CARPACCIO, Vittore

There are also two paintings in the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni that are not part of the cycle, the Agony in the Garden and the Calling of Matthew, dated 1502.

In the rather archaic style of the Agony in the Garden (a feature which has led several scholars to suggest that it was painted in the last years of the 15th century) we can distinguish certain elements derived from the work of Mantegna, even though they have been modernized thanks to the depth of colour in the evening light, broken only by the flames of the torches carried by the soldiers arriving to the right, outside the walls of Jerusalem.

Canvas No. 9 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

The Apotheosis of St Ursula and her Followers, signed and dated 1491 on the cartouche below the circle of angels’ heads around the palm-trunk, is also one of the earlier canvases of the cycle. The theory, supported by some scholars, that this altarpiece actually dates from 1510 when Carpaccio supposedly repainted it since the original version had been badly damaged, has been disproved by a recent X-ray of the whole painting (which has, incidentally, revealed that the three splendid male portraits to the left are later additions).

But the theory can also be disproved by a stylistic analysis: compare it, for instance, to the Presentation in the Temple, which dates from around 1510, also in the Accademia. The complexity of the perspective foreshortening of the marble aedicula, of the furled banners, of the figure of Ursula surrounded by angels and with God the Father looking down at her, is far too self-conscious and still too close to the style of Mantegna to be the work of the established artist active around 1510. Both the central episode of the composition and the heads of the virgin martyrs crowded in the lower part of the painting show quite clearly that this altarpiece dates from the same stylistic period as the painting depicting the Pilgrims’ Arrival in Cologne. And even the artist’s reluctance to reconcile the devotional and iconographical aspect of the work to the narrative and dramatic elements, which he was more interested in, suggest an early dating.

The most poetic element of this painting are certainly the two Venetian landscape details, with their lively and fresh colours, and the loving precision with which he describes the hills, the urban fabric, the countryside, the events of daily life.

A recent X-ray investigation of the whole painting has revealed that the three splendid male portraits to the left are later additions.

Canvas No. 1 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

The three paintings of the Ambassadors are evidence of the extent to which Carpaccio’s feeling for colour had developed; in them the artist displays his extraordinary ability at directing or staging pageants and religious celebrations of the kind that must have been fairly frequent at the time.

In the painting of the English Ambassadors’ Arrival a at the Court of the King of Brittany, the first episode of the cycle of Stories from the Life of St Ursula, the splendid architectural setting, with the open loggia against the background of a view of Venice and the intimate space of the private room, divides the scene into two sections: the ambassadors deliver their message on one side and Ursula discusses the matter with her father on the other. The entire composition is arranged with absolute self-confidence and accuracy.

In the diplomatic ceremony the afternoon light streams in from the left and illuminates the foreground, with patches of bright colours and sharp shadows. Below the wide portico that stretches out to the left with a row of arcades vanishing into the distance, alternating with areas of shadow, the elegant young members of the Compagnia della Calza are portrayed in poses of the most self-assured nonchalance, and showing indifference for what is happening nearby.

To the right of the elaborate candelabrum, with marble and bright metal decorations, a sophisticated ornamentation that is reminiscent of the work of Ferrarese artists, the English ambassadors are received by King Maurus; they are portrayed in attitudes of deference and respect, in keeping with the rigid protocol governing public audiences granted by the Venetian Republican institutions at the time. The King sits, like the Doge, amidst his counsellors on a judgment seat against a wall covered in precious ornamented leather hangings, placed at an angle to the light and opening out onto a view of the city dominated by a round domed temple-like construction, reminiscent of Perugino and almost anticipating Baldassarre Longhena’s Santa Maria della Salute. Just as the colours of the architecture are reflected in the water, so the shadows of the small figures fall like dark stripes on the red brick and white marble expanse of the square bathed in warm sunlight.

Although the buildings and the landscape are quite definitely Venetian in character, it is not possible to identify them as specific constructions. And even the many identifications of the people in the painting with contemporaries of Carpaccio’s are all purely hypothetical. The most fascinating theory is the identification of the man in the red cloak to the left, outside the main scene of the event, looking towards the spectator: he is traditionally supposed to be either Pietro Loredan, one of the patrons who commissioned the decoration of the Scuola, or a self-portrait. He stands in front of the iron banister enclosing the scene and appears almost to be drawing our attention towards the ambassadors and their message; like the young boy with the long feather on his cap who also looks out towards the spectator, a detail that was only recently (1983) rediscovered thanks to an excellent cleaning job. The nurse sitting at the far right in an attitude of resignation, on the other hand, introduces us to the conversation between Maurus and his daughter, which does not take place in an elegant and formal hall like the audience of the ambassador, but in the domestic intimacy of Ursula’s bedroom.

The King has abandoned all the official royal formalities imposed by protocol and simply listens to the conditions set out by his daughter. She will marry Ereus if she is granted a retinue of ten beautiful virgins; she and each of the ten shall further be assigned a thousand virgins each; and the young man who has asked for her hand shall be baptized and instructed in the faith for a period of three years. The two figures, father and daughter, are set against the canopy of the bed and the wall decorated with a devotional icon in an inversion of patches of colour that is almost an anticipation of the art of Paolo Veronese. And the harmony of colours with which Carpaccio depicts the old governess is equally masterful: she sits at the foot of the stairway leading to Ursula’s bedroom and stares out into space, as though she knew what a tragic ending this royal wedding contract would lead to. Years later Titian was obviously so struck by this figure of the governess that he included a modern version of her in the Presentation of the Virgin that he painted between 1536 and 1538 for the Scuola Grande di Santa Maria della Carità.

Below the wide portico that stretches out to the left with a row of arcades vanishing into the distance, alternating with areas of shadow, the elegant young members of the Compagnia della Calza are portrayed in poses of the most self-assured nonchalance, and showing indifference for what is happening nearby.

The many identifications of the people in the painting with contemporaries of Carpaccio’s are all purely hypothetical. The most fascinating theory is the identification of the man in the red cloak to the left, outside the main scene of the event, looking towards the spectator: he is traditionally supposed to be either Pietro Loredan, one of the patrons who commissioned the decoration of the Scuola, or a self-portrait.

Just as the colours of the architecture are reflected in the water, so the shadows of the small figures fall like dark stripes on the red brick and white marble expanse of the square bathed in warm sunlight. Although the buildings and the landscape are quite definitely Venetian in character, it is not possible to identify them as specific constructions.

To the right of the elaborate candelabrum, with marble and bright metal decorations, a sophisticated ornamentation that is reminiscent of the work of Ferrarese artists, the English ambassadors are received by King Maurus; they are portrayed in attitudes of deference and respect, in keeping with the rigid protocol governing public audiences granted by the Venetian Republican institutions at the time. The King sits, like the Doge, amidst his counsellors on a judgment seat against a wall covered in precious ornamented leather hangings, placed at an angle to the light and opening out onto a view of the city dominated by a round domed temple-like construction, reminiscent of Perugino and almost anticipating Baldassarre Longhena’s Santa Maria della Salute.

