Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The Dirt on Rome's Earthy Chapel: Angels & Demons Demystified

Scott Bretl
Honors in Rome - Summer 2007

“References to all works of art, tombs, tunnels, and architecture in Rome are entirely factual as are their exact locations. They can still be seen today.” Readers are welcomed by this preamble as they open the book for the first time.

Drama and mystery-infused historical fiction certainly catches the interest of generations young and old, in this day and age. Unfortunately, the authors in this field are good enough at their jobs to fool readers into believing what is actually written to be – as the genre explicitly states – fiction. But do these sly writers take things too far? I would leave it to readers to determine this, but these are the same readers that praise novels before even second guessing their validity. So, allow me to walk you through an intensive look at a section of one of the most well known of these thrillers, Dan Brown’s Angels & Demons. I assure you I will not ruin the book (unless you cannot handle the truth) and to that effect, we will only discuss our hero’s first stop on a dramatic, action-packed quest across Rome.

For this short preview, we arrive at the Roman Pantheon, drawn here by the wording of a poem hidden in Galileo’s Diagramma:

From Santi’s earthly tomb with demon’s hole,

‘Cross Rome the mystic elements unfold.

The path of light is laid, the secret test,

Let angels guide you on your lofty quest.

We meet our characters in modern days, when our world is on the brink of a public discovery that in some opinions, may bridge the gap between science and religion. In light of this world-changing finding, breached security and a gruesome murder have set into motion one of the world’s most devastating terrorist agendas. Coincidentally taking place at the time of the pope’s death in Rome, there is no doubt a connection. This horrible situation is proven true at the disappearance of four of the most able cardinals at the most important time of the conclave, and a phone call from the terrorist himself explains his horrific plans for the evening – the death of each of the kidnapped at every hour, followed by the explosion of St. Peter’s itself, using by no coincidence the stolen technology. The only way to stop this disaster from happening is to find the murder sites before each hour and use clues to follow the Illuminati’s rumored Path of Illumination. Our antagonist comes from the Illuminati, a centuries-old secret society struggling for world control, bent on destroying organizations as strong as the Catholic Church, and condemning the church for its disconnection from science.

So perhaps to get you into the mood, imagine: it is quarter ‘til eight, and you and an undercover accomplice are walking into the Pantheon, amongst the waning number of tourists. This seems to be the obvious location of the first cardinal murder, as it is the home to Raphael Santi’s own tomb, a reference from the poem. I could also mention your doubt as you enter about how the murder could possibly take place in such a confined public space, but that would surely be wasted breath, as you will soon understand that the novel thrives on what is impossible in actuality. After ten minutes of this doubt, it is soon realized that the tomb had been moved to your location after the time of Galileo and the supposed Path of Illumination, and a nearby tour guide sends you off in the direction of another “earthly tomb.” Your misunderstandings corrected, you run out into Piazza del Rotunda to head to the Chigi Chapel, a mausoleum designed by Raphael.

With less than five minutes to spare, you hail a taxi and direct him north towards Piazza del Popolo and Santa Maria del Popolo, making it there in just over a minute. At this timing, you arrive amidst the quiet and shadowy square with still some three minutes to stop the Illuminati horror. Wasting no time, you head in the direction of the “misplaced battleship askew on the southeast corner of the piazza.” However, you might have been able to prevent the cardinal’s death if you had walked the correct direction towards the correct church.

Santa Maria del Popolo lies instead in the northeast direction of the elliptical piazza, but don’t get too upset, because if we’re being this picky, we would not have made it to the piazza at all before the murder at eight o’clock, even if our taxi had actually chosen a traversable route. Despite the one way streets and traffic barriers that would have stood in your way, Piazza del Popolo lies much farther than a minute’s drive from the Pantheon.

Even before hitting any major plot twists, Dan Brown bombards readers from all sides with misinformation. It would have been hard to have walked into the Pantheon among tourists after its daily closing at 7:30pm – almost as hard as it would have been to find an inconspicuous parking spot in the shadows for a BBC van in the lively, parking-less, and well lit Piazza del Popolo.

But perhaps I am focusing too much on minor details, possibly even typos. Surely this type of breakdown would be just as inaccurate for any other piece of historical fiction. After all, writers need a certain level of artistic license to build a riveting story. It is just unfortunate that for readers visiting the Eternal City and trying to follow the hero’s path, things run somewhat less smoothly. Luckily, I have not heard of any readers intently concerned about these details, so we’ll let it slide for now. I can settle with the fact that the author just gives the story a few kicks to move it along without readers losing the adrenaline. I will however, continue to point out these errors to keep readers informed, and you may notice the misinformation increase in intensity.

To bring you back to the story, you approach Santa Maria del Popolo, notably not a cathedral, as written, but a church. Walking up the stairs which are by no means a welcoming fan, you find the doors locked for renovation inside. Perhaps the wrong location once again? But no! Looming over the church, you find the symbolic source of illumination over a pyramid largely engraved upon the Porta del Popolo. This must be the place!

Alas, upon viewing the symbolism, it oddly resembles the Chigi coat of arms, with aspects hardly representative of masons, the Illuminati, or anything of the sort. As was the case for many ruling families in Rome, the family crest was often pasted upon everything and anything they touched during their tenure, to signify their power and effect on the city. For this one in particular, Pope Alexander VII put it up on the grand city entrance on the north end, for any foreigners on the pilgrimage to St. Peter’s or just to the city in general, but especially for visitors as important as the Queen of Sweden. But mention of this would not advance the story, now would it?

Time is running out – only seconds to spare before the horrific plot is set into motion, so in desperation to find an entrance into the church, you head down the side alley, the one that doesn’t exist. The church is crammed between the piazza and the old Roman city wall, so the situation is impossible. But worse than this little fib is Dan Brown’s use of the religious history term ‘porta sacra,’ meaning not simply a side door for the clergy, but in fact a special door plastered shut until the jubilee year for the Catholic Church, and is something that is only found in each of the four great basilicas of Rome. It holds much more significance than the author lets on, as religious pilgrims who passed through all four are rewarded with an indulgence. But alley or not, we somehow find ourselves inside.

Before approaching the chapel itself, though, it would be interesting to hear more about its history, among other things omitted from Dan Brown’s “factual” selections. In 1507, over 400 years after the creation of its church, Santa Maria del Popolo, the chapel was purchased by the wealthy banker Agostino Chigi from his friend, Pope Julius II. The pope allowed him to buy this structure and use it as a mausoleum for him and his heirs. Raphael was commissioned to redesign the room for this purpose, but in 1520, long before its completion, both Raphael and Agostino died. It wasn’t until more than a century later in the Holy Year of 1650 that the chapel was picked up again in restoration; Fabio Chigi, the great great nephew of Agostino and soon to be Pope Alexander VII, did this and commissioned Bernini to complete the project.

But returning to the story, upon your entrance to the church, your symbologist eye finds an embedded tile with pyramid and illumination along with the inscription, “Coat of Arms of Alexander Chigi Whose Tomb is Located in the Secondary Left Apse of this Cathedral.” But there is a large problem aside from the apparent English inscription in an Italian church. Understanding now the history of the chapel, we know that the patron for this room would have been Agostino, and the tomb of Alexander VII sits instead in St. Peter’s – though also a Bernini work with some comparable features. Upon learning about the coat of arms – of which we already know – Brown has the main character wondering if Alexander Chigi was himself an Illuminatus. That is quite an accusation against a former pope.

As you step into the fictional crime scene, you may experience less “earthy” observations as Brown makes us think, and you may observe a space much smaller than expected. But he is just as contradictory as he references the chapel as an “out of the way alcove, a literal hole in the wall.” Perhaps you can be the judge of that. Regardless, somehow you manage to miss all other aspects of the chapel as your eyes are drawn to the ceiling. Looking up, you see a domed cupola with stars, astronomical planets, and zodiac signs, though the trained symbologist eye should recognize 16th century designs by Raphael, instead of Bernini or Galileo in the 17th century. Unfortunately, the author did not elaborate on the limited truths that would have added to the plot. For example, eight mosaics surround the Chigi Chapel’s “oculus,” each personifying a planet as an Olympic deity. In all of them, the Olympian is accompanied by the sphere of their planet, along with its zodiac sign. The angel that guides each Olympian is meant to show that God controls everything, even Olympic deities. But unfortunately, this information was omitted from your adventure. Despite this however, it should still be known to readers that it was not uncommon for ancient pagan symbols to be readapted or reused in the Christian religion to reinforce Christian themes.

Similarly, though you may be surprised to see pyramids in art as your eyes fall to these previously unseen objects, the designs were actually derived from old Roman tombs. While they certainly aren’t as true of pyramids as the text would imply, their use was for imperial rather than mystical connotations, and was not any more unusual than the use of obelisks across Rome. In fact, in ancient Egypt, pyramids signified burial and a happy afterlife. The structures were borrowed by ancient Romans and later in the Renaissance to represent Christian themes of death and salvation.

Somehow missing a giant hole in the floor until now, your attention falls to the marble manhole cover and its intriguing skeleton carrying a tablet, labeled “death in flight.” You know now that the tablet is actually the family crest, and the inscription actually reads “death opens the way to heaven” – within this wording, Roman numerals stick out for the Jubilee year of 1650. As this was Bernini’s work, he used the piece, like others, to relate to Raphael’s work thus far in the chapel; the apparent rising from the crypt was to be in response to the zodiac and Raphael’s depiction of God above.

Seeing this removed crypt covering, you are sure this is the place of the murder – unfortunately you are four minutes late. Upon climbing down to the horrific scene, there should likely be some mention of the third pyramid in the crypt, but there is not. And why not? The pyramids, like the structural components of the chapel, were Raphael’s design, not Bernini’s. Bernini’s only contribution to them was the medallion on each, which – important to note – are white marble, not gold.

