Visible Spirit: The Art of Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Volume II 1904597459, 9781904597452

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V S T A  G B V. II

V S T A  G B V. II I L

The Pindar Press London 2009

Published by The Pindar Press 40 Narcissus Road London NW6 1TH · UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-904597-45-2 (hb) ISBN 978-1-904597-55-1 (pb)

Printed by Raithby Lawrence Ltd 18 Slater Street, Leicester LE3 5AY This book is printed on acid-free paper

Contents

XVII

Bernini and Antiquity — The Baroque Paradox: A Poetical View

645

XVIII

Bernini’s Portraits of No-Body

681

XIX

The Roma Alessandrina of Richard Krautheimer

748

XX

‘Impresa quasi impossibile’: The Making of Bernini’s Bust of Francesco I d’Este

757

XXI

Bernini’s Bust of the Medusa: An Awful Pun

789

XXII

Bernini’s Bust of the Savior and the Problem of the Homeless in Seventeenth-Century Rome

849

XXIII

Bernini’s Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch

917

XXIV

Bernini’s Bumbling Barberini Bees

955

XXV

Bernini-Bozzetti: One More, One Less. A Berninesque Sculptor in Mid-Eighteenth Century France

1018

Bernini’s Death: Visions of Redemption

1046

XXVI

XXVII The Rome of Alexander VII: Bernini and the Reverse of the Medal

1087

XXVIII The Young Bernini

1127

XXIX XXX XXXI

‘Bozzetto Style’: The Renaissance Sculptor’s Handiwork

1174

The Regal Gift: Bernini and his Portraits of Royal Subjects

1234

Urbanitas urbana: The Pope, the Artist, and the Genius of the Place

1267

XXXII The Baldacchino. Borromini vs Bernini: Did Borromini Forget Himself?

1336

Bibliography

1385

Index

1397

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XVII

Bernini and Antiquity — The Baroque Paradox A Poetical View*

M

Y chief purpose in this paper is to bring together and consider under one heading two papers by earlier scholars on apparently quite different subjects that are fundamental to some of our current views on the relationship of Baroque art to antiquity. In a brief note entitled ‘Rhetoric and Baroque Art’, published in 1955, Giulio Carlo Argan for the first time offered what has since become perhaps the prevalent interpretation of Baroque art, based on the classical tradition of rhetoric.1 The primary source book on the subject, Aristotle’s treatise on rhetoric, became available in Italian translation in 1570. The wide influence of Argan’s essay was very salubrious, suggesting as it did that Baroque style, often regarded as a decadent superabundance of ornament and conceit, could better be understood positively as a deliberate and sophisticated technique of persuasion. The second paper, published by Rudolf Wittkower in 1963, compared the use of ancient models by Poussin, the arch classicist of France, and Bernini, the outstanding representative of Italian Baroque exuberance.2 With great perspicuity Wittkower showed from preparatory studies how classical sources * The gist of this paper was first presented in a lecture at a meeting of the College Art Association of America in 1961. 1 Giulio Carlo Argan, La ‘rettorica’ e l’arte barocca, in: Rettorica e barocco. Atti del III congresso internazionale di studi umanistici, Rome, 1955, pp. 9–14. 2 Rudolf Wittkower, The Role of Classical Models in Bernini’s and Poussin’s Preparatory Work, in: Studies in Western Art: Latin American Art and the Baroque Period in Europe. Acts of the Twentieth International Congress of the History of Art. III, Princeton, 1963, pp. 41–50 (reprinted in idem, Studies in the Italian Baroque, London, 1975, pp. 103–114).

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functioned in diametrically opposite ways in the development of their works. Poussin would typically start with a dynamic, ‘Baroque’ design, into which ancient models would then intervene to produce a restrained, classicizing final version; Bernini, on the other hand, would often start with a classical prototype, which he would then transform into a free and volatile ‘Baroque’ solution. Invaluable as they are — and everything I shall say this evening proves my own indebtedness to them — the essays of Argan and Wittkower seem to me to beg two essential questions that are also interrelated. The rhetorical approach inevitably focuses on the form and mechanisms, rather than the substance and meaning of style; and emphasis on the extreme differences in response to ancient models overlooks what the opposing attitudes have in common, and hence misses the significance of the antique for that which is, after all, ‘Baroque’ about Baroque art. I shall take up these issues in reverse order. Any discussion of the relationship between Baroque art and the art of antiquity must inevitably confront the fundamental paradox that underlies Wittkower’s comparison. The popular and I think nevertheless largely valid conception of the Baroque is that it is the period in art when exaggerated, dramatic emotions were expressed through violent and often apparently arbitrary formal contrasts — in short the farthest thing possible from the noble balance, reticence, and harmony we normally associate with classical art. While this description applies to a great deal of Baroque art, north as well as south of the Alps, it does not apply to all. In Poussin’s famous Et in Arcadia Ego, we find neither overly dramatic gestures and emotions, nor violent formal contrasts (Fig. 1). Yet, Poussin must be included in any general definition of Baroque art, not merely because he lived in the seventeenth century, but because he does in fact make use of many ‘Baroque’ formal and expressive devices. Perhaps most important, I should say, is precisely his sense of drama — he very subtly yet very definitely concentrates our attention upon a dramatic focus, which he fills with a poignant mood that is deeply moving. As we continue to study the picture, our eye is caught and held as if bewitched at the open space at the very center of the composition where the poised hands of the shepherds decipher the melancholy inscription. Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa could hardly be more different in other respects (Fig. 2). Yet here, too, everything is focused on a dominant central void; everything contributes to charge the space between the figures with an almost painful sense of expectancy.

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We have invented the brashly self-contradictory term ‘Baroque Classicism’ to cope with this kind of situation, which is not only paradoxical but remarkably persistent. Though perhaps to a somewhat lesser degree, the same dichotomy can be found in the Baroque art of Italy, as well. The fantastical and tumultuous architecture of Borromini, as witness the façade of this little church in Rome, S. Carlo alle Quattro Fontane (Fig. 3), is the absolute antithesis of the clear, simple, at times even austere grandeur of Bernini’s architecture. One would hardly believe that a Baroque building could have inspired the following statement, ‘No other Italian structure of the post-Renaissance period shows an equally deep affinity with Greece.’ Yet it was written by Wittkower himself, about Bernini’s colonnade in front of St. Peter’s (Fig. 4).3 We can carry this dilemma yet a step further. Bernini’s colossal figure of St. Longinus in St. Peter’s (Fig. 5), captured at the height of a dramatic moment, with thundering drapery and ecstatic expression, is the very essence of what most people mean by Baroque, whether they like it or not. Considered in relation to the statement just quoted about the Hellenic character of Bernini’s colonnade, one can understand why some critics have gone so far as to suggest that Bernini was a kind of artistic schizophrenic — classical in his architecture, Baroque in his sculpture. The dichotomy runs still deeper. Compare the St. Longinus with another of Bernini’s statues in St. Peter’s, of the Countess Matilda of Tuscany, the great twelfth-century benefactress of the papacy, begun in 1633 (Fig. 6). Although contemporaneous in execution, the two works seem diametrically opposed. Matilda is a grand and noble matron, obviously inspired by some classical figure of Juno or Athena. She stands solid and stable, her drapery is fulsome and heavy, and her countenance displays a grave composure that is more classical in spirit, one might almost say, than antiquity itself. In the case of Bernini our problem is compounded by what we know of his views on art, which is quite a good deal. The chief source is the journal kept of Bernini’s visit to France on the invitation of Louis XIV. by Paul de

Rudolf Wittkower, Art and Architecture in Italy. 1600 to 1750, Harmondsworth, etc. 1980. p. 196. 3

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1. Nicolas Poussin, Et in Arcadia Ego, Paris, Musée du Louvre, photo Archives photographiques MNLP 360/112c.

2. Bernini, Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Rome, S. Maria della Vittoria, photo Alinari 6193.

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3. Borromini, Rome, S. Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, photo Alinari 27898.

4. Bernini, Rome, St. Peter’s, photo Anderson 24399.

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5. Bernini, St. Longinus, Rome, St. Peter’s, photo Anderson 20588.

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6. Bernini, Countess Matilda of Tuscany, Rome, St. Peter’s, photo Anderson 20572.

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Chantelou, whom Louis had designated as the renowned artist’s chaperon.4 Chantelou kept a day-by-day record, from which we glimpse Bernini’s ideas and character with a freshness and intimacy unparalleled before the nineteenth century. The remarkable fact is that while the Journal itself is thus a profoundly Baroque sort of document, and the brilliant, extroverted artist emerges as a profoundly Baroque sort of personality, the things he says about art betray an analogous kind of duality. On the one hand he speaks of the difficulty of rendering the subtle color gradations of the skin in white marble — a possibility only a sculptor of the seventeenth century would articulate. On the other hand, he advises the young student to copy the masterpieces of antiquity even before nature. On the one hand, he does not wish the king to ‘pose’ for his portrait, but sketches him in action in order to capture a characteristic, momentary expression. On the other hand. he was deeply impressed, even disturbed by the reserved, cerebral paintings of Poussin, whose works he says he wishes he had not seen because they make him realize how little he knows about art. Under the circumstances one can readily comprehend that commentators have resorted to some rather peculiar arguments in order to explain these contradictory aspects of Bernini’s art and thought. His classicizing sculptures represent a sort of capitulation to the conservative currents of the day. His emphatic admiration for antiquity was simply part of the intellectual furniture of classicistic art theory inherited from the sixteenth century. His admiration of Poussin was merely an attempt to cull favor at the French court. All of which imputes to Bernini a degree of superficiality, even of hypocrisy that is utterly belied by the divinely proud and self-assured individual we know from Chantelou’s journal. One need only point out, for example, that Poussin was just about all he praised in France; almost everything else he saw he criticized so openly and severely that Chantelou had to ask him in private if he wouldn’t be a bit more tactful — he was hurting everyone’s feelings. No, I believe we must accept the fact that Bernini’s response to antiquity was both genuine and deep-seated. We must reconcile ourselves to the likelihood that the contradiction we feel between two opposing principles is at some level anachronistic; and if we are ever really to understand Baroque 4 M. de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France. Ed. Ludovic Lalanne, Paris 1885. An English translation by M. Corbett, with excellent notes by G. Bauer, is now available, Paul Fréart de Chantelou, Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France. Ed. Anthony Blunt, Princeton, 1985.

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art in general, and Bernini in particular, we must find the common denominator. Possibly the clearest insight I know into the significance of classical art for Bernini, at least during the early part of his career, is provided by his epoch-making group of Apollo and Daphne (Fig. 7). The relationship of the figure of Apollo to the Apollo Belvedere (Fig. 8) is one of the most direct and obvious quotations from another work of art, classical or otherwise, in the whole of Bernini’s œuvre. The model has been greatly altered, to be sure, but the reference is so explicit that one can scarcely imagine the group’s initial derivation from quite a different prototype. This is a work by the obscure Florentine sculptor, Battista Lorenzi, whose relationship to Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne has not, I think, received the attention it deserves (Fig. 9). The sculpture, which represents Alpheus and Arethusa, was executed sometime before 1584 for the garden of a villa at Florence.5 The similarities are too close for coincidence, and we are driven to the conclusion that one of the most revolutionary works of Bernini’s youth apparently originated in an almost paradigmatic work of late Mannerist sculpture. While some may find this realization rather disillusioning, it does help us to grasp one of the important services the classical model performed. For among the many differences of the Apollo and Daphne from the earlier group, perhaps the most critical is the return to a dominant viewpoint — a distinctive novelty of Bernini’s early work, as Wittkower emphasized in another context.6 One of the earlier sculptor’s chief concerns was to provide the spectator with something to look at from various points of view. Bernini’s chief concern was to present to the spectator a dramatic momentary situation, We know from documents that he took care to have the group placed against a wall, so that it could be seen only from one side. By thus concentrating and focusing the action of the figures Bernini trans5 Preston Remington, Alpheus and Arethusa. A Marble Group by Battista Lorenzi, in: Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, XXXV, 1940, pp. 61–65. References to Florentine sculpture are frequent in Bernini’s early work. 6 Rudolf Wittkower, Le Bernin et le baroque romain, in: Gazette des Beaux-Arts, XI, 1934, pp. 327–341. Wittkower’s analysis retains its essential validity despite recent studies that have emphasized the care with which Bernini also calculated subordinate views. Joy Kenseth, Bernini’s Borghese Sculptures: Another View, in: The Art Bulletin, LXIII, 1981, pp. 191–210; Rudolf Kuhn, Die Dreiansichtigkeit der Skulpturen des Gianlorenzo Bernini und des Ignaz Günther, in: Festschrift für Wilhelm Messerer zum 60. Geburtstag, Cologne, 1980, pp. 231–249.

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7. Bernini, Apollo and Daphne, Rome, Galleria Borghese, photo Anderson 1919.

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8. Apollo Belvedere, Rome, Musei Vaticani, photo Alinari 6501.

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9. Battista Lorenzi, Alpheus and Arethusa, New York, Metropolitan Museum, Neg. No. 120512.

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10. Bernini, David, Rome, Galleria Borghese, photo Anderson 1922.

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formed the whole course of European sculpture. It would be foolish to maintain that Bernini would not have returned to the dominant viewpoint without the Apollo Belvedere, but there can be no doubt that the ancient statue provided him with unimpeachable precedent for his break with Mannerist tradition. What we have said of the Apollo and Daphne can be said of virtually all the major revolutionary works of Bernini’s youth. Bernini’s David seems to have started from the great figure of Polyphemus hurling a rock at Acis painted by Annibale Carracci, another of Bernini’s favorite artists, on a vault of the Palazzo Farnese in Rome 20 years before (Figs. 10, 11). This time one recognizes the interposition of two ancient works in the genesis of different aspects of Bernini’s sculpture. The complex torsion of Carracci’s figure, moving forward toward the spectator while turning backward toward the fleeing enemy, is simplified, frontalized and brought into sharp psychological focus — thanks to the Borghese gladiator and the group of Menelaus holding the body of Patroclus; we know that Bernini greatly admired both these famous works (Figs. 12, 13).7 Clearly, it is hard to agree with those who conceive that Bernini’s explicit admiration for antiquity was incompatible with his own direction. On the contrary, in view of the consistency with which the young Bernini adopted classical models, one might even propose the somewhat startling thesis that the beginning of Baroque sculpture was actually accompanied by a classical revival, of almost the proportions and significance of the Early Renaissance itself. Bernini’s relation to antiquity in his early work has all the earmarks of a passionate rediscovery. In each case, upon a contemporary, or near contemporary, starting point he superimposed some ancient reference which helped to clarify, concentrate and intensify what can only be described as a new quality of heroic pathos and drama. This is the quality, after all, that underlies the seemingly contradictory extremes of the relationship between the Baroque and antiquity, linking Poussin to Bernini, Borromini to Bernini, the St. Longinus to the Matilda of Tuscany. Bernini was far from alone in this respect. There is ample evidence that a renewed interest in antiquity was an essential aspect of the profound On these works, with references to Bernini’s enthusiasm for them, see Francis Haskell/Nicholas Penny, Taste and the Antique. The Lure of Classical Sculpture 1500–1900, New Haven and London, 1981, pp. 221–224, 291–296. See also my essay, Bernini and the Art of Social Satire, in: Irving Lavin (Ed.), Drawings by Gian Lorenzo Bernini from the Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig and Princeton, 1981, p. 40. 7

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changes that were being wrought in other art forms during the early seventeenth century in Rome, notably in the theater — in drama, in music, and above all in the combination of the two, opera. Here at last we begin to reach the heart of the matter I wish to consider here, and I shall focus initially on these parallel phenomena, which I think may have some bearing upon Bernini’s development. As far as drama is concerned, it is too little known that among the major forces in the development of Baroque theater were the Jesuits.8 From its inception the Society had fostered a great tradition of stage productions as part of its program of education and indoctrination. The plays were put on in the Jesuit colleges, under the direction of the teacher of rhetoric, for the benefit of the students, who were the actors; the students were often the sons of powerful noblemen and the practice helped to perfect their Latin and their oratorical prowess, while the lofty subject matter served to inculcate them with spiritual truth. By the early seventeenth century in Rome these productions became quite elaborate and were among the city’s stellar attractions, serving to advance the twin causes of religious faith and the Jesuit order. Perhaps the leading figure in the Jesuit theater during the first quarter of the century was one Bernardino Stefonio, who was teacher of humanities and rhetoric in Rome for more than a decade before 1618, when he became tutor to the Duke of Modena.9 Stefonio wrote a number of dramas whose success is witnessed by the several editions and performances they were given. Chief among them were two tragedies, one called Crispus, first performed at the Collegio Romano in 1597, the other Flavia, performed for the Jubilee year 1600. Both plays recount the stories of Christian martyrdoms under Roman emperors, but they incorporate important elements of plots and language from the tragedies of Seneca. For a recent survey, see William H. McCabe, An Introduction to the Jesuit Theater, St. Louis, 1983. For Rome, see Gualtiero Gnerghi, Il teatro gesuitico ne’suoi primordî a Roma, Rome 1907, and the valuable but unpublished work by V. R. Yanitelli, The Jesuit Theatre in Italy, Ph.D. Diss. Fordham Univ., 1945. See also a series of essays by various authors on the theaters of the Collegio and Seminario Romano, in The Ohio State University Theatre Collection Bulletin, No. 16, 1969. 9 Stefonio’s work has been the subject of two excellent essays by Marc Fumaroli, Le Crispus et la Favia du P. Bernardino Stefonia S. J. Contribution à l’histoire du théatre au Collegio Romano (1597–1628), in: Jean Jacquot/Elie Konigson. Les fêtes de la Renaissance. III, Paris, 1975, pp. 505–524, and Théâtre, humanisme et contre-réforme à Rome (1597–1642): l’œuvre du P. Bernardino Stefonio et son influence, in: Bulletin de l’Association Guillaume Budé, XXXIII, 1974, pp. 397–411. 8

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11. Annibale Carracci, Polyphemus, Rome, Palazzo Farnese, photo Gabinetto Fotografico Nazionale, Roma 37163.

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13. Menelaus and Patroclus, Florence, Loggia dei Lanzi, photo Alinari 2482.

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photo Alinari 22625.

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12. Borghese Gladiator, Paris, Musée du Louvre,

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Stefonio’s plays thus combine the Counter-Reformatory recourse to the pristine Christian values of the early church, with a number of basic reforms intended to arouse an immediate emotional response in the audience by emulating the simplicity and directness of ancient tragedy. Another important innovation in Stefonio’s plays, especially compared with the academic productions of ancient plays they were intended to emulate, was the introduction of singing and dancing at various points in the action, in intermezzos between the acts, and especially through a chorus whose choreography, charged with high symbolism, was recorded in engraved diagrams (Fig. 14). A second great innovation in Rome at this period took place only a short distance away but at the opposite end of the social and theatrical scale, as it were, under the aegis of the arch rival of the Jesuits, the Congregation of the Oratorio founded by St. Phillip Neri.10 The saint had insisted from the outset on the necessity and appropriateness of singing popular spiritual songs in the vernacular to musical accompaniment, as part of the regular devotions of the order. The practice was also a conscious emulation of the communal worship of the primitive church, and the order’s very name, Congregation of the Oratory, derives from this distinctive practise of musical prayer. The Oratory’s tradition underwent a profound transformation, however, and a new era in the development of the Baroque theater opened, with an event held in the Jubilee year of 1600, at the same time as the Jesuit production of Bernardino Stefonio’s Flavia. The event, no doubt partly intended as a response to the Jesuit theatrical success, was the performance at the Oratory of what really amounted to a new art form — a religious drama set entirely to music with the parts sung by a combination of choral and solo voices. The Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo marked a critical turning point in the development of a movement that had begun in Florence in the 80s of the sixteenth century, with the Florentine Camerata, familiar to every musicologist. Under the patronage of a certain nobleman, Giovanni Bardi, a group of amateurs held informal meetings for the purpose of studying and recreating the music and drama of the ancients. In so 10 The paragraphs that follow concerning the Oratory and the Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo, and Bernini’s sculptures of the Damned and Blessed Souls, are taken from a forthcoming essay by the writer, ‘Bernini’s Portraits of No-Body’, which provides full documentation. The standard work on the Oratorio is Howard E. Smither, A History of the Oratorio. 3 vols. Chapel Hill, 1977–1987.

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doing, they took the first basic steps in the creation of Baroque opera. Among the better-known participants were the theoretician Vincenzo Galilei, father of the astronomer, the poet Ottavio Rinuccini, who later wrote the libretto for Monteverdi’s Lament of Ariadne, and Emilio de’ Cavalieri, who was instrumental in introducing the movement to Rome. De’ Cavalieri (1550–1602) composed the music for the Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo, while the text was written by a member of the Oratory, Agostino Manni (1548–1618). The Rappresentatione was an extraordinary and seminal production from many points of view. It marked a turning point in the development and transferral from Florence to Rome of the new technique of melodic recitation, or the use of song in a dramatic enactment — melodrama, in other words — intended to recapture what was thought to be the essential principle of ancient theatrical art. All this was stated explicitly in the preface to the original edition of the text and score of the Rappresentatione, as was the intention to move the audience by expressing through the melodic dialogue the strongly contrasting emotions of the characters: ‘singular and novel compositions of music, made similar to that style with which, it is said, the ancient Greeks and Romans in their scenes and theaters used to move the spectators to various affections’; ‘played and sung “all’antica,” as it is said’; ‘affective music’; ‘able to revive that ancient usage so felicitously’; ‘this style is also suited to move to devotion’; ‘this kind of music revived by him [Cavalieri] will move to various affections, like pity and joy, weeping and laughter, and others like them’; the singer should ‘express well the words so that they may be understood and accompany them with gestures and movements, not only of the hands but also of steps, which are very effective aids to move the affection’; [Cavalieri] ‘would praise to change instruments according to the affect of the singer’; ‘passing from one affection to its contrary, as from mournful to happy, from ferocious to gentle and the like, is greatly moving.11 The text of the play, which must certainly have been conceived with musical enactment in mind, was no less innovative. The subject was a religious allegory which combined two forms of late medieval popular devotion that had been revived in the latter part of the sixteenth century: the Lauda spirituale, or song of praise on a religious theme, which might 11 Translated from the dedication and preface to ‘Rappresentatione di anima, et di corpo’. Nuouamente posta in musica dal Sig. Emilio del Cavaliere per recitar cantando, Rome, 1600 (facsimile ed., Westmead, England, 1967).

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include elements of narrative and dialogue but was not a proper enactment; and the Sacra Rappresentazione, or religious play in verse, based normally on a Biblical story, with parts often sung to musical accompaniment. The three-act work, something between a recitation and a play, includes, besides Body and Soul, allegorical characters such as Time, Understanding, Good Counsel, Mammon, and Worldly Life. The plot consists entirely in the exchange of arguments for good and evil, presented alternately in a kind of contrapuntal symmetry, until Virtue triumphs in the end. The only events, properly speaking, occur in the third act when Hell and Heaven alternately open and close, and their denizens — Damned and Blessed Souls — intone their respective laments and exaltations. The impact of the jubilee production of the Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo was immediate and extraordinary. A contemporary biographer of Manni described the representation as ‘the first in Rome in the new recitative style, which then became frequent and universally applauded’.12 The response of cultivated Roman society may be judged from the vivid recollections of an eyewitness, recorded after the death of Emilio de’ Cavalieri in 1602. I want to quote the report in extenso because it is quite moving in itself and illustrates not only the thematic but also the expressive context of our subject. ‘I, Giovanni Vittorio Rossi, found myself one day in the home of Signor Cavaliere Giulio Cesare Bottifango, not only a fine gentleman but also one of rare qualities — excellent secretary, most knowledgeable poet and musician. Having begun to discuss music that moves the emotions (musica che move gli affetti), he told me resolutely that he had never heard anything more affecting (più affettuosa), or that had moved him more than the Representation of the Soul put to music by the late Signor Emilio de’ Cavalieri, and performed the Holy Year 1600 in the oratory of the Assumption, in the house of the Reverend Fathers of the Oratorio at the Chiesa Nuova. He was present that day when it was performed three times without satisfying the demand, and he said in particular that hearing the part of Time, he felt come over him a great fear and terror: and at the part when the Body, performed by the same person as Time, in doubt whether to follow God or the World, resolved to follow God, his eyes poured forth a great abundance of tears and he felt arise in his heart a great repentance Cf. D. Alaleona, Su Emilio de’ Cavalieri, la Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo e alcune sue composizioni inedite, in: La nuova musica, X, 1905, p. 18. 12

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and pain for his sins. Nor did this happen only then, but thereafter whenever he sang it he was so excited to devotion that he wanted to take communion, and he erupted in a river to tears. He also gave extreme praise to the part of the Soul, divinely performed by that castrato; he said the music was also an inestimable artifice that expressed the emotions of pain and tenderness with certain false sixths tending toward sevenths, which ravished the spirit. In sum, he concluded, one could not do anything more beautiful or more perfect in that genre, and, so I might see for myself the truth of what he said, he took me to the harpsichord and sang several pieces from the representation, in particular that part of the Body which had so moved him. It pleased me so much that I asked him to share it with me, and he most courteously copied it himself. I learned it by heart, and often went to his house to hear him sing it himself ’.13 It must be said, in sum, that the Jesuit and Oratorian productions for the jubilee of 1600 represented two new, alternative and complementary approaches to combining words and music in a specifically Christian dramatic performance inspired by a renewed emulation of antiquity. The highculture academic exercises of the Jesuits focused primarily on the classical drama and scenic splendor, introducing music, singing and dance as ancillary ingredients of a moving effect. The Oratorians took the more popular path of vernacular dramatic text, all of it sung to musical accompaniment, but with relatively little emphasis on staging and scenography. Each of these approaches had a long and fruitful legacy. The Oratorians subsequently suppressed the theatrical aspect altogether, focusing instead on the musicdrama itself in the development of the Oratorio form for which the Order is famous. The Jesuits tended to suppress the musical in favor of the theatrical aspects of the drama, and spectacular productions of Jesuit school plays in the later seventeenth and eighteenth centuries became legendary. There was one particular context, however, in which a clear and specific effort was made to combine the two approaches and create a fully developed music-drama, with elaborate staging, all roles played by actor-singers to orchestral accompaniment, a corps de ballet performing dances that were an integral part of the event, and a plot that recounted the inspiring spiritual victories of the early church martyrs. These first great religious operas were created in the second quarter of the seventeenth century under the patronCf. Marcello Fagiolo/Maria Luisa Madonna (Eds.), Roma sancta. La città delle basiliche, Rome 1985, p. 196. 13

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age of the family of Pope Urban VIII Barberini, who was Bernini’s greatest patron.14 In a series of productions mainly in the Palazzo Barberini, newly brought to completion by Bernini himself, the musical as well as the purely theatrical possibilities of the earlier innovations were further developed. In fact, one might say without too much exaggeration that it was largely in the Palazzo Barberini that opera acquired the spectacular and scenographic character with which it is still associated. The Barberini productions are also of interest because they brought religion to the opera. Whereas previous musical dramas had used mythological themes, the operas sponsored by the papal family were mostly devoted to the lives of early saints and thus combined classical settings with an explicit Christian spiritual message. Throughout this development those involved were quite conscious of the revolution in progress, and there was much discussion of the nuova musica, and musica rappresentativa, or monody — meaning the setting of a single melodic line, carried by the voice, against an orchestral accompaniment. This, it was said, constituted a simple, direct means of representing dramatic situations and arousing the emotions quite impossible with the complex formal configurations of sixteenth-century polyphony. The whole discussion, I repeat, took place in terms of a new understanding of the relation between words and music in ancient tragedy. Hence it becomes understandable, for example, that one of the chief theoreticians of the new movement in Rome, Giovanni Battista Doni, to whom the term monody is due, should also have been one of the founders of the modern study of ancient music, especially Greek. He conceived of Greek tragedy, it seems hardly necessary to mention, very much like early Baroque opera. He even invented an instrument, the Lyra Barberina, with which he sought to reconcile the requirements of ancient and contemporary technique.15 Both the continuity between the Roman and earlier Florentine tradition, and the self-consciousness of it all, are illustrated by the fact that the first historical account we have of the origins of the melodrama is a letter about the Camerata Fiorentina written by Piero Bardi, the original patron’s 14 For an overview of Barberini theater patronage, see Enciclopedia dello spettacolo, 11 vols. Rome 1975, I, cols. 1468–70, s. v. ‘Barberini’. The standard work remains Alessandro Ademollo, I teatri di Roma nel secolo decimosettimo, Rome, 1888. The only comprehensive study of the Barberini theater is the unpublished dissertation by M. L. Pietrangeli Chanaz, Il teatro barberiniano, Univ. of Rome, 1968; see also Margaret K. Murata, Operas for the Papal Court 1631–1668, Ann Arbor, Mich., 1981. 15 On Doni, see Enciclopedia . . ., op. cit. (cf. n. 14), II. cols., 855 f.

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son, to Giovanni Battista Doni in 1634. Doni actually lived with the Barberini from 1623 till 1640. In the theater too, therefore, we are faced with the curious paradox of an intimate link between the formation of early Baroque principles and a consciously renewed classicism. In as much as antiquity had always played a preeminent role in Renaissance artistic theory, however, the idea of a renewal is here particularly important. The difference may be illustrated with special relevance in our present context by certain aspects of the history of dramatic theory. The key document for the understanding of the theory and practice of the theater in antiquity was the Poetics of Aristotle. Like the Rhetoric, the Poetics is devoted ultimately to the art of persuasion, but whereas the Rhetoric focuses primarily on discursive argument as the means toward that end, the Poetics is concerned with mimetic representation. The theater persuaded not through analysis and demonstration, but through eliciting an empathetic response in which the audience is transported out of its normal frame of reference into one of the author’s own design. Hence it was that since the early years of the sixteenth century, after the first publication of Aristotle’s Poetics, one of the crucial issues was the famous definition of the function of tragedy, Catharsis.16 The portion of Aristotle’s treatise that supposedly explained the term was lost; hence the history of interpretations of Catharsis is a perfect index to successive conceptions of ancient drama. Generally speaking, two main views have prevailed. The first, which practically dominated sixteenth century thought on the subject, has been called the moral or didactic (sometimes liturgical or religious) interpretation: tragedy by demonstrating the effects of certain actions produces a moral purification of the passions. The second interpretation has been called pathological, or homeopathic, since it focuses not so much upon the ethical or didactic value of tragedy as upon its power to arouse our emotions. Catharsis is a kind of treatment, curing emotion by exciting it. The basis for this interpretation is Aristotle himself who, in a remarkable passage in the 16 Eugène Napoléon Tigerstedt, Observations on the Reception of the Aristotelian Poetics in the Latin West, in: Studies in the Renaissance, XV, 1968. pp. 7–24. For a recent survey of interpretations of Catharsis, see Stephen Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics. Chapel Hill, 1986, pp. 350–356; see also Franz Susemihl/Robert D. Hicks. The Politics of Aristotle, New York, 1976, pp. 641 ff. A vast resource on sixteenth-century interpretations is provided by Bernard Weinberg’s A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols. Chicago, 1961, and his Trattati di poetica e retorica del cinquecento, 4 vols., Bari, 1970–1974.

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Politics, describes the effect of certain kinds of music upon those possessed of God, in a state of religious fervor, or enthusiasmós. The music serves as a physical stimulus that provides an outlet for the religious fervor, and the result is a ‘harmless joy’. Similarly, the spectator who is brought face to face with grander suffering than his own, experiences an empathetic ecstasy, or lifting out of himself. In the glow of tragic excitement, feelings such as pity and fear become universal and are so transformed that the net result is a noble emotional satisfaction. This sounds like a quite modern view of the matter, and much of the phraseology I have used is actually taken from S. H. Butcher’s standard work: Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Art, London-New York, 1895. It is also easy to see, however, that by adopting such a view Aristotle could not only be reconciled with, but made into a prime witness for the direct appeal to the emotions that is the core of Baroque theater. Indeed, although adumbrated earlier, the pathological interpretation flourished in the seventeenth century and can be traced thenceforward down to our own times. To be precise, it seems first to reappear, complete with a reference to the passage on music and religious ecstasy from the Politics, in a treatise on tragedy published in 1621 by one Tarquinio Galluzzi — a Jesuit father who was rector of the Greek College in Rome from 1631 to 1644. Galluzzi, I might add, wrote another treatise, significantly entitled The Revival of Ancient Tragedy, specifically in defense of Father Stefonio’s Crispus.17 Of particular interest in our context is a circumstance often overlooked or neglected in discussions of Catharsis. Aristotle’s explanation of the concept occurs not in the Poetics but in the Politics, and does not concern tragedy as such, but music and its role in human society, especially the education of the young. Aristotle thus spoke directly to the Jesuit Baroque theatrical endeavor, on several levels at once, the primary aim of the exercise was pedagogical, serving to produce an effect on the moral character of the soul: the homeopathic view of Catharsis confirmed the emphasis on a direct appeal to the emotions; and the focus on music as the agent of Catharsis reinforced the effort to integrate music and words in the theater to create a dramatic whole. Definitely, the air in Rome was filled with such notions in the first half of the century. Interestingly enough, the passage in 17 See Ingram Bywater, Milton and the Aristotelian Definition of Tragedy, in: Journal of Philology, XXVII, 1901, pp. 267–275. On Galluzzi and his teacher, Stefonio, see Fumaroli, op. cit. (cf. n. 9).

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Galluzzi has been quoted in connection with John Milton’s introduction to Samson Agonistes, which apparently introduced the pathological interpretation of Catharsis to England. Milton, it will be remembered, was in Rome in 1639, and had close contacts with the local literati. One of his letters records his attendance at a splendid performance, in the Palazzo Barberini.18 Several points thus seem quite clear: that the theater in Rome during the early seventeenth century was a leader in the creation of new and more powerful forms of dramatic presentation: that people were very conscious of this development and eminently aware of the theater’s unique capacity to achieve, by means of its illusions, what Coleridge called the ‘willing suspension of disbelief ’. It seems certain, finally, that this attitude was regarded as a new rapprochement to the essential spirit of the ancient theater. The question will naturally have arisen, what exactly has all this to do with Bernini? On one level at least, the answer is very simple. Bernini’s own interest in the theater amounted to a real passion.19 From all accounts, and there are many, it is clear that he spent an inordinate amount of time throughout his long life writing, producing, staging and acting in plays. The decade of the ’30s was certainly the most critical in this respect. During those years, in productions for the Barberini and on his own, he engineered such astonishing effects that he became an acknowledged master in the field. The sunrise he created for one of his plays, called the Sea-Shore, was famous throughout Europe. Louis XIII requested Bernini’s recipe so that it could be repeated at Paris. In the midst of a production of Bernini’s called The Fair, as a carnival chariot lit by torches was passing on stage, a fire seemed to break out. There ensued, naturally, a mad scramble for the exits, in which several members of the audience were wounded. While attention was thus diverted, the fire suddenly disappeared and the stage was transformed into a tranquil garden. In 1637 there had been a disastrous flood of the Tiber at Rome. The next year, Bernini staged a play called The Inundation of the Tiber. Boats were passing across the stage on real water, retained by embankments. Suddenly the levee breaks and the water spills out toward the audience, until it just reaches the edge of the stage, where in the nick of time a barrier is raised to stop it. The subject of the play was the Bywater, as cited in the preceding note, and Gretchen Ludke Finney, Chorus in ‘Samson Agonistes’, in: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, LVIII, 1943, pp. 649–664, esp. p. 658. 19 For what follows, see Irving Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, New York and London 1980, pp. 146 ff. 18

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15. Bernini, Anima Beata, Rome, Palazzo di Spagna, photo Anderson 17848.

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14. Diagram of dances, from B. Stefonio, Crispus, Naples, 1604.

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17. Hildegard of Bingen, “Beati” and “Maledicti”, MS lat. 935, fol. 38v., Munich, Staatsbibliothek.

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16. Bernini, Anima Dannata. Palazzo di Spagna, Rome

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18. Frans Floris, Last Judgment, Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, photo A3835.

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20. Alexander Mair, Damned Soul, engraving, Munich, Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Inv. Nr. 95591. 6/7 82/10/3.

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19. Alexander Mair, Blessed Soul, engraving, Munich, Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Inv. Nr. 98591. 6/7 82/9/4.

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malefactions of two scoundrels who finally get their reward when their house collapses in the flood. In a comedy of 1637 called Of Two Theaters the audience saw an actor on stage reciting the prologue; behind him they saw the back side of another actor facing another audience, also reciting a prologue. At the end of the prologue a curtain came down between the two actors and the play began. At the end of the play the curtain went up, and the audience saw the other audience leaving the other theater in splendid coaches by the light of torches and of the moon shining through clouds. In order to understand why Bernini became a legend in his day it is essential to grasp the sense in which his achievements in this domain were fundamentally new. Such tricks invariably depended on earlier theatrical techniques. Stage pyrotechnics had been highly developed for scenes of hell, and stage hydraulics for marine spectacles that often included real naval battles. The play-within-a-play had a long history. and is familiar to us from Shakespeare. Bernini used the old devices in such a way, however, that they acquired a powerful new dramatic force. Upon the illusion normally expected in the theater he superimposed another illusion that was unexpected and in which the audience was directly involved. The spectator, in an instant became an actor, aware of himself as an active, if involuntary participant in the ‘happening’. It is clear that for Bernini the theater had a quite specific and unique significance: it was here and only here that such miracles became real experiences represented by real people, before a real audience. One would scarcely find a better description of such an experience than ‘cathartic’ mimetic persuasion par excellence. Herein precisely lies the essence of the poetic view of Bernini’s sometimes seemingly contradictory relationship to antiquity. His art of persuasion was to create a new reality, by which the spectator is inevitably and forever transformed. Moreover, it is symptomatic of the main point of this talk that contemporaries perceived such works by Bernini in a distinctly classical light. His comedies were compared favorably to those of Terence and Plautus. Giovanni Battista Doni in his Treatise on Music for the Stage even cites Bernini’s comedy productions as exemplary of the use of masks in the ancient Greek theater.20

20 ‘. . . Erano cosi significanti, spiritosi, e fondati sul vero, che molti Virtuosi ne attribuivano alcuni a Plauto; altri a Terenzio, altri ad altri Autori, che il Cavaliere non lesse giammai. perche il tutto faceva a forza solo d’ingegno’. Domenico Bernini, Vita del Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome 1713, p. 54.

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I will conclude by considering briefly two instances in which the homeopathic view of the Poetics as mimetic drama may be relevant to Bernini’s art, if not specifically, then at least in spirit. The first is an early (1619) pair of sculptured busts, representing Damned and Blessed Souls (Figs. 15, 16), perhaps commissioned as part of the funeral monument of Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya, which included one of Bernini’s most famous early portraits. The sculptures belong in the same eschatological domain as the Rappresentatione di Anima et di Corpo of Emilio de’ Cavalieri and Agostino Manni. The climactic ending of that performance was the only part with a properly dramatic and scenographic aspect. There, moreover, for the first time as far as I can discover, the moral aspects of the human spirit, named Anima Dannata and Anima Beata, were imbued with personalities of their own and confronted each other directly as independent participants in a dramatic dialogue. Bernini’s sculptures, which portray Damned and Blessed Souls in just such a dramatic confrontation, were part of the legacy of that famous theatrical production. I am not primarily concerned with the external relationship to the Oratorian Rappresentatione, however, but the analogous conceptual history that lies behind Bernini’s works. The sculptures are also deeply rooted in medieval traditions revived by the Counter-Reformation; most especially, Damned and Blessed souls had long been conceived together, engaging in mortal combat or embracing in harmony (Fig. 17), and juxtaposed in scenes of the Last Judgment (Fig. 18) or the Four Last Things (Figs. 19, 20). By contrast, Bernini has isolated the participants from their contexts, concentrating and intensifying them into a powerful duet of independent and contrasting but also complementary actors on the infinite stage of human existence. In doing so he invoked and combined two ancient prototypes that served to personify the actors and express their roles, literally as well as metaphorically. He portrayed the souls in the classical form of the portrait bust, as though they were, or had been, real people (Fig. 21); and in juxtaposing the idealized female head with the wild and unruly male he recalled the ancient masks of ‘Insomma io loderei che dopo le tragedie e rappresentazioni gravi si recitasse una di queste farse, la cui favola non fosse lunga; ma ingegnosa e nuova d’invenzione, e abbondante di sali arguti e faceti, e recitata con viva ed espressiva azione, con maschere artifiziosamente formate sul modello di un’affettata fisionomia, come erano quelle degli antichi Greci, e come le ha usate il Cavaliere Bernino in Roma nelle commedie che egli ha fatto rappresentare così al vivo dai giovani dell’Accademia del disegno, le quali s’accostavano assai a quelle commedie de’ greci che propriamente si dicevano antiche’. Giovanni Battista Doni, Trattato della musica scenica, cited from Angelo Solerti, Le origini del melodramma, Turin, 1903, p. 197.

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21. So-called “Dying Alexander the Great”, Florence, Uffizi, photo Brogi 3223.

22. Theater masks, mosaic, Rome, Museo Capitolino, photo Anderson 1745.

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23. Bernini, Rome, S. Andrea al Quirinale, photo Anderson 41600.

24. Temple of Virtue and Honor (from G. Lauro, Antiquae . . ., Rome 1612–41, pl. 30).

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25. Bernini, Rome, S. Andrea al Quirinale, photo postcard.

26. Stage set of the opera S. Alessio, 1634 (from Il S. Alessio . . ., Rome 1634, pl. 6).

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Tragedy and Comedy (Fig. 22), as if restoring to them the deeper meaning of the term persona, by which they were known in antiquity. The second instance illustrates the specifically scenographic tradition of the Jesuits and it is in fact the one great architectural commission Bernini received from the Order, the oval church of Sant’ Andrea al Quirinale, begun in 1658; the building was part of the Jesuits’ novitiate, where students prepared for admission to the Order (Fig. 23). It is noteworthy that the basic conception of the building as a central plan structure preceded by a vestibule and a convex wall that both embraces the space in front and channels attention toward the entrance, reflects an earlier antiquarian reconstruction of a famous classical monument, the Temple of Virtue and Honor in Rome (Fig. 24).21 In this case the reference to the classical model is more than purely formal: the Temple of Virtue and Honor was an illustrious instance of the incorporation of moral content into architectural design — the structure being conceived in two parts so that the devotee had to pass through the sanctuary of Virtue to reach that of Honor. The architectural realization of such a moral progression was singularly appropriate for the church of an institution devoted to embodying essentially the same kind of progression in Christian form. Inside Sant’ Andrea, the steady march of alternating piers and arches and the sweeping lines of the horizontal entablature draw the eye in a rushing movement toward the apse (Fig. 25). The altar, flooded with light from a large lantern above, is framed by columns supporting a pediment. The pediment in turn is crowned by a gleaming white figure of St. Andrew swooshing into the heavens on a cloud. The general effect is very like that of an engraving of a stage set used in a 1634 Barberini production of the opera S. Alessio, which Bernini must certainly have seen (Fig. 26).22 The rhythmic sequence of buildings engulfs the worshipper and leads him toward an arched screen, also crowned by an allegorical figure riding on a cloud, and with a vista opening behind. The patron of the opera, incidentally, was Cardinal Francesco Barberini, who had been a pupil in the Collegio Romano during the most active years of Bernardino Stefonio as a teacher and producer of plays. 21 Giacomo Lauro, Antiquae urbis splendor, Rome, 1612–1641, Pl. 30. This comparison has been made before, though not in the moral sense suggested here; see most recently, D. del Pesco, Una fonte per gli architetti del barocco romano; L’antiquae urbis splendor di Giacomo Lauro, in: Studi di storia dell’arte in memoria di Mario Rotili, Naples, 1984, pp. 424 ff. 22 In older literature the sets of this production were erroneously attributed to Bernini himself, cf. Lavin, op. cit (cf. n. 19), pp. 147f., n. 7.

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Finally, I want to retreat. I want to retreat from what I fear may be indefensible positions on two fronts in my dramatically poetic view of Bernini and antiquity. First, it must be emphasized that there is probably no single element in Bernini’s work that owes its origin exclusively to the theater. Every detail, every technique, every device can be shown to have roots in the prior traditions of the permanent visual arts. What Bernini’s art has in common with the theater is nothing more and nothing less that its role as the medium in which miracles really do take place. I also want to retreat by emphasizing that there is not the slightest evidence that Bernini adhered to the pathological interpretation of Catharsis, or even that he read Aristotle. I rather doubt it, in fact, since he was not of a very scholarly turn of mind. Nor can it be proved specifically that he shared the views of those of his contemporaries who, in creating Baroque drama, Baroque music and Baroque opera, found nurture in a fresh and enthusiastic approach to antiquity. Wouldn’t it be the nicest paradox of all, however, if the most Baroque element of all in Bernini’s style — its so-called theatricalism — was also conceived in terms of a return to classical precedent?

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OME of Bernini’s most innovative works owe their novelty in part to the revival of much earlier traditions. A notable case is the pair of busts portraying blessed and damned souls (Anima Beata and Anima Dannata) in which Bernini explored what might be described as the two extreme reactions to the prospect of death (Figs. 1, 2).1 Bernini presumably made the sculptures in 1619 (when he was twenty-two), at the behest of a Spanish prelate, Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya, for whose tomb in the Spanish national church in Rome, San Giacomo degli Spagnoli, Bernini carved the portrait in 1622.2 Montoya died in 1630, and two years later the busts were bequeathed by a certain Fernando Botinete to the Confraternity of the Resurrection at San Giacomo, of which Montoya had also been a member. The purpose of the sculptures is unknown, but their subject is appropriate for a confraternity devoted to the Resurrection, for which Montoya may have intended them from the outset; a further possibility is that Montoya intended them eventually to decorate his tomb. The souls of the dead are portrayed life-size, al vivo in contemporary terminology, an irony that was surely deliberate. Such powerful physiognomical and expressive contrasts have an ancient history, occurring, like Beauty and the Beast, on opposite sides of certain * First presented in March 1987 in a colloquium at the University of Maryland honoring my friend George Levitine, to whom it is now sadly dedicated in memoriam. 1 See Wittkower, 1981, 177, no. 7. 2 See Lavin, ‘Five Youthful Sculptures,’ 1968, 239 f, and Appendix A. New documentary evidence presented here supports the 1619 date proposed by Wittkower for the Anime busts on stylistic grounds.

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Greek coins of the fourth century B.C. (Fig. 3), and, juxtaposed, in the familiar masks of Comedy and Tragedy from the classical theater (Fig. 4).3 In both cases the focus is on the face alone and one, male, is distorted in a wild and grimacing shout, while the other, female, is beautiful and portrayed as if transmitting some lofty, portentous truth. The masks are particularly relevant because, like Bernini’s busts, they have generic as well as specific meaning: they symbolize their respective theatrical genres, but they also represent the actual roles or characters the actors performed — the ancients called them personas. The masks stand for heroic types, however, not real people, as do Bernini’s sculptures. This reference to ordinary people relates the busts to the participants in those great medieval visualizations of the Last Judgment in which the souls of the resurrected dead are weighed by St. Michael and go, joyously or pathetically, to their fates (Fig. 5). Three points above all distinguish Bernini’s sculptures not only from these precedents, but from all precedents, as far as I know. The souls are portrayed not as masks or full-length figures but as busts, they are isolated from any narrative context, and they are independent, freestanding sculptures. The images are thus blatantly self-contradictory. They constitute a deliberate art-historical solecism, in which Bernini adopted a classical, pagan form invented expressly to portray the external features of a specific individual, to represent a Christian abstract idea referring to the inner nature of every individual. My purpose in this chapter is to shed some light on the background of these astonishing works and their significance in the history of our human confrontation with our own end. Among the intense mystical exercises enjoined upon the pious in the late Middle Ages was to contemplate death. Often regarded as a morbid symptom of decadence at the end of the Age of Faith, this preoccupation in fact reflected a positive, indeed optimistic, view that people could provide for

3 On the coins, see Head, 1911, 805; G. F. Hill, 1914, lxxxviii f, 182 f, Pl. XX, 1–3. The few instances of coins with facing heads on both sides (Baldwin, 1908–9, 130) nearly all involve male-female confrontations. For the mosaic, found on the Aventine in Rome, see Bieber, 1920, 162, no. 137. Theater masks were sometimes actually associated with portrait busts, as on a Roman sarcophagus in the Camposanto at Pisa which shows three masks, a youth, a female and a grizzled Pan, beneath a medallion containing busts of a man and his wife (Aries et al., 1977, 114 ff ). Among the classical precedents revived and much illustrated, often as bust portraits, from the Renaissance on were the philosophers Democritus and Heraclitus who, respectively, laughed and wept at the foibles of the world).

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their well-being in the afterlife by looking death in the face. They could prepare for a good death, as it was termed, by putting their affairs in order and examining their conscience, and they could consider the effect of their attitude and behavior upon God’s just and ineluctable judgment. These two complementary exhortations, to prepare for death and consider the afterlife, were converted into veritable techniques for achieving salvation in two of the most widely distributed books of the fifteenth century, which had remarkably similar histories. The Ars moriendi (The Art of Dying) prescribed the measures to be taken as life drew to a close, and the Quattuor novissima (The Four Last Things) described the ultimate events in the curriculum of human existence: death, judgment, damnation, and salvation.4 Although not directly related the first work ends where the second begins. After their original success The Art of Dying and The Four Last Things (Figs. 6–9), to which most of our attention will be devoted, were largely eclipsed during the humanistic florescence of the early sixteenth century. Thereafter, however, these popular eschatologies were retrieved and vigorously cultivated by the militant church activists of the Counter-Reformation,5 especially the Jesuits, who incorporated the Four Last Things into their catechisms. Among the most powerful offensive weapons in the Jesuits’s spiritual arsenal, the catechisms were not theological tracts but served a primarily edificatory purpose, and from the beginning they were frequently accompanied by illustrations (Figs. 10–13). There were even instances when the illustrations predominated over the text, the latter being reduced to brief captions (Figs. 14–17).6 Characteristic of the entire tradition of the Four Last Things illustrations is that whereas death, following the Ars moriendi, might be confined to a sin-

4

I have discussed the revived Ars moriendi tradition and Bernini’s profound relationship to it in life and death (1972). On the Ars moriendi, see Delumeau, 1983, 389 ff. On the Quattuor novissima, see Lane, 1985. My own remarks on the visual tradition of the Four Last Things, including Bernini’s busts, offer only modest supplements to those in the excellent article by Malke, 1976. 5 See Franza, 1958; Turrini, 1982. The illustrated catechisms have been studied by Prosperi, 1985. 6 On the engravings by Theodor Galle after Maarten van Heemskerck, and a painting of the same theme by Heemskerck, see Grosshans, 1980, 214–43. Other important suites are by J. B. Wierix after Martin de Vos (Mauquoy-Hendrickx, 1979, II, 271 f ), Hendrik Goltzius after Johannes Stradanus (Strauss, ed., 1980, 309 f ), Jan Sadeler after Dirck Barendsz (Judson, 1970, 64 f, 74, 140–42).

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1. Bernini, Anima Beata. Palazzo di Spagna, Rome (photo: Vasari 18618).

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2. Bernini, Anima Dannata. Palazzo di Spagna, Rome (photo: Vasari 18617).

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3. Female head and head of Bes, obverse and reverse of obolos from Judea. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris (Deleperre 3068–69).

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4. Theater masks, mosaic. Capitoline Museum, Rome (photo: Anderson 1745). 5. Last Judgment, detail. Cathedral, Bourges (photo: Monuments historiques AH 18902).

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6, 7. Death, Last Judgment (from Dionysius, 1482).

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8, 9. Hell, Heaven (from Dionysius, 1482).

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10, 11. Death, Last Judgment (from Bellarmine, 1614, 112–15).

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12, 13. Hell, Heaven (from Bellarmine, 1614, 112–15).

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14, 15. Maarten van Heemskerck, Death, Last Judgment, engravings. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1949.

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16, 17. Maarten van Heemskerck, Hell, Heaven, engravings. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1949.

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gle individual, the events of the afterlife — judgment, damnation and salvation — were conceived as universal occurrences and shown as panoramic scenes with many participants.7 Bernini’s sculptures break with this tradition by eliminating the first two events and focusing instead upon their ethical implications. Moreover, Bernini conceived of damnation and salvation themselves in a novel way, describing neither the tortures of hell nor the pleasures of paradise, but instead concentrating on the single soul and its ‘state of mind.’ Treated as independent busts, Bernini’s sculptures are ‘soul portraits’: portraits of Everyman and Everywoman, but of No-body. As such, the sculptures seem unprecedented on two accounts. Antiquity might deify certain personal qualities such as piety or magnanimity (Fig. 18), and the Middle Ages might personify certain moral qualities such as virtues and vices (cf. Fig. 17). The pagan concepts were the subject of religious cults, and the Christian notions were part of an abstract scheme; but neither personal nor moral qualities were represented as individual, isolated sculptured busts. As far as I can determine, the Anima Beata and Anima Dannata are the first independent images of the soul, and they are the first independent portrayals of pure psychological states. Most scholars have been preoccupied with these pyschological states. The sculptures are indeed prime documents in the history of physiognomical expression in art, key links in a chain that leads from Leonardo’s studies of grotesque facial types (Fig. 19 — note especially the juxtaposition of the smiling and howling heads at the left) and Michelangelo’s explorations of extreme expressions (Fig. 20), through the quasi-scientific classical tradition represented in the late sixteenth century by Giambattista della Porta’s book relating animal and human characterological traits (Fig. 21), to Charles Le Brun’s systematic treatment of physiognomics and emotional expression in the midseventeenth century (Figs. 22, 23). The tradition culminated in the eighteenth century with the series of bronze busts by Franz Xavier Messerschmidt (Figs. 24, 25), in which Bernini’s contrasting pair of object lessons in affective morality is transformed into an extensive catalogue of grimacing character masks, including the artist’s own.8 In these instances, it seems the purpose was to establish a deliberate link between the universal character of the Quattuor novissima and the individual focus of the Ars moriendi. 8 Although the moral component of Bernini’s interest in expression was diluted, his position in this development is clear. So far as we know, Leonardo’s drawings do not portray any particular emotions or pattern or system of emotions. Della Porta’s physiognomics are 7

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However important Bernini’s sculptures may be to these scientific and rhetorical explorations of psycho-physiognomics, his chief interest surely lay in the ‘interface’ between moral and psychological states, as is apparent from what must have been one of his direct inspirations for the anime busts. In 1605 the visual tradition of the Four Last Things had been radically reinterpreted by the Augsburg printmaker Alexander Mair, who issued a suite of six engravings on the theme (including the intermediate state of purgatory) dedicated to the Archbishop of Eichstätt in Bavaria, Johann Conrad (Figs. 26–31).9 The playing-card-size format of this suite reflects its individual, ad hominem function; and Mair in fact distilled the universal scope of the catechistic tradition into a personal, not to say private, memento mori in which events are reduced to a few peripheral symbolic details and the subject of the action is one individual. The framed niche, the close-up view and the bust-length format are all features that suggest the familiar type of the portrait medallion, especially on tombs (Fig. 32). Indeed, it might be said, conversely, that Mair here transformed the traditional portrait medallion into a moral emblem. The emblem is given a liturgical and sacerdotal cast by the inscriptions, drawn mainly from the Office for the Dead, and by the image of the Blessed Soul, shown wearing the surplice of a deacon and a brooch inscribed with the IHS device of the Jesuit order. consistent, but they are not really devoted to expression; they attempt, instead, to link various physiognomical types with corresponding character types, based on counterparts in the animal kingdom. Descartes was the first to study human emotions systematically, and it was Le Brun’s contribution to relate that effort to the visual tradition represented by Leonardo, Della Porta and Bernini, producing the first systematic exploration of the facial effects of emotion. The most recent interpretation of Bernini’s sculptures in this vein, which entails characteristically a focus on the Anima Dannata as a ‘self-representation,’ will be found in a perceptive essay by Preimesberger, 1989, with further references. On Messerschmidt’s character studies, see Behr et al., 1983. 9 Mair’s engravings are reproduced in Hollstein, 1954—, XXIII, 146 ff, with further bibliography. Johann Conrad (1561–1612), who had lived for several years in Italy, was a great patron of the arts and maintained close ties with the Jesuits; Sax, 1884–85, II, 478–93; H. A. Braun, 1983, 168 ff. (I am much indebted to Georg Daltrop, professor at the Catholic University of Eichstätt, for bibliography and other help in this connection). Apart from the images discussed here, Mair’s ‘emotional’ and seemingly rising skeleton in a medallion frame (Fig. 27) was an important model for the gesticulating skeletons Bernini later depicted in the pavement of his Cornaro and Chigi chapels (Lavin, Bernini, 1980, 134 ff ); I hope to explore this relationship in another context.

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18. Megalopsychia, mosaic. Antioch (photo: Dept. of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University).

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19. Leonardo, grotesque heads, drawing. Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

20. Michelangelo, so-called Anima Dannata, drawing. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence.

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21. Physiognomical types (from Della Porta, 1586).

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22, 23. Charles Le Brun, Amour and Désespoir, drawings. Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux).

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25. Franz Messerschmidt, The Yawner. Szépmüvészti Múzeum, Budapest.

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24. Franz Messerschmidt, self-portrait, smiling. Galéria hlavného mesta SSR Bratislavy, Bratislava.

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26, 27. Alexander Mair, arms of Johann Conrad and Memento mori, engravings. Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich.

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28, 29. Alexander Mair, Death and Purgatory, engravings. Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich.

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30, 31. Alexander Mair, Hell and Heaven, engravings. Staatliche Graphische Sammlung, Munich.

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The expressive force of Mair’s images would have been of particular interest to Bernini. The souls’ highly charged emotional responses to what they see, from the howling scream of the damned to the blissful moan of the saved, were also probably transferred from a domain other than the engraved Novissima suites. The intensity of the contrast recalls the great painted altarpieces of Frans Floris, in which the reactions of the participants are brought to the fore (Fig. 33). If Bernini knew Mair’s suite of engravings, as I think he did, he transformed them in three ways. He treated them as independent sculptured busts, he eliminated the narrative elements entirely, and he reduced the number to a pair, the damned and the saved, male and female, alter egos of our common humanity. For each innovation there was at least partial precedent. Mair’s powerful images had been made even more vivid in threedimensional translations — or rather, re-translations, since they themselves allude to sculptured medallions — by a once acclaimed but now little known painter and sculptor, Giovanni Bernardino Azzolini. Azzolini was a native of Sicily who worked mainly in Naples. He visited Genoa in 1610, where he modeled in colored wax depictions of the Four Last Things as half figures, in whose faces transpired ‘the affects of a blessed soul, of another condemned to suffer but with hope for eternal peace [that is, a soul in purgatory], of a third portraying a skeleton, and of a fourth expressing in a horrid abyss the idea of rabid desperation’ (cf. Figs 46–65).10 — Azzolini’s

10 ‘Giunse in Genova l’Azzolini circa l’anno 1510, ove vedutisi alcuni suoi lavorietti in cera dal Sig. Marc’Antonio Doria, tanto piacquero a questo Cavaliere; che alcuni gliene commise; i quali con indicibile accuratezza, e finezza furono dal Napoletano Artefice eseguiti: onde ne salì in maggior credito presso i nostri Cittadini. Ciò, che egli al Doria compose furono quattro mezze figure rappresentative de’ novissimi. Ne’ volti di quelle rispettivamente spiravano gli affetti d’un’Anima beata: d’un’altra condannata a patire, ma con la speranza dell’eterno contento: della terza finta dentro uno scheletro: e della quarta esprimente nell’orrendo abisso l’idea d’una rabbiosa disperazione. Lavori di spiritosa, ed efficace energía’ (Soprani, 1768], I, 417). On Azzolini, see Pyke, 1973, 8, and the important contribution by Gonzáles-Palacios, 1984, I, 226–36. There is considerable confusion with at least one other artist named Giovanni Bernardino (Prota-Giurleo, 1953, 123–51; Mostra, 1977, 109–13; Mongitore, 1977, 80–112; Di Dario Guida, 1978, 149–54). For a checklist and illustrations of preserved and recorded examples of the Four Last Things in the wax versions by Azzolini, plus a few related works, see Appendix B, p. 730, and Figs. 46–65. The traditional association of these works with the better known wax

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dramatic portrayals were very successful and many versions are known, none of which can be ascribed to him with certainty. What is clear, both from the descriptions and from the known copies, is that the reliefs were based on Mair’s prints, and it is possible that Azzolini, who registered with the painter’s guild in Rome in 1618, may in turn have inspired Bernini to make his own sculptural versions.11 Azzolini was known for another work that may have been relevant to Bernini’s sculptures. This was a pair of colored waxs, now lost, described as heads of infants, one crying the other laughing.12 Here, human emotions were brought to expressive peaks and directly contrasted. The pertinence of these sculptures is enhanced by an almost inevitable association with the old tradition of representing the human soul in the form of an infant. Many versions of the pair are known (Fig. 34), including the marble busts in the ideal collection shown in a ‘gallery’ picture of the seventeenth century by the Flemish master Willem van Haecht the Younger (Fig. 35).13 This version, in turn, brings into focus another aspect of the prehistory of Bernini’s soul portraits: his adoption of the bust form. The ancient Romans developed the sculptured bust as the portrait form par excellence.14 The full-length statue might portray an allegory, a god, or a human being, whereas the bust was reserved almost exclusively for people — or rather, the spirits of people, for it originated and remained intimately associated with the ancestor cult (Fig. 36). The bust was thus antiquity’s most conspicuous form of personal commemoration and its role in the imperial cult made it for early Christians the very symbol of idolatry. Certain Early Christian sculptor Gaetano Giulio Zumbo (1656–1701), who also came from southern Italy and worked for a time in Naples, is unfounded. Fagiolo dell’Arco and Fagiolo dell’Arco, 1967, Scheda no. 12, noted the dependence of the Victoria and Albert waxes, attributed to the circle of Zumbo, on Bernini’s sculptures. 11 Azzolini’s presence in Rome was noted by Orlandi (1788, col. 617). 12 ‘E questo suo medesimo talento nella forza dell’espressione diede pur egli a conoscere allo stesso Signore in due altre modellate, e colorite teste di putti, ridente l’una, e piangente l’altra: ove l’affetto, che in esse appariva, vivamente eccitavasi ne’riguardanti’ (Soprani, 1768, I, 417). 13 The theme of the Laughing and Crying Babies is discussed briefly, with great acumen but without reference to Azzolini, by Schlegel (1978, 129–31), who attributes the origin of the type to Duquesnoy. For a recent discussion of the painting by Van Haecht, see Filipczak, 1987, 47 ff. Closely related are the crying babies attributed to Hendrik de Keyser (cf. Avery, 1981, 183 Figs. 18, 19, 184 ff ). 14 For what follows concerning the history and significance of the bust type, see Lavin, 1970 and 1975.

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32. Tomb portrait of Ippolito Buzio. Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome (photo: Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, Rome E54398).

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33. Frans Floris, Last Judgment. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna. 34. Crying and laughing babies, wax. Formerly Lanna collection, Prague (from Sammlung, 1911, pl. 20).

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35. Willem van Haecht the Younger, Studio of Cornelis van der Geest, detail. Rubenshuis, Antwerp. 37, Nebuchadnezzar and the Three Youths, sarcophagus of St. Ambrose, detail. Sant’Ambrogio, Milan (photo: Electa).

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36 . Roman patrician with ancestor portraits. Palazzo Barberini, Rome (photo: Anderson 6371).

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38. Jan Davidsz de Heem, Vanitas still life. Schloss Pommersfelden (photo: Marburg 63877).

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40. Laughing Faun. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

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39. Laocoön, detail. Vatican Museum, Rome.

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41, 42. Last act of Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo (from De’ Cavalieri, 1600).

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depictions of the story of the three youths who refuse to worship the image of Nebuchadnezzar show not a statue but a bust on a pedestal standing on the ground (Fig. 37). The bust signified far more than met the eye, and this quasi-demonic potency led to its virtually complete suppression in the Middle Ages. When it was revived in the Renaissance, some of its supercharged meaning was transmitted to the modern cult of the individual, so that the renewed form acquired an emblematic significance of its own. In the seventeenth century, by a characteristic process that might be called paradoxical inversion, sculptured busts were often given prominent roles in the flourishing genre of moralized still life, or vanitas, painting.15 These pictured busts were never actual portraits but represented ideal types, such as were kept in artists’ studios as models of classical beauty and expression. In this context they might have dual significance, alluding not only to the transitoriness of life but also to the futility of the arts themselves, even that of carving stone. A memento mori composition by Jan Davidsz de Heem (Fig. 38) evidently alludes to the three ages of man, with a skull in the center flanked by sculptured heads of a serene child and a suffering man, perhaps that of the son of Laocoön in the ancient exemplum doloris group in the Vatican (Fig. 39).16 By adopting the bust form for his soul portraits, Bernini transformed a visual device that evoked generically the life of this world into one that evoked individual life in the next. Bernini’s busts form a complementary and contrasting pair in composition, sex, and expression. The action of the heads and direction of the glances create a spatial environment that includes the spectator and extends upward to heaven and downward to hell. The portrayal of the souls followed a tendency evident in some depictions of the Last Judgment to focus on a representative male to convey the rabid fury of the damned and on a female to convey the ecstasy of the saved (see Fig. 30).17 In the Anima Beata Bernini omitted the deacon’s surplice Mair had provided (see Fig. 31) and gave greater prominence to the wreath of flowers, an attribute of purity Works of this kind, including that by De Heem reproduced here, are discussed in Veca, 1981, 85–91; Stilleben, 1979, 106–9, 455–7; Heezen-Stoll, 1979, 218–21; Merrill, 1960, 7 ff. 16 See Ladendorf, 1953, 37–45; Ettlinger, 1961. On the painting, see recently Leselust, 1993, 210–11. 17 Frans Floris repeated the elements of the Vienna composition reproduced in Figure 33 (dated 1566) in a triptych in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Brussels (cf. Van de Velde, 1975, 314–18, nos. 178–80). 15

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often worn by angels. The effect is to replace the liturgical and ritual emphasis of Mair’s interpretation with an embodiment of moral innocence. Looking up and slightly to the side, with nostrils distended and lips parted in a gentle sigh, the blessed soul responds to the beatific vision that all the blessed in heaven enjoy. The expression of blissful suffering recalls, in positive terms, the physical torment and anguished groan of Laocoön’s son. The blunt features and unruly hair of the damned soul are derived from the common identification of devils with satyrs, the ancient embodiments of unrestrained passion. In certain instances the satyr-devil’s ghoulish grin is quite deliberately matched by the howling grimace of the damned (see Fig. 33). Specifically, the Anima Dannata seems to convert into negative terms the features of an ancient dancing satyr, a type for which Bernini later expressed great admiration, and which was also given bust form in this period (Fig. 40).18 In both of Bernini’s busts, therefore, the expressive qualities seem to have resulted in part from subtle and ironic inversions of ancient expressive conventions. Taken together, the sculptures convey a sense of the Last Things very different from that of earlier portrayals of the theme; Bernini emphasized not the physical but the psychological consequences of good and evil. In this respect the Anima Beata and Anima Dannata seem to embody medieval theological definitions of the summum bonum and the summum malum as the judged soul aware of its destiny either to behold or to be banished from the face of God, forever.19 These are the prospects Bernini’s images contemplate and they react to what they ‘see.’ Finally, there can be little doubt that Bernini’s soul portraits reflect a Roman theatrical event of the Jubilee year 1600, in which personifications of damned and blessed souls appeared together outside their usual narrative context. This was the Rappresentatione di anima et di corpo, a musical drama sponsored by the Fathers of the Oratory, founded in the late sixteenth century in Rome by St. Philip Neri, and performed in the order’s oratory at For the type, see Haskell and Penny, 1981, 205–8; Bober and Rubinstein, 1986, 97. Bernini’s enthusiasm is recorded for a version of the type he saw during his visit to Paris in 1665: ‘Il a dit, voyant de Faune qui danse, qu’il voyait cette statue mal volontiers, lui faisant connaître qu’en comparaison il ne savait rien’ (Chantelou, 1885, 116; entry for August 23). The bronze in Amsterdam reproduced in Figure 40 is ascribed to Rome, seventeenth century (Leeuwenberg, 1973, 404). 19 For a survey of the medieval history of this idea, and further bibliography, see Bernstein, 1982. 18

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Santa Maria in Vallicella.20 The music was written by Emilio de’ Cavalieri (1550?–1602), a leading figure in the development of the early opera, and the text by Agostino Manni (1548–1618), an Oratorian who had previously published several volumes of spiritual poems called laude. The Rappresentatione was important from many points of view. It marked the introduction from Florence to Rome of the new technique of melodic recitation, or the use of song in a dramatic enactment — melodrama, as it was called — intended to recapture what was thought to be the essential principle of ancient theatrical art. All this was stated explicitly in the preface to the original edition of the text and score of the Rappresentatione, as was the intention to move the audience by expressing through the melodic dialogue the strongly contrasting emotions of the characters, ‘like pity and joy, weeping and laughter.’ ‘Passing from one affection to its contrary, as from mournful to happy, from ferocious to gentle and the like, is greatly moving.’21 The text of the play, which must certainly have been conceived with musical enactment in mind, was no less innovative, in part because of precisely the return to much earlier traditions that would animate Bernini’s sculptures. Essentially, the text combined two late-medieval modes, both revived in the latter part of the sixteenth century: the lauda, or song of praise, with a narrative and dialogue between voices or characters, real or imaginary, but no proper enactment; and the sacra rappresentazione, or religious play in verse, usually based on a biblical story, with parts often sung to musical accompaniment.22 The three-act work, something between a See Smither, 1977–87, I, 80–89. A facsimile of the original edition, De’ Cavalieri, 1600, was published in 1967. A useful commentary and English translation of the text can be found in T. C. Read, 1969. On the architectural history of the oratory, see Connors, 1980. 21 ‘. . . singolari, e nuoue sue compositioni di Musica, fatte à somiglianza di quello stile, co’l quale si dice, che gli antichi Greci, e Romani nelle scene, e teatri loro soleano à diuersi affetti muouere gli spettatori,’ ‘suonato, e cãtato all’antica, come s’è detto,’ ‘musica affettuosa,’ ‘habbia potuto . . . rauuiuare quell’antica usanza così felicemente,’ ‘questo stile sia atto à muouer’anco à deuotione,’ ‘questa sorte di Musica da lui rinouata commoua à diuersi affetti, come à pietà, & à pianto, & à riso, & ad altri fimili,’ ‘esprima bene le parole, che siano intese, & le accompagni con gesti, & motiui non solamente di mani, ma di passi ancora, che sono aiuti molto efficaci à muouere l’affetto,’ ‘laudarebbe mutare i[s]tromenti conforme all’affetto del recitante,’ ‘il passar da vno affetto all’altro cõtrario, come dal mesto all’allegro, dal feroce al mire, e simili, commuoue grandemente.’ 22 My analysis is based essentially on Smither, 1977–87, I, 6 f, 22–28, 57–89; Kirkendale, 1971; J. W. Hill, 1979; and an as yet unpublished essay kindly placed at my disposal by Prizer, 1987. 20

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recitation and a play, included, besides Body and Soul, allegorical characters such as Time, Understanding, Good Counsel, Mammon, and Wordly Life. The plot consists entirely in the exchange of arguments for good and evil, presented in counterpoint until Virtue triumphs. The only events, properly speaking, occur in the third act when hell and heaven alternately open and close, their denizens intoning laments and exaltations (cf. Figs. 41, 42). So far as we know, the Rappresentatione di anima et di corpo was not performed again after the Jubilee of 1600, but its impact was immediate and profound. A contemporary biographer of Manni described the performances attended by the whole College of Cardinals, as ‘the first in Rome in the new recitative style, which then became frequent and universally applauded.’23 The response may be judged from the vivid, moving recollections of an eyewitness, recorded after the death of Emilio de’ Cavalieri in 1602. The report illustrates not only the thematic but also the expressive context from which Bernini’s sculptures emerged. I, Giovanni Vittorio Rossi, found myself one day in the home of Signor Cavaliere Giulio Cesare Bottifango, not only a fine gentleman but also one of rare qualities — excellent secretary, most knowledgeable poet and musician. Having begun to discuss music that moves the emotions [musica che move gli affetti], he told me resolutely that he had never heard anything more affecting [più affettuosa], or that had moved him more than the Representation of the Soul put to music by the late Mr. Emilio del Cavaliere, and performed the Holy Year 1600 in the oratory of the Assumption, in the house of the Reverend Fathers of the Oratorio at the Chiesa Nova. He was present that day when it was performed three times without satisfying the demand, and he said in particular that hearing the part of Time, he felt come over him a great fear and terror; and at the part when the Body, performed by the same person as Time, in doubt whether to follow God or the World, resolved to follow God, his eyes poured forth a great abundance of tears and he felt arise in his heart a great repentance and pain for his sins. Nor did this happen only then, but ‘. . . fu rappresentato in scena cogl’habiti nell’Oratorio nostro da due volte, con l’intervento di tutto il sacro collegio di Card.li, e ve ne furono da quindici e venti per ciascuna volta...Fu questa rappresentatione la prima che fosse fatta in Roma in stile recitativo, e di indi in poi cominciò con universale applauso a frequentarsi negli oratorii il detto stile’ (Alaleona, 1905, 17, 18). 23

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thereafter whenever he sang it he was so excited to devotion that he wanted to take communion, and he erupted in a river of tears. He also gave extreme praise to the part of the Soul, divinely performed by that castrato; he said the music was also an inestimable artifice that expressed the emotions of pain and tenderness with certain false sixths tending toward sevenths, which ravished the spirit. In sum, he concluded, one could not do anything more beautiful or more perfect in that genre, and, so I might see for myself the truth of what he said, he took me to the harpsicord and sang several pieces from the representation, in particular that part of the Body which had so moved him. It pleased me so much that I asked him to share it with me, and he most courteously copied it himself. I learned it by heart, and often went to his house to hear him sing it himself.24 ‘Ritrovandomi io Go: Vittorio Rossi un giorno in casa del Signor Cavaliere Giulio Cesare Bottifango, gentil’uomo oltre la bontà, di rare qualità secretario eccellente, poeta e musico intendentissio, et entrati in ragionamento della musica che move gli affetti, mi disse risolutamente che non haveva sentita cosa più affettuosa, ne che più lo movessi della rappresentatione dell’anima messa in musica dalla buona memoria del Signor Emilio del Cavaliere, e rappresentata l’anno Santo 1600 nell’oratorio dell’Assunta, nella casa delli molto Reverendi Padri dell’Oratorio alla Chiesa Nova, e che egli vi si trovò presente in quel giorno, che si rappresentò tre volte senza potersi mai satiare e mi disse in particolare che sentendo la parte del tempo, si sentì entrare adosso un timore e spavento grande, et alla parte del corpo, rappresentata dal medesimo che faceva il tempo, quando stato alquanto in dubbio, che cosa doveva fare, o seguire Iddio o’l Mondo, si risolveva di seguire Iddio che gli uscirno da gl’occhi in grandissima abbondanza le lacrime e sentì destarsi nel core un pentimento grande e dolore dei suoi peccati, né questo fu per allora solamente, ma di poi sempre che la cantava, talché ogni volta che si voleva comunicare, per eccitare in sé la divotione, quella parte, e prorompeva in un fiume di pianto. Lodava ancora in estremo la parte del’anima, che oltre esser stata rappresentata divinamente da quel putto, diceva nella musica essere un artifitio inestimabile che esprimeva gli affetti di dolore e di dolcezza con certe seste false, che tiravano alla settima, che rapivano l’anima; insomma, concludeva, in quel genere non potersi fare cosa più perfetta, e soggiunse, acciò vediate soi stesso esser vero quanto vi dico mi condusse al cembalo, e cantò alcuni pezzi di quella rappresentatione et in particolare quel loco del Corpo, che lo moveva tanto, e mi piacque in maniera ch’io lo pregai a farmene parte, il che molto cortesemente fece, e me lo copiò di sua mano, et io lo imparai alla mente, et andavo spesso a saca sua per sentrilo cantare da lui’ (Morelli, 1985, 196). Rossi is well known as Ianus Nicius Erythraeus, the author of the three-volume series of biographies of contemporaries, Pinacotheca (Cologne, 1643, 1645, 1648), which included accounts of Agostino Manni and Bottifango (for the latter, see also Dizionario, 1960—, XXIII, 456 f ). Cavalieri himself described the audience’s response in a letter written to Florence soon after: ‘I forgot to say what the priests of the Vallicella told me, and this is great. Many prelates among those who came to Florence saw a rappresentatione in musica that I had done this 24

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The legacy of Manni’s and Cavalieri’s Rappresentatione was twofold. Its drama and spectacle were absorbed in the operas on religious themes produced in Rome in the second quarter of the century; the work also influenced the development by Neri’s order of the oratorio form itself, in which recitative predominated over staging. Common to both forms was the melodic dialogue, and its use in the Rappresentatione may have been directly inspired by a medieval work. The interchange between Anima and Corpo that provided the main theme as well as the title of the Rappresentatione seems to recall explicitly one of the laude, a contrasto between Body and Soul by the fourteenth-century Franciscan poet Jacopone da Todi, whose writings were incorporated into the daily devotions of the Oratorians by Philip Neri himself.25 The contrasto was a distinct literary genre in which two characters, who may personify abstract ideas, debate a moral issue. Related both to scholastic dialectic and the Psychomachia, or Battle of the Virtues and Vices,26 the struggle could take forms that strikingly anticipate Bernini’s contrast of moral, physical, and emotional types. In a capital of the cathedral of Clermont-Ferrand (Fig. 43), for example, a noble female Liberality (Largitas) confronts a disheveled male Avarice (Avaricia). In an illumination of the prayer book of the great twelfth-century mystic Hildegard of Bingen a similar pairing of opposites illustrates the concord and discord of ‘Beati’ and ‘Maledicti’ (Fig. 44). Hildegard’s vision is a rare precedent for the isolation of good and bad spirits in the last act of Rappresentatione di anima et di corpo, where, apparently for the first time, carnival at their Oratorio, for which the expenditure was six scudi at the most. They say that they found it much more to their taste, because the music moved them to tears and laughter and pleased them greatly, unlike this music of Florence, which did not move them at all, unless to boredom and irritation’ (‘Mi era scordato dire; che questa e grande; che da quei preti della Vallicella mi hanno detto; che molti prelati; di quelli uenuti a Fio.za ueddero una costesta che io feci fare questo Carneuale, di rappresentatione in musica; al loro oratorio; che si spese da D sei al piu; et dicono; che ne receuerno altro gusto; poiche la musica il mosse a pianto et riso; et le diede gran gusto/et che questa musica di Firenze; non li mosse se non a tedio et fastidio’); published in English by Palisca, 1963, 352, to whom I am indebted for supplying the Italian text. 25 The relationship to the medieval contrasto and Jacopone da Todi was first suggested by Becherini (1943, 3 n. 3, and 1951, 233 f ), followed by Kirkendale (1971, 17), who referred specifically to Jacopone’s ‘Anima e Corpo’ contrasto (Jacopone da Todi, 1953, 9–11), and Smither (1977–87, I, 57), who also noted Neri’s interest in and use of Jacopone. On the medieval contrasto between Body and Soul, see Walther, 1920, 63 ff; Wilmart, 1939; Toschi, 1955, 149–65; Osmond, 1974; Enciclopedia, 1975, III, cols. 1357–60. 26 For what follows, see Katzenellenbogen, 1964, 1 ff, 8 n. 1, 58 f; Houlet, 1969.

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43. Largitas and Avaricia. Nôtre-Dame-du-Port, Clermont-Ferrand (photo: Monuments historiques J.F. 639/73).

45. Anima ragionevole e beata (from Ripa, 1603, 22).

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44. Hildegard of Bingen, “Beati” and “Maledicti.” MS lat. 935. fol. 38v, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich.

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damned and blessed souls acting in chorus become characters in a dramatic confrontation. In this respect, as well, the Rappresentatione prepared the way for Bernini’s sculptures. So far as I can discover, Anima Dannata and Anima Beata were also first treated as isolated images precisely in this context. Cesare Ripa included them in the third edition (1603) of his pictorial handbook of personified concepts, the Iconologia. He explains that when the soul of a person is introduced onstage in dramatic presentations, it should be given human form. No doubt Ripa, who lived and worked in Rome under the patronage of Cardinal Antonio Salviati and his family, was referring to and motivated by the Oratorian production; his description of the images, one of which he illustrates (Fig. 45), may well reflect the costumes used in 1600. The figures are identified by various attributes — Beata is a gracious maiden, Dannata is disheveled — and by ‘accidents’ indicating their ‘condition’: wounded, in glory, tormented.27 Bernini, too, isolated the participants from their contexts, creating a powerful duet of independent and contrasting, yet also complementary, actors performing on the infinite stage of human existence. Souls in the form of portrait busts, the sculptures seem to restore to the masks of Tragedy and Comedy the deeper meaning of the term persona by which they were known in antiquity. In the Anima Dannata and Anima Beata, innermost human nature emerges at last from collective anonymity to assume, for better or for worse, a personality of its own. Agostino Manni’s subsequent publications bring our themes down to Bernini’s sculptures and even suggest a reciprocal relationship between them. In 1609 and 1613 Manni published Spiritual Exercises, ‘an easy way to fruitful prayer to God and to think upon the things principally relevant ‘ANIMA RAGIONEVOLE E BEATA...Si dipinge donzella gratiosissima, per esser fatta dal Creatore, che è fonte d’ogni bellezza, & perfettione, à sua similitudine . . . Anima dannata. Occorrendo spesse volte nelle tragedie, & rappresentationi di casi seguiti, & finti, si spirituali come profani, introdurre nel palco l’anima di alcuna persona, fa mestiero hauer luce, come ella si debba visibilmente introdurre. Per tanto si dourà rappresentare in forma, & figura humana, ritenendo l’effigie del suo corpo. Sarà nuda, o da sottilissimo & trasparente velo coperta, come anco scapigliata, & il colore della carnagione di lionato scuro, & il velo di color negro...Dicesi anco meglio conoscerla, se gli habbia à rappresentarla con diuersi accidenti, come per esempio, ferita, ò in gloria, ò tormentata, &c. & in tal caso si qualificherà in quella maniera, che si conuiene allo stato, & conditione sua’ (Ripa, 1603, 22 f ). Ripa’s image in turn inspired Guido Reni’s late visionary portrayals of Anima Beata, in the Capitoline Museum, Rome (The Age of Correggio, 1986, 522; Bruno, 1978, 61 f ). 27

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to salvation, to acquire the true pain of sins, and to make a good death.’ Following a series of daily devotions, the things principally relevant to salvation are treated in exercises — which often include what Manni calls ‘imaginations’ — on heaven and hell, the Four Last Things, and a good life and death.28 Manni’s exercises thus actually combine the two great late medieval eschatologies, The Four Last Things and the The Art of Dying, with which we began. The last edition, greatly abbreviated, appeared posthumously in 1620, shortly after Bernini’s sculptures were presumably made.29 There followed in 1625 a new publication excerpted from Manni’s works, this time in just two parts. The first consists only of the meditations on the joys of heaven and the torments of hell; the second is none other than a reprint of the text of the Rappresentatione di anima et di corpo.30 In effect, the Four Last Things have been reduced to two, and the dramatic debate between virtue and vice has become the model of preparation for a good death. Significantly, however, the drama itself is given a new name. It is no longer conceived in terms of body and soul, but rather — and I quote the new title — as a ‘representation in which by diverse images the individual is shown the calamitous end of the sinner and the honored and glorious end of the just man.’ I can think of no better description of Bernini’s sculptures. In fact, when one recalls that they had only recently been made for a member of the Spanish church not far from that of the Oratorians, one cannot help wondering whether they might in turn have played a role in the distillation, intensification, and visualization of the very dramatic work from which they themselves seem to have derived.

28 Manni, 1609 and 1613. The full titles are given in the bibliography. The headings of the pertinent sections in the 1613 edition are as follows: pp. 60 ff, Essercitio circa l’eternità della felicità del cielo; 79 ff, Essercitio circa la consideratione delle pene dell’Inferno; 104, Essercitio per haver’in pronto le quattro memorie, della Morte, del Guidicio, dell’Inferno, e del Paradiso; 105 ff, Memoria della Morte; 122 ff, Memoria secondo, del Giudicio; 132 ff, Memoria Terza, dell’Inferno; 142 ff, Quarta Memoria, del Paradiso; 177 ff, Essercitio per vivere, e morire felicemente. 29 Manni, 1620. 30 Manni, 1625; this edition, which I have not seen, is recorded in Villarosa, 1837, 162. I give the full title from the edition published in 1637 (see Bibliography).

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Appendix A New Documents Concerning the Anime Busts and the Tomb of Pedro de Foix Montoya The sculptures, mentioned by Bernini’s biographers Filippo Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini as in San Giacomo degli Spagnoli, were moved in the late nineteenth century to the Palazzo di Spagna, residence of the Spanish ambassador to the Vatican (replacement copies were made which are now in Santa Maria di Monserrato). Having discovered that they came to the church with the legacy of Botinete, I once questioned the traditional association of these busts with Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya, for whose tomb, also originally in San Giacomo and now in Santa Maria in Monserrato, Bernini executed the famous portrait toward the end of 1622 (Lavin, ‘Five Youthful Sculptures,’ 1968, 240 n. 114). I subsequently found in the archive of the confraternity additonal documents concerning Montoya and his tomb; these established that Montoya was indeed the patron of the Anime, which were in his possession by December 1619, and suggest that he may have intended them to decorate his tomb. An inventory of Montoya’s household possessions taken in December 1619 includes ‘dos estatuas’ (see Document 1 below), the only such objects listed; these must have been the Anime, which appear again in the inventory taken after Montoya’s death (below, and Document 2). On March 8, 1623, Montoya signed an agreement with the stone-cutter Santi Ghetti for his tomb (Document 8), to be made according to a design provided by the architect Orazio Turriani, who received payment on March 11 (Document 9). The monument was to include ‘two angels’ that are specifically excluded from Ghetti’s responsibility, indicating that they, like the portrait, were to be (or already had been) executed by someone else. Perhaps Fernandez Alonso (1968, 106) was alluding to this document in suggesting that the busts formed part of the tomb. The tomb was not finished at Montoya’s death on May 31, 1630, and the executors paid for the remaining work over the next few months (Documents 3–7). The Anime are listed in an inventory of Montoya’s possessions, undated but taken shortly after his death (Document 2), after which they evidently became the property of Ferdinando Botinete, one of Montoya’s confreres; they next appear in a 1637 inventory of San Giacomo, as a legacy of Botinete (Document 10).

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All the documents listed below are in the Archive of the Instituto Español de Estudios Eclesiasticos, Rome. Busta 1746, Papeles de la memoria de Mons. Montoya: Fols. 20 ff: Memoria de toda la Ropa que hasta oy Jueves de dicembre de 1619 Años Quai en caza de Mons.or De Foix Montoya, Misenor Para el servisio de su casa y persona. 1. fol. 27: dos estatuas Fols. 29 ff: Inventory of Montoya’s household possessions ordered executors of his will. 2. fol. 31r: Item dos medios cuerpos de piedra de statuas

by

the

Fols. 35 ff: Nota de como se una cumpliendo los legados y ultima voluntad de Monseñor Pedro de Foix Montoia por sus executores testamentarios desde el dia de su muerte, que fué alos 31 de Maio de 1630. 3. fol. 42b: Io Giovanne Mariscalco ho receuto dalli ss.ri Essecutori testamentarij di monsre Montoia in 2 partite scta quarentacinco sonno per il deposito et lapida et à bon conto. Et in fede qto di 16 Xbre 1630 scta 45 [in margin: scarpellino). 4. fol. 43b: Io francesco Pozi muratore ho riceuto dalli ss.ri Essecutori testam.ri del q. Monre Montoia scudi sedici m.ta sonno per saldo et intiero pagamto di tutti li lauori di muratore fatti da me nel deposito di d.o Monsre conforme alla lista tassata dal sig.to della Chiesa. Et in fede etc. sc 16 q.o di 6 di Genaro 1631. Io fran.co Pozo a fermo come sopra mano propria. 5. fol. 43b: Io infrascritto ho riceuto dalli Ill.ri sig.ri essecutori testamentarii del q. Monsig.re Montoya scudi tre mta -p hauere indorato le Arme e le lettere del suo sepolcro e in fede ho fatto la pte di mia ppa mano questo di 23 Aprile 1631 et dico ______sc 3 Io Giovanni Contini Mano -p-p a 6. fol. 44: Adi 23 Marzo 1632 Io Santi Ghetti ho riccuuto dalli ss.ri Essecutori testamentarii del q. Mons.re Montoya scudi Trenta m.ta & sonno li scudi venticinq. per la lapida che ho fatto per la sepoltura di esso Monsig.re et li scudi Cinque per saldo, et intiero pagamento del deposito. Et in fede di q.o di sc.ta 30 Io santi Ghetti afermo come sopra sua mano pp.a Fols. 46 ff Memoria de lo que se ha sacado de Mons.re foix de Montoya conforme al Inuentario, y al moneda que se hizo

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726 7. fol. 48: al pintor por las armas que hizo _____sc. 5.60 al murador por abrir la sepoltura y cerrarla _____sc. 4 fol. 48 verso: al scarpelino abuena quenta de la sepoltura _____sc. 45 de dorar las armas de la sepoltura _____sc. 3 al murador por los labores hechos en poner el deposito de Monseñor _____ sc. 16 al scarpelino por intero pagamento de la lapida y sepoltura _____sc. 30. al murador por abrir y poner la lapide _____sc. 3. Fols. 55–56b. Contract with Santi Ghetti for Montoya’s tomb: 8. Douendosi dal Molto Ill.mo et R.mo Monsig.re de Foix Montoija far fare un deposito nella Chiesa di s. Giacomo delli spagnioli vecino alla porta che va in sagrestia à mano manca nel entrare, sotto al organo, qual deposito n’é stato fatto il disegnio da Horatio Torriani Architetto in Roma per altezza di pi 17 et nel modo, e forma che si uede detto disegnio, si douera eseguire conforme alli patti capitoli, conuentioni infrascritti. Pertanto il detto Monsig.re da a fare il sudetto deposito à tutta robba di m.o santi Ghetti scarpellino rencontro la pista piccola di santa Adriano alli pattani, et campo vaccino a tutte sue spese nel modo, e forma che si dechiara in questo foglio. _____ Item che detto scarpellino sia obligato di fare il frontespitio sopra l’arme di marmo bianco di Carrara. Il timpano sotto il frontespitio di bianco e nero antico orientale _____ La cornicia sopra l’arme di marmo bianco di Carrara, atorno al arme il simile _____ L’arme con il cappello, et fiocchi sia tutto di un pezzo di marmo bianco di Carrara, et il repiano del arme di bianco e nero antiquo orientale, et le cartelle accanto l’arme di marmo bianco, et incastrato di marmo, e bianco e nero antiquo orientale _____ Il frontespitio sopra alle colonne di marmo bianco di Carrara, con il timpano di bianco e nero antiquo orientale _____ La cornice sotto l’arme, et che ricorre sopra alle colonne, et membretti si fara di marmo bianco di Carrara _____ Il campo sotto la cornice, et intorno al retratto, et cassa si fara di bianco e nero antiquo orientale _____

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Cartelle dalle bande del ouato che fa modello si farano di marmo bianco d’Carrara con campanella di marmo simile _____ L’ouato cioe la fascia si fara di brocatello de Spagnia _____ Lo sfondato del retratto dentro la nicchia si fara -p dentro piano, et di nero assoluto _____ Il fregio sopra alle colonne si fara di bianco e nero antiquo orientale _____ La prima iscritione si faccia di paragone senza macchia tutto negro _____ Il tellaro atorno addetta iscritione sia di gialdo orientale _____ fol. 55b Le caretelle sotto la prima iscrittione siano di marmo bianco di Carrara et repieni di bianco e nero antiquo orientale _____ La cassa sia di gialdo, et nero di portovenere del più bello che uenghi conforme à quella della cappella del Cardinal Gaetano in santa Potentiana, et sia della medesima fattura ne piu nemeno _____ Il zoccholo sotto alla cassa sia di alabastro rigato antiquo, et il simile sotto alle base delle colonne, et membretto _____ Le colonne si farano di nero, et gialdo de portovenere come di sop.a conforme alla cassa de S.a Potentiana, et della medesima bonta di pietra _____ Li contrapilastri delle colonne si farano di marmo bianco di Carrara _____ Li membretti delle colonne cioe dalle bande di brocatello di Spagnia _____ Le base, et capitelli come si uedono in disegnio siano de marmo bianco di Carrara _____ La cimasa la colonna di marmo bianco di Carrara _____ La seconda iscritione che fa piedestallo sia di marmo bianco di Carrara _____ con suo membretti _____

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728 Sopra della 2.a iscrittione si fara un poco di fregio di bianco e nero antiquo orientale dove e il collarino del pedestallo di tutta lunghezza _____ Il basamento che andera sotto a d.o iscritione, et alli pedestalli delle colonne et membretti si faranno di marmo bianco di Carrara _____ L’ultimo zoccholo sotto il fine del opera al piano di terra si fara di africano bello, et antiquo _____ Ite. che tutta la detta opera sia fatto nel modo e forma detto di sopra con le pietre dechiarate in questo foglio, et non altrimenti, quale tutte doverano essere poste in opera, con ogni diligenza, et ataccate con mistura, et stuccate a foco et doveranno alustrare il tutto ad ogni bellezza, et paragone tutto a spese del detto m.ro santi scarpellino _____ Ite. che detto m.o santi sia obligato di dar fornito tutta l’opera di detto deposito a tutta perfettione intermine di quattro mesi prossimi da cominciarsi da hoggi _____ fol. 56 Ite. che il detto mons.re sia obligato a tutta sue spese di far mettere in opera il detto deposito -p quello che spettera al muratore con patto che vi debbia intervenire, et assistere continuamente il d.o m. santi mentre si mettera in opera, et con interuento alle cose principali del Architetto _____ Ite. che detto m.o santi debbia fare a sue spese una croce di gialdo al detto deposito atutte sue spese ancorche non vi sia nel disegnio, et gli Angeli che sono in d.o disegnio non si comprendino nel patto, et conventione che si obliga d.o scarpellino _____ Ite. che detto scarpellino sia obligato di fare intagliare à tutte sue spese tutte le lettere che si daranno da s. R.ma tanto nella prima iscritione di paragone negro come in quella seconda di marmo bianco di Carrara _____ Che l’horo che andera sopra alle lettere della pietro di paragone si debbia mettere a spese di ss. R.ma et doue anderanno di tenta negre sul bianco a spese del do scarp.no _____ Ite. che detto scarpellino debbia mostrare primo a s. R.ma et al Architetto tutte le pietro dette di sop.a avanti li lavori -p mettere in opera, et che non debbia lauorare il detto deposito se prima non habbia hauto li modeni in carta di tutta la detta opera dal Architetto, et a quelli modeni non sminuisca, et no preterisca di cosa

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alguna, et d.i modeni siano dati -p primo che cominci et cole picture siano uiste prima _____ Che volendo disegniare il detto deposito lo scarpellino in prima grande debbia il do Monsig.re fare che l’Architetto debbia intervenire -p do disegnio in quel modo che piu piacera, et sara comodo allo scarpellino, et questo si faccia senza spese dallo scarpellino _____ Ite. che il detto deposito s’intenda all’allezza, et larghezza che seconda la scala delli p.mi che stanno disegniati sotto do deposito et non altrimenti _____ fol. 56b Ite. che -p tutto quello che si possa pretendere tanto per la fattura come del valore della robba del detto deposito il detto mons.re et santi Ghetti scarpellino si convengono di accordo de farlo p prezzo et valore di sc.di cento sessanta di moneta li quali s. R.ma promette di pagarli liberamente in questo modo, scudi sessanta al -p te -p un ordine al banco, et altri sc.di cinquanta nella meta del opera, et li altri scudi cinquanta fornito che haueua detto deposito subbito _____ Ite. che mancando di fare detto scarpellino alcuna delle cose sud.e che non fussero a contentimento del s. R.ma possa d.o Monsig.re a tutte spese danni, et interessi di d.o scarpellino farli rifare conforme alli patti, et conventione, et di quello che importera defalcarlo dal prezzo che douera hauere d.o scarpellino _____ Et -p osservanza delle cose sud.e tanto -p il denaro che douera pagare d.o Mons.re R. come -p l’opera che deue fare il detto m.o santi Ghetti scarpellino, conforme alli patti conuentioni d.e di sopra, l’una parte el l’altra si obligano nella piu ampla della forma della Camera Apostolica, con ogni sorte di clausole, et consuete che si aspettano ado obligo Camerale et -p ciò ad ogni beneplacito del una et l’altra parte da adesso -p allora danno faculta, a qualseuoglia Notaro di potere stendere d.i capitoli come Istrumento publico, che -p segnio della uerita hanno sottoscritto la presente de loro propria mano alla presentia delli infrascritti Testimonij questo di, et anno sud.o 8 de Marzo 1623 _____ Licen.do po de Foix Montoya a Io santi ghetti afermo quanto di sop - mano pp _____ o a Io Ju yvaniz fui p’sente quanto di sop. . Io Jacomo Turriani fui presente quanto di sopa mp -. mo

Io soprado mo santi Ghetti scarpellino mi obligo in forma Camera di fornire fra tutto ottobre di questo anno 1623 tutti li lauori che sto obligato a fare à Mons.re de Foix Montoia in questo Instrumento di sop.a et come non lo fornisca fra questo tempo me contentero che d.o Mons.re de foix Montoija lo possa mandare à fornire

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730 allo scarpellino che verra a tutte spese mie fatta in Roma alli 19 di Agosto 1623 a a Io santi Ghetti mi obligo et prometto come di sop - mano -p-p o a Yo Ju. ybanez fui presente a quanto di s. Io Jacomo Turriani fui presente quanto di sop.ra

Fol. 57: Receipt of Orazio Turriani 9. Io Horatio Turriani Architetto ho riceuto dal Molto Ill.o et R.mo Mons.re Montoya scudi sei di moneta quali sono -p ultimo resto et intiero pagamento di quanto posso pretendere in tutti li disegni et ogni altra cosa che hauessi fatto, et che douero fare -p tutto l’opera del deposito che andera posto nella chiesa di S. Giacomo delli Spagnioli in Roma, et mi contento di essere sodisfatto con detti scudi sei -p qualsivolia cosa che di nouo facessi -p do deposito -p sino che sia del tutto posto in opera in d a chiesa et cosi prometto et me ne chiamo contento questo 11 di Marzo 1623 a Io Horatio Turriani mp - -p Busta 1335, Inventario de los muebles de Santiago hecho en el mes de heno 1637: 10. fol. 169b. Mas dos estatuas de marmol blanco del Bernino con sus pedestales de jaspe. Son dos testes que representan una el anima in gloria & la otra anima en peña & las quales vinieron con la que dejò el D.r Botinete ala Egl.a

Appendix B Checklist of Preserved and Recorded Examples of the Four Last Things in the Wax Version by Giovanni Bernardino Azzolini:* 1. Convento de las Carmelitas Descalzas, Peñaranda de Bracamante, Spain. Five wax panels forming a cross, Death in the center, Purgatory on the left, Limbo (a naked child) on the right, Hell below, Heaven above. Gómez-Moreno, 1967, I, 453; Gonzáles-Palacios (1984, 227) gives evidence for a Neapolitan provenance. (Fig. 46) 2. Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Purgatory and Hell. Pope-Hennessy, 1964, II, 633f. (Purgatory mistakenly identified as Paradise); Lightbown, 1964,

* For information concerning several of the Spanish examples I am indebted to Professor Vincente Leo Cañal.

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46. Death (center), Purgatory (left), Limbo (right), Hell (bottom), Heaven (top), wax reliefs. Convento de las Carmelitas Descalzas, Peñaranda de Bracamante, Spain (photo: Antonio Casaseca, Salamanca).

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47, 48. Purgatory, Hell, wax reliefs. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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49, 50. Purgatory, Hell, wax reliefs. Palazzo Pitti, Florence (photos: Soprintendenza per i Beni Artistici e Storici, Florence 122743–44).

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51, 52. Limbo and Purgatory, wax reliefs. Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, Rome.

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53, 54. Hell and Heaven, wax reliefs. Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, Rome.

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736

55–57. Purgatory, Hell, Heaven, wax reliefs. Formerly Coll. Schevitch, Paris (from Catalogue, 1906, fig. 313).

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58. Heaven, wax relief. Formerly Coll. Gonzáles-Palacios, Rome (photo: Arte fotografica 99962).

737

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59, 60. Death and Judgment, wax reliefs. Schloss Nymphenburg, Munich.

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61, 62. Hell and Heaven, wax reliefs. Schloss Nymphenburg, Munich.

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63. Attributed to Gaetano Zumbo, Hell, wax relief. Rhode Island School of Design Museum, Providence.

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64. Attributed to Francisco Ribalta, Purgatory, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

65. Attributed to Francisco Ribalta, Heaven. Museo del Prado, Madrid.

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742 495 n. 20; Cagnetta, 1977, 497; idem, 1976, 219, Curiosità, 1979, 41; GonzálesPalacios, 1984, 227. (Figs. 47, 48) 3. Museo degli Argenti, Palazzo Pitti, Florence. Purgatory and Hell. Lightbown, 1964, 495; Aschengreen, 1968, 176; Cagnetta, 1977, 497; idem, 1976, 218; Malke, 1976, 57; Curiosità, 1979, 41; Gonzáles-Palacios, 1984, 227. (Figs. 49, 50) 4. Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, Rome. Limbo, Purgatory, Hell, Heaven. Ex coll. Mario Praz, prov. Sestieri, Rome, 1961, from Black, London. Attributed to Azzolini c. 1560 by Praz, who also noted the relation to the Ex coll. Schevitch group. Cagnetta, 1977; 498; idem, 1976, 219; Curiosità, 1979, 41. (Figs. 51–54) 5. Ex Coll. Schevitch, Paris. Purgatory, Hell, Heaven. Catalogue, 1906, 213f., no. 313, ill.; Pyke, 1973, 8; Cagnetta, 1977, 498; idem, 1976, 219; Malke, 1976, 57 n. 18; Gonzáles-Palacios, 1984, 227. (Figs. 55–57) 6. Ex Coll. Gonzáles-Palacios, Rome. Heaven. Attributed to Azzolino. Cagnetta, 1977, 498; idem, 1976, 219; Gonzáles-Palacios, 1984, 227; Finarte, 1986, 81. (Fig. 58) 7. Schloss Nymphenburg, Munich. Death, Judgment, Hell, Heaven. GonzálesPalacios, 1984, 236 n. 97; Metken, ed., 1984, 26–28, no. 14. (Figs. 59–62) 8. Rhode Island School of Design Museum, Providence. Hell. Attributed to Zumbo. Rhode Island, 1985, 30 f. (Fig. 63) 9. Museo del Prado, Madrid. Paintings of Purgatory and Heaven. Attributed to Francisco Ribalta (d. 1628), Gómez-Moreno, 1967, I: 453; Ribalta, 1987, 144. (Figs. 64, 65) 10. Coll. Duke of Alcalá, Seville. Five wax images framed in ebony, showing the four souls and one dying, by Giovanni Bernardino [Azzolini]. Recorded in an early inventory. Brown and Kagan, 1987, 254, no. 131. 11. Coll. Alcázar, Madrid. Three wax heads, Purgatory, Hell, Heaven, with frames of ebony and glass. Recorded in an early inventory. Bottineau, 1956, 450, no. 47.

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Bibliography The Age of Correggio and the Carracci. Emilian Painting of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, exhib. cat., Washington, D.C., 1986. Alaleona, D., ‘Su Emilio de’ Cavalieri, la Rappresentatione di Anima et di Corpo e alcune sue compositioni inedite,’ La nuova musica, X, 1905, 1–43. Aries, P., L’Homme devant la Mort, Paris 1977. Aschengreen, C. P., Il museo degli argenti a Firenze, Milan, 1967. Avery, C., Studies in European Sculpture, London, 1981. Baldwin, A., ‘Facing Heads on Greek Coins,’ American Journal of Numismatics, XLIII, 1908–9, 113–31. Becherini, G., ‘La ‘Rappresentatione di anima e corpo’ di Emilio de’ Cavalieri,’ La rassegna musicale, XXI, 1943, 1–7. ––– ‘La musica nelle ‘sacre rappresentationi’ fiorentine,’ Rivista musicale italiana, LIII, 1951, 193–241. Bellarmine, R., A Shorte Catechisme, Augsburg, 1614. Bernstein, A. E., ‘Esoteric Theology: William of Auvergne on the Fires of Hell and Purgatory,’ Speculum, LVII, 1982, 509–31. Bieber, M., Die Denkmaler zum Theaterwesen im Altertum, Berlin and Leipzig, 1920. Bober, P. P., and Rubinstein, R., Renaissance Artists and Antique Sculpture. A Handbook of Sources, London, 1986. Bottineau, Y., ‘L’Alcázar de Madrid et l’inventaire de 1686. Aspects de la cour d’Espagne au XVlIe siècle,’ Bulletin hispanique, LVIII, 1956, 421–52. Braun, R. A., Das Domkapitel zu Eichstätt von der Reformationszeit bis zur Säkularisation, unpub. diss., Katholischen Universität Eichstätt, 1983. Brown, J., and Kagan, R. L., ‘The Duke of Alcalá: His Collection and its Evolution,’ The Art Bulletin, LXIX, 1987, 31–55. Bruno, R., Roma. Pinacoteca capitolina, Bologna, 1978. Cagnetta, F., ‘Gaetano Giulio Zummo (Siracusa 1656–Parigi 1701),’ in Kunst des Barock in der Toskana. Studien zur Kunst unter den letzten Medici, Munich, 1976 (Italienische Forschungen, IX), 213–24.

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744 ––– ‘La vie et l’oeuvre de Gaetano Giulio Zummo,’ in La ceroplastica nella scienza e nell’arte. Atti del I congresso internazionale, Florence, 1975 (1977), 498–501. Catalogue des objets d’art . . . composant la collection de M. D. Schevitch, Galerie Georges Petit, Paris, 1906. Chantelou, P. Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernini en France, ed. L. Lalanne, Paris, 1885. Connors, J., Borromini and the Roman Oratory. Style and Society, New York, etc., 1980. Curiosità di una reggia. Vicende della guardarobba di Palazzo Pitti, exhib. cat., Florence, 1979. De’ Cavaliri, E., Rappresentatione di anima, et di corpo, Rome, 1600 (facsimile ed. Farnsborough, 1967). Della Porta, G. B., De humana physiognomia, Vico Equense, 1586. Delumeau, J., Le peche et la peur. La culpabilisation en Occident (Xlle–XVlle siecles), Paris, 1983. Di Dario Guida, M. P., Arte in Calabria. Ritrovamenti-restauri-recuperi (1971–1975), Naples, 1978. Dionysius Carthusianus, Cordiale quatuor novissimorum, Gouda, 1492. Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Rome, 1960 ff. Enciclopedia dello spettacolo, 11 vols., Rome, 1975. Ettlinger, L., ‘Exemplum Doloris. Reflections on the Laocoön Group,’ in M. Meiss, ed., De Artibus Opuscula XL. Essays in Honor of Erwin Panofsky, New York, 1961, 121–6. Erythraeus, N. (Vittorio Rossi), Pinacotheca, Cologne 1643, 1645, 1648. Fagiolo Dell’Arco, M. and M., Bernini. Una introduzione al gran teatro del barocco, Rome, 1967. Fernadez Alonso, J., S. Maria di Monserrato, Rome, 1968. Filipczak, Z. Z., Picturing Art in Antwerp, Princeton, 1987. Finarte. Mobili, arredi e tappetti antichi. Asta 565, Rome, 1986. Franza, G., Il catechismo a Roma e l‘Arciconfraternita della Dottrina Cristiana, Alba, 1958. Gómez-Moreno, M., Catalogo monumental de España. Provincia de Salamanca, 2 vols., Valencia, 1967. Gonzáles-Palacios, A., Il tempio del gusto. Le arti decorativi in Italia fra classicismo e barocco. Roma e il regno delle due Sicilie, 2 vols., Milan, 1984. Grosshans, R., Maerten van Heemskerck. Die Gemälde, Berlin, 1980. Haskell, F., and Penny, N., Taste and the Antique. The Lure of Classical Sculpture. 1500–1900, New Haven and London, 1981. Head, B. V., Historia Numorum. A Manual of Greek Numismatics, Oxford, 1911. Heezen-Stoll, ‘Een vanitasstilleven van Jacques de Gheyn II vit 1621: afspiegeling van neostolsche denkbeelden,’ Oud-Holland, XCIII, 1979, 217–50. Hill, G. F., Catalogue of the Greek Coins of Palestine (Galilee, Samaria, and Judaea), London, 1914.

