Conclusion

Botticelli also invented the ideal: he was a child of the gods, he could paint only what the gods deigned to show him. He was one of the first artists of the Italian Renaissance who was not content to simply paint what he could see, but to paint what he could not see, what Plato and the Neo-Platonics themselves, so important in his training, called the ideal.

It should be noted that, little by little, wrinkles, flaws and scars on the faces, everything in excess, disappeared and slowly reached the high ground known as the ideal. Botticelli had immediately adopted this commitment to paint beyond beauty, this reflection behind beauty, which is wonderfully perceived. This privilege of the artist to paint beyond beauty itself is a privilege which was exploited mostly by the High Renaissance painters, but the first of these artists to feel the need to go behind the mirror of daily life was truly Botticelli.

The most incredible thing is that if you read the works of the man who "knew" him best, i.e., Vasari, whom we know to have read the direct sources, we learn the following: at the end of his life, Botticelli was a poor man, alone, bitter, abandoned and forgotten. Naturally, from that time on, art historians have thrown themselves on Vasari's words in an attempt to understand what he meant. It was discovered that at the end of his life, Botticelli no longer had commissions, that he no longer had visitors and didn't speak, that he was very withdrawn from everything; reasons for this were sought.

It has been said that his Savonarolism had become a burden for him immediately after Savonarola's death. He was asked to recant and refused and was thus rejected. This first explanation doesn't hold water: Botticelli had never been a Savonarolan, he listened to him, he understood him and even put his words to canvas in the Mystic Nativity, but he was never a committed Savonarolan. No document listing those in disfavor because of their Savonarolism contained Botticelli's name - this is thus wrong.

The second thing considered was that Sandro Botticelli did not much care for women, but, on the contrary, rather frenetically liked young men. During his early years, this was still accepted, but, a little later on, the Florentines wanted nothing more to do with him because of this. It should be pointed out that during the same era, there was an even more "frenetic painter"; he had been nicknamed "il sodoma" [the sodomite], and this was used as a noble title. Why would Botticelli have been set aside for that? This is not the reason either.

As these are the only two reasons suggested, we shall proffer a third, our own conclusion: what if, in fact, Botticelli had reached the end of his cycle? What if he had shown what he had to show, said what he had to say; what if he had painted what he had to paint, what if he had singled out what he wanted to single out, such as drawing and what if, in his last years, he was devoted to himself, to experience more intensely the one thing which, according to his contemporaries, was the most important thing to him: silence. In this disorderly Florence of the second half of the 15th century with which he was ceaselessly associated by virtue of his craft, what Botticelli could not abide was noise, passion, what he needed was silence.

This is why, to conclude, we shall look at some works which give the impression in which Botticelli, so to speak, incarnated himself. They are always images of people who found silence.

Pietà

Absolutely superb. Let's look at the details, Christ's face and that of Mary. Christ's face is Botticelli's. Sandro had never been crucified - it's not that - this is a man who, in fact, aspired to silence through death.

Pietà

When he came back to the same subject several years later, we find exactly the same thing in a much more skillful and dramatic composition - it's sublime. Once again, we have a strange Christ who has closed his eyes and ears to the world, and this strange Christ yet again resembles Botticelli in an astounding manner. He did not want to do self-portraits, but, unconsciously, he wanted to find in Christ the silence to which he so aspired.

Saint Augustine

It is in this image of Saint Augustine that Botticelli perhaps invested the most of himself; it should be pointed out that according to Scripture, Saint Augustine did not hear the wind blow for thirty years, so intent was he in his search for God. One of Botticelli's greatest masterpieces is a small fresco in the Church of Ognissanti, near the house in which he was born, in which he depicts Saint Augustine at work. His face resembles the expectation of silence, of what lies beyond silence. We might even believe that, in fact, Botticelli, who had witnessed the birth of everything, the arts and even science, and even geometry and even the clock , this Botticelli wanted, at the end of his life, this luxury of silence which he could afford.

A small painting

Vasari thus tells us that during the last years of his life: "...forgotten by all, neglected by all, living in himself and for himself, he no longer painted". It was recently established that he painted this piece at that time. The anecdote is that this is certainly one of these famous Socratic passions. On the contrary, one can see not only softness and elegance but, above all, the quality of silence. This monochrome, entirely in brown and beige, in which one can find a hand that is nearly as beautiful as the one we saw at the very beginning of this lecture, skillfully illustrates this icon of silence that is this penultimate work, because the last one is the most moving of all, the most beautiful Botticelli of them all.

A Small Painting

Still in private hands in a Roman collection, this work represents an unknown person, all alone in front of a door. Many allusions have been made with respect to this painting: it had been said that it was Lucrezia, abused by Tarquinius, it has been said that it was Mardochius at the temple door, but we don't care. It's quite simply the image of the quest for silence which goes so far as to completely fill the architectural austerity of this piece.

This is why, faced with a work which, at first glance, might appear to be a desperate one, Jacques-Edouard Berger cannot help but conclude by telling us that at one point in his life, Botticelli had had the luck and good fortune to have been able to offer himself the luxury of silence which his century had taken from him and, as such, he was certainly a happy man.