ITALO CALVINO

Paolo Uccello (c. 1397-1475): NiccoloMuruzi da Tolentino at the Ba ttle ofSan Romano, 71'/'" XI "26". National Gallery, London.

The Birds ofPaolo Uccello

We see in the paintings of Paolo Uccello. In aU his teeming world the skies are One looks up in hope, and sees no feathered creatures in flight or perched on branches of trees. Lowering one's eyes onto a tranquil landscape peopled discern, at the most, a pair of wading birds and three swans.

What has become of the birds that according to Vasari once studded his can­vases, so much so as to earn him his nickname of Uccello? Who has scared them away? Most certainly it is the soldiers, who render the highways of the air impass­able with their spears, and with the clash of weaponry silence trillin!!:s and chir­rupings.

Fled from the colored surfaces, the birds are hiding or fluttering invisibly out­side the borders of the paintings. They are waiting for the right moment to make a comeback and occupy the canvas. Following the Vasari tradition, Giovanni Pas­c.oli in a narrative poem and Marcel Schwob in one of his Vies imaginaires have depicted the aged painter surrounded by birds born ofhis brush. But what we our­selves can testify to is exactly the opposite. In Paolo's most famous surviving works what catches the attention is the absence of birds, an absence that lies heavy on the air, alarming, menacing and ominous.

The mostfrequently depicted scenes of Paolo Uccello that are still to be seen to­day presuppose others, which he may have painted but which have since been lost: scenes that precede the above-a world aU trillings and peckings and beating

I wings, taken by surprise and scattered to the winds by the invasion of the warriors­

~I

ItaloCalvino4

and other scenes that follow them: the counteroffensive of the birds, who swoop down in serried flocks and perch on helmets, shoulder plates and elbow guards.

Are crows and vultures there at the end of the battle? Not at all. It has already been observed that in all Paolo U ccello's battle scenes we see only one dead man on the ground; and even he might only have fainted. Every man on the field is still alive when the sky darkens and the air is troubled by a great beating of wings. The horses become restive, uttering neighs of terror.

The battle between the two armies is transformed into a battle against the birds, the swords raise eddies of feathers, the lances are shaken to rid them of grasping tal­ons, while the blows of beaks rain down on shields. To put a horse out of action is the work of a moment: a magpie steals its glittering studded blinkers, a kestrel rips off its girth, ringdoves remove the saddledoth. So you find yourself on foot, with a crow's wings wedged twixt sallet and chin strap, a capercaillie pecking off your throat-piece, a hoopoe perched on your crest. Your mouth fills up with jay's feath­ers, and by now YOll no longer know how much of you is armor, is man, is bird.

You holler for help. Here comes another warrior, no matter whether friend or foe: we are all allies now againstthe birds. The warrior lifts his vizor and out pop the beak and two round eyes of an owl. You cast around for a shield to protect yourself and find yourself grasping a wing with feathers spread. A sword is raised to protect you-but no, it is wielded by the talon of a bird of prey, and down it crashes on you.

Pointed or fan-shaped tails sprout under your flanchards, your greaves encom­pass slender shanks, while breastplates put forth feathers and the trumpets emit shrill bird cries, twitterings and chirrupings. There follows a chain-reaction meta­morphosis of man into bird and bird into man. Or rather, on closer consideration, and seeing that men have already transformed themselves into crustaceans by don­ning their armor, it is between crustaceans and birds that the metamorphosis takes place; an exchange in which you do not know where-and if-man still exists.

1985

Translated from the Italian by Patrick Creagh": .

.&