THE two separate tendencies which mark the course of Florentine art during the first half of the fifteenth century meet in the person of Sandro Botticelli. A pupil of Lippi and a fellow-workman of the Pollaiuoli, this most interesting master inherited the traditions of both schools, and combined the dramatic art of Masaccio’s followers, and the goldsmith-painters’ energy of line, with a feeling as human as that of Fra Filippo, as spiritual as that of Angelico. Botticelli is in an especial manner the representative of Lorenzo de’ Medici’s age. The range of his art is as wide as the culture of the Renaissance, and his work reflects the different currents of thought, the aspirations and ideals of his contemporaries, more fully than that of any other Florentine painter. But over all he throws the glamour of his own personality, the spell of a fine artistic nature and the passion of a profoundly sympathetic heart. Whether he paints Greek goddesses or Saints and Madonnas, it is the same intensely personal type, the same sad and wistful expression that meets our eyes and invites our sympathy. This rare union of gifts made Botticelli, during his life-time, not only the favourite painter of the Magnifico, but the most popular master in Florence. The extraordinary demand which sprung up for his works towards the close of the century is shown by the immense number of Madonnas, bearing the stamp of his invention, but executed by imitators and assist-ants, which may be seen in every gallery. And although his fame died away in the blaze of Michelangelo’s renown, and his works were not held worthy of preservation by the art-loving Grand-dukes of the seventeenth century, the present generation has witnessed a curious revival of Botticelli’s popularity. Perhaps no painter of the Renaissance has so peculiar a fascination for modern minds. Some of us are charmed by his wonderful sense of life and movement, by his mastery of line and decorative design. Others are moved by the poetry of his imagination, by his strong human emotion and mystic feeling. Alessandro Filipepi was the youngest child of a prosperous tanner named Mariano, who lived in the parish of Ognissanti, and had four sons. The eldest of these, Giovanni, was a broker by trade, and the surname of Botticello which he acquired from the barrel that was the sign of his shop clung to the younger members of his family. Born in 1446, Sandro was first apprenticed to a gold-smith, but soon began to paint, and worked under Fra Filippo Lippi both at Florence and Prato. When, in 1467, the Carmelite went to Spoleto, Botticelli was already an independent master, and Vasari tells us that after Lippi’s death, two years later, his scholar was held to be the best painter in Florence.
The earliest works we have from his hand are two panels, one long, the other round, of the Adoration of the Magi, in the National Gallery. Both are there ascribed to Botticelli’s pupil Filippino, but bear far more likeness to the work of that artist’s father, Fra Filippo, who may himself have had a share in the composition. The Virgin and Child certainly resemble the friar’s types, but the animated throng of spectators and their expressive faces reveal the hand of the scholar. The next group of Sandro’s works the seated figure of Fortezza, and the little pictures of Judith that once adorned Bianco Capello’s studio show that after his old master left Florence, he must have been closely associated with the Pollaiuoli brothers. The Fortezza, indeed, is a companion picture to the Virtues painted by these masters for the Mercatanzia, and is executed in the same sculptural style and pale colouring as their works. The same embroidered draperies, jewelled armour and variegated marbles adorn both Pollaiuolo and Botticelli’s figures, but the bent head and weary, yet resolute, expression of Sandro’s Fortitude show his finer and more imaginative conception. The same peculiar type of face, long neck, angular features, high cheek-bones and dreamy eyes, are repeated in his Judith, as, with sword in one hand and olive branch in the other, she returns over the hill-country to Bethulia, strong in the might of the great deed which she has done. In her swift action and fluttering garments we already see the love of movement which is a characteristic feature of Sandro’s art, while the dramatic quality of his imagination is equally apparent in the companion subject, where the servants and friends of Holofernes look with grief and horror on his headless corpse.
Botticelli’s genius soon attracted Lorenzo de’ Medici’s notice, and at his command the young artist painted a St. Sebastian for the church of S. Maria Maggiore. This noble figure, now in the Berlin Gallery, was probably executed before Antonio Pollaiuolo’s more famous version of the subject, and although inferior as an exhibition of technical skill to the elder master’s work, shows a far higher sense of beauty and power of expression. To these same early days we may assign the lovely Chigi Madonna, now in America, with the youthful Angel, crowned with green bay leaves, offering a dish of grapes and ripe ears of wheat to the Child.
