Still-Life as Portrait in Early Modern Italy: Baschenis, Bettera and the Painting of Cultural Identity 9789048541133

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Still-Life as Portrait in Early Modern Italy

Visual and Material Culture, 1300–1700 A forum for innovative research on the role of images and objects in the late medieval and early modern periods, Visual and Material Culture, 1300–1700 publishes monographs and essay collections that combine rigorous investigation with critical inquiry to present new narratives on a wide range of topics, from traditional arts to seemingly ordinary things. Recognizing the fluidity of images, objects, and ideas, this series fosters cross-cultural as well as multi-disciplinary exploration. We consider proposals from across the spectrum of analytic approaches and methodologies. Series Editor Dr. Allison Levy, an art historian, has written and/or edited three scholarly books, and she has been the recipient of numerous grants and awards, from the N ­ ational Endowment for the Humanities, the American Association of University Women, the Getty Research Institute, the Dumbarton Oaks Research Library of Harvard ­University, the Whiting Foundation and the Bogliasco Foundation, among others. www.allisonlevy.com.

Still-Life as Portrait in Early Modern Italy Baschenis, Bettera, and the Painting of Cultural Identity

Ornat Lev-er

Amsterdam University Press

Cover illustration: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection. Photo courtesy of Galerie Canesso. Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Newgen/Konvertus isbn 978 94 6298 880 4 e-isbn 978 90 4854 113 3 doi 10.5117/9789462988804 nur 685 © Ornat Lev-er / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2019 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book. Every effort has been made to obtain permission to use all copyrighted illustrations reproduced in this book. Nonetheless, whosoever believes to have rights to this material is advised to contact the publisher.

For the two pillars of support in my life – my husband Udi, and my brother Oni.

Acknowledgements Throughout the years of research, I would often pause to marvel at the wonderful people, leading experts in their fields, who so generously shared their mastery with me. Now the time has come for me to put this silent recognition in writing. First and foremost, my heartfelt gratitude goes to Professor Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby, the wise and wonderful counsellor who skilfully oversaw my doctoral and subsequent research with superb academic guidance and the finest of sensitivity. If I am now ready to embark on my next journey, it is her steady steering and the profound learning and personal experience that have empowered me to do so. Years ago, I met the art historian Professor Enrico De Pascale in the old town square of historic Bergamo, the very same place the painters and musicians discussed in this book had met centuries before. A foremost expert on Baschenis and Bettera, De Pascale actively encouraged this work, sharing his vast knowledge and passion. I am grateful for his access that has given me the unique privilege to include in this book paintings from the private collections of centuries-old local nobility that have never been displayed in public. My entire journey and end result would not have been the same without Dr. Dana Baram, my academic and scientific editor, and life-long friend. I cannot thank Dana enough for her superior professionalism, clever ideas, sensitive suggestions and wise advice that have shaped my efforts into a polished book. It is a special pleasure to thank Amit Tiefenbrunn, master maker and player of Baroque instruments, whose extensive knowledge sharpened my understanding of these instruments and enriched my interpretation of the music in the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera. Amit heard in these paintings the music I envisioned in them, sparking my journey that resulted in this book. I wish to extend special thanks to the musicology professor Judith Cohen for her careful and knowledgeable reading of the chapter discussing the music in the paintings that helped me do historic and academic justice to this section of my research. I am indebted to Baroque lute player Roberto Gini for interpreting the notes in dozens of paintings, and to musicologist Dr. Michal Hefer for helping me navigate the language of musicology. Thanks also go to Dr. Erin Johnson-Williams, whose mastery of notation helped me capture the fascinating statements hiding between the lines of the painted scores. The support and good advice of my wise colleagues in the Department of the Arts at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev count among the reasons I would embark on this journey all over again. I extend my thanks to Prof. Katrin Kogman-Appel, Prof. Haim Finkelstein, Dr. Ronit Milano, Dr. Daniel Unger, Dr. Sara Offenberg and Yael Lieberman for their faith in me and their patient listening and valuable insight.

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STILL-LIFE AS PORTR AIT IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

It is my special pleasure to thank Dr. Lara Ben David, who devoted years to patiently demystifying for me the nuances of the Italian language. I am also indebted to Talya Halkin, who heard the music between the words and laboured lovingly to produce a skilled and nuanced translation into English. I shall forever be grateful to my wise, patient, precise and wonderful research assistant, Eynat Koren, for meticulously editing and adapting the English manuscript. Special appreciation goes out to Erika Gaffney, senior acquisitions editor at Amsterdam University Press and Arc Humanities Press, and to her team, for the professional, skilled, considerate and thoughtful process that transformed this manuscript into a published book. I owe the deepest gratitude of all to my family and friends, who graciously accepted my new priorities and patiently awaited the day I would write these acknowledgements, which would signal that they would once again enjoy my undivided attention. Perhaps this is the right time to let this loving support group know my next book endeavour is already underway. My beloved family – Udi, Lianne and Niv, Daniel and Reut and Shir as well as my sister Iris and my brother, Professor On Topaz: I dedicate this book to you. It is thanks to you, and it is for you.

Table of Contents Acknowledgements7 List of Figures 11 1. Introduction 2.

Still-Life as Culture 31 The Biographies of Evaristo Baschenis and Bartolomeo Bettera 31 Still-Life Paintings in Seventeenth-Century Lombardy34 Still-Life (with Musical Instruments) Is Not Just Vanitas39 Still-Life Painting: The State of Research 42 Baschenis’s and Bettera’s Still-Life Paintings: The State of Research46 Bergamo: Portrait of an Ebullient Cultural Hub 58

3. Keeping Score: Painting Music The Conception of Music in Italy of the Early Modern Period: Sounds, Words, and Colour Music in Bergamo The ‘Music Paintings’: Variations Composed by Baschenis and Bettera with their Paintbrush 4.

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Banned Books and Blockbusters Books and Libraries in Seventeenth-Century Bergamo Books in Baschenis’s Paintings Books in Bettera’s Paintings

5. A Double Act: Still-Life and Theatre A Gaze at the Theatre The Background and the Stage Curtains Table Coverings and Carpets Stage Props Seven Modes of Painting Theatre

71 72 77 82 127 128 133 172 181 181 190 192 198 202 206

6. Paragone: May the Best Art Win 221 The Paragone221 Painting and Music 226 Painting and Poetry 236 Painting and Sculpture 242

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STILL-LIFE AS PORTR AIT IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

All of the Arts: Music, Painting, Sculpture, Literature, and Science 244 Music and Science 267 Painting, Music and Literature 270 Painting and Music in the Absence of a Paragone277

7. Conclusion

281

Bibliography289 Index299 

List of Figures 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

Giovanni Ambrogio Figino, Metal Plate with Peaches and Vine Leaves, 1591–1594, Oil on Panel, 21x29.4cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas, 83x100cm, Venice, Lombardini (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis(?), Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 87x115cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 1391 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1650–1674, oil on canvas, 82x127cm, Milan, Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, inv. n. 150. Photo © Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana / Paolo Manusardi / Mondadori Portfolio, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1650–1674, oil on canvas, 82x127cm, Milan, Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, inv. n. 150 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1650–1674, oil on canvas, 82x127cm, Milan, Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, inv. n. 150 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 99x146cm, Brussels, Musees Royaux des Beaux Arts de Belgique, inv. n. 3893. Photo © Musees Royaux des Beaux Arts de Belgique, Brussels, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 99x146cm, Brussels, Musees Royaux des Beaux Arts de Belgique, inv. n. 3893 (detail).

12 

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

STILL-LIFE AS PORTR AIT IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Diego Ortiz, Recercada Quinta, 1553 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis(?), Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115.5x146.8cm, Private Collection. Photo © Otto Naumann Gallery, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 80x100cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 80x100cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection. Photo courtesy of Galerie Canesso. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x146cm, Pisani Moretta Collection. Photo courtesy of Pisani Moretta Collection, 2018. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x146cm, Pisani Moretta Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 120x175cm, Private Collection (detail). Maestro B.B, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 73x100cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 70x82.5cm, Jerusalem, The Israel Museum, Accession number: B88.0157. Photo © The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, 2018.

List of Figures

36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

13

Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 70 x 82.5cm, Jerusalem The Israel Museum, Accession number: B88.0157 (detail). Maestro B.B, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x145cm, Bergamo, Collegio Vescovile S. Alessandro (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 108x153cm, Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia inv.n. 1047. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas 83x100cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas 83x100cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail, inverted). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1675, oil on canvas 100x145cm, Brescia, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1675, oil on canvas 100x145cm, Brescia, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x144cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x144cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts. Photo courtesy of Bridgeman Images, UK, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail).

14 

54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70.

STILL-LIFE AS PORTR AIT IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala. Photo by Ran Dotan, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 95x128cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara. inv. n. D34. Photo © Fondazione Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection (detail). Gabriel Le Brun, Front cover of Il Mercurio overo Historia de Correnti Tempi by Vittorio Siri (Geneva: Presso Philippo Alberto, 1646), engraving. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688. Photo © Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Silk Threads, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761. Photo © Fondazione Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, 2018. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail, rotated). Donato Calvi, Effemeride Sagro-Profana di Quanto di Memorabile sia Successo in Bergamo, 1676, Milan. First pages of the libretto Ercole Effeminato, by Almerico Passarelli, 1645. Milan: Appresso Ludouico Monza, alla piazza de’Mercanti. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 95x128cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. D34 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x146cm, Venice, Pisani Moretta Collection. Photo courtesy of Pisani Moretta Collection, 2018. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1690, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Brescia, Private Collection.

List of Figures

71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87.

15

Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x149cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1690, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Brescia, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 81x99cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Carlo Ceresa, Pro-prefetto di Bergamo Bernardo Gritti, oil on canvas, 114.2x100.5 cm, 1646, Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum. Photo courtesy of Rijksmu­ seum, Amsterdam, 2018. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 60x88cm, Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera, inv. n. 782. Photo by Ran Dotan, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 60x88cm, Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera, inv. n. 782 (detail). Sam 126: Gesamtansicht, taken from: Darmstädter, Die Renaissanceblockflöten, p. 133. Photo © Kunst Historisches Museum, Vienna. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas, 83x100cm, Venice, Lombardini (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera(?) / Evaristo Baschenis(?), Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x152cm, New York, Private Collection (detail). Photo by author, 2008. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 120x175cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 120x175cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera. Photo © Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera, Milan (2018). Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail).

16 

88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103.

STILL-LIFE AS PORTR AIT IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760. Photo © Fondazione Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, 2018. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688. Photo © Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail).

List of Figures

104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120.

17

Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 86x115cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 1390. Photo © Fondazione Accademia Carrara, Bergamo, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection. Photo courtesy of Galerie Canesso. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection (detail). Pieter Claesz, Vanitas with Violin and Glass Ball, c. 1628, oil on panel, 36x 59cm, Nuremberg, Germanisches National Museum (detail). Photo used under CC Licence BY NC ND / Cropped from original. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 81x99cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x149cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x149cm, Private Collection (detail). Photo by author, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail).

18 

121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138.

STILL-LIFE AS PORTR AIT IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie. Photo © Narodni Galerie, Prague, 2018. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail). Glycon of Athens (copy) Lysippos (original type), Farnese Hercules, marble, Naples National Archaeological Museum. Photo by Marie-Lan Nguyen, 2011. Glycon of Athens (copy) Lysippos (original type), Farnese Hercules, marble, Naples National Archaeological Museum (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas,110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas,110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail). Philips Galle, Aganippe, 1587, engraving, 17.78x11.27cm, Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Philips Galle, Garga, 1587, engraving, 17.62x10.8cm, Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail). Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection (detail).

List of Figures

139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148.

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Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala. Photo by Ran Dotan, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, private collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts. Photo courtesy of Bridgeman Images, UK, 2018. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail). Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 81x99cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection. Photo by Eugenio Bucherato, 2011. Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection. Photo by author, 2010.

1. Introduction Still Life with Musical Instruments, The Music of Silence, Baroque Sonnet.1 These are some of the names used in art history books, articles, and exhibition catalogues for dozens of paintings by two artists from northern Italy: Evaristo Baschenis (1617–1677) and Bartolomeo Bettera (1639–1699), both natives of Bergamo in the region of Lombardy. These paintings belong to the still-life genre, which was considered by their contemporaries to be the most inferior of genres – a view that has largely persisted, albeit with less tenacity, among modern scholars. The existing scholarship on Baschenis and Bettera views them as talented painters specializing in musical instruments, with expertise in creating perspectival arrangements, impressive structural compositions, and trompe l’oeil imagery. In addition, they are considered experts in the representation of the notion of vanitas through their references to music and the dust accumulated on the depicted musical instruments.2 This study offers an additional interpretation: although still-life paintings are seemingly devoid of figures and narrative, Baschenis and Bettera’s unique selection of objects and mode of representation paint a portrait of educated individuals versed in jurisprudence, literature, philosophy, poetry, music, and theatre. Their still-life compositions contain representations of curiosity, knowledge, and opinions regarding subjects which were central to the world of their contemporaries, and are filled with sophisticated allusions as well as implicit and explicit conceits, which weave a web of nuanced affinities. The musical instruments, sculptures, globes, and books in their works thus also paint a portrait of their creators, two artists residing in a small provincial city who endeavoured to participate in the cultural and theoretical discourse of their time through their artistic and intellectual creations. Ideas and themes traditionally found in the genres of historical, mythological, or religious painting are represented in a still-life context by these two painters, who extended the limits of this genre far beyond the accepted conventions of their time, as well as of subsequent centuries. For a period of over 20 years, from 1645 to 1667, Baschenis enjoyed a monopoly in his area of speciality on the competitive Lombard market. Beginning in the last decade of his life and over the following century, numerous copies of his works were created in Bergamo and its environs. Most of these copies, whose varying quality depended on the demands and taste of their commissioners, were painted by 1 Still Life with Musical Instruments is the generic title given to all of the paintings by Baschenis and Bettera discussed in this book. In some instances, this title is followed by a detailed description of the specific musical instruments included in the composition, as in Still Life with Musical Instruments (Violin with Bow, Shawm, Mandola). The exhibition ‘Music of Silence’ was featured at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2000–2001. The exhibition ‘Baroque Sonnet’ was featured in Bergamo in 2008. 2 A literature review of the still-life genre and of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings appears in Chapter 2.

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Bartolomeo Bettera’s son, Bonaventura Bettera (1663–1718), as well as by an anonymous artist known as Maestro B.B., who was active in Bergamo beginning in the 1690s. These two artists painted ‘after’ Baschenis in a style that came to be known as the Maniera Bergamasca (‘Style of Bergamo’), and which grew over time into a school in its own right. The painters affiliated with this school were derided as imitators and copiers, and were excluded from the period’s artistic canon. Nevertheless, although their works were not technically or aesthetically innovative, responding instead to market demand, they represent a significant interest in the style of Baschenis and Bettera, who are the subjects of this study. Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings were displayed in the mansions of local aristocrats, in respectable libraries in Bergamo and Venice, and in the residences of collectors in Milan and Rome. Despite their innovative bodies of work, they have yet to receive sufficient scholarly attention. In recent years, there has been growing recognition of the importance of their work, though its discussion is largely concerned with stylistic interpretations.3 This book presents a fresh perspective on their oeuvre, arguing that Baschenis and Bettera offered a distinct view of Bergamo and its inhabitants in their paintings, representing their native town not only as the home of Arlecchino, the Commedia dell’arte servant, but also as a city of intellectuals and cultivated men. Both painters saw themselves as active participants in the culture of a city whose ruling class, clergy, and aristocracy were familiar with religious, legal, historical, and philosophical texts, as well as innovative best-selling novels. The members of this elite also belonged to various academies, attended theatrical performances and concerts, and engaged in lively theoretical debates concerning the supremacy of one art form over another (the paragone).4 Baschenis and Bettera may thus be described as seeking to create and represent what could be termed ‘the painting of identity’, of both a collective local culture, and of their own personal identities. The themes explored in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings attest first hand to the fact that both of these natives of Bergamo could be defined as ‘scholarly painters’, or pictor doctus – a Latin term coined by early modern theorists and historians of art and still in use today.5 This term defines the painter as a humanist knowledgeable about a range of disciplines, such as literature, poetry, music, philosophy, and history, which are represented by the objects on display in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s compositions, revealing their depth of knowledge and intellectual motivation. They used the canvas as a stage on which they presented a unique subgenre of their own invention: the still-life as a cultural portrait of both an individual and a society, a composition made up entirely of objects that replace the narrative and figures required in other 3 See the comprehensive literature review in Chapter 2. 4 On the cultural life of seventeenth-century Bergamasque elite, see Chapter 2, pp. 58–69. Regarding the paragone, see the literature review and discussion in Chapter 6. 5 Damm, Thimann, and Zittel, ‘Close and Extensive Reading’, 3.

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genres of painting, and serve as agents representing the scholarly painter and his educated circle of friends. Through a range of objects emblematic of their multifaceted interests, each of these painters offered a unique representation of his status as a scholarly painter. In his book Trattato dell’arte della pittura, scoltura, et architettura (‘Treatise on the Art of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture’), the painter and theorist Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo (1538–1600) dedicated an entire chapter to the knowledge that would justify a painter’s presumption in claiming the title ‘scholarly painter’. Lomazzo recommended books necessary to the painter, yet did not mention any specific writers. Besides the customary fields in which the artist had to be knowledgeable – such as geometry, architecture, arithmetic, perspective, history, theology, anatomy, reading, and writing – he added astrology, music, poetry, and philosophy.6 Lomazzo described the ideal painter as an enlightened man of culture who could be defined as an expert in the ‘painting of identity’. Baschenis and Bettera both excelled at meeting these requirements. Not all of the knowledge held by these scholarly painters was directly presented to the viewer. Their paintings also encode allusions known as ‘conceits’ – a Baroque form of sophisticated manipulation. A conceit is a visual manipulation or an extended and illogical metaphor which presents a surprising comparison between things or emotions that are seemingly incomparable, and is often hyperbolic and paradoxical. Baroque textual and visual art frequently aimed to provoke surprise, to astonish, to present unlikely juxtapositions, and to awaken both aesthetic and conceptual pleasure. Rules were simultaneously followed and disrupted by forging connections between incompatible or contrasting elements. The concurrent use of mimesis and fantasy was easily attainable by the art of painting. Such conceits were viewed as prestigious intellectual exercises performed by poets, composers, writers, and painters, and directed at a specific milieu of widely educated viewers who enjoyed deciphering the works in solitary contemplation.7 The ‘scholarly painters’ Baschenis and Bettera made frequent use of such conceits. As humanists with wide-ranging knowledge in a variety of fields, they surprised their educated clients, presenting them with numerous challenges. Yet, unlike other painters during the same period, they did so by means of the still-life genre. This study aims to formulate a new approach to reading still-life painting by offering an intriguing encounter with Baschenis’s and Bettera’s oeuvre. The work of these painters reveals the potential depth of the messages conveyed in this genre, 6 For Lomazzo see ibid., 11, note 45. See also an additional chapter in the same volume: Hermans, ‘Reading Rhetoric’, 241, note 3. 7 Egri, ‘Renaissance and Baroque Conceits’, 89–105. Egri’s article presents numerous examples from a range of cultural fields. This concept is also exemplified by painters such as Jan van Eyck, Pieter Brueghel the Elder, Leonardo, Titian, and Velázquez, who employed conceits in their paintings by means of mirrors, wordplay, or the creation of emblems representing familiar proverbs.

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while presenting Bergamo as a sophisticated cultural sphere rather than a provincial city sequestered behind its walls. A careful and comprehensive examination of the objects painted by these artists reveals an intellectual world concerned with music, books, theatre, and the paragone – the world of a cultivated individual living in seventeenth-century northern Italy. The objects depicted in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings are markers of both visual and textual artistic representations informed by a range of disciplines, and thus require an interdisciplinary research methodology. This study employs a cultural-historical approach, analysing the works based on contextual matters relevant to the specific time and place in which they were created. The paintings serve as a metaphorical discussion table, a space for introducing various concerns and provoking debates through the use of musical instruments, sheet music, and books, among other objects. In some instances, the answers to the questions are found in the painting itself, while in others they must be sought in the humanist and theoretical texts alluded to in the compositions. The majority of scholars have described these paintings as ‘still-life with musical instruments’. This title is indeed appropriate, given the numerous musical instruments in the paintings. Yet the paintings also contain additional objects whose importance is equal to, or even greater than, that of the musical instruments. The definition of the paintings examined in this study as ‘paintings of identity’ is thus a result of an in-depth analysis, which led to a questioning of their generalized description as ‘still-life with …’ as well as of their metaphorical ‘stillness’. It must be noted that Baschenis’s oeuvre also includes an impressive number of still-life paintings with food (kitchen scenes), and a number of portraits that are not discussed in this book. The body of works explored in this study includes 36 paintings – 22 by Baschenis, thirteen by Bettera and one by ‘Maestro B.B.’ – most of which were shown in the major exhibitions that featured their works over the past two decades (see literature survey, Chapter 2, pp. 46–57). Approximately half of the paintings were reproduced especially for this study in high-resolution photographs that allow for an in-depth study of their details. The information revealed in these photographs was highly valuable, and allowed for a pioneering and detailed exploration of the works. The paintings were further divided into four main categories, each of which is examined in a separate chapter of this book. Some of the paintings are explored in just one chapter, while others are discussed from a number of perspectives in several chapters. In most cases, the objects in the paintings are charged with both a functional and a symbolic role that is familiar to art historians and can be identified with relative ease. Yet, according to the approach presented in this study, one must explore these objects and their details in greater depth, given their significant role in identifying and understanding both the explicit and the implicit themes and learned statements encoded by Baschenis and Bettera in their still-life paintings. Inventories

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of musical instruments or books may capture the material and intellectual possessions of a given individual, yet do not necessarily prove he was a scholar. This study requires more than mentioning the name of a book. It is based on the premise that the presence of each book depicted in the paintings must be treated as a cultural and intellectual statement that was pertinent to the main issues discussed by the painters’ contemporaries. This argument will be supported by various means, such as information about the author and content of each book, the number of published editions together with the languages that the book was translated into, and the person to which the book was dedicated. This information will enable the identification of the idea, debate, ideology, or critique represented in each composition. It is worth noting that most of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s original paintings are located in private collections. The Agliardi Triptych, for example, which is considered to be a masterpiece, has remained in the Agliardi family mansion since Baschenis painted it some 350 years ago. Only a small number of works by both artists can be found in museums in Bergamo, Venice, Milan, Brussels, Vienna, and Jerusalem. Consequently, this study offers the first discussion of two previously unfamiliar works by Bettera, which have yet to be reproduced or discussed (Figure 72, p. 196, and Figure 129, p. 262). This study relies on valuable primary sources, some of which will be discussed in the following chapters. The information it presents regarding culture and music in Bergamo is based on locally written books concerning the city’s cultural and musical life. Other sources include the archives of regional churches and of a local charity organization, as well as the archive of the local academy, which includes, among other documents, a lecture delivered by an important patron of Baschenis’s work. In exploring Baschenis’s biography, information was gathered from primary sources found in Bergamo’s archives and published mainly by Enrico De Pascale and Marco Rosci. Among these documents are the contract between Baschenis and his teacher, the two wills written by Baschenis, and an inventory of his possessions, together with the details of their sale following his death. These documents all reveal information about his private collection of paintings, his circle of clients and acquaintances, and his working methods. Moreover, his trips outside of Bergamo can be studied by examining the accounting books of the church where he served as priest. This and other documents have been gathered by De Pascale, whose contribution to the present study is significant and essential, and enrich our understanding of the artist and his works.8 Another major primary source is a large number of the 54 letters exchanged between the French painter and priest Jacques Courtois, known as Il Borgognone, and the art dealer and collector Alberto Vanghetti, who was also a patron and friend of Baschenis. In these letters, Baschenis is mentioned as a painter whose professional opinion is valued by both parties. The professional status and esteem he 8

For a full list of publications related to Baschenis by De Pascale, see bibliography.

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enjoyed are revealed by locally written texts, as well as by his biographer, F.M. Tassi. By contrast, there are only a few primary sources related to Bettera’s biography, and their contribution to this study is limited: they consist of documents concerning the sale of the modest possessions owned by his family, and a number of letters referring to his economic status and debts. These documents were published by Rosci and Giulia Palloni. The status of still-life painters and of the genre itself as discussed in this study was informed by the texts of seventeenth-century thinkers and theorists, including the above-mentioned Lomazzo, as well as Bellori, Mancini, and Comanini.9 Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier shed light on the importance of music in seventeenth-century society, as did a range of theoretical texts expressing the views of painters such as Arcimboldo; letters by composers such as Monteverdi; and impressions and opinions written by composers who came to perform in Bergamo. The books within the paintings were a valuable primary source, revealing much about the writer, the reader, the audience’s taste, and the subjects debated by the painters’ contemporaries. Inventories of private libraries in residences and monasteries in Bergamo also provided important information. On the subject of theatre, seventeenth-century texts written by residents of Bergamo, as well as general books and articles on the importance of the theatre written by playwrights and theorists of the time, proved to be fruitful sources of information. Texts on the paragone written by Leonardo, Alberti, and Varchi, as well as by Vincenzo Galilei and his son Galileo Galilei, served as sources of knowledge concerning opinions and ideas on this subject. Equally enlightening were books, articles, and letters by early modern composers, sculptors, and painters such as Cardano and Vasari. The subject of music and visual art is discussed from a methodological perspective in an article by the musicologist Antonio Baldassarre, who argues that one cannot make do with a schematic description of musical instruments in artworks. According to the British painter John Constable, who is quoted by Baldassarre, ‘paintings are books’.10 Like written texts, they provide the viewer with a wealth of information. On the importance of visual sources in acquiring knowledge, Baldassarre suggested that musicologists follow the academic discussion unfolding in recent years among art historians, who recommend an interdisciplinary methodology for studying the iconography of music in paintings. Baldassarre encourages an academic collaboration between experts in the two different fields, who could work together to achieve shared goals while preserving the independence of each discipline, and bemoans the fact that the iconography of music in painting remains an under-researched area. 9 Full references concerning these writers are included in Chapter 2. 10 Baldassarre, ‘Reflections on Methods and Methodology in Music Iconography’, 33–38. The quote ‘paintings are books’ appears in an article presented at the international conference on iconography held in Göteborg in 2006: Répertoire International d’Iconographie Musicale at the International Conference of IAML/IAMIC/IMS.

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In the current study, Baldassarre’s recommendations were implemented in a concrete manner: Roberto Gini, an Italian composer and musician who plays an ancient lute, contributed significantly to this study by sharing his knowledge of this musical instrument. Gini, who reads seventeenth-century musical notes, analysed and interpreted the notes in the paintings. Amit Tiefenbrunn, the musical director of the Barocada Ensemble and a maker of Baroque musical instruments, assessed the painted instruments to determine how precisely they are depicted, as well as the types of wood of which they were made. He pointed to different signs and subtleties that led to the formation of various conceptual matters and musical statements, and contributed significantly to the assertion that the musical instruments are not ‘silent’, in contrast to the common assumption made by most scholars. Beatrix Darmstädter, a musicologist and curator at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, contributed important information concerning the attributions of the manufacturers’ stamps visible on the musical instruments in the paintings. Moreover, she turned my attention to a study that she herself conducted on the use of recorders as theatrical accessories, which attends to their presence in some of Baschenis’s paintings (see Chapter 5, pp. 203–204, 214). The collaboration with these three leading experts – a composer and lute player, a musician and maker of Baroque musical instruments, and a musicologist specializing in early modern music – underscored one of the central questions explored in this study, which resurfaces in different variations throughout its chapters: Why did Baschenis – who meticulously depicted musical instruments in minute detail – represent musical notations with intentional imprecision? And why, by contrast, did he choose, albeit rarely, to paint melodically precise musical notes? Baschenis and Bettera appear to have painted details whose significance was obvious to any educated viewer at the time. Yet, as the following chapters reveal, this may not always have been the case. The structure of this book presents a thematic journey through the life and culture of seventeenth-century Bergamo, as guided by the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera. The chapters are dedicated to an in-depth analysis of the paintings through four thematic prisms: music, theatre, books, and the paragone. This thematic division allows for a close reading of the paintings and the elements represented in them, giving rise to a comprehensive image of social and cultural life in Bergamo. The second chapter, ‘Still-Life as Culture’, presents the biographical information concerning Baschenis’s and Bettera’s life and work, and a discussion of the characteristics of realist painting in Lombardy, whose defining traits are evident in the works of these two painters. The general literature survey of the still-life genre serves as a necessary background for an examination of the existing scholarly work on the stilllife paintings of these two artists, followed by a discussion of the unique and innovative aspects of the current study. Information regarding Bergamo as the cultural and musical centre in which both artists worked concludes this chapter.

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The subsequent chapters both build upon and deconstruct the literal understanding of the paintings as mere works of ‘still-life’. The positioning of the objects in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings may initially appear simply as a virtuoso demonstration of foreshortening, of the calculated use of lighting, and of the depiction of materials and textures. Yet these chapters prove the objects to be imbued with great significance, as pieces in an intellectual chess game enacted by the painters. The musical instruments and sheet music, as well as the books, sculptures, curtains, and stage accessories, all represent social, cultural, and intellectual concerns that recur in different variations throughout almost all of the paintings: the right to a title of nobility, innovation and tradition, historical events and their writing in the service of interested patrons, truth as a relative concept, and the war of the arts. In order to allow for an in-depth discussion of these and many other themes, I divided the paintings into four thematically based chapters concerned, respectively, with music, books, theatre, and the paragone. The third chapter, ‘Keeping Score: Painting Music’, examines the theme of music in the paintings. Terms such as colour, harmony, and rhythm point to the connections among music, painting, and text, and are expressed through the statements and allusions contained in the compositions. The introductory part of this chapter offers a survey of conceptions of music in early modern Italy and of its place in the cultural life of Bergamo. It is followed by a discussion of music as a representation of culture in the paintings, by means of a meticulous examination of the musical instruments, sheet music, and vocal texts inscribed among the rows of notations. Baschenis and Bettera did not paint the instruments only in a literal sense; and the educated viewer, who himself played music, saw the musical instruments and notes as active contributors to an intellectual and cultural discourse, and not merely as dusty objects representative of silence, death, and finality. The paintings presented in this chapter demonstrate the unique and innovative dimensions of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s representations of music, and reveal the degree to which these paintings exceed the notions of ‘music of silence’ or of a ‘still-life with musical instruments’, as they were previously described by other scholars. The fourth chapter, ‘Banned Books and Blockbusters’, presents Baschenis’s and Bettera’s use of painted books as representations of knowledge and of intellectual debates among members of Bergamo’s cultivated and educated elite. A survey of local libraries and the role of books within local society is followed by an examination of paintings containing books. The identification of the authors and their biographies, and the inspection of the main themes or statements of each book, reveal the preoccupations of the painters’ cultivated contemporaries with subjects such as jurisprudence, poetry, religion, science, and history. By choosing these books and employing them as intellectual and cultural agents, the two painters were able to underscore their own scholarly pursuits, present controversial subjects, introduce scientific developments and innovations, recommend fashionable ‘best-sellers’, and

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raise questions concerning the religious, legal, and economic dimensions of privileged status and rights. The fifth chapter, ‘A Double Act: Still-Life and Theatre’, is devoted to the world of theatre and its conceptualization during the early modern period, which comes ‘centre stage’ in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings. The introductory section of this chapter explores the term theatrum mundi (‘the theatre of the world’) in the context of seventeenth-century Italian culture, and more specifically in the local context of Bergamo. That which is common to both the arts of theatre and painting is revealed by an analysis of the works, and is exemplified by the multi-disciplinary approach of these two painters. This approach is given expression in the design of the composition as a stage set, the employment of space and the representation of infinity, the use of theatrical curtains, and the presentation of ‘imperfect’ instruments as stage accessories. In their paintings, which created an illusion of depth and a dramatic atmosphere, Baschenis and Bettera appealed to the cultivated members of the local elite who attended opera performances on the city’s stages, inviting them to gaze at the theatre they created in the works. The innovation evidenced in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works is not limited to the cultivated and scholarly use they made of the objects represented in their paintings. The sixth and last chapter, ‘Paragone: May the Best Art Win’, reveals how they succeeded in engaging with the notion of the paragone, which preoccupied both artists and theorists during the early modern period, within the unexpected sphere of stilllife painting, which is devoid of figures or narrative. Following a short theoretical discussion of the term paragone, particularly as viewed by the artists’ contemporaries, the paintings will be examined based on a thematic division according to the way they enact the competition among the arts. This painted competition, as the discussion reveals, unfolds not only between painting and sculpture or painting and music, but also between additional artistic fields such as painting, music, sculpture, literature, and science. The objects represented in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings reveal their wide-ranging intellectual knowledge and motivation. They used their canvases as a stage on which they presented a unique subgenre: still-life as a cultural portrait of individuals and their society. These compositions of objects, which replace the presence of narrative and figures required in other painterly genres, serve to represent the scholarly painter and his educated milieu. The uniquely portrayed objects are thus used as cultural agents that create a multifaceted, intricate ‘portrait of identity’ of both the scholarly artists and their city. The seventeenth-century cultivated viewer is invited to engage with these paintings, which are by no means ‘still’, respond to their arguments, and reflect on the intellectual debates they offer.

2. Still-Life as Culture This chapter begins with a presentation of the two artists at the centre of this study: Evaristo Baschenis and Bartolomeo Bettera, both natives of the Italian city of Bergamo and known as painters of still-life paintings with musical instruments. It will reveal that there is an impressive amount of available information regarding Baschenis’s biography, while much less is known about the life of Bettera. Next, I show how a painting’s subject largely determined its status in the eyes of artists, theoreticians, patrons, and collectors, and situate the genre of still-life within this hierarchy. I describe the characteristic features of seventeenth-century painting in Lombardy, which are present also in the works of Baschenis and Bettera.1 I argue that paintings featuring various objects and musical instruments do not necessarily represent the theme of vanitas as they are typically interpreted, and propose other, non-traditional meanings for the representations of these objects in the paintings. I present the approaches of scholars of still-life painting in general and of scholars who have written on the still-life paintings of Baschenis and Bettera in particular. From this survey of the current state of research will emerge the contours of the present study, in which I treat the objects in the ‘still-life with musical instruments’ paintings as a vehicle for expressing views on controversial issues, and for expressing cultural and knowledgeable statements by both painter and viewer. In this genre of painting, the ‘still’ of the genre’s title appears to be an oxymoron to a representation of the intellectual, cultural, and dynamic world of the early modern educated man. But, as will be shown, it is not so. Concluding this chapter is a survey of the Bergamo cultural landscape that allowed Baschenis and Bettera to convey complex and challenging messages in their works, and allowed the aristocratic and erudite audiences of these works to find in them much more than a collection of objects scattered on a table in a closed room.

The Biographies of Evaristo Baschenis and Bartolomeo Bettera Your brush paints with marvel and instructs the drawings with the vivacity of objects. Rome speaks about the virtuous memories of your paintings, Florence speaks about your ideas of colour, Venice peals with the delicacy of your hand and Turin celebrates the prodigious features of your style. Various cities, where your

1 Seventeenth-century Lombardy was larger geographically than the region of the same name today. It included central areas related to Milan, Cremona, Bergamo, Turin, and Piedmont. The survey presented in this chapter is confined to the features of realistic still-life paintings. Further recommended reading regarding the realist painters of Bergamo can be found in De Pascale, ‘The Painters of Reality’, 211–221.

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figurative works appeared, have praised them as a miracle of profession and an effort of talent.2

Evaristo Baschenis, a native of the town of Bergamo in the Lombardy region, was a priest, painter, musician, and art collector who established within the genre of Italian still-life painting a new subgenre: still-life with musical instruments.3 His paintings are characterized by complex compositions that featured, in addition to the musical instruments, sheet music, globes, and books. Baschenis was active for over 30 years (1645–1677), and his body of work numbers dozens of paintings, a minority of which are in museums, auction houses, and galleries outside of Italy. Most of his paintings are located in private collections in Lombardy, some even in the residences of the very same families for whom they were created several hundred years ago.4 Between the years 1639 and 1643, Baschenis studied with Gian Giacomo Barbello of Crema, who specialized in the painting and decoration of ceilings and domes. Barbello passed on to his student the principles of foreshortening and optical illusion, along with his vast knowledge of the technique of illusionistic ceiling painting (quadratura).5 In 1643 Baschenis returned to Bergamo and worked as a simple priest at the church of Beata Vergine dello Spasimo, a position that allowed him to devote himself to his primary occupation – painting. Baschenis set up a workshop in Borgo San Leonard, a commercial centre where artists and painters worked, which served as a meeting point for merchants travelling from Milan or Venice to villages across the area.6 He painted some portraits, as well as battle scenes copied from the work of his friend, the French painter and priest Jacques Courtois. Baschenis managed his affairs well and kept abreast of the artistic developments of his time. As Barbello’s apprentice, Baschenis travelled to work on projects in other cities such as Spanish-controlled Milan, and Crema and Cremona in Lombardy. These trips broadened his horizons as a young painter and provided the opportunity to meet artists working in ebullient cultural centres. Over the years he kept travelling across Italy, to Venice, Turin, Florence, and Rome. His trips outside of Bergamo were significant for his artistic development, as in the case of his two-month sojourn in Rome 2 Translated into English by Lara Tavarnesi. These praises were written by Antonio Lupis (1649–1701), a Venetian nobleman, writer, and scholar, and owner of a painting by Baschenis. Lupis, Il Plico; Rossi, ‘Committenza e Collezionismo’, 87–104. 3 Baschenis owned a private collection of paintings which presents his personal taste and relations with other painters. There are more than 100 paintings in the collection, including works by his teacher Barbello, his friend Courtois, a Roman painter named Ciro Ferri, a German painter named Storer who worked in Bergamo, and more. A full listing can be found in the inventory of items sold after his death. See De Pascale, ‘Evaristo Baschenis: Selected Documents’, 70–71. 4 One example would be the triptych found in the residence of his patrons, the Agliardi family (see Chapters 2–5). 5 De Pascale, ‘Il Violino e la Rosa’, 68–69. 6 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis “Privato”’, 51–64.

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in the autumn of 1650.7 While there is no concrete information about his activities in the city, researchers draw on Baschenis’s close friendship with Courtois, who worked mainly in Rome, and on the 54 letters sent by the latter to the art dealer and collector Alberto Vanghetti to trace his artistic connections and activities. In the letters, Courtois refers to Baschenis as his close friend, his professional advisor, and as his partner in the buying and selling of paintings. In 1663 Courtois wrote of his pleasure at learning that Baschenis and Vanghetti were arriving in Rome, asked to be sent works by Baschenis, and reminded them that he awaited his critique of works Courtois had sent him, noting that he was very eager to know what Baschenis would say.8 An important turning point that served to enrich the scholarship on Baschenis occurred in the 1990s when Enrico De Pascale discovered two wills drawn up by Baschenis (1660, 1677) and the inventory of his possessions made by the executors. The wills, containing Baschenis’s instructions, and the meticulous list of his sold possessions together with the names of buyers, provide insights about his private and professional life. They allow us to understand his cultural taste as an art collector, to identify his circle of acquaintances and patrons, and to learn about his relations with contemporaneous painters.9 For example, Baschenis bequeathed several paintings to the church where he had served as a priest, on condition that prayers be said in his memory; and to his niece, whom he had raised, he left money, musical instruments, and books. The wills and inventory provide information about his private collection of paintings and the musical instruments he owned, revealing among other things that he had several canvases on which drapery had been drawn before the full composition was painted, and that he possessed a round crystal mirror designed specifically for painters. Bartolomeo Bettera was also a native of Bergamo. His paintings feature musical instruments and sheet music surrounded by cultural objects such as books, an astrolabe and globe, a statue, and a shell. His oeuvre numbers dozens of paintings, few of which are displayed in museums and auction houses outside of Italy.10 Most works are located in the residences of the aristocratic families for whom they were originally created many centuries ago. Approximately ten other paintings were painted by his son, Bonaventura, and they show that he adhered to the style of his father’s paintings. Bettera’s poor financial situation is probably what drove him in the late 1680s to try his luck in Milan – a change that he himself documented by adding the city’s name to his signature on one of his paintings: ‘Bartolomeo Bettera F. in Milano’. 7 For more known biographical details regarding Baschenis, see: Bayer, The Still Lifes of Evaristo Baschenis, 66–71; De Pascale, ‘Evaristo Baschenis: Regesto Biografico’, 65–68. 8 Rosci, ‘Evaristo Baschenis’, 5–6. 9 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis “Privato”’, 51–64. 10 As will be shown in the following literature survey, there is a dispute regarding some of the paintings attributed to Bettera. The assumption made here is based on the opinion of De Pascale following my request. The patrons and noble families who used to or still hold works attributed to Bettera are listed in a paper by Palloni, ‘Bartolomeo Bettera: l’Innominato Erede’, 16–25.

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The signature on another painting confirms the fact that he also worked in Rome: ‘Bartolomeo Bettera F. in Roma’ (see Figure 84). The little information we have about Bettera from primary sources all concerns his financial difficulties. In a letter which he sent from Milan to Vanghetti, the friend of Courtois and Baschenis, Bettera explained his failure to deliver a painting by the agreed deadline. He complained about his meagre wage, which did not even cover his expenses for the canvases and paint, and about the financial burden of his travels from Milan to Bergamo. In the end, Bettera, who was dependent on Vanghetti’s good will, promised to complete the painting promptly, adding that ‘the delay will be advantageous because I will make it all the more great and beautiful’.11 Another document, from March 1672, reports the sale of Bettera’s residence as a result of a debt to the Count Vittorio Lupi, who was a well-connected, influential figure in Bergamo and an acquaintance of Baschenis. The handful of extant letters and documents paint a dire picture of Bettera’s predicament. Since Bettera was in his late thirties when Baschenis died, we may assume that the two artists worked simultaneously in Bergamo for many years. The fact that Bettera’s creditors were closely acquainted with Baschenis suggests that they were both connected to similar social circles, yet highlights the gap between Baschenis and Bettera in terms of social and financial status. In his will, Baschenis mentions dozens of figures from various circles of acquaintance, but Bettera is not among them. Records of the auction of Baschenis’s belongings after his death show that Bettera attended it, but bought only canvases and paint. These facts suggest the lack of direct ties between the two artists. While Bettera wrote about the days growing shorter and the cold more debilitating, Baschenis documented himself in a painting playing music, well dressed and in the company of his venerable patrons. The dearth of information makes it hard to assess the reasons for Bettera’s financial hardship. Given the great demand for Baschenis’s paintings, it is reasonable to assume that Bettera’s paintings were also in demand because their subject was the same.12

Still-Life Paintings in Seventeenth-Century Lombardy A rug-covered table-top is strewn with objects, fully exposed to the viewer’s gaze, lit and shaded in a quintessentially Baroque style. The viewers’ focus is drawn to a space bound by a drape, enclosed and free of any figures or landscape. The viewer 11 ‘Però le prometto che con più lungo tempo sarà per il suo quadro maggior vantaggio, perche lo farò tanto più grande e bello.’ The letter containing the quoted sentence appears in the biographical information in the catalogue: Palloni, ‘Regesto Biografico’, 77. 12 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis e Dintorni’, 79–85. According to De Pascale and others, listing the exact names of Bettera's patrons, clients, and collectors other than Vanghetti is impossible due to insufficient primary sources. However, it is most likely he was known to the merchant’s acquaintances. Bettera’s name appears in inventories for the first time in 1706, the Ferrari Sacchini family of Piacenza listing four paintings made by him. De Pascale, ‘Bartolomeo Bettera: Regesto Biografico’, 86.

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might look at the sheet music and musical instruments while pondering the silence surrounding him; and as he observes the globe beside the instruments he may let his thoughts take flight to faraway places while trying to brush off the dust resting on the lute in front of him. Trompe l’oeil at its best. And he may also gaze more deeply, well beyond the traditional paradigm of still-life painting, to discover other messages concealed in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works. Still-life paintings were a test of an artist’s ability to handle such elements as compositional complexity, spatial arrangement, and use of light, and an impeccable representation of textures and materials. The painting’s dark background and narrow space required meticulous planning of the placement of objects, with close attention to their relative proportions. Artists made group paintings of objects that were not always related to one another in any natural way, and they did so primarily with the help of light and colour. They presented the same object from different angles for the sake of greater interest and as a show of mimetic abilities while following the laws of perspective, describing with spectacular accuracy objects such as flowers, fabric, food, precious stones, furs, or straw baskets. Generally speaking, seventeenth-century thought privileged the spiritual and the eternal over the material and the concrete. One expression of this view could be found in the way different subject matters were ranked in terms of their importance, priority, and prestige. Religious, historical, and allegorical contents were accorded the highest priority, followed by portraits, landscape and genre paintings, and, at the bottom of the hierarchy, still-life paintings.13 Therefore, still-life painters were considered no more than craftsmen who imitated daily objects. In the eyes of the church, vita activa (‘daily life’) was not a worthy subject matter, and thus the genre of painting that depicted the earthly and the material was naturally marginalized. Artists from Bologna and Rome, like Francesco Albani (1578–1660) and Pietro Testa (1611–1650), derided still-life painters. They contended that there was no reason to take seriously works of art that did not feature figures. Painting objects is a mundane act of copying, they argued, containing nothing of the creativity and innovation required of a worthy work of art.14 The same matter was addressed by the Siena-based polymath Giulio Mancini (1558–1630), a physician and art collector. His seminal book from the early seventeenth century addressed the hierarchical structure of themes in painting, noting that the categories in painting are based on the differences between the copied subject matter. According to Mancini, the more an artist uses his imagination and his power of invention the more his work tends toward perfection; hence 13 Further reading regarding the development of the still-life genre in Europe, divided into religious and geographical categories, can be found in a paper by the art historian Alberto Veca: ‘Days and Works’, 24–29. Further information regarding the development of Italian still-life painting can be found in Pirovano, La Natura Morta in Italia. 14 Spear and Sohm, Painting for Profit, 104, note 597; Cropper, The Ideal of Painting, 160–161.

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still-life painting was placed at the bottom of the hierarchy.15 This tendency further manifests itself when looking at the distribution of paintings by subject matter within the collections of seventeenth-century Rome.16 Historical paintings are found to be most popular among the patrons and collectors, and undoubtedly drew higher prices, as the price of a painting depended on its subject matter. Relative to historical paintings, still-life paintings were low in demand, and the sums they earned their painters were accordingly meagre.17 An exception among the patrons was Cardinal Federico Borromeo (1564–1631), the Archbishop of Milan, who was also a humanist and important art collector. The fact that Borromeo purchased still-life paintings and displayed them in his collection stirred interest among other Italian collectors and patrons, and bolstered the genre’s status. During his stay in Rome, in the years 1586–1601, Borromeo bought Caravaggio’s famous painting Basket of Fruit (c. 1597), followed by six still-life paintings from Jan Brueghel the Elder (1568–1625), which he bought over the years.18 Referring to Brueghel’s painting Vase of Flowers (1609–1610), Borromeo wrote that during winter time, when everything around is frozen, he enjoyed the flowers depicted in the paintings on his walls: the flowers do not change their colour and remain eternally fresh.19 For Borromeo, the flowers and the fruit were copies that equalled the original. God had granted nature, whether real or painted, its colourful and stimulating appearance so as to inspire the faithful to look within and meditate upon their souls. Borromeo believed that the images in still-life paintings exert a positive influence on the observer, provided that they are convincing reproductions which succeed in enchanting the observer as the natural world enchants him. Light, colour, and optical illusion were important stylistic features of realistic painting in late sixteenth- to early seventeenth-century Lombardy. Roberto Longhi defined the early seventeenth-century Lombard genre as a ‘painting of reality’, and contrasted this new style with the ideal, airy, and academic mannerism that in his view characterized the earlier sixteenth-century northern Italian painting.20 He denied the possibility that Italian still-life painting was a representation that expressed a yearning for antiquity, and also rejected the claim that Lombard still-life 15 Spear and Sohm, Painting for Profit, 91, note 501. 16 Ibid., 92, Table 6. It should be noted that the data above is based on the tastes of Roman patrons of art. Although exact prices of paintings in Bergamo are not available, it can be assumed that their pricing, based on their genre, was equally low. Some pricing information of paintings in Bergamo (not including still-life paintings) can be found in Haskell, Patrons and Painters, 217–220. 17 For more about still-life painting pricing: Spear and Sohm, Painting for Profit, 105, 107, note 623. 18 Jones, ‘Federico Borromeo as a Patron of Landscapes and Still Lifes’, 269, note 45. On Borromeo as a patron of still life and landscape paintings: ibid., 261–272. 19 Ibid., 269, note 43; Borromeo, Pro Suis Studiis, fols. 254v–255r. 20 A survey of Longhi’s writings and critical approach regarding Lombard painting can be found in Gregori, ‘Caravaggio and Lombardy’, 23–44.

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painting was directly influenced by Flemish and Dutch painting.21 Alberto Veca argued, by contrast, that northern artists like Brueghel and Daniel Seghers (1590– 1661) did indeed influence the Lombard artists, who brought winds of change into their paintings with the depiction of food and flower vases, representing both the utilitarian and the beautiful. He even found proof of this influence in certain representations in works by Baschenis and Bettera, as discussed in the literature review provided below.22 According to Longhi, the very heart of Lombard realism is to be found in the works of such artists as Caravaggio, Giovanni Battista Moroni (1520?– 1579), Romanino (1484?–1560?), Giovanni Cariani (1490?–1547), and Lorenzo Lotto (1480?–1556). These artists portrayed details from daily life even within religious images, despite defying the decorum by doing so.23 A contemporaneous view could be found in the words of Titian (1488–1576), which was impressed by the technical skill manifested in the realist paintings of Lombard artists like Moroni. Nevertheless, he regarded the perfect reproduction of reality as a limitation, and not just an advantage. According to him, these paintings lacked the quality of invenzione (‘inventiveness’) that earned painters the esteem of their colleagues and of the period’s patrons and scholars.24 Francesco Maria Tassi (1710–1782), the Bergamo biographer who was also Baschenis’s first biographer, also noted the fact that Titian was impressed with the naturalistic style of painters in Bergamo.25 In his view, we ought not assume that Titian was merely complimenting Moroni, as Titian himself would never have painted something fully ‘true to the original’. Therefore, he believes that this was in fact Titian’s critique of naturalistic painting. Longhi regarded Caravaggio as responsible for the emergence of still-life painting as an independent genre, and argued that Caravaggio arrived in Rome with ‘the manifesto for his revolutionary realism already in his pocket’.26 By contrast, Richard Spear wondered whether the tendency of scholars to accord such an important place to Caravaggio in the evolution of the still-life genre in Italy was not exaggerated. In his view, these researchers ignore the fact that even Caravaggio – who regarded the effort, difficulty, and challenge of painting still-life and of painting figures as equal 21 Longhi et al., I Pittori della Realtá in Lombardia. It must be noted that Dutch and Flemish still-life painting is a self-contained subject not to be confused with Italian still-life painting. Most scholars agree there is no proof of direct northern influence on Baschenis and Bettera. In this research, stylistic expressions are highlighted only as they serve a cultural theme; therefore Dutch still-life painting is not discussed or compared to Italian works, except for specific references. 22 Veca, ‘Days and Works’, 26. 23 As he wrote in the catalogue introduction of the exhibition of 1953: Longhi et al., I Pittori della Realtá in Lombardia. Andrea Bayer agreed with his observation, yet acknowledged the complexity of the subject, since it is impossible to ignore other influences over the region’s painters, such as Venetian culture, religious and literary texts, and other styles of painting. Specifically, she addresses the influence of Moroni and Lotto over the following generations of Lombard painters. Bayer, ‘Brescia and Bergamo’, 105. 24 Bayer, The Still Lifes, 3. 25 The book appeared posthumously: Tassi, Vite de’ Pittori, Scultori e Architetti Bergamaschi, 233–237. 26 Bayer, ‘Brescia and Bergamo’, 5, note 7.

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– had himself abandoned still-life painting in favour of more prestigious and more lucrative styles.27 The Lombard painters showed heightened interest in the nuances of colour and hues that imbued the figures and objects in their paintings with a soft and natural presence. The painter, biographer, and theorist Gian Pietro Bellori (1613–1696) chose to describe with marked appreciation a vase with water and flowers painted by Caravaggio – ‘with transparent water and glass in which the window of the room is reflected’. He, too, noted that through the accurate use of colour, the Lombard painters created optical illusions in their works.28 The Bolognese historian and art critic Carlo Cesare Malvasia (1616–1693) wrote that, thanks to their proper use of colour, the artists succeeded in conveying a sense of softness and fleshiness in their portraits. He added with appreciation that a good painter need not necessarily hail from Rome, and that one could also be satisfied with the works of painters who worked in Lombardy, Venice, and other areas.29 The virtue of colour in Lombard painting was addressed by Lomazzo, who wrote that the incredible skill of the Lombard artists to paint details from nature with such precision was grounded in the way in which they used colour. To his mind, their achievement in creating an illusion by representing details from reality was so great that in their works it was no longer possible to distinguish reality from imagination, the real from the painted. Lomazzo advised his friends the Lombard painters to devote their full attention to the natural world, and his comments help clarify the importance of a skilled use of colour in the achievement of that matter.30 He himself had been forced to stop painting after going blind, and devoted the rest of his life to theoretical writing about the principles of art.31 His writings are particularly important because he was a leading figure among the artists of his time. His advocacy of still-life promoted a greater engagement with this genre in the Lombard school of painting. The genre of still-life painting in Lombardy remained nearly unchanged until the middle of the eighteenth century. Flowers, fruit, and inanimate objects were painted both out of respect and appreciation of mimetic technical skill, and as an allegorical or moral expression. However, alongside this general inclusion of the Lombard artists as painters of reality, it is important to note both the variety within their works and their differential quality. The works of Baschenis and Bettera express the use of light, colour, and illusionism that was typical of painters from the area; but

27 Giustiniani, ‘Discorso Sopra la Pittura’, 42: ‘ed il Caravaggio disse, che tanta manifattura gli era a fare un quadro buono di fiori come di figure.’ 28 Bayer, ‘Defining Naturalism in Lombard Painting’, 14, note 37. 29 Ibid., 12, note 26. 30 Ibid., 6, note 10. 31 Lomazzo, Trattato dell’Arte.

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in addition, and this is the crucial point, they further articulate their own unique expression.

Still-Life (with Musical Instruments) Is Not Just Vanitas Still-life is a genre that allows the artist to present a variety of meanings, and allows the painting’s commissioner and viewer different levels of understanding, based on such characteristics as their life experience and general knowledge. Many of the objects featured in these works were assorted foods, objects of daily consumption or collectables, producing a natural and simple air. Most likely, those who collected objects such as books, porcelain, and jewellery also purchased still-life paintings, and thus combined their appreciation of the object with their appreciation of its representation in the painting. In the eyes of seventeenth-century Italian society, the pride that attended material wealth was tainted with shame. The men and women of the early modern period were admonished regularly not to stray from the correct path, to worship God faithfully, live humbly, and abide by strict moral maxims. They knew how to distinguish between the various objects in the painting, and to identify the meaning produced by the act of representing them. The more erudite among them knew, for instance, whether a depicted object symbolized a scientific achievement and a certain intellectual content, or whether it conveyed a moral warning and a call to order. The immoral behaviour and inanity of the lives of those who stray from the path was defined at the time by means of the term vanitas. In visual images that contain the word and depict objects that symbolize its meaning, the subject invariably concerns life’s meaninglessness and futility. Most of the objects depicted in still-life paintings were understood as cautioning against the dangers of materialism and the pursuit of luxuries, and thus as warning against the emptiness and existential wretchedness of earthly life. The transient and temporary could be identified in the representation of skulls, clocks, soap bubbles, blown-out candles, and wilted flowers. These objects all function as reminders of the passage of time and of the death that awaits every mortal being. These objects thus represent death without including any visual representation of the netherworld or of the doomed figures that populate it, and without representing either battles or disease. In contrast to this reading, in the pages that follow I wish to propose a different way of looking at the objects in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works, despite their definition as still-life paintings. Through a detailed approach that steers clear of generalizations, I hope to show that the objects carry deep significance, beyond displaying technical skill or hinting at the worthless and meaningless nature of worldly life. That is, a single painting may have more than one interpretation, since many still-life paintings contain objects that have multiple meanings.

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An example of such objects is the musical instruments that feature in a significant number of still-life paintings. Typically, instruments like lutes or violins functioned as symbols of vanitas based on the common perception that music is a means of seduction, temporary and ephemeral. To underscore this message, alongside the instruments the artists placed mirrors, skulls, feathers, flower bouquets, candles, and glass balls. Based on the notion of vanitas, researchers have determined that still-life paintings with musical instruments represent the fragility and transience of worldly life.32 Music – which is present at a given moment and then immediately vanishes and dissolves – served in their view as a metaphor for the finiteness of life, and the silence when the music is over symbolized death and the stillness that follows it. Like music, human life was perceived as a passing shadow. The fragility of life, which is bound to expire, was likened to that of the instrument’s strings, while the ephemeral sounds of music alluded to the fleeting nature of sensory pleasures.33 The theme of music in painting is a source of fascination for art historians and musicologists alike.34 The musicologist and art historian Emanuel Winternitz was a pioneer in his approach to the relation between music, painting, and culture.35 Winternitz argued that the representation of musical instruments in painting carries meaning beyond their function as instruments used to play music. Their further function had to do with the representation of a certain social-cultural milieu, with the instruments carrying a message of allegorical thought. The painters, in full awareness, conveyed a message to viewers through the symbolic meaning of the musical instruments. In Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, musical instruments and sheet music occupy a central place, and their presence, I believe, has further meaning that is not at all related to the issue of vanitas. Moreover, other objects in their paintings, like books, statues, and globes, are also not mere symbols of vanitas. To validate this claim, which runs through my reading of their work, I will offer several particular examples of a different interpretation of distinct vanitas symbols. First, we need to distinguish between an emblematic symbol that appears as a printed image accompanied by text and the symbols that appear in an oil painting depicting still-life. The format of the prints, their audience, their aim, and their target audience differed from the format, aim, and audience of still-life paintings.36 32 There is a distinction between studies related to music in seventeenth-century still-life paintings (such as McIver) and studies aimed at interpretation of musical instruments in the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera. McIver, Art and Music in the Early Modern Period, 287–332. Veca studied the history of musical instruments in art, and analysed their social and cultural functions: Veca, ‘Un Immaginario Europeo’, 15–38. 33 On the symbolic value of musical instruments within still-life compositions, including the work of Baschenis, see: Austen, ‘All Things in this World is but the Musick of Inconstancie’, 287–332. 34 This study does not intend to summarize this wide and interesting subject. Nevertheless, I would like to draw the reader’s attention to the small number of musical instrument interpretations in still-life paintings, which are unrelated to the theme of vanitas. 35 Winternitz, Musical Instruments and their Symbolism. 36 Chong et al., Still-Life Paintings from the Netherlands, 17.

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Therefore, a similar interpretation cannot be based only on corresponding details and motifs. The rich images and the texts attached to them in the emblem books, which enabled the creation of an index of regular vanitas warnings, did not necessarily suit the oil paintings of the still-life genre. Moreover, emblems are a category unto themselves in the arts, and their meanings are poetic, complex, and sometimes contradictory.37 In a description on the theme of ‘study’ in the emblem Studio by Cesare Ripa (1560–1645) we find an example of a positive and invigorating meaning attributed to symbols that are typically interpreted in emblem books as symbols of Vanitas.38 Through books and other symbols of time, Ripa called the attention of viewers or readers to the importance of the knowledge acquired through reading. He did this with the help of the light of a candle – which in other cases stands for the wick of life that burns and dies out – situated above the book in the illustration. Ripa thus called upon the learning man to use the days of his short life in a productive and desirable manner.39 One of the recurring images in still-life paintings is that of the seashell. Alan Chong explained and illustrated the difference between interpretations of shell images, which can be read either as an emblematic warning against squandering and the tendency to focus on the unimportant or as natural specimens appreciated by contemporaries for their rarity and beauty. In addition, in light of the now widely accepted scholarly interpretation of skulls as symbols of death, Chong sought to remind his readers that in the early seventeenth century people used to collect skulls and skeletons and put them on display, as the skull symbolized an intellectual person or a scholar.40 Similarly, a bowl of fruit, which drew wonder and amazement, recalled the juicy and vivacious nature of the fruit together with the ancient customs of hospitality, and was not necessarily an allusion to the fruit’s potential rotting as a metaphor for the degeneration of life, as scholars of Baschenis and Bettera chose to see it.41 Bettera’s and Baschenis’s paintings feature mostly apples and pears; some fruits are impeccable, others damaged, yet in my view they do not necessarily indicate vanitas. As they did with the other objects in their works, Baschenis and Bettera gave 37 An emblem is an artistic representation developed in the sixteenth century that emphasized the link between the textual and the visual. The word impresa is derived from the Italian verb imprendere, which means ‘to undertake out of a sense of responsibility and purpose’. For the intellectuals of the time, impresa was a way of expressing a purpose or a wish through an emblem and a statement. 38 Ripa, Iconologia, 478. 39 Chong et al., Still-Life Paintings from the Netherlands, 16–17, notes 36, 37. Hyman Dullaert, a Dutch seventeenth-century painter and poet who was a pupil of Rembrandt, wrote a long poem dealing with a candle about to go out, which will thwart the advancement of scholarly research: ‘You offer me a book, from which I can learn […] The rapidly expired hour of my own fleeting life.’ This could be understood as attending the flight of time, as opposed to vanitas and futility. 40 Ibid., 17. The Dutch painter and theoretician Gérard de Lairesse (1640–1711), refers in his writings to the skull just as to any other natural material such as gold, pearls, semi-precious stones, and silver: ibid., 12, note 14. 41 Veca, ‘Days and Works,’ 24–29; De Pascale, ‘Baschenis “Privato”’, 51–64.

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the fruit a variety of functions, which changed from one painting to the next. For example, an apple might be a representation drawn from mythology in one painting and a representation of knowledge based on the biblical story of Adam and Eve in another. Cabinets of curiosities represented intellectual interest, characterized at the time by the habit of collecting unique, rare, and alluring objects, sometimes brought from overseas.42 Reproduced in still-life paintings, these objects represented the journeys of merchants and explorers to faraway countries (such as India), the relishing of rare and interesting plants (for instance, flowers or spices), and the like. The cabinets displayed, among other things, musical instruments, measuring tools, scientific tools, and books. These objects expressed an appreciation of and interest in music, and in the development of science and research. A representation of such objects as books, clocks, armour, musical instruments, and a laurel-crowned skull could indicate a rebuke or a warning against hubris; yet in many cases these objects represented creativity, research, and work. The painting of symbols of time alongside books did indeed contain an element of reproach, but also a recommendation to read, to broaden one’s horizons and to make good use of one’s time. Insects painted and drawn in still-life works also represent the idea of vanitas according to the traditional interpretation. This view holds that insects, being of secondary importance, were considered destructive creatures that blight flowers and plants. By contrast, texts from the sixteenth century and on suggest that insects were studied and investigated as wonders of nature. Moreover, in a medium with no figures (as still-life painting), insects were a substitute, standing in for the viewer beyond the painting or for the human figure that is supposed to be featured within it who examines the textures of surfaces and explores the objects from different points of view (on the meaning of insects in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings, see Chapter 2, pp. 106–108, 118–120).43

Still-Life Painting: The State of Research The survey in this section illustrates, first, a variety of contemporary curatorial and scholarly approaches to the interpretation of still-life paintings in general.44 Next it will discuss the views expressed by scholars who have written about Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings while presenting my own research methodology, which offers an additional and different way of looking at these artists’ works. 42 Olmi, ‘Science-Honour-Metaphor’, 5–16. 43 Chong et al., Still-Life Paintings from the Netherlands, 28. 44 There is no intention to summarize all aspects of still-life painting research, but to present the leading scholarship on the subject.

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Nowadays, curators of exhibitions centred on the genre of still-life painting see it as expressing a moral statement related to the theme of vanitas, and praise the artists for the accurate illusionary realism of their depictions of objects, materials, and textures. In the catalogues of still-life exhibitions, scholars typically focus on dating the works, identifying their patrons, and gathering information about the artists and their work from a primarily stylistic perspective. The art historian Norman Bryson has bemoaned the fact that art historians prefer the reading of still-life paintings through the prism of vanitas over a more critical approach, which he sees as lacking in scholarship on this genre.45 According to Bryson, the still-life painting is a response to a materialist culture that developed in the early modern period and was expressed in objects that came to represent ‘high’ versus ‘low’ culture. The meaning of these paintings, therefore, has to be examined in light of cultural and economic interests alongside needs and preferences of the public at which they were directed, whether they were made for patrons or for the free art market. Furthermore, various other factors need to be considered, such as the painter’s personality, his cultural background and choice of priorities, the society in which he worked, his patrons, shifting artistic trends, and considerations related to his subjective financial situation. Bryson addressed the painting’s technique as well as its representation of objects; he argued that this style of painting is incapable of presenting values, since such a form of moral representation requires a human presence, which is not found in still-life paintings.46 Unlike Bryson, Julie Berger Hochstrasser found human presence in still-life paintings even if no human figure physically appears within them. Thus, in her view, stilllife paintings with natural and inanimate objects contain a narrative, whether as an expression of art for art’s sake or as carrying a symbolic meaning.47 Chong and Wouter Kloek proposed forgoing any sort of unified schematic interpretation of still-life paintings in favour of an analysis that addresses the particular content of each painting, its composition, treatment of light, and even its mood – especially given that in many still-life paintings we find featured side by side objects with multiple and sometimes contradictory meanings. Chong and Kloek, too, like Hochstrasser, found that still-life paintings contain a human presence – the presence of the painter: his portrait, his personal possessions, his tools. They see the painter’s skill in depicting materials, textures, and objects as testifying to his ability to bring sheer pleasure to his viewers. The objects are charged with material value and cultural significance; they inform about trends and fashions, reveal social interests, and express the priorities of both of the artist and the viewer.48 45 Bryson, Looking at the Overlooked, 7–59. 46 Ibid. 47 Hochstrasser, ‘Feasting the Eye’, 73–86. 48 Chong, ‘Contained under the Name of Still Life’, 11–38.

