Raphael and the Beautiful Banker: The Story of the Bindo Altoviti Portrait 0300108249, 9780300108248

Citation preview

DAVID ALAN BROWN & JANE VAN NIMMEN

Raphael r the Beautiful Banker THE STORY OF THE BINDO ALTOVITI PORTRAIT

'

·/■ ?·/vi'

■·

Raphael vL·/ the Beautiful Banker I

'

5

*

"

.

*

THE STORY OF THE BINDO ALTOVITI PORTRAIT David Alan Brovm

Jane Van Nimmen

Five centuries ago a stunningly beautiful young man, heir

to a banking fortune, sat for a portrait by Raphael. In the

artists dynamic conception, Bindo Altoviti turns as if to speak to his Florentine bride, Fiammetta. Ardently admired

over the years, as it is today, Raphael’s portrait was also coolly received by more than one influential critic who cast

a shadow on its reputation. This gloriously illustrated book

tells the story of the portrait’s creation and of its unexpected

trajectory through history. Focusing on viewers’ responses to Bindo Altoviti, the book

describes the transformation of the picture from a family

treasure into a supposed self-portrait of the artist; its public

display in Munich, where it was first celebrated, then dismissed by sceptics claiming that it was neither of nor by

Raphael; and its acquisition by canny English dealers who lured the panel out of Nazi Germany. Purchased as a

Raphael by American collector Samuel H. Kress, the

painting was donated in 1943 to the newly opened National v

Gallery of Art, where Bindo’s image has beguiled visitors

ever since.

Raphael ,, the Beautiful Banker

Raphael yty

the Beautiful Banker

THE STORY OF THE BINDO ALTOVITI PORTRAIT

David Alan Brovm Jane Van Nimmen

Yale University Press

New Haven London

PUBLISHED WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF THE GETTY FOUNDATION

Copyright © 2005 by David Alan Brown and Jane Van Nimmen

Excerpt from A Soldier of the Great War, copyright © 1991 by Mark Helprin,

reprinted by permission of Harcourt, Inc. All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by

Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press),

without written permission from the publishers. Designed by Gillian Malpass

Printed in Singapore

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brown, David Alan, 1942Raphael and the beautiful banker : the story of the Bindo

Altoviti portrait / David Alan Brown and Jane Van Nimmen.

p.

cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 0-300-10824-9 (cl : alk. paper) 1. 2. 3.

Raphael, 1483-1520. Bindo Altoviti.

Altoviti, Bindo, 1491-1556 - Portraits.

Raphael, 1483-1520 - Criticism and interpretation.

1. Van Nimmen, Jane, 1937-

11. Raphael, 1483-1520.

111. Title.

ND623.R2A625

2005

759-5 — dc22 2004023961

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Frontispiece

Raphael, Bindo Altoviti, c. 1512. Oil on panel, 59.5 X 43.8 cm.

Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection.

To Armand Van Nimmen, friend, husband, picture editor

Contents

Acknowledgments

viii

i

Introduction

i

The Beautiful Banker

2

Raphael’s Face Value

31

3

The Bavarian Buyers

47

4 Facing the Public

9

63

5

Manna from Heaven: The Case of Ingres

85

6

Whose Face? The Search for Authenticity

107

Trading Places

7

Appendix A

133

Lasting Impressions

157

The Cast of Chapter 7

174

Appendix C Owners of the Portrait

179

Appendix B

Notes

References

180 230

Photograph Credits

Index

facing page

247

249

Raphael, Binda Altoviti, detail.

Acknowledgments

This book emerged from an investigation of the Bindo Altoviti portrait that the authors jointly undertook in the early 1980s at the time of the exhibition held at the National Gallery of Art on the 500th anniversary of Raphael’s birth. Our research far exceeded the scope of the Washington exhibition, and in the decades that followed more material came to light, so that in the new millennium we began to think of reformulating what we had learned about the painting. Alan Chong, curator at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, invited us to contribute separate essays to the catalogue of the exhibition on Bindo Altoviti’s patronage held in Boston in 2003-04. To him and to Anne Hawley, director of the Gardner Museum, we are grateful for permission to publish here revised and expanded versions of our contributions to the catalogue. We owe thanks to Alan and his co-editors, Donatella Pegazzano and Dimitrios Zikos, for their generosity in sharing the results of their research, as well as to Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi, director of the Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, where the exhibition opened in 2004 with an Italian translation of the catalogue. Some of the people who aided us at various stages of the project are listed below, and specific contributions are credited in the notes. Lisa Ackerman and the Samuel H. Kress Foundation kindly permitted us to publish photographs of the collector and his apartment. Special photography was supported by a Smith grant from the National Gallery of Art, Washington. Over the years, the staffs of the Gallerv’s Library, Archives, and Image Collections (Photographic Archives), the Biblioteca and Fototeca Berenson at Villa I Tatti, Florence, and the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, were most accommodating. Research in Munich was substantially advanced by the support of Cornelia Syre, chief curator at the Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlung, and her colleague Christina Schwill. The astute comments and suggestions of Caroline Elam were crucial as we developed a final version of the text. The following archives generously granted permission to cite unpublished material in their holdings: Research Library, The Getty Research Institute in Los Angeles; the Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv, and the Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, both in Munich. At Yale University Press the sympathetic insight of Gillian Malpass and the scrupulous editorial skills of Ruth Thackeray con­ tributed enormously to the book. Sarah Faulks and Emily Angus at Yale and Elizabeth Concha at the National Gallery of Art in Washington kept trans-continental communi­ cation flowing. The dedication attempts to express our deepest thanks to Armand Van Nimmen for his unstinting commitment to our work.

Acknowledgments

ix

Jaynie Anderson, Marie Thérèse Bätschmann, Guido and Nadine Beelaert, Laura Biagiotti, Olivier Bonfait, Francesco Buranelli, Ruth Butler, Paola Cassinelli, Annie Chassagne, Herman Christis, Antonio Luigi Cocuzzi, Marjorie B. Cohn, Maygene Daniels, Marie-Thérèse de Bellis, Frans de Jong, Nora De Poorter, Claudio di Benedetto, Sara Duke, Robert Dünkl, Agnese Fantozzi, Sylvia Ferino-Pagden, Kuno Fischer, Alessandra Gariazzo, Roberta Geier, Gabriela Golluccio, Marco Guardo, Thomas Haffner, Jane E. H. Hamilton, Mazie Harris, Gabriele Heike, Mark Henderson, Andreas Hennes, Léonie Heuer, Sabine Heym, Peter and Gudrun Höhle, Corinna Höper, Jen­ nifer Hughes, Dominique Jacquot, Laurence B. Kanter, Thomas Ketelsen, Richard Kingzett, Toshitaka Koike, Shanda Lear, Antoinette Le Normand-Romain, Richard Lingner, Francesca Manzari, Hermann Maué, Sabine Mayer, Thomas McGill, Jr., Albrecht Miller, Lucia Monaci, Marinella Monarca, Arnold Nesselrath, Alan Newman, Venceslava Orlinski-Raidl, Serena Padovani, Betsy and Doug Parker, Mario Pereira, Ellen Robinson, Michael Rocke, Angela Rossi, Delfina Scalziti, Sigi Schär, Birgit Schwarz, Carlo Soldatini, Anthony Speelman, Sally Speelman, Fiorella Superbi, Beate Thomas, Anna Tummers, Neal Turtell, Friederike Ulrichs, Giovanni Valagussa, Hildegard Van de Velde, Asha Van Nimmen, Marc Vandenven, Pom Verhoeff-Emanuel, Georges Vigne, Florence Viguier, Gary Vikan, Grazia Visintainer, Ambra and Jack Wasserman, Ulrike Wendland, Hans Wijnhoven, Greg Williams, Barbara C.G. Wood, Alison Wright, and Marino Zorzi.

■

Introduction

A Bindo Altoviti fece il ritratto suo quando era giovane che e tenuto stupendissimo.

Vasari, Lives, 1550 and 1568

f bankers are proverbially stuffy, how could

Bindo Altoviti appear so alluring in Raphael’s portrait of the young Florentine (fig. 1), now in the National Gallery of Art in Washington? Shown as a beardless youth with long flowing blond hair and sideburns, Bindo has rosy lips and cheeks and deep-set bluish-gray eyes. The light falling from the upper left sets off his slightly aquiline nose, while casting his eyes in shadow; it also reveals the bare nape of Bindo’s graceful neck and just touches the left hand raised to his chest. The simple color scheme, contrasting the green background with the sitter’s blue and black garments, similarly focuses attention on his head. Strik­ ing as it is, Bindo’s beauty is made to seem all the more remarkable through his pose: facing right, he turns to look over his shoulder as if interrupted by the viewer - an image better suited, one might think, to an artist than a banker. In fact, the painting was once believed to be a self-portrait of its creator. The idea that Raphael here portrayed himself arose from an ambiguous phrase describing the picture in Vasari’s Lives ofthe Artists (1550 and 1568): “For Bindo Altoviti he [Raphael] made his portrait when he was young, which is considered most stupendous.”1 Vasari’s eighteenth-century editor Giovanni Bottari took the phrase “il ritratto suo,” or “his portrait,” to refer to a self-portrait the artist made for Altoviti. This view was hotly contested - it is known from other likenesses that Raphael had a pale complexion and dark hair and eyes - but the belief that the portrait was not only by but of the most revered of artists brought it extraordinary fame in the nineteenth century? Raphael’s portrait of Bindo descended in the Altoviti family in Rome and Florence until 1808, when it was sold, as a Raphael self-portrait, to Crown Prince Ludwig of Bavaria, who presented it shortly afterwards to the royal collection in Munich. Although the portrait was highly regarded by such authorities as Passavant and Cavalcaselle, doubts about Raphael’s authorship seem to have arisen almost from the time it was first pub­ licly exhibited. But it was not until the 1880s that the connoisseur Morelli launched a full-scale assault on the picture, employing his method of morphological comparisons to reject the traditional attribution.3 He left the question of authorship open, but others

I

1

Raphael, Bindo Altoviti, detail.

2

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

opted for Raphael’s star pupil Giulio Romano. The lone voice of dissent was Bernard Berenson, who, after initially denying the picture to Raphael, re-attributed it to him in his influential Italian Pictures of the Renaissance of 1932.4 Despite Berensons change of mind, however, the museum, having already demoted the painting, deaccessioned it in 1938. The dealer Duveen immediately bought the portrait, on Berenson’s advice, and his firm sold it, as a Raphael, two years later to Samuel H. Kress, who in turn donated it to the National Gallery of Art in Washington in 1943. Although doubts about the attribution persisted, the tide began to turn when several critics changed their minds and gave both the design and execution of the picture to Raphael.5 Bindo Altoviti also figured as the master’s work at the exhibition commemo­ rating the five hundredth anniversary of his birth held in Washington in 1983.6 The growing appreciation for the painting was part of a general reassessment of Raphael’s later works, many of which had formerly been given to one or another of his pupils.7 Bindo’s portrait was, accordingly, dated toward the end of Raphael’s career.8 Today, it seems fair to say, the painting is unanimously accepted as Raphael’s, though its precise date remains uncertain. Beckoning the beholder, Bindo’s image elicits a strong response that has varied signif­ icantly over the past five hundred years. Few other portraits have had such a history of compelling reactions. Compelling for other reasons - not least the legendary smile — Mona Lisa, like Bindo, turns toward the viewer. But his eyes veil no “secrets of the grave,” as Walter Pater famously wrote of Leonardo’s sitter.9 Bindo appeals by his immediacy and youth and bestows on the viewer the level regard of an interlocutor. Besides engag­ ing the spectator, Bindo’s portrait has had the power over the centuries to attract to itself other works of art. Drawn by the picture’s magnetic force, these are all portraits, some male, some female, and, in each case, the coupling is no mere juxtaposition. Whether actual or implied, the pairings are loaded with meaning, and reveal much about how Bindo Altoviti was viewed at the time. *

*

*

The Renaissance banker himself, responding to his own image after Raphael completed it, may have been the first to feel its call for a pendant. If so, he could have ordered a portrait of his wife as the other half of a conjugal diptych. Bindo’s bride, Fiammetta, was presumably an intended viewer of her husband’s portrait, and her image would then have become, appropriately, its first partner. More than one modern writer has seen a possi­ ble counterpart to the Washington portrait in the Raphaelesque Portrait of a Young Woman in Strasbourg. That the dimensions of the panels match precisely lends weight to this intriguing proposal. Later viewers in search of a pendant had to shift direction with Bottari’s bold rebap­ tism of the picture. His new label made the portrait famous but relegated Bindo Altoviti, along with his bride, to more than a century of obscurity; aside from Vasari’s references, only histories of Florence mentioned his name, and hers was confined to genealogies. The splendor of the newly identified Raphael depiction was so convincing that no one seems to have asked the obvious question: if, as Bottari said, it was painted with a mirror, why was the painting hand at rest? Rotating an image - a sculpture on a turntable, for

Introduction

3

example - the right hand is still the right hand. A mirror reflection, however, is not a rotation but a true reversal, so that a right hand in actuality becomes a left hand in the reflected image. As Raphael was right handed, the Altoviti portrait could not have depended on a mirror reflection. Yet to have made this easy test would not have been in Bottari’s interest, nor in that of the Altoviti descendants, nor of the prince who pur­ chased the painting. No one asked the inconvenient question, perhaps, because the picture was so highly valued as a self-portrait. Knowing what a painter looked like seemed crucially important in the mid-eighteenth century, as the famous self-portrait collection in the Uffizi and the proliferation of illus­ trated artists’ biographies attest. The two reigning self-portraits of Raphael, however, seemed unsatisfactory. Trumping the damaged likeness of the Uffizi panel (fig. 2) and the mute head of the School of Athens (fig. 3) with the dynamic turning figure of the Altoviti portrait, Bottari tied its beauty to the identity of the sitter as Raphael.10 Although the handsome young man in Palazzo Altoviti thus gained an edge over competing self­ portraits, Bottari, like other later admirers of the panel, had a skeptical Doppelgänger, in this case the ardent classicist Winckelmann, who denied that it was a self-portrait. Bottari, nevertheless, succeeded in turning the picture into an icon, making it possible for several generations to engage with it in a different way. Embraced as Raphael, the portrait in Palazzo Altoviti found a natural pendant in the Fornarina. This beloved portrait hanging in the Uffizi (now given to Sebastiano del Piombo) was thought at the time to be by Raphael and to depict the baker’s daughter who became his mistress. Successive directors might imagine that the two pictures would one day be united in the gallery until the French occupation of Tuscany and the exile of the Florentine grand duke shattered any such hope. When the impoverished Altoviti offered their portrait for sale in 1808, the Uffizi director could do little more than attempt, in vain, to block its export. To the chagrin of the Florentines, a princely sum won the Raphael for Munich. There, on display in a public museum, this “relic of a saint in art” engendered a powerful new coupling. With Munich’s striking Dürer Self-Portrait at its side, the Raphael acquired a broadly cultural pendant. In a Europe at war and for some twenty years after the peace, the paired artistic heroes stood as symbols of Germania and Italia. Then, after 1836 the Altoviti panel acquired another partner. In the new Pinakothek the German and Italian schools had to be shown separately, according to modern museum practice; so, bereft of Dürer, Raphael/Bindo hung for another century - in what was now a purely art-historical comparison with Venetian painting - next to an alleged Self-Portrait by Giorgione. Artists accepted Raphael’s figure as a self-representation and, returning the master’s gaze, repeatedly copied the panel. At a time when Mona Lisa was largely ignored by print­ makers, presses throughout Europe released a flood of graphic replicas of Bindo, all claim­ ing to be after “Raphael, painted by himself.” Relying on reproductions, Ingres, of all nineteenth-century painters the one who linked himself most steadfastly with Raphael, responded to Bindo Altoviti as the physical incarnation of his ideal. Challenges to the identification of the Munich picture after he deployed the image did not prevent Ingres from returning to it, even more explicitly, late in life. In the first French monograph on Raphael, published in 1824, Quatremere de Quincy restated doubts about the identifi­ cation already uttered in Italy. Quatremere and other early scholars, followed by the first

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

1 Raphael, Self-Portrait, c. 1506. Oil on panel, 47.3 X 34.8 cm. Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi.

generation of academic art historians, may have differed on the identification, but they all believed that the painting was by, if not of, Raphael. Shorn of its glamour as a reflec­ tion of the artist’s features, the painting could now be looked at in more formal terms. Intent on making attributions, late nineteenth-century connoisseurs tended to overlook the impression made by a work of art in order to focus on details of form that, to the practiced eye, revealed its authorship. Their approach to the Altoviti portrait may seem odd in light of its allure, but to the connoisseur beauty was not a consideration - at least, not the beauty of the subject. At the same time, an early anthropologist in a parallel quest for authenticity attempted to match the Altoviti panel and other supposed self-portraits to a cast of Raphael’s exhumed skull, hoping to determine through craniometry which painted image was the true face of the master. The connoisseurs, meanwhile, no longer concerned with Raphael’s face, also failed to find his hand in the execution of the Altoviti portrait. The fall from grace of the Munich picture shows that this and other discredited objects of worship arouse feelings of betrayal, and that adoration in such cases turns into embarrassment and scorn. Neither of Raphael nor by him, the Munich portrait may now truly be said to have had no value.

Introduction

5

3 Raphael, School ofAthens, detail, c. 1510-11. Fresco. Vatican, Stanza della Segnatura.

But attribution, unlike craniometry, is not a science, and Berenson and others fol­ lowing him came to realize their mistake. His change of mind in favor of Raphael begins the modern history of the portrait. Downgraded by its own caretakers, Bindo Altoviti was attributed in the Munich catalogues to the “Raphael School.” When, in a proposed trade for the panel, the director of the Bavarian state collections, Ernst Buchner, was offered a German portrait, he had to consider the devalued Altoviti picture as the weaker component of a new equation. Both pictures were in Munich, one upstairs on the gallery walls and the other temporarily in his office, as Buchner weighed his options. Heir to his predecessors’ stunning comparison with Durer, Buchner, hard up for funds, would have to dispose of one picture in order to possess the other, to trade Italia for Germa­ nia. Just as the parity of Raphael and Durer in the first half of the nineteenth century had expressed widespread notions about national identities, so the implied comparison in 1938 of a dethroned Raphael with an alleged Grunewald had a broader political com­ ponent. This time, rather than finding a pendant, the Altoviti panel was displaced by an alternative, and the perceived disparity led to the picture’s export to America.

*

*

*

6

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

4 Poster, Biado Altoviti tra Raffaello e Cellini, 2004. Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello.

More than sixty years later, a temporary exhibition brought Bindo together with another partner, his later image as an older man in Benvenuto Cellini's bronze bust, purchased by Isabella Stewart Gardner in Boston. At the Gardner Museum in 2003, then at the Museo Nazionale del Bargello in Florence in 2004, viewers engaged with the two mas­ terpieces of portraiture that may never before have stood in such proximity (fig. 4).11 Exclaiming at the beauty of Bindo in his early twenties and the authority of the mer­ chant-banker as he approached sixty, spectators seemed compelled to voice their responses. Already familiar with the bearded face of Bindo in three dimensions, the Boston audience paused to let Raphael’s image exert its fascination, while in the Bargello, visitors echoed Vasari’s “stupendissimo” and hailed the subject of the exhibition as a native son returning from exile. As for the Raphael portrait that had hung in their city before departing for Bavaria, they continued to mourn its loss while blessing the vision and the turn of fate that brought it briefly back to Tuscany.

Introduction

7

The present biography of the portrait offers a narrative spotlighting those who have stood before the panel over the years. Here we summon men and women, many of whom, enthralled with the picture and curious about the puzzles it poses, yielded to its appeal. Others saw only the shadowed side and spurned the portrait. A fortunate Raphael, Bindo Altoviti was movable property, but in fact changed hands only four times after the family sold it, skirting wars and resisting damage. That the picture now hangs in Washington — not in Florence or in Munich — owes much to specific historical cir­ cumstances, as the following pages suggest. It was not chance, however, that altered the picture’s trajectory over time, but rather the viewers it attracted who determined its course. Florence, 6 April 2004

I

The Beautiful Banker

No sooner met but they looked,

No sooner looked but they loved. Shakespeare, As You Like It (Rosalind, in Act V, scene 2)

Raphael’s depiction, Bindo Altoviti had more to his credit than mere pulchritude. He is best known, perhaps, for his implacable oppo­ sition to the Medici dynasty, and it would be tempting to read his image as that of a dashing young aristocrat who risked wealth and power for his ideals. But at the time of Raphael’s portrait, Bindo had not yet distinguished himself as the great papal banker and patriot he would later become, and he was, in any case, not a firebrand. The Altoviti family, which came from the Valdarno, settled in Florence in the twelfth century, where they engaged in the usual mix of commerce and banking, politics and culture.1 Bindo’s father Antonio, born in 1454, established a branch of the Altoviti bank in Rome and in 1487 married his cousin, Dianora Altoviti (fig. 6), who was, more importantly, the niece through her mother of Pope Innocent VIII. Approving the union, the pope augmented Dianora’s dowry and helped to launch Antonio’s career.2 Presumably soon after the mar­ riage, Antonio bought some houses in an area near the Ponte Sant’Angelo favored by Florentine merchants, bankers, and artists in Rome. And he joined the charitable Com­ pagnia della Pietà, which supported the construction of the nearby church of San Gio­ vanni dei Fiorentini. Antonio continued to serve Innocent’s successors until 1507, when his death late that year left his son Bindo, born on 26 November 1491, fatherless at the age of sixteen. As the only legitimate son and heir to Antonio’s fortune, young Bindo was an attrac­ tive prospect. It is not surprising, therefore, that in Florence, where his father was buried on 22 February 1508, he contracted to marry Fiammetta, daughter of Tommaso Soderini. The agreement joining the two prominent Florentine families was signed on 27 October 1508.3 Fiammetta was only eleven years old at the time, so the actual marriage did not take place until three years later, in 1511.4 Just as his father had initiated his own career with a successful marriage, so Bindo would have had high expectations, for Fiammetta was the grandniece of Piero Soderini, head of the Florentine government. Following the death of Lorenzo il Magnifico and the expulsion of the Medici in 1494, Florence again became a republic with Soderini named gonfaloniere for life in 1502. Soderini’s tenure was

A

5

handsome youth in

Raphael, Bindo Altoviti, detail.

IO

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

6 In rhe manner of Niccolò Fiorentino, Dianora (or Lionora) Altoviti, c. 1487. Bronze, 7 cm. diam. Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection.

cut short, however, when an unforeseen turn of events returned the Medici to power in 1512. Lorenzo’s son Giovanni was elected Pope Leo X the next year, and he was followed, after a brief interval, by il Magnifico’s nephew Giulio, who became Pope Clement VII. Under their papacies, 1513—21 and 1523-34 respectively, Bindo’s career flourished. If he harbored any anti-Medicean sentiments at this time, as his marriage to Soderini’s grand­ niece might tend to suggest, he was careful to conceal them. From documents in the Vatican archives, it is possible to trace Bindo’s rise to pre-emi­ nence as a banker.5 Already prominent at the papal court, Bindo contributed toward the festivities for the coronation of Leo X in 1513, and it is clear that he landed on his feet after the Sack of Rome in 1527: two years later he and the even more powerful if ill-fated Filippo Strozzi lent Clement VII some 30,000 ducats. In May 1529 Clement appointed Bindo his chief commissioner for collecting taxes. When the Medici pope died in 1534, Bindo hastened to have Francesco Salviati paint the Farnese coat of arms of his succes­ sor, Paul III, on the façade of Palazzo Altoviti in Rome. Florence, meanwhile, having reverted briefly to republican status in 1527-30, became a Medici dukedom. Clement's illegitimate son Duke Alessandro de’ Medici named the banker to public office in 1532.6 Bindo, nevertheless, opened both his palace and his coffers to Florentine exiles opposed to the Medici. And after Lorenzino de’ Medici assassinated Duke Alessandro in 1537, Bindo sent him money and advised him on how to avoid arrest: apart from political con­ siderations, the mother of the twenty-two-year-old assassin was Maria Soderini, Bindo’s sister-in-law. Another sister of Fiammetta, Caterina Cinori, unwittingly served as the bait Lorenzino used to lure Alessandro into the fatal trap. Bindo further supported Fiammetta’s outlawed brother Paolantonio Soderini, whose goods were confiscated in 1534, and later Paolantonio’s son Alfonso, also declared a rebel. To them and other Flo­ rentine exiles led by Filippo Strozzi in the 1530s, Bindo provided major financial backing, even after the exiles were decisively defeated at the Battle of Montemurlo in 1537 and Strozzi commited suicide in a Medici prison the following year.

The Beautiful Banker

II

Duke Cosimo, Alessandro’s successor, appointed Bindo Florentine consul in Rome, then senator in 1546, moves which in no way mitigated their mutual hatred. Bindo financed Piero Strozzi, who took up the family project to liberate Florence, outfitting five companies of troops, and sent his own son, Giovanni Battista Altoviti, at their head to join the Sienese rebels in the war with Florence. The armed opposition was defini­ tively crushed on 2 August 1554 at the Battle of Marciano. As a reprisal for aiding the rebels, Duke Cosimo confiscated Bindo’s Florentine property in 1554—55. Fiammetta Soderini was triply suspicious to the Medici: she was married to Bindo and descended from two of Florence’s most prominent rebel families, the Soderini and the Strozzi. All Fiammetta’s great-uncles, uncles, her father, her brother Paolantonio, and her son Gio­ vanni Battista, not to mention her sister Maria’s murderous son Lorenzino, were exiled or imprisoned or simply declared rebels by the Medici. A year and a half after the defeat of Siena, Bindo Altoviti died in Rome, where he was buried on 22 January 1556.8 He was sixty-four. The man whose youth was immortalized by Raphael could not have done better than commission Benvenuto Cellini to commemorate his old age. Cellini’s magnificent life­ size bronze bust is the second surviving masterpiece depicting the Renaissance banker (fig. 7)? Praised by Michelangelo when he saw it in Palazzo Altoviti in Rome, the bust captures the character of the bearded, wrinkled banker at around fifty-eight years of age, before Bindo’s complete rupture with Duke Cosimo in 1554. Cellini described the por­ trait in the scrittoio, or study, where it remained until the building was torn down to make way for an embankment in 1888. Ten years after the palace was demolished, Beren­ son, who seems to have played a pivotal role in the later history of Bindo’s portraits, con­ vinced Isabella Stewart Gardner to purchase the bronze, which reached Boston in the winter of 1901—02. Bindo and his wife had six children, four of them female. His elder son Antonio, born in Florence in 1521, was named archbishop of the city in 1548, though Cosimo’s enmity prevented him from entering his own archdiocese until nearly twenty years later.10 The already mentioned Giovanni Battista, despite a brilliant marriage to Clarice Ridolfi, died childless in 1590, marking the end of Bindo Altoviti’s line. The Altoviti bank failed four years later. A remote branch of the ancient Florentine family inherited Bindo’s palaces and villas, together with their contents, including the portraits by Raphael and Cellini.

The Patron Like other Florentines who provided loans to the popes in exchange for the rights to papal revenues, Bindo prospered.11 He enjoyed the financial resources (and was moti­ vated by his marriage and coming of age) to undertake extensive renovations to the prop­ erties he had inherited from his father and to indulge a growing passion for art. In Florence, where he maintained a place of business, he embellished the family palace in the via del Parione behind the church of Santa Trinità. The principal artist employed on the project was Benedetto da Rovezzano, who had sculpted a tomb for Antonio Altoviti and his brother Oddo in the nearby church of Santi Apostoli, where Oddo was prior and where the family had rights over a number of the chapels. Benedetto’s work in Palazzo

?^T?:

7

Benvenuto Cellini, Bindo Altoviti, 1549. Bronze, 105.5 x 68.5 X 40.5 cm. Boston, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.

The Beautiful Banker

B

8 Joseph Verner, Ponte Sant'Angelo and Castel Sant’Angelo, Rome, 1745· Oil on canvas, 40 x 77cm. Paris, Musée du Louvre.

Altoviti is described by Vasari, who particularly admired a marble fireplace there based on a design by Jacopo Sansovino.12 Shortly afterwards, it seems, Bindo turned his atten­ tion to his Roman residence, located on a site directly across the Tiber from the Castel Sant’Angelo (fig. 8). In 1514, the date inscribed on a (lost) plaque recording the work, Bindo proceeded to erect an imposing palace, absorbing and extending the houses pur­ chased by his father Antonio.1' The project went on for decades with Vasari providing much of the pictorial decoration in the years before Bindo’s death in 1556. Pride of place went to a vaulted loggia frescoed by Vasari, containing part of Bindo’s collection of clas­ sical antiquities. The palace, which faced the river on one side and a piazza on the other, housed Bindo’s descendants continuously until it was demolished (fig. 9). At the time of the demolition, some of Vasari’s frescoes were saved and transferred to Palazzo Venezia in Rome.14 Bindo’s art patronage may thus be divided into two main phases, early and late, with a certain number of commissions in between. If the later phase, in which Vasari was extensively employed, had as its masterpiece Cellini’s bronze bust of the banker at age fifty-eight, the earlier phase, associated with Bindo’s building activities during the second decade of the century, centered on Raphael. Bindo and Raphael were both in Florence in 1508, where they might have met. A reference to a miniature portrait by Raphael of his father Giovanni Santi, dating from 1507, might suggest a possible friendship between the artist and the banker, except that the inscription on the back of the portrait, accord­ ing to which it was presented to Altoviti in 1520, is dubious.1^ More certain are Bindo’s two known commissions from Raphael. Vasari mentions his portrait, as noted above, and then goes on to describe the so-called Madonna dell’Impannata (fig. 10) as a

14

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

9 Robert Macpherson, Palazzo Altoviti on the Tiber, Rome, between 1853 and 1858. Albumen silver print, 26.6 X 37.2 cm. Montreal, Centre Canadien d’Architecture/Canadian Centre for Architecture.

painting of the Virgin that he [Bindo] sent to Florence: this painting is today in the palace of Duke Cosimo, in the chapel of the new apartments built and painted by me, where it serves as the altarpiece; and in this is painted a very old Saint Anne who is seated and holds out to the Virgin her son, of such beauty in the nude form and in the features of the face that his smile brightens those who look at him; besides which, Raphael showed in the depiction of the Virgin all the beauty that can be given the aspect of a virgin, which is accompanied in the eyes by humility, in the brow by honor, in the nose by grace, in the mouth by virtue, not to mention that her dress is such to show limitless simplicity and dignity: and in truth 1 do not think there is anything better to be seen than this work as a whole. There is a Saint John seated, nude, and another female saint who is also very beautiful; for the background there is a casement where he has made a window covered with linen that gives light to the room where the figures are.16

According to Vasari, Bindo sent the Madonna dell’Impannata to his palace in Florence, where the picture remained until Duke Cosimo confiscated it for his own chapel, newly decorated by the artist. Bindo’s portrait, on the other hand, may have been kept in the Altoviti palace or villa in Rome, perhaps in his bedchamber; it is not mentioned as part of the contents of his study, and Vasari, who worked at both sites, fails to describe it in

io

Raphael and studio, Madonna dell’impannata, c. 1512-15. Oil on panel, 160 X 127 cm. Florence, Palazzo Pitti.

i6

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

ii Raphael, Agnolo Doni, c. 1506. Oil on panel, 65 X 45.7 cm. Florence, Palazzo Pitti.

12 Raphael, Maddalena Doni, c. 1506. Oil on panel, 65 x 45.8 cm. Florence, Palazzo Pitti.

detail.17 The devotional picture and the portrait, in any case, are the type of works that Florentine merchants commissioned for the rather sparse domestic settings of their palaces and villas. In commissioning the Madonna dellTmpannata from Raphael, Bindo may have been thinking of the Holy Family, now in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich, that Domenico Canigiani ordered from Raphael to celebrate his marriage to Lucrezia Frescobaldi in 1507.IK And in ordering his portrait, Bindo may have recalled the pair of por­ traits depicting Agnolo Doni and his wife Maddalena Strozzi, which Raphael completed around 1506 (figs. 11, 12). As the favorite painter of the Florentine mercantile elite, Raphael would have been an obvious choice for Bindo when some time around 1512, to judge from his apparent age in the picture, he decided to have his portrait painted. Having successfully completed the fresco decoration of the Stanza della Segnatura in the Vatican, the painter more than ever was in demand, not only by Pope Julius II but also by the pontiff 's friend, the great Sienese banker Agostino Chigi. In the years 1512-13 Raphael embarked on the fresco cycle in the Stanza d’Eliodoro, and when not occupied with that and other projects for Julius, like the Sistine Madonna (fig. 17), he completed the Triumph of Galatea for Chigi’s villa

The Beautiful Banker

u

in Trastevere and undertook the task of decorating the banker’s chapels in the churches of Santa Maria della Pace and Santa Maria del Popolo. Unable to command Raphael’s services or to compete for them with the older and richer Chigi, Bindo, nevertheless, managed to get the overburdened artist to paint his portrait. Perhaps Raphael was intrigued by the sitter and the possibilities that his portrait offered. Two preparatory drawings suggest that the Madonna dellImpannata was also projected at this time.19 The drawings demonstrate that Raphael was the creative impulse behind the picture, but it is clear that most or all of the execution in this case was delegated to the studio. Whoever the assistant was (Giulio Romano and Giovan Francesco Penni or both have been pro­ posed), the altarpiece was apparently not finished before the middle of the decade, when Raphael may have intervened: some of the heads bear comparison with Bindo’s fully autograph portrait.20

“When he was Young"

If Bindo expected Raphael to depict him in the manner of Agnolo Doni, he soon found that his portrait differed sharply from the earlier one. A wealthy cloth merchant with a taste for art, Doni had, at the age of thirty, married Maddalena Strozzi in 1504, and their union may have provided the motive for commissioning the closely integrated portraits of husband and wife in Palazzo Pitti.21 Seated before a distant landscape, the couple was subjected to careful scrutiny in which no detail of physiognomy (his dark, scraggly hair outlined against the sky) or costume (her enormous pearl) was overlooked. This kind of straightforwardly realistic approach to portraiture reflects the influence of such Flemish artists as Memling, whose works were much admired in Florence. The sitters’ poses, on the other hand, particularly that of Maddalena, are based on Mona Lisa, the model for creating a modern portrait to which Raphael returned again and again. Drawing on Leonardo’s example, Raphael went beyond likeness to convey the representative charac­ ter of his sitters as shrewd, prosperous, self-satisfied members of the Florentine upper class. But while focusing on the stable pose, Raphael shunned the aspect of Mona Lisa that fascinated later admirers, namely, her facial type and expression which approximate the ideal of female beauty found in Leonardo’s contemporary paintings of the Virgin. The pronounced realism and unambiguous psychology of the Doni portraits in no way prepare the viewer for Raphael’s depiction of Bindo as an ideally beautiful youth. Vasari emphasized that the artist painted his subject “when he was young,” and Bindo’s por­ trait, in fact, conforms to a canon of youthful male beauty with which Raphael would have been thoroughly familiar.22 Nonetheless, if his portrait is compared with Cellini’s bust of the banker as an older man (fig. 7), viewed from the same angle, it will be seen that the facial features - the deep-set eyes, aquiline nose, and full lips - correspond. Where the two depictions differ, apart from the obvious effects of age, is in Raphael’s emphasis on the sitter’s smooth unblemished skin, ruddy complexion, swanlike neck, sensual lips, and shadowed eyes. In Raphael’s portrayal, Bindo’s golden locks stand out (fig. 5). Rather than framing his face, the sitter’s hair is brightly lit on one side and cast in shadow on the other. The high­ lighted section is pulled back behind his ear with some delicate strands breaking free,

18

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

exposing his soft cheek and downy sideburns. The tresses cascading over Bindo’s shoul­ der and back, leaving bare the nape of his neck, are a tour de force that would surely have impressed Vasari, who in the Lives cites hair as an attribute of comeliness and aes­ thetic grazia.15 Though Bindo’s actual coloring cannot be determined, his hair appears fairly light in color in a later portrait attributed to Jacopino del Conte, now in the Musee des Beaux-Arts, Montreal.24 But whether Raphael lightened Bindo’s hair or endowed him with the long curly locks seen in the picture, it is clear that the artist was employing the primary convention for representing perfect male beauty in the form of angels.25 As ser­ vants or messengers of God, angels had been depicted in a variety of aspects in the Middle Ages.26 By the fifteenth century, however, these spiritual beings were typically represented as winged youths with fair skin and flowing hair. The exact type of angel varied from artist to artist and ranged, on a gender scale, from vigorously masculine to effeminate or androgynous. Reflecting a state of inner purity and sanctity, the angelic paradigm was also adopted for young male saints, particularly St. John the Evangelist, traditionally identified as the unnamed disciple “whom Jesus loved.”27 Beyond the realm of sacred art, the angelic type might even be used for ancient heroes, like Alexander, shown as a bride­ groom in Sodoma’s fresco of the Marriage ofAlexander and Roxana in Agostino Chigi’s Roman villa; based on a Raphael drawing, the fresco celebrates the patron’s own mar­ riage.28 Or it might be applied to beautiful youths beloved of the gods in classical mythol­ ogy. The abducted youth in Correggio’s Jupiter and Ganymede (Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum) is almost interchangeable with an angel the artist painted on the dome of Parma cathedral.29 The development of the angelic or ephebic type in fifteenth- and early sixteenth­ century Italian painting can be only summarized here. The type of angel depicted by such artists as Filippo Lippi or Melozzo da Forli was decisively reinterpreted by Leonardo in a series of works, some of which would have been known to Raphael. Beginning with the angel in the Baptism of Christ (Florence, Uffizi), a kind of spiritual “self-portrait” of Leonardo in his collaboration with Verrocchio, the type was given an added dimension by having the angel turn to look out at the viewer in the Louvre version of Virgin of the Rocks (fig. 13). Leonardo’s study of a female head (Turin, Biblioteca Reale), which served for the angel in the Louvre painting, underlines the androgynous character of these rep­ resentations. At the same time, among Leonardo’s Milanese pupils, the angelic tvpe was applied to the portraiture of young men.30 Then, just as the idealized portrait went out of fashion in Milan, the typology of the ideally beautiful male associated with Leonardo surfaced in Venice, where it was again applied to portraiture in the work of Giorgione and his circle.31 Back in Florence, Leonardo gave the angelic type a new and distinctly homoerotic flavor in the half-length St. John the Baptist in the Louvre. Increasingly, depic­ tions of youthful males in drawing, painting, and sculpture also display the influence of the classical ideal in ancient coins and statuary.32 With his appearance artfully adjusted, Bindo became the handsomest young man that Raphael could imagine. Aside from sources for the sitter’s angelic beauty in the work of other artists, there are several analogues in Raphael’s own production for Bindo’s physi­ cal type, pose, and glance, taken alone or combined in a single figure. The migration of motifs in Raphael’s oeuvre from altarpieces or frescoes to independent portraits is easily demonstrated: the most audacious example is rhe so-called Raphael and his Fencing

The Beautiful Banker

i9

15 Leonardo da Vinci, Virgin of the Rocks, detail, c. 1483-86. Oil on panel, trans­ ferred to canvas. Paris, Musee du Louvre.

Master in the Louvre, in which the pointing gesture and backward glance of the artist’s companion derive from a similar group in the Transfiguration in the Vatican. ” Both the narrative composition and the related portrait date from about the same time in Raphael’s career. In the case of Bindo’s portrait, the relevant narratives were painted in the years leading up to the date here proposed for the Washington picture. As early as 1970 John Pope-Hennessy compared the treatment of Bindo with that of two figures in the Disputa and the School of Athens in the Stanza della Segnatura.34 The former fresco offers two analogues — the young man with long curly blond hair looking over his shoulder on the left, cited by Pope-Hennessy, and the youthful St. John the Evangelist seated on a cloud above his counterpart, in the fresco’s upper register. Even closer in pose is the young man dressed in white (fig. 14) on the left in the School ofAthens. Identified either as the pope’s nephew Francesco Maria Della Rovere or as the philosopher Pico della Mirandola, this figure looks out at the viewer in a communicative manner described in Leon Battista Alberti’s Treatise on PaintingD His posture suggests that the youth, moving forward a moment before, has stopped to glance at the spectator. His left hand, visible behind his sloping right arm, serves to close off or stabilize the directional aspect of the pose. This formula, combining dynamic movement with a pause to face the viewer, was adapted from the youth in the fresco for the independent portrait, which similarly conveys a sense of arrested motion. But Bindo has an imposing presence lacking in the figures to which

20

14 Raphael, School of Athens, detail, c. 1510-11. Fresco. Vatican, Stanza della Segnatura.

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

15 Raphael, Liberation of St. Peter, detail, c. 1512. Fresco. Vatican, Stanza d’Eliodoro.

he has previously been compared. This aspect of his portrait recalls the angel (fig. 15) on the right in Raphael’s fresco of the Liberation of St. Peter in the Stanza d’Eliodoro. The angel’s long blond hair stands for an inner radiance corresponding to the effulgence around him. Emanating light and leading the saint past his sleeping guardians, the angel is a forceful character, and something of the same spirit informs the image of Bindo emerging from the darkness in his portrait.36 In style and conception Bindo Altoviti most nearly resembles the figures in yet another fresco - the group accompanying Pope Julius II on the left in the Expulsion of Heliodorus (fig. 16). Two of these figures bear the pope’s litter, while the third gazes at the miracu­ lous event taking place on the opposite side of the fresco. All three members of the pope’s retinue have been identified as artists - the carrier in the rear as Giulio Romano or Raphael himself, the tall bearded figure in the center as Marcantonio Raimondi, and the attendant on the extreme left as Raphael again. The identification of the central figure as Raphael’s printmaker goes back to Vasari, but it seems unlikely, given their dress and prominence in the painting, that he or his companions should be artists.3 Whatever the case, their attitudes — the glances of the two bearers, who pause in their movement forward to look out as if distracted by the viewer, and the arms of the attendant, with the right extended and the left raised to his chest - would, if combined, resemble Bindo’s

The Beautiful Banker

16

21

Raphael, Expulsion of Heliodorus, detail, 1511-12. Fresco. Vatican, Stanza d’Eliodoro.

pose in Raphael’s portrait. In addition, the costume of the figure on the extreme left, particularly the low neckline of his tunic and shirt in the hack, is akin to the garments worn by BindoT Aside from these elements of pose and dress, the style of Bindo’s portrait appears to reflect the newly dramatic manner evolved for the Expulsion. By contrast to the more sedate Stanza della Segnatura, this and the other frescoes in the Stanza d’Eliodoro depict a series of events signifying divine intervention on behalf of the Church. Here the intruder Heliodorus is driven from the temple in Jerusalem by a heavenly horseman and two wingless angels. The emotionally charged narrative and to some extent the portrait group, issuing from the semi-darkness of the temple precinct, display the same dramatic use of light and shadow as that which throws the subject of the Washington picture into sharp relief. The intensity of the frescoed figures, with their animated poses, gestures, and expressions, is accompanied by a heightened palette of strong colors set off by somber

22

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

17 Raphael, Sistine Madonna, c. 1512—13. Oil on canvas, 265 X 196 cm. Dresden, Gemälde­ galerie Alte Meister, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen.

tones of gray and black and by a greater freedom of execution. The Expulsion of Heliodorus was probably executed in the spring of 1512, and that is the approximate date proposed for Bindo’s portrait by two of the greatest nineteenth-century Raphael schol­ ars, Passavant and Cavalcaselle.34 Authors favoring a date toward the end of Raphael’s career, around 1518-20, have to explain why Bindo, born in 1491, appears considerably younger than twenty-eight or so in the portrait.40 Approached from another angle, the Washington picture can be placed in a chronological sequence of similar representations of young blond males, including St. John the Evangelist in Raphael’s St. Cecilia altar­ piece of about 1515 in the Pinacoteca, Bologna, and the same male saint in the already mentioned Transfiguration of around 1518—20. On a scale of increasing grandeur and monumentality, Bindo’s image clearly precedes the others.41 Bindo looks as if he might have stepped out of the Stanze, but the translation of the free-standing figures in the frescoes into a half-length format has resulted in a totally new type of portrait in Raphael’s oeuvre. Shown in a daringly contrived pose that contributed to the notion that this was a self-portrait made with a mirror, Bindo casts a penetrating glance at the viewer, who is imagined as standing at eye level in close proximity to the sitter. Bindo’s outward glance thus becomes an exchange of glances, making his portrait a prime example of what John Shearman called the transitive mode, in which a work is completed by the observer. '2 The dynamic concept for the portrait, involving a derive encounter or confrontation between subject and spectator, also determines how Raphael’s Sistine Madonna (fig. 17) was organized. In this altarpiece, completed about 1512—13 at

The Beautiful Banker

23

the behest of Julius II for the church of San Sisto in Piacenza, the figures communicate with the viewer in a sort of sacred dialogue that offers many points of comparison with the portrait.43 A curtain of the same green as the background in the Washington picture has been drawn back to reveal the celestial vision of the Virgin and Child. Moving majes­ tically forward, the Virgin pauses and, with her son, casts a disarmingly direct glance at the beholder. St. Sixtus, bearing the features of Julius II, on the left, indicates the viewer to the Virgin and Child and at the same time raises his left hand to his chest in a gesture of heartfelt devotion. On the right St. Barbara is seen from behind and, like Bindo Altoviti, turns to look over her shoulder. The expressive devices employed in the deco­ ration of the Stanza d’Eliodoro can thus be found combined in the portrait and sepa­ rately in the contemporary altarpiece.

“That Sweet Encounter” If the origins of Bindo’s pose lie in the Stanze frescoes, this does not explain why Raphael chose to depict his subject in this manner. His dramatic portrayal here differs from earlier likenesses by the artist.44 It seems probable, therefore, that another portrait type influ­ enced Bindo Altoviti, and it is perhaps no accident that Giorgione’s circle in Venice pro­ duced a whole series of similar depictions of romantic young men early in the sixteenth century. Raphael’s portrait has, in fact, been connected with the Venetian group, begin­ ning with Giorgione’s Girolamo Marcello, which, in the words of the diarist Marcanto­ nio Michiel, “shows [the sitter’s] back down to the waist and turns his head.”45 Marcello’s portrait seen by Michiel has been plausibly identified with Giorgione’s damaged Man in Armor (Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum).46 And it has been shown that this and several other remarkable portrait inventions by Giorgione are indebted to Leonardo, who was in Venice briefly in 1500 and whose drawings appear to have played a fundamental role in transforming Venetian art.47 The drawings in question were made for, or are oth­ erwise related to, narrative compositions by Leonardo, for example the half-length Christ Carrying the Cross, in which the Savior’s turning pose and outward glance, seen close-up, implicate the spectator in his suffering.48 The introduction of a Leonardesque narrative element into Venetian portraiture would seem to lie behind Raphael’s picture. The closest of the Venetian portraits to Bindo Altoviti is the Young Man in a Fur Cloak (fig. 18), which is attributed to Giorgione or one of his followers - Palma Vecchio or Sebastiano del Piombo.49 Whoever painted the portrait - and Palma is the best candidate - the question remains as to how Raphael came to know the Venetian type. Putting aside the possibility of a trip to Venice, one link might be Sebastiano, whom Agostino Chigi brought to Rome on his return in 1511.50 Raphael and Sebastiano worked side by side on the decoration of Chigi’s villa in 1512, but the Venetian artist’s early Roman portraits have little in common with Bindo’s.51 A picture by Sebastiano similar to Raphael’s portrait, the so-called Musician in the Roth­ schild Collection, Paris, has been adduced as a source for Bindo Altovitic1 It has been argued that the date 1518 inscribed on Sebastiano’s picture should be read as 1515, but even that would postdate Bindo’s portrait if it was painted around 1512, as the style and apparent age of the sitter suggest. Viewed in terms of the give-and-take between the two

24

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

18 Venetian Master (probably Palma Vecchio), Young Man in a Fur Cloak, c. 1515—25. Oil on panel, 69.4 X 53.6 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemälde­ sammlungen, Alte Pinakothek.

artists, Sebastiano’s portrait looks more like an elaboration of the Washington picture than a source for it. A better hypothesis would be that Chigi took back to Rome a Venet­ ian portrait (of himself?) of the type previously described, and that Raphael, having seen that work, used it as a model for his likeness of young Bindo?3 Portraits often imply the presence of a viewer, and Bindo’s was seen by his family, friends, and descendants, each of whom reacted in his or her own way to the sitter’s image. But with its abrupt turn and probing glance, Bindo’s portrait gives the impres­ sion of having had an intended viewer, a specific individual, that is, who was the object of his gaze. To the question, who among his acquaintances captured Bindo’s interest around 1512, the answer is obviously Fiammetta Soderini, whom he married in 1511.54 Their union may well have led to the commissioning of Raphael’s picture. Like most arranged marriages of the time, the alliance between the young couple brought political and economic advantages to their families, and portraits of the bride and groom were often among the works of art commissioned to commemorate such events (fig. 19).55 As much as his beauty, then, Raphael’s painting asserts Bindo’s membership by marriage into a powerful clan, and in that his portrait resembles several others by the artist.56

The Beautiful Banker

25

19 Faenza, Plate with the Arms ofAltoviti and Soderini Impaled 1524. Maiolica, 24.5 cm. diam. Edinburgh, National Museums of Scotland.

The emphasis on the ring Bindo wears on the hand held to his chest may refer to his status as a newlywed. And yet, unlike the middle-aged Agnolo Doni, Bindo was unusu­ ally young at the time of his marriage. Bindo’s good looks in the painting underline his dual role as lover and spouse: his “bee-stung” lips and cheeks flushed with passion testify to his seductiveness at the same time that his golden hair proclaims the nobility of his love and the purity of his intentions. Little or nothing is known about the personal rela­ tions between Bindo and Fiammetta, apart from the fact that they had six children. While he went back and forth between his main residence in Rome and his ancestral home, she seems to have stayed mostly in Florence, where the majority of their children were born and baptized? With Bindo and his wife thus living apart much of the time, his portrait, if it was kept in Florence, might have served to remind Fiammetta of her absent husband?s This was exactly the purpose that Raphael’s portrait of Baldassare Castiglione (fig. 20) was said to have served. Raphael painted the likeness of his friend in Rome, where Castiglione, like Bindo, principally resided. Castiglione’s wife Ippolita, meanwhile, remained in his native Mantua, where, according to an elegy written by the humanist, the portrait served as a surrogate. Addressing her husband, Ippolita exclaims that “only your portrait, painted by Raphael’s hand, bringing back your features, comes near to relieving my sorrows. I make tender approaches to it, I smile, I joke or speak, just as if it could answer. [. . .] Your son recognizes his father, and greets him with childish talk. This is my solace, and thus I cheat the long days?’59 The lament penned by Castiglione does not explain the intention behind his portrait or Bindo’s, only how they might have been viewed at the time. But another of Cas­ tiglione’s writings bears directly on the conception of the Washington picture. Raphael

26

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

20 Raphael, Baldassare Castiglione, c. 1514-15. Oil on canvas, 82 X 66 cm. Paris, Musee du Louvre.

and Castiglione were friends from their early days in Urbino and later in Rome, where the writer served as ambassador from Urbino and from Mantua. Despite his diplomatic duties, Castiglione found time to write The Book of the Courtier, one of the most sig­ nificant texts of the period. Purporting to describe discussions held at the court of Urbino, the manuscript was in preparation at the time Raphael was painting Bindo’s por­ trait, and it was eventually published, eight years after the painter’s death, in 1528. There can be no doubt that Raphael was familiar with the ideas that found their wav into the book.6'1 The Courtier offers what Castiglione termed a “portrait” of the perfect courtier and his lady. It is structured as a series of informal courtly debates on a variety of topics, including the nature of love. Book 3 presents the courtly view of the matter; Book 4, a discourse on the Platonic concept of love as an ascent, through stages, from the sensual love of an individual to spiritual love of the divine.61 However they defined it, the dis­ cussants would all have agreed on the crucially important role of the glance as the first step in the experience of falling in love. Giuliano de’ Medici, exiled from Florence to the court of Urbino, explains how the courtier should make his love known to his lady: by making his eyes be faithful messengers in bearing the embassies of his heart, since they often reveal the passion within more effectively than the tongue itself, or letters, or messengers; and they not only reveal thoughts but they often kindle love in the beloved’s heart. [. . .| Hence, it can indeed be said that eyes are the guides of love, especially if they are [. . .] in their glance gracious and penetrating like some [. . .] so deep that we can sec through them all the way to the heart.62

The Beautiful Banker

27

Similarly, Pietro Bembo expounds the Platonic view of love as the desire for beauty, cau­ tioning the courtier that “just as one cannot hear with his palate or smell with his ears, so also beauty can in no way be enjoyed, nor can the desire it excites in our minds be satisfied through the sense of touch, but only by way of that sense whereof this beauty is the true object, namely, the faculty of sight.”63 Raphael’s portrait of Bindo “in love” does not depend on The Courtier but reflects widely held ideas about “falling in love” or “love at first sight.” Pietro Bembo, for example, who utters the closing oration on love, was himself the author of a series of dialogues on the theme, published as Git Asolani in 1505, where many of the same sen­ timents are expressed.64 Like Castiglione, Bembo was a longtime friend of Raphael, who painted his portrait. It is a tribute to Raphael’s intelligence and centrality to the culture of his time that he had more than a few high-placed literary friends, including Andrea Navagero and Agostino Beazzano, depicted by the artist in a double portrait. The ideas about love that circulated in the Italian courts all go back more or less to the sonnets making up Petrarch’s Canzoniere, and a perusal of these and other poetical and theoret­ ical writings would produce a great many more comparisons with Raphael’s picture.65 Depicted as “falling in love,” the sitter has a romantic character unlike other images of the banker and seemingly at odds with the hard-nosed business dealings recorded of him in the sources. Raphael’s portrait does not depict an actual occurrence. Rather, it reflects a series of notions about love popularized in the court circles in which the artist moved. The portrayal of the sitter as if encountering his beloved, therefore, would not necessarily preclude the possibility that Bindo’s portrait, like Agnolo Doni’s, once had a companion piece with a female subject. In fact, such a pendant was proposed two centuries ago in the form of Sebastiano del Piombo’s so-called Fornarina in the Uffizi.66 The two works were taken to be a “self-portrait” of the artist and his mistress (see figs. 38, 39). The paintings date from the same time, but their dimensions and supports differ, and they are, of course, by different hands. A more cogent proposal for a pendant to Bindo Altoviti was made by Michel Laclotte in 1965 with regard to the Raphaelesque Portrait of a Young Woman in the Musee des Beaux-Arts, Strasbourg (figs. 21, 22).67 He observed that the two works shared the same dimensions and were consonant in style, and he hypothesized that they might therefore have been made as pendants.68 Two decades later Jean-Pierre Cuzin reopened the matter, noting that not only do the two portraits agree in dimensions and in background color, but the sitters’ poses are complementary.69 The question is how satisfactorily do the Washington and Strasbourg paintings func­ tion as a pair, by comparison with the undoubted pendants representing Agnolo Doni and his bride. The Doni portraits are perfectly matched. Technical investigation has shown that the panels were made from the same wood plank, and they have identical dimensions.70 Vasari cites them as a pair, and they share a common provenance.71 From a visual standpoint, both figures look out at the viewer, and, following a Netherlandish tradition of conjugal diptychs, their poses are closely related and the landscape back­ ground is continuous from one panel to the other.72 The Washington and Strasbourg paintings are also compatible but only in a general way: the sitters are shown half-length and at the same scale, and they are both lit from the left. The dimensions of the two panels, newly measured, are virtually the same.73 The background of the Washington

28

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

2i Raphael, Bindo Altoviti, c. 1512. Oil on panel, 59.5 x 43.8cm. Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection.

22 Raphaël studio (?Giulio Romano), Portrait of a Young Woman, c. 1515-25. Oil on panel, 59.5 x 44 cm. Strasbourg, Musée des Beaux-Arts.

painting, however, has always been a uniform green, unlike the curtain in its putative companion, and the shadows in the former are obviously more pronounced. Other aspects of style and handling differ too: the Washington picture is cooler in tonality, while the one in Strasbourg places more emphasis on textures and costume details. The two portraits differ too much to have been painted in rapid succession, like the Doni pair. In order for them to have been pendants, the lady’s portrait, whenever it was com­ missioned, would have to have been carried out considerably later, after Bindo’s portrait had been delivered, in the late 1510s or even after Raphael’s death, in the early 1520s, when Fiammetta, born in 1497, was approaching maturity. '* The hypothesis pairing the Washington and Strasbourg portraits cannot be dissociated from the attribution questions they have raised. Technical examination undertaken in connection with the cleaning of the latter revealed that it was executed in two stages: initially the lady had a lower neckline and lacked the hand seen today. Laclotte argued that while Raphael or Giulio Romano might be responsible for the initial stage, only the master could have given the painting its final appearance. 5 The model for the Strasbourg portrait was clearly Raphael’s Donna Velata in Palazzo Pitti, as has often been noted, and a comparison of the two shows just as clearly that they cannot have been painted by the

The Beautiful Banker

29

23 Raphael, Andrea Navagero and Agostino Beazzano, 1516. Oil on canvas, 76 x 107 cm. Rome, Galleria Doria Pamphili.

same artist. 6 That Bindo Altoviti is by Raphael and the Strasbourg Young Woman by Giulio would seem to militate against their being pendants, which, in the conventional sense of a pair, can scarcely be by different hands. But as a variant of the Strasbourg por­ trait lies beneath the paint surface, it is worth recalling that the Madonna delllmpannata, as Raphael initially conceived it, differs from the finished picture. Might Raphael have designed and begun working on the Strasbourg portrait as a pendant to Bindo Altoviti and then, as he did with the altarpiece, turned the task of completing it over to an assistant? Pendant or not, Bindo Altoviti was unprecedented in Raphael’s portraiture. Faced with the task of painting the handsome young banker on the occasion of his marriage, Raphael here experimented with a portrayal whose origins lie in his frescoes and whose immedi­ ate inspiration may have been a Giorgionesque portrait of the same type. The Washing­ ton picture prompted a new direction in Raphael’s manner of making portraits. The turning pose and outward glance were subsequently adopted for the figure of Navagero on the left in Raphael’s portrait of Andrea Navagero and Agostino Beazzano (fig. 23). This painting was completed before Navagero left Rome for Venice in April 1516, which may serve as a terminal date for Bindo’s portrait. Like the latter, the double portrait had an intended viewer, in this case Pietro Bembo, a particular friend for whom the picture was painted. What links Bindo Altoviti with Navagero and Beazzano is not just the device of the pose and the glance but an intimacy between the sitters and the spectator that has endured. Present-day viewers of these works easily slip into their roles as the new Fiammetta or the new Bembo, so that the immediacy of a portrait like Bindo’s becomes a means for communicating with the past.

