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14 Dicembre 2020

Open Secrets: Allah’s Presence in Mantegna’s San Zeno Altarpiece


di Brian D. Steele

Iconocrazia 17/2020 - "Iconocratic Studies. In memory of Sarah Jordan Lippert" (Vol. 1), Saggi




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Andrea Mantegna’s pseudo-Arabic and Pseudo-Kufic motifs, like those of other Italian painters, are usually said to have no meaning other than to evoke associations with the geographical region of Early Christianity.* However, his San Zeno Altarpiece (1456–1460; Fig. 1), commissioned by Gregorio Correr, painted 1456–1459 while the artist resided in Padua, and installed in 1460,[1] depicts the name of Allah in a manner that intimates meaningful action. In this essay, I examine the work within the context of Correr’s interests in Paduan humanist circles; the Fall of Constantinople (1453) and Mantegna’s characterization of that city under Muslim rule as setting outside which occur events in Christ’s Passion; and the repetition of “Allah” within a carpet-border larger than those ordinarily woven on “small-pattern Holbein” rugs. Several factors converged to establish an elite audience profoundly engaged with the Ottoman Empire: increased trade in “Turkish” carpets during the second half of the century; Ludovico Trevisan’s naval service against the Ottomans (1556–1559); and the Council of Mantua (1459–1460), at which Pope Pius II lobbied for a crusade to re-establish Byzantium as both the ancient and a second Rome under the aegis of the papacy. One hallmark of this elite audience, like others of early modern culture, was their use of codes of secrecy that—by withholding and revealing knowledge—formed communities distinguished by their degree of access to privileged information and for whom, paradoxically, commonplaces might constitute “open secrets” that were presented as supposedly arcane knowledge for select viewers.[2] Thus, a general audience of Mantegna’s San Zeno Altarpiece is simultaneously warned of esoteric knowledge and invited to contemplate a vision of Divine Wisdom as the New Jerusalem by St. Peter’s bodily attitude (Fig. 2) that embodies Alberti’s choric figure “… who tells the spectators what is going on, and either beckons them with his hand to look, or with ferocious and forbidding glance challenges them not to come near, as if he wished their business to be secret (negotium secretum).”[3] For this general audience, Peter’s insistent regard first encourages participants and then, through subtleties of pose, directs contemplative attention to an orthodox presentation of Christ and the Virgin. However, the elite circle of Mantegna’s clientele possessed arcane knowledge that would lead them to meditate, as well, upon the contemporary relevance of Christ’s travail among the infidel within the predella and, above, to appreciate the artist’s insertion of Allah within a succession of faiths that culminates in resurgent Christianity.




Fig. 1: Andrea Mantegna, Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints, San Zeno Altarpiece, 1456–1459. San Zeno, Verona. Photo credit: BAMSphoto/Scala/Art Resource, NY.



Fig. 2: Andrea Mantegna, Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints, San Zeno Altarpiece, left panel with Saints Peter, Paul, John the Evangelist, and Zeno, 1456–1459. San Zeno, Verona. Photo credit: BAMSphoto/Scala/Art Resource, NY.

The patron Gregorio Correr, scion of a patrician Venetian family, engaged in humanist activity until renouncing study of secular letters in favor of Scripture after his ordination as priest (1431), although he continued to advise Christianized reading of classical authors: in his letter to Cecilia Gonzaga (1443), for example, he advocated study of the Church Fathers in conjunction with Virgil in order to attain a spiritual renovatio leading to eternal life.[4] Following ordainment, Correr was appointed in commendam (temporarily in charge) to San Zeno in 1443 but continued to live at Padua as one of its circle of humanists first centered around Bishop Pietro Donato and later including Felice Feliciano, Jacopo Antonio Marcello, and others who formed a tight-knit group of friends that patronized Mantegna.[5] Correr moved to Verona in 1445 where, confirmed in his appointment, he introduced observance of the reformed Benedictine discipline of Santa Giustina, focused increasingly on his abbacy and spiritual writings after 1448, but also continued to engage in affairs beyond Verona until his death in 1464.[6] Mantegna alluded to both Correr’s interests and locale: in the central panel (Fig. 3), the numeral 1443 inscribed on the carpet’s lower right edge commemorates the patron’s assumption to the monastery;[7] while the open-sided pavilion represented in classicizing style, however un-classical in its richness,[8] appealed to a Christian humanist sensibility of Antiquity’s renovatio as New Dispensation, since the putti with garlands and palms in the frieze behind Christ and the Virgin are based on an ancient spolia of Eros holding a torch built into the campanile at San Zeno but now evoke the Temple at Jerusalem.[9] The three-dimensional frame of the altarpiece itself clearly distances the painted stage behind it as a type of hortus conclusus that, lacking enclosing walls, more concretely refers to the tabernacle of Sapienta prefiguring the Virgin and the Incarnation, as in Ecclus. 24:12: “he that made me, resteth in my tabernacle.”[10] The painted tabernacle within the church-temple’s physical structure, in turn, connotes Celestial Jerusalem with the Virgin attended by the court of heaven, a choice that Gregorio Correr surely appreciated, since on his deathbed he recommended his soul to the Virgin and the celestial court triumphant.[11] Six of the eight saints hold books, evoking imposition of the reformed discipline that ordered monks to devote one-third of their time to the lectio divina, which comprised scriptural, devotional, and theological readings. In their absorption, the monks were to insinuate a mental vision of divinity that regards all creation, as depicted in the central panel.[12] At the right (Fig. 4) gather St. Benedict (founder of the Order), St. Lawrence, St. Gregory Nazianzus, and St. John the Baptist, all objects of local cults with the exception of St. Gregory. Addressing the viewer more cordially than does St. Peter, Nazianzus probably refers to Correr, based on their shared name and life stories that involved renouncing secular letters for Scripture and forsaking the world for the monastery; a twelve-lobed rosette on the back of his gloved left hand confers local status in replicating the shape of the thirteenth-century rose window on the church’s façade (Fig. 5).[13] More generally, Christian humanists of Correr’s generation considered Gregory of Nazianzus an exemplar of Christian eloquence that linked the ancient and Christian eras, with the ancients providing a foundation for the New dispensation and all the saints of early Christianity inhabiting the San Zeno Altarpiece.[14]




Fig. 3. Andrea Mantegna, Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints, San Zeno Altarpiece, center panel with Virgin and Child, 1456–1459. San Zeno, Verona. Photo credit: BAMSphoto/Scala/Art Resource, NY.



