left comfort-able open space next to them. In the Berlinpanel, most motifs are standard. Christ’s left handis the most notable divergence. It neither dangles

(as in the earlier benchback panel) nor holds aglobe (as in the Orvieto triangle) or a book (as inthe other small panel, still to be considered), nordoes it show fingers widely splayed, as in the lat-est “Josaphat” panel. This Christ holds his handout, lifting it a bit at the wrist and showing thepalm; all the fingers, but not the thumb, are par-allel and touch. This hand is the only detail thatfinds Angelico making a change in every one ofthe five versions. The reason can be understoodthrough his approach to the great theme of Judg-ment. With symmetry and clarity, he sets beforeus the total contrast of good and evil, but whilethese two forces are balanced neatly at left andright in the lower half, the upper half is entirelyabout the good. The saints flank Christ on bothsides. In this upper half, evil is involved only atone small point, Christ’s condemnation of theevil with his left hand. That makes it a problemto show this concern, and Angelico apparentlynever found a solution that satisfied him in allthese attempts.

It is not surprising, then, that Christ’s left turnsup one more time, as an independent study, onthe Chantilly drawing (Fig. 18). This version isclosest to the one on the Berlin panel, differentonly in being parallel to the front plane ratherthan in perspective. That difference may reason-ably be attributed to the difference in the prob-lem of working out the form by itself on thepaper and the problem of incorporating it intothe dramatic action in the painting. (Similar vari-ations were suggested earlier for other motifs onthe same drawing.)

The deduction about the drawing would thenbe that, after its use for several motifs in theOrvieto triangle, it was retained when Angelicowent back to Rome at the end of the summer.Such retention in the artist’s file would be nor-mal in relation to likely returns to the sametheme. The sheet then duly was drawn uponagain when the scheme was being considered for

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. Ascent to Heaven (detail of Fig. 14)


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still another variant painting. This scenario isconfirmed by still another figure on the Chantillydrawing, heretofore not mentioned, and also by aclose variant of it on the Dresden drawing. Theseare alternate drafts for a standing angel, once seenin a formal dalmatic costume like a deacon andonce in a generic robe. (Angels commonly weardalmatics when functioning like deacons as assis-tants in ceremonies.) The former figure holdstwo attributes. The latter has none, but positionshis hands formally, the right being at elbowheight and the left holding the robe somewhatlower. The Berlin panel shows an angel blendingthese two options, with a dalmatic but withhands in the latter position. This is a major cen-tral figure in the panel, the angel holding thecross, grasping it in just this way. This figureappears in no other versions. This survey of theartist’s Last Judgments has now accounted for allthe separate images on the two drawings, exceptone to be discussed shortly.

The Berlin panel differs from the earlierbenchback version in that the upper segment isjust as wide as the lower one. More spacebecomes available, above hell and above heaven.It is used above hell merely to add more saintsand angels in Christ’s court. The space aboveheaven is not given a matching treatment, butoffers an innovation. The dance seen in the ear-lier panel is revised to become vertical (Fig. 24).No longer on the meadow, it spirals up a hill, thetop edge of which matches the mountain of hellopposite. It then moves into the air, and thesaints finally fly toward a tiny structure, again theheavenly Jerusalem.

That souls going to heaven should moveupward seems so obvious to us, as it was to Plato(Republic 10.614), that it needs no explanation,and this image has not been given any. Yetbefore this it had not been seen. It evolves fromthe meadow dance, which had first given heavena physical place. From a place one can go up, and

Angelico choreographed both kinds of dance. Itis not impossible that this small panel marked theinvention of the vertical one, but one may doubtthat, because it is a variant (partly by assistants) ofthis Orvieto project. Thus it might well havebeen projected in that major plan, and sorecorded in the gavantone. That view is consistentwith the recurrence of the upward flight, for thefirst time, in Signorelli’s Orvieto fresco, designedwith knowledge of the gavantone. Otherwise Sig-norelli would have reinvented it, by a remarkablecoincidence.

In this context an explanation also becomesavailable of how Angelico would have beenstimulated to invent the vertical flight, over andabove its being a logical idea. This involves goingback to the moment when Angelico inspectedthe chapel and proposed the Last Judgment as itstheme. At once the allocation of the theme’sstandard segments would be the question. Thefive-part schema of the lower half of the standardtreatment might seem to fit nicely, assigning thecentral area with the tombs to the altar wall, thetwo assembling scenes of the sheep and goats tothe side walls of the inner bay, just around thecorners from the altar wall, and finally the entriesinto heaven and hell to the side walls of the outerbay (Figs. 25, 26, and 27; see also Fig. 68, schemeof entrance wall).

Fifty years later Signorelli realized that imageryfor the three central segments, but did not putheaven and hell in the outer bay. It will beargued later that Angelico similarly had not pro-posed to put them there, but instead to use thewalls of the outer bay for a theme separate fromthe Last Judgment. Precedent for such a variancewas in the Baptistery of Florence and elsewhere.The outer bay may have seemed too far awayfrom the basic focus on the Judging Christ. OnAngelico’s benchback, one can readily make theconnection between the judging, top and center,and the entries into heaven and hell, at the sides

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below; they are directly beneath the Christ, whodetermines all that is happening. In the vastlylarger chapel, the outer bay walls are sevenmeters away from the judging Christ in the vaultabove the altar. This may have seemed to leavethe cause-and-effect relationship unclear.

Whether for that reason or not, Signorellipainted the entries into heaven and hell in a newposition, close under Christ. The sheep and goatsassembling on his side walls in the inner bay donot turn outward to move toward heaven andhell, as in all the earlier Judgments. They turnback the opposite way and move inward towardthe center, ready for the final goals there.

However, to place the entries in the middleunder Christ, on the altar wall, introduces a sep-arate problem: the big window, the same thathad forced the shift of the Judging Christ up intothe vault. The wall surface behind the altar isreduced to two tall, narrow surfaces beside thewindow—the only space available for the entriesinto heaven and hell if they are to be assigned tothis part of the fresco cycle at all. In the case ofthe saved, Signorelli indeed placed them on thetall, narrow wall to the left of the window

(Christ’s right, the good side) and, not to oursurprise at this point, shows them rising up,helped by angels. But this is just the idea seenfifty years earlier in Angelico’s panel. The naturalinference is that the shape of the wall surface hadinduced this invention in Angelico’s plan forOrvieto, repeated then in his panel and in Sig-norelli as hypothesized. To be sure, Signorelli’simagery in detail is quite unlike Angelico’s onthe panel; there is no spiral dance, but a simplerlifting action. If we had only these two images inisolation, as in photographs, one could denythem any connection. But that is not easy whenthey are the work of two artists who worked onthe same project, the younger being aware of thework of the older.

Signorelli’s adaptation allows us to say thatAngelico had invented this idea. This conclusionderives from the previous conclusion, thatAngelico’s gavantone extended down from thevault to the walls. That was based on the docu-mentary report that it did so, and on the observa-tion that it would be the reasonable thing. It hasnow become reasonable to go one more step, tosee, in part, what the gavantone showed. Angelico

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. Scheme of the left wall, after Vischer. Scheme of the altar wall, after Vischer



had placed the way to heaven on the tall wallspace on the altar wall, and made the souls riseupward, probably in the dance he showed in theBerlin panel. His innovation, like most goodideas, was effective for several distinct reasons,solving several problems. It makes heaven accept-able in the vehicle of the then very modern paint-ing style of physical space; it works with a naturalnotion of getting to heaven by going up; and itfits the shape of this part of the chapel wall so nat-urally that it might seem to be just what thepainter wanted.

Although Angelico’s imagery of the savedsouls rising apparently has no parallel in his time,it does have a fascinating analogue. Rogier vander Weyden’s Last Judgment in Beaune showsthe usual horizontal groups of saved and damned,but there is also a vertical factor. The two versesin which Christ tells the saved to come to himand the damned to depart appear inscribed onthe panel beside the seated Christ, and they arewritten vertically, the words to the saved work-ing their way upward on Christ’s right and thoseto the damned working down on his left.Rogier’s work seems to be of just about the same

years as Angelico’s gavantone and his subsequentJudgment panels discussed above. Not long after-ward, Rogier visited Italy and came underAngelico’s influence, making it tempting toargue that the work in Beaune might be a littlelater than is usually thought, and that it echoesAngelico’s inventive imagery. However, the ideaof the vertical, a grand and simple one, may alsohave developed independently in both artists.

Should we also imagine that Angelico showedthe damned moving vertically downward? Thereis no evidence about them, and we can onlydraw inferences about this and other nearby partsof his design in a general way.

The way to hell surely occupied the matchingtall, narrow wall on the other side of the samewindow. He placed the tombs at the base, in thecenter, in all his panels of the theme before andafter working in Orvieto, and would presumablyhave done so there as well. The assemblies ofsheep and goats at Josaphat would be around thecorner on the two side walls of the inner bay,where Signorelli places them, and as they are alsoplaced in all Angelico’s panels. As to the vault,Angelico’s two painted triangles, of Christ judg-ing and the prophets to his left, would necessarilybe continued with apostles to his right, as theyare in Signorelli. The assignment of the fourthtriangle to the symbols of the Passion, as in Sig-norelli, is hard to doubt, because no other appro-priate place for this essential element is available.

A few more detailed aspects can be deter-mined with some precision. Self-portraits ofartists had an old tradition in Last Judgments (seenote 62). Giotto’s in Florence was cited by anearly writer, and the Orvieto façade sculpturevery likely contains one by Maitani, shown withassistant sculptors. Jumping ahead, Signorellipainted himself in the cycle and showedAngelico beside him (Fig. 28). That noveltymight be viewed as a courteous gesture towardhis distinguished predecessor, whose ideas he

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. Scheme of the right wall, after Vischer


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used, but the question of its inclusion has hardlybeen explored; it seems to be taken for grantedon the basis of the power of its simple presence.In view of the older tradition, it might well bethat Angelico portrayed himself on the gavantoneand that this detail was reused by Signorelli.

There is surprising independent support forthis notion. The sheet of drawings in Chantillyincludes one further image not yet discussed, aportrait of a monk or friar (Fig. 29) that fills thewhole of the recto. When Bernard Berensonpublished it, he suggested that it is a portrait ofAngelico, an idea that later scholars havereported neutrally.71 This has never been possibleto confirm or refute, and the proposal cannot bedefinitely proved, but it is striking that the placeand date of the sheet of drawings is Orvieto 1447,and its other images are in most cases tryouts for

details of the chapel frescoes. The draftsman,Benozzo, was in contact there with just one friarknown to us, Angelico, and if he met others thecontact would have been lesser. In planning thecycle, the idea of including Angelico’s portraitwould certainly have arisen because of the tradi-tion, a point that has not been factored in. To doso would call for a portrait of him just like this,72

which would then be transferred to the gavantoneand thence to Signorelli.

Benozzo produced, twelve years later, afamous self-portrait in the background of hismost successful fresco cycle, the chapel in theMedici Palace in Florence. In surveys of the his-tory of self-portraits, this is presented as one ofthe rare earliest ones preserved and is perhaps thefirst to use a formula popular afterward for itslocation in a scene.73 If Benozzo had earlierassisted with the self-portrait of his awe-inspiringmaster, Angelico, this development would bemore readily understood.

In Signorelli’s complete project, the wainscotunder the big scenes shows a row of heads inframes surrounded by little scenes from thepoems of Dante and others. These will be dis-cussed in detail at a later point, and it will beindicated that the scenes can hardly have beenpart of Angelico’s plan. The row of heads, how-ever, had an older precedent in Nardo’s frescocycle, the one from which Angelico drew mostas to organization. One of Signorelli’s headsrecalls one of Nardo’s quite closely, by gazing atthe scene above him; this has been rightlyobserved by San Juan.74 The reasonable objectionhas been raised that Signorelli would hardly havebeen attentive to the work of Nardo, which byhis time seemed obsolete.75 The conflict betweenthe two good arguments is solved if we posit anintermediate similar head by Angelico, who wascertainly interested in Nardo and as certainly wasnoticed by Signorelli. This would again imply itspresence on the gavantone.

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. Self-portrait of Signorelli with Fra Angelico(detail of Fig. 78)


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Rows of heads in the borders of frescoes werecommon and appeared in two types. Often theyare decorative, as in the frames around Angelico’striangles, and Nardo’s monochrome heads alsoseem to have been anonymous in this way. Othersuch rows were portraits of important peoplerelated to the theme of the work; Angelico hadproduced such a major set in the wainscot underhis large Crucifixion at San Marco in Florence, inthe friars’ chapter house. It shows the mostnotable Dominicans of the past, an imagery thathad a long history already in various monasticorders. Sometimes it had appeared in wainscots,sometimes in chapter houses; Angelico seems tohave been the first to combine both patterns.With all those precedents, it would have beennatural for him to prepare such a set of heads inOrvieto, then executed by Signorelli.

Of the heads executed by Signorelli, one, thatof Dante, stands out because it alone can be iden-tified without question as a known individual (Fig.51). This brings to mind that Dante had alreadyappeared in Last Judgments, both in Giotto’s inFlorence (where he is grouped with a self-portrait)and in Nardo’s, the two representations of thetheme best known to Angelico. They bothshowed Dante among the blessed, for a reasonsuggested earlier: his authentic report on hell (rep-resented by Nardo in the way he described it) andheaven (where he must have gone when he died).Angelico would then logically have included himtoo, and Signorelli after that. But one of these lasttwo demoted Dante from paradise to the wain-scot, which seems odd.

It is Benozzo Gozzoli again who may help toexplain this move. After he had worked withAngelico as an assistant, his first large independ-ent project came in 1452, in the small town ofMontefalco in southern Umbria not far fromOrvieto. It is a Life of Saint Francis in the localFranciscan church’s apse. The scene of Francisreceiving the stigmata is in the vault and

uniquely occupies two of its triangles. Christ fliesas a seraph in one, while Francis kneels in theother, and rays jump the frame between them.This is the same device Benozzo had known asAngelico’s assistant in the Orvieto vault, and itshows that he retained that admiring memory. Inthe wainscot below is a series of portraits of emi-nent Franciscans, in the standard way, but that isoddly interrupted in the exact center by threeportraits not connected with Franciscans at all,and without known precedent in such a context(Fig. 30). Two of them, Giotto and Petrarch,may be put aside for the moment. The third is

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. Benozzo Gozzoli, Portrait of a Friar, drawing.Chantilly, Musée Condé, recto


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Dante, in his earliest appearance in a wainscot setof portraits, followed by Signorelli’s as the sec-ond. Because both artists were familiar withAngelico’s Orvieto project, it seems likely that itis their common source, especially since Dantewould be a natural inclusion in it. It can presum-ably be discounted that the two made the choiceby coincidence or that Signorelli noticed thedetail in Montefalco, the only alternativeoptions. The inference is that Angelico haddemoted Dante to the wainscot (where Benozzoshows him); why he did so may be explored indue course.

Angelico’s project as he drew it can thus bereconstructed in a broad way and in variousdetails, something that has not been donebecause its existence has not been considered.His drawing is known to have covered just halfthe chapel, its inner bay, comprising that bay’s

vault, three walls, and, it can now be added, itswainscot. One result is that Angelico was able toinclude every standard factor of Last Judgmentswhile covering the inner bay only. That canexplain why he made a drawing only of this halfwhen he needed a layout to begin painting andto show the client. It also fits the fact that scaf-folding for him was set up only in the inner bay,as recorded in documents to be reported shortly.

Nothing in the above offers clues about anyideas Angelico may have had for the two sidewalls of the outer bay, but he must have thoughtabout these spaces. As mentioned briefly above,some earlier Last Judgments combined the themein the same visual area with quite differentimages. Besides the Florence Baptistery, Giotto’sArena Chapel is a striking case: the famous narra-tive of Mary and Christ is on the side walls nearthe Judgment on the end.

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. Benozzo Gozzoli, Petrarch, Dante, and Giotto. Montefalco, San Francesco, choir, wainscot


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A plausible clue survives, in Angelico’s case, ina work not so far discussed. This is the othersmall panel of the Last Judgment besides the onein Berlin (Fig. 14). All commentators believe thatthis second one (Rome; Fig. 31) is of around thesame time as the Orvieto trip.76 Again it is mostplausible to assign it to a point just after the trip,rather than just before, and that would make it anoffshoot of the Orvieto plans. This Rome panel isa true, small folding triptych. The center panelshows standard elements of the Last Judgment,including the assembling of the sheep and thegoats, but it omits the final scenes in heaven andhell (as we shall see Orvieto also did in the end).The side panels have instead Christ’s Ascension

and the Pentecost, totally separate topics, whichAngelico seems never to have painted before.Both are themes calling for vertical emphasis,with Christ ascending over the disciples and withthe two spaces in the Pentecost story, upstairsand down, reflecting the formula for that themein Angelico’s tradition. It had been most strikingin the complex chapter house frescoes of theDominican church of Santa Maria Novella, byAndrea Bonaiuti, of 1365, another segment ofwhich was mentioned earlier.

These themes are so lacking in associationwith the Last Judgment that it has been proposedthat the two side panels did not originally accom-pany the central Judgment, but most students

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. Fra Angelico, Last Judgment, Ascension, and Pentecost. Rome, Galleria Nazionale


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accept them. The new point, that the triptych isan offshoot of the Orvieto plan, now permits the beginning of an explanation. In Rome, theJudgment is puzzlingly flanked by these twoevents. In Orvieto, the Judgment was flanked by two open spaces calling for images in a largehigh space. To be sure, if we hypothesize thatAngelico’s idea for Orvieto was to choose thesetwo scenes as he then did in Rome, the prob-lem is only shifted: why did he pick them for Orvieto?

The texts about the Ascension and Pentecostare adjacent in the New Testament (Acts 1 and 2)and thus in long cycles about Christ, such asGiotto’s Arena Chapel. That still does not attachthem to the Last Judgment. Such an attachmentdoes appear in a popular illustrated narrativecycle of the time, the Biblia Pauperum.77 Thatcycle selects forty themes connected with theGospels as of the greatest significance, and nearthe end it shows in sequence the Ascension, Pen-tecost, the Coronation of the Virgin, and the LastJudgment, followed by only one last image, theeternal rest of the soul. The Last Judgment is sub-divided here into three aspects: the judging, thedamned pulled toward hell, and the saved inChrist’s bosom, recalling Abraham’s in earlierimagery of heaven. This is a rare case of includ-ing the Judgment in any temporal series. The onescene of these four in sequence that is absentfrom Angelico’s triptych is the Coronation. Thatscene had no visual presence in the chapel, unlessits connection with the Assumption is treated assuch, because these two contiguous events areboth celebrated on the same feast day. In thatcase, the extension to additional related imagespreceding the Judgment and the Coronationwould lead at once to the Pentecost and theAscension. In this way the chapel would, afterall, have frescoed stories that relate to its statue ofthe Assumpta. However, the omission of thesetwo scenes from the final paintings again evokesthe slight concern with the statue.

Angelico and his three assistants received theirfull pay for the summer in September 1447 andwent back to Rome.78 They never returned, butpainting activity continued in the chapel with nobreak for another year, a circumstance that isalmost always overlooked. The local master,Pietro, who had been added to the crew in July,of course did not leave; expenditures for paintingmaterials are recorded at short intervals until thefollowing June. In January, a time when frescowork normally ceased because of freezingweather, there is a payment for coal for “thepainter who is painting in the new chapel,” indi-cating that there was concern to continue. Pre-sumably there was a brazier. A large expenditureis for scaffolding, showing that the earlier scaf-folding for Angelico had not filled the chapel.The scale of the new scaffolding indicates that itwas for the entire outer bay. Most of the recordsrefer simply to “the painter,” but some give hisname as Pietro di Nicola. In June 1448 he wasapproaching the end of his contract to work for ayear and was paid everything he was owed, andthere was discussion whether to rehire him.79

The decision was postponed, and he appears inthe records up to January 1449, but only in scat-tered payments. The payment of June 1448 tellsus for the first time just what Pietro had beendoing: “whitening, painting and flowering” (inal-bandum, et pingendum et florandum) the arches ofthe chapel80 (seen in Figs. 12, 13, 19, 41, 42, 45,48). These are indeed partly covered with flow-ers, clarifying the term florandum, absent fromdictionaries.81 The flowers were certainlyAngelico’s idea. Their obvious earlier model is inthe flowery frames of Gentile da Fabriano’sfamous Magi altarpiece in Florence, of 1423.Angelico knew it well, having painted anotheraltarpiece for the same chapel.

In general, the thick frames of the Orvieto tri-angles comprise a double set of painted strips.The heavy ribs carry the large outer frames withflowers. Inside, on the plane with the figures, are

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rows of tiny heads, 132 altogether. Each type offrame is omitted in some positions. The thick,flowered ones are naturally found only when thevaults have ribs and thus are absent where six ofthe triangles rest their bases on the walls. (Theyare present on the bases of the other two trian-gles, which rest on the central transverse archbetween the inner and outer bays.) The thinframes are absent at the bases of the four obtusetriangles. Perhaps it was felt that the figuresneeded all the height they could get in theselow-lying shapes, and not a bit of it was sacrificedto an inner frame below them. The need for aframe could be satisfied, in the two obtuse trian-gles resting on the transverse arch, by the arch’sthick flowered frame just mentioned. For theother two, resting respectively on the altar walland the entrance wall, there are no arches withribs, but another answer was found, moving theframe down one step. It was painted at the top ofthe wall, at right angles to the triangle.

The result is that there are two frames alwayson the upper oblique sides of the triangles butonly one frame on each base, of which two arethick and the other six are thin, as discussed. Itwould have been functional and easy to use onlyone frame everywhere, shifting between the thickand thin in accordance with the practical exigen-cies just cited. But that was not done. Whereverpossible, two frames were provided redundantly,continuing both of the two kinds that were usedalone when that was inevitable. This suppressesattention to the shifting needs of structure at dif-ferent points and asserts continuity over thewhole series of articulate parts—all with an ele-gance the more notable as it is hardly ever per-ceived. Not noted in studies of Angelico, it is aneat small token of his refined design sense.

It is not possible to attribute the flowers toindividual artists. They are endlessly mechanical,evidently reusing a few drawings, and there areno others by known painters to compare. Thelittle heads are a quite different case and have

been closely studied. About thirty were pro-duced in the Signorelli phase, but the rest showthe style of the Angelico shop. These are all theheads on the two upper, oblique sides of all eighttriangles but on only one base, under Angelico’sprophets. Those by the Signorelli shop are on thefive other bases that have heads (recalling thattwo bases have no thin frames with heads,namely, those whose bases rest on the centraltransverse arch between the two bays).

Master Pietro, it can be assumed, participatedin this work from the time he was hired in July1447, but of more interest is the work he didlater, after the Angelico crew had left. That cer-tainly included all the Angelico-type frames withheads and flowers in the outer bay, which couldbe executed only after the second scaffolding wasbuilt, during this second phase.82 The fields insidethe frames (fields later all painted by Signorelli)were of course blank. Evidently Angelico’sreturn was expected, and Master Pietro was get-ting a little ahead, using the same repeat patternsfor the flowers. Along with all the ribs, it waseasy to extend his work to the adjacent thinframes on the plane of the fields, on all theoblique sides of the triangles. Naturally somemember of the Angelico shop, perhaps Pietro,had painted the base under Angelico’s prophets.The only oddity is that the crew did not paint asimilar base under Angelico’s other triangle, withChrist. The reason clearly is that its frame, at thebase, was not in the vault area but on the wallbeneath. That area was a convenient place towork for those who would later paint the wall—the Signorelli crew—but had not been conven-ient for anyone working on the vault. The sameconditions applied to the thin frames above allthe Signorelli scenes beneath the four acute tri-angles. Because these had no ribs, Angelico’screw had not wetted them for painting. Thatwould have been a special job, and it made moresense to wait and combine it with work on thewall below. All this enlarges our previous under-

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standing of the processes of fresco work here.Separately, Master Pietro Baroni now emerges asthe first artist in history with a specialty in flow-ers, even if probably not as designer but only asexecutant. He worked sixty years earlier than theartist who has been so credited, Giovanni daUdine, who provided borders in a similar wayfor Raphael’s frescoes.

Pietro did not paint flowers only. In January1449 he did an Annunciation in another part ofthe cathedral, and then in May he applied toreplace Angelico as head master in the chapel.83

The committee’s discussion of this was revealing.They were unable to meet Angelico’s contractedfee, we learn, because of difficulties with thebudget; income and alms had gone down. Evenso, they would try to persuade him to return, andthen hire Pietro to assist him. Failing this, theywould do nothing, because “more concern shouldbe had about beauty than about what is spent, justas has always been.” Nothing else followed.

Among the remarkable information in thistext is the simple explanation of why Angelico’swork did not continue. Money ran out.84 Bookson the artist tend to say that why he left the workunfinished is unknown and to offer speculations.

It has even been said that Angelico broke hiscontract. Evidently the record of the committeediscussion is being overlooked. It tells us that thepatrons’ funds did not come from endowmentsor large gifts but rather depended on currentreceipts, which were very subject to fluctuations.

Benozzo Gozzoli also applied in 1449 to suc-ceed Angelico. Then twenty-nine years old, hehad always worked as a chief assistant, but now hehoped to have his own commission, even if itwould simply mean executing his former master’sscheme. By this time Angelico had left Rome andwas much involved with administrative work inhis own convent in Florence. The committeeresponded to Benozzo somewhat positively. Asthey had with Master Pietro, they asked that heproduce a trial piece, but in Benozzo’s case theyoffered to subsidize it with the expensive bluepigment and the use of a house.85 The request fora trial piece is strong evidence that Benozzo hadnot, as sometimes argued, painted the JudgingChrist or any other major figures in the triangles.

Nothing came of this application either, butBenozzo’s trip did bring him work elsewhere inOrvieto. On December 28 the committee tooknote that he had begun an Annunciation for awoman who now wanted to cancel the order,“on account of the recent revolution in the gov-ernment and events.”86 That refers to the assassi-nation of one of the two ruling Monaldeschibrothers, Gentile, and the flight into exile of theother, Arrigo, to be recounted further later.Benozzo proposed to the committee that it mighttake over this unfinished work of his, paying onlyfor the materials. The committee agreed to thisbargain, asking only that the woman’s coat ofarms be covered by their own. (Their device, across separating the four letters OPSM, Opera diSanta Maria, appears in Signorelli’s part of thechapel.) Such arms were probably often expected,and not specially mentioned except in special sit-uations like this.

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. Pietro Baroni, Pietà and Saints


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This incident is revealing on several counts.External social events, a violent shift in local pol-itics, had an effect on what happened to art withrespect to a private person, but the cathedralactivities were hardly affected by them, beyondthe opportunity offered for a bargain. Socialimpact on the arts is a frequent theme of discus-sion, usually with less direct evidence and oftenwith arguments for stronger effects. Anotherinference is that the committee was willing toacquire a painting even though it had had noinput on its iconography. Contrary to conven-tional wisdom, this has already been inferred inthe larger case of the chapel. Finally, the recordshows Benozzo spending several months inOrvieto at this time. That would reinforce hisintimate familiarity with the chapel and make iteasier to understand his reuse of its devices inMontefalco in 1452, the Dante portrait in thewainscot and the narrative jumping over a frame.

Benozzo never returned to Orvieto. MasterPietro, of course, stayed and had repeated contactwith the chapel. The chief contact is the commis-sion given to “Magistro Pietro” (presuming, as isusual, that this is the same man) in 1468 to work in one of the little chapels inside theCappella Nuova, the one dedicated to SaintsPietro Parenzo and Faustino.87 This commissionwas for a fresco with “one figure of Christ in thepose (modum) of the Pietà and the figures of SaintsFaustino and Pietro Parenzo” (Fig. 32). MasterPietro duly executed these three figures, and his

work was recently rediscovered there.88 For thenext thirty years this image shared the CappellaNuova with Angelico’s two vault triangles andnothing else, a status worth considering. The situ-ation reinforces the transeptal character of thespace, which now displayed still another unre-lated cult. The fact that Signorelli then coveredup this fresco with one of his own (Fig. 72),showing just the same subject, is also thought-provoking. Our new possibility of seeing bothversions offers a test of Signorelli’s attitude towardolder work, discussed for the inner bay. This timehe retained the general iconographic meaning,with the three figures and the tomb, but drasti-cally changed not only the expressive style butalso the composition and the specific theme. HisPietà will be considered on its own later.

The last record of Master Pietro is from 1489.He was a member of a large citizens’ committeecharged with discussing whether Perugino shouldbe invited to paint the New Chapel.89 In a smallirony, Pietro thus functioned as one of the lesserdecision makers about a project that he had oncehoped would be given to himself. He was even asmall patron, for in his will dated 1482 he namedas his residuary legatee the cathedral, and specifi-cally its camerlengo, or head of the building com-mittee, in case of the deaths of his wife and otherrelatives.90 His view of the project, which maywell have been representative of the townspeople,was a positive one.

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Intermission, 1448–1499

p

he departure of Angelico and his crew inSeptember 1447 was supposed to last only tothe next summer, but lack of money to pay

them meant that they never returned. The townwas left with a large project, undertaken and justbegun, with no way to proceed. The theme thathad emerged, the Last Judgment, may haveadded to the problem. Other projects using stan-dard narratives, like that in the cathedral choir,also had starts and stops, yet did get completedjust before the chapel was. At the time, no oneelse chose the theme of the Last Judgment, withits outsize demands on interdependent motifs.Only Angelico’s prestige made it a feasiblechoice; without Angelico it may have seemed agreater problem to pursue.

The theme was special not only in demandinga large scale but also in the interdependence of itsreferences, an internal schematic complexitywith symmetry that rested on meaning instead ofthe usual time series. It sent a message of unap-pealable authority from the top and of impact onthe crowds below, supported by a force that wasboth divine and military. It is tempting to take itas a symbol of medieval social structure, specifi-cally of feudalism, which would be articulatedhere through its churchly analogue.1

Conspicuous and expensive presentations likethis one, suggesting sponsorship by rulers, wouldappear to support such an approach. Yet one ofthe most spectacular examples, the Baptistery inFlorence, was sponsored by what was perhaps the

most impressive counterfeudal society of thetime, a commercial city run by committees ofmerchants.2 Exalting God’s control over good andevil, this Last Judgment requires a more complexand nuanced historical reading. The many monu-mental Last Judgments of the early and middlefourteenth century have been seen as modifyingthe older symmetrical schema in individual ways.The local donor in Giotto from a new mercantilefamily, Pisa’s hell without a correspondingheaven, and Nardo’s assertion of a flat spiritualheaven, complementary with a heavy Danteanhell of rocky caves, have in common chiefly per-haps an appeal to earthy confirmation of beliefs,to us evoking real details, in an imagined system.3

In the next half-century such works seemed tohave no major successors. Angelico’s 1430 panelon the benchback, in its modest scale, might beread as a surrender to the difficulty of reassertingthe older grandeur of the subject. He uses land-scape and perspective, favorite new tools of theinnovative in his generation, to assert a boldmodernity. So it may seem odd that after morethan a century Angelico also reverts to theschematic symmetry of the Baptistery mosaics.Giving an equal slot to each element of the Judg-ment, he may be seen seeking the older, tightauthority. These surprises might be understoodin the context of the particular church for whichthe panel was made and of its intellectually pow-erful leader, Ambrogio Traversari, a devotee ofGreek theology.


When Angelico arrived in Orvieto, the grandwalls may have encouraged him toward a similarsolution, as well as to return to the monumental-ity of Nardo and others. When his beginning andhis plans were then later shown to the painterswho would continue them, notably Signorelli,the problem may well have seemed archaic.Once again, their generation was not used tosuch models, and the task could be a peau de cha-grin as well as a challenge. Much to be done wasinevitable by that point, but a fresh use of somefurther modern tools might help to evade muchelse that could seem too old-fashioned.

Not only older painted images, but also otherproducts of the time, can suggest how the LastJudgment theme could retain a “medieval” valuethat could retain validity even while infused withnew mixes. The religious drama, active in centralItaly in the fifteenth century, has rarely beenconsidered in this context. Most of the dramasare narratives, like most fresco cycles, but twoLast Judgment plays survive. One of them, fromPerugia, which is quite close to the medieval pat-tern, will be discussed later. That is not the casewith the second drama, a Florentine work of“after 1444.”4 Almost the entire text of the latterpresents, first, individual sinners’ pleas when theyare damned for committing one after another ofthe seven deadly sins, and then the failure of alltheir efforts to win acquittal. Thus among thesegments of the Judgment schema just one, thatwith the assembled goats at Josaphat, dominates.

A focus on personal ethics and its consequencesis clear as well in the sermons of the time, mes-sages to the public that can be seen as analogousto church painting. The themes of sermons, saidSan Bernardino (d. 1444), should be “vices andvirtues, punishment and glory.” A longerDominican list from the same period offers aschief topics God and the devil, heaven and hell,the world, soul and body, sin, penance, andvirtue.5 We are warned that we will be judged,

and lectured about our behavior. What we arenot told about is theological symbolism or thesystematics of the judging process and its stages, asin the grand murals. Much the same emergeswhen we read the book on confessions by SaintAntonino (d. 1459) often reprinted in the period,or a short list of the correct themes for paintings,deriving from Saint Thomas Aquinas and oftenrestated at this time. They should show lives ofsaints, to serve as models for our lives, andreminders of Christ’s incarnation, to induce ourdevotion.6 The theological and liturgical forms towhich art historians of this period often turn askeys are absent in this case too. To be sure, theold-fashioned factors in works like Angelico’spartly justify their approach.

Records about the chapel for the years afterAngelico left Orvieto, when they concern activ-ity there at all, deal with work on the windowsand roof and with frustration about the paintingproject. The scaffolding is clearly an irritant. In1465 many thought it should be dismantled, theadministrator tells the committee, and he asks forguidance. One respondent said it should go,since it could be replaced later if needed by a bet-ter type, with wheels. Another thought it shouldstay because removal would create a bad impres-sion that “the work of painting begun would notbe finished.”7 Nothing happened, and there wasno follow-up in 1479 when an item on theagenda called for considering how the chapel“was to be finished with respect to painting.”8

One of the occasional larger meetings, usuallycalled to debate major decisions, rightly labeledthe chapel an “opus imperfectum” and voted tonegotiate a contract with the painter Piermatteod’Amelia. It called on him to provide a sample, asusual; nothing followed.9

Minutes in 1489 noted that it had been “fortyyears since it was begun, and it is the greatest dis-grace (maximum vilipendium) for the committeethat it is not finished.”10 A month later a second

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large meeting underlined the point, observingthat “it is forty-four years or thereabouts that thescaffolding is there.” It is a dishonor, and thework should be finished to the honor of God,the Virgin, the church, and the whole city.11

This meeting was called to prepare for negoti-ations with Perugino, which were themselves tobecome a frustration over the years. In the mid-dle of those negotiations, a meeting in winter1493–94 again determined that “the honor of thechurch calls for having the figures and paintingsof the new chapel finished” and gave orders for“finishing the said chapel and removing the scaf-folding, nor should it be allowed to stay therecontinuously.”12 The completing of the paintingalmost seems driven by the more conspicuousmatter of the disgraceful scaffolding.

The committee was quite correct when theycalled Perugino “famosissimus,”13 as only Angelicohad been labeled in earlier debates. Perugino wascalled “the best master in Italy” in 1500, in a let-ter of recommendation from Agostino Chigi,later a major patron of Raphael, to his father. Hesaid Pinturicchio was the next best, and there wasno third. The even more famous patronessIsabella d’Este gave Perugino a commission,explaining it was because she wanted works bythe leading masters.14 The Orvieto committeeprobably spoiled their chances with him whenthey asked him too to provide a sample, by doingthe vaults for a very small fee, before they woulddeal with his very high price for the whole.15

They kept trying, however, for a decade. Theirefforts include a letter to Perugino in Florencefrom the Bishop of Orvieto, the sole appearanceof that official in records of the century of workon the chapel.16

The committee’s concern about famous artistsis evoked by a very different record when, in1464, a new lock and key, replacing the olderones, are purchased for “the doors of the figuredone by master Gentile in the same church.”17

This is the frescoed Madonna by Gentile da Fab-riano that is still there, having survived both aBaroque remodeling in its vicinity and then thedismantling of that work. The special interest ofthis text is that, unlike earlier references to thefresco, it identifies the fresco by the artist’s nameonly, not by the religious theme or function. Itneeds a lock because it is precious, and the valueevidently resides in the authorship. Gentile’s sta-tus in his century was mentioned above. In 1489,when the committee boasted that Perugino had“worked in the Vatican palace in Rome,”18 itmight have been recalled that not only Angelicobut also Gentile had been a papal painter. Thephenomenon of painters’ names being citedalone by owners of their works occurs in a smallnumber of other instances at this time.19

The political history of Orvieto took a majornew turn from 1449. The murder and exile ofthe Monaldeschi tyrants was mentioned earlier;the individuals who brought them down wereother Monaldeschi, two first cousins calledPaolopietro son of Corrado and Gentile son ofLuca.20 (The various branches repeated the samenames; the defeated tyrants were brothers namedEnrico [or Arrigo] and Gentile sons of Pietroan-tonio.) A traditional tool in similar fights hadbeen to call on papal influence. Orvieto’s legalposition within the papal states had more or lessreal importance at different moments. This time,unlike all previous occasions, the effect was thatreal power passed to the papacy, where it longremained, and that all the Monaldeschi werereduced to being rich landowning citizens. Theexiled Gentile son of Pietroantonio failed in aneffort to reenter the city. Yet after his death, hisson, Pietroantonio the younger, was married toGiovanna, daughter of the chief of the winningbranch, Gentile son of Luca—a reconciliationthat sealed that last stage of the family’s role.

The major positive result was heightenedinterest in Orvieto on the part of the popes. The

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. Pier with Last Judgment, Orvieto Cathedral façade (detail of Fig. 6)


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special role of Pius II as a neighbor from Sienahas been mentioned, as has his visit in 1459. Atypical and important result was the marriagearranged between Camilla, daughter of the win-ning Paolopietro Monaldeschi, son of Corrado,and the pope’s nephew Jacopo Piccolomini. TheMonaldeschi had married into papal familiesbefore, and this same Paolopietro’s wife was aColonna, from Martin V’s clan. At that earliertime, however, both families shared status as feu-dal barons and fighters. Now, as the Monaldeschiwere diminished, the Piccolomini had no signifi-cance outside their papal connection, as indeedthey had never had. Despite this tie, Pius doesnot seem to have involved himself with Orvietomore than other towns he visited once. Never-theless, his visit and his attention to the sculpturethere, with his close reading of its Last Judgmentsegment (Fig. 33), may in this context have had aheightened interest locally, and then reinforcedthe citizens’ concern about the honor of theirother Last Judgment inside the cathedral.

Pius II’s successor was the Venetian Paul II (r. 1464–72). Notice is always taken of Paul II’sactive patronage of visual arts, from his buildingof the Palazzo Venezia in Rome to his collectingof medals and other antiquities. His particularconnection with Orvieto was through his title,from 1442, as abbot of Santi Severo e Martirio,three kilometers below the city walls. Ruinsthere still evoke its richness.21 It was one of manyof his benefices and does not imply residence.Neither does the fact that his great-uncle hadbeen the town’s papal governor in 1405–8. (Bothoffices were given by previous popes of theirfamily.)22 Yet it is clear that a real connectiondeveloped. Not only did Paul serve in 1451 asgodfather to Pietroantonio Mondaldeschi theyounger, son of the Gentile exiled in 1449,23 buthe arranged for the young man’s marriage in1467 to the daughter of the other branch that ledto family peace. He, like Pius II, was legally their

kinsman. The couple’s involvement in ourchapel will appear in due course.

Pope Paul II was buried in a tomb in SaintPeter’s in Rome ordered by a family member,which has rightly been called the grandest tombof any pope in that century. It indeed opens thegreat series including the two smaller ones byPollaiuolo and then Michelangelo’s and Bernini’s.Yet art history has virtually overlooked it, for anaccumulation of reasons.24 The interest in thistomb here is that a Last Judgment fills the lunetteover the effigy (Fig. 34). It is the largest elementin the tomb, has a theme apparently unprece-dented in tombs in this culture, and is the mostambitious treatment of the theme in the regionduring the half-century between Angelico andSignorelli. Because the sculptured Last Judgmenton Orvieto Cathedral, the most conspicuous ear-lier one in sculpture, was so admired in its period,and because Pope Paul had surely seen it, as hadPius, it is reasonable to think it was a stimulus tothe surprising choice of the same theme for hismonument.25 It gives an abbreviated version ofthe standard schema, which will be exploredbelow. Following this, other Last Judgmentsappear in the context of this papacy, and that toois little noted. These include the reverse sides oftwo medals, one of the pope of about 1466–67and one, by Bertoldo, of about 1468–69, of Arch-bishop Filippo de’ Medici, as well as the lunetteover the tomb of Cardinal Ammanati (d. 1479) inSant’ Agostino, Rome (Fig. 35).26 Clearly the LastJudgment was of active concern in Rome at thistime.

The next pope, Sixtus IV (r. 1471–84), has acompletely different connection with Orvieto. Amember of the previously obscure Della Roverefamily from north Italy, he had no tie to Orvietobefore he became pope. But in 1476 he named asits bishop one Giorgio della Rovere, seeming tosuggest the nepotism for which he is particularlyknown.27 Yet Giorgio may not have been a rela-

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tive, as is usually assumed; he is absent from themost thorough family tree of the clan.28 BishopGiorgio, moreover, seems to have come fromParma rather than from Genoa as the pope did.29

An explanation for his nomination of Giorgio isperhaps available on the basis of an analogy. Thepope did give benefices to an unrelated family ofDella Rovere from Piedmont, perhaps to give animpression that he, like them, had noble blood.30

The same may apply to Giorgio, who remainedBishop of Orvieto for decades, while the pope’sactual relatives got frequent promotions. Thepope’s nephew Cardinal Giulio della Rovere(later Pope Julius II) did not mention the bishopwhen in 1492 he wrote to the Orvieto citycouncil about the city’s and his own rival claimson Perugino’s services—even though Perugino’s

work in Orvieto would have been in thebishop’s cathedral.31 To be sure, the generalscarcity of records of Bishop Giorgio in Orvietomay well be due to absenteeism, a normal phe-nomenon.

The next pope, Innocent VIII, was electedwith help from the cardinals of Sixtus’s family, sothat it retained much power. It was the reverse,however, when the opposite party electedAlexander VI of the Borgia family (r. 1492–1503).Almost at once a bishop coadjutor was assigned toOrvieto, officially because Bishop Giorgio suf-fered from gout. When this coadjutor was pro-moted to another bishopric (in which he did notreside), he was followed in Orvieto by no lessthan four others in succession up to 1503. The lastone is recorded on August 4 of that year as set to

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. GiovanniDalmata, Last Judg-ment, lunette of tombof Pope Paul II. Rome,Saint Peter’s


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succeed Della Rovere, who would resign. Yetthat did not happen, for he was still bishop in1505, and it was not until 1511 that a new onetook office “on account of Giorgio’s death.” Thesimple explanation is the death on August 18,1503, of Pope Alexander, the bishop’s enemy,allowing the bishop to annul his resignation andperhaps get rid of the coadjutor. Yet, altogether,information about Giorgio della Rovere is sparse,and frustratingly so because he was bishop duringthe chief campaign of work in the chapel. (Writ-ers on the chapel have, however, hardly takennote either of him or of his obscurity, and theymay have been justified.)

The bishop’s one spectacular momentoccurred in the 1490s, unfortunately recordedonly in reports that may have been biased againsthim. While Pope Alexander was making his con-trol of the town firm, the bishop is said to haveimported a “mob of relatives, some inclined tosedition” (perhaps the same people against whomthere was rioting in 1494) crying, “Death to theoutsiders.” His palace was set on fire in 1497 andhe fled the town, returning only in July 1499when a “brief peace” was made.32 The bishopsurely had nothing to do with hiring Signorelli inApril of that year. Absence from any records isthe main indication that the church hierarchyhad little involvement in the cathedral’s businessthroughout the entire period surveyed here; thatlack finds its most conspicuous sign in thisepisode.

Pope Alexander made a visit to Orvieto inNovember 1493 with sixteen cardinals. This kindof attention was unprecedented, and he was ableto present himself as a friend of the city, restoringbenefits that had been taken away by InnocentVIII. One of the new cardinals in attendance,Alexander’s eighteen-year-old son, Cesare Bor-gia, was scheduled to take over as lord of a terri-tory that included Orvieto, and soon did so, withmuch effect.33 Another new cardinal was Cesare’s

good friend, the twenty-five-year-old AlessandroFarnese, who today is remembered as the laterPope Paul III, of the Council of Trent and theTitian portrait. Farnese was already important inthe specific context of Orvieto. The Farnesewere local barons, with their castle just west ofLake Bolsena, and from the twelfth century onhad served in Orvieto as consul, podestà, captain,and rector; Guido Farnese had been bishop whenthe cathedral was under construction (1302–28).34

Soon thereafter the family expanded its reach, ascaptains for popes and for Florence and as largerlandowners. The tomb of Captain Pietro Farnese(d. 1363), in Florence Cathedral, is the earliest ofthe famous series of monuments there of thecity’s mercenary generals, such as John Hawk-wood. It is therefore no surprise that the cardi-nal’s grandmother was a Monaldeschi and that hisonly brother married another. Alessandro wasthus linked to the same family with whom popeshad made similar alliances not long before. Hissister married a member of the very great Romanbaronial family of Orsini, connecting him withthe Cardinal Orsini, who in 1498 served brieflyas one of the coadjutor bishops in Orvieto.When the exiled Gentile Monaldeschi had triedto return in 1461, it was the future pope’s father,Luigi Farnese, who foiled the plot.35

Alessandro Farnese appears to be the only car-dinal of any period with direct links to Orvieto.In fact, he was virtually a local townsman,36 andnot only that, but he was a major cardinal, closeto the pope, and not only that, he spent time inthe town. When Alexander and Cesare Borgiaproposed to take control of the town, which wasnew to them, Farnese was the one obvious figureconnected both with them and with the town.He was at this time clearly the local person ofgreatest importance as well as of highest rank. Ofcourse, he held local titles too, first as one of thecathedral’s canons and then as its archpriest, thetop rank under the bishop.37

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With the pope and twenty cardinals, hereturned for another visit in 1495.38 From then tothe end of the Borgia clan’s reign, Orvieto’s defacto ruler to whom appeals had to be made wasthe pope’s son Cesare, even if he was usually atwar in the Romagna, seeking to create a kind ofkingdom for himself. In Orvieto, Farnese doubt-less retained his special status, even though hewas one of the cardinals with the smallest

income,39or possibly for that very reason. Later,as pope, he would sponsor improvements in thecathedral.40 Yet he seems never to be mentionedin the discussion of Signorelli’s work there aboutits patronage or its religious qualities.

In 1499, after ten years of negotiation, thecathedral committee decided to cease its effortsto employ Perugino as their painter.41 During thattime they had also discussed other artists, includ-

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. Shop of Mino daFiesole, Last Judgment, lunetteof tomb of Cardinal Ammanati.Rome, Sant’ Agostino, cloister


Image not available

ing lesser ones, like Pastura, in 1498.42 Pasturawas the sixth painter they had deliberated onsince starting with Angelico. Then Signorelli’sname appeared suddenly for the first time in1499, in three documents of April 5. The first ofthese records was of one of the larger meetings ofthe committee with other citizens, which werecalled on rare important occasions. Its minutesendorse the choice of Signorelli. The officialsmaller committee then voted to hire Signorelli,and the contract with him completes the series.43

Signorelli, who was in town, appeared before thefirst group. All this is remarkably unlike the com-mittee’s considerations of earlier artists, whosequalifications were debated for months beforethe artists were invited to visit Orvieto. We thusregrettably lack information on what led thecommittee to Signorelli. Even if some recordsare lost (from an archive whose record of preser-vation is very high44) the early stages of this searchapparently took place outside the usual contextof the record-keeping committee.

This inference is in accord with the odd way inwhich the first of the three documents describesSignorelli. After pointing out that Perugino is nolonger a possibility, “it is next noted that there hasnow come to Orvieto a certain master Luca ofCortona, a very famous painter in all Italy, as it issaid, and his experience appears in many places, asstated by himself, Master Luca, and CrisostimoFiani, and others having full information abouthim, he having done many very beautiful worksin various cities, and especially Siena.”

The lack of fit between the label “veryfamous” and the evidence to back it up is almostabsurd. Their knowledge of the fine credentialsof the artist they hired that day came primarilyfrom the artist himself, on the same occasionwhen they met him, along with the statement bythe very minor local artist Crisostimo45 andunnamed others. The one concrete point wasabout work in Siena. All this does not add up to

“famous.” The key fact is that Signorelli hadalready come to town, ready to work, withoutthe committee’s involvement or knowledge ofhis reputation. Someone told them he wasfamous, someone who had been in contact withhim and who presumably suggested that he cometo Orvieto. This had to involve a person or per-sons who knew his work, regarded it as outstand-ing, and was also in a position to get thecommittee’s ear, and then its consent—thus toimpose his choice.