The view of the city is dominated by a round domed temple-like construction, reminiscent of Perugino and almost anticipating Baldassarre Longhena’s Santa Maria della Salute.

By combining the geometrical rigor of Renaissance perspective with his own supremely imaginative conceptions, Carpaccio has constructed a scene rich in architectural splendours and colours. The English ambassadors are delivering a letter which requests the hand of Princess Ursula in marriage to the crown prince of England. On the right of the painting, Ursula informs her father of her conditions for accepting the marriage. Her old nurse, seated at the foot of the stairs, seems to have a presentiment about Ursula’s impending martyrdom. This painting, too, contains much valuable documentary evidence of the times.

Carpaccio painted the Stories from the Life of the Virgin between 1504 and 1508 in the Scuola degli Albanesi, consecrated to Mary and to St Gall. This building, which still exists, was constructed around the year 1500 on a piece of land belonging to the monastery of the Augustinian friars at San Maurizio; the confraternity it housed consisted mostly of the community of Illyrians who had settled in Venice in great numbers especially after the Turkish conquest of Scutari in 1479. The six small paintings are today in four different museums: the Accademia Carrara in Bergamo (Birth of the Virgin), the Brera in Milan (Presentation in the Temple and Wedding of the Virgin), the Giorgio Franchetti Gallery in the Ca’ d’Oro in Venice (Annunciation and Death of the Virgin) and the Correr Museum in Venice (Visitation).

As compared with the earlier, the level of invention and innovation in these works is fairly poor, as is the range and depth of colour; this cannot be explained entirely by the fact that Carpaccio was assisted in this task only by mediocre helpers and that he was less interested in this commission than he had been in the cycle for San Giorgio degli Schiavoni. Carpaccio was quite obviously finding it difficult to develop his art in the climate of spiritual revolution initiated by Giorgione. And yet, in these subjects he occasionally shows a renewed interest in the everyday aspects of existence. Especially in the Birth of the Virgin he investigates with great attention to detail the interior scenes, and every last element of the decoration, recreating a mood of intimacy thanks to a use of soft tints, further mellowed by a diffuse lighting.

Carpaccio must have made this study from life of a Venetian patrician. It was probably intended to use in one of his large paintings (teleri), but no direct connection can be successfully made with any surviving painted image.

This is one of the last works entirely by Carpaccio. The painting divides critics: some see it as little more than a virtuoso exercise, while other praise it for its great breadth and spectacular effects.

To the left Ereus takes leave of his father.

This kaleidoscopic pageant also contains very realistic elements, such as the two towers of the Knights of Rhodes and St Mark of Candia, probably modelled on woodcuts by Reeuwich illustrating the Peregrinatio in Terram Sanctam by Breydenbach that was printed in Mainz in 1486; Carpaccio has placed these two towers on the steep slopes of the hill protected by walls, towers and castles.

As is the case during traditional and religious celebrations that still take place in Venice today, the streets, bridges, alleyways and steps are crowded with onlookers and many more are shown looking out of the windows.

Thanks to the penetrating clarity of the light and brilliant architectural fantasy, mingling classical and oriental elements, the episode now in Milan is certainly the best of the cycle. Eastern scholars mix with the brothers of the School as they listen to St. Stephen’s sermon.

In the scene of the Disputation of St Stephen, the saint is shown below a wide and spacious loggia, clearly modelled on the architecture of Pietro Lombardo, placed slightly at an angle. On the bases of the columns in the foreground, in the most visible place, Vittore Carpaccio signed his name and inscribed the date, 1514. Around the deep greens and browns of the Venetian hills he has arranged a series of buildings, in a varied combination of architectural styles which suggest a fairytale Orient and a Western world that is also a product of the imagination. In this painting Carpaccio gives his imagination free rein, creating the most eccentric architectural constructions of any of his works; such as the equestrian monument placed on very high marble supports pierced by free-standing sculptures; or the pyramid that blends into the opalescent sphere; or the elaborate building to the right, next to the walls that recede in a typical diagonal perspective foreshortening.

Against this totally imaginary architectural background, highlighted and animated by the colour patches of the groups of characters, Carpaccio has given us a series of concrete and realistic portraits, probably of members of the confraternity who were much more interested in having their portrait painted than they were in the debate between St Stephen and the Orientals.

In this painting Carpaccio gives his imagination free rein, creating the most eccentric architectural constructions of any of his works, such as the pyramid that blends into the opalescent sphere.

Episode No. 3 of the series of seven paintings “Episodes from the Life of Sts Jerome, George and Triphun”.

The Funeral of St Jerome, too, takes place in a vaguely Oriental setting, although the buildings in the background, like the ones in the previous canvas, recall the monastery of the Hospitallers in Venice. In fact, here the identification of the Scuola degli Schiavoni is even more plausible: it is the building to the left, in the background, with a sloping roof, round windows and a sort of balcony on the fa�ade. While the previous scene was full of movement, here the atmosphere is quiet, with the monks praying in front of the body of St Jerome and all the empty areas accurately delimited by buildings; only in the centre, on the other side of the walls, can we see a row of hills and a stretch of blue sky. Like all the other events he depicts, Carpaccio also builds the mournful funeral of St Jerome around colour tonalities that transform sentiment and emotion into contemplative calm and serenity.

The figures are from Carpaccio’s stock repertory and rather lack freshness, but the composition as a whole has a solemn grandeur with the spectacular invention of the bridge over which pass the saints in the upper part of the painting.

This small painting is a fragment of a larger one whose subject is unknown. The letters “SPQR” identify the soldiers as Roman, though they mingle with exotic, richly robed figures.

In a style which is more 15th- than 16th-century, in the Holy Conversation the figures are lined up on the proscenium, dotting with their bright colours and lights the sundrenched plateau, behind which, framed by the extraordinary bridge of rock, we find the landscape background, described in great detail, including hermits going about their daily occupations in natural and architectural settings.

The landscape background details are an integral part of the composition.

In the first decade of the 16th century Vittore Carpaccio adds a superior quality of style to his art, keeping his adherence to the rigid canons of perspective construction unaltered and continuing to pay great attention to the definition of his spaces, to the perfect harmony of colours, without basically incorporating any of the novelties being developed around him. In the Holy Family with Two Donors in the Gulbenkian Foundation in Lisbon, dated 1505, the broad landscape modelled on the art of Giorgione stands in contrast to the artist’s usual practice of not relating the natural atmosphere to the mood of the human figures in the foreground.

This painting is extremely similar to the style of Giovanni Bellini and of Giovan Battista Cima especially in the wide open composition, in the Mother’s tender gesture of holding back the Child, in the minutely described landscape with alternating light and shadow even in the furthest corners.

Canvas No. 8 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

The speed at which Carpaccio’s ideas develop is noticeable in the Martyrdom of the Pilgrims and the Funeral of St Ursula, signed and dated 1493 on the scroll at the foot of the column bearing two coats-of-arms, the emblem of the Loredan family and another one, probably belonging to the Caotorta family.