Of course, for this misunderstanding you can blame the plaque that reads: “Art of the Chigi Chapel: While the architecture is Raphael’s, all interior adornments are those of Gianlorenzo Bernini.” On the contrary, this mere suggestion by the author is far from true, as he fails to mention any of the other frescoes that cover the ceiling and upper wall. Specifically, the drum of the dome contains a series of frescoes by Francesco Salviati depicting Creation and Original Sin. He also has four more below these, frescoes of the Allegories of the Seasons. Above the altar is the Nativity of the Virgin, by Sebastiano del Piombo, and below that a bronze relief of Christ and the Woman of Samaria, by Lorenzotto.

But even if this were included in the plot, or even mentioned as a side note, Bernini could still have not laid a Path of Illumination. In addition to his good terms with the church – being the Vatican’s go-to artist – Bernini, like most artists, never got to pick the location of his art, and devising a scheme as grand as this would be difficult and risky being commissioned by none other than the pope himself, the would-be enemy.

Upon returning to the chapel floor’s surface, you may find it difficult to believe that someone would have to point out the sculpture to you, but this is indeed how Brown plays the text. This idea seems ridiculous, given that there are four sculpture niches, though Brown conveniently omits mentioning three of them. As the author writes, your symbologist eyes focus on the depiction of Habakkuk, apparently the prophet who predicted the earth’s annihilation. Instead, art history would like you to know that the piece’s story comes from Bel and the Dragon. Bernini took cues from the Vatican librarian to keep the theme within the chapel, and the selection was a story from the Greek book of Daniel – a copy belonging to the Chigi family. Of course this is left out to save the story; after all, mentioning this would imply the pope’s own role in imagery in an antipapal chapel.

In Bel and the Dragon, Habakkuk sets out to deliver food to field laborers. He is stopped by an angel and redirected to Daniel, who is trapped in the lion’s den. While Habakkuk points towards famished laborers, the angel points towards a new target, where Daniel is kneeling in pleading prayer. The story’s end – the fulfillment of prayer – is shown by an unexpectedly tame lion licking at the feet of Daniel, in the sculpture niche directly across from Habakkuk and the angel. Daniel in the lion’s den signified the Christian soul in peril of death and in need of salvation, while Habakkuk’s angelic transport of bread in his basket followed early Christian interest in the miraculous meal delivered to Abraham in the desert. Sadly, the author’s hero oversimplifies the amazing work of art of Habakkuk, and fails to discuss its correct importance, let alone that of any of the other sculpted pieces. So even though the angel does seem to point in the exact direction to the next crime scene in the novel, the gesture is aimed at another piece of art distanced by only yards, not miles.

In addition to Habakkuk and Daniel, the chapel does enjoy the presence of two other pieces, though notably not created by Bernini, our brilliantly undercover Illuminati artist. Carved instead by Lorenzotto, Jonah and Elijah were created during the initial construction of the chapel and were chosen specifically for the purposes of maintaining a certain theme surrounding the family’s mausoleum. Specifically, Elijah represents Christ of the ascension, as he once ascended into heaven in a chariot of fire, and Jonah was known symbolically as a precursor to the resurrected Christ, as he spent a similar three days in the belly of the whale before being saved.

Perhaps you can take a break from saving the day and stop to truly look around the chapel. There are many intriguing details that slip the mind of the author, and our imagination upon reading the book certainly does not do justice to the artistic space. The interior of the chapel is often referred to as a hybrid of the Pantheon and St. Peter’s – ironically, two related places in the book. For example, the deep entrance arch with its double Corinthian pilasters seems to be an exact copy of the Pantheon entrance, which is not surprising considering Raphael’s intense interest in the structure. Similarly, the dome and its coffers are very much the same; the true oculus is replaced instead by Raphael’s mosaic of God, much like seeing into heaven, and in this way is somewhat of an oculus in itself. The main space in the room resembles the crossing of St. Peter’s, with the crypt entrance replacing its baldacchino. From this, we recognize the four wide arches, with four statue niches between each. It is only too bad that the book made no reference to the harmony of these shapes and allusions in Raphael’s architecture.

It is also unfortunate that Dan Brown’s historical fibs had his writing too backed into a corner to make a note of the clash of artistic disciplines. Had he mentioned this, you would have been able to see the straight Renaissance lines thrown askew by Baroque drama. For the Habakkuk-Daniel scene, the statue of Jonah was moved to incorporate a story with movement – a diagonal plot line drawn directly across the chapel space. Had Jonah remained in its original spot, it could be seen that despite the calmness of Renaissance art, Raphael and the other artists all had purposes behind their details. Originally, Jonah and Elijah would be looking towards the altar to remind viewers of their purpose. To this end, Bernini’s contributions did not fall short. In true Baroque style, the intensity in art and flowing cloth is normally seen directly upon entering with Habakkuk; the scene naturally follows the angel’s pointed finger to Daniel, whose pleading eyes draw us to the dome and Raphael’s God. Viewers turn to get the correct view of this mosaic, only to have their eyes fall upon the altar and Piombo’s fresco of the Virgin, similarly reminding visitors of the purpose of the space. As the Baroque sculptures face off and cut through the Renaissance space, they also respectfully emphasize a connection from the Bernini works to Raphael and other artists’ works. The hybrid creation in turn becomes the best religious function of space.

Contrary to our fictional literature, the themes in the Chigi Chapel are more around the family itself and the aspect of resurrection, rather than earth references or antipapal ideas. The Chigi family was by no means modest; the intense and expensive artistic patronage was primarily to demonstrate their endless wealth and cultured style. They hoped to have the artists’ renowned reputations reflect their own taste and heritage. Every detail was paid attention to in this sense; even marble choices were allusions to the family name and history.

Today there are just as many people visiting Santa Maria del Popolo to see the crime scene of a fictional murder as there are to see the truly amazing works of Caravaggio, among others. They walk in armed not only with a Rick Steves’ guide, but also a copy of the novel that infuses excitement into the history of which we are so terribly ignorant. Unfortunately, it is realized by many readers that the book imparts very little factual information about Rome’s history, art, or architecture, despite the book’s believable preamble.

But despite what could be considered as blatant lying for the purposes of a story, inquiring readers stumble upon pieces of history that were before unheard of, or at most lightly touched upon in high school history class. Certainly, works such as Angels & Demons have created a new type of tourist – one that does not settle for the typical top ten must-sees, but instead uses the text’s motivation to uncover the reality behind all that Rome has to offer. Authors such as this lightly introduce concepts never encountered before, leaving them wanting to learn more. Though not directly, Brown and others bring the real history to the attention of those interested enough in the subject – a history as intriguing as the story which sends readers on their own quest across Rome.

Next stop – the Vatican!

Works Cited

Brown, Dan. Angels & Demons. New York: Atria Books, 2003.

Burstein, Dan, and Arne de Keijzer, eds. Secrets of Angels & Demons: The Unauthorized Guide to the Bestselling Novel . New York: CDS Books, 2004.
Habel, Dorothy M. The Urban Development of Rome in the Age of Alexander VII. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.
Hibbard, Howard. Bernini. London: Penguin Books, 1990.
Magnusson, Cecilia. "The Antique Sources of the Chigi Chapel." Journal of Art History. 56.4 (1987): 136-139.
Murray, Peter. The Architecture of the Italian Renaissance. New York: Schocken Books, 1986.

Monday, September 24, 2007

L'Acqua Felice: The Terminus to Rome's Thousand-Year Draught

Joel Kramer
Honors in Rome - Summer 2007

Terminus of Acqua Felice

Creator and Creation
In the time of the Empire, 11 aqueducts amply fed the city of Rome's 1,212 public fountains, 11 imperial thermae, and 926 public baths (Morton 31); with this consistent supply the metropolis had no need for water storage. When the Goths ravaged the last of the aqueducts in 537 A.D. the city had already been floundering for several hundred years (55). Following that loss, a trickle from the Acqua Verine became the sole external supply of water for the populace for one thousand years. During that period, Rome's then severed population gathered around the few bends in the Tiber river, where the surface area was greatest.
The waters of Rome returned when in 1585, Pope Sixtus V commanded the completion of a new aqueduct within one and one half years (117). The thousand year wait was trying indeed. Such a monumental restoration project at such a rapid pace as Sixtus' was not fit for average abilities: Sixtus' successor, Pope Gregory VIII only went so far as to propose the project (117).
Sixtus V (1521-1590), originally Felice Peretti, came from poor roots (117). As a young shepherd he taught himself the basics of reading. His intellect recruited him to the church and when he was elected to the papacy in 1585 at age 64, he was full of determination, described as "autocratic and irascible like Julius II" (Majanlahti 172). With this motivation, ne was named after Sixtus IV, the same that restored the Acqua Vergine a century earlier. His building plans were just as, if not more ambitious: Sixtus V restored the ancient Acqua Alexandrina to the modern Acqua Felice, repaired the Quirinal Palace (Morton 175), completed the dome at St. Peters (Wikipedia) and erected four obelisks around the city (Majanlahti 174) among a horde of other projects. These extensive plans for the city were executed with the constant aid of his prized architect Domenico Fontana (1543-1607).

To achieve construct his legacy during the limits of his lifetime Sixtus had to be commanding, strict and without remorse or hesitation for punishment. Upon entering the papacy, the new pope was asked the sentence of the current prisoners, and his reply was that "while I live, every criminal must die" (Majanlahti 172). That summer the criminals' heads staked on the Ponte S. Angelo were "more numerous than melons in the market" (172).

