Magnifico by Miles J. Unger Page B

Every Florentine patrician, not least the Medici themselves, spent countless hours serving on the boards ( operaii ) that supervised the great building and artistic projects in the city, making decisions on matters that now would be considered the creative province of the artist. Brunelleschi, himself a member of the ruling class, was exasperated by the constant interference of amateurs who thought they knew more about engineering than he did, but most artists understood that their role was to bring the client’s ideas to fruition. Discernment in matters of art was the mark of a true gentleman, as a popular fifteenth-century treatise on education reminds us: “The beauty and grace of objects, both natural ones and those made by man’s art, are things it is proper for men of distinction to be able to discuss with each other and appreciate.” Cosimo, in a letter to his cousin Averardo, makes an explicit connection between judgment in matters of art and the kinds of judgment demanded of those in positions of political leadership. “Although we do not have the expertise in feats of war of those who practice it continually,” he wrote, “nevertheless, seeing what others do, we are able to judge who does it better. I believe that although you are not a great painter, nevertheless you would judge the figures of Giotto to be better than those of Balzanello.”
    In a very real sense, Piero, as much as Gozzoli, must be regarded as the author of the Adoration. The dynastic and political ambitions of its patron are closely woven into the sacred scene. While the fresco ostensibly commemorates the birth of the Savior a millennium and a half earlier, the magnificent procession Gozzoli conjures—in a Tuscan landscape complete with rural castles based on the Medici villas at Trebbio and Cafaggiolo—is couched in terms that would have been familiar to contemporary Florentines. Even the elaborate costumes of the kings and their retinues are based on the gaudy processions that the Medici sponsored every three years on the Feast of the Epiphany. *
    Gozzoli’s painting is both a sacred narrative and, perhaps more important, a portrait of the Medici regime at the height of its power. Here, in a private setting, Piero could indulge to the full his taste for opulent display, disguising his ambition through an appropriately pious theme. If the political message were not obvious enough, Gozzoli—with Piero supplying the roster of names—painted in the scene all the leading figures associated with the Medici reggimento, including, in the entourage of the old king Melchior, many of those who would soon turn against him—Luca Pitti, Niccolò Soderini, and Dietisalvi Neroni.
    For centuries the youngest magus, Caspar, was assumed to be a portrait of the ten-year-old Lorenzo. The identification has a certain superficial plausibility. The young king’s head is framed by a laurel bush, a plant that was often used as the personal emblem of the Medici heir. Gozzoli, a master of fine detail, has embossed the harness of the king with the Medici palle and the family motto, SEMPER (always), and the king’s entourage includes portraits of Cosimo (riding a donkey), Piero, and important Medici allies like Galeazzo Maria Sforza (riding the white horse to Cosimo’s right).
    But for all Piero’s pride in his son, it is unthinkable that he would have placed him in a position where both he and Cosimo would be seen as supporting players in Lorenzo’s triumphal procession. And the fair, angelic face of Caspar bears no resemblance to Lorenzo, who was, in any case, far too young to play the role. Gozzoli has indeed included a portrait of the ten-year-old Lorenzo, but in a far less prominent position. To find Lorenzo we must look further back, in the great crowd of faces following in the young king’s wake. There, the swarthy complexion and shrewd, sharp features are immediately recognizable, standing out from amid the sea of less individualized faces,