The composition of the scene is quite complex, for Carpaccio wanted to include two separate episodes from the legend of St Ursula in the same painting, one being the violent scene of the slaughter of the pilgrims and the other the sad and mournful description of the saint’s funeral: he succeeds thanks to his masterly spatial division of the composition. The focus of the painting is the knight about to draw his sword out of its scabbard; notice how similar he is to certain figures by Perugino. Behind him, the moorish bugler on horseback rallies the troops and the white and red standard gives depth to the background landscape, mellowed by the green meadow and the pinkish buildings depicted in the peaceful light of the Venetian pre-Alps.

Right in the foreground, on the edge of the field in which the knights look almost as though they were taking part in a mediaeval tournament, a fair-haired archer draws the bow he holds in his gloved hand - he is like a sophisticated arabesque in his elegant pose and splendid costume. Motionless, Ursula awaits the mortal arrow, standing against a background of trees, arranged like the wings of a stage, that seem to prolong the scene of the slaughter all the way to infinity. But, just like the fresco of this same episode painted by Tommaso da Modena more than a century earlier, every gesture, even the most violent, is part of a deliberate rhythm and a strict geometric pattern composed of the interplay of weapons of all sorts: swords, daggers, misericords, bludgeons, pikes, spears and halberds, each carefully described down to the tiniest details.

The calculated violence of the scene of the slaughter is separated from the solemnly dignified scene of Ursula’s funeral by a column on a pedestal of a very complex shape and colour scheme. This second event is indissolubly linked to the first since they are both set in the unmistakable atmosphere of the Venetian mainland landscape. The funeral procession solemnly parades out of the town at the foot of the wooded hill, and marches towards the mausoleum; all that we can see of the mausoleum is one marble corner, in the shadow, with a carved inscription reading URSULA. Against the vibrant luminosity of the blue sky, the landscape, the human beings and the architectural constructions appear almost like a colourful inlay. All the characters, portraits of contemporaries, take part in this splendid interplay of forms, with their statuary solidity and their sense of physical movement; notice particularly the woman kneeling to the right, presumably a deceased member of the Caotorta family since she is portrayed set apart from the rest of the procession.

The calculated violence of the scene of the slaughter is separated from the solemnly dignified scene of Ursula’s funeral by a column on a pedestal of a very complex shape and colour scheme. This second event is indissolubly linked to the first since they are both set in the unmistakable atmosphere of the Venetian mainland landscape. The funeral procession solemnly parades out of the town at the foot of the wooded hill, and marches towards the mausoleum; all that we can see of the mausoleum is one marble corner, in the shadow, with a carved inscription reading URSULA.

Against the vibrant luminosity of the blue sky, the landscape, the human beings and the architectural constructions appear almost like a colourful inlay. All the characters, portraits of contemporaries, take part in this splendid interplay of forms, with their statuary solidity and their sense of physical movement; notice particularly the woman kneeling to the right, presumably a deceased member of the Caotorta family since she is portrayed set apart from the rest of the procession.

All the characters, portraits of contemporaries, take part in this splendid interplay of forms, with their statuary solidity and their sense of physical movement; notice particularly the woman kneeling to the right, presumably a deceased member of the Caotorta family since she is portrayed set apart from the rest of the procession.

To the right of the pennant, on top of which the banner is shown blowing in the wind, we see the betrothed couple at their first meeting.

As is the case during traditional and religious celebrations that still take place in Venice today, the streets, bridges, alleyways and steps are crowded with onlookers and many more are shown looking out of the windows.

Canvas No. 4 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

The Meeting of the Betrothed Couple and the Departure of the Pilgrims, signed and dated 1495, is the largest painting in the cycle and actually contains six different episodes of the legend. To the left Ereus takes leave of his father; to the right of the pennant, on top of which the banner is shown blowing in the wind, we see the betrothed couple at their first meeting, as they take their leave from Ursula’s parents, as they board the twelve-oared sloop and then the ship; to the left we see the ship again, its sail billowing in the wind, and the inscription MALO is rather like a foreboding of the tragic fate that lies ahead for the pilgrims.

In the most natural way all the various moments of the story follow on each other without interruption, within the carefully constructed composition. Within this unitary space, the free and varied vibration of the lighting makes even the smallest details totally plausible, created as they are by brushstrokes of unfailing precision. This kaleidoscopic pageant also contains very realistic elements, such as the two towers of the Knights of Rhodes and St Mark of Candia, probably modelled on woodcuts by Reeuwich illustrating the Peregrinatio in Terram Sanctam by Breydenbach that was printed in Mainz in 1486; Carpaccio has placed these two towers on the steep slopes of the hill protected by walls, towers and castles.

While the English city is surrounded by an impregnable set of walls and towers, on the other side of the canvas the city in Brittany stretches out totally defenceless, built along the water’s edge, full of buildings with elegant marble facades. These are clearly reproductions of the palaces that Codussi and the Lombardo brothers were building in Venice towards the end of the 15th century and which were rapidly changing the appearance of the city.

The characters in the foreground are clustered together in groups to the left, on the quarter deck and on the pier stretching out from the harbour over the greenish water; they are all wearing clothes in keeping with the fashions of the time, each one according to his age and social standing. Notice the splendid young man to the left of the pennant, with the coat-of-arms of the Fratelli Zardinieri, one of the Compagnie della Calza, embroidered on his sleeve.

As is the case during traditional and religious celebrations that still take place in Venice today, the streets, bridges, alleyways and steps are crowded with onlookers and many more are shown looking out of the windows; in the background of the painting we can see the caulkers working on a huge ship, dry docked and lying on its side. And the Breton and English cities in the distance are also hives of activity. In the clear air one can almost hear the trumpets and the drums beating at the foot of the tower and on the bastions, the screeching of the halyards against the blocks stretching the sails billowing in the wind and even the scratching of the goosequill on the parchment on which the diligent scribe in the upper right-hand corner is recording the highpoints of the event and the names of the most important protagonists.

The young man, standing with his legs slightly apart, is shown as he unsheathes his sword: he dominates the landscape which is also depicted with a Flemish attention to detail. We can distinguish every species of flora and fauna, and with exactly the same accuracy and graphic perfection the profile of the knight on horseback stands out against the walls of the castle; in the foreshortened perspective of the section to the left we can make out a wooden sign of a horse at the gallop. On the opposite side, we can pick out every detail of the city built on the hillside; it is mirrored on the flat surface of the sea and almost blends in the background with the steep rocky mountains.

What makes this portrait of the young knight even more fascinating is the unresolved enigma of his identity; he remains simply the extraordinary, idealized model of many protagonists of the Humanist world, the virtues of which are clearly referred to in the motto “MALO MORI QUAM FOEDARI” (Better to die than to lose one’s honour) inscribed on the scroll to the left, above the ermine, a symbol of purity and integrity, while the peacock by the helmet of the armed soldier on horseback is a reference to immortality.