The Acqua Felice was planned to lead 15 miles from the swamps at the Pontano Borghese on the back of the old ancient Acqua Alexandrina (Morton 120), in the process draining the swamps for agricultural use. With the same obsessive pace as his criminal campaign, the aqueduct was completed in one year. However, under the strain of the papal taskmaster, the first engineer was unable to create a level flow (119). At this point, Fontana took over and leveled the grade within six months (119). The long wait was over, and the now watered city ready to thrive.

Design by Fontana
Most of the visual manipulation of the Terminus at the Fountain of Moses can be explained through the direct propaganda at the end of the monument's inscription which explains: Sixtus V was responsible for this aqueduct which has water from the springs near Colonna, brought through Prenestina, is of a certain length and is named Acqua Felice after the Pope's original name (Virtual Roma). In common Italian, felice translates to 'happy'. It is a subtle yet precise alteration. By naming the fountain 'Felice', rather than after his papal name, Sixtus not only appears as modest, but he labels the fountain as a thirst quencher, a bringer of happiness to the people of Rome. In doing so on his project he simultaneously attributes those qualities to himself. This same shrewd method was used to name a street, the Strada Felice, and a bridge commanded by the Pope among other public works (Majanlahti 172).

The effect of this glorification is enhanced through the poignant revival of the Roman Triumphal arch (Morton 127). Domenica Fontana cleverly portrayed Sixtus V as an unusually generous and fruitful pope. What was once used in the days of ancient Rome to guide a victorious army and its spoils of war back to the Roman populace now welcomed the waters of the Acqua Felice through this triumph after its fifteen mile voyage from the Pantano Borghese and was gallantly distributed to the people of Rome.

Also a symbol of gathering and distribution, the fountain is laiden with scallop shells, signifying the great pilgrimage (Crull) that this water took to reach the terminus as those pilgrims to the Vatican did. The lines of the shell converge on the single crest of the wave, representative of the force of God that brought them this distance (Crull). Pilgrims brought these shells to the fountain to scoop up the water of the Felice as they neared the Vatican (Crull).
In this religious fashion, the Roman citizens receiving the water are tied to characters in the biblical scenes on the monument's reliefs. On the left, Aaron brings water to the wandering Hebrews (Virtual Roma). The right side is debated, as the fountain was finished in such haste, but is presumed to be the story of Gideon as he chooses soldiers by the way they drink (Virtual Roma).  
At the center, a statue of Moses portrays the leader drawing water from a rock in the desert (Virtual Roma).

The statue of Moses is the most clear sign that Sixtus' project was indeed rushed. In this prominent feature of the monument, the sculpture holds the tablets of law, but is inaccurate as at this point in the bible Moses did not yet have possession of them (Ostrow 272).

The story is but one minor reason for this statue receiving four centuries of constant criticism. The foundation for this began when Giovanni Baglione wrote a biography on Prospero Bresciano, one of the Moses' sculptors, and therein laid out a ream of skewed facts for critics to come (283). And yet, even at the unveiling, the statue was not well received. At this point in the history of Western art, proportion was meant to resemble reality, to a divine degree; disproportionate design was utter failure (280). In addition, the statue was bombarded by constant comparison to Michelangelo's stunning Moses from 40 years before, the critical barrage of Tuscan writers in support of the Florentine Buonarotti (275), and the frightening man in charge: Sixtus V Peretti.

For the critics, Moses' characterization is minimal, the coat ungraceful; the tablets are not a major feature, nor is his pose. But from these many viewers and points of pressure on the sculptors Bresciano and Leonardo Sormani, the collective target has been their proportional inabilities (278). A ridiculing pasquinade from the unveiling read that the sculptors had literally "lost their mind" (272).

In this era there existed an idealization of the human form that every statue should depict. The sculptor's duty was to recreate God's work. In accordance, the work of a Renaissance sculptor was defined by both measure and taste, Misure e Giudizio dell'occhio (278). The artist must capture physical proportionality, as well as the sense of beauty that only the eye can master. Without the support of accurate measurement, this piece was unable to portray actual beauty. The practiced model maker Bresciano and sculptor Sormani failed to achieve the idealization in the hastily carved Moses. Rather, it was a major disgrace when compared to Michelangelo's emotive rendition of the biblical figure (276). This Moses is considered an actual error (282) because it does not follow the laws of the time, the laws of proportion and perspective, the laws that consider the viewer's position as well as the sculpture itself.

However, while the sculpture fails to properly glorify Sixtus' achievement, direct symbols on the monument from the Pope's coat of arms laud the Pope more exactly. Felice Peretti, as he was originally called, assumed a crest with three pears, in reference to his surname, as well as a lion as a show of strength. Four lions therefore perch at the entrance to the fountain itself. They are docile, but firm in stature (130).

Because the aqueduct was finished before the fountain was, two black egyptian lions were moved to the monument from in front of the Pantheon. This was not an issue of historical significance for Sixtus as though he "loved building, he was no lover of antiquity" (Symonds 311). The two adjacent lions were rushed, carved from white marble (Garden Fountains). The Egyptian lions have now been replaced by more modern white marble designs (Morton 133).

The balustrade of the Acqua Felice was taken from elsewhere, still bearing the name of a Pope Pius V (1566-72) who preceded Sixtus (133). While Sixtus had greater priority for modern improvements than ancient structures, namely his own, he did hold respect for the styles created. As seen in the obelisks and the Egyptian lions, he held a fascination with the ancient world. This fascination is most visible in his erection of obelisks around the city (Symonds 312), an outstanding engineering feat that only a leader with specific interest in their meaning or significance would assume. For Sixtus this significance was a triumph over Paganism.

"Nothing was more absent from the mind of Sixtus than any attempt to reconcile Ancient and Modern. He was bent on proclaiming the ultimate triuph of Catholicism." (Symonds 312)

While obelisks are generally seen in Rome standing alone, Egyptian tradition placed two side by side at an entrance as symbols of rays of the sun. Here on the Fountain of Moses, two obelisks are visible, testifying to Sixtus' understanding and interest in the ancient tradition and his works with them around the city.

Effect of Aqueduct on Renaissance City
The Acqua Felice was of tremendous proportion for its time.

Several massive troughs line the front of the monument, each with a designated structural purpose, humans and their livestock all in consideration. However, the size was additionally meant to act as a display of Papal greatness; because the volume and pressure of the water flowing from this fountain was so far beyond than any other aqueduct or Terminus since ancient times (Garden Fountains), it truly glorified Sixtus's accomplishments in returning Rome to a state of stability.

The Felice's breadth of distribution was and continues to be exceptional. After its 15 mile journey to the Terminus in the outskirts of the old city, water was distributed as far as the Santa Maggiore, North to the Villa Medici, and to the heights of the Campidolgo at the fountain of Roma (Rinne). The left bank of the Tiber, however, did not receive any water from this aqueduct; the left bank's growth was therefore minimal until Pope Paul III built his equivalent, the Acqua Paola in 1608 (Morton). While other aqueducts have brought Lazian waters greater distances, the breadth of distribution throughout the city remains prolific today; this aqueduct was the source of revival of a vast amount of the withered city.

While Sixtus did distribute this coveted resource once it had reached the Fountain of Moses, it was siphoned preferentially to those people and locations in the Pope's favor. Pious organizations of his liking, including monasteries and cardinals, received water in the form of 'donations' (Rinne). Meanwhile, the extensive gardens of his nearby Quirinale palace and the Fontana del Quirinale received the largest amount of the Acqua Felice supply (Rinne). Aside from the public fountains that Sixtus himself created, the civil government was forced to buy a significant portion of the water with only a limited stipend of 100 oncie (Rinne).

The aqueduct's direct effect on the growth of the city is visible in the endeavors of the succeeding Pope Paul III. The Acqua Paulo of 1608, which was the second built since the time of the empire, came just twenty one years after the completion of the Acqua Felice (Morton 164).This competition for reputation and memory was a common drive among popes in commanding public works. However, in the case of supplying a material resource of water, as opposed to the more common religious monuments, the city was actually able to support a larger and more stable population. In the era of church reformation, these waters would be able to revive the capital of Catholicism.

Visible in maps from sixteenth century, Rome is a city wrapped around the folds of the Tiber, where the greatest surface area was available. What today is the city's periphery was then the location of country villas. The population beyond the Vatican was composed around "solitary little churches and monasteries which had managed to exist by virtue of an old well" (Morton 123). Sixteenth century Rome was wild without water.

Sixtus was therefore very proud of the effects of his aqueduct, and made sure his meetings with foreign dignitaries were held at sites where water from the Acqua Felice sprung. As a Sunday tradition, the 66-year-old Franciscan would walk from the Vatican to the top of the hill at his Quirinale Palace and down to his favorite church, Santa Maria Maggiore following mass (140). On his walk he would observe the buildings being constructed along the causeway of the Felice's fountains. Much of this construction on these initially rural areas was by his own persuasion, by providing tax exemptions and building material (140). Such neighbors of the Fountain of Moses include the Monte Cavallo Fountain, the Quattro Fontane and the Triton Fountain Piazza Barberini, and further off, the fountains on the Capitol (127). Also, for his own pleasure, the Quirinal Place now thrived with secret grottos and lavish foliated decor (142).

On the quiet country hill where the waters from Pontano Borghese were first collected now roars one of Rome's busiest intersections.

This literally loud success was not happenchance, the lucky break of one aqueduct by yet another hastily building Pope. Rather, aside from the fact that much of the the aqueduct was originally the Acqua Alexandrina (Virtual Roma) and the concept for the renewal was that of predecessor Pope Gregory VIII, propaganda effectively directed applause to Sixtus. The propaganda involved in the project, including name manipulation, the use of the Triumph and the display of the aqueduct to dignitaries all contributed to the widespread appreciation of the achievement. This propaganda-based success in turn contributed to the competition that soon after led to the construction of the Acqua Paolo.