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Still-life paintings reflect the customs, ideas, and culture of a certain time and society. Norbert Schneider wrote that still-life paintings teach us directly or indirectly about changes in conduct and social codes through the subjects they depict, such as kitchen scenes, the five senses, vanitas, fruit, and flowers. Throughout the seventeenth century, artists saw great importance in investigating the effects caused by the use of light and colour, and in presenting objects from every possible angle. A sense of transience and the need to perform experiments were inherent to their culture, leading to an emphasis on the ephemeral nature of life and to allusions to the theme of vanitas.49 In the late 1990s, Ann Lowenthal published a collection of essays on the interpretation of still-life, which posed the question: What is the secret of the centuries-long appeal and power of still-life paintings?50 According to Lowenthal, the viewer of these paintings undergoes a profound experience since he is exposed to meanings and connotations that the object evoked in the artist as well as in the people of his time. She explored the meaning of the painting’s subject – the objects on the table: food, tableware, statuettes, books – and recommended getting to know the objects themselves, the picture they form, the culture, as well as the consciousness and intent that created them. Despite the objects’ great accessibility and the sense of a lack of barriers afforded by their simple nature, there is a need to actively discover the meanings they carry both in terms of the artist who drew them and in terms of the viewer and the person who commissioned the work. The challenges facing the scholar seeking to do so derive from the fact that the painting is two-dimensional. It is impossible to fondle the object, to feel its texture, or identify marks or signatures of the artist who created it – all of which are important clues to the object’s origin and characteristics. We need to know when the depicted object was produced, whether it was local or imported, how and to whom it was marketed, in what ways it resonated for the artist and the patron, its cultural meaning, how the artist came upon the object (if it is valuable or rare), and, in addition to all that, which technique the artist used to render it. Lowenthal wrote about the role of the viewer and his responsibility in creating a painting’s interpretation. As an example, she noted Meyer Schapiro, who analysed Cézanne’s still-life paintings (the Apples) based on the artist’s biographies and on such sources as mythology and Classical and Renaissance poetry.51 Lowenthal criticized the interpretations of still-life paintings which offer an unequivocal explanation supported by overly firm arguments. She saw still-life in a way that recalls the Gestalt approach: in addition to the meaning carried by each object in itself, the composition of all the objects together yields depth and further meanings that may have nothing to do with the function of the isolated object. She sought to understand messages in the painting according to its whole and not 49 Schneider, Still Life, 76–87 (esp. Chapter 6). 50 Lowenthal, ‘Introduction’, 3–12. 51 Schapiro, ‘The Apples of Cézanne’, 13–14.

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according to its individual elements, believing that the object’s nature is shaped or created by the artist according to his worldview. Unlike Bryson, Lowenthal identified a shift in the priorities of art historical scholarship toward a greater willingness to study subjects that lie outside the traditional scholarly canon. Quite a similar approach is taken by Jules David Prown, who regarded the issue of material culture as a starting point for analysing and understanding works of art. He saw this as a way of learning through objects about the art, values, ideas, approaches, and assumptions of a given society in a given time. His writing was based on the axiom that a man-made object is proof of the intelligence of the individual who planned, invented, or produced it, as well as of the society that uses it. Emphasizing the material aspect of western culture may seem an unexpected choice, as it sanctified the triumph of spirit over matter, viewing the intellectual, the spiritual, and the abstract as superior to the material and worldly. This hierarchy dictated the prism through which all human activity and experience was assessed and judged. The phrase ‘material culture’ seemingly represents a contradiction in terms: material versus culture, the corporeal versus the spiritual. Prown argued that abstract ideas remain pure, whereas objects are doomed to break, become soiled, rot, and decay. Therefore, the significance of the objects featured in the paintings and that represent abstract ideas is far greater than the significance attributed to them in their regular function. Adding to that, although still-life was the lowliest genre, it was at the same time the highest in terms of its stylistic virtuosity. Prown likened still-life paintings to chamber music, pointing to the succinctness that characterizes both. According to Prown, both chamber music and still-life painting contain a declaration in which reason triumphs over sentiment. Both emphasize the formal structure and the purity of tone, together with the small and intimate scale. In a performance of chamber music, the audience easily detects any mistakes by the musicians – a grating sound is not drowned out by the rest of the sounds, as may happen when a full orchestra plays. So too in a still-life painting the viewer seeks to find harmony in the minute details of the composition.52 David Freedberg also argued against the approach that sees still-life as lacking all narrative. According to him, the musical instruments, scientific tools, and fashionable objects scattered on a table prove how rich in meaning these paintings are. Freedberg further maintains that the presence of the artist and of his messages needs to be taken into account in such representations, as well as the realistic style of painting which can suggest meanings that relate to life at every level, spiritual and material. Reality, he claimed, is a highly complicated subject, and not simply a snapshot of a situation.53 52 Prown, ‘Mind in Matter’,1–19; Prown, Art as Evidence, 2, 215. 53 On the intersection of science, commerce, and art in the seventeenth century see: Freedberg and de Vries, Art in History, History in Art, esp. 377–428.

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Another cultural approach was suggested by Keith Christiansen, who considered still-life as a branch of the sciences and mathematics – a mixture of art and science, technical skill and imagination. Though nowadays these disciplines are positioned at two remote ends of the spectrum of human investigation, the artists who painted still-life in the early modern period presented in their works the link between science and art, and between the skilled representation of existing reality and the freedom of imagination.54 Yet, according to Hanneke Grootenboer, the various interpretations mentioned above must be taken with a grain of salt. In narrative genres, the story itself marks the boundaries of the painting’s interpretation. By contrast, in the case of the stilllife genre it is hard to set limits, since no clear narrative restricts the possible interpretations. This led Grootenboer to warn against over-interpretation and succumbing to the pleasure of offering an interpretation for its own sake. In her view, only a seventeenth-century reader trained specifically in reading such works – for example, the emblems of Jacob Cats (1577–1660) – could have enjoyed this process of interpretation.55 It seems, then, that the range of issues and approaches raised by these scholars in the context of still-life paintings has to do with the presence and absence of a narrative, with the interpretation of vanitas, with the observation of objects as representing culture versus objects that function as a means of demonstrating control over the pictorial space. In general, they tended to advocate reading still-life paintings as more than just hints of vanitas and optical illusion, since they contain layers of either plainly visible or hidden content that are related to the artist himself, to secular and religious culture, to society, consumerism, and fashion. The scholars mention above dealt with artists and works of various periods. In the present study, which is concerned with the still-life paintings of two seventeenth-century painters from a peripheral town in northern Italy, I apply the approach that regards still-life as much more than a collection of objects cautioning against vanitas. In my view, the unique and innovative nature of the works of these two artists lies in their intellectual and cultural contents, and given that the works are made within the still-life genre – this claim is far from obvious.

Baschenis’s and Bettera’s Still-Life Paintings: The State of Research A survey of all existing literature on Baschenis and Bettera – articles, exhibition catalogues, and local references, the most important of which I touch on below – reveals that, apart from the catalogues for the exhibitions held in Bergamo and New York 54 Christiansen, ‘Foreword’, 12. 55 Grootenboer, The Rhetoric of Perspective, 92.

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(1996 and 2000 respectively), there is currently no comprehensive and up-to-date book devoted to their work. It also shows that most of the existing literature was written on Baschenis, and that his works are valued more highly than Bettera’s. A limited exhibition devoted to Bettera’s work in 2008 marks a recent trend to study his works in greater depth. But the fact that he was supposedly inferior to Baschenis prompts in scholars the need to compare them, and in this comparison they favour Baschenis. The relative dearth of writing about their works may be related to the fact that most of their paintings are located in private collections, making them technically difficult to study.56 Every publication on Baschenis and Bettera addresses the following three themes: who made the work, the level of execution, and expressions of enthusiasm over the result. The studies all express great appreciation of the technical skill and stylistic qualities of the two artists, and the objects in their paintings are interpreted consistently as symbols of vanitas. These scholars, who typically seek to identify the artists’ patrons and to trace the annals of each painting from its creation to the present day, are significantly limited by the lack of primary sources. Another difficulty involves the many controversies regarding the proper attribution of these paintings – whether to Baschenis, Bettera, or Maestro B.B. The absence of scholarship about Baschenis and Bettera outside of Bergamo may be related to the fact that their speciality was the ‘lesser’ genre of still-life, and that their geographical base was a peripheral town. Most references to their works are in research papers, which are not always devoted exclusively to them. For the sake of clarity, I distinguish in the following survey between scholars who wrote about Baschenis and those who wrote about Bettera. In the early years of the twentieth century, the art historian and critic Michele Biancale wrote about Baschenis and Bettera mostly from a stylistic perspective, with an appreciation of their technical skills. He called Baschenis ‘a portrait painter of musical instruments’ – a phrase that scholars quote to this day – and was impressed with his ability to depict form, material, and colour with such precision. Venturing beyond questions of style and skill, Biancale drew the attention of his readers to the names Baschenis wrote on the covers of books that appear in his paintings, but went no further than to note in general terms that the name of the poet Torquato Tasso (1544–1595), which appears on one of the books, indicates the cultural context present in Baschenis’s work.57 Baschenis’s work is mentioned in the catalogue of an exhibition of Lombard painters curated by Longhi in Milan in 1953, an exhibition that left its mark on art historians for several decades. This inclusion of Baschenis in the group of Lombard 56 I would like to take this opportunity to thank again Enrico De Pascale for providing me with the opportunity to see first-hand some of the paintings discussed in this study, and for the photographs taken in collectors’ houses especially for this study. 57 Biancale, ‘Evaristo Baschenis Bergamesco’, 321–344.

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realism painters from Leonardo to Caravaggio contributed significantly to the scholarly interest in the Bergamasque painter.58 In the same year, Rudolf Wittkower wrote about Baschenis’s representational ability within the pictorial space through the use of structures and materials. In his view, Baschenis turned to painting musical instruments because he was attracted to their warm colour tone and planed wood materiality, as well as to the spatial engineering of their structures and shapes. By means of a dry, almost photographic realism, he created abstract-cubist designs, set within the boundaries of a highly sophisticated space and supported by a calculated assortment of opposing forms – flat, soft, protruding, broken, flowing here and there.59 John Thomas Spike asserted that Baschenis was unrivalled in mid-seventeenth-century European still-life painting thanks to the precision and unadorned execution of his paintings, as well as the depth of his works, which is typically reserved for paintings of human figures.60 Rosci was the first to try and distinguish between Baschenis’s paintings and those of Bettera and to catalogue them accordingly, basing his determinations on the stylistic difference between the two. He divided Baschenis’s works into groups according to colour, light, perspective, types of fabric (drapes and rugs), and overall quality. At the same time, he studied the stylistic evolution of Baschenis’s paintings along a chronological axis, a very tricky task given that Baschenis did not date his works. According to Rosci, the most striking unique feature of Baschenis’s paintings lies not in the choice of musical instruments and kitchen scenes as subject matter, but rather in the abstract approach with which he treated the objects within the pictorial space through a meticulous use of geometry and perspective.61 Comprehensive and detailed information about Baschenis appears in the catalogue of an exhibition that was held in his honour in Bergamo in 1996 – Evaristo Baschenis e La Natura Morta in Europa (‘Evaristo Baschenis and Still-Life in Europe’).62 The catalogue is a very important source of information for art historians and musicologists who wish to learn about the artist, his patrons, his way of life and environment, with the understanding that these all find expression in his works. Baschenis’s kitchen paintings are displayed alongside his paintings of musical instruments, allowing the viewer to observe the two distinct subjects of his work, and its stylistic, cultural, and technical aspects. Many of the details in the catalogue are based on documents and facts discovered and first presented by De Pascale. In addition to some 40 paintings by Baschenis, the catalogue features for the first time nine paintings by 58 Longhi et al., I Pittori della Realtà in Lombardia, 41–44, 81. 59 Wittkower, Art and Architecture in Italy, 227. 60 Spike, Italian Still Life Painting from Three Centuries, 74. 61 Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co., 31–48; Rosci, ‘Evaristo Baschenis’. 62 The catalogue included a detailed bibliography relating to Baschenis and Bettera: Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta in Europa, 301–305. A shorter bibliography, relating mainly to Baschenis, can be found in: Bayer, The Still Lifes, 132–133.

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Bettera and a further nine paintings by other Bergamo and foreign painters. Some of them are defined in the catalogue simply as ‘copying artists’, and some – those from outside of Bergamo – are given their full names.63 The catalogue’s contributors, Veca, Rosci, De Pascale, Rossi, and Bott, all praise Baschenis’s virtuosic ability to depict objects and materials with perfect precision, and his structural conceptualization and planning of the items in the pictorial space. Another important catalogue was produced for the Baschenis exhibit held at the Metropolitan Museum in New York in 2000–2001 – The Still Lifes of Evaristo Baschenis: The Music of Silence – with essays by Rosci, Veca, and De Pascale.64 The catalogue was edited by Andrea Bayer, who provided written commentary on the paintings as well. In her view, the key to the meaning of Baschenis’s works lies in the relations he established between the rhythm and variations of the language of music and the language of visual art. She further finds in many of his paintings hints of vanitas symbols.65 It is important to note that the authors of the essays in the other catalogues also found in the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera allusions to the theme of vanitas, mostly due to the musical instruments, the dust collected on some of them, and the rotten fruit.66 Baschenis was mentioned in 2004 when the Metropolitan Museum held the exhibition Painters of Reality: The Legacy of Leonardo and Caravaggio in Lombardy.67 Here too, Bayer wrote several of the essays and edited the exhibition catalogue. Other essays in the catalogue are by Mina Gregori, Martin Kemp, and De Pascale, all aimed at assisting readers to gain a more profound understanding of Lombard art, from Leonardo to Caravaggio. In their writings, the scholars emphasized the importance of the legacy of the naturalistic-realistic Lombard painting. The passage of time is the most important subject in Baschenis’s work, wrote Veca, and his paintings are replete with intimations and symbols of the idea of transience and vanitas. Both the material and the spiritual are ephemeral aspects of human life, and they are illustrated in Baschenis’s kitchen paintings and musical instrument paintings. In many cases these works were displayed as a pair, side by side, and they represent two opposing modes of being: the active life, suggested in the kitchen scene paintings, and the contemplative life, illustrated in the paintings of musical instruments. The instruments are set on the table, some upturned, indicating the music that has ended. Veca was enthralled by the technical skill on display in Baschenis’s works – by his ability to shed light on parts of the painting and cast shade on others, and to create gleam and reflections on the objects. He emphasized his appreciation of an artist who studies the objects from all sides, from close up and from far 63 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis e Dintorni’, 79–85. 64 Bayer, The Still Lifes. 65 See for example: ibid., 15, 84, 112. 66 For further remarks regarding vanitas in these paintings see: Veca, Vanitas, 268–269; Spike, Italian Still Life, 72. 67 De Pascale, ‘The Painters of Reality’, 214–215, 222–223.

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away, with various foreshortenings and with an excellent depiction of textures and materials. Veca saw this meticulousness as an expression of the spirit of the time, in which artists performed experiments and painted from observation, preferring to present a variety of objects from different angles rather than adhering to the rules of decorum.68 De Pascale argued that Baschenis’s manner of painting music differed from that of Giorgione, Titian, or Caravaggio, as he altogether eliminated figures from his paintings of music – with the exception of the Agliardi Triptych, in which he portrayed members of his important patron family.69 Yet while his paintings do not actually feature figures, they are represented nonetheless through a set of signs: a cut flower, a fruit and a knife, sheet music, bookmarks placed in books, an open chest-drawer, and fingerprints in the dust.70 Baschenis positioned the protagonists of his painted scenes, the musical instruments, in a seemingly random arrangement alongside such objects as chests, books, fruits, letters, statuettes, and globes, yielding compositions that, in the absence of figures, De Pascale takes to convey a state and an ambiance of abandonment. De Pascale claims that each of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings contains a musical phrase that changes according to the given ensemble of depicted instruments – a theme with variations both in the music and in the painting. The choice of musical instruments as the protagonists of the paintings reflects a combination of popular demand and Baschenis’s own personal preference. De Pascale also noted a Spanish influence, expressed in the meticulous geometry of the objects and in the rigorous treatment of light, which causes objects to stand out against the dark background. The result is a balance between rationality and mysticism, as in the works of Juan Sánchez Cotán (1650–1627) and Francisco de Zurbarán (1598–1664). According to De Pascale, Baschenis may also have been influenced by the representations of musical instruments featured in the intarsia in the Urbino studiolo of Duke Federico da Montefeltro (1422–1482). Baschenis painted breath-taking arrangements of musical instruments, and emphasized the wood of which they are made with impeccable technique and execution. The complex and carefully planned compositional structure is highly impressive. It is created by placing the instruments on top of one another, and is designed to underscore the objects’ volume. The fact that the instruments are depicted in many of the paintings in the same way and from the same angle suggests that Baschenis used the technique of preparatory sketches to transfer the image onto the canvas.71 68 Veca, ‘Immaginario Europeo’, 15–38; Bayer, The Still Lifes; Veca, ‘Days and Works’, 24–29; Veca, Vanitas, 268–269. 69 See Figures 19, 42. 70 De Pascale, ‘In Praise of Silence’, 39, note 24. 71 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis “Privato”’, 54. De Pascale names the preparatory sketches Disegni di Rilievo and Dissegni di Pittura in Carta. Baschenis bequeathed them to two of his assistants.

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Baschenis used the principles of perspective, the laws concerning the volume and illumination of objects in space, in order to offer a reality of three dimensions in his paintings. While it may sometimes seem to the viewer as if everything is in disorder in the painting, this is not the case. The spatial relation between objects and their location, and the dialogue between the scene as a whole and the viewer, are controlled by sophisticated planning and a compositional elasticity. In his paintings, Baschenis showed a great technical ability to convey the details of the objects he depicted. He did this by utilizing the illusionism of the northern tradition not in order to create an optical illusion for its own sake but to emphasize the object’s elasticity, materiality, and visual qualities.72 According to De Pascale, Baschenis’s paintings should not be read merely as manifestations of realism and of material and optical illusion, but rather should be studied and observed profoundly. The absence of objects like skulls, candles, and mirrors from his paintings is in De Pascale’s view a declaration of creative independence and of disinterest in the subject of vanitas. Nonetheless, in several of Baschenis’s works De Pascale does find symbols of vanitas.73 In Baschenis’s pictorial language, De Pascale identifies an expression of the artist’s interest in the individual, isolated object as well as in the composition as a whole. In his view, Baschenis employed the rhetoric that was characteristic of the painters of his time – from symmetry to oxymoron – and did so by creating opposing structures of form and colour. According to De Pascale, this suggests that Baschenis’s main interest lay in the realistic language of painting – the dialogue between a stylistic technique and a cultural message in which music functions as an expression of a local culture.74 The present study does not concern itself with questions of style and technique, or even with questions related to potential Northern European or Spanish influences on Baschenis, as most scholars do, and De Pascale most prominently. Alongside De Pascale’s ‘vanitas interpretations’ of dust, broken strings, rotting fruit, or a fly, I offer various other explanations. These go hand in hand with the fact that Baschenis was an ‘erudite painter’ and his paintings were a kind of social, cultural, and intellectual manifesto intended for an educated audience that sought out the challenge and sophistication of the conceit that the artist created for him. Baschenis’s paintings give expression to a geometrical understanding related to Pythagorean musical harmony – this is how Keith Christiansen described Baschenis’s technical ability. His paintings, according to Christiansen, join technical and mathematical skill in a unique way to form a perfect illusion in the depiction of a 72 De Pascale, ‘In Praise of Silence’, 45–46. 73 Ibid., p. 41. De Pascale closely connects the musical instruments in Baschenis’s paintings and the food scenes of the Dutch and Flemish ‘after dinner’ tradition, as represented in the work of Pieter Claesz and Nicolas Gillis. In these scenes, the food is depicted as transient and temporary, beginning as growth and destined to decay. 74 De Pascale, ‘In Praise of Silence’, 46.

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rich display of objects – musical instruments, books, chests of drawers – all set upon heavy Turkish rugs. His work contains a paradox of still-life together with the ‘poetry of silent music’. Christiansen noted that Baschenis’s works are an understudied chapter in the history of Italian still-life.75 In her PhD dissertation, Charlotte Poulton reads ‘music paintings’ as a non-homogenous category. In her view, every painting is an independent representation that deserves to be interpreted in light of the social, political, and religious parameters that characterized seventeenth-century Italian society. Out of a total of five case studies, she devoted one full chapter to Baschenis’s oeuvre.76 According to Poulton, in the early modern period music and musical instruments were free of allegorical associations, and thus what characterizes Baschenis’s still-life paintings is indeed their lack of symbols of vanitas. Baschenis denied the instruments in his paintings the possibility of producing sound by placing them upside down, laid bare before the gaze of the viewers, who were supposed to notice their qualities and appreciate the craftsmen who made them. Baschenis painted his musical instruments along with the commercial emblem of their manufacturer with the pride of a local whose region held flourishing hubs of workshops for making musical instruments (the towns of Cremona and Brescia). He further wanted to emphasize the instruments’ material value for members of northern Italy’s bourgeois society. In the absence of any figures or sounds in his paintings, the senses of sight and of touch prevail over the sense of sound, in line with the period’s conception of the senses. Finally, a central strain in Poulton’s interpretation reads the musical instruments as a metaphor for the human body. She argues that Baschenis painted the instruments, in all their various components, as body parts: a head, a neck, a torso, a stomach, and ribs. He did this so as to demonstrate the harmonious quality of the instruments’ parts, a quality that in her view recalls the human body.77 The uniqueness of these paintings lies in the fact that they draw out the non-musical qualities of the musical instruments. The theme of music in painting has been of interest for both historians of art and musicologists.78 A few musicologists have written about musical instruments in Baschenis’s works, seeking information about the instruments in relation to materials, structure, and historical period, as well as using these images to learn about the playing habits and other music-related mannerisms of the time.79 The musicologist Giorgio Ferraris wrote several essays on the musical instruments and sheet music in Baschenis’s still-life paintings. He too concluded that these works make a clear 75 Christiansen, ‘Foreword’, 13. 76 Poulton, ‘Resonances between Music and Painting’. 77 Poulton, ‘Musical Instruments in the Paintings of Pietro Paolini and Evaristo Baschenis’, 123–135. 78 On the subject of music in painting, see the extensive bibliography in McIver, Art and Music, 393–424; On the disputes, errors, and advantages of an interdisciplinary study see: Baldassarre, ‘Reflections on Methods’, 33–38. 79 As in two paintings from the Agliardi Triptych, in which Baschenis and two of the brothers are depicted playing instruments. See Figures 19, 42.

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statement about vanitas through the dust, the overturned instruments, and the broken strings. In his view, Baschenis painted the instruments with meticulous balance and great precision – whereas Bettera tended to forgo balance in the scenes he created with musical instruments in favour of ‘speculations’, for which reasons his works do not display a consistent musical expression.80 A catalogue published in 2000 includes essays on the theme of music in painting, two of them related to this study. In the first, Tomasi drew a comparison between Baschenis and Giovanni Legrenzi, a contemporaneous composer who also worked in Bergamo (see Chapter 3, p. 80); in the second, Stewart Pollens offered readers a ‘map index’ containing photos and a description of musical instruments similar to those that appear in Baschenis’s paintings.81 A book on art and music in the early modern period includes a chapter on images of vanitas in seventeenth-century paintings with musical instruments (not necessarily of the still-life genre).82 In one of the examples discussed in the chapter, the musicologist Linda Phyllis Austern demonstrated the beauty in the melancholy she identified in Baschenis’s painting (see Figure 77, p. 202). She argued that the broken strings and the dust that coats the upturned instruments signify the theme of memento mori (‘remember death’), which is enhanced by the rotting fruit or fly featured beside them. Colin Slim, a former president of the American Musicological Society, wrote extensively about musical instruments and sheet music in sixteenth-century European painting.83 Following a meeting with the owners of a London gallery who showed him a work by Baschenis, he wrote an essay focused not on the painting’s instruments and musical notes but rather on the book depicted in the painting. According to Slim, the descriptions of the period’s musical culture that appear in the book, and not the instruments and notes, led to interesting musicological discoveries (see ­Figure 52, p. 156).84 Indeed, the recommendations of the musicologist Antonio Baldassarre, who called on musicologists and historians of art to collaborate, are heeded in the current study.85 But a distinction needs to be drawn here between a collaborative effort in which the art historian receives from the musicologist information and explanations regarding the musical notes, instruments, musicians, and even the social customs 80 Ferraris and Gallina, ‘Guida alla Identificazione degli Strumenti Musicali’, 185–203; Ferraris, ‘I Liuti de Evaristo Baschenis’, 7–19; Ferraris, ‘Liuto, Arciliuto, Chitarrone’, 11–18; Ferraris, ‘La Pittura di Musica nell’Italia del XVII Secolo’, 42–47. 81 Tomasi, ‘Evaristo Baschenis and Giovanni Legrenzi’, 52–61. 82 Austen, ‘All Things’, 287–332. 83 Slim, Painting Music in the Sixteenth Century. On music in seventeenth-century Dutch painting: Buijsen et al., The Hoogsteder Exhibition of Music & Painting; Slim, ‘Musical Inscriptions in Paintings by Caravaggio and His Followers’, 241–263. 84 Slim, ‘Morando’s la Rosalinda of 1650’, 567–584. 85 Baldassarre, ‘Mapping Music Iconography’, 1–24.

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related to music, on the one hand, and an interpretation of a work of art offered by a musicologist on the other. For the musicologist, a visual source is an important primary source regardless of its artistic and stylistic value, and regardless of any historical content or cultural-social message contained in the work of art. For instance, the importance of a musical instrument in a painting by Titian is on a par for the musicologist with that of an instrument depicted on an ancient Greek ceramic pitcher, on a chest of drawers, or, in a modern context, on the cover of a CD. Musicologists seek and study above all the quality of the technical information that a given visual source can provide. Despite the different approaches of these two disciplines, in the present study I relied on information and explanations offered by musicologists, which allowed me, in light of the different point of view I adopt here, to ground certain claims and deepen my analysis of cultural contents. The research on Bettera focuses mainly on an appreciation of the stylistic qualities of his paintings alongside the constant comparison of his work to that of Baschenis.86 In the first half of the twentieth century there was very little writing on Bettera. Against the background of ambiguity regarding the attribution of paintings to Baschenis, Bettera, or other painters,87 which was only further increased by the existence of multiple copies of paintings by the two artists, Michele Biancale criticized Bettera’s work.88 He claimed that Bettera did not know how to paint – his works lack a decorative nature, and the musical instruments depicted in his paintings are left lying on the side-lines with no variety or harmony. This assessment influenced the opinion of collectors and critics alike for many years to come. Luigi Angelini was among the first to see Bettera as an artist worthy of scholarly study; he prepared a list, albeit inaccurate, of Bettera’s paintings currently held in collections in Italy and several other countries.89 Another scholar who took an interest in Bettera was Giuseppe Delogu, who sought to distinguish his paintings from those of the Bergamasque Maestro B.B This artist was described by Delogu as an independent painter whose work was valued less than Bettera’s, due to his formal language of painting and certain iconographic features that were conventional and non-unique. According to Delogu, Maestro B.B. was more financially successful than Bettera since he imitated Baschenis’s style, thereby bringing his paintings into line with the taste of the Bergamasque clientele, who rejected the Baroque innovations of Bettera’s paintings. At the same time, Delogu regarded Bettera as a worthy successor to Baschenis.90 86 As of 1971 Marco Rosci asserted that in the modern antique market many of Bettera’s better works have been attributed to Baschenis: Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co. 87 Especially Bettera’s son Bonaventura, Maestro B.B., and anonymous painters who copied works by both Baschenis and Bettera. 88 Biancale, ‘Evaristo Baschenis Bergamesco’. 89 Angelini, I Baschenis Pittori Bergamaschi, 37–73. The impreciseness of his list derives from his decision to identify the late seventeenth-century Maestro B.B. as Bettera. 90 Delogu, La Natura Morta Italiana, 69; Delogu, Pittori Minori, 218.

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In recent years, interest in Bettera and appreciation of his work seems to be on the rise. The exhibition held in Bergamo in 2008, Bartolomeo Bettera: La Sonata Barocca (‘Bartolomeo Bettera: The Baroque Sonata’), marks a milestone in this process of his rediscovery. According to its curators, the exhibition was an opportunity to present Bettera not as a parrot of Baschenis but rather as an independent artist with his own unique stylistic language. One of the goals of the exhibition was to clarify and reach consensus regarding questions of attribution of his works. It provided an important base of information not only concerning Bettera’s artistic nature but also in respect of cultural issues that characterized Bergamo in the latter half of the seventeenth century.91 Giulia Palloni devoted her essay in the 2008 catalogue to a detailed stylistic comparison of the two artists.92 According to her, the similarity between their paintings results from the fact that Baschenis and Bettera both relied on Lorenzo Sirigatti’s theoretical book on perspective (1596).93 In addition to her comments regarding style, Palloni also mentions the cautioning against vanitas in Bettera’s works, based on symbols – like candles and seashells – of the fleeting nature of life and the vain pleasures of this world. Moreover, she notes the archival documents she found, which paint a dire picture of Bettera’s financial situation, including his multiple debts. Finally, Palloni tries to attribute to Bettera’s works a patron or collector according to their present location, based on the assumption that many of his works are still in the hands of aristocratic families from Bergamo and the surrounding area. In her view, Bettera was influenced by the northern style of painting, and his work displays an ‘international’ Baroque style, leading her to the conclusion that as an artist, Bettera was more open than Baschenis to outside influences. Like Delogu, Palloni too notes that the art market in Bergamo (unlike that of Milan, for example, which was dominated by a Spanish air) resisted Bettera’s Baroque innovations and preferred Baschenis’s conservatism and restraint.94 Rosci was the first to compile Bettera’s paintings into a ‘catalogue’ of sorts and to write about the uniqueness of his style of painting and visual language. He was impressed by Bettera’s extraordinary iconographic idiom, and stated that the quality of colour and light in his paintings falls only slightly short of that found in Baschenis’s work. At the same time, he regarded Bettera as ‘an independent imitator’ of Baschenis whose works lack the gravity that in his view typifies Baschenis’s perception of space.95

91 Cottino, Palloni, and Ravelli, Bartolomeo Bettera: ‘La Sonata Barocca’, 6–26. 92 Palloni, ‘L’Innominato Erede’, 16–25. 93 Sirigatti, La Pratica di Prospettiva. 94 Palloni, ‘L’Innominato Erede’. Palloni assumes that while in Rome, Bettera was influenced by the Baroque style of Carlo Manieri (active in Rome between 1662 and 1700). 95 Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co., 31–48; Rosci, ‘Evaristo Baschenis’; Rosci, ‘Il Primato del Baschenis’, 39–50.

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De Pascale concurred with the need to classify the two artists’ paintings and give them their proper attribution so that it would be possible to clarify the differences between their respective artistic and figurative characters. After all, there is no evidence of any direct contact between Baschenis and Bettera; De Pascale determined that Bettera was not Baschenis’s pupil.96 It is hard to imagine that they did not know one another given that they shared the same profession, lived in the same small town, and painted the very same subject. Moreover, Bettera’s still-life paintings were painted in a style so similar to that of Baschenis that scholars are still arguing over the attribution of certain works. In order to paint like that, Bettera must have been familiar with Baschenis’s works. Yet the only contact known to date to have occurred between the two was, as I noted above, in 1677, at the auction of Baschenis’s possessions after his death, where Bettera bought white canvases, paint, and brushes for eight scudi. Methodologically, De Pascale believes there is no room to correlate these two artists, whom he regards as incomparable, in part because they represent different cultural models.97 The main obstacle to recognizing Bettera’s true value and the reason for the devaluing of his work, according to De Pascale, is the simplistic and limited approach that art critics have tended to adopt: relative to Baschenis’s geometrical and well-ordered paintings, they read Bettera’s paintings as chaotic and lacking any clear visual logic, with a random arrangement of objects designed to emphasize the decorative and over-cluttered nature of his work. De Pascale argues, by contrast, that Bettera wanted to impress his clients with a Baroque setting that dictated his placement of objects in the composition and created optical illusions. The influence of northern art, he identified, was in Bettera’s use of blank white sheet music, candles, and mirrors, and especially in his choice to portray himself inside a crystal ball, which was a symbol of the frailty of human life (see Figure 109, p. 247). The nine paintings by Bettera that were included in the 1996 exhibition devoted to Baschenis were actually those which marked the innovative nature of this exhibition, and constituted its highlight. Bettera was presented in the exhibition as a figure of significant artistic depth; he had contacts with artists in Rome and Milan, and was apparently influenced by them.98

96 According to De Pascale, Cristoforo Tasca was Baschenis’s sole pupil, and inherited his preparatory sketches, as written in his second (1677) will. These sketches could later be used for the creation of copies. 97 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis e Dintorni’, 80. 98 On the possible influence of Roman, Milanese, and Neapolitan artists on Bettera’s style see: ibid., 79–85. According to De Pascale, the knowledge of influences is necessary for understanding Bettera’s official choices, which are less strict than those of Baschenis and therefore could be considered more modern. In Baschenis’s works the physiognomic and portrait-like identity of each instrument is smoothly integrated within a thoughtful and balanced composition. In contrast, in Bettera’s works the same balance is sacrificed for an impressive staging of perspective. The instruments lose their individuality and play a secondary role on the stage, which is assembled out of an accumulation of objects together with the effect of optical illusion.

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Like the other scholars, De Pascale studied and assessed Bettera’s works from the point of view of style and technique. He explored northern influences and sought to distinguish Bettera from Baschenis so as to evaluate each in his own right. By contrast, in my own analysis and observation, I wish to move beyond Bettera’s technical and stylistic skill to identify the statements and expressions of a cultivated and knowledgeable man. Bettera knew his clients well and met their demand to find interest, conceit, and an intellectual challenge in the paintings. In Chapter 6 we will see how, as an ‘erudite painter’, Bettera developed the idea of the paragone and presented it in still-life paintings, creating structures that are complex and fascinating not only stylistically but even more so culturally and intellectually. Alberto Cottino saw Bettera as an original artist whose paintings reflect an eclectic modern culture and fashion. In his view, the high quality of Bettera’s painting is not in doubt, while the decorative aspect of his work reflects the artistic tastes that dominated the second half of the seventeenth century in Europe. Cottino speculates that it was Bettera’s urgent need to find a stable income in light of his debts which explains the fact that an artist of his talents adapted himself to an artistic style associated with a different artist.99 Lanfranco Ravelli offered a highly detailed survey of the state of research on Bettera, focusing primarily on questions of style and on the disagreements among scholars about the identification of Bettera’s paintings. In his view, Bettera deserves a place of honour as an independent painter. He urges scholars to let go of past aesthetic and ideological criticisms, and argues that Bettera’s works deserve to be displayed alongside Baschenis’s masterpieces. Ravelli noted intimations of vanitas in the works, and suggested that Bettera painted many objects out of a sense of enthrallment with the marvels of the matter and form of aesthetic objects.100 In all the studies on Baschenis and Bettera described here, the scholars adopted a formalist approach supplemented by a very minimal reading of the artists’ works in the cultural context of seventeenth-century Bergamo and Lombardy. In the present study, I do not offer a stylistic comparison between the two; instead, I focus on drawing out the multi-disciplinary statements typical of their work which makes them both unique. In the following, I propose to abandon the goal of a unified schematic interpretation of these paintings, since I believe still-life is not a clichéd concoction of rules and formulas. I reject the premise that human presence is a precondition for the expression of values in a work of art, and challenge the view which reads every musical instrument, broken string, and overripe fruit as a sign of vanitas.

99 Cottino, ‘Bartolomeo Bettera’, 6–15. During his 1670 stay in Rome, Bettera was deeply influenced by Manieri as well as by Pierfrancesco Cittadini. 100 Ravelli, ‘Bartolomeo Bettera’, 26–35.

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In the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera I read much more than a technical ability to depict materials, an amusement with optical illusion, and impressive control of the pictorial space. The narrative I draw out in this study is not an evolving plot, but rather the story of an era: of its people, opinions, and actions. Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings depict worldviews and ways of life, hints and indications of the man of their time who aspired to be and to be seen as cultured, inquisitive, and creative. In addition to their exploration from a stylistic, technical, or moral point of view, Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings with musical instruments ought to be studied and understood as carrying a message of intellectual curiosity and interest. A different kind of music issues forth from among the instruments; we need only lend an ear.

Bergamo: Portrait of an Ebullient Cultural Hub In this section I would like to explore Bergamo not as a provincial town but as a vibrant cultural centre whose people wished to be regarded as knowledgeable and broadly literate. It is the town in which Evaristo Baschenis and Bartolomeo Bettera worked and created a unique genre that captured the spirit and culture of the artists themselves and of their townsfolk. To this day, the expansive rooms of the aristocratic family residences in Bergamo and the town’s churches contain testaments to the lifestyle of the town’s aristocracy in the seventeenth century. The walls and high ceilings are adorned with exquisite paintings and murals made by local and foreign artists. Those painted testimonies offer us a window onto the world of the people of that era: What did they read? What kind of music did they listen to? What did they talk about at the weekly Thursday evening gatherings in the local academy? Did they recover from the horrid plague that hit the area in the 1630s, and how? Answers to all these questions are painted for the viewer’s sake. The paintings serve as an invitation to get to know the culture of a place, conceived and executed by the people of seventeenth-century Bergamo – whether the artists themselves or the patrons and their relatives for whom the paintings were created. Baschenis’s and Bettera’s hometown is historically linked to the Republic of Venice; Bergamo was part of the Republic between 1428 and 1797. The westernmost city in the Venetian empire, Bergamo was an important military and commercial strategic point. The vast walls that surround the upper parts of Bergamo were erected in the late sixteenth century to deter Milan, situated only several dozen miles away, and stop it from expanding to the north and east, as well as to curb the trade in smuggled goods. Nevertheless, Bergamo’s proximity to Milan was an important factor in its cultural development. Bergamo was run by representatives of the Venetian senate whose role was to administer the city’s religious, legal, and financial affairs while

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guarding the military and financial interests of the empire. Though it granted the city relative freedom, Venice did intervene in the administration of the local church, of its charity centres, and of its institutions of religious education.101 The city’s commercial resources, which included iron, wool, silk, and wine, were owned or run by local families. Over the course of the seventeenth century, 29 out of a total of 128 upperclass families in Bergamo declared their wish to live in Venice, hoping to strengthen their commercial ties with the Venetians.102 Up until the twentieth century, Bergamo was considered a provincial town, known mostly for its polenta dishes, its heavy surrounding walls, and the throaty northern accent of its inhabitants. Christopher Carlsmith explained this less than appealing reputation as grounded in the dire financial situation that was the lot of most of the town’s population for centuries, in their grating accent, and in the fact that the figure of Harlequin from the Commedia dell’arte hails from Bergamo. In his book, Carlsmith shows that studies of the education, music, literature, and art of the region during that time prove that the city’s negative image was in fact unfounded.103 Contrary to its prevalent perception as a place of ignorance and indifference, seventeenth-century Bergamo afforded many opportunities for those who wanted to study, whether they were clergymen and aristocrats or the ambitious sons of merchant families. The most popular fields of study were Christianity and theology, Greek, rhetoric, philosophy, law, and musical education. The studies were funded by various parties: the community, the church, charity organizations, and the families themselves – the latter typically aiming to steer their sons toward careers in management, commerce, and priesthood. Classes were offered to religious and secular students alike. Overall, Carlsmith argued against the general opinion that provincial towns made no cultural and intellectual contribution in seventeenth-century Italy. The city leaders and regional council heads recognized the importance of knowledge, and a growing number of individuals and members of public organizations in Bergamo showed interest and involvement in this subject.104 The provision of a good education had three overarching goals: to teach virtues to the young, to enhance the stability of the Republic (Venice), and to bring honour to the city. From a more practical perspective, the city council wanted to ensure a steady supply of notaries public and administrators. Thus began a trend in which local brotherhoods funded teachers and opened classes for the children of the poor; clergymen and parents collaborated to establish private academies; and in their wills, the rich bequeathed money to 101 On the function and status of the Venetian Republic officials within the cities under its rule, see: Dooley, Italy in the Baroque, 292–295. 102 Carlsmith, A Renaissance Education, 435. 103 Ibid., 4. 104 For example, important figures such as Donato Calvi, Count Lupi, and the Terzi and Moroni families supported education by donations of money and public activity. All these and others were patrons, collectors, and acquaintances of Baschenis.

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establish schools and give out grants.105 However, some members of the upper class refused to allow students of low social-economic status to learn alongside their own children in the private schools, aiming to set themselves apart and to entrench their status.106 As a result, higher education in Bergamo remained after all a privilege reserved mostly for the rich. Many of the students studied to become priests, and many more sought ways to learn a profession and become merchants or government officials. Despite the help of various organizations, the financing of studies was a heavy burden for families. Yet the education of a young man was considered an investment that would someday bear fruit and make up for the losses caused by years in which he did not work. Parents saw studying as a way of developing their children’s social engagement and self-discipline, even if they did not articulate the view in these modern terms. In contrast to the achievements of Bergamo described by Carlsmith in his study, Bortolo Belotti, a Bergamasque historian and politician, sounded harsh criticism of his city. According to him, during the first years of the seventeenth century the lifestyle in Bergamo was one of luxuries, indulgence, and frivolous spending, mixed with the pride and arrogance of the city’s upper class: most of the residents of Bergamo were regarded as ignorant and superstitious; violence, intimidation, and corruption were considered routine; public servants and the city leaders plundered city funds and private property and assets; aristocratic families fought both each other and members of the lower classes. Exploitation and theft were targeted primarily at the authorities, but private citizens were also victims of this violence.107 But Belotti provided an additional point of view of the city, no less important: Bergamo as a city rich in culture, whose residents were industrious and diligent. He wrote about Bergamo’s bishop, Gregorio Barbarigo (1625–1697), the son of Venetian nobility, as an exemplary model for city residents in his moral values, his appreciation of the Republic’s organizations and institutions, and his support of local organizations. Under his influence, disciplinary steps were taken against administrators who were negligent in their duties or members of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie who flaunted their wealth to an excess. In the domain of architecture, projects to improve and beautify the city’s public spaces were undertaken, such as a renovation of the city tower and the building of the new palazzo. The residents of Bergamo participated regularly in public work and in the giving of charity. The city offered a rich variety of cultural activities, sponsored by wealthy patrons and various interested parties such as the members of the area’s largest charity, La Misericordia Maggiore, an organization based inside Bergamo’s most prominent church, the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. 105 Carlsmith, A Renaissance Education, 289. 106 Ibid., 11. 107 Belotti, Storia di Bergamo e dei Bergamaschi, vol. 5.

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The church of Santa Maria Maggiore was (and is to this day) an important meeting point for residents of Bergamo.108 In the seventeenth century it was both a religious and a secular centre where ceremonies and other events were held, bringing together the city’s most eminent families and its common people. In the centuries since its establishment in 1137, works by important artists were collected in the church, decorating its walls.109 In the sixteenth century, members of La Misericordia invited artists from Milan and Venice to adorn the city and the church walls with works of art whose messages would suit the spirit of the period that followed the ecumenical Council of Trent (1545–1563).110 These artists worked alongside local Bergamasque artists. Members of La Misericordia were actively involved in setting Bergamo’s artistic taste and did not hide their preferences in matters of art. In the years 1630–1632 a plague spread across northern Italy, which hit Bergamo with force, reducing its population and damaging its economy. After the plague, members of La Misericordia focused their efforts on the rescue and support of those who had survived, returning to engage in art-related activism only some 20 years later, in 1560. The aristocratic capitalists, who were also Bergamo’s art patrons, participated in the city’s artistic activities and promoted artists of their choice who worked on their behalf.111 Through their involvement in the administration of La Misericordia, and indeed as donors to the organization, they influenced the city’s artistic character and taste, often while advancing their personal financial interests. Not every project they planned was carried out, but as members of the committee representing the management of La Misericordia they assessed, chose, and decided who would paint and what the painted subject would be.112 Two families, the Moroni and the Terzi, had great interest in education, music, painting, and theatre, and were involved in initiating both private and public projects. Members of these families were also Baschenis’s patrons, and to this day his works hang in their palazzos (see, for example, Figure 2). The two families were related, since the sisters of the Roncalli family, an eminent Bergamasque family, were married to the counts Moroni and Terzi. The palazzos built by these families attracted artists and eventually came to be known across Lombardy for their beauty. The counts held firm views on such topics as exterior architecture, interior planning, 108 As an important musical centre strongly connected to Baschenis and the main arguments of this study, I will devote a longer discussion to the church in the following chapters. 109 Lanzi, Storia Pittorica dell’Italia, vol. 1, 157–167. 110 Noris, ‘Aver Almeno Impedito’, 137–149. 111 One example would be the help of Terzi, head of the Misericordia committee, in arranging contracts for Giuseppe Storer (1611–1671), who worked in his private palazzo. 112 For dozens of years representatives from the following important families occupied the Bergamo Misericordia committee: Brembati, Alessandri, Zucco, Terzi, Medolago, Muzio, Viscardi, Farina, Fuginelli, Marenzi, Passi. These families participated in the design and development of the city centre, in the hope of improving its public image.

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and landscape design. They requested that theatrical and literary themes feature in the paintings and decorations on the palace walls as a way of demonstrating knowledge and expressing cultural statements. In these works were reflected the relations between the Count – the wealthy businessman and patron – and painters who made works of art for him.113 In 1649, Francesco Moroni commissioned Barbello, who was Baschenis’s teacher, to decorate the walls of his palazzo. Barbello was highly knowledgeable on architectural painting. He was immersed in the style that dominated artistic centres like Rome, Florence, and Venice, and thus was in high demand; later he would also decorate the walls of the Terzi palazzo. The ceiling frescoes reflected the patrons’ areas of interest and knowledge as well as their artistic taste (for instance, perspectival ceiling frescoes). The scenes painted on the walls as well as the ceilings of the residences of Bergamasque aristocratic families allow us to identify the trends and cultural choices of the time, and teach us about the dissemination of knowledge and ideas. For example, on the ceiling of the Palazzo Moroni, Barbello painted a scene from Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberate (‘Jerusalem Delivered’, c. 1560. On Tasso’s book depicted in Baschenis’s painting, see Figure 59, p. 171). In 1655, Donato Calvi (1613–1678) devoted a book to the Palazzo Moroni paintings. The book is titled, appropriately, Le misteriose pitture del palazzo Moron (‘The Mysterious Paintings of Palazzo Moroni’), and features lengthy and detailed descriptions of the frescoes adorning the palace. The book is important for the present study insofar as it documents the cultural atmosphere in Bergamo at the time. The paintings described in it are rich in symbols and myths, intended to flatter Count Moroni. Altogether, the palazzo’s beauty was intended to reflect the status and power of the patron within his society. The Terzi and Moroni palazzos are important examples of the significance and might of the aristocratic families in seventeenth-century Bergamo. As part of the efforts to rebuild Bergamo’s cultural character after the great plague, town leaders decided in the mid-seventeenth century to decorate the church of Santa Maria Maggiore with exquisite art. With great decisiveness, members of a committee representing the basilica approached some of Italy’s foremost artists.114 The task at hand was extensive and expected to span several dozen years, and the committee believed that no Bergamasque artist was suited to it. The progress on this project was documented, and this documentation reveals constant wrangling between the 113 De Pascale, ‘In Praise of Silence’; Bayer, The Still Lifes, 31–51. 114 Haskell, Patrons and Painters, 215–223. Haskell mentions in note 2, p. 215, that all quoted information and documents regarding artistic activity in Bergamo are taken from Pinetti, ‘La Decorazione Pittorica’, 113–142. The committee turned to Giovanni Francesco Barbieri (a.k.a. Guercino) as well, but he refused to come to Bergamo due to other obligations. This turn could point to the way Bergamo people positioned themselves in regard to other cities as well as their own: turning to Guercino points to their self-confidence and financial means.

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committee and the artists: power struggles, arguments over payment, disappointment with the finished work, and delays in the schedule. The committee members set harsh demands and were severe art critics. They commissioned work from well-known artists such as the Rome-based Ciro Ferri (1634–1689), and then restricted him artistically when his work seemed too Baroque for their taste. In 1660 the committee signed a contract with Pietro Liberi (1605– 1687), at the time an important Venetian painter in demand all over Europe. Even from their seats in a peripheral northern town, members of the committee were confident in their knowledge: they rejected Liberi’s first work and ordered him to redo it so that it suited their taste.115 Only toward the end of the century did the committee finally yield to the ‘Baroque wave’, as Longhi defined it, inviting artists, typically of very high repute, mostly from Milan and Venice but also from other Italian cities, to join the vast project.116 Despite the fact that Bergamo was a peripheral town on the western outskirts of the Venetian empire, it apparently paid higher wages for the works at Santa Maria Maggiore than those paid in Venice. Being both highly ambitious and wealthy, the leaders of Bergamo hired the best painters and paid them up to five times as much as they would have had to pay local artists.117 Baschenis, a painter of the ostensibly low genre of still-life, was not invited to partake in the work on the basilica. However, the cultural atmosphere in Bergamo and the fact that he was surrounded by patrons who valued his work and wanted to buy it attest to his involvement in city life. The fact that his paintings reached Rome, Venice, Milan, Florence, and Turin undoubtedly helped solidify Bergamo’s reputation in the field of painting as well. Following the Council of Trent, leaders of the Catholic Church regarded art as an important educational tool containing representations of holiness and religious content. This view of art found expression also in Bergamo, where artists worked in accordance with the vigorous demands of the local church: the paintings’ compositional complexity gave way to a return to simplicity; mannerist formulas were rejected; fresh iconographies were embraced as a means of bolstering the worship of local saints. The legacy of Moroni, who died in 1578, persisted through the honest language of naturalism along with the approach that transformed the religious scene into a simple everyday event.118 De Pascale wrote that Baschenis did not yield to the winds of change arriving from outside of Bergamo, or, as Longhi called them, ‘the waves of the Baroque movement’, clinging to the realist tradition as a conscious opposition to the modern attitudes imported to the city by foreign artists. The fact that the lesser genres like still-life, portraiture, and folk art were in demand in Bergamo emphasizes the 115 Haskell, Patrons and Painters, 216. 116 Longhi et al., I Pittori della Realtá in Lombardia, 9. 117 Spear and Sohm, Painting for Profit, 234–235. 118 De Pascale, ‘The Painters of Reality’, 211–221.

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lack of a local tradition of historical, religious, and mythological paintings. Local artists were forced to cater to a provincial local audience that was less educated than the city’s leading aristocratic families, and indeed lacked sophistication. The identification of Bergamo’s residents with the Catholic reformation of the first half of the seventeenth century contributed to the conservatism that characterized the works of local artists. This was expressed in their preoccupation with the study of light and perspective as tools for creating a realistic optical illusion. In the second half of the seventeenth century, with the spread of the Baroque style to the region, the focus of local artists and clients shifted from the pictorial aspects to the execution itself: from pittura della realtà (‘painting of reality’) to modern naturalism.119 As suggested so far, foreign artists from Milan and Venice created works of art both in the public sphere of Bergamo (the church of Santa Maria Maggiore) and in the private sphere (the Terzi and Moroni palazzos). In her essay, Mina Gregori asked whether it is possible to identify a style that is typical of Bergamo in the seventeenth century –a Seicento Bergamasco – although artists from various places worked in Bergamo for a full century. Her affirmative answer is based in part on the works of Baschenis.120 The hunger for knowledge, the pleasure at attaining it, and the pride of belonging to an elite group that invests time and resources in acquiring it – all these traits were common to the members of the Italian academies since the fifteenth century, but especially over the course of the subsequent two centuries. The term ‘academy’ refers to an all-male club that met regularly to study and discuss subjects from the intellectual and cultural life of its members. The academies focused first on the study of Italian literature, music, theatre, and opera, and only later on science.121 The academy was designed for informal meetings, aiming to soften the serious-mindedness of formal academic studies, according to the journalist, antique collector, and academy member Benedetto Bacchini, who lived in Bologna in the second half of the seventeenth century.122 Over 200 academies flourished in the seventeenth century thanks to their success in meeting the expectations of the cultural and scientific intellectuals, who demanded a forum that was cosmopolitan and multi-disciplinary in nature. Yet their success can also be attributed to the fact that they provided an alternative to the strict and hermetic world of the university, opening their gates to new people and ideas and to unconventional intellectual styles of expression. In the academies, members gave lectures, staged plays, produced performances, played music, and held poetry competitions.123

119 Ibid., 223–243. 120 Gregori, ‘Caravaggio and Lombardy’. 121 McNeely, ‘The Renaissance Academies’, 227–258. 122 Dooley, Italy in the Baroque, 3, note 4. 123 Ibid., 3; McNeely, ‘The Renaissance Academies’.

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In places that were under the control of the Venetian empire, membership in the academy had further value: it substantiated the aspirations of the old feudal families to become part of the local aristocracy and elevated the prestige of the nouveau riche. The government in Venice encouraged this activity by supporting the academies financially and regarding their members as part of the high society. This reflected their policy which aimed to maintain a balance between governing from power and control, on the one hand, and governing grounded in tolerance and respect for local customs and institutions on the other. The Venetian representative in Bergamo promised the local academies his patronage, and their members in turn praised him with rhymes and poems. The city archive (Archivio Storico del Comune) and the local Bergamo library (Biblioteca Civica di Bergamo, ‘Angelo Mai’) hold documents attesting to the fact that several academies were active in Bergamo in the seventeenth century, including the Accademia dei Naturalisti (‘Nature Academy’), the Accademia delle Belle Lettere (‘Literature Academy’), and the Accademia Ema (‘Ema Academy’) for the study of religion. Another academy was the Accademia degli Eccitati (‘Academy of the Excited’), now called Ateneo delle Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, which in the seventeenth century was a prominent and highly active Bergamo institution. It was founded in 1642 by people who were important to the artistic careers of Baschenis and Bettera: Bonifacio Agliardi, Clemente Rivola, and Donato Calvi. Their aim was to establish a local acade­ my whose importance would rival that of Italy’s most renowned academies.124 At the festive event that marked its opening, Agliardi spoke before the Academy members and chose to raise a subject that was deep in the minds of people at the time: the question of whether music or literature was preferable to the listener’s ear (see Chapter 6, pp. 236, 270–277). He praised the members for establishing the Academy, especially following a time of plague and war. Meetings of the Accademia degli Eccitati were held regularly on Thursdays at the St. Agostino Monastery, and sometimes in the private residences and palazzos of its members. Poems, cogitations, and debates expressed during the meetings were compiled in a collection printed in 1645 by Marcantonio Rossi, titled I Giovedì Estivi (‘Summer Thursdays’).125 Most of the academies in Bergamo were active only for several years; by contrast, the Accademia degli Eccitati was active throughout the seventeenth century, thanks mostly to its devoted members, who recognized the importance of the meetings and valued them. As wealthy and cultured men of stable political and religious status, they very likely wanted to establish and maintain a tradition of meetings that would have both stability and continuity.126

124 Such as the Venetian Accademia degli Incogniti or the Accademia Fiorentina. 125 See Cavalieri, Giovedì Estivi. 126 The Academy is still active today: Schiavini, Ateneo di Scienze.

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Thanks to two of its members who were prominent in the city’s religious life – senior representatives of the church – the Accademia degli Eccitati further enjoyed the support of the local church and clergy. The first of these members (chronologically) was Calvi, who was head of a monastery and a brilliant intellectual. The second was Barbarigo, Bishop of Bergamo between the years 1662 and 1658, whose role in the Accademia degli Eccitati was that of a ‘watchman’ or ‘censor’. His ties and his origin helped members of the Academy secure financial support from Venice, albeit limited and inconsistent. Agliardi, Calvi, and Barbarigo exemplify the fact that Bergamo was home to broad-minded and well-versed men of culture who were engaged in community life, participated in the life of the academies, and followed the prevailing tastes and fashions also in painting, theatre, and music. The cultural performances organized by the Academy for the people of Bergamo were held in various venues, including the Palazzo Vescovile, the Palazzo della Regione (‘City Palace’), and the Casa Olmi (‘Olmi House’). The atmosphere was stately and impressive, a practical expression of one of the goals of the Academy. Members of its management regularly sought financial support from members of the city’s upper classes. Among the donors were art patrons with ties to Baschenis, like the Morandi family, in whose residence four paintings by the artist were hung; the Terzi family, in whose home Tassi saw two Baschenis paintings; the Vailetti family, whose palazzo held a large-scale Baschenis painting; and the Agliardi family, which owned the triptych (see Figure 19, p. 100; Figure 21, p. 104; and Figure 42, p. 138 respectively).127 The history and evolution of the academy in Bergamo were linked directly to the local culture, and in it the city’s intellectuals found a place for self-expression. They typically met in Calvi’s monastery, where he had set up a vast library that became one of the city’s cultural centres (most of its books were lost when Napoleon’s men confiscated the contents of monastery libraries). The main Bergamo library holds a document describing social events held throughout the city in the summer of 1644, two years after the Academy’s establishment. The decision to hold a cultural event outside the monastery was a strategic step designed to raise the visibility of the Academy and thereby gain a status in the city that would help it raise more funds.128 During that same summer, the Academy received permission from the Bergamo city advisor to use its name in promoting Academy events, a fact that attests to the municipality’s desire to enhance Bergamo’s cultural reputation by collaborating with the Academy.129 If we recall the religious, financial, and cultural power of the Academy’s members, this seems understandable and indeed unavoidable.

127 Tassi, Vite de’ Pittori, 233–237. 128 Schiavini, Ateneo di Scienze, xv–xciv. 129 Gennaro, ‘Documenti Secenteschi dell’Accademia degli Eccitati di Bergamo’, 415.

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The Accademia degli Eccitati is a first-hand testimony to the cultural life of the upper class of Bergamo and the surrounding region.130 Who were its members? What was their status among the city’s other residents? What values did they hold? What did they read? What music did they play and listen to? What subjects in the humanities and sciences interested them? What plays did they see? Could they read ‘between the objects’ of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings when they hung them in their residences, viewing them as paintings that attested to their own broad horizons? The answers to these and other questions can be found in the subsequent chapters, which offer a synthesis between the knowledge we possess about the cultural life of seventeenth-century Bergamo and the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera. The financial, cultural, and religious aspects of life in Bergamo were managed by powerful clergymen and members of aristocratic families. One of the most interesting Bergamo figures at the time, who was closely related to Baschenis, was Calvi, who, as mentioned before, was one of the three founders of the Accademia degli Eccitati and headed it.131 He was a member and head of an Augustinian order, and after completing his own studies became the teacher of many hundreds of students. In addition to his book about the Palazzo Moroni paintings, Calvi wrote several other books, including Effemeride sagro-profana di quanto di memorabile sia successo Bergamo (‘Sacred and Profane Ephemerides of Memorable Events that Happened in Bergamo’, 1676–1677), in which he documented the city’s cultural and social life. The text is a chronological report of facts and events from daily life in Bergamo over the course of one year. It includes rich stories from the recollections of private people and public figures in Bergamo, as well as a collection of stories and superstitions that revolve around the devil. The text is dense and difficult to read, but it is an important document for anyone wishing to understanding life in Bergamo in the seventeenth century. In the book, Calvi writes the following about Baschenis after his death: ‘Having made himself singular in painting from nature, especially inanimate objects, and peerless at representing instruments and the liberal arts, he walked swiftly down the road to immortality.’132 Calvi, who was involved in all facets of the life of his city, wrote another important book, Scena Letteraria degli Scrittori Bergamaschi (‘The Literary Scene of the Bergamasque Writers’, 1664), documenting the intellectual and cultural environment in Bergamo in the seventeenth century.133

130 A document from 1656 shows that in one of the meetings there was a discussion concerning the difficulties of fundraising for musical events. According to the document, academy members were asked to donate of their own free will. Schiavini, Ateneo di Scienze, xix–xx. 131 He was known as di Ansioso (‘the Anxious One’ or ‘the Worried’). 132 ‘Hoggi nell’anno 1617 entrò nel mondo Evaristo Baschenis Sacerdote ultimamente estinto alIi 15 Marzo 1677, che resosi nel dipinger al naturale oggetti specialmente inanimati singolare e nel rappresentar li stromenti et figure dell’arti liberali impareggiabilmente velocemente camminò per la via dell’immortalità.’ Calvi, Effemeride Sagro Profana, 375. The English translation is taken from Bayer, The Still Lifes, 39. 133 Calvi, Scena Letteraria degli Scrittori Bergamaschi; Vaerini, Gli Scrittori di Bergamo.

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In the following chapters, we will witness the deeply complex and fascinating nature of the links connecting art patrons, the Academy, the Church, the palaces of the aristocracy, music, books, theatre, and painting. These are the strings from which I will weave a picture of the cultural life of the city as it is revealed to viewers in the works of Baschenis and Bettera. If only we succeed in untangling this web, we will have gone a long way toward understanding the language in which these works were painted. By way of conclusion, I have chosen to present a book, a painting, and a poem that Baschenis and Bettera most likely saw and read some four decades after their creation. The book is by the Milan theologian and poet Gregorio Comanini (c. 1550–1606), from 1591, and it is devoted to the painter Giovanni Ambrogio Figino (c. 1548–1608): Il Figino, Overo del Fine della Pittura (‘Figino, In Praise of Painting’).134 The book includes a discussion between three participants – the painter Figino, the poet Stefano Guazzo (1530–1593), and Bishop Ascanio Marinengo (1541–1600). The three were asked to answer a question that was debated by their contemporaries: Is art intended to instruct or please? They also discussed the nature of painterly imitation, reflected on the importance of the painter’s imagination, and attended to the relations between literature, painting, and music and to the question of one art’s superiority over the others. Finally, they considered artistic decorum, a sensitive subject during the Catholic Reform. Figino was active in the city’s cultural and literary circles along with his teacher, Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo, and Caravaggio’s Bergamasque teacher, Simone Peterzano (c. 1540–c. 1596). He is the same Figino whom some scholars believe to be the painter of Metal Plate with Peaches and Vine Leaves (1591–1594), which is regarded as a very early still-life (Figure 1). Notwithstanding the ambiguity regarding the identity of its painter – Figino or perhaps Fede Galizia (1578–1630) – this painting is an excellent example of early Lombard still-life painting, whose main characteristics are the close attention to light, colours, and textures. On the back of the painting appears a rhymed poem describing the charming fruit depicted in it. Roberto Longhi, who discovered this painting and identified it, saw in this work and in the poem an expression of the cultural atmosphere of the region at the time, under the influence of Cardinal Borromeo. He tied the representation of a plate of peaches to the representation of fruit in ancient times, a custom related to xenia – Latin for ‘gifts’.135 This interpretation, which views the plate of fruit as an offering, attributes meaning that is not merely stylistic to a still-life painting, and in doing so imbues it with significance and value. So reads the poem, whose author is anonymous:136 134 Comanini, The Figino. 135 On the term xenia and still-life in ancient history, see: Bryson, Looking at the Overlooked, 17–59. 136 Pirovano, La Natura Morta in Italia, 220–221. ‘Queste sì vaghe poma/ non son d’arte fattura/ che a far opre sì belle Arte non vale/ né può tant’anni conservar Natura/ frutto caduco, e frale/ che brevissimi giorni appena dura;/ ma questo è sol, Figin, forza e possanza/ del tuo stile immortale, / che l’Arte vince, e la natura avanza.’

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Figure 1: Giovanni Ambrogio Figino, Metal Plate with Peaches and Vine Leaves, 1591–1994, oil on panel, 21x29.4cm, Private Collection.

These fruits not by art were made. Art has not the power to make such beautiful works. And at the same time the natural cannot be preserved for so many years The caduceus, frail fruit lasts only several brief days. But only you, Figino, have the potency and power of your immortal art, the art that triumphs and surpasses nature.

The poem on the back of the painting draws together the mediums of poetry and painting, reflects the discourse of the time on art and nature, and illustrates the artists’ cultural preoccupation. Figino’s painting offers a paragone not only between painting and nature but also between painting and poetry. In Comanini’s book, Figino represents the painter who prevails over his literary counterpart, if only thanks to his ability to activate all the senses of his viewer, and to make the transient eternal.