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Hill, J. W., ‘Oratory Music in Florence, I: Recitar Cantando, 1583–1655,’ Acta Musicologica, LI, 1979, 109–36. Hollstein, F. W., German Engravings, Etchings, and Woodcuts, ca. 1400–1700, Amsterdam, 1954 ff. Houlet, J., Les combats des vertues et des vices, Paris, 1969. Judson, J. R., Dirck Barendsz. 1534–1592, Amsterdam, 1970. Katzenellenbogen, A., Allegories of the Virtues and Vices in Medieval Art. From Early Christian Times to the Thirteenth Century, New York, 1964. Kirkendale, W., ‘Emilio de’ Cavalieri, a Roman Gentleman at the Florentine Court,’ Quadrivium, XII, 1971, 9–21. Ladendorf, H., Antikenstudium und Antikenkopie, Berlin, 1953 (Abhandlungen der sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschafen zu Leipzig. Philologisch-historische Klasse, XLVI, pt. 2). Lane, B. G., ‘Bosch’s Tabletop of the Seven Deadly Sins and the Coridale Quattuor Novissimorum,’ in Clark, W. W., ed., Tribute to Lotte Brand Philip Art Historian and Detective, New Yorl(, 1985, 89–94. Lavin, I., ‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works,’ The Art Bulletin, L, 1968, 223–48. ––– ‘On the Sources and Meaning of the Renaissance Portrait Bust,’ Art Quarterly, XXXIII, 1970, 207–26. ––– ‘Bernini’s Death,’ The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86. ––– ‘On Illusion and Allusion in Italian Sixteenth-Century Portrait Busts,’ Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, CXIX, 1975, 353–62. ––– Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts., New York–London, 1980. ––– ed., World Art. Themes of Unity in Diversity, Acts of the Twenty-Sixth International Congress of the History of Art, Washington, D.C., 3 vols., State Park, Pa., 1989. Leeuwenberg, J., Beeldhouwkunst in het Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, 1973. Leselust: Niederländische Malerei von Rembrandt bis Vermeer, exhib. cat., Frankfurt 1993. Lightbown, R. W., ‘Gaetano Giulio Zumbo-I: Tile Florentine Period,’ Burlington Magazine, CVI, 1964, 486–96. Malke, L., ‘Zur Ikonographie der “Vier letzten Dinge” vom ausgehenden Mittelalter bis zum Rokoko,’ Zeitschrift des Deutschen Vereins für Kunstwissenschaft, XXX, 1976, 44–66. Manni, A., Essercitii spirituali . . . Dove si mostra un modo facile per fare fruttuosamente oratione à Dio, et di pensare le cose, che principalmente appartengono alIa salute, di acquistare il vero dolore de’ peccati, e di fare una felice morte. Con tre essercitii per diventare devoto della Beatissima Vergine Maria Madre di Dio, Brescia, 1609. ––– Essercitii spirituali nei quali si mostra un modo facile di far fruttuosamente oratione a Dio, di pensar le cose che principalmente appartengono alla salute, d’ac-

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746 quistar’il vero dolore de’peccati, e di fare una felice morte . . . Parte Prima. Con tre altri essercitii per diventar devoto della B. Verge Maria Madre di Dio. Agguntovi in quest quarta impressione un’ragionamento sopra la grandezza, e verita della Fede Cristiana; equal sia la fede viva, e la fede morta. Con gl’essercitii formati, dove s’impara la dottrina della salute, & il modo d’impetrar da Dio questo glorioso lume, Rome, 1613. ––– Essercitii spirituali per la mattina, e sera all’Oratione . . . Et un modo di meditar le cinque Piaghe del N S. Giesu Christo, con dimandargli gratie d’infinito valore, Rome, 1620. ––– Raccolta di due Esercizii, uno sopra l’eternità della felicita del Cielo, e l’altro sopra l’eternità delle pene dell’lnferno, Rome, 1625. ––– Raccolta di due essercitii, uno sopra l’Eternità della felicita del cielo, e l’altro sopra l’eternità delle pene dell’Inferno. Ed una rappresentatione nella quale sotto diverse imagini si mostra al particolore il fine calamitoso del peccatore, & il fine honorato, e glorioso dell’Huomo giusto, Rome, 1637. Mauquoy-Hendrickx, M., Les estampes des Wierix, 2 vols., Brussels, 1979. [6] Merrill, D.O., ‘The ‘Vanitas’ of Jacques de Gheyn,’ Yale University Art Gallery Bulletin, XXV, 1960, 7–29. Metken, S., ed., Die letzte Reise. Sterben, Tod und Trauersitten in Oberbayern, exhib. cat., Munich, 1984. Mongitore, A., Memorie dei pittori, scultori, architetti, artefici in cera siciliani, ed. E. Natoli, Milan, 1977. Morelli, A., ‘Musica a Roma negli anni santi dal 1600 al 1700,’ in M. Fagiolo and M. L. Madonna, eds., Roma sancta. La città delle basiliche, Rome, 1985, 190–200. Mostra didattica di Carlo Sellitto primo caravaggesco napoletano, exhib. cat., Naples, 1977. Orlandi, P. A., Abecedario pittorico dei professori piu illustri in pittura, scultura, e architettura, Florence, 1788. Osmond, R., ‘Body and Soul Diaolgues in the Seventeenth Century,’ English Literary Renaissance, IV, 1974, 364–403. Palisca, C. V., ‘Musical Asides in the Diplomatic Correspondence of Emilio de’ Cavalieri,’ The Musical Quarterly, XLIX, 1963, 339–55. Pope-Hennessy, J., Catalogue of Italian Sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, 3 vols., London, 1964. Preimesberger, R., ‘Zu Berninis Borghese-Skulpturen,’ Antikenrezeption im Hockbarock, Berlin, 1989, 109–127 Prizer, W. F., ‘The Lauda and Popular Religion in Italy at the Beginning of the Counter Reformation,’ unpublished ms., 1987. Prosperi, A., ‘Intorno ad un catechismo figurato del tardo ‘500,’ Quaderni di Palazzo del Te, I, 1985, 45–53. Prota-Giurleo, Pittori napoletani del seicento, Naples, 1953.

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Pyke, E. J., A Biographical Dictionary of Wax Modelers, Oxford, 1973. Read, T. C., A Critical Study and Performance Edition of Emilio de’ Cavalieri’s Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo, unpub. Phl.D. diss., Univ. of Southern California, 1969. Rhode Island school of Design, Museum Notes, LXXII, 1985. Ribalta y la escuela valenciana, exhib. cat., Madrid, 1987. Ripa, C., Iconologia, Rome, 1603. Sammlung des Freiherrn Adalbert von Lanna. Prag. Rudolph Lepke’s Kunst-AuctionsHaus, Berlin, 1911. Sax, J., Die Bischöfe und Reichsfürsten von Eichstadt. 745–1806, 2 vols. Landshut, 1884–5. Schlegel, V., Die italienische Bildwerke des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts in Stein, Holz, Ton, Wachs und Bronze mit Ausnahme der Plaketten und Medaillen, Berlin, 1978. Smither, H. E., A History of the Oratorio, 3 vols., Chapel Hill, 1977–87. Soprani, R., Vite de’pittori, scoltori, et architetti genovesi, Genoa, 1674 (ed. C. G. Ratti, 2 vols., Genoa, 1768). Stilleben in Europa, exhib. cat., Munster and Baden-Baden, 1979. Strauss, W. L., ed., The Illustrated Bartsch, 3 . . . Hendrik Goltzius, New York, 1980. Todi, Jacopone da, Laudi, trattato e detti, ed. F. Ageno, Florence, 1953. Toschi, P., Le origini del teatro italiano, Turin, 1955. Turrini, M., ‘ “Riformare il mondo a vera vita christiana”: le scuole di catechismo nell’Italia del cinquecento,’ Annali dell’ Istituto storico-germanico in Trento, VIII, 1982, 407–89. Van de Velde, C., Frans Floris (1519/20–1570). Leven en Werken, Brussels, 1975. Veca, A., Vanitas, Il simbolismo del tempo, Bergamo, 1981. Villarosa, Marchese di, Memorie degli scrittori filippini o siano della Congregazione dell’ Oratorio di S. Filippo Neri, Naples, 1837. Walther, H., Das Streitgedicht in der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, Munich, 1920. Wilmart, A., ‘Un grand débat de l’âme et du corps en vers élégiaques,’ Studi medievali, XII, 1939, 192–207. Wittkower, R., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, London, 1981.

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XIX

The Roma Alessandrina of Richard Krautheimer

I

WANT to thank the organizers of this commemoration of Richard Krautheimer for inviting me to participate, and in particular to discuss the volume on the Rome of Alexander VII. Unbeknownst to them, the occasion closes a circle in my vita krautheimeriana that opened when I was a beginning graduate student in New York more than forty years ago. I longed to study with Krautheimer, whom I had never met but whose reputation for intellectual stimulation and personal warmth was already legendary. There was a serious risk of my becoming an architectural historian had my dream come true, but it was fated not to be. He did not come to teach at New York University while I was studying there, and when he did come, I had left. My wish was at least partially granted some fifteen years later, when I myself became a professor at the Institute of Fine Arts. At last it was possible for me to take a course with Krautheimer; which I did, along with many of the students in my own class, in the spring of 1968. What makes the present occasion so special is that the subject of the course we followed was none other than Baroque Architecture in Rome. The course contained the nuclei of many ideas that appear in the book he wrote twenty years later. Of the many obiter dicta for which Krautheimer was famous one of the most recent seems particularly relevant to my assigned task of discussing his last major work of art historical scholarship, the book on The Rome of Alexander VII published in 1985. In his last years, when he was well into his nineties, he was fond of saying that he was too old to undertake any more small projects! The large project he had in mind was surely the three volume history of Rome, the first of which was devoted to the medieval city

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from Constantine to the Avignon captivity: Rome: Profile of a City, 312–1308, Princeton, 1981. The second volume would have dealt with Rome in the Renaissance, 1300–1560, the third with the period 1560–1700, Roma Barocca, or Roma Moderna, as contemporaries called it. Contemporaries, however, used the term Modern chiefly in the Petrarchan sense of postmedieval and in contrast to the ancient city, whereas Krautheimer saw in this period the emergence of features that characterized the transformation of the chaotic and squalid medieval town that remained at the end of volume I, into the grand new, modern city we know and — despite everything — love today. With his usual sagacity and prescience, he ultimately struck a bargain with the inevitable and, renouncing the second volume altogether, he extracted from the third the architectural personality and ideas, realized and projected, of the crucial figure and instigator of the transformation, Pope Alexander VII (1655–1667). Alexander, of course, was by no means the first pope with a passion for building, nor was he the first to regard the city as a projection of himself and of his office. But whereas Sixtus V, for example, still conceived of the city in largely symbolic terms — the avenues connecting the patriarchal basilicas were seen as a starshaped pattern reflecting his family emblem, as well as the star of Bethlehem — Alexander’s view was functional, in that the city and its monuments served an urgent, contemporary ideological and strategic purpose. Alexander thus embodied the essence of what Krautheimer had to say in the final and culminating portion of his large project. And the volume aptly culminates Krautheimer’s intellectual and scholarly life, not just in the chronological sense that it was his last great work, but in the substantive sense that it expressed his conception of the link between the past and the present, between the ancient and the modern, in terms of the physical history of the place where, more than any other, that link was forged. One might say that the book embodies the contemporary relevance of the historian’s mission. Moreover, it recounts a story that only an architectural historian could tell, so that it might be said to fulfill the mission of Krautheimer’s professional métier, as well. Perhaps the main contribution of the book is Krautheimer’s perception of a comprehensive significance underlying the building mania that has always been regarded as Alexander’s chief strength — or weakness, depending on whether one gives greater importance to its effect on the city or its effect on the papal treasury. Krautheimer realized, first of all, that Alexander

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was not just a Maecenas in the popular sense of a vulgar Renaissance tyrant bent on a vulgar display of wealth and power, but a man of rare intelligence and refined taste who, moreover, followed the work personally, participating in the most minute details of planning with a passion that can only have been borne of an innate gift and cultivated interest. In a sense, I suspect that this last may have been one of the mainsprings of Krautheimer’s own interest, arising from his study and ultimate publication of the passages dealing with art and artists from Alexander’s personal diary.1 This document is in itself utterly extraordinary: I am not aware of a comparable personal record of any previous pope. No less astonishing, however, is the amount of time and effort Alexander devoted to these matters. Bernini and Alexander were together constantly — consulting, discussing, planning, designing — often for long periods on a weekly basis, sometimes even more often. In this respect, too, Alexander was unprecedented and Krautheimer perceived that not only was the pope mad about architecture, but that his madness encompassed the whole of the city. Alexander’s improvements were not only focused on the obvious, major places and monuments in the heart of Rome, but also extended to the outskirts, the disabitato, to use the term Krautheimer preferred, although it was often populated with the poor, the dispossessed and vagabond gypsies. I myself came to appreciate from the book that the Cathedra Petri was only the last stop on a physical and conceptual pilgrimage that began at the Porta del Popolo. The sharpness and comprehensiveness of Alexander’s vision is attested in many subtle ways beyond, or underlying, the works themselves — the new accuracy and comprehensiveness of the maps of Alexander’s Rome, the lists of his works compiled and portrayed in illustrated series of engravings. But perhaps there is no better index both to the intimacy and the comprehensiveness of Alexander’s vision than the fact that he kept in his private chambers a model of the city. (It is interesting to speculate where Alexander’s miniature Rome fits in the history of city models;2 it was, I suppose, as complete and accurate as the maps of Alexander’s Rome, and it is the first model I can recall 1 Richard Krautheimer and R. S. B. Jones, ‘The Diary of Alexander VII: Notes on Art, Artists and Buildings,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, 15 (1975), pp. 199–233; supplemented by G. Morello, ‘Bernini e i lavori a San Pietro nel diario di Alessandro VII,’ in: Bernini in Vaticano, exhib. cat., Rome, 1981, pp. 321–340. 2 See M. Aronberg Lavin, ‘Representation of Urban Models in the Renaissance,’ in: The Renaissance from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo. The Representation of Architecture, exhib. cat. ed. H. Millon and V. Magnago Lampugnani, Milan, 1994, pp. 674–678.

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made for the purpose of urban planning; evidently, the pope not only thought about the city in a modern, comprehensive way, he also had a modern, comprehensive way of representing it — a new kind of ‘threedimensional’ urban consciousness, one might say.) As Alexander’s vision was global, so was Krautheimer’s, as he extends the normal purview of architectural history itself, and this in two senses. He is at pains to consider not only individual buildings but also to relate them to their contexts, their immediate surroundings as well as their interlocking connections with other works throughout the city, and even beyond. Moreover, architecture itself is no longer conceived in terms of permanent structures, but includes city squares and public spaces of all sorts — market places, theater sets and ephemeral spectacles, gardens, streets, and tree-lined allées — everything we tend to call, for want of a still more comprehensive term, the built environment. A vast panorama is deftly captured in what is, after all, a relatively brief text. Considered thus, the book itself is a compromise: ‘profile’ would have been an even better title here than for the earlier volume, since the term alludes to specific personalities and suggests the thin line drawn in this work between the genres of building history and urban history. The ten chapters carry the reader through a sequence of ideas, beginning with the career and character of Alexander VII: his family, his education, his learning, his wit, his financial nonchalance, his love of architecture. The second chapter deals with what Krautheimer calls the urban substructure: the pope’s efforts to widen and straighten the city’s messy tangle of medieval ‘ways,’ partly to make them grand and beautiful, and partly to accommodate the growing traffic problems created by that monstrous newfangled conveyance, the horse-drawn coach; and his campaign to clean up the equally messy and unsightly markets that encumbered public spaces of high visibility, like the Forum and the Pantheon, by confining the vendors to less conspicuous locations and/or providing new, more efficient accommodations. Chapter III deals with the pope’s architects and some of their major projects. The central figure, of course, is Bernini, followed by Pietro da Cortona; Borromini, Krautheimer observes, was such a difficult character that Alexander wanted as little as possible to do with him! Chapter IV explores the contemporary notion of ‘Teatro,’ not in the narrow sense of a spectacle but in the large sense of any global, encompassing idea, especially as the term applies to churches and the spaces before and around them. Cortona’s Santa Maria della Pace, Bernini’s Sant’Andrea al Quirinale and St. Peter’s,

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both the square and the Cathedra, are cases in point. Chapter V concerns ‘Overall Planning and Opposition’, primarily the careful control Alexander exercised, at vast expenditures of his own time and energy, over his projects and those of other patrons (who sometimes resisted) throughout the city. Chapter VI, called ‘Prospects’ deals with unrealized projects that give some idea of what Alexander might have achieved had he lived longer and had more money, but which also testify to the colossal scale of what he did manage to carry out. Chapter VII, called ‘Roma antica and moderna,’ deals with the treatment of the classical remains, showing that while ancient works could be treated cavalierly on occasion, the principle objective was to integrate them into the modern city so that they, too, could contribute Ad Maiorem Gloriam Dei. Chapter VIII is devoted to Piazza del Popolo as a deliberately theatrical, that is, emulating contemporary stage designs, reformation of the principal entrance to Rome from the North. The piazza was the prelude to a whole series of works intended to embellish and aggrandize the processional way through the city to St. Peter’s and the Vatican. Chapter IX, ‘The Reverse of the Medal,’ is devoted to the seamier side of Rome, the part which the kind of audience Alexander had in view was not supposed to see. Alexander’s Rome may have been beautiful, but for many people it was not a very nice place in which to live. Together, these chapters amount to a recitation of the main types of monumental urban and architectural projects undertaken under Alexander’s direct or indirect control. Although richly informative, awash with stimulating observations, and written in Krautheimer’s inimitably lively informal style, they are essentially repetitions of the same theme — Alexander’s passion for building and the grandeur of his ideas, as aided and abetted by his favorite artist-entrepreneur Bernini. From a formal point of view, the accent is on the perspective vista, the dramatic focus, and majestic scale. Except for Chapter IX, there is nothing about what we would today call the urban infrastructure — utilitarian projects (other than public markets), such as sewage and sanitation, ordinary housing and the like. When Alexander said, let nothing built in honor of the Virgin be anything but great, it matched Bernini’s statement when he reached Paris to redesign the Louvre for Louis XIV let no one speak to me of anything small.3 And Krautheimer gives a corresponding vision of grand ideas on a grand scale P. Fréart de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne, 1885, p. 15 (June 4th, 1665). 3

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that defined Rome as a special place with a special role to play on the world stage. True to his subjects — Alexander VII, Bernini, and Rome — Krautheimer did not write microhistory! If all this sounds very Baroque, the architecture of Krautheimer’s book is itself rather Baroque. In fact, this sequence of contrapposto-like repetitions and variations on a dominant theme creates an increasing feeling of suspense as one wonders what, in the end, is the point. The point appears dramatically in the last chapter, ‘City Planning and Politics: The Illustrious Foreigner,’ where Krautheimer presents what he considered to be the guiding principle — the ‘political’ motivation — that lay behind Alexander’s urban enterprises, which were concentrated primarily along the principle ceremonial route throughout the city, and intended primarily to impress the illustrious foreign visitor. Here it is important to bear in mind that in a ‘Bibliographical Note’ Krautheimer explicitly disclaims competence as a historian, declaring his dependence in such matters on von Pastor’s History of the Popes and others standard works on the period. And his political motivation turns out to be the standard one, familiar to all students of Italian Baroque: the victories of the Protestants and the rise in the industrial and mercantile power of the North, the establishment and hegemony over European affairs of the great national states, especially France, Spain and the Hapsburgs — all these factors had led to a drastic diminution in the real power of the church, in the face of which pope Alexander adopted what might be described as a policy of ‘overcompensation,’ seeking to aggrandize and embellish the physical power of the city to make up for the loss of political power. He sought to convince the world that the papacy remained a factor to be reckoned with, by transforming Rome into a great, modern city, or at least the appearance of one.4 This perception of a ‘diplomatic’’ rationale underlying and motivating Alexander’s architectural mania, may be Krautheimer’s most original contribution in the book. Paradoxically, then, the modern city is created not from any fundamental shift in attitude or values, but as an act of deception. At bottom, from a strictly art historical point of view, the ultimate argument of the book is rather conventional. The effect is to ‘instrumentalize’ the Baroque, which 4 The notion of Alexander’s Rome as Roma Moderna, articulated in the publications of the period, stems from von Pastor, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols., London, 1923–53, XXXI, p. 312.

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becomes an art of propaganda and representation, rather than the expression of a new world view, which the idea of modernity would suggest. This conception of the Baroque as an artificial, bombastic, overcompensatory reaction to the challenge of Protestantism, an art of rhetoric, display, and theatricality — coincides with the equally conventional, absolutist conception of political consciousness in the seventeenth century.5 Alexander’s was preeminently an urban renewal program conceived as ‘of the elite, by the elite and for the elite.’ * * * There was another side to the medal, however, partly, but only partly perceived by Krautheimer — a reverse, not less important, in my view, than the obverse. Alexander’s new urbanism had what I should call a subversive, underground aspect, of which Krautheimer caught glimpses but the implications of which he did not fully perceive. The point begins with the fact that the urban population of Rome was, after all, a very powerful force, moral, economic and political. In this sense, Rome was like many other cities in Europe, where there was a growing consciousness of and concern for social problems that had no doubt long existed. Krautheimer is aware of this background to the extent that he devotes the next-to-last chapter, ‘The Reverse of the Medal,’ to a remarkable document written by an absolutely minor and otherwise insignificant administrative employee, one Lorenzo Pizzati from Pontremoli, in which he details the execrable conditions of everyday life in the city and the pitiable state of its underprivileged population, along with drastic and utopian suggestions for alleviating them. For Krautheimer the report simply reveals an underlying reality for which Alexander’s urban program was a kind of cosmetic cover-up for the benefit of visiting dignitaries. However, the improvements were surely meant for the edification of the people of Rome, as well, and not only as embellishment. For example, more than once it is reported that an important function of the vast expenditures for the Piazza San Pietro was as a public work program to provide employment for the indigent, especially the unskilled.6 See on this point my introduction to Panofsky’s essay ‘What is Baroque?,’ in: I. Lavin ed., Erwin Panofsky. Three Essays on Style, Cambridge, MA, 1995. 6 See pp. 70, 80, 174; von Pastor, XXXI, p. 291. I think a good case could be made that this attitude originated with Bernini himself, who certainly promoted it. A primary source is a remarkable document prepared by Bernini in response to objections to his project, in 5

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When it is said, rightly, that Alexander’s program nearly ruined the papal finances, it was not merely a vanity and extravagance, it was also the result of what today would be called a program of social welfare and rehabilitation, the cost of which was ultimately beyond the reach of the economic system on which it was based. The proof of this point lies in the fact that Alexander was specifically opposed to outright gifts to the poor, not only because it engendered dependency on the dole but also because it was an indignity; instead, he favored helping the poor by providing work for which they could be paid and so retain their Christian pride.7 The great weight and force of the populace is portrayed in full force in a fundamental source that is overlooked in Krautheimer’s Roma Alessandrina: an official document, deliberately complied at the pope’s behest. I refer to the apostolic visitations commanded by Alexander VII to all the churches and dioceses of Rome. Apostolic visits had a long history, to be sure, and earlier in the century Urban VIII had ordered one that fills three very substantial volumes. But none of these precedents even remotely approaches the scope, depth and systematic coverage of Alexander’s effort to gather and organize information about what ultimately mattered, the spiritual conditions of the people of Rome. Alexander’s apostolic visitation — which continued throughout his reign — has been described as the most comprehensive in the modern history of Rome.8 My reasons for emphasizing this reverse of the medal are two. I am not concerned to reveal the existence of this social substructure of the city and its problems in Alexander’s Rome; they had existed for a long time. What is important for the notion of Alexander’s modernity, and the scope and meaning of his vision for the city is that he was aware of their existence; he which he eulogizes Alexander’s efforts to deal with precisely the problems of homelessness and unemployment described by Lorenzo Pizzati (Bernini’s statement was published by H. Brauer and R. Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931, p. 70, who date it 1659–60, whereas Krautheimer, p. 174, gives 1657–58; Pizzati’s diatribe was composed 1656–59, as noted by Krautheimer, p. 191). This was also the basic philosophy of a major papal welfare program developed subsequently, with which Bernini was closely associated. In particular, Pizzati proposes establishing a hospice for the poor in the Lateran palace, a project for which Bernini was later reportedly engaged, and which was eventually actually carried out (I deal with these matters in a forthcoming essay, ‘Bernini’s Bust of the Savior and the Problem of the Homeless in Seventeenth-Century Rome’). 7 This attitude is emphasized by Alexander’s friend and biographer, the Jesuit Sforza Pallavicino, Della vita di Alessandro VII, 2 vols., Prato, 1839–40, II, pp. 177 f. 8 L. Forlani, ‘Le visite apostoliche del cinque-seicento e la società religiosa di Roma,’ Ricerche per la storia religiosa di Roma, 4 (1980), pp. 53–148, cf. p. 133.

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perceived the conditions in the city, not only as a physical but also as a social and moral whole; he sought to grasp them by studying them carefully and in detail, and to do something about them in a conscious, and comprehensive way. I do not want to overstate my case. Alexander was a product of his age, not ours. He had his own failings, he failed to realize many of his projects, and many of the projects he did complete failed to achieve their purpose. But just as his urbanistic projects on the obverse of the medal bore fruit in the subsequent history of architecture and urban planning, so did his ideas on the reverse. Alexander was the first pope in modern times to make a serious effort to end the tradition of nepotism, and his effort was a direct inspiration for Innocent XI, who actually did finally break the tradition.9 And the social need for reform of which Alexander became explicitly aware, engendered a sequence of developments later in the century that established institutions and programs of social welfare whose history can be traced thereafter down to our own time. My point here is that the obverse and reverse belong to the same medal, after all. Alexander’s collective awareness of his distinguished, aristocratic visitors from abroad was part and parcel with his equally collective awareness of his ordinary, often underprivileged subjects at home. In this sense, too, he helped transform Roma Antica into Roma Moderna. My second, and final, point is to pay homage to The Rome of Alexander VII with the praise I think Krautheimer would have appreciated more than any other: ‘Fa pensare.’

Alexander’s effort, and ultimate failure, to break the tradition of nepotism, are described by von Pastor, XXXI, pp. 24 ff. 9

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‘Impresa quasi impossibile’ The Making of Bernini’s Bust of Francesco I d’Este

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ITH some reluctance in the spring of 1651, Bernini agreed to sculpt the portrait of Francesco I d’Este, the ruler of a duchy of one of the oldest and most glorious, but now much reduced families of Italy (Fig. 1). The capital had in 1598 been moved to the small, provincial town of Modena, when the traditional seat of the duchy, Ferrara, devolved to the papacy at the death without heir of Francesco’s uncle. Bernini’s portrait formed part of a vast, concerted program of construction and art patronage at the highest possible level, which Francesco undertook in an effort to restore the prestige and importance of his house. The likeness, by the most illustrious and sought-after artist of the day, at the service of the pope himself, was to be based on painted portraits by Justus Sustermans, who served intermittently as court painter for the Duke. There was never a thought of Bernini going to Modena or of the Duke going to Rome, a circumstance that necessitated frequent exchanges of letters between the Duke, his agents in Rome, and the artist. The correspondence is preserved virtually complete in the ducal archive at Modena, so that the bust of Francesco takes its place alongside Bernini’s other secular ruler portraits, the lost bust of Charles I of England, and the bust and equestrian portraits of Louis XIV, among the artist’s best documented works. The documentation concerning the bust of Charles I has been extensively investigated, and the portraits of the French king have been the subject of monographic studies.1 The rich vein of information about the bust of Francesco has also been mined by generations of scholars, but the records have been cited only in part and in scattered pub1

See note 5 below.

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lications. When, after completing an essay on Bernini’s image of the ideal Christian Monarch (see Chapter XXIII), I learned that the young Modenese scholar Giorgia Mancini had been exploring the ducal correspondence systematically, I invited her to prepare as an Appendix a complete transcript of the documents pertinent to Bernini’s portrait, along with a summary of their contents. Many of the documents are new, including the remarkable record of the process of packing and shipping the sculpture, in which Bernini took particular personal interest. This archival material, to which I added what could be gleaned from other contemporary sources, as well as early visual records of the sculpture, was included as an appendix to the aforementioned essay, in a separate volume published in Italian; the documents frequently cited in the footnotes here refer to that appendix.2 * * * ‘Far che un marmo bianco pigli la somiglianza di una persona, che sia colore, spirito, e vita, ancorche sia lì presente, che si possa imitare in tutte le sue parti, e proportioni, è cosa difficiliss.ma. Creder poi di poter farlo somigliare con haver sol davanti una Pittura, senza vedere, ne haver mai visto il Naturale, è quasi impossibile, e chi a tale impresa si mette più temerario che valente si potrebbe chiamare. Hanno potuto tanto però verso di me i comandamenti dell’Altezza del sig.r Card.l suo fratello, che mi hanno fatto scordar di queste verità; però se io non ho saputo far quello, che è quasi impossibile, spero V.ra Alt.za mi scusarà, e gradirà almeno quell’Amore, che forse l’Opera medesima le rappresentarà . . .’ Gianlorenzo Bernini to Francesco I d’Este, October 20, 1651.3 (Fig. 2) As a prelude to the discussion in the title essay of the formal and ideological significance of Bernini’s ruler portraits, I want here to single out and consider from the wealth of documentary information now available concerning the bust of Francesco d’Este two points that seem to me especially important respecting the actual fabrication of the work, one procedural, the 2 3

Lavin 1998. For the shipping records, see Docs. 35–7, 41, 44–5, 47–59, 61, 63–4. See Appendix, Doc. 43.

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other sociological. Procedure in this case refers to the particular difficulty, repeatedly emphasized by Bernini himself, of creating a portrait without seeing the sitter. The task of making a sculptured bust of a living person (posthumous portraits for tombs and monuments were another matter 4) from painted prototypes was in fact unprecedented. As far as I can discover, this was a new mode of creating portrait sculpture, which Bernini inaugurated with his bust of Charles I of England (1635–36), followed with that of Charles’s wife Henrietta Maria (1638, never executed), both based on three views of the subjects painted by Van Dyck, and that of Cardinal Richelieu (1640–1), based on a triple portrait by Philippe de Champaigne, and culminated in 1650–51 with the bust of Francesco I.5 The new procedure, however noteworthy in professional terms, was not an end in itself, but served a new purpose. It was equally remarkable that three powerful heads of state should enter into a veritable competition to have themselves portrayed, sight unseen, by an artist far away. The phenomenon constitutes an important development in European cultural history since it signaled the emergence of the artist as the modern, international ‘culture hero’ who surpassed all his predecessors in virtuosistic conception and technical bravura, equivalent in both form and substance to the emergence of the ‘absolute monarch,’ the modern international political hero whose personal image Bernini created in these very works. To a degree, at least, this epochal conjunction of politics and art must have been evident to all concerned: to Bernini, since, as we shall see, he had a very clear vision of the ideal Christian monarch his portraits were intended to convey; to his biographers, Filippo Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini, the artist’s son, considering the terms in which they introduced their accounts of these works: ‘Divulgavasi in tanto sempre più la fama di questo artefice, ed il nome di lui ogni dì più chiaro ne diveniva: onde non fu gran fatto che i maggiori potentati d’Europa incominciassero a gareggiare, per così dire, fra di loro per chi sue opere aver potesse,’6 ‘Ma’ volando sempre più grande per l’Italia la fama del Bernino, e divenendo ogni dì più For which see Montagu 1985, I, 171. For summary accounts of these works see Wittkower 1981, 207 f., 224, 246 f., 254 ff., and recently Avery 1997, 225–50. Documentary studies: on the busts of Charles I and Henrietta Maria see Lightbown 1981; on that of Richelieu, Laurain-Portemer 1981, 177–235; on the bust of Louis XIV, Wittkower 1951, Gould 1982, 35, 41–5, 80–7, and Tratz 1988, 466–78; on the equestrian, Wittkower 1961, supplemented by Berger 1985, 50–63. 6 Baldinucci 1948, 88. 4 5

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chiaro il suo nome per il Mondo, trasse ancora a se i Maggiori Potentati dell’Europa, quali parve, che insieme allora gareggiassero per chì sue Opere haver potesse’;7 and to the noble patrons themselves, considering the assiduity with which they cultivated the artist, the enormous sums they paid, and the ecstatic receptions that greeted the results. Of great importance is the fact that the portraits were not conceived independently, but in specific relation to and emulation of one another. They form a closely interconnected series, artistically as well as historically. Bernini’s ruler images incorporate an art-and-historical paradox: they are highly personalized icons, created by a single individual, of the international development that created the European nation-state.8 Perhaps the most eloquent testimony that has come down to us of the significance of Bernini’s role in the international religio-political sphere is provided by an astonishing remark — beyond any suspicion of flattery — made by a member of the English court in a letter to Mazarin requesting him to use his good offices in Rome to expedite the project for the portrait of the Queen (there were no direct relations between the papacy and the English crown, although there was hope on both sides that Charles might ultimately be converted). The Lord Montaigu observes that Bernini had done more for the doctrine of images in his country than ever had done Cardinal Bellarmine (the great Jesuit apologist for the church); the veneration accorded Bernini was undisputed: ‘Le cavalier Bernino a plus fait pour la doctrine des images en ce pays-cy que n’a jamais [fait] le card. Bellarmin. La vénération luy est accordé sans controverse. . . .’9 The nature of the artistic tour de force that produced these works was encapsulated in the elegant note, quoted near the beginning of this chapter, which Bernini wrote to Duke Francesco as he was preparing to ship the finished sculpture. Seemingly a casual flourish of self-indulgence and flattery, the letter is in fact a veritable three-sentence treatise — lament might be a better word — on portraiture in marble as Bernini conceived that art. The challenge for him lay in infusing the likeness of the subject with three essenBernini 1713, 64. It is perhaps significant of the sense of national identity inherent in these commissions that, as also reported by the biographers, Phillip IV of Spain acquired not a portrait of himself but a large bronze crucifix for the royal tomb chapel at the Escorial, for which Bernini received a large gold necklace (Bernini 1713, 64, Baldinucci 1948, 108; cf. Wittkower 1981, 228 f.). 9 July 21, 1640; Laurain-Portemer 1981, 202, n. 105. 7 8

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1. Bernini, Francesco I d’Este, Museo Estense, Modena.

761

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2. Bernini to Francesco I, October 20, 1651. Archivio di Stato, Modena, A.mat., 9/1.

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3. Leonardo da Vinci, three heads, drawing. Biblioteca Reale, Turin.

4. Lorenzo Lotto, triple portrait. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

763

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tial qualities, color, spirit and life, to each of which he attached particular meaning and importance. Difficult in any case, the challenge was virtually futile — quasi impossible — when the subject was before the sculptor only in the form of paintings. The full meaning of Bernini’s conceit becomes evident when one considers the implications of his three critical points of reference. The problem of creating a sculptured likeness from painted models had a profound resonance arising from the concern of artists since the Renaissance to provide theoretical foundations for their vocations and raise them from the level of the medieval crafts to what came to be thought of as the Fine Arts. Painting and sculpture, though hand-made, were to be regarded as equivalent to the traditionally exalted intellectual arts of music and literature, notably poetry.10 One of the key agencies of this transformation was the great heritage of professional rivalry over the relative merits and difficulty — hence nobility — of painting versus sculpture, known as the Paragone, or comparison of the arts. It can hardly be coincidental that the earliest testimony to this debate in the context of portraiture comes from Leonardo, the inventor of the Paragone as a formal disputation on the arts: a drawing by Leonardo showing the same head in what might be described as the three ‘minimal’ positions, profile, three-quarter, and full-front (Fig. 3).11 The head is often identified as that of Leonardo’s patron Cesare Borgia, but there is no evidence that a sculptured portrait of Borgia was intended and the omission of the torso speaks against such a purpose. Leonardo’s drawing seems rather intended to demonstrate the possibility of representing simultaneously in two dimensions what the sculptor represents successively in three. In its most developed stage, however, the Paragone was not simply a matter of form, but also of color, that is, two-dimensional polychromy versus threedimensional monochomy. This issue underlies the earliest known example of a painted triple portrait — a goldsmith, by Lorenzo Lotto, now with three views united in a single composition (Fig. 4). There is no evidence that the Lotto was intended for a sculptured portrait; indeed, the nature of the poses (the inclusion of the lost profile and the omission of a frontal

The classic text on the subject remains that of Lee 1977. On Leonardo’s Paragone and its antecedents, see the recent edition by Farago 1992; on the Paragone in the sixteenth century, Mendelsohn 1982; on painting vs. sculpture in particular, Pepe 1968. On the Turin drawing, Pedretti 1975, 10 f. 10 11

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view),12 the change of gesture, the inclusion of the attribute of a box of rings, all seem to exclude that possibility. It is much more likely that the carefully varied redundancy was intended precisely to defy the suggestion of subservience to an other medium, and serve instead as a sophisticated salvo in the Paragone on behalf of painting. Then thought to be a work by Titian, the picture entered the collection of Charles I, where it was accessible to Van Dyck and in turn became the model for his triple portrait of the king intended for Bernini’s use (Fig. 5).13 Van Dyck evidently understood the Lotto in the Paragone tradition, since he now melds Leonardo’s three essential views into a single, composite portrait. The three views give the figure an effect of rotation, the change of gestures suggests motion and action, while the luscious coloring, different for each view, belies the picture’s purpose as a model for marble sculpture. Van Dyck’s reserved but splendid display of conceptual intelligence and pictorial bravura was not simply a model for, but the painted emulation of a sculptured bust; it was surely intended as a challenge to Bernini, which Bernini just as surely understood as such, and by which he was deeply affected.14 Subsequently, when asked to provide images of Henrietta Maria to serve Bernini for a portrait of the queen, Van Dyck seems to have started with a multiple portrait like that of the king, but instead provided three separate views, one frontal and two profiles (Figs. 6–8).15 The idea of creating a coherent, symmetrical, multifacial composition was abandoned in favor of self-sufficient images that could — unlike a sculpture — function independently and yet also be seen simultaneously. The change may have responded to the sculptor’s own predilection, based on the traditional method of carving sculptures by first inscribing the The triple portrait as a type has been studied by Keisch 1976, whose argument (p. 207), I follow on this point. Recently, and quite independently, Humphrey has also reached the conclusion that Lotto’s picture is not related to a sculptured portrait but a comment on the Paragone (Humphrey, 1997, 110 f., Brown, et al., 1977, 175–7). The significance of the differences in poses is evident from Bernini’s own description of Van Dyck’s picture, reported in Doc. 10: tre maniere di postura in profilo in faccia et un’altra partecipante d’ambidua quelle. 13 Millar 1963, 96 f. 14 This understanding of Van Dyck’s portrait was suggested by Wheelock in Wheelock, et al., 1990, 288 f. 15 The original project for a triple portrait emerged from the infrared photocopy of the profile view in Memphis, which showed at the right a portion of the frontal view, as reported in Wheelock, et al., 1990, 307–9. We know that three views were intended from a letter of November 27, 1637: The Queen ‘s’è lasciata depingere in quelle tre maniere che si desiderano per fare la testa compagna di quella de Re’ (Lightbown 1981), 472 n. 57). 12

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5. Anton van Dyck, triple portrait of Charles I. Windsor Castle.

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6. Anton van Dyck, Queen Henrietta Maria. Brooks Memorial Art Museum, Memphis, TN .

7. Anton van Dyck, Queen Henrietta Maria. Windsor Castle.

767

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8. Anton van Dyck, Queen Henrietta Maria. Windsor Castle.

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9. Bernini, Cardinal Richelieu. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

10. Philippe de Champaigne, triple portrait of Richelieu. National Gallery of Art, London.

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primary views separately on the faces of a rectangular block.16 In Henrietta’s case, also, the subtle shift from the full polychromy of the face to the pale white tonality of the torso, may relate to the Paragone theme. It is likely that Bernini’s work on the bust of Charles was in turn the direct inspiration for the third in the series of ‘Paragone portraits,’ that of Richelieu (Fig. 9). Van Dyck’s painting was sent to Rome soon after March 17, 1635, and the finished bust was shipped from Rome in April 1637.17 The Richelieu project may well have been conceived by Giulio Mazzarino (later Cardinal Mazarin), who until his departure for Paris, December 13, 1639, was in Rome while Bernini was working from Van Dyck’s painting. Hence Philippe de Champaigne’s triple portrait was explicitly linked to the same Paragone tradition, and also to Bernini’s creation of the ideal ruler image — in this case the cardinal-minister (Fig. 10).18 Champaigne, however, adopted the unprecedented alternative of flanking a three-quarter view by two profiles, thus specifically avoiding the sense of rotation in favor of the static symmetry of an iconic devotional image. The simultaneous appearance of opposing, flat views about an oblique center seems uncanny. The seminal role of Van Dyck was acknowledged by Mazarin’s wish (never realized) to replace the Champaigne prototype, which was deemed unsatisfactory, with portraits by Van Dyck himself to serve in the creation of an another, full-length sculptured image of the cardinal.19 Where Bernini most acutely felt the challenge of these pictures was in the domain of color — the first of the three desiderata Bernini defined. The Paragone with Van Dyck’s image evidently gave rise to Bernini’s famous disclaimer that the whiteness of marble made it virtually impossible to achieve a convincing likeness in that medium. The earliest record of the dictum is the anecdote in the diary of Nicholas Stone, a British sculptor who visited Bernini’s studio in Rome, for October 22, 1638: ‘How can itt than possible be that a marble picture can resemble the nature when itt is all one coulour, where to the contrary a man has on coulour in his face, another in his haire, a third in his lips;, and his eyes yett different from all the rest? Tharefore sayed (the Caualier

16 On Bernini’s drawings for portraits and caricatures, and the process of marble carving, see Lavin 1990, 24, 39 f., nn. 18, 19. 17 For the dates see Lightbown 1981, 442, 445. 18 The large literature on the Champaigne’s and Bernini’s Richelieu portraits may be reached though the important contributions of Gaborit 1977, and Laurain-Portemer 1985. 19 Laurain-Portemer 1985, 87.

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Bernine) I conclude that itt is the inpossible thinge in the world to make a picture in stone naturally to resemble any person.’ The circumstances of the observation are relevant. Bernini is speaking of his portrait of a visitor from England, Thomas Baker, which he made after that of Charles ‘because itt should goe into England, that thay might see the difference of doing a picture after the life or a painting.’ 20 In the succeeding passage Stone reports Bernini’s oath not to make such portraits, even if by the hand of Raphael (clearly a recognition of the beauty of Van Dyck’s painting), given in response to a request by the pope himself that he make a portrait after a painting ‘for some other prince’; this latter can only have been Richelieu.21 Bernini repeated the white-face analogy more than once to Paul Fréart de Chantelou, who kept a detailed diary of Bernini’s visit to Paris in the summer of 1665 to redesign the Louvre; and it was reported by Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini where it is used not as a defense, but to 20 On this portrait, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, see Wittkower 1981, 208. 21 ‘. . . after this he began to tell us here was an English gent: who wooed him a long time to make his effiges in marble, and after a great deale of intreaty and the promise of a large some of money he did gett of doing a picture after the life or a painting; so he began to imbost his physyognymy, and being finisht and ready to begin in marble, itt fell out that his patrone the Pope came to here of itt who sent Cardinall Barberine to forbid him; the gentleman was to come the next morning to sett, in the meane time he defaced the modell in diuers places, when the gentleman came he began to excuse himselfe that thaire had binn a mischaunce to the modell and yt he had no mind to goe forward with itt; so I (sayth he) I return’d him his earnest, and desired him to pardon me; then was the gent. uery much moued that he should haue such dealing, being he had come so often and had sett diuers times already; and for my part (sayth the Cauelier) I could not belye itt being commanded to the contrary; for the Pope would haue no other picture sent into England from his hand but his Mai ty; then he askt the youg man if he understood Italian well. Then he began to tell yt the Pope sent for him since the doing of the former head, and would haue him doe another picture in marble after a painting for some other prince. I told the Pope (says he) that if thaire were best picture done by the hand of Raphyell yett he would nett undertake to doe itt, for (sayes he) I told his Hollinesse that itt was impossible that a picture in marble could haue the semblance of a liuing man; then he askt againe if he understood Italian well; he answered the Cauelier, perfectly well. then sayth he, ‘I told his Holinesse that if he went into the next rome and whyted all his face ouer and his eyes, if possible were, and come forth againe nott being a whit leaner nor lesse beard, only the chaunging of his colour, no man would know you; for doe not wee see yt when a man is affrighted thare comes a pallness on the sudden? Presently wee say he likes nott the same man. How can itt than possible be that a marble picture can resemble the nature when itt is all one coulour, where to the contrary a man has on coulour in his face, another in his hair, a third in his lipps, and his eyes yett different from all the rest? Tharefore

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emphasize the greater difficulty of sculpture compared with painting.22 Given Bernini’s preoccupation with the problem of representing skin tones in marble, to which he alluded in his letter to Duke Francesco, the Paragone surely also played a role in his conception of the challenge he sought to meet in his portraits based on paintings.23 The idea for a comparable portrait of Francesco d’Este may have arisen directly from that of Richelieu, since the sayd (the Cauelier Bernine) I conclude that itt is the inpossible thinge in the world to make a picture in stone naturally to semble any person’. (Stone 1919, 170–1.) The story is also told by Vertue: ‘The Cavalier told this Author. that it was imossible to make a bust in Marble. truly like. & to demonstrate it he ordered a person to come in. and afterwards, haveing flower’d his face all over white. ask’d Stone if ever he had seen that face before. he answered no. by which he ment to demonstrate. that the colour of the face. hair. beard. eyes. lipp. &c. are the greatest part of likeness. (Vertue 1929–30, 19 f.) 22 ‘En parlant de la sculpture et de la difficulté qu’il y a de réussir, particulièrement dans les portraits de marbre et d’y metre la ressemblance, il m’a dit une chose remarquable et qu’il a depuis répétée à toute occasion: c’est que si quelqu’un se blanchissait les cheveux, la barbe, les sourcils et, si cela se pouvait, la prunelle des yeux, et les lévres, et se présentait en cet état à ceux mêmes qui le voient tous les jours, qu’ils auraient peine à le reconnaître; et pour preuve de cela, il a ajouté : Quand une personne tombe en pâmoison, la seule pâleur qui se répand sur son visage fait qu’on ne le connoit presque plus, et qu’on dit souvent: Non parea piu desso’; qu’ainsi il est très-difficile de faire ressembler un portrait de marbre, lequel est tout d’une couleur’. Chantelou 1885, 18 (June 6); cf. 1885, 94 (August 12); ‘. . . esser però nel far somigliare in scultura una certa maggior difficoltà, che non nella pittura, mostrando esperienza, che l’uomo, che s’imbianca il viso non somiglia a se stesso eppure la scultura in bianco marmo arriva a farlo somigliante’ Baldinucci 1948, 146’ ‘. . . la Pittura può . . . con la varietà, e vivacità de‘ colri più facilmnte accostarsi alla effigie del rappresentato, e far bianco ciò che’è bianco, rosso ciò ch’è rosso; Ma la Scultura priva del commodo de’ colori, necessitata ad operar nel sasso, hà di mestiere per rendere somiglianti le figure di una impressione vivissima, mà schietta, senza l’appoggio di mendicati colori, e colla forza solo del Disegno ritrarre in bianco marmo un volto per altro vermiglio, e renderlo simile; Ciò che non riuscirebbe, conforme mostra l’esperienza, in un huomo, che inbiancandosi il viso, benche habbia le medesime fattezze, rimanesse simile a se, e pur bisogna, che lo Scultore ne procuri la somiglianza sul bianco marmo’. Bernini 1713, 29 f. 23 Doc. 43. ‘Il a dit autre chose plus extraordinaire encore: c’est que, quelquefois, dans un portrait de marbre, il faut, pour bien imiter le naturel, faire ce qui n’est pas dans le naturel. Il semble que ce soit un paradoxe, mais il s’en est expliqué ainsi: Pour représenter le livide que quelques-uns ont autour des yeux, il faut creuser dans le marbre l’endroit où est ce livide, pour représnter l’effet de cette couleur et suppléer par cet art, pour ainsi dire, au défaut de l’art de la sculpture, qui ne peut donner la couleur aux choses’. Chantelou 1885, 18 (June 6). It is interesting in this connection that Bernini perceived the aging of marble as an approximation to the color of flesh: ‘le marbre, neuf ou dix ans après avoir été travaillé, acquiert je ne sais quelle douceur et devient enfine couleur de chair’. Chantelou 1885, 94 (August 12).

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Modenese agent in Rome gave the Duke a wide-eyed report of the spectacular gift the artist received for his efforts;24 and memory of the royal commission was still an important factor years later in the discussions concerning Francesco’s portrait.25 While it is wholly characteristic that Bernini should be preoccupied by the representation of color in marble sculpture, the dilemma is inherent in the medium, and color is in fact only one of the qualities to which Bernini refers when in his letter to the Duke he calls the feat he accomplished in the bust ‘quasi impossibile.’26 The unique problem here lay not so much in the material as in extrapolating a likeness from only painted models, never having seen ‘the natural,’ as Bernini says. After the experience of Charles I he had sworn never again to hazard such a task.27 In the case of Francesco d’Este the problem was compounded by the fact that Bernini actually had before him in working the portrait only two profile views; delivery of the frontal view he urgently requested was delayed, and in the end he had to make do with the side views and simple measurements of the Duke’s height See the letter of February 22, 1642, in Freaschetti 1900, 112 n. 2: ‘Per la Città si è saputo che il Cardinale di Richeliù ha donato un gioiello superbissimo al Cavalier Bernino, et che il Cardinal Mazarino l’ha regalato nobilissimamente per la statua che di sua mano ha fatto al primo: onde mille sono gli Encomij che si fanno sopra la Generosità di ambidue’. The gift was mentioned by Bernini 1713, 68: ‘Gradì quel Principle [Richelieu] in modo tale il Ritratto che ne dimostrò il gradimento col dono di un Giojelo, che mandò al Cavaliere di trentatrè Diamanti, fra’ quali ve n’erano sette di quattordici grani l’uno di peso. Al Balsimelli fè dare per mancia otto cento scudi’. The jewel is evidently one with a portrait of Richelieu listed among Bernini’s notable remunerations, valued at 8000 scudi (see n. 50 below); it is among the many listed in the inventory of Bernini’s possessions: ‘. . . un gioiello con il ritratto di Re di Francia circondato da tredici diamanti grossi quanto un cecio, tondi lavorati a faccette e numero novantasei diamanti tra piccoli e mezzani’. Borsi et al. 1981, 113. 25 Docs. 10, 20, 35. 26 See our epigraph Doc. 43. Cardinal rinaldo had used the phrase ‘quasi impossibile’ in the same context, doubtless repeating what he had heard from Bernini’s comments to Nicholas Stone in 1638, cited in n. 21 above. 27 Bernini’s oath was reported by Stone (n. 21 above) and is also mentioned in the correspondence concerning the bust of Francesco, Docs. 10, 38. In the end, Bernini was reluctant to do portraits at all, and cited Michelangelo as precedent: ‘Il a repété le difficulté qu’il y a à faire un portrait de marbre . . . Il a dit que MichelAnge n’en avait jamais voulu faire. . . . Il a dit ensuite à ces Messieurs la peine où il était toutes les fois qu’il était obligé de faire un portrait; qu’il y avait déjà du temps qu’il avait resolu dans son esprit de n’en plus faire, mais que le Roi lui ayant fait l’honneur de lui demander le sien, il n’avait pas pu refuser un si grand prince . . .’ Chantelou 1885, 94 (August 12); cf. Chantelou 1885, 111 (August 21). 24

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and shoulder width.28 Of course, he was obviously proud of what he did accomplish, and his protestations of difficulty were certainly intended to augment the appreciation of the result. Yet the sense of inadequacy, even failure, evident in Bernini’s complaint is certainly also genuine — indeed, pathetic, considering that portraiture was, after all, a specialty of his, to say the least. His aptitude for creating likenesses was the basis of his phenomenal reputation as a child prodigy, and contributed largely to the international renown he enjoyed throughout his career.29 The source of Bernini’s ruefulness about an artistic genre for which he himself was responsible lay rather in the other qualities mentioned in his letter to Francesco: ‘spirit’ and ‘life.’ And his frustration in these respects was a fatal by-product of the way he understood the art of portraiture. Remarkable insights respecting this last point arise almost incidentally from the Duke’s original indecision whether to commission the work from Bernini or his great rival, especially in the domain of portraiture, Alessandro Algardi. The documents recording the negotiations also provide an extraordinary opportunity to compare and contrast the modi operandi of these two giants of Italian Baroque sculpture. The Duke’s brother, Cardinal Rinaldo, writing from Rome on July 16, 1650, reported: ‘Il Cav.re Algardi scultore si fà pagare i ritratti di marmo intendendo di busto, ò mezza figura centocinquanta scudi l’uno, oltre il marmo, che segli dà, ò segli paga. ne daria uno compito per tutto il mese pross.o d’Agosto quando dovesse farlo, e potrà cavar, e formar il luto dalla Pittura, e lo perfezionarà in presenza di chi dovrà sodisfarli, per farlo poi più esattam.te in marmo. Hà due altre persone sotto di sé di condiz.e inferiore nel mestiere da’ quali s haverebbe l’opra per la metà del sud.o prezo e forse meno.’ 30 In modest, businesslike fashion, in a simple, straightforward reply, Algardi offered a fixed time schedule and a fixed price of 150 scudi. He even offered to have the work executed by his assistants, at half the cost or less. Not so Bernini, who refused to commit himself on either time or compensation, emphasizing the great difficulty in executing portraits under such circumstances.31 To offer less than the best, 28 The frontal view is mentioned in Docs. 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 20, 69, 73; the shoulder measurements in Docs. 20, 21. 29 On the early portraiture of Bernini, see Lavin 1968. 30 Doc. 5. On this episode, see also the discussion by Montagu 1985, I, 157–62. 31 On time and compensation, see p. 779 and n. 47 below. On the difficulty, Docs. 10, 14, 20, 38, 42, 43. On ‘difficoltà’ as a norm of artistic achievement in the Renaissance, see Summers 1981, 177–85.

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and treat the D’Este Duke as if he were bargain hunting would have been beneath both their dignities. Ironically, in his reply of July 22, the Duke suggested a ‘gift’ of 100 doubloons to Bernini (worth 200 scudi), while expressing his ‘indifference’ as to whether Bernini or Algardi made his portrait.32 In the end, because he wished himself to be seen in a class with the leading monarchs of his time, Francesco was happy to pay Bernini 3000 scudi for what he might have obtained from Algardi for 150 scudi and the price of the marble! We shall consider the significance of Bernini’s attitude presently. The important point here concerns the nature of the difficulty of executing a portrait from painted prototypes alone, which seems to have presented no extraordinary obstacle to Algardi,33 but which Bernini found intimidating to the point of defeat. The real reason for which he considered the task quasi impossible and for which he could never be fully satisfied with the result, lay elsewhere than in the matter of achieving likeness in the traditional and normal sense of that term. The problem arose inevitably from the fundamental principles of what might be called Bernini’s ‘psycho-philosophy’ of portraiture, and his method of creating portraits, as these may be gathered from his letters, his various statements reported by his biographers, and especially from the detailed account that has come down to us of his work on the bust of a monarch, the last in the concatenated series of Bernini’s secular ruler portraits to whom he did have ready and frequent access, Louis XIV (p. 923, Fig. 2).34 Chantelou records that the king ‘sat’ for the artist on no less than seventeen occasions, five for drawing the subject and twelve for working the marble.35 From this wealth of direct testimony concerning the artist’s working methods — which is itself unprecedented in the history of art — it is clear, first of all, that the notion of likeness had for Bernini a very singular meaning.36 Bernini did not conceive of the sitter as a ‘sitter’ at all. He insisted on ‘sopping up’ the character and personality of the subject by sketching him end-

Doc. 6. On this point, see also Tratz 1988, 466. 34 Bernini’s earlier portraits of ‘royal heroes’ (for which concept, see Lavin 1998, 33–52) were specifically recalled in one of the poems on the bust of Louis (Chantelou 1885, 100, August 16). 35 See Chantelou 1985, 38, n. 116. 36 For what follows, Wittkower’s splendid study (1951) remains an inspiration. 32 33

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lessly in action — moving, working, playing tennis, conversing37 — because one is never more like oneself than at those moments;38 he preferred to represent the subject as he started or finished speaking (the exquisitely subtle psychological discrimination is paradoxical, since it focuses on the inher37 See the descriptions cited in the next note. Bernini himself described the purpose of the sketches: Le Cavalier . . . a besoin à présent de voir le Roi pour le particulier du visage de Sa Majesté, n’ayant jusques ici travaillé qu’au général; durant quoi il n’a même presque pas regardé ses dessins, qu’aussi ne les avait-il faits que pour s’imprimer plus particulièrement l’image du Roi dans l’esprit et faire qu’elle y demeurât insuppata et rinvenuta, pour se servir de ses propres termes; qu’autrement, s’il avait travaillé d’après sesdessins, au lieu d’in original il ne ferait qu’une copie; que même, s’il lui fallait copier le buste lorsqu’il l’aura achevé, il ne lui serait pas possible de le faire tout semblable; que la noblesse de l’idée n’y serait plus à cause de la servitude de l’imitation . . . (Chantelou 1885, 75, July 30). The point Bernini makes here about not repeating himself even in deliberate copies of the same bust was based on no less than three instances in which replacements were required by imperfections in the marble: Scipione Borghese, Urban VIII, Innocent X (see Johnston et al. 1986, No. 14; Wittkower 1981, 221 f.). In each case, the second versions show subtle but significant changes. No doubt because of the time limitations, to provide for just such an eventuality, as Domenico Bernini reports, Bernini at the outset ordered two blocks to be prepared for the bust of Louis. The time factor is mentioned in a letter of June 5 by Matteo de’Rossi (Mirot 1904, 207) and on June 11 by Chantelou (1885, 30). On the two blocks of marble, see Chantelou 1885, 40 f., June 30, and Bernini 1713, 135. Given Bernini’s repeated emphasis on the limitations of marble portraiture, especially with respect to colour, it will be seen that more than flattery lay behind Bernini’s remarks in the famous exchange between the artist and the King on one such occasion, reported by Chantelou: ‘. . . il a dessiné d’après le Roi, sans que S. M. ait été assujettie de demeurer en une place. Le Cavalier prenait son temps au mieux qu’il pouvait; aussi disait-il de temps à autre, quand le Roi le regardait: ‘Sto rubando’. Une foi le Roi lui repartit, et en italien même: Si, ma è per restituire. Il répliqua lors à Sa Majesté: Però per restituire meno del rubato’. (1885, 40, June 28.) 38 Diceva egli che nel ritrarre alcuno al naturale consisteva il tutto in saper conoscere quella qualità, che ciascheduno ha di proprio, e che non ha la natura dato ad altri che a lui, ma che bisognava pigliare qualche particolarità non brutta, ma bella. A quest’effetto tenne un costume dal comune modo assai diverso, e fu: che nel ritrarre alcuno non voleva ch’egli stesse fermo, ma ch’e’ si si movesse, e ch’e’ parlasse, perché, in tal lmodo, diceva egli, ch’e’ vedeva tutto il suo bellow e lo contrafaceva com’egli era: asserendo, che nello starsi al naturale immobilmente fermo, egli non è mai tanto simile a se stesso, quanto egli è nel moto, in cui quelle qualità consistono, che sono tutte sue e non d’altri e che danno la comiglanza al ritratto; ma l’intero conoscer ciò (dico io) non è giuoco da fanciulli. (Baldinucci 1948, 144.) Tenne un costume il Cavaliere, ben dal commune modo assai diverso, nel ritrarre altrui ò nel Marmo, ò nel disegno: Non voleva che il figurato stasse fermo, mà ch’ei colla sua solita naturalezza si movesse, e parlasse, perche in tal modo, diceva, ch’ei vedeva tutto il suo bello, e’l contrafaceva, com’egli era, asserendo, che nello starsi al naturale immobilmente fermo, egli non è mai tanto simile a sè stesso, quanto è nel moto, in cui consistono tutte quelle qualità, che sono sue, e non di altri, e che danno la somiglianza al Ritratto. (Bernini 1713, 133 f.)

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ently unselfconscious phases of what is, after all, the rhetorical act par excellence, speaking).39 Algardi felt able to satisfy his patron (and himself ) by preparing the sculpture from the painted models, and finishing it in the presence and to the satisfaction of whoever was responsible for the work. Such a procedure could never have satisfied Bernini, since only from the living model could he could observe and reproduce, not only the subject’s features but also, and especially, his characteristic expression and movement — in a word, his spirit and life. A corollary of this definition and mode of creating a likeness was the equally unorthodox way Bernini put the final touches on the bust of Louis. To the amazement of those who witnessed the process, he deliberately discarded the preparatory studies and models he had so laboriously produced, and completed the work not from memory but directly from the living model, in the presence of the king in person — otherwise, he said, he would be copying himself, not Louis XIV.40 The central point, however, central also in Bernini’s list of the three 39 Le Cavalier, continuant de travailler à la bouche, a dit que, pour réussir dans un portrait, il faut prendre un acte et tâcher à le bien représenter; que la plus beau temps qu’on puisse choisir pour la bouche est quand on vient de parler ou qu’on va prendre la parole; qu’il cherche à attraper ce moment. (Chantelou 1885, 133, September 4.) On the notion of the ‘speaking likeness’, see important paper by Harris 1992. 40 See the passages in Chantelou cited in n. 34 above and n. 39 below. The procedure is described by the biographers: ‘Per fare il ritratto della maestà del re di Francia, egli ne fece prima alquanti modelli; nel metter poi mano all’opera, alla presenza del re tutti se gli tolse d’attorno e a quel monarca che ammirando quel fatto, gli domandò la cagione del non volersi valere delle sue fattiche, rispose che i modelli gli erano serviti per introdurre nella fantasia le fattezze di chi egli dovea ritrarre, ma quando già le aveva concepite e dovea dar fuori il parto, non gli erano più necessari, anzi dannosi al suo fine, che era di darlo fuori non simile a’modelli, ma al vero’. (Baldinucci 1948, 144); ‘In oltre fù suo costantissimo proposito in somiglianti materie, far prima molti disegni, e molti della figura, ch’egli dovea rappresentare, mà quando poi nel Marmo metteva mano all’opera, tutti se li toglieva d’attorno, come se a nulla gli servissero: E richiesto dal Rè, che prese maraviglia di questo fatto con domandargliene la cagione, del non volersi valere delle sue istesse fatiche, rispose, che i Modelli gli erano serviti per introdurre nella fantasia le fattezze di chì egli doveva ritrarre, mà quando già le haveva concepite, e doveva dar fuori il parto, non gli erano più necessarii, anzi dannosi al suo fine, che era di darlo fuori, non simile alli Modelli, mà al Vero’. (Bernini 1713, 134.) See also the report of Bernini’s enemy in Paris, Charles Perrault: Il travailla d’abord sur le marbre, et ne fit point de modèle de terre, comme les autres sculpteurs ont accoutumé de faire, il se contenta de dessiner en pastel deux ou trois profils du visage du Roi, non point, à ce qu’il disoit, pour les copier dans son buste, mais seulement pour rafraîchir son idée de temps en temps, ajoutant qu’il n’avoit garde de copier son pastel, parce qu’alors son buste n’auroit été qu’une copie, qui de sa nature est toujours moindre que son original. (Perrault 1909, 61 f.)

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essential qualities he sought in his portraits, lay beyond even the creation of a ‘living’ likeness. The point is already evident in another, complementary peculiarity of Bernini’s portrait-working procedure: at the very outset, even before working on the likeness, he sketched in clay the ‘action’ he intended to give the bust;41 he began, that is, with a concept, which he continued to develop in the model, while studying the details of the king’s features in life drawings. And this ‘idea’ of the subject is what preoccupied him when he put aside the drawings to work on the marble. Bernini himself defined the point in the explanation he gave of the relationship between his way of working on a portrait and the meaning he wanted it to convey. The statement occurs in a passage where Bernini explains to Colbert the rapid progress he was presently making in carving the bust of Louis XIV: ‘until now he had worked entirely from his imagination, looking only rarely at his drawings; he had searched chiefly within, he said, tapping his forehead, where there existed the idea of His Majesty; had he done otherwise his work would have been a copy instead of an original. This method of his was extremely difficult, and the King, in ordering a portrait, could not have asked anything harder; he was striving to make it less bad than the others that he had done; in this kind of head one must bring out the qualities of a hero as well as make a good likeness.’42 Here it is clear that the ultimate difficulty lay in Bernini’s ultimate goal, to realize his own idea of the monarch — his ‘spirit’ — by capturing the King’s heroic qualities while recording Louis’s likeness, as Bernini understood that notion. For Bernini a portrait was a preternatural thing, a composite counterfeit of an idea and of vitality 41 ‘. . . il a demandé de la terre afine de faire des ébauches de l’action qu’il pourrait donner au buste, en attendant qu’il travaillât à la ressemblance’. Chantelou 1885, 30, June 11. On the point see Wittkower 1951, 6. Giulio Mancini in the early seventeenth century made the fundamental distinction btween the ‘ritratto semplice’, that of pure imitation, and the ‘ritratto dell’attion et affetto’ (Mancini 1956–7, I, 115 f.; see the perspicacious note by Bauer in Chantelou 1985, 85 f., n. 154). 42 M. Colbert Lui a témoigné être étonneé combien l’ouvrage étâit avancé, et qu’il le trouvait si ressemblant qu’il ne jugewait pas qu’il fût besoin qu’il travaillât à Saint-Germain. Le Cavalier a reparti qu’il y avait toujours à faire à qui voulait faire bien; que jusqi’ici il avait presque toujours travaillé d’imagination, et qu’il n’avait regardé que rarement les dessins qu’il a; qu’il ne regardait principalement que là dedans, montrant son front, où il a dit qu’était.) l’idée de Sa Majesté; que autrement il n’aurait fait qu’une copie au lieu d’un original, mais que cela lui donnait une peine extrême et que le roi, lui demandant son portrait, ne pouvait pas lui commander rien de plus pénible: qu’il tâcherait que ce fût le moins mauvais de tous ceux qu’il aura faits; que, dans ces sortes de portraits, il faut, outre la ressemblance, y mettre ce qui doit être dans des têtes de héros’. (Chantelou 1885, 72 g., July 29.)

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itself. For this reason, above all, to carve a marble portrait of a living subject without seeing him in action was for Bernini not only difficult, but ‘quasi impossible’; and, after the bust of Francesco, he kept his vow never to do so again. The second, ‘sociological’ point I want to consider concerns Bernini’s attitude toward the D’Este commission. It is very clear that Bernini was not anxious to undertake the portrait, and there may have been other reasons than the difficulty of the task. Francesco I was, after all, not as important as Charles I or Richelieu. There may also have been a political factor. Francesco I was closely tied to France, most conspicuously in his capacity as commander of the French troops in Italy. Bernini had been intimately associated with Urban VIII Barberini, who had also been a partisan of France. When Urban VIII was succeeded by Innocent X Pamphili, the arch-enemy of both the Barberini and the French, Bernini fell from favor and had only recently redeemed himself with his invention for the Innocent’s pet project for the fountain in the Piazza Navona, where the pope was building his new family palace. Perhaps Bernini felt it unwise to work too closely with the French faction. Even so, Bernini’s dealings with his noble patron must have seemed even more remarkable then than they do today. He was so occupied with other projects, notably the Piazza Navona fountain that he had no time;43 he was so busy that it was difficult to reach him;44 he worked only for friends and important patrons; he had to be frequently coaxed and reminded, and sufficiently remunerated; he would never discuss time or money,45 and specific terms only emerged indirectly, in relation to payments and honoraria he had received from other grand patrons: 3000 scudi from Innocent X for the Piazza Navona fountain,46 a diamond ring worth 6000 scudi from Charles I for his bust of the king.47 All this reflects the attitude, and acumen, of the most successful and sought after image-maker of the day. But the attitude involved much more than finances. The social status of the artist was involved. In so many words,

Docs. 9, 25. Doc. 23. 45 Doc. 4. 46 Doc. 32, 40, 41, 68, 69. 47 Doc. 20 and n. 50 below. Other sources put the value at 4000 scudi (Lightbown 1981, 447 ff., who also compares the costs of other works by Bernini, e.g., 1000 scudi for the portrait of Scipione Borghese). 43 44

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Bernini was said to ‘act independent’ (opera da sé)48 — and I suspect this was precisely the point. Bernini’s attitude must indeed have seemed arrogant, especially for an artist; but for this very reason it signified that he belonged, and clearly thought of himself as belonging, in a long tradition reaching back to antiquity and including in his own time the likes of Velasquez and Rubens, of artists who sought to rise above the condition of servile artisan to the level of an aristocracy of the spirit, a meritocracy of the intellect and creativity. Nobility was not paid wages, and the proper, indeed only, form of recognition among the aristocracy was the gift. It is symptomatic in this context that throughout the correspondence the consideration for Bernini is exclusively referred to as a ‘gift’ (regalo), never as a payment or a fee.49 The distinction is clear from the fact that for all three princely busts (Charles I, Richelieu, Francesco I) Bernini received, or was offered in the case of Francesco, gifts, whereas the messengers who delivered the sculptures were given ‘tips.’50 The phraseology was significant when Francesco’s agent in Rome reported that Mazarin had ‘regalato nobilissimamente.’ 51 Francesco resorted to a delicate subterfuge in deference to this principle of social dis‘questo opera da sé, et vi vuole destrezza nel sollecitarlo’ (Doc. 23). See the documents cited in n. 46 above; also Doc. 37. On the significance of the gift as remuneration, see the section on ‘Old and New Ways of Evaluating Works of Art’ in Wittkower, R. and M., 1963, 22–25, and recently Warwick 1997, 632 f. The Wittkowers tended to see the gift in relation to the earlier, craft tradition of barter and payment in kind, rather than in the tradition of noble courtesy. The main difference is that in the former case the goods were generally of a practical nature, whereas in the latter they were conspicuously luxury items. On the ‘Nobility of the artist’s profession’ and related factors, see the Wittkowers’s chapter ‘Between Famine and Fame’, 253–80. In one instance Bernini himself uses the phrase ‘mi fà pagare’ (Doc. 76). 50 The gifts for the portraits are mentioned in a list of some of Bernini’s notable remunerations, among the Bernini papers in the Bibliothèque National in Paris: Aclune remunerazioni haute dal cav.re Bernino Per il ritratto del Rè Carlo 2.o d’Inghilterra un’diamante che portava in ditto, di valore di sei mila scudi Per il ritratto del Card.le Richelieù una gioia di quattro mila scudi Per il ritratto del Duca Fran.co di Modena tre mila scudi in tanti Argenti B.N. ms ital 2084, fol. 126 r. Domenico Bernini mentions the generous ‘mancia’ given to the assistants who accompanied to their destinations the busts of Charles I, ‘. . . si cavò dal dito un Diamante di sei mila scudi di valore, e consegnatelo a Bonifazio disse, . . ..; in oltre mandò al Cavaliere copiosi regali di preziosissimi panni, & a Bonifazio fè donare per mancia mille scudi’ (Bernini 1713, 65 f.), and Richelieu (see n. 24 above). 51 See n. 24 above. 48 49

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tinction, instructing his emissary to tell Bernini that the Duke had sent 3000 scudi in order to purchase a suitable gift, but that the artist might take the money, if he preferred.52 Bernini opted for the cash, because he was ‘already sufficiently provided with jewels and silver’!53 People, including Bernini, were saying that the size of the consideration, being equal to the generosity of Innocent X for the Piazza Navona fountain, risked putting even the pope to shame.54 Bernini described the value of the gift as the mark of the ‘more than regal’ generosity of the House of Este.55 It is important to understand that the idea and value of a ‘princely’ reward worked both ways: the report that he had outclassed the pope was certainly intended to flatter Francesco, who had himself remarked that by making Bernini happy he would affirm his own status as a patron: ‘col far restar contento il Bernino penso di conservarmi il credito di stimar la virtù et i virtuosi’.56 The credit Francesco earned by this grand gesture of magnanimity contributed to the ‘reputation’ that contemporary political theory required of the virtuousruler.57 For Bernini, indeed, the idea of a meritocracy also worked both ways, as when years later he told Louis XIV he admired the king more for his virtù than for his noble birth (see Lavin, 1998, 47). From a formal point of view the series inaugurates a new phase in the history of European art. Two portraits of Charles I, very different from one another, have good claim to reflect Bernini’s bust, which was lost in the famous fire of Whitehall in 1698. Most frequently cited are a bust shown in an engraving attributed to Robert Van Voerst and, with a different pedestal, a sculpture attributed to Thomas Adey (Figs. 12, 13). A strong argument against this work being a true copy after Bernini’s sculpture is that everything about the image, including the pedestal shown in the engraving, coincides with the conventional bust-type of Charles I developed by François Dieussart before Bernini’s sculpture arrived in England58 — everyThe Duke conceived the plot when he discovered that the German silver credenza he had thought to acquire was exorbitant and not worth the price: Doc. 30. The 3000 scudi for Bernini are mentioned in Docs. 66, 77, 79. Cf. also Docs. 86, 87, 88. 53 Doc. 69. On Bernini’s collection of jewels see n. 24 above. 54 Doc. 68. 55 Doc. 76. 56 Doc. 18; see also Doc. 85. 57 On reputation see Lavin 1998, 35, 37. 58 The engraving and the Windsor bust were first related to Bernini’s lost portrait, respectively by Cust 1908–9, and Esdaile 1938, 1949. The counterargument, based on the earlier busts by Dieussart, was made by Vickers 1978. 52

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11. Attributed to Robert van Voerst, Charles I, engraving. British Museum, London.

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13. Louis-François Roubiliac (?), Charles I, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London.

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thing, that is, except for one feature, the sideward and upward thrust of the head — the theme of the divinely inspired monarch which thereafter became one of the signal features of Bernini’s ruler portraits. On the other hand, there are strong reasons to find a reflection of Bernini’s bust in a terracotta portrait of Charles attributed to Roubiliac, notably the fact that, unlike other busts of the King, this one includes both the order of St. George as a pendant at the breast and the Star emblazoned on the cloak over the heart — as in Van Dyck’s portrait (Fig. 13);59 and the fact that the lower torso is enveloped by the drapery in such as way as to ‘dissimulate’ the amputated edges — an idiosyncratic illusionistic device that Bernini also developed into a buoyant vehicle of apotheosis. In any case, it seems clear that Bernini departed from Van Dyck’s model in three essential ways, by showing the king in armor, by changing the disposition of the head, and by treating the drapery as a metaphorical adjunct of the bust form. If we imagine the figure of the king heroicized by the military costume, the head’s psychological expression of lofty inspiration, and the uncanny, ‘floating’ effect of the torso, we shall have some sense of what must indeed have seemed a revolutionary and ideal way of portraying a Christian head of state. Even the bust of Cardinal Richelieu, as quasi-head of state, has an exalted, regal bearing that does not appear in Philippe de Champaigne’s portrait, and has no counterpart in Bernini’s busts of other ecclesiastics, including the popes.60 All these considerations lay behind the portrait of Francesco I, so that, mirabile dictu, the very factors that made the bust an ‘impresa quasi impossibile’ also made it the herald of a new epoch in the history of European culture.

See Vickers 1978. On the ancient precedents for this theme see L’Orange 1982; in relation to Bernini, Lavin 1993, pp. 161 ff., and Lavin, 1998, 41f. In Bernini’s work the type had its nearest analogy in images of religious inspiration expressed in such portrayals as those of Roberto Bellarmino, suor Maria Raggi, and Gabrielle Fonseca. It is important to note, however, that with the exception of Richelieu, Bernini never used this type for his portraits of living ecclesiastics, including popes (for whom humility was the key), but returned to it at the end of his life for his ‘portrait’ of the Salvator Mundi (for which, in relation to the tradition of portrait-bust apotheosis, see Lavin 1972, 177–84). 59 60

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Bibliography Avery, C., Bernini. Genius of the Baroque, Boston, etc., 1997. Baldinucci, F., Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682; ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948. Bentini, J., and P. Curti, eds., Arredi, suppellettili e ‘pitture famose’: degli Estensi. Inventari 1663, Modena, 1993. Berger, Robert W., In the Garden of the Sun King. Studies on the Park of Versailles under Louis XIV, Washington, DC, 1985. Bernini, D., Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713. Bireley, R., The Counter-Reformation Prince, Raleigh, N.C., 1990 Borsi, F., et al., Gianlorenzo Bernini. Il testamento la casa la raccolta dei beni, Florence, 1981. Brown, C., Van Dyck, Oxford, 1982. Brown, D. A., et al., Lorenzo Lotto. Rediscovered Master of the Renaissance, exhib. cat., New Haven and London, 1997. Chantelou, P. Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed., L. Lalanne, Paris, 1885. ––– Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France, edited and with an introduction by Anthony Blunt, annotated by George C. Bauer, translated by Margery Corbett, Princeton, 1985. Cust, L., ‘Notes on Pictures in the Royal Collections. The Triple Portrait of Charles I by Van Dyck and the Bust of Bernini’, The Burlington Magazine, XIV, 1908–9, 337–40. Esdaile, K. A., ‘Two Busts of Charles I and William III’, The Burlington Magazine, LXXII, 1938, 164–71. ––– ‘The busts and Statues of Charles I’, The Burlington Magazine, XCI, 1949, 9–15. Farago, C. J., Leonardo da Vinci’s Paragone. A Critical Interpretation with a New Edition of the Text in the Codex Urbinas, Leiden, etc., 1992. Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milano,

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1900. Gaborit, J.-R., ‘Le Bernin, Mocchi et le Buste de Richeliu du Musée du Louvre. Un Probleme d’attribution’, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de l’Art Francais, 1977, 85–91. Gould, C., Bernini in France. An Episode in Seventeenth-Century History, Princeton, 1982. Harris, A. S., ‘Vouet, le Bernin, et la “ressemblance parlante” ’, Rencontres de l’École du Louvre, 1992, 192–206. Humphrey, P., Lorenzo Lotto, New Haven and London, 1997. Johnston, C., et. al., Vatican Splendour: Masterpieces of Baroque Art, exhib. cat., Ottawa, 1986. Keisch, C., ‘Portraits in mehrfacher Ansicht. Überlieferung und Sinnwandel einer Bildidee’, Staaliche Museen zu Berlin. Forschungen und Berichte XVII, 1976, 205–39. Larsen, E., The paintings of Anthony Van Dyck, 2 Vols., Düsseldorf, 1988. Laurain-Portemer, M., ‘La Politique Artistique de Mazarin’, in Il Cardinale Mazzarino in Francia: colloquio italo-francese (Accademia nazionale dei Lincei, Atti dei convegni lincei 35), Rome, 1977, 41–76 (reprinted in her Études mazarines, Paris, 1981, 177–235). ––– ‘Fortuna e sfortuna di Bernini nella Francia di Mazzarino’, Bernini e l’unità delle arti visive, Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, Rome, 1985, 113–29. Lavin, I., ‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works’, The Art Bulletin, L, 1968, 223–48. ––– ‘Bernini’s Death’, The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86. ––– ‘High and Low Before their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire’, in K. Varnadoe and A. Gopnik, eds., Modern Art and Popular Culture. Readings in High & Low, New York, 1990, 18–50. ––– Past–Present. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso, Berkeley, CA, 1993. ––– Bernini e l’immagine de principe cristiano ideale, Modena, 1998. Lee, Rensselaer W., Name on Trees: Ariosto into Art, Princeton, 1977. Lightbown, R. W., ‘Bernini’s Busts of English Patrons’, in M. Barasch and L. F. Sandler, eds., Art the Ape of Nature, Studies in Honor of H. W. Janson, ed., New York, 1981, 439–76. L’Orange, H. P., Apotheosis in Ancient Portraiture, New Rochelle, N.Y., 1982. Mancini, G., Considerazioni sulla pittura, eds. A. Marucchi and L. Salerno, 2 Vols. Rome, 1956–7. Mendelsohn, L., Paragoni. Benedetton Varchi’s ‘Due Lezzioni’ and

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Cinquecento Art Theory, Ann Arbor, Mich., 1982. Millar, O., The Tudor, Stuart and Early Georgian Pictures in the Collection of Her Majesty the Queen, London, 1963, 96 f. ––– Van Dyck in England, exhib. cat., London, 1982. Mirot, L., ‘Le Bernin en France. Les travaux du Louvre et les statues de Louis XIV’, Mémoires de la sociéte de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Ile de France, 1904, 161–288. Pedretti, C., Disegni di Leonardo da Vinci e della sua scuola alla biblioteca reale di Torino, Florence, 1975. Pepe, M., ‘Il paragone tra pittura e scultura nella letteratura artistica rinascimentale, Cultura e scuola, XXX, 1968, pp. 120–31. Perrault, C., Mémoires de ma vie (1702); voyage a Bordeaux (1669), ed., Paul Bonnefon, Paris, 1909. Raatschen, G., ‘Plaster casts of Bernini’s busts of Charles I’, The Burlington Magazine, XCCCVIII, 1996, 613–816.* Stone, N., ‘The Note-Book and Account Book of Nicholas Stone’, (ca. 1640), transcribed and annotated by Walter L. Spiers, Walpole Society, VII, 1919. Summers, D., Michelangelo and the Language of Art, Princeton, 1981. Tratz, Helga, ‘Werkstatt und Arbeitsweise Berninis’, Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XXIII/XXIV, 397–485.* Vertue, G., ‘Note-Books) (c. 1713): Vol. I, Walpole Society, XVIII, 1929–30. Vickers, M., ‘Rupert of the Rhine’, Apollo, CVII, 1978, 161–9. Warwick, G., ‘Gift Exchange and Art Collecting: Padre Sebastiano Resta’s Drawing Albums’, The Art Bulletin, LXXIX, 1997, 630–46. Wheelock, A. K., et al., eds. Anthony van Dyck, exhib. cat., Washington, 1990. Wittkower, R., Bernini’s Bust of Louis XIV, London, etc., 1951. ––– ‘The Vicissitudes of a Dynastic Monument. Bernini’s Equestrian Statue of Louix XIV’, in M. Meiss, ed., De Artibus Opuscula XL. Essays in Honor of Erwin Panofsky, New York, 1961, 497–531 (reprinted in his Studies in the Italian Baroque, London, 1975, 83–102). Wittkower, R. and M., Born Under Saturn. The Character and Conduct of Artists: A Documented History from Antiquity to the French Revolution, New York, 1963. ––– Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, Oxford, 1981. Zampetti, P., and V. Sgarbi, eds., Lorenzo Lotto. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi per il V centenario della nascita, Asolo 18–21 settembre 1980, Treviso, 1981.

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XXI Bernini’s Bust of the Medusa: An Awful Pun

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S an intellectual discipline the history of art has labored under what might be called an endemic disability when it comes to expressing visual ideas in words. It is a well-known fact that antiquity left nothing for the visual arts to compare with the vast body of classical theory and criticism centered upon the expressive and persuasive use of words, or rhetoric, in various literary genres. A consequence of this discrepancy is that much of the language of art that developed subsequently, notably in the Renaissance, was borrowed from the domain of literature, especially poetry.1 The title of the present paper adopts, faute de mieux, one of these loan concepts in two forms, in name and in example, in order to convey the thought which, as I believe, underlies one remarkable work of visual art. In English, the term “pun,” meaning specifically the equivocal use of a single word with more than one meaning, is itself singularly appropriate to its meaning because its origin is quite mysterious — the etymological equivalent, as it were, of the uncanny, illuminating effect such plays on words can sometimes achieve.2 And “awful” is here meant to suggest both that which is reprehensible, and that which is terrifying, stunning — in the present case, indeed, petrifying. *

1 The 2

*

*

point is made in the classic study by Lee 1967, 6f. See Oxford 1961, VIII, 1594, center column.

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I take as my point of departure what seems to me one of the most startling and least appreciated of the numerous obiter dicta by and attributed to Bernini in the contemporary sources.3 The statement is recorded, in slightly varying form, indirectly by his biographers, Baldinucci and his son Domenico Bernini, and in Bernini’s own words in Chantelou’s diary of the artist’s visit to Paris in 1665: “He said that among the works of antiquity, the Laocoön and the Pasquino contain, in themselves, all the best of art, since one sees in them all that is most perfect reproduced without the affectation of art (Figs. 1–4). The most beautiful statues existing in Rome were those in the Belvedere and among those still whole the Laocoön, for its expression of emotion, and in particular for the intelligence it displays in that leg which, already being affected by the poison, seems to be numb. He said, however, that the Torso (Fig. 5) and the Pasquino seemed to him more perfect stylistically than the Laocoön itself, but that the latter was whole while the others were not. The difference between the Pasquino and the Torso is almost imperceptible, not to be discerned except by a great man, and the Pasquino was rather better. He was the first in Rome to place the Pasquino in the highest esteem, and it is said that he was once asked by someone from beyond the Alps which was the most beautiful statue in Rome, and that when he responded, the Pasquino, the foreigner thought he was mocking him and was ready to come to blows.” 4 Bernini’s assertion was 3 The basic studies of Bernini’s views on art and art theory remain those of Barton 1945–7 and Schudt 1949. 4 The texts concerning Bernini and the Pasquino, on which I have commented in another context (Lavin 1990, 32), are as follows: M. le nonce, changeant de matière, a demandé au Cavalier laquelle des figures antiques il estimait devantage. Il a dit que c’était le Pasquin, et qu’un cardinal lui ayant un jour fait la même demande, il lui avait répondu la même chose, ce qu’il avait pris pour une raillerie qu’il faisait de lui et s’en était faché; qu’il fallait bien qu’il n’eut pas lu ce qu’on en avait écrit, et que le Pasquin était une figure de Phidias ou de Praxitéle et représentait le serviteur d’Alexandre, le soutenant quand il reçut un coup de flèche au siège de Tyr; qu’à la vérité, mutilée et ruinée comme est cette figure, le reste de beauté qui y est n’est connu que des savants dans le dessin. (Chantelou 1885, 25f.) Diceva che il Laocoonte e il Pasquino nell’antico avevano in sé tutto il buono dell’arte, perchè vi si scorgeva imitato tutto il più perfetto della natura, senza affettazione dell’arte. Che le più belle statue che fussero in Roma eran quelle di Belvedere e fra quelle dico fra le intere, il Laocoonte per l’espressione dell’affetto, ed in particolare per l’intelligenza che si scorge in quella gamba, la quale per esserve già arrivato il veleno, apparisce intirizzita; diceva però, che il Torso ed il Pasquino gli parevano di più perfetta maniera del Laocoonte stesso, ma che questo era intero e gli altri no. Fra il Pasquino ed il Torso esser la differenza quasi impercettibile, nì potersi ravvisare se non da uomo grande e più tosto migliore essere il Pasquino. Fu il primo il Bernino che mettesse questa statua in altissimo credito in Roma e raccontasi che

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the more provocative in that the Pasquino was the most notorious of the “speaking statues” of Rome to which the common, and often the “uncommon” populous, like Aretino, Bembo, Francesco Berni, gave voice by affixing to the disfigured and disreputable sculpture acerbic, mocking diatribes against the august and powerful, written in vulgar (in terms of content as well language) prose and poetry (Fig. 6). It should be said at once that Bernini was not the first to appreciate the Pasquino; even the popular Rome guidebooks pointed out the high quality of the group.5 But as far as I can discover, Bernini was indeed the first (and perhaps also the last) to give it the highest rating among the statues of Rome. That he meant the evaluation seriously is evident from the critical compositional role the Pasquino played throughout the early series of heroic male figures, Aeneas, Neptune, Pluto, and David; the theme reverberates again years later in the centerpiece of the Fontana del Moro — perhaps with a particular significance, since the fountain is located in the Piazza Navona, adjacent to the Piazza Pasquino (Figs. 7–11).6

essendogli una volta stato domandato da un oltramontano qual fusse la più bella statua di quella città e respondendo che il Pasquino, il forestiero che si credette burlato fu per venir con lui a cimento. (Baldinucci 1948 [1682], 146) Con uguale attenzione pose il suo studio ancora in ammirar le parti di quei due celebri Torsi di Hercole, e di Pasquino, quegli riconosciuto per suo Maestro dal Buonarota, questi dal Bernino, che fù il primo, che ponesse in alto concetto in Roma questa nobilissima Statua; Anzi avvenne, che richiesto una volta da un nobile forastiere Oltramontano. Quale fosse la Statua più riguardevole in Roma? e rispostogli, Che il Pasquino, quello diè sù le furie, stimandosi burlato, e poco mancò, che non ne venisse a cimento con lui; E di questi due Torsi era solito dire, che contenevano in se tutto il più perfetto della Natura senza affettazione dell’Arte. (Bernini 1713, 13f.) 5 See Lavin 1990, 43 n. 51 6 It might be said that Bernini’s preoccupation with the Pasquino distinguishes the contrapostal action of his figures, which he developed from the serpentine movement he learned from his father: compare Pietro Bernini’s St. John the Baptist in S. Andrea della Valle (Lavin 1968b, where the infusion of the spirit of antiquity generally in Bernini’s early work is stressed). Nor was Bernni’s interest in the Pasquino purely formal. He certainly appreciated the tradition of anonymous public satire with which the sculpture was associated, since he undoubtedly referred to it (rather than himself, as usually assumed) when he spoke of “someone” in Rome “à qui le public a toujours rendu la justice qui était due à son savoir, quelque chose qu’on ait pu dire et faire contre lui; ce qui fait voir que si le particulier est injuste à Rome, enfin le public ne l’est pas” (Chantelou 1885, 59); Bernini may have linked this high moral function with the noble style of the work. Although identifications varied, all understood the group as portraying an heroic action of salvation; see Haskell and Penny 1981, 192. D’Onofrio 1986, 444, also notes the relation of the Moro to the Pasquino.

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Among the many points of interest in this anecdote, two concern me here. The first arises from the fact, surprising to our modern sensibility, that Bernini found in the Laocoön and the Pasquino all the perfection of nature, without the affectation of art. Conversely, Bernini’s esteem for the emotional content of the Laocoön is hardly a surprise coming from the Italian Baroque artist par excellence. It is important to learn, however, that the fullor indeed overblown visual rhetoric we tend to perceive in Hellenistic style, Bernini regarded not even as a justifiable exaggeration but as the epitome of naturalism. And we can only understand his emphasis on the Laocoön’s unaffected naturalness in the expression of emotions, in terms of an ideal or heroic notion of beauty — precisely the concept implicit in his view that the sculpture comprised all the good in art because it reflected all the most perfect in nature. Particularly moving in his eulogy — and this is the second point in the passage I want to address — is the fine subtlety with which he singles out for praise the leg that rigidifies (intirizzata) at the first touch of the serpent’s fangs. Virgil in his famous description of the event makes no reference to such a process, and it seems clear that Bernini understood this transformation as a metaphor for the miraculous paradox of the sculptor’s capacity to bring stone to life by portraying the onset of rigor mortis.7 In my view Bernini in this passage must have had in mind a modern work he greatly admired and carefully studied, the Farnese Gallery, where Annibale Carracci had manipulated the heritage of antiquity with grandiose artificiality in order to demonstrate the power of art (the power of love, in terms of the mythological narrative) to obliterate the distinction between fact and fiction (Fig. 12).8 This artifice was patently evident in what might be called the double paragone embedded in the complex imagery and formal illusionism of the frescoed ceiling: ut pictura poesis with respect to the relationship between two temporal states, the past made present by words (mainly in Ovid’s Metamorphoses — itself, after all, a text about magical transformations of reality) and their visual equivalents in paint and stone; and ut pictura sculptura with respect to the relationship between two existential states, one polychrome but painted on a flat surface (that is, visually 7

Aeneid II, 199–227; Virgil 1999, I, 330f.. The amatory theme of the gallery has been emphasized above all by Dempsey (most recently, 1995). The vault bears the date 1600, evidently in reference to the marriage in that year of Ranuccio Farnese to Margherita Aldobrandini; one of the scenes, The Rape of Cephalus, corresponds to a play by Gabriello Chiabrera produced for another marriage in the same year (Lavin 1954, 278–84). 8

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true but physically false), the other monochrome but sculpted in the round (that is, visually false but physically true).9 Specifically, Bernini’s observation concerning the Laocoön’s leg inevitably calls to mind what were perhaps the most conspicuous and portentous depictions of such a transformation, the pictures of Perseus rescuing Andromeda and slaying Phineus on the facing end walls of the Farnese Gallery (Figs. 13–15). In the first scene the pale coloration of the body of Andromeda seems to allude to Ovid’s comparison of her nude body chained to the rock as resembling a marble sculpture; and for the episode of Perseus killing the sea monster, Carracci adopted a version of the story in which Perseus dispatches the beast not with a sword, as in Ovid, but by petrifying it with the head of Medusa, a process that the stony color of the animal indicates has already begun. In the Phineus scene the competition among the arts in the representation of nature is given an additional turn through a specific reference to one of the acknowledged masterpieces of antiquity. Perseus wields the Medusa’s head toward the enemy band, while Phineus recoils in fear, his upper body undergoing the unholy transformation from flesh to stone — metamorphosed proleptically into its obvious sculptured prototype, the Belvedere Torso (Fig. 5). 10 Given the exalted reputation of the Torso, Carracci’s reference to it here constitutes an ironic thrust in the epic battle of the visual paragone. Having intruded in Perseus’ wedding feast to abduct the bride, the defeated Phineus pleads for mercy. Perseus responds ironically by sparing his cringing enemy a proper warrior’s death by the sword, and using instead the Medusa’s head to turn him into “a monument” of stone for permanent display in his father-in-law’s house.11 The putatively heroic remnant of the classical sculptor’s art thus embodies

9 On the significance for Bernini of this aspect of the illusionism of the Farnese Gallery see Lavin 1980, 42–5. On the Gallery in general in relation to the painting-sculpture paragone see Scott 1988. The literary paragone of sculpture with poesis as metamorphosis has not been extensively explored; references will be found in Preimesberger 1989, Barolsky 1996, Schmidt 1998, and especially Bolland 2000. On Dante’s Medusa in this context, see Freccero 1979. 10 On these transformations see Scott 1988, 252f., Dempsey 1995, 95f. Bellori carefully noted the color changes in these scenes (see n. 13 below). For repercussions of these themes in Rubens, see Muller 1981–2. 11 Metamorphoses V, 226–8; Ovid 1984, I, 254f.: “nullo violabere ferro. quin etiam mansura dabo monimenta per aevum, inque domo soceri semper spectabere nostri.”

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one of antiquity’s notorious cowards! 12 The conceit — painting recreates the transformation words can only describe and sculpture can only recall — is epitomized in the story of Perseus and the Medusa, which Carracci coopts as a metaphor for the virtue of the Farnese, and himself. 13 12 The

irony — one is tempted to call it persiflage — is augmented by the reference in the pose of the figure as a whole to a famous ancient warrior type, the “kneeling Persian”; see Marzik 1986, 113 n. 3, Scott 1988, 253 n. 15. 13 Bellori’s Christian-moralizing interpretation of the vault of the Farnese gallery has been rejected by recent scholarship, but the significance of the Perseus scenes on the walls as an allegory of Virtue cannot, and has not been doubted: Dempsey 1968, 365; Posner 1971, 123. A politicizing view of the Gallery has been offered by Marzik 1986, while the ethical content of the wall scenes has been reconfirmed by Reckermann 1991, 98–103. In Bellori’s interpretation Perseus, representing reason, prudence, and honesty in the defeat of vice, may be an allegory of the artist himself, who rescues beauty by his transformatory power, which Bellori likens to that of the poet. “Ma, per toccare la moralità della favola, Perseo viene inteso per la ragione dell’animo, la quale riguardando nello scudo di Pallade e regolandosi con la prudenza, tronca il capo al vizio figurato in Medusa, mentre gli uomini affissandosi in esso senza consiglio divengono stupidi e di sasso” (Bellori 1976, 54); “. . . Perseo, cioè la ragione, e l’amor dell’onesto .. .” (77). Bellori emphasizes the intellectual content of the Farnese gallery: “dobbiamo avvertire che la loro forma richiede spettatore attento ed ingegnoso, il cui giudicio non resta nella vista ma nell’intelletto” (56). For Bellori the essence of Carracci’s portrayals of the Perseus episodes are the material transformations, not only of living beings but also of inanimate things into stone, thus equaling the poet’s capacity to give life to objects by making them participants in human emotions: “tiene per li cappelli la formidabil testa di Medusa e l’oppone contro la balena, che già impallidisce in sasso e diviene immobile scoglio” (73; and 54, as above); “. . . Tessalo, il quale vibrando l’asta ed opponendo lo scudo, in quest’atto in cui si muove resta immobile e cangiando in bianca pietra” (74); “. . . e ‘l compagno che lo segue di fianco, armato anch’egli, s’inridisce in bianca pietra” (74); “. . . Fineo supplice e genuflesso, che avendo riguardato Medusa, in quel punto allora s’indurisce in sasso, serbando il senso stesso con cui si raccomanda, ed una morte con l’altra commuta. Questa figura tutta ignuda è differente dall’altre nella sua trasformazione, vedendosi con tutto il petto di bianco marmo e ‘l resto del corpo in varia mistione tra ‘l sangue vitale e la riggidezza della pietra, contaminate le coscie da pallida inarnazione” (74); “. . . In questa favola Annibale, all’uso de’ poeti si serví dell’impossibilità per iaccrescere la meraviglia, dando senso alle cose inanimate; poiche si rende impossibile per natural che l’armi e le vesti di gli assaltatori di Perseo restino impietrite da Medusa, non avendo nè vista nè vita. Questa impossibilità e falsificazione di natura fu usato da’ poeti con le virtù varie attribuite all’armi favolose, alle pietre ed alli sassi, facendoli partecipi d’umani affetti” (74). And he cites Ovid himself who refers to the defeated companions of Phineus as armed statues: “ed Ovidio stesso descrivendo questa favola chiama statue armate li trasformati assaltatori . . .” (74f.). And to complete the paragone metaphor Bellori describes the paintings as Annibale’s most noble poem, in which the artist was so elevated by his ingenuity

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I believe that Carracci’s display of artifice in the service of truth was crucial to the genesis — by a process of visual and conceptual inversion, a sculptor’s paragone — of one of Bernini’s most remarkable and least considered works. I refer to the Medusa in the Capitoline Museum (Figs. 16, 17, 18), which bears an enigmatic inscription on its pedestal recording that it was donated by Marchese Francesco Bichi in 1731, and describing it as the work of a “most celebrated sculptor,” who is not named. 14 Although the sculpture is otherwise undocumented, its stunning (I use the word advisedly, as will become evident) quality — the powerfully expressive physiognomy and the brilliant display of technical virtuosity in the fragile locks, twisted, perforated and daringly suspended in space — inevitably evoke Bernini’s name, and the attribution to him has been generally accepted. 15 that he won immortal praise: “Pose nel vero Annibale ogni più esquisita industria nel ritrovare ed ordinare le favole con gli episodii di questo suo nobilissimo poema; cosí può chiamarsi tutto il componimento, nel quale egli prevalse tanto e tanto si elevò con l’ingegno, che acquistossi al nome suo un’ornatis simo lode immortale” (75). 14 “The image of Medusa once inscribed on the shields of the Romans to the terror of their enemies, now shines in the Capitol, the glory of a most celebrated sculptor. The gift of Marchese Francesco Bichi Consul in the month of March of the year of Our Lord 1771.” MEDUSAE IMAGO IN CLYPEIS/ ROMANORUM AD HOSTIUM/ TERROREM OLIM INCISA/ NUNC CELEBERRIMI/ STATURARIJ GLORIA SPLENDET/ IN CAPITOLIO/ MUNUS MARCH:/ FRANCISCI BICHI CONS:/ MENSE MARTIJ/ ANNO D/ MDCCXXXI (Forcella 1869–84, I, 78, No. 230). Bichi was elected Capitoline Consul of Rome in 1731 and 1740 (Forcella 1869–84, XII, 13, 14). The Bichi were an important old Sienese family. As we shall see, the most likely candidate as recipient of the sculpture would be Cardinal Alessandro Bichi (1596–1657), who shares a splendid tomb with his brother Celio (1600–1657), including remarkably fine portrait busts of both, in the church of S. Sabina (Darsy 1961, 134f., 143; see the biographical inscription in Forcella 1869–84, VII, 313, no. 640). Alessandro was a particular protégé of Bernini’s patrons Urban VIII and Alexander VII, Celio a notable jurist of the Roman Curia. A portrait of Cardinal Antonio Bichi (1614–1691), nephew of Alexander VII, was made by Bernini’s pupil Baciccio (Matitti, ed., 1994, 61, fig. 63). On Alessandro, Antonio and Celio see Dizionario 1960ff., X, 334–47). My search for documentation concerning the Medusa bust in the Bichi family archive (Bichi Ruspoli 1980) were unsuccessful; see also the catalogue entry by Cirulli, 1999. 15 First published and attributed to Bernini by Fraschetti 1900, 405, who mentions two bronze (recte marble) copies in the Louvre, and notes the attribution to Bernini by Nibby in 1838–41, II, 626; Wittkower 1981, 208f.; Nava Cellini at first doubted but later, 1988, 30, emphatically affirmed the attribution (“...inconfutabile e l’opera dichiara, a chi l’esamina senza pregiudizio, tutta la sua suggestione ed anche la rarità del suo significato”); Fagiolo dell’Arco 1967, cat. no. 83; aspects of the iconography of the sculpture have been discussed by Posèq 1993. The extremities of the interlace of snakes have been broken off at many points, so the sculptural pyrotechnics would have been even more spectacular originally.

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I want to discuss certain aspects of the sculpture that have not been commented upon, and which together help to define its distinctive character and significance. The physiognomy and expression are quite different from the riveting repulsiveness frequently attributed to the Medusa, as in Caravaggio’s famous version of Minerva’s shield (Figs. 19–21), and Rubens’s depiction of her decapitated head (Figs. 22, 23). Bernini’s Medusa also seems to reflect the tradition, exemplified by the “dangerous beauty” of the famous Medusa mask from the Palazzo Rondinini (Fig. 24), that she was the most beautiful of the three Gorgon sisters, and the only one who was mortal; her deadly appearance was Minerva’s punishment for having defiled the temple of the maiden goddess of truth and wisdom.16 This sort of maleficent vanity and flirtation with beauty was actually focused on the venomous hair: Lucan writes that Medusa was by nature evil, and that the snaky tresses actually pleased her, like the stylish coiffeurs that women wore. 17 Moreover, rather than screaming out her horrendous cry, Bernini’s Medusa seems to suffer a kind of deep, moral pathos, a conscious, almost meditative anguish

16 Metamorphoses IV, 794–803; Ovid 1984, I 234f. On the Rondanini Medusa, the most famous of many examples of the “beautiful” Medusa type presumably invented by Phidias, see Vierneisel-Schlörb 1979, 62–7; its history can be traced to the early seventeenth century in Rome. On the “humanization” by Phidias of the grotesque Gorgoneion of early Greek art, see classic study by Buschor 1958, whose brilliant insight is epitomized by his phrase “gefährliche Schönheit.” (p. 39). On the many permutations of the Medusa Ronadanini, see Noelke 1993. 17The Civil War IX, 628–37; Lucan 1928, 552f.: In her body, Malignant nature first bred these cruel plagues; from her throat were born the snakes that poured forth shrill hissing with their forked tongues. It pleased Medusa, when snakes dangled close against he neck; in the way that women dress their hair, the vipers hang loose over her back but rear erect over her brow in front; and their poison wells out when the tresses are combed. These snakes are the only part of ill-fated Medusa that all men may look upon and live. Hoc primum natura nocens in corpore saevas Eduxit pestes ; illis e faucibus angues Stridula fuderunt vibratis sibila linguis. Ipsa flagellabant gaudentis colla Medusae, Femineae cui more comae per terga solutae Surgunt adversa subrectae fronte colubrae, Vipereumque fluit depexo crine venenum. Hoc habet infelix, cunctis inpune, Medusa, Quod spectare licet.

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of the soul; this affective passion is clearly related to, but also quite different from the utter abandon of Bernini’s bust of the Damned Soul, with which the Medusa is often compared, conceived as the counterpiece to his Blessed Soul (Figs. 25, 26). I think it no accident that in discussing the Medusa, and affirming the attribution to Bernini, Antonia Nava Cellini, with her wonted perspicuity, compared the head to the splendid réprise of the head of Laocoön in the Galleria Spada, which Italo Faldi had earlier attributed to Bernini (Fig. 27).18 As we shall see presently, I suspect that the peculiar expressive quality of the Capitoline head has a significance of its own. Here I want to emphasize the irony that, in this sense, the sculpture, in contrast to what might be called the hyper-realism of the paintings by Caravaggio and Rubens, has the “natural” affectivity Bernini admired in the ancient works. The Capitoline sculpture owes much of its impact to the fact that it is an independent, free-standing work of art. In the case of the Medusa, whose raison d’être, as it were, consists in her severed head, this isolation and selfsufficiency constitutes a startlingly evocative visual pun. The nearest precedent for a Medusa’s head sculpted fully in the round — also evocative of the Rondanini Medusa’s “dangerous beauty” — was brandished before the people of Florence by Cellini’s great figure of Perseus in the Loggia dei Lanzi (Figs. 28, 29). Despite the obvious differences both in form and context, I doubt whether the Capitoline sculpture would have been conceived without Cellini’s example, and not only for formal reasons. The Perseus was endowed with an unequivocal ethical and political message, as a warning to the actual and potential enemies of Duke Cosimo de’ Medici, liberator and defender of the Florentine Andromeda.19 The bronze Perseus was also

18

Faldi 1977. See Braunfels 1948, 3–7; further to the Medicean political symbolism of the sculpture in Mandel 1996, with intervening literature. I would add that the “beaux gestes” of Perseus-Cosimo, brandishing head in one hand and sword in the other, seem to recreate the explicit message of the emperor Commodus menacing the senators of Rome from the amphitheater: “And here is another thing that he did to us senators which gave us every reason to look for our death. Having killed an ostrich and cut off his head, he came up to where we were sitting, holding the head in his left hand and in his right hand raising aloft his bloody sword; and though he spoke not a word, yet he wagged his head with a grin, indicating that he would treat us in the same way.” Dio, Roman History LXXIII, 21; Dio 1982, IX, 112–5. 19

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understood as a victorious paragon in relation to its petrified predecessors placed nearby, the David of Michelangelo and especially the Hercules and Cacus of Baccio Bandinelli, Cellini’s hated rival.20 I suspect that the paragone may also underlie the Medusa motif that appears at the end of the sixteenth century in the famous fresco of the Apotheosis of the Artist by Federico Zuccari in his Roman palace. There the Medusa shield — painted in color to suggest metal sculpture, which can be imitated in painting, whereas in stone the reverse is impossible — appears as a trophy at the feet of the triumphantly enthroned artist who wields the pen of disegno and the brush of painting (Fig. 30).21 In another respect the Capitoline sculpture differs from Cellini’s, and indeed from all previous depictions of the subject, as far as I can discover. The work does not actually represent the head of Medusa, as normally conceived. Part of the essence of the myth involves the severed head alone, its use as a physiognomical talisman with fascinating eyes and dripping blood that engendered the myriad serpents of the Libyan desert.22 Bernini’s sculpture, however, does not represent the head alone, but a bust of the Medusa; it is not a transfiguration of the mortal apotropaion as such, but a portrait of the “living” monster. As a portrait bust Medusa herself has been metamorphosed into stone, and in this context the image seems to make still another pun, this time on the traditional topos of the portrait as an analogue of the living subject. One of the most celebrated instances is in fact another anecdote recounted by Bernini himself and his biographers about his portrait of Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya (Fig. 31). Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, the future Urban VIII, with various other prelates, visited Bernini’s studio and saw the bust, just as the sitter himself entered the room. By way of introduction, one of the visitors said of the portrait, “This is Montoya turned to stone”; to which Cardinal Barberini added, addressing the sitter, “This is the portrait of Monsignor Montoya”, and, turning to the sculpture, “and this is Monsignor Montoya”.23 The anecdote, and the One also wonders whether Cellini’s conception, which is based on Etruscan bronze statuettes (Braunfels 1948), might have engendered the other familiar traditions of heroic victors displaying the repugnant heads of defeated monsters: David with the head of Goliath, Judith with the head of Holofernes. 20 See Shearman 1992, 46–57, 2000. 21 Acidini Luchinat 1998–9, II, 207–9; Hermann Fiore 1979, 60f., identifies the shield as an attribute of Hercules 22 Metamorphoses IV, 618–20; Ovid 1984, I, 222f. 23 Baldinucci 1948, 76; cf. Bernini 1713, 16; Chantelou 1885, 17.

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phraseology as well, are redolent of the story of the Medusa, except that in the Capitoline bust the conceit, or rather the wizardry of the artist, is turned against the Medusa herself. To make a free-standing portrait bust of the Medusa is a stunning idea, comparable indeed to Bernini’s equally unprecedented depictions of human souls as portrait busts: independent, self-contained images of extreme psycho-theological states.24 But whereas in the “soul portraits” the bust form served to evoke the disembodied human spirit, in this case the “mezzo busto,” as the type was frequently termed in contemporary sources, was a kind of existential metaphor for the fact that the Medusa was indeed only half-human, part woman part bestial. I suspect, however, that here the bust form also had an affective significance, alluding to the power of the sculptor, and the sculptor alone, physically to mimic human nature in its most terrifying, and terrified, aspect. Bernini must have been familiar with the famous madrigal written by Giambattista Marino to celebrate Caravaggio’s Medusa shield, then in the collection of Grand Duke Ferdinando de’ Medici, to whom it had been presented as a wedding gift.25 The poem, which is included in the section devoted to painting in Marino’s collection of poetic evocations of works of visual art, La Galeria, is significant in our present context because it makes two important inversions of the classical story. Perseus had avoided being petrified by looking at the Medusa only as a reflection in Minerva’s polished shield. Mirror imagery was thus inherent in the classical Medusa story.26 But Marino’s poem begins by referring to the enemies who will be turned to stone by looking upon the Grand Duke’s painted shield: “Now what enemies would not be quickly turned to cold stone regarding that fearsome and cruel Gorgon in your shield...?” 27 Caravaggio’s image, which in the classical story can only be a mirror, has instead the wondrous power of reality 24 On Bernini’s “soul portraits” see Lavin 1993; on the evocative nature of the bust form, Lavin 1970, and Lavin1975. 25 See the rich discussion of the Caravaggio-Marino relationship and its implications for the poetry-painting paragone, by Cropper 1991. Caravaggio’s picture has inspired a large bibliography recent years, including much new iconographical material: Marini 2001, 178f, 180f., 414–7; Caneva 2002, Caravaggio 2004 26 On the mirror motif in the classical Medusa story, see the many astute observations in Ziegler 1926, and Vernant 1991, 95–111 (“In the Mirror of Medusa”). 27 “Or quai nemici fian, che freddi marmi/ non divengan repente/ in mirando, Signor, nel vostro scudo/ quel fier Gorgone, e crudo...?” (Marino 1979, I, 31).