The list of citizens present at the larger assemblymentioned offers a clue. It begins with the officialsmaller committee and goes on with the usualprelate, lawyers, and merchants found in earliersimilar assemblies, but this time the latter groupbegins with one Count Carletto da Corbara.46 Inaccounts of the period in Orvieto, this minornobleman appears in a political role, as the town’s“usual ambassador to the pope,” managing rela-tions between the traditional citizen leaders andtheir vehement new rulers, the Borgia. In Sep-tember 1494 the count traveled to Rome andreturned with a proposal that Cesare Borgia benamed as protector. They did so unanimously,and the pope then sent them a breve of commen-dation. Officially this was a spontaneous idea thatcame from the committee.47 In 1499, when thecount appears in the records as a member of thiscommittee of citizens approving Signorelli, theBorgia regime was as much in charge as before.The indication that Corbara was there to makesure again that the citizens did what the Borgiawanted fits the earlier indications that someone orsome group outside the committee had enoughinfluence to see to it that the committee decided acertain way. The Borgia group are the only visiblesuch persons, but in this case they were function-ing like benevolent despots, pushing a solutionthrough after many unsuccessful tries to fill theposition. The solution—Signorelli—proved to besuperb.

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The question that then emerges is why theychose Signorelli. Some answers will emerge whenhis work is explored in more detail. Signorelli didnot have a good case for being called famosus, asAngelico and Perugino did. To be sure, he hadworked in Rome for a pope, in a team withPerugino and others, in 1482, and soon after thatin Loreto for one of Sixtus IV’s real nephews. Butthen his career turned less brilliant for sixteenyears or so and was given over almost entirely toaltarpieces in towns in the region: Perugia,Volterra, and Città di Castello.48 Around 1490 hedid have one great patron: Lorenzo de’ Medicithe Magnificent, in Florence, for whom he didthe elegant Medici Madonna and the extraordi-nary Pan. Lorenzo, however, did not give himany larger projects of frescoes, as he did to artistswhom we consider Signorelli’s peers, Perugino,Botticelli, Ghirlandaio, and Filippino Lippi.49 Asfor Siena, his one job there was shared withFrancesco di Giorgio, and Signorelli had the lessprestigious half.50 When he came to Orvieto in1499 to discuss the cathedral project, he was inthe middle of a very large project for the grand ifisolated abbey at Monte Oliveto, some twenty-five kilometers from Siena in a straight line. It wasthe most ambitious project he had ever had to

that point, and this might well be what is referredto as his work “especially in Siena” in the minutesof the committee meeting. If Signorelli was theinformant here, one would expect him to cite thisrather than the lesser work of some years earlier inSiena itself, and the committee scribe, plainly notwell informed about him, would then haveslipped to the term “Siena” rather than “ilsenese,” the idiom for Sienese territory.

Signorelli seems to have dropped this job halfdone to take on the Orvieto project, which isalso a somewhat mysterious move.51 In hindsight,his success in Orvieto may cause us to overlookthe oddity of that. He was, after all, offered onlya small job in his first contract in Orvieto, to fin-ish the triangles of the vault. Even the wholechapel was no greater a project than the one heleft. Lacking other obvious reasons for his choice,one might again turn to the suggestion aboveabout there being pressure to choose him. AndSignorelli himself might have been under pres-sure from the same powerful source to chooseOrvieto.52 (One recalls how, soon after, anotherpope pressed Michelangelo to drop a grand half-finished project in Florence.) The result, how-ever it came to be, was a totally unexpectedmasterpiece.

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Signorelli Paints the Inner Bayp

he contract signed on April 5, 1499, by Sig-norelli and the committee, called for Signorellito paint the six still-blank triangles of the

vaults.1 They would join the two that Angelicohad painted long before, and so fill the roof areaof the two-bay chapel with imagery. The con-tract paper names four witnesses, two Orvietanand two not. The former were obviously thecommittee’s witnesses, and one of them was thepainter Crisostimo already encountered. Thetwo outsiders were brothers, Mariotto andFrancesco, sons of Urbano of Cortona. Theirorigin in Signorelli’s hometown of Cortona isless evocative than the fact that their father,Urbano (c. 1426–1504), was a notable sculptorwho had worked since 1451 in Siena. The clearimplication is that Signorelli had brought Mari-otto and Francesco with him from Siena ornearby to be his assistants. That is additional evi-dence that he had been rather sure of beinghired. No other records of these brothers seem tosurvive, a common fate for assistants.

Signorelli was to be paid 180 ducats and tobegin on May 25; the interim was doubtless toclear up affairs elsewhere. He would then work“through the whole summer as long as he couldpaint,” a reference to the usual suspension offresco work in freezing weather. His work had tobe “similar to the other figures which are there,”the “figures and stories to be given and assignedby the administrator.” (No “stories” in our sensewere involved. “Stories” is used in other Orvieto

documents to mean nothing more than an imageinvolving more than one figure.2) The expensivegold and blue colors, and a place to live with abed, would also be paid for by the committee,but Signorelli was responsible for everything else,including paying his helpers.

Signorelli naturally began in the inner bay,where two triangles were full but two were stillblank. This is clear from the next record, onNovember 25,3 which notes that the whole innervault is now done, and then from his appeals forinstructions about the outer bay, for which, thetext points out, there is no designum. It is thedesignum that had been available for the inner bay,the gavantone, that was the theme of the detaileddiscussion in a previous chapter of Angelico’sdrawing of half the chapel. To have painted onlythe two inner triangles since May suggests a slowpace, because scaffolding and a design werealready in place. Angelico had done as muchpainting and dealt with the other factors in onlythree months. However, Signorelli is on record asat home in Cortona in July4 and probably did notbegin when he had promised. He also may havefinished some time before November 25, whenthe committee met to consider his query. He wasnot being paid regularly; he had only been paidhalf the fee in several installments up to May1500, and the rest in June, despite the terms of thecontract that he would be paid “as he paints, prorata.” This is not unusual, but it does mean thatpayment records cannot be relied on as clues to


the dates when parts of a work were completed,as is quite often hoped by historians.

Of these first two triangles by Signorelli, theone showing Mary and the apostles as assistantjudges, to Christ’s right, naturally alludes to theone opposite, where the Baptist and prophetslikewise assist. The latter group, by Angelico,had sixteen figures in seven rows, three people infront and then two, three, two, three, and two,with a single person at the narrow top of the tri-angle. All are shown clearly as individuals by thissystem in echelon, all have elbow room on bothsides, and there is air left between the group andthe frames. Signorelli’s larger figures, on theother hand, may touch the frames, and their pro-jecting knees wear weightier fabric. They sit injust five rows, of three, four, three, two, and one.Yet the change from Angelico is rather subtle,and the figures show none of the force and stressfor which Signorelli is famous. He belonged to ageneration of painters with notable individualapproaches—the curvilinear and elegant Botticelli,the heavily ornamental Pinturicchio, the insis-tently realistic Ghirlandaio, the nervous Filippinowith his tremulous line—and knew them all fromshared jobs or in other ways. He instead seems tooffer a median version of the formal language ofthe time, where massive body forms shift theirlimbs just asymmetrically enough to be clearlyalive.

In the other triangle, potential action andwoolly robes recur, but these figures, beingangels, are thinner as they turn gracefully. Theage held strong ideas about differentiating humantypes by gender, age, and degree of force, chieflyfor reasons of dramatic exposition.

The committee responded to Signorelli’sNovember 25 appeal in only general terms: Hewas to continue and to maintain the Last Judg-ment as the theme (something that had not beenexplicit in earlier surviving documents), and hewould receive a new designum. However, in this

case the word designum does not mean “draw-ing.” Signorelli himself would be the draftsman ifthere were one, as later on there was. Heredesignum is meant as the general concept of theproject, a meaning that is vivid in a record of theartist’s later years. In 1513 he borrowed money inRome from Michelangelo saying he had come totown with a project in mind; when he did notrepay the loan, Michelangelo commented thatevidently his disegno had not succeeded.5

Signorelli therefore went on to paint the fourtriangles of the outer bay’s vault, the only workfor which he had a contract at the time. It isrecorded that he is at work on January 6, 1500:“pinxerit et adhuc pingat.”6 The occasion of thereport is his complaint that he is working hardand being underpaid. The response was to pro-vide him with more grain and wine than hadbeen contracted. The committee was obviouslyglad to have him.

The four sets of saints in the outer triangles arecomposed, in the case of the two tall acute trian-gles, much like the similar ones done before. Thegroup of patriarchs seems to be a virtual repeat ofthe apostles; they recede in rows of four, three,three, and three. The group of “doctors”—thatis, teachers of the church—shows similar individ-uals, but they form a noticeably more irregularcomposition. The first four are inevitably theofficial “four doctors of the church,” Ambrose,Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory, but they arelinked to a fifth, who leans over the shoulder ofthe probable Augustine. This is a Dominican,presumably Dominic. The following row of fiveis strongly subdivided, into sets of two, one, andtwo. Behind these, two sit left of center, backedup by three more. It is tempting here to see theartist now more at ease in his formula, breakingfrom convention for a looser experiment. He isnow confident it will still compose.

The two obtuse triangles, in their low width,impose a system that is hardly more than a single

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long row. A single saint dominates each. Stepheninevitably leads the martyrs, Mary Magdaleneleads the virgins. Both are flanked by emphati-cally symmetrical associates. Here the artist seemsto have turned to the conventions of altarpieceswith a central Madonna flanked by saints. Thosehad indeed been his chief work in the precedingdecade.7

Seven of the eight vault triangles, all exceptthe Judging Christ, carry labels. One identifiesthe symbols of Christ’s torture that angels hold:Signa Iudicium Indicantia. Each of the othersidentifies the category of saints shown. In theinner bay they are the prophets and apostlesflanking Christ as assistant judges. (The label dis-regards Mary’s presence with the apostles.) Theouter bay’s labels note the martyrs, doctors, patri-archs, and virgins.

In the Last Judgments discussed, includingAngelico’s benchback, Christ was invariablyflanked with such seated assistant judges on bothsides, headed by Mary and John the Baptist, asshown in the earlier survey. They similarlyalways showed angels with symbols of the Pas-sion and with trumpets. That assembly made thetop half of a standard Judgment scene complete.Here they all appear in the vault of the inner bay,painted or drawn by Angelico. It thus becomesplausible that Angelico had planned to use onlythe inner bay of his chapel to show the entiretheme.

The announcement of 1499 that the theme ofthe judgment should continue into the outervault was thus an actual decision, calling for extraimagery not standard in tradition. This eventuallyled to the extraordinary scenes on the outer bay’swalls, that of Antichrist and the others. The ini-tial problem was to fill the outer vault suitably,and naturally with holy figures in heaven whodid not belong to the categories already used.

Angelico’s benchback had increased the reper-tory of Christ’s assistants far beyond the twelve

apostles that were standard: twenty-six figuresappear in that area. The reason, suggested in theearlier full discussion of the benchback, that heshowed so many other figures in that panel—patriarchs (including Adam and Abel), prophets,martyrs (including Stephen), and doctors of thechurch (including Dominic)—might have beenthat he wanted to use the space commonly occu-pied by them, among the saved just below, forhis new garden. In Orvieto, Angelico had set upanother sort of holy expansion, giving Christ’sentire left to prophets, in the place given beforeto half the apostles. Assigning each of the two tri-angles flanking Christ to one category of saints inthat case was a neat way of dealing with and thenutilizing the internal frames, as well as populatingthese large surfaces. The selection of the category“prophets” for that honor was obvious becauseJohn the Baptist, who was a prophet, belongedon Christ’s left in the traditional arrangement ofLast Judgments. Angelico’s assignment of eachframed triangle to just one category of saintsmeant that many saints seen in the benchbackwere now left out. It is those that Signorelli nowdistributed in the newly assigned extra space, thevaults of the outer bay.

This logic cannot have been used at the cathe-dral, however, because no one in Orvieto wasaware of the benchback and its choice of saints.The recent Last Judgment on the tomb of Paul IIshowed apostles only, in the older form, but thestill newer one of Cardinal Ammanati (Fig. 35)shows a freer variant again.8 Its ten assistingjudges comprise just two apostles, Peter and Paul,with three patriarchs: Abraham, Moses, andDavid. (The five smaller figures are hard to iden-tify.) Abraham has souls on his lap, in the veryold formula symbolizing heaven.9 This tomb, of aprelate who died in 1479, was quite possiblyknown in Orvieto, because the cardinal was asso-ciated with the Siena clan of the Piccolomini andspent time in their town. The associates of the

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clan also included the Orvietan prelate Alberi,who will reappear later. Signorelli, in Rome in1482, probably took note of this major newmonument. In any case, such an extension ofsaints in categories in a Last Judgment was nowbeing adopted.

The placing of the several categories wouldnot be a problem. Then as now, the Romanmissal classes saints (though not prophets andpatriarchs) in four broad sets, labeled apostles,martyrs, confessors (who comprise all nonmartyrmale saints, generally those known for doctrine),and virgins (a title used as a brief way to allude toall female saints). In the missal, this has the greatutility of making available a suitable Mass for anysaint who does not have an individual one. Sig-norelli shows the same four sets with these labels,ranked in the same way. Apostles are nearest thealtar, then, in the outer bay, the martyrs, then thedoctors of the church, and the virgins nearest theouter door.

These sets of saints appear in another establishedchurch text, one that also includes the patriarchsand prophets. This is the Litany, a sung prayerknown since the early Christian period and some-times called the Kyrie Eleison, from its openingwords. It begs mercy from Christ first, and then inorder from Mary and the angels, the patriarchs andprophets, the apostles, the martyrs, the confessors,monks, and virgins. Allowing the confessors andmonks to share a triangle, Signorelli gives usexactly that series. Many of the Kyrie Eleisonprayers to these groups name major individuals ofthe group.10 Stephen is inevitably named firstamong the martyrs, followed by his fellow dea-cons Lawrence and Vincent, then by the youngsoldiers Fabian and Sebastian. The first three, andthe others probably, are the ones Signorelli repre-sents in the martyr triangle, to whom he adds twobishops. (The individual names in these cases aresubject to some changes, as is striking in a compar-ison between a missal of 1518 and a modern

one.11) Similarly, Magdalene is regularly namedfirst among the “virgins” and is at the center ofSignorelli’s female group; his others there are hardto name. The standard four doctors of the churchare of course named first in the prayer to thatgroup, as they appear in Signorelli’s front row:Saints Jerome, Ambrose, Augustine, and Gregory.Farther back, as in the Litany, are the founders oforders: Benedict, Francis, and Dominic. TheKyrie Eleison appears in all Books of Hours, thebest-seller of prayer books in Signorelli’s time. Toshow these figures in the vault is not a matter ofunusual learning, no more than a Madonna in analtarpiece. They are the images to choose if onewants a large number of saints.

The six labels that identify each category ofsaints use a different collective noun in each case:Chorus of Apostles, Number of Prophets, Armyof Martyrs, and the like. The Signorelli scholar-ship has long noticed that the first three of thesecopy another very common source, the TeDeum, a hymn most suitable for a Last Judgmentbecause it defines Christ as the future judge ofsinners. Today it is in every breviary, since clergysing it at Matins every Saturday. The Te Deumhad other functions too, such as being sung inthe clerical procession that leaves a house of adying person after giving Last Rites.12 Havingbeen composed in the early Christian era, it hasonly two categories of saints: apostles and mar-tyrs. When other categories emerged, similartexts invoked them with collective nouns, butthese did not become standardized. A “com-pany” of patriarchs and a “college” of confessorsappear in a sermon by Saint Bernard for AllSaints’ Day, which also changes the terms usedfor the original three sets. A “cohort” of martyrsand a “chorus” of confessors appear in a hymnincluded in breviaries, to be sung by the clergy atLauds on All Saints’ Day.13 The assembling of thecategories of saints is routine and may be soregarded on the vault.

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The committee evidently was pleased withSignorelli, for in April 1500 it contracted withhim to paint the entire chapel. The agreementlists the walls and the elements that are externalto the walls—that is, the entrance arch, the win-dow embrasures, and the little chapel of SaintsFaustino and Pietro Parenzo. As for the walls, hemust now do three: the end wall with the altarand the two walls on the sides, and he must dothem “according to the drawing (disegno) givenby the master, and perhaps with more figures ifhe wishes, but not fewer than he has given us inthe drawing.” On the fourth, entrance wall, he isto paint “stories as we will give him or as we willagree with him.” From this it emerges that thetheme of the entrance wall had not yet been set,much as in the earlier case the theme of the outervault had to be decided when the painter came toit. Finally he is to do the wainscot below withgrillwork and creatures (ferrate e spiritelle), oncemore following a drawing he has prepared.14

Of some small details in this document, theoddest is the decision to “lift up” (elevando) thecupboard of the Assumption statue “so that thefigures will be more beautiful.” Indeed, a masterwas then paid for lifting it.15 Evidently the statueblocked the view of the altar wall on whichpainting would be done, just as later the Baroquealtar covered and destroyed some parts of it. Onemay surmise that the statue was to be placed infront of the window, supported on columns orthe like. Yet this did not resolve the problem of agood view of this area and was to have a majoreffect on the imagery.

Signorelli duly proceeded to work and seemsto have finished at the end of 1503.16 Efforts todetermine the sequence of the parts have notproduced a consensus. Style comparisons, thestandard tool for such inquiries, are notoriouslysubject to argument. Successful cases for the sameperiod, such as the study of Raphael’s early work,benefit from help provided by comparisons with

numerous other dated works from each year,absent in this instance. Some other factors exter-nal to style are, however, useful.

As the theme was not set for the entrance wall,it could not be painted right away. If he beganon a wall adjacent to it—that is, on a side wall ofthe outer bay—he would generate a later neces-sity either to proceed from there first in onedirection, toward the altar, and thereafter back inthe opposite direction, stepping over the workdone, toward the entrance wall, or vice versa. Toplan in that way, creating useless labor in movingscaffolding and the like, seems unlikely. Theobvious approach in the given condition wouldbe to begin as far as possible from the entrance,to reach it last. That would mean beginning inthe inner bay near the altar. This option is inde-pendently supported by data from the recentcleaning of the frescoes. On the side wall at ourleft, overlap of painted plaster shows the innerbay segment to be earlier.17 The Antichrist paint-ing, the outer and thus later bay there, seems forother separate reasons to be subsequent to someevents of 1502, to be explored, placing this ele-ment of the outer bay near the end of theprocess.

The same result is evoked by a more generalfactor in the situation. While the theme of theentrance wall was unknown, there was rich basisfor the inner bay: Angelico’s gavantone. Sig-norelli’s drawings, added to that at this point,were available equally for the walls of both bays,but the provision in the contract allowing Sig-norelli to add figures tells us that they were notconsidered a definitive and thus final version. Tobe sure, the painting of the whole chapel wasspeedy enough to question the presence of styleevolution, something perhaps too dear to schol-ars. The chief importance of thinking about asequence may be the inevitability of consideringthe parts in some sequence when writing andlooking.

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In Angelico’s panels of Last Judgments, thecenter figure of Christ at the top was linked withthe open tombs below. (They omitted the tradi-tional figure of Michael, sorter of souls, whoreappears, however, in the tomb of Pope PaulII.) In Orvieto, the big window on the altar wallforced changes, notably, as discussed, pushing theChrist group up into the vault.18 Unlike the situ-ation in Nardo’s chapel, however, the Orvietowindow did leave some wall space availablebelow itself. The Baroque altar has made thisinvisible and hard to estimate. However, it hasbeen presented in a reconstruction drawing inconnection with the recent conservation work.This shows a solid wall of greater height than thefigure we see to its left, the standing saved soul.19

There was certainly adequate room to paint the

usual empty tombs. The view that Angelico pro-posed to put them there is supported by theirpresence in that location in all the panels of thetheme he produced later.

What makes this important is that Signorelliremoved this motif. He took drastic and nowfamous action and moved the Raising of the Deadto the outer bay, where it acquired a separateenormous status. The resulting image has beenrightly treated as brilliant. (Yet it is a token of thelimitations of the monographic approach that thispresentation has been treated as a given, with nonotice of the steps used to generate it.) The shift is easily consistent with, though not required by, the view that the inner bay came first. Theproblem leading to the rejection of the usuallocus was surely the Assumpta and its tabernacle.The arrangement in 1500 to move it higher hasnever been connected with the process of Sig-norelli’s work, even though it has been reason-ably thought he was behind it. Even when it wasmoved up, it evidently did not seem to him thathe had adequate room on the wall behind it forthe resurrection of the dead souls from the tombs.Instead, he used the area for marginal enlarge-ments of other motifs already present nearby, inparticular the approach to hell.20 Angelico had notbeen disturbed by the Assumpta, it would seem.It was brought into the chapel early in 1447,before his work in the summer, but perhaps notin an imposing way; the lamp and its rope wereordered only as he was leaving.21

The contract also specified that Signorelliwould paint the window embrasures, which per-haps were a problem. He filled those of the bigcentral window with two bishop saints that sharethe weighted geometry, with a bit of mobility, ofthe doctors of the church above. These two bish-ops have traditionally been given a likely identityas Saint Costanzo and San Brizio (Fig. 36), whohad local cults. Although they have no obviousrole in a Last Judgment, the period was comfort-

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. Bishop saint, inwindow embrasure ofaltar wall (see Fig. 25,“”)


Image not available

able with visual complexes showing distinctinterests of patron groups. No role for these bish-ops in the Last Judgment scheme has been pro-posed in studies of the chapel, but some detailsgive a hint. They stand on clouds, like all theholy groups in the triangles just above, and thusare in heaven too. They share the embrasureswith musician angels, and these evidently formpart of a group with other identical angels at rightangles to them on the main wall surface, who areleading souls to heaven. Thus Brizio andCostanzo may be considered as an additionalholy category in heaven, segregated like all theothers by frames and turning walls.

The embrasures of the two small windows onthis wall evoke more complex factors. Each sideof each window shows a circular painted frame,

of a kind that will reappear at the other end ofthe chapel, and inside it an archangel. The fourseem to be in order of rank. The best place, onthe saved side and near the center, goes toMichael (Fig. 37), shown as weigher of saved anddamned souls. The saved soul kneels and prays,the damned one falls out of the pan like onedescending to hell. Michael weighs and sortssouls in traditional Last Judgments, where hisplace is the one here preempted by the window.Evidently this is the basis for his presence here,and the other three angels may simply be extrap-olations from his presence. They have no obvi-ous relevance otherwise. It is easy to recognizethe other two standard archangels, with theirmost famous attributes. Gabriel holds the scrollwith Ave Maria, his salutation on the occasion of

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. Archangel Michael, in embrasure of side win-dow in altar wall (cf. Fig. 25, “”)

. Archangel Gabriel, in embrasure of side windowin altar wall (cf. Fig. 25, “”)



the Annunciation (Fig. 38), and Raphael is withthe young Tobias, whom he guided on a journey(Fig. 39). The fourth figure (Fig. 40) has been amystery. There is no tradition with a fourtharchangel like this. He subdues a devil, asMichael often does, and some have called thisfigure another Michael. But he has a differentcostume, and such a duplication would be hardto cite in the imagery of the era. Happily, a majortext exists with the required scheme of fourangels, of which three are the standard ones andthe fourth must fend off Satan’s efforts to appearbefore God. That action certainly matches Sig-norelli’s image. This appears in the apocryphalBook of Enoch, section 4, lines 7 (the action) and9 (this angel’s name, Phanuel; in later versions heis Uriel). The book, which has been called “per-haps the most important apocryphal biblical writ-

ing” for the early Christian era, faded from viewin the Middle Ages and has been thought to havereappeared only in the eighteenth century, fromEthiopian sources. However, a Jesuit author in1621, quoting previous European writings,reports these four angels as found in an EthiopianMass. If a recent suggestion can be confirmed,that Pico della Mirandola around 1490 was muchinterested in the Book of Enoch, this angel couldbe linked to the prime cultural context of theOrvieto chapel, to be explored below, in Floren-tine humanism.22 To be sure, it is the architec-tural constraint in the chapel that called for afourth angel (as again in an eighteenth-centurycase in Venice at the Gesuiti, where the fourthone is labeled “Salathiel”), but one may againadmire the grace with which the artist made himseem natural.

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. Archangel Raphael with Tobias, in embrasure ofside window in altar wall (cf. Fig. 25, “”)

. Archangel Phanuel/Uriel, in embrasure of sidewindow in altar wall (cf. Fig. 25, “”)



The altar wall’s main theme elegantly straddlesthe big window. On Christ’s right (our left)angels guide the saved souls to heaven, pointingupward with encouragement and even pullingthem (Fig. 41). The origin of this vertical moveto heaven in Angelico’s project was argued atlength in Chapter 2, as a design visible to us in hisRome panel. Doubt about this perhaps reflectsthe feeling that such an image of rising to heavenis only natural, so it may bear further comment.

The wall area here is tall and narrow, and alsowidens toward the top along the rightward curveof the central window arch. Signorelli, if notAngelico, works with this, and correspondinglynarrows the figuration at the bottom of thescene. A single soul kneels at the base, his elbownoticeably overlapping the frame and connectingwith the side wall around the corner, to be dis-cussed. A companion alongside him stands up,ready to lift off. His mobile hands are examples ofSignorelli’s cubic substance in action. The point-ing angels above these figures direct them bothup and to the right, the more vertically thehigher they themselves are. These angels andthree others, heroic figures, are musicians.Between them in counterpoint one more divesdown to the left, to evoke most intensely the rolethey all share as assistants in lifting. The meaningin their dance-like patterns is so clear that itsoriginality hardly receives attention.

Around the corner from them on the side wallof the inner bay, the saved have assembled at Jos-aphat (Fig. 42). This is the previous phase of themovement to heaven. (However, these walls evi-dently show one moment, with many individualsin the queue who have reached various points,not the same individuals seen twice in differentpositions at successive moments.) High on thewall, musician angels again fly in symmetry as ifin a polyptych. Lower, several offer crowns tothe saved souls, making the angels’ functiongraphic. The line of the saved forms a procession

across the front of the scene. This is most easilyinferred from those at the head of the line, at ourright, who point forward and overlap the paintedframe. They are about to join the two on thealtar wall, just mentioned. In the entire cycle, thisis Signorelli’s most explicit, if still gentle, signal offlow past a right angle. It recalls the one used byNardo, and thus is likely to have been present inAngelico’s project. Behind these leaders, souls liftheads to observe the angels, and seem to pause.The only other people who do not look up,besides the couple in front, are a similar couple atthe very back, at our left. They seem to signal thestart of the pause in movement. All these people

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. Ascent of the Blessed, altar wall (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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well reflect the biblical term “sheep” for thesaved; their angels are herding them in the rightdirection. The only slight suggestion of this kindin earlier Judgments is in the work of Giotto,whose saved move steadily up a slight incline,kept in line by angels behind them.

These saved are innovative in their nudity,surely unlike what Angelico had projected. Allprevious Judgments in this tradition contrastedthe clothed saved with the naked damned, andthis remained so in Paul II’s tomb, after Angelicoand before Signorelli. This innovation, as such,seems not to have interested writers. Perhapsthey found it only what one would expect in

1500, in the emerging High Renaissance, espe-cially from a painter praised as an anatomist. Yeta closer look is surely warranted. At this periodthe saved appeared nude, outside a High Renais-sance context, in the great sequence of Judgmentpaintings in northern Europe. Those of Jan VanEyck, Rogier van der Weyden, Stefan Lochner,Hans Memling, and Hieronymus Bosch are onlythe most outstanding. This was a time when thetheme did not flourish in Italian painting. Thenudity was logical in that the souls were regularlyshown emerging naked from their tombs, as inthe sculpture of the Orvieto façade. Mainstreamtheology always affirmed that they would then

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. Assembly of the Blessed at Josaphat, side wall (cf. Fig. 26, “”)


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be perfect bodies, in their thirties and in fullhealth. For the blessed, it would evidently beattractive to extend this visible status to their nextstage, the sorting at Josaphat.23

The nude saved do appear in Italy before Sig-norelli in various less noticeable contexts, pre-sumably under northern influence. In a verysmall Dominican breviary from the shop of theVenetian Cristoforo Cortese (active 1409–39),they are shown in a miniature of the Office ofthe Dead.24 The resurrected dead are not shownin any separate image here, and perhaps thesetiny figures stand in for them, but in the Abruzzifresco of the 1420s discussed earlier, the savednude cross a narrow bridge to heaven. Thatmotif can be seen in Flanders in an almost identi-cal form and could well have a northern source,even though the Flemish work is later.25 Thesaved appear nude more conventionally in a largeVenetian woodcut around 1500, possibly laterthan Signorelli (Fig. 43),26 and as with Signorellithey move toward the center of the scene. Suchscattered cases, in an area that has not been theobject of its own study, may indicate that othersexist. All of them may have been in such second-ary works, subject to varied influences.

Yet Signorelli may well have responded to thegreat northern art of his time, a possibility that themonographic literature on him seems not to haveopened up. So, certainly, did his peers,Ghirlandaio, his project-mate at the Vatican ear-lier, and Filippino Lippi. Flemish painting wasstrongly in view in Florence in the 1480s, thetime of Signorelli’s visit there. The fashionfamously affected the great Venetian collectorCardinal Grimani, but his link to Orvieto ishardly noticed. Grimani too visited Orvieto in1493 and 1495 with Farnese, Borgia, and the rest.More of interest is that in 1505 he built himself avacation house below the city walls, at the abbeyof Santa Trinità.27 The act belongs to the traditionof seeking out Orvieto as a pleasant refuge from

Rome’s heat. It must have followed earlier visitsthat attracted him to the place, thus probably dur-ing Signorelli’s years of work. The cardinal had anart collection in his house in Venice, which wasinventoried after his death, and kept his antiqui-ties in a palace in Rome. Some of his Flemish pic-tures might have been there too, and accessible tosuch artists as Signorelli. Grimani’s Heaven andHell by Bosch (if the cardinal’s probable owner-ship is accepted) are very unlike the standardschema but suggest his concern with the theme.

Signorelli’s scene of the sheep is still moreunusual in showing male and female couples.Their charm has been noticeable in detail photo-graphs in books on Signorelli but has notextended to any comment in their texts. Two

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. Anonymous Italian, c. 1500, Last Judgment,woodcut.


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. Giovanni di Paolo, The Blessed (detail of Last Judgment). Siena, Pinacoteca

. Assembly of the Damned at Josaphat, side wall (cf. Fig. 27, “”)


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pairs are seen symmetrically, the couples at thefar left and right already pointed out. The onlypairs shown among Angelico’s sheep comprise asoul with an angel. Today the idea that in heavenwe rejoin our loved ones is another common-place, so it may have seemed to go without say-ing.28 Happily the context in theological writinghas been studied by McDannell and Lang.29 TheGospels say that in heaven there is no marryingor giving in marriage, and early church fathersfocus on each soul’s separate link to God. Theimages of souls gazing up evoke that approachneatly. A key text in favor of heavenly friend-ships, by Cicero, was opposed by Augustine inhis City of God. But Augustine altered his viewsin a later and less-known work, a letter of conso-lation. In heaven, he writes, “our dead will bebetter known to us, and we will love them with-out fear of parting.” Other early Christian writersechoed this, but the solitary view long domi-nated. It is not surprising that humanist contextsrevived Cicero’s viewpoint, through Petrarchand Erasmus most famously and between them inmore detail through Valla. For Cicero, when thenewly dead reach heaven their “relatives andfriends cordially greet, kiss, and embrace them.”

This idea gains visual form in one astonishingwork before Signorelli’s, a panel painting ofabout 1460 by the Sienese Giovanni di Paolo. Asecond version by Giovanni, perhaps earlier, isknown in a fragment. Some souls here aregreeted by angels, as in Angelico, but othersform pairs with their friends (Fig. 44). Becauseall are clothed, they can be identified by cos-tume, and prove to be people who had shared asimilar life on earth—friars and nuns of the sameorder, splendidly dressed young women, andothers. A few seem to be nameable individuals.A bishop with an elderly nun has reasonablybeen identified as Augustine with his motherSaint Monica, and a reference to his letter would

seem to be intended, though that has not beenproposed.30

Giovanni di Paolo’s composition of the LastJudgment has the five-part design but differsfrom Angelico’s and all others noted above inmajor ways. The Judging Christ is nude down tohis loincloth (the anticipation of Michelangelohas been noticed, though not the precedents inmedieval French and Italian sculpture), and wesee below him neither Michael nor the symbolsof the Passion, but quite new persons. Theseinclude the Eritrean Sibyl, famously called aprophet of the Last Judgment by Augustine andmany after him. She in turn is flanked by Enochand Elijah, the “two witnesses” of the end of theworld, whose appearance at different points inother Judgments will be noticed. The dead risefrom their tombs below these persons in a spec-tacular pattern of writhing and twisting nudes.Giovanni di Paolo is notorious for wholesalethefts of design and here must be citing anentirely different Last Judgment formula. Theremay be a Flemish connection.31 The nude Judg-ing Christ has a famous forerunner in the RohanHours of about 1425, and the vigorous action ofthe rising dead has a forerunner in Rogier van derWeyden. Such citations may appear far fromGiovanni’s local experience in Siena, but perhapsnot. When Rogier van der Weyden visited Italyin 1449–50 he had one recorded Italian pupil,Angelo Paccagnino, who was a Sienese.

The meeting of friends is less emphatic in Sig-norelli than in Giovanni di Paolo, and they mayhave an indirect common source. An attractivepossibility is in the humanist ideas mentioned,starting with Petrarch. That context is alwaysrecognized as present in the Orvieto wainscot,but illogically has hardly been looked for in themajor scenes above like this one.

When we see the blessed sheep assembled onthe good side, then guided up to Christ, we natu-

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. Limbourg Brothers, Hell, page in Très Riches Heures. Chantilly, Musée Condé

. Bertoldo, Battle, bronze. Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello


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rally expect on the basis of the whole tradition tosee the goats assemble and be sent to hell, oppo-site them. Such imagery is indeed there, butmodified in a most original way. On the side wall,to Christ’s left, the damned at Josaphat (Fig. 45)constitute Signorelli’s most famous image in thisproject and his entire career. Forceful violence isoffered with a meaning that validates it. Mon-strous blue and green devils with quasi-humanmusculature grasp, throttle, and subdue thewretched sinners and, most notably, carry themon their backs. Just as the sheep were herded,here the goats are driven or hauled in the direc-tion called for, to an area at the lower left whereflames shoot out.32 They are a token of the mouthof hell. All the versions of the Judgment byAngelico had developed such an image, hereheightened to a new intensity, in which the dev-ils with raised pitchforks squeeze the damned intoa panicked crowd. Signorelli, with an endlessseries of variations, develops single combat situa-tions between a devil and a soul, although each ishardly a combat when we see it, for the souls arenear defeat. The pairs consistently relate in termsof tension, clarified by gesture and muscle shape.Devils pull or press, and souls make some attemptto resist by pulling the opposite way. A kind ofexplanatory model is provided by two pairs thatare given prominence in the center foreground.In different formats, devils pull on the souls withtaut ropes, and the souls make things worse forthemselves by trying to pull away.

Just one precedent for this episode with therope pullers has emerged in earlier art, in the hellscene of the very famous Très Riches Heures of theDuke of Berri (1415) (Fig. 46). There two devils,each pulling a soul with a taut rope, dominatethe foreground. The rest of the scene has no sim-ilarity to Signorelli’s, but it has been showninstead to allude to the very different tradition ofthe vision of Tundal,33 a tradition that has norope pullers. Thus the scene in the Très Riches

Heures seems to reflect two traditions: one fromTundal, the other with rope pullers, the latteralone shared with Signorelli. Recalling the case ofthe nude souls, one is tempted to assign this tra-dition also to northern Europe.

Such one-on-one combats seem to be with-out precedent in scenes of the damned assem-bled at Josaphat before Signorelli, but they werecommon in scenes within hell. In Angelico’sbenchback, and before Angelico, each pit showsa devil attacking a soul. Signorelli’s transfer ofthis violence to the prior moment of assemblysurely relates to his astonishing decision to shownothing of the inside of hell at all. His reasonsare suggested below. One result has been toinduce the error, frequent in writers, of labelinghis Josaphat scene as hell; people believed thatthere must be one.

The shifting of the combats from hell to thestaging area gave Signorelli a gift, which he usedwith spectacular success. No longer isolated invarious sections of hell, the fights build up to aswarming force. Like all painters in his culture,Signorelli had always drawn nudes, even if few ofthe drawings led to paintings, and had always,too, like his peers, focused on expository gesture,the best aid in making a story clear. He had neverhad occasion to do this in a context of violence,but he responded to the challenge at once whenit was offered. If there is no direct precedent forthis naked melee of torture in his era, an accessi-ble aid was available in the bank of classicalsources that the period loved. Roman battle sar-cophagi dealt solely with such swarming bodiesin combat; it was only necessary to omit thehorses. One such sarcophagus was in the artist’snative Cortona, and anecdotes indicate thatDonatello and Brunelleschi had admired it ear-lier.34 But that work, with its prominent centaur,seems less relevant than a second similar one.This sarcophagus, in Pisa, was so admired byBertoldo that in 1480 he produced a large bronze

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derived from it (Fig. 47).35 This bronze, byLorenzo de’ Medici’s favorite sculptor, was in theMedici house in Florence. Signorelli not onlywould see it when he produced paintings soonafterward for the same house, but also wouldhave known Bertoldo as a person. This connec-tion seems not to have been pursued in mono-graphs on Signorelli—a surprising omission instudies where style influence is a main concern.Before Bertoldo, Pollaiuolo’s engraving of theBattle of Ten Nudes had already focused on a

web-like set of muscled bodies, though not withthe tight massing of the other cases. Signorelli’sdesign abolishes all intervening air, and theincreased stress reinforces the theme of sin andretribution now introduced. The significancehere of Signorelli’s Florentine experience willturn up again; no other context offered him thiskind of stimulus.

The scene of the damned further overlays thisrectangle of struggle, derived from the sar-cophagi, with a second structure. A diagonal

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. Descent into Hell, altarwall (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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push of forces, from upper right to lower left,starts from the three military angels in the skywho herd the goats the way they must go.Thrusting through the crowd, it is released whenthey come to the flames that are emerging fromhell and are its only visual sign. The directionsignals inform us that hell is farther along thisvector and therefore still lower, and also aroundthe corner on the altar wall. Yet when we turn togaze at the imagery located there, it is not easy toconceive of it as hell, and instead we meetanother unprecedented representation.

This latter imagery has to be understood in thetotality of the altar wall, to which it returns us.The other segment of this wall, on Christ’s right,was observed before, with its pull toward heaven.Here on his left we are no longer aided by theprecedent of Angelico’s rising dancers. In thisposition, his panel had shown only a traditionalhell with segmented pits (Fig. 14). These arelabeled with names of the deadly sins, but not inany apparent order from least to greatest or fromtop to bottom, as is usual; they appear to be ran-dom. Movement into this hell from the stagingarea of the goats is inconspicuous, as in the artist’searlier benchback. Devils push sinners into hellwith pitchforks, through a cave mouth, but thereis no route from it to the pits. The two segments,Josaphat and hell, are separate, as in Nardobefore, in contrast to the fluid journey of thesaved. Angelico might have explored otherdevices in his Orvieto project, but there is noevidence on that.

In Signorelli’s design this juncture seems evenmore difficult. Beyond the flames that mark themouth of hell, our view confronts imagery thatseems to be about something else as well asbeing separate spatially (Fig. 48). If the literaturehas never addressed this as puzzling, it may wellbe because this new imagery is in itself veryclear. It illustrates the opening cantos of Dante’sInferno. We are given an alternate route to hell,

using Charon’s boat and the decision by Minosregarding the suitable pit for each sinner. Thecorresponding biblical report with flames,Matthew’s “Depart into everlasting fire,” seemsto be ignored. Two quite incompatible texts ofgreat authority about entering hell are placedside by side.

The group with Charon and Minos fills thelower part of this tall, thin wall at Christ’s left.The upper part shows two more military angelsengaged in herding the sinning souls, but they arethe only elements in this area that correlate withthe side wall showing Josaphat. Below them, landis seen as a series of platforms, each projecting far-ther out to us as we gaze from the top downward.They suggest the mountain of purgatory in thisshape but not in any other way. The highest,most distant, and smallest platform is filled withthe people of Inferno canto 3, verses 52–57. Theyrun after a banner in a long procession, with end-less variations of raised hands and bent legs. In itssmall scale, this group sets up an anxious vibrato.From the text, we are aware that we are inside thegate marked “Abandon all hope,” but also thatthe people we see are those rejected equally byheaven and by the depths of hell.

The lower platforms reinforce the point thatwe are in the preface of hell. We next seeCharon in his boat coming to the shore toembark souls (lines 82–84). These, naked like thefirst and with chattering teeth (lines 100–102),evoke a similar nervous agitation, if on a some-what larger scale. Below this, Minos appears, tomake his decisions (canto 5, 4–6), and we areoffered a view of large souls before his court.Devils torture them while they stand there andcontinue to do so while leading them away.Then we encounter the bottom frame of thefresco. From knowing the text, we can assumethat real hell is under it. If that is valid, the move-ment downward from Minos would shortlyintersect with the movement diagonally down

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from the flames on the side wall, and the twooptions for entering hell would merge, but that isnot shown.

The assignment of roles to Charon and Minoshas one notable precedent in the tradition of LastJudgments. Nardo’s fresco has repeatedly emergedas a key model for Angelico and later instances ofthe theme in quite varied details. His hell is anexceptionally literal illustration of Dante’s. Itshows not only the pits but also the introductoryevents. The procession with the banner, Charon,and Minos all appear at the top of his wall (Fig.49), validating the motif, but the visual design isdifferent enough from Signorelli’s to make it

unclear whether they were the direct model.More important, in Nardo the Dantean hell con-tinues below them without interruption; there isalso no adjacent alternate entry. On Nardo’s altarwall, the damned show fright, but there are nopushing devils or fire, or any spatial indicators atall. They make up a tall column of portraits. Theproblem that Signorelli evinces may be thought toappear only when concerns with space and timebecome a large matter.

To us, the tall, narrow segments of Signorelli’saltar wall, on the sides of the window, seem to bea natural base for vertical scenes of action, up toheaven and down to hell. Angelico certainly

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. Nardo di Cione, detail of Fig. 22, right wall


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developed the former, but there is no indicationthat he worked out anything corresponding forthe hell side. It is conceivable that he was con-cerned with the difficulty that Signorelli’s workthen articulates, the conflict between the NewTestament and Dante, and that might have ledhim to drop the issue. It would then follow thatthe matching push-pull of the two walls, savedand damned, is Signorelli’s invention, somethingthat writers on Signorelli seem not to haveaddressed. It is actually one of his most powerfulformulations. A token of this is its adoption byMichelangelo, with his famous lifted saved andslowly falling damned, shearing against eachother. Writers have always noticed Michelan-gelo’s exploitation of Signorelli in the Last Judg-ment, but apparently not this large instance.Some justification may be offered in that Sig-norelli’s descent to hell is not in the flowing formof his and Angelico’s rise to heaven, whichMichelangelo then also offered for hell. Thesolution Signorelli offered, with a series of steps,may be regarded as an intermediate resolution ofthe design problem. It is entirely innovative and,for instance, is not preceded by illustrations inmanuscripts of Dante. The reason is that Sig-norelli is presenting not Dante’s trip but the eter-nal nature of the entry to hell, thought to havebeen reported correctly by Dante. His sharpgraphic presentation indeed recurs when hecomes soon after to represent scenes that reallyare from the Divine Comedy, in his wainscot.

Signorelli thus painted the entire inner bay ofthe chapel down to the wainscot, and showed onit the entire standard imagery of the Last Judg-ment, with one notable exception: the dead ris-ing from the tombs. The power of his workneeds no insistence, giving his culture’s associa-tions with the tragic theme the new sense ofstrong action and earthy reality it required. Itsurely is surprising, then, that no parallels to hisapproach emerged in his generation, and few

later. Much has been written about fears of anapocalyptic end of the world in his time. Yethowever genuine, these at least did not generateother Last Judgments as they have been thoughtto generate this one.36 This one, one may thenrecall, was produced by the banal situation of afifty-year-old project required to be completedby municipal honor. Michelangelo’s turn to thework thirty years later for ideas only underlinesthe absence of anything intermediate in date andmore modern. All this is difficult to fit into theconcept that such a work should belong to itstime, the more so in that it was recognized as atriumph.

It may then be suggested that it does sobelong, but not along the apocalyptic lines com-monly proposed. This suggestion may begin witha Florentine text of 1496, the sermon bySavonarola on dying well. It is very unusual,both in the tradition of the theme and among hisworks, in that it includes a request to his listenersto have pictures painted of heaven and hell,which should give us pause. (Almost all proposedcorrelations between art and ideas in this periodcannot point to any mention of pictures in thecontemporary texts they discuss.) By further rareluck, there soon followed a printed edition of hissermon that included an illustration of ourtheme, which was copied later.37 The illustrationwas about going to heaven or to hell (Fig. 50). Atthe top, God or Christ sits surrounded by angels,and at the bottom Satan sits among devils withpitchforks. These images take most of the spaceand plainly derive from the standard Last Judg-ment. But no sheep or goats appear, or peopleemerging from tombs. There is just one man, towhom the sermon is addressed. He listens toDeath, who offers him a choice of up or down.The time is not the end of the world (hence noJosaphat), but tomorrow or next week when thisperson will die. Its likeness to a Last Judgment ismost surprising in omitting purgatory, which is

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not relevant at the end of the world (when itmust cease to exist) but was the destination thenassumed to be the first stage of afterlife for any-one. The omission links Savonarola to the LastJudgment more closely.

Savonarola, to be sure, was an exceptionalthinker, so it is important to notice that thisimage has antecedents long before. Heaven andhell, without the end of the world, appear in aremarkable fresco of 1412 in San Petronio,Bologna. The fortunate survival of the patron’sinstructions makes clear that the upper half shows“the glory of eternal life” and that, in the lowerhalf, the painter must show “the horrible punish-ments of hell, the most he can” (quantum pluspotest).38 It is rightly noted that patrons’ instruc-tions are rarely so full; no doubt the special sub-

ject explains that. It leaves the details in the endto the artist, as noted, who seems to have turnedto a still earlier Bolognese panel painting. Thatfourteenth-century work differs in details (addinga Virgin above and Saint Michael below), but ittoo omits all indications about the last days.39 Thechoice is offered to the viewer as his own deathapproaches, even if he is not seen in the middle,as in Savonarola’s case. Savonarola may well haveknown such works, as he came from Ferrara,near Bologna.

The appropriation of formulas from the LastJudgment for imagery about an individual deathappears elsewhere too in this general period. Inthe tomb of Pope Paul II, mentioned earlier,from about 1470, Last Judgment motifs seems tointrude in quantity for the first time into thememorial of one person. The pope is seen kneel-ing, like a donor, among the saved. It is a realLast Judgment, but he has priority. The formularecurs in the related tomb of Cardinal Ammanati,he of the Sienese connections, and in a variant inthe tomb in Rome of Bishop Coca (d. 1477).This, like Savonarola’s woodcut, excludes the lastdays. Above his effigy, the bishop is seen kneel-ing as Christ turns to bless him.40 The Last Judg-ment is reduced to that of one person, whichrecalls the theological fights about “particularjudgment,” so fierce in the previous century.

Motifs from Last Judgment imagery are appliedto individual death even more directly in manu-scripts of the period. In Books of Hours, the mostpopular works of the time for devotional prayer,the Last Judgment may illustrate the Office (ritualtext) of the Dead. The case of a Venetian breviaryfrom about 1430 was mentioned earlier. A studyof Books of Hours reports that it initially used theLast Judgment for this purpose but later replacedit with a portrayal of the funeral.41 The Judgmentthen appears in another part of the book, theseven requests to Christ. The Rohan hours are aspectacular instance.

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. Anonymous Florentine, 1497, Choice of Heaven orHell, woodcut.


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Earlier, the rareness of monumental Last Judg-ments in the fifteenth century was puzzling in thecontext of the Orvieto project, but it may seemless so when this shifted allusion is taken intoaccount. Perhaps the absence of a standardimagery involving the death of one person wasviewed as a problem and the Last Judgment waspressed into service at first. If this is so, it may fol-low that any viewer of a rare actual scene of theLast Judgment, like Signorelli’s, might respondwith concern about his own death and immedi-ate fate. That pattern would relate strongly to theemphasis of sermons of the time on themes ofheaven and hell and on a person’s ethics. In thisway one can think of the Orvieto frescoes asbeing in the mainstream of their culture andmore readily understand their success. Sig-norelli’s energy correlated with needs of hisviewers.