In 1474, Botticelli was invited to assist Benozzo Gozzoli in the decoration of the Campo Santo, and spent the summer months at Pisa, where he began a panel of the Assumption, for the Duomo, and received payments for the ultramarine which he employed, but never seems to have finished his picture. His presence was required at home, and during the next few years he became closely associated with the fortunes of the Medici. Lorenzo’s keen eye early recognised the quick sympathy and fine poetic feeling which fitted Sandro to be the painter of these classic myths and fancies dear to the scholars and humanists who met in the halls of the Via Larga, or spent the summer days at the Magnifico’s pleasant country-houses in the Tuscan hills. It was for the Medici villa of Castello that Botticelli painted his famous pictures of the Birth of Venus, the Primavera, and Mars and Venus, which breathe the charmed atmosphere of Lorenzo’s songs and Poliziano’s idylls. All three of these pictures, so full of the spirit of the Renaissance, and so strangely unlike the Greek world of which the Florentine humanists were enamoured, owe their inspiration to Poliziano’s Giostra. In this unfinished poem he had celebrated the Tournament held on the Piazza of Santa Croce, in 1475, when the handsome Giuliano de’ Medici, clad in silver armour, bore away the prize in the presence of his adored lady, Simonetta. This wondrous Venus floating on the waves and blown by the winds to the laurel groves on the summer shore, is there described exactly as Sandro painted her, laying one hand on her snowy breast, and the other on her long tresses of yellow hair. The poet had sung of the roses fluttering in the air and of the nymph in her white robe patterned over with blue corn-flowers, waiting to welcome the new-born goddess, and spreading out a pink mantle sown with daisies to fold round her white limbs. And in the first Canto of his Giostra, Poliziano had repeated that favourite tale of the Loves of Mars and Venus, which Lorenzo himself afterwards made the theme of one of his poems, and which is the subject of Botticelli’s panel in the National Gallery. Here Venus, robed in gold-embroidered draperies, reclines in a woodland glade, watching the strong, broad-chested god of war, with limbs relaxed and drowsy head, lying on the grass sunk in deep slumber, while little goat-footed cherubs play with his armour at her feet. As a study of line and a purely decorative work, this composition is an admirable one ; as an interpretation of a Greek myth by a Florentine painter it is of rare interest.
Once more, in his beautiful vision of Primavera, Sandro has given utterance to that fulness of joy in the return of spring and the beauty of the young May-time which was the favourite theme of Tuscan poets. All the bright and pleasant imagery of Lorenzo’s Ambra, or the Rusticus of Poliziano, lives again in this fair picture of the ” laurel groves which sheltered the singing-birds who carolled to the Tuscan spring.” Here Queen Venus holds her court and Spring comes, garlanded with roses, while flowers spring up at her feet, and the Graces dance hand in hand under myrtle bowers. There Zephyr sports with Flora, dropping roses from her lips, and Mercury, in the form of Giuliano, scatters the clouds of winter, all unaware that Cupid is aiming an arrow at his heart. But the shadow of coming doom hung over these dreams of love and joy. Before Poliziano had finished his poem, fair Simonetta died suddenly, and was borne, with her face uncovered, to the grave, amid the tears and lamentations of all Florence. Two years afterwards, on the 26th April, 1478, Giuliano was murdered, by the treachery of the Pazzi, during high mass in the Duomo, and fell pierced with nineteen wounds before the altar. Botticelli was employed to paint the effigies of the conspirators on the walls of the Palazzo Pubblico, and when, in 148o, Lorenzo returned safely from his perilous mission to the court of Naples, Sandro celebrated the triumph of the Medici over their foes in his picture of Pallas subduing the Centaur. Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples are seen in the distance, and in the foreground the Centaur, emblem of anarchy and crime, cowers before the victorious goddess, who, wreathed with olive boughs and wearing the interlaced rings of the Medici on her white robe, represents the triumph of peace and wisdom.
The portraits of Lorenzo’s mother, Lucrezia Tornabuoni, and of ” la bella Simonetta,” which Vasari tells us were both painted by Sandro, have disappeared, but his fine bust of Giovanni de’ Medici, holding a medal of his father Cosimo, is preserved in the Uffizi, as well as the striking portrait of Giuliano in the Morelli collection. Three generations of the family are represented in the Adoration of the Magi which Lorenzo employed Botticelli to paint for Santa Maria Novella, as a thank-offering for his escape from the assassin’s hand. We see a marked departure from old traditions in the way in which the religious significance of the subject is sacrificed, and the sacred story transformed into an apotheosis of the Medici. Cosimo, a venerable, white-headed form in green and gold mantle, kneels before the Child ; his son Piero, in a scarlet robe, looks round at his brother Giovanni, and the lamented Giuliano stands behind them, clad all in black, with his thick, dark locks overshadowing his melancholy face. Lorenzo himself stands at his horse’s side in the left-hand corner, where the donor is usually introduced, and on the opposite side, we recognise the portrait of the painter, wearing a long orange mantle and looking over his shoulder with a keen, thoughtful expression on his strong face. The picture is a masterpiece of grouping and modelling, and bears a close likeness to Leonardo’s unfinished Adoration, in the Uffizi. Sandro had known the great master, who was but six years his junior, from his early days in Verrocchio’s workshop, and is the only painter whom Leonardo mentions by name in his Trattato, where he speaks of him as ” our Botticello.”