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itself: like the actual Medusa, it can turn the Duke’s adversaries to stone. The poem concludes by transferring the Medusa’s power to the Duke, declaring that Ferdinando’s real defense, his “true Medusa,” is his own valor: “But yet! That formidable monster is of little use among your weapons, since the true Medusa is your valor.” 28 Marino’s association of personal virtue with the power of the Medusa was, following the leads of Cellini and Carracci, a critical step in transforming the image into a sort of reverse reflection of personal rectitude. A further step occurs in two, less wellknown poems, a madrigal and a sonnet, which Marino included in the section of La Galeria called “Statue.” Here portrayals of the Medusa are indeed treated as independent, sculptured images. Both poems are based on the conceit that, unlike Caravaggio’s picture, the Medusa, which turns viewers into stone, is itself here turned to stone. In the madrigal the image speaks: “I know not if I was sculpted by mortal chisel, or if by gazing into a clear glass my own glance made me so.” 29 In the sonnet, the poet speaks: “Still alive one admires the Medusa in living stone; and whoever turns his eyes toward her is by stupor stoned. Wise sculptor, you so vivify marble that beside the marble the living are marble.” 30 Although to my knowledge there is no classical warrant for the idea that the Medusa was turned to stone, it was not Marino’s invention.31 He was preceded and no doubt inspired by a poem by the Andrian poet Luigi Groto, entitled, significantly, “Scoltura di Medusa”: “This is not a sculpture by him who changed it into stone, but

28

“Ma che! Poco fra l’armi/ a voi fia d’uopo il formidabil mostro:/ ché la vera Medusa è il valor vostro” (Marino 1979, I, 32). 29 “Non so se mi scolpì scarpel mortale,/ o specchiando me stessa in chiaro vetro/ la propria vista mia mi fece tale” (Marino 1979, I, 272). 30 “Ancor viva si mira/ Medusa in viva pietra;/ e chi gli occhi in lei gira,/ pur di stupore impètra./ Saggio Scultor, tu così ‘l marmo avivi,/ che son di marmo a lato al marmo i vivi” (Marino 1979, I, 272). 31 Curiously, in his essays dealing with Caravaggio and Medusa imagery, Marin 1995, 118 (cited by Cropper 1991, 204), “imagines” a Medusa who petrifies herself by looking at her image reflected in the shield; and he gives no source for the idea. A variant on the theme occurs in a madrigal by Marino on a sculpture of Andromeda, in which the monster is turned to stone, obviously based on the same version of the story adopted by Carracci, and the poet does not know whether it is the work of the Medusa or of Love or of Art: “Ma che resti di marmo,/ non so s’opra sia questa/ (veggendo ch’è scolpita ogni sua parte)/ di Medusa, d’Amore, o pur de l’Arte” (Marino 1979, I, 271; cited in connection with the Farnese Gallery by Dempsey 1995, 33).

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Medusa herself. ... Looking into a mirror to regard herself, she turned to stone.”32 Groto’s poem on the transformatory power of vision becomes especially poignant when one recalls that he was blind and was famously known as “il Cieco d’Hadria.” Caravaggio himself may have had something of this kind of self-reflexive metamorphosis in mind as his Medusa looks down in horror to perceive the pale underside of the head of one of her snaky locks as a presagement of her stony fate (Fig. 20). These are the only instances I have found of the conceit that clearly inspired the Capitoline sculpture: the Medusa is herself turned to stone by gazing into the reflexive chisel of the sculptor, whose virtue lies in mirroring the truth in stone with all the vividness of life, in portrait-bust form. For a contemporary viewer the Medusa would have had two, contradictory moral associations, which in the Capitoline sculpture have become complementary. Partly no doubt owing to her association with Minerva, the Medusa was an emblem of wisdom and reason: according to Lomazzo, just as the Medusa turned men who looked upon her into stones, so wisdom silences those who do not understand.33 For Cesare Ripa, the head of Medusa shows the victory attained by reason over the enemies of virtue, rendering them dumb, even as the head of Medusa rendered dumb those who looked at her.34 In the Ovide moralisé, on the other hand, the serpents engendered by the blood flowing from Medusa’s head are interpreted as the evil thoughts that spring from evil hearts.35 It is noteworthy in our context that the same attribute is taken up by Ripa in his description of Envy, which might well be identified with the Medusa: “Her head is full of serpents,

32 “Non è scolptura di colui, che’n sasso/ Cangiava questa, ma Medusa stessa./ Pero tien, chi qua giungi, il viso basso!/ ... Che poi, che gli occhi in uno specchio tenne,/ Per stessa mirar, sasso diviene” (cited by Fumaroli 1988, 173f.). 33 “Lo scudo, sotto la tutela di Minerva, sigificava riparo, e con la testa di Medusa in mezzo, sapienza; percioché, sí come quella faceva diventar gl’uomini che la guardavano sassi, cosí la sapienza ammutisse quelli che non sanno” (Lomazzo 1973–4, II, 406). 34 “...testa di Medusa ... dimostra la vittoria, che há la ragione de gli inimici contrarij alla virtú, quale gli rende stupidi, come la testa di Medusa, che faceva restare medesimamente stupidi quelli, che la guardavano” (Ripa 1603, 426). Cited also by Posèq 1993, 20, who, although in a different sense, also stresses the moral nature of the Capitoline sculpture in relation to the libido. 35 “Derechief par les serpens qui furent engendrés du sang cheant du chief de la Meduse sont entendues les mauvaises pensées qui procedent de mauvais couraiges” (De Boer 1954, 162).

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instead of hair, to signify evil thoughts.”36 In the context of Bernini’s demonstration of the prevalence of sculpture over painting in the art of petrification, a reference to this professional deadly sin was not inappropriate: a kind of riposte to Zuccari’s use of the Medusa shield in his Apotheosis of the Artist. The Medusa image started life in the archaic period as a monstrous, deformed figure with a halo of decoratively stylized, curly snakes for hair, enormous eyes, tongue protruding from a toothy mouth stretched into a ghoulish grimace, calculated to instill fear of the petrifying death the slightest glance would provoke (Figs. 32, 33).37 The emphasis was on the figure’s grotesquely menacing and therefore protective apotropaic effect. Thereafter, in company with the evolution of Greek art generally, the image became ever more human and, apart from narrative scenes, curtailed to the severed head. In the classical period, the face acquired the perfectly regular features of an ideal beauty. The emphasis had shifted from Medusa as a stultifying monster to Medusa as a maiden whose beauty was the fatal attraction that induced Neptune to possess her in the temple of Minerva, the chaste and austere goddess of Wisdom. The classic example of this beautiful Medusa type is the famous Medusa Rondanini, now in Munich, which came from Rome, where Bernini may have seen it. Only a few snakes and other demonic features remain, and the apotropaic effect is conveyed in an uncanny way by her chillingly expressionless, one might well say stony face — her “dangerous beauty,” as it has been perspicaciously described. This classical process of humanization through the Hellenistic period culminated in what has been called the “pathetic” mask of Medusa, a veritable persona in theatrical terms. The face is once again contorted, but now with furrowed brow, open lips and upward glance that matched the suffering of the Laocoön (Figs. 34, 35). Emphasis shifted from the magical, apotropaic, terrific power of the monstrosity, to the beautiful maiden whose mortal human nature — unique among the three 36 “Ha pieno il capo di serpi, in vece di capelli, per significatione de’mali pensieri....” (Ripa 1603, 242). On Envy with the snake hair of the Medusa, see De Tervarent 1958–64, I, cols. 167–8. 37 The development of ancient portrayals of the Medusa was first traced in a remarkable, pioneering study by Konrad Levezow 1833, who understood that the progressive humanization of the demonic monster offered a fundamental insight into the development of Greek art generally. Levezow provided the basic structure for the classic treatise of Adolf Furtwängler 1886–90, which has been the basis for all subsequent discussion. The largest collection of material will be found in Lexicon 1981–99, IV, 1, 285–362.

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Gorgon sisters — had not been destroyed by the divine retribution but now suffered, physically from the pain of decapitation, and psychologically from the awareness of its own misfortune. This understanding of the event as a specifically human tragedy had been expressed by Hesiod in terms of “pathos”: speaking of the three Gorgon sisters he says that Medusa “suffered woes [τε Μέδουσά τε λύγρά παθοῦσατε]. She was mortal, but the others are immortal, the two of them.”38 The new image reflects, in effect, a new focus on the origin of Medusa’s viperous transformation, namely that her beauty had induced Neptune to ravish her in the temple of Minerva, a desecration of her sanctuary for which the goddess exacted retribution by turning Medusa’s hair into snakes and applying the horrendous decapitated visage to her shield to frighten future violators of her sanctity. Crucial to the significance of the story was the nature and reason for Minerva’s punishment as recounted by Ovid: the attraction and the stimulus for Neptune’s lechery, was precisely Medusa’s hair, the most beautiful of all her attractive features: The hero [Perseus] further told of his long journeys and perils passed, all true, what seas, what lands he had beheld from his high flight, what stars he had touched on beating wings. He ceased, while they waited still to hear more. But one of the princes asked him why Medusa only of the sisters wore serpents mingled with her hair. The guest replied: Since what you ask is a tale well worth the telling, hear then the cause. She was.once most beautiful in form, and the jealous hope of many suitors. Of all her beauties, her hair was the most beautiful — for so I learned from one who said he had seen her. ‘Tis said that in Minerva’s temple Neptune, lord of the Ocean, ravished her. Jove’s daughter turned away and hid her chaste eyes behind her aegis. And, that the deed might be punished as was due, she changed the Gorgon’s locks to ugly snakes. And now to frighten her fear-numbed foes, she still wears upon her breast the snakes which she has made.” 39 38 Theogony, 39

276–8; Hesiod, 2006, 24f. Metamorphoses IV. 787–803; Ovid 1938, I, 234f.: Addidit et longi non falsa pericula cursus,

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Hence the object of Minerva’s retribution, Medusa’s hair, was appropriate to the cause of the offense. And, quite apart from the formal and physiological significance, the nature of the punishment, turning the hair into snakes, was equally appropriate. For in antiquity snakes were above all emblematic of lust, and specifically of its dire, indeed mortal, consequences for men: according to Pliny, the serpents having intertwined their bodies during copulation, the male thrusts his head into the mouth of his mate who bites it off as the couple reaches the climax of their orgy (Figs. 36, 37).40 In essence the tale is one of illicit, carnal lust and just retribution, and so the story came to be interpreted ever after by moralizing Christian interpreters in the Christian tradition — Medusa, carnal vice, Minerva-Perseus righteousness and justice. In the Ovide moralisée, of the three Gorgon sisters, Medusa embodied “delectacion charnelle.”41 For Natale Conti, “To demonstrate how constant we must remain in our confrontation with pleasquae freta, quas terras sub se vidisset ab alto et quae iactatis tetigisset sidera pennis; ante exspectatum tacuit tamen. excipit unus ex numero procerum quaerens, cur sola sororum gesserit alternis inmixtos crinibus angues. hospes ait: ‘quoniam scitaris digna relatu, accipe quaesiti causam. clarissima forma multorumque fuit spes invidiosa procorum illa, nec in tota conspectior ulla capillis pars fuit: inveni, qui se vidisse referret. hanc pelagi rector templo vitiasse Minervae dicitur: aversa est et castos aegide vultus nata Iovis texit, neve hoc inpune fuisset, Gorgoneum crinem turpes mutavit in hydros. nunc quoque, ut attonitos formidine terreat hostes, pectore in adverso, quos fecit, sustinet angues.’ 40 “Snakes mate by embracing, intertwining so closely that they could be taken to be a single animal with two heads. The male viper inserts its head into the female viper’s mouth, and the female is so enraptured with pleasure that she gnaws it off.” Natural History X, 169; Pliny 1938–63, III, 398–401. Rursus in terrestribus ova pariunt serpentes, de quibus nondum dictum est. coeunt complexu, adeo circumvolutae sibi ipsae ut una / existimari biceps possit. viperae mas caput inserit in os, quod illa abrodit voluptatis dulcedine. Pliny’s text and the emblem of Camerarius 1590–1604, f. 92r, were cited by Koslow 1995, 147, in connection with Rubens’s Medusa. I have argued in another context that Caravaggio was deeply conversant with Capaccio’s theological texts, especially as concerns light and penitence, Lavin 2001.. 41 De Boer 1954, 162.

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ures, the sages depicted Medusa as the most beautiful of women, on account of her appearance and charm that allured others, but all who saw her the ancients said were changed into stone by her, Minerva having given her this damnable power to make her odious to everyone after she had polluted Minerva’s temple with Neptune. . . . So did the ancients warn that lust, boldness and arrogance must be restrained because God is the most exacting avenger of these flaws. For not only did Medusa lose her hair, Perseus through the counsel and support of the Gods having been sent to destroy her utterly.” 42 Perseus slew Medusa “because reason is that which breaks in upon or circumvents all illicit pleasures, and it can do so only with the help of God, through divine intervention, no one good unless God bestows upon her the blessing which is always sought.”43 For Ludovico Dolce, the gift of Caravaggio’s Medusa “would denote that he to whom it was sent should be armed against the seductions of the world, which make men into stones, that is, deprive him of human senses and harden him to virtuous actions, so that he can perform none.44 Evidently in the wake of a lost painting of the Medusa by Leonardo, a new conception emerged around 1500. The formula seems to combine the electrifying distortion of the archaic Gorgoneion with the emotional intensity of the Hellenistic pathos formula: the ugly grimace of the one and the heroic suffering of the other are now merged in a wide-open-mouthed scream of anguish (Figs. 38, 39). Caravaggio and Rubens followed this lead: their gory, exophthalmic, gaping displays of thoroughly monstrous — all snakes, no hair — still living, quintessentially human body-fragments, recapture in personal terms the frightful, petrifying horror of the original apotropeion.45 Bernini, on the contrary, evinces the pathetic catharsis Aristotle attributed to Tragedy.46 In contrast to the classical humanizing tradition, Bernini 42

Natale Conti, Mythologies: DiMatteo 1994, 374f. DiMatteo 1994, 377. 44 “denoterebbe che colui a cui si mandasse dovesse stare armato contro le lascivie del mondo che fanno gli uomini divenir sassi, cioè gli priva dei sensi umani e gl’idurisce alle operazioni virtuose in guisa che niuna ne possono fare.” Dolce 1565 [1913], 104; cited by Posèq 1993, 18f., after Battisti 1960, 214 n. 45 On the lost Leonardo painting as the model for subsequent images of the Medusa, see Posèq 1989, 172; Varriano1997. 46 Wittkower 1981,209, likened the Medusa to the ancient tragic mask. I have discussed Bernini’s relationship to antiquity, especially in relation to his “theatricality,” in Lavin 1989. 43

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follows his immediate predecessors in transforming virtually all of Medusa’s hair into snakes, and in displaying the cannibalistic agony of viperous concupiscence prominently beside Medusa’s cheek (Figs. 18, 21, 23). Following Caravaggio and his own Damned Soul Bernini’s Medusa turns her head affectively to the side and downward, not aghast at the gory sight, as with Caravaggio and Rubens, but in a baleful glimpse of her own shadow in the underworld (according to Apollodorus and Virgil, Medusa was actually seen as a shade in Hades).47 Quite apart from her serpentine hair, Bernini’s Medusa, shown as a classical bust portrait, but in abbreviated form like the Dammed and Blessed Souls, and wearing the one-shouldered chiton of an Amazon, is finally not, or is no longer altogether human; and in fact, she was accorded a kind of anti-heroic immortality when Minerva affixed the decapitated head to her shield. So far as I know, Bernini was the first to understand the ancient pathetic Medusa in light of this Christian moralizing tradition: in his unprecedented portrayal of Medusa as a portrait bust, rather than a decapitated head, she is, as it were, not still living but still alive, and her anguish is spiritual, not physical. The lamenting image does indeed evoke a cathartic cleansing of the soul in the Aristotelian sense, and Bernini’s empathetic response to a real human being provides finally an ulterior motive for the singular format and a key to the personal significance of the work. Speaking of Bernini’s portraits in his biography of his father, Domenico Bernini recounts a singular, infamously scandalous episode that took place in 1638 when the artist was turning forty. Bernini fell madly in love and had an evidently torrid affair with the wife, Costanza, of the sculptor Matteo Bonarelli who was working under his direction at St. Peter’s.48 When he dis47 Apollodorus (The Library II, 12; 1921, I, 232–7 ) and Virgil (Aeneid VI, 289–94; 1999, I, 526f.) report that when Hercules and Aeneas descended into Hades they saw and drew their swords against Medusa, until they learned she was but a harmless shadow. 48 “e sopra tutti rimangano famosi due Ritratti di sua persona, e di sua mano, l’uno de’ quali si conserva in Casa Bernini, l’altro in più degno Theatro, cioè nella rinomata Stanza de’ Ritratti del Gran Duca, fatti tutti dalle proprie mani de’più insigni Pittori: Quello tanto decantato di una.Costanza si vede collocato in Casa Berninì, & il Busto, e Testa in Marmo della medesima nella Galleria del Gran Duca, l’uno, e l’altro di così buon gusto, e di così viva maniera, che nelle Copie istesse diede a divedere il Cavaliere, quanto fosse innammorato dell’Originale Donna era questa, di cui egli allora era vago, e per cui se si rese in parte colpevole, ne riportò ancora il vanto di essere dichiarato un grand’ huomo, & eccellente nell’Arte; Poiche ò ingelosito di lei, ò da altra che ci fosse cagione trasportato, come che cieco l’amore, impose ad un suo servo il farle non sò‘ quale affronto, come seguì, che per essere

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1. Laocoön. Cortile del Belvedere, Vatican, Rome.

807

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2. Laocoön, heads of Laocoön’s sons. Cortile del Belvedere, Vatican, Rome.

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3. Pasquino. Piazza del Pasquino, Rome.

4. “Menelaos carrying the body of Patroclus.” Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence.

809

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5. Torso Belvedere. Cortile del Belvedere, Vatican, Rome.

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6. Antonio Lafreri, Pasquino. 1550. Engraving.

811

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7. Bernini, Aeneas and Anchises. Galleria Borghese, Rome.

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8. Bernini, Neptune (reversed). Victoria and Albert Museum, London

813

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814

9. Bernini, Pluto and Proserpine. Galleria Borghese, Rome.

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10. Bernini, David (reversed). Galleria Borghese, Rome.

815

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11. Bernini, Fontana del Moro. Piazza Navona, Rome.

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12. Annibale Carracci, Galleria Farnese. Palazzo Farnese, Rome.

817

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13. Annibale Carracci, Perseus and Androme.da, Galleria Farnese. Palazzo Farnese, Rome. 14. Annibale Carracci, Perseus and Phineus, Galleria Farnese. Palazzo Farnese, Rome.

15. Annibale Carracci, Perseus and Phineus, Galleria Farnese, detail. Palazzo Farnese, Rome.

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16. Bernini, Medusa. Museo Capitolino, Rome.

819

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17. Bernini, Medusa. Museo Capitolino, Rome.

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18. Bernini, Medusa, detail. Museo Capitolino, Rome.

19. Caravaggio, Medusa. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence

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20. Caravaggio, Medusa, detail. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence.

21. Caravaggio, Medusa, detail. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence.

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22. Rubens, Medusa. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

23. Rubens, Medusa, detail. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

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24. Medusa Rondanini. Glyptothek, Munich.

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25. Bernini, Anima Dannata. Palazzo di Spagna, Rome.

26. Bernini, Anima Beata. Palazzo di Spagna, Rome.

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27. Bernini (?), head of Laocoön. Palazzo Spada, Rome.

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28. Benvenuto Cellini, Perseus. Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence.

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29. Benvenuto Cellini, head of Medusa. Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence.

30. Federico Zuccari, Apotheosis of the Artist. Palazzo Zuccari, Rome.

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31. Bernini, bust of Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya. S. Maria di Monserrato, Rome.

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32. Archaic Gorgoneion. Syracuse, Museo Regionale "Paolo Orsi".

33. Archaic Gorgoneion, antefix, from Taranto. Antikenmuseum, Heidelberg University.

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34. Emperor Hadrian. Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome.

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35. Emperor Hadrian, detail. Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome.

36. Vipers in coitus, engraving. Capaccio 1592, fol. 9r.

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37. Venus improba, engraving. Camerarius 1590–1604, f. 92r.

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38. Medusa, plate from Cafaggiolo. Victoria and Albert Museum, London

39. Shield with the head of Medusa. Museo nazionale del Bargello, Florence

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40. Bernini, bust of Costanza Bonarelli. Museo nazionale del Bargello, Florence.

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41. Bernini, bust of Costanza Bonarelli, detail. Museo nazionale del Bargello, Florence.

42. Bernini, Medusa, detail. Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome.

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43. Bernini, tomb of Urban VIII, detail. St. Peter’s, Rome.

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44. Bernini, tomb of Urban VIII, detail. St. Peter’s, Rome.

45. Bernini, Truth, detail. Galleria Borghese, Rome.

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covered that his younger brother, and invaluable assistant, Luigi was also trysting with the woman, in a fit of rage he attacked and wounded Luigi and ordered a servant to cut Costanza with a razor. Bernini’s exasperated mother wrote a desperate letter to Cardinal Francesco Barberini recounting the event (but without explaining the motivation) and imploring him to control her arrogant elder son, who was behaving as if he were “Padron del mondo.” Luigi and the servant were sent into exile and Bernini was fined three thousand scudi. In the end Urban VIII himself issued an official document absolving him, for no other reason, as Domenico says, than that he was “excellent in art” and a “rare man, sublime genius, and born by Divine inspiration and for the glory of Rome, to bring light to that century.” Bernini was, in effect, an inordinately gifted, indispensabile, and divinely ordained national treasure. The pope’s absolution was evidently accompanied by an urgent recommendation that Bernini mend his ways and marry. Bernini at first resisted the idea but soon acquiesced and on 15 May 1639 married Caterina Tezio, reputed “la più bella giovane che habbia Roma,” by whom he had nine children and with whom he lived — so far as we know — faithfully ever after. (It may not be coincidental in our present context that he appreciatively described for the pope Caterina’s many perfections — which included her “Beauty without affectation” — in terms of a portrait of his own making.49) The tangible results of Bernini’s fulminary affair with Costanza were a painted double portrait of himself and this unconventional woman, now stato pubblico, e dannevole, doveva con non dispregievole pena punirsi. Il Papa assicurato del fatto, diede ordine, che all’esilio fosse condennato il servo, & al Cavaliere mandò per un suo Cameriere l’assoluzione del delitto scritta in Pergamena, in cui appariva un Elogio della sua Virtù degno da tramandarsi alla memoria de Posteri: Poiche in essa veniva assoluto non con altro motivo, che, perche era Eccellente nell’arte, nè con altri Titoli era quivi nominato, che con quelli di Huomo raro, Ingegno sublime, e nato per Disposìzione Divina, e per gloria di Roma a portar luce a quel Secolo.” (Bernini 1713, 27) The story is retold with relish by D’Onofrio 1967, 130–8; and by Avery, as in n. 52 below. The full documentation is conveniently summarized by Oreste Ferrari in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco 1999, 307f. Much new light will be shed on the subject in a monograph on Costanza currently in preparation by Sarah McPhee. 49 Bernini 1723, 51: che gli venne fatto trovarla, quale appunto, com’egli poi disse al medesimo Urbano, non averebbe potuto da se medesimo farsela meglio, se convenuto gli fosse lavorarla a suo gusto nella cera: Docile senza biasimo, Prudente senza raggiri, Bella senza affettazione, e con una tal mistura di gravità, e di piacevolezza, di bontà, e di applicazione, che potea ben’ella dirsi dono conservato dal Cielo per un qualche grand’huomo.

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lost, which he cut in two but which remained in his house, and the hauntingly seductive sculptured portrait bust of his mistress, itself unconventional in the sense that it was made without a commission, to fill a personal need — literally “for love” (Figs. 40, 41). Costanza Bonarelli is depicted, equally unconventionally, in a disheveled negligee that seems to evoke the intimate, revelatory state in which Bernini saw her during their assignations. It embodies in a personal and private domain the conversational warmth, intimacy, and informality Bernini had vested in the open-lipped, unbuttoned, cocked hat, motion-filled busts of Cardinal Scipione Borghese and Pope Urban himself (1633).50 The bust must have been made sometime between October 1636, when Matteo Bonarelli started working at St. Peter’s, and March 22, 1638, when Luigi’s regular payments as overseer of the works there ceased. Luigi worked on a Bernini project in Bologna during his exile, and returned to work at St Peter’s, having been absolved in October 1639 by Cardinal Francesco — at Bernini’s instigation.51 Shortly after his marriage, in companion gestures signfying his change of heart, Bernini gave the sculpture away, and, so I am convinced, created its moral counterpart in the bust of the Medusa, also for purely personal reasons, and also, I suspect, to be given away.52 Taken together, the two sculptures may be understood as companion-counterpieces — “contrapposti” was the term Bernini used to describe such mutually dependent, complementary contrasts that were fundamental to his conception of his art — in this case personalized lineal descendents of his portraits of the blessed and damned souls (Fig. 42).53 It is worth noting, finally, that the circumstances of the Medusa’s creation discussed here coincide with the dating on stylistic grounds generally agreed upon in recent years. Wittkower perceived that the Medusa is not an early work. He assigned it rather to what he regarded as a deliberately classicizing period of Bernini’s development, 50 On the informal urbanity of these portraits, including the “unbuttoned” ecclesiastical mozzetta, see Lavin (2004) in course of publication. 51 Curiously, the payments to Luigi resume in August 1639; D’Onofrio1967, 132, 138. Years later (1670) Luigi committed a violent act of pederasty, from which Bernini again redeemed him with great difficulty; the records were retrieved and discussed by Martinelli 1959 (1994). 52 After I realized that the busts of Bonarelli and Medusa were related, I discovered that Charles Avery had offered the very same hypothesis (1997, 91f., 274f.). I am glad to acknowledge Avery’s precedence. 53 On Bernini’s concept of the “contrapposti” see Lavin 1980, 9f.

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about 1635.54 Maurizio and Marcello Fagiolo dell’Arco then made bold to place it still later, in the mid-1640’s, relating it stylistically to elements of the tomb of Urban VIII (Figs. 43, 44).55 Another remarkable insight of Nava Cellini was to recognize the extravagant forms and expressivity that linked the Medusa to the figure of Truth, made in the same period (Fig. 45). The name of Cardinal Alessandro Bichi appears in Chantelou’s diary, in an amusing passage that follows a curious thread through a conversation at dinner, which was interrupted by a message that some ladies were asking to be allowed to see the bust of Louis XIV, then in the making. The subject of women must have stuck in Bernini’s mind when the subject then turned to purchases Bernini planned to make. Bernini quoted the adage, “who decries wants to buy” (chi sprezza vuol’comprar), to which Chantelou replied that he had heard the phrase used by Cardinal Bichi. Bernini remarked that he had once made use of the proverb in one of his comedies, in which the servant of a painter was told by his employer not to admit to the studio any young men who might not be interested in buying but in cajoling his pretty daughter. He obeyed zealously, refusing to admit some young men who came praising the paintings. The painter rebuked the servant who defended himself by saying that he had remembered the proverb and assumed that their real purpose was to flirt with the daughter. The servant told a young suitor who wanted to gain favor with the girl that he did not know how, that he kept speaking of past things, that with women one must deal neither in the past nor in the future, but stay on top in the present (con le donne non bisognava trattar di cose passate, neanche delle future; ma star sopra il presente).56 It has been aptly suggested that this play was identical with one mentioned by Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini entitled “How to give women in a com54

Wittkower 1980, 209. In a review of Wittkower’s book I argued that this formal reference to antiquity was as much thematically as stylistically motivated, since other, contemporary works were more “Baroque.” (Lavin 1956, 258; also Lavin 1968b, 38f.). The juxtaposition and contemporaneity of Bonarelli and the Medusa support this view. 55 For a summary chronology of the Urban VIII tomb see Wittkower 1981, 198f. 56 Chantelou 1885, 195f.: A l’issue de table, discourant ensemble de quelques achats qu’il devait faire, il m’a allégué le proverbe qui dit : chi sprezza, vuol’ comprar. Je lui ai dit que je l’avais autrefois appris de M.le cardinal Bichi. II m’a conté sur cela, qu’il s’en était une fois servi dans une de ses comédies où il avait introduit un peintre, dont la fille était fort belle, que le Raguet, valet du peintre, étant demeuré une fois à la maison, le maître lui avait dit qu ‘il ne reçût point chez lui ces Zerbins qui ne venaient pas pour acheter, mais pour cajoler sa fille. Apres quoi, quelques jeunes galants étant venus et louant les tableaux qu’il avait mis à l’étalage, d’abord il leur ferma la porte au nez et ne voulut jamais les laisser entrer quelques instances qu ‘ils fissent; de quoi s’ étant plaints au peintre et dit qu’ils étaient cavaliers et gens

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edy” (Modo di regalar le Dame in Commedia).57 The word “regalar” in the title of the comedy is curious, and it has been taken as a misprint for “regolar,” manage, except that both Baldinucci and Domenico give the same spelling.58 Perhaps the title was deliberately ambiguous, referring both to the management of women and Bernini’s gifts of both the Bonarelli and Medusa busts after that chapter in his life had closed. In any case, it seems unlikely that these cross references were coincidental — more likely that Cardinal Bichi had heard the phrase from Bernini himself, or his comedy, and that it was through the Cardinal that the Medusa passed to the Bichi family, and hence, a century later, to the Palazzo dei Conservatori. Bichi had been appointed papal nunzio in Paris, then Bishop of Carpentras, then cardinal, by Urban VIII. He played a major political role, and his long presences in Paris and close associations with the French court may also explain the twin copies of the Medusa now in the Louvre. As one of Urban VIII’s closest associates, and well-acquainted with the artist, Bichi, hence also his family, was surely aware of the scandalous circumstance in which the bust was created. And hence also a century later, Francesco Bichi, recording his conspicuous gift to the city, thought it best to identify the sculptor not by his name but, equally unmistakably, by his unrivalled celebrity. In the end, it might be said that Bernini’s Medusa is a kind of ironic, metaphorical self-portrait: the demonstration of the transformative power of his art embodied not only the visual inversion of the point of the myth, and his contempt for affectation, but also his exercise of that power in the service of a higher moral purpose, expiating the anguish of his own fallibility. The bust embodies the noble victory of virtue over vice, the engaging witticism of a stony image of petrifaction, and the disturbing expression of tragic suffering.

d’honneur et à n’être point traités de la sorte, et le peintre faisant réprimande de cela au Raguet, il répondit que comme il avait vu qu’ils avaient commencé par louer si fort ses tableaux, il avait jugé qu ‘ils ne venaient pas pour acheter, mais pour cajoler sa fille, pour ce que quoiqu’il ne fût pas habile, il n’ignorait pas le proverbe qui dit: chi sprezza, vuol’ comprar, qui fut une application qui plut assez. Ce même Raguet dit à un qui voulait gagner les bonnes grâces de cette fille, qu’il n’y entendait rien, qu ‘il lui contait toujours des histoires du temps passé, che con le donne non bisognava trattar di cose passate, ne anche delle future; ma star sopra il presente. 57 Fagiolo dell’Arco 1967, Scheda no. 168. 58 Ibid.

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Bibliography Avery, Charles, Bernini. Genius of the Baroque, Boston, etc., 1997 Acidini Luchinat, Cristina, Taddeo e Federico Zuccari: fratelli pittori del Cinquecento, 2 vols, Milan and Rome, 1998–1999 Apollodorus, The Library. With an English translation by Sir James George Frazer, 2 vols, Cambridge, MA, 1921 Baldinucci, Filippo, Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682; ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948 Barolsky, Paul, “The Metamorphoses of Art,” in Roy Eriksen, ed., Contexts of Baroque. Theatre, Metamorphosis, and Design, Oslo, 1997, 13–25. Barton, Eleanore D., “The problem of Bernini’s Theories of Art,” Marsyas, 1945–1947, 81–111 Battisti, Eugenio, Rinascimento e barocco, Turin, 1960 Bellori, Giovanni Paolo, Le vite de’ pittori, scultori e architetti moderni, ed. E. Borea, Turin, 1976 Bernardini, Maria Grazia, and Maurizio Fagiolo dell’ Arco, eds., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Regista del barocco, Milan, 1999 Bernini, Domenico, Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713 Bichi Ruspoli, Tommaso, “L’archivio privato Bichi Ruspoli,” Bullettino senese di storia patria, LXXXVII, 1980, 194–225 Bolland, Andrea, “Desiderio and Diletto. Vision, Touch, and the Poetics of Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne,” The Art Bulletin, LXXXII, 2000, 309–30 Braunfels, Wolfgang, Perseus und Andromeda von Benvenuto Cellini, Berlin, 1948 Buschor, Ernst, Medusa Rondanini, Stuttgart, 1958 Camerarius, Joachim, Symbola et emblemata. (Nurnberg 1590 bis 1604), eds. Wolfgang Harms and Ulla-Britta Kuechen, Graz, 1986–1988. p.91r Caneva, Caterina, La Medusa del Caravaggio restaurata, Rome, 2002. Capaccio, Giulio Cesare, Delle imprese, 3 vols., Napoles, 1592,

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Caravaggio. La Medusa. Lo splendore degli scudi da parata del Cinquecento, Milan, 2004 Chantelou, Paul Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne, Paris, 1885 Cirulli, Beatrice, Cat. No. 9, in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco 1999, 323f. Cropper, Elizabeth, “The Petrifying Art: Marino’s Poetry and Caravaggio,” Metropolitan Museum Journal, XXVI, 1991, 193–211 Darsy, Felix Marie Dominique, Santa Sabina, Rome, 1961 De Boer, Cornelis, Ovide Moralisé. En Prose. (Texte du quinzième sièle), Amsterdam, 1954 Dempsey, Charles, Annibale Carracci. The Farnese Gallery, Rome, New York, 1995 De Tervarent, Guy, Attributs et symboles dans l’art profane. 1450–1600, 3 vols., Geneva, 1958–64 Di Matteo, Anthony, Natale Conti’s Mythologies. A Select Translation, New York and London, 1994 Dio Cassius, Dio’s Roman History. With an English Translation by Earnest Cary, ed. Ernest Cary, 9 vols., Cambridge, MA, and London, 1982 Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Rome, 1960ff. Dolce, Lodovico, Dialogo dei colori, Venice, 1565 (ed. Scrittori italiani e stranieri. Belle lettere, Lanciano, 1913) D’Onofrio, Cesare, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1967 D’Onofrio, Cesare, Le fontane di Roma, Rome, 1986 Faldi, Italo, “Il mito della classicità e il restauro delle sculture antiche nel XVII secolo a Roma,” in Barocco fra Italia e Polonia, Warsaw, 1977, 57–69 Fagiolo dell’Arco, Maurizio, and Marcello, Bernini. Una introduzione al gran teatro del barocco, Rome, 1967 Forcella, Vincenzo, Iscrizioni delle chiese e d’altri edificii di Roma dal secolo XI fino ai nostri giorni, 14 vols., Rome, 1869–84 Fraschetti, Stanislas, Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milan, 1900 Freccero, John, “Dante’s Medusa: Allegory and Autobiography,” in David L. Jeffrey, ed., By Things Seen: Reference and Recognition in Medieval Thought, Ottawa, 1979, 33–46 Fumaroli, Marc, “La Galeria de Marino et la Galerie Farnèse: Epigrammes et oeuvres d’art profanes vers 1600,” Les Carraches et les décors profanes

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(Actes du Colloque Organisé par l’Ecole Française de Rome), Rome, 1988, 163–82 (reprinted in his L’École du silence. Le sentiment des images au XVIIe siècle, Paris, 1994, 37–51) Furtwängler, Adolf, “Gorgones und Gorgo,” in Wilhelm Heinrich Roscher, ed., Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie, 6 vols., Leipzig, 1884–1937, vol. I, 2, cols. 1701–27 Haskell, Francis, and Nicholas Penny, Taste and the Antique. The Lure of Classical Sculpture 1500–1900, New Haven, Conn., and London, 1981 Herrmann Fiore, Kristina, “Die Fresken Federico Zuccaris in seinem römischen Künstlerhaus,” Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XVIII, 1979, 36–112 Hesiod, Theogony. Works and Days. Testimonia, edited ad translated by Glenn W. Most, Cambridge MA and London, 2006 Koslow, Susan, “How looked the Gorgon then . . .: “The Science and Poetics of ‘The Head of Medusa’ by Rubens and Snyders, “ in Cynthia P. Schneider, et al., eds., Shop Talk. Studies in Honor of Seymour Slive Presented on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, Cambridge, MA., 1995, 147–149. Online at http://profkoslow.com/publications/medusa.html Lavin, Irving, “Cephalus and Procris. Transformations of an Ovidian Myth,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, XVII, l954, 260–87 Lavin, Irving, Review of Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, London, 1955, in The Art Bulletin, XXXVIII, 1956, 255–60 Lavin, Irving, Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s (Monographs on Archaeology and the Fine Arts sponsored by the Archaeological Institute of America and the College Art Association of America, XVII), New York, l968a Lavin, Irving,“Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works,” The Art Bulletin, L, 1968b, 223–48 Lavin, Irving, “On the Sources and Meaning of the Renaissance Portrait Bust,” Art Quarterly, XXXIII, 1970, 207–26 Lavin, Irving, “On Illusion and Allusion in Italian Sixteenth-Century Portrait Busts,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, CXIX, 1975, 353–62 Lavin, Irving, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, New York and London, l980

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Lavin, Irving, “Bernini and Antiquity — The Baroque Paradox. A Poetical View,” in Herbert Beck and Sabine Schulze, eds., Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, Berlin, 1989, 9–36 Lavin, Irving,“High and Low Before their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,” in K. Varnadoe and A. Gopnik, eds., Modern Art and Popular Culture. Readings in High & Low, New York, 1990, 18–50 Lavin, Irving, “Bernini’s Portraits of No-Body,” in I. Lavin, Past-Present. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso, Berkeley, CA, 1993, 101–138; second, enlarged edition in Italian in I. Lavin, Passato e presente nella storia dell’arte, Turin, 1994, 193–232 Lavin, Irving, “Caravaggio rivoluzionario o l’impossibilità di vedere,” in Irving Lavin, Caravaggio e La Tour, 2000, 5–34 ; English version “Caravaggio Revolutionary or the Impossibility of Seeing,” in Klaus Bergdolt and Giorgio Bonsanti, eds., Opere e giorni. Studi su mille anni di arte europea dedicati a Max Seidel, Venice, 2001, 625–44 Lavin, Irving, “Urbanitas urbana. The Pope, the Artist, and the Genius of the Place,” in Lorenza Mochi Onori, et al., eds., I Barbernini e la cultura europea del seicento. Roma, Palazzo Barberini alle Quatto Fontane, 7–11 dicembre 2004, in course of publication Lee, Rensselaer, W., Ut Pictura Poesis. The Renaissance Theory of Painting, New York, 1967 Levezow, Konrad, Über die Entwickelung des Gorgonen-Ideals in der Poesie und bildenden Kunst der Alten, Berlin, 1833 Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae (LIMC), 9 vols., Zurich and Munich, 1981–99 Lomazzo, Giovanni Paolo, Scritti sulle arti, ed. R. P. Ciardi, 2 vols., Florence, 1973–4 Lucan. With an English translation by James D. Duff. The Civil War. Books I–X. London and New York, 1928 Mandel, Corinne, “Perseus and the Medici,” Storia dell’arte, No. 87, 1996, 168–87 Marin, Louis, To Destroy Painting, Chicago and London, 1995 Marini, Maurizio, Caravaggio. “Pictor praestantissimus.” L’iter artistico completo di uno dei massimi rivoluzionari dell’arte di tutti i tempi, Roma, 2001 Marino, Giovanni Battista, La Galeria, ed. M. Pieri, Padua, 1979 Martinelli, Valentino, “Novità berniniane 3. Le sculture per gli Altieri,”

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Commentari, X, 1959, 137–58; reprinted in his Gian Lorenzo Bernini e la sua cerchia. Studi e contributi (1950–1990), Naples, 1994, 241–70 Marzik, Iris, Das Bildprogramm der Galleria Farnese in Rom, Berlin, 1986 Matitti, Flavia, ed., Il Baciccio illustratore, Rome, 1994 Muller, Jeffrey M., “The Perseus and Andromeda on Rubens’ House,” Simiolus, XII, 1981–2, 131–46 Nava Cellini, Antonia, “Ipotesi sulla ‘Medusa’ capitolina e sulle probabili ‘teste’ di Gianlorenzo Bernini,” Paragone, XXXIX, no. 457, 1988, 29–34 Nibby, Antonio, Roma nell’anno MDCCCXXXVIII, 2 vols., Rome, 1838–41 Noelke, Peter, “Im Banne der Medusa : die Antikensammlung Ferdinand Franz Wallrafs und ihre Rezeption,” Kölner Jahrbuch, XXVI, 1993, 133–216 Ovid, Metamorphoses. With an English translation by Frank Justus Miller, 2 vols., Cambridge, MA, and London, 1984 The Oxford English Dictionary, 13 vols., Oxford, 1961 Pliny, Natural History. With an English Translation by H. Rackham, 10 vols, Cambridge, MA, and London, 1938–63 Posèq, Avigdor W. G, “Caravaggio’s Medusa shield,” Gazette des Beaux-Arts, CXIII, 1989, 170–4 Posèq, Avigdor W. G., “A Note on Bernini’s Medusa Head,” Konsthistorisk Tidskrift, LXII, 1993, 16–21 Posner, Donald, Annibale Carracci. A Study in the Reform of Italian Painting Around 1590, London, 1971 Preimesberger, Rudolph, “Zu Berninis Borghese-Skulpturen” in Herbert Beck and Sabine Schulze, eds., Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, Berlin, 1989, 9–36 Reckermann, Alfons, Amor Mutuus: Annibale Carraccis Galleria-FarneseFresken und das Bild-Denken der Renaissance, Cologne and Vienna, 1991 Ripa, Cesare, Iconologia, Rome, 1603 Schmidt, Victor M., “Marble Flesh. An Addition to ‘Bernini and Ovid’,” Source, XVIII, 1998, 25f. Schudt, Ludwig, “Bernini’s Schaffensweise und Kunstanschauungen nach den Aufzeichnungen des Herrn von Chantelou,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, XII, 1949, 74–89 Scott, John Beldon, “The Meaning of Perseus and Andromeda in the

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Farnese Gallery and on the Rubens House,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, LI, 1988, 250–60 Shearman, John, Only connect . . . Art and the Spectator in the Italian Renaissance, Princeton, 1992 Shearman, John, “Art or politics in the Piazza?,” in Alessandro Nova and Anna Schreurs, eds., Benvenuto Cellini. Kunst und Kunsttheorie im 16. Jahrhundert, Cologne etc., 2003, 39–58 Varriano, John, “Leonardo’s lost Medusa and other Medici Medusas from the Tazza Farnese to Caravaggio,” Gazette des Beaux-arts, CXXX, 1997, 73–80 Vernant, Jean-Pierre, Mortals and immortals. Collected Essays, Princeton, NJ, 1991 Vierneisel-Schlörb, Barbara, Klassische Skulpturen des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., Munich, 1979 Virgil. With an English translation by H. Rushton Fairclough, 2 vols., Cambridge, MA, and London, 1999 Wittkower, Rudolph, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, London, 1981 Ziegler, Konrat, “Das Spiegelmotiv im Gorgomythos,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft, XXIV, 1926, 1–18

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Bernini’s Bust of the Savior and the Problem of the Homeless in Seventeenth-century Rome*

I

N preparing for death Bernini followed a long and glorious tradition in which artists since the Renaissance strove to outdo themselves (and their predecessors) by creating tours de force of their craft as ultimate testaments to their ability and devotion.1 While he followed his tradition, Bernini reinterpreted it in a fundamental way, as if in fulfillment of his famous dictum that in his art he had succeeded in breaking the rules, without ever violating them.2 For although he amassed great wealth and international prestige during a long and almost uniformly successful career, unlike many artists of his means and stature — and notably his great prototype Michelangelo — he planned no tomb or other monument for himself 3 It emerges now more clearly than ever that if Bernini’s expiatory creations were self justificatory in origin, they were not self-centered in destination; they were directed not inward but outward, in a spirit of what today might be called ‘social consciousness.’ * * * * This paper is in the nature of a sequel to my study of Bernini’s Art of Dying and the works he created in pursuit of the ‘good death’ (Lavin 1972, 1973, 1978). These essays have been published together in Italian, Lavin 1998b. 1 I have outlined this tradition for Italian sculptors of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, in Lavin 1978–9, and 1998. The Italian Renaissance artist’s tomb generally has been studied by Schutz-Rautenberg 1978. 2 For a discussion of this principle and its implications for Bernini’s conception of his art, see Lavin 1980, 6 ff. 3 See p. 890f. below.

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Homo sapiens has been defined as the only animal that knows it is going to die. This paradox of a living creature’s self-conscious awareness of and preoccupation with its own death was a prominent theme in European culture from antiquity on. The process of intellectualization of this fatal aspect of human nature culminated toward the end of the middle ages in a coherent and logically conceived system, a veritable theory of dying. The technique was entitled, significantly, Ars moriendi, The Art (‘crafte’ or ‘cunnynge,’ as it was often called in early English) of Dying. To achieve a ‘good death’ (bona mors) the first prerequisite was precisely that the individual acknowledge his knowledge of his own demise and face death deliberately —meditate upon it, remind himself constantly that ‘I might die today,’ recall his past life, examine his conscience, affirm his faith in God’s ultimate judgment, and practice the cardinal virtues, Faith, Hope and, the highest of all, Charity. In this last respect, especially, the model to be followed for a good death was Christ, whose sacrifice on the cross was the supreme act of charity. Many such pious medieval traditions were revived in the zealous religious spirit of the Counter Reformation, the Ars moriendi among them. In this context, it should come as no surprise — although it did to me when I became aware of it — that unmistakable echoes of the medieval Ars moriendi may be discerned in the extensive accounts of Bernini’s last illness and death in the early biographies of the artist. What emerges from these descriptions is that Bernini not only practiced the art of dying in the technical sense, he actually conceived of his own death as a kind of artwork, which he prepared and calculated to the last detail, with the same kind of care and devotion he lavished on the buildings, sculptures and theatrical productions for which he was famous. In point of fact, Bernini’s death involved three great creative acts. One was the death itself, or rather the procedures he followed in preparing for the end, which were those of the Ars moriendi. The recipe for attaining salvation called for frequent colloquies with a spiritual advisor, in Bernini’s case his nephew, Francesco Marchese, a priest of the order of the Oratory. The dying man, Moriens, is also instructed to contemplate constantly holy images, especially the crucified Christ and the Virgin, and to invoke Christ’s sacrifice in appealing to the vengeful Father for redemption. To fulfill these injunctions Bernini made two other art works more conventional in kind but no less remarkable in form. All three together constitute Bernini’s art of dying. His last work in sculpture was the bust of the Savior, which he gave to his close friend Queen Christina of Sweden; it is mentioned in the collec-

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tion of her heir in an inventory of 1713. Known previously from a preparatory drawing (Fig. 1), the original was lost until it reappeared some years ago in the collection of Walter P. Chrysler, Jr., and it is now to be seen in the Chrysler Museum at Norfolk, Va. (Fig. 2). We also have a drawing by Bernini for the elaborate pedestal (Fig. 3), which corresponds to the description given in the sources. The bust rested on a base that was held in the draped hands of two angels who knelt on a high platform. It is important to bear in mind that the bust is heroic in scale, well over three feet high, and on the pedestal it was placed at human-proportional height; the whole image was more than ten feet tall. Held aloft by the angels, the bust was perceived as a superhuman vision, a miraculous apparition presented to the viewer by a pair of divine messengers. It is no accident that the nearest analogy for this mode of presentation is a design by Bernini for the display of the Holy Eucharist (Fig. 4). The bust itself is also extraordinary in a number of ways. So far as I can discover, it is the first monumental sculpture of this kind since antiquity in which both hands are included, a milestone in the history of the bust as an independent art form. The drapery is treated in an unprecedented way, wrinkled and folded so that no cut edges appear at the bottom. The drapery functions like a proscenium, creating the illusion that the figure is not amputated but appears complete in the mind’s eye. Jesus does not act as he normally does in bust-length portraits of the two-handed type, that is, in a rigid pose staring at the spectator with right hand extended in blessing and holding in his left a cross-surmounted orb as the emblem of his universal dominion (Fig. 5).4 Bernini’s Christ is not the usual austere, autonomous, triumphant Savior. Instead, in a complex, dynamic action he looks up imploringly to his right, indicating his chest wound with his left hand; he reaches across his chest with his right hand, which he turns palm outward to ward off the evil he abhors at his lower left. What Bernini did was amalgamate this tradition of the two-armed, bust-length Savior with two quite different, interrelated themes in which Christ alludes to his place in God’s scheme by pointing to the chest wound with his left hand. In the Last Judgment Christ often raises the blessed to heaven at his upper right, the auspicious side, and condemns the sinner to hell at his sinister lower left

The example illustrated here follows a famous lost composition by Leonardo, for which see Heydenreich 1988, 101–12. 4

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(Fig. 6). The second tradition comprises intercessory themes that illustrate Christ’s plea with his wrathful Father on behalf of mankind (Fig. 7).5 Evidently, Bernini created his unprecedented image of the Savior to illustrate Christ’s role as judge in the process of salvation, and as protector in the artist’s personal Art of Dying. The Art of Dying specifically enjoins the moribund to affirm his belief in the just retribution of the Father and his trust in the infinite mercy of the Son. These proclamations of faith and hope are the ultimate act of charity toward God, which the good Christian offers in death in exchange for Christ’s ultimate act of charity toward mankind on the cross. Indeed, the dying man was instructed to offer the following prayer to God: ‘I put the death of our Lord Jesus Christ between me and your wrath.’ What is important here is that Christ’s charity serves as the model for human charity as well. Bernini’s third work of eschatological art made in connection with his own death was an equally powerful graphic image that came to be known as the Sangue di Cristo, the Blood of Christ. He kept a painted version before his sickbed, and also had it engraved for wider distribution (Fig. 8).6 Christ is shown crucified, with blood gushing from his wounds; the Virgin, identified as always with the church, kneels below him washing her hands in his blood while God the Father flies up above with outstretched arms presenting the dramatic event to the spectator like some great, cosmic impresario. This design, too, is deeply indebted to the Ars moriendi, which suggested that moriens from his deathbed contemplate an image of the Crucifixion while imploring Christ and the Virgin to intercede on his behalf. The subject was illustrated, as in a sixteenth century stained glass window in Switzerland (Fig. 9), by a portrayal of the dying man expiring on his deathbed while in the clouds above appear the crucified Christ looking up toward God the Father and pointing toward his chest wound, and the Virgin who kneels on a cloud and appeals for mercy. Although the elements of Bernini’s design are traditional, the fundamental conception is radically new. He eliminated moriens but retained the view at an angle from below. As a result, the image is perceived as a miraculous apparition to the spectator, who thus replaces the man on his deathbed. The angle and elevation

5 Ronen 1988; Marshall 1994, 527. The formula is based on the tradition of the Speculum humanae salvationis, for which see Lavin 1972, 169. 6 On the painted and engraved versions of the composition, see now the catalogue entries in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 267–70.

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here perform the same visionary function as the form of the torso of the bust of the Savior and the supporting angels of the pedestal. The Sangue di Cristo composition is an independent vision, the full meaning of which we shall see presently. The print is also monumental in scale (10´´ x 18´´), considering that, folded into quarters, it retained a physical connection with the Art of Dying as the frontispiece to a small book published by Bernini’s nephew, the same Father Francesco Marchese the biographers describe as the artist’s close companion and counselor in death. Born in 1623, the son of Bernini’s older sister, Marchese was a remarkable man, active, learned and devout. He is best known as a dedicated opponent of the Quietist leader Miguel de Molinos, whose downfall he helped bring about during Molinos’s trial by the Inquisition in the 1680s. By the time he died in 1697 Marchese had published twenty-one books, including a fourvolume history of heresies, a treatise on the Peace of the Pyrenees and its political implications, as well as many hagiographies and devotional works.7 Marchese wrote several tracts in the tradition of the Ars moriendi, one of which, published in 1670, was illustrated by the Sangue di Cristo engraving. In the preface to this work Father Marchese urges those who seek salvation either to contemplate the image or read the text. Entitled ‘The Only Hope of the Sinner Consists in the Blood of Our Father Jesus Christ’ (Unica speranza del peccatore consiste nel sangue di N S. Giesù Cristo), it is a modernized, mystical Ars moriendi focused on a single theme, the blood of Christ, which is conceived as the universal key to salvation. The text explains Bernini’s spectacular vision of the crucified Christ suspended in the air, his blood pouring down through the Virgin’s upturned hands to form a limitless ocean in which all sins will be washed away. Christ’s sacrifice is the second universal flood, after that of Noah, in which the sins of the old dispensation are cleansed to reveal the immaculateness of the new; the blood of Christ inundates the world with salvation. The intercessory role of the Virgin who offers her son’s sacrifice is explained by a passage from the writings of the great Florentine mystic, Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi; echoing the Ars moriendi’s invocation of Christ’s sacrifice as protection against the wrath of the Lord, this prayer is cited in the text and as the subtitle to the engraving: ‘I offer you, Eternal Father, the blood of the incarnate word . . . and if any7 The fullest account of Francesco Marchese is that by Lattanzi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 272–83. For the relevance of Marchese’s tract on the Peace of the Pyrenees to Bernini’s work for Louis XIV, see Lavin 1993, 182, and 1999, 460–7.

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thing is wanting in me I offer it to you, Mary, that you may present it to the eternal Trinity.’ Two points are especially important here. First, it is clear that the bust of the Savior and the Sangue di Cristo were conceived as parallel visions illustrating complementary aspects of Bernini’s Art of Dying, one emphasizing the terrible process of judgment in which Christ intervenes, the other the promise of infinite grace offered through the church by Christ’s sacrifice. The second point is that both images transform the traditional Ars moriendi in a fundamental way. Almost by definition, the Ars moriendi was a private enterprise, specifically intended for the individual conscience. With Bernini the individual is merged, sublimated might be a better word, into the corporate body of all mankind. The personal acts of Christian charity that were the essence of the Ars moriendi are universalized. *** The implications of this conceptual transformation had very practical counterparts through which the Sangue di Cristo and the bust of the Savior were related, as it now appears, in extraordinary and wholly unexpected ways, not only to each other but also to Rome and its people. The relationship involved two of the signal projects of architectural, religious and social reform in the history of the city, with which Bernini was closely associated. In the case of the Sangue di Cristo a hint of this wider relevance is provided by a curious contemporary report linking the creation of the composition to one of the great architectural projects of Bernini’s career, and one of the notorious failures: the reconstruction of the tribune of the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, the mother church of all Marian devotions, reputed to have been designed by the Virgin herself in a miraculous appearance. The basilica had long posed a problem of architectural decorum because of its doubly anomalous disposition: the apse was in the west, the opposite of normal liturgical orientation, while the principal, entrance façade faced east, away from the urban center of the city. Ceremonial events involving processions and other devotional approaches from Rome might even use the back door, as it were (Fig. 10). The problem became acute in the early seventeenth century after the two great modern reliquary and funerary chapels had been built by Sixtus V and Paul V, flanking the medieval apse (Fig. 11). The challenge of transforming the apsidal end into a proper monumental entrance to the church was taken up in 1669 by Pope Clement IX

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(1667–69), who commissioned Bernini to design a ‘maestosa facciata’ that would also include tombs for the pope and his predecessor, Alexander VII (1655–67). Bernini’s design in its final form is known from several verbal descriptions, from a drawing, commemorative medals, and an engraving published early in the eighteenth century (Figs. 12, 13).8 His proposal was astonishing in many respects: he would have dismantled the medieval tribune, rebuilt the apse farther west, presumably to provide space for the tomb, and surrounded it by a magnificent colonnade raised on a much higher flight of stairs than heretofore. In effect, the portico provided a covered, annular platform raised above the city, joining the entrances to the side aisles. The sources make it abundantly clear that the project ultimately came to grief partly for financial reasons: the costs greatly exceeded the estimates and it was intimated that the ‘manipulator’ Bernini should be held accountable; and partly because there was strong opposition to the idea of replacing the medieval apse with its venerable mosaics, exactly the same kind of objection that had been raised against Borromini’s renovation of St. John’s of the Lateran, the Cathedral of Rome, undertaken by Innocent X (1644–55) twenty-five years before.9 We first hear of the idea of redoing the tribune of S. Maria Maggiore toward the end of 1667, and a good deal of work was done during the remaining year of Clement IX’s life (1667–December 9, 1669) and early in the reign of Clement X (1670–76).10 Bernini was in fact dismissed in May 1670, to be replaced three years later by Carlo Rainaldi, who executed the outer sheathing of the medieval apse we know today (Fig. 14).11 But already on September 13, 1669, it was reported that Bernini was to be replaced by Rainaldi, and the report adds the provocative observation For a general survey of S. Maria Maggiore and its history, see Pietrangeli 1988. The vicissitudes of the project have been dealt with by Borsi 1980, 138–9, 340; Anselmi 1992–3; Zollikofer 1994, 1420. The medals are discussed in Witman 1983, 125 f. There is no record of Bernini’s ideas for the tombs, if ever they took shape. 9 November 2, 1669: ‘Havendo inteso N. Signore l’antifona, che di già si siano spesi 60 mila scudi ne soli fondamenti della nuova Tribuna a Santa Maria Maggiore non fu poco non prorompesse la Santità S. in escandescenze contro il Bernini che s’offerse da principio darla finita per 100 mila, sí per vedersi deluso da questo reggiratore’; Mercati 1944, 21, n. 11. See also the documents cited by Fraschetti 1900, 380 n. 3, 381 n. 1. 10 For the earliest reference to the project, see Barozzi and Berchet 1877–8, II, 329 (cf. 315 for the date); cited by Pastor 1923–53, XXXI, 336 f, n. 5. 11 For the date, see Fraschetti 1900, 382 n. 1. 8

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1. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for the Bust of the Savior, drawing. Rome, Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe. 3. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for the upper part of the pedestal of the Bust of the Savior, drawing. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste, Graphische Sammlung.

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2. Gianlorenzo Bernini. Bust of the Savior. Norfolk, Va., Chrysler Museum (photo: R. Thornton. Providence. R.I.).

4. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for a Monstrance, drawing. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste, Graphische Sammlung.

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5. Attributed to Giampetrino, Salvator Mundi. Detroit Institute of Arts, Detroit.

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6. Michelangelo, The Last Judgement, detail of Christ. The Sistine Chapel, Vatican City (photo: Alinari 7578).

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7. Filippino Lippi, The Intercession of Christ and the Virgin. Munich, Alte Pinakothek.

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8. Gianlorenzo Bemini, Sangue di Cristo, engraving by F. Spierre, 473 x 290mm, frontispiece of F. Marchese, Unica speranza dell peccatore. Rome, 1670, Vatican Library.

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9. The Death of Moriens and Intercession of Christ and the Virgin, stained-glass votive window. Wettingen. Switzerland (photo: Die Kunstdenkmaler des Kantons Aargau).

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10. Transport of the body of St. Pius V to S. Maria Maggiore. Biblioteca Vaticana, Vatican City (photo: Musei Vaticani 111.6.11).

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11. Medieval apse of S. Maria Maggiore (after De Angelis 1621, ill. following p. 66).

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12. Workshop of Bemini, project for the apse of S. Maria Maggiore, drawing. Formerly in the Archive of the Chapter of S. Maria Maggiore (after Brauer and Wittkower 1931, pl. 182).

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13. Apse of S. Maria Maggiore showing Bernini’s project (light shading) and as executed by Carlo Rainaldi (after De Rossi 1702–11, III, pl. 16).

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14. Carlo Rainaldi, apse of S. Maria Maggiore showing obelisk erected by Sixtus V (photo: Anderson 126).

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15. Salus populi romani, Cappella Paolina. Rome, S. Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari 17346).

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16. Cappella Paolina, high altar. Rome, S. Maria Maggiore (photo: ICCD C9587).

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17. Francesco Borromini, nave of S. Giovanni in Laterano (photo: postcard).

18. Medieval facade of S. Maria Maggiore, showing column of the Virgin erected by Paul V, engraving by Israel Silvestre (after Silvestre [1641–46], pl. 5).

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19. Gianlorenzo Bemini, project for the east facade of the Louvre, drawing. Paris, Musée du Louvre (photo: SPRMN P8027). 20. Anonymous, Piazza S. Pietro, Corpus Domini procession of Innocent X. Rome, Museo di Roma (photo: ICCD E38783).

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21. Reconstruction of the tomb of Hadrian (after Lauro 1642, pl. 116).

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22. Reconstruction of the temple of Vesta (after Lauro 1642, pl. 39).

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23. Pietro da Cortona, facade of S. Maria della Pace. Rome (photo: Brogi 18600).

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24. Fresco of Christ and saints with inserted image of the Madonna and Child. Rome, Temple of Vesta (S. Maria del Sole) (photo: Deutsches Archaeologisches Institut, Rome, 63.15161.

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that Bernini, confronted with this prospect, made the Sangue di Cristo composition in order to demonstrate his ‘incomparable virtue’ (impareggiabile nella sua virttí).12 The connection between the engraving and the architectural project would seem at first glance gratuitous, and yet it offers the key to an understanding of an important aspect of both works. Virtú can mean something like prowess, and since Bernini was then 71 years old he may have felt it necessary to demonstrate that his professional capacity was undiminished. But virtú also has an ethical significance, and in this sense the print is relevant to the S. Maria Maggiore project in a deeper, thematic way. The nature of this relationship can only be fully grasped through an exploration of what was evidently a deliberate effort by Bernini to synthesize a wide range of visual and ideological references, modern as well as ancient, Christian as well as classical, into a kind of epitome of the city’s architectural and religious life. The concept begins to emerge when one recalls that the great popularity of S. Maria Maggiore is due largely to its being the center of what can only be described as the cult of the Assumption of the Virgin, celebrated there each August 15 for at least 1000 years. Throughout the middle ages, the event was celebrated by an immensely popular procession in which a miraculous image of the Savior (cf. Fig. 40) was carried from the Lateran through the city to S. Maria Maggiore, where it was met by an equally miraculous image of the Madonna whose status as the virtual embodiment of the people of the city came to be denoted by the sobriquet Salus populi romani (Fig. 15).13 The icon forms the centerpiece of the altar display in Paul V’s chapel that opens off the south aisle of the church just inside the western entrance to that aisle (Fig. 16). Placed side by side, the two icons — both of which were acheropita, ‘not made by hand’ — became the protagonists of a reenactment of the marriage of Christ and the Church and the assumption of the Virgin, when she joined him, her son and her spouse, on the throne of heaven. By the mid-sixteenth century the procession, which took place by torchlight throughout the night of the 14th, had become the occasion for unruly behavior and in 1566 it was abolished by Vedendosi il cavaliere Bernini scartato dall’opera che al presente s’erge della scalinata nella basilica Liberiana ed in sua vece subentrato il cavaliere Rainaldi si è posto ad intagliare in rame componendovi sopra una figura di un Christo con una gloria che poscia improntandolo in carta darà a vedere essere impareggiabile nella sua virtú’ (Claretta 1885, 520). 13 Recent studies of the icons and the procession are: Ingersoll 1985, 224–52, Tronzo, ed., 1989, Wolf 1990. 12

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the reforming Pope Pius V. However, Alexander VII determined to revive the celebration — a completely overlooked but, as I believe, critically important fact.14 Although Alexander died before carrying out his purpose, the design Bernini proposed to Alexander’s successor seems to reflect the idea of reinstating the procession. The idea to replace the tribune with an annular portico conjoining the side aisles may have been intended to create a counterpart to a comparable project by Borromini for the interior of the Lateran tribune, which was later taken up again in the next century by Piranesi.15 Bernini’s intention was to use for his portico the remainder of the hallowed ancient columns of rare green marble (verde antico) that had formed the original side aisles of the Constantinian basilica of the Lateran, some of which Borromini had appropriated for the niches containing statues of the apostles and symbolizing the twelve gates of the Heavenly Jerusalem (Fig. 17); others had been transferred to Siena by Alexander VII for his family chapel dedicated to the Virgin in the cathedral.16 Incorporating the series of hallowed columns, Bernini’s colonnade would The idea of renewing the procession is reported in Benedetto Millino’s monograph on the Sancta Sanctorum, dedicated to Alexander VII, which he wrote partly to ‘rinouar la memoria quasi estinta della solennelissima festa, che si faceua in questa città, portandosi ogni anno processionalmente l’Imagine suddeta del Saluatore, nel giorno dell’Assunta, alla Basilica di S. Maria Maggiore; processione, sicome la piú famosa, e la piú antica di quante ne habbia vedite Roma: cosí, quando si rinouasse, si potrebbe sperare nel Popolo Romano accrescimento grande di pia liberalità e di deuotione, versa essa santa Imagine’ (italics mine; Millino 1656, unpaginated dedication). Millino says that he had written the tract a decade earlier, when it had met with the pope’s approval. Alexander’s intention, thwarted by his death, is reported by Soresino 1675, 88: ‘Praefatam autem processionem annualem ex nostra Basilica ad Sancta Sanctorum in peruigilio Assumptionis gloriosissimae Deipare Virginis Mariae, Alexander VII. summus Pontifex restituere decreuerat, vt Benadictus Millinus decebat, maxime supplicibus exhortationibus eiusdem, sed ipsius Romani Pontificis obitus est in causa, quod res ad exitum perducta non sit.’ On this episode see Dell’Addolorata 1919, 288 f. 15 See Wilton-Ely and Connors, in Piranesi, 1992, 21, 103 f. 16 On the reused Constantinian columns, see Krautheimer 1977, 45. The plan to transfer the remaining columns to Santa Maria Maggiore, strongly opposed by the canons of the Lateran, is reporrted by Fraschetti 1900, 379 f, n. 3: ‘. . . Per ordine della Santità Sua i. Cerioli suo ministro di Casa è andato a vedere a San Giovanni in Laterano le bellissime Colonne di Verde antico per servirsene nella suddetta fabrica, il che sarà di Sparmio di alcune migliaia di scudi, con gran disgusto però del Capitolo di detta Basilica che non vorrebe privarsene, e cosí si va facendo studio di ritrovare altri marmi, e Colonne per sparmiare le grosse spese, a sollecitudine del Lavoro’ (September 7, 1669). on the symbolism of Borromini’s Lateran, see Fagiolo 1971. 14

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have performed an architectural ‘wedding’ that conjoined the Marian basilica to the Lateran by a ring of precious stones. It might be said in the first instance simply that the colonnaded portico provided a modern equivalent facing the city of the medieval narthex at the front of the church (Fig. 18). At the same time, however, screening the semi-dome of the apse behind a horizontal balustrade with statues contributed to the effect of a festive and truly regal — ‘majestic’ was the contemporary word— facade. This was surely Bernini’s reason for interpolating here the famous early project he had worked out a few years before for the façade of Louis XIV’s Louvre. The design featured a ring of attached columns that supported a balustrade with sculptures suggestive of a regal crown (Fig. 19);17 at S. Maria Maggiore, the motif becomes a ‘diadem’ for the Queen of Heaven. The colonnade also could not fail to recall, in form as no doubt in function, the other great work Bernini had conceived under Alexander, the colonnaded porticos before St. Peter’s. The pope himself described the porticos as a ‘crown’ for that ‘royal edifice’ — where they provided a worthy canopy for the city’s other great religious procession, that of the Corpus Domini (Fig. 20).18 At S. Maria Maggiore, one can readily imagine the Madonna icon similarly paraded, from the Cappella Paolina to the nearby side aisle portal and through the colonnade to the center of the apse, where it would be met by its counterpart from the Lateran; the images would then proceed together through the other half of the portico into the church for the remainder of the ceremony. The two monumental, curving porticoes at St. Peter’s and S. Maria Maggiore would thus have complemented each other, visually as well as ceremonially, across the papal city. Architectural crowns, both secular and religious, were common in ephemeral works, and Carlo Rainaldi had actually surmounted the three pavillions of his louvre project with royal crown motifs. See Fagiolo dell’Arco 1997, 78 (Rainaldi), and passim. 18 The pope’s observation is quoted by Krautheimer 1985, 72. The ‘editio princeps’ of the motif, which I have discussed as a ‘royal’ theme in connection with Bernini’s Louvre projects (Lavin 1993, 187, 191), were Michelangelo’s palaces on the Campidoglio. The relevance for the conception of the St Peter’s colonnades of the papal Corpus Domini procestion, for which long temporary canopies were erected before the colonnades were built, has been noted, but not fully appreciated; I hope to return to this theme on another occasion. See Pastor 1923–53, XXXI, 296; Kitao 1974, 131 n. 254 f; and Fagiolo 1982, 119; Fagiolo and Madonna, eds., 1985, 138–40; Krautheimer 1985, 65. In a sense, the project at S. Maria Maggiore might also be said to have fulfilled the veritable ‘program’ of colonnades carried out or planned under Alexander VII throughout the city, which included a vast network of treelined avenues; see Krautheimer 1985, 109 ff, 120, 190. 17

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The form of Bernini’s project has two other, quintessentially Roman connotations that must be taken into account. He evidently merged two heretofore distinct but complementary classical traditions of architectural signification, with which Alexander VII had also been concerned. Both involved circular or semicircular peripteral colonnades associated with particular ideals of permanence, universality and perfection. It has been pointed out that aspects of the design — the semicircular ring of columns, the crown of statues — recall contemporary reconstructions of the grandest and most famous of Roman tombs, that of the emperor Hadrian, which became the medieval stronghold of the popes, Castel Sant’Angelo;19 the illustration given by Giacomo Lauro, whose repertory of ancient monuments Bernini exploited on other occasions at this period, seems particularly relevant (Fig. 21).20 An evocation of the imperial mausoleum par excellence was appropriate to a project at S. Maria Maggiore intended to add the tombs of two more popes to those already commemorated there. The idea was wholly in keeping with the attitude of Alexander VII, for whom Bernini had converted the ancient Aelian bridge leading across the Tiber to the Castel Sant’Angelo into a kind of via crucis with statues of angels carrying the instruments of the Passion. The annular colonnade was also a common formula for ancient temples, doubtless known to Bernini as a type of the Temple of Peace, and of structures sacred to virgin deities.21 In the early seventeenth century one of the most familiar Roman structures of this type, the Temple of Vesta beside the Tiber, was rededicated to the Madonna del Sole, in reference to a miraculously radiant image of the Virgin and Child reportedly found in the river.22 In Lauro’s compendium the temple is portrayed against a structure with pavilions at either end, in a manner that anticipates the façade by Pietro da Cortona of the church Alexander VII commissioned and dedicated to

19 The relationship to the ancient imperial tombs (including that of Augustus, which was preceded by two obelisks) was suggested by Fagiolo dell’Arco 1967, 242, and developed in an excellent thesis at the University of Rome by Anselmi 1992–3. on the bridge, see Weil 1974; D’Onofrio 1981. 20 On the importance of Lauro’s work see Del Pesco 1984; Lavin 1993, 157–60, 180. 21 On the circular, colonnaded Temple of Peace, see Ost 1971, 269–79. There was, of course, a long-standing tradition of centrally planned churches dedicated to the Virgin (Krautheimer 1950, Wittkower 1975, 137–40, Sinding-Larsen 1965, 220–7). 22 See Rakob and Heilmeyer 1973, 14 f, and the bibliography cited there, esp. Cecchelli 1938–51, I, 129–67.

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peace, S. Maria della Pace (Figs. 22, 23).23 Even more striking is the anticipation of the arrangement Bernini envisaged at S. Maria Maggiore, with the colonnaded apse between the domed Sistine and Pauline chapels. Two factors in particular made the reference singularly appropriate at Maria Maggiore. The type of the image of the Madonna and Child in the Tiber temple clearly reflected that of the Salus Populi Romani and its discovery must have reflected and greatly reinforced the city’s millenial popular devotion to the Virgin and that image (Fig. 24). The association of the Virgin with peace came through the birth of her son; the Prince of Peace, and Bernini’s architectural evocation of Peace and the Virgin in the apse corresponded on precisely these terms to the famous Egyptian obelisk that Sixtus V had raised before the apse of the church (1587), where it would have become the focal point of Bernini’s design (cf. Fig. 14). Sixtus had transferred the obelisk, rededicated to the victorious Christ, from the other great circular, imperial tomb in Rome, the mausoleum of Augustus, under whose peace, as one of the inscriptions on the pedestal proclaims, the Prince of Peace was born.24 This grandiose conversion of antiquity expressed at the western end of the church facing the city in turn had its correspondent before the eastern entrance façade in the colossal column, reputedly the largest in Rome, erected there in 1615 by Paul V (Fig. 18). Paul had removed the column from another building, thought to have been the ancient Temple of Peace, and dedicated it to the Immaculate Virgin on the feast of the Assumption.25 Approaching the church from the city, the routes to Christ and the Virgin, triumph and peace, thus converged at S. Maria Maggiore, and would have culminated in Bernini’s apse. It has long been known that, beside the Salus Populi Romani, one particular class of Madonna images was associated with the feast of the Assumption; this is the type of intercessory Virgin who lifts both hands upward in a gesture that suggests both an appeal and an offering to heaven. The type was familiar from the classic Byzantine Crucifixion type in which the Virgin standing beneath the cross gestures in this way (Fig. 25). The motif had been isolated in an icon formula known as the Madonna The analogy between Bernini’s apse and S. Maria della Pace has also been noted by Marder 1990, 123. Gijsbers 1996, 319–23, notes the relationship in this tradition between Cortona’s portico (1657–8) and that of Bernini’s S. Andrea al Quirinale (begun 1648). 24 On Sixtus’s obelisk see D’Onofrio 1965, 154–9. 25 On the Basilica of Constantine/Temple of Peace and the Marian column, See Ost 1971, 269–79; Wolf 1991–2, 314–8. 23

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Avvocata that was common in Rome, notably in an image at which the icon of the Savior traditionally stopped along its way in the procession from the Lateran to S. Maria Maggiore (Fig. 26).26 Perhaps for this reason it was followed toward the end of the thirteenth century by Jacopo Torriti for the figure of the Virgin in his mosaic of the coronation in the apse of S. Maria Maggiore itself (Fig. 27). Adopting the same gesture for the kneeling, cloud-borne Virgin in his Sangue di Cristo composition, Bernini recalled the imagery of S. Maria Maggiore and the famous procession, and linked it to the Ars moriendi tradition. The tertium quid in this relationship is Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi’s invocation of the Blood of Christ offered by the Virgin on behalf of mankind. It might well be relevant that the words quoted on the engraving were spoken on the occasion of the saint’s vision in which Christ took her as his spouse, as he had her namesake, his mother, on the day of her assumption.27 This reference to Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi might be said to complete the sense of the Sangue di Cristo engraving, which was evidently a public appeal for clemency in tacit allusion to the personal and public crisis of the S. Maria Maggiore tribune; Bernini’s design invokes the saint, whom Clement IX had canonized only a few months before, in April of 1669, who in turn invokes the universal charity of Christ’s sacrifice and implores the intercession of the Virgin.28 The idea of reviving the procession of the Assumption with its conjunction of miraculous images, the canonization of Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi, On the Madonna Avvocata-Deesis see Tronzo 1989, 173 f, 180 ff also Belting, in Tronzo, ed., 1989, esp. 30 ff, and Wolf 1990, 161 ff. 27 The marriage vision is described by Puccini 1609, 238 f. 28 D’Onofrio 1973, 48, also relates Bernini’s print to the canonization. Following a suggestion of Blunt 1978, Beltramme 1994 identifies the kneeling figure in the composition as Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi, rather than the Virgin. Apart from other considerations, Blunt and Beltramme simply disregard the fact that all contemporary sources, including Bernini himself, his own son, his nephew, and Baldinucci, refer to the figure as Mary (see the dispatch quoting Bernini cited in Lavin 1972, 164 n. 17, and the biographies and Marchese’s introduction quoted in Lavin 1972, 160, 167 n. 23). However, one point, not mentioned by Beltramme or Blunt, leads me to suspect that Bernini may have intended to conflate the two Marys: the figure is shown barefoot, repeating the motif of Bernini’s portrayal of St. Teresa; both saints were Discalzed Carmelites. As Blunt noted, an allusion may also have been intended to the biblical Mary Madgalene, who is often shown at the foot of the cross gathering Christ’s blood. In any case, neither the identification of the figure nor the evident indebtedness of the concept and Father Marchese’s text to the writings of the saint, mitigates the importance of intercession and the Ars moriendi tradition to the design, content, and function of the image, including Bernini’s own use of it at his deathbed. 26

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the tribulated project for rebuilding the apse of S. Maria Maggiore, the creation of the Sangue di Cristo composition, and the publication of Father Marchesel’s book, are like interlocking pieces of a vast historical jigsaw puzzle of which Bernini’s ‘incomparable virtue’ forms the centerpiece. * * * A few years ago, while preparing a catalogue of the collections of the museum of the city of Rome, the Museo di Roma, a young curator found in the basement repository two relief sculptures that she recognized as closely related to Bernini’s bust of the Savior (Figs. 28, 29).29 The reliefs were clearly complementary and each bore the inscription Hospitii Apostolici Pauperum Invalidorum (Of the Apostolic Hospice of the Invalid Poor). The reliefs were recorded in an earlier inventory of the museum as having been removed from the old land customs, as distinct from marine customs, building in Rome. The old Dogana della Terra is a famous structure that today houses the Rome stock exchange. Originally built in the second century A.D. as the temple of the Emperor Hadrian, it survived into modern times and in the year 1695 the great reforming pope Innocent XII (1691–1700), as one of his many benefactions for Rome, converted it into the customs house for overland imports. The reliefs appear in early depictions of the building, and the places where they were attached to the walls flanking the entrance are still visible (Figs. 30, 31). When the customs building was converted into the stock exchange in the 1880s the reliefs were removed, stored in the basement of the Museo di Roma, and forgotten. Two similar reliefs were already known (Figs. 32, 33) and upon full investigation a total of seven reliefs, all dependent on Bernini’s bust, were recovered from buildings, some still extant, others demolished, in various parts of the city (Figs. 34–36). Some bear the same inscription as the two from the customs house, and all can be identified with the Apostolic Hospice of the Invalid Poor. The archives of the Hospice still exist and its documents revealed that all the reliefs were executed by several different artists in one campaign in 1694–95, fifteen years after Bernini’s death in 1680. The newly discovered relationship between Bernini’s bust of the Savior and the group of reliefs that pertained to the Apostolic Hospice for the Poor makes The story is told in the splendid study and catalogue entries by Di Gioia in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 285–344. 29

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it possible to reconstruct one of the most remarkable episodes in the modern artistic and social history of Rome, and, I venture to say, of Europe generally. It has been a familiar fact since Michel Foucault wrote his famous chapter on the ‘Le grand renfermement’ (the great incarceration) in his Folie et déraison of 1961, that the seventeenth century witnessed a great increase in the number and kinds of institutions devoted to the care of socially undesirable people. Whether there was an actual increase in the destitute population, or a greater awareness of its existence, or both, the chronicles of the period are filled with laments about the terrible conditions in the cities and bitter complaints about the fact that citizens cannot walk the streets without being accosted by poor people begging or trying to steal. One cannot even go to church because the doors are blocked by men, women and children in dirty rags, many more or less horribly and more or less authentically disabled, seeking to exploit the compassionate Christian’s obligation of charity. Such conditions were not only annoying and dangerous in the criminal sense, and an impediment to religion, they were also dangerous in the political sense because they fomented civic unrest. Efforts to counter these developments proliferated from the latter part of the sixteenth century and the seventeenth century witnessed a veritable flood of Counterreformatory charitable enterprises that sought to deal with the poor, along with other kinds of unfortunate or unwelcome social deviants such as criminals and the mentally and physically incapacitated, by getting them off the streets and providing for them properly. In many cities throughout Europe there were created for the first time general hospices, which were often attached to prisons and often included the insane and other undesirables. They might be called hospitals, but not in the modern sense since the treatment of illness was only an incidental function, if it existed at all. A crucial element of all these measures was that the beneficiaries were reduced to a state of urban non-existence, as it were. They were required to leave the streets and enter the hospices where they would be provided for with all due charity. They would be washed, fed, given clothing and decent accommodation, and put to work in some gainful employment. But if they refused or evaded the provision, they were condemned. Hence, it became legally forbidden to beg in the streets or public places, on pain of corporal punishment, imprisonment, or even banishment from the city. In Rome, these developments culminated in 1692 when Innocent XII announced a great, new, and imaginative war on poverty. Elected by the party known as the

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Zealous (Zelanti), Innocent was a passionate reformer. He is remembered mainly for having decreed an end to the millennial papal prerogative of nepotism, but he was responsible for many other improvements as well. In the fall of 1692 he issued a dramatic edict requiring that all the poor of Rome, including their families, report to a central place where they would be interviewed and given clothing, and whence they would then proceed to their new home. There all their needs would be provided for and they would participate in a highly structured regime of daily activities that included training and work in useful trades, and religious instruction and devotions of all sorts. Family members who could not physically transport themselves to the hospice, were allowed to remain in their own homes, if they had them, where they would receive comparable care and give comparable service and devotions to the limit of their abilities. The edict was carried out on Sunday, November 30, 1692, with a great procession of the poor to their new quarters. Much of the program enacted in Rome was based on similar programs in other cities, notably Amsterdam, Paris, Lyon, Florence and Genoa. But in some important respects Rome was special and different. To begin with, the idea of ministering to the poor developed from a quite different context in Rome than elsewhere. The initial driving force in Rome was not the perennial urban social problem presented by the indigent. Rather, it was related to the spectacular development during the Counterreformatory period of the Holy Year celebrations.30 The first hospices in Rome were created in order to provide for the many needy pilgrims who came during Holy Years to pay their devotions at the sacred sites of the city. In Rome, the movement was connected in a very specific way with Christian charity. Innocent XII’s program, moreover, devoted much more attention than did others to instruction, both sacred and artisanal; and religious devotions and productive labor were conceived as benefits, not punishments for the poor.31 The program was thus not simply a remedy for social ill but had a specific spiritual and ethical content, as well.

30 The seminal importance of the jubilee pilgrimages in the development of charities for the poor in Italy, and especially Rome, has been recognized by Pullan 1978, 1001–5, and Simoncelli 1973–4, 123. On the poorhouses of Genoa, Palermo and Naples, see Guerra, et al. 1995. Marder 1980, 43 f., noted the importance of social programs in the architectural projects of late seventeenth-century Rome, including the Lateran hospice. 31 On this point see Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 23.

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Thirdly, the Roman program embraced all the poor, including the wives and children of family men, who might be cared for at home if the move to the hospice was impracticable. The hospice was also exclusively for the poor, who were not combined with criminals and the insane.32 The program might well be described as a universal Christian charity. Fourthly, Rome was extraordinary by virtue of the building that was given over to the hospice (Fig. 37). It was an enormous palace built by Pope Sixtus V at the end of the sixteenth century adjoining the church of St. John’s in the Lateran, which is the cathedral of the city and thus the Episcopal seat of the successor to St. Peter as Bishop of the diocese of Rome. Sixtus had built the Lateran palace as his summer residence, but it remained vacant and abandoned after his successor built another, more convenient retreat. Rome was thus confronted with the wondrous spectacle of the poorest of the poor occupying one of the greatest, noblest and most luxurious palaces in the world (Fig. 38). In a sense, the measure was a prophetic piece of urban renewal, like the re-use of old railway stations and industrial buildings for civic purposes in our time. But there was a deeper significance, as well. The Catholic church is traditionally conceived as devoted to poverty, and when Innocent was criticized for this extravagant folly, his reply was that he was only giving to the poor, whom he called ‘my true nephews,’ what was properly theirs — in this case, the palace of the popes, no less.33 The fifth great difference of the Roman program from its predecessors was organizational, or rather administrative. It was meant to be permanent, and toward this end it was supposed to be financially self-sustaining. The funding was to come from several kinds of sources, beginning with a major endowment from the papal treasury itself. In addition, gifts by individuals to other welfare institutions were forbidden; private benefactions were henceforth channeled to the Apostolic Hospice. All Christian charity was thus devoted to this single, new, global enterprise. In addition, the employment of the inmates was conceived in a new way. In other cases the sequestered poor were put to work for the state, or, in effect, leased to private entrepreneurs, who thus exploited the cheap labor. Here, instead, the goods and labor were sold and the profits were used to support the hospice itself. And finally, income from taxes and rents was assigned to the hospice — for example, a tax on playing cards; taxes on goods imported into the city, levied at the land and sea customs houses; and rental income on a 32 33

Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 24. Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 19.

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number of buildings that were given to the hospice by the pope or other donors. The sculptured reliefs were made as signs for one and all to see that the buildings they adorned belonged to the hospice at the Lateran and were dedicated to its mission of charity in imitation of Christ.34 And of course, with the suppression of the other, private charities, it was unique as a public institution having its insignia, the descendants of Bernini’s bust of the Savior, displayed throughout the city. It is important to observe that all the derivatives from Bernini’s Savior follow the conception of the work recorded in Bernini’s preparatory drawing (cf. Fig. 1), rather than the final version, in two essential ways: Christ looks forward, not up, and the gesture of the right hand is benedictory, not protective. The differences embody a different expressive emphasis: not judgment and intercession, but charity, pure and simple; and a different function: not the personal appeal of Ars moriendi eschatology, but the social context of public welfare.35 At its height the hospice housed some 1600 people and provided for some 250 families in their homes. I am convinced that the unique character of this institution could only have been defined in Rome under the papacy, with its unique, cosmopolitan fusion of church and state, religious and civic consciousness, moral ideals and practical necessities. Indeed, to think of Innocent XII’s project simply as charity misses a crucial point. It seems to me that the Lateran hospice signals the development of a new social as well as political awareness in Europe. It is often said that the modern notion of statehood as a coherent political and, indeed, moral entity developed under the aegis of the absolute 34 Di Gioia (in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 326) notes that the reliefs were placed only on the income-producing buildings, not where the poor were actually housed. The buildings related to the hospice are discussed in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 103–201. The idea of identifying the buildings in this way was surely based on the Confraternity of the Savior’s use of its emblem (see p. 889f. below). 35 Di Gioia (in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 325 ff ) comments perceptively on these differences and, following my suggestion concerning the bust at Sées (Lavin 1973), also concludes that the copies reflect the stage recorded in the Corsini drawing. If my hypothesis is correct, that Bernini sent the drawing to Paris for his friend Cureau de la Chambre to have copied in marble, then a comparable work must have been available in Rome, which the artists there followed in preference to Bernini’s own sculpture, then in the collection of Innocent XI’s nephew, Livio Odescalchi. The obvious solution was offered by Di Giola, who refers to the copy of the Savior painted by Bernini’s protege Baciccio (lost, but clearly reflected in another work by him), which Bernini left to Innocent XI (as recorded by Domenico Bernini, see Lavin 1973, 162), and which was also in the Odescalchi collection when the reliefs were made.

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monarchies of the seventeenth century; and the papacy, in its special way, was certainly among them. Within this context, what we are witnessing here is nothing less than the birth of a modern notion of the poor as a distinct class, and of welfare as an abstract, global concept. And this new level of consciousness is, in turn, an essential component of the new conception of the social body itself as an organic whole embracing all its members, including even the undesirable. I use the word embrace advisedly because the poor are not only recognized as a group, they are also the subject of universal concern, a challenge not only to the personal conscience of the individual but to the collective conscience of government and the governed. It might be said that indigent people are no longer dependent on private Christian charity, and instead ‘the poor’ become a collective social responsibility. The man who formulated the idea of the hospice adopted by Innocent XII as the solution to the problem of the homeless in Rome, who helped work out its organization and administration, and who was assigned an important role in carrying it out, was none other than Bernini’s beloved nephew, the Oratorian priest Francesco Marchese. After the artist’s death Marchese became an increasingly important figure in the intellectual religious life of the city and deeply concerned with its social problems. He was appointed Apostolic Preacher by Innocent XI (1676–89) in 1689.36 The tract he wrote in 1691 describing his proposal — which was only part of a much wider program of reform — is still preserved.37 It was obviously Father Marchese who saw the appropriateness of Bernini’s portrait of the Savior as the emblem of the hospice. He was not simply promoting the fame of his uncle’s art — there was certainly no need for that. He understood that Bernini’s image and the apostolic hospice were in fact profoundly related: both were motivated by essentially the same, in the end quite unprecedented ideal of a truly universal charity. I suspect there was more to this relationship than meets the eye; more, that is, than merely a happy inspiration on Father Marchese’s part. Marchese’s project, in fact, was a development and elaboration into a coherent program of a scheme for the same kind of hospice that had been outlined by one of his older confreres at the Oratory, Father Mariano Sozzini, 36 Marchese was named Apostolic Preacher to succeed Bonaventura da Recanati; see Bonadonna Russo 1979, 258 n. 14; Lippi 1889, 273–4; for the date, See Dictionnaire 1912 ff, IX, cols. 808–9. 37 On the date See Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 34 n. 6.

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many years before. Sozzini had originally sketched out his ideas on the deplorable conditions in Rome in 1670, the very year in which Bernini’s visual meditation on the blood of Christ appeared, accompanied by Marchese’s explanatory booklet. Sozzini made a more developed proposal for reform soon after Innocent XI became pope in September 1676, and later that same year we hear that Bernini himself had been asked to refurbish the Lateran palace for a hospice for the poor.38 Proposals to use the Lateran palace for this purpose had already been made twice before in Bernini’s time, in the reign of Alexander VII, and again early in that of Clement IX.39 None of these projects was carried out but the coincidences can scarcely have been fortuitous and I cannot help thinking that Bernini himself might have been the common denominator. Certainly, the Oratorians and particularly Sozzini and Marchese were the prime movers of the whole enterprise, and it has been suggested that Marchese may have proposed his uncle for the restoration of the palace.40 I wonder, however, whether the underlying notion of universal charity — expressed nowhere more succinctly than in the Sangue di Cristo composition and in the bust of the Savior — might really have been Bernini’s, stemming ultimately from his own interpretation and application of the Art of Dying. It is worth recalling in this connection that in his tract on the maladies of the church, composed in 1670, the year Marchese’s treatise illustrated by Bernini’s Sangue di Cristo was published, Sozzini argued that Rome had a special moral obligation to the poor: in the papal city luxury was more pernicious than elsewhere because it was purchased with the Blood of Christ (that is, the donations of the faithful) and the patrimony of

38 On the dating of Sozzini’s project for Innocent XI see Bonadonna Russo 1979, 260, 265 n. 42, 273 f; Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 18. The report of Innocent’s charge to Bernini to refurbish the Lateran palace is dated November 21, 1676: ‘Ha fatta Sua Santità chiamare il Cau.r Bernini, et impostoli di douere ristaurare il Palazzo Lateranense uolendo porui l’Arti, ò uero farlo habitatione de poueri’ (Fraschetti 1900, 398 n, 1). A written discussion of the restoration project is preserved: Calcolo e riflessione sopra al palazzo apostolico in S. Giovanni in Laterano per il premeditato hospedale (Bibl. Vall., G. 62, fols. 325–33; cf. Bonadonna Russo 1979, 273 n. 58; Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 34 n. 22). 39 In an interesting social critique of the city at that period, discussed by Krautheimer 1985, 126ff, 191 f. 40 Innocent’s close ties to the Oratorians were emphasized by Bonadonna Russo 1979, 258 f. The suggestion was made by Contardi in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 34 n. 24.

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the poor (the goods of the Church).41 The possibility of Bernini’s conceptual contribution may be enhanced by another circumstance that can hardly be fortuitous. The two most famous and popular of all bust-length images of Christ were associated with the Lateran, whose original and primary dedication is to the Savior.42 In the center of the apse of the church (Fig. 39) is a cloudborne bust of Christ that was reputed to have appeared in the sky, reciting the blessing Pax vobis to the people, on November 9, 324 A.D., the day the basilica was consecrated by Pope Sylvester I, at the behest of the emperor Constantine the Great, as the cathedral of Rome. The second image (Fig. 40) is housed next to the Lateran in the Scala Santa, a structure containing the relic of the steps from the palace of Pilate where Christ was judged. This portrait of Christ ‘not made by hand’ was the icon that on the feast of the Assumption was carried through the streets of Rome to S. Maria Maggiore, where it was met by the Salus populi romani. The two Lateran images were linked, so to speak, through the Venerable Company of the Most Sacred Image of the Most Holy Savior at the Sancta Sanctorum. This noble confraternity, one of the oldest in Rome, was charged with guarding the Sanctum Sanctorum icon, and also with administering the great hospital for the poor and infirm that had been attached to the church of the Lateran since the late middle ages. The emblem of that confraternity was a bust of Christ that recalls the apse image, but appears above a parapet-like, ornamented base, so as to suggest also the elaborately framed, full-length icon Figs. 41, 42).43 The emblem was displayed on the confraternity’s doc41 ‘. . . il lusso in Roma è piú pernicioso che nelle altre città . . . perché si fa col sangue di Cristo e col patrimonio de’ poveri,’ Döllinger 1882, 472; cited by Bonadonna Russo 1979, 261. 42 The Lateran icon of the Savior has been discussed recently by Wolf 1990, 60–5; on its monumental mosaic counterpart in the apse of the Lateran, See Warland 1986, 31–41, 212; D’Onofrio 1990, 226–9. I am indebted at this point to William Tronzo, who reminded me of the Lateran icon in connection with Bernini’s bust of the Savior. 43 On the hospital, the confraternity and its emblem and the Lateran images see De Angelis 1958; Lumbroso and Martini 1963, 394 ff; Pavan 1978, 1984; D’Onofrio 1990, 212 ff; Freiberg 1995, 113–5. Freiberg 1988, 352 n. 168, aptly suggested that the two angels shown below and flanking the Savior image in Fig. 42 (in the form of the confraternity emblem) allude to the pair of angels that flank the ark of the covenant in Exodus 25:1–23; Bernini’s angels might make the same point. Grisar 1908, 49, interpreted the Confraternity’s emblem ‘illusionistically’ as reflecting the view of the icon protruding above the altar of the Sancta Sanctorum. The silver frame of the icon covers all but the face, whereas in the apse mosaic Christ is represented in the form of a bust. D’Onofrio is therefore undoubtedly correct in relating the emblem to the Lateran apparition; the Confraternity, linked both to the

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uments and, in the form of reliefs, on the buildings that served the hospital; these reliefs clearly inspired the use of Bernini’s image for the Hospice of Innocent XII. Indeed, they may even have inspired Bernini’s image itself.44 The revival of interest in the great procession, or rather the icons involved in it, may have had another significance for Bernini, as well. At several points along the way the cortege stopped, the Christ icon was introduced to other images of the Virgin and — a particularly noteworthy part of the ritual from our point of view — the feet at the bottom of the image were anointed.45 Although most of the figure was hidden by the reliquary cover, the image was conceived as a spiritual whole, whose full, mystical significance was conveyed by the very partiality of the material presence — very much the effect of Bernini’s ‘unamputated bust.’ I have little doubt, though I certainly cannot prove it, that Bernini chose to make a bust of the Savior in the first place in allusion to the Christ images at the Lateran, including that of the venerable confraternity of the Lateran hospital, because the project for the new hospice was in the offing, and even because he thought his own image might be used in precisely the way it was used twenty years later — as a model of charity. This hypothesis, in turn, may shed light on a problem inherent in the biographers’ account of the origin of the bust as having been executed in the last year of the artist’s life, although he had begun preparing for death some time before, and destined for Queen Christina of Sweden: mounted on its base the grandiose scale of the work seems better suited for a public monument than a private devotional image, even one intended for a queen. There is no Sanctum Sanctorum and to the basilica, evidently fused the two images by adopting the bust form from the apparition, but providing it with an ornamented base that recalls the elaborate frame of the icon. 44 Di Gioia in Contardi et al., eds., 1988, 324, 326 f, has also associated Bernini’s bust and the Lateran hospice images to the emblem of the confraternity. An interesting appreciation of the special, mystical qualities of the Lateran icon, and especially its visage, is found in Francisco de Hollanda’s mid-sixtenteeth-century dialogues with Michelangelo: ‘Ora giacché Dio Padre voile, che fosse cosi ben guarnita e dipinta l’arca delle sue leggi, con quanto piú studio e serietà vorrà, che sia imitata la Sua faccia divina e quella di Suo figlio Signor Nostro, e la purezza, la castità, la bellezza della gloriosa Vergine Maria, che fu solo dipinta da S. Luca Evangelista, come il volto del Salvatore, che è nel Santo Sanctorum a S. Giovanni in Laterano . . . l’Immagine con quella severa semplicità che ha l’antica pittura e quei divini e soprannaturali occhi, ispiranti tema, come conviene al Salvatore’ (Bessone Aurelj 1953, 137 f ). 45 On this ritual, see Wolf 1990, 54 f.

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evidence that Bernini ever planned a funerary monument for himself. His testament stipulates simply that he be interred in his family vault in S. Maria Maggiore — he grew up in a house across the street from the Cappella Paolina, where he had worked as a boy alongside his father, the leading sculptor in Rome of his generation.46 It is tempting to suppose that Bernini thought of the bust in 1676, with a view to installing it in the proposed new hospice at the Lateran palace, to be refurbished according to his design. This was the context for which the conception recorded in the Corsini drawing and the subsequent copies was intended. Innocent XI’s failure to follow through with the project may have been among the motivations that lay behind Bernini’s devastating caricature of the crabbed and austere hypochondriac, whose popular nick-name was the ‘No-Pope’ (Fig. 43).47 And the disappointment may have contributed to the change in attitude that resulted in the final version of the work. 46 The relevant passage in Bernini’s testament reads as follows: ‘Il mio corpo voglio che sia seppellito nella sacrosanta basilica di S. Maria Maggiore, dove oltr’havere la sepoltura di casa mia, servirà a monsignor Pietro Filippo mio figlio canonico della mede.ma basilica per una quotidiana memoria di raccordarsi dell’anima mia. Li funerali rimetto ad arbitrio dell’infrascritti miei heredi alli quali raccordo, ch’a’poveri defunti sono piú necessarii li suffragi di messe et orationi che di apparenze dell’esequie’ (Borsi et al., eds., 1981, 60). He was buried in a lead casket, with an inscription giving his name and the date of his death. On Bernini’s testament, burial and paternal house see Lavin 1972, 159, 162, 183; D’Onofrio 1967, 144; Borsi et al., eds., 1981, 13–8, 35 f. We might add, incidentally, that Bernini’s self-portraits are also distinctly modest and unassuming compared to those of his illustrious contemporaries, Rubens, Rembrandt, Velasquez. It is interesting to note that, although Bernini referred to all of his works as his ‘children,’ one in particular evidently had special significance for him — but personal and private, not as a tomb or other public memorial. His biographers mention that only one work by his own chisel was left in his house at his death, the figure of Truth discovered by Time, now in the Galleria Borghese, which in his testament he enjoined his heirs from ever alienating, intending that it serve as a permanent reminder to his descendants that ‘the most beautiful virtue in the world consists in the truth, because in the end it is discovered by time’ (Borsi et al., eds., 1981, 71 f. See the discussion of this work in Lavin 1980, 70–4. 47 Innocent XI was from early on one of the skeptics as to the bureaucratic feasibility and ethical propriety of such a project in Rome; he found especially repugnant the idea of reclusion of the poor, ‘like prisoners in a jail.’ In his view, it was reported, if one were to establish ‘un ospizio chiuso allora, come accade in tutti gl’altri, sarebbe necessario che il povero prima di potervi entrare andasse con il memoriale tre o quattro giorni supplichevole alli deputati, e cosí finisse di morire di stento, oltre che sarebbe necessario che il povero restasse ivi come prigioniero in una carcere, nella guisa che si costuma in Amsterdam, cosa che gli pareva che diamentralmente si opponesse alla libertà che devono avere li poveri cattolici, massime

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If Bernini did indeed conceive the bust for the Lateran hospice, it was not simply an act of private devotion, but was also intended from the beginning, like the Sangue di Cristo composition, as a public, indeed reproducible appeal for redemption. I can offer one more partial, but reassuring bit of comfort for the — admittedly hazardous — hypothesis that Bernini’s ideas might have played a significant role in the formulation of this papal institution of universal public charity. Innocent XII issued a number of medals commemorating various aspects of the enterprise, including one in 1692–93 to celebrate the opening of the Lateran palace to the poor, which showed the building and the adjacent transept façade in the familiar diagonal view across the piazza (Fig. 44).48 Another medal, issued the following year, illustrated the act of charity itself by an extraordinary variation on the familiar allegory of Christ’s sacrifice, the pelican feeding its young its own blood by piercing its own breast (Fig. 45). Ordinarily, the bird and its offspring are shown in isolation, but here the pelican stands on a huge box that must allude to the papal coffer, while its young are shown below in a wide landscape. From the huge bird’s breast a great cascade of blood gushes forth in such abundance as to feed the young and inundate the earth to provide sustenance for all its creatures. The accompanying legend, Sinum suum aperuit egenis puns ingeniously on the word sinus, which means both purse or coffer and breast or heart — the Church opens her purse and breast not only to her own but to all the poor. The idea clearly reflects Bernini’s Sangue di Cristo composition and thus closes the circle surrounding Bernini’s art of dying and two of the major religious and social enterprises of his last years at S. Maria Maggiore and the Lateran;49 had the projects been carried out they would, together with his work at St. Peter’s have given Bernini’s stamp to the three greatest centers of popular devotion in Rome. The possibility that a mere artist might have influenced the development of such grand ideas may seem less farfetched if one recalls that Bernini was a close friend of a whole series of popes and conversant with the most pellegrini’ (Bonadonna Russo 1979, 264, 271, 272; Contardi in Contardi et al., eds, 1988, 19, 34f n. 24). On this point see p. 910f. below. On Bernini’s caricature of Innocent XI and his particular problems with that pope, see Lavin 1990, 32–6. 48 The medals of Innocent XII are listed and discussed by M. Mercali in Contardi et al., eds.,1988, 45–58. 49 The analogy between the medal and Bernini’s composition was noted in Witman 1983, 155.

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powerful people in Rome. He certainly thought big, in death as in every other way: he said he believed that when he came to settle his account with God he would be dealing with a lord who did not count half-pennies.50 While not properly an intellectual, Bernini was a gifted and thoughtful intellect who wrote and produced brilliant satirical comedies, and could discuss spiritual and theological issues like a professional — that was the phrase used by another of his close friends, the great General of the Jesuit order, Giovanni Paolo Oliva.51 Nor should the gestation of such grandiose social ideas be surprising in an artist whose great public squares, fountains and monuments, gave Rome the modern aspect by which it is still conspicuously defined. In a remarkable document defending his proposals for the Piazza S. Pietro Bernini specifically addressed the problem of the poor and homeless under the aspect of Charity; eulogizing Alexander VII, he emphasized the utility of public works, rather than outright dole, which encouraged idleness and vice.52 Indeed, it seems appropriate in this context that he Cf. Lavin 1972, 160 f. Cf. Lavin 1972, 160 f. 52 ‘Applicò subito a i mali gl’opportuni remedii, e compassionando la povertà, che non solo priva d’impiego errava vagabondo per la Città, ma languiva oppressa da una carestia che quanto piú affligeva il Popolo, tanto maggiormente doveva far spiccare la sua pietà, si volse a distribuire grand.ma quantità d’oro, benché la scarsezza dell’erario fosse un’argine opposto al torrente di questa devota munificenza. Portato il nostro liberalissimo Prencipe dalla piena Carità ben providde, che l’aprire semplicemente a beneficio comune i Tesori era un fomentare otio, et un nudrire i vitii. Onde quell’istesso antidoto che s’ applicava per la salute poteva essere un tossico piú potente per avvelenarla. Cosí dunque represse quella fiamma di Carità, non per estinguerla, ma acciò maggiormente à prò di suoi sudditi si dilatasse, quindi pensò dar principio ad una gran fabbrica, mediante la quale si’eccitasse l’impigeo nei vagabondi, e si sovvenisse con il giro di grossa somma di denaro alle correnti necessità.’ (He quickly applied opportune remedies to the evils, and, compassionate with poverty — which not only wandered unemployed about the city, but languished under the oppression of a famine that increasingly elicited his pity the more it afflicted the people — he turned to distributing large quantities of gold, although the poor harvest limited the torrent of this devout munificence. Moved by whole hearted Charity, this most generous pope saw clearly that simply to open the Treasury for the common good was to promote idleness and nourish vice. Whence the very antidote one applied to restore health could be the most potent toxin to poison it. He therefore repressed that flame of Charity, not to extinguish it but so that it might be more greatly dispersed to the benefit of his subjects, whence he thought to begin a great construction, through which to encourage labor among the homeless, and by the expenditure of a large sum of money alleviate the immediate need.) Rome, Biblioteca Vaticana MS Chigi H II 22, fols. 105–9v, transcribed and dated 1659–60 by Brauer and Wittkower 1931, 70, n. 1; dated 1657–8 by Krautheimer 1985, 1–74. Further to this subject in Lavin 1997. 50 51

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25. Apse mosaic. Rome, S. Clemente (photo: Alinari 7177a).

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26. Madonna di S. Sisto. Rome, S. Maria del Rosario (photo: ICCD E55673).

895

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27. Jacopo Torriti, Coronation of the Virgin. Rome, S. Maria Maggiore (photo: Anderson 17662).

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28. Relief of the Savior, formerly Dogana della Terra. Rome, Museo di Roma (photo: MNCSA 27099).

29. Relief of the Savior, formerly Dogana della Terra. Rome, Museo di Roma (photo: MNCSA 27109).

897

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30. Dogana della Terra (Temple of Hadrian). Rome (photo: Anderson 544).

31. Dogana della Terra (Temple of Hadrian), detail of entrance wall. Rome (photo: Museo di Roma).

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32. Relief of the Savior. Rome, Palazzo di Montecitorio (photo: MNCSA 27025).

33. Relief of the Savior. Rome, Palazzo di Montecitorio (photo: MNCSA 27024).

899

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900

34. Relief of the Savior, formerly Dogana di Ripa. Present wherabouts unknown.

35. Relief of the Savior, formerly Palazzetto del Vicegerente. Museo Nazionale di Castel S. Angelo, Rome (photo: MNCSA26435).

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36. Relief of the Savior, formerly Monastero delle Filippine. Complesso monumentale di S. Michele, Rome (photo: MNCSA 27078).

901

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37. Lateran Palace, Rome (photo: Anderson 97). 39. Apse mosaic. S. Giovanni in Laterano, Rome (photo: Alinari 7149).

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38. The Lateran palace as hospice for the poor, engraved frontispiece by P. S. Bartoli inscribed with Isaiah 58.7: egenos vagosque induc in domum tuam (thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house) (after Piazza 1693).

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904

40. Icon of the Savior. Chapel of the Sancta Sanctorum, Scala Santa, Rome (photo: Anderson 2338).

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41. Emblem of the Confraternity of the SS. Salvatore ad Sancta Sanctorum. Hospital of S. Giovanni in Laterano, Rome (photo: MNCSA).

42. Emblem of the Confraternity of the SS. Salvatore ad Sancta Sanctorum, detail of an engraving by Giovanni Maggi and Matthias Greuter, ca. 1610 (photo: Biblioteca Hertziana, Rome H D8550).

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43. Gianlorenzo Bernini, caricature of Innocent XI. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

44. Medal of Innocent XII. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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45. Medal of Innocent XII. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

907

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46. Gianlorenzo Bernini. Piazza S. Pietro, Rome (photo: Alinari 41228a).

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47. Gianlorenzo Bernini, fountain of the Four Rivers. Piazza Navona, Rome (photo: Alinari 6700).

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conceived the colonnades that bounded the vast space in front of St. Peter’s as a colossal pair of arms embracing all mankind (Fig. 46) — to express, as he said in the same document, the Church’s ‘act of maternally receiving in her open arms Catholics to be confirmed in faith, heretics to be reunited with the Church, and unbelievers to be enlightened by the true faith.’53 Nor should such radical social ideas be surprising in an artist who, in the sphere of public art, introduced into the urban center rustic, natural forms previously thought fit only for gardens, theatrical landscapes and portrayals of the underworld (Fig. 47). Privately, while Bernini frequented the high and mighty, he was far from obsequious in their regard. He lampooned them mercilessly in his comedies; and he created the modern caricature, in which the sublime is deliberately reduced to the ridiculous — a stylistic and social revolution he inaugurated precisely by raising socially popular and stylistically impoverished graphic traditions like graffiti and children’s drawings to the level of high class satire.54 * * * For better or worse, Innocent XII’s great social adventure was a dismal and almost immediate failure. The foundation was established in 1692 and only four years later, in 1696, recruitment was halted. The hospice itself continued for some time in ever diminishing conditions, to be replaced later in the century by an even more ambitious welfare institution in Rome; and of course the idea of a universal charity for the poor as a public responsibility continued to evolve in one form or another ever after. The original experiment ended with the abandonment of one key provision, which totally transformed the basic concept, namely the forced internment of the poor. Residence in the hospice was no longer obligatory, and the homeless returned to their homelessness. Contemporary sources make it both 53 ‘. . . essendo la Chiesa di S. Pietro quasi matrice di tutte le altre doveva haver’un portico che per l’appunto dimostrasse di ricevere à braccia aperte maternamente i Cattolici per confermarli nella credenza, gl’Heretici per riunirli alla Chiesa, e gl’Infedeli per illuminarli alla vera fede.’ Brauer and Wittkower 1931, 70, n. 1; see Kitao 1974, 14, and index s.v. ‘arms of the church, image of.’ 54 1t is worth recalling in this connection that Bernini was notorious for lampooning in his plays and caricatures people who ranked high in the social order, even the pope (Fig. 43), whereas the subjects of the ‘ritrattini carichi’ by his predecessors, the Carracci, were characteristically undistinguished. On Bernini’s satirical plays and caricatures, see Lavin 1980, 146–57; 1990.

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painfully and ironically clear that this sublime social edifice collapsed for three main reasons. From the benefactors’ point of view it was too expensive. The income from all the sources of funding never even approached the costs. The concept of self-sufficiency proved unrealistic and the state could not cover the enormous deficit. On the other hand, the beneficiaries themselves were unhappy with their new found security; they did not wish to be confined, however comfortably, and came to regard the pope’s palace as a gilded cage from which they longed to escape. Some admitted that they actually liked the vagabond life of a poor mendicant, for the very freedom from constraints, including financial ones, it afforded. One of the refuseniks is recorded as explaining, ‘This way of living in freedom, a bit here, a bit there, we like it too much. And someone who tastes the joys of knavery cannot easily do without it.’55 Finally, and perhaps most prophetically, there were those who objected on principle. They defended the indigent by arguing that to incarcerate people merely because they are poor is unjust; it made poverty into a kind of crime, punishable by isolation from the rest of society. And this point had a corollary in another, even more radical notion some critics espoused, that to beg for a living is, after all, a God-given right. A man must be free to make his own way, even by mooching, if he wants to.

55 ‘Questo modo di vivere in libertà, mo qua, mo là, a scrocco senza fare fatica, piace troppo a noi altri, e . . . chi gusta una volta della furfanteria, non può poi cosí facilmente ritirarsi’ (testimony of 1595; Simoncelli 1973–4, 148).