Yet that can only add to the surprise (alreadystrong without it) evoked by the portion of theimagery of the inner bay not yet discussed. Thisis the wainscot below (see Figs. 25, 26, and 27),which the contract stipulated should to be givenover to “grillwork and creatures.”42 The decora-tive system it shows would soon acquire its stan-dard name, “grotesque.” As is alwaysunderstood, the term “grotesque” derives fromthe ornament used in ancient Roman paintingrediscovered in the 1480s in “grottos” that soonbecame popular. The painter Pinturicchio, Sig-norelli’s friend, signed a contract in 1502 to dofrescoes depicting the life of Pope Pius II for thePiccolomini in Siena that provided for the orna-ment to be “grotesque,” perhaps the first use ofthat term. Most of Signorelli’s peers, Peruginoand Filippino Lippi as well as Pinturicchio, wereusing such decoration by 1500, as a study focus-ing on Signorelli’s employment of it hasobserved.43 Signorelli came to this fashion late,first in his large cycle in the abbey near Siena. Hismuch more emphatic adoption of it in Orvieto

immediately afterward may reflect his sense thatthe Orvieto project was different from anythinghe had ever done, with classical overtones. Whenhe does take on the grotesque, his approach isdifferent from that of the other artists. Thesquirming organisms he paints relate to scenesabove, notably the congested damned. Amongthe other artists, Filippino is most similar, whilePinturicchio produces neat and linear patterns.

The portrait heads and narratives from poetryalso included in the wainscot work are today itsmost interesting aspects. They were not men-tioned in the contract, so perhaps they were last-minute additions, but they may have beenregarded as mere decoration, especially theheads. Heads in rows were traditional in wain-scots, like those of Angelico, mentioned earlier,and those of Nardo, who was certainly influen-tial on Angelico. They had appeared earlier inOrvieto, in the Chapel of the Reliquary oppo-site. The heads there, like most, were anony-mous, beads on a chain to enliven the frame area.One might call them typical of the Renaissance(including the Tuscan trecento) in that theymake the frame human.

The variant from anonymous heads—that is,the portraits of significant people—had appearedearlier44 (as already discussed), notably inAngelico’s work and then in Benozzo Gozzoli’scycle of 1452. From this it was deduced that suchheads were probably also included in Angelico’sOrvieto project and in his gavantone. From theinclusion of Dante as one of those portrayed, inBenozzo’s cycle45 and also here in Signorelli’s, itwas argued that his head, at least, could be iden-tified as one of those of the gavantone. A furthersupport for this view was that Dante separatelybelonged to Last Judgments, as seen in Nardo.Angelico would have demoted Dante from aplace among the saved to the wainscot, still onthe saved side, and let him take a place in the rowof heads. Later it will be argued that the row in

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Angelico’s project may also have includedGiotto, also found earlier in that artist’s LastJudgment in Florence and again in the Benozzowainscot of 1452. These two works were, afterall, the same ones that seemed to make it likelythat Dante was so included.

The wainscot today presents six heads besidesDante; others have been lost. The identity of all,other than Dante, has been the theme of vigorousdisagreement among writers on the chapel. Allthe heads were hidden behind choir benchesabout 1740, following the destruction of othersthat were behind the new altar and on theentrance wall.46 When the benches were removedin 1845, the heads attracted great interest, focus-ing on the literary factor. The names for the headsproposed by a writer in 1866 became accepted,partly out of convenience, though the writer wassoon much criticized by another local scholar on

this and other matters, and some of his names arequite implausible.47

That Dante’s is one of the heads (Fig. 51) isclear to all, and not only because the portrait typeis the same as in many other images, though eventhis head was identified wrongly in the eigh-teenth century. The portrait is surrounded byfour roundels with little scenes in monochromeillustrating scenes from cantos 1–4 of the Purgato-rio. These of course include Dante as one of thecharacters, and he is the same person as in theportrait, with the same costume. Virgil is anothersuch character in the same scenes, and he too hasthe same face and costume as another of thewainscot portraits, on the opposite wall of thechapel directly facing Dante (Fig. 52).48 The fourmonochrome roundels with him likewise illus-trate a single short passage in book 6 of hisAeneid. The subjects have always been recog-

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. Dante and scenes in cantos 1–4 of Purgatorio,wainscot (cf. Fig. 26, “,” “,” “,” “,” “”)

. Virgil and scenes of visits to Hell, wainscot (cf.Fig. 27, “,” “,” “,” “,” “”)



nized (even when the head of Virgil was erro-neously identified as someone else). In the topscene, the Sibyl shows Aeneas the golden boughhe will need to pass to the underworld (lines136–39); here she holds it as her attribute, thoughin the text she merely tells him where to seek it.She points to a cave entrance, at whose mouthnaked figures sit and gesticulate. These evidentlyrefer to a later moment, lines 274–75: “Beforethe entrance itself, in the first opening of hell,Mourning and Cares have sat down.” The scenethus blends several aspects of the beginning of thejourney. The other three scenes all illustrate ashort series of lines in Aeneas’s speech to theSibyl begging her to let him enter. He does thisby citing earlier heroes who had made the trip:“Orpheus was able to summon the shade of hiswife” (line 119); then: “what of great Theseus,why recall Hercules” (lines 122–23). We areshown Orpheus in one roundel playing his lutebefore Pluto and Proserpina, to get their permis-sion to rescue his wife Eurydice, but then, ontheir way out, losing her to devils in anotherroundel. The last scene shows Theseus and Her-cules subduing the dog Cerberus at the caveentrance. Although the subjects shown havebeen plain to every writer, it is not alwaysobserved that the only point bringing themtogether is this passage in the Aeneid. Thatdoubtless has made possible the frequent failureto see Virgil in the portrait. Recent literature,however, has tended to notice the factor of cos-tume that makes him clearly the subject.

A third portrait on the wainscot, next to Virgil,is surrounded by four scenes that are all from thestory of Pluto and Proserpina (Fig. 53). That hasalways been plain, but it has not always helped inidentifying the subject of the portrait. Ovid is themost famous poet who tells the story of Pluto andProserpina, so it was natural that his name wasfirst proposed in 1866 and that Ovid has been apopular choice as subject of this portrait since.

There is also a long tradition in favor of Claudian,a late-classical poet whose poem On the Rape ofProserpina is the longest account of the Pluto andProserpina story. Comparison of the particularscenes in the roundels with both texts decisivelyfavors Claudian.49 At the top, three jealous god-desses, Venus, Minerva, and Diana, entice Proser-pina to leave her safe house to pick flowers.Meanwhile, at the bottom, Pluto emerges froman eruption of the volcano Mount Etna, and wesee a giant pinned underneath. Pluto carries Pros-erpina off in a third roundel, at the right, while arepentant Minerva tries to stop him by using theGorgon’s head with its snaky locks. Finally, at theleft, Ceres hunts for her daughter, traveling in herchariot drawn by dragons.

Ovid’s text makes no mention of motifs thatare major elements in three of these scenes. Hedoes not speak of the three goddesses who visit

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. Claudian and scenes from De Raptu Proserpinae(cf. Fig. 27, “,” “,” “,” “,” “”)


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Proserpina, or of Minerva’s use of the Gorgonhead, or of Ceres’s chariot with dragons. Heseems to present her on foot. If one reads Ovidonly, these discrepancies could seem to be thepainter’s additions, and that may have been whathappened. However, all these details are in Clau-dian, as are all the other details shown in theroundels. Claudian’s poem was not finished, andhis story stops just where the scenes do. Ovidgoes on to a grand resolution of the drama,where it is agreed that Proserpina shall spendalternate half-years on earth and in Hades. Clau-dian is today not well known, and he was neveras famous as Ovid, but in the Renaissance he wasmuch more familiar than he is today. Ovid is thenatural answer for anyone who starts by checkingthe most famous version of the story, which it isnatural to do if one looks at the scenes and worksback, as scholars must. But the artist or plannerworked in the opposite direction. He startedwith a desire to show the story and looked forthe best account. This was not Ovid’s briefreport, which was included with many other sto-ries in his Metamorphoses. A clue to the versionlikely to be considered the standard one is foundin a comment by Chaucer in his Merchant’s Tale(about 1390):

[Proserpina] . . . gadered floures in the mede,In Claudian ye may the story reade,How in his grisly carte he [Pluto] . . . [took her] . . .

(verses 983–85)

Not only was the poem known, but the poetwas honored in Signorelli’s culture in centralItaly. A number of fresco series of portraits ofpoets produced there include Claudian as well asDante, but not Ovid.50 Claudian owes this statusto a myth that he was Florentine, so that Floren-tine humanists called him a forerunner of theirmodern series of great poets. In painting, thephenomenon emerges about 1380 in Florence’s

Palazzo Vecchio, the city hall. The program wasset up by the chancellor, Coluccio Salutati, thefirst Florentine figure to assert that humanismwas important for people in public life. The cycleincluded three groups to be honored, two beingfrom ancient Rome. These began with the firstconsul of Rome, Brutus, who was followed byothers from the period of the republic. The sec-ond showed men of the Roman Empire, and thethird group comprised five Florentine poets,Claudian first and Dante second. Salutati alsohelped the chronicler Filippo Villani assemble hisgroup biography of notable Florentines, the firstsuch text in what became a long tradition. Itincludes the same five poets starting with Clau-dian, to whom Villani then adds Salutati himself,and one other. Salutati was also added later to theset of paintings in the Palazzo Vecchio. A variantset of paintings was produced for the great hall ofFlorence’s Guild of Notaries and Judges. A docu-ment of 1406 tells of adding Salutati and Clau-dian to a series done earlier. Autobiographicalwritings of the Florentine Marco Rustici, about1447–48, offer another version still. He writes ofa version of the same poets, beginning withClaudian and including Salutati. These are thenseen in drawings in the margins of his manu-script, the only visual survivor of this traditiontoday. The obvious suggestion arises that thisrepeated formula was a model, at least in part, forwhat Signorelli did. (It has never been broughtup in the studies of the Orvieto series.)

Signorelli shows all three poets—Dante, Virgil,and Claudian—with laurel wreaths. They sitbehind windows, using the sills as desks. All haveopen books before them, the nearest pages ofwhich lift up a bit, giving them an active part.Signorelli used that motif with books in otherworks. Virgil and Claudian both rest a hand onthe book to keep it open while they turn to eachother as if conversing. Dante has two books openand is absorbed in one, while two other books sit

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closed. The scenes surrounding both Virgil andClaudian, crowded and agitated, with emphaticexpressive action, all directly echo the big sceneof the damned directly over them on the wall.Dante’s scenes, on the other hand, show mostlymild interaction and are concerned with settingup little subgroups with space between, to showseveral episodes. These echo the big scene abovewith the blessed. The difference in the two wallsmight be interpreted, in one frequent art-historicalapproach, as indicating different dates in Sig-norelli’s process of work. But it may be as likelythat it is purposeful, to make each wall a harmo-nious whole different from the other. It is alsosuitable to Dante’s status as a Christian whobelongs among the blessed, of whose ranks he is a

kind of footnoted member. Conversely, Virgiland Claudian, under the damned, were pagans,and Dante’s authority reiterated that Virgil mustreside in hell, if in a mild upper area. Claudianwas at times claimed to have been a Christianconvert, but this view was not fully established.

Just as the latter two are a pair under thedamned, so too Dante shares with another por-trait his place under the blessed. The man in thatportrait (Fig. 54), as a bookish person, also has abook on his sill, like the other three, but in otherways he is made to be very different. The mostobvious factor is that, whoever he is, the mono-chrome roundels that surround him cannot illus-trate any book by him. That is because they showscenes from Dante’s work, specifically Purgatorio

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. Salutati and scenesfrom Purgatorio, cantos 5–8,wainscot (cf. Fig. 26, “,”“,” “,” “,” “”)


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5–8. The story here spills from the Dante segmentrightward, just as the scene of the blessed abovemoves its figures to the right, toward the entranceto heaven. The man in this portrait likewise turnsto the right and up, and his sights are set onheaven like those of the saved, if we are allowedto read him as seeing what we see. Yet this doesnot suffice to identify him for us, and that ques-tion may be postponed for the added evidencethat other sources provide.

Of the scenes here, that from Purgatorio 6 hasspecial interest. In that canto the text chiefly con-sists of a diatribe on the decadence of Italy. Thatwould be hard to illustrate, and it is notattempted. Yet attention is suggested by onedetail in it, about civic feuds. Those named are of“the Montagues and Capulets, Monaldi and Fil-ippeschi” (lines 106–7). The former names in fact

are the original kernel of the story of Romeo andJuliet, suggesting the extraordinary reverberationof Dante’s slight allusions. In the present context,that applies as well to the second pair of names.The feud cited is in Orvieto, in which theseMonaldi, the same as the Monaldeschi oftenencountered before, were soon to suppress theother family entirely. A Monaldeschi of the latesixteenth century published a family history, andquotes this entire section of Dante’s text. That thefamily was called evil was not as important as thefact that Dante had proved their importance. Thesame Dante text then surely had importance alsofor the painting of the chapel, where Purgatorio1–8 is uniquely included (though this seems notto have been noticed in Signorelli studies). It willappear later that the Monaldeschi contributed alarge amount of money to pay for the work in thechapel. This monochrome would have been anoddly subdued acknowledgment.

It may be convenient here to take note of oneother unusual detail in the Purgatorio roundelseries. Canto 2 speaks of an angel coming toshore in a fast little boat, con un vasello snelletto.Yet the image shows no boat, and the angel isholding a small dish (Fig. 55). In fact, the wordvasello has “little dish” as its chief meaning, while“boat” more often appears as vascello. Still, thereis no doubt that Dante meant “boat.” The mis-take is revealing, as mistakes often are, in thiscase, the procedures used to produce the picture.Whoever drew this image had the text only, andno access to any prior illustration of the scene.Moreover, because no better informed personoversaw the work, the painter was left to his ownlimited best resources. Without doubt, at somelater point someone better informed did see this,but then it was decided not to make a correction;evidently it was not important enough to matter.It is rare to get inside a process to this extent.

Clearly the eight scenes of the Purgatorio signalthe most important poem being illustrated. The

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. Detail of Fig. 51, scene from Canto 2 of Purgatorio (cf. Fig. 26, “”)


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eight compare with four scenes each of theAeneid and of Claudian. Besides, they are uniquein any church context. Then the series goes oneven further, to show cantos 9, 10, and 11. To dothis, the imagery continues around the corner onto the altar wall, just as higher up the saved movearound the same corner to approach heaven. Thepart of the Aeneid chosen and the work of Clau-dian do share with the Purgatorio an identical raretheme that is clearly the reason they were cho-sen. They are not only all about the underworld,but can also be more narrowly defined asaccounts of journeys made thither by a livingperson who then returns to earth. That is trueboth of Dante, who wrote a report of his trip,and of others who simply had the experience:Proserpina, Aeneas, and even Hercules, Theseus,and Orpheus. They evidently owe their inclu-sion to being cited by Aeneas when he makesthese journeys of theirs an argument for makingone himself. In just that way Dante in turn citedAeneas’s journey as a model for his own at thebeginning of the Divine Comedy. Still further, thetexts chosen all show that the dead have beenfound to be happy, requiring the choice of Purga-torio over the more common visual theme of theInferno. The souls in Purgatory are happy, con-tenti, since they know they will reach heaven.They reflect Dante’s own name for his poem,Commedia. Aeneas found the Elysian fields, andProserpina ruled Hades as queen. This all seemsrelevant to the strange issue of how, uniquely,they got into a cathedral, but still more materialneeds to be gathered before trying to explainthat.

The man portrayed as a writer, next to Danteand surrounded by the scenes from Purgatorio 5–8(Fig. 54), is actually writing, unlike all the othersobserved. He is thus an author but he has no lau-rel. The absence of the poet’s wreath worn bythe three others must be intentional. This manalso differs from the others in that he has white

hair, signaling old age. His gaze upward towardthe scene of heaven evokes the idea that he was abelieving Christian, like his neighbor Dante, incontrast to the two pagan writers opposite on theside of the damned. It also seems likely that hiswriting was also about the underworld. All thisnarrows the possible hypotheses, but not enoughto the point of a name.

Yet one other clue here seems to have beenignored. Not only do the four scenes from Purga-torio surround this writer, forming a crossscheme, above, below, and to the sides, but thereare also four other monochrome roundels, verytiny ones, in the diagonals between the first four.These show very clear scenes, commonly under-stood in the literature, of Hercules defeating thehydra, the bull, the lion, and Cacus (Fig. 56),four of his standard labors. They have the same

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. Hercules Defeating Cacus, and grotesque ornament (detail of Fig. 54)


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vibrating zest of drawing that Signorelli gives hisfigures of larger scale. Yet why they are hereseems not to have been the subject of curiosity.Because the other three portraits are all sur-rounded by scenes from the author’s writingsthat identify those authors for us, and the sceneshere from Purgatorio 5–8 cannot do that, it seemsreasonable to think that the Hercules scenesmight replace them in that way. No other raisond’être seems to be on offer.

There is one author, and apparently only one,who wrote a book with the labors of Hercules asits theme: Coluccio Salutati, a devout Christianwho lived to be seventy-six, consistent with hisunique white hair. He left the book incomplete,which explains the unfinished page on the sill.His appearance prior to Signorelli in paintedcycles of writers, the ones also showing Danteand Claudian, his neighbors here, was notedabove (with a purpose now revealed). This maybe useful to counteract the natural tendency toreact to all this by thinking someone like Salutatiwould not form part of the same category ofpeople to be represented that the great poets do.

His title, Four Books on the Labors of Hercules, isalso a neat fit for the four little roundels. Of muchgreater concern is that the title does not matchthe contents of the book well. Only its third bookpresents the labors, giving a summary list ofthirty-one. The fourth and longest book con-cerns, instead, descents to the underworld. Salu-tati recounts the journeys by Hercules, Orpheus,Theseus, and Aeneas, a list that exactly matchesthe roundels with Virgil. (In an early draft hereported Castor and Pollux too, but then droppedthem. They are replaced by Amphiarios, who,however, Salutati writes, did not so muchdescend as be dropped.) The most recent studentof the wainscot has duly noticed that this work ofSalutati corresponds to it.51 He shows that “thescheme of the descents into hell . . . can beexplained though the reading of book 4 of Salu-

tati” and specifies details. Others had made thepoint more briefly, but none mentioned the smallHercules roundels, much less identified the por-trait as Salutati. Nonetheless, their findings aresupportive here.

It is more difficult to understand the wainscotimages on the altar wall (Fig. 25), and that is onlyin part because of destruction.52 At the center,under the big window, the imagery (as knownfrom early descriptions) showed a similar scheme,a portrait surrounded by four scenes. At the sides,however, the system shifted to show scenes only,again in monochrome. On each side there weresix scenes in two vertical sets of three each. Onboth sides the lowest scene of the inner set,toward the center, is lost, as is the entire centralset of a portrait with four scenes (apart from afragment of one scene).

These vertical sets of three scenes comprised,in the inner sets nearer the center, a rectangularscene in the middle with circular ones above andbelow it. Conversely, the outer sets near the cor-ners showed a circular scene in the middle withrectangles above and below. This scheme evi-dently alludes to the pattern discussed for the sidewalls, with rectangular portraits between invari-able circular scenes. Here, where portraits areabsent, some of the scenes are rectangular. Thisretains a trace of the previous pattern, maintain-ing a continuity of two shapes even when there isa shift from including portraits to excludingthem. The scheme, which seems not to havebeen noticed, again evokes a concern for havingpatterns that unify the whole. The frames of thevaults were seen to have been designed in thesame way.

The parts now lost were fortunately reportedby an attentive viewer shortly before they weresacrificed in 1715 to the new larger altar.53 Thatviewer’s text was only published in 1996, so thatfresh data is now available on the missing sec-tions. A check of the way he describes the sur-

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viving parts shows that his descriptions are accu-rate, though his identifications of subjects areoften wrong. (He did not recognize Dante.)When the new evidence is integrated with theold, entire groups of the wainscot images can begiven more valid readings, helping to removesome entrenched errors.

The scenes in the wainscot on the altar wallthat are easiest to identify are the outer sets ofthree, near the ends. The set on the left shows, asmentioned, scenes from cantos 9, 10, and 11 ofPurgatorio, continuing from the earlier cantosaround the corner on the side wall. Though theseries continues, the pause between cantos 8 and9 is meaningful, and utilized by the designer. Themove around the corner coincides with thechange from Dante’s horizontal walk, in ante-purgatory, to his entrance to purgatory proper,

where he climbs the mountain. In the episodefrom canto 9 chosen, he seeks admission, and inthe canto 10 scene he passes through the gate.We are shown a bit of the inside of purgatoryonly in canto 11, the last scene. This emphasis onthe preliminary phase matches what occurs else-where in the chapel. Only the entrance toDante’s hell, completed by the incident withMinos, is seen just above the lower frame of thescene of the damned descending, as discussed. Inthe wainscot below that frame we shall see some-thing of the parts of hell to which Minos con-signs souls, but in this case too just the first bit ofit. This drastic change from the prime focus onhell and its horrors in earlier Last Judgments has,surprisingly, not been addressed in the literature.It is analogous to the way the classical visits to theunderworld were treated in the selections from

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. Scene from Canto 11 of Purgatorio (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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Claudian and Virgil. In the former, Proserpina isshown only aboveground. She is queen of hell inone of the stories from Virgil, but the other threeshow heroes at hell’s entry seeking to visit or, inOrpheus’s case, to exit.

An explanation of this hesitation to show theinside of hell is perhaps available in Salutati’s dis-cussion of the descents. His book 4 opens by ask-ing whether we really know there is a hell,apparently referring to the lack of any account ofit in scripture. He replies that our best aid togaining salvific knowledge on the matter is fromthe poets, such as Claudian. This seems to offer afull answer to the puzzle of the wainscot segmentof the fresco cycle—replacing the standard imageof hell with the reports of the poets. Indeed, itwould also explain the inclusion in the chapel ofthe visit to purgatory, taken from Dante’s poem,which Salutati does not mention. It would be anew extrapolation in Orvieto. To be sure, Salu-tati notes, the poets’ data on the matter is limited,as they cannot prophesy. Even if sometimesinspired, they can only describe the past, withoutfull certainty. And they work with allegoricalveils; we shall see this aspect shortly.

The scene from Purgatorio 11 shows only oneincident from the canto, unlike all the rest aftercanto 1. This might evoke closure, but it doesnot explain the specific choice, starting at line 73,within this survey of the worst sinners, theproud. We see Dante bend to talk with souls car-rying heavy loads (Fig. 57). One soul, Dantewrites, “twisted and saw me,” a detail Signorellimakes vivid. The speech the soul thereuponmakes includes the famous comment on the fameof Giotto, the only mention of a painter in theDivine Comedy. It is attractive to think Signorelliwas drawn to that point and chose this singlemotif for that reason. It might even have stimu-lated him to extend his series to canto 11.

Giotto’s figurative presence in the wainscothas, however, a more ordinary possible explana-

tion. The tradition that artists include their self-portraits in Last Judgments was discussed earlier.54

Giotto (or more precisely his workshop) haddone so in the Last Judgment in the Bargello—ofcourse on the side with the saved, as usual, whichis also the side where this rectangle appears inOrvieto. The chronicler Villani had mentionedthis Giotto self-portrait and added one other fact,that it was along with a portrait of Dante. Herein Orvieto the allusion to Giotto is bracketedwith the portrait of Dante and scenes from hiswork in this part of the wainscot.

One other case of paired portraits of Danteand Giotto was noted above, that by BenozzoGozzoli painted soon after he had worked inOrvieto, and in a wainscot, one where the twomen seem quite irrelevant to the theme, the lifeof Saint Francis. It was argued that he might havetaken the notion of a Dante portrait from a simi-lar portrait on Angelico’s gavantone, known tohim, showing Dante in the wainscot. By exten-sion, it seems plausible that he might also havetaken his adjacent head of Giotto from the samesource, in which Angelico had shown the olderartist also among the saved. In that case wewould have Signorelli echoing the gavantone too,with Dante and with a figurative allusion toGiotto.

When it is considered that this scene is theonly one actually inside purgatory that we aregiven, it may be linked to the only scene of thewainscot actually inside hell (at least in any literalform), the one where Orpheus plays and sings.That scene matches the one of canto 11 in thatboth celebrate artists, a quality in which they arealso alone. That can plausibly be called inten-tional. It also recalls Salutati’s point that what welearn about the underworld is from poets.

This completes the vertical set of three scenesat this corner of the altar wall. Still moving to theright, we meet the second analogous set of suchmonochromes, nearer the center of the wall (see

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Fig. 25). The statements offered by the images arein a different key, not narrative. The top roundelis agreed to be a clear figure of the allegory ofCharity (Fig. 58). She is seen in the standard way,suckling a child and flanked by two others withflaming torches. These two motifs symbolizeCharity’s double character: love for one’s neigh-bor and for God.55 She is shown in the same way,in slightly earlier works, by Pollaiuolo, in hispainted set of virtues in Florence for the law courtof the merchants, and on both his papal tombs, forSixtus IV and Innocent VIII. The latter of thesetwo monuments in Rome was finished in 1497.Signorelli’s Charity tramples on a prone femalefigure who bites herself. This is a known if lesscommon symbol of the vice Envy, one of thoseoften taken to be complementary to Charity.56

If these identities are clear, it is not clear whythey are on this wainscot. The literature has gen-erally taken care of the simple identities and notasked that other question. The same has beentrue of the monochromes that are viewed next.Yet it does not seem likely that these are isolatedor autonomous images. As soon as the matter isarticulated, it seems likely that they are related tothe Last Judgment and to the nearby images.

In this case one would seek some continuity tothis Charity from Purgatorio 11, the last previousimage, if we continue to go from left to right.That indeed fits, for after dealing with Pride oncanto 11, Dante turns next to Envy, and he dis-cusses it in complement with Charity. (He haddiscussed Pride in complement with Humility, acommon formula.) The text of Dante, it turnsout, is still being illustrated on the wainscot butshifts from literal narrative to the veil of allegory,if an easy one. One might argue that the preced-ing scene from canto 11 had already made a sim-ilar shift, if we claim that its true theme is notwhat is shown but instead the allusion to Giotto.

Such a shift seems to be supported not only bySalutati’s cited remark, that poets inform us

about the underworld through veils of allegory.That might indeed suffice to explain what hap-pens here. Still more suggestive, however, iswhat Dante said a little earlier, in Purgatorio 8,lines 19–20. This passage has understandably fas-cinated learned commentators of all periods andso has become famous. It is one of two similarpassages; the other, in Inferno 9, line 61, will bediscussed shortly. In Purgatorio 8 the lines follow adescription of two angels with green wings, anodd motif. Dante tells us to be watchful here, for“the veil is so thin that it is easy to penetrate it.”Signorelli’s image (Fig. 59) shifts from all preced-ing presentations of canto 8, in illustrated Dantetexts, by making these angels dominate thescene.57 Thus we viewers are also told to watchfor the allegory. All commentators have con-curred that what the angels symbolize is thevirtue Hope. Being one of the three theologicalvirtues in the standard set, which in purgatory arecombined with the other set of four civil virtues,Hope prepares us to meet another of the three,

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. Charity and Envy (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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Charity. Thus, when we come to the secondsegment of purgatory, with Charity and Envy,we are prepared to be given their images in alle-gorical form.

The set of three monochromes with Charity atthe top has lost the third and lowest one, but thenewly available description gives a full report. Itconfirms the present reading nicely, for it turnsout to have shown the third and last theologicalvirtue, Faith. Faith was shown “figured as awoman wearing a laurel, a chalice in her hand,and adored by two small boys, one on eachside.”58 The chalice is used only as a symbol offaith, in European allegory, so that the writer’sidentification of this image is clearly correct.59

The two boys are unusual but are assigned toFaith in 1504 in an image of her that again is amonochrome in a roundel, the only one besides

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(above) . Scene from Canto 8 of Purgatorio (detailof Fig. 54; “” in Fig. 26)

(right) . Raphael, Faith, Hope, and Charity. Rome,Pinacoteca Vaticana

Signorelli’s known to me. This is in Raphael’s setof three theological virtues, Faith, Hope, andCharity (Fig. 60). This unique match betweenRaphael’s Faith and the Faith of Signorelli, asknown from the newly published description,seems to support neatly an earlier proposal thatSignorelli’s Charity was a model for Raphael’s inthat same set.60

While Purgatorio presents Hope in canto 8,through allegory, and Charity in cantos 12–14,presented allegorically in Orvieto, there is hardlyany mention in the text of Faith. However, theset of three as a group appears, again allegorically,in Purgatorio 29.121–26. This is the account of theearthly paradise at the top of the mountain, andwe are alerted to their presence through theirsymbolic colors. Green is again the color forHope. The scheme in Orvieto, then, draws the


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roles of three virtues from separate passages in thePurgatorio, which seems unique in the wainscoticonography but would hardly be surprising.61

This vertical set of three monochromes, withCharity at the top and Faith at the bottom,includes a larger scene in the middle, a rectangle(Fig. 61). It has been given a variety of readings,but all have isolated it from the Last Judgmenttheme and the nearby monochromes. The pres-ent approach would obviously imply that it ismatched to a passage in Purgatorio somewherebetween canto 13 (with Charity and Envy, whoare painted above it) and canto 29 (with Faith,who is painted below it) but in a nonliteral way.The image has six figures, each with individualgestures or attributes. This greatly narrows thepossibilities and offers many clues.

The small winged boy can only be Cupid. Heis seen disciplined by a woman, who must be hismother, Venus. The motif is found around Sig-

norelli’s time, notably in small bronze reliefs.62

We are thus in a context of classical myth.Another woman’s attribute is a banner with anermine, always a symbol of chastity or purity.63

The one person who could be so tagged andwho also shares a classical context with Venus isher fellow goddess, Diana. We have then a polar-ity of the chaste and the erotic—which readilyfits Purgatorio, where contrasts of each virtue andthe corresponding sin are in fact a main theme, asseen with Charity and Envy. They simply workthrough the vehicle of a classical allusion here. Infact lust, the deadly sin luxuria, is contrasted withchastity in the final section of Purgatorio (cantos25–26). All the sections include exemplificationsof the virtue and vice in question in the form ofvery elliptical references to famous stories, somefrom classical myth. In the section on Chastityand Lust there is just one classical example oftheir polarity, and it contrasts Diana and Venus.

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. Diana and Calisto (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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The reference, which we are expected to recog-nize and expand as in all other cases, reads:“Diana stayed in the wood, and expelled Elice,who had felt Venus’s poison” (25.130–32).Chastity exiles the victim of Lust.

This is somewhat easier to recognize when“Elice” is replaced by the more usual name “Cal-isto,” the same person. The story is the one seenin a famous work by Titian. Dante tells a laterpart of her story, again elliptically, in Paradiso(31.32–33). It refers to a “zone,” the north,which “Elice covers daily, circling with her sonwhom she loves.” Elice and the son are now aconstellation—the bear, or big and little dipper—which circles the north only. We are required tofill in the rest of the story, using the same proce-dure we need a few lines earlier (Purgatorio25.129) in an easier example, to realize that theVirgin Mary’s chastity at the Annunciation is sig-naled by nothing more than her brief phrase “Iknow no man” (Virum non cognosco).

Calisto’s story is most famously and more fullyrecounted in the Metamorphoses of Ovid(2.409–532). Calisto, one of Diana’s virginalnymphs, was out hunting with her bow (arcum,line 414) when she was raped by Jove. When herpregnancy was noticed, Diana expelled her fromthe wood (nemus, 455) that Dante’s line empha-sized. Yet Jove’s betrayed wife, Juno, remainedfurious (saeva, 470) and turned Calisto into abear. Years later her full-grown son, Arcas, ahunter, attacked her with his spear (telus, 489).(The years between pass in one line, favoring theearly and late phases.) To this murder Joveresponds by turning mother and son into theconstellation, as in Dante’s second passage, whileJuno continues her vengeance by restrictingthem to the north.

The monochrome shows all the dramatis per-sonae of all the phases of the story, and no oneelse (other than Cupid as Venus’s associate).Diana, identified by her chaste ermine, is speak-

ing to Calisto, identified by her bow. Her sonArcas, close by her, is identified by his spear.Juno gesticulates in her fury, while Venus appearsas the correct allegory of Lust, named by Danteas the complement to chastity that an illustrationto Purgatorio needs. To use Salutati’s approach,the myth from the poem is used by the painter toshow the work of vices and virtues through aveil. The one factor that is not explained in thisseries of monochromes by this reading is Sig-norelli’s choice of only some ledges and cantos ofPurgatorio, but he did work that way. In thescenes introducing the Inferno he completelyskipped canto 2.

Moving to the right again on the wainscot ofthe altar wall, the next group is the almost totallylost central group. The recent conservation hasshown that the familiar scheme with a squareauthor portrait and four surrounding roundelsrecurred here, just as described by the earlywriter Clementini. He called the portrait and the roundels the classical poet Statius accompa-nied by scenes of “souls tormented by punish-ments, scourges, and others” from his epic theThebaid.”64 A tiny fragment of such a scene ofpunishment has now been recovered. This pro-posal that the portrait was of Statius gains supportfrom evidence its proponent Clementini couldnot know. Dante makes Statius a character inPurgatorio, introducing him in canto 21 and keep-ing him present to the end in canto 33. It wouldthus be logical to find him on the wainscot, tothe right of and thus later than the figurations ofcantos 12–14 (top), 25–26 (middle), and bottom(29–31) just surveyed.

Clementini offers a different justification forStatius being here, pointing out that the Thebaidtoo reports on the underworld, like Dante, Vir-gil, and Claudian. (One might add that there arefew other candidates left.) Statius’s most promi-nent relevant passage (4.543–645) describes not ajourney but a vision. Souls fight one another;

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they are not scourged, as Clementini says Sig-norelli’s are. (The preserved fragment is too smallto tell which is the case in the fresco.) Thewriter’s citation is oddly mistaken. He firstwrongly cites the second book of the Thebaid asthe passage about the underworld, and then givesa quotation neither from that book nor from thecorrect book 4, but partly from book 8 and partlyfrom Lucretius. The former passage concerns thejudging of the souls, and the latter, ironically,argues that the underworld is an illusion of ours.The error may be helpful for our needed under-standing of the writer’s working method.65

Moving still to the right on the wainscot of thealtar wall, we are now under Minos and thedescent toward hell, from Inferno 4. Once againthere are the two vertical sets of three mono-

chromes each, first the one under the side win-dow and then the one close to the right corner(Fig. 25). In this area the main vector is nottoward the right but downward, as the sequencesof damned souls from Charon down had estab-lished. Within the Minos group shown, justabove the base line of the main figuration and itsmolding, the lowest figure is a green devil tor-menting a sinner who offers slight resistance (Fig.48). As before, it seems that we are meant to jumpover the molding and continue down into thewainscot area, for the first imagery found whenwe do so is a repeat of that same grouping. Threedevils, in a rectangular monochrome, tormentthree souls with knife, knout, and scourge (Fig.62). The previous kind of rightward movement,along the wainscot, would not bring us to this

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. Devils and the Lustful (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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monochrome as the first we would encounterafter the Statius set, for it is not in the nearest ver-tical set of three but in the farther one, in the cor-ner. However, it is the first met in a downwardprogress from Minos, because it is a half notchhigher than the top scene of the other set. Thelatter is displaced downward by the side window.(Fig. 25 does not show this difference in height ofthe two vertical sets.)

A downward gaze, from Minos to this wain-scot scene, also shifts us from color to mono-chrome as we pass the molding. One mightconsider that to be a denial of their association.But the contrary is indicated from the text ofDante at just this point. Here (Inferno 5.28) hereaches a place “mute of all light” (d’ogni lucemuto). It brings us into the second circle of hell,with the lustful sinners. The painter has elegantlylet the formal conditions of the wall system rein-

force the tone of his story—in both senses, literaland figurative.

There is another shift when we jump themolding. Unlike any of the sinners above, one ofthose punished here is female. This is also uniqueamong all the monochromes in this area. Dante’stext on the lustful, not unexpectedly, likewiseassigns women a role rarely met in his other cir-cles. The monochrome then seems to belong as ascene of this lustful circle, and again is not to beexplained (as has commonly happened) in isola-tion from others of the set. Dante gives names tothree male lustful sinners, Achilles, Paris, andTristan, and four females, Semiramis, Dido,Cleopatra, and Helen, apart from telling the storyof Paolo and Francesca.

In this area the monochrome at the top of theinner row (Fig. 63, left), under the side window,is the second highest, a half-unit lower than theone just described (Fig. 62). The theme of Her-cules defeating the centaur is always properlynamed. Signorelli’s fighting pairs usually show aclear loser, often prone, but here they are in ten-sion. The energy conceals the artifices of the for-mal design. The right angle between the centaur’supper body and lower horizontal segment, pres-ent in the usual way, is made to connote stress,complementary to the forward bend of Hercules’body. That quality is reinforced in that the cen-taur is held upside down by upright Hercules, aformal emblem of victory given formal abstrac-tion by being shown from the back. The up anddown positions and the view from the back insis-tently restate a schema of reversal.

The labors of Hercules in the Renaissance are afavorite allegory of reason overcoming one oranother kind of evil. In a letter of 1477, Ficinowrote that “reason in us is named Hercules,” atext rightly cited as exemplary by Chastel.66 Hisdefeat of the lion always means overcominganger, but other victories receive shifting labels.To make the centaurs mean lust is well estab-

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. Monochromes on altar wall wainscot, right side(cf. Fig. 25, “,” “,” “,” “,” “”)


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lished, if not invariable, on the basis of the storyof Hercules suppressing their drunken rape at awedding. Fulgentius, whose early medievalmythography was printed in Florence in 1490,said that centaurs “connote men made bestial bycarnal lust.”67 The suppression of lust by reason isthus a ready reading of this monochrome, whichthen would again label neatly the theme of lustand its complement in canto 5. In it Dantedefines precisely what the lustful do that iswrong: they “make reason submit to desire” (line39). Hercules with the centaur makes desire sub-mit to reason, and in the design system of thismonochrome shows this to be a reversal. It issurely relevant to the choice of such imagery that

Poliziano, the learned poet of the Medici court,taught Michelangelo in 1491–92, when thesculptor was a sixteen-year-old beginner, the textabout the lustful centaurs, “heated by wine andlove,” defeated by Hercules. The result was themarble relief of the battle of the centaurs.68

Under this roundel, a rectangular mono-chrome presents the end of a fight, with a manon the ground overcome by three others (Fig.64). Unlike any of the twenty-three mono-chromes seen on the wainscot so far, this onepresents only nude human beings. In otherscenes nudity had connoted the souls in purga-tory, but these are not such, so far as anyone hassuggested or as seems possible to associate with

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. Death of Achilles (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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any story. This culture used nudity, in contextsthat otherwise exclude it, for scenes of combat,and that seems to be the reference here.69 Thetheme has consistently been called the story ofOionos. The label goes back to the not very reli-able identifications of the eighteenth-centuryobserver and has shown great power of retention.The tale is so obscure in the written sources thatone may think it has not been checked, for itdoes not fit the imagery very well, and the titlemay have survived because no other seemed everto be available. Though the story is part of theHercules legend, it is absent from the standardtexts on him by Ovid and Boccaccio, the sourcesmost used in this period, as well as from Salutati’sbook on Hercules. Its sole classical base is Apol-lodorus’s compendium of myths, available onlyin Greek manuscripts until 1555, and even thenof such limited interest that a second printingcame only in 1599. The one classical allusion toit, in Plutarch’s Moralia, is an abbreviated versionthat could not have provided the motifs of thewainscot painting.70 Oionos, the story goes, wentto help his friend Hercules in a task and hap-pened to be annoyed by a barking dog. He threwstones at it, and its angry young owners killedOionos “with clubs” (skutalois). Hercules killedthem in turn. The picture shows no Hercules, nodog, and just one stick, hardly a club, wielded bythe most distant of the attackers. Again no link toother monochromes or the Last Judgment isoffered. It is easier to infer why the early observermight have liked this suggestion.71

The procedure of moving forward with thetext of Dante again seems to offer a better option.When he gave three examples of men damnedfor lust, he cited two by their names only. OnlyAchilles gets more; he is presented as “the greatAchilles, who fought with love up to the end”(lines 65–66). The story thus elliptically cited, inthe fashion seen before, is not in the Iliad but inthe popular medieval romance of Troy, as Dante

commentators have regularly explained.72

Achilles, falling in love with a Trojan princess,was lured into the city to meet her and thereambushed and killed, precisely, then, “fighting tothe end.” The standard Dante commentary ofSignorelli’s time, by Landino, expands theaccount to say he came with one friend and waskilled by Paris and twenty companions.73 Themonochrome may be proposed to represent this,abbreviated to a few active figures in a wayaccepted at the time. The narrative is a lesson ofthe same point that desire subdues reason.74 Oneof the medieval writers on Achilles drew theinference here that he exemplifies “those fromwhom love takes away reason (senno).”75 Desiredrew Achilles to be killed.

The destroyed roundel at the bottom of this setof three was reported to show “Hercules wound-ing Pluto with a three-pointed weapon,”76 butthe identification as Hercules is hardly possible,because tridents belong to Neptune only. (Theearly writer seems to have believed that Herculeswas the subject of this set of three scenes.77)Whether Pluto was rightly named is not possibleto check, but a good argument for thinking hewas so is the presence of unquestioned Plutoimages elsewhere on the wainscot, with Proser-pina and Orpheus. A resemblance between themand this figure would be a likely enough basis forthe writer to have called this figure Pluto too (andno other emerges), and it would then be proba-ble. Yet no story seems to exist with Plutowounded by anyone, Neptune or another. Thatmakes it all the more interesting that the solemention of Pluto by Dante has him being over-come as if by a sea tempest, and that this takesplace in a passage of the Inferno just subsequent tothose that have been noted. We have moved tothe next circle beyond the lustful, that of the glut-tonous. The travelers find Pluto babbling afamous nonsense line and then collapsing, in thesame way in which “swollen sails fall when the

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mast breaks” (Inferno 6.115, continued in 7.1).The force that collapses the sail—that is, a seastorm, is being called the equivalent of what col-lapses Pluto, and the way to personify or allego-rize a sea storm is to show Neptune on the attack.A god punishes the figure of Gluttony, as Her-cules above punished Lust. For us today the figu-ration seems troublingly indirect, but it seems tomatch the other cases here without difficulty.

The final adjacent set of three additional verti-cal monochromes, at the corner (Fig. 63, right),was initiated at the top with the lustful men andwomen already described, attacked by demons.The theme of the two scenes below has alwaysbeen easily understood, but again has all the

more escaped connection with the context of thechapel. The ease of reading their autonomouscontent indeed may have encouraged a generallack of concern about this other factor. Theyshow Perseus and Andromeda, familiar at thetime from Ovid’s Metamorphoses (4.840–5.234).In the upper scene is the very popular image ofAndromeda tied to the rock, prey to a dragon,which Perseus attacks with his sword. The lowerone shows the less well known sequel, whentheir marriage feast is invaded by the bride’s pre-vious suitor, Phineus, whom Perseus turns tostone by displaying the gorgon head (Fig. 65). Itseems not to have been remarked that the twoincidents match Ovid’s division of his account

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. Perseus and Phineus (cf. Fig. 25, “”)


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between his books 4 and 5, confirming that histext is the source used.

Signorelli’s one divergence from Ovid is toshow Perseus coming toward Andromeda on hiswinged horse, Pegasus. In Ovid he flies to her onwinged sandals. The motif of riding the horse, asLee showed in a special study, comes from thecompendium of myths of Pierre Bersuire. Thisfourteenth-century text was copied in manymanuscripts with variants.78 The riding of thehorse remained a rare option in illustrations andseems to be represented otherwise only in Frenchmanuscript illustration up to this time. Nothingin Signorelli is in conflict with Bersuire’s account.

That Signorelli utilized this convenient bookis confirmed in a remarkable way. One of the

few Italian-language manuscripts of Bersuire, aunique variant, is richly illustrated. One sceneshown in this fifteenth-century volume (Fig. 66,bottom) was copied closely in Signorelli’s sceneof the invaded wedding banquet (Fig. 65).79 Theentry of the invaders at the right, that table top-pling at the left, and even the broken dishes infront recur. The oddity is that the Bersuire illus-tration does not represent this story at all. It isabout the other invaded wedding mentionedabove, the one where Hercules repelled the cen-taurs. That was the story that Signorelli turnedinto an emblem in the other adjacent set ofmonochromes, with Hercules subduing a cen-taur. The text about the carnal centaur, as men-tioned above in that connection, was publishedin 1490 in Florence in another variant version ofBersuire, but it was not illustrated.

How Signorelli happened to appropriate thecomposition of the centaur wedding story, aspresented in the manuscript, for his Perseus wed-ding story is clear. The same page of the manu-script with this Hercules/centaur illustration alsohas the text with information on the Perseusmyth. (Its illustration shows a quite different partof the Perseus legend.) When Signorelli lookedup Bersuire on Perseus for ideas, the illustrationoffered no help. Yet on the very same page (Fig.66) luck offered him a composition he could use,by shifting its subject to Perseus. That this con-sultation of the book involved the painter him-self, not only a humanist adviser, is proved by theuse of the design system. What further emerges isthe general use of Bersuire for the wainscot.

It remains to understand why the Perseus mythwas chosen in the first place. Once again the sameprocedure offers an answer, as we move to thenext segment of the Inferno, beyond the glutton-ous of canto 7. In the next circle, of the angry, thethree furies initially block the gate of the city ofDis to the travelers. Troubled that they may failto keep Dante and Virgil out, they cry:

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. Stories of Perseus and Hercules, drawings, inLibellus de Imaginibus Deorum, Vat. Reg. Lat. 1290


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Let Medusa come, then we will turn him tostone. . . .

It was a mistake that we did not avenge Theseus’attack.

(lines 52, 54)

Though Perseus is not mentioned, we meet thepetrifying gorgon head, which is precisely thecentral activating motif and the weapon in Sig-norelli’s wedding scene. The Furies would liketo activate it, as Perseus had there. His action isthe classical equivalent of their wish to block thetravelers. The context is the step from the intro-ductory part of hell to its depths. They cite The-seus as having forced his way into Hades, the actshown by Signorelli in a monochrome in theVirgil set.

Earlier, when crossing the frame below Minos,our eye passed a major stage on the way to hellwhere light and color disappeared. Here isanother such stage, and though Dante did pass it,we do not. There are no monochromes of whatcomes later, the circles of hell that Nardo andAngelico had shown in their Last Judgments.80

Beyond the first step below Minos, the imageryas it shifts to the figurative image with the Gor-gon head shows a reversal from the literal text,the Furies’ desire to use it for evil, to Perseus’sgood use.

It is also just here, when Dante is barred at thegate of Dis, that he suddenly addresses his readers:

O you who have sound minds,See the teaching that is hiddenUnder the veil of the strange verses.

(lines 61–63)

We are urged—as in the one other case citedfrom Purgatorio 9, Dante’s only other such for-mulation—to read allegorically. And Signorellihere gives allegorical images from his literal text.This very possibly is also the context of his bring-

ing in the horse Pegasus, whose role as a symbolof poetry, now familiar, perhaps emerges aboutthis time.81

The adoption of Dante for the Last Judgmentin painting had been firmly settled long beforeSignorelli. He is very new in shifting it, in theparts beyond the entrance to hell, from literalillustration to figurative allusion. He had donethe same in presenting the Purgatorio, which doesnot belong to the Last Judgment though it hadbeen included in a few, each as odd and distinc-tive as this.

Behind all this must be a devotee of the DivineComedy, prepared to manipulate it. The usemade of the Comedy has always been obvious,but not this aspect with figurative images from it.At this time the Comedy was widely available.Manuscripts were numerous, but from the 1470sit was printed, multiplying its accessibility athousandfold. The first edition printed with acommentary was in 1481, Landino’s, whoseapproach became dominant, as already noted. Alleditions from then to 1500, six of them, includehis notes.82 In Orvieto in 1499 it can hardly bequestioned that this was the text employed.Landino’s opinion, hardly original, has been for-mulated by Trinkaus: “A great and true poet wasalso a theologian.”83 The examples Landino pro-vides of such poets are Virgil and Dante.

He also, as is hardly surprising, gives muchimportance to the distinction between literal andfigurative meanings. The point naturally emergesmost distinctly when he comments on Inferno 9,on the verses about the teaching under the veil.His way of doing this is to gloss the allusion toTheseus just preceding.84 He extends this discus-sion in a way that could not have been presumedand that is of special interest here: “A most subtleallegory was written by Coluccio Salutati, a verylearned Florentine and the teacher of LeonardoBruni, in that, when the poets imagine Hercules,Aeneas, Theseus, Perithoos, Amphiaraos, and

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Orpheus to have gone down to hell, he showsthat in them were expounded various kinds ofthings to be desired.” He proceeds first to hisown specialty, the theory of active and contem-plative life, but then reverts to Salutati: “OurColuccio has it that the speculative good and theknowledge of the truth are expressed in Homerthrough Hercules and in Virgil through Aeneas.”If above it could be agreed without difficulty thatthe Orvietans in 1499 were using Landino, andalso that the wainscots illustrated Dante in a figu-rative classical way, it can hardly not be that thesereaders found Landino’s comment on the veiledmeaning in Dante of particular interest, andhence that they were made aware of the admiredSalutati. Here Landino gives Salutati’s book onHercules in a nutshell, obviating the difficultythat its full text existed in few copies. He alsogives a clue to how Salutati’s thought could sur-vive through intermediate generations. He doesthis by labeling him “teacher of LeonardoBruni.” It would seem that Salutati needed to beidentified, but not Bruni. Bruni had, to be sure,fully realized the permeation of Florentine publiclife by humanism that Landino then continued toembody.

