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Bernini His Life and His Rome Franco Mormando Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): Franco Mormando
ISBN(s): 9780226538518, 0226538516
Edition: Reprint
File Details: PDF, 3.42 MB
Year: 2011
Language: english
j
Berni n i
j
BERNINI
his life and his rome
franco mormando
2. Impresario Supreme 66
“pretty-beard urban” 66 v “the michelangelo of his
age” 71 v fire is never a gentle master 76 v “what
the barbarians didn’t do, the barberini did” 83 v
“the cupola is falling!” 88 v head of the clan 91 v
an encounter with death 96 v bernini slashes a lover’s
face 99 v bernini purchases a bride 109 v “making what
is fake appear real” 116 v “to our england your glorious
name” 128 v for whom the bell tolls, or not 136
viii : c o n t e n ts
Thanks to his Fountain of the Four Rivers in Piazza Navona, his Saint
Teresa in Ecstasy in Santa Maria della Vittoria, his grand Colonnade of
St. Peter’s Square, and many other captivating works of art and architec-
ture, Gian Lorenzo Bernini is today second only to Caravaggio as the most
popular celebrity-artist of Baroque Rome. Millions of tourists each year
come to know and love Bernini’s many works in Rome and elsewhere. No
other artist has left so large, so enduring, and so delightful a mark on Rome
as Bernini. In the history of Western art, moreover, Bernini easily counts
as one of the most influential artists of all time, in fact, far more so than
Caravaggio.
Yet, despite the influence and popularity of Bernini’s works, few peo-
ple come to know the man himself. Why? Because there is no place in the
modern printed literature where “the man himself ” can really be found.
In all the vast bibliography on the artist, in any language, little attention is
paid to Bernini’s private life and personal interactions. Examine the current
(and not-so-current) literature on Bernini and you will find that it focuses,
predominantly if not exclusively, on his works of art and architecture, his
public “performance,” and the other impersonal facts of his curriculum vi-
tae—as if that were the sum total of his life and identity, and as if that is all
we needed to know to fully understand the phenomenon that was Bernini
and his epoch-making works of art. It is not.
Even the popular books marketed as introductions to Bernini’s life
and career are still more or less technical discussions of his works, in
: preface
chronological order, with meager biographical data and social context in-
serted here and there. Some recent attempts at biography have been made
in Italian and German, but they don’t go far enough. Admittedly, the pri-
mary sources (including the authors of the first full-length “official” Italian
biographies composed shortly before and after his death) make it extremely
difficult for us to get to know the man himself. This is because they were
either not interested in the topic, or, as in the case of the first official biogra-
phies, were instead intent on marketing a carefully constructed, idealized,
and thus depersonalized image of Bernini. The first seventeenth-century
biographies (upon which we are still much dependent for our information
about the artist) attempt to sell the myth of “Bernini the genius” who, di-
vinely inspired and larger-than-life, transcended the ordinary needs, drives,
and desires that are an inescapable part of the human condition.
During his lifetime, moreover, the vigilantly self-protective Bernini
himself played it extremely close to the vest and rarely volunteered his
opinion except on the most uncontroversial of topics. He never put his
thoughts down on paper, certainly never on matters regarding his personal
life. Nonetheless, we can still sift out sufficient evidence from the official
biographies and the mass of other primary sources (diaries, private letters,
news bulletins, diplomatic dispatches), from which to build a truer picture
of the recognizably human being. Of course, this means that at times, like
detectives, we are obliged to read between the lines in order to deduce what
we can from the archival pages.
This book makes the pursuit of “Bernini himself,” the uncensored,
flesh-and-blood human being, one of its primary objectives, as it also nar-
rates the milestones of his public career and family history. Thus it can
claim to be the first biography of Bernini to appear in English and one of
very few to appear in any language since his death in 1680. To compensate
for the silences within the primary sources about Bernini’s private life, it
also reconstructs from other primary sources what we know about the daily
life and worldview (“mentality”) of a man of his station in seventeenth-
century Italy, looking at family structure, urban experience, economics,
religion, and politics. Although an artist of unique, innovative vision, Ber-
nini was, at the same time, a man of his specific time and place in history.