The small painting can be compared with the famous Venetian Ladies in the Museo Correr in Venice, one of Carpaccio’s masterpieces. With the same hairstyle as the two Venetian women, the girl in the Borghese Gallery is wearing a triple string of silver links and one of pearls, which can be interpreted as a sign if chastity (the pearl was considered one of the Virgin Mary’s attributes) and, in the light of the Serenissama’s sumptuary laws, of wealth and nobility. She was probably a young bride-to-be or newly-wed.

Unlike Florence, very few female portraits from the late Quattrocento and the years about 1500 survive from Venice. The present painting belongs to a small group of female portraits attributed to Vittore Carpaccio. Shown in three-quarter view facing right, the woman wears her hair parted in the middle and gathered in the back, where it is held by a net studded with small white beads. She is dressed according to Venetian fashion well documented for the period around 1500. The woman’s dress and hair style are close to those in D�rer’s Portrait of a Venetian Woman in Berlin, or the Portrait of a Young Venetian Woman in Vienna.

The sitter of the portrait is not identified. She could be a woman who has had a humanist education, or perhaps a pious lady holding a book of hours or a similar devotional book.

This painting is likely a betrothal or marriage portrait of an unknown sitter. The attribution to Carpaccio is not universally accepted, it is possible that the artist responsible for this picture originated from some North Italian city, perhaps Bologna, Ferrara or Mantua.

Although the chronology of Vittore Carpaccio’s work is fairly complex and cannot easily be correlated or compared to the network of influences and trends developed by the other artists active at the time, there is a group of paintings that can undoubtedly be dated at the early 1490s since they are so close stylistically to the Stories from the Life of St Ursula. Among them, the Man with the Red Cap in the Correr Museum in Venice, which has incorrectly been attributed in the past to Lorenzo Lotto, to Filippo Mazzola and to Bartolomeo Montagna.

Standing out with almost sculptural relief from the landscape background, this figure shares the proud expression of the portraits Carpaccio painted of his contemporaries even in the earliest of the St Ursula cycle canvases.

This painting was earlier attributed to Filippo Mazzola or Lorenzo Lotto. The attribution to Carpaccio is generally accepted, however, no documentation exists to prove either of the attributions.

This painting is a contemporary copy of Carpaccio’s painting.

In preparing the altar-piece to decorate the third altar on the right in the Church of San Giobbe, Venice, Vittore Carpaccio certainly kept in mind the magnificent panel painted by Giovanni Bellini for the same church little more than twenty years before. Compared with Bellini’s picture, the marble sections of Carpaccio’s niche are even more monumental and the figures more nicely balanced in their perfectly judged movements, including those of the angels intent on playing their instruments, the crumhorn, the lute and the lyre. And each passage of the perfect formal structure is lent firm definition by the light which slants in from the right and strikes cold gleams from the incorruptible pictorial subject. Once again, Carpaccio offers an expression of his humanistic vision through which he measures the visible world on a limpid, reflecting grid of space, colour, light and shade.

Episode No. 4 of the series of seven paintings “Episodes from the Life of Sts Jerome, George and Triphun”.

St George and the Dragon is set in a wide open space, unlike anything Carpaccio had ever done before. The whole of the foreground is taken up by St George on his horse and the monstrous animal, wounded and dying, arranged along a diagonal line that goes from the praying princess to the tip of the dragon’s curved tail. On the ground, baked by the sun, we can see the remains of the dragon’s victims and vipers, lizards, toads and vultures, each realistically portrayed. To the left, from the terraces of the fairytale palaces, the inhabitants of Selene watch the outcome of this extraordinary tournament.

The epic duel on this occasion serves as a setting for the penitence of Benedict, the meditation of Jerome, and the stoning of Stephen. In the predella, George serenely endures the most awful tortures before his tormentors realize that their only solution is to cut off his head and thus remove his thoughts and magical power.

This altarpiece is a replica of the large canvas in the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni with a richer narrative texture.

The whole of the foreground is taken up by St George on his horse and the monstrous animal, wounded and dying, arranged along a diagonal line that goes from the praying princess to the tip of the dragon’s curved tail.

On the ground, baked by the sun, we can see the remains of the dragon’s victims and vipers, lizards, toads and vultures, each realistically portrayed.

Episode No. 2 of the series of seven paintings “Episodes from the Life of Sts Jerome, George and Triphun”.

In the other canvases Vittore Carpaccio relies less on his references to the daily life and customs of contemporary Venice than in the Vision of St Augustin. The St Jerome and the Lion and the Funeral of St Jerome, dated 1502, still contain some views that recall the part of the city where the Scuola stood, especially the area around the church of San Giovanni al Tempio and the Hospital of Santa Caterina as they appear in the map of Venice drawn up by Jacopo de’ Barbari in 1500.

Set in the open square surrounded by carefully planned architectural constructions, the story of St Jerome and the Lion unfolds in several separate episodes, for the most part centering round the figure of the wild beast, tamed by the saint. The monks are shown running in all directions, their blue and white tunics flapping in the wind; the details of the palm trees, the Turks with their turbans and a few exotic animals are the only elements that suggest that the event is actually taking place in Bethlehem, where according to the Legenda Aurea, the Bishop of Split had retired to.

The monks are shown running in all directions, their blue and white tunics flapping in the wind; the details of the palm trees, the Turks with their turbans and a few exotic animals are the only elements that suggest that the event is actually taking place in Bethlehem, where according to the Legenda Aurea, the Bishop of Split had retired to.

The monks are shown running in all directions, their blue and white tunics flapping in the wind; the details of the palm trees, the Turks with their turbans and a few exotic animals are the only elements that suggest that the event is actually taking place in Bethlehem, where according to the Legenda Aurea, the Bishop of Split had retired to.

The scene of St Stephen with Four Followers being Consecrated Deacons by St Peter, now in the Staatliche Museen in Berlin, is signed and dated 1511; following his typical composition formula, Carpaccio sets the actual event in the foreground, arranged in a series of figure groups articulated in a scansion that creates separate relationships with the landscape, conceived with depth of field and dotted with a great number of complex architectural structures. The use of motifs from his earlier works, primarily from the San Giorgio degli Schiavoni cycle, and the numerous references to the art of Cima, Giovanni Bellini and even Pisanello, detracts from the unity of composition constructed around a colour web woven with deep and full shadowy areas. The two following canvases are actually more successful in this.

The fact that in his more mature religious works Vittore Carpaccio sees Giovan Battista Cima as a close and reliable point of reference, because Cima was another artist who was unwilling to keep constantly up-to-date with the latest innovations in the art language, is noticeable also in altarpieces like the St Thomas in Glory between St Mark and St Louis of Toulouse, a panel painted in 1507 for the church of San Pietro Martire in Murano and now in the Staatsgalerie in Stuttgart.

Canvas No. 2 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

In the scene of the Ambassadors Depart Carpaccio takes us back to the formalities of an official ceremony. The interior of the diplomatic Chancery is constructed round the interplay of various perspective foreshortenings, like the huge corridor with the stairway above the grandiose arch through which we can see the sky. As far as the eye can see the sharp outdoor light emphasizes every detail, each depicted with absolute perfection and purity of form: the marble ornamentations, with the play of light and shadow in the colourful geometric patterns; the extraordinary candelabrum; the pure white sculpture that stands out against the gold niche, its surface so smooth that it looks like a work by Antonio Rizzo; the characters arranged in poses and attitudes suited to their role and function.