The figurative monochromes of the wainscotthus refer to a Florentine background of human-ism with a theological sense. That same localbackground was seen to be the model for theportraits of poets there; Claudian, Dante, andSalutati had been repeatedly portrayed in Flo-rence in civic contexts. The same humanistbackground also set up Salutati’s interest indescents into hell by classical poets, recalled byLandino. The latter’s world was that of Lorenzo“the Magnificent,” with Bertoldo beside himand a role for Signorelli. Everything in the wain-scot, including its artist, seems to relate to thesame background there. What it does not tell ishow the only full realization of this strain ofRenaissance expression turned up in the OrvietoCathedral of all places, under a Last Judgment.

Several recent inquiries have offered names ofpeople in Orvieto that might explain this. Thatof Bishop della Rovere seems to have no basis atall, and to depend on the presumption that abishop might control things. That of ArchdeaconAlberi is only a little more likely. Alberi wasacquainted with humanists in Rome (thoughthere is no basis for the statement that he was ahumanist too), and he commissioned a modestfresco cycle in the cathedral from the workshopof Signorelli, to adorn the library he donated.But other evidence is lacking. Alberi was not aperson of ideas, wealth, or status, as far as can beseen.85

Another text, never brought forward, may bemore promising. In 1494 the city fathers of Orvi-eto sent an invitation to the Roman humanistPomponius Laetus to come to the city to lec-ture.86 This invitation brings to mind the invita-tions by committees earlier to famous painters,though here there is nothing to show what Laetuswould do. Laetus (who evidently did not come,and died the next year) was certainly the mostfamous humanist teacher in Rome. An archaeolo-gist and an editor, he seems to have been a mes-merizing lecturer to the young. Older scholarshipcited him most often regarding his love of paganrites. His revival of these led Pope Paul II to arresthim for heresy. More recently the emphasis hasreasonably changed to his scholarship.

Someone with power in Orvieto wanted him,and soon afterward someone wanted poets andpoetry, mostly classical, painted in OrvietoCathedral, an equally unusual event. A connec-tion between these two analogous circumstances,each exceptional, would seem plausible. Fortu-nately, it is possible to name one person whoboth had power in Orvieto and especiallyadmired Laetus, an unlikely combination. All listsof Laetus’s distinguished pupils include Alessan-dro Farnese, the future Pope Paul III, whom wehave met as the only Orvietan among the cardi-nals of the Borgia group. Farnese visited with the

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pope in 1493, and his teacher Laetus was invitedin 1494. The unlikelihood of the invitation with-out a special stimulus lends weight to the sugges-tion that Farnese urged the approach to histeacher.

Farnese did not start out to become a church-man. His parents (as his first biographer reports)sent him in 1487, at age nineteen, to Laetus’sclass.87 Then he went to study Greek in Florence,where the reigning authority was Poliziano,Lorenzo the Magnificent’s court poet, the onewho coached Michelangelo about the myth ofthe centaurs. Already in 1484 Poliziano had askedFarnese to forward a message to Laetus.88 Apacket of Farnese’s letters of 1487–89, our chiefsource about him in those years, includes one toLaetus.89 Then in 1489 his Greek teacher askedhim to be godfather to his son.90 In Florence hehad social status ranking with the Medici. BothLorenzo and a sister of Farnese had married intothe noble Orsini family of Rome, as Lorenzo’seldest son did also. So it is no surprise to findLorenzo writing in 1489 to his ambassador inRome to recommend Farnese for a job in thepapal administration, not an ecclesiastical postbut a diplomatic one. Lorenzo writes that Far-nese’s Greek and Latin studies make him doctis-simus, and that he is to be admired both for hisown attributes and for being from the right fam-ily.91 In other letters, Farnese discussed points ofLatin philology with Lorenzo’s son Giovanni, hisfellow student and the future Pope Leo X. Stillother letters of his praise Annius of Viterbo, whois today recalled for classical fakes, and PaoloCortesi. The latter is best known today for hislater book about the proper arrangements forcardinals. At this earlier time, in 1489, Cortesiwrote a dialogue on learned men in which henamed Farnese as one of the interlocutors, and heplaced the scene in the Farnese family castle onLake Bolsena.92 It is necessary to underline theconcerns of the young Farnese, combiningGreek and Latin studies with social rank, since he

is not easy to recognize in the later Pope Paul IIIof the Council of Trent.

Not only did Farnese at this time uniquelycombine admiration for Laetus, the status to getsomeone invited to Orvieto, and an officialappointment in the cathedral where the wainscotwould shortly be painted. He is also the one per-son to emerge who could connect the Orvietansand Signorelli. When Signorelli was invited, hewas chosen almost immediately, with little realbasis for being called famous. One other portionof his recent career was a high point, however. Atthe court of Lorenzo de Medici about 1490,Lorenzo had two paintings of Signorelli’s, theextraordinary classical Court of Pan and aMadonna. The latter includes in a backgroundscene a very original classical group of musicalshepherds. These evidently refer to Virgil’s shep-herd songs, or eclogues, which were believed tohave prophesized Christ in pagan literary context.

These paintings are undated, and the earliestinformation on them is Vasari’s report that Sig-norelli gave them to Lorenzo.93 This must havebeen a “gift” to a superior according to the feu-dal formula, obligating a reciprocal gift if therecipient is pleased. No doubt Lorenzo was.There is no otherwise recorded contact betweenSignorelli and Florence until after Lorenzo’sdeath in 1492. Signorelli separately had enoughstatus in his home town of Cortona to be namedto the city council on many occasions, and it hasbeen suggested that this status derived from hisknown contacts with the Medici and with Flo-rence, which controlled Cortona.94 This viewgains an unnoted support from an earlier writer’ssuggestion that the occasion of Signorelli’s offer-ing Lorenzo the two paintings may have beenthe latter’s three-day visit to Cortona in 1488, anextraordinary event for the town.95 They havecommonly been dated to 1488–90 on account oftheir style, as well as with reference to the date ofLorenzo’s death.96 Yet it seems implausible thatSignorelli would have been prepared at that

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moment with two paintings so distinct from hisother work. A revised version of this scenariomight be that, at the moment of the visit,Lorenzo saw work of the town’s leading artist—in itself a likely event—and invited him to hiscourt in Florence, with the hope of commissions.On arrival, Signorelli would paint these uniquelyMedicean works, very likely with hints fromsomeone like Poliziano. In this case, the paint-ings would have been done about 1489, justwhen Farnese was also at the court. The youngscholar of Greek could not overlook the Pan(Fig. 67), the single best token of humanism in

painting in this generation by any artist.97 Alongwith Poliziano, the other young star of the groupof Florentine philosophers was Pico della Riran-dola. If confirmation is available for the sugges-tion (see note 22) that his esoteric interestsincluded the apocryphal book of Enoch, other-wise not known to have been read at this time,there would be an explanation there for thesource in Enoch of the four Orvieto archangels,and an additional link between the Orvieto proj-ect and Neoplatonic Florence.

In 1498 the Orvietans finally gave up theirhope that Perugino would paint their chapel. We

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. Court of Pan. Formerly Berlin, Kaiser Friedrich Museum


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have seen them in 1499 replacing him with Sig-norelli, with rare speed of decision. In their newneed for a painter who could be labeled famous,a recommendation by the powerful Farnesewould unquestionably have been weighty. Inturn, a memory of the Pan by Farnese wouldsurely have sufficed to make him promote itsartist as a candidate in the crisis. It would nothurt that the Pan evoked just that humanisticimagery that was congruent with Farnese’s ownpleasure. In this scenario a second powerful nameshould be mentioned, that of Cardinal Grimani,whose connections both with connoisseurshipand with the Borgia group in control of Orvietohave been observed. It would be logical to seehim seconding a proposal by Farnese.

This reconstruction also offers an explanationfor another factor that has so far escaped explana-tion—that is, why Signorelli quickly dropped his big project at Monte Oliveto near Siena, with only the small inducement of the vaults inOrvieto. That would happen naturally if themonks at Monte Oliveto felt pressure fromchurch powers to release him, and separately ifSignorelli felt he could count on getting the fullcommission in Orvieto. Cardinal Farnese wasone of the few people who could have managedboth arrangements. The later years of Farnesehave left one or two quite odd traces of his stillremembering Signorelli.98

Once Signorelli went to work at Orvieto, thenovel wainscot imagery emerged quite soon.99

What was novel was not so much the representa-tion of the classical stories depicted, which werenot unusual at the time, but rather the linkbetween them and the Purgatorio.100 In thehumanistic Florentine context of Landino, theyappear together. Farnese emerges as a candidate,with no apparent disadvantages, to have been theperson behind this project, at least behind thegeneral idea of such an unusual combination. Heis also the only visible candidate for identification

as the person who worked out the details, beingthe only known practiced student of classicalphilology in Orvieto. Is this a reasonable specula-tion? The report that the young cardinal was notwealthy up to 1502 might suggest that he was notvery busy either.101 At least any vigorous negationof this idea might serve to stimulate a search foranother.

The frescoes of the chapel’s inner bay, whichare the theme of this chapter, fall into two dissim-ilar groups. The first one, on the vault and thelarge wall areas, shows the Last Judgment in ascheme then standard, while the second, on thewainscot, shows an unprecedented set of literaryportraits and scenes from epic poems. The chap-ter, devoted like the rest of this book to recon-structing for the first time the cycle’s stages ofproduction, correspondingly has two differingparts, and both have required novel emphases. Inthe relatively simple case of the wainscot, theproblem was to determine the unifying reason forthe choices of the numerous scenes, a matter thathad not been addressed. The answer seems toemerge in Salutati’s idea that we learn about theunderworld from the poets. That led to anotherquestion: how it was possible to place this subjectin a church? Here the answer emerged in the fig-ure of Farnese, a trained humanist who was also alocally influential prelate.

In the more complex case of the vault and thewall scenes, the equally novel focus was on Sig-norelli’s use of Angelico’s older arrangements.After this has been explored, a different problemseems to be generated, in the context of thesetwo artists’ almost polar unlikeness in style—Angelico being famous for gentle piety, Sig-norelli for tough physicality. This issue is asubjective one, because readings of style varygreatly, so that only tentative thoughts on thequestion can be offered in concluding this chap-ter. In one view, it might be maintained that theRenaissance was capable of disregarding individ-

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ual styles when handling a theme with a strongtradition of presentation. One might argue thatMichelangelo’s Last Judgment shows somethingof this kind. Alternatively, once the question hascome to the surface, one might decide that thetwo artists’ styles are not so unlike after all, evenapart from their common adherence to basicRenaissance criteria of realism. When we see aprecedent for Signorelli’s scene of the damned inAngelico’s scene of hell, and conversely how thegraceful dance in Angelico’s heaven is easy to

associate with the relaxed procession of the savedby Signorelli, we might deduce that the twomasters have more in common than had beensupposed. Such a view might also be in a contextof pointing out the period’s great concern fordramatic exposition of events, to which theartists adjust their styles, much like skilled actorsmoving from one role to another. The findingsof this chapter thus bequeath meaningful prob-lems to future observers who may work with dif-ferent factors of the imagery.

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The Imagery of the Outer Bay

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n 1499 the Orvieto Cathedral committee incharge of construction had been able to pro-vide their new artist, Signorelli, with a good

deal of guidance for the inner bay, based mainlyon what Angelico had left behind. Angelico’stwo triangles on the vault (which have alwaysbeen conspicuous to viewers and scholars) werethe glaring token of a work barely begun, and hisgavantone offered a schema for a Last Judgmentthat made sense, being partly traditional andpartly novel. The novelties introduced were aresponse in part to the special condition of thewalls and in part to quite other forces, includingthe artist’s own notions.

The outer bay was not provided for at all.That is explicit in the document of 1499 whenSignorelli asks to be told what is wanted for thatbay and the response is that he should continuewith the Last Judgment. This seems reasonable tous, from the result. But there was no precedentfor what might be presented there, beyond theone scene of the Raising of the Dead. The innerbay already showed a complete set of the otherstandard imagery, but this one required compo-nent by not being included there quite probablyled to the more general decision to continuewith the Last Judgment imagery in this wholeouter area. Murals of Last Judgments normallyshared their rooms with other themes, as in thecase of Giotto, and it is likely that Angelicoassumed that the program here would be of thatkind, showing the Last Judgment only in the

inner bay. But that was now contraindicated.Even though the conversation of 1499 appliedonly to the vault, it would tend to affect thewhole.

The second contract, dated April 27, 1500,provided for Signorelli to “cover with figures”(storiare) all the available surfaces of vaults andwalls, as well as window embrasures and one ofthe two small chapels. He is to follow “the draw-ing given by the master, though also with morefigures as he will think best, though not withfewer than he has given in the drawing.”1 Thethemes had thus been established, but not thecompositions, at least not in a way prohibitingrevisions. The artist could play with these, specif-ically by adding figures; here one is allowed tothink the committee felt the pride in Signorelli’sdrawing that has been the pleasure of observersfrom Vasari to the present.

An additional clause establishes that the artist isalso to cover the entrance wall with stories,“according as we will give him or will be inagreement with him.” For this area there was nospecific theme yet, which means there was nooverarching plan for the entire work. Those con-cerned were quite ready to continue in stages, toallow painting of some stories to start without set-tling on the last ones. This is contrary to usualpostulates about how Renaissance mural projectswere planned, postulates that are based on less fullevidence. To be sure, it was not normal to call forextensions of a theme that was already complete,


or nearly so, in traditional terms. The rare andunique scenes on the walls of the outer bay, to beexplored shortly, have a brilliance and boldness inrelating design to theme that have received specialattention in each case and been recognized by all,but the fact that the design plan actually devel-oped in stages over a period of time has generallybeen overlooked; instead, viewers have tended tosee the chapel decoration as a whole as a singlestatement, designed all at once.

The outer vault, the first subunit the commit-tee looked at, usually gets little attention, exceptto link it with the inner vault, which is not inerror. The outer vault’s frames had even beenpainted by Angelico’s assistant Master Pietro. Itslarger figures of saints are easily extrapolated fromthe ones shown in earlier Last Judgments, as wellas from familiar church texts, as already discussed.No similar easy extension prepares us for the bigwall scenes, other than the Raising of the Dead.The scene with the raising of the dead alsoappears to have had a special Orvietan interest

connected with the old fight against heresy,which will be investigated below.

The outer bay’s three walls show four scenes,the two large ones on the side walls, the Raisingof the Dead and Antichrist, opposite each other(Figs. 27, “B,” and 26, “A”), and two small sceneson the entrance wall (Fig. 68), on either side ofthe entrance opening. Unlike the inner bay, butlike most Renaissance murals, these are narrativescenes that have a before-and-after relationshipto each other. But the chronology does not havea smooth relationship to the locations on thewalls. The Raising of the Dead is evidently thelatest event, immediately preceding the Judg-ment itself. Guidebooks and the scholarship dulyencourage the viewer to reach this scene last ofthe four in moving around the chapel, thus plac-ing the Fire from Heaven next to last, since it isadjacent to the Raising of the Dead scene, aroundthe corner on the entrance wall. That in turn ispreceded, in these books, by the other smallscene on the entrance wall, the Five Signs. Pre-ceding the Five Signs, we are asked to work backby turning the other corner to the side wallopposite the Raising of the Dead, to find theAntichrist story, the earliest incident of the narra-tive; indeed, all the books start there. However,the texts utilized by the artist begin with the FiveSigns. From that event, then, we should move tothe Antichrist, then reverse course and jumpover the Signs to the Fire scene, to reach theFlesh scene last. Even specialized inquiries aboutnarrative processes of this period, surely over-whelmed by the visual assurance of the paintings,seem to fail to notice this.

A possible explanation for the discrepancy—time sequence misaligned with space sequence—might cite the good analogy of the Sistineceiling, where essentially the same thing occurs.The space sequence in that case interchanges thetimes of two events, it is usually agreed, becausethe surface areas are of different sizes and one

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. Scheme of entrance wall (after Vischer)


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event required more figures. This need wasaccommodated at the expense of the sequence. Ifthat happened in Orvieto, where indeed the twointerchanged scenes occupy areas of very differ-ent sizes, the solution would be simple. Yet theopposite seems to be true. The small area giventhe Five Signs is crowded, and the figures aregiven reduced scale. Conversely, the Antichristscene is spread out and includes many secondaryincidents.

A more plausible explanation for the inter-change at Orvieto connects it with the knownfact that the decision about the themes came intwo stages and that there were drawings for thetwo big side wall scenes, only, at the time of thecontract. In this hypothesis, the subjects of thetwo scenes on the side walls, the Antichrist andthe Raising of the Dead, were already settled atthe time of the contract as we see them, andincluded in the drawings. When the decision waslater made about the entrance wall, the motifschosen turned out to include one episode earlierand one later than the account of Antichrist, but,in this view, that was not regarded as a problem.The tolerance for such shifts exemplified in theslightly later Sistine program, of 1508, as men-tioned, would fit such a reading.

To be sure, this view requires the presumptionthat the two side-wall scenes we now see are thesame as those originally assigned to those spaces.It does not leave room for the possibility that theset of four was more actively reworked when theentrance scenes were decided. It could havebeen, if the painting on the side walls were nottoo far along, but the very fact that we now havethe irregular sequence makes it highly unlikelythat the arrangement was revised, so that againreturns us to the original hypothesis.

Attention to this matter seems warranted notonly because it adds to our ability to reconstructevents but also because it addresses the wayscholars, as noted in the introduction, move for-

ward from the Raising of the Dead to treat eventhe inner bay units as a narrative series, endingwith the Blessed at Josaphat.

The document of 1499 contains another clausethat has drawn much attention. In making themotion to continue with themes of the Judg-ment, which passed unanimously, the committeemember supported his case by remarking that thiswould be according to (prout) what had been pre-viously (alias) advised orally (oretenus) by thetown’s esteemed theologians (venerabiles magistrossacre pagine huius civitatis).2 Writers in English oftengive a literal translation of the words magistri sacrepagine as “masters of the sacred page,” but otherscite the original phrase. This indicates that it hasnot been well understood and makes it sound sig-nificant. “Sacred page” is simply the Bible, givena name with a bit of extra flourish,3 and its “mas-ters” are all those with educational qualificationsto use the Bible. Such qualifications are wide-spread. Thus, in a fourteenth-century biography asaint is described as triumphing in debate over214 “magistros de sacra pagina.”4 A recent spe-cialist writes that we know that Signorellireceived advice from these masters, which is notthe case; only the committee received it. Anotherfinds that the advice would be what guided theiconographic choice. Yet the advice, so far as weknow, is indicated only as a choice of the generaltheme, the Last Judgment, as against somethingelse. The masters all opted for this choice, speak-ing to the committee, which had the final say andvoted in favor. One might reconstruct a meetingin which a group of “masters” offered this as agroup decision, but a more plausible reconstruc-tion might be that committee members, onceagain faced with such an issue, asked questions ofvarious such persons. There is nothing that con-nects them with the chapel at any point after thecommittee vote. Writers who have emphasizedthis text have passed over the limitations signaledin the terms alias, previously, and oretenus, orally.

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The latter evokes the reverse of any detailed plan,suggesting instead the generality that the commit-tee reports.

Less attention has been paid to another line inthe record, one that offers a stronger basis forlocating the source of decisions about the detailsin the paintings. It is in the contract, which spec-ifies that the work will be done either “accordingas we will give it to him or will come to anagreement with him.”5 Thus, not only is there anopportunity for the artist to make a contribution,but the decision remains open as to whether it,or the other option giving the committee all thepower, will prevail. It brings to mind the deci-

sion to consult Fra Angelico, which seemed sounusual, and it also gives the artist the freedom toadd figures if he so desires.

The first theme chosen was certainly the Rais-ing of the Dead, the only one absent from theinner bay though required by tradition. Thisscene (Fig. 69) has received less attention thanthe nearby Damned and Antichrist scenes, per-haps because of its relatively lower level of phys-ical energy. It does, however, show manyinnovations in the treatment of the theme, whichare surely connected to the uniquely large area towhich it has been assigned and probably also tothe artist’s option of adding figures. Among the

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. Raising of the Dead (cf. Fig. 27, “”)


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innovations are two symmetrical groups of threefigures each at center left and center right. Thefigures are embracing and are readily perceived asold friends from life on earth now reunited.Nothing like this seems to have been included inearlier images of the Raising of the Dead episodeof a Last Judgment. It is astonishing that no notehas been taken of this novelty in Signorelli. Theinspiration obviously comes from the Blessedscene (Fig. 42), the one most like the scene of theRaising of the Dead in every respect with regardto composition and extent of action. It has beennoted that the greeting of friends in the Blessedscene—there too a novelty with respect to meet-ings of couples, such as husband and wife—had abasis in theological writing.6 Here it may be star-tling that the greeting is extended to this earliermoment before the saved and the damned havebeen sorted. None of Signorelli’s damned greeteach other. Are we perhaps meant to take it thatamong those being resurrected here, it is thosewho will be saved who are meeting, and the restare to be damned? In any case, the image wasbeing addressed with some thought.

It is not only an added motif that is novel inSignorelli’s Raising of the Dead. The absence ofa standard element, the tombs, is also novel. Thedead rise instead from bare earth, apparently forthe first time in any monumental Italian LastJudgment. Tombs were conspicuous in suchobvious earlier models as the sculptures on theOrvieto Cathedral façade (Figs. 33 and 70) andin all of Angelico’s versions. The variant withbare earth is, however, quite compatible withtheology,7 and before Signorelli there is onemajor visual context where it is common: in thefifteenth-century painting in Flanders and adja-cent regions. Jan van Eyck, Rogier van der Wey-den, Memling, and Stefan Lochner all show it, asdo others. The earliest such image I have seen isin the Limbourg brothers’ famous Très RichesHeures (1415) of the Duke of Berri (Fig. 71). This

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. Raising of the Dead, Orvieto Cathedral façade,bottom section (detail of Fig. 33)

. Limbourg Brothers, Raising of the Dead, in TrèsRiches Heures. Chantilly, Musée Condé


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miniature also anticipates Signorelli in showingthe Raising of the Dead as a scene separate fromthe Last Judgment, a true rarity that I havelocated otherwise only in two image sets fromseveral centuries earlier.8 The Last Judgment ispresented in a standard way in a preceding unit.9

If Signorelli saw a work of this type, it wouldsurely have attracted him, in offering a solutionto his problem of giving the Raising of the Deadits own locus.

That he did see a solution is further supportedin that the miniature and his fresco have othersimilarities. The miniature shows just two bodiesin the process of emerging from the earth, inaddition to a partial third in the background.One of the two, in right profile, helps himself upby leaning on his right elbow while raising andbending his left leg. The other gazes upwardwhile supporting himself on the ground with onehand, with his opposite leg bent, while his wholebody leans toward the supporting hand. All thesedetails recur in a grouped pair among Signorelli’smost prominent figures. The second of the twoposes has interested scholars of the Limbourgbrothers because it recurs in another scene of theTrès Riches Heures, where the figure is Adam,and in an earlier work of theirs of 1402, with thesame identity, and because it is the best evidencein their work of any interest in classical antiquity.Moreover, in 1412, another Franco-Flemish LastJudgment shows it, in the chief illustration of abreviary.10 This last instance is of still more inter-est here. Beneath the Last Judgment and ten linesof text, a separate scene in the lower margin, abas de page, presents hell, to which damned soulsdescend, in two-thirds of its breadth, and in theleft third presents purgatory, from which onesoul rises. Perhaps the rising soul signals purga-tory being closed down. Last Judgments ofcourse never show purgatory, because its roleends when the world does, and therefore thisdepiction of purgatory has been called a unique

exception. In any case, these motifs in the lowermargin are the closest analogy to Signorelli’swainscots, with figurative purgatory and hellunder a Last Judgment. A hypothesis that the res-urrection from bare earth was inaugurated in theTrès Riches Heures (or reinvented after much ear-lier such images had been forgotten) may be sup-ported in that the related 1412 scene showstombs, if very modest ones; they might, then, beviewed as a transitional form.

Signorelli’s damned being pulled by ropes alsohad a unique precedent, as discussed above, inthe Très Riches Heures, which also involved themost prominent foreground figures on theirpage. The history of the manuscript’s ownership,however, excludes any chance that Signorelli hadseen it. Still, the varied and close analogies mightlead one to wonder whether he saw a close copyof the manuscript, which might well haveexisted.11 This context returns us to Cardinal Grimani, both a visitor to Orvieto and a majorcollector of Flemish painting, especially manu-scripts. One could reasonably speculate that Grimani and his good colleague the Orvietancardinal Farnese talked about the largest problemof the fresco cycle—where to locate the Raisingof the Dead scene—and that Grimani might haveoffered a solution by showing the artist a manu-script he owned.

The literature seems not to have explored anyconnections with northern painting in Orvieto,or another major invention in the Raising of theDead scene: the skeletons. The skeletons seemtotally unprecedented. They appear in twogroups here, one at the right front where severalclamber up from the earth, and one farther backat the far right, where a group seems to be enter-ing the stage space. The groups have in commonthat they are just arriving, and this associatesthem with an initial moment of the Raising ofthe Dead, which is consistent with the texts to bementioned shortly. The presence of the skeletons

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has been noted only in brief descriptions, perhapsbecause it is assumed that the artist’s passion foranatomy explains them adequately, or simplybecause there is less interest in this milder scene.Yet these figures have a larger role than any ofSignorelli’s other novelties here. Bynum has sur-veyed imagery of the raising of the dead over thecenturies and says these are the earliest skeletonsto appear.12 She cites only two other cases. One isan engraving of 1554 that includes a long textquoting Ezekiel 37:6, the famous prophecy thatthe dry bones will be brought back to life andgain sinews and flesh. Bynum does not cite theskeletons in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment,whose most involved patron, Pope Paul III, hadbeen Cardinal Farnese. Michelangelo’s motifs ofCharon and Minos in this scene are regularlyassigned to his awareness of Signorelli, but thatprecedent is less often observed with regard tothe skeletons. In 1553 Michelangelo’s biographerCondivi took note of these dead, who “accord-ing to the prophecy of Ezekiel, have only theirbones”13 (a source citation is unusual for him).The reoccurrence of the Ezekiel verse in theengraving of 1554 suggests that the artist believedthe motif needed such support. At the same timeit suggests that the source is sufficient, and theo-logical exposition is not involved. This passage inEzekiel has always been one of the principal textsfor the Last Judgment, so the earlier absence ofskeletons is perhaps surprising.

The numerous rare motifs in this Raising ofthe Dead distinguish this scene from the seg-ments of the inner bay, where standard patternsprevail, even if with some rather less emphaticnovelties. This difference from the previous pre-sentations reinforces the basic novelty of givingthe scene such importance. A stimulus for thatmight be the adjacent imagery just below, in thelittle chapel with the bodies of the saints (Fig. 27,“M”). Signorelli’s contract called for painting thatchapel, yet not the matching little chapel on the

opposite wall (Fig. 26, under “A”). The latterclearly was not part of the Judgment complex.The scene under the Raising of the Dead also hasa separate devotional context, and yet it seemsconnected with the larger theme and its con-cerns. The little chapel was owned by the cathe-dral and thus under the committee’s jurisdiction,while the one opposite was sold, at least later.

When painted by Master Pietro in 1468, thislittle niche chapel containing the bodies ofParenzo and Faustino became the one part of the chapel covered with painting, apart fromAngelico’s vault triangles The holy relics ithoused made it a destination for worshipers andno doubt brought alms. Master Pietro’s frescoChrist in the Mode of the Pietà has an inscriptioncalling Parenzo and Faustino those “for whoseinterceding merits God chose this city.” Becausethese saints became the town’s patrons, theywere of concern to the committee, which in thesame year, 1468, had a wooden casket made forthe bodies.14 The contract of 1500 required Sig-norelli to repaint the chapel, and he too showsFaustino and Parenzo flanking the dead Christ,but the latter is now more naturalistically lyingon the ground in front of the tomb rather thanupright inside it (Fig. 72). In a rare procedure,possibly connected with the ongoing waterproblems, a new party wall was constructed infront of the old fresco, leaving air between. Thisallowed the older fresco to survive, and berecently rediscovered. It is not clear why a newfresco was required. The idea that the old onewas too damaged to be salvaged is not convinc-ing, because the Christ survives in full andretouching in such cases is found elsewhere inthe cathedral. A desire to make the chapel lookhomogeneous would match some expressions ofthe period, even if Angelico’s work was plainlyexempt. In the event, unity of style overcomes apartial shift of program and recalls a frequent,perhaps rash, assumption in writings on the

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chapel that unity of meaning can be assumedthroughout, with little other basis than unity ofstyle. It may be that the water problem was thewhole reason for this arrangement.

Signorelli’s design of the recumbent Christand two mourning women is identical, in mirrorimage, to one he did for an altarpiece in Cor-tona, finished in February 1502.15 The generalagreement that the altarpiece is the earlier versionseems reasonable. What is not generally observedis that the subject matter is changed. The altar-piece (Fig. 73) has the standard theme of themourning at the foot of the cross, and there aresmall background scenes showing previous andlater moments: the Crucifixion and the Resur-rection. Here in the fresco the figure of Christ isrecumbent in front of the tomb, an uncanonicaland apparently unique arrangement. The onesmall background scene, represented as a mono-chrome relief sculpture on the tomb, shows the

preceding moment of carrying Christ to thetomb, which is consistently followed, in Passionimagery, by his being lowered into the tomb.Signorelli’s modification here, from his standarddesign in the altarpiece, addresses the difficulty ofthe low, wide rectangle with a grace that hasallowed it to be overlooked. He is also able tokeep close to the motif of the superseded frescoin making the body and the tomb the two foci.

The two saints also recur, but now in fulllength. They also get increased emphasis by theadding of little scenes of their martyrdoms, onthe principle of a predella. Following the legendsrecorded in the Orvieto service book, Faustino isshown thrown from a bridge into the riverTiber, and Parenzo is killed by an Orvietanheretic with a hammer blow (Figs. 74 and 75).The two roundels, like all the others on thewainscot level, are in monochrome and nicelyuse the side walls of the niche. Again the design

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. Pietà with Saints Faustino and Pietro Parenzo (cf. Fig. 27 in arch marked “”)


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. Pietà, altarpiece, Cortona, Museo Diocesano

unity is retained during the extension of the the-matic material.

Most Italian cities have local saints, whoserelics they often venerate, as here. Most are earlybishops, like San Brizio, but some are martyrs.

Faustino was martyred in Rome, and there is noindication of how his body got to Orvieto. As amuch more recent martyr, Parenzo is unusual, asevidenced by the unusually detailed account ofhim in the local book.16 If we may judge from a


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procession that accompanied the provision of thenew casket in 1468, his cult was growing in thelate fifteenth century.17

In Signorelli’s fresco, as in the earlier one, thetwo honored saints have only a secondary role,flanking the Christ. It is normal for such saints toyield in this way in altarpieces, but almost alwaysit is the Virgin Mary to whom they yield. Therare choice of the dead Christ certainly points tothe special importance here of the Feast of Cor-pus Christi, in the chapel opposite and in thetown generally. The attention to the body ofChrist here certainly relates to the awareness thatParenzo was martyred by the heretics whodenied the incarnation of Christ. Parenzo’s mis-sion from the pope to suppress the heretics ofOrvieto was recorded earlier. That this concernshould remain alive centuries after theManicheans had faded away is remarkable, yet itdid, as Raphael’s fresco of the Miracle of Bolsenaclearly shows (Fig. 76).

Raphael’s fresco, ordered by Pope Julius II(1509–12), is one of a set of four filling the wallsof a reception room in the Vatican. The otherthree show Saint Peter, the first pope, freed fromprison by an angel, the invader Heliodorusexpelled from the Temple in Jerusalem, andAttila’s invasion of Rome repulsed. All three haveanalogous casts of characters: each time evil mili-tary personnel (including Peter’s prison guards)have attacked the pope, or his Old Testamentanalogue, the high priest in the temple ofJerusalem, but are then defeated by angels or air-borne saints. These persons, presenting onerecurrent theme, account for all those in all threefrescoes who have identities with names, withthe notable exception of the figure of Julius II aswitness in the Heliodorus scene. However, theBolsena scene does not match. Its presencerequires anyone who wants to assign a singlelabel to the four frescoes to use generic terms,like divine aid to the church. Why is this scene

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. Martyrdom of Saint Faustino (cf. Fig. 27, on leftwall in arch marked “”)

. Martyrdom of Saint Pietro Parenzo (cf. Fig. 27,on right wall in arch marked “”)



included here? To be sure, the Bolsena scenedoes show both soldiers and a priest at an altar,like the high priest of Jerusalem. But their moralstanding is the opposite of the other three: thepriest is evil, in his doubt about the truth of theMass, and soldiers are good, supporting the pope.(The soldiers in the scene are usually consideredmerely decorative accessories.) The scene alsofeatures a prayerful, observing pope, similar tothe one in the Heliodorus scene. In this way, theBolsena scene is complementary to the otherthree, focusing not on the alarming attack and itssupernatural defeat but on the happy resolutionof a threat by bad clergy. The church establish-ment and its troops handle it. This formulation,

which seems not to have been addressed, calls forfurther inquiry. So far, it indicates the special roleof the Bolsena scene and its reference. A divinemiracle had defeated the heresy about the Bodyand Blood. It is always noted that Pope Julius vis-ited Orvieto in 1506 and paid homage to thecloth “flecked with the blood of Christ,” just asRaphael shows it.18

The Manicheans, as the Orthodox named theseheretics (or Cathari, in their own terms) had fallenfrom their peak two hundred years before 1500,but why their views still troubled the orthodox isless puzzling if one focuses on variant names rang-ing from “Manichean,” the generic term for“dualist” over a thousand years, to “Waldensian,”

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. Raphael, Mass of Bolsena, fresco. Vatican, Stanza d’Eliodoro


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the name of one of the surviving sects that sharedsome if not all their views. In 1367 the inquisitionstill condemned a “Cathar” in Piedmont who wasin contact with a group in Bosnia and in 1412 hadburned the remains of a man who had traveledthere to adopt the “faith of the heretics.” In the1440s Pope Nicholas V accused the royal court ofBosnia of being Manichean, and in 1462 threeBosnian nobles were sent to Rome to renouncetheir “Manichean errors.” They had to abjure theprinciple of two gods, supremely good and evil.19

Pope Pius II, whose visit to Orvieto has beennoted, wrote a geography of Europe around 1460in which he described the Bosnian heretics asManichean dualists. In 1487 Pope Innocent VIIIissued a bull to suppress the Waldensians. In 1512in Paris, Alfonso Rizzi, a Dominican from Napleswho was the royal confessor, published a bookcalled Eruditiones to refute the Waldensian denialof the existence of purgatory. It is thus less surpris-ing that in Orvieto the tradition of this argumentwas still alive in 1700, when in the earliest descrip-tion of Signorelli’s frescoes the killers of Parenzowere described as “Manichean.”20

If the Miracle of Bolsena had refutedManichean views on Christ’s bodily existence,the orthodox doctrine of the Last Judgmentrefuted the same heretics’ denial of the resurrec-tion of the dead. Any image of that resurrectionin a Last Judgment would assert that refutation,but Signorelli’s introduction of the skeletonsdoes so more emphatically. After the skeletonsappear entering the scene, other dead, who havetaken on flesh, are shown, as in Ezekiel. Sig-norelli had to paint this scene on one of fouravailable surfaces on the walls of the outer bay,and it seems not a coincidence that he chose thebay just above Parenzo’s tomb.

The question should be raised whether otheraspects of the chapel’s imagery refer to the refuta-tion of the Manicheans. They rejected the idea ofpurgatory, which here makes an almost unique

appearance in a Last Judgment. However, thelimitation in the chapel to the preface to Purga-tory, at least with respect to literal images, makessuch a correlation doubtful. To be sure, any LastJudgment is, as such, in opposition to theirheresy. Yet this one in general relates closelyenough to standard Judgments far from Orvietothat the idea of such an intention has little sup-port. Perhaps it was present without needing tooffer extra insistence.

A somewhat stronger case may be made thatsuch refutation of heresy was a factor using thetomb of Pope Paul II. The Last Judgment in itstop section was mentioned earlier as the first on atomb and as the most ambitious representation ofthe theme in the generation just preceding Sig-norelli (Fig. 34). Signorelli certainly knew thework, which had recently been conspicuouslyinstalled in Saint Peter’s in Rome. The upper partis standard, but the separation of the sheep andgoats, below, has some unusual details. It is prob-ably not surprising that the pope is among theblessed, far at the side, kneeling in the donorpose. The damned are pulled toward hellfire by adevil with a rope; the devil shows three faces,perhaps to be identified as Dante’s three Furies atthe gate of Dis. Three damned souls are shownindividually. One is a woman, who is perhaps atoken of the lustful, as at Orvieto. The mostemphasized, a man in the foreground, has asword and a book, unique attributes for adamned soul and most famous as the attributes ofSaint Paul, who is here seen holding them in theupper area of the sculpture near Christ. Thisdamned soul is in a position symmetrical withthat of Pope Paul, so that he seems to beintended as a kind of counter-Paul. The onlydamned souls who normally hold books areheretics, or other falsifiers of the word,21 and thatreference seems certain here from the inscriptionon the tomb. It praises the pope, among otherthings, for repressing heretics,22 which is surpris-

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ing because heretics were rare at the time. That aheretic should also have a sword could be sup-ported by citing Dante, who describes the arch-heretics Arius and Sabellius as “like swords to thescriptures” (Paradiso 13.127). The tomb inscrip-tion does not specify what heretics Paul repressed“with arms.” It is unlikely that it refers to hisimprisonment of Pomponius Laetus, the human-ist, but it might refer to his campaign against theking of Bohemia. In any case, the tomb providesthe Orvieto project with a model for infusingheresy into a Last Judgment image.23

Apart from the scene of the Raising of theDead, Signorelli found a simple way to meet thepatrons’ requirement that he cover the outer baywalls with themes “not outside the matter of theJudgment.” A base was readily available in writ-ings of the time for extending the theme torelated topics. Obviously, such additional “mat-ter” would precede the Judgment, since nothingat all is simultaneous or later. Among textsaddressing this theme, one may first cite a pam-phlet printed about 1496 in Italy in at least twoeditions. Its title, very long as is common for theera, advertises: “These are the authorities of theholy doctors of the advent of Christ in the Judg-ment, with the horrible preamble and evil of thismost evil man Antichrist.” In fact, the pamphletis mainly about the life of the Antichrist, which ispresented in twenty-two woodcuts, followed byonly one of the Last Judgment.24 As a result, thepamphlet is usually cited in the abbreviated form“Antichrist,” although this has led to some lessdesirable inferences. All the more remarkable isthat the pamphlet’s title actually describes itscontents as being about the Judgment, with theportion about Antichrist being only its “horriblepreamble.” Perhaps there was a desire to validatethe portion of the text that actually was aboutwhat preceded the Judgment.

The same topic, about the Antichrist as prefaceto the Judgment, appears in religious drama of

the period. Some half-dozen manuscripts of suchplays survive. The only Italian one, from Perugia,believed to have been written about 1320–30 butapparently performed later as well, is also com-monly called “the Antichrist play.” However, inthis case the emphasis is reversed. Antichrist onlygets the introductory lines 1–96, and the remain-der, in lines 97–432, actually does describe theLast Judgment.25 The portion titled “Antichrist,”here indeed only a “preamble,” appears not withthe full biography in the pamphlet but in just twoincidents: the murder of the two witnesses whorighteously opposed him, Enoch and Elijah (lines37–66), and Saint Michael’s killing of Antichristin revenge (lines 67–96).

These choices match exactly what is in a frescoof about 1330 in Ravenna, surviving only in pho-tographs (Fig. 77).26 It shows the central segmentof a standard Last Judgment’s top half but omitsthe rows of assistant judges. Where the judges hadbeen, we see the same two incidents aboutAntichrist: the murder of Enoch and Elijah, andSaint Michael killing the Antichrist. The fresco’siconography has been called “unique,” but that istrue only with respect to visual works. McGinnhas offered an attractive explanation of the choiceof only these two scenes.27 They depict thoseevents in the life of Antichrist that make him afalse analogue of Christ specifically in his role asjudge. In the first scene, Antichrist is seated andcondemns the witnesses, Enoch and Elijah; hisfalse judging is then punished in the second scene,with Saint Michael. As in the play, the Antichristhere is a secondary attachment to the main LastJudgment, exactly its “horrible preamble.”

The same pattern is spectacularly the case inthe first chapter of the Golden Legend, on Advent.The term “advent” here means the SecondComing, which is the context of the Judgment.Unlike the pamphlets and the drama, this workhad an extraordinarily wide circulation, first inmanuscript form for almost two centuries, then

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after it was first printed in 1473. Up to the year1500 it had at least 123 additional printings, fourevery year for twenty-eight years. Theseincluded the usual Latin editions, and translationsinto six other languages, which may be uniquefor the time. Eight of these printings were in Ital-ian, and nine Latin printings appeared in Italy,making it highly accessible there.28 It wouldhardly have been unknown to the Orvieto clergyand laymen there concerned with such questionsin 1500.

A substantial portion of its first chapter dealswith “things that go before the day of judg-ment.” There are three such things, and theycoincide with the three scenes of Signorelli’souter bay walls other than the Raising of theDead. The story of Antichrist is the second (Fig.78). Signorelli illustrates that story in episodicfashion, much as with the motifs in the cantos ofthe Purgatorio; open spaces separate clusters of fig-

ures. The order of the Golden Legend text makesthem easy to follow. The author explains thatAntichrist tries to deceive people in four ways:by expounding scripture falsely, performing mir-acles, offering gifts, and torturing people. In thefresco Antichrist appears front and center oratingto a large crowd. Farther back in the center hebrings a corpse back to life, the most standardkind of miracle. At center left, money is handedout to his listeners, and at the far left people arekilled. The choice of these four activities to char-acterize Antichrist has a long history, which isalready present in a theological handbook of1265.29 Conversely, the handbook contains noth-ing about the Antichrist’s life as depicted in thetwenty-two woodcuts in the pamphlet.

At the right, Antichrist’s listeners overlap withanother group of people who react differently;the group is probably to be regarded as marking aseparate episode. Clerics are debating before a lay

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. Anonymous Riminese, fourteenth century, Last Judgment, fresco. Ravenna, Santa Maria in Porto


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audience, presumably about the meaning of theseevents. (The people killed by the Antichrist alsoinclude clerics quite prominently.) This sceneextrapolates beyond the Golden Legend text butarguably is validated by a biblical text about theend of the world, which will be cited in connec-tion with the entrance wall.

Quite separate in space from these people, andfarther back, is a grand building, which is alwaysunderstood as the Temple of Jerusalem, beinginvaded by soldiers. The Antichrist biography, asin the 1496 pamphlet, has him entering the tem-ple and being enthroned there, but that we donot see. The Golden Legend also reports this inci-dent, but only in the form of a quotation of a

standard commentary on the prophet Daniel.Signorelli’s soldiers invading the temple evi-dently derive from Daniel’s own text. TheGolden Legend quotes that prophet’s report thatAntichrist will bring “abomination and desola-tion to the temple.” Daniel’s next line makes thisvisual, telling us that “arms shall stand on his part,and they shall defile the sanctuary.” Mark andLuke quote Daniel’s “abomination and desola-tion,” and Mark (13:14) links it to the end ofworld.

The fresco, then, shows all four of Antichrist’sactions seen in the Golden Legend, front and cen-ter, and adds, to the rear or at the side, twoextensions. They are this one based on Daniel,

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. Deeds of Antichrist (cf. Fig. 26, “”)


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who is quoted in the Legend, and the one withthe debating clerics, whose links to the world’send will be explored below. The fresco showsjust two more stories, ones not found or evenimplied in the Legend. The first shows Antichristcondemning the witnesses Enoch and Elijah todeath, just in front of the temple and to the right.The other, at the left, shows the ArchangelMichael destroying Antichrist, who falls to theearth in flames. That is, he presents precisely thesame two incidents seen in the Ravenna frescoand in the Perugia play of the Last Judgment, astheir sole annexes, or “preambles,” to the LastJudgment theme.30 Thus everything in the frescoof Antichrist appears in such annexes to the LastJudgment, either in these central Italian sourcesor in the Golden Legend’s chapter on Advent.They were all very accessible in the culture assuch annexes. This matches the committee’sdesire that everything here should still pertain tothe matter of the Judgment. Nothing depends onthe autonomous story of Antichrist as found inhis biography.31

This requires emphasis, because recent studieshave argued that the Antichrist fresco is the cen-tral one of the cycle, and then that it evokes notonly the Last Judgment but also the Apocalypse.A reviewer, if dubious about the first claim, ispersuaded that “apocalyptic visions” were promi-nent in Orvieto at the time.32 However, thefresco cycle contains nothing apocalyptic at all, inthe basic sense of material found in the Book ofthe Apocalypse. That biblical book was veryfamiliar, not least from Dürer’s woodcut cycle of1498, whose imagery has no analogy with Sig-norelli’s. None indeed has been claimed. Theidea is evidently based in part on our generalizeduse of the term “apocalypse” to allude to violentdestructive events that overturn ordinary living.The only comparable concerns reported at thetime from Orvieto are excited reactions toremarkable weather and the like, which were

believed to foretell events a few years ahead, notthe end of the world. This was part of a commonsyndrome, as with comets thought to foretell thedeath of kings.33 To link this to Antichrist and theApocalypse is dubious, and such events were notthe chief concern of Orvietans. A better candi-date for that role would be the Borgia takeover oftheir town and its finances.

Some details in the organization of theAntichrist fresco suggest that Signorelli was cop-ing with problems that were not present in theinner bay and that perhaps affected the novelty ofthe image. Specifically, it is the only scene with-out a thick painted cornice at the top, and it hasbeen plausibly argued that this omission has to dowith the unique presence of elaborate figurationnear the top of the scene, the temple.34 It has alsobeen noted, further, that because Signorelli was atpains to reinforce a unified look in the chapel,especially through the painted frames, this scenemust belong to a late phase of the work, close to1503; otherwise he could have supported unity bytreating other cornices in a similar way thereafter.

Signorelli prepared the temple technically in away different from the figures, here and else-where (with an exception to be noted in note47). While the contours of the latter, whendrawn in his preparatory cartoons, were set withquick, slashing lines that penetrate the plaster,those of the temple show dotted lines from apainstakingly pounced cartoon. This is consistentwith the proposal that in executing this unusualmotif he turned for help to the works of otherartists, most likely Bramante.35 This in turn is inaccord with the unusual number of borrowingsin this scene from still other sources not seenbefore. The instance most often noticed is thecentral group of a devil whispering in Antichrist’sear, recycled from a woodcut in the famousNürnberg chronicle of 1493 (Fig. 79).36 It is strik-ing that Signorelli ignored the numerous othermotifs in this woodcut presenting Antichrist,

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some of which showed events he included.These include Antichrist’s audience, seated in thewoodcut, and demons pulling Antichrist downfrom heaven. Signorelli also ignored, no longerto our surprise, the biographical aspect of thewoodcut, the preaching of the two witnessesagainst Antichrist.

Signorelli’s whole design suggests why thecentral whispering motif may have pleased himespecially. The entire fresco, it was argued, dif-fers from the rest of the narratives in the cycle inbeing episodic. The central group of the twoclose heads pulls it together at the center like aknot. It also does so in a narrative sense, evokingan origin for Antichrist’s schemes in the devil’swords. It has always had impact, recently evokedin the use of the detail on the dustjackets ofbooks.

The small background episode of Antichristbringing a corpse back to life also involves a bor-rowing, from quite a different source that seemsnot to have been observed. Antichrist processesto the left, at the head of a clutch of followers inprofile. The group meets another one of mourn-ers arriving from the left. In their midst, a manon a litter sits up with thankful prayers, havingjust been resuscitated by Antichrist. The wholepackage is copied from the Resurrection of Drusianaby John the Evangelist, a large fresco by FilippinoLippi, of 1502, in Santa Maria Novella in Flo-rence (Fig. 80). There too the bearded healer,heading a crowd, lifts his hand in benediction,and the dead person on the litter responds in thesame way.37 Signorelli, it will be suggested, wasin personal contact with Filippino and need nothave gone to Florence in 1502 to see the fresco.He could have been shown drawings. To besure, the preliminary drawings of Filippino’scomposition that survive show schemes unlikethe final one in the fresco, with the litter movingthe other way, or on a diagonal.38 Thus, whatSignorelli saw was something closer to the deci-

sive final form that we have in the painting, someversion from in or near 1502.