For that reason, this biography also looks at those major events, issues,
and personalities that had a significant impact on the lives of seventeenth-
century Romans, including Bernini, if at times indirectly. Readers will
t h e f i r s t e n g l i s h - l a n g u a g e b i ography of bernini : xi
come to learn much about the daily life and politics of Baroque Rome, for
Bernini’s life was inextricably enmeshed in that of his beloved city. As Pope
Urban VIII famously proclaimed: “Bernini was made for Rome, and Rome
for Bernini.” This biography is as much a portrait of seventeenth-century
Rome as it is of Bernini.
My account, however, does not neglect Bernini’s many wonderful
works of sculpture, architecture, painting, and theater. As the direct inven-
tions of his imagination, these, too, I believe, reveal the “man himself ”
and are essential to the picture we are constructing, in addition to being,
of course, the most significant, enduring accomplishments of his profes-
sional life. Nonetheless, I have been cautious in drawing too many specific
conclusions about Bernini the person from the evidence of his public works
of art: this is simply too hazardous and too tentative an enterprise with any
artistic figure. At the same time, I have limited my descriptions of these
works as art objects and usually give only the most essential historical de-
tail about their origin and execution. Thorough descriptions and detailed
documentation about Bernini’s artistic production can be found in previous
works on the artist, cited in my notes and bibliography.
This biography presumes no intimate knowledge of art or European
history on the reader’s part and is narrated in a conversational, nonschol-
arly mode. Although notes are kept to a minimum, all historical data relat-
ing to Bernini’s life and all quotations are documented. (Documentation
for less known historical data of any type has been provided as well.) My
account is the fruit of ten uninterrupted years of researching Bernini’s life
and many more years spent studying Baroque Rome. The first product of
that research was my extensively annotated English translation and critical
edition of the biography of Bernini written by his youngest son, Domenico,
never before translated or republished since its original publication in 1713.
In examining every facet and every year of Bernini’s life, I constantly re-
turned to the seventeenth-century primary sources themselves, rather than
simply repeat what is found in the later secondary literature. Much of the
information presented here has been newly extracted from little-known
publications—old and new—of difficult access or mined from the maze of
footnotes in large scholarly monographs and journals.
For this reason, even more specialized readers, I daresay, will find this
biography of interest and profit. Not only does it address issues ignored in
other Bernini studies, it presents for the first time—and in English—the
xii : p r e f a c e
For further information and discussion of Bernini’s life and works, readers
are directed to the Bernini section of my personal website: https://share
.bc.edu/12436/20993.
money, wages, and cost of living
in baroque rome
Monetary values given in the Bernini sources are usually in terms of the
silver papal scudo (literally, shield). The standard currency of Rome in the
seventeenth century, the silver scudo was a coin weighing 31.788 grams.
Unlike today, at that time the weight of a coin (i.e., its gold or silver con-
tent) determined its monetary value. The Roman scudo was divided into
100 baiocchi ( pronounced “bye-oak-kee”), singular, baiocco, a copper
coin.
Even early in his career, the young Bernini was already commanding
impressively high prices for his work. He was, for example, paid 1,000 scudi
for his statue Apollo and Daphne, which he completed in 1625 at the age of
twenty-seven. In order to have meaning for readers today, that sum and the
others encountered in Bernini’s biography must be put into the context of
the cost of living and wages in seventeenth-century Rome, figures that did
not change significantly over Bernini’s lifetime.
Although we lack a thorough, systematic study of the economy of Ba-
roque Rome, a sampling of available figures on wages and prices will give
us a general picture of that economy. “A family of five in Rome around
1600 could live modestly on 90 scudi a year” (Spear, 312); therefore, such
a family could have survived for ten years on what Bernini earned for
his Apollo and Daphne alone. For a single person, the absolute minimum
for a decent living was about 2 scudi per month, although that probably
precluded much consumption of olive oil or wine, each of which cost in
the mid-seventeenth-century 1 scudo per liter (Stumpo, 39). In the period
xviii : m o n e y , w a g e s , a n d c o s t o f l i v i n g in baroque rome
At the end of the bench sat Frank Foley, sombre gaze fixed on the
batsman. Joe, seeing him, felt sorry for his defeated rival and
wondered whether Mr. Talbot would put him in for an inning or two.