The regal dignity of Maurus and his counselors, some portrayed in splendid profile poses, is counterbalanced by the deferential homage being paid by the ambassadors, a contrast that is repeated in the figures of the haughty secretary and the humble scribe. Next to the bored-looking child in the red tunic, who observes his fellow in brown, shown reading, a gentleman introduces us to the ceremony with his left hand. The description of the crowd gathered along the steps and leaning against the balustrades of the building in the background is equally accurate. Everything is portrayed with great attention to detail, in the most perfect interaction of space, forms, light and colours, an anticipation of the Vision of St Augustine, the masterpiece of the cycle that Carpaccio painted in the early years of the 16th century for the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni.

The regal dignity of Maurus and his counsellors, some portrayed in splendid profile poses, is counterbalanced by the deferential homage being paid by the ambassadors, a contrast that is repeated in the figures of the haughty secretary and the humble scribe.

The regal dignity of Maurus and his counsellors, some portrayed in splendid profile poses, is counterbalanced by the deferential homage being paid by the ambassadors, a contrast that is repeated in the figures of the haughty secretary and the humble scribe.

Canvas No. 3 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

The canvas showing the Return of the Ambassadors to the English Court also contains views of Venice and scenes from the everyday reality of the city in the late 15th century. See, for example, at the far left of the painting, next to the marble base that supports the pennant from which the standard is shown flapping in the sea breeze, the seated “scalco” or steward with his club and his gold chain, and the boy playing the rebec, both of them protagonists of the Venetian Republic’s ceremonial protocol for receiving newly arrived foreign delegations.

The view of the city is dominated by the splendid Renaissance palace, almost a symbol of Vittore Carpaccio’s architectural painting. The description of the interiors is suggested by the volumetric structure of the building, whose wide arch depicted in deep shadow recalls the buildings painted about twenty years earlier by Antonello da Messina in his St Sebastian for the church of San Giuliano in Venice (the painting is now in the Gemäldegalerie in Dresden). The facades consist of luminous surfaces, enclosed by frames of projecting cornices and strips of coloured marble, decorated with marble basreliefs of classical subjects and with an extremely elegant row of windows opening onto a wide balcony.

The diagonal perspective lines of this majestic construction, whose perfect architectural forms are reminiscent of the buildings that Codussi was designing at around that time, provide the basic structure on which all the elements of the composition are arranged: the bridge and the banks full of spectators, each carefully portrayed in costumes that denote social standing and origin; the pinkish brick paving, surrounded by the green grass of the “campo”; the octagonal royal pavilion; the two mediaeval towers in the background, protecting the canal. The enchanted magic of the different planes, set out in the perfect construction of this ideal geometrical form, is paralleled in the rich density of the colours; in the pale lighting of this late spring morning the colours take on entirely new tonalities, especially in the shining silk costumes and in the imaginative headdresses. And, as always, Carpaccio grasps every last detail, like the swift trireme that has just docked at the pier next to a “cocca,” the typical Venetian freight vessel, or the casements of the balcony crowded with people, silvery cylinders of glass, some of which are broken.

The view of the city is dominated by the splendid Renaissance palace, almost a symbol of Vittore Carpaccio’s architectural painting. The description of the interiors is suggested by the volumetric structure of the building, whose wide arch depicted in deep shadow recalls the buildings painted about twenty years earlier by Antonello da Messina in his St Sebastian for the church of San Giuliano in Venice. The fa�ades consist of luminous surfaces, enclosed by frames of projecting cornices and strips of coloured marble, decorated with marble basreliefs of classical subjects and with an extremely elegant row of windows opening onto a wide balcony.

This panel is part of a cycle Stories of the Virgin, originally painted for the Scuola degli Albanesi, the confraternity of the Albanian community. As trade rivals of the Dalmatian (Slav) merchant, for whom Carpaccio had painted the cycle in San Giorgio degli Schiavoni (Schiavoni is the Venetian for Slavs), the Albanians likewise commissioned a cycle, now dispersed in various Italian museums. The Annunciation is one of the finest and best preserved of the cycle.

Canvas No. 7 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

In the scene of the Pilgrims’ Arrival in Cologne some details of the event are relegated to marginal positions. While in the distance some of the vessels of the retinue are still out at sea, to the left the flagship has already docked; Ursula and Pope Cyriacus lean out to ask information from a boatman. To the right, in the foreground, four armed envoys have just finished reading out the message warning the Hun princes of the arrival of the Christian pilgrims. Carpaccio does not really demonstrate great self-assuredness in the composition of the scene or in the way the individual events are related to one another. But we can already begin to make out the characteristic features of his visual language: the slow, almost magically suspended rhythm of the narration, fixed in its most salient moment; the attention to the lighting of even the smallest details; the extraordinary brightness of the colours.

The event is portrayed in a fresh and lively scene of movement. At the top, the vessel’s pennant and the mast are cut off abruptly, while to the left there is the suggestion of a vast expanse of water and to the right the urban density of Cologne. The setting is reminiscent of a misty autumn morning in Venice. In the greyish light the ships glide slowly over the still water, reaching the harbour just outside the city walls depicted in perspective towards a vanishing point on the horizon: this whole part of the scene looks very much like the older sections of the Arsenal in Venice.

Ursula and Pope Cyriacus lean out to ask information from a boatman.

Episode No. 6 of the series of seven paintings “Episodes from the Life of Sts Jerome, George and Triphun”.

The level of expression attained in the first two Schiavoni canvases is not matched by the other two, which were probably painted around 1507, at least according to the date on the scroll on the second step in the Baptism of the Selenites. This painting certainly contains details of great richness of colour, such as the group of musicians playing in honour of their King, who is receiving the sacrament of baptism from St George. But there is a definite lack of invention and imagination as we can see from the repetitive architectural background and figure composition. Nor does Carpaccio succeed in minimizing this effect by borrowing elements from paintings by Giovan Battista Cima, such as the Presentation in the Temple in the Gemäldegalerie in Dresden.

The Baptism of the Selenites contains details of great richness of colour, such as the group of musicians playing in honour of their King, who is receiving the sacrament of baptism from St George.

There are also two paintings in the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni that are not part of the cycle, the Agony in the Garden and the Calling of Matthew, dated 1502.

The Calling of Matthew is much closer to the last episodes of the St Ursula cycle than Agony in the Garden, especially in the precise construction of the colour planes within a composition that is almost exactly similar to that of Giovan Battista Cima’s Miracle of St Mark, a work painted around 1499 and now in the Staatliche Museen in Berlin. The scene is not set in Capharnaum, but on the Venetian mainland, as we can see from the style of the gate and the buildings around the square, where Matthew, responding to the calling of Jesus Christ and the Apostles, abandons his post as tax-collector (the receipts attached to his worktable indicate that that was indeed his job). Notice the typical wooden parasols placed so as to keep the sunlight off the worktop.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 8 minutes):

Johann Sebastian Bach: St. Matthew Passion BWV 244 (excerpts)

Episode No. 7 of the series of seven paintings “Episodes from the Life of Sts Jerome, George and Triphun”.