3. Keeping Score: Painting Music [Music] is the means with which to level moods, to give good tone to the voice, to set time for moving and measure for action. It also recreates the intellect, softens the mind, heals all our furious, rude, and immoderate thoughts and intentions.1

In this chapter, which deals with music and its representations in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings, I offer a reading that breaks with the customary interpretations of these works. Scholars regard the musical instruments in these works – some of which are featured upside down and covered in a film of dust, their strings torn – as a metaphor for the fleeting nature of music and of human life. In what follows, I offer a different reading that calls for a comprehensive observation of the smallest details of these works. It requires, for example, identifying the various instruments, observing their range of qualities, finding irregularities in their structure, noting the sheet music featured in the paintings, and trying to identify particular musical works by examining the accuracy of the musical notation and the representation of the strings. I will open with a general survey covering the importance of the theme of music in the life of the seventeenth-century Italian upper class, followed by a presentation of the varying approaches taken by theorists of painting and music who have written on the similarities and differences between these two arts. Next, I will describe the rich musical activity that prevailed in the city of Bergamo, emphasizing the high musical level of local and guest musicians, and the fame achieved by the city’s composers, choirs, and instrumentalists. Baschenis and Bettera participated in their own way, through their paintings, in the musical activity that sounded out across their city. In the second part of this chapter I will present, in succession, a selection of their paintings in which musical instruments and sheet music feature prominently. A close look at the details of their composition reveals a rich variety of instruments, details of musical notation, and text written in the margins and between the lines of the score. Focusing on the minute details of the musical and textual notation, as well as on the changing representation of the instruments themselves, will allow us to identify themes that were important to both artists and were represented in their complex works of art: onto and within the representations of music they wove both straightforward and sophisticated statements regarding issues that concerned their contemporaries. Thus, for example, their paintings contain a discussion of the question of whether listening to music requires the physical presence of musicians or else can just as well be played in the mind’s eye of the beholder; of the theme of imitation 1

Camiz, ‘Music and Painting in Cardinal del Monte’s Household’, 214.

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versus the original in music and in the representation of musical instruments; of the importance and necessity of accuracy in the notation of music; of the controversy over old and new styles of composing; and even of the transience of the musical tune versus its eternal nature.

The Conception of Music in Italy of the Early Modern Period: Sounds, Words, and Colour Art in the seventeenth century sought ways to provoke emotions in the listener or beholder. The painter, sculptor, architect, musician, and poet all aimed to soar above the familiar boundaries of the composition and depict in their works the invisible realm of the spirit and the mind. It was commonly believed that experiencing a wide range of moods through vocal and instrumental music, and through different melodic themes and rhythms, may bring emotional balance and encourage physical and mental health. Therefore, in order to understand the theme of music in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works, we need to get to know, if only superficially, the world of music in Italy in general and in Bergamo in particular – a world of sound and content from which emerged the statements that appear in their paintings.2 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, music was a common denominator that ran through the complex and divided mosaic of small kingdoms, principalities, dukedoms, and cities controlled by aristocratic families and the papacy. Alongside their own dabbling in playing music and in song, rulers and aristocrats supported musicians, and even competed with each other for the right to sponsor leading composers and performers of music, as it was a matter of prestige. Italian musicians and music-related professionals were prominent across Europe – in the field of music composition, operatic writing, instrument making, and stage design – and Italian was the language of choice for musicians across the continent. Musical centres were set up in Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan, Naples, and other cities, as well as in aristocratic courts; the music schools courted and vied for the best students and musicians. The importance of music in the life of the Italian and Bergamasque upper class is attested in the writings of Baldassare Castiglione and Vincenzo Giustiniani, two well-known and respected writers of the Italian aristocracy.3 Though Castiglione lived in the sixteenth century and Giustiniani lived until 1637, it is likely that Baschenis and Bettera knew their writings, and, as the rest of their generation, were influenced by their views on the subject of music. One hundred years before Baschenis was born, Castiglione wrote Il Cortegiano (‘The Book of the Courtier’), which became 2 On seventeenth-century music, see: Bianconi, Music in the Seventeenth Century; for an overview of the development of western music: Burkholder, Jay, and Palisca, A History of Western Music. 3 Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier; Giustiniani, ‘Discorso Sopra la Musica’.

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an authoritative text for the European upper classes for several centuries to come. In his book Castiglione paints the figure of l’uomo universale (‘the universal man’), a cultivated individual deeply knowledgeable about music, painting, and poetry, whose language and conduct are impeccable. According to Castiglione, the aristocrat’s environment is aesthetic, and his palazzo will always contain musical instruments alongside decorative ware and valuable paintings. Castiglione’s book was very popular during the years in which Baschenis and Bettera were active – it was printed in over 100 editions in many languages. Naturally, the people of Bergamo were familiar with the recommendations of this Italian aristocrat, who was especially effective in articulating for them the codes of social decorum. And indeed, alongside the emotional pleasure derived from pleasant musical tunes, Baschenis and his patrons regarded the practice of playing music as a process of cultivating proper habits and high morality. They believed that just as physical practice fortifies the body, so the practice of playing music fortifies the soul and moral compass, and allays emotional turbulence. The Marquis Vincenzo Giustiniani was a well-known banker, art and antique collector, music lover, and patron of artists (Caravaggio, for example), of opera singers, and of theatre actors. During the first four decades of the seventeenth century he was one of the most important and influential figures within the cultural life of Rome. In a 1628 essay on music titled Discorso sopra la musica (‘Discourse on Music’) he described how, as a youth, he had studied the fine arts and mathematics, and at the same time learned to play music and to appreciate writers on music, both ancient and contemporaneous. Alongside a discussion of musical styles and tastes that were in vogue during his time, Giustiniani described the room in which the music was typically played (stanza della musica) as a small and private room adorned with paintings whose only purpose was to serve as decoration fit for intimate musical performances. He further noted that the music of his time was nobler than ever before. The style of music and song changed from court to court according to the tastes of patrons in various matters, from the music itself in its many genres to the dress code. In the list of important cities in which cultural musical activity took place Giustiniani mentioned Genoa, Milan, Florence, and also Bergamo. This is an important note which confirms Bergamo’s place of honour in the musical-cultural world of seventeenth-century Italy. Like others of his time, Giustiniani based his arguments on Pythagoras and Plato in the context of the divine harmony which follows from the cosmic order. Yet unlike Castiglione, but similar to the musician and theorist Johannes Tinctoris (1435?–1511), he refused to accept the explanation that harmony and disharmony are based solely on mathematical proportions and the movement of astronomical bodies. In his view, this explanation alone could not convince the intellect. Other, musical factors therefore need to be taken into account, such as the duration of the sound and differences of rhythm.

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At the end of the Renaissance, the concept of harmony was widely discussed, not only among musicians but among artists and art theorists as well, who, in the spirit of the time, took an interest in music. Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo emphasized in his book the important role of music in the formation of the artist, ‘without which the painter cannot attain perfection’, and pointed to a link between the theory of sound and the theory of colour.4 He believed that among colours, as among sounds, there is a kind of ‘agreement’ or ‘disagreement’, and in this way they evoke the viewers’ or the listeners’ response and influence their mood and emotions. In other words, the colours in a painting need to be selected in accordance with the painted objects or the narrative depicted in the painting, just as musicians composed their music in accordance with a libretto whose message was conveyed by the score. Lomazzo, like Vitruvius and Alberti before him, wrote about the connection between the correct proportions of the human body and perfect musical proportions. Since it was widely accepted from as far back as ancient history that to each theme or narrative there corresponds a tune which either silences or evokes it, theorists of art in the Renaissance and the Baroque also sought out an effective model that would generate a stimulus and response to the works of artists. In the seventeenth century, art theorists appropriated in their texts such terms as ‘decorum’ or ‘the unity of time place’ that appeared in the Classical writings on poetry, drama, and rhetoric. The tendency to borrow ideas and terms from other disciplines stemmed from the lack of a satisfactory vocabulary and the meagre nature of the intellectual history of the field. At the same time, the writers asked themselves whether ideas related to musical expression could likewise be used to characterize painting. Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665) is an example of an artist who was well versed in music theory and made use of it in his ideas. His works and his views were well known in the Italian and French artistic milieu (Baschenis may have come to know his works during his trips to Rome in the years 1651–1655).5 In a letter of reply to his patron Freart de Chantelou, who had complained that a painting Baschenis had prepared for him was made without love, Poussin wrote that it is not the painter’s love that makes the painting one way or another, but the painted subject. He noted the various types of paintings and compared them to song and to music. In the letter, Poussin wondered whether it was possible for colour and line, as well as light and shadow, to be chosen not for their essence but rather, deliberately, for their connection to the painted subject, thereby creating an impression similar to the one that the composer creates when he sets the text to music. He explained to his patron that paintings differed from one another just as musical modes differ from one another, as was well known to the fine Greeks who invented all the beautiful things. He argued that choosing the right mode, whether in painting or in music (a Lydian, Phrygian, or 4 Lomazzo, Trattato dell’Arte, 6. 5 Poussin and Jouanny, Correspondence de Nicholas Poussin, 415.

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Dorian mode), guarantees an effective expression of that which is signified. In his letter, Poussin drew on a text by the sixteenth-century Venetian theorist and musician Gioseffo Zarlino (1517–1590), who described Virgil’s marvellous ability in his poems to choose words whose meaning is in perfect accordance with their sounds, such as words of love that sound sweet and pleasant rolling off the tongue (for more on Zarlino, see Chapter 6, p. 226). Alongside the relation of music to words and content, the connection between sound and colour was also a topic studied by theorists and artists. For the ancient Greeks, correspondence between colours and sounds seemed natural: one of the three genera in ancient Greek music is called ‘chromatic’, a name that suggests an analogy between colour and sound, which seemed to the Greeks just as natural as it seems today. This kind of parallel re-emerged in the Renaissance, and during the sixteenth century writers on music began to draw precise comparisons between sounds and colours in order to demonstrate their ideas. The musician Vincenzo Galilei (1520–1591), father of Galileo Galilei (1564–1642), who was known for his passion for reviving ancient Greek music, wrote that the composer can ‘colour’ his musical creation by using the Greek chromatic genus. He also believed that in his music a musician can find all the elements that are present in a painting, such as contours and shading. Galilei argued that music ought to be expressive, rich in dissonances and unstable meters, as in the composing style of Monteverdi (on which more below).6 During this period painters also discussed the links between music and painting. One of the first to do so was the Milanese painter Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527–1593). While his own essays did not survive, his findings and opinions are quoted in the works of his two close friends, Lomazzo and Comanini. Arcimboldo was interested in Pythagorean harmony and in the mathematical relations that defined the consonance.7 He tried to define a scale of colour values ranging from light to dark according to principles akin to the Pythagorean principles, thereby creating an octave of colours whose hues become increasingly strong in the same ratio that holds between the notes of a musical octave. Yet Arcimboldo’s ideas about the links between colour and sound were not embraced by his contemporaries. The choice of colours seemed to them predictable and non-unique, and he did not explain the logic of the chosen relations to sounds: why dark colours are correlated to high notes, or what led him to specifically relate blue and green to the tenor and the alto of a polyphonic work of music.8 6 Vergo, That Divine Order, 219–220. 7 Pythagoras, the sixth-century bce Greek philosopher and mathematician, was the first to discover both the mathematical relation between different musical notes and the fact that musical harmony is the outcome of a numerical ratio. The harmonic tones of string instruments are obtained when the string lengths keep a simple ratio based on two small integers. According to tradition, Pythagoras concluded this idea while hearing the sound of beating hammers, which led him to connect the pitch of the tone to the weight of the hammer. 8 For further reading on Arcimboldo see: Vergo, That Divine Order, 230–232.

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During the Renaissance and Baroque eras, when theorists wrote about pictorial composition they used a vocabulary borrowed from the field of music. When they wanted to say that a painting was properly structured in terms of its composition, or that it was balanced and its figures were convincing, they often used the term ‘harmony’, if not always to signify the musical meaning of the term. Pietro Testa wrote about the extent to which artists such as himself were preoccupied with ‘principles of the gaze, of shading and reflection, the way in which objects are reduced to being a point, how colours descend in their hues following the diminishing of light or shortening of distance, how harmony is created with colours in accordance with the laws of music’.9 The term ‘harmony’ was necessary for theorists of the seventeenth century, and they used it as a metaphor for new ideas about ways of using colour in painting. At the same time, they avoided a complete analogy between colour and sound, as sound is temporary and relative, and colour fixed and absolute. The composer Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643), a native of the Lombard city of Cremona, near Bergamo, brought about a revolutionary change in the style of music composition, his work in effect representing the shift from the music of the Renaissance to that of the Baroque. He composed in an unrestrained, expressive style, using dissonance for the sake of faithful representation of the text. Not everyone welcomed this change, and many writers – most notably Zarlino’s disciple, the composer and theorist Giovanni Maria Artusi (1540–1613) – criticized the dissonances in his works. In response to Artusi’s scathing critique, Monteverdi’s brother, Giulio Cesare, published a long declaration in defence of his brother’s music, quoting Plato (mostly from The Republic), explaining the new style of composition, and demonstrating that the music his brother composed drew its justification from the text. And indeed, most seventeenth-century discussions of harmony, counterpoint, consonance, and dissonance touched on the link between the music and the text. Advocates of the traditional Renaissance style (Monteverdi called it the ­prima ­practica – ‘first practice’), whose rules had been defined by Zarlino, relied on the understanding that the ancient music was essentially vocal and sometimes accompanied by instruments.10 After all, Plato had expressed contempt for music without words, describing it as embarrassing or confusing. Everyone agreed that music, which is a respectable art and not a form of entertainment, must be related to the content of the text. To that Monteverdi added the definition of the seconda practica (‘second practice’), writing in 1607: ‘as for the consonances and dissonances, there is a different way to look at them […] which supports the new way of writing music […] I believe the modern composer builds upon a foundation of truth.’11 9 Cropper, The Ideal of Painting, 77. For his opinion regarding the still-life genre of painting, see p. 15. 10 The notions of prima practica and seconda practica were a result of a dispute between Monteverdi and Artusi at the beginning of the seventeenth century regarding a new composing style, and the treatment of dissonance in particular. 11 Vergo, That Divine Order, 189.

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In light of the importance of music to the lives of people of the period – and against the backdrop of the various positions and arguments held at the time between theorists and artists in the fields of music and painting on the subjects of colour and sound, innovation versus tradition, harmony, and discord – I will turn now to describe the musical activity that took place in Bergamo. As we shall see, these and other controversial or debated issues are expressed in various ways in the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera.

Music in Bergamo Throughout the seventeenth century, Bergamo held some 100 festive ceremonies annually. The ceremonies took place in public spaces and in the palazzos, and marked the weddings of aristocrats, religious holidays, and various secular events.12 Members of the city’s lower classes typically listened to music only at traditional religious events. In public, secular music was played only as a gesture, such as to honour an important personality, but at private parties it was played to enhance the prestige of the person who commissioned it and to impress the guests with his knowledge of contemporary music. When selecting the music to be played at these gatherings, aristocrats gave special weight to the impression their musical choice would create.13 Most of the musical activity in Bergamo took place under the auspices of the city’s central and most important church, Santa Maria Maggiore. As noted in the second chapter, the church was built in the twelfth century, and since the mid-fifteenth century was managed by the Misericordia committee. The committee oversaw the ritual ceremonies and the church’s charitable giving, but also contributed significantly to the development of music in the city. Under its patronage a highly regarded music school was founded in Bergamo in 1361, and at the committee’s behest music was introduced into prayer. It was customary to combine vocal and instrumental music, and the performers were typically priests. For hundreds of years the Misericordia organized the musical activity in the city, its holidays and festivals. In 1449, the committee gained ownership of the church and its members, who accorded great importance to music and song in the cultural development of their city’s residents, sponsored the musical activity of the church, and indeed supervised it. The heads of the Misericordia used every holiday and religious event as an excuse to produce grand festivities in the hope that they would draw the faithful to the church. 12 For instance, the 1609 marriage of the noble families of Bergamo, Orsola Bonetti and Vincenzo Barozzi, which led to three days of celebration. 13 Ferraris and Gallina, ‘Guida alla Identificazione’, 185–203.

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Five operas were indeed written by composers who served as maestros at Santa Maria Maggiore – proof of the artistic freedom enjoyed by those in charge of music in the church: they were expected and indeed hired to compose religious music, but were allowed to compose music that was not religious as well. However, it is possible that this artistic freedom resulted from a policy that was imposed upon the committee rather than freely chosen, insofar as the religious institutions in Bergamo, as in other cities, struggled to compete for the public’s attention with the theatre and the opera, which were at their height of their glory. One of the tasks of the committee was to establish a good choir, and the budget for this purpose came primarily from Bergamo’s wealthy families. Surviving documents reveal that the choir was required to sing a variety of songs. The priests, who lived next door to the church, were further responsible for the traditional plainsong, and some of them even sang themselves when there was no instrumental music. Apart from musical activity in the realm of the church itself, Santa Maria Maggiore also collaborated with other Bergamo churches in the first half of the seventeenth century. The church in which Baschenis served as a priest, St. Alessandro in Colonna, also employed musicians, both local and foreign. There are testimonies indicating that aristocrats used to invite musicians and choir members, primarily from Santa Maria Maggiore, to various private events, such as the dedication of a private cappella (Count Martinengo, 1622). Another documented musical event is a festive Mass led at the cathedral by Bergamo’s bishop in 1626, with singers from Santa Maria Maggiore performing before all of the city’s nobility.14 The good relations between the Misericordia and the church made it possible to sponsor musicians and to advance them, as well as to buy musical instruments – in the sixteenth century, two types of keyboard instruments, the spinet and the cembalo, were introduced into the church. Church records indicate that close attention was given to the level of the music played in the church, and to the intensity of musical instruction – the head of the cappella was even contractually obligated to teach music. Bergamo and Venice held not only religious and economic but also cultural reciprocal relations. For example, in 1642 a letter went out to ‘Sig. Marchetti’, Bergamo’s representative in Venice, asking him to find suitable musicians for Santa Maria Maggiore. The city’s excellent reputation in general and the church in particular drew cultural figures and intellectuals of the first order to Bergamo. In the early seventeenth century, the church’s lead organist, Publio Fontana, wrote that he came to Bergamo from Brescia following ‘the venerable reputation of the choir, which made a name for itself across Italy’.15 Fontana’s words are further reinforced by the knowledge that he had ties to Brescia’s aristocracy and priesthood, and was considered a great scholar in addition to his musical and artistic occupations. 14 Roche, ‘Music at S. Maria Maggiore’, 297, 299. 15 Ibid., 306.

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An example of the importance of music to the residents of Bergamo can be found in an announcement released in December 1617 by the city council. It stated that the council was aware of the residents’ wish to hear music and song in praise of the Lord and for the sake of strengthening the city’s reputation. Therefore, despite financial difficulties and the war in the region, church officials were given permission to hire four musicians and singers ‘at the lowest possible salary’.16 Giovanni Cavaccio (1556–1626) directed the choir of Santa Maria Maggiore in the years 1598–1626. He was a singer who performed for royalty across Europe. He lived in Rome and Venice, worked in the theatre, and was a member of the important music institution Accademia degli Elevati (‘Academy of the Elevated’) in Florence. During his years as director he published some fifteen books concerning religious and secular music. Despite the fact that he himself was a man of the world, during his tenure the choir in Bergamo was considered conservative since the music it sang was at least ten years old, and not contemporary music.17 When Cavaccio died, Alessandro Grandi (1586–1630) approached the church and offered his services. His offer was accepted with enthusiasm. Grandi was one of the greatest, most renowned composers in northern Italy, and had served as Monteverdi’s deputy at the San Marco Cathedral in Venice. Through Grandi, Monteverdi powerfully influenced the music in Bergamo. So, for instance, at the 1626 Feast of Assumption celebrations, Grandi hosted singers and musicians from Mantua and Venice, both of which were hubs of Monteverdi’s activity. In Venice, under the leadership of Monteverdi, Grandi could have written church music for a small number of performers; when there, he composed primarily motets, cantatas, and arias for a solo voice with or without instrumental accompaniment – all new genres. In Bergamo, by contrast, he inherited a choir with a conservative singing style and a repertoire consisting mainly of the works of sixteenth-century composers who still wrote in the style of the ‘first practice’ (such as Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, Victoria Tomás Luis, and Orlande de Lassus) or of the chori spezzati (‘separated choirs’). Grandi aimed to reduce the number of performers and facilitate the performance of musical compositions in the new concertato style, which included a small number of solo singers and musicians accompanied by a continuo. Yet despite these efforts, in 1621 the performing body of the church swelled to 28 singers and instrumentalists. On 15 August 1628, for example, 57 musicians gathered in the church, including two particularly highly paid virtuoso singers from the royal court of Mantua. Thus, with a large choir and a variety of instruments at his disposal, Grandi could compose and perform his large-scale compositions as well.

16 Ibid., 303. 17 Calvi, Effemeride Sagro Profana, 313.

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The importance of music in Bergamo was furthermore expressed in various everyday initiatives. For instance, when the church committee realized that many residents did not participate in vespers (evening prayers), which were accompanied by Grandi’s music, since the gathering fell at dinnertime they acted without hesitation and made the following announcement: Since wintertime, few are able to come to prayer, music is played before an empty church […] The committee has resolved that evening prayers will be postponed by half an hour or by three-quarters of an hour to afford the noblemen and city folk enough time to arrive. It would be preferable if prayers included several motets, to attract the populace and lift their spirits in devotion, especially when so much money is spent on music, so that there must be benefit for all.18

In 1630, all music in Bergamo was silenced by the plague that killed more than half of the town’s residents, and afflicted the rest with hunger and disease. Baschenis’s family suffered as well, and it is known that he lost his father and brother to the plague. During this time, the musical activity in the church ceased and the church itself was abandoned, as were all the other city churches. Grandi’s death in the plague was a severe blow to the musical activity in Bergamo and to the evolution of the concertato style. Second only to Monteverdi among northern Italy’s composers of the time, Grandi had built an excellent musical reputation for Bergamo. In the decade that followed the plague the city recovered slowly, and so did the choir and instrumental ensemble of Santa Maria Maggiore. Musical directors and conductors came and went at fast rate, until in 1641 the committee managed to secure a prominent conductor from Milan, Giovanni Battista Crivelli (1590–1652), who had close ties with the court in Ferrara. He invested great efforts and large sums of money to bring renowned musicians to Bergamo, especially for the 1642 Assumption of Mary celebrations. These efforts indicated the importance accorded by the city’s leaders and residents to the rehabilitation of the musical life of Bergamo in the years after the plague. In the following years, Bergamo recovered its musical reputation and attracted renowned musicians once again. In 1653, Maurizio Cazzati (1616–1678), one of the period’s most promising composers, arrived in Bergamo. He composed Masses for psalms, incorporating instruments into the music. During his four-year stay in the city he ensured that the choir and musicians were kept abreast of contemporary music. Twelve years later, toward the end of 1665, Giovanni Legrenzi (1626–1690), a native of the nearby town of Clusone, returned to Italy to conduct the Santa Maria Maggiore choir. During his tenure, the city hosted many well-known singers and instrumentalists from Venice, Ferrara, Mantua, and Lucca.19 Legrenzi left the choir 18 Roche, ‘Music at S. Maria Maggiore’, 308. 19 Tomasi, ‘Evaristo Baschenis and Giovanni Legrenzi’.

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after only two years, most likely in search of a professional challenge he did not find in Bergamo since, unlike in Venice, Bologna, and Ferrara, influential residents of Bergamo were slow to introduce opera into their city. Legrenzi went on to become a renowned figure in the world of Venetian music, and 20 years after leaving Bergamo he became the maestro of the choir and instrumentalists of Venice’s San Marco Cathedral. He was one of the most important musicians of the latter half of the seventeenth century. Throughout his illustrious career he composed religious music, operas, and chamber music. Legrenzi’s departure marked the beginning of a slow descent in the musical activity in Bergamo. But Santa Maria Maggiore, like San Marco in Venice, could boast of choirs that enjoyed the leadership of great musicians who composed rich church music. It appears, then, that during this period, when Baschenis was active, the musical tradition of Santa Maria Maggiore was among the most important in northern Italy. In addition to its status as a religious and musical centre, the church, which was situated in the centre of the upper part of Bergamo (the Citta Alta), served as a ‘point of transit’ for the city’s residents, who tended to cut short their route from one side of the city to the other by passing through it. Baschenis, who was active in the city from the late 1630s to the end of the 1660s, attended the church and often passed by it. It is plausible to assume that he knew the three directors of the church choir – Crivelli, Cazzati, and Legrenzi. Like himself, the three men were priests who chose to express themselves through art – Baschenis chose painting, while the other three chose music. They were active in Bergamo at a time of transition from vocal styles (the madrigal, the concerto, and the opera) to instrumental styles (the evolution of the violin as a leading instrument). Tomasi wrote about the affinities between the Bergamasque painter and the prominent Venetian composer Legrenzi. The latter was a member of the Accademia degli Eccitati, the same academy established by Baschenis’s patrons. In addition to their meetings at the church, the two must have also met at the Academy. Based on Baschenis’s social ties we may surmise the nature of the music he heard at church events and in the homes of patrons, and imagine the cultural atmosphere in the city to whose ‘sounds’ both men created their works. Legrenzi, who wrote music suited both to the opera and to the new compositions for the violin, wrote his first four published compositions while in Bergamo. Tomasi is convinced that Baschenis heard them. In seventeenth-century Bergamo, then, a true encounter materialized between the creators of music – composers and performers – and the audiences that heard their work. The latter were made up of the city’s elites, its aristocracy, clergy, and local leaders. The makers of musical instruments in the various centres, the printers of sheet music, the musical editors, and the directors and producers of events were all part of the process of musical creation as well.20 20 Piva and Cao, La Scuola Primaria, 135–141.

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Figure 2: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection.

The ‘Music Paintings’: Variations Composed by Baschenis and Bettera with their Paintbrush Having presented a detailed picture of the rich musical activity that took place in Bergamo over several decades of artistic creation, a number of paintings by Baschenis and Bettera can be analysed. As we shall see, these ‘Still-Lifes with Musical Instruments’ embody a series of intellectually challenging cultural statements that are conveyed both implicitly and explicitly through musical instruments and notes. The observers of their works listened to the music played in Bergamo’s churches, participated in musical gatherings, and were members of the Accademia degli Eccitati along with the rest of the city’s upper class. The musical ensemble depicted by Baschenis in Figure 2 is awash with light, and invites the beholder to participate in the pleasure and the challenge available to those who can afford to buy such expensive instruments, to play and listen to them. This is a work of art that expresses an appreciation for and close relation to music, of the artist as well as of his interlocutors: members of the Accademia degli Eccitati, instrumentalists and singers at the Santa Maria Maggiore church, collectors of musical instruments, and patrons of music and art who played at gatherings of music and song at their homes in upper Bergamo.

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In one of these mansions, the Via Porta Dipinta, lived Francesco Moroni, a member of the city council who was a wealthy silk merchant and an art collector. As described earlier, in 1646 Moroni invited many artists to participate in a grand ­project – the ­decoration of his residence – among them Baschenis’s teacher Barbello and ­Baschenis himself, who painted this work for him. When we look at the painting, a harmonious echo seems to leap right out of it, not only through the instruments, which are the painting’s manifest content, but also, and perhaps especially, by virtue of what remains hidden. Five musical instruments rest atop two tables, which are covered with a tablecloth of red damask. The fabric features a print of leaves and fruit that recurs in several other paintings by Baschenis (see pp. 193–197). The spinet functions as a horizontal axis of the composition. Placed on it and behind it are a mandolin, a violin, and a bow. Because the source of light in the painting is high above the instruments a lute, music book, and the spinet cast a shadow on the red fabric. The curling shape of the violin scroll (at the tip of the neck) alludes to the philosophical concept of infinity as a symbol of the high level of spirituality that can be attained through music. In this painting Baschenis set a challenge before his patrons and friends, adding, alongside the clear and the obvious, a riddle designed to undermine the beholders’ certainty and provoke them to thought: beside the spiral-shaped curl (Figure 3), which looks like a string whose twisting motion around itself will go on indefinitely, Baschenis painted two of the violin strings wrapped up and tied at the ends, all but creating a fully sealed circle that has no beginning and no end. He chose to not quite close the circle, leaving a gap between the ends of the strings, and even crossing and thus interrupting with these strings the pattern of equally spaced silver stripes that line the back of the guitar. While the spiralling curl hints at the infinite nature of music, Baschenis implies to the beholder that the music does have a beginning and indeed an end. Extending across from the right-hand side of the composition to its centre is a dark curtain that blends in with the work’s exposed background; its lining is red, echoing the tablecloth. A meticulously carved mandolin, combining the broad stripes of two types of wood of different hues, rests upside down at a diagonal angle on part of the keys of the spinet. The mandolin shimmers with a bright light, barely touching the lute in the centre of the table. The lute is evidently of high quality, likewise made of two kinds of wood, and featuring stripes which are thin, dense, and precisely placed. The lute and sheet music are depicted with impressive virtuosity, facing out of the painting and toward the beholder. The pages of the sheet are curled inward, directing the eyes toward the important seal on the side of the lute. The two string instruments are at once similar and different. The mandolin shines due to the high-quality varnish applied to its broad ribs, while the lute is dusty and its ribs are slim. Anonymous fingers have traced paths in the thin film of dust that covers it, and these remind the beholder that people, too, are present in the room (for a discussion of the topic of dust on the instruments, see especially pp. 91–92).

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Figure 3: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail).

Most scholars agree that the seal on the side of the upturned lute belongs to Michael Hartung, a German lute maker who worked in Padua and Venice in 1590–1640.21 Against this view, Roberto Gini has suggested that the seal belongs to an important lute maker from Venice – Mathias Tieffenbruker (active sixteenth century).22 Tieffenbruker came from a family of German origin that specialized in making high-quality expensive musical instruments for the aristocracy, making it plausible that Count Moroni had in fact bought an instrument from him, perhaps even the very lute depicted in the painting. The examples of seals shown in Figures 4 and 5 are details of lutes bearing a seal in paintings by Baschenis (not all the lutes are imprinted with one). In any case, all instances feature the same seal, whether Hartung’s or Tieffenbruker’s, and the scholars go no further than this. Yet a closer look reveals that the seals are neither exact replicas of one another nor even faithful replicas of the original. Baschenis actually painted variations on the popular commercial symbol: the sign of the cross, the ‘T’, is incorporated into the symbol and differs from painting to painting, as does the width of the other two letters, ‘M’ and ‘H’. This fact is important because it illustrates Baschenis’s habit of painting such details as letters, musical notes, seals, and names non-uniformly. This habit recurs in his works, and its reasons and meanings are explored and discussed throughout this study. 21 Such as Slim, Ferraris, De Pascale and Bayer. See: Hellwig, ‘Makers’ Marks on Plucked Instruments’, 27. 22 Vannes, Dictionnaire Universel des Luthiers, 362.

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Figure 4: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail).

Figure 5: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas, 83x100cm, Venice, Lombardini (detail).

Bergamasque aristocrats who were members of the local academies sought and found in Baschenis’s paintings much more than his technical skill in tricking the eye. His works contain intimations and oppositions, dissonances, statements, and question marks, all of which the intellectual beholder was supposed to discover and understand. In light of this, we may ask: why is it that Baschenis chose to paint variations on the seal of a respected, high-end maker, a seal that brings honour to the owner of the instrument or to the musician who has the privilege of playing it? Baschenis presented a schematic element and within it created a convolution that provoked in his viewers more thought and interest than if he had simply replicated the single element over and over again. For example, the musical notes he painted, which are supposed to be identical and generic, are also slightly different in their pattern and style, raising a recurring question: why did a painter known for the photographic precision with which he paints instruments, textures, and materials choose to paint notes and letters carelessly? Was it deliberate carelessness? And what did he mean by it?

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Figure 6 (top): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Figure 7 (bottom): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail).

The painting in Figure 2, which is a song of praise to music, was created with particular attention to the combination of message and content, on the one hand, and form, material, and texture on the other. Through this work Baschenis chose once more to challenge the beholder. The lute, spinet, violin, mandolin, and sheet music are not depicted simply as they are. Baschenis heaped hidden hints upon the spinet and the two booklets of musical notes lying under the lute that only a penetrating and educated gaze would identify, and pause to try and figure out. Thus, he painted the notes on the staff clearly, while the text above them is illegible (the details are shown in Figures 6 and 7; these are two pages of musical notes from Figure 2). Yet indeed, these two are related and depend upon each other.

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Figure 8 (left): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail). Figure 9 (right): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection (detail).

In some notes Baschenis painted a salto di settima (‘jump of a seventh’, Figures 6 and 7), leaving the musically savvy observer to puzzle over this detail, since such jumps do not belong in sheet music accompanied by text intended for song. Since this anomaly is repeated in both pages of the booklet lying under the lute, it is unlikely that this is a case of a slip of the painter’s pen. The musical note marks are painted with a carelessness that repeats itself. So, for instance, in the bottom booklet the note-heads are diamond-shaped and the stem grows downward from the centre of the diamond (Figure 8), whereas in the booklet on the spinet, which is also a handwritten edition, the stem meets the side of the note-head, which is round (Figure 9). Although the placement of the stem does conventionally change between a high and low note, the disorder presented here is significant. Why did Baschenis paint accurate notes alongside inaccurate ones? If surely he knew how to play music well, is it possible that he did not read notes? Is it possible that in his painting he was not interested in representing a particular musical score, but rather chose to represent the spirit of things? And perhaps the notes were painted by another artist in his workshop? If so, could Baschenis have approved an inaccurate detail when he himself was meticulous in the painting of the instruments? In Roberto Gini’s view, the possibility that the mistakes in the notation are deliberate is fascinating. He explained that when he looks as a musician at the notes painted on the canvas, they sound out the music in his head even if they are inaccurate: when he observed this painting, he could hear the proper sound and hum the tune.23 23 Gini is an Italian conductor and ancient lute player whose practical knowledge deeply contributed to the instrument’s research. He is able to read and play from old musical notes as depicted, even when inaccurate.

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In the same context, scholars (Rosci and Ferraris) are uncertain about the originality of two other still-life paintings with musical instruments attributed to Baschenis. Their doubts stem from the fact that in these paintings the keys of the spinet are either painted black and immediately adjacent to each other, or displaying incorrect spacing. Both keyboards are wrong (Figure 10).24 Based on the variations in the seal of the lute makers and on the inaccurate sheet music in Baschenis’s painting described above (as well as on further examples that I present below), I wish to propose at this stage that an anomaly in the depiction of an instrument is not reason enough to rule out a painting’s originality. This focus on the minute details of the notes, the text, and the keys in the paintings is designed to demonstrate that even in a seemingly innocent still-life with musical instruments, more may be hidden than seen. Before us is the work of an artist who paid close attention to every characteristic and nuance in depicting the instruments in his compositions, instruments that he himself knew how to play; and yet he chose to depict the notes and keyboard as he did. And we may go on to ask: Where are the singers for whom the words above the notes were written? What is the message between the lines? Are the instrumentalists now making their way to this light-filled room in which, when they arrive momentarily and take up their instruments, the music will once again be heard? Baschenis invites a discussion about the temporary, fleeting nature of music versus its timelessness, the question of whether in order to listen to music the physical presence of players is required, or else it is enough for the music to be played out in the mind’s eye of the beholder who observes the images of musical notes and instruments. He does so while combining style and content in a harmonious display of dissonance that recurs in his paintings, between the pale and deep hues, light and dark, music and silence. Rosci noted in 1971 that this work (Figure 11) is indeed an original Baschenis, presenting the theme of vanitas, the transience of life, and the silence of the end; yet he expressed his reservations about the painting, stating that among Baschenis’s full body of work this painting was not considered of high quality.25 Indeed, stylistically there is a certain simplicity to the curtain and tablecloth that is uncharacteristic of Baschenis’s work. In what follows I offer a different interpretation of this painting, based on an observation of the totality of Baschenis’s oeuvre as well as on the details of this painting in particular. I show how Baschenis presents an element and its opposite, exposes and conceals, casts shade and sheds light.

24 Rosci, ‘Bartolomeo e Bonaventura Bettera’, 149–184. 25 Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co.

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Figure 10: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 87x115cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara (detail).

Figure 11: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1650–1674, oil on canvas, 82x127cm, Milan, ­Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, inv. n. 150.

The four instruments in the painting – spinet, lute, violin, and mandolin – are set atop a table draped with red cloth. A heavy curtain has been lifted for the sake of the beholder and is held back in the upper left-hand corner. The mandolin on the right protrudes slightly from the table, and despite its thin coat of dust, highlighted by fingerprints, its varnish shimmers and glows before the eyes. The spinet lies extended along the full width of the table, protruding beyond the table’s edge as well. The

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Figure 12: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail).

partly concealed spinet serves as a shelf for the lute, which dominates it and hovers over its keyboard. The sheet music to the left of the lute is illuminated with strong, focused light. The notes on it are illegible, but the string of words laced between the lines indicates to the beholder that they are designed for singing. Atop an ornamented black wooden chest of drawers, high above the spinet, lute, and mandolin, sits a violin. The spiral scroll brushes up against an apple situated precisely in the centre of the composition. To the beholder who is well versed in the Old Testament, the apple hints at the forbidden choice in the Garden of Eden, with its consequent punishment together with the gift of knowledge. The quill pen behind the violin looks like a poised arrow that failed to reach the source of knowledge – the apple. The pen suggests with its presence that it alone was used for the writing of the musical notes and words that are supposed to set wheels of the music in motion – the wheels that presently lie still. The violin, according the maker of old instruments Amit Tiefenbrunn, is painted as a hybrid – its broad neck is characteristic of the first half of the seventeenth century, while its precise and delicate body is typical of the second half of that century. It is made of simple, inexpensive wood. The strings are tightly wound, and their rolled and bundled up ends rest on the back of the lute. One object touches the other: the apple touches the violin, the violin brushes the lute, the lute rests upon the sheet music, while both are placed on top of the spinet, which touches the mandolin. The spiral-shaped scroll of the violin is right at the centre of the painting and reminds beholders not to take things at face value, while the upturned instruments do not imply the end of music because music knows no end. Proof of the music that has no end is found also in the violin (Figure 12). Tiefenbrunn pointed out that the solid metal wire connecting the button to the tailpiece on the violin seems gleaming from use. Baschenis highlighted the presence and vitality of music through the shiny violin wire, contrasting it to the neck of the lute which is depicted covered with a film of dust (Figure 12; detail of F­ igure 59, Chapter 4, p.174). As mentioned earlier, Baschenis did not paint things simply ‘as they are’. Although the violin in this painting is situated high above the other instruments, it is made of simple wood and features an old-fashioned broad neck. The lute shading the spinet is made of

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Figure 13: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1650–1674, oil on canvas, 82x127cm, Milan, ­Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, inv. n. 150 (detail).

quality materials and its ribs are dense and narrow, but it lacks a seal of pedigree. The mandolin is illuminated, but its stripes are broad and simple, and it is covered with dust, while the spinet, situated at the centre of the scene and taking up most of the face of the table, hides in the shadow of the lute. The lute appears to dominate the scene: it is situated at the painting’s centre, and its round body thrusts itself out towards the beholder as if it had won a competition among the musical instruments and would soon flip itself over before his eyes, ready to play music. Yet in a twist typical of Baschenis, the predictable outcome is negated, and it is ultimately the spinet that wins the competition over the beholder’s ear, thanks to the painter’s decision to sign on its right-hand side. Baschenis reveals the musical notes to the beholder while simultaneously concealing part of them by curling the pages inward (Figure 13). Though they are wedged between the lute and the spinet, the notes are not intended only for the one or for the other. The text above the staff suggests that here, too (as, for instance, in Figure 6), Baschenis deviated from the conventional order, as the words customarily appeared below the staff (Figure 14). In the seventeenth century, spinet and lute players did indeed accompany singers. As we can see by observing the sheet music, the song begins on the previous page. Visible in the upper left-hand corner is part of its first, capitalized letter. The sheet music booklet comes into contact with the keys and its location is not accidental (Figure 14). Baschenis directed the tip of the booklet so that it meets the spinet exactly on the note that represents F sharp – apparently drawing the

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Figure 14: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 1650–1674, oil on canvas, 82x127cm, Milan, ­Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, inv. n. 150 (detail).

Figure 15: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 99x146cm, Brussels, Musees Royaux des Beaux Arts de Belgique, inv. n. 3893.

beholder’s attention to the fact that the scene is not one of an ending. Even if the music has stopped, there is a marked key from which it will start up again. Like the words of the song that appear in the music booklet, suggesting the presence of a singer in the depicted scene, so too the fingers that left traces in the dust that covers the mandolin further emphasize Baschenis’s sophistication. Under the

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cover of ‘still-life’, the intellectual painter once again reminds the beholder that the absent is present, the hidden is exposed, and the simplistic complex. This important painting (Figure 15) symbolizes to a large extent Baschenis’s rediscovery in the modern era thanks to the 1908 research by the Belgian art historian A.J. Wauters (1845–1916). Wauters determined that the picture should be attributed to Baschenis, and even exposed the painter’s signature on the table’s left-hand leg.26 One hundred years earlier, Baschenis’s historian and biographer, Tassi, noted that this work hung in the home of one of Baschenis’s patrons, the Marquise Terzi.27 Researchers have argued that the soft colours and dark background of the musical instruments have the effect of humanizing them. In the quiet and charmed atmosphere that Baschenis created, they embody a novel way of expressing the vanitas theme, as an alternative to the candles and skulls that were prevalent among the northern painters. Andrea Bayer saw in the painting an expression of the harmony that Baschenis created between the meticulous geometric-perspectival planning of the instruments, table, floor tiles, and open drawer and the silence that engulfs the instruments, which in her reading have been abandoned. The lighting on the righthand side appears to hover above the instruments, creating small pools of light and shade in an ambiance that is frozen in time and sealed, just as the walls enclose the instruments. In Bayer’s view, this is a daring and provocative work, dominated by the violone – a single ‘oversize’ instrument that tramples the other instruments, which are spread out, fan-like, facing the beholder. In her view, the violin, which Baschenis painted with remarkable foreshortening, calls to mind the violin on the table in Orazio Gentileschi’s The Lute Player.28 Dark, exposed walls enclose the seven instruments – a violone, guitars, a cithara, a mandola, a lute, and a violin and bow – crowded together on a simple wooden table covered with black cloth.29 On the left, the ends of the tablecloth have been pulled back to allow the table drawer to open and the sheet music to be revealed and exposed to the light. The idea of the open drawer may reflect the influence on Baschenis of the painter Cecco del Caravaggio (known also by the name Francesco Boneri), who worked in Rome in the early seventeenth century.30

26 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 228, cat. 42. 27 Tassi, Vite de’ Pittori, 233–237. 28 Bayer, The Still Lifes, 128, cat. 15. 29 On 12 April 1677, three weeks after Baschenis’s death, a huge violone, identical to the one appearing in the upper part of this painting and in one of the Agliardi Triptych paintings, was sold for 28 lira as part of the auction of his belongings. The auction took place in a central square in the San Leonardo neighbourhood, the place of his residence. The violone and other musical instruments (a small spinet, two lutes, and a guitar) were sold to Giuseppe Cavallini. 30 The idea of the open drawer as inspiration for Baschenis could be found in Papi, Cecco del Caravaggio, 30–31, note 84.

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The instruments are strewn eclectically, facing up or down, placed above, below, and beside one another. In the centre of the composition, two hidden reddish apples, reduced in size proportionally to the violin set right before them, peer out from between the taut strings of the violone. On the flat guitar to the right rest two more apples, this time placed in clear view. A third sheet music booklet lies across the back of the violone and seems ready to slide off, just as in Figure 19 (p. 100), which features the same instrument. This is a complex work of art with various encrypted clues that the intellectual beholder is invited to reveal and decipher. Thus, there is more to it than its innovative application of vanitas or its implication of the musical instruments as abandoned. In this respect, the silence that emanates from the painting is misleading and temporary. From a stylistic perspective, Baschenis succeeded in piquing the interest of his viewers by creating disquiet within this seemingly calm painting: the instruments are intentionally crammed together on the table, protruding beyond its contours in an inverted ‘neck-to-body’ arrangement: a reduced-size violin lies beside a particularly large violone; a wide-open drawer beside a drawer closed behind black cloth; musical notes that are close up and legible versus notes that the hand cannot reach and the eye cannot read; a simple wooden table covered in black cloth versus the colourful carpets and drapes of Baschenis’s other works, whose absence here is felt; two ribbons attached to the instruments like colourful flashes against the painting’s brown, almost monotonous background; the pair of apples in the foreground on the guitar to the right, and by contrast the two small apples concealed behind the strings of the large instrument; and, iconographically, apples of the tree of knowledge that recall the punishment of those who dared taste them and were doomed to a short life filled with suffering versus the spiral-shaped scroll of the violone, which represents the harmonious infinity that was, is, and will exist in music. The art historian and curator Gian Casper Bott regarded this painting as one of Baschenis’s most important works. In his view, the instruments are painted as gestures to musical structures: the violone is painted as ‘expanded’, large and upside down (in augmentation), the violin is painted as markedly reduced in size (in diminution), and the mandolin is upside down (in inversion).31 The presence of the apples in Baschenis’s paintings is explained by him as related to the phonetic similarity between the three words mele, melodia, and melopoeia – which mean ‘apple’, ‘melody’, and ‘composing’, respectively. Identifying the link between these three is the challenge that Baschenis set before his learned beholder. Moreover, out of a broader observation of the full series of Baschenis’s paintings, Bott identified in the varied paintings of instruments a certain parallel with the technique of imitatio musicae (‘musical imitation’) typical of the fantasia or the fugue, which were common in Baschenis’s time.

31 Bott, Still Life, 48.

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In my view, Baschenis’s appreciation and vast knowledge of music are expressed in this painting well beyond his technical ability to paint abandoned instruments in a local atmosphere of vanitas. In addition to the set of contrasts described above, Baschenis sought to offer an argument on the theme of ‘old versus new’ in music, while the outsized violone serves merely to distract the beholder’s attention. The page of notes hanging over the side of the open drawer is written in an early technique called tablature, designed for six-string instruments. It is a simple melody in a common quadruple meter with no added frills, just as the painting is unadorned. The two perpendicular lines across the staff indicate the end of one composition and the beginning of another, suggesting that this is a notation of a compilation of short compositions. By opening the drawer outward toward the beholder, the painter seeks to draw his companions back to the past, to what was locked up in the drawer, covered in cloth and forgotten both by the heart and by the eye – back to the music that is now gone and silenced because it is no longer in vogue. Baschenis opened the drawer with the force of his paintbrush, pulled a page of notes out into the light that it deserves, and through the scarlet ribbon that extends from the lute to the page of tablature forges the link between the present and the past: the lute will come to life and the music will once again be played. Baschenis hints at the heated debate that took place at the time, regarding innovation versus tradition in the composition and playing of music. Obeying the dictates of fashion and the explicit requests of patrons, most composers focused on composing new musical structures like the opera, cantata, and oratorio. An exception to this rule, as we saw earlier, was Monteverdi. While he did compose contemporary music, he did so with a basic attitude that held that the old style of composing was and remains valuable and worthy of attention. In the introduction to his Fifth Madrigal Book, Monteverdi proposed that composers should rely on the ‘first practice’, which had been the ideal of sixteenth-century composers and was known for its severe style and strict principles. However, as noted earlier, he recommended at the same time using the ‘second practice’, in which composers use a more flexible counterpoint. Whereas in the old style the composer adjusted the text to fit the melody, in the modern era the text was regarded as superior to the music, and the composer took it as his starting point. Music theorists have made a point of noting that the roots of this innovation are in fact found in the rules for writing music in ancient times. Another sheet of music, illuminated as well and slightly upturned at the edge, appears to slip out of a sealed music book made of parchment and set precisely in the centre of the table (Figure 16). The musical notes on the sheet are quite clearly visible, making it possible to determine that they were probably written by a music copyist. The sheet is part of a musical composition for cello or viola de gamba. A heading at the top reads Ricercata Quinta. Baschenis makes it possible for the beholder to read

32 Taruskin, Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, 40.

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Figure 16: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 99x146cm, Brussels, Musees Royaux des Beaux Arts de Belgique, inv. n. 3893 (detail).

the writing, but not easily. To make out the words, he must tilt his head sideways to the left at a difficult angle. The ricercare is an instrumental composition that explores and repeats the permutations of a single melodic motif.32 The meaning of the word is ‘to search out’, and metaphorically borrowing, Baschenis asks the beholder to seek out statements and clues that he has encoded in the painting. The word quinta (‘fifth’) tells us this is the fifth voice in the composition.33 Moreover, Baschenis may have written the title using the notion of impresa (emblem, see Chapter 2, note 37). Thus, with the title Ricercata Quinta the artist asked the beholder to undertake, responsibly and seriously, the clues, contradictions, and questions that this seemingly innocent still-life with musical instruments sets before him.34 33 At the time, musical notes were not written in the score but separately, each voice on its own. For instance, the first page was dedicated to the first voice or instrument, and called Ricercare-Primo. The second page was called Ricercare-Secondo, and so forth. 34 On the notion of impresa and sources discussing it, see: Unger, ‘The Yearning for the Holy Land’, 370, note 20.

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From the title at the top of the page we may assume that the piece is composed for five voices at least, and that it is contrapuntal. The structure that characterizes the ricercare, rich in repetitions and imitations, represents the stile antico (‘old style’), and, as such, suited the debate raised by Baschenis about merging the old and the new in music. It appears that the beholders of Baschenis’s works preferred the old style of music. In the social and cultural gatherings in the Agliardi mansion, the guests, including Baschenis himself, engaged in playing music together (see Figure 19, p. 100). This is most clearly visible in the right-hand painting of the Agliardi Triptych (see Figure 42, p. 138), in which the two brothers are seated, one holding a guitar and the other reaching for an archlute. The Agliardi brothers appear at ease, basking in an intellectual atmosphere that connotes the musica reservata, ‘reserved music intended for the connoisseur patron’, a term coined in the sixteenth century to describe music performed in the closed circles of high society.35 The musicologist Tomasi surmised that Baschenis and the Agliardi brothers chose to remain faithful to the prima practica, and that Monteverdi’s musical innovations actually enhanced and underscored this old style insofar as they constituted an alternative that built upon rather than rejected the original. For the aristocrats, the prima practica was an intellectual model when it came to music. Tomasi assumed that the painter and his aristocratic patrons chose to listen to polyphonic music replete with repetitions and imitations. Here it is worth recalling that for members of Bergamo’s high class, this music was an occupation and a leisure practice, an exclusively aristocratic form of entertainment. As a man of culture, an intellectual, and a musician, Baschenis came out against abandoning the old ways in favour of the new ways with their various musical innovations. His position in the argument between Monteverdi and his opponents is clear, at least with respect to his loyalty to the prima practica. The following sheet music (Figure 17) is part of a musical composition written in 1553 by the Spanish composer Diego Ortiz (1510–1570) titled Recercada Quinta sobre canto Ilano – the fifth ricercare on [the basis of] a church song. This page is part of a sheet music book titled Trattado de Glosas (1553), which was designed to help the beginning player practise and perfect his technique while learning to create variations on a given theme. Of all the music sheets that appear in paintings by Baschenis and Bettera, these alone have been identified definitively by all the researchers. However, while the tenor clef matches Ortiz’s composition, the copy painted by Baschenis is not fully faithful to the original. In my view, Baschenis’s choice of the ricercare – which is, as we have seen, a single melodic idea reworked and repeated again and again – can be read as reflecting his approach in painting: it expresses his ability to break up an idea time and again until it each appearance seems as a different composition. 35 https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/musica_reservata, accessed 1 June 2013.

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Figure 17: Diego Ortiz, Recercada Quinta, 1553 (detail).

In the music of northern Italy, the cello and the violin predominated while the viola de gamba and the violone were only rarely used. Why, then, did Baschenis choose to paint the violone? And why did he quote in his painting music written a full century earlier? Since scholars know of no other musical composition written after Ortiz’s death that resembles the work in question, this could not have been the popular style in Bergamo. According to Robert Gini, the connection to Ortiz’s work is not accidental. He wondered why, despite the unequivocal resemblance between Ortiz’s composition and the notes in the painting, Baschenis nonetheless altered the notes so that they are not identical to the original. In his view, despite the inaccuracies, the music in the painting is identifiable and meaningful to music performers and listeners, and very different from the musical notations in other paintings by Baschenis. The debate over the old versus the new and over style versus content is expressed in Baschenis’s intellectual and professional skill. It is precisely the proximity of style and statement and their interdependence, alongside the creation of a new variation with each work, that give his paintings their unique force. Through this painting by Baschenis (Figure 18), I have chosen to treat the sheet music booklet placed on the spinet as a further example of the way in which he ‘painted music’.36 The dimensions of the booklet suggest that it was not contemporary, 36 According to De Pascale, this painting cannot be attributed to Baschenis and was done by a different contemporary painter, since the signature is not original. Nevertheless, the cultural statements manifested in this painting justify the attention given to it within this study, and is discussed in Chapter 5 in relation to theatre.

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Figure 18: Evaristo Baschenis(?), Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115.5x146.8cm, Private Collection.

since by the seventeenth century sheet music was commonly tall rather than wide. It lies illuminated in the centre of the scene, its notes clearly discernible as such. The beholder of this painting, who was musically trained and played several of the instruments featured in it, must have wondered why, contra the norm, words appear below the four lines of staff whose musical notes are intended for the violin or cello, and not for singing. Is this some sort of mistake? Did the painter copy notes for a bass instrument and then add words? Did Baschenis mean to confuse the beholders or to challenge them? And why did he place the booklet at the tip of the spinet keyboard when the composition is not for a keyboard instrument? The musical notes suggest that this is a clear-cut example of the ‘walking bassline’ – that is, a rhythmically steady movement of the bass running throughout the composition, which was common in Baroque music. While such a line can in principle accompany both an instrumental and a vocal composition, in the present composition, intended only for one instrument, there is definitely no room for words.

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Figure 19: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection.

Thus, as once again demonstrated through this example, the inaccuracy hides an intention and the randomness reveals signs of order. Alongside the precise painting of instruments in terms of material, structure, size, and proportion, when Baschenis chose to paint music – notes and words – he chose to disrupt, to surprise, and to challenge. The Agliardi Triptych paintings are regarded as the crowning glory of Baschenis’s work. Two of the paintings I will discuss below (Figures 19, 21), and the third will be discussed in Chapters 4 (on books) and 5 (on theatre). The three paintings, equally sized and signed, were commissioned by Count Palatine Camillo Agliardi (1613–1674) and his wife, Marquise Ettora Martinengo. The couple and their three sons were one of the oldest and most powerful families in Bergamo. In their mansion, which was very close to Baschenis’s residence, they hosted the city’s aristocracy and ran their affairs with a firm hand. The Agliardi brothers built a family chapel in the church of Sant’Alessandro in Colonna, where Baschenis served as a priest. After the death of their father, the two elder Agliardi brothers were chosen to serve as representatives of their city in Venice.37 Music – as a representation of culture, a means of intellectual activity, and a source of pleasure – was undoubtedly a common interest of the Agliardi brothers and Baschenis.38 In two of the triptych paintings, on the left side (Figure 19) and on 37 Bayer, The Still Lifes, 98, cat. 8a. 38 The painting displays a wide variety of musical instruments such as guitars, different sized lutes, a cithara, a spinet, and a violone. Some of them belonged to the Agliardi family, others to Baschenis.

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Figure 20: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, ­ rivate Collection (detail). P

the right side (see Figure 42, p. 144), Baschenis immortalized the social and cultural life of seventeenth-century Lombardy, depicting a provincial family of noblemen that delights in showing off its humanistic and musical enjoyments and takes pride in the legal knowledge of its sons. In the painting shown in Figure 19 the artist, dressed in clerical clothing, has chosen to present himself as a musician, thus emphasizing that, despite the fact that he was not an aristocrat by blood, his membership in the closed circle of Bergamo’s high class was not in doubt. This presentation was part of a practice which began in the sixteenth century in which portraits of musicians were painted alongside instruments as part of a particular social worldview regarding the status of the composer, the performer, and indeed the audience.39 Rosci saw the triptych paintings as continuations of the works of such painters as Lotto, Moroni, and Carlo Ceresa (1609–1679). Their paintings create an atmosphere of a pleasant gathering related to humanism and music, reminiscent of the habit of members of the academies to get together and play.40 The table in the foreground of the painting is covered by a spectacular Anatolian ‘Lotto’ carpet in red, white, black, and green.41 Atop a giant violone at the right side of the composition rests a sheet music booklet, yet the viewer cannot make out the musical notes written on its pages (as in Figure 15, p. 92). Lying beside the violone is a 39 Fenlon, Music and Culture in Late Renaissance Italy, 1–24; Morelli, ‘Portraits of Musicians’, 47–57. 40 Rosci, ‘Natura Morta a Bergamo’, 263–269. 41 During a visit to the family mansion in March 2011, I stood in front of the triptych in the exact hall in which they were placed 350 years earlier, its floor covered with one of the carpets depicted in the painting. I had a long conversation with the Countess Agliardi. The prestigious cultural ambience encompasses the building, and the sound of music played by Baschenis and the family members still echoes in the castle chambers.

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Figure 21: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection.

mandolin decorated with a green ribbon. Protruding out of a parchment-bound notebook at the edge of the table is a page with two six-line staves of tablature (­Figure .20). Resting atop the spinet that Baschenis is depicted playing is a mandolin shining with varnish, which bears no traces of dust. The two musicians look out at the beholder with an air of relaxed concentration. The painting is a rare instance in which Baschenis is depicted playing, appearing alongside Ottavio, the youngest son of his patron Camillo Agliardi. Their black clothes blend into the black background, while their white collars and cuffs and the two clear-coloured notebooks create a circle of light that dots the painting, offering the beholder a Baroque experience of strong colours and chiaroscuro. Yet Baschenis does not rest merely with the drama generated by the style, offering in addition a challenging and interesting set of contradictions and question marks. Yet Baschenis presents within the painting a ‘musical discord’ or dissonance at its best. The depiction of the act of playing is not accidental, as the position and placement of Baschenis’s and Ottavio’s fingers on the keys and strings are carefully chosen, as if the two are ‘actually’ playing. The musical ensemble is thus viewed as taking place, but it produces no sound. Who are the two men looking at? Whom do the three instruments on the table await? The freshly picked pear is still with

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stem. It calls to mind a tree whose trunk serves to build the instruments and whose roots symbolize the past that Baschenis conjures and honours in the painting. The pear, nearly touching Baschenis’s playing fingers, represents the plant kingdom, companion of the animate and inanimate realms. As he plays, Baschenis does not consult the sheet music spread out before him on the spinet, while Ottavio plays the archlute without the help of notes at all. The sheet music depicted in the centre of the table, ‘in reach’ of the beholder’s arms and eyes, represents music from days past. Does this explain, at least in part, the complexity of the subject of musical notes in Baschenis’s works? Is this one of the ways in which he expresses his position – the melody is stronger than the writing, therefore the notes are a means and not an end? As in Baschenis’s other paintings, here too, in Figure 21, the obvious is called into doubt and the beholder is therefore called upon to observe the work closely, to pose questions, search for answers, and formulate a position vis-à-vis the painting. This painting must certainly have intrigued the Agliardi brothers and their friends, both in its own right and as the middle painting in the triptych, so utterly different from the other two. On a table clad in a deep dark green cloth, placed between two black walls which join to create the corner of a windowless room, lie four upturned instruments (two lutes, a mandolin, and a zither). To their right sits a spinet with an upturned guitar lying on top of it, which in turn supports a bowl of red apples. The instrument and bowl of fruit are separated by a brightly lit, white sheet music booklet. The back of the guitar is traversed width-wise by a slim green stalk capped by a red carnation, its petals, like the pages of the booklet, ‘bowing their heads’ over the edge of the guitar. Between the spinet and guitar is pressed the blade of the knife that probably served to cut the flower and adjacent pear. The handle of the knife protrudes from the contours of the spinet, like the necks of the instruments on the table. The instruments are all thick with dust. Indeed, against their dustiness, the beholder cannot help but notice the impeccable cleanliness of the sheet music, the red apples, the flower, and the knife. The fruit and the flower are also that which colours the scene red. Stylistically, Baschenis related the apple at the edge of the pile on the right with the red ribbon tied around the lute on the left through an impressive diagonal. Undoubtedly, the scene has been meticulously orchestrated. Six instruments are painted on an invisible ‘staff’, crammed into a single horizontal line and leaving the rest of the canvas in dreary emptiness. The light is carefully designed and creates strong diagonals against the wall, illuminating on its way the musical notes and instruments. Despite the dust, the beholder can discern the different types of wood from which the instruments are made, and appreciate the accurate work of their makers.

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Like other scholars, Andrea Bayer too sought to regard this painting as issuing a reminder of the theme of vanitas, and as a caution against the fleeting, irretrievable nature of time.42 She tied her interpretation to Baschenis’s recurring choice to paint dust on upturned instruments and to offer his viewers bowls of imperfect apples. Both these elements represent the church’s memento mori approach. In addition to the discussion of the musical aspects of the painting (see below), I have chosen this work as a platform for discussing the subject of dust in Baschenis’s oeuvre, since dust is featured in it most conspicuously. An overview of all his works studied herein reveals that while his masterful ability to create an optical illusion of dust has always been integral to Baschenis’s reputation as a painter, only half of his works feature dust at any level, and then usually only on a single instrument. This is in contrast to Bettera’s paintings, most of which feature no dust at all (Chapter 6 will discuss the different manner in which Bettera used the ‘dust ruse’ within the ­paragone debate.) The term ‘dust’ carries multiple and sometimes even contradictory meanings. It is related to life and to the invocation ‘that in blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the seashore; and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies’ (Genesis 22:17); to death and to the curse ‘for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return’ (Genesis 3:19); and ‘All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all return to dust’ (Ecclesiastes 3:20). As a priest, Baschenis was well versed in the Old Testament, including of course the story of the Garden of Eden and the original sin. By the close proximity of the apple, pear, knife, and dust the learned painter recalls the verse ‘Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it; for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die’ (Genesis 2:16–17). We are allowed, indeed commanded, to eat the pear; but the apple, representing knowledge of good and evil, we are forbidden to touch. And once again Baschenis confuses the viewers. The forbidden is presented in its full glory – a bowl of shiny red apples towering over the silent music – while that which is allowed he sets down in the film of dust covering the spinet, inviting the viewer to pick up the knife and cut himself a slice of the permitted fruit. A speck of dust is the smallest particle that people of the ancient world could see. It has weight, and mass, due to the force of gravity, and therefore ultimately, after floating about, settles on objects. Dust is an almost invisible substance that becomes tangible when it takes on the shape of something else. It cannot be eliminated. The people of the Middle Ages attributed to it supernatural qualities, believing that it held within it the presence and energy of other people – if someone removes dust from his home or business, his success will disappear along with it. As a painted subject, dust made its first appearance in still-life paintings and vanitas paintings.43 Leonardo described dust as a substance that creates soft shadows as it floats in the 42 Bayer, The Still Lifes, 100. 43 Grazioli, La Polvere nell’Arte, 7–23; Amato, Dust, 47–65.

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air; dust challenges the senses of the viewer in terms of light and vagueness, and Leonardo used it to create the sfumato. The dust, like the painting itself, serves as a kind of veil: concealing and revealing, representing itself and at the same time reflecting the other. Baschenis’s ‘fingerprints’ are clearly visible in the dust. As we observe the painting, the illusion of the eye and of the finger transpires. Gian Casper Bott found that in Baschenis’s work the fingerprints ‘mark’ only string instruments that are plucked using the fingers. With the touch of the fingers we act out the verb toccare, which means touching the canvas with the paintbrush, painting, as well as plucking the strings of an instrument and playing. The same verb suits sculpting in the context of touching the sculpted material with one’s hands, music in the context of the contact of fingers with the strings of an instrument, and painting in the context of the tocco di pennello, or brushstroke. According to Bott, when Baschenis painted dust on particular instruments, his intention was to ‘create’ sound precisely where it appeared to have gone silent.44 By contrast, the musicologists Ferraris and Gallina argue more straightforwardly that the presence of dust indicates simply that the owner of the instrument is otherwise occupied, and for lack of time neglects to play his instrument, which collects dust.45 Relying once again on conceit-born devices, Baschenis uses dust to wrestle with the subject of relations between the object and its representation. Since dust effectively functions as the mould of the form on which it rests, Baschenis was able to use it in order to provoke in his clients the following question: Does dust destroy and petrify the music, rendering the patron and the beholder redundant, or does it rather invite them to partake in the music, at least with their fingers? To Bott’s interpretation I would add that it is not only the painter’s fingers that awaken the playing of music. When the beholder sees the ensemble of musical instruments lying scattered before him upside down and dusty, he searches in his heart and in his mind’s eye for the absent sounds. The fingers that touched these instruments before he set eyes on them invite him to add his own private and entirely unique fingerprint. The art historian Stephen Bann writes about visual representation as presentation. The object is not ‘represented’ but ‘presented’ – indicated with the dust – to the viewer. In other words, the object undergoes a change of form in order to receive a deeper meaning beyond its ordinary figurative shape. Bann focuses on semiotics and the ability of the image to hold meaning for the viewer. As an example, he offers the popular practice among seventeenth-century aristocrats to collect objects and display them in ‘cabinets of curiosities’. The variety of objects represented a wish for knowledge that drew no distinction between the sciences and the arts or between old and new, but rather emphasized their intersections and interconnections. These 44 Bott, ‘La Mosca’, 117–122. 45 Ferraris and Gallina, ‘Guida alla Identificazione’, 185–203.