He surely deserved it, thought Joe. It was hard lines having to sit
there all through the big game without even a chance to warm his
hands! Only, he reflected, if Bat did put Foley in Jack would simply
throw a fit! At that instant Foley happened to turn his head and their
looks met. If Joe, averting his own glance quickly, had expected to
find anger or antagonism in the other’s eyes he was wrong. Foley
met his gaze impersonally, unsmilingly. They were still cheering
lustily on the stands when Calvert shot the first ball in. Then the
noise died away, to start again as the umpire called:
“Ball!”
Another ball followed. Then a low one that looked good from the
bench and, it seemed, looked good to the umpire. Tom Pollock
gravely studied the plate, took a new grip of his bat, and waited
once more. The next effort was wild and the ball almost got past the
catcher. Amesville shouted and jeered and the two coachers danced
and waved and made noise any way they could. Again Calvert
pitched, and once more the ball went wide.
“Four balls!” announced Mr. Reardon. “Take your base!”
“Here’s where we start!” cried Jack, excitedly thumping Joe’s knee.
“Go to it, Gordon, old scout! You know what to do!”
“It’s the lucky seventh!” shouted the Amesville rooters ecstatically.
“Smash it, Smith! Bring him in! Here we go, fellows!”
After that for many minutes Joe was too excited and anxious to
know what was going on around him, although once during the
subsequent proceedings he had a dim notion that Mr. John Hall and
Coach Talbot were shaking hands and that Walter Cummings had
fallen backwards over the water carboy! They were cheering Smith
now as he faced the pitcher with “sacrifice bunt” written large all
over him. But Smith wasn’t destined to sacrifice. Calvert simply
wouldn’t allow him to. He, too, ambled to first on a free ticket and
bedlam broke loose in the Amesville stand. Men on first and second
with none out and only two runs needed to tie! This was indeed the
lucky seventh! Then came Sid Morris, after listening to Coach
Talbot’s instructions, and Sid was there to hit, as he soon proved by
swinging at and missing two pretty poor balls. With the score two
and two Fortune took a hand in the game. Calvert was noticeably
nervous now and when the fifth delivery shot away from his hand—
Sid had fouled off one—it twisted straight for the batsman. Sid
stepped back, but not far enough, and the ball struck against his
shoulder. He staggered away, dropping his bat and doubling over.
But by the time two or three of his team-mates had leaped to his
assistance he was smiling and shaking himself.
“All right,” he said over his shoulder as he trotted down the line.
That was the final undoing of Pitcher Calvert. Already the
Petersburg second-choice twirler was warming up behind the first
base stand. Calvert gazed anxiously around the filled bases, heard
the frenzied shrieks of the coachers and the wild, disconcerting
babel from the audience and faced the situation a bit wiltedly. The
catcher soothed and reassured him from in front of the plate and
Calvert tried his best to come back. But Jack laid his bat against the
very first ball that came his way and off screeched a line drive into
left field, scoring Tom and Gordon Smith and placing Sid on third.
Jack took second on the throw-in.
Petersburg seemed inclined to stop the game then and there and
have a consultation about it, but Umpire Reardon would allow no
post-mortems. Calvert, the center of a group of dismayed players,
yielded the ball and took that long walk from the box to the bench,
cheered perfunctorily by friend and foe, and Gorman took up his
task. Gorman was younger, smaller, and slighter, and that he didn’t
at once stop the havoc being worked against Petersburg’s defences
was not to be wondered at. Hale was now at bat and the hoarse
cries of the Amesville fellows, mingled with the shrill shrieks of the
coachers, whirled and eddied about his head, imploring him to clear
the bases. In the meanwhile Petersburg’s coaches were rushing
about, giving instructions to the fielders. Gorman had speed and lots
of it, and Petersburg cheered loudly when his first offering cut the
middle of the plate and went for a strike. But Hale was not to be
denied and a moment later he connected with one of Gorman’s
benders and lifted a high fly to deep left. The fielder made a nice
running catch of it, but could not prevent Morris from scoring and
putting the game at 5 to 4!