Modern Day Acqua Felice
In comparison to ancient Rome's 11 aqueducts, today there are only 6 for the entire population of this seemingly boundless city (Morton 64). Five of these six is a restored aqueduct from one of those first 11; the work of the ancient Romans is continued by their modern counterparts. The city is still uniquely supported by a continuous flow as "no other city is served in a similar way" (Morton 65), though the need for water storage is finally being considered for the current population. Even the unit of measure, the oncia, is in use in the modern system:

"It is astonishing to hear a hydraulic engineer, while seated in the most modern of offices...pick up the telephone and discuss with a colleague the measurement of water in terms that would be comprehensible to an engineer of the XXth legion." (Morton 65-6)

The current organization in charge of Rome's water supply is Azienda Comunale Elettricitá ed Acque (ACEA). Following the lead of their predecessors, ACEA employs prideful propaganda to address their subjects, or customers. As part of the information they provide, ACEA includes programs on artistic lighting and community solidarity as part of the company . This closely resembles the attention to visual appearance and manipulation of the masses that the Senate, emperors and Renaissance Popes like Sixtus V Peretti employed.

Rome's bella figura of water is not only supported by the visual presentation of its fountains' sculptures. The presentation of taste follows ancient tradition as the waters from the different aqueducts remain unmixed, this "owing to the different characteristics and qualities carried by the various aqueducts" (Morton 65). With these specifications, the individual citizens, the users of the water, maintain the culture as well. As Morton approached one old Italian man filling up a pot with water at a fountain in the street, he was greeted with the response, "There is nothing better than the Acqua Vergine for boiling vegetables" (70). The waters of Rome remain the livelihood of its population, culture and legacy and are most likely a keystone to its future.

"ACEA for Rome." ACEA. Online. Sept 12 2007.

Crull, Kerry. "The Scallop Shell: Walking the Camino de Santiago". 14 Feb 2007. Other Spain. Online. 12 Sept 2007.

"Fontana Del Mose." Copyright 2007. Garden Fountains. Online. Sept 12 2007.

"The Fountains of the Acqua Felix." Virtual Roma. Online. 12 Sept 2007.

Majanlahti, Anthony. The Families Who Made Rome. London: Chatto and Windus, 2005.

Morton, H. V. The Waters of Rome. London: George Rainbird Ltd, 1966.

Ostrow, Steven F. "The Discourse of Failure in Seventeeth-Century Rome: Prospero Bresciano's Moses." The Art Bulletin 88 (2006): 267-291.

"Pope Sixtus V." 9 Sept 2007. Wikipedia. Online. Sept 12 2007.

Symonds, John A. Short History of the Renaissance in Italy. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1894.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Michelangelo’s Renovation of the Capitoline Hill:From Monte Caprino to Campidoglio

Junko Nozawa
Honors in Rome - Summer 2007

The Capitoline Hill, or Campidoglio, currently represents a remarkable architectural project designed by Michelangelo, but its rich history in actuality spans some 2,500 years. During Roman times, the Capitoline Hill was the point of arrival of the triumphal ceremonies that were held in honor of victorious generals upon their return to Rome. The victors would march all the way from the Via Sacra and through the arches of Titus in the Roman Forum, gloriously displaying the spoils of war and exhibiting the prisoners. On this hill is where the city’s first and holiest temples stood, forming the Capitoline Triad which comprised of the Temple to Jupiter, Juno, and their daughter Minerva.

During the Middle Ages, however, the ancient buildings fell into disuse and were largely unkempt, so much so that it became known as the Monte Caprino, which signifies “goat hill,” named after the creatures that would graze on the hill. Despite this, the hill retained the seat of the Roman Senate and the heart of the ancient state cults. The space largely served municipal institutions and was installed by a collegial magistracy composed of senators and a Municipal Board. Although it is the smallest of Rome’s seven hills, it is also the highest and the most sacred, still evoking much of the religious and political symbolism that has been around since its early foundations.

It is not surprising, then, that when Alessandro Farnese—a connoisseur and appreciator of ancient Rome—became Pope Paul III, he rushed to congregate the best artists to do various works and reparations during his reign. In 1535, the Pope commissioned Michelangelo Buonarroti to finish work at the Sistine Chapel and subsequently asked the sculptor to renovate the buildings around the Capitoline Hill and reinstitute its presence as the center of the city.

In the 15th century, the papacy implemented various urban renewal programs and encouraged the general restoration and development of Rome in order to fortify the city and associate the image of Rome with the seat of Christendom. This is best articulated by Pope Nicholas V in his deathbed in 1455, who called for renovations to be made because “great buildings, which are perpetual monuments and eternal testimonies seemingly made by the hand of God,” demonstrate that “the authority of the Roman Church is the greatest and the highest” (Partridge 21). In the early 16th century, however, artistic projects had greatly declined. Pope Adrian VI’s well-known scorn for the arts and the breakup of the principal studio of painting during Clement VII’s reign are factors which lead up to the Sack of Rome and greatly aggravated artistic ambitions (Augenti 140). Pope Paul III’s ascent to the papacy therefore comes at an important time and marks a period of artistic rejuvenation and important renovations.

The desire for renovation was not solely driven by the need for historical preservation, however. Private reasons included the Pope’s summer villa in the nearby hill which called for the need for a revamped, aesthetic view of the Capitoline Hill. More crucially, the Sack of Rome had occurred a decade earlier in 1527, marking the end of the Renaissance at the culmination of political and cultural decline. It also marked an embarrassing defeat by the troops of the Habsburg Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, which made a mockery of papal claims to world dominion. Paul III was therefore determined to revitalize Rome’s glory and to stage a grandiose entry for Charles V through ancient monuments, making a clear distinction between the empire and the church and further enhancing the major east-west urban corridor.

This secularism was very important in the design and purpose of the Campidoglio. The Campidoglio was the seat of the civic government of Rome; it was comprised of the senator and the conservators, which mostly lacked political authority and were adherent to papal authority. The pope therefore wanted his power to have a religious and a laic pole, the latter of which would explicitly evoke the ancient Roman Empire (Argan and Contardi 213). This expression of secularism greatly pleased Michelangelo, who still had laments over the fall of the Republic of Florence. Perhaps it was also motivated by his own hopes in desistance of the pope, influence by his good friend Tommasso Cavalieri who was a well-connected member of the patrician class, the leading elite and their tradition of resistance to papal power (Burroughs 91).

The glory of the Roman Church would be unveiled at St. Peter’s a few years after Michelangelo drew up the designs for the Capitoline Hill. The Campidoglio must still have been on the artist’s mind, however, as he made ideological and urbanistic connections between St. Peter’s and the Campidoglio. Whereas in the Republican period, the Capitoline Hill faced center of the city or the Forum, the renovated version would now face St. Peter’s. The city would lie between the two ruling forces.

Renaissance Renovation

Michelangelo’s design starts at the base of the hill, creating an explicit entrance. We begin the smooth ascent to the Capitoline Hill facing a large, flat cordonata, or sloping road. The symbolism of the smooth cordonata cannot go overlooked in its sharp contrast to the adjacent steep and narrow steps leading to the Santa Maria in Arcoeli church on the Arx of the hill. By the time Michelangelo returned to Rome in 1534, the tempestuous artist had transitioned to a deepened conviction of his faith. For this reason, it has been suggested that the flat steps symbolize the easy ascent to political, earthly power contrasted to the more difficult and strenuous path to spirituality (Argan and Contardi 216). Still higher up is the Franciscan church, indicating the worth of the soul over everything else.

Another reason for the slanted steps is more pragmatic; it allowed for the smooth transition of horses and carriages. More specifically, it served important persons, such as emperors on horsebacks, the convenience of accessing the Capitoline Hill without first having to dismount. Although the Capitoline Hill was not completed until long after the anticipated arrival of Charles V, the procession was originally intended to lead up to the Capitoline Hill.

At the base of the cordonata are two Egyptian lions. Their placement invokes the ancient civic symbol of Rome, which was later replaced by the She-Wolf. Although they are a deviation from Michelangelo’s original design, they have grown to become an important facet in the entrance to the hill. The lions originally decorated the entrance to Santo Stefano del Cacco church in the middle of the 14th century and were placed at the bottom of the steps in 1562. In 1588, when the aqueduct Acqua Felice was brought to the Capitoline Hill, Giacomo della Porta changed the lions into fountains, adding two urns to collect the water from the lions’ mouths. According to the legend, each time a new Pope becomes installed in San Giovanni in Laterano, the lions gush out wine instead of water, an event which has been recorded at least twice.

Moving up on the balustrade are two colossal statues of Castor and Pollux, also known as the Dioscuri or the Heavenly Twins. According to the myth, Zeus impregnated the irresistible Leda under the guise of a swan. She later hatched two eggs, from which emerged four children which included the twins Castor and Pollux, the remnants of which are recalled on the back of the twins’ heads as egg-shaped caps. Their placement on the hill is warranted by the fact that they are broadly recognized as the protectors of the city of Rome and the insurers of liberty. According to the legend, the twins grew up to be famed horsemen, reputed to have helped the Romans at the Battle of Lake Regulus in 496 BC. The statues were brought to the Capitoline from near the Monte de’Cenci in 1585 and are not the same posed by Michelangelo, which now grace the entrance to the Palazzo del Quirinale.

