The Perfect House: A Journey with Renaissance Master Andrea Palladio (23 page)

The curving back wall is blank, save for a door-size gate. It leads to an open-air courtyard with an odd triangular shape, the walls meeting the bulging curve in tightly squeezed angles. I am reminded of the enigmatic cylindrical forms in the buildings of Louis Kahn, but that is reading too much into it; for Palladio this was merely a leftover space, the result of combining the curved loggia with an outbuilding containing “the rooms of the estate manager, the accountant, the stables, and other offices essential for an estate.”
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A second gate opens to the rear yard. The sides and back of the villa are unremarkable, almost banal. Palladio wrote that “the cornice runs around the house like a crown,” but all that is left of the regal effect are the blocky modillions under the eaves and a single, thin molding, or fascia, a few feet below.
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In addition, the side wall is marred by two chimney flues that appear to be the same vintage as the house (Palladio usually hid flues inside the thick walls). There is another unusual feature: the house is surrounded on three sides by a raised brick terrace. Palladio illustrated this in
Quattro libri
and called it a “pedestal.” In fact, this is not a base but a bulwark. The flat Polesine plain, which was recently dredged marshland, was prone to flooding by the mighty Po River, so Palladio built the basement entirely
aboveground and added this massive earthwork to reinforce the basement walls.

Recrossing the triangular courtyard, I return to the curved loggia. An arched opening at the end closest to the house leads directly to a tall flight of steps. An elaborate system of stairs and landings, edged by decorative balustrades, not only provides access to the portico and joins the house to the loggias, but also connects to the brick terrace on the sides and back of the villa. The many landings provide a theatrical setting, and one can imagine the staircase functioning as a viewing platform for musical or dramatic performances.

A final flight of broad stairs leads to the portico, whose pediment is supported by six tall Ionic columns. A giant temple front atop a flight of stairs has become such a familiar sight to us that it’s hard to imagine how striking it must have appeared to Palladio’s clients. Evidently it appealed to them, for he used this motif over and over again, on city houses as well as villas. There were many permutations: four or six or even eight columns; Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian orders; projecting (like La Malcontenta); flat against the façade (like the Villa Barbaro); or recessed, as it is here. The giant portico in all its forms became a Palladio trademark, and the most imitated of all Palladian motifs, a standard feature of British country houses, large and small. In America, the best-known Palladian portico is undoubtedly that of the White House in Washington, D.C. This building has a convoluted pedigree. James Hoban, an Irish architect and a protégé of George Washington, won the competition to build the President’s House in 1792, with a design based on Kildare House in Dublin. (He added the portico when he rebuilt the house after it was burned down by the British during the War of 1812.) Kildare House had been designed by Richard Castle, a German expatriate architect (perhaps from Kassel) who is generally credited with introducing Palladianism to Ireland. Castle, in turn, based his work on Campbell, who looked to Inigo Jones. And Jones’s first portico was the one that he designed for a brewhouse on the grounds of James I’s new residence in Newmarket, shortly after returning from his Italian journey.
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T
HE PORTICO AND STAIRS OF THE
V
ILLA
B
ADOER ARE AMONG
P
ALLADIO’S MOST MONUMENTAL.

 • • • 

Between 1776 and 1783, the Vicentine architect Ottavio Bertotti-Scamozzi published a four-volume compilation of Palladio’s works that included measured drawings of most of the surviving buildings. The elevations of the Villa Badoer show an inscribed masonry pattern, which would have softened the rather sterile effect of plain white stucco. A discerning observer, Bertotti-Scamozzi characterized the villa as having “an air of magnificence which is surprising.”
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Surprising
is exactly the right word. The house has a small and rather awkward floor plan, a rudimentary
sala,
flat ceilings, unpretentious frescoes, almost no stone details, and undecorated fireplaces. Yet it also boasts a majestic portico, elaborate exterior staircases, and, of course, the curved loggias. Palladio generally pitched his architecture at a consistent intensity: manly simplicity at the Villa Poiana; lordly magnificence at La Malcontenta; and archaeological refinement at the Villa Barbaro. By these standards, the Villa Badoer is strikingly
in
consistent.

Given Palladio’s concern for
convenienza,
one can only surmise that the villa’s unexpected blend of modesty and extravagance had something to do with his client. We do not know much about “the magnificent Signor Francesco Badoer.” Despite Palladio’s characteristically high-flown accolade, he has been described by a modern historian as “a modest figure whose public career was devoid of outstanding episodes.”
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Although he served the Republic as a senator and a member of
the ruling council, Badoer belonged to an undistinguished branch of a famous Venetian family. The second of three surviving sons, he received a modest inheritance when his father died but married well—his wife, Lucietta Loredan, was wealthy. In 1538, Lucietta’s only brother, Zorzi, the head of the family, died at twenty-six. He left no heirs and no will. Following the custom of the time, the bulk of the vast Loredan fortune, which consisted of palazzos and warehouses in Venice and several estates on the
terraferma,
was divided among his brothers-in-law: his widow’s two brothers, and his two sisters’ husbands. It took ten years to sort out the complicated inheritance, which left Francesco Badoer owner of 460 acres of farmland in the Polesine. The estate was exceptionally valuable since the region had recently undergone massive drainage and reclamation that turned it into the breadbasket of the Republic. Badoer must have been excited by this windfall, but at the same time he was a cautious man, for it was another eight years before he built a house. The site was a seven-acre plot in Fratta, next to the newly dredged Scortico River, which provided easy access to Venice.