Fig. 4. Andrea Mantegna, Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints, San Zeno Altarpiece, right panel with Saints Benedict, Lawrence, Gregory and John the Baptist, 1456–1459. San Zeno, Verona. Photo credit: BAMSphoto/Scala/Art Resource, NY.



Fig. 5. San Zeno Maggiore, 967–1398, façade, seen at night. Verona. Photo credit: Murphy 1975/Depositphotos.com

Beyond his significance for Correr and Christian humanists, interest in Gregory of Nazianzus during the 1450s is highly suggestive: he was born in Cappadocia; preached against the fourth-century Arian heresy, as its bishop restored Constantinople to Catholic unity; and in retirement continued to discourse on the doctrine of the Trinity and the Unity of Godhead.[15] Concern for heresy and hope for restored Catholic unity assumed greater urgency after the fall of Constantinople in 1453, and Mantegna referred to the Turkish conquest of that city in the predella’s Agony in the Garden, now in Tours (Fig. 6). Michael Vickers noted that the tower in front of the walls is probably based on drawings made by Cyriacus of Ancona during his visit to Constantinople in 1418, since it recalls those of the Land Walls there—square in plan, constructed from alternating bands of brick and stone, and, owing to earthquakes, often restored—while Turkish crescents top towers now turned into minarets.[16] Some have dismissed these and the crescent-tipped minarets in Mantegna’s Crucifixion (Fig. 7) as generic references to locales under Saracenic control, but they seem to be the result of deliberation.[17] Most convincingly, based on an illustration in a manuscript that had belonged to Pietro Donato, Vickers identified in the Agony in the Garden the outline of the Hagia Sophia; in reviewing this argument, Marzia Faietti has underscored the historical identification of Constantinople, daughter of Rome, as the eschatological New Jerusalem, an idea well known in North Italy since at least 1411 and emphasized in the miniature with an inscription URBS CONSTANTINOPOLITANA NOVA ROMA.[18] The future Pope Pius II lamented in 1453 the profanation of the “Great Church’ in terms that recalled that wrought upon the Temple of Solomon in Flavius Josephus’s Jewish Wars,[19] a topical substitution that accentuated the contemporary despoliation of the Christian Temple at Constantinople. Moreover, during his second campaign in the Erimatani in Padua, 1453–1457, Mantegna had included tower and crescent in the Martyrdom of St. Christopher, effected at the Byzantine eparchy of Lycia in Anatolia that was ceded to the Ottomans in 1453, thus confirming that Paduan cognoscenti understood the significance of such references.[20] Typical of Mantegna’s practice, the classical references that he incorporated in Christian subjects established simultaneous references to what Jack M. Greenstein has termed the “narrated past” and the “authorial present,” in which material structures are subject to the forces of time and which humanist audiences understood as a sign of transitory endeavors and the abandonment of the values they embodied.[21] Whether or not one agrees that Mantegna intended to specify Constantinople per se, towers topped with Saracenic crescents and a building resembling the Hagia Sophia could hardly fail to conjure thoughts of Constantinople and its loss for an audience alarmed by the existential threat to Christendom posed by Mehmet II, who reportedly wished to conquer “Old Rome” just as he had subdued “New Rome.”[22]




Fig. 6. Andrea Mantegna, Agony in the Garden, 1456–1459. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Tours. Photo credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.



Fig. 7. Andrea Mantegna, Crucifixion, 1456–1459. Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.

For brothers practiced in the lectio divina who were privileged to meditate upon the predella of the altarpiece situated in the monks’ choir (Fig. 8), topical references to despoiled Constantinople—in combination with St. Gregory Nazianzus, above, who had restored unity to Eastern Catholicism and, at left, St. Peter’s visual exhortation to a contemplative vision of the godhead—stimulated their mental devotions. Stephen Campbell has argued that St. Peter’s injunction to contemplation extended to the predella scenes, which encouraged focused spiritual communion that corresponded to Ludovico Barbo’s exposition of the Benedictine meditative process in his Forma orationis et meditationis (c. 1440), itself dependent on the tradition of the devotio moderna and its emphasis on culminating visions of the Passion.[23] Exceeding by their very presence the requirements of liturgy, the scenes of the predella are united by a continuous horizon and facilitate a mental pilgrimage that spirals through a panorama marked by changing positions of the principal mountain and associated landscape details; viewed from its other side, the mountain’s cave isolates the Resurrection of Christ and nearly obscures any view of the cityscape beyond (Fig. 9). Meditative inspection discovers intimations of spiritual trance and inward communion in the slumbering apostles of the Agony in the Garden and in the sleeping guards at Christ’s Resurrection, grouped in such a fashion that they direct attention to the central Crucifixion itself, where cropped figures in the foreground allow imaginative self-projection as the unidentified individual accompanying a soldier.[24] For this audience, imagery reminding of the abasement of Christianity, loss of holy sites, and subjection to Saracenic control make the Passion scenes vivid and imaginatively relevant for empathetic projection and spiritual contemplation in the manner of the devotio moderna.




Fig. 8. The San Zeno Altarpiece, seen at an angle, 1456–1459. San Zeno, Verona. Photo credit: Nimatallah/Art Resource, NY.



Fig. 9. Andrea Mantegna, Resurrection of Christ, 1456–1459. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Tours. Photo credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.