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collections functioned as a means of self-definition for the collector as well as for the observer.46 Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works are themselves display-windows of sorts akin to the cabinets of curiosities. Covering the painted instruments with a film of dust underscored their meaning not only as instruments for playing music but also as reflections of the painters, patrons, and viewers and the ways in which they defined themselves in the face of music. Not only objects define the viewer and the patron. The painter, the composer, the instrument makers, the instrumentalists, the listeners, the writers of lyrics and of musical notes – everyone involved in the making of music – all are indicated by Baschenis through the fingerprints on the instruments. Was it the composer or the lyricist who left their mark on the instruments, or was it the players themselves? And perhaps these are the fingerprints of an Agliardi, reaching out to touch the neck of the painted lute (see Figure 42, p. 138). Thus, alongside the traditional interpretation, which regards the dust in the paintings as a metaphor for an ending, for music that has died out and instruments that have been abandoned, it seems that we can further focus our attention on statements, questions, and riddles lurking in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works. All these suggest that the dust does not hide the instruments but rather defines, invites, and exposes them. As for the musical subjects depicted in the painting in Figure 21, on the table, beside and atop the instruments, lie four sheet music booklets. They stand out in the whiteness of their illuminated pages, whose edges are curled to various degrees from use. The whiteness of the pages contrasts starkly with the dark green fabric and the walls circumscribing the scene, whose dark colours highlight both the sheets and the instruments. In this painting Baschenis chose to place himself, the painter, in the shadows and leave the spotlight to the music, while signing his name discreetly on one of the legs of the table (the signature was discovered during a 1996 restoration). With the exception of the booklet on the left, the other three have a wide layout, suggesting that the music written in them is not of Baschenis’s time. On the left-hand side of the table are two pages of sheet music covered in writing on both sides. The numbers on the lines indicate that this is a six-line tablature. The simple rhythm suggests accompaniment music, thereby emphasizing the absence of singers. The long layout of the pages suggests that the music is supposed to be contemporary, but the note symbols are old, creating a contrast between appearance and content – a manoeuvre that Baschenis uses frequently. The top pages curls upward, allowing the beholder to glimpse the notes written on the bottom page while additionally making some room for the fly that has landed on it (Figure 22). This is the only fly in Baschenis’s body of work. Stylistically, the fly creates a sense of reality that enhances the illusion of depth. Baschenis even went so far as to paint the fly’s reflection on the page, as if it had landed on a mirror. In addition 46 Bann, The True Vine, 87.

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Figure 22: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

to the optical illusion, the fly’s short life is of course an allegory for the brevity of our lives. Yet Bott offers another, less melancholic explanation, pointing out that as early as the fifteenth century Alberti articulated the connection between the Latin word musca, which means ‘fly’, and the musica (‘music’) created by the insect’s buzzing.47 The presence of the fly is related to the conceit Baschenis uses frequently. According to the more straightforward interpretation, which describes the meaning of the painting as it is apparent at face value, we have here a fly whose life is short and simple, and whose very presence on the sheet music serves as a rather unsophisticated reminder of the ephemerality of music. According to a reading that looks more deeply at what may be hidden in the text, it is precisely through the contrast between the worldly fly and the otherworldly music that the painter draws his viewer’s attention. Moreover, Baschenis challenges the beholder to stop, and think of other possible solutions to the riddle of the presence of the fly. As early as the late Middle Ages, sketches of insects, flowers, and seashells could be found in the margins of various texts. The rendering of The Stag Beetle (1505) by Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528) has come to symbolize the transition of images of insects from the margins of the text to the centre of the page. Dürer chose to paint the insect without adding to the painting anything else that might divert the viewer’s attention. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, people began to take an interest in insects and their life cycle. Their odd shape and odd habits fascinated naturalists, collectors, and painters. Removing the insect form its natural environment and displaying it on the canvas or in the pages of a book transformed it from a representative of the natural world into an object that allowed the painter to express his 47 Bott references a Latin paper by Alberti called Laus Muscae. Bott, ‘La Mosca,’ 119.

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miraculous ability to depict the insect’s minutest details with precision. Artists typically preferred to paint butterflies, beetles, dragonflies, houseflies, and grasshoppers, choosing the most colourful and uniquely shaped among them. Stylistically, insects hovering over a plant were a means to evoke in viewers a sense of movement and life within an otherwise calcified composition. The painter used the insect to invite viewers at once to enjoy the world of nature and to appreciate his ability to present an image that looks to be alive. In still-life paintings, insects and their various incarnations symbolized the life stages of the Christian man, from birth to death and then disintegration, or else until the resurrection of the dead. In nature, insects fly by us rapidly, whereas the painted image affords a form of control over nature – a ‘freezing’ of the motion followed by the beholder’s penetrating gaze. It is possible that the presence of the fly in Baschenis’s painting had to do simply with its intriguing appearance and the opportunity it gave the painter to offer the beholder a variety of shapes from different angles. Another explanation for the presence of the fly on the sheet music can be found in the view that holds that the insect itself observes the content of the still-life painting, and thus represents the viewer.48 A religious approach, which regards nature as expressing a divine wonder that reaches down to the smallest of creatures, and which was familiar in Baschenis’s circles, was articulated by the Dutch painter Johannes Goedaert (1617–1668) in the 1662 book Metamorphosis Naturalis. Goedaert wrote: There is nothing in the universe and in nature more divine than man himself, yet insects too are divine. They are miracles of nature to be admired, the irrefragable testimony of infinite wisdom and power. From the outside, this may seem to be disgusting and abject, but if you look at them more closely, you soon discover they are very different.49

Following Alberti, Bott offered wordplays with musca and musica as well, and in addition argued that flies could be painted either on or in a painting. Baschenis, in his view, chose to paint the fly within the painting, thereby emphasizing the illusionary depth of the painting and calling on the beholder to shift from a superficial to a more profound observation.50 To the right of the pages with the fly, under the central lute, lies a sheet music booklet whose notes are unidentifiable. By contrast, to its right, protruding from the outline of the table, is a third, heftier book whose leather cover is inscribed with the title La malcomposta – ‘The Badly Composed’ (Figure 23). 48 Neri, The Insect and the Image, 78. 49 Goedaert, De Mey, and Fierensium, Metamorphosis et Historia Naturalis Insectorum; Freedberg, ‘Science, Commerce and Art’, 377–428. 50 Bott, ‘La Mosca’, 117–119.

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Figure 23: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

Here the musical notes are set in a six-line structure and are illegible. Baschenis invested significant graphic effort around this vellum-bound sheet music: he chose to set the neck of the mandolin on top of the book so that parts of the notes are concealed, and in addition painted the ends of the mandolin strings dangling above the notebook as an exercise in aesthetics and optical illusion. The leather book-cover features a dried water stain, suggesting the book’s long-time usage as well as the presence of a human hand. The tip of the page curls inward, casting its shadow upon the first notes written on it. The rest of the page is illuminated; hence the title is easily readable. Naming a musical composition was routine in Baschenis’s time; but why did he paint the name on the side of the page, against the direction in which the musical notes are read? And why did he choose to slander the piece with such a name? Between the lines of musical notes are scribbled words that suggest singing. There are people in the painting – not only their fingerprints are present but also their voices. The sheet music booklet to the right rests on the back of the guitar under the overhang of the bowl of fruit, and not under its base (Figure 24). In this way Baschenis demonstrates that the booklet is steady and does not slip, without depending for its stability on the bowl; or, in other words, that music does not depend upon the weight of knowledge. This booklet, too, is hefty, and bears the names of two compositions. The title on the top page reads La virtuosa (‘The Virtuosic’), and on the second page La confusa (‘The Confused’). Here again Baschenis deliberately makes things difficult for the beholder. To read the names written alongside the notes he must cock his head at an uncomfortable angle. Since musicologists have not identified existing compositions in either of these pages, we may assume that these are names that Baschenis made up, and thus that their context and explanation lie hidden in the painting for the beholder to discover.

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Figure 24: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, strictly instrumental pieces called Capriccio were written for lute or guitar. The Capriccio is based on a musical theme that is sometimes arranged in a clear, traditional structure, but more often is a kind of fantasy in which the theme is played in a series of distinct episodes of different rhythms, presenting a technical challenge to the writer and the performer alike. The sixteenth-century composer and priest Vincenzo Ruffo wrote an important book printed in Milan and titled Capricci in musica a tre voci (1564), featuring particularly difficult compositions – including a piece called Il capriccioso (‘The Capricious’).51 The Accademia degli Intronati (‘Academy of the Bewildered’) in Siena, the Accademia degli Infiammati (‘Academy of the Inflamed’) in Padua, and the Accademia degli Umidi (‘Academy of the Humid Ones’) in Florence are some of the names given to the Italian academies.52 Comical or self-deprecating names were given also to particular members of the academies. Through monikers like ‘the Ideal One’, ‘the Olympian’, or ‘the Perplexed One’ members drew the attention of the individual and of the general public to the vices of academy members, from which they sought to heal themselves through the intellectual and literary activity they practised at their regular meetings. Nature-related names such as ‘the Burning One’, ‘the Frozen One’, and ‘the Humid One’ suggested Neoplatonic thinking that drew a connection between (al)chemical changes and moral perfection.53 The names may also reflect a desire on the part of academy members to deride the courtly mannerisms of the aristocracy and express their disapproval of them, while political caution drove them to choose non-offensive, comical names.54 51 Ruffo, Capricci in Musica. 52 Samuels, ‘Benedetto Varchi’, 599–634. 53 Mendelsohn, Paragoni, 19–23. 54 McNeely, ‘The Renaissance Academies’, 235, note 19.

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Figure 25: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

It is possible that Baschenis chose to write the title he gave to his painted musical compositions in the margins of their notes – ‘The Badly Composed’, ‘The Virtuosic’, and ‘The Confused’ – as an invitation to his viewers and to himself to meditate upon their weaknesses, thereby offering a religious, intellectual, literary, and musical exercise that held a healing potential. Another possibility is that these are in fact the titles Baschenis chose for these compositions, in the spirit of the names given to academies such as the Accademia degli Eccitati. The book that documents the meetings of the academy’s members includes texts by its founders, Donato Calvi and Clemente Rivola, which suggest that its members gave themselves various titles and nicknames, like Il Rugginoso (‘the Rusty One’), Il Candidato (‘the Candidate’), L’Associato (‘the Associate’), and L’Ansioso (‘the Anxious One’).55 Each one had his own symbol and motto. By giving similar names to the compositions in his painting, Baschenis created a natural and self-evident connection between his patrons and his friends in the academy and the music they played for pleasure, perhaps even from these very sheet music booklets. Alongside the titles of the works, Baschenis left a line and a half free of notes on the top page, the one whose title reads La virtuosa (Figure 25). The fourth line on the page is empty as well, and only on the final line does a new piece begin. In this way he invites the beholder to become a composer in his own right, and at the same time to become the painter. 55 Cavalieri, Giovedì Estivi.

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Figure 26: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 80x100cm, Private Collection.

Textual notes written in the margins of books provide important information which is historically valuable since they tell us about the reader, his views, his impressions from the text. Vasari encouraged his readers – many of them artists – to give free rein to their opinions in the margins of the pages: to agree or disagree, to correct and add their own writings. The permission to write in the margins spurs the viewers or the readers to add their own comments, taking into account that those who read their words may indeed recognize their wisdom. Therefore, by their very nature, the comments are directed at the next reader and thus enable dialogue.56 Empty lines appear also in another painting by Baschenis (Figure 26). The booklet depicted contains an empty line as well, in this case the final line of the interrupted right-hand page. In this painting Baschenis presents the beholder with all sorts of things and their opposites: musical notes represented clearly and precisely versus loosely scribbled lyrics; one clear and precise page of sheet music, and another page cut off lengthwise in the middle; keys arranged unconventionally versus a carpet pattern whose very 56 Damm, Thimann, and Zittel, ‘Close and Extensive Reading’, 47–49.

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Figure 27: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 80x100cm, Private Collection (detail).

detail is meticulously reproduced; dramatic contrasts of light and shade; a lone apple versus a bowl full of apples; a lute, mandolin, and guitar lying upside down next to an open spinet; a ‘real’ flower, wilted, and a ‘fresh’ flower made of fabric. The sheet music booklet containing the empty line described above is set on the spinet in the right-hand corner of the painting (Figure 27). This wide-open page of musical notes is different from all other sheet music in Baschenis’s works. It is page 20 of song music composed for multiple voices. The painted notes are clearly visible throughout the page and the music appears to be accurate, though it has not been identified. The notes on this page are highly ordered, down to the equal distances between them. The text between the lines is not legible, while the title appears to read Cantus, meaning the uppermost voice. The musical piece is complete and unobstructed by other pages or by instruments, a rarity in Baschenis’s paintings (Another example of legible notes in a Baschenis painting is Figure 53, p. 156, elaborated in Chapter 4.) The melody is probably in F major, notated in tenor clef.57 A close look at the notes reveals that the composition has not been copied over fully and accurately. The third line of notes contains a clear ending, marked with the usual double bar. This is also the conclusion of the vocal melody, since it is at this point that the lyrics end. Though the notes are simplistic and ichnographically inaccurate, they can be seen to hold a musical statement: below the first and third lines appear lyrics for singers, while the second and fourth lines lack lyrics, implying that the ‘musical performance’ includes both song with instrumental accompaniment and purely instrumental music. In this respect, the sheet music fits Baschenis’s period, and 57 The analysis and interpretation of the musical notes was done by Erin Johnson-Hill, who was a PhD candidate at Yale University, upon my request.

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Figure 28: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection.

may contain the musical notes of an aria or of a song piece accompanied by low bass voices. The musicologist H. Colin Slim has drawn the attention of scholars to the fact that the sheet music booklet, the hints of text, and even the numbering in the top right-hand corner of the page are all designed to create an illusion of credibility in the beholder. As a musicologist, Slim searched for accuracy and meticulousness in the rendering of music-related details. In a 1996 paper, he argued that since the musical clef symbol is not typically positioned at the left-hand side of the staff, and yet is placed there by Baschenis, it is a result of the page being depicted upside down. He goes on to suggest that forcing the music to be read inverted belittles it. However, he agreed that there were no strict conventions at the time regarding the text’s positioning relative to the staff. The words of the text struck him as more or less meaningless scribbles, whereas the musical notes he found rather convincing. In Slim’s view, Baschenis wanted to make the music appear credible, and for this reason painted notes and text. He concluded: ‘Although the music in the painting is not helpful and the other musical and non-musical objects in it recur with an almost tedious frequency in painting by Baschenis.’58 Slim aimed to identify and name a particular composition. Yet, as I have demonstrated through other details in this chapter, both artists were experts not merely in tricking the eye in the stylistic sense, but in concealing statements behind apparent 58 Slim, ‘Morando’s la Rosalinda’, 572.

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Figure 29: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection (detail).

‘mistakes’ as well. Further on I will demonstrate that these supposedly ‘meaningless notes’ in fact have significant value. Bartolomeo Bettera’s work could be characterized by the use of trompe l’oeil and other sophisticated devices that challenged the viewers or prompted them to contemplate (Figure 28). In light of its complexity, this painting will be discussed once again in Chapter 6 (pp. 244–248), while in the present chapter, whose focus is on music, the discussion will be restricted to the instruments and notes featured in it. The beholder cannot necessarily rest simply with recognizing the high calibre of the musical instruments depicted in this painting, but rather is called upon by the painter to recognize the link between them and their function within the composition, from a point of view that is not stylistic. They are all are made of fine materials. The guitar is made of two types of wood: the dark wood is rosewood or walnut, interspersed with a lighter wood. The recorder is a Ganassi model, characteristic of the first half of the seventeenth century and unique for its feature of widening at the bottom. The shiny trumpet is also an expensive and rare instrument, as will be described in detail below.

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The musical instruments in the painting come in pairs – old and modern. In the group of string instruments Bettera painted the viola da braccio alongside the new violin. Among the wind instruments he chose the old recorder beside the new trumpet, and the plucked string instruments are represented by the old lute and the new guitar. Bettera painted the instruments so that the new ones are upturned or facing away from the viewer and the old ones are in full view. The guitar and the violin are upturned and the mouthpiece of the trumpet is concealed, while the viola, flute, and lute are ready to be played. This is a gesture to the past, to the style of the ‘first practice’ and to ancient times, and an invitation to play music represented by instruments that are not modern. The torso on the chest of drawers, which echoes ancient statues, further underscores this conscious bias toward the past. The sheet music booklet tucked under the scroll of the violin contains music for that instrument. Its rapid rhythm suggests a solo piece. The double stops indicate that more than one note is played at a time on more than one string, in a manner that was popular at the time. Dangling over the notes is the end of a violin string made of animal tendons (a ‘gut string’, Figure 29). The violin is present not to support a human voice, but just to be played. The trumpet that Bettera painted has no valves. The length of the pipe was fixed, and despite the absence of valves musicians were able to produce beautiful music on this instrument. In the latter half of the seventeenth century, virtuosic music was written for the trumpet. Its status was much like that of a weapon, since an ordinary citizen was not allowed to play it. On the one hand it served for simple military fanfare, and on the other hand demanded sophisticated virtuosity and skill. Musicians who succeeded in playing this type of trumpet at a high level were in demand, since good trumpet players were scarce. Violin players were a dime a dozen – they could be amateurs or soloists, players in an orchestra or in a chamber ensemble – but only certain unique individuals could play the trumpet. Again, the sheet music resting under the trumpet contains a solo piece specifically for this instrument. Why did Bettera include the trumpet, which represents wind instruments associated distinctly with the public sphere, in this ensemble of instruments played within the private sphere? A trumpet was not naturally a part of a musical ensemble made up of such instruments as the violin, the lute, and the flute, which appear in the painting. It seems, then, that Bettera, like Baschenis, used conceit by rendering the obvious mysterious, the exposed hidden, and challenging the beholder to come up with answers. Figure 30 is a work by Bettera that belongs to the period that preceded his trip to Rome and Milan in the late 1680s, before he gained renown there. Against the backdrop of a black Baroque wall, Bettera depicts a gold and red curtain with a complex pattern and multiple folds. Beneath it, on a table draped with an expensive Oriental carpet, lie scattered a variety of items in a medley that is in fact not random. The instruments Bettera chose to depict in this painting are made of simple, inexpensive materials, with the exception of the guitar on the left. The spinet is unadorned

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Figure 30: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x146cm, Pisani Moretta Collection.

and features a simple, straight outline; a sheet music booklet rests haphazardly to its right. The overturned lute atop the spinet is also made of simple materials. Leaning against the spinet behind the lute is a mandolin with broad stripes of contrasting colours. The sheet music on the spinet is not legible because the right-hand page conceals the left. The wood of the violin is patchy and uneven. The shawm protruding toward the viewer is also made of simple wood – its hue suggests a haziness typical of pear wood, the same fruit that Bettera chose to paint to the left of the violin. The spinet’s keyboard is incorrectly portrayed; the sheet music to its right is dark and sharply folded. The violin is upturned, one of its strings dangling over the side of the carpet-clad table, and the bow used to produce the music seems to physically block the booklet. On the body of the elegant guitar appears an insect that resembles a grasshopper. The insect, which perhaps represents the biblical locust, along with the shell in the centre of the table and the string-less guitar, may lead the beholder to conclude that the subject of this work is vanitas – the end of music, the end of life.59

59 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta in Europa, 262, cat. 54.

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But another reading of the work is possible. Perhaps Bettera, who painted the fabric and folds of the curtain and the complex pattern of the Oriental carpet with great care and meticulousness, took this trouble not merely for the sake of displaying his ability to depict materials and textures, and to convey a message of memento mori. In an impressive conceit, the painter sets a challenge before the beholder, a man of culture and intellect: he asks a complex riddle in which things and their opposites take place, explicitly and implicitly, through representations drawn from earth and from water, from nature and from science. Within the silence he created when he stopped the music, the necessary observation and concentration are made possible. The white seashell resting in the centre of the table at arm’s length from the viewer symbolizes for Bettera the majesty and complexity of creation, the eternal life of the devout Christian.60 But it also symbolizes the popular hobby of the upper classes of his time, of aristocrats and scholars, of nature and science enthusiasts, who had the means to buy and display various rare and unique objects, such as seashells or insects. In the years following the invention of the microscope, in the late sixteenth century, a shift occurred in the general attitude of society from merely admiring the creations of the divine to an approach that encouraged and fostered curiosity about, and active study of, the animate and inanimate natural world revealed for the first time under the enlarging lenses. Galileo and members of the Accademia dei Lincei (‘Academy of the Lynx-Eyed’), founded in 1603 and one of the first academies to practise scientific study, directed the attention of the general public from the mere fact of the invention of these lenses toward the scientific study itself, which revealed to the eyes of the observer the minute details of the mysteries of nature. Between the scientists who conducted the research and the painters who documented their details – of insects or plants, for instance – waged a dispute about the proper extent of the responsibility and commitment to a ‘truthful report’: what level of precision was the painter obligated to maintain in his depiction of details from nature? Is accuracy important, asked the seventeenth-century English scientist Robert Hooke, replying with what went on to become a well-known statement, that nature ought to be presented with ‘a sincere hand and faithful eye’.61 In his view, art serves science in this respect, so that the painter must reproduce the figure of the insect on the canvas as it truly is, with great precision. The process of collecting, describing, and displaying involved in scientific study typically required a significant amount of time and included the production of sketches and drawings, letters, and changing samples. The botanist and the zoologist were considered credible scientists, and became inexhaustible sources of information about the natural world. By contrast, some artists preferred aesthetics over factual accuracy, and were therefore 60 On the shell as a representation of spiritual contemplation: Van Hogendorp Prosperetti, ‘Conchas Legere’, 395. 61 Hooke, Micrographia, IV–V.

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Figure 31: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x146cm, Pisani Moretta Collection (detail).

considered less credible, sometimes even requiring the supervision of an expert.62 Other artists painted the animal and plant world specifically for scientists, presenting perfect replicas of nature just like the original created by the Lord.63 The observer of the painting could further understand that by the very fact of drawing the seashell the painter implies the possibility of exchanging it, trading it, and studying it. The shell is a tangible object, not something that exceeds the viewer’s understanding or perception; its presence is unthreatening, so that the viewer can even – in his mind’s eye – touch it. Nestled among the musical instruments, the shell has a further purpose, namely that of representing the artists and not the beholder. For the artist, the seashell was a source of colour pigments as well as a receptacle for the colour itself.64 Perhaps it is precisely through the shell’s pristine whiteness, in keeping with the trick that shows one thing and hints at its opposite, that the painter reminds the viewer that the work of art before him was created by dipping the paintbrush in the receptacle of paint, i.e., the shell. In contrast to the set of simple instruments, at the left Bettera depicted a lavish guitar made of expensive wood and set with ivory and wooden ornaments – yet clearly string-less. The decoration surrounding the guitar’s round sound hole (the rosette) is three-dimensional and made of thin parchment, a highly skilled and labour-intensive work of art which echoes Spanish-Muslim motifs. The pattern that adorns the opening is drawn from Byzantine art, and which later on, in the ninth century, became a trademark of Muslim art – later still, under the influence of Muslim art, appearing in Jewish art as well.65 Another interpretation of this ornament refers to the meaning of the combination of the circle and the square in a philosophical-religious reading of these two geometrical shapes. 62 Ibid., xviii, note 24. 63 Aldrovandi, De Animalibus Insectis Libri Septem; Moffet, Insectrum Sive Minimorum Animalium Theatrum. The names of both books are taken from Neri, The Insect, 27. 64 Neri, The Insect, 82, note 12; Rondelet, L’Histoire Entiere des Poissons, 16, 34. 65 Kogman-Appel, Jewish Book Art between Islam and Christianity, 35.

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The neck of the guitar is unadorned, so that the beholder can focus his attention on the instrument itself, on the rosette in full view, on the absence of strings, and on the insect advancing towards it (Figure 31). According to De Pascale and Rosci, the artist enhances the illusion of depth through the three-dimensional body of the insect. In addition, since this particular insect symbolized the biblical locust that destroyed every plant in its path, they regard its presence in the painting as hinting at the destruction of music.66 But did Bettera intend to literally present the insect? If so, then Rosci and De Pascale’s interpretation, that the insect spells the end of music, is valid: God’s hand, the same one that brought about the locust plague, is the one that halts the ephemeral music. A grasshopper on a string-less guitar can indeed lead some viewers to the natural conclusion that this is a metaphor for the ephemerality of music. Was this Bettera’s intention? The inclusion of insects in early modern era still-life paintings can be explained with the very same reasons offered for the choice to include seashells. In other words, alongside a cautioning against vanitas, an insect can be a reference to the upperclass hobby of collecting, and a reminder of the new possibilities available to them to observe the natural world. It could also provide a chance for the painter to display technical skill in the visual depiction of small, delicate, and complex objects, as well as an opportunity to include within the still painting movement and action, made possible only by the presence of some form of insect. Both Bettera and Baschenis painted an insect in their work only once. A close look at these insects and at the contexts in which they appear in the two paintings brings to the fore the uniqueness and artistic and intellectual independence of each of these artists. Both artists chose to draw a link between the representation of the insect and the representation of music, with Baschenis placing the fly on the sheet music booklet (see Figure 22, p. 107) while Bettera put the grasshopper on the guitar. In Baschenis’s work the fly stands out against the white backdrop of the page, whereas the yellowish grasshopper blends in with the hues of the guitar. Both insects are in the foreground of the left-hand side of the composition. Both painters set a challenge to the beholder: by adding a simple insect to their painting, they compel him to pause and think about the further meanings hidden in the work. Baschenis highlights the ceasing of the music by adding a film of dust to the instruments, while Bettera does so by removing the strings of the guitar. In both paintings, a bowl of fruit reminds one of the vitality and freshness of these products of nature – those which have not been touched by insects. Both insects face the object that represents the music and not away from it: the fly appears to be ‘reading’ the musical notes – it faces them without obstructing them – while the insect in Bettera’s work looks to be setting out to explore the secrets of the guitar. 66 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 262, cat. 54; Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co., 61.

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Figure 32: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection (detail).

Figure 33: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 120x175cm, Private Collection (detail).

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Figure 34: Maestro B.B, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 73x100cm, Private Collection.

Bettera painted the same guitar again, this time with many strings. He even painted two strings with long loose ends to emphasize the presence of the strings in the instrument. In other paintings Bettera painted guitars, more or less elegant, without strings. Two of these are shown in Figures 32 and 33. Figure 30 also features a large globe. Despite the painting’s poor condition certain subtle details are nonetheless discernible, like a paper-thin string and the texture of a carpet. Therefore, its poor condition cannot explain why, unlike the illuminated white shell and sheet music booklet, the globe is featured in near total darkness save for an area at its centre. In this small circle of light on the globe the beholder can identify the word MAR (‘sea’), although the identity of the particular sea and region remain unknown. We can also see three figures walking along a latitude line, facing in different directions (these figures can be seen in detail in Figure 135, p. 267). The discussion that Bettera raises in this work focuses on the tension between visibility and interpretation, and on the choice between multiple and sometimes contradictory meanings of the objects in the painting. Does the visibility of a particular detail in the painting have to be fully precise in order to represent its meaning? Can the patchy violin, of simple wood, contain the prestige and importance of music? And, conversely, what of the elegant but string-less guitar – is it fit to represent music? Do faulty keys undermine the harmony? Does an insect that appears to represent the biblical locust

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Figure 35: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 70x82.5cm, J­ erusalem, The Israel Museum, Accession number: B88.0157.

plague represent only the gnawing away and paralysis that come in the plague’s aftermath? Does the seashell represent only the notion of memento mori or is it also a collector’s item? And what is the power of science, and the position of the artist? Only the beholder can say. Figure 34 shows a still-life with musical instruments painted by Maestro B.B.. On the face of it, the painting contains many of the same elements found in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works: the black background, the twisting drape, the table covered in a red leaf-patterned cloth, the chest of drawers, the instruments, the sheet music, the fruit, and the book. Underneath the apples piled up on a blue chest lies tucked a single page of sheet music. The markings on the page have only symbolic meaning. To the right is a lute resting on its side and below it another manuscript of musical notes, with word-like symbols in between the lines of staff suggesting vocal music. The painter either had no desire or else lacked the ability to paint proper notes, and therefore painted only a symbolic representation of the music. Likewise, the painting of the upturned guitar and of the violin is not credible – the body of the guitar is too tall and narrow, the violin too broad and its neck too short. Stylistically, and certainly

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Figure 36 (left): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 70 x 82.5cm, Jerusalem The Israel Museum, Accession number: B88.0157 (detail). Figure 37 (right): Maestro B.B, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x145cm, Bergamo, Collegio Vescovile S. Alessandro (detail).

from the perspective of content and essence, this painting has little in common with Baschenis and Bettera. And yet its painter was well known and valued in Bergamo. In the context of the present discussion, this work comes to demonstrate how a painting of the same subject looks like yet lacks the depth and careful deliberation of the two Bergamasque painters, who painted with the aim of outlining social life as well as provoking public discussions. A different painting (Figure 35), attributed to Bettera and held at The Israel Museum in Jerusalem, is in my view actually painted by Maestro B.B. Despite the painter’s efforts to depict details with accuracy, this painting displays a lack of organological knowledge, and a certain intellectual inanity is evident: for instance, in the superficial depiction of the instruments in the painting – the proportions of the spinet, the lutes, and the violin are all inaccurate; in the exaggerated shine on the two lutes; in the overemphasis of the fingerprints in the dust; in the simplicity of the carpet pattern and the way in which the carpet rests on the table. But above all, the painting lacks the kind of statement, sophistication, or discussion of a current subject found in all of Bettera’s works. Moreover, Maestro B.B.’s signature, and not Bettera’s, appears on the note sticking out of a book on the chest in the centre of the composition (Figure 36); therefore it is indeed he who painted this work. The signature on the note reads: Maestro B.B. F(ecit) B(ergamo).67 The detail in Figure 37 shows a similar note protruding from an almost identical composition book, painted by Maestro B.B. as well. The similarity between the two compositions and the two signatures lends further support to the assessment that the painting considered above is not by Bettera. Bettera’s signature can be seen in Figure 38. 67 During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, artists stressed their presence in their work by adding the letter ‘P’ (standing for Pingere, Pinxit, which means ‘to paint’ or ‘painted by’) or the letter ‘F’ (standing for Facere, Fecit, which means ‘to do’ or ‘done by’).

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Figure 38: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail).

De Pascale regards Maestro B.B.’s works as high-quality replicas of Baschenis’s paintings.68 Alberto Veca wrote of the confusion between the two artist’s works and the difficulty of distinguishing between them.69 As early as the 1970s, Rosci identified and distinguished between the works of Baschenis, Bartolomeo Bettera, Bonaventura Bettera, and Maestro B.B., based on the pictorial language and iconography of these four artists.70 Following this classification, Maestro B.B. was ‘upgraded’ to the status of a painter with an independent style even though he mostly copied paintings. Alongside these stylistic differences, I want to emphasize that the difference between the paintings underscores Baschenis’s and Bettera’s role in the cultural life of Bergamo, both intellectually and humanistically: they represent the artist who was part of the social elite, a creator of and participant in the local cultural activity; the humanist artist who was knowledgeable and opinionated, and not a craftsman who quoted others. Thus, I venture to propose that a thorough observation of and intimate acquaintance with the works of Baschenis and Bettera can allow us to distinguish unequivocally between their works and those of other Bergamasque artists, who were in high demand in their time and city, but clearly by a different target audience.

68 De Pascale, ‘Baschenis “Privato”’, 51–64. 69 Veca, ‘Immaginario Europeo’, 15–38. 70 Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co., 31–48.

4. Banned Books and Blockbusters This chapter centres on the books depicted in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, and demonstrates their role as references pointing to the cultural and intellectual interests of upper-class Italians, especially of residents of Bergamo. The books captured in these paintings functioned as lighthouses in the cultural sphere of Bergamo, beacons whose intensity was modulated by the painter. These volumes guided the viewer-reader to engage in deep reflection, discussion, and debate, to assume responsibility, and even to experience enjoyment and pleasure. The existing research on Baschenis’s and Bettera’s work contains only laconic and arbitrary mentions of this or that painted book, and lacks an in-depth discussion of their significance and purpose. The treatment of these represented volumes has been limited to their inclusion in inventories of books found in the paintings. Baschenis’s biographer Tassi, for instance, provided readers with a list including: ‘Chests, letters, music sheets […] books [italics mine], small plaster figurines, and everything his imagination could offer.’1 Rossi notes only that the inclusion of a title or of the author’s name on the depicted book’s spine served as a form of dedication to the painting’s commissioner.2 De Pascale, meanwhile, drew a connection between the legal tomes in one part of the Agliardi Triptych and the fact that the Agliardi brothers were jurists.3 Among the 36 paintings by Baschenis and Bettera examined in this study, 29 contain books – poetry books, scholarly works, history books, and even innovative novels. In all of these compositions, the books are set on a surface spread with a colourful cloth or carpet, alongside or among musical instruments, and sometimes positioned on a case; 60 per cent of the books have a visible title, while the unidentified volumes represent the generic concept of a book. Such unidentified books appear in the works of both painters – a small number of volumes in Baschenis’s case, and many more in Bettera’s oeuvre. The discussion in this chapter centres on twelve compositions selected from Baschenis’s and Bettera’s body of paintings – nine by Baschenis and three by Bettera – which together contain nineteen different books. The book that appears most frequently (in six known paintings) is a volume featuring the name of the poet Count Fulvio Testi. Given the significance of this subject, I have chosen to attend to all of the known works by Baschenis and Bettera in which the titles of the books or the names of their authors can be identified. The range of portrayed books reveals the power of these paintings, which contain and display a corpus of

1 Tassi, Vite de’ Pittori, 233–237. 2 Rossi, ‘Committenza e Collezionismo’, 90. 3 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 198, cat. 30.

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interdisciplinary knowledge, debates and discussions, statements, and innovations woven together within these volumes.

Books and Libraries in Seventeenth-Century Bergamo Following the print revolution in the mid-fifteenth century, reading became accessible to large numbers of people, including members of the middle class. Illustrated books facilitated the reader’s engagement with religion, stories, biographies, and even plays and poetry. Classical and Renaissance texts written in Latin were marketed at book fairs alongside medieval legends, travelogues, medical texts, prayer books, and emblem books. Although Latin remained the preferable and most esteemed written language of the Renaissance period, a significant number of editions were already published in the vernacular. In the course of the sixteenth century, it became common practice to gather in groups and read books out loud for the purpose of pleasure or study. In contrast to Milan, Venice, and even Brescia, Bergamo was late in joining the Print Age, doing so only in the 1570s. Yet as an important commercial centre on the route leading from Venice to the countries beyond the Alps, books also circulated through the city, and some of them naturally remained there. By the seventeenth century, Bergamo was home to one of 160 printing centres active in Italy.4 Bergamo’s central printing house, which belonged to Comino Ventura and his sons Valerio and Pietro, became operative in August 1578. The Ventura family published books on the subjects of religion, medicine, morality, education, poetry, and philosophy, as well as lives of saints. In the years 1578–1617 they printed no less than 600 editions, and held a monopoly in the city. Following Comino’s death, his sons continued to run the business. Nevertheless, few of the books in the city’s libraries were printed in Bergamo itself. According to Rodolfo Vittori, a seventeenth-century ‘edition’ contained between 300 and 600 books. Only rare best-sellers were printed in editions of 1000 or 1200 copies. The size of each edition depended on various parameters such as typology, genre, target audience, and the interests of the printer or editor. The city’s libraries were furnished thanks to donations from clergy members who had amassed collections of books as they moved across Italy from one monastery to another in the course of their lives. 5These libraries also contained rare volumes and valuable editions. About two-thirds of the books were printed in Venice, a smaller number in Milan, and less than a fifth outside of Italy.6 4 Dooley, Skepticism, 2. 5 The list of books found in the course of the sixteenth century in various monasteries may be viewed in a catalogue located in Bergamo’s central library, although Vittori notes that many of the lists were lost over time. Chiodi, Le Cinquecentine della Biblioteca Civica ‘A. Mai’ di Bergamo. 6 Vittori, ‘Diffusione della Riforma’, 65–97; Vittori, ‘Biblioteche Monastiche’, 53–87.

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Books could be found in Bergamo in monasteries, churches, and private homes. Significantly, the city’s private libraries were not merely physical spaces with books arranged on shelves. As Maria Mencaroni Zoppetti’s study of frescoes in sixteenth-century Bergamo reveals, communication among members of the aristocracy unfolded by means of painted images of books on mythological and religious subjects.7 Among these works, the paintings still in existence today were commissioned by two patrons from important local families, Vavasori da Medolago and Passi Preposulo. The episodes painted on the walls of their mansions, which were influenced by books and by the intellectual culture of the period, reflect the cultural fashions and choices made by local residents, while provoking thoughts about the distribution of knowledge and ideas during the Reformation and Counter-Reformation. The aristocracy’s social networks were an important means of distributing books in early modern Europe: a book sent to an important individual in another city would demonstrate one’s personal knowledge and interest in a certain field while also complimenting the book’s recipient. This type of exchange, which cultivated relations based on shared intellectual interests, thus flattered both parties while promoting the sender’s interests. The poet Michelangelo Buonarroti (the artist’s nephew), for instance, cultivated such a relationship with the Roman humanist Giovanni Ciampoli (1589–1643): Ciampoli thanked Buonarroti for sending him a book of poetry, promised to pass it on with recommendations to key figures in Rome, and even reciprocated with a text he wrote himself. Did Calvi, the Agliardi family, and other acquaintances of the painter exploit the medium in which Baschenis worked in order to promote certain writers and ideas in which they held a vested interest? Or were Baschenis and Bettera the ones who chose these books? I would like to argue that the integration of books into the paintings was a carefully calculated process which reveals that the painters used their canvases to raise controversial subjects, to demonstrate their knowledge, to enhance the reputation of their city, and to influence those in their milieu. An ordinance given by Pope Clement VIII by means of his chief censor required the directors of monastery and parish libraries throughout Italy to prepare inventories of all the books in their collections. The goal of this ordinance was to remove books that were considered dangerous or blasphemous, especially those included in the list of prohibited books published by Clement VIII in 1596. It followed earlier ordinances published following the Council of Trent. The lists and reports were subsequently compiled in 1599–1603, and came from 9500 libraries containing approximately one million books. The results of this survey are filed in 61 collections in the Vatican Library. This vast collection of data provides information regarding texts in the collections of monks, members of various orders, and clergymen in early seventeenth-century Italy. The powerful influence and 7

Zoppetti, ‘Le Decorazioni di Palazzo Vavassori’,263–285.

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long reach of the Inquisition is revealed, to offer just one example, by a letter written by the composer Monteverdi in which he described how difficult it had been for him to release his son (a medical doctor) from prison, where he had been incarcerated for reading a book which he claimed not to know was on the list of prohibited books.8 The information compiled in Bergamo in accordance with this ordinance is contained in nine manuscripts, which represent the books in the possession of most of the religious orders active in the city in the early seventeenth century, as well as in libraries throughout the region.9 One of the stated goals of Vittori’s research was to study the lists of books owned by specific communities, or even by specific priests or monks. The monastery school at which Baschenis had studied, the Seminario Vescovile Giovanni XXIII, also had a library, yet no documentation remains of the books it contained during that period. It should be noted, however, that scholars debate the authenticity of these findings. According to Roberto Rusconi, since the libraries obeyed the censor’s demands and destroyed forbidden books, their inventories do not accurately reflect the intellectual-humanist interests of the monks and priests based on these lists.10 By contrast, Antonella Barzazi believes that the libraries zealously preserved their spiritual and cultural independence.11 Bergamo’s elite families tended to send their sons to study at the Monastero di Santo Spirito (founded in 1476). The sons of aristocratic and wealthy families preferred to study at this monastery since the religious activities were supplemented by intellectual studies and spiritual meditation. As part of their multi-disciplinary worldview, the monastery’s directors participated in the artistic renaissance taking place in Bergamo in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and commissioned paintings by various artists for the monastery’s church, the Chiesa di Santo Spirito. Among the commissioned artworks were paintings by Andrea Previtali, a native of Bergamo active in the early sixteenth century; Ambrogio Borgonone, who was active in Milan in the mid-sixteenth century; and Lorenzo Lotto, who worked in Bergamo for approximately one decade. The monastery also housed a rich library that contained books from the world beyond its walls and outside of Bergamo. Less than 40 percent of the 827 volumes in this library were religious texts. The majority of the titles were secular works of science, astronomy, and astrology, alongside editions of Aristotle’s writings.

8 Whitwell, ‘On Defining the Italian Baroque’, note 2. 9 Camozzio, Cultura e Storia Letteraria. 10 Roberto Rusconi is the director of the national Italian research project PRIN 2006, which centres on books, libraries, and culture in the monasteries of modern Italy. Rusconi is quoted in: Vittori, ‘Biblioteche Monastiche’, 53–87; Borraccini et al., Libri, Biblioteche e Cultura. 11 Vittori, ‘Biblioteche Monastiche’, 53–87.

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The strong desire of monks and priests to expand their horizons led a small number of them to commit an offence by privately collecting books forbidden by the Church. These private libraries contained works by Petrarch, Boccaccio, Picino, and Tasso. It is possible that the private libraries of Bergamo’s clergy members were amassed for personal study, and served as a source of information for the preparation of sermons and for providing answers to questions raised in the course of parishioners’ confessions. In addition to the libraries in its monasteries and churches, Bergamo was home to impressive collections of books in private libraries. These included the library owned by Ercole Tasso – a philosopher, writer, poet, and politician, as well as a relative of the famous poet Torquato Tasso; the library of the local noble family Albani; the library of Bartolomeo Signori, a military officer; the library of Giovanni Battista Lanzi, a public figure and a member of the Accademia degli Eccitati, as well as a collector of books that were of interest to businessmen; the library of the monk and jurist Marco Moroni; and the library of the monk Giorgio Asperti. Most notable, however, was the library owned by Donato Calvi, which contained approximately 2400 volumes collected by him in the course of his life. Half of the books were religious texts, while the other half was concerned with philosophy, history, politics, and literature. Calvi was well informed about contemporary literature, and his library contained books by poets, writers, and historians. The names of two of these authors were explicitly depicted by Baschenis on the spines of the volumes in his paintings: Tasso (see Figure 102, p. 238) and Folvio (see Figure 48, p. 147). A third reference, to the writer Bernando Morando, was made by including the title of one of his books: Rosalinda (see Figure 52, p. 155). The intriguing connection between books, monasteries, and paintings by Baschenis is elucidated in part thanks to the clergyman Francesco Superchi, who purchased eight of Baschenis’s paintings for the library of the San Giorgio Maggiore monastery in Venice while serving as its director in 1667–1671. Very little is known about Superchi himself; yet the fact that the paintings were in the monastery library is telling of the cultural openness and artistic taste of Superchi and his fellow monks, who found interest in Baschenis’s still-life paintings with musical instruments. The only surviving work from this cycle of paintings is located today in the Gallerie dell’Accademia in Venice (Figure 39). One of the primary sources quoted by Rossi is the priest Marco Valle, who wrote in 1693 that the eight paintings in the monastery’s library were created by ‘Evaristus the priest, whose last name is Baschenis of Bergamo’.12 He added that the paintings were brought to the monastery by Superchi, who had paid 300 scudi for them. Rossi estimated that a single painting by Baschenis sold for an average of 25 to 30 scudi.13 12 Evaristus cui cognomen Buschenus Bergomensis Presbyteri. 13 Rossi, ‘Committenza e Collezionismo’, 87, note 11.

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Figure 39: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 108x153cm, Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia, inv. n. 1047.

Following this brief survey of the range of books housed in monastery libraries, churches, and private residences, I would now like to shift the discussion from these public and private spaces, where hundreds and thousands of books were passively shelved and sometimes cast into oblivion, to the medium of painting. As I will show, it is precisely the limitations of the two-dimensional canvas that transformed these painted books into powerful tools in the hands of those interesting in exerting their influence and provoking interest, awakening debate, encouraging reflection, and educating the viewer. The books in Baschenis’s paintings are all depicted in perfect condition: they are rarely worn, and bespeak an attitude of respect towards the written word. Their external appearance, however, is also charged with more complex meanings. Baschenis and Bettera both invited the beholder to read the depicted books, become acquainted with them, and agree or debate with their authors or contents. They carefully selected these volumes, and did not merely include them as a stylistic accessory or decorative element.

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Figure 40: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas, 83x100cm, Venice, ­Lombardini.

Books in Baschenis’s Paintings The Count, Historian, and Politician Alfonso Loschi A table spread with a red Venetian cloth, which is patterned with a caper-plant motif in a lighter shade, features an array of musical instruments scattered in a perfectly arranged state of disorder, their rhythmic arrangement combining the geometric forms of a circle and a triangle (Figure 40). The triangular pyramid created by the two lutes and the mandolin is composed of inverted, upturned, and once again inverted musical instruments. This triangle is widened into a circle with the addition of the cello leaning on the back of the table and the partially visible guitar. The cello’s body is almost entirely hidden. Only its neck, which sticks up like a ship’s mast, is visible on the uniform, endless horizon stretching behind the table. A similarly endless horizon appears in most of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings. The painting serves as a stage for the interplay of the hidden and visible elements presented by Baschenis. This dynamic can be detected in the musical instruments themselves, which represent the music that was and no longer is; in the book whose

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title we read without being able to see its pages; and in the absence of the musicians who seem to have played just a moment ago and are now gone. Baschenis invites the beholder to ponder and deliberate upon this information. The scene appears so close that it seems as if just one step forward would cause the viewer to bump into the rounded body of the lute, whose lower two-thirds protrude beyond the table’s frame. This musical instrument, whose sound seems to have been heard just a moment ago, is similarly portrayed in many of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works – calling to mind, among other things, the basket of fruit protruding over the table’s edge in Caravaggio’s painting (1597). To its left, a second lute, whose precise and impressive foreshortening captures its full glory, is positioned atop an open, illuminated sheet music booklet. Another illuminated point above the lute is the white note folded under its strings, yet Baschenis chose to conceal both its contents and the identity of the person to whom it is addressed. The composition contains a dotted circle composed of points of light, which include the folded note, the yellowish fruit, the sheet music, the note, and another booklet of sheet music. These five points seem to gather together, shining around the body of the lute placed before us at the centre of the composition. The objects representing the arts – writing, music, and painting – are all dependent on one another within Baschenis’s carefully orchestrated painting: The book acquires an identity and meaning thanks to its title; the presence of music is identified by means of the sheet music and musical instruments; and the note ‘corresponds’ with the writer and composer, relating the literary text to the musical one and to the painting’s commissioner and viewers. A curtain with wide green and yellow stripes moves across the composition from right to left like a rising wave, framing the circle of knowledge set before us on a stage. The objects on the right-hand side of the table are cropped, yet all are convincingly and clearly depicted. In the composition’s lower right-hand corner a rolled-up music sheet seems to be unfurling and slipping towards the beholder, anchored by the weight of the guitar. Placed upon the guitar is a fresh, yellow citrus fruit with green leaves, which calls to mind nature, renewal, and Baschenis’s interest in gardening (see Figure 55, p. 162). Behind it is a thick, untitled volume, with a flute placed above it like an additional step. A path composed of musical notes, a musical instrument, a citrus fruit, a book, and another instrument leads the beholder’s eye to the books. Placed on a lower plane to the left of the large volume, like a kind of oxymoron, is a thinner volume by Count Alfonso Loschi. Baschenis seems to be insisting that the beholder acquaint himself with this particular book. He further underscores its presence by means of the violin’s neck and the strings dangling like a lifeline, or like threads tying together words and sounds.

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Figure 41: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas 83x100cm, Private Collection (detail).

Count Alfonso Loschi lived in the seventeenth century in Vicenza, in the vicinity of Venice. In a different painting featuring a book by Loschi, Baschenis added a detail on the cover alluding to Loschi’s status by means of the letters ‘Con’, the beginning of the Italian title Conte, or Count (Figure 41). Like most of the books found in Bergamo’s libraries, Loschi’s book was published in Venice. It was originally written in the vernacular, and subsequently translated into Latin, French, and English, and printed in numerous editions. Loschi’s book appeared in two parts: the first part, Compendi Historici (‘Historical Compendium’), contained a concise history of early modern royalty in France, Spain, England, Italy, and Northern Europe. Loschi began his book with the rulers of Classical Rome, thus paying tribute to the world of antiquity. Its first part is subsequently devoted to King Louis XIV, an enthusiastic patron of the arts and thus a key figure and model for emulation in the cultural and artistic sphere in France, and in Europe as a whole. By dedicating his book to the Sun King, both Loschi and his readers affiliated themselves with an elevated social and cultural sphere. The frontispiece of the book’s first part contains the following lines:

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Compendi Historici del conte Alfonso Loschi Vicentino Academico Insensato, Olimpico, e Rifiorito, il Riacceso. Consacrati alla maestà christianissima di Luigi quartodecimo re di Francia, e di Nauarra14 (A Historical Compendium by Count Alfonso Loschi of Vicenza, the Liberated, Olympic, Flourishing and Re-Enlightened Academic. Dedicated to His Deeply Christian Majesty Louis XIV of France and Navarre).

Although there exists no orderly biographical account of the Count’s life, a sense of his character may be gleaned from the following passage by the book’s publisher, which painted a portrait of a true Renaissance man: Alfonso – the Count, historian, academic, and sportsman – is described as a man not beholden to any specific patron, whose economic status is satisfactory and who is described as ‘newly enlightened’. This description affiliated Loschi with the unique milieu of intellectuals and cultural figures who gathered in Venice as members of the Accademia degli Incogniti (‘The Academy of the Anonymous’). An additional member of this circle was the Marquis Bisaccioni, whose book appears in another painting by Baschenis (see below). The second part of Loschi’s book was titled Commentari di Roma (‘Commentary on Rome’). In it, Loschi rewrote the history of the Roman rulers of antiquity, subsequently continuing all the way to Leopold Ignazio d’Asburgo, to whom he dedicated the first part of the book. Leopold, a member of the Habsburg dynasty, ruled the Holy Roman Empire until his death in 1705. In addition to being an ardent supporter of the Counter-Reformation, he was known as a man of culture and a patron of music who supported well-known composers.15 A number of oratorios and dance suites composed by Leopold himself have been preserved to this day. His best-known Mass is the requiem he wrote following the death of his young wife Margarita Teresa, the fair-haired girl who appears in Velasquez’s painting Las Meniñas (1656). The two rulers to whom Loschi’s book was devoted, Leopold and Louis XIV, were both cousins and opponents. This fact adds another interesting dimension to the personality of the Count, who knew how to participate in the power games of the European elite. The manner in which the publisher described Loschi on the book’s frontispiece corresponds perfectly to the contents of the book. Moreover, it exemplifies the advantage that both Loschi and Baschenis were well aware of – that of partaking of an elite whose members belonged to intellectual academies where they held discussions about poetry, literature, history, music, and painting. These wide-ranging cultural connections flourished despite political and religious rivalries. Despite the complex and convoluted relations among members of the seventeenth-century European nobility, the dynasties of rulers mentioned in Loschi’s book represent the social elite that determined the period’s cultural tastes and codes of recommended conduct. 14 Loschi, Compendi Historici. 15 These included the composer and violinist Antonio Bertali, as well as the composer and cellist Giovanni Bononcini.

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By means of Loschi's book, Baschenis invited the viewer to attend to the importance of royal houses and dynasties, and of their contribution to the culture of their time. The book, which was a best-seller, glorifies rulers as patrons of art, pays tribute to antiquity, and serves as an ode to a culture that celebrates music, painting, and history. In addition to highlighting the book’s cosmopolitan character and the importance of both the two volumes and their author, the painter from Bergamo does not hesitate to call the attention of both local and foreign members of the nobility to the subjects he believed were important. Books Concerned with Nobility, Law, Jurisprudence, and Poetry The following painting by Baschenis is the third part of the Agliardi Triptych (­Figure 42), which includes the two Agliardi brothers. The books that Baschenis chose to position on their desk explore two subjects that preoccupied members of their class – the rights of the nobility and the stormy debate concerning the conferral of aristocratic titles. From the medieval period to the onset of the Industrial Revolution in the mid-eighteenth century, a small group of people (1–2 per cent of the population) controlled European society: They possessed the majority of the economic resources in their respective countries, held the most important political and religious positions, and enjoyed great prestige. Their arguments concerning their own distinction were mainly based on their self-perception, which was enhanced by the excellent educational curriculum they followed. The combination of genetics, inheritance, and culture had prepared them, in their own opinion, to rule and lead the rest of the population. In order to achieve this goal, they had to be free of the everyday concerns of simple folk. The privileges they bestowed upon themselves were, in their eyes, compensation for the burden of ruling the people. In most parts of Europe, these privileges were acquired or attained by the power of the law. A large corpus of centuries-old laws defined those who belonged to the nobility and the advantages they enjoyed. Noblemen, like artists and intellectuals, travelled through Europe in search of culture, pleasure, and various pursuits. Royal marriages and wars further contributed to this elite’s movement from one country to another. Consequently, despite their geographical differences, Italian and French aristocrats both contended with the same essential questions – as revealed by the books placed by Baschenis on the table of the Agliardi brothers, who belonged to this prestigious club (Figure 43). In a closed space with heavy baroque curtains coloured a deep red, two of the Agliardi brothers are seated at a table. In tribute to his patrons, Baschenis depicted an open book on the right-hand side of the table in front of Bonifacio, yet he is not looking at it. Moreover, it is impossible to read the writing on the book’s pages, which the artist’s hand filled with meaningless signs. In contrast to this open yet illegible

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Figure 42: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection.

book, the four closed books on the left have a carefully defined identity and present a clear statement. Once again, the following question begs to be asked: Why did a painter endowed with such a superb ability to capture textures and materials, who created highly precise visual illusions and expressed his opinions by means of the written word, choose to exchange letters for meaningless signs while piling up four additional books whose titles are clearly legible to the viewer. Herein lies Baschenis’s power – in his choice to be precise or, alternatively, to render the viewer perplexed or pensive. The titles and authors of the four books stacked on the table to the left are detailed below. The letters in bold are those that Baschenis inscribed on the spines of the books in his painting: Bartolus supra ii Codicis, Authentico et Institutionibus Baldo de Ubaldis M. Cano Andrea Tiraquellos De Nobilitate Aurelio Orsi. Rim D. Cav.

The four books form a sort of tower of knowledge, so that the viewer’s gaze rises from the volume at the bottom to the small volume at the top of the tower – the one designed to provoke surprise and trigger debate. As will soon be revealed, the three

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Figure 43: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

books at the base of the tower are all concerned with jurisprudence. They contain related discussions that had preoccupied European rulers, clergymen, kings, jurists, and intellectuals for hundreds of years, and continued to challenge seventeenth-century individuals. De Pascale tied the presence of these legal tomes on the Agliardi family’s table to the profession of the two brothers, who were both jurists. Since they were Baschenis’s patrons, it would have been natural for them to request that they be depicted alongside the attributes of their profession. In my opinion, however, it is possible that Baschenis himself chose these particular books, and it is reasonable to assume that his decision was approved by the brothers. The choice of these specific books, and their careful positioning at the edge of the table, required an intellectual understanding of, and interest in, this particular field of knowledge. The tower of books constructed by Baschenis is ordered so as to present two main themes: the tension between civic law and the canonical law of the Church, and the right to belong to the aristocracy. These subjects were of central concern to Baschenis’s contemporaries, and were probably also of importance to the members of the Agliardi family. Baschenis’s painting, however, challenges the viewer: he could simply categorize these books as legal volumes. Yet if he were a knowledgeable individual –as Baschenis himself was – he would identify in each of these books and in the interrelations between them a range of complex issues, debates, and critiques.

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Figure 44: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

At the base of the tower is the foundation of the entire structure, a thick volume titled Bartolus supra ii Codicis, Authentico et Institutionibus (‘Remarks Concerning a Collection of Original and Systematic Manuscripts’) (Figure 44). The choice of this specific title and of its author, Bartolo, is no coincidence: Bartolo da Sassoferrato (1314–1357) was one of the most important jurists of his time, and wrote a commentary on and an interpretation of both canonical and civic law (Corpus Juris Civilis). Although the exploration of conflict between different legal systems had been ongoing for the previous 600 years, Bartolo’s essay became the central and most authoritative point of departure for all subsequent explorations of this subject, and his influence was evidenced by the widespread distribution of his works throughout Europe. The saying Nemo bonus íurista, nisi sit Bartolista (‘There is no good jurist unless he is a Bartolist’) was common during the early modern period.16 The presence of a book by Bartolo on the jurist Agliardis’ table is thus a testimony to the latter’s professionalism. Bartolo had studied with Cino da Pistoia (1270–1336), who was a jurist and poet, and a friend of Dante and Petrarch. He was a polymath whose wide-ranging knowledge encompassed Hebrew and geometry, and he also wrote about Dante’s poetry. His library contained 34 theology books and 30 legal tomes representing human reason. During the medieval period, jurists belonged to one of two main camps: the canonists, who specialized in the law of the Church, and the legists, who specialized in the corpus of civic law based on Roman law. Jurists usually wrote interpretations of, and commentaries on, civic issues. These remarks, which were written alongside the 16 De Saxoferrato and Beale, Bartolus on the Conflict of Laws, 9.

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texts, sometimes involved a long and detailed analysis. Some scholars also contributed tractates concerned with a single subject, and Bartolo’s tractates are the earliest to examine the legal aspects of heraldry. This concern was related to the debate, which began in the fourteenth century, regarding the right to receive a title of nobility from a ruler, as opposed to the inheritance of a title based on one’s lineage. Bartolo’s stance concerning this question was clear, since he had accepted a title of nobility from the governor of Pisa, Carlo IV, which would subsequently be transmitted to his heirs. He defined three types of nobility: theological, natural, and political, and viewed the latter type as the most important. Unlike Bartolo, Dante believed that a title of nobility should be conferred as a sign of esteem for virtues and love. Dante derided wealth, and saw one’s affiliation with the nobility as dependent on one’s virtues and deeds.17 By contrast, Bartolo saw material possessions and wealth – rather than spiritual possessions and virtues – as a means of attaining the desired title. Despite the centrality of Roman law from the eleventh century onward, many questioned the importance ascribed by some scholars to civic law, and thus opposed Bartolo’s views. Church functionaries and clergy were not obliged to study civic law. Yet ‘without this knowledge’, as Bartolo wrote, ‘there will be no justice in their courts’.18 According to Bartolo, civic law combined Sapientia, Scientia, Ars (‘wisdom, knowledge, professional skill’). Law, he wrote, was the noblest of all sciences, since it was an autonomous field of knowledge that required no support from other scientific fields. As will become clear below, Baschenis challenged Bartolo’s definition of the noblest field of knowledge by positioning a small, semi-open book of poetry atop the legal volumes. In doing so, he seems to suggest that whereas the perfect philosopher needed logic and the perfect doctor had to be a philosopher, the perfect specialist in civic or canonical law had simply to be intelligent. The law is like a ruler – above good and evil. Yet who is the ultimate ruler – the Church or the Emperor? The debate was complex, since Bartolo admitted that the only area in which civic law could not compete with canonical law was theology.19 Positioned atop Bartolo’s book is an inverted book by Baldus de Ubaldis (1319– 1400) (Figure 45). Baschenis thus created a visual representation of continuity based on a shared path, since the two specialized in the same field, which Bartolo viewed as the noblest of all sciences. Baldus de Ubaldis was considered to be the most important jurist of his time, as well as a polymath. In Perugia, he taught Petrus Belforte, who would later become Pope Gregory XI (1370–1378). Like his teacher Bartolo, Baldus wrote about Roman law and canonical law, yet viewed himself as a specialist in ius commune (‘common law’). His worldview was clearly defined – there was a tremendous difference between the ancient world and that of the fourteenth century, and the laws of antiquity had little to do with a constantly changing world. Baldus thus 17 Wetherbee, ‘Dante Alighieri’. 18 Woolf, Bartolus of Sassoferrato, 16. 19 Ibid., 14.

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Figure 45: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail, inverted).

sought to focus on the present. His legal commentaries on administration and government, politics, and public law were based on a recognition of the interdependency between the law and present reality.20 The scope of his work is vast, amounting to a total of some seven million words, and his works were printed in numerous editions from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries. One of his repeatedly reprinted books was Consilia (1551), a collection of legal commentaries that constituted a database of sorts concerning a wide range of political systems.21 The nobility, representatives of the Church, and jurists discussed these issues in order to promote both ‘heavenly’ and terrestrial interests. Baschenis captured this polemic and provoked its further discussion by means of the books in the triptych: Canonical law or civic law? The Church or the Empire? Antiquity or the contemporary world? The third volume featured by Baschenis in this painting (Figure 46) transforms the dialogue between Bartolo and de Ubaldis into a symposium. This book, whose name was shortened by Baschenis to De nobilitate (‘On the Nobility’), was written by the French humanist, jurist, and politician Andrea Tiraquellos (sometimes spelled André Tiraqueau, 1488–1558). The book includes an essay that sums up one of the preoccupations of both titled and untitled upper-class Europeans.

20 Canning, The Political Thought of Baldus de Ubaldis, 6. 21 Ibid., 4.

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Figure 46: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

In his book Commentarii de Nobilitate et Iure Primigeniorum (‘Comments on Nobility and the Principles of Justice’), written in 1549, Tiraquellos described the nobility as a class whose status was nourished by social recognition.22 His approach was based on the same stance upheld by Bartolo: the belief that the bestowal of a nobility title, in contrast to its inheritance, was justified both politically and legally. Tiraquellos wrote his essay in response to the declaration of the French King François I (1515–1547) by which noblemen unable to prove the origin and validity of their title would have to pay land taxes (la taille). According to his argument, the royal house had the power and authority to bestow a position accompanied by a title of nobility. This approach pursued the argument put forth by Bartolo, who argued against the traditional view of nobility titles as exclusively based on family lineage and family virtues. Tiraquellos argued that a noble title bestowed by a king or prince for political reasons was legal, while defining all other claims for the right to a title to be crimen falsi – crimes related to falsity or forgery. Seeking to promote this view as the official French view, his book gathers various sources that make a similar argument. It examines the legal, tax-related, and social implications of this issue, as well as the influence of Aristotelian thought and of the Roman model of inherited titles. Nobility, according to Tiraquellos’s conclusion, is first and foremost a form of social recognition by which nobility is granted to those who carry a noble opinion: Hic nobilis qui populi opinione est nobilis.23 22 Tiraqueau, Commentarii de Nobilitate. 23 Haddad, ‘The Question of the Imprescriptibly’, 151, note 18; Tiraqueau, Commentarii de Nobilitate, 65.

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Although hundreds of years had elapsed since Bartolo had raised this subject, no agreement had been reached among the opponents in this polemic. During the first half of the seventeenth century, jurists supported a reorganization of the ordinances concerning the status of the nobility, without delegitimizing the right to inherent a title of nobility. Gilles-André de la Roque’s essay Traité de Noblesse (‘Treatment of the Aristocracy’, 1678), which was printed in numerous copies, examined the same question probed in related texts and in Baschenis’s painting: could a title of nobility be conferred as an act of appreciation, or should it remain an irrevocable privilege inherited from one generation to the next?24 During the early modern period, developments in the fields of society, religion, economics, and politics provided members of the upper classes with an opportunity to bolster their status and privileges. New socioeconomic models required collaboration between the ruler and the aristocracy in order to preserve and promote shared interests, for both practical and ideological reasons. The intellectual and scientific awakening that characterized this tempestuous period, as well as the religious Reformation, created opportunities for noblemen to enhance and bolster their social status while protesting against any attempts to undermine their power. Members of the nobility had to fight on numerous fronts in order to protect their interests in the fields of science, education, religion, politics, and economics. Current scholarship views the nobility of the early modern period as invested not only in promoting its political interests, but also in ensuring the transmission of its political power and social benefits to future generations.25 Matthew Romaniello and Charles Lipp examine the upper classes in early modern Europe by combining insights from the fields of literary studies, musicology, and history. This interdisciplinary approach offers another perspective on the subject of the nobility: while each region of Europe had its own unique cultural and economic character, Romaniello and Lipp present the European elite as a homogeneous unit with shared traits whose members moved between countries and influenced one another despite the geographical distance between them. These authors conclude that a consistent set of duties and privileges separated the nobility from other social classes throughout the early modern period. They emphasized the role of aristocrats as social players rather than simply as political agents – coping with new challenges, adapting, acting creatively, and jealously guarding their unique status.26 Tiraquello’s book about the aristocracy is another link in the chain created by Baschenis: Bartolo and Baldus entertained a student–teacher relationship; and Tiraquellos relied on Bartolo as an intellectual, judicial, and professional anchor for 24 ‘C’est une grand question non encore resolue, si la noblesse se prescrit, et si elle s’acquiert irrevocablement par la possession de plusieurs generations.’ Quoted from De La Roque, Le Traite de la Noblesse, 318. 25 Dewald, The European Nobility, xiii–xvii. 26 Romaniello and Lipp, ‘The Spaces of Nobility’, 1–10. A literature review of modern scholarship on this subject can be found on pp. 2–4.