2

Raphael's Face Value

Ohimè il bel viso, ohimè il soave sguardo, Ohimè il leggiadro portamento altero. Petrarch, set by Claudio Monteverdi, Sixth Book ofMadrigals, 16141

Bernini adored Raphael, according to the seventeenth-century sculptor’s first biographer. Ranking the Renaissance master above all other artists, Bernini was said by Filippo Baldinucci to have particularly revered the Stanze frescoes and - not surprisingly - the sturdy sibyls, prophets, and airborne angels of the church of Santa Maria della Pace. Among Raphael’s easel paintings, his favorite was Bindo’s por­ trait in Palazzo Altoviti, at the end of the Ponte Sant’Angelo (fig. 24). Visitors from the Vatican side of the Tiber would pass Bernini’s stone angels flanking the bridge as they approached the ancient residence. A loggetta hung over the water, and an invitation to watch the firework displays at Castel Sant’Angelo from the opposite bank was seldom refused. Reflecting Bernini’s enthusiasm for the picture, Baldinucci mentions “the very beautiful portrait of Bindo Altoviti owned by Monsignor Antonio Altoviti,” a promi­ nent cleric and friend of the sculptor.2 As with the Pace fresco figures, the dynamic turning pose of the sitter beguiled an artist who could convert movement into stone. But this record of Bernini’s admiration for the painting was unique for its time. After Bindo’s death, his image led the sheltered life of a family heirloom. Like the earlier Doni portraits, the Raphael masterpiece was handed down from one generation to the next within the family. Its few traces in the literature merely echoed Vasari’s brief, ambiguous remark in both editions of the Lives, already quoted as the opening epigraph to this book: “For Bindo Altoviti he made his portrait when he was young, which is con­ sidered most stupendous.” The phrase describing the portrait — “e tenuto stupendissimo” — is an unusual usage in the Lives·, in 1568, by contrast, Vasari praised Francesco Salviati’s likeness of the banker (now lost) in more subdued terms as “una molto buona figura et un bel ritratto.”3 Vasari stayed in Bindo’s Roman palace for several months in 1542-43 — only a few years before the first edition of the Lives — and his index of 1550 locates both “un ritratto & un quaddro” (a portrait and a panel) by Raphael in the Casa Altoviti, Florence. The corresponding index to the later edition of 1568 cites the Madonna, then in the ducal palace, but omits the location of the Raphael portrait.

G

ianlorenzo

24 Gaspare Vanvitelli, View of the Tiber at Castel Sant'Angelo, detail (Palazzo Altoviti is at the end of the bridge), before 1720. Oil on canvas, 71 x 126cm. Guidonia, Laura Biagiotti Collection.

32

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

By that time, given the enmity between his patron Duke Cosimo and the Altoviti family, Vasari could have lost track of the picture. With the death of Archbishop Antonio Altoviti in 1573, the painting may have gone to Bindo’s second son, Giovanni Battista. As movable property, the portrait is likely to have journeyed back and forth between the Altoviti palaces and villas in and outside Rome and Florence, making it difficult to ascer­ tain the precise location of the picture during the early stages of its history. In a rare mention of Raphael’s portrait after Vasari’s second edition, Giovanni Battista Armenini, writing in 1586, includes it as one of many pictures then in Florence painted by the artist in Rome. If Armenini, who was familiar with both Roman and Florentine collections, was correct, then the Altoviti portrait was in Florence four years before Bindo’s surviv­ ing son died in Rome at the end of 1590.4 A century later, as mentioned above, Bernini’s biographer located the painting in Rome. And in 1730 — some fifty years after Bernini’s death — a new enthusiast reported that it was preserved “in perfect condition” in Palazzo Altoviti at the Ponte Sant’Angelo.5 This report was a terse annotation to a new edition of Raffaello Borghini’s imagined dialogues on art. In his book, first published in 1584 and entitled II Riposo after the Tuscan villa where it was written, Borghini reiterated the brief comment on Bindo Altoviti in the Lives, substituting only “bellissimo” for Vasari’s “stupendissimo.”6 Borghini’s eighteenth­ century editor and annotator — and Bindo’s latest admirer — was the Florentine scholar Giovanni Gaetano Bottari. Visiting the Papal States for the first time at Easter 1725, Bottari was in his mid-thirties when he discovered the Altoviti painting, whose serene afterlife he would dramatically alter. His fervent response to the portrait propelled it from near-total obscurity into destabilizing overnight fame. Disdained by his younger con­ temporary Johann Joachim Winckelmann as “an out-and-out pedant,” Bottari praised the picture in 1759, not with a sonnet, as a Renaissance viewer might have done, but in a footnote.7 His engagement with the painting - in the form of a scholarly note — launched it on a new and surprising trajectory.

Monsignor Bottari Overshadowed by Winckelmann’s achievements and posthumous fame, Bottari is little known today. In the eighteenth century, however, as deputy librarian of the Vatican and one of the most prominent clerics in Rome, he dominated intellectual circles there and in Florence. Sinewy of mind as well as body, the tall, gaunt Bottari demonstrated expertise in fields ranging from Tuscan literature and Early Christian archaeology to civil engineering. As a young cleric and academician in Florence, he had defended Boccaccio from charges of obscenity.8 But however open-minded about the man who wrote the Decameron (c. 1350), Bottari could also be stern with contemporaries, and he was not adamantly opposed to censorship. In 1750, for example, he wanted to place Montesquieu’s De I’esprit des lots on the Index after failing to persuade its author to modify certain passages.9 Affable in person and in his voluminous correspondence, Bottari was described by a contemporary as “modest, noble, agreeable” and inimical to “ignorance, superstition, pretense, prejudice, vice, and pomposity.”10 Lobbying tirelessly for church reform under four successive popes, he died, after achieving his goal, in the service of a fifth pontiff.

Raphael's Face Value

25 Giovati Domenico Canapiglia, Giovanni Gaetano Bottari, c. 1756. Oil on canvas, 90 X 70 cm. Rome, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Biblioteca Corsiniana.

33

26 Anton von Maron, Johann Joachim Winckelmann, 1767-68. Oil on canvas, 136 X 99 cm. Weimar, Schlossmuseum.

In their portraits, as in their writings, Bottari and Winckelmann reveal their disparate personalities. A long-time collaborator on the illustrations for Bottari’s publications, Giovan Domenico Campiglia depicted the industrious scholar in what must have been a rare moment of repose (fig. 25)." In Campiglia’s portrait, Bottari looks directly at the viewer, tilting an antique volume as if about to interpret it. Over his clerical garb, he wears a fur-trimmed dressing gown, a sensible costume for a sedentary worker in chilly Roman palaces. For the earliest of his surviving oil portraits, Winckelmann struck a similar pose for the young Swiss painter Angelika Kauffmann, quill in hand and with a thoughtful gaze toward his left, suggesting a reluctance to interrupt the How of his writing. He needed no dressing gown, for it was summer in Rome; Kauffmann com­ pleted her picture in mid-July 1764.12 Some seven months earlier, Winckelmann had pub­ lished his History ofthe Art ofAntiquity, the first work of its kind and destined to become one of the most influential books of the century. He had won a coveted post at the Vatican Library the previous year, but was irked by the tiresome requirement that he come to work at nine and remain at his desk until noon, five days a week, from Novem­ ber through June.

34

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

The official Vatican titles of the two men suggest their particular talents as well as their positions in the library hierarchy. Since 1739 Bottari had served as secondo custode, or keeper of the papal collections. Apart from the cardinal-director, only one man ranked above him. The primo custode, Giuseppe Simone Assemani, had held his post even longer than Bottari. A custode was a collection developer as well as a caretaker, and Bottari, in addition to his passion for cataloguing, compiling, editing, and annotating, excelled at acquisitions. Winckelmann was a scrittore, the newest hire among the library’s eight lan­ guage specialists, and his first task was to list the German holdings. Increasingly renowned abroad for his genius in his native language, he rightly regarded his library assignments as menial.13 With the primo custode nearing eighty, however, Winckelmann had a rea­ sonable hope of replacing him. Only the bent but sprightly septuagenarian Bottari stood in his way. By the time Winckelmann sat for the other surviving oil portrait made during his life­ time (fig. 26), his own fiftieth birthday was approaching. Surprisingly, since his rival Bottari was recuperating from a stroke, Winckelmann resigned from the library in Feb­ ruary 1767. He intended to devote himself to writing and to angling for a more digni­ fied position in Germany. A few weeks later the Viennese painter Anton von Maron began his canvas. Maron’s portrait was so different from Kauffmann’s, by then widely disseminated as an etching, that the scholar’s friends could barely recognize him. Fol­ lowing Winckelmann’s instructions, Maron produced a figure engaged in describing the antiquities around him; an engraving of one of his favorite sculptures, the bas-relief of Antinous (then, as now, in the Villa Albani-Torlonia), lies on top of his copybook. As if liberated from the confines of his tedious post, Winckelmann donned a dressing gown spilling a sumptuous lining of silvery fur. On his head he wrapped a glossy orange turban that gave him the look of a Domenichino sibyl or, as a puzzled Swiss fan observed, a washerwoman.14 To Winckelmann — a doubt-ridden convert from Protestantism (Goethe called him a born pagan) — the Vatican Library offered one of the few secure assignments in Rome that did not require him to take higher orders and say Mass. He had refused a post as canon, despite the supplementary income it guaranteed. Bottari, by contrast, took his duties in the various parishes to which he was assigned as seriously as he did a cataloguing task. Appointed canon in Santa Maria in Trastevere, he heard confessions and counseled the faithful there for the next three decades. In 1766, as Bottari struggled to regain his strength and return to the library, Winckelmann hoped to advance from his own toil­ some benefice to a sinecure as primo custode, the position for which his ailing colleague was the legitimate successor.15 But when the eighty-year-old primo died in 1768, the pow­ erful Cardinal Neri Corsini won his protege Bottari the promotion. As Winckelmann had learned, a scholar needed a cardinal’s patronage to flourish in Rome. Bottari’s career was linked to the Corsini, for whom he had worked in Florence before he was thirty. In his generation, the notable members of the family were the broth­ ers Bartolomeo and Neri. Less than two weeks after their uncle Lorenzo was elected Pope Clement XII in the summer of 1730, Neri gave up his diplomatic career and received preliminary orders. Named cardinal a month later, he would exercise enormous influ­ ence during his uncle’s ten-year pontificate. The older Corsini brother, Bartolomeo, also moved to Rome, taking charge of papal economic policy and looking after the family’s

Raphael's Face Value

35

27 Giuseppe Vasi, Palazzo Corsini, 1750. Etching from Vedute di Roma, Book 4, pl. 72. Rome, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica.

commercial interests. At the suggestion of Bartolomeo, Clement XII summoned Bottari from Florence to Rome, where the Corsini gave him rooms in their rented palace on the Circo Agonale (Piazza Navona). There Bottari began his work as librarian for the growing family holdings. The brothers bought Palazzo Riario on the via della Lungara in the summer of 1736, and, after renovating and renaming it Palazzo Corsini (fig. 27), moved in with the library and the family librarian.16 Bottari had been involved both in the purchase of the palace and in planning its alterations. In 1739, a year before the Corsini pope died, he added the Vatican Library to Bortari’s workload. To devote more time to bibliographical pur­ suits and various publication projects, Bottari, teaching at the Sapienza, gave up his chair in ecclesiastical history. Few in Rome knew more about church controversies. Over the years, Bottari grew increasingly sympathetic toward Jansenism, the reform movement within the Church named after the seventeenth-century Dutch cleric Cornells Jansen, which became widely known through the writings of Pascal in France. By mid-century, with Cardinal Corsini’s tacit approval, Bottari had turned his residence into the center of the Jansenist movement in Rome. There he hosted a group of like-minded cardinals and churchmen critical of Jesuit laxity and excesses. Gathering regularly in the via della Lungara, they exchanged views and discussed the flood of subversive literature that Bottari was importing from France and Holland. From the pope down to the humblest library assistant, birthplace established identity in Rome. Although he lived more than half his life in the Papal States, Bottari was regarded as a Tuscan. He forged an enduring link with his Florentine past when he invited the young theologian Pier Francesco Foggini to join him in the Corsini enclave near the Vatican. After losing his father, the sculptor-architect Giovanni Battista Foggini, Pier Francesco devoted himself to his studies and entered the priesthood. Assisting his mentor

36

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

in Rome with editorial work and supporting the campaign against the Jesuits, Foggini maintained contacts with the artistic community in Florence that would prove useful to Bottari in acquiring prints for the Corsini collection. Bottari had demonstrated an inter­ est in painting and sculpture before leaving Florence. His annotations to Borghini’s II Riposo and Bottari’s own dialogues make an appeal for simplicity that anticipated neo­ classical taste.17 Once in Rome, however, Bottari turned from aesthetic theory to the preservation of monuments and a study of sources. The latter passion led him to collect and publish six volumes of letters written by patrons and artists — Raccolta di lettere (1754-68) — which he recognized as essential documentation for their works.18 Whereas Bottari’s interest in sources led him to the ultimate in artistic biographies, Vasari’s Lives, Winckelmann - during the second half of the 1750s - branched out from Roman libraries to explore the city’s art collections, hoping to invent an art history freed from the Italian biographical tradition. Scorning Vasari and his tales, mocking the Florentine gossip Baldinucci, Winckelmann wanted to write a history that would look, not at artists, but at the essence of art itself. Bottari took the opposite path.

Improving on Vasari

With no new edition since 1647, over a century later it was time to revisit Vasari’s Lives.™ The Roman publishers Niccolo Pagliarini and his brother Marco indeed recognized the potential for an international bestseller. Niccolo was an activist in Jansenist circles, editing the Giornale de’ letterati, which Bottari and Foggini used to disseminate their views. Not all anti-Jesuit literature of the period can be attributed to the Vatican’s deput}7 librarian, and Bottari’s reactions to disputed texts remained independent, following no rigid party line. But most libraries today, including the Vatican, catalogue under Bottari’s name at least two such polemics opposing the Jesuits. Both anonymous tracts - the publisher was also anonymous — appeared in 1759. It was in this very year that the Pagliarini issued the first two volumes of a new edition of the Lives, annotated by Bottari. As the Jansenist dispute peaked, Bottari, at age seventy, provoked with his second Vasari volume an artis­ tic controversy that would long outlast the doctrinal quarrel within the Church. A close look at Bottari’s edition and, in particular, at its scholarly apparatus and illustrations in the context of mid-eighteenth-century print culture reveals that the re-labeling of the Altoviti Raphael was more than just a scholarly matter. For their ambitious three-volume edition of the Lives, Bottari and his publishers required the collaboration of artists and printmakers. The two sixteenth-centurv editions brought out under Vasari’s supervision are known by the names of their Florentine pub­ lishers: the Torrentiniana of 1550 and the much-revised Giuntina of 1568. The earlier version had no portraits, only a woodcut used for the title page of both volumes and an allegorical woodcut as endpiece for the second. To illustrate the biographies in the enlarged edition of 1568, Vasari commissioned printmakers to reproduce his own draw­ ings, based in each case on a diligent search for an image of his subject. With the second edition of the Lives, Vasari thus became not only the father of art history and the illus­ trated art book, but also, three centuries before photography, a pioneer in the held of picture research.

Raphael’s Face Value

28 After Giorgio Vasari, Vita di Raffaello da Vrb. Pit. Architetto (from Vasari 1568). Woodcut, oval insert, 7X5 cm.; frame, 12 X 11 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

37

29 Attributed to Antonio Cappelan, after Raphael [Bindo Altoviti], Raffaello da Vrbino Pittor e Archit. (from Vasari 1759-60, 11, opp. p. 88). Etching and engraving, oval insert, 9 X 7.4 cm.; frame, 19.5 X 13.8 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

Vasari’s 144 portraits are oval images inserted into different types of woodcut frames. He designed the frame types to refer allegorically to each artist’s career as painter, sculp­ tor, or architect. One type, in which a triangle of female figures represents drawing at the apex and sculpture and architecture at the base, he reserved to frame portraits of those excelling at more than one of the arts, among them Verrocchio, Leonardo, and Michelangelo.20 The frame for Raphael, though of another type, also referred to all three arts, with a female allegory of painting above putti holding attributes of architecture and sculpture (fig. 28). When he lacked a reliable portrait source, Vasari printed the frame but left it empty. The third edition of the Lives in 1647 had re-used Vasari’s original por­ trait inserts and their frames, but a century later the worn woodblocks were no longer available to Bottari.·1 Consequently he turned to his friend Campiglia, who had amassed decades of experience illustrating major publications.22 Campiglia’s many images for a sumptuous new series of engravings, the Museo fiorentino, drawn from the Uffizi collec­ tion of artists’ self-portraits, made him an obvious choice to shepherd the translation of Vasari’s woodcuts into engravings.23 Because Bottari followed the contemporary print­ making scene closely - he had supported Giuseppe Vasi and Giovanni Battista Piranesi

38

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

as newcomers to Rome — he could quickly assemble a small group of artists to copy Vasari’s woodcuts. Besides reproducing these illustrations and three more added to the third edition, the Bottari team created nine entirely new portraits, bringing the total to 156. Refashioning the Renaissance woodcut frames, the eighteenth-century printmakers carefully reproduced the oval portrait inserts in the combined technique of etching and engraving. “A copperplate engraving,” Bottari asserted in a preface, “is always more delicate than a woodcut, especially now that we have no Albrecht Dürer.”24 The repro­ ductive artists made only minor changes to Vasari’s portraits, deleting Beccafumi’s claw­ like hand, for example, or giving Pordenone a new hairdo. Bottari credited the illustrators in the preface to the third volume in 1760, mentioning Campiglia as the overseer of the project.25 Only two plates bore signatures — the portraits of Vasari and Michelangelo — and only two abandoned the earlier woodcut model entirely and relied on a different image of the artist. One portrayed Palma Vecchio, while the other was of Raphael (fig2.9). To introduce Vasari’s life of Raphael, Bottari made a bold and unexpected choice. He inserted an oval engraved detail of the Altoviti panel under the title Raffaello da Vrbino Pittor e Archit. In his first footnote to Vasari’s text, Bottari explained his decision: Among the many portraits of Raphael made by his own hand, or by others, the most beautiful, the best painted, and the best preserved is the one which Borghini men­ tions on p. 319 of II Riposo and which [Raphael] made of himself with a mirror to give to Bindo Altoviti, in whose houses in Rome it was preserved until a few years ago. It was always believed to be a portrait of Bindo, and therefore jealously guarded by that family. But the words of Vasari, and of Borghini, have led to a misunderstanding, as I observed in my notes to II Riposo. I revealed to those most noble and gentle owners that [the picture] was not of their ancestor, but of Raphael. This portrait, with regard to its color, is the most beautiful painting that I have seen of Raphael, and the hues concede nothing to the boldest and most vivid in any picture by Titian; today it is preserved in the palace of the Altoviti in the Borgo degli Albizi in Florence. Another panel portrait of Raphael is preserved in the collection of Senator Lionardo del Riccio, a very cultivated gentleman and lover of the fine arts, and it is either by Raphael himself or by his school. The first of these portraits was engraved by the Swiss Jakob Frey for the Museo Fiorentino.26

Bottari couched his admiration for the Altoviti picture in three superlatives: he con­ sidered it “the most beautiful, the best painted, and the best preserved” of the many por­ traits of Raphael. While his footnote does not approach Winckelmann’s feverish praise for the Apollo Belvedere, it nevertheless reveals a Bottari animated and moved by the Raphael. Significantly, in light of its probable Venetian source, Bottari went on to compare the artist’s beautiful color here to the works of Titian. The scholar then referred to his edition of II Riposo published nearly thirty years earlier, where Borghini simply parrots Vasari’s remarks about the panel; in his note to this passage, however, Bottari does not call the picture a self-portrait.2'' At some point, therefore, during the three decades between his annotations to Borghini in 1730 and his footnotes to Vasari in 1759, Bottari came to the conclusion that the painting represented Raphael. He would have noticed

Raphael’s Face Value

39

that, with his head turned and one hand hidden, the sitter in the Altoviti panel resem­ bled self-portraits of artists made with the aid of a mirror. Bottari’s conviction was so strong that he failed to ask the obvious question of whether or not the picture betrays signs, other than the oblique glance, of having been painted from a reflection.28 Unable, perhaps, to find Bindo’s extraordinary beauty in the Altoviti descendants whom he knew, Bottari, comfortable with words, bolstered his self-portrait theory by parsing the worri­ some utterance of Vasari. “Il ritratto suo” meant, he decided, that Raphael had given Bindo his “own” portrait. With one notable exception, the statement in Bottari’s footnote that the Altoviti por­ trait represented Raphael won immediate acceptance. The lone skeptical voice was Winckelmann’s. Although there is no evidence that Winckelmann, in Florence in 1759, went to look at the portrait in Palazzo Altoviti, it is hard to imagine that he would not have examined the new edition of the Lives, if only to confirm his low opinion of Bottari. A young friend visiting Florence in the spring of 1763 asked the German scholar his views on the Raphael self-portrait. “More likely, Bindo Altoviti,” Winckelmann replied.29 The owners of the picture were no doubt immediately affected by Bottari’s announce­ ment, for he all but gave the address of their palace in his footnote. Winckelmann’s friend was not the only visitor to Florence who wanted to see the fresh and authentic face of Raphael, painted by his own hand in colors more vivid than Titian’s. The wan image of the young Raphael in the grand-ducal collection was far from satisfying (fig. 2). Indeed, Edward Gibbon, in the Uffizi on 4 July 1764, recorded his impression that “the worst portrait in the room is that of the best painter. The picture of Raphael is in bad Gothic taste, lacking expression, drawing, and color. [. . .] it seems extremely curious to me that Raphael could ever have painted without genius.”30 The popular notion that Raphael looked like an angel and always painted sublimely worked in favor of Bottari’s identifi­ cation of the luminous Altoviti portrait as the master’s image. The revised label filled a need.31 And while he was not known as a connoisseur of painting, Bottari did rank as an expert on the Tuscan language. His confident interpretation of Vasari’s fateful words “il ritratto suo” and the picture’s unwritten but unbroken provenance within the Renais­ sance banking family and its remote progeny served to validate his insight. Surprisingly, only one expert is known to have challenged Bottari directly, and that critic had no misgivings over the audacious declaration that the Altoviti panel was a self­ portrait of Raphael. On the contrary, the great French collector of prints and drawings Pierre-Jean Mariette wrote from Paris to congratulate Bottari on his substitution of the new image for Vasari’s “worthless” woodcut. Yet Mariette was troubled by a seemingly minor detail. Claiming to have only glanced at the second volume of the Lives (“Je n’ai fait que jetter [Vc] les yeux sur ce qui est imprime du second volume”), Mariette had apparently read Bottari’s footnote with attention. His query concerned Jakob Frey’s engraving of the portrait mentioned in the last line of the note: “You add that he made it for the Museo Fiorentino. I, however, have not found it there at all. What one does see there is the work of a German engraver called Preisler. I know of no portrait of Raphael engraved by Frey. You will do me a favor by clarifying this point for me.”32 Johann Jakob Frey had been until his death in 1752 the doyen of Roman reproductive engravers. As Mariette knew, his name lent prestige to a print, and that was presumably why Bottari cited it in his note. But the observant French connoisseur was right: Georg

40

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Μ I rr 1E1J.O ’//i>

S. I X 71

K \rr \E 1.1.0

30 Georg Martin Preisler, after Raphael, Self-Portrait [Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi] (from Museo forentino, preliminary volume 1748), Engraving, 27.5 X 17 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

Martin Preisler, not Frey, had engraved Raphael for the Museo fiorentinoS" How, in any case, could a painting that belonged to the Altoviti appear in a series devoted exclusively to works in the grand-ducal collection? Preisler, as one might expect, had reproduced the Uffizi Self-Portrait (fig. 30). Mariette had caught Bottari in an error that suggests the pos­ sibility of an additional impulse behind the new identification. Bottari was nevertheless correct in part: Frey had engraved the Altoviti panel. That this engraving might appear in the Museo fiorentino, however, was little more than wishful thinking. But Frey’s print, the first one known after Bindo Altoviti, resembles in dimensions, style, and lettering the illustrations for the Uffizi series (fig. 31). It was, furthermore, like many prints after the

Raphael’s Face Value

JMFRtf.I.L O

41

SylNrZI

lieti'0 ■KAFFAEr.Lo »a vRBiNo < littore e. « ‘hc/iitetto nacaiiv in ì'róino i anno 14.8:1. inori I anno iszo. J,/

I Ordinale

efiflr ... .

ti/k «.·//?«,·./.

V... ,.,tr

31 Jakob Frey, after Raphael, Raffaello Sanzi [Bindo Altoviti], c. 1747. Engraving and etching, based on drawing by Giovan Domenico Canapiglia, 26 X 17.7 cm. London, British Museum, Prints and Drawings.

Uffizi self-portraits, based on a drawing by Bottari’s friend Campiglia, who in the 1750s supervised the copying of Vasari’s woodcuts for the new edition of the Lives. Could the format of Frey’s engraving and Bottari’s slip of the pen signal an anticipated sale of the Altoviti portrait to a new owner in the grand-ducal palace in Florence? Bottari asserted that the painting was still in Rome until a few years before 1759, and the lettering on the engraving — “the original is in Rome in Casa Altoviti’’ — supports that statement. When and why the portrait moved from Rome to Florence, from the banks of the Tiber to the Borgo degli Albizi, are matters of speculation. Death and debt are good reasons for a work of art to change hands, however, and, as it happens, an owner

42

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

of the painting died in 1745: Giovanni Gaetano Altoviti.35 The family member closest to Bottari in age, Giovanni Gaetano had occasionally corresponded with the Tuscan scholar. Upon their father’s death his teenage sons Giovambattista and Flaminio inherited the Raphael. Documenting a link between Bottari and the two young Altoviti in the late 1740s is a letter from the artist Ignazio Hugford. In December 1747 Hugford, a leading person­ ality in Florentine art circles, was sending Bottari a reproductive print, and as the orphaned Giovambattista and Flaminio were traveling from Florence to Rome, he took the opportunity of using them as couriers.36 Once their Raphael had been declared a self­ portrait, could the insolvent Altoviti heirs have taken the picture to Florence in the hope of selling it there? Hugford, active as an art dealer as well as a painter, would surely have consented to mediate the sale. In other words, could a commercial motive - selling the newly dubbed self-portrait to the Uffizi collection of self-portraits — accompany the iden­ tification of Raphael as its sitter? In light of Bottari’s contacts with Hugford in Florence during this period, that cannot be excluded. Whatever the case, Bottari’s philological imagination and genuine love of the picture combined to advertise a hitherto unknown Tuscan treasure.

Missed Opportunities Given Bindo Altoviti’s hostility to the Medici, it is fitting that his descendants should have moved his portrait from Rome to Florence soon after the dynasty expired in 1737, and the state of Tuscany passed to the Habsburg-Lorraines.37 When the Habsburg emperor died in 1765, his second son inherited the grand duchy as Pietro Leopoldo. With the young ruler’s arrival in September that year, hopes ran high in Florence that his pres­ ence signaled a new era for art patronage and public administration. In this optimistic spirit, in 1767 the Accademia del Disegno di San Luca held its first public art exhibition since the demise of the Medici thirty years earlier. The academy had organized previous exhibitions, held at irregular intervals in the Santissima Annunziata church.38 These shows enabled the noble families of Florence, as well as the city’s many art dealers, to compare and display their treasures. The 1767 exhibition was the one public showing of the Altoviti Raphael before it left Italy. The catalogue, with an adulatory title page typical of the time (fig. 32), describes the “famous self-portrait of Raphael” as the property of the “Illustriss. Sig. Cavaliere Flaminio Altoviti Avila.”39 Indeed it was the most important work in the exhibition, which opened on 5 July and remained on view for two days. All ranks of societv, even women, were admitted - except for il basso popolo, as the local newspaper put it.40 The exhibition, proceeding from a cloister to a corridor - where the Raphael portrait hung - continued into the church. The number of works catalogued - 830 - suggests the scope and significance of the event. The enterprising Hugford saw a golden opportunity in this first exhibition of the new reign and lent no fewer than 116 works, all of them presum­ ably for sale.41 Although inspired by the ruler’s presence in Tuscany, the impulse to enliven the cultural scene came from private individuals - chiefly Hugford - not from the court. For a brief period in the summer of 1767, the Raphael panel left its home to hang in a

Raphael’s Face Value

L

i t

i i ù

43

( K c, i

IL TRIONFO DELLE BELL’ ARTI RENDUTO GLORIOSISSIMO SOTTO GLI AUSPICI DELLE LLAA.RR.

PIETRO LEOPOLDO ARCIDUCA

D’ AUSTRIA

PRINCIPE REALE d’ UNGHERIA , E DI

BOEMIA

GRAN-DUCA DI TOSCANA ec. ec. ec. E

MARIA LUISA DI

BORBONE

ARCIDUCHESSA

D* AUSTRIA

GRAN-DUCHESSA DI TOSCANA ec. ec. ec. In occafione , che gli Accademici del Dileguo in diinofhaziotie di profóndo rispetto veriò i Loro Sovrani , fanno la lòlenne mo.'ira delle Opere antiche di più eccellenti Artefici nella propria Cappella, e nel Chio/lro fecondo de’ PP. della SS. Nonziata in Firenze 1’ Anno 1767,

IN cvV/s

FIRENZE AAbh A?Kh A'V/j

MDCGLXVII. cvEb

svkh A'U/o

Nella Stamperia di Gio. Battila Stecchi e Anton Giu lippe Pagani Con licenza ile' Superiori.

32 II Trionfo delle Bell’Arti, title page of exhibition catalogue (Florence 1767), octavo. Florence, Kunsthistorisches Institut.

public space. But if the Altoviti brothers hoped to sell their celebrated picture to the young sovereign, barely twenty and newly arrived in Florence, he did not take the bait. In 1769 Pietro Leopoldo opened the Uffizi to a broader public.42 At the beginning of that year the grand duke also appointed his first director for the gallery, Giuseppe Querci,43 who had succeeded Bottari as librarian for the Corsini in Rome. During his first year in Florence Querci had to make space for more than a hundred new artists’ self-portraits which the grand duke had acquired en bloc the previous year. Further evi­ dence of a burgeoning interest in — and market for - artists’ portraits and self-portraits appeared in the form of another massive Florentine publication project. Never far from the center of artistic activity, Hugford made 300 drawings to be engraved for the new portrait series. His relations with the Altoviti family enabled him to copy their portrait directly, although, as mentioned above, the drawing he made after the picture may not have been his only interest in it.44 Knee-deep in self-portraits, Querci was aware of his collection's uneven quality and hoped to upgrade it. He therefore warmly endorsed the Altoviti picture in a memo to the court written in the summer of 1770. Discussing potential additions to the collec­ tion, Querci said that the Raphael “would be a unique acquisition and worthy of a sov­ ereign.”14 The gallery director recognized that a second image in Florence, especially one that looked different or even better, might well replace the portrait already in the Uffizi as the accepted face of the artist. The grand duke, however, had temporarily reduced his expenditures on art. He visited Querci in December 1770 and instructed him to select

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

44

paintings from Palazzo Pitti and from former Medici villas that would be appropriate for the gallery.46 In a New Year’s Day letter to Bottari’s friend Foggini, Querci did not hide his disappointment: “I hope, and I believe the hope is justified [. . .] but up to now [. . .] nothing has been done except plans and memos. [...]! have nevertheless put my mind at peace and have decided not to push for anything more.”47 Among all the Uffizi direc­ tors under Pietro Leopoldo, Querci, the first, is the only one documented to have urged the acquisition of the Altoviti portrait for the grand-ducal collection. From many points of view — not only that of the Florentine owners and dealers who might have profited from the sale, but also for the gallery, its foreign visitors, and, most of all, the Tuscan public - this was a missed opportunity.

A Portrait Appreciated

Long into the nineteenth century, all reproductions of the Altoviti Raphael treated it as a self-portrait. Although printed lettering under the image occasionally mentioned Palazzo Altoviti, Bindo’s name had vanished. The rare first engraving by Frey was not widely distributed, but the Hugford version of 1771 and at least one other eighteenth­ century reproductive print gave the Altoviti portrait international fame. Robert Strange, a member of Hugford’s circle in Florence, issued an engraving in 1787, the lettering of which includes Bembo’s Latin epitaph (“Ille hic est Raphael”) and an approximate trans­ lation by Alexander Pope; it enjoyed a success that can be measured by the many exam­ ples in printrooms throughout Europe.48 An impression of the Hugford version would come into the possession of Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, and, as explored below, would serve as a source for several of his own works. Ingres, however, was not the first great French artist to pay homage to the Altoviti panel. Credit for that goes to Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, known both for her own beauty and for her ability7 to beautify her por­ trait subjects. Fleeing Paris for Rome in October 1789 as a result of the outbreak of the French Revolution, she stopped in Florence, and, decades later, recalled her stay in her memoirs. Aptly describing the portrait and its effect on the viewer, she wrote:

Of course I couldn’t leave Florence without going to Palazzo Altoviti to see the beau­ tiful portrait Raphael made of himself. This portrait has been put under glass to con­ serve it, and this precaution has caused the shadows to darken, but all the light tones of the flesh have remained pure and of a lovely color. The features of the face are reg­ ularly handsome, the eyes charming, and the look clearly that of an observer.49 During a return visit to Florence in 1792, Vigée-Lebrun went on to make a painted copy of the Altoviti portrait that, she claimed, never left her studio?0 Indeed, she took the Raphael copy to Venice later that year, where she encountered a compatriot, DominiqueVivant Denon, future director of the Musée Napoléon. Active at the time as a print­ maker, Denon made an etching (fig. 33) after another work by Vigée-Lebrun, her famous self-portrait in the Uffizi, in which she shows herself embarking on a portrait of the illfated Marie Antoinette (fig. 34). The painter’s association with her erstwhile royal patron was rapidly becoming a liability, however, so Vigée-Lebrun, or Denon himself, opted to

Raphael’s Face Value

33 Domimque-Vivant Denon, photomechanical repro­ duction of etching after Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, Self-Por­ trait (from L’Originale e il ritratto, Bassano, 1792 [1793], octavo; from Charles Pillet, Madame Vigee-Le Brun, Paris, 1890). Vienna, Fachbibliothek, Institut für Kunst­ geschichte, Universität Wien.

45

34 Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun, Self-Portrait, 1790. Oil on canvas, too X 81 cm. Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi.

substitute the queen’s likeness on the easel with one purportedly representing the great Raphael. The self-portrait in Denon’s corrected version depicts Vigee-Lebrun copying the Altoviti picture she so greatly admired. Denon, too, may have seen the Altoviti panel, possibly more than once; he reproduced it in an etching that formed part of a series of forty-five such copies of artists’ self-portraits.51 Half a century after Bottari re-labeled the Altoviti picture, Vigee-Lebrun and Denon responded to it with the same enthusiasm. Their purely aesthetic appreciation, never­ theless, had the effect of spotlighting the painting and further activating market forces. Hugford’s possible involvement in a hoped-for sale is only speculation. But by the mid1780s, a British traveler to Florence could remark, “The Palazzo Altoviti contains only one picture, but that an inestimable jewel, the portrait of Raphael, by himself, painted on wood, with a green background. Immense sums have been offered for this portrait, but hitherto without effect.”12

3 The Bavarian Buyers

I have been called upon to change the face of the world.

Napoleon, 1804

the convulsive political transformation of the 1790s. With the departure of Grand Duke Pietro Leopoldo for Vienna after his brother’s death, revolutionary activities erupted in Florence. Taking the Habsburg throne in 1790 as Leopold II, the new emperor hastened to send his younger son to replace him. He hoped that the archduke, only twenty when his father became emperor, would continue his work of reform. Leopold II died two years later, and Grand Duke Ferdinando III soon found himself at war with the French Republic. At the same time, Florence pro­ vided a refuge for dozens of French artists fleeing the anti-jacobin riots in Rome. In 1793 the “revolutionary Louvre” was born in Paris and the Uffizi in Florence had an internal change of regime when Tommaso Puccini (fig. 36) became director.1 uscany was not spared

T

Puccini A Pistoian from a distinguished family, Puccini had gone to Rome, around the time of Bottari’s death, in the mid-iyyos. There the young lawyer’s interest in art awakened as he began collecting. Although he lacked administrative experience when he took over the grand-ducal gallery, Puccini nevertheless proved to be a gifted and courageous museum professional.2 His concept of systematically filling gaps in the collection paral­ leled the work of his older colleague Luigi Lanzi. During the years in which Puccini planned an ambitious rearrangement of the paintings by school, Lanzi expanded his bestknown work, La storiapittorica della Italia, first published in 1792. After numerous Italian editions, this study remained for decades after Lanzi’s death the standard work on Italian art throughout Europe, translated into French in 1824, English in 1828, and German in 1830. In his text, Lanzi offered a pioneering classification scheme for the Italian school. Although allowed to lay his hands on the antiquities at the Uffizi, Lanzi had met resis­ tance when attempting to branch out into other areas and worked out his ideas about classifying paintings on paper, rather than on the walls.

35

Palazzo Altoviti, Florence, called Palazzo dei Visaed. Photograph. Florence, Archivi Alinari.

48

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Almost nothing is known of the relationship between Lanzi and Puccini. Their projects comple­ mented each other: as Puccini moved toward a sys­ tematic arrangement inspired by his colleague, Lanzi continually revised his history. With respect to the Altoviti portrait, for example, each of the three editions Lanzi issued during his lifetime used slightly different phrases. In a note to the first edition, he said that it “represents Raphael himself.” In 1795—96 he altered the position of Vasari’s pronoun, referring less emphati­ cally to “his portrait [il suo ritratto] with the noble Altoviti in Florence.” By 1809 Lanzi remarked that it was “regarded by many as a portrait of Raphael himself,”3 his carefully chosen words possibly reflect­ ing a growing uncertainty about Raphael’s face. In the spring of 1799, after a period of intermittent hostilities, the French army occupied Florence. The grand duke fled to Vienna, and Puccini mustered the last defense of the gallery against the confiscation lists 36 Anonymous, Tommaso Puccini. Oil on canvas, of Napoleon’s agents. The director stood firm, arguing 60 X 45 cm. Florence, Galleria degli Uffìzi. that although the seventy some works seized in Palazzo Pitti were in the grand-ducal collection, those in the Uffizi belonged to the “Nation,” a concept that Puccini believed the French would respect.4 As a precaution, he packed the greatest treasures, including the Medici Venus, and sailed with them in September 1800 from Livorno to Palermo, where he remained with his museum in exile.5 Returning with the artworks (minus the confiscated Medici Venus) to Tuscany in February 1803, Puccini continued to work on the reordering of the galleries. With limited funds for operations and none for acquisitions, he turned to pro­ ducing a new catalogue. One of Puccini’s potential consolations during this dismal period was a mixed joy. The gallery director had long admired the engravings of Raphael Morghen, who had settled in Florence in 1793. Ten years later Morghen issued paired reproductive prints of two of the city’s most famous portraits. The first was the Altoviti panel. As any other printmaker of that period would have done, Morghen entitled his 1803 engraving Self-Portrait of Raphael (fig. 38). The second print, published the following year, bore the label Raphael’s Celebrated Love, La Fornarina (fig. 39). Now attributed to Sebastiano del Piombo, the original of the so-called Fornarina was one of the most popular works in the Uffizi, espe­ cially after Puccini denied that it was by Giorgione and reasserted a sixteenth-century attribution to Raphael. With an audacity reminiscent of Bottari, he had at the same time identified the sitter as Raphael’s beloved, effectively surrounding the picture with a romantic aura that guaranteed its success with nineteenth-century visitors. Morghen prints always sold well. Puccini could take pleasure in the dissemination throughout Europe of his identification of Raphael’s mistress. Yet he knew that a highquality engraving of the alleged self-portrait in Palazzo Altoviti, her graphic pendant, threatened its future in Florence. As museum director, he would have nourished the hope

The Bavarian Buyers LO G G E

J) E L

49

S' A T 1 C A N O

37 Giovanni Battista Balzar, frontispiece to Carlo Lasinio, Logge del Vaticano, c. 1805, based on drawing by Luca Comparini. Engraving, 50 X 36.8 cm. Cambridge, Mass., Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University Art Museums, Gray Collection of Engravings Fund.

of obtaining the panel for the Uffizi whenever the political and economic situation per­ mitted. But, in addition to Morghen’s print of 1803, a new series of Raphael reproduc­ tions would give the Altoviti panel further publicity. A generation earlier, in 1772-77 Puccini’s friend Giovanni Volpato had issued a series of engravings entitled Loggie di Rafaele nel Vaticano. The first print was a general view of the Logge through a door sur­ mounted by a sculpted profile portrait of Raphael. Around the time ofVolpato’s death in 1803, the graphic artist Carlo Lasinio dedicated to a prominent Danish diplomat an economy version of the famous Logge series.1. He had engraved most of the plates himself, but engaged a colleague to copy Volpato’s beautiful title-page perspective of the Logge for the new frontispiece. Lasinio made one important change, analogous to Bottari’s dra­ matic substitution for the woodcut portrait in the Lives. Over the door opening onto the Logge, a framed oval copy of the Altoviti portrait (fig. 37) replaced the sculpted like­ ness of Raphael used by Volpato. Given its heightened status in the aftermath of Morghen’s print and the Lasinio series on the Logge, Puccini probably found it prudent to call no further attention to the Altoviti portrait. The recent appropriation of the Medici Venus was a warning that works

5°

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

38 Raphael Morghen, after Raphael, Raffaelle Sanzio se stesso dipinse [Bindo Altoviti]·, 1803. Engraving, second state, 30.3 X 22 cm. Rome, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica.

belonging to the “Tuscan Nation” had little immunity if the French wanted them badly enough. With the grand duke in exile, it was in any case not the moment to propose an acquisition more costly than any in recent memory. The uncertain future of Tuscany allowed Puccini to avoid a potential dilemma: should he try to acquire the Altoviti paint­ ing for the self-portrait collection - by now, most people believed it would be appro­ priate there - or attempt to purchase it as a portrait of Bindo Altoviti? Three years after Morghen reproduced their Raphael, in 1806, the Altoviti brothers died: Flaminio, aged seventy-six, in February and his older brother, Giovambattista, seventy-nine, in December. Puccini, aware that they had turned down an offer of 5000 zecchini for the picture, could predict that Giovanni Altoviti, Giovambattista's only child and heir, would be less likely to refuse such a sum. Giovanni had married in 1805 and had a growing family; like so many Florentine aristocrats in the Napoleonic period, the Altoviti were living in reduced circumstances. Still Puccini remained silent. Disquieting as the impending loss of Bindo Altoviti might be, the Uffizi director had other worries. He would not live long enough to see the Medici Venus return from France to reclaim

The Bavarian Buyers

51

39 Raphael Morghen, Raphaelis Amicitia Celeberrima La Fornarina, after Sebastiano del Piombo, Portrait of a Woman (Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi), 1804. Etching and engraving, 32.7 X 23 cm. Stuttgart, Staatsgalerie, Graphische Sammlung.

her place as the centerpiece of the Tribuna, the focal point of his museum. Four Raphael Madonnas, three of Raphael’s Roman portraits, and dozens of other works from Palazzo Pitti had been in Paris since 1800? And Napoleon was still not finished with Tuscany. The French reoccupied the former grand duchy in December 1807, and some months later annexed it as part of the empire. Puccini now reported to a French governor, and in the few years that remained to him, he would make one last, unsuccessful attempt to keep the Altoviti portrait in Florence.

Bavaria and its Royal Collections Europe was too small for competing empires. When Napoleon crowned himself in the cathedral of Notre-Dame on 2 December 1804, many observers knew the map had changed. In Vienna, an outraged Beethoven was reported to have revoked the dedica­ tion to “Buonaparte” of his Third Symphony, the “Eroica.” The coronation in Paris also

52

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

served notice to the reigning Habsburg, Francis II — oldest son of the late Leopold II and brother of the grand duke of Tuscany - that he would be the last Holy Roman Emperor. As a precaution, he had taken an additional title: Francis I, Emperor of Austria. Exactly one year after the Paris coronation, the French demolished the Austrian forces in Napoleon’s greatest victory, the Battle of Austerlitz. The process of dissolving an eight-centuries-old empire proceeded in stages, but these passed relatively quickly. First, Napoleon forced its secularization in 1803. Wooing the electors of the largest German states, including Bavaria, with the promise of kingdoms or threatening to replace them with his own family members, Napoleon won their alle­ giance. His strategy was to create a buffer zone between France and its enemies to the east. By the summer of 1806, when Napoleon announced the birth of the Confedera­ tion of the Rhine, sixteen German states had signed on as allies; more would join later. The most prominent was Bavaria, to which Austria had been forced to cede several provinces. Although the French emperor proclaimed the Kingdom of Bavaria in Munich on New Year’s Day, 1806, naming Max Joseph I as ruler, Franco-Bavarian relations had a precarious recent past. The new king, who had inherited a series of lesser titles in the preceding decade, had been fleeing the French since the early years of the Revolution.9 In 1789 he had to escape with his family from Strasbourg where, three years earlier, his first son, Ludwig, had been born.10 The male heir was the hope of the Wittelsbachs.11 Nineteen on his father’s accession in 1806, the crown prince (fig. 40) stood to inherit not only the title and the throne, but also the vast combined art holdings of the various branches of his family. These holdings, like the royals themselves, had arrived in the capital by a circuitous route. Since 1799 Wittelsbach art from outlying galleries had been evacuated to Munich in response to repeated French threats. The custodians of the Bavarian state collections knew better than to trust their new ally, for in the past decade France had become a sea­ soned practitioner of collection development by conquest. Yet when French troops marched into Rome in February 1808, and France annexed Tuscany soon thereafter, the Bavarians saw an opportunity. With Paris in control of the main Italian art centers, the court and its curators girded themselves to compete with wealthy collectors hastening to take advantage of the unsettled times. They would emulate the French and develop their art holdings with cash, if not by conquest. The only difficulty with this strategy was obtaining the cash. An art academy was founded on the same day a constitution went into effect in May 1808, and its director sat ex officio on a committee formed to oversee museums, particularly their expenditures. For the first time an art committee would control the purse strings of a royal collection. In the same month Gallery Inspector Johann Georg von Dillis (fig. 41) was made professor of landscape painting at the new academy and ennobled after eighteen years of service.

Dillis Despite his artistic talent, Dillis, born the son of a Bavarian royal forester, was forced by poverty into the priesthood. In 1786, however, he relinquished his clerical obligations so that he could devote himself to teaching the noble sons of families at court how to draw.

The Bavarian Buyers

53

40 Wilhelm von Kobel I, Crown Prince Ludwig of Bavaria as Colonel in the Third Light Cavalry Regiment, c. 1808. Oil on canvas, 159.9 x II9·1 cm· Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, Neue Pinakothek.

Drawing brought Dillis into contact with the future ruler Ludwig, whose likeness he made and engraved. Dillis’s successful portrait quickly earned him a post as gallery curator, and he would later devote the bulk of his career to serving Ludwig. Fulfilling a long-held dream, Dillis saw Italy for the first time in 1794—95. Fortunately for him, this formative experience occurred when it did, for shortly after his return to Munich, the French crossed the Rhine. Like all curators in Napoleon’s path, Dillis had to learn new skills: packing, shipping, and hiding works of art became more urgent than displaying them. When the French threatened Munich in the summer of 1796, Dillis evacuated the contents of his gallery and remained out of town until it was safe to return

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

54

41 Moritz von Kellerhoven, Johann Georg von Dillis, c. 1793. Oil on canvas, 61.1 X 48 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemälde­ sammlungen, Neue Pinakothek.

and reinstall them. Dillis’s growing professional expertise notwithstanding, another court painter Christian Männlich was appointed director of the Bavarian painting collections. Although the curator and his newly appointed superior would grow old together in the gallery, time did little to improve their relations. In his conflicts at court, Dillis increas­ ingly sought the protection of young Ludwig, who shared his love for Italy. In Rome in 1805 Ludwig bought eight paintings, becoming the only royal ever to bring back a Giotto as a souvenir of his travels.12 His rapidly growing enthusiasm for art, nevertheless, dis­ tressed his chaperon, who reported to Ludwig’s father on 4 April 1805 that his son had suddenly become “the wildest art lover” he had ever seen, “purchasing pictures without stopping to think.”13 Branded as a spendthrift at court, Ludwig seized an opportunity to expand the col­ lections when, from 1806 to 1809, a friend of his took over the new kingdom’s finances. The French occupation of Rome early in 1808 signaled even greater possibilities for acqui­ sition. Hoping to make the most of the changing political situation, a picture agent in Rome alerted the court that “many pictures are up for sale [. . .] at very cheap prices.”’4 Acting on this tip, Ludwig’s father released the sum of 25,000 guilders and turned to the ever-faithful Dillis for help. In a decree of 6 July 1808 he announced:

To give this enterprise a purposeful leadership and to prevent us from buying copies instead of originals, and mediocre art instead of classical works of outstanding masters, we have decided, because of the faith we have in his knowledge of art and his metic­ ulous service, to ask our Gallery Inspector Dillis to undertake this mission of select-

The Bavarian Buyers

55

42 Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld, Johann Metzger, 1819. Pen and brown ink over pencil, 25.4 X 19.2 cm. Munich, private collection.

ing and purchasing the paintings [...]. If the opportunity for an advantageous pur­ chase should present itself, not in Rome, but in some other place in Italy, he is in no way bound to a particular place in carrying out his commission, but rather chiefly to seeking a good selection of paintings and for a relatively cheap price.H

The Mission Dillis traveled south with his youngest brother, also an artist. On their way to Rome, they stopped briefly in Tyrol, Venice, and Bologna, arriving in French-occupied Florence in the heat of August 1808. Dillis’s guide was the engraver Johann Metzger, originally from Baden and a former student of Morghen. As suggested by a portrait drawing (fig. 42), Metzger merited the trust Dillis would place in him. The printmaker had survived for years in Florence on a small and intermittently disbursed stipend from the govern­ ment.16 Also a restorer, he knew the Florentine collections and took Dillis on a whirl­ wind shopping tour of the city. “In five days I saw more than six thousand paintings in private collections,” Dillis wrote to Prince Ludwig a few days later.1 To keep prices low and to perplex rival collectors, the Munich curator was traveling incognito, passing himself off as a Swiss artist and dealer. Metzger led his two visitors up the Borgo degli Albizi to No. 18. They entered Palazzo Altoviti through a wide portal flanked by herms adorning the façade (fig. 35). These figures of celebrated Tuscans - Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and others - had given the

56

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

building its nickname, Palazzo dei Visacci (palace of the ugly faces). Inside the somber residence they were shown one beautiful face. It represented Raphael, they were told, in a portrait by his own hand. Concealing his excitement, perhaps, as any good bargainer would, Dillis left the palace with no doubts in his mind. He desperately wanted Raphael’s portrait as a trophy for Bavaria, and, together with Metzger, he worked out a strategy. Metzger listed their competitors: Russian nobles, French officials, Napoleon’s brother Lucien. Potential buyers were circling the impoverished Italian families like raptors. In Venice Dillis had been warned to act quickly. There, only a year earlier, the Polish prince Adam Czartoryski had made off with an alleged Raphael self-portrait once in the Gius­ tiniani collection, closing the deal in a matter of hours and leaving the city posthaste with the painting in his luggage.18 Such tales did not discourage Dillis, whose late father had been a master of royal hunts. Instead, once his prey was in sight, these stories inspired feints and subterfuges, and code names for the paintings he was stalking. He proceeded to Rome, as planned, leaving Metzger to negotiate with the Altoviti and their notary. They would settle for 5000 zecchini, exceeding by 2100 guilders the sum the king had designated for all acquisitions in Italy. Prince Ludwig, meanwhile, was in the middle of a six-week walking tour of Switzer­ land. From Lucerne he wrote to an art agent named Friedrich Müller, who had served him as a guide in Rome, asking about Dillis. On the same day Ludwig wrote to Dillis, inquiring, “How do you stand with Müller?”19 Dillis and his brother had arrived in Rome, settling into rooms on the piano nobile of a palace called “dei Pupazzi” (puppets), named after the bare-breasted herms paired on the windows of the façade (fig. 43).20 The house stood below the church of Trinità dei Monti, in a quarter dotted with German and Scandinavian artists’ studios. In this building Dillis sat down on 20 August to write his first report to Ludwig regarding his mission. The letter conveys Dillis’s exhilaration at arriving in Rome, to be sure, but also, and more particularly, his joy over what he had found in Tuscany. He could offer his future sovereign no better birthday present - the prince would turn twenty-two on 25 August - than the news that he had identified two Raphaels for sale in Florence, both of “extraordinarily fine quality”: I. The portrait of Raphael in his most beautiful prime, painted by him as a pendant to the Fornarina (in the Tribuna), is in Palazzo Altoviti. The painting is sufficiently known through the engraving of Raphael Morghen. Clean and in a virginal condition, long kept secret, it ranks among the best works of Raphael and surpasses all his other portraits, even the one in the Tribuna. They are asking 5000 zecchini. 2.. A Madonna, caressing the Infant Jesus, from Raphael’s best period, in the palace of Marchese Tempi, of which I am sending Männlich an engraving. Both paintings are worthy of acquisition by the world’s best collection. If I had had a transfer of funds or a letter of credit cashable in Florence, both pieces would prob­ ably already be in my hands. Perhaps only upon my return can this acquisition be made. Still, there is no time to lose, and we must move heaven and earth to get funds to Florence, the capital of painting. I beg you, please speak to your father about this outstanding opportunity; I can even arrange for the purchase from here, as 1 have there [in Florence] a reliable, unknown friend; if I get the support in time, I am certain to close the deal.21

The Bavarian Buyers

43

57

Palazzetto dei Pupazzi, via Capo le Case 3, Rome.

In a letter dated 10 September, Ludwig responded with joy to the news of the Raphael portrait: “Your letter of 20 August filled my entire soul.”22 Ludwig had sent Dillis’s initial letter to gallery director Männlich, who immediately forwarded excerpts to the king, adding his endorsement to Dillis’s request for funds.23 A second letter from Ludwig, dated 16 September, reiterates his support: “It must come to Munich; if the king doesn’t buy it, then 1 shall buy it, and I hope that with cash in hand you will get a lower price.”24 On 30 September Ludwig wrote again and enclosed an exchange certificate for 24,000 guilders, presumably from his personal funds, to buy the supposed self-portrait. He instructed Dillis:

They’re asking 5000 zecchini for it; I hope it can be had for 22,000 Rhenish guilders in cash. Should the price, contrary to expectation, exceed the amount enclosed, 1 am asking [. . .] that a credit for 3000 Rhenish guilders be sent to Florence, in case you need it. 1 would be very sorry if this were necessary. Should the 24,000 guilders exceed the cost of the Raphael, including packing, you don’t have to spend the rest unless it is for paintings by truly rare artists, and of those artists, acquire only outstanding pieces at good prices and chose of whom the gallery here owns nothing as yetT Following the prince’s orders — “Don’t let anyone, either in Rome or Munich, know about this” — Dillis feigned interest in paintings pre-selected by his rival in Rome.26 Müller, threatened in his pride and livelihood by Dillis’s arrival, soon complained about him to both Männlich and Ludwig. To Männlich, he wrote that Dillis had disappeared after announcing that he was not going to buy pictures after all. “I stood as if struck by lightning at these words,” Müller said. “Why, I asked him, did you come here then, if

58

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

not for pictures?”27 To Ludwig, Müller insinuated that Dillis had a limited knowledge of the Italian schools of painting. For his part, Dillis deemed Müller “unresponsive, false, speaking one way and dealing another, changeable, far different from an upright Bavar­ ian. His plan is [to] undermine - he is also really in cahoots with the Italians.”28 Unaware of the Raphaels in Florence, Müller found Dillis’s behavior incomprehensible. Dillis meanwhile, involved in the quest of a lifetime, corresponded in ciphers and coded lan­ guage: the Tempi Madonna (a later acquisition now in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich) was “The Dove” (die Täubin) and the Altoviti portrait, “The Male Dove” (der Tauber). Masking his intentions, he could offer Müller no convincing explanation for his indif­ ference to the paintings offered for sale. After a two-month stay, Dillis, still accompa­ nied by his brother, left Rome for Florence.29 As soon as he arrived, Dillis reported to the prince on 27 November, he checked with Metzger on the progress of the negotia­ tions. Matters looked promising, he said, although the executors of the Altoviti will — presumably that of the late Giovambattista — had raised obstacles. “Tomorrow there is to be another meeting, then an appraisal. I live between hope and fear.”30 As Ludwig had foreseen, the obstacles melted away when Dillis appeared with cash, and on 29 November he took possession of the painting. For the Raphael, he paid 7000 Florentine scudi (3430 zecchini), in Bavarian currency a little over 19,000 Rhenish guilders, well below the prince’s expectation.31 In the silk-covered notebook from the travel kit given him by Ludwig a year earlier, Dillis exulted over the acquisition in words that now seem poignant in light of the picture’s subsequent fate:

I have the king of painting in my hands — in German hands. Long live the prince, the protector of the arts. I am now the happiest man in the world to see his wish fulfilled. I have in my hands the light that has filled with bliss the entire art world; it is he himself. They once made pilgrimages here, in the future the world will flock to my fatherland — and praise and honor the creator of this relic. I am not bringing holy bones, but the spirit, the soul of a saint of art.32 Dillis gave full credit to his stand-in Metzger in the letter to Ludwig announcing that he had the painting:

My friend went about his work so cleverly that no one could find out who was the actual purchaser, so that some believed it was certainly Lucian [Lucien Bonaparte], When I went to apply for the export permit and license from Director Puccini, however, he made serious difficulties, referring to an old law of 1754, according to which the gallery in Florence has the first right of purchase of an important painting. I had to deposit a memo [. . .] attached to Director Puccini’s memo presenting the objections of the gallery. Today I will [. . .] make my case, and let you know in the next post.33

A few days later, Dillis further complained about Puccini to the prince: “Why didn’t he remember this when the Altoviti informed him before the sale? And why does his holy sense of duty become active only after the sale has taken place?”34 Puccini’s memorandum to the French governor dated 2 December 1808 demonstrates the probity of the Florentine gallery director. Pointing out that the authorities had no legal right to seize the Altoviti portrait, Puccini was non-committal about the identitv of the sitter. But even in this official document he declares his love for the painting:

The Bavarian Buyers

59

The picture for which the export is requested is certainly an original of Raphael. It is mentioned in his life, ranks among his most perfect works, and enjoys the reputation of being a portrait of the artist himself because many of the other portraits of him resemble it. The laws of 26 December 1754 and 16 January 1781 prohibit the export of valuable artistic monuments without the permission of the State Council, to which the direc­ tor of the gallery is assigned. I would certainly have neglected my duty if I had given my assent to despoil the fatherland of a monument so rare and famous. Therefore I have brought the matter to your attention, but love of the beautiful work of art does not tempt me to such a degree as to keep silent about the fact that the two laws men­ tioned above reserve to each owner the disposition of his own property and do not grant mere pre-emptive rights to the gallery over foreign purchasers, and therefore if the state wants to reimburse Giovanni Metzger the buyer, it has every right; otherwise justice demands that it mourn the loss.35 The governor sidestepped responsibility for the decision on exporting the picture. Instead, he ruled that the Bavarian king had to ask the French emperor for permission.36 In Munich, Ludwig received three months later official notification that export of the portrait had been approved. The prince told Dillis to urge Metzger to complete the for­ malities with the French and make arrangements to ship the Raphael, together with a Sassoferrato Madonna purchased with the residue of the funds for the Altoviti portrait.37 As a precaution, Metzger was to pack the paintings in a plain case with no indication of its contents and address it, not to the court in Munich, but to a Swiss middleman expe­ rienced at international art transport.38 On 1 April Metzger obtained the export license: “The governor had me summoned into his office where the license had just been pre­ pared and then went into a rage so violent that I didn’t know what would happen to me. He felt insulted because I made such a secret of the picture. I didn’t say even five words. But I have the paper in hand.”39 The plainly packed art treasure was scheduled to leave Florence on 19 April. Metzger could not know that on that date Bavaria and Austria would be at war.