A smaller motif in the Antichrist frescoexploits another work by Filippino. This is thehead of one of the men listening to Antichrist’sspeech in the foreground. We see a profile with asharp nose, with a distinctive hat, presented asthat of a modern citizen, unlike other nearby lis-teners in their generic classical robes. He is regu-larly said to be Dante, not taking into accountDante’s presence elsewhere in the chapel.Instead, he had appeared exactly as a main figurein Filippino’s fresco of Saint Peter disputing with

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. Wohlgemuth, Deeds of Antichrist, woodcut, inLiber Chronicarum by H. Schedel. 1493.


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Simon Magus, in the Brancacci Chapel in theCarmine in Florence (Fig. 81). He is the protag-onist Simon Magus himself, whom Signorellicopies down to the details of down-drawn lipsand ear flaps. The one notable change is in thecolor of the headband, from green to the samered as the rest of the hat, perhaps due to the useof a drawing.

Simon Magus is certainly a most suitable lis-tener to Antichrist. Augustine, writing on heresy,said that Simon too claimed to be Christ.39 Hismost famous act was to fall from heaven when hisevil power failed, as we see Antichrist doing in

Signorelli’s fresco (Fig. 78). He too, againaccording to Augustine, denied the resurrectionof the body, making him a forerunner of theCathari. A medieval tradition identifies hereticsas Antichrists.40

Yet the most conspicuous separate episode inthis fresco is external to the Antichrist theme. Itis the group of two men at the left, one aDominican, the other in modern dress, unlikethe historical costumes of the people in theAntichrist episodes. This formula of modern,standing men at the side, as observers of a histor-ical narrative, is first worked out systematically

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. Filippino Lippi, Resurrection of Drusiana, fresco. Florence, Santa Maria Novella


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about 1480 in Rome, in the fresco cycle of theSistine Chapel walls, in which Signorelli had apart. The two men here have usually been iden-tified since the eighteenth century as a self-por-trait of Signorelli with Angelico, the onlyDominican known to have been involved in theproject. The identification as Signorelli reliesmainly on the appearance of the same person asone of two portrayed on a tile, still in Orvieto(Fig. 82). An inscription on the back identifies itssubjects as Signorelli and one Nicola Franci,there called the chamberlain at the date of thechapel frescos. The latter identification is quitepossibly wrong, because the name given is notcorrect for the chamberlain at that time.41 At onetime the tile was called a nineteenth-centuryfake, but this idea, offered by Roberto Longhi,has since been disproved by the finding of earliermentions of it in archives. The work is now gen-erally accepted as by Signorelli and as a self-por-trait, in relation both to the inscription and to thesimilar portrait in the Antichrist fresco.

This view is sometimes rejected, but on weakgrounds. Another image, the woodcut thatVasari prefaced to the biography of Signorelli inhis Lives in 1568, has been offered as a better can-didate to show him. But that overlooks the factthat the woodcut copies Signorelli’s portrait ofanother man, Vitelozzo Vitelli. In any case, theclaimed identities of the Vasari woodcuts arenotoriously unreliable. And it is not the case, asclaimed, that narrative fresco cycles do notinclude portraits of artists in this era. Notablesuch portraits in or linked to Umbria are by Pin-turicchio (at Spello), Perugino (Collegio delCambio, Perugia), and, in 1508, by Raphael(School of Athens). Raphael there stands besideSodoma, the artist who had begun the frescoeshe finished, a suggestive analogy to the Orvietopair. Furthermore, the proposal that the Domini-can in the Orvieto fresco might be one of theOrvieto theologians from whom “Signorelli

received advice” exaggerates their role, whichdid not include advice to the artist, so far as anyevidence goes. It also extrapolates again by pro-moting one of that group to a special status.

More notable is that these doubts have over-looked the established tradition of artists’ self-portraits specifically in Last Judgments, from thetime of Giotto and earlier. We seem to have herean image in that tradition, seen earlier in Orvietoon the façade and of course later in Michelan-gelo.42 This tradition suggests further thatAngelico’s project here would probably havecalled for his self-portrait. That nicely fits theexistence of a portrait probably of him made inOrvieto—the drawing by his crew chief

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. Filippino Lippi, Simon Magus (detail from Dis-pute of Simon and Saint Peter). Florence, Santa Maria delCarmine, Brancacci Chapel


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Benozzo Gozzoli (Fig. 29)—and would explainits raison d’être. The inclusion of an Angelicoself-portrait in the gavantone would have movedSignorelli to follow suit. He would have beeninspired to group Angelico with himself by theprecedent of Maitani with his associates in thefaçade sculpture.43 The tile showing Signorelliand a young man would belong to this tradition,if as suggested (see note 41) the latter is an associ-ate of Signorelli’s on the project. We know thatRaphael came to Orvieto and studied the fres-coes, making a drawing after a figure of Sig-norelli’s on the entrance wall.44 His adoption ofthe formula of a self-portrait with an associate,specifically his predecessor in the fresco cycleincluding the School of Athens, would thus benatural.

The earlier self-portraits in Last Judgments,such as Maitani’s, understandably place the artist

among the blessed.45 Maitani and his associatesare modestly at the extreme edge of that group,near the frame to our left. If Angelico planned aself-portrait in the chapel, it would certainly havefollowed that model and have been visible in thatlocation on the gavantone to Signorelli. However,Signorelli’s scene of the Blessed alters precedent,with respect to Angelico’s, by making the blessednudes. The self-portrait, of course wearing mod-ern clothes, could hardly stay among them. Theproposal here is that Signorelli moved it to theminimum extent possible, to the same left edgeposition in the nearest adjacent fresco, still on theBlessed wall. That would be the Antichrist scene,and give the result that in fact we have.

Twelve years after working in Orvieto asAngelico’s crew chief, Benozzo Gozzoli in 1459produced his most imposing work: the frescocycle in the Medici Chapel in Florence. It

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. Self-Portrait of Signorelli with an Associate.Orvieto, Museo dell’Opera del Duomo


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includes a self-portrait as a figure in the crowd,near the left edge of a large scene. This locationbecame a formula for self-portraits, and Benozzo’sis regularly shown as the earliest.46 This seems toconflict with his traditional reputation as a notvery original artist (a view, to be sure, also chal-lenged). It would be more simply explained if it,like others of his motifs mentioned, again reflectsthe example he learned from Angelico.47

Of the four large scenes on the walls of theouter bay, three were novel, all except the Rais-ing of the Dead. They all involved tremendousrequirements of invention to show this “horriblepreamble” of the Judgment. The Antichrist scene

on the side wall is twice the size of the other twonew ones, both on the entrance wall. It thereforecalled for the most effort, which, I suggest, isreflected in its frequent recourse to ideas fromother artists, more fully incorporated here than inany other part of the work. The smaller sceneson the end wall seem to have been approachedwith more confidence; they show Signorellireverting to the brilliant tokens of bodily force hehad developed for the Damned.

These two scenes, the Five Signs and the Firefrom Heaven (Fig. 83), are absent from the Peru-gia play and other sources. They seem to appearonly in the Golden Legend, among accessible

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. Five Signs of the End of the World and the Fire from Heaven, entrance wall (Fig. 68, “,” “”)


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accounts of the preamble, and there they form aset with the Antichrist episodes. The fame andwide circulation of this text seem to make it cer-tain that it is the source here. Even someone hav-ing in mind another source for the three stories(which has not emerged) would have this text inmind too. Some writers have found the psycho-logical tone of the Antichrist fresco to be verydifferent from the text. That could be debated,but does not rule out that text as the basis for thenarrative.

The first “thing,” preceding the Antichriststory, concerns the Five Signs of the end of the

world (Fig. 84). (The third, following Antichrist,is the Fire scene.) The author of the Legend cred-its the Gospel of Luke and the Apocalypse (TheRevelation to John) as his sources. The first threeof the Signs appear in both texts. In the fourthand fifth, where they diverge, Signorelli usesthese from Luke. (It will be recalled that in 1499Fra Bartolommeo was instructed to make thispassage in Luke the base for his Last Judgmentfresco.) The first three signs—the black sun, thebloody moon, and the falling stars—duly appearhere in the sky, on the observer’s right. Thefourth and fifth signs in the Apocalypse are the

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. Five Signs of the End of theWorld (detail of Fig. 83)


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heavens rolling away like a scroll (seen inGiotto’s Last Judgment) and moving islands.48

Luke’s fourth and fifth signs are the “pressing ofthe lands” and the sea rising over the mountains.Signorelli deals elegantly with the impossible cuethat asks to show mountains visible under water,by putting boats on top of mountains, forcing usto infer that the sea had been there earlier. A sim-ilar formula, which the artist may have noticed,had been used in scenes of the end of Noah’sflood, leaving the ark on a mountain. The Legendexplicates the difficult phrase about “pressing” tomean that the lands underwent “greatest tribula-tions.” One may take these to be the tribulationsthat Luke had described just before in the samechapter, where people are told to flee and are ledaway as captives, while no stone is left onanother. These are precisely the motifs Signorellishows us, with people running from a ruinedcolonnade, a nearby building showing cracks,and soldiers tying people up.

At the end of this chapter Luke shifts toaddress the reader, saying: “When these thingsbegin to pass, look up.” Signorelli duly adds,under the images of the five signs, a cluster oflarger figures whose only role is looking up atthem. His pleased use of this text seems not tohave been noted. An old man in a turban who isaccompanied by two other graybeards pointsupward, while three soldiers in response turntheir eyes up. Besides three more figures in thebackground, shown only as heads or parts ofheads, there is one more in the foreground whoresponds to these circumstances by pointing to atext in an open book. This figure is commonlycalled a sibyl but is identified as male by the cos-tume (not to mention the lack of any relevantsibyls in this context).49 The oddest part of hisattire is the trousers, given emphasis even thoughthey show only a short way up from his leftankle, under a robe. His sandals, with manythongs, are equally odd. Both appear worn also

by figures in Filippino Lippi’s Resurrection of Dru-siana (Fig. 80), the fresco discussed just above as amodel for an episode in the Antichrist fresco.The sandals are worn by the litter-bearers. Thesemen do not wear robes, and hence show moreleg, with more cords around the trouser legs,producing an overall look somewhat differentfrom Signorelli’s figure. Filippino had used thesecostume motifs before, in his fresco cycle at SantaMaria Minerva sopra Minerva in Rome, of thelife of Thomas Aquinas (Fig. 85). They areshown worn by one of the heretics over whomAquinas triumphs, identified by inscription asApollonarius. In her monograph on this cycle offrescoes, Geiger has rightly cited the source ofthe costume as the ancient statues of barbarianson the arch of Constantine in Rome, thus furtherreinforcing the male identity.50 The captive bar-barians are a natural basis for Filippino’s litter-bearers in Florence, laborers in a classical age, butthe heretic in his Rome fresco is the closer modelfor Signorelli’s figure with the book. Filippino’sheretic, like the others grouped with him asAquinas’s defeated opponents, has tossed hisbook to the ground. Both the trousered menwith books, Filippino’s and Signorelli’s, stand asif they would move to the right, with left armbent and right arm forward, while their headsswivel the opposite way. Remarkably, the like-ness in the two cases extends to a second personat the left with whom the trousered one is con-versing, and in both cases the representation islimited to a bit of profile head cut off by theframe. The copying is clear. Filippino’s heretic,Apollinarius, was a fourth-century figure whodenied Christ’s human nature, like theManicheans whom Aquinas refuted. How Sig-norelli was led to all these motifs of Filippino’swill be explored shortly.

This group of Signorelli figures, checking abook and looking up at the five signs, relates as awhole to an episode in the Antichrist scene

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around the corner (Fig. 78). There we also sawcommentators, as a separate group, checkingbooks and pointing up. The two groups in thetwo frescoes also share, exceptionally in bothcases, the factor of not being textually based inthe narrative to which the fresco is dedicated, theFive Signs or the Deeds of Antichrist. They arethe only such groupings, aside from the portraitsof Signorelli and Angelico. It is as if the theolo-gians who explicate the event are being giventheir own presence. In the case of the Five Signs,they have an indirect textual basis in the phrasewhere Luke tells us to look up. The group in theAntichrist lacks even that. It can, then, be pro-posed as being generated by the other one

around the corner. The further inference is that,as already proposed for other reasons, theAntichrist scene was planned later.

The Fire scene follows the Deeds of theAntichrist in the text of the Golden Legend, as thelast of the three events before the Judgment. It isgiven very brief treatment there. The one detailevoking a visual effect is a reference to its height,recalling the “look up” of the other scene. Sig-norelli makes much of this height, with the fieryred streaks coming from the very top in the sky,sent down by demons. The fire burns threegroups of people below, who bend like hoopsand collapse (Fig. 86). These details can be con-sidered pictorial inventions filling out the slight

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. Filippino Lippi, Saint Thomas Confuting Heretics, fresco. Rome, Santa Maria Sopra Minerva


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text. They are certainly meant to be associatedwith the fall of Antichrist. He too is attacked bylines of force from above, which destroy bothhim and his followers on the ground. In bothcases they collapse in foreshortening, a technicalpainter’s trick of well-established effectiveness inevoking the shock of destruction. It may be thatthe linking of the two scenes of destruction ismeant to bring to mind the chronological con-tinuum between the Antichrist scene and theFire scene, separated here on the chapel walls bythe Five Signs anterior to both. It is similar to adevice near the group of Minos at the other endof the chapel, with tortured sinners above andbelow the molding. There too narrative continu-ity was given weight in that way.

It should be asked why the two narrow scenesof the Fire and the Five Signs are placed wherethey are, in view of this suggestion that theywere not wholly plausible in their positions. Alook at the givens facing Signorelli when hebegan may offer a clue. As we face the entrancedoor (Fig. 83), the wall segment at our right is 20percent wider than the one at the left, measuredat the top of the arch, a factor that seems not tohave been discussed. The narrower wall seems tobe a good match for the Fire scene, with its sin-gle vertical thrust. Every other element of thechapel walls involves upper and lower figuregroups, with airy space between. The force ofthe upper group here on the lower one is contin-uous and insistent, with fire streaks much fiercerthan the thin ones in the Antichrist scene. Simul-taneously, the narrow wall squeezes the formsfrom both sides, pushing them out at us like pastefrom a tube. The fact that observers do notnotice the different widths of the wall segments isa tribute to the skill of the painter, who onceagain is seen working to impose a regular orderin his design patterns on the less regular givens.

The same proves to be the case in the wain-scot, which, as in the inner bay, is filled with

squirming grotesques with allusions to classicalmyths (Figs. 87 and 90; see also Fig. 56). Againthe units on the side walls are occupied by squareportraits in the centers and surrounded by circu-lar scenes in monochrome. Yet the specifics havechanged, in ways that are generally discounted.The result has been unfortunate: an unexaminedpresumption that the iconographic puzzles in thescenes can be solved by treating them as showingthe same themes that are in the wainscot of theinner bay.

To be sure, some of the changes in the outerbay are the result of the architectural require-ments. Each of the two portraits on the side wallsin the outer bay is surrounded by only three

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. Fire from Heaven, entrance wall, left half (cf.Fig. 68, “”)


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monochromes rather than four. The place of thefourth, as well as of an entire additional set ofportraits-with-monochromes, is taken by thetwo niches in the walls, the openings to the littlechapels. At the tops of these arched openings Sig-norelli painted keystones, each with a mono-chrome figure. Again this is different from theinner bay and is generated by the niches, thoughnot required by them. As Angelico had in therich frames of the vaults, here Signorelli createddecorative motifs that work with the specifics of the building. The keystone over the chapel ofthe martyrs shows a nude Judith with the head of Holofernes. The opposite figure is lost.

Other differences from the inner wainscot,however, seem not to be explained by such con-ditions. On the entrance wall, the surviving por-trait uniquely has a circular frame and has nonarratives around it.51 It will be suggested that theportrait belongs not to the series of writers at all,but to a set of heads, also in round frames, on theopposite, altar wall: the four archangels. On theside walls, the two portraits lack the laurelwreaths that emphatically define poets in theinner wainscot, yet they have consistently beenidentified as also poets. That seems contraindi-cated, because one of the two here signals hisidentity by an oak wreath, and the other hasnothing on his bald head. All the monochromescenes surrounding these two portraits of theouter bay show nude figures only, which must bea conscious difference from the inner bay; in theinner bay, nudity generally pertained only tosouls in hell or purgatory, who shared sceneswith clothed figures, or, once, to a scene of com-bat. In the outer bay here, two circular scenesand a third half-circle show combat, which mayhave generated this approach, but now thenudity is extended to the remaining two scenesthat do not show any combat at all.

It may almost be considered another differencefrom the inner bay that the proposals to name the

portraits here have met much greater difficultyand strain. Even more, efforts to link the sug-gested poets with the scenes around them, asepisodes from their works, have failed. The oak-wreathed figure has usually been called Lucan,ever since the first hypotheses of the nineteenthcentury, but there is no association betweenLucan and oak wreaths, and the problem thusposed seems not even to have been broached.52

The bald man has traditionally been calledHomer, again since the nineteenth century,though he obviously is not blind.53 The scenesaround him match nothing in the Iliad orOdyssey, as the “Lucan” scenes match nothing inLucan’s epics. The one concrete proposal for the“Homer,” that the monochromes fit the descrip-tion of the shield of Achilles, does not hold upwhen checked. One recent proposal has offeredto call the bald man Cicero, but also has notfound a match in his writings for the scenes. Tobe sure, though the idea has not been offered, thescenes here may not be related to the portraits atall, just as in the inner bay there is no relationshipbetween Salutati and his scenes. Indeed, itappears upon further investigation that there isno such relationship in either of the sets of theouter bay, thus again separating it from themajority procedure in the inner bay. The depar-ture from laurel wreaths—that is, from poets—may be offered as an initial basis for thinking thesystem is different here, just as the walls above, inthe outer bay, shift to a narrative set.

The “Lucan” figure offers ample clues to hisidentity. Besides the oak wreath, there is hisyouth, always noted in the literature and settinghim apart from all the other portraits. Because heis depicted without a book, he evidently is notthe author of one, but he holds a scroll instead(Fig. 87). Classical lore firmly associates oakwreaths with civic merit. The principal textestablishing this is Pliny’s Natural History, whosechapter on plants begins with oak trees.54 One

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need not suppose that the Orvietans consultedPliny, for the other relevant text is Virgil’sAeneid, which offers the principal text about menwho have been awarded oak leaves. That text isin book 6, in the visit to the underworld, thesame episode illustrated by Signorelli in the adja-cent roundels to the left of this portrait. Duringhis visit, Aeneas is offered prophecies about hisdescendants and is shown their souls awaitingrebirth. They include his son Silvius, then Pro-cas, Capys, Numitor, and Silvius Aeneas. Ofthese we read (lines 771–72):

What youths! See what strength they show,And have their temples shaded by the civic oak.

These men all succeeded Aeneas as kings of AlbaLonga, before the emergence of Romulus andRemus, who founded Rome.55 If this offers agroup of names for oak-crowned youths—theonly one in a leading text, and, what is more, inrelation to a visit to the underworld, our focus inthis wainscot— it remains to ask which one Sig-norelli shows and why. Virgil first explains thatthe young kings are awaiting return to earthlybodies; it is the chief point about them. They are“souls to whom bodies are owed” (lines 713–14).After a long explanation of the theory ofmetempsychosis (724–51), the individuals whoexemplify it appear, the oak-crowned youths.This must be considered the best analogue avail-able in any famous classical poetry for the Chris-tian resurrection of the dead, painted just above.It would be odd if such a classical parallel werenot sought out, as in the inner bay the wainscotshows the underworld in poetry under theChristian saved and damned.

This might seem to be the full basis for identi-fying our figure, but the youthful kings’ civicvirtue, which merited them the oak crown, isalso being treated as relevant. It is hardly to bediscounted that the portrait is adjacent not only

to the Raising of the Dead above, and to the Vir-gil scenes of the underworld to its left, but also tothe figure of Judith on the nearby keystone (Fig.88), between him and the Virgil scenes. Judith,nude like all the nearby monochrome figures, isfamous as the heroine who saves her people fromthe enemy. She duly holds her attribute, the headof Holofernes, whom she killed.56 The concernwith civic heroes as a distinct motif will reappearstill again in the opposite wainscot, under theAntichrist scene.

Virgil listed five oak-crowned youths. Is Sig-norelli’s the portrait of one of them, or a generichero? These people are hardly on record outsidethis passage of the Aeneid. Virgil comments onthem in brief terms: Silvius, Aeneas’s son, is“king and ancestor of kings”; Procas is the “gloryof the Trojan line”; Capys and Numitor have noepithets, but Silvius Aeneas, the last, is “notableequally for piety and arms.” None is more linkedto the resurrection of the dead than the others,

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. Youth with Oak-Leaf Crown and scenes inroundels (cf. Fig. 27, “,” “,” “”)


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but Silvius Aeneas receives slightly more atten-tion than the rest. A second odd point reinforceshis special status. His name, the most distinctpoint we have about him, recurs in one otherfamous person in history: Enea Silvio Piccolo-mini, the Sienese Pope Pius II, whose visit toOrvieto in 1460 was of interest earlier. In the fol-lowing decades, he certainly continued to beremembered in the region through his nephew,cardinal bishop of Siena before he too becamepope in 1503 and, before then, long the highest-ranking prelate in the area. In 1502, the likelyyear of Signorelli’s image, he commissioned Sig-norelli’s friend Pinturicchio to paint the greatfresco cycle of his uncle Enea Silvio’s life for hislibrary in the Siena cathedral.57 It was there thatgrotesques were specified for the decorativeframes. The cardinal’s entourage included thearchdeacon of Orvieto Cathedral, who paid in1502 for a more modest library in that building,frescoed by Signorelli’s shop and including a por-trait of Pius II. Although there is little basis forthe idea that the archdeacon provided the icono-graphic scheme for our big chapel, an elegant

allusion here to the most important Piccolominiwould easily arise.58

Around the portrait of the oak-crowned youthwere painted three monochrome scenes, as men-tioned. One is lost, but the eighteenth-centuryobserver described it with precision: “A womanwith a baby in her arms, fleeing from a man.”59

The two surviving scenes both show fightsbetween pairs of nudes. In the upper one thereare four such fights, and they are over. Three ofthe losers are kneeling or on the ground, and thefourth is slung over the back of the winner.60 Thelower monochrome shows two such pairs. Whileagain one loser is pinned to the ground, one fightis still in progress. The two circular mono-chromes show images that are more like eachother than any found elsewhere among thechapel’s sets of monochromes They may show anextended view of the parts of the same event,rather than two distinct episodes as elsewhere.An analogous case is the monochrome underMinos, on the altar wall, which extends the sceneof demons torturing the damned that is shown incolor above it.

It has been usual to call the single combatsillustrations of Lucan’s epic on the Civil Warbetween Pompey and Caesar, though it showsno such incidents.61 What excludes this view isthe new information offered in the early descrip-tion of the lost third roundel of this set. The earlyobserver called her Ino, whose story is told byOvid (Metamorphoses 4.519–30) and by others. Adaughter of Cadmus, the mythical founder ofThebes, she fled with her baby when her insanehusband pursued her with intent to murder andended by jumping into the sea. This writer’sdescriptions are reliable, even if his identificationsare often wrong. In this case he seems right,because no other story fits the action in question.

Ovid’s quite brief allusion to Ino is not likelyto have been the foundation for what is usedhere, even if today it is the best known account.

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. Judith, keystone of the arch “” in Fig. 27


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If a planner of the chapel’s imagery wanted to tellthis story, which is part of the great Theban epicleading to Oedipus, one would again expect himto turn to a text that has that as its main theme.62

In that case he would probably have used Sta-tius’s Thebaid, the best-known such work. Theintroductory lines of the Thebaid announce itstheme and tell how, among other calamities, Ino“had no fear of the Ionian Sea when she fell withher son” (1.13–14). The very first line recalls themore famous myth of her father, Cadmus, whofounded the city with the dragon seed and thusgenerated the “fraternal fights.” The fights beganwhen the warriors killed one another one by oneas soon as they emerged from the earth, as theproduct of that seed.

Statius fleshes out these opening allusions inbook 4. The seer Tiresias is asked to clarify thelater calamities of Thebes, and to do so he callsup from the underworld the ghosts of theseancestors, and they duly respond to his call. Wesee Cadmus and his wife; their sons who “presseach other, fight each other, assault each otherwith the anger of living men, . . . with thirst todestroy each other” (557–60); and shortly after-ward Ino, “pressing her sweet infant to herbreast” (562–64). The dramatic actions in thethree roundels, of the men we see trying todestroy one another, and the mother we readabout in the lost one, fleeing, fully match Sta-tius’s lines about Cadmus’s sons and daughtercited. The group has in common with the oak-crowned youth, in the image between them, thattheir central situation is of returning from deathand from the underworld, either as summonedspirits in the first case or, in the case of the youth,to a second life. Despite those differences, theseare evidently the best analogues classical lore hasto offer to the Christian Raising of the Deadpainted above them, and thus like the rest of thewainscot cycle show that poetry can parallel holywrit.

Statius was proposed earlier as perhaps the sub-ject of the lost wainscot portrait on the altar wall,again as claimed by the eighteenth-centuryobserver; if that is so, we are being shown thepoet and scenes from his poem at separatedpoints of the fresco cycle. That same formula hadconspicuously been used, in a less remote way,with the scenes from Purgatorio 5–11, and, if thehypothesis just offered is correct, again with theoak-crowned youth sung by Virgil. The basicfiguration of the inner bay, in this case with Sta-tius, would have extensions here in the outerbay. This arrangement can be compared to theentire scheme of the Last Judgment in the innerbay with its preambles in the outer.

Two more small monochrome scenes in cir-cles appear under the Raising of the Dead, in thesmall chapel with the saints’ bodies. These are thepredella-like martyrdom scenes of the two saints,already mentioned (Figs. 74 and 75).63 They areextensions of the standing figures of the twosaints, who in turn are extensions of the Pietàgroup (Fig. 72). Here too, just as he had withAngelico, Signorelli takes the portrait-like figuresfrom the preceding project, by Master Pietro, butthe monochrome scenes are a newly added ele-ment.64 This group of images makes it certainthat the chapel can contain imagery that has atheme distinct from the Last Judgment, as well asfrom the poetic focus of the inner wainscot. Theseparate iconographic meaning of the niche withthe Pietà has perhaps been too obvious to bearticulated. An occasion was lost to consider thatthe imagery of the outer wainscot might alsohave a distinct scheme. To be sure, the differencein reference was easier to see in the former case.The standing full-length saints do not ask to bebracketed with the waist-length portraits insquare frames. The oak-crowned youth doesimply a link to the laureled poets, one imposed, Isuggest, by Signorelli’s effort to present unity ofdesign.

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Faustino, falling to his death in the water, is on the same level as the monochrome of Inorunning to jump into the sea. However, theeighteenth-century description does not mentionany water in her case, and the scene may haveshown only her flight on land.65

Turning the corner to the right, we look at thewainscot on the entrance wall, which shows twoheads like those of the poets but in circularframes. The one next to the oak-crowned youth,under the Fire scene, was almost destroyed in theseventeenth century when a tomb was installed,but recent restoration has recovered a small partof it.66 The one clear form is the sleeve of the fig-ure’s left arm. The white inner garment has noanalogue in the chapel. Because the right armapparently did not show, the pose may be recon-structed turning toward the right. The figure

would then look across the corner at the nextfigure, the oak-crowned youth, who in fact islooking toward it. This is a reasonable recon-struction, because Virgil and Claudian, the nextsimilar figures on the same wall as the oak-crowned youth, also look at each other (Figs. 52and 53). On the opposite side, instead, the twoouter figures among the four portraits, the Salu-tati and the one on the entrance wall to be con-sidered next, look upward and away, while thetwo inner ones, Dante and the bald man, followin each case the direction of the gazes of the fig-ures nearest them just mentioned, thus, awayfrom each other.

The surviving portrait figure on the entrancewall, under the Five Signs, also is framed in a cir-cle (Fig. 89). This figure differs from all the por-traits on the side walls in other basic ways. Thereare no surrounding monochromes. Instead of sit-ting as if at a table, he actively pokes himself outof his frame, placing himself in lost profile tolook up. (This motif appears in some of the tinyportraits in the vault frames.) He also has a differ-ent headdress, a turban. Both the gaze and cos-tume link him emphatically to the area up towhich he looks, the lower part of the Five Signsgroup. There too, it has been noted, upward-looking is called for, and a figure wears a turban;another looks up in the Fire scene, with muchthe same sleeve. This head in the circle is, then,in continuation of the scene above, in the waythe figures below Minos are, on the altar wall,setting up continuity down into the wainscotarea. The basis for all this, again, is the text ofLuke telling us to look up. The continuation ofthe admonition down to the lower level matchesLuke’s shift from narrative to direct address, inthat we in the chapel are being called on tonotice the end of the world ourselves, in case wehad missed it.

This continuity from the scene to a framedhead appears in one other place, already noticed:

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. Man in Turban (cf. Fig. 68, “”)


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on the altar wall, where Michael and the otherarchangels (Figs. 37, 38, 39, and 40) are a contin-uation of the Judgment scenes. These aloneamong such heads also have the circular frameswe see here at the other end of the chapel, andthese are signals telling us to understand them inthe same way, not like the portrait heads in thesquare frames that fill the side walls.

Turning the corner again, the wainscot underthe Antichrist scene presents the last of the por-traits, the bald man with a book (Fig. 90). He isnot Homer, who was regularly shown as blind inthis culture.67 Having no wreath, he is not a lau-reate poet, but having a book, he seems to be awriter, as all the other men with books are in theseries. He lacks any attribute to help in naminghim, such as the oak crown opposite was. Butwe are assisted in identifying him by anotherkind of art-historical tool, the fact that he iscopied from a type that appears in other works ofthe period. The earliest instance of the type is inthe same fresco of Thomas subduing heretics, byFilippino Lippi in Rome, which was alreadynoticed as the source for the costume of a nearbyfigure in Signorelli’s cycle, the one with thetrousers and sandals. Filippino’s figure so cos-tumed was one of a group of heretics, and a sec-ond of that group (Fig. 85) is a model for thepresent portrait of the bald man. Baldness itself israre in the imagery of this culture. (One painterof the time who often uses baldness, however, isGirolamo Genga, a pupil of Signorelli.) Filip-pino’s bald man leans his head forward in theidentical profiled slant and has much the samecostume, which Signorelli alters only by shiftinga round pin to a knot.

The same head alone without the bust recursas Cicero, one of the authors the Signorelliworkshop portrayed about 1502 in the library ofOrvieto Cathedral. This is a version in mirrorimage, in a circular frame.68 Finally, he appears infull length, just like Filippino’s original version,

in an engraving of about 1508 by Niccolò Rosexda Modena (Fig. 91). This version is labeled as aportrait of Apelles, the famous ancient Greekpainter, and is accompanied by geometricalforms as attributes.69 The drapery forms followFilippino’s fresco closely. Because the two otherversions, both by Signorelli or his shop in Orvi-eto, show only the head, or a little more, it mightappear logical to relate the later engravingdirectly to Filippino’s original version only, dis-counting any source for it in the heads. Yet theremay be reason to think that Niccolò, in produc-ing the latest version, was indebted to the inter-mediate version by Signorelli. Also about 1508,he engraved a nude Judith, inscribed with hername.70 She is the only one in Italy of this periodother than Signorelli’s monochrome found inthis same outer bay of the chapel. Niccolò was

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. Bald Man and scenes in roundels (cf. Fig. 26,“,” “,” “,” “”)


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also producing many engravings of grotesqueornaments like Signorelli’s—designs that were,to be sure, favored by other artists too. If it isthen allowed to hypothesize that the engraverwas picking up these motifs from Signorelli’schapel, their only shared locus previously, itwould require supposing that Signorelli’s baldman had first appeared in a full-length version byhim, in a drawing. As Signorelli was copying Fil-ippino’s full-length figure of the heretic, thatwould not be strange. We would then think ofNiccolò in contact with Signorelli in his Orvietoperiod, when he also picked up the motif of theJudith.

There is a separate surprising support for theproposal that Signorelli first copied the figurefrom Filippino in full length. The oddest factorin Niccolò’s engraving is that he names the figure

Apelles, a painter. Apelles was a classical artistheld in awe; Sodoma, the painter who finishedSignorelli’s abandoned fresco cycle near Siena,named his son Apelles. Yet in this era there is noother recorded image of Apelles. Indeed, thereare few full-length images of painters. Yet wehave seen two such in the outer bay of thechapel, just above the bald man who is a versionof this figure; they are Signorelli’s self-portrait,and Angelico with him. It seems too good acoincidence that Signorelli’s bald man has closerelationships, both to artist portraits (painted justabove him) and separately to the Apelles engrav-ing (with the same head), when the latter com-pared works separately have a tight link to eachother (as full-length portraits of painters, whichare very unusual at the time). This redoubledlinking was evidently caused by something. Itcould be explained easily if one hypothesizedthat there had been one more element, now lost,that was linked to them all. It would be naturalfor Signorelli to have drawn a copy of Filippino’sfrescoed heretic, as suggested above, since heboth admired Filippino and was exploring waysto represent heretics, a new field for him. Oncecompleted and taken to Orvieto, the drawingwould be on hand for more than one use, in theAntichrist scene with its standing figures ofheretics and of artists, and below for the baldhead. If the figures of standing artists, when ini-tially sketched, retained something more like thecostume of Filippino’s heretic and of Signorelli’sdrawing from him than they now show, as mighteasily happen, they would be precisely what Nic-colò drew and engraved: a standing artist adaptedfrom Filippino’s original figure. The equally rarenude Judith shows that Niccolò could have beenready to pick up sources in Orvieto, and theApelles figure would be another. The hypothesisis perhaps more complicated in the telling than inaction, but it is repeatedly grounded on a seriesof firm factors.

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. Niccolò Rosex da Modena, Apelles, engraving


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The bald man so far is unidentified, but threeother versions of his head have proved to havenames—the Filippino heretic, Cicero, andApelles—so one might think he is one of these.But the bald man is not Apelles, because he has awriter’s rather than a painter’s attribute. Andalthough Cicero was certainly a writer, the claimmade for him started with the clearly wrong pos-tulate that the same head (as seen in the library)implicated the same identity. The Apelles dis-proves that inference. That argument also sug-gested that the monochrome roundels hereillustrated scenes from Cicero’s Philippics, but nospecific parallels are available—the same difficultyas with the proposal for Homer. To be sure, thisdoes not prove that the head is not Cicero, buthe has no indicated role in relation to otherimages in the schema of the chapel, somethingthat always seems to be involved.

The head might show a fourth unknown per-son, but the one remaining clue offered by itsprevious versions, that it shows a heretic, seemsto have much in its favor. The bald man in thewainscot appears just under a scene all aboutheresy. (The equation of heretics with Antichristsis a tradition going back to Augustine.71) Thiswould make him a direct extension or footnoteof the large scene above, much as the oak-crowned youth is from the scene above him, ofthe Raising of the Dead.

It is conspicuous that in exploring the themeof heresy Signorelli repeatedly takes motifs fromFilippino Lippi, which he rarely does otherwise,and that the motifs are from a wide range of Fil-ippino’s works. This occurred above, in theSimon Magus, from Filippino’s early Brancacciseries, and again above in the scene of Antichristresuscitating a dead man, from the very recentcycle at Santa Maria Novella. A costume detailwas taken from the same source, and that samedetail and the figure wearing that costume werecopied in the Five Signs scene from Filippino’s

Rome fresco cycle of Aquinas. The latter is alsothe source of the bald man here. Apart from theimages of heretics, he seems to follow Filippinoonly in the lively grotesque ornament. He willshortly be found doing so once more, in a figureadjacent to the bald man.

Art historians have commonly discussed suchborrowings, though none of these has been.They are usually linked to proposals about travelby the borrowing artists, in years when theirlocations are undocumented, to see the worksbeing cited. In this case such a reconstructionseems quite cumbersome, evoking a whole Filip-pino tour. However, the borrowings could havetaken place all at once, with personal contact. Inthat scenario, Signorelli would have talked to Fil-ippino, whom he can be presumed to haveknown, about the challenging project for thesenew scenes about heresy. Filippino would haveresponded helpfully by referring to several solu-tions he had worked out from time to time forsimilar aims. He would have accompanied theseremarks with drawings, perhaps kept in his stock(he certainly did keep drawings), which Sig-norelli could take or copy. This conversationwould have taken place in 1502, when the SantaMaria Novella fresco by Filippino, the latest ofthe sources, was assuming its final form, and alsothe year when the Antichrist fresco can quiteprobably be dated. Signorelli was away fromOrvieto for months in that year and could easilyhave passed time in Florence, where Filippinowas at work.72 A friendly talk about heresyimagery is the implication. Filippino was theartist with the more assured career at the time,but he could also have welcomed motifs fromSignorelli.73

The particular heretic in Filippino’s Aquinasfresco that is the base of Signorelli’s bald man islabeled by Filippino as “Sabellius.” Aquinas isshown triumphing over six heretics, all of whomare given names. The list is taken from one in

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Thomas’s Summa against the non-Christians.74

Was Signorelli especially interested in the heresyof Sabellius, so that he copied his head? The ideais natural, but involves some difficulties. Thenature of Sabellius’s doctrine—the heresy thatGod the Father is not of another substance fromthe Son and the Holy Ghost, that is, that theTrinity is a unity—seems not to resonate withthe themes of the Orvieto chapel. It can also benoted that there do not seem to be any images inthis culture of Sabellius alone. As in Thomas’stext, he invariably turns up as a name in a group,as if to pad it out, unlike the more prominentArius.75 This permits the alternative reading thatSignorelli wanted a head to personify heresyquite generally, and picked the one among Filip-pino’s figures that seemed most evocative.Indeed, in Filippino’s set this is the most strikingand isolated character type. The case recalls thesituation with the oak-crowned youth directlyopposite, who may represent a specific youngRoman king who was resurrected but perhaps isnot a particular one from the set of names.

The wainscot once showed, near the baldman, a monochrome figure in the keystone ofthe arch over the small chapel. It corresponded tothe Judith in that position opposite. Several writ-ers have suggested that this lost figure was David.In 1502 Michelangelo’s David was under way inFlorence, the city that might well have been onSignorelli’s mind at the time. In the same Floren-tine context, David and Judith had been viewedas a pair, often in a political context. The mostobvious case was in the Medici palace, for whichSignorelli had done two paintings. ThereDonatello’s David was in the front courtyard,with an inscription about freeing the people, andhis Judith was in the back courtyard, with aninscription about overcoming tyranny. The stat-ues are not a pair in a strict sense, but David andJudith so presented could also be found in Flo-rence.76 In the Orvieto keystones, a pairing with

David might help to explain Judith’s exceptionalnudity, if the David were nude as well. It seemslikely enough that he was, like the nudes ofDonatello and Michelangelo and all the nearbymonochrome figures in the outer bay. No addedbasis for the identity of the lost figure with Davidhas been offered, but one connected with themotifs of politics and tyranny will be offeredshortly.

The portrait of the bald man, the heretic, is sur-rounded by three monochrome scenes, onceagain. The most complex scene, the one at our left(Fig. 92), shows a group in such elaborate detailthat it must be presumed that a specific scene isbeing represented. The figures’ nudity cannot berealistic, but must be a convention of art. This canmore easily emerge in monochromes, which sug-gest relief sculpture, which in turn suggest Romansarcophagi and other admired classic references.The denuding of Signorelli’s Blessed was no doubta reinforcing factor in extending nudity fromfighting scenes to wider contexts. Michelangelo’sCascina cartoon is a contemporary token of thisextension, to a scene not about fighting eventhough it is about fighters (the artist rationalizedthe nudity by having them in swimming, a nov-elty). Raphael’s Massacre of the Innocents is another,and the same is the case here. We see two cap-tives, hands tied behind their backs, guarded bytwo men with weapons. (The incident in the Iliadproposed as the subject does not involve tiedhands or captivity at all.) Behind them, anotherman makes a gesture of speaking, addressed to stillanother who is standing on a box. The latter isapparently the one who will decide what to dowith the captives. He turns to the side toward twoolder men, who could offer counsel on the mat-ter, and at the same time stretches his handstoward the captives, showing them to be the sub-ject of the query. One more man in the fore-ground, seen from the back, has no obvious rolebeyond watching and may be an onlooker, like us

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or the nearby figure under the Five Signs. Theguards’ weapons are pilae, spear points mountedon long shafts, reinforcing the classical implica-tions. Botticelli gave one to Athena, guarding acentaur, in his Pallas and the Centaur for a Medicihouse. This very precise scene indeed cannot befound in Homer or Cicero. The most delimitingfactor for an identification is that the captives aretwo. It is common to find stories of single prison-ers or of large groups, but this is clearly a specialcase.

The monochrome at the top of the set showsfive figures (Fig. 93). In the center, a woman isunder violent stress, and in reaction four mensurrounding her lift their arms, perhaps to keepher in bounds or calm her. The woman’s posecould well suggest running, and then the twomen in front might be trying to stop her, but the

two men behind would be difficult to explain.Just such a female figure is frequent in images ofthis time. However, in such images she is notrunning, but under intense stress as if vibrating.The formula has been the theme of a classic shortarticle calling her “The Maenad Under theCross.”77 Florentine artists around 1500 wereshown to have taken the pose from classicalsources, such as sarcophagi, to show Mary Mag-dalene, not moving but expressing despair. Avivid instance is the figure of Virginia learningshe is to be murdered by her father, in a narrativepanel by Filippino Lippi (Fig. 94). Botticellishowed her in much the same way, if less vividlyisolated, in a panel of the same subject.78

These two narratives of Virginia are both pen-dants of panels about the far more famous Lucre-tia. The two stories share a textual source in

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. Captives Judged (cf. Fig. 26, “”; detail of Fig.90)

. Maenad Among Men (cf. Fig. 26, “”; detail ofFig. 90)



Livy’s History of Rome (Lucretia in 1.58, Virginiain 3.46)79 Signorelli’s stressed figure is indeedLucretia, who expressed her desperation pre-cisely in the company of four men. After Tarquinraped her, she sent for her husband and father,who quickly came, each with a friend. The lastpoint is important because the husband’s friendwas Junius Brutus. Botticelli’s Lucretia panel(Fig. 95) shows Lucretia with the four men; onereacts with lifted arms, like Signorelli’s men. Thequite frequent images in the period of Lucretia’ssuicide usually show accompanying men, some-times two (husband and father) or three (withBrutus) but perhaps most often four.80 A longsearch has not unearthed any other image of theperiod of a distraught women with four men. Itmay still emerge, but would be a less establishedstory than this one, which fits well on all points.

The actual suicide is the most frequentmoment chosen in the images, but Botticellishows the preceding moment, in which sheexpresses her anguish, and so does Signorelli in

the monochrome. The choice is validated by aremarkable text, the Declamatio Lucretiae, writtenby none other than Coluccio Salutati. Today thiswriting is less noted than others by him, but itwas the reverse in the fifteenth century. Fiftymanuscripts of it were listed in a study of 1971(including just five later ones, from the sixteenthcentury), and one more can be added.81 This is anamazingly high number, as one may judge froman authoritative comment that the thirty-fourmanuscripts of one of the works of Ficino, thechief philosopher at the Medici court, are“extraordinary, a number not attained by anyother work of his.”82 Salutati’s text consistsentirely of a debate between Lucretia and two ofthe men, who try to dissuade her from suicide,and her responses. It ends when she finishes herspeech. Thus the distinct value of this phase ofthe story before her death is established.83

Botticelli’s image of this moment is seen onone side of a wide panel. The center shows thenext incident in the story. Junius Brutus vowsrevenge and calls for the expulsion of the rapistTarquin and his whole royal family. The estab-lishment of the Roman republic followed, withBrutus as one of the two initial consuls. Thepoint that the central meaning of the story ispolitical, about freedom from royal tyranny, hasalways been plain. Botticelli underlines this, plac-ing in the center, above Brutus, a statue of Davidwith the head of Goliath. To our left he adds anarrative relief sculpture of Judith killingHolofernes. Both are naturally in monochrome.This cluster—Lucretia and the four men, Judithand the probable David—recurs in Signorelli’swainscot.

After these events, Livy next tells of a threat tothe new republic. The exiled Tarquins failed inan effort to return by force, in which they hadenlisted Brutus’s own two sons. The consul fol-lowed the law by condemning the two sons todeath, which is what the left roundel shows. Livy

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. Filippino Lippi, Death of Virginia (detail). Paris,Louvre


Image not available

and Plutarch describe it; the latter reports howthe father asked the sons to defend themselves,and how when they were silent “he turned tothe lictors,” who seized the youths and “boundtheir hands behind them.”84 The incident is nolonger famous today, as Lucretia’s suicide is, butwas a major motif in Signorelli’s culture. Brutuswas the chief model of the just judge. He appearsas such in the public imagery of Florence (in thejudgment hall of the wool guild), Siena (in theguild loggia, with the sons’ two severed heads ashis attribute), and Padua (in the Sala Dei Giganti,today in a sixteenth-century version, where twopredella-like scenes show respectively the fourmen gazing at the dead Lucretia and the consul aswitness to his sons’ execution). In Siena he recursabout 1530 in a cycle by Beccafumi in the cityhall, again with the two heads. Close to the Sienacompositions is a woodcut illustration in a vol-ume published in Rome in 1494, Priscorum her-oum Stemmata, by Thomas Ochsenbrunner. InRome’s city hall, on the Capitoline, a fresco byRipanda of 1506–7 showed him watching his

sons being beheaded, and in 1586 in the samebuilding the theme was repeated on a largerscale. The frequency of these images seems not tohave been registered by art historians, so thatanother, like this of Signorelli’s, fails of recogni-tion. The ethics of Brutus’s action were debat-able. It is approved as just by a speaker in onework of Boccaccio’s because it preserved liberty,while in another the consul is attacked for inhu-man cruelty.85 The chancellor Scala, in late fif-teenth-century Florence, in the Medici ambient,said Brutus acted contrary to nature. Machiavelli,on the other hand, approved his act as needed tosolidify the republic.86 Even as it later faded fromview, the story gained its grandest echo in 1789in Jacques-Louis David’s monumental painting,an innovative episode of the bodies of the sonsdelivered to Brutus’s house. In 1997 one couldstill find the New York Times naming Brutus as aliberator from tyranny. This occurs in a longexcerpt from an earlier speech by Senator RobertByrd, who had praised “Lucius Junius Brutus,who” after long rule by kings “made the Romans

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. Botticelli, The Story of Lucretia. Boston, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum


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swear that they would never again subject them-selves.” In this case too there seems to be noother event that matches the image shown, thistime of a judge turning to consult about the fateof two bound prisoners. The doubling of thisidentity with that of Lucretia and the four mennearby seems decisive.

Botticelli’s panel, with Lucretia and the fourmen at the right and Brutus at the center, showsTarquin attacking Lucretia at the left. As in otherimages of the theme, for instance Titian’s, hebends toward her and clutches a dagger. That isevidently what we also see in Signorelli’s thirdand last monochrome of this set, a half-circle cutby the entrance to the little chapel. It shows awarrior advancing with a spear, evidently readyto attack the person who would occupy theother half of the roundel.

There is a single message shared by these threeroundels about Lucretia and Brutus, by the pre-sumed David in the keystone nearby, by theJudith in the opposite keystone, and by the oak-crowned youth near her wearing the crown ofcivic heroes. All honor those who fight or act inbehalf of their nation or city. All these images areclustered in one part of the chapel, in the wain-scots on the side walls of the outer bay, in anassemblage of heroes who share this quality takenfrom varied sources. They do not have a furthermessage relating, for instance, to the Last Judg-ment (with one exception, the oak-crownedyouth), and that is the one factor that createsdoubt. To suggest a shift here to a different sub-ject calls for good support, despite the repeatedevidence leading the same way. To be sure, thewainscots did allow for variation. Even in theinner bay, the recurrent theme from the poems,of brief visits to the underworld with returns toearth, leaves a space that does not fit exactly thetheme of Last Things. Perhaps this separation canbe wider in the outer bay, which starts out as aslightly loose annex to the main subject.

The reading of these images as praise for civicheroes gains support from a small element of thefresco cycle not yet mentioned.87 The vault trian-gle that abuts the entrance door, the one with thevirgin saints, includes in the far ends of its twolower corners two identical coats of arms, thoseof the Monaldeschi family, which means that itsmembers claim status as patrons of the chapel(Fig. 83). The coats are part of a system that alsoshows the arms of the Cathedral Board of Worksbetween them, at the top of the entrance wall.The Monaldeschi did not claim the chapel astheir own, but their help is documented in twomoney gifts from separate family members, theonly relatively large sums known to have beenoffered.

Giovanna, widow and heiress of PietroantonioMonaldeschi, got a receipt from the administratoron February 29, 1500, for one hundred florinsreceived from her on account of the bequest ofher late husband “for the painting and ornamen-tation of the new chapel in the said church.”88

The date precedes by just under two months Sig-norelli’s second contract, the one for the entirechapel. The first area he painted under that con-tract was certainly the vault of the outer bay,including the triangle with the virgin saints. Themoney had been owed since the husband’s death,so it seems plausible that the decision to hand itover after delay at this time matched the indica-tion that it would now actually be needed, as thework got under way. It might well have appearedimprudent to give it earlier, during the long,dragging negotiations with Perugino.