The Villa Badoer was designed in 1556, and construction started the following year.
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This was a busy period for Palladio. In Vicenza, he continued to oversee the building of the Basilica and two new palazzos, one for Count Giovanni Valmarana and another for his old client Bonifacio Poiana. There were several new Vicentine villa clients—the Counts Odoardo and Theodoro Thiene (relatives of the brothers for whom he had earlier designed a villa at Quinto), the Counts Francesco and Lodovico Trissino (no relations to Giangiorgio Trissino), and Signor Francesco Repeta. Thanks to the patronage of the Barbaro brothers, Palladio’s reputation among high-born Venetians continued to grow. In 1559, Sanmicheli died, leaving Palladio as the leading architect of the
terraferma,
and second only to Sansovino in the Republic.

V
ILLA
B
ADOER

Palladio did not have an office staff in the modern sense, although at this time he was assisted by his sons. The eldest, Leonida, has been identified as the draftsman of several drawings and is usually referred to by historians as an architect; Marc’-antonio, a stone carver (who died in the 1560s), also helped with drawings; and Silla, the youngest, appears to have been a kind of secretary.
^I
In addition, Palladio’s nephew Marc’antonio, also a stone carver, occasionally lent a hand. Palladio’s personal responsibilities did not end with providing plans and details to the builders and masons. He negotiated with contractors on behalf of the client, kept accounts, ordered materials, and generally oversaw the work. The last was important, since the
all’antica
style was a novelty in the out-of-the-way places where his villas were built, and it needed his close supervision to ensure that the classical details were carried out correctly. In that regard, Palladio also functioned as a teacher. For example, his description of his own simple method of making the gentle tapering, or entasis, of a column sounds like the sort of practical advice he might give to a provincial stonemason.

I usually make the profile of this swelling like this. I divide the shaft of the column into three equal parts and leave the third at the bottom plumb vertical; beside the lowest point of the column I place on edge a very thin ruler as long as the column or a little longer, and take that part which extends from the lower third upward and curve it until the end reaches the point of diminution at the top of the column under the neck: in line with that curvature, I mark it, so that I obtain a column which is a little swollen in the middle and tapers very gracefully.
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Paolo Gualdo, who knew Palladio in later life, gave a particularly endearing picture of the architect on the building site: “He kept [his workmen] constantly cheerful, treating them with so many pleasant attentions that they all worked with the most exceptional good cheer. He eagerly and lovingly taught them the best principles of the art, in such a way that there was not a mason, stone cutter, or carpenter, who did not understand the measurements, elements, and rules of true architecture.”
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Fratta is about fifty miles from Vicenza, which is a long ride on horseback, and since the Badoer commission was relatively small, it has been suggested that Palladio may not have closely supervised the construction.
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If that was so, the local builders must have followed the plans with exceptional care, for the drawings in
Quattro libri
and the finished house are remarkably alike. The curved loggias are slightly shorter—six bays instead of ten—than those shown in the treatise, but this may simply have been the result of fitting the house onto a tight site. It is not known why the rear portico was never finished. Perhaps Badoer changed his mind in midconstruction, for there are attic and basement windows in the spaces that would have been occupied by the portico and its stairs. There are no surviving design drawings or sketches of the Villa Badoer, so it’s impossible to be certain
about such changes, which may simply reflect a client torn between magnificence and frugality, wishing to “put on a good front”—and saving money in the back. There may be another explanation. Two coats of arms are frescoed over the front door of the villa, the Badoer and the Loredan. Francesco Badoer and Zorzi Loredan had been friends, so it was natural for the grateful villa-builder to commemorate his benefactor. What is odd is that the two crests are of equal size and intertwined. It would have been customary for the Badoer crest to be dominant, unless, of course, it was Lucietta who insisted on equal billing for her brother—and herself. This suggests a strong-willed and perhaps ambitious woman. Is it farfetched to imagine that the striking architectural contrasts in the Villa Badoer reflect the wishes of a second client, one who could claim that the finances to build at all came through her line? It would hardly be the first time that a husband and wife made conflicting demands on their architect.

Was it Lucietta who encouraged Palladio to incorporate the impressive curved loggias into his design? He had invented this device a few years before the Villa Badoer, in 1554, when he was designing a villa for Cavaliere Leonardo Mocenigo, a valued Venetian client.
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The Villa Mocenigo was a house planned around a courtyard, like the Villa Sarego, and in his preliminary sketch plan Palladio drew a square-doughnut, with the formal entrance, from the Brenta canal, through a rectangular U-shaped
cortile
flanked by straight
barchesse.
After finishing the plan Palladio must have had second thoughts, for on top of the
barchessa
he drew a curved loggia. One can sense the excitement of discovery in this hurried scrawl. The magnificent Mocenigo villa on the Brenta canal took about ten years to build. Since the house was demolished in 1835, we cannot be sure of its final design; Palladio’s last sketch plan shows curved loggias on the entrance side and rectangular loggias on the rear, but the plan in
Quattro libri
has curved loggias on both sides. Inigo Jones saw the villa in 1613, after the house had been drastically remodeled by Mocenigo’s son but when the curved loggias were still intact. “This villa is otherwise ordered for I saww yt and yt is les and as I remember hath these circular loggias,” he noted.
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He was so impressed by the “circular loggias” that he used them in a design for a country house in Northamptonshire.
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