Asylum in Switzerland

Crown Prince Ludwig spent the night of 19 April 1809 in a bivouac. Austria had invaded Bavarian territory, and the prince had marched out of Munich at the head of the first division. Near the small town called Abensberg, too km. north oi Munich, Napoleon joined his Bavarian allies, who were poised to attack the invaders. On the eve of battle Napoleon engaged the crown prince in a campfire conversation. Uncomfortable allies at best, they had little esteem for each other as they prepared to fight side by side; on the contrary, they nurtured a mutual, close to murderous contempt. The emperor had once mused to an aide about Ludwig, “Why shouldn’t I have him shot?” Before the battle began, Napoleon asked the prince to translate and deliver his exhortations to the troops who shared the language of their Austrian foes.40 On the evening of 20 April, after defeat­ ing the Austrians at Abensberg, Ludwig reflected: “Ah, why didn’t I plunge my sword into Napoleon’s heart last night, I could have done it so easily. How many human lives

6o

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

would have been saved!”41 After Abensberg, Napoleon and his army moved eastward. The emperor ordered Ludwig to remain with his men in Salzburg, and there Ludwig’s thoughts returned to painting. He wrote to Dillis, “Ask your friend, dear Dillis, to hold onto the pic­ tures, the Raphael and the Sassoferrato, in case they haven’t left Florence.”42 It was too late, the crates were already on their way to St. Gall. From there they proceeded to Zurich and were stored in a house in the Miinstergasse, No. 9 (fig. 44), where the poet and graphic artist Salomon Gessner had died twenty years earlier.43 After the further defeat of the Austrians at Wagram, a period of peace seemed in sight. Yet Ludwig still advised caution concerning his Italian paintings. “Keep the Florentine crates in Zurich until further notice,’’ he told Dillis.44 At the end of July 1809, Dillis could reassure the prince that the shipment was safe.45 By 5 September, however, “the goods,” as Dillis now referred to their precious cargo, had moved. The Gessner house, it seems, was damp, so the paintings were placed in the keeping of a friend of Dillis, the architect Hans Kaspar Escher.'6 44 Haus zum Schwanen (on left), Miinstergasse 9, Raphael was still travelling incognito. In a letter to Zurich, location of Bindo Altoviti in the summer of Dillis, Metzger mentioned shipping three crates to 1809. Photograph. Baugeschichtliches Archiv der Switzerland: “the largest containing a Domenico Stadt Zürich. Ghirlandaio/Masaccio, and you know what the other two contain.”4 Reassured by Dillis’s warm endorsement, Ludwig told his curator to inform Escher that he was safeguarding the property of the Bavarian crown prince, but not to tell him the names of the masters involved.48 Ludwig's security provisions were thus so stringent that one of Zurich’s most prominent citizens could not be told he had a Raphael under his roof. The dampness in Zurich raised further concerns. Ludwig advised Dillis to tell Escher to “keep the paintings in neither a damp room, nor in a heated room where there was a fire. Hasten to do this, dear Dillis, without losing a moment. ”49 Exactly when the Altoviti portrait and the other crates left Zurich for Munich is not recorded. Ludwig ordered release of the art works after he had witnessed the signing of the peace treaty at the palace of Schonbrunn in Vienna in mid-October 1809. Two weeks later he instructed Dillis to have the paintings sent to Munich, and the transport pre­ sumably took place sometime after the first week of November?0 Dillis evidently neglected to inform Metzger in Florence, who complained that he knew nothing about the arrival of the shipment.51 Soon thereafter, however, Metzger received the princely award of a golden box, acknowledging his help in acquiring and exporting the portrait.52 The correspondence that Dillis and the prince exchanged on this subject ends with one last letter from the curator, dated Good Friday, 1810, soon after the Altoviti panel first went on display in the royal gallery.53 His mission accomplished, Dillis wrote in triumph:

The Bavarian Buyers

61

Today, on his birth and death anniversary, Raphael has arisen anew to life. Today his immortality is established once again. How Your Royal Highness will rejoice at the happy rebirth and earn the thanks of coming art generations for the new life restored today through a varnish to this prince of art. Raphael should now live some hundreds of years longer, thanks to a true art lover, a true patron of the arts. With the most fervent artistic feeling and deepest reverence, Dillis Inspector54

45 Franz Joseph Sauterleute, after a painting by Adam Eberle, Raphael Santio and Albrecht Dürrer, 1829-30. Stained-glass panel from Scenes of the Life of Dürer. Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalmuseum.

4 Facing the Public

Here young and old rejoice in deep content: Here 1 am man and claim mans element. Goethe, Faust, Part I, 18081

Altoviti panel’s earliest fame, when it still hung in the Borgo degli Albizi in Florence, disagreement arose over the purpose and method of arranging art galleries. At the very moment that the portrait was poised to enter the public sphere, art objects came to be regarded as a form of aesthetic nourishment for a growing audience. No longer emblems of wealth and power assembled to dazzle visiting royalty and diplomats, the art holdings of a modern monarch were to be shared with, if not given'outright to, a populace hungry for culture. To educate this new and larger community, concepts of collecting and display — from lighting to labeling — emerged to challenge the caretakers of palace galleries. The much-debated issue of museum display would significantly affect the installation and reception of the Altoviti portrait. A gift from their crown prince to the Bavarian people, the picture came out of the shadows of a Florentine palace to claim a space in the new and disputed terrain of the public museum. Inserted into the seven-room Hofgartengalerie where the royal collection was dis­ played, Dillis’s Raphael did not receive the place of honor. A velvet backdrop in the last room distinguished another newcomer as the star of the collection, a panel depicting St. Jerome (fig. 46)? That painting was Mannlich’s Raphael. Selecting works to bring to Munich during the secularization of religious holdings in 1803, the director (fig. 47), then over sixty, had climbed a ladder in the prince-bishop’s palace in Wurzburg to look at a picture hung too high to assess from the floor. On the top rung, he could still see only the saint’s big toe, but that was enough to start his heart pounding. “Surprise and joy overcame me so powerfully that I got dizzy,” he recalled in his memoirs.3 Sent up the ladder for a closer look, a colleague confirmed his find, shouting, “My God, it’s a Raphael!” Mannlich ordered the St. Jerome to be packed immediately for shipment to Munich. The painting, now attributed to the Flemish master Willem Key, retained its Raphael label and its rank as the acme of the royal collection as long as Mannlich lived.4 Prince Ludwig’s father, Max Joseph, had invited Mannlich in 1799 to take charge of the state collections.5 The following year Dillis and his boss had removed and concealed

D

uring the decades of the

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

64

46 Willem Key, St. Jerome (Mannlich’s “Raphael”), c. 1550. Oil on panel, 147 X 106 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemälde­ sammlungen, Alte Pinakothek.

wagonloads of the gallery’s treasures as French troops threatened Munich, but could not prevent the removal to Paris of dozens of works from the royal palace.6 With the increas­ ing menace to Wittelsbach holdings in other locations, the new director had to absorb a flow of evacuated paintings to Munich. The first volume of a catalogue documenting his reinstallation appeared in 1805, the year Bavaria began its rapprochement with Napoleon. In his preface, Männlich expressed unequivocally his disdain for modern display methods as practiced in Florence, Vienna, and Paris:

What does the historical succession of masters and the differences of the schools matter to the art lover, the true connoisseur of the Good and the Beautiful? That is more for the diplomat. What use is it to the artist? Our method is to exhibit the most perfect and best-preserved masterpieces from all the schools, one next to another in a room, producing a variation always pleasing to the eye. [. . .] This method will be consistent in all rooms [. . .] in a way that the choice will always fall on the best paintings, but in stages {stufenweise].

By this, Männlich meant to illustrate art’s path to perfection, as it moved in stages through academic categories of invention, composition, drawing, color, and expression toward its ultimate achievement with Raphael. The gallery director animated this hier-

Facing the Public

65

47 Johann Baptist Seele, Johann Christian von Männlich, 1808. Oil on panel, 55.5 X 44.2 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, Neue Pinakothek.

archy with examples from the Bavarian holdings, hanging his pictures with an overrid­ ing goal in mind - inherited, perhaps, from his early study with the French painter François Boucher - to divert and delight the eye. A symmetrical series of seven shallow rooms, the Hofgartengalerie formed an upper story over the seventeenth-century north­ ern arcade at the edge of the palace grounds, and its plan seemed to stipulate a proces­ sional path toward a cul-de-sac.s More than a century later, in fact, when the neglected space was hastily pressed into service in the summer of 1937 as the venue for Munich’s “Degenerate Art” exhibition, visitors traversed the length of the rooms on essentially the same viewing route that museumgoers had followed in the late eighteenth century. The National Socialists thus installed their monstrous parodic reversal of Mannlich’s stages toward perfection in a gallery that had been the first home in Germany of the Altoviti portrait.

*

*

*

66

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Italia in Germania

The scene: A picture gallery, late at night. Raphael and Dürer, hand in hand, descend from heaven to walk among the paintings and silently compare their works hung next to one another. This vision is part of the dream sequence in a slim but mightily influ­ ential book, published anonymously late in 1796. Written by Wilhelm Heinrich Wack­ enroder and edited by his friend Ludwig Tieck, the essays form an Ur-text of the German Romantic movement. The narrator, “an art-loving friar,” stimulated by a visit to a gallery, falls asleep and dreams that the artists often come down to earth to stroll among their pictures.9 By Good Friday 1810 Wackenroder’s fantasy of the reunion of Raphael and Dürer had come true on the walls of the Hofgartengalerie. An early newspaper report about Bindo Altoviti provides a fanciful account of its acquisition by a writer dumbstruck by the picture’s beauty. “Even in its darkened state,” he exclaimed, “this head emerges with the astonishing power and force of an almost unearthly genius, and it is lit with a coloring which shines out of the nearly night-like darkness in all the light areas with the utmost clarity.”10 At some time after Easter, the Altoviti portrait was removed from display, only to reappear in early June, according to an article by the same anonymous writer: The newly acquired original painting by Raphael (his life-size portrait), which has dis­ appeared from the gallery recently, was exhibited again in renewed colors at the feast of Pentecost. It was not, as reported previously, acquired at auction, but through a private purchase from the Altoviti family in Florence. Raphael, a friend of this distin­ guished old family, painted it for them as a gift [. . .] and it was guarded so carefully by its last owner that it was always under his lock and key, and was only exposed for a few minutes when he granted the special favor of a glimpse to a friend. Therefore this picture was seen by only a few lucky people, and Morghen, whose engraving of it I mentioned disparagingly the last time, could not, I now know, make it after the original - that was denied even to him - but from a copy, and he wants now to improve his plate from the original. [. . .] Only when the crown prince through the viceroy of Italy, his brother-in-law, pleaded for permission from the emperor of France, was the export to Bavaria of this palladium of art permitted as an exceptional case. Beside it, as a worthy pendant, hangs an unforgettable portrait of Albrecht Dürer, also life-size, painted by Dürer himself at age twenty-eight, and brought here from Schleusheim [Schleissheim], to provide brotherly companionship to the newcomer from Italy.11

The “unforgettable” Dürer is that artist’s Self-Portrait (fig. 49), which Max Joseph had added to the royal collection in 1805. Who had the genial notion to juxtapose the two self-portraits is unknown, but Männlich, responsible for cataloguing and installing the collection, is the most likely candidate. The journalist grasped the essential point of the hanging: the leaders of the Italian and German schools met as equals on the gallery wall. In the same summer that Raphael joined Dürer in the Hofgartengalerie, the German artists Franz Pforr and Friedrich Over­ beck arrived in Rome. There, inspired by Wackenroder, both young men made draw­ ings depicting the revered painters Dürer and Raphael kneeling before an enthroned allegory of art. As students in Vienna, the German artists had formed with other friends the Lukasbund, or Lucas brotherhood, the core of an artistic movement that would later,

Facing the Public

67

at first disparagingly, be called the Nazarenes. When Napoleon’s invasion of Vienna in 1809 interrupted their studies, the brotherhood decided to move to Rome. The journey of Pforr and Overbeck to what was now the second capital of France turned their images of Dürer and Raphael into personal allegories, as well as manifestos of their intention to unite in their work the early German and Italian traditions.12 The idea of parity between Dürer and Raphael at the pinnacle of their respective schools continued to stir German artists during the next few decades. In the spring of 1828, for example, a group of students at the academy in Munich, where Peter von Cor­ nelius was director, set out on foot for Nuremberg. They brought large cartoons to be painted for the festivities commemorating the tercentenary of Dürers death on 6 April.13 The original program for their painted banners called for seven scenes from Dürers life. Cornelius objected, however, “How can Raphael be absent at a celebration for Dürer?” The young artists wanted to stick to historical facts, but Cornelius insisted that Dürer and Raphael had long since met in heaven, where geography no longer separated them.14 The fourth scene, assigned to Adam Eberle, was originally conceived to show Dürer, Bible in hand, painting at his easel. Acceding to Cornelius’s objection and turning to Pforr and Overbeck for inspiration, the painter depicted Dürer and Raphael before the throne of art.15 On the eve of the official ceremony, the Munich artists hung their con­ tributions in the large chamber of the Nuremberg city hall, where their works remained on view for several days. Lit from behind, the cloth banners, now destroyed, are amply documented in a series of drawings made by Philipp Walther in 1829, as well as in hand­ colored engravings.16 With this source, in 1829-30 Franz Joseph Sauterleute made a stained-glass version, Scenes from the Life of Dürer in Seven Panels (Nuremberg, Ger­ manisches'Nationalmuseum); among the glass panels a replica of Dürers Self-Portrait formed the centerpiece. Sauterleute’s stained-glass depiction of the meeting of Dürer and Raphael (fig. 45) reveals that for his banner Eberle relied on the Altoviti panel, familiar to all students at the Munich academy.17 The composition shows to what degree Cor­ nelius passed on to a new generation the familiar Nazarene project of harmonizing the Italian and German schools. Munich’s paired portraits - one labeled Raphael and the other Dürer — served to reinforce its symbolism. Although gallery director Männlich was a product of the French academic tradition, Dürer was sacred to him as well. Arranging the Munich collections according to quality, he had been proud to place the German master in the seventh room of the Hofgarten­ galerie with the best of the collection.18 Viewers of Dillis’s Raphael hanging next to Dürer in Munich after 1810 took for granted their equality, and, before either Germany or Italy became a nation, responded to the comparison with unbridled flights of fancy and obser­ vations tinged with nationalist sentiment. In 1813 Johann Gottlob von Quandt, remem­ bered principally for his correspondence with Goethe, saw the two portraits for the first time. During that year the German states were uniting in their resistance to the French, and Bavaria dropped its ties to the emperor ten days before his rout at the Battle of Leipzig (the Völkerschlacht) on 18 October. Quandt perceived the figures of Dürer and Raphael as national symbols, standing for their respective Volk·.

Both should be regarded as representative of their people and of the artistic character they awakened in their people. If we recognize in Albrecht Dürers portrait the soulful German, then Raphael’s picture shows us the enthusiastic Italian; how his magnetic

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

68

48 Raphael, Bindo Altoviti, c. 1512. Oil on panel, 59.5 X 43.8 cm. Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection.

eyes, under his prominent forehead, radiate fiery inner life! [. . .] Through these cheeks hardened by an inner glow, he appears to us even more intelligent, more beautiful, more attractive! Your spiritual being consumes the earthly shell, Raphael, tell us the blessed woes that spread such a charming melancholy over your face! We stand before this picture with inner fear and hope, waiting for this charming, adorable, almost pas­ sionately appealing mouth to open and emit a pleasant tone, a sensitive word; every­ thing about this picture seems to live, to be reality, not a picture.19

Raphael’s major works from Italy were still in Paris in 1813, regarded by many as pris­ oners of war. In that year Quandt endowed the figures in the portraits with his own militance, attributing to them heroic qualities and mutual support. More than ten years later, Europe was at peace when a Bavarian historian, lecturing in Munich in 1825, made a purely emotional comparison, touching only briefly on the artists’ southern and north­ ern temperaments. He asked his audience to think about the pictures of the two men,

Facing the Public

69

49 Albrecht Dürer, SelfPortrait, 1500. Oil on panel, 67 X 49 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammluiwen, Alte o Pinakothek.

which, “hanging quietly as neighbors in our picture collection, irresistibly draw visitors.” On Raphael’s lips, he mused,

hovers an expression of the warmest feeling, on those of Dürer sweet seriousness and sensitive austerity. A touch of melancholy moves us in the one, a tone of sadness in the expression of the other. In Raphael there is an element of yearning, of longing, something endlessly spiritual, with overflowing feeling and imagination spreading across the entire face; in Durer’s countenance something sorrowful, infinitely deep and meaningful reigns.20

Another, more down-to-earth viewer was the twenty-two-year-old Viennese painter Moritz von Schwind on his first trip to Munich in 1827. His engagement with the por­ traits, while profound, was professional. He looked from one face to the other without drawing a comparison and commented in a letter to a friend:

70

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Raphael’s and Dürers self-portraits hang next to one another. Raphael is incredibly beautiful, above all, he has a mouth you couldn’t see anywhere else, so generous and noble at the same time. The shadows are quite dark [...]. The colors [of the Dürer] are extremely natural. I must admit that there were days when I looked so intensely that Dürer took on a strange tint, and the poor man has a finger that, even when I had the best of intentions, continued to upset me. The last days [of my stay] (I went there every day and usually for two or three hours) I focused entirely on the wonder of Raphael, for whom my eyes are wider open than they were before I came/

Schwind had grown up in Vienna, where Raphael’s early Madonna of the Meadow had as a neighbor rhe late St. Margaret}2 In a gallery such as the Belvedere, arranged accord­ ing to the latest principles of museology, Raphael could not be compared with Dürer, only with himself. Paradoxically, Mannlich’s stubborn resistance to new ideas of instal­ lation in Munich had made possible these modern museumgoers’ fervent reactions to the portraits. If, after hours, the shades of Dürer and Raphael wandered the Hofgartengalerie hand in hand in transalpine fraternity and equality, the atmosphere hovering over the curato­ rial staff was less harmonious. Männlich, wounded by criticism of his old-fashioned installation yet unwilling to alter it, fostered the production of stunning black-and-white lithographs after the paintings in his care.23 When the death of the vice-director of the gallery in 1813 offered a chance for a promotion, Dillis was nearly passed over for the job. Männlich, to his credit, signed a successful petition to the king in Dillis’s favor/4 By that date reproaches over the expense of the Altoviti panel, as well as doubts about the identity of the sitter and even its authenticity, had mortified Dillis at court. Through Männlich, the king let Dillis know of his displeasure with the purchase, and the curator later complained to the crown prince that a cabal had turned the entire court against the Raphael even before it arrived.25 Artists, on the other hand, were enchanted by the por­ trait and paid little heed to its detractors. They freely borrowed the sitter’s pose for works of their own and copied the picture for reproductive graphics and paintings.26 Among the first to honor the newly acquired portrait with a copy made in Munich was Raphael’s countryman Vincenzo Camuccini. Rome’s leading painter and the recently appointed director of the Vatican Pinacoteca, he stopped in Munich on his way to Paris early in the summer of 1810.27 Another early copyist was a young artist who had arrived from Kassel to study engraving in Munich, Ludwig Emil Grimm. A younger brother of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, of fairy-tale fame, Ludwig had just turned twenty' when the Raphael portrait went on display. Grimm copied the picture as a finished drawing, then engraved it during its first years in the gallery.28 Like the artists who admired and repli­ cated the portrait, Prince Ludwig was indifferent to the sniping at his costly acquisition. But he had only a few months in 1810 to enjoy his picture, for Ludwig’s life was about to take a new direction.

*

*

*

Facing the Public

7i

The Tooth of Time

During the summer that the Altoviti panel went on public view, Ludwig was making wedding preparations. Bavaria had been awarded Tyrol under the Peace of Schonbrunn in 1809, and the king appointed his son as governor of the province toward which he had shown sympathy when stationed there as military commander. Ludwig was to move to Tyrol with his wife, Therese of Sachsen-Hildburghausen, and in late August he dis­ patched Dillis to Innsbruck to install paintings in the future residence. Two weeks after their wedding on 12 October 1810 Ludwig and Therese left Munich, but not before cre­ ating an enduring source of pleasure and profit for the city, a folk festival now widely known as the Oktoberfest. At the same time, Ludwig devised a wedding gift to himself, one he hoped to share with the public long into the future. The previous summer the prince, preoccupied with mortality before he went into battle, warded off thoughts of death by commissioning marble busts of great Germans.29 In the summer of 1810 — after restoring Raphael to life, as Dillis put it, and choosing a bride - Ludwig conceived another ambitious project. He decided to have the Altoviti painting, along with other works in the royal gallery, copied on porcelain. Only twentyfour, he had learned much about the hazards of war, about losses of ancient sculpture, and, most recently, about paintings at risk. Examining the three-centuries-old Raphael panel, Dillis had found worms eating their way through the frame.30 Ludwig envisioned his favorite paintings preserved in porcelain replicas for future generations, against that day “when finally the tooth of time will have destroyed the originals.”31 Nothing could harm such copies, a contemporary journal enthused in 1813 about Ludwig’s porcelain art gallery: neither heat nor cold, neither sunlight nor humidity.32 Before he left Munich, the prince commissioned a service from the Nymphenburg manufactory, of which thirty-six dessert plates, three plaques, and two large vases survive.33 He drew up a tentative list of works to be copied - the paintings should come from the Hofgartengalerie, he decided - and appointed Dillis to manage the project. The chief porcelain painter at Nymphenburg was Anton Auer, who, upon receiving the prince’s commission, set up a studio in the Residenz.34 One by one, with Mannlich’s per­ mission, the chosen paintings were carted across the garden and into the palace, and Auer sent his completed porcelain copies in baskets to Nymphenburg for bring. Corre­ spondence between the absent prince and his curator reveals that the first plate, depict­ ing a Madonna then attributed to Bernardino Luini, was nearly finished by the second week of November, and work on Vasari’s Holy Family was to begin the next day.35 Auer had finished a third plate with a Van Dyck Madonna by the end of 1810; during 1811 he would complete thirteen more plates, an average of one per month, with Ludwig spec­ ifying every detail. Encircled by a gold decorative frieze “in pure antique taste” on the white borders of the plates, the painting replicas were to have palmette-patterned frames against a pol­ ished gold ground. Ludwig was especially concerned about the choice of works, and prominent on his list were pictures he had bought himself.36 The plates of the Altoviti panel (fig. 50) and the Sassoferrato Madonna from Florence were the tenth and thir­ teenth finished, both in 1811; as soon as the Raphael portrait went back to the gallery, work on its neighbor, Durer’s Self-Portrait, began. Durable as the finished hard-paste

72

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

50 Anton Auer, plate inscribed on verso, “Das Bildnis des Raphael Sanzio von Urbino,” 1811. Nymphen­ burg Manufactury, hard porcelain with colored glazed decoration and polished and engraved gilding, 24.6 cm. diam. Munich, Bayerische Verwaltung der staatlichen Schlösser, Gärten und Seen, Residenz­ museum.

porcelain product might be, the process was technically demanding, and predicting chemical changes to the colors in the oven was particularly difficult. Yet there was only one plate in the service that Auer is known to have done again — the Altoviti portrait. In August 1811 a disconsolate Dillis reported to Ludwig that the plate replicating his Raphael had been impaired in firing. Undaunted, Auer had produced a second version by the end of the year.’ fhe porcelain painter was completing the second vase for the set when he died in October 1814, aged only thirty-six, and work on Ludwig’s service came to an end. Stir-

Facing the Public

73

viving in the collections of the Residenzmuseum, Munich, however, is a porcelain plaque after the Altoviti panel dated 1814 and signed by another Nymphenburg painter, Chris­ tian Adler. The Adler plaque, it has been suggested, might represent an unsuccessful attempt by the painter to convince the prince through a copy of his favorite portrait that other artists were capable of continuing the series.38 It was apparently Adler’s first com­ pleted plaque, and the first copy of the portrait in that format. Ludwig eventually did revive the idea of gallery copies in 1826, shortly after he became king.39 And in 1844, thirty years after his first porcelain reproduction of the painting, Adler signed a second plaque of Bindo Altoviti.^ Ludwig also commissioned a third porcelain plaque after the Raphael portrait, slightly larger than the painting itself. Signed by Otto Wustlich, it is datable to 1854. An inscription on another plaque by Wustlich - his last — tells us that Ludwig, up until his death, was still intent on preserving for posterity the paintings he had collected with so much joy.41 Although the original painting of Bindo Altoviti is no longer in Munich, at least five porcelain replicas survive in the city’s museums today. For that the Bavarians can thank the Nymphenburg painters’ skill, Ludwig’s foresight, and — not least - Bottari’s identification of the sitter as Raphael.

Shadows and Doubts

Ludwig had acquired the painting for Munich, not simply on its undoubted merits, or because it was by the master. He bought it specifically because Dillis assured him it was a self-portrait. A few months after the panel went on view in 1810, Dillis wrote to Metzger in Florence that their treasure had been called into question. Whether the opposition came from the court, the academy, or within the museum itself is unknown; Metzger simply expressed his sympathy that Dillis found himself “surrounded by such people” and advised his friend, “Let the bad dogs bark and eventually they will be hit on their thick heads.” At the curator’s request, Metzger had investigated, without much success, issues discussed in Munich about the sitter’s identity: “I spent half a day at Palazzo Altoviti with the family tree, but we could find no other Bindo who could have known Raphael. They wondered if there is a mistake in the year. [. . .] if you want further research, just write, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”42 Metzger, comforting Dillis about the doubts in Munich, does not mention doubts raised in Florence. Puccini’s resistance to the export of the portrait was common knowl­ edge, but he published nothing challenging the identification. When the Florentine gallery director died in 1811, Metzger, still vexed by the obstacles put in his path, com­ mented to Dillis that he wasn’t sure what kind of place in heaven was reserved for Puccini.43 Bitter at the loss of the Altoviti panel to Munich, Puccini had left a time bomb to explode posthumously in the form of a letter attacking the painting’s identification as a Raphael self-portrait. Written in the aftermath of the sale in 1808, but first published as a pamphlet in 1825, the letter responded to queries from an unnamed friend. Puccini fumed that while Giovambattista Altoviti had not been tempted by even higher offers, “three thousand five hundred [zecchini] seduced the son, or rather the administrator of that rich patrimony, to give up the most beautiful ornament of the Altoviti family.”44 About the painting, Puccini assured his correspondent: “It is an original Raphael, and

74

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

in his most robust and grandiose style.” At the same time, he stoutly denied that it was the image of Raphael himself. Of Vasari’s phrase, Puccini insisted, “in good Tuscan it means the portrait of Bindo, otherwise he would have said either, per Bindo Altoviti fece il ritratto suo, or a Bindo Altoviti fece il ritratto di se.”^ He examined Vasari’s other usages of suo and di se, then the issue of quando era giovane, pointing out that when Vasari wrote (1550), Bindo had aged, while Raphael never got old. Furthermore, when Raphael was young he painted very differently, as the self-portrait in his own gallery proved. As one last piece of evidence, Puccini pointed to the square beret, the accessory of a well-born person, he said, more appropriate for a merchant than for a painter.46 Puccini’s arguments, taken up decades after his death by other writers, would resonate in later discussions of the Altoviti portrait. In Munich, however, criticism remained sub­ versive and unpublished. While opposition seemed to embolden the crown prince in his acquisition policy, Dillis grew ever more cautious. The diligent and, by all accounts, frugal curator bore the brunt of the attack on the portrait. Dillis first referred to his dif­ ficulties in a letter to the prince in the summer of 1812. Told at an art meeting that he understood nothing of art history, Dillis confided to Ludwig, “I have lost all courage, all self-confidence, and I am beginning not to trust my own judgment.” He therefore hes­ itated to accept a proposed trip to Greece, offered by the prince to buoy Dillis’s spirits and to acquire the pediment sculpture from the Aphaia temple discovered the previous year on Aegina. Usually, before such assignments, the curator became elated and began signing his letters “Giorgio Bavarese.” Now, however, reminding Ludwig of the dispar­ agement of the Raphael portrait, Dillis said an extended absence would annihilate his “political existence.”47 Again, two years later, he asked the crown prince to realize how painful the attack on the Raphael had been “to a man of honor and an expert in his field [. . J and how such an experience discourages one from repeating such a catastrophe, which could completely crush a man.”48 Yet a newspaper article in 1820 suggests a high level of confidence in Munich about the Altoviti portrait a decade after it went on public display. The writer examines a recent criticism of the painting, but concludes: “Until the art geniuses of Berlin or other phys­ iognomists deliver more fundamental evidence to the contrary, all those who own R. Morghen’s engraving can look upon it as being the genuine Raphael, and similarly the original in the Munich gallery next to Albrecht Durer - their artistic friendship is known - will continue to hold its rightful place.”49 Despite appreciative newspaper accounts, the Raphael picture apparently was perceived by some, not so much as a relic of the immortal painter or a sign of princely generosity, but as evidence of lavish art consumption and a harbinger of worse to come. Ludwig ignored the criticism. He not only continued to commission busts, develop a collection of antique sculpture, and purchase pictures - hundreds of them and chiefly with his private funds - but also to build new museums to house his acquisitions?0 The crown prince began negotiations in 1809 for a coveted ancient marble, the Bar­ berini Faun, shortly before the Altoviti portrait arrived in Munich.S| He acquired a marble Medusa from Palazzo Rondanini on the Corso in Rome in 1811 and the pedi­ ment sculpture from Aegina the following year. He then invited the Paris-trained archi­ tect Leo von Klenze to Munich in 1816 to build the Glyptothek, an Ionic marble temple to display classical treasures. Klenze lent support to the prince’s efforts to convince his

Facing the Public

75

father that the painting collections needed a new building as well, and Max Joseph autho­ rized the project two years before his death in October 1825. Less than six months after Ludwig succeeded his father, the foundation stone of the new gallery was laid in place on 7 April 1826, a date chosen to commemorate Raphael’s birth and death anniversary.52 Klenze’s picture gallery was under construction in 1827 when the purchase of the Boisseree collection of early Netherlandish and German paintings, settled only sixteen months after Ludwig acceded to the throne, caused the king to exclaim to the sellers: “What a collection I have now, gentlemen; what a collection, when it’s all together!”53 Although he did not want the news to reach the papers — especially not the details of the price — Ludwig confirmed with this purchase his intent to make Munich an art capital.

Salvos from Rome

In the same year that he acquired the Boisseree collection - 1827 - King Ludwig bought a prime piece of Roman real estate. He had first visited the Villa Malta on the Pincio in 1805 when Wilhelm von Humboldt lived there as Prussian ambassador; Ludwig later stayed in the villa for three months in 1818. Of the Villa Malta, Ludwig wrote, in lines probably inspired by Goethe, “How much you are worth to me, dear refuge, where the king at last finds the man again whom he lost at home. ”V| At home, his expenses in this year - he had turned forty in 1826, and his spending spree bears all the signs of what is now called a mid-life crisis - were so exceptional that he had 51 Johann David Passavant, Self-Portrait in a to pay for the villa and its contents in fifteen installments, a Roman Landscape, 1818. Oil on canvas, 45 X total of 22,000 scudi. To own this idyllic property in the heart 31.6 cm. Frankfurt, Städelsches Kunstinstitut of the German artists’ quarter near the Spanish Steps cost him und Städtische Galerie. only three times what he had paid for the Altoviti Raphael. It was well worthwhile to have a place in his beloved city where he could, as he put it, lay aside his chains.55 Dillis also lived in the Villa Malta from January 1818, when the crown prince and his party returned to the mainland from a tour of Sicily, until April, when they left Rome?6 During their stay at the villa, Ludwig acted out his own interpreta­ tion of Germania in Italia by roaming the city incognito, dressed, like his entourage, in national costume.5 For those artists in Rome too poor to purchase the old-fashioned schol­ ars’ Trachten favored by liberal students in their homeland, the prince lent garments from his own wardrobe. Johann David Passavant, for example, who compiled the first catalogue raisonne of Raphael’s work, demonstrated his allegiance to his compatriots by depicting himself in such an outfit in 1818 (fig. 51).58 The nationalist mummery of the Teutonic prince and his German artist friends on the Pincio may have provoked the next wave of criticism of the Altoviti portrait. It came, in any case, from Rome.

76

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Firing the first round was Melchior Missirini, an art-loving priest originally from Forli, who was the friend and first biographer of Antonio Canova. In 1821 Missirini attacked the notion that the sitter in the portrait was Raphael. He attributed the ideas and expo­ sition in his book to the French neoclassical painter and collector Jean-Baptiste Wicar, who, once settled in Rome, had taken a keen interest in the sale of the Altoviti panel. The Missirini-Wicar thesis begins with a list of five “authentic” Raphael portraits, the best known being the Uffizi Self-Portrait (fig. 2) and the head (fig. 3) in the School of Athens. In his second chapter, Missirini accuses Bottari of disseminating the erroneous identification out of a sheer love of sensationalism.59 A third chapter compares the School

Facing the Public 52 (facingpage) Georg von Dillis, Tracing ofAltoviti Portrait. Lithograph, 38 X 32.3 cm. (from Rehberg 1824b). Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

53 Enfin Raphael Vint. Engraving of Raphael self-portrait (left) in the School ofAthens (from Seroux d’Agincourt [1810]—1823, vi, pl. clxxxi). Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

ofAthens likeness with the Altoviti portrait, which bears, Missirini asserts, no resemblance to any known image of the artist. The fourth chapter presents arguments based on style: since the portrait is in Raphael’s next-to-last manner, it could not have been painted before 1516-17. If it had been painted after that, Vasari could not have called Raphael young. In his fifth chapter, Missirini investigates how the erudite Bottari could have com­ mitted this grave mistake. The Vasari text is to blame, but it is not at all ambiguous. Vasari used the word “young” to distinguish it from other portraits of Altoviti when he was old, namely the Cellini bust. According to Missirini, Wicar had been so fascinated by this controversy that he had commissioned a cast of the Cellini bust after studying it in Rome at Palazzo Altoviti, methodically comparing the proportions to those in the painting; his conclusion, that all the features corresponded, may be corroborated today. In his final chapter Missirini allows himself a dig at the Altoviti family, who had held onto the portrait as long as they believed it to depict their ancestor, then quickly dis­ posed of it. “This,” Missirini laments, “is the lovely fruit reaped by Italy because of the famous discovery by Bottari!”60 Carlo Fea, pro-secretary of the Accademia di San Luca, added his support to the Missirini-Wicar thesis, and, despite a reputation for scholarly fibs, his opinion carried some weight in Rome.61 To disarm his critics Dillis, appointed gallery director when Mannlich died in January 1822, offered a remarkable piece of evidence. He made a lithograph after the Altoviti por­ trait (fig. 52) to counter Missirini’s claim that the face in the Munich panel bore no resem­ blance to the generally accepted self-portrait of Raphael: the second head from the right in the School ofAthens fresco, illustrated here in an engraved detail (fig. 53) published in

78

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

1823.62 An Italian inscription on the Dillis lithograph declares, “This outline was traced over the original painting with the greatest accuracy, attested to by Director Giorgio de Dillis.”63 Most importantly, the inscription reveals that the tracing was produced for an Italian audience, in response, perhaps, to a similar tracing taken in Rome of the head in the fresco.64 Whether the tracing or the lithographic stone from which it was printed came from the hand of Dillis himself or that of an assistant is not known. The attack from Rome on his beloved portrait, however, could well have led the director to bend over the precious panel in its defense, plying the only weapon at his disposal, his chalk. But the Missirini arguments won an even wider audience when recycled in 1824 by the French archaeologist and theoretician A.-C. Quatremere de Quincy. In that year Qua­ tremere published the first French monograph on Raphael, soon translated into Italian, and with two more French editions in the next decade.65 Agreeing with the Italians, Qua­ tremere asks how the Altoviti portrait “in which [Raphael] reached the highest point as a colorist [. . . could] have been made by him at a time when he was still far from aspir­ ing to [that] title.”66 Quatremere repeats Missirini’s criticism of the Altoviti for getting rid of their portrait and reports erroneously: “Toward the year 1811, it was acquired by the king of Bavaria for [. . .] 14,000 sequins (160,000 francs).”67 At this time Europe was slumbering in the period of restoration between Waterloo and the next revolutions. The war in print over Raphael’s face, however, was heating up, and the publication of Quatremere’s biography opened new hostilities. Nations took sides, with Quatremere disseminating the Italian view that the portrait lost to Bavaria was not an image of Raphael. Leading the German defenders of the Raphael identification was a neoclassical painter named Friedrich Rehberg. In a book published in Munich in 1824, Rehberg includes Dillis’s lithograph as a full-size foldout.68 He argues further that the portrait not only represented the master, but was the best and most interesting of the Raphael portraits.69 Rehberg sees the same facial features in the School ofAthens portrait and the Altoviti panel, which he believes had been unfairly received in Munich:

The authenticity of this painting was called into doubt upon its arrival in Germany. [. . .] It stimulated with this change of location - through which it became more acces­ sible to the public and seen more often than previously in a private house — a new fame, which it richly deserves, as it is one of the outstanding original Raphaels of its kind, but it was attacked with passionately divided opinions, not taking into consid­ eration its indisputable originality, but referring only to the above-mentioned doubt.70 Although he did not refer to the Roman publications in his correspondence with Ludwig, Dillis read Quatremere de Quincy in the summer of 1824. On 31 August he told the crown prince that one piece of misinformation in Quatremere’s book had further delayed acquisition of the long-sought Tempi Madonna. The family’s exaggerated demand for twice what they had asked ten years earlier was, Dillis said, more than either he or the art committee could justify:

It can only be explained if the Italians saw in the work of this new author [Quatremere] the price we paid here in the gallery for the portrait of Raphael. On p. 201 this oth­ erwise scholarly man reports that this painting was bought in 1811 by the king of Bavaria for the sum of 160,000 francs.

Facing the Public

79

May I take the liberty of reminding Your Royal Highness what an unpleasant scene I had to undergo with the portrait of the immortal Raphael, and how at that time the price of 7000 scudi [3430 zecchini} was found much too high. Thus, it will not be taken amiss if I state that German art lovers have not yet learned to appreciate the spirit of Raphael; they are obsessed with the hard and dry style of the early Upper and Lower German school, and value their works of art, in which nature is skilfully imitated, above the idealistic figures of Raphael. I would be the last one to belittle the contri­ butions of our German forefathers. They were men who achieved independence on their own merits, something we must admire. But the Ideal remained foreign to them. Their drawing is hard and dry, modeling and lighting faulty. Under these conditions, a Raphael painting at an exorbitant price would not be well received, and it would be extremely painful for me if I should have to go through that catastrophe of the year 1812 with the Raphael picture once again. More advanced in age as I am, I would hardly have the strength to survive it. It therefore deserves mature reflection, how far the negotiations for the [ Tempi Madonna} should be pursued.71

Dillis’s remarks on German art lovers’ obsession with their own school and their failure to appreciate Raphael seem prophetic in light of Munich’s proposed trade of the Altoviti portrait exactly one century later.

Hanging by Schools Munich’s royal gallery, only a quarter of a century old when Prince Ludwig bought his first Raphael, had been locked by its director into an outmoded tradition of presenting the collection. Dillis and Ludwig, however, hoped to emulate in Munich the systematic arrangement they had admired in the Musee Napoleon during a trip to Paris in 1806.72 The central museum director Denon, who has been aptly characterized as “the eye of Napoleon,” displayed the Transfiguration at the Louvre in January 1803 as the focal point of the largest group ever assembled of easel paintings by or attributed to Raphael.73 With the exhibition of the artist’s climactic last work, Denon announced a new type of instal­ lation, part of a chronological hanging by school foreseen for the entire collection and intended to provide an art history lesson on the walls.74 Dillis recorded his reaction to the display in his Paris diary:

It is an extraordinary joy to step into the art collections here. The order [...], the free entry, the pleasantly evident effort to satisfy the art lover’s and artist’s desire to learn deserve general admiration. One should take it as a model for all installations. I will not leave Paris until I have become entirely familiar with it. I am convinced that the valuable and extensive art collections in Munich could gain a great deal through a similar exhibition and installation and could only then really be used.75

To Dillis and Ludwig - and to many others who made the pilgrimage to the Louvre during the Napoleonic era - Denon had staked a claim for hanging by school. But not until Mannlich’s death in 1822 could Dillis rearrange the Hofgartengalerie. He made a list corresponding to his reordering, in which he introduced no sweeping changes:

8o

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Raphael still hung next to Dürer in the final room. Dillis focused his energy instead on planning the gallery’s new quarters, and once the thirty-eight-year-old Ludwig was enthroned, top priority for both the king and his director became the Pinakothek.76 Ten years after the groundbreaking in commemoration of Raphael, the painting gallery opened on 16 October 1836. Clearly, the new temple of art was still under the artist’s sign. His effigy by a Munich sculptor took its proper place on the balustrade among the twenty-four artists’ statues arranged on the southern façade in order of school and birth. All the artists on the balustrade had works by or attributed to them in the gallery. For the museum corridor inside the building on the upper floor, the main gallery space, Klenze drew inspiration from the Vatican Logge painted by Raphael’s students. Cornelius designed the mural program for Klenze’s twenty-five logge, each with a painted dome, pendentives, and lunettes, forming a visual encyclopedia of northern and southern artists’ lives along the stately length of the building, parallel to the galleries where their work was displayed. Raphael’s life was in the central loggia. Thanks to this didactic machinery, Dillis could sacrifice the allegorical pairing of Durer and Raphael, so effective in the Hofgartengalerie, in favor of a resolute hanging by school, or at least by nationality. In his own version of art history on the walls, as practiced earlier by Denon, he assigned Dürer first place: a wing of the Paumgartner altarpiece was number 1 in Room I. The Dürer Self-Portrait went to Cabinet VII, one of twenty-three small, windowed rooms flanking the north side of the seven galleries on the main axis. The Altoviti portrait by Raphael hung in the last room, Room IX, the cul-de-sac in the northwest corner. Here, wrote Dillis in the foreword to his first catalogue of works in the new gallery, the art lover and artist would find the most outstanding masters of the Italian school, “bought, for the most part, by Kang Ludwig I with his own private funds,” making this room “something like the Tribuna of the entire Pinakothek.”77 With this inner sanctum derived from the Uffizi and a hanging order remotely inspired by the Louvre, the Pinakothek moved into the top rank of sites on the pilgrimage route for art tourists. However modern, the plan of the nineteenth-century Pinakothek was still influenced by the old Hofgartengalerie, where Dillis had begun his museum career. One entered at the east end of the new building and approached the galleries by a stair­ way. The visitor then passed through the Founders’ Hall and entered the east-west axis, a viewing path of seven rooms. At the west end of the main axis of the Pinakothek was a large eighth gallery and a ninth room, the cul-de-sac for the Italian treasures. According to one critic, the last room, where the Altoviti panel hung, had the worst light.78 Dillis’s ultimate gallery of Italian masterpieces corresponded to Mannlich’s final room, set aside for works of top quality. When the Pinakothek opened in 1836, three paintings attributed to Raphael hung in its Tribuna, Dillis’s Room IX: the Canigiani Holy Familyf the Madonna della Tenda (of the curtain), acquired by Prince Ludwig in 1819,80 and the Altoviti portrait (no. 585). Dillis hung the St. Jerome Mannlich had found in Wurzburg in Room IX as well, but attributed it to Palma Vecchio, not Raphael.81 King Ludwig’s newest Raphael, the long-sought Tempi Madonna, acquired at last in 1828, hung in Cabinet XXI with four recently acquired predella panels by Fra Angelico.82 Five more paintings believed to be by Raphael hung in Cabinet XX, including the other supposed Self-Portrait, which Bottari mentioned in connection with the Altoviti panel, and which,

Facing the Public

81

54 Umbrian, Portrait ofa Young Man, c. 1506. Oil on panel, 53.5 X 41.2 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, Alte Pinakothek.

coincidentally, Ludwig purchased in 1826 (fig. 54).83 In his catalogue entry for this paint­ ing, though oddly ignoring the blatant difference between the Pinakothek’s two Raphael figures, Dillis touched on the puzzle of the artist’s hand in repose. He nevertheless skirted that issue as well, questioning only “how Raphael could have painted in a mirror the superbly colored right hand as his own?”8 No doubt sullied Dillis’s catalogue description of the Altoviti portrait. The name “Bindo Altoviti’’ appeared nowhere in the entry, of course, and Dillis resolutely called the picture a “portrait of the immortal Raphael.”85 Separation of the Italians from the Germans in the Pinakothek meant that visitors no longer had the dizzying Diirer-Raphael experiences of Quandt or Schwind. Dillis compensated the museum­ goer, however, with another fascinating paragone. Staging a classroom comparison of the founders of the Roman and Venetian schools, Dillis hung next to the “immortal Raphael’’ a portrait in much the same pose, Young Man in a Fur Cloak (fig. 18), which he attrib­ uted to Giorgione, who, like Raphael, had died young.86 Passavant, the erstwhile Nazarene, saw both the earlier and the later comparisons in Munich. From his first mention of the Altoviti panel in 1833 through all editions of his Raphael monograph, Passavant praised the picture, drawing attention especially to its powerful, glowing color reminiscent of Giorgione. He did not, however, accept the museum’s identification of the sitter.8 To him, the solid youth in the violet cloak simply did not look like Raphael. Raphael, Passavant believed, was “sweet and pensive,” not sensual. He was a brunette, not a blue-eyed blond. Nor did the young man in the por­ trait correspond to Passavants idea of a universal genius, though he might well have been

82

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

a prosperous banker. Passavant dated the picture to 1512, estimating the sitter’s age at twenty-two, co-ordinates that agreed perfectly with the age of Bindo Altoviti.88 While Passavant took up the arguments of Missirini and Quatremere de Quincy, the principal defense of the Raphael identification in the 1830s came from another German, Baron Carl Friedrich von Rumohr, who had been living in Munich in 1810 when the Altoviti portrait entered the gallery. Reviewing Quatremere, Rumohr observed that neither Missirini nor Wicar had looked closely at the portrait with which Vasari in a very mannered woodcut intro­ duces the life of Raphael. It is terribly done; still, one sees where Vasari got it, for the lighting, the position of the head, the somewhat extended, swollen mouth, as, finally, the parting of the hair, leave no doubt that that unknown woodcarver followed a very hasty drawing after the picture from the Altoviti palace.89

In his lengthy analysis of the identification, Rumohr noted disagreement over the paint­ ing’s authorship. The “hand of Giulio Romano,” he said, had been detected in it, though he himself saw nothing in the picture that would point to Raphael’s pupil.90 Dillis, who had survived all the other slights on the picture that had given him such pleasure in 1808, would not have let innuendoes about Giulio alter his feelings for what was essentially his Raphael. Dillis did not, in any case, live long enough into the 1840s to see Passavant’s opinion concerning the sitter prevail. In 1842, less than a year after Dillis died, Franz Kugler pub­ lished his successful Handbook of Art History. The portrait represented Bindo Altoviti, Kugler said. Then, waffling in parenthetical deference to Rumohr, he added, “also, less certainly, considered Raphael’s self-portrait.”91 Neither Dillis nor Metzger lived to read a popular guidebook of 1844 in which the French critic Louis Viardot claimed that all the Munich Raphaels were mediocre.92 King Ludwig was alive in 1844, but his subjects were still angered by his extravagance. An outcry over the money he spent on the Irish­ born “Spanish” dancer Lola Montez forced him to abdicate in 1848 in favor of his son, who would be enthroned as Max II. In his declining years, Ludwig continued to enjoy Rome, seeing the Villa Malta for the last time in 1867. Ferdinand Gregorovius wrote of his departure: Suspecting that his end was near, he took leave of his beloved Rome, of the Vatican museums, of his Roman past. On the eve of his departure, he drank from the Trevi fountain, so melancholy that he had to weep. The beautiful old superstition - that when one drinks this water before leaving the Eternal City, one will return - did not come true this time. The king died in Nice on 29 February 1868. Of all the German princes known to history, none has had a similar relationship with Italy and Rome, based exclusively on artistic ideals. Perhaps one can state that this kind of cultural-his­ torical impact, radiating from Rome upon the German spirit since Winckelmann, came to an end with this king.93

Ignoring slurs on the Altoviti panel, Ludwig had continued in his old age to render it immortal through porcelain copies. As with many collectors, his keenest interest was in the hunt, outwitting the competition, retrieving the prey. For these reasons, his pursuit

Facing the Public

83

of the Tempi Madonna, provided twenty years of pleasure, and his attachment to that Raphael picture may even have surpassed the emotional peak of getting the alleged Self­ Portrait out of French-occupied Tuscany. But if Passavant found in the Altoviti panel a sitter too robust and voluptuous to accept as a representation of the artist, for Ludwig — as for Dillis, Metzger, and many others — that sheer beauty made the picture worthy of a label based on Bembo’s epitaph, “Ille hie est Raphael.”

55 J.-A.-D. Ingres, Betrothal ofRaphael to the Niece ofCardinal Bibbiena, 1864. Graphite, watercolor, and white gouache on tracing paper, laid down, 19.9 X 16 cm. Cambridge, Mass., Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University Art Museums, Bequest of Grenville L. Winthrop.

5 Marma from Heaven: The Case of Ingres

The more I see of this man, the more beauties I discover. Nourish yourselves upon them, gentlemen, take from them all you can. [. . .] It is manna fallen from heaven, which will nourish and fortify you. Ingres, talking to his students in 1835 about the Vatican Stanze frescoes1

Passavant, the two men whose names were most intimately linked with Raphael’s in the nineteenth century, may never have met. Both studied under Jacques-Louis David in Paris, but Ingres was already in Italy when the twenty-two-yearold merchant from Frankfurt took up painting. In Rome they lived near each other on the Pincio'for three years, but if Ingres noticed Passavant at all, the German would have been merely another of the comically dressed artists in the Bavarian prince’s orbit at the Villa Malta.2 Only in i860, when Ingres was eighty, did a French edition of Passavanfs Raphael catalogue appear. In that book, whatever he thought of it, Ingres had to acknowl­ edge an obsessive reverence for its subject in some way akin to his own. Like Quatremere, however, Passavant rigorously denied that Munich’s portrait panel by Raphael depicted the artist himself. Passavant had actually examined the painting several times, while Ingres had seen only a black-and-white print and a painted copy. Yet from his youth the image of Bindo Altoviti had merged indelibly in Ingres’s memory with that of Raphael, and, despite Passavant, he would turn to it again in his final years. The greatest portrait painter of his age, Ingres was also the artist most tenaciously attached to the young man in Munich. He was not, however, the only one to borrow from the Altoviti panel, and a few examples may clarify Ingres’s incorporation of the portrait image into his own visual lexicon. ngres and

I

Raphael: A Users Manual

More than one painter undertaking a self-portrait in the early nineteenth century looked in the mirror and saw something of Raphael. Seeking a dynamic presence correspond­ ing to their ideal, some relied on Bindo Altoviti, believing it to represent the master. As mentioned above, the Roman painter Camuccini copied the new Bavarian Raphael a few

86

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

56 Vincenzo Camuccini, Self-Portrait, ?i8io. Oil on canvas. Formerly Palazzo Camuccini, Cantalupo in Sabina (destroyed in World War II).

57 Johann Evangelist Scheffer von Leonhardshoff, Self-Portrait, 1820. Oil on canvas, 79 X 63 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Galerie Belvedere.

weeks after it went on public display in 1810. Now more famous for the paintings he owned than for those he painted, Camuccini, at the time of his trip to Munich, enjoyed an enormous reputation.3 Admired for both glacial historical scenes in the grand manner and his spirited sketches, the painter was also famous for his good looks. Copying Rubens in Munich along with the Raphael portrait, he carried both influences back to Rome, where, after his return later that summer, he began a Self-Portrait (fig. 56). This work, apparently left unfinished, was destroyed during World War II, but a surviving photo­ graph reveals that Camuccini assumed the pose of Bindo AltovitiS His fluent oil based on a close study of the Munich panel is a reminder of the rich menu of options for por­ traiture in Roman studios during the year that Ingres launched his career in the city. It was also in the summer of 1810 that the young German-speaking artists later known as the Nazarenes began to gather on the Pincio, abundantly portraying themselves and one another. Among them was Johann Evangelist Scheffer von Leonhardshoff, who often posed for colleagues in Rome until, stricken with tuberculosis, he had to return to Austria. Despite his illness, the Nazarene painter exhibited a Self-Portrait (fig. 57) at the Vienna academy in 1820. During his stay in Italy, Scheffer had made a portrait of the newly returned pope, who then awarded him the Order of Christ; the young artist depicts himself wearing the golden chains of his prestigious decoration. He reaches for a heavy curtain, and the gesture - tinged with the melancholy of tomb sculpture - suggests his uncertainty about the future. His early success, including the tribute from the pope

Manna from Heaven

87

58 Victor Emil Janssen, Self-Portrait, 1833. Oil on canvas, 45 X 36.5 cm. Formerly Hamburg, Kunsthalle (destroyed 1931). From J. G. Wolf, Verlorene Werke deutscher romantischer Malerei (Munich, 1931), p. 80. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

before he was twenty, and his premonition of an early death permitted Scheffer to doubly identify with his idol Raphael. Writers have repeatedly proposed Bindo Altoviti as the source for Scheffer’s Self-PortraitS He had apparently never seen the Altoviti picture, but a small reproductive engraving by Friedrich John - labeled a self-portrait and based on a miniature copy of the painting - had appeared in a readily available Viennese journal in 1818.6 The year 1820 was a Raphael year: on 6 April ceremonies were held in Munich and elsewhere to commemorate the master’s death three hundred years earlier. Scheffer, called Raffaellino by his friends, might well have assumed the pose in the Altoviti picture as an anniversary year tribute. One would like to believe that the distant image in Munich, filtered through print translations, had the power to lend an identity and a burst of strength to the mortally ill painter for his final Self-Portrait. Another artist doomed to an early death, Victor Emil Janssen, not only knew the orig­ inal of the Altoviti portrait, but derived from it several powerful self-images. Only twenty-one and newly arrived in Munich in 1828, he began a merciless view of himself, borrowing an over-the-shoulder gaze from Raphael, as well as an association with the sufferings of Christ from the Durer hanging next to it in the gallery. In 1833 a stipend to study in Rome temporarily revived his hopes for wellness and stability. Recalling the Raphael, he translated Bindo Altoviti into a Self-Portrait (fig. 58).8 His red cap replaces Bindo’s black beret, his thumb presses on his fingers in a similar gesture, and he even wears a forefinger ring. A notable difference is that Janssen moved Bindo’s ring to the

88

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

other hand. Posing his own true left hand on his chest — the right hand, that is, in a reflection — the artist painted his image as it appeared in the mirror. If Raphael had painted his own reflection, not a portrait of the young banker, the ring in the panel would have been on his true right forefinger. Unlike Bottari and other scholars, artists were aware of the discrepancy of seeing a painter’s right hand at rest.9 Looking into a mirror made it clear to the German art student that the Munich portrait could scarcely have been painted in that manner, and, faithful to his reflection, Janssen indicated his upper right arm — seen in the picture as the figure’s left arm — reaching out of the picture space to record his image. Ingres seems to have pursued no such rigorous investigations of the portrait he believed to be Raphael, an image he would deploy throughout his long life. For him the Renais­ sance painter was neither a man nor a demigod, but “a god descended to earth.”10 His contemporaries also adored and copied Raphael, among them Gericault, Girodet, Delacroix, Delaroche, and Degas, to name only the best-known French artists of the period. But Ingres’s devotion was more totemic than theirs. His sojourns in Italy per­ mitted a prolonged experience of original works, the frescoes in particular; even during his first stay, Ingres was in Rome longer than Raphael had lived there. An ample descrip­ tive vocabulary has developed to characterize what is often called Ingres’s Raphael cult. There are few words strong enough to apply to what some see in the French artist as pathology, others as religion: words associated with obsession, fetish, haunting, and rein­ carnation are used in connection with his work more frequently than the neutral terms source or inspiration. Ingres was no longer a student when he wrote to a friend, “I will know how to be original by imitating.”11 He was in his early forties. Trace elements of the Altoviti por­ trait in Ingres’s paintings and drawings are more than mere imitation and can best be understood in the context of the French painter’s unremitting absorption and reflux of the work of Raphael as a whole. “Nourissez-vous-en, Messieurs!”12 With these words Ingres, then fifty-four, urged the study of Raphael on the young pensioners at the Villa Medici in Rome. His counsel to emulate his life-long relationship with the Cinquecento painter and to feast on Raphael was one of his most serious pedagogical concepts. He was sharing the essence of his own practice, and his intention was worshipful, even eucharistic in nature.