Besides the Dioscuri are two marble reliefs of the Trophies of Marius, which recall the spoils of war that were returned to Rome after military victories. Finally, farther away from the stairs, are two statues representing Emperor Constantine and his son, Constantine II. Their presence is greatly conditional upon the fact that Constantine was the first Christian emperor. Since Michelangelo died in 1564, the ancient marble statues alongside the balustrade have been added by renowned architects over the course of the 1580s. Architect Giacomo della Porta faithfully implemented most of Michelangelo’s designs after his death. Other additions include the statues of the river gods on the sides of the staircase of the Senatorial Palace, the bell tower which was built by Marti Longhi the Elder in 1578-82, and the statue of Roma placed in the middle of the façade one year later (Augenti 144).

On top of the hill, the radiant, star-shaped design of the oval piazza emerges as if emanating from a colossal equestrian statue and enclosed by three buildings. Renovations officially started when the Pope ordered the move of the statue to the middle of the piazza. The horseman has been identified to be that of emperor Marcus Aurelius. Even though it has been transferred from the Lateran, some scholars now believe its original setting was right in the Roman Forum by the Antonine Column. Its importance is therefore historical; out of the 22 recorded equestrian statues, or equi magni, in the late imperial period, this statue is the only one to have been handed down through the centuries. Because of its integrity, it soon acquired a strong symbolic meaning for all those who aspired at becoming a legitimate heir to the Roman Empire.

The statue’s survival today is not just conditional upon this symbolism, however. The prevailing argument among scholars as to why it still remains standing instead of havingsuffered the same fate of other bronze statues that were melted down is that the statue was first believed to be Constantine, the first Christian emperor. During its placement on the hill, in fact, differing opinions existed as to the identity of the horseman, which included the character of the anti-imperialist “Gran Villano” and Alexander the Great.

Despite differing beliefs on the identity of the horseman at the time, a few records correctly identify it as Marcus Aurelius. A decree from the Lateran Chapter names the Emperor accurately and further complains that its presence lacked religious significance. Another record describes the advice of Michelangelo for the “reformatione statue M. Antonii” (Ackerman 71). The statue, therefore, was more likely understood by the Pope to represent the philosophical emperor and was meant for Charles V, the Holy Roman emperor. It was thence intended as a reminder of the imperial role of the pope, who liked to draw parallels between himself and other grand emperors of Antiquity. For this reason, some scholars speculate the pope may have believed the statue to be that of Alexander the Great, whose name resonates with the pope’s prior name, Alessandro (Augenti 144).

Whether it was believed to be Marcus Aurelius or Alexander the Great, Michelangelo was not supportive of the Empire and was therefore unhappy about the placing of the statue which drew attention to the emperor. The artist had just become citizen of Rome in 1537 at a ceremony that took place on the Capitoline Hill, and was himself a strong supporter of the Republic. The statue itself was not completely out of place in his arrangements, however. The anachronistic theme of the design, in many ways, shaped the role of the Campidoglio as a place of memory, history, and symbolism. Another theory suggests that the artist de-historicized the statue in his mind in accordance to his neoplatonic views. Michelangelo believed that history was a sort of “eternal returning” and therefore the statue would represent the ancient authority of Imperial Rome which had returned in the form of the apostolic authority of the pope (Argan and Contardi 217).

The present square is in the ancient Asylum, where the ancient triumphal processions ended. When Charles V visited Rome in 1536, the area was still unpaved. Some buildings that were forerunners stood in the area, some of them very irregular and full of nooks (Grundmann 142). In its stead, Michelangelo designed buildings to create a trapezoidal space which enclosed an oval piazza. This is because the building which stood in the place of the Palace of the Conservators’ was already at a sharp angle with the Senator’s Palace. Instead of tearing down the structure that went against his aesthetic feeling, as he had done in St. Peter’s, Michelangelo decided to keep the buildings meeting at the odd, 80-degree angle.

In the middle of the piazza is the Palazzo Senatorio, or Senator’s Palace, first built in the 12th century. The building preserves, within its structure, the ancient remains of the Tabularium, which held the city’s records in ancient Rome, and medieval period structures, which demonstrate the uninterrupted building phases. In 1547, the pope decided to demolish the ancient loggia on the front of the Senatorial Palace to be replaced by Michelangelo’s design of the large pilasters and the double staircase which divide the façade. The staircase gave access to the “noble” floor, which had earlier housed the hall of the Senator. This monumental entrance was built out of travertine and completed in 1598 by Giacomo della Porta, as evidenced by the heraldic devices of Clement VIII made visible on the attic.

A fountain adorned by two colossal statues now graces the entrance to the building. These were found at the beginning of the century on the Quirinal and represent the River gods, the Tiber and the Nile. They represent the geographical extent of Rome’s historical influence. Finally, in a niche at the center of the façade, came the addition of an ancient statue of seated Minerva, transformed into the goddess Roma. She is shown holding the world in her hands, a symbolic gesture of Rome’s place and hold on the world. The decorative program was completed in 1588.

To the right is the Palazzo dei Conservatori, or Conservators’ Palace, first built in the mid-16th century. A long portico with colonnaded arcades characterized the original façade. In the 15th century, the pride of ancestry was displayed on the façade by means of statues such as the She-Wolf, the mythical feeder of Romulus and Remus, which had now replaced the lion as the civic symbol of the city. Also displayed were the colossal bronze statue of Constantine and the River gods. Most of these statues have been moved inside the Capitoline museums, which are housed inside the palaces.

Michelangelo’s design, instead, eschewed statues; he preferred to express his ideas through architecture. Michelangelo redesigned the façade of the building and made use of the giant order column, also called the Corinthian pilasters design, for the first time. This refers to an order whose columns and pilasters span two or more floors. Michelangelo combined his giant pilasters with smaller columns that framed the windows of the upper floor, thus creating more emphasis on the floor which housed the zone of government and represented political order and reason (Burroughs 92). A line of guild offices was situated on the lower floor.

Facing the Conservators’ Palace and situated at the same 80-degree angle from the Senator’s Palace is the Palazzo Nuovo, or New Palace. This building’s primary function was to make the space symmetric, so its façade was identical to the Conservators’ Palace’s. The building also prevented the Santa Maria in Aracoeli church from towering over the square and becoming a focal point (Grundmann 143). By encasing the Senator’s Palace and forming a trapezoidal space between the buildings, the final addition redirects the focal view to St. Peter’s. Because of its utilitarian function and its lack of religious significance, funding for construction was very slow on this building. The buildings were not completed until more than a century later in 1646. It now houses a part of the Capitoline Museums.

Fitting snuggly between the trapezoidal space created by the trio of buildings, the oval star-shaped pavement design was the last element required for the completion of the project. However, the pavement was never executed by the popes who may have detected a non-Christian subtext, and had remained unfinished for three centuries. It was ultimately paved by Mussolini in accordance to Michelangelo’s design.

The design of the interlaced twelve-pointed star is modeled after the iconic scheme used by Isidoro of Seville which depicted the movement of the planets around the Earth and symbolizes the concordance of the lunar cycle (Ackerman 74). The astral significance is symbolic of Rome as the capital or navel of the world, recalling Sixtus IV’s vision for the city when he called it the caput mundi. Michelangelo was familiar with architect Marcus Vitruvius’s treatise “On Architecture” which alluded to the heavenly sphere with the zodiac signs, and thus the cosmological inclusion in his design would not have been improbable. Indeed, he liked to evoke much symbolism in his pieces, believing that it heightened the power of the imagination (Argan and Contardi 217).

Seville’s version only differs with Michelangelo’s star in the sense that it is inscribed in a circle and not an oval. In this matter, scholar Graziano Baccolini suggests that the oval design recalls the oval stone which defined Omphalos, the Greek navel of Delfi. This oval stone was an important religious symbol for Etruscans, which was indicative of the Umbilicus Caput Mundi, or the navel of the world (Baccolini).

Amidst the wealth of interpretation and symbolism, the intentionality of the piece is one that does not call for passive observation. The piazza interacts with the viewers in many ways through the ever-changing reflection of natural light emanating from the celestial ceiling. The mounded pavement evokes the earthly sphere and reflects the skies above and the stellate pattern below. The area is ripe with cosmological symbolism. At the entrance, the twins have been turned into the Gemini constellation by Jupiter. Rome’s place in the universe is made clear in the magnificent redesign by Michelangelo. The unplanned addition of the goddess of war and wisdom further embodies this theme with her strong hold on the world.

Perhaps most impacting is the rich history of the Campidoglio resuscitated in Michelangelo’s design. We cannot appreciate the renovation of the Capitoline Hill nor understand its significance without mentioning Ancient Rome. Beneath the hill lie the temple of Jupiter and remnants of the triad which are still being excavated to this day. Inside, the palaces house the oldest museum in the world, an antiquario started by Sixtus IV. In the middle of the piazza and all along the cordonata one finds sculptures evoking the glory of Ancient Rome.

Michelangelo’s design is also unique for its unclassical dynamism. The unusual trapezoidal arrangement was not only an economical model which preserved the old buildings, but was also an intentional move to direct the focal point towards St. Peter’s and to enclose an oval piazza. The first move for renovation occurred with the placement of the statue and the creation of its foothold, the latter which was built by Michelangelo in the shape of an oval. This, in turn, may indicate that the artist already had the oval pattern in mind for the whole space. The spatial illusion does not end with the piazza. The innovative giant order column also creates an interesting illusion of thin pilasters supporting the heavy, crowned cornice. The Ionic columns, in contrast, appear to support a wide stone entablature.

Most surprising in the design of the palaces is the diminutive function of the Palazzo Nuovo. The Campidoglio inspires a harmonic sense of symmetry throughout the ascent on the cordonata and all the way up the piazza, displaying emperor and successor, mythical twins, matching lions and identical buildings. In this sense, not only does Michelangelo achieve a harmonious, united space; he creates a perpetual monument, an eternal testimony “seemingly made by the hand of God,” or Jupiter below.