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Bibliography Anselmi, A., L’abside di Santa Maria Maggiore: I progetti di Bernini e Rainaldi, Università degli studi in Roma ‘La Sapienza.’ Scuola di specializzazione in sto ria dell’arte medioevale e moderna, Anno accademico 1992–1993. Barozzi, N., and G. Berchet, Le relazioni della corte di Roma lette al senato dagli ambasciatori veneti nel secolo decimosettimo, 2 vols., Venice, 1877–8. Belting, H., ‘Icons and Roman Society in the Twelfth Century,’ in Tronzo, ed., 1989, 27–41. Beltramme, M., ‘L’escatologismo ermetico del Mare di Sangue berniniano,’ Storia dell’arte, No. 81, 1994, 229–258. Blunt, Anthony, ‘Gianlorenzo Bernini: Illusionism and Mysticism,’ Art History, I, 1978, 67–89. Bonadonna Russo, M. T., ‘I problemi dell’assistenza pubblica nel seicento e il testamento di Mariano Sozzini,’ Ricerche per la storia religiosa di Roma, III, 1979, 255–74. Bessone Aurelj, A. M., I dialoghi michelangioleschi di Francisco D’Olanda, Rome, 1953. Borsi, F., Bernini architetto, Milan, 1980. — C. A. Luchinat, and F. Quintero, eds., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Il testamento. La casa. La raccolta dei beni, Florence, 1981. Brauer, H., and Wittkower, R., Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931. Cecchelli, C., Studi e documenti sulla Roma sacra, 2 vols., Rome, 1938–51. Claretta, G., ‘Relazioni dlinsigni artisti e virtuosi in Roma col Duca Carlo Emanuele II di Savoja studiate sul carteggia diplomatico,’ Archivio della R. Società Romana di Storia Patria, VIII, 1885, 511–54. Conforti, C., ‘Cupole, chiese a pianta centrale e culto mariana nel rinascimento italiano,’ in C. Conforti, ed, Lo specchio del cielo. Forme significati techniche e funzioni della cupola dal Pantheon al novecento, Milan, 1997, 67–85. Contardi,B., C. Curcia and E. B. Di Gioia, eds., Le immagini del SS.mo Salvotore. Fabbriche e sculture per l’Ospizio dei Poveri Invalidi, exhib. cat., Rome, 1989. De Angelis, P., Basilicae S. Mariae Majoris de urbe, Rome, 1621.

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De Angelis, P., L’arciospedale del Salvatore ad S.S. a S. Giovanni in Laterano. Inaugurandosi il nuovo edificio ospedaliero su via Amba-Aradam. 18 settembre 1958, Rome, 1958. Dell’Addolarata, S., La cappella papale di Sancto Sanctorum ed i suoi tesori l’immagine acheropita e la Scala Santo, Grottaferrata, 1919. Del Pesca, D., ‘Una fonte per gli architetti del barocco romana’: ‘L’antiquae urbis splendor di Giacamo Lauro,’ in Studi di storia dell’arte in memoria di Mario Rotili, Naples, 1984, 413–36. De Rossi, D., Studio d’architettura civile, 3 vols., Rome, 1702–11. Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques, Paris, 1912 ff. Döllinger, J. J. J. von, Beiträge zur politischen, kirchlichen und Cultur-Geschichte der sechs letzten Jahrhunderte, Vienna, 1882. D’Onofrio, C., Roma vista da Roma, Roma, 1967. — Scalinate di Roma, Rome, 1973. — Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Gli angeli di ponte S. Angelo. Storia di un ponte, Rome, 1981. — Un popolo che racconta. Storie fatti leggende della città di Roma antica medievale moderna, Rome, 1990 Fagiolo, M., ‘Borromini in Laterano. Il “nuovo tempio” per il concilio universals,’ L’arte, IV, 1971, 5–44. — ‘Arche-tipologia della piazza di S. Pietro,’ in M. Fagiolo, and G. Spagnesi, eds., Immagini del barocco. Bernini e la cultura del seicento, Rome, 1982, 117–32. — and Madonna, M. L., eds., Roma Sancta. La città delle basiliche, Rome, 1985. — and M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, Bernini. Uno introduzione al gran teatro del barocco, Rome, 1967. Fagiolo dell’Arca, M., La festa barocca, Rome, 1997 Foucault, M., Folie et déraison. Histoire de la folie à l’âge classique, Paris, 1961. Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milan, 1900. Freiberg, J., ‘The Lateran and Clement VIII,’ unpubl. Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1988. — The Lateran in 1600. Christian Concord in Counter-Reformation Rome, Cambridge, 1995. Gijsbers, P. M., ‘‘Resurgit Pamphilij in Templo Pamphiliana Domus’: Camillo Pamphilj’s Patronage of the Church of Sant’Andrea al Quirinale,’ Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome. Historical Studies. Papers of the Netherlands Institute in Rome, LV, 1996, 293–335. Grisar, H., Die römische Kapelle Sancta Sanctorum und ihre Schatz, Freiburg i. B., 1908. Guerra, A, et al., Il trionfo della miseria. Gli alberghi dei poveri di Genova, Palermo e Napoli, Milan, 1995. Heydenreich, L. H., Leonardo-Studien, ed. G. Passavant, Munich, 1988. Ingersoll, R. J., ‘The Ritual Use of Public Space in Renaissance Rome,’ Ph.D. diss., Univ. of California, Berkeley, 1985.

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914 Kitao, T. K., Circle and Oval in the Square of Saint Peter’s. Bernini’s Art of Planning, New York, 1974. Krautheimer, R., ‘Santa Maria Rotonda,’ in Arte del primo millennio. Atti del IIo convengo per lo studio dell’arte dell’alto medio evo, Pavia, 1950, 21–7. — The Rome of Alexander VII, 1655–1667, Princeton, 1985. — et al., Corpus basilicarum christianarum, Romae, 5 vols., Città del Vaticano, 1937–77, V, 1977. Lauro, G., Antiquae urbis splendor, Rome, 1642. Lavin, I., ‘Bernini’s Death,’ The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86. — ‘Afterthoughts on “Bernini’s Death,” ’ The Art Bulletin, LV, 1973, 429–36. — ‘The Sculptor’s “Last Will and Testment,’’ ’ Allen Memorial Art Museum Bulletin, XXXV, 1977–8, 4–39. — ‘On the Pedestal of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior,’ The Art Bulletin, LX, 1978, 547. — Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, New York and Oxford, 1980. — ‘High and Low Before their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,’ in K. Vanardoe and A Gopnik, eds., Modern Art and Popular Culture. Readings in High & Low, New York, 1990, 18–50. — Past–Present. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso, Berkeley, 1993. — ‘The Roma Alessandrina of Richard Krautheimer,’ in In Memoriam Richard Krautheimer, Rome, 1997, 107–17. — ‘Ex Uno Lapide: The Renaissance Sculptor’s Tour de Force,’ in M. Winner, et al., eds., Il Cortile del Belvedere. Der Statuenhof des Belvedere im Vatikan, Mainz, 1998, 191–210. — Bernini e il Salvatore. La ‘buona morte’ nella Roma del seicento, Rome, 1998b. — ‘Bernini’s Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch,’ in J. W. O’Malley, et al., The Jesuits. Cultures, the Sciences, and the Arts. 1540–1773, Toronto, etc., 1999, 442–79. — ed., Erwin Panofsky. Three Essays on Style, Cambridge, MA, 1995. Lumbroso, M. M., and A. Martini, Le confraternite romane nelle loro chiese, Rome, 1963. Marder, T. A, ‘The Porto di Ripetta in Rome,’ Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, XXXIX, 1980, 28–56. — ‘Evolution of Bernini’s Designs For the Façade of Sant’ Andrea al Quirinale: 1658–76,’ Architectura, XX, 1990, 108–32. Marshall, L., ‘Manipulating the Sacred: Image and Plague in Renaissance Italy,’ Renaissance Quarterly, XLVII, 1994, 485–532. Mercati, A, ‘Nuove notizie sulla tribuna di Clemente IX a S. Maria Maggiore da lettere del Bernini,’ Roma, XX, 1944, 18–22. Millino, B., Dell’oratorio di S. Lorenzo nel Laterano hoggi detto Sancta Sanctorum. Rome, 1666.

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Ost, H., ‘Studien zu Pietro da Cortonas Umbau von S. Maria della Pace,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XIII, 1971, 231–85. Pastor, L. von, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols., London, 1923–53. Pavan, P., ‘Gli statuti della Società dei Raccomandati del Salvatore ad Sancta Sanctorum (1331–1496),’ Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria, CI, 1978, 35–69. ‘La Confraternita del Salvatore nella societa romana del trequattrocento,’ Ricerche per la storia religiose di Roma, V, 1984, 81–90. Piazza, C. B., La mendicità proveduta nella città di Roma, coll’ospizio publico fondato dalla pietà e beneficenza di Nostro Signore Innocenzo XII pontefice massimo con le risposte all’obiezioni contro simili fondazioni, Roma, 1693. Pietrangeli, C., ed., Santa Maria Maggiore a Roma, Florence, 1988. Piranesi architetto, exhib. cat., Rome, 1992. Puccini, V., Vita della madre suor Maria Maddalena de’Pazzi fiorentina dell’ordine carmelitano, Florence, 1609. Pullan, B., ‘Poveri, mendicanti e vagabondi (secoli XIV–XVI),’ in Storia dell’Italia. Annali I. Dal feudalismo al capitalismo, Turin, 1978, 981–1047. Rakob, F., and W.-D. Heilmeyer, Der Rundtempel am Tiber in Rom, Mainz, 1973. Ronen, A, ‘Gozzoli’s St. Sebastian Altarpiece in San Gimignano,’ Mitteilungen des kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz, XXXII, 1988, 77–126. Schütz-Rautenberg, G., Künstlergrabmäler des 15. und 16 Jahrhunderts in Italien, Cologne and Vienna, 1977. Silvestre, I., Les Églises des stations de Rome, Paris [1641–6]. Simoncelli, P., ‘Origini e primi anni di vita dell’ospedale romano dei poveri mendicanti,’ Annuario dell’istituto storico italiano per l’età moderna e contemporanea, XXV–XXVI, 1973–4. Sinding-Larsen, S., ‘Some Functional and Iconographical Aspects of the Centralized Church in the Italian Renaissance,’ Institutum Romanum Norvegiae. Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia, II, 1965, 203–253. Soresino, G. M., De imagine SS.mi Salvatoris in basilica ad Sancta Sanctorum custodita, Rome, 1675. Tronzo, W., ‘Apse Decoration, the Liturgy and the Perception of Art in Medieval Rome: S. Maria in Trastevere and S. Maria Maggiore,’ in Tronzo, ed., 1989, 167–93. — ed., Italian Church Decoration of the Early Middle Ages and Early Renaissance. Functions, Forms and Regional Traditions. Ten Contributions to a Colloquium held at the Villa Spelman, Florence, 1989. Warland, R., Das Brustbild Christi. Studien zur spätantiken und frühbyzantinischen Bildgeschichte, Rome, etc., 1986. Well, M., The History and Decoration of the Ponte S. Angelo, University Park and London, 1974.

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916 Witman, N. T., in collaboration with J. L. Varriano, Roma Resurgens. Papal Medals from the Age of the Baroque, Ann Arbor, Mich., 1983. Wittkower, R, Studies in the Italian Baroque, London, 1975. Wolf, G., ‘Regina coeli, facies lunae, “et in terra pax”. Aspekte der ausstattung der Cappella Paolina in S. Maria Maggiore,’ Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana, XXVII/XXVIII, 1991–92, 283–336. — Salus populi romani. Die Geschichte römischer Kultbilder im Mittelalter, Weinheim, 1990. Zollikofer, K., Berninis Grabmal für Alexander VII. Fiktion und Repräsentation, Worms, 1994.

Illustration Abbreviations ICCD: Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, Rome. MNCSA: Museo Nazionale di Castel Angelo, Rome. SPRMN: Service Photographique de la Reunion de Musées Nationaux, Paris.

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Bernini’s Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch*

M

Y purpose in this paper is to consider three celebrated ruler portraits by Bernini in a context to which they have never been referred but which, in my view, is essential to an understanding of their form and meaning. While following traditional types, in each case Bernini introduced fundamental changes that resulted in three of the most powerful and innovative images of secular leadership in the history of European art.1 The works in question are the bust of Francesco I d’Este, duke of Modena, executed 1650–1 after two painted profile portraits by Sustermans (Fig. 1); the bust of Louis XIV executed during Bernini’s visit to Paris in the summer of 1665 Except for a few added references, this paper was first presented at the Ignatian year colloquium ‘Les jésuites et la civilisation du baroque (1540–1640),’ organized by Louis de Vaucelles, S.J., and held at Les Fontaines, Chantilly, in June 1991. I am grateful to Father Vaucelles for allowing me to publish my contribution elsewhere, in order to he able to include the requisite illustrations. An Italian version, accompanied by an essay and complete documentation on the creation of the bust of Francesco I d’Este, has been published: Bernini e l’immagine del principe cristiano ideale: Appendice documentaria a cura di Giorgia Mancini (Modena, 1998). 1 This essay belongs, in part, to a series of attempts I have made to describe the nature, meaning, and development of ‘illusionism’ in the Italian sculptured bust since the Renaissance: Irving Lavin, ‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of His Early Works,’ Art Bulletin 50 (1968): 223–48; ‘On the Sources and Meaning of the Renaissance Portrait Bust,’ Art Quarterly 33 (1970): 207–26; ‘Bernini’s Death,’ Art Bulletin 54 (1972): 158–86; ‘On Illusion and Allusion in Italian SixteenthCentury Portrait Busts,’ Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 119 (1975): 353–62; ‘On the Pedestal of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior,’ Art Bulletin 60 (1978): 547. Some of the material is incorporated in a chapter entitled ‘Bernini’s Image of the Sun King’ in my book Past–Present: essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso (Berkeley, 1993), pp. 139–202, where full references to the sources will be found. *

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to redesign the Louvre (Fig. 2); and the equestrian monument of Louis conceived in Paris but executed after Bernini’s return to Rome (Fig. 3). The equestrian group was sent to Paris years after Bernini’s death, when it met with very hostile response; finally, transformed into a portrayal of Marcus Curtius hurling himself into a fiery abyss to save his people, it was installed in the garden of Versailles.2 (There it remained until, in 1980, the tricentennial of Bernini’s death, it was brutally mutilated in an act of cultural terrorism. Cleaned and restored, it has now been installed in a new sculpture museum in the Grandes Ecuries at Versailles.) The context in which I believe these works should be understood is the great tradition of early modern political theory and practice which since the pioneering studies of Friedrich Meinecke and Rodolfo De Mattei has come to be known as anti-Machiavellianism.3 The movement began towards the middle of the sixteenth century in response to Machiavelli’s devastating critique of traditional Christian political theory. The intent was to counter Machiavelli’s drastically amoral realpolitik with a kind of ideal realpolitik — retaining, often even reviving essential elements of Scholastic ideology, but revised so as to make allowances for the sometimes unpleasant necessities of practical political action on which Machiavelli had insisted. Among the main proponents, particularly in Spain, were the Jesuits, who sought to provide an alternative to Machiavelli’s model of cynical unscrupulousness in the worldly arena of statecraft. From the latter part of the sixteenth century For summary accounts of the three works, see Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini: The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque (Oxford, 1981), pp. 224, 246–7, 254 ff. 3 Friedrich Meinecke, Machiavellianism: The Doctrine of Raison d’Etat and Its Place in Modern History (1927; New York, 1957); Rodolfo De Mattei, Il pensiero politico italiano nell’età della controriforma, 2 vols. (Milan and Naples, 1982–4); see also A. Dempf, Christliche Staatsphilosophie in Spanien (Salzburg, 1937); H. Lutz, Ragione di stato und christliche Staatsethik im 16. Jahrhundert (Münster, 1961); M. Viroli, Dalla politica alla ragion di stato: La scienza del governo tra XIII e XVII secolo (Rome, 1994), pp. 155–84. The views of some of the major writers of the school, including the Jesuits Giovanni Botero, Pedro de Ribadeneira, Adam Contzen, and Carlo Scribani (also Justus Lipsius, who had close connections to the Jesuits), have recently been outlined by Robert Bireley, The CounterReformation Prince (Raleigh, N.C., 1990); although I deal with different authors and focus on a different theme, I am greatly indebted to Bireley’s work. Further to the theme, see J. L. Colomer, ‘Traité politique, exercise spirituel: L’art de la méditation chez Virgilio Malvezzi,’ Rivista di letterature moderne e comparate 45 (1992): 245–61, and ‘ “Esplicar los grandes hechos de vuestra magestad”: Virgilio Malvezzi, historien di Philippe IV,’ in Repubblica e virtù: Pensiero politico e monarchia cattolica fra XVI e XVII secolo, ed. C. Continisio and C. Mozzarelli (Rome, 1995), pp. 45–75, and some of the other essays therein. 2

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on, a veritable flood of anti-Machiavellian literature defended the relevance of Christian moral principles not only to utopian visions of domestic rule and foreign diplomacy but also to practical and successful statesmanship. The key argument in this new ‘reason of state’ was that the best form of government, monarchy, while responsible ultimately to God, was based on the consent of the people; that the power of the ruler derived practically from his reputation; and that his reputation in turn depended on his exercise of virtue.4 I am concerned here with a particular current within this river of counter-reformatory Christian political thought, which I should call the theory of the prince-hero.5 The theory defined the relation between morality and political power in such a way as to create a new, modern version of the old notion of the ideal Christian ruler. The Jesuits were also important, if not exclusive, tributaries to this current, and I suspect that, although Bernini modified it in a subtle but portentous way, the theory of the princehero was the tertium quid that linked the artist to the Jesuits in the secular sphere.6 The bust of Francesco d’Este (Fig. 1) follows a typology — the armoured military figure with the torso enveloped by drapery — that had been developed from ancient models in the sixteenth and was quite comOn this concept of reputation, see Bireley, Counter-Reformation. The idea of the monarch as hero was singled out by De Mattei, Il pensiero, I 222, II 22–3, and by S. Skalweit, ‘Das Herrscherbild des 17. Jahrhunderts,’ Historische Zeitschrift 184 (1957): 71–2. 6 Bernini’s relations with the Jesuits have often been stressed, sometimes overstressed, as a major factor in the development of his art in the religious sphere; see Walter Weibel, Jesuitismus und Barockskulptur in Rom (Strasbourg, 1909); Rudolf Kuhn, ‘Gian Paolo Oliva und Gian Lorenzo Bernini,’ Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte 64 (1969): 229–33; Hask. Patr., pp. 85 ff; Hask. ‘Role,’ pp. 56 ff; Witt. ‘Prob.,’ pp. 11 ff; Lavin, ‘Bernini’s Death,’ and Past–Present (the chapter on Bernini’s busts of the Anima Beata and Dannata); Anthony Blunt, ‘Gianlorenzo Bernini: Illusionism and Mysticism,’ Art History 1 (1978): 67–89; Joseph Connors, ‘Bernini’s S. Andrea al Quirinale: Payments and Planning,’ Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 41 (1982): 15–37; C. Frommel, ‘S. Andrea al Quirinale: Genesi e struttura,’ in Gian Lorenzo Bernini architetto e l’architettura europea del Sei—Settecento, ed. G. Spagnesi and M. Fagiolo (Rome, 1983), pp. 211–53; I have suggested some connections with Jesuit theatre in ‘Bernini and Antiquity: The Baroque Paradox — A Poetical View,’ in Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, ed. H. Beck and S. Schulze (Berlin, 1989), pp. 9–36. It will become evident that a major point of this paper is to suggest that the distinction between secular and religious is obscure precisely in the context of rulership. 4 5

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mon by the mid-seventeenth century (Fig. 4).7 With respect to such predecessors, however, the proportions of the bust have been broadened to the point that the width actually exceeds the height. The head is relatively small so that the ample, tightly curled tresses of hair and the huge torso give an impression of overwhelming mass and grandeur. The head is turned markedly to the right while the body is turned in the opposite direction, with the right shoulder forward and the left back. The sitter’s attention seems to have been caught by some distant vision, towards which he turns in a pervasive and spontaneous movement. Of special concern here is the treatment of the drapery, which envelops the body and creates an uncanny illusion, or rather series of illusions. No cut edges, only folds are visible along the lower silhouette, and from the right shoulder down across the chest, the drapery is pulled tight and knotted at the lower left; as a result, the body does not appear cut off but wrapped, Christo-like, as a self-sufficient object. The folds are shaped in such a way, however, that one senses beneath the drapery the familiar form of a bust portrait with arms amputated above the elbow and torso rounded at the bottom. Finally, at the left arm and shoulder the drapery edge flares up as if caught by a rising draft of air. We are confronted not by Francesco d’Este but by a bust of Francesco, wafted aloft in and by a protective mantle. An eighteenth-century French visitor to Modena aptly described the bust as seeming to float in the air (‘il semble flotter en l’air’).8 Bernini has, in fact, assimilated the traditionally draped torso to an entirely different, specifically honorific tradition associated with Roman bust portraiture. The figure is placed against a cloth of honour, the so-called parapetasma, often held up by personifications of victory or winged putti (Fig. 5).9 The device served in the ancient ancestor cult to suggest the heav-

7 Algardi’s bust of Lelio Frangipane, illustrated here by way of example, is dated to the mid-1630s by J. Montagu, Alessandro Algardi, 2 vols. (New Haven and London, 1985), II 427. 8 J. J. L. F de Lalande, Voyage d’un françois en Italie, fait dons les années 1765 & 1766, 8 vols. (Yverdon, 1769–90), 1452. 9 On Bernini’s early use of the motifs of the parapetasma and the image held by winged figures, see Irving Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts (New York and London, 1980), pp. 52, 69–70. His use of the latter device for a bust ‘portrait’ culminated in his last work, the bust of the Saviour, which rested on a pedestal consisting of two kneeling angels; see Lavin, ‘Bernini’s Death,’ pp. 171 ff; Irving Lavin, ‘Afterthoughts on “Bernini’s Death,” ’ Art Bulletin 55 (1973): 429–36; Lavin, ‘On the Pedestal.’ Bernini’s memorials of this type

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enly sublimation of the soul of the deceased. Bernini had adapted this motif in the 1630s and 1640s for a number of memorials, activating the hanging cloth into a billowing emblem of transience (Fig. 6). Bernini thus revived the classical imagery of apotheosis, but in the d’Este portrait he gave both the bust and the drapery a physical substance and function they had never had before. Nor are the bust and drapery separate and distinct elements; instead, they are bound together — literally, it seems — as one coherent form that conveys in a single dramatic act the exalted status of the sitter. The portrait of Francesco presents the ancient theme of deification in a new guise; it ennobles the individual, raising him not only to a higher level of significance but to a higher level of existence. It represents the idea of a hero, in the original, classical sense of the term. Explicitly acknowledging that it is the simulacrum of a man, the bust proclaims that the man portrayed partakes of the divine. It is in this context that the anti-Machiavellian concept of the princehero becomes relevant to our subject. The concept arose, I believe, in response to a dilemma posed by the two fundamental yet seemingly incompatible political tenets of Catholicism: the spiritual power of the absolute monarch derived ultimately from God, but his effective power derived ultimately from the consent of his subjects. The key to the reconciliation of these opposing claims lay in the practice of virtue, which had been central to Machiavelli’s philosophy as well. The anti-Machiavellians, however, transformed his interpretation from something approaching virtuosity, or cleverness, into a politicized equivalent of the traditional Christian virtues, especially the cardinal virtues of prudence, fortitude, justice, and temperance. By practising the virtues the ruler acquired the reputation that earned for him popular support; and it was through his exercise of the virtues that his contact with the divine was established and maintained. The paradoxical merger of the human and divine was embodied in the prince-hero. This hybrid — indeed, it was sometimes hyphenated — concept was a specific revival and adaptation of the classical demigod, half human, half divine, whose superhuman virtues merited the noble name of ‘hero.’ The development in the secular sphere had a close and surely related religious corollary in the theological principle of heroic virtue, an essential factor in the process have been studied more extensively by J. Bernstock, ‘Bernini’s Memorial to Maria Raggi,’ Art Bulletin 62 (1980): 243–55, and ‘Bernini’s Memorials to Ippolito Merenda and Alessandro Valtrini,’ Art Bulletin 63 (1981): 210–32.

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1. Bernini, bust of Francesco I d’Este. Galleria Estense, Modena (photo: Alinari 15669).

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2. Bernini, bust of Louis XIV. Musée National du Château de Versailles (photo: Alinari 25588).

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3. Bernini, equestrian monument of Louis XIV, altered by Giraudon to portray Marcus Curtius. Versailles (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 58 EN 1681).

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4. Alessandro Algardi, bust of Lelio Frangipane. San Marcello, Rome (photo: Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, Rome E97580).

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5. Roman sarcophagus with portrait busts before a parapetasma held by winged genii. Camposanto, Pisa (photo: Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Rome 34-700).

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7. Bernini’s bust of Francesco I d’Este, engraving (from Gamberti, L’idea, 1659, frontispiece).

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6. Bernini, Cenotaph of Suor Maria Raggi. Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome (photo: Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo et la Documentazione, Rome E54086).

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8. Catafalque of Francesco I d’Este, engraving detail (from Gamberti, L’idea, 1659, opp. p. 190).

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9. Helios, denarius of Vespasian. British Museum, London.

10. Giulio Romano, Alexander the Great. Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Geneva.

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11. The Colonna Claudius, engraving by Giovanni Battista Galesturzzi, 1657.

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12. Medal of Louis XIV, 1663. American Numismatic Society, New York.

13. Peter Paul Rubens, device of Jan van Keerbergen, engraving (from Biblia sacra, 1617).

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14. Etienne Delaune, suit of armor for Henry II. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

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15. Bernini, study for the equestrian monument of Louis XIV, drawing. Museo Civico, Bassano.

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16. Georg Wilhelm Vestner, medal of Charles VI, 1717. American Numismatic Society, New York.

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17. Allegory of the Peace of the Pyrenees, engraving (from Menestrier, Devise du roy, 1660, opp. p. 54).

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18. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

20. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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19. Erasmus Quellinus, SIC ITUR AD ASTRA, engraved frontispiece (from Saavedra Fajardo, Idea, 1649).

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of canonizing saints, first introduced in 1602 and elaborately formulated later in the century.10 The theory of the prince-hero seems first to have been articulated in a clear and deliberate way around the middle of the sixteenth century by the well-known Ferrarese poet, historian, and political theorist, Giovanni Battista Pigna. Pigna was secretary to Prince Alfonso II d’Este, duke of Ferrara, professor at the university of Ferrara, and official historian of the d’Este family. Pigna was virtually possessed by the idea of the hero, about which he published two works in 1561, a treatise, Il principe, dedicated to Duke Emanuele Filiberto of Savoy but written for Alfonso II of Ferrara, and an epic poem entitled Gli heroici, dedicated to Alfonso; and in 1570 a massive history of the d’Este princes.11 In effect, Pigna combined two distinct but related traditions, that of the divine right of kings, one of many aspects of medieval thought revived in the Counter Reformation, and that of the sacral rulership of antiquity enshrined in the hero as a demigod. Pigna brought about this merger through a series of arguments that were equally novel. Among the hosts of angels those that served as guardians of princes belong to a higher order than those that guide ordinary men.12 The heroic prince is so plainly blessed with the theological virtues that he may more properly be called divine than others who possess these virtues. Princes are given more divine guidance than ordinary men because they are See R. Hofmann, Die heroische Tugend: Geschichte und Inhalt eines theologischen Begriffes (Munich, 1933); Enciclopedia cattolica, 13 vols. (Vatican City, 1948–54), under ‘Canonizzazione,’ III, cols. 595–6, 605–6. 11 Giovanni Battista Pigna, Il principe (Venice, 1561), Gli heroici (Venice, 1561), and Historia de principi di Este (Ferrara, 1570). On Pigna, see De Mattei, Il pensiero, I33–4, II 21 ff, whose summary of Pigna’s ideas I have adopted here, and the literature cited in T. Bozza, Scrittori politici italiani dal 1550 al 1650 (Rome, 1949), pp. 38–9. 12 However it may have reached him, Bernini seems to have echoed this teaching specifically when he attributed the correspondence between nobility of mind and of bearing in Louis XIV to ‘the work of those two angels who according to the theologians were the guides of kings’: ‘Le Cavalier a dit qu’iI avait trouvé ce que lui avait rapporté M. le cardinal légat, qu’iI reconnaitrait le roi, sans l’avoir jamais vu, entre cent seigneurs, tant sa façon et son visage avaient de majesté et portaient de recommandation. Il a dit ensuite que ce n’était encore rien; ma, che il cervello, pour user du mot, répondait admirablement à cet air et à cette noblesse, ne parlant jamais qu’iI ne dit des chose dignes d’être notées et les plus à propos du monde . . . Le Cavalier a dit que cela venait sans doute de ce que les théologiens tiennent que les rois ont deux anges pour les conduire’; Paul Fréart de Chantelou, Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France (Princeton, 1985), p. 235, and Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernini en France, ed. L. Lalanne (Paris, 1885), p. 187, 28 September. 10

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more important, as they are more important because others depend on them. This last point is the key to Pigna’s position: the divine nature of the prince derives from his duty and purpose, namely, to reach perfection and to enable his subjects to reach perfection, through participation in the political life. The prince is given sovereignty over others in order that he may be able to dedicate himself completely eradicating evil and introducing goodness among the people. In the ideal prince the heroic nature surpasses the human. The goal of the prince is not to enlarge the state but to ensure that his people live virtuously. The sacral nature of sovereignty was thus adapted to the moral and religious justification of the active life. It should be emphasized that the issue was not merely one of abstract speculation or literary metaphor, but one with immediate, concrete significance for Pigna. His history of the d’Este, which gave rise to a veritable orgy of genealogical portraiture in the ducal palace at Ferrara illustrating the antiquity of the ancestral line, was specifically intended to establish the family’s claim to dynastic precedence over the Medici — a dispute of serious contemporary political importance.13 The subject also had broad implications for European political theory because the question of the role of the papacy in the affairs of state was involved. If the king’s power derived directly from God, then the pope had no role as intermediary between the terrestrial and the celestial realms. If, instead the king governs by the consent of the people, then his powers are only indirectly ordained and he is answerable to the higher authority of Christ’s vicar on earth. Although Pigna was not himself a Jesuit, he was important in our context because his views were taken up and developed by a Modenese member of the order named Domenico Gamberti, who published a massive account of a huge catafalque erected in the church of Sant’Agostino in

13 On d’Este genealogy and portraiture, see Gli Estensi: Prima parte, ed. R. Iotti (Modena, 1997), especially pp. 78–9. On the series of two hundred d’Este portraits executed in fresco during the 1570s in the couryard of the Castello at Ferrara, see D. Coffin, ‘Pirro Ligorio and Decorations of the Late Sixteenth Century at Ferrara,’ Art Bulletin 37 (1955): 167–85, who also gives an account of the political issues, and L. Lodi, ‘Immagini della genealogia estense,’ in L’impresa di Alfonso II: Saggi e documenti sulla produzione artistica a Ferrara nel secondo Cinquecento, ed. J. Bentini and L. Spezzaferro (Bologna. 1986). pp. 151–62; on the dispute over precedence, see especially V. Santi, ‘La precedenza tra gli Estensi e i Medici e l’istoria de’ principi d’Este di G. Battista Pigna,’ Atti della deputazione ferrarese di storia patria 9 (1897): 37–122. and G. Mondaini, La questione di precedenza tra il duca Cosimo I de’ Medici e Alfonso d’Este (Florence. 1898).

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Modena for the funeral on 2 April 1659 of Duke Francesco.14 Gamberti used Pigna’s history of the d’Este for the elaborate and comprehensive genealogy of the family to which much of the decoration of the catafalque was devoted, as well as for the eulogy of Francesco. Gamberti was intent upon applying Pigna’s generalized definition of the heroic prince to Francesco, and in doing so he also specified and developed the theory itself. The idea of the heroic prince, which is incidental to Pigna’s main argument, becomes Gamberti’s central theme, as his book’s title itself proclaims: L’idea di un prencipe et eroe christiano in Francesco I. d’Este di Modona, e Reggio Duca VIII. Generalissimo dell’arme reali di Francia in Italia, &c. Gamberti develops at some length the traditional metaphor identifying the hero, and hence the ruler, with the sun. The prince-hero is repeatedly likened to the sun, his nobility with regard to his subjects resembling the nobility of the sun with respect to the planets. Gamberti also uses other suggestive metaphors such as that of a simulacrum resembling its divine sculptor and that of a small world.15 He takes idea very seriously, following Plato’s definition of it as a divine model, and the prince is indeed a model to all others.16 Gamberti is also careful to define the hero, citing Lucian’s apodeictic formulation, as one who is neither man nor god, but both at once (‘Heros est qui neque homo est, neque Deus, et simul utrumque est’).17 The idea of a perfect prince-hero is fulfilled in Francesco because he unites all Domenico Gamberti, L’idea di un prencipe et eroe christiano in Francesco I. d’Este di Modona, e Reggio Duca VIII. Generalissimo dell’arme reali di Francia in Italia, &c. effigiata co’ profili delle virtù da prencipi suoi maggiori ereditate. Rappresentata alla publica luce co ’l funerale apparato sposto nelle solenne esequie dall’altezza serenissima di Alfonso IV suo primogenito alla gloriosa, ed’immoratale sua memoria l’anno M. DC. LIX. alli 11. di Aprile in Modona celebrate (Modena, 1659); Gamberti also describes the decorations for the occasion in his Corona funerale dedicta alla gloriosa, ed immortale memoria del serenissimo prencipe Francesco I. d’Este Duca di Modona, e Reggio VIII. Generalissimo dell’arme reali di Francia in Italia, etc. nelle solenni esequie celebrategli dalla pia magnificenza dell’altezza serenissima di Alfonso IV Duca IX. suo primogenito (Modena, 1659). Gamberti’s definition of the hero is cited by De Mattei, Il pensiero, 11 23 n26. The decorations for Francesco’s funeral were reproduced in the complete restoration of Sant’Agostino that followed the funeral — see C. Conforti, ‘Il “funeral teatro” a Modena nel Seicento,’ in Barocco romano e barocco italiano: Il teatro, l’effimero, l’allegoria, ed. M. Fagiolo and M. L. Madonna (Rome. 1985), p. 227 — a unique instance, as far as I am aware, of such a direct perpetuation, in loco, of an ephemeral installation. 15 Gamberti, L’idea, pp. 32, 33, 42.44. 16 Ibid., pp. 66 ff, 100–1. 17 Ibid., p. 102; Gamberti cites Lucian, Dialogues 3. 14

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the requisite virtues in a harmonious chorus.18 Basing himself on Thomas Aquinas (the most important of the Scholastic sources to which the antiMachiavellian thinkers of the Counter Reformation returned), Gamberti divides the competencies of the prince-hero into two spheres, the civil and the military, in both of which the primary virtues are the four cardinal virtues, prudence, fortitude, justice, and temperance.19 Gamberti is particularly interesting for the way in which he effectively reconciles the hereditary rights of the prince with the definition of the status of the prince-hero in terms of virtue. Especially significant is Gamberti’s understanding of nobility, which, while based on family lineage, is also intimately bound to virtue. He argues that nobility derives not merely from ancient ancestry, as is popularly imagined, but also from virtue.20 He alone is noble who inherits the virtues of his forebears, and the highest nobility springs from the antiquity of the family and the virtues inherited.21 This theme provided the basic program of the funeral decorations designed by the architect Gaspare Vigarani, who had by the time of the funeral moved to Paris, where he later built the Salle des Machines in the Tuileries; he was succeeded as theatre architect to Louis XIV by his son, Carlo, whom Bernini met on his visit to Paris in 1665.22 The decorations comprised the two sides of the nave, the façade, and the catafalque itself and included, in addition to depictions of the major events in the duke’s life and his achievements, portrayals of his ancestors organized according to the virtues they represented and transmitted to the duke. This treatment Gamberti himself described as a ‘retrospective idea’ of the prince-hero,23 thus incorporating the past in the present as the link in the union of the divine and the human, nobility with virtue. Gamberti’s work was published years after Bernini’s portrait was made, but he illustrated the bust as the frontispiece and in such a way as to suggest that it was the commemorative sculptural equivalent of his subject (Fig. 7): an allegorical figure actually inscribes the title of the work on the

Gamberti, L’idea, p. 113. Ibid., pp. 115, 118. 20 Ibid., p. 123. 21 Ibid., pp. 125, 133. 22 On Vigarani, see Gamberti, Corona, p. 5, and L’idea, p. 17; Chantelou, Diary, p. 81 n 144; J. Southorn, Power and Display in the Seventeenth Century: The Arts and Their Patrons in Modena and Ferrara (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 56–8. 23 Gamberti, L’idea, p. 139. 18 19

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pedestal as an emblem of the Christian ruler’s victory over death.24 Although there is no reason to suppose that the two men ever met, the link between them is also evident from the fact that the rearing equestrian figures of Francesco d’Este’s ancestors shown on the catafalque with paired spiral columns (Fig. 8) strikingly anticipate Bernini’s project for the equestrian monument of Louis XIV. We know that Bernini was asked to provide a model for an equestrian monument of Francesco shortly after the duke’s death.25 In part, however, the community of thought between Gamberti and Bernini was probably based on a common source. One likely possibility was Tarquinio Galluzzi, a distinguished professor of rhetoric at the Jesuit college in Rome, the Collegio Romano, in the first half of the seventeenth century, whom Bernini must have known well.26 (Galluzzi delivered the funeral oration for Robert Bellarmine, for whose tomb in the Gesù Bernini executed his famous portrait bust, the image of fervid devotion.) Galluzzi was a seminal figure in the development of Jesuit drama. He wrote several important tragedies in the classical style on Christian subjects, as well as theoretical treatises and commentaries. In a lengthy commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics he cites the passage in the Politics (III.xiv.11.14) that may be the ultimate source of the idea of the prince-hero: here Aristotle describes the earliest phase of monarchy, which was the age of heroes when there were gods among men, whom they ruled by common consent.27 Bernini’s projects for the Modenese court, which besides the bust and equestrian portraits of Francesco included plans for refurbishing the ducal The design of the pedestal is reflected in that of the portrait bust of Mazarin in Giovanni Francesco Grimaldi’s 1661 funerary catafalque for the cardinal in SS. Vincenzo and Anastasio in Rome; see M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, La festa barocca (Rome, 1970), ill. p. 401. A figure inscribing the pedestal of a bust also appears in the scene representing the princely virtue of Scienze; see Southorn, Power and Display, pp. 58–9. Pl. 58. 25 The projected equestrian monument to Francesco I is the subject of correspondence in June 1659, published by S. Fraschetti, Il Bernini: La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo (Milan, 1900), p. 226. 26 On Galluzzi and his possible relevance for Bernini, see Lavin, ‘Bernini and Antiquity.’ p. 28. 27 Tarquinio Galluzzi, In aristotelis libros quinque . . . nova interpretatio . . . (Paris, 1645). p. 527: ‘Quartam [Regalis Politiae, vel Monarchiae species] facit eam quae fuit Heroum tempore Saturni, Neptuni, Herculis, Thesei . . . Videbantur enim velut inter homines Dii. Itaque species haec ideo dicta Heroica est, quod Heroes illo regni genere volentibus populis secundum probatum morem, ac secundum legem dominarentur’; cf. De Mattei, Il pensiero, II 23 n25. 24

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palace, profoundly affected the precisely analogous works he undertook for Louis XIV.28 The bust of the king (Fig. 2) resoundingly echoes that of Francesco, but carries its innovations a significant step further — and not simply because fifteen years had passed but also because Louis XIV was not a duke but Le Roi Soleil. The differences are profound. The vigorous sideward turn of the head and eyes has a distinct upward cast suggestive not of arrogance but of an ardently inspired and noble hauteur. The ebullient perruque engulfs the face in an aureole of loose, twisting, and lambent curls, highlighted by deep undercutting and flickers of drillwork, that cascade ‘earthward’ in a coruscating flood. These changes serve to assimilate the features of Louis to those commonly associated with the greatest of the ancient monarchs, Alexander, whose pathetic expression and ‘leonine mane’ had in turn been assimilated to the fiery-locked sun god Helios (Fig. 9). The resemblance to Alexander was remarked by contemporary viewers and emphasized by Bernini himself. The bust now includes an implicit lower right arm that bends back across the torso, counteracting the forward thrust of the shoulder. The model for this vigorous contrapposto was again Alexander, whose portrait by Giulio Romano Bernini evidently adapted to his purpose (Fig. 10). The lower edge of the torso is now completely dissimulated by the drapery and no trace of the conventional bust form remains, so that the body and arms seem to continue in the mind’s eye — not the image of Louis but Louis himself.29 At the same time, the drapery now flows to one side as if it were truly a magic carpet bearing the living figure forward and upward.30 This last, and ultimate, illusion must be 28 The Paris–Modena connection has recently also been emphasized by Peter Burke, The Fabrication of Louis XIV (New Haven and London, 1992), pp. 187–8. On Bernini’s work for Modena, see Fraschetti, Il Bernini, pp. 221–9; L. Zanugg, ‘Il palazzo ducale di Modena: Il problema della sua costruzione,’ Rivista del r. Istituto d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 9 (1942): 212–52; A. M. Matteucci, ‘Il palazzo ducale nel dibattito sulle residenze di corte,’ in Il palazzo ducale di Modena: Sette secoli di uno spazio cittadino, ed. A. Biondi (Modena, 1987), pp. 83–121; Southorn, Power and Display; O. Rombaldi, Il duca Francesco I d’Este (1629–1658) (Modena, 1993). pp. 69–74. 29 This effect was appreciated by contemporaries: the Venetian ambassador ‘a fort loué le buste, et a dit que le Roi était comme en action de donner quelque commandement dans son armée . . . qu’encore que ce buste fût sans membres, il semblait néanmoins avoir du mouvement’; Chantelou, Journal, p. 102. cited by Rudolf Wittkower, Bernini’s Bust of Louis XlV (London. 1951), p. 17. 30 It should be noted that the upward flare of the drapery at the front revealing the curved edge of the base suggests another ancient commemorative portrait form, the herm, in which there is an imperceptible transition from the torso to an abstract support.

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understood in relation to the equally extraordinary pedestal Bernini intended for the work but never carried out. The bust would have rested on a terrestrial globe of gilded and enamelled copper, bearing the ingenious inscription PICCIOLA BASA, ‘small base’; the globe in turn would have rested on a copper drapery emblazoned with military trophies and virtues — these last, no doubt, a specific reference to the attributes of the princehero; and the whole was to be set on a platform. In part, Bernini invoked an ancient type of portrait bust mounted on a (celestial) globe to suggest apotheosis. He must particularly have had in mind a splendid bust monument of the emperor Claudius that included a base with a globe and a panoply of military spoils (Fig. 11); in the mid-seventeenth century the ancient bust and base had been placed on a sculptured platform, as well.31 I am convinced, however, that Bernini’s chief purpose was to create in his portrait of the king what might be called a living analogue of the ubiquitous device that Louis had adopted two years before, in 1662, as his personal emblem and which had become practically synonymous with his name (Fig. 12). The device showed the sun as a radiant face, floating high above the clouds and a spherical earth, with the motto NEC PLURIBUS IMPAR, ‘not unequal to many.’ The conceit and image seem to have originated in a book of ‘ethico-political’ emblems, first published in 1619, in one of which (Fig. 13) the sun dispelling the clouds around the earth ‘illuminates everything with its rays,’ the motto derived from Claudian’s panegyric on the emperor Honorius; so, the explanation goes, the majesty of a king might expand his radiance so far as to be recognized by everyone.32 Louis’s motto, however, was the subject of heated geopolitiLavin, ‘Bernini’s Death,’ pp. 180 ff: ‘Afterthoughts,’ pp. 435 ff; Past–Present, pp. 163–5. The doubts concerning my dating of the transfer of the Claudius to Spain, expressed by Dent Weil in Orfeo Boselli: Osservazioni della scoltura antica dai manoscritti Corsini e Dorin e altri scritti, ed. p. Dent Weil (Florence, 1978), pp. 83–4, have been dispelled by Carinci in F. Carinci et al., Catalogo della Galleria Colonna: Sculture (Rome, 1990), pp. 21–4. Striking evidence of the importance of the Colonna Claudius in Bernini’s circle is provided by the grand imitation in wood that served as the pedestal of a bust of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, the father of Queen Christina, displayed in her palace in Rome, which must have been made before the original went to Spain in 1664; by 1756 the copy had been moved to Bologna and was being used for a bust monument now housed in the Academia della Scienze there; I materiali dell’Istituto delle Scienze (Bologna, 1979), pp. 144–5. 32 J. W. Zincgref, Emblematum ethico-politicorum centuria (Heidelberg, 1619), no. 38, ed. D. Mertens and T. Verweyen, 2 vols. (Tübingen, 1993), 190–1; A. Henkel and A. Schöne, Emblemata: Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts (Heidelberg, 1967). col. 14. 31

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cal controversy. Its meaning — that the king, like the sun, is capable of ‘illuminating’ more than one empire — was explained by Louis XIV himself in his memoirs and by one of the outstanding French Jesuits of the day, Claude-François Menestrier. Menestrier wrote many works on numismatics, heraldry, emblematics, funeral ceremonies, and all sorts of public spectacles including fireworks. In 1679 he published a whole book on the king’s device, La devise du roy justifiée, which is of fundamental importance for an understanding of its true implications and, by extension, those of Bernini’s portrait. The tract was intended to counter a statement by an earlier writer that the device had been employed by Philip II of Spain in reference to the Spanish conquest of the New World.33 Menestrier showed conclusively that this prior use was a pure fabrication. There can be no doubt, however, that the device invented for Louis XIV was indeed a response to the long familiar Habsburg emblem of two columns symbolic of the pillars Hercules erected at the end of the earth, with the inscription NON PLUS ULTRA, ‘not (or nothing) beyond.’ The emblem might refer either to an unsurpassable achievement, physical or spiritual, or to a limitation imposed by prudence; for the Habsburgs, the device also connoted the geographical extent of the empire. Louis replaced the Habsburg boast to rule to the limits of the known world by his claim that his power radiated beyond his own domain. This implication, and hence the motivation for Louis’s device, can have originated in only one context, that of the Peace of the Pyrenees of 1659, by which the power of Habsburg Spain was broken and peace between the two ancient enemies was established. Spain ceded large territories to France; the boundary between the two countries was drawn; Louis’s marriage to Maria Teresa of Austria, daughter of Philip IV, joining the two families, was arranged; and Louis agreed not to pursue his expansionist design beyond the Pyrenees. In countless eulogies, Louis was hailed as the harbinger of peace, and his success in this respect was specifically attributed to his having voluntarily refrained from a war in which, had he pursued it, he would have conquered 33 The subject of Menestrier’s rebuttal was a statement by F. Picinelli, Mondo simbolico (Venice, 1670), p. 17; Claude-François Menestrier, La devise du roy justifiée (Paris. 1679), preface and pp. 4, 32, reproduces an exemplar of the medal with the date 1662 and attributes the invention of the device, as well as the title ‘Grand,’ to a certain M. Douvrier — Louis Douvrier, concerning whom see J. F. Michaud, Biographie universelle, 55 vols. (Paris, 1811–62), XI 626; Dictionnaire de biographie française (Paris, 1933–). XI, col. 709: l’académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres: 1663–1963 ( Paris. 1963). exhib. cat., p. 4. no. 3.

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even Spain and its possessions. This noble self-control is suggested in Bernini’s portrait by the action of Louis’s right arm, bent back in a commanding gesture of restraint. The bust-monument incorporates the apotheosis of the prince-hero in the ‘disembodied’ image of the king floating on drapery above a globe labelled PICCIOLA BASA, just as in Louis’s emblem the sun floats over clouds above an earth that is, in effect, much smaller than it might be. The historical concatenation of these observations is evident from the fact that in another work Menestrier speaks specifically of Louis’s heroic virtues precisely in the context of explaining the NEC PLURIBUS IMPAR emblem; and he was intimately familiar with Gamberti’s work, from which he quotes at length.34 Bernini’s debt to the anti-Machiavellian prince-hero, to Menestrier, and to the emblematics of Louis XIV is most emphatically and most spectacularly displayed in his equestrian portrait of the king (Fig. 3). The work departs as radically from its predecessors as had the bust monument. In the portrait bust, as in that of Francesco I, the ruler is portrayed without any allegorical paraphernalia: the king is shown wearing his own — not classical — armour, and his own Venetian lace collar, in an action that looked to one observer as if he were about to issue a command.35 All this was changed in the equestrian monument, where Louis was shown in antique guise, austerely unadorned; his features, as we know from the sources, are utterly transfigured into those of a radiantly smiling, Alexandrine youth; he grasps his baton as an emblem of power, but not in a gesture of command. The work is, moreover, the first monumental free-standing marble statue of an equestrian on a rearing horse since antiquity. It is also well over life-size and is carved from a single block, reputedly the largest such monolithic sculpture since antiquity. It is thus heroic in scale as well as technique.

Claude François Menestrier, L’art des emblemes (Lyon, 1662), pp. 129 ff. On all these points, see Wittkower, Bernini’s Bust, p. 18. It is worth noting in this context that Bernini was given as a model — which he conspicuously did not follow — a famous suit of armour with elaborately embossed reliefs representing the history of Caesar and Pompey, thought to have been designed by Giulio Romano for Francis I (Chantelou, Journal, p. 49, 9 July; p. 151, 10 September; p. 258, 21 October). The harness, which is still to be seen in the Louvre (Fig. 14), was actually made by Etienne Delaune for Henry II; L’Ecole de Fontainebleau (Paris, 1972), exhib. cat. pp. 420–1, no. 582, with bibliography. I am greatly indebted to Stuart W. Pyhrr of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, for his expert knowledge and kind response to my inquiry concerning the harness. On Louis’s action, see n29 above. 34 35

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The full import of Bernini’s sculpture becomes apparent only when one understands the context in which it was to be seen. It was to have been placed not on a traditional architectural base, but atop a rocky peak, supported by a swirl of windblown flags symbolizing the conquest of the summit (Figs 15, 18, 20). Like the drapery of Louis’s bust, the unfurling banners would seem to bear the portrait aloft. In fact, one realizes that the equestrian monument was also in its way a living re-creation of the king’s personal emblem, the flags substituting for the clouds as mediators between the earth below and the sun above. In addition, two monumental spiral columns recalling both the pillars of Hercules and the triumphal Roman columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius were to have flanked the sculpture, which would have borne the inscription NON PLUS ULTRA (cf. Fig. 16).36 Here the reference to the Habsburg device — NON PLUS ULTRA with paired columns — is explicit and complete, and the message is obvious. Having reached the summit of glory, Louis stops and goes no further. In this case. we know Bernini’s specific source. In 1660 a lavish celebration was held at Lyon for the Peace of the Pyrenees and the marriage of Louis to Maria Teresa of Austria, which joined the two monarchies. The political implications of the event were epitomized in one of the temporary structures erected at strategic points throughout the city. A personification of war, Bellona, stood on a pile of military spoils that bore the inscription NON ULTRA, between two columns to which her arms are bound by chains (Fig. 17).37 One column was decorated with the emblem of France, the other with those of León and Castile, and the whole was placed atop a craggy two-peaked mass referring to the Pyrenees. The Jesuit Menestrier, who was a native of Lyon and published a lengthy description of the celebrations, may well have been responsible for the allegory. He provides an The medal of Charles VI shown in Fig. 16 clearly reflects Bernini’s project except that the flanking columns are not spiral but return to the form normally used for the Habsburg device, and the base is the traditional oblong block. 37 First published in Claude François Menestrier, Les reioüissances de la paix (Lyon, 1660), pp. 54–5. After this essay was completed it came to my attention that the twin columns motif has been studied in relation to Bernini’s projects and their subsequent influence by Karl Mösender, ‘ “Aedificata poesis”: Devisen in der französischen und österreichischen Barockarchitektur,’ Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 35 (1982): 158 ff (but following an unfortunate error concerning the origin and date of Menestrier’s image; cf. Lavin, Past–Present, p. 298 n90), and Friedrich Polleross, ‘Architecture and Rhetoric in the Work of Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach,’ in Infinite Boundaries: Order Disorder and Reorder in Early Modern German Culture, ed. Max Reinhart (Kirksville, Mo., 1998), pp. 130 ff. 36

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explanation which, along with the image itself, must have affected Bernini deeply: It is often desirable for the glory of heroes that they themselves voluntarily put limits on their designs before Time or Death does so of necessity . . . The grand example [of Hercules, who raised the columns, then stopped to rest after his victories,] makes all the world admire the moderation of our monarch, who, having more ardour and courage than any of the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome, knew how to restrain his generous movements in the midst of success and victories and place voluntary limits on his fortune . . . The trophy that will render him glorious in the history of all time will be the knowledge that this young conqueror preferred the repose of his people to the advantages of his glory and sacrificed his interests to the tranquillity of his subjects.38 Menestrier’s emblem helps to explain several important points concerning Bernini’s conception of the equestrian portrait in particular and of the nature of kingship generally. With regard to the first point, we have a remarkable statement by the artist himself describing the meaning, quite unprecedented in the history of equestrian portraiture, he intended the work to convey. He said: I have not represented King Louis in the act of commanding his armies. This, after all, would be appropriate for any prince. But I wanted to represent him in the state he alone has been able to attain through his glorious enterprises. And since the poets imagine that Glory resides on the top of a very high and steep mountain whose summit only a few climb, reason demands that those who nevertheless happily arrive there after enduring privations [superati disaggi] Menestrier, L’art des emblemes, pp. 129–30: ‘Il seroit souvent à souhaiter pour la gloire des Heros qu’ils missent eux mesmes des bornes volontaires à leur desseins avant que le Temps ou la Mort leur en fissent de necessaires . . . C’est ce grand Example, qui doit faire admirer à tous les Peuples la moderation de nostre Monarque qui ayant plus d’ardeur & de courage que n’en eurent tous les Heros de Ia vieille Grece & de Rome, à sceu retenir ces mouvements genereux au milieu du succez de ses victoires, & donner volontairement des bornes à sa fortune . . . Ce sera aussi ce Trophée qui le rendra glorieux dans l’histoire de tous les siêcles, quand on sçaura que ce ieune conquerant à préferé le repos de ses Peuples aux avantages de sa gloire, & sacrifié ses interests à la tranquillité de ses Sujets.’ 38

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joyfully breathe the air of sweetest Glory. which having cost terrible labours [disastrosi travagli] is the more dear, the more lamentable the strain [rincrescevole . . . stento] of the ascent has been. And as King Louis with the long course of his many famous victories has already conquered the steep rise of the mountain, I have shown him as a rider on its summit, in full possession of that Glory, which, at the cost of blood [costo di sangue], his name has acquired. Since a jovial face and a gracious smile are proper to him who is contented. I have represented the monarch in this way.39 Menestrier’s comment on the emblem at Lyon explains why Bernini did not show Louis commanding his troops, for while the sculpture is a portrait of a soldier it is ultimately an image of peace. in this way, too, may be understood Bernini’s emphasis on the ‘privations,’ the ‘terrible labours,’ the ‘lamentable strain,’ and the ‘cost of blood’ Louis suffered for his greatness. Bernini, in effect, universalized Menestrier’s thought; the Pyrenees became The translation, with some alterations, is from Rudolf Wittkower, ‘The Vicissitudes of a Dynastic Monument: Bernini’s Equestrian Statue of Louis XIV,’ in De artibus opuscula XL: Essays in Honor of Erwin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York, 1961), p. 503. I quote the whole passage, which concerns an ‘ingegnoso cavalier Francese. che assuefatto alla vista del suo Rè in atto Maestoso, e da Condottiere di Eserciti, non lodava, che quì allora coll’armatura pur’indosso, e sopra un Cavallo medesimamente guerriero, si dimostrasse nel volto giulivo, e piacevole, che più disposto pareva a dispensar grazie, che ad atterrir’inimici, e soggiogar Provincie. Poiche spiegògli a lungo la sua intenzione, quale, benche espressa adeguatamente ancora nell’Opera, tuttavia non arrivò a comprendere il riguardante. Dissegli dunque. Non haver’egli figurato il Rè Luigi in atto di commandare a gli Eserciti, cosa, che finalmente è propria di ogni Principe, mà haverlo voluto collocare in uno stato, al quale non altri, che esso era potuto giungere, e ciò per mezzo delle sue gloriose operazioni. E come che fingono i Poeti risieder la gloria sopra un’altissimo, ed erto Monte, nella cui sommità rari son quelli, che facilmente vi poggiano, ragion vuole, che quei, che pur felicemente vi arrivano doppo i superati disaggi, giocondamente respirino all’aura di quella soavissma gloria, che per essergli costata disastrosi travagli, gli è tanto più cara, quanta più rincrescevole gli fù lo stento della salita. E perche il Rè Luigi con il lungo corso di tante illustri vittorie haveva già superato l’erto di quel Monte, egli sopra quel Cavallo lo collocava nel colmo di esso, pieno possessore di quella gloria. che a costa di sangue haveva acquistato il suo nome. Onde perche è qualità propria di chi gode la giovialità del volta, & un’avvenente riso della bocca, quindi è, che tale appunto haveva rappresentato quel Monarca. Oltracche, benche questo suo pensiere si potesse ben ravvisare nel Tutto di quel gran Colosso, tuttavia molto più manifesto apparirebbe, quando collocar si dovesse nel luogo destinato. Poiche colà doveasi scolpir in altro Marmo una Rupe proporzionata erta, e scoscese, sopra cui haverebbe in bel modo a pasore il Cavolla con quel disegno, ch’ei fatto ne haverebbe’; Domenico Bernini, Vita del cavalier Gio. Larenzo Bernino (Rome, 1713), pp. 149–50. 39

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the mountain of virtue, and territorial containment became victory over the self, the ultimate achievement of the true hero.40 He thus managed to incorporate both meanings of the non plus ultra / Pillars of Hercules tradition, expressing Louis’s attainment of the extreme limit of glory through victories achieved at great self-sacrifice. The essence of Bernini’s conceit lies in the poignant irony of the great hero reaching the heights of spiritual triumph by limiting earthly ambition. The equestrian monument becomes thereby a vision not only of military but of moral force, a vehicle not only of political but also of ethical precept. Bernini’s image, above all, is that of potentially overwhelming power held in firm and benign restraint. I hope it will have become clear that Bernini was profoundly indebted to the vital, predominantly Jesuit tradition of moral statesmanship represented by the anti-Machiavellian movement, to the idea of the prince-hero, and to Menestrier’s explanations of the emblematic imagery of Louis XlV. The extent, but also the limit, of Jesuit involvement in the development of Bernini’s ideas on the subject, and the political significance the order itself attached to the equestrian monument, may be gauged from a letter of great subtlety and perspicuity written by Bernini’s good friend Gian Paolo Oliva, superior general of the Jesuit order. Oliva had been instrumental in persuading Bernini to undertake the trip to Paris in the first place, and in 1673, having recently seen the sculpture in Rome, he wrote to his Jesuit cohort in Paris, Jean Ferrier, who had earlier assumed the critical post of confessor to the king. Oliva encapsulates the self-sacrificial theory of rulership, and turns it specifically to the struggle against heresy, notably the Jansenist movement then much in vogue at the French court, and the Turkish menace.41 Oliva was also preacher to the pope, and his remarks suggest that Bernini’s visit to Paris may itself have been part of Alexander VII’s strategy to enlist the king’s support in the face of these threats to the church:

40 This self-sacrificial understanding of Bernini’s concept, developed by me in Past–Present, pp. 176–96, has recently been appropriated by K. Hermann Fiore in Bernini scultore: La nascita del barocco in casa Borghese (Rome, 1998), exhib. cat., p. 326. 41 On the situation at this time, see Ludwig von Pastor, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols. (London, 1923–53), XXXI 482 ff. Others have suggested the not incompatible theory that the pope gave his permission as part of the settlement of the troubled relations with France in the wake of the Peace of Westphalia: Ludovici in F. Baldinucci, Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino (Florence, 1683), ed. S. S. Ludovici (Milan, 1948), p. 249, and R. Krautheimer, The Rome of Alexander VII (Princeton, 1984), p. 141.

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I congratulate the city of Paris, which will soon admire in its most famous place a monument of which none better may be seen or will be seen in Europe, for the object it represents and for the art with which it is portrayed. The acclaimed miracle lacks nothing except the crown on the head of the Prince it represents. Of the two crowns we venerate in commanders, that of glory was given to the king by the birth that revealed him to the world as Prince of so many lands; the other of laurel is offered to him by so many heretical places expunged by his sword. There remains the last, of olive, most glorious of all and desired by all, in which the king is ringed by the universal peace among faithful princes; it alone remains to add to his praises, nor can there be greater decoration for his splendour. Such a garland is not worked by tools, hence the Cavalier has not placed it on the portrait’s head, and only a King loaded with so many trophies may assume it by overcoming himself after having overcome the enemies of the faith . . . It is your responsibility to offer with the holiness of your counsels to such a potent King the branches of a crown that with God and the Good takes precedence over any diadem . . .’42 In one important respect, however, I believe Bernini went beyond his predecessors. It is a striking fact that Bernini’s works for Louis XIV — the designs for the Louvre as well as the portraits of the king — are almost devoid of any royal or dynastic references such as crowns, ancestor portraits, 42 ‘Però mi congratulo con la Città di Parigi che presto ammirerà nella sua più famosa piazza una macchina di cui l’Europa non ne vede, nè vedrà miglior, e per l’oggetto che rappresenta e per l’arte con cui è figurata. Non altro manca à l’acclamato miracolo fuorchè la corona sul capo del Principe rappresentato. Dalle due corone che veneriamo comandati, quella di gloria al Re la diede il nascimento che l’espose al mondo Principe di tanti Stati, l’altra di lauro a lui la porgono tante piazze eretiche espugnate dalla sua spada. Resta l’ultima dell’olivo più gloriosa di tutte e da tutti sospirata, ove in essa con la pace universale fra Principi fedeli si cinga sua Maestà, nè a suoi preggi rimane che aggiungere, nè può accrescersi freggio per cui risplende. Tale Ghirlanda non si lavora dal ferro, e però dal Cav.re non si è sovraposta alle tempie del simulacro e solo un Rè carico di tanti Trofei può caricarsene col superar se stesso soppo d’haver superati i nemici della fede mentre trionfa di natione tronfante con tanto danno della Religione fin nell’ultimo oriente. Appartiene a V. R. offerire con la santità di suoi consigli a si potente Rè i rami d’una corona che presso Dio, e presso i Buoni precede à qualunque diadema, e la prego di suoi santi sacrificij.’ For the full letter, see A. Venturi, ‘Lorenzo Bernini in Francia,’ Archivio storico dell’arte 3 (1890): 143, and Fraschetti, Bernini, p. 360 n2; and see Wittkower, ‘Vicissitudes,’ pp. 527–8, for a version among Bernini’s papers at the Biblothèque Nationale in Paris.

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and fleurs-de-lys. Colbert complained bitterly about this austerity even while Bernini was in Paris. But there is more here than meets the eye (or rather than does not meet the eye), for implicit in this ‘heredity-restraint’ is the subversive view of the ruler as a man endowed with noble ideals but whose merit derives not merely from his noble birth but from his heroic virtue and labours. Bernini had the temerity to say precisely this to Louis himself on the eve of his departure from Paris to return to Rome. The two men had taken an immediate liking to each other, and the young king wished the aging artist could stay to finish his various projects. Having put the finishing touches to the bust, Bernini said that his only regret was ‘that he was obliged to leave; he would have been happy to spend the rest of his life in [the king’s] service, not because he was king of France and a great king, but because he had realized that [Louis’s] spirit was even more exalted than his position.’43 Both aspects of this provocative combination of values — a God-given right to rule vested in one who earned it through the exercise of virtue — were stated expressis verbis on two complementary medals commemorating the statue that were struck in Rome, doubtless under the aegis of the pope.44 One bears the inscription HAC ITER AD SUPEROS, ‘this way to the gods,’ in allusion to the arduous peak of virtue and self-conquest which the victorious hero surmounts (Fig. 18). This was a pre-emi43 ‘Il s’estimerait heureux de finir sa vie à son service, non pas pour ce qu’il était un roi de France et un grand roi, mais parce qu’il avait connu que son esprit était encore plus relevé que sa condition’ (Chantelou, Journal, p. 201, 5 October; translation, with modifications, from Chantelou, Diary, p. 254). A version of Bernini’s remark was repeated by Oliva in a letter written to the Marquis de Lionne, Louis’s foreign secretary. shortly after the artist’s return to Rome. Oliva reported that in praising the king Bernini had deprived him of his noble birth and his empire, insisting that he was more elevated by the capacity of his mind and other virtues; the king was not great for the vastness of his domain or the force of his arms: ‘E giunto in Roma il Cavaliere Bernino, transformato in tromba del Rè Cristianissimo, che di Scultore l’ha renduto quasi Sasso, tanto si mostra attonito alle Doti incomparabili di S. M. Questo stupore nell’eccesso, sì della gratitudine a gli onori inauditi e a’grossi soccorsi, come dell’ammirazione alla grandezza e alla magnanimità d’un tanto Rè, l’ha precipitato in una prodigiosa ingratitudine: mentre, per celebrare Monarca di tanto merito, l’ha spogliato del Nascimento e dell’lmperio; protestandolo assai più sublime, per la capacità della mente, per la prudenza della lingua, per la splendidezza della mano, per la generosità del cuore, per la riverenza voluta a’ divini Scarifici ne’ Templij, e per la maestà d’ogni sua parte; che non è grande, per quella vastità di Dominio e per quella potenza d’Armi, che l’agguagliano a’ Rê più celebri degli Annali antichi’; Gian Paolo Oliva, Lettere, 2 vols. (Rome, 1681). II 71–2. and Baldinucci, Vita, pp. 125–6, for the whole letter; reprinted in part by Bernini, Vita, pp. 144–5. 44 On the medals, see Bernini in Vaticano (Rome, 1981). exhib. cat., pp. 308–9.

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nently Herculean sentiment, associated especially with the theme of Hercules at the Crossroads; the hero chooses the difficult path of righteousness over the easy road to pleasure, thereby expressing the supreme Stoic virtue, conquest of the self.45 Bernini had himself invoked the idea in his plan to place guardian figures of the demigod, identified with fortitude and labour, flanking the entrance to the Louvre. He explained to the king that Hercules ‘by means of his fortitude and labour is a portrait of virtue, which resides on the mountain of labour, that is, the rocky mass; and he says that whoever wishes to reside in this palace must pass through virtue and labour. This thought and allegory greatly pleased His Majesty, to whom it seemed to have grandeur and sententiousness.’46 In architectural terms, Bernini here referred to one of the most illustrious Roman structures, the double temple of Honour and Virtue — so arranged that one had to pass through the one to reach the other.47 The image that echoed in Bernini’s mind must have resembled the frontispiece of the most popular of all the Jesuit tracts on Christian political theory, Diego de Saavedra Fajardo’s Idea principis christiano-politici, published in the Brussels edition of 1649 (Fig. 19).48 Hercules guides the armoured Christian prince, who crushes the Hydra of heresy underfoot, through an honour guard of virtues along the path that leads up to the temples at the summit, inscribed HAC ITUR AD ASTRA, ‘This way leads to the stars.’49 The other medal (Fig. 20) carries the 45 ‘Virtus in astra tendit’ (Seneca. Hercules Oetaeus, line 1971); see Lavin, Past–Present, pp. 175–6. 46 ‘Sopra detto scoglio dalle parte della porta principale invece d’adornamento di doi colonne, vi ha fato due grandi Ercoli, che fingono guardare il palazzo, alle quali il sig. caval. gli da un segnificato e dice Ercole è il retratto della vertù per mezzo della sua fortezza e fatica, quale risiede su ii monte della fatica che è lo soclio . . . e dice chi vuole risiedere iti questa regia, bisognia che passi per mezzo della vertù e della fatica. Qual’pensiero e alegoria piacque grandamente a S. M., parendogli che havesse del grande e del sentesioso’; L. Mirot, ‘Le Bernin en France: Les travaux du Louvre et les statues de Louis XIV,’ Mémoires de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France 31 (1904): 218n; Bernini’s remarks were quoted in a letter from Paris to Rome by his assistant Mattia de’ Rossi, 26 June. 47 Lavin, Past–Present, pp. 157–61. 48 Needless to say, the hyphenated term in the title is of interest in our context. On Saavedra, see the chapter in Bireley, Counter-Reformation, pp. 188–216. The frontispiece, designed by Erasmus Quellinus, was noted and reproduced by Judson and van de Velde, Book lllustrations, p. 239 n7, Fig. 188. Bernini may well have known Saavedra, who spent many years in Rome until 1633, as a diplomat at the Spanish envoy. 49 Bernini surely also knew the very similar treatment of the Hercules-Temple of Virtue and Honour theme by Federico Zuccaro in his house in Rome, where the allegory is applied to the artist himself (Lavin, Past–Present, p. 160, Fig. 211); and the motto SIC ITUR AD

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sharpest challenge to princely rule, in the motto inscribed on the flags that would have wafted the bounding equestrian heavenward: ET MAIOR TITULIS VIRTUS, ‘Virtue is greater than titles’ — astonishing on a monument to Louis XIV, the Sun King. Underlying all these conceits one can discern a radical principle that the true basis of just rule lay in individual virtue and self-control rather than in inherited rank and unbridled power. While giving form to the concept of the prince-hero Bernini defined it in a way that challenged the very foundations of traditional monarchist theory, including even that of the antiMachiavellians.50 In his works of political intent, he created a revolutionary new means of visual expression to convey a revolutionary new social ideal.51

ASTRA, as applied to Giovanni Bologna’s ‘equestrian’ group of Hercules overcoming Nessus (ibid., p. 174, Fig. 230). 50 It is interesting and important to note that Bernini’s conscious effort to infuse the resemblance of portraits of the sort required by Louis with ‘that which belongs in the heads of heroes’ was embedded in his very method of creating them: after studying the ‘sitter’ carefully in action he worked almost always from the imagination, looking only rarely at his drawings, but inward to the ‘idea’ he had of the king: ‘Jusqu’ici il avait presque toujours travaillé d’imagination, et qu’il n’avait regardé que rarement les dessins qu’il a; qu’il ne regardait principalement que là dedans, montrant son front, où il a dit qu’était l’idée de Sa Majesté; que autrement il n’aurait fait qu’une copie au lieu d’un original, mais que cela lui donnait une peine extrême et que le roi, lui demandant son portrait, ne pouvait pas Iui commander rien de plus pénible: qu’il tâcherait que ce fût le moins mauvais de tous ceux qu’il aura faits; que, dans ces sortes de portraits, il faut, outre la ressemblance, y mettre ce qui doit être dans des têtes de héros’ (Chantelou, Journal, pp. 72–3, 29 July). 51 The underlying deflation and moralization of conventional social values implicit here in the domain of official portraiture has its counterpart in Bernini’s creation of the private caricature portrait of exalted and high-born personages; see Irving Lavin, ‘High and Low before Their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,’ in Modern Art and Popular Culture: Readings in High and Low, ed. K. Varnadoe and A. Gopnik (New York, 1990), pp. 19–50.

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Bernini’s Bumbling Barberini Bees Misericors Dominus, et justus, et Deus noster miseretur (Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful, Ps. 116:5)*

T

HIS paper is partly in the nature of an extended, and I hope expansive, footnote to an extraordinarily important and strangely neglected essay on Bernini's tomb of Urban VIII published in 1971 by Catherine Wilkinson (Fig. 1).1 Her brief article focused specifically on the iconography of the figures of Charity and Justice, but Wilkinson's interpretation has important implications for our understanding of Bernini's art generally. She demonstrated, in effect, that the two figures do not represent, as had always been taken for granted, the traditional moral allegories of Charity and Justice, thus illustrating the relatively simple, not to say superficial, and often sycophantic character of Bernini's art as it was commonly conceived. Taking up the doctrinal formulations of the Council of Trent and as well as other supporting texts, Wilkinson made it clear that Bernini's figures are intellectually sophisticated, indeed profound evocations, not of the moral * Theme-text for a catechism of John Paul II on divine charity and justice and the relationship between them: audience of July 7, 1999 (L’Osservatore Romano, CXXXIX, No. 154, July 8, 1999, 4). The judicial branch of the Italian government is still called Ministerio di Grazia e Giustizia. 1 Wilkinson 1971. Coincidentally appeared the monographic essay on the tomb by Kauffmann 1970, 109–35, which incorporates a great and invaluable mass of material on every aspect of the monument, but fails to grasp the fundamental distinction observed by Wilkinson. The same is true of the recent study by Schütze 1994, devoted essentially to the ‘imperialist’ ambitions of Urban VIII.

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virtues, but of the divine virtues of Charity and Justice.2 The virtues are therefore not qualities of Urban VIII personally, but attributes of his office as the Vicar of Christ on earth. Interestingly, Wilkinson overlooked what is perhaps the most striking testimony to her interpretation: a painting by Baglione in which Divine Wisdom, crowned by the dove of the Holy Spirit, reaches down from heaven with golden chains to link to herself and to each other her earthly representatives, Charity and Justice (Fig. 3).3 Bernini's allegories therefore cannot be understood as mourners for the departed pope. Among the least valuable implications of Wilkinson's work, for example, is that it obviated the embarrassing need to construe Charity's maternal benevolence as an expression of grief (Fig. 3)!4 The initial key to the significance of the allegories is that Bernini did not accompany the pope by the cardinal moral virtues normally associated with the earthly ruler, whose loss they properly mourn. Instead, he combined one of the cardinal virtues, Justice, with the chief theological virtue, Charity. This combination was common enough, but in the context of papal portraiture it specifically denoted the role of the papacy in the execution of God's wish that man be justified, that is, made just, and so redeemed from original sin. God achieves this result through the sacrifice of his only son, and the exercise of the chief attributes of his perfection, the divine virtues of Charity and Justice. The two virtues are equal and interdependent, the one operating through the other in the interest of mankind. The allegories, therefore, far from lamenting the pope's demise, illustrate the roles of God’s virtues in achieving the beneficent result implicit in the pope's salvific gesture.5 In the case of Charity Bernini makes his point by creating a binary complementary moral and psychological contrast — ‘contrapposto,’ Bernini Wilkinson’s point of departure was an observation to this effect by Panofsky 1964, 94; see n. 35 below. 3 Cited by Kauffmann 1970, 109 f. The inscriptions on the painting read as follows: Qui manet in caritate in deo manet et deus in eo; Diligite iustitiam qui iudicatus terram. (He who abides in charity abides in God, and God abides in him; let him who judges the earth delight in justice.) 4 ‘. . . the allegories, touched by the sense of bereavement at the death of so good a pope, are moved to tears and Justitia, in a swoon of grief, barely manages to hold the sword that is no longer guided by Urban’s rule.’ Fehl 1986, 181.) Baldinucci (1948, 87) also interprets the allegories as mourners, but recognizes Charity’s compassionate expression: ‘ Pietoso sguardo,’ ‘mostri di compatire al suo pianto.’ 5 On the pope’s gesture see below. 2

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would have called it — between the extremes of the soul's route to salvation.6 One child (Fig. 3), having absorbed the milk of God's forgiving goodness sleeps blissfully until the end of time. The other soul (Fig. 4) bawls at the top of his lungs: he is the repentant sinner reaching desperately for redemption, so utterly consumed by recrimination as to be unaware of Charity's compassionate response to his excruciating Jeremiad. Wilkinson cites a remarkably close precedent for Bernini's concept in a painting by Lanfranco illustrating the action of the Virgin interceding with her son to save a repentant soul (Fig. 6).7 To a degree, the composition, and perhaps also the concept, seems to echo the figure of Charity Bernini's father, Pietro, had carved years before in Naples (Fig. 7).8 The point of the subject, however, is explicitly represented in a painting by Guercino, famous in its day, as evidenced by an engraving in which the accompanying inscription treats the subject of Charity as a memento mori reminding the viewer that his own redemption is in direct proportion to his participation in God's love (Fig. 8).9 Charity is a vigorously dynamic and earthly figure who contacts the papal tomb primarily by resting her sleeping charge against the sarcophagus — an image that insistently recalls the themes of the Pietà and entombment of Christ, whose sacrifice was the prototype of all acts of charity.10 In sharp contrast, the passive figure of Justice stands, or more accurately leans against the tomb, in a pose that is redolent of languor and passivity (Fig. 9). Whereas Charity has fewer accouterments than usual (two babies rather than three), Justice has more: the book, and fasces in addition to the canonical sword and balance. The attributes obviously relate to the quintessential forms of justice: legal, commutative and distributive, derived ultimately from Aristotle, developed by the scholastics, and formulated definitively at the Council of Trent.11 Three points concern us here. The crossleg pose of the figure and the inclusion of the fasces have a common theme with respect to the sword and balance, which evoke the impartial and retributive nature On Bernini’s notion of contrapposto, see Lavin 1980, 9 f, and compare his busts of the Damned and Blessed Souls, Lavin 1993, 101–38. 7 Bernini 1982, 37 f. 8 On Pietro Bernini’s Charity see Alisio, ed., 1987, 84–8. 9 Aspice, sum Charitas, Christi me dilige cultor,/ Quantus amor fuerit, proemia tanta feres. On the painting, in the Dayton Art Institute, see Fifty Treasures, 1969, 92, 141. 10 Kauffmann 1970, 122, notes the analogy with the Pietà. 11 Commutative, individual to individual — the sword; distributive; society to the individual — fasces; legal; individual to society — book; the balance = equality of all Justice. 6

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of justice.12 Crossed legs were a frequent attribute of figures representative of unhurried meditation and contemplation, and in this case the motif expresses one of the fundamental attributes of God's justice, that it is slow and deliberate.13 Vincenzo Cartari explains the fact that Saturn was often represented with his feet tied together as indicating that ‘Divine Goodness does not run quickly or noisily to castigate error, but belatedly and slowly, so that the sinner is unaware before he feels the pain.’14 Under the heading precisely of Divine Justice Cesare Ripa describes the fasces with the ax, carried by the lictors before the consuls and the Tribune of the People, as signifying that in the execution of justice overzealous castigation is unwarranted, and that justice should never be precipitous but have time to mature judgment while unbinding the rods that cover the ax.15 The crossleg pose and the fasces occur together in a painting of Justice attributed to Battista Dossi (Fig. 10). The second observation I want to make about Justice concerns the weapon she holds. The particular sting of Urban's justice, which we will discuss presently, is felt in the magnificent colony of bees that decorates the pommel (Fig. 11). Valeriano in his Hieroglyphics explains the double-edged sword as alluding to the two aspects of punishment, corporeal and spiritual.16 In this case the point is made with a particular embellishment in the 12 Ripa s.v. Giustitia: ‘Le bilancie significano, che la Giustizia divina da regalia à tutte le attioni, & la spada le pene de’ delinquenti.’ (1603, 188) ‘Il mostrare la severità. il rigore della giustizia per una spada ignuda . . . è stato trovato da moderni, i quali per dar qualche cenno all’equità vi aggiunsero ancor la bilancia. ‘Valeriano 1625, 565. 13 On the crossed legs see Kauffmann 1970, 124 ff, who seems to have over looked the fundamental study by Tikkanen 1912, 123–50. 14 Cartari 1626, 30 ‘. . . la divina bontà non corre in fretta, nè con romore a castigare chi erra, ma và tarda, & lenta, & così tacitamente, che non prima se ne avede il peccatore, che senta la pena.’ An ancient representation of Justice with a figure leaning on a spear signified ‘la lentezza, per la quale le cause si mandano in lungo più del dovere: perche . . . significa tardanza.’ Valeriano 1625, 566. 15 Ripa 1603, 188: ‘Il fasco di verghe con la scure, era portato anticamente in Rome da littori inanzi a’ Consoli, & al Tribuno della Plebe, per mostrar che nô si deve rimanere di castigare, ove richiede la Giustizia, ne di deve esser precipitoso: ma dar tempo à maturare il giuditio nel sciore delle verghe. ‘On the fasces as an attribute of Justice see the discussion by Kissel 1984, 107 f. 16 ‘. . . perche’ è assai noto, che il coltello è inditio della severità, e del castigo, non è da lasciar’ indientro, che nelle sacre lettere spesso si fà mentione del coltello di due tagli. Ieroglifico di questo è, che nel giuditio può punire l’animo, & il corpo ad un tratto, overo che punisca col supplitio della pena presente, e col timore dell’avvenire.’ Valeriano 1625, 566. Valeriano is here surely alluding to the passage in Hebrews 4:12: ‘For the word of God

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form of damascening that decorates the two faces of the blade in mirror images (Fig. 12). The design is evidently indecipherable as words, but I suspect it may allude to Islam and the conversion of the infidel.17 This ideal of Christian justice, which included publication of the bible in Arabic, was a guiding principle of the Propaganda Fide, the great missionary institution that was one of the major preoccupations of Urban's reign.18 My third point concerns the most commonly misunderstood feature of the allegory, that is, what might be called her mood, her head resting on her hand, her head and eyes turned upward, her lips parted as if in response to some message received from on high. In truth, there is nothing tearful or morbid about her expression, which is rather one of dreamy absorption tinged with a kind of melancholic lethargy. The very fact that her elbow rests on the book of law — Urban was first and foremost a jurist and his rise within the church hierarchy rested on that basis — indicates that her action has to do with justice, not mourning.19 To be sure, all writers emphasize that divine chastisement is inflicted only reluctantly, and with dismay,20 and hints of fearsomeness and withdrawal are expressed by the putti, one of whom hides anxiously with the scales, while the other turns away with the fasces (Figs. 13, 14). The allegory herself, however, has a quite different attitude. The head-on-hand motif is one of the most consistent postures of the thinker, the contemplator, the meditator, and the turn of her head and glance makes it clear, not only that she is slow to act but that what she contemplates is the heavenly source of divine justice. Bernini seems to have based this aspect of his figure on just such a prototype, Domenichino's equally dilatory allegory of Prudence at San Carlo ai Catinari (Fig. 15). Ripa emphasizes that the eyes of Divine Justice must regard the things of

is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.’ Augustine compares the two-edged sword to the Old and New Testaments: ‘And scripture says that the word of God is a two-edged sword because of its double edge, the two testaments.’ De Civ. Dei XX, 21, 2; McCrackeen and Green 1957–72, 384–5. See Frommhold 1925, 51. 17 Southern 1962. Daniel 1980. Kedar 1984. 18 Pastor 1923–53, XXIX, 212–6. 19 On Urban’s legal training and early career, see Pastor 1923–53, XXVIII, 28–29. 20 Wilkinson 1971, 58 f, notes that Divine Justice grieves for the sinner and suffers the same pain it inflicts.

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this world as beneath her, keeping her attention always fixed on the pure and the true.21 The two groups together thus offer a veritable concert of psychological and moral states, the allegories themselves acting in a counterpoint perhaps deliberately analogous to the saintly figures in the crossing piers beneath the dome, Veronica, Andrew, Longinus and Helen (Fig. 16a–d); carried out under Bernini's supervision during the same period as Urban's tomb, they represent the principal passion relics possessed by the basilica. The two female saints — one active, one passive — are earthbound and outward directed, while the two men (one active, one passive) appear upward directed and inspired from heaven.22 This theme, that is, the divine origin and earthward dispensation of God's grace in the form of Charity and Justice, carries deep into the motivation and ultimate significance of the monument, which is in fact the first papal tomb incorporating these two virtues together and in isolation. Rarely, they appeared together independently, as in the painting by Baglione. They were commonly included in cycles of the virtues, and in Domenichino's series at San Carlo, the attributes of Justice include both the sword and the fasces (Fig. 17).23 Most importantly, there was a certain tradition for pairing the allegories in relation to papal portraits, since from the Middle Ages on these virtues played fundamental roles in the theoretical discussions of the extent and limitations of papal rule — the so-called ‘plenitudo potestatis.’24 This last context was clearly a factor in Bernini's conception. One direct source was the image of Pope Urban I flanked by Justice and Charity in the series of grandiose papal portraits by Giulio Romano in the Sala di Costantino, which document the awesome continuity of the church of Rome since its establishment by the first Christian emperor (Fig. 18).25 This onomastic reference may reflect three reasons contemporary sources report for Urban's choice of his name: because of his affection for the city; because he wished to emulate the great achievements of his 21 For both these observations see Kauffmann 1970, 124 who also draws the analogy with the upturned glance of Bernini’s Anima Beata and S. Bibiana. 22 On what might be called the ‘psycho-theology’ of the crossing figures see Lavin 1968, 24–39. 23 Following Ripa, Mâle 1932, 391, identified Justice’s companion as Benignità; Spear 1982, 276. 24 This tradition was admirably outlined by Quednau 1979, 251–4. 25 The relation to the Sala di Costantino Urban I was first noted by Kauffmann 1970, 110; Quednau 1979, 251 f, Scott 1991, 161, Schütze 1994, 266 n. 160.

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namesakes; and because, realizing that he tended to be rather rigid (‘alquanto . . . rigidetto’) by nature, the name would be a continuous reminder to be temperate.26 On the ‘urbanity’ of the pope's rule we shall have more to say presently. Underlying the first two motivations may be a particular understanding of the role played by the image of Urban I in the Sala di Costantino cycle: as the first pope to identify himself literally with. the capitol of the empire, he would have been the embodiment par excellence of the virtues associated with the church's dominion.27 The allusion is no doubt also to Urban II, promoter of the first crusade, who is mentioned specifically in another source and may have been a model for Urban VIII's zealous support for foreign missions and the Propaganda Fide.28 Interestingly, the same allegories reappear in the frame of an engraved portrait of Urban VII, by Cherubino Alberti (Fig. 19).29 The point is that this combination of virtues, while perhaps appropriate to a specific individual, was also emblematic of the vicarious role of all the successors of Peter as magistrates of the church. The sense of continuity is expressed in the basic conception of the tomb, which is a kind of epitome of the two papal monuments previously erected

‘Egli dice haver preso il nome di Urbano per due cause, la prima per amar egli molto questa città, che s’appella Urba per autonomasia, la seconda perchè conoscendo egli la sua natura tirar alquanto al rigidetto le fusse continuo raccordo di dover temperarla.’ (Pastor 1923–53, XXVIII, 25, n. 1) ‘. . . dal qual nome ha voluto egli insignirsi, come ha detto, per venerare la memoria degli antichi Urbani predecessori suoi, che pieni di santo zelo, ed alieni agli interessi del monda, tentarono imprese gloriose.’ (Barazzi and Berchet 1877–8, I, 225.) On the naming of the pope see also Hergemöller 1980, 198 f. No doubt Barberini was also aware that Urban I, who played a central role in the life of St. Cecilia, used the most familiar of all bee clichés to describe the Roman martyr’s works in the service of Christ: ‘. . . Lord Jesus Christ, sower of chaste counsel, accept the fruit of the seeds that you sowed in Cecilia! Lord Jesus Christ, good shepherd, Cecilia your handmaid has served you like a busy bee: the spouse whom she received as a fierce lion, she has sent to you as a gentle lamb!’ Voragine 1995, II, 319. ‘. . . Caecilia famula tua quasi apis tibi argumentosa deservit: nam sponsum, quem quasi leonem ferocem acceptit, ad te quasi agnum mansuetissimum destinavit.’ Voragine 1850, 772. 27 Curiously, Quednau 1979, 250, was able to offer no specific reason for the inclusion of Urban I in the Sala di Costantino series or for his association with the virtues of Justice and Charity. 28 Pastor 1923–53, XXVIII, 25, n. 1, citing Negri 1922, 174. 29 Cited by Kauffmann 1970, 110; see Buffa, ed., 1982, No. 96, 127 , I–II. The same frame served for a series of portraits, including Gregory XI, Leo XI and Paul V, the latter two signed by Alexander Mair (Zimmer 1988, 312, No. E52, Zijlma 1979, 142 f, Nos. 72, 72A). 26

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in new St. Peter's, those of Paul III (Fig. 20) and Gregory XIII (Fig. 21).30 The parallel and continuity between them is established by the use of corresponding materials, and by the echoing pyramidal composition of the bronze figure of the pope seated on a pedestal, before and beside which are placed white marble pairs of allegories. The levitating gesture of UrbanVIII, moreover, which repeats that of St. Peter himself in the Sala di Costantino (Fig. 22), seems deliberately to intermediate between the palm-down pacification of Paul III and the triumphal exclamation of Gregory XIII.31 Bernini's allegories leaning against the sarcophagus seem also to link the reclining and isolated standing figures on the two earlier monuments, while relating the tomb to its psychological and spatial environment in a new way. These papal monuments have a close parallel in an engraved political allegory that is rooted in the Petrarchan tradition of allegorical triumphs, and that in turn anticipates many of the features of Bernini's conception. The composition was designed by Joseph Heintz, court painter to the emperor Rudolph II, and engraved by Lucas Kilian in Venice in 1603, to celebrate the appointment of Heintz's brother Daniel as architect of the city of Bern (Fig. 23).32 Seated atop a two-stepped structure the triumphant figure of Justice brandishes her sword and holds her scales aloft, looking heavenward. She is flanked below by standing figures of Truth and Charity, who rest their arms on the pedestal. Truth looks up to the sun (one of Urban VIII's emblems) and Charity holds one child while looking down toward the other who reaches up toward her; between them at their feet on the lower level cringes the chained figure of Avarice. Apart from the theme of the allegory, its relevance for Bernini lay in the unity and coherence of the composition, and the psychological counterpoint enacted by the figures. The earlier papal monuments had included four allegories each, alluding to the terrestrial and celestial virtues of the popes. Paul III — Justice, 30 These were the only papal tombs erected in new St. Peter’s before Urban VIII’s (Borgolte 1989, 305). For particulars on the tomb of Paul III see Gramberg 1984. On the original tomb of Gregory XIII, which was replaced in the eighteenth century, Krüger 1986. The fundamental study of the decoration of new St. Peter’s before the addition of the nave under Paul V is that by Siebenhüner 1962. On the relations between the three tombs, see Pope Hennessy 1970, 114 f; Kauffmann 1970, 110, 114, 119, 128; Schütze 1994, 257, 260, 264 f, 266. 31 The relationship to St. Peter in Sala di Costantino was noted by Kauffmann 1970, 132. On Paul III ‘in atto di pacificatore’ see Thoenes 1990, 135. 32 The relationship of the Urban VIII tomb to the engraving was observed and discussed by Larsson 1971; see also Prag 1988, 415 f, No. 302, Zimmer 1988, 146 f, No. A75.

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Prudence, Peace and Abundance; Gregory XIII — Charity, Peace, Faith, Hope. (The monument to Paul III was first erected freestanding in a side aisle with the allegories placed at the front and back; when it was moved and reinstalled in a niche in one of the crossing piers, Justice and Prudence were placed at the base while the other two were set on the pediment above). Bernini may be said to have abstracted and combined the two chief virtues of the earlier tombs, Justice and Charity. The significance of this choice must be understood in the light of a project to integrate the choir and crossing of St. Peter's in one grandiose and comprehensive program. At the center the tomb of St. Peter was crowned with a new baldachin that expressed Christ's triumph in its very design; and the papal altar was surrounded in the crossing piers with relics and images of saints evoking Christ's passion, the whole embodying the process of sacrifice and salvation. It must have seemed positively providential that the Farnese tomb, having been transferred to one of the crossing piers, was, so to speak, ‘in the way’ of this vast program.33 The idea of moving it to the apse (1628–9) to form a pair with the tomb of Urban gave the opportunity to demonstrate the significance of papal succession through the location of the two monuments, as well as their design. Placed in the lateral niches the pair flanked the tomb of St. Peter himself at the center of the crossing. This arrangement formed a coherent group of memorials that served to illustrate the millennial papal succession and hegemony initiated under St. Peter and established under Constantine.34 Moreover, the choice of Justice and Charity created in relation to Paul III's Justice and Prudence an inescapable contrapposto in meaning, as well as form: the cardinal virtues traditionally associated with earthly dominion, the wise ruler, vis-a-vis the divine virtues proper to the pope as a spiritual leader, the just judge.35 A final correlation It has been suggested that Urban chose to pair his tomb with that of Paul III because the Farnese pope served as a model for his own nepotistic ambitions (Scott 1991, 6). My view is that the primary motive was the demonstration of papal continuity and the complementarity of papal terrestrial and spiritual dominion. 34 On this theme of papal succession in the arrangement of the tombs see Borgolte 1989, 313–5, followed by Schütze 1994, 265 f, who notes that the reference would have been made explicit by a depiction of Christ giving the Keys to St. Peter (repeating the subject of the medieval decoration in the apse of the old basilica) that was planned for the altar in the centre of the apse. between the two tombs. 35 Panofsky 1964, 94, noted the substitution in relation to the Paul III tomb of the theological virtue, Charity, for the moral virtue Prudence; but he failed to realize this change implied a corresponding shift in meaning for Justice. 33

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1. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Anderson 215).

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2. Giovanni Baglione, Allegory of Charity and Justice. London, Hampton Court.

965

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3. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Saskia 8001 M 14).

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4. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Saskia 8001 M 03).

5. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Lehmann-Brockhaus).

967

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6. Giovanni Lanfranco, Salvation of a Soul. Naples, Galleria Nazionale (photo: SAGN 13929).

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7. Pietro Bernini, Charity. Naples, Monte di Pietà (SAGN 5820).

969

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8. After Guercino, Charity, engraving by Giovanni Battista Pasqualini.

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Fig. 9. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Stoedtner 210382).

971

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10. Battista Dossi, Justice. Dresden, Gemäldegalerie .

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11. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: ARFSP).

12. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: ARFSP).

973

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13. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Saskia 8001 M 04).

14. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Lehmann-Brockhaus).

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15. Domenichino, Prudence with Time. Rome, S. Carlo ai Catinari (photo: Alinari 29983).

975

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a

b

16. (a) Francesco Mochi, St. Veronica; (b) François Duquesnoy, St. Andrew; (c) Bernini, St. Longinus; (d) Andrea Bolgi, St. Helen. Rome, St. Peter’s (photos: Anderson 20590, 20598, 20588, 20591).

c

d

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17. Domenichino, Justice with Benignity. Rome, S. Carlo ai Catinari (photo: Alinari 29984).

977

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18. Giulio Romano, Urban I. Rome, Palazzo Vaticano, Sala di Costantino (photo: Anderson 3833).

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19. Cherubino Alberti, Urban VII, engraving.

979

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20. Guglielmo della Porta, Tomb of Paul III. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Anderson 210).

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21. Prospero Antichi, Tomb of Gregory XIII. Rome, St. Peter’s (after Chacon 1677, IV, 32).

981

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22. Giulio Romano, St. Peter. Rome, Rome, Palazzo Vaticano, Sala di Costantino (photo: Anderson 3836).

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23. Joseph Heintz, engraved by Luca Kilian, Triumph of Justice, engraving.

24. Guglielmo della Porta, Tomb of Paul III (detail). Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: BH unnumbered).

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26. Clemency of the Prince. Alciati 1621, Emblema CXLIX.

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25. Guglielmo della Porta, Tomb of Paul III (detail). Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: BH 18641).

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28. Pungat et Ungat. Mendo 1661, 160 .

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27. Clemency of the Prince. Alciati 1567, Emblema IX.

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30. Bernini, David Killing the Lion, engraving. Barberini 1631, title page.

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29. Maestate tantum. Pietrasanta 1634, 34.

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32. Dominion over the Self, woodcut. Ripa 1603, 111.

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31. Rubens, Samson Killing the Lion, engraving. Barberini 1634, title page.

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987

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33. Domenichino, Force with Dominion over the Self. Rome, S. Carlo ai Catinari (photo: Alinari 29985).

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34. After Fabio Cristofani, Ballot for the Election of Urban VIII, tapestry. Rome, Musei Vaticani (photo: ICCD E39259).

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989

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35. Pietro da Cortona, Divine Providence, detail. Rome, Palazzo Barberini (photo: Alinari 28565).

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36 Bernini, Barberini Bees, stained glass. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli (photo: SIP Rete di Roma, 1993/94, front cover)

37. Barberini Bees. Rome, Ss. Cosmas and Damian. Basilica n.d., back cover.

991

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992

38. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (ARFSP).

39. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (ARFSP).

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40. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (ARFSP)

993

41. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (ARFSP)

42. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (ARFSP).

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43. Malediction, Tomb of Archilochus, engraving. Alciati 1621, Emblema LI.

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44. Et minimi vindicatam, tomb of Domitian. Peacham 1612, 144.

995

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45. Tomb of Cardinal Érard de La Marck. Boissard, 1597–1602, Part IV, Tome II, title page

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46. Allegory of History. Ripa 1611, 235.

997

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47. Hic domus, Barberini impresa. Ferro 1623, II, 72.

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48. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: Stoedtner 210381).

49. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s (photo: ARFSP B 3772).

999

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and contrast is evident in the treatment of what is, literally and figuratively, the central theme of both tombs, that is, death itself. In both cases the caducity of earthly existence is expressed by wing-borne inscriptions with the names of the deceased (Fig. 24), except that Bernini assimilated this motif, and the figure of Historia represented on the front of Paul III's cope (Fig. 25), to the traditional winged personification of Death, which now becomes also the fateful recorder of life.36 However, the choice of justice and Charity alone for the tomb of Urban — unprecedented, I repeat, in papal funerary iconography — suggests that this combination of virtues, in their divine nature, had special meaning in the case of Urban VIII. (I want to emphasize here parenthetically, that the tomb of Urban was an astonishing, even revolutionary departure from the grandiose, self-expository monuments covered with great visual biographies, erected by his recent predecessors, Sixtus V and Paul V at Santa Maria Maggiore.)37 The complementary and necessary attributes of Charity and Justice were a constant feature in the ideology of the good magistrate from antiquity on, discussed and eulogized in innumerable ways in innumerable texts. One of the leitmotifs of this theme made it particularly relevant to Urban VIII because it was based on the equally ancient tradition that the social organization of the bee, three of which animals constituted the coat of arms of Urban VIII, represented the ideal state: a hierarchical monarchy where every individual had its assigned place which it never transgressed, and where every individual made its contribution to the commonweal, wholeheartedly, and in utter harmony with its fellows.38 Two specific characteristics of the bee were especially relevant to the ideology of the good ruler, the fact that the bee could inflict pain with its stinger, and was thus feared by its enemies, but also produced sweet honey and was thus loved by

36 Gramberg 1984, 323f, identifies the subject of Della Porta’s reliefs as Historia, although the shield and helmet reflect the images of Victory on which it depends (Ettlinger 1950); Pope-Hennessy 1970, 400, calls it a Victory. The relation to Bernini’s figure of Death was first noted by Kauffmann 1970, 119. 37 Wittkower 1981, 21, also emphasises Bernini’s break with the previous papal tombs, and his return to the models of Paul III and Michelangelo’s Medici tombs. 38 A helpful survey of bee symbolism in Jesuit emblem literature is provided by Dimler 1992; on the bee colony as a model society see pp. 231 f, 234. One of the most important bee topoi, directly relevant to the Barberni papacy, was the equivalence of the beehive to the ‘Unity of the Holy Church,’ developed in the seminal thirteenth century treatise on bees by Thomas of Cantimpré (Misch 1974, 69–103; Hassig 1995, 52–71. esp. 56).

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its friends.39 The other important characteristic was that the ruling bee itself — often thought to be a king rather than a queen; larger, more important and constantly surrounded and guarded by his subjects — had no stinger.40 On both these counts, the ideal state of the bee was based on and derived from the ideal admixture of charity and justice inherent in its nature. In general terms, the bee became one of the important emblems of the ideal ruler, as when Alciati depicted Princely Clemency as a hive to which bees are attracted because the ruler treats his subjects with justice and clemency, or as an enthroned seated ruler to whom the bees fly in good will (Figs. 26, 27).41 Pungat et ungat is the motto of another emblem of the Principe Perfecto, illustrated by a swarm of bees following its leader (Fig. 28).42 In another case, the swarm following the king illustrates the passage on the stingless king bee from Seneca's discourse on Clemency to indicate that, in

Picinelli 1729, 501, quotes a text on psalm 50 by Urban himself, which I have been unable to trace, on exactly this point.: Apes & si inferant punctionis dolorem, amantur tamen, quia mellis dulcedinem administrant. Sic & persecutores meos Domine, amare volo, & punctiones, quas mihi amaris conatibus inferunt, tribulatio spiritu tolerare, ut mellita jucunditas subsequantur. 40 The missing stinger of the ruling bee is emphasized by the ancient writers as a mark of the bee's ideal monarchy: the king bee’s ‘greatest mark of distinction, however, lies in this: bees are most easily provoked, and, for the size of their bodies, excellent fighters, and where they wound they leave their stings; but the king himself has no sting. Nature did not want him to be cruel or to seek a revenge that would be so costly.’ (Seneca, De Clementia I.xix. 3, Basore 1958–64, I, 140 f ) “. . . there is no agreement among the authorities . . . whether the king bee has no sting and is armed only with the grandeur of his office (maiestate tantum armatus). or whether nature has indeed bestowed one upon him but has merely denied him the use of it.. It is a well established fact that the ruler does not use a sting. The commons surround him with a marvelous obedience.’ (Pliny, Hist. Nat. XI. xvii. 53, Rackham et al. 1938–62, III, 465.) 41 ‘Principis clementia/ Vesparum quod nulla unquam rex spicula figet./ quodq. alijs duplo corpore maior erit;/ Arguet imperium clemens moderataq. regna./ Sanctaq. iudicibus cretita iura bonis.’ Alciati 1621, CXLIX, p. 632 ‘Clementia del Prencipe/ Che del le vespe il Rè mai non ferisca,/ col pungiglione,alcuno, o, che non l’habbia;/ E, che, de l’altre vespe, al doppio, tenga/ maggiore il corpo; additerà l’impero costante,e fermo, e i moderati regni;/ E le leggi santissime, commesse/ A’ giudicanti di sinera mente.’ (Alciati 1626, 220 f; Daly et al. 1985, II, No. 149) Wasps and bees are interchangeable in this literature, and the commentaries in the editions cited specifically correct wasps to bees in this case. 42 Mendo 1661, 160; see Dimler 1992, 232 f, for Mendo’s sources. 39

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Pliny's words, majesty alone (maiestate tantum), not cruelty, suffices for the ideal ruler (Fig. 29).43 Although it has not been properly understood heretofore, the same fundamental thought underlies the famous illustrations by Bernini and Rubens for editions of Urban's poetry (Figs. 30, 31). Both portray the ideal of overwhelming strength united with the gentleness of poetry. Bernini showed David as defender of his flock strangling the lion (I Samuel 17:34–5) but with his harp nearby. Rubens showed Samson killing the lion, from whose body bees issued forth (‘. . . and out of the strong came forth sweetness,’ Judges 14:5–6, 8, 14); this biblical episode is mentioned in a poem addressed to Urban's brother Antonio, a Capuchin monk, which alludes to the spirit's rise to heaven from the corrupt body.44 Rubens here also identifies Urban's poetry with the mellifluousness of bees. The bees issuing specifically from the lion's mouth, including a formation of three, draw an obvious parallel between Urban, celebrated as a poet in the ‘Greek’ style, and Pindar, whose poetry was said to have been instilled by honey that bees had dropped upon him as a child.45 But the basic image and the conceit derive from a broader concept, that is, self-control, Dominio di se stesso, the most noble form of Force, represented by Ripa as a man straddling and bridling a lion (Fig. 32).46 Ripa's image had been taken up as a counterpart to Strength by Domenichino (Fig. 33).47 This ideal of self-restraint was classiSee n. 4 above. Pietrasanta 1634,34 (see Dimler 1992, 234 f, Ferro 1623, 67), attributes the device to Ferdinand I of Florence, where it appears as a king bee surrounded by concentric circles of workers, on the base of Giambologna’s equestrian monument of the Duke (Watson 1983, 183 n.27; Torriti 1984, 18, ill. p. 21, 50). Scipione Bargogli was the inventor (Erben 1996, 338 f ). Maffeo Barberini came from Florence (see p. 1011 below), and it is tempting to think he brought this Medicean politico-apian theme with him. 44 See the important observations in Judson and van de Velde 1978, 284 f, 359. 45 As pointed out by Julius Held 1982, 177 f, 182 f; see Davis 1989, 45 f, 47 n. 12. On Bernini’s composition see Ficacci, ed., 1989,279–83. The story concerning the infant Pindar was related by Pausanius (Descr. IX, 23, 2) in connection with but not in reference to the poet’s tomb. 46 Huomo a sedere sopra un leone, che habbia in freno in bocca, & regga con una mano detto freno, & con l’altra punga esso leone con una stimolo. Ripa 1603,113. Ripa refers to Valeriano (1556, 14v.): Veluti etiam hominem insidentem iconi nunquam videas, quem is stimulo regat, quod esse animi regem omnino videtur significare. 47 It seems clear, incidentally, that Bernini also understood and borrowed from Domenicino the underlying principle of pairing contradictory notions — Prudence/Time,Justice/Charity, Force/Self-restraint. The only exception is the pendentive with the complementary virtues of Temperence with Discernment and Virginity, where the 43

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cal in origin, associated above all with Alexander the Great, whose greatness was augmented by his self-control, which proved his greatness as much as any victory: ‘. . . great-minded as he was and still greater owing to his control of himself, and of a greatness proved by this action as much as by any other victory: because he conquered himself . . .’48 The idea was clearly taken as apposite for Urban, whose very name, as we have seen, incorporated the ideal of rigor tempered by charity. All these metaphors, the stingless king bee, the poetic victory over the ferocious lion, the rule by majesty alone, the dominion of urbanity, were applied to the pope in the literary celebrations of his election.49 Indeed, I suspect that the tradition of the bee as the embodiment of the Godly coincidence of opposites, clemency and justice, may have been the most important factor in the choice of those allegories for the tomb. In any case, these associations of the bee must have made the election of Maffeo Barberini to the papacy seem like a heaven-sent materialization of those same divine virtues that were the quintessential attributes of the vicar of Christ on earth. This point may be thought of, and certainly was thought of by contemporaries, as literally true. One more bee-fact is necessary to understand why. Because of the attributes we have discussed, and for many other reasons, as well — for example, the perfect geometry of its hive and the perfect effiemblems allude specifically to Carlo Borromeo, the patron saint of the church (Mâle 1932, 392 f ). Significantly, the saint is referred to in the inscription in the cupola as ‘. . . qui . . . in tempore iracundiae factus est reconcilio.’ 48 ‘. . . magnus animo, maior imperio sui nec minor hoc facto quam victoria alia, quia ipse se vicit . . .’ Pliny, Nat. Hist., XXXV, xxxvi, 86–7, Rackham et al. 1938–62, IX, 324 f. The ruler’s sacrifice of his personal ambition to the welfare of his people, was directly linked to the virtue of Charity by Fabrizi 1588, 156: ‘Princeps, charitatis ardore exit de terra sua, idest propriam voluntatem abnegat ad populorum regimen, & tranquillitatem assumptus.” This principal of dominion over the self later formed the basis of Bernini’s conception of the ideal ruler, embodied in his portraits of Francesco I d’Este and Louis XIV, concerning which see Lavin 1993, 170 f, 182–5, and my forthcoming “Bernini’s Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch.’ 49 Qual tra le fere rugge Vinte il leon;/ tal tu con dolce canto/ Le tue, e de’ tuoi narra vittorie, e’ l vanto,/ Ago non t'arme, nò; la maestosa/ Fronte sola ai tuo impero alletta, e lega/ E i duci tuoi e ’l popolo men grande./ Se cotale armi/ hai pure; ò sempre ascosa/ Fra l’oro tuo à gli ochi altrui si nega;/ Spira ò dolce timore, sange non spande, (from the ‘Canzone in lode del re delle api’ in Bracci 1623. 48). Breve spatio pensò, com’egli intende/ Con dolce Urbanità regger la terra,/ L'iraammorzar, che gli egri petti accende,/ E vincer con amor l'odio, e la guerra./ E così divisato il nome prende/ D’Urbano, e ’l grido four s’apre, e dissera./ E dall’Occaso all’Indico Oceano,/ Urbano il mondo e ’l ciel risuona Urbano. (Bracciolini 1628, 483.)