The Vespucci family, to which Simonetta belonged, were among Botticelli’s best patrons. For their palace in the Via de’ Servi he painted a series of graceful subjects, ” full of beautiful and animated figures,” set in richly carved walnut frames. The panels of the Story of Virginia, at Bergamo, and the Death of Lucrezia, now in America, agree with this description ; but the violent action and exaggerated gestures in the similar pictures on the Miracles of St. Zenobius point to a later period. For the Vespucci Botticelli also painted the noble fresco of St. Augustine at his desk in the church of Ognissanti, which in its wonderful energy and rapt expression offers so marked a contrast to the cold decorum of Ghirlandajo’s St. Jerome, on the opposite wall. This work bears the date of 1480, in which year, we learn from the register, Sandro was living in the Via S. Lucia near Ognissanti, with his old father Mariano, who was eighty-six years old and unable to work” non fa più nulla.” Giovanni, the eldest son, is here described as a broker ; Antonio, the second, a goldsmith, ” who also sells books,” is at Bologna and has a large family ; while Simone, who, as a boy, had gone to Naples in the service of a Florentine merchant, is still living there, and Sandro, whose age is given as thirty-three, is a painter and ” works in the house when he chooses.”
In the following year, Botticelli went to Rome, on the recommendation of Lorenzo de’ Medici, to assist in the decoration of Pope Sixtus the Fourth’s new chapel which, built by a Florentine architect, Dolci, was now to be adorned by the best Florentine masters. On the 27th of October, 1481, Botticelli, Ghirlandajo, Cosimo Rosselli, and Perugino signed a contract, by which they agreed to paint ten frescoes from the Old and New Testament, on the chapel walls, in the space of six months. According to Vasari, Sandro was appointed Director of the Works, and we recognise his hand in the early figures of the frieze of Popes which runs along the upper part of the walls, as well as in three of the large compositions from the life of Moses and Christ, the type and anti-type. The first of these, generally known as the Temptation of Christ, occupies the central place on the wall, immediately opposite the papal throne, between Pinturicchio’s Baptism and Ghirlandajo’s Calling of the Apostles. Satan is seen in the habit of a Franciscan friar, first pointing to the stones at the feet of Christ, then standing at His side on a pinnacle of the temple, and finally hurled into space by the word of the Lord. But these three scenes, which connect Sandro’s fresco with the rest of the series, are only introduced as minor incidents, and the real subject of the picture, as Dr. Steinmann has lately shown, is the Purification of a Leper according to the law of Moses. The rites in use on this occasion are minutely depicted. On the right, the leper’s wife is seen bringing her offering of two doves, a girl, bearing wood for the burnt offering, advances on the left, and in the centre of the picture the high priest receives the blood of the victim in a golden bowl from the hands of a youth, while the leper, still feeble and suffering, is slowly led up the steps of the altar by his friends. The Renaissance temple in the back-ground is an exact reproduction of the facade of the hospital of St. Spirito, which had been lately erected by Pope Sixtus, while portraits of his nephews, Giuliano della Rovere, afterwards Pope Julius II., holding a white cloth in his hands, and Girolamo Riario, bearing the staff of papal Gonfaloniere, are introduced in the group on the right. The foliage of the oak, the badge of the della Rovere family, figures prominently among the trees in the foreground, and the whole composition is evidently intended to be a glorification of Pope Sixtus. The second fresco suffers from the same confusion of subjects and want of unity, and contains no less than seven different scenes from the early history of Moses. But the details are full of charm, and in the central episode of Jethro’s Daughter at the well, we have a lovely idyll of pastoral life. Sandro rarely painted a more graceful figure than this of Zipporah standing among her maidens under the palm-trees by the stream, with a myrtle wreath in her hair, and a distaff and apple-branch, the symbol of labour and its reward, in her hand. In the third fresco, the Destruction of Korah, the grand figure of Moses standing before the altar with his rod stretched out to destroy the rebellious people, gives a certain unity to the whole, and the scene of tumult and confusion is rendered with dramatic vividness. The whole series abounds in reminiscences of classical architecture and sculpture, and shows how profoundly Sandro was impressed by the monuments of ancient Rome. The portrait-heads in the fresco of Korah are especially remarkable for beauty and character, and among the dignitaries of the papal court, in sumptuous robes, we recognise the dreamy eyes and finely – cut features of the painter himself, clad in a sober suit of black, and wearing an artist’s cap on his curly locks.
