This is one of many humorous repartees which tradition has preserved, and an instance of that readiness of wit — that prontezza — for which Giotto was admired; in fact he seems to have presented in himself, in the union of depth and liveliness, of poetic fancy and worldly sense, of independent spirit and polished suavity; an epitome of the national character of the Florentines, such as Sismondi has drawn it. We learn, from the hyperboles used by Boccaccio, the sort of rapturous surprise which Giotto’s imitation of life caused in his imaginative contemporaries, and which assuredly they would be far from exciting now; the unceremonious description of his person becomes more amusing when we recollect that Boccaccio must have lived in personal interaction with the painter, as did Petrarch and Dante. When Giotto died, in 1336, his friend Dante had been dead three years; Petrarch was 32, and Boccaccio 23-years-old. When Petrarch died, in 1374, he left his friend Francesco da Carrara, Lord of Padua, a Madonna painted by Giotto, as a most precious legacy, “a wonderful piece of work, of which the ignorant might overlook the beauties, but which the learned must regard with amazement.” All writers who approach the ancient glories of Florence, from Villani down to Sismondi, count Giotto in the roll of her greatest men. Antiquarians and connoisseurs in art search out and study the relics which remain to us, and recognise in them the dawn of that splendour which reached its zenith in the beginning of the sixteenth century. Visitors to Florence can look up to the Campanile with a feeling of wonder and delight, contemplating who the man must have been that conceived and executed a work so noble and supremely elegant; while, to the philosophic observer, Giotto appears as one of those few intuitively-endowed beings whose development springs from a source within — one of those unconscious instruments in the hand of destiny, who, in seeking their own profit and delight through the expansion of their own faculties, make unawares a step forward in human culture, lend a new impulse to human aspirations, and, just like the “bright morning star, day’s harbinger”, may be submerged in the succeeding radiance, but never forgotten.
Vasari affirms that Pietro Cavallini is the author of the mosaics in the tribune of Santa Maria-in-Trastevere. If this is true, he deserves high rank amongst the painters of his time, who preserved the style of the Cosmati and the traditions of the Roman school, combined with new Tuscan elements.
The birth of Pietro Cavallini has not been recorded. He was an artist of talent, and it would appear, extensively employed in Rome when Giotto visited the city. Vasari writes of his labours in many parts of Italy, but nothing is certain as to this except that he was employed at a good salary by King Robert of Naples in 1308. Unfortunately for Cavallini’s fame, his works in Southern Italy have perished, but we may still assign to him with some propriety a mosaic in San Crisogono in Rome, representing, on a large scale, the Virgin enthroned with the infant Christ in benediction, supported by St. James holding a book, and St. Chrysogonus, in a warrior’s dress, grasping a sword.
A slightly Byzantine character, more noticeable than in Santa Maria-in-Trastevere, would place this mosaic amongst the earlier works of the master. The Virgin, of a majestic presence, still displays feeble lower parts and an overproportioned head. Her eyes are somewhat large and open. The child’s head is regular and its attitude natural. The figures generally are long and well draped, and the colour pleasant.
Of the paintings in this church assigned to Cavallini by Vasari, not a trace remains, but there are still vestiges of frescoes in the church of Santa Maria-in-Trastevere, which, though damaged by time, are in the style of the mosaics of the tribune.
Above a door, to the right inside the entrance, is a half figure of the Virgin with the infant Christ holding an orb and giving a blessing. This group is of less intricacy than the mosaics in design, and whilst the large head, slender neck, and defective hands of the Virgin betray a certain feebleness, the marked outlines, angular draperies, and absence of relief by shadow prove that Cavallini was more skilled in mosaics than in painting. Another Virgin with a puny Christ in her arms, a little less defective than the foregoing, but much repainted in the draperies, may be noticed near the chief portal. In the porch outside are two frescoes, one of which represents the Annunciation with a figure of a prophet, the second depicts the same subject, with the addition of God sending the infant Christ bearing a cross to the Virgin.
Cavallini, here, is a follower of the Roman school, and an eminent master. It must have been fortunate for Giotto that, on his arrival, he should have found such a man ready to assist him. It was only natural that Cavallini, having helped a stranger in the mosaics of the old basilica of San Pietro, should subconsciously adopt something of that stranger’s style. It is clear, as Vasari states, that Cavallini was Giotto’s disciple and “mixed his manner with that of the Greeks.” After taking instruction in Rome he adopted, at least in mosaics, something of the Florentine manner. But he went still further, and in adorning the arches of San Paolo-fuorile-Mura, he was content to carry out the designs of Giotto even after Giotto left Rome.