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ciency of its anatomy — the bee was regarded as endowed with a supernatural intelligence. Whence it became a symbol of Divine Wisdom, whose primary aim was to make man perfect in his own image. The idea is both classical and biblical: ‘Led by such tokens and such instances, some have taught that bees have received a share of the divine intelligence, and a draught of heavenly ether; for God, they say, pervades all things . . .; yea, unto him all beings thereafter return, and, when unmade, are restored; no place is there for death, but, still quick, they fly unto the ranks of the stars, and mount to the heavens aloft’ (Virgil, Georgics, IV. 219–27);50 ‘For my spirit is sweet above honey: and my inheritance above honey and honeycomb’ (Ecclesiasticus 24:27).51 To be sure, all popes are elected by the action of Divine Providence, operating through the ballots of the College of Cardinals. But at the election of Mafféo Barberini, the action of Divine Providence — the descent of the Holy Spirit, one might well assert — was made physically manifest by the sudden appearance through an open window of the Conclave of nothing less than a swarm of bees! The event is alluded to in a tapestry illustrating Urban's election, where a conspicuously open window is shown conspicuously in the background (Fig. 34). The wonder is repeated in Pietro da Cortona's frescoed vault in the great salon of the Palazzo Barberini (Fig. 35), where the invading squadron is framed by a wreath of laurel (the second major Barberini emblem, concerning which we will have more to say presently) and surmounted by the papal arms.52 A contemporary account of the decoration actually describes the scene as Divine Providence commanding Immortality to crown with its starry diadem the arms of the new pope, whose election had made him ‘King of the Bees.’53 The Story of the election, and Cortona's reference to it had yet a deeper significance, however, since Urban's victory was confirmed only after a recount was Rushton Fairclough 1950, I, 210–3. Cited after Scott 1982, 300 f. 52 The subject of Urban’s election has been admirably explored in these connections by Scott 1991, 180–6, who scrupulously acknowledges (185 n. 28) my calling his attention to the miracle of the bees and its relevance to the Cortona fresco. On the tapestry, see Scott 1991, 189 f, who also cites pp. 185, 216, the explanation of the ceiling allegory by Mattia Rosichino(1640): ‘. . . dimostra l’Immortalità d’essiguire i comandamenti, movendosi con la corona di stelle ad incoronare l’insegna di Urbano Ottavo Sommo Pontefice; questa è circondata da due rami di lauro, che insieme arrendendosi, fanno la simiglianza di uno scudo . . .’ On the significance of the laurel as a Barberini emblem, see below, p. 1010 and n. 79. 53 On Urban as King of the Bees, see n. 48 above and Scott 1995, 219. 50 51

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taken, at his insistence, when it was discovered that a ballot was missing from the scrutiny that had elected him.54 This is the primary scene represented in the election tapestry, where allegorical figures of Modesty and Magnanimity fly into the conclave to celebrate the virtues Urban displayed in his own election.55 His coronation and assurance of immortality, presaged by the miracle of the bees, were thus occasioned by his exemplary demonstration of virtue in its most heroic form, self-restraint. The pope's biographer commented: ‘It was a truly memorable deed that will render his name forever most glorified because, seeing himself at one point pope and then not pope, with great courage and with such a magnanimous heart he decided to let the welfare of the universal Church prevail over his own desire for the supreme principate. Wherefore amongst his other signal faculties and spiritual qualities are the constancy, magnanimity, and generosity he demonstrated in his heroic act, it will be sufficient to render his name immortal and celebrate to the world the manner in which he assumed the papacy.’56 It might thus well be said that the age of the Baroque was ushered in by a supreme act of ephemerality — the sudden descent upon Rome, the church and mankind, of an unmistakably heaven-sent swarm of bumbling Barberini bees, conveying to the chosen one the divine virtues of Clemency and Justice proper to his newly acquired office. With that swarm began the veritable invasion (plague, as some would have it by the time Urban's reign ended) of bees, the number of which populating Rome and the papal states one wag later estimated at more than ten thousand.57 In my estimation, however, what distinguished the Barberini bees was not their number — many popes had been great builders and art patrons, and many puns and other games had been played with their coats of arms. But none had acquired the active, literally volatile presence of the Barberini bees. Perhaps one should rather say transience, for to my mind and in our context, at least, the Barberini bees embody the notion of For the story of the recount of the scrutiny, see Scott 1991, 183. Scott 1991, 190. 56 ‘Attione in vero memorabile, che renderà per sempre gloriosissimo il suo nome, perchè vistosi in un punto Papa, e non papa seppe con tanta intrepidezza, e con si magnanimo cuore far prevalere il bene della Chiesa universale alla cupidità propria del supremo principato: onde fra l’altre sue segnalate prerogative, e doti dell’animo, la costanza, la magnanimità e la generosità che egli mostrò in quest’atto eroici basterà per rendere immortale la fama di lui, e celebre al mondo la maniera, con la quale fu assunto al Pontificato.’ Scott 1991, 185 f. 57 Scott 1982, 300 n. 32. 54 55

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ephemerality in their period more profoundly and more pungently than any other sign. They fly against the blue sky in the church of the virgin at the altar of heaven (Fig. 36); and in the early medieval apse mosaic in the basilica of Ss. Cosmas and Damian in the heart of the Roman forum, where a Barberini restoration gave new life to the image of Urban's predecessor, the sainted Pope Felix IV (Felicitas = Happiness), they fructify the garden of paradise (Fig. 37).58 This same quality informs the famous bees that have alighted on Urban's tomb, having now presumably passed through a window of the basilica, to participate in the commemoration of St.Peter's departed successor and their beloved ruler — just as they had done twenty years before at Urban's election. In fact, the three large bees that allude to the coat of arms are really the leaders — king-size bees, one might say (Figs. 38, 39) — of a swarm that populates the monument; the others are much smaller, worker bees — indeed, they are true to scale (Figs. 40–42).59 Transforming the papal coat of arms into a swarm of insects bumbling over the papal tomb was, surely, an act of unparalleled imagination and wit, which also served to transform the mood of melancholy and despair usually associated with funeral iconography into a moment of surprise and even of joy.60 The essential idea was not new, however. Stinging swarms had been associated with, and attached to tombs in two closely related and complementary instances, both of which I think were seminal inspirations for Bernini's conceit.61 The Greek Anthology includes a description of the tomb of Archilochus, ‘who first made the Muse bitter dipping her in vipers'gall, staining mild Helicon with blood . . . Pass quietly by, O wayfarer, lest haply thou arouse the wasps The window of S. Maria in Araceli, a modern restoration (see Fraschetti 1900, 100, Campitelli, ed. 1997, 279), is described by Baldinucci 1682, 147: ‘colori di azzurra il finestrone invetriata e in esse figuro le tre api, quasi volando per aria, e sopra collicò il regno.’ The figure St. Felix at St. Cosmas and Damian was restored by Urban VII’s nephew, Cardinal Francesco Barberini, during the pontificate of Alexander VII (1655–67); see Mattiae 1967, 135. 59 The bees of the tomb were discussed by Howard Davis 1989, who first noticed the little ‘real’ insects, and interpreted by him as alluding to the sweet ‘odor of sanctity’ sometimes exuded by the corpes of those destined for heaven. (No such phenomenon was reported at the death of Urban). Davis noted four small bees, one on each foot of the sarcophagus, overlooking the one on the laurel wreath on the lid, which was observed by Fehl 1982, 353 f. 60 Fehl 1987, 202, also noted this element of wit and joy elicited by the Barberini bees. 61 The tombs of Archilochus and Domitian are mentioned in a different context by Clements 1960, 73. 58

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that are settled on his tomb.’62 Archilochus was the founding father of Greek lyric poetry, famous for having composed the song of victory used by the victors at Olympia, and for inventing the epode and many other verse forms; but he was also famous for his bitter satires, which wounded his enemies even unto death.63 It was thus a kind of poetic jusfice that at his own death his barbs should return as a reminder of his malicious verses, in the form of a swarm of wasps carved on his tomb. The idea was visualized in Alciati's famous emblem book (Fig. 43), and given Urban's fame as a poet himself — he wrote a great deal in exactly the kind of epodic verse associated with Archilochus — there can be no doubt of his, and Bernini's, familiarity with the tradition.64 The second instance of apiary sepulchral imagery concerned the emperor Domitian, whose cruelty, especially toward Christians, was celebrated and immortalized by the avenging attack on his tomb of swarms of wasps and bees (Fig. 44): Once Nero's name, the world did quake to heare, And Rome did tremble, at Domitian's sight: But now the Tyrant, cause of all this feare, Is laid full low, upon whose toombe do light, To take revenge, the Bee, and summer Flie, Who not escap't sometime his crueltie.65 It is remarkable indeed, and must have seemed providential to the pope and to Bernini. that these two associations between stinging insects and tombs should both apply aptly to Urban, the first as poet, the second as pope; providential also in that simply by reversing the sense of the malevolent tradition, the image of the bee-infested tomb could be transformed. Instead of swarming to avenge ancient, pagan evil, the apian chorus (one can practically hear the buzzing of the busy bees) is attracted to its ruler, as in Alciati's emblems of Princely Clemency (Figs. 26 and 27). The bees celebrate the triPaton 1925–43, II, 42 ff. On Archilochus see Burnett 1983 part I. 64 Maledicentia, Archilochi tumolo insculpas de marmore vespas/ Esse ferunt, linguae certa sigilla malae. (Slander. On the marble tomb of Archilochus wasps were carved,/ they say, fixed signs of an evil tongue (Daly, et al. 1985, I, emblem 51). See Henkel and Schöne 1967, col. 928. 65 Peacham 1612, 144. I am indebted to Alan R. Young for his help in tracking down Peacham’s manuscript and printed emblems. 62 63

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umph of Christian virtue realized poetically in Urban's verses, devoted not to destructive diatribe but to pious inspiration; and institutionally in Urban's reign, devoted not to tyranny and martyrdom but to the charity and justice of the rule of Christ vested in the pope. Considered in this light the seemingly casual, bumbling placement of the three big Barberini bees becomes charged with meaning. They all face upward and seem to rise in an ascending march past the skeletal figure of death, as if in response to the resurrecting command of the pope — appropriated, as Kauffmann first noticed, from the gesture of St. Peter himself in the Sala di Costantino series (Fig. 22) — enthroned on his seat of wisdom, itself ornamented with bees.66 It is astonishing but true that the lowermost bee, on the rim of the sarcophagus basin, has no stinger — it is not broken off, it never had one (Fig. 38),67 O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?! (1 Cor. 15:55) The other two (Fig. 39), as if resurrected, are whole again and proceed in their rise to the very border between death, commemoration, and life.68 The hyperbolic flattery usually attributed to Bernini is belied not only by the theological nature of the allegories, but also by the inordinate importance attributed to death itself, by virtue of the inclusion of the Michelangelesque sarcophagus, and specially the central role played by the figure of the Reaper in the drama of the tomb.69 Like the bees, Death seems to rise from the sarcophagus, a conceit derived, I think, from the tomb of a great Flemish cardinal of the sixteenth century, well known through contemporary engravings of monuments of famous persons (Fig. 45).70 In the tomb of Cardinal Érard de la Marck, however, Death performs his role as memento mori in a traditional way, brandishing an hourglass, whereas Bernini's figure writes, or rather finishes writing the name and title of Urban VIII in the black book of death (Fig. 48). The bookish Death seems to recall that along with his literary interests the pope was an avid historian and bibliophile.71 However, a more specific reference is suggested by a rarely noted, and to my mind never properly understood peculiarity of the motif, the Kauffmann 1970, 132. Davis 1989, 47, thought the stinger might have been broken off. 68 Kauffmann 1970, 127 and n. 117, associated these bees with resurrection; on spontaneous generation, see Fraser 1931, 10–12. 69 Wittkower 1981, 22, also notes Bernini’s emphasis on the sepulchral idea, in contrast to the commemorative and ceremonial monuments of his predecessors. 70 On the de la Marck tomb see Lavin 1990, 34, and the references given there. 71 See Pastor 1923–55, XXIX, 433–50. 66 67

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name of Urban's predecessor partially visible on a preceding page. Often assumed to refer to Urban's immediate predecessor Gregory XV, the letters are clearly legible as CL above and AL below, that is, Clement VIII Aldobrandini. And, as if to avoid any possibility of misunderstanding, exactly the right number of pages, corresponding to the number of intervening popes, namely three, are shown between that with Urban's name and that with Clement's.72 (Clement VIII, Leo XI, Paul V, Gregory XV, Urban VIII.) It is not hard to understand why the reference to Gregory was avoided: that pope's nephew, Cardinal Ludovisi, had been a bitter enemy since the time of the conclave. On the other hand, Urban had been a great favorite of Clement VIII, who had furthered his early career in many ways.73 However, I think there was another, more specific reason, which may even have been the inspiration for the motif of the record book itself. One of the important acts of Clement was to have established in Castel Sant'Angelo (originally the tomb of the Emperor Hadrian), the guardian fortress of the papacy, an archive for the historical records of the church, the so-called Biblioteca Clementina.74 In praise of the project, Barberini wrote a poem, dedicated to Clement, which was included in all the editions of his collected verse. The poem, which is dedicated to Clement and titled De tabulario pontificio in arce Hadriana, involves an elaborate conceit specifically linking the records kept through the Pope's generosity to the permanence of his fame.75 Urban himself, apart from his famous literary and bibliophilic interests, was also a great archivist, establishing along with several ecclesiastical repositories, a central archive of the notarial records of the city.76 Hans Kauffmann, recalling the figure on Paul III's cope, aptly described the figure of death writ-

Schiavo 1971, first noted that the reference was to Clement, rather than Gregory; Schiavo recalled the disagreements with Gregory and Urban’s debt to Clement, and also noted that Clement had dedicated the new high altar at St. Peter’s, while Urban had consecrated the new basilica itself. For the correct identification, see also Fehl 1982, 354 (adding a letter in each line, however) and 1987, 194. 73 Pastor1923–53, XXIII, passim; Fehl 1987, 194, who also calls attention to Urban’s several poems honoring Clement. 74 Pastor 1923–53, XXIV, 447 f; see D’Onofrio 1971, 202, 223, Figs. 172–3, 178, 180; L’angelo 1987–8, I, 171–5. 75 A CLEMENTEM VIII. DE TABVLARIO PONTIFICIO IN ARCE HADRIANA. Hoc nos scripta loco/ dubios contemnere casus/ Possumus, o Clemens,/ munere septa tuo./ Pro quo, sancte pater,/ nostris tuo gloria chartis/ Viuet, dum nobis vita/ superstes erit./ Quid loquimur, / si firmus obex nos protegit arcis,/ Et tua se propria fama/ tuetur ope? (Barberini 1642, 151; Pastor 1923–53, XXIV, 454). 76 Pastor 1923–53, XXIX, 453 f. 72

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ing in a book as a kind of allegory of History (Fig. 46).77 Here, however Death has the specific task of record keeper — archivist, one might well say — displaying at once the ephemerality of earthly things, bees as well as popes, but also the permanence of heavenly things, notably the church as embodied in the person of its temporary temporal and spiritual head. Therein lies the ultimate, and supremely paradoxical, significance of Bernini's tomb of Urban VIII — and, I would say, of ephemerality in Baroque art generally. The very figure representing the triumph of transience, winged Death, is at the same time also the guarantor of permanence, indeed of immortality, through the achievements and fame of Urban, and through the divine virtues vested by God in the institution of the church and the papacy. Bernini left two unmistakable clues to the supernaturally inspired truth of this message. Four of the small, ‘real’ bees appear on the legs of the sarcophagus, while a fifth has landed on a leaf of the laurel wreath that decorates the sarcophagus lid, near the tip of Death's wing (Fig. 42).78 Laurel was, of course, the preeminent symbol of poetry and the victorious immortality it confers;79 and one of the best known and most consistent of the ideas attached to bees — based on Virgil's notion, quoted earlier, that the bee did not die but flew to heaven to join the stars — was that they symbolized immortality.80 The two Barberini emblems coincided in the principle Barberini family impresa, which depicted a flight of bees landing on the branches of a laurel tree, with the legend Hic domus (Fig. 47).81 The meaning and history of this device are critical to an understanding of the message of the tomb. The conceit is based on a climactic passage in the Aeneid when the hero, having at last reached Latium after his peregrinations from Troy, realized that he had reached his final destination, there to establish the See n. 36 above. See n. 59 above. 79 On the manifold associations of laurel, see the rich collection of material provided by Cox-Rearick 1984, concerning the emblems of the Medici family in Florence. The immortality of the laurel was based on the notion, also extolled by Virgil, that the evergreen plant was immune to lightning and able to regenerate from a branch. On laurel as a symbol of victory see Tervarent 1958–64, II, col. 233. 80 On the immortality of the bee in reference to the tomb of Urban, see Kauffmann 1970, 127, and Schütze 1994, 252, who emphasizes their ‘monarchic’ symbolism in this context. 81 The device is discussed at length by Ferro 1623, II, 73–8, whose book is dedicated to Maffeo Barberini as cardinal. The importance of the emblem for Barberini imagery was emphasized by Scott 1991, 107–10, 115, 185, and Schütze 1994, 249–52. 77 78

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religion of his fathers and the hegemony of Rome, from the wondrous descent of a large swarm of bees upon a laurel tree sacred to Apollo. Heeding the signs, he declared ‘Hic domus, haec patria est’ (here is our home, here our country).82 Maffeo invented the impresa to celebrate the transferral of the Barberini family from Florence to Rome, and his own call to a higher destiny, before he became pope. The bee-infested laurel was thus a truly uncanny forecast of the apian intervention of Divine Providence in Urban's election. On the pope's tomb the little bee, the very emblem of bumbling transience, almost invisible perched on its botanical equivalent, by its humble immortality clips the wings of death itself and triumphs over the very emblem of earthly caducity. At the same time, the lyrical delicacy of the motif reinforces a hint of nostalgia implicit in another emblematic association of the laurel and bee, the Virgilian Golden Age evoked rhapsodically by contemporaries in relation to the Barberini papacy.83 ‘That tree of knowledge, of triumph, of poetry, of empire, of immortality, of chastity; and similarly the bee of eloquence, poetry, continence, clemency, diligence, artifice, long and prosperous life, eternal felicity, peace, and union.’84 The primary witness to the meaning of the tomb is to be found where it should be, in the coat of arms of the Barberini pope, attached to the face of the arch at the apex of the niche (Fig. 49). Here an extraordinary — indeed, as far as I know unique — operation is performed by two heaven-sent messengers. The Barberini escutcheon, instead of arriving, as in the ceiling of the Palazzo Barberini (Fig. 35), is detached from the papal tiara and keys and carried aloft.85 The image is a living demonstration of the fleeting earthly presence and spiritual sublimation of an individual mortal who briefly occupied the center of an eternally abiding creation of the will of God. In the end, however, perhaps the sharpest insight into the significance of Bernini's bumbling Barberini bees and the spirit in which they were conAeneid VII, 122, Rushton Fairclough 1950, II, 10. See the citation in Schütze 1994, 248 n. 100. 84 ‘Quello albero di scienza, di trionfo, di poesia, d’Imperio, d’immortalità, di castità; & parimente l’Ape d’eloquenza, poesia, continenza, clementia, diligenza, artificio, vita prospero, e lunga, felicita eterna, pace, & unione.’ Ferro 1623, II, 77. 85 What I would call the ‘stemma riportato’ motif (for which see Campbell 1977, 124 f, who uses the term ‘stemma in arrivo,’ Scott 1991, 107) is a variant of the ancient emblem of celestial apotheosis, the imago clipeata (for which see Lavin 1980, 69 f ). On the coat of arms on the Urban tomb, see also Fehl 1987, 202. Bernini’s use of the motif is strikingly different from that of Algardi, discussed by Montagu 1985, 49, 244 n. 45. 82 83

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ceived was provided by Bernini himself. His words are quoted by his biographers in recounting an incident that took place at the unveiling of the tomb of Urban, in the presence of the pope's ferociously inimical successor, Innocent X, who had driven the Barberini family into exile: ‘One cannot refrain at this point from recalling a cutting reply the Cavaliere gave in demonstration of his firm allegiance to Urban, to a person of high station who was not sympathetic to the Barberini family. He had represented here and there on the sarcophagus of the tomb a number of bees, for no other purpose than to allude wittily to Urban's arms. The person noticed, and in the presence of others said to the Cavaliere with a smile, Sir, you have wished by placing the bees here and there to portray the dispersion of the Barberini family (the members had then withdrawn to France), to which without a moment's hesitation Bernini replied, But you, Sir, may well know that dispersed bees at the sound of a bell return to congregate, referring to the great bell on the Capitoline that sounds at the death of every pope. Bernini's reply brought him great applause from those who reflected on the risk he took at that time to remain constant to the memory of his benefactor.’86

86 Nè tralasciar si deve in questo luogo di far ricordanza di un’acutisima risposta, che in testimonianza della sua inalterabile fede verso Urbano diede il Cavaliere ad un Personaggio di alta condizione, per altro poco affezionata a Casa Barberini, Haveva egli figurate su l’urna del Sepolcro in qua, e in là alcune Api, che vagamente alludevano all’Arme di Urbano. Oservòllo il Personaggio accennato, e presenti altre persone rivoltosi al Cavaliere, sorridendo disse, Signor Cavaliere, V. S. hà voluto colla situazione di questi Api in quà, e in la mostrare la dispersione di Casa Barberini (erano allora le persone di quella Casa disgustate col Pontefice, e ritratte in Francia) al che senza frapazione di tempo rispose il Bernino, V, S. però può ben sapere, che le Api disperse ad un suon di Camponaccio si tornano a congregare, intendendo della gran Campana di Campidoglio, che suona doppo la morte di ciascun Papa. Per la qual risposta meritò il Cavaliere l'applauso dovuto. da chi seppe riflettare, con quanto suo pericolo in quelle congiuntare di tempi si mantenesse costante alla memoria del suo Benefattore. (Bernini 1713, 73 f.) Fu quest’opera stupenda incominciata due anii avanti la morte di Urbano e scoperta circa a 30 mesi dopo che egli fu andato al cielo e ciò fu alla presenz del suo sucessore Innocenzio.Né io voglio lasciare di portare in questo luogo un'acuta risposta che diede il Bernino a personaggio di alta condizione, poco amico di casa Barberina, che stava guardando, presenti altre persone. Aveva il Bernino per una certo bizzaria, e non ad altro fine figurate in qua e in là sopra il deposito alcune api, alludenti all'arme di quel papa; osservolle il personaggio e disse: ‘Signor cavaliere, V. S., ha voluto con la situatione di queste api in qua e in là mostrare la dispersione di casa Barberina’ (erano le persone di quella casa ritrate in Francia), e così rispose il Bernino: ‘V. S. però può ben sapere, che le api disperse ad un suono di campanaccio si tornano a congregore’, intendendo della campana grande di Campidoglio che suona dopo la morte de’papi. (Baldinucci 1948, 88.)

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Bibliography Alciati, A., Emblemata, Frankfurt. 1567. Emblemata, Padua. 1621. Emblemi di Andrea Alciati, Padua, 1626. Alisio, G., ed., Monte di Pietà, Naples, 1987. L’angelo e la città, exhib. cat., 2 vols, Rome, 1987–8. Baldinucci, F., Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernini, Florence, 1682 (ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948). Barberini, M., Mophaei S. R. E. Card. Barberini nunc Vrbani Popae VIII poemata, Rome, 1631. Mophaei S. R. E. Card. Barberini nunc Vrbani Popae VIII poemata Poemata, Antwerp, 1634. Mophaei S. R. E. Card. Barberini nunc Vrbani Popae VIII poemata, Paris, 1642. Barozzi,. N., and G. Berchet, Le relazioni della corte di Roma lette al senato degli ambasciatori seneti nel secolo decimosettimo, 2 vols., Venice. 1877–8. Basilica Santi Cosma e Damano, Rome, n.d. Bernini, D., Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernini, Rome, 1713. Bernini, G.-P., Giovanni Lanfranco, (1582–1647), Parma, 1982. Boissard, J. J., Romanae urbis topographiae et antiquatum, 2 vols., Frankfurt, 1597–1602. Borgoltz, N. L., Petrusnachfolge und Kaiserimitation. Die Grablegen der Päpste, ihre Genese und Traditionsbildung, Göttingen, 1989. Bracci, L., La occulta corrispondenza tra l’arme, e’l cognome de’ Barberini, Rome, 1623. Bracciolini, F., L'elettione di UbanoVII, Rome, 1628. Buffa, S., ed., ltalian Artists of the Sixteenth Century (The Illustrated Bartsch 34), New York, 1982. Burnett, A. P., Three Greek Poets. Archilocus, Alcoeus, Sappho, London, 1983. Campbell, M., Pietro da Cortona at the Pitti Palace. A Study of the Planetary Rooms and Related Projects, Princeton, 1977. Campitelli, A., ed., Comune di Roma. Il museo della Casina delle Civette, Rome, 1997. Cartari, V., Imagini de gli dei, Padua, 1626. Chacon, A., Vitae et res gestae pontificum romanorum et s. r. e. cardinalium ab initio

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1014 nascentis ecclesiae usque ad Clementem IX, 4 vols., Rome, 1677. Clements, R., Picta Poesis. Literary and Humanistic Theory in Renaissance Emblem Books, Rome, 1960. Cox-Rearick, J., Dynasty and Destiny in Medici Art. Pontormo, Leo X, and the two Cosimos, Princeton, 1984. Daly, P. M., et al., Andreas Alciatus, 2 vols., Toronto, etc., 1985. Daniel, N., Islam and the West: The Making of an Image, Edinburgh, 1980. Davis, H. M., ‘Bees on the Tomb of Urban VIII,’ Source: notes in the history of art, VIII–IX, 4/1, 1989, 40–8. Dimler, R., ‘The Bee-topos in the Jesuit Emblem Book: Themes and Contrast,’ in A. Adams and A. J. Harper, eds., The Emblem in Renaissance and Baroque Europe. Tradition and Variety, Leiden, etc., 1992, 229–38. D'Onofrio, C., Castel S. Angelo, Rome, 1971. Erben, D., ‘Die Reiterdenkmäler der Medici in Florenz und ihr politische Bedeutung,’ Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, XL, 1996, 287–361. Ettlinger, L., ‘The Pictorial Source of Ripa's “Historia”,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, XIII, 1950, 322–3. Fabrizi, P., Delle allusioni, imprese, et emblemi . . . sopra la vita, opere, et attioni di Gregorio XIII . . ., Rome, 1588. Fehl, P., ‘Christian Truth and the Illusion of Death,’ Studies in Iconology, VII–VIII, 1982, 351–69. ‘Hermeticism and Art: Emblem and Allegory in the Work of Bernini.’ Artibus et Historiae, No. 14, 1986, 153–189. ‘L’umiltà cristiana e il monumento sontuoso: la tomba di Urbano VIII del Bernini,’ in M. Fagiolo, ed., Gian Lorenzo Bernini e le arti visive, Rome, 1987, 185–207. Ferro, G., Teatro d’mprese, 2 vols., Venice, 1623. Ficacci, L., Claude Mellan, gli anni romani. Un incisore tra Vouet e Bernini, Rome, 1989. Fifty Treasures of the Dayton Art Institute, Dayton, 1969. Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milan, 1900. Fraser, H. M., Beekeeping in Antiquity, London, 1931. Frommhold, G., Die Idee der Gerechtigkeit in der bildenden Kunst. Eine ikonologische Studie, Greifswald, 1925. Gramberg, W., ‘Guglielmo della Portas Grabmal für Paul III. Farnese in St. Peter,’ Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana, XXI, 1984, 253–324. Hassig, D., Medieval Bestiaries. Text, Image, Ideology, Cambridge, etc., 1955. Held, J., Rubens and His Circle, Princeton, 1982. Henkel, A., and A. Schöne, Emblemata. Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart, 1967. Hergemöller, B.-U., Die Geschichte der Papstnamen, Regensburg and Münster, 1980.

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Judson, J. R., and C. van de Velde, Book Illustrations and Title Pages (Corpus Rubenianum Ludwig Burchard), 2 vols., London/Philadelphia, 1978. Kauffmann, H., Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini. Die figürlichen Kompositionen, Berlin, 1970. Kedar, B. Z., Crusade and Mission: European Approaches toward the Muslims, Princeton, 1984. Kissel, O. R., Die Justitia. Reflexionen über ein Symbol und seine Darstellung in der bildenden Kunst, Munich, 1984. Krüger, J., ‘Das ursprüngliche Grabmal Gregors XIII in St. Peter zu Rom,’ Korrespondenzblatt. Collegium Germanicum et Hungaricum, XCV, 1986, 41–59. Larrson, L. O., ‘Gianloremo Bernini und Joseph Heintz,’ Konsthistorisk Tidskrift, XLIV, 1975, 23–26. Lavin, I., Bernini and the Crossing of St. Peter’s, New York, 1968. Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, New York and London, 1980. ‘High and Low Before their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,’ in K. Varnadoe and A. Gopnik, eds., Modern Art and Popular Culture. Readings in High & Low, New York, 1990, 18–50. Past-Present. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso, Berkeley, 1993. Mâle, É., L’art religieux après le Concile de Trente, Paris, 1932. Matthias, G., Mosaici medioevali delle chiese di Roma, Rome, 1967. McCracken, G. E., and W. M. Green, Saint Augustine. The City of God against the Pagans, 7 vols., Cambridge MA and London, 1957–72. Mendo, A., Principe perfecto, Lyons, 1661. Misch, M., Apis est animal — apis est ecclesia. Ein Beitrag zum Verhältnis von Naturkunde und Theologie in Spätmittelalterlicher Literatur, Bern, 1974. Montagu, J., Alessandro Algardi, New Haven and London, 1985. Negri, P., ‘Urbano VIII e l'Italia (1623–1644). A proposito di una nuova monografia storica.’ Nuova rivista storica, VI, 1922,168–90. Panofsky, E., Tomb Sculpture. Four Lectures on its Changing Aspects from Ancient Egypt to Bernini, New York, 1964. Pastor, L. von., The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols., London, 1923–53. Paton, W. R., The Greek Anthology, 5 vols., Cambridge MA and London, 1925–43. Peacham, H., Minerva Britannia. Or a Garden of Heroical Devises, Furnished, and Adorned with Emblems and Impresa’s of Sundry Nature, New1y Devised, Moralized and Published, London, 1612. Picinelli, F., Mundus Symbolicus, Cologne, 1729. Pietrasanta, S., De symbolis heroicis, Antwerp, 1634. Pope-Hennessy, J., Italian High Renaissance and Baroque Sculpture, London and New York, 1970.

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1016 Prag um 1600, Kunst und Kultur am Hofe Rudolphs II., Essen, 1988. Quednau, R., Die Sala di Costantino im vatikanischen Palast. Zur Dekoration der beiden Medici-Päpste Leo X. und Clemens VII., Hildesheim and New York, 1979. Rackham, H., et al., Pliny. Natural History, 10 vols., Cambridge MA and London, 1938–62. Ripa, C., Iconologia ovvero descrittione di diverse imagini cavate dall’antichità, & di propria inventione, Rome, 1603 Iconologia ovvero descritione d’imagini delle virtù, vitij, affetti, passioni humane, corpi celesti, mondo e sue parti, Padua, 1611. Rushton Fairclough, H., Virgil, 2 vols., Cambridge MA and. London, 1950. Schiavo, A., ‘Iscrizioni inedite del monumento di Urbano VIII.’ Studi romani, XIX, 1971, 307–8. Schüter, S., ‘ “Urbano inalza Pietro, e Pietro Urbano.” Beobachtungen zu Idee und Gestalt der Ausstattung von Neu-St.-Peter unter Urban VIII,’ Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana, XXIX, 1994, 213–87. Scott, J. B., ‘S. Ivo alla Sapienza and Borromini's Symbolic Language,’ Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, XLI, 1982, 294–317. Images of Nepotism. The Painted Ceilings of Palazzo Barberini, Princeton, 1991. ‘Patronage and the Visual Encomium during the Pontificate of Urban VIII: The Ideal Palazzo Barberini in a Dedicatory Print,’ Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome, XL, 1995, 197–234. Siebenhüner, H., ‘Umrisse zur Ausstattung von St. Peter in Rom von Paul III. bis Paul V. (1547–1605),’ Festschrift für Hans Sedlmayr, Munich, 1962, 229–320. Southern, R. W., Western Views of Islam in the Middle Ages, Cambridge MA, 1962. Spear, R., Domenichino, New Haven and London, 1982. Tervarent, G. de, Attributs ey symboles dans l'art profane. 1450–1600. Dictionnaire d'un langage perdu, 3 vols., Geneva, 1958–64. Thornes, Ch., ‘ “Peregi naturae cursum”. Zum Grabmal Pauls III.,’ in Festschrift für Hartmut Biermann, Weinheim, 1990, 129–41. Tikkaman, J. J., Die Beinstellungen in der Kunstgeschichte. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der künstlerischen Motive, Helsingfors, 1912. Torriti, P., Pietro Tocca da Cararra, Genoa, 1984. Valeriano, G. P., Hieroglyphica, Basel, 1556. I IEROGLIFICI OVERO COMMENTARII DELLE OCCULTE SIGNIFICATIONI DE GL’EGITTIJ, & ALTRE NATIONI, Venice, 1625. Voragine, Jacobus de,. Legenda aurea, ed. T. Graesse, Leipzig, 1850. The Golden Legend. Readings on the Saints, trans. C. Ryan, 2 vols., Princeton, 1995. Watson, K., Pietro Tocca Successor to Giovanni Bologna, New York, 1983. Wilkinson, C., ‘The Iconography of Bernini's Tomb of Urban Vlll,’ L’arte, XIV, 1971, 54–68. Wittkower, R., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, London, 1981.

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Zijlma, R., Hollstein's German Engravings, Etchings and Woodcuts, Volume XXIII, Amsterdam, 1979. Zimmer, J., Joseph Heintz der Ältere. Zeichnungen und Dokumente, Munich, 1988.

Illustrations Alinari ARFSP: BH: ICCD: SAGN:

Archivio della Reverenda Fabbrica di S. Pietro. Bibliotheca Hertziana. Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, Rome. Soprintendenza alle gallerie, Naples.

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XXV

Bernini-Bozzetti: One More, One Less A Berninesque Sculptor in Mid-Eighteenth Century France*

I

AM pleased that this commemoration of the artist’s birth affords an opportunity for me to celebrate the golden anniversary of my obsession — love affair might be a better term — with the work of Gianlorenzo Bernini. The affair began when I was a graduate student in search of a dissertation subject at Harvard University in the early 1950s. Partly because travel was expensive and difficult, partly because in those days art history as a discipline was much more attached to objects than it is today, and certainly also partly by inclination, I wanted to work on something near at hand that I could actually get my hands on. (In those days museums were somewhat less fastidious than they are now about ‘touching’ objects.) It happened that one of the great riches of Harvard's Fogg Art Museum was its collection of some 27 sculptured bozzetti, or small terracotta sketches, including by far the largest group of autograph studies by Bernini in the world, with no more than a very few in any other collection. It was indeed love at first sight. From the beginning I felt a certain communion with the artist who, it was said, worked with such passion and concentra-

* A draft of this paper was first presented in a symposium at Harvard University in April 1998, commemorating the quadricentennial of Bernini's birth. This extended version was published in Hannah Baader, et al., eds., Ars et scriptura. Festschrift für Rudolf Preimesberger zum 65. Geburtstag, Berlin, 2001, 143–156, and in Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Atti dei convegni lincei 170. Convegno internazionale La cultura letteraria italiana e l’identità europea [Roma, 6–8 aprile 2000], Rome, 2001, 245–84.

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tion that, when interrupted, he exclaimed ‘sono innamorato.’1 The little clay sketches seemed to me the very incarnation of that supreme act of divine love described in Genesis, when God creates Adam from dust. They seemed to me to make that same magic leap from inert, formless earth to heaven itself, at the touch of a finger. In the end, my dissertation, interrupted by a call to military service, remained a fragment of my intention.2 But I was in love then, and after half a century I am still in love, especially with the angels — which are my subject today.3 One More The beautiful terracotta model illustrated in Figs. 1–3, is, so far as I am aware, unknown to Bernini scholarship. It is 20 cm. high, well preserved except for the missing head, and it lives in what at first seems like a very unlikely place, the Musée des Beaux-Arts at Besançon. The model is clearly related to the angel that kneels in devotion with arms folded across its breast, at the right side of the last great work Bernini undertook for St. Peter's, the Altar of the Sacrament (Fig. 4). The model is also clearly related — and herein lies much of its significance for my discussion today — to the series of clay sketches for the sacrament angels now in the Fogg Museum, and it takes is place, proudly and somewhat earlier in the development of the composition, alongside its counterpart there (Fig. 5). The new bozzetto is in fact quite old, for it has been alive and well since the mid-eighteenth century in the Museum of Fine Arts at Besançon. 1 According to Domenico Bernini, ‘Nel rimanente era sempre tanto fisso nelle sue occupazioni, che a chi distoglier lo voleva per invitarlo al riposo, rispondeva tutto anzioso, Lasciatemi star quì, che io son innmamorato.’ Domenico Bernini, Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome 1713, p. 179. Reported, with interesting variations, by Baldinucci: ‘. . . usò per ordinario fino all'ultima sua età d'impiegare nel lavoro de' marmi, fatica, la quale gli stessi suoi giovani reggere non poteano: a se talvolta alcuno di loro nel voleva distogliere, resisteva con dire: ‘Lasciatemi star qui, ch'io sono innamorato.’ Stava in quel lavoro così fisso, che sembrava estatico, a pareva che dagli occhi gli volesse uscir lo spirito per animare il sasso;’ Filippo Baldinucci, Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence 1682; ed. Sergio Samek Ludovici, Milan 1948, p. 139. 2 Irving Lavin, The Bozzetti of Gianlorenzo Bernini, Ph.D. diss., Harvard 1955. The Fogg terracottas have now been admirably published by Wardropper: Ian Wardropper et al., From the Sculptor's Hand: Italian Baroque Terracottas from the state Hermitage Museum, exhib. cat., Chicago 1998. 3 Some further thoughts on Bernini's angels will be found in my essay ‘Bernini at St. Peter's: Singularis in singulis, in omnibus unicus’, reprinted here.

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Traditionally the model has been regarded, with good reason, as the work of Luc-François Breton (1731–1799), a native of Besançon and one of the best-known sculptors of the Franche-Comté. Breton was an altogether remarkable character, partly because he was in many respects typical of his era.4 Born of a poor family, he was apprenticed early, with a kind of craftscholarship, to a local woodcarver, and later entered the sculpture atelier of Claude Attiret at nearby Dôle. In 1754 Breton set out, on foot, for Rome, stopping first at Marseilles, where he worked as a woodcarver and studied the works there of Pierre Puget. With free passage arranged by an influential sympathizer, he set sail for Rome where he arrived, penniless, in 1754. After four years of hard work, in 1758 he entered the sculpture competition of the prestigious Accademia di San Luca, and, mirabile dictu, he won first prize with a terracotta model representing the assigned subject, Metellius rescuing the Palladium from the Temple of Vesta (Fig. 6).5 He was the first French artist to win the first prize in sculpture. With this feather in his cap, Breton in 1762 was taken in by the painter Natoire, director of the French Academy in Rome, who gave him a room so that, although he lacked the education and culture requisite for a Prix de Rome, he was able to attend classes and study the great works, old and new, that surrounded him. During his stay at the Academy he would have met Houdon, Clodion, Boucher, and many others. He received commissions from French patrons, as well as from Robert Adams, whom he had met in Rome. Adams ordered from him plaster models and casts of classical sculpture and architectural ornaments on Roman buildings.6 Adams also commissioned him to produce a terracotta model for a marble relief that decorates Adams's monument to Roger Townsend, hero of the battle of Ticonderoga, in Westminster Abbey. Breton had one major commission in Rome, a colossal figure of St. Andrew for the church of S. Claudio dei Borgognoni, a model which is preserved at Besançon (Figs. 7, 8).7 Breton remained in Rome for 17 years, 4 For virtually all of what follows concerning the career of Breton see Lucie Cornillot, Le sculpteur bisontin Luc Breton (1731–1800), Besançon 1941?; list of works, including the models discussed here pp. 115–25. 5 Vincenzo Golzio, Le terrecotte della R. Accademia di S. Luca, Rome 1933, pp. 18 f. 6 See the important contribution by John Fleming, ‘Robert Adam, Luc-François Breton and the Townshend Monument in Westminster Abbey,’ in: Connoisseur, CL, 1962, pp. 163–71. 7 The façade sculpture was noted recently among French works in Rome at the time of Clodion, by Olivier Michel, ‘La Rome de Clodion. Sculpture et tradition,’ in: Guilhem Scherf, ed., Clodion et la sculpture française de la fin du XVIIIe siècle, Paris 1993, pp. 59–83, see p. 69.

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except for a brief, but for our purposes extremely important, return to his native town in 1765. He passed this time via Florence and Genoa, where he made a copy of Puget's Saint Sebastian (Fig. 9). In Besançon he received the commission to carve two kneeling angels for a new high altar of the parish church, Saint-Maurice. The following year he went back to Rome to procure the marble and execute the figures, which were complete in 1768 and installed on the altar in 1769. In 1771 Breton returned definitively to Besançon, where apart from his activity as a sculptor he devoted himself above all to the establishment and directorship of the first free school of fine arts in the Franche-Comté. The eighteenth century was of course the great age for public education and such schools were mushrooming all over France at the time. For political reasons, the Franche-Comté being fiercely jealous of its independence from the central administration, Breton's school was never accorded the official status of an Academy. In fact, it was the only provincial institution of its kind not associated with the Paris Academy, which meant that it could not send its students to Rome. With a modest subvention from the municipality, however, the school thrived. It opened in 1774 and by 1778 fortyfive pupils were enrolled. The rules and program were equivalent to those of the other Academies and very demanding. Each professor upon his appointment, and in alternation each year thereafter, had to donate to the school a piece of his own composition. Lessons took place in the evening in winter, mornings in summer. Students twelve and older from Besançon and the Franche-Comté were admitted free, and others came from Germany, Switzerland, and Alsace. The sessions were open to the public. The aspiring sculptors studied copies after antiquities and the works of their teacher. From 1775 prizes were awarded in several categories: subjects from the imagination; subjects after nature; copies in drawing; and copies in three dimensions. It all came to an end with the Revolution, and was only revived in 1807 by one of Breton's pupils. The Municipality was prescient, however, and when Breton died in 1800 a portion of his material was purchased to serve as models in the courses of design. We have two early inventories, 1815 and 1820, of the models owned by the École, which list many works by Breton.8 Several of these are related to Bernini, more than to any other modern artist. Four can be identified unequivocally: une femme mourante; un ange adorateur, ronde-bosse; 8

Cornillot 1941? (see n. 4), pp. 131–6.

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1. Bernini, angel of the sacrament, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

2. Bernini, angel of the sacrament, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

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3. Bernini, angel of the sacrament, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

4. Bernini, angel of the sacrament. St. Peter’s, Rome.

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5. Bernini, angel of the sacrament, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

6. Luc Breton, Metellius rescuing the Palladium from the Temple of Vesta, terracotta. Accademia di S. Luca, Rome.

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7. Luc Breton, St. Andrew. S. Claudio dei Borgognoni, Rome.

8. Luc Breton, St. Andrew, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

1025

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9. Luc Breton, plaster cast of a copy of Puget’s Saint Sebastian. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

10. Luc Breton, copy after Bernini’s Habakkuk and the Angel, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

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11. Bernini, Habakkuk and the Angel. S. Maria del Popolo, Rome.

1027

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12. Attributed to Bernini, St. Jerome, terracotta. Antiquarium, Termini Imerese.

14. Attributed to Bernini, St. Jerome, terracotta. Palazzo Chigi Saraceni, Siena.

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13. Bernini, St. Jerome. Duomo, Siena.

1029

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15. Bernini, study for St. Jerome, drawing. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

16. Luc Breton, copy after Benini’s Ludovica Albertoni, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

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17. Anonymous, copy after Benini’s Ludovica Albertoni, terracotta. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

18. Luc Breton, kneeling angel. Cathedral, Besançon.

1031

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19. Luc Breton, kneeling angel. Cathedral, Besançon.

20. Bernini, Sacrament Altar. St. Peter’s, Rome.

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21. Anonymous, standing angel, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

22. Anonymous, standing angel, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

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23. Anonymous, standing angel, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

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24. Bernini, angel with the Superscription, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

25. Bernini, angel with the Crown of Thorns, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

1035

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26. Attributed to Antonio Raggi, studies for angels, drawing. Kunstmuseum, Düsseldorf.

27. Anonymous, standing angel, gilt bronze. Pinacoteca Comunale, Spoleto.

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28. Anonymous, standing angel. Pinacoteca Comunale, Spoleto.

29. Anonymous, ostensorium. Pinacoteca Comunale, Spoleto.

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Apollon et Daphné d'après le Bernin; Habacuc d'après le Bernin. Except for the Apollo and Daphne, they are still preserved. The Habakuk and the Angel (Fig. 10) is an astonishingly subtle and intelligent rendering in high relief of Bernini's group in the Chigi chapel in S. Maria del Popolo in Rome, including the niche (Fig. 11). Breton was concerned to convey the crucially important aspect of the sculpture's effect, its relation to its context. The model has a remarkable, and perhaps not entirely fortuitous analogy in another terracotta, which Wittkower accepted as an original bozzetto by Bernini, in an equally unlikely place, a small museum at Termini Imerese on the north central coast of Sicily (Fig. 12).9 Represented here is Bernini's contemporary sculpture of St. Jerome in the Chigi Chapel in the Duomo of Siena (Fig. 13). We have comparable models of Bernini niche sculptures, including the St. Jerome, that do not incorporate the niche (Fig. 14), but there are also autograph drawings that do (Fig. 15).10 Whatever the explanation, it seems hard to believe that the coincidence between Breton's model and that in Sicily is purely coincidental. The dying woman of the inventory is the model of the Ludovica Albertoni, which belongs to a veritable plague of reductions of this figure in museums and collections around the world (Figs. 16, 17), that in Besançon being the only one to which we can attach a name.11 It is easy to disregard the Habakuk and the Ludovica Albertoni as mere copies, especially since they are both relatively highly finished and very close to the originals. They are, however, extremely competent, and the syncretistic spirit of the mid-eighteenth century is eloquently illustrated by the fact that the works of Bernini and the monuments of classical antiquity were the two chief subjects of Breton's study. The fact that he worked for Robert Adam and also reproduced the Berninesque angels for the Cathedral Maria Vittoria Brugnoli, ‘Un bozzetto del Bernini per il “San Girolamo” ’, in: Arte antica a moderna, 1961, pp. 291–3. Nothing is known of the provenance of the piece. 10 Giancarlo Gentilini, and Carlo Sisi, La scultura. Bozzetti in terracotta, piccoli marmi a altre sculture dal XIV al XX secolo. 1989. Siena. Palazzo Chigi Saracini, 2 vols., Florence 1989; I, pp. 229–37, other exemplars illustrated p. 236; on the drawings see Lavin et al. ed., Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig, exhib. cat., Princeton 1981, pp. 229–36. 11 Some other examplars, with greater or less claims to authenticity: Hermitage Wardropper et al. 1998 (see n. 2), p. 82 f.; Rome, private collection, Il Seicento europeo. Realismo classicismo barocco, exhib. cat., Rome 1956, pp. 257 f.; Victoria and Albert Museum Shelley Karen Perlove, Bernini and the Idealization of Death. The Blessed Ludovica Albertoni and the Altieri Chapel, University Park and London 1990, see pp. 17, 24 f. 9

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shows that he responded equally well to the English neoclassical and the nascent French Rococo. The case of the little kneeling angel is not so simple, however, because it has all the qualities of a preparatory sketch and is much closer in facture and spirit than the other models to the bozzetti in the Fogg. Having been placed on their intended altar in Saint-Maurice, Breton's marble angels were saved from desecration during the Revolution because they served as emblems of Love on the chariot of the Goddess of Reason in a procession to the Cathedral of Besançon, where they were installed in their present position on the high altar (Figs. 18, 19). It is obvious that Breton upon returning to Rome took as the point of departure for his figures Bernini's kneeling sacrament angels, one in prayerful adoration, the other in ecstatic devotion (Fig. 20). Breton varied the prototypes in significant ways, however, none of which correspond to the model. This fact alone, I think, rules out the Besançon terracotta as a preparatory study for Breton's figures. Two possibilities remain. One is that Breton is here copying not Bernini's final figure, but one of the master's bozzetti — perhaps even the very one now in the Fogg. The Besançon model, which is directly and uniquely associated with a single known artist, raises the tantalizing, and devastating, prospect of Breton's having copied not simply Bernini's executed work but his preparatory style, his ‘sketchmanship,’ as it were. This would be a striking and precisely documentable instance of what I believe was an important factor in the transformation of the grand and often grandiloquent dynamism of the seventeenth into the lithe and delicate rhythms of the eighteenth century — and the development of a special sensitivity to the small, spontaneous and informal qualities of the preparatory sketch. In the case, however, I prefer the other possibility: the Besançon angel is not a copy at all, but what it seems to be at first glance, an original bozzetto by Bernini for the angel in devotion at the right side of the Sacrament altar in St. Peter's — which Breton acquired while he was in Rome. Apart from the sheer quality of the work, this hypothesis has one point in particular in its favor, chronology. We know that Breton received the commission and went to Rome in 1766 and that the angels were finished by 1768. He can scarcely have avoided contact with Rome's greatest impresario of restoring, collecting, and purveying sculpture, Bartolomeo Cavaceppi (1717–99), from whom he may have then acquired his Bernini bozzetto.12 A decade Following the pioneering work of Seymour Howard, Bartolomeo Cavaceppi. Eighteenth-Century Restorer, New York and London 1982; the splendid investigative task of 12

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later, in fact, faced with financial problems, Cavaceppi offered part of his vast collection of casts, copies and models for sale to the pope. For this purpose, he drew up a selected list of 100 pieces, in which some of the sculptures now in the Fogg are recorded. One Less Although clearly related in conception as well as execution to the angels of the Ponte S. Angelo, one of the models in the Fogg stands apart from the others, and I have long been suspicious of the attribution to Bernini (Figs. 21–23).13 The tiny head with mincing features and the pirouetting movement seem incompatible with the powerful action and forthright emotion expressed by Bernini's figures (Figs. 24, 25). Anyone who considers even briefly the array of materials – drawings as well as models — connected with the various angels for the bridge knows that they constitute an immensely intricate visual counterpoint of many motives — arm, leg and head positions, swirls of fluttering drapery, and psychological states.14 Analyzing these interrelated variables in an effort to define a reasonable sequence is like trying to disentangle the melodic lines of a Bach fugue. The combination of notes being sounded at any one measure is probably unique for the entire composition. Right leg forward, left leg back, right shoulder back, left forward, right arm raised, left arm down, face turned toward left, drapery flowing around the right leg behind the left. Of all the material related to the bridge angels that has come down to us only one tiny sketch corresponds to these details, and it corresponds so closely that the relationship can hardly be coincidental. I refer to a drawing in Düsseldorf attributed to one of Bernini's closest followers, Antonio Raggi, who executed the recovering Cavaceppi's operations and their legacy, was accomplished by Carlo Gasparri and Olivia Ghiandoni, ‘Lo Studio Cavaceppi a Le Collezioni Torlonia’, in: Rivista dell'istituto nazionale d'archeologia a storia dell'arte, XVI, 1993. The correlation between the Cavaceppi inventory and known bozzetti, including those in the Fogg, will also be found in Maria Giulia Barberini and Carlo Gasparri, eds., Bartolomeo Cavaceppi scultore romano (1717–1799), exhib. cat., Rome 1994. 13 Published by Richard Norton, Bernini and other studies, New York 1914, p. 45, No. 25, Pl. XXVII, a; Leonard Opdycke, ‘A Group of Models for Berninesque Sculpture,’ in: The Bulletin of the Fogg Museum of Art, 1937–8, pp. 26–30, see p. 29, identified as for the Cathedra Petri. 14 See the full discussion of the bridge by Mark Weil, The History and Decoration of the Ponte S. Angelo, University Park and London 1974.

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angel with the Column of the Flagellation for the bridge, where some of the details came to fruition (Fig. 26).15 The terracotta has an almost identical counterpart, however, in a quite unexpected place and context, a beautiful small bronze gilt angel now in the Pinacoteca Comunale at Spoleto (Figs. 27–29).16 The provenance of the piece is not certain. It was rediscovered in 1981 in a storeroom in the Palazzo Comunale, adapted to serve as an ostensorium for the display of the sacramental host. The base, the stem and the custodia were thought to be later additions, although the logic of the figures in the Düsseldorf drawings makes me wonder; if they are later, they must have replaced something quite similar. The heights of the model and the bronze are virtually identical at one Roman palmo (22.5 cm.).17 The only significant difference is that in the terracotta the right arm is not extended in support, but folded against the angel's breast, and this I believe suggests an interesting and important hypothesis. It would seem that a figure developed from the sketch but never realized on the bridge, came to serve two purposes. In one context, the model was given a practical function as the bronze caryatid at Spoleto, which may have held a candelabrum, as in the Düsseldorf drawing, or, more probably an ostensorium, part of which may (or may not) have been replaced. On the other hand, in the non-supportive, devotional form of the Fogg terracotta, the figure also served as an independent object. In fact, the terracotta was originally colored to resemble bronze. The point I want to make here is that the figure, which evidently had its origin in a project for monumental sculpture, also had a life of its own on a small scale, both as a useful instrument, and as an objet d'art. To be sure, this process of miniaturization had a long history; one need only recall the small bronzes of Giovanni Bologna. Indeed, this was only one of many aspects of Giambologna's art — the rough and ready handling of the clay bozzetto was another — taken up by Bernini and his school, that ultimately played a seminal role in the creation of the Rococo.18 Weil 1974 (see n. 14), p. 86. See Bruno Toscano, in: Arte in Valnerina a nello Spoletino. Emergenza e tutela permanente, exhib. cat., Rome 1983, p . 154–7. — Giampiero Ceccarelli, et al., Urbano VIII vescovo di Spoleto: nel IV centenario della nascita di Gian Lorenzo Bernini, exhib. cat., Spoleto 1998, pp. 46 f. 17 Published heights: Fogg No. 1937.60: 22.5 cm.; Spoleto: 21.5 cm. 18 On the relationship of Bernini's to Giambologna's clay sketches, see Irving Lavin, ‘Bozzetti and Modelli. Notes on Sculptural Procedure from the Early Renaissance through Bernini,’ in: Stil and Überlieferung in der Kunst des Abendlandes. Akten des 21. internationalen Kongresses fur Kunstgeschichte in Bonn 1964, Berlin 1967, III, pp. 93–104, see p. 102. 15 16

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It happens that we can make an educated guess how the piece came to, or was created for Spoleto. Cardinal Jacopo Nini who was the Maggiordomo of Alexander VII and Clement IX, and who countersigned with Bernini the payments for the work on the Ponte S. Angelo, and of whom Bernini made one of his famous caricatures, had a twin brother named Carlo (1640–92). Carlo was buried in Spoleto in San Domenico (originally San Salvatore, where the ostensorium would have been especially appropriate), in a tomb whose inscription proudly records his relationship to Jacopo.19 Our angel is evidently not among those included in Cavaceppi's early sales catalogue; but it could well have been among those listed summarily in the Cavaceppi inventories taken after his death, and there is no reason to doubt that its provenance is the same as for the others. The possibility that both models discussed here may have passed through the same collection in the mid-eighteenth century is in itself not remarkable, but the character and function of that collection suggests a final observation I should like to make in this context. It is important to realize that the acquisition of the major holdings of Roman Baroque bozzetti by the museums that house them was a relatively late development in their history.20 The Farsetti collection was purchased for the czar of Russia in 1799 and installed in the Academy of Fine Arts in St. Petersburg, where it remained until it was transferred to the Hermitage in 1919; the Brandegee family purchased the Fogg bozzetti from Giovanni Piancastelli, Director of the Borghese Gallery in Rome, in 1909 and gave them to Harvard in 1937; those in the Palazzo Venezia were acquired in 1949 from the opera singer and omnivorous collector Evangelista Gorga. The recent research that has revealed the early history of the models has tended to confirm the conviction I have long had that the Bernini bozzetti in the Fogg are not a collection in the sense of having been assembled by an art lover from a variety of sources, but are descended as a group ultimately from Bernini's own studio.21 Cavaceppi must have acquired them, directly or indirectly, from someone who had actually worked with Bernini. A likely source, for example, was one of Bernini's favorite pupils, Giulio Cartari, who executed for display on the Ponte S. Angelo the very sensitive variant Toscano 1983 (see n. 16), p. 157. For an excellent survey of the history of model-collecting, see Dean Walker in Wardropper et al. 1998 (see n. 2), pp. 14–29. 21 Irving Lavin, ‘Calculated Spontaneity. Bernini and the Terracotta Sketch,’ in: Apollo, CVII, 197 8, pp. 398–405, see p. 399. 19 20

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of Bernini's own Angel with the Superscription; we know that Cartari received a cache of bozzetti from Bernini's studio by 1706.22 Cavaceppi certainly collected on a grand scale, and he had many motives for doing so. Selling the collection, however, was evidently not one of them. So far as we know, during his lifetime he attempted to sell only a small selection, and, failing that, his collection remained intact until his death in 1799. His primary motivation then became clear. What Cavaceppi dreamt of was a school, an academy, in which the figurative tradition and indeed the cultural tradition it represented, handed down from antiquity, especially in sculpture, would be carried on. In his testament he left his entire collection to the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, where in 1732 he had himself won a prize for a terracotta model of Bernini's Habakuk and the Angel.23 It is important to bear in mind, moreover, that in doing so, he was following the lead of Ercole Ferrata, one of the sculptors who had indeed worked with Bernini, and who had left his considerable collection, partly to the Accademia di S. Luca, and partly to the Accademia Borromeo in Milan.24 The Roman Accademia promptly proceeded to sell Cavaceppi's collection to the great art collector Marchese Giovanni Torlonia, and thereafter the diaspora began. Although we have no documentary proof it can scarcely be doubted that there was a close connection between Cavaceppi and another voracious collector who, though not an artist himself, had the instincts of one. The wealthy Venetian Abbot Filippo Farsetti (1703–74) evidently realized that his native city, despite its own noble antiquarian tradition, did not share the grand sculptural heritage that was the particular glory of Rome in the age of Neo-classicism.25 And what Farsetti conceived to fill the lacuna was again, a school. Farsetti spent 1750–3 in Rome, commissioning and acquiring everything he could in the way of antiquities, copies in marble, plaster and terracotta, and models, with the idea of turning his own villa into a Lavin 1978 (see n. 2), pp. 404 f, n. 3. Barberini and Gasparri, eds., 1994 (see n. 12), p. 18; the sculpture was listed in an Academy inventory of 1807. 24 Walker in Wardropper et al. 1998 (see n. 2), p. 23. On the Ambrosian Academy founded by Carlo Borromeo, see Pamela M. Jones, Federico Borromeo and the Ambrosiana. Art Patronage and Reform in Seventeenth-Century Milan, Cambridge and New York 1993, pp. 45–55. 25 On Farsetti see most recently Sergej Androssov in Wardropper et al. 1998 (see n. 3). pp. 2–13. 22 23

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museum and an academy for the training of aspiring artists and the education of the public. Early in 1753 Natoire, Director of the French Academy in Rome, made an arrangement with Farsetti that included acquiring a cast of ‘la plus belle figure du Bernini,’ the S. Bibiana. One of Natoire's letters to Paris provides a lively picture of Farsetti's feverish activity, which filled the churches and palaces of Rome with cast-makers and copyists. Farsetti had obtained the permission of Benedict XIV agreeing to provide copies for the Accademia Clementina of Bologna (the pope's native city) of everything he acquired for himself.26 It may not be coincidental that Farsetti appointed as curator of his collection a Bolognese sculptor, Bonaventura Furlani, who specialized in that city's ancient tradition of modeling in stucco and clay,

26 The passage is worth quoting in extenso: January 17, 1753. ‘M. l'abbé Farcetti, noble Vénitien, homme riche, beaucoup de goût pour les arts et que vous aurés veu à Rome, Monsieur, fait une belle collection de modelle en sculpture (c’et la partie où il s'attache le plus); son dessain et de former à Venise une gallerie où l'Ecole vénisiene puisses étudier la bonne manière du dessain. Ceux qui sont attachés à Rome luy voyent enlever ses curiosités avec peine, mais l'argent fait ordinairement remuer les choses les plus inaccessibles. Le Pape luy a permis de faire mouler les antiques les plus distingués et d'autres morceaux modernes des plus renomés, avec une condition: Sa Sainteté voulant enrichir l'Académie de Boulogne nomée l'Instituto, accorde à M. l'abbé Farcetti 6,000 écus pour entrer dans la depance nécessaire pour cette operation, au moyen de laquelle il sera aubligé de fournir une figure jettée en plâtre de tous les moules qu'il aura fait faire pour aitre transportée dans laditte Accadémie de Boulogne, tous frès fait; cela yra environ a une sinquantaine de morceaux; on ne voit présentement que des mouleurs rependus dans tous les endrois de Rome, tant dans les églises que dans les palais. Je n'ay l'honneur de vous faire ce detail, Monsieur, que pour vous dire que je vien de faire aussy une petite convention avec ce zellé amateur et qui et pour le bien de l’Académie: il ma demandé la permission de fair mouler la figure de Germanicus, dont le marbre ait dans la gallerie de Versailles. Je luy ay fait sentir combien le devois aitre jaloux que rien ne se fit dans l'Académie qui pût tendre à aucun domage, bien au contraire tendre à l'ogmentation de son intérest. Tout étant bien considéré qu'il n'y auriot aucun danger en accordent ce service, cela vous vaudra la permission aussy d'avoir un plâtre de la belle figure du Bernin de le tems pressoit pour ce déterminer, ce qui m'a empêché de vous prévenir pour en attendre votre permission. Nous avons deux plâtres de cette statue; on ne touchera pas à celle qui decore l'appartement; le tout s'exécutera avec beaucoup d'attention . . .’ Anatole de Montaiglon, ed., Correspondance des directeurs de l'Académie de France a Rome avec les surintendants des batiments, 18 vols., Paris 1888–1908, X, pp. 434 f. The correspondence of the directors of the French Academy contains many references to casts and copies of works by Bernini, including an attempt in 1740 by the artist's descendants to sell the statue of Truth, left to them ‘in perpetuity,’ to the King (IX, 419, 422). On Farsetti, Benedict, and Bologna, see also Francis Haskell, and Nicholas Penny, Taste and the Antique. The Lure of Classical Sculpture 1500–1900, New Haven and London 1982, p. 85.

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and is mentioned in the Clementina's sculpture competition in 1768.27 Farsetti opened his collection in 1755 and returned to Rome for more acquisitions in 1766–9, precisely when Cavaceppi was preparing his sale. The plausible suggestion has been made that Cavaceppi was one of Farsetti's suppliers, and no doubt the two exchanged ideas concerning their respective academies, as well.28 There is an astonishing coincidence of attitude among the people, collections, and institutions we have been considering: Ferrata, Accademia di San Luca, Accademia Borromeo, Cavaceppi, Farsetti, Accademia Clementina, Breton, St. Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts — they all involve, or are closely related, not only to one another but to the idea of formal, academic instruction in the fine art of sculpture.29 There was a veritable academic ‘movement.’ Equally remarkable is the wide range of artistic modes that found expression in this studious intellectual climate — from the informal charm and sentiment of Clodion, who at the Paris Salon of 1773 presented a small terracotta that may have been inspired by a Bernini bozzetto then in the possession of Natoire, to Canova, whose art is inconceivable without Bernini and who acknowledged his profound debt to his early studies in the Palazzo Farsetti.30 Paradoxically, the embracing catholicity implicit in this range of interests, was the correlative of the catholicity of method inherent in the very notion of an academy; and together they provided the protean clay from which our own ’academic’ appreciation of the bozzetti was formed. In common parlance ‘academic’ has come to signify the arid pursuit of useless knowledge. On the contrary, inspired largely from Italy, and devoted to the education of the young, the academic tradition has from its inception been a vital creative force in European culture.

27 Eugenio Riccòmini, Vaghezza e furore. La scultura del Settecento in Emilia, Bologna 1977, p. 136. 28 Barberini and Gasparri, eds., 1994 (see n. 12), p. 116. 29 A full appreciation of this ‘culture’ of casts and copies after the antique is provided by Haskell and Penny 1982 (see n. 26). 30 Anne L. Poulet, and Guilhem Scherf, Clodion 1738-1814, exhib. cat., Paris 1992, pp. 125–8; for Canova see Walker in Wardropper et al. 1998 (see n. 2), p. 27.

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Bernini’s Death: Visions of Redemption*

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CCORDING to the biographies by Filippo Baldinucci and Bernini’s son, Domenico, the artist as an old man, sensing the end approaching, took measures to prepare for death, which entailed creating three works of art. First and foremost was the death itself, or rather, Bernini’s idea and method of preparing for it, as described by the biographers, which derived from a medieval tradition codified in a famous text, the Ars moriendi. The Art of Dying had been revived toward the end of the sixteenth century, notably by the Jesuits, who institutionalized the tradition in the Confraternity of a Good Death (bona mors). Bernini belonged to the confraternity for many years and practiced its devotions every day in the Gesù, the mother church of the order in Rome. The biographers also report that, besides following the prescribed devotions, Bernini made two works of visual art with a view to obtaining a good death. Differing in medium and subject matter, both works had the common theme of illustrating his mortal invocation of Christ’s humanity, which he called ‘sinner’s clothing’, as protection to ward off perdition.1 Both works were intended to serve in Bernini’s private, per-

* Details concerning many of the topics mentioned here will be found in the original essays on Bernini’s death, Lavin 1972, 1973, 1978, and subsequent related publications, 1998, 2000a, 2000b. 1 Bernini 1713, 170 f.: Ed era sì viva in lui questa fiducia, che chiamava la Santissima Humanità di Christo, Veste de’Peccatori, e perciò tanto maggiormente confidava, non dover esso esser fulminato dalla Divina vendetta, quale dovendo prima di ferir lui, passar la veste, per non lacerare l’innocenza, l’averebbe perdonato al suo peccato. (This trust was so alive in him that he called the Most Holy Humanity of Christ ‘Sinners’ Clothing’, whence he was the more confident

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sonal devotions, and as public demonstrations of the eschatological efficacy of Christ’s sacrifice. The Sangue Di Cristo The first was a spectacular composition known as the Sangue di Cristo, which Bernini designed and had executed in two forms, as an engraving by François Spierre (the French printmaker whom Bernini favored in his later years) (Fig. 1, Fig. 2), and as a large painting, which he kept before his bed until his death.2 The genesis of the composition is movingly described in the biographies of the artist by Filippo Baldinucci and his son, Domenico Bernini. Baldinucci: He always kept fixed in his mind an intense awareness of death. He often had long discussions on this subject with Father Marchesi, his nephew who was an Oratorian priest at the Chiesa Nuova, known for his goodness and learning. So great and continual was the fervor with which he longed for the happiness of that last step, that for the sole intention of attaining it, he frequented for forty years continuously the devotions conducted toward this end by the fathers of the Society of Jesus in Rome. There, also, he partook of the Holy Eucharist twice a week. He increased the alms which he had been accustomed to give from his earliest youth. He became absorbed at times in the thoughts and in the expression of the profound reverence and understanding that he always had of the efficacy of the Blood of Christ the Redeemer, in which, he was wont to say, he hoped to drown his sins. He made a drawing of this subject, which he then had engraved and printed. It shows the image of Christ Crucified, with streams of blood gushing from his hands and feet as if to form a sea, and the great Queen of Heaven who offers it to God

not to be struck by divine retribution which, having first to penetrate the garment before wounding him, would have pardoned his sin rather than tear its innocence.) 2 At least five copies of the painted composition are known. The various versions, their histories and attributions have been discussed by Tedaldi 1996; Gaia Bindi in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999, 443–6, and in Pittura 1999, 76 f.; Petrucci 2001, 81–4. See also n. 11 below.

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the Father. He also had this pious concept painted on a great canvas which he wanted to have always facing his bed in life and in death.3 Domenico Bernini: and he explained his thought by adding that ‘the goodness of God being infinite, and infinite the merit of the precious Blood of his Son, it was an offense to these attributes to doubt Forgiveness.’ To this effect he had copied for his devotion, in engraving and in paint, a marvelous design which shows Jesus Christ on the Cross with a Sea of Blood beneath, spilling torrents of it from his Most Holy Wounds; and here one sees the Most Blessed Virgin in the act of offering it to the Eternal Father, who appears above with open arms all softened by so piteous a spectacle. And he said, ‘in this Sea his sins are drowned, which cannot be found by Divine justice except amongst the Blood of Jesus Christ, in the tints of which they will either have changed color or by its merits obtained mercy.’ This trust was so alive in him that he called the Most Holy Humanity of Christ ‘Sinners’ Clothing’, whence he was the more confident not to be struck by divine retribution which, having first to penetrate the garment before wounding him, would have pardoned his sin rather than tear its innocence.4 The engraved version, also relatively large, was clearly intended to give the composition a wider dissemination, in two forms: as an independent

3 Baldinucci 1948, 135 (transl. adapted from Baldinucci 1966, 68 f.): Teneva egli sempre fisso un vivo pensiero della morte, intorno alla quale faceva. bene spesso lunghi colloqui col padre Marchesi suo nipote sacerdote della Congregazione dell’Oratorio nella chiesa Nuova, uomo della bontà e dottrina, che è nota; e con tal desiderio aspirò sempre mai alla felicità di quell’estremo passo, che per questo solo fine di conseguirla durò quarant’anni continovi a frequentar la divozione, che a tale effetto fanno i padri della Compagnia di Gesù in Roma; dove pure due volte la settimana si cibava del sacramento eucaristico. Accresceva le limosine, esercizio stato suo familiarissinto fino dalla prima età. Si profondava talora nel pensiero e nel discorso d’un’altissima stima e concetto che egli ebbe sempre dell’efficacia del Sangue di Cristo Redentore, nel quale (come era solito dire) sperava di affogare i suoi peccati. A tale oggetto disengò di sua mano e poi fecesi stampare un’immagine di Cristo Crocifisso, dalle cui mani e piedi sgorgano rivi di sangue, che formano quasi un mare e la gran Regina del Cielo, che lo sta offerendo all’Eterno Padre. Questa pia meditazione fecesi anche dipingere in una gran tela, la quale volle sempre tenere in faccia al suo letto in vita e in morte. 4 Bernini 1713, 170 f.:

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image to commemorate the canonization of the Virgin’s namesake, Maria Maddelena de’Pazzi, in 1669; and, the format having been carefully scaled so as also to fold neatly into a handy octavo format, as the frontispiece of a devotional tract published the following year by the artist’s beloved nephew and counselor in the ‘art of dying’, the Oratorian Father Francesco Marchese. A modern version of the Ars moriendi, titled The Only Hope of the Sinner Consists in the Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Marchese’s introduction urges the reader to contemplate the image, for the explication of which the text was composed.5 The inscriptions on the engraving, adapted from a passage in Paul’s Epistle to the Hebrews, and from a quotation of Maria Maddalena’s own words, together with the title of Marchese’s book, epitomize the meaning and spiritual function of the image.6

é spiegava il suo sentimento con soggiungere, che La bontà di Dio essendo infinita, & infinto il merito del prezioso Sangue del suo Figliuolo, era un’offendere quest’ attributi il dubitare della Misericordia. A tale effetto egli fece per sua divozione ritrarre in Stampa, & in Pittura un maraviglioso disegno, in cui rappresentasi Giesù Christo in Croce con un Mare di Sangue sotto di esso, che ne versa a torrenti dalle sue Santissime Piaghe, e quì si vede la Beatissima Vergine in atto di offerirlo al Padre Eterno, che comparisce di sopra colle braccia spase, tutto intenerito a sì compassionevole spettacolo: Et In questo Mare, egli diceva, ritrovarsi affogati i suoi peccati, che non altrimente dalla Divina Giustitia rinvenir si potevano, che frà il Sangue di Giesù Christo, di cui tinti ò haverebbono mutato colore, ò per merito di esso ottenuta mercede. Ed era sì viva in lui questa fiducia, che chiamava la Santissima Humanità di Christo, Veste de’Peccatori,e perciò tanto maggiormente confidava, non dover esso esser fulminato dalla Divina vendetta, quale dovendo prima di ferir lui, passar la veste, per non lacerare l’innocenza, haverebbe perdonato al suo peccato. 5 Marchese 1670. In the introduction, the Precious Blood speaks to the reader: Sangue di Giesù Crocefisso al Cuore di chi legge . . . Ah che l’huomo carnale non penetra le cose superne, e che da Dio prouengono: perciò à farle meglio capire, l’infinita carità del Signor Iddio hà ora con particolar prouedimento disposto, che da mano di divoto artefice sia delineata l’Imagine del Salvatore Crocefisso, grondante Sangue ìn tanta copia, che se ne formi un ampio mare, e che per mani della Beatissima Vergine Maria conforme al pio sentimento di S. Maddalene de Pazzi io sia del continuo offerto all’eterno Padre à favore de’ peccatori, (per la cui esplicatione si è composto il presente libro) affinche con tali mezzi agli occhi dell’huomo carnale rappresentati, il tuo cuore sia più facilmente disposto à udire, e ad ubidire à suoi celesti ammaestramenti. Apri adunque l’orecchio del cuore, mentre fissi l’occhio alla diuota imagine, ò leggi questi fogli. 6 Heb. 9:14: quanto magis sanguis Christi qui per Spiritum Sanctum semet ipsum obtulit inmaculatum Deo emundabit conscientiam vestram ab operibus mortuis ad serviendum Deo viventi; (Douay: How much more shall the blood of Christ, who by the Holy Ghost offered himself unspotted unto God, cleanse our conscience from dead works, to serve the living God?)

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hebr./9.14/ SANGVIS CHRISTI, QVI SEMETIPSVM OBTVLIT IMMACVLATVM DEO, EMVNDABIT CONSCIENTIAM NOSTRÃ (The blood of Christ, who offered himself without spot to God, will purge our conscience) S. M. Magd./de Pazzis uit./p. 2. C. 6/ Vi offerisco il sangue dell’umanato Verbo, ò Padre Eterno: e se manca cosa alcuna, l’offerisco a voi, o Maria, accioche lo presentiate all’aeterna Trinita. (I offer to you, eternal Father, the blood of the incarnate word; and if anything is wanting I offer it to you, Mary, that you may present it to the eternal Trinity.) Eq.s Io. Lauren. Bernini inuen.

Franciscus Spier Sculp.

The general composition, conceived as a cloud-borne vision with the Virgin kneeling as advocate before the Crucifixion, follows the traditional mode of intercessory illustrations of the Ars moriendi, of which one of the primary injunctions was that the believer preparing for a ‘good death’ should contemplate ‘holy images, especially the Crucified Christ and the Virgin’ (Fig. 3).7 In such intercessory images, however, the Virgin normally alludes to her breast, since it is as his mother that she appeals to her son, who cannot refuse her request, while Christ alludes to his chest wound, since it is as sacrificial son that he transmits her appeal to God the father. None of these features is present in Bernini’s composition, in which, moreover, the vision is conceived as appearing not within the picture to the moribund on his deathbed, but through the picture to the viewer. It is clear that while retaining essential elements of the Ars moriendi imagery, Bernini departed radically from the medieval tradition, which had focused on what might be called the external mechanism of intercession. Bernini focuses instead on the inner, sacramental medium of redemption, that is, the

For the passage from Part II, Chapter 6, of the biography by Vincenzo Puccini, see n. 26 below. 7 On the stained glass window at Wettingen, dated 1590, see Anderes and Hoegger 1989, 258 f.

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Eucharist itself, corresponding to the mottoes inscribed below, and to the title of Father Marchese’s book in which they are explained. Bernini’s composition incorporates three fundamental innovations that together express the essential conception embedded in these texts: the Eucharist as a reciprocal offering to and by the sinner, and the only means by which universal redemption may be achieved. The Ocean From the earliest Christian times metaphors expressing the generosity and ubiquity of the blood of Christ had frequently been cast in liquid terms. Father Marchese devotes a lengthy passage to expressing the universal efficacy of the Eucharist, through the metaphor of the Blood of Christ as an infinite sea that covers the world. He relates the concept to that of the Blood as a fountain and as a river, and cites a variety of sources, including the prophets Job (38: 11, ‘and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?’) and Micah (7: 19, ‘and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea’), St. John Chrysostom (Hom. 41 in Ioann., ‘This Blood, poured out in abundance, has washed the whole world clean’), and Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi, who described the era of grace, in which the Incarnate Word sent the Blood of Christ into this small world, as the second flood, following that of Noah.8 Such metaphors might also be illustrated, as in Botticelli’s famous Eucharistic depiction of the Crucifixion, where the blood becomes the river of baptism (Fig. 4).9 But Marchese’s own explicit formulation and Bernini’s portrayal of the blood cascading to form a limitless ocean, while indebted to these antecedents, were unprecedented.10 Blood and Water The motivation is found in the second innovation that concerns us here: Christ’s chest wound expresses two streams of liquid, instead of the usual one (see Fig. 2). This motif expressly illustrates a detail of Christ’s death that is recounted exclusively in the gospel of St. John. John tells of the Roman The texts referenced by Marchese are cited in full in Lavin 1972, 167 n. 26. The composition by Botticelli, to which Vasari gave the title ‘Triumph of the Faith’, is interesting in our context because the liquid descends from the cross to form a cleansing river of baptism. 10 Pace Beltramme 1994. 8 9

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soldier who, after Christ had given up the ghost, pierced the savior’s side, whereupon blood and water suddenly poured forth.11 Since Christ was already dead, the body should not have bled at all. John recognized the double wonder — the body did bleed, and not only blood but water, as well — and he took pains to record that he was himself eye witness to the miracle: After this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, saith, I thirst. ... When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost. ... But one of the soldiers with a spear opened his side, and immediately there came out blood and water. And he that saw it, hath given testimony, and his testimony is true. And he knoweth that he saith true; that you also may believe. For these things were done, that the scripture should be fulfilled. (John 19:28, 30, 34–36).12 The lance wound was thus quite distinct from those inflicted by the cruWithout considering the significance of the motif, Francesco Petrucci has made the important observation (in Petrucci 2001, 81–4, and in Tapié, 2003, cat. no 25) that the painted version of the Sangue di Cristo in a private collection in Genoa actually shows the spouts as blood and water separately, unlike other painted replicas in which they are both red (Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999, Figs. 223, 226). Petrucci argues cogently that this detail favors the Genoa picture, which measures 99 ⫻ 70 cm., as the ‘large’ original Bernini kept beside his bed, while the others are copies after the engraving. In the Eucharist itself, of course, the wine and water are mixed, and interesting in this context is a passage in Domenico’s description of the composition, quoting the artist: ‘. . . (Bernini) said, ‘in this Sea are drowned his sins, which cannot be found by Divine justice except amongst the Blood of Jesus Christ, in the tints of which they will either have changed color or by its merits obtained mercy’.’ (Et In questo Mare, egli diceva, ritrovarsi affogati i suoi peccati, che non altrimente dalla Divina Giustitia rinvenir si potevano, che frà il Sangue di Giesù Christo, di cui tinti ò haverebbono mutato colore, ò per merito di esso ottenuta mercede (Bernini 1713, 170). 12 28 postea sciens Iesus quia iam omnia consummata sunt ut consummaretur scriptura dicit sitio ... 30 cum ergo accepisset Iesus acetum dixit consummatum est et inclinato capite tradidit spiritum ... 11

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cifixion itself: it revealed Jesus’s true nature and gave proof that his death assured the realization of the divine plan — that the scripture should be fulfilled. From the earliest Christian times the lance wound became the prototype for the mixture of water and wine in the Eucharist. The dual constituents were also taken to signify the beginning and the end of the sacraments, the water identified with baptism and the Church, the blood with the Eucharist and Christ. ‘St. Cyril and Chrysostom say, that the water signifies baptism, which is the first beginning of the Church and the other sacraments, and the blood represents the Eucharist, which is the end and completion of the sacraments, to which they all refer as to their beginning and their end.’ Particularly important was the idea that with the lance wound the Old Law was succeeded by the New and God’s entire plan for salvation was actuated. And for the Fathers of the Church the effusion of blood and water signified that ‘from the death and side of Christ as a second Adam sleeping on the cross, the Church was formed as Eve the spouse of Christ’.13 The chest wound is thus the source of the Eucharist par excellence, and this explains why the ocean is formed by blood falling from only three of Christ’s wounds, those of the hands and feet. The combination of blood and water was an important factor in the association of the Eucharist with salvific liquids generally, a notable instance in our context being Rupert of Deutz’s punning reference to the Red Sea, in his comment on the Good Friday liturgy in his treatise on the Divine Office. Explaining why neither blood nor water alone but both came from the side wound, and why the 34 sed unus militum lancea latus eius aperuit et continuo exivit sanguis et aqua 35 et qui vidit testimonium perhibuit et verum est eius testimonium et ille scit quia vera dicit ut et vos credatis 36 facta sunt enim haec ut scriptura impleatur os non comminuetis ex eo. 13 . . . ut significaretur ex morte et latere Chrisiti, quasi secondi Adae dormientis in cruce, Ecclesiam quasi Evam Christi sponsam formatam esse . . . ut ait Cyrillus e Chrysostomus, acqua significet baptismum, qui est principium Ecclesiae et Sacramentorum caeterorum; sanguis vero repraesentet Eucharistiam, quae omnium Sacramentorum finis est et complementim, ad quae duo quasi ad principium et finem, caetera Sacramenta omnia deducuntur. (Lapide 1866–8, XVI, 621; Lapide 1876–1908, VI, 249, 248). The early interpretations are conveniently summarized by Malatesta 1977, and Meehan 1985. On the earliest crucifixions depicting the theme, see Kartsonis 1994, esp. 166 f. See also the important work by Heer 1966, who relates the Johannine tradition to the devotion of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, followed by O’Donnell, 1992. The first part of John 19:34, is quoted in the banderole in the upper part of the crossing pier niche with Berninis’s sculpture of St. Longinus, in connection with which the text was discussed in a paper by Preimesberger, 1989.

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two were merged, Rupert specifically likened their association in the Eucharist to the opening and closing of the Red Sea in the salvation of the Elect from their diabolic pursuer: Through its merger, I say, with the life-giving, precious blood, the water received this meaning, that it really appears as similar to the Red Sea, through which the saved people traversed, while Pharaoh with his chariots and horsemen were drowned in it. For those who flee the Egyptians of this world, are transported cleansed into the true Promised Land, and completely swallows up the devil who pursues them, with his ephemeral deeds and splendors.14 While the blood and water were frequently shown as two adjacent streams, I have found no precedent for Bernini’s absolutely distinct, gushing spouts, one to each hand of the Virgin — whose two breasts, it should be recalled, were traditionally understood as the Old and New Testaments, conjoined in her body.15 The Virgin as Advocate, Church, and Priest Equally important is the fact that the streams from the chest wound descend not to the ocean but to Mary’s hands, where they disappear. The role of the Virgin is the third great innovation in Bernini’s composition. Mary is shown kneeling, arms and hands extended, palms turned up to receive the effusions which, commingled within her body to become the Eucharist, she offers up to the Trinity — exactly the process that takes place at every Mass.16 This quite unprecedented enactment entailed the amalgamation of Cur nec solus sanguinis nec sola aqua de latere eius exierit, vel cur aqua sanguini sociata sit. ... Societate, inquam, vivifici pretiosi sanguinis hoc accepit, ut comparetur vera similitudine Rubro mari, per quod salvatus populus transivit Pharaone submerso cum curribus et equitibus suis. Nam fugientes Aegyptum huius saeculi mundatos in veram repromissionis terram transmittit diabolumque persequentem penitus absorbet cum praeteritis actibus et pompis suis. (Rupert of Deutz 1999, III, 812–4) 15 I have tried to show that his tradition underlay the particular relation between the Virgin and the Christ child in Michelangelo’s Medici Madonna (Lavin 2001). 16 All contemporary sources, including Bernini himself, identify the figure as the Virgin Mary (as duly noted by Bindi in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999, 445); indeed, 14

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three related but heretofore distinct interpretations of the Virgin’s role in the work of salvation. As Mother of Christ Mary is the intercessor par excellence with her son, who can refuse her no request for mercy. In Rome this theme was associated above all with a particular class of images in which the Virgin lifts both hands upward in a gesture that suggests both an appeal and an offering to heaven. The type was familiar from the classic Byzantine Crucifixion composition in which the Virgin standing beneath the cross gestures in this way; isolated as a famous icon known as the Madonna Avvocata, any Roman viewer would recognize the allusion in Bernini’s figure (Fig. 5).17 But never before Bernini had the Virgin’s role, effected through the up-turned palms of her hands, been specifically Eucharistic in this context. In response to Maria Maddelena de’Pazzi’s invocation, the Virgin has become not simply a mother and advocate but the unique conduit for humanity’s unique hope of salvation. Upon her assumption, Mary’s role as Christ’s bride brought her the epithet Regina Coeli, and ultimately her identification with the institutional church, Ecclesia. The common epithet Mater Ecclesia alludes equally to the Church and to the Virgin as spouse, mother, and Queen.18 It was precisely in this capacity that the Virgin was identified with the Church as an institution and portrayed as participant in depictions of the Crucifixion in which the post-mortem issue of blood and water was explicitly identified as the Eucharist. A female personification of Ecclesia wearing a crown, was often shown in what might be called ecclesiological depictions of the Crucifixion collecting the effusions from the side wound in an emblematic chalice.19 In some cases, the instituonly she can perform the task given to her by Maria Maddalena’s invocation and in Bernini’s composition. The figure no doubt also alludes to the Virgin’s two namesakes: Mary Magdalene, who is often shown as the penitent kneeling at the foot of the cross (as noted by Brauer and Wittkower 1931, 168); and Maria Maddalena de’Pazzi herself. A member of the Discalzed Carmelites, the order dedicated to the Virgin, the saint was famed for her frequent ecstatic visions like the one from which the caption of the Sangue di Cristo was quoted. The relevance of Maria Maddalena is amply discussed by Beltramme 1994, who follows Blunt 1978, in actually identifying the figure as the Florentine mystic. 17 Marienlexikon 1988–94, I, 41; II, 549–59. The icon and the great procession in which it had figured for centuries were part of the backround for Bernini’s projects for the tribune of S. Maria Maggiore and a hospice for the poor at the Lateran palace; see n. below and n. 43. As has been noted by Cardile 1984, 202, 208 nn. 50, 50, the gesture is related to the manis expansis of the Offertory of the Mass. 18 Marienlexikon 1988–94, II, 312–4. 19 The relationship between these images and the blood and water was noted by Mâle 1984, 193 f. (Tedaldi 1996, 90, and Bindi in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999,

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tional nature of the sacrament is emphasized, as when Ecclesia, on the dexter side of the cross, is contrasted with Synagoga on the sinister side.20 In some cases, the Virgin and Ecclesia might appear together, thus identifying Mary as compassionate intercessor with the Church as the administrator of the sacraments (Fig. 6). In one notable instance Ecclesia gathers the blood and water in her chalice, while a personification of Charity inflicts the lance wound (Fig. 7). The third manifestation of the Virgin associates her with the actual function of the Church in the administration of the sacraments, that is, Maria Sacerdos, the Virgin as Priest.21 The concept of Mary-Ecclesia as equivalent to the consecrated male, priest, received its first, explicit formulation by the eighth century from the Pseudo-Epiphanius: ‘equivalent to the priest and indeed the altar, she gives Christ our celestial bread in remission of our sins’.22 The principle is illustrated as a dramatic vision in a Flemish engraving of the early seventeenth century that Bernini must have known. Mary appears in this sacerdotal capacity, cloud-borne, kneeling before an altar and offering the chalice and wafer to God the Father and the Holy Spirit above (Fig. 8).23 The subtle relationship between the intercessory Virgin and the priesthood with respect to the Eucharist is formulated in the inscription that accompanies the print: ‘Mary as intermediary offers to God the Father what has been consecrated by the priests, that is, the virgin 445, refer to the Ecclesia type but not its relevance to the Joannine theme.) Blood and water issue from the side wound in the Crucifixion in Duccio’s triptych at Hampton Court (Shearman 1983, 96); the ecclesiological reference is here expressed through the extraordinary combination of the Crucifixion with Mariological scenes in the wings. The blood and water motif also refers to the institutional sacrament in Bellini’s Blood of the Redeemer, National Gallery, London; the double stream from the chest wound, to which Christ gestures, is captured in a chalice by a kneeling angel (Goffen 1989, ill. 57). 20 See the examples illustrated in Seiferth 1970. 21 On this delicate and vexed subject see Marienlexikon 1988–94, V, 314–8. In 1916 the Holy Office forbade the use of images of Mary portraying her as a priest, and in 1927 they forbade the devotion to Mary Virgin Priest altogether. 22 sacerdos pariter et altar quidem ferens, dedit nobis coelestem panem Christum in remissionem peccatorem (cited after Marracci 1710, 607). 23 Missaglia, et al., 1954, Fig. 102, p. 111. I have been unable to trace this MadonnaPriestess image. The inscription below (faintly legible in the bad reproduction from an unspecified source used for Missaglia’s book, preserved in an album in Ss. Andrea e Claudio dei Borgognoni in Rome) specifies that Mary offers to God her son’s flesh and blood, consecrated by the priests: MARIA TANQUAM MEDIATRIX OFFERT DEO PATRI QUOD CONSECRATUM EST A SACERDOTIB’ SCILICET [C]ARNEM VIRGINEAM ET SANGUINEM PRETIOSUM FILI EIUS DOMINI NOSTRI IESU CHRISTI.

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1. Bernini, Sangue di Cristo, engraving by F. Spierre, 473 x 290mm, from Marchese 1670. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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2. Detail of 1, Virgin receiving and offering Eucharistic Blood and Water.

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3. The Death of Moriens and the Intercession with the Trinity of Christ and the Virgin, stained-glass votive window. Wettingen, Switzerland.

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4. Sandro Botticelli, Triumph of the Faith, woodcut.

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5. Madonna avvocata (“Madonna di S. Sisto”) . S. Maria del Rosario, Rome (photo: ICCD E55673).

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6. Crucifixion, showing the Virgin as advocate and Ecclesia with the Chalice receiving the Water and Blood of the Sacrament, reliquary plaque, Musée de Cluny, Paris (Huchard, et al., 1996, 28, 43).

8. Mary as Priest offering the Chalice of the Sacrament to the Trinity, engraving. Brussels, Jumpers Collection (after Missaglia, et al., 1954, 102, p. 111).

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7. Christ Crucified by the Virtues, Ecclesia with the Chalice receiving Water and Blood, Psalter, MS 54, fol. 15v. Musée Municipal, Besançon (Haussherr, ed., 1977–9, II, 514).

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9. Caravaggio, Madonna del Rosario. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

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10. Bernini, The Last Supper, detail. Santa Maria della Vittoria, Rome.

11. Claude Mellan, bust of the Savior, engraving.

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12. Bernini, Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes, engraving by François Spierre.

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13. Giovanni Battista Gaulli, il Baciccio, Christ and the Samaritan Woman. Galleria Spada, Rome.

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14. Bernini, bust of the Savior. San Sebastiano fuori le mura, Rome.

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15. Relief of the Savior. Palazzo di Montecitorio, Rome.

16. Giovanni Battista Gaulli, il Baciccio, Salvator Mundi. Ducrot Collection, Rome.

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flesh and blood of her son, our Lord Jesus Christ.’ In this context it is significant that the closest antecedent I have found for the Virgin’s gesture is that of the priest, St. Dominic, in Caravaggio’s Madonna of the Rosary, where it carries essentially the same meaning: Dominic receives the Rosary from the Virgin, and offers her the devotion of the faithful (Fig. 9). Bernini’s Virgin fuses all these characters in a single persona and the symbolic chalice is replaced by Mary-Ecclesia’s own hands, bathed in the humble and charitable sacrifice she shares as compassionate co-redemptress. Bernini’s portrayal of the Madonna in this role was a direct visualization of the most famous of all accounts of the Virgin’s role as Eucharistic conduit in the process of salvation, Bernard of Clairvaux’s sermon on the Nativity of the Virgin, called De aquaeductu. The title itself makes the point, which is defined explicitly in the final paragraph, to which Marchese himself (p. 82) alludes: But, my brother, whatsoever thou hast a mind to offer to the Lord be sure to entrust it to Mary, so that thy gift shall return to the Giver of all grace through the same channel by which thou didst obtain it. God of course had the power, if He so pleased, to communicate His grace without the interposition of this Aqueduct. But he wanted to provide us with a needful intermediary. For perhaps ‘thy hands are full of blood’ (Is. 1:15) or dirtied with bribes: perhaps thou hast not like the Prophet ‘shaken them free from all gifts’ (Is. 33:15). Consequently, unless thou wouldst have thy gift rejected, be careful to commit to Mary the little thou desirest to offer, that the Lord may receive it through her hands, so dear to Him and most ‘worthy of all acceptation’ (1 Tim. 1:15). For Mary’s hands are the very whitest of lilies; and assuredly the Divine Lover of lilies will never complain of anything presented by His Mother’s hands that is not found among the lilies. Amen.24 24 Bernard of Clairvaux 1950, III, 305. Caeterum quidquid illud est, quod offerre paras, Mariae commendare memento, ut eodem alveo ad largitorem gratiae gratia redeat quo influxit.Neque enim impotens erat Deus, et sine hoc aquaeductu infundere gratiam, prout vellet; sed tibi vehiculum voluit providere. Forte enim manus tuae, aut sanguine plenae, aut infectae muneribus, quod non eas ab omni munere excussisti. Ideoque [alias, itaque] modicum istud quod offerre desideras, gratissimis illis et omni acceptione dignissimis Mariae manibus offerendum tradere cura, si non vis sustinere repulsam. Nimirum candidissima quaedam lilia sunt: nec causabitur ille liliorum amator inter lilia non inventum, quidquid illud sit quod inter Mariae manus invenerit. Amen. (Migne 1844–47, CLXXXIII, col. 448.)

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The underlying principle was expressed in St. Bonaventure’s treatise on the Incarnate Word, in terms that seem perfectly illustrated in the Sangue di Cristo: . . . one cannot reach the benefaction of this sacrament without the protection of the Virgin. And for this reason, as this holy body has been given to us through her, so it must be also be offered by her hands and received by her hands as the Sacrament, which she procured for us and which was born from her breast.25 In the Sangue di Cristo, Maria Maddalena’s first appeal is to the father, then to the Virgin, and ultimately to the Trinity. Perhaps the most profound insight into the ultimate meaning of Bernini’s image and Marchese’s text is hidden, that is, to be found the conspicuous omission of the Holy Spirit from the Trinity evoked by the saint. The omission is certainly not inadvertent since the Holy Spirit is a central step in the heavenly ladder of the saint’s offering as reported by her biographer, Vincenzo Puccini, referenced in the citation itself, by the saint herself in her Colloqui, and by Marchese himself in the text of his book.26 This is indeed the Hidden God that inhabits every altar — many of which are actually inscribed with Isaiah’s famous phrase, Vere tu es Deus absconditus, Deus Israel salvator (Truly, thou art a God who hidest thyself, O God of Israel, the Savior; Is. 45.15) — See also Bernard’s sermon on the Vigil of the Nativity of Christ: Cum ergo in prima sit remedium, in secunda adjutorium est; quia nihil nos Deus habere voluit, quod per Mariae manus non transiret. (For God did not wish for us to have anything that had not passed through the hands of Mary.) Migne 1844–47, CLXXXIII, col. 100 25 Bonaventure 1934–64, V, 316: . . . quia non nisi patrocinio beatae Mariae Virginis ad virtutem huius Sacramenti pervenitur. Et propeter hoc, sicut per eam hoc sacratissimum corpus nobis datum est, ita per manus eius debet offerri et per manus eius accipi sub Sacramento quod nobis praestitum est et natum ex eius utero. (De verbo incarnato, Sermo VI, par. 20, Bonaventure 1934–64, V, 316, cited by Crocetti 2001, 125.) 26 T’offerisco adunque à te, ò Verbo; lo presento à te Spirito Santo, e se cosa alcuna ci manca, l’offerisco à te, o Maria, cho lo presenti all’eterna Trinità, per supplimêto di tutti i difetti, che fossero nell’anima mia, e ancora per sodisfazioijne di tutte la colpe,che fossero nel copro mio. (Puccini 1609, 241 f.) Io t’offero il’Sangue del’tuo humanato Verbo, dico l’offero a te Padre, l’offero a te Verbo, e l’offero a te Spirito Santo. Et se nulla ci mancassi, l’offero a te Maria, che l’offerisca all’eterna Trinità per supplimento di tutti e’ diffetti che fussino nell’anima mia, e ancora per soddisfatione di tutti e’difetto che fussino nel’corpo mio. (De’Pazzi, 1960, 20.)

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whose presence is effected by the sacrament of the Eucharist offered through the Church. The Bust of the Saviour A remarkable passage in Chantelou’s diary of Bernini’s visit to Paris in the summer of 1665 to redesign the Louvre for Louis XIV records a rare occasion of disagreement between Paul Fréart de Chantelou, the intelligent and cultivated connoisseur whom the king had appointed as Bernini’s translator and companion, and the artist, with respect to the merits of the great French engraver Claude Mellan (1598–1688).27 Having spent his early years in Rome (1624–36), where he had engraved Bernini’s designs for a 1631 edition of the poetry of Urban VIII, Mellan was then living in Paris.28 Bernini’s personal interest in Mellan, his exact contemporary, is evident from the wish he expressed one day as his Paris visit drew to a close, to repeat a meeting the two artists had had when he first arrived. There then ensued an exchange in which Bernini wholeheartedly defended Mellan against the stylistic criticisms of Chantelou, who perspicaciously assessed, in negative terms, the austere, minimalist, purely linear mode of rendering

Vi offerisco, ò Padre eterno, il Sangue dell’umanità del vostro Verbo; l’offerisco à voi stesso, ò Diuin Verbo; l’offerisco anco à voi, ò Spirito Santo; e se manca à me cosa alcuna, l’offerisco à voi, ò Maria; accioche, lo presentiate alla Santissima Trinità. (Marchese 1670, 83) Bernini’s Sangue di Cristo composition was by no means unprecedented in his respect. The Holy Spirit as such is not represented in Filippino Lippi’s Intercession of Christ and the Virgin in Munich (Lavin 1972, 165, Fig. 4), but is present by implication between the angel and Virgin of the Annunciation flanking the central presiding figure of God the Father; the Eucharist is alluded to in the body of Christ displayed in the predella below. Bernini also omitted the Holy spirit in his drawing of Christ and the Virgin appealing to God the Father, in Leipzig (Lavin 1972, 165, Fig. 3). 27 Three basic, recent works on Mellan: Préaud 1988 ; Préaud and Brejon de Lavergnée 1988; Ficacci 1989. Mellan was also an ambitious, if elusive painter, concerning which see Préaud and Brejon de Lavergnée 1988, 17–20, and Ficacci 1989, 353–71. On Mellan’s Saint Face, his famous pièce de resistance, I have contributed Lavin 2001b. 28 On Mellan’s beautiful renderings of Bernini’s designs, see the fine discussions by Ficacci 1989, 282–5, with excellent reproductions.

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form and luminosity that was Mellan’s great achievement, and which Bernini appreciated in full.29 On our way back he remarked to me that a certain engraver who had been to see him when he first arrived had never called again. I remembered that his name was Mellan. I said that he was not doing much at present; there were others better at his profession than he; I had never thought much of his work, for he was too preoccupied with a good line. He replied that he had seen some wonderful engraving by him, notably some of Signor Poussin’s works, of which he mentioned one of Eternal Wisdom.30 I told the Cavaliere that M. Poussin, like myself, considered his drawings poorly engraved, as he only tried to give a good line and never attempted to render light and shade nor the half-tones; this was all the easier as M. Poussin’s works were extraordinarily finished, considering how shaky his hand was; M. Mellan only produced a sort of shell with no half-tones or shadows for fear of hiding the outline. The Cavaliere said that he thought it fine and well engraved. I said there were many in France who engraved better. I said I admired the engravings of Marcantonio, who had copied painting with such skill; the paintings of Rubens were being well engraved at the moment. He asked me whether Chantelou 1985, 280 f. Nous en revenant, il m’a dit dans ton carrosse, qu’il n’avait point revu un certain graveur qui 1’etait venu voir dès le commencement. Je me suis souvenu que ce graveur est Melan. Je lui ai dit que présentement il travaille peu, y en ayant d’autres plus habiles dans cette profession, que sa gravure à moi ne m’avait jamais plu, qu’il ne songeait qu’à faire de beaux traits. Il m’a reparti que néanmoins il avait gravé merveilleusement bien, qu’il avait vu, entre autres de lui, deux ou trois pièces du signor Poussin qui lui semblaient admirables, principalement une Sapience éternelle. Je lui ai dit que M. Poussin, aussi bien que moi, avait trouvé ses dessins faiblement gravés, n’ayant songé qu’à ne faire qu’un trait à sa gravure, au lieu de penser à imiter les ombres et les lumières, et les demi-teintes, ce qui était fort aisé, pour ce que les dessins de M. Poussin étaient extraordinairement achevés, vu sa mauvaise main, qu’il n’avait donné a ces estampes que 1’écorce sans demi-teintes et sans ombres au degré qu’il eût fallu, et cela peur de corrompre ses beaux traits. Le Cavalier a reparti que cela lui avait semblé bien gravé et beau. J’ai reparti que nous avions à présent ici des gens qui gravaient beaucoup mieux; que j’estimais la gravure qui était celle de Marc-Antoine, lequel avait si bien imité la peinture; que de ce temps-ci les estampes d’après Rubens avaient étè bien gravées. Il m’a demandé s’il y avait quelqu’un ici qui gravait bien à l’eau-forte. Je lui ai dit que c’était une gravure réservée aux grands maîtres, qui quelquefois gravaient eux-mêmes leurs dessins; qu’Annibal Carrache en avait gravé quelques-uns, comme une Samaritaine et quelques Vierges. Il m’a dit qu’il en doutait fort. (Chantelou 1885, 221) 30 See Preaud and Brejon de Lavergnée 1988, 146f. no. 189, ill. p. 149. 29

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there was anyone competent at etching in this country. I said it was a form of engraving practiced only by the great masters who sometimes etched their own drawings. I knew Annibale Carracci had etched some of his works, among them the Samaritan and one or two of the Virgin. The Cavaliere said he doubted that. (October 10, 1665) Three days later, Bernini actually did pay a visit to Mellan’s house — a rare honor, like a visit from the king to Bernini himself.31 The authenticity and degree of Bernini’s appreciation of Mellan is attested in two other respects. After Mellan left Rome to return to Paris in 1636 Bernini chose another exceptionally gifted Frenchman, François Spierre, as the engraver of his designs for the Sangue di Cristo and the frontispieces of the publications the sermons and biblical commentaries of his close friend Giovanni Paolo Oliva, General of the Jesuit order and Apostolic Preacher (preacher to the pope).32 Bernini greatly admired Spierre precisely because, as Filippo Baldinucci reports, he was adept in following Mellan’s singular linear technique. He joined the circle of the Cavalier Bernini, from whom, because he was greatly esteemed, he received commissions for many works, which he would generally execute in a single cut, in the manner of M. Mellan of Paris . . . Bernini . . . had such a great conception of him that he was heard to say, as a qualified professional, that he had no equal in his time.33 Bernini’s admiration for Mellan was based on more than the engraver’s style and technical expertise, however. In the 1640’s Bernini had created a particular interpretation of the image of Christ at the Last Supper (Fig. 10):34 with locks flowing down to his shoulders, moustache and short, biOctobter 13, 1665; Chantelou 1985, 296, Chantelou 1885, 232. The frontispieces are discussed in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999, 415–18. 33 Si congiunse a quegli del partito del Cavaliere Bernini, dal quale, siccome fu assai stimato, così ricevè ordini di far molti lavori, i quali poi fu solito condurre per lo più ad una taglia sola, second lo stile di Monsù Melano di Parigi . . . Bernini . . . ebbe sì gran concetto dello Spierre, che fu udito dire da qualificato cavaliere, non averne quel suo tempo un altro eguale. (Baldinucci 1974–5, V, 561.) 34 For a perceptive survey of the typology of Christ in Bernini’s work, see Martinelli 1996, 181–231. 31 32

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furcated beard; wearing a tunic, with drapery thrown like a carapace over the left shoulder; gesturing with the right hand to bless the bread on the table before him, thus initiating the institution of the Eucharist, but also turning the palm against the Judas who recoils on the opposite side of the table at his left. However he may have become aware of it, Mellan seems to have appropriated Bernini’s concept for a work of his own, an engraved bust of Christ inscribed with the artist’s name, the date, 1652, and with a phrase from the Psalms adjuring the Lord’s saints to adore him: ADORATE DOMINVM OMNES SANCTI EIVS (O worship the LORD, all ye his saints) (Fig. 11).35 The inscription and both texts to which it alludes, enjoin to the observer to adore Christ as do his saints, giving the image a specific eschatological implication that impels the observer from this world toward the next. The head and shoulders are turned diagonal to the picture plane to create a powerful movement directed outward and upward toward the right, culminating in the gesture of the blessing hand. Bernini’s appreciation of Mellan takes on particular significance when it is realized that the engraver’s version of the blessing Christ transforms the purely ritual nature of the Last Supper relief into a passionate expression of compassionate suffering, and an invocation of divine intervention on behalf of those who risk perdition on the sinister side of the Saviour. Bernini’s understanding of this meaning in Mellan’s image explains in part his adaptation of its action for the figure of Christ in his portrayal of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes engraved by Spierre for Oliva’s commentaries on selected books of the bible, published in 1677 (Fig. 12).36 The key to the meaning of the scene is given in the words from John 6:12 inscribed on the stone (the Cathedra Petri of the Prince of the apostles) on which Christ sits. Having fully nourished the multitude, Jesus instructs his disciples: COLLIGITE [quae superaverunt] FRAGMENTA NE PEREANT (Gather up the fragments [that remain], that nothing be lost.). The subject is therefore not strictly the miracle of the multiplication, but Christ 35 Préaud 1988, 44, No. 17, ill. The text is an amalgam of verses from two psalms: Psalm 95:9 : ADORATE DOMINUM in decore sanctuarii paveat a facie eius omnis terra (O worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness: fear before him, all the earth.) and Psalm 30:24: diligite Dominum OMNES SANCTI EIUS fideles servat Dominus et retribuet his qui satis operantur superbiam. (O love the LORD, all ye his saints: for the LORD preserveth the faithful, and plentifully rewardeth the proud doer.) 36 Oliva 1677–79.

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directing the apostles to their mission to save the souls of those who have not eaten of the precious food, lest they perish. Oliva’s commentaries explaining the meaning of the selected biblical texts were exemplary fulfillments of that mission, as if in accord with Augustine’s comment on John’s account: Wherefore nothing is without meaning; everything is significant, but requires one that understands: for even this number of the people fed, signified the people that were under the law . . . And what were those fragments, but things which the people were not able to eat? We understand them to be certain matters of more hidden meaning, which the multitude are not able to take in. What remains then, but that those matters of more hidden meaning, which the multitude cannot take in, be entrusted to men who are fit to teach others also, just as were the apostles?37 It was no accident that Bernini’s favorite painter in his late years, Giovanni Battista Gaulli, il Baciccio, in turn adopted the Christ figure from the engraving for his rendering of Christ’s conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well (Fig. 13). Offering the woman the life-giving waters from his well that quench thirst forever, Christ points to the city of Samaria, where she takes his message and many if its people were converted. From the earliest Christian times the episode had been understood as referring to the Eucharist, and hence the meaning is essentially the same as that of the Feeding of the Five Thousand.38 John 4: 13–14, 16, 28–30, 39–42: 13 Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water 37 The relationship of the frontispiece to Oliva’s text was noted by Tedaldi in Pittura 1999, 141f. Augustine, On the Gospel of St. John, Treatise 24, 6 (Augustine 1888, 159). Nihil igitur vacat, omnia innuunt, sed intellectorem requirunt: nam et iste numerus pasti populi, populum significabat sub Lege constitutum. . . . Quae sunt autem illa fragmenta, nisi quae populus non potuit manducare? Intelliguntur ergo quaedam secretiora intelligentiae, quae multitudo non potest capere. Quid ergo restat, nisi ut secretiora intelligentiae, quae non potest capere multitudo, illis credantur qui idonei sunt et alios docere, sicut erant Apostoli? (Migne 1844–77, Vol. 35, col. 1595). 38 It is noteworthy that this commanding Christ-type appears again in Baciccio’s depiction of Christ in the House of Simon at Burghley House (as noted by Silvia Bruno in Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999, 440 f.). The Eucharistic implication is the

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shall thirst again: 14 But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life . . . 16 Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither . . . 28 The woman then left her waterpot, and went her way into the city, and saith to the men, 29 Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Christ? 30 Then they went out . . . 39 And many of the Samaritans of that city believed on him for the saying of the woman, which testified, He told me all that ever I did. 40 So when the Samaritans were come unto him, they besought him that he would tarry with them: and he abode there two days. 41 And many more believed because of his own word; 42 And said unto the woman, Now we believe, not because of thy saying: for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world. During these years Baciccio was hard at work on the massive fresco decoration of the Gesù, largely under the tutelage of Bernini and the patronage of Oliva. Everything we know about Bernini in general and about his preparations for death in particular suggest that he saw himself in exactly the same kind of missionary role as an artist that Oliva had as Jesuit preacher and scriptural exegete. Oliva himself said as much concerning Bernini’s theological concern and acumen: ‘discourse with the Cavaliere on spiritual matters was a professional challenge, like going to a thesis defense.’ 39 It seems clear that the image of the ‘other-directed’ Christ focused on the Eucharist became emblematic of Bernini’s sense of his mission, both private same. Christ gestures protectively to the Magdalene who anoints his foot, in explicit anticipation of her act of devotion at the Lamentation: And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her? she hath wrought a good work on me. . . . She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying. (Mark 14:6,8). This picture is in fact a pendant to Baciccio’s Three Maries at the Sepulcher in the Fitzwilliam Museum. See Brigstocke and Somerville 1995, 72 f.; Weston-Lewis, ed., 1998, 260 f. (where the Burghley House painting is reproduced in reverse). 39 E come che ei fù solito, molti, e molti anni prima di sua morte trattenersi spessissimo in continui discorsi con dotti, e singolari Religiosi, tanto s’infiammava in questi sentimenti, e tanto alto ascendeva la sottigliezza del suo ingegno, che ne stupivano quegli, come un’huomo, per altro dedito alle lettere, potesse molte volte non solo giungere alla penetrazione più intima di altissimi Misterii, mà motivarne dubbii, e renderne ragioni, come se sua vita con

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and public. And as such, it played an important role in the genesis of the third work, his very last, that Bernini created in pursuit of a ‘good death’ in the tradition of the Ars moriendi: a marble bust of the Savior, begun the year before his death in 1680 (Fig. 14). The original of this famous, quasi-iconic image, known from preparatory studies and many replicas and variants, was long lost. The biographers report that Bernini left the sculpture to his friend Queen Christina of Sweden, as a token of their mutual esteem. It was noted in Queen Christina’s palace by Nicodemus Tessin, Jr. on his visit to Rome in 1687–88. When Christina died in 1689 she left the bust to Pope Innocent XI Odescalchi (1676–89), and it is last recorded in a 1713 inventory of the Palazzo Odescalchi. The sculpture, including the Sicilian jasper base recorded in the inventory, recently came to light in the sacristy of the chapel of Pope Clement XI Albani (1700–21), in San Sebastiano fuori le mura.40 An astonishingly innovative work, the Savior is portrayed in the heroic manner of ancient, deific portrait busts, rounded at the bottom, hollowed at the back, and raised on a base. The body is shown waist length with both arms included, but with the drapery so arranged as to dissimulate the amputation of the torso and ‘hide’ the left hand.41 Christ’s body seems to continue beyond and within its physical limits. The massive figure was up-

dotta havesse nelle Scuole. Diceva il P. Gio. Paolo Oliva Generale della Compagnia di Giesù, che Nel discorrere col Cavaliere di cose spirituali gli faceva di mestiere di un’attenzione tale, come se andar dovesse ad una Conclusione. (Bernini 1713, 171.) (He was wont for many, many years before his death often to discourse at length with learned and singular priests; he became so inflamed with these ideas and the subtlety of his thought ascended so high, they were amazed how a man who was not even a scholar could often not only penetrate the loftiest mysteries, but also propose questions and provide answers concerning them, as if he had spent his life in the Schools. Father Giovanni Paolo Oliva, General of the Company of Jesus, said that ‘discourse with the Cavaliere on spiritual matters was a professional challenge, like going to a thesis defense’.) 40 Cucco 2001, 119, where the connection with Bernini was overlooked; Fagiolo dell’Arco 2002, 71, where it is described as ‘attributed’ to Bernini. 41 Bernini’s two-armed Christ may have a precedent in a bust of the Savior by Agnolo Poli, dated 1498, in the Museo Civico in Pistoia, which includes the arms in comparable gestures; but both arms are later restorations. (Morello and Gerhard Wolf, eds., 2000, 242 f.) Bernini had employed such dissimulating drapery before, in the busts of Francesco I d’Este and Louis XIV; there, however, fluttering swaths had served as ‘flying carpets’ to carry aloft the cuirassed busts of the monarchs, whereas here the magical drapery is also Christ’s own garment.