The Young Ingres If artists today still painted genre scenes about the lives of their predecessors, one would surely bear the title The Young Ingres Sees a Copy of the Madonna della Sedia. Ingres was eleven or twelve when his painting teacher showed him a copy of Raphael’s masterwork at Palazzo Pitti, probably taken from a print. No matter if it came to him second or third hand, the Raphael tondo had appeared to the awestruck adolescent “like a star in the sky.”13 A few days before Ingres left the Toulouse academy for Paris in August 1797, the first Raphael works from Italy had been unloaded in the Louvre courtyard: the St. Cecilia altarpiece from Bologna and the cartoon from the Ambrosiana in Milan for the School

Manna, from Heaven

89

ofAthens fresco in the Vatican.14 An additional shipment of Italian treasures — among them the Transfiguration and the Madonna di Foligno — had just sailed from Livorno for Marseilles; they would reach Paris nearly a year later. On 27 July 1798 the crated Raphaels, draped with garlands, were carted through the streets with the other masterpieces in a spectacular procession from the Jardin des Plantes to the Champs de Mars.15 More than likely, the seventeen-year-old Ingres stood somewhere along that parade route. The pic­ tures seized in 1799 from Palazzo Pitti, however, did not arrive until the first day of the new century. Ingres therefore had to wait until the spring of 1800 to see the original Madonna della Sediafr In September 1801, before all the Italian Raphaels were on display in the museum, Ingres — barely twenty-one and among David’s most promising students - won the prin­ cipal award to French artists, the Grand Prix de Rome. Shortage of state funds delayed his departure for five years, during which he may have copied at least two of the new Raphael works in the Louvre. He chose two Pitti pictures: Cardinal Bibbiena and the Madonna dell’Impannatafr When he produced his small gem of a copy of the Impan­ nata, the young Ingres was probably unaware that Vasari had described this Raphael picture in 1550 as hanging in Palazzo Altoviti in Florence. Studying an object commis­ sioned by Bindo was the first time Ingres unknowingly rubbed shoulders with the Renais­ sance banker. It would not be the last. In compensation for the postponement of his study grant for Rome, the government allotted Ingres a small stipend and a studio in a secularized convent in Paris. There he worked alongside a number of other artists, some of whom he immortalized in portraits of exceptional beauty.18 When his father visited Paris in 1804, Ingres depicted Joseph Ingres turning to meet the viewer’s gaze over the right shoulder, as does Ingres himself in a Self-Portrait of that year.19 What happened to this painting, the first of Ingres’s rare self-portraits, is so difficult to determine that it remains uncertain whether it is lost alto­ gether or still partially surviving in a repainting dating from around 1850 (fig. 59). Par­ ticularly in its final form, but even in what is known of the original version, this key painting appears to be in some way an avatar of the Altoviti portrait.20 Ingres painted the picture in 1804 as part of the sequence of intimate portraits of his friends and his father.21 A painted copy, an etching, and a photograph document the earlier picture, before Ingres reduced and altered it in this late version in Chantilly. And another painted copy made between 1850 and i860 appears to reverse some of those changes. The earlier copy by Julie Forestier (private collection) was painted at Ingres’s written request from Rome in January 1807.22 The young copyist, engaged to Ingres a few months before he left for Italy, set to work replicating an image so harshly criticized at the Salon of 1806 that her fiance had threatened never to show his work there again. The exhibi­ tion had opened in mid-September after Ingres left Paris, but Julie’s father had sent him a packet of press clippings. One writer had described Ingres’s face in the Self-Portrait as “somber and fierce”; he called the painting a caricature.23 The Forestier family’s hopes for his prospects would not have been raised by the devastating attack in the press, and Ingres told his prospective father-in-law that a cabal led by Denon had conspired to ruin his reputation; until late in his life the painter would continue to refer to Denon as his « · · »24 anti-moi.

90

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

3'he second piece of evidence concerning the original image is an undated etching sur­ viving in a single proof in the Musée Ingres in Montauban (fig. 6o).25 The etching intro­ duces puzzles of its own. In Julie Forestier’s copy, Ingres holds a sharpened chalk stick in his right hand and reaches with his left - a ring on his third finger - to wipe a seem­ ingly empty canvas on an easel with his handkerchief, which is red-bordered and mono-

Manna from Heaven

91 59 fracing page) J.-A.-D. Ingres, Self-Portrait at the Age of Twenty-Four, 1804, revised c. 1850. Oil on canvas, 78 X 61 cm. Chantilly, Musée Conde.

60 ?Jean-Louis Potrelle, after Ingres, Self-Portrait of 1804. Etching, retouched with graphite and white gouache, 47.4 X 29.8 cm. Montauban, Musee Ingres.

grammed with a red “I.” The same baleful Salon critic wrote of the handkerchief “which he applies for no apparent reason to a still-blank canvas.”26 I he scant visual evidence of the 1804 painting, nevertheless, contradicts the critics’ observations. On the etching, the canvas is not blank: the portrait of his friend Jean-François Gilibert appears there in a rough outline drawing, and next to Gilibert on the white ground of the canvas in this etching is a penciled partial drawing of Ingres’s face from the self-portrait.2 The outline of Gilibert is also visible in the third reproduction of the 1804 portrait, a photograph taken around 1850, as well as in the late painted copy dating from 1850-60 (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art).26 1 he Metropolitan copy formerly showed Ingres’s left hand, not reaching out with his handkerchief as in the 1804 picture, but poised on his

92

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

chest, as in his late Chantilly version.29 This ringed hand, the shadow of the head on the background behind the hand, the angle of the head, and the curving droop of the velvetcollared coat down the back — all these elements introduced in Ingress revised canvas add up to a reinterpretation of Bindo Altoviti in modern dress. The picture reveals almost nothing of the alternating embellishment and effacement of its content.30 The frail chain of evidence linking the painting to its original version and the multiple reworkings of the image and its copies bring tantalizing questions to any consideration of the Self-Portrait. Henry Lapauze, writing in 1911, gave up trying to explain its permutations: “Ingres presents us here with an enigma more indecipherable than that which engaged Oedipus and the Sphinx.”31 Did the middle-aged Ingres, con­ fronted with this remarkable face of his youth when he returned to France in 1824, add the ghostly outline of his boyhood friend to the canvas, only to show himself wiping it out with the handkerchief? In the further transformation of the picture after 1850, the face of Gilibert, the handkerchief, and the canvas itself disappear from the composition. Instead, the spirit of Raphael’s Bindo Altoviti — possibly the origin of even the earlier pose - becomes more explicit, the hand with its ring lending grace and definition to the hidden left side of the figure. In the middle of the eighteenth century a leap of the imagination transformed the Altoviti panel into Raphael’s image when the elderly Bottari - and those who believed him — looked at the portrait and envisioned a missing mirror. Did Ingres make a similar imaginative leap, turning from his easel to a mirror and recalling a print of the Altoviti portrait? Had this association with the Munich Raphael, evident in the late Chantilly picture, formed in his mind when he painted the first version? What, in fact, could Ingres have known of the Altoviti portrait in 1804? He had not seen the original, and indeed he probably never saw it. Yet every reproductive print labeled the panel an image of the master. Ingres’s own collection included a print after the portrait, the engraving published in 1771 by Giovanni Battista Cecchi (fig. 61).32 He could, of course, have acquired this sheet at any point in his life: it may have come from his father’s print collection or from a grateful patron, or he might have purchased it himself. The Ingres collection also included a painted copy of the Altoviti panel. A faithful, though not brilliant copy, it has been attributed - with much hesitation - to Ingres himself.33 The painter had only one brief opportunity to see, and perhaps to copy, the Altoviti panel. In the autumn of 1806 he spent a week in Florence on his way to Rome. The portrait is not mentioned in his letters from this first visit which name only Masaccio; Ingres had studied the murals in Santa Maria del Carmine. By the time he returned in 1820, the panel had been in Munich for a decade. During the four years spent in Florence in the 1820s, however, he could have seen a copy of the painting. The process through which Ingres, nurtured on Raphael, used this elixir in his por­ traits around 1804 is not documented by heaps of drawings, as it is for later projects, so any expectation of proof must be abandoned. Still, an effort to detect his uses of Raphael enhances the pleasure of looking at nearly any work by Ingres.34 Examining the painter’s other Salon entries of 1806, for example, Philip Conisbee speaks of a “discreet homage” in Madame Philibert Rivière (Paris, Louvre), in which the sitter becomes a “modern Madonna della Sedia," embodying the engraving casually displayed at her husband’s

Manna from Heaven

93

61 Giovanni Battista Cecchi, after drawing by Ignazio Hugford, Raffael' Sanzio [Bindo Altoviti], 1771. Engraving and etching, 16.9 X 12.7 cm. Montauban, Musée Ingres, o

elbow in his pendant portrait of 1804-05.35 Even more astonishing, as Conisbee points out, is the face of the semi-nude Fornarina from Palazzo Barberini atop the virginal body of Mademoiselle Caroline Riviere, also in the Louvre. The transformation of Bindo Altoviti into the self-portrait of an ambitious young painter seems in this context perfectly natural, almost self-evident.

Rome Ingres entered true Raphael territory on 11 October 1806. When he stood near the great marble basin in front of the Villa Medici on the Pincio, the city of Rome spread out below him.36 The panorama encompassed the setting of some of Raphael’s greatest tri­ umphs — the Vatican and the Farnesina, for example — as well as the immense dome of the Pantheon over his grave. Only the Transfiguration and a copy of the Madonna di Loreto had been seized for Paris; the frescoes remained in place. In fact, one Raphael picture had already returned to Rome: Lucien Bonaparte’s Madonna of the Candelabra (now in Baltimore, Walters Art Museum).3 Lonely at first, Ingres had to endure the onset of a chilly Roman winter before his spirits improved. On Christmas Day 1806 he wrote to the Forestiers: “I am going to live in a small house at the far end of the garden,

94

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

where I will be alone and consequently more at liberty, where I will have a much more beautiful view than before and — invaluable — a fine studio with a northern exposure. This house, a little like a hermitage, looks out over Rome, and I shall move in tomorrow. ”38 Ingres’s move from the main villa to a garden pavilion marked the beginning of a love affair with Rome. In good weather his friend Marins-François Granet introduced him to parts of the city beyond the villa walls.39 By the time Ingres arrived in Italy, Granet had established himself as a landscape painter. Though never attached to the Villa Medici, he was welcomed into its circle of accomplished young Frenchmen and obtained a studio in the former convent of the Minim friars attached to Trinità dei Monti. Along with numerous other artists, Ingres would also have a studio there, and the French church on the Pincio, whose double towers had dominated the panoramic view from his window during his student days, would increasingly become the hub of his activity in Rome. It was also the burial place of Bindo Altoviti. The mortal remains of Bindo, as well as those of his son Giovanni Battista and his daughter-in-law Clarice Ridolfi, had been scattered when the church was pillaged in 1798. The convent cells where Ingres, Granet, and others set up their easels had served to billet French troops only a decade earlier. After the expulsion of the friars, looters and grave­ robbers stripped the church bare. By 1800, when the Minims returned to their convent, the bells had been melted down, and the vault had collapsed. To survey the damage, the order engaged an architect, who described the Altoviti chapel:

On entering, to the right, the debris of the Altoviti tomb; the gate of their chapel is torn away, the walls are damaged by stripping; damage to the paintings; only the base of the altar remains; the painting {Baptism of Our Lord} was detached and is now in the chapel on the other side; its setting in yellow Sienese marble is partly missing, as well as the two columns in antique yellow marble that framed it; the window is gone; the vault, entirely painted, has cracks; the pavement is in good condition, but the stone that covered the tomb has disappeared.40

After the French reoccupied the city in February 1808, Trinità dei Monti and its convent became something of an annex to the Villa Medici, whose director set up his own studio in the choir of the ruined church.41 Napoleon annexed the Papal States to France in May 1809, and in February the following year Rome officially became the second capital of the French empire.42 Ingres, when his state stipend ended in Novem­ ber 1810, saw no reason to return to France’s first capital, which had treated him so badly. Seeking patrons among the French civil servants who moved to Rome after the occupa­ tion, he began with a portrait of Charles Marcotte.43 Ingres also won the favor of the powerful governor of Rome, General Sextius Miollis, who had admired his work in an international exhibition in late 1809.44 Ingres’s old enemy Denon arrived in 1811 to devise the decorative program for the conversion of Monte Cavallo, formerly the papal resi­ dence on the Quirinale, into apartments for Napoleon’s infant son, the King of Rome, and his parents.45 With the governor’s support to counter any potential opposition from Denon, Ingres won two official commissions for the Quirinale palace, as well as a working space in the tribune of the Trinità. There, in the gallery behind the semicircular window on the façade, Ingres set to work on his Romulus, 5 meters in length, painted directly

Manna from Heaven

95

above the Altoviti chapel and Bindo’s desecrated tomb.46 His second major work for the Quirinale, the Dream of Ossian (Montauban, Musée Ingres), was intended for the ceiling of Napoleon’s bedroom. But Napoleon, who carried James Macpherson’s spurious trans­ lations of the Nordic bard on his campaigns, would never enter Rome and neither saw nor slept under the Ingres painting. By the time the Dream of Ossian was, installed in 1813, Napoleon had returned from Russia and, his army decimated, was facing strength­ ened allied forces and the imminent collapse of the empire. A relatively small, calm, and important painting by Ingres from that year obliquely reflects the turbulence of the political situation. Although Pope Pius VII in the Sistine Chapel (fig. 62) was a private, not an official commission, Ingres nevertheless aimed the picture at a broad public. His patron Marcotte had seen a drawing in Ingres’s studio related to the subject of the pope, and in 1812 asked Ingres for a painting on that theme. Responding to Marcotte’s request, Ingres wrote to his patron in December that he intended to start work in a few weeks. In this first letter of a life-long correspondence, Ingres announced that he wanted “to cause some noise at the Salon” and to prove “to the gentlemen genre painters” that only history painters could excel at every category of art, including genre scenes.47 During the summer of 1813 Ingres mentioned to Marcotte that he was working on his picture in a “joli atelier” in the Trinità.48 This pretty studio was not the church gallery where he worked on his large commissions, but the smaller space in the convent assigned him in 1810. There he completed Marcotte’s Sistine Chapel, including himself among the trainbearers as a witness to Maundy Thursday rites some years earlier, before Napoleon exiled the pope and his cardinals. Of the figures to the pope’s right, in the row of dark-clad attendants below the seven cardinals, Ingres is the fourth from the right. He was especially pleased when Marcotte recognized his tiny self­ portrait, even though, he told his patron, he had not painted himself while looking in • 49 a mirror. Ingres did not need a mirror. For his trainbearer’s face, he used a drawing made several years earlier. As Daniel Ternois suggests, this sketch (fig. 63), dated 1809 and now in Besançon, may be the one that Marcotte admired in Ingres’s studio, the drawing that led him to commission the painting.50 The guard’s face in the Besançon drawing, seen in three-quarters view and looking over his right shoulder, comes from Ingres’s Self-Portrait of 1804 (fig. 59); its other source may well be Bindo Altoviti. Thus, in a picture conceived to miniaturize the pope, a goodly fraction of the sacred college of cardinals, and Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, Ingres also - albeit unconsciously - miniaturized Raphael’s portrait of the beautiful banker. Planned in part as a daring reference to the kidnapped curia, the painting was even more pertinent when the finished work arrived in Paris during the eventful spring of 1814. In January Napoleon had sent the pope, under house arrest at Fontainebleau since shortly before Marcotte commissioned the painting, back to his palace prison in Savona; then, as the allies approached the French capital in March, he issued orders to return Pius VII to Rome. When Ingres wrote his third letter to Marcotte in May 1814, the pope had just made his triumphant entry through the Porta del Popolo, and Napoleon was himself imprisoned on Elba.51 Ingres had satisfied a state commission for the emperor’s bedroom in one studio at the Trinità and completed a faintly subversive Sistine Chapel in another. The fall of Napoleon reversed the fate of these pictures. The Dream of Ossian

96

62 (above) J.-A.-D. Ingres, Pope Pius VII in the Sistine Chapel, 1814. Oil on canvas, 74.5 X 92.7 cm. Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection.

63 J.-A.-D. Ingres, Pope Pius VII Officiating at a Public Ceremony, 1809. Graphite, India ink, and watercolor, 25 X 20.1 cm. Besançon, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie.

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Manna from Heaven

91

64 J.-A.-D. Ingres, Betrothal of Raphael to the Niece of Cardinal Bibbiena, 1814. Oil on paper, mounted on a double thickness of fabric, 59 X 46 cm. Baltimore, The Walters Art Museum.

vanished from the Quirinale into obscurity; Ingres bought it for a pittance when he returned to Rome in 1835. The Sistine Chapel, by contrast, went to Marcotte in Paris, where it had its first public exhibition at the Salon of 1814?2

A Visit to Naples Beyond absorbing it as a self-image linking his own face with the master’s, Ingres found other uses for the Altoviti portrait. Completing Marcotte’s Sistine Chapel, where the miniature self-portrait served as a supplementary coded signature, he also used the Munich panel as a documentary source for a figure of the historic Raphael. He told Mar­ cotte in late May 1814 that he was proud of his success in painting in twenty days the Betrothal of Raphael to the Niece of Cardinal Bibbiena (fig. 64).53 Because of his speed, perhaps, there are only five drawings associated with the picture, and only three of them can be regarded as preparatory sketches. A drawing in the Louvre, though dated 1812, is considered to be a later variant of the painting from around 1825.54 The last of the five, created some forty years after the painting, is a graphite and watercolor drawing on tracing paper (fig. 55).15 This late version, dated 1864 and now in the Fogg Art Museum, appears to have been traced from the Louvre drawing, then altered and enhanced with watercolor and gouache, a process comparable with Ingres’s various reworkings of the

98

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Self-Portrait in Chantilly. In his quest for perfection, Ingres could not tamper with the original of the Betrothal, which he believed to be lost.56 The drawing of 1864 shows Ingres, at the end of his life, rejecting competing images and ignoring scholarly denials that the Altoviti panel represented Raphael. For his final version of the Betrothal scene, as in his alterations to the Chantilly Self-Portrait, he reaffirmed his vision of Raphael in the Munich portrait. The Betrothal is thought to be one of several pictures painted for Napoleon’s sister Car­ oline Murat, Queen of Naples, who also commissioned Ingres’s sumptuous Grande Odal­ isque (1814; Paris, Louvre), another work haunted by the spirit of Raphael’s Bindo Altovitif Ingres’s friend François Mazois, whose survey of Pompeii had been financed through his appointment as the Murats’ court architect, arranged for Ingres to go to Naples in 1814. Although the dates and extent of the trip are disputed, Ingres apparently left for Naples around the time the French — his principal clients — evacuated Rome. If Ternois is correct, Ingres departed in early March for a stay of no more than two months.58 Ingres would thus have been in Naples when his father died on 14 March and was still there when Napoleon abdicated in April. The Murats had abandoned the emperor in January that year, signing a treaty with the Austrians that would enable them to keep the throne in Naples until 1815.59 In a household seething, no doubt, with schemes and uncertainties in the days immediately following the collapse of the French empire, Ingres set about his work: first and foremost, a full-length portrait of the parvenu queen (now in a private collection).60 He made pencil studies to be used in Murat family portraits, then returned to Rome to paint the Neapolitan commissions. Among them was the Betrothal, his first medley based on multiple Raphael sources. The documentary research Ingres performed for his three main figures and their setting makes his execu­ tion of the Betrothal in only twenty days well worth boasting about.61 Several scholars have noticed the adaptation of Bindo’s head and hand, particularly in the drawings, for Raphael’s figure in the Betrothalf For his costume in the painted version, Ingres borrowed the fur-collared, stripe-trimmed mantle from the Musician (fig. 65) then in Palazzo Sciarra, where it was called a Raphael self-portrait. Often acknowl­ edged as well is Ingres’s use of the portrait of Bibbiena from Palazzo Pitti as a source for the cardinal himself, and some have seen inspiration for the pose of Maria Bibbiena in the Virgin from the Sposalizio. Her figure is linked more often, however, with Sebastiano’s Portrait of a Woman in the Uffizi (see fig. 39), labeled the Fornarina by Puccini and attributed by him to Raphael. The Betrothal was one of fourteen subjects from the life of Raphael listed by Ingres in a notebook, Cahier IX.63 Four biographical episodes in his list can be matched with Ingres drawings, but only two with paintings, the Betrothal and Raphael and the Fornarinaf To depict Raphael in love, a recurrent theme in his work, Ingres would again find a source in Bindo Altoviti.

Ingres and the Fornarina

Mazois may have done Ingres no favor by involving him with the rulers in Naples. “The fall of the Murat family [. . .] ruined me,” the artist wrote to Gilibert in 1818, “through paintings lost or delivered but not paid for.”65 In another matter, however, Mazois’s medi-

Manna from Heaven

99

65 Jacob Felsing, Raphael Sanzio d’Urbino, 1818. Engraving after Sebastiano del Piombo, Musician (Paris, Rothschild Collection), 34.4 X 25.5 cm. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Cabinet des Estampes.

ation served him well: Ingres, two ruptured engagements behind him, was introduced to a friend who proposed her cousin Madeleine Chapelle as a potential match. In response to a letter of August 1813, the young woman agreed to come to Rome. From the moment he watched her descend from the carriage at Nero’s tomb on the via Cassia, Ingres was more than satisfied with his choice, and they were married in December.66 Madeleine moved into Ingres’s rooms in via Gregoriana, and, as 1814 unfolded, the couple soon entered the most trying months of their marriage. Upon his return from Naples, he invited his widowed mother to join them in Rome. When she arrived in late summer, Ingres found himself without a clientele, but with three mouths to feed and another on the way. He had told Marcotte that he would soon be a father, but the baby was still­ born, and the couple would remain childless.6 Works from this difficult period, however, are far from bleak and include the earliest versions of Raphael and the Fornarina. The story of Raphael and his muse, the baker’s daughter, had inspired Ingres to make several drawings in the past. One might want to link the Fornarina theme to the painter’s marriage, but these drawings were earlier, and a first painting on the subject is mentioned in a letter to Marcotte in July 1813.68 Four of the five painted versions of the theme survive in the United States, including one in the Fogg Art Museum, which was exhibited at the Salon of 1814 and is believed to be the second in the sequence (fig. 66).69 In this work, as in the other four paintings, the painter, significantly, turns away from his mistress toward his easel. Compared with the other four pictures, the Fornarina in the Fogg version is relatively decorous and primly clad. But the most surprising aspect of the series

IOO

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

66 J.-A.-D. Ingres, Raphael and the Fornarina, 1814. Oil on canvas, 68 X 55 cm. Cambridge, Mass., Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University Art Museums, Bequest of Grenville L. Winthrop.

is that Ingres did not use the Altoviti portrait to document Raphael's appearance, as he had for the Betrothal scenes. Instead, he used the Raphael panel for the figure of the Fornarina. Two splendid pencil drawings from a model for this figure demonstrate competing Raphael sources merging in the face and pose of his beloved. The first drawing was prob­ ably the sheet at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a standing version (fig. 67). In the lower right corner Ingres explores a ringed left hand, reminiscent of Bindo’s, which he would use in the painting now in the Fogg Art Museum. There the Fornarina grasps the end of her turban with her left hand poised on her chest, much as Bindo seems to pinch a fold of his mantle in Raphael’s painting. The angle of the model’s head in this drawing is bent, however, recalling the curves of the Madonna della Sedia. Even closer to the paint­ ing is a second drawing, a nude study in the Kunstmuseum, Berne, where Ingres simi-

Manna from Heaven

67 J.-A.-D. Ingres, Study for Raphael and the Fornarina, c. 1814. Graphite, 25.4 X 19.7 cm. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Robert Lehman Collection. (1975.1.646).

IOI

68 J.-A.-D. Ingres, Study for Raphael and the Fornarina, c. 1813. Graphite, 24.6 X 22 cm. Montauban, Musee Ingres.

larly searches with his pencil for a solution to placing the Fornarina’s left hand. But his model is upright, as in the painting, where Raphael at once embraces his opulently clad lover and regards her half-nude reflection in the drawing on his easel, the Fornarina in the Palazzo Barberini. Engaging the viewer with her glance over her right shoulder, her face in three-quarter view, her ample sleeve contrasted with a bare back, Ingres’s Forna­ rina is Bindo reincarnated as a woman. " Only one drawing (fig. 68) - apparently early in the series and the only one in which Raphael does not turn toward his easel — con­ nects the male figure, despite its reversal, with Bindo Altoviti. Ingres sent the version of the Fornarina now in the Fogg to Paris at the end of 1814. There it joined three of his other works that had been hanging in the Salon since Novem­ ber. The unusually long exhibition — reviews were still appearing in February and March - closed temporarily one week before the escaped former emperor re-entered Paris. Then, ironically, this Salon full of pro-Bourbon works — including Ingres’s Sistine Chapel and his Don Pedro of Toledo Kissing the Sword of Henry IV — reopened and remained on the walls long enough for Denon to bring Napoleon to see it on 10 April. 1 Thanks to Ingres and Marcotte, the emperor had a chance to see once again the faces of his opponents Pius VII and his cardinals, some two months before the Battle of Waterloo.

*

*

*

102

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Ingres’s Vow: “Rctphctelesque and Mine” Ingres returned to Paris in November 1824. Earlier that year Quatremere in his mono­ graph had anointed Raphael as the standard bearer of ideal beauty and the true succes­ sor to the Greeks. His influential book, issued a few months before Ingres arrived in France, temporarily shifted the center of gravity for Raphael studies back to Paris. The Louvre catalogue of 1823 could still list over a dozen Raphael works, although the chief masterpieces removed under Napoleon from Italian churches had been carted back to their homeland, arriving there early in 1816 to begin a new life as museum objects. When Ingres came back to the French capital in 1824, fewer than half as many paintings attrib­ uted to Raphael hung at the Louvre as had been on display when he left for Rome in 1806. Yet, in the wake of Quatremere’s book, there was a keen awareness of Raphael in the air. Having prolonged his stay in Italy to nearly two decades, Ingres was not certain he wanted to resettle in France. Leaving his wife in Florence, where they had lived since late 1820, he brought with him instead a new painting. His decision about remaining in France would depend on the reception of this work, commissioned by the government on 29 August 1820 (his fortieth birthday) for the cathedral in his hometown, Montauban. Produced during more than three years of intense labor in Florence, the Vow of Louis XIII, with its rich brew of motifs borrowed from the master, was a paean to Raphael. The Restoration had entered a new phase shortly before Ingres belatedly hung his new painting in the state exhibition. Louis XVIII died in mid-September 1824, less than a month after the opening of the Salon; in an essay the poet Heinrich Heine would describe the Bourbon monarch as “literally rotting on the throne.”72 The late king’s still vigorous brother, Charles X, leader of the reactionary ultra-royalists, made his ceremonial entry into Paris at the end of September. By 12 November, when Ingres put his monumental painting on display, the Vow of Louis XLII could be seen as a multi-layered homage to the Bourbon dynasty. With this commission, Ingres invoked Raphael to honor an ances­ tor of the recently deceased Louis XVIII and to mirror a renewed contemporary com­ mitment of the State to the Church. “The true believers,” Ingres wrote to Gilibert in November 1824, “say that this paint­ ing, which is entirely Italian, has arrived at an auspicious moment to put an end to bad taste; and the name of Raphael (unworthy though I may be) is mentioned in the same breath as mine. [. . J they say I am inspired by him without copying him, being full of his spirit.”73 Three years earlier, when he started work on the commission for Montauban, Ingres had promised himself: “I will spare nothing to make the thing Raphaelesque and mine.”74 That critics welcomed the Vow as Italian signaled a change of fortune and the triumph of his strategy. Freed from the stigma of the word Gothic and flying the banner of Raphael, Ingres became, for some, the redeemer of French art. Charles X personally decorated him with the cross of the Legion of Honor on 15 January 1825. Writing that day to his wife, still in Florence, Ingres rejoiced: “I have the cross, the king just gave it to me in the middle of the Salon, as if I were on my battlefield. [. . .] Everyone honors me by saying, Oh! This is a cross well deserved.”75 He decided to stay in Paris, and the king confirmed his success by inviting Ingres to document his coronation at Rheims cathedral. A final coup de chance came later that year when Denon, attending an art auction, caught a cold and died. Ingres took enormous and vengeful pleasure in apply-

Manna fi'om Heaven

103

ing for and winning — by one vote over his rival Horace Vernet — his late enemy’s seat in the Academic des Beaux-Arts. Vernet was nevertheless voted into the academy the following summer. In that year, 1826, he and Ingres were among the artists commissioned by the king to paint ceilings for the new rooms devoted to Egyptian art in the Louvre. Although both Ingres and Vernet depicted Raphael in their paintings unveiled in December 1827, neither of them found inspiration in the Altoviti panel. Vernet’s Raphael profile was a pastiche, while Ingres, for his Apotheosis of Homer, derived the pose and costume of his Raphael from the figure accompanying the litter bearers in the Expulsion ofHeliodorus fresco (fig. 16).76 1 hat Ingres and Vernet chose other sources, not Bindo Altoviti, to represent Raphael sug­ gests that artists, and not only art critics, had come to doubt Bottari’s identification. The painters began their Louvre ceiling decorations only two years after Quatremere pub­ lished his arguments denying that the Munich portrait represented Raphael. Yet Ingres did not resort to using Quatremere’s favorite, the Uffizi Self-Portrait, even though he had copied it during his four years in Florence. In Ingres’s Apotheosis of Homer the Greek painter Apelles takes Raphael by the hand and leads him toward the throne of the blind poet. To walk with Apelles among the immortals, Ingres found in the Vatican fresco a more compelling model than the armless youth in the Uffizi. Choosing artists' faces and figures, as the team of painters had to do for their Louvre commission in 1827, was a challenging task. Biographical genre scenes about artists especially Raphael, and the Fornarina in particular - had become a staple of the Paris Salons. s A new series of lithographs, launched in 1822, fed an interest in artists' portraits in France as 69 Jean-Baptiste Mauzaisse, Raphael, 1822. Lithograph, strong, apparently, as in mid-eighteenth-century Flo­ 23.7 X 20 cm. (from Jean-Claude Chabert, Galerie des rence. 9 Repackaging scores of familiar self-portraits peintres, 1, pl. 24). Vienna, Österreichische National­ in the most modern print medium, the artist Jeanbibliothek, Bildarchiv. Baptiste Mauzaisse rejected for his Raphael image both the panel in the Uffizi and Bindo Altoviti. To depict the Renaissance artist, Mauzaisse chose instead to isolate the figure on the left in the Louvre’s double portrait popularly known as Raphael and his Fencing Master (fig. 69). Then, only two years after Mauzaisse signed and dated his stone, Quatremere questioned whether the double portrait in the Louvre could be by or of Raphael, saying of the figure on the left: “This big head, slightly bearded, seems to us to be that of Marcantonio [Rai­ mondi].”80 The widely distributed Mauzaisse litho­ graph, soon after it was printed, thus became for Quatremere a bearer of misinformation on the scale of the engraving captioned “Raffaello” in Bottari’s edition of the Lives or Morghen’s popular reproduc­ tion. As Vasari had discovered much earlier, selecting a picture of an artist’s face that could be accepted as authentic was far from easy.

104

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

70 Johan Gustaf Sandberg, Five Artists: Poussin, Raphael, Rubens, Dürer, and Rembrandt, 1828. Oil on canvas, 48 X 60 cm. Stockholm, Nationalmuseum.

The Louvre murals by Ingres and Verner were among the earliest of the fictive gath­ erings of artists commissioned by museums and academies across Europe as an interface with a growing public. Raphael — larger than life and often paired with a sulky Michelan­ gelo — appeared on museum stairwells and ceilings for the rest of the nineteenth century. His image, however, was never based on Binde» Alterniti. Only once, in a small-scale, half­ length precursor of the trend, a canvas signed and dated the year after Ingres completed his Louvre ceiling, did Bindo find a place in the prestigious company of Poussin, Rubens, Rembrandt, and — predictably — Dürer (1828 marked the tercentenary of his death). Oblivious to Quatremère’s arguments, perhaps, or in disagreement, a Swedish professor at the Stockholm academy, Johan Gustaf Sandberg, copied the Munich panel into the foreground of a cluster of eminent painters (fig. 70).81 Sandberg’s source for the other four figures was the lithograph series by Mauzaisse, but he rejected the bearded, wearyeyed Raphael from the Louvre’s double portrait. Sandberg may, like Quatremère and others, have been unconvinced of the identification or even rhe attribution of the Louvre canvas. More likely, in light of the rapid diffusion of reproductive prints labeling the Altoviti portrait as Raphael’s image, the Swedish artist simply chose the face that his viewers could most easily identify. In any case, Sandberg's small group portrait was an apotheosis of the Renaissance banker as a stand-in for the painter who, for Ingres, was a god descended to earth. Nearly ten years after their Raphael ceilings were unveiled in the Louvre, Ingres, once again harshly received at the Salon, Hed Paris to replace Vernet as director at the École de France in Rome. When Ingres and his wife moved into the Villa Medici, the academy had new neighbors on the Pincio. In 1828 the Dames du Sacre Coeur had established a girls’ school in the former convent of the Minims adjoining Trinità dei Monti, where Ingres had once had his studio. Just before Christmas 1838 the new French ambassador reminded the mother superior that the order had been responsible for the church for ten years, yet still had made no inventory of the works of art in their custody. He appointed

Manna from Heaven

105

Ingres to conduct a survey of the current state of affairs “without delay” and instructed the nuns to select an architect of their choice to represent them in this task.82 Somewhat overwhelmed by his administrative duties, Ingres completed his assignment, but with considerable delay. His eight-page list, dated 14 May 1840, begins with the Altoviti chapel. According to Ingres’s brief remarks, Naldini’s late Cinquecento Baptism of Christ, found on the opposite side of the church in the survey of 1800, was back in place over the altar. Ingres then proceeded to the second chapel on the right, where the altarpiece was his own Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter (Montauban, Musée Ingres); it had spent the past twenty years next to the Altoviti chapel.8’ His inventory is perfunc­ tory, apart from a single passionate plea for immediate action to protect Daniele da Volterra’s Deposition from the moist wall of the Borghese chapel opposite the resting place of the Altoviti. Ingres’s list says little about the other art in the church, but it does reveal that at least once, in the spring of 1840, Ingres revisited Trinità dei Monti. The works he painted there - large official commissions in the gallery and intimate canvases in his convent studio — had changed his luck, and the success of the St. Peter altarpiece in Rome had led to the commission for the Vow of Louis XIII. In the church, Ingres stepped across Bindo’s repaired, though probably empty tomb. Before he moved on, the painter noted the surviving marble plaques flanking the altar with the Altoviti coat of arms, the rampant wolf (fig. 71). His last inspection of the church serves as a reminder that in those precincts on the Pincio, the ghost of Bindo could join forces with Ingres’s permanent companion, the shade of Raphael, to inspire and nourish the imagination of one of France’s most remarkable painters.

71 Giovanni Antonio Dosio, Altoviti coat of arms, c. 1579. Marble. Rome, Trinità dei Monti.

6 Whose Face? The Search for Authenticity

And. no one can love the withered hull, Whatever beauteous, noble kernel it once contained. From Goethe, “Charnel-house Poem,” 18261

HEN the last Bourbon king distributed awards at the close of the Salon of 1824, the ceremony in the Louvre brought together several of the leading charac­ ters in the story of the Altoviti portrait. Ingres, Quatremère de Quincy, and Madame Vigée-Lebrun - nearly seventy years old and still exhibiting - were all in the Salon Carré that day. The scene was a pantheon of French art and power, and François-Joseph Heim treated it as such in his painting of the occasion, a panoramic assembly of contempo­ rary artists and the court officials who managed Restoration art politics. Acclaimed at the Salon of 1827, Heim’s painting had a broader appeal than Ingres’s ceiling for the museum. Ingres complained that even Charles X, who had commissioned the picture, did not bother to look up at it. The Heim painting, with its real courtiers and artists, was more accessible. Quatremère de Quincy, identified in the key published with an aquatint reproduction of the painting, stands to the left among the spectators (fig. 73). From his position behind and above Heim’s charming vignette of a woman in profile, the irascible author of the successful new Raphael book looks away from the scene.2 Among the men in front of him are two former students at the Villa Medici, about to be decorated with the Legion of Honor. One is Ingres, the shortest man in the front row, who waits for his name to be called. The other is the sculptor Pierre-Jean David d’Angers; only his collar and face, turned away from the event, appear over the shoulder of a uniformed courtier in front. Ingres described the day of the ceremony as the happiest day of his life.3 For David, by contrast, politics complicated and tempered the pleasure of his award. Born a year before the French Revolution began, David d’Angers lived and died a Republican. At the peak of his powers and uncomfortable with the Bourbon regime, he still needed to win state 4 support. David’s presence among the throng of artists in the Salon Carré recalls the moral dilem­ mas he faced throughout his career. Struggling to obtain official patronage from one oppressive regime after another, he tried to maintain his political ideals. Without the state, a sculptor could not create for public spaces, in David’s view the chief purpose of

W

72

Raphael, Binda Altoviti, detail.

io8

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Jean-Pierre Jazet, after François-Joseph Heim, Charles X Distributing Awards at the Salon of 1824 (1825; Paris, Musée du Louvre), 1830. Detail with Quatremère de Quincy, Ingres, and David d’Angers. Aquatint, 71.i X 98.5 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Bildarchiv.

his profession. His devotion to history and to phrenology enabled him to find ways to deliver his well-thought-out messages to his fellow citizens, even under governments he abhorred. He depicted Raphael once - along with Durer - as a stubby figure in a relief on the pedestal of the Gutenberg monument in Strasbourg (1840), but the elegant posture of the Altoviti portrait in no way inspired his image. It is not David’s love of Raphael, but his passion for phrenology that brings him, more as a witness than as a player, into the story of the afterlife of Bindo Altoviti. David was deeply involved in a nineteenth­ century trend that altered the making and the viewing of portraits, not least Raphael's panel.

The Headhunters The concept of David’s principal project, a gallery of great men and women, was a singlehanded, liberal counterpart to the pantheon of German greatness conceived by Ludwig I of Bavaria. As Ludwig amassed his collection of busts that eventually took their place in a Greek temple overlooking the Danube, David depicted in marble and bronze the people he admired, creating some five hundred bronze medallions, as well as busts, reliefs, and statues in both metal and stone? Committing himself to the faces of his contem­ poraries, David, unlike Ludwig, did not concentrate solely on portraits of those who

Whose Face? The Search for Authenticity

109

Syjlruir Cranalogiqur

74 Anonymous, Franz Joseph Gall, undated. Engraving, 17.7 X 12.8 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Bildarchiv.

spoke his language. One of the francophone intellectuals who sought contact with German culture, David left Paris at the end of July 1829 to visit Goethe in Weimar.6 The poet’s advanced age lent urgency to the journey; hve days before his eightieth birthday, Goethe met the French sculptor and agreed to sit for a bust. Goethe’s birthday celebrations included the first Weimar performance of Faust, Part I, but David, surprisingly, does not mention the drama in his notebooks. Over dinner with the writer, the conversation in French inevitably turned to their common interest in the human face. David could question Goethe about the theories of Johann Kaspar Lavater, on whose Essays on Physiognomy the poet was said to have collaborated. Goethe could discuss with David the late work of Franz Joseph Gall (fig. 74), who had died in Paris the previous year. The poet had met the anatomist in 1805, when, after a period of ill health and grief following Schiller’s death in early May of that year, Goethe had inter­ rupted a cure to attend Gall’s demonstrations. The anatomist had been forced to leave Austria when the emperor banned his lectures, alleging that Gall’s doctrines led to mate­ rialism, a criticism that Napoleon repeated when Gall settled in Paris. On his German tour, however, Gall captivated his audiences. Goethe invited him to tea and agreed to have a life mask taken for Gall’s collection; and a curious Prince Ludwig, then on mili­ tary duty in Poland, sent his curator Dillis to the lecture series in Munich and commis­ sioned a plaster bust of the doctor himself.8 Always much disputed by other scientists, Gall’s cranioscopy nevertheless found fertile soil in France. After 1815, when it spread to England, his theory of brain functions became popularly known as phrenology/'

no

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

Moritz Krantz, Death Mask of Carl von Rumohr, taken in 1845, 1845. Lithograph, 37.4 X 27.7 cm. (Carns 1864, pl. 10). Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.

The investigations that fascinated poets, princes, and countless others led to excesses. Enriching the Viennese gravediggers long after Gall’s departure, his followers made Mozart’s skull a trophy of the collecting craze and in 1809 beheaded Haydn’s corpse, two nights after his funeral. In Paris, the long-buried skull of La Fontaine was exhumed to add to Gall’s hundreds of crania and life casts. For Gall this was not a macabre hobby, but a quest for corroborative material in support of his theory that twenty-seven “organs’’ in the brain controlled human qualities, such as a talent for languages, parental love, or aggression. Furthermore, human beings shared nineteen of these “organs” with animals; Gall was among the first to point out how much human and animal brains have in common. To be useful, the skull had to belong to a known personality - whether a musical genius, a serial killer, or an affectionate pet dog. Behavioral propensities, Gall sought to prove, correlated with an extreme development of the brain in certain areas and resulted in cranial protuberances, or phrenological bumps.10 Even the German painter and anatomist Carl Gustav Carns, who did not fully accept Gall’s theories, liked to point out salient personality traits in death masks. He revealed, for example, two years after Rumohr’s death, that the Raphael scholar and cookbook author, known for his love of food, also had at the back of his head a prominent cranial area for sexuality (fig. 75). Immanuel Kant, on the other hand, had possessed only a minuscule region for feeling." It was Goethe’s forehead, not his cerebellum, that interested David d’Angers in the summer of 182.9. Under that dome lay clustered mighty organs of sagacity, wit, and the gift for poetry. After his visit David produced both a bronze medal and a marble bust (fig. 76), reflecting not only what he saw, but also what - as a Gall disciple - he expected

Whose Face? The Search for Authenticity

III

76 Pierre-Jean David d’Angers, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1831. Marble, 92 cm. Weimar, GoetheNationalmuseum, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek.

to see in the poet’s head. Recording nothing of his own creative process in his notebook, he made several observations concerning his host.12 He mentioned, for example, hearing that Goethe had ordered a cast of Schiller’s skull.13 This oblique reference to the recent exhumation and re-interment of Schiller shows how quickly news of a major phreno­ logical find traveled in certain circles. David was unaware, however, that for nearly a year Goethe had possessed, not a mere cast, but the actual cranium of his friend. On 24 September 1826 the skull, ceremoniously deposited a week earlier in the grandducal library, was discreetly removed and delivered to Goethe’s house in Weimar. That night Goethe began his tercets now called “Im ernsten Beinhaus,” or “Charnel-house Poem.” Although a shunner of sickbeds, funerals, and cemeteries, Goethe had written on osteology some decades earlier and may have found comfort, as well as inspiration, in the contemplation of Schiller’s “withered hull.” Three months later, he showed the skull to Wilhelm von Humboldt, exacting a promise not to tell anyone about the relic.14 Only when Ludwig I arrived for Goethe’s birthday celebration in August 1827 and voiced his wish to see the poet’s skull was it hastily returned to the Weimar library.15 Prompted by the king’s visit, the grand duke soon transferred Schiller’s remains to a place of honor in his own new family crypt and designated a neighboring space for Goethe himself.16 The case of Schiller, like the collecting mania inspired by Gall's theories, demonstrates a hagiolatry of writers and artists in the nineteenth century no longer based purely on

112

Raphae! and the Beautiful Banker

devotion, but increasingly dependent on physical evidence. And Schillers was not Goethe’s only skull. Another recollection of Weimar in David’s notebook of 1829 referred to his host’s cast of the skull of Raphael (fig. 77). Just before he left Rome, Goethe had seen the skull preserved in the Accademia di San Luca, on display with their alleged Raphael painting of St. Luke Painting the Virgin. In his entry for 7 March 1788 in the Italian Journey, Goethe commented: “ 1 his relic seems to me unquestionable. An out­ standing bone structure, in which a beautiful soul could com­ fortably walk.”1 Goethe put a cast he had obtained in his luggage. Decades later, when Humboldt visited Goethe at the end of 1826, he compared the Raphael souvenir from Italy with the Schiller relic: “Next to it [Schiller] we had a plaster cast of Raphael’s skull. The latter is more regular, more self-con­ tained, with very even curves. But the Schiller head has some­ thing greater, more extensive, in some places expanding and unfolding itself, in others flat or sunken. It is an endlessly captivating sight, although a very strange one.”18 David’s notebook entry, nearly three years later, reads: “Goethe had put beside me on a table the skull of Raphael surrounded with a laurel crown; he pointed out how the bumps were so little evident, how smooth the skull was.”19 The cast, acquired 77 Cast of a skull, taken in Rome in 1788 when Goethe was not yet forty, was still decorated with laurel and thought until 1833 to be that of Raphael. when he was eighty. The poet died in 1832, one year before Piaster, 18.2 cm. from upper jaw to back it was proven to be a replica of the skull of an Italian monk, of head. Weimar, Goethe-Nationalmuseum, not that of the immortal Raphael.'0 Naturwissenschaftliches Kabinett. The original relic had also been wreathed with laurel for generations at the Accademia di San Luca. Commenting in 1824 on the annual ceremony on the feast day of St. Luke (18 October), when young artists traditionally touched their brushes to Raphael’s skull, Quatremere was as certain as Goethe that it belonged to the god of painters.'1 Then, amid increasing doubts about the authenticity of that skull, a document came to light around 1831 suggesting that it had in fact belonged to a six­ teenth-century canon at the Pantheon; this monk had established the Congregazione dei Virtuosi, who now demanded custody of their founder’s earthly remains. Yet the academy insisted that the skull was Raphael’s, therefore rightly theirs. At the same time, the quarrelsome papal archaeologist Fea - he who in 1822 had sharply refuted Bottari’s iden­ tification of the Altoviti panel as a self-portrait - challenged the tradition, held since Vasari, that Raphael was buried in the Pantheon. Although Fea later denied that he had expressed such a view, his contemporaries reported his contention that Raphael was interred in Santa Maria sopra Minerva. To settle the dispute between the elite art societies - the Virtuosi and the academy - and to establish the place of Raphael’s burial, the director of the confraternity made a proposal on 7 July 1833 to sponsor a search for the master’s grave. At stake was the verification of Vasari's account. If Vasari was right, the Virtuosi would have Raphael’s bones in their possession. If, in addition, the body was found without a skull - as many expected it would be - the authenticity of the relic preserved by the Accademia di San Luca would be all but confirmed.22

Whose Face? The Search for Authenticity

n3

On 9 September 1833 at half past noon, the leaders of both societies and the president of a third — the Accademia di Archeologia — as well as selected artists, prelates, and labor­ ers, gathered under the Pantheon dome to look for Raphael’s burial place; the contentious Fea was conspicuously absent in the initial days of the search.23 On 12 September workers uncovered an arch behind the altar under the statue of the Madonna del Sasso, the figure chosen by Raphael for his tomb, according to Vasari. The architect Gaspare Salvi, direc­ tor of the Accademia di San Luca, told the awestruck onlookers that the construction was neither ancient nor modern: it could be from the Cinquecento. Two days later they carefully exposed the skeleton. A spectator described the scene: “It was a wonderful thing to see and to hear how Salvi, trembling with emotion [. . .] exclaimed, ‘Ecco il capo!’ ” (Here is the head!).24 With no official role in the exhumation, Horace Vernet was nevertheless present in the Pantheon as director at the Villa Medici and could not resist depicting this epochal event. The Vatican, however, denied the artist permission to publish his richly toned lith­ ograph (fig. 78), for Camuccini had exclusive rights to distribute images of the discov­ ery. According to Camuccini’s biographer, Vernet, having already printed some hundred impressions, “was seized by such a French fury that he tore all his prints in two” and sent them to the Italian painter, accusing him of wanting to commercialize the spectacular find. Camuccini, after an initial burst of anger, had the lithographs glued back together and, returning the sheets to Vernet, wrote politely that he was simply carrying out an official commission and knew nothing about the authorities’ refusal. The mended prints apparently restored the artists’ friendship, but impressions of the Vernet lithograph are rare. Camuccini’s official documentary drawings of the tomb and the skeleton also appeared as lithographs (fig. 79).25 Describing the days after the opening of the grave, an eyewitness praised Fea for grace­ fully recognizing his mistake in doubting Vasari, quoting the classical archaeologist as saying, “Ergo erravimus.”26 The reaction of the Accademia di San Luca to finding Raphael’s head firmly attached to the body is not reported, but the Virtuosi had another cause to rejoice. The Accademia skull, venerated by Goethe to the end of his days and by many other adorers of Raphael, was declared to be that of the founder of the confraternity, and, devalued, it was eventually handed over to the Virtuosi.27 After admitting the public in a steady stream for a week, the Pantheon authorities closed the church. The Virtuosi then had casts made of the exhumed skull, the intact larynx, and the right hand, the bones of which showed a spur caused by holding brushes and chalk.28 Raphael’s remains were re-interred in a new casket. After a second funeral in the Pan­ theon the presidents of the co-operating organizations each laid a brick to commence sealing of the vault. Although he was not in town when Raphael’s bones were discovered, the popular poet G. G. Belli did not miss this opportunity to mock the event in a dialect sonnet, “Er corpo aritrovato.”29 By contrast, the finding of an authentic skeleton was taken seriously in Germany. Carus published in 1853 an illustration of the Pantheon skull with mea­ surements obtained from a “reliable German doctor” in Rome (fig. 80). Furious that after twenty years the confraternity had still not reproduced its cast for the benefit of science, Carus accepted the small size of Raphael’s skull: “A head form of this sort would be hard to reconcile with the mental life of a scientific genius endlessly conceptualizing and

114

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

78 Horace Verner, Tomb of Raphael of Urbino discovered 14 September 1833 in the Pantheon, 1833. Lithograph, 58.5 X 42.8 cm. Copenhagen, Thorvaldsens Museum.

storing up ideas; with the mental life of a Raphael, revealing itself in consummate beauty of form, it jibes perfectly.”30 By 1883, the year of the quadricentennial of Raphael’s birth, the science of craniome­ try had displaced the discipline of craniology. Phrenology still held its own in certain marginal circles, but by then Gall’s contributions to the study of the brain were widely regarded as quackery. The study of bumps - or the absence of bumps that Goethe admired so much in the Accademia cranium - had yielded to a meticulous measurement of skull capacity. In 1883 itself one of the many publications commemorating Raphael was a book dedicated to the study of the skull by the Bonn anthropology professor

Whose Face? The Search for Authenticity

79 Vincenzo Camuccini (drawing) and Giambattista Borani (lithograph), Intact Skeleton of Raffaelle Sanzio, 1833. Lithograph, 38 X 50.5 cm. Copenhagen, Thorvaldsens Museum.

Hermann Schaaffhausen. His chief conclusion was that the artist had a surprisingly small cranial index for a genius. A new generation of obdurate Virtuosi had given Schaaffhausen as hard a time as they had given Carus thirty years earlier.31 He described his fruitless efforts to obtain a plaster replica of their cast of Raphael’s skull. Through diplomatic channels, he was eventually allowed to examine it on Good Friday 1882. The German professor was led to the upper chambers of the Pantheon, where the Virtuosi kept the cast sealed under a glass cover. They let Schaaffhausen measure the object on a table but forbade photographs. Puzzled by the feminine qualities of the skull, he wrote:

If the grave of Raphael had not been so surely established, a doubter could ask if this were really Raphael’s skull and not that of his bride, Maria Bibbiena [. . .] but the fem­ inine features suit the spiritual nature of his genius, and other characteristics like the length of the skull, the curvature of the forehead, the full back of the head, the form of the lower jaw show undeniably the male form.3" A prominent colleague in Halle, Hermann Weicker, replicated Schaaffhausen’s research on the basis of photographs supplied to him by the Virtuosi in 1883. That year Weicker had dealt a blow to Weimar by declaring as false the Schiller skull enshrined since 1827 in the royal burial vault. In a communication addressed to Schaaffhausen and published in 1884 in the leading German anthropological journal, he underlined the striking result of their measurements: Raphael’s skull had an astonishingly low capacity - 1345 cubic centimeters. Only eight Italian skulls among sixty-nine examined in the German cran-

116

Raphael and the Beautiful Banker

MW«kk P· U3· The present loca­ tion of her copy is unknown. Denon’s series, offered for sale in Paris in 1793, falsely claimed on the title page to illustrate works in the Uffizi. Udolpho van de Sandt recently discovered that, strangely enough, doc­ uments in AGF show that Denon did not receive the required permissions to copy works in their collection in either 1789 or 1792, his two visits to Florence; see Paris 1999—2000, nos. 34—35, pp. 86—87. Van de Sandt also points out that most of the prints Denon issued as “nella Galleria di Firenze” — among them the reproduction of Bindo Altoviti - were not of objects in the Uffizi collections at all, and some have no known source. Denon’s etching after Vigee-Lebrun’s Uffizi Self-Portrait appeared in L'Originale e il ritratto, Bassano: [Remondini], 1792 [recte March 1793], P· IX· Mary D. Sheriff explores the issue of who decided to topple the French queen from the easel - Vigee-Lebrun or Denon - in her passage on Denon’s etching in The Exceptional Woman: Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun and the Cultural Politics of Art (Chicago and London: University

of Chicago Press, 1996), pp. 237-38. 52 Hoare 1815, p. 302.