The level of expression attained in the first two Schiavoni canvases is not matched by the other two, which were probably painted around 1507, at least according to the date on the scroll on the second step in the Baptism of the Selenites. More lacking in poetic visual power is the canvas showing the Daughter of Emperor Gordian Exorcized by St Triphun, where the composition of the scene and the poor use of colour actually suggest the hand of some assistant. In any case, there is no denying that Carpaccio goes through a difficult creative period around the middle of the first decade of the 16th century.

The quality of Carpaccio’s use of colour and his power of expression and invention decreased in his last religious paintings, for the most part executed by his assistants. But in at least two of his late works, where the subject matter stimulated his imagination, Carpaccio returned to the creative levels of his earlier periods.

The Dead Christ, which in fullness and richness of colour resembles the 1520 Stoning of St Stephen, is a later version of the Meditation on Christ’s Passion in the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and like it it was mentioned in 1623 in the Collection of Roberto Canonici in Ferrara as being by Andrea Mantegna.

With the light accentuating the waxy pallor of his flesh, Christ is rigidly stretched out on the shiny marble slab, as though suspended in the foreground of the painting. Against the background of the rocky earth a number of symbols of death all relate to Christ’s life on earth and suggest the transience of human life: we see the Virgin, supported by Mary Magdalene in front of St John, a mourning figure with his back to the spectator; St Job in meditation leaning against a tree; graves opened and violated, broken and shattered tombstones, columns and slabs.

Canvas No. 5 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

Carpaccio’s masterful ability at grasping each detail while still preserving the unity of the scene and its symbolic value reaches its peak in this cycle in the painting of the Dream. In the preparatory drawings, now in the Drawings Collection in the Uffizi in Florence, there is an intensely lyrical feeling of space, which in the painting becomes even more magical and enchanted. The elements of reality are arranged in perfect perspective constructions, creating scenes that will remain part of our memory for the rest of time: he is capable of describing a late Quattrocento Venetian bedroom with an objectivity that reminds one of Vermeer.

Below a canopy supported by tall thin rods, the sleeping Ursula is visited in her dreams by the angel (notice the sharp shadow he casts on the ground) who tells her of her imminent martyrdom. The light shines brightly behind the angel and penetrates into the room from the roundels below the beams, from the windows and from the half-open door leading into the next room; but it does not succeed in dispelling all the shadows in the bedroom.

In this chiaroscuro atmosphere, every detail is rendered with subdued light and soft shadows: the little slippers, the gold crown and the little dog at the foot of the bed; the little table with the hourglass on it and the book, still open at the page where Ursula stopped reading; the pots on the window ledge with carnations and myrtle growing in them, plants that symbolize earthly and heavenly love; the holy image lit by the smoking candle that we can see through the elaborately carved frame and the equally richly carved chair below it; the antique gilded bronze statuettes of Hercules and Venus above the door-frames; the cupboard with its doors ajar so that we can see its contents.

In the preparatory drawings, now in the Drawings Collection in the Uffizi in Florence, there is an intensely lyrical feeling of space, which in the painting becomes even more magical and enchanted.

The sense of danger and urgency is subordinated, as often in Renaissance painting, to the charme of incidental detail. The artist shows a clear debt to Giovanni Bellini, one of the leading Venetian painters. Note that the landscape, which traditionally had always been an accessory to figure groups, in this case dominates the composition and determines the mood and character of the whole.

The Confraternity of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista in Venice called upon the most respected Venetian painters of the period, including Pietro Perugino, Vittore Carpaccio, Gentile Bellini, Giovanni Mansueti, Lazzaro Bastiani and Benedetto Diana to paint nine canvases for the Great Hall of their headquarters showing the Miracles of the Holy Cross, the story of the miracles performed by the fragment of wood from the Cross on which Jesus was crucified. This fragment had been donated to the brotherhood in 1369 by Philip de Mezi�res, Chancellor of the Kingdom of Cyprus and Jerusalem, and had soon become an object of great veneration and the symbol of the Scuola, one of the most important and wealthy Venetian confraternities.

The canvas painted by Perugino has been lost, but the eight surviving paintings executed between 1496 and 1501, contain depictions of some of the most famous parts of Venice. Since the imposing series of pictures (known as ‘teleri’) are all in the Accademia now it is easy to compare them: we notice immediately the basic difference between the archaic choice of images, sometimes portrayed purely as a sort of inventory, offered by the older artists and the new, lively depictions of the city painted by Carpaccio.

The subject of this ‘telero’ is the healing of a man possessed performed by Francesco Querini, the Patriarch of Grado, through the intercession of the relic of the Holy Cross in his palace at the Rialto. The actual miracle is relegated to a position in the upper left part of the picture and takes place in the wonderfully airy loggia of the palace. This allows attention to be centred on the view of Rialto Bridge and the banks on either side of the Grand Canal. The bridge depicted is the one built in 1458; at its sides can be seen the shops and in the centre the part which could be raised to allow the taller ships to pass. This construction, which was of wood, collapsed on 4th. August, 1524 and was replaced by the present stone bridge which was opened in 1592. On the left bank, amid the ancient structures can be seen the sign of the Storione Hotel, which stood in a side road, while in the background, behind the bridge, the ‘loggia’ of the Rialto can be made out, a much-used meeting-place for users of the market. On the right bank are visible the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, destroyed by fire in 1505, Ca’ da Mosto with its open canal-side entrance which still exists, and the old campanile of the church of Santi Apostoli which was reconstructed in 1672.

All the descriptive precision of the physical surroundings does not cause the work to degenerate into the merely documentary, but acts as a lively support to the scene. On the black waters of the Grand Canal and along its banks the intense daily life of the place runs its course while the noble-men and the very elegant ‘compagni della Calza’ cluster around below the loggia of the Palace of the Patriarch of Grado and the buildings with their round chimney-pots stand out against the pale blue and pink sky. Each manifestation of reality is caught in its truest aspect, its most accurate shade of colour, in this evocation of a relaxed and airy fifteenth century Venice, a representation which is a long way from the ‘inventory’ style adopted by the other contemporary ‘ceremonial’ painters.

The Confraternity of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista in Venice called upon the most respected Venetian painters of the period, including Pietro Perugino, Vittore Carpaccio, Gentile Bellini, Giovanni Mansueti, Lazzaro Bastiani and Benedetto Diana to paint nine canvases for the Great Hall of their headquarters showing the Miracles of the Holy Cross, the story of the miracles performed by the fragment of wood from the Cross on which Jesus was crucified. This fragment had been donated to the brotherhood in 1369 by Philip de Mezi�res, Chancellor of the Kingdom of Cyprus and Jerusalem, and had soon become an object of great veneration and the symbol of the Scuola, one of the most important and wealthy Venetian confraternities.