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lifted at the base on the extended hands of two angels of gilt wood, kneeling on a high podium, also of gilt wood. Overall, the monument stood some three meters high, a miraculous, superhuman vision presented to the viewer by a pair of divine messengers. Although profoundly indebted to Mellan’s image, Bernini’s Savior is more sublime than pathetic in conception. The torso is frontal and the right hand blesses, in the manner traditional with bust-length images of the Salvator Mundi, and the figure is comparatively exalted, even austere. On the other hand, there is no overt reference to the theme of world dominion, such as the globe surmounted by a cross frequently carried by the Salvator Mundi. Instead of Mellan’s uni-directional, diagonal thrust, Christ’s head is turned to the right and slightly upward, while the right arm reaches across the chest in a gesture that echoes Christ’s action in the narrative reference to the Eucharist in the Oliva engraving. The result is a powerful contrapposto that is, to my knowledge, unprecedented in an isolated image of the Savior. The thick, voluminous, enveloping drapery seems almost literally to materialize Bernini’s luminous metaphor of Christ’s humanity as the shielding garment that would assure the sinner’s pardon. Christ’s visage is a distant reflection of the inscrutable justice decreed by his father from on high. The beneficent, shielding gesture of the Savior’s right hand abhors the sinister threat from his lower left. At the center, half-hidden under the drapery, Christ’s left hand presses to his chest in allusion to the wound of Longinus, the wound of the Eucharist — the gesture he makes when he is shown appealing to his Father in depictions of intercession, and when he acts as executant of the divine will at the Last Judgment.42 It is clear that Bernini’s chiastic image is a deliberate conflation of the three traditionally distinct aspects of Christ’s nature, savior, intercessor, and judge. The ultimate principle of this triune salvific process is alluded to in the central gesture of the partially hidden left hand. Precisely analogous to the mysterious presence of the Holy Spirit, the central person in the Trinity, in the Sangue di Cristo, it refers to the quintessential paradox of the Deus

For an instance of the former see Filippino Lippi’s Intercession of Christ and the Virgin mentioned in n. 26 above; for the latter, Michelangelo’s Christ in the Last Judgment. 42

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absconditus whom those who have eyes to see may recognize in the sacrament to which every altar is devoted. Aftermath Although there is no trace of Bernini’s bust of the Savior after 1713 until it reappeared two years ago, it had a considerable legacy following his death.43 Beginning a decade later it became the model for the next generation of sculptors who in the 1690s were charged with executing a series of reliefs based on Bernini’s bust, which had been adopted as the insignium of a vast charitable enterprise instituted by the great reforming pope Innocent XII (Fig. 15). The Apostolic Hospice of the Invalid Poor was an extraordinary invention, intended to concentrate all the manifold philanthropies of Rome in one universal institution intended to gather together and provide for the physical and spiritual needs of all the city’s homeless poor. The reliefs of the Saviour were placed on the facades of various buildings throughout the city to indicate to one and all that income from those properties was ascribed to the hospital by the donors, among them the pope himself. Inaugurated in 1692, the project was supposed to become self-supporting over time, but despite much effort and large investments it proved financially unsustainable. There were also objections in principle to the idea of depriving the indigent of his freedom, depriving the mendicant of his God-given right to invoke charity, and depriving the donor of his opportunity to disperse his charity as he wished. The Hospice failed within a few years. It was, however, the direct forerunner and inspiration for still larger poorhouses and social welfare programs that have continued, often struggling with the same problems, to the present day. Bernini was linked in two ways to the Hospice enterprise, which had been promoted for decades by leading social reformers from the Oratorian order. The man who formulated the final project and became its administrator was none other than the artist’s beloved nephew, Father Francesco Marchese. Marchese had had a distinguished intellectual and ecclesiastical career since the time of the Sangue di Cristo, becoming Apostolic Preacher to Innocent XI in 1676. Profoundly aware of its significance and pertinence to the institution’s mission, Marchese was no doubt instrumental in the adoption of Bernini’s image as the Hospice’s emblem. The later institutions 43

For what follows here see Lavin 1998 and 2001b.

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inspired by the Hospice were still larger and more ambitious, but they were certainly not grander: Innocent XII designated to house the homeless no less than his own, then unoccupied, official residence as the bishop of Rome, the palace at the cathedral church of San Giovanni in Laterano. The choice was not only a demonstration of the pope’s social concerns, it was also providential, iconographically speaking. Images of Christ preserved at the Lateran, reputed to be authentic, miraculous records of the Savior’s features, were among the most renowned and venerated in all Christendom — so venerable that Bernini may have intended to evoke them in any case. But he was also linked to the hospice project directly at its very inception, having been charged as early as 1676 by Innocent XI to restore the Lateran palace to that purpose. For all these reasons, and considering the grandiose scale and triumphal presentation of the bust-monument, I suspect that Bernini from the outset had the Hospice in mind and the prospect of an eventual permanent installation in the Lateran palace — as the artist’s own ultimate act of charity, in imitation of Christ. Domenico Bernini reports that his father left to Innocent XI a painting by Baciccio representing Bernini’s sculpture of the Savior.44 A splendid, recently rediscovered painting by Baciccio is closely related to Bernini’s last work, although it is certainly not a copy of the sculpture (Fig. 16).45 The composition amply displays Baciccio’s remarkable talent and inventiveness within the framework established by his mentor,46 and is remarkable in our context for two reasons. With the head and the benedictional gesture of the right hand turned toward the right, Baciccio clearly reprises, in reverse, the uni-directional action and emotional intensity of the image by Mellan that had inspired Bernini. At the same time, Baciccio adopts and transposes the essential meaning of Bernini’s contrapposto. Christ looks up in an ecstatic appeal to his Father, as he often does expiring on the cross; with his left hand he becomes the Salvator Mundi displaying the cross as he mounts it

44 Bernini 1713,176: In Testamento lasciò al Papa un bellissimo Quadro di mano di Gio: Battista Gaulli rappresentante il Salvadore, sua ultima opera in Marmo. 45 On Baciccio’s Salvator Mundi, see the entry by Ceclia Grilli in Fagiolo dell’Arco, et al., eds., 1999, 208 f., no. 49 (‘last years of the seventeenth century’). 46 This is also the attitude of Tedaldi 1996, who goes so far as to reverse the relationship, and Petrucci in Fagiolo dell’Arco, et al., eds., 1999, 59–68.

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atop the globe. In adapting Bernini’s creation, Baciccio has, in effect created a new theme, in which Christ appears as both intercessor pleading with his Father on behalf of humanity, and as savior of the world by virtue of his sacrifice.

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Bibliography Anderes, Bernhard, and Peter Hoegger, Die Glasgemälde im Kloster Wettingen, Baden-Schweiz, 1989, 258 f. Augustine, St., Homilies . . ., in Philip Schaff, ed., A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, VII, New York 1888. Baldinucci, Filippo, Notizie dei professori del disegno da Cimabue in qua: per le quali si dimostra come, e per chi le belle arti di pittura, scultura, e architettura lasciata la rozzezza delle maniere greca, e gottica, si siano in questi secoli ridotte all’ antica loro perfezione, 7 Vols., Florence, 1974–5. _____ Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682, ed. Sergio Samek Ludovici, Milan, 1948. _____ The Life of Bernini, transl. Catherine Enggass, University Park, PA, 1966 Beltramme, Marcello, ‘L’escatologismo ermetico del Mare di Sangue berniniano’, Storia dell’arte, no. 81, 1994, 229–53. Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons for the Seasons & Principal Festivals of the Year, 3 Vols., Westminster, Md., 1950. Bernardini, Maria Grazia, and Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Regista del Barocco’, exhib. cat., Rome, 1999. Bernini, Domenico, Vita del Cav. Giovan. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713. Blunt, Anthony, ‘Gianlorenzo Bernini. Illusionism and Mysticism’, Art history, I, 1978, 67–89. Bonaventure, Saint, Opera theologica selecta , ed. Augustinus Sépinski, 5 Vols., Florence, 1934–1964. Brauer, Heinrich, and Rudolf Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931. Brigstocke, Hugh and John Somerville, Italian paintings from Burghley House, exhib. cat., Alexandria, VA, 1995. Cardile, P. Y., ‘Mary as Priest. Mary’s Sacerdotal Position in the Visual Arts’, Arte Cristiana, LXXII, 1984, 199–208. Carloni, Livia, ‘La cappella Cornaro in Santa Maria della Vittoria: nuove evidenze

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1084 e acquisisioni sulla ‘men cattiva opera’ del Bernini, in Claudio Strinati and Maria Grazia Bernardini, eds., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Regista del barocco. I restauri, Rome, 1999, 37–46. Chantelou, Paul Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. Ludovic Lalanne, Paris, 1885. _____ Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France, eds. Anthony Blunt and George C. Bauer, Princeton, 1985. Crocetti, Giuseppe, Maria e l’eucaristia nella chiesa, Bologna, 2001. Cucco, Giuseppe, ed., Papa Albani e le arti a Urbino e a Roma, 1700–1721, Venice, 2001. De’ Pazzi, Maria Maddalena, I colloqui, parte seconda, ed. Claudio Maria Catena, (Tutte le opere di Santa Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi dai manoscritti, III), Florence, 1960. Fagiolo dell’Arco, Maurizio, Berniniana. Novità sul regista del Barocco, Venice, 2002 _____ et al., eds., Giovan Battista Gaulli Il Baciccio. 1639–1709, exhib. cat., Milan, 1999. Ficacci, Luigi, Claude Mellan. Gli anni romani. Un incisore tra Vouet e Bernini, exhib. cat., Rome, 1989. Goffen, Rona, Giovanni Bellini, New Haven , 1989. Haussherr, Reiner, ed., Die Zeit der Staufer. Geschichte. Kunst. Kultur, exhib. cat., 5 Vols., Stuttgart, 1977. Heer, Josef, Der Durchbohrte: Johanneische Begründung der Herz-Jesu-Verehrung, Rome, 1966. Huchard, Viviane, et al., Le Musée national du Moyen Âge. Thermes de Cluny, Paris, 1996. Lapide, Cornelius a, Commentaria in scripturam sacram, 21 Vols., Paris, 1866–8 _____ The great commentary of Cornelius a Lapide, 8 Vols., London, 1876–1908 Lavin, Irving, ‘Bernini’s Death’, The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86. _____ ‘Afterthoughts on ‘Bernini’s Death’’, The Art Bulletin, LV, 1973, 429–36. _____ ‘On the Pedestal of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior’, The Art Bulletin, LX, 1978, 547. _____ Bernini e il salvatore. La ‘buona morte’ nella Roma del seicento, Rome, 1998 _____ ‘Bernini in Saint Peter’s: SINGULARIS IN SINGULIS, IN OMNIBUS UNICUS’, in Pinelli, ed., 2000a, Saggi, 177–236. _____ ‘Bernini’s Bust of the Savior and the Problem of the Homeless in Seventeenth-Century Rome’, Italian Quarterly, XXXVII, 2000b, 209–51. _____ ‘Michelangelo’s Medici Madonna. Spouse and Son’, in Marilyn Aronberg Lavin and Irving Lavin, The Liturgy of Love. Images from the Song of Songs in the Art of Cimabue, Michelangelo, and Rembrandt, Lawrence, KA, 2001, 49–84. _____ ‘Claude Mellan’s “Holy Face”: ostendatque etiam quae occultet’, to be published in Italian in the acts of a congress, L’immagine di Cristo da van Eyck a Bernini, held in Rome in March, 2001b.

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Malatesta, Edward, ‘Blood and Water from the Pierced Side of Christ (Jn 1934)’, in Pius-Ramon Tragan, ed., Segni e sacramenti nel Vangelo di Giovanni, Rome, 1977, 165–81. Mâle, Émile, Religious art in France. The Thirteenth century. A Study of Medieval Iconography and its Sources, Princeton, 1984. Marchese, Francesco, Unica speranza del peccatore che consiste nel sangue del N. S. Giesù Cristo spiegata con alcune verità, con le quali s’insegna all’anima un modo facile d’applicare a se il frutto del medesimo sangue. . . ., Rome, 1670. Marienlexikon, 6 Vols., St. Ottilien, 1988–94. Marracci, Ippolito, Polyanthea Mariana, Cologne, 1710. Martinelli, Valentino, ‘La ‘imago cristi’ secondo Benini. Costanti e varianti tipologiche e formali’,in Valentino Martinelli, ed., L’ultimo Bernini. 1665–1680. Nuovi argomenti, documenti e immagini, Rome, 1996, 181–232. Meehan, Sister Thomas More, John 19:32–35 and I John 5:6–8: A Study in the History of Interpretation, Ph. D. diss., Drew Univ., 1985. Migne, Jacques-Paul, ed., Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Latina, 221 Vols., Paris, 1844–77. Missaglia, Giuseppe, et al., La Madonna e l’eucharistia, Rome, 1954. Morello, Giovanni, and Gerhard Wolf, eds., Il volto di Cristo, exhib. cat., Milan, 2000. O’Donnell, Timothy Terrance, Heart of the Redeemer. An Apologia for the Contemporary and Perennial Value of the Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, San Francisco, 1992. Oliva, Giovanni Paolo, . . . In selecta scripturae loca ethicae commentationes . . ., 6 Vols., Lyon, 1677–79. Peccolo, Paola, ‘Gioelli e reliquie, argenti ed altari: la bottega degli orafi ed argentieri Vanni nella Roma dei papi tra Sisto V e Paolo V’, in Alberto Di Castro, et. al., eds., Marmorari e argentieri a Roma e nel lazio tra cinquecento e seicento. I committenti, I documenti, le opere, Rome, 1994, 159–222. Petrucci, Francesco, ‘L’opera pittorica di Bernini’, in Maria Grazia Bernardini, ed., Bernini a Montecitorio Ciclo di conferenze nel quarto centenario della nascita di Gian Lorenzo Bernini in collaborazione con la Soprintendenza per i Beni Artistici e Storici di Roma (ottobre-dicembre 1999), Rome, 2001, 59–94. Pittura barocca romana dal Cavalier d’Arpino a Fratel Pozzo. La collezione Fagiolo, exhib. cat., Milan, 1999. Preimesberger, Rudolf, ‘Bernini’s Statue des Longinus in St. Peter’, in Herbert Beck and Sabine Schulze, eds., Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, Berlin, 1989, 143–154. Préaud, Maxime, Claude Mellan, Paris, 1988 (Bibliothèque nationale, Département des estampes, Inventaire du fonds français, Graveurs du XVIIe siécle, Vol. 17). _____ and Barbara Brejon de Lavergnée, L’oeil d’or. Claude Mellan. 1598–1688,

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1086 exhib. cat., Paris, 1988. Puccini, Vincenzo, Vita della madre suor Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi, Florence, 1609. Rupert of Deutz, Liber de divinis officiis, ed. Hrabanus Haacke, 3 Vols., Freiburg, etc., 1999. Seiferth, Wolfgang S., Synagogue and Church in the Middle Ages: Two Symbols in Art and Literature, New York, 1970. Shearman, John K. G., The Early Italian Pictures in the Collection of Her Majesty the Queen, Cambridge and New York, 1983. Tapié, Alain, ed., Baroque vision jésuite. De Tintoret à Rubens, exhib. cat., Paris, 2003. Tedaldi, Gianluca, Il Baciccio e Bernini. Esame delle reciproche influenze sulla scorta della bibliografia critica. (Versione riveduta e corretta della tesi di specializzazione discussa nel 1996 presso la Facoltà di lettere dell’Università La Sapienza di Roma), unpub. thesis, 1996. Weston-Lewis, Aidan, ed., Effigies & Ecstasies. Roman Baroque Sculpture and Design in the Age of Bernini, exhib. cat., Edinburgh, 1998.

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The Rome of Alexander VII Bernini and the Reverse of the Medal*

I

FEEL I must first forewarn you that I will not today be speaking directly to the general theme of court art, at least not in the sense in which the notion of court art is generally conceived in the period called, in stylistic terms, the Age of the Baroque, in political terms the Age of Absolute Monarchy. That is, court art as quintessentially elite, magnificent, magniloquent, and extravagant in terms of form as well as cost. Instead, I want to talk about the ‘other side of the medal’, a phrase I have borrowed from the title of one of the chapters in Richard Krautheimer’s magisterial book, The Rome of Alexander VII 1655–1667, published in 1985. The phrase alludes, ironically, as we shall see, to the splendid series of portrait medals the pope regularly issued to advertise and commemorate on their reverses his many projects for embellishment of the city (Fig. 1). My referent derives from what might be called the inverse of the main point of Krautheimer’ s book, which was to demonstrate how Alexander made the city of Rome itself into a grandiose work of international court art, masking the reality of life in the city ‘on the other side of the medal’. By reconsidering two important texts — one long well-known, the other newly discovered and published by Krautheimer himself — I want to suggest that the reverse actually had another aspect, intimately related to the obverse but positive in effect, and with a no less important legacy for the future of Europe. * Except for a few references given in the notes, the material on which this essay is based will be found in the following works: Krautheimer 1985, Brauer and Wittkower 1931, Lavin 1997, Lavin 2000, Lavin 2005.

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The ancient metaphorical identification of Rome with the church of Saint Peter, as an institution and as a structure, began to acquire a new physical reality with the great entrepreneurial popes of the Renaissance. However, it can be said without too much exaggeration that the explicit, programmed materialisation of this metaphorical relationship culminated in the mid-seventeenth century when Fabio Chigi was crowned Pope Alexander VII. The scale and pervasiveness of his enterprises were so great that the eternal city acquired three new epithets, ‘Roma Moderna’ and ‘Roma Alexandrina’, coined by contemporaries, and ‘Roma barocca’ a term that was added in our own epoch (Fig. 2). The coincidence and significance of these three new visions, chronological, papal, and stylistic, constitute the fundamental theme of Krautheimer’s urban history of the city. In the seventeenth century the term ‘modern’ was generally understood in the Petrarcan sense of ‘post-medieval’ and as distinct from classical antiquity. And for Krautheimer the extravagant projects of embellishment undertaken by the Chigi pope epitomised the process of transforming the chaotic and squalid medieval remnant of the antique city into the splendid new capital of the Christian world. Alexander was certainly not the first pope to be obsessed with reconstruction, nor was he the first to consider Rome as a projection of his own person and his vocation. Sixtus V, who set an important example for Alexander, certainly had a comprehensive view of the city, but conceived in broadly symbolic terms still linked to medieval tradition: the main roads connecting the patriarchal basilicas to each other formed a star that reproduced the pope’s family crest and the star of Bethlehem (Fig. 3). Alexander, on the other hand, had a functional vision of the urban fabric in which the city and its monuments should respond to compelling needs both ideological and, at the same time, politically strategic. Through his ten chapters, Krautheimer leads the reader along a sequence that begins in the career and personality of Alexander VII, his training, his culture, his nonchalance in relation to money, and, above all, his love for architecture, his veritable ‘building mania’. Alexander was not a patron of the arts in the somewhat vulgar sense of the nouveaux riches Renaissance Maecenases, but scion of an illustrious family and a man of rare intelligence and vast culture. Krautheimer shows the pope personally following all the work, participating in the minute details of each project, and showing a passion that could have grown only from innate gifts and a cultivated taste. Krautheimer was able to focus on these characteristics because he had appreciated the importance of a private diary the pope maintained

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in his own hand, publishing the many passages that deal specifically with art and artists. Alexander surely took as a model the personal but much more formal memoires, Commentaries on the Memorable Things that affected his Times (Commentarii rerum memorabilium que temporibus suis contigerunt), of his Sienese compatriot, Pius II. The private quality of Alexander’s chronicle is truly extraordinary and, as far as I am aware, contains a record of intimate thoughts, feelings and activities expressed by no previous pope. Especially significant in our context are the astonishingly numerous entries that concern Gian Lorenzo Bernini as his constant companion, consulting and planning together in weekly, sometimes even more frequent meetings. This degree of personal relationship between pope and artist was also without precedent. Krautheimer emphasised that not only was the pontiff mad for architecture, but also that his madness involved the whole city. His plans for improvement were not only directed at the most obvious places and monuments of Rome, but also extended to the suburbs, the so-called ‘disabitato’, to use Krautheimer’s term, even if they were often populated by the poor, the homeless, and vagabond Gypsies. The purpose was not only to rationalise and embellish the chaotic web of medieval ‘streets’, but also to resolve the growing problems of traffic created by that ultramodern vehicle of transport, the horse-drawn carriage. The global aspect of this conception showed itself in many subtle ways, including the maps of Roma alessandrina, characterised by accuracy and unprecedented completeness, or the lists of commissions that were compiled and then reproduced in collections of illustrated engravings. These lists include the projects that were not carried out, giving an idea of what Alexander would have done if he had lived longer and been able to disperse more money, and testifying at the same time to the colossal amount of work that he did realise. There is perhaps no better indication of both the dedication and comprehensiveness of Alexander’s vision than the fact that he kept for study in his private chambers a model of the city. It is interesting to speculate where his miniature Rome fits in the history of city models; it was, I suppose, as complete and accurate as the maps of Alexander’s Rome, and it is the first model I can recall that was made for the purpose of urban planning. Evidently, the pope not only thought about the city in a modern, comprehensive way; he also had a modern, comprehensive way of representing it — a new kind of ‘three-dimensional’ urban consciousness, one might say. Krautheimer also considered Alexander’s ‘non-permanent’ architecture,

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that is, his planning of civic piazzas and public spaces of all types: markets, theatrical stages, ephemeral spectacles, gardens, streets and tree lined avenues, every element pertinent to the so-called ‘built environment’, to use the modem term for this comprehensive vision. In describing the pope’s attitude toward antique ruins, Krautheimer shows that, even if sometimes the classical works were treated cavalierly, the principle objective was to integrate them into the modern city to the point that even these could contribute ad maiorem gloriam Dei, in a manner that was deliberately theatrical—that is, on the model of contemporary scenography — with a view to impressing the distinguished visitor who arrived at the main entry to Rome, coming from the north, and progressed through the city to the Vatican. In the next to last chapter Krautheimer turns to ‘the other side of the medal’, describing the decrepit and unkempt aspects of Rome, the aspects that illustrious visitors were not supposed to see. Alexandrian Rome was beautiful for those who could appreciate it, but for many it was not a very nice place to live. If all this sounds rather Baroque, this was the intention of Krautheimer’s work. The objective appears dramatically in the last chapter when he presents the guiding principle and what he conceived to be the ‘political’ motivation underlying Alexander’s urban ambitions. The victories of the Protestants and the rise in the industrial and mercantile power of the North, coupled with the establishment and hegemony over European affairs of the great national states, especially France, Spain and the Hapsburgs, dramatically reduced the effective power of the Catholic church. Faced with this situation, the pope adopted a policy of ‘over-compensation’, aggrandising and embellishing the physical power of the Holy City to make up for its loss of political power. He sought to convince the world that the papacy remained a factor to be reckoned with by transforming Rome into a great modern city, or at least a semblance of one. Implicit in Krautheimer’s view is the fundamental paradox that the modern city was born, not from a fundamental transformation of mentality, but rather from a sort of deception. In art-historical terms, the effect is to ‘instrumentalise’ the Baroque, turning the style into an artifice of propaganda and representation, rather than the authentic expression of a new world vision. As the idea of modernity might suggest (note that I do not use the term ‘modernity’ in an ironic sense here), this concept of the Baroque as an artificial, bombastic and excessive reaction to the challenge thrown down by the Protestants — the Baroque as art of rhetoric, exhibitionism, and theatrics — coincides with the equal-

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ly traditional concept of seventeenth-century politics as the arrogant selfrepresentation of absolutism. Alexander’s plan of urban renewal was conceived ‘of the élite, by the élite, and for the élite’. Lorenzo Pizzati’s Critique I submit that there is another way of understanding Alexander’s great new urban development program, an ulterior motive not alternative but complementary and I would say almost subversive to the traditional view — which might explain why, although clearly defined and publicly announced, it has been virtually ignored in this context. After all, the popolo minuto of Rome represented a huge moral, economic and political force, and in this sense Rome was no different from all the other cities in Europe, where awareness of and attention to existing social problems had long been on the increase. In a measure, Krautheimer grasped these developments, at least to the extent that his chapter on the reverse of the medal was based on a document to which he was the first to call attention and whose revelatory value he fully appreciated. The document in question was what we would call a white paper, written between 1656 and 1659 by a certain Lorenzo Pizzati from Pontremoli, a minor administrative functionary otherwise quite without historical significance. Pizzati describes the execrable conditions under which day-to-day life in the city was lived, outlining the piteous state of the less privileged strata of the population, and proposing drastic and utopian measures for alleviating their misery. His call to reform is the first text I would like to submit as testimony in my appeal for reconsideration of the significance of modem Baroque Alexandrine Rome. Here are a few of Pizzati’ s often awkward and ungrammatical complaints and recommendations: ‘they should avoid evicting from small rooms, garrets and holes carved into walls, without due notice . . . cultivated and correctly behaved people’ (‘like the undersigned’). ‘No one should be obliged to sleep in damp or malodorous lodgings, in unsuitable company, on a butcher’s counter or nude on the floor of a church or shop. And no decent man, particularly if he has been presented at Court [aulicus], should be given a damp ground floor room, right next to the road, or in an absurd hole under exposed roof beams, full of cracks and overrun by spiders, mice, scorpions and lizards . . . All of this happens because buildings that have been

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begun are not finished, while there are houses, palaces and pious institutions that are left empty’.1 In order to help those who cannot find lodgings, Pizzati suggests that ‘. . . poor bishops and priests and other . . . educated men’ should be housed in the uninhabited rooms of the Oratorio and the Sapienza (Rome’s oratory and university). Even the Lateran palace ‘where your Holiness does not reside’, could be turned into a sort of residential hostel with a communal kitchen and pantry for ‘bishops and other needy and deserving people’; the uninhabited parts of the Quirinale and the Vatican buildings could be used in the same way. Consequently, these huge ‘factories’ [istae machinae] ‘would be better preserved, instead of gradually falling into ruin through disuse, and above all your Benevolence would procure better air and better living conditions for us’. Poor widows and abandoned wives could also be sheltered in disused palaces and church buildings, where they may find refuge from corruption; formally, hospices and hospitals for beggars and lodgings for penitent prostitutes should be set up and provided’. For Krautheimer, this document simply revealed a substratum of the reality which Alexander VII’s urban renewal program addressed as a sort of cosmetic panacea for the benefit of visiting dignitaries. The improvements, however, were far more than merely decorative, they were conceived also to have equally important practical and beneficial effects, no less for the lowly inhabitants than for the exalted visitors to the city. Bernini’s Piazza and Porticoes (Fig. 4) A primary testimonial to this fact, the second of the texts I would like to submit, is, by contrast, one of the most important documents in all of art history, well-known to anyone interested in Baroque Rome, but still not well enough appreciated in my view. I refer to the famous memorial concerning Alexander’s nascent project for the vast piazza in front of St. Peter’s, written by Bernini in 1657–59 — at the same time that Pizzati composed his diatribe. Here the artist defines his concept — or rather philosophy, or theology, or soAronberg Lavin 1994. Merz thinks that the report of the Genoese ambassador in Rome, 1663–69, “Il papa ha tutta Roma di legname in Camera distintissima e curiosissima, come quello che non ha maggior sfera che di abbilire la Città,” otherwise undocumented, is a metaphor rather than a real model (very unlikely, given the wording): Jörg Martin Merz, review of Habel, in Kunstchronik, March 2004, 139–41, esp. 141, col. b. 1

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ciology — of the form and substance of the largest, most difficult and most conspicuous of all Alexander VII’s undertakings. It was a crucial juncture in the process that brought to completion the new centrepiece of Rome and the church, begun a century and a half before. Bernini presented this brief in response to the many criticisms of his project for reasons of function, form and finances. I quote some passages relevant to my theme. ‘In the year 1655, when Cardinal Fabio Chigi was preoccupied with the succession to the Throne of Peter, the incessant prayers of the Church and his applause of the people gave birth to an Alexander. From this exalted position, the pious prince did not lose sight of the needs of the creatures subject to his greatness, nor was he attracted by that majesty, which being near to heaven and to the angels, distances him from the earth and men. Indeed, with a benevolent eye, he saw and contemplated the general miseries of the poor and determined to alleviate them, remembering that as Fabio Chigi he had illustrated by example, now, as Alexander he must kindle with actions, the prince being in this similar to the sun whose rays not only illuminate but also give warmth.2 He immediately applied to the ills opportune remedies, and com2 Bibl. Vat., Cod. Chig. H II 22, fols. 105–9v. The text was first published by Brauer and Wittkower 1931, 70 n. 1, who date the statement 1659–60, whereas Krautheimer 1985, 174, gives 1657–8. It is indicative of the attitude the present essay is intended to counterbalance Brauer and Wittkower’s omission of Bernini’s opening passage to this point, which articulates the underlying motive for the project. The opening sentences were included in a transcription published by Del Pesco 1988, 63–5, but without including other passages omitted by Brauer and Wittkower. What follows here is the complete text, with passages omitted by Brauer and Wittkower indicated by italics. ‘Preoccupava con il merito il Cardinal Fabio Chigi il Trono di Pietro, quando nell’anno 1655 le Orationi incessanti della Chiesa, e gl’applausi del Popolo partorirono un ‘ Alessandro. Dall ‘Altezza di questo posta non perdè di uista il pietosissimo Prencipe le Creature soggette alla sua grandezza, ne s’invaghì di quella Maestà, che per essere uicina al Cielo, et agli Angeli, lo rende lontano dalla Terra e dagli huomini,. mà con una occhiata benefica nell ‘istesso tempo e vidde e contemplò le Communi miserie e s’accinse à sollevarle, riccordevole che se come Fabio Chigi haueua illustrato coll’esempio, hora come Alessandro doueua riscaldare con le operationi, essendo il Prencipe per questo assimigliato ai sole che con i raggi non solamente illumina, mà riscalda. Applicò subito ai mali gl’opportuni remedii, e compassionando la povertà, che non solo priva d’impiego errava vagabonda per la Citta, ma languiva oppressa da una carestia, che quanta più affligeva il Popolo, tanto maggiormente doveva far spiccare la sua pietà, si volse a distribuire grandma quantità d’oro, benche la scarsezz dell’ erario fosse un’ argine opposto al torrente di questa devota munificenza. Portato il nostro liberalissimo Prencipe dalla piena Carità ben previdde, che l’aprire semplicemente a beneficia commune i Tesori era un fomentare l’otio, et un nudrire i vitii. Onde quell’istesso antidoto che s’applicava per la salute

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passionate with the poor who, not only wandered unemployed about the city like vagabonds, but languished in oppression by a famine which the more it afflicted the people the more it brought forth his pity, he turned to distributing large amounts of gold, although the scarcity of groin placed a levee against this torrent of pious munificence. poteva essere un tossico più potente per avvelenarla. Così dunque represse quella fiamma di Carità, non per estinguerla, ma acciò maggiormente à pro de suoi sudditi si dilatasse, quindi pensò dar principia ad una gran fabrica, mediante la quale s’eccitasse l’impiego nei vagabondi, e si sovvenisse con il giro di grossa somma di denaro aIle correnti necessità. Aggionse stimoli al pio desiderio di S. Santita l’inclinatione al fabricare, e l’intelligenza, che al pari di qualsivoglia Architetto teneva in questa professione, perchè sin da fanciullo era solita quelle hore, nelle quali per lo piu si nausea ogni fatica, impiegarle in questi, et in altri virtuosi trattenimenti, quasi sin d’allora Iddio che lo destinava all’ Imperio supremo l’andasse habilitando in tutte quelle attioni, che possono rendere un Prencipe glorioso. Determinata dunque per sollievo commune la fabrica, l’animo di N. Signore imbeuuto sin dalle fascie di pietà e totalmente disinteressato verso se stesso, non seppe rivolgersi ad innalzare sù le mine di molte habitationi magnifici Palazzi, ne à restringere in un Giardino solo le delitie hereditarie di più famiglie, ma risolse di principiare una mole, che ridondasse ad honore di Dio, e de suoi Santi, et à benefitio commune. Frà la fertilissima miniera di machine heroiche che Alessandro racchiudeva nella mente, la Pietà, e la magnificenza quasi che irresolute non sapevano scieglerne la più grande al fine giudicarono, che il fare un Portico alla Chiesa di S. Pietro fosse un’ opera conveniente alla Pietà d’un Pontefice, e propria alla grandezza d’un’ Alessandro. Queste à gara gli suggerivano l’impresa esser stata stimata così degna, che molti suoi Antecessori s’erano impegnati sino à fame i disegni, mà che atteriti dalla sua grandezza, e disperando di sopravivere all’ opera, che poteva assorbire più Pontificati ne trascurarono l’effettuatione, e con permissione particolare d’Iddio che haveva eletto un’ animo maggiore di quest’ opera per più gloriosamente terminarla. E perche i due fini principali delle fabriche sono l’utilità, e l’ornamento, nello stabilito disegno queste unitamente concorrevano. Imperciò che si vedeva situata la Chiesi di S. Pietro in una Piazza così grande esposta continuamente à i raggi del sole, e senza alcun riparo dall’impeto delle pioggie, siche quel Tempio dove per adorare il Sepolcro de’ SS. Apostoli concorrono schiere numerose de’ devoti era poco menD che abbandonato per esseme impratricabile l’accesso, oltre che le continue funtioni Pontificie si rendevano agl’ assistenti scommodissime per non haver le Carrozze, et i pedoni il necessario ricovero. Secondariamente pareva essere inconveniente, che stasse quasi che sepolto in una Piazza fuor d’ogni regola d’Architettura il Tempio di S. Pietro, che per la sua mole, e bellezza è stimato un prodigio dell’ arte, per la cui perfettione hanno stimato tanti poppoli vera ricchezza l’impouerire per adornarlo, non inuidiando all pietà della primitiua Chiesa in offerire al suo Sepolcro già che non gl’ era permisso à i suoi piedi inuolontario tributo i patrimonij. S’ aggiungeua che il formare un Portico, non solo apportava maggior bellezza e decoro al Tempio ma veniva a coprire molte imperfettioni di quello, essendo che la facciata che per se stessa è di forma quatta haverebbe spiccata, et in certo modo si sarebbe sollevata sopra se stessa.

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Our most liberal Prince, inclined to complete charity, saw clearly that simply to open the treasuries for the common good was a fomentation to idleness and a nourishment of vice. He was thus limited in his charity but also realised that by giving money to the needy, he was inadvertently encouraging them in idleness and vice. Whence the very antidote that was applied for health, could be a more powerful toxin to poison it. He thus suppressed the flame of charity, not to extinguish it, but to insure that it be spent to the greater benefit of his subjects, whence he thought to begin a great structure, through which the home-

Impressionato, e capacissimo di questa verità il Papa, commandò al Cavr Bernino Architetto suo, e della Chiesa di S. Pietro, che ne facesse il disegno. Considerò subito il Bernino la grandezza dell’ opera la vastità della Piazza, e la vicinanza della gran mole di S. Pietro, e per questo giudicò molto fallace chiudersi in una camera e restringere in un foglio una machina così grande, mà scielse la maggior Casa che fosse in da Piazza, et in grande vi segnò due archi con i suoi pilastri, cornice, et balaustrata, acciò S. Santita dalla grandezza del sito ne giudicasse la proportione ricordevole che il Buonarroti prima di principiare il Cornicione del Palazzo Farnese ne fece il modello di legno e messolo nell’ altezza del suo sito riusci così piccolo, che lo accrebbe quasi la metà, il che diede occasione à quel suo bellissimo detto che la lontananza era un’ inimico, con il quale bisogna va combattere a campo aperto. Fù stimato assai prudente il Bernini à far’ il disegno in grande nell’ istesso sito, dove doveva farsi l’opera, ma molto più avanti passò il giuditio di S. Santità, poiche conoscendo che non si può accertatamente dar giuditio dell’ altezza, se prima non si vede la sua longhezza, ordino all’ Architetto che sopra molti travi dritti facesse ricorrere una traversa tanto longa quanta fosse la longhezza del Portico non comportando ne il tempo ne la spesa il farme un’ intiero modello. Si portò N. Sigre a vedere questa dimostratione, e con ingegno pili che humano, non solamente determinò l’altezza dell’ opera, ma ne giudicò la forma, cosa che fece stupire l’istesso Architetto invecchiato in questa professione, imperciòche poco si fermò à vedere se voleva essete più bassa, ò più alta ma al solita di quell’ ingegni, che non hanno confine, e terminano con le stelle andò ad antivedere con una sola occhiata case grandi, e penetrò in un momenta tutte le difficoltà che più suggerire una gran lunghezza di tempo, et una perretta esperienza della professione, peròche seppe (che e quello che in queste materie importa il tutto) arrivate à vedere l’effetto che haverebbe ratio la fabrica prima che fosse perfettionata. Antivedde subito gl’ inconvenienti che s’incontravano in fare il Portico in forma quadrata, impercioche la sua altezza in quella forma haverebbe impedito al Popolo la veduta del Palazzo, et al Palazzo il prospetto della Piazza, accresciendosi l’inconveniente mercè che solendo il Papa dalle fenestre dare la Benedittione a’i Pellegrini, e processioni che l’anno Santo vengono per riceverla in questo modo non poteva benedirli se non in grandissima lontananza, oltre che si veniva ad impiccolire, e dividere la Piazza, lasciando fra il Palazzo, et il Portico un sito marta, quale facilmente riempito d’immonditie haverebbe trasmissi al Palazzo vapori assai dannosi.

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less would be encouraged to work, and large sums of money would be spent to meet current needs. His Holiness’s inclination to build added stimulus to his pious wishes, and the intelligence that he possessed in this profession beyond that of any architect, because from his childhood he was wont to spend the hours when most are sick with fatigue, he devoted to these and other virtuous diversions, almost as if even from then God who had destined him for the supreme empire, was giving him training in all those occupations that can render a prince glorious. * * * And because the two principal goals of building were understood to be usefulness and ornament, these aspects were both present within the design chosen. * * * He immediately foresaw the disadvantages of making the portico square, inasmuch as its height in this shape would have impeded the populace’s view of the palace, and palace’s view of the piazza; there was also the added disadvantage that the pope would not be able, as was his custom, to bestow his blessing from the windows to the pilgrims and the Holy Year processions that come to receive it, except from a very great distance. It would also reduce in size and divide the piazza, leaving a dead area between the palace and the portico that would easily fill up with rubbish, giving off unhealthy fumes in the direction of the Palace. Having therefore instantly foreseen the difficulties that would incur if the portico were built as a square, with formidable judgement His Havendo dunque in un’ istante antiveduto S. Santita gl’ inconvenienti che s’incorrevano nel far do Portico in forma quadra con giuditio più che humano risolse farlo in forma ovata. Certo chi non sapesse l’inconvenienti sopradetti pensarebbe che a questa forma ovata si fosse S. Santita solamente appresa in risguardo del bello, essendo questa la maraviglia, che seppe unire con il bello, il proprio, et il necessaria. Il bello essendo questa forma circolare più grata all’ occhio più perretta in se stessa, e più maravigliosa à farli massime con Architravi piani sopra colonne isolate. II proprio perche essendo la Chiesa di S. Pietro quasi matrice di tutte le altre doveva haver’ un Portico che per l’appunto dimostrasse di ricevere à braccia aperte maternamente i Cattolici per confermarli nella credenza, gl’ Hererici per riunirli alla Chiesa, e gl’ Infedeli per illuminarli alIa vera fede; et il necessaria essendosi superate le sopradette difficolta.

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Holiness resolved to make it oval. Certainly, whoever was not aware of the aforementioned disadvantages might suppose that His Holiness was concerned only with beauty, the marvel being that he was able to unite beauty with the proper and the necessary: beauty, in that this circular form is more pleasing to the eye, more perfect in itself, and more marvellous especially to make them with flat architraves set over freestanding columns; proper, because the church of St. Peter, being as it were the matrix of all others, ought to have a portico that expressly appears to receive maternally with open arms Catholics to confirm them in belief, heretics to reunite them with the Church, and unbelievers to illuminate them to the true faith; and necessary, in overcoming the aforesaid difficulties’. The projects submitted before and in competition with Bernini’s recalled the most conspicuous example of this kind of dual functionality on a colossal scale, Saint Mark’s Square in Venice: a rectilinear courtyard or piazza surrounded by porticos surmounted and flanked by accessible spaces that served practical uses. (Figs. 5, 6) Bernini’s project succeeded in uniting ecclesiastical and urban traditions in a different way, through a radically new architectural formula specific to Saint Peter’s: an oval colonnade, freestanding and surmounted by statues, without functional structures either above or behind (Fig. 7). Generally speaking, attention has been focused on Bernini’s text mainly from the point of view of the formal and iconographic elements of design, in particular the famous metaphor of the curving portico as expressing the universal embrace of Mother Church (Fig. 8). But two other factors were important and specific to Saint Peter’s, and to my mind interdependent: the special role of the Corpus Domini procession traditionally led by a bishop, in this case Christ’s own vicar on earth; and the more conspicuous manifestation of the personal relationship between the Pope and the people, that is, his communications and benedictions from his private apartments in the Vatican palace, which determined the height of the porticoes. These considerations motivated Alexander’s absolute conviction that the colonnades should not have any ‘practical’ function, except to provide shelter from bad weather during the Corpus Domini procession (Fig. 9), and to enhance the ‘private’ view of the pope at his window (Fig. 10). The porticos were thus purely representational, and what they represented was purely devotional, corresponding to a profound need whose practicality was not material but spiritual. The

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other factor that stands out is the project’s practical value in another sense, not as a source for financial benefit nor for the administrative use of the clergy, but rather as a work of charity aimed at benefiting poor and unemployed Roman citizens. The Piazza San Pietro project served as a cornerstone in the construction campaign that aimed at solving the same problems mentioned by Pizzati; the response, in an entirely modern spirit of social welfare, was to provide work for the poor as the most efficient use of public charity funds at the service of the public welfare. I believe that this last consideration, which we can call the social ‘responsibility’ of the project, could have directly affected the design of the colonnades. Besides the oval plan, perhaps the most conspicuous and frequently noted aspect falls completely within the stylistic paradox implicit in the subtitle of this series of lectures, ‘Baroque art and the classical ideal’. I refer to the exceptional simplicity and sobriety of the colonnade that has impressed many observers who expected from Bernini, indeed above all from Bernini, a more elaborate style, i.e., a more Baroque style. In fact, the most renowned and perspicacious of Bernini scholars, Rudolph Wittkower, said of the Piazza San Pietro: ‘No other Italian structure of the postRenaissance era shows an equally deep affinity with Greece’. The observation was more apt than Wittkower may have thought. In a very careful study, Daniela Del Pesco revealed the painstaking scholarly research carried out for the project in order to recreate the fabled porticos with three corridors, described in the sources, built by the ancient Greeks to organise and embellish their cities (Fig. 11). The Greek colonnades, however, flanked public thoroughfares and the central passage was open to the sky, while Bernini closed it with a long, curving barrel vault reminiscent of the corridors of the Colosseum (Figs. 12, 13). In fact, it can be said that in this sense Bernini seems to be more Greek than the Greeks, because his order, based on the Doric — the quintessentially Greek architectural mode — is missing its most distinctive features, the decorative frieze of metopes and triglyphs. Here too, Augusto Roca de Amiciis has noted the relationship with the lower order of the Colosseum (Fig. 14).3 Reference to the ancient amphitheatre was amply justified on formal grounds, given the oval shape of the Piazza. But the Colosseum was appropriate also from the ideological point of view, as a place sanctified by the martyrdom of a great many saints. These Christian gladiators were, so to speak, brought to life again at 3

Roca de Amicis 2000, 294 f.

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St. Peter’s by the legion of saintly statues placed on top of the portico, making up the triumphal guard of the piazza itself. It is obvious that the relatively low single storey and the simplicity of the porticos served by contrast (Bernini preferred the word ‘contrapposto’ to describe these visual subtleties), to augment the imposing stature and opulence of the Maderno façade (Fig. 15). The juxtaposition also reiterates the traditional increase in elaboration with the superimposition of the orders, most famously exemplified by the Colosseum. But finally, the visual severity and austerity of the porticos’ design also matches the solemnity of the Corpus Domini procession, an event that, from the beginning of his reign, Alexander had made far more solemn and rigorous than in earlier times: rejecting the Pope’s traditional sedan chair, he insisted on appearing on his knees and absolutely immobile for the entire, hours-long, exhausting devotion.(Fig. 16). Finally, the Doric order corresponded to the request — also on the part of Pizzati — for keeping the work simple in the interests of the public utility. Bernini used a sort of visual-architectural rhetoric of moral austerity, equivalent to and perhaps even inspired by the unadorned modus orandi the ancient rhetors called Attic.4 What was true of the Piazza San Pietro was true of Pope Alexander’s entire urban project which, it was rightly said, had almost emptied the papal coffers. The pope was not motivated simply by extravagant and spendthrift vanity on the pope’s part. The enterprises arose in part from a nascent form of what we would call today a program of public works for social welfare and rehabilitation (the cost of which — then, as frequently today — climbed far beyond what the economic system upon which it was based could bear). Consonant with this attitude is the fact that Alexander strongly opposed direct donations to the poor, not only because the practice encouraged dependence on charity but also because it was humiliating. He preferred instead to help those in need by offering them work, for which they would be paid and thus maintain their Christian dignity. In Alexander’s eyes, this concept of charity as an ennobling means to improvement, instead of simple ‘handouts’, was a genuine policy of 4 Indicative of Bernini’s attitude toward the Colosseum is his insistence that it be preserved intact, in a project to construct within it a temple honoring the martyrs, for the jubilee of 1675 (Di Macco 1971, 82–4, Hager 1973, 323–5). I suspect that this project may have been related to the one for the Lateran hospice, discussed below. The Colosseum was closely related to the Lateran, even to the extent of serving as a hospital under the confraternity of the Sanctum Sanctorum.

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government, thus defined by his friend and biographer, the Jesuit Sforza Pallavicino, who repeated almost word-for-word what Bernini said on the relationship between beauty and utility: ‘workers must be paid for their industry, so that by their labours the subsidies can contribute to civil life they can join in civil life . . . and not be used for the arrogant delight of capricious luxury and sterility. . . Indeed, the works ordered by the prince be like those of nature, the government of which is the idea of all governments, and which in clothing the hills and fields with trees and fruit unites ornament with usefulness’.5 I do not want to exaggerate. Alexander was the product of his time, not of ours. He had his defects, many of his projects were left unfinished, while many of those he did carry out failed to achieve their purposes. But just as the splendid projects of papal aggrandisement represent the ‘obverse’ of the medal, bearing fruit in the future of architecture and city planning, so the social ideas pertaining to the ‘reverse’ left their imprint on the succeeding period. In fact, Alexander was the first pope of the modern era to work seriously to end the long-standing tradition of nepotism; and toward the end of the century his effort inspired the great reformer Innocent XII (1691–1700), who completely abolished the practice. The Lateran Hospice Two decades later, the kinds of socio-ethical policy that motivated Alexander VII came to fruition in another great project of urban unification and consolidation in a different sphere, where Bernini was again deeply involved. This development, which created the basis for a new principle upon which a state-sponsored social welfare system would be built, began with the huomo piccolo himself, Lorenzo Pizzati. It is not known whether Alexander ever received or read Pizzati’s first appeal, but if nothing else, he was persistent. He submitted the project again at the beginning of the reign of Clement IX (1670–1676). The outcome of this attempt is unknown, but coincidentally, in 1670, the cause was taken up in an almost official capacity by the Order of the Oratorio, founded by St. Filippo Neri with the ‘. . . dovendosi stipendiar l’industria degli operarj, affinchè co’suoi lavori s’aggiunga alla vita civile que’sussidj . . . e non perchè s’impieghi per superba delizia della ricchezza capricciosa a sterilità . . .: anzi le opere ordinate dal principe conv[iene]enir, che siena come quelle della natura, il cui governo e l’idea di tutti i governi, la quale in vestire i colli ed i campi d’alberi e di frutti congiunge l’ornamento col giovamento’. Sforza Pallavicino 1839–40, II, 177 f. 5

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specific mission to represent the Roman people. The principle promoter of the Oratorio cause was Mariano Sozzini, who wrote an urgent appeal for the reform of the clergy and the ecclesiastical administration of the city, calling it ‘The Present Miseries of the Papacy’. In September 1676, after the election of Innocent XI (1676–1689), Sozzini offered a new, much longer and more ambitious reform proposal. In November of the same year, Bernini was appointed to restructure the Lateran Palace to make it usable as a hospice for the poor — the same idea that had been put forward twenty years earlier by Lorenzo Pizzati, when Bernini was planning the layout of Piazza San Pietro with Alexander VII. Sozzini’s proposal remained confined to paper, but the theme of socioreligious reform stayed close to the heart of the Oratorians until it was actually carried out, still under their auspices. This event took place in the autumn of 1692 when Innocent XII (1691–1700), elected with the support of the so-called Zelanti party, declared a new great war on poverty. This pope issued a dramatic edict requiring all the indigent people of Rome, with their families, to present themselves at a central meeting point where they would be interviewed and provided with clothes before being directed to their new home. There, each would take part in a structured program of daily activities, including apprenticeships and employment in useful tasks, with instruction and religious devotions of all sorts. Those family members who were not physically able to present themselves at the hospice were authorised to remain in their own houses, if any, where they would receive suitable care, and perform services and devotions, within the limits of their capacities. The edict took effect on Saturday, November 30, 1692, with a great procession of the poor to their new lodgings, in the palace of the popes at the Lateran (Fig. 17). For better or for worse, Innocent XII’s great social adventure was a sad and almost immediate failure. The charity foundation was instituted in 1692 and only four years later, in 1696, recruiting was interrupted. The hospice continued to function for a little while longer, at a slower and slower rate, until the original experiment ended with the abandonment of a key provision, namely the forced internment of the poor. Residence at the hospice was no longer compulsory, and the homeless returned to their previous vagabond state. From the point of view of the benefactors, the project was too expensive to maintain. Income from gifts and investments never came close to meeting costs; the concept of self-sufficiency proved to be unrealistic, and the State was unable to cover the enormous deficit. Although the

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hopes in this experiment ended sadly, the Lateran project nevertheless had an important and lasting effect, setting in train a series of similarly intended government measures, beginning with the hospice’s immediate successor, the huge Albergo dei Poveri San Michele along the bank of the Tiber (Fig. 18).6 Along with these institutional survivors, there was also an important residue for the history of art. This legacy comes in the form of a series of sculptures, seven monumental reliefs with the bust of the Saviour, that once served as emblems of this welfare movement (Fig. 19). The reliefs were gathered together, probably for the first time since their creation, in an extraordinary exhibition (1988) organised by my sorely missed colleague and friend, Bruno Contardi, together with Elena di Gioia (then at the Rome Museum, now curator at the Musei Capitolini) at the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome. The important studies carried out by Contardi and Di Gioia not only brought these statues to light and demonstrated their consanguinity but also revealed their common provenance from various buildings around the city, some of considerable importance. All the buildings and their sculptures were connected, either through documentation or inscriptions, to the Lateran hospice enterprise. Contardi and Di Gioia also clarified how this extraordinary gallery of divine simulacra (or better, icons) created by a team of more or less well-known sculptors in late-Baroque Rome, was created during a single campaign from 1694 to 1695. The reliefs were mounted on exterior facades, as ensigns to declare that the income from the buildings to which they were affixed served to support the hospice, along with major contributions from the papal treasury and private donations — all other charities were prohibited. In effect, the reliefs dedicated the buildings to the mission of Charity, in imitation of Christ. The recuperation of the group of sculptures and the identification of its relationship to the Apostolic Hospice for the poor made it possible to reconstruct one of the most remarkable episodes in the modem artistic and social history of Rome, and, I venture to say, of Europe generally. For it became immediately apparent that all these works were intended to recall one model in particular, Bernini’s last work, the famous Bust of the Saviour, an over-life size white marble sculpture with a base of Sicilian jasper, originally supported by a wooden pedestal consisting of two kneeling angels. This

6

On San Michele, see Sisinni 1990, Bevilacqua Melasecchi 2001.

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huge, quasi-iconic image, long known from preparatory studies and replicas, was thought to be lost (Fig. 20). Bernini’s biographers report that he left the sculpture as a token of their mutual esteem to his friend Queen Christina of Sweden, in whose palace it was noted by Nicodemus Tessin, Jr., on his visit to Rome in 1687–88. When Christina died in 1689 she in turn left the work to Pope Innocent XI Odescalchi (1676–89), and it is last recorded in a 1713 inventory of the Palazzo Odescalchi. The sculpture, including the jasper base recorded in the inventory but not the pedestal, came to light recently in the sacristy of the chapel of Pope Clement XI Albani (1700–21), in San Sebastiano fuori le mura (Fig. 21).7 The man who formulated the concept of the Hospice adopted by Innocent XII, the person who contributed to the organisation and administration of the Hospice and was charged with its management, was none other than Bernini’s well-loved nephew, the priest Francesco Marchese, a leading member of the Oratorians. After the death of the artist (1680), Marchese became an increasingly influential figure in the intellectual and religious life of the city, with a marked interest in its social problems. He was appointed Predicatore Apostolico (preacher to the pope) in 1689, and in 1691 wrote a treatise to describe his proposal, which comprised only part of a much broader programme of reform. It was obviously Padre Marchese who suggested that Bernini’s Bust of the Christ should serve as the Hospice’s emblem. His purpose was not simply to promote his uncle’s work, which was hardly necessary. He had understood that Bernini’s image and the Apostolic Hospice were profoundly linked, both having been motivated by the same new ideal of genuinely universal charity. I am not, however, totally convinced that the idea originally came from Marchese. Perceived as a superhuman vision, a miraculous apparition offered to the spectator by a pair of divine messengers, it cannot be coincidental that the concetto is most closely comparable to Bernini’s own design for the display of the Sacred Eucharist in St. Peter’s (Fig. 22). Moreover, Bernini’s bust is related to two representations of Christ, among the most important in Rome, both closely connected to San Giovanni in Laterano. The church was originally dedicated to the Saviour in memory of the bust-length image in the centre of the apse, which was reputed to have appeared in heaven reciting the Pax Vobis benediction to the people on November 9, 324, the day Pope Sylvester I consecrated the basilica on the 7

On the bust in San Sebastiano, see Lavin 2003.

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1.a–b–c. Commemorative medals of Piazza S. Pietro, 1657, 1661, 1666. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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2. Map of Rome showing Alexander’s street corrections, piazzas and buildings. (after Krautheimer 1985, 18f., fig.7).

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3. Plan of Rome under Sixtus V in the form of a star (after Bordini 1588, 44).

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4. St. Peter’s and Piazza. Rome.

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5a. Canaletto, view of Piazza San Marco. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge MA.

5b. Plan of Piazza San Marco.

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6. Papirio Bartoli, Project for Piazza San Pietro, engraving. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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7. Colonnade of Piazza San Pietro.

8. Gianlorenzo Bernini, St. Peter’s and the colonnades as the pope with embracing arms, drawing. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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9. Anonymous, Corpus Domini procession, ca. 1640. Museo di Palazzo Venezia, Rome. 10. Pope at Window of Vatican Palace seen from Piaza San Pietro.

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11. Plan of Oval Piazza and colonnaded thoroughfares. Palmyra, Syria (after Browning 1979, 125).

12. Colonnade of Piazza San Pietro, annular vault.

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13. Jean Grandjean, Annular vault of the Colosseum, 1781, watercolor (after Luciani 1993, 24).

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14. Colosseum. Rome.

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15. St. Peter’s façade and flanking porticoes.

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16a–b. Alexander VII kneeling in the Corpus Domini procession. a. Engraving, 1655. b. Decennial medal, 1664. Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome.

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17. The Lateran palace as hospice for the poor, engraving (after Piazza, 1693, frontispiece).

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18. San Michele a Ripa Grande. Rome.

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19a–b. Reliefs of the Savior. Rome, Palazzo di Montecitorio, Rome.

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20a–b a. Gianlorenzo Bernini, study for the bust of the Savior, drawing. Gabinetto nazionale dell stampe, Rome. b. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for the upper part of the pedestal of the bust of the Savior, drawing. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

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22. Gianlorenzo Bernini, study for a Monstrance, drawing. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

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21. Gianlorenzo Bernini, bust of the Savior. S. Sebastiano fuori le mura, Rome.

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23. Apse mosaic, detail. S. Giovanni in Laterano.

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24. Emblem of the Archconfraternity of the SS. Salvatore ad Sancta Sanctorum. Hospital of S. Giovanni in Laterano, Rome.

25. Gianlorenzo Bernini, caricature of Innocent XI, drawing. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

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authority of the Emperor Constantine the Great (Fig. 23). The second image was linked to the Venerabile Compagnia dell ‘Imagine più Sacra del Santissimo Salvatore nel Sancta Sanctorum. This noble confraternity, one of the oldest in Rome, was given the task of protecting the icon of Christ housed in the Sancta Sanctorum. It was also responsible for overseeing the administration of the great hospital for the poor and sick that was annexed to the Lateran church in the late Middle Ages. The emblem of this confraternity was a bust of Christ, reminiscent of the mosaic image in the apse, with the addition of a base decorated as a parapet (Fig. 24). The emblem was printed on the confraternity’s documents and, in the form of sculptured reliefs, were affixed to the buildings serving the hospital. These likenesses and their associations surely inspired Innocent XII to use Bernini’s image for the Hospice. I suspect, however, that Bernini himself had been inspired to make his bust of the Saviour in allusion first and foremost to the images of Christ at the Lateran, as the project for the new Hospice was being discussed; and that he conceived of his own image being used exactly as it was used twenty years later, the model for the other ensigns representing the Hospice’s Charity. This hypothesis, in turn, throws light on a problem connected to the biographers’ account of the history of Bernini’s sculpture. They report that he executed the bust when he was 80 years old (1678), and that he left it in a legacy to Queen Christina. Considering the heroic scale of the work, standing overall some ten feet (300 cm) high, it was better suited to a public monument than to a private devotional image, even for the use of a Queen. It is tempting to suppose that Bernini had already thought of the bust in 1676, with the idea of placing it in the new Hospice to be set up in the Lateran Palace, according to Sozzini’s restructuring project. The inability, or rather the refusal of Innocent XI Odescalchi to bring the project to a conclusion could have been one of the reasons why Bernini made the devastating caricature of Innocent as a shrewish hypochondriac, the ‘No-Pope’, ‘Papa-Minga’ in his popular Lombard dialect nickname (Fig. 25). It is astonishing in retrospect to grasp a common thread running through this almost fifty-year period of Roman social reform. One figure may be traced through the long history of the idea of housing in the Lateran palace of the popes a hospice for the poor, from its inception under Alexander VII to its realisation by Francesco Marchese, that of Gianlorenzo Bernini himself. Perhaps it is far-fetched to suggest that a ‘mere’ artist might have contributed to the invention as well as the definition and realisation of

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this great venture in the development of the modern city. In any case, in the Piazza San Pietro Bernini certainly approached the burgeoning problems of unemployment with a new vision, and in the bust of the Saviour created a new image of the model of charity that inspired it.

Bibliography Aronberg Lavin, Marylin, ‘Representations of Urban Models in the Renaissance,’ in Henry Millon and Vittorio Magnago Lampugnani. The Renaissance from Brunelleschi to Michelangelo. The Representation of Architecture, exhib. cat., Milan, 1994, 647–8. Bevilacqua Melasecchi, Olga, ‘Il complesso monumentale del San Michele. Dalle origini agli interventi di Clemente XI,’ in Giuseppe Cucco, Papa Albani e le arti a Urbino e Roma. 1700–1722, Venice, 2001, 121–3. Bordini, Giovanni Francesco, De rebus praeclare gestis a Sixto V Pon. Max., Rome, 1588. Brauer, Heinrich, and Rudolf Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931 (Römische Forschungen der Bibliotheca Hertziana, Band IX). Browning, Iain, Palmyra, London, 1979. Del Pesco, Daniela, Colonnato di San Pietro. ‘Dei Portici antichi e la loro diversità’. Con un'ipotesi di cronologia, Rome, 1988 Di Macco, Michela, Il Colosseo. Funzione simbolica, storica, urbana, Rome, 1971. Hager, Helmut, ‘Carlo Fontana's Project for a Church in Honour of the “Ecclesia Triumphns” in the Colosseum, Rome’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, XXXVI, 1973, 319–37. Krautheimer, Richard, The Rome of Alexander VII (1655–1667), Princeton, 1985. Lavin, Irving, ‘The Roma Alessandrina of Richard Krautheimer’, in In Memoriam Richard Krautheimer, Rome, 1997, 107–17. ____ ‘Bernini's Bust of the Savior and the Problem of the Homeless in Seventeenth-Century Rome’, Italian Quarterly, XXXVII, 2000, 209–51. ____ ‘La mort de Bernin: visions de rédemption’, in Alain Tapie, ed., Baroque vision jesuite. De Tintoret a Rubens, exhib. cat., Paris, 2003,

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105–19. ____ ‘Bernini at Saint Peter’s: SINGULARIS IN SINGULIS, IN OMNIBUS UNICUS’, in W. Tronzo, ed., St. Peter’s in the Vatican, Cambridge and New York, 2005, 111–243. Luciani, Roberto, Il Colosseo, Milan, 2000. Piazza, Carlo Bartolomeo, La mendicità proveduta nella città di Roma, coll’ospizio publico fondata dalla pietà e beneficenza di Nostro Signore Innocenzo XII pontefice massimo con le riposte all’obiezioni contro simili fondazioni, Rome, 1693. Roca de Amicis, Augusto, ‘La piazza e il colonnato’, in Antonio Pinelli, ed., La basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano, 4 Vols., Modena, 2000, Saggi, 283–301. Sforza Pallavicino, Della vita di Alessandro VII, 2 Vols., Prato, 1839–40. Sisinni, Francesco, ed., Il San Michele a Ripa Grande, Rome, 1990.

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XXVIII

The Young Bernini

I

N CERTAIN rare and delicate situations Richard Krautheimer was fond of recalling the words of one of the most distinguished French art historians of the preceding generation, Marcel Aubert, who, with a long beard and aulic dignity, began a grand, formal lecture to the general assembly of the Academie Française, of which he was a member, with the immortal declaration, ‘Eh bien, je me suis trompé!’ Speaking on this occasion on this subject in this city, I take a certain perverse pleasure in being able to join the august ranks of Marcel Aubert and Richard Krautheimer and proclaim ‘Moi aussi, je me suis trompé!’ In a lecture delivered over thirty years ago, January 1966, at the American Academy in Rome and published two years later in a long article in The Art Bulletin, I presented five new sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini, two of which I had discovered and the others newly identified (one of these by Marilyn Aronberg Lavin)1. Four of the sculptures were securely dated by documents, and, as it happened, all belonged to the earliest period of Bernini’s creative life (Fig. 1). One of these, the portrait of Giovanni Coppola in San Giovanni dei Fiorentini is a terrifying work, not only because of its stark and cadaverous portrayal, based on a death mask, of an old man who had recently died at age seventy-nine; the work is also terrific because it was commissioned in March and completed in August 1612, when Bernini was thirteen years old (he was born in December 1598). The discovery of the portrait and the relevant documentation pro1 Lavin (Irving), ‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works’, The Art Bulletin, L, 1968, pp. 223–248; unless otherwise noted, the documentation referred to here will be found in that article. Unless otherwise noted, the translations are mine.

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vided direct confirmation of the essential validity of the tradition reported by Bernini’s early biographers and by the artist himself, that he was a veritable child prodigy who won early fame because of his uncanny ability to make likenesses and carve marble at an incredibly young age. Both Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini in their biographies of the artist, and Bernini himself, as recorded by Chantelou in his diary of the artist’s visit to Paris in 1665, report that Bernini’s first public ‘commission’ was a portrait bust, and that he won acclaim when he was brought before an incredulous Pope Paul V, for whom Gianlorenzo’s father, Pietro, was then executing important commissions; the boy demonstrated his ability by drawing a head of St. Paul before the pope’s very eyes. Portraits Baldinucci: The first work to emerge from his chisel in Rome was a marble head that was placed in the Church of S. Potenziana. Bernini had then scarcely completed his tenth year. Paul V, greatly impressed by the acclaim aroused by such merit, wished to see the youth. He called for him and asked in jest, if he could sketch a head. Giovanni Lorenzo in reply asked which head he wished. ‘If this is the case,’ the Pope remarked, ‘you know how to do everything,’ and ordered him to sketch a St. Paul. This he did to perfection with free bold strokes in half an hour to the keen delight and marvel of the Pope.2 2 Baldinucci (Filippo), The life of Bernini, translated from the Italian by Catherine Enggass, University Park, PA, 1966, p. 9. La prima opera, che uscisse dal suo scarpello in Roma fu una testa di marmo situata nella chiesa di S. Potenziana; avendo egli allora il decimo anno di sua età appena compito. Per la qual. cosa maravigliosamente commosso Paolo V dal chiaro grido di cotanta virtù, ebbe vaghezza di vedere il giovanetto; e fattoselo condurre davanti, gli domandò, come per ischerzo, se avesse saputo fargli colla penna una testa; e rispondendogli Giovan Lorenzo che testa voleva, soggiunse il pontefice ‘Se così, le sa far tutte’ e ordinatogli che facesse un S. Paolo, gli diè perfezione in mezz’ora, con franchezza di tratto libero e con sommo diletto e maravíglia del papa. (Baldinucci [Filippo], Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, 1st ed. Florence, 1682, ed. Sergio Samek Ludovici, Milan, 1948, p. 74.) It is worth noting that the subject referred not only to the pope’s namesake but also to the relic of the beheaded saint whose body, together with that of St. Peter, was divided between and Lateran and St. Paul’s Outside the Walls. See Lavin (Irving), Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s, New York, 1968, p. 1.

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Domenico: The pope, who by nature had a venerable aspect, wanted to test the courage of the youngster by frightening him further, and, turning to him with a grave voice commanded him there in his presence to draw a head. Gianlorenzo, boldly taking pen in hand and spreading the paper on the Pope’s own table, hesitated at tracing the first line; modestly inclining his head toward the Pope he asked, ‘What head he desired, a man, a woman, young, old, and in any case what expression, sad, happy, disdainful or pleasant? If this is so,’ the pope observed, ‘then you can do them all,’ and he ordered him to do that of St. Paul. In a few strokes of the pen and with an admirable boldness of hand he finished it quickly with such mastery that the Pope was impressed and remarked to some cardinals who happened to be present, ‘This boy will be the Michelangelo of his time.’3 Domenico: This first, honorable entrance into the Apostolic Palace, the welcome accorded him by the Cardinal, and the praise received from the Pope, made him celebrated in Rome, universally acclaimed and pointed to by all as a young man of not ordinary promise. He had already begun to work at sculpture, and his first work was a head of marble situated in the church of S. Pudenziana, and such other small statues as his young age permitted, and they all appeared so masterfully executed that the celebrated Annibale Carracci, having seen some of them, said, ‘He had 3 Il Pontefice, Venerabile per natura di aspetto, volle provar l’intrepidezza del Giovane, con affettargli ancora il terrore, & a lui rivolto con suono grave di voce gli commandò, che quivi in sua presenza disegnasse una Testa. Gio: Lorenzo presa con franchezza ìn mano le penna, e spianata sopra il Tavolino medesimo del Papa la Carta, nel dar principio alla prima linea, si fermòalquanto sospeso, e poi chinando il capo modestamente verso il Pontefice, richieselo, Che Testa voleva, se di Huomo, ò dì Donna, di Giouane, ò di Vecchio, e se pur qualche una di esse, in quale atto la desiderava, se mesta, ò allegra, se sdegrosa, ò piaceuole? Se così, soggiunse all’hora il Papa, le sà far tuttee, & ordinatogli, che facesse quella di S. Paolo, in pochi tratti di penna, e con una franchezza ammirabile di mano la tirò subbito a fine con maestria tale, che ne restò ammirato il Papa, e quanto sol disse ad alcuni Cardinali, che quivi all’hora presenti a caso si ritrovarono, Questo Fanciullo sarà il Michel’ Angelo del suo tempo . . . (Bernini [Domenico], Vita del Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernini, Rome, 1713, pp. 8–9).

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arrived in art at that young age, where others might vaunt to reach in old age.’4 Chantelou: The Cavaliere (said that) at the age of eight (he) had done a head of St. John which was presented to Paul V by his chamberlain. His Holiness could not believe that he had done it and asked if he would draw a head in his presence. He agreed and pen and paper were sent for. When he was ready to begin he asked His Holiness what head he wished him to draw. At that the Pope realized that it was really the boy who had done the St. John, for he had believed that he would draw some conventional head. He asked him to draw 5 Chantelou: He said that at six years, he had done a head in a bas-relief by his father, and at seven another, which Paul V could hardly believe was by him; to satisfy his own mind, he asked him if he would draw a head for him. When the paper had been brought he asked His Holiness boldly what head he should do, so that he should not think he was going to Questa prima entratura tanto honorevole, che egli hebbe nel Palazzo Pontoficio, le accoglienze a lui fatte dal Cardinale, e la lode ricevuta dal Papa, lo resero così celebre per Roma, che da tutti universalmente era acclamato, e mostrato a dito, come Giovane di non ordinaria espettazione. Haveva gia egli dato principio a lavorare di Scultura, e la fua prima opera fù una Testa di marmo situata nella Chiesa di S. Potenziana, & altre picciole Statue, quali gli permetteva l’età in cui era di dieci anni, e tutte apparivano così maestrevolmente lavorate, che havendone qualcheduna veduta il celebre Annibale Caracci, disse, Esser egli arrivato nell’ arte in quella icciola età, dove altri potevano gloriarsi di giungere nella uecchiezza. (Bernini, Vita . . ., ibidem, pp. 9–10.) 5 Chantelou (Paul Fréart de), Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France, ed. Anthony Blunt and George C. Bauer, Princeton, 1985, p. 102, August 5. Le Cavalier a dit . . . qu’à huit ans même il avait fait un chef de Saint-Jean qui fut présenté à Paul V par son mâitre de chambre: que Sa Sainteté ne voulait pas croire qu’il l’eût fait, et lui demanda s’il pourrait dessiner une tête en sa présence: qu’ayanat répondu qu’oui, Sa Sainteté lui avaiat fair apporter une plume et du papier et que, prêt à commencer, il lui demanda quelle tête Sa Sainteté voulait qu’il dessinât; qu’à cela elle avait connue que c’était lui qui avait fait un chef de Saint-Jean, pensant auparavant qu’il allait dessiner quelque tête de manière; que le Pape lui demanda une tête de Saînt-Paul qu’il dessina en sa présence. (Chantelou [Paul Fréart de], Journal du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. Ludovic Lalanne, Paris, 1885, p. 84.) 4

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work from memory; then the Pope realized that is was indeed he who had done it and asked him to do St. Paul.6 All the documents concerning the Coppola bust were in the name of Pietro Bernini, who was indeed a marvelous sculptor, literally marvelous according to Baglione’s account of his astonishing ability to carve complex statues directly in the marble, without a model: Pietro handled marble with such assurance that he had few rivals in this respect. One day in Naples I myself saw him make a few marks with charcoal on a piece of marble and immediately set to work with his chisel; without any further design, he carved three figures from nature, creating a capricious fountain. It was amazing to behold the facility with which he worked. Had he been better at design, his technical facility would have brought him much further.7 In fact, this fabled technical facility of Bernini’s father, which was surely what first brought him to the attention of Paul V, is in itself one of the strongest reasons to lend credence to the reports of the son’s prodigious virtuosity. But, quite apart from the character and quality of the Coppola bust, there is ample historical evidence to indicate that the person who actually carved it was Gianlorenzo. In 1612 Pietro was 50 years old with a long record of accomplishments in Florence, Naples, and Rome, which continued until his death in 1629 and earned him Baglione’s admiring, if quali6 Blunt-Bauer, Diary . . ., cited in note 5, p. 260, 6 October. Il a dit qu’à six ans il fit une tête dans un bas-relief di son père, à sept ans une autre, ce que Paul V ne voulait pas croire quand il la vit: que pour s’en éclaircir il demanda s’il dessinerait bien une tête, qu’il répondit à Sa Sainteté qu’oui, et que lui ayant été apporté du papier, il demanda hardiment au pape quelle tête il voulait qu’il fit, afin qu’il ne crût pas qu’il en fit une de mémoire, qu’alors Sa Sainteté dit qu’il voyait bien qu’il l’avait faite, et lui dit de fair un saint Paul. (Chantelou, Journal . . ., cited in note 5, p. 247.) 7 Pietro con ogni franchezza maneggiaua il marmo sì, che in ciò pochi pari egli hebbe. Et vn giorno in Napoli, io stesso il vidi, che prendendo vn carbone, e con esso sopra vn marmo facendo alcuni segni, subito vi messe dentro i ferri, e senz’altro disegno vi cauò tre figure dal naturale, per formare vn capriccio da fontana, e con tanta facilità il trattaua, che era stupore il vederlo. E se quest’huomo hauesse hauuto maggior disegno, per la facilità dell’operare si sarebbe assai auanzato. (Baglione [Giovanni] Le vite de pittori scultori et architetti dal pontificato di Gregorio XIII. del 1572. In fino a’tempi di Papa Urbino Ottovo nel 1642, Rome, 1642; ed. Valerio Mariani, Rome, 1935, p. 305.)

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fied, biography. In all this abundant documentation there is not a single record of Pietro Bernini ever having carved a portrait bust, not a single one, not in Florence, not in Naples, and never in Rome. Portraiture, after all, is not every artist’s cup of tea; another well known sculptor who never made portraits was Michelangelo Buonarroti. Conversely, in the years immediately following the Coppola bust and continuing until Pietro’s death, there are no less than four documented instances in which father and son worked together on commemorative monuments, and in every instance it was the father who carved the accompanying figures, while Gianlorenzo carved the portrait busts. The series begins in the Barberini chapel in Sant’ Andrea della Valle, where documents for various works appear in Pietro’s name beginning in 1614 and continue thus until Gianlorenzo’s name appears early in 1619, when he received payments for the busts of Maffeo Barberini’s mother (Fig. 2) and father (now lost); the busts were actually placed in the chapel but were soon removed for display in the Barberini palace. Subsequently, father and son worked together on three more such monuments, where exactly the same thing happened: Pietro created the accompanying figures, Gianlorenzo made the busts: Cardinal Dolfin in Venice (Fig. 3), Cardinal Escoubleau de Sourdis in Bordeaux (Fig. 4), and Cardinal Bellarmine in Rome (Fig. 5). Mirabile dictu, the Coppola bust is not even the first work of this kind by Bernini. Baldinucci and Domenico report that Bernini’s first public work was a marble head in S. Pudenziana, universally identified with the famous bust of Giovanni Battista Santoni (Fig. 6). I have always suspected that, perhaps owing to some misunderstanding, Chantelou’s report that Bernini said he had made a head of San Giovanni at age eight, might in fact refer to the Santoni portrait. In any case, the dates assigned to the bust by the artist and his biographers were consistently dismissed by modern scholars, who neglected to follow the lead offered by the inscription on the tomb itself. The text states that Giovanni Battista Santoni had been Bishop of Tricarico in Calabria and died in 1592, and that the monument was commissioned by his nephew Giovanni Antonio, who was Bishop of Policastro. Giovanni Battista, in other words, had long been dead; what was the occasion that elicited the nephew’s gesture of posthumous commemoration? The obvious explanation is that Giovanni Antonio was also commemorating his own elevation to the same high rank attained by his uncle. Giovanni Battista Santoni was made bishop in April 1610. Fifty years later Bernini misremembered or exaggerated when he said he was eight years old. But in

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April 1610 he had indeed scarcely completed his tenth year, exactly as Baldinucci and Domenico report.8 The dates are incontrovertible and the only alternative to concluding that Bernini deserved his reputation as an astonishingly gifted prodigy, is to assume that the portraits of Coppola and Santoni were the work of the father, as some have done, despite the fact that one cannot point to another portrait bust by Pietro, either before or after, and despite the fact that the son began his career as a prodigious portraitist and went on to become one of the greatest portrait sculptors in the history of art. In the final analysis, however, what makes the Coppola bust an unforgettable image is its extraordinary effect of somber, almost spectral antiquity. The quality has sometimes been ‘explained’ by the fact that, as we know from the documents, it was made from a death mask, as if the model made the task of portraiture in marble somehow ‘easier,’ more ‘mechanical,’ more ‘realistic’ than the living sitter. In fact, the work is a deliberate existential pun: it represents exactly what it is, a posthumous portrait of frail but heroic old age. Psychologically, the bust is a profound, one might well say mythic evocation of the dead past in the living present; typologically, it is an unprecedented evocation of classical antiquity in its revival of a pose and drapery arrangement familiar from Roman funerary portraiture (Fig. 7). The form and content together bespeak a new era, in statu nascendi. Coronation of Clement VIII Ironically, the first of the failings in which ‘je me suis trompé’ is a lamentable oversight concerning one of Bernini’s most egregious exaggerations, precisely in the domain of portraiture. I must say at the outset, however, that in the end the oversight turns out to be another confirmation of the essential truth of Bernini’s claim to youthful prowess. Discussing Gianlorenzo’s early portraiture I considered the one and only work by Pietro that does contain a portrait, his depiction of the coronation of Clement VIII on that pope’s tomb in S. Maria Maggiore (Figs. 8, 9). I pointed out that the sharply individualized head of the pope is completely unlike those of the other fig8 My dating based on the inscription, which I offered in my original lecture (January, 1966), was followed by Cesare d’Onofrio, who was present in the audience! (D’Onofrio [Cesare], Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1967 [‘finito di stampare’ December 1967, cf. p. 455], p. 116. A report was published in Life, LXII, no. 2, January 20, 1967, pp. 66–74.

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ures in the relief, which instead bear a marked similarity to each other and to Pietro’s generic repertory of male types. I tentatively suggested that the pope’s head might actually be the work of the son. Much to my chagrin I failed to recall then the crucial passage concerning this very work recorded in the account, quoted above, that Bernini gave to Chantelou of his early encounter with Paul V: ‘He said that at six years, he had done a head in a bas-relief by his father, and at seven another.’ Much more important than the age reported here, is the fact that the passage must indeed refer to the S. Maria Maggiore relief, and not just because this is Pietro Bernini’s only relief containing a portrait. When Bernini speaks of executing two portraits in consecutive years, he was telling a truth that only he could have recalled, because the documents record the extraordinary fact that two reliefs were indeed actually carried out and installed, one after the other. On November 2, 1612, Pietro was paid 249 scudi: per rifare di novo da Pietro Eernino scultore la Historia della lncoronazione della bo: me: di Papa Clemente Ottavo per servitio del Deposito suo nella Capella che S. S.ta ha fato fare in S.ta Maria Maggiore And on January 19, 1614, he received 600 scudi: per resto et intiero pagamento delle due Historie di marmo della Incoronatione della felice memoria di papa Clemente da lui fatte una di quali posta nel Deposito di esso papa Clemente in la capella che S. S. ha facto fare in S.ta Marie Maggiore . . .9 We have no idea why the first version was replaced, but it was certainly completed by November 1612, and the second by January 1614. While Bernini after 50 years may well have misremembered and, consciously or not, exaggerated his youth at the time, it would be unthinkably cynical to suppose that he would claim for his own the work of his father, and equally unthinkable that he could have imagined his listeners in Paris or posterity would realize that the work in question was the relief in S. Maria Maggiore, 9 The documents are cited after Muñoz (Antonio), ‘Il padre del Bernini. Pietro Bernini scultore (1562–1629)’, in Vita d’arte, IV, 1909, pp. 469–470.

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much less that it was executed in two versions in the years 1612–1614. The portrait of Clement is thus certainly — not tentatively — by Gianlorenzo, and follows by a few months the bust of Antonio Coppola, for which Pietro received payments from March 8 through August 10, 1612. Gianlorenzo was then not six or seven, as he claimed, but between thirteen and fifteen — still young enough to be proud of, I would say! A similar and synchronous case is that of a now lost portrait of Alessandro Ludovisi (later Gregory XV) which Domenico Bernini (p. 20) reports his father made before Ludovisi left Rome to take up his new post as archbishop of Bologna. Writing a century later, Domenico cannot have expected his readers to recall that Ludovisi was elected archbishop in March 1612. St. Sebastian and St. Lawrence The discovery of the Coppola bust and the early date for that of Santoni led me to reconsider the dates traditionally assigned to other juvenile works by Gianlorenzo. For example, Italo Faldi had discovered the payment in 1615 for a pedestal for the Capra Amaltea, which established a terminus ante quem for that work (Fig. 10). But the same payment also includes a pedestal for a very similar, anonymous sculpture that was paid for much earlier, in 1609 (Fig. 11). If that was also the case with the Capra Amaltea, then Bernini was 10 years old when he made it. And why not? — especially since many scholars have suggested that it must have been among the ‘picciole statue,’ much admired by the celebrated painter Annibale Carracci, which Domenico Bernini says his father carved immediately after the Santoni bust. What neither Bernini himself nor Domenico Bernini can have anticipated was that his readers would know that Annibale Carracci died in July 1609, when Bernini was ten. In my opinion, such a perfect coordination of independently determined dates, reported by the biographers and deducible from the facts — the date of the Santoni bust, that of the likely acquisition of the Capra amaltea, and the terminus ante quem established by the encounter with Carracci — cannot be simply fortuitous. Much more reasonable simply to assume that Bernini was indeed able to do certain kinds of things earlier, much earlier, than most people thought — and still think — credible! On the other hand, the wonderful discovery by Patrizia Cavazzini of the payments to Pietro Bernini for two works by his son — the Boy defeating a

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Marine Dragon now in the Getty Museum, listed in a Barberini inventory as an ‘opera puerile’ of Gianlorenzo, and the St. Sebastian — calls for a radical reformulation of other elements of the chronology I proposed for his early work (Figs. 12, 13).10 I placed both these sculptures earlier than had been assumed, about 1614 and 1615, respectively, whereas in fact Pietro Bernini received payment for them in December 1617.11 The discovery is important for many reasons. What the discovery does not do, however, is invalidate the relative chronology and the claims to precocity of the young Bernini. Rudolph Wittkower emphatically maintained that the St. Lawrence preceded the St. Sebastian, dating them 1616–1617, 1617–1618 respectively. In recognizing that the St. Lawrence was earlier Wittkower was surely correct: the question is, by how much? It is significant that neither Baldinucci nor Domenico Bernini mentions a date for the St. Sebastian, but both record that Bernini made the St. Lawrence when he was fifteen, that is, in 1614: Meanwhile, still in his fifteenth year, he carved the figure of St. Lawrence on the gridiron for Leone Strozzi, which was placed in the Strozzi villa.12 . . . at age fifteen he portrayed in himself the true torment of a St. Lawrence in to order carve a feigned one . . . and among the many per-

10 The discovery is reported by Sebastian Schütze in Bernini scultore. La nascita del Barocco in Casa Borghese (exhib. cat. Rome), Rome, 1998, p. 83. The documents were discovered by Patrizia Cavazzini, who also published them in Effigies & Ecstasies. Roman Baroque Sculpture and Design in the Age of Bernini, exhib. cat., Edinburgh, 1998, p. 90. The closely associated payments in themselves testify that the sculptures are by Gianlorenzo. Moreover, both Schütze and Cavazzini conveniently suppress the explicit attribution of the Boy with the Marine Dragon to Gianlorenzo by Niccolò Menghini in a 1632 inventory of the Barberini collection: ‘Un putto qual tiene un drago alto palmi 21/2 fatto dal Cavalier Bernini.’ (Lavin, ‘Five Youthful Sculptures’, cited in note 1, p. 230). Menghini was himself a sculptor closely associated with Bernini, for whom he worked extensively at St. Peter's. He certainly knew whereof he wrote, and his attribution stayed with the sculpture when it became a diplomatic gift in 1702 from Cardinal Carlo Barberini to Philip V of Spain. 11 una Statuetta di Marmo bianco di un putto sopra un drago Marino 114.20; una Statua di Marmo bianco di un San Sebastiano 114.50. 12 Baldinucci, The Life . . ., cited in note 2, p. 12. Correva egli intanto il quindicesímo di sua età quando e’ fece vedere scolpita di sua mano la figura di S. Lorenzo sopra la graticola per Leone Strozzi, che fu posta nella lor villa. (Baldinucci, Vita . . ., cited in note 2, pp. 77 f.)

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sons who convened, the most noble Leone Strozzi was so taken with it that he acquired it, and today it is to be seen in his delightful villa on the Viminal.13 These statements also confirm the priority of the St. Lawrence. The sculpture was owned by Leone Strozzi, whose uncle, Cardinal Lorenzo (d. 1571), was buried in the Strozzi family chapel, across the nave in Sant’Andrea della Valle from the Barberini chapel, which covered the site where Saint Sebastian was supposed to have been thrown into the Cloaca Maxima, and which replaced an earlier church called San Sebastianello. According to Baldinucci Gianlorenzo made the St. Lawrence for Leone Strozzi, while Domenico suggests that Strozzi acquired it only after seeing it. In the latter case, Bernini may have begun the work as a play on his own name, or with the intention of ‘selling’ it to Strozzi as an avuncular commemoration for his family chapel; the two motivations are by no means incompatible. The altar wall of the Strozzi chapel displays bronze statues copied after Michelangelo, bearing the date 1616 (Fig. 14). If the St. Lawrence was intended for the Strozzi chapel, 1616 would then be a terminus ante quem and the sources’ dating of 1614 may not be too far off. It can scarcely be coincidental that the two closely connected families should have closely similar and virtually contemporaneous works by the same artist at the same time that both families were creating family chapels across the nave from each other in the same church, one containing a commemoration of St. Sebastian, the other including the tomb of an important member of the family named Lorenzo. We know in fact that Maffeo Barberini withheld for himself a painting by Ludovico Carracci he had commissioned for the chapel, and that he actually removed two of the four cherubs (Fig. 15) as well as the busts of his mother and father, all made by Bernini and mounted in the chapel, to display them at home in the family palace; the Strozzi may have done the same. The most likely hypothesis is that the two saintly images were similarly intended for the patrons’ respective chapels, but never actually installed.

13 . . . in eta di quindici anni . . . ritrasse in se il tormento di un S. Lorenzo vero per iscolpirne un finto . . . e frà quegli innumerabili Personaggi, che vi concorsero, Leone Strozzi Nobilissimo Romano se ne invaghì in modo, che lo volle per se, e presentemente si vede nella sua deliziosa Villa del Viminale. (Bernini, Vita . . ., cited in note 2, pp. 15 f.).

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Payments The relationship between father and son is extraordinary, indeed unique, to my knowledge, in another way. We now have a whole series of instances in which payments for works by the young Bernini were received by his father. This had been known to be the case with the bust of Coppola and the Angels in the Barberini chapel, and now we have the Boy Defeating a Marine Dragon and the St. Sebastian. In fact, no payments to Gianlorenzo are recorded from this early period and I do not believe it was simply a matter of greed or parental arrogance on Pietro’s part. I suspect, rather, that it was a legal matter: Gianlorenzo could not sign contracts or receive payment for work as a professional sculptor until he had reached the age of maturity and entered the sculptors’ guild as a master. Bernini is recorded as saying that he had become a master at an early age, at the time he was assiduously studying Michelangelo’s Florentine Pietà, which was then in Rome. As I pointed out long ago, the effects of this study are clearly visible in the figure of St. Sebastian, for which Pietro received payment in December of 1617. At the Barberini chapel Pietro signed all the documents, including the contract in which he guarantees his son’s participation in the execution, until Gianlorenzo began to receive payments in his own name, after which Pietro is never again mentioned. The hypothesis that Gianlorenzo came of age professionally in 1618 is consistent with his own report that he had become a ‘maestro’ early, since admission to the sculptors’ guild normally took place between the ages of 20 and 25, and Bernini would have celebrated his twentieth birthday on December 7, 1618. (Bernini was in fact a member of the sculptors’ guild, to which he made generous contributions during his lifetime.) The date is supported in the precedent chronology by the fact that Pietro took payment in 1617 for the Boy defeating a Marine Dragon and the St. Sebastian and continued to do so for the work at Sant’Andrea delta Valle until July 1618; the next payment, in April 1619, was to Gianlorenzo and included ‘all the works that he may have made . . . together with his father up to the present day.’ Heretofore unpublished documents dated December 5, 1618, and January 6, 1619, seem to be the first recorded payments to Gianlorenzo Bernini as an independent artist. On those dates he received a total of 250 scudi for another statue of St. Sebastian, commissioned by Pietro Aldobrandini, presumably for a niche above the entrance to the chapel dedicated to that saint in the left wing of the famous nymphaeum in the Villa Aldobrandini

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at Frascati (Fig. 16).14 This St. Sebastian was instead kept in the Aldobrandini palace at Magnanapoli in Rome, where it is described in an inventory of 1682 and included in Baldinucci’s list of Bernini’s works.15 N.B.: These documents were first presented in my paper ‘Bernini giovane’ at the Villa Medici conference in February 1999; in the meanwhile, a series of parallel documents concerning the Aldobrandini St. Sebastian has been published, with similar observations and phraseology, by Laura Testa, ‘Documenti inediti sullo scomparso “San Sebastiano” Aldobrandini del giovane Gian Lorenzo Bernini’, in Bollettino d’arte, LXXXVI, 2001, pp. 131–135. Testa found important additional documentation that the following year Ippolito Buzio made another figure of St. Sebastian, which was in fact installed at Frascati (payment for transportation cited below), whereas that by Bernini remained in Rome. It seems likely that Bernini's figure was first intended for the niche at Frascati, but upon seeing it the patron decided to keep it at home, commissioning a substitute for the original location. The situation would thus astonishingly duplicate what happened at virtually the same moment with two of the four putti Gianlorenzo made for the Barberini chapel in Sant’ Andrea della Valle: Maffeo removed them to his own house and commissioned substitutes for the chapel, evidently from Francesco Mochi. The coincidence also extends to Bernini’s two St. Sebastians, not only in subject matter but in the fact that the Barberini figure must likewise have originated in relation to the Saint Sebastian commemoration adjoining the family chapel but was kept as part of the private art collection. (See above, and Lavin, ‘Five Youthful Sculptures’, cited in note 1, pp. 232–237.) One suspects a deliberate collusion and/or competition among the patrons (Barberini, Strozzi, Aldobrandini) for the work of the young prodigy! Rome, Archivio Doria Pamfili; Fondo Aldobrandini (see Vignodelli Rubrichi [Renato], ‘Il “Fondo Aldobrandini” nell’archivio Doria Landi Pamphili’, in Archivio della società romana di storia patria, no. XCI, 1969) Busta 19, Reg. de’ Mandati, Card. Pietro Aldobrandini ‘H’ 1618–1620 fol. 39 recto: a di detto [5 xbre 1618] paga.ti a Gio: Lorenzo Bernini scultore sc. 100 m.a et sono a buon c.to duno S.to Bast.o di Marmo che ha fatto p. s.vitio di Casa n’ra—sc 100 fol. 42 verso: a di detto [8 di Genn.o 1619] pag.ti a Gio: Lorenzo Bernini scultore sc 150 m.a et sono a complim.to di sc 250 p.to [per resto] et intero pagam.to d’uno S.to Bast.o di marmo fattoci p. s.vitio di casa n’ra che rest.o sc 100 seli sono fatti pag.re sotto di 5 di xbre pass.to che con sua ric.ta vi si fan.o boni———sc 150 restino di fol. 60 verso: a di detti [x di Giug.no 1619] pag.a a Bern.do Carrettiere sc 18 m.a et sono p. la vett.ra di 12 cavalli che anno portato alla n’ra Villa di belv.re 2 statue di marmo che p.a S. bast.o e l’altra Venere a g.l [giuli] 15 p. cavallo——sc 18 fol. 63 verso: et adi detti [p.o di luglio 1619] pag.ti a Bern.do Carrettiere sc 18 m.a et sono p la vett.ra di 12 cavalli che anno p.tato a la n’ra Villa di belv.re dua statue di marmo che una di S.to Bast.no e la altra una Venere a g.li 15 p. cavallo——sc 18 in margin: non ha hauto effetto che ha pag.to il monte 15 Busta 30.a.1531–1682, Inventario di beni di Olimpia Aldobrandini Pamphilj, a. 1682 fol. 535 recto (Villa Belvedere, Frascati): 14

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Putto Morsicato ‘Je me suis trompé’ also in another sense. By a remarkable coincidence there came to light at the same time as the Getty sculpture a closely related work, a sort of miserable alter ego of the graceful and smiling Boy defeating a Marine Dragon commissioned by Maffeo Barberini (Fig. 17), showing a Boy struggling in agony with a different kind of marine monster that takes a ferocious bite out of his leg (Figs. 18, 19).16 Taken together, as in some sense they must be, the sculptures seem to have been born together as contrasting offspring of the putti in the Bacchic group in the Metropolitan Museum, to be considered presently. They display Bernini’s astonishing psychological precocity — emphasized in Domenico Bernini’s description of the episode with Paul V and evident already in the Capra Amaltea. Absolutely without parallel in the work of Pietro Bernini, they foreshadow the high psycho moral drama of the Anima Beata and Anima Dannata that Gianlorenzo carved for a tomb monument in 1619, at age 21. I suggested that the sculpture now in Berlin was identical with one recorded in several inventories of the Ludovisi family collection, and described by Bellori. I cited three Ludovisi inventories:17 1623: Un’ Puttino di marmo bianco, qual’ piange che una vipera l’a morsicato alto p.i 21/2 in circa Al Teatro. Nell’entrare nella Cappella di S. Sebastiano. Una statua di Marmo di S. Sebastiano dentro la Nicchia, alto a proportione della medema nicchia, attacato ad un tronco frezzato, descritta nell’Inventario sudetto del S.re Cardinale— foglio 651. fol. 366 recto (palazzo a Magnanapoli): Camera sopra la strada Un S. Sebastiano di marmo legato ad un tronco, con armatura alto palmi otto, incirca, con piedestallo di legno bianco, e cornice dorata, come a detto Inventario a N.o 109). Baldinucci, Vita . . ., cited in note 2, p. 178: S. Sebastiano—Principessa di Rossano (Olimpia Aldobrandini, Jr., deceased owner of the palace). The sculpture was last mentioned in an inventory of 1709–1710 (Testa, cited in n. 14, p. 135, n. 38). 16 On this work see most recently Bernini scultore . . ., cited in note 10, pp. 96–101. The original complementarity of the sculptures may have been reflected in the fact that in the 1960s both were sold under temporary import licenses by the same Florentine dealer, Francesco Romano. 17 Lavin, Five Youthful Sculptures, cited in note 1, p. 232, note 67.

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1633: Un puttino di marmo piangente a sedere in una mappa di fiori morzicato da una vipera, sopra una base di marmo mischio — mano del Caval. re Bernino 1641: Un Putto moderno opra del Sig.r Cavalier Bernino, siede tra l’herba morso da un serpe. Since that time Jennifer Montagu has found the work in two later Ludovisi inventories. These new descriptions of the extraordinary motif add a crucial and unequivocal detail that identifies the work even more distinctly — the boy was bitten on the leg: 1665: et altra sedente sopra fronde in atto languente con un serpe, che gli morde una gamba . . . 1705: Un puttino assiso sopra certi fiori, il quale vien’rnorsicato nella gamba da una Vipera lavoro originale del Cavalier Bernino.18 There can be no reasonable doubt that the Berlin sculpture is indeed the one that belonged to the Ludovisi. The sinuous, indeed serpentine movement and strangely distorted expression recall Pietro’s mannerisms and relate it closely to one of the putti in the Metropolitan sculpture. It may not be coincidental that in 1642 Baglione records certain statues and groups made by Pietro Bernini for Leone Strozzi to be seen in the garden of the villa which Strozzi had purchased from the Frangipani family, Alcune statue, a gruppi per il Signor Leone Strozzi al Giardino de’ Signori Frangipani a Termini19 and that a sculpture similar in subject and size was recorded in a 1641 inventory of Mario Frangipani, the patron of Algardi: Un putto moderno che lo morde un serpe alto palmi due e mezzo in circa.20

Montagu (Jennifer), Alessandro Algardi, 2 Vols., New Haven, 1985, p. 419. Baglione, Le vite . . ., cited in note 7, p. 305. 20 Montagu, Alessandro Algardi . . ., cited in note 18, p. 239, n. 28. 18 19

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Apart from the attribution to Gianlorenzo, the importance of the identification of the Ludovisi sculpture lies in the explanation Bellori gives of its iconography, which he calls a representation of Fraud, or insidia, in contrast to which Algardi made one of his earliest sculptures, now lost, showing a boy riding on a tortoise: Algardi made [for the Villa Ludovisi] a putto of marble seated on a tortoise, sounding a reed pipe, understood as Security, of which the tortoise is the symbol, and the innocence of the boy, who plays and sits securely. This was commissioned by the Cardinal to accompany another putto [characteristically for Bellori, no mention of Bernini!] who cries bitten by a serpent hidden in the weeds, understood as fraud and insidiousness. It is described here as one of the first things that Alessandro worked in marble, although it is wanting in excellence.21 This interpretation was doubtless inspired by the carnivorous action of the animal, and the conspicuous presence of the plant, described in two of the inventories as flowers, in the others and by Bellori as ‘erba,’ or weeds, suggesting the idea of a treacherous snake hidden in the vegetation, and hence the identification of the animal as a serpent or viper. In fact, the thick-leaved plant, part flower, part weed, is a botanical fantasy. And the appendages of the serpentine creature also suggest a marine animal, something like a dolphin, which is how modern scholars have identified it. But who ever heard of a dolphin biting people? Dolphins are, on the contrary, man’s best marine friends. And who ever heard of a dolphin swimming on land, among flowers, weeds, or any other plants? Strange dolphin indeed, since the sculpture clearly refers with puckish irony to the famous story of the boy Arion, who was saved from the sea by a dolphin that transported him to shore on its back. An ancient sculptural group at the Borghese, restored in the sixteenth century and surely known to Bernini, recalls Arion 21 Fecevi [Algardi for the Villa Ludovisi] d’inventione un putto sedente di marmo, appoggiato ad una testundine, e si pone li calami alla bocca, per suonare, inteso per la sicurezza; di cui è il simbolo la testundine, e l’innocenza del fanciullo, che suona, e riposa sicuro. Questo gli fù fatto fare dal Cardinale, per accompagnamento di un’altro putto che duolsi morsicato da un Serpente ascoso frà l’herba, inteso per la fraude, e per l’insidia; e si è qui descritto per essere delle prime cose, che Alessandro lavorasse in marmo, benché fuori dell’eccellenza. (Bellori [Giovanni Pietro], Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti moderni, Rome, 1672, ed. Evelina Borea, Turin, 1976, pp. 401 f.)

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(the figure has satyr’s ears) as a smiling cavalier confidently leading his swift and obedient marine steed across the waves, dominating it by grasping its tail and mouth (Fig. 20). The classical work was aptly cited in relation to the motif of the Berlin Putto morsicato by Ursula Schlegel,22 but I believe it was the touchstone that inspired all three modern sculptures in a veritable paragone of Ovidian physical and psychological metamorphosis. At the Getty the animal is transformed into an ugly aero-amphibian beast (water at the front of the base, rocks behind), winged and with a fish’s tail, and the happy boy hero, instead of grasping, tears apart the mouth of the squawking dragon. At Berlin the classical fish is transformed into an insidious and sinuous terrestrial (all rocks) aquatic beast, and the mouth becomes a terrible instrument of revenge against the temerarious would be dominator. The snake was indeed a traditional symbol of insidious deception and fraud, but to show a quasi dolphin in this role made the animal doubly insidious. One perceives the ingredients of a very sophisticated allegory, and it is impossible to resist the temptation to consider these three closely connected sculptures, made for closely interconnected, in this case often competing patrons, in relation to one another. Perhaps the sculptures were witty barbs in some political emblematic intrigue: Maffeo Barberini’s happy boy victorious over the harmless little dragon (a Borghese symbol); the Ludovisi child betrayed by the swift but treacherous serpentine dolphin (a Barberini symbol); and, ten years later, the second Ludovisi putto, by Algardi, riding triumphantly upon a slow but dependable tortoise. Sesto Fiorentino Our knowledge of the relationship between the young Bernini and his father has been greatly increased in recent years by the discovery, or recovery, of an amazing series of sculptures all belonging to the period when Bernini was still officially an apprentice of his father. In the cases where the documents are preserved, Pietro received the payments regardless of who actually executed the work. Outstanding among these is the magnificent Faun and Putti now in the Metropolitan Museum, which was in Bernini’s house when he died (Fig. 21).23 The group is recorded in several successive 22 Schlegel (Ursula), ‘Zum Oeuvre des jungen G. L. Bernini’, in Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen, IX, 1967, pp. 274–294. 23 First published by Olga Raggio (‘A New Bacchic Group by Bernini’, in Apollo, no. CVIII, 1978, pp. 406–417); see Bernini scultore . . ., cited in note 10, pp. 52–61.

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inventories of his possessions, and, most tellingly, in a description by Nicodemus Tessin who knew Bernini personally and visited the house in 1673–1674, while the artist was still alive. In none of these documents is the work actually attributed to Bernini, nor is it mentioned by Baldinucci or by Domenico Bernini, both of whose biographies must rely heavily on the artist’s own testimony. By contrast, Veritas, which was also in the house, is always attributed to him, in his own testament, in the inventories, and in the biographies. In fact, I have always believed that the sculpture was conceived and executed by Pietro Bernini, assisted in relatively minor ways by his son.24 The virtuoso technique, and dynamic, expansive, perforated design were clearly among the important legacies of Pietro. Gianlorenzo, on the other hand, even in works closest to his father’s, like the Aeneas and Anchises, sought to simplify and organize Pietro’s upward striving, artificially contrived, awkwardly contorted and intertwining forms into relatively clear, simple, logical structures. Since its publication the Metropolitan sculpture has become like a brilliant sun encircled by a number of closely related works that fully justify Baglione’s enthusiastic homage to Pietro Bernini’s technical facility. There are the herms from the Villa Borghese now also in the Metropolitan, executed in the spring and summer of 1616, concerning which Jacomo Manilli, who published a description of the villa in 1650 and must have known the truth since he was Cardinal Scipione’s household manager, said that Bernini assisted his father in executing the baskets of fruit (Fig. 22). There are the four Seasons at the Villa Aldobrandini at Frascati discovered and published by Zeri, concerning which no documentation has come to light (Fig. 23). There is the figure of Autumn in a private collection in New York (Fig. 24). There is a group once in the Palazzo Altemps, recorded in an early engraving (Fig. 25). Finally, there is in Berlin a fountain group with a satyr seated astride a panther and holding aloft a great mass of grapes (Fig. 26).25 All these works are obviously by the same hand, as everyone who has dealt with them agrees. Taken together they constitute a coherent body of work, a veritable iron chain conceptually and stylistically, that holds the key to the relationship between Pietro and Gianlorenzo Bernini. Only in the Metropolitan sculpture, in my

24 I said so in a letter to the Director of the Metropolitan when the museum was considering the sculpture for purchase. 25 All these works are discussed in Bernini scultore . . ., cited in note 10, pp. 18–37, 52–61.

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opinion, did Gianlorenzo’s mind and hand intervene, and not in the basic conception, but in two secondary, yet interrelated and highly significant ways: in the delicate, pellucid rendering of different tones and textures in the treatment of the marble surfaces, and in the extraordinary psychological counterpoint played out between the smiling, impudent and terrified putti — the kind textural and tonal subtlety and intellectual and emotional psychodrama that have no counterparts in the work of Pietro but became defining characteristics of Gianlorenzo’s art. The whole issue of authorship and chronology is thrown into crisis by new evidence concerning the fountain in Berlin, which I offer here for the first time, as I offered the five new early works by Bernini in my lecture in Rome long ago. The Berlin sculpture was purchased in Florence in 1884 by the then Director of the Berlin Museum, Wilhelm Bode from the well known dealer Bardini. Frida Schottmüller in 1933 catalogued the fountain as the work of an unknown Tuscan sculptor of the early seventeenth century.26 The matter rested there until Olga Raggio, in publishing the Metropolitan piece, related it to the Berlin fountain, which she also labeled as Tuscan, early seventeenth century.27 Since then there has been an increasing tendency to attribute all these works, including the Berlin fountain, to Gianlorenzo.28 They certainly are all inspired by the same guiding spirit. The fact is, however, that the Berlin fountain it is not a Roman work at all, but Florentine, that is to say precisely, it came from the Villa Corsi Salviati at Sesto Fiorentino, a once famous property of the Corsi bankers and still fairly well preserved. Quite by accident, on a visit to the villa some years ago, I discovered an exact copy of the Berlin fountain in an open loggia in the east wing of the garden façade (Figs. 27–30).29 I have uncovered 26 Schottmüller (Frieda), Kaiser-Friedrich Museum. Die italienischen und spanischen Bildwerke der Renaissance und des Barock, Berlin, 1933, p. 209. 27 Raggio, ‘A new Bacchic Group . . .’, cited in note 23, p. 413. 28 A notable exception is Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco, who attended my presentation of this paper at the Villa Medici (February 19, 1999) and adopted my attribution to Pietro Bernini of the Sesto fountain and the related sculptures in the exhibition he subsequently organized with Maria Grazia Bernardini: Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Regista del barocco (exhib. cat. Rome), Rome, 1999, p. 18, ill., 33, n. 19. 29 Our Fig. 27 is part large album, preserved at the villa, consisting of Alinari photographs of the family and the villa, with an affectionate manuscript dedication by Bardo to his daughter Francesca, dated 11 November 1888; Alinari dates the photo 1885. I am greatly indebted to the veteran custodian of the villa, Bruno Bruscagli, for his generous help with this and other matters. On our Figs. 28, 29, 30, a drawing by Giuseppe Zocchi for the

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1. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Coppola. Rome, S. Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: David Lees, Rome).

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3. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Cardinal Dolfin. Venice, S. Michele all’Isola (photo: Böhm, Venice).

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2. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Camilla Barbadori. Copenhagen, Statens Museum for Kunst.

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5. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Cardinal Bellarmino. Rome, Church of the Gesù (photo: ICCD).

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4. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Cardinal Escoubleau de Sourdis. Bordeaux, Musée des Beaux-Arts (photo: Giraudon, Paris).

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6. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Giovanni Battista Santoni. Rome, S. Prassede (photo: Foto Unione, Rome).

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7. Roman portrait. Rome, Museo delle Terme.

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8. Pietro Bernini, Coronation of Clement VIII. Rome, S. Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari).

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9. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Portrait of Clement VIII (detail of Fig. 8). Rome, S. Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari). 10. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Amalthean Goat. Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: Alinari).

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11. Three Sleeping Putti. Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: Alinari). 12. Gianlorenzo Bernini, St. Sebastian. Lugano, Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection.

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13. Gianlorenzo Bernini, St. Lawrence. Florence, Contini-Bonacossi Collection (photo: ICCD).

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14. Strozzi Chapel. Rome, S. Andrea della Valle.

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15. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Cherubs. Rome, S. Andrea della Valle, Barberini Chapel.

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16. Giovanni Battista Falda, Veduta e prospetto del gran’teatero dell’acque della Villa Aldobrandini di Belvedere à Frascati, engraving, detail, entrance to the chapel of St. Sebastian of the nymphaeum (Falda [Giovanni Battista], Le fontane nelle ville di Frascati nel Tuscolano, Rome, 1684, pl. 6).

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17. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy defeating a Marine Dragon. Los Angeles, CA, J. Paul Getty Museum (photo: L. A. Foersterling, St. Louis).

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19. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy bitten by a “serpe,” side view. Berlin, Staatliche Museen.

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18. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy bitten by a “serpe.” Berlin, Staatliche Museen.

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20. Arion-Satyr riding on a Dolphin. Rome, Galleria Borghese.

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21. Pietro Bernini, assisted by Gianlorenzo. Bacchic Group. New York, Metropolitan Museum.

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22. Pietro Bernini, Herms. New York, Metropolitan Museum.

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24. Pietro Bernini, Autumn. New York, Private Collection.

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23. Pietro Bernini, Autumn. Frascati, Villa Aldobrandini.

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25. Bacchic Group from the Palazzo Altemps, Rome, drawing. Eton (Berkshire), Eton College Library.

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26. Pietro Bernini, Satyr with a Panther. Berlin, Staatliche Museen.

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28. Copy after Fig. 26. Sesto Fiorentino, Villa Corsi Salviati (photo: Marilyn Lavin July 2005).

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27. Copy after Fig. 26. Sesto Fiorentino, Villa Corsi Salviati (photo: Alinari No. 32494, dated 1885, detail).

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29. Giusppe Zocchi, Villa di Sesto delli SS:ri Marchesi Corsi, drawing. New York, Pierpont Morgan Library.

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30. Detail of Fig. 29.

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31. Map of the Prato Fiorentino.

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32. Eros and Pan Vintaging. London, British Museum (photo: British Museum).

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33. Dionysiac group (detail). Rome, Villa Albani (photo: Deutsches archaeologisches Institut).

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no record of the substitution as such, but we know that the Marchese Bardo Corsi sold some of his art (including a bronze Mercury by Zanobi Lastricati and Ciani Campagni in 1879) to finance a major renovation of the villa, most especially the garden, which was his passionate interest, before the turn of the century. This was the circumstance under which Bode acquired the piece for the Berlin Museum in 1884, and the replacement with a very accurate copy must have been part of the arrangement. Thanks to a recent publication of the fountain by Michael Knuth attributing the work to Gianlorenzo, we now know that that it was first mentioned in the records of the Berlin Museum on March 19, 1883, as actually belonging to Marchese Corsi.30 Since Pietro Bernini was himself a native of Sesto Fiorentino, the provenance of the work in itself proves beyond any reasonable doubt that he was the sculptor. However, neither in the biographical record nor in the documents concerning his career in Naples, South Italy and Rome, where he settled definitively with his family in 1605–1606, is there any indication of his having received a commission from his native town. Much of the Corsi archive is preserved, and a very substantial monograph on the villa, built in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century, was published in 1937 by the Marchese Giulio Guicciardini Corsi Salviati.31 But there are many lacunae and no record of our fountain has come to light. We know, however, that Pietro spent a brief interlude in Florence during 1594–1595 working with Giovanni Battista Caccini. In fact, the problem of the origin of the sculpture is resolved, happily or unhappily depending on your point of view, by a single, seemingly quite innocent document published by Pasquale Rotondi in 1933, and almost completely overlooked since then. The solution, in my opinion, radically alters the history of early Baroque view of the villa in his Vedute delle ville, e d’altri luoghi della Toscana, Florence, 1757, see Dee (Elaine Evans), Views of Florence and Tuscany by Giuseppe Zocchi. 1711–1767. Seventy-seven Drawings from the Collection of the Pierpont Morgan Library. New York (exhib. cat.), New York, 1968, no. 47. The sculpture in Sesto is exactly the same size as that in Berlin, 138 cm. high, and must have been copied from the original by the mechanical technique of pointing off. 30 Knuth (Michael), ‘Eine Brunnen-Skulptur von Gian Lorenzo Bernini’ in Bildende Kunst, IV, 1989, p. 58; his attribution was followed by Schütze, Bernini scultore . . ., cited in note 10, p. 58, with further references. 31 Guicciardini Corsi Salviati, (Giulio), La villa Corsi a Sesto, Florence, 1937; on the decorations of the villa, Manini, (Maria Pia), Comune di Sesto Fiorentino. La decorazione in villa tra Sesto e Castello nel XVI e XVII secolo (grottesche, allegorie, emblemi), Sesto Fioretno, 1979.