Bibliography and Consulted Sources
Ackerman, James S. “Marcus Aurelius on the Capitoline Hill.” Renaissance News 10.2 (1957): 70-75.

Aikin , Roger C. "Romae de Dacia Triumphantis: Roma and Captives at the Capitoline Hill." The Art Bulletin 62.4 (1980): 583-97.

Argan, Giulio C. Contardi, Bruno. “Michelangelo Architect.” New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1993.

Augenti, Andrea. “Rome: Art and Archeology.” Firenze: SCALA Group, 2000.

Baccolini, Graziano. “From Monotovolo to the Campidoglio: the Symbolic meaning of Michelangelo’s Oval Design.” Montovolo Retreats. Jan. 2003. 14 Aug. 2007 .

Bull, George. Michelangelo: A Biography. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1995.

Burroughs, Charles. “Michelangelo at the Campidoglio: Artistic Identity, Patronage, and Manufacture.” Artibus et Historiae 14.28(1993): 85-111.

Frommel , Christoph L. “Papal Policy: The Planning of Rome during the Renaissance.” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 17.1 (1986): 39-65.

Grundmann, Stefan, ed. The Architecture of Rome. London: Daehan, 1998.

Leuschner , Eckhard. "Tempesta at the Capitoline ." The Burlington Magazine 141.1159 (1999): 618-21.

Partridge, Loren W. “The art of Renaissance Rome, 1400-1600.” New York : Harry N. Abrams, 1996.

Varriano, John. “A Literary Companion to Rome : Including Ten Walking Tours.” New York: St. Martin's Griffin, 1995.

Vertova , Luisa. "A Late Renaissance View of Rome." The Burlington Magazine 137.1108 (1995): 445-51.

Villa Borghese and the Bernini Statue Groups

Linda Jin
Honors in Rome - Summer 2007

I. Introduction
For any art lover that comes to Rome, the Villa Borghese is a must-see. It lies just outside the historic city centro, and is a relaxing and quiet retreat from the noise and traffic. The entire estate covers almost 700 hectares, and it is one of the largest parks in Rome. Despite the beauty and calm of the tree lined park, the true value of the estate lies in the art collection housed in the central Casino Borghese. The majority of the collection reflects the exquisite taste and collecting ability of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, who also build the Villa. His proficiency as a collector and patron is one of the major factors that have put the Borghese family on the map. The Casino Borghese houses a tremendous collection of art ranging from ancient Roman to Renaissance to Baroque. The organization of the Casino Borghese collection now serves as a model for the modern art gallery. Perhaps the most astounding works that the Villa boasts are the four statue groups by Gianlorenzo Bernini, all commissioned by Scipione. They serve as an important milestone in the Baroque artistic movement, and also as a reflection of the family who commissioned them.

II. History of the Borghese Family
The Borghese family came from humble roots. Originally from Siena, they rose in power based on ability demonstrated in civic administration as opposed to military success. The first important character in their rise to power is Marcantonio I, and ambitious patriarch who had ambitions of relocating his family to the eternal city. A natural diplomat, his break came when he became the Siennese ambassador to the Pope, which meant he spent the majority of his time living in the cosmopolitan Rome. He eventually was able to move his family and establish roots in Rome. In addition, his marriage to Flaminia Astalli, who was from an ancient noble Roman family, strengthened his arrival as new aristocracy. In 1554, he served as a conservator of Rome, one of the two highest ranking officials. His diplomatic skills also helped to keep his family in favor by remaining neutral when the power-hungry Medici conquered Siena. However, the true value Marcantonio’s success came in the placement of both his sons in the church. Both Camillo and Orazio Borghese entered the church at an early age, but only Camillo survived long enough to rise. In 1605, Cardinal Camillo Borghese was the surprise win in a heated papal election that favored two other candidates. As the new Pope Paul V, he worked on many projects to beautify the city. He also canonized six individuals during his reign.

But in terms of the rise of the Borghese family, his most important decision was to instate his nephew Scipione Borghese in the traditional role of the cardinal-nephew. Scipione was born to Ortensia Borghese in 1576, the sister of Pope Paul V. On his father’s side he was a Cafarelli, another noble Roman family. Scipione became Cardinal when he was only twenty-six years old, but his was ambitions and competent. Under his uncle’s reign, he held a number of lucrative church offices that brought wealth and prestige to his family. He was a proficient builder in both public and private realms, although his true successes came in the three private estates he built for his family. In public works, he restored several important churches, including San Sebastiano Fuori la Mura, and church built under the rule of Constantine. Despite the fact that San Sebastiano held the largest collection of relics at the time as well as its historical significance, Scipione’s taste was for modernization. He remodeled all the interior decorations and rebuilt the entire façade.

Scipione built three major private estates, aimed at glorifying the Borghese family and establishing their position in Roman society: Palazzo Pallavicini Rospigliosi, the Villa Borghese, and Palazzo Borghese, where the modern day family still resides. Following the death of his uncle in 1621, Scipione retired from public office and spent most of his time perfecting his art collection at the Villa Borghese. He was both tireless and ruthless in his acquisition of art, and did not refrain from using extortion and theft to complete his gallery. He held lavish courts and was a well known entertainer, and along with his jovial personality, earned himself the name “Delizia di Roma.” Despite this, he was instrumental in guiding the rise of his family amongst Roman nobility. His impeccably discerning taste in art and artists also established the Borghese as important art patrons in history. He was the first patron of the young Gianlorenzo Bernini, who went on to leave the largest mark of any single person on the city of Rome. Scipione was also shrewd enough to maintain good relations with the succeeding Pope Gregory, and in less than a year his friend Pope Urban VIII was elected, bringing Scipione back into favor and wealth.

After Scipione, the Borghese family never again attained the same heights of fame and power. Although the family later made a connection to the Bonaparte family through marriage, the relation was actually very detrimental and resulted in the loss of hundreds of pieces of art from the Borghese collection. Then, following the crash of the Bank of Italy, the family lost another large portion of their wealth. By the time of the fascist era, the Borghese name hardly wielded any more political power. Nonetheless, today the Borghese family is still respected as Roman nobility, and travel in the highest social circles. Perhaps after so many centuries, this would still be the greatest hope of the very first Marcantonio.

III. Villa Life in 17th Century Rome
The role of villa life in seventeenth century Rome was a continuation of a trend revived in the Renaissance. During this time, noble families looked back to the idea of the villa from antiquity, wanting to connect themselves with the ancient Rome. The villa often served as a seat of power for prominent families, as it did for the influential Lorenzo d’Medici in Tuscany. They were also an escape from hectic city life, but were often times within easy reach just outside the city walls. The sprawling estates provided relaxing space and rejuvenating country air for powerful and wealthy, who retreated here to frolic and socialize. Another purpose of the villa was to promote social status. Building a grandiose and lavish estate for seasonal retreat and pleasure helped ancient and rising families to display their fortune and status. At their villas, nobles could also host extravagant parties, entertain guests, and carry out important political dealings.

By the seventeenth century, villas also served another important function: as centers of both art collection and creation. Nobles of the baroque era strongly revived the ancient Roman practice of acquiring art, and coveted both ancient and contemporary works. Their villas, including Scipione Borghese’s, were adorned with ancient statues that were though to lend power and status to the properties. Art was collected as much for their value as a social symbol as for their artistic merit. In addition, collectors could use allusions and symbols in artwork to promote their own political agendas. Aristocrats also served important roles as patrons of rising young artists. They identified talent at a young age and sponsored the artist’s development in return for an exclusive bid for the art that was created. This practice allowed artists to create more freely and comfortably, and also provided seventeenth century villas with a ready supply of beautiful creations.

IV. History of Villa Borghese
Construction on Villa Borghese began in 1610. Cardinal Scipione wanted to build a villa that would fulfill all of the grand purposes of a magnificent country estate. He wanted to establish the Borghese family amongst noble Roman society and impress both his friends and rivals. While his uncle Paul V was more concerned with public building, Scipione knew the political value of prestigious private estates. He first hired papal architect Flaminio Ponzio to undertake the design and building. Ponzio worked on the estate until his death in 1613. Subsequently, construction continued under Giovanni Vasanzio until its completion in 1625. The villa then remained unchanged for one and a half centuries during which time the Borghese family produced no remarkable heirs. Finally in 1775, Prince Marcantonio IV undertook the renovation of the estate. The remodeling continued for fifteen years until 1790, and produced the Villa Borghese much as it stands now. The renovation also including the rearrangement of certain art pieces and the construction of new bases from a few Bernini statues, which is how we see them today. However, Marcantonio IV’s son Camillo would cause great losses to the gallery. His marriage to Paulina Bonaparte caused him to sell over three hundred priceless pieces of art to his brother-in-law, Napoleon Bonaparte. Today, these pieces form the central portion of the Louvre’s collection in Paris. In 1891, the Bank of Italy crashed, and Paolo Borghese was forced to sell the Villa to the Italian state, which then converted the property into a public museum, today called the Galleria Borghese.

V. Bernini Statue Groups in Villa Borghese
The Galleria Borghese is currently home to thousands of pieces of priceless artwork originals. However, the four statue groups done by Gianlorenzo Bernini form the nucleus of this amazing collection. In addition to being astounding works of art, they also reflect some of the political agenda’s of Scipione Borghese, as well as embody the style and aesthetic of the rising Baroque era.

Going backwards through the museum, the first statue group is Aeneas and Anchises, which also happens to be the earliest of the four. This first sculptures differs from the other three in that it is one of Bernini’s earliest works. As such, it shows a lot of the influence of his father, Pietro Bernini, as well as traces of Mannerism. Unlike his other three greatly baroque creations, this sculpture has less movement, and three characters are arranged in a single basic column. It was commissioned by Scipione Borghese in 1618, and finished in 1620. The sculpture depicts the strong Aeneas as he flees from Troy, carrying his elderly father and leading his young son. Anchises, the father, carries with him the household goods while his grandson Ascanius holds the sacred fire of the hearth.