The humanists and intellectuals who patronized Mantegna at Padua immersed themselves in appreciation of ancient art and literature, maintained close cultural ties with Venice, and also had good cause to hope for the restoration of Eastern Catholicism. This group included Gregorio Correr, Felice Feliciano, and Jacopo Antonio Marcello, who had retired from his position as provveditore for Venetian troops on the Terraferma after the Peace of Lodi in 1454 to focus on literary translations and accompanying illuminations.[25] Well acquainted with warfare, he and others in this circle would have rejoiced when the troops of Sultan Mehmet II were expelled from Hungary after the Siege of Belgrade in 1456; moreover, one of their own, Cardinal Ludovico Trevisan, actually engaged the Turkish threat from 1456 to 1459. Trevisan had been educated at Padua, owned property there after 1451, maintained contact with celebrated humanists including Francesco Barbaro, Guarino of Verona, Lorenzo Valla, and Francesco Filelfo, and served the Church hierarchy in administrative, diplomatic, and military posts.[26] Highly peripatetic, he nonetheless sustained interest in Padua well into the 1450s, serving also as Patriarch of Aquileia during the period when he led the naval campaign against the Ottomans as apostolic legate and general condottiere, winning acclaim for defeating the Turkish attack at Mytilene in 1457, and returning to Rome in 1459 to enter the train of Pius II. Prior to his accession as Pope Pius, Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini had exchanged correspondence with John of Segovia, Nicholas of Cusa, and John Germain, discussing intellectual, military, political, and moral challenges posed by Islam and suggesting possible solutions after 1453 in a “mindset of fear and hope” that nonetheless gave Islam a distinct role in world history.[27] This nexus of Italian leaders coalesced at the Council of Mantua in 1459–1460, at which Pius II argued for a Crusade against the Ottomans that would re-establish Byzantium as a Christian capital. Mantegna’s patron, Jacopo Antonio Marcello, attended, and Trevisan acted as intermediary for the Venetians during a controversy involving the potential appointment of Gregorio Correr as apostolic protonotary. Surprisingly, Trevisan voted against papal plans for a crusade,[28] but Duke Ludovico II Gonzaga supported the venture; “he felt that he was involved in Paleologan vicissitudes through family ties and traditions, and … wished to present his own city and court as ideal heirs of Byzantium and the imperial court.”[29] Although interest in the crusade waned rapidly following Pius II’s death in 1460, heightened appreciation of Muslim dominance in the land of Christ’s Passion might be expected among Paduan-Mantuan intellectuals, given the Council attendees’ personal and religious affiliations.

Intimates of this audience possessed sophisticated knowledge that allowed them to appreciate the Turkish carpet with the Kufic border that Mantegna depicted beneath the Virgin’s feet (Fig. 3). Typically, scholars dismiss pseudo-Kufic characters, that is, Kufic script used in a non-Arabic context, together with pseudo-Arabic calligraphic script, as decorative techniques used to evoke orientalizing luxury or to demonstrate artistic virtuosity.[30] Others assign general spiritual connotations to placing valuable carpets that were normally displayed on tables or walls under the Virgin’s feet as sign of her rank as Mother of God,[31] ideas apposite to Mantegna’s Virgin, too, even though his is not the usual Turkish Anatolian type known as a “small-pattern Holbein” carpet, given its uncharacteristically wide border. As Ronald Lightbown noted, “The Cufic letters of the border … are … too regularized and over-elaborate for this type of carpet, and may have been taken from some other Islamic source, such as a manuscript.”[32] Moreover, two observers aver that the border clearly reads “Allah”: the first, Mr. Ahmad Rafiei, observed the term in traditional Kufic (Fig. 10, left), an angular form of script used during the seventh through tenth centuries that emphasized simplicity and readability; the second, Ms. Norah Alqabbaa, identified it in the more elaborate design that has been termed Kufesque (Fig. 10, right), a decorative tendency in use in the eleventh through fifteenth centuries that sacrificed readability (the large curve indicated here abbreviates the doubled “L”).[33] Assuming these native-speakers did not read their own knowledge into script, the repetition of “Allah” embodies the spiritual values of order and infinitude that he represents, and occasional Italian observers of the era seem to have understood that spirituality was to be associated with such rugs, since inventories sometimes refer to them as tapedi a moschetti (mosque-like prayers), all concepts that could be applied appropriately to Mantegna’s Virgin and Christ in the San Zeno Altarpiece.[34] For others, perhaps, Kufic may have assumed a talismanic presence like Hebrew,[35] which required only recognition that the lettering placed within the icon conveyed what Christians considered to be pseudo-divine knowledge; as such, it constituted a reward to cognoscenti able to decipher meaning that the uninitiated could not.




Fig. 10. San Zeno Altarpiece, Drawing of Lower Right Corner of Carpet in Central Panel: Left, ‘Allah’ in Kufic; Right, ‘Allah’ in Foliated Kufesque. Photo credit: Emily Maria Martinez

Mantegna’s altarpiece was painted during a brief period of time when such carpets might be understood symbolically rather than simply as luxury objects. After the fall of Constantinople, trade with the Ottomans quickly resumed in 1454 when Venetians obtained permission to settle there and engage in commerce.[36] By 1463, Venetian trade with Constantinople exceeded that under Byzantine rule, and it continued to expand even after the Republic engaged in a sixteen-year war with Mehmet II, owing to his occupation of Bosnia and Greece.[37] Increasing trade with the Ottomans was guaranteed in part by imperial promises of safety to non-Muslim communities known as ahdnâmes, which conferred valuable concessions on the Venetians in 1403, 1446, 1453, and 1478.[38] Late in the century, then, increased trade and familiarity with carpets facilitated usage in paintings as luxury items and stimulated domestic imitations, as one other of Mantegna’s few depictions of carpets seems to attest.[39] For Ludovico Gonzaga at Mantua, Mantegna frescoed the Camera Picta between 1465 and 1474 (Fig. 11),[40] in which Ludovico’s chair rests on a carpet similar to that in the San Zeno Altarpiece (Fig. 12)—but the border is simpler, the angular Kufic is illegible, and, although the Kufesque at bottom is still discernable, its repetitive quality ceases with the vertical turn along the carpet’s outer edge. The legibility of “Allah” under the feet of Ludovico may intimate the position he had espoused at the Council of Mantua when he advocated for a crusade against the infidel. Alternatively, simplification suggests decreased interest in details that carried symbolic meaning, perhaps owing to the cessation of crusading efforts or to development of domestic imitations, since by 1473 “Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga sent his servant Barisano from Bologna to learn carpet weaving at the court of Ludovico Gonzaga and his wife, Barbara of Brandenberg … [and] in 1494 Barbara bought a Turkish slave to make carpets there.”[41] By the fourth quarter of the century, then, many viewers were probably more likely to perceive Mantegna’s carpet in the San Zeno Altarpiece as a luxury object than when he had alluded to its symbolic significance when it was first displayed in 1460.