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sculpture. Rotondi found a reference to a tax notice of August 1595, which reads: ‘M.o Pietro di Lorenzo Bernino, lavora sul Prato di scultura, Angelica di Giovanni di Giovanni Galanti, l’anno 1595 in Gabella T. 5 Notif. 87.’32 Rotondi, who makes no mention of the Berlin sculpture, understandRotondi (Pasquale), ‘L’educazione artistica di Pietro Bernini’, in Capitolium, XI, 1933, p. 397. The document cited by Rotondi is a later abstract from the original tax records, which I have traced in the Archivio di Stato, Florence. Because he had been resident in Naples, where he married, and was unfamiliar with the laws of Florence, Pietro had submitted a petition, for a delay in the payment of taxes due on the dowry of his wife. The petition was rejected, but he was permitted to re-submit with proof of the size of the dowry. Gabella dei Contratti, Suppliche e rappresentanze dirette al regio trono e risolute con rescritto sovrane. Busta 1261 bis. fol. 46 recto: Ser.mo Gran Ducha. Pietro di Lorenzo Bernini fiorentino schultore servo di V.A.S. con Reverenzia li espone come essendo stato circa, a hannj dieci a napoli dove a preso moglie oggi desidera impatriarsi, e non sapendo luso di questa citta non a pagato la Gabella della dote, dove, ne stato achusato, di sc 200 di dote li quali non ha hauto e p. cio ricorre a V.A.S. con pregarla gli faccia Grazia di dua Mesi di tempo, accio possi produrre fede hautentiche di Napoli della quantità che il d.o ebbe p. dote e di quel tanto pagarne la gab.a come, e il solito obligandosi a pregarle èl notro Sig.re Iddio. p/ ogni sua Maggiore felicita. 19 di Ag º95. di à su.to di pagar il giustficato et presto glislel[?] il fra due mesi a fare le sue giustificationi. Busta 1261 is, 1595–97, fol. 45 recto: VS. Ser.mo gran duca. Piéro a L.zo bernini scultore, hà esposto a V.A. d’esser stato circa dieci anni à napoli, et havervi preso moglie, et come desidera rimpatriarsi, ma p. non havere saputo l’uso della città non hà pagato la gabella della dote essendo stato accusato p. sc. 200 che non hà havuto. Supplica a V.A.S. à farli gratia di due mesi di têmpo à poter p.durre fede autêtiche di Napoli della vera qut.tà di d.a dote. Per informatione diciamo a V.A.S. come sotto dì 12 del p’nte mese di Ag.o d.o supplicante fù notificato da un notificatore segreto a libro V O/5 88 d’haver tolto moglie in Napoli con dota di sc 200, — che per essere egli fiorentino è obligato secondogli ordini a pagarne la gabella p. quella vera qtità che li sarà stata promessa secondo le giustifiationi autêtiche ch’ egli deve fare venire di Napoli, e p.che da un’mese in là ch’spira alle 12 di settêmbre e può essere gravato, et nô se li può fare da noi dilatione alcuna però è ricorso à V.A. p. gratia di dua mesi di tempo et a quella humilmente ci raccomandiamo de’ gabella. il di 30 dì Agosto 1595 Gio: ba con 2 di sett.bre 95. 32

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ably took ‘prato’ to mean the quarter of Florence inside the city walls toward the Porta al Prato and he sought in vain to relate the document to the Palazzo Corsini located there. But the term in this case clearly refers to the vast area northwest of Florence from which the city of Prato takes its name. Sesto Fiorentino lies in the virtual center of this plain, and the villa Corsi is located on the Prato road just before Sesto (Fig. 31).33 It is important to note that the fountain for Villa Corsi must have had a precursor in a similar sculpture, now lost, for which Pietro was paid in May 1589, while he was in Naples: una statua di marmo attacata con un albero con un puttino sopra nome del bacco che fa il moto di spremere l’uva.34 So began a long series that continued through the works he made subsequently in Rome. Apart from their common subject matter, two distinctive formal characteristics define these impassioned and awe inspiring sculptures: their intertwining, upward spiraling action, and their brilliant display of perforated, cantilevered forms. They are technically and psychologically ‘mannered,’ formulaic and repetitive in a way inconceivable for Gianlorenzo Bernini at any age, in my opinion. On the other hand, their qualities constitute a new departure in the history of Italian sculpture. The likes had not been seen since antiquity, and indeed they clearly depend upon the rediscovery of a particular phase of Roman art known to modern scholars as the ‘Antonine Baroque’ (Figs. 32, 33).35 Works of this period provide the only real prece33 Rotondi even speculated, but then rejected the thought that the reference could be to a work at Sesto: ‘Infrutuose sono riuscite le nostre ricerche dei lavori che Pietro potè eseguire in quella parte di Firenze, che, per essere un giorno poco abitata, aveva appunto il nome di ‘Prato’; ma dubitiamo che si tratti di opera di decorazione o di restauro, che l’ancor giovine scultore poteva fornire all’erigenda villa dei Principi Corsini, che si andava compiendo in quel tempo sotta la direzione dello stesso architetto della facciata di Santa Trinita: il Buontalenti’. Rotondi, ibidem, pp. 397 f., 392–398. 34 Ceci (Giuseppe), ‘Per la biografia degli artisti des XVI e XVII secolo. Nuovi documenti. II. Scultori’, Napoli nobilissima, no. XV, 1906, p. 117, cited by Raggio, ‘A new Bacchic Group . . .’, cited in note 17, p. 417, n. 28. 35 On the works illustrated here, see Strong (Eugenie Sellers), ‘Antiques in the Collection of Sir Frederick Cook, Bart., at Doughty House, Richmond’, in The Journal of Hellenic Studies, XXVIII, 1908, pp. 32 f., Muthmann (Fritz), Statuenstützen und dekoratives Beiwerk an griechischen und römischen Bildwerken. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der römischen

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dents for Pietro Bernini’s dramatic innovations, and it is important to realize that the father’s appropriation of ancient models paved the way for his son’s very different reprise of classical tradition. The Sesto fountain proves that Pietro Bernini, then 32 years old, was perfectly capable of designing and executing such works before his son was born. Gianlorenzo would retain his father’s lessons, but from the beginning he would temper their excesses and subject them to a rigorous formal structure and emotional rationality. The relationship between Bernini father and son was curiously repeated in that between Mozart father and son, who composed creditable, and recognizable, music at age six. For both cases, Pietro Bernini gave the appropriate comment when, as Gianlorenzo later recalled, the future Pope Urban VIII warned the proud father that his prodigious child would surpass him: ‘Your Excellency, in that game he who loses wins!’36

Kopistentätigkeit, Heidelberg, 1951, pp. 86 f., Bol (Peter), ed., Forschungen zur Villa Albani. Katalog der antiken Bildwerke III, Berlin, 1992, pp. 363–366, with excellent details. 36 Sappi V. E. che in quel gioco chi perde vince (Blunt-Bauer, Diary . . ., cited in note 5, p. 15, June 6, 102, August 5; Chantelou, Journal . . ., cited in note 5, pp. 18, 84).

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‘Bozzetto Style’ The Renaissance Sculptor’s Handiwork*

I

T takes most people much time and effort to become proficient at manipulating the tools of visual creation. But to execute in advance sketches, studies, plans for a work of art is not a necessary and inevitable part of the creative process. There is no evidence for such activity in the often astonishingly expert and sophisticated works of Paleolithic art, where images may be placed beside or on top of one another apparently at random, but certainly not as corrections, cancellations, or ‘improved’ replacements. Although I am not aware of any general study of the subject, I venture to say that periods in which preliminary experimentation and planning were practiced were relatively rare in the history of art. While skillful execution requires prior practice and expertise, the creative act itself, springing from a more or less unselfconscious cultural and professional memory, might be quite autonomous and unpremeditated. A first affirmation of this hypothesis in the modern literature of art history occurred more than a century-and-a-half ago when one of the great French founding fathers of modern art history (especially the discipline of iconography), Adolphe Napoléon

* This contribution is a much revised and expanded version of my original, brief sketch of the history of sculptors’ models, Irving Lavin, ‘Bozzetti and Modelli. Notes on Sculptural Procedure from the Early Renaissance through Bernini,’ in Stil und Überlieferung in der Kunst des Abendlandes, Akten des 21. internationalen Kongresses für Kunstgeschichte in Bonn 1964 (Berlin, 1967), vol. 3, 93–104. In abbreviated form this version was presented at a symposium titled Creativity: The Sketch in the Arts and Sciences, organized by myself and Henry A. Millon at the Institute for Advanced Study and the National Gallery of Art in May 2001.

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Didron, made a discovery that can be described, almost literally, as monumental. In the introduction to his publication — the first Greek-Byzantine treatise on painting, which he dedicated to his friend and enthusiastic fellow-medievalist, Victor Hugo — Didron gave a dramatic account of a moment of intellectual illumination that occurred during a pioneering exploratory visit to Greece in August and September 1839 for the purpose of studying the medieval fresco and mosaic decorations of the Byzantine churches.1 He had, he says, wondered at the uniformity and continuity of the Greek pictorial tradition, and upon reaching Mount Athos, with its innumerable monastic churches covered with decorations, he was stunned by a creative spectacle he witnessed, quite by chance, at the very outset of his visit to the Holy Mountain. The first convent we entered at Mount Athos was that of the Esphigménou. The great church, recently constructed, was at that very moment scaffolded; a painter from Caria, aided by his brother, by two students, and by two young apprentices, covered with narrative frescos the entire interior porch preceding the nave. The first of the students, who was a deacon and the eldest, was to take over the shop at the death of the master. My joy was great at this happy chance that seemed to reveal to me the secret of these paintings and painters, and that thus responded to the useless questions I had asked at Salamis and in the city of Athens. I climbed up on the scaffold and I saw the artist, surrounded by his pupils, decorating the narthex of the church with frescos. The young brother spread the mortar on the wall; the master sketched the picture; the first student filled the contours traced by the master in the scene, which he had not had time to complete; a young student gilded the nimbuses, painted the inscriptions, made the ornaments; the two others, younger, ground and mixed the colors. Yet the master painter sketched his pictures as from memory or inspiration. In 1 Adolphe Napoléon Didron, Manuel d’iconographie chrétienne, grecque et latine, avec une introduction et des notes par M. Didron. Traduit du manuscrit byzantin, le guide de la peinture par Paul Durand (Paris, 1845). A valuable edition of the text in English translation was published by Paul Hetherington, The ‘Painter’s Manual’ of Dionysius of Fourna. An English translation of cod. gr. 708 in the Saltykov-Shchedrin State Public Library (Leningrad and London 1974). On Didron see the apt remarks of Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence. A History of the Image before the Era of Art (Chicago and London,1994), 17–19.

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an hour, before our eyes, he traced on the wall a picture showing Christ giving to his followers the mission to evangelize and baptize the world. Christ and the eleven other personages were about life size. He executed his sketch from memory, without a cartoon, without a drawing, without a model. Examining the other pictures he had terminated, I asked him if he had executed them himself; he responded affirmatively, and added that he very rarely effaced a design once he had done it. We were astonished because these paintings were incontestably superior to those of our second-rank artists who make religious paintings. Some people, including myself, would place the Mount Athos painter on the line with our best living artists, especially when they make religious painting. This alert painter astonished me even further with his prodigious memory. Not only did he trace his sketches and complete them without a drawing or cartoon, but I saw him dictating to his second student the inscriptions and sentences that were intended for the pictures and various personages. He recited all that without a book or notes, and all that was exactly the text of the sentences and inscriptions that I had seen in Attica, in the Peloponnesus and at Salamis. I expressed to him my admiration, but my surprise also greatly astonished him, and he responded, with what I think was rare modesty, that it was quite simple and much less extraordinary than I thought. Then he went quietly back to work.2 2 Didron (as in n. 1) XVI–XVIII ‘Le premier couvent où nous entrâmes, en pénétrant dans le mont Athos, fut celui d’Esphigménou. La grande église, nouvellement bâtie, était en ce moment même échafaudée; un peintre de Karès, aidé par son frère, par deux élèves et deux jeunes apprentis, couvrait de fresques historiées tout le porche intérieur qui précède la nef. Le premier des élèves, qui était diacre et le plus âgé, devait reprendre l’atelier à la mort du maître. ‘Ma joie fut grande de ce hasard heureux qui paraissait me livrer le secret de ces peintures et de ces peintres, et qui répondait ainsi aux inutiles questions que j’avais faites à Salamine et dans la ville d’Athènes. Je montai sur l’échafaud du maître peintre, et je vis l’artiste, entouré de ses élèves, décorant, de fresques le narthex de cette église. Le jeune frère étendait le mortier sur le mur; le maître esquissait le tableau; le premier élève remplissait les contours marqués par le chef dans les tableaux que celui ci n’avait pas le temps de terminer; un jeune élève dorait les nimbes, peignait les inscriptions, faisait les ornements; les deux autres, plus petits, broyaient et délayaient les couleurs. Cependant, le maître peintre esquissait ses tableaux comme de mémoire ou d’inspiration. En une heure, sous nos yeux, il traça sur le mur un tableau représentant Jésus Christ donnant à ses apôtres la mission d’évangéliser

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1. Taddeo Gaddi and Workshop, Transfiguration. Badia, Florence.

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3. Unfinished group, Dionysus and Satyr. National Museum, Athens.

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2. Masaccio, Trinity, detail (head of the Virgin showing incised grid). Santa Maria Novella, Florence.

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5. Unfinished archaic Kouros. National Museum, Athens.

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4. Unfinished statuette of a Youth. Museum of the Agora, Athens.

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7. Attributed to Donatello, “Forzori altar,” terracotta. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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6. Unfinished statuette. Cathedral Museum, Orvieto.

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8. Donatello, Christ before Pilate and Caiaphas. Pulpit, San Lorenzo, Florence.

9. Benedetto da Maiano, Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis, terracotta. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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In the course of the interview Didron discovered the ‘explanation’ for this ordinary extraordinary pictorial feat when the Carian painter, Joasaph, mentioned to him a manuscript in which detailed prescriptions for such work were laid forth, The Painter’s Guide. The text itself, a translation of which Didron published in 1845, was recent, but it clearly codified the cumulative, unwritten experience of a millennial tradition of the painter’s craft. Didron extrapolated that such guidebooks lay at the heart of medieval art generally, although he was fully aware that art in the West varied much more than that of the East, from place to place and from time to time. (Hence, it is clear in any case that neither the spontaneous procedure nor the guidebook he discovered could in themselves be held responsible for the ‘conservative’ character of Byzantine art.) Didron’s insight, inspired by his accidental encounter with a living tradition of what would come to be called ‘alla prima’ execution of monumental wall paintings, was repeated a century later through a purely deductive process from the historical evidence of early Italian painting, by the German art historian Robert Oertel.3 In a drastically revisionary essay published in 1940, Oertel came to an exactly parallel conclusion, transforming our understanding of the amount et de baptiser le monde. Le Christ et les onze autres personnages étaient à peu près de grandeur naturelle. Il fit son esquisse de mémoire, sans carton, sans dessin, sans modèle. En examinant les autres tableaux qu ‘il avait terminés, je lui demandai s’il les avait exécutés de même; il répondit affirmativement, et ajouta qu’il effaçait très rarement un trait qu’il avait une fois tracé. ‘Nous étions dans l’étonnement, car ces peintures étaient incontestablement supérieures à celles de nos artistes de second ordre qui font des tableaux religieux. Par quelques personnes, et je suis de ce nombre, le peintre du mont Athos pourrait être mis certainement sur la ligne de nos meilleurs artistes vivants, surtout lorsqu’ils exécutent de la peinture religieuse. ‘Ce peintre si alerte m’étonnait encore par sa prodigieuse mémoire. Non seulement il traçait ses esquisses et les achevait sans dessin ni carton; mais je le voyais dictant à son second élève les inscriptions et les sentences que devaient porter les tableaux et les divers personnages. Il débitait tout cela sans livre ni notes, et tout cela était rigoureusement le texte des sentences et des inscriptions que j’avais relevées dans l’Attique, dans le Péloponnèse et à Salamine. Je lui témoignai mon admiration; mais ma surprise l’étonna beaucoup lui-même, et il me répondit, avec ce que je croyais une rare modestie, que c’était bien simple et beaucoup moins extraordinaire que je ne le pensais. Puis il se remit tranquillement à l’oeuvre.’ 3 Robert Oertel, ‘Wandmalerei und Zeichnung in Italien,’ Mitteilungen des kunsthistorischen Instituts in Florenz, 5 (1940): 217–314; also his Early Italian Painting to 1400 (New York and Washington, 1966), 70–77. The essential validity of Oertel’s observations may be gauged from the vast literature and physical evidence gathered in the postwar period, surveyed Paolo Mora et al., Conservation of Wall Paintings (London 1987).

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and kind of preparation that lay behind the great mural decorations of the trecento. In the West, too, the fresco was executed directly on the wall, overlaying a rough sketch that served merely as a guide, not as a preliminary study, like the design first laid down by the master painter at Mount Athos. Oertel, however, took a very different view of the process that lay behind the execution of the wall painting. He questioned the fundamental role traditionally ascribed to the western artist’s ‘model book,’ the visual equivalent of the Byzantine painter’s handbook that ‘explained’ for Didron the wondrous, unpremeditated process he had witnessed on the Holy Mountain. Oertel’s intuition was confirmed with the discovery in the aftermath of World War II of great numbers of sinopias, the monumental and often astonishingly sketchy drawings executed directly on the wall beneath the fresco, not as a study but as a guide to the artist who covered it as he painted the fresco on top (Fig. 1).4 Oertel demonstrated, as well, that a new order was introduced by Masaccio who first used a grid and a full-size cartoon traced on the wall (Fig. 2).5 The old view that the medieval painter in the West worked by a more or less mechanical method of copying from prescribed models and patterns can no longer be maintained. Indeed, the chief controversy has been reduced at present to the question whether even small scale compositional sketches were used before the Renaissance. There has taken place what amounts to a fundamental reversal in our understanding of how works of art were conceived. The medieval artist, formerly thought of as being bound by an ironclad system of servile copying, now emerges as the paragon of direct and unpremeditated creation. It was the Renaissance that sought to objectify and rationalize the artistic process into a fixed method and body of rules. A corollary of this development is that the rules that emerged in the Renaissance and flourished in a great body of theoretical as well as practical art-literature were of an entirely different nature than those prescribed in the medieval handbooks. The latter were essentially of two kinds, often 4 On the fresco by Taddeo Gaddi, see Millard Meiss, The Great Age of Fresco. Discoveries, Recoveries, and Survivals (New York,1970), 56–57; Andrew Ladis, Taddeo Gaddi. Critical Reappraisal and Catalogue Raisonné (Columbia, MO, 1982), 156–7, No. 17 5 Eve Borsook interprets the grid, which occurs only in the figure of the Madonna, as a scheme for calculating the foreshortening of the head (The Mural Painters of Tuscany from Cimabue to Andrea del Sarto [Oxford, 1980], 69–70). This explanation, however, does not preclude the use of the grid in conjunction with a cartoon, and in any case does not affect Oertel’s demonstration of Masaccio’s innovative approach to mural painting.

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combined in a single treatise. One format was technical, consisting essentially of recipes and other directions, including geometric prescriptions, for actually constructing and executing the work of art; the second type was essentially iconographical, providing by way of description or illustration details of how a given subject was to be represented. What the Renaissance created were guides to the creative process itself, conceived as a progressive articulation and refinement of a preliminary thought to a finished prototype, of which the final work was, insofar as possible, a permanent duplicate. The Renaissance evolution was rooted in a fundamental paradox. On the one hand, there emerged for the first time in the history of art what can properly be called an articulate theory of creation that would lead the practitioner step by step from the set task to the final execution, in a reasoned and orderly fashion. On the other hand, by the same token, the process elicited and led to the conscious preservation of a more or less complete repertory of preliminary studies that record what might be called the artist’s inner dialogue with the problems presented by the task at hand. What became visible, as never before, and part and parcel with the elaborate theoretical structure, was the artist’s premeditation, the process of planning, whether spontaneous or self-conscious, that led from an initial idea to the final work. These phenomena have their counterparts in sculpture, though they have received far less attention in this domain. A useful point of departure is provided by the pioneering study by Carl Bluemel of Greek sculptural technique, first published in 1927.6 On certain unfinished pieces of ancient statuary there is preserved a number of small protuberances or knobs, with tiny holes in the center (Fig. 3, especially on the head and above the knees; Fig. 4, on the chest and knee). By analogy with modern sculptural practice, it is evident that these knobs are what are called ‘points,’ fixed reference marks by means of which measurements are made in copying from a model or another sculpture. Such examples prove beyond question that a system

6 Carl Bluemel, ‘Griechische Bildhauerarbeit,’ Jahrbuch des deutschen archäologischen Instituts, Ergänzungsheft XI (Berlin, 1927): 1–78, published independently thereafter (third edition, Berlin 1940) though omitting valuable documentation; English edition, ‘Greek Sculptors at Work’ (London 1955). Further observations by Bluemel appear in ‘Modelle zu griechischen Giebelskulpturen,’ Archäologischer Anzeiger 54 (1939): 302–13. For a general survey of sculpural procedure from antiquity to modern times, see Rudolf Wittkower, Sculpture. Processes and Principles (New York, 1977).

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of mechanical pointing off was known and used in antiquity.7 On this basis, Bluemel made an observation that is of fundamental significance. It concerns an inherent difference in procedure between sculpture that is executed free and directly in the stone, and sculpture produced by pointing off from a model. In the former case, characteristic of archaic and classical Greece, the artist tends to carve the statue uniformly in the round (Fig. 5). He removes, as it were, a series of ‘skins’ from the figure, and at any given stage in the execution it will show a more or less uniform degree of finish. With the technique of pointing off, particularly by the Romans for copying Greek statuary, the tendency is to work the figure from one side at a time, and to bring some parts to a state of relative completion before others. What little evidence there is for the practice of medieval sculptors comes mainly from the Gothic period.8 But the limited evidence is of great value because it speaks with a single and unequivocal voice. Bluemel himself cited several unfinished sculptures, such as the small female figure, probably an allegory of Fortitude, from the late fourteenth century in Orvieto (Fig. 6). The technique is basically similar to that of archaic Greek sculpture; indeed, all the medieval examples show the characteristics of direct carving, without pointing from a model.9 Even more striking is the consistency of the docu-

7 Recent bibliography and examples: Peter E. Corbett, ‘Attic Pottery of the Late Fifth Century from the Athenian Agora,’ Hesperia 181 (1949): 305–306, 341; Gisela M. A. Richter, Ancient Italy (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1955), 105–111; Evelyn B. Harrison, ‘New Sculpture from the Athenian Agora, 1959,’ Hesperia 29 (1960): 370, 382; Gisela M. A. Richter, ‘How were the Roman Copies of Greek Portraits Made?,’ Römische Mitteilungen 69 (1962): 52–58. 8 An important extension of Bluemel’s analysis to the development of Egyptian sculpture was made by Rudolf Anthes, ‘Werkverfahren ägyptischer Bildhauer,’ Mitteilungen des deutschen Instituts für ägyptische Altertumskunde in Kairo 10 (1941): 79–125. 9 After Bluemel see Theodor Müller in Reallexikon zur deutschen Kunstgeschichte, 9 vols. (Stuttgart 1937– ), vol. 2, 608–614, s.v. ‘Bildhauer’; also Fritz V. Arens in the same volume, 1062–1066, s.v. ‘Bosse, Bossenkapitell. ‘ On medieval sculptural procedure generally, see Pierre du Colombier, Les chantiers des cathedrales (Paris, 1973), 113–34, with bibliography, though much more study is necessary. Needless to say, considerable variation in degree of surface finish on a given work is possible within the general principle of ‘uniform, in the round’ carving in medieval sculpture. Yet, there are real exceptions. On certain incomplete Romanesque capitals, parts were brought to a final finish before the rest of the carving was even roughed out (suggesting the use of a repeated pattern?); Jean Trouvelot, ‘Remarques sur la technique des sculpteurs du moyen Age,’ Bulletin monumental 95 (1936): 103–108. John White, in his exemplary study of the Orvieto facade reliefs, showed that a uniform working technique was used only in the initial stages of blocking out; execution of

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mentary evidence, which for the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, particularly in Italy, is rather extensive. We have the abundant records of both Florence and Milan cathedrals. And they show by repeated instances, and without exceptions, that the monumental sculptures of these buildings were executed at this period not from models but from drawings. The drawings were not provided by the executing sculptors themselves but by other artists; and these other artists were usually not sculptors at all, but painters.10 The evidence concords perfectly with what the preserved examples suggested, for sculpture executed exclusively from drawings is of necessity carved directly. This then was the situation in the period immediately preceding the emergence of the great masters of the early Renaissance, and it was the system under which they grew up. It is astonishing how rapidly and completely things changed. We cannot even remotely conceive of Ghiberti or Donatello or Luca della Robbia executing sculpture as a general practice after someone else’s drawings, especially a painter’s. And as the sculptor began to provide his own designs, the documents show with equal consistency that these designs now normally took the form of models.11 Drawings the subsequent stages progressed at varying rates (‘The Reliefs on the Facade of the Duomo at Orvieto,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 20 [1959]: 254–302). In this case however, we are not dealing with an artist’s ‘creative procedure,’ but, as White concludes, with a workshop system in which specific kinds of secondary tasks were assigned to ‘specialists’ once the main forms had been established by the leading masters. 10 On sculptor’s drawings generally Harald Keller, in Reallexikon (as in n. 9), vol. 2, 625–639, s. v. ‘Bildhauerzeichnung.’ On the painters’ drawings for sculpture in Milan and Florence, Oertel (as in n. 3), 267–270. (also, for Milan, Ugo Nebbia, La scultura del Duomo di Milano [Milan,1910], 45–7, 59–66). This suggests a link between the Milanese and Florentine series of ‘giganti’ as regards working procedure, as well as program (Raghna and Nicolay Stang, ‘Donatello e il Giosue per il Campanile di S. Maria del Fiore alla luce dei documenti,’ Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia. Institutum Romanum Norvegiae 1 [Rome 1962] 119). Needless to say, drawings by sculptors are documented in the trecento: Nino Pisano, Scherlatti tomb, Pisa, 1362, Igino B. Supino, Arte Pisana (Florence, 1904): 230–231; wooden choir stall, Siena cathedral, 1377ff., Gaetano Milanesi, Documenti per la storia dell’arte senese, vol.1 (Siena, 1854 56), 332, 356, etc., Richard Krautheimer, ‘A drawing for the Fonte Gaia in Siena,’ Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art 10 (1952): 272. It must be emphasized that, regardless of who made them, the question whether there were true preparatory studies, as distinct from commission or working drawings, remains open. 11 On models and bozzetti generally, see Harald Keller and Anton Ress, in Reallexikon (as in n. 9), vol. 2, 1081–1098, s. v. ‘Bozzetto,’ and Theodor Müller, Reallexikon (as in n. 9), vol. 2, 600–607 This writer must report that so far he has encountered no certain example, either preserved or documented, of a model in whatever scale for monumental stone figural

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continue to be used, of course, but they are no longer the distinctive basis upon which works were commissioned or appraised.12 The first evidence we have of what must be regarded as a methodological and conceptual sea-change comparable to that inaugurated by Masaccio the painter, is a documentary notice referring to one of the famous series of colossal statues, or giganti, commissioned for the cathedral of Florence, the series that resulted ultimately in the David of Michelangelo. A partial payment was made in 1415 jointly to Donatello and Brunelleschi for a small figure of stone, draped with gilt lead (una figuretta di pietra, vestita di piombo dorato); they were to execute the figure ‘for a test and illustration of the large figures that are to be made upon the buttresses (per pruova e mostra sculpture before the fifteenth century. It should be emphasized, however, that there was an important trecento practice of making models for architectural elements which may or may not have included sculptured decorative details (documented at Prague, Xanten, Bremen, Milan, Florence, and Bologna; see Keller (as above) and Ludwig H. Heydenreich, in Reallexikon (as in n. 9) , vol. 1, 918–940, s. v. ‘Architekturmodell’); to this tradition presumably belongs the plaster model made by Claus Sluter for the ‘maconerie et facon’ of the fountain at Dijon (Henri David, Claus Sluter, [Paris 1951], 86). Terracotta sculpture, including models, was the subject of a recent exhibition, Bruce Boucher, ed., Earth and Fire. Italian Terracotta Sculpture from Donatello to Canova, exh. cat. (New Haven and London, 2001). On wax models in particular, see Charles Avery, ‘’La cera sempre aspetta’: Wax Sketch Models for Sculpture,’ Apollo 119 (1984): 166–76. 12 Jeno Lanyi was apparently the first to draw attention to this fact, and stressed the marked contrast between the Florentine masters on the one hand and on the other Jacopo della Quercia, in whose work drawings play a leading role (‘Quercia Studien,’ Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft 23 [1930]: 25–63). But in this effort to establish Quercia’s originality, Lanyi overlooked the fact that, in this respect at least, Quercia was carrying on a medieval tradition that was no less firmly rooted in trecento Siena than it had been in Florence and Milan (Oertel, as in n. 3, 263). Lanyi was right, however, in emphasizing Quercia’s departure, along with the Florentines, from the late trecento tradition of monumental sculpture executed on the basis of drawings supplied by painters. Lanyi ( as in n. 12, 53–54) also misinterpreted the passage in which Vasari discusses Quercia’s equestrian monument for the catafalque of Giovanni d’Azzo Ubaldini (Rosanna Bettarini and Paola Barocchi, eds., Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori : nelle redazioni del 1550 e 1568 [Florence, 1966–97], Testo, III , 21–22) to mean that Vasari attributed to Quercia the invention of the full scale sculptor’s model. Vasari in fact is referring specifically to the material construction of the piece, which in the sixteenth century was used for large models. Quercia’s monument, however, was not a model in the sense of being preparatory to execution in more permanent form, but belongs to the category of large scale decorations executed in temporary materials for special occasions such as funerals and festivals. The subject of early Renaissance sculptors’ use of drawings and models has been surveyed recently by Gary M. Radke, ‘Benedetto da Maiano and the Use of Full Scale Preparatory Models in the Quattrocento,’ in Verrocchio and Late Quattrocento Italian Sculpture, ed. Stephen Bule, et al. (Florence 1992), 217–24.

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delle figure grandi che s’anno a fare in su gli sproni)13. As far as I can discover this is the first reference to a model made in preparation for a piece of freestanding monumental sculpture since classical antiquity. The chief reason for making the model was probably of a technical nature. We know that considerable difficulties were experienced with the giant that Donatello had made a few years earlier out of terracotta; it had to be repaired on several occasions within a few years after it was completed.14 Chances are that Donatello and Brunelleschi were trying out what would indeed have been a novel combination of stone with a protective cover of metal in the form of drapery. But even if it was primarily a technical rather than an aesthetic experiment it represents a radical new departure in the way of conceiving a work of sculpture.15 From the foregoing it should be clear that in order to grasp fully the nature and significance of the creative process as it evolved in the Renaissance, it is important to understand that sculpture of the highest order can be created without first making a model of any kind, indeed without any externally manifested premeditation at all. The model is an invention and has a history of its own, and a corollary of this fact is that it embodies a history of style in its own right, related to, but also independent of that of the finished work for which it was made. One strand of this history is the development of what might be called the ‘prototypical’ style, in which the model is conceived as a fully developed preconception of the final work. Here it is important to note that the preliminary designs, whether drawings or models, mentioned in the documents were made as the basis for commissions and were often intended to be kept as a standard against which the completed work would be judged, and hence it seems probable that they were highly finished.16 This assumption receives some

Giovanni Poggi, Il Duomo di Firenze (Berlin, 1909), doc. no. 423. Horst W. Janson, ‘Giovanni Chellini’s ‘Libro’ and Donatello,’ in Studien zur toskanischen Kunst. Festschrift für Ludwig Heinrich Heydenreich, eds. Wolfgang Lotz and Lise L. Möller (München,1964), 134; reprinted in his 16 studies (New York. 1973), 107–16. 15 Brunelleschi’s participation and the fact that what was being planned was, after all, a piece of architectural sculpture, may not be fortuitous. It is my feeling that this experiment, and the development of the sculptor’s model generally was closely related to the earlier tradition of architectural models (see n. 11 above). 16 See for examples Cesare Guasti, Il pergamo di Donatello pel Duomo di Prato (Florence 1887), 13; Allan Marquand, Luca della Robbia (Princeton, 1914), 78, 197; Poggi (as in n. 13), doc. 1099. 13 14

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support from examples from the second half of the century that have a (by no means certain) claim to be regarded as authentic models. Whatever the terracotta ‘Forzori altar’ attributed to Donatello may be, it coincided perfectly with the rough and sketchy character of Donatello’s version of the rilievo stiacciato (Figs. 7, 8);17 at the opposite end of the scale, but equally undistinguishable from the version as executed, are the highly finished models of Benedetto da Maiano related to the reliefs on his pulpit in S. Croce of around 1475; the executed sculptures show only slight variations from the models (Figs. 9, 10).18 In the end, it seems likely that the models of the early Renaissance were presentation pieces, ‘illustrations’ or ‘try-outs,’ rather than preliminary studies. One begins to get the sense of a distinctive ‘sketch’ style with Verrocchio who, in addition to modeling the forms smoothly, used a sharp tool to trace certain shapes in the soft clay with the same vigor and impetuosity that permeates all his work (Fig. 11). His terracotta model in the Victoria and Albert Museum for the Forteguerri monument in Pistoia (c.1475), though hardly a sketch, is very different from such highly finished models as those of Benedetto da Majano.19 And if the London relief was actually a presentation piece, submitted for the patron’s approval, it marks the appearance of a new attitude in this domain. I think it not coincidental, however, that the first true ‘bozzetto-style,’ that is, a ‘preliminary’ manner of execution in a preliminary study, should have been developed by Michelangelo, the first sculptor who made the preliminary model a deliberate, integral, and consistent part of his creative process. Michelangelo’s small figures in wax and clay have the quality of directness that prompts us to speak for the first time of real sculptured sketches, or ‘bozzetti’ (Figs. 12, 20).20 In the terracotta torso in the British Museum, the creative act is everywhere evident in the very personal striated surface treatment that was, in a manner of speaking, See Boucher (as in n. 11), 108–111. Radke 1992; Boucher (as in n. 11), 136–138. 19 On the model for the Forteguerri monument see Boucher (as in n. 11), 126–29. 20 This usage is, however, anachronistic. Following such root forms as ‘boza’ and ‘abbozzare’, which focus on the preliminary or unfinished state of a work, the diminutive ‘bozzetto,’ referring to a small, rapidly executed sketch, in contradistinction to a ‘modello,’ became current only in the eighteenth century. See Oreste Ferrari, ‘La fortuna (e sfortuna) critica del ‘bozzetto’ nel Settecento, in Studi in onore di Giulio Carlo Argan (Florence, 1994), 253–258. For a succinct discussion of earlier terminology for preparatory works in sculpture, see Dario Covi, ‘Reinterpreting a Verrocchio Document,’ Source. Notes in the History of Art, 12, No. 4 (1993): 5–12. 17 18

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Michelangelo’s creative signature. Throughout the whole prior history of European sculpture there is nothing that conveys in this way the sense of being confronted with the artist’s most inward and private searchings. Moreover, the sources and preserved examples together leave no doubt that he made such studies regularly for all sorts of projects — in painting as well as in sculpture — so it can also be said that with Michelangelo the three dimensional sketch became an essential part of the artist’s creative machinery. His bozzetti so impressed his contemporaries as characteristic of his modus operandi and as models of inspiration, that they included one as the chief attribute of the allegory of Painting (sic!) on his tomb in Santa Croce (Fig. 13).21 Nor is it coincidental that this technique coincides with Michelangelo’s development of a ‘preliminary manner’ in other media. It would seem that at the beginning of his career, in his very first drawings, copies after Giotto and Masaccio, Michelangelo went back to the very origins of ‘modeling’ in the modern sense of suggesting three-dimensional form, and invented a revolutionary new technique for doing so (Figs. 14, 15). The intersecting grids of parallel cross-hatchings suggest, without fully describing, the shapes they represent and thus explicitly declare their preliminary nature in so many words, or so many lines, as it were. The same graphic style became literally incisive in the preliminary stages of his work in sculpture, the claw-toothed tool animating the surfaces of his unfinished marbles, and his models (Fig. 16).22 The ‘interdisciplinarity’of this technique in Michelangelo’s œuvre makes it quite impossible to attribute priority to one medium or the other; and the degree to which this autonomous, purely graphic manner was a 21 See Ludwig Goldscheider, A Survey of Michelangelo’s Models in Wax and Clay (London, 1962) (with many problematic attributions), esp. Note on the Frontispiece, and notes on figs. 1–2, where Michelangelo’s use of sketch-models for work in both media is emphasized. On the history of the tomb and its ideology, see Zygmunt Wazbinski, L’Accademia medicea del disegno a Firenze nel cinquecento: idea e istituzione, 2 vols. (Florence, 1987), vol. 1, 155–176; Kathleen Weil-Garris Brandt, ‘Michelangelo’s Monument : an Introduction to an Architecture of Iconography,’ in Architectural studies in memory of Richard Krautheimer, ed. Cecil L. Striker (Mainz, 1996), 27–31. The use of a sculptural model for Painting was among contemporaries, and continues to be a subject of debate (see Herbert von Einem, ‘Ein verlorenes Sklavenmodell Michelanglos?,’ Rivista d’arte, 28 (1953): 145–155. 22 On Michelangelo’s ‘graphic’ mode in drawing and sculpting, see the article and corrective addendum by my former student Martha Dunkelman ‘Michelangelo’s Earliest Drawing Style,’ Drawing 1 (1980): 121–26 and ‘Correction to ‘Michelangelo’s Earliest Drawing Style,’ Drawing 2 (1980): 7.

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deliberate, conscious, invention is evident from an astonishing drawing in which Michelangelo drew his own right hand in the act of drawing the cross-hatched rendering of a left hand clutching a soft material, which coincides with the left hand grasping the cloth of the perizonium in the newly rediscovered first version of the Risen Christ for S. Maria sopra Minerva in Rome (Figs. 17, 18).23 At the opposite end of preparation is the equally dramatic fact that with Michelangelo we are able, again for the first time since antiquity, to prove the use of large scale models for monumental stone sculpture. I refer of course to the Medici tombs; large models for the figure sculptures are amply documented in Michelangelo’s own Ricordi, and one, the River God in the Accademia is still preserved (Fig. 19).24 Here, too, the procedural revolution coincided with a corresponding innovation in technique. Michelangelo also developed a new ‘plastic’ modeling style at the opposite end of the preliminary scale from the line-based, graphic mode: using his fingers to mould the clay or wax he created continuous, consistent, smooth undulations that replace the grids as the surface, suggesting instead a sort of skin that pneumatically envelops the volume beneath (Fig. 20). Similarly, on paper, again using his fingers and eschewing lines altogether, he rubbed and modeled charcoal to create carefully finished and smoothly undulating forms. The result is something between a preliminary drawing and a fully developed painting or sculpture, a sort of intermediate formal and conceptual category in its own right (Fig. 21). The sheets were in fact conceived as independent

23 Silvia Danesi Squarzina, ed., Caravaggio e i Giustiniani. Toccar con mano una collezione del seicento, exh. cat. (Milan, 2001), 246–251. On the attribution of the famous and muchdiscussed drawing of hands, see Charles de Tolnay, in Le Cabinet d’un grand amateur, P.-J. Mariette, 1694–1774, dessins du XVe siècle au XVIIIe siècle. exh. cat. (Paris, 1967), 24–5. 24 For the Ricordi, see Lucilla Bardeschi Ciulich and Paola Barocchi, eds., I ricordi di Michelangelo (Florence, 1970). The frequency with which he used large models for sculpture is not so evident as with the bozzetti; Cellini (cited in n. 25 below) says that Michelangelo had worked both with and without full scale models, and that after a point he used them regularly. On the other hand, in a letter of 1547 Bandinelli reports Pope Clement as having said that Michelangelo could never be persuaded to make such models (Giovanni Bottari, Raccolta di lettere sulla pittura, scultura ed architettura scritte da’ più celebri personaggi dei secoli XV, XVI, e XVII, ed. Stefano Ticozzi, 8 vols. [Milan, 1822–25], vol. 1, 71). But that Michelangelo himself thought of them as a means of facilitating the work is apparent from his letter of April 1523 concerning full scale models for the Medici tombs: Paola Barocchi and Renzo Ristori, Il carteggio di Michelangelo. Edizione postuma di Giovanni Poggi (Florence, 1965–73), vol. 2, 366–367.

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works of art, and Michelangelo actually presented them to his friends as such. Michelangelo’s smoothly executed models surely inspired the perfectly executed small bronze sculptures, many of them actual models for monumental works, that were then coming much into vogue, especially at the hands of Giovanni Bologna. Both these innovations should be kept in mind when one considers still another aspect of Michelangelo’s working procedure. This is his habit, described by Vasari and Cellini and confirmed by the works themselves, of attacking the block from one side only, uncovering the projecting forms first and proceeding only gradually deeper into the block (Fig. 16).25 The significance of this technique has not I think been clearly grasped, though Vasari himself supplies the explanation. He says that its purpose was to avoid errors by leaving room at the back of the block for alterations. In other words, should the artist encounter any flaws in the marble as he proceeds, should he make a mistake, should he alter his conception, he will be in a much better position to make any necessary allowances or changes than if the opposite side were already hewn away. I need hardly point out the similarity of this to the later classical procedure, which Bluemel showed was based on making copies by pointing off. This would indicate that Michelangelo’s technique, too, developed in relation to his use of models. Indeed, Vasari gives his description of the procedure in a passage dealing with the use of models. The description is even couched in terms of the famous analogy of a wax model slowly withdrawn from a pail of water. I do not mean to imply that Michelangelo actually pointed off in a modern way, as has been claimed,26 or even that he necessarily made models, on whatever scale, in every case. Rather, I suggest in general terms that these two most salient features of his working procedure — his one sided approach to the block, and the unprecedented role of bozzetti and modelli in his work — should be viewed as interconnected phenomena, the one proceeding directly from the other. Considered in this light it might be said that Michelangelo’s way of carving and chiseling stone extended into the domain of this notoriously recalcitrant, Alpine (his term) 25 Bettarini and Barocchi (as in n. 12), Testo I, 90; Testo VI, 110; Benvenuto Cellini, Trattato della Scultura in Arturo J. Rusconi and Antonio Valeri, eds., La Vita di Benvenuto Cellini (Rome 1901), 780; these are the most important among numerous allusions to Michelangelo’s procedure. 26 Franz Kieslinger, ‘Ein unbekanntes Werk des Michelangelo,’ Jahrbuch der Preussischen Kunstsammlungen 49 (1928): 50–54.

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material the preliminary experimentation, trial-and-error, indeed sketching, that characterized his creative procedure generally. This quality of procedural continuity was perhaps best encapsulated in Vasari’s beautiful appreciation of the perfection seen in the imperfection of the work, ‘ancora che non siano finite le parti sue, si conosce, nell’essere rimasta abozzata e gradinata, nella imperfezione della bozza la perfezzione dell’opera.’27 Michelangelo’s revolutionary technique may thus be understood against the broad background of sculptural procedure since the early fifteenth century. The development that began with Donatello’s and Brunelleschi’s quasi scientific experiment reaches here, a hundred years later, a kind of threshold. In the course of the sixteenth century this threshold was crossed and the creative process became, as it were, so self conscious and articulate as to be virtually autonomous. The treatises of Cellini and Vasari on sculpture give detailed accounts involving a series of clearly defined steps from small study through the full scale model, to the final work. Michelangelo himself could be cited as authority: the Medici chapel is Cellini’s chief witness when insisting on the desirability of the full scale model.28 Characteristically, they both give as much attention to the preparatory stages, the making of the models, as to the final execution. This attitude has its visual corollary in the fact that the preliminary studies and models now become independent and highly finished works of art in their own right. No doubt it was for this reason that two of Giambologna’s full scale models, the Florence Triumphant over Pisa and the Rape of the Sabines, were preserved along with the executed works themselves (Fig. 22).29 And of course the small studies for, or versions of, large scale works were often cast in bronze as ‘Kleinkunst’ (Fig. 23).30 This by no means signifies that true bozzetti were not produced in the sixteenth century; although the highly finished studies form the backbone of Giambologna’s preparations for a work of art, under certain circumstances at least, he produced sketches that go as far beyond Michelangelo in freedom of handling as do the finished works in elegant, superfine surfaces. In Bettarini and Barocchi (as in n. 12), vol. 1, 57. Rusconi and Valeri (as in n. 15), 778 780. 29 On Giambologna’s models and working procedure see Charles Avery, Giambologna: The Complete Sculpture (Oxford, 1987), 63–72; ‘Giambologna’s Sketch-Models and his Sculptural Technique,’ Connoisseur 199 (1978): 3–11. 30 On the bronze model of the Neptune and its place in the history of the fountain in Bologna, see chapter three, ‘Giambologna’s Neptune at the Crossroads,’ in Irving Lavin, PastPresent. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso (Berkeley, CA, 1993), 62–83. 27 28

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fact, Giambologna played a key role in our history by creating what I would called an ‘iconographic’ bozzetto-style. Both his studies for the colossal figures of the Nile (unexecuted) and the Appenines in the Medici garden at Pratolino, offer brilliant displays of inchoate freedom and spontaneity, subtly differentiated so as to evoke, respectively, the liquid and craggy wildness of untamed nature itself; in this sense the ‘rough’ sketches are actually quite finished (Figs. 24–26). To my mind, Bernini’s terracotta sketches are inconceivable without the precedence of Giambologna, whose studies he must have studied in detail, possibly in the Medici collection in Florence, while in turn greatly expanding the stylistic, technical and thematic reach of the ‘bozzetto-style.’31 Moreover, Bernini continues and even surpasses the late sixteenth century in working out his conception fully in advance. Sandrart reports he saw in Bernini’s studio no less than twenty two bozzetti for the St. Longinus alone.32 Sandrart was himself astonished, and observes that the number of studies was far greater than the one or two models other sculptors were wont to produce. Eleven bozzetti for the angels of the Ponte Sant’ Angelo are preserved still today, and in them we follow the development of Bernini’s ideas with a degree of intimacy that can only be described as star31 Bernini’s acquaintance with the Medici collections seems evident from a comparison of his Rape of Proserpine with the bronze by Pietro da Barga in the Bargello (Giacomo de Nicola, ‘A Series of Small Bronzes by Pietro da Barga, ‘Burlington Magazine’ 29 [1916]; Pl. III, Q), a relationship I hope to enlarge upon in another context. (The Proserpine-Barga relationship, first noted by me, has recently been explored by Matthias Winner, in Bernini scultore: la nascita del barocco in casa Borghese, eds. Anna Coliva and Sebastian Schütze, exh. cat., [Rome, 1998], 192–193.) On Bernini’s many Florentine connections see further Lavin ‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works,’ The Art Bulletin 50 (1968): 242 n.125; Lavin (as in n. 30), 172–175; ‘Ex Uno Lapide: The Renaissance Sculptor’s Tour de Force,’ in Il cortile delle statue. Der Statuenhof des Belvedere im Vatikan, ed. Matthias. Winner (Mainz, 1998), 191–210. Our knowledge of Bernini’s sculptural studies has been greatly increased, but also somewhat confused (see n. 53 below), by several recent exhibitions and technical studies: Androssov, Sergej O., ed., Alle origini di Canova. Le terrecotte della collezione Farsetti, exh. cat. (Venice, 1991); Ian Wardropper, ed., From the Sculptor’s Hand, Italian Baroque Terracottas from the State Hermitage Museum, exh. cat. (Chicago, 1998); Gaskell, Ivan, and Henry Lie, eds., Sketches in Clay for Projects by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Harvard University Art Museums Bulletin, 6, No. 3 (Cambridge MA, 1999). 32 Arthur Rudolf Peltzer, Joachim von Sandrarts Academie der Bau-, Bild- und MahlereyKünst von 1675. Leben der berühmten Maler, Bildhauer und Baumeister (München 1925), 286. Sandrart notes the studies were all three spans high (c. 68cm) and made of wax; the material seems doubtful, since this would be the unique instance of Bernini studying in wax.

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tling. Even in the famous case where we know Bernini worked the marble directly, the bust of Louis XIV, he did so only after the most painstaking study, which included besides drawings, many clay models.33 No less clear is the evidence for Bernini’s commitment to the full scale model. In every case where the documents for his larger commissions are preserved they show that he used full scale models; it was through them that he was able to control and give his personal stamp to vast undertakings executed largely with the help of assistants. Symptomatic of this development is that by far the most elaborate and practical description to date of techniques of model making, measurement and proportional enlargement comes in a treatise on sculpture written around 1660 by one Orfeo Boselli. Boselli, though a pupil and follower of Duquesnoy, worked under Bernini on the decoration of St. Peter’s, and his account may well reflect the practice in Bernini’s studio. But the treatise is mainly concerned with the restoration and copying of antique statuary, and it is significant that one of his methods seems to have entailed the use of fixed raised points on the marble comparable to those found on unfinished Roman sculptures34. Symptomatic, too, is the fact that with Bernini and his school we begin, as we shall see, to get bozzetti that show ample evidence of measurement and 33 The best account of the making of the bust remains that of Rudolf Wittkower, Bernini’s Bust of Louis XIV, Charlton Lectures on Art, 33 (Oxford 1951): esp. 8. See further Cecil Gould, Bernini in France. An Episode in Seventeenth-Century History (Princeton,1982), 35, 41–45, 80–7; Helga Tratz, ‘Werkstatt und Arbeitsweise Berninis,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 23–24 (1988): 466–478. 34 Osservationi della scoltura antica, Rome, Bibl. Corsini, ms. 36 F 27, fol. 60 verso: ‘salvarai sempre le doi cime del sasso, grosse tre dita, ben riquadrate, tanto nel di sopra, quanto nel fianco, perche perse quelle, sarebbe vano il tutto; ne le levarai mai sin tanto, che non habbi posto a loco certo tutte le parti principali’ (fol. 60 verso). The methods described by Boselli were studied in an unpublished paper by a former student of mine, Martin Weyl, A History of Pointing Techniques from the Early Renaissance Through Modern Times, unpublished Qualifying Paper, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, Fall 1968, 11–13. On the treatise, see Michelangelo Piacentini, ‘Le ‘Osservationi della scoltura antica’ di Orfeo Boselli,’ Bollettino del R. Istituto di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 9 (1939): 5–35. Following my suggestion the text was published by Phoebe Dent Weil, ed., Orfeo Boselli. Osservazioni della scoltura antica : dai manoscritti Corsini e Doria e altri scritti (Florence, 1978). Based on additonal mansucripts, the text has been edited anew by Antonio O. Torresi, ed., Orfeo Boselli. Osservazioni sulla scultura antica. I manoscritti di Firenze e di Ferrara (Ferrara, 1994). On the dating, see the important observations by Donatella Livia Sparti, ‘Tecnica e teoria del restauro scultoreo a Roma nel Seicento, con una verifica sulla collezione di Flavio Chigi,’ Storia dell’arte, No. 92 (1998): 65–66. On the recognition of Roman pointing method see n. 50 below.

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calibration for the purpose of accurate transfer and enlargement. I do not believe one could duplicate this kind of advanced preparation in the work of any previous sculptor. We are faced with the paradox that behind Bernini’s revolutionary effects of freedom and spontaneity there lay an equally unprecedented degree of conscious premeditation. In a sense, of course, it may be said that Bernini simply carries to a new level the tendency to externalize and articulate the creative process that had begun in the early Renaissance. But there are a number of factors that taken together point to a profound difference from earlier procedure and have some bearing upon what I have elsewhere termed, oxymoronically, Bernini’s ‘calculated spontaneity.’ As regards full scale models the examples recorded were made either for the benefit of assistants, or as a means of trying out the projected work in situ.35 There is no evidence that Bernini used full scale models as part of his own personal working procedure, as Vasari and Cellini had recommended. Interestingly enough, Boselli says specifically that whereas it had previously been the custom to make full scale models, he considers a small model sufficient, except for larger works requiring try-outs for size.36 With regard to smaller models, in Bernini the relationship between developed studies and sketches is reversed as compared with Giambologna. Rapidly executed bozzetti, instead of being relatively rare, form by far the greater portion of the corpus of known Bernini terracottas. Conversely, highly finished studies are exceptional in Bernini’s work, and those that exist can usually be linked to special circumstances such as execution by assistants. Very few, if any, of Bernini’s small models were cast in bronze as independent art works.37 The loose and very personal sketch, then, was his characteristic instrument of creation. 35 On Bernini’s use of full-scale models see the important studies by George C. Bauer: ‘From Architecture to Scenography: The Full-Scale Model in the Baroque Tradition,’ in Scenografia barocca, Atti del XXIV Congresso Internazionale di Storia dell’Arte, Bologna 1979, 5 (Bologna, 1982), 141–149; ‘Bernini e i “modelli in grande”,’ in Gian Lorenzo Bernini architetto e l’architettura europea del sei-settecento, eds. Gianfranco Spagnesi and Marcello Fagiolo (Rome, 1983–84) 279–290; ‘Bernini and the Baldacchino: On Becoming an Architect in the Seventeenth Century,’ Architectura 26 (1996): 144–165. 36 Osservazioni (as in n. 34), fol. 56 recto. 37 The two outstanding candidates, a unique equestrian Constantine at Oxford, and the Countess Matilda of Tuscany, of which more than a dozen casts are known, record major public monuments and were likely intended as commemorative souvenirs rather than as works of art in their own right. The subject has been studied by Francesca G. Bewer in Gaskell and Lie (as in n. 31), 162–7.

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It is also remarkable that his bozzetti do not necessarily become more highly finished as they approach the final conception. A striking case of a bozzetto for the angel carrying the superscription on the bridge (Figs. 27–9):38 the terracotta is very close to the executed figure and is actually scaled for enlargement (along the side of the support), yet it is not much more highly finished than studies produced at an earlier stage in the planning (Fig. 30).39 To be sure, Bernini’s chief purpose in making the models was to study the general disposition of pose and drapery, rather than to work out details. But there is also, I think — and this can be shown in many other ways as well — a deliberate effort to retain, or actually to increase the sense of immediacy and freshness. These qualities, which had previously been, so to speak, incidental by-products of the creative process, become part of its very purpose, a goal toward which Bernini’s elaborate preparations were aimed. In this way one can also understand the vast gulf separating Bernini’s conception of sculpture from that of Michelangelo, despite the many points they have in common. For Michelangelo sculpture was a matter of taking away material to reveal the form in the stone. And he was obsessed with the difficulties of the task — such phrases as dura and alpestra pietra occur repeatedly in his poems in reference to sculpture.40 Sculpture was not an easy business for Bernini either; one of Michelangelo’s own dicta that he applied to himself was ‘nelle mie opere caco sangue.’41 But for him a major challenge was to preserve in the final execution the momentary quality, though not the roughness, of a sketch. Hence he thought of sculpture as a process of molding the marble, rather than hewing it away; and he said pre-

On the attribution of this figure, Rudolf Wittkower, Bernini: The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque (London, 1966), 249. On the Hermitage model and the importance of its enlargement scale, see Lavin (as in preliminary n. * above), 103. 39 Lavin (as in preliminary n. * above), 103–4; one of a pair of bozzetti for the angels, first illustrated and discussed in my dissertation, The Bozzetti of Gianlorenzo Bernini, Harvard Univ. (Cambridge, Massachusetts 1955), 184–185, now in the Kimbell Art Museum at Fort Worth, Texas. The newly restored bridge angels and the prepratory studies have been discussed most recently by Angela Negro and Marina Minozzi, in Claudio Strinati and Maria Grazia Bernardini, eds., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Regista del Barocco. I restauri (Rome, 1999), 67–75, 77–84. 40 Erwin Panofsky, Studies in Iconology (New York and Evanston 1962), 178 and n.16. 41 Paul Freart de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne (Paris 1885), 174. 38

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cisely that one of his greatest achievements was to have succeeded in rendering the marble ‘pieghevole come la cera.’42 This enhanced and intensified style-meaning, as I would call it, reaches a climax in two interrelated and immediately successive commissions Bernini received in the 1670s, toward the end of his long life: the unprecedented series of heroic angels for the Ponte Sant’Angelo and the Sacrament altar in St. Peter’s (Figs. 27–30; Figs. 31–34). Nothing like them, so free and spontaneous, had been created before. The point Ì want to emphasize here is that the manner in which they were conceived and executed was intimately related to the fact that they are angels, specifically intended to evoke the immaterial essence of those ethereal creatures, who by their very nature fulfill a two-fold role, to move fleetingly and effortlessly on divine errands, and to adore in perpetual ardor the divinity whose glory they reflect and manifest. The figures all display the kind of voluminously folded and agitated draperies for which Bernini was, and sometimes still is, roundly criticized, in a spectacularly demonstrative and meaningful array, for in this case the clay has been metamorphosed into the very stuff of angels. But the two sets of creatures are also quite different from one another, and quite naturally so, if one can speak of nature in relation to angels, if one follows the inspired perorations of the greatest of all Christian angelologists, the PseudoDionysius the Areopagite. In his Celestial Hierarchies Pseudo-Dionysius defined the essence of these purely spiritual beings in terms of three fundamental metaphors: as the wind, for the angels who waft at instant speed through space and time — ‘they operate everywhere, coming and going from above to below and again from below to above’; as clouds, ‘to show that the holy and intelligent beings are filled in a transcendent way with hidden light’; and as fire, for ‘the shining and enflamed garments that cover the nudity of these intelligent beings of heaven, symbolizing the divine form.’ For Bernini these references were much more than metaphors. His figures complement each other not only in form but also in their very essence — they are wind, they are clouds, they are light. The ten marble angels, placed high on the balustrades of the bridge leading across the Tiber to St. Peter’s and the Vatican, are perceived as luminous 42 Domenico Bernini, Vita del Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino (Rome 1713), 149; Filippo Baldinucci, Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682, ed. Sergio Samik Ludovici (Milan, 1948), 141.

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apparitions against the blue, cloud-flecked Roman sky, whence they descend and alight to display their melancholy, bittersweet instruments of the Passion of the Redeemer. Delicately poised, with graceful, lilting movements, they appear like momentarily congealed visions of the events they represent. Their wind-filled drapery floats, flutters, billows, and curls, and they hover weightlessly suspended on cloud-puffs of their own. These are the angels of wind and clouds, the motion and the light of the divine spirit, described in the Celestial Hierarchies.43 Then came a pair of gilded bronze angels shown kneeling and adoring the Holy Sacrament in St. Peter’s itself. In their form, Bernini’s shimmering creatures display mankind’s highest aspirations to perfection, and in their expressions they evoke the joy that unites humanity and the angels at the Resurrection. Their effulgent and flamboyant drapery seems to consume their very essence in a pyrotechnical display of pure, coruscating energy. Both the fiery nature of these ethereal creatures and the ardor of their love are doubly fused from earth into terracotta into the golden bronze of which they are made, itself purified and formed by fire into the ever-shifting golden light which is their true medium. Whereas the windblown angels of the Passion on the bridge are epiphanic, the angels of the Sacrament are devotional, eternally fixed in the ecstatic bliss of their visio dei. In this sense they seem literally to reflect the description in the Celestial Hierarchies of Pseudo-Dionysius, The Complete Works (New York, 1987), 187–188. (Celestial Hierarchies, 15, 6): ‘They are also named ‘winds’ as a sign of the virtually instant speed with which they operate everywhere, their coming and going from above to below and again from below to above as they raise up their subordinates to the highest peak and as they prevail upon their own superiors to proceed down into fellowship with and concern for hose beneath them. One could add that the word ‘wind’ means a spirit of the air and shows how divine and intelligent beings live in conformity with God. The word is an image and a symbol of the activity of the Deity. It naturally moves and gives life, hurrying forward, direct and unrestrained, and this in virtue of what to us is unknowable and invisible, namely the hiddenness of the sources and the objectives of its movements. ‘You do not know ,’ says scripture, ‘whence it comes and whither it goes.’ This was all dealt with in more detail by me in The Symbolic Theology when I was explicating the four elements. The word of God represents them also as clouds. This is to show that the holy and intelligent beings are filled in a transcendent way with hidden light. Directly and without arrogance they have been first to receive this light, and as intermediaries, they have generously passed it on so far as possible to those next to them. They have a generative power, a life-giving power, a power to give increase and completion, for they rain understanding down and they summon the breast which receives them to give birth to a living tide.’ 43

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‘the shining and enflamed garments that cover the nudity of the intelligent beings of heaven, as symbolizing the divine form.44 These distinctive qualities of form and meaning inhabit the preparatory studies so profoundly and so consistently that one can speak in Bernini’s case almost literally of a vocabulary of bozzetto styles. The undulating and serpentine crevasses and striated surfaces of the terracottas of the bridge angels match the billowing and tightly wrapped folds of their wind-swept drapery, and it is no accident that in the one preserved drawing for a clothed bridge angel the same effects are achieved with a fine-tipped pen and ink (Fig. 35). The many autograph preliminary studies for the Sacrament angels, drawn as well as sculpted, also testify to the painstaking labor that lay behind the chiaroscuro effects that serve also to ‘dematerialize’ the Sacrament figures.45 Here, however, the continuous, predominantly linear definition of form in the bridge angels is replaced by a flickering pattern that arises from the juxtaposition of discrete patches of light and dark. The sculptures are full of jibes and jabs and excavations with scoops and fingers, while in the latest of the preserved drawings for the figures the lines are replaced by patches of light and dark (tinted brown, as in bronze) achieved almost exclusively with brush and wash (Fig. 36). In both cases, for different reasons and in different ways, the materials become as transcendent as the images they represent. I want also to consider briefly the seemingly different but fundamentally related question of how Bernini’s preliminary models were used and what functions they served. Here I want to acknowledge the extraordinary achievement of Anthony Sigel in his study of the technique of Bernini’s bozzetti. Particularly dramatic is Sigel’s recovery of the system of measurements for transferal or enlargement, using compasses, from many tiny punctures and incisions made in the wet clay (Fig. 37).46 The number of marks varies greatly, but it is clear that the process was quite painstaking and 15, 4: Pseudo-Dionysius (as in n. 43), 186. On the paradox of Bernini’s ‘calculated spontaneity,’ see Irving Lavin, “Calculated Spontaneity. Bernini and the Terracotta Sketch,” Apollo 107 (1978), 398–405. On the bozzetto illustrated in Fig. 31, see Irving Lavin ‘Bernini-Bozzetti: One More, One Less. A Berninesque Sculptor in Mid-Eighteenth Century France,’ in Ars et scriptura, Festschrift für Rudolf Preimesberger zum 65. Geburtstag, eds. Hannah Baader, et al. (Berlin, 2001), 143–156 (reprinted in Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Atti dei convegni lincei 170. Convegno internazionale La cultura letteraria italiana e l’identità europea Roma, 6–8 aprile 2000, [Rome, 2001], 245–284). 46 See Sigel’s contributions in Gaskell and Lie, (as in n. 31), 48–118. 44 45

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probably quite reliable. The discovery adds substantially to the evidence previously discerned in graduated scales marked on the support or base of the model (Figs. 29, 33) that Bernini inaugurated a studio procedure that would evolve into the modern mass-production methods used by professional craftsmen to produce copies on virtually any scale from a small model provided by the creative artist.47 We should be careful, however, not to overestimate the efficacy or accuracy of the method, which had two inherent limitations. Most of the measurements were taken on the figure itself and were thus interconnected; some points were used more frequently than others and there was some external reference in the calibrated scales, but the system was largely a house of cards dependent ultimately on the judgment of the operator. Moreover, because the clay was wet the same hole could be used only sparingly, and shifting from one spot to another, albeit in the near vicinity, introduced deviations that were greatly augmented in the very process of enlargement. All this was in contrast to the ancient Roman system where the protuberances projecting from the figures provided fixed points from which measurements could be taken repeatedly, and even more so to later systems that took measurements from an external frame or ‘pointed off ’ from external fixed points that permitted a much more accurate process of triangulation (as do the modern apparatuses that use lazer beams). Finally, it is noteworthy that this modus operandi using novel, mechanical methods of measurement and enlargement, including compass points and calibrated external scales, was developed in Bernini’s studio during his later years. We have nothing like it earlier, and I suspect that this degree of precision was in fact unprecedented. In part the technique was surely useful in fulfilling large and complex works involving many assistants to whom, in this way, Bernini need only supply a sketch model. The measurements would thus have served primarily for enlargement, and I suspect that the marks were not made by Bernini himself but by assistants charged with blocking out or even bringing to near completion sculptures he intended to finish himself, or executing the work on their own.48 Even so, however, it is significant that the technique was evidently developed hand in hand with the development of Bernini’s ‘late style.’ Technical method Lavin (as in preliminary n. * above), 103. Mark Weil, in Gaskell and Lie (as in n. 31), 148–149, asserts that the back of the Hermitage bozzetto, including the scales incised on both sides of the support, was finished by Bernini’s assistant, Giulio Cartari, who worked on the statue as executed. 47 48

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and expressive function were mutually responsive. In this sense, it might be said that Bernini greatly intensified the paradox that had been inherent in the evolution of the Renaissance creative process from the outset: he achieved an unprecedented effect of immediacy and spontaneity through an unprecedented degree of advance calculation. As to the purpose of this creative exercise, his sculptures speak for themselves, for they, in turn, make it perfectly clear that Bernini’s ultimate goal was to carry over to the final work, whoever the executant, the freshness and vitality, though not the roughness, of the sketch. The paradox continued to evolve. It is disconcerting that the bozzetto style of Canova, the supreme neo-classicist, was deeply indebted to Bernini (as was his art generally, in my view). In fact, Canova’s terracottas are even freer and more fluid than Bernini’s, qualities that reached an apogee toward the end of his life as he approached death: in a veritable paroxysm of expressive power he sketched a group of Adam and Eve Mourning over the Dead Abel, the first fruit of man’s fall from grace, and a Pietà embodying the agonizing cost of redemption (Figs. 38, 39). One senses that Canova’s bozzetto style had become a procedural metaphor for God’s own, prototypical act of human creation, with full knowledge of its consequences: ‘And the Lord God formed man of the slime of the earth: and breathed into his face the breath of life, and man became a living soul.’ (Gen 2, 7) Moreover, so far as I know, Canova’s terracotta sketches do not show any pointing marks at all; they were, evidently, intensely private, truly independent studies, not intended to be directly copied or enlarged. When the work entered the public domain, however, an entirely new procedure was set in motion. Canova’s method of pointing up using a wooden frame with hanging plumb lines from which the horizontal measurements were taken (Fig. 40), was more ‘objective’ and accurate than Bernini’s internal, interlocking measurements and calibrated scales incised on the perimeter of the work itself.49 Canova also adopted a new, much more reliable method of assuring that in the transfer of measurements his ideas would be accurately reproduced. The sketch bozzetti were made into See Hugh Honour, ‘Canova’s Studio Practice- I: The Early Years,’ The Burlington Magazine 114 (1972): 146–59, and ‘Canova’s Studio Practice-II: 1792–1822,’ The Burlington Magazine 114 (1972): 214–229; on Canova’s work in clay, Honour, in Boucher (as in n. 11), 69–84. Our illustrations are from Francesco Carradori, Istruzione elementare per gli studiosi della scultura (Pisa, 1802), pls. VIII–X; ed. with English translation by Matti Kalevi Auvinen, preface by Hugh Honour, introduction by Paolo Bernardini (Los Angeles, 2002). 49

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highly detailed models in gesso, a relatively stable but easily penetrable material into which infinite numbers of fixed metal points could be inserted from which virtually every detail of the surface could be reproduced (Fig. 41).50 Canova’s procedure brought into even sharper focus than had Bernini’s the historical conjunction of opposites that began in the Renaissance: inspired sketch and deliberate planning. A further irony lies in the fact that the trajectory of Canova’s procedure is exactly the reverse of Bernini’s. While Bernini sought to preserve in the final work the fleeting qualities of the sketch, Canova moves toward an austere simplification in which the sensuality of living form has been instantaneously frozen in an ideal of perfection.51 Hugh Honour has observed that although Canova despised the practice, his system was probably developed in relation to the veritable industry of copying and restoring antiquities in Rome (the methods described in Boselli’s treatise were intended primarily for this purpose). Canova himself noted that in his Venetian years, he worked ‘con assai pochi punti nell’abbozzo di marmo,’ and that ‘l’arte di cavar da punti’ was not understood in Venice; others reported that Canova had worked without pointing in Venice (Honour 1972, 153). As far as I am aware, Winckelmann was the first to note the protuberances on unfinished Roman sculptures and the analogy with contemporary methods: Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums (Dresden, 1764) , ed. Vienna, 1776, 513: ‘An der beynahe colossalischen weiblichen Figur eines Flusses, in der Villa Albani, die ehemals in der Villa des herzoglichen Hauses Este zu Tivoli war, siehet man, daß die alten Bildhauer ihre Statuen, wie die unsrigen zu thun pflegen, angeleget haben: denn der untere Theil dieser Statue ist nur aus dem gröbsten entworfen. Aus den vornehmsten Knochen, die das Gewand bedecket, sind erhabene Punkte gelassen, welches die Maaße sind, die nachher in völliger Ausarbeitung weggehauen worden, wie noch itzo geschiehet.’ (‘It is evident from the colossal female figure of a River in the Albani villa, formerly in the villa of the ducal house of Este, at Tivoli, that the ancient sculptors draughted their statues as the moderns do theirs; for the lower portion of it is merely sketched out in the roughest manner. On the principal bones, covered by the drapery, raised points have been left; these are measures, which at a more advanced stage of the execution were cut away, as the case is at the present day.’ Johann Joachim Winckelmann, The History of Ancient Art, transl. G. Henry Lodge, 2 vols., [London, 1881], vol. 2, 56). Cited by Weyl (as in n. 34), 22–23. 51 Much of what I have said here about the relationship between Canova and Bernini with particular regard to their sketch models, was said with great perceptivity by Fred Licht, Canova (New York, 1983), 227, 230. The comparison with Bernini recalls the paradoxical relationship Wittkower pointed out between Bernini and Poussin: Bernini starts classical, as with a drawing of the Antinous for the angel with the Superscription, and ends Baroque, whereas Poussin starts Baroque, with his very loose and rapid wash drawings, and ends deliberate and classical in the paintings (Rudolf Wittkower, ‘The Role of Classical Models in Bernini’s and Poussin’s Preparatory Work,’ in Studies in Western Art: Latin American Art and the Baroque Period in Europe, Acts of the Twentieth International Congress of the History of Art, 3, [Princeton, 1963], 41 50; reprinted in Wittkower, Studies in the Italian Baroque, 50

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With Canova the personal, informal, spontaneous sketch model becomes part of a truly academic procedure. There is more to this observation than metaphor. It is now practically certain when and how Canova came to know Bernini’s bozzetti so well. The most important collections of bozzetti by Bernini and his immediate followers are those in the Fogg Museum and at the Hermitage, and both groups include works that appear in the inventories of the great collection of models assembled in Rome in the latter part of the eighteenth century by the sculptor and restorer extraordinary, Bartolommeo Cavaceppi (1717–99).52 Cavaceppi was above all a purveyor of antiquities, and a first inventory was made in the 1760s when, under financial duress, he thought but failed to sell a small portion of his vast collection. His primary motivation as a collector, however, was to establish a school, an academy, in which the figurative tradition and indeed the cultural tradition it represented, handed down from antiquity, especially in sculpture, would be carried on. On his death in 1799 he left his entire collection for this purpose to the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, which promptly sold it. In the meantime, another great collection of models had been formed, partly no doubt with material supplied by Cavaceppi, by another voracious collector who, though not an artist himself, had the instincts of one. The wealthy Venetian Abbot Filippo Farsetti (1703–74) evidently realized that his native city, despite its own noble antiquarian tradition, did not share the grand sculptural heritage that was the particular glory of Rome in the age of Neo-Classicism.53 Farsetti spent 1750–3 in Rome, feverishly commis[London, 1975], 103 114; and see my ‘Bernini and Antiquity — The Baroque Paradox. A Poetical View,’ in Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, eds.Herbert Beck and Sabine Schulze [Berlin, 1989] 9–36). 52 Following the pioneering work of Seymour Howard, Bartolomeo Cavaceppi. Eighteenth-Century Restorer (New York 1982), the splendid investigative task of recovering Cavaceppi’s operations and their legacy, was accomplished by Carlo Gasparri and Olivia Ghiandoni, ‘Lo studio Cavaceppi e le collezioni Torlonia,’ Rivista dell’istituto nazionale d’archeologia e storia dell’arte 16 (1993). The correlation between the Cavaceppi inventory and known bozzetti, including those now in the Fogg, was also provided by Maria Giulia Barberini in Bartolomeo Cavaceppi scultore romano, eds. Maria Giulia Barberini and Carlo Gasparri, exh. cat. (Rome 1994), 117–37. 53 On Farsetti see most recently Androssov (as in n. 31), and in Wardropper (as in n. 31), 2–13; an excellent paper setting in context the model collections of Cavaceppi and Farsetti is that by Dean Walker in Wardropper (as in n. 31), 14–29. The nature of Farsetti’s interest and the passion with which he collected and had copies made of ancient and contemporary sculpture, especially bozzetti and modelli, have reinforced the suspicion I have always had

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10. Benedetto da Maiano, Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis. Pulpit, Santa Croce, Florence.

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11. Verrocchio, Model for the Forteguerri monument, terracotta, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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12. Michelangelo, Torso, terracotta. British Museum, London.

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13. Battista Lorenzi, Allegory of Painting. Tomb of Michelangelo, Santa Croce, Florence.

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14. Michelangelo, Study after Giotto, drawing, pen and ink. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

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15. Michelangelo, Study after Masaccio, drawing, pen and ink. Albertina,Vienna.

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16. Michelangelo, St. Matthew. Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence.

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17. Attributed to Michelangelo, Right hand drawing left hand grasping soft material, drawing, pen and ink. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

18. Attributed to Michelangelo, Resurrected Christ. San Vincenzo, Bassano Romano.

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19. Michelangelo, Model of a River God, clay, 180cm. long, c. 1525. Casa Buonarroti, Florence.

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20. Michelangelo, Bozzetto for a two figure group, terracotta. Casa Buonarroti, Florence.

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21. Copy after Michelangelo, Rape of Ganymede, drawing, rubbed charcoal. Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

22. Giambologna, Model for the Rape of a Sabine, clay, whitewashed. Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence.

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23. Giambologna, Cast model for the Bologna Neptune fountain, bronze. Museo Civico, Bologna.

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24. Giambologna, River God, terracotta. Victoria and Albert Museum, London. 25. Giambologna, The Appenine, terracotta. Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence.

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26. Giambologna, The Appenine. Parco Mediceo, Pratolino (Florence).

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27. Bernini, Angel with the Superscription. Ponte S. Angelo, Rome.

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29. Bernini, Angel with the Superscription, terracotta, side view. Hermitage, St. Petersburg.

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28. Bernini, Angel with the Superscription, terracotta. Hermitage, St. Petersburg.

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31. Bernini, Angel adoring the Sacrament, terracotta. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Besançon.

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30. Bernini, Angel with the Superscription, terracotta. Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, TX.

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33. Bernini, Angel adoring the Sacrament, terracotta, side view. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

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32. Bernini, Angel adoring the Sacrament, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA.

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34. Bernini, Angel adoring the Sacrament. Altar of the Sacrament, St. Peter’s, Rome.

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36. Bernini, Angel adoring the Sacrament, drawing, charcoal and brown wash on brown prepared paper. Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

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37. Anthony Sigel, Reconstruction of compass point measurements, Angel with the Crown of Thorns, terracotta. Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, MA (after Gaskell and Lie, (as in n. 31), fig. 52, p. 80).

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38. Canova, Pietà, terracotta. Gipsoteca, Possignano.

39. Canova, Adam and Eve Mourning over Abel, terracotta. Gipsoteca, Possignano.

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40a, b. Techniques of measurement for copying and enlarging (after Carradori (as in n. 49), pls. VIII-X).

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40c. Techniques of measurement for copying and enlarging (after Carradori (as in n. 49), pls. VIII-X). 41. Canova, The Three Graces, detail, gesso with pointing pins. Gipsoteca, Possignano.

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42. Rodin, Torso of Adèle, bronze. Coll. Mrs. Alexander C. Speyer.

43. Rodin, Cast of Rodin’s Hand with Torso #3, bronze. Coll. B. Gerald Cantor.

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44. George Bigel using the pointing machine of Rodin’s “perfect collaborator,” Henri Lebossé (after Elsen (as in n. 59), fig. 10.3, p. 251; figs. 10.4-10.6, p. 252).

45. Rodin, The Hand of God, plaster cast. California Palace of the Legion of Honor, San Francisco.

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sioning and acquiring everything he could in the way of antiquities, copies in marble, plaster, and terracotta, and models — including many by and attributed to Bernini — with the idea of turning his own villa into a museum and an academy for the training of aspiring artists and the education of the public. It is surely significant that Farsetti appointed to curate, and no doubt augment by making copies, his collection a Bolognese sculptor, Bonaventura Furlani, who specialized in that city’s ancient tradition of modeling in stucco and clay.54 Farsetti opened his academy-villa in 1755 and returned to Rome for more acquisitions in 1766–9, precisely when Cavaceppi was preparing his sale.55 Coincidentally, in 1799, the same year the Accademia di San Luca sold Cavaceppi’s collection, the Farsetti collection was purchased for the czar of Russia, to be installed again in an academy, the Academy of Fine Arts in St. Petersburg, where it remained until it was transferred to the Hermitage in 1919. In other words, we are here faced with the remarkable coincidence that both the Fogg and Hermitage collections have overlapping histories that stem ultimately from Bernini’s own studio and shared the same destiny, to serve as models for training young sculptors. In our context another coincidence is of primary importance: Farsetti’s villa was precisely where Canova studied the collection and learned the art of sculpture.56 After the Farsetti sale Canova wrote a passionate letter urging the acquisition or at least a prohibition against exportation from Venice of what remained of the collection, to serve as the ‘basis of study by professors and students.’57 So it was that the paradoxical extremes of spontaneous sketch and systematic study touched, appropriately, in the academy. that the Hermitage’s highly finished and slightly precious terracottas of well-known works by Bernini and others, are in fact copies made expressly as and for academic exercises in Farsetti’s Venetian villa. Further to this subject in Lavin (as in n. 45). 54 Eugenio Riccòmini, Vaghezza e furore: la scultura del Settecento in Emilia (Bologna 1977), 136. 55 Barberini and Gasparri (as in n. 52), 116. 56 See Hugh Honour, ‘Antonio Canova and the Anglo-Romans. Part I: The First Visit to Rome,’ Connoisseur 143 (1959): 245; Walker in Wardropper (as in n. 31), 27. 57 ‘Ma io voglio sperare che il nostro Savio Regio Governo non vorrà lasciarsi fuggire sì bella occasione di dare un insigne monumento della sua benigna protezione e favore alle Belle Arti, o acquistando per esse codesti oggetti, che restano, o almeno inibendone espressamente l’estrazione da Venezia; giacché questi così possono fornire ampia materia, ed essere come base agli studj de’Professori e degli allievi.’ Letter of 1805, quoted after Giovanna Nepi Scirè, ‘Le reliquie estreme del Museo Farsetti,’ in Androssov (as in n. 31), 24.

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In a metaphorical sense, at least, the ultimate act was played at the turn of the century by Rodin, the anti-classicist, anti-academic par excellence. Rodin made sketch models whose unprecedented ephemerality extended even to the fragmentary and inherently unstable, hence not conceivable as independent, ‘free-standing’ sculpture; yet they were cast in bronze and exhibited (Figs. 42, 43).58 And the models for his monumental works were copied and enlarged by a pointing assistant who was a great expert, using elaborate devices whose accuracy was equally unprecedented (Fig. 44).59 More precisely and more vividly than anyone before, but surely with Canova in mind, Rodin articulated the nature of the sculptor’s personal intervention in the creative process with his portrayal, in marble, of the hand of God ‘manipulating’ a block of stone as if it were a bozzetto for Adam and Eve (Fig. 45).60

Albert E. Elsen, Rodin (New York, 1963), 173–190; and his The Partial Figure in Modern Sculpture from Rodin to 1969, exh. cat. (Baltimore, 1969). 59 Albert E. Elsen, ‘Rodin’s ‘Perfect Collaborator,’ Henri Lebossé,’ in Albert E. Elsen, ed., Rodin Rediscovered, exh. cat. (Washington and Boston, 1981), 249–59. 60 On the genesis (including the cast hands of other artists), the many variants, and the significance Rodin attached to the sculpture, see Jacques de Caso and Patricia B. Sanders, Rodin’s Sculpture. A Critical Study of the Spreckels Collection, California Palace of the Legion of Honor (Rutland, VT. and Tokyo, 1977), 69–71; John L. Tancock, The Sculptures of August Rodin. The Collection of the Rodin Museum, Philadelphia (Philadelphia, 1976), 622–3; Rodin, les mains, les chirurgiens. exh. cat. ( Paris, 1983), 72–3. On the concept of the artist’s hand as an instrument of divine creation, see my essay ‘The Story of O from Giotto to Einstein,’ forthcoming in my Mellon Lecture series for 2003 at the National Gallery, Washington. 58

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XXX

The Regal Gift Bernini and his Portraits of Royal Subjects* It happened that, coveting a famous horse, which he admired as a youth and which he rode expertly, the owner sent it to him from Sicily as a gift; he responded by sending back gifts of greater value than would have been the price of the horse. The manager who cared for it said to him, ‘it would have served you better to buy it’; he replied, smiling, ‘I certainly understood that I accepted a regal gift, and hence I wanted to show it more worthy of a king not to be outdone in liberality.’ Niccolò Valori, Life of Lorenzo the Magnificent1

T

HIS paper is intended to define a singular episode in the long and wellstudied history of the role played by that singular personage we call ‘artist’ in the social, economic and cultural development of Europe. The development consists in the emergence of the work of art and the artist,

*This essay is a revised version of a paper presented at a Corso di Alta Cultura titled “Forme e Valori del Gratuito” held at the fondazione Cini in Venice in September 2002, under the direction of Carlo Ossola; it is offered here as a token of admiration and affection for him, as well as for Vittore Branca. 1 Era Lorenzo e per natura e per consuetudine in modo disposto al beneficare, che quel solo reputava bene che negli amici e ne’ parenti spendesse. Quindi, essendo pur giovanetto, meritò non solo il cognome di Magnifico ma di Magnanimo ancora; ed in ciò fu d’animo più presto regio che civile. Accadde che, desiderando un cavallo molto nominato, de’ quali da giovane fu vago ed in maneggiarli esperto, gli fu di Sicilia dal padrone mandato a donare; a cui esso rimandò doni di maggior valore che non sarebbe suto il prezo del cavallo. E dicendoli il maestro che l’aveva in custodia: ‘più utile ti era il comperarlo’; gli rispose, sorridendo: ‘Io certo ho saputo accettare uno dono regio, ed appresso ho voluto mostrare esser cosa più degna di re non si lassare vincere di liberalità’. (Valori 1992, 27 f., cited by Walter 2003, 239.)

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both defined and appreciated as such, from the conditions of artisanship and relative anonymity they occupied in the middle ages, to the autonomy and prestige they enjoy today. The story has often been told, except in the aspect I want to consider here, that is, the mode of compensation, or rather exchange, in the form of gifts, or rather ‘regali,’ to use the Italian term that better conveys the sense that seems to me more appropriate in the present context. The regalo, in fact, precisely because of this significance, has played a crucial role in the development of our modern way of thinking about the meaning of culture in our society. My paper focuses in particular on the forms (jewels-sculpture), and the values (monetary-prestige) of the gifts exchanged between Bernini and his royal patrons. I take as my point of departure a work that Bernini undertook to execute in the spring of 1651 when he agreed — with some reluctance — to sculpt the portrait of Duke Francesco I d’Este, scion of one of the oldest and most glorious, but now much reduced families of Italy (Fig. 1). The capital of the duchy had in 1598 been moved to the small, provincial town of Modena, when the traditional, Ferrara, devolved to the papacy at the death without heir of Francesco’s uncle. Bernini’s portrait formed part of a vast, concerted program of construction and art patronage at the highest possible level, which Francesco undertook in an effort to restore the prestige and importance of his house.2 The likeness, by the most illustrious and soughtafter artist of the day, at the service of the pope himself, was to be based on two painted profile portraits by Justus Sustermans (now lost), who served intermittently as court painter for the Duke. There was never a thought of Bernini going to Modena or of the Duke going to Rome, a circumstance that necessitated frequent exchanges of letters between the Duke, his agents in Rome, and the artist. The correspondence is preserved virtually complete in the ducal archive at Modena, so that the bust of Francesco takes its place alongside Bernini’s other secular ruler portraits, the lost bust of Charles I of England, and the bust and equestrian portraits of Louis XIV, among the artist’s best documented works. The documentation concerning the bust of Charles I has been extensively investigated, and the portraits of the French king have been the subject of monographic studies.3 The rich vein of information about the bust of Francesco has also been mined by generations of scholars, but the records have been cited only in part and in scattered pubFrancesco’s enterprise has been studied most effectively by Southorn 1988, and Jarrard 2003. 3 See n. 6 below. 2

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lications. When, after completing an essay on Bernini’s image of the ideal Christian monarch, I learned that the young Modenese scholar Giorgia Mancini had been exploring the ducal correspondence systematically, I invited her to prepare as an Appendix a complete transcript of the documents pertinent to Bernini’s portrait, along with a summary of their contents. Many of the documents are new, including the remarkable record of the process of packing and shipping the sculpture, in which Bernini took particular personal interest. This archival material, to which I added what could be gleaned from other contemporary sources, as well as early visual records of the sculpture, was included as an appendix to the aforementioned essay, in a separate volume published in Italian; the documents frequently cited in the footnotes here refer to that appendix.4 * * * I want to single out and consider from the wealth of documentary information now available concerning the bust of Francesco d’Este two points that seem to me especially important respecting the actual fabrication of the work, one procedural, the other sociological. Procedure in this case refers to the particular difficulty, repeatedly emphasized by Bernini himself, of creating a portrait without seeing the sitter. The task of making a sculptured bust of a living person from painted prototypes was, so far as I know, unprecedented (posthumous portraits for tombs and monuments were another matter).5 Bernini inaugurated this new mode of creating portrait sculpture with his bust of Charles I (1635–36; destroyed; Fig. 2), followed by that of Charles’s wife Henrietta Maria (1638; never executed), both based on three views of the subjects painted by Van Dyck (Figs. 3–6), and that of Cardinal Richelieu (1640–1), based on a triple portrait by Philippe de Champagne (Figs. 7, 8), and culminating in 1650–51 with the bust of Francesco I.6 The new procedure, however noteworthy in professional 4 Lavin 1999 (1997); see Lavin 1998; for the shipping records, Docs. 35–7, 41, 44–5, 47–59, 61, 63–4. This essay was developed from the first chapter, subtitled ‘Impresa quasi impossibile,’ of Lavin 1998. The contribution by Marder 1999 is based on the material in that volume. 5 For which see Montagu 1985, I, 171. 6 For summary accounts of these works see Wittkower 1981, 207 f., 224, 246 f., 254 ff., and recently Avery 1997, 225–50. Documentary studies: on the busts of Charles I and Henrietta Maria see Lightbown 1981; on that of Richelieu, Laurain-Portemer 1981,

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terms, was not an end in itself, but served a new purpose. It was equally remarkable that three powerful heads of state should enter into a veritable competition to have themselves portrayed, sight unseen, by an artist far away. The phenomenon constitutes an important development in European cultural history since it signaled the emergence of the artist as the modern, international ‘culture hero’ who surpassed all his predecessors in virtuosistic conception and technical bravura, equivalent in both form and substance to the emergence of the ‘absolute monarch,’ the modern international political hero whose personal image Bernini created in these very works. To a degree, at least, this epochal conjunction of politics and art must have been evident to all concerned: to Bernini, since, as we shall see, he had a very clear vision of the ideal Christian monarch his portraits were intended to convey; to his biographers, Filippo Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini, the artist’s son, considering the terms in which they introduced their accounts of these works: ‘Divulgavasi in tanto sempre più la fama di questo artefice, ed il nome di lui ogni dì più chiaro ne diveniva: onde non fu gran fatto che i maggiori potentati d’Europa incominciassero a gareggiare, per così dire, fra di loro per chi sue opere aver potesse,’7 ‘Ma’ volando sempre più grande per l’Italia la fama del Bernino, e divenendo ogni dì più chiaro il suo nome per il Mondo, trasse ancora a se i Maggiori Potentati dell’Europa, quali parve, che insieme allora gareggiassero per chì sue Opere haver potesse’;8 and to the noble patrons themselves, considering the assiduity with which they cultivated the artist, the enormous sums they paid, and the ecstatic receptions that greeted the results. Never before and never again, as far as I know, was there such a conjunction of great heads of state vying to have themselves represented by a great artist of the age. As an inevitable consequence, since Bernini’s primary service and overwhelming occupation was with the popes in Rome, the artist was faced with a great challenge — which he somewhat ruefully described as ‘quasi impossibile’ — that of creating portraits of people whom he had never seen. Bernini encapsulated the nature of this challenge in an elegant note he wrote to Duke Francesco as he was preparing to ship the finished sculpture.

177–235; on the bust of Louis XIV, Wittkower 1951, Gould 1982, 35, 41–5, 80–7, and Tratz 1988, 466–78; on the equestrian, Wittkower 1961, supplemented by Berger 1985, 50–63. 7 Baldinucci 1948, 88. 8 Bernini 1713, 64.

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Far che un marmo bianco pigli la somiglianza di una persona, che sia colore, spirito, e vita, ancorche sia lì presente, che si possa imitare in tutte le sue parti, e proportioni, è cosa difficiliss.ma Creder poi di poter farlo somigliare con haver sol davanti una Pittura, senza vedere, ne haver mai visto il Naturale, è quasi impossibile, e chi a tale impresa si mette più temerario che valente si potrebbe chiamare. Hanno potuto tanto però verso di me i comandamenti dell’Altezza del sig.r Card.l suo fratello, che mi hanno fatto scordar di queste verità; però se io non ho saputo far quello, che è quasi impossibile, spero V.ra Alt.za mi scusarà, e gradirà almeno quell’Amore, che forse l’Opera medesima le rappresentarà . . . (20 October 1651).9 Seemingly a casual flourish of self-indulgence and flattery, the letter is in fact a veritable three-sentence treatise — lament might be a better word — on portraiture in marble as Bernini conceived that art. The challenge for him lay in infusing the likeness of the subject with three essential qualities, color, spirit and life, to each of which he attached particular meaning and importance. Difficult in any case, the task was virtually impossible when the subject was before the sculptor only in the form of paintings. The full meaning of Bernini’s conceit becomes evident when one considers the implications of his three critical points of reference. Where Bernini most acutely felt the challenge of these paintings was in the domain of color — the first of the three desiderata Bernini defined. The confrontation with Van Dyck’s image evidently gave rise to Bernini’s famous disclaimer that the whiteness of marble made it virtually impossible to achieve a convincing likeness in that medium. The earliest record of the dictum is the anecdote in the diary of Nicholas Stone, a British sculptor who visited Bernini’s studio in Rome, for October 22, 1638: ‘How can itt than possible be that a marble picture can resemble the nature when itt is all one coulour, where to the contrary a man has on coulour in his face, another in his haire, a third in his lips;, and his eyes yett different from all the rest? Tharefore sayed (the Caualier Bernine) I conclude that itt is the inpossible thinge in the world to make a picture in stone naturally to resemble any person.’ In the succeeding passage Stone reports Bernini’s oath not to make

9

Doc. 43.

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such portraits, even if by the hand of Raphael (clearly a recognition of the beauty of Van Dyck’s painting).10 While it is wholly characteristic that Bernini should be preoccupied by the representation of color in marble sculpture, the dilemma is inherent in the medium, and color is in fact only one of the qualities to which Bernini refers when in his letter to the Duke he calls the feat he accomplished in the bust ‘quasi impossibile.’11 The unique problem here lay not so much in the ‘. . . after this he began to tell us here was an English gent: who wooed him a long time to make his effiges in marble, and after a great deale of intreaty and the promise of a large some of money he did gett of doing a picture after the life or a painting; so he began to imbost his physyognymy, and being finisht and ready to begin in marble, itt fell out that his patrone the Pope came to here of itt who sent Cardinall Barberine to forbid him; the gentleman was to come the next morning to sett, in the meane time he defaced the modell in diuers places, when the gentleman came he began to excuse himselfe that thaire had binn a mischaunce to the modell and yt he had no mind to goe forward with itt; so I (sayth he) I return’d him his earnest, and desired him to pardon me; then was the gent. uery much moued that he should haue such dealing, being he had come so often and had sett diuers times already; and for my part (sayth the Cauelier) I could not belye itt being commanded to the contrary; for the Pope would haue no other picture sent into England from his hand but his Maity; then he askt the young man if he understood Italian well. Then he began to tell yt the Pope sent for him since the doing of the former head, and would haue him doe another picture in marble after a painting for some other prince. I told the Pope (says he) that if thaire were best picture done by the hand of Raphyell yett he would nett undertake to doe itt, for (sayes he) I told his Hollinesse that itt was impossible that a picture in marble could haue the resemblance of a liuing man; then he askt againe if he understood Italian well; he answerd the Cauelier, perfectly well. Then sayth he, ‘I told his Holinesse that if he went into the next rome and whyted all his face ouer and his eyes, if possible were, and come forth againe nott being a whit leaner nor lesse beard, only the chaunging of his coulour, no man would know you; for doe not wee see yt when a man is affrighted thare comes a pallness on the sudden? Presently wee say he likes nott the same man. How can itt than possible be that a marble picture can resemble the nature when itt is all one coulour, where to the contrary a man has on coulour in his face, another in his haire, a third in his lipps, and his eyes yett different from all the rest? Tharefore sayd (the Cauelier Bernine) I conclude that itt is the inpossible thinge in the world to make a picture in stone naturally to resemble any person.’ (Stone 1919, 170–1.) The story is also told by Vertue: ‘The Cavalier told this Author. that it was imposible to make a bust in Marble. truly like. & to demonstrate it he orderd a person to come in. and afterwards, haveing flower’d his face all over white. ask’d Stone if ever he had seen that face before. he answered no. by which he ment to demonstrate. that the colour of the face. hair. beard. eyes. lipp. &c. are the greatest part of likenes. (Vertue 1929–30, 19 f.) 11 Cardinal Rinaldo had used the phrase ‘quasi impossibile’ in the same context, doubtless repeating what he had heard from Bernini, in a letter to the Duke of August 17, 1650 (Doc. 14). See also Bernini’s comments to Nicholas Stone in 1638, cited in n. 10 above. 10

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material as in extrapolating a likeness from only painted models, never having seen ‘the natural,’ as Bernini says. After the experience of Charles I he had sworn never again to hazard such a task.12 In the case of Francesco d’Este the problem was compounded by the fact that Bernini actually had before him in working the portrait only two profile views; delivery of the frontal view he urgently requested was delayed, and in the end he had to make do with the side views and simple measurements of the Duke’s height and shoulder width.13 Of course, he was obviously proud of what he did accomplish, and his protestations of difficulty were certainly intended to augment the appreciation of the result. Yet the sense of inadequacy, even failure, evident in Bernini’s complaint is certainly also genuine — indeed, pathetic, considering that portraiture was, after all, a specialty of his, to say the least. His aptitude for creating likenesses was the basis of his phenomenal reputation as a child prodigy, and contributed largely to the international renown he enjoyed throughout his career.14 The source of Bernini’s ruefulness about an artistic genre for which he himself was responsible lay rather in the other qualities mentioned in his letter to Francesco: ‘spirit’ and ‘life.’ And his frustration in these respects was a fatal by-product of the way he understood the art of portraiture. Remarkable insights respecting this last point arise almost incidentally from the Duke’s original indecision whether to commission the work from Bernini or his great rival, especially in the domain of portraiture, Alessandro Algardi (Fig. 9). The documents recording the negotiations also provide an extraordinary opportunity to compare and contrast the modi operandi of these two giants of Italian Baroque sculpture. The Duke’s brother, Cardinal Rinaldo, writing from Rome on July 16, 1650, reported: ‘Il Cav.re Algardi scultore si fà pagare i ritratti di marmo intendendo di busto, ò mezza figura Bernini’s oath was reported by Stone (n. 10 above) and is also mentioned in the correspondence concerning the bust of Francesco, Docs. 10, 38. In the end, Bernini was reluctant to do portraits at all, and cited Michelangelo as precedent: ‘Il a repété le difficulté qu’il y a à faire un portrait de marbre . . . Il a dit que MichelAnge n’en avait jamais voulu faire. . . . Il a dit ensuite à ces Messieurs la peine où il était toutes les fois qu’il était obligé de faire un portrait; qu’il y avait déjà du temps qu’il avait resolu dans son esprit de n’en plus faire, mais que le Roi lui ayant fait l’honneur de lui demander le sien, il n’avait pas pu refuser un si grand prince . . .’ Chantelou 1885, 94 (August 12); cf. Chantelou 1885, 111 (August 21). 13 The frontal view is mentioned in Docs. 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 20, 69, 73; the shoulder measurments in Docs. 20, 21. 14 On the early portraiture of Bernini, see Lavin 1968. 12

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centocinquanta scudi l’uno, oltre il marmo, che segli dà, ò segli paga. ne daria uno compito per tutto il mese pross.o d’Agosto quando dovesse farlo, e potrà cavar, e formar il tutto dalla Pittura, e lo perfezionarà in presenza di chi dovrà sodisfarli, per farlo poi più esattam.te in marmo. Hà due altre persone sotto di sé di condiz.e inferiore nel mestiere da’ quali s haverebbe l’opra per la metà del sud.o prezo e forse meno.’15 In modest, businesslike fashion, in a simple, straightforward reply, Algardi offered a fixed time schedule and a fixed price of 150 scudi. He even offered to have the work executed by his assistants, at half the cost or less. Not so Bernini, who refused to commit himself on either time or compensation, emphasizing the great difficulty in executing portraits under such circumstances.16 To offer less than the best, and treat the D’Este Duke as if he were bargain hunting would have been beneath both their dignities. Ironically, in his reply of July 22, the Duke suggested a ‘gift’ of 100 doubloons to Bernini (worth 200 scudi), while expressing his ‘indifference’ as to whether Bernini or Algardi made his portrait.17 In the end, because he wished himself to be seen in a class with the leading monarchs of his time, Francesco was happy to pay Bernini 3000 scudi for what he might have obtained from Algardi for 150 scudi and the price of the marble! We shall consider the significance of Bernini’s attitude presently. The important point here concerns the nature of the difficulty of executing a portrait from painted prototypes alone, which seems to have presented no extraordinary obstacle to Algardi,18 but which Bernini found intimidating to the point of defeat. The real reason for which he considered the task quasi impossible — which is to say paradoxical and self-contradictory — and for which he could never be fully satisfied with the result, lay elsewhere than in the matter of achieving likeness in the traditional and normal sense of that term. The problem arose inevitably from the fundamental principles of what might be called Bernini’s ‘psycho-philosophy’ of portraiture, and his method of creating portraits, as these may be gathered from his letters, his various statements reported by his biographers, and especially from the detailed account that has come down to us of his work on the bust of a Doc. 5. On this episode, see also the discussion by Montagu 1985, I, 157–62. On time and compensation, see p. 1246 and n. 32 below. On the difficulty, Docs. 10, 14, 20, 38, 42, 43. On ‘difficoltà’ as a norm of artistic achievement in the Renaissance, see Summers 1981, 177–85. 17 Doc. 6. 18 On this point, see also Tratz 1988, 466. 15 16

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monarch, the last in the concatenated series of Bernini’s secular ruler portraits to whom he did have ready and frequent access, Louis XIV (Fig. 10).19 Chantelou records that the king ‘sat’ for the artist on no less than seventeen occasions, five for drawing the subject and twelve for working the marble.20 From this wealth of direct testimony concerning the artist’s working methods — which is itself unprecedented in the history of art — it is clear, first of all, that the notion of likeness had for Bernini a very singular meaning.21 Bernini did not conceive of the sitter as a ‘sitter’ at all. He insisted on ‘sopping up’ the character and personality of the subject by sketching him endlessly in action — moving, working, playing tennis, conversing22 — because

19 Bernini’s earlier portraits of ‘royal heroes’ (for which concept, see Lavin 1999) were specifically recalled in one of the poems on the bust of Louis (Chantelou 1885, 100, August 16). 20 See Chantelou 1985, 38 n. 116. 21 For what follows, Wittkower’s splendid study (1951) remains an inspiration. 22 See the descriptions cited in the next note. Bernini himself described the purpose of the sketches: Le Cavalier . . . a besoin à présent de voir le Roi pour le particulier du visage de Sa Majesté, n’ayant jusques ici travaillé qu’au général; durant quoi il n’a même presque pas regardé ses dessins, qu’aussi ne les avait-il faits que pour s’imprimer plus particulièrement l’image du Roi dans l’esprit et faire qu’elle y demeurât insuppata et rinvenuta, pour se servir de ses propres termes; qu’autrement, s’il avait travaillé d’après ses dessins, au lieu d’un original il ne ferait qu’une copie; que même, s’il lui fallait copier le buste lorsqu’il l’aura achevé, il ne lui serait pas possible de le faire tout semblable; que la noblesse de l’idée n’y serait plus à cause de la servitude de l’imitation . . . (Chantelou 1885, 75, July 30). The point Bernini makes here about not repeating himself even in deliberate copies of the same bust was based on no less than three instances in which replacements were required by imperfections in the marble: Scipione Borghese, Urban VIII, Innocent X (see Johnston et al. 1986, 76; Wittkower 1981, 221 f.). In each case, the second versions show subtle but significant changes. No doubt because of the time limitations, to provide for just such an eventuality, as Domenico Bernini reports, Bernini at the outset ordered two blocks to be prepared for the bust of Louis. The time factor is mentioned in a letter of June 5 by Matteo de’Rossi (Mirot 1904, 207) and on June 11 by Chantelou (1885, 30). On the two blocks of marble, see Chantelou 1885, 40 f., June 30, and Bernini 1713, 135. Given Bernini’s repeated emphasis on the limitations of marble portraiture, especially with respect to color, it will be seen that more than flattery lay behind Bernini’s remarks in the famous exchange between the artist and the King on one such occasion, reported by Chantelou: ‘. . . il a dessiné d’après le Roi, sans que S. M. ait été assujettie de demeurer en une place. Le Cavalier prenait son temps au mieux qu’il pouvait; aussi disait-il de temps à autre, quand le Roi le regardait: ‘Sto rubando.’ Une foi le Roi lui repartit, et en italien même: Si, ma è per restituire. Il répliqua lors à Sa Majesté: Però per restituire meno del rubato.’ (1885, 40, June 28.)

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one is never more like oneself than at those moments;23 he preferred to represent the subject as he started or finished speaking (the exquisitely subtle psychological discrimination is paradoxical, since it focuses not on the rhetorical act par excellence, speaking, but on its two inevitable, ineffable, and inherently unselfconscious phases).24 Algardi felt able to satisfy his patron (and himself ) by preparing the sculpture from the painted models, and finishing it in the presence and to the satisfaction of whoever was responsible for the work. Such a procedure could never have satisfied Bernini, since only from the living model could he could observe and reproduce, not only the subject’s features but also, and especially, his characteristic expression and movement — in a word, his spirit and life. A corollary of this definition and mode of creating a likeness was the equally unorthodox way Bernini put the final touches on the bust of Louis. To the amazement Diceva egli che nel ritrarre alcuno al naturale consisteva il tutto in saper conoscere quella qualità, che ciascheduno ha di proprio, e che non ha la natura dato ad altri che a lui, ma che bisognava pigliare qualche particolarità non brutta, ma bella. A quest’effetto tenne un costume dal comune modo assai diverso, e fu: che nel ritrarre alcuno non voleva ch’egli stesse fermo, ma ch’e’ si si movesse, e ch’e’ parlasse, perché, in tal lmodo, diceva egli, ch’e’ vedeva tutto il suo bello e lo contrafaceva com’egli era: asserendo, che nello starsi al naturale immobilmente fermo, egli non è mai tanto simile a se stesso, quanto egli è nel moto, in cui quelle qualità consistono, che sono tutte sue e non d’altri e che danno la somiglanza al ritratto; ma l’intero conoscer ciò (dico io) non è giuoco da fanciulli. (Baldinucci 1948, 144.) Tenne un costume il Cavaliere, ben dal commune modo assai diverso, nel ritrarre altrui ò nel Marmo, ò nel disegno: Non voleva che il figurato stasse fermo, mà ch’ei colla sua solita naturalezza si movesse, e parlasse, perche in tal modo, diceva, ch’ei vedeva tutto il suo bello, e’l contrafaceva, com’egli era, asserendo, che nello starsi al naturale immobilmente fermo, egli non è mai tanto simile a sè stesso, quanto è nel moto, in cui consistono tutte quelle qualità, che sono sue, e non di altri, e che danno la somiglianza al Ritratto. (Bernini 1713, 133 f.) 24 ‘Le Cavalier, continuant de travailler à la bouche, a dit que, pour réussir dans un portrait, il faut prendre un acte et tâcher à le bien représenter; que la plus beau temps qu’on puisse choisir pour la bouche est quand on vient de parler ou qu’on va prendre la parole; qu’il cherche à attraper ce moment.’ (Chantelou 1885, 133, September 4.) On the notion of the ‘speaking likeness,’ see important paper by Harris 1992. There are, however, some difficulties with Harris’s argument, which is based on the open-mouthed expression of certain selfportraits of Simon Vouet. The portraits are not reliably dated, and the question has been raised whether Vouet might have manifested one of the common symptoms of diseased adenoids (Ficacci 1998, 94); it may be relevant that certain of the portraits also show a scarred and swollen right cheek (most are collected in Thuillier et al., 1990, but see also Picart 1990, 22 and 25). In any case, all the instances Harris cites by Vouet and others are informal portraits of ‘middle-class’ individuals. It remains a fact that the first formal portrait of a person of first rank shown with open lips, is Bernini’s bust of Gregory XV in Ottawa, 1621 (Lavin 1988, 91, 1989, 37; Johnston et al., eds., 1986, 74). 23

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of those who witnessed the process, he deliberately discarded the preparatory studies and models he had so laboriously produced, and completed the work not from memory but directly from the living model, in the presence of the king in person — otherwise, he said, he would be copying himself, not Louis XIV.25 The central point, however, central also in Bernini’s list of the three essential qualities he sought in his portraits, lay beyond even the creation of a ‘living’ likeness. The point is already evident in another, complementary peculiarity of Bernini’s portrait-working procedure: at the very outset, even before working on the likeness, he sketched in clay the ‘action’ he intended to give the bust;26 he began, that is, with a concept, which he continued to develop in the model, while studying the details of the king’s features in life drawings. And this ‘idea’ of the subject is what preoccupied him when he See the passages in Chantelou cited in n.22 above and nn. 26, 27 below. The procedure is described by the biographers: ‘Per fare il ritratto della maestà del re di Francia, egli ne fece prima alquanti modelli; nel metter poi mano all’opera, alla presenza del re tutti se gli tolse d’attorno e a quel monarca che ammirando quel fatto, gli domandò la cagione del non volersi valere delle sue fatiche, rispose che i modelli gli erano serviti per introdurre nella fantasia le fattezze di chi egli dovea ritrarre, ma quando già le aveva concepite e dovea dar fuori il parto, non gli erano più necessari, anzi dannosi al suo fine, che era di darlo fuori non simile a’ modelli, ma al vero.’ (Baldinucci 1948, 144); ‘In oltre fù suo costantissimo proposito in somiglianti materie, far prima molti disegni, e molti della figura, ch’egli dovea rappresentare, mà quando poi nel Marmo metteva mano all’opera, tutti se li toglieva d’attorno, come se a nulla gli servissero: E richiesto dal Rè, che prese maraviglia di questo fatto con domandargliene la cagione, del non volersi valere delle sue istesse fatiche, rispose, che i Modelli gli erano serviti per introdurre nella fantasia le fattezze di chì egli doveva ritrarre, mà quando già le haveva concepite, e doveva dar fuori il parto, non gli erano più necessarii, anzi dannosi al suo fine, che era di darlo fuori, non simile alli Modelli, mà al Vero.’ (Bernini 1713, 134) See also the report of Bernini’s enemy in Paris, Charles Perrault: Il travailla d’abord sur le marbre, et ne fit point de modèle de terre, comme les autres sculpteurs ont accoutumé de faire, il se contenta de dessiner en pastel deux ou trois profils du visage du Roi, non point, à ce qu’il disoit, pour les copier dans son buste, mais seulement pour rafraîchir son idée de temps en temps, ajoutant qu’il n’avoit garde de copier son pastel, parce qu’alors son buste n’auroit été qu’une copie, qui de sa nature est toujours moindre que son original. (Perrault 1909, 61 f.) 26 ‘. . . il a demandé de la terre afin de faire des ébauches de l’action qu’il pourrait donner au buste, en attendant qu’il travaillât à la ressemblance.’ Chantelou 1885, 30, June 11. On the point see Wittkower 1951, 6. Giulio Mancini in the early seventeenth century made the fundamental distinction between the ‘ritratto semplice,’ that of pure imitation, and the ‘ritratto dell’attion et affetto’ (Mancini 1956–7, I, 115 f.; see the perspicacious note by Bauer in Chantelou 1985, 85 f., n. 154). 25

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put aside the drawings to work on the marble. Bernini himself defined the point in the explanation he gave of the relationship between his way of working on a portrait and the meaning he wanted it to convey. The statement occurs in a passage where Bernini explains to Colbert the rapid progress he was presently making in carving the bust of Louis XIV: ‘until now he had worked entirely from his imagination, looking only rarely at his drawings; he had searched chiefly within, he said, tapping his forehead, where there existed the idea of His Majesty; had he done otherwise his work would have been a copy instead of an original. This method of his was extremely difficult, and the King, in ordering a portrait, could not have asked anything harder; he was striving to make it less bad than the others that he had done; in this kind of head one must bring out the qualities of a hero as well as make a good likeness.’27 Here it is clear that the ultimate difficulty lay in Bernini’s ultimate goal, to realize his own idea of the monarch — his ‘spirit’ — by capturing the King’s heroic qualities while recording Louis’s likeness, as Bernini understood that notion. For Bernini a portrait was a preternatural thing, a composite counterfeit of an idea and of vitality itself. For this reason, above all, to carve a marble portrait of a living subject without seeing him in action was for Bernini not only difficult, but a challenge in extremis; and, after the bust of Francesco, he kept his vow never to do so again. The second, ‘sociological’ point I want to consider concerns Bernini’s attitude toward the D’Este commission. It is very clear that Bernini was not anxious to undertake the portrait, and there may have been other reasons than the difficulty of the task. Francesco I was, after all, not as important as Charles I or Richelieu. There may also have been a political factor. Francesco I was closely tied to France, most conspicuously in his capacity as commander of the French troops in Italy. Bernini had been intimately associated with Urban VIII Barberini, who had also been a partisan of France. 27 ‘M. Colbert Lui a témoigné être étonneé combien l’ouvrage étâit avancé, et qu’il le trouvait si ressemblant qu’il ne jugeait pas qu’il fût besoin qu’il travaillât à Saint-Germain. Le Cavalier a reparti qu’il y avait toujours à faire à qui voulait faire bien; que jusqu’ici il avait presque toujours travaillé d’imagination, et qu’il n’avait regardé que rarement les dessins qu’il a; qu’il ne regardait principalement que là dedans, montrant son front, où il a dit qu’était l’idée de Sa Majesté; que autrement il n’aurait fait qu’une copie au lieu d’un original, mais que cela lui donnait une peine extrême et que le roi, lui demandant son portrait, ne pouvait pas lui commander rien de plus pénible: qu’il tâcherait que ce fût le moins mauvais de tous ceux qu’il aura faits; que, dans ces sortes de portraits, il faut, outre la ressemblance, y mettre ce qui doit être dans des têtes de héros.’ (Chantelou 1885, 72 f., July 29.)