The canvas painted by Perugino has been lost, but the eight surviving paintings executed between 1496 and 1501, contain depictions of some of the most famous parts of Venice. Since the imposing series of pictures (known as ‘teleri’) are all in the Accademia now it is easy to compare them: we notice immediately the basic difference between the archaic choice of images, sometimes portrayed purely as a sort of inventory, offered by the older artists and the new, lively depictions of the city painted by Carpaccio.

The subject of this ‘telero’ is the healing of a man possessed performed by Francesco Querini, the Patriarch of Grado, through the intercession of the relic of the Holy Cross in his palace at the Rialto. The actual miracle is relegated to a position in the upper left part of the picture and takes place in the wonderfully airy loggia of the palace. This allows attention to be centred on the view of Rialto Bridge and the banks on either side of the Grand Canal. The bridge depicted is the one built in 1458; at its sides can be seen the shops and in the centre the part which could be raised to allow the taller ships to pass. This construction, which was of wood, collapsed on 4th. August, 1524 and was replaced by the present stone bridge which was opened in 1592. On the left bank, amid the ancient structures can be seen the sign of the Storione Hotel, which stood in a side road, while in the background, behind the bridge, the ‘loggia’ of the Rialto can be made out, a much-used meeting-place for users of the market. On the right bank are visible the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, destroyed by fire in 1505, Ca’ da Mosto with its open canal-side entrance which still exists, and the old campanile of the church of Santi Apostoli which was reconstructed in 1672.

All the descriptive precision of the physical surroundings does not cause the work to degenerate into the merely documentary, but acts as a lively support to the scene. On the black waters of the Grand Canal and along its banks the intense daily life of the place runs its course while the noble-men and the very elegant ‘compagni della Calza’ cluster around below the loggia of the Palace of the Patriarch of Grado and the buildings with their round chimney-pots stand out against the pale blue and pink sky. Each manifestation of reality is caught in its truest aspect, its most accurate shade of colour, in this evocation of a relaxed and airy fifteenth century Venice, a representation which is a long way from the ‘inventory’ style adopted by the other contemporary ‘ceremonial’ painters.

The painting depicts Lamentation over Christ with the Virgin Mary and Sts Joseph of Arimathea and John the Evangelist. It looks back to Giovanni Bellini’s treatments of the same subject.

The panel was likely destined for private devotion.

The quality of Carpaccio’s use of colour and his power of expression and invention decreased in his last religious paintings, for the most part executed by his assistants. But in at least two of his late works, where the subject matter stimulated his imagination, Carpaccio returned to the creative levels of his earlier periods.

The Lion of St Mark, painted in 1516 for the Magistrato dei Camerlenghi in Rialto and today in the Doges’ Palace, is an imposing creation, standing with its hind legs in the water and its forelegs on dry land, one firmly resting on a rocky shore and the other holding up the book with the traditional inscription PAX/TIBI/MAR/CE/E/VANGELI/STA/MEUS. This image symbolizing the power on land and sea of the Venetian Republic is particularly significant if we consider that it was painted just after the Serenissima had run the risk of losing its independence when it was attacked by the League of Cambrai, the coalition of great powers formed in 1509.

Behind the symbol of St Mark, portrayed in splendid and triumphant isolation, Carpaccio has given us a view of some of the places where the fortunes of the Serenissima had prospered and grown for more than five centuries. In this extraordinary wide-angled view the artist gives us a perfectly detailed depiction of the basin of St Mark’s towards San Nicolo di Lido, all the way to the heart of Venice: the Doges’ Palace, St Mark’s Basilica, the columns of St Theodore and St Mark, the Piazzetta, the bell-tower and the Clock Tower.

The Lion of St Mark, painted in 1516 for the Magistrato dei Camerlenghi in Rialto and today in the Doges’ Palace, is an imposing creation, standing with its hind legs in the water and its forelegs on dry land, one firmly resting on a rocky shore and the other holding up the book with the traditional inscription PAX/TIBI/MAR/CE/E/VANGELI/STA/MEUS.

Behind the symbol of St Mark, portrayed in splendid and triumphant isolation, Carpaccio has given us a view of some of the places where the fortunes of the Serenissima had prospered and grown for more than five centuries. In this extraordinary wide-angled view the artist gives us a perfectly detailed depiction of the basin of St Mark’s towards San Nicolo di Lido, all the way to the heart of Venice: the Doges’ Palace, St Mark’s Basilica, the columns of St Theodore and St Mark, the Piazzetta, the bell-tower and the Clock Tower.

Behind the symbol of St Mark, portrayed in splendid and triumphant isolation, Carpaccio has given us a view of some of the places where the fortunes of the Serenissima had prospered and grown for more than five centuries. In this extraordinary wide-angled view the artist gives us a perfectly detailed depiction of the basin of St Mark’s towards San Nicolo di Lido, all the way to the heart of Venice: the Doges’ Palace, St Mark’s Basilica, the columns of St Theodore and St Mark, the Piazzetta, the bell-tower and the Clock Tower.

The painting is one of a series on the Life of the Virgin for the Scuola degli Albanesi, near S. Maurizio (Venice). After the suppression of the Scuola in the late eighteenth century, this canvas and The Presentation of the Virgin went to the Brera; The Birth of the Virgin to the Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, The Annunciation and The Death of the Virgin to the Ca’ d’Oro and The Visitation to the Museo Correr, Venice. The entire cycle was completed in the early sixteenth century, with the help of considerable shop work.

Carpaccio is best known for the extensive narrative cycles he painted for Venetian confraternities, but he also produced a number of individual religious works for private collectors that are distinguished for their haunting stillness and richly descriptive approach. One of the most beautiful of these paintings is this depiction of the Old Testament figure Job and of Saint Jerome as a hermit meditating on the body of the dead Christ. Inscribed in Hebrew on the marble block where Job sits are the words “I know that my redeemer liveth.” Numerous details underscore the theme of death and resurrection: the bones next to Job, the crown of thorns propped up against Christ’s broken throne, the small bird that flies upward from Christ to symbolize the Resurrection. Even the lavishly painted landscape carries the theme by appearing desolate on the left and lush and open on the right.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 8 minutes):

Johann Sebastian Bach: St. Matthew Passion BWV 244 (excerpts)

The body of the dead Christ is displayed on a ruined throne. The dead Christ almost seems to be dreaming in the warm afternoon sunlight. The sharply divided landscape is symbolic. On the right, where a stag runs from a pursuing leopard, there is a rich landscape of farms, orchards, castles, a peaceful town, and green trees.

Canvas No. 6 of the series of nine large paintings “Stories from the Life of St Ursula”.

The same colour tone and mood as in the Apotheosis, but used in a much more self-assured perspective composition, appears again in the Meeting between Pope Cyriacus and the Pilgrims. Scholars do not agree on the dating of this canvas and suggestions go from 1491, the same year as the Apotheosis of St Ursula, to 1493, the year of the Martyrdom of the Pilgrims and the Funeral of St Ursula. Even the question of the identification of the character in red standing next to Pope Cyriacus as Ermolao Barbaro, an eminent Humanist and the Venetian ambassador to the Vatican who died in 1493 after having fallen out of grace in Venice, is used in different ways by the advocates of the various chronological theories. The style of the canvas would appear to suggest a more mature period than the Pilgrims’ Arrival in Cologne canvas, which dates from 1490.