The three characters of Anchises, Aeneas, and Ascanius represent the three stages of life: youth, maturity, and old age, as well as a more general idea of past, present, and future. In a sense, it also propagandistically reflects Scipione’s own ideas about his family: their noble ancestry, current power, and imminent continued success. The idea of uprooting from one city to another, especially founding and building up the new city, also fit into Scipione’s wish to relate his family and their move from Siena to Rome to Aeneas, the founder of Rome.

From 1621 to 1622, Bernini completed the statue group that occupies the next room, Pluto and Persephone. Scipione originally commissioned the statue as a gift for Cardinal Ludovisi to appease the new Cardinal nephew, but it was later bought by the Italian state and returned to the Villa in 1908. Even though Pluto and Persephone was completed very soon after Aeneas and Anchises, the differences between the two works is very striking. Pluto and Persephone is inspired by the Ovid story of Persephone being captured by Pluto and forced to live six months of the year in Hades. However, Persephone’s mother, Gea, is able to negotiate with Pluto to allow Persephone to spend the other six months on earth, which relates the ancient story to the changing seasons of the year.

The sculpture group by Bernini depicts three figures: Pluto, Persephone and the three headed dog that guards the gates of Hades. Frozen in marble is the moment in which Pluto grabs Persephone around the waist while she vainly tries to flee. Despite the hardness of the marble, Bernini’s development into full baroque style is evident in Pluto and Persephone as the sculpture is full of movement, and shows distinct images and moments in time as the viewer walks around it. Because of this, the originally placement of the statue was very deliberate to manipulate what the viewer saw first: the statue was indeed originally situated such that a viewer entering the room would only be able to see the left side of the statue first. From this angle, the first striking element is the aggressive stride of Pluto’s right leg. Only as the viewer walks around do they become aware of Persephone, and her involvement in the action. From the front, the viewer can see the expression on Pluto’s face: bewilderment, but also amusement. It is as though he is surprised that Persephone should struggle at all, so confident is he in his own power. The energy of the scene is evident as Persephone’s hand on Pluto’s face actually creases the skin as she tries to push away. From the angle, we also begin to understand Persephone’s struggle in the way her body twists away from her capture. Further to the right, however, the story moves entirely to her point of view. Viewed from the far right angle, Pluto is barely visible. Instead what we focus on is the anguish in Persephone’s gaze and the tear that is rolling down her face. From this angle, we can also see the three headed dog that was not visible from the left. Suddenly it is clear that they are at the gates of Hades, and that Persephone’s despair is absolute because she knows she is about to be taken back to the underworld. Pluto and Persephone is an important milestone in Bernini’s development into baroque style of dramatic movement. It has also been related to Giovanni Bologna’s Rape of the Sabine, due to a similar spiraling composition.

Bernini was a very prolific worker, and in 1622 he began work on his next masterpiece, Apollo and Daphne. The statue was also commissioned by Scipione and was completed in 1625. Unlike Pluto and Persephone, the sculpture of Apollo and Daphne has always stood inside the Villa Borghese, although its placement was moved during the renovation by Marcantonio IV. During this move, the statue also received a new base. The scene depicted also comes from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and shows the exact instant in which Apollo is about to catch the chaste nymph Daphne and she begins to turn into a laurel tree. The sculpture is also heavily influenced by the works of several of Bernini’s contemporaries, including a ceiling fresco by Annibale Carracci, and a poem by Giovanni Batista Marino called “Dafne”. The sculpture, like the poem, shows Apollo’s obvious frustration while he fails to notice the increasing allusions to Daphne’s eventual fate.

Like the Pluto and Persephone, the original placement of the Apollo and Daphne played an important role in directing the viewer’s approach to the story. After entering, the first angle that is meant to be seen is Apollo’s back on the left side of the sculpture. From this angle, it is clear that he is in swift movement, but not yet why. As we move around to the front, we see the frustrated pose of his body and facial expression, and also the first glimpse of Daphne, who we could not see from the back. From the front, Daphne is mostly woman, but we can see the beginning of the transformation in the roots that grow delicately from her toes. As we move more to the right, we notice that Apollo’s hand is curved around Daphne’s torso to grab her, but in the exact place where his hand is placed, the bark has already covered her skin. At the far right angle, Apollo is no longer visible and Daphne has almost completely melted into the illusion of a laurel tree. From the successive angles from left to right, Bernini is able to tell a story as if one piece of marble could show multiple points in time. After its completion, Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, who was a good friend of Scipione’s, added the engraving to the base:

“Those we love to pursue fleeing forms of pleasure, in the end find only leaves and bitter berries in their hands.”
Despite the pagan story that is depicted by the sculpture, this inscription ties the lesson and moral back to religious piety.

In chronological order, the last of the four statues is David, which was completed from 1623 and 1624. Despite the intricate detail of the statue, the work took Bernini only seven months to complete, when he was still only 25 years old. It was originally commissioned by Scipione for the centerpiece of a main room in the Villa, which is where it stood until the 1785 renovation. The statue depicts David just as he is about to loose his slingshot, at the moment when the action is most intense and his muscles and face are most taut. This contrasts heavily with Michelangelo’s David, who is shown before the action begins, with his weight back on one leg as he stands in thought.

The original placement of Bernini’s David forced the viewer to approach the statue from the right side. From this view, David’s action is ‘unintelligible’. It appears that he is hunched over, but it is clear that his muscles are straining in action. As we move around to the front, we begin to notice the tightness of his torso. We see that his face is furrowed in concentration, and even that he is biting his lip. More to the left, we can see how tight his sling shot is pulled and we can feel the imminent speed and action of its release. As the viewer moves around from right to left, they are forced to become involved in David’s emotional experience, and by the time they reach the left side of the statue, they can understand the dramatic feel of the sculpture.

This sculpture is one of the few commissioned by Scipione that held religious significance and depicted a biblical scene. The triumph of David can also be related to the Borghese family’s modest beginnings and their steady rise to power under Scipione. At David’s feet lies a harp, which is not biblically accurate. However, the inclusion of this piece is very important. First, it reflects both David’s and the Borghese’s connection to art and music. Further, the harp is adorned with an eagle, which is the symbol of the Borghese family. In this way, the family is propagandistically tied into the power of the sculpture.

Taken together, the four Bernini statue groups at the Villa Borghese are an astounding display of artwork, as well as the embodiment of Baroque style. They show drama and tension, and most importantly, movement. The sculptures are also an important portal into the aspirations and ideas of the Borghese family, and of one important player in particular, the immaculate collector and patron, Scipione Borghese.

VI. Conclusion
Today, the Villa Borghese still stands as beautiful architectural structure and a priceless art gallery. The surrounding grounds provide a peaceful and relaxing retreat from the busy city. It is a treat for locals and travelers alike. It is also a fascinating piece of history, demonstrating the heights of power and wealth that the Borghese family once held in Rome. Specifically, the grandeur of the site is a testament to the artistic taste and collecting ability of Cardinal Scipione Borghese. His foresight and knack for picking talent has provided the Villa with the four priceless Bernini statues that are still housed there today. Furthermore, his patronage of the young Gianlorenzo has also influenced the shape of Rome in countless ways, as Bernini went on to do work for important churches and Popes, including the famous St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican. The Galleria Borghese is an important stop the true art connoisseur who comes through Rome, and for old regulars, it is a popular favorite.

Bauer, George G. Bernini in Perspective. Prentice Hall: New Jersey, 1976.

Coffin, David R. The Villa in the Life of Renaissance Rome. Princeton University Press: New Jersey, 1979.

Fiore, Kristina H. Guide to the Borghese Gallery. Rome, 1997.

Kenseth, Joy. Bernini’s Borghese Sculptures: Another View. The Art Bulletin: Vol. 63, No. 2, June 1981.

Magnuson, Torgil. Rome in the Age of Bernini. Almquist and Wiksell International: Stockholm, 1982.

Majanlahti, Anthony. “The Borghese” in The Families Who Made Rome. London: Chatto & Windus, 2005.

Moreno, Paulo and Chiara Stefani. The Borghese Gallery. Touring Editore: Milan, 2000.

Ovid. Metamorphoses.

Peterson, Robert T. Bernini and the Excesses of Art. Artout-Maschietto&Ditore: Florence, 2002.

The Catholic Church and the Baroque; Bernini’s Masterpiece San Andrea al Quirinale

Brianna Craft
Honors in Rome - Summer 2007

Though the 1600’s was a time dominated by new concepts concerning the spiritual and intellectual autonomy of the individual, the people of Europe remained devoutly concerned with faith and spirituality. However, the cultural upheaval that resulted from the Reformation shook the reliability of the people’s devotion in the eyes of the Catholic Church, and the buildings it commissioned henceforth looked to inspire the spiritual resurgence of the Baroque. The architectural changes that resulted from these dramatic cultural and spiritual shifts produced several dynamic places of worship, such as San Andrea al Quirinale constructed from 1658 to 1672. The master architect and sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s most loved work, S. Andrea, stands as a monumental piece of Baroque architecture whose innovative design both beautifully exemplifies the post-Reformation attitude of the Catholic Church and testifies to the genius of Bernini.

