PADUA is the greatest city of the Venetian terra firma. Between the river Brenta and the Euganean Hills that shimmer so unexpectedly over the plain, and since Roman times the hub of several key roads, Padua began to recover its earlier importance in the ninth century. The university was founded in 1222, and the death of the future Saint Anthony of Padua in 1231 meant that the city became the centre of his cult. The signoria passed in 1337 to the Carrara, who succumbed to the Venetians in 1405. Venetian rule hung lightly on the city, which continued to enjoy considerable wealth. The French arrived in 1797, to leave in the wake of Napoleon’s defeat; their Austrian successors withdrew in 1866, when – as was so often the case – after a suspiciously unanimous vote Padua became part of the Italian kingdom.
Every approach to Padua has been marred by new buildings, so the station is the most logical starting point. A brief walk leads to a bridge across the river Bacchiglione and the site of the Roman Arena. Here Enrico Scrovegni built the chapel that bears his name and was consecrated in 1305. The structure is simple. But the frescoed decoration was the most sophisticated, indeed revolutionary, of the period in Italy. Nowhere is the genius of Giotto more cogently expressed. The murals of the lateral walls – scenes from the lives of the Madonna and of Christ – reveal the artist’s preoccupation with form and space, as well as his genius for narrative, while the grisaille Virtues and Vices of the dado, trompe l’oeil bas-reliefs, challenge contemporary sculpture. Visitors can no longer linger, so should read their guidebooks before entering the chapel.
Alas, a stray bomb in 1944 caught the great church of the Eremitani behind the Arena, and only fragments survive of the long-celebrated frescoes by Mantegna and his associates. Rather than contend with what is no more than an archaeological reconstruction, I prefer to make for the centre of the town, pausing perhaps in the neoclassical Caffé Pedrocchi of 1830, before trying to lose myself in the arcaded streets of brick buildings. A little to the west of the café, between the Piazza delle Erbe and the Piazza della Frutta, is the substantial Palazzo della Ragione of 1218–19. Inside on the first floor is the immense salone that was intended for the tribunal. Further west is the Piazza dei Signori, with the elegant Renaissance Loggia della Gran Guardia. The street beside this leads to the Piazza del Duomo. The Duomo itself is not of particular distinction. In the annexed Baptistery, however, is the very remarkable cycle of frescoes painted for the wife of Francesco I da Carrara in 1376–8 by Giusto de’Menabuoi. With his contemporary Altichiero Altichieri, Giusto was one of the outstanding painters of his generation in northern Italy. His taste is elegant and discursive.
Return through the Piazza delle Erbe, passing the university, to turn right on the Via del Santo. In the Piazza del Santo is Donatello’s wonderful bronze equestrian portrait of the condottiero Gattamelata. Executed in 1453, this more than challenged its classical predecessors and is one of the defining achievements of the early Renaissance. Behind looms the great Basilica di Sant’Antonio, the Santo. This was begun in 1232, a year after Saint Anthony’s death. The interior is prodigious. There are notable frescoes, including those by Altichiero in the right transept, but it is above all for its sculpture that the Santo is remarkable. Although the high altar designed by Donatello has been dismembered, a remarkable series of reliefs from it survive, including a compelling masterpiece, the Deposition. To the left is the great candelabrum by the outstanding Paduan High Renaissance bronze worker, Andrea Briosco, il Riccio. He designed the Chapel of the Tomb of the Saint in the left transept, to which most of the major sculptors active in the area in the early sixteenth century contributed.
Donatello, Equestrian statue of Gattamelata, bronze (detail).
To the right of the basilica is the Oratorio di San Giorgio of 1377–84. This is remarkable for the cycle of frescoes by Altichiero and his associate Jacopo Avanzo, perhaps the most successfully monumental murals of their time in the Veneto. Beside the oratory is the Scuola di Sant’Antonio, which was enlarged in 1504–5. The upper salone was decorated with frescoes of miracles of the saint by a number of artists, including the ageing Montagna. The three scenes by the young Titian still seem startlingly dramatic. How revolutionary these were is perfectly demonstrated by the company they keep. Despite obvious debts to others, Titian had already found a personal language; we see types that will be encountered in much later works and are left in no doubt that the painter had a deep love of landscape.
South-west of the Piazza del Santo is the road to the Prato della Valle. Set in an irregular esplanade, this oval garden is surrounded by a canal lined with seventy-eight statues of illustrious citizens. It was willed into existence in 1775 by the enlightened Venetian podestà, Andrea Memmo, about whom we know so much from Andrea di Robilant’s A Venetian Affair (2003). At the south-east corner of the Prato is the large Basilica di Santa Giustina, reconstructed in the mid-sixteenth century. The interior is, as was intended, dominated by Veronese’s enormous and vibrant high altarpiece, the Martyrdom of Saint Giustina.
Scuola di Sant’Antonio: Titian, Miracle of the Speaking Infant, fresco, 1510–77 (detail).