The scene of the meeting takes place in the bright afternoon light: to the left, the retinue of virgins is shown approaching along the path, while the English Prince and Ursula, in the centre, kneel in front of Pope Cyriacus; and to the right the procession of bishops, prelates and dignitaries unfolds in the bright, sunlit meadow outside the walls of Rome. Each figure projects its own shadow to emphasize the hour of the day in which the historic meeting is taking place; like a brilliant colour prism it revolves slowly in an atmosphere of absolute enchantment. The calculated stage-like arrangement of the characters is echoed in the setting of the eight standards, the white mitres, the regular geometric shapes of the huge construction of Castel Sant’Angelo. Not even the tiniest of details is lost on this enormous stage: the lavish ornamentation of the damask copes, or the group of clarion players standing out against the sky on the castle’s bastions, or the ivy clinging to the walls.

The scene of the meeting takes place in the bright afternoon light: to the left, the retinue of virgins is shown approaching along the path, while the English Prince and Ursula, in the centre, kneel in front of Pope Cyriacus.

The figure in red standing next to Pope Cyriacus is Ermolao Barbaro, an eminent Humanist and the Venetian ambassador to the Vatican who died in 1493 after having fallen out of grace in Venice.

If formal history is Mantegna’s outstanding characteristic and reporting is Gentile Bellini’s, then Carpaccio is predominantly a historical novelist. His urban settings are often compared with those of Gentile Bellini, but there are major differences between the two. Gentile used documentation to support the accuracy of his account, and where it was lacking he relied on his imagination, but always in terms of the topographic reality of Venice. Although Carpaccio’s settings are entirely Venetian in spirit, they are complete fantasies and any reference to reality is scrupulously avoided. Almost all of Carpaccio’s career was devoted to producing picture cycles, for the decoration of entire interiors, that illustrated religious themes and legends connected with Venetian life. These subjects called for compositions seen as if through an imaginary window, and they made up a fabulous but not unrealistic world.

Carpaccio’s urban views are not chance inventions. They belong to the Platonic idea of Venice as a painted city, which goes back beyond Jacopo Bellini’s drawings, is articulated by Filarete and proliferates in the illustrations of his manuscripts. This is a development that is seen at the same time in Lombardy and in the Lombard buildings in Venice, creating a language of forms of which Carpaccio is a later prophet. Carpaccio’s townscape, with its architecture, sculpture and street furniture, thus does not follow existing forms (note the invented Mannerist monuments in the background of The Disputation of St. Stephen) nor does it repeat familiar architectonic systems (see the interior divisions of the temple in The Marriage of the Virgin). The background of The Disputation is expressed in terms of exotic northern motifs.

That the setting is the main theme in Carpaccio’s work is shown also by his preliminary drawings, in which the scenes are empty of figures. In The Marriage of the Virgin, he limited the role of the figure and dwelt on the numerical rhythms, the geometry and the musical sequences of the setting. The other features of his art tend toward the same end, as for instance his use of the panoramic view, which in turn meant abandoning a monumental style. Planes dominate the surface, and atmospheric perspective gives way to a constant focus embracing nearby and distant images. In this view of the cosmos, Carpaccio had learned from Antonello da Messina how to introduce Flemish vision into Italian painting.

Suggested listening (streaming mp3, 22 minutes):

Johann Sebastian Bach: Cantata, BWV 82

The St Stephen Preaching in the Louvre, which according to Zanetti, who was writing in 1771, bore the date 1514 on the frame, is set on a barren piece of land in front of an ideal view of a city that is reminiscent of Jerusalem. The buildings of this imaginary city form a spacious arc in the lower section and then climb up the ridge of the hill, following the zigzagging path that leads to the place where St Stephen, standing atop a classical pillar, is addressing a group of Oriental characters. Their costumes and headdresses create a splendidly varied play of colours that stands out against the pale green field.

The last canvas of the cycle, painted many years later as we can see from the date, 1520, on the scroll, shows the Stoning of St Stephen; it is now in the Staatsgalerie in Stuttgart. Here Carpaccio displays a totally mannered use of colour, bright and translucid in the scene of the martyrdom, and soft and veiled in the depiction of the mythical Jerusalem, enclosed by its high walls, each detail of its buildings described with care, and in the groups of figures themselves, patches of colour that shine in the light that varies according to the filtering action of the clouds in front of the sun.

The painting comes from the now demolished church of Sant’Antonio di Castello. The altarpiece tells the story of the Roman soldiers who converted to Christianity and were then sent to die by their own emperor, in league with the rulers of the east. It celebrates the glory won during the Turkish wars by the family of the donor, Ettore Ottobon.

Episode No. 5 of the series of seven paintings “Episodes from the Life of Sts Jerome, George and Triphun”.

In the preparatory drawing for the Triumph of St George, now in the Uffizi Drawings Collection, the new colour density relies more on the perspective construction and the accurate modelling than is the case in the actual painting, where the lavish costumes of the inhabitants of Selene and the ornate trappings of their horses are arranged like highly colourful stage backdrops on either side of the main event. In the middle, alone, St George deals the dying dragon the final blow. Behind him, the city of Selene stands out against the background of green and brown hills and pale blue sky; despite their Oriental flavour, the buildings are arranged and decorated in a totally Venetian way, especially the large construction in the centre, which is somewhat reminiscent of Solomon’s Temple or the Kubbet-es Sakbra Mosque in Jerusalem as illustrated in Reeuwich’s engravings.

In the preparatory drawing for the Triumph of St George, now in the Uffizi Drawings Collection, the new colour density relies more on the perspective construction and the accurate modelling than is the case in the actual painting.

The lavish costumes of the inhabitants of Selene and the ornate trappings of their horses are arranged like highly colourful stage backdrops on either side of the main event.

This painting is probably a fragment of a much larger composition, perhaps a subject developed from the female figure sitting on the balustrade to the right in the Birth of the Virgin in the Scuola degli Albanesi (now in the Accademia Carrara, Bergamo).

This panel is part of a cycle Stories of the Virgin, originally painted for the Scuola degli Albanesi, the confraternity of the Albanian community. The paintings were removed from their original location in 180 and are now dispersed between the Academia Carrara, Bergamo, the Brera in Milan, and the Ca’ d’Oro, Venice.

In this painting in his representation of buildings and accessories, Carpaccio adopts a characteristic mixture of specific allusion and poetic imagination. The turbaned figures in the middleground, the displays of oriental rugs on the balconies, the palm trees, and the minaret-like towers in the left background, all reflect a widespread Venetian interest in the Near East in this period; and by including them, Carpaccio clearly also intended to evoke the specific flavour of the Holy Land.

The buildings are arranged and decorated in a totally Venetian way, especially the large construction in the centre.