Fig. 11. Andrea Mantegna, The Court of the Gonzaga Family, 1465–1474. Camera degli Sposi, Palazzo Ducale, Mantua. Photo Credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.



Fig. 12. Andrea Mantegna, The Court of the Gonzaga Family, detail, 1465–1474. Camera degli Sposi, Palazzo Ducale, Mantua. Photo Credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.

The importation of slaves and the acknowledgement of ahdnâmes’ intimate knowledge of Arabic, a tradition richly explored by Deborah Howard,[42] helps to explain the significance of prayer rugs and to translate phrases, which the San Zeno Altarpiece also indexes. At left (Fig. 2), from center, stand SS. Zeno, John the Evangelist, Paul, and Peter. The book held by St. John is influenced by oriental bindings, while that held by St. Zeno depicts a Mamluk-style binding with pseudo-Arabic border. Mantegna’s is one of the earliest representations of bindings produced in Padua and Venice that used oriental designs and techniques of gilding, production that was stimulated by none other than the Venetian patrician resident in Padua, Jacopo Antonio Marcello. The process entailed pressing gold leaf into leather with heated dies and blind tooling with painting in gold, so requisite skills would have required close engagement with Islamic craftsmen in order to learn the technical secrets of their trade, which often were carefully guarded.[43] Actual Paduan-Venetian bindings of this type are known to have been produced as early as 1460,[44] and the techniques, patterns, and sumptuous results prompted imitations by craftsmen across Europe not only for books but also for lacquerware of various types. This indexical evidence of knowledge of Arabic in Paduan circles supplements more direct evidence related to issues in translating the Qur’an. Although the first Venetian printed edition of the Qur’an in Arabic dates only to 1537–1538, already in 1498 a certain Democrito Terracina had asked the Republic for a monopoly on prints in “Arabic, Moorish, Syrian, Armenian, and Barbaric languages.”[45] Even these instances are comparatively late, since the study of Arabic in Italy is documented as early as 1310 among the Dominicans in Piacenza, who were motivated by the intent to convert Muslims; and an Arabic-Latin dictionary produced in Spain at this time was acquired in the late fourteenth century by the Florentine Niccolò de Niccoli (c. 1364–1437).[46] Whether motivated by curiosity, polemics, or philological interests, early translators had produced three prime versions that served as the basis for subsequent editions: the first was produced during a visit to Iberia by Robert of Ketton in 1142–1143; the second by Mark of Toledo in 1210; and a third by the collaboration between a clergyman and a learned Muslim. Juan de Segovia, Franciscan and former bishop, withdrew to the Priory of Aiton in Savoy in 1453 and worked with the Muslim scholar ‘Īsà b. Ŷābir (also known as Yça Gidelli), who traveled there in 1455, to produce a Spanish translation from the Arabic and a Latin translation from the Spanish. No longer extant, this polyglot translation of Arabic, Spanish, and Latin is thought to have been presented in 1455 to Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, soon to become Pope Pius II (1458–1464), whose entourage Cardinal Trevisan joined in 1459.[47] The translations indicate a desire to know the contents of the Qur’an, while side-by-side presentation facilitated recognition of individual terms such as the name Allah precisely at the moment when Mantegna created the San Zeno Altarpiece.

For the elite audience herein described, the open-air pavilion situated behind the physical frame creates a hyper-classicizing tabernacle for Sapientia, emphasized by a frieze with putti holding swags between palm trees evoking Ecclus. 24:18 (as noted), in which Wisdom is compared to the palm exalted in Cades.[48] Above the Virgin, a glass cesendello marks her significance as symbolic altar (Fig. 13);[49] marks the hour as Vespers when lamps are lit and the Magnificat sung to honor she who consented to the Incarnation during the evening and bore Christ in the evening of the world;[50] and marks the ensemble as an exhortation to follow the example of Christ and Saints as the light of mankind and church that shines in the darkness.




Fig. 13. Andrea Mantegna, The Court of the Gonzaga Family, detail, 1465–1474. Camera degli Sposi, Palazzo Ducale, Mantua. Photo Credit: Scala/Art Resource, NY.

The final verses of the chapter praising Sapientia articulate an evangelizing tone, providing hope that a now-Muslim Constantinople will assume its role as the New Jerusalem: Wisdom speaks,[51]

For I make doctrine to shine forth … [and] declare it afar off. I will penetrate to all the lower parts of the earth, and will behold all that sleep, and will enlighten all that hope in the Lord. I will yet pour out doctrine as prophecy … will leave it to them that seek wisdom, and will not cease to instruct their offspring even to the holy age … See ye that I have not laboured for myself only, but for all that seek out the truth. [emphases added]

And, for the elite who viewed Gregory of Nazianzus as restorer of Catholic unity, the Magnificat’s last verses intimate Christian error and merciful restoration:[52]

He hath shewed might in His arm: He hath scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart. / He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble. / He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away. / He hath received Israel His servant, being mindful of His mercy.

The elite contemplative audience concerned with Ottoman incursion and cognizant of Allah’s name, then, beholds a heavenly court triumphant ensconced in a tabernacle that supersedes its ancient forebears in elaborateness. At the throne’s base, sculpted putti derived from ancient Roman sarcophagus reliefs flank a blind oculus with gothicizing trefoil tracery, themselves cloaked in historical sequence with the name of Allah continually repeating in the overlying Islamic carpet, and all serving as foundation for the Vessel of Incarnation above. She gazes beyond congregants toward the rose window of San Zeno’s façade, which is echoed in the roseate roundel of the marble throne-back gleaming behind her halo. Resonating forms situate her tabernacle firmly in the abbey church at Verona, a locale that by 1451 styled itself “another Jerusalem,”[53] that is, the Celestial Jerusalem of redeeming Christ as always already revealed by Divine Wisdom. For the most privileged viewers of Mantegna’s painting, the open secret of Allah’s name in the San Zeno Altarpiece posed not mystery but hope.