The other bequest was by Achille Monalde-schi, a fifth cousin of Giovanna but still countedas a member of the same branch. His will of 1494assigned one hundred florins with quite similarphrasing, to be obtained from the sale of land“for the painting and ornaments of the newchapel” to be paid “within two years of hisdeath.”89 He is reported to have died in 1497.

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The cathedral accounts record receipt of the onehundred florins “for a bequest made in the will ofthe said master Achille” in July 1505.90 Somehave found it puzzling that the payment of thebequest was so long delayed, and some haveinferred that the money could not have beenused for the paintings, despite Achille’s instruc-tions, in view of the much earlier completion of,and full payment to Signorelli for, his work.However, a second document puts a differentlight on the matter. A record in a differentaccount book of the cathedral, apparently also of1505, notes the receipt from Achille’s widow oftwenty florins “for part of the bequest of the saidAchille.”91 It has been overlooked that it is a par-tial payment, which means that the bequest waspaid in installments. The other record of July1505, receipting the entire bequest and thus thecomplete gift, is therefore a summing up of suchinstallments now complete and proves that theother installments must have been paid earlier.Hence, any delay after the testator’s death wasshorter, and quite probably at least part of themoney was available for the painting. The twoMonaldeschi bequests together covered a consid-erable portion of the fee due Signorelli in hislarger second contract, 575 florins, and so mer-ited inclusion of the coat of arms. The surfaces inthe triangle on which they are painted seem to bepart of the original work, not added later, and sotell us that when it was executed in 1500 bothbequests were at least partly paid or ensured. Thisintervention has not been observed in studies ofthe chapel.

Pietroantonio had been a member of thecommittee in the 1480s and so would haveappreciated the importance of such money. Onemight speculate that he and his wife recruitedAchille to make a similar gift, thus ensuring thatthe family contribution would be substantial.But the most interesting aspect of their role, atleast with respect to the former couple, is on

record in a different form. The widow Giovannaarranged for a plaque inscribed with an appreci-ation of Pietroantonio to be installed just outsidethe chapel entrance, at the left, and thereforealso next to the family’s own chapel. Theinscription read: “His father having been exiledby tyranny, he nonetheless conducted himselfwith equanimity, and had care for the republic,with other patricians, with such integrity andfaith that no one surpassed him in public char-ity.”92 Praise of character and deeds are conven-tional enough in such memorials. What separatesthis one is its opening point that Pietroantonio’sbehavior was in spite of the evil done to hisfather Gentile by “tyranny.” Certainly what ison record about local history hardly validatesthat charge. Gentile’s exile had if anythingmarked the end of tyranny by the family, fol-lowed by a more collegial government by com-mittees of citizens and churchmen. The plaque’saccount of Pietroantonio’s later life is consistentwith the latter point. However that may be, hiswidow’s expression about him sets up a distinctanalogy with the series of civic heroes painted inthe chapel. To be sure, it seems an outrageoushyperbole, albeit not very surprising, to equatePietroantonio’s career with the way the consulBrutus, and the others, first suffered undertyranny and in the end responded by doing civicgood. Yet, along with the coats of arms, it seemsto clarify the stimulus for the civic imageryinside the chapel.

That all this has little or nothing to do with theLast Judgment gives pause. Yet that is also true ofthe imagery of Faustino and Parenzo, and evenmore so of the opposite Chapel of Mary Magda-lene, not part of Signorelli’s commission.93 Thecivic images may have been assigned to the wain-scot of the outer bay because of this analogy withthese other images external to the Judgment,next to them. Almost all the civic images, beingin monochrome, are thereby bracketed with the

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illustrations of the poems, which are also distinctfrom the Last Judgment and a factor not contem-plated in Angelico’s plan. The sole full-color fig-ure among the civic images, the oak-crownedyouth, may be the exception that tests the rule.Unlike the others, the youth has a double associ-ation: with the civic motifs and with the Raisingof the Dead above him. In that aspect he evokesthe extension of the latter theme into the worldof classical poetry. Possibly this served as an entrypoint for the other civic representations.94

Renaissance culture permitted such intrusionsinto thematic sets when a partial patron subsi-dized them, though this is a concept contrary toexpectation. A vivid instance of 1455 is onrecord, another rare case when committee min-utes allow us to learn what took place before acontract was signed. In a debate about the choiceof saints for an altarpiece, one member inter-vened to offer to pay part of the cost if his patron

saint would be included, and it was done. A stan-dard analysis of the painting’s iconography wouldnever have come to that true explanation.95 A stillfurther relevant point about Giovanna and herhusband is the fact, mentioned earlier, that theirmarriage had been arranged by the husband’sgodfather, the future Pope Paul II. At that timethe relevant factors were Paul’s link to an abbeynear Orvieto and the reconciliation of the twoMonaldeschi branches. Here it can be added thatthe couple would later have been in a good posi-tion to know about the pope’s tomb, with itsunusual Last Judgment. Its introduction of thefight against heresy would be relevant. Thus theallusive interplays of the culture, from formal tosocial, systematic and casual, add up to more thanthe sum of the parts. At the end the fresco cycleturns out to have been the fruit of an array ofhuman drives and interests, pressed into a unitedstrength by the designer’s hand.

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evidence of a response tothe frescoes in the Cappella Nuova is from 1503,the year the work on the mural cycle was com-pleted. It is a drawing by Raphael of a foreshort-ened figure copied from the most emphatic onein Signorelli’s Fire from Heaven scene. On onelevel this immediate response is not remarkable.A few years earlier, Raphael had copied anotherSignorelli, drawing from a figure in a Signorellialtarpiece in the town of Città di Castello. Now,in 1503, at the age of twenty, he was a virtuallyequal collaborator with Signorelli’s personalfriend Pinturicchio in the great fresco cycle inSiena about Pope Pius II. In fact, the drawing inquestion is on the same sheet with a compositionsketch by the young artist for that cycle.1 Onemay reasonably infer, therefore, that on a tripfrom Siena, probably to his current base in Peru-gia, Raphael detoured through Orvieto to have alook at the new work by the other senior masterof this coterie. These two copies of Signorellisupport the hypothesis, offered above, thatRaphael produced a third copy, also involving aforeshortened figure in the Orvieto cycle, whenhe painted his roundels of Faith and Charity. Inany case, Raphael’s adoption of this element is inaccord with Vasari’s later report that Signorelli’scycle was especially good in such motifs as its“many foreshortenings” and that it thereby“stimulated those who came after.”

This early copying is even more impressivewhen it is noted that the second firm case of

copying is by Michelangelo, as also reported byVasari. Besides the imagery of Michelangelo’sCharon and Minos, invariably pointed out, itextends to others, such as the rising sequence ofsaved souls and the self-portrait. The two greatmasters may be defined by the divergent forms oftheir responses: Raphael to visual motifs (whichVasari would also emphasize), and Michelangeloto iconographic ones. Michelangelo did not repeatSignorelli’s forms, despite sharing with the olderartist the focus on muscular action that no doubtfirst drew his attention to Signorelli’s figures.

The iconographic aspect received more atten-tion. The firm knowledge that these artistsobserved Signorelli supports hypotheses that thesame thing happened in other cases. This hasbeen discussed above in the case of the engraverNiccolò da Modena, with the argument that histhree quite separate, if nonvisual, reuses of Sig-norellian motifs indicate that he had gone out ofhis way to look at the Orvieto cycle. BecauseOrvieto is on a hill and not on the way to any-where, one must go there on purpose, andRaphael is a precedent that shows this did hap-pen. Even though Niccolò’s nude Judith andfull-length portrait of a painter do not look likeSignorelli’s, and his grotesques look like those ofother artists as much as Signorelli’s, the accumu-lation of analogies, some unique, suggests thatthe analogies are significant.

After Michelangelo, the cycle continued to beinteresting to artists faced with a similar challenge,

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an assignment to produce a big mural about theLast Judgment. One special case is in the work ofthe Torresani brothers, who produced such amural in the small town of Rieti not far fromOrvieto in 1552–56.2 In what seems to be the onlycase after Signorelli, the brothers devoted a trian-gle in the vault of their chapel to the BlessingChrist and continued with other segments like theOrvieto model. They had only one bay and mademodifications to suit, and their pictorial approachis not Signorellian at all, although the connectionhas rightly been noted as clear. A similar situationappeared in a grander case, when Federico Zuc-cari took on the job of completing the Last Judg-ment in the dome of Florence Cathedral, leftunfinished by Vasari at his death. Two drawingsby Zuccari of details from the Orvieto cycle provethat he made a research visit to Orvieto as part ofhis preparation.3 The constraints of the domeshape, and the previous work on the project,probably prevented him from making Michelan-gelo’s Last Judgment his model, as one would oth-erwise have expected him to do. That choice didbecome the norm thereafter, and Signorelli’s workdisappeared from this kind of imitation. If Sig-norelli’s examples were considered at all, they maywell have been rejected on theological grounds, assuggested by passages in a book of advice aboutgood and bad art published in 1582 by the cardinalarchbishop of Bologna, Gabriele Paleotti. Eventhough the book was not completed, and there-fore is not likely to have had much direct effect(except on recent art historians), some passages arerelevant here.4 Paleotti’s allocation of four chaptersto the evils of grotesque ornament—more atten-tion than to any other theme in the book—isunexpected, but it is less surprising that he objectsto the presence in church imagery of Plato (as onthe Orvieto façade) and Orpheus (as in Signorelli’swainscot). Classical antiquity was believed to bedangerous, which is contrary to the culture seen inthe Cappella Nuova.

That was apparently the end of appropriatingiconographic motifs from the Orvieto cycle, butthe copying of single pictorial details had arevival long afterward, again most visible to uswith renowned artists. A study of the drawingsby Cézanne after old masters permits the obser-vation that, among those after these masters’drawings, there are more after Signorelli thanafter anyone else—five. All are based on twodrawings related to the Orvieto project.5 Morerecently, Jackson Pollock, in his twenties, copiedposes of figures from the cycle, specifically afterangels from the Assembly of the Blessed.6 (LikeCézanne, Pollock worked from reproductions inbooks.) To be sure, he did this only while underthe tutelage of his teacher Thomas Benton, adevotee of fifteenth-century painting. At thesame time, the twentieth century has seenanother basis for fascination with Signorelli: theideology of sex from Freud on. Besides the caseof Freud himself, cited in the Introduction, thereis the interest in homosexual contexts, as illus-trated with E. M. Forster7 and Paul Cadmus.8 Itseems that various ages find their own bit of Sig-norelli to adopt.9 This is in accord with the habitthe monographs have of presenting each segmentof the chapel as a separate unit, paying littleattention to the whole.

The modern viewers mentioned, with theirdependence on books containing reproductions,remind us that still another angle on the frescoeshas had great power, that of the historians. Theybegin with the local erudite writers of the eigh-teenth century: Clementini, for his preciousreports of now lost details, and Della Valle, bothfor his grand scale engravings that first expandedawareness of the work and for his archival materi-als that shed light on the local context.10 Thesetwo historians saw the Cappella Nuova as a histor-ical monument of Orvieto and dedicated a newkind of civic pride to presenting it. The cathedralcommittees had expressed their civic pride by

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building a cathedral and commissioning artists;Clementini and Della Valle, among others, usedtheir archival sources to produce a new monu-ment, honoring Orvieto in their scholarship.

Della Valle’s engravings brought painters toOrvieto from distant places. The GermanNazarene artist Johann Friedrich Overbeckwrote in 1813 from Orvieto to a painter friend inRome that Signorelli was among the masters ofthe first class, as much so as Raphael.11 This wasthe first time Signorelli had been moved up froma position in a chain of progress, where Vasarihad already put him, to a status on his own, notto mention one so high. This treatment is part ofthe historicism then emerging as a scholarlyapproach, rejecting the notion that art pro-gresses, but is also related to a preference theNazarenes had for Angelico’s portion of thecycle, something in which they remained alone.The combination of a sense of history and anadmiration for the cycle soon led to the firstefforts at restoration of the frescos, by visitingRussian painters in 1845.12 Then 1879 broughtthe first scholarly monograph on Signorelli, bythe German Robert Vischer. Monographs onRenaissance artists were not uncommon by thattime, but there were few on artists that workedbefore the High Renaissance. Among thoseartists, Signorelli was the leader here too, as withthe series of engravings after his work, almost ahundred years before.

There is nothing surprising in the observationthat each age has defined its own favorite Sig-norelli. Most works of art that continue to beregarded as of the highest quality produce sucheffects. (In this instance one era, the seventeenthcentury, is missing; it is distinguished chiefly forhaving destroyed some parts of the Orvietocycle.) The only general conclusion to be drawnis apparently that the next age will discover stillanother Signorelli.13 Yet it might still be urgedthat this book should offer conclusions from its

own new approach, the focus on the productionprocess in the chapel.

A call for conclusions at the end of a book isusual and natural, when the book consists ofarguments based on points of evidence, as thisone does. Yet it is also true, if rarely brought for-ward, that such books as this in many cases donot present explicit conclusions, an omission thateasily passes unnoticed if not made articulate. Inparticular this can happen when the text, as inthis case, is a narrative. Described events followeach other and then end. If those events seem toembody a single strong purpose, a conclusionwill decide that it has been achieved or not. If,however, the events are an organic life, as that ofa person, they may move through phases undervaried external influences until they eventuallystop, as with the person’s death, and it is accept-able that there was no meaningful conclusion.One expects a completed work of art to exem-plify the former of these two possibilities, theachievement of purpose, or its failure.

This fresco cycle, however, perhaps surpris-ingly, has turned out when its production isinvestigated to be involved in a long series ofunrelated accidental shifts, pulling it each time inanother direction. There is to begin with (sinceone must begin somewhere) the unusual circum-stance of the call for a transeptal chapel withoutthe standard function of chapels. There is theaccident that the painter called on to paint itswalls, Fra Angelico, successfully proposed atheme that was of interest to him but that had noprevious local significance. When Angelico lefthis work unfinished, his successor after a longinterval amended and adjusted the project inways that seem to have been unplanned before,particularly in monumentalizing the episode ofthe Raising of the Dead. The rest of the outerbay was first assigned a theme at this time, a com-pletely novel set of images. Quite separately, thewainscot at this point was enriched from being a

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line of heads to a unique new statement, appar-ently called for and perhaps designed by a power-ful local individual. A smaller insertion, of theimagery of civic virtue, was inserted separately atthe same point. Each of these events has beenreported in its own segment of this book, andconclusions about it drawn, but a general conclu-sion may be no more appropriate than it wouldbe in a person’s life affected by changing forces.Perhaps a methodological conclusion is appropri-ate, that one should be wary of seeking singleconclusions.

This pattern is familiar in other contexts,among them in monuments of architecture. Weknow that at Chartres one tower of the cathedralwas built centuries after the other and presents adifferent period’s style, and we are not madeuncomfortable as to our feelings about the build-ing. If a similar observation has not been madeabout Orvieto, is it because completed monu-ments of painting make that more difficult? Itmay instead result from another element of theproduction not listed above, one in which Sig-norelli’s artistic personality played almost theonly role, as it did not in the choice of themes.As has been noted at various points, Signorellioften asserted unity in the work, notably in theuse of frameworks and ornament. It seems likelythat he was seeking to hide the project’s patchyevolution and has had great success.

That success seems due in part to Signorelli’sparticular approach to the painting of form that isimplied, though not stated, by Vasari, his earliestcommentator. Vasari’s judgment on this frescocycle was quoted at the beginning of this book.Perhaps more important is the writer’s choice ofthe place he assigns to Signorelli in his book, as the last artist presented in the second of histhree parts. In this part, as the author hadexplained in his preface, he deals with the mastersof the fifteenth century, who are admirable for

their realism, especially in the drawing of figures.They lack, however, something that Vasariadmires as a new skill in the later artists of partthree, in the sixteenth century, the soft grace thatlets them blend the figures with their airy worldin an easy symbiosis.

Signorelli, at the end of the second phase, isnear enough to the third to have been able toinfluence it more than almost any other artist ofhis time, by convincing the viewer of the move-ment and energy of his figures. He does this morein the Orvieto cycle than he ever does elsewhere,assisted, one may guess, by the special stimulus ofthe energetic theme. Yet the figures are still hardand wooden in surface. That hard solidity, whichis yet capable of releasing energy, is also no doubtwhat has attracted modern artists, from Cézanneto Beckmann, Benton, and Cadmus, suggestingin them a trace of archaism. Its other benefit isthat it makes the figures congruent with the firmand heavy frames, giving the whole a unity thatthe later artists tended to discard.

We are thus surrounded in the chapel by ahuge ring of such figures asserting their vitalityeven at the point of death or while returningfrom it, equally so at all points around us. To besure, when we register this hedge of bodies allaround, we may be led to notice a refined shift inpresentation between the two bays. It is only inthe more inventive outer bay (in which, also,Vasari saw everything he found to admire in thecycle) that this row of bodies is, as well, posi-tioned not in a narrow forward stage but in adeeper space. That is the case everywhere in thisbay, shown here by the foreshortened figures andthere by the remote temple attacked byAntichrist. So Signorelli registers his ongoingthought and evolution, only slightly exposedwithin his imposing singularity of assertion. Onemay be confident that he will offer more newperceptions to the next observers.

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Introduction1. Vasari 1966, 2:633.2. Vasari errs in calling this a

Chapel of Our Lady, and this state-ment never seems to recur any-where else. That designation is atoken of how puzzling the chapel’slack of any normal dedication, tobe discussed, must have seemed.

3. Vasari 1966, 2:637.4. Vasari 1966, 2:636 n. 1.5. Rothgeb, 116, reports that

only one other book by Freudrivals this one in “number of Ger-man editions and number of for-eign languages into which it hasbeen translated.”

6. Freud’s explanation centers onthe word “Signorelli,” not the lookof the paintings. To us this mayseem surprising, because the lattermay seem to relate well to Freudianconcern with the extremes ofhuman experience and with thebody as their vehicle. In his firstaccount, an 1898 article, Freud callsthe theme of the cycle a “veryslight factor” in his “block” (Freud1955–74, 3:392) and even omitsthat phrase in his book the nextyear, where he modifies his accountof his chat with the fellow-traveler.He had earlier written that he hadrecommended Orvieto to the trav-eler, but this time he only reportedasking whether he had been there.

However, Freud reverses field inthe next chapter of his book, whichis about suppression of anotherword in connection with death andsex. There he adds a footnote to sayhe is “not fully convinced of thelack of an inner connection”between “the theme of the fres-coes” and his block. These shifts aresuggestive. Freud’s reaction is notdiscussed in Signorelli monographs,but here it is one example of thisbook’s added materials.

7. Some of these are citedthroughout this book on particularpoints. Any not cited again do notappear in the bibliography.

8. The illustrated books are alltitled Luca Signorelli or a nearequivalent, with or without thename of the chapel as a subtitle.Following older books by EnzoCarli in 1946 and by Mario Salmiin 1953, they include books byCarlo Carrà (undated, about 1968),Antonio Paolucci in 1991,Jonathan Riess in 1995, and DugaldMcLellan in 1999. With thenotable exception of the distin-guished artist Carrà, these authorshave also produced more seriouswritings cited in this book. Riess’svolume is notable for departingfrom the traditional way of namingthe sequence of the chapel frescoes,discussed in this Introduction, in

favor of one essentially like thatargued here, even if the type ofpublication makes his descriptioninevitably brief and unexplained. Ashort list of old and new errors inthese books, for the use of nonspe-cialist readers, is in note 13 below.Of the dissertations, that by GloriaKury of 1974 on the early paintingsof the artist was fully published.Those by Jonathan Kanter of 1989on the later paintings (including achapter on the chapel similar tothose described here), by TomHenry of 1994 on the paintings ofthe 1490s, and by Claire VanCleave of 1995 on the drawings ledto related articles, which are citedhere. That by Götz Kraft of 1980was photocopied in a few copies,in a system standard for Germandissertations; it offered a theory ofthe artist’s narrative, and that bySara James of 1994 discussingliturgy is on microfilm, but neitherhas had other public circulation.That by Dugald McLellan of 1992,though unpublished, made avail-able unknown documents citedhere; see Chapter 5, nn. 88 and 91,and Bibliography.

9. These numerous publicationsare cited below in association withthe aspects of the work they dis-cuss.

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10. Testa 1996. The articles inthis book discussed in the presentone, and individually cited in thebibliography, include those ofAndreani, Barroero, Bertorello,Castelli, Cieri Via, Clementini,Dacos, Davanzo, Kanter, Mencar-elli, Paoli, Testa, Van Cleave, andthe present writer.

11. Hence the lack of agree-ment about attributions is equallypresent here. A rare token of thisuncertainty is available in twostudies on the issue by the sameauthor, with changed views on theinternal chronology, not noted assuch (Kanter, dissertation of 1989noted above, and article of 1996).

12. Scarpellini, 40–52; Moriondo,18–22; Dussler, xxxi–xl. The mostextreme such case, perhaps, is inthe guidebook Umbria of theTouring Club Italiano (1978,459–63), where the single seg-ments are helpfully diagrammedand marked from A to G in anillustration marked “scheme of thefrescoes.” It may also be the mostsurprising case because users of thebook might be expected to wantto know what the theme is. In theusual guidebook this lapse mightbe put down to ignorance in anonscholarly book, but this partic-ular guide is well known for theinput of scholars and its use bythem. The theme is also totallyomitted in the standard mono-graphs on Angelico, to be sur-veyed below.

13. The recent illustrated bookson the chapel mentioned abovemodify the monograph pattern inpart, and for the better. That byCarli cites the theme of the LastJudgment at the start but thenretains the usual sequence of

images. That by Carrà does so aswell, while erroneously saying thechapel was dedicated to SanBrizio. That by Riess erroneouslysays it was dedicated to theAssumption, which may diminishacceptance of his major improve-ments. Notable among these isRiess’s changed sequence ofscenes, the same as the one pre-sented here and in the brief guideby McLellan. One only regretsthat these authors do not build onthis foundation, but continue totreat the segments separately,unmindful of the continuity pastcolumns and around corners ofsingle scenes. This omission againmust diminish the persuasivenessof the reading, as does Riess’s firmand also erroneous report that nodocument reports any plans for thewalls by Fra Angelico. Riess’sinclusion of comments on the roleof heresy in Orvieto is also valu-able, although his fuller discussionof that theme in his book on theAntichrist scene has rightly beencalled doubtful.

14. The term “monograph” isalso applied to such books, notablyin French usage. In that contextthe distinction made between thisbook and monographs would beunclear. However, that less com-mon usage would be a problemonly if the matter is not noted.

Chapter 1 1. Waley is the standard citation

for the period up to 1300. Politicalin focus, Waley’s book nevermentions the cathedral. There isno similar study for the later cen-turies. Perali has much valuablematerial, including the connec-tions with art.

2. Lambert, especially sections2:4 and 3:7, is the standard study.Wakefield and Evans, especiallysections 23–25, 47–53, and 56–60,make sources conveniently avail-able.

3. Lambert, 115.4. Natalini, 155–56. 5. Pastor, 6:595–96n, provides

materials about the earliest pre-served documents.

6. Carli, 123–28, with excellentillustrations, figs. 245–49.

7. The attribution of this liturgyto Saint Thomas is not generallyaccepted today. It did have a plau-sible basis in the fact that he wasliving in the Dominican conventin Orvieto at the time. The origi-nal role of the Dominicans as sol-diers against the Albigensianheretics would involve him inthese concerns.

8. Bonelli 1972.9. Middeldorf Kosegarten, 17.

A careful recent study (Freni, 123)notes that “no reliable sourcementions the celebration of thefeast in Orvieto before 1337,” butalso that “it would surely havebeen celebrated in Orvieto after1317” as part of the “really widediffusion” of the feast throughoutChristendom. However, unless thecloth relic only arrived in thetown about 1317, and the accountof its having arrived fifty years ear-lier is hence to be regarded as amyth—a hypothesis that no oneseems to offer—the object onwhich the feast depended hadbeen present since the earlier occa-sion in 1264 and was at all times anatural basis for a pious cult just aslater. Having more basis than else-where, such a celebration could beexpected earlier there than in most

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places. The stimulus of the unusualsignificance of heresy in Orvietoseems not to have been consideredin this connection. Once it isaccepted that celebrations tookplace from 1317 without appearingin known records for the nexttwenty years, it is difficult to take asimilar lack of records to signifythe absence of celebrations earlier.One may also reconsider a localchronicle of the early fifteenthcentury, which describes a CorpusDomini celebration as havingtaken place in connection with thefoundation of the cathedral in1290. Even if this account expresses“idealized memory . . . rather than[a] faithful narration,” as recentwriters have argued (Freni, 137 n.49), it is arguably more likely to bethe idealization of somethingrather than a complete invention,and might then be linked to therole of the relic chapel in the planof the cathedral, as discussed in thepresent study.

10. Bonelli 1988, 16 n. 7.11. Gillerman, 300.12. Gillerman, 303.13. A Byzantine reliquary of

this kind is reproduced in TheGlory of Byzantium, no. 35.

14. Gillerman, 303 n. 16, isamong many who quote the line.

15. Gillerman, as in the preced-ing note, is among those who notethe timber roof as a likeness. Thisis valid materially and conceptu-ally, but not visually, because theceiling in Rome is flat and the onein Orvieto is pitched with opentrusses.

16. Krautheimer, 312.17. Krautheimer, 312. 18. Cf. Carli, 15, who also cites

Bonelli’s similar view.

19. Bonelli 1988, 12.20. Gillerman, 307, also citing

earlier writers.21. If we agree that the Roman

secular building was the model, wemust privilege the visual likenessand disregard the functional differ-ence. If we accept the Romanmodel for the Orvieto ceiling, asabove, we must think in the oppo-site way. This may have occurred,but the phenomenon complicatesthe hypothesis.

22. Bonelli’s reconstruction ofthe flank, reproduced by Giller-man, fig. 7, makes this graphicallyclear.

23. Harding, 126.24. If the designer was proceed-

ing as here suggested, he wouldhave had to think about the shiftin media, and aspects of the worksuggest that this happened. Boththe need to mark the boundarybetween the media, and the oppo-site need to produce a unifyingflow, appear to be articulated. Theformer appears in the bronzesculptures, the sole strongly three-dimensional element, positioned atthe boundary, and the latter appearsin the roughness of carving at thetop of the reliefs. They resemble ineffect the glitter of the tiny mosaicunits. Following White’s muchadmired proposed explanation ofthe rough effects, that the reliefswere simply never finished, con-trary arguments have been offered(Schlee, 120), claiming that therough cutting was applied overfinished carvings. The continuingactivity of building and decorationat the cathedral in the followingyears also may cast doubt on theidea that these panels were leftincomplete.

If the reason offered here forusing such low relief is accepted,there remains the problem of avisual model that might haveevoked this specific style. Onemay be proposed in a nearby ear-lier art, the classical Roman potterycalled Aretine ware. As here, itshows graceful figures against largeblank planes. Admiration for thisware is evinced in a remarkabletext of 1282 (Ristoro d’Arezzo,137), reporting that “sculptors anddraftsmen” admired the new findsof these ancient fragments. Thatdetail virtually entails a search forreflection of the style soon after-ward. This topic, which requiresfurther study, was initiated withmy seminar students at LeidenUniversity in 1972–73.

25. Harding, 124, indicates that the mosaic cost 418 percent as much as a fresco cycle in thechurch. The sculpture would cost a good deal more than thefrescoes.

26. In 1307, just before thesculpture project started, there wasa problem of stones thrown at thebuilding that left “many figuresand windows and doors broken”(Fumi, Duomo, 213). Mosaicwould probably have been stillmore vulnerable. In December1981 vandals damaged some of thesculpture.

27. Pius II, 1:286.28. Riess, Antichrist, 9–11, also

notes praise of the cathedral build-ing by Pope Alexander VI, in aletter from Orvieto of November30, 1493. The letter is even moreexceptional in offering specificpraise of the façade, called “lo pusbell frontispici que temple al montinga” (Borgia, 711). Preceded by

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Pius II’s praise and followed bythat of Leandro Alberti, notedbelow, this evokes a perhapsunique recurrence of praise fortrecento sculpture in this time.

29. Alberti, 1553 edition, 56r.The author’s dedication is datedJanuary 19, 1550, and he identifiesan item of February 24, 1550, as apostscript (223r). Other items areidentified as being written in 1549(289r, 300r). The author (1479–1552) presumably used travel notescollected over a long period.

30. Taylor’s work supersedesearlier proposals, although some ofhis inferences may be debated.

31. Weisheipl, 149–63. 32. The Glory of Byzantium, no.

53, quoting earlier studies.33. Quoted and translated by

Geanakoplos, 395.34. Lambert, 56. Wakefield and

Evans, 168–69, cite, among others,a comment of 1266 that “through-out France these persons are calledBulgarian heretics.”

35. Schiff, 11.36. Taylor, 135.37. Dragut, passim. An account

in the June 21, 1998, New YorkTimes travel section, with largecolor illustrations, has made thismaterial much more accessible. Iam indebted for much help toSzombor Jekely. It was solely thelikeness as to small, allover imageryon the exteriors that first stimu-lated this inquiry; when it waspursued, the likeness in iconogra-phy appeared, an equally rare one.The connection seemed thus togain much support.

38. Grabar, 365–82.39. Bonelli 1972.40. It is sometimes believed that

a papal decree of 1318 making the

feast obligatory everywhereenhanced the Orvieto cult of therelic beyond a much slighter ear-lier presence. However, the feasthad earlier been celebrated in vari-ous individual places, and Orvietowould be a likely one. The newdecree would probably increasepilgrimages.

41. For Alberti, 56r, writing in1549, the procession is the oneactivity in Orvieto that calls fornotice.

42. Carli, 123–28, gives anexcellent account.

43. Bonelli 1972.44. Studies of the stages of the

cathedral’s construction do notseem to mention this older sac-risty. We learn of it only throughits demolition (Andreani, 422,docs. 3, 5).

45. Fumi, Duomo, 171.46. Andreani, 422, doc. 20.47. Andreani, 424, docs. 36, 38,

40–42.48. Andreani, 424, docs. 35, 37,

43.49. Andreani, 424, doc. 35; 426,

doc. 69; 429, doc. 126.50. Andreani, 435, doc. 226.

That it was hidden thoroughlymay be suggested when elsewhere(Andreani, 429, doc. 143; 432,doc. 196) bodies are described asrecondite in a coffin.

51. Andreani, 432, doc. 192.52. Andreani, 422, doc. 2.

Fumi, usually very reliable, hadreported with no source (as hesometimes did) that the bequestwas for a chapel “in onore dellaVergine Assunta” and says his basiswas a formal “decree,” but nonehas been found (Fumi, Duomo,171).

53. Andreani, 423, doc. 20.This record of 1411 assigns to theMonaldeschi as a chapel, in returnfor the one they are losing, an“altar under the title of the Coro-nation of the Virgin” and renamesit for the Magi in honor of theMonaldeschi patrons. It is puzzlingthat the authorities had assignedthe title “Coronation” eventhough they had not obtained themoney bequeathed in 1396 for achapel with that dedication(Andreani, 423, doc. 22). Perhapsthey had counted on the moneyand given the name in advance butwhen they were not paid took theoccasion to remove the name.

54. Fumi, Statuti, 21 n. 1.55. Andreani, 435, doc. 226;

436, doc. 237, a payment of twoand a half lire for “elevando taber-naculum Assumpte.” Some writershave misinterpreted this to meanthat the tabernacle was removed.

56. Andreani, 436, docs.149–59.

57. Andreani, 437, docs.241–42.

58. Andreani, 439, docs.272–75. This too was done aftermuch delay, nine years after it wasfirst voted.

59. Andreani, 441, doc. 319.60. Andreani, 442, doc. 323.61. Andreani, 442, doc. 324.62. Andreani, 445, doc. 387.63. Andreani, 441–44, docs.

317–29, 362, 363.64. “Cappella Nuova” seems to

have been still the usual name in1729, an astonishing run from1400 (Andreani, 445, doc. 382).The new name is standard from1739, and the name had been usedearlier for the altar (Andreani, 445,doc. 379). Earlier still there is a

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joint title, “Chapel of theMadonna di San Brizio called theCappella Nova” (Andreani, 444,doc. 376, in 1724).

65. In 1910 the form was “thechapel dedicated to San Brizio,”with no justification, the earliestofficial use I have noted. It is acurious point that the excellenteditor, summarizing a document,begins to use the name “of SanBrizio” when discussing records of1685 (Andreani, 443, doc. 343)and then continues that approach.Such anachronism can have realand wrong effects, as when a seri-ous scholar (Baldini, 108) says thatFra Angelico painted the chapel“dedicated to San Brizio”; another(Pope-Hennessy, 33) summarizedrecords by saying Angelico was topaint “the chapel of the Madonnaof San Brizio.” He then saysAngelico worked “in the chapel ofSan Brizio, where theCorporal . . . was preserved,” and,later (p. 214) varying the samepoint, that the artist worked in“the chapel of the Corporal, or ofthe Madonna of San Brizio, in thesouth transept, which had not yetbeen painted.” The Chapel of theCorporal is the one opposite, inthe north transept, painted in thepreceding century. The confu-sions, not unique, may reflect thechapel’s lack of any dedication atall, which is so uncommon thatone is supplied even if wrong.Unofficially, “Chapel of SanBrizio” appears in John AddingtonSymonds’s life of Michelangelo in1893, presumably not for the firsttime.

66. Andreani, 424–42, docs.35–324.

67. Andreani, 426, observes thatfrom 1321 the series is “almostuninterrupted.”

68. These include the contractsfor the frescoes of Signorelli andothers, discussed in detail below.

69. Andreani, 429, docs.125–26.

70. For the four references, seeAndreani, 430, docs. 155–57 and159; for the theme, see doc. 152.

71. Andreani, 437, doc. 241.72. Andreani, 441, doc. 302.73. Andreani, 429, doc. 426;

430, docs. 150–52.74. Bacci, 279–350. Gilbert

1991, n. 32, cites a misreading of“chapel,” which led to a scholar’screation of a nonexistent chapelroom.

75. A similar caveat applies tothe dedication and name of thecathedral. Trustworthy sources (asEnciclopedia Cattolica, s.v. “Orvi-eto”) report that the modernname, Santa Maria Assunta, waspresent from the beginning in1290. Most early formal referencesread “Santa Maria Maggiore,”including Pope Nicholas’s lettercited earlier and Signorelli’s con-tracts. In a breve of Pope Sixtus IV(r. 1471–84) the cathedral is thatwhich “Nicholas IV began tobuild under the title (vocabulo) ofthe Glorious Mother of God Marythe Virgin” (Sannella, 84). Formaltitles of 1758 (Testa, 473) and 1845(Andreani, 446, doc. 392) call it“S. Maria della Stella,” so“Assunta” must be later than that.

76. The chief one is a chapelbuilt in the 1460s on the navefloor, like a shed, with a bequestfrom a Bishop Monaldeschi. Fumi(Duomo, 427–37) presented thiswell, with early documents calling

it “cappella nuova” in 1463 (xv,xvi), while in 1465 it is the“chapel commonly called of theMadonna della Tavola” (xx, againin 1480, xxiv). Some later accountshave taken this Monaldeschibequest to be for our chapel.

77. Andreani, 423, doc. 20.78. Andreani, 435, doc. 226.79. The phenomenon of unfin-

ished churches inducing civicshame seems common and wouldrepay study. In many cases, com-pletion came centuries later, as inCologne, famous for the crane lefton the roof for centuries and seenin many views. It became a markerof the city. In Florence, onewould cite façades of majorchurches added in the nineteenthcentury, at Santa Croce and theCathedral, or never, as at SanLorenzo.

Chapter 21. Fumi, Duomo, 171, while

surveying these events, notes theconsistent use of the term“nuova.”

2. Andreani, 423, doc. 30.3. Fumi, Duomo, 224–24, docs.

42–43. The committee liked themaster’s low price but still stipu-lated that his work must be “per-fecta et utile et bona.”

4. Andreani, 424, doc. 34. Fumiomitted this record from his publi-cation, which was long the stan-dard reference, and it received littleattention in the earlier studies.

5. Andreani, 424, doc. 45.6. Oddly, the form to which he

had recourse is not the one stan-dard in Italian, which is scialbada.A Latin cognate, also derived fromalbus, white, exists, but all this wasevidently beyond the scribe’s ken.

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7. Only one of the tourist sitesin Rome recorded by a visitor in1450, Giovanni Rucellai, was acontemporary work in fresco; itwas by Masolino. To be sure, itsfame may not have extended tothe artist, whose name Rucellai didnot mention (Gilbert 1988, 134).

8. Christiansen, 3–4, reports inhis brief biography on Gentile andthe pope. Gilbert 1988, 198, docu-ments the status of Gentile andPisanello as the most famous artistsof the time in Italy.

9. Orlandi, 189.10. Andreani, 424, doc. 46.11. Hollingsworth, 3, may typ-

ify both this widespread view andthe paucity of evidence for it. Shesummarizes in her introduction:“It was the patron who was thereal initiator . . . he played a signif-icant part in determining bothform and content . . . it was thepatron, and not the artist, who wasseen by his contemporaries as thecreator of the project.” Elsewhere,more correctly in my view, shespeaks of patrons’ wish to showtheir wealth or power but seems tohold that they must initiate boththat and the thematic content, notallowing that the former goalmight be achieved by engaging aprestigious artist to work up atheme.

12. Glasser, the standard study,is actually based on close study of avery few cases, but they areacceptable as typical.

13. Gilbert 1998 explores thesecases and many similar ones, alongwith a wide range of patron-artistinteractions with respect tothemes.

14. Andreani, 424, doc. 48.

15. Gilbert 1975 explores thischaracter trait.

16. Andreani, 424–25, doc. 49.17. Testa and Davanzo, in Testa

1996, 35, with citation of similarviews offered in 1986 by aDominican writer. They believethis is explained by Angelico beinga theologian, and they evidentlyassume that special explanation isneeded because consultation withpainters about themes would nototherwise occur. Yet this hypothe-sis is negated, apart from otherpoints, in that Angelico was not,and was not regarded as, a theolo-gian. The Orvietans identify himsimply as a friar, which wouldimply only literacy. They decidedto consult him as an outstandingpainter. In any case, if theologicalskill had been their focus, they hadexperts on hand who could havedeveloped a theme at any earlierpoint. These included the arch-deacon, who had been involved inthese arrangements to find artistsand who was a doctor of law (pre-sumably canon law), as they notedin 1446 (Fumi, Duomo, 225, doc.44).

18. A large exception is theactive literature about one scene,Signorelli’s Deeds of Antichrist,and a variety of references toevents around 1500 have beencited to explain it. It is the cycle asa whole whose inspiration has notbeen a major subject of attention.

19. Andreani, 431, doc. 181;434, doc. 214.

20. Verheyen, 21, notes that“questions of dimensions, size ofthe figures” played a large role inthe negotiations between artistsand Isabella d’Este, who was prob-ably the best-documented art

patron of the Renaissance. A letterto Isabella from the painter Francia(Luzio, 564) is a good example.

21. The standard study of fres-coes of this period, by Borsook,notes in passing (p. xxxii) the highpositive correlation between LastJudgments and large surfaces as agiven. Her instances, however,extend only through the first halfof the fourteenth century, afterwhich time she turns to a surveyof the use of such surfaces forunique themes.

22. A recent comment (Testaand Davanzo, in Testa 1996, 36–37n. 16), which makes use of arecent more detailed study,Baschet, speaks of the theme ascontinuing in the fifteenth cen-tury. However, of the twelve casescited, only two are in central Italy:that in San Gimignano cited here(the date 1413 given is not firm)and one to be discussed later, thatof 1445–51 in Terni, too late tohave been considered by Angelico.(Of the rest, one is in the farsoutheast, in the Abruzzi, and allthe rest are in the north beyondthe Apennines. The Genoa areaalone accounts for seven of thesenine.) Omitted from Baschet’s list are two large mid-fifteenth-century Judgments in Siena thatare in a different context: as ele-ments in cycles of the twelve arti-cles of the Creed (cf. H. van Os,Vecchietta and the Sacristy of theSiena Hospital Church, The Hague,1974, figs. 28, 45). Angelico’sseries of five Judgments are thusisolated in his lifetime and region.It may reasonably be inferred thatthe Last Judgment is not a themethat a patron there would be likelyto propose. Another small Sienese

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Last Judgment of the same period,by Giovanni di Paolo, will be dis-cussed below. Its iconography dif-fers from the norm.

23. It starts, as is not surprising,from the usual but unfoundedbelief that from 1396 the chapelhad been planned to be dedicatedto the Assumption. It then finds adoctrinal link in the area of escha-tology between the cult of theVirgin and the Last Judgment. Thelatter does of course involve thattopic—the theology of the end ofthe world—but no relationshipbetween this and the Assumptionis offered, nor is any obvious. TheAssumption took place in histori-cal time. Mary, with many otherpersons, has a role in the LastJudgment, but in the chapel herrole is only the traditional one.Because this proposal has not beenpublished, it is cited here anony-mously, as a matter of fairness; apublished proposal may be assumedto include all the proponent’s bestarguments, but one not yet so pre-sented may not do so. Yet the ideaof explaining the chapel by somerelationship between the Judgmentand the Assumption would arise sonaturally that it seemed to call forany possible consideration.

24. Paoli, in Testa 1996, 65–75.25. Andreani, 425, docs. 54, 55.26. Andreani, 425, doc. 52.27. Fumi, Duomo, 36, docs. 16,

17; 433, doc. 1.28. Andreani, 432, doc. 191.29. Mencarelli, in Testa 1996,

91.30. Andreani, 435, doc. 223.31. The document contains an

error in saying Signorelli has beenhired not only to paint but also to“finish” the chapel, and this may

explain the misreading cited. Aswill be discussed in more detail, atthis time in November 1499 hehad a contract for the vaults only,agreed to in the previous April(Andreani 434, doc. 220). Thecontract to finish the chapel wasdrawn up the following April(Andreani, 435, docs. 225, 227). Apossible reason for the scribe’serror in November is that by thencommittee members whose discus-sion the scribe was recording hadtaken for granted that Signorelliwould get the rest of the job, sothey might well have talked in thatsense.

32. Andreani, 425, doc. 57.33. The Baptist is entitled to be

called a prophet, having foretoldChrist’s mission, and he appears intheological writings as “the lastprophet.” However, images of setsof prophets rarely include him,while those of saints include himoften (Metsch, 10, on the prophet;144–59, with other saints).

34. Pope-Hennessy, 33, 214–15,plates 124–25.

35. Baldini, cat. 107.36. Schottmuller, xxx (“The

theme was the last things”),152–56 (captions), 234–35 (cata-logue entry).

37. Argan, 109.38. Among the prophets (so

labeled) identifiable in the triangle,only Aaron does not recur in thepanels. In iconographic tradition ingeneral he was a minor figure.Although his rod is distinctive, arecent writer who did identifyMoses and David here did notnote his presence. An approachthat sought a special direction ofcult in the Orvieto imagery mightcite him (and Christ’s globe) as the

exceptional details that could offerclues toward its discovery. He hasa front seat, but he may only havehis frequent role of reinforcing theimportance of his neighbor Moses.

39. Such scenes as the Adora-tion of the Magi are consistentlycut in two by architectural systemsin French Gothic ivories of thefourteenth century, objects pro-duced with industrial uniformity.

40. Filippo Lippi’s schema hereclosely follows that used for thesame subject by Masolino, in hiscycle at Castiglione Olona. InMasolino’s case one might arguethat the beheading on the otherwall is a different scene, but severalfactors, in addition to the Lippiimitation, favor the view that it ispart of the one scene continuouswith the banquet. From Giottoon, the two events had tradition-ally been shown in one scene. Thecorner shows no frame line, of thekind present at the outer sides ofboth episodes. Within the space aline at the top inner edge of thefloor is continuous in both. A col-umn near but not quite at the cor-ner might suggest that Masolinowanted to keep the angle frombeing disturbing, yet not deny it.

41. Outstanding instances arethe Parthenon frieze and themosaics at Daphni.

42. Drawings of whole narrativecompositions by Gentile Belliniand Carpaccio exemplify the pro-cedure. They show stick figures,evidently as initial steps in a designprocess. These are followed bymore-detailed drawings of figuresand parts of compositions. Ames-Lewis, 139–44, associates thesedrawings with earlier ones byAngelico’s assistant Gozzoli.

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43. Andreani, 425, doc. 52.44. According to calculations by

Goldthwaite, 436, 438, in 1447 askilled craftsman in Florencereceived 19.6 soldi a day, and anunskilled worker earned 11 soldi.

45. In Florence in 1471 thepainter Baldovinetti paid 5 soldiper quire when he bought 16quires (of 24 or 25 sheets each) ofpaper of the reale size, about 18 ×24 inches. It was specified as thecheapest available, da straccio—aswe might say, scratch paper(Kennedy, 246). The huge differ-ence between this price and that ofthe gavantone evidently includesdifference in paper quality and aprice increase in the interveningyears, suggested by Ames-Lewis,22. The price of the Orvieto sheetprobably included the paper-maker’s skilled labor in gluing sev-eral sheets together and perhapssizing it.

46. Landau and Parshall, 16–17.47. Degenhart and Schmitt, 1:2,

no. 399.48. Bober and Rubenstein, no.

76.49. Degenhart and Schmitt, 1:2,

no. 399.50. Berenson (no. 532) gave the

youthfulness of the face, which forhim was incompatible with theideality of Angelico’s style, as amajor reason for assigning thedrawing to Benozzo.

51. In the workshop of Raphaelin Rome, assistants on fresco cyclesdid produce both drawings andrelated segments of paintings,which might encourage such aproposal in this earlier case. How-ever, with Raphael this is in thecontext of undertaking manysimultaneous jobs. Angelico, quite

the opposite, had nothing else todo in Orvieto. He was fifty or less,undertook fairly long journeys toOrvieto, and at the same periodproduced four fresco projects inRome promptly, all circumstancessuggesting that his health wasgood.

52. Degenhart and Schmitt, 1:2,no. 398.

53. Florence, Museo di SanMarco, 105 × 210 cm. Its uniqueshape is explained below.

54. See note 22 above. Angelicomay have known just one frescoedLast Judgment of the fifteenth cen-tury, the one already mentioned inSan Gimignano, doubtfully dated1413 and attributed to Taddeo diBartolo.

55. Brenk provides a thoroughsurvey from the earliest images tothe twelfth century. Regrettablythere is nothing similar for thesubsequent period. Mâle, ReligiousArt, 365–89, presents an excellentsurvey for France in the thirteenthcentury.

56. Most of the figures emergefrom tombs, but the very tiniestemerge directly from the earth.The mix of two arrangementsseems to be unique, absent evenfrom the closely derived Last Judg-ment at Viboldone; it may haveadded to the physicality and claimsto reality in Giotto’s work, andperhaps also have made maximumuse of the squeezed space forexpressive goals. Later images,including Signorelli’s, dropped theformula with tombs to show allthe souls issuing from the earth,but it seems unlikely that theywere influenced by Giotto, whosefigures of this kind seem to have

been ignored in the modern schol-arly literature too.

57. “Heaven passed away as ascroll that is rolled up” (Revelation6:14). A much earlier example is inHerrad of Landsberg’s Hortus Deli-ciarum of circa 1180 (edition of1977, plate 68), where it is in anotherwise standard Last Judgment.In Giotto this is one of several iso-lated cases where a motif from Rev-elation is seen in a schemaotherwise entirely based onMatthew and Corinthians, the usualtexts. Mâle (Religious Art, 356–64)accurately observed that the textualreference used for the Last Judg-ment made a major shift from Rev-elation to Matthew and Corinthiansaround 1200. The recurrent refer-ences of our own age to the laterimagery as “apocalyptic” appear toreflect a generalized “new age” fas-cination with such texts that attimes blanks out the absence of anyspecific motifs from that source inthe works.

58. While the chapel recalls theone in Orvieto in its position andin being much bigger than thechurch’s other chapels (except theone matching it in the othertransept), it should be stipulatedthat the church in Florence, unlikeOrvieto, does have a normaltransept also, beyond which thechapel simply extends the structurestill further outward. There is nofusion here of transept and chapelfunctions like that seen in Orvieto.

59. The use of three walls has apartial precedent before Nardo inthe Baptistery of Florence (as wellas at Viboldone, near Milan, cer-tainly unknown to Signorelli). TheLast Judgment in the dome of theBaptistery occupies three segments

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of its octagonal structure, and thatpattern might well have inspiredNardo. The center segment in theBaptistery too shows Christ judg-ing and the tombs below, whilethe two sides are devoted to thesaved and the damned. However,the shift from wall to wall is not aright angle, as in the later chapels.It is of just forty-five degrees, andvisually may hardly be noticedbecause we view the mosaics fromfar below. We are not inside theangled space and do not need toturn our heads. Hence it is notsurprising that the segments havenever been given separate titles.The dome mosaics, unlike almostall other work of their era, contin-ued to be admired even inAngelico’s time, making the influ-ence suggested plausible. The fif-teenth-century comment byCorella is most accessible inGilbert 1988, 176.

