Dowager-Marchesa Barbara, who had from the first been a very kind friend to Mantegna, and two years later her son, Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga, to whom the artist was devotedly attached, also passed away. When, in 1484, Federico himself died suddenly, and his eighteen-year-old son, Gian Francesco—generally referred to by his second name only—became Marquis in his stead, Mantegna seems to have feared that his position at Mantua would be adversely affected by all the changes that were taking place, and he hastened to offer his services to Lorenzo de’ Medici, with whom he had some slight acquaintance, and whose liberality as a patron of art and literature was well known. What reply was made by the Florentine duke to his suggestion is not known; but it soon became evident that the new ruler of Mantua knew as well if not better than his father and grandfather had done before him, how to value his court painter, and one of the first acts of his reign was to ask Mantegna to paint a picture for him to present to the Duchess Eleonora of Mantua, mother of his affianced bride, Isabella d’Este, who was then only ten years old, but was later to become one of the artist’s most liberal patrons and faithful admirers.

The picture in question is supposed to have been the fine “Madonna and Child,” with a background of cherubs’ heads, now in the Brera Gallery, Milan, considered, so far as its colouring is concerned, one of Mantegna’s most brilliant achievements. According to some authorities, it had already been ordered some months before by the Duchess, and all Francesco had to do with it was to urge the artist to finish it without further delay; but, in any case, the young Marquis was constantly in the studio whilst it was in progress, chatting with the painter now about the work, now about his own private affairs. He was, it is said, deeply in love with his betrothed, or rather with the idea he had formed of her, for it is doubtful whether he had yet seen her, the wooing having been done by proxy as long previously as 1480, when the little maiden of six had delighted the Mantuan envoy with her grace and charm. No sooner was the picture signed, before the eager suitor had it packed, and started with it for Ferrara, where it was received with the greatest enthusiasm, not only by the Duchess herself but by the whole court, which, under the enlightened rule of Duke Ercole I. was a centre of culture, to which flocked artists, poets, musicians, humanists, and other leaders of the æsthetic and intellectual life of the day.

Of the actual meeting between the engaged couple no record has been preserved; but it is evident from letters written home by the Marquis that his expectations were more than fulfilled, Isabella already giving promise of the exceptional qualities which were to make her one of the most fascinating and influential women of her time, the memory of whose sweet and gracious presence still lingers both in Ferarra and Mantua. It was difficult for her lover to tear himself away when the day came for him to return home, where his presence was greatly needed; but before he left, he exacted a promise from Duchess Eleonora that she would bring her daughter to Mantua in the autumn of the same year.

It is easy to imagine how much Francesco had to confide to his court painter when he paid his next visit to the studio; how he dwelt on the charms of his beloved Isabella, and lamented over the years that must elapse before she could become his wife. He found Mantegna eagerly engaged on the preliminary drawings for the “Triumph of Cæsar,” and to the instructions already given by Lodovico Gonzaga he added a wish that all the distinguished guests who were soon to meet at his court should be introduced in the processions, as well as the chief members of his own family. Mantegna, he may have said, would have plenty of opportunities for making studies of them; and now he must put everything else aside for a time to design the decorations in honour of the visit of the bride-elect and her mother, which were to be a kind of foretaste of those in celebration of the wedding. In all the preparations for that great event he relied upon the co-operation of Mantegna, who must promise not to accept any invitation or commission that could interfere with his work on them, and, premature as this must have appeared to the artist, he readily gave the required assurance.

All passed over as happily as Francesco himself could have wished during the brief stay at Mantua of Eleonora and Isabella, who won all hearts by their sympathetic appreciation of everything that was done to please them. After they left, the work on the “Triumph of Cæsar” proceeded apace, interrupted only now and then for the execution of minor commissions, such as the designing of jewellery, drinking-cups, &c.; but in 1488 came a very unwelcome summons for Mantegna to go to Rome, Pope Innocent VIII., who had heard of the beauty of the frescoes at Padua and Mantua, wishing to have a chapel in the Vatican decorated by their artist. Such an invitation had all the force of a command, and the Marquis was reluctantly compelled to let his beloved painter go; but before he left, he conferred on him the honour of knighthood, that he might take a better position in the papal court, and once more reminded him of the necessity that he should be back at Mantua in January 1490 at the very latest. Bearing with him a letter to the Pope, dated June 10, 1488, in which Francesco spoke of him in the very highest terms, Mantegna started for the Holy City, where he was welcomed with the greatest eagerness, not only by his new employer but by the ecclesiastical and secular notabilities, who vied with each other in doing him honour. Certain letters to the Marquis Francesco, however, betray discontent with the payment he received from the Pope, and also with the facilities for his work afforded him in the Vatican, a dissatisfaction that would, indeed, have been intensified could he have foreseen that the frescoes for which he sacrificed so much were to be ruthlessly destroyed in 1780, with the chapel containing them, to make room for the Museo Pio Clementina.

It is only from allusions to them by Vasari and descriptions by the later critics, Agostino Taja and Giovanni Pietro Chattard, who lived in the second half of the eighteenth century, and saw the frescoes shortly before their destruction, that any idea can be obtained of what they were; but a supposed copy of a portrait of Innocent VIII. included in them, is in the collection of the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria. That they were executed by Mantegna without any assistance is proved by a letter from him to the Marquis Francesco, dated June 15, 1489, in which he says, “The work is heavy for a man alone, intent on obtaining honours, especially in Rome, where opinion is expressed by so many able men, and as in the races run by Barbary horses the first gets the prize, so I too must gain in the end, if it please God.”

It is unnecessary to dwell long on works of art that have completely disappeared. Suffice it to say that the frescoes were not finished in December 1489, but that Mantegna was hoping to get leave of absence from the Pope for February 1490, when he was suddenly struck down by fever, just before he would have started for Mantua had all been well. The long-talked-of wedding took place, therefore, during his absence, and he had, after all, absolutely nothing to do with the festivities in honour of the marriage, that were evidently of a magnificent description. It must have been, indeed, a keen mortification to him to have missed such a golden opportunity of proving his devotion to his