The frescoes of the Sistina were not finished until August 1483, and before he left Rome, Botticelli painted another Adoration of the Magi, probably the version now at St. Petersburg, in which a ruined arch and a group of horses, evidently suggested by the famous statues on Monte Cavallo, are introduoed. This little picture is a gem of the purest water. There are fewer figures than in the Uffizi altar-piece, but these are instinct with life and passion, and are set in a wide and lovely landscape, which goes far to redeem Sandro from Leonardo’s reproach of having painted tristissimi paesi. In 1484, Botticelli returned to Florence, but does not seem to have ever executed the import-ant commission of decorating the Hall of Audience in the Palazzo Pubblico, which had been given him in his absence. In the following year, he painted the Berlin altar-piece of the Madonna, throned in a leafy bower between a haggard St. John the Baptist and a white-bearded St. John the Evangelist. The delicate foliage of palm and olive, cypress and myrtle, and the tall white lilies and bowls of red and white roses along the marble parapet, are painted with exquisite care, and the whole effect is singularly decorative. This fine picture, originally executed for the Bardi Chapel in San Spirito, is one of the few of Botticelli’s Madonnas to which we can assign a date with any certainty, since a document in the Guiccardini archives records a payment of twenty-eight florins, in February 1485, to the carpenter who supplied the wood, and of seventy-eight florins, in the following August, to ” Sandro del Botticiello ” for the time and materials which he had spent upon the work. In 1486, our painter was employed by Lorenzo de’ Medici’s uncle, Giovanni Tornabuoni, to decorate the hall of his villa near Fiesole, in honour of his son’s wedding. Two of the frescoes which he painted on this occasion were discovered under a coat of white-wash in 1873, and removed to the Louvre. ,In the one, the bridegroom, Lorenzo Tornabuoni, is welcomed by the seven Arts and Sciences, and Philosophy seated on a throne in their midst. In the other, his bride, Giovanna degli Albizzi, a charming maiden clad in a red robe, receives the gifts of four fair damsels, who represent the cardinal Virtues. Sandro excelled in the representation of these allegorical subjects, and his tribute to Lorenzo’s culture and Giovanna’s virtues won the applause of all Florence. But ere long a change passed over his art. In 1489, Savonarola came to Florence and began to preach, first in his convent church of San Marco, then to the crowds who flocked to hear him in the Duomo. His voice had a strange fascination for the scholars and artists of Lorenzo’s immediate circle. Poliziano and Pico, Cronaca and Michelangelo, all heard him gladly, and took part in the great revival. And Sandro caught what Vasari, in his contemptuous manner, calls the prevailing frenzy, and threw himself into the Frate’s cause with all the energy of his nature. He illustrated Savonarola’s sermons, painted banners for his processions, and designed a large engraving of the Triumph of Fra Girolamo. He did not, like some of his brother artists, throw his pagan studies on the Bonfire of Vanities, but he gave up painting secular subjects, and, in obedience to Savonarola’s teaching no longer introduced portraits of his contemporaries into his sacred pictures.