Notes to pages 47-52

IÇ2

The Bavarian Buyers

5

1 One of the chapters in Andrew McClellan’s mas­ terful account of French museum practice during this period is entitled “The Revolutionary Louvre” (McClellan 1994, chapter 3). 2 His first task was to implement projects begun by his predecessor, among them an exchange with the imperial gallery in Vienna. Puccini refined the components of this exchange, wel­ coming Bellini’s Sacred Allegory, offered by Vienna, but rejecting what he regarded as infe­ rior works and insisting instead on a portrait attributed to Giorgione, mistakenly identified as Gattamelata. 3 Lanzi 1792, p. 224, n. 1; Lanzi 1795—96, 1, p. 412; Lanzi 1809, 11, pp. 78—79. For a discussion of Lanzi, see Carol Gibson-Wood, Studies in the Theory of Connoisseurship from Vasari to Morelli

4 5 6

7

(New York: Garland, 1988; Ph.D. thesis, Warburg Institute, University of London, 1982), pp· 140-51· [Gotti] 1873, p. 365. [Gotti] 1873, p. 195. On the Medici Venus see Haskell and Penny 1981, no. 88. Dates ranging from the 1790s to the 1830s have been proposed for Lasinio’s Logge series. Accord­ ing to Lasinio authority Paola Cassinelli (in tele­ phone conversations with the authors), the frontispiece may well be later than the series itself, which she believes to have been made around 1795 (on the basis of the activities of the Roman publisher Niccola de Antoni); we are deeply grateful for her advice on this matter, as well as for her efforts in the search for an impres­ sion of Lasinio’s color print after Bindo Altoviti. The frontispiece dedication to the Danish diplo­ mat and art patron Baron Herman Schubart would date from after 1802 (when he arrived in Italy), and before 1815 (when he returned to Copenhagen). Eliminating Volpato’s depictions of Raphael’s vaults, Lasinio concentrated on the pilasters and tapestry borders in his series of four­ teen engravings in two parts, rather than Volpato’s three. His plates were slightly smaller than those of Volpato. Both series are illustrated and described in Raphael Invenit, 1985, pp. 104-07 and pp. 468-97. See entry on Giovanni Battista Balzar, engraver of the frontispiece, in AKL, vi (1992), p. 535, which dates his Logge work to 1802. On the series, see Paola Cassinelli, Carlo Lasinio Incisioni, exh. cat., Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi (Florence: Olschki, 2004), pp. xiv-xv, and Christopher Lloyd, “Lasinio, Carlo,” DA, xvm (1996), pp. 810-11. Puccini mentioned the offer in his posthumously published letter (Puccini 1825, p. 7), referring to “Principe Pugnatowski”; this was probably the

active collector Prince Stanislav Poniatowski, who lived in Rome before he settled in Florence in 1825. 8 The Vision of Ezekiel, the Madonna della Sedia, the Madonna delllmpannata, and the portraits of Pope Leo X and his Cardinals, Cardinal Bibbiena, and Tommaso Inghirami remained in Paris until February 1816. The Madonna del Baldacchino,

where the contribution of Raphael’s pupils was recognized, was sent in 1810 from the Louvre to the new Musée de Bruxelles (in the capital of the new French department of the Dyle) and returned to Florence in July 1816. Only the Donna Velata had escaped confiscation at Palazzo Pitti: the painting was not yet recognized as a Raphael. See Florence 1984a on the movements of the Pitti holdings. 9 When he became king in 1806 Max Joseph I and his large family had occupied the Residenz in the Bavarian capital for not quite seven years. He had moved to Munich in March 1799, assuming as Maximilian Joseph IV the title of Elector of Bavaria; Karl Theodor IV, his uncle, had died without an heir in February that year. Four years earlier Max Joseph had inherited the dukedom of Zweibrücken from his older brother, Duke Karl August II, also without offspring. As duke, Max Joseph IV had lacked a seat of government, since his brother had fled to Mannheim to escape the French and had died there in exile in 1795. to Max Joseph, serving as an officer under King Louis XVI, had commanded an infantry regiment in Strasbourg. He named his son for the infant’s godfather, the reigning French monarch and his own commander-in-chief, as well as for the saintly thirteenth-century' king of France. The name also referred to a fourteenth-centum' ancestor, Emperor Ludwig IV, who had trans­ formed Munich into a leading medieval citv. 11 The Bavarian line of the Wittelsbach dvnastv became extinct with the death of Elector Maxi­ milian Joseph III in 1777. A sage agreement, signed decades earlier, ensured that the succes­ sion would pass to Karl Theodor, Elector Pala­ tine since 1742, thereby uniting the Palatinate with Bavaria. When the elector died in 1799, what was left of the complex Palatine-Zwei­ brucken inheritance went to Duke Max Joseph. Ludwig’s father. With the birth of Ludwig, the threatened Wittelsbach succession had been pre­ served. More than secure, the withering dynasty was fecund under Max Joseph. He obtained the Bavarian throne for himself and Ludwig, as well as for Ludwig’s son Max II and grandsons, Ludwig II, popularly known as “Mad King Ludwig,” and Otto, also mad. In the 1880s the third son of Ludwig I, Prince Luitpold, picked up the reins of government for his insane

Notes to pages 54—58

12

13 14 15

16

17 18

nephews; at the turn of the century Munich’s dominance as a cultural capital had been renewed through his liberal views and support of the arts. Through Max Joseph’s seven surviving daughters, moreover, the Wittelsbach line merged with the royal families of Austria, Prussia, and Saxony. Immediately upon his return, Prince Ludwig presented Giotto’s Last Supper to the Hofgarten­ galerie; the panel hangs today in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich, still attributed to the master. Syre 1986, p. 42. [Muller] 1998,11, no. 200, p. 316, 26 March 1808. Messerer 1961, p. 26, and Messerer 1966, no. 22, p. 38, note a, 20 August 1808; the latter volume, an annotated edition of the correspondence (1807-41) between King Ludwig I and his curator, is an invaluable source on the develop­ ment of the Munich collections and the vast network of contemporary artists in contact with the court. Metzger, from the Black Forest (Staufen bei Breisgau), had support from the grand duke of Baden; see Danz 1806, pp. 45-49. Syre 1986, p. 53, n. 17, gives Metzger’s later monthly stipend from Ludwig as 15 scudi·, that amount represents yearly some 88 zecchini or less than 500 guilders. Using the conversion rate of 1 scudo = 0.49 zec­ chini — 2.71 guilders, Dillis’s salary at the time was 1600 guilders yearly, or nearly 50 scudi monthly. The 232 largely unpublished letters from Metzger to Dillis preserved in the BSGS archives offer an invaluable documentation of purchases of Italian art between 1808 and 1839, as pointed out by Syre 1986, p. 54, n. 55. We are grateful to Cornelia Syre for making the letters available to us, along with typescript excerpts by Christian von Heusinger, prepared in 1956 and also in the BSGS archives. Messerer 1966, no. 22, p. 37, 20 August 1808. Unless otherwise indicated, the letters cited below are from Dillis to Ludwig. Prince Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, dismissed as Russian minister of foreign affairs in 1806 for his opposition to the alliance with Napoleon, took the Raphael (illustrated as a print in chapter 6, fig. 84) to the family estate at Pulawy, where his mother, Isabella, would open the first Polish museum in 1809. On display with the Raphael in the Gothic House at Pulawy was Leonardo’s Lady with the Ermine, which her son had bought in 1800. The third treasure of the collection, Rembrandt’s Landscape with a Good Samaritan, was acquired in 1828. In 1939 the three masterpieces, by then in the Czartoryski Museum, Cracow, were hidden, then taken to Germany during World War II by the

19

20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28 29

ï93

Nazi governor of Poland, Hans Frank. The Leonardo and the Rembrandt were found in Frank’s villa in 1945 and restored to the Polish state, but the Raphael disappeared, becoming the most valuable single artwork lost in the war. Czartoryski’s purchase of the portrait in 1807 is described by Otto Miindler in a review of the second volume of Ernst Försters Raphael (1867) in Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst in (1868), p. 300. [Müller] 1998, no. 229, p. 380, 4 August 1808, Ludwig to Müller; Messerer 1966, no. 20, p. 34, 4 August 1808, Ludwig to Dillis. Encouraged by Goethe, Müller had gone to Italy on a fellowship in 1778 and never returned to Germany. Usually called Maier (Painter) Müller or Teufel (Devil) Müller, he was known for his imps and hell scenes, as well as etchings of pigs and horses. Fifty-three letters from Müller to Männlich (1804—18) are preserved in the BSGS archives, from which Syre (1986) drew her admirable account of Müllers role as an art agent. Dillis called it “Palazzo delie Puppazze”; see Messerer 1966, no. 22, p. 38, 20 August 1808. The building at No. 3, via Capo le Case, near the intersection with via Gregoriana, is now also called Palazzo Centini Toni; see Ferrucio Lom­ bardi, Roma — Palazzi, Palazzetti, Case — Progetto per un inventario 1200—1870 (Rome: Edistampa, 1991), Rione in, Colonna, no. 44. See also Fabio Betti, “Il palazzetto della famiglia Centini in via Capo le Case,” StudisulSettecento Romano: Roma Borghese, case e palazzetti d'ajfitto (Rome: Bon­ signori, 1995), 11, pp. 189—99. hs decoration (1722—42) is thought to be the work of Francesco Rosa, dating from approximately the same time as the stuccoed church of the Maddalena, com­ pleted in 1735 and Rome’s best-known example of Rococo. Messerer 1966, no. 22, p. 37, 20 August 1808. The reliable friend was the engraver Metzger. Messerer 1966, no. 25, p. 47, 10 September 1808, Ludwig to Dillis. Messerer 1961, p. 26. Messerer 1966, no. 26, p. 48, 16 September 1808, Ludwig to Dillis. Messerer 1966, no. 29, p. 52, 30 September 1808, Ludwig to Dillis. Messerer 1966, no. 29, p. 52, 30 September 1808, Ludwig to Dillis. [Müller] 1998, 11, no. 239, pp. 394-95, 15 October 1808. Dillis and his brother, both landscape painters, had set out on a sketching trip in the countryside. Messerer 1966, no. 31, p. 54, 5 October 1808. “He took off, without saying goodbye to me,” Müller informed Ludwig; see [Müller] 1998, 11, no. 250, p. 423, 1 December 1808.

194

Notes to pages 58-60

30 Messerer 1966, no. 40, pp. 63-64, letter written in Florence, 27 November 1808. 3i Dillis specified the prices in a letter written almost a year later; see Messerer 1966, no. 87, p. 114, to October 1809. Ludwig, in a letter from Salzburg on 6 October 1809, had asked Dillis to remind him of how much he had paid for the Florentine acquisitions (no. 86, p. 114). A docu­ ment mentioned as enclosed in a letter at the time of purchase (no. 41, 3 December 1808) was not preserved with the letter itself; presumably Dillis had listed prices in that document. For conversion rate, see n. 16 above. 3* Reproduced in Messerer 1966, no. 41, p. 64, note b, 3 December 1808. 33 Messerer 1966, no. 41, p. 64, 3 December 1808. 34 Messerer 1966, no. 42, p. 65, 6 December r8o8. 35 Puccini to General Jacques-François Menou, 2 December 1808, AGF, filza xxxiv, 1808, n. 48; see also Florence 1984a, pp. 214 and 220—21, n. 64. It is perhaps no coincidence that the earlier Tuscan law passed at the end of 1754; in January that year, Elector Augustus III of Saxony had transported to Dresden the Sistine Madonna, recently purchased from the Benedictines in Pia­ cenza. 36 Messerer 1966, no. 42, p. 65, 6 December 1808. The French authorities, aware that the viceroy of Italy - Napoleon’s stepson, Eugène de Beauhar­ nais — had married Ludwig’s sister in 1806, might well have delayed or even denied the export permit without this family link. 37 The Sassoferrato painting (Munich, Alte Pina­ kothek, inv. 442) was purchased from Federico Accaia for 122 scudi (60 zecchini) or 330 guilders; see Danz 2003, fig. 15. 38 Messerer 1966, no. 43, p. 66, 17 March 1809, Ludwig to Dillis. The middleman was the sculp­ tor Joseph Christen. Metzger asked a Swiss busi­ nessman, Joseph Anton Popp, to cart the pictures with his goods; BSGS archives, Metzger no. 16, 1 April 1809. 39 BSGS archives, Metzger no. 16, 1 April 1809. The copy of the document sent to Munich bore the date 25 February 1809; see Messerer 1966, no. 51, pp. 72-73, 20 May 1809. 40 The text translated by Ludwig - and delivered despite his severe stutter — is among Ludwig’s papers in the Bavarian State Archives (Geheim Hausarchiv), reproduced in Munich 1980, 11, no. 460, pp. 233-36. 4i Mann 1989, p. 39. An estimated six thousand men had died that day at Abensberg. T he battles of Aspern and Wagram in May and July 1809 would result in at least six times that many casu­ alties on both sides. Finally, the loss of 30,000 Bavarians in the Russian campaign of 1812-13 would end the alliance with France. In 1817

42

43

44 45 46

47

48 49

50

Ludwig commissioned from Leo von Klenze a monument to the men who died in Russia. Casting of the bronze cladding began in 1828 at Ludwig’s expense, and Klenze’s obelisk, bearing an inscription composed by the king, was inau­ gurated in Munich’s Carolinenplatz on 18 October 1833, the twentieth anniversary of Napoleon’s defeat at the Battle of Leipzig. See Munich 2000, no. 55. Messerer 1966, no. 44, pp. 66-67, 6 May 1809, Ludwig to Dillis. BSGS archives, Metzger no. 21, 12 May 1809. Gessner had been an early patron of the sculptor Christen, who asked the poet’s widow, Judith Gessner, to store the crates. Messerer 1966, no. 68, p. 92, from Linz, 13 July 1809, Ludwig to Dillis. Messerer 1966, no. 70, p. 96, 29 July 1809. Messerer 1966, no. 72, p. 99, 5 September 1809. Dillis had met Escher in Rome in 1794—95. Only a few of the architect’s buildings in Zurich survive, among them the casino on the Hirschen­ graben (1806-07, much altered) and the neo­ classical guardhouse (1824-25) near the city hall on the Münster side of the Limmat River. Escher is best known as the co-founder (1805) of Escher, Wyss & Co., which developed into the country’s leading machinery manufacturer. On the site of his factory on the Neumühlenquai, a civic build­ ing named in his honor commemorates Escher's role in bringing the industrial revolution to Switzerland. The crates containing the Italian paintings were probably stored in Escher’s town­ house (now demolished) on the Pelikanstrasse. BSGS archives, Metzger no. 23, 14 July 1809. The Ghirlandaio or Masaccio, presumably intended for the prince's personal collection, could be the frescoed Head of a Monk (inv. WAF 39), now attributed to the School of Fra Angelico, or one of the Domenico Ghirlandaio paintings (inv. 1076-78). Messerer 1966, no. 74, p. 101, from Salzburg, 8 September 1809, Ludwig to Dillis. Messerer 1966, no. 81, p. 109, 28 September 1809, Ludwig to Dillis. Messerer 1966, no. 92, p. 118, from Hall, 31 October 1809, Ludwig to Dillis. After signing the peace treaty', Napoleon passed briefly through Munich with his entourage, including Denon. The director of the Musee Napoleon lingered in the Bavarian capital, questioning gallery director Männlich, who had prudently hidden the col­ lection once again, about the whereabouts of his paintings. To distract his visitor. Männlich arranged for Denon's first lessons in lithography. Even if the crates from Zurich arrived at the gallery in mid-Novemher, the staff would have hesitated to unpack the Italian pictures until

Notes to pages 60-65

51 52 53

54

4

Napoleon’s avid collector had left Munich. By 26 November, Denon was back in Paris. BSGS archives, Metzger no. 25, 29 December 1809. BSGS archives, Metzger no. 26, 26 February 1810. Allgemeine Zeitung [Munich], no. 98, 8 April 1810, p. 391: “In the Royal Painting Gallery in Munich one can now see exhibited the self­ portrait of Raphael. This portrait, which until 1808 was in the Palazzo Altoviti in Florence, was bought for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince by the Royal Gallery Inspector Mr. Dillis and brought to Munich.” Messerer 1966, no. 94, p. 120, dated “am Charfreitag” [Good Friday] 1810 [20 April], Dillis alluded to the remarkable coincidence that the painter was born and died on a Good Friday, as documented in Vasari’s life of Raphael. Accord­ ing to the Julian calendar, in effect until 1582, Good Friday fell on 28 March in 1483, the year of Raphael’s birth, and on 6 April in 1520, the year of his death. The date of the newspaper item in the previous note suggests that the portrait may have been hung in the Hofgartengalerie on 6 April 1810.

4

5

Facing the Public

i Goethe, Faust, Part I. Trans. Philip Wayne (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1949), p. 62. The original lines (939-40) are “Zufrieden jauchzet groß und klein: hier bin ich Mensch, hier darf ich’s sein,” from Faust: Der Tragödie, erster Teil [1808], ed. Lothar J. Scheithauer (Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam, 1971), p. 29. 2 Böttger 1972, p. 130, points out that the St. Jerome (now inv. 600) was the only painting with a curtained backdrop. Männlich had hung Raphael’s Canigiani Holy Family, which arrived from Dusseldorf in 1806, in the sixth room. 3 Männlich 1910, p. 533. The original French man­ uscript version of Mannlich’s lively memoirs, written about 1813—18, is apparently lost. The pre­ scient ex-King Ludwig I realized the value of the manuscript then in the hands of the Männlich family and had it copied in 1855-56. From that four-volume copy in the manuscript collection of the Staatsbibliothek, Munich (cod. Gall. 616—19), the librarian Eugen Stollreither prepared and annotated the first German translation (Männlich 1910). Subsequent editions based on the copy, including the most recent German version of 1966, were drastically cut and omit Mannlich’s account of his stay in Florence. That his discovery of St. Jerome was the stuff of legend is suggested by a comment dated 1816 from

6

7

8

Ï95

Baron Carl Friedrich von Rumohr, writing to a painter friend in Munich. Discussing some over­ painted Correggios, Rumohr remarked sarcasti­ cally that one was supposed to recognize them, “like Mannlich’s Raphael, from the big toe.” See Rumohr's Briefe an Robert von Langer, ed. Friedrich Stock (Charlottenburg: Munin, 1919), no. 51. Thienemann 1823, a publication of prints on the Hofgartengalerie dating from the year after Mannlich’s death, shows the St. Jerome wall unchanged (paginated Room VIII, “östliche Wand,” no. 889) from the hanging as described in Mannlich’s catalogue (1805-10, 11, p. 256, no. 1172). Dillis had renumbered the gallery in 1822, making the former seventh room into the eighth. Männlich 1910, p. 505. The painter Männlich, trained in Paris and Rome, had been the protégé of Max Joseph’s uncle at the Zweibrucken ducal court. After his patron’s death, Männlich served his successor, Max Joseph’s older brother, build­ ing for him a new gallery at Schloss Carlsberg. Männlich saved the pictures by evacuating them to Mannheim hours before the French burned Carlsberg to the ground. Max Joseph rewarded the rescuer of his late brother’s collection with a prestigious post in Munich. Summoning the Hofgartengalerie staff - including Dillis - he introduced them to the newcomer: “Here you see your new director, gentlemen. I hope he will be satisfied with you. You will be satisfied with him, I am sure of that.” With this parachuting gesture in favor of Männlich, Max Joseph bypassed two long-term employees, Dillis and Jacob Dorner the elder. Männlich, who suggested repeatedly in his memoirs that Bavarians were deceitful and malicious, was uncomfortable in Munich, not only as a foreigner, but as a Protestant. The only time Männlich mentions Dillis in his memoirs is to acknowledge his assistance with the evacuation (Männlich 1910, p. 514). Only twenty-seven of the seventy-two paintings seized at the Residenz returned from Paris after 1815. Männlich 1805-10, 1, pp. vn-ix. Looking for support for his opinions on gallery installation, Männlich corresponded with Goethe in 1804-05, but the sage of Weimar pointed out that most paintings had not been made to hang in galleries in any case, but rather in churches and apart­ ments. T heir correspondence was published in Hyperion: Eine Zwei-Monatsschrift, no. 2 (1908), pp. 131-53. Goethe had visited the Hofgartenga­ lerie only once, soon after it opened; he spent a few hours there on 6 September 1786, when he broke his journey to Italy with an overnight stay in Munich. Soon after Max Joseph’s predecessor, Elector Karl Theodor, moved into the Munich Residenz in

Notes to pages 66—68

196

1777, he opened the royal gardens to the public. To display the best of his pictures to his subjects, now flocking into the gardens in their leisure time, Karl Theodor commissioned Albrecht von Lespilliez to build a gallery opposite the palace, with convenient access to an attractive nearby coffee house. Between 1779 and 1783 Lespilliez added his gallery as an upper story extending 170 meters (from the eighth to the fiftieth arch) along the northern arcade bordering the garden; see Thiele 1988, p. 57.

9 Herzensergießungen eines kunstliebenden Kloster­ bruders (“Confessions from the heart of an art­ loving friar”) bore the imprint 1797, but appeared in Berlin in the fall of 1796; see [Wack­ enroder and Tieck] 1797. On the importance of this text for the Nazarenes, see Schröter 1990, pp. 340—44. An earlier contribution was Μ. Leja, “Die Nazarener, Wackenroder und das Motiv der ‘zärtlichen Begegnung,’ ” Idea: Jahrbuch der Hamburger Kunsthalle (1982), pp. 163-77. 10 Morgenblatt für gebildete Stände, no. 123 (23 May 1810), p. 489. 11 Morgenblatt für gebildete Stände, no. 166 (12 July 1810), p. 664. Although the writer believed the Dürer to have been in the nearby summer palace at Schleissheim, which held part of the state col­ lections, Mannlich’s catalogue (1805-10, 11, no. 1091, p. 267) described it in Room vn in the Hof­ gartengalerie (on the room numbering, see n. 4 above). 12 Overbeck’s pencil drawing (Vienna, Albertina, inv. 23.694) has a stronger religious stamp than Pforr’s. The lost Pforr drawing is preserved in an etched copy by Carl Hoff from a series issued by the Frankfurt Kunstverein in 1832 (Heft 1, no. 1). For a study of the cluster of works on this theme, see Munich 2002 (especially nos. 9, 10); that Overbeck exhibition was held soon after the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich, had purchased the cartoon (inv. 4 E) for his painting Italia and Germania (1815—28; Munich, Neue Pinakothek, inv. WAF 755), acquired by King Ludwig 1 in 1833. For an exhaustive treatment of this and other artist allegories in German nine­ teenth-century art and a catalogue of examples, see Kuhlmann-Hodick 1993. Literary works, as well, represented Raphael honoring the German artist as his equal. One example is Georg Chris­ tian Braun’s five-act play Rafael Sanzio von Urbino (Mainz: Florian Kupferberg, 1819), where Dürers gift of his self-portrait moves Raphael to call him “Herzensbruder” (Act I, scene 9). Braun embellished his drama by making the Fornarina the long-unacknowledged daughter of the papal architect Donato Bramante; in explanatory notes, he defended his artistic license with a com­ parison to the liberties taken by Raphael in the School of Athens.

13 Matthias Mende was the first to publish the fas­ cinating story of the Munich artists’ pilgrimage; see Mende 1969 for a list of the participants and their biographies. Schröter 1990, p. 343, men­ tions Passavant’s attendance at the ceremonies and provides a broad context for the commem­ oration. See also Guercio 1995, p. 169. 14 Förster i860, pp. 67-68; Mende 1969, p. 188. A contemporary account of the festivities is in Kunst-Blatt ix (1828), p. 138; for newspaper refer­ ences, see Mende 1969, p. 197, n. 2. 15 Eberle’s rejected original idea appears in a litho­ graph by Joseph Teply, illustrated in Mende 1969, fig. 13, which includes eight biographical scenes. 16 The Walther pencil drawings in the Museen der Stadt Nurnberg, Graphische Sammlungen, inv. 730—36, are described in Nürnberger Dürerfeier 1828/1928, exh. cat., Nuremberg, Dürerhaus, Museen der Stadt Nürnberg and Stadtarchiv Nürnberg, 1971, nos. 18, 19, and 21. The hand­ colored steel engravings are catalogued under the inventory numbers 9113 to 9119. We are grateful to Josef Helfrecht of the Museen der Stadt Nürn­ berg for facilitating access to this material, and to Rainer Schoch of the Bayerisches National­ museum for his help. 17 Behind Dürer are Kaiser Maximilian, Martin Luther, Willibald Pirkheimer, and Master Wohlgemuth; behind Raphael are Pope Julius II, Pope Leo X, Bramante, and Perugino. The sig­ nificance of the Luther image is discussed by Mende 1969, p. 206, n. 97. Sauterleute’s stainedglass panels are catalogued in the collections of the Germanisches Nationalmuseum as inv. 533-39; the scene after Eberle’s Raphael and Dürer (fig. 45) is inv. 536. The ensemble is dis­ cussed in Mende 1969, pp. 194—97, and illus­ trated in his fig. 15. See also Kuhlmann-Hodick 1993, I, P· 295, and II, no. 474. 18 Männlich gave Dürer due credit in a note to his catalogue entry on the pairs of Apostles in Room vn: “These two outstanding paintings, which are surrounded by works of Van Dyck, Rubens, Rembrandt, Guido Reni, Daniele da Volterra and other great masters, withstand the test of their decidedly high quality, and can be surpassed in beauty and noble style only by the St. Jerome from the hand of Raphael"; see Männlich 1805-10, it, p. 270. Dürers Apostles Paul and Mark and Apostles John and Peter, nos. 1095 and 1100 in Mannlich’s 1805 catalogue (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, now inv. 540 and 545) were com­ missioned in 1526 for the Nuremberg city hall. The city gave the paintings as a tribute in 1627 to Maximilian of Bavaria, recently made elector. The subject is traditionally called The Four Apos­ tles, although Mark is an Evangelist, not an Apostle. 19 Johann Gottlob von Quandt, Streifereien im

Notes to pages 69-70

Gebiete der Kunst aufeiner Reise von Leipzig nach Italien im Jahr 1813. Drei Theile, 1 (Leipzig:

Brockhaus, 1819), cited in Munich 1998, p. 345. On Quandt, see Reiter 2001, no. 42, who illus­ trates a portrait of him made in Naples in 1820 by Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld. The Nazarene painter also immortalized his friend’s wife, Clara Bianca von Quandt, most notably in her portrait (Berlin, Nationalgalerie, inv. AAII 361) based on Dona Isabel de Requesens (Paris, Louvre; formerly identified as Joanna of Aragon) by Giulio Romano and Raphael. In addition to his writings on art, Quandt published the first German trans­ lation of Lanzi in 1830. For his correspondence with Goethe, see "Von den herrlichsten Kunst­ werken umgeben, ” ed. Henga Luzens (Ditters­ bach: Quandt-Verein, 2002); see also Johann Gottlob von Quandt, ed. Walter Schmitz (Dres­ den: Thelem bei w.e.b., 2001). 20 The lecture by Max Prokop von Freyberg-Eisenberg, “Dritter Kunst-Abend: Albrecht Dürer,” was published in the short-lived journal Orpheus·. Eine Zeitschrift in zwanglosen Heften (1825), pp. 41-50. See Dürer und die Nachwelt: Urkunden, Briefe, Dichtungen und wissenschaftliche Betrach­ tungen aus 4 Jh., ed. Heinz Lüdecke and Susanne

Heiland (Berlin: Rütten & Loening, 1955), pp. 180—82, 379-80, and Munich 1998, pp. 345-46. 21 Moritz von Schwind, Briefe, ed. Otto Stoessl (Leipzig': Bibliographisches Institut, 1924), pp. 51, no. 516, 3 September 1827, letter to Franz von Schober. Schwind and Schober were both friends of Franz Schubert in Vienna. 22 This St. Margaret (Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, inv. 171), reattributed like Bindo Altoviti to Giulio Romano in the late nineteenth century, was retrieved by Konrad Oberhuber in the late twentieth century as an at least partially autograph work of Raphael; see the entry by Sylvia Ferino-Pagden in Vienna 2003, no. 1.1. 23 Mannlich’s Les Oeuvres lithographiques, contenant un choix de dessins d'après les grands maîtres de toutes les écoles, tiré des Musées de sa Majesté le Roy de Bavière (Munich, 1811—16) is an incunabulum

of lithography, with 432 prints by Johann Nepomuk Strixner and Ferdinand Piloty, as well as his own, issued in seventy-two segments of six impressions each. Another publication, also issued by Stuntz in Munich, appeared after 1817: Königlich Baierischer Gemälde-Saal zu München und Schleissheim. See Dussler 1925, pp. 138 and

166. 24 Messerer 1966, no. 280, pp. 342-44, 29 July 1813, note d. 25 Messerer 1966, no. 199, p. 257, 23 June 1812, and no. 327, p. 388, 18 November 1814. From drafts of the curator's letters, Messerer identified Dillis’s

197

principal enemies at the academy as Peter von Langer and his son Robert. 26 The numerous anonymous painted copies of the Altoviti portrait resist dating and are beyond the scope of this study. Passavant 1839-58 (11, p. 119) mentioned two copies, one in Palazzo Sarazani, Siena, and the other in the collection of Cava­ liere Carmine Lancellotti, Naples. A copy on canvas of the head and shoulders only is in the Pinacoteca in Bologna (inv. 542); the variations from the original in coloring of the hair and gar­ ments suggest that it was made from a print. According to Crowe and Cavalcaselle 1882-85 (n> p. 176), Francesco Mastri, then secretary to the senate of Bologna, gave this copy to the munic­ ipality in 1720. Records in the Pinacoteca say that the copy (40 X 32 cm.) came from the Accade­ mia di Belle Arti. A copy on panel (63.5 X 47 cm.), mentioned by Louisine Havemeyer (Sixteen to Sixty: Memoirs of a Collector, New York, 1961, pp. 128—29; facs. ed., ed. Susan Nyson Stein [New York: Ursus Press, 1993]) as purchased directly from the Altoviti family, was auctioned at the American Art Association-Anderson Gal­ leries, New York, on 10 April 1930 (lot no. 122); the present location of the Havemeyer copy is unknown. According to the auction lot descrip­ tion, it shows a figure with brown hair and a black and gray “toga”; Mrs. Havemeyer admit­ ted, “I was never very enthusiastic over my Altoviti portrait.” A copy “of indifferent quality” is described and illustrated in A Catalogue of the Earlier Italian Paintings in the Ashmolean Museum, ed. Christopher Lloyd (Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1977), no. A59, pl. 113. The American painter William Harnett owned a copy, sold with his estate in 1893; see The Wm. Michael Harnett Collection: His Own Reserved Paintings, Models and Studio Furnishings, sale

cat., Stan. V. Henkels atThos. Birch’s Sons, Auc­ tioneers, Philadelphia, 23-24 February 1893, lot 37, p. 8. Harnett used the painting in a still life of 1878 for the Philadelphia merchant William Hazleton Folwell; the still life (from the collec­ tion of Mr. and Mrs. Henry B. Holt) is illus­ trated in Sylvia Yount, “Commodified Displays: l’he Bric-a-Brac Still-Lifes,” fig. m, p. 246, in William M. Harnett, ed. Doreen Bolger, Marc Simpson, and John Wilmerding, exh. cat. (Fort Worth and New York: Amon Carter Museum; Metropolitan Museum of Art; and Harry N. Abrams, 1992). A copy remained in the posses­ sion of the last survivor of the Altoviti family, Antonio Altoviti Avila, who died in 2002. 27 During Camuccini’s brief visit, Dillis discussed with the Roman painter a strategy for mediating purchases of antiquities when he returned to Rome. Camuccini broached the idea of trading

198

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

Notes to pages 70—73

some of the many Dutch pictures in the Munich gallery to a collector, Count Origo, in exchange for three bas-reliefs; see Messerer 1966, no. 95, pp. 120-22, 20 June 1810. Camuccini also corre­ sponded with Ludwig directly on these matters and remained active in negotiating purchases of sculpture in Rome; see Messerer 1966, no. too, p. 128, 13 November 1810, Ludwig to Dillis. On Camuccini’s work in Munich, see Falconieri 1875, no. no, and Hiesinger 1978, p. 301, n. 23, app. F, p. 319. , Ludwig Emil Grimm’s drawing after Bindo Altoviti, long in the possession of his nephew Herman and now in Bad Homburg, is illustrated in chapter 6 (fig. 85); an impression of his 1812 etching appears in Appendix A, no. to. Prince Ludwig left instructions to his father that in the event of his death, these busts would be set up as a memorial in the English Garden, Munich. He referred to his project as a pantheon, and it was later realized in Klenze’s Valhalla (1815—42), a Doric temple with a polychrome marble interior at Donaustauf near Regensburg; see Munich 2000, no. 35. Messerer 1966, no. 106, p. 136, 1 December 1810. Dillis brought up the worms, clearly not for the first time, to reproach Mannlich who, pleading a lack of funds, had neglected to do anything about the infestation. By it April 1811, however, after Ludwig’s repeated insistence that Dillis prod Mannlich, re-framing was in progress; see Messerer 1966, no. 125, p. 166, and no. 135, p. 176. Ludwig’s intention was recorded by Friedrich Hermann Hofmann, Geschichte der bayerischen Porzellan-manufaktur Nymphenburg, 3 vols. (Leipzig: K. W. Hiersemann, 1921-23), 1, pp. 180—81, in, p. 632, after a destroyed source, and is cited by Katharina Hantschmann (1996, p. 48). Hers is a magisterial study of the Nymphenburg manufactory between 1797 and 1847. Hantschmann (1996, p. 49) quotes from an article on the porcelain project in Gesellschafisblatt fiir gebildete Stiinde, no. 8, 27 January 1813, col. 60, which echoes Ludwig’s phrase, “the tooth of time,” a quotation from Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure, Act v, scene 1. Hantschmann was the first to demonstrate that the commission was in October 1810, not November, as in other sources; see Hantschmann 1996, no. 91, pp. 263-69. The vases with lids are nearly 47 cm. high; the plaques, 25 X 25 or 25 X 35 cm.; and the dessert plates, 24.5 to 25 cm. in diameter. Auer, appointed supervisory painter in January 1810 at the age of thirty-one, had joined the man­ ufactory when he was seventeen. Awarded two training sojourns at the Vienna academy, he had studied during his most recent stay in 1807-08

under the leading Austrian sculptor Franz Anton Zauner, renowned for his equestrian monument to Joseph II. 35 Dillis reported to Ludwig that the Luini plate was nearly finished by 14 November and that the original, “unharmed,” was back in the gallery by 23 November; see Messerer 1966, nos. 101 and 104, 14 and 23 November 1810. The Luini is now attributed to an unknown Milanese painter of the sixteenth century (inv. WAF 763, depot). 36 Vasari’s Holy Family (inv. WAF 1150), like the alleged Luini, was an acquisition through Müller during Ludwig’s 1805 trip to Italy; Syre 1986, pp. 42 and 53, n. 19. In the next few years Auer copied on porcelain three other paintings that Ludwig had acquired during his first Italian trip: Lodovico Mazzolino, Holy Family (WAF 575, depot); Scipione Pulzone, Female Portrait (WAF 779, deaccessioned 1924); and Garofalo, Offering of the Three Kings (present location unknown). The porcelain plates are in the Munich Residenz, listed by Hantschmann 1996, no. 91, p. 265, under the inventory nos. K.n/ Ny 662, 657, and 658. 37 Messerer 1966, no. 149, p. 195, 10 August 1811. The flawed plate was saved, however; it was acquired by the Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich, in 1997 (inv. 97/14) and illustrated in Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Handbook ofthe Art and Cultural History Collections, ed. Renate

Eikelmann (Munich: Hirmer, n.d.), p. 262. The plate was marred by white flecks apparent in the facial area and near the hair. Auer's successfully remade plate after the Altoviti panel illustrated here (fig. 50) is on display in the Munich Resi­ denzmuseum (inv. K.n/ Ny 646). 38 Hantschmann 2000, p. 102. Adler participated in an exhibition of porcelain painting at the academy in 1814, and it is possible that he pre­ pared the Raphael plaque as part of his contri­ bution. Although the Altoviti plaque did not persuade the prince to commission others at that time, in December 1815 it may have won Adler his appointment as Nymphenburg’s supervisory painter to replace the late Auer. Adler’s early plaque measures 36.$ X 25.5 cm. (Munich, Resi­ denzmuseum, inv. K. iv/ 17). We are grateful to Sabine Heym of the Bayerische Schlösserverwaltung, Schloss Nymphenburg, for providing the correct inventory numbers of the three plaques after Bindo Altoviti. Albrecht Miller and Friederike Ulrichs kindly permitted us to examine the plaques and their inscriptions in the storage area of the Residenz, and Michael Teich­ mann was helpful in supplying photographs. 39 For this second service, using a new border design by Friedrich Gärtner, Hantschmann 1996 (no. 215) lists 36 plates and 116 plaques, 15 of them

Notes to pages 73—74

40

41

42

43

signed by Adler. Ludwig’s resumption of the porcelain replica project was part of a broader effort to revitalize the manufactory after he assumed the throne. The plaque of 1844 (Munich, Residenzmuseum, inv. K.iv / Ny 18), measuring 28 X 21.5 cm., is smaller than that of 1814. Neither inscription on the back of these two plaques claims explicitly as does that of the 1811 plate - that the portrait is a self-portrait. That of 1814 reads “Raphael Sanzio / of Urbino / painted after the / original in the / royal gallery in Munich / by / Christian Adler / 1814,” and that of 1844, “From the royal Pinacothek / after Raffaelle Sanzio of Urbino / copied by Christian Adler / Munich 1844.” While Hantschmann 1996 omits Adler’s 1844 plaque of the Altoviti portrait (she lists fifteen of his plaques under no. 215, p. 351), she illustrates it in her exhibition catalogue essay of 2000 (pp. 102— 03). Georg K. Nagler, “Geschichte der Porzellanmanufakture zu München,” Bayerische Annalen: Blatt für Vaterlandskunde (1834), no· xxxrv and sub-sequent nos., pp. 881-82, mentioned that Adler had made “a plaque with Raphael’s por­ trait” and a large vase with Raphael’s portrait, as cited in Hantschmann 1996, p. 425. Although Wustlich’s accomplished replica of Bindo Altoviti is not dated, the artist left infor­ mation about it elsewhere. On 14 March 1868, two weeks after Ludwig’s death, Wustlich inscribed the back of a plaque replica of a Beccafumi Holy Family acquired by the crown prince in Siena in 1816: “This picture is the last com­ mission (in the year 1868) of King Ludwig I of Bavaria; and the portrait of Raphael (with the violet robe) was the first in the year 1854.” Wustlich added to the inscription that he had painted seventy-five plaques for the king, thirty­ seven small replicas for Ludwig’s Gallery of Beau­ ties and thirty-eight larger plaques after Old Master works. We are grateful to Michael Teich­ mann for calling our attention to this inscription. The Wustlich plaque (Munich, Residenzmuseum, inv. K.iv / Ny 148) after the Raphael por­ trait measures 64.5 X 51 cm. (not 54 cm., as in some sources). It was exhibited in Munich 1983, no. Oyo, p. 126, as were other plaques by Wustlich after Raphael works. 50 BSGS archives, Metzger no. 27, 8 September 1810. In this letter Metzger refers to one of the critics of the painting: “Abate de la Barth must be a testa d’asino." If Metzger meant Abate Filippo Waquier de la Barthe, this would be the first trace of the band of Roman cleric-archaeol­ ogists who would lead the attack on the Raphael identification in the 1820s, chiefly Carlo Fea and Melchior Missirini. BSGS archives, Metzger no. 32, 19 April 1811.

199

44 Puccini 1825, p. 8. When it was published in 1825, the original of the letter, along with a second letter concerning the identification of the socalled Fornarina in the Uffizi, was in the hands of the Abate Giannantonio Moschini, prefect in the patriarchal seminar in Venice. Regrets over the export remained bitter. A decade after Raphael’s painting left Florence, the future grand duke of Tuscany, Leopoldo, visited the Hof­ gartengalerie and asked to see it, declaring that the Florentines would never forget the loss; see Messerer 1966, no. 432, p. 518, 23 August 1819. As grand duke, however, Leopoldo 11 personally facilitated export to Bavaria of the Tempi Madonna in 1828, despite fierce criticism in Flo­ rence; his daughter would marry Ludwig’s son Luitpold in 1844. 45 Puccini 1825, p. 10. 46 Puccini 1825, p. 13. 47 Messerer 1966, no. 199, p. 257, 23 June 1812. 48 Messerer 1966, no. 327, p. 388,18 November 1814. Only in this letter does Dillis mention Mannlich’s role in his embarrassment over the Raphael, but a little over five years after Dillis replaced Männlich as central director of the state collections, a contemporary witness reported their enmity. After negotiating and completing the purchase of the Sulpiz and Melchior Bois­ seree collection, Dillis arrived in Stuttgart on 31 May 1827 to oversee packing of the paintings. The sixty-seven-year-old Bavarian priest fasci­ nated Sulpiz Boisseree, who described him as an amiable idealist. Dillis, in a jovial mood, called one of their first dinners together “a wedding banquet,” as Boisseree noted in his diary, with the comment “Männlich was actually his oppo­ nent” (Boisseree 1978-95, 11, pp. 168,180). To the Boisseree brothers in 1827, Dillis recounted the tale of his visit to the Altoviti, describing Puccini’s opposition and his own success in walling the Raphael up to prevent its seizure by the French in Florence (p. 168). 49 B. J. D., Kunst-Blatt, no. 69, 28 August 1820, p. 276. The eminent sculptor Gottfried Schadow had called the Raphael label a “pleasant delusion” in the Berlin magazine Gesellschafter (1820), p. 459, no. 105. A list of nearly seven hundred Old Master paint­ ings bought by Ludwig, excluding his many con­ temporary commissions, was prepared by Gisela Goldberg and Andreas Hahn; see “Verzeichnis der von Ludwig I. erworbenen Gemälde alter Meister,” in “Ihm, welcher der Andacht Tempel baut," 1986, pp. 237-58. 51 See Messerer 1966, no. 85, note c, p. 113, 3 October 1809. After Ludwig acquired the Bar­ berini Faun in 1813 for 8000 scudi - 1000 more than he had paid for the Altoviti Raphael - Car-

200

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

Notes to pages 75—78

dinal Bartolomeo Pacca, advised by Canova and Carlo Fea, denied the crown prince an export permit, which was finally granted over Fea’s head in 1819. On the fascinating history of the marble, see Haskell and Penny 1982, no. 33. In the 1820s Raphael’s birth date was thought to be either 6 April (Gregorian calendar) or 28 March 1483 (Julian calendar), as Rehberg (1824a, p. 32) explains. Attributing to the architect Klenze the suggestion to honor Raphael, Riidiger an der Heiden does not comment on why the ceremony was held on 7 April (an der Heiden 1986, p. 179). Similarly, the entry for the Alte Pinakothek in Munich 2000 (no. 46, p. 286) states simply that building began on 7 April 1826, “Raphael’s birthday.” It seems likely that Klenze took the date from Quatremère de Quincy (1824, p. 385), who gave as birth date Good Friday 1483, but specified 7 April 1520 as the artist’s date of death. On the unsettled issue of the exact dates, see Shearman 2003, 1, pp. 45-50. Reported in a letter by Boisserée to Johann Baptist Bertram, 6 February 1827; see Sulpiz Bois­ serée, ed. Mathilde Boisserée, 2 vols. (Stuttgart: Cotta, 1862), i, p. 491. On the acquisition, see Peter Eikemeier, “Die Erwerbungen altdeutscher und altniederländischer Gemälde,” in “'Ihm, welcher der Andacht Tempel baut," 1986, pp. 56-67. « Gregorovius 1887-92, in, p. 28: “Wie werth bist du mir, liebes Asyl, wo endlich den Menschen/Findet der König aufs neu, welchen daheim er verlor.” In Goethes Faust, Part I (line 940), Faust looks down from a height on the crowds emerging in the sunshine to celebrate Easter, uttering the lines quoted in the epigraph to this chapter (see n. 1). Gregorovius 1887-92, in, pp. 27-28. See Giovanni Caprile, Villa Malta, dall'antica Roma a “Civiltà Cattolica" (Rome: Civiltà Cattolica, 1999), P· 75, citing B. von Bülow, Memorie, ui, Milan, Mondadori, 1931, p. 71; Ludwig used the phrase in a letter to Goethe. Dillis, who regretted deeply that his curatorial duties gave him little time for his own art, also cast off his chains, producing bundles of draw­ ings in Italy and four painted views of Rome from the Villa Malta (Munich, Schack Galerie and Neue Pinakothek). The travelers had left Bavaria on 15 October 1817, days before the student rally near Eisenach, called the Wartburgfest, where the traditional costume represented a call for German unification. Ludwig’s former art advisor Maler Müller, however, showed little sympathy for the younger generation of his countrymen, mocking the demeanor of “Basawang” (Passavant) from Frankfurt; see [Müller] 1998,11, no. 569a, p. 1067,

59

60 61

62

63

64

65

24 June 1822, letter to Count Gustav von Ingen­ heim. On Passavant’s Self-Portrait and its source in a portrait attributed to Ridolfo del Ghirlandaio in the Galleria Borghese, Rome (inv. 339), see Rome 2003b, p. 307, Schrdter 1990, pp. 330-32, and Wagner 1969, pp. 36-37. Missirini 1821, p. ix: “As all errors that do not encounter opposition are converted into tradi­ tions and take a place in history to the detriment of truth, it is the duty of liberal-minded and honest men to combat this one, which is of such importance to the history of art.” Missirini 1821, p. xxv. Fea 1822; the text consisted of lectures on Raphael delivered at the archaeology academy on 20 December 1820 and 17 January 1821. Basing his opinions on archival research as assistant librarian to the Chigi, he had focused on Santa Maria della Pace, the site of the family chapel. Fea would also spend considerable time decon­ structing Bembo’s Latin epitaph line, “Ille hie est Raphael.” That the pope, despite Fea’s protest, had permitted Ludwig to export the Barberini Faun in 1819 was a recent thorn in the scholar’s side. On Fea’s accomplishments, see Ridley 1992, 1995, and, especially, Ridley 2000, a full-length study with an extensive bibliography. See Missirini 1821, chapter 3, and Seroux d’Agin­ court [1810]—1823, vi, pl. clxxxi. Except to those who believed Bottari’s argument concerning the phrase “il ritratto suo” in connection with the Altoviti portrait, the School ofAthens self-portrait was the only one mentioned by Vasari. He described the fresco self-portrait: “ritrattosi da se medesimo nello specchio” (who made his own portrait by means of a mirror) in Vasari 1550, 11 (Part 3), p. 642; see also Vasari 1878-85, iv, p. 331. “Questo contorno e lucidato sopra il quadro originale con la massima Esattezza in fede [pel?] il Direttore Giorgio de Dillis.” The print's evi­ dential nature is further demonstrated by a second signature, that of gallery inspector Max Joseph Wagenbauer. who was, like Dillis, a gifted landscape painter. Rehberg 1824b includes the lithograph as the last plate. Rumohr (1831, p. 116; 1920, p. 563, n. 1), describ­ ing a tracing of the fresco head sent to Munich by Camuccini, noted that the features corre­ sponded to the Munich panel. If made by Wicar, however, the fresco tracing would have been offered as proof that the fresco and the portrait were dissimilar. As mentioned earlier, Wicar had allegedly made measured drawings from a cast of Gellini’s bust and concluded that it was the same person as in the Altoviti portrait (Missirini 1821, chapter 5). Quatremere de Quincy 1824, 2nd ed. 1833, nd ed. 1835; It. trans. 1829; Eng. trans. 1846. Also in

Notes to pages 78-80

66 67

68

69

70

71

1824, Moreni (pp. 195—2.17) appended Missirini’s text to his description of the medal of Bindo. See Guercio 1995, pp. 103-16. Quatremere de Quincy 1824, pp. 200-201. Quatremere de Quincy 1824, p. 201. Both date and price were wrong in Quatremere’s account; the date should have been 1808, and the price quoted was more than four times what the crown prince paid for the picture (3430 sequins or zec­ chini). Francesco Longhena corrected the mistake in his 1829 Italian version. The French scholar cites as his source a marginal note in the handwriting of M. Dufourny in his copy of Angelo Comolli’s Vita inedita di Raffaello d’Urbino (Comolli 1790, pp. 54-55). Comolli’s publication, a work that seemed dubious to Lanzi (1795-96, 1, p. 377), was revealed as a forgery by Passavant (1839-58, I, pp. ix-x; i860, 1, pp. 2-3) and Springer (1882, pp. 357-63); see Shearman 2003, 11, F64 (pp. 1519-20) on its reception. Among other lithographs after Raphael works, Rehberg 1824a included his own reduction based on the Dillis tracing, but adding greater detail (illustrated here in Appendix A, no. 33). Rehberg (1824a, p. 16) mentions conflicting opinions of Morghen’s 1803 engraving, and while he held the criticism to be exaggerated, he agrees that the print had much less character than the painting. The Cecchi print of 1771 (see fig. 61 and Appen­ dix A, fio. 3) had similar errors but somewhat more character, while Barth’s engraving of 1816 (see Appendix A, no. 14), in Rehberg’s view, was very badly drawn. Rehberg disputes Missirini’s contention that if the School of Athens portrait represented Raphael, the Munich portrait could not. On the contrary, “inspection shows that they represent one and the same person. One turning to the right, the other to the left, even the outline of one fits on the other, as the two heads traced on transparent paper from the orig­ inals and reduced to the same size prove. A close comparison reveals that the form of the forehead and that of the entire face in the one is no more square, the cheekbones no more protruding, the nose no more projecting than in the other” (1824a, pp. 17-18). It was not, however, the self-portrait the artist painted for Bindo Altoviti: that portrait, Rehberg asserted, was lost (Rehberg 1824a, pp. 18-19). Oddly, Rehberg thought it possible that the Young Man Leaning on his Fdbow (Paris, Louvre; inv. 613) was the self-portrait that Raphael gave to Bindo. Guercio 1995 (pp. 187-89) includes a brief discussion of Rehberg’s monograph. Rehberg 1824a, pp. 15-16. Nagler 1836 would later borrow this passage, uncredited. Messerer 1966, no. 536, p. 617, 31 August 1824.

72

73 74

75 76

201

Dillis’s habitual plea for caution, however, did not impress Crown Prince Ludwig, who replied by return mail: “Tell Metzger that if the Dove (code name for the Tempi Madonna) is not to be had for less, that he should offer up to 8000 scudi, on second thought, five hundred more, if necessary, and that he can go ahead and complete the sale, and if we would lose it even at that price, then go higher”; see Messerer 1966, no. 537, p. 618, 3 September 1824, Ludwig to Dillis. Metzger’s offer was not yet persuasive enough. Toward the end of that year, Ludwig was dis­ tracted from his quest for the Madonna when Metzger wrote that the Doni family had offered him their two Raphael portraits for 6000 scudi·, see Syre 1998 for an account of the negotiations. Though excited at the offer, Ludwig realized that he could not, as in the past, send the aging Dillis to Florence to have a look. Instead he ordered the sculptor Martin Wagner to go there from Rome. Metzger, convinced they were genuine, told Dillis he preferred them even to the Altoviti panel: “In them one sees Raphael pure, without borrowings or influences from other great masters as in the later works”; BSGS archives, Metzger no. 20, 30 December 1824, and Syre 1998, p. 453. Wagner, however, refused to authen­ ticate them, and Ludwig therefore decided against the purchase. The Bavarians’ timidity turned into the Florentines’ gain: Grand Duke Leopoldo II ofTuscany bought both pictures two years later for 5000 scudi. According to Gollwitzer 1986, p. 131, the nineteen-year-old Ludwig visited the Musee Napoleon thirty-three times in 1806. Later cor­ respondence between the prince and his curator documents their intention to develop a similarly representative collection, as Syre (1986, p. 45) first demonstrated. This encyclopedic goal, however, so rational from a modern viewpoint, was sub­ versive in the context of Mannlich’s gallery. Filling the gaps in the Italian school for a collec­ tion arranged neither by nationality nor accord­ ing to periods made sense only if Ludwig had a future rearrangement in mind. For the catalogue of the Louvre exhibition on Denon with that title, see Paris 1999—2000. See McClellan 1994, especially pp. 140-48, for a trenchant study of the early Louvre. Cited in Lessing 1951, p. 62. Dillis’s Paris note­ book is preserved in the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich. 1’inakothek is the Greek word for painting gallery. The name corresponds to that of the Glyptothek, the sculpture gallery built by Klenze on the Konigsplatz. After the construction of another gallery for modern painting, the Neue Pinako­ thek (1846-53), the Klenze museum was renamed

202

77

78 79

80

81 82

Notes to pages 80-82

the Ältere Pinakothek and from 1938 the Alte Pinakothek. The history of the Pinakothek, its arrangement, and Dillis’s running argument with the architect over the location and plan of the building is best described by Böttger 1972. Gisela Goldberg and Rüdiger an der Heiden published important studies in "Ihm, welcher der Andacht Tempel baut,” 1986; an der Heiden 1998, pp. 56—63, provides a useful summary. See also the literature on Klenze cited by Böttger and, more recently, the entry on the Alte Pinakothek in Munich 2000, no. 46, pp. 282—90. Munich 1838, p. xx. During his visit to Florence in 1808, Dillis had made a drawing for Prince Ludwig of the Tribuna in the Uffizi, remarking that it could be considered a model exhibition space; see Messerer 1966, no. 22, p. 36, 20 August 1808. Förster 1838, p. 139. This signed panel is believed to be a gift from Grand Duke Cosimo III of Tuscany to Elector Johann Wilhelm of Pfalz-Neuburg in 1691, when the latter married Cosimos daughter Anna Maria Luisa; it arrived in Munich with other works from Düsseldorf in 1806. See Messerer 1966, no. 22, p. 37, and note h, p. 40, 20 August 1808. Now inv. 486, the painting is described in Munich 1:999, P· 4°3· See also Sonnenburg 1983, pp. 12-15, 76-78, for a discussion of the so-called “Rinuccini Copy,” which surfaced in Florence in 1766. Promoted by Ignazio Hugford, this work (now in a private collection) and the questions it raised, combined with damage done to the Canigiani Holy Family in Düsseldorf by a restorer who painted out the putti in about 1758, caused the painting’s stock to decline in the nineteenth century almost as sharply as that of the Altoviti portrait. We are grateful to Dimitrios Zikos for his comments on the Rinuccini version and on Hugford’s contributions to the fifth (Livorno) edition of Vasari. The Madonna della Tenda was in the Escorial until 1809. During the Napoleonic wars, it reached England, where Ludwig purchased the picture; see Penny 2004-05, p. 296 and fig. 135. In Dillis’s catalogue (Munich 1838), it was no. 588, noted as the personal property of King Ludwig I. It is now inventoried as WAF 797; see Munich 1999, p. 405. Munich 1838, no. 580, p. 150. Assigned no. 603 (Munich 1838) and noted as personal property of King Ludwig 1, the Tempi Madonna is now WAF 796; see Munich 1999, pp. 403-05, and Reber 1889. Metzger, travelling with his young son — named Ludwig in honor of the king — brought it to Munich himself in Novem­ ber 1828 after twenty years of negotiations (Reber 1889, p. 258).

83 See chapter 2, n. 26 above; Vasari 1759-60, 11, p. 88, Bottari’s n. 1. The heirs of Leonardo del Riccio sold the portrait to Hugford. Authenti­ cated by Mengs in 1774, it then passed into the collection of Count Carlo Giuseppe Firmian and his heirs, until Ludwig bought it in 1826 from the Munich court jeweler and banker Franz Xaver Trautmann; see Sonnenburg 1983, p. 106, and Messerer 1966, nos. 558, 559,10 January 1826. Rehberg 1824a (pp. 12-13, no· 4) described it as still with Trautmann. Signed “Rafaello urbins ps,” the panel entered the Bavarian state collec­ tions in an exchange with Ludwig in 1835. Dillis (Munich 1838) catalogued it as no. 577. Heine­ mann (1961, pp. 103-04) attributed the painting to Timoteo Viti. On the landscape borrowed from Hans Memling’s St. John (Munich, Alte Pinakothek, inv. 652), see Brown 1983, pp. 152-57, and Sonnenburg 1983, p. 107. Under the title Portrait of a Young Man (inv. 1059), it remains on display in the Alte Pinakothek, attri­ buted to the Umbrian School. Advocates of this portrait in the twentieth century have on occa­ sion reattributed it to Raphael, chiefly Volpe 1956, pp. 3-18; Berti 1961, p. 37; and Shearman 1983, pp. 208-11. For discussions of this work, see Wag­ ner 1969, pp. 97—98; Sonnenburg 1983, pp. 106— 13; Florence 1984a, pp. 47 and 55, nn. 8 and 9; and Woods-Marsden 1998, pp. m—15, fig. 78. See also Meyer zur Capellen 2001, no. X-18, p. 316. 84 Munich 1838, no. 577; if the portrait were a self­ portrait in a mirror, the hand would be the painter’s left hand. Dillis suggested that it might be a portrait of the Duke of Urbino. 85 Munich 1838, no. 585, p. 151. 86 Munich 1838, no. 586, p. 151; the portrait, attrib­ uted to an anonymous Venetian painter of the early sixteenth century, is now inv. 524 (Munich 1999, P· 549)· Anderson (1997, p. 334) rejected recent attempts to reattribute it to Giorgione, and Joannides (2001, pp. 218-19, fig. 195) gives it to Sebastiano del Piombo. See the discussion of the portrait in chapter 1 above. 87 Passavant 1833, p. 245; 1839-58, 1, p. 184, 11, pp. 142-44, no. 96; i860, 1, p. 149, 11, pp. 117-18, no. 88. 88 Passavant (1839-58, 1, p. 185, 11, p. 144; i860, 11, p. 118) noted Bindo's date of birth as 26 Septem­ ber 1490; more recent sources agree on 26 November 1491. See Passerini 1871, p. 54; Belloni 1935, p. 10; Stella i960, p. 574; Robertson 1996, p. 734, and the chronology' in Boston and Flo­ rence 2003-04, p. xix. On Passavant, see the dis­ cussion in Guercio 1995, ch. 4. 89 Rumohr 1831, p. ix. 90 Rumohr 1831, p. 109. Nagler 1836, pp. 124-28, discussing this issue, endorses Rumohr’s conclu­ sion.

Notes to pages 82-87

91 Kugler 1842, p. 727. 92 Viardot 1844, p. 115. Viardot’s views still res­ onated a generation later in Michel 1877, pp. 515-48; Michel (p. 543) deplored the black shadows in the Altoviti portrait. 93 Gregorovius 1887-92, in, pp. 38-39. A stately palm in the gardens of the Villa Malta bears a plaque commemorating its planting by Ludwig on his final visit. Speaking of Ludwig in April 1829, Goethe had told Johann Eckermann, “There you see a monarch, who, alongside kingly majesty, has preserved his beautiful inborn human nature. That is rare and therefore all the more welcome” (Goethe 1908, n, pp. 129-30).