* Versions of this paper were presented at meetings of the South Central Renaissance Conference and the Renaissance Society of America. For their discussion and suggestions on these occasions, I thank among others the late Sarah J. Lippert, Liana de Girolami Cheney, William R. Levin, Ellen Longman, and Jill Carrington.

[1] Ronald Lightbown, Mantegna: With a Complete Catalogue of the Paintings, Drawings, and Prints, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1986, pp. 406–408; and, for Mantegna’s entry into Gonzaga service 1459–1460, pp. 76–77. The painting has suffered losses to a central motif in the crowning lunette, and the cornice-shaped base that separates predella from the superstructure probably dates to the early sixteenth-century removal to its placement on four consoles at the rear wall of the apse. For comprehensive examination, see Lionello Puppi, Il trittico di Andrea Mantegna per la Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore in Verona, Centro per la formazione professionale grafica, Verona, 1972. For reconstruction of the ground plan, see Michael A. Jacobsen, “Perspective in Some of Mantegna’s Early Panel Paintings,” Arte Veneta, 36 (1982), pp. 20–30; and for semiotic examination of Mantegna’s fictive spaces, see Felix Thürlemann and Cheryl Spiese McKee, “Fictionality in Mantegna’s San Zeno Altarpiece: Structures of Mimesis and the History of Painting,” New Literary History, 20, no. 3 (Spring 1988), pp. 747–761.

[2] See Timothy McCall and Sean Roberts, “Introduction: Revealing Early Modern Secrecy,” in Timothy McCall, Sean Roberts, and Giancarlo Fiorenza (eds.), Visual Cultures of Secrecy in Early Modern Europe, Truman State University Press, Kirksville, MO, pp. 1–23, here pp. 2–4.

[3] Leon Battista Alberti, On Painting, Cecil Grayson (trans.) and Martin Kemp (ed.), Penguin, New York, 1991, pp. 77–78. See also McCall and Roberts, op. cit., p. 10; and Stephen J. Campbell, “Lo spazio di contemplazione: Mantegna, Gregorio Correr e la pala d’altare di San Zeno,” in Andrea Mantegna, l’impronta del genio, Vol. 2: Iconografie classiche nelle opera padovane di Mantegna: riflessioni sul caso dell apala di San Zeno, L.S. Olschki, Florence, 2010, pp. 168–170.

[4] For Correr, see David Chambers, Jane Martineau, and Rodolfo Signorini, “Mantegna and the Men of Letters,” in Jane Martineau (ed.), Andrea Mantegna, Electa, Milan, 1992, pp. 8–30, here p. 14; and Paolo Preto, “Correr, Gregorio,” Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 29 (1983), para. 1–2, 4, and 13–15. For his letter to Gonzaga, see Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., p. 164; and Jai Imbrey, Colin Eisler (advisor), Dennis Geronimus, and William Hood, “Fictive Frames in Mantegna’s Devotional Art,” ProQuest Dissertations and Theses, 2013, pp. 147–148.

[5] See Chambers et al., op. cit., pp. 10–14.

[6] Preto, op. cit., para. 7–12; and Lightbown, op. cit., pp. 65–66.

[7] Lightbown, op. cit., pp. 65, 406, and 497; and Puppi, op. cit., fig. 59. The priming on the extreme right edge of the left panel is inscribed PER TE / PARTE / PORTO in burnt umber, and other stray marks are present.

[8] The grisaille roundels on the pillars probably also were interpreted in accordance with Christian humanist ideas but cannot be explored here. For useful suggestions, see Stephen J. Campbell, “Cloud-Poiesis: Perception, Allegory, Seeing the Other,” in Henri de Riedmatten, Nicolas Galley, Jean-François Corpataux, and Valentin Nussbaum (eds.), Senses of Sight: Towards a Multisensorial Approach of the Image: Essays in Honor of Victor I. Stoichita, “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, Rome, 2015, pp. 7–36, here pp. 15–16 and 20–21. See also Beverly Louise Brown, “As Time Goes By: Temporal Plurality and the Antique in Andrea Mantegna’s Saint Sebastian and Giovanni Bellini’s Blood of the Redeemer,” Artibus et Historiae, 34, no. 76 (2013), Papers Dedicated to Peter Humfrey: Part I, pp. 21–48, here pp. 27–28 and 42. All other citations of Stephen J. Campbell’s work herein refer to his essay “Lo spazio di contemplazione.”

[9] Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., p. 172. Alternatively, the putti may connote resurrection; see Imbrey, op. cit., p. 148. Mantegna based his architectural motifs on a variety of sources including antiquities, Jacopo Bellini’s sketches, coins, gems, and Byzantine sources. See Matteo Ceriana, “L’architettura della Pala di San Zeno,” in Sergio Marinelli and Paola Marin (eds.), Mantegna e le arti a Verona 1450–1500, Marsilio Editori, Venice, 2006, pp. 53–63; and Margherita Bolla, “Mantegna e l’Antico a Verona,” in Marinelli and Marin, op. cit., pp. 83–90.

[10] Cited in Lightbown, op. cit., p. 66; on the structure, see also Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., pp. 170–171; and Imbrey, op. cit., pp. 144–147.

[11] Lightbown, op. cit., p. 68.

[12] Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., p. 174, equates the central panel with Nicholas of Cusa’s De visione Dei: the presence of God’s vigilant vision acknowledges the faithful and transforms depicted and physical space into a theater of contemplative action.

[13] See Lucia Collavo, “Da Gregorio a Gregorio. Ricostruzione dell’ambiente culturale della pala di San Zeno,” Arte Veneta, 56 (2000), pp. 64–71, here pp. 67–68: the image of Gregory Nazianzus, rarely represented at this time, may even be a disguised portrait of Gregorio Correr. The monastery of San Zeno strongly identified with Verona; see Gian Maria Variani, “Verona, San Zeno e Gregorio Correr,” in Marinelli and Marin, op. cit., pp. 47–48 and fig. 1.

[14] Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., 164–166. Correr’s friend Ambrogio Traversari translated some of Gregory’s works, and this is the probable conduit to Correr; see Lightbown, op. cit., pp. 71–72. See also Charles L. Stinger, Humanism and the Church Fathers: Ambrogio Traversari (1386–1439) and Christian Antiquity in the Italian Renaissance, SUNY Press, Albany, 1977, esp. pp. 146–148.