In the absence of dates, it is difficult to say with any certainty which of Botticelli’s numerous Madonnas belong to this period ; but there can be little doubt that these sorrowful Virgins, burdened with a mysterious sense of coming woes, were inspired by the eloquent and impassioned words in which the great preacher paints the Mother of Sorrows. There is the lovely Madonna of the Pomegranate, with the six child-angels bearing lilies and choir-books, in the Uffizi, and the Mother nursing her Child in the Ambrosiana and turning the leaves of the missal, in the Poldi-Pezzoli Museum. There is the noble S. Barnaba altar-piece of the throned Virgin, surrounded by angels bearing instruments of the Passion, and worshipped by six saints, who represent different types of struggling humanity Michael and Katherine in their youthful beauty, the scholar-saints Ambrose and Augustine between the ascetic Baptist and Barnabas, the Son of Consolation. There is the great Coronation which was ordered for Savonarola’s own convent church by the Guild of Silk Weavers with its troop of angels scattering roses and dancing on the clouds of heaven in a tumult of wild rapture, and below, the aged St. John and St. Jerome, fired with the same triumphant joy. Above all, there is the famous tondo of the Magnificat, which in beauty of design and depth of feeling surpasses all others. The Virgin, wearing a green and gold mantle, and a transparent veil over her fair tresses, is in the act of dipping her pen into the ink, to write her song of praise on the pages of an open missal, and the Child on her knee looks up in her face with a sudden flash of inspiration. Two angels place a crown upon her head, two others hold her book and inkstand, and between the bowed faces we catch a lovely glimpse of the Arno valley. At this moment when Mary realises all her glory, when angels crown her brows, and the Child guides her pen to write the words that pronounced her blessed, the sword pierces her heart with a foretaste of coming agony. In this wonderful picture Sandro has attained an ideal of divine tenderness and sorrow which few painters have ever equalled.
An unfinished picture, evidently designed by our master, has lately been brought out of the magazines of the Uffizi, and, although coarsely repainted, is of deep interest as showing his close connection with the piagnone movement. The seven magistrates of Florence are represented kneeling before Mary and her Child, while Savonarola himself, standing by in his Dominican habit, points with outstretched arm to the new-born King, and turning to Lorenzo de’ Medici at his side, adjures him to own the supremacy of Christ. A great concourse of horsemen and spectators are crowding through the city-gates, and among the foremost figures we recognise the portraits of Benivieni, the favourite poet of the Medici, who had become a devout piagnone, and of Leonardo, who was one of the architects summoned by Savonarola to draw up plans for the hall of the Great Council. The picture was evidently painted to commemorate the events of 1495, when, after the death of Lorenzo and expulsion of his sons, Christ was proclaimed King of Florence, the City of God.
Through the troublous times that followed, Sandro remained in his old home. In 14.96, Michelangelo addressed a letter from Rome to Lorenzo di Pier Francesco, the only Medici who dared remain in Florence, under cover to Botticelli, bearing the piagnone motto Christus ! And in 1498, the year of Savonarola’s execution, Sandro and his brother Simone, we learn from the registers, were living together in the Via Nuova, and owned a farm and vineyard outside the Porta San Frediano. Simone, who had lately returned from Naples, was a zealous piagnone, who was present at the trial by fire, and left a curious chronicle of contemporary events which has been lately discovered in the Vatican. One incident which he records is that of a conversation held on the evening of All Souls, 1499, in Sandro’s workshop, which he describes as being at that time an Academy of unemployed painters, who met there often and disputed much about Savonarola. That evening as they gathered round the fire, about eight o’clock, and argued after their wont, Sandro solemnly adjured Doffo Spini, a leading partisan of the Medici, who had been present at Fra Girolamo’s trial, to tell him what they found in the saintly man to deserve so vile an end. Doffo replied : ” Sandro, must I speak the truth? We never found in him any venial sin, much less any mortal sin.” Then Sandro asked : “Why did you make him die so vilely ? ” And Doffo replied : “It was not I, but Benozzo Federighi who was the cause of the prophet’s death. But in truth, if he had been set free and sent back to San Marco, the people would have sacked our houses and cut us all to pieces.”
This curious narrative throws light on two of Botticelli’s last pictures, the Calumny which he painted towards the end of his life for his intimate friend Antonio Segni and the Nativity, in the National Gallery. The subject of the former is taken from Lucian’s account of the picture by Apelles, which Alberti quoted in his “Treatise on Painting,” but the fierce strife of factions in Florence, and the tragedy of Savonarola’s end, may well have stirred the master to paint this allegory of the violence and injustice of man. The scene is laid in a stately portico adorned with antique statues, where King Midas, wearied by the importunities of Suspicion and Ignorance, receives Calumny, a richly-clad woman, who drags the prostrate youth Innocence by the hair. Envy, Treachery, and Intrigue attend her steps, and Remorse, an old hag in ragged clothes, looks back regretfully at Truth, who, standing deserted and alone, points upwards in calm certainty that her mute appeal will be heard in heaven. Through the pillars of the open loggia we look out on a wide waste of waters, bounded by no further shore, which gives an indefinable sense of dreariness the expression of the painter’s conviction that truth and justice were nowhere to be found on earth. The Nativity was painted a few months after that November evening when Sandro extorted Doffo Spini’s confession of the martyred friar’s innocence, and a Greek insciption on the panel explains its mystic intention :
“This picture I, Alessandro, painted at the end of the year 1500, in the troubles of Italy, in the half-time after the time, during the fulfilment of the Eleventh of St. John, in the Second Woe of the Apocalypse, in the loosing of the devil for three years and a half. Afterwards, he shall be chained according to the Twelfth of John, and we shall see him trodden down as in this picture.”