5

5

6

Manna from Heaven: The Case of Ingres

1 Ingres arrived in January 1835 to assume the directorship of the Ecole de France in Rome. Soon afterward he told his students that he had “said his prayer” before the Vatican frescoes (Amaury-Duval 1993, p. 278): “Ah, Messieurs, c’est plus beau que jamais. Plus je vois cet homme, plus je découvre de beautés. Nourrissezvous-en, Messieurs, prenez-en tout ce que vous pourrez prendre C’est la manne tombée du ciel, celle qui vous nourrira, vous fortifiera.” 2 Passavants SelfPortrait of 1818 is illustrated in chapter 4 (fig. 51). He moved to Rome on 20 December 1817, remaining until the end of June 1824; see Noack 1907, p. 448. Ingres and his wife left Rome for Florence at the end of 1820, and Ingres returned to Paris in October 1824; Ternois 2001, pp. 103-04. 3 A centerpiece of Camuccini’s collection, sold by his son in 1853 to Algernon Percy, 4th Duke of Northumberland, was Bellini’s Feast of the Gods (Washington, National Gallery of Art, Widener Collection). Another gem was Raphael’s tiny Madonna of the Pinks, which Camuccini bought in Paris in the late 1820s. Rediscovered by Nicholas Penny in 1991 in Alnwick Castle, the seat of the Percy family estate in Northumber­ land, the panel made headlines in 2002 when the 12th duke received an offer from the Getty Museum for £35 million. After issue of an export license was deferred, the National Gallery, London, signed an agreement in February 2004 to purchase the picture for £22 million, tax free to the duke. See Penny 1992, pp. 67—81; Edin­ burgh 1994, no. 16; and the entry by Carol Plazzotta in London 2004-05, cat. no. 59, pp. 190-92. 4 Camuccini’s Self-Portrait was destroyed in the bombing of Palazzo Camuccini in Cantalupo di Sabina during World War II. It is illustrated in Renato Pacini, “L’arte in Roma nelf Ottocento,”

7

g

0

203

Capitolium vm (1932), p. 71; see also Bovero 1974, p. 629. See Reiter 2001, no. 47; Brown 1983, p. 201, n. 240; Rome 1981, no. 116; Frankfurt 1977, no. D 23; and Johann Evangelist Scheffer von Leonhardshoff ed. Michael Krapf, exh. cat., Vienna, 1977, no. 64. Preimesberger (in Preimesberger, Baader, and Suthor 1999, pp. 13-64) discusses Scheffer at length. John’s stipple engraving after a miniature by Carl Agricola, published in Aglaja: Ein Taschenbuch iv (1818), is illustrated in Appendix A, no. 16. Preimesberger (1999, p. 50) suggests that Schef­ fer may have seen a copy of the Altoviti portrait in Florence. Between 24 November 1820 and 26 April 1821, his last stay in Rome, Scheffer com­ pleted his masterpiece, The Dying St. Cecilia (Vienna, Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, inv. 2244); see Rome 1981, no. 118. The most important of Janssen’s few surviving works, Self-Portrait at the Easel of 1828, is now in the Hamburg Kunsthalle (inv. 2488); see Gobert 1988, p. 74, fig. 51. Stripping the putative Raphael figure of his health, good looks, and elegant posture, the young painter - although he was said to be not at all religious — re-created himself as the Man of Sorrows. Janssen’s pose in the Self­ Portrait also recalls the nude man on the right in Raphael’s drawing in the Albertina, Vienna (inv. 17575), thought to be a gift from the artist to Dürer; Schröter (1990, pp. 343-44) discusses the extraordinary fame of Raphael’s drawing among German artists in the early decades of the nine­ teenth century. Few among them were not think­ ing of Dürer in 1828, the tercentenary of his death; as mentioned in the previous chapter, one of Janssen’s teachers at the Munich academy, Cornelius, had urged participation in commem­ orative ceremonies. Janssen did not, as far as we know, join his colleagues’ march to Nuremberg. Instead, in a strikingly original application of the Nazarene project by a new generation, he blended the best of Germania with the epitome of Italia in his Self-Portrait at the Easel. On Janssen, see also Rome 1981, no. 34. Janssen studied with Cornelius and Schnorr in Munich until 1833, when he won a stipend for two years in Italy. Not long after his return to Munich in 1835, he worked with Heinrich Hess on frescoes for the new basilica of St. Boniface, a building commissioned by Ludwig I to serve as his burial place; the frescoes were destroyed by allied bombs in 1945. Janssen had to withdraw from the project in 1843, when he was diagnosed as suffering from tuberculosis of the bone. He returned to his native Hamburg, where he died two years later at age thirty-eight. What Janssen considered Raphael's left shoulder

204

10 11

12 13 14

15 16

17

18

Notes to pages 88—89

and right hand are now seen as Bindo’s right shoulder and left hand. Had Raphael used a mirror, as Bottari claimed, to paint his own reflection, he would have had either to rest his painting hand on his chest, or to correct the reflected image and remove from the picture his own hand at work. Amaury-Duval 1993, p. 89. Letter from Florence to Jean-Pierre-François Gilibert, 1 November 1822, in Boyer d’Agen 1909, p. 91: “Je saurai être original en imitant.” Amaury-Duval 1993, p. 278, as in n. 1. Boyer d’Agen 1909, pp. 374-75. Magasin encyclopédique, 13 Thermidor, an V (31 July 1797), p. 555. Moniteur universel, no. 310, 10 Thermidor, an VI (28 July 1798), pp. 1243-44. Moniteur universel, no. 168, 18 Ventôse, an VIII (19 March 1800), p. 672. The masterpieces from Palazzo Pitti were on view in the Salon Carré of the Louvre - along with the Transfiguration and a few other pirated Raphaels — from 19 March through 19 August 1800. After that, it was not easy to see the Madonna della Sedia. When the initial public exhibition closed, Napoleon and Josephine requisitioned the celebrated painting for their private apartment in the Tuileries; they later moved it to St. Cloud and in 1810 it was returned to the Louvre. The copy of Cardinal Bibbiena (Montauban, Musée Ingres, inv. 867.3755), a watercolor and metalpoint drawing, is in lamentable condition, and Cuzin (in Paris 1983-84^ no. 115) admitted the possibility that it was made after a print. The painting was rarely copied in Florence (Florence 1984a, no. 16), and Ingres’s drawing is the only example known to have survived. Maria Cosway made a print after the picture in Paris, and an anonymous outline engraving appeared in Manuel du Museum Français iv (Paris, 1803). There, as Passavant (1839—58, 11, p. 178) pointed out, the Bibbiena portrait (no. 28) was misiden­ tified as that of Tommaso Fedra Inghirami (no. 19). Ingres’s copy of the Madonna, dell’ Impannata is in a French private collection. Wildenstein 1954 also lists a copy after the Madonna di Foligno (no. 20, present location unknown). Among them were Lorenzo Bartolini, 1805 (Mon­ tauban, Musée Ingres) and François Marius Granet, 1809 or 1807 (Aix-en-Provence, Musée Granet), illustrated in London, Washington, and New York 1999, fig. 53 and no. 25. Ternois 2001, pp. 114-15, argues for a dating of the Granet to 1807. Another friend Ingres painted around this time and with almost the same dimensions as the Bartolini portrait was a young law student also from Montauban, Jean-François Gilibert. The

19

20

21

22

23

24

sitter’s granddaughter bequeathed the portrait to the Musée Ingres in 1937; see the discussion by Philip Conisbee and Nancy Yeide in London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 5, pp. 53—55, where all three portraits mentioned here are illustrated in color. As pointed out by Conisbee and Yeide (London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 4), this was the last time he saw his father. Ingres kept the portrait throughout his life and bequeathed it to the city of Montauban. An engraving after the picture published in 1851 shows Ingres’s father in three-quarter length, suggesting the possibility that the painting may have been reduced and was originally closer in size to the Bartolini and Gilib­ ert portraits. See Achille Réveils engraving in Magimel 1851, pl. 6. The late Ingres scholar Hans Naef believed the painting to be an entirely new work of 1850 (Naef 1977-80, in, p. 203). Ternois (2001, p. 47) also wondered if it is not a substitution for the orig­ inal; he reported that laboratory analysis has pro­ duced no satisfactory explanation. Gary Tinterow (in London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 147, n. 11) described the incon­ clusive i960 x-radiographs, but saw revisions in the canvas suggesting that the earlier painting is beneath the surface. Ternois dated the repainting to between 1841 and 1851, when an engraving by Réveil reproduced the new version (Magimel 1851, pl. 1). Brown (1983, p. 187) suggested Binda Altoviti as the inspiration for Ingres’s reworking of this Self-Portrait. The painting has been cut down, and except for its smaller size, it could face that of Gilibert or, especially, Bartolini, as a pendant. See Tinterow in London, Washington, and New York 1999, p. 366. Citing Ternois (Paris 1967—68, p. 38), who saw the series as companion portraits, Conisbee (in London, Washington, and New York 1999, p. 36) further speculates that Ingres made the Gili­ bert portrait first, then replaced it by painting the Bartolini portrait after Gilibert took his own por­ trait back to Montauban. Conisbee’s astute dis­ cussion of the early sequence and the more developed Rivière family portraits (Paris, Louvre) is in London, Washington, and New York 1999, PP· 33-43· London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 11, illustrated on p. 73. Conisbee’s entry (n. 1) cites an unpublished letter dated 7 January 1807 from Ingres to Pierre Forestier, Julie’s father (Paris, Fondation Custodia, inv. 1972.A.42). C., “Salon de 1806,” Mercure de France xxvi, no. 273 (11 October 1806), p. 77, cited in Lapauze 1911, pp. 45-46. Boyer d Agen 1909, letters to Forestier, 5 and 22 October 1806, pp. 44, 48: “The

Notes to pages 90—92

scoundrels, they waited until I left to assassinate my reputation.” By the time Pierre Forestier sent Julie’s completed copy to Joseph Ingres, the engagement was over. As Conisbee observed, the painting reached Montauban in early August 1807, the very week that Ingres wrote to Mr. Forestier to announce that he would not be returning to France anytime soon. The picture remained in Ingres’s collection until his death. Two of Ingres’s greatest admirers later owned Julie Forestier’s copy. Edgar Degas bought it in 1898, and Henry Lapauze, director of the Petit Palais and author of a major Ingres monograph in 1911, purchased it at the Degas estate sale in 1918; see London, Washington, and New York 1999, P· 75, provenance notes. Lapauze (1910) also wrote a book on the relationship with Julie Forestier. 25 Susan Locke Siegfried attributed this etching (inv. 68.2.6) to Jean-Louis Potrelle in “Ingres and His Critics, 1806 to 1824,” Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1980, pp. 96—97, n. 11, cited by Tinterow (London, Wash­ ington, and New York 1999, no. 147, n. 9). Siegfried believed that Potrelle, a student ofTardieu and Desnoyers, made his reproductive print before Ingres left for Rome in September 1806. Potrelle’s engraving after the Bartolini por­ trait is dated on the plate “Anno XIII,” the final year in the Republican calendar, abandoned in September 1805. 26 C., “Salon de 1806,” as in n. 23; London, Wash­ ington, and New York 1999, no. 11, p. 74. See also Yoo-Kyong Lee, “Une Entree en scène peu applaudie: Ingres aux Salons de 1802 et 1806,” Bulletin du Musée Ingres, no. 71 (April 1998), pp. 61-72. Equally puzzling are other critics’ descriptions of the head as “silhouetted” against the white canvas. P.-J.-B. Chaussard wrote: “You see a tanned face, black hair which makes a stain on a white canvas, a coat flung over a shoulder and masking its forms, a white hand­ kerchief in the hand; in sum, a systematic oppo­ sition of black to white, which produces an extremely unpleasant disharmony”; see Le Pau­

27

28

sanias français: Etat des arts du dessin en France, à l'ouverture du XIX siècle. Salon de 1806 (Paris,

1806), p. 180, cited by Lapauze 1911, p. 44. An anonymous colleague described the picture sim­ ilarly: “A painter, whose head, with a mop of thick black- hair, stands out in silhouette on a large white canvas; the artist, dressed in black and covered with a white redingote, wipes [the canvas] with a very white handkerchief, which makes it white on white”; L'Observateur au Musée Napoléon ou la critique des tableaux en vaudeville

(Paris, 1806), cited by Lapauze 1911, p. 45. Yet the viewer cannot see today that the painter’s head

29

30

205

was silhouetted against the white canvas. On the contrary, in the Forestier copy, as in Potrelle’s etching, Ingres’s head is well to the left of the stretched canvas, against a dark background. On the Salon critics’ obsession with “whiteness,” see Adrian Rifkin, Ingres, Then and Now (London: Routledge, 2000), chapter 2, especially pp. 95-100. The etching is inscribed with his instructions, presumably to the printmaker, to alter the “movement of the eye,” as well as the remark that the contour of the nose is “very fine.” Ingres also introduced graphite and gouache corrections around his own head on the print. Tinterow (London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 147, p. 456) dates both the addition of Gilibert to the canvas and the alterations indicated on the etching to 1824 or after, since Ingres first saw the painting again when he returned to Paris from Italy. There are several extant prints of Charles Marville’s photograph. The Bibliothèque Nationale print formed part of the documentation assem­ bled by the medalist and sculptor Edouard Gatteaux, a friend of Ingres and collector of his works; Gatteaux bequeathed the Marville pho­ tographs to the library in 1881. The bordered handkerchief monogram “I” is faintly legible in Marville’s photograph of the picture, as it is in the etching in Montauban. The painted copy in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Bequest of Grace Rainey Rogers, 1943; inv. 43.85.1) was attributed by Tinterow (London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 147) to Madame Gustave Héquet, one of Ingres’s students. The Héquet copy, as Tinterow has shown, has in turn been altered by another hand. Originally, x-radiographs reveal, the lower right end of the stretched canvas was visible in profile on the easel, as in the picture in Chantilly. Another painted copy by Atala Stamaty Varcollier, made between 1850 and i860 under Ingres’s supervi­ sion, shows the painter’s left hand on his chest, with a ringed middle finger, and a deep shadow behind the hand, as in Bindo Altoviti. Varcollier’s copy was offered at auction by Sotheby’s, New York, on 27 January 2005 (lot 50), but did not find a buyer. Lapauze 1911, pp. 46-47, saw the right angle of the 1804 overcoat underneath the brown carrick of the late version, and also claimed to see the earlier outstretched left arm underneath the hand poised on the breast. Lapauze also believed the object hanging from Ingres’s easel to be the bow of his violin; it seems rather to represent a palette. A relining of the canvas in the 1880s added a layer of white lead, opaque to x-radiographs; the examination in the Louvre laboratory requested

2o6

31 32

33

34

35

36 37

Notes to pages 92-94

by Naef in 1970 therefore produced inconclusive results; see Naef 1977-80, in, p. 203. Even the principal drawing associated with the Self-Por­ trait defies dating. Acquired by the Louvre in 1908, this pencil drawing, inscribed to Ingres’s second wife, appears to be a copy or tracing intended to tame the facial expression described by a critic in 1806 as “somber and fierce.” See London, Washington, and New York 1999, nos. 11 and 12 for an illustration and discussion of the Louvre drawing. Lapauze 1911, p. 42. The Cecchi print from a drawing by Hugford was reproduced in [Rau and Rastrelli] 1769—76, iv, opposite p. 189. We are grateful to Georges Vigne, formerly of the Musée Ingres, for calling our attention to this impression. Ternois 1965, no. 178, notes that Wildenstein accepted the picture (1954, no. 163, fig. 93); for Ternois, “it seems difficult to see the hand of Ingres himself in the rather mediocre copy of the Altoviti portrait.” Again, we cannot know when he might have painted or acquired the painted copy; it does not appear to rely solely on the Cecchi print, if it was made from a print at all, and not from the original. The painting seems to carry information transmitted in the engraving by Morghen, and it is not impossible that an impression of Morghen’s print reached Paris soon after its publication in 1803. Cecchi’s and Morghen’s engravings, however, as well as the painted copy, lack the distinctive shadow of the head in the background behind the left hand, a feature that connects the final version of Ingres’s Self-Portrait in Chantilly so markedly with the original Raphael. As Cuzin said, “Few works by the Montauban painter do not gain by being examined with the thought of his love for Raphael in mind, even those [. . .] which would seem quite far removed [from the master]” (in Paris 1983-84b, p. 123). Conisbee in London, Washington, and New York 1999, p. 41. For drawings from the Musée Ingres that show the basin, called the vasque, see Washington 1971, nos. 27 and 28. Lucien Bonaparte had taken Raphael’s Madonna of the Candelabra to Paris in 1801, but brought it back to Rome on his return in 1804. Ingres made two copies of the Raphael in Rome. One is a painted copy dated 1817 (Blois, Château-Musée) showing just the Virgin and Child; he presented the picture to the composer Luigi Cherubini. The other is a finished drawing, heightened with watercolor, after the entire composition (Mon­ tauban, Musée Ingres, inv. no. 867.3653). JeanPierre Granger, one of Ingres’s few friends among his fellow students in Rome, also copied the Madonna.

38 Lapauze 1911, p. 76. See also the entry by Hans Naef in Washington 1971, no. 9. 39 Granet had moved to Rome in 1802, through the support of his loyal friend from Aix, comte Auguste de Forbin, who had also helped him financially in Paris. Both had been students of David when Ingres entered the studio, but Granet’s funds ran out, and Forbin, survivor of an ancient Provençal family, had to join the army. 40 Inventory of 31 January 1800, cited by Bonnard 1933, p. 232. The Altoviti chapel was one of the last four to be added to the church at the time the façade was built, around 1570; under the twin bell towers two new chapels were erected on each side. On 9 March 1573 the first chapel on the right was consigned to Bindo’s son, who dedi­ cated it to his own patron saint, also the patron of Florence, St. John the Baptist; see Bonnard 1933, p- 4°· Giovanni Battista then transferred his father’s remains from Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The altarpiece and frescoed mural cycle for the Altoviti chapel by Giovanni Battista Naldini, a Florentine painter who trained under Pontormo, are illustrated in Romei and Dell’Agli 1996, pp- 5-7· 41 Appointed late in 1807, the Republican sympa­ thizer Guillaume Guillon Lethière found room in Trinità dei Monti for his gigantic canvases. 42 Napoleon created from the Papal States two new French departments, Trasimeno (Umbria) and Tiber (Rome and Lazio) and named as governor of Rome the general who had occupied the city in 1808, Sextius Miollis. On 10 June 1809, the same day that the lowering of the papal flag and the firing of the fortress cannon of Castel Sant’Angelo announced that Rome was henceforth in France, Pius VII issued a bull excommunicating Napoleon and anyone who supported him. Some three weeks later, during the night of 5-6 July, French soldiers woke the pope and his pro-secretary of state, Cardinal Bartolomeo Pacca, in their apartments in the Quirinale palace, and forcibly escorted them in closed carriages into exile and imprisonment. 43 Charles Marcotte, called Marcotte d'Argenteuil, was assigned to Rome in 1810 as inspector general of forests and waterways. Ingres's Marcotte d’Argenteuil (Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1952.2.24), a bril­ liant portrayal of the civil servant painted that year, won rhe artist numerous other commissions among the French community; see London, Washington, and New York 1999, no. 26, and Eitner 2000, pp. 279-85. Ternois 1999 is an anno­ tated edition of Ingres's letters to Marcotte and a study of his connection with Ingres; this chapter relies heavily on the accompanying Dictionnaire (Ternois 2001), a monumental contribution to Ingres studies. Lapauze (1907) was the first to rec­

Notes to pages 94-98

44

45 46

47

48

49 50

ognize the importance of the Marcotte corre­ spondence. On other civil servant patrons in Rome, see Korchane in Rome 2003a, no. 31, p. 491, and London, Washington, and New York 1999, nos. 26-27 and PP· 30-33. The Campidoglio exhibition, organized by Lethière, opened on 19 November 1809, earning Ingres his first international publicity in a rave review signed “R.”: “Die französische Kunst­ Ausstellung in Rom vom Jahre 1809,” Morgen­ blattfir gebildete Stände, Extra Beylage (1810), no. 5, pp. 18-19. Unlike his reproving French coun­ terparts, the critic “R.” placed Ingres in the first rank of present-day colorists. In the Campidoglio show, Ingres had exhibited his portrait of Granet and a second portrait, as well as a nude called The Sleeper ofNaples (now lost), which was pur­ chased by Napoleon’s brother-in-law Joachim Murat, recently appointed King of Naples. See the essay and entries by Matteo Lafranconi, “Il programma cesareo del Quirinale,” in Rome 2003b, pp. 151-66. A watercolor drawing in the Musée Bonnat, Bayonne, attributed by Ternois to Ingres, with the assistance of an unidentified artist, shows the painter at work in Trinità dei Monti on Romulus, Conqueror ofAcron (Paris, Louvre), the first of his colossal pictures for the imperial residence; see Ternois 2001, p. 203. Ternois 1999, no. 1 (20 December 1812). Notes, sketches', and impressions of his first Easter week in Rome - 1807 — had given Ingres the initial im­ pulse for this work, sometimes called the Mar­ cotte Sistine Chapel to distinguish it from a second version Ingres painted in 1820 for the comte de Forbin (Paris, Louvre). Ternois 1999, Ingres to Marcotte, 18 July 1813, no. 2. Ternois 1999, Ingres to Marcotte, 26 May 1814, no. 3. Ternois 2001, p. 70; he notes other possible draw­ ings as well. Ingres inscribed the sketch of 1809 to the architect Pierre-Adrien Pâris, in 1807 interim director of the Académie de France in Rome, who bequeathed it to the Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie in Besançon (inv. D.3322). The figures of Pius VII, Cardinal Con­ salvi to the pope’s right, and another, partly hidden cardinal (later identified as a Doria) to the pope’s left appear in the painting precisely as he had placed them in the drawing. Although these three figures are unchanged in the painting of 1814, Ingres added the fourth and most promi­ nent figure in the drawing — the halberdier — only in a much later series of alterations to the fore­ ground of Marcotte’s painting. After transplant­ ing the face of the halberdier - his own face - to the trainbearer in 1814, Ingres did not paint the

51

52

53

54

55

56

207

figure’s torso into the foreground until he altered the painting in 1829. In that later reworking of Marcotte’s canvas, the halberdier no longer has Ingres’s face or Bindo’s pose; another model sat for the added figure. Ingres mentioned the pope’s festive entry into Rome as “yesterday,” although it took place on 24 May; see Ternois 1999, Ingres to Marcotte, 26 May 1814, no. 3. One of the pope’s first acts was to restore the Jesuit order, reversing the ban of 1773 for which Bottari and his friends had fought throughout their lives. The opening of the Salon, scheduled for 1 November 1814, was delayed until 5 November. Although a few critics praised the accuracy of details, the painting failed to cause the “noise” Ingres had intended. Ternois (2001, p. 69) warns against pushing a political interpretation too far, but notes that Ingres and Marcotte could well have intended a “discreet, but disapproving judg­ ment” of the emperor’s treatment of the pope. Uwe Fleckner (Rome 2003a, no. 129, pp. 500—01) sees Ingres as evading Marcotte’s questions con­ cerning the cardinals, and believes that the cari­ catural rendering of the churchmen may have irritated the Catholic patron. The discussion of the political significance of the picture in Eitner 2000, pp. 289-90, is judicious. Ternois 1999, Ingres to Marcotte, 26 May 1814, no. 3. See also Ternois 2001, p. 102, and Johnston 1982, no. 4, pp. 36—37. Ternois’s publication of the Marcotte correspondence has allowed the Betrothal, formerly thought to have been painted in 1813, to be dated more precisely to the weeks before Ingres’s letter to Marcotte of 26 May. The drawing (Cabinet des Dessins, RF 1449) was formerly in the Coutan-Hauguet collection. Louis Coutan was a collector whom Ingres met after his return to Paris in 1824; his first com­ mission was the Small Bather (Paris, Louvre). Also in 1824 Coutan bought the second version of the Sistine Chapel (Paris, Louvre) from the comte de Forbin, director of the Louvre after 1816. Ingres’s three preparatory drawings for the Betrothal are listed by Ternois in Paris 1967-68, no. 63; two sketches are in Montauban and a wash drawing is in a private collection in Paris. The late drawing, dated three years before Ingres died, is now in the Fogg Museum of Art, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., Bequest of Grenville L. Winthrop, 1943.374. Patricia Condon entitled an exhibition catalogue In Pursuit of Perfection: The Art ofJ. A.-D. Ingres·, see Louisville and Fort Worth 1983-84. The Betrothal, unbeknownst to Ingres, was included in the first sale of the estate of the Prince of Salerno, Leopold de Bourbon (19 April 1852, no. 118). For its later provenance see Ternois

2o8

57

58

59

60

61

Notes to pages 98-99

2001, pp. 102, 157, and n. 20, p. 158. The Balti­ more collector Henry Walters, who had just acquired Raphael’s Madonna of the Candelabra, bought the painting from the sale of Mrs. S. D. Warren in January 1903; see Johnston 1982, no. 4. Both Delaborde (1870, p. 226) and Lapauze (1911, p. 150) described the Betrothal as lost. See Cambridge, Mass. 1980, no. 62, p. 166. Queen Caroline commissioned the Grande Odalisque in 1813 as a pendant to the nude her husband had purchased in 1809 (now lost). Although Ingres sent the Grande Odalisque to Naples, Caroline Murat never paid him for it. Ingres had to enlist the aid of a French diplomat, as well as the assistance of the painter Louis Dupré, to get the painting back after the dethroned and widowed Caroline withdrew to Trieste as the Countess of Lipona (a syllabic reversal of Napoli); see the account in Ternois 2001, pp. in—13. Not “three months,” as Ingres wrote to Gilibert in June 1820 (and not 1819, as in Boyer d’Agen 1909, p. 39). On 10 March 1814 the French troops left Rome; in their place Murat’s Neapolitans occupied the city, acting in the name of Austria. Ternois (2001, pp. 155—58) explains drawings of the Murat children dated “Naples 1813” as either a mistake or the result of a possible undocu­ mented preliminary visit. See also Naef 1977—80, 66 1, PP· 379-97· Murat did not return to Naples until 2 May; Ingres would thus have overlapped there only briefly with the king, if at all. He may well, however, have encountered Juliette Récamier, who arrived in Naples in February 1814 and was with Caroline Murat when word arrived of Napoleon’s fall. As a David student in 1800, Ingres had painted the candelabra and the footrest in his master’s portrait of the famous beauty (Paris, Louvre); see Vigne in London, Washington, and New York 1999, pp. 524-25. Like the Betrothal, Ingres’s full-length portrait of Caroline Murat, dated Rome 1814, disappeared into a private collection after the Murats fled Naples. The picture resurfaced in 1987 and entered another private collection the following year; see Naef 1990. For the composition of the Betrothal, Ingres seemingly turned to Raphael’s Sposalizio (1504), purchased in March 1806 for the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan by Eugène de Beauharnais. Ingres’s architectural framing of his Betrothal, the carved inscription on the door lintel, the view through the door in the two drawings, and the arrangement of the principal figures all suggest his awareness of the panel in the Brera (see Paris 1967-68, no. 63; Brown 1983, p. 184; Paris 1983-841-1, no. 135, pp. 132-33; and Milan 1984,

no. 1). Ingres did not record seeing the painting when he passed through Milan in September 1806 on his way to Rome. Of the few known reproductive prints of the Milan Sposalizio, that of Nicolò Aureli is undated; see Raphael Inventi 1985, pp. 214, 758. The reproduction by Giuseppe Longhi, mentioned in Quatremère de Quincy 1824, p. 11, dates from 1821; Passavants dating of the Longhi print to 1812 (Passavant 1839—58, 11, p. 30) is erroneous. 62 See the list in Brown 1983, p. 201, n. 235. 63 In other notebooks (for example Cahier IX, Montauban, Musée Ingres, fols. 29-37), Ingres copied passages on Raphael from Vasari, Comolli, and other writers. Delaborde (1870, pp. 327-28) listed eight potential subjects in Ingres’s list, while Cuzin, dating Cahier IX to 1808—10 in Rome, identified fourteen subjects in his exami­ nation of Ingres’s notes (“Annexe II, Ingres et la vie de Raphaël,” in Paris 1983-84N pp. 467-68). See also Ternois 2001, “Cahiers d’Ingres,” pp. 57-6o.

64

65

67

68

69

Sketches by Ingres survive that relate to the birth of Raphael, his presentation to the pope by Bra­ mante, his death, and Raphael painting a work by Perugino; see Paris 1983—840, p. 468. Ingres to Gilibert, 18 July 1818, Boyer d’Agen 1909, p. 35. Trinità dei Monti was still a ruin and had not yet been resanctified, so the wedding took place in the nearby San Martino ai Monti on 4 Decem­ ber 1813. Ingres to Marcotte, 7 July 1814, Ternois 1999. no. 4: “Je vais être bientôt père.” Ingres to Marcotte, 18 July 1813, Ternois 1999, no. 2. Ternois (2001, p. 193) points out the possibil­ ity of dating the completion of the first version to the end of the year 1813. Ingres scholars dispute the sequence of the first two pictures. Many believe a lost version for­ merly in the museum in Riga to have preceded the Fogg painting; supporting that view is a letter to Marcotte of 26 May 1814, in which Ingres mentions completing “a replica of the Fornarina for M. Pourtalès,” a clear suggestion that there had been an earlier version (Ternois 1999. no. 3). Phis replica, the Fogg version, was the first acqui­ sition from Ingres by comte James-Alexandre de Pourtalès-Gorgier, who would become one of the most prominent art collectors of the nineteenth century. See Van Liete 1981, Toussaint 1986, the sequence of illustrations in Vigne 1995a, and Zerner in Wolohojian 2003, no. 53, pp. 157—59. Ternois (2001, p. 193), Vigne, and Zerner believe the Riga version to be the first, while Hélène loussaint sees the Fogg version as the earliest in the series. On the later versions, see Ternois 2001, pp. 194-97·

Notes to pages 100—105

70 A possible aid in engendering Ingres’s crossover between male and female subjects is a drawing in the Musée Ingres, where both the nude figures posed for this study - the Fornarina and Raphael — are women. Presented without comment by Lapauze (1911, p. 129), the drawing is illustrated in Vigne (1995b, no. 918, inv. 867.2085). Such a drawing is not at all quirky, any more than is the study in which Ingres posed nude for the Madonna in the Vow ofLouis XIII (Vigne 1995b, no. 449, inv. 867.2530). While working on the Vow in Florence, Ingres, struggling with the posi­ tion of the Virgin, asked the porcelain painter Abraham Constantin to sketch him. Ingres stripped and posed on a ladder, using his hat to represent the Infant Jesus (Boyer d’Agen 1909, p. 149; Vigne 1995a, fig. 135). Drawing figures nude before clothing them was good academic practice taught in David’s studio, a tradition that came down from Raphael himself. 71 Ternois 2001, p. 207. 72 See Heinrich Heine, Reisebilder, Zweiter Theil. Ideen: Das Buch Le Grand [1827], in Historisch­ kritische Gesamtausgabe der Werke, ed. Manfred Windfuhr, 16 vols. (Hamburg, 1973-), vi, ed. Jost Hermand (1973), p. 195. 73 Boyer d’Agen 1909, pp. 120—21, letter of Novem­ ber 1824. 74 In an undated letter to Gilibert from Florence, cited by Boyer d’Agen 1909, p. 91. 75 Lapauze 1910, p. 282. In a letter to Sosthène, vicomte de La Rochefoucauld, Director General of Fine Arts, recommending Ingres for the honor, the comte de Forbin said of the Vow ofLouis XIII, “The painting brings the School back to healthy doctrines.” Stendhal expressed the same senti­ ment about Ingres’s portrait of “N.” (i.e. Norvins), saying that if Ingres continued in that style, he would save the French school from Boucher and Van Loo and bring it back to Sarto and Raphael; see Stendhal, “Salon de 1824, xvie Article,” Journal de Paris, 22 December 1824, reprinted in Salons, ed., intro., and annot. Stephane Guégan and Martine Reid (Paris: Gal­ limard, 2002), pp. 137-43. Two days after receiv­ ing the award, Ingres wrote to Quatremère, head of the Académie des Beaux-Arts, asking to be considered to replace the recently deceased Girodet; for the text of the letter, see René Schneider, Quatremère de Quincy et son interven­ tion dans les arts (1788-1850) (Paris: Hachette, 1913), p. 251, n. 1. 76 See Wagner 1969, p. 69, and figs. 49-50. 77 The SelfPortrait attracted a steady stream of reg­ istered copyists at the Uffizi - five artists applied in 1823, for example, and six in 1824 (Florence 1984a, p. 53) - but Ingres was not among them. A friend of the Swiss porcelain painter Constan­

209

tin, however, François-Gédéon Reverdin, applied in 1823. Ingres may have copied the Uffizi panel while Reverdin was doing so, just as he had copied Titian’s Venus of Urbino (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum) at the same time as Con­ stantin; see Abraham Constantin, “Ma Cinquan­ taine: Notes autobiographiques,” unpublished manuscript, Geneva, Paul Chaix collection, quoted in Geneva 1984, p. 200. Ingres’s copy of the Raphael is in the Musée Ingres, Montauban. 78 Haskell 1971 (reprinted in Haskell 1987) remains the most enjoyable essay on this subject. See also Paris 1983—84b, pp. 429-46, and Florence 1984b, pp. 160—203. An exhibition catalogue edited by Paul Verbraeken and Patricia Vansummeren (Antwerp 1999) includes a statistical study by Verbraeken and Vera Caremans (“L’Europe peint l’Europe,” pp. 291-96). The authors analyze some eight hundred works of art depicting Old Masters made in nineteenth-century Europe — paintings, sculpture, and graphic art. In the rep­ resentations examined for their study, 919 differ­ ent painters of the past appear (Table 6); some objects depict more than one painter. For Italian painters, they counted 269 images (Table 5D). Of these nearly one third depict Raphael; Michelan­ gelo, with 13 per cent, came second. 79 Jean-Claude Chabert published the series Galerie des peintres ou collection de portraits des peintres les plus célèbres de toutes les écoles, 3 vols. (Paris:

Chabert, 1822—34). Delpech printed the 270 lith­ ographic portraits. 80 Quatremère de Quincy 1824, p. 396. Passavant (1839—58, 11, pp. 424-25), more concerned with identifying the subjects than with authorship, saw the participation of a pupil, while Crowe and Cavalcaselle (1882-85, n> P· 560) suggested Poli­ doro da Caravaggio. For a summary of the attri­ bution history, see Paris 1983-843, no. 13, and Pope-Hennessy 1970, p. 260, n. 26. The second figure in the painting remains unidentified. 81 The Nationalmuseum, Stockholm, purchased the Sandberg painting in May 2000 (inv. 7003); see Face to Face: Portraits of Five Centuries, ed. Gôrel Cavalli-Bjôrkman et al., exh. cat., Nationalmuseum, Stockholm, 2001. Sandberg exhibited his Five Artists in the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in 1836 with a pendant depicting five composers: Mozart, Handel, Haydn, Gluck, and Bach. 82 T he French ambassador was Armand-CharlesSeptime de Fay, comte de La Tour-Maubourg, named to replace his late brother in October 1838. Drafts of his letters to Madame Joséphine de Coriolis, acting mother superior, and to Ingres, both dated 22 December 1838, survive in Nantes at the Centre des Archives Diplomatiques (Ministère des affaires étrangères, Rome-Saint

210

Notes to pages iop-iio

Siège, ambassade, carton 612, dossier Trinité-des­ Monts). Antoinette Le Normand-Romain, Olivier Bonfait, Jérôme Cras, and Armand Van Nimmen kindly facilitated access to these docu­ ments. The inventory is mentioned in Bonnard 1933, p. 251 (former file no. 3076/8), and its exis­ tence is also noted in Witcombe 2002, p. 291, n. 91. To represent them in the survey, the nuns selected papal architect Gaspare Salvi. Mother Marie-Guyonne du Penhoat, RSCJ, generously provided us with information on the Dames du Sacré Coeur. 83 Commissioned by the French government for the church in 1817, Ingres completed Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter in June 1820. On this and other commissions for the French church, see Ternois 2001, pp. 129-30, and Laura Hickman Neis, “Ultra-Royalism and Romanti­ cism: The Due de Blacas’s Patronage of Ingres, Delacroix, and Horace Vernet,” Ph.D. disserta­ tion, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1987 (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, 1988). Mother Eugénie Audé agreed in 1841 to return Ingres’s St. Peter to the French government in exchange for a copy by a Rome Prize winner of 1837, Jean-Gilbert Murat.

6

Whose Face?

i “Und niemand kann die dürre Schaale lieben, / Welch herrlich edlen Kern sie auch bewahrte,” from Goethes “Beinhaus Gedicht” (see Schöne 2002). The thirty-four-line poem, written in tercets in imitation of Dante, is also called “Im ernsten Beinhaus,” after the first line, or “Bei Betrachtung von Schillers Schädel” (On Looking at Schillers Skull), a title added by Johann Peter Eckermann. For an English translation by David Luke, see Goethe: The Collected Works, ed. Christopher Middleton, 12 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994- ), I, p. 257. 2 The woman is Ingress colleague and portrait subject, the painter Hortense HaudebourtLescot. 3 Letter to Gilibert, 13 May 1825, cited by Boyer d’Agen 1909, p. 125. 4 Like Ingres, David had earned his decoration for a work commissioned for a church in his home province; at the Salon of 1824 he had exhibited the plaster for his marble monument to Bonchamps (1819-25) for the church of SaintFlorent-le-Vieil (Maine-et-Loire). On the mon­ ument, see de Caso 1992, pp. 62-73. 5 One of the earliest in the series of medallions was a small portrait of Ingres, dated 1826. Continu­ ing to immortalize the French school of painting in the 1830s, David dedicated a medallion to the

aging Gros, as well as to Jacques-Louis David, Prud’hon, and Géricault, all of whom had died in the previous decade. See J. G. Reinis, The Por­ trait Medallions of David d’Angers: An Illustrated Catalogue ofDavid’s Contemporary and Retrospec­ tive Portraits in Bronze (New York: Polymath

Press, 1999). 6 Pursuing greatness in Weimar, David had to miss the première of Rossini’s last opera, Guillaume Tell, which took place in Paris on 3 August 1829. He dedicated a large medallion to Rossini that year, and his marble bust of the composer (inscribed 1831) is in the Cleveland Museum of Art. Rossini had also attended the awards cere­ mony in the Salon Carré in January 1825; he stands in the back row of Heim’s painting. Faust, Part I had its première at the Hoftheater in Brunswick in January 1829, some twenty-one years after Goethe finished the play. The poet did not attend the Weimar production, but a French visitor would have been keenly interested in the performance; a translation in 1828 by the nineteen-year-old Gérard de Nerval - Faust, tragédie de Goethe (Paris: Dondey-Dupré, 1828) — had unleashed a Faust furore in Paris. Dozens of illus­ trations appeared by Achille Devéria, Delacroix, and others, and Berlioz would use the text in 1829 for his Huit scenes de Faust, op. 1, and in 1846 for La Damnation de Faust, op. 24. 8 Gall gave ten lectures in Munich at the end of April and early May 1807; see Messerer 1966, no. 7, p. 17, 17 May 1807, Ludwig to Dillis. 9 In March 1814 Gall’s former co-worker, Johann Gaspar Spurzheim, arrived in England, where the phrenological head he devised to demon­ strate the layout of the “organs” proved to have greater appeal as a teaching aid than the skulls Gall mapped to locate brain functions. 10 The popular playwright August von Kotzebue mocked Gall in a play called Craniomanie in 1806. His character Mr. Spinalcord feels the heads of servants before hiring them, looking for thievishness, and welcomes his son home after an absence of four years by congratulating him on the enlargement of his mathematics knob. He then discreetly checks the back of the youth's head just below the ears, the spot where ama­ tiveness - as some English texts delicately put it, while Gall called it bluntly the sex drive — man­ ifests itself. “Nothing back there yet?” the father asks, then exclaims with satisfaction, “No, really flat, like a pocket watch!” (Rückenmark: Die Organe des Gehirns, Act 1, scene 9,1η Theater, 40 vols., Vienna: Ignaz Klang, 1840—41), xx, p. 71. Gall had discovered the function of this area in the cerebellum when he laid hands on a nympho­ maniacal widow and found the back of her head enlarged and radiating heat.

Notes to pages no—it}

II Carus 1843-45, Part 2, pl. 2 (Rumohr); Carus 1864, pls. 10 (Rumohr) and 7 (Kant). Carus, among the doctors in attendance on Rumohr during his final illness, published an essay appended to a biography of his late friend, com­ menting on both the death mask and the autopsy results (Carus 1844). In his view the prominent development at the base of Rumohr’s skull indi­ cating sexual appetites was somewhat at odds with the areas for analytical thought; he was not as surprised by the fat that had damaged the gourmet’s liver. 12 Unlike David, Goethe did describe the modeling of his bust in a letter: “I see a monstrous mass of clay brought together and piled up and, to my great amazement, my portrait in colossal pro­ portions emerges. Fortunately he slowly succeeds in giving it a natural appearance, so that every­ one is satisfied with it”; Goethe to Adele Schopenhauer, 9 September 1829, in Goethe 1998, in.2, no. 6432. See also Goethe 1996, vm, p. 244. 13 Notebook entry reproduced in Goethe 1998, in.2, no. 6432, p. 501, and David d’Angers 1958, i, p. 48· 14 Wilhelm von Humboldt (1916, vii, pp. 309—10, cited in Schöne 2002, pp. 39-40) reported at once to his wife that Goethe had placed the skull on a blue velvet cushion under a removable glass cover. Similarly sworn to secrecy was the poet’s one-time secretary, Friedrich Wilhelm Riemer, shown the skull along with Humboldt on 29 December 1826. 15 Awed at the sight of the relic, King Ludwig also wrote a poem with a somewhat jarring rhyme of Lippe (lips) and Gerippe (skeleton), quoted in full in Schöne 2002, p. 26. 16 Max Hecker collected documents pertaining to Schiller’s burial and reburial in Schiller’s Tod und Bestattung (Leipzig: Insel, 1935). 17 Goethe, Italienische Reise, ed. Christoph Michel, 2 vols. (Frankfurt am Main: Insel, 1976), 11, p. 696. Published English translations include those by Robert R. Heitner (Goethe, Collected Works, as in n. 1 above, vi, 1994) and Italian Journey, 1786-1788, trans. W. H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer [1962] (London: Penguin Books, 1982). 18 Humboldt 1916, p. 310. 19 Goethe 1998, in.2, no. 6432, p. 501; David d’Angers 1958, 1, p. 48. 20 The skull Goethe had contemplated as that of Schiller, though allowed to rest in peace in the royal tomb for a little over fifty years, would be similarly discredited. In 1883 Hermann Weicker, an anthropology professor at Halle, declared the relic false; see his Schiller’s Schädel und Todtenmaske, nebst Mittheilungen über Schädel und Todtenmaske Kants (Brunswick: Vieweg, 1883).

21

22

23 24

25

26

27

28

211

Schöne 2002 deftly summarizes the controversies over the identification of the Schiller skull, re­ established as authentic in 1961. The French scholar buried an attack on Gall’s theories in his observation that although one might be amazed that the “bony case” for Raphael’s brain had such a small capacity, “Nothing, in fact, can better refute the material­ ist systems of those who persist in looking for the causes of thought in the organs and in making the properties of the soul or of genius depend on physical faculties or bodily form”; Quatremère de Quincy 1824, pp. 392-93. This account of the dispute is based on the letter from Antonio Nibby to Quatremère de Quincy, written in October 1833 and published in the third edition of Quatremère’s Raphael book two years later (unpaginated appendix). For the best analysis of Fea’s role, see Ridley 2000, pp. 380-82. Odescalchi 1833, p. 15. Salvi, who would be chosen in 1840 by the Dames du Sacre Coeur to conduct the inventory of art works in Trinità dei Monti with Ingres, added that he had run his index finger along the artist’s teeth; remarkably preserved, as in Schiller’s skull, there were thirtyone according to Nibby, twenty-nine in other accounts. Vernet’s lithograph depicts the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen, seen from the back. Acting in his capacity as a member of the pontifical fine arts commission, Thorvaldsen points out the skeleton to Cardinal Vicar Giacinto Placido Zurla, representing Pope Gregory XVI, as a Swiss guard looks on. Giambattista Borani, who fre­ quently reproduced works by Camuccini, copied the Roman painter’s drawings on stone. Carlo Falconieri (1875, pp. 185-86) called the Borani lithographs “as perfect as photographs”. A young architect recently arrived in Rome, Falconieri had also been present at the opening of the tomb in 1833 and that year published a dramatic account of the atmosphere in the Pantheon. If only others would follow Fea’s good example, Pietro Odescalchi commented wistfully in his description of the discovery (1833, p. 18), how much sweeter would be science, how much kinder the humanities. Fea also produced a brief booklet on the exhumation (1833). The name of the founder. Desiderio Adjutorio, is sometimes spelled d’Adiutorio. Not only is Goethes cast intact, but the original Adjutorio skull is preserved in the collections of the Virtu­ osi. Between 10 and 17 October 1833 a cast of Raphael’s skull, described by some sources as wax and others as plaster, was taken under the super­ vision of the sculptor Giuseppe De Fabris in the

212

29

30

31

32

33 34 35

36

Notes to pages 113-118

presence of witnesses. According to Vitaliano Tiberia, current president of the Virtuosi, the cast disappeared toward the end of the nine­ teenth century; we are grateful for his gracious response to our queries on 2 September 2003. Belli’s last six lines are written in tercet form, but their irreverent tone has little in common with Goethe’s poem (see n. 1 above). Belli saidthat everyone was chanting the same old song, “It’s Raphael, it’s not Raphael,” and every day the Pantheon was full. “Certainly, no one doubts it’s a serious matter! As if in Rome with its twenty or thirty cemeteries there are not enough bones! You find a skeleton in the loose earth? Well, without making such a mystery of it, throw it back in the pit.” See Giuseppe Gioachino Belli, Poesie Romanesche, to vols., ed. Roberto Vighi (Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 1989-90), v, no. 1010, pp. 70-71. On 17 October 1834 Belli wrote another satiric poem (vi, no. 1334), about a funeral mass said for Raphael at the Pantheon a year after his second funeral. Belli pointed out that the artist had already spent more than three hundred years in Purgatory, and that the pope might have done better to order a mass for the recently deceased Wicar, implying that the Frenchman had been a bigger sinner. Carus 1853, p. 139, figs. 22 and 23 (figs. 24 and 25 in subsequent editions). Carus was one of the few researchers of his day to argue that women, in spite of their small skulls, are often intellectually superior to men. Odescalchi (1833, p. 58) described the concerns of the Virtuosi that the casts taken in October 1833 might be used for commercial purposes. Mainraining Raphael’s dignity was the presumed motive for their continuing qualms over a dis­ semination of the cast of the skull through copies. Schaaffhausen 1883, p. 12. In this passage he repeats an explanation he had offered the previ­ ous year at an anthropology congress in Frank­ furt, that the feminine aspects were related to the master’s renowned grace. Weicker 1884, p. 433. Weicker 1884, p. 422. For a guidebook reference see, for example, Mueller, 1858, 11, p. 183. For German art histori­ ans’ views, see Liihke 1875, 11, pp. 120-21; I.iibke [1878], 11, p. 287; and Springer 1877, especially the second, revised edition of 1883, p. 357. 45 Muntz (1881, p. 309) included an illustration (see Appendix A, no. 58), while his reference to the picture is in a footnote, pp. 403-04. The title Bindo Altoviti appeared under a reproduction of the panel in I.iibke and Ltitzow 1883-84, 11, pl. 78 (see Appendix A, no. 59). Charles I.. Eastlake, keeper of the National Gallery, London, in his

book describing the principal paintings at the Ältere Pinakothek (Eastlake 1884, pp. 201—02) did not mention Bindo Altoviti as the sitter for the portrait, “once supposed to be one of Raphael himself.” As for other pictures, Eastlake cites Morelli’s opinion, in this case, “repainted by a later hand,” and remarks: “Considering the great name attached to this work its appearance is somewhat disappointing.” 37 Gruyer 1881, 11, p. 41. 38 The first, second, and fourth editions of Rudolf Marggraff’s collection catalogue for Munich called the painting firmly a portrait of Bindo Altoviti; see Munich 1865, 1869, and 1879, no. 585. In the third edition (Munich 1872, no. 585), citing Grimm 1869, Marggraff called it “a por­ trait of a youthful man,” and left it up to the individual museumgoer to form his or her own judgment. 39 Now inv. 613, tentatively attributed to Correggio; Weicker (1884, p. 426, n. 1) cited inv. 372, used in the catalogue by the vicomte Both de Tauzia, Notices des tableaux [. . .] Premiere partie: Ecoles d’Italie et dEspagne (Paris, 1877).

40 Weicker (1884, p. 418) listed his experts and sum­ marized their opinions in his n. 2. 41 Weicker 1884, p. 423. 42 Weicker 1884, p. 427. Weicker was the first direc­ tor of the Anatomisches Institut in Halle and custodian of the Meckel Collection. Many of Weicker’s prepared specimens are still on view in the institute; see Riidiger Schultka, Die Hallesche Anatomie und ihre Sammlungen: Ein Instituts­ und Sammlungsführer (Halle: Lau Verlag, 2000).

43 Weicker 1884, pp. 438-39. 44 Captured with incriminating documents near Piacenza by the Austrians, Cavalcaselle was sen­ tenced to death, but Field Marshal Radetzsky and his troops had to retreat before his ordered execution. Cavalcaselle eventually joined Giu­ seppe Mazzini, who after February 1849 headed a hopeful new Roman Republic. In April the Republicans, led by Giuseppe Garibaldi, de­ feated the French forces invoked by Pope Pius IX, then in exile. In June, however, French rein­ forcements arrived to hold Rome in siege for a month and definitively crush the republic. Cavalcaselle, like Mazzini, went into exile in London and resumed his study, not of art history, but of paintings. As a journalist in 1848, Springer covered the par­ allel constituent assembly in Vienna and later in Kremsier, Moravia. Signing the preface in August 1849 to a compilation of his lectures in Prague on the history of revolutions. Springer asserted that even if the episode of freedom were brief, it would return and last longer (Springer 1849, p. x). "

Notes to pages 118—122

46 Springer 1892, p. 1. That conversion was neces­ sary for a career in Bonn is demonstrated by the case of the anthropologist Schaaffhatisen, who remained a staunch Catholic and experienced little confessional freedom in the university, where his promotions were flagrantly delayed; see Ursula Zangl-Kumpf, Hermann Schaaffhausen (1816—1893): Die Entwicklung einer neuen physis­ chen Anthropologie im 19. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt:

47

48

49 50 5i 52­ 53 54

55 56 57

R. G. Fischer, 1990), pp. 15-16. Schaaffhausen, made an associate professor at the age of thirtynine, kept the title for his entire career, and thus had no voting rights; he was finally given an hon­ orary full professorship on the fiftieth anniver­ sary of his doctorate. [Grimm, Jacob, and Wilhelm Grimm] 1998, p. 25, citing a letter from Jacob Grimm to Karl Goedecke, 21 December 1855. Holger Ehrhardt’s introduction to his edition of the correspondence offers an insightful view of Herman Grimm before 1863; on his significance to art history, see Kultermann 1966, pp. 122-24, and an essay from Waetzoldt 1924, reprinted in Grimm 1934, pp. 473-93The essay was originally published as a three-part serial (Grimm 1857), and often reprinted, for example in Grimm 1934, pp. 291—386. Gisela von Arnim married Grimm in 1859, the year both her widowed mother and Grimm’s father died. See Munich 1865. Moritz 1986, p. 13. Grimm 1869, p. 573. Grimm 1869, p. 575. Grimm 1869, p. 581. Grimm 1869, pp. 591—92. Grimm notes that Pas­ savant in his passage on Raphael’s frailty (Passa­ vant 1839—58, i, pp. 365—66) acknowledged its origin with Giovan Pietro Bellori (1695). Quatremère had reprinted the passage from Bellori, his source for a similar phrase (“rien en lui ne présageoit une constitution de longue durée”); see Quatremère de Quincy 1824, p. 397 and Appendix no. 14, p. 469. Grimm 1869, p. 591. Grimm 1869, p. 595. Grimm 1869, p. 591. In a curious premonition of the fate of the Czartoryski portrait after World War II, neither Passavant nor Grimm could locate it in the mid-nineteenth century. Passa­ vant, who admitted that he had not seen the picture (1839-58,11, p. 123), said that after Czartoryski’s death, the English dealer Samuel Wood­ burn sold it in St. Petersburg (in, p. in); in fact, Prince Adam Czartoryski died in 1861, three years after Passavants published statement and a few months after his death. Grimm simply said it was lost (p. 596), citing Otto Mtindler’s article defin­

213

itively rejecting the picture as a self-portrait. Grimm failed to notice Mtindler’s comment that the painting was still in Czartoryski’s Paris mansion, the Palais Lambert, a gathering place for Polish exiles (Mtindler 1868, p. 300). Accord­ ing to Miindler, the prince - suddenly financially strapped - failed in his effort to sell the portrait in England through the dealer Woodburn in 1848. 58 The first disagreement between the two was over Grimm’s acceptance of an earlier identification of the figure next to Plato in Raphael’s School of Athens as St. Paul, not Aristotle. Springer asked sceptically, “an apostle and a philosopher?” Grimm fought as doggedly for his St. Paul iden­ tification as he would for his conviction that the Altoviti portrait was a self-portrait of Raphael. This dispute is documented in Springer 1867, p. 146. See Oberhuber 1983, pp. 53-55, on their opposing views, and Joost-Gaugier 2002 for a recent interpretation of the School ofAthens. Mild at first, Springer’s irritation exploded when Grimm’s Raphael monograph appeared in 1872. Conceived as the first volume of a projected two-volume work, the book was a translation and commentary on Vasari’s life of Raphael. Grimm divided Vasari’s revised text of 1568 into numbered chapters, and, according to this sequence, Vasari’s brief reference to the Altoviti portrait would have appeared only in the second volume. Eager to make his case, however, Grimm embedded a rearranged and edited version of his 1869 article in the book (Grimm 1872, pp. 241—76). No second volume, as such, would appear, perhaps because his fellow art historians — not only Springer — lambasted the first. Instead, Grimm retooled his book for a further edition (1886), adding Vasari’s original Italian text of 1550 as a running footnote to his transla­ tion based on Vasari 1568. A third, entirely rewritten edition (based on lectures at Berlin University) appeared under the same title in 1896. In neither the second edition nor the third does Grimm return to his arguments concerning the Altoviti portrait. Retreating from the Raphael identification that had drawn such critical fire, he does not discuss the portrait at all, nor did he select a frontispiece in 1886. An essay intended to begin a fourth edition, “Raphael als Weltmacht” (as world power), was published posthumously in Grimm 1934. 59 Springer, orphaned at an early age, was the son of the master brewer at the Strahof monastery in Prague. In contrast to Grimm, whose earliest and strongest experiences of art came from his uncle Louis (Ludwig Emil), Springer as a boy had Durer’s Rosenkranzbild (Prague, Narodni Galerie), with its small self-portrait of the master,

214

Notes to pages 122-123

constantly before his eyes; it hung at that time in the cloister. Springer’s last book was on Durer; he finished the introduction the day before he died at the end of May 1891. 60 Alfred Lichtwark, Richard Muther, Adolph Goldschmidt, Gustav Pauli, Max Friedlander, Ulrich Thieme, and Felix Becker all went to Leipzig to study under Springer. Goldschmidt wrote his family on 22 October 1888 that he was attending an average of four hours of lectures a day, and “the most interesting are naturally with Springer. With him, one first discovers what art history is. It’s all so clear and certain, what he says [. . .] he speaks very animatedly.” See Adolph Goldschmidt, 1863—1944. Lebenserinnerungen, ed. Marie Roosen-Runge-Mollwo (Berlin: Deut­ scher Verlag fiir Kunstwissenschaft, 1989), p. 70. 61 Harry Kessler, Gesichter und Zeiten: Erinnerun­ gen (Berlin: S. Fischer, 1935), p. 257. See also KuL termann 1966, pp. 116-19. For the first biography of Kessler in English, see Laird M. Easton, The

Strasbourg, where he wrote the devastating cri­ tique of Grimm, then moved at Easter 1873 to Leipzig to occupy the university’s first art history chair. 65 Under the heading “Der Dresdener HolbeinStreit” it merited an entire section in Kultermann’s history of German art history (1966, pp. 136-41, with bibliography on p. 255). See also Bätschmann 1996. 66 Bätschmann and Griener 1998, p. 11 and n. 9. The Elector of Saxony had bought the Holbein in 1743; he would acquire Raphael’s Sistine Madonna in 1754. 67 Those who disagreed included Alois Hirt, Kunst­

Red Count: The Life and Times of Harry Kessler

Life and Works ofHans Holbein, Painter, ofAugsbourg (London: Chapman and Hall, 1867). Two

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 62 Springer 1872, col. 371. 63 Springer 1873, pp. 77 and 79 (that volume of Zeitschriftfur bildende Kunst began with the aca­ demic year; the review actually appeared in December 1872, Heft 3). Grimm immediately published an eight-page brochure defending himself (Grimm 1873). Responding tersely in Kunst-Chronik a matter of weeks later Springer stated, “I am unfortunately not in a position to take back the objections and complaints against Mr. Herman Grimm, and must rather fully uphold them” (1873, col. 317). Grimm’s last word on Bindo was uttered in 1885 (p. 147), when he disputed the accuracy of Weicker’s superimposi­ tion of the profile drawing on the skull (see fig. 82 above, from Weicker 1884): “I still believe Raphael might have portrayed himself” [in the Munich portrait]. He also answered Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s remark (1882-85, n- p· 175) that the Munich portrait had “tried Grimm’s critical acumen.” Grimm insisted that the School of Athens fresco had been overpainted and that the Altoviti panel corresponded to the original out­ lines of the frescoed head visible in photographs. He mentioned his uncle’s drawing in this final defense, but used a heliogravure after a drawing by the late Friedrich Weber to illustrate his article. His ambiguous caption to Weber’s drawing reads: “The Portrait of Raphael called ‘Bindo Altoviti.’ ” 64 Grimm 1873, P· ·· Indeed, at the moment he attacked Grimm, Springer was at the peak of his career. He had resigned his post at Bonn for a brief sojourn at the newly German university in

bemerkungen auf einer Reise über Wittenberg und Meissen nach Dresden und Prag (Berlin: Duncker

& Humblot, 1830); and especially Kugler (1847, 11, pp. 281-82), who called the Darmstadt version (then in Berlin) the original and the Dresden painting a replica. For Burckhardt’s views, see Gossman 2000, pp. 372-73. 68 Ralph Nicholson Wornum, Some Account of the

69

70

71 72 73

years later, the Darmstadt painting won further favorable attention when it appeared at an exhi­ bition in Munich to which the Dresden gallery refused to lend its version. Signing the statement of 5 September 1871 in favor of the Darmstadt Holbein were Alfred Woltmann, Moriz Thausing, Carl von Liitzow, Adolph Bayersdorfer, F. Lippmann, Wilhelm Liibke, Bruno Meyer, S. Vögelin, Theodor Gaedertz, W. Hemsen, Julius Meyer, Karl Woermann, G. Malss, and Wilhelm von Bode, See their explanation in Zeitschrift fur bildende Kunst vi (1871), p. 355. For the statement of the faction favoring the Dresden Holbein, see Zeitschrift fir bildende Kunst vii (1872), p. 28, and Bayersdorfer 1872, reprinted in Bayersdorfer 1902. Prominent local artists — including the newly retired director of the academy, the one-time Nazarene Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld, now seventy-seven invited the public to cast votes on which was the original. Grimm 1871, p. 431. Alfred Woltmann, Holbein und seine Zeit, 2 vols. (Leipzig: E. A. Seemann, 1866-68), 1, p. 319. No one from Munich's Ältere Pinakothek was regarded highly enough in 1871 to warrant mention in accounts of visitors to the Dresden exhibition. The Bavarian collections had slum­ bered since Ludwig abdicated, and one director, the painter Clemens von Zimmermann, had auc­ tioned off more than a thousand paintings in 1852. Another academician succeeded him, and the first professional art historian, Franz von

Notes to pages 124—128

74

75

76

77

78

79

80

Reber, became director of the collections only in 1875. J. A. Crowe and G. B. Cavalcaselle, A New History ofPainting in Italy, 3 vols. (London: John Murray, 1864—66). J. A. Crowe, “Die Holbein-Ausstellung in Dresden,” Im Neuen Reich, 15 September 1871; see also Gottfried Kinkel, “Zur Holbein-Literatur,” Zeitschrift fur bildende Kunst iv (1869), pp. 167-75, 194-203. J. A. Crowe and G. B. Cavalcaselle, A History of Painting in North Italy, 2 vols. (London: John Murray, 1871). Succeeded by a monograph on Titian of 1877, the surveys, in editions revised and updated by a later generation of connois­ seurs, are, like the Titian book, still worth con­ sulting. Inevitably, given the subject of their researches, interest has focused on Cavalcaselle; see Lino Moretti, G. B. Cavalcaselle: Disegni da antichi maestri, exh. cat., Fondazione Giorgio Cini (Venice: Pozza, 1973); Levi 1988; and Tommasi, ed. 1998. Edinburgh Review cxxxv (1872), p. 144. This con­ temporary appreciation of Cavalcaselle’s brash­ ness in churches does not necessarily contradict Haskell’s equally apt phrase concerning the con­ noisseur’s “pathological timidity” (Haskell 1976, p. 153). Another critic, stunned by the abundance of documentation, commented: “In fact, the notes [. . .] would, if printed in the same type as the text, 'form a volume at least as large as that which the text alone would occupy” (Athenaeum, 8 July 1871, no. 2280, p. 55). These reviews are cited in Levi 1988, chapter 5, “La History ofPaint­ ing in North Italy," pp. 268 and 279, nn. 150 and 192. Cavalcaselle’s notes, consisting of bound volumes and loose sheets in fourteen boxes and three folders (It.IV.2024-41 [= 12265-82]), are cur­ rently being digitized. Our thanks to Marino Zorzi, director of the Biblioteca Marciana, for help in transcribing them. Levi 1988, pp. 154-55, touches on the contribu­ tion of Cavalcaselle to Morelli’s famous method based on comparison of such details. Jaynie Anderson, “I taccuini marchigiani di Giovanni Morelli,” in Tommasi, ed. 1998, pp. 81-96, sees Morelli’s notations as fundamentally different from those of Cavacaselle. Crowe and Cavalcaselle 1882-85. On the joint authors’ preparation for the book see Levi 1988, pp. 389-405. German interest was so keen that a translation of each volume immediately appeared in Leipzig, in 1883 and 1885. Springer, soon after he moved to Leipzig, had edited Early Flemish Painters (1857) for a German edition in 1875. Guercio (1995, pp. 364-99) discusses both the Raphael and the Titian monographs.