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Figure 47: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

bolstering his arguments about the aristocracy. Tiraquellos’s book is smaller – about half the size of the two bottom books – and it seems to ‘stand on the shoulders of the giants’ in the upper part of the impressive geometrical structure designed by Baschenis. Together, the three books form a powerful statement concerning the aristocracy – a statement whose significance was equally pertinent in the peripheral city of Bergamo, where aristocrats and wealthy individuals debated the same issues that were debated during that time in Italy’s central courts. The book located at the top of the tower is a small, slim volume of poetry by Aurelio Orsi, who was born in the mid-sixteenth century.27 Rim D. Cav. ORSI (‘Rhymes of the Knight Orsi’) – the only open book among the four – is located high above the other books and the musical instruments on the table (Figure 47). Orsi served as the court poet of the Duke of Parma and Piacenza, Odoardo Farnese, in 1622–1646. In this role, he dedicated a collection of epigrams to the Farnese family members titled La Caprarola. Written as an ekphrasis, it describes the art treasures in the Palazzo Farnese in Rome.28 By means of this poet, Baschenis 27 Existing scholarship does not offer precise information concerning Orsi’s biography. Marina Castagnetti assumes that he was born sometime between 1547 and 1557 in Stabbia, outside Rome. During those years, Alessandro Farnese was the father superior of a monastery that Orsi joined in 1569. In 1580, he began working in the service of Cardinal Farnese. According to the scholar Cesare D’Onofrio, he died in 1591 in Parma. 28 Enenkel, 'The Neo-Latin Epigram', 233–254. The epigram is a Neo-Latin literary genre that began developing in the fifteenth century, and is intriguing, elusive, and difficult to understand. It was written in a particular social and historical context, and does not fit aesthetic definitions such as 'idealist' or 'modern'. Almost every humanist who considered himself to be a poet wrote epigrams.

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reveals a network of social and intellectual ties that extended between different cities and realms of knowledge, and connected figures whose relations were based on shared pursuits and interests, money, prestige, and a true enjoyment of the world of culture. Orsi was a member of the Accademia degli Insensati (‘Academy of the Senseless’) in Perugia, whose members were mostly poets and intellectuals who discussed literature, philosophy, and social views. The poets Tasso, Marino, and Guarini were all members of this group. Aurelio’s brother, Prospero Orsi, was a friend of Caravaggio as well as his agent, and one can assume that Orsi the poet was well acquainted with the painter.29 Orsi’s name also reached the young and promising Bishop Maffeo Barberini (1568–1644), who was himself a highly regarded poet, and Orsi became his mentor. Barberini’s poems appeared in 1606 in a slim book that was published in many editions throughout Europe, and included poems by Orsi as well. Years later, Barberini was elected as Pope Urbanus VIII (1623–1644). This social network included Barberini’s doctor, Giulio Mancini, who was also an art collector and critic. Mancini held Orsi in high esteem, and lauded his talent as a poet in both Italian and Latin.30 Caravaggio and Barberini were both members of a group of literary connoisseurs in Florence called Pastori Antellesi (‘The Antellesi Pastors’).31 Its members belonged to the city’s nobility, and usually met on holidays to engage in reading, poetry, and music-making. Following Orsi’s death, he was admiringly referred to by the Italian poet Giambattista Marino (1569–1625), a fellow member of the Academy in Perugia, who is still considered today to be one of the greatest Italian poets of all times.32 Marino’s style is characterized by an intensive use of contrasts and wordplay, flowing descriptions, and a sensual, musical use of rhyme. Marino, who was greatly admired in the social and cultural circles of northern Italy, praised Orsi’s metaphors, noting that his poems gave rise to a sublime discussion and left their imprint on people’s minds and souls.33 As these poets, Baschenis sought to provoke a response in his viewers and initiate discussion by means of the images he painted with his brush. The books and their authors, whom I believe were carefully and intentionally chosen, represent subjects whose controversial nature disrupts the quiet and decorous atmosphere created by the heavy curtains and the presence of the Agliardi brothers, the wealthy intellectuals who also played music. By means of these respected texts about the law, jurisprudence, and the rights of the nobility, and especially by means of Orsi’s open book, Baschenis painted a portrait of a multi-disciplinary, cultivated, educated individual. 29 Orsi also used ekphrasis when writing in Latin about the repentant Mary Magdalene in Caravaggio’s painting. 30 Mancini, Considerazioni sulla Pittura, I, 251; II, 152. 31 Pallota, ‘A Fresh Assessment’, 291. 32 Taruskin, Music in the Seventeenth Century, 37. 33 Leuker, ‘Incisività Sublime’, 233–253; Nemerow-Ulman, ‘Narrative Unities in Marino’s La Galeria’, 76–86.

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Figure 48: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 87x115cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara.

Different Books in Similar Compositions The composition of the paintings discussed below is quite similar, but with some slight variations. The main difference among them lies in the titles of the four depicted books. One of these books, Argenide, reappears in three of the four paintings.34 This recurrent compositional template (see, for instance, Figures 48 and 50) consists of a gold-coloured curtain with a peacock-eye pattern and a pink inner lining. The curtain is drawn from right to left, with an impressive crease that runs across its surface. Placed on a Turkish carpet is an especially large spinet, which serves as a pedestal for four different musical instruments. The almost identical placement and size of the musical instruments in all five paintings lends these works the appearance of a musical series. To the right of the spinet is a viola. The beholder’s attention is drawn to the three books, which seem to be trapped among the surrounding musical instruments. The numerous variations on this compositional arrangement attest to the popularity of both Baschenis and this subject. 34 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 160–165.

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Figure 49: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 87x115cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara (detail).

In the first painting discussed (Figure 48), Baschenis presents a book by the poet Fulvio Testi (1593–1646). The highlighted letter ‘C’, which appears on the spine of the book before the poet’s name, alludes to the fact that Testi was a nobleman, a count who had received his title from a prince rather than inheriting it due to his family lineage (Figure 49). In 1628, Testi was appointed as the personal secretary of Duke Francesco d’Este of Modena. Six years later, Francesco awarded him a title, a mansion, and a coat of arms. In 1613, years before his appointment at the d’Este court, Testi had dedicated his first book of poems to Francesco’s father, Duke Alfonso d’Este.35 Although Testi was considered an outstanding poet, his success stemmed not from his power as a lyricist, but rather from his talents as an advisor on a wide range of matters. Testi spent a certain period living in Rome, where he was funded by the Duke as his representative. He advised d’Este on collecting art, and served as a middleman between painters and sculptors based mostly in Rome and the d’Este family.36 His close friendship with the sculptor Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680), who created a portrait of Testi, is revealed by the latter’s correspondence. In a poem penned following the death of the painter Bartolomeo Schedoni, Testi wrote, ‘in comparison to your art nature has no value’, revealing his stance concerning the superiority of art over nature.37 Testi was asked by Francesco to write an epic about the life of the Roman Christian ruler 35 Testi, Opere Scelte. 36 Southorn, Power and Display in the Seventeenth Century, 48. 37 Ibid., 32, note 36.

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Figure 50: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x144cm, Private Collection.

Constantinus, which remained uncompleted. In it Testi argued that he could prove the blood ties between Constantinus and Francesco despite the 1000 years that had elapsed since the former’s rule. Yet although Testi was considered to be a highly talented poet, his poems failed to please his patrons. Moreover, he admitted that he was ready to compose poetry ‘for the sake of politics rather than for the sake of poetics’.38 Testi fell into disgrace when he asked to be dispatched once again to Rome rather than remaining at the side of Francesco d’Este. The Duke responded by ordering him to be sent to prison, where he died in 1646. Two centuries following his death, a lawyer from Milan who researched his life described him as one of the most intelligent figures of his time, albeit one possessed of an unfortunately restless and reckless character. He argued that this tempestuous character had been the catalyst for Testi’s creativity, which was harmed by his political endeavours.39 It is possible that by choosing a title by Testi for this book, and by underscoring the author’s noble status, Baschenis was suggesting to his noble friends to observe this picturesque figure – a poet, courtier, art dealer, and middleman who ended his life stripped of his prestige and liberty due to his arrogance and recklessness. 38 Ibid., 62. 39 Perrero, Il Conte Fulvio Testi.

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By means of the volumes in Figure 50 – books by Hippocrates, Fornelius, and the book Argenide – Baschenis moved along a 2000-year temporal axis, while crossing disciplinary and geographical boundaries: from ancient Greek medicine to Swedish poetry and a historical novel beginning in England and ending in Italy. As will be revealed below, each of these books or writers was pioneering in terms of both subject matter and style. Hippocrates The book at the base of the pile bears the name of the Greek doctor Hippocrates, who lived in the fourth century bce (Figure 51). In addition to the interest that the artist’s contemporaries found in Hippocrates’ medical principles and approach, it is possible that Baschenis chose him in tribute to his own father and brother, who had died of plague in 1630 due to the shortcomings of seventeenth-century medicine. Indeed, his choice of this book may constitute a critique, on Baschenis’s part, of Hippocrates’ simplistic formula, which tied good health to a healthy lifestyle. Did Baschenis the priest embrace the science of medicine as a promise of a long and healthy life, or did he view it as a limited presumption? For, if it is God’s will, immoral conduct can undo the promise of longevity made by the science of medicine. Hippocrates’ professional approach represented a revolutionary shift in the medical-scientific conception of diseases and their treatment. Hippocrates believed that man’s ability to heal was innate, thanks to his participation in the order of nature and his collaboration with it. He studied disease from a scientific rather than a mystical point of view, and refused to believe in unnatural causes of diseases. Moreover, he viewed medicine as a science concerned with the prevention of diseases as much as with their treatment. Despite the great interest of seventeenth-century scholars in ancient Greek medical, mathematical, and scientific texts, only rarely did they study the original Greek texts or their Arabic translations, which were referred to in the sixteenth century as ‘the lost Classical texts’.40 High costs of translation, together with printing and paper prices and a relatively small audience for such texts, made it difficult for publishers and printers to publish medical or scientific texts. A translated scientific book cost approximately 14 scudi in Rome, and was beyond the budget of most doctors.41 40 In 1588, Hippocrates’ works were published in lavish editions in both languages by Juntine Press, and again in 1595 by Wechel. In the sixteenth century, some doctors and scientists in northern Italy sought out ancient Greek medical texts, and were able to understand them. Zwinger and Donzellini, Theatrum Humanae Vitae, 27. 41 On rare editions of Hippocrates’ and Galenus’s writings published in Central Europe in the sixteenth century, see: Field and James, Renaissance and Revolution, 23.

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Figure 51: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x144cm, Private Collection (detail).

During this period, medical experts continued to view Hippocrates and Claudius Galenus (Galen) as the pioneers of modern medicine. The cost of higher education at the time meant that Italian university students were mostly members of the upper classes. They were trained for public work in two main areas – law and medicine. The study of medicine was based on Latin editions of Hippocrates’ and Galenus’s writings. Medical, botanical, or scientific texts written in Greek confronted translators with difficulties that resulted in many more mistakes than in translations of Classical philosophical or historical texts, and every misunderstanding concerning Hippocrates’ writings was blamed on the translators. In 1595, his works appeared in a bi-lingual edition titled Opera Omnia, with the original Greek appearing alongside a Latin translation, resulting in a wider distribution of this text. 42 The approach to research that advocated the revelation of the truth and a careful observation and classification of details was a novelty for many researchers. Scientific associations were established throughout Europe, such as The Royal Society of London for the Promoting of Natural Knowledge, whose goal was to study and discuss various medical and scientific subjects while collaborating with scientists from different countries – Germany, the Netherlands, Italy, and France.43 Hippocrates was recognized among seventeenth-century scientists and doctors for defining the principles of true medicine. The adoption of this rational approach, however, risked provoking the wrath of the Church, due to its defiance of the divine power to punish man by means of afflictions and death.

42 Hippocrates, Opera Omnia. 43 Field and James, Renaissance and Revolution, 50.

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In addition to directing the beholder’s attention to the themes of innovation, curiosity, science, and research through the reference to Hippocrates, Baschenis seems to be intentionally appealing to the same closed circle of aristocratic families. It might have been important to him, as an educated painter, to include general or specific representations of the legal and medical texts that the members of these families studied at Italy’s prestigious universities. Later in this chapter, I will show how Baschenis’s choice was supported by Bettera, who similarly chose to take a stance by representing a book concerned with innovation and courage in the field of medicine. Laurentius Fornelius In 2012, De Pascale identified the inscription on the spine of the second volume in the stack of books as the name of the Swedish priest, theologian, and poet Laurentius Fornelius (1606–1673) (see Figure 51). Fornelius was a professor of poetry and the rector of the University of Uppsala in Sweden. He wrote several books in Latin and Greek, the most important of which was Poetica triparteta: ex prebatissimis utriusqe lingua scriptoribus conformata (‘Poetry in Three Parts: The Language of Illustrious Writers’, printed in Uppsala, 1643).44 This important book, which was written in Latin and enthusiastically received in Sweden, was concerned with literary theory and criticism based on the Aristotelian view of poetry and mimesis. Fornelius wrote poetry in Swedish whose structure was similar to that of Virgil’s writing (Phrasibus Virglianis). He was the first writer to present Swedish readers with poetry written in their own language, based on the meter and structure of Latin poetry. He was awarded a doctorate from the University of Leiden, where he had studied with two important scholars who were internationally recognized during their lifetime – Daniel Heinsius and Gerrit Janszoon Vos. His ties with Sweden’s royal family enabled him to accompany King Gustav Adolf II (Gustavus) on his journey to Germany. A year before the King’s death, Fornelius wrote a book of poems in his honour titled Gustavus Sago-Togatus (1631) in hexameter, a common meter in Greek poetry. In his youth (1634), Fornelius was the Swedish royal family’s chief librarian. Later on, he served as the priest of Uppsala’s Old City, and taught poetry at the city’s university. Fornelius was the first Swedish scholar of aesthetics whose inspiration came from Dutch and Italian poetry.45 Based on his biography, one can only surmise why Baschenis chose to inscribe the name of this priest, poet, and intellectual affiliated with the Swedish royal court on the spine of a book in one of his sought-after paintings. Was he alluding to the book of poetry written and dedicated by Fornelius to the King of Sweden, or to his innovative 44 Fornelius, Poetica Tripartita. 45 Sandys, A History of Classical Scholarship, 338.

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work of literary criticism, which was a best-seller? Baschenis might have viewed Fornelius as a Renaissance man much like himself – an intellectual possessed of wide-ranging knowledge and informed about developments in a distant kingdom. He might also have chosen him in tribute to the daughter of Gustav Adolf II, the admired Swedish Queen Christina, who converted to Catholicism, lived in Italy, and was a Renaissance woman deeply knowledgeable about music, art, books, and the theatre. Argenide At the centre of the composition, atop the two books described above, is the book Argenide by the Scottish-French writer and satirist John Barclay (1582–1621) (see Figure 51), which was published in Latin in 1621–1622 as Argenis. The meticulous, in-depth research that Barclay conducted before writing the book, along with his captivating style, won him much praise during his lifetime. The book was a best-seller throughout Europe: during the century following its publication, it was reprinted in dozens of editions and translated into every important European language. Argenide marked the beginning of a fashionable preference for books written in Latin, which ended in the mid-eighteenth century. In early 1616, the Catholic Barclay asked for the patronage of the Borghese Pope, Paolo V (1552–1621), so that he could leave England for the Vatican. This step, which he ascribed to his desire to raise his children as Catholics, was in fact a dangerous one due to the texts written by his father in support of an absolute monarchy whose ruler held sovereignty even over the Church. One can assume that Barclay was supported by his aristocratic friends in Italy, including figures such as Cardinal Maffeo Barberini (later Pope Urbanus VIII), whom he rewarded by mentioning them in appreciation in his books. Barclay completed Argenide, which was considered to be his best work, just several days prior to his death. This allegorical representation of European history at the turn of the seventeenth century is told from the perspective of a king who weakens the power of the land-owning nobility in the name of the country’s needs, which are also identified with his needs. Barclay wrote a wide-ranging political novel that constitutes a dire warning against the social dangers of political intrigue, based on his familiarity with both French and English society. Combining tragedy, intrigue, and adventure with graceful descriptions of seventeenth-century politics and society, his brilliant and sophisticated plot has a highly serious tone, is richly imaginative, and contains sharp judgments on religious and political questions.46 Barclay was close to the 46 Barclay wrote about contemporary events that had taken place in England, such as the scandal surrounding the murder of the poet Thomas Overbury. Most of the book’s editions contain a name index that identifies the book’s protagonists with real contemporary figures. Barclay was inspired by ancient

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English King James I, and was familiar with the customs of the court. Argenide thus contains references to the qualities of the monarchy, to the vital importance of the King’s total control over the aristocracy, and of his right to impose taxes. Barclay himself described his book as representing a new literary genre. During the following centuries, this novel continued to be viewed as an innovative genre – a political novel with a focused, unadorned message stripped of unnecessary floweriness.47 Baschenis featured Barclay’s book at the centre of his painting. Although the musical instruments occupy most of the compositional space, they are merely ‘extras’ in the play: special lighting focuses on the book and distinguishes it from the musical instruments, directing the viewer’s eye to the famous volume and compelling him to read its title. Baschenis and Barclay – a painter and a writer – both created new genres, and shared much in common despite working in different mediums. Like Barclay’s book, Baschenis’s painting contained no unnecessary flourishes and decorative elements. His style is streamlined and somewhat austere, and his compositions are devoid of drama. The subjects Barclay chose to write about after in-depth, reliable research are similar to those that Baschenis chose to address by means of the books in his paintings, based on a similarly thorough and in-depth approach: the relations between the monarchy and aristocracy and their interests, as well as the privileges and legitimacy of the nobility. Both, moreover, dared to touch upon the dangerous discussion of the King’s possible superiority over the Pope in matters concerning civic as well as canonical law. By representing Barclay’s best-selling political novel, with its witty allusions and sharp social criticism, Baschenis called the viewer’s attention to the intriguefilled world of politics, and transformed his painting into a stage on which he could speak.

sources such as Gaius Petronius (27–66 ce), who wrote the satirical work of fiction Satyricon, as well as by the Xenophon Cryopedia (fourth century bce). His political novel describes the education of an ideal king trained to be an enlightened absolutist ruler of his admiring subjects. Barclay adopted elements from the ancient play and ancient literature, while also turning to sixteenth-century sources such as Sir Thomas More’s Utopia – a political text written in Latin that describes an imaginary island and its religious, social, and political life. 47 Barclay et al., Argenis. The 2004 edition and its introduction are important additions to the history of neo-Latin fiction. Barclay’s book has been largely overlooked by modern scholars, perhaps due to the absence of a modern, scholarly translation. This bi-lingual edition presents each English page alongside its Latin counterpart. The original English edition appeared several years after the first Latin edition. In addition to translating his father’s book De Potestate Papae, which criticized the Roman papacy, in 1611, Barclay wrote the book Apologia, or the ‘third part’ of the Satyricon, which was a response to Jesuit attacks on him. Satyricon was a biting satire of the Jesuits, based on the satire written by Petronius in the first century ce. Its fourth part is titled Icon Animorum. In 1617, he published a new text that was an attack on Protestants, in an edition published in Cologne as Paraenesis ad Sectarios.

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Figure 52: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts.

La Rosalinda – Hidden in the Shadows The book La Rosalinda, by Bernardo Morando (1589–1656), is literally hidden in the shadows (Figure 52).48 Flanked by a shawm and a lute on one side, it is overshadowed by the lid of a black box. Why did Baschenis choose to downplay the presence of this book to the point of concealing it? And why did he present another book at the centre of the table, in full view, while placing it in such a way that its spine – which presumably bears the book’s title – is hidden from our eyes? Placed above this anonymous volume is a brightly illuminated sheet music booklet, which reflects light as a powerful lamp. The carefully stylized composition contains a series of elements that complement and contrast with one another while creating an interplay between style and content: open and closed, concealed and revealed, named and unnamed, dark and light. The heavy curtain’s folds form waves of fabric whose gold and red hues seem to enfold the musical instruments and objects on the table – all golden, illuminated, and speckled with red. A spinet adorned with shining buttons is located on the left. This is the only instance in which Baschenis invites the viewer to peer into the body of an instrument as if gazing deep into the soul (more about this painting in Chapter 5, p. 212, and Chapter 6, pp. 274–276). 48 Morando, La Rosalinda.

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Figure 53: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail).

Morando, who came from a Genovese family of merchants, went to great lengths to procure a noble title. As an experienced businessman, he exploited a family feud to acquire land from a count, thus securing for himself a title and a future for his heirs. Late in his life, Morando the count and writer also served as a priest. Over a period of ten years (1649–1659), he wrote the best-seller La Rosalinda, which filled ten entire volumes (Figure 53, detail).49 The plot, which unfolds in England and the Mediterranean, is concerned with Genovese noblemen and middle-class merchants during the first half of the seventeenth century. Writing about his native city, Morando glorified Genoa as the meeting place of the heavenly and the terrestrial.50 The book’s main protagonist is Count Edmondo, a zealous Calvinist who experiences a moment of enlightenment, subsequently converting to Catholicism and attaining salvation. The virtues and ethical principles of the Counter-Reformation are central motifs in this book. The part concerned with England centres on the difficulties experienced by King Charles I in running the kingdom, the question of absolute monarchy, his unwanted rapprochement with the Catholic Church, and disagreement with Parliament concerning taxation. As a background for his opinions about the subject of the nobility, Morando composed a scene in which the protagonist defends Rosalinda’s family against an accusation that they are not true noblemen. 49 Ibid. The book contains a foreword of 14 pages, 696 pages of text, and an indexed conclusion of 12 pages. Its popularity could be derived from the number of editions: three were printed in Piacenza, Milan and Venice during 1650, while nine others appeared during 1652–1676. Even after Morando’s death the book continued to be reprinted. 50 Morando wrote about the city’s founding families, whose heroic deeds were responsible for the city’s renown: Doria, Spinola, Fieschi, and Zaccaria.

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The central message of La Rosalinda is the importance of virtues: a repentant heretic is rewarded for his good deeds; and good deeds similarly enable one to elevate one’s social status, and especially to receive a title of nobility. The biography of Morando, a member of the merchant class, conveyed the message that exemplary behaviour was tied to procuring a title of nobility, as well as literary success. Morando argued that he and his fellow merchants, who did not inherit aristocratic titles, had to work hard in order to attain them, and were thus worthier of them than those who had simply inherited them. He sharply criticized the comportment of his city’s nobility, and explored the same issue discussed earlier by Bartolo and Tiraquellos: should a title remain an exclusive family privilege transmitted from one generation to the next, or should it depend on the personal conduct of every individual? La Rosalinda captures Morando’s personal concerns and the interests of those who shared his social background – newly wealthy members of the middle class attempting to assimilate into aristocratic circles. At the end of the novel, the protagonists relinquish their property and their relationship, joining a monastery to devote their life to the worship of God. That was how Morando settled the tension between social and material gains and between the longing for sublimity and divinity, two contrasting feelings that he himself experienced. Like the story of Morando’s life, Baschenis’s biography includes both social and material achievements. He was welcome in the homes of the city’s elite, painted himself in their company, and owned a significant amount of property. At the same time, Baschenis served as a priest, and was obviously aware of the importance of virtues and of drawing the members of his parish closer to God. It seems that in choosing this book, Baschenis aimed to underscore the concern with titles of nobility, perhaps even alluding to his own secret wishes. Bisaccioni: Jurist, Historian, and Writer in Service of Patrons The observer of the still-life painting by Baschenis in Figure 54 will discover meanings and messages related to music, literature, mythology, commerce, and fashion, and even a theatrical narrative. This is not a Baroque painting in the conservative sense of the term: it contains nothing of the movement, drama, or ostentation characteristic of this period and its artworks.51 Rather, it is a representation of various facets of culture and knowledge: Baschenis constructed a stage upon which all the 51 This painting, which was in the collection of Count Lupi of Bergamo, was purchased in 1612 by Ettore Modigliani for the Pinacoteca Brera in Milan. Despite the presence of the artist’s signature, Biancale attributed this painting to Baschenis’s workshop. See: Biancale, ‘Evaristo Baschenis Bergamesco’, 344. He later admitted that he had not noticed the signature. Nevertheless, he considered it to be an unsatisfactory painting, in stark contrast to Ettore Modigliani’s opinion. Rosci confirmed that the signature on the painting belonged to Baschenis: the painting’s material condition is much deteriorated. Rosci, Baschenis, Bettera & Co, 48–49.

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Figure 54: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala.

arts appear. In what follows, the discussion will focus solely on the represented book (an analysis of additional aspects appears in Chapter 5, p. 191, and in Chapter 6, pp. 270–272). Displayed on a table spread with a carpet are a box, musical instruments, a music book, a golden apple, and a book whose spine bears the title L’Isola Del Co: Biasci (‘The Island of the Count Biasccioni’).52 The title belongs to a book written by the painting’s commissioner, the Marquis Maiolino Bisaccioni (1582–1663). Baschenis’s signature appears on the side of the box at the centre of the table: EVARI.US BASCHENIS F. Baschenis seems to have intentionally isolated the book and its author: the volume is not illuminated, and is set on the back of the guitar, far from the centre of the scene. The Marquis Bisaccioni, who held a doctorate in law from the University of Bologna, was a historian, writer, and translator.53 For several decades, he had served as a military man and a diplomat in the service of aristocratic courts from Naples to 52 This is the third of four volumes published in Venice: Bisaccioni, La Nave, 1637–1638; Bisaccioni, L’Albergo, 1643; Bisaccioni, L’Isola, 1648; Bisaccioni, Il Porto, 1664. 53 Southorn, Power and Display, 97.

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Venice. As a historian, he wrote accounts of wars waged during his lifetime, including ones in which he himself had participated. His historical texts praised intelligent thinking and sound logic, and he viewed this genre as a tool for teaching rulers how to govern and what to focus their attention on.54 He was considered to be one of the most successful and highly esteemed writers of his time, specializing in history, biography, and criticism. Bisaccioni, who had commissioned the painting from Baschenis, had clearly made sure that his name and title were added to the book; indeed, today we would say that he had purchased advertising space from the painter in order to publicize his book. During the period in question, actual books similarly served as tools of glorification: it was common practice for well-known figures to pay authors and publishers to dedicate their books to them with flattering texts that enumerated their admirable qualities.55 Early on in his career, while living at the court of Camillo Borghese, known later as Pope Paolo V, Bisaccioni had a falling-out with the poet Alessandro Tassoni (1565–1635).56 Bisaccioni wrote two leaflets printed in Modena in which Tassoni was maligned and accused of false claims to an aristocratic title, which supposedly covered up for his humble origins. The signature on the leaflets was a near anagram of Bisaccioni’s name – Gabriel Manilio Boccasini. In the spirit of the time, this act was perceived as a form of astrology and magic. Tassoni appealed to his patron, Francesco d’Este, and Bisaccioni was subsequently imprisoned and later exiled from the duchy. He consequently spent a short time in Rome (1622), where he was dispatched on several diplomatic missions by Pope Gregorius XV. Following the Pope’s death in 1623, Bisaccioni moved to Naples and lived at the court of Prince Marino Caracciolo, one of the most important members of the Neapolitan aristocracy. By the time he was in his fifties, Bisaccioni had tired of battles and conflicts, and moved to Venice, the city of art and literary patrons, editors, and printing houses. One of the most important artistic and literary patrons in Venice was Giovan Francesco Loredan, a member of a well-known and highly respected Venetian noble family, to whom Bisaccioni dedicated most of the books and stories he wrote. In 1630, Loredan founded the Venetian Accademia degli Incogniti, of which Bisaccioni became a member, later even serving as its secretary. 54 Among Bisaccioni’s major works on the history of warfare is Storia delle Guerre Civili. 55 One example of this important custom is a letter by Fulvio Testi in which he wrote to his patron Francesco d’Este about the Roman literary writer and publisher Pompilio Totti, who was interested in dedicating a book to Francesco. Testi suggested his patron pay 100 scudi, ‘which will suffice to spread your glory’. Such a dedication was worth approximately a third of Testi’s annual salary while working as the court writer at the d’Este court. Rhodes, ‘Pompilio Totti’, 161–172. 56 Tassoni was a member of a noble family from Modena and worked in the service of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi (1595–1632), an art collector and the famous nephew of Pope Gregorio XV, the same pope whose service Bisaccioni later entered. Tassoni was a poet and historian in his own right, and wrote an essay titled De’ Pensieri diversi (‘Of Diverse Thoughts’, 1665) in which he discussed various problems in the arts and sciences – ranging from the power of fish to propel themselves to the disease gout in human beings and roosters.

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While living in Venice, Bisaccioni edited the information and comments he had gathered over years of wandering and living in various aristocratic circles throughout Italy, and published them in volumes that were a cross between history books and novels. Some of them were written in collaboration with others, such as a book of 100 novellas titled Cento Novelle Amorose dei Signori Accademici Incogniti (‘One Hundred Short Stories on Love by the Members of the Accademici Incogniti’, 1651). His charming and adventure-filled stories are dense with tales and melodramas reflective of an overly active imagination, which seemed improbable to his contemporaries. In numerous disciplines of the time, including history, science, poetry, and painting, the term ‘truth’ was not clearly defined or used. According to Bisaccioni, a historical account written by an author with a rich life experience was more significant than one that merely reported facts. The rulers of Florence, Venice, Milan, Genoa, and additional cities paid historians such as Bisaccioni handsome sums to write laudatory accounts of events that had unfolded in their region or in which they themselves had participated.57 In doing so, they supported a form of historiography characterized by hyperbole, omissions, and diversions from the truth. Bisaccioni was considered to be one of the wittiest historians of his time. He was a historian in service of patrons, who believed in his own rhetorical powers, which was accompanied by a literary imagination, and saw no need to provide factual evidence. Truth, imagination, deception, and artifice were all integral to his historical writing. Interests such as glorifying a patron or concealing the results of a revolt, uprising, or war were routinely addressed. He wrote history based on real events, which contained themes such as subversion, civil wars, and various tragedies. For Bisaccioni, the use of storytelling and the imagination was merely a question of dosages. Historians in service of patrons, such as Bisaccioni, often used literary metaphors and a poetic Baroque language. Since he saw nothing wrong with his style, he wrote: ‘I have purposely kept better conceits inside my pen in order not to make my own vileness proud and arrogant.’58 Another anonymous historian wrote to his readers in the same vein: ‘I know you do not like foods unless they are very delectable […] in these times, fables are histories and histories are fables.’59 Despite this approach, style, and fashion, which required writing in the service of particular interests, Pietro Francesco De Rossi (1591–1673) – who was Pope Alessandro VII’s lawyer and was the rector of La Sapienza University in Rome – described modern historians as private rather than official writers. According to Rossi, one must not confuse modern historical writing with canonical writing or lists of civic rules, for modern historical texts usually contain only the opinion of the writer, which is not necessarily of great quality. More than any other existing form of documentation, history contains lies that are difficult to separate from the truth.60 57 Dooley, Skepticism, 53. 58 Bisaccioni, Storia delle Guerre, 104; quoted in: Dooley, Skepticism, 101, note 54. 59 Dooley, Skepticism, 94. 60 Ibid., 131.

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The mention of Bisaccioni’s name and book within Baschenis’s painting was a means of encouraging its audience to explore issues of truth and falsity, personal and public integrity, and the rewriting of history. In this context, both Bisaccioni’s life story and his historical-literary style and themes raised fundamental questions. It is possible that the book’s removal from centre stage and from the limelight reflects Baschenis’s reservations concerning Bisaccioni’s writings, and perhaps also concerning the personality of his painting’s commissioner. At the same time, the documentation that Bisaccioni conducted in different Italian cities, and the fact that he gathered and disseminated knowledge in the courts of popes, kings, princes, and intellectuals, were to his credit in the context of the debates and discussions that likely arose among viewers of this work. The Marquis Bisaccioni died in 1663. Despite his tempestuous life, numerous connections, and title, this colourful man ended his life in poverty and solitude, forgotten by all. The Gardener’s Guide: From Cultivating Flowers to Procuring Aristocratic Titles A table spread with a solid dark green cloth features a flat, elliptical arrangement made up of musical instruments, sheet music booklets, and a black box whose open drawer reveals a goose feather (Figure 55). At the centre of this composition by Baschenis, atop the box, two apples are placed – one of them damaged and the other perfect. The quill below the apples serves as an arrow, pointing the viewer’s eye to the book’s title. The scene is underscored by a sumptuous, theatrical curtain whose undulating folds and reddish-golden hues stand out in contrast to the still composition below. Within this sphere of stillness, an untitled volume located at the exact centre of the composition serves as a pedestal for the book Manuale de Giardinieri (‘Gardeners’ Manual’) which invites the viewer into the painter’s private garden. In the inventory compiled following his death, it is stated that Baschenis owned two pairs of gardening scissors, eight potted orange trees, 24 jasmine bushes, and two empty orange-tree pots. This painting is seemingly concerned with the private sphere of the painter, an amateur gardener and botanist who enjoyed growing jasmine bushes and orange trees.61 Yet, as is the case in other paintings by Baschenis, the choice of book is not coincidental or insignificant. As will be shown below, this book transmits an additional message, beyond the instructions for both amateur and professional gardeners.

61 De Pascale, ‘Appendice Documentaria’, 69–78 and Index 1.

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Figure 55: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 95x128cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. D34.

The depicted book was written by the friar and botanist Fra Agostino Mandirola – a doctor of theology and a member of the Franciscan Order at Castelfidardo who died in 1661. Mandirola’s book, whose first edition was published in 1649, was a best-seller. It was translated into French, English, and German, and reprinted in numerous editions as late as the nineteenth century. The three parts of the original book are concerned with the identification and cultivation of rare flowers, care for their roots, and advice and instructions concerning the cultivation of fruit trees. The book contains lists of flowers, trees, and fruits, with an emphasis on flowers and bulbs – tulips, daffodils, hyacinths, and lilies. In addition, there is a list of exotic flowers that arrived in Italy from Turkey, Persia, and India. The precise and detailed description of these flowers and their countries of origin reveals the importance of private botanical gardens and the pleasure they aroused in mid-seventeenth-century Italy, and points to the fact that flowers and bulbs were traded among the above-mentioned countries. Like other botanists and agronomists of the time, Mandirola was also interested in the medicinal power of plants. The edition of 1660 was supplemented by a fourth part concerned with advice about the medicinal use of flowers, fruits, and roots. Moreover, Mandirola was famous both

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during his lifetime and following his death as the first European to describe the process of grafting with tree scions.62 Yet surfacing once again among the pages of this gardening book, which offers a novel description of the botanical grafting process, is the concern with a longed-for title of nobility. It was dedicated to his Highness the Knight Saracino Quinzio. The dedication at the beginning of the book was written by Giovita Bottelli, a Venetian publisher, on 9 November 1660. The fact that this book is much appreciated and requested by the world led me to print it. It has in it all the species of flowers, with their names, their origin, and the instructions to cultivate them. I have added also the fruits; that is to say, their medical utility for the human body. In consecrating it to His Lordship I have followed the flow of the entire world, where printers and authors always dedicate to the princes their work, even though you are not a prince, but a private knight [italics mine]. But you have all the qualities that belong to a real prince; and this has been attested by the illustrious Academia Olimpica [of which you are patron], all composed by the refinement of the most nobles and the most virtuous bloods of this city, in electing you as prince, which office makes re-flourish its ancient glory with the armies of virtuous actions, and it shows that you have all the qualities of a knight and of a regent, that we look in a prince who is governing a princedom, a praise more proper to you that to other princes who have nothing else but their princedom – the only thing that you do not have. I do not mention here either the ancient nobility of your house or the people who had all the civil and military virtues, or the bishops or the clergymen who were at the head of few cities, and of the diocese of Vicenza in particular; nor do I speak about the letters that you produce with your academic discourses, or mention the nobility and the education of your manners. I just hope that you will enjoy this book as poor tribute of enormous devotion and as a hope to maintain your grace and protection.63 62 This information is based on my correspondence with Stephen Zietz, a scholar of ancient books and Head of Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University, USA. For a transcription of Mandirola’s book, see: https://imagebase.lib.vt.edu/image_viewer.php?q=DiGiardinieri-002, accessed 18 November 2018. 63 ‘Il vedere questo libro così gradito e bramato dal mondo, m’ha fatto risolvere di ristamparlo. Ei contiene in sè tutte le spezie dè fiori, coi nomi, l’origine e coltivazion loro. Io gli ho aggiunto i frutti: cioè a dire l’utilità medicinale, che ogni sorte di essi può recare al genere humano per la sanità dè corpi; nel consacrarlo al chiaro nome di V.S. ILLUSTRISSIMA sono andato dietro alla corrente del mondo tutto, ove Librari, Stampatori e Autori dè Libri sempre dedicano a Prencipi l’opere loro: e se ben’ella non è Prencipe, ma privato Cavaliero, fioriscono però in lei tutte le doti, che a vero Prencipe si convengono; e ciò ha comprobato l’Illustrissima Academia Olimpica, tutta composta della finezza dè più nobili e più virtuosi sangui di questa città, nell’eleggerla Principe suo nella qual carica, si come fà rifiori l’antica sua gloria con gli esercizi dell’azioni virtuose, così dimostra chiaro andarsene lei adorna di tutti l’arti Cavalleresche e Imperatorie, che in gran Prencipe si ricercano a regger la carica di un Principato, lode forse più propria e sincera di quella d’alcuni prencipi, che non hanno altro di Prencipe, che il principato, che solo manca a V.S. ILLUSTRISSIMA; così Hierone Siracusano vien molto più lodato dagli scrittori eminenti di quel tempo; perchè erano in lui privato Cavaliere tutte le qualità e virtù

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In this dedication, the publisher Bottelli summed up the main points pertinent to a consideration of the right to a noble title, and argued that Quinzio fulfilled them all: he engaged in intellectual activity at the Academy he funded, and possessed all the qualities demanded of a prince. Faced with a choice between spirit and matter, Bottelli chose the Knight Quinzio’s virtues. Naturally, the dedication does not mention a direct request for money, yet the last line hints that Quinzio was Bottelli’s patron and enjoyed his grace and protection, which were obviously granted in exchange for money. By means of this book, which seems concerned with an earthly subject, the painting’s viewer was thus introduced to fascinating facts about innovations and inventions in the field of botany, the trade in valuable flowers from the east, and the connection between the consumption of fruit and good health. He also learnt that concern with the right to a noble title was a current subject of debate. Baschenis managed, as in his other paintings, to provoke the interest of the educated viewer studying his still-life painting – an interest stemming from the name inscribed on the book’s spine yet extending far beyond it. Vittorio Siri: On the Shoulders of the Giants Plato and Plutarch A table spread with a green cloth features musical instruments, including a guitar topped by a folded letter (Figure 56). A curtain with a simple pattern frames the scene on the right and is drawn across the canvas, hanging like a heavy weight above the musical instruments and books. The opaque background prevents the viewer from diverting his gaze. The mandolin’s neck points like an arrow to two books by the philosophers Plato and Plutarch and to a third book, Il Mercurio, written by the historian Vittorio Siri (1608–1685). Plato’s book, which bears the title Platone, serves as a base for the other two (Figure 57; for an additional discussion of this picture, see Chapter 6, pp. 272–273).

regie che Perseo re dè Macedoni che non haveva altro di reale, che il Regno. Ma non è meraviglia perchè fortes creantur fortibus & bonis & c. Non rintraccio qui l’antica nobiltà della sua prosapia, nè i personaggi in cui fiorirono tutte le virtù civili, e militari, nè i Prelati o Vescovi di Santa Chiesa, che tennero il sommo Sacerdotio d’alcune città e di quella Diocese di Vicenza in particolare, nè meno m’estendo nella politezza delle belle lettere ch’ella sà far spiccare al vino con una ben addottrinata facondia dè suoi discorsi Academici, nè meno sto a rammentare la nobiltà e soavità dè suoi gentilissimi costumi; perchè si come quelli vengono authenticati dalle pubbliche historie, così questi sono esperimentati giornalmente da chi seco conserva, oltre che la modestissima natura di V. Signoria ILLUSTRISSIMA non lo consente. Solamente la supplico gradir questo libro per un povero tributo d’una ricchissima divozione, e per un accitamento a confermarmi la gratia e protettion sua e humilmente me le inchino.’ Mandirola, Manuale de Giardinieri; translated into English by Lara Tavarnesi.

Banned Books and Blockbusters

Figure 56: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection.

Figure 57: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection (detail).

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Plato’s philosophy cannot be summed up even briefly in the context of this discussion, and I doubt that Baschenis himself intended to provide such a summary. Nevertheless, as is the case with other books in the works described above, the connection between Plato, Plutarch, and Siri, and their joint presentation to the beholder, is no coincidence. Baschenis chose to place their books in ascending chronological order, so that Plato (fifth–fourth century bce) is topped by Plutarch (first century ce) and then Siri (seventeenth century). Political thought occupies an important place in the oeuvre of all three authors, as exemplified by Plato’s Politeia, Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, and Siri’s Mercurio. Each of these texts is concerned with state and civic politics, rulers, the army, and history. A common denominator based on the political thought of these three writers seems possible and, indeed, called for. It appears that Baschenis once again engages here with the concept of truth, a recurrent theme in many of his works, by means of the books he chose or the conceit created by means of the musical instruments and musical notes. In this composition, the musical instruments are all inverted, the table is spread with a solid greenish cloth, and the background is flat and opaque. There are no music sheets, which would have alluded to singing and to the presence of singers. By means of this quiet atmosphere, Baschenis set the stage for the philosophy of Plato, who exiled all writers and poets from his ideal state. Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, which was familiar to Baschenis’s contemporaries, will serve here only as a means of exemplifying the idea of truth, which appears differently to the observer and to the describer. Plato describes a group of people who spend their lives shackled in a cave so that they can see only what is before them. Far behind them is a fire that is the only source of light. Between the prisoners and the flames is a wall on which people walk while holding various objects and leading animals. The prisoners, who cannot turn their heads back to see the actual things, see only the shadows projected on the wall before them. When one of the prisoners is freed and discovers the world outside the cave, he returns and excitedly recounts his discoveries, but the prisoners are incapable of believing him. This allegory points to the human condition in which human beings are compared to prisoners held captive by their beliefs, who recognize phenomena without truly comprehending them. Epistemological problems concerning knowledge, truth, morality, and politics are constructed through observation of the familiar and identifiable shadows. The shadow appears as the thing itself, as if it were the truth. A concern with precision, reliability, and the concept of truth is also compatible with the writings of Plutarch, the Greek philosopher and historian who lived in the late first and early second centuries ce. His writings include the Moralia – a wide-ranging collection of 78 essays and articles that shed light on life in Rome and Greece, and are concerned with the education of children, social affairs, good and bad virtues, 64 Plutarch, Moralia.

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and advice for physical and spiritual conduct.64 The second title, The Lives, is a collection of biographies concerned with Greek and Roman figures, whose strengths and weaknesses Plutarch enumerates. Of these accounts, only 23 paired biographies and four single biographies are still in existence today.65 The flourishing of humanism at the end of the Middle Ages led to a new interest in Classical culture and in ancient Greek texts. Plutarch was a familiar and highly appreciated figure among Renaissance humanists, and his writings made an important contribution to European culture beginning in the early modern period. The descriptions of the events and figures included in his writings are not objective, and could undermine his credibility as a writer. He is critical and expresses his opinion concerning the rulers and politicians he chose to write about. It seems that by means of this book, Baschenis asked the beholder to think about the importance of precision and credibility in historical reporting. Since the question posed by Baschenis is represented on the canvas, the viewer is supposed to reflect in depth on the role of the painter and his credibility in replicating reality, subjectively criticizing it, or creating an alternative reality. I would like to argue that, in this instance, Baschenis is furthering the discussion by examining the limits of responsibility and the division of roles between the painter and the historian, with the former documenting on canvas what the latter wrote on the page. The third book at the top of the pile is Vittorio Siri’s Il Mercurio overo historia de correnti tempi (‘Mercury, or the History of Current Times’ – Figure 57).66 Siri was a Benedictine monk born in Parma and active mainly in Venice. Containing a total of fifteen volumes and 16,900 pages, his book was considered to be the most detailed and comprehensive printed volume in seventeenth-century Italy. Siri based his text on Venetian and French diplomatic sources. Cardinal Richelieu had granted him access to the French archives, where Siri found documents and letters on which he based his history of a European continent tired of wars and battles in the first half of the seventeenth century. Siri was known to be a hired historian of those who paid the highest price. According to a letter by Testi (1642), the Benedictine monk simultaneously approached the Florentine secretary of state Bali Gondi Testi’s patron, Francesco d’Este of Modena, offering to write the history of the last war in which they were both involved. Both were promised a representation of their interests in the most flattering manner, in return for appropriate compensation.67 Although they were in possession of historical knowledge, personal experience, and access to relevant documents, such commissioned historians wrote in a rhetorical style that had nothing to do with the concise style of their scholarly predecessors.68 65 Plutarch, Lives. 66 Siri, Il Mercurio. 67 Testi’s letter is dated 8 September 1642. Dooley, Skepticism, 95. 68 Villani, ‘The English Civil Wars’, 1–4. Noted predecessors include, for instance, the Greek historian Thucydides (c. fifth century bce) or the well-known Italian historian Francesco Guicciardini (1483–1540).

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Figure 58: Gabriel Le Brun, Front cover of Il Mercurio overo Historia de Correnti Tempi by Vittorio Siri (Geneva: ­Presso Philippo Alberto, 1646), engraving.

The rulers of important cities and courts – Florence, Venice, Padua, Ferrara, Milan, and Genoa – hired the services of Siri, Bisaccioni, and others to tell the stories of their courts and embellish them with praise and glorified descriptions in return for handsome sums. They thus sponsored a new generation of historiographers and historians whose writing was characterized by wild exaggeration, intentional omissions, and misrepresentations of the truth. Siri and other commissioned historians wrote historical narratives that were seemingly faithful to the events, yet provided their audience with an amalgam of tales and fantasy combined with true facts. Like other historians in service, they believed that the facts about a given event were less important than the expectations of the audience, which was equally drawn to true and false information.69 Publishers promised readers that their books would provide precise and trustworthy information, offering a substitute for the oral accounts

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transmitted from mouth to ear prior to the Printing Revolution. By means of this relatively new technology, printed information would supposedly correct misinformation and transform ephemeral accounts into solid narratives. The result seemed to be the beginning of a process that would end the age of rumours and close the gaps in the stream of information flowing from numerous directions. Yet while printing seemed to stamp news with the seal of solid facts, this was not the case: instead, lies were often the end result of a creative process that combined truth, rumour, and myth in a carefully planned attempt to both shift and incite public opinion. 70 Is it possible that the publisher or Siri were hinting that in his book, truth succumbs to smooth-tongued deceit? The frontispiece of Siri’s book (Figure 58) features an etching by the painter and etcher Gabriel Le Brun (1625–1660), the lesser-known brother of the painter and member of the French Academy Charles Le Brun. This image depicts Mercury, the patron god of eloquence, sitting with staff in hand at the opening of a hilltop cave. Below him are men and women on a pilgrimage to Truth, carrying offerings of food and wine on their heads and in their hands. Neither quite sitting nor fully standing, the naked personification of Truth directs the libation bearers towards Mercury. A cloth ribbon extends her hand movement and connects her to Mercury. It bears the inscription Hoc tantum ditor in antro (‘This way I shall grow rich in the cave’), insinuating that the offerings presented to Truth will end up in the lap of Mercury, who grows rich (at the expense of Truth) thanks to his smooth tongue. In contrast to the books of Plato and Plutarch, the two giants whose ‘shoulders’ he stands on, Siri’s book as painted by Baschenis appears intentionally slim. By means of the mandolin’s neck, the silent music points to the books, and perhaps especially to Siri’s book, thus echoing Truth’s gesture towards Mercury. Baschenis’s Truth is not a naked figure; nor is it exposed to the viewer’s gaze. In order to reach it, he must solve a riddle and explain to himself why Baschenis chose to paint the book by Siri, who was known for his tendentious writing, at the top of the pile. He must also attempt to understand what message is concealed in the artist’s decision to paint a book that was 17,000 pages long as if it contained only several hundred pages. In this composition, Baschenis provokes a discussion of ‘truth’ from a social and ethical point of view, and the choice of Mercury is no coincidence. Speaking at the inauguration of the Accademia del Eccitati in Bergamo, its secretary, Bonifacio Agliardi (see Chapter 6, pp. 222–224), recounted how, according to myth, Mercury, the god of eloquence, was unable to quell the mayhem among the gods until Apollo waved his magic wand – a violin bow – instantly calming the spirits with the harmonious sounds of the strings.71

69 Dooley, Skepticism, 112. 70 Ibid., 113.

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The bow adorned with a red ribbon and the similarly adorned violin lying atop it may thus possibly allude to the power of music to mediate and instil calm. In the silent pause between two musical interludes, Baschenis has stripped Siri’s book bare of its exaggerations, lies, and arrogance, paring it down to a slim form containing the naked truth. Torquato Tasso: Poetry Writing and the Reverence of Truth Three books are positioned one atop another at the far left-hand corner of a table, which is spread with an Oriental carpet (Figure 59). The two bottom books, which remain unidentifiable, serve as a base for the third book, whose spine bears the name of the admired Italian poet Tasso (Figure 60). Tasso, a member of the nobility, belonged to the longed-for social class that is so often referred to in the paintings by means of the books. He was a capricious genius who frequented the most important Italian courts of his time – Urbino, Ferrara, Florence, and Bologna.72 These courts promoted encounters among cultural producers and intellectuals while bringing together interests driven by class and money, a true interest in the arts, and, no less importantly, the human need to see and be seen. These were the same circles frequented by Baschenis’s patrons and the authors of the books in his paintings. Tasso’s belief in the importance of ‘historical truth’ was given expression by the historical descriptions in his epic poem Jerusalem Delivered, which he corrected over and over again. His writing makes use of the Platonic distinction between icastic imitation, which is based on nature, and fantastic imitation, which is based on the imagination. Tasso argued that poetic mimesis must be icastic rather than fantastic, and took care to honour the concept of truth.73 Although poetry allows for the use of the conditional tense, Tassi saw it as coming dangerously close to lies, an association which he viewed as unacceptable. In this context, one can understand why, in his book Discorsi del Poema Eroico (‘Treatise on Epic Poetry’), he stated that a poet who creates images is a ‘fantastic’ imitator.74 One of Tasso’s two major texts was Aminta (1573), a pastoral drama with a simple plot and remarkable lyrical charm. It was published at the same time that ‘sweet music’ became the most important art form in Italy, and the play’s melancholic, 71 Agliardi, Discorso Accademico, 305. ‘Non potè sedare Mercurio co le sue Lettere i tumulti del Cielo, e già senza riparo minacciava ruina quell’augusto e divino Senato. Apollo con le Muse comparve tosto in mezo, come arbitro delle vicendevoli doglianze; interpose in vece del miracolo caduceo, l’arco musicale: il suono armonioso tolse lo strepito delle contese: le corde aggiustatamente concordi regolarono gli sconcertati pareri.’ 72 Tasso was friendly, for instance, both with Pope Clement VIII, who was elected in 1592, and with his nephew, Cardinal Aldobrandini. 73 This insistence on the truth tormented Tasso while he was hospitalized in an insane asylum (1579–1586), a period during which his rival, the Ferrara-based poet Guarini (1538–1612), edited and published his texts.

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Figure 59: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688.

Figure 60: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail).

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sensual text befitted this atmosphere. Aminta was performed by the famous Commedia de l’Arte group I Gelosi before the most distinguished members of the northern Italian nobility (including, among others, Lucrezia d’Este in 1581).75 His second major work was the above-mentioned Jerusalem Delivered, whose first version was published in 1580.76 This poem includes descriptions of the battles between the Christians and the Muslims during the Siege of Jerusalem, at the end of the First Crusade in the eleventh century. Tasso’s epic poems were not imitations of works by other poets. His genius lay in creating unified, harmonious depictions of a range of qualities and emotions: frivolity, sorrow, mourning, innocence, cunning, nature, courtly manners, frankness, fantasy, poetry, and storytelling. The image of the delivered city was depicted on the ceiling of the Moroni family’s palace. Painterly decorations defined social class, declared the taste of the family, pointed to political affiliations, and enhanced the sense of belonging to an elite group. Baschenis’s choice to represent Tasso’s work underscores the message repeatedly transmitted by his choices of books. Tasso was a member of the nobility, a poet who moved in the circles of economic, religious, and political power, an original creator who refused to compromise in favour of the art of ‘mimesis’, and an ardent promoter of his conception of truth. In addition to the enjoyment and pleasure taken in Tasso’s poetry, the beholder of this painting was supposed to reflect on, and perhaps even argue with his friends about, these controversial issues.

Books in Bettera’s Paintings The three concluding paintings discussed in this chapter are all works by Bettera. Thus far, I have focused on paintings by Baschenis, since Bettera painted fewer books featuring a title or the name of the author. Yet Bettera similarly used the canvas as a cultural and intellectual manifesto for expressing his opinions in paint. The three books depicted in the following paintings communicate his opinions on a range of subjects, as well as his critical input in the fields of society, business, science, and medicine. The Many Faces of Fioravanti: On the Mirror of Knowledge In a narrow and crowded space, on a table spread with a dark green velvet cloth ornamented with a wide band of gold, Bettera condensed an entire world of culture and thought. Beneath a drawn theatrical curtain are musical instruments, sheet music 74 Tasso, Discorsi dell’Arte Poetica; Comanini, The Figino, xii. 75 Nine unsigned manuscript editions of Aminta have been preserved. This play also succeeded outside of Italy: it was translated into French and printed in Paris in 1584. Five years later, it was translated into English. 76 Tasso, Gerusalemme Liberata.

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Figure 61: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection.

booklets, and an astrolabe (Figure 61). Painted above a beautiful inlaid wooden box is a book that Bettera titled Specchio di scientia del Fioravanti (‘A Mirror of Fioravanti’s Knowledge’, Figure 62). A water pitcher, whose handle is directed towards the viewer, is placed above the book. The pitcher symbolizes the thirst for knowledge characteristic of Bettera’s circle of clients and patrons – the audience invited by means of the painter’s brush to embark on a fascinating intellectual exploration of the themes of morality and knowledge, medicine, science, and economics. Among the pages of this thick volume, which appears worn by use, opinions, ideas, scientific innovations, and social criticism are intertwined like the musical instruments and sheet music on the table. The book Dello specchio di scientia universal (‘On the Mirror of Universal Knowledge’) was first published in Venice in 1564, was a best-seller for several decades, and was translated into French, English, and German.77 Much like John Barclay’s Argenide, the book written by Leonardo Fioravanti (1518–1588) gave rise to a new genre of writing which conveyed business-related and commercial information in a literary style. Fioravanti, a doctor and knight from Bologna, provided a treasure-trove of knowledge: he devoted one chapter to the technical and intellectual 77 I refer here to the edition published in 1583 in Venice: Fioravanti, Dello Specchio di Scientia Universale.

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Figure 62: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection (detail).

feats of his contemporaries; continued with an ode to antiquity and to the connection between ancient philosophy and contemporary scientific theories; and concluded by sharing with his readers his own inventions and innovations in the field of medicine and medical treatment. As was the custom at the time, Fioravanti devoted many pages at the beginning of his book to Count Giovanni Anguissola, a colourful and controversial figure who was twice accused of murder. The dedication to Anguissola is followed by praise for the most important scholars and doctors of Venice, Padua, Bologna, Naples, and Rome.78 An acquaintance with the biography of Fioravanti, whose character was no less colourful than that of Anguissola, sheds light on his unconventional choice to dedicate his book to this particular individual. Most of the information about Fioravanti is based on his autobiography of 1570 titled Tesoro della vita humana (‘Treasury of Human Life’), which documents his travels, work, and medical findings.79 He began the story of his life at age 30, when he left Bologna. Over the years, he studied medicine and philosophy, and his work as a doctor later determined his movement among different cities and states. Fioravanti believed that one learned much more from experience than from theory, and repeatedly argued that the observation of nature and a sound logic were more important than scientific or theoretical knowledge, and that the doctor must treat the symptom rather than its causes. Fioravanti met with much opposition among fellow doctors, and was even jailed in Milan due to the absence of adequate professional documentation for the treatments he prescribed. In 1576, when he arrived at the court of the Spanish King Felipe II, he was accused of using poison as medicine, of killing patients, and of lacking 78 Fioravanti, Del Compendio de I Secreti Medicinali. 79 Fioravanti, Il Tesoro della Vita Humana.

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the authority to treat them with innovative methods. In his own defence, Fioravanti called upon Hippocrates, arguing that he combined his extensive experience with the principles espoused by his Greek predecessor, and adding that the latter’s writings were poorly understood by contemporary doctors. Fioravanti sought to purge society of its vices and restore it to a simple, primeval state in which social and political justice would be the most important values. His social theory was based on the belief that the people were no longer ignorant.80 Using the body of an invalid as a metaphor for social and political ills, he argued that the cause of Italy’s moral and political decline was ‘an internal infection’ that began in the aristocratic courts. Just as an intestinal disease can spread throughout the body, he wrote, so corrupt rulers and their courtiers have destroyed Italy’s political establishment. He reminded the princes that their duties were similar to those of doctors, and that they were responsible for caring for their subjects with compassion and love. Fioravanti accused his fellow doctors of self-imposed social isolation. In his opinion, they treated patients on a purely theoretical basis, and only attended to members of the higher social classes. Fioravanti was a religious man who believed in obedience to God. He was not a revolutionary, and his political approach was based on a belief in an absolute monarchy as the ideal form of government for the people. Despite his criticism, however, he supported the existing regime and had no intention of undermining it. Rather than changing the system of governance, he called to purify society of its moral ills. Fioravanti was an avant-garde character, and his admirers included both simple folk and kings. He was not a revolutionary in the field of medicine (even though he saw himself as one); nor did he lead any social revolutions. Nevertheless, he advocated the use of medical procedures based on experimentation and the observation of nature, an approach that played an important role in the early modern scientific revolution. One may wonder, then, why Bettera chose as the protagonist of his painting a doctor accused of charlatanism and false pretences while astounding his contemporaries with his personality and methods of treatment; a knight who had been imprisoned; a man who decried corruption and deception yet dedicated his book to a nobleman accused of murder; a fierce critic of contemporary rulers, as well a member of northern Italy’s high society and a supporter of an absolute monarchy; a doctor who, in contrast to his colleagues, treated the poor just as he treated the ruling class; a brave virtuoso – the first doctor in Italy to operate and remove a patient’s spleen; and a seasoned businessman who preceded his time by using messengers to directly deliver to his patients medicine he had prepared out of plants.81

80 Marino, Early Modern Italy, 209.

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One may assume that Fioravanti also charmed Bettera and his social milieu. Like the title of his book, he served as a mirror reflective of contemporary knowledge. In this respect, the trumpet placed diagonally on the table below the book serves to resonate and amplify the range of ideas, opinions, and critical views contained in his best-seller. Silk and Book-Keeping In his painting, Still Life with Silk Threads (Figure 63), Bettera invites the viewer to participate in a discussion on yet another subject addressed by Fioravanti, which will be revealed below as pertaining both to the city of Bergamo and to the artist’s personal life. Fioravanti’s book examined a socioeconomic model that existed, for instance, in Milan, Venice, and Bologna, and to a lesser degree also in Bergamo and in the surrounding valley. These cities were important centres for the commerce in wool, cloth, and silk. In the early seventeenth century, 23,000 silk-weaving looms were in operation in the north of the country. At the time that Fioravanti wrote his book, approximately 150,000 bolts of silk were produced every year, mostly for export.82 This industry of commercial agriculture was the basis for the economic success of northern Italy during the early modern period. 83Fioravanti described the complex production process in detail, and concluded that the profits in this branch of commerce were mainly controlled by the merchants, while the poor farmers struggled to make a living. He noticed the economic changes unfolding in his country, which are characteristic of an emerging market economy: the disappearance of the small independent farms common during the medieval period, and a shift to an economy based on financial centralism. Fioravanti lauded the simple workers who earned so little money, writing that they had to 81 Eamon, The Professor of Secrets, 367. 82 Malanima, L’Economia Italiana, 192. 83 In the seventeenth century, Italy enjoyed relative stability following decades of war, three waves of famine, and two plagues, which decimated about 40 percent of the population. This stability persevered despite the heavy taxes imposed by government authorities. The economy grew, the population expanded, and the demand for food grew with it. The Italian silk industry was born in Genoa, Venice, Bologna and Luca as early as the thirteenth century, and constituted an important source of income in Italy in the centuries that followed. The members of the upper classes produced high-quality textiles, and spent significant amounts of money on expensive clothing. In the late sixteenth century, Italy was the leading breeder of silkworms. At the beginning of that century, the authorities in Bergamo realized the economic importance of the textile industry, and achieved relatively impressive levels of production. Bergamo was dependent on Venice, which, due to a conflict of interests, limited the breeding of silkworms and the production of textiles, and restricted the colour of the dyed silk almost exclusively to black. Producers in Bergamo sought to overcome these limitations by producing textiles that were not made of pure silk. In 1568, Venice provided Bergamo with a licence to produce textiles according to predetermined quantities and types. See: Molà, The Silk Industry, 3–5, 276–279, 294.

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Figure 63: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Silk Threads, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private ­Collection.

identify ‘the quality and uniqueness of every thread’.84 These differences between the quality and texture of various types of thread are meticulously captured by Bettera (Figure 63). A table spread with an expensive Oriental carpet (which usually supports musical instruments, books, and additional objects representing the liberal arts) is situated against a stark dark background. Displayed upon the table is an arrangement of material goods whose shining golden hues resemble gold coins – the same currency described by Fioravanti as an ‘art that enriches the rich and aids the poor’.85 The books presented to the viewer in this composition are accounting books, which appear alongside two inkwells. One of the inkwells, which contains a quill, is placed on a white page representing a tabula rasa – a clean slate. Nothing has yet been sealed, and decisions can still be influenced. A golden scale is placed at the centre of the table with one pan lifted and the other lowered in a state of imbalance. Bettera confronts the viewer with a series of pairs that represent different states: inversion – the scale pans; development – the unprocessed bolt of cloth standing upright on the table to the right, which towers over a finished skein 84 Mocarelli, ‘Attitudes to Work and Commerce’, 95, note 18; Prak, ‘S.R. Epstein’, 1–3. 85 Mocarelli, ‘Attitudes to Work and Commerce’, 97, note 23.

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of thread that is ready for sale; single and multiple – the accounting books on the right and the lone book on the left; small and large – the white stack of paper that protrudes slightly beyond the table’s frame, and the flowing white stretch of cloth; even the two seemingly identical inkwells differ from one another, since only one of them contains a quill capable of transforming it from an empty vessel into a tool for creating an influential text. In this painting, Bettera offers a gaze at a reality that was an integral part of life in Bergamo. Although this reality was removed from the sociocultural milieu of Baschenis and his friends, it was controlled and owned by some of Bettera’s patrons and clients, who owned silk-weaving workshops in the area. The composition of this unique painting (which contains no musical instruments) creates a series of stylistic contrasts that constrained the viewer to stop and engage in self-examination concerning the exploitation, hypocrisy, and other injustices that Fioravanti elaborated upon in his book. Moreover, one cannot ignore the fact that Bettera could not conceive of himself as part of the privileged, self-satisfied milieu of Baschenis’s patrons, and perhaps also of Baschenis himself, if only due to his major economic difficulties. Ironically, and perhaps not coincidentally, this painting is concerned with the silk industry – the same industry responsible for the wealth of the businessman and art dealer Vanghetti, to whom Bettera was in debt. Bettera’s Book Alongside the choice to present Fioravanti’s book and opinions, Bettera chose to lend his name to a book in one of his paintings. A table spread with a carpet displays musical instruments, a music sheet, and a decorated box. Two books sit one atop the other at its far corner, concealed behind the musical instruments (Figure 64). The second book is placed parallel to the table, starkly illuminated with bright white light against a dark backdrop. The letters on its spine, ‘BARTOLOMEO …TTER’, are oriented towards the viewer. Atop the book sits an astrolabe (for additional discussion of this painting, see Chapter 6, pp. 254–256). The artist’s choice to represent specific books in his paintings could attest to the scholarly painter’s areas of interest while revealing the expectations of the patron who had commission the work. Books with identifiable titles sometimes point to a patron’s request to present a book unfamiliar to the uneducated painter. In other instances, the painter had read the book in question and used its representation to critique the text or even the painter’s commissioner – revealing both his intellectual independence and perhaps a desire to provoke a debate.

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Figure 64: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761.

The fact that Bettera signed his own name on the book’s spine attests, in my opinion, to his self-assuredness. Painters usually sign their names on one corner of the canvas, on an object representative of their art or opinions, sometimes making use of a specific conceit. Since it is difficult to ignore the details of Bettera’s biography, one may postulate that this was his way of asking his wealthy observers to stop and peruse the book of his life, reading about his opinions, beliefs, and personal story. The insertion of his name in a painting destined for someone else may even hint at a presumption to eternalize his name, especially since it appears on the back of a book. Did the early modern worldview embrace superficiality, hypocrisy, and narratives engaged in the service of various interests? Or did it instead privilege honesty and open-mindedness, enabling Baschenis’s and Bettera’s contemporaries to detect the difference between truth and falsity, as well as the many gradations between them, with admirable precision? Is it possible that early modern creators chose to embellish the texts they wrote, the images they painted, and the music they composed with flavours and forms designed to render them more alluring and marketable?

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Figure 65: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail, rotated).

The deceptive interplay between the taste of a reader seeking ‘nourishment’ in the form of a juicy text and the requests of a patron commissioning deceptive images of truth involved a series of key participants. This chapter presented a number of these participants, whom Baschenis and Bettera chose to represent by means of the books in their paintings.