Commissioned by the Society of Jesus, the Jesuit order of the Catholic Church, to replace an old chapel attached to its novitiate, S. Andrea demonstrates the post-Reformation desire of the Church to elicit personal and emotional reactions from their parishioners and, in so doing, welcome people back to Catholicism. After the Protestant Reformation, the Catholic Church hoped to draw back those persuaded by Martin Luther and his followers. The desire of the Church to attract worshippers with theatricality created by rich decoration overruled the wish of the Jesuit order to keep the newly commissioned S. Andrea austere in order to reflect the Jesuit’s vow of modesty and poverty. In fact, Bernini’s S. Andrea only came to realization under Alexander VII after several complicated rounds of negotiations involving the pope, the Jesuits, Bernini, and Prince Camillo Paphili, a wealthy Jesuit patron.[1] As stated by Connors, “the situation at S. Andrea was split within the ranks of the order between a party of austerity and a party of material splendor, with the balance tipped in favor of the latter by a powerful patron, and an architect capable of handling a huge influx of wealth without difficulty.”[2] Thus, the richly decorated S. Andrea standing today results from the combined desires of Camillo Pamphili, Bernini, and the other members of the Catholic Church who wished to utilize the techniques of the Baroque to accomplish the Church’s goals. With the design principle of S. Andrea settled, Bernini built on the Church’s desire to inspire a feeling of unity with its congregation and looked to create a space that would, through form, sculpture, and light, cause worshippers to emotionally react.

Bernini's facade design not only communicated a welcome to worshippers, but also proved the most importan contribution of S. Andrea al Quirinale to the innovative changes that shaped the evolution of church architecture. Decorated only with Camillo Pamphili’s large coat of arms complete with a papal crown, S. Andrea’s restrained, windowless façade is dominated by two massive Corinthian pilasters that support a classical triangular pediment. The design breaks all ties to antiquity, however, with the curved entrance canopy and porch that erupt outward from this traditional façade. As seen in Figure 1, S. Andrea’s semicircular portico, which is supported by two ionic columns, swings away from the church’s front in a vigorous convex arc above a platform of shallow steps that repeat its curve in a series of widening arcs.[3] The curving porch also bisects a concave-shaped piazza. In this façade, Bernini masterfully combines convex and concave forms to create a feeling of welcome to the church’s visitors. The concave piazza draws them into the space with embracing arms, while the inviting convex stairs and porch further beckon parishioners inside. Trachtenberg and Hyman call S. Andrea’s façade “among the most prophetic architectural conceptions of the period.”[4] Employed by Bernini to draw in visitors, this architectural innovation would continue to resonate in church architecture throughout the 17th century.

Figure 1 – Image showing S. Andrea al Quirinale’s prophetic façade.

Bernini’s overall design of S. Andrea adds to the welcoming feeling created by the church’s exterior and serves to incite a spatial unity between the parishioners and the mass, furthering the Catholic Church’s post-Reformation goals. Only about 115 ft. wide and less than 100 ft. deep[5] the small church forms a pure oval in plan, as seen in Figure 2. Thus, worshippers are drawn right into the space where mass is taking place. Bernini has replaced the side aisles, chapels, and long naves of the Renaissance with a very intimate space that inseparably unites the mass and the congregation. This central-type design also demonstrates Bernini’s belief in the importance of simple geometrical forms and classical figures, such as the circle in building design. Though S. Andrea forms a transverse oval, its plan still references to a classical plan. From this simple form, Bernini could both create the feeling of unity the Church wanted to establish with its parishioners, and build from this classical base to give the space an emotive coloring through the multiplication of edges and vibrant blurring of line[6] that would elicit an emotional response.

Figure 2 – Plan of S. Andrea al Quirinale illustrating the spatial unity of the church

Bernini’s brilliant use of color, sculpture, and light in S. Andrea’s interior dramatically accomplishes the new Baroque desires of the Church. “Built to impress rather than to welcome, it [S. Andrea’s interior] is an attention-grabbing celebration of bravado and audacity in marble, stucco, and gilt, an ecclesiastical stage set unparalleled in Rome.”[7] Upon entering, visitors are first overwhelmed by the church’s striking color scheme. Eight colossal white square Corinthian pilasters mark out the principal spatial configuration of the church, while the lesser pilasters and free freestanding columns are covered in delicate, white-speckled, rose-tinted marble.[8] This swirl of colored marble rests between a dome that glistens gold and a patterned black and white marble floor. Bernini placed the white Corinthian pilasters in orderly rhythm around the church to focus the visitor’s eye and nudge it inexorably toward the main altar, which stands in a high narrow niche behind four massive Corinthian columns.[9] Here, light from a concealed window theatrically streams down into the apse and illuminates a picture frame supported by cherubs and solar rays, all in gold.[10] This concealed light source has a far different effect than the eight nearly square windows that sit just below the beginnings of S. Andrea’s dome. While the eight square windows bath the church in a warm natural light, the conceal window draws all eyes to the painting it illuminates behind the shadow separating the church’s main space from the depths of the high altar. The painting, The Crucifixion of St. Andrew by Guglielmo Cortes, depicts Andrew, one of Jesus’s first disciples, just before his death. Hung on a saltire cross, meaning essentially two pieces of wood arranged in a large X, Andrew is seen gazing heavenward. As parishioners follow his gaze, their eyes come to the focal point of the church, Bernini’s enormous figure of Saint Andrew, which sits on a stucco cloud atop the center of the heavy semicircular pediment that caps the altar (Figure 3).[11] As said by Morrissey, “this statue of an old man, his lanky arms outstretched in surrender, his knobby left knee bent out into the church as if he were about to stumble from his amorphous aerie, his simple face and euphoric gaze lifted toward the bliss of heaven, is full of emotion, almost quivering with the thrill of his ascent into paradise.”[12] Through his use of theatricality, Bernini has drawn churchgoers into the ascension of Andrew and they can now follow his gaze still further into S. Andrea’s golden dome representing the vault of heaven. Around the dome, rest two rings of figures. Fishermen carrying oars, shells, reeds, and nets rest over the windows at the dome’s base and represent St. Andrew’s earthly occupation. Above them, encircling an oculus that emits a golden light let in by the colored glass of the lantern sit a ring of putti. Higher still, craved into the lantern’s dome flies a dove cleverly representing both the Holy Spirit of Andrew’s heavenly home and the Pamphili family. In all, 138 stucco figures of various sizes cover the upper reaches of the church.[13] Bernini’s dramatically theatrical use of color, light, and sculptor beautifully accomplishes the Baroque desires of the Church by eliciting an emotional reaction from worshippers as they participate in the miracle of Saint Andrew’s ascension.

Figure 3 – Image showing the sculptural and luminal effects of S. Andrea’s interior.

Taking fourteen years to complete, San Andrea al Quirinale is perhaps the most innately dramatic building Bernini ever designed by himself and certainly the structure he most loved.[14] Acclaimed as one of the finest achievements of Bernini’s long and brilliant career,[15] S. Andrea stands as a monumental piece of Baroque architecture whose innovative design both beautifully exemplifies the post-Reformation attitude of the Catholic Church and testifies to the genius of Bernini. S. Andrea’s welcoming design, unifying form, and richly decorated theatrical interior elicit personal and emotional reactions from the church’s parishioners and, in so doing, welcome people back to Catholicism. Bernini’s innovative masterpiece has not only greatly influenced the evolution of church architecture, but also continues to awe modern churchgoers.

Works Cited

Ching, Francis D.K., Mark M. Jarzombek, and Vikramaditya Prakash. A Global History of Architetcure. Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2007.

Conners, Joseph, “Bernini’s S. Andrea al Quirinale: Payments and Planning,” JSAH, XLI: 1, March, 1982.

Minor, Vernon Hyde, selections on “Setting the Stage”, in Ch. 2. New York, 1999.

Morrissey, Jake. The Genius in the Design; Bernini, Borromini, and the Rivalry that Transformed Rome. New York: Jake Morrissey, 2005.

Wallace, Robert. The World of Bernini. New York: Time-Life Books, 1970.

Images Cited
Figure 1
Trachtenberg, Marvin, and Isabelle Hyman. Architecture, from Prehistory to Postmodernity. Second Edition. New York: H.N. Abrams, 2002. 331.

Figure 2
McLaren, Brian. “S Andrea al Quirinale, plan.” Online image. Architecture 351. Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance Architecture. University of Washington; Department of Architecture.http://online.caup.washington.edu/courses/ARCH351/Assets/Slides/Lecture18.gallery/source/s_andrea_al_quirinale__pla.htm. (accessed February 25, 2007).

Figure 3
McLaren, Brian. “S Andrea al Quirinale, dome.” Online image. Architecture 351. Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance Architecture. University of Washington; Department of Architecture.http://online.caup.washington.edu/courses/ARCH351/Assets/Slides/Lecture18.gallery/source/s_andrea_al_quirinale__dom.htm. (accessed February 25, 2007).

[1] Conners, Joseph, “Bernini’s S. Andrea al Quirinale: Payments and Planning,” JSAH, XLI: 1, March, 1982, 16-17.
[2] Ibid., 22.
[3] Marvin Trachtenberg and Isabelle Hyman, Architecture, from Prehistory to Postmodernity, Second Edition, New York: H.N. Abrams, 2002, 331.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Wallace, Robert, The World of Bernini, New York: Time-Life Books, 1970.
[6] Conners, “Payment and Planning,” 33.
[7] Morrissey, Jake, The Genius in the Design; Bernini, Borromini, and the Rivalry that Transformed Rome, New York: Jake Morrissey, 2005, 247-248.
[8] Ching, Francis D.K., Mark M. Jarzombek, and Vikramaditya Prakash, A Global History of Architetcure, Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2007, 504.
[9] Morrissey, The Genius in the Design, 248.
[10] Ching, A Global History of Architetcure, 504.
[11] Morrissey, The Genius in the Design, 250.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Conners, “Payment and Planning,” 20.
[14] Morrissey, The Genius in the Design, 244.