215

81 Crowe and Cavalcaselle 1882-85, n> PP· 174-75. 82 For the Italian version of the book, too, there is a drawing after Bindo Altoviti among Caval­ caselle’s papers, a more finished one juxtaposed with more detailed notes, especially about the condition of the picture. A footnote on condi­ tion remained much the same in both the English and Italian editions: “The colour of the neck is better preserved than that of any other part [the Italian edition added the “highlighted area of the forehead and the sleeve”]. The eyes, part of the nose, and the shadows of the face, have been subjected to retouching. There are patchings, too, in the black sleeve and ground” (1882-85, H> P· 176; 1884-91, 11, p. 201). 83 Springer 1886 (reprinted from Springer 1881), 11, p. 386. For Burckhardt’s opinion of Morelli and “Attribuzzlertum," see Gossman 2000, pp. 369, 554­ 84 Wilhelm von Bode, “The Berlin Renaissance Museum,” Fortnightly Review n.s. 1 (October 1891), p. 509. Jaynie Anderson gave the rivalry a deeper dimension in “The Political Power of Connoisseurship in Nineteenth-Century Europe: Wilhelm von Bode versus Giovanni Morelli,” in Gaehtgens and Schuster 1996, pp. 107-19 (with an excerpt from Bode’s Fortnightly Review article, p. 118). On the continuing rivalry with Berenson, see David Alan Brown, “Bode and Berenson: Berlin and Boston,” in Gaehtgens and Schuster 1996, pp. 101-06. 85 Morelli 1880, trans. 1883, p. 85. Morelli’s first recorded response to the Munich panel may have been his remark in a letter to Austen Henry Layard dated 7 October 1868, referring to the “stupid catalogue” of the Munich gallery listing a dozen works by Raphael. Morelli himself rec­ ognized only one as authentic “given that the portrait of Biondo [rzc] Altoviti seems to me very doubtful.” The letter (London, British Library, Add.MS 38963) is quoted by Anderson in Morelli 1991, P· 556· As noted above, the edition of the catalogue compiled by Rudolf Marggraff (Munich 1865) had profoundly irritated Herman Grimm. 86 Morelli 1890-93, 11, p. 149. 87 On Berenson’s debt to Morelli see David Alan Brown, “Giovanni Morelli and Bernard Beren­ son,” in Giovanni Morelli e la cultura dei conosc­ itori, 1993, 11, pp. 189-97. 88 On these seminal volumes and their importance for the history of connoisseurship and collecting, see Brown 1979. 89 See Samuels 1979 and 1987. 90 Fhe Holbein controversy and a six-year stay in Florence behind him, Bayersdorfer had won an appointment as chief curator at Schleissheim in 1880, and four years later moved to the Altere

2l6

Notes to pages 128-131

Pinakothek. The new hire lacked an academic degree but had a portfolio of recommendations from Bode and others. He soon gained a Euro­ pean reputation as a connoisseur, most notably for recognizing Munich’s Madonna ofthe Carna­ tion, acquired in 1889 as a Dürer, to be the work of Leonardo; see David Alan Brown, Leonardo da Vinci: Origins of a Genius (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998), p. 130. 91 Bayersdorfer wrote Morelli’s obituary notice, published in the Münchener Neue Nachrichten 1891; see Bayersdorfer 1902 and Siegfried Käss, Der heimliche Kaiser der Kunst: Adolph Bayers­ dorfer, seine Freunde und seine Zeit (Munich:

Tuduv, 1987), p. 163. 92 Berenson 1897, p. 167. 93 Dollmayr 1895, p. 357. Dollmayr also believed that Raphael’s tapestry cartoons were entirely by Giovan Francesco Penni, with some assistance from Giulio; see Shearman 1972, p. m, n. 73. 94 On Mayer and his career, see Posada Kubissa 2003, pp. 120-24, and Wendland 1999, 11, pp. 429-38, for a summary of his life and a full bib­ liography of his writings. 95 Fowles to Berenson, 22 September 1924, original at I Tatti, Florence; copy in Duveen Brothers Records 1876-1981, Bulk 1909—1964 (accession no. 960015), GR1 ser. n.A, Box 276, Folder 6 (“Raphael: ‘Portrait of Bindo Altoviti’ ”), reel 131. These invaluable records were given by Edward Fowles to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1968, then donated by the Metropolitan to GRI in 1996. To make the Duveen Brothers archive more readily available, GRI had the papers microfilmed and arranged in 2003 to deposit copies of the 422-reel microfilm in the Thomas J. Watson Library at the Metropolitan, the Witt Library at the Courtauld Institute, London, and at the Institut National d’Histoire de I'Art (INHA), Paris. We are grateful to the Getty Research Institute and the other libraries for pro­ viding access to the records, as well as for the finding aid (http://www.getty.edu/ research/tools/special_collections/duveen2_ml.h tml). 96 The Titian in question, a work purchased by Crown Prince Ludwig in 1815, was Portrait of a Venetian Nobleman (inv. WAF 1085, now described as “Circle of Titian”). Berenson had indeed followed Morelli in denying that the picture was by 'Titian and gave it instead to Poli­ doro Lanzani. 97 Fowles to Berenson, 22 September 1924, original at I Tatti (for details of the copy, see n. 95 above). Brown (1983, p. 94, n. 352) was the first to note this important document. Mark Henderson of the Getty Research Library kindly facilitated access to material in the Duveen archives.

98 Berenson to Fowles, 24 September 1924, draft at I Tatti, letter in GRI (see n. 95). “As for the Venetian Nobleman with a Staff,” Berenson told Fowles, “I now believe it to be an out-and-out Titian. All I fear is the state it may be in; but if it is utterly impossible to get the Raphael, then get it.” After Berenson’s positive response, Duveen Brothers sent both Tintorettos to Munich, where Mayer reported that “everybody in the Pinakothek was perfectly crazy about the two marvelous paintings”; letter, Mayer to Fowles, 27 October 1924, Duveen Brothers Records, GRI (ser. 11.I, Box 532, Folder 2, reel 386). On 7 November, however, Mayer reported to Fowles his fury that the gallery trustees had not approved the acquisition, and Dòrnhòffer similarly sent Duveen Brothers, Paris, his regrets on 28 November 1924, assuring them that even if the museum was returning the Tintorettos, they were still interested in an exchange. 99 We are grateful to Michael Rocke and Fiorella Superbi at Villa I Tatti, Florence, for searching out and transmitting to us this annotation in Berenson’s copy of the catalogue (Munich 1922) in which the gallery first demoted the Altoviti panel to School of Raphael. too Letter, Berenson to Fowles, 16 December 1925, Duveen Brothers Records, GRI (ser. n.I, Box 485, Folder 3, reel 340). Berenson's authentication of the Altoviti portrait notwithstanding, Duveen negotiated instead, still through Mayer, for Perugino’s Madonna and Child (now Detroit Institute of Arts, inv. 77.3). Berenson probably knew that Armand Lowengard, Duveen's nephew, had gone to Munich in June 1925 to bargain for the Perugino (Munich inv. 1071). The museum, with the approval of Dornhoffer, sold the Madonna to Duveen Brothers for cash around the time that Berenson wrote his warning to Fowles; correspondence on the transaction is in the Duveen Brothers Records, GRI (ser. n.A, Box 271, Folder 27, reel 126). On the subsequent movement of the painting, see Pietro Scarpellini, Perugino [1984] (Milan: Electa, 1991), no. 124, and John Pope-Hennessy, “The Ford Italian Paintings," Bulletin of the Detroit Institute ofArts Lviii (1979), pp. 21-23. 101 Bernard Berenson, “Quadri senza case: Il Quat­ trocento senese,” Dedalo 11 (April 1931), p. 766, translated in Berenson's collection of essays Homeless Paintings of the Renaissance, ed. Hanna Kiel (London: Thames and Hudson, 1969), P· 74·

Notes to pages 133—136

1 The National Portrait Gallery, London, agreed to return the family portraits in the Twisden bequest to keep the ensemble intact at Brad­ bourne. See Ronald G. Hatton and Christopher H. Hatton, “Notes on the Family of Twysden and Twisden,” Archaeologia Cantiana lviii (1945), pp. 43-44. We are grateful to Sarah Loat, library manager at Horticultural Research International, East Mailing, for providing us with material on the history of Bradbourne House. After the death of Sir John Ramsdale Twisden, completion of his Family of Twysden and Twisden (London: Murray, [1939]) was undertaken by Charles Humble Dudley-Ward. 2 Christopher Brown, “A Portrait of Edward Speelman,” in Too Good to Trade: From the Private Col­ lection of Edward and Sally Speelman, exh. cat., Museum of Fine Arts, Houston; National Gallery of Art, Washington; and Mauritshuis, The Hague (Houston, 2000), p. 9. Sally Speel­ man kindly spoke with us by telephone on 25 July 2003 about her memories of the summer of 1938; we are deeply grateful to her and to the Speelmans’ son Anthony for their assistance. 3 Agnew’s bought the de Hooch for Lionel de Rothschild. See [Agnew] 1967, p. 54; Sotheby’s, 19 April 1937, lot 5, pl. 4; Peter C. Sutton, Pieter de Hooch: Complete Edition (Oxford:' Phaidon, 1980), no. 37, pl. 40. The painting was sold by Edmund de Rothschild to the art historian Tancred Borenius in 1942, and it was later sold through the Duits Gallery to Enrico Fattorini. On 3 July 1996 the de Hooch was auctioned with other works from the Fat­ torini collection at Sotheby’s, London, for a hammer price of £2 million (lot 14). 4 Colin Agnew joined the firm in 1906, a year after his uncle Morland had bought the Velazquez Venus from Rokeby Park (now in the National Gallery, London). Another prize for the firm came in 1913, when Lockett Agnew (a cousin of Colin’s father) paid £65,000 to the Duke of Northumberland for Bellini’s Feast of the Gods (now in the National Gallery of Art, Washing­ ton). The deaths of Lockett Agnew at the end of World War I and Morland in 1931, combined with the spreading effects of the world economic crisis, marked the beginning of an austere period for Agnew’s^ Colin Agnew and his cousins — Morland’s sons Gerald, Hugh, and Alan, the new chairman - managed to keep the business afloat, but barely liquid; see [Agnew] 1967, pp. 43-47. 5 Bradbourne, Larkfield, Near Maidstone, Kent. June [sales catalogue, 13-15 June 1938], lot 136 ([London]: Farebrother, Ellis & Co., 1938). 6 For a discussion of the monogram and its inter­

217

pretations, see Galerie Aschaffenburg Katalog, 2nd ed. (Munich: Bayerische Staatsgemäldesamm­ lungen, 1975), no· 10643, p. 87. Richard Kingzett, retired director at Agnew’s, generously recalled for us the stories told him by his late uncle Colin Agnew about the purchase of the German picture and his trip to Munich; we are indebted to him for his time and for the material he shared with us. 7 Buchner 1930, p. 170. The Cologne portraits, inscribed on the back as portraits of the Counts Thomas and Johann von Rieneck, are described as “Middle-Rhenish, around 1530,” in Irmgard Hiller and Horst Vey, Katalog der deutschen und niederländischen Gemälde bis 1550 (mit Ausnahme der kölner Malerei) im Wallraf-Richartz-Museum und im Kunstgewerbemuseum der Stadt Köln

8

9

10

11

(Cologne: Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, 1969), pp. 99-100. Buchner 1930, p. 171. The name Grünewald carries its own mysteries. The painter of the Isenheim altarpiece in the Musée d’Unterlinden in Colmar and a baker’s dozen or so other accepted panels is more accurately referred to as Matthis Gothardt Nithart, called Grünewald; see Karl Arndt, “Grünewald: Fragen um einen geläufigen Künstlernamen,” in Aschaffenburg 2002, pp. 17-30. See also Moxey 2004 on Grünewald his­ toriography in the 1930s. Agnew had learned German as a boy during a cure in Baden-Baden and polished it during his years in Berlin. There, after opening Agnew’s office, he had continuous contact and conversa­ tion with the museum men Wilhelm von Bode and Max Friedländer, among others. See Kingzett 1976, p. 159. Sts. Erasmus and Maurice (inv. 1044) dates from 1521-24; it was formerly in the abbey church of Sts. Peter and Alexander, Aschaffenburg. St. Erasmus is a portrait of Cardinal Albrecht von Brandenburg, who commissioned the panel. The Mocking of Christ (inv. 10352), until 1803 in Munich’s Carmelite church, is an early Grunewald of 1503-04. See Pierre Vaisse and P. Bianconi, Tout l'oeuvre peint de Grünewald (Paris: Flammarion, 1984) and an der Heiden 1998, pp. 154-65· Buchners lively preface to his own first catalogue in 1936, issued to mark the centennial of the opening of the Pinakothek, reveals that the authentic and hauntingly beautiful Mocking of Christ, then ascribed to an “unknown master,” had been lent to the university in 1809 and was retrieved for the gallery only a century later. Heinz Braune, chief curator under the director­ ship of Hugo von Tschudi, happened to be vis­ iting an art history professor and found the painting hanging over his desk. Recognizing it at

2l8

Notes to pages 136-137

once as a Grunewald — an example of what Buchner called “the Grunewald experience” Braune had it returned to the state collections; see Munich 1936, p. xxxi. 12 Munich 1936, pp. x-xi, xlii-xliii. Of the direc­ tor who authorized the weeding, Clemens von Zimmermann, Buchner said: “The self-confident Cornelius disciple lacked all qualifications essential to this important post. And so he brought about the most tragic chapter in the history of the Bavarian collections, the auction of 1500 allegedly ‘unusable pictures,’ from the Schleiss­ heim [971 works], Augsburg, and Nuremberg reserves, which in 1852 were publicly sold to ‘the highest bidders for cash.’ The funds raised were supposedly to pay for the conservation of imporrant pictures. In reality, the money was used to commission historically worthless fantasy pic­ tures with no artistic value to fill out the gallery of [Wittelsbach] ancestors at Schleissheim, the contracts for which went to the director’s less than talented painter son Julius Zimmermann” (p. xlii). A milder regret is expressed in the collection history by an der Heiden 1998, p. 70. Another deaccessioned work from this group was Durer’s Virgin and Child with St. Anne (now New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Altman Col­ lection). 13 Munich 1936, p. Li. Biographical information on Buchner comes from the “Personalbogen fur Beamte,” dated 20 January 1954, BHSA, MK 44778 (Buchner). See Petropoulos 2000 (pp. 13-61) for a trenchant case study of Buchner’s career. Petropoulos was the first writer to exploit the rich holdings on Buchner in the BHSA and the BSGS archives. For his discussion of the trade of Binda Altoviti, the first since the 1950s, see pp. 31-32. Nicholas 1994 (pp. 143-45) mentions Buchner’s later activities during World War II. Moxey 2004, p. 752, and Ann Stieglitz, “The Reproduction of Agony: Toward a Reception­ History of Griinewald’s Isenheim Altar after the First World War,” Oxford Art Journal xn (1989), pp. 87-103, describe the sojourn in Munich of the altarpiece. 14 Buchner 1930, p. 193. The name of Grtinewald also evoked unhappy memories in Berlin. On 28 April 1938 in Zurich, Paul Hindemith’s opera about Grunewald, Mathis der Maier (the painter), had its première. A symphonic version performed in Berlin on 12 March 1934 had caused so much controversy that Hindemith left Germany to teach in Ankara, at Yale University, and in Zurich. Wilhelm Furtwangler, conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic who had performed the symphony, defended Hindemith in an open letter to the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, 25 November 1934. On 4 December Furtwangler

submitted his resignation as director of the State Opera and the Philharmonic, as well as his post as vice-president of the Reichsmusikkammer. The authorities soon reinstated Furtwängler, but the opera was banned; Joseph Goebbels contin­ ued to refer to Hindemith as a “cultural Bolshe­ vik” and “spiritual non-Aryan.” 15 Dou had been a favorite of the late seventeenth­ century rulers Elector Max Emmanuel II at Schleissheim and Elector Johann Wilhelm of Pfalz-Neuburg at Düsseldorf. Dillis had listed sixteen Dous in his first catalogue of the Pinakothek (see Munich 1838; repr. in Böttger 1972); including subsidiary galleries, there had been a total of eighteen. 16 Dörnhöffer had anointed his former curator as successor months before Hitler seized power at the end of January 1933, and Buchner took office as general director on 1 March that year. Like some 1.6 million others, he hastened to meet the deadline for joining the National Socialist Parry by 1 May. 17 Buchner’s trades are listed in two attachments to a memo dated 23 February 1953, prepared by his successor as general director after the war, Eber­ hard Hanfstaengl, and preserved in BHSA, MK 44778 (Buchner). The attachments are a summary by artist and an undated list of matched acquisitions and deacquisitions by year, 1933—45, hereafter referred to as the Hanfstaengl lists. In his summary list by artist, Hanfstaengl erroneously reported three Dous traded to Plietzsch on 1 July 1938. His year-by-year list shows that only two {Hermit in Prayer, inv. 578, and Milkmaid at the Window, inv. 623) were included in the exchange for pictures owned by the col­ lector Fritz Gutmann (although comparable in dimensions and similar in subject, the Hermit in Prayer traded by Munich in 1938 is not the paint­ ing is now in the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. The third Dou in Hanfstaengl's summan’ {Old Woman Grooming Child, inv. 579), noted as exchanged on 1 July 1938, actually had been traded with four other Dutch and Flemish paint­ ings for Jacob Jordaens’s Nymphs and Fauns (inv. 10411) on 11 December 1937; sold to D. G. Van Beuningen, it was on show in Rotterdam in the summer of 1938 {Meesterwerken uit vier eeuwen, 1400—1800, no. 70), and later went w’ith his col­ lection to the Museum Boijmans Van Beunin­ gen. Plietzsch had obtained his first Dou from Buchner on 24 March 1936; on that date Buchner traded Girl with Candle at Window (inv. 587), along with a Pieter de Hooch from Würzburg {Interior, inv. 1963) for a Betrothal of St. Cather­ ine by a Nuremberg master of 1410—40 (inv. 10123). Dous Evening Bread from Mannheim (inv. 580) had gone to Plietzsch on 3 March 1937,

Notes to pages 137-138

according to the list by artist; it does not appear on the chronological list. At least one of the Don trades under Dörnhöffer went to the Galerie Van Diemen in Berlin. Plietzsch ran this gallery with Kurt Benedikt until it was “Aryanized” and its stock liquidated in two auctions by Paul Graupe in 1935; see Yeide, Akinsha, and Walsh 2001, p. 221. This picture, deaccessioned by Munich in 1927 and also enti­ tled Hermit in Prayer (inv. 550, according to Böttger 1972, pp. 572-73), was purchased by William R. Timken, probably at the New York branch, and was bequeathed by his wife, Lillian, to the National Gallery of Art, Washington (inv. 1960.6.8). Another dealer, D. A. Hoogendijk in Amsterdam, received the Lady at Her Toilet (inv. 630, now in Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen) in 1930 and the large Dou Self-Por­ trait (Kansas City, Nelson-Atkins Museum) in 1932. The latter two paintings, as well as Timken’s Hermit in Prayer and The Quack — all formerly in Munich — were selected for the Dou exhibi­ tion in the National Gallery of Art (Washington 2000, nos. 19, 27, 32, and 34). During the late nineteenth century The Quack had rated three stars in the Marggraff catalogues (Munich 1865, 1869, 1872, and 1879), one °f the two Dutch paintings ranked among a dozen “musts” for the visitor with little time; other works in this top category were Dürers Self-Portrait and Four Apostles, Rubens’s Battle of the Amazons and Small LastJudgment, Rogier van der Weyden’s St. Luke Drawing the Madonna, Memling’s St. John the Baptist, and Raphael’s Tempi Madonna. Bindo Altoviti, by contrast, had only two stars. 18 “As proposed exchange object [. . .] my party suggests the Portrait of Bindo Altoviti by Giulio Romano. Since I find the picture only in the cat­ alogue of 1920, no. 536 (1052), but not in the two last editions, I hope nevertheless that the paint­ ing is still to be had, and I ask you in the mean­ time for your opinion on this proposal”; Plietzsch to Buchner, 3 February 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Plietzsch). The chief question this letter raises is, with whom was Pli­ etzsch working in London? On Plietzsch and the Gutmann exchange, see von zur Mühlen 2002, pp. 161-65. 19 Von zur Mühlen 2002 (pp. 164 and 174, n. 15) believes Plietzsch’s intermediaries to be in Ams­ terdam, citing a letter from Plietzsch to Buchner, 24 January 1938, BSGS archives: “Gemälde­ tausch, E. Plietzsch.” Plietzsch refers in this doc­ ument to an express letter concerning the proposed exchange that Buchner had sent him in London, and refers also to “my people in London.” The identity of these intermediaries remains a mystery. Gutmann, intending to move

20

21

22

23 24

25

26

219

to Paris, would have needed art dealers to convert the trade objects into cash. He needed Plietzsch in particular, a non-Jew, to negotiate in Germany where the Gutmann paintings of the early German school had the highest value, especially in Munich or Cologne. Cornelia Syre of the Bay­ erische Staatsgemäldesammlungen generously provided access to the museum archives in Munich; her hospitality greatly facilitated our research, and we are deeply grateful. Largely because of the value and importance of the Impressionist works in their collection and the persistence of their heirs, the case of Louise and Friedrich Gutmann has become one of the best-known examples in the restitution literature. See Yeide, Akinsha, and Walsh 2001, pp. 105-07; von zur Mühlen 2002, pp. 159-65. Originally in St. Colomba in Cologne, the threepart Bartholomew altarpiece entered the Bavar­ ian collections with the Boisseree collection in 1827. The Adoration ofthe Magi (inv. 10651) from the Gutmann collection, exchanged by Plietzsch on 1 July 1938, is thought to date from around 1485. The subject is tentatively identified as Duke Sigis­ mund ofAustria, Count of Tyrol (inv. 10650), and the painter, believed to have been active in the 1460s in Bressanone (in German, Brixen, now in the Alto Adige) is called the Master of the Mornauer Portrait, on the basis of a work in an English private collection. Plietzsch to Buchner, 21 February 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Plietzsch). Buchner to Plietzsch, 2 March 1938, BSGS archives, as in previous note. Plietzsch to Buchner, 3 March 1938, as in n. 23. Plietzsch proposed a Dou, two Canalet­ tos, the Rubens Conversion from Speyer, and a Madonna and Child by Paolo Veronese from the Alte Pinakothek. Buchner responded positively on 22 March; “The last proposal [. . .] seems to me — subject to ministerial approval, of course — a solid basis for discussion.” Nevertheless, Buchner still wanted to substitute a Van Dyck from Bamberg for the Rubens. He noted endorsements of the Van Dyck from Jacob Bur­ ckhardt in the nineteenth century and also from Gustav Glück, a gifted curator of paintings in Vienna soon to be forced into exile by Hitler’s takeover of Austria the previous week. Plietzsch’s “people” didn’t want the Van Dyck, and Buchner deleted the Canalettos from the final exchange list for the Gutmann pictures. A memo dated 1 July 1938 from SMUK approved the trade of Rubens’s Conversion of St. Paul (now in London, Courtauld Institute, Princes Gate Collection), the Veronese Madonna, and two Dous, Hermit in Prayer and Milkmaid at the

220

Notes to pages 139—140

Window; see Hanfstaengl lists, BHSA, MK 44778 (Buchner). Rubens’s Conversion ofSt. Paul

was sold in Paris in 1938 to Count Antoine Seilern: see von zur Mühlen 2002, p. 175, n. 24; David Freedberg, Rubens: The Life of Christ afier the Passion, Corpus Rubenianum Ludwig Bur­ chard 7 (Oxford: New York, 1984), p. 114, no. 30; and Michael Jaffé, Rubens: Catalogo com­ plete (Milan: Rizzoli, 1989), p. 169, no. 272. The Canalettos deleted from the Plietzsch exchange eventually were traded to Paul Graupe in 1939, although he did not receive them until 1952. 27 Fischel 1935, p. 440. 28 We are grateful to Ulrike Wendland for dis­ cussing with us the letter she discovered in the Stadtarchiv Frankfurt in which Luitpold Dussler, adjunct professor of art history at the Technische Universität in Munich and future Raphael cataloguer, boasted of denouncing Mayer to the authorities in 1930; see Wendland 1999, n, p. 430, and, for the text of Dussler’s letter, Wendland 2003, p. 152. A Nazi sympa­ thizer and an anti-Semite, Dussler wrote to authorities in Frankfurt in 1935 seeking to replace ousted Jews on the staff at the Staedelsches Kunstinstitut. He had applied several times for permanent posts in the Bayerische Staats­ gemälde- Sammlungen, most recently when Buchner resigned to become director in Cologne in 1928; Dörnhöffer twice rejected Dussler’s applications. Even before being investigated in 1930-31, Mayer had already had conflicts with the education and cultural affairs ministry. Not suspecting Dussler, Mayer himself, in letters to Duveen in 1931, blamed his disgrace and finan­ cial ruin on Ernst Heinrich Zimmermann, direc­ tor of the Germanisches Nationalmuseum in Nuremberg, Rudolf Berliner of the Bayerisches Nationalmuseum (on Berliner’s successful emi­ gration, see Wendland 2003, p. 148), and Profes­ sor Wilhelm Pinder at the university in Munich, as well as on Käte Peris, wife of the dealer Hugo Peris; see letters, Mayer to Duveen, 14 January and ii February 1931 in Duveen Brothers Records, GRL Box 531, Folder 1 (Dr. August Mayer), reel 386. For a full account of both the public and the secret attack on Mayer, see Posada Kubissa 2003, pp. 124-28, and Wendland 2003, p. 151. 29 Editor of Pantheon until 1933, Mayer continued to publish widely on Spanish, Italian, and German art in the Burlington Magazine, Gazette des Beaux-Arts, Critica d'arte, and other journals until 1940. Duveen helped Mayer financially in 1934, paying the substantial fee of 2600 Reichs­ mark (RM) demanded by the German authori­ ties for issuing a passport that made it possible for him to emigrate to France. Mayer wrote to

30 31

32

33

Duveen, “I will never forget this proof of friend­ ship”; letter 8 June 1934, GRI, Box 531, Folder 1, reel 386. On Mayer’s activities after the German occupation of France, see Tisa Francini, Heuss, and Kreis 2001, p. 256, and Buomberger 1998, p. 454, no. 36. „ “Ein jüdischer Kunstparasit in Schutzhaft,” Völkischer Beobachter, 28 March 1933; copy in BHSA, MK 44778 (Buchner). See Yeide, Akinsha, and Walsh 2001, pp. 50—51 and Appendices H and I. Under investigation after the war for his criminal activities, arrested in Rome on 25 July 1946 and incarcerated for a time, but acquitted by France in 1950, Wendland left a massive trail in the archives of several gov­ ernments, while successfully covering his own tracks. See Otto Wittman, Jr., and Bernard Taper, “ALIU [Art Looting Investigation Unit] Detailed Interrogation Report: Hans Wendland, 18 September 1946,” in NARA, RG 239, Entry 73, Box 82, ALIU Subject Files, Hans Wendland DIR [Detailed Interrogation Report], available on www.lootedart.com. For further references, see also Tisi Francini, Heuss, and Kreis 2001, and Buomberger 1998, pp. 209—23. In his twenties, Wendland had shown promise as an art historian and published his doctoral work on Schongauers engravings {Martin Schongauer als Kupferstecher, Berlin: E. Meyer, 1907). Like Plietzsch, he had the honor of being hired by Bode in Berlin. Then Bode had to fire him from the Kaiser FriedrichMuseum in 1909 for stealing and selling objects from an archaeological expedition in Persia. Selling was Wendland’s true vocation. As an attache at the German embassy in Moscow in 1918, he turned a profit by relieving the fleeing Russian nobility' of their art objects. After World War I, Wendland settled in Switzerland, buying a villa in Lugano in 1926. Driven into bank­ ruptcy by his first divorce, he asked his friend Paul Graupe to auction the villa and its contents in 1931 and moved to Paris on the proceeds; on his property in Lugano, see Die Sammlung Dr. Hans Wendland, Lugano (Berlin: H. Ball, P. Graupe, 1931). Buchner to Wendland, 26 July 1938, BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grünewald). If Buchner is correct about “day before yesterday,” then he briefed his minister on Sunday, 24 July, one week after the Grünewald panel went through customs at the airport. One application form requested the import of a Grünewald painting with an estimated value of 120,000 RM (about $48,000), noting: “The above-named painting is of extraordinary impor­ tance for the German section of the Alte Pinakothek. Exchanged for it will be three dis­ pensable pictures of foreign origin, with no

Notes to pages 140—142

34

35

36

37

payment. This is a pure exchange matter.” The other form requested the export of three BSGS paintings with the same total value as the Grünewald, with the notation that all three painters “are better represented in other works.” See import-export request forms dated 4 August 1938, BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grünewald). For exchange rates, see Buomberger 1998, Table 9> P· 477· , Of the twenty-seven IJberwachungsstellen, the office regulating the coffee trade in Hamburg and that controlling the fur trade in Leipzig were the only ones outside Berlin. The old Devisen­ stellen, foreign exchange offices throughout the country, continued to function as well, but were responsible only for selected minor foreignexchange o activities, Unlike Plietzsch and most of his other corre­ spondents, Buchner rarely closed his letters with “Heil Hitler,” but he did so in writing to this office. His letter concerning the Gutmann exchange is cited in von zur Mühlen 2002, p. 174, n. 22; Buchner to the ÜWP, 6 August 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644. He waited until Monday 8 August, to send off his Grünewald application, attaching the forms in four copies to a brief memo, where he explained that no other monogrammed work of the German master was known. He pleaded with the officials to speed up their decision or risk jeopardizing the exchange; Buchner to UWP, 8 August 1938, BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grünewald). Buchner to SMUK, 8 August 1938. A copy and a draft of the memo are in the BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemäldetausch 1938—40); the original is in the ministerial files in BHSA, MK 41272. “Der vorgenannte Antrag ist dem Herrn Reichs­ wirtschaftsminister vorgelegt worden, der die Uberwachungsstelle für Papier angewiesen hat, Ihren Antrag abzulehnen”; UWP to BSGS, 9 August 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 2.3/1, no. 644, cited in von zur Mühlen 2002, p. 174, n. 22. Walther Funk had replaced Göring as minister of economics on 5 February 1938; he would remain in that position until the end of the war. That the initial exchange proposal for the Gutmann pictures was with an English exporter, not with Holland, is shown by the economics ministry’s rejection and specifically in its later clarification: “any export from Germany to the United Kingdom incurs foreign exchange obligations, even when no foreign exchange results from the export”; ÜWP to BSGS, 18 August 1938 (con­ cerning application of 13 July), BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grünewald). Export of the trade objects from Munich to Holland was eventually approved later in 1938; there was no payments

38

39 40

41

42

43

221

agreement with Holland, as there was with England. Because Gutmann was moving to Paris, the deaccessioned pictures were shipped un­ opened from Holland to France. Neither the ministerial nor the BSGS files include a copy of a rejection of the Grunewald application forms dated 4 August. The clarifica­ tion from the UWP dated 18 August, although it refers to the Gutmann exchange, is included in the BSGS Grunewald file, presumably because Buchner attached it to the file copy of his letter dated 15 August. Buchner may have misfiled it, or he may not have noticed that it concerned the Gutmann application. Buchner to SMUK, 15 August 1938, BHSA, MK 41272; a typed draft is in BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grunewald). UWP to Buchner, 18 August 1938, BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grunewald). Recalled to office by Hitler, Schacht was still president of the Reichsbank in 1938, although Goring had taken away his responsibility for foreign exchange management and edged him out of his other post as minister of economics. During the Weimar Republic, Schacht had implemented a rigid system of foreign exchange control and participated in international negoti­ ations over the Dawes Plan (1924) and its suc­ cessor, the Young Plan (1929). Both plans had included loans designed to allow Germany to repay World War I reparations and debts, but the economic crisis of the 1930s so crippled the economy that repayment of war reparations was suspended. The debts remained, and in 1934 Schacht introduced bilateral trade agreements to facilitate continuing repayment. On Schacht’s career and character, see John Weitz, Hitler’s Banker (Boston: Little, Brown, 1997). The complete text of the payments agreement was published in Deutscher Reichsanzeiger and Preussischer Staatsanzeiger, no. 261, 7 November 1934, pp. 1-2, announcing that it was effective from 1 November 1934. Under the terms of this agreement (Article i.ll), 45 per cent of the pro­ ceeds of Germany’s exports to Great Britain were earmarked for repayment of Germany’s debts under the Dawes and Young Plans, to the extent that they were held by British citizens. A proviso (Article i.II.c) permitted private swap trades. We are indebted to Armand Van Nimmen, Peter Hiihle, Pierre de Raet, Alexander Fiebig, and Joachim Zeller for their assistance in obtaining the texts of the agreements and other explanatory materials. Reichs- und Staatsanzeiger, no. 156, 8 July 1938, pp. [—2. The altered agreement was also pub­ lished in Wiener Zeitung, no. 200, 22 July 1938. The modified agreement with Great Britain,

222

44

45

46

47 48

49

Notes to pages 142-144

effective 1 July 1938, reduced the percentage of the proceeds of Germany’s exports set aside for repayment of debts to 40 per cent (Article i.II). Limits on the use of private trade swaps were, however, already imposed by an internal decree of 28 January 1937, published in the Reichs­ steuerblatt xxvn/9, 2 February 1937. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Fowles had discussed the potential trade of a Tintoretto portrait for Bindo Altoviti in 1924; the picture offered by Fowles in 1938 (Munich, Ake Pinakothek, inv. 10447), may well have been pro­ posed earlier. The official asked for more detailed descriptions of the trade objects by 10 September and urged the Alte Pinakothek to reduce the estimated values — not so excessively, however, that it could draw the attention of customs. Pay attention to reciprocity, the Bavarian representative reminded the education and cultural affairs ministry in Munich. In the Fowles exchange request, the Tintoretto portrait from London had been evaluated as worth less than Van Dyck’s portrait of Queen Henriette Marie from the state collec­ tions; such a discrepancy in the alleged values of the items traded was certainly not acceptable. See memo from Schenk of the Bavarian Representa­ tion in Berlin to SMUK, 31 August 1938, BHSA, MK 41272. The second picture traded to Fowles, a landscape by Hubert Robert, was not men­ tioned in the memo; it was included in the trade by the time SMUK approved it on 22 December 1938. Stymied by the UWP in Berlin, Buchner faced other difficulties in Munich. On 2 September the customs office at the airport accepted his plea for an extension of payment due on a 2 per cent turnover tax on the Grunewald. The customs office pointed out that in the application papers for a trade swap, the evaluation of the imported item - the Grunewald — had been raised to 120,000 RM, yet the importer, the thrifty Agnew, had declared his goods worth only 2400 RM (about US$960) and thus paid only 49 RM when he cleared customs. The gallery director had been asked to pay the difference of 2351 RM. Wendland to Buchner, undated, but datable by other correspondence to 3 September 1938, BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grunewald). Agnew to Buchner, 4 September 1938, writing from Hotel du Parc, Chatel-Guyon, France, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemaldetausch 1938-40). For the opening of the Reichsparteitaq in Nuremberg on 5 September, the jeweled crown, sceptre, orb, and relics of the former Holy Roman Empire were brought on a special train from Vienna, where they had been kept in the

50

51

52 53

54

55

56

Treasury since their rescue from French troops advancing on Nuremberg in 1796. In the Munich museum records, the date of an exchange is considered that of the Bavarian min­ isterial approval memo to BSGS from SMUK (incorporating an approval from the Bavarian finance ministry). The date of the SMUK autho­ rization is followed by a reference number to the memo: the Grunewald transaction date, 5 Sep­ tember 1938, for example, is always recorded as 5-09-38 VII 54532. Provenance histories for traded paintings — the Raphael, the Dou, and the Rubens, for instance - refer to the transaction date for the deaccessioning as well. This time, the document included requests for only two of the three trades with England pro­ posed in July, as a different route for the Gutmann pictures was being explored. For the Fowles exchange, the Tintoretto-Van Dyck eval­ uation was decreased to 30,000 RM each; for the Agnew exchange, the Grunewald was reduced to 80,000 RM, against three pictures of precisely the same total value: the School of Raphael por­ trait was now estimated at 35,000 RM (US $14,000), the Dou at 25,000 RM ($10,000), and the Rubens at 20,000 RM ($8000). Buchner to Agnew, 14 September 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemaldetausch 1938-40). Wendland to Buchner, 18 September 1938 and Agnew telegram to Buchner from Nimes, 19 Sep­ tember 1938; both in BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemaldetausch 1938—40). Bronner was a Swiss shipping firm. Feuchtmayr (in Berlin) to Buchner, 20 or 21 Sep­ tember 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemaldetausch 1938—40). On the Swiss-German trade agreements, see Freeh 2001. Feuchtmayr to Buchner, undated, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemaldetausch 1938—40). Buchner changed only one word: he called the Grunewald a Bildnis. rather than a Portrat.

57 Wendland would rent a small back room in the Grand Hotel National, Lucerne, for the next several years, until the German occupation of France in 1940 — and his lucrative association with Fischer during the war years — permitted him to move into larger quarters and occupy a suite at the Ritz in Paris, as well. 58 The city presented the picture to Goring on the occasion of the baptism of his daughter, Edda, born on 2 June; Hitler was the baby’s godfather. Petropoulos (1996, especially pp. 62-82) includes the first study of the "culture of gift-giving" under the Nazis. 59 Vincent van Gogh’s portrait of Armand Roulin

Notes to pages 144—147

60

61

62 63

64

65 66 67

68

(Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, inv. 2608) is illustrated in color in Old Paintings 1400—1900 (Rotterdam: Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, 1972). Graupe paid 110,000 Swiss francs (a little over US$25,000) for the portrait, then resold it to the collector D. G. Van Beuningen in Rotterdam for 150,000 Swiss francs (nearly $35,000). Tisa Francini, Heuss, and Kreis (2001, p. 248, n. 338) and Buomberger (1998, p. 53) erroneously refer to the painting as “Camille Roulin." The van Gogh Self-Portrait had been purchased by Hugo von Tschudi in 1906 and bought for Munich from his widow, Angela, by Buchner’s predecessor, Dornhoffer, in 1919; see Berlin and Munich 1996—97, no. 43. The Neue Staatsgalerie on the Kbnigsplatz, where the van Gogh had hung, had been created after 1915 by taking contemporary paintings out of the Neue Pinakothek. The hammer price for the van Gogh in the Fischer auction was 175,000 Swiss francs (US$40,000). While this was under the estimate, the sum nevertheless represented a little more than a third of the total proceeds of the sale. Alfred Frankfurter, editor of the American journal Art News, bought the picture (lot 14); he was bidding on behalf of the collector Maurice Wertheim, who bequeathed the painting to the Fogg; see Stephanie Barron, “The Galerie Fischer Auction,” in Los Angeles 1991-2, pp. 135-69. The change after March 1938 is discussed in Petropoulos 1996, chapter 3. Petropoulos 1996, p. 24. Buchner’s partiality for Grunewald, like his fondness for Expressionist contemporaries, similarly put him on the wrong course to win approval from Nazi ideologists; see Moxey 2004, pp. 752-54 and n. 22. Wendland to Buchner, undated [24 September 1938], BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemaldetausch 1938-40). Wendland to Buchner, 27 September 1938, BSGS archives, as in previous note. Feuchtmayr, memo to the files, 28 September 1938, BSGS archives, as in n. 64. Signed by an official representing Walther Funk, economics minister, the memo, BSGS archives, inv. 10643 (Grunewald), informed Buchner that the minister had empowered the Devisenstelle in Munich to issue a permission. As required by the procedures, the Devisenstelle notified Buchner on 4 October that they were authorizing the exchange. This was a mere formality: the docu­ ment from the Berlin ministry on 30 September had sufficed to permit export of the paintings to Switzerland. Telephone interview with Richard Kingzett, Agnew’s, 30 July 2002. Kuno Fischer of Galerie Fischer, Lucerne, kindly searched his grandfa­

69

70

71 72

73

223

ther’s archives for documents concerning the shipment, to no avail. See Schwarz 2004 and Haase 2002, pp. 273, 290, 294. Ernst (Putzi) Hanfstaengl, a cousin of the museum director Eberhard Hanfstaengl, had been an intimate friend of Hitler’s, before he fell from favor in 1937. According to Ernst Hanfstaengl’s memoirs, Hitler: The Missing Years (London: Eyre 8c Spottiswoode, 1957), the Führers favorite painter was Michelangelo. He once observed Hitler admiring a Michelangelo Caravaggio in the Nationalgalerie in Berlin, when, misreading the label, he took it for a work of the Renaissance master. Hitler had com­ plained to Hanfstaengl that Adolf Ziegler, the contemporary painter he liked best, was inca­ pable of drawing a nude to match one by Botti­ celli. The Gaddi panels (inv. 10676, 10677), originally from the outer doors of a sacristy cabinet in Santa Croce, Florence, depict scenes from the life of St. Francis. A third St. Francis panel is in the Gemäldegalerie of the Berlin Staatliche Museen, along with one from the series of twelve removed from the inner doors of the cabinet depicting the life of Christ. The remaining twenty panels are in the Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence. Hanfstaengl lists 1953, BHSA, MK 44778 (Buchner). “Peterborough,” Daily Telegraph and Morning Post (London), 9 September 1939, p. 6. Daily Telegraph and Morning Post (London), 15 May 1940. The article continued, quoting A. C. R. Carter, veteran art critic for the Daily Tele­ graph and editor of The Year’s Art: “For example, in the Pinakothek at Munich there was a little panel portrait by Raphael of his young friend Bindo Altoviti. Here and there, too, were a few pictures by Titian which did not excite him over­ much. What about a Hieronymus Bosch or a Dürer or so? Accordingly an exchange was duly carried out. No money passed.” The Telegraph writer then commented, “That the Fuehrer should treat the national art-collections as his private property is a detail of dictatorship not generally realised.” The myth as formulated by S. N. Behrman in his profile of Duveen for the New Yorker, serialized in 1951, may contain elements of truth: “Working under cover of an English firm of unblemished Aryan genealogy [Agnew's] - a firm that, in turn, employed a similarly impeccable Dutch concern [Speelman] Duveen furnished the funds for a large and long­ term operation that funnelled back into Germany early German art works that came quite cheap, in exchange for the decadent Ital­ ians” (Behrman 1972, p. 196). Duveen Brothers had paid cash in 1925 for a Perugino from the

224

Notes to pages i47-150

Munich collections - i.e. eight years before Hitler came to power (see chapter 6, n. too). As a cel­ ebrated Jew, Lord Duveen would have been reluctant by 1938 to negotiate with Buchner directly, although his firm had successfully com­ pleted similar exchanges with the Kaiser Friedrich-Museum in Berlin only a year earlier. In April 1937 [Duveen Brothers had acquired Duccio di Buoninsegna’s Nativity with the Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel in exchange for Hans Holbein’s Man with a Lute·, the panel was sold the same year to the Mellon Trust and was given with the Andrew W. Mellon Collection to the future National Gallery of Art (inv. 1937.1.8). In another exchange the same year, the Berlin museum traded Filippo Lippi’s Madonna and Child to Duveen for a work thought to be by Lucas Cranach. Duveen Brothers sold the Lippi in June 1938 to the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, and it was part of the initial donation to the new Washington gallery (Samuel H. Kress Collection 1939.1.290). In her biography of Duveen, Meryle Secrest (2004, pp. 336—38) touches on the exchanges with Berlin and Munich, but does not describe Duveen’s purported offers from Hitler or his reasons for claiming that they took place. She does point out (p. 143) that the critic Carter was “almost the official mouthpiece for Duveen Brothers” and notes (p. 378) his defense of Lord Duveen during the controversy over the cleaning of the Elgin Marbles that shadowed the dealer’s final months. 74 In Vienna during World War I, Guido Arnot had become a patron of Egon Schiele and the subject of one of the Austrian painter’s superb late portraits. Schiele’s sensitive image of Arnot from 1918 fetched a then record price for the artist (£7,153,500 - nearly $10,366,000) when it was auctioned at Sotheby’s, London, on 18 October 2000 (lot 215). Arnot’s older brother Hugo had established the Albemarle Street gallery in 1896 as a branch of the family firm. In 1938 Guido Arnot was living with his wife Gerty in Frognal Lane, London NW3. 75 Arnot to Buchner, 17 October 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemäldetausch 1938-40). Fritz Rothmann had emigrated from Germany to London; see von zur Mühlen 2004, p. 245, n. 156. Franz Kleinberger, who had gal­ leries in Paris and New York, was closely associ­ ated with Duveen. His correspondence is included in the Duveen papers at the Getty Research Institute. 76 Arnot to Buchner, 18 October 1938, BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemäldetausch 1938-40). A possible source of Arnot’s interest and information on the German picture was the office of Indus & Hortin, solicitors for the

77

78

79

80 81

82 83

84

85

Twisden estate at the Bradbourne sale, at 43/44 Albemarle Street, quite close to the Arnot gallery. Arnot to Buchner, 18 October 1938, BSGS archives, as in n. 76. Maison Duveen Brothers, Paris, to Messrs. Duveen Brothers, Inc., New York, 17 November 1938, GRI, sen n.A, Box 276, Folder 6 (“Raphael: ‘Portrait of Bindo Altoviti’ ”), reel 131. A second letter to the New York office, unsigned, does not describe the “2 modern frames,” but provides the crate numbers, “DVB/NY 103/4.” The letter instructed that someone should rub off with a soft rag the surplus wax used to tone down the varnish, and requests that a fine photograph be made, “also small photos shewing the picture in the frames.” A Sansovino-type frame is highly ornamented and named for the Florentine-born sculptor and architect Jacopo Sansovino; his best-known building is the Libreria Sansoviniana, opposite the Palazzo Ducale in Venice. An installation photograph from 1941 in the National Gallery of Art Archives shows Bindo Altoviti hanging in a “Sansovinesque” frame. On the “Cowper 'Madonna ” referred to by Fowles, see n. 86 below. New York Times, 24 November 1938, p. 34. Other notable passengers on the voyage included America’s greatest contralto, Marion Anderson, who because of her color had had to leave the United States to win fame in Europe, and the English music-hall star Gracie Fields. As in the correspondence between Crown Prince Ludwig and Dillis in 1808—09, the Raphael portrait had been assigned a code name; in cables preceding the shipment in November 1938, the New York office of Duveen Brothers called the painting “Rajah.” Perry 1994, pp. 16-19. See Behrman 1972, chapter 6, “The Silent Men,” especially pp. 201-12. Perry 1994, p. 33, n. 34. The serious rupture between Duveen and Beren­ son caused by this disagreement is described by Samuels and Samuels (1987, pp. 432—37). Behrman’s entertaining passage (1972, p. 137), although the dates do not correspond to the movements of the principal actors, is good reading, even if apocryphal. The British play­ wright Simon Gray made the dispute over the Allendale Nativity the center of his play The Old Masters, which had its première in Birmingham and opened at the Comedy Theatre, London, later the same month, on 26 June 2004. On the agreement signed 29 June 1939, see Perry r994’ PP· 24 and 33· n. 52. For a fascinating essay on Kress's motives, see Eisler 2002. See Christensen 1990, p. 137; Suhr’s conservation report is preserved in the Suhr archive at the

Notes to pages 151-153

86

87

88

89

Getty Conservation Institute. The Duveen librarian, George H. McCall, wrote to Fowles in Paris, “The picture is so important and so won­ derful that we should be in possession of every­ thing that has been said about it during the centuries.” He enclosed a list of sources unavail­ able in New York and asked Fowles to send someone to the Bibliothèque Nationale to tran­ scribe passages about the Raphael portrait; McCall to Fowles, 14 December 1938, GRI, Box 276, Folder 6, reel 131. Mellon had bought St. George and the Dragon and the Alba Madonna from the Hermitage, St. Petersburg, in 1931; he had acquired his first Raphael from Duveen in 1928: the NiccoliniCowper Madonna, also known as the Large Cowper Madonna. This was the second Raphael that Duveen had acquired from Lady Ethel Des­ borough, the granddaughter of the 6th Earl Cowper of Panshanger; the first was the Small Cowper Madonna, purchased by Duveen in 1913 and sold the following year to P. A. B. Widener, with his son Joseph Widener as the motivating force behind the acquisition. All four Raphael paintings are now in the National Gallery of Art in Washington with the collections given to the nation by Mellon and Joseph Widener. Despite efforts by some to upgrade the Annunciation (Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection; now attributed to Giannicola di Paolo) to a Raphael, Kress had bought it as a Perugino in 1935. See Brown 1983, pp. 46—49, 79-83, 91-93. Fowles to New York office, 29 August 1939, GRI, Box 276, Folder 6, reel 131. Seizing another opportunity to negotiate, Fowles apparently booked a cabin for himself on the same ship when Kress returned to the United States in October. In a letter from Fowles to Kress dated 16 October 1939, the dealer returned with thanks $20, which his client had lent him on the boat: GRI, set. 11.E, Box 475 (“S. H. Kress”), Folder 1 (“1939-1940”), reel 330. Cablegram, “From London, April 19th, 1940,” GRI, Box 276, Folder 6, reel 131. Invoice, no letterhead, to Samuel H. Kress Foun­ dation, 27 May 1940, in GRI, ser. I.D., Box 153 (“House invoices, 1938-1944”), reel 55. We are grateful to Mark Henderson of the Research Library, GRI, and Alan Chong, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston, for their assistance in identifying this invoice and other material in the archives. Four of the five other art works listed on the invoice with the Altoviti panel are in the National Gallery of Art, Washington: Filippo Lippi, Annunciation (inv. 1943.4.35); Filippino Lippi, Coronation of the Virgin (inv. 1943.4.36); Matteo Civitale, a terracotta St. Sebastian·, and

225

Giovanni Bellini, Virgin and Child with Sts. Peter and Clara (inv. 1943.4.37). The fifth, described as a Botticelli rondo Virgin and Child, is now in El

90

91

92

93

94

95

Paso (Texas) Museum of Art, reattributed to the workshop (Lightbown no. C69). “Sale of May 27th, 1940 to Mr. Kress,” GRI, Box 475, Folder 1, reel 330. A footnote to the memo explains that “for his own reasons,” Kress wanted the transaction that included the Raphael, four other paintings, and the Civitale terracotta to be invoiced to the Kress Foundation (Invoice 31, for $1,025,000), and four more paintings and another sculpture invoiced to him personally (Invoice 30, for $200,000). A confirming letter to Kress listed, again with no individual prices, the nine paintings and two sculptures sold to him on 27 May 1940, for a total of $1,225,000. The memo stated that $200,000 was to be paid in cash and $1,025,000 in “6% Special Preferred Stock of S. H. Kress & Company, the shares to be taken at $11.00 each.” See Duveen Brothers, Inc. to Kress, GRI, Box 475, Folder 1, reel 330. This figure is based on the assumption that Buchner’s informant Arnot was correct, and that Duveen’s had paid Agnew’s £30,000 for the Raphael in October 1938. Letter, Bertram Boggis to Guaranty Trust Co., New York, 6 June 1940, GRI, Box 276, Folder 6, reel 131. The late Lord Duveen’s London lawyer Florance M. Guedalla, in consultation with Clarendon, another investor, conducted the negotiations with Duveen’s in New York. A letter from Guedalla to Boggis, 18 June 1940 (the same GRI source), includes a statement demonstrating the discretion of the New York firm, “I do not as yet know to whom you have sold the Raphael picture.” John MacCormac, “President Accepts Gallery and Mellon and Kress Art,” New York Times, 18 March 1941, pp. 1, 9. Instead, Jewell praised the hanging of Gallery 10, where there were only four pictures: the three Mellon Raphaels and his Perugino Cru­ cifixion. Of the Large Cowper Madonna and the Alba Madonna, the critic remarked: “These two paintings are enough to bring Raphael back, no matter how far he may have tobogganed in the esteem of those who have come to deplore his frequently exposed shallowness of feeling and his proneness to be oversweet”; Edward Alden Jewell, “Mellon and Kress Collections Shown,” New York Times, 23 March 1941, sect. 9, p. X9. David E. Finley to Kress, 5 January 1942; Kress to Finley, 6 January 1942, Washington, National Gallery of Art Archives, RG 4, Major Donor Files, Kress Collection. Kress approved adding not only Bindo Altoviti and other painting loans to the evacuation list, but proposed adding the

22Ó

Notes to pages 153-158

Civitale St. Sebastian purchased with Bindo and five other works of sculpture; no sculpture had been mentioned on Finley’s list. 96 Kress to Chief Justice Harlan E Stone, Chair­ man, Board of Trustees, National Gallery of Art, 31 March 1943, Washington, National Gallery of Art Archives, RG 4, Major Donor Files, Box 5, Kress Collection Correspondence, 1943-46. 97 Mark Helprin, A Soldier of the Great War (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1991), chapter 3, p. 128.

Appendix A

Lasting Impressions

i Rainer Michael Mason, “R.V. (Raphaël vivifié),” in Geneva 1984, pp. 93-94. Carl von Liitzow’s remark was in Geschichte der vervielfältigenden Künste, vol. 11: Der Kupferstich der Gegenwart in Europa und Nord-Amerika (Vienna: Gesellschaft für Vervielfältigende Kunst, 1889), p. 2. He com­ pared Volpato’s engravings after the Logge to Johann Heinrich Voss’s translations from Homer (Homers Werke, 1793). 2 Passavant had presumably seen the Alba Madonna (Washington, National Gallery of Art) in the collection of W. G. Coesvelt in London, before it was sold in 1836 to Tsar Nicholas I. On Coesvelt, see Penny 2004, p. 296. The Spanish Raphaels had been in Paris when Passavant was living there. 3 Vasari 1759-60, 11, p. 88, n. 1; see also chapter 2, n. 26. 4 Frey made the first engraving after Bindo Altoviti around 1747; the first print after the Sistine Madonna, by Christian Gottfried Schulze, dates from 1780. Passavant (1839-58, 11, p. 341) listed twelve full reproductions of the Sistine Madonna, not counting a few details, including the first one of the putti. He noted (11, p. 622) ten reproduc­ tions of the Uffizi Self-Portrait. 5 Johannes Brahms and Arthur Schnitzler, by con­ trast, were inspired by reproductions of Mona Lisa.

6 Grimm 1886, pp. 83-84. On the walls of Dorothea Grimm’s bedroom hung the muchappreciated Belle Jardiniere engraved by Auguste Boucher-Desnoyers in 1808, as well as his print after the Madonna della Sedia. Grimm's mother also displayed an engraving of 1812 by Carl Agri­ cola after the Madonna of the Meadow. 7 See Bätschmann 1997, nos. 76 (Small Holy Family) and 129 (Holy Family of Francis I), both in the Louvre. 8 BSGS archives, Metzger no. 8, 18 February 1809. Metzger, who was then hiding the painting from the French authorities, reported to Dillis that other Florentine engravers had badgered him for permission to copy the painting; even Morghen

quizzed Metzger about its size, hoping to rework his 1803 plate from the original. Metzger allowed no one access to the painting, not even his former teacher. Another of the engraver’s students, his cataloguer, Niccolo Palmerini, did not admit that Morghen’s model was a copy of Bindo Altoviti, but boasted that he himself had proposed and financed the print and that Morghen had, in fact, executed only the head and the hand on copper, allowing his disciple to finish the plate on his own (Poggiali 1810, p. 314; Palmerini 1810, no. cxxxi.257). 9 See Bann 2001 for a pioneering work in this field, to This point is made most clearly by Corinna Höper in her essay “ 'Mein lieber Freund und Kupferstecher’: Raffael in der Druckgraphik des 16. bis 19. Jahrhunderts,” in Höper, Brückle, and Felbinger 2001, pp. 51-119. The quote in Höper’s title is a composite of salutations from letters addressed by the poet Friedrich Rückert to one of the printmakers who reproduced Bindo Altoviti, Carl Barth (no. 14). In her book on Renaissance copying, Lisa Pon (2004, chapter 1) offers a thoughtful discussion of the analogy of translation. 11 As the term album suggests, the complex inter­ actions of performing artists and creators in recorded music are in some ways analogous to the re-use of visual materials, particularly to reproductive printmaking in the early nineteenth century. No one, however, would say of Tony Bennett’s or Norah Jones’s renditions of “Cold, Cold Heart” by the late Hank Williams, for example, that they are “only reproductions.” They are “covers,” a perfectly respectable cate­ gory of performance, for music consumers have long understood and welcomed new interpreta­ tions as tributes to earlier artists. Yet a pejorative tone adheres to the description “reproductive print,” even if the graphic artist - Müller, for example, with his Sistine Madonna (1816) or Luigi Calamatta with his engraving after Ingres's Vow of Louis XIII (1837) - devoted a decade of his life to a single plate. In contrast to the mild deprecation with which reproductive artists, if they are discussed at all, were treated before the recent revival of interest in their work, most nineteenth-century critics reviewing new releases of graphic reproductions understood the power­ ful role these impressions played in visual culture. Current scholarship in the wake of Bann, Höper, and others is restoring to the reproductive artist the esteem his or her patient efforts once enjoyed. At the same time, studies of Renaissance printmaking have refined the def­ inition and origins of reproducing images; see Michael Bury, The Print in Italy, isso-1620. exh. cat. (London: British Museum Press, 2001), pp.