5. A Double Act: Still-Life and Theatre Life is like a festival, just as some come to the festival to compete, some to ply their trade, but the best people come as spectators. So, in life the slavish men go hunting for fame or gain, the philosophers for truth.1

The world of theatre and the world as theatre were inseparable parts of the culture and society in which Baschenis and Bettera worked. In this chapter, the reader is invited, much like the artists’ viewers, to cultivate a gaze that is not focused on a painting, but rather directed at the theatre, for, as if using a ‘magic paintbrush’, Baschenis and Bettera transformed the two-dimensional canvas into a theatrical space whose protagonists are objects rather than characters in a play. In the following discussion, the novelty and originality of these two genre painters will be demonstrated, artists whose compositions infused new life into the still-life paradigm. By arranging a display of objects on a stage-like table, and employing theatrical scenery and lighting, Baschenis and Bettera staged their messages and called for a dialogue with their viewers.2 The word ‘theatre’ comes from the ancient Greek theaomai, meaning: to observe, see, and look.3 In the early modern period, the term ‘theatre’ alluded to the greatness of ancient Greece and Rome and implied a longing for this glorious past. Accordingly, humanists and scholars wrote theoretical and philosophical treatises whose titles included the Latin word for theatre, teatrum, as a metaphor for reason, critical thinking, and observation that added a tone of importance to their texts.4

A Gaze at the Theatre During the Baroque period, theatrical works centred on conflicts among characters, opposing views, and complex situations borrowed from the world of everyday life, as well as on serious, fateful themes related to moral, social, and religious dilemmas. Bettera and Baschenis challenged their viewers to search for both explicit and implicit allusions in their works and to study them in depth, thus expressing their 1 Christian, Theatrum Mundi, 2. Christian attributes this quote on the world as theatre to the Greek Pythagoras. 2 This paradigm consisted of an illusory arrangement of objects alluding to vanitas and to the painter’s mastery in creating a mimetic representation of the world. According to Roberto Longhi, Baschenis’s contemporaries did not identify a theatrical quality in his paintings, since theatre or opera required the representation of actors, singers, and musicians. See Longhi et al., I Pittori della Realtà in Lombardia, 41–44, 81. 3 Smith and Anthon, A New Classical Dictionary. 4 Boaistuau, Le Théâtre du Monde; Zwinger and Donzellini, Theatrum Humanae; Ortelius, Theatrum Orbis Terrarum; Camillo, L’Idea del Theatro.

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own intellectual and emotional view concerning the ideas and conflicts identified on canvas. Both painters presented objects that were symbolic of various themes, either independently or in relation to other objects. Music, for instance, is explored both as an independent theme and compared to sculpture. When these artists painted musical instruments and notes, they sought the viewer’s listening, and not just his gaze. The viewer’s gaze was invited to identify a certain discursive subject, to attend to the different opinions on it, and to reach a conclusion based on religious, personal, economic, and fashionable parameters. One must distinguish between paintings featuring a theatrical scene in which the viewer identifies a religious, mythological, or historical plot and between still-life paintings that invite observation and reflection as if they were representations of a theatre. Recognition of this distinction offers a solution to the dissonance that arises when one attempts to identify a theatrical setting in a still-life painting.5 The distinction is important, since ‘theatricality’ implies actors, whereas the dozens of paintings discussed below contain no human figures.6 Yet, as educated and cultivated individuals, Bettera and Baschenis were also aware of the traits shared by both art forms: dramatic unity in theatre and a succinct story unfolding on canvas; perspectival stage sets based on Alberti’s conception of a window and perspective in painting; the similarity between the role of a theatre audience and the role of an artwork’s viewers.7 Leading figures in both cultural fields ascribed great importance to the connection between painting (albeit not still-life painting) and theatre. One example of this view is the praise bestowed upon the French painter Nicolas Poussin in a text written in 1667 at Louis XIV’s Academy of Fine Arts, which describes his greatest achievement as follows: ‘He painted as if he were a true playwright.’8 In addition to their recognition of theatre’s cultural and social importance, Baschenis and Bettera identified the introduction of theatre into their paintings with an opportunity for the use of conceit – an element characteristic of their works – just as they did through the depiction of music, poetry, literature, sculpture, and science.9

5 Davis and Postlewait, Theatricality, 243. Davis and Postlewait analyse the interpretation and development of the term ‘theatricality’ in both theatre and everyday life. They define this term as a representation characterized by historical actions and customs. This model allows for the depiction of human qualities, social customs, local celebrations, and public performances. 6 There are three exceptions to this general absence of figures: the Agliardi brothers in the triptych by Baschenis; the figure of the painter Adler in Baschenis’s painting, which will be discussed below in connection to the theatre; and Bettera’s depiction of the painter in the crystal ball, which is discussed in Chapter 6 in relation to the concept of the paragone. 7 Alberti, On Painting and on Sculpture, 55. 8 Lee, ‘Ut Pictura Poesis’, 257. 9 In contrast to Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings concerning the paragone, which I will discuss in Chapter 6, I do not view their theatrical paintings as concerned with the superiority of theatre over painting, or vice versa. In the current chapter, I will thus focus on the paintings as related to the cultural and social significance of the medium of theatre.

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The use of wittiness and conceits was integral to the culture of the time. The highly esteemed literary theorist Emanuele Tesauro (1592–1675) discussed aesthetic approaches in literature, the theatre, and painting, and remarked that human reason is enthused or amused when it realizes it has been deluded. At the same time, he warned that such delusions should only be created on rare occasions.10 Tesauro also wrote about the theory of metaphors and of conceit, distinguishing between intelletto (‘intellect’) and ingegno (‘ingenuity’). In the intellectual process, he argued, the registration of facts, reasoning, and logic is achieved by means of direct verbal signs, without unnecessary ornamentation. Ingenuity, by contrast, engages listening and reflection to transform facts into an entertaining and witty conceit. Tesauro expressed his appreciation of the sensory and cognitive pleasure awakened by words and signs that are not ‘dry’, arguing that language which is rich in metaphor forges a connection between thought and the senses; the role of ingenuity, as he puts it, is to reveal the hidden connection between them. At the same, Tesauro warns against the disengagement of language from the truth. The painter, according to him, implements the technique of conceit by means of optical and perspectival tools, introducing into the painting surprising insights that cause silent objects to ‘speak’. He describes the technique of ‘making a point’ by means of a surprising effect, and as a method of causing a meaningless and silent world to speak.11 The viewer of a painting or sculpture is required to engage only his sense of sight, which may also allude to the sense of sound through signs and hints present in the artwork. By contrast, the performing arts cannot make do with hints – the sense of hearing has central importance for both the audience and the actors.12 Baschenis’s and Bettera’s ‘theatre paintings’ invited the audience to ‘hear’ the sounds produced by the musical instruments and the voices singing the musical notes, as if these silent objects were musicians and actors onstage. Moreover, in the only three still-life paintings with musical instruments in which Baschenis included human figures, they are all transformed into actors in the service of the arts of painting, music, and theatre. Their ‘voices’ allows for the ekphrasis that forges a connection between that which is visible to the eye and that which remains invisible. Through music and singing, these performers turn to the audience and invite it to observe the painting differently. And, 10 Proctor, ‘Emanuele Tesauro’, 68–94. 11 Schramm et al., Collection, Laboratory, Theater, 244, 325. 12 In his treatise on architecture, De Architectura, Vitruvius wrote about the Greek and Roman theatre, and especially about the quality of the actors’ voices and the audience’s ability to hear the play, and less about the scenery and technical means that allowed for changes of scene. The discussion of the medium of theatre was, for him, a pretext for discussing subjects including harmony, acoustics, musical styles, and sounds. Some 1500 years later, Alberti’s treatise De Re Aedificatoria similarly underscored the subject of movement and voice. See: Barkan, ‘The Theater as a Visual Art’, 127–160. The sixteenth-century Venetian Cardinal Daniel Barbaro, who translated Vitruvius’s books into Italian, also wrote about theatrical structures and their acoustic qualities. See Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics’, 52; Pollio, I Dieci Libri dell’Architettura, note 66. The scholar Ercole Bottrigari, a native of Bologna, similarly wrote in his article ‘La Masacara’ (1598) about concerns including the development of a theatrical structure with better acoustics. See Bottrigari, La Mascara.

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just like a drama taking place onstage, the painting presents the viewers with implicit or explicit representations of culture, values, and conflicts. In 1531, fourteen years before the Council of Trent, the humanist Juan Luis Vives described visibility as the common denominator shared by painting and theatre: just as the painter presents his work before an audience, he wrote, so people gather around a stage to observe poetry in the form of a tableau vivant (‘live painting’).13 In the aftermath of the Council of Trent, the Catholic Church acted to propagate its stance and conscripted the arts to promote its goals. The Church was well aware of the power of theatre, a medium viewed as dangerous and immoral due to the presence of men and women on the same stage, as well as to the dangerous secular themes. Nevertheless, a compromise was reached by drawing a connection between Catholic principles of morality and theatrical representations of secular virtues from antiquity, a recipe that allowed the Church to reach a larger audience. In the course of the seventeenth century, the Jesuits adopted the Classical tradition of drama, poetry, and philosophy. Drama thus came to be viewed as an educational tool in the service of the reformed Catholic Church, which assimilated elements of pagan culture through the symbolization of aesthetic elements.14 Playwrights and actors were expected to entertain, educate, convince, impress, malign, and promote allegiance to the Church. Theatrical performances gave expression to a wide selection of religious themes, texts from antiquity, and contemporary texts, mostly accompanied by music, dance, and singing. Music was an important component of the theatrical experience, and its tunes were adapted to the themes of the performance: trumpets and drums accompanied processions, victories, or losses on the battlefield, and soft music created a romantic atmosphere. As the theorist and playwright Andrea Perrucci (1651–1704) noted: ‘Music today has once again assumed the role it had occupied in antiquity.’15 Baschenis and Bettera, who created structural compositions by means of musical instruments, gave expression to this approach by asking the viewer observing their paintings to imagine a theatrical scene. Intellectuals and humanists during this period found the stage to be a platform for the presentation of discussions about the sublimity of the universe, the world of Christianity, historical glory, mythology, and social and private morals. Drama captivated the hearts and imaginations of the viewers, and challenged writers and producers to find new ways of expressing ideas and exciting the audience. Troupes of actors performed throughout the Italian peninsula and Europe, and printers published countless illustrated plays.16 Every evening, curtains went up and down 13 West, Theatres and Encyclopedias, 47, note 18. 14 O’Malley, The Jesuits, 321. 15 Perrucci and Muzio, Dell’Arte Rappresentativa Premeditata; Dooley, Italy in the Baroque, 507. 16 Although no comprehensive study has been conducted concerning the theatrical texts written in seventeenth-century Italy, Slawinsky estimated that over 3000 dramatic texts were written in the course of this century. See: Slawinsky, ‘The Seventeenth Century Stage’, 130–136.

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on stages in cities throughout Italy. There is no wonder, then, that Baschenis and Bettera saw the theatrical stage as a mouthpiece for the presentation of their opinions and worldviews as painters and intellectuals, as well as cosmopolitan travellers who had visited Rome, Milan, and Venice, and sold works in these cities, while being exposed to the excitement of an ebullient cultural scene. For these two painters’ contemporaries, the theatre was an intellectual and imaginary model for understanding their world. The plays produced onstage gave expression to the social tensions experienced during this period, following the dramatic changes in beliefs and insights of men, both individually and universally. The metaphor theatrum mundi, which describes the world as a stage, became the motto of the early modern period. This metaphor gave expression to a centuries-old conception of the theatre stage as mirroring the relationship between God and the world. Writers such as Molière, Calderón, and Shakespeare employed this motif in their plays in order to underscore the strong connection between life and the stage.17 Baschenis and Bettera’s invitation to observe painting through the prism of the theatrum mundi was rooted in the world of upper-class residents of Bergamo, their patrons, and members of local academies. The comparison between the world and the stage, life and a play, was one of the oldest in European thought.18 This metaphor, and the themes presented in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, enabled their contemporaries to study the value of ‘truth’ and discuss the unexpected and illusory nature of life. These themes transformed the concept of the theatrum mundi into a major subject of research, giving rise to a multivalent discourse. On the one hand, the stage of the world was the site where the principle of logos was revealed as the core of truth and divine reason. At the same time, the stage presented the world as deceptive, elusive, and illusory, giving rise to feelings of doubt.19 For Baroque thinkers, this term represented the conflict between an orderly world and the forces endangering this order.20 For Baroque artists, the stage reflected the tension existing in a changing world in which the Catholic clergy sought to restore the old order. Although Baschenis served as the priest of a local parish, he was not an artist in the service of the Church. Aristocrats, princes, and courtiers similarly recognized the power of the theatre; they saw it as a means of influencing and shaping public opinion, and in doing so promoting their economic and political power. Court festivities involved a sumptuous display of outfits, as well as novel techniques and stage effects combining water, fire, and music. Yet, despite the technical 17 Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7, lines 138–142. See De La Barca, The Great Theatre of the World. See also Jones, ‘Calderón’s El Gran Teatro del Mundo’, 51–60. 18 Christian, Theatrum Mundi, 8. Christian studied this term as it evolved from ancient literature and philosophy to the seventeenth century, and identified its changing definitions and relations to Renaissance literature and philosophy, as well as to intellectual, philosophical, and theological concerns in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 19 Ben-Shaul, ‘Glocalized Theatrum Mundi’, 165–187. 20 Sigu, ‘The Baroque Pastoral’, 58–67.

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achievements and tremendous popularity of the theatre in Italy, one must remember that with the exception of the opera, seventeenth-century Italians did not produce a cultural, dramatic canon equivalent to that produced by their contemporaries in England, France, or Spain.21 Polished manners and norms of everyday behaviour and of conduct at social and cultural events were based to a significant degree on Castiglione’s best-seller, which transformed court manners into a requirement of noblesse oblige.22 Throughout Europe, the members of the new aristocracy and bourgeoisie conducted themselves according to Castiglione’s code of manners. Moreover, the newly affluent members of the middle class (merchants and former military men), who strove to become part of the new aristocracy, saw actors and events onstage as models of proper social behaviour, and as a source of important cultural and intellectual knowledge. In addition, beyond the representation of ceremonial codes of behaviour, plays gave voice to concerns and criticism over significant subjects ranging from the limits of state authority and the illusory nature of social reality, to the definition of values such as truth and falsity.23 As demonstrated in the chapters on books and music, these same themes were presented to Baschenis’s and Bettera’s cultivated and educated viewers, who were challenged to identify them in the paintings. Enthusiastic theatregoers thirsting for knowledge became familiar with Classical poetry and Greek stories, and appreciated the work of contemporary poets such as Tasso. At the theatre, as in the real world, aristocratic audience members also came to see and be seen with their sumptuous outfits, hairdos, and jewellery. Material culture served as a means of self-definition for all those participating in such events, including the patron, the producer, the actors, and the audience. Members of upperclass Italian society would also gather together in private homes to don costumes and perform plays. Finally, the interest in theatre was further given expression in the commissioning of paintings whose subjects were dramatic plots, usually accompanied by depictions of music.24 In addition to the courtly theatre of aristocratic families such as the Medici and the d’Este, and to the professional, commercial productions staged at opera houses and by Commici de l’arte troupes, theatrical gatherings were organized by literary and social clubs known as ‘academies’. Named after their meeting place, the ‘academy theatre’ was composed of aristocrats, clergymen, newly affluent merchants, and professionals. The participants in these theatrical gatherings, where the level of 21 Especially noteworthy, in this context, are the English writers William Shakespeare (1564–1616), Ben Jonson (1572–1637), and John Dryden (1631–1700); the French writers Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière (1622– 1673) and Jean Racine (1639–1699); and the Spanish writers Miguel de Cervantes (1547–1616) and Pedro Calderón de la Barca (1600–1681). 22 For a discussion of the theatricality of aristocratic life, see Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier. 23 Slawinsky, ‘The Seventeenth Century Stage’. 24 See, for instance, Bartolomeo Cavarozzi’s famous painting The Lament of Aminta (1614–1615, private collection).

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acting was higher than at regular amateur theatres, wrote, translated, and performed for their own pleasure. The academy theatre was, for them, an important means of defining selfhood and the society to which they belonged. By means of the actors and scenery, the stage presented a multi-disciplinary cultural statement to an audience that observed, listened, and responded.25 The home of Count Giovanni de Bardi di Vernio (1534–1612) served as a meeting place for intellectuals, scientists, musicians, and artists (especially in 1577–1582). The members of this group, which named itself Camerata Fiorentina, spoke, read, and wrote about art, played music, and engaged in acting. This model of cultural meetings spread quickly and successfully to other Italian cities. Meanwhile, in Milan and in the areas ruled by Spain, the medium of theatre was mostly exploited on religious holidays in order to underscore the connection to the rulers, thus forming an integral part of a complex network of political relations. In Venice, the Accademia degli Incogniti sponsored the official inauguration of the city’s first theatre in 1637. During this period, the urban or pastoral scenery depicted on stretches of cloth was replaced by flat supports painted in careful perspective, which were located on the sides and back of the stage together with sophisticated props. The goal was to create an illusion of reality that was perfectly seen only from the seat of the prince or patron who had sponsored or funded the production. Baschenis and Bettera’s decision to offer ‘a gaze at the theatre’ was highly compatible with the world of upper-class residents, art patrons, and members of the local academies. In seventeenth-century Bergamo, as in many European cities, theatregoing was a fashionable pursuit. This cultural activity took place throughout the year until the advent of summer, when the wealthy city residents left their palaces for the lakes of northern Italy.26 The earliest testimony concerning a theatre production in Bergamo, provided in Donato Calvi’s Effemeride, appeared in 1676–1677 (Figure 66).27 Calvi writes that 22 years earlier, on 8 January 1645, the play Ercole Effeminato was first performed at the City Hall, with music composed by Maurizio Cazzati, the maestro of the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. The libretto was written by Almerico Passarelli, a jurist, philosopher, theologian, and poet from Padua. The choice of this particular play concerning Hercules gave expression to the widespread interest in mythology, and Calvi reported that the play was highly popular among both local residents and foreigners. The musical drama was later presented in Milan, thus contributing to Bergamo’s reputation. Calvi added that audiences flocked to listen to this musical drama, which was performed numerous times, and also noted the sumptuous production and printed copies of the libretto (Figure 67). The cover features Hercules seated in a 25 Farrell and Puppa, A History of Italian Theatre; Tedesco, ‘Applausi Festivi’, 129. 26 Belotti, Storia di Bergamo, vol. 5. 27 Calvi, Effemeride Sagro Profana, 47–48.

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Figure 66: Donato Calvi, Effemeride Sagro-Profana di Quanto di Memorabile sia Successo in Bergamo, 1676, Milan.

chariot drawn by two lions. The names of the composer, the librettist, and the patron to whom the work was dedicated appear alongside an inscription reading that Amore (‘Love’), the allegorical figure in this musical drama, will appear on a ‘machine’. This information seems to indicate that the local stage was equipped with the kind of special effects typical of Baroque theatre. Up until the end of the seventeenth century, however, Bergamo had no permanent theatre, and plays were enacted in ephemeral wooden structures that were generally located on the grounds of private estates. One such structure, which was adjacent to the home of a patron named Secco Suardo, bordered on a pawnshop known as Casa della magnifica pietà. The proximity between the two buildings was of serious concern to the pawnshop’s owners, who feared a fire would break out in the theatre and spread to their property. Their appeal to the Venetian authorities to have the theatre closed down resulted in an order to rebuild the rooms adjacent to the pawnshop out of stone.28 During the second half of the seventeenth century, 24 melodramas were performed in Bergamo. This fact indicates that although Bergamo was a small peripheral city, it was home to a lively cultural scene, albeit one that was not as developed as those large, wealthy north Italian cities such as Milan or Venice.29 Indeed, most of 28 Pilon, Il Teatro Sociale di Bergamo. 29 For the sake of comparison, in the course of the seventeenth century there were sixteen private and public theatres active in Venice, and some 400 operas were produced in the city by the end of the century.

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Figure 67: First pages of the libretto Ercole Effeminato by Almerico Passarelli, 1645.

the productions that came to Bergamo had previously been performed in Venice, a fact pointing to the cultural ties between the two cities. In addition to this Venetian influence, it is important to note that the first two operas performed in Bergamo were written by locals. The interest of Bergamo’s aristocracy in their city’s theatre was reflected in the meetings held by the Accademia degli Eccitati, as well as in the activities initiated by local patrons, who sponsored such productions. This interest in the theatre was further given expression in private initiatives organized by wealthy patrons such as the members of the Agliardi family, Baschenis’s patrons, who hosted cultural meetings in their residences. One may assume that Baschenis participated in the activities organized by the Accademia degli Eccitati, which had been established and managed by his patrons, and that he attended the plays and operas staged in temporary theatres constructed on their estates. As mentioned in the previous chapters, he must have known the directors of the choirs in local churches and probably attended the concerts they conducted, and he read and maybe even owned the books represented in his paintings. It is also likely that Bettera was similarly familiar with the city’s cultural activities, and perhaps even participated in them.

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This influence is clearly identifiable throughout their paintings, and will be demonstrated below. As scholarly painters, the two included in their works objects and props that awakened in the viewer the kind of attentive listening and observation experienced by a theatre audience. This effect was achieved by means of the painterly backdrop, stage, curtains, table coverings, carpets, and stage props. In addition to discussing and offering examples of each of these elements, the ‘theatre paintings’ will be discussed as a compositional whole.

The Background and the Stage Seventeenth-century intellectuals who came to apprehend the vastness of the universe and its infinite number of stars, observed through the newly invented telescope, were pervaded by great excitement as well as significant anxiety. This perception of ‘infinity’, as well as the experience of movement itself, was ardently discussed by scientists, theorists, humanists, clergymen, and artists alike.30 In Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, the background or ‘backstage’ area is dark, monochrome, and infinite. This backdrop alludes to one of the fundamental seventeenth-century debates between the Church and modern scientists concerning the centrality of the Earth: was it indeed the crown of creation, located at the centre of the universe and surrounded by the sun and other planets, as the Church insisted, or was the Sun located at the centre of the universe with the Earth and other planets orbiting around it, as scientists came to believe? When designing the interior of Baroque churches, the architects participating in this public social discourse sought to seriously consider the questions of space and infinity. As the art historian Heinrich Wölfflin wrote, ‘Our eyes and minds are lost in immeasurable space.’31 Set designers similarly sought to awaken in the viewer an awareness of space through their design of the theatrical stage. Stylistic tools such as the contrast between brightly lit areas and islands of darkness endowed the theatrical space with unique qualities. By underscoring the illusion of depth, designers impressed their viewers with the weight and volume of the forms, and created a dramatic atmosphere that impacted their emotions. Baschenis and Bettera created a similar effect in their paintings. The dark, monochrome background enhanced the viewer’s physical and emotional experience of a space extending into a vast universe. At the same time, the objects placed on the table represent the infinite and powerful nature of the spirit and of knowledge, culture, science, and music. The painting and the observer thus seem to be located in a single space that is not circumscribed by a back wall, mountain range, or 30 See Forman, The Theatrical Baroque, 13, note 4; Reeves, Painting the Heavens, 3–22; Martin, Baroque, 155–196. 31 Wölfflin, Renaissance and Baroque, 65.

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architectural structure, ending instead in a uniform backdrop that seems to stretch to infinity. At the theatre, the stage was carefully exploited by set designers, who used a system of vertical and horizontal lines to create an ordered space based on the conventions used by seventeenth-century painters and architects. Vertical structures alluded to the heavenly realm, which was contrasted with the terrestrial realm or even the underworld. Horizontal lines differentiated between left and right and between opposing events, places, or possibilities (on the use of horizontal lines see, for instance, Figure 92, p. 217; for a combination of vertical and horizontal lines, see, for instance, Figure 143, p. 275). One can also distinguish between the representation of downstage and upstage areas (see Figure 54, p. 158, and Figure 18, p. 99, respectively). The distinction between these areas enabled the painter to create depth not only by means of perspective but also by means of stylistic creativity and flexibility, which presented the audience with a ‘theatre’. In the Baroque theatre, the actors stood at the front of the stage close to the audience, with candles at their feet illuminating their figures while leaving the depths of the stage shrouded in darkness. Baschenis and Bettera similarly positioned their ‘actors’ in the foreground, or ‘downstage’ area close enough to the viewers to make them feel as if they could reach out and touch the painted objects (see, for instance, Figure 40, p. 133, and Figure 64, p. 179). Another stylistic element used in both painting and theatre was the intentional imbalance created through an illusion of movement in the pictorial or theatrical space. This illusion was achieved by depicting fabric that seems to be moving in the wind, painting numerous folds on one side of the canvas and thus enticing the viewer to draw or raise the curtain in order to reveal what lies beneath or behind it, or cropping the objects represented on the painting’s margins (see, for instance, ­Figure 72, p. 196, on the right). The proscenium arch located at the front of the stage was first used in 1586 by Italian set designers in order to implement Alberti’s model of a view through a window. The arch was a physical frame that surrounded the actors and stage. The advantage of this technical tool was its structure, which focused the viewer’s attention on whatever was presented before him while concealing the areas that were designated to remain unseen. This model served as the basis for the design of numerous theatres in important Italian centres.32 In the two paintings discussed below, one function of the decorative curtain may have been to replace the proscenium arch (see Figure 50, p. 149, and Figure 61, p. 173). The observer of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings was attending the theatre regularly, and therefore capable of reading the compositions as an invitation to a theatrical 32 Farrell and Puppa, A History of Italian Theatre, 127.

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event. By circumscribing the limits of the space, the painters thus enabled him to focus on the plot ‘performed’ by the musical instruments and books on the painted ‘stage’. The carefully placed objects in these compositions thus replaced human actors in representing a range of cultural themes while carrying within them, as will be demonstrated below, both implicit and explicit signs related to the conceptions of infinity, opposition, and movement.

Curtains The Greek myth written by Pliny the Elder (first century ce) tells the story of the contest between the two painters Zeuxis and Parrhasius. Zeuxis used his technical mastery to deceive the eyes of the birds, which pecked at his meticulously painted grapes. Parrhasius, however, deceived not only the birds but also Zeuxis himself by painting a curtain that looked so real that Zeuxis attempted to draw it. Therefore, by awakening his sense of curiosity, Parrhasius deceived not only Zeuxis’s eye but also his reason.33 Baschenis and Bettera similarly deceive the viewer, yet their goal was not to delude but rather to challenge him. The detail of the stunning curtain in Figure 68 is one of numerous examples of the curtains integrated into Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works. In addition to their aesthetic contribution – which is due to the impressive imitation of texture, colours, and volume – these curtains awaken immediate associations with the theatre as a space for the representation of culture and the staging of opinions and ideas, rather than merely of a specific plot. The curtain serves as one of the objects symbolizing the reciprocal relations between painting and the theatre, as an element located downstage between the audience and the players, or a painted object located between the viewer and the painting’s middle ground. The theatrical dichotomy between interior and exterior, concealment and exposure, accessibility and denial has appealed to painters throughout history. From antiquity onwards, both theatre and painting deceived the audience through mimetic representations of landscapes, streets, and objects – and the audience cooperated with pleasure. In the fourth century, the motif of a painted curtain was inspired by performances at court celebrations held by the Roman emperors in which an actual curtain was used to conceal and reveal scenes from the performed plays. From the fifth to the fifteenth century, the curtain appeared in religious contexts as a metaphor for revelation. It served to cover church altars, and surrounded the figures of Mary and additional saints with a sacred aura. Concealment and revelation in the course of religious ceremonies augmented the believers’ tension and concentration in anticipation of a religious-ritual message. It also served 33 For an in-depth survey of Pliny’s influence on Renaissance art and culture, from Petrarch to Vasari and other late sixteenth-century theorists, see McHam, Pliny and the Artistic Culture.

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Figure 68: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 95x128cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. D34 (detail).

as a reminder of the curtain covering the holy place of the tabernacle, as described in the Old Testament. In the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, representations of curtains took on a more secular quality, which was given public expression in official ceremonies, at the theatre, and in street performances, while also appearing in the private sphere during performances and festivities in aristocratic dwellings. This secular character will be examined further on in the discussion of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings.34 Another indication of the change in the curtain’s role was given expression by the custom of covering individual paintings or entire collections with a curtain. In addition to offering protection against light, dust, and insects, as recommended by Mancini, these curtains also reminded the viewer that the observation of a painting was a significant matter.35 During the early modern period, the stage set was concealed from the audience prior to the performance by means of a screen painted with a cityscape, pastoral arcadia, or majestic palace interior. The screen was stretched across the width and height of the stage, arousing the viewer’s curiosity while he waited for the play to unfold. The voices of the actors and the music heard behind the screen filled the audience with restless anticipation, which reached its climax as the screen dropped 34 This change was brought about by, among other things, the custom of rulers to enter the host town on their travels in processions accompanied by dancing, music, street theatre performances, and tableaux vivants – events that all involved curtains as concealing, revealing, and separating elements. 35 Hénin, ‘Parrhasius and the Stage Curtain’, 251; Allmer, ‘In-between Stage Life and Everyday Life’, 18–31.

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Figure 69 (left): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x146cm, Venice, Pisani Moretta Collection. Figure 70 (middle): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1690, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, ­Brescia, Private Collection. Figure 71 (right): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x149cm, Private Collection.

to reveal the play’s first act. However, this technique of dropping the screen endangered the actors, leading the esteemed architect and set designer Nicola Sabbatini (1574–1654) to recommend the use of a cloth that could be rolled around a cylinder and gathered upwards as the play began. Unlike Parrhasius, who used a curtain to conceal and limit a view, and to deceive and delude his viewer, Sabbatini thought of it as an element of revelation and exposure of that which lies behind it.36 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, illusory representations were perceived as convincingly real. The mimetic representation of an object, material, or texture required significant technical skill, resulting in great appreciation for the virtuosity of the artist who created the illusion. Writing about this subject, Lomazzo sought to downplay this celebration of virtuosity. For the most part, painters included a curtain in their compositions as a stylistic element. The curtain painted in the foreground usually served to separate the interior space of the painting from the viewer. Artists painted the rings from which the curtain hung so that they would shine in the viewer’s eyes, underscoring the illusory effect. Baschenis and Bettera further heightened the illusion by means of the folds, patterns, and tassels on the curtains they painted (Figures 69–71). Yet, beyond the depiction of these details, they sought to transmit, by means of their paintings, essential statements concerning values and culture. Significantly, these depictions of drawn curtains exceed a concern with virtuosity in the creation of a mimetic illusion. As will be shown below, they also serve as a metaphor for the revelation of clearly articulated statements, debates, and discussions concerning cultural knowledge and values.

36 Sabbatini, Pratica per Fabricar Scene e Machine ne’ Teatri, Chapter 37; for a reference to Sabbatini, see Hénin, ‘Parrhasius and the Stage Curtain’, 253, note 23.

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Curtains are generally absent from still-life compositions in Italy. An examination of a comprehensive catalogue of still-life paintings (La Natura Morta in Italia) reveals that only four of the 1266 still-life paintings collected in this catalogue depict curtains, and these curtains all serve a purely decorative function.37 Other paintings from this period that include curtains also depict human figures, and thus cannot be qualified as still-life compositions. These observations indicate that the inclusion of curtains in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s compositions is not coincidental, and is worthy of scholarly attention. Baschenis was the first painter ever to create a stilllife painting with a musical instrument, and was probably also the first painter who invited his patrons to participate in a theatrical experience by means of a still-life composition. The inventory of Baschenis’s belongings that was compiled following his death lists five canvases featuring nothing but variously patterned curtains. It is likely that Baschenis had painted these curtains as backdrops for future compositions, to be elaborated upon in accordance with the specifications of each commission.38 Not all of Baschenis’s paintings contain curtains. They are absent from his paintings of kitchen scenes, and do not appear in all of his still-life paintings with musical instruments. Moreover, some of the paintings that do include curtains depict them as merely decorative elements. As already mentioned, this study focuses on 22 works by Baschenis and thirteen works by Bettera. In Baschenis’s work, a curtain appears in about 65 percent of the studied corpus, while 27 percent of these compositions feature a carpet spread out on the table as well. In Bettera’s paintings, a curtain appears in about 80 percent of the paintings, and about 70 percent of them also contain carpets. However, the three paintings discussed below reveal that the appearance of a curtain in them is not always related to the theatre. This conclusion reinforces one of the arguments of this study – that, unlike previous claims, these compositions are not simply repetitions of the same recurring theme.39

37 Pirovano, La Natura Morta. 38 De Pascale, ‘Appendice Documentaria’, 76–77. The inventory created following Baschenis’s death notes that the type of cloth in his possession was a brocade produced in Cremona (Brocato Cremonese). De Pascale believes that Baschenis or his assistants prepared canvases on which they painted the curtains prior to painting the still-life scene. Rosci agrees with this hypothesis, postulating that Baschenis’s studio operated according to a sort of assembly-line method, so that the content was later added in accordance with the requests of the painting’s commissioner. Some of the patterns on the curtains (such as the dew drop) were borrowed from Oriental or Islamic textiles from as early as the fourteenth century for aesthetic reasons, independently of their content and culture. Velvet, satin, and damask textiles were all produced in Cremona. Brescia and Bergamo also received a quota by the Venetian authorities for producing textiles in 1562 and 1568, respectively. A range of curtains and precious objects were also found in the inventory compiled in 1680 in the home of the patron Francesco Moroni. 39 Slim, ‘Morando’s La Rosalinda’, 572.

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Figure 72: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1690, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Brescia, Private Collection.

The painting by Bettera in Figure 72, which has appeared in no previous publication, represents eight different musical instruments, some cast in shade and others illuminated by a soft light. Despite the numerous instruments, it is the stunning curtain that immediately attracts the viewer’s attention: its smooth lining is made of golden silk, while its external side features an elaborate peacock-feather pattern embroidered in crimson and gold. The carefully drawn curtain, with its rich folds and its proximity to the viewer, attests to its importance and underscores its presence. The decorated chest which is placed upon the table is illuminated only on its left side. Wedged between the chest and the books laid upon it, a sheet music booklet sprouts out, whose outspread pages are lightly undulated. At the centre of the table, between the violone’s neck and the table, is another sheet music booklet. Although its pages are strongly illuminated and it is very close to the viewer, the musical notes cannot be identified. In the dark depths of the painting a globe bearing the astrological sign of Scorpio is placed.40

40 This still-life with musical instruments also addresses the competition between musical, sculptural, literary, and scientific forms of representation, a concept explored in relation to additional paintings in Chapter 6.

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Figure 73 (right): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 98x145cm, Private Collection. Figure 74 (left): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 81x99cm, Private Collection.

In Baroque painting, illumination was a tool employed by the painter to underscore the composition’s central elements, to create a warm or a dramatic atmosphere, and to provide a sense of depth and three-dimensionality.41 Baroque music is metaphorically considered to be three-dimensional as well. The dimension of depth in a musical sentence is created, among other things, thanks to an ‘illuminated’ sound – a tone that is underscored by being played with outstanding precision and an especially high quality, while the other tones ‘remain in the shadow’ and are played differently. By intentionally producing the ‘shadow’ tone in a less impressive quality, musicians emphasize the principal, illuminated note.42 Which, in this work by Bettera, is the illuminated musical note highlighted by the notes remaining in the shadow? Bettera inverted some of the instruments and relegated others to the shadowed area. The two sheet music booklets are indeed brightly illuminated, yet they do not partake of the musical ensemble, since their notes are illegible. Engaging in a creative conceit, Bettera added to the warmly illuminated composition a stunning, brightly lit curtain, casting it as the highlighted note. The two paintings discussed in this section also reveal that despite the similarity between them, each one of them carries a unique statement. Figure 73 features a composition of musical instruments arrayed on a sumptuous red cloth. To the right is a curtain that appears to have a merely decorative function, which seems to be disconnected from the scene. Its marginal location points to the possibility that it was painted prior to the rest of the composition. Figure 74, which is remarkably similar, contains no curtain. 41 Numerous studies have been devoted to the subject of light in Baroque culture. See, for instance, Martin, Baroque, 222–246. 42 This idea is based on a conversation with Amit Tiefenbrunn, the musical director of the Barocada Ensemble, who shared his knowledge as a maker of Baroque instruments.

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It is important to note, however, that most of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings do contain curtains. As already mentioned, this motif underscores the importance of the relationship between painting and theatre. It is not a technique borrowed by painting from the theatre, such as a physical gesture, mask, or accessory; rather, it is a religious and cultural symbol whose meaning was evident to an audience used to encountering it at the theatre and in painting. In these still-life paintings, the curtain is not merely a perfectly executed detail that deceives the eye and points to man’s limited perceptual ability to distinguish truth from illusion. The grapes and curtain are mimetic representations, yet can also play an active role in the dialogue between the beholder and the painted scene: the curtain reveals or conceals, and even calls for a discussion of the art of painting, which similarly conceals and reveals and risks being viewed as deceptive.

Table Coverings and Carpets Careful observation of the range of curtains, carpets, and other table coverings in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings highlights the aesthetic depiction of colours and textures. The message transmitted by these elements is different from the intellectual and cultural message transmitted by a book written by Plato, or a lute constructed by Tieffenbruker. As with the other elements in these compositions, careful scrutiny of the textiles reveals significant information concerning the period’s material culture, fashions, and even social critiques, which were given expression both on theatrical stages and in paintings. The table coverings painted by Baschenis were mainly uniform stretches of cloth printed with a pattern. They were usually red, dark green, and black. In approximately one-fifth (21 percent) of the paintings examined in this study, the table is spread with an Anatolian rug; the rest of the paintings feature silk or velvet cloth. Most of Bettera’s paintings, by contrast, feature Oriental carpets. 43 Only a small number of works depict dark silk or velvet coverings. When examining the decoration and patterns of the coverings, a foliage motif appears to dominate paintings by Baschenis. This pattern appeared on cloths made of expensive silk, which was also used to sew clothing for important individuals, clergymen, and aristocrats. Such a pattern appears, for instance, in a painting created by Carlo Ceresa of Bergamo (Figure 75), which captures the city’s governor enveloped in a sumptuous gown made of a fabric similar to the one spread on the table in several of Baschenis’s paintings (for instance, Figure 42, p. 144).44 43 On the history of importing rugs from the East to Italy, see Mills, ‘The Coming of the Carpet to the West’, 11–23. 44 Ceresa (1609–1679), a contemporary of Baschenis, was a well-known and sought-after portrait painter.

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Figure 75: Carlo Ceresa, Pro-prefetto di Bergamo Bernardo Gritti, oil on canvas, 114.2x100.5cm, 1646, Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum.

Silk table coverings were just as prevalent and highly valued as woven textiles. Silk was a sought-after material in European high society, and was considered to be an expensive item in the arena of international trade.45 Artists, in turn, reflected the taste of their wealthy patrons and clients, complimenting them by representing everyday status symbols on canvas. The most talented among them imitated textiles such as silk, lace, velvet, and cotton, as well as fur and precious gems, to the point of creating a perfect illusion.

45 Monnas, Merchants, Princes and Painters, 244.

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Approximately 100 years earlier, Hans Holbein the Younger (1497–1543) had used a green silk cloth with an identical leaf pattern as a backdrop for the portraits of the ambassador and bishop in his renowned painting The Ambassadors (1533). A similar leaf pattern recurs in a number of compositions painted by Baschenis, such as the painting created for his patrons from the Moroni family, who were silk merchants (see Figure 73).46 His portraits of the Agliardi brothers and of the Bergamo governor mentioned above both contain the same leaf pattern as well. This pattern was not only a colourful or fashionable motif appearing alongside the painted figures, who were involved in politics, religion, governance, commerce, scholarship, and science. It is possible that this specific fabric acquired an emblematic quality which was identified by the observer with certain themes or statements. It seems that the source of this recurrent leaf motif was Florence, from where it spread to other important European centres such as London and Paris. These textiles were most likely accessible to the painters since they were probably owned by their wealthy patrons.47 Historians of art and culture can distinguish between the various types of rugs spread across the tables in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings. One of these types is the Ushak Arabesque (named after the Turkish city Ushak). The pattern characteristic of this rug, which is known as a Lotto pattern, is named after the Venetian painter Lorenzo Lotto, whose works include an Ushak rug that was in his possession. This type of rug was highly sought after in sixteenth- to eighteenth-century Europe, especially in Dutch paintings. Another prevalent type of Oriental rug was the so-called Holbein rug, named after the one represented in The Ambassadors. Such rugs are usually referred to as Turkish, Oriental, or Anatolian.48 They were all produced in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in the Turkish region of Western Anatolia, in the area around the port city of Smyrna, from which they were exported to Italy and Western Europe. John Mills, who examined 22 paintings by Baschenis and Bettera, determined that the rug in Baschenis’s Agliardi Triptych is an Anatolian rug, whose frame typically features a cartouche pattern. Mills estimated that some of the rugs painted by Baschenis and Bettera were already dozens of years old when they were copied. He called the beholder’s attention to the golden-yellow Arabesques set against a red background and to the Holbein pattern in the frame surrounding the rugs.49 It is possible that the artists copied the patterns precisely as they appeared; but it is also possible that their choices were based on considerations of convenience and beauty. During the Renaissance 46 One may assume that Baschenis chose to paint this expensive textile as a tribute to the members of the Moroni family, who were important silk merchants. This painting is mentioned in the family inventory compiled on 7 December 1680 and signed by Antonio, Ludovico, and Alessandro, Francesco Moroni’s sons. 47 Monnas, Merchants, Princes and Painters, 267. When painters could not copy things from reality, they relied on pre-existing representations. 48 Mack, Bazaar to Piazza, 27, 38–42. Oriental patterns on Italian textiles were not copied for cultural reasons, but rather for purely aesthetic ones. Rugs produced earlier usually featured smaller ornamental patterns within the frame surrounding the rug, and were known as ‘small pattern Holbein’. 49 Mills, ‘“Lotto” Carpets’, 278–289.

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Figure 76: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail).

and Baroque periods, round forms symbolized perfection, infinity, and divinity, while squares were conventionally interpreted as an expression of the material world. Their combination thus formed a bridge of sorts between the terrestrial and heavenly realms. Rugs identified as Oriental could provoke associations to the biblical East, even though they were woven in Asia Minor rather than in the Holy Land. Rugs were placed under royal thrones at important events, indicating the status of those seated on them. The same sumptuous and opulent effect was produced when expensive rugs were included in paintings. Such rugs and textiles were stored and taken out for religious or secular functions in churches or at royal courts. An inventory of Westminster Abbey in London compiled in the mid-sixteenth century listed certain rugs designated for everyday use, and others designated for special occasions and holidays. It was customary to spread personal rugs in churches for the use of aristocrats, much like Muslim prayer rugs. The precision and seriousness with which rugs were treated extended even to the matching of the rug’s colours with the nature of the event. Rugs were not only spread on the floor. On important holidays and receptions, citizens would also decorate their window sills with rugs.50 50 Monnas, Merchants, Princes and Painters, 241–243. Evidence of this custom can be found in the paintings of the Venetian artists Vittore Carpaccio, Gentile Bellini, and Giovanni Mansueti.

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Figure 77: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 60x88cm, Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera, inv. n. 782.

In depicting the rug seen in detail in Figure 76, Bettera sought to call the viewer’s attention to its quality, which is made evident by the density of the knots.51 Curtains and table coverings complemented one another. Their presence enabled the painters to use trompe l’oeil techniques in order to present the viewer with an experience that combined a specific aesthetic, taste, and fashion. At the same time, they also contained a social statement, since they appealed to those who could afford to sit under such heavy curtains or wear clothing made of expensive silk.

Stage Props Analysis of the painting in Figure 77 by Baschenis calls attention to a detail that clearly belongs to the world of theatre, and which is also present in additional paintings by Baschenis and Bettera. The recorder in this composition (Figure 78) seems to be merely another instrument in a musical composition, yet it is in fact a stage prop that cannot produce sounds.

51 According to De Pascale, this composition was not painted by Bettera.

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Figure 78: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 60x88cm, Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera, inv. n. 782(detail).

Figure 79: Sam 126: Gesamtansicht, taken from: Darmstädter, Die Renaissanceblockflöten, p. 133.

The musicologist Beatrix Darmstädter, who has studied the painted depiction of recorders that cannot produce sounds, provides as one of her examples the one serving as prop in this painting by Baschenis.52 Darmstädter explains that this painted recorder was likely a decorative model used by painters or sculptors, or even a prototype used by instrument makers (Figure 79). She reached this conclusion based on the recorder’s structure – its size, type of wood, and tone holes. In this particular instrument, the window – the opening that allows for the passage of air and creates friction – is too short to produce sounds, rendering the recorder unusable. The same painting contains an additional allusion to the world of theatre. Beneath the inverted violin is a booklet featuring what appear to be marks of musical notes, yet in fact it is marked with meaningless signs that are clearly different from the legible musical notes in other paintings. Nevertheless, they endow the viewer with the sense of a musical experience, due to the connection between the violin and the sheet music. It is possible that Baschenis chose to ‘trick’ the viewer in a manner reminiscent of the theatre, where actors sometimes used the conceit of muttering syllables or sounds that sounded like words but in fact meant nothing.

52 Darmstädter, Seipel, and Brown, Die Renaissanceblockflöten, 133–145.

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Figure 80: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1665, oil on canvas, 83x100cm, Venice, Lombardini (detail).

Upon my request, Darmstädter examined the recorders in additional paintings by Baschenis and Bettera to determine which of them was painted to represent a functional recorder and which was meant to represent a painter’s prop. This revelation is especially interesting due to the fact that Baschenis and Bettera had at their disposal a wide range of high-quality, expensive musical instruments belonging to them, to their patrons and clients, and to collectors in their circle. Some of these instruments were set with precious stones and ivory, while others were decorated with complex inlaid wood patterns. The special wood chosen for each instrument and the name of the instrument maker imprinted on it were signs of high economic status and musical connoisseurship. These high-quality instruments appear in all of the paintings. One may assume that those who scrutinized the paintings could tell the difference between the instruments, and distinguish the most high-quality ones from those serving as stage props. An attentive viewer, even if he was only an amateur musician, was supposedly capable of identifying the type and colour of the wood and the degree of its representational precision in terms of its size and the relations between its parts. Another example of a recorder that appears to be a stage prop is the detail of Figure 80. The depiction of a musical instrument serving as a stage prop was not a mere oversight on the painter’s part. In this example (Figure 81), the recorder identified by Darmstädter as a stage prop appears on a sheet of meaningless notes, beside a curtain which the painter chose to depict in great and highly precise detail. The work by Baschenis in Figure 54 (p. 158) also features musical instruments that seem to be stage props (see detail in Figure 82). The lute on the left, for instance, is marked by spots that distinguish it from the lutes in other paintings by both Baschenis and Bettera, which depicted the instrument’s structure and the type of wood and

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Figure 81: Bartolomeo Bettera(?) Evaristo Baschenis(?), Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x152cm, New York, Private Collection (detail).

Figure 82: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala (detail).

varnish, together with the strings, bridge, and pegs with utmost precision. Moreover, the neck of the violin placed between the lute and the spinet appears too short. The presence of such simple and unassuming instruments, which are not made of high-quality wood and were not precisely constructed to produce a perfect sound, as well as of musical instruments that cannot be played, raises a number of questions: Why did these painters choose to depict imperfect instruments? How can one explain the presence of real instruments and stage props in the same painting? Is the depiction of instruments serving as props similar to the depiction of musical notations that are not truly notations, or of signs that are not actual letters in books? Is it possible that guitars which are obviously missing strings were also mere stage props? Do imperfect objects attest to the sphere they represent? Is it possible that this strategy was adopted in order to cause the beholder to slow down and pay special attention to the represented objects?

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Seven Modes of Painting Theatre In the early modern period, a composition was evaluated in terms of its novelty, decorum, and the range of effects it contained. Yet significant importance was also ascribed to the artist’s awareness of the viewer’s need to read and interpret the story himself.53 Baschenis and Bettera did not paint still-life and theatre paintings in order to delude the astute observer; their compositions contained components that contributed to their success. Through the use of stylistic means that served their goal, they sought to capture the viewer’s attention and challenge his intellectual abilities. In the following discussion, seven paintings will be presented in which the two use different theatrical props – a curtain, silk cloth or rug, lighting, and stylized backdrops – in order to invite the viewer to gaze at the theatre. The first of these paintings contains messages concerning music, literature, mythology, commerce, and fashion (see Figure 54, p. 158). Baschenis painted a stage set related to the Marquis Bisaccioni’s controversial personality, yet he is not the only protagonist in this painting. The golden apple placed between two brightly illuminated music booklets alludes to the mythological narrative of the Judgment of Paris. The curtain reminds the viewer that the play is about to begin, since it has already been raised. The book isolated upon the guitar, directly below a tassel resembling a weight, is situated at a remove from the centre of the scene. One hand movement would suffice to lower the curtain and conceal it from the viewer while the play continues. The painting’s palette – dark green, red, black, and gold – creates an atmosphere of warmth and opulence. By contrast, the frontal lighting shines brightly on the white music sheets. In the lower part of the composition, a rug patterned with floral motifs, leaves, and branches covers the rectangular support. These motifs are similarly visible on the spinet, which is placed upon the rug to the right. Affixed to the musical instrument is a red cloth flower with six petals and a button at its centre, which echoes the flower in the rug’s pattern. The bunch of black leaves placed between the golden apple and the red cloth flower is also represented in the rug’s pattern. The base of the spinet’s keys is decorated with black triangles that repeat in a fixed and precise rhythm, as if responding to the rhythm of the forms in the folds of the rug to their left, thus connecting the surface to the objects placed upon it. The reddish and golden hues of the curtain, which are also echoed in the rug, harmoniously complete the circle of colours. The rug in this painting was also studied by John Mills, who identified it as belonging to a Venetian family whose origins are unknown.54 He describes it as an ‘Oriental Mediterranean’ rug with red and white geometric forms against a dark green ground, which appeared in late sixteenth-century Venetian paintings. This painting 53 Barkan, ‘The Theater as a Visual Art’, 147. 54 Mills, ‘“Lotto” Carpets’, 278–289.

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highlights the interplay between closed and open forms, as well as between what is about to begin and what has just ended: the curtain is drawn upwards, the musical instruments are inverted, and the music book and spinet are both open. The scene’s cropping on the right similarly constitutes an invitation to continue that which was halted. It is no coincidence that the viewer is presented with only a small part of the music booklet’s right-hand part, a small dot representing part of a black key on the cropped spinet, and a cropped pattern on the rug – the beginning of a new segment identical to the one at the centre of the composition. There is a clear sense of presence, as well as an allusion to what is absent. Rather than a complete and immutable scene, the composition suggests a sense of continuity and of things still waiting to be discovered. The eye’s movement is drawn to the right, seeking to complete the missing details. By charging the viewer with the task of completing these details, Baschenis infuses the silent and immobile still-life with movement. The removal of the ‘fourth wall’, the transparent wall between the audience and the stage, is performed by means of the musical instruments (the spinet, violin, bow, and lute) protruding beyond the stage in order to underscore the invitation to a dialogue between the audience and the scene represented onstage.55 It seems that Baschenis sought, in the guise of a theatrical stage, to attract the attention of cultivated readers, musical connoisseurs, and musicians. Such local cultural figures could compose, read, and play music, write and read books, and view theatrical performances, while attending both to their deep themes and to the fashionable representations (curtain and rug) in them. Such cosmopolitan figures, who treated aesthetics and culture with the utmost seriousness, are located very close to the scene, yet are seemingly impeded from approaching it any further by the inverted instruments, the closed book, and the infinite background. There is nothing to hold on to. At the same time, the viewer is drawn by the raised curtain, which reveals and invites him inwards. The book is indeed closed, yet has a name and an identity. The spinet is already open, and the worn music booklet, with its dog-eared pages, is open to the page on which the music was arrested. Just as the viewer is made responsible for completing the missing parts on the right, so he is invited to approach and play the notes placed before him. The book of vocal music also tells of the presence of the musicians and singers soon to enter the scene.56 The instruments are inverted, for that is the correct way of placing them, yet the stage is ready: the curtain is raised, the musical notes and instruments await, and the lighting is bright and sharply focused. Seated in a closed room with very dark walls (the careful observer will notice the angle between the two walls on the left) are two of the three Agliardi brothers (see Figure 42, p. 138). Two of the three parts of the triptych featuring the Agliardi brothers reflect the life of Bergamo’s local aristocracy in the seventeenth century. Alessandro 55 The term ‘fourth wall’ was defined by Denis Diderot in the eighteenth century. It is used here figuratively. Going beyond the contour of a painting or the stage toward the audience was not invented during the eighteenth century, but was used since antiquity. 56 The identification of the notes as pertaining to vocal music was made by Roberto Gini.

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and Bonifacio appear below a heavy curtain that is drawn open at the centre, with the delicate fringe at its bottom adorning their heads like a crown. Baschenis similarly used a curtain to form a crown in additional paintings (see Figure 102, p. 257), in which the fringe crowns a sculpted head). The bright and direct light illuminates the scene in an almost uniform manner, highlighting the sitters’ white lace shirts and carefully starched collars. Their sumptuous outfits gleam with numerous golden buttons, pearls, precious stones, and jewellery. The red brocade curtain is creased by rich folds and decorated with delicate tassels. This type of curtain, which is drawn open on either side to reveal a figure, was prevalent in Christian imagery. It alludes to the moment the curtain protecting the holy tabernacle was torn in two following Christ’s crucifixion.57 During the medieval period, this motif was endowed with a sacred aura. In the course of the Renaissance, curtains also served to circumscribe holy figures and the sacred ground on which they stood from the depicted scene or surrounding crowd. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a parted curtain endowed painted portraits with an aura of royalty or of public or political prestige.58 Although the curtain in this painting is parted at the centre, it is not symmetrically depicted. Its left-hand part is held back with an impressive complex knot, while its other half is drawn towards the right. Had the curtain been painted symmetrically, the knot on the right would be visible to the viewer even though the composition is cropped on this side. This special type of curtain is not to be found in any other paintings by Baschenis or Bettera. Due to its special significance, one may assume that it was created by Baschenis as a tribute to his patrons, who were part of his circle of friends. At the same time, the absence of symmetry that accompanies the regal or sacred atmosphere might reveal that Baschenis chose to subtly qualify the respect and prestige which he paid his patrons both in life and in the painting. This composition reveals contrasts as well as a stylistic lack of equilibrium that endow it with special significance. Whereas Alessandro is seated in a relaxed pose, with his hands holding the guitar as he plays and sings (his mouth is slightly open), Bonifacio is depicted with his lips sealed, holding the neck of a lute in his right hand while his left hand leans on the chair’s armrest and his gaze and movements are rigidly fixed. The brothers direct their eyes neither at the viewer nor at one another. Although the books and lute protrude from the table towards the viewer’s space, he is not invited to participate in the reading, music-making, or discussion potentially aroused by the books on the table. The two figures’ body language, dress, and detached, averted gazes lend them an aloof quality. On the right-hand side of the table is an especially large, open book filled with black marks that are not actual letters; indeed, it is being read by no one. To its left is a pile of four closed books, which nevertheless each bear a title. 57 Mathew 27:50–51: ‘And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit. At that moment, the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split.’ 58 For representations of curtains from antiquity to the fourteenth century, see: Eberlein, Apparitio Regis; Bann, The True Vine; Morales, ‘The Torturer’s Apprentice’, 182–209.

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Figure 83: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

Alessandro is playing a very expensive guitar produced by the workshop of the Venetian maker of musical instruments Giorgio Sellas (Figure 83).59 He is seated on a Spanish chair, a fashionable and expensive furniture item during the period in question. The chair’s back is framed by two upright rods inlaid with shining buttons which lead the viewer’s eye to the two gilded metal balls at their top, producing a majestic frame around Alessandro’s figure. By contrast, we do not see the chair upon which Bonifacio is seated. His left hand rests on a third chair whose back is turned to the viewer, and which bears the painter’s signature. The variety of high-quality musical instruments, books, clothes, jewellery, and textiles depicted in this painting and in the two other parts of the triptych point to the musical knowledge and economic power of the family members, Baschenis’s patrons and friends – functioning as symbols of culture and knowledge as well as of their elevated social status. In contrast to the majority of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, including those that involve an invitation to a gaze at the theatre, here the viewer faces two ‘flesh-and-blood’ actors. It is obvious why this triptych is considered to be Baschenis’s masterpiece, while also constituting his most clearly articulated expression of the world of theatre. Taken together, the enclosed room framed by heavy curtains, the averted gazes of the performing brother and the distant brother 59 The guitar producer’s signature reads: ‘Giorgio Se(llas) a la Stela in Venezia’.

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Figure 84: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 120x175cm, Private Collection.

which show no interest in making contact with the audience, the signs of material opulence and the representations of different types of knowledge all serve as a rich platform for a theatrical performance. In the unusual painting shown in Figure 18 (p. 99), Baschenis invites the viewer to the back of the room or space in which a concert is about to take place. Yet instead of presenting the viewer with the circumscribed area of the stage, the painter’s brush has raised the sumptuous curtain to invite him ‘offstage’. The theatre hall during this period was structured by two types of space, onstage and offstage, with the actors’ voices mediating between them. The offstage area could take on a palpable quality, as the viewers heard or imagined what was taking place there.60 In other cases, an actor described to the audience what was taking place offstage. The invisibility of this area and the related uncertainty accompanying the events unfolding there were 60 Slawinsky, ‘The Seventeenth Century Stage’, 129. Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) designed costumes and props for court performances, and was a playwright as well. In three of the plays he produced in the midseventeenth century, he used sophisticated techniques to deceive the audience members’ ears and eyes in order to create an eerie feeling of reality. His special effects played on the viewers’ anxiety that what took place onstage could well take place in reality, transforming them against their own will into actors in a play they did not create – that is, in a tragic reality.

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Figure 85: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 120x175cm, Private Collection (detail).

capable of provoking in the audience feelings of fear and anger. In addition to raising the curtain, Baschenis also did away with the viewer’s uncertainty concerning the events unfolding backstage by ‘opening’ two doors in the upstage area. The windows painted above one of them introduces light into the space and reminds the viewer

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of the exterior world, from which the musicians and singers will arrive to pick up the musical instruments and sheet music booklet in the foreground as they prepare to play and sing for the expectant audience. In the painting in Figure 84, Bettera gathered and tied the opulently patterned curtain with its rich folds, presenting the viewer with an entire world.61 Our attention is directed to the space in which the performance is unfolding. The curtain, which is located at a relative depth in relation to the front of the stage, provides the viewer with the sense that the table, which is spread with a richly patterned red rug, is being pushed out towards the audience. To the left of the table one can see the diamond-shaped pattern of the floor tiles. The backstage area is dark. Visible alongside the curtain in the middle ground is part of a Greek-style pilaster, which appears to be a theatrical prop. A simple, undecorated guitar devoid of strings, which similarly serves as a stage prop, is visible to the right. Bettera directs the viewer’s attention to it by means of the curtain tassel hanging directly above it (Figure 85). In his unique manner, here too Baschenis invites the viewer to participate in a theatrical experience (see Figure 52, p. 155), yet once again this invitation is not presented straightforwardly. The intellectual challenge, which requires the beholder to scrutinize the composition and appreciate it beyond the initial trompe l’oeil effect, is hinted at by the book located atop the decorated chest. The viewer is challenged not only to identify the book, but also to read it. Well-read viewers would know that in the fourth volume of his best-selling novel Rosalinda, Bernando Morando provided a detailed description of Rosalinda’s outstanding talent as she played a Spanish guitar, lute, and harpsichord while singing notes that reached up to the heavens.62 In the novel’s tenth volume, Rosalinda enters a convent on the hills above Genoa and sees ‘a small but elegant theatre located outside the convent wall’.63 Morando described Rosalinda surrounded by a large group of nuns, who all listen to the harmonious voices accompanied by musical instruments that arise from the theatre on the hills. As she sings, angels descend from heaven to sing alongside her. By means of this allusion to Morando, Baschenis made use of Rosalinda’s character to suggest a discussion concerning the interrelations among music, singing, and the theatre. This connection is also related to the fact that in addition to novels, Morando also wrote the librettos for three operas and the scenarios for two ballets.64

61 Bettera included a note at the centre of the picture that reveals it to have been created in Rome: ‘BARTOLOMEO BETTERA / F. IN ROMA.’ 62 Slim, ‘Morando’s La Rosalinda’, 567–584. 63 Ibid., 582. 64 Two texts were written in 1646, and the third was written in 1652. The music for two of them was composed by Francesco Manelli.

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Figure 86: Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera.

The next work is a unique and outstanding painting in the context of Baschenis’s oeuvre. Although it partakes of the series of still-life paintings with musical instruments, it literally takes on a different appearance, since the painter Salomon Adler added his own self-portrait into it (Figure 86).65 In this painting, a table is spread with a Turkish rug bearing a Lotto pattern. Crowded upon it are seven musical instruments – a keyboard, wind instruments, and string instruments – as well as a sheet music booklet. The curtain, which stretches across almost the entire width of the painting, is pulled towards the left, falling in uneven folds. The lining of the silk cloth is red, and the side other is ornamented with a dense and impressive pattern of golden peacock eyes against a black background. One of the curtain’s tassels divides the canvas into two unequal parts. To the right, Salomon Adler is portrayed playing a long-necked string instrument. The gathering and raising of the curtain enables the audience to view the musician. It is unclear whether this was planned in collaboration with Baschenis or whether Adler exploited this 65 See ‘Adler Salomon’, www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/salomon-adler_(Enciclopedia-Italiana), accessed 16 November 2015. Salomon Adler was a seventeenth-century Jewish painter. The dates of his birth and death remain unknown. He is first mentioned in a book by the biographer Tassi from 1793, which was published in Bergamo following his death. An additional book written by Pasino Locatelli in 1869, titled Illustri Bergamaschi, mentions him as a German painter (Salmone Herr Pittore Tedescho). The last name ‘Adler’ was attributed to him following his signature on the back of another self-portrait. See Locatteli, Illustri Bergamaschi, II, 93–103.

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Figure 87: Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail).

element later on. Adler’s position in the painting accords with the instructions given to actors, who were directed not to turn directly towards the viewer: the player’s well-dressed body is turned sideways, while his face gazes out frontally towards the audience of viewers and listeners. The recorder in this painting is a real recorder (Figure 87). The finger holes are located at equal distances from one another, and the bottom hole for the little finger is placed in the correct location. The wide window reveals it to be an early recorder model, with a thick and uneven layer of wood at its bottom. In her discussion of this subject, Darmstädter quotes Michael Praetorious (1571–1621), whose important book Syntagma Musicum (1619) defined the length of the recorder (260–290 mm) as a condition for the production of the desired sound.66 Closer observation of the painting reveals that, unlike Baschenis, Adler did not (or perhaps lacked the skill to) describe the musical instrument or the act of music-making with sufficient precision. This amateurish depiction is evident in the unreliable portrayal of the musical instrument’s neck, and in the placement of Adler’s hands and playing fingers (Figure 88). Observation of the violone placed on the spinet also reveals significant differences in terms of the depiction of the wood. It is highly possible that Adler effaced part of the musical instrument in order to add his portrait, and later changed his mind and completed the missing details (Figure 89).

66 Watanabe, ‘Michael Praetorius and his Syntagma Musicum’. The American musicologist Paul Henry Lang (1901–1991) defined Praetorius’s book as the most important seventeenth-century source on the history of music.

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Figure 88: Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail).

Figure 89: Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail).

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Figure 90 (left): Evaristo Baschenis, Salomon Adler, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x146cm, Milan, Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera (detail). Figure 91 (right): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

Another place in which Adler’s paintbrush possibly intervened in this painting is in the depiction of the fly perched on the dedication which is placed on the spinet (Figure 90).67 This fly is remarkably different from the one in the Agliardi Triptych (Figure 91), and does not seem to have been painted by Baschenis. De Pascale’s hypothesis is that this painting was the result of a collaboration between the two painters, at the request of the work’s commissioner. Yet it is also possible that the addition of Adler’s portrait was not approved of by Baschenis, since the location of Adler’s head within the compositional space appears contrived and artificial.68 The painting is dedicated to two different people. The first dedication, written on the note placed on the spinet, beneath the mandolin, bears the handwritten inscription Al sig. Rocco Bonola/Milano (‘to Mr. Rocco Bonola, Milan’). Rocco Bonola was a wealthy merchant who traded in food, textiles, and wine. He was also closely connected to Lombard artists, and was involved in buying and selling their artworks.69 This information is compatible with the second dedication in the painting, which was handwritten in ink on the painting’s right-hand frame: All’Ill.mo Sig. Co.te Fabio Vis.ti Borromeo (‘to the illustrious Count Fabio Vis.ti Borromeo’). Although it is possible that the two painters collaborated on this composition, we do not know whether these dedications were written by Adler or by Baschenis. Regardless of whether Adler’s paintbrush was applied to the canvas with or without Baschenis’s agreement, this painting raises questions concerning a theme that runs throughout all of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works: imprecision versus 67 The discrepancy between this fly and the one in the Agliardi Triptych was brought to my attention by De Pascale. 68 Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 221. 69 Luigi Pellegrini Scaramuccia (1616–1680), Francesco Cairo (1607–1665), Antonio Busca (1625–1686).

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Figure 92: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection.

faithfulness to an original, which represents values such as truth and artistic self-respect as well as respect for the patron who commissioned it. This theme’s significance is much greater than the actual difference in technical abilities and the stylistic discrepancies differentiating Baschenis and Bettera from Adler. Baschenis painted the musical instruments with great precision, so that they are faithful to the actual instruments – as could be seen in the recorder, lute, and guitar. By contrast, the imprecision in Adler’s execution is evident – the string instrument held by the musician, the imprecise representation of the fly, and the violone’s wooden side. Present onstage are two artists or actors, one appearing in full view and the other concealed. Each of them has a different stylistic approach and identifies with different values, and the learned viewer must detect the differences and reach his own conclusions. A table spread with a green cloth decorated with the leaf pattern described above features five different string instruments, which are arrayed in a star-shaped arrangement (Figure 92). The quality of these instruments is remarkably high, and they are made of several types of wood in different colours. A fresh, perfect apple is placed close to the centre of the composition, its vitality echoing the appearance of the gleaming instruments and taut strings. The unidentified books support the long neck

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Figure 93: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection (detail).