60. San Juan, 236–37; her studyis a rare case of attention toNardo’s work as a model for anymotif in Orvieto.

61. Villani, 450. On the date1395, see Meiss, in Brieger et al.,1:40 n. 31. For a differentapproach, see Elliott. Meiss, 80,cites Villani’s remarks on Dante’sreports of the afterworld beingviewed as true and as aided by theHoly Spirit.

62. Early examples survive inEngland, circa 1250, where theartist W. de Brailes also includedhis signature nearby (Alexander,fig. 238), and in Germany, wherethe master carries his chisel as heissues from his tomb (Gerstenberg,37). I am indebted to Walter Cahnfor both citations. In the sculp-tured Last Judgment on the façade

at Orvieto, a man in unusual mod-ern costume with a T-squareappears among the saved, and it isgenerally and reasonably acceptedthat he too is the artist, the headmaster Maitani. Two younger menin modern dress with him may behis assistants (MiddeldorfKosegarten, frontispiece). Sig-norelli’s reflection of this formulawill be discussed later.

63. A motif unique in LastJudgments is the presence amongthe little square tombs of a singlegrand sarcophagus in the center,the identity of which seems not tohave been discussed. It may wellbe the tomb from which Christrose at the Resurrection. Angelicoshowed that in his fresco of theResurrection at San Marco, cell 8.

64. Gatti Perer’s survey ofimages of the Heavenly Jerusalemclarifies its rather rare applicationto Last Judgments, 135–36, namingAngelico’s as the latest.

65. Danielou thoroughly sur-veys the texts of the Greek writers.For the anthem, see Sicard, 135.

66. Lehmann-Brockhaus,395–97, notes that the work hasno analogies in style in its regionand plausibly links it to artists ofthe Marches and Umbria, notablyOttaviano Nelli. Heaven includesthe obsolescent three patriarchswith souls in their laps, as in theFlorence Baptistery and the LastJudgment of the Abbey of Pom-posa, circa 1350; the author notesother cases in the Abruzzi. Thebridge over which souls enter thegarden points to use of thetwelfth-century monk Albericus’svision of the underworld (summa-rized by LeGoff, 188) as the tex-tual source. It makes another rare

appearance in a manuscript in theVictoria and Albert Museum,1221, folio 153r, reproduced byKren, fig. 143. See also Chapter 4,note 25.

67. The commentary by theGreek father Theodoret, circa 400,on Paul’s ascent to the thirdheaven (Migne, Patrologia Graeca82: col. 448), reports dancing souls.Supino 1909, 81–82, cites thehymn; I am indebted to AlfredTorisano for a fuller account of it(Gilbert 2000).

68. Studies of the fresco in theSpanish chapel have assigned thegarden a status as preparatory toheaven (Offner and Steinweg, 38)or as the earthly paradise at the topof the mount of Purgatory (Polzer,263–68), not as itself a part ofheaven. These did not take intoaccount the similar imagery inAngelico and in the Abruzzi. In allthree cases the figures are enjoyingthe garden, not seeking to leave itfor the heavenly city. The idea ofthe two parts of heaven, with itsearly textual basis, seen in the twoLast Judgment images, might wellhave been borrowed in the Span-ish chapel for the theme newlycreated there.

69. Florence, Museo di SanMarco, a segment of the silvercupboard door; Baldini, cat.116.

70. Baldini, cat. 111; 101 × 117cm.

71. Berenson, 2:48.72. The strict frontal portrait is

contrary to the well-knownmonopoly of profiles in paintedFlorentine portraits of this date,yet it recurs twice in other portraitdrawings by Benozzo. These areboth of small children (Degenhart

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and Schmitt, cat. 400, 427, Uffizi101 and 20) and so might wellhave been subjects connected per-sonally with the artist, as FraAngelico also was.

73. It is sixth in chronologicalorder in a survey of self-portraitsfrom the fourteenth century on(Masciotta). The earlier ones con-sist of two doubtful cases, by Tad-deo di Bartolo and Masaccio,Ghiberti’s two bronze self-por-traits, and one by Fra Filippo Lippithat remained idiosyncratic.Benozzo shows for the first timeamong surviving works a formulathat later becomes standard, wherethe artist is at the outer edge of acrowd of onlookers in a largescene. Raphael’s School of Athensoffers a classic later example. InOrvieto, Signorelli’s self-portraitwith Angelico (Fig. 28) belongs tothis type, allowing the hypothesisthat the gavantone by Angelicomight already have used it. In thatcase it would have been the modelfor Benozzo, as other motifs inAngelico’s chapel design haveproved to be. Angelico in turncould easily have received a sug-gestion for it in Orvieto, from theself-portrait by Maitani in thesculptured Last Judgment there.Maitani too stands at the edge of acrowd near the frame.

74. See note 60 and related textabove.

75. Dacos, in Testa 1996, 227 n.9.

76. Baldini, cat. 110, 56 × 74cm.

77. A. Henry, 113–24.78. Andreani, 425, docs. 69–71.79. Andreani, 426, docs. 77–89.80. Andreani, 427, docs. 90–99.

81. The corresponding Englishword “flourish,” however, has thisas a secondary meaning in Englishdictionaries. Rifiorire, meaning “torestore” a painting (Tommaseo,sense 9), does not involve flowersand probably should not be linked.The word is exemplified in Rubin-stein, 66 n. 66.

82. Payments in December for“making the scaffolding”(Andreani, 427, docs. 77–78) referto labor for three days and totwelve beams.

83. Andreani, 427, docs. 96–97,100.

84. The board “at present hasreduced income and alms and can-not meet the expenses of MasterGiovanni who began to paint”(Andreani, 427, doc. 100).

85. Andreani, 427, docs. 101,103.

86. Andreani, 428, doc. 107.87. Andreani, 429, doc. 143;

Testa, “La cappellina,” in Testa1996, 269–71. A signed paintingby the master Pietro, originally inPerugia, is in the museum of Kiev(Testa 1996, 273 n. 19), and severalother works have recently beenattributed to him.

88. The use of the term to spec-ify how to depict Christ, “admodum Pietatis,” strongly suggeststhat a known formula was beinginvoked. Christ is shown standingin the tomb. That this is what“modum Pietatis” meant is sup-ported by the use of the similarterm “figura Pietatis in sepulcro” inthe document of commission for awork in Bologna, of almost thesame date, 1469, which shows thissame motif (Bottari, 93). Today theterm ‘Pietà” evokes the quite differ-ent arrangement by Michelangelo

in his Pietà in Saint Peter’s, Rome.The document ordering that workcalls for “una Pietà . . . cioè unaVergine Maria vestita, con Cristomorto in braccio.” Study is neededto show whether the term hadchanged meaning by 1498, the yearof Michelangelo’s work, or whetherboth terms were in use simultane-ously (see Michelangelo 1875, 613).

89. Andreani, 431, doc. 181.90. Rossi, 290–92, a document

that is not included in more recentpublications of the Orvietorecords.

Chapter 31. In France, the home of feu-

dalism, the entrance doors ofcathedrals are often found adornedwith Last Judgments, which mightfit such a reading. On them, seeSauerländer, 26–28. The schema inthese seems to have in commonwith the Italian mural images anultimate source in Byzantium.Variants in France from thatsource do not seem to have beenwidely influential in Italy. See alsoChapter 2 note 55.

2. Money offerings receivedfrom the faithful by the clergy inthe Baptistery were then depositedwith a special committee of a guildof merchants, who were skilled infinance and by this civic servicegained a proud public status with abenevolent quality. It was theguild that made decisions abouthiring artists and others (Paolucci,281). The situation in Orvieto wasrather similar.

3. This survey is selective andomits some large murals. Amongthese are the relatively remote oneat Santa Maria Donna Regina,Naples, about 1320, and the frag-

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mentarily preserved murals atSanta Cecilia, Rome, by Cavallini,and Santa Croce, Florence, byOrcagna. The one at SanGimignano of about 1413, oftenattributed to Taddeo di Bartolo,follows Nardo’s design in general.Some variants in it will be noted.

4. Text in Belcari, 119–24. Itwas reported in 1472 that this playwas performed annually (Newbe-gin, 30).

5. O’Malley, 68. Coulton, 39,reports a quite similar list requiredas the topics for sermons in Eng-land around 1300.

6. Gilbert 1992, 24.7. Andreani, 429, doc. 126.8. Andreani, 430, doc. 160.9. Andreani, 431, doc. 177.10. Andreani, 431, doc. 179.11. Andreani, 431, doc. 181.12. Andreani, 433, doc. 211.13. Andreani, 431, doc. 181.14. Canuti, 2:239, on Chigi;

and 2:208–36, on Isabella.15. Andreani, 431, doc. 183.16. Andreani, 433, doc. 205.

The existence of this letter isknown only from the record of themessenger’s fee.

17. Fumi, Duomo, 396.18. Andreani, 431, doc. 181.19. A Florentine patron of this

time lists works in his collectionidentified by artist’s name only(Gilbert 1988, 134–35). Three let-ters in 1480 allude to damage in aroom in the ducal palace of Man-tua identified only as “la sala delPisanello.” In the 1960s this clueled to the rediscovery there ofPisanello’s frescoes, a spectacularfind that was slow in comingbecause no one knew the roomwas there; see Paccaganini.

20. Perali, 120–23, also for theevents discussed below. Sansovino,58–65, is helpful on the family.

21. Perali, 128. On the abbey,see, further, Fiocca and Libera.

22. Perali, 128.23. Monaldeschi, 137v. Mon-

aldeschi is notoriously unreliable,and Perali, who is sounder, makesthe pope the godfather of Gentilehimself, not of his son (128). How-ever, the pope (b. 1417) was of thesame age-group as Gentile (co-ruler from 1437) and probablyyounger, so this time Monalde-schi’s version is preferable.

24. Among these reasons is theproblem that the tomb was createdby two second-rank sculptorswhose work is difficult to distin-guish and the fact that it has beencut in pieces, some of which weretaken to the Louvre and theremainder of which are in thegrottoes below Saint Peter’s, a sitethat is not conducive to easyexamination. Surveys of sculptureof the period, and a recent mono-graph on the sculptor GiovanniDalmata, almost pass over thelunette, the tomb’s largest element.The one full presentation remainsGnoli, 175—despite a remark in1908 (De Nicola, 338) that thetomb is “the most grandiose workof fifteenth-century sculpture inRome.”

25. The connection is all themore likely in that the pope’snephew, Cardinal Marco Barbo,who commissioned the tomb, alsoheld the same abbacy near Orvieto(Gualdo, 249).

26. Draper, 82–85, is helpful onthe medals. Both show only thecentral part of the Judgmentschema. The focus of the pope’s

medal is the Christ in a vast courtof assisting saints and angels, withthe symbols of the Passion. Thearchbishop’s medal adds, and givesprimary attention to, the Raisingof the Dead. Much the sameapplies to the tomb of CardinalAmmanati, an adopted member ofthe Piccolomini clan (well repro-duced in Courtauld . . . Archives,figs. 24–49).

27. Eubel, 2:260 and 3:323,gives data on Bishop Giorgio andalso on his many coadjutors, dis-cussed below. Pope Sixtus’s brevenoted above, Chapter 1, note 75,offers indulgences for the Feast ofCorpus Christi in Orvieto Cathe-dral.

28. Litta 9: dispensa 147, 1866.29. Monaldeschi, 15. Fumi

1877, 42, reports that the peoplebrought in when the bishop wasattacked were from Parma.

30. Uginet, 334, points out thelack of kinship between the popeand Cardinal Domenico dellaRovere.

31. Fumi, Duomo, 400, doc.114. The cardinal asserts that hehas always shown affection forOrvieto, which makes the citycouncil seem ungrateful if theythink of replacing Perugino withanyone else, even if they must waituntil the master finishes the cardi-nal’s job. It seems odd that theseremarks did not include mentionof any affection toward the bishop,if the latter had indeed been oneof his own family.

32. Fumi 1877, 11, 19, 42, 45,68.

33. Yriarte, 73–76.34. See Nasalli Rocca. The

fresco cycles that Farnese commis-sioned later, while he was pope, to

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record the glorious history of hisfamily, both in Rome at PalazzoFarnese and at their villa atCaprarola, include events in thelife of Bishop Guido. One showshim supervising the building ofOrvieto Cathedral (Cheney, 261).

35. Monaldeschi, 139r.36. Perali, 170, dubs Pope Paul

“domicello orvietano,” which onemay render as “petty Orvietanlord.”

37. Yriarte, 73, describes Far-nese as “long since canon” at thetime of the visit. Fumi 1877 speaksof him as having been “arch-priest,” as does Piccolomini-Adami, 295, adding that Farneselater renounced the office in favorof one Bernardino da Acquapen-dente. Perali, 170, also refers to hishaving been archpriest. None citesa source, which would presumablybe in cathedral records, butbecause such a nomination wouldhave been likely the reports arequite believable.

38. Yriarte, 93–94. This wasfrom May 28 to June 5, when thepope was fleeing from Frenchinvasion (Pastor, 5:470–71).

39. Pastor, 6:92, describesCesare’s activities. Fumi 1877, 47,says Farnese began to be rich in1502.

40. Ricetti 1998, 87, says all ofAntonio da San Gallo’s work forthe cathedral in 1536–37—projectsin the choir, pavement, and roof—were “directly commissioned bythe pope,” even though therecords of working detail allinvolve the cathedral committee.He notes that in 1537 the popegave the committee 300 scudi.Under the preceding pope,Clement VII, the work in the city

by papal architect Sangallo hadinvolved public works such as thewell of Saint Patrick, called “of hisholiness” (to be discussed below),and not the cathedral.

41. Andreani, 433–34, doc. 217.42. Andreani, 433, doc. 214.43. Andreani, 434, docs.

218–20.44. The three reports of April 5,

1499, are from a book used torecord such matters from 1484 to1526. The administrator’s personalnotes were kept in another seriesof books, one used from 1484 to1500 and a new one from 1500 to1522. The only records not kept inthose books were of disburse-ments, in a file called Camer-lenghi. All these are part of a series“almost interrupted from 1321”(Andreani, 416).

45. Crisostimo is known fromvery small sums paid him per diemfor painting in the cathedral from1493 to 1495 (Fumi, Duomo,402–4).

46. Corbara is a village sometwelve miles southeast of Orvieto.At this period an Imperia da Cor-bara, presumably a relative of thiscount, married a Monaldeschi, sonof the Achille who will appear inconnection with the chapel.

47. Yriarte, 75–76; Fumi 1877,74, on the unanimous vote; Yri-arte, 17, on the breve.

48. Gilbert 1996, 699–704, givesa full if succinct survey.

49. Lorenzo’s big fresco projectswere at his villas, at Poggio aCaiano (by Filippino) and atOspedaletto (by the four paintersmentioned). Their virtually totalloss has left a skewed sense of hispatronage; it appears to have beendominated by single paintings, and

the most famous ones cited, byBotticelli, were not his property.The significance of the omission ofSignorelli from the Ospedalettoproject is evoked by a memoran-dum of the time, making thatwork a base for recommendingartists (Gilbert 1988, 161–62).

50. Francesco was assigned themain wall narratives in this chapel,in Sant’ Agostino, Siena, for theBichi family, and Signorelli wasassigned the monochrome lunettesabove (Francesco di Giorgio, nos.95–96). For its altarpiece, Francescodid the main central figure in sculp-ture, which presumably paid better,and Signorelli did a background forit, the side saints, and the predella.Francesco seems to have let assis-tants do much of the fresco work,which suggests that he was busywith more significant projects,while Signorelli did his part person-ally.

51. Filippino temporarilydropped a fresco project in Flo-rence, the Strozzi chapel, for onein Rome. Besides a higher fee, thismay well have involved pressurefrom the Medici in favor of thepatron of the work in Rome, animportant cardinal.

52. In such a scenario, the Bor-gia would also have pressed theAbbot at Monteoliveto to releaseSignorelli. They certainly wouldhave had that power and behavioraltendency. This hypothesis is notsomething abstract. At other pointsAlexander VI and Cardinal Giu-liano della Rovere (see above,Chapter 3, note 31) brought pres-sure on the Orvietans to postponetheir claims on Perugino and Pin-turicchio, thereby leaving them freeto work for these prelates (Fumi,

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Duomo, 400, doc. 114, of 1492;402, doc. 127, of 1493).

Chapter 41. Andreani, 434, doc. 220.2. Fumi, Duomo, 230–32, docs.

112, 120, 122, specify that paymentsfor two angels in a standard glasswindow are “ad rationem figurarumet non ad rationem ystorie”—that is, so much per angel and notper window.

3. Andreani, 434, doc. 223. Therecord of November 25 alsoincludes the slip of the pen (dis-cussed in Chapter 2, note 31),which states that he had alreadybeen hired to finish the chapel.

4. Mancini, 134.5. Michelangelo 1967, 7: “non

riuscendo . . . el suo disegno.”6. Andreani, 435, doc. 224.7. Just before these designs, Sig-

norelli executed another low, widetriangle, the one in the inner baywith the symbols of the Passion(Fig. 12, between the tall trianglesof the apostles and prophets).Angelico had left a design for it,which Signorelli evidently fol-lowed. Angelico had recast theimage in a way that suited its spe-cial shape. In earlier tradition, theobjects are seen in a widely spacedpattern, and one angel held each.Here the large symbols, cross andcolumn, themselves dominate thecenter, and courts of angels oneither side support them. Thisbecame a model for the subse-quent low, wide triangles of theouter bay, where the chief saintsreplace the larger symbols, settingup a return to the usual altarpiecescheme.

8. Sciolla, 90–91, discusses thework briefly. Courtauld Institute

Illustration Archives, 2, part 2,24–49, provides a fine series ofdetail photographs.

9. Abraham with souls in hisbosom appears in another quattro-canto Last Judgment, the fresco atLoreto Aprutino of about 1425.This work, unusual in many ways,will be discussed below.

10. They are here cited fromBreviarium, 156–57, with the head-ing “Litaniae Sanctorum.”

11. Missals print the Kyrie Elei-son in full in the text for Holy Sat-urday. Saint Joseph, not present in1518, appears among the prophetsin 1846.

12. Article “Mourants” inMigne 1846, 15:715. This articlealso prints the Kyrie.

13. Bernard, 3:388; BreviariumRomanum, Regensburg, 1901, ParsAestiva, 798. A minutely complexwoodcut labeled “the figure ofeternal life,” whose upper part isidentical with standard Last Judg-ment images, appears in a Floren-tine booklet of 1494 (followed byseveral reprints). A thorough textaccompanies it, and tells us that theassisting saints, indistinguishable inthe tiny image, are the saints,“patriarchs, prophets, apostles, mar-tyrs, virgins and confessors,” andinnumerable others. The listmatches the vaults precisely. Theiconographic literature seems not tohave noted this very rare instanceof an image supplied with a full textto explain it (accessible in Rosen-wald, 50–51, 56–57). This set ofsaints was evidently quite common-place, but that is not so for art his-torians in modern culture. By afamiliar syndrome, a difficultyencountered in understanding adetail can, when solved, generate

conviction that it is a central factorin the imagery. It seems more likelythat it is a marginal one.

14. Andreani, 435, doc. 226. Anargument has been made that theright-hand wall was painted first,on the basis of a line in this docu-ment: “Imprimis, that he is obli-gated to paint the whole chapel onthe right side.” Such a clue to theinternal chronology would beenticing but surprising, becausecontracts do not specify in whatorder parts of a job are to be done.By this reasoning, the artist wouldpresumably have been directed todo next the parts named next, after“imprimis,” but those are the win-dow embrasures and the smallinternal chapel, an unlikely leap inthe former case. What negates theargument is the following clausedirecting him to paint “the threewalls, the two on the sides and thealtar wall,” although (if the argu-ment was right) one of those hadbeen done already. The first linequoted calls, rather, for paintingthe whole chapel on the right sideof the church. “Imprimis” signalsthat this first clause of generalimport is followed by the othersbreaking the work into details; asin other documents in this archive,the time value of “first” relates tothe parts of the contract, not thesequence of painting. Then, in thefirst of clauses specifying details, thecontract seeks to ensure that thework includes elements that mightnot strictly be in the chapel: theembrasures and the small chapel;the third clause calls for painting allthe chapel walls. This is a normallegal document, without the kindof reference that would be somuch more interesting to us. It

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certainly could be objected that aprevious paragraph in this docu-ment mentions the chapel as onthe left side of the church. Oneshould indeed expect consistencywithin the same document, eventhough it is known that inchurches left and right wereambiguous, depending on theviewpoint—from the altar for theclergy, but from the door for thepublic. However, this text switchesbetween two languages, and thelocation of the chapel is at the leftin the Latin section, and at theright in the Italian part. The Latinpart consists of the minutes of thecommittee meeting, which thenincorporated a full copy of thecontract in Italian that had previ-ously been given to the artist. Thusthere are two documents, with dif-ferent contexts. I am indebted toDario Covi for discussing thesepoints.

15. The word “elevando” hassometimes been read to mean thatthe statue was to be removed, butit can also mean “lifted up.” Themeaning “lifted” in this case is cer-tain because of the second docu-ment that pays a master two and ahalf lire for the procedure(Andreani, 436, doc. 237). A mas-ter is too skilled a person to bebrought in merely for removal,and the fee is much too high forsuch a task. Dismantling an entirescaffolding cost less than one lira atthe time (doc. 238). The “lifting”presumably required building anew base.

16. The only records of pay-ment to Signorelli under his sec-ond contract—the one for thewhole chapel—are, with oneexception, in the administrators’

annual summary reports, usuallysubmitted in June when their termsended (Andreani, 436–38, docs.233, 246, 247, 253, 263). Theyshow the total paid him in the yearthen ending, noted in some cases ashaving been in installments. Theexception is the final payment forthe balance due (residuum) onDecember 5, 1504, so the workhad been finished, but how muchearlier? The committee could be aslow payer; it finished paying forthe vaults, done under the firstcontract, only after the secondcontract had been signed. Onemust give up hope of being able todeduce exactly when the artistmoved from scene to scene. Thecontract contains provisions to payhim as he proceeded, but such pay-ments, if made, are not in thisrecord. For the date of completion,the best evidence is the dunningletter to the town council of April14, 1504, from the Duke ofUrbino (Andreani, 438, doc. 254),urging that Signorelli be paid forthe “balance of the work done”(resto dell’opera fatta). If we mayassume Signorelli had tried milderappeals before turning to this pow-erful figure in Rome, and that thelatter arrangement took someworking out, we are taken back atleast to February, and thence to thecold season, when fresco work wasnot usually done. (The first con-tract provided for work in thesummer and “as long as can bepainted”; Andreani, 434, doc. 220.)Thus, completion would havebeen in autumn 1503. It has beenargued, on the other side, that theduke was seeking payment only forwhat had already been done,which need not have been the

whole. However, a plea to pay aninstallment due while work wasongoing does not seem to matchthe term “balance” (resto, theremainder). Further, in June 1504Signorelli did a quite separate jobfor the committee, to be discussedbelow, and in December 1504 hereceived the small fee of 19 florinsin some—not fully clear—connec-tion with it, just when he was alsoat last getting his final pay for thechapel (Andreani, 438, doc. 257bis,262). It would seem normal forhim to have taken on this other jobwhen the main one had been com-pleted and payment was beingawaited. It would seem less so ifthe larger job was still in process,for then completion of the latterwould be further put off, alongwith the bigger fee for it.

17. Bertorello, in Testa 1996,331, 333, urges caution on manypoints because of the limited evi-dence, but he is firm that theBlessed scene was done before theAntichrist scene.

18. This central window wasbuilt only in 1447, simultaneouswith the project for Angelico’swork (Andreani, 424, doc. 36).Quite likely the thought was tomake the painting more visible(Davanzo and Marchetti, in Testa1996, 28). The position of theBlessing Christ makes clear thatAngelico was taking the windowinto account in his plan.

19. Testa 1996, 44.20. The recent restoration has

had its most splendid result in anewly recovered figure in thisarea, exactly in the center of thewall. The proposal to call the fig-ure Cain goes too far and, in myopinion, lacks any firm basis. A

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damned soul is seen biting its ownhand, and another figure may bestanding over it. The very sameformulation is found twice amongthe damned at Josaphat, where fig-ures are caught in the flames. Thisnew figure would be another ofthe same category. The diagonaldivision on the altar wall wasnoted above, between the risingsaved and the descending damned.The rise begins narrowly at thebase and widens toward Christ,thus including both the bishopsaints in the central windowembrasures. The descendingdamned take wider space towardthe bottom, extending at the basebeyond the center toward our left.The new figure is in that area, andfor that reason too seems to be oneof the army of the damned.

21. Andreani, 424, doc. 35; 426,doc. 68.

22. The Book of Enoch is avail-able in English translations inCharles 1913 (these lines at pp.211–12), the standard edition, andmore accessibly in Reddish, 168.Charles (1912, ix) reports its disap-pearance until the eighteenth cen-tury, and the shift to the nameUriel; he judges its importance inthe Encyclopedia Britannica, 11thedition, article “Enoch.” Lapide1621, 958, cites the Mass namingthe four angels, and Hamilton, 35,speaks of Pico’s interest. Sig-norelli’s three standard angels donot follow Enoch’s descriptions ofthem at all; the presumptionwould be that he made use of thetext only for the new figure thatlacked any established type.

23. Bynum, 255. SaintAmbrose, who is pictured in thevault above, said everyone should

enter heaven without clothing, asa token of virtuous purity (Migne1857–66, 14:522).

24. Mariani Canova, Ms. 3,69–67, fig. Ms. 3c.

25. Harthan, plate 147. Thisminiature is also tiny, on a page 43/8 by 3 inches. See also Chapter2, note 66.

26. Tolnay, fig. 274. This 15-inch-high woodcut is exception-ally ambitious, and it wascirculated in several states. Becauseof this, and because it is Italian andmultiple, Signorelli could wellhave known it. The loincloths ofthe nudes are treated much likehis. Yet its uncertain date maymean that it follows Signorelli,whose Orvieto mural cycleinspired other artists, as will be dis-cussed.

27. Yriarte, 74; Paschini, 18, 43;Perali, 129.

28. In anticipation of his owndeath in 1996, Cardinal Bernardinof Chicago discussed “the world tocome” in an interview. Askedwhether he thought he would bereunited with friends, he replied:“I do. I’ve always believed that,and that is part of our tradition”(New York Times Magazine,December 1, 1996, 114).

29. McDannell and Lang, 60,64, 124, 132, 144.

30. Zeri, 20–21, proposes theidentifications as Augustine and hismother. His bibliography includesthat of the other version in Siena.

31. A clue to the background ofGiovanni’s unusual motif can per-haps be seen in nearby SanGimignano, where Enoch and Eli-jah play a similar role in the LastJudgment of circa 1413, men-tioned at various points. However,

in other respects the SanGimignano fresco is standard.

32. The flames at the cornermake it clear that hell is the nextstage after what we see here; thesouls are driven toward the flames.Yet this scene is popularly labeled“Hell,” evidently because Sig-norelli never shows hell itself, con-trary to our expectations, andbecause this scene is so violent.

33. Meiss, 176, makes the com-parison and discusses Tundal.

34. Bober and Rubinstein, 144.35. Bober and Rubinstein, 188;

Draper, 133–45.36. In this area of study, it is a

curiosity that Signorelli’s frescoesare often said to represent theApocalypse and related literature,usually in popular contexts. Thus areviewer in passing alludes to the“frescoes through which Signorellihad expressed the deeds ofAntichrist,” extrapolating fromone segment to the whole cycle(Ateneo Veneto, 32 [1994], 181),and a bookseller promotes an illus-trated book on the cycle by sayingthat it is “based on the book ofRevelation.” Revelation in factonly glances briefly at the end ofthe world and the Last Judgment(20:12–13), contrary to the generalperception. The Gospel ofMatthew and the First Letter tothe Corinthians are the basis forideas about the Last Judgment, inthe standard tradition used by Sig-norelli. The Apocalypse follows itsaccount of the destruction ofsatanic power by peace in theworld, not by the end of theworld. The blurred impressionseems to be based in part onphrases repeated from Matthew inRevelation (6:12–13), partly on the

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story of the preaching of Antichrist(not in Revelation at all but indi-rectly linked to it) and partly onthe excited stress seen in Sig-norelli, which is easy to associatewith any fascination over “endtimes.”

37. Weinstein, 88–104.38. Supino 1938, 1:180–84.

Frati, 214–16, publishes theinstructions in full. Later inBologna, in 1490, Costa’s Triumphof Death can be linked to this for-mula.

39. Well reproduced byCavendish. It is not really surprisingthat this author labels the image aLast Judgment.

40. Clark, 22. In Florence in1499 Fra Bartolommeo was com-missioned to fresco a Last Judg-ment with donor portraits over atomb in a cemetery and to base iton Luke 21:25–33, “the gospelread on the first Sunday inAdvent” (Borgo, 478). Theseverses, about the five signs preced-ing the Judgment, are discussed inthe next chapter.

41. Harthan, 29.42. Andreani, 435, doc. 226.43. Dacos, in Testa 1996,

223–31.44. A little-noted row of

notable clerics fills the lowerframes of frescoes of the Lorenzettischool, circa 1339, at Santa Mariadei Servi, Siena. See Kaftal, cols.144, 417, 536, 796, 837, 848. Stillearlier, about 1250, in a chapel inSanti Quattro Coronati, Rome, arow of prophets’ heads in circularframes runs under an abbreviatedLast Judgment fresco (Paeseler,363, fig. 297).

45. Some have thought that thepuzzle of the presence of Giotto,

Dante, and Petrarch in Gozzoli’srow of heads might be explainedthrough Dante’s being a memberof the third order of Saint Francis.This account is first recorded,faintly, in the later fifteenth cen-tury (Moorman, 223–24). It couldnot apply to Petrarch, who was inclerical orders.

46. Andreani, 445, docs. 384and 386, on the benches installedin 1740; doc. 362, on the new altarin 1715; Barroero, n. 35, on thetomb of 1717.

47. Fumi, Duomo, 377, reportsthe removal in 1845. Luzi, 167–94,reasonably began with the firmidentity of Dante and the status ofother laureled figures as poets.Seeking to identify them, heturned to Dante’s list of the fourgreatest poets in Inferno 4 andassigned those names and Virgil’sto five portraits on the wainscots,in most cases with no explanationof how he decided which portraitgot which name. This left him shyone name for the seventh and lastportrait still visible in his time (hedisregarded the two alreadydestroyed). Having left the one onthe entrance wall unassigned, Luzicalled this figure Empedocles,because among a list of twentymore good poets in the same pas-sage in Dante, Empedocles was theone who “expected the world toreturn to chaos,” the situationshown above this head. Luzi wascertainly affected by the intenseDante revival of the Risorgimento,to find in his verses all kinds ofanswers. Some have suggested thatan oral tradition was behind Luzi’sidentifications, but the invisibilityof the heads for an entire century,up to 1845, and his own statement

that the names are “my conjec-ture” (167), makes that mostunlikely. His identificationsremained unchecked and nearlyunchallenged for almost a century,partly because no other nameswere conspicuously offered withbetter evidence, and partly becauseit was handy to have any names atall.

48. The first person to describethe chapel—Clementini, in 1714—had already realized that this wasVirgil (457), and so did Perali(153), rejecting the usual label asHorace, but they were overlooked.Several others since have also madethe same correct inference inde-pendently and are sometimes cred-ited as its discoverers.

49. It was again Clementini in1714 who first named Claudian(457).

50. This material, previouslyscattered in many publications, hasbeen well assembled by Donato,27–42.

51. Castelli, 219.52. Testa 1996, 44, for the first

time presents a drawing that clari-fies the original layout on the altarwall.

53. Gerolamo Curzio Clemen-tini (1658–1716, resident in Orvi-eto from 1680) has already beenmentioned for details from histext.

54. In Chapter 2, notes 61 and62 and related text.

55. Freyhan, 68.56. The imagery of vices is far

less stable in tradition than that ofvirtues. Envy is involved with bit-ing and being bitten in Ripa,360–61, who generally is a com-piler of earlier motifs. For Envy tobite her own hand as here may be

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a condensed form of such variables.Envy is made to be the opposite ofCharity by Giotto in 1305, in theArena Chapel, as well as by Dante,and later in a set of engravings of1499 reproduced by Mâle 1922,339.

57. See the corpus of Danteillustrations in Brieger et al., 2(“Illustrations”): 348–51.

58. Clementini, in Testa 1996,458.

59. This culture never seems toshow Faith without a chalice, orany other figure with one. Herlaurel here seems unique. In thiswainscot the many laurels alwaysindicate poets (including thoseworn by Virgil in the adjacentmonochromes of Purgatorio). It ispossible that Faith gets the laurelhere because she appears as asinger in her only appearance inthe Divine Comedy (Purgatorio29.128). The two other virtues alsosing there, but Signorelli’s imagesof them are tied to their other,nonsinging appearances.

60. Gilbert 1986, 109–24.61. The fact that Signorelli

shows Charity with a correspon-ding vice, but none with Hope orFaith, matches the way they aretreated in the text of the Comedy.This suggests close attention by theplanner here along the lines pro-posed above.

62. An example in the NationalGallery of Art, Washington, D.C.,is reproduced in Studies in the His-tory of Art 22 (1989), 185.

63. The ermine on a banner isespecially common in illustrationsof the Triumph of Chastity, thefirst of Petrarch’s Triumphs.

64. Clementini, in Testa 1996,457. Boccaccio’s Genealogy of the

Gods, the standard source for clas-sical myth in Signorelli’s time, onan opening page (6r) quotes Statius(Thebaid 4.503–17) aproposdescents to the underworld.

65. Andreani, 457 n. 16, pointsout the error and its correction.Perhaps it arose if the writer,aware that Statius had reported onthe underworld somewhere in hispoem, did not have access to acopy of the poem. Asking forhelp, he might have obtained awrong citation, perhaps becausehis request had been too vague,and elicited an answer not relatedto his specific concern with thepoet’s vision of combat. Thiswould explain his similar, puzzlingerror of identifying the Salutatiportrait as of Roberto de’ Bardi,never accepted thereafter. Bardiwas a minor scholastic professorwhose collection of Augustine’ssermons was his sole work. Theone biography of him, twentylines in Filippo Villani’s groupbiography of Florentines, circa1395, is repeated by Clementinihere almost verbatim, and Landinohad also repeated it in the intro-duction to his commentary onDante’s Divine Comedy (Testa andDavanzo, in Testa 1996, 41).Clementini was not familiar withDante, as evidenced by his failureto recognize any of the Purgatorioscenes, so his source was presum-ably Villani. Villani’s account ofFlorentine poets (also includingDante and Claudian, discussed ear-lier) was unpublished in Clemen-tini’s time but may have beengaining attention, as it was printednot long afterward. The remark-able coincidence is that Villani’smaterial on Bardi immediately fol-

lows the longer biography ofColuccio Salutati on the very samepage. The unique and unconvinc-ing proposal that Bardi was thesubject of the portrait is moreacceptable if it could be a slip forthe nearby Salutati—the correctname, whose proximity cannot bean accident. Clementini mighthave provided the person helpinghim with the page number. Thatwould be a reasonable explanationfor the emergence of Bardi. In thiscase, it would follow that Salutati’sidentity would still have been inmemory in 1700, yet the peculiaremergence of Bardi might stillseem unlikely even with thisexplanation, if not for its consis-tency with the nearby mistakenchoice of a Statius text.

66. Chastel, 275.67. Lisner, 308. In other cases

the centaurs defeated by Herculesare interpreted as tyranny, and Lustdefeated by him is symbolized bythe hydra.

68. Lisner, 299–344. The earlylives of Michelangelo consistentlyreport this anecdote, of Poliziano’sguidance in proposing andexplaining the story of the lustfulcentaurs being defeated. It is arare, clear case of a humanist pro-viding an artist with a text for awork that has a moral charge. (Thefact that the artist was very youngmay have played a part in this hap-pening.) The Orvieto wainscotssuggest a similar circumstance. Theambiguity about the specific themeof the Michelangelo relief does notneed to be discussed here.

69. Pollaiuolo’s engraving ofthe Battle of Ten Nudes and otherinstances were mentioned earlier.An appropriate example is one that

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is exceptionally classical in styleamong the relief sculptures of thefourteenth century on the façadeof Orvieto Cathedral. This is Cainkilling Abel where both are nude,although both are clothed in theadjacent scene of their sacrifice.The change can be explained onlyby the fact that a fight scene callsfor nudity.

70. Apollodorus, Bibliotheke,2.7.2–3; Plutarch, Roman Ques-tions, 90.

71. When Clementini reportedthis vertical set of three mono-chromes, he correctly noted thatHercules was the hero of the topone. For the bottom one, he alsooffered an identity with a Herculesstory—wrongly, as will soonappear. (As this idea of his emergedonly when his text was published in1996, it could not usefully influenceprevious writers’ opinions aboutthe middle story.) It was thereforenatural in him to be sure the mid-dle story concerned Hercules too,even though the usual sourcesfailed to offer any such possibility.Searching further, Clementiniwould find the obscure Oionosstory, derived from Apollodorus, inthe mythological handbook of Car-tari, which had been widely circu-lated but published only in 1555,long after the Orvieto work. By anormal pattern, his difficulty infinding any title would all the morepersuade him that the only one hedid find was correct, regardless ofits weak match, once he was certainthat this must be a Hercules story.

72. The romance exists in twoversions: in French by Benôit deSaint Maure and in Italian byGuido delle Colonne. Illustratedmanuscripts of the former show

this episode, as I am kindlyinformed by Dr. Imogene DeSmet, citing Vatican Regina Latina1501.

73. Biagi, 1:150.74. In this case the other two

male sinners briefly named byDante in the circle of lust, Parisand Tristan, would presumably bethe two men shown tortured bydevils, along with one woman, inthe topmost monochrome of thisgroup, discussed earlier. It is strik-ing that Signorelli thus seems toaccount for all three male lustfulsinners named by Dante, but onlyone of the five women (again apartfrom the separate treatment ofPaolo and Francesca). It may be,however, that in an early plananother theme for this rectangularmonochrome was considered,with the story of one of the fivewomen, Dido, rather thanAchilles. Dante condemns her(5.61–62) as the one “who killedherself for love, and broke faithwith the ashes of” her late hus-band, in this way departing fromthe usual positive view of her. Asplendid drawing by Signorelli(Uffizi 130 F) shows a woman col-lapsing after stabbing herself,assisted by two other grievingwomen. The literature invariablyidentifies this as the death ofLucretia, who, however, wasalways shown assisted by men,consistent with the literary sources(see Chapter 5). When Dido killsherself, on the other hand, “herhandmaids see her fallen on theweapon” (Aeneid 4.662–63). Thedrawing differs from that descrip-tion only in that she falls awayfrom the cut. Dido, like Achilles,let lust overcome reason. The

verso of this drawing is alwayscalled Apollo Playing a violin, butan identity as Orpheus would beequally reasonable. If so, thiswould recall how he is seen play-ing on the adjacent wainscot inOrvieto.

75. Colonne, 429. The strangecentral motif of the victim’s mouthpried open, in Signorelli’s mono-chrome, recurs in a woodcut of1510 by Hans Burgkmair, of“Death Killing a Lover.”

76. Clementini, 457.77. See note 71.78. Lee, 302–19. The author

credits earlier scholarship on theliterary use of the motif.

79. Liebeschutz; Lisner, fig. 23,reproduces this illustration moreaccessibly. The provenance of themanuscript, as is common, is notknown.

80. More may have beenplanned at an early stage. Vividevidence is a Signorelli drawing inLondon (Popham and Pouncey,cat. 241, plate ) showing thescene from Inferno 28, CountUgolino, who ate his sons. Theverso shows a circle filled withrough figures, matching theunusual framing scheme of themonochromes. Nardo’s frescocycle is the only Last Judgmentthat includes a complete survey ofDante’s Inferno, and it has a differ-ent organization. Using theUgolino scene in the Orvietowainscot would have involved adesign so different that it does notseem possible even to speculateabout it. It is possible, althoughunlikely, that the Ugolino drawingis not related to Orvieto.

81. The idea of Pegasus as sym-bol of poetry, which is common

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today, has been said to have beenworked out first in 1495, in theOrlando Innamorato of Boiardo (seearticle “Pegasus,” Encyclopedia Bri-tannica, 1909), but efforts to find itin that text have not succeeded.This might have stimulated Sig-norelli’s unusual inclusion of thehorse in his monochrome, whichconcerns a poetic story of virtue.

82. Entry “Landino,” Enciclope-dia dantesca, 1971, 2:566–68.

83. Trinkaus, 2:713–14.84. Divina Commedia, ed.

Landino, fol. 55v. Lisner, 310,called attention to this passage,omitted from the condensed ver-sion of Landino’s text in Biagi’sstandard publication of Dantecommentaries.

85. Furthermore, the proposalabout the bishop does not note theexclusion of bishops over the cen-turies from decisions about workin the cathedral, or this bishop’sexile. The label offered for Alberi,“the leading humanist in Orvieto,”seems to be without basis on twocounts. He did not live in thetown, and there is not anything toshow he was a humanist, althoughsome friends of his were. Hislibrary, to judge from the portraitsin it (Gilbert, in Testa 1996,307–20), included oratory andpoetry but also civil and canon law(the area of his education), gram-mar, astronomy, and medicine. Interms of the categories offered byPetrucci, 209–18, in his standardstudy of reading in the period, thislibrary was of the “scholastic”rather than the “humanist” kind.To call him a humanist may onlyreflect a casual use of the term forbookish people of this era. OnAlberi, see, further, Fagliari Zeni

Buchicchio, in Testa 1996,460–66.

86. Fumi, editor’s note in Tom-maso di Silvestro, 23 n. 4. On Lae-tus, see Jacks.

87. Panvinius, 367. This life firstappeared in 1551 as part of a sup-plement to Platina’s lives of earlierpopes.

88. Pesenti, 291.89. Frugoni, passim.90. Fumi, Orvieto, 69.91. Fabroni, 1:191, 2:376–77.92. Fumi, Orvieto, 69.93. Vasari 1878, 3:689.94. Kury, 349.95. Mancini, 67.96. Kury, 348, 351.97. Chastel, 230, reasonably

calls the Pan “the most completevisual realization of the ties”between the Medici and theirNeo-Platonist philosopher Ficino.Its specific iconography has mostrecently been explored by Gilbert2000. It seems suitable to under-line that Lorenzo, contrary to pop-ular tradition, did not give manycommissions to painters and thatthe famous Botticelli mythologiesbelonged to his cousins. His majorpatronage was for frescoes in hiscountry villas at Ospedaletto (nowlost) and Poggio a Caiano (begunonly at his death). These would benot so conspicuous to a visitor likeFarnese.

98. (A) One is in the De Cardi-nalatu of Paolo Cortesi, the writeralready mentioned (above, in textrelated to note 92) as a correspon-dent of the young Farnese and ashaving taken a Farnese villa as thesetting for a dialogue. WhenCortesi wrote the later book, heinevitably would have had Cardi-nal Farnese in mind as much as

any other cardinal, and perhapsmore. The book hardly mentionsartists, so when Signorelli’s namecomes up it seems forced. Whilespeaking of the rule against work-ing on Sunday, Cortesi suggeststhat a pope might make anexemption to that rule if Signorelliwas commissioned, and then hepraises the artist (Weil-Garris andD’Amico, 39). This mention ofSignorelli, shoe-horned into thetext, was surely designed to get theartist some work at a time whenhe had little. There is no knownor presumed link between Cortesiand Signorelli, but Cortesi’s sur-prising and unsolicited mention ofthe artist’s skill would be under-standable if it reflected similar con-cern by an old friend like Farnese.This seems to be the only availableexplanation, even if it is only spec-ulative, for the allusion to theartist.

The other case is more direct:(B) A letter of 1585 from the Far-nese family’s librarian, Orsini,responds to an inquiry seekingportraits of the Greek scholarGaza. Orsini recalls, under thisstimulus, how one of Paul III’sgrandsons, Cardinal Sant’Angelo,spoke of his grandfather’s havingshown him in the Sistine Chapel“one of those big paintings by thehand of il Cortone”—that is, Sig-norelli (Nolhac, 11). The incidentwould have occurred about1545–50, to judge from Paul’s lifedates and Sant’Angelo’s title. Whatis remarkable is Paul’s citing the artist by name sixty yearsafter the fact, when that work ofhis was no longer much remem-bered; he must have had a particu-lar interest in Signorelli, thus

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reinforcing the suggestion about(A) above. Memory of Signorelli’sSistine fresco at that time may alsobe evidenced in a borrowing of amotif from it by Bronzino in awork of 1541–42 (Cox-Rearick,60).

99. This general cultural pattern,making epic poetry serve Christian-ity even if pagan, is exemplified in alittle book printed at least seventimes between 1490 and 1500 buthardly noted in recent study. Thatbook, the Opusculum perelegans ofAntonio Mancinelli (1452–1506),consists solely of quoted passagesfrom Cicero, Juvenal, Ovid, Virgil,and others less often cited, all pre-sented as evidence that the writerswere arguing in favor of such doc-trines as One God, the VirginBirth, and numerous other Christ-ian articles of faith.

100. The standard Last Judg-ments do not refer to purgatory atall, for the good theological reasonthat it must cease to exist on Judg-ment Day, when all souls are eitherdefinitely saved or damned. Thestandard composition of the scenehad also gained a fixed form beforethe theory of purgatory becamepopular about 1200. The literaturethus, reasonably, does not note itsabsence, but that may have had adisadvantage in that no one hasnoted the oddity of its appearancein the Orvieto version. It is to beincluded as part of the general odd-ity of the wainscot poetry: theintroduction of outside reportsabout the underworld. Separately,quite varied visual treatments ofpurgatory not hitherto assembledappear in this general period inUmbria, more, apparently, thanelsewhere. A recently discovered

fresco of about 1345 in themonastery of San Francesco aBorgo Nuovo, Todi, is inscribed asan image of Saint Patrick’s purga-tory, the medieval account of theplace that was most popular beforeDante’s (Polzer, 264). It showsaccess downward through a well,while, at the bottom, pits subdividepurgatory by types of sin. Thisstructure is more like Dante’s hellthan like his purgatory, which is amountain to be climbed. Quitenearby in Terni, a three-wall LastJudgment of 1445–51 with Christon the altar wall shows hell andpurgatory on the side walls (mostaccessibly reproduced by Riess,Antichrist, figs. 35–37). The choiceof theme was surely dominated bythe patrons’ family name, Paradisi.(The best known analogous case ofa theme chosen because of apatron’s name is in Piero diCosimo’s work for the family calledVespucci, wasps.) The idea offeredthat the Terni cycle influenced Sig-norelli failed to take note that theTerni purgatory is also SaintPatrick’s, very different fromDante’s. In Orvieto itself a newwater supply system of the 1520swith a very deep well was and isstill called Saint Patrick’s Well.Local historians have until quiterecently been baffled by the name,an indication that this tradition hadbeen entirely lost. Michelangelo’sLast Judgment, much influenced bySignorelli’s, again omits purgatory(as it does all the earlier artist’swainscot imagery), and so do alllater representations of the subject.

101. Fumi, Orvieto, 69.

Chapter 51. Andreani, 435, doc. 226.

2. Andreani, 434, doc. 223.3. Fairweather, 98–99 n. 15,

with previous literature.4. Derolez, 203.5. Andreani, 435, doc. 226.6. A visual precedent to some

degree appears in the Blessed seg-ment of the Last Judgment at theCathedral of Chartres, at the farleft.

7. Augustine (City of God, book20), in general the prime text fordetails of the Last Judgment, fol-lowing the Gospel’s few words,provides the neatest such text. Aspart of his concern to show thatthe Old and New Testaments areconsistent on the matter, he firstquotes (chapter 23) from theprophet Daniel (12:2): “Many thatsleep in the dust of the earth shallawake, some to everlasting life andsome to shame and everlastingcontempt.” Then he quotes fromthe Gospel of John (5:28): “Thehour is coming, in which all thatare in the graves shall hear hisvoice and shall come forth, theythat have done good unto the res-urrection of life, and they thathave done evil unto the resurrec-tion of damnation.” The latter textwith graves was dominant, nodoubt supported by Augustine’scitation at the beginning of hissurvey from Isaiah 26:10 (inAugustine’s chapter 21): “Thedead shall rise again, and they shallarise again that were in theirgraves.” On the other hand, afamous verse from Job (19:25),“My redeemer liveth, and on thelast day I am to arise out of theearth,” was cited, for instance, inOtto of Freising’s On the TwoCities, a major discussion of thistopic (cited by Bynum, 184).