[15] Oswald Hunter-Blair, “St. Gregory of Nazianzus,” The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 7, Robert Appleton Company, New York, 1910, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07010b.htm, accessed 11 Apr. 2018.

[16] Michael Vickers, “Mantegna and Constantinople,” Burlington Magazine, 118, no. 883 (Oct. 1976), pp. 680–687, here pp. 680–684. The more refined version in London, c. 1458–1460, even includes the Column of Justinian, with spiraling reliefs rising from right to left and topped by an equestrian statue, unlike any such columns in Rome.

[17] E.g., Keith Christiansen, Andrea Mantegna, Padua and Mantua, Braziller, New York, 1994, pp. 33–34, 54, 84, 86, and 88. For Christiansen, Mantegna’s landscapes often are idyllic rather than topographical; he took inspiration from ancient monuments without depicting them with archaeological exactitude, and he combined them with contemporary architecture in a way that created a sort of classical fantasy. See also J.H. Whitfield, “Mantegna and Constantinople,” Burlington Magazine, 119 (1977), p. 41, JStor content downloaded from 132.174.254.127, 5 Dec. 2017.

[18] Marzia Faietti, “From Solomon’s Temple to Hagia Sophia: A Metaphorical Journey for Andrea Mantegna,” in Alina Payne (ed.), Dalmatia and the Mediterranean: Portable Archaeology and the Poetics of Influence, Brill, Leiden, 2014, pp. 115–144, here pp. 120–130, ProQuest Ebook Central, accessed 12 Mar. 2019. Faietti notes that Manuel Chrysoloras’s Elogio delle due città (1411), which praised the glories of ancient Rome as a prelude to those of its daughter Constantinople, had been given to his pupil Guarino Veronese and later was translated into Latin by a Veronese humanist in 1454.

[19] Faietti, op. cit., pp. 134–135.

[20] Venetians, too, acknowledged in art the threat represented by the power of Mehmet II during the years 1458–1460. According to Richard John Goy, Building Renaissance Venice: Patrons, Architects and Builders,1430–1500, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2006, pp. 144–149, they constructed the Arsenale Gate under Doge Pasquale Malipiero as a celebration of Venetian naval power, the triumph of Christian Venice as new Rome, and an expression of Venice as “bastion of Christianity against the ‘infidel’ usurper in the east” (p. 144).

[21] Jack M. Greenstein, Mantegna and Painting as Historical Narrative, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1992, pp. 8 and 66–70 (referring to the Agony in the Garden’s cityscape as Jerusalem rather than Constantinople).

[22] Norman Housely, The Later Crusades, 1274–1580: From Lyons to Alcazar, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1992, pp. 94–99 and 111.

[23] Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., pp. 176–179. Although monks at St. Zeno would have meditated in the manner promoted by Barbo and Correr, in visualizing the scenes, Mantegna himself may have had recourse to more traditional texts such as Pseudo-Bonaventure’s Meditations on the Passion of Christ, which likewise enjoined an empathetic response to events of the Passion; see Caroline Campbell, “The Agony in the Garden,” in Caroline Campbell, Dagmar Korbacher, Neville Rowley, and Sarah Vowles (eds.), Mantegna & Bellini, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2018, pp. 135–139, here pp. 136–137.

[24] Imbrey, op. cit., p. 141; Thürlemann and Spiese McKee, op. cit., pp. 757–760. In the icon itself, painted projections (skirts of the angelic lute players, the Baptist’s right foot, etc.) operate on the border of human space and underscore the appeal to individual meditation.

[25] See Margaret L. King, “Jacopo Antonio Marcello and the War for the Lombard Plain,” in Continuità e Discontinuità nella storia politica, economica e religiosa: Studi in onore di Aldo Stella, Neri Pozza, Venice, 1993, pp. 63–88, here pp. 63–83; and Giuseppe Gullino, “Marcello, Jacopo Antonio,” Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. 69, Treccani, 2007, http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/jacopo-antonio-marcello_(Dizionario-Biografico)/, accessed 24 Dec. 2017. For the Paduan circle of humanists and intellectuals, see also Patricia Fortini Brown, Venice and Antiquity: The Venetian Sense of the Past, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1996, pp. 117–126; Brigit Blass-Simmen, “Cultural Transfer in Microcosm, Padua and Venice: An Introduction,” in Brigit Blass-Simmen and Stefan Weppelmann (eds.), Padua and Venice: Transcultural Exchange in the Early Modern Age, Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin, 2017, pp. 1–18, here pp. 1–14; and Debra Pincus, “Calligraphy, Epigraphy, and the Paduan-Venetian Culture of Letters in the Early Renaissance,” in Blass-Simmen and Weppelmann, op. cit., pp. 41–60.

[26] For Trevisan’s education, intellectual contacts, and career, see Pio Paschini, Lodovico cardinal camerlengo: 1465, Lateranum, Rome, 1939, pp. 7–8, 27–23, 184–187, and 220–233; and D.S. Chambers, Popes, Cardinals and War: The Military Church in Renaissance and Early Modern Europe, I.B. Tauris, London, 2006, p. 16. Mantegna painted a portrait of Trevisan (1459–1460), for which see Lightbown, op. cit., pp. 408–411; and Sarah Vowles, “‘Truly Lifelike and Real’: The Portraits of Mantegna and Bellini,” in Caroline Campbell, Korbacher, Rowley, and Vowles, op. cit., pp. 206–217.

[27] Stephano Carboni, “Moments of Vision: Venice and the Islamic World, 828–1797,” in Carboni (ed.), Venice and the Islamic World, 828–1797, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2007, pp. 12–35, here pp. 17–18: Carboni notes that “the vast epistolary exchange among these four men remains the best attempt in pre-Renaissance Europe to address the full complexity of the problem and give Islam a distinct role in world history.” On their occasionally conflicted attitudes, however, see James Hankins, “Renaissance Crusaders: Humanist Crusade Literature in the Age of Mehmed II,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 49 (1995), pp. 111–207, here p. 128.

[28] He judged them to be sophomoric (puerili): see Chambers, op. cit., pp. xiv, 15, 49, 56, and 69–70; Paschini, op. cit., pp. 190–194; and Keith Christiansen, “Portraits,” in Martineau, op. cit., pp. 333–335. For the Council’s aftermath, see Housley, op. cit., pp. 105–110.