Notes to pages 159—161

10—ii, and Pon 2004 on anachronistic uses of the terms “reproductive print” and “publisher,” as well as David Landau and Peter Parshall, The Renaissance Print, 1470-1550 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1994), chapter iv. 12 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction [1936],” in Illumi­ nations [1973], ed. Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zohn (London: Fontana, 1992), pp. 219-53. 13 As noted in chapter 6, anatomists investigating Raphael’s exhumed skeleton in 1833 found indi­ cations of use of his right hand. 14 For a clarification of the issue of the painting hand, see Sylvia Ferino-Pagden, “Parmigianino’s Selbstportrât: Materie und Reflex,” in Vienna 2003, pp. 42-55, especially pp. 50-51. FerinoPagden comments on Andrew John Martin’s pre­ scient understanding that it is Parmigianino’s left hand at rest on the mirror frame, an opinion now supported by computerphotographic reproduc­ tion of the image (her fig. 9a); see Andrew John Martin, Savoldo’s sogenanntes ‘Bildnis des Gaston de Foix’: Zum Problem des Paragone in der Kunst und Kunsttheorie der italienischen Renaissance

(Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1995), p. 57. Following Vasari, many critics and scholars have described the distorted foreground hand as the artist’s right; see, for example, David Franklin, The Art of Parmigianino (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2003), p. 11, and the references in Vienna 2003, no. II.1.1. 15 Jones and Penny 1983, p. 166. That Denon also reversed one of his two etched signatures calls into question his concern for orienting the image. On Puccini’s criticism of Denon in 1783 for reversing Rembrandt’s Death of the Virgin, and Denon’s reluctant use of the mirror for his next etched copy after Rembrandt, see Paris 1999-2000, no. 27. In an essay for the Paris cat­ alogue, van de Sandt (p. 79) pointed out Denon’s joking transformation of Durer’s monogram into his own initials in an etched pastiche (no. 33); even there Denon reverses the “D.” 16 Inv. 613; see Paris i983-84a, pp. 139-41, no. 37. 17 Anne-Louis Girodet-Trioson, Oeuvres posthumes

19

20

21

de Girodet- Trioson, peintre d’histoire; suivies de sa correspondance; précédées d’une notice historique, et mises en ordre par P. A. Coupin, 2 vols. (Paris:

J. Renouard, 1829), 1, opposite p. 198. On the sig­ nificance of this publication, see Thomas Crow, Emulation; Making Artists for Revolutionary France (New Haven and London: Yale

University Press, 1995), pp. 273-74. 18 Passavant 1839-58,11, p. 144. The fourteen prints, with approximate sizes, are listed as follows (Pas­ savant italicized printmakers’ names and sepa­ rated items with dashes): “Jac. Frey. kl. fol. fiir die Florentiner Gallerie gestochen, aber als unecht

22

227

nicht benutzt [engraved for the Museo fiorentino, but not used as it was false, i.e., not a self-por­ trait]. - Gio. Batt. Cecchi. kl. fol., für die Serie degli uomini i più illustri in pittura etc. - Robert Strange gez. 1764, gest. 1787. kl. fol. - Raph. Morghen. kl. fol. - Carl Barth. 1816. kl. fol. Ritter, Nachstich nach Morghen. - Ph. Cenci des­ gleichen.- Joannes Farrugia Melitensis [of Malta] 1822 in einem Oval. - Fusinati 1829. 8. - Joh. Heinr. Lips. 8. zu Rafael’s Leben von H. Fuessli. - Fr. John. 12. für die Aglaja. — Lith von Pilotj. gr. fol. — Nie. Strixner gr. fol. — vorzüglich gez. von W. Flachenecker lith v. Jos. Selb.” Count Wilhelm von Lepel, compiler of an earlier list of graphic reproductions after Raphael under the pseudonym Tauriscus Euboeus, had included Capellan’s engraving for Bottari’s edition of Vasari (1759-60, 11, opposite p. 88); see [Lepel] 1819, p. 36, no. 11, c. Lepel also listed Frey, Cecchi, Strange, Morghen, and two recent prints published in Munich: Ferdinand Pilory’s litho­ graph of c. 1811 and Carl Barth’s engraving of 1816. Charles Paul de Bourgevin Vialart de SaintMorys apparently owned an anonymous drawing after the painting. Between 1783 and 1793 the col­ lector etched more than one hundred of his favorite drawings, including twenty-one attrib­ uted to Raphael. Although the plates were con­ fiscated and melted down during the Revolution and the location of the drawing after Bindo Altoviti is no longer known, an impression of the etching, printed in sepia ink, is in Paris in the Cabinet des Estampes of the Bibliothèque Nationale. See the entry by Martine Vasselin in Paris 1983-84^ no. 320, p. 218. The name of Raphael appears on the left of the plate, and St. Morys signed and dated his print “1783” on the right, making it one of the earliest of his etch­ ings of works in his collection. See [Ruland] 1876, p. 9, “Portraits Supposed to be of Raphael.” Ruland listed sixteen prints after Bindo Altoviti in the Raphael Study Collection, Windsor Castle (all are catalogued under “B.IV,” followed by consecutive numbers 1-16). Here, bracketed catalogue numbers have been inserted in the list: [1] “Strange 1787; [2] Selb [Flache­ necker]; [3] Anon, [engraving of head]; [4] Denon (head); [5] Morghen; [6] Piloty; [7] Selous, H. C., litho; [8] Fusinati 1826; [9] Lith. chez Stuntz [without hand]; [10] L. Buchhorn eng; [11] H. Lips; [12] A. Rosmaesler (octagon); [13] Ch. Hoffmeister [for] Meyer’s “Conversations-lexicon”; [14] Corner mad. del sed. [Madonna della Sedia] underneath; [15] Cecchi eng del H[ugford]; [16] Title page J. Fittler’s cartoons.” I hese include the Istituto Nazionale per la

228

23

24

25

26

27

28

Notes to pages 161-174

Grafica, Rome; the British Museum, London; the Cabinet des Estampes, Bibliothèque Nat­ ionale de France, Paris; the Albertina and the Bil­ darchiv of the Österreichische National­ bibliothek, both in Vienna; the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich; and the National Gallery of Art, Washington. Not only excellent catalogues by the Graphische Samm­ lung, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart (Höper, Briickle, and Felbinger 2001) and the Kunstsammlungen Veste Coburg (Coburg 1984), but high-quality photographs of their holdings permitted us to postpone visiting those collections; we are grate­ ful to Andreas Henning and Corinna Höper in the Stuttgart print collection for their generous assistance. Thomas Ketelsen of the Kupferstich­ Kabinett, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden also provided useful information, as did the Prints and Drawings Department of the British Museum. Only three impressions of Frey’s print were located in Bätschmann 1997, no. 72. Of the two impressions in Rome (Fondo Corsini, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica), one is avant lettre. The Dresden impression illustrated here (inv. 89419) is trimmed and affixed in an album acquired by von Heinecken. Another lettered impression, not noted by Bätschmann, is in the British Museum (figs. 31 and 107). Cappelan signed only two portraits of Bottari’s edition of Vasari (1759—60), those of Michelan­ gelo and of Vasari himself. In a note to the preface of his third volume, Bottari credited Cap­ pelan with all the work on the portraits, except for a few by Bartolozzi. Hugford’s drawing for the engraving is cata­ logued under Cecchi’s name in the Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi, Florence (inv. 4046, neg. no. 53813). Recent discussions of Morghen’s print {Raphael Invenit, 1985, pp. 228, 780; Paris 2001-02, no. 30) seemingly overlooked the explicit dating of 1803 in Palmerini 1810. A first state of the print (Raphael Invenit, 1985, p. 228; FC 50903, vol. 40 H19) lacks the sentence locating the original in the Casa Altoviti, Rome. The British Library tentatively catalogues Fittlers book reproducing Raphael’s tapestry cartoons to 1810. Passavant (1839-58, n, p. 256) mentions Bindo Altovitis appearance on Fittler’s title page in his description of prints after the cartoons. Three impressions of Piloty lithographs after the Altoviti portrait (Höper, Briickle, and Felbinger 2001, B 8.5, 8.5A, and 8.6) are in the Graphische Sammlung, Staatsgalerie, Stuttgart. The impression illustrated here (no. 9) is the third (B 8.6), a sheet from Christian von Männlich, Les Oeuvres lithographiques, contenant

un choix de dessins d’après les grands maîtres de toutes les écoles, tiré des Musées de sa Majesté le Roi de Bavière (Munich, 1811-16). A trimmed impres­

29

30

31

32

33

34

sion (fig. 108) of this incunabulum of lithogra­ phy is in the Bildarchiv, ÖNB (Pg 3022:! 7t). Both the other impressions by Piloty in Stuttgart measure 89.8 X 61 cm. (sheet size, inv. A 99/6978, a KK and b KK); these duplicate impressions date from at least twenty-five years later and are identical with the print in the Bildarchiv, ÖNB, Vienna, described and illustrated above (no. 51). Grimm’s drawing for this etching was later in the collection of his nephew Herman, who used Joseph Albert’s photomechanical reproduction (Albertotype, an early form of collotype) of the drawing as the frontispiece for the first edition of his Raphael monograph (1872). The drawing is now in Bad Homburg Verwaltung der Staat­ lichen Schlösser und Gärten, Hessen, Grafische Sammlung. The lettering claims that the artist had drawn and engraved it from the original. Barth dedi­ cated the engraving to his patroness Princess Therese von Thurn und Taxis, a sister of Luise, Queen of Prussia. An impression with identical lettering is dated in Höper, Briickle, and Felbinger 2001 (B.8.3, inv. B 556) to 1817, as it is bound in the first volume of Königlich Baierischer Gemälde-Saal zu Munchen und Schleissheim (1817). Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich, dates the impression illustrated here to 1831, based on its appearance in the second volume dating from that year. King Ludwig’s poem: “You brought heaven to earth and swung mankind into heaven; from painters alone. Unique One, you did not learn to paint.” See Ludwig I, King of Bavaria, Gedichte, 4 vols. (Munich: Cotta, 1829—47), 11, p. 224. Holloway, devoted to Raphael, had begun engraving the tapestry cartoons in 1800, and his students finished his last plate after his death in 1827. The painting was still described in the front matter as “Portrait of Raphael.” Vere it not for the label under the lithograph “Bindo Altoviti,” its central place in the layout would suggest that it was a self-portrait.

Appendix B

i

The Cast of Chapter 7

Buchner’s Grünewald hung in Munich under that label until it was sent to Aschaffenburg in 1964; in that year the BSGS reopened its sub­ sidiary gallery in the rebuilt Schloss Johannis­ burg, almost totally destroyed during the last

Notes to pages 174—177

2 3 4

5 6 7

week of the war. In the Renaissance palace over­ looking the River Main - for many years a favorite home of Ludwig I - the panel, atributed to an unknown Frankish painter, remains on view with a collection focused on German masters. Rousseau to Eitner, 10 January 1957, BHSA, MK 44778; see also Rousseau 1945. Petropoulos 2000, chapter 1. See Munich 1999 (pp. 260-61, 56-58), for the Isenbrant Madonna (inv. 13191) and Baldung Grien's Balthasar Gerhardt, Commander of the Knights ofMalta (inv. 10646). Venema 1986, pp. 458-59. Eduard Plietzsch, Vermeer von Delft [1911] (rev. ed., Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1939), pp. 27-28. His correspondence with the artist was the subject of an exhibition, “Mein Heber Ede Kiinstlerpost von Max Pechstein an Eduard Pliet­ zsch, held at the Altonaer Museum in Hamburg

in 1996. 8 See Posada Kubissa 2003, pp. 128-29 and n. 51. 9 Gersaints Shop Sign (1721) by Watteau is in Schloss Charlottenburg, Berlin. 10 BSGS archives, Akt 23/1, no. 644 (Gemälde­ tausch mit Herrn Theodor Fischer). 11 Wittman and Taper 1946.

229

12 Letter excerpted in Buomberger 1998, pp. 221-22. 13 The battle paintings by von Kobell are in the Neue Pinakothek, Munich. 14 See Tisa Francini, Heuss, and Kreiss 2001, pp. ii2-i3.The Graff portrait, by then in the Museum zu Allerheiligen, Schaffhausen, was destroyed in the unintentional American bombing of the Swiss city on 1 April 1944. Pis­ sarro’s Country House near L’Hermitage (1875) is in the Kunstmuseum, St. Gall, and Sisley’s Early Snow in Louveciennes of around 1871 is in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (see Berlin 1996—97, nos. 31, 32). The other two landscapes were by the Swiss painters Rudolf Koller and [?Emmanuel Rudolf] Bidermann. 15 Buchner to SMUK, 12 November 1956, BHSA, MK 44778. 16 Memo, Rauscher auf Weeg to SMUK, 2 March 1953, as in previous note. 17 See Secrest 2004, pp. 330-31, 374-76. 18 Sir Evan Charteris, “L. D. An Appreciation,” The Times, 27 May 1939, p. 14. 19 Secrest 2004, pp. 405-500. Secrest also records Duveen’s purchase and re-sale of thirty-two pic­ tures by Thomas Gainsborough, among them the Blue Boy, now at the Huntington, San Marino, California.

References

In the following list, catalogues of exhibitions appear under the city where the exhibition took place, except for those written by a single author, which appear in the list under that author’s name. Congress reports are entered by title (as in Studi su Raffaello). Foreign names with uncapitalized particles are listed under the main part of the name (for example, Mtihlen, Use von zur; Sandt, Udolpho van de); other names appear under the capitalized particle (as in De Vecchi, Pierluigi). The umlauted a and u are alphabetized as ae and ue.

[Agnew, Geoffrey]. Agnew’s 1817—1967. London: Bradbury Agnew Press, 1967. Alberigo, Giuseppe. “Altoviti, Antonio,” DBI 11 (i960), pp. 572-73. Amaury-Duval. L’Atelier d’Ingres: Souvenirs. Paris: G. Charpentier, 1878. ------ . L’Atelier d’Ingres: Edition critique de l’ouvrage publié à Paris en 1878. Ed. Daniel Ternois. Paris: ARTHENA (Association pour la Diffusion de 1’Histoire de I’Art), 1993. Anderson, Jaynie. “The Giorgionesque Portrait: From Likeness to Allegory.” In Giorgione, 1979, pp· 153-58. ------ . “Dietro lo pseudonimo.” In Morelli 1991, pp. 491-578· ------ . Giorgione: The Painter of“Poetic Brevity.” Paris and New York: Flammarion, 1997. Antwerp 1999. Après & d’après Van Dyck: La Récupération romantique au XIXe siècle. Ed. Paul Verbraeken and Patricia Vansummeren. Exh. cat. Hessenhuis and elsewhere. Armenini, Giovanni Battista. De’ veri precetti della pittura di M. Gio. Battista Armenini da Faenza libri III ne’ quali con bell'ordine d’utili e buoni avvertimenti, per chi desidera in essa farsi con prestezza eccellente, si dimostrano i modi principali del disegnare e del dipingere e di fare le pitture che si convengono alle conditioni de' luoghi e delle persone. Ravenna: Tebaldini, 1586. Repr. 1587. Art Looting Investigation Unit Reports. See OSS. Aschaffenburg 2002. Das Riitsel Grünewald. Ed.

Rainhard Riepertinger et al. Exh. cat. Bayerische Landesausstellung Schloss Johannisburg. Bay­ erisches Staatsministerium für Wissenschaft, Forschung und Kunst and Haus der Bayerischen Geschichte, Augsburg, 2002. Avery, Charles. “Benvenuto Cellini’s Bronze Bust of Bindo Altoviti,” Connoisseur cnc (May 1978), pp. 62-72. B. J. D. “Raphaels Bildniß in der Königl. Gallerie in München,” Morgenblatt für gebildete Stände xiv; Kunst-Blatt 1, no. 69 (28 August 1820), pp. 275-76. Bätschmann, Marie Thérèse. Jakob Frey (1681-1752): Kupferstecher und Verleger in Rom. Berne, 1997. Bätschmann, Oskar. “Der Holbein-Streit: Eine Krise der Kunstgeschichte.” In Gaehtgens and Schuster 1996, pp. 87—100. ------ , and Pascal Griener. Hans Holbein d.J.: Die Darmstädter Madonna. Original gegen Fälschung. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1998. Baldinucci, Filippo. Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, scultore, architetto, e pittore, scritta da Filippo Baldinvcci. Florence: V. Vangelisti, 1682. ------ . The Life of Bernini [1682]. Trans. Catherine Enggass. University Park: Pennsylvania State Uni­ versity Press, 1966. ------ . Notizie dei professori del disegno da Cimabue in qua [. . .]: Opera di Filippo Baldinucci, Fiorentino, distinta in secoli, e decennali [1681­ 1728]. Ed. Ferdinando Ranalli. 5 vols. Florence: V.

References Barelli, 1845-47. Repr. in 7 vols. (v and vi, ed. Paola Barocchi). Florence: SPES, 1974-75 (includes “Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino,” v, pp. 583—700). Bann, Stephen. Parallel Lines: Printmakers, Painters and Photographers in Nineteenth-Century France. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2001. Barocchi, Paola. Vasari pittore. Florence: Club del Libro, 1964. ------ . “La storia della Galleria e la storiografica artis­ tica.” In Barocchi and Ragionieri 1983, 1, pp. 49-150. ------ , and Giovanna Ragionieri, eds. Gli Uffizi, Quattro secoli di una galleria: Atti del convegno internazionale di studi (Firenze, 20-24 Settembre 1982). 2 vols. Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 1983. Bayersdorfer, Adolph. Der Holbein-Streit. Munich and Berlin: F. Bruckmann, 1872. [------ ]. Adolph Bayersdorfer: Leben und Schriften. Ed. H. Mackowsky, A. Pauly, and W. Weigand. Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1902. 2nd ed. 1908. Behrman, S. N. Duveen [1952]. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1972. Also published as a six-part series in the New Yorker (29 September-3 November 1951). Reissued as Duveen: The Story of the Most Spectacular Art Dealer of All Time. Intro. Glenn Lowry. New York: Little Bookroom, 2002. Belloni, Coriolano. Un banchiere del Rinascimento, Binda Altoviti. Rome: Cremonese, 1935. Bellori, Giovan Pietro. Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti moderni scritte da Gio. Pietro Bellori. Rome: Successori del Mascardi, 1672. ------ . Descrizione delle immagini dipinte da Raffaelle d’Urbino nelle Camere del Palazzo Apostolico Vati­ cano. Rome: Komarek, 1695. Repr. Farnborough, 1968. Berenson, Bernard [Bernhard], The Central ltalian Painters ofthe Renaissance. New York and London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Knickerbocker Press, 1897. ------ . ltalian Pictures ofthe Renaissance: A List ofthe Principal Artists and Their Works with an Index of Places. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1932. ------ . Pitture italiane del Rinascimento. Milan: Ulrico Hoepli, 1936. ------ . Italian Pictures of the Renaissance: Central Italian and North Italian Schools. 3 vols. London: Phaidon, 1968, 1. Berlin and Munich 1996-97. Manet bis van Gogh. Hugo von Tschudi und der Kampf urn die Moderne. Ed. Johann Georg Prinz von Hohenzollern and Peter-Klaus Schuster. Exh. cat. Nationalgalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin; Neue Pinakothek,

231

Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, Munich; corrected ed. 1997. Berti, Luciano. Raffaello. Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1961. Beyle, Henri. See Stendhal. Böttger, Peter. Die Alte Pinakothek in München: Architektur, Ausstattung und museales Programm. Studien zur Kunst des 19. Jahrhunderts, 15. Munich: Prestel, 1972. Includes reprint of Munich 1838. Boisserée, Sulpiz. Tagebücher, 1808—18)4, im Auftr. d. Stadt Köln. Ed. Hans-Joachim Weitz. 5 vois. Darmstadt: Roether, 1978-95. Bonnard, Fourier. Histoire du Couvent Royal de la Trinité du Mont Pincio à Rome. Rome: Etablisse­ ments français; Paris, Éditions Auguste Picard, 1933. Borghini, Raffaello. Il Riposo di Raffaello Borghini, in cui della pittura e della scultura si favella, de'più illustri pittori e scultori e delle più famose opere loro si fa menzione; e le cose principali appartenenti a dette arti si insegnano. Florence: Giorgio Marescotti, 1584. ------ . Il Riposo [1584]. Ed., annot. Giovanni Gaetano Bottari. Florence: Michele Nestenus e Francesco Moiicke, 1730. ------ . Il Riposo: Saggio biobibliografico e indice analitico. Ed. Mario Rosei. Milan: Labor [1967]. Bortoni, Fabia. “Cecchi, Giovanni Battista,” DBI xxin (1979), pp. 267-70. Borroni Salvadori, Fabia. “Le esposizioni d’arte a Firenze dal 1674 al 1767,” Mitteilungen des Kunst­ historischen Institutes in Florenz xvm (1974), pp. 1-166. ------ . “Ignazio Enrico Hugford, collezionista con la vocazione del mercante,” Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di lettere e filosofia. 3rd set., xin/4 (1983), pp. 1025-56. Boston and Florence 2003—04. Raphael, Cellini, and a Renaissance Banker: The Patronage of Binda Altoviti. Ed. Alan Chong, Donatella Pegazzano, and Dimitrios Zikos. Exh. cat. Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston, and Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, 2003-04. ltalian trans. Bindo Altoviti tra Raffaello e Cellini. Ritratto di un banchiere del Rinascimento, Milan: Electa, 2004. [Bottari, Giovanni Gaetano, ed.]. Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca. 41h ed. 6 vois. Florence: I). Μ. Manni, 1729-38. [------ , ed., annot.]. See Borghini 1730. ------ . Dialoghi sopra le tre arti del disegno [written 1730s]. Lucca: E Μ. Benedilli, 1754. ------ , ed. Raccolta di lettere sulla pittura, scultura ed

232

References

architettura, scritte da’ più celebri professori che in dette arti fiorirono dal secolo XV al XVII. 7 vols. Rome: Barbiellini, 1754-73. 11-in, printers Niccolò e Marco Pagliarini; iv—v, vii, Marco Pagliarini; vi, Pallade; vii, ed. Luigi Crespi. Microfiche ed. Urbana: Leopoldo Cicognara Program at University of Illinois Library, 1988. [------ ]. Appendice alle riflessioni del Portoghese sul memoriale presentato dal P. Generale de’ Gesuiti alla Santità di P.P. Clemente XIII [. . .] 0 sia Risposto dell’amico di Roma all'amico di Lisbona. Genoa: n.p., 1759a. [------ ]. Critica di un Romano alle riflessioni dal Por­ toghese sopra il memoriale presentato dalli Gesuiti a Clemente XIII, distesa in una lettera mandata a Lisbona. Genoa: n.p., 1759b. [------ , ed., annoi.]. See Vasari 1759—60. ------ . Recueil de lettres sur la peinture, la sculpture et l’architecture écrites par les plus grands maîtres et les plus illustres amateurs qui aient paru dans ces trois arts depuis le XV siècle jusqu’au XVIIIe [Raccolta, 1754-73]. Trans, and annot. Louis-Joseph Jay. Paris: Galerie de tableaux, 1817. Repr. Geneva: Minkoff, 1973. ------ . Raccolta di lettere sulla pittura, scultura ed architettura scritte da’ più celebri personaggi dei secoli XV XVI e XVII, continuata fino ai nostri giorni da Stefano Ticozzi. 8 vols. Milan: G. Sil­ vestri, 1822-25. Repr. Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1976; and Milan: Forni, 1979—80. Bovero, Anna. “Camuccini, Vincenzo,” DBI xxvn (1974), pp. 627-30. Bowron, Edgar Peters, and Joseph J. Rishel, eds. See Philadelphia 2000. Boyer d’Agen, [J.A.B.], ed. Ingres d’après une corres­ pondance inédite. Introduction, commentaire et notes par Boyer d’Agen. Paris: H. Daragon, 1909. Repr. 1926. Braun, Georg Christian. Raphael’s Leben und Werke [1815]. Rev. as Raphael Sanzio’s von Urbino Leben undWerke. Wiesbaden [Schellenberg], 1819 [por­ trait frontispiece], Brown, David Alan. Berenson and the Connoisseur­ ship of Italian Painting: A Handbook to the Exhi­ bition. Exh. cat. National Gallery of Art, Washington, 1979. ------ . Raphael and America. Exh. cat. National Gallery of Art, Washington, 1983. ------ , ed. See Washington 2001. Buchner, Ernst. “Die Bildnisse der Grafen Thomas und Johann von Rieneck von Matthias Grüne­ wald,” Wallraf-Richartz-Jahrbuch n.s. 1 (1930), pp. 170-93·

------ . See Munich 1936. Bullard, Melissa Meriam. Filippo Strozzi and the Medici: Favor and Finance in Sixteenth-Century Florence and Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­ versity Press, 1980. ------ . “Bindo Altoviti, Renaissance Banker and Papal Financier.” In Boston and Florence 2003-04, pp. 20-57. Buomberger, Thomas. Raubkunst — Kunstraub: Die Schweiz und der Handel mit gestohlenen Kul­ turgütern zur Zeit des Zweiten Weltkriegs. Zurich: Orell Füssli, 1998. Cambridge, Mass., 1980. Works by J.-A.-D. Ingres in the Collection of the Fogg Art Museum. Marjorie B. Cohn and Susan Lfocke] Siegfried. Exh. cat. Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University. Fogg Art Museum Handbooks 3. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University, 1980. Camesasca, Ettore. Tutta la pittura di Rajfaello [1956]. Milan: Rizzoli, 1962. Carus, Carl Gustav. “Nachwort über die physische Constitution und Schädelbildung sowie über die letzte Krankheit Rumohr’s.” In Heinrich Wilhelm Schulz, Karl Friedrich von Rumohr: Sein Leben und seine Schriften. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1844, pp. 85-94. ------ . Symbolik der menschlichen Gestalt [1853]. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1858. ------ . Atlas de cranioscopie, ou Dessins figuratifs de crânes et de faces de personnages célèbres ou remar­ quables. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1843—45. Rev. as Neuer Atlas der Cranioscopie: Zweite vermehrte und verbesserte Auflage des Atlas der Cranioscopie. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1864. ------ . Lebenserinnerungen und Denkwürdigkeiten. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1865. Caso, Jacques de. David d'Angers: Sculptural Com­ munication in the Age of Romanticism. Trans. Dorothy Johnson and Jacques de Caso. Princeton: Princeton Universin’ Press, 1992. Castiglione, Baldassare. Il libro del cortegiano [1528]. Ed. Nicola Longo. Milan: Garzanti, 1981. ------ . The Book ofthe Courtier [1528]. Trans. Charles S. Singleton. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1959. Ed. Daniel Javitch. New York and London: W. W. Norton, 2002. Cavalcaselle, G. B. See Crowe and Cavalcaselle. Cecchi, Alessandro. “Raffaello a Firenze, Urbino e Perugia (1504-1508).” In Florence 1984a, pp. 37-46. ------ . “Agnolo e Maddalena Doni committenti di Raffaello.” In Studi su Raffaello, 1987, pp. 429—39. Cellini, Benvenuto. Vita di Benvenuto Cellini orefice

References

e scultore fiorentino, da lui medesimo scritta . . . [written c. 1558-67]. Ed. Antonio Cocchi. Naples [1728]. ------ . The Life of Benvenuto Cellini, Written by Himself. Trans. John Addington Symonds, intro. John Pope-Hennessy. London: Phaidon, 1949. ------ . My Life. Trans., intro., and annot. Julia Conaway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Chong, Alan. “The Afterlife of Cellini’s Bust of Bindo Altoviti.” In Boston and Florence 2003—04, pp. 237-62. Christensen, Carol. “Raphael’s Portrait of Bindo Altoviti.” In The Princeton Raphael Symposium: Science in the Service of Art History, ed. John Shearman and Marcia Hall. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990, pp. 135—40. Clayton, Martin. Raphael and His Circle: Drawings from Windsor Castle. London: Merrell Holberton, 1999. Coburg 1984. Raffael: Reproduktionsgraphik aus vier Jahrhunderten. Ed. Joachim Kruse and Susanne Netzer. Exh. cat. Kunstsammlungen Veste Coburg, 1984. Comolli, Angelo. Vita inedita di Raffaello d’Urbino. Rome: Salvioni, 1790. Condon, Patricia, with Marjorie B. Cohn and Agnes Mongan. See Louisville and Fort Worth 1983-84. Constantin, Afbraham], Idées italiennes sur quelques tableaux célèbres [1840]. Deuxième edition revue et annotée par Stendhal. Ed. Danielle Plan, preface by Henri Martineau. Paris: Le Divan, 1931. Cranston, Jodi. The Poetics of Portraiture in the Italian Renaissance. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­ versity Press, 2000. ------ . “Desire and Gravitas in Bindo’s Portraits.” In Boston and Florence 2003-04, pp. 115—31. Crowe, Jfoseph] Afrcher], and Giovanni] B[artista] Cavalcaselle. Raphael: His Life and Works, with Particular Reference to Recently Discovered Records, and an Exhaustive Study of Extant Drawings and Pictures. 1 vols. London: John Murray, 1882-85. Italian trans., Cavalcaselle, G. B., and J. A. Crowe. 3 vols. Florence: Le Monnier, 1884-91. Cuzin, Jean-Pierre. Raphael: His Life and Works [1983]. Trans. Sarah Brown. Secaucus: Chartwell Books, 1985. Dammig, Enrico. Il movimento Giansenista a Roma nella seconda metà del secolo XVIII. Studi e Testi, 119. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana,

D4S· · Danz, Karoline. ‘“Florenze ist die Schazkammer von klassichen Gemälden’: Der Florentiner Kunst-

233

markt im beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert und die Gemäldesammlung Ludwigs 1. von Bayern,” Ph.D. dissertation, Albert-Ludwigs Universität (Freiburg i. Br.), 2003. David d’Angers, Pierre-Jean. Les Carnets de David d’Angers publiés [. . .] par A. Bruel. ï vols. Paris: Plon, 1958. Davis, Charles. “Per l’attività romana del Vasari nel 1553: Incisioni degli affreschi di Villa Altoviti e la Fontanalis di Villa Giulia,” Mitteilungen des Kunst­ historischen Institutes in Florenz xxin (1979), pp. 197-224. De Vecchi, Pierluigi. Raffaello: La pittura [1966]. Florence: Giunti Martello, 1981; French trans. Tout l’oeuvre peint de Raphaël. Ed. Jean-Pierre Cuzin, intro. Henri Zerner. Paris: Flammarion, 1982 [based on 2nd ed. Milan, 1969]. ------ . Raphael. New York: Abbeville Press; Paris: Citadelles & Mazenod, 2002. Delaborde, Henri. Ingres, sa vie, ses travaux, sa doc­ trine, d’après les notes manuscrites et les lettres du maître. Paris: Plon, 1870. Dollmayr, Hermann. “Raffaels Werkstätte,” Jahrbuch der königlichen Sammlungen des aller­ höchsten Kaiserhauses xvi (1895), pp. 231-363. Drude, Christian, and Hubertus Kohle, eds. 200 Jahre Kunstgeschichte in München: Positionen. Per­ spectiven. Polemik 1780—1980. Münchner Univer­ sitätsschriften des Instituts für Kunstgeschichte 2. Munich and Berlin: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2003. Dussler, Luitpold. Die Incunabeln der deutschen Lithographie (1796—1821). Berlin: Heinrich Tiede­ mann, 1925. ------ . Raffael: Kritisches Verzeichnis der Gemälde, Wandbilder und Bildteppiche. Munich: Bruckmann, 1966. English trans. Raphael: A Critical Catalogue of His Pictures, Wall-Paintings and Tapestries. London and New York: Phaidon, 1971. Duveen Brothers Records, 1876-1981, Bulk 1909—64 (accession no. 960015). GRI, Los Angeles, Cali­ fornia, available on microfilm (422 reels) at the Getty Research Library, with additional copies at the Thomas J. Watson Library of the Metropoli­ tan Museum of Art, New York; the Witt Library of the Courtauld Institute, London, and the Insti­ tut National d’Histoire de I’Art (INHA), Paris. Eastlake, Charles L. Notes on the Principal Pictures in the Old Pinakothek at Munich. London: Long­ mans, 1884. Edinburgh 1994. Raphael: The Pursuit oj Perfection. Exh. cat. National Gallery of Scotland, Edin­ burgh, 1994. Die eigene Geschichte: Provenienzforschung an deutschen Kunstmuseen im internationalen Ver­

234

References

gleich. Tagung vom 20. bis 22. Februar 2002 in Hamburg [published with Museen im Zwielicht}. Ed. Ulf Hader, with Katja Terlau and Ute Haug. Veröffentlichungen der Koordinierungsstelle für Kulturgutverluste, 2. Magdeburg, 2002. Eisler, Colin. “ ‘Gold-Ground Art’ and the Gold War: Solving the Great Kress Mystery,” Partisan Review lxix (Winter 2002), pp. 67-74. Eitner, Lorenz. The Collection ofthe National Gallery ofArt Systematic Catalogue: French Paintings ofthe Nineteenth Century. Part I. Before Impressionism. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Ettlinger, Leopold D., and Helen S. Ettlinger. Raphael. Oxford: Phaidon, 1987. Fabbri Ragghianti, Silvia. “Scritti d’arte di Tommaso Puccini,” Critica d’Arte nos. 160—62 (1978), pp. 103-36. Faison, S. Lane, Jr. “Consolidated Interrogation Report No. 4, 15 December 1945: Linz: Hitler’s Museum and Library.” In OSS Art Looting Inves­ tigation Unit Reports, 1945—46. Falconieri, Carlo. Memoria intorno al rinvenimento delle ossa di Raffaello Sanzio con brevi appendici sulla sua vita [...]. Rome: Giunti e Menicanti, 1833· ------ . Vita di Vincenzo Camuccini. Rome: Stabili­ mento Tipografico, 1875. Fea, Carlo. Notizie intorno Raffaele Sanzio da Urbino ed alcune di lui opere. Rome: Vincenzo Poggioli, R. C. A., 1822. ------ . Compendio di storia e di riflessioni per la inven­ zione seguita del sepolcro di Raffaele Sanzio da Urbino nel Pantheon di Μ. Agrippa in Sett.—Ott. 1855. Rome: R. C. A., 1833. Ferino-Pagden, Sylvia. “Post Festum: Die Raffael Forschung seit 1983,” Kunstchronik xli (1988), pp.

194-217· ------ . “Giulio Romano pittore e disegnatore a Roma.” In Mantua 1989, pp. 65—95. ------ , and Maria Antonietta Zancan. Raffaello: Cat­ alogo completo dei dipinti. Florence: Cantini, 1989. Fileti Mazza, Miriam, and Bruna Tomasello, Galle­ ria degli Uffìzi 1758—1775: La politica museale di Raimondo Cocchi. Modena: Franco Cosimo Panini, 1999. Fischel, Oskar. “Santi, Raffaello,” T-B xxix (1935), PP· 433-46· Fleming, John. “The Hugfords of Florence: With a Provisional Catalogue of the Collection of Ignazio Enrico Hugford,” Connoisseur cxxxvi (1955), Part i (October), pp. 106-10; Part 11 (November), pp. 197-206.

Florence 1767. Il Trionfo /delle BellArti [. . .] in occa­ sione, che gli Accademici del Disegno in dimostra- / zione di profondo rispetto verso i LORO SOVRANI, fanno / la solenne mostra delle Opere antiche di più eccellenti / Artefici nella propria Capella, e nel chiostro secondo / de’ PP. della SS. Nonziata in Firenze l’anno 1767. Exh. cat. Florence: Giovanni Batista Stecchi and Anton Giuseppe Pagani, 1767. Copy in Florence, Kunsthistorisches Institut, La 410 ac [RARO]; microfiche ed., Urbana, 111.: Leonardo Cicognara Program at thè University of Illinois Library, 1988. Florence et la France: Rapports sous la Révolution et l’Empire. Actes du Colloque, Florence, 2—4 juin 1977. Florence: Centro Di, 1979. Florence 1984a. Raffaello a Firenze: Dipinti e disegni delle collezioni fiorentine. Exh. cat. Palazzo Pitti. Florence: Electa, 1984. Florence 1984b. Raffaello: Elementi di un mito. Le fonti, la letteratura artistica, la pittura di genere storico. Exh. cat. Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana. Florence: Centro Di, 1984. Florence, Chicago, and Detroit 2002—03. The Medici, Michelangelo, and thè Art of Late Renais­ sance Florence. Ed. Cristina Acidini Luchinat et al. Exh. cat. Palazzo Strozzi, Florence; Chicago Art Institute; Detroit Institute of Arts. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002. Förster, Ernst. Briefe über Malerei im Bezug auf die königlichen Gemäldesammlungen zu Berlin, Dresden und München. Stuttgart and Tübingen: Cotta, 1838. ------ . München: Ein Handbuch für Fremde und Ein­ heimische mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Kunstschätze dieser Residenzstadt [1838]. 2nd ed. Munich: Verlag der literar.-artist. Anst., 1840. French ed., 1846. ------ . Geschichte der deutschen Kunst, v: Von 1820 bis zur Gegenwart. Leipzig: Weigels, 1860. ------ . Raphael. 1 vols. Leipzig: Weigels, 1867. Fowles, Edward. Memories of Duveen Brothers. London: Times Books, 1976. Frankfurt 1977. Die Nazarener. Exh. cat. Städelsches Kunstinstitut, 1977. Franklin, David. Painting in Renaissance Florence 1500-1550. New Haven and London: Yale Univer­ sity Press, 2001. Frech, Stefan. Clearing: Der Zahlungsverkehr der Schweiz mit den Achsenmächten. Veröffentlichung der Unabhängigen Expertenkommission. Schweiz - Zweiter Weltkrieg, 3. Zurich: Chronos, 2001. Freedberg, Sydney J. Paintingofthe High Renaissance in Rome and Florence. 2 vols. Cambridge, Mass.:

References Harvard University Press, 1961. znd ed. with cor­ rigenda, New York, Evanston, San Francisco, and London: Icon Editions, Harper & Row, 1972. ------ . Painting in Italy 1500 to 1600. Pélican History of Art Sériés. Harmondsworth: Pélican, 1971. Füssli, Hans Heinrich, ed. Allgemeines Künstler­ lexikon: Zweyter Theil, welcher, die Fortsetzung und Ergänzung des ersten enthält. Zurich: Orell, Füssli, 1806-21, 1824. Section 7, Part II, special Raphael volume, 1814. ------ . Uber das Leben und die Werke Raphael Sanzios von Urbino. Zurich: Orell, Füssli, 1815. Füssli, Johan Rudolph. Allgemeines Künstler-lexicon. Zurich: Heidegger, 1763; Supplements, Zürich: Orell, Füssli, 1776, 1777. New folio édition, Zurich: Orell, Gessner, Füssli, 1779. Gaehtgens, Thomas W., ed. Johann Joachim Winckelmann, 1717—1768. Studien zum Achtzehnten Jahrhundert, 7. Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1986. ------ , and Barbara Paul, eds. Wilhelm von Bode: Mein Leben. 2 vols. Quellen zur deutschen Kunst­ geschichte vom Klassizismus bis zur Gegenwart, 4. Berlin: Ars Nicolai, 1997. ------ , and Peter-Klaus Schuster, eds. “ ‘Kenner­ schaft’: Kolloquium zum posten Geburtstag von Wilhelm von Bode,” Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen 38 (1996). Beiheft. Geneva 1984. Raphaël et la seconde main: Raphaël dans la gravure du XVIe siècle. Simulacres et pro­ lifération. Genève et Raphaël. Ed. Rainer Michael Mason and Mauro Natale. Exh. car. Cabinet des Estampes and Musée d’Art et d’Histoire. Gibbon, Edward. Gibbons Journey from Geneva to Rome: His Journalfrom 20 Apr. to 2 Oct. 1764. Ed. Georges A. Bonnard. London: Nelson, 1961. Giorgione: Atti del convegno internazionale di studio per il f centenario della nascita, (29-91 maggio 1978, Castelfranco Veneto). Castelfranco Veneto: Comitato per la Celebrazione Giorgionesche, 1979. Giovanni Morelli e la cultura dei conoscitori: Atti del convegno internazionale, Bergamo, 4—7 giugno 1987. Ed. Giacomo Agosti, Maria Elisabetta Manca, and Matteo Panzeri. 3 vols. Bergamo: Pierluigi Lubrina, 1993. Gnoli, Domenico. “Le demolizioni in Roma: Il Palazzo Altoviti,” Archivio storico dell’arte 1 (1888), pp. 202-11. Gobert, Renata Klée. Victor EmilJanssen 1807—1849: Ein Hamburger Maler der Romantik [Ph.D. dis­ sertation, University of Berlin, 1943]. Hamburg: Christians, 1988. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. Goethes Gespräche:

235

Eine Sammlung zeitgenössisscher Berichte aus seinem Umgang. Auf Grund der Ausgabe und des Nachlasses von Flodoard Freiherrn von Biedermann [10 vols., 1889—96]. Ed. Wolfgang Herwig. 5 vols. in 6. Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuchverlag, 1998. ------ . Goethe's Gespräche mit J. P. Eckermann. 2 vols. Leipzig: Insel, 1908. ------ . Goethes Leben von Tag zu Tag. Ed. Angelika Reimann. 8 vols. Zurich: Artemis, 1996. Gollwitzer, Heinz. Ludwig I. von Bayern, Königtum im Vormärz: Eine politische Biographie. Munich: Süddeutscher Verlag [1986]. Golzio, Vincenzo. Rajfaello nei documenti, nette testimonianz.e dei contemporanei e netta letturatura delsuo secolo. Vatican City, 1936. Repr. Westmead, 1971. Gossman, Lionel. Basel in the Age of Burckhardt: A Study in Unseasonable Ideas. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2000. [Gotti, Aurelio], Le gallerie di Firenze. Florence: Cellini, 1873. Gould, Cecil. “Raphael versus Giulio Romano: The Swing Back,” Burlington Magazine cxxiv (1982), PP· 479-87· Gregori, Mina. “Luigi Lanzi e il riordinamento della Galleria.” In Barocchi and Ragionieri 1983, n, pp. 367-93· Gregorovius, Ferdinand. “Die Villa Malta in Rom und ihre deutschen Erinnerungen” [1888]. In Kleine Schriften zum Geschichte und Cultur, 3 vols. Leipzig: E A. Brockhaus, 1887-92, m, pp. 1-42. Gregory, Sharon. “ ‘The outer man tends to be a guide to the inner’: The Woodcut Portraits in Vasari’s Lives as Parallel Texts.” In The Rise of the Image: Essays on the History of the Illustrated Art Book. Ed. Rodney Palmer and Thomas Frangen­ berg. Aidershot, Hants: Ashgate, 2003, pp. 51—85. Grimm, Herman. “Rafael und Michelangelo,” Westermanns Jahrbuch der ittustrirten deutschen Monatshefte, 11/7-9 (April, May, June 1857), pp. 79-89, 196-206, 325-36. ------ . Leben Michelangelos. 2 vols. Hannover: Rümpler, i860—63. ------ . “Raphaels eigene Bildnisse: Beitrag zur Geschichte der modernen Kunstforschung, ” Preussische Jahrbücher xxiv (May 1869), pp. 573-98. „ ------ . “Die Holbeinsche Madonna,” Preussische Jahrbücher xxvm (1871), pp. 418-31. ------ . Das Leben Raphaels von Urbino: Italienischer Text von Vasari, Übersetzung und Commentar [vol. 1 only]. Berlin: Dümmler, 1872.

236

References

------ . Zur Abwehr gegen Herrn Professor Dr. A. Springers Raphaelstudien (in der Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst, H. ft. Berlin: Ferd. Dümmler, 1873. ------ . “iv. Raphaels Gesichtsbildung,” Jahrbuch der königlich preussischen Kunstsammlungen iv (1883), pp. 162—68. Repr. in Fünfzehn Essays. 3rd rev., cor­ rected, and enlarged ed. Berlin: Ferd. Dümmler, 1884, pp. 480-90. ------ . “Zu Raphael,” Jahrbuch der königlich preussis­ chen Kunstsammlungen vi (1885), pp. 141—48. ------ . Das Leben Raphaels. 2nd ed. Berlin: Hertz, 1886. ------ . The Life oj Raphael. Trans. Sarah Holland Adams. Boston: Cuppies and Hurd, 1888. ------ . Das Leben Raphaels [based on lectures at Berlin University], 3rd rev. ed. Berlin: Hertz, 1896. ------ . Das Leben Raphaels. Ed. Ludwig Gold­ scheider. Based on 3rd ed. (1896), with additional unpublished segment, “Raphael als Weltmacht,” and reprints of “Raphael und Michelangelo” (1857) and an essay by Wilhelm Waetzoldt from Deutsche Kunsthistoriker. Vienna: Phaidon, 1934. ------ . Das Leben Raphaels. Ed. Woldemar von Seidlitz. Essen: Phaidon [1997]. ------ . See also Moritz 1986; Waetzoldt 1924. [Grimm, Jacob, and Wilhelm Grimm]. Werke und Briefivechsel, 1: Briefwechsel mit Herman Grimm. Kasseler Ausgabe. Ed. Holger Ehrhardt. Kassel and Berlin: Brüder Grimm-Gesellschaft, 1998. Gruyer, F. A. Raphael: Peintre de portraits: Fragments d’histoire et d’iconographie sur les personnages représentés dans les portraits de Raphaël. 2 vols. Paris: Renouard, 1881. Guercio, Gabriele. “The Identity of the Artist: A Reading of Monographic Studies Devoted to the Old Masters during the Nineteenth Century.” Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University, 1995. Haase, Günther. Die Kunstsammlung des Reichs­ marschalls Hermann Göring: Eine Dokumentation. Berlin: edition Q [Quintessenz], 2000. ------ . Die Kunstsammlung Adolf Hitler: Eine Doku­ mentation. Berlin: edition Q [Quintessenz], 2002. Hagen, Bettina. Antike in Wien: Die Akademie und der Klassizismus um 1800. Exh. cat. Gemäldega­ lerie der Akademie der bildenden Künste Wien; Stendal, Winckelmann-Museum. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 2002. Hantschmann, Katharina. Nymphenhurger Porzellan 1797 bis 1847: Geschichte, Modelle, Deköre. Brunswick: Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1996. ------ . “Gemälde Kopien der Nymphenburger Porzellanmanufaktur nach Raffael.” In Meister­

werken Bayerns von 900—1900: Kostbarkeiten aus internationale Sammlungen zu Gast im Bayerischen Nationalmuseum. Ed. Renate Eikelmann. Exh. cat. Munich, 2000, pp. 100-103 and 127. Hartt, Frederick. Giulio Romano, z vols. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958. Haskell, Francis. “The Old Masters in Nineteenth­ Century French Painting,” Art Quarterly xxxiv (1971), pp. 55-85. Repr. with appendix in Haskell 1987, pp. 90-115. ------ . Rediscoveries in Art: Some Aspects of Taste, Fashion and Collecting in England and France. The Wrightsman Lectures, New York University Insti­ tute of Fine Arts, 7. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1976. ------ , ed. Saloni, gallerie, musei e loro influenza sullo sviluppo dell’arte dei secoli XIX e XX: Atti delXXIV Congresso C.I.H.A., io—i8settembrei979. Bologna: C.L.U.E.B., 1981. ------ . “Il dibattito sul museo nel XVIII secolo.” In Barocchi and Ragionieri 1983, 1, pp. 151—59. ------ . Past and Present in Art & Taste: Selected Essays. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1987· ------ . History and its Images: Art and the Interpreta­ tion of the Past. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993. ------ . The Ephemeral Museum: Old Master Paintings and the Rise ofthe Art Exhibition. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2000. ------ , and Nicholas Penny. Taste and the Antique. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1981. Corrected ed. 1982. Heiden, Rüdiger an der. “Die Stellung der Alten Pinakothek in der Entwicklung des Museum­ baues.” In “Ihm, welcher der Andacht Tempel baut . . .,” 1986, pp. 177-204. ------ . Die Alte Pinakothek: Sammlungsgeschichte, Bau und Bilder. Munich: Hirmer, 1998. Heinecken. Karl-Heinrich von. “Verzeichnis der Kupferstiche welche nach Raphael von Urbino gestochen worden,” Nachrichten von Künstlern und Kunst-Sachen. 2 vols. Leipzig: Johann Paul Krauss, 1768-69, n, pp. 315-524. Heinemann, Fritz. “Das sogenannte Bildnis Raphaels in der Alten Pinakothek,” Pantheon xix (1961), pp. 103-04. Hellwig, Karin. “Ernst Förster und die Künstler­ biographik in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhun­ derts.” In Drude and Kohle 2003, pp. 68-81. Hiesinger, Ulrich. “The Paintings of Vincenzo Camuccini, 1771-1844,” Art Bulletin lx (1978), pp· 297-320.

References

Hirst, Michael. Sebastiano del Piombo. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981. Hoare, Richard Colt. Recollections Abroad during the Years 1785, 1786, 1787. Bath: Richard Cruttwell, 1815. Höper, Corinna, with Wolfgang Briickle and Udo Felbinger. Rajfael und die Folgen: Das Kunstwerk in Zeitaltern seiner graphischen Reproduzierbarkeit. Exh. cat. Ostfildern-Ruit: Hatje Cantz, 2001. [Humboldt, Wilhelm von, and Caroline von Hum­ boldt]. Wilhelm und Caroline von Humboldt in ihren Briefen. Ed. Anna von Sydow. 7 vols. Berlin: Mittler, 1916. “Ihm, welcher der Andacht Tempel baut. . .” Ludwig I. und die Alte Pinakothek: Festschrifi zum Jubiläumsjahr 1786. Munich: Bayerische Staats­ gemäldesammlungen, 1986. Jatta, Barbara. Francesco Bartolozzi: Incisore delle grazie. Exh. cat. Villa Farnesina, Rome. Rome: Artemide, 1995. Joannides, Paul. Titian to 1518: The Assumption of Genius. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2001. Johnston, William R. The Nineteenth-Century Paintings in the Walters Art Gallery. Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters Art Gallery, 1982. Jones, Roger, and Nicholas Penny. Raphael. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983. Joost-Gaugier, Christiane L. Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura: Meaning and Invention. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Justi, Carl. Winckelmann: Sein Leben, seine Werke und seine Zeitgenossen. 3 vols. Leipzig: 1866-72. 2nd ed. Winckelmann und seine Zeitgenossen. 3 vols. Leipzig: 1898. 3rd ed. 3 vols. Leipzig: F. C. W. Vogel, 1923. Kingzett, Richard. “Obituary, Colin Agnew,” Burlington Magazine cxvm (March 1976), p. 159. Kugler, Franz. Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte. Stuttgart: Ebner & Seubert, 1842. ------ . Handbuch der Geschichte der Malerei seit Kon­ stantin dem Grossen [1837]. Rev. and expanded by Jacob Burckhardt. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1847. Kuhlmann-Hodick, Petra. Das Kunstgeschichtsbild: Zur Darstellung von Kunstgeschichte und Kunstthe­ orie in der deutschen Kunst des 19. Jahrhunderts [dissertation, University of Bonn, 1989]. 2 vols. New York: Peter Lang, 1993. Kultermann, Udo. Geschichte der Kunstgeschichte: Der Weg einer Wissenschaft. Munich: Prestel, 1966. Rev. ed. 1990. Laclotte, Michel, ed. Le XVÏ’ Siècle européen: pein-

237

tares et dessins dans les collections publiques françaises. Exh. cat. Petit Palais, Paris, 1965. Lanzi, Luigi. La Real Galleria di Firenze accresciuta e riordinata per commando di S.A.R. [’Arciduca Granduca di Toscana. Florence: Moücke, 1782. ------ . La storia pittorica della Italia inferiore. Flo­ rence: Pagani, 1792. ------ . La storia pittorica della Italia. 3 vols. Bassano: Remondini, 1795-96. ------ . La storia pittorica della Italia. 6 vols. Bassano: Remondini, 1809. [Lapauze, Henry], “Lettres inédites de Ingres: La Chapelle Sixtine,” Le Gaulois du Dimanche, Sup­ plément hebdomadaire littéraire et illustré, n.s., 3e année, no. 99 (21-22 September 1907), p. 1 [letters 1-3, Ingres to Marcotte]. Lapauze, Henry. “La Chapelle Sixtine d’Ingres,” Le Temps, no. 16890 (21 September 1907), p. 3 [letter 4, Ingres to Marcotte], ------ . Le Roman d’amour de M. Ingres. Paris: P. Lafitte, 1910. Serialized in Revue des deux mondes (1 and 15 May 1910), pp. 172-203 and 408-42. ------ . Ingres, sa vie et son oeuvre f1780—1867), d’après des documents inédits. Paris: G. Petit, 1911. Lee, Yoo-Kyong. “La Fortune critique de JeanAuguste Dominique Ingres: Etude des critiques à l’occasion des Salons de 1801 à 1834.” Ph.D. dis­ sertation, University of Paris, 1995. [Lepel, Wilhelm von] Tauriscus Euboeus [pseudo­ nym] . Catalogue des estampes gravées d’après Rafaël. Frankfurt am Main: Herrmann, 1819. Lessing, Waldemar. Johann Georg von Dillis als Künstler und Museumsmann, 1779-1841. Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1951. Levi, Donata. “Crowe e Cavalcaselle: Analisi di una collaborazione,” Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di lettere efilosofia. 3rd set., xn/4 (1982), pp. 1131-71. ------ . Cavalcaselle: Il pioniere della conservazione dell’arte italiana. Turin: Giulio Einaudi, 1988. London, Washington, and New York 1999. Portraits by Ingres: Image of an Epoch. Ed. Gary Tinterow and Philip Conisbee. Exh. cat. National Gallery, London; National Gallery of Art, Washington; and Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art and Abrams, 1999. London 2004-05. Raphael: From Urbino to Rome. Ed. Hugo Chapman, Tom Henry, and Carol Piaz­ zetta. Exh. cat. National Gallery, London. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004. Los Angeles 1991-92. “Degenerate Art": The Fate of the Avant-Garde in Nazi Germany. Ed. Stephanie

238

References

Barron. Exh. cat. Los Angeles County Museum of Art and elsewhere. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1991. Louisville and Fort Worth 1983-84. In Pursuit ofPer­ fection: The Art of J.-A.-D. Ingres. Patricia Condon, with Marjorie B. Cohn and Agnes Mongan. Ed. Debra Edelstein. Exh. cat. J. B. Speed Museum, Louisville, and Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983. Lucco, Mauro. L'opera compléta di Sebastiano del Piombo. Milan: Rizzoli, 1980. Lübke, Wilhelm. Rajfael-Werk: Sämmtliche Tafel­ bilder und Fresken des Meisters. 3 vols. Dresden: Adolf Gutbier, 1875. ------ . Geschichte der italienischer Malerei. 2 vols. Stuttgart: Ebner & Seubert, n.d. [1878]. ------ , and Carl von Lützow. Denkmäler der Kunst zur Übersicht ihres Entwicklungsganges von den ersten Versuchen bis zu den Standpunkten der Gegenwart [c. i860]. 4th ed. 2 vols. Stuttgart: P. Neff, 1883-84. McClellan, Andrew. Inventing the Louvre: Art, Poli­ tics and the Origins of the Modern Museum in Eighteenth-Century Paris. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Magimel [Albert], ed. Oeuvres de J. A. Ingres, membre de l’institut, gravées au trait sur acier par Ale Réveil 1800-1851. Paris, Firmin-Didot, 1851. Mann, Golo. Ludwig I, König von Bayern. Schaftlach: Oreos, 1989. Männlich, Christian von. Beschreibung der churpfalzbaierischen Gemälde-Sammlungen zu München und zu Schleißheim. 3 vols. Munich: Lentner, 1805-10. ------ . Ein deutscher Maler und Hofmann: Lebenserinnerungen des Johann Christian v. Männlich, 1741—1822, nach der französischen Orig­ inalhandschrift [based on copy of unpublished manuscript in French, c. 1813—18]. Trans, and ed. Eugen Stollreither. Berlin: Mittler, 1910. Abridged editions as Rokoko und Revolution: Lebenserin­ nerungen des Johann Christian v. Männlich, 1741—1822. Berlin: Mittler, 1913, and Berlin: Mittler, 1923. Rev. ed., Friedrich Matthaesius. Stuttgart: Koehler [1966]. ------ . Histoire de ma vie [based on copy of unpub­ lished manuscript, c. 1813—18]. Ed. Karl Heinz Bender and Hermann Kleber, with Melitta Wal­ lenborn. 2 vols, drier: Spee, 1989—93. Mantua 1989. Giulio Romano. Ed. Sergio Polano. Exh. cat. Palazzo de, Palazzo Ducale. Marabottini, Alessandro. “I collaborator!.” In Raf-

faello: L’opera, lefonti, la fortuna. Ed. Mario Salmi. Novara, 1968, pp. 199-306. Marggraff, Rudolf. München mit seinen Kunst­ schätzen und Merkwürdigkeiten. Munich: Finsterlin, 1846. ------ . See also Munich 1865, 1869, 1872, and 1879. Meloni Trkulja, Silvia, and Ettore Spalletti. “Isti­ tuzioni artistiche Florentine 1765—1825.” In Haskell, ed. 1981, pp. 9-21. Mende, Matthias. “Die Transparente der Nürn­ berger Dürer-Feier von 1828,” Anzeiger des Ger­ manischen Nationalmuseums (1969), pp. 177-209. Messerer, Richard. “Johann Georg Dillis,” Oberbay­ erisches Archiv lxxxiv (1961), pp. 1—75. ------ . Briefwechsel zwischen Ludwig I. von Bayern und Georg von Dillis, 1807—1841. Munich: C.H. Beck, 1966. Meyer zur Cappelen, Jürg. Raphael: A Critical Catalog of His Paintings, I. Landshut: ARCOS, 2001. Michel, Emile. “Les Musees de Munich,” Revue des deux mondes xxiv (1877), pp. 515-48. Milan 1984. Rajfaello e Brera. Exh. cat. Pinacoteca di Brera. Milan: Electa, 1984. Minghetti, Marco. Rajfaello. Bologna: Nicola Zanichelli, 1885. Missirini, Melchior. “Del veto ritratto di Raffaelle Sanzio.” In Descrizione delle immagini dipinte da Raffaelle d’Urbino nel Vaticano e di quelle alia Far­ nesina, di Gio. Pietro Bellori colla Vita di Rajfaello scritta dal Vasari. Rome: De Romanis, 1821, pp. ix-xxv. [Morelli, Giovanni] Ivan Lermolieff [pseudonym]. Die Werke italienischer Meister in den Galerien von München, Dresden und Berlin: Ein kritischer Versuch von Ivan Lermolieff. Aus dem russischen übersetzt von Dr. Johannes Schwarze. Leipzig: E. A. Seemann, 1880. Trans. Louise Μ. Richter as Italian Masters in German Galleries. London: Bell & Sons, 1883. [------ ]. Ivan Lermolieff [pseudonym]. Kunstkri­ tische Studien über italienische Malerei. 3 vols. Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1890-93. Die Galerien Borgh­ ese und Doria Panjili [rzc] (1, 1890); Die Galerien zu München und Dresden (11, 1891); Die Galerie zu Berlin, nebst einem Lebensbild Giovanni Morelli's (111, 1893), e