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8. Both the examples encoun-tered are in very famous works,thus more likely than most to beaccessibly reproduced in all theirparts. Hence the existence of oth-ers is likely. (A) The Pericope ofEmperor Henry II, 1000–1004,shows the dead summoned fromgraves, wearing clothes, with trum-peting angels, on folio 201v, andthe standard Judgment on folio202r. The left-right arrangement,matching the time sequence, isreproduced by Boase, 24. (B) TheKlosterneuburg altarpiece, 1181. itsfifty-one panels form three hori-zontal series of seventeen each. Ofthe resulting seventeen vertical setsof three each, the first fifteen eachshow a Gospel scene in the middlewith Old Testament scenes aboveand below it. Of the other twosets, the last of all shows the Judg-ment between heaven above andhell below. The penultimateshows, from the top down, Christ’ssecond coming, four trumpetingangels, and the naked dead risingfrom graves. This rarely notedscene is reproduced by BelliBarsali, fig. 5. The six scenes are asuggestive precedent for Signorelliin thoughtfully working out assign-ments of phases of the theme toframed sequences predeterminedby the architecture.

9. Both reproduced byLongnon and Cazelles, nos. 29 and30. The standard Last Judgment isat the head of Psalm 95 and showsthe sorting of the naked saved anddamned. At the end of the psalm,a miniature shows three nakedsouls emerging from the earthwhile, as Signorelli will also show,two angels trumpet above. Thisminiature has wrongly been said to

belong to the following Psalm 96,but the text is not related, and thespacing on the page also connectsit better with the preceding psalm.

10. Meiss, 230–31, discusses thetwo Adam miniatures and repro-duces them as his figs. 558 and655. He wrongly labels the minia-ture of the Raising of the Dead as aLast Judgment (also in the captionto fig. 565), an indication of howpuzzling its isolation from themain image seems. The fullestaccount of the 1412 miniature isby Sterling, 68, fig. 104.

11. The marked rarity of LastJudgment images in all illuminatedmanuscripts of this period, all themore so in the arrangement hereobserved, tends to support theinference that Signorelli’s modelwas in this particular context,where it does appear. The mostpopular type of illuminated manu-script of this century, as is wellknown, was the Book of Hours,and its imagery shows great vari-ety, yet a study of it (Harthan,14–19) does not mention that itmight include the Last Judgment,even in a survey of the less com-mon options. A helpful check isprovided by the catalogue of man-uscripts of the Walters Art Gallery(Randall), which indexes everytheme shown in its 112 Books ofHours—which are a large sample,and a random one with respect tothis matter. Just ten include a LastJudgment, which, however, neveraccompanies Psalm 94, as it does inthe Très Riches Heures, but eitherthe Penitential Psalms, Seven LastRequests, or Office of the Dead.In nine of these the Raising of theDead is included in the lower areain the usual way, and the abbrevi-

ated tenth one omits it entirely. Itis also included in the usual way inthe two other Walters manuscriptsshowing Last Judgments, a City ofGod and the Breviary of 1412 dis-cussed in the text. The separatescene of the Raising in the TrèsRiches Heures thus seems mostexceptional, and the likeness toSignorelli the more interesting.

12. Bynum, 187 nn. 100, 101.Her survey of skeletons in thisscene omits Michelangelo, and onemust remain open to the emer-gence of other earlier examples.Misled perhaps by a poor repro-duction in the source she cites, shecalls Ghisi’s engraving of 1554 apainting. Nor is it the case thatSignorelli’s skeletons are “notnaked but in the process of acquir-ing flesh.”

13. Condivi, 122–23. The sameEzekiel text had earlier beenreflected in images of the deadraised, but not as skeletons, linkedto Christ’s resurrection, not to theLast Judgment. They seem to dis-appear after the twelfth century(Schiller, 3:66–68).

14. Testa, “La cappellina,” pres-ents the newly rediscovered frescoof 1468 and its documents, makingall previous discussions obsolete.

15. Fruscoloni, 179–82.16. Natalini, passim.17. Andreani, 249, doc. 136.18. Pastor, 6:596.19. All the above in Stoyanov,

191, 196, 204.20. Clementini, 456; he also

reports that the cult of Parenzo wasstill active in the seventeenth cen-tury, when the town named thesaint one of its official protectors.

21. In Filippino Lippi’s fresco ofSaint Thomas, in Rome, men-

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tioned earlier, the primary meansof identifying as such the hereticsthe saint refutes is by showingthem throwing their books to theground. Earlier, in the SpanishChapel at Santa Maria Novella inFlorence, in 1365, in the scene ofthe triumph of the church, onesuch heretic tears his book.

22. “Furentes armis haereticosrepraessit.”

23. The tomb shows a bat-winged devil dragging the heretic,who holds his book (and sword),to hell. This motif might explain aSignorelli drawing in the MorganLibrary, New York, that is com-monly said to relate to the Orvietoproject but does not match any-thing specific in it (repr. VanCleave, 250, with discussion). Itshows four bat-winged demons,one holding up a book and theother three gazing at it. Becausethe tomb shows a demon whosecaptive has a book, one might pre-sume for the drawing a momentfollowing, when the demon hasappropriated the evil book fromhis captive and studies it. Thatwould be a variant of the Damnedscene. There are other cases ofdrawings that seem to relate tounused ideas for the chapel.

24. Kristeller 1913, 74–75. Onlyone copy of each edition survives.That very high rate of loss makes itreasonable to think that other edi-tions have been totally lost.

25. Aichele, 34–35; Bartholom-maeis, 1:35–52. The Antichrist sec-tion begins (lines 1–36) with themotifs shown by Signorelli: the sundarkens, the moon is bloody,Antichrist is believed, and the firecomes from heaven. The Last Judg-ment is also treated in the standard

way: tombs open, bones reassem-ble, Christ on his throne shows thesymbols of the Passion, he sorts thejust and the unjust at right and left,they enter heaven and hell.

26. Bisogni, passim.27. McGinn, 148.28. Copinger, 2:2, nos.

6380–522. This saturation bearsemphasizing, because studies of theculture of the period often fail toconsider whether a claimed sourcewas widely known. Thus onerecent writer on the chapel dis-counted the Golden Legend, notnoting its print history, whilenearby arguing for another sourceon the ground that it was printedfive times in the period, thoughonly once in Italy. (Single print-ings, like last printings, may con-note failure to circulate.)

29. McGinn, 144.30. Still other cases link Enoch

and Elijah tightly to the Last Judg-ment. The contract to paint a LastJudgment in Florence in 1499, tobe executed by Fra Bartolommeo,specifies that it shall include Enochand Elijah (Borgo, 478). As alreadynoted, the two witnesses had alsoappeared in the San GimignanoLast Judgment of around 1413.These Last Judgments with thetwo witnesses do not involveAntichrist at all. Thus, the wit-nesses’ appearance in Signorelli’sAntichrist scene signals its attach-ment to the Judgment.

31. Even the two “extended”motifs cited above as not presentin the Golden Legend’s chapter onadvent are also not present in thebiography of Antichrist. In a letterof September 15, 1537, toMichelangelo, the literary manPietro Aretino urged him to make

the Antichrist a main figure in hisLast Judgment, but this idea hadno follow-up (Michelangelo,4:1979, 83).

32. T. Henry, 755.33. Sprenger, 34. The authors

of this famous book, the MalleusMaleficarum, against witches, firstissued in 1486, debate this questionand decide that comets do foretelldeaths in the case of kings but notin the case of other people. (Theyallude elsewhere [152, 196] toheretics whom they call Cathariand Manicheans.)

34. T. Henry, 755.35. T. Henry, 755. It has been

argued, against this, that the build-ing is not structurally sound andhence not Bramantesque. Thisseems to ignore Bramante’s repu-tation for poor engineering, aswell as the intervention of apainter’s ideas. Marchetti (in Testa1996, 155–60) argues that thetemple is structurally sound, asso-ciating it with another architect,Francesco di Giorgio.

36. Scarpellini, 42, fig. 52. Of129 reproductions in this mono-graph, this is one of just four notof works by Signorelli.

37. An association betweenJohn the Evangelist and Antichristwas offered in 1450 by SaintAntonino of Florence in hisSumma Theologica (4.13, chap. 4,sec. 3). He notes that some earlywriters say Antichrist killed theEvangelist, as well as Enoch andElijah. The association might havedrawn Signorelli to Filippino’simage. The latter’s fresco cycleincludes a standard scene of John’smartyrdom, not by Antichrist.

38. Goldner and Bambach, nos.99–101, date these drawings about

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1500, even though they are “farremoved from the final work” inposes and other ways. Signorelli’sattention to the scene would thenbe still later.

39. In giving Simon the statusof “the first of the heresiarchs,”Augustine (De Haeresis, chap. 1) isamong many early Christian writ-ers who so treat him. Lapide (inhis notes on Acts 8:9, p. 159) andStock assemble such comments.

40. In a throwaway line, sug-gesting its commonness, Augustine(City of God, 20:19) dubs hereticsas those whom the evangelist Johncalls “many Antichrists.”

41. The second figure on thetile is noticeably younger than Sig-norelli, unlikely for the chamber-lain. A plausible hypothesis is thathe is an assistant to Signorelli onthe project, perhaps the nephewmentioned in 1510 (Andreani, 439,doc. 269). Self-portraits with assist-ing family members were includedin large projects by Ghiberti(Doors of Paradise, Florence Bap-tistery, with his son Vittorio) andGhirlandaio (altarpiece of the Hos-pital of the Innocents, Florence).The “Maitani” figure in the LastJudgment on the Orvieto façade isaccompanied by others in this way.In a later Last Judgment, in thedome of Florence Cathedral, Fed-erico Zuccari portrayed himselfwith artist friends and associates inthe work. Zuccari studied Sig-norelli’s work in Orvieto inpreparing his own. A self-portraiton tile by Andrea del Sarto (Uffizi)and another reported by Vasari(1878, 6:546n) were produced ininformal situations.

42. See the preceding note andChapter 2, note 62. It is remark-

able that this long tradition isoverlooked in the large literatureon Michelangelo’s self-portrait inhis Last Judgment.

43. The shift in the two figuresof Angelico and Signorelli to mod-ern costume, from the historicalcostumes of everyone taking partin the Antichrist scene, is preparedby Maitani and his associates in theLast Judgment, and by Ghirlandaioand his family in the more recentFlorentine case cited above in note41, as well as by the Sistineonlookers also mentioned above.

44. Gilbert 1986, 109–24.45. Vasari (1878, 4:181) reports

a portrait of Angelico among theblessed in Fra Bartolommeo’s LastJudgment of 1498–99, finished byAlbertinelli in 1500–1501. Vasari isunreliable in identifying portraits,especially of artists, but need notbe wrong, and here there is anargument that such a portrait mayhave existed. Fra Bartolommeo,also a Dominican painter, certainlyhad a special feeling for Angelico.

46. Early examples are byMelozzo (Masciotta, fig. 8) and byFilippino Lippi, in the same sceneas his Simon Magus (Masciotta,fig. 19).

47. Bambach (1999, 108) notesthat the “Angelico” head is basedon a pounced cartoon, unlike allthe others in the scene, and sug-gests that the use of a prior likenessmight account for the difference.Vasari names many other figures inthe Antichrist scene as portraits(1878, 3:690), and these have oftenbeen given more credence thanany evidence warrants. A likelyexception to their unreliability isthe name Cesare Borgia, assignedto the last figure in the last row of

Antichrist’s listeners. It matchesfully a contemporary woodcut por-trait of him (Cieri Via, 178, figs. onp. 176) that may well derive fromSignorelli’s painting. This relation-ship between these media is normalfor the period and is apparentlyexemplified in the wainscot por-trait below the Antichrist, to bediscussed below. The identity alsomatches the historical situation—ina way much simpler than thatoffered by its proponent—in thatin 1502 Borgia was the effectiveruler of Orvieto.

48. Giotto’s rolling scroll, at thevery top of his Last Judgment, isoften not mentioned in accountsof the work. The graphic vigor hegives the motif marks a contrastwith the very slight involvementin Signorelli of any motifs fromthe Apocalypse.

49. The same viewers whocalled the first man a sibyl identi-fied the adjacent man in the turbanas David, giving no basis. Presum-ably they imply a reference to thehymn about the Last Judgment,Dies Irae, where David and thesibyl are named as its witnesses.However, that specifically linksthem to that day itself, not to thepreamble with the five signs seenhere. Further, the chapel showsDavid elsewhere, amongAngelico’s prophets in the vault.He has his normal attributes ofcrown and harp and does notresemble the turbaned figure. Tur-bans in this culture most oftenindicate infidels.

50. Geiger, 96, figs. 46, 50. Thesame trousers appear in a fresco ofabout 1506 in Rome, Palazzo deiConservatori, by Jacopo Ripanda,of a classical triumph.

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51. The shaky basis for thename Empedocles, almost alwaysassigned to this figure, is discussedin Chapter 4, note 47.

52. The scenes around “Lucan,”with combats, have commonlybeen said to refer to his Pharsalia,an epic on the civil war betweenCaesar and Pompey. However, theepic does not contain even onedescription of a single combat, thesole motif of the monochromeshere. The poem is all about massbattles between large armies, seavoyages, and long speeches. Fred-erick Ahl (whose book has beencalled “the best general introduc-tion to Lucan” [Widdows, xxiv])kindly informs me that nothing inthe monochromes fits the poem.

53. Italian Renaissance portraitsof Homer make a point of hisblindness, as later in Raphael’s Par-nassus, circa 1510, and earlier inthe portrait cycle of famousauthors in the Ducal Palace atUrbino.

54. Pliny, Natural History,16.3–5.

55. A small number of imagesfrom the fifteenth century showoak-crowned figures that whenthey can be identified either cer-tainly or very possibly signal civicheroes. A genealogical manuscriptof the Visconti of 1403 showsAeneas in a circular frame of oakleaves, along with the next threegenerations of his successors (a dif-ferent set from Virgil’s) (cf. Kirsch,fig. 31). King Matthias Corvinus ofHungary is so crowned in an Ital-ian sculptor’s relief portrait(Budapest, Hungarian NationalGallery). A famous drawing byLeonardo (Windsor, Royal Library,12495) shows a man in profile so

crowned, surrounded by carica-tures of mockers, much like thestandard composition of the mock-ing of Christ. The oak wreath ispresumably a clue to the bafflingidentity of this work; it might rep-resent Caesar and the conspirators.In Goethe’s play Tasso, of the1790s, a civic hero receives an oakcrown (1:4, 682), an indication thatthis meaning was still readilyunderstood.

56. Recent studies of Judithiconography have focused onimages showing her nude, withreasonable proposals that herseduction of Holofernes is beingseen as a sexual narrative. How-ever, the idea that this mono-chrome also makes a sexualreference benefits unduly fromlooking at this figure out of anycontext. In the chapel, Judith’smany nude monochrome neigh-bors in the wainscot are relevant toher nudity and do not themselvessignal sexual reference. This is notthe earliest nude Judith, as hasbeen supposed. An earlier one, ina rare North Italian manuscript ofthe Biblia Pauperum (Wright,9–10), shows her bathing andtreats her as a parallel to Christbeing baptized, and thus as anemblem of purity.

57. In the Siena cycle, eachscene has a label beneath in gold-leaf capital letters identifying theevent in Pope Pius’s life. Sceneswith incidents before he becamepope call him either “AeneasSylvius,” in the first two cases, or“Aeneas,” in the other five. Thusthe name was conspicuously rein-forced just at the time Signorelliwas working in Orvieto, in a frescocycle by a friend of his. Virgil

repeatedly dubs his hero “PiousAeneas,” and the choice by AeneasSylvius Piccolomini of the papalname “Pius,” when he was elected,makes that classical reference. It isnot surprising that around the year1500 the aristocratic Pio familynamed a son Enea (Bandello, 518).

58. Gilbert, in Testa 1996,307–19. The proposal that Alberiprovided the iconographic schemefor the Orvieto Last Judgment hasbeen backed up by statements thathe lived in Orvieto and was ahumanist, but there is no evidencesupporting those statements.

59. Clementini, 458.60. A drawing by Signorelli in

the Uffizi prepares the motif of thewinners pinning the losers to theground. One pair at the left is aclose variant of the left pair in theupper monochrome and is relatedto a second pair to the right.Berenson, 330, observed the con-nection, if only as one of severalsuggestions and with a slip of thepen saying “Lucian.” Later com-mentators failed to note this, andin general it has been held that nosurviving drawings by Signorelliprepare the fresco cycle. However,the good study by Van Cleave, inTesta 1996, 241–51, has changedthe situation.

61. See Chapter 5, note 52.62. The postulate being

invoked concerns the most effec-tive way to learn what text wasused for the image here. Our usualway is to try to identify the imagein a reasonable way (in this case“Ino”) and then to locate its text,commonly in the best-knownaccount of the story. But that isfallacious because it is the oppositeof the procedure used at the origi-

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nal time, which arrived at theimage at the end. The beginningwas to find a story that suited thescheme (in this case, classical visitsto the underworld). If Ino lookedgood, he would next check themost helpful account of her story.It might well not be the mostfamous, Ovid’s brief allusion, as itwas not for Proserpina. Onewould tend to go, as in that case,to a work fully devoted to thetheme. Of course, the widerawareness of more classical authorsin that period is relevant too.

63. See Chapter 5, note 16, andrelated text. The pose of the manon tiptoe raising his hammer to killParenzo was recycled in a numberof Signorelli’s works from early inhis career, usually flagellations. Asplendid nude life drawing at theLouvre devoted to it illustrates theartist’s effective fascination withfigures in tension, expanded in thescene of the damned to an entireevent.

64. They differ from predellasin being on the same level as thestanding saints, while around thecorner from them on the side wallsof the niche chapel. They sharethe level of the other narrativemonochromes in the large chapel,thus again insisting on designunity.

65. If water was shown, itwould indicate a reference toOvid, because Statius does notmention it. The eighteenth-cen-tury description, without water,would thus imply a citation of Sta-tius only, while the analogue withFaustino’s death would suggestthat the iconographic planner wasaware of Ovid too, as he surely

was. This matter must remainopen.

66. Testa and Davanzo, in Testa1996, illustration on p. 49.

67. See above, Chapter 5, note53, for discussion.

68. The reproduction of thiscircular portrait in Gilbert 1996,314, is misleadingly printed; itshows the head in a vertical posi-tion but should have it leaningdown. It is correct in Riess, fig. 59.

69. Hind, 2:119, no. 29.70. Hind, 2:131, no. 87. 71. See Chapter 5, note 40.72. Signorelli’s absence from

Orvieto for a good part of 1502 isoften noted, most recently byKanter, 122, who names theperiod from February to June.Kanter rightly offers the authorityof Mancini, the leading scholar onSignorelli documents, but insteadof citing his page 144 (whichinstead concerns 1504) he shouldhave cited pages 134–37, andadded the time up to August 1 asshown there. These documentsplace the artist in Cortona butonly record him on a few specificdays, and so allow for other localtrips.

73. Filippino at the time had fargreater career success. He had justfinished conspicuous large chapelprojects both in Rome and in Flo-rence, cities where Signorelli hadproduced only smaller works, andthat years earlier. It is reasonable tosuggest that Filippino borrowedfrom Signorelli the bat-wingeddemon, a Signorelli specialty, for adrawing (Goldner and Bambach,94). Its closest analogue by Sig-norelli is perhaps the green one inthe Minos scene.

74. Geiger, 94–97, identifiedthis source in Summa contra Gen-tiles, 4.1–26.

75. This is true both of texts andimages in this culture and of laterdescriptions of them, accurate orinaccurate. Fra Angelico’s work-shop produced a triumph ofAquinas over heretics, identified ininscriptions as William, Averroes,and Sabellius (repr. Schottmuller,fig. 137). The three are visuallyderived from the similar group inThomas’s triumph in the SpanishChapel in Santa Maria Novella,Florence, of 1365. These are notlabeled, but Vasari’s identificationof them as Arius, Averroes, andSabellius is generally accepted(Offner and Steinweg, 29). Else-where Vasari wrongly says “Sabel-lius, Arius, and Averroes” appear inthe similar scene of an altarpiece atSanta Caterina, Pisa. In fact itshows Averroes only (Vasari 1967,2:226). Earlier, Saint Bernard hadcontrasted the anonymous heresiesof his time with those of the pastnamed for Mani, Sabellius, andArius (cited by Lambert, 55). A ser-mon to a major church assembly inRome in 1512 cites “Arius, Sabel-lius, and Photius” (Olin, 51). Asearch for a Sabellius alone has pro-duced none, unless Signorelli’s headis such.

76. The largest-scale such pair,in a major location yet commonlyoverlooked today, is among thefrescoes in the vault of Orsan-michele, Florence, about 1400(Gilbert 1994, figs. 12a, b). Thepair in Michelangelo’s Sistine vaultcontinues the tradition. In the1490s Ercole de’Roberti hadshown them in a lost altarpiece in

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Ferrara (copy at Palazzo Venezia,Rome).

77. Antal, 71–73.78. Signorelli himself painted just

such a figure of Magdalene in thepredella of his Siena altarpiece notedearlier. Though understandablycalled “striding,” she is betweenother immobile figures, and so mustbe likewise. (The panel is in theMaxwell Collection, Glasgow.) Thegroup of sculptures in the round ofa Mourning over Christ, of the1480s, by Niccolò dell’Arca, atSanta Maria della Vita, Bologna,includes another such figure. Thestatues have several times beenshifted from their original positionsin questionable ways, one of whichmade a figure seem to run. ThatMagdalene plainly does not is astriking token of the situation dis-cussed.

79. The author introduces bothstories as cases of lust in powerfulmen leading to revolutions againstthem.

80. Examples are in cassoni pre-sented in the corpus of such worksby Schubring, nos. 78 and 138,and a panel by Brescianino inSiena (Torriti, 2:190).

81. Menestò, 88–89.82. P. O. Kristeller, 223.83. An English translation is in

Jed, 149–52.84. Plutarch 1.207. This is in

the Life of Poplicola, Brutus’s col-league as consul.

85. Boccaccio, Comedia dellaninfe fiorentine, 36, and Filicolo,2.17.

86. Brown, 291; Machiavelli,Discourses on Livy, 2:16. This is oneof the rare points that Machiavelliactually bases on Livy’s text;

another refers to the story of Vir-ginia (2.39).

87. One other motif in thechapel not mentioned, a very smallone, in the inner bay, is the eggpainted as if suspended from thevault, over the central window.The large literature on the motif inthe period barely mentions thisexample. The fullest survey is byGilbert 1974. There is little to saywhether this egg is a religious sym-bol (the majority view about sucheggs among current historians) orexemplifies the practice of hangingostrich eggs in churches to drawcurious visitors (the only raisond’être offered in the period). Itspresence in a rare chapel with nodedication might favor the latterview.

88. Unpublished document,from the Ms. Rif. 1484–1526, carta367–367v, transcribed in the dis-sertation of McLellan, doc. 360.

89. Printed by Ceccarelli,154ff., in the sixteenth century,more recently cited only byMcLellan, 15.

90. McLellan, doc. 409, fromthe Ms. Mem. 1500–1523, carta52.

91. McLellan, doc. 408, unpub-lished, from the Ms. Cam.1501–16, carta 154.

92. Transcribed by Perali, 123.The writer offers no basis for hisstatement that the widow set up theplaque, and it is unusual that thetext does not identify the persondoing so. However, the wordingshows that this occurred after hisdeath but not long after, indicatingthat either she or another immedi-ate heir was responsible.

93. This chapel, treated in a con-fused way earlier, has now been dis-

cussed with clarity by Testa, inTesta 1996, 273–75. The committeedid not act as its patron for orna-ment, but sold it to others, whogave Signorelli a separate commis-sion to paint it. Later it was resold,and the work by Signorelli wasremoved and partly destroyed.

94. This might seem to invali-date several earlier rejections inthis study of proposed identifica-tions on the basis that they do notrelate to the Last Judgment theme.A response would be that theseother proposals do not show, asthe civic case does, affirmative evi-dence such as separate patronage,coats of arms, the accumulation ofimages with the same theme, andthe grouping in one part of thechapel.

95. Gilbert 1988, 136–38.

Envoi1. Gilbert 1986, 112–13.2. Sacchetti Sassetti, figs. 13–26.3. Heikamp, 54.4. Paleotti, in Barocchi,

2:425–52, 304–5.5. Berthold, nos. 247–51.6. H. Cotter, exhibition review,

New York Times, October 21,1997.

7. E. M. Forster, A Room with aView, first published 1908. In chap-ter 10, the first meeting of twomain characters, in an art museum,is reported: “They were admiringLuca Signorelli.” In chapter 12, oneof the same characters goes swim-ming with two other men, evi-dently nude, with vigorous athleticplay, during which he refers backto the meeting at the museum. Theswimming scene is preceded by talkof the importance of men’s bodies.Here the hypothesis is that the

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author, a closeted homosexual,chose to use Signorelli’s namebecause he associated the athleticenergy of the naked men with theOrvieto murals. The book hasmany other allusions to Italianartists in fashion at the time. Aprecedent and perhaps a model forForster is the Victorian literary manJohn Addington Symonds. HisMemoirs (published only in 1984)focus, uniquely for their era, on hiseffort to analyze his own homosex-uality, specifically manifested in hisvisual obsession with beautiful malebodies. His biography of Michelan-gelo (1892) includes a surprisingseven-page excursus on the Sig-norelli chapel fresco cycle, acadenza emphasizing “naked formstreated with audacious freedom”

and the “muscular energy of brutallife” (pp. 157–64 in the 1936reprint).

8. Cadmus, in a letter to theauthor, calls Signorelli better thanMichelangelo. It is worth notingthat both he and Forster seem tooverlook the female nudes promi-nent in Signorelli.

9. Another modern approach toSignorelli favors a connectionbetween him and the apocalyptic.This almost standard tie-in may beexemplified by remarks by a histo-rian of Renaissance painting, in1998, to the effect that in thechapel apocalyptic imagery coversthe walls and ceiling. Thisapproach, briefly cited at relevantpoints above, is here relegated to anote because it is entirely inaccu-

rate. It is a tribute both to thepower of “new age” interests incurrent culture and to the powerof Signorelli’s art.

10. G. Della Valle 1791.11. Förster, 1:139–40.12. Bertorello, in Testa 1996,

352.13. Extrapolating still further,

one could place the project in ageneral Renaissance context ofassigning high value to the physi-cal. It is evocatively illustrated byAngelico’s concern to assignheaven to a place with a ground,and a further stage is evoked bythe tendency, shared by Signorelliwith others, in a departure fromAngelico, to evade the representa-tion of hell.

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Abruzzi, Last Judgment in LoretoAprutino, 47, 81, 169 n. 66

Achilles, 106, 108Aeneas, 93, 97–98, 111–12, 143, 184

n. 57Aeneid. See VirgilAlba Longa, 143Alberi, Archdeacon, 73, 112, 144, 179

n. 85Alberti, Leandro, 11Alexander VI, Pope, 66–67, 163 n. 28Ambrose, Saint, 175 n. 23Ammanati, Cardinal, tomb of, 65, 73,

90Amphiarios, 98Andrea Pisano, 24Andromeda, 109–10Angelico, Fra Giovanni de Fiesole, 51,

76, 111, 121, 137fame of, 70, 159frescoes at San Marco, Florence,

27, 53Last Judgment panels

Berlin, 33–34, 48–50, 87–88Florence benchback, 33–34, 41,

43, 45, 49, 61, 73, 87Florence silver cupboard, 47–48Rome, 55–56

in Orvietocontract, 25–26drawing, xviii, 30, 48, 54. See

also gavantonehired, 24–25Judging Christ, 30, 32–33, 37, 39leaves Orvieto, 56, 58, 60, 62portrait of, by Gozzoli, 52, 136portrait of, by Signorelli, 51, 135Prophets, 33, 37scheme, 44, 49, 51, 54, 76, 115,

117work, xi, xviii

angry, circle of, in Inferno, 110Annius of Viterbo, 113Annunciation, theme of paintings, 58,

104Antichrist legend, xvi, 129–32, 149Antonino, Saint, 62Apelles, 147–49apocalyptic ideas, 89, 132, 138, 168

n. 57, 175 n. 36Apollinarius, 139Apollodorus, 108Apostles, 74Aquinas, Saint Thomas, 3, 12, 62,

149–50, 162 n. 7Arcas, 104archangels, 77–78Aretine ware, 163 n. 24Aretino, Pietro, 182 n. 31Aristotle, 12, 13Arius, 129, 150, 185 n. 75Ascension of Christ, 56Assumption of the Virgin, 16–19, 167

n. 23Augustine, Saint, 2, 29, 81, 83, 134,

149, 180 n. 7, 183 n. 40Averroës, 185 n. 75

Balkans, fresco cycles in, 11–12Bardi, Roberto de’, 177 n. 65Barna, 35Bartolommeo, Fra, 138, 176 n. 40,

183 n. 45Beccafumi, 153Beckmann, Max, 160Benton, Thomas, 128, 160Berenson, Bernard, 52Bernard, Saint, 74Bernardino, Saint, 62Bersuire, Pierre, 110Bertoldo di Giovanni, 65, 85–86, 112Beaune, 51

Biblia Pauperum, 56, 184 n. 56Boccaccio, Giovanni, 108, 153, 186

n. 85Bologna

Church of Santa Maria della Vita,186. n. 78

San Petronio, 90Bolsena

Miracle of, 2–3, 4fresco of, 126–27

relic, 14Bonaiuti, Andrea, 47, 55Boniface VIII, Pope, 5Books of Hours, 90Borgia family, 66, 68–89

Cesare, 67–69, 81, 183 n. 47Bosch, Hieronymus, 80, 81Bosnia, 128Botticelli, Sandro, 70, 72, 151–52, 154Bramante, Donato, 132Brizio, Saint

fresco of, 76–77, 125name assigned to Cappella Nuova,

18, 165 n. 65Brunacci, Don Francesco, 23–24Brunelleschi, Filippo, 85Bruni, Leonardo, 111–12Brutus, first consul of Rome, 94,

152–54Byrd, Robert, 153

Cadmus, Paul, 158, 187 n. 8Cadmus of Thebes, 144–45, 158, 160Calisto, 104cartaro, 30, 37Castor and Pollux, 98Cathari, 2, 12, 127–28, 134, 182 n. 33Cathedral of Orvieto, xviii, 1, 3

apse, 5, 14, 15, 27, 29Bishop, 63Cappella Nuova, passim from 15

Gilbert.Index 10/23/02 3:08 PM Page 195

altar, 16, 23, 24frescoes, passim: archangels,

77–78; Bishop Saints, 76;conservation, xviii, 174n. 20; dating of completion,75, 174 n. 16; David andJudith, 142–43, 150; findsafter conservation, xix;frames, 35–36, 38, 56–57,142, 160; outer vault, 118;sequence of work, 75, 173n. 14; technique, 132, 183n. 47; vault, xv, xvii, 32, 57,71, 72, 75, 173 n. 7; wainscotarea, xviii, 52, 54, 75,90–111, 141, 146

little chapels inside it, 20, 59,75, 123

Madonna of San Brizio, 18no dedication, 18scaffolding, 62scenes of frescoes: Ascent of the

Blessed, 79; Assembly of theBlessed, xvi, 79, 83, 121,136; Assembly of theDamned, xv, 85, 122;Antichrist, xiii, xv, 118,120–21, 132–35, 137–38,140–43; Descent of theDamned, 87–89; of entrancewall, 118–19, 137–41; Rais-ing of the Dead, xv, xvii, 76,117–18, 120–22, 145, 149,159

tabernacle of the Assumption,16–18, 56, 75–76

tabernacle of the Crucifix, 17use of the term Chapel of the

Assumption, 18–19windows, 16, 17, 19, 36, 75,

174 n. 18coat of arms, 58committee, xi, 71, 117, 119construction, 4-5, 13façade, 7, 163 n. 24

mosaics, 7, 9, 29sculpture, 7, 9, 11–12, 28, 51,

65, 121, 135; of pagan fig-ures, 13; of Tree of Jesse, 11,13; early comments on 10,11

name, 6, 165 n. 75

named chapelsof the Coronation of the Virgin,

16, 17of the Magdalene, 20, 123, 155,

186 n. 93of the Monaldeschi, 20of the Reliquary, 15–16, 20–21,

27, 91reliquary, 3, 14, 15sacristy, 16semicircular chapels, 5–7transeptal bays, 5–7, 15–16

Cerberus, 93Ceres, 93–94Cézanne, Paul, 158, 160Chantilly, Musée Condé, 38, 48–49,

52, 136Charity and Envy, allegories of, 101,

103Charon, 44, 87–88, 105, 123, 151Chartres, 160Chastity and Lust, allegories of, 103–4,

108Chaucer, Geoffrey, 94Cicero, 83, 142, 147, 149, 151Cimabue, 27Città di Castello, 70Claudian, 93–95, 97–98, 100, 104,

112, 146Clementini, Girolamo, 104–5,

158–59, 176 n. 53Cleopatra, 106coats of arms, 58, 154Coca, Bishop, 40Cologne, cathedral of, 165 n. 79Colonna family, 65Condivi, Ascanio, 123confessors, category of saints, 74Corbara, Count, 69Corinthians, First Letter to, 41Coronation of the Virgin, 16, 56Corpus Christi, feast of, 3, 14, 126,

162 n. 9Cortese, Cristoforo, 81Cortesi, Paolo, 113, 179 n. 98Cortona, 1, 71, 85, 113, 126Costanzo, Saint, 76–77Cupid, 103

Daniel, Book of, 131, 180 n. 7Dante, 89, 97, 129

in Last Judgment, 44–45, 53, 88lines on allegory, 101, 111

portraits of, 54, 59, 87, 94–95, 112scenes from Divine Comedy illus-

trated, 52, 87, 94–96, 99–104,105–11

David, Jacques-Louis, 153David, King, 152–54, 183 n. 49Della Valle, Guglielmo, 158–59designum, 71–72, 75, 173 n. 5Diana, 93, 103–4Dido, 106, 178 n. 74Dies Irae, 41, 183 n. 49Dis, city of, 110–11, 128disegno. See designumdoctors of the church, category of

saints, 72–74Dominic, Saint, 46Dominicans, 2, 72, 162 n. 7Donatello, 85, 150Dresden, gallery in, 38, 49Duccio di Buoninsegna, 14, 15Dürer, Albrecht, 132

Elice, 104Elijah. See Enoch and ElijahEmpedocles, 176 n. 47, 184 n. 51Enoch, Book of, 78, 114, 175 n. 22Enoch and Elijah, 83, 129, 132, 182

n. 30Envy, allegory of, 176 n. 56Erasmus, 83Eritrean sibyl, 13, 83Eurydice, 93Ezekiel, Book of, 123, 128

Faith, allegory of, 102, 103, 177 n. 59Farnese family

Bishop Guido, 67Cardinal, later Pope Paul III,

67–68, 81, 112–13, 115, 122family castle of, 113frescoes of family history, 171 n. 34Luigi, 67Pietro, Captain, 67

Faustino, Saint, 59, 123–26, 145–46, 155Fiani, Crisostimo, 69, 71, 172 n. 45Ficino, Marsilio, 106, 152Filippeschi family, 96Fiorenzo di Lorenzo, 30Florence

cathedral of, 9, 158churches

Baptistery, 41–43, 45, 54, 61,168 n. 59

�

Cathedral of Orvieto (cont’d)


Carmine, 133–34Orsanmichele, 185 n. 76San Miniato, 7, 15Santa Croce, 28Santa Maria degli Angeli; 46–47Santa Maria Novella, Spanish

chapel, 27, 47, 55, 169 n. 68Strozzi chapel (painted by Filip-

pino Lippi), 133, 139, 149Strozzi chapel (painted by

Nardo), 28, 43, 168 n. 58,182 n. 21

chapel of the Bargello, 44Medici chapel, 52Medici court, 113–14Palazzo Vecchio, 94Wool Guild Hall, 153

Forster, E. M., 158, 186 n. 7Francesco di Giorgio, 70, 172 n. 50,

182 n. 35Francesco di Urbano da Cortona, 71Franci, Nicola, 135Francis, Saint, 46, 53–54, 59Freud, Sigmund, xii–xiii, 158, 161 nn.

5, 6Fulgentius, 107Furies, 110, 128

Gabriel, archangel, 77–78gavantone, 30, 37–38, 40, 49–52, 71,

75, 91, 100, 117, 137, 167 n. 45Genga, Girolamo, 147Genoa, 66Gentile da Fabriano, 11, 24, 56, 63Ghiberti, Lorenzo, 183 n. 41Ghirlandaio, Domenico, 70, 72, 81,

183 nn. 41, 43Ghisi, Giorgio, 181 n. 12Giotto di Bondone

portrait by Gozzoli, 53, 176 n. 45reference to in Orvieto wainscot,

92, 100–101self-portrait, 51, 135works

Florence, Last Judgment, 44, 53,92

Padua, Last Judgment, 27,42–44, 54, 56, 61, 80, 139,183 n. 48

Rome, Navicella, 7, 9, 24, 27Giovanni da Udine, 58Giovanni di Paolo, 83gluttonous, circle of , in Inferno, 108

Golden Legend, 129–31, 137–39Gozzoli, Benozzo

assistant of Angelico, 25drawings, 38–39, 52, 136–37, 169

n. 72frescoes

in Florence, 52in Montefalco, 53, 91–92, 176

n. 45return to Orvieto, 58–59, 100self-portrait, 137

Grimani, Cardinal, 81, 115, 122grotesque, technical term, 91, 144Gualtieri family, 20

Helen of Troy, 106Hercules, 93, 97–98, 106–12heresy, 2, 3, 12–13, 128–29, 148–49,

163 n. 9Homer, 13, 108, 112, 142, 147, 151,

184 n. 53Hope, allegory of, 101humanism, 13, 78, 83, 94, 112

Iacomo di Cartari, 37Innocent III, Pope, 2Innocent VIII, Pope, 66, 101, 128Ino, 144, 146Iovanni Antonio, 25Isabella d’Este, 63

Jacopo de Poli, 25John the Baptist, 33, 35, 73, 167 n. 33John the Evangelist, 182 n. 37Josaphat, valley of, 47, 81, 85, 87Jove, 104Judith, 143, 147–48, 152, 157, 184

n. 56Julius II, Pope, 66, 127Juno, 104

Klosterneuburg altarpiece, 181 n. 8Kyrie eleison, 74

Laetus, Pomponius, 113, 129Landino, Cristoforo, 108, 111–12, 115Last Judgment

in Balkan frescoes, 13in Biblia Pauperum, 56denied by Cathari, 62, 129, 132in France, 170 n. 1in medals, 171 n. 22in Orvieto, xii, 27, 61, 73

plays of, 62, 129, 132related to death of individual, 90theme of visual images, 106 n. 22in tombs, 65

Leonardo da Vinci, 184 n. 55Leo X, Pope, 126–27Limbourg brothers, 121–22Lippi, Filippino, 70, 72, 81, 91, 133,

139, 147–49, 151, 183 n. 46,185 n. 73

Lippi, Fra Filippo, 27, 35–36Litany, 74Livy, 152Lochner, Stefan, 80, 121Lorenzetti, Ambrogio, 14, 176 n. 44Loreto, 70Lucan, 142, 144, 184 n. 52Lucca, San Frediano, 7Lucretia, 151–54Lucretius, 105Luke, Gospel of, 138–39, 146lustful, circle of, in Inferno, 106–9,

128

Machiavelli, Niccolo, 153, 186 n. 86Maitani, Lorenzo, 51, 137, 169 n. 62,

183 nn. 41, 43Malleus Maleficarum, 182 n. 33Mancinelli, Antonio, 180 n. 99Manichaeans, 2, 126–28, 139Mariotto di Urbano da Cortona, 71Martin IV, Pope, 5Martin V, Pope, 24, 65martyrs, category of saints, 73–74Mary Magdalene, Saint, 151, 186

n. 78Masaccio, 27Masolino, 24, 166 n. 7, 167 n. 40Matthew, Gospel of, 41Matthias Corvinus, 184 n. 55Mauropous, John, 12Medici family

Filippo de’, 65Giovanni de’ (Leo X), 113Lorenzo de’, xii, 70, 86, 112–14,

172 n. 49, 179 n. 97Melozzo da Forlì, 183 n. 46Memling, Hans, 80, 121Michael, archangel, 77, 129, 132, 147Michelangelo

admiration for Signorelli, xii, 89,157

self-portrait, 135

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works, 150, 183 n. 42Battle of Centaurs, 107, 113David and Judith, 186 n. 76Last Judgment, 115, 123tomb of Julius II, 65, 70, 72

Michelotti, Archdeacon, 23Minerva, 93, 94, 110Minos, 87–88, 99, 105–6, 110, 123,

157Monaldeschi family, 1–2, 14, 16, 20,

63, 67, 96, 172 n. 46Achille, 154–55Camilla, 65Gentile and Arrigo di Pietroanto-

nio, 23, 58, 155Gentile di Luca, 64Giovanna, 63, 154, 156Paolopietro, 63, 65Pietroantonio, 63, 65, 154–55

Montagues and Capulets, 96Montefalco, fresco cycle, 53, 54, 59Monte Oliveto, abbey of, 70, 91, 172

n. 52

Naples, 20Nardo di Cione, frescoes, 28, 43–46,

52–53, 61, 75, 79, 87–88, 91,111

Nazarenes, 159Neptune, 108–9New Jerusalem, 47Niccolò Rosex da Modena, 147–48,

157Nicholas IV, Pope, 5, 13, 14Nicholas V, Pope, 128nudity, 80, 107, 175 n. 23, 178 n. 69Nürnberg chronicle, 132

Ochsenbrunner, Thomas, 153Oedipus, 145Oionos, 108Orcagna, 24, 28Orpheus, 93, 98, 100, 108, 112, 158Orsini family, 113

Cardinal, 67librarian, 179 n. 98

Orvieto, 111abbey of Santa Trinità, 81heretics, 2panorama of, 14social history, xvii, 1–2, 158visits to, 67–68, 157

Overbeck, Johann Friedrich, 159Ovid, 93, 94, 104, 108–9, 144

Paccagnino, Angelo, 83Padua, 153Paleotti, Gabriele, 158Paolo and Francesca, 106paper prices, 168 n. 45Parenzo, San Pietro, 2, 182 n. 20

chapel of, 59, 123martyrdom of, 124, 126, 128, 145

Pastura, 69patriarchs, category of holy men, 41, 44

in Last Judgment, 33, 46, 72–73Paul II, Pope, xviii, 65, 112

medal of, 65tomb of, 65, 73, 80, 90, 128–29, 136

Paul III, Pope, xviii, 123. See alsoFarnese, Cardinal

Paul, Saint, 128Pegasus, 111, 179 n. 81Pentecost, 56Pericope of Henry II, 181 n. 8Perseus, myth of, 109–11Perugia, 1, 4, 70, 135Perugino, Pietro Vannucci, 26, 59, 63,

66, 68–70, 91, 114, 135Petrarch, portrait of, 53, 83, 176 n. 45Phanuel, angel, 78Phineus, 109Piccolomini clan, 73. See also Pius II

Jacopo, 65Pico della Mirandola, 78, 114Piermatteo d’Amelia, 62Piero della Francesca, frescoes of, 27Pietro di Nicola, 32, 56, 58, 59, 118,

123, 145, 170 n. 87Pietro Parenzo. See Parenzo, San

PietroPinturicchio, Bernardo, 63, 72, 91,

135, 144, 157Pisa, 1, 4

Campo Santo frescoes, 27, 28, 43,61

Pisanello, Antonio, 24Pius II, Pope, xviii, 10, 65, 128

frescoes of his life, 91, 144, 157,184 n. 57

Pius III, Pope, 144Plato, 12, 13, 49, 158Pliny the Elder, 142Plutarch, 12, 13, 108, 153Pluto and Proserpina, 93, 108–9

Poliziano, Angelo, 107, 113, 114Pollaiuolo, Antonio, 65, 86, 101Pollock, Jackson, 158Pride and Humility, in Dante, 100, 101prophets, category of holy men, 33,

44, 73, 167 n. 38Proserpina, 97, 100Purgatory

absent in Last Judgment, 180n. 100

doctrine rejected by heretics, 128Saint Patrick’s, 180 n. 100

images in the Capella Nuova of,90–100

Raphael, archangel, 78Raphael (painter), 2, 58, 75, 159, 168

n. 51visit to Orvieto, 136, 157works

allegories of virtues, 102, 157drawings after Signorelli, 136,

157Mass of Bolsena, 126Massacre of the Innocents, 150Parnassus, 184 n. 53self-portrait, 135–36

Ravenna, Last Judgment fresco, 129Revelation, as a text for Last Judgment,

47. See also apocalyptic ideasRieti, Last Judgment mural, 158Ripanda, Jacopo, 153, 184 n. 50Rizzi, Alfonso, 128Roberti, Ercole de’, 187 n. 76Rohan hours, 83, 90Romania, church frescoes, 13Rome, 1, 2, 81

Arch of Constantine, 139Lateran Palace, 6, 7Sant’ Agostino, 65Santa Maria Maggiore, 5–7, 13Santa Maria sopra Minerva, 139,

147, 149, 182 n. 21Saint Peter’s, 7, 15, 128

Rovere families, 65, 66Cardinal. See Julius II, PopeGiorgio, Bishop, 65–67, 112

Rustici, Marco, 94

Sabellius, 129, 149, 185 n. 75Salutati, Coluccio, 94, 98, 100, 104,

111–12, 115, 142, 146Declamatio Lucretiae, 152

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Michelangelo (cont’d)


San Gimignano, Collegiata, frescoes,35, 175 n. 31

sarcophagi, Roman, 38, 85Sarto, Andrea del, 183 n. 41Satan, image of in Last Judgment, 41Savonarola, Girolamo, 89–90Scala, Bartolommeo, 153self-portraits, 51, 135, 169 n. 62, 170

n. 73, 183 nn. 41, 46Severo and Martirio, saints, abbey of,

65sibyl

Cumaean, 94Eritrean, 13, 83

Siena, 1, 4, 14cathedral, 9, 13loggia, 153work by Signorelli, 69–90

Signorelli, Luca, passimanticipations in Orvieto of his

work there, 29, 43, 45, 49begins work, 30, 71contracts,71, 75, 117–20Court of Pan, xii, 70, 113–14drawings, 178 nn. 74, 80, 182

n. 23, 184 n. 60, 185 n. 63hired, 69, 70inspects drawing for Cappella

Nuova frescoes, 26Medici Madonna, 70, 113Monte Oliveto frescoes, 70, 91Pietà altarpiece, 124praised by Vasari, xiself-portrait, 51, 135, 148tile, 135–36travel, 185 n. 72Vitelli portrait, 135

Silvius Aeneas, king, 143–44Simon Magus, 134, 147, 183 n. 39Sistine chapel, frescoes, 118–19, 135Sixtus IV, Pope, 65

breve, 165 n. 75, 171 n. 27tomb of, 101

skeletons, 122–23, 128Sodoma, 135, 148Statius, 104–6, 145, 177 n. 65“stories” in painting defined, 71, 173

n. 2

Tarquin, 152Te Deum, 74Terni, Last Judgment fresco, 180

n. 100Thebes, 145Theodore psalter, 12theologians of Orvieto, advice of, 119Theseus, 93, 97–98, 110–11Tiresias, 145Titian, 104, 154Todi, 1

fresco of Last Judgment, 180 n. 100tombs, in Last Judgment, 168 n. 56Torcello, Last Judment mosaic, 41Torresani brothers, 158transubstantiation, doctrine of, 3Traversari, Ambrogio, 47, 61Tree of Jesse, 13Très Riches Heures, 85, 121–22Tristan, 106Tundal, 85Tuscania, fresco, 27

Ugolino, enamelist, 14Urban IV, Pope, 2, 3, 5, 12, 14

Urbano da Cortona, 71Uriel, archangel, 78

Valla, Lorenzo, 83van der Weyden, Rogier, 51, 80, 83,

121van Eyck, Jan, 81, 121Vasari, Giorgio, xi, xii, 113, 135,

157–60Vatican, frescoes

in Chapel of Nicolas V, 27in Raphael Stanze, 126–27, 135

Venicechurch of Gesuiti, 78church of Santi Giovanni e Paolo, 15

Venus, 93, 103–4Villani, Filippo, 44, 94, 100Virgil

Aeneid, 11, 93, 95, 100, 104, 143as allegorical poet, 111–12Eclogues, 113portrait of, 92, 146as traveler in Dante’s text, 110

Virginia, 151–52virgins, category of saints, 73, 74Vitelli, Vitelozzo, 135Viterbo, 1–2, 4Volterra, 1, 70

Waldensians, 127–28Well of Saint Patrick, 172 n. 40, 180

n. 100William of Moerbeke, 12wreaths, laurel and oak, 97, 142–43,

177 n. 59, 184 n. 55

Zuccari, Federico, 183 n. 41

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Alinari; Anderson; Archivio Fotografico della Fabbrica di S. Pietro; Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana;Brogi; Gemaeldegalerie, Berlin; Giraudon; IstitutoCentrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, Rome;Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; MuséeCondé, Chantilly; Musei Vaticani; Raffaelli e Armoni,Orvieto; Reunion des Musées Nationaux, Paris;Soprintendenza per i Beni Artistici, Florence; Soprintendenza per i Beni Artistici, Parugia; JosephSzaszfai; Witt Library, London.