Amesville was now wild with excitement and hats and pennants
were waving madly. With but one out and a run to the good the
game seemed won, for Jack Strobe was dancing around at third
ready to come across on any excuse. It was Peddie’s turn at bat, and
Peddie, with one hit already to his credit, would surely be good for
another. He was. The youngster let two wide ones go by him and
then swung. Crack went bat and ball and the latter sped out into left
field, free of the outstretched hands of the fielders, and Jack romped
home!
Six to four now, and still there was only one down! Amesville sang
and shouted and tramped and waved flags and acted like so many
happy lunatics. Down at second Peddie sat on the bag and
recovered his breath while Gorman and Beale met for a conclave
between plate and mound and Joe, gripping his bat, strode
resolutely to the plate. One hit had been the portion of “Lucky”
Faulkner that day, and one hit seemed very little to him. And so,
when the game went on, he watched and waited craftily until
Gorman had tried him on two wide ones and scored a strike. Then
Joe found what he wanted and smashed a drive toward third
baseman and streaked to first. In the ordinary course of events that
should have been the safest sort of a hit and should have put Peddie
across the rubber and left Joe on first. But, as it happened, the
Petersburg shortstop, who had all the afternoon performed
remarkably, sprinted across at full speed and when the ball eluded
the frantic glove of the third baseman, got it on the run and, without
pausing, slammed it to the plate! It was a close decision, but the
umpire waved Peddie out. That virtually ended the lucky seventh,
for, although Joe went down to second and slid into the bag an
instant ahead of the ball, Arthur Cummings proved an easy victim to
Gorman’s skill.
So, with the score 6 to 4, Petersburg went desperately to bat in
the eighth while the shadows lengthened across the diamond and
the crowd on the stand began to dribble down to the field. Joe made
the first out in that inning, taking a sizzling drive from Catcher
Beale’s bat. After that Smith threw out the centre fielder and Pitcher
Gorman got a life on Smith’s fumble of his grounder and took second
when Tom walked the head of the list. But it was all over a minute
later when a fine throw from Sam Craig caught the pitcher flat-
footed off second.
Sam led off for Amesville in the last of the eighth with a scratch hit
that proved too slow for second baseman to field in time. Tom
Pollock tried hard to get a hit, but finally fanned, and Smith was
instructed to lay down a bunt and advance Sam Craig. It was at this
moment that Joe saw Jack leave his place on the bench and speak
to Coach Talbot. What was said between them Joe couldn’t hear, nor
did he try to, but after a minute of indecision Mr. Talbot nodded his
head and Jack returned, looking, as Joe put it afterwards, like the
cat who ate the canary.
“You and Bat got it all settled?” asked Joe laughingly as his friend
seated himself again.
Jack rewarded Joe with a somewhat sheepish glance as he
nodded. After a moment he said in a low voice: “It was about
Frank.”
“What about him?” asked Joe, his gaze travelling to the end of the
bench.
“You’ll see,” replied Jack evasively, and that was all that he would
say.
Smith’s attempt to bunt resulted disastrously, for Gorman would
have none of it and the first thing Smith knew he was in the hole.
When, with two strikes and two balls against him, he tried to hit it
out, the ball slammed itself into Gorman’s glove and Smith was
gone. Sid Morris had better success, for he got a hit down the alley
between second and shortstop and Sam Craig advanced a base.
Then Joe learned the meaning of Jack’s converse with the coach. Mr.
Talbot recalled Jack, who had been half-heartedly awaiting his turn,
and summoned Frank Foley.
“Foley! Take a whack at it. Don’t try to bend your bat. Just put
one through.”
Foley, surprised, leaped from the bench. “Me, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, hurry up!”
Foley hurried. Half a dozen eager hands stretched out as many
bats toward him and, seizing a couple, he hurried to the plate,
swinging them eagerly. Foley’s friends in the stand applauded
warmly and Joe viewed Jack quizzically as the latter sank back into
his place on the bench.
“Jack,” began Joe in a whisper.
