work (“It would have reached Spain severalrnmonths ago had it not been for therntardiness, indisposition, and eventuallyrnthe death of your secretary”). But very littlernis known about his personal life.rnGiorgio Vasari knew Titian personallyrnand described him as “a most healthyrnand fortunate man, who has receivedrnnothing but favours from heaven, hi additionrnto his genius he possesses the mostrncourth’ manners.” He was robust, energetic,rnand immensely productive; devotedrnto his family; patriotically attachedrnto Venice; reluctant to travel, thoughrnhe went south to Rome and north tornAugsburg; proud of his honors andrnfame; at ease with the great potentates ofrnhis age. He became official painter to thernVenetian state as well as to the EmperorrnChades V and to his son, Philip II of Spain.rnIn his epic poem Orlando Fiirioso, Ariostornwrote that “Titian is honored / Not on-rnIv in Cadore, but also in Venice andrnUrbino.” Like Verdi and Picasso, he producedrna series of masterpieces into advancedrnold age. During the plague ofrn1576, he died of a fever.rnThis book is handsomely designed andrnsumptuously illustrated. Pedrocco hasrnmastered the enormous —and often contradictor}rn—scholarship, producing a dryrnbut ‘aluable introduction and commentar}-rnon all of Titian’s 270 paintings. Hernrelies on attribution, provenance, andrndate to establish the authoritative canon,rnbut also considers iconography, content,rnand meaning. Titian completed manyrnpictures begun by Giorgione; in theserncases, it is difficult to determine the precisernattributions. Bernard Berensonrnhelped clariiy- the issue when he said thatrnTitian’s pictures seem “done by an olderrnGiorgione, with better possession of himself,rnand a larger and firmer hold on thernworld.” In his greatest art, Titian combinesrntiie chromatic voluptuosity of Giorgionernwith the sinuous draftsmanship ofrnDiircr. He is masterful at painting thernsubtle te.xtures of linen, velvet, and silk,rnbrocade, damask, and fur; of light glintingrnoff gold, jewels, and armor. Towardrnthe end of his long life, as his hand beganrnto lose its cunning, he painted with hisrnfingers as well as with his brush.rnPedrocco observes that Titian’s magnificentrnportraits, “enlivened by the strongrnand lunfinous colors and the majesticrnmonumentality of the forms,” combinern”ps’chological introspection with an extraordinaryrnsense of physical presence.”rnTitian first painted Charles V—the greatestrnmonarch of his time —both seated inrnan armchair and standing with a dog.rn(Titian’s charming dogs, especially thernheavy white Labrador that appears in twornpaintings, humanize the often forbiddingrnfigures.) Charles V at Muhlberg (1548)rncommemorates the battle of April 24,rn1547, in which the Protestants, led byrnJohann Friedrich, elector of Saxony,rnwere beaten on the banks of the Elbe.rnCharles—mounted, with lance in handrnand dressed in the armor he actuallyrnwore into combat—is portrayed at thernsummit of his power. The battle is nowrnover, and the emperor, in heroic isolationrnas the armed and triumphant victor,rnclaims the curiously peaceful field. Integrit}’,rnstrength of will, and sense of dut}’rnshine fortii from this Catholic knight andrndefender of the faith. Tifian’s paintingrninfluenced the equestrian portraits ofrnRubens and Velazquez, just as his lusciouslyrnsensual Venus of Urhino led directlyrnto Goya’s Naked Maja and Ingres’srnOdalisque.rnTitian’s portrait of Charles’ defeatedrnenemy, Johann Friedrich, also foreshadowsrnGoya’s satiric paintings of the Spanishrnroyal family. His small head, withrnsloping forehead, is rammed into a monstrouslyrnswollen body (all Wurst andrnbeer), without the benefit of a neck. Hisrnsausage-like fingers, florid complexion,rnand wary expression reveal the characterrnof a man who’s just narrowly escaped thernsentence of death.rnTitian portrayed Philip II (enemy ofrnElizabeth I) with pale face, heavy-liddedrneyes, thick lips, and wispy beard. Hisrnrigid sheath of lavishly embossed armorrnopens to a defiant codpiece, puffed andrnslashed breeches, ivory hose, and softrnwhite slippers. His hand rests on arnplumed helmet, while the thick, scaly fingersrnof his gauntlet (resting on a red velvetrncloth) suggest the warrior’s menace.rnTitian also did two superb Self-Portraits.rnIn 1 562, he is seated with onernsplay-fingered hand on a table, the otherrnon his knee. Wearing a black cap, furtrimmedrnjacket, shimmering white shirt,rnand Order of the Golden Spur (conferredrnby Charles V), the grey-beardedrnseptuagenarian sage gazes dreamily intornthe distance. Six years later and noticeablyrnaged, with sharpened nose and lined face,rnhe is more soberly dressed in black, with arnslash of white collar, and holds a brush tornsignify the dignit}’ of his profession.rnOne of Titian’s greatest religious paintingsrnis The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence.rn”The scene of the mart)’rdom,” Pedroccornwrites of the third-centur’ Roman, barbecuedrnon a grill,rnis set in the deep obscurity of night,rnpierced by shafts of artificial lightrnfrom the torches, by the illuminatedrntemple in the background, andrnby the glow of embers under therngridiron on which the saint isrnstretched out; the light is reflectedrnon Lawrence’s body and those ofrnhis tormentors, and gleams on thernarmor of the soldiers. The saintrnturns toward the heavens as thernclouds open to release a flood of divinernlight.rnTitian’s penultimate painting, thernrarely seen Flaying of Marsyas inrnKromeriz, Czech Republic, is even morerncruel than St. Lawrence—and lacks therntheme of a sure and certain hope of salvation.rnThe tale from Ovid describes thernPhrygian satyr and flautist who daredrnchallenge Apollo to a musical contest.rnTo punish his presumptuous pride, he isrnhung upside down by his hairy animalrnlegs and skinned alive by two painstakingrnvivisectionists. The unspeakable brutalityrn—a symbol for human suffering transcendedrnby the power of great art—is intensifiedrnby two indifferent observers: arngraceful violinist (Apollo or Orpheus)rnand a reflective King Midas, who judgedrnthe ill-fated competition.rnA final masterpiece of sublime crueltyrnis The Death of Actaeon in London. Inrnanother Ovidian horror story, Actaeon,rnafter seeing Diana bathing naked, isrnturned into a stag and torn apart by hisrnown hounds. Iris Murdoch’s pulsatingrnand poetic description in Henry and Catornsurpasses anything in Pedrocco’s book:rnThe immortal goddess, with curvingrnapple cheek, her bow uplifted,rnbounds with graceful ruthless indifferencernacross the foreground,rnwhile further back, in an underworldrnof brooding light, the dolllikernfigure of Actaeon falls stiffly tornthe onslaught of the dogs. A streamrnflashes. A distant horseman passes.rnThe woods, the air, are of a russetrnbrown so intense and so frighteningrnas to persuade one that the tragedyrnis taking place in total silence.rnJeffrey Meyers’ Inherited Risk: Errol andrnSean Flynn in Hollywood and Vietnamrnwill be published next year by Simon &rnSchuster.rnAUGUST 2001/27rnrnrn