Figure 94: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection (detail).

of a theorbo, on which Baschenis chose to sign his name (Figure 93), and allude to a collaboration, or even to an interdependency, between literature and painting. Placed upon the theorbo is a note with the dedication Alla Molto Ill.ma Marchesa Sig. Angela Costanza Porta Milano (‘to the Marquise Angela Constanza Porta of Milan’) – which reveals that Baschenis’s professional and business ties reached as far as Milan (Figure 94).70 To the left of this musical and geometric ensemble, Baschenis chose to depict a single wind instrument – a recorder (Figure 95). He painted this simple recorder with the same care with which he painted the expensive string instruments, while 70 The attempts to gather additional information concerning the Marquise were unsuccessful. De Pascale could similarly offer no further details about her.

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Figure 95: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection (detail).

making clear to the beholder that it was nothing more than a stage prop: the distances between the finger holes, their number, and the nearly blocked air window all point to an approximate representation rather than an accurate description. From a stylistic point of view, Baschenis was not in need of the recorder in order to balance the composition, whereas from a musical perspective the recorder cannot compete with the five string instruments. The unusable recorder and the precise neck of the theorbo bearing Baschenis’s signature are situated parallel to one another. Does this parallel arrangement hint to a statement concerning the impossibility of a collaboration between real and fake objects, just as it is impossible for parallel lines to meet? Bergamo’s aristocrats, the patrons and collectors of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works, attended theatre and opera performances in their hometown, and sometimes even financed their production. Baschenis and Bettera appealed to this elite group of viewers to gaze at the theatrical scenes presented in some of their still-life paintings. They invited this theatrical gaze through a carefully calculated use of different tools: lighting that created islands of light and darkness; the creation of closeness or distance by means of curtains and rugs; allusions to music and singing by means of musical instruments, sheet music, and the words written between their lines; the positioning of stage props among the objects on the table, which the beholder familiar with the worlds of theatre and music was supposed to be capable of identifying; the location of the objects in the painted space so as to create relationships similar to those between the front of the stage, the backstage, and offstage areas. Some of the statements alluding to the theatre were obvious to the viewer, while other allusions were concealed and required knowledge of both theatre and music. If he succeeded in identifying them, the beholder could understand the meaning of the invitation to gaze at the theatre, and even appreciate it.

6.  Paragone: May the Best Art Win The Paragone Competition and rivalry were integral to the lives of Italian artists in the early modern period. The paragone – a form of competition that extended across the borders of cities and artistic schools – revolved around the supremacy of one art medium over another, and especially on a comparison between the respective achievements of painting and sculpture in creating mimetically precise representations of nature.1 Artists and theorists alike sought to identify aesthetic and thematic qualities in support of their chosen medium, based on their familiarity with both the works of their contemporaries and with sculptures that had survived from antiquity. Artists copied ideas or models out of appreciation or rivalry, and competed for the attention and commissions of the same patrons. This form of rivalry, which was at once personal, theoretical, and philosophical, was also related to the dialectic distinction between disegno (‘linearity’) and colore (‘painterly’).2 Opposing theoretical approaches to this question were given expression not only in written texts, but also in different genres of painting. These genres engaged with the paragone by means of allegories and personifications, which could not be incorporated into still-life painting. Consequentially, scholars have thus far given no consideration to the question of the paragone in the still-life genre. Yet, as will be shown in this chapter, the intellectual humanist concept of the paragone was masterfully addressed in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings, in which the theoretical arguments and cultural, moral, and intellectual ideas concerning the supremacy of one art over another are communicated through a remarkably complex visual and conceptual economy.3 The innovative nature of these paintings is especially impressive since their compositions formed an arena featuring the competition among the arts upon a still-life ‘support’ devoid of figures, and seemingly also of a narrative.4 Moreover, added to the traditional participants in this competition – the arts of painting and sculpture – the following chapter will examine the ways in which the two painters from Bergamo further introduced into the debate the fields of 1 The term paragone was coined in 1817 by Guglielmo Manzi. Vasari had used the verb paragonare (‘to compare’) in its general sense while comparing, for instance, an unfinished contemporary structure and a Classical temple, yet not in reference to the competition between painting and sculpture. Leonardo, meanwhile, did not use the word paragone, opting instead for comparatione (‘comparison’) or differenza (‘difference’). See da Vinci, Codex Urbinas Latinus 1270, in Pedretti, The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci, 12–14. 2 Goffen, Renaissance Rivals, 26. 3 Mendelsohn, Paragoni, 212, note 1. 4 The ways in which the existence of this competition gave rise to a narrative in still-life paintings, although their protagonists are inert objects, will be demonstrated in the course of this chapter as well.

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music, poetry, literature, and science. Significantly, their paintings also engage with the question of the paragone within each field – comparing, for instance, prestigious and simple musical instruments or different types of representation, ranging from relief to sculpture.5 Returning to Bonifacio Agliardi’s discourse on the paragone, which he delivered at the inauguration of the Accademia degli Eccitati in Bergamo (see Chapter 2, p. 65), I will briefly attend to this early modern concern as seen from the perspective of various artists, theorists, and intellectuals. The members of this new academy were familiar with the subject, as were Baschenis and Bettera. Navigating among the arts, the two increased or decreased the value of one medium or another by means of the implicit and explicit cultural allusions included in their paintings. In some instances, their verdict is clear; in others, they invite the viewer to debate the question and formulate his own opinion. According to the art historian Rudolf Preimesberger, such allusions gave expression to a synthesis among numerous factors: the artist’s biography, the society and milieu in which he worked, his patrons, and the art theories of the time, as well as the interplay between objects and ideas.6 Although these messages were not always clear to all those observing the paintings, educated and sophisticated viewers such as the observers of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works could identify the hints encoded in them. Since the comparison between the arts was based on a comparison of their mimetic achievements, the representation of the human figure was naturally the preferred criteria for attacking rival arts. Yet even though Baschenis’s and Bettera’s still-life paintings concerning the paragone did not include this ‘preferred model’ of the human figure, the two used their painterly talent and a cultural language rich with allusions to enact a competition that was presented to the educated viewer. In the course of this chapter, the rival arts will be discussed in opposing pairs such as painting and sculpture, or music and painting. This division will support my argument that Baschenis and Bettera did not limit themselves to the familiar comparison between painting and sculpture; rather, they expressed their opinions, reservations, and appreciation by formulating an intellectual discourse related both to the arts and to additional spheres of knowledge, which they used, in different combinations, to paint a picture of their cultural world.

5 The paragone was also applied to different types of musical instruments – such as string instruments in comparison to wind instruments. In the second half of the seventeenth century, wind instruments lost their prestige as Renaissance musical instruments and gave way to more contemporary ones. Instrument makers sought to improve upon existing ones, and musicians struggled with the need to familiarize themselves with entirely new instruments, leading to complaints concerning the height of their notes. The eighteenth-century historian of music Charles Burney, for instance, claimed to have heard Antonio Scarlatti (1660–1775) complain about how much he hated wind instruments, which were never tuned. See Donnington, The Interpretation of Early Music, 548. 6 Preimesberger, Paragons and Paragone, vii–viii.

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‘Se alla Coltura dell’animo siano più giovevoli le Lettere, o la Musica?’ (‘What nurtures most the soul, Letters or Music?’) The opening discourse at the festive inauguration of the Accademia degli Eccitati in Bergamo, which took place in 1642, was delivered to the members of the new academy by Bonifacio Agliardi.7 The speaker began by asking those present which of the arts contributed most to the enrichment of the soul – literature or music – and went on to compare those who devalued the art of music to those who recognized its qualities. He also lauded the numerous qualities of the art of writing (poetry and literature), while mentioning its opponents. Agliardi warned the members of the Academy that the supporters of literature, who viewed it as superior to the other arts, sought to edify its glory upon the ruins of the other cultural pursuits. He explained their argument that music captivates the soul of its listeners, leading them to abandon their senses and appealing to their vices by making them seem sweeter. By contrast, Agliardi said, the supporters of literature would argue that it suppressed the vices, assisted in censoring them, and resuscitated the dying soul enslaved to idleness. The well-educated Agliardi also mentioned the Greek philosopher Thales (sixth century bce) and the Greek biographer Laertius (third century bce), who described literature as a clear mirror reflecting the soul like an actual mirror reflecting the figure of a beautiful woman. Agliardi paused to ask whether these arguments indeed made literature more important than music, and answered in the negative. He later spoke to his audience about Plutarch, who wrote that the King of Scizia preferred to listen to the beat of his soldiers’ drums rather than to the muffled sound of wind instruments. He preferred that his soldiers decimate their enemies with the bows of their arrows rather than injuring the ear with the sound produced by the bows of their musical instruments. Indeed, the King declared that music should not be listened to at all, decrying it as harmful and evil.8 Agliardi also noted that literature had similarly strong opponents. He reminded his listeners that music infused everything with life, and compared the spirit of God at the time of the world’s creation to the spirit of music. He stressed that music was well suited to the new Academy, given that academies were founded, among other reasons, in order to banish disputes and insults from the soul. Agliardi went on to mention Tasso’s description of Armida’s love for Rinaldo, which was expressed by means of music, and noted that, thanks to his use of music, Apollo was the only one capable of resolving a dispute among the gods, succeeding where even Mercury, the god of eloquence, had failed. A number of the figures mentioned by Agliardi – Plutarch, Tasso, and Mercury – are represented in the books that appear in Baschenis’s paintings; this fact reveals that Baschenis was a member of a social and cultural circle that also studied and read history, philosophy, and poetry.

7 8

Quote taken from Agliardi’s speech: Agliardi, Discorso Accademico ditto nell’Aprirsi, 296–307. Ibid., 296–297.

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Agliardi did not conclude by determining which of the arts was more important – literature or music. In his opinion, an academy that embraced literature would also find an honourable position for music: ‘Dirò solo che in un’Accademia ove si trattano le buone Lettere, si adatta a maraviglia bene anco la Musica’ (‘I will only say that in an Academy where Letters are discussed, also Music can fit in perfectly well’).9 He believed that in an academy where literature was discussed, there was also a place for music, and that the members of the Academy should be proud of founding an organization that paid its respects to the muses and enriched the soul. In conclusion, Agliardi repeated the question with which he opened his speech, asking which of the arts – literature or music – contributed more to the enrichment of the soul. Yet he did not provide an answer, leaving the decision to the members of the Academy and by declaring that he was ‘retiring in silence’: ‘Io intanto, lasciando a voi il giudicare: se alla Coltura dell’animo siano più giovevoli le Lettere, o la Musica, nel silenzio mi ritiro’ (‘In the meantime, I will let you judge: what nurtures the soul most, Letters or Music. And I retire in silence’).10 In presenting the subject of the paragone on canvas, Baschenis and Bettera confronted their viewers – much like Agliardi confronted his listeners– with questions that had several answers. To the best of my knowledge, a table set with objects forming a stilllife composition was used by no other seventeenth-century artist as a ‘platform’ for discussing the paragone, and theorists and scholars both then and now generally ignored still-life painting as a site for discussion of this subject. As demonstrated in the previous chapters, here too the use of the still-life genre serves as a means of engaging in a theoretical discourse rather than as an end in itself. Although this intellectual humanist debate was seemingly beyond the pale of the ‘inferior’ genre of still-life painting, Baschenis and Bettera enjoined the viewer to reflect and take a stance on the question of one art form’s superiority over the other.11 This chapter presents the approaches to the paragone formulated by painters, sculptors, and musicians, alongside those of theorists and members of various sixteenth- and seventeenth-century academies. These opinions were familiar to Baschenis and Bettera, who were both educated and knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects that influenced them and enriched their world. Books, articles, and letters concerning the paragone had already appeared during the Renaissance, and the most important ones were written by Alberti, Leonardo, Castiglione, and Varchi.12 These texts centred on the debate concerning the degree of 9 Ibid., 306–307. 10 Ibid., 308. 11 Jacqueline Lichtenstein discusses the development of the paragone in France, yet also directs her readers to the process unfolding in seventeenth-century Italy, revealing that during this period attention shifted from the artwork to the viewer and to his reception of the work, as both an observer and an art critic. See Lichtenstein, The Blind Spot, 6, note 10. 12 The major texts written about the paragone in the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries include those by Alberti (De Pictura, 1435), Leonardo (Manoscritti, late fifteenth century), Castiglione (Librodel Cortigiano, 1528), Varchi (Due Lezioni, 1547–1550), Borghini (Selva di Notizie, 1564), and Galileo (Lettera a Cigoli, 1612). Two

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faithfulness and precision revealed in the imitation of nature, especially in painting and sculpture. Imitation, in this context, was viewed as the result both of the inspiration found by the artist in nature and of his aspiration to surpass nature by means of his creativity. In each of these texts, the writer expresses his stance and justifies his choice. An important turning point in the evolution of the ‘war’ of the paragone was the letter written by the Florentine philosopher and poet Benedetto Varchi (1503– 1565), who solicited painters and sculptors to voice their opinion concerning the supremacy of one medium over the other. The innovative nature of this text lies in the author’s direct appeal to artists, which shifted the nature of the debate from theorists to expert practitioners. Varchi published his opinion and the artists’ answers in a text titled Due Lezzioni (‘Two Lessons’, 1547 and 1550).13 Despite the 100 years and several hundreds of kilometres separating Varchi and the ebullient cultural milieu of sixteenth-century Florence from Baschenis and Bettera in seventeenth-century Bergamo, the widespread distribution of the former’s text and the prestigious participants included in his study make it possible to assume that Varchi’s survey had been heard of in Bergamo.14 One may also assume that Baschenis and Bettera had read or heard about the stance of at least some of the participants in this survey, such as Michelangelo, Vasari, Bronzino, and Tasso.15 The debate concerning the paragone waned towards the end of the seventeenth century, when no new arguments were raised for or against any of the arts, especially sculpture and painting. Bernini’s argument for the unity of the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, as elaborated in his text Bel composto, seemingly ended the debate.16 According to Moshe Barasch, the paragone was indeed a highly important subject in Renaissance art theory, and Barocchi’s and Mendelsohn’s studies similarly elaborated on the significance of this subject. However, this subject’s growing popularity and its further exploration in additional studies have compromised its analysis, since the artist’s artistic skill came to be appreciated less than his concern with the theme of the paragone.17 Nevertheless, other scholars – such as Preimesberger, Sefy Hendler, important new studies published in recent years are: Hendler, La Guerre des Arts; and Preimsberger, Paragons and Paragone. Hendler’s introduction contains a remarkably comprehensive literature review (see especially pp. 17–23). 13 For a summary of the artists’ responses and additional texts on the paragone that followed upon the publication of Varchi’s book, see Mendelsohn, Paragoni, Appendix A, 147–159. 14 According to Panofsky, Varchi’s survey was the first public-opinion survey about art. See Panofsky, Galileo as a Critic of the Arts, 2. 15 Twenty years after the publication of Varchi’s account, the Florentine intellectual Raffaelo Borghini (1537–1588) published a book on the paragone in which he sought to come to terms with this concept from the perspective of the observers, rather than of artists and theorists. See Borghini, Il Riposo. For a summary of the differences between Varchi’s and Borghini’s approaches to the paragone, see Mendelsohn, Paragoni, 147–148. 16 Hendler, La Guerre des Arts, 13, 19, 53. See also Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of Visual Arts. 17 Barasch, Modern Theories of Art 2, 136.

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and Gail Feigenbaum – believe that the concept of the paragone remains intriguing and invites further comprehensive research, especially concerning the competition between additional arts beyond painting and sculpture.18 This chapter examines the concern with the paragone in still-life paintings, arguing that this genre calls for a different engagement with the subject of the competition between the arts. In these paintings, the artist’s brush served as the agent presenting the debate on canvas, enabling the painter to control the participants in the competition and its results. Significantly, Baschenis and Bettera avoided the unilateral choice of the art of painting as the most elevated art form. Instead, these two artists presented the viewer with the concept of the paragone by using their paintbrush to pass the crown of glory from one art form to another.

Painting and Music The traditional competition between the arts began with the heated debate concerning the comparison between painting and sculpture. At the same time, however, artists, theorists, and members of various academies, as well as numerous polymaths, deliberated the relative importance of additional cultural fields by comparing painting to music or poetry. Painting or music? Which of the two was the noblest art? We observe one and listen to the other; so can they even be compared?19 Unlike most of the thinkers who engaged with this subject, the Venetian composer and theorist of music Gioseffo Zarlino was opposed to such a comparison. He argued that colour and sound are incomparable, for if we cut a painted object in half the colour of the two parts will be identical to the original colour, whereas the two parts of a halved note will be different from the original note.20 As an introduction to the discussion of the paragone and to the debate concerning the supremacy of painting or music in some of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, I will present a summary of the opinions held by four early modern thinkers who wrote about the competing or complementary fields of painting and music, focusing in turn on art (Leonardo), society (Castiglione), theory (Lomazzo), and music (Galilei). One may assume that Baschenis and Bettera were familiar, at least to a certain extent, with the opinions of these four figures, as well as of additional writers.

18 See Preimesberger and Hendler in their respective books, both mentioned in note 12, and Feigenbaum in the introduction to Preimesberger’s book. 19 On the relations between painting and music in contemporary research, see Korrick, ‘Ut Pictura Musica’. 20 Zarlino, Le Istituttioni Harmoniche. The reference to Zarlino is noted in Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics’, 20–56, 47, note 52.

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Leonardo’s comparison of painting, music, and poetry placed music lowest in the hierarchy.21 He appreciated the importance of maintaining the right rhythm and proportion in a musical composition, and recognized its powerful influence on the senses. Nevertheless, he listed the numerous advantages of painting over music: the sense of sight, which is required to observe a painting, is the most important sense, superseding the sense of hearing required in order to listen to music; moreover, music accompanied by poetry requires the mediation of language, whereas painting requires no mediation; musical notes are ephemeral and passing, whereas painting is stable and fixed; observers of a painting can grasp the narrative even if several different scenes are presented simultaneously, whereas an audience can only listen to music in the order in which it is played – tone after tone, with each one dissolving before the next one is heard. As he writes, painting is superior to music: Because it does not perish as soon as it has been created, which is music’s misfortune […] the painter’s work endures for many years and is of such excellence that it keeps alive the harmony of its constituent parts, which nature, despite her powers, is not able to preserve […] Therefore, since you have placed music among the liberal arts, either you must put painting there or else remove music.22

In contrast to Leonardo, Castiglione viewed music as the most sublime of the arts, and recommended in his book that noblemen play and listen to music from a young age. In addition to all of his virtues and talents, a true nobleman was to gain expertise in reading musical notes and have command of several musical instruments. Castiglione reminded his readers of the importance of music in Classical antiquity, and emphasized that the ‘excellent philosophers’ Plato and Aristotle recognized its major influence on human beings. Even Socrates, according to Castiglione, learned in his old age how to play the sitar. Castiglione distinguished between different kinds of musical expression: the most important was solo singing, followed by the harmonious sound of key instruments, and, finally, by chamber music. This hierarchy did not include recorders, which were of significant importance in antiquity. Castiglione explained that he did not appreciate music produced by a large number of instruments, just as he had no need for more than two friends – due to the difficulty of achieving harmonious relations among numerous individuals. 21 Indeed, the discussion exceeded the limits of both disciplines (painting and music) to include the major debate between poetry and painting, as is made evident by Leonardo’s question – which one of them is the fittest to represent nature. He based his argument on the competition between them in the representation of nature on Horace’s dictum ut picture poesis (‘painting is like poetry’). It should be noted that despite his preference for painting, Leonardo was also a musician who played a lira da braccio, designed ideas for musical instruments, and drew riddles that sometimes contained musical notes. See Winternitz, Leonardo da Vinci as a Musician. 22 Kemp, Leonardo on Painting, 34. The reference to Kemp appears in Vergo, That Divine Order, 143, note 26.

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Music, he argued, should be performed in an atmosphere of beauty and calm, without the pressure of business-related concerns, when the mood of the listeners was appropriate and in the presence of ladies. At the same time, he recommended a small audience devoid of plebeians. He preferred the singing of a chorus accompanied by musical instruments, since music infused words with grace and enhanced their value. Indeed, whether intentionally or unintentionally, Castiglione’s ideas about music have the ‘tone’ of a paragone: he structures a hierarchical comparison between musical instruments, between vocal music and instrumental music, and even between ancient musical instruments and contemporary ones. Although he did not explicitly compare painting and music, his recommendations bespeak a preference for music over painting.23 In addition to the duty of studying and becoming knowledgeable about music, Castiglione recommended that a true nobleman also have knowledge of painting so that he could copy artefacts from antiquity and appreciate proportions and beauty. According to Castiglione, a knowledge of painting is a source of pleasure. As discussed in the chapter concerned with books in the paintings examined, contemporary authors sought to attest to the veracity of their writing by means of the term ‘truth’. Castiglione similarly underscored his honesty and adherence to the truth, and did so by means of a comparison to a talentless painter: since he, Castiglione, was incapable of deluding his readers, he could not embellish the truth with pretty colours or use perspective in order to deceive the eye, as would a talented painter. This statement is, in fact, a critique of the art of painting that diminished the painter’s value, since degree of the painter’s skill is directly related to his ability to deceive the viewer.24 To the long list of professional skills that he believed painters must acquire, Lomazzo added music, ‘without which the painter cannot be perfect’.25 Painters, he wrote, must follow in the footsteps of Leonardo and perfectly master the depiction of movement, since a mistake in a painting appears as shrill as the untuned strings of a musical instrument. Lomazzo suggested to both artists and observers that they obey the rules of musical structure, and argued that the maintenance of correct proportions when planning and executing a painting required recognition of its similarity to a musical composition. Lomazzo also praised Leonardo and Michelangelo for creating the right proportions in their paintings, and argued that they succeeded above all thanks to their knowledge of music.26 Yet unlike Leonardo, who privileged the sense of sight, and thus placed the art of 23 Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier. 24 Hanning and Rosand, ‘The Courtier as Musician’, 165–189. 25 Korrick, ‘Lomazzo’s Trattato’, 206. For Lomazzo’s treatment of Leonardo and music, see Lomazzo, Trattato dell’Arte, 347. See also Lomazzo, Idea del Tempio della Pittura 1590, 129. 26 Korrick, ‘Lomazzo’s Trattato’, 201, note 34. In this note, Korrick details the various origins from which one can learn about the musical knowledge of the painters she mentions.

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painting above music, Lomazzo did not privilege one sense over the other. As will be demonstrated in the discussion of their works, Baschenis and Bettera similarly expressed no preference for the sense of sight over hearing; they presented the viewer with a range of opinions, enabling him to judge for himself which was the noblest of the arts. The musician Vincenzo Galilei agreed with Zarlino that music and painting were incomparable. He preferred to see music as affiliated with poetry and humanist writing, as was the case in works that combined music and text such as Tasso’s epic poem Gerusalemme Liberata. Arguments made during Galilei’s time in favour of painting, by contrast, also relied on its similarity to poetry and music. Painting’s resemblance to poetry arose, according to its supporters, from the similarity between the mimetic skills of both painter and poet. The similarity to music, meanwhile, was attributed to the painter’s control of perspective, which was related to geometry. The comparison between music and painting during this period was motivated by the hierarchical relations between the two arts, given that music was one of the four Classical liberal arts.27 Although Galilei saw no room for a comparison between music and the visual arts, his book Dialogo della musica antica et della moderna (‘Dialogue between Ancient and Modern Music’) drew parallels between music and between painting and sculpture. He wrote, for instance, that he preferred composers whose successful works contained faulty notes, rather than painters with a limited palette of colours.28 At the same time, he criticized composers who used extremely high notes in the highest octaves, as well as dissonant spaces between tones; he asked that they keep only the notes that rendered their compositions harmonious, just as sculptors working according to a plan removed the unnecessary parts of marble blocks. Galilei also asked both the painter and the composer to carefully consider every diversion from the rules of proportion, as well as the relations between objects, in both painting and in a range of tones.29 Moreover, he chose to demonstrate the importance of restraint in music by means of comparison to artworks, such as Donatello’s sculpture of St. George.30 The use of humanist criteria for the aesthetic appreciation of music was an innovative practice that began in the late sixteenth century. It allowed for a discussion of terms such as mimesis and narrative, which were common in texts on the theory of art. Traditionally, musical composition was not conceived of as mimetic. Musicians viewed the right meter, proportions, and harmonies in music not as an imitation of 27 On early modern attempts to associate painting with the liberal arts in theoretical writings, see Kristeller, ‘The Modern System of the Arts’, 496–521. See also Farago, ‘The Classification of the Visual Arts’, 23–48. 28 Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics’, 49, note 57. 29 Korrick, ‘Lomazzo’s Trattato’, 201. 30 Galilei, La Dissonanza e la Secunda Pratica. Galilei is mentioned in Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics’, 51, note 61.

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the universe, but rather as an integral part of it.31 For those concerned with music, the term ‘imitation’ thus existed only in the sense of repeating or echoing an existing tone. The change in the approach to this term was influenced by the Italian polymath Girolamo Cardano (1501–1576), who argued for the existence of three types of musical mimesis: that pertaining to the senses, that pertaining to the voice, and that pertaining to style.32 Cardano suggested that the idea of a mimetic text or narrative could serve as a common denominator for music, painting, and sculpture. The comparison between the visual arts and music was further elaborated in the course of the seventeenth century. The argument that music was nobler than painting or sculpture relied on the connection between music and mathematics, a science allowing for the creation of perfectly harmonious proportions.33 The comparison – as well as the competition – between music and painting expanded from mathematics to include literature and poetry, humanist pursuits that awakened great interest among cultivated sixteenth- and seventeenth-century individuals in Italy. The common denominator shared by music, painting, and sculpture expanded, enabling the visual arts to cement and bolster their status.34 In what follows, I will examine the visual expression of the theoretical paragone between painting and music by means of two works, one by Baschenis and one by Bettera. The great esteem in which music was held by their contemporaries was also given expression through sitters’ requests to be immortalized alongside musical instruments, regardless of whether they actually knew how to play a musical instrument or merely sought to bask in the glory of music. In the first part of Vasari’s book Vite de piu eccellenti pittori scultori ed architettori (‘The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects’, 1568), only two of the mentioned painters are noted as knowing how to play a musical instrument. In the book’s third part, which begins with a description of Leonardo’s life, Vasari lists the names of 26 painters knowledgeable about music. The large number of painters mentioned in contemporary sources as possessing musical abilities provokes certain doubts.35 Indeed, it seems that the aura with which members of Italian high society surrounded painters 31 The art theorist Federico Zuccari (1542–1609) sought to restrict the demands for harmony that were made on painting through its comparison to mathematics, and argued that the principles of painting depended on neither geometry nor mathematics; rather, the art of painting was the daughter of nature and disegno. See Zuccari, L’Idea de Pittori, Scultori e Architetti, 49–50. The reference to Zuccari appears in Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics,’ 53, note 67. 32 Cardano, De Musica, 104–106. The reference to Cardano appears in Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics’, 54, note 71. 33 Bellori also viewed the harmony of parts or of the whole as a common denominator shared by both music and painting. See Bellori, Le Vite de Pittori, Scultori et Architetti Moderni, I, 372. 34 Moyer, ‘Music, Mathematics, and Aesthetics’, 53–56. 35 This information is quoted from the following paper: McIver, ‘Maniera, Music and Vasari’, 45–55. McIver expresses reservations concerning Vasari’s report about the musical skill of artists, yet agrees that the connection drawn between art and music attests to the respectable status of music during this period. See Vasari, The Lives of the Artists.

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Figure 96: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection.

led to their consideration as capable musicians. In the hope that the association with music would improve their status, Vasari recommended to artists that they free themselves of their charlatanism and vulgarity, and draw closer to the world of music, which had always been one of the quadrivium of liberal arts.36 Several decades later, Baschenis presented himself to the viewer not only as a painter who was deeply familiar with music, in accordance with Vasari’s suggestion, but also as a participant in the competition between the two arts – painting and music. As has been discussed earlier, the painting in Figure 96 is the only work in which Baschenis chose to depict himself standing to the side in the presence of his patrons, yet the artist is not presented painting at an easel. Rather, Baschenis is seen playing a spinet. The painter, in this case, does not merely allude to music, but is actively engaged in playing a musical instrument. Within this dark, crowded space, Baschenis presents the viewer with a competition between painting and music. Ottavio Agliardi, the young son of the painter’s patrons (who would later become a Benedictine monk), is seen playing an archlute beside him. Having chosen to depict himself in his priest’s garments, Baschenis seems to be reminding his upper-class friends that, in addition to being a painter and a musician, he was also a clergyman. On the 36 Vergo, That Divine Order, 140, note 21.

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Figure 97: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection (detail).

right-hand side of the table, a large violone is placed like a weight whose heavy presence balances the play of forces between the two arts, whose colours blend into the colourful Anatolian rug spread on the table. In this paragone, Baschenis added additional elements that call the observer’s attention to the competition: the tablature pages sticking out from the small leather-bound book at the edge of the table refer to a bygone era and to a musical language invented almost two centuries earlier. Baschenis reminds the viewer that, thanks to the medium of painting, this notation system has not been forgotten. He also invites him, as in additional cases (Figure 97), to fill the empty lines on the right-hand page, which is dog-eared with use – to contribute words or a melody, or perhaps even his own opinion concerning the competition between painting and music (see, for instance, Figure 43, p. 139). The pear placed upon the spinet in close proximity to Baschenis’s poised hands is not there for decorative purposes, for this colourful, crowded composition requires no additional ornamentation. Since the subject is a competition, arguments are presented in favour of each side. The fruit, which is beginning to rot, represents the cyclical world of nature, reminding the viewer of the ephemeral character of time and life. This reminder, however, is not a traditional vanitas warning. The fruit calls the viewer’s attention to the present moment and to that which is present before him, yet also to what will transpire and disappear forever, as the sounds of music. At the same time, the pear underscores the power of the art of painting, which enables all that was and all there is to persist in the future, in contrast to the ephemeral nature of music. Baschenis and Ottavio may be gazing at the viewer in order to invite him to join them in the act of music-making, or perhaps they are waiting for him to pronounce judgment concerning the winner of the paragone before him. By portraying this

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Figure 98: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760.

performance, the painter infuses life into the music, whose naturally ephemeral notes are frozen for posterity. The careful observer in search of signs and hints left for him by the painter will discover that Baschenis chose to sign his name on the spinet he is playing. A signature is a formal confirmation, an emblem of one’s identity that is written in one’s unique handwriting, thus allowing for the distinction between an original and a fake. What, then, is most important? – the music that is the subject of the painting, the portrait of the artist, or his signature? In this painting, Baschenis eternalizes the music for the viewer. As long as he plays, the music continues to exist – and, like him, it remains immortal.37 The following painting presents a rich ensemble of musical instruments, including key, wind, string, and plucking instruments (Figure 98). This superb group of instruments participates in a paragone between painting and music presented by Bettera. The high quality of the musical instruments is made evident by the dramatically foreshortened violin in the depth of the composition, whose neck ends in a spiral painted with special emphasis on its carving (Figure 99). 37 Rubin, ‘Signposts of Invention’, 571, 579. See also Creighton, ‘A Preface to Signatures’, 79–89; Matthew, ‘The Painter’s Presence’, 616–648; Goffen, ‘Signatures’, 303–370.

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Figure 99: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail).

Placed on the left upon an ornamented box are three books bereft of titles, and thus of identity. Above them hangs a curtain with simple folds, which plays only a marginal role in the composition. The observer of this painting clearly understands that the subject presented before him is music at its best. Indeed, music seems to be winning the competition: the variety of appealing, brightly lit musical instruments take up most of the canvas and are positioned close to the observer, and the musical notes are clearly legible. Yet a cultivated observer familiar with musical notes and the production of music would immediately realize that the same hand that had painted the musical instruments with such remarkable precision, and that had chosen to divest the books of their titles, had painted notes that appear clear and precise, yet are impossible to play (Figure 100). The handwritten notes do not include a musical key. The double stop and use of a double note allude to music for cello, yet no cello is included in the painting (­Figures 100, 101).

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Figure 100: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail).

Figure 101: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 760 (detail).

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Two of the four staves on the sheet music are impossibly long, containing eight lines instead of five. The result is a strange pattern with a recurring rhythm: five lines, eight lines, and then five and eight again. This precise repetition seems to reveal that what is at stake is not a slip of the paintbrush stemming from the painter’s carelessness, but rather an intentional choice. The fact that none of the instruments in the painting can be used to play the clearly represented notes undoubtedly undermined the viewer’s confidence. While reflecting on Bettera’s secret meaning, this educated viewer – likely a member of one of the academies in his city of residence (Bergamo, Milan, or Rome) who was well versed in the debate concerning the paragone – could note the opulent gold clock positioned on the two books in the foreground. He could also pay attention to the pile of books in which the bottom one is placed at an angle that underscores its anonymity. It is brightly illuminated, and its spine clearly bears no title. The top book is much smaller, and is rotated so that there is no possibility of identifying its title. Bettera seems to have transformed the books into little more than a technical prop for elevating the clock. He appears to be asking the beholder to listen to the ticking of the clock’s hands, to reflect on the competition between music and painting, on the fate of the one representing the passage of time or the time that remains, and to try and understand why it casts a dark shadow on the spinet’s profile. Is this a reminder of music’s greatest weakness – the ephemeral nature of its tones? The shadow of time leaves its mark on the musical instruments, obliging the viewer to forsake his admiration for their fine quality, whose impact is ephemeral, and to once again consider which of the arts won the painted competition. In contrast to Bonifacio Agliardi, who left it up to the academy members to determine which art – music or literature – was of greater benefit to the human soul, in the paragone between music and painting represented by Bettera within this composition, the decision has already been made. Appearing alongside the musical instruments crowded on the table, in the silence broken only by the movement of the clock’s hands, is Bettera’s answer: the painter’s clearly visible signature on the rectangular card, which has been rescued from the dark shadow of the clock of time, reveals that the painter has the upper hand.

Painting and Poetry Although poetry and music were considered together as one of the quadrivium of liberal arts, in the following discussion they will be distinguished in order to underscore poetry’s independent status in the context of its competition with painting. Two foundational dictums concerning the arts of painting and poetry have accompanied their theoretical discussion since antiquity. The first dictum – pictura loquens, pictura poema silens (‘poetry is a speaking picture, painting a silent poetry’) – originally appeared in Plutarch’s book On the Fame of the Athenians, and is attributed

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to the poet Simonides of Ceos (fifth century bce).38 The second dictum – ut pictura poesis (‘as is painting so is poetry’) – originally appeared in Horace’s Ars Poetica (first century bce).39 These two dictums do not refer to a paragone in the sense of a competition, but rather suggest a process of reciprocal influence and cross-fertilization between the arts. Theorists and thinkers, as well as painters and sculptors, all quoted these two statements in order to support their arguments concerning the competition between the arts of painting and poetry. During the early modern period, theorists concerned with the arts saw a similarity between the figures and subjects explored by painting and by poetry. The painter, like the poet, was supposed to express his emotions, provoke pleasure in his audience, and share his insights with them. The theorist Lodovico Dolce (1508–1568) went as far as arguing that he viewed all writers as painters, and every learned text – be it a work of poetry or history – as a painting.40 The painter and the poet’s imaginative powers were to be nourished by the beauty and depth of themes from the poetry of both antiquity and the early modern period, and by subjects from both religious and secular history. The traits shared by poetry and painting, moreover, were supposed to ensure the art of painting of a place among the liberal arts. In the seventeenth century, the humanist approach was further pursued in theories of painting, as Italian critics pointed to the similarities between painting and poetry in terms of both their subject matter and their expressive power. The assumption that the aesthetic principles of poetry and painting were identical also appeared in Gregorio Comanini’s book Il Figino. He defined both painting and poetry as mimetic arts. His approach was based on principles that were widely accepted during the period in question, and especially on that of ut pictura poesis. Both arts appeared to him to be equal in value, a belief he sought to prove by comparing poetic meter to proportions in a painting, and the use of antonyms in speech and of contrasting figures in painting. By contrast, Leonardo disagreed with the comparison between painting and poetry, and wrote that one could not compare the act of seeing with the imagination, and that words could not describe all that could be suggested by images captured in a single gaze. According to Leonardo, poetry lacked the variety and imaginative capacity of the painter. The poet’s words could not be simultaneously registered, and the harmony of his poetry could thus not be as perfect as the view provided in a perfectly painted description, which could be captured by the eye in a single instant.41

38 Plutarch, ‘On the Fame of the Athenians’. 39 Lee, ‘Ut Pictura Poesis’, 197, note 4. On the complex definition of painting and poetry offered by these two dictums, and on the analysis of their meaning, both independently and in relation to one another, see Barkan, Mute Poetry, 28–31, 130–133. 40 Lee, ‘Ut Pictura Poesis’, 196, note 6. See also Dolce, Dialogo della Pittura Intitolato l’Aretino, 116. 41 Farago, ‘The Classification of the Visual Arts’, 244–245.

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Figure 102: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, ­ otterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688. R

The following pages will present a further examination of the competition between painting and poetry, as it appears in another painting by Baschenis. Although this paragone involves the arts of painting, music, poetry, and sculpture, the allusions to the renowned poet Tasso in the painting focus the viewer’s attention on the art of poetry. In creating this composition, Baschenis invited fellow members of the Accademia del Eccitati, his patrons, and his circle of acquaintances to participate in an intellectual debate concerning the relations among these four artistic mediums, representing them through a series of emblems (Figure 102). Arranged on the table is a riddle whose decipherment will determine which is the noblest of the arts, the one who will triumph in the paragone presented by Baschenis. What is the identity of the sculpted figure? What is the meaning of the initials etched into the dust on the lute? What, indeed, is the role of dust in this work? And why does Tasso’s name appear twice – both on the musical instrument and as the title of a book (Figure 103)? What is the meaning of the notes positioned in such proximity to the viewer? Will analysis of this composition reveal the painter’s preference for one art over the others, or did he limit himself to challenging his viewers and provoking debate?

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Figure 103: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail).

Figure 104: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail).

Lying across the table is a lute large enough to counterbalance the sumptuous Baroque curtain, which forms a dramatic wave undulating from right to left. Behind the lute is a statuette of a male figure whose muscular, sculpted body is brightly illuminated against the dark background. He is depicted in contrapposto, with one arm behind his body and the other over his head. His feet are rooted in the lute – in music – while his head is adorned by a golden curtain tassel – a wreath of laurel leaves or a royal crown. His gaze is directed downward from his right shoulder, towards a folded note inscribed with the name and title of the painting’s commissioner – Gian Francesco dei Conti Guidi Bagni. Mantua (‘Gian Francesco of the Guidi Bagni family of counts from Mantua’). Inscribed on the lute are the letters ‘D.M. TASSO’. At first glance, these letters appear to have been created using a template; yet closer observation reveals that their width is not uniform, and that they were skilfully crafted by the artist’s hand (Figure 104). De Pascale confirms the assumption that the letters are not a later addition, and that Baschenis himself inscribed them on the lute. To date, no explanation has been provided as to why Baschenis chose to display these letters for all to see.

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Figure 105: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 86x115cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 1390.

The explanation I would like to offer is based on the assumption that the statuette represents the biblical King David. This assumption is bolstered by an additional painting by Baschenis in which he depicted a harp, a musical instrument identified with David, at the feet of an identical statuette (Figure 105).42 The letter ‘D’ is the first letter of David’s name, and the letter ‘M’ is the first letter in the name of Michelangelo, the admired artist who depicted the King in sculpture. It is possible that these two letters allude to the King, and perhaps also to the sculptor; but what about the rest of the inscription? Baschenis inscribed in full the name of the poet Tasso, the author of the famous epic poem Gerusalemme Liberata, which takes place by the walls of Jerusalem, the city ruled by David. The painter underscores this association by means of an arrow etched into the dust on the lute above Tasso’s name, which is directed precisely at the legs of the statuette of David positioned behind it (Figure 106). The trumpet bell shining to the right of the sculpture alludes to a blast in honour of the King. It is possible that Baschenis sought to present his viewers with a contrast between a deceased king – David – and a living king, the king of poetry – Tasso. This 42 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 156, cat. 11.

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Figure 106: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail).

masterpiece by Baschenis clearly presented the painter’s commissioner and his circle with an intellectual challenge. And there is more. The fruitful collaboration between the poet Tasso and the composer and priest Monteverdi began at the court of Vincenzo Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua. Years later, when Monteverdi was the director of music at San Marco Cathedral in Venice, he composed a madrigal titled Il combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda (‘The Combat of Tancredi and Clorinda’, 1624), based on a scene from Gerusalemme Liberata, which he greatly admired.43 It seems to be no coincidence that music and poetry were chosen as the main subjects of this painting by Baschenis, which was dedicated to another aristocratic resident of Mantua.44 In a conceit typical of Baschenis, the book bearing the poet’s name is not located at the centre of the composition; by contrast, his name is written in large letters on the lute – a reminder of Tasso’s status and of the relations between music and poetry. Baschenis painted this composition some 30 years after Monteverdi composed the madrigal. One may assume that he was familiar with this composition, and it is thus also possible that the initial ‘M’ preceding the name ‘Tasso’ alludes to this great composer. Baschenis signed his name on the lute under the inscription ‘D.M. Tasso’. The signature appears at the centre of the painting, on the rim of the lute that is closest to the table’s edge (Figure 107). The letters forming the signature are smaller than those painted on the lute, yet larger than the letters in his other signatures. Does this fact hint that the painter, who represents the art of painting, has chosen music as the noblest of the arts? What is the status of the art of sculpture represented by the King? And who can rival the man lauded posthumously as the Pope’s court poet? 43 Taruskin, Music in the Seventeenth Century, 8–9. 44 The governor Casale Monferrato, to whom the painting was dedicated, died in 1712, and De Pascale assumes that he was a resident of Mantua. The painting remained in the possession of his family until it was sold in the 1960s to a museum in Rotterdam.

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Figure 107: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 94x125cm, Rotterdam, Boijmans van Beuningen, inv. n. 2688 (detail)

Painting and Sculpture In order to present their respective claims painters and sculptors bolstered their intellectual arguments with statements concerning the social status of each medium, and the degree of physical strain it demanded. One example of such a statement is Leonardo’s description of the sculptor covered in marble dust thus resembling a baker, in contrast to the well-dressed painter seated before his easel, who uses fine paints and a thin brush while enjoying music or the reading of literary works, without the background noise of pounding hammers.45 The debate centred on the question of painting and sculpture’s basic characteristics, and the ability of each art to represent nature in the most convincing manner. The sculpted image stood for aesthetic autonomy, durability, concrete presence, and a tangible material that could be viewed from numerous viewpoints – a representation of what actually existed. Painting, by contrast, described what does not ‘really’ exist – a figure, colour, light, shadow, textures, and perspective. Opponents in this competition between sculpture and painting underscored the noble qualities of the art they favoured and the solutions it offered in order to overcome its shortcomings. Painted mirrors that reflected different views of a figure, reflections in water, metal, or glass that endowed objects with depth and volume, and trompe l’oeil representations of sculptures that competed with the originals were all solutions offered by painters to surmount the challenge of the two-dimensional canvas. According to the sculptor and jeweller Benvenuto Cellini (1500–1571), who participated in the survey conducted by Varchi, these effects were not true solutions, but 45 Summers, ‘Figure Come Fratelli’, 59–88. It should be noted that during the period in which Leonardo expressed his opinion in writing, artists struggled for the recognition of painting as one of the liberal arts – such as mathematics and poetry – rather than as one of the mechanical arts. Their struggle thus underscored the traits that distinguished them from craftsmen and manual labourers – including the knowledge, education, and imagination that informed the execution of their works. See Farago, ‘The Classification of the Visual Arts’, 118–155.

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rather ruses invented by the painter in order to overcome the weaknesses of his art. In answer to Varchi’s question as to which art triumphed over the other – painting or sculpture – Cellini wrote in 1546 that the abyss separating painting and sculpture was akin to the difference between a shadow and the thing itself.46 In their attempts to overcome the difficulty of representing light, shadow, perspective, and landscapes in sculpture, sculptors presented the medium of bas-relief as an alternative to painting. Yet this solution did not find favour with Michelangelo, precisely because the relief imitated painting. He considered a painting representing a relief to be worthwhile, yet saw a relief that attempted to approximate a painting as unworthy. In his opinion, sculpture was the lamp in whose light a painting was executed, and the difference between the arts was akin to that between the sun and the moon.47 The durability of stone or bronze further elevated the value of the ‘eternal’ medium of sculpture. Moreover, the fact that painters copied vestiges of Classical sculptures in their paintings weakened their position in the debate. In response to this argument, Leonardo wrote that the durability of sculpture stemmed from its material qualities rather than from the skill of the sculptor. He viewed sculpture as a technical endeavour based on physical force, and devoid of spirituality and nobility.48 Dolce similarly privileged painting due to the colour and range of objects it was capable of representing, in contrast to sculpture.49 In the same context, the Dutch painter Philips Angel (1616–1683), who specialized in still-life painting, wrote that unlike the sculptor, the painter could imitate any observable natural phenomenon, including ones that could not be sculpted: insects and spiders, reflections and textures, atmospheric effects such as rain, clouds, humidity, and light, as well as day and night.50 Whereas the comparison between painting and music centred mainly on the intangible elements of harmony and sound, which cannot be touched, the comparison between painting and sculpture was concerned above all with touch. The medium of sculpture could obviously be touched; but could a painting be touched? One of the ways that Baschenis and Bettera competed with sculpture was by highlighting the palpable aspects of painting, touching the wet canvas with their fingers and leaving fingerprints in the painted layer of dry dust. It is possible that by touching the canvas with his fingers, Baschenis was ‘responding’ to the letter written by Bronzino to Varchi in which he complained about the supporters of sculpture who argued that sculpture alone could be touched, and was thus more real. Among those who lauded the sense of touch was the writer and translator Anton Francesco Doni (1513–1574), who wrote in 1549 that a man whose senses had deluded him could ascertain his true state by means of touch. Baschenis and Bettera deluded their viewer by means of a 46 Varchi, ‘Lezione nella quale si Disputa della Maggioranza delle Arti’, 154–155. 47 Preimesberger, Paragons and Paragone, 69. 48 Kemp, Leonardo on Painting, 38–40. 49 Dolce, Dialogo della Pittura. 50 Freedberg and Vries, Art in History, 181.

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conceit: they invited him to determine the painting’s degree of truth by creating an illusion of touch, aimed at overcoming the disadvantage of painting in contrast to sculpture. The beholder of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works could easily find in them representations of different types of sculpture distinguished by their varying degrees of prestige, which all actively participated in the competition. Yet the concern with the paragone in these works was not limited solely to painting and sculpture.

All of the Arts: Music, Painting, Sculpture, Literature, and Science Thus far, we have encountered paintings concerning the paragone that mostly centred on a competition between pairs of different arts: painting and music, painting and sculpture, or painting and poetry. I would now like to turn to several paintings by Bettera in which the competition is expanded to include additional participants. These works reveal the complexity, depth, and uniqueness of Bettera’s approach to representing the paragone in still-life compositions. When the educated viewer faced each of the following two paintings by Bettera and mentally mapped the arts participating in the paragone, he could immediately identify the most familiar participants – painting and sculpture. Yet as he observed the representations of music and literature that Bettera chose to include in the composition, he had to determine for himself whether these two additional arts were also participants in the competition, or whether they merely served as ornamental accessories. In the first painting, the traditional paragone – a comparison between the arts and the nomination of the noblest one – is transformed into Bettera’s paragone (­Figure 108). The artist did not limit himself to comparing and contrasting painting, music, sculpture, and literature, instead expanding it to include internal competitions within different artistic mediums, based on the aesthetic criteria and values of the paragone. The viewer was thus also requested to identify this ‘inner circle’ within Bettera’s painted competition – a customary intellectual challenge at the time that began with a comparison and ended with a decision. Bettera chose to paint six musical instruments: old and new, inverted and upright, they include plucking instruments, string instruments, and wind instruments. The instruments are represented in pairs, to which he added a pair of sheet music booklets. These masterfully executed representations capture high-quality instruments, made of the finest materials and depicted with great precision. The music booklet to the right was painted in the large format common during the century preceding the creation of the painting. Meanwhile, the booklet to the left features two pages whose vertical format is that of Bettera’s own time. The first booklet is placed under the violin – a string instrument designed to be played in an interior space – while the second is adjacent to the trumpet, a wind instrument played in the public sphere.

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Figure 108: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection.

Bettera seems to be considering what is preferable: old or new, inverted or upright, a plucking instrument, string instrument, or wind instrument? Making music in the private sphere or in the public sphere? With or without the accompaniment of notes? The contrasts he suggests extend to the depicted books: although none of them bear titles, Bettera invites the viewer to observe the stack of large, heavy volumes located in the dark recess atop the chest, to the left of the sculpted bust, and to contrast them with the single, slim, brightly illuminated volume located at the centre of the table, in the foreground of the composition. Presenting the viewer with the book’s blank spine, he invites him to inscribe it with his own judgment concerning the winner of the competition. The bust that Bettera located high above the other objects in the painting, atop a large, nameless book, serves as a reminder of antiquity, as well as an expression of longing for this bygone period. This bust represents a bearded man who averts his gaze from the viewer, and whose facial features are reminiscent of early sculptures of Jesus. The door of the chest upon which the book and sculpture are positioned bears a grisaille relief of another masculine figure: the full-bodied image of a warrior holding an elongated spear, directing his gaze at the viewer as he holds up the snake he has just overcome. The bright light bathing these representations underscores the respect afforded to the art of sculpture. Additional grisaille images

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of sculpted reliefs appear on the chest’s drawers. Bettera implemented Alberti’s recommendation to create the illusion of volume by painting a relief in black and white, as well as by means of chiaroscuro.51 The differences in the location and size of the sculpture and relief simplify the discussion: in the comparison between a sculpture and a relief, a religious leader and a warrior, the status of the sculpture is literally elevated. Bettera created a triangular structure whose wide base is formed by the musical instruments and the book, and whose apex is the bust – thus creating an almost physical connection between literature, music, and painting. The right side of the triangle is the violin leaning against the side of the chest and turned towards the book and the bust at its top. Located on the left side of the triangle is the relief. At its feet, at the bottom of the structure, are an additional violin, a guitar, the small book, and a recorder. These different cultural spheres – music, literature, and sculpture – literally lean on each other, and seem even to be intertwined. In the depth of the compositional space, at a remove from the three arts, two glass balls are set on carefully designed legs, with a curtain tassel dangling between them. If the curtain were lowered, the two glass balls would be concealed, becoming invisible to the eye. A similar fate would await the bust if the tassel to its right were pulled. Only music maintains an independent presence, thanks to the location of the musical instruments, and especially of the lute on the left, which is partially placed on the curtain and thus cannot be concealed. Yet Bettera chose to pull the curtain back, revealing the two glass balls glistening in the darkness. Two spots of light gleam on the left ball, while a single spot of light appears on the right-hand one. Upon closer observation, it seems that the leg of the left ball and the ball itself are lighter than the right one (Figure 109). Careful scrutiny also reveals that the right-hand ball reflects the artist’s studio, as well as the painting, while the left-hand ball clearly portrays the artist’s reflection as he is painting on a canvas stretched across an easel. Does the ball on the right, from which Bettera himself is absent, allude to the artist’s status as a mortal vulnerable to the vicissitudes of fate? Or is the contrast between the two balls representative of that between the earthly nature of humans, who are flesh and blood, and the eternal spirit of art? Most scholars who have commented on these glass balls have argued that they reveal Bettera’s interest in Dutch painting, and his familiarity with the use that Dutch artists, such as Pieter Claesz (c. 1597–1661), made of soap bubbles and glass or crystal balls (Figure 110). According to De Pascale, these artists exploited the fragility of the balls to allude to the fragility of human life, or homo bulla, in the context of vanitas paintings.52

51 Preimesberger, Paragons and Paragone, 30. 52 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 248.

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Figure 109: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection (detail).

In my opinion, however, Bettera was exploiting an additional opportunity to demonstrate his remarkable technical skill, while using it as a means rather than an end in itself. Like the other objects in his paintings, the glass balls are used to communicate a carefully calculated message. Since this work is concerned with the paragone among the arts, the glass balls further contribute to the comparison between contrasting elements: the hard, opaque, illuminated white stone is contrasted with the fragility and transparency of the dark balls; the sculpted figure represents a bygone past that is still in existence, whereas the left-hand glass ball might break, resulting in the disappearance of the painted artist and canvas.53 The eternal representation of the Christ figure is contrasted with the temporary and ephemeral image of the artist. Will the artist’s legacy also disappear? Are his works similarly ephemeral? Or will his spirit and messages remain even after his body ceases to exist? The painter can transform the past into a present, which is offered up to the viewer’s gaze, and eternalize the ephemeral qualities of nature on canvas. What, then, is the significance of painting and thus eternalizing ephemeral things, such as a flower that remains forever fresh, or the portrait of a painter? Does art offer an alternative to the passage of time? The painting seems to possess a capacity that nature lacks – that of perpetuating vitality. A painter representing himself is not merely the executor of the artwork, but also an image in the painting, as well as its observer. 53 Brusati, ‘Stilled Lives’, 168–182.

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Figure 110: Pieter Claesz, Vanitas with Violin and Glass Ball, c. 1628, oil on panel, 36x59cm, Nuremberg, Germanisches National Museum (detail). Used under CC Licence BY NC ND / Cropped from original.

As we have seen above, Baschenis and Bettera added a personal touch to representations of the paragone by including their own portraits in different ways. In the paragone between painting and music, Baschenis presented himself in his full glory, as was the custom at the time, in order to underscore his social and cultural standing (see Figure 96, p. 231). By contrast, in Bettera’s paragone between painting and sculpture, the artist represented himself inside a symbolic object, thus underscoring the acute tension and charge of the competition. Despite his presumptuousness Bettera remains modest. Although he was responsible for the contents and execution of the painting, he located his own figure in the background, imprisoned within a fragile glass ball, in contrast to the prominently displayed stone sculpture, thus leaving the verdict concerning the winner up to the cultivated viewer. In the next painting, Bettera convinces the viewers of the triumph of the art of painting over music, sculpture, and literature (Figure 113). He removes the books, the representatives of the written word, from the arena of the competition unfolding on

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Figure 111 (left): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 81x99cm, Private Collection (detail). Figure 112 (right): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x149cm, Private Collection (detail).

the table, and locates them in the far left-hand corner of the stage, where they appear as a pile of nameless and colourless volumes. Bettera oriented the corner of the table, which is spread with a green cloth, towards the viewer. This is a rare angle in his paintings, and the artist underscored it by means of a spot of light, which highlights the trompe l’oeil illusion that the cloth is about to tear. The sheet music, a viola’s neck, a bow, and a recorder similarly protrude beyond the table’s contour, blurring the line between painting and viewer, illusion and reality. The inclusion of mirrors in paintings, or the use of other shiny surfaces reflecting the painter’s figure or other objects, was common during Baschenis and Bettera’s time.54 Baschenis often added a sheen or dust to the objects in his paintings, and frequently did so through the use of light and shadow and of contrasts compatible with the Baroque style of the period, albeit with his characteristic restraint and minimalism. In rare instances, he allowed one object to be subtly reflected in another. One can note, for instance, the reflections on the side of the spinet (Figure 111), which capture the cloth it rests on and the striped wooden side of the adjacent guitar, or the shiny interior of a jewellery box in which an apple is reflected (Figure 112). A mirror can also serve as a technical means of adding an additional perspective in order to create a three-dimensional effect or a self-portrait, as well as for expanding the space or completing the appearance of a represented object. It creates the illusion of a three-dimensional world. In some instances, the reflection even reveals an additional space, exposing things that would otherwise remain concealed. Bettera addresses the argument made by sculptors concerning the supremacy of three-dimensional sculpture over two-dimensional painting by means of the chest on the table, on which he painted a grisaille image representing the front and back 54 Mirrors in paintings carry numerous meanings. In this chapter, however, they are discussed exclusively in the context of the paragone.

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Figure 113: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection.

of a female figure that appears to be sculpted. In order to further refute the argument that painting cannot simultaneously display the front and back of a given object, he also leans a violin against a mirror that reflects its back (Figure 114). The presentation of both sides of a musical instrument by means of a mirror enables the art of painting to triumph not only over sculpture but also over music, since only the art of painting enables the viewer to simultaneously observe the two sides of a musical instrument. Bettera’s advantage as a painter is thus underscored in relation to both sculpture and music. The fact that the mirror is not set in a decorative frame further underscores the technical role assigned to it by the artist. It should be noted that mirrors appear in none of Baschenis’s paintings. The musical instruments that Bettera chose to represent in this painting include plucking instruments, string instruments, and wind instruments. The sheet music seems about to topple over, and one cannot identify the music despite the bright light that is cast upon it. As the viewer admires the range of musical instruments and their high quality, his eyes fall on a guitar that has no strings (Figure 115). In order to make clear that this detail is no coincidence, Bettera carefully painted the strings of the viola placed perpendicular to the guitar. In the absence of strings, there will be no music.

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Figure 114: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection (detail).

The importance of strings as a condition for the production of music is further underscored by Bettera in another painting (Figure 116). Standing upright beside an expensive, highly ornamented guitar that has no strings is a violin whose front is oriented towards a mirror. The reflection in the mirror reveals that the violin similarly lacks strings. Neither a musical instrument ‘sculpted’ by means of a mirror nor one painted on canvas can make music without strings. In this work, Bettera proves that the painter holds the key to judging the paragone. His paintbrush demonstrates that it is in his power to silence music, remove literature from the competition, and subjugate sculpture.

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Figure 115: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 103x147cm, Private Collection (detail).

Figure 116: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 106x149cm, Private Collection (detail).

By creating a composition that appears remarkably close to the viewer, Bettera invites him to participate in the paragone, which takes the form of a multi-disciplinary competition involving music, painting, sculpture, literature, and science (­Figure 117). A brightly illuminated sheet of white paper is unfurled towards the viewer in an inviting gesture. Yet despite the bright light and its proximity to the viewer,

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Figure 117: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761.

one cannot read the musical notes that are painted on it, and they seem to have been effaced by the passage of time. Bettera appears to have intentionally obscured them, since in other parts of the composition the viewer can clearly identify highly precise details – such as the painter’s own name on the cover of the book to the left or the thin, clearly defined strings of the violone positioned in the depth of the composition, much further away than the almost invisible musical notes (Figure 118). Bettera’s choice concerning the representation of the musical notes expresses a clear stance about the transient nature of music, as he reminds the viewer that music is played according to the instructions provided by written notes. In the absence of notes, there is no music. Yet Bettera did not always rely on this argument. In the competition between music and sculpture, when he was in need of an argument in favour of music, the white sheet of paper at the edge of the table was filled up with notes (Figures 119, 120). In addition to the Ganassi recorder pointing to the sheet music, Bettera presents four musical instruments in tribute to the importance and prestige of music: a viola da gamba, a violin, a theorbo, and a lute. The instruments are all carefully made of high-quality materials – several types of wood in shades ranging from light to very dark brown. Their arrangement alternates between instruments that face up and ones that face down, as well as between plucking and string instruments. The necks

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Figure 118: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Fondazione Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail).

Figure 119 (left): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 96x140cm, Private Collection (detail). Figure 120 (right): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail).

of the viola da gamba and the theorbo, which are placed on the chest, partially overlap and cast a dark shadow on a monochromatic figure that appears to be sculpted. It depicts the large-framed body of a man lying on his back, as if pulling away from the heavy shadow that threatens him (Figure 121). In the competition between music and sculpture, sculpture has the lower hand. The viola and the theorbo traverse the canvas on a diagonal – descending from right to left. Music is diminished, ‘bowing’ to the astrolabe and the cover of the book. Its proximity to the astrolabe, which represents astronomy, pointedly reminds the intellectual viewer that music and astronomy are both included among the quadrivium of liberal arts, the prestigious group of arts and sciences in which painters longed to be included. The horizontally positioned book serves as a stable base for the astrolabe, which enables the discoverers of new countries and seas to navigate according to the stars. The knowledge contained in the book, meanwhile, provides metaphorical stability, enabling those departing for distant seas to set off on their course. The painter Bettera placed his signature on the cover of the same book (see Figure 65, p. 180). This is a rare gesture, found nowhere else in his oeuvre or in that of Baschenis Does his signature indeed serve to endorse literature? Did he use it to point to the multi-disciplinary quality of his own work as a painter and writer? Is he structuring a hierarchical set of relations among the arts, with the art of sculpture succumbing

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Figure 121: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 72x95cm, Bergamo, Accademia Carrara, inv. n. 761 (detail).

Figure 122: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie.

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to music, which in turn ‘bows’ to science and literature? And what is the verdict concerning painting? Where, having signed the back of the book, does the painter locate his own art in this hierarchy? On a table spread with a carpet bearing a dense, complex pattern, Bettera painted musical instruments, two chests, a globe, an astrolabe, books, vocal sheet music, and a plate of fruit (Figure 122). To the left of these objects, which take up most of the composition, a sculpted figure and a rooster look down from individual wooden pedestals. This crowded painting gives rise to a discussion aimed at determining the supremacy of one of the following arts: painting, sculpture, music, or literature. Included as an inseparable part of this intellectual debate are the representatives of the terrestrial and heavenly realms, a globe and an astrolabe. The painting also engages in a series of internal comparisons pertaining to each of the arts, such as that concerning the difference between expensive and simple musical instruments or between a relief and a sculpture.55 One can effortlessly note that the art of writing – literature – is literally relegated to the corner. Stacked in the dark right-hand corner of the composition are three thick, nameless books that are only partially visible. Bettera fated them to be cropped, much like the carpet whose border remains invisible. By contrast, below the books are a guitar, a lute, a chest, and an astrolabe, which are fully depicted and illuminated to underscore their importance. Another nameless book lies under the globe, and yet another one (to the left) serves merely to elevate the violin resting upon it. Bettera’s statement concerning the inferiority of the art of writing in relation to music is further underscored when one notices that the same book that serves to elevate the violin sits upon a brightly illuminated and clearly depicted sheaf of sheet music, which is indicated by the violin’s bow. The viewer is also invited to read the musical notes placed beside the elaborately ornamented guitar in the foreground. It has now been made clear that literature is not included in the competition, leaving music, sculpture, science, and, of course, painting – the artist’s own creation. As an allusion to the paragone between music and sculpture, Bettera included two painted chests, one to the right of the globe and the other to its left, which present the viewer with contrasting representations: the right-hand chest is brightly illuminated, and its front depicts a monochromatic figure that appears to be sculpted, with its back turned to the viewer and its gaze directed to the left (Figure 123). In the dark area above it is a violin whose neck casts a faint shadow, which does not conceal the figure on the chest. By contrast, it is difficult to identify the figure painted on the dark chest to the left, while the violin set upon it is clearly illuminated. In order to find additional hints to the painter’s position, the viewer must further scrutinize the composition. 55 On musical instruments and their symbolic meaning in music, see Winternitz, Musical Instruments and their Symbolism.

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Figure 123: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail).

Sculpture and music seem to be competing for the viewer’s attention and appreciation. The five musical instruments form a circle with their necks directed inwards. They are made of several different types of wood, and thus vary in terms of their colour and monetary value. The archlute to the left is made of dark and not especially expensive wood; its ribs are large, and it does not have any spacers.56 The two violins and lute are carefully and precisely constructed. The beautifully embellished guitar (see Figure 55, p. 162) is made of very expensive, special wood. In depicting this serious debate, Bettera took care to call the viewer’s attention to his virtuoso skill at creating trompe l’oeil representations and painted one of the guitar’s strings as loosely falling onto the lute above it, thus connecting the two instruments (Figure 124). The objects on the table – the chests, a number of the musical instruments, and the books – are turned to the left, revealing that the true competition between music and sculpture concerns the brightly illuminated sculpted figure positioned to the left on a separate pedestal. The mythological figure of Hercules represents tremendous power, courage, and ingenuity. This particular sculpture of Hercules closely resembles the Farnese Hercules, which is mentioned in an inventory of the Palazzo Farnese in Rome from the mid-sixteenth century.57 According to statements made at the time, it was considered to be one of the four most beautiful sculptures to survive from 56 Bits of wood inserted into the ribs of a musical instrument in order to refine and enhance its rounded form. 57 Haskell and Nicholas, Taste and the Antique, 229–231. The authors conclude that this sculpture was an enlarged version that Glycon created for the Baths of Caracalla in the early third century ce, based on a similar sculpture created by Lysippus or in his workshop. The sculpture was transferred to Naples in 1787.

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Figure 124: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail).

antiquity (Figures 125, 126).58 Winckelmann suggested that Hercules is seen resting after obtaining the golden apples from the Garden of the Hesperides; according to other scholars, he is depicted at rest after having killed the Nemean lion.59 The sculpture in Bettera’s painting closely recalls the Farnese Hercules down to the positioning of the fingers of his left hand, which appears to be either resting or holding a club, one of Hercules’ attributes. It is possible that Bettera had seen the Farnese Hercules while working in Rome.60 Yet in contrast to this Classical sculpture, Bettera’s image reflects his choice not to include the head or skin of the vanquished lion – trite and unoriginal details. Instead, he chose to devote the centre of the composition to a plate containing a dozen 58 Ibid., 229, note 7. 59 Winckelmann and Fèa, Storia delle Arti del Disegno, 285. The reference to Winckelmann appears in Haskell and Nicholas, Taste and the Antique, 230, notes 19, 20, 21. 60 This sculpture was on display in the inner courtyard of the Palazzo Farnese. It is possible that Bettera saw copies of it that had been created for the French Academy in Rome, or other copies that ended up in the city’s antiquities markets. Haskell and Nicholas note that in the seventeenth century, smaller copies of this sculpture, such as that created by the northern Italian sculptor Stefano Maderno in the early seventeenth century, were highly popular. See Haskell and Nicholas, Taste and the Antique, 230, note 39.