[29] Faetti, op. cit., pp. 133–134.

[30] See, e.g., Elisa Grilli di Cortona, “The Representation of Turkish Carpets in Venetian Renaissance Paintings: Art and Commercial Relationship Between this Italian Sea Republic and the Middle East,” SOAS (School of Asian and African Studies), University of London, no date, pp. 6–11. For Arabic-inspired pseudo-calligraphy, see Shafaq Hasan, “An Examination of the Multiple and Varied Uses of Arabic-Inspired Pseudo Calligraphy within Italian Religious and Secular Artwork from the 14th to 15th Centuries,” MA thesis, Brandeis University, Boston, 2014; for pseudo-Kufic, see Tahera H. Tajbhai, “A Fearsome Beauty: Material and Cultural Exchange between Venice and the Islamic Near East,” MA thesis, CUNY Academic Works, New York, 2016, http://academicworks.cuny.edu/ hc_sas_etds/65, p. 40. For rugs and script as demonstrations of virtuosity and luxury, see Anna Contadini and Claire Norton (eds.), The Renaissance and the Ottoman World, Ashgate, Burlington, VT, 2013, pp. 26–27; Rosamond E. Mack, Bazaar to Piazza: Islamic Trade and Italian Art, 1300–1600, University of California Press, Berkeley, 2002, pp. 4–10 and 67–68; and Lightbown, op. cit., p. 71.

[31] E.g., for Gentile Bellini’s Madonna and Child Enthroned (c. 1480), see Caroline Campbell and Alan Chong, Bellini and the East, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2006, pp. 29 and 60–61; see also Contadini and Norton, op. cit., p. 40.

[32] Lightbown, op. cit., p. 71; see also Robert Pinner and Jackie Stanger, “Kufic Borders on Small Pattern Holbein Carpets,” Hali, 1, no. 4 (1978), pp. 335–358.

[33] Both observers are doctoral students in Fine Arts at Texas Tech University, Lubbock, TX. Kufesque is usually considered to be illegible on rugs, the term “Allah” suggested only by the tall-short-tall reiteration that created a letter-like repetition lacking meaning; see Irene A. Bierman, “The Significance of Arabic Script on Carpets,” Hali, 5, no. 1 (1982), pp. 18–22, here pp. 19–20.

[34] Mack, op. cit., p. 84; and Di Cortona, op. cit., p. 12. On the veracity and legibility of inscriptions, see Richard Ettinghausen, “Arabic Epigraphy: Communication or Symbolic Affirmation,” in Dickran K. Kouymjian (ed.), Near Eastern Numismatics, Iconography, Epigraphy and History: Studies in Honor of George C. Miles, American University of Beirut, Beirut, 1974, pp. 297–318, here pp. 299–307. Elaborate texts may become puzzles to be solved by only a few or may, within a religious precinct, constitute a symbolic affirmation of faith. Lettering rather than content constitutes the message.

[35] See Giancarlo Fiorenza, “Hebrew, Hieroglyphs, and the Secrets of Divine Wisdom in Ludovico Mazzolino’s Devotional Paintings,” in McCall, Roberts, and Fiorenza, op. cit., pp. 126–148, esp. 133–141.

[36] See J.M. Rogers, “Mehmed the Conqueror: Between East and West,” in Caroline Campbell and Chong, op. cit., pp. 80–97, here p. 8; and, for long-term shifts in functions and perception leading to purely decorative use, see Contadini and Norton, op. cit., pp. 6–37. On complexities in Italian trading of luxury goods throughout the eastern Mediterranean and its increase by c. 1475, see Mack, op. cit., pp. 22–23 and 76–78. For use of intermediaries to ease language barriers, see Julian Raby, “The Serenissima and the Sublime Porte: Art in the Art of Diplomacy, 1453–1600,” in Stephano Carboni (ed.), Venice and the Islamic World 828–1797, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2007, pp. 90–119, here pp. 91–92; and for merchants’ and diplomats’ roles in Venetian understanding and appreciation of Mamluk, Ottoman, and Persian bindings and textiles, see Carboni, op. cit., pp. 23 and 31–32. Owing to trade activity, Venetians were foremost in Catholic Europe in their sophistication with regard to knowledge and admiration of textiles, carpets, and other material products of Islamic culture; see Walter B. Denny, “Oriental Carpets and Textiles in Venice,” in Carboni, Venice and the Islamic World 828–1797, pp. 174–191, here p. 175.

[37] Rogers, op. cit., p. 81.

[38] See Stephen Ortega, Negotiating Transcultural Relations in the Early Modern Mediterranean: Ottoman-Venetian Encounters, Ashgate, Burlington, VT, 2014, pp. 115–116. As early as 1361, such ahdnâmes had granted Venetians limited trading privileges; an important one in 1403 granted especially beneficial concessions that were extended in 1446 and 1453; in 1478, the Ottomans issued yet another ahdnâme at the conclusion of the Ottoman/Venetian war.

[39] Mantegna may have pictured a carpet in his Death of the Virgin, c. 1460, but legibility of its border was evidently not a concern; see Martineau, op. cit., pp. 159–160.

[40] Christiansen, op. cit., pp. 88–92.

[41] Mack, op. cit., pp. 91–92.

[42] Deborah Howard, Venice & the East: The Impact of the Islamic World on Venetian Architecture 1100–1500, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2000, pp. 37–45. By 1400, Venetian merchants had considerable autonomy in movement and habitation in Mamluk Egypt, owing to concessions in trading treaties; and, on his visit to Alexandria in 1483, Felix Faber observed that Venetians discussed their trade with Saracens in the fondaci. Books, too, were imported from the East. Howard, op. cit., p. 59, cites the case of merchant Stefano Ravagnino, who died in Damascus in 1455; the inventory of his possessions included books from the bazaar (libereti de bazaro), and other inventories even specify the type of paper used in books listed therein. On the importance of merchant trade in the education of young patricians, see also Giorgio Rota, Under Two Lions: On the Knowledge of Persia in the Republic of Venice (ca. 1450–1797), Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Wien, 2009, pp. 23–38.