Jack turned on him rudely. “Oh, dry up!” he muttered.
Joe chuckled. “You’re a fine hater, aren’t you?” he asked.
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” declared Jack, reddening.
“Frank’s worked hard all spring and—and he deserved to get in.”
“Of course, he did, and I’m glad, Jack, mighty glad. And it was
decent of you, you old poser, to let him——”
“Dry up and watch the game,” begged Jack. “I hope he does
something!”
And Frank, who seldom came through with a hit, today did the
unexpected. There was a strike and two balls against him when he
took his swing, a very healthy swing, too, and off went the ball
straight down the first base line, and in raced Sam, while Amesville
cheered another tally. But that was all, for Hale flied out to shortstop
the next minute and the inning ended.
“All over but the cheering!” cried Jack as the bench emptied. “Hold
them safe, fellows! Don’t let anything slip, Joey! I’ll be watching
you!”
Frank Foley trotted into left field and Loomis to right. But those
were the only substitutions made. Williams and Moran started to
warm up by Coach Talbot’s orders, but no one looked to see either
of them get in. The audience was already starting hesitantly toward
the gates when Petersburg’s right fielder went to bat. Five minutes
later many of them were scurrying back again, for, after fouling
himself into the hole, the batsman waited and walked! Petersburg
cheered hopefully then and when the next man up, who happened
to be that redoubtable shortstop, smashed a two-bagger over
Peddie’s head, advancing the first runner to third, she cheered quite
madly!
It was Amesville’s turn to show concern and Toby Williams began
to put on speed where he was pitching to Jack Speyer. But Coach
Talbot, contenting himself with low-toned instructions, never so
much as looked at Toby. The opponent’s left fielder was replaced by
a pinch-hitter and the pinch-hitter won fame and glory. He picked off
Tom’s second offering and sent it well into short centre, scoring the
men from third and second, putting himself on first and then going
on to the next bag when the throw was made to the plate in the
attempt to head off the shortstop!
Seven to six! And only one out! No wonder Captain Craig walked
down to the box, amidst the joyful hoots of the visitors, and held a
consultation there with Tom. No wonder that at last Mr. Talbot’s
glance wandered along to where Williams and Moran were pitching.
Scattered cries of “Take him out!” arose from the uneasy throng
back of the first base line. But the demand was not general and, in
any case, Coach Talbot had other intentions.
Captain Lyman came to bat, a little pale, very determined, and—
struck out! It was Amesville’s turn to jeer and rejoice and she did so,
relieving over-strained nerves. Tom faced the Petersburg second
baseman calmly and smilingly, got his signals from Sam, wound up
and pitched.
“Shtrike!” called the umpire, and the Brown-and-Blue partisans
shouted stridently. Then came a ball, a low one and wide, followed
by a second strike across the centre of the plate and shoulder high.
Another ball then, for Tom could afford to waste one, and then——
Well, then there was a crack of wood against leather and the
batsman was speeding to base! The ball went to Tom, but it was
bounding crazily and he could only knock it down in his first stab for
it. When he had it in hand he turned toward third to head off the
runner from second and saw that that youth had changed his mind
and was on his way back to the middle sack. Wheeling quickly, Tom
pegged to Joe at first. But by that time the Petersburg runner had
rounded first and was dashing to second. Joe caught and turned to
throw to Smith when he caught sight of the further runner doubling
back. Sensing a mix-up, Joe held the ball and raced for second base.
The two runners reached that bag simultaneously. The expected
happened. Plump into each other they went with a bang that
doubtless made them see stars as they each rolled apart, clear of
the base! Joe threw himself between them, his hand with the ball
shot to the left and then to the right, and the game was over!
Two minutes later, when Joe, with most of the others who had
been caught on the field, was being borne crazily about through the
laughing, jubilant throng, swaying and pitching above a sea of faces,
his bearers brought him for a moment abreast of Frank Foley and
their glances met.
“That was great, Faulkner!” called Frank warmly.
But Joe, smiling happily, shook his head.
“Only luck,” he answered.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to follow the text
that they illustrate, so the page number of the illustration may not match the
page number in the Illustrations.
Printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
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