The Holy Family, as usual, form the central group, and the Shepherds and Magi kneel on either side. A troop of angels, clad in symbolic hues of red, white, and green, sing the Gloria in Excelsis, on the penthouse roof, and in the heavens above, twelve more seraphs dance hand-in-hand, swinging olive-boughs and dangling their golden crowns in an ecstacy of joy. In the foreground the devils are seen crawling away to hide under the rocks, while rejoicing angels fall on the necks of Savonarola and his martyred companions, the witnesses slain for the word of their testimony, as told in the Revelation of St John. So Botticelli would have us know that in these dark times when vice and wickedness ran riot in the streets of Florence, and contemporary writers tell us that there was ” no reverence for holy things, nor fear of shame,” his faith in the Friar never faltered, and that he still looked forward to a day when the prophet’s word should be fulfilled and good triumph over evil.
Sandra’s old connection with the Medici saved him from the persecution which overtook the leading piagnoni, and during his last years he was chiefly engaged in illustrating Dante’s great poem. He had always been a student of the divine poet, and probably executed designs for the plates in the first printed edition of the Divina Commedia, published by Landino in 1481, while a line from the Paradiso:
” Vergine madre, figlia del tuo figlio ”
is inscribed on the throne of the Madonna which he painted for the convent of S. Barnaba. The eighty-four drawings in illustration of the Divina Commedia, formerly at Hamilton Palace, and now at Berlin, were executed by him for Lorenzo di Pier Francesco de’ Medici, who remained in Florence until his death in 1503. Eight sheets from the same volume, once the property of Queen Christina of Sweden, are now in the Vatican. The whole series is of the deepest interest, especially the illustrations of the Purgatorio and Paradiso, which reveal the mystic tendency of Sandro’s imagination, while his love of delicate foliage, of fluttering draperies and showering roses, appears at every page. In the last design Beatrice is seen, crowned with flowers, standing with the poet at her side, in the highest spheres of Paradise, attended by nine circles of rejoicing angels, and one little cherub bearing a cartellino with the artist’s name, Sandro di Mariano.
In January, 1504, Botticelli, although infirm and old, came out of his retreat to meet his old friend Leonardo and the other chief masters in Florence, and choose a site for Michelangelo’s David. After that we hear no more until, on the 17th May, 1510, he was buried in his father’s vault in the church of Ognissanti.
Florence.Accademia: 73. Coronation of the Virgin (San Marco).
74. Predella of the Annunciation and Saints.
85. Madonna with Saints and Angels (S. Barnabà).
157-162. Predella of Dead Christ and Saints. Uffizi : 39. Birth of Venus.
1154. Portrait of Giovanni de’ Medici.
Florence.Uffizi: 1156. Judith.
1158. Holofernes. 1149. St. Augustine.
1182. Calumny. 1267. bis. Magnificat.
1286. Adoration of the Magi.
1289. Madonna of the Pomegranate.
3436. Adoration of Christ as King of Florence.
” Palazzo Pitti : Pallas subduing a Centaur.
” Palazzo Capponi: Communion of St. Jerome.
Bergamo.Morelli Gallery : 83. Portrait of Giuliano de’ Medici. 84. Story of Virginia.
Milan.Ambrosiana: 145. Madonna and Child with Angel.
” Poldi-Pezzoli Museum : 17. Madonna and Child.
Rome.Sistine Chapel: FrescoesMoses and the Daughters of Jethro ; Destruction of Korah ; Purification of a Leper, with the Temptation of Christ ; Portraits of Popes.
Berlin.Gallery: 106. Madonna and Saints. 1128. St. Sebastian.
Dresden.Gallery: 12. Scenes from Life of St. Zenobius.
London.National Gallery: 592. Adoration of the Magi. 626. Portrait of Youth. 915. Mars and Venus. 1033. Adoration of the Magi (tondo). 1034. Nativity.
Mr. Heseltine: Madonna and Child, with St. John.
Mr. Mond: Scenes from Life of St. Zenobius.
St. Petersburg.Hermitage: 163. Adoration of the Magi.
Boston, U.S.A.Mrs. Gardner: Madonna and Child, with Angel; Death of Lucretia.