[43] Lightbown, op. cit., p. 71; Mack, op. cit., p. 127. See also Sean Roberts, “Tricks of the Trade: The Technical Secrets of Early Modern Engraving,” in McCall, Roberts, and Fiorenza, op. cit., pp. 182–207. Artists like Mantegna jealously guarded technical secrets since such efforts had monetary value, but artists’ abilities also distinguished them from work by competitors and successors: see Fiorenza, op. cit., esp. pp. 199–203.

[44] See Carboni, “Catalogue of Exhibited Works,” Venice and the Islamic World 828–1797, p. 334; and Ernst J. Grube, “Venetian Lacquer and Bookbindings of the 16th Century,” in Carboni, Venice and the Islamic World 828–1797, pp. 230–243, here pp. 236–238.

[45] Carboni, op. cit., p. 317.

[46] See Contadini and Norton, op. cit., pp. 25–26.

[47] Katarzyna K. Starczewska, Latin Translation of the Qur’ān (1518/1621) Commissioned by Egidio da Viterbo: Critical Edition and Case Study, Harrassowitz Verlag, Wiesbaden, 2018, pp. XXIV–XXVI; on Juan of Segovia, see also Thomas E. Burman, Reading the Qur’an in Latin Christendom, 1140–1560, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, 2007, ProQuest Ebook Central, Accessed 5 April 2018, pp. 43–44 and 178–197. For translators’ combination of polemic engagement and scrupulous philological study, and their interests in collaboration and consultation, see Burman, op. cit., pp. 36–59, 187–188, and 196–197. The polyglot production commissioned by Egidio da Viterbo in 1518 provided a multi-column text in Arabic, Spanish, Latin, and commentary; Starczewska, op. cit., pp. XXVII–XXVIII, describes it as four-column; Burman, op. cit., pp. 185–86 (working from the introduction to the translation), refers to it as having Arabic and Castilian in two columns, with an interlinear Latin translation in the Castilian translation.

[48] For this and the following concepts, see Lightbown, op. cit., pp. 70–71, who cites Durandus’s Rationale Divinorum Officiorum, a thirteenth-century work read until well into the sixteenth century.

[49] The cesendello, or votive lamp with flared lip to accommodate a ring for suspension, was used in both Christian and Muslim sacred and secular contexts; see Carboni, “Catalogue of Exhibited Works,” p. 343; and Rosa Barovier Mentasti and Stephano Carboni, “Enameled Glass between the Eastern Mediterranean and Venice,” in Carboni, Venice and the Islamic World 828–1797, pp. 252–275, here p. 269.

[50] See Hugh Henry, “Magnificat,” The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 9, Robert Appleton Company, New York, 1910, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09534a.htm, accessed 15 Dec. 2017.

[51] Ecclus. 24:44–47; translation from The Latin Vulgate Old Testament Bible, https://vulgate.org/ot/ecclesiasticus_24.htm, accessed 31 Aug. 2020: quoniam doctrinam quasi antelucanum inlumino omnibus et enarrabo illam usque in longinquo / penetrabo inferiores partes terrae / et inspiciam omnes dormientes et inluminabo sperantes in Deo; adhuc doctrinam quasi prophetiam effundam / et relinquam illam quaerentibus sapientiam et non desinam in progenies illorum usque in aevum sanctum. Videte quoniam non soli mihi laboravi sed omnibus exquirentibus veritatem. References to seeking wisdom and enlightenment may also have pleased Gregorio Correr individually.

[52] The traditional Roman Catholic text reads:

My soul doth magnify the Lord,
And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
Because He hath regarded the humility of his handmaid: for behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
Because He that is mighty hath done great things to me, and holy is His name.
And His mercy is from generation unto generations to them that fear Him.
He hath shewed might in His arm: He hath scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble.
He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He hath received Israel His servant, being mindful of His mercy.
As He spoke to our fathers; to Abraham and his seed forever.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,
As it was in the beginning is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen

Divinum Officium,” www.divinumofficium.com, retrieved 14 Mar. 2018; and in the Nova Vulgata:

Magnificat anima mea Dominum,
Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo,
Quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae, ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes.
Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est: et sanctum nomen eius,
Et misericordia eius a progenie in progenies timentibus eum.

Fecit potentiam in brachio suo;
Dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.
Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles.
Esurientes implevit bonis, et divites dimisit inanes.
Suscepit Israel, puerum suum, recordatus misericordiae suae,
Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, Abraham et semini eius in saecula.
Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto,: sicut erat in principio,
Et nunc, et semper, et in Secula saeculorum. Amen.

Vulgate Bible, “EVANGELIUM SECUNDUM LUCAM – Nova Vulgata, Novum Testamentum,” www.vatican.va, retrieved 14 Mar. 2018.

[53] Stephen J. Campbell, op. cit., pp. 171–173. Renovatio was important to Verona because, according to tradition, the abbey had been founded by Pippin and Otto I and subsequently rebuilt. By 1450, the Cancelliere Silvestro Lando and others already were praising Verona as another Jerusalem (“minore Geruslamme”) on account of the abundance of holy sites there, including the Mount of Olives, Mount Calvary, Nazareth, Bethlehem, and the Sepulcher, all of which compared to Antiquity (“gloria di antichità”); as a result, Verona “triumphans” was like the universal church; see Giuseppina De Sandre Gasparini and Maria Clara Rossi, “Vita religiosa a Verona nella seconda metà del Quattrocento,” in Sergio Marinelli and Paola Marin (eds.), Mantegna e le arti a Verona 1450–1500, Marsilio Editori, Venice, 2006, pp. 179–183, here p. 180, with citations. Thus Verona’s ideal topography constituted a domestic pilgrimage to the Holy Land, for which see Alessandra Zamperini, “Le contraddizioni dell’antico,” in Zamperini (ed.), Élites e committenze a Verona. Il recupero dell’antico e la lezione di Mantegna, Edizioni Osiride, Roverto, 2010, pp. 15–21, here p. 15.

Brian D. Steele

Brian Steele is Associate Professor of Art History at Texas Tech University, Associate Dean in the Talkington College of Visual & Performing Arts, and Director of its Fine Arts Doctoral Program.

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