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Figure 125 (left): Glycon of Athens (copy) Lysippos (original type), Farnese Hercules, marble, Naples National ­Archaeological Museum. Figure 126 (right): Glycon of Athens (copy) Lysippos (original type), Farnese Hercules, marble, Naples National Archaeological Museum (detail).

perfect fruits, which appear in the foreground facing the viewer. The fruit symbolizes the twelve tasks that, according to mythology, were given to Hercules by his cousin Eurystheus. As he noted in relation to other representations in the paintings of Baschenis and Bettera, in this case too De Pascale remarks that the sculpture refers to the bygone past. He sees it as an allusion to the vanitas motif, which is related to the fragility and ephemerality of life.61 By means of his paintbrush, Bettera hints to the viewer that while the painting compares sculpture to music, it is in his power, as the painter, to decide what form this comparison will take: he will choose whether to relegate the representation of sculpture to a figure illustrated or sculpted on the front of a marginal chest, or whether to present it in its fully glory, towering high above the table laden with musical 61 De Pascale, in Evaristo Baschenis e la Natura Morta, 264, cat. 55.

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instruments. In doing so, Bettera shifts the art of sculpture into a position of superiority over music. At this point in the debate, one can attempt to offer a preliminary conclusion; this, one may assume, is precisely what the intellectuals observing this painting attempted to do while striving to decipher the hints, symbols, and positions that Bettera chose to present to them. It was initially easy for the viewer to assume that in this paragone, literature has been vanquished by music, sculpture, painting, and science; he would then proceed to discern the supremacy of music over sculpture. Yet once his gaze rested upon the sculpture of the powerful and courageous Hercules towering high above the musical instruments and sheet music, the scales would tip in favour of the art of sculpture. By means of this Classical sculpture, Bettera attended to the power struggle not only between the arts, but also between different historical periods – the present and the past. Although the sculpture in the painting remarkably resembles the Farnese Hercules, this figure was painted by Bettera’s own hands in the present, rather than hailing from antiquity. Bettera imitates an ancient source that imitated an even older source. The intellectual debate concerning the supremacy of Classical representations over contemporary ones is underscored by the choice of this sculpture: when the Farnese Hercules was discovered, it was missing the lower part of its body, which was completed by Guglielmo della Porta. Following Michelangelo’s recommendation, even when the lower part of the original sculpture was later uncovered, the sculpture was left intact as a tribute to the modern artist.62 High above the opponents, Bettera also painted a rooster. The position of its feet and the inclination of its body parallel those of Hercules. Whereas the Classical sculpture relates to a discussion that had developed over hundreds of years, the image of the rooster refers to the restricted sphere of a single day and night. The presence of the rooster in this painting has numerous associations. In a mythological context, the rooster symbolizes a connection to Apollo, the god of the sun: following the death that occurs with the setting of the sun, resurrection occurs at sunrise, which the rooster announces with its crowing. In Christianity, the rooster is perceived as a warrior calling out every morning to repel the forces of darkness that operate under the cover of night, serving as a reminder of Jesus’s prediction concerning Peter’s denial.63 The two halves of the day are represented on the globe: its eastern part is dark, and the western part is illuminated by the advancing day. The rooster’s head is turned towards the east, where the sun will rise, and towards the globe at the composition’s centre. Yet why did Bettera endow the rooster with the privilege of rising up above the competitors in this paragone?

62 Baglione, Le Vite de’Pittori, Scultori et Architetti. This book is referred to by Haskell and Nicholas, Taste and the Antique, 230. 63 John 18:26–27.

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Figure 127: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail).

It is possible that by means of this simple animal, Bettera reminds the viewer that beyond the petty debate among musical notes, words, images, and colours there exists the cycle of life, which recurs in an eternal rhythm of day, night, and day. The forces of nature represented by the rooster are more powerful than any text, sound, stone, or colour – more powerful even than the mighty Hercules. Nature is also loftier and more enduring than the figure of the wanderer depicted at the central and most brightly illuminated point on the globe. The face of this wanderer, who marches over the course of many days, is similarly oriented towards the east (Figure 127), to the place where the sun that moves the wheel of life rises every morning. At the bottom of the globe, one can notice two seals that symbolize curiosity, interest, and the geographical and scientific knowledge possessed by the explorers of Bettera’s time (Figure 128) who were dispatched by the early modern period’s curious intellectuals, reminding the viewer of their achievements as explorers. The astrolabe and the globe allow the discussion to exceed the comparison between the visual arts, expanding it to include a comparison and competition among different fields of knowledge. The rooster and the painted wanderer are both turned towards the astrolabe on the right, which completes the circle of visual representations in this composition. In placing the illuminated golden astrolabe high up between the violin and the books lying in the shadows, Bettera has included the entire world in this work: the globe represents the continents and seas upon the Earth, while the astrolabe – a means of maritime navigation based on astronomy – represents the heavens. As the discussion of this painting reveals, within this symposium concerning the paragone, Bettera excels at presenting the viewer with concepts that can be subjected to comparison and competition: the ancient and the contemporary, original and copy, vegetal and mineral, darkness and light, earth, water, and sky.

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Figure 128: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail).

Figure 129: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection.

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The following painting by Bettera (Figure 129) has never before been reproduced in print. A silk curtain lined with golden tassels, whose golden embroidery is set against a red background, is bunched into rich folds which hang above an arrangement of objects representing the various arts: music, literature, philosophy, science, sculpture, and, of course, painting. Set upon a Turkish carpet with a complex pattern are 21 different objects, which appear at first glance to form a meaningless medley. Yet closer observation of this arrangement gives rise to a cultural and intellectual discussion concerning the relations between the arts in the context of the traditional paragone, as well as in wider conceptual contexts. As shall be shown below, Bettera’s engagement with the paragone creates separate discursive circles which exist independently of one another while intertwining both physically and in terms of the values they represent. The discussion unfolding in the foreground is composed of two brightly illuminated arrangements. Each contains a sheet music booklet, a book, and a fruit, while it is surrounded by a semi-circle of various musical instruments. The books bear no titles, and are sealed shut by means of weights composed of a pear and an orange, which underscore their anonymity, in contrast to the wide-open booklets. To the right, a recorder leans against a spinet, touching the lute above it while its bottom part points towards the closed book and underscores its contrast with the open spinet. The spinet’s keys are inaccurately depicted (see also Figure 10, p. 89). Once again, one may ask why Bettera painted a keyboard that cannot function in reality. The answer may lie in the fact that in this painting Bettera’s concern with the paragone led him to depict representations of music – that is, of musical notes and instruments – which do not correspond to reality. In doing so, he emphasized the fact that the paragone was concerned with the various arts as concepts rather than as specific musical instruments, books, or sculptures. The right-hand book clearly presents musical notes, yet they lack melodic significance (Figures 130, 131). The letter ‘C’ written at the top of the page and the words scribbled between the lines of notes reveal that this is a composition for a chorus. Metaphorically speaking, the painting is not still. In this part of the competition, music has undoubtedly triumphed over literature. The books are closed and nameless. At the centre of the painting is an expensive guitar decorated with an intertwining leaf pattern, which leans diagonally across a black chest. To the left of the guitar is an overturned orange violin, while a trumpet points out at the observer from atop the chest. In stark contrast to the white pages of the booklets in the foreground, another sheet music booklet hangs off the dark left-hand side of the chest, its pages dog-eared with use. Below it is a theorbo. The doors of the chest bear two grisaille images of female figures that appear to be sculpted. The violin’s bow rises up between the two figures like the bar of a balance scale (­Figure 132). While the recorder directs the viewer’s gaze to the closed book on the right, Bettera seeks to shift the competition to the sphere of music and sculpture. By means of the violin neck on the left, he points to the female figure that appears to be sculpted on

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Figure 130 (left): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail). Figure 131 (right): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail).

the side of the chest. It is no coincidence that the violin is pointed towards this particular figure, whose back is not turned to the viewer. The possibility of depicting a figure from behind and thus enabling the viewer to imagine it as more perfect than it would appear if represented frontally was familiar to Renaissance painters. The rotated figure awakened in the viewer a desire to complete the missing viewpoint, creating an intriguing riddle. In some instances, the tension created by this type of bodily orientation – the back turned in one direction and the face turned in another (figura serpentina, or ‘serpentine figure’) – is compatible with the demands of the narrative.64 In his book Dialogo di Pittura (‘Dialogue in Painting’, 1548), the Venetian painter and art critic Paolo Pino advised painters to include in every composition one contorted figure, which is more difficult to execute.65 In this manner, he promised, they would be appreciated as outstanding artists, experts on the nuances and qualities of the art of painting. Several dozen years later, Lomazzo similarly advised painters to depict a female figure whose body was contorted like that of a serpent or flame, in accordance with the period’s ideal of beauty.66 Bettera copied the two figures he chose to paint on the chest from a book of prints by Philips Galle (1537–1612) which had been published in 1587 (Figures 133, 134). The right-hand nymph is Garga and 64 This chapter addresses the subject of contorted figures only as it pertains to the paragone. Luba Freedman’s article offers numerous examples of Renaissance images that portray women from behind. See Freedman, ‘A Nereid’, 323–336. 65 Pino, Dialogo di Pittura. 66 Freedman, ‘A Nereid’, 332, notes 41, 43.

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Figure 132: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas,110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail).

Figure 133 (left): Philips Galle, Aganippe, 1587, engraving, 17.78x11.27cm, Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Figure 134 (right) : Philips Galle, Garga, 1587, engraving, 17.62x10.8cm, Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

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the left-hand nymph is Aganippe, the nymph of the well sacred to the muses at the foot of Mt. Helicon. According to mythology, inspiration was granted to those drinking from this well. In the painting in Figure 132, Bettera demonstrates his knowledge of mythology and of the themes pertaining to these figures, while perhaps also hinting at his own source of inspiration. It is possible that despite his unstable financial predicament, he owned this book of prints that had been published several decades earlier. It is also possible that this fact, like his use of glass balls, reveals his connection with colleagues in the Netherlands. The two images of sculpted nymphs, which present them both frontally and from the back, remind the viewer once again of an important advantage wielded by sculpture in the competition with painting: the question of volume and of sculptural three-dimensionality in contrast to painting’s two-dimensionality. Whereas the observer of a sculpted figure could walk around it and examine it from all sides, painting offered no such option. At the same time, the viewer could remember and see for himself that painters have overcome this disadvantage by placing mirrors within their paintings, as well as by painting a figure from both sides, as in this image (Figure 132). They saw this feat as an advantage over sculpture, since the viewers of a painting could observe the different sides simultaneously, and were not required to walk around the figure in order to see it from different perspectives. The paragone involving music, sculpture, and literature twists and turns in this painting like the figures on the chest, and, like them, it turns in different directions. As our eyes rise above the chest, the book placed atop it is revealed to have a name, whose identity and special significance restore the art of writing to the circle of contenders in the competition. The book is illuminated by a focused beam of golden light that reveals its title: Il Divino Platone (‘The Divine Plato’). By contrast, the booklet representing music rests in the shadows, underscoring the supremacy of literature. De Pascale observed that the book is a compendium of Plato’s works, rather than a specific book. It should be remembered that in the early modern period in Italy, only two writers were referred to as ‘divine’ – Plato and Dante. This title was awarded to Plato by the Florentine philosopher Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499), and its introduction into the painting suddenly changes the power relations among the arts.67 Who can compete with such a title? What art or discipline can triumph over this book of philosophy? In stark contrast to the illuminated book with its visible title, the second book included in the painting is rotated so that its spine is invisible, making it impossible to identify. This anonymous book serves as a base for the dark blue globe marked by

67 Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance, 15.

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Figure 135: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 110x135cm, Torino, Private Collection (detail).

several red latitudinal lines, yet bearing no continents, which is located above the books and the music book lying in the shadow. The point of light at the globe’s centre enables the viewer to identify three tiny figures walking along the equator: one is turning west, the second east, and the third stands with its legs facing east and its face towards the west (Figure 135). Unlike the globes he included in other paintings, in this case Bettera chose to restrict the number of represented details and downplay their precision. The distribution of light and dark areas on its surface appears similarly intentional. In making this choice, Bettera created a conceit of sorts: the globe – which represents geography, curiosity, and the surpassing of both physical and scientific limits – is elevated in this composition above the other arts so that it is in fact not a participant in the competition. It provides little information, and contributes nothing to the viewer apart from its role as a representation of science. In the competition between music, literature, and sculpture, the viewer vacillates as he debates which direction to go in, like the wanderer at the centre of the path on the globe, hesitating which way to turn.

Music and Science In Chapter 4, the discussion of the painting in Figure 136 centred on a book whose title Bettera shortened while adding to it the last name of its author: Specchio di Scientia del Fioravanti. Fioravanti was a restless doctor, an ardent supporter of experimental, unmediated science, and a first-hand observer who sought to exploit every type of knowledge, however lowly it may appear, refusing to distinguish between noble and inferior arts. He opened his book with the important statement that an interdisciplinary approach was necessary for the pursuit of knowledge, and that neither science nor art could be perfect without an understanding of other fields of knowledge. For this reason, he argued, his book would pursue numerous arts and

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Figure 136: Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection.

a range of sciences.68 The artist Bettera presented in his paintings the same kind of interdisciplinary spirit advocated by Fioravanti in his book. Bettera, who was well versed in the cultural values of his time, understood the importance of music in the life of the city’s nobility, and used his canvas to paint the paragone between music and science. The competition between music and science that is set up by Bettera gives expression to two elements: the physical appearance of the objects representing the competing schools, and their cultural significance and value. Bettera enabled the viewer to participate in the event that gives rise to the comparison. In both a practical and a metaphorical sense, the contact of the viewer’s fingers on the back of the dust-covered theorbo have ‘singled out’ music, while the same fingers have ‘flipped through’ the scientific volume so that its cover grew worn and even tore. In stark contrast to the single worn-out book on the chest, Bettera presents a selection of musical instruments – wind, key, string, and plucking instruments. These musical instruments are carefully preserved, and depicted in great detail. They are made of top-quality wood, and glisten with a layer of varnish. The artist’s careful attention does not skip over the metal trumpet, which seems to gleam as a result of being carefully shined. This is a 68 Fioravanti, Dello Specchio, 3–10.

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Figure 137 (left): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 100x130cm, Prague, Narodni Galerie (detail). Figure 138 (right): Bartolomeo Bettera, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 102x145cm, Private Collection (detail).

first-class group of instruments of significant value, and it is likely that they belonged to members of the nobility.69 The two music booklets placed on the left and right similarly appear in perfect condition. Like the musical instruments surrounding them, they too are contrasted with Fioravanti’s book. Whereas the book has the advantage of not only representing knowledge but also containing it, and making it accessible to the viewer by means of its title, the musical notes in the booklets are meaningless, serving merely to represent music. Bettera further underscores the differences between the two arts through stylistic means: the book is distanced from the viewer and its colour is light brown, while the booklets with their strikingly white sheet music are positioned in close proximity to the viewer. The observer of these objects, their meanings, and of the contrasts and contradictions presented by Bettera thus immerses himself in a deliberation concerning the winner of this paragone as well as concerning the very possibility of making an unequivocal judgment. 69 Based on Bettera’s biography and on his major financial difficulties, one can assume that in contrast to the instruments represented by Baschenis, these musical instruments did not belong to the painter, but rather to his patrons.

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The opulence and beauty of the musical instruments, and their proximity to the edge of the table, may lead the viewer to think that music has gained the upper hand. Yet a cultivated intellectual familiar with the contradictions and contrasts in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings could not ignore the presence of the astrolabe at the centre of the painting, which is positioned on the same plane as the book, above the musical instruments. By combining knowledge, substance, and specific stylistic choices, Bettera tips the scales of the paragone in favour of science. Yet the presentation of the astrolabe as dark and lustreless, in contrast to its depiction as a bright, shining golden object in other paintings, rebalances the power relations between the fields of science and music (Figures 137, 138). This balance is compatible with Fioravanti’s multi-disciplinary approach, which advocated collaboration between different disciplines in order to attain perfect knowledge. The discussion of these two disciplines – science and music – is further developed by means of the cello’s bow, which lies with its back on the table. Extending across the composition like the mast of a ship reaching towards infinity, the bow is positioned behind the musical instruments, between the astrolabe and the book representing the vastness of the universe and of scientific thought, and is thus charged with carrying the discussion far beyond the here and now.

Painting, Music, and Literature A hint concerning the choice of ‘the fairest’ art appears in the form of the golden apple which is placed on the spinet between the two music books (Figure 139). An apple appears in most of Baschenis’s paintings, yet this is the only painting in which it seems to be made of gold, rather than picked from a tree. In order to underscore this anomaly, Baschenis added to the fruit a branch with black leaves (Figure 140). According to the mythological story of the Judgment of Paris, his decision to allot the golden apple to Aphrodite, who was chosen as ‘the fairest of them all’, resulted in the outbreak of the Trojan War. As in this narrative of the competition between three goddesses (Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite), Baschenis enacts a competition between three arts – painting, music, and literature. Literature is represented by the Marquis Bisaccioni’s book; music is represented by the musical instruments and notes; and painting is represented by the painter’s own creation. The book is relegated to the darkness, in isolation from the arrangement in the foreground. The musical instruments are adjacent to the golden apple, and are turned in its direction. There is no space between the instruments, which seem to be jostling for a decision to be made. The richness of every detail – the textiles, textures, and colours, as well as the reflection of the lute on the side of the spinet – all demonstrate the painter’s virtuosity in deceiving the eye. The skilful depiction of minute and alluring details was also a

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Figure 139: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala.

speciality of Bisaccioni, a writer in the service of various interests who deluded the reader by means of his words. The apple leans on the sheet music, which appears in the service of both singing and playing. The line beginning at the point touched by the apple, however, remains empty. Baschenis casts the viewer in the role of Paris, metaphorically handing over his paintbrush so that he could pronounce his judgment and inscribe it on the appointed empty line. The care taken by Baschenis to capture every detail of the carpet, curtain, musical instruments, and notes in this meticulously constructed painting has great importance, as does the placement of his own signature. Although this time the judge who will choose the winner among the three competing arts – painting, music, and literature – is the viewer, Baschenis underscores his own opinion concerning the great importance of music by choosing to sign his name on the side of the spinet at the centre of the painting, directly across from his audience’s gaze.

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Figure 140: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas 83x98cm, Milan, Museo Teatrale della Scala (detail).

The observer of the following painting is faced with an arrangement composed of musical instruments and books that seem to be passively placed alongside one another, yet it creates in fact an expressive statement regarding the competition between two arts: a paragone between music and literature (Figure 141). Is one of these arts superior to the other? Are they dependent upon one another? Is the painter expressing a stance by means of his paintbrush, or is he leaving the choice up to the viewer? Why are the books, which represent the written word, placed in the limelight? After all, it is no coincidence that the number of musical instruments exceeds the number of books, and that the importance of the instruments is underscored thanks to the colourful ribbons that gracefully decorate them, as well as to the superb quality of the violin. Placed against a dark, uniform background, four musical instruments are inverted on a surface spread with a green cloth. The light-coloured violin possesses impressive curves, which point to the high quality of the wood. Its contours are highly precise, and its shining varnish attests to its frequent use. The bow peering out from below it is made of dark, expensive snake wood. The other musical instruments appear simple, their proportions are imperfect, and they bear no embellishments indicative of their

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Figure 141: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection.

worth, such as complex intaglio designs or the name of the manufacturer. Placed upon the guitar at the centre of the composition is a folded letter waiting to be sent, which has yet to be stamped with a wax seal. By means of the bright lighting, Baschenis calls the viewer’s attention to the letter and books on the left-hand side of the composition. The violin, which is placed before them, is similarly illuminated by the same bright light. Placed upon a black box are three books, which are elevated above the overturned musical instruments. The books bespeak the knowledge and cultivation of both their writers – Plato, Plutarch, and Siri – and their readers (see Chapter 4, pp. 164–169). A curtain with a simple red and gold pattern and full, soft folds frames the composition. In order to create an atmosphere of concentration and quiet, Baschenis removed all possible disruptions, or ‘background noises’, from the paragone arranged before us: a smooth cloth in lieu of a colourful carpet, a modest curtain rather than an opulent one bunched into complicated folds. The faint fingerprints on the guitar at the centre of the composition reveal that it was recently touched.

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Was it the musician, or perhaps the painter, who placed the letter upon it for the viewer? Two elements unique to this work further enhance the tension involved in the paragone between music and literature: the musical instruments are all inverted, and thus cannot ‘have their say’ in the competition. Moreover, there are no musical notes in the composition, a rare occurrence in Baschenis’s paintings. Neither the practice of making music nor the theoretical concern with reading notes is given expression. By contrast, the well-lit arrangement of books conveys all the import and weight of the words written by Plato and Plutarch, the representatives of philosophy and Classical history. They are topped by the slim book written by the Italian historian Vittorio Siri, a contemporary of Baschenis. Unlike the inverted musical instruments, these books each have a title, an identity, and a clear significance for the cultivated viewer. In addition to the vast gap separating the writings of Siri from those of Plato and Plutarch – a gap alluding to an internal paragone pertaining to the art of writing – Baschenis has introduced a conceit into the composition: Siri is undoubtedly far inferior to Plato and Plutarch, yet the addition of his slim volume is what elevates the stack of books over the musical instruments. A dark box devoid of colour or ornamentation bears the painter’s signature: EVARISTUS BASCHENIS P. (Figure 142). The painter’s signature on the side of this box, which initially appears as merely a technical means of elevating the books, is not simply a stylistic tool; it is also a stable base that symbolizes Baschenis’s responsibility for the philosophical and intellectual structure of the three books painted with his brush. Which is worthier of winning the competition – music or literature? An in-depth examination of the painting reveals that by means of this paragone, Baschenis states that even when the musical instruments are silent, the music of words continues and literature seems to triumph. Yet it is also possible that Baschenis left the final decision up to the viewer. Is it concealed in the letter placed on the inverted guitar, which has yet to be sent? Baschenis chose to position the letter at the centre of the composition, in plain view, while concealing its addressee. Is it possible that it has been left unsealed so that the viewer may express his own opinion? The following painting by Baschenis announces to the artist’s patrons, viewers, and colleagues in Bergamo that music triumphs over literature (Figure 143). A table spread with a green cloth is placed against a dark, uniform background. A curtain bearing wide, simple stripes, whose folds are rich and complex, frames the composition on the left.

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Figure 142: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 82.5x97cm, Private Collection (detail).

Figure 143: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts.

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Figure 144 (left): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail). Figure 145 (right): Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, c. 1660, oil on canvas, 95.5x129cm, ­Birmingham, The Barber Institute of Fine Arts (detail).

The spinet, trumpet, and lute form the three vertexes of a triangle. Placed at the centre of this triangle’s base is an anonymous, gently illuminated book surrounded by musical instruments that close in on it from all sides. Placed directly above the book at the apex of this triangle, which is located at the centre of the composition, is a brightly illuminated sheet music booklet. The violin positioned upon it towers over the paragone arranged below. The importance of music is omnipresent: the booklet is brightly illuminated, the expensive lute was manufactured by Tieffenbruker or Hartung, the violin is made of expensive wood, and the superb spinet is carefully decorated. Even the dust on the lute serves as proof that someone was just there, caressing the musical instruments and leaving his fingerprints on them. Perhaps these were members of a chorus or singers who sang from the first page in the booklet, for the first and third lines on the page are marked with signs resembling a text. Vocal music is joined by instrumental music thanks to the five instruments present in the painting – representatives of string, plucking, key, and wind instruments. Baschenis ornamented the spinet with shining dots that twinkle like stars on the background which resembles the night sky. His signature on the spinet further underscores the painter’s choice of music (Figures 144, 145), while the trumpet supplies music’s triumphal blast. The elimination of book titles is one of the tactics used by Baschenis and Bettera to focus the viewer’s attention on what is missing while underscoring what is present and enhancing the value of the art they seek to elevate. In this work, the book bearing a title – Rosalinda – is hidden beneath the cover of the chest, while the anonymous

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volume is located at the centre of the table. In this manner, Baschenis ensures himself of the viewer’s attention. The two books are both closed, while the superb musical instruments and sheet music give rise to a musical discourse: among the musical notes themselves; between the notes and the words waiting to be sung; or between these elements and the painter, the patron, and the observer.

Painting and Music in the Absence of a Paragone Having seen how Baschenis and Bettera painted a paragone among the different arts, as well as between painting and music, I would like to point to an interesting fact that appears in Baschenis’s paintings and is absent from those of Bettera. In addition to the subject of competition and rivalry, Baschenis also suggests to his audience the possibility of a harmony between painting and music: set against a smooth dark canvas, in a minimalist and austere environment, are musical ensembles suggested by means of musical instruments and notes. Singers and musicians are metaphorically present within this self-enclosed space: their fingerprints are visible in the dust on the musical instruments, and the words written for them call out from the open booklets, inviting the viewer to participate. These compositions are carefully balanced; in some instances, a musical instrument protrudes towards the viewer, performing a double gesture of invitation and sharing while emphasizing the artist’s remarkable skill at deceiving the eye. These musical instruments differ from one another in terms of the shine produced by their varnish. Some of them gleam, while others are covered by a thin film of dust (Figures 146, 147). In the central part of the Agliardi Triptych (Figure 148), for instance, the musical instruments are covered by a thick layer of white dust. The viewer’s perspective – the height and distance of the observing eye – also differs in these three paintings. The angle and quantity of light changes according to the Baroque rules of chiaroscuro, and is used by Baschenis to dot the superior musical instruments and notes, emphasizing them by casting bright light from different angles. As is the case in all of Baschenis’s works, one can detect among them numerous similarities as well as numerous differences. This group of paintings does away with the competitive spirit of rivalry inherent to the paragone by determining that the arts of painting and music are interdependent. Without painting, music could not be present in the artist’s works; yet without the musical instruments and notes, nothing would appear on the canvas. The apple depicted in all three compositions represents the natural world that both art mediums seek to imitate in different ways, as well as the knowledge acquired by the First Man. Had the painter wanted to downplay the significance of music, he could have, for instance, broken the strings or portrayed another art as triumphing over music. Instead, Baschenis used the strings as a means of demonstrating his remarkable

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Figure 146: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 81x99cm, Private Collection.

technical skill in creating an illusion, a power residing in the hands of the painter. He did not ‘break’ the strings in order to stop the music. The mutual dependency between painting and music is underscored through the omission of any ornament or addition that could possibly distract the viewer. Baschenis located the musical instruments and notes at the centre of the composition and depicted them with great precision, emphasizing the quality of the wood and reminding the viewer of the tremendous skill required in order to construct these expensive musical instruments. By choosing to focus on musical instruments and notes, he enabled music, whose disadvantage is its transience, to enjoy the advantage of painting, which is permanence. Thanks to the painting, music remains present even after the notes have died away. This statement seemingly underscores the painter’s control over music: he is the one who arranged the musical ensemble, the notes, and the words written among the staves, and is thus also responsible for the sounds they will produce. Yet their silence or absence would undermine the prestige and glory associated with music, which the painter needs in order to elevate his own status from that of a technical executor to that of a cultivated individual familiar with the liberal arts – as he did by depicting himself playing a musical instrument.

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Figure 147: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 75x99cm, Private Collection.

Figure 148: Evaristo Baschenis, Still Life with Musical Instruments, 17th century, oil on canvas, 115x163cm, Private Collection.

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Not all those observing these paintings knew how to identify their hidden meanings; yet one can assume that the educated viewer could detect the subtleties that the cultivated and knowledgeable Baschenis and Bettera depicted so aptly, whether implicitly or explicitly. By means of their paintbrushes, the two artists engage the various arts in a competition that unfolded in a seemingly impossible sphere – that of still-life painting. Painting, music, sculpture, literature, and science participate in a comparison concerning the supremacy of one over the other. Yet, as we have seen, both painters carefully avoided the unilateral choice of the art of painting as the noblest of the arts, despite their advantage as painters. In eight of the twelve paintings examined in this chapter, the viewer is invited to decide for himself which art triumphs over the others. Moreover, in contrast to the opinion of scholars who view Bettera as a disciple, or even an imitator, of Baschenis (see the literature survey, Chapter 2, pp. 46–51), this chapter reveals his uniqueness as an independent, original, and educated painter. Indeed, the idea of presenting a paragone in a still-life painting was first conceived of and executed by Baschenis. Yet, based on the numerous examples presented in this chapter, I would like to argue that the student surpassed his master. Bettera’s paintings reveal that he was deeply skilled not only from a technical and stylistic point of view, but also as a cultivated intellectual who served, with remarkable virtuosity, as the flag-bearer and executor of the idea of paragone.

7. Conclusion This book ‘raises the curtain’ on the paintings of ‘still-life with musical instruments’ created by Evaristo Baschenis and Bartolomeo Bettera in seventeenth-century Bergamo. To date, scholars have regarded these paintings as the work of talented artists who excelled at the use of perspective and illusory techniques and at depictions of the vanitas motif through allusions to music and representations of dust on musical instruments, and who were appreciated above all for their technical virtuosity. This book has revealed two ‘scholarly painters’, cultivated individuals in possession of an interdisciplinary corpus of knowledge who invited their viewers to explore intriguing intellectual and cultural spheres – a remarkable achievement in the genre of still-life painting. This study’s main contribution is its innovative reading of the still-life genre, which reveals the unlimited profundity and complexity of this genre’s messages and shows Bergamo to be a lively cultural centre rather than a peripheral city ensconced behind walls. The careful and exhaustive study of each composition and of the objects they contain has revealed a rich and intricate world filled with music, books, theatre, and debates concerning the paragone – the world of a cultivated individual in seventeenth-century northern Italy. The chapter ‘Keeping Score: Painting Music’ opened with a discussion that underscores the importance of music in the life of upper-class Italians in the seventeenth century, and presented the positions of various theorists concerned with the arts of painting and music and with the similarities and differences between them. This chapter also described the wide-ranging musical activities in which aristocrats, patrons, and collectors characteristically participated during this time. The musical instruments and sheet music in these paintings cannot be reduced to direct and simple representations. In Baschenis’s works they represent the stylistic restraint and precision typical of his carefully balanced compositions; in Bettera’s works, by contrast, they serve as a tool for disrupting the equilibrium in favour of Baroque disorder. Style, however, is only one of the means of representing a local and culturally specific experience of music in these paintings. A careful examination of individual compositions reveals that they each capture a different ‘story’. In observing the painting, the beholder was required to engage in a process of intellectual reflection, and was challenged to decipher the debate or statement communicated by the painter. The details depicted in these paintings give rise to a discourse concerning the multifaceted nature of music, and enable the observer to classify the musical instruments according to their degree of prestige or his preference for one type of sound over another.

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These compositions also engage in a discussion of traditional versus modern styles of playing music – the prima practica versus the seconda practica – by positioning modern musical instruments alongside traditional ones, or by showcasing sheet music booklets filled with tablature notes in the style of the late Middle Ages alongside modern ones. The painters were able to give expression to these and additional themes by contrasting string, wind, and key instruments, concealing one instrument by means of another, and shedding light or casting shadows in order to underscore or blur certain elements. The different types of wood of which the musical instruments were made, and the commercial stamp of their producers, attest to contemporary fashions and to the economic affluence of the paintings’ commissioners. At the same time, they also served to relate to the thematic ‘story’ unfolding in the painting – a discussion concerning the right to a title of nobility, medical innovations, or even moral and legal questions. Another important subject that was constantly debated during the early modern period was the question of whether representations should appear as perfect copies of the original objects, or whether they should constitute variations on them. By representing stamps that were not perfect copies of those used by the producers of musical instruments, by varying the appearance of musical notes in different paintings and even in the same one, and by signing their works in non-identical ways, Baschenis and Bettera championed the concepts of originality, innovation, and conscious choices over perfect mimetic representations of music. Baschenis’s and Bettera’s complex works are full of numerous implicit and explicit allusions that forge various affinities among the representations in their paintings. In order to understand them in depth, one must view the details both as autonomous objects and as inseparable parts of the painting’s narrative. So, for instance, the names of musical compositions appear at the margins of the sheet music as footnotes; the lines left empty in a musical staff encourage the viewer to add his own tune, express his opinion, or stop the music. In two paintings, an insect appears on a musical instrument and on a sheet full of musical notes. The conventional interpretation is that the insect symbolizes transience and death. This study, by contrast, offers an alternative interpretation that relates the insect to the early modern interest in nature and science, to the relations between the scientist and the painter who documents his discoveries, and to the non-material nature of music, which cannot be effaced. Alternatively, the insect may represent an observer located within the painting. A number of the musical instruments are covered with dust, which is sometimes painted with traces of fingerprints. Alongside the traditional interpretation of dust as a metaphor for the end, for music that has fallen silent and for instruments that were abandoned, a different interpretation has thus been offered: the dust covering the musical instruments does not conceal them, but rather offers a social, cultural, and fashionable definition of the instruments themselves, of the workshop that created them, and of the aristocrats who knew how to play them.

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In contrast to the act of playing music, which was mostly reserved for members of the upper classes, reading was an activity pursued by a larger number of Baschenis and Bettera’s contemporaries. The chapter ‘Banned Books and Blockbusters’ opens with an account of libraries in Bergamo. Although it was only a small peripheral city, Bergamo was home to a printing press and to well-stocked libraries. These libraries, which were housed in monasteries as well as in churches and private residences, contained hundreds and thousands of books on a range of themes: books illustrated with prints, fiction, biographies, plays, and poetry, alongside Classical and Renaissance texts written both in Latin and in the Italian vernacular. Conventional interpretations of books in paintings view them as generic representations of knowledge, intellectual curiosity, and culture. Yet the books in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings have added value, due to the visual appearance of their titles or the names of their authors. The power of these titles – which capture interdisciplinary knowledge, debates over important questions, cultural statements, and innovations in various fields – lies in the way they were carefully and intentionally placed by the two painters ‘on the discussion table’ attended by members of Bergamo’s high society. Viewers of their compositions were assumed to be familiar with the authors of these books and with their subjects, just as they were deeply familiar with the music composed and played during the same period. Alongside Classical authors such as Plato, Hippocrates, and Plutarch, the authors of the books depicted in the paintings represented different types of figures characteristic of European high society. These authors were part of a wide-ranging social network that included clergymen, politicians, economically and publicly powerful families, and patrons of the fine arts. Among them one may find renowned and highly admired jurists whose theories had been quoted for several centuries; a poet whose title of nobility was acquired thanks to connections rather than through his family lineage, and who was also a courtier, merchant, and art-world middleman; a historian affiliated with important courts that were filled with clergymen, wealthy politicians, artists, and members of local academies; a former military man and diplomat who had worked in the service of aristocratic courts from Naples to Venice; a medical doctor who was also an entrepreneur and a colourful marketing man with a social conscience, and who was accused of charlatanism and manslaughter; a Benedictine monk who worked as a historian in the service of the highest paying patrons; and another monk who was a doctor of theology and a successful botanist. The books in these paintings were all best-sellers, regardless of whether they were canonical judicial texts such as Bartolus’s fourteenth-century volume Supra ii codicis, authentico et institutionibus or a sixteenth-century guide for professional gardeners such as Mandirola’s Manuale de Giardinieri. A small number of them were written in innovative genres, including political and historical novels or fiction that combined a narrative plot with information pertaining to commerce. The subjects of these books naturally extended beyond the borders of Italy to include French and English

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royalty and high society, and their fashionable success resulted in their translation into numerous languages. They included heated debates concerning the right to an inherited title of nobility in contrast to one bestowed thanks to commercial, political, or social connections, as well as concerning the question of whether the right to such a title should be determined by canonical or civil law, by the Church or by the Emperor. They carried within them a dire warning concerning the social dangers of political intrigues. An argument concerning the virtues of monarchy, the vital need for the monarch’s total control of the aristocracy, and his right to levy taxes is one of the threads woven throughout a political novel which is represented in another painting. An additional volume complements this political perspective by means of a laudatory poem celebrating royal houses and rulers as ardent patrons of art and music. A concern with truth and falsity, personal and public integrity, and the rewriting of historical events arises both in relation to paid writing in the service of patrons and in relation to the artist’s role and credibility – as a copier of reality, a subjective critic, or the creator of an alternative reality. ‘A Double Act: Still-Life and Theatre’ opens with a description of Bergamo’s local theatre, which was a meeting place for aristocrats, clergymen, newly rich merchants, and other members of the professional classes. This social group also included Baschenis and Bettera’s patrons and clients. The theatre stage was, for them, a mirror of human life – the life of the individual who listened to music, read books, and attended the theatre. The distinction between a painting of a traditional theatrical scene with figures and a plot and a still-life painting that invites the viewer to gaze at representations of the theatre resolves the dissonance that arises when one attempts to identify theatre in a still-life painting. This distinction is important since ‘theatricality’ requires actors, and Baschenis’s and Bettera’s dozens of paintings contain no figures. Challenging the viewer’s intellectual capacities, they sought to invite him to a ‘gaze at the theatre’. To this end, they used techniques borrowed from the world of theatre and stage design, transporting them to their paintings. The theatrical distinction between front stage and backstage was recreated by Baschenis and Bettera in their paintings in order to form two separate spaces. Positioned before the audience at the front of the stage is a table set, for instance, with musical instruments, some of which appear so close as to be within the viewers’ reach. The backstage and offstage areas are circumscribed through the depiction of receding floor tiles or a perspectival play of increasingly smaller and darker objects. The illusion of depth was enhanced by the creation of islands of light and darkness, which added to the dramatic atmosphere. A cosy atmosphere was created through the addition of curtains and carpets. A curtain or screen rising and falling on the stage is one of the objects that symbolize the theatre, as well as the affinity between theatre and painting; the theatrical curtain separates the audience from the actors, just as the painted curtain separates the viewer from the painting. By means of

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painted curtains, Baschenis and Bettera were able to capture the dichotomy of style and content typical of the theatre – that between interior and exterior, concealment and exposure, accessibility and inaccessibility. Social criticism, a recurrent theme on theatrical stages, is alluded to in Bettera’s paintings by means of the expensive carpets and silk throws covering the tables. These textiles represent a world of material culture and fashion, alluding to the status of patrons who could afford to sit before heavy curtains or to wear expensive silk garments. Music and singing, which were inseparable parts of the seventeenth-century theatre, were represented by Baschenis and Bettera by means of musical instruments, sheet music, and words scribbled between the lines of musical notes. Some of the depicted instruments are in fact stage props, which were identified as such by the observer familiar with theatre and music: a recorder that did not produce sounds because it was not properly built, or a guitar without strings, which participated in the painters’ invitation to a gaze at the theatre. Competition and rivalry were characteristic of the life of artists in early modern Italy. The chapter ‘Paragone: May the Best Art Win’ opens with a description of the competition concerning the supremacy of one artistic medium over the other, and above all the question of painting’s supremacy over sculpture, or vice versa. Artists, theorists, and art patrons singled out aesthetic and thematic qualities that could serve as arguments in favour of their chosen art. In Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works, the concept of the paragone evolved from a theoretical debate into a visual representation of a humanist and intellectual idea in the unexpected sphere of the still-life genre. This innovation was especially remarkable given that the competition between the arts unfolds against a still-life ‘ground’ devoid of figures and a supporting narrative. Significantly, the paragone in their paintings does not capture the victory of a single art form, as each painting portrays a new competition. In some instances, the painter determines the winner for the beholder, while in others he leaves the decision to the spectator. The battle of the arts depicted in these paintings expands beyond painting and sculpture to include a competition between painting and music, and even a competition among a number of different arts such as sculpture, music, poetry, painting, literature, and science. Silence is loquacious Painting is eloquent, and it talks, and keeps quiet.1

Painting’s inability to produce sounds, as music does, is not a limitation. A painting is obviously not a medium accompanied by sound. Paraphrasing the words of the poet Marino, I do not view the apparent silence of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s compositions as a limitation, since their compositions are not silent, but rather quiet, and as 1

‘Il silenzio è loquace / La pittura eloquente, eparla, etade.’ Marino, La Galeria, 167.

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such they ‘speak and convince’. Throughout this study, I have argued that the absence of human figures capable of speech in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings does not attest to the absence of a message, and that the presence of such figures can be felt even if they are not visible.2 As I have demonstrated, their paintings ‘speak and are silent’ about culture. A careful examination of the minute details portrayed in Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings highlights the distinction between their works and those of other painters of still-life arrangements with musical instruments, in terms of both their style and their themes. To the best of my knowledge, there exist no still-life paintings by other artists that contain similar cultural statements or conceits. Stylistically, one can note their unique depiction of musical instruments, sheet music, and books, even in cases in which scholars assume that certain details were executed according to a model prepared by Baschenis. Although still-life paintings of similar themes created by other artists represent different degrees of stylistic achievement, none of them constitute significant cultural statements. This study also makes clear that Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings should not be distinguished from one another based on their degree of faithfulness to real musical instruments or notes, and that Baschenis was not superior to Bettera in presenting cultural themes and statements. Indeed, in the course of this study Bettera was revealed as a rich and intriguing figure, and as a unique and independent artist whose works bespeak his originality and cultural knowledge – qualities that are not made evident by the scant information provided by his biography. Chronologically speaking, Baschenis was the first to depict the paragone in still-life paintings. Yet in my opinion, and in light of the numerous examples presented in the chapter on the battle of the arts, Bettera’s paintings prove that he understood this theme in depth not only from a technical and stylistic perspective, but above all as a man of culture and an intellectual, while executing it with remarkable virtuosity. His paintings serve as a mirror of his cultural world and of the ideal artist: an intellectual well versed in books, music, and theoretical texts in numerous fields, which are represented in his paintings. Although we have no biographical information concerning his formal education, his paintings fill in the missing lines. As this study has demonstrated, Baschenis and Bettera also included in their paintings representations of the sciences of geography and astronomy. They seem to have understood that the inclusion of representations symbolic of the power and infinite nature of the universe did not diminish the arts, thus freeing them to explore geographical and celestial spheres. The globes in their works are a reminder to the world to keep turning on its axis; they bear testimony to men who set out to 2 These still-life paintings contain figures who are present in their absence: the painter, patron, or collector and their friends, as well as the dozens of figures whose imprint is evident in the paintings either physically or metaphorically: musicians, singers, historians, stage directors, poets, jurists, doctors, innovative writers, rulers who patronized the arts, silk producers, and many others.

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discover countries and explore new physical and spiritual realms, and whose legacy will remain even once they are gone. My scrutiny of these details has revealed images charged with mythological, geographical, and astrological significance, which were presented throughout this book. This fascinating subject merits additional exploration, which will further reveal the depth of these works and literally expand our horizons. Another subject worthy of being studied in greater depth is the figure of the Benedictine monk Francesco Superchi, who is mentioned in the fourth chapter (‘Banned Books and Blockbusters’). Scholars believe that already as the abbot of a monastery in the area of Bergamo, he had in his possession two paintings by Baschenis. He later purchased eight paintings by Baschenis for the library of San Giorgio monastery in Venice while serving as its abbot. The information currently available concerning Superchi is extremely limited, and he is regarded by scholars simply as an art connoisseur who was impressed with the painterly quality of Baschenis’s works. My research on the themes embedded in Baschenis’s paintings, however, has led me to believe that the figure of Superchi, and his motivation to acquire so many paintings in a genre that was considered inferior, is worthy of further investigation. Did Superchi detect in the paintings he purchased from Baschenis messages about culture and knowledge that were worthy of appreciation and capable of provoking discussion and reflection among the monks at the monastery? Why did he choose to present these paintings, with their depictions of dusty and inverted musical instruments, in a monastery library? Which books were depicted in the paintings whose current whereabouts are unknown? Superchi was a familiar figure in religious, cultural, social, and perhaps also business milieus. Was he perhaps a member of the same social circle that included the abbot Donato Calvi, a friend and admirer of Baschenis? Of all the themes that emerged in this study, the one that seems to have been closest to the world of the painters themselves is the question of precision and faithfulness to the original, which is woven throughout Baschenis’s and Bettera’s works. This theme acquired a multifaceted presence in their paintings. It was given expression in depictions of objects ranging from the highly precise to the intentionally careless, as well as through a consideration of the artist’s role and responsibility as a reporter or an interpreter, as one who imagines or quotes. It was even related to a consideration of the difference between a historian in the service of a patron and a painter in the service of a patron. These concerns gave rise to a number of questions: Is the role of the painter limited to mediating between the facts and the observing audience? Is the painter obliged to take a stance? Does the very act of signing his work amount to the expression of an opinion and a commitment to its contents? Most of Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings are signed, and a signature is an affirmation of both ownership and originality. It is a formal confirmation, an identity card of sorts that announces one’s unique name in one’s own handwriting in a specific place in the painting, which is itself meaningful. The inscription of a signature on a painting

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is a conscious choice on the part of a painter seeking to leave his imprint on his work. It is a statement of self-affirmation which also communicates a message to the observer. By signing his artwork, the artist distinguishes himself from those who are ‘in’ the painting, as well as from those outside of it. His signature serves as a guarantee concerning the painted themes, positioning him as a scholarly individual worthy of exploring these subjects. Did the signatures of the two painters serve to ‘notarize’ their painted documents, confirming their subject matter and originality? And if this is indeed the case, in these paintings in which nothing is as simple as it appears, why do their signatures appear in so many variations? In examining the figures mentioned both directly and indirectly in the paintings, as well as the members of the social circles in which Baschenis and Bettera moved, this study has delineated a complex network of social, business, political, religious, and cultural connections. This network of affiliations included painters, patrons, musicians, kings, clergymen, writers and poets, art dealers, makers of musical instruments, playwrights, builders of theatrical stage sets, business people, and many others mediating between their different interests while extending beyond the borders of Italy to London, Paris, and the Netherlands. A delineation of this map of connections will exemplify how, much like contemporary ‘social networks’, this network of knowledge allowed for the circulation of information among various cultural agents. The rich themes discovered in the dozens of paintings studied in this book justify the provision of a different title to Baschenis’s and Bettera’s paintings, one that reflects their uniqueness and innovative spirit. Rather than being referred to as ‘still-life with musical instruments’, as ‘the music of silence’, or as a ‘Baroque sonnet’, I believe they should be recognized as a subgenre of the still-life genre that I call ‘still-life with culture’. It is possible that the recognition of Baschenis and Bettera as ground-breaking creators of a new subgenre will encourage further research aimed at identifying additional painters of ‘still-life with culture’ who will be revealed as unique and interesting in their own right.

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Index Page numbers in italics refer to figures. academies 64–5 Eccitati (‘Academy of the Excited’), Bergamo 65–7, 81, 82, 169, 189, 222–4 Incogniti (‘The Academy of the Anonymous’), Venice 136, 159–60, 187 Insensati (‘Academy of the Senseless’), Perugia 146 Lincei (‘Academy of the Lynx-Eyed’) 118 theatre 186–7 Adler, Salomon 213–17 Aganippe and Garga 264–6 Agliardi, Alessandro 207–9 Agliardi, Bonifacio 65, 169, 207–9, 222–4 Agliardi, Camillo 100, 102 Agliardi, Ottavio 102–3, 231–3 Agliardi family 100–1, 129, 189 Agliardi Triptych (Baschenis) Agliardi brothers 50, 97, 102–3, 137–9, 207–9, 231–3 books 137–46 curtain 207–12 dust 103, 104–6, 277, 279 music and painting 100–4, 231–3 rug 200 Angelini, Luigi 54 apples see under fruit Arabesque rugs see Oriental rugs Arcimboldo, Giuseppe 75 Argenide (Barclay) 147, 150, 153–4 aristocracy/nobility Bergamo 58–62, 67, 85, 97, 100 books on 141–5 and merchant/middle class 156–7, 186–7 music 72–3, 77–8, 81, 84–5, 97, 100 nature and science 118 private book collections and exchange 129, 131 and royalty 136–7 sons’education 130 theatre 186–7, 189, 219 see als academies; named individuals astrolabe 261, 269, 270 Austern, Linda Phyllis 53 Baldassarre, Antonio 53 Baldus de Ubaldis 138, 141–2, 144–5 Bann, Stephen 105–6 Barbarigo, Gregorio (Bishop of Bergamo) 60, 66 Barbello, Gian Giacomo 32, 62, 83 Barclay, John: Argenide 147, 150, 153–4 Baroque era/style art and music 34–5, 74, 76, 99, 102, 197 Bergamo 63–4 churches 190 conceits 23, 105, 107, 183, 243–4, 267, 274 ‘international’ 55 language 160 light and shadow/chiaroscuro 102, 246, 249, 277 symbolism 200–1 theatre 101–2, 185, 188, 190–1 Bartolo: Bartolus supra ii Codicis 138, 140–5

Baschenis, Evaristo 21–3 and Barbello 32, 62, 83 in Bergamo 31–2, 34, 63–4, 66–7, 81 and Bettera, compared 53–7 biography 31–4 death auction following 34, 56 wills 33 influences on subject of music 72–5 patrons 66 plague in Bergamo 80 as priest 78, 100, 131 research 47–54, 57–8 signature 93, 158, 219, 233, 241, 242, 271, 274, 275, 276 Still Life with Musical Instruments 82–115, 120 and Adler 213–17 books in 133–72, 212 curtains and rugs 197–8, 213–14 and Maestro B.B. 123–5 painting, music, and literature 270–7 painting and music 230–3, 277–80 painting and poetry 238–41, 242 in San Giorgio Maggiore monastery library 131, 132, 287 self-portrait 231, 248 stage props 202–5 theatrical modes of painting 206–19 see also Agliardi Triptych Bayer, Andrea 49, 93 Bellori, Gian Pietro 38 Belotti, Bortolo 60 Bergamo 21–2, 47 Accademia degli Eccitati (‘Academy of the Excited’) 65–7, 81–2, 169, 189, 222–4 Baschenis 31–2, 34, 63–4, 66–7, 81 exhibition (1996) 48–9, 56 Bettera 33–4 exhibition (2008) 55 books and libraries 128–32 as intellectual and cultural hub 58–69 music 77–82 silk industry 176, 178 theatre 187–9, 219 Bettera, Bartolomeo 21–3 and Baschenis, compared 53–7 biography 33–4 influences of subject of music 72–3 research 54–8 signature 33–4, 124, 125, 236, 254 Still Life with Musical Instruments 114, 115–25 books in 172–80 curtains and rugs 116–18, 196–8, 201, 202, 212 and Maestro B.B. 123–5 painting and music 233–6, 277, 280 paragone (all arts) 244–67 theatrical modes of painting 206, 210–11, 212, 219 Bettera, Bonaventura 21–2, 33 Biancale, Michele 47, 54

300 INDEX Bisaccioni, Marquis 157–61, 206, 270–1 books 127–8, 283–4 Baschenis 133–72, 212 Bettera 172–80 and libraries in Bergamo 128–32 see also literature Borgo San Leonard (workshop) 32 Borromeo, Cardinal Federico (Archbishop of Milan) 36 Bott, Gian Casper 49, 94, 105, 107–8 Bryson, Norman 43

Discorso sopra la musica (‘Discourse on Music’) (Giustiniani) 72–3 dissonance Agliardi Triptych 102–3 in music composition and text 76 Dolce, Lodovico 237, 243 Duo Lezzioni (‘Two Lessons’) (Varchi) 225, 242–3 Dürer, Albrecht: The Stag Beetle 107–8 dust 277, 278 Agliardi Triptych 103–6, 277, 279 broken strings, rotting fruit, and flies 51, 53

cabinets of curiosities 42, 105–6 Calvi, Donato 62, 65–7, 129 Effemeride 187–8, 189 private library 131 Carlsmith, Christopher 59–60 carpets see rugs/carpets Carravagio 37–8, 93, 146 Castiglione 72–3, 186, 226–8 catalogues 46–9, 53, 55 Catholic Church see religion/Catholic Church Cavaccio, Giovanni 79 Cellini, Benvenuto 242–3 Ceresa, Carlo 198–9 chiaroscuro/light and shadow 102, 246, 249, 277 Chong, A. et al. 43 Christansen, Keith 46, 51–2 ‘chromatic’ music 75 Claesz, Pieter 246, 248 colour 38–9, 44 and form 51 and lighting 92, 93 and sound 74–6, 226 Comanini, Gregorio: ‘Figino, In Praise of Painting’  68–9, 237 Commentari di Roma (‘Commentary on Rome’) (Loschi) 136 comparison and competition between arts see paragone Compendi Historici (‘Historical Compendium’) (Loschi) 135–6 conceits 23, 105, 107, 183, 243–4, 267, 274 Cottino, Alberto 57 Council of Trent 61, 63, 129–30, 184 Il Courtegiango (‘The Book of the Courtier’) (Castiglione) 72–3, 186, 226–8 Courtois, Jacques 32–3 culture Bergamo 58–69 and fashion, Bettera 57 music 51 representation of 44–6 see also Greco-Roman culture curtains influence of theatre 192–8, 209–12 and rugs 116–18, 196–8, 200–2, 206–8, 212–14

Effemeride (Calvi) 187–8, 189

Darmstädter, Beatrix 203–4 De Pascale, Enrico 33, 48–51, 56–7, 63–4, 120, 125, 139, 152, 216, 246, 259, 266 Delogu, Giuseppe 54–5

Farnese Hercules 257–60 Ferraris, Giorgio 52–3 Figino, Giovanni Ambrogio: painting and poem 68–9, 237 figura serpentina (‘serpentine figure’) 264–6 fingerprints 105–6 Fioravanti, Leonardo 172–7, 267–70 flies 106–8, 120 dust, broken strings, rotting fruit and 51, 53 Fontana, Publio 78 Fornelius, Laurentius 152–3 Freedberg, David 45 fruit 41–2 apples 94, 103–4, 217, 249 golden 206, 258, 270–1, 272 Figino: painting and poem 68–9 and flowers 44, 161–4 pear 102–3, 232 rotten 49, 51, 53, 232 Galilei, Vincenzo 75, 118, 226, 229 Galle, Philips: Aganippe and Garga 264, 265 Gardener’s Manual (Manuale de Giardinieri) (Mandirola) 161–4 geometrical design 50–2, 56, 93, 119 triangle 133, 246, 276 Giustiniani, Vincenzo: Discorso sopra la musica (‘Discourse on Music’) 72–3 glass balls 246–7, 248 globe 122, 260–1, 262, 266–7 Goedaert, Johannes: Metamorphosis Naturalis 108 Grandi, Alessandro 79–80 Greco-Roman culture literature 223 medicine 150–2 music 74–5 Plato 73, 76, 164–6, 266, 273–4 Plutarch 164, 165, 166–7, 223, 236–7, 273–4 Pythagoras 51–2, 73, 75 Greco-Roman mythology Aganippe and Garga 264–6 Hercules 257–60 Judgment of Paris 206, 270–1 Zeuxis and Parrhasius 192 Gregori, Mina 64 grisaille figures 245–6, 250–1, 263–6 Grootenboer, Hanneke 46 guitar

301

INDEX

Baschenis 93–4, 97, 103 Bettera 115–17, 119–22 harmony, concept of 51–2, 73–5 Hercules, figure of 257–60 Hippocrates 150–2, 175 Hochstrasser, Julie Berger 43 Holbein: The Ambassadors 200 Horace: Ars Poetica 237 human presence in still-life painting 43, 50 humanism 125, 167, 285 Agliardi Triptych (Baschenis) 101 concept of paragone 221, 224, 229–30, 237 and religion 130, 184 and theatre 181, 184–5 illusion 38–9, 51–2, 56 theatre and painting 191, 194 of touch 243–4 of volume 246 innovation vs tradition in music 95, 97–8 see also prima practica insects 42, 106–8, 120 guitar shape 117, 120, 121 ‘international’ Baroque style 55 L’Isola Del Co: Biasci (‘The Island of the Count Bisaccioni’) 158 Judgment of Paris 206, 270–1 jurisprudence and law 138–43 language Baroque 160 pictorial 49, 51 law and jurisprudence 137–43 Legrenzi, Giovanni 80–1 Leonardo 104–5, 226–7, 237, 242–3 light 38–9, 44, 50, 197, 273–4 and colour 92, 93 and shadow/chiaroscuro 102, 246, 249, 277 literature representation of paragone 244–67, 270–7 see also books ‘The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects’ (Vasari) 230–1 Lomazzo, Giovanni Paolo 23, 38, 74, 226, 228–9 Lombardy, still-life painting in 34–9 Longhi, Roberto 36–7, 47–8, 68 Loschi, Count Alfonso 133–7 Lowenthal, Ann 44–5 lute 83, 89–91, 276 seals 84, 85 stage props 204–5 Maestro B.B. 21–2, 54, 122, 123–5 Malvasia, Carlo Cesare 38 Mancini, Giulio 35–6 Mandirola, Fra Agostino: Manuale de Giardinieri (Gardener’s Manual) 161–4 mandolin 83, 89–93, 101–2 Maniera Bergamasca (‘Style of Bergamo’) 22 material culture and value 45, 52

mathematics and musical harmony 51–2, 73–5 medicine 150–2, 174–5 merchant/middle class 156–7, 186–7 Ill Mercurio (Mercury, or the History of Current Times) (Siri) 164–6, 167, 169–70, 273–4 Metamorphosis Naturalis (Goedaert) 108 Metropolitan Museum, New York: Baschenis exhibition (2000–2001) 49 Michelangelo 228, 240, 243, 260 Milan 33–4, 47–8 mimesis/imitation concept of paragone 221–2, 229–30 imitatio musicae (‘musical imitation’) 94, 230 theatre and painting 192, 194 and truth 170, 172 ‘Mirror of Knowledge’ (Specchio di Scientia) (Fioravanti) 172–7, 267–70 mirrors 249–51, 266 La Misericordia committee 60–3, 77–8 Monastero di Santo Spirito, Bergamo 130 monastery libraries 128–31, 287 Monteverdi, Claudio 76, 79, 95, 130, 241 Morando, Bernardo: La Rosalinda 133–7, 212, 276–7 Moroni, Count Francesco 61–3, 67, 83–4 music in Bergamo 77–82 and painting 226–36 and science 267–70 and theatre 183–4 theories in Early Modern Italy 72–7 musical instruments in still-life painting arrangement 49–50 colour, materiality, structures and shapes 48 symbolism 40 see also Baschenis, Evaristo; Bettera, Bartolomeo; named instruments musical notes see sheet music musicological research 52–4, 114–15, 203–4 mythology see Greco-Roman mythology narrative in still-life 43, 45–6 nature: painting and science 118–19 nobility see aristocracy/nobility northern art 55–7 nymph sculptures: Aganippe and Garga 264–6 optical illusion see illusion Oriental rugs 118, 198, 200–1, 206–7 Orsi, Aurelio: Rim D. Cav. ORSI (‘Rhymes of the Knight Orsi’) 138, 145–6 Ortiz, Diego 97–8 palazzos: Moroni and Terzi 61–2, 67 Palloni, Giulia 55 paragone 221–6, 285–7 all arts 244–67 music and science 267–70 painting, music, and literature 270–7 painting and music 226–36 painting and music in absence of 277–80 painting and poetry 236–41, 242 painting and sculpture 242–4

302 INDEX perspective, principles of 51, 55 pictor doctus (‘scholarly painters’) 22–3 pictorial language 49, 51 plague, Bergamo 80 Plato 73, 76, 164–6, 266, 273–4 Pliny the Elder 192 Plutarch 164, 165, 166–7, 223, 236–7, 273–4 poetry and painting Figino 68–9, 237 Fornelius 152–3 Orsi 138, 145–6 paragone 236–41, 242 Tasso 170–2, 223, 238–41, 242 Testi 148–9 Pollens, Stewart 53 Pope Clement VIII: list of prohibited books 129–30 Poulton, Charlotte 52 Poussin, Nicolas 74–5, 182 prima practica 76, 97, 282 vs seconda practica 6, 282 see also innovation vs tradition in music private book collections/libraries 129, 131 Prown, Jules David 45 Pythagorean theory 51–2, 73, 75 Ravelli, Lanfranco 57 realism Bergamo 63–4 Lombardi 36–8 spiritual and material meanings 45 recorder 202–4, 214, 218–19 religion/Catholic Church and Accademia degli Eccitati, Bergamo 66 and art 63–4 Barclay (writer and satirist) 153 Baschenis as priest 78, 100, 131 books canonical and civil law 139–42 collections and censorship 128–31 and Counter-Reformation 156 Monastero di Santo Spirito 130 monastery libraries 128–31, 287 Santa Maria Maggiore church/La Misericordia committee, Bergamo 60–3, 77–8, 80–2 and science 190 and theatre 184 religious music, Bergamo 77–81 religious symbolism curtain 192–3, 208 Garden of Eden 104 locust 117, 120 nature 108, 118 painting and poetry 240–1 rooster 260 Renaissance 74–6, 200–1, 224–5 research, existing 42–58 research study 23–7 summary and conclusion 27–9, 281–8 Ricercata Quinta 96–8 Rim D. Cav. ORSI (‘Rhymes of the Knight Orsi’) 138, 145–6 Roman/civil and canonical law books 139–42 Rome 32–4

Commentari di Roma (‘Commentary on Rome’) (Loschi) 136 Farnese Hercules 257–60 see also Greco-Roman culture rooster 260–1 La Rosalinda (Morando) 133–7, 212, 276–7 Rosci, M. 48–9, 55, 101, 120, 125 Rossi, F. 49, 65, 127, 160 royalty 136–7, 152–4, 156 rugs/carpets 118, 200–2, 206–7, 213–14 table coverings and 198–202 San Giorgio Maggiore monastery library 131, 132, 287 Santa Maria Maggiore church/La Misericordia committee, Bergamo 60–3, 77–8, 80–2 Schneider, Norbert 44 science and art 46 geography and astronomy 261 medicine 150–2, 174–5 and music 267–70 and nature 118–19 sculpture 257–60, 264–6 and painting 242–4 seashells 41, 117–19 self-portraits 100, 101, 102, 213, 231, 248 ‘serpentine figure’ (figura serpentine) 264–6 sheet music 83, 89–92, 116–17 Agliardi Triptych 101, 102, 103 empty lines/blank 111–13, 252–3, 254 and fly 106–8, 120 inaccuracies/anomalies 98–100, 113–15, 234–6 musical notes and text 85–7, 88, 91, 92 and open draw 93, 95 Ricercata Quinta 96–8 titles and interpretation 108–11 signatures 287–8 Baschenis 93, 158, 219, 233, 241, 242, 271, 274, 275, 276 Bettera 33–4, 124, 125, 236, 254 silk cloth in paintings 198–200 industry 176–8 see also curtains Siri, Vittorio 164–6, 167, 169–70, 273–4 Slim, Colin 53, 114–15 Spanish influence 50 Specchio di Scientia (‘Mirror of Knowledge’) (Fioravanti) 172–6, 267–70 Spike, John Thomas 48 spinet 89–91, 103, 116–17, 276 keyboard 88, 89 spiritual and material meanings 45, 49 stage props 202–5 Still Life with Silk Threads (Bettera) 176–8 Still Life with Musical Instruments see Baschenis, Evaristo; Bettera, Bartolomeo stringless instruments 251, 252 Superchi, Francesco 131, 287 symbolism curtains 192–4 glass balls 246–8 and interpretation 44–6, 122–3

303

INDEX

rooster 260–1 spiritual and material meanings in realism 45 see also religious symbolism; vanitas Tassi, Franesco Maria (Baschenis biographer) 37, 127 Tasso, Torquato 170–2, 223, 238–41, 242 technical skills 47, 49–52 Terzi, Marquise 61–2, 66, 93 Tesauro, Emanuele 183 Testi, Fulvio 148–9 theatre 181–90, 284–5 background and stage 190–2 curtains 192–8, 209–12 seven modes of painting 206–19 stage props 202–5 table coverings and carpets 198–202 time, passage of 39, 49–50, 236 Tiraquellos, Andrea: De nobilitate (‘On Nobility’) 138, 142–5 Titian 37 Tomasi, G.L. 53, 81, 97 touch, sense of 243–4 trompe l’oeil 115, 202, 212, 242 trumpet 116, 176, 240–1, 268–9, 276 in theatrical performance 184

truth 118–19, 170, 172, 228, 284 ‘Two Lessons’ (Duo Lezzioni) (Varchi) 225, 242–3 Vanghetti, Alberto 33–4 vanitas 39–44, 46–7, 49 Baschenis 51–3, 93–5 Bettera 55, 57, 117, 120 Varchi, Benedetto: Duo Lezzioni (‘Two Lessons’) 225, 242–3 Vasari: ‘The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects’ 230–1 Veca, Alberto 37, 49–50, 125 Venice 58–9, 63, 65, 78 Accademia degli Incogniti 136, 159–60, 187 publishing industry 128, 135 violin 89–90, 93–4, 116–17 spiral-shaped curl and strings 83, 84 stage props 205 violone 93–5, 98, 101–2 Vittori, Rodolfo 128, 130 Winternitz, Emanuel 40 Wittkower, Rudolph 48 Zeuxis and Parrhasius 192