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When Urban VIII was succeeded by Innocent X Pamphili, the arch-enemy of both the Barberini and the French, Bernini fell from favor and had only recently redeemed himself with his invention for Innocent’s pet project for the fountain in the Piazza Navona, where the pope was building his new family palace. Perhaps Bernini felt it unwise to work too closely with the French faction. Even so, Bernini’s dealings with his noble patron must have seemed even more remarkable then than they do today. He was so occupied with other projects, notably the Piazza Navona fountain that he had no time;28 he was so busy that it was difficult to reach him;29 he worked only for friends and important patrons; he had to be frequently coaxed and reminded, and sufficiently remunerated; he would never discuss time or money,30 and specific terms only emerged indirectly, in relation to payments and honoraria he had received from other grand patrons: 3000 scudi from Innocent X for the Piazza Navona fountain,31 a diamond ring worth 6000 scudi from Charles I for his bust of the king.32 All this reflects the attitude, and acumen, of the most successful and sought after image-maker of the day. But the attitude involved much more than finances. The social status of the artist was involved. In so many words, Bernini was said to ‘act independent’ (opera da sé), and I suspect this was precisely the point.33 Bernini’s attitude must indeed have seemed arrogant, especially for an artist; but for this very reason it signified that he belonged, and clearly thought of himself as belonging, in a long tradition reaching back to antiquity and including in his own time the likes of Velasquez and Rubens, of artists who sought to rise above the condition of servile artisan to the level of an aristocracy of the spirit, a meritocracy of the intellect and creativity. Nobility was not paid wages, and the proper, indeed only, form of recognition among the aristocracy was the gift. It is symptomatic in this context that throughout the correspondence the consideration for Bernini is exclusively referred to as a ‘gift’ (regalo), rather than as a payment or a

Docs. 9, 25. Doc. 23. 30 Doc. 4. 31 Docs. 32, 40, 41, 68, 69. 32 Doc. 20 and n. 35 below. Other sources put the value at 4000 scudi (Lightbown 1981, 447 ff., who also compares the costs of other works by Bernini, e.g., 1000 scudi for the portrait of Scipione Borghese). 33 ‘questo opera da sé, et vi vuole destrezza nel sollecitarlo’ (Doc. 23). 28 29

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fee.34 The distinction is clear from the fact that for all three princely busts (Charles I, Richelieu, Francesco I) Bernini received, or was offered in the case of Francesco, gifts, whereas the messengers who delivered the sculptures were given ‘tips.’35 The phraseology was significant when Francesco’s agent in Rome reported that Mazarin had ‘regalato nobilissimamente.’36 Francesco resorted to a delicate subterfuge in deference to this principle of social distinction, instructing his emissary to tell Bernini that the Duke had sent 3000 scudi in order to purchase a suitable gift, but that the artist might take the money, if he preferred.37 Bernini opted for the cash, because he was

See the documents cited in n. 31 above; also Doc. 37. On the significance of the gift as remuneration, see the section on ‘Old and New Ways of Evaluating Works of Art’ in Wittkower, R. and M., 1963, 22–5, and recently Warwick 1997, 632 f. The Wittkowers tended to see the gift in relation to the earlier, craft tradition of barter and payment in kind, rather than in the tradition of noble courtesy. The main difference is that in the former case the goods were generally of a practical nature, whereas in the latter they were conspicuously luxury items. The market for art in early seventeeth-century Rome, including barter and payment in kind has been admirably studied by Spear 1993 and 1997, 210–24. On the ‘nobility of the artist’s profession’ and related factors, see the Wittkowers’ chapter ‘Between Famine and Fame,’ 253–80. 35 The gifts for the portraits are mentioned in a list of some of Bernini’s notable remunerations, among the Bernini papers in the Bibliothèque National in Paris: Alcune remunerazioni haute dal Cav.re Bernino Per il ritratto del Rè Carlo 1.o d’Inghilterra un’diamante che portava in dito, di valore di sei mila scudi Per il ritratto del Card.le Richelieù una gioia di quattro mila scudi Per il ritratto del Duca Fran.co di Modena tre mila scudi in tanti Argenti B.N. ms ital 2084, fol. 126 r. Domenico Bernini mentions the generous ‘mancia’ given to the assistants who accompanied to their destinations the busts of Charles I, ‘. . . si cavò dal dito un Diamante di sei mila scudi di valore, e consegnatelo a Bonifazio disse, . . .; in oltre mandò al Cavaliere copiosi regali di preziosissimi panni, & a Bonifazio fè donare per mancia mille scudi,’ and Richelieu ‘Gradì quel Principe in modo tale il Ritratto che ne dimostrò il gradimento col dono di un Giojelo, che mandò al Cavaliere di trentatrè Diamanti, fra’ quali ve n’erano sette di quattordici grani l’uno di peso. Al Balsimelli fè dare per mancia otto cento scudi.’ (Bernini 1713, 65 f., 68.) 36 Letter of February 22, 1642, in Fraschetti 1900, 112 n. 2: ‘Per la Città si è saputo che il Cardinale di Richeliù ha donato un gioiello superbissimo al Cavalier Bernino, et che il Cardinal Mazarino l’ha regalato nobilissimamente per la statua che di sua mano ha fatto al primo: onde mille sono gli Encomij che si fanno sopra la Generosità di ambidue.’ 37 The Duke conceived the plot when he discovered that the German silver credenza he had thought to acquire was exorbitant and not worth the price: Doc. 30. The 3000 scudi for Bernini are mentioned in Docs. 66, 77, 79. Cf. also Docs. 86, 87, 88. 34

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‘already sufficiently provided with jewels and silver’!38 People, including Bernini, were saying that the size of the consideration, being equal to the generosity of Innocent X for the Piazza Navona fountain, risked putting even the pope to shame.39 In one instance Bernini himself uses the phrase ‘mi fa pagare’ in reference to the 3000 scudi he received — not as compensation for the bust, however, but as the mark of the ‘more than regal’ generosity of the House of Este.40 It is important to understand that the idea and value of a ‘princely’ reward worked both ways: the report that he had outclassed the pope was certainly intended to flatter Francesco, who had himself remarked that by making Bernini happy he would affirm his own status as a patron: ‘col far restar contento il Bernino penso di conservarmi il credito di stimar la virtù et i virtuosi.’41 In sum, the transaction between Duke Francesco and Bernini was indeed a regal exchange. The complimentary equivalent to the Duke’s gift worth 3000 scudi was a supreme image of himself as an ideal Christian monarch, to which Bernini added a compliment only the artist could provide — the credit Francesco’s grand gesture of cultural largesse accrued to the inestimable prestige of ‘reputation’ that contemporary political theory required of the virtuous ruler.42 For Bernini, moreover, the idea of a meritocracy also worked both ways, as when years later he told the young Louis XIV that he admired the king ‘not because he was king of France and a great king, but because . . . [his] he had realized that [Louis's] spirit was even more exalted than his position.’43 In this sense, it might be said that the very factors that made the bust of Francesco I an almost impossible undertaking, also made it the herald of a new epoch in the history of European culture. Bernini was not exaggerating when he told the Duke that he already had plenty of silver and gems: the biographies, the documents concerning his work, and the inventory of his property, are filled with an abundance of preDoc. 69. Doc. 68. 40 Doc. 76: ‘tre mila scudi . . . mi fa pagare, non dico già per il suo ritratto da me in marmo scolpito, ma per lo genio della gran Casa Estense, la quale suol eccedere in più che reale generosità.’ 41 Doc. 18; see also Doc. 85. 42 On reputation see Lavin 1999. 43 ‘. . . il s’estimerait heureux de finir sa vie à son service, non pas pour ce qu’il était un roi de France et un grand roi, mais parce qu’il avait connu que son esprit était encore plus relevé que sa condition’ (Chantelou 1885, 201, October 5; translation from Chantelou 1985, 254, with modifications). 38 39

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2. Thomas Adey (?), Charles I, after Bernini. Windsor Castle.

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1. Bernini, Francesco I d’Este. Museo Estense, Modena.

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3. Van Dyck, triple portrait of Charles I. Windsor Castle.

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4. Van Dyck, Queen Henrietta Maria. Brooks Memorial Art Museum, Memphis, TN.

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6. Van Dyck, Queen Henrietta Maria. Windsor Castle.

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5. Van Dyck, Queen Henrietta Maria. Windsor Castle .

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7. Bernini, Cardinal Richelieu. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

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8. Philippe de Champaigne, triple portrait of Richelieu. National Gallery of Art, London.

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10. Bernini, Louis XIV. Musée National du Château de Versailles .

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9. Algardi, Urbano Mellini. S. Maria del Popolo, Rome.

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12. Rubens, Self-Portrait. Windsor Castle.

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11. Titian, Self-Portrait. Museo del Prado, Madrid.

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13. Van Dyck, Self-Portrait. Collection of the Duke of Westminster, London.

14. Rembrandt, Self-Portrait. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

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15. Rembrandt, Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

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17. Rembrandt, Self -Portrait. Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Cologne.

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16. Rembrandt, Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer, detail. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York .

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19. Bernini, Self-Portrait, drawing. Windsor Castle.

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18. Bernini, Self-Portrait, drawing. Windsor Castle.

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cious jewels.44 It is significant that the gifts always took this luxurious symbolic form, never in kind, like the foodstuffs and other practical goods with which artisans had often been paid in earlier times. The gifts were truly ‘regali’ in the sense that they were equivalent in nature and in value to the favors the nobility commonly exchanged among themselves. The phenomenon I have been describing had a long pre-history, stretching back to antiquity, when Apelles was given the exclusive privilege of portraying Alexander the Great, whose image, incidentally, was in fact an important influence on Bernini’s conception of the ruler portrait; and when Parrhasius proudly proclaimed himself the ‘prince of painters.’ These classical precedents lay the foundation for the tradition that was formalized in the Renaissance, when the artist was elevated to the status of a true courtier — notably with Titian, who portrayed himself nobly wearing a golden chain emblematic of the knighthood bestowed upon him by the Emperor Charles V. (Fig. 11). Rubens received many such honors, and also portrayed himself with a chain in a portrait painted for Charles I (Fig. 12), as did Van Dyck when he received the award from Charles I (Fig. 13). In many cases a portrait medal of the patron is suspended from the chain, which thus signifies a bond of reciprocal admiration and mutual allegiance between the donor and the recipient. The symbolic value of this insignia was so important that Rembrandt, who never received the honor, nevertheless often depicted himself sporting a golden chain (Fig. 14); and he gave the tradition a profoundly intellectual turn in his picture of Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer, in which the philosopher wears a golden chain with a medal that may represent either or both the helmeted Alexander the Great, Aristotle’s devoted pupil, or Athena, the goddess of Wisdom (Figs. 15, 16).45 The chain and medal play separate parts in Rembrandt’s grimacing, late self-portrait with a mahlstick and wearing a medal (Fig. 17): in an ironic and macabre self-mockery of the painter of the crass reality of old age, he gleefully assumes the role of Zeuxis, who was said to have died laughing while painting a wrinkled, droll old woman, who in turn is portrayed at the left in the role of Zeuxis himself, grinning and wearing a golden chain. Bernini’s inventory lists a golden chain with a royal portrait medal of the King of Spain, as well as a famous jewel with a portrait of Louis XIV surBorsi et al., 1981. The tradition of the golden chain in art has been discussed particularly with respect to Rembrandt by Held 1969, 32–41, Deutsch-Carroll 1984, Perry Chapman 1990, esp. 50–4. 44 45

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rounded by diamonds (valued at 3000 scudi by Bandinucci, 8000 by Domenico Bernini, both of whom emphasize the ‘regality’ of the episode).46 Bernini belongs squarely in this tradition, and he may have inherited his attitude from Guido Reni, who was notorious in exerting his preference for the dignity of gifts to the ignominy of prices.47 But I believe his case is unique in that he brings the tradition to a climax and also marks a new departure. I know of no previous portrait-image-maker so universally and assiduously sought after with such reverential awe at such exalted levels of society at such extravagant values. And no one afterward, until perhaps the photographer Karsh. But Bernini is also unique in that he wore his laurels lightly. Indeed, he did not wear them at all. The fact is that we have very few securely identified self-portraits by Bernini and those we do have are at the very opposite end of the hierarchical scale represented by his distinguished predecessors (Figs. 18, 19). He never shows himself wearing any kind of ornament; he never includes the arms or even the rhetorical flourish of parted lips.48 In fact, he never shows himself in formal portrait guise, Borsi et al., 1981, 113, 115, 116. Baldinucci 1947, 112, Domenico 1713, 118. ‘In the dealings concerning his work (Guido) always used intermediaries or members of his household, who showed they could make arrangements that were favorable to him. Only with difficulty could be bring himself to transact an agreements in person, abhorring the mention of price in a profession in which, he said, it should be obligatory to negotiate on the basis of an honorarium or gift . . . Following the example of Xeuxis who, judging that his works could not be adequately rewarded, gave the Alcmena to the Agrigentines and the Pan to Achelaos, it was Guido’s practice at times not to put a price on the works he painted for great personages and men of substantial means, but rather to give the paintings to them. In this was he received much more for them than was the custom, or than he himself would have asked.’ (Malvasia 1980,114, 115.) ‘Ne’ tratatti de’lavori si servì sempre di mezzani e dimestici, che mostraassero ottenergli per favore, difficilmente riducendosi a trattar in persona propria d’accordo; abborrendo il nome di prezzo in questa professione, che diceva doversi negoziare con titolo di onorario e di regalo . . . Ad esempio di Zeusi che reputando l’opre sue non poter pagarsi a bastanza, donò l’Alcmena a gli Agrigentini, il Pane ad Archelao, praticò il non voler chieder prezzo talora dei suoi quadri con Grandi e persone commode piuttosto donarli loro ricevendone per tal via assai più di ciò ch’era in uso, ed avrebbe egli medesimo chiesto’ (Malvasia 1841, II, 47). Noted by Warwick 1997, 632, Spear 1997, 212. That Bernini knew and greatly admired Guido, including his views on pricing is evident from the many references to him and his pictures in Chantelou’s diary, and in his own work (see Chantelou 1985, index; Nava Cellini 1967, Hibbard 1976, Schlegel 1985). 48 The many paintings and drawings thought to be portraits or self-portraits of Bernini have been conveniently gathered and well-illustrated in recent exhibition catalogues: Coliva and Schütze, eds., 1998, Weston-Lewis, ed., 1998; Bernardini and Fagiolo dell’Arco, eds., 1999. 46 47

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but in relatively small, unpretentious images which, were it not for the intimate feeling and direct address to the spectator, would be difficult to recognize as self-portraits at all. He never signed his self-portraits; in fact, he never signed any of his work. No artist of comparable stature was more modest and reserved with respect to his own view of himself. Here we have the crux of the paradox that I believe places Bernini at the climax of one era and the initiation of another: the most exalted artist of his time presents himself simply as a man like any other, only charged with volcanic power and a penetrating, portentous gaze bespeaking a profound human awareness.

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Bibliography Avery, C., Bernini. Genius of the Baroque, Boston, etc., 1997 Baldinucci, F., Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682; ed. S.S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948 Berger, R. W., In the Garden of the Sun King. Studies on the Park of Versailles under Louis XIV, Washington, DC, 1985 Bernardini, M. G., and Fagiolo dell’Arco, M., eds., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Regista del Barocco, exhibit. cat., Rome, 1999 Bernini, D., Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713 Borsi, Franco, et al., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Il testamento, la casa, la raccolta dei beni, Florence, 1981 Chantelou, P. Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed., Ludovic Lalanne, Paris, 1885 _____ Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France, edited and with an introduction by A. Blunt, annotated by G. C. Bauer, translated by M. Corbett, Princeton, 1985 Coliva, A., and S. Schütze, eds., Bernini Scultore. La nascita del Barocco in Casa Borghese, exhib. cat., Rome, 1998 Deutsch Carroll, Margaret, ‘Rembrandt’s Aristotle: Exemplary Beholder,’ artibus et historiae, No. 10, 1984, 35–56 Ficacci, L., ‘L’espressione dell’affetto indefinito,’ in S. De Blaauw, et al., eds., Docere delectare movere. Affetti, devozione e retorica nel linguaggio artistico del primo barocco romano, Rome, 1998, 89–104 Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milano, 1900 Gould, Cecil, Bernini in France. An Episode in Seventeenth-Century History, Princeton, 1982 Harris, A. S., ‘Vouet, le Bernin, et la “ressemblance parlante”,’ Rencontres de l’École du Louvre, 1992, 192–206 Hibbard, H., ‘Guido Reni’s Corsini “Magdalen”: Its Date and Influence,’ in Larissa Bonfante et al., eds., In memoriam Otto J. Brendel. Essays in Archaeology and the Humanities, Mainz, 1976, 227–31 Jarrard, A., Architecture as Performance in Seventeenth-century Europe. Court Ritual

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in Modena, Rome, and Paris, Cambridge and New York, 2003 Johnston, C., et al., Vatican Splendour: Masterpieces of Baroque Art, exhib. cat., Ottawa, 1986 Laurain-Portemer, M., ‘La Politique Artistique de Mazarin,’ in Il Cardinale Mazzarino in Francia: colloquio italo-francese (Accademia nazionale dei Lincei, Atti dei convegni lincei 35), Rome, 1977, 41-76 (reprinted in her Études mazarines, Paris, 1981, 177–235) Lavin, I., ‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works,’ The Art Bulletin, L, 1968, 223–48 _____ ‘Bernini’s Bust of Cardinal Montalto,’ Idea, III, 1984, 87–95; also published in The Burlington Magazine, CXXVII, 1985, 32–8 _____ ‘Bernini’s Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch,’ in J. W. O’Malley, et al., eds., The Jesuits: Cultures, the Sciences, and the Arts, 1540–1773, Toronto, etc., 1999, 442–79 (Acts of a conference at Boston College May 1997) ______ Bernini e l’immagine del monarca cristiano ideale. Appendice documentaria a cura di Giorgia Mancini, Modena, 1998 Lightbown, R. W., ‘Bernini’s Busts of English Patrons,’ in M. Barasch and L. F. Sandler, eds., Art the Ape of Nature, Studies in Honor of H. W. Janson, ed., New York, 1981, 439–76 Malvasia, C. C., Felsina pittrice. Vite de’ pittori bolognesi, 2 vols., Bologna, 1841 _____ The life of Guido Reni, translated and with an introd. by Catherine Enggass and Robert Enggass, University Park, PA, 1980 Mancini, G., Considerazioni sulla pittura, eds. A. Marucchi and L. Salerno, 2 vols. Rome, 1956–7 Marder, T. A., ‘L’immagine del principe,’ in Claudia Conforti et al., eds, Modena 1598. L’invenzione di una capitale, Milan, 1999, 39–54 Mirot, L., ‘Le Bernin en France. Les travaux du Louvre et les statues de Louis XIV,’ Mémoires de la sociéte de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Ile de France, 1904, 161-288 Montagu, J., Alessandro Algardi, 2 vols., New Haven and London, 1985 Nagel, A., ‘Gifts for Michelangelo and Vittoria Colonnna,’ The Art Bulletin, LXXIX, 1997, 647–68 _____ Michelangelo and the Reform of Art, Cambridge and New York, 2000 Nava Cellini, A., ‘Note per l’Algardi, il Bernini e il Reni,’ Paragone, No. 207, 1967, 35–52 Perrault, C., Mémoires de ma vie (1702); voyage a Bordeaux (1669), ed., Paul Bonnefon, Paris, 1909 Perry Chapman, H., Rembrandt’s Self-Portraits. A Study in Seventeenth-Century Identity, Princeton, 1990 Picart, Y., La vie et l’oeuvre de Louis-René Vouet, Lyon, 1990 Schlegel, U., ‘Bernini und Guido Reni’, Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen, XXVII, 1985, 101–145 Southorn, J., Power and Display in the Seventeenth Century. The Arts and their

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1266 Patrons in Modena and Ferrara, Cambridge, 1988 Spear, R. E., The ‘Divine’ Guido: Religion, Sex, Money, and Art in the World of Guido Reni, New Haven, 1997 _____ ‘Scrambling for Scudi: Notes on Painters’ Earnings in Early Baroque Rome,’ The Art Bulletin, LXXXV, 2003, 310–20 Stone, N., ‘The Note-Book and Account Book of Nicholas Stone,’ (c. 1640), transcribed and annotated by Walter L. Spiers, Walpole Society, VII, 1919 Summers, D., Michelangelo and the Language of Art, Princeton, 1981 Thuillier, J., et al., Vouet. Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, Paris, 6 novembre 1990-11 février 1991, exhib. cat., Paris, 1990 Tratz, H., ‘Werkstatt und Arbeitsweise Berninis,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XXIII/XXIV, 1988, 397–485 Vertue, G., ‘Note Books’ (c. 1713): Vol. I, Walpole Society, XVIII, 1929–30 Valori, N., Vita di Lorenzo il Magnifico, Palermo, 1992 Walter, I., Lorenzo il Magnifico e il suo tempo, Rome, 2003 Warwick, G., ‘Gift Exchange and Art Collecting: Padre Sebastiano Resta’s Drawing Albums,’ The Art Bulletin, LXXIX, 1997, 630–46 Weston-Lewis, A., ed., Effigies & Ecstasies. Roman Baroque Sculpture and Design in the Age of Bernini, exhib. cat., Edinburgh, 1998 Wittkower, R., Bernini’s Bust of Louis XIV, London, etc., 1951 ______ ‘The Vicissitudes of a Dynastic Monument. Bernini’s Equestrian Statue of Louis XIV,’ in M. Meiss, ed., De Artibus Opuscula XL. Essays in Honor of Erwin Panofsky, New York, 1961, 497–531 (reprinted in his Studies in the Italian Baroque, London, 1975, 83–102) Wittkower, R. and M., Born Under Saturn. The Character and Conduct of Artists: A Documented History from Antiquity to the French Revolution, New York, 1963 _______ Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, Oxford, 1981

XXXI URBANITAS URBANA

The Pope, the Artist, and the Genius of the Place election – name

P

OPES are elected by action of the Holy Spirit: Divine Wisdom inspires them to resolve their differences and make the right choice. The election of Urban VIII was, however, exceptional in this tradition, because the choice was accompanied by an extraordinary event that seemed to confirm the principle of divine intervention in concrete, visible, and unmistakably personal terms. It so happened that a swarm of bees passed through the open window of the conclave; it so happened that the bee, because of its perfectly organized modus vivendi and its deliciously beneficial product, had from time immemorial been taken as the earthly incarnation of the Divine Wisdom (Fig. 1); and it so happened that the bee was the emblem of Cardinal Maffeo Barberini — three bees, as it so happened, easily understood in terms of the Trinity from whom the Holy Spirit descends (Fig. 2).1 The first action of the new Pope following his acceptance of the outcome of the election is to choose his new name. When Barberini was asked whether he accepted the election, he went down on his knees to pray for a while; he then declared that he accepted and that he would take the name of Urban VIII. There was no hesitation about the name: evidently Maffeo Barberini had himself foreseen, perhaps even long before, the action of Divine Wisdom in the choice of the cardinals, and perhaps even the action of Divine Wisdom in his own choice of his new name! The contemporary

1

On this famous engraving see now Finocchiaro 2004.

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sources give essentially three reasons why Maffeo Barberini chose to call himself Urban: 1. because of his special affection for Rome, the Urbs par excellence. 2. because he wished his name to be a perpetual reminder that he must curb his own natural inclination toward sternness. 3. in memory of his early predecessors, full of holy zeal and far from worldly interests.2 The purpose of this essay is to try to comprehend the nature and relationship between these three prime themes of Maffeo Barberini’s papacy, as I have come to believe he understood it, that is: his affection for Rome, his personal character, and his self-identification as Pope Urbanus. I shall discuss these ingredients in sequence, but my whole point is that they were conceived together, merging Urbs and Urbanus into one coherent Persona — as the embracing lovers merged into a single persona in Ingmar Bergman’s great film of that name. The sense of urbanity to be considered here was surely rooted in the cultivated humanistic ambience of the villa of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, nephew of Paul V (1606–21), which the learned and literate Maffeo Barberini had frequented, and for which Bernini had made his most important early works.3 Maffeo Barberini himself, who commissioned one of the most famous of these works, was undoubtedly an inspiring participant. The concept was expressed explicitly in the famous inscription at the entrance to the villa’s garden, which invited the people of Rome to enjoy its pleasures in accordance with the “golden laws of urbanity.” 4 2 “Egli dice haver preso il nome di Urbano per due cause, la prima per amar egli molto questa città, che s’appella Urbs per autonomasia, la seconda perchè conoscendo egli la sua natura tirar alquanto al rigidetto le fusse continuo raccordo di dover temperarla.” (Pastor 1923–53, XXVIII, 25, n. 1) “...dal qual nome ha voluto egli insignirsi, come ha detto, per venerare la memoria degli antichi Urbani predecessori suoi, che pieni di santo zelo, ed alieni agli interessi del mondo, tentarono imprese gloriose.” (Barozzi and Berchet 1877–8, I, 225). On the Urban predecessors in particular, see p. 1301f. and n. 53 below. 3 See the fine essay by Müller Hofstede 1998, and the references, especially to studies cited there, p. 122 n. 1, by Rudolf Preimesberger. Neither Preimesberger nor Müller Hofstede relates the concept of urbanity to Urban himself. 4 “Whoever thou art, so long as thou art a free man, fear not here the bonds of the laws! Go where thou wilt, ask whatever thou desirest, go away whenever thou wishest. More is here provided for the stranger than for the owner. In this golden age, which holds the promise of universal security, the master of the house wishes to lay no iron laws upon the well-bred. Let seemly enjoyment be the guest’s only law. But let him who with malice aforethought offends against the golden law of urbanity fear lest the irate custodian burn for him the sacred emblems of hospitality.” Pastor 1923–53, XXVI, 453f. Heilmann 1973, 115ff., gives the inscription but notes that other Roman villas of the period were also open to the public.

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This classically-minded and quasi-juridical conceit focused essentially on the sophisticated comportment associated with city life generally.5 When Maffeo became pope the urbanity of Rome itself, the urbs par exellence, acquired a new, comprehensive metaphorical significance as an ideal of personal identity and conduct, as well as a universal code of moral, political, spiritual, and social concern. TUSCAN TAFANI – ROMAN BEES The special relationship Maffeo Barberini felt between himself and the city of Rome originated long before he was elected pope and chose the \name that would convey that relationship expressis verbis, as it were. The relationship was probably encoded in his personal identity from the time he was named cardinal in 1606. And from the beginning the relationship appeared to be sanctioned by a higher authority than his own volition. Cardinals when elected become princes of the church, and hence are entitled to the armorial bearings of nobility. I suspect that this was the occasion when the famous and crucial transformation took place in which the three horseflies (tafani) that originally formed the Barberini family coat arms were morphed into bees (Fig. 3).6 Tafano was (and still is) the name of a locality in the vicinity of Barberino Val d’Elsa, whence derived the original family name, Tafani da Barberino, and coat of arms, which also included a scissors representing the founder of the dynasty, a tailor who established the family fortune in an ever-expanding wool trade. (Fig. 4) But the horsefly is a menace that passes its entire life in an incessant mass attack on its victims, inflicting painful, blood-letting wounds with two powerful, sharp pincers that protrude from its head; hence also the emblem of the scissors that related the family’s incisive and relentlessly aggressive business tactics to their toponym. Worker bees may also inflict a painful wound (not the queen or what was sometimes This generic, rather than specifically Roman notion of urbanity, as opposed to rusticity, is evident in Cicero’s frequent use of the concept (see Bléry 1909, and Haury 1955, s.v. urbanitas. For a perceptive discussion of the significance and development of the concept in antiquity, including “Roman humor,” see Saint-Denis 1939, 5–25. A broad-ranging study of Ciceronian urbanity will be found in Heuer 1941. 6 On the vicissitudes of the Barberini coat of arms see Pecchiai 1956, 76f, 231, and 1959, 85–92; Valdarni 1968, 31; Zangheri 1990 and Marzocchi 1998, both with illustrations. Further examples of the tafani with scissors are illustrated in a manuscript which Pecchia 1956, 91, dates before 1636. 5

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thought to be the king bee, which has no stinger), but only once and at great self-sacrifice, for the bee, which then dies, suffers even more than its enemy. Bees are also normally solitary creatures bumbling about haphazardly from flower to flower gathering their precious nectar hither and yon; they are marvelously of one mind, however, when they are at home in the hive, and when they swarm en masse, which they do only in self-defense for the common good when they are threatened, or when they decide to migrate to another territory and establish a new colony. The Barberini armorial metamorphosis is usually explained as a simple and obvious elevation or evolution of the lowly and pestiferous horsefly to the noble and useful bee. In 1636 Cardinal Francesco Barberini commissioned a Florentine client merchant to go to Barberino and revise the coats of arms by canceling the scissors and changing the horseflies to bees.7 But there is surely more to the story if one considers what might be called the poetic mystique of the bee, which Maffeo must have had in mind from the outset. This property of the bee to migrate en famille, as it were, and to have done so during the conclave was a God-send not only because the bee was the family symbol, but because shortly before he was elected pope Cardinal Maffeo had invented an impresa with an astonishing clairvoyance that was itself one of the many otherwise inexplicable coincidences testifying to the divine providentiality that became the overriding leitmotif of his reign (Fig. 5).8 The famous phrase Hic Domus with which Virgil announces the arrival of Aeneas in Latium, the foundation of Rome and the Golden Ages of Augustus, is illustrated by a swarm of the armorial bees alighting upon a laurel tree, symbol of eternity. “Salve, fatis mihi debita tellus, vosque, ait, o fidi Troiae, salvete, Penates! Hic domus, haec patria est.” “Hail, O land,” he cries, “destined as is my due! and hail to you, ye faithful gods of Troy! Here is our home, here our country!”9

Zanobi Radicchi, aromatario, writes to Cardinal Francesco 9 November 1636 reporting that, stealthily, at night, the mission had been carried out. (Pecchiai 1956, 89ff. cf. p. 91). 8 Ferro 1623, II, 72. 9 Aeneid VII, 120–3, Fairclough 1986, II, 10–11. 7

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The devastating invasion of Troy by the Trojan horse was thus superceded by the beneficial invasion of Rome by the Barberini bees. A much richer understanding of Maffeo’s conceit emerges when one considers that the same phrase, this time derived from Genesis, occurs in one of the most powerful texts of the Roman liturgy, specifically as the Introit of the common of the mass in celebration of the dedication of a church: Terribilis est locus iste : hic domus Dei est, et porta caeli : et vocabitur aula Dei. How terrible this place! It is the house of God and the gate of heaven, and it shall be called the court of God.10 The import of Maffeo’s brilliant metaphor was fully appreciated in Rome, even in the negative, later in his reign. Only in this light can one fully grasp Pasquino’s ironic inversion of the conceit with his famous lampoon on the appropriation of bronze from the Pantheon to create the baldachin at St. Peter’s: quod non fecerunt barbari fecerunt Barberini. The joke was not just a clever pun on the sounds of the two words barbari–Barberini, but an even cleverer inversion of the basic Virgilian conceit, now identifying the swarm of Barberini bees with the barbaric invasion that devastated ancient Rome. Similarly, the swarm of bees, representing not just the Cardinal’s device but his whole family, later became an allusion to Urban’s notorious nepotism as a barbarian invasion, when the number of bees arrogantly populating Rome Lasance and Walsh 1945, 1388f. Genesis 28:17 : Pavensque, quam terribilis est inquit locus iste non est hic aliud nisi domus dei et porta coeli. And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven. The terribilis passage does not occur in the breviary liturgy, where instead the hymn at first Vespers begins Caelestis urbs Ierusalem. This hymn was radically changed by Urban VIII, who participated actively in a major “correction” of the breviary hymns for a more classical Latin. The second stanza in the revised breviary begins “O sorte nupta prospera,/ Dotata Patris gloria,/ Respersa Sponsi gratia,/ Regina formosissima” (Hours, I, 922, Common of the Dedication of a Church). This was also a drastic expurgation: the original passage (in the 1570 Breviary of Pius V), was as follows: “Nova veniens e caelo, nuptiali thalamo / Praeparata, ut sponsata copuletur Domino.” Copuletur is the word used by St. Bernard. The point is that the dedication of a church is the consummation of the Marriage of Christ to Ecclesia. On Urban’s revision of the hymns: Blume 1910, Pastor 1923–53, XXIX, 13–18. 10

1. Ballot for the Election of Urban VIII, after Fabio Cristofani, tapestry. Rome, Musei Vaticani.

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2. Matthaeus Greuter, Melissographia (first illustration based on a compound microscope). Rome, 1625.

3. Coat of Arms of “De Barberino” with three horseflies (tafani) and trace of excised scissors. Florence, Santa Croce, south cloister.

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5. Hic domus, Barberini impresa. Ferro 1623, II, 72.

4. Horseflies arranged as the arms of Tafani da Barberino.

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6. Apse mosaic, det. Rome, Sts. Cosmas and Damian.

7. Appearance of St. Michael to St. Gregory the Great, fresco. Rome, Trinità dei Monti.

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8. The Holy Spirit, St.Michael, and Pius V. Missale romanum, Rome, 1570, title page.

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9. St. Michael leading Urban VIII, Annual Medal, 1626.

10. St. Michael crowning Urban VIII, Annual Medal, 1640, Royal Library.

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11. Bernini workshop, Project for the Cathedra Petri, drawing. Windsor Castle, Royal Library.

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12. Pietro da Cortona, Divine Providence, vault fresco. Rome, Palazzo Barberini.

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13. Detail of Fig. 12.

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14. Bernini, “Barcaccia.” Rome, Piazza di Spagna. 15. Bernini, “Barcaccia,” view of the “fish-face” prow. Rome, Piazza di Spagna.

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16. Giovani Battista Piranesi, Porta della Ripetta, engraving, 1753, detail.

17 Fontana della Galera. Rome, Vatican Palace.

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18. Pietro Lasena, Cleombrotus, Rome, 1638, title page.

19. Matthias Greuter, the Barcaccia, engraving. Lasena 1638, p. 78.

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and the papal states was facetiously estimated at more than ten thousand. One of the ten thousand must have been the beautifully poetic depiction of a bee sipping nectar from a flower in the garden of Paradise depicted in the apse mosaic of Sts. Cosmas and Damian, restored by Cardinal Francesco (Fig. 6). Following the choice of his name the pope’s affection for the city was expressed publicly by his devotion to the Archangel Michael, the weigher of souls. The Archangel was the patron of Castel Sant’Angelo and favorite and protector of the city of Rome since he had appeared above the Castello in a famous vision of Gregory the Great to alleviate a devastating attack of the plague (Fig. 7); and had liberated the city from the scourge from the north at the Sack of Rome in 1522.11 Following the Council of Trent Michael was invoked by Pius V as defender of the Faith, in the engraved title page of the new Missal published in 1570, where the archangel is shown appearing with scales and sword defeating the devil of heresy, before the kneeling pope, both figures looking up toward the radiant dove of the Holy Spirit (Fig. 8).12 Urban established a distinctly new, personal relationship with the Archangel by choosing the saint’s feast day (September 29) for his coronation, making Michael the patron of his pontificate. This was a fundamental shift in meaning, which he signified early in his reign in a medal (1626) commemorating his coronation; Pius’s threatening image is transformed into one of benign protection, with Michael appearing cloudborne to lead the kneeling pope who looks up to the Archangel for guidance, in fulfillment of the motto Te Mane, Te Vespere (you day, you night) (Fig. 9). The text was based on a hymn that introduced the liturgy for the Feast of the Trinity, which invoked the sun, one of Urban’s primary emblems, as the ever-luminous Christ to replace the transient sun of fire. The personal reference became more explicit in a commemorative medal issued in 1640 with the same motto, in which St. Michael as ever vigilant protector again descends from heaven in a radically new guise, without the sword and scales but as Divine messenger bearing the tiara to crown the pope, and so confirm the divinely ordained election (Fig. 10). The altar in the apse of St. Peter’s, the chief altar after the high altar itself, was dedicated to the Archangel and 11 The importance of the Archangel Michael for Urban VIII and the early plans for decorating St. Peter’s has been recuperated by Rice 1997; cf. Index, s.v. “Saints.” See also Lavin 2003 and Lavin 2005, 182–94. 12 Sodi and Maria Triacca 1998.

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Bernini was commissioned to design the altarpiece in 1626. The work was never carried out, and there is no record of what he may have planned at this stage. But the project clearly inspired the bold combination of themes — St.Michael, papal succession, Petrine relic — envisaged in an astonishing design that evidently served in the preparations for the Cathedra Petri carried out in the same location later in the century under Alexander VII (Fig. 11): over the reliquary throne of St. Peter shouldered by the fathers of the church, the Archangel appears bearing the keys of St. Peter (one of which opens, the other closes the gateway to heaven) and the papal tiara, symbols of the pope’s God-given, sovereign jurisdiction over Christ’s legacy on earth.13 The full import of the concept can only be grasped from the liturgical context of the text, which is derived from a famous Ambrosian hymn revised by Urban VIII himself. Recited at evening prayer, on the Feast of the Holy Trinity, the hymn invokes the Trinity to replace the setting sun. O Trinity of blessed light, O Unity of princely might, The fiery sun now goes his way, Shed thou within our hearts thy ray. To thee our morning song of praise, To thee our evening prayer we raise; Thy glory suppliant we adore, For ever and for evermore. 14

On the medal and Bernini’s drawing see Rice 1992; 1997, 89f., 267. I suspect that the Trinitarian origin of Urban’s motto also motivated the triangluar vision that appears in the apse of St. Peter’s in a burst of clouds and light above the Cathedra Petri, sketched in what seems to be its later form, in a problematic drawing in the Morgan library; the drawing depicts a papal ceremony in the choir and crossing, with Bernini’s first project for the baldachin. Damian Dombrowski has dated both the Windsor and Morgan drawings early in Urban’s reign (Dal trionfo all’amore. Il mutevole pensiero artistico di Gianlorenzo Bernini nella decorazione del nuovo San Pietro, Rome, 2003, 39–44). 14 Hours of the Divine Office, II, 1420f. Jam sol recedit igneus; Tu, lux perennis, Unitas, Nostris, beáta Trinitas, Infunde lumen córdibus. 13

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The hymn follows immediately upon the Little Chapter, from Romans 11: 13 11:33 Oh the depth of the riches of the wisdom and of the knowledge of God! How incomprehensible are his judgments, and how unsearchable his ways!15 In other words, the entire conceit falls under the heading of Divine Wisdom. Michael is in effect the sun — Urban’s emblem — bestowing Divine Wisdom’s dominion (tiara) and judgment (keys) on the pope-papacy. Hence the aureole of rays surrounding Michael in the second coronation medal, succeeded by the brilliant burst of light behind the Archangel in the Cathedra Petri drawing, where also the Holy Spirit, evoked in the hymn, appears on the back of the throne; the light and the dove were fused in the famous window of the Holy Spirit of the final work. In these papal images Michael is shown in an entirely unprecedented role, not as weigher of souls or avenging angel, but as Divine messenger, conveying the authority and power of Christ on earth. In this way, Urban’s personal invocation of St. Michael, enforcer of God’s will, served also to extend the Archangel’s special surveillance of Rome to the church at large. (Fig. 12) Finally, it becomes especially significant of Urban’s selfidentification with Rome, that the coronation imagery has its counterpart, and may have originated in Pietro da Cortona’s vault fresco in the salone of the Palazzo Barberini (1633–9): 16 the glorious flight of bees swooping up through the empyrean at the command of Divine Providence below, is crowned at the apex with the papal tiara borne by a personification of Rome (Fig. 13). Rome enacts in the secular domain the role of Michael in the Church .

Te mane laudum carmine, Te deprecamur vespere ; Digneris ut te supplices Laudemus inter cælites. 15 O altitudo divitiarum sapientiae et scientiae Dei quam inconprehensibilia sunt iudicia eius et investigabiles viae eius. 16 On this point see Rice 1992, 429f.

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URBAN HUMOR – PUBLIC WIT I have no doubt that the history of the papacy is full of pontiffs who enjoyed a good joke, but none to my knowledge had ever made good humor and wit a matter of public policy. (Figs. 14, 15) One of the most astonishing of all modern urban creations, or should one say creatures, is the fountain installed early in Urban’s reign (1627–9), fondly known as the Barcaccia, from its resemblance to a type of humble work-boat, double-prowed for going up and down stream without turning around, used in hauling freight on the Tiber nearby (Fig. 16).17 The Barcaccia is the first monumental, public fountain in Rome, in the very heart of the city, to suggest a wholly organic, quasi-natural, shape; and it is surely the first public monument that is truly, sublimely, amusing.18 It was set low because of the feeble water pressure of the Aqua Vergine at that location, but this disadvantage made the work a prime illustration of one of Bernini’s the basic principles of design, “The highest praise of art consists in knowing how to make use of the little, and the bad, and the unsuitable for the purpose, to make beautiful things, so that the defect becomes useful, and if it did not exist it would have be made:” 19 Domenico Bernini, the artist’s son, reports on the fountain as follows: And if Bernini in that which was not his profession showed such ability, how much must we believe him to be in that in which consisted his proper talent, refined by study, and art? And as he was wont to say, that “The good artificer was the one who knew how to invent methods to make use of the little, and the bad, to make beautiful things,” he was truly marvelous in demonstrating it in fact. Under the Pincio in the Piazza called di Spagna, there had been made a lead from the Acqua Vergine to create a fountain to adorn the place. But the limited elevation above the surface did not permit a work that would give richness and majesty to that The Tiber work boats were cited by D’Onofrio 1967, 354–61; 1986, 363, 368. The most important studies of the fountain are Hibbard and Irma Jaffe 1964, D’Onofio 1967, 356–71, and 1986, 319–98; for a recent summary, Kessler 2005, 405–9. The fountain was called Barcaccia in a guidebook of 1693; the term first appears in a poem by Berni 1555 (Hibbard and Irma Jaffe 1964, 160 n. 2). 19 Concerning fountains: “Anzi il sommo pregio dell’Arte consistere in sapersi servire del poco, e del cattivo, e del male atto al bisogno, per far cose belle, e far sì, che sia utile ciò, che fù difetto, e che se non fusse, bisognerebbe farlo.” Bernini 1713, 32 17

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most delightful site. Urban asked him to demonstrate also on this occasion the vivacity of his imagination, and find a way with a certain artful slope, to make the water rise higher. The Cavaliere responded acutely, that in that case it would be better to think that the work and the fountain should conform to the water, than the water to the fountain. And so he conceived the idea of a beautiful and noble object for which it would be necessary, if need be, to restrict the height of the water. And he explained that he would remove enough earth to create a large basin which, being filled with water the fountain would represent at ground level an ocean, in the midst of which he intended to float a noble, and appropriate stone boat, which at several points as if from artillery cannons would spout water in abundance. The thought greatly pleased the pope, and without ado he gave order to carry out the project, which he deigned to ennoble himself with the following verses: The papal warship does not pour forth flames, But sweet water to extinguish the fire of war.20 Everyone praised the ingenuity of the novelty of this fountain, and the above two verses were received by the literati with such applause that one of them, either truly convinced by the vivacity of the concept that seemed to him impossible to have originated so appropriately for the purpose, or else disposed to think the worst, thinking it to believe it, and believing it to publish it, responded ingeniously but boldly with the following distich: He made the fountain for the verses, not the verses for the fountain. Urban the poet; thus may anyone take pleasure.21 20

I have borrowed the translation of the distich from Hibbard and Irma Jaffe 1964,

164. Bernini 1713, 57–9: Hor se il Bernino in quel, che non era professione sua, si dimostrava tanto valente, quanto dobbiam credere, che fosse in ciò, in cui consisteva il suo proprio talento raffinato dallo studio, e dall’arte? E come che soleva dire, che Il buon’ Artefice era quello , cbe sapeva inventar maniere, per servirsi del poco, e del cattivo, per far cose belle, egli veramente fù mara / viglioso a comprovarlo con gli effetti . Sotto il Pincio in Piazza detta di Spagna era stato 21

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From antiquity on there had been naval fountains in Rome, but never in post-classical times in so conspicuous a site, and always in the form of an imposing warship, whether an archeological relic, or a detailed replica of a modern galleon (Fig. 17).22 To be sure, Bernini’s workaday craft is clearly equipped fore and aft with canon; but yet, at first glance, at least, the poor, awkward tub seems obviously and emphatically to be sinking beneath the waves, the guns squirting gentle streams of water, which also gushes from apertures within to spill over the gunwales. At the same time, the morbid shape of the gunwales suggests the lips and gaping mouth of some great sea monster swallowing in one voracious gulp a diminutive version of the thing raised on a sort of mast inside, from which an ultimate gasp of water spouts heavenward. Bernini’s gently militant, humble work-boat seems to founder condotto un capo di Acqua Vergine per doverne formare una Fontana in abbellimento di quel luogo: Mà la pochissima alzata, ch’ella aveva dal suolo non dava commodo di poter condurre un lavoro, che recasse ricchezza e maestà a quel deliziosissimo sito. Urbano richiese lui, acciò al suo solito facesse spiccare in quest’occasione la vivacità del suo ingegno, e trovasse modo con qualche artificiosa pendenza, che quell’acqua venisse maggiormente a solevarsi: Rispose acutamente il Cavaliere, che in quel caso dovevasi più tosto pensare, che l’Opera, e la Fonte si confacesse all’Acqua, che l’acqua alla Fonte; E per ciò concepì un’Idea di Machina vaga, e nobile per cui bisognarebbe, se non fusse, restringer all’acqua l’altezza. E gli espose, che haverebbe scavato tanto di terra, quanto in essa si venisse a formare una gran Vasca, che empiendosi dell’acqua di quella Fontana rappresentasse al piano del suolo un Mare, nel cui mezzo voleva, che natasse nobile, e confacevole barca di sasso, che da più parti quasi da tanti Cannoni di Artiglieria gittasse acqua in abbondanza. Piacque il pensiere incredibilmente al Papa, e senza più diè ordine, che si dasse esecuzione al disegno, quale egli medesimo non isdegnò di nobilitar con questi versi: Bellica Pontificum non fundit Machina flammas, Sed dulcern, belli qua perit ignis, aquam. Fù lodata da tutti l’ingegnosa invenzione di questa Fontana, e li due sopra citati versi con tanto applauso furono ricevuti da’ Letterati, che un d’essi ò persuaso ve / ramente dalla vivacita del concetto, che gli paresse impossibile farlo nascere tanto confacevole al proposito, ò pur disposto a pensare il peggio, e pensandolo crederlo, e credendolo publicarlo, rispose ingegnosamente mà arditamente col seguente Distico. Carminibus Fontem, non Fonti Carmina fecit Vrbanus Vates : sic sibi quisque placet. See also the equivalent account in Baldinucci-Ludovici 1948, 83f. The antecedents from antiquity on were studied by Hibbard and Irma Jaffe 1964, D’Onofrio 1967, and 1986 (as in n. 18). 22

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in the overwhelming flood of its own delicious, liquid superabundance. In point of fact, however, the situation might just as well be the other way around: the monster could be vomiting it up, in effect saving it from a watery death. In the end, the Barcaccia appears in a perpetual state of suspension, animated by the constant flow of water, here again easily accessible over rock-like steps conveniently protruding to bridge the gaps at either end, between the edge of the basin and the tub. This ironic portrayal of an unlikely object in an unlikely situation in an unlikely place — one of the major city squares — was a delight to one and all and surely contributed to its immediate baptism with its endearing, cuddly name, in the common Romanaccia parlance of the city. Lest there be any doubt that it was perceived in this way by contemporaries, we may call to witness the account of the fountain in an extraordinary book by a now obscure but then well-known polymath, Pietro Lasena (1590–1636), published in Rome in 1637, dedicated to Cardinal Francesco Barberini: Cleombrotus [the name of an ancient Greek philosopher], or, a Philological Dissertation on Those who have Died in the Water (Fig. 18).23 Described in The Transactions of the Royal Humane Society in London for 1756 as the first work devoted to the awful theme of shipwreck and drowning, Lasena’s treatise contains the first known illustration of the Barcaccia, by Matthias Greuter, along with a discussion and various epigrams, including one in Greek by Leone Allacci (Figs. 19, 20). The point of it all, following the pope’s own epigram, is to interpret the fountain with its mellifluous waters as an emblem of apian peace: The Golden Peace of Pharia, once torn from the keel, Immerses the ships of war in Hyblaean honey. The following description of the work, now in my possession, was provided by the bookseller, F. Thomas Heller, of Swarthmore, PA. LASENA. Pietro. Cleombrotus, 8ive de iis, qui in aquis pereunt, philogica dissertatio. Rome, Jacobo Facciotti, 1637. 8vo. Orig. limp vellum; rebacked. [8]. 192. [16] pp. With the engraved Barberini arms on the titlepage, engraved portrait of the author, 3 folding engraved plates, 2 text engravings, and 5 woodcuts. Scattered light foxing, else fine. First and only edition and very rare. A distinguished Neapolitan jurist and polymath. Lasena (1590–1636) came to Rome in 1634 to serve the Pope, Urban VIII, and his brother, the cardinal Francesco Barberini, to whom the book is jointly dedicated. He was received with honor and lodged in the Vatican, but soon died of malaria and was buried in S. Andrea della Valle. Cleombrotus is an 23

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And now, O Prince, the ship brings new omens From which your bee sends forth honeyed liquids.24 Under the beneficent sun and the vessels of redemption all meld in a kind of self-immersion in the salvific waters of the church. The Barcaccia is eternally flooded but it never sinks. On the contrary, it also rises from within the gigantic, open-mouthed fish, disgorging the thirst- and fire-quenching waters of baptism as the Whale disgorged Jonah. The irony of the conceit is most evident if one considers that the major symbol of the Catholic church as an institution was precisely the noble ship, as the ship of state, Christ’s earthly domain guided by the pope at the helm. The extended series of essays occasioned by the catastrophic shipwreck of a flotilla of Spanish galleons lost in the Gulf of Genoa in 1635, the passengers of which included Lasena’s parents. The work was read before a Roman literary society but published posthumously, in tribute to its author. A discussion of the theme of shipwrecks and drowning, largely with reference to antiquity, the work is, in fact, the first book on drowning and has long been recognized as such in the literature on resuscitation — see page XVI of The Transactions of the Royal Humane Society, London [1796]. Hitherto unnoticed, however, is an engraving and several pages of analysis of Bernini’s famous “shipwrecked” fountain, the Barcaccia, a celebrated work, Bernini’s first fountain, the archetypical Roman fountain, and traditionally considered to be the first fountain in what would come to be called the Baroque style (see Wittkower. Bernini, 8Oa for the relevant bibliography). This engraving is the first depiction of the fountain. predating by one year the illustration that has hitherto been considered to be the earliest representation of the work, a view found in the guidebook Ritratto di Roma Moderna published by Pompilio Totti in 1638 (see Cesare d’Onofrio, Roma Vista da Roma, Rome, 1967, pt. III, fig. 250). Lasena’s analysis is also of considerable interest for 1ts emphasis on Egyptian (i.e. hermetic, neoplatonic) symbolism, and contains several epigrams relating to the fountain, including a lengthy quatrain in Greek by Leone Allacci. Graesse IV 113. A brief eulogy of Lasena appears in Rossi 1692, 106–8. 24 Lasena 1637, 77: Aurea Pax Phariæ quondâ detracta carina, Imbuit Hyblæis bellica rostra fauis: Et noua nunc pacis, PRINCEPS, fert omina Puppis, Mellitos latices qua tua promit Apis. Isis, Egyptian goddess of peace, was called Pharia from the lighthouse — pharos — of Alexandria; Hybla, from Mount Hybla in Sicily, famous for its honey.

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theme was so central to the ideology of the church that one proposal offered at the outset of Urban’s reign for furnishing the newly completed basilica of St. Peter’s actually enclosed the high altar and the choir for the cardinals in a ship under a sail blown by the crucifixion (Fig. 21). There were essentially three New Testament contexts that lay behind this maritime metaphor, that is, the gospel episodes involving Christ’s institution and dissemination of the Faith through his disciples: the vessel from which Christ called Peter, the first and foremost among the disciples, as he was fishing with Andrew on the Sea of Galilee, to succeed him as the Prince of the Apostles, his earthly vicar, saying to them I will make you become fishers of men (Mt. 4::18–20; Mark 1:16–17); the vessel in which the apostles were caught during a storm, from which Christ saved them, proving his divinity by walking on the water, and Peter’s faith by urging him to do the same (Mt. 14–22–343; and the vessel in which Christ saved the apostles, as it was sinking from the weight of a draft of innumerable fishes he had miraculously provided, saying that henceforth they would catch men (Luke 5:3–10). Behind these episodes there lay two main Old Testament prognostications: Noah and his ark, in which all the world’s creatures were saved from the universal flood of man’s sins; and Jonah who, guilty for having fled from the Lord’s command, asked to be cast into the sea as a sacrifice, was swallowed by a sea monster, and prayed to the Lord from the belly of hell, whereupon the beast vomited him out upon the dry land (Jonah Chs. 1–2). If the note of serious humor (serio ludere in Renaissance terms) struck by the Barcaccia seems startlingly bizarre, the explanation lies in two interrelated works of learned and imaginative antiquarianism that were its inspiration and justification. Vincenzo Cartari in his great compilation of ancient religious imagery, deals at length with the belief of the Egyptians, paragons of pre-Christian arcane knowledge and wisdom, that the gods were identified with animals. On the authority the church father Eusebius of Caesarea, significantly in his compendious treatise on the forerunners of Christianity, Preparation for the Gospel, Cartari reported that the Egyptians associated the Sun with a ship and a crocodile, the former shown riding on the latter immersed in sweet water (Fig. 22).25 The Ship of the Sun, shown enflamed and spouting fire from its forward gun-ports in Cartari’s image, Vincenzo Cartari, “Le imagini de gli dei de gli antichi,” Venice, 1625, 45. The Nave del Sole, which is metioned by Hibbard and Irma Jaffe in a footnote (1964, 164 n. 19), appears in all the many editions of Cartari. 25

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represented the creative effect of the sun’s motion through liquid, and the crocodile signified the water which the sun purges of its impurities: “l’acqua dolce, dalla quale il Sole leua ogni trista qualità, & la purga con i suoi temperati raggi.”26 The relevance of the “temperate” sun as a ship conducted through the pure water by an acqueus beast whose humid generative power was second only to God’s, was a congeries of associations astonishingly proleptic of the themes Urban would adopt for himself. In particular, the sun was a primary emblem of Urban VIII and the quenching waters spewing from the solar visages inside and the gunports outside at either end of the Barcaccia clearly reflect Cartari’s description of the water-tempering rays of the Egyptian sun-boat. The same themes, more fully developed, underlay and may have inspired a chalcedony gem, now lost, that was assumed to be an important relic of Early Christian, specifically early Petrine art (Figs. 23, 24).27 Mounted as an anulus piscatoris (formally a papal ring), the carving depicted a ship at sea mounted on the back of a huge open-mouthed sea monster; from the ship’s deck rose a mast that supported another, smaller vessel surmounted by a dove evocative of the salvific message a bird brought to Noah in the ark, while another bird rode to safety on the poop. To the right, as if retrieved from the jaws of the sea-monster, Christ calls Peter to walk upon the waters and follow him. (The visitor who approaches the gun-spouts on the narrow, bi-lingual platforms from the “shore,” does indeed seem to walk, precariously, upon the water.) Above the figures the abbreviated names of Jesus and Peter were inscribed in Greek. The gem was 26 The caption of the illustration reads: Naue del Sole portata de un Crocodilo, che significa la prima causa che gouerna l’uniuerso dopò Iddio esser la forza del Sole congionta nella generatione delle cose con l’umidità; & lui purgare le triste qualità di quella. The reference to Eusebius (p. 44) is as follows: Et perciò, come riferisce Eusebio, i Theologi dello Egitto metteuano l’imagine del Sole in vna naue, la quale faceuano portare da vn Crocodilo, volendo per la naue mostrare il moto, che si fa nello humido alla generazione delle cose, e per lo Crocodilo l’acqua dolce, dalla quale il Sole leua ogni trista qualità, & la purga con i suoi temperati raggi. The passage in Eusebius is as follows: The sun they indicate by a man embarked on a ship, the ship set on a crocodile. And the ship indicates the sun’s motion in a liquid element: the crocodile potable water in which the sun travels. The figure thus signified that his revolution takes place through air that is liquid and sweet. (Eusebius 2002, I, 126). 27 The gem is discussed briefly by Hibbard and Irma Jaffe 1964, 164. The circumstances of Aleandro’s composition and the engraving by Mellan have been studied by David Jaffé 1990, 168–75. The most extensive modern discussion of the gem’s content, and the question of its authenticiy, is that by Dölger 1943, 286–91.

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engraved by Claude Mellan in two versions, in one of which, that published by Aleandro, Christ also stands on the water; in the other, Christ stands upon a rock in allusion to Peter as the rock upon which the church would be built. The gem was the subject of a scholarly monograph published by Girolamo Aleandro with a dedication to Cardinal Francesco Barberini in 1626, the same year Urban dedicated the new church of St. Peter’s and the year before the Barcaccia was begun.28 Aleandro, secretary and a close friend of the pope and his nephew, all of whom were associated with the famous Accademia degli Umoristi, explains the gem as allusive to the Old and New Testament vessels of salvation, the ark of Noah, the fishing boat of Peter, and the ship of the church, in which both Jews and Gentiles are saved.29 Aleandro does indeed relate the open-mouthed sea monster to the beast that disgorged Jonah in anticipation of the Resurrection. Aleandro made this point by referring it Peter, recalling the annual tribute money (actually a specific coin denomination, the didrachma in the Vulgate, worth two drachmae), which Christ instructed Peter to pay, having extracted it from the mouth of a fish.30 Aleandro offered this reference to explain the open mouth of the animal in the ring, and the explanation is equally valid for the gaping maw of Bernini’s bi-faced ship-monster welling up from and hovering over the lower depths, inundating the fountain with the silvery redemption that both Jonah and Peter won by virtue of their devotion.31 The Barcaccia was a monumental conflation of the salvific associations accumulated in Cartari’s dramatic Ship of the Sun and the diminutive anulus piscatoris. The fountain morphed the sun, the vessel, and the fish into a coherent, organic

Aleandro 1626. Trium exstimo rerum sacrarum potissimum symbola (nam & alsia quaedam consideranda se nobis offerent) hac gemma contineri. Ac primum quidem illud signifiari tem Arcam Noë, quam Petri nauiculam Ecclesiae fuisse typum. Deinde, quoniam coniunctae inuicam arca ipsa & naus cernunut, Cathlicam Christi Ecclesiam iam inde aq muni primordio fuisse. Tertio loco, cum arca malo nauis imposita ab ipsa naui fuleiri ac sustentari videatur, quicumque siue ex Iudaismo, siue ex Gentibus salutem vnquam sunt adepti, id per fidem in Iesum Christum, quae fides Ecclesiae firmamentum est, ijs contigisse (Aleandro 1626, 15f.) 30 Nec eius opinio improbanda videretur, qui extimauerit, piscem in gemma insculptum fuisse ad inuenti illius stateris memoriam refricandam exhibendumque mysterium, de quo loquuti sumus, ac profeco os huiusce nostri piscis apertum verba Domini respicere videtur, & aperto ore eius inunies staterem (Aleandro 1626, 127f.); cf. Dölger 1943, 286. 31 For examples of didrachmae bearing twin fishes see Noe 1935. 28 29

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image of Urban’s offering on behalf of the church to the people of Rome: an abundant cascade of grace as aquatic refreshment for body and soul. Baldinucci says unequivocally that Bernini made the fountain at the Pope’s behest, and I have no doubt that in this case as in others where Bernini himself attributes to the pope ideas that he has carried out, however ingeniously, the basic conceit did indeed spring from Maffeo Barberini’s imagination; after which the two men, like swarming bees, were of a single mind.32 The reason I say so in this case is the location of the fountain, which was the pope’s wish: it is located between the two preternatural enemies, Spain on one side of the piazza, France up the hill on the other. The papacy was often caught uncomfortably in the middle, especially in seeking to reconcile and unite the antagonists in the struggle against the Protestant heretics. In this light and in this place, the Barcaccia it is an emblem not only of the pope’s diplomacy but also of his diplomatic method. 33 An essential part of my argument in this paper is that Urban’s effort to mitigate asperity and mediate peace under the aegis of the church was as much a part of his Urbanity as were the daring informality, charm, and wit that have indeed made the fountain an eternal symbol of what it means to be Roman. Another of Bernini’s dicta concerning the design of fountains was that “the good architect had always to give them some real significance, or alluding to something noble, whether real or imagined.”34 In the case of the Barcaccia, Urban’s own distich provided the key to the fountain’s significance in its context. But the same kind of open-mouthed sea-creature fun populates the Piazza Barberini itself, in the “natural” form of gigantic, splayed out conch-shells displaying the unimaginable treasures offered by their patron.( Figs. 25, 26).35. The element of humor and wit also informs another instance cited by the biographers of Bernini’s ingenious cooptation of refractory conditions to his own advantage. This is the huge commemorative inscription decreed by 32 On Urban’s patronage see Pastor 1923–53, XXIX, 408–44; his patronage of Bernini has been surveyed more recently by Hirschfeld 1968, 156–70. 33 The political topography of the site was aptly sketched by Hibbard and Irma Jaffe 1964, 165f. 34 “sua opinione sempre fu che il buono architetto nel disegnar fontane dovesse sempre dar loro qualche significato vero o pure alludente a cosa nobile o vera o finta.” BaldinucciLudovici 1948, 84 35 I refer of course to the Triton fountain and the Fountain of the Bees, the latter a modern reconstruction incorporating parts of the original; cf. D’Onofrio 1986, 385–9.

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the Roman Senate in 1634 on the inner facade of S. Maria in Aracoeli, where two winged figures of fame unfurl a long scroll that seems to billow out and envelop the space of the nave. The pope’s numerous urban benefactions are inscribed, ending, significantly in our context, with an acclamation of his “just, tempered and truly paternal rule,” and his “vigilant care for the benefits of the people.”36 Immediately above, as if to confirm the divine intervention, a pre-existent window was replaced by a stained glass version of the papal escutcheon (Figs. 27, 28).37 Here, the conceit made a special reference to the pope’s self-conflation — love affair, one is tempted to say — with his adopted city. The virginal church on the Capitoline hill recalls the Emperor Augustus who, disturbed by rumors that the Senate was about to honor him as a God, consulted the Tiburtine Sibyl, prophetess par excellence of the Tiber and Rome, who foretold the descent from the skies of “the King of the Ages.” As the prophetess spoke, Augustus beheld a marvelous vision of the Virgin standing on an altar in a dazzling light holding the baby Jesus in her arms, and heard a voice that said, “This is the altar of the Son of God,” following which the Emperor dedicated the Altar of Heaven. Passing through the window, Urban’s emblematic sun recreates the miraculous apian invasion of the conclave that elected him. The device became universal — transferred from urbi to orbi, as it were — in Bernini’s cooptation for the Cathedra Petri of Michelangelo’s window in the apse of St. Peter’s (Fig. 29).38

36 “iusta ac temperata vereque paterna dominatioine (sic) populorum commodis vigili cura prospexerit.” For the full text see Forcella 1869–84, I, 232, No. 902. 37 The present window is a modern replacement (Fraschetti 1900,100). 38 Baldinucci reports Bernini’s precept and its application in the windows: “Nell’architettura dava bellissimi precetti: primieramente diceva non essere il sommo pregio dell’artefice il far bellissimi e comodi edifici, ma il sapere inventar maniere per servirsi del poco, del cattivo e male adattato al bisogno per far cose belle e far si, che sia utile quel che fu difetto e che, se non fusse, bisognerebbe farlo. Che poi il valor suo giugnesse a questo segno, conobbesi in molte sue opere, particolarmente / nell’arme d’Urbano in Araceli che, per mancanza del luogo, ove situarla, che veniva occupato da una gran finestra, egli colori di azzurro il finestrone invetriato e in esso figurò le tre api, quasi volando per aria, e sopra collocò il regno. Similmente nel sepolcro di Alessandro; nella situazione della Cattedra, ove fece che il finestrone, che pure -Ira d’impedimento le tornasse in aiuto, perché intorno a esso rappresentò la gloria del paradiso e nel bel mezzo del vetro, quasi in luogo di luce inaccessibile fece vedere lo Spirito Santo in sembianza di colomba, che dà compimento a tutta l’opera.” (Baldinucci-Ludovici 1948, 146f.)

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PERSONAL URBANITY Urban’s choice of his name as a reminder to himself to mitigate a certain natural tendency to austerity has a personal psychological resonance that evokes the way urbanus — as opposed to rusticus — was used by the ancient writers on style, like Cicero and Horace, for whom it conveyed, a relaxed, congenial, and open-minded modus agendi, associated especially with sophisticated city life. In a bust of Urban VIII from the beginning of his reign, about 1624, Bernini departed radically from the formulae for papal portraits laid down in the 16th century (Fig. 30).39 To begin with, the ends of the shoulders are cut off and the torso is amputated at the breast. To show so little of the figure was extraordinary in a life-size papal bust.40 Secondly, Bernini defied the normal convention in such works that Popes be shown wearing the pontifical robe, or pluvial, and either bare-headed or wearing the papal tiara; instead, he shows Urban wearing only the mozzetta, a short cape, and the papal cap, or camauro. The mozzetta and camauro are specifically non-liturgical garments, so that the pope is shown as he would appear on ordinary occasions. Finally, the gentle smile that graces Urban’s face, retained soon thereafter even in Bernini’s first monumental sculpture of him with pluvial (Fig. 31), was quite unprecedented in papal bust portraiture. In sum, Bernini in these works presents us with a new kind of human being: an unimposing, ordinary, cheerful pope. Later, as Urban ages and clouds begin to form over his reign, the psychology becomes more complex but not less human and humane (Figs. 32, 33). This is how Lelio Guidiccioni, one of the leading letterati of the day, described the bust Bernini executed in the summer of 1632: For ten years you have attentively observed the face of this most urbane Prince (principe urbanissimo), who opens to you not only

39 Zitzlsperger 2002 has published a fine study of Bernini’s papal and ruler portraits, but his effort (87–9) to date this bust a decade later and attribute it to another artist is misguided; everything about the form, psychology, and provenance of the work in the Barberini family, speaks to the contrary. 40 68 cm high with base. The chief precedent was Bernini’s own miniature bust of Paul V wearing the pluvial, in the Borghese Gallery, 1616–7, 44 cm high with base.

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the joy of his countenance, but also the intimacy of his feelings.41 And with your bold imagination you have seen only the living inward harmony (il vivo consenso interno). You have succeeded in expressing those airs and attitudes which in ten years of observation you found to be most noble in that face, whose name [i.e. Urban] we see expressed in an open book. Thus one sees the portrait pensive with lightheartedness, gentle with majesty, spirited with gravity; it is benign and it is venerable. This image of His Holiness has no arms; yet by a faint movement of the right shoulder and a lifting of the mozzetta, together with a turn of the head (which serves a variety of purposes) and also an inclination of the brow, it clearly shows the action of gesturing with the arm to someone to rise to his feet.42 Apart from the subtlety of Bernini’s (and Guidiccioni’s) psychological analysis, the bust is revolutionary in two particular respects: Bernini introduced here a motif unprecedented in the history of papal bust portraiture: the third button of the camaura is only half buttoned. Bernini had introduced the motif in his portrait of the Cardinal Agostino Valier (ca. 1624–5), where one button is missing or undone, a second only half done; Valier was Venetian and therefore perhaps somewhat independent from the more rigid ecclesiastical traditions of Rome (Fig. 34). In the case of Urban the device suggests only a minor, scarcely noticeable inadvertency, but in traditional terms the pope is practically undressed; in modern terms 41 The expressive relationship between Urban’s name and character and Bernini’s portrait of the pope, is explicit in the theme of a punning epigram, titled “Since Urbanity cannot turn to Stone, the Stone must put on Urbanity,” that Guidiccioni appended to his epic poem on the baldachin of St. Peter’s, published in 1633 (Guidiccioni 1633; Newman and Newman 1992, 174f.). 42 Ha ella osservato in dieci anni attentamente il volto di un Principe Urbanissimo, che apre a lei non solo la giocondità del suo volto, ma la soavità degli affetti. Hora com’ella è di gagliardissima fantasia, nel fare il ritratto, ha solo veduto il vivo consenso interno, et non altrimente con gli occhi. Ha potuto esprimere et quelle arie, et posture, che in dieci anni è venuta osservando più nobili in quella faccia; il cui nome [i.e. Urbano] in libbro aperto, si veggono espressi... Così si vede quel ritratto pensoso con allegria, dolce con maestà, spiritoso con gravita; ride et è venerando. Parve il sudetto ritratto di Nostro Signore che non ha braccia, con un poco di motivo di spalla destra et alzato di mozzetta, aggiunto alla pendentia della testa, che serve a piùl cose, come anco il chinar della fronte, dimostra chiara l’attione di accennar col braccio ad alcuno che si levi in piedi. (D’Onofrio 1967, 382)

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he is physically, psychologically and socially “unbuttoned” (sbottonato — an expression whose resonance stretches back to antiquity). This whimsical touch of personal sartorial laxity effectively mitigates the sense of austerity that is inherent in the papal presence. Equally unprecedented in papal bust portraiture was the action of the right arm, as if beckoning — so Guidiccioni observes — to the approaching visitor to rise and greet the pontiff (Fig. 35). This open gesture introduces a kind of narrative, breaching the formal and psychological facade and extending the intimacy of Urban’s glance to a veritable dialogue between the pope and the outside world. The portraits express the pope’s openness in a personal sense, but it was also expressed publicly, as it were, in his family residence. In the context of Roman domestic architecture, Palazzo Barberini is a suburban villa type turned completely around (1625–33; Figs. 36, 37). What is usually the garden façade, with protruding wings that flank three stories of open loggias, now reaches out to embrace the city, in the direction of St. Peter’s, effectively destroying the traditional, closed Renaissance palace facade as an awesome and forbidding legacy of the Middle Ages. The most conspicuous prototype in Rome was, of course, the garden façade of the Villa Farnesina (Fig. 38).43 But equally striking is the great dwelling of the “Most Powerful Prince and King,” resting on a rustic foundation, envisioned in an emblem that celebrated the encompassing dragon device and celestial and earthly dominion of Gregory XIII (Fig. 39); the design of the facade reflects that of the inner courtyard of Gregory’s summer palace on the Quirinal hill.44 The Barberini palace is a stone’s throw distant from the Quirinal, and Urban VIII surely knew the emblem, since early in his reign, while the Barberini palace was being designed, he carried out important additions and restorations on Gregory’s works at both the Vatican and Quirinal palaces.45 Bernini himself also took cognizance of the emblem, especially its “naturalistic” foundation, in his subsequent palace designs for Innocent X and Louis XIV. The widespread, completely permeable ground floor entrance foyer — no forbidding

43 Patricia Waddy has emphasized the importance of the palace’s orientation toward the heart of the city and St. Peter’s (1990, 176, 212, 218f., 223f., 231). Waddy aptly refers to the type of the Paris hôtel, which Urban certainly knew well from his early years there, and which may have contributed to the reprise of the Roman model. 44 Fabrizi 1588, 308. On this emblem and its significance, see Lavin 1993, 167f., and Courtright 2003,178f. 45 Courtright 2003, 79, 260 n. 1.

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portals! — is also an astonishingly bold revolution in palace architecture. The genial new openness embodied in the Barberini facade affected not only the palace: with the fountains in the nearby piazza, the whole neighborhood was invited to share its precious and effusive bounty. The design theme of arms opening from a central core announced in the Barberini palace sounded a leitmotif that echoed through Bernini’s entire life, in the Aracoeli inscription (Figs. 27, 28), at St. Peter’s (Fig. 40), Sant’Andrea al Quirinale (Fig. 41), Santa Maria Assunta in Ariccia (Fig. 42), in his original project for the rebuilding of Louis XIV’s Louvre (Fig. 43).46 Later in the century the anomalous, hybrid, urban-suburban innovation of the Palazzo Barberini was literally codified at the Accademia di San Luca in a new, quasi-oxymoronic architectural type called “Palazzo in Villa”: a central, open facade screening an oval salone, flanked by projecting wings. Developed from Bernini’s studio in Rome the theme was patented — explicitly, since he claimed credit for the invention of his version of the concept — and disseminated throughout Europe by Fischer von Ehrlach with his famous Lustgartengebäude, in which the open and embracing gesture was repeated on both sides of the building, with perfect, biaxial symmetry (Figs. 44, 45).47 POLITICAL AND SOCIAL URBANITY In 1635 the Senators of Rome, in recognition of Urban’s benefactions, revived after a lapse of nearly half a century a long-standing tradition by commissioning from Bernini a monumental commemorative statue of the pope for the Capitol, completed in 1640 (Fig. 46). I am not aware of any prior example of a papal monument, whether a tomb effigy or a commemorative portrait, in which the seated, enthroned figure is gestures with his left hand; the left hand either rests empty-handed, as it were, or holds immobile some object emblematic of the pontiff’s office or character.48 To be sure, Urban’s gesture is also emblematic, alluding to the left side as the sinister side of perdition and evoking the Pope’s role as earthly vicar of the judging Savior at the Last Judgment (Fig. 47). But here the hand is turned up suggestive of elevating grace rather than repressive wrath. This simple, subtle action See the discussion of these relationships in Lavin 1993, 191f. I have traced this trajectory in Lavin 1992. 48 The standard work on honorific papal monuments is Hager 1929. A full account of the Capitoline statues will be found in Butzek 1978. 46 47

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transformed the ideological heritage of papal statues on the Campidoglio, which since the early sixteenth century sought to impose the will of the pope on the senate and people of Rome through images of austerity and even intimidation (Figs. 48, 49). I feel sure that both Bernini and Urban had in mind the famous exchange reported by Vasari between Julius II and Michelangelo while the sculptor was executing a great bronze statue of that pope to be placed over the entrance to the Duomo of Bologna: . . . the question was raised of what to put in the left hand, the right being held up with such a proud gesture that the Pope asked if it was giving a blessing or a curse. Michelagnolo answered that he was admonishing the people of Bologna to be prudent. When he asked the Pope whether he should put a book in his left hand, the pontiff replied, “Give me a sword; I am not a man of letters.” Michelangelo’s statue was made in a military context, to commemorate Julius’s triumph over the Bentivoglio masters of the city and serve as a warning to their followers, who destroyed it a few years later when they briefly recaptured the city.49 But its austere, menacing aspect was reflected in all the subsequent honorific statues of the popes on the Campidoglio. It was not by accident that the fearsome statue of Moses that Michelangelo made for Julius’s tomb in turn became the model for the Capitoline statue of Gregory XIII (Figs. 50, 51). 50 Bernini’s Urban VIII, with his benign expression, arms flung open, mantle cast aside, displays (I use that word advisedly) a radically different, even diametrically opposed attitude. The prototype in this case was Urban’s primary namesake, Pope Urban I, who had been portrayed in almost exactly the same way in the frescoes of the Sala di Costantino in the Vatican (Fig. 52). As the first pope (222–230) to identify himself literally with the capital of the empire, he would have been the embodiment par excellence of the virtues with which the Church exercised its dominion Rome. Flanked by personifications of Justice and Charity, the import of the pope’s gestures is obvious: he raises a measured hand toward the balance of Justice while pointing insistently to Charity, not

49

Michelangelo’s bronze Julius II has been comprehensively studied by Rohlmann

1996. 50

This relationship was noted in a brilliant paper by Freiberg 2004.

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only a Moral but the chief Cardinal virtue.51 The inspiration and aspiration implicit here were illustrated in a spectacular pair of paintings by the Muti brothers, which the Barberini’s acquired 1627, 1630, the Apotheosis of Urban I and the Allegory of Peace (Figs. 53, 54).52 There are striking analogies between Bernini’s sculptured portrait and Muti’s painted apotheosis, and between the composition of the Muti’s allegorical picture and the portrayal of Urban I with flanking allegories in the Sala di Costantino. There is also surely a recollection of another great and zealous predecessor, Urban II, Roman born, who was portrayed with the same virtues. Urban II was famous as the promoter of the first crusade, and may have inspired Urban VIII’s adoption of the same cause, as well as his support for foreign missions and the Propaganda Fide. Urban II was equally famous for having accepted the office only reluctantly, as was Barberini when he insisted that a recount of the votes be taken to confirm his election, after an error had been discovered in the first scrutiny.53 The same allegories reappear in the frame of an engraved portrait of Urban VII, by Cherubino Alberti (Fig. 55). The expansive and inclusive embrace suggested by the Campidoglio figure was embodied in an important but neglected enterprise in what might be called spiritual-demographics. I refer to Urban’ massive effort to ensure adequate care for the spiritual needs of the populace through the system of apostolic visits, initiated soon after his election and continued throughout

51 No doubt Barberini was also aware that, according to the Golden Legend Urban I, who played a central role in the life of St. Cecilia, used the most familiar of all bee clichés to describe the Roman martyr’s works in the service of Christ: “....Lord Jesus Christ, sower of chaste counsel, accept the fruit of the seeds that you sowed in Cecilia! Lord Jesus Christ, good shepherd, Cecilia your handmaid has served you like a busy bee (apis tibi argumentosa): the spouse whom she received as a fierce lion, she has sent to you as a gentle lamb!” (Voragine 1948, 691; “...Caecilia famula tua quasi apis tibi argumentosa deservit; nam sponsum, quem quasi leonem ferocem accepit, ad te quasi agnum mansuetissimum destinavit.” Voragine 1850, 772) 52 On these paintings see Schleier 1976, followed by Thuillier 1990, 30–3. Only Urban I is saint. Urban II and V are beatified. 53 According to Negri 1922, 174, “Narrano taluni penegiristi e biografi che Maffeo Barberini, all’assunzione sua al pontificato, assumesse il nome di Urbano per ricordare quell’Urbano II che primo aveva suscitato le turbe cristiane alla liberazione del Santo Sepolcro.” In fact, I suspect Negri was extrapolating from the zealous and otherwordly “antichi predecessori” who nevertheless undertook glorious imprese (see 2 above). Urban II described himself in a letter, as “renitente”(Moroni 1840–61, LXXXVI, 4 col. b). On Urban VIII’s ballot recount, see Scott 1991, 183.

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20. Detail of Fig. 19.

21. Papirio Bartoli, Proposal for the High Altar of St. Peter’s, engraving by Matthias Greuter.

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22. Nave del Sole, woodcut. Cartari 1625, 45.

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23. Claude Mellan, Anulus piscatoris, engraving. Aleandro 1626, 13.

24. Claude Mellan, Anulus piscatoris, engraving. Paris. Bibliothèque Nationale.

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25. Bernini, Fountain of the Triton. Rome, Piazza Barberini.

26 Bernini, Fountain of the Bees. Rome, Piazza Barberini.

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27. Bernini, Memorial inscription for Urban VIII. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli.

28. Detail of Fig. 27 (photo: SIP Rete di Roma, 1993/94, front cover).

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29. Bernini, The Baldacchino and Cathedra Petri. Rome, St. Peter’s.

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30. Bernini, Urban VIII. Rome, Collection of Augusto Barberini.

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31. Bernini, Urban VIII, Rome, S. Lorenzo in Fonte.

32. Bernini, Urban VIII. Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica.

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33. Detail of Fig. 32.

34. Bernini, Agostino Valier. Venice, Seminario Patriarchale.

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35. Guidobaldo Abbatini, Urban VIII. Rome, Galleria nazionale d’arte antica, Palazzo Corsini.

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36. Palazzo Barberini. Rome. 37. Palazzo Barberini, ground floor plan, drawing (after Hibbard 1971, pl. 94b).

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38. Baldassare Peruzzi, Villa Farnesina, garden façade. Rome. 40. Bernini, St. Peter’s and the colonnades as the pope with embracing arms, drawing. Rome, Biblioteca Vaticana.

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39. Emblematic dwelling of the “Most Powerful Prince and King,” engraving. (From Fabrizi 1588, 308).

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41. Bernini, S. Andrea al Quirinale. Rome.

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42. Bernini, S. Maria Assunta. Ariccia.

43. Bernini, project for the Louvre, drawing. Paris, Museé du Louvre.

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44. Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach, “Lust-Gartten-Gebäu,” engraving (from Fischer von Erlach 1721, IV, pl. XVIII).

45. Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach, plan of the Pleasure Garden Building, drawing. Vienna, Albertina.

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46. Bernini, Memorial statue of Urban VIII. Rome, Palazzo dei Conservatori.

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47. Michelangelo, Last Judgment, detail. Rome, Vatican Palace, Sistine chapel.

48. Domenico Aimo, Memorial Statue of Leo X. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli.

49. Lorenzo Sormano, Memorial Statue of Paul III. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli.

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50. Michelangelo, Moses. Rome, S. Pietro in Vincoli.

51. Pietro Paolo Olivieri, Memorial Statue of Gregory XIII. Rome, S. Maria in Araceli.

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52. Giulio Romano, Urban I, Sala di Costantino. Rome, Palazzo Vaticano.

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53. “Cavaliere Muti,” Apotheosis of Urban I. Rome, Galleria nazionale d’arte antica.

54. “Brother of Cavaliere Muti,” Allegory of Peace. Rome, Galleria nazionale d’arte antica.

55. Cherubino Alberti, Urban VII, engraving.

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56. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII. Rome, St. Peter’s.

57 Bernini, Justice, Tomb of Urban VIII. Rome, St. Peter’s .

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58. Battista Dossi, Justice. Dresden, Gemäldegalerie.

59. Malediction, Tomb of Archilochus, engraving. Alciati 1621, Emblema LI.

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60. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s.

61. Bernini, Tomb of Urban VIII, detail. Rome, St. Peter’s.

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his reign.54 The visitations required detailed reports on the current status of all the churches and dioceses of Rome, as regarded both their physical condition and the pastoral care they provided. Such surveys were a longstanding tradition, but nothing before compared with the scope, depth and systematic coverage envisioned by Urban. It is important to emphasize, moreover, that the purview of the visitations was by no means confined to matters pertaining to religion. Much attention was also paid to the often execrable physical and moral conditions in which many people lived, conditions that instigated far-reaching reforms in the church’s mode of ministering to the poor and unfortunate. This concrete measure of Urban’s religio-social urbanity thereafter became the fundamental utility for public policy and social planning both in Rome itself, and as a model for others to follow in the future. URBANITY IN EXTREMIS The ideology expressed in the secular context of the Campidoglio, had its counterpart in the pope’s ecclesiastical domain at St. Peter’s, where Bernini executed Urban’s tomb 1627–47 (Fig. 56). 55 I want to make just three brief comments that seem particularly relevant in the present context. The first is that it can be shown in a variety of ways that the allegories of Charity and Justice (the reversal of the arrangement in the Sala di Costantino is significant — Charity is now on the dexter side, Justice on the sinister) do not refer, as is commonly assumed, to the personal, moral virtues of Maffeo Barberini; rather, they follow a long tradition of righteous governance according to which these are Divine Virtues that descend from Divine Providence upon all the successors of Peter as vicars of Christ and magistrates of the church’s material and spiritual domains. The attributes were those attributed to God in the Second Book of Machabees, 1:24: And the prayer of Nehemias was after this manner: O Lord

54 See the extraordinarily rich and perspicacious study by Fiorani 1980, esp. 112–27. Urban’s visitations in turn inspired the even more ambitious efforts of Alexander VII (Fiorani 1980, 127ff.; also Lavin 2004). 55 For what follows here see Lavin 1999, and 2005, 131–7.

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God, Creator of all things, dreadful and strong, just and merciful, who alone art the good king.56 The allegories do not flatter Urban VIII — to my mind notions of flattery and sycophantism are grossly overworked in the historiography of the Baroque — but represent his conception of the role he sought to fulfill in the long tradition of Christ’s ministers on earth. Maffeo Barberini’s phenomenal rise in the church hierarchy was due to two fundamental and complementary aspects of his exemplary service, as diplomat on behalf of his predecessors, and in his administration of justice as Prefect of the papal Segnatura (Ministry) di Giustizia. The animated figure of Charity has two infants rather than the usual three, one of whom sleeps blissfully at her bosom, while the other, repentant sinner, bawls miserably reaching up for the salvation that her radiant smile promises. The figure of Justice is not mourning but leans in calm repose against the sarcophagus, feet crossed to emphasize her immobility as she looks heavenward in calm contemplation (Fig. 57). She clearly reflects the tradition expressed by Vincenzo Cartari that “Divine Goodness does not run quickly or noisily to castigate error, but belatedly and slowly, so that the sinner is unaware before he feels the pain.” Under the heading precisely of Divine Justice Cesare Ripa describes the fasces with the ax, carried by the lictors before the consuls and the Tribune of the People, as signifying that in the execution of justice overzealous castigation is unwarranted, and that justice should never be precipitous but have time to mature judgment while unbinding the rods that cover the ax. The crossed-leg pose and the fasces occur together in a painting of Justice attributed to Battista Dossi (Fig. 58). The Divine Virtues of salvific mercy and reluctant retribution have a long tradition in the history of Christian jurisprudence [until recently the judicial authority in Italy was still called the Ministero di Grazia e Giustizia], but never had they been portrayed so explicitly and so movingly. What are indeed personal references in the monument, apart from the portrait of the pope, are the bees. They swarm to and alight all over the sarcophagus — as did the bees that flocked to the tomb of the great Greek poet, Archilochus,

Et Neemiae erat oratio hunc habens modum Domine Deus omnium creator terribilis et fortis iustus et misericors qui solus es rex bonus. 56

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who invented the epode, one of Urban’s favorite verse forms (Fig. 59) .57 Considered in this light the seemingly casual, bumbling placement of the three big Barberini bees becomes charged with meaning. They all face upward and seem to rise in an ascending march past the skeletal figure of death, as if in response to the resurrecting command of the pope — appropriated, as Kauffmann first noticed, from the gesture of St. Peter himself in the Sala di Costantino series — enthroned on his seat of wisdom, itself ornamented with bees. The upper two worker bees, as if resurrected, proceed in their rise to the very border between death, commemoration, and life (Fig. 60). The lowermost bee, at the rim of the sarcophagus basin beneath the cover, has no stinger — it is not broken off, it never had one (Fig. 61). In a kind of punning witticism in extremis, the image conflates the quintessential principles of classical moral political philosophy and Christian eschatology. Urban’s choice of his name as a cautionary reminder to temper his natural tendency to austerity, was evidently inspired by Seneca’s invocation, in his treatise On Clemency, of the stingless king bee as a metaphor for the beneficent ruler, “the king himself has no sting. Nature did not wish him to be cruel or to seek a revenge that would be so costly, and so she removed his weapon, and left his anger unarmed.”58 (All three of the majestic bees in Cortona’s ceiling fresco are stingless! Fig. 13) And St. Paul alluded to the same apian menace, disarmed by faith, in his celebrated invocation of the Resurrection, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?!, ” which in this case refers not only to Urban VIII and all humankind, but to the Church itself through the eternal succession of popes.59 The gentle, loving bee seeks its master — attracted no doubt by the sweet odor of sanctity — while its siblings rise, as if reborn whole, to the resurrection above. Such a profound and touching public display of urbanity has no equal, I think, and I think there is, and can be, only one conclusion. Urban VIII, with Bernini at his side, gave to the papacy, to the church, to Rome, and to the world at large, a new face — more personal, more intimate, more accessible, more sophisticated, more gracious, more expansive, more humane — more urbane, in sum — urbi et orbi. And in the end the new face has only one name, modern.

Alciati 1621, Emblema LI. De Clementia I. xix. 3. 59 1 Cor. 15:55. 57

58

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Bibliography Alciati, Andrea, Emblemata, Padua, 1621 Aleandro, Girolamo, Navis Ecclesiam referentis symbolum in veteri gemma annulari insculptum, Rome, 1626 Alemanno, Laura, “L’Accademia degli umoristi,” Roma moderna e contemporanea. Rivista interdisciplinare di storia, III, 1995, 97–120 Baldinucci, Filippo, Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, scultore, architetto e pittore, ed. Sergio Samik Ludovici, Milan, 1948 Barozzi, Nicolò, and Guglielmo Berchet, Le relazioni della corte di Roma lette al senato dagli ambasciatori veneti nel secolo decimosettimo, 2 vols., Venice, 1877–8 Bernini, Domenico, Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713 Bléry, Henri, Rusticité et urbanité romaines, Paris, 1909 Blume, Clemens, “Rhythmische Hymnen in metrischer Schmiede,” Stimmen aus Maria-Laach, LXXVIII, 1910, 245–61 Butzek, Monika, Die kommunalen Repräsentationsstatuen der Päpste des 16. Jahrhunderts in Bologna, Perugia und Rom, Bad Honnef, 1978 Cartari, Vincenzo, Le imagini de gli dei de gli antichi, Venice, 1625 Courtright, Nicola, The Papacy and the Art of Reform in Sixteenth-Century Rome. Gregory XIII’s Tower of the Winds in the Vatican, Cambridge and New York, 2003 Dölger, Franz Joseph, Ichthys, vol. 5, Die Fisch-Denkmäler in der frühchristlichen Plastik, Malerei, und Kleinkunst, Münster in Westf., 1943 Dombrowski, Damian, Dal trionfo all’amore. Il mutevole pensiero artistico di Gianlorenzo Bernini nella decorazione del nuovo San Pietro, Rome, 2003 D’Onofrio, Cesare, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1967 _____ Le fontane di Roma, Rome, 1986 Eusebius of Caesarea, Preparation for the Gospel, trans. Edwin Hamilton Gifford, 2 vols., Eugene, 2002 Fabrizi, Principio, Delle allusioni, imprese, et emblemi...sopra la vita, opere,

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et attioni di Gregorio XIII...nei quali, sotto l’allegoria del Drago, Arme del detto Pontefice, si descrive anco la vera forma d’un principe Christiano..., Rome, 1588 Fairclough, H. Rushton, Virgil with an English Translation, Cambridge, MA, 1986 Ferro, Giovanni, Teatro d’imprese, 2 vols., Venice 1623 Finocchiaro, Giuseppe, “Dall’Apiarium alla Melissographia. Una vicenda editoriale tra propaganda scientifica e strategia culturale,” Rendiconti dell’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Classe di scienze morali, storiche e filologiche, ser. 9, XV, 2004, 611–40 Fiorani, Luigi, “Le visite apostoliche del cinque-seicento e la società religiosa di Roma,” Ricerche per la storia religiosa di Roma, IV, 1980, 53–148 Fischer von Erlach, Johann Bernhard, Entwurff einer historischen Architectur, Vienna, 1721 Forcella, Vincenzo, Iscrizioni delle chiese e d’altri edificii di Roma dal secolo XI fino ai giorni nostri, 14 vols., Rome, 1869–84 Fraschetti, Stanislao, Il Bernini. La sua vita, sua opera, il suo tempo, Milan, 1900 Freiberg, Jack, “Gregory XIII, Constantine, and the Law,” to be published in the acts of a conference, “Unità e frammenti di modernità. Arte e scienza nella roma di Gregorio XIII Boncompagni (1572–1585),” Rome, June 2004 Gothein, Marie Luise, A History of Garden Art, New York, 1966 Guidiccioni, Lelio, Ara Maxima Vaticana, Rome 1633 Hager, Werner, Die Ehrenstatuen der Päpste, Leipzig, 1929 Haury, Auguste, L’ironie et l’humour chez Ciceron, Leiden, 1955 Heilmann, Christoph H., “Die Entstehungsgeschichte der Villa Borghese in Rom,” Müchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst, XXIV, 1973, 97–158 Heuer, Karl Heinz, Comitas - facilitas – liberalitas. Studien zur gesellschaftlichen Kultur der ciceronischen Zeit, Ph.D. diss, Lengerich, 1941 Hibbard, Howard, Carlo Maderno and Roman architecture, 1580–1630, University Park, PA, 1971 _____ and Irma Jaffe, “Bernini’s Barcaccia,” The Burlington Magazine, CVI, 1964, 159–70 Hirschfeld, Peter, Mäzene: die Rolle des Auftraggebers in der Kunst, 1968. The Hours of the Divine Office in English and Latin, 3 vols., Collegeville, Minn., 1963 Jaffé, David, “Mellan and Peiresc,” Print Quarterly, VII, 1990, 168–75

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Kessler, Hans-Ulrich, Pietro Bernini (1562–1629), Munich, 2005 Lasance, Francis Xavier, and Francis Augustine Walsh, eds., The New Roman Missal in Latin and English, New York, etc., 1945 Lasena, Pietro, Cleombrotus, sive de iis, qui in aquis pereunt, philologica dissertatio, Rome, 1637 Lavin, Irving, “Fischer von Erlach, Tiepolo, and the Unity of the Visual Arts,” in H. A. Millon and S. S. Munshower, eds., An Architectural Progress in the Renaissance and Baroque. Sojourns In and Out of Italy. Essays in Architectural History Presented to Hellmut Hager on his Sixty-Sixth Birthday (Papers in Art History from the Pennsylvania State University, VIII), University Park, PA, 1992, Part 2, 498–525 _____ Past–Present. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso, Berkeley, 1993 _____ “Bernini’s Bumbling Barberini Bees,” in Joseph Imorde, et al., eds., Barocke Inszenierung, Zurich, 1999, 50–71 _____ “The Angel and the City. Baccio Bandinelli’s Project for the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome,” in Peta Motture, ed., LargeBronzes in the Renaissance (National Gallery of Art. Studies in the History of Art 64), Washington, 2003, 308–29 _____ “Bernini at Saint Peter’s: singularis in singulis, in omnibus unicus,” in W. Tronzo, ed., St. Peter’s in the Vatican, Cambridge and New York, 2005 Marzocchi, Sergio, “Urbano VIII Barberini,” and “Mecenatismo barberiniano a Roma,” in Massimo Tosi, ed., Barberino. Memoria millenaria fra Valdelsa e Chianti, Certaldo, 1998, No. 16 Moroni, Gaetano, Dizionario di erudizione storico-artistico da S. Pietro sino ai nostri giorni, 103 vols., 1840–61 Müller Hofstede, Ulrike, “Künstlerischer Witz und verborgene Ironie,” in Christine Göttler and Ulrike Müller Hofstede, eds., Diletto e Maraviglia. Ausdruck und Wirkung in der Kunst von der Renaissance bis zum Barock. Rudolf Preimesberger zum 60. Geburtstag, Emsdetten, 1998, 102–27 Negri, Paolo, “Urbano VIII e l’Italia,” Nuova rivista storica, VI, 1922, 168–90 Newman, John Kevin, and Frances Stickney Newman, Lelio Giuidiccioni. Latin Poems. Rome 1633 and 1639, Hildesheim, 1992 Noe, Sydney P., The Thurian Di-Staters, New York, 1935 Pastor, Ludwig von, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols., London, 1923–53

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Pecchiai, Pio, “Un assassinio politico a Roma nel Cinquecento,” Archivi, quaderno no. 2, Rome, 1956 _____ I Barberini, Rome, 1959 Rice, Louise, “Urban VIII, the Archangel Michael, and a Forgotten Project for the Apse Altar of St. Peter’s,” Burlington magazine, CXXXIV, 1992, 428–34. _____ The Altars and Altarpieces of New St. Peter’s. Outfitting the Basilica, 1621–1666, Cambridge, etc., 1997 Rohlmann, Michael, “Michelangelos Bronzestatue von Julius II. Zur Geschichte und Bedeutung päpstlicher Ehrentore in Bologna und Ascoli,” Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana, XXXI, 1996, 187–206 Rossi, Giovanni Vittorio (Iani Nicii Erythraei), Pinacotheca imaginvm illvstrivm, doctrinae vel ingenii laude, virorvm, qui, auctore superstite, diem suum obierunt, Leipzig 1692 (first ed. Egmond, 1643) Saint-Denis, Eugène de, “Evolution sémantique de urbanus-urbanitas’,” Latomus, III, 1939, 5–25 Schleier, Erich, “Charles Mellin and the Marchesi Muti,” The Burlington Magazine, CXVIII, 1976, 836–45 Sodi, Manlio, and Achille Maria Triacca, eds., Missale Romanum : editio princeps, 1570, Vatican City, 1998 Thuillier, Jacques, et al., Vouet. Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, Paris, 6 novembre 1990–11 février 1991, Paris, 1990 Valdarni, Giuseppe, Semifonte e l’antica comunità di Barberino in Val d’Elsa. L’antica comunità di Barberino in Val d’Elsa, Barberino Val d’Elsa, 1968 Voragine, Jacobus de, The Golden Legend, eds., Granger Ryan and Helmut Ripperger, New York, etc., 1948 _____ Legenda aurea: vulgo historia Lombardica dicta, ed., Johann Georg Theodor Graesse, Leipzig, 1850 Waddy, Patricia, Seventeenth-Century Roman Palaces. Use and the Art of the Plan, Cambridge, MA, 1990 Zangheri, Luigi, “I Barberini di Barberino,” in Alessandro Vezzosi, ed., Terra di Semifonte, Florence, 1990, 30f. Zitzlsperger, Philipp, Gianlorenzo Bernini. Die Papst- und Herrscherporträts. Zum Verhältnis von Bildnis und Macht, Munich, 2002

XXXII

The Baldacchino Borromini vs Bernini: Did Borromini Forget Himself? *

W

HEN I started my life as an art historian half a century ago, there raged two major international debates about rival claimants in wars of attribution, Masaccio vs Masolino, and Jan vs Hubert van Eyck. Those classic, intra-disciplinary conflicts, now largely forgotten, have been replaced in our time by the rivalry between Borromini and Bernini, which embodies not only distinctions between artistic personalities, but also territorial and cultural wars, between North Italy and Rome, between architecture and sculpture. My purpose today is two fold. First, I intend to end this war once and for all, at least to my satisfaction, and at least in its first engagement, that is, the baldachin of St. Peter’s (Fig. 1). And second, I want to offer some observations about the origin and significance of one of the Baldacchino’s most important innovations. Some contrasting opinions: Heinrich Thelen 1967b, 63, imagined “artistic discussions” between Borromini and Bernini that resulted in crucial elements of the Baldacchino’s design.1 (So far as I am aware, Thelen was the first ever First presented at a symposium: Sankt Peter in Rome 1506–2006, Bonn, Germany, 22– 25 February 2006. 1 “Die genial hingeworfene Federskizze von Bernini (Abb. 35, our Fig. 15), die nach einer solchen Einbeziehung in den Architekturzusammenhang sucht (i.e. the conjunction of the baldachin canopy with the architectural cornice) und dabei zugleich — wenn auch nur vorübergehend — sogar die motivische Verbindung des Baldachinhimmels mit den *

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to attribute a significant role to Borromini in the Baldacchino’s design, universally ascribed to Bernini theretofore.) Jennifer Montagu 1971, 490f., doubts “the case for what is the major theme of [Thelen’s] book, the vital, one might say the dominant role of Borromini in the creation of Bernini’s tabernacle.” (Also notes that the claims of Borromini’s nephew Bernardo Castelli-Borromini are biased and cannot be trusted.) George Bauer 1996, 146 n. 4, supports my (1968) “vigorous defense of the originality of Bernini’s work.” Tod A. Marder 1998, 38: “… it is doubtful that Borromini could lay claim to the formal rather than the technical inventions of the superstructure that give the Baldacchino its character. He certainly claimed none for himself in his notations for Martinelli’s guidebook.” Sabine Burbaum 1999, 69, 71: “The finally decisive idea . . . must have arisen after the technical discussions with Borromini about the necessary modifications of the design.” “Borromini appears to have been primarily responsible for the architectural design of the baldachin, whereas Bernini concentrated on the sculptural decoration. The final form of the crown must have arisen in the dialogue between architect and sculptor, in the repeated discussion about the project and its effect and the resulting corrections.” 2 Engelfiguren löst, scheint in der Tat während einer künstlerischen Diskussion mit Borromini entstanden zu sein.” 2 “Die schliesslich entscheidende Idee, die zwangsläufig auf die neue Höhendimensonierung und die Umdeutung in Gebälkstücke folgen musste, ist schliesslich in der Federskizze Berninis aus dem Barberini-Archiv (Abb. 15, our Fig. 15) fassbar. Das von Thelen als für Bernini typisches Geschprächsnotat identifizierte Blatt muss nach den technischen Diskussionen mit Borromini um the notwendigen Modifizierungen des Entwurfs entstanded sein.” “… erscheint Borromini massgeblich für die architektonische Durchbildung des Monuments veranwörtlich, wohingegen Bernini sich auf die plastische Dekoration konzentriert zu haben scheint. Die endgültige Form der Berkrönung dürfte im Dialog zwischen Architekt und Bildhauer, in der wiederholten Diskussion um das Projekt und seine Wirkung und den daraus resultierenden Korrekturen entstanden sein.”

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The work on St. Peter’s, especially during the reign of Urban VIII, is one of the best documented projects in the entire history of art. The minute financial records kept by the papal paymasters and accountants are preserved virtually in tact, and have been meticulously researched and published posthumously by the brilliant Polish scholar Oskar Pollak (1893–1915), a childhood friend and correspondent of Franz Kafka, who perished as a combatant in the Austrian army in World War I.3 How is it possible to have such widely divergent opinions in the face of such ample and unambiguous documentation? I shall try to respond by reviewing, super-summarily, what might be called the hard evidence — that is, contemporary evidence — in its three forms: payments for work done, drawings that testify to the contributions of both artists, and references to the subject in literary sources. In spite of the acrimonious debates it is interesting that the evidence has never been collected and focused upon in quite this way. The importance of the issue is obvious to all students of the period since the baldachin, while absolutely saturated with references to tradition, also breaks with tradition in fundamental ways and inaugurates a new epoch in the history of art. The break took place early in 1624 when the newly elected Urban VIII appointed a young interloper, Bernini, aged 26 and with very little experience in architecture, to carry out the first, most urgent, and most important project of his reign, the completion of a permanent marker for the high altar. It is essential to recognize that this drastic move signifies not only the pope’s determination finally to get the job done, after many earlier efforts had failed, but a fundamentally new conception of how it was to be done. The new vision was implicit in that veritable clarion call of the early Baroque issued by Urban at the time, when he was said to have proclaimed in reference to Bernini that his reign would bring forth a new Michelangelo.4 Clearly Urban thought of himself as inaugurating a new era, with a new concept and a new design at the very heart of the church, meaning not only the basilica of St. Peter but the institution itself. The pope’s reference to

Pollak 1931, II. See Brod 1960, esp. 54–9. E come quegli che fin dal tempo che dalla santità di Paolo V eragli questo nobile ingegno stato dato in custodia, aveva incominciato a prevederne cose grandi; egli aveva concepita in se stesso una virtuosa ambizione, che Roma nel suo pontificato e per sua industria giungesse a produrre un altro Michelangelo, tanto più, perché già eragli sovvenuto l’alto concetto dell’altar maggiore di S. Pietro, nel luogo che diciamo la Confessione (Baldinucci 1948, 80f.) 3 4

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Michelangelo is normally taken as one of the empty hyperbolic tropes that signaled the new era of Baroque rhetoric.5 But the allusion may be understood in a more specific and significant way if one considers, first, the repercussions of the fateful decision taken early in the reign of Paul V to add a nave to the central plan building initiated a century before under Bramante and completed by Michelangelo (Figs. 2, 3). An uneasy marriage of convenience was perpetrated between two traditional church types: the central plan, commemorative and devotional mortuary sanctuary, and the longitudinal basilica that served the ritual and celebratory function of the church. At St. Peter’s the marriage was notoriously awkward and inconvenient, and it produced what can best be described as a chimera, to use a term that will reappear in this discussion.6 The second point to recall is that as a young cardinal Maffeo Barberini (elevated 1606; member of the Congregation that governed the basilica at least from 1608) had been vehemently opposed to the construction of the nave, and it is no accident that Bernini’s biographer Filippo Baldinucci quotes Urban’s proclamation precisely as the introduction to his discussion of the Baldacchino. In this context, the appointment of Bernini as a new Michelangelo was a verbal confirmation that Urban was intent from the outset to recreate, in the spirit of his great High Renaissance predecessors, an image of the unified, universal church centered on the tomb of the apostles, while affirming the Counterreformatory image of the church as the ultimate goal of the Christian’s spiritual pilgrimage.7 Everything he accomplished at St. Peter’s during his long reign can be understood, must be understood, I believe, in the light of this conflationary goal. And so it was From the time that His Holiness Paul V had entrusted him with this noble genius, Urban VIII had foreseen great things of Bernini. The Pope had conceived the lofty ambition that in his pontificate Rome would produce another Michelangelo. His ambition grew even stronger, as he already had in mind the magnificent idea for the high altar of St. Peter’s in the area which we call the confession. (Baldinucci 1966, 15) D’Onofrio 1967, 172–87, Soussloff 1989. 6 For a discussion of Urban’s enterprise in light of the practical and liturgical problems attendant upon the central plan and the final hybrid design of St. Peter’s, some of them never resolved, see Lavin 1968, 2005, greatly expanded in Lavin, forthcoming. 7 On Maffeo Barberini’s initial opposition to the nave see Pastor 1923–53, XXVI, 387f., Hibbard 1971, 69f. On the reaffirmation of the centrality of the high altar of St. Peter’s and its repercussions in the furnishings of the basilica, especially the crossing, see the references in n. 6 above. The point was also emphasized by Pastor 1923–53, XXVI, 459, 466. 5

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from the outset with the project for the Baldacchino, which also created, in its way, a chimeric marriage between two distinct and traditionally mutually exclusive forms of symbolic markers of sacral distinction, one commemorative, monumental, and stationary — the architectural ciborium (Fig. 4); the other ritual, ephemeral, and mobile — the processional canopy carried on staves (Fig. 5).8 The link between them was provided by a third, intermediate type in which an architectural, often columnar, substructure was surmounted by a lightweight, open, often ribbed, superstructure; this was the case with the original Constantinian “pergula” installed at St. Peter’s, which Bernini’s Baldacchino was surely meant to recall (Fig. 6). Given its hybrid nature, there is no proper term for Bernini’s work, an art historical hapax legoumenon; I have capitalized the Italian word to acknowledge its traditional name, but distinguish it from the traditional baldachin, indeed, from any of its prototypes. In Bernini’s imagination considerations of scale, visibility, stability, and homage to both commemorative and ceremonial traditions ultimately required that these prototypes be conflated, a process that inevitably affected many elements of the design. I shall focus here on only one element of the final design, albeit the most important and controversial, that is, the relationship between the lambrequin with hanging lappets proper to a ceremonial baldachin, and the columns proper to the commemorative ciborium or pergola (Fig. 7). The evidence is ample to show that if the genetic hybrid was to be achieved (and, as with the conflation of central with longitudinal plan in St. Peter’s itself, some thought the very idea anathema), this relationship was the crux of the matter. I do not use the word crux idly, since the conjunction was belabored throughout the long agony of the Baldacchino’s gestation. It is important to bear in mind that what became the final solution was not reached only at the end, as is often assumed, but was repeatedly considered from the very beginning. In fact, several of the altar tabernacles in the nave of Old St. Peter’s included traditional entablatures decorated along the lower edges with lappets or scalloped ornaments. Particularly suggestive in our context was the tabernacle of the Sacrament installed in the early sixteenth century by Antonio da The high altar of St. Peter’s is covered with a temporary baldachin supported by standing angels on one version of the print showing the beatification of Elizabeth of Portugal, while Bernini’s first project for the baldacchino appears in a second version. Bernini designed the elaborate installations for the ceremony, which took place on May 22, 1625. See Lavin 1968, 10f. 8

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Sangallo the Younger for Pope Pius III (Fig. 8). 9 The entire monument was displayed beneath a tasseled canopy hung from the entablature of the nave colonnade, and the entablature of the tabernacle itself, fringed along the bottom, was supported by two of the famous spiral columns decorated with vine scrolls symbolic of the Eucharist, said to have been retrieved from the Temple of Jerusalem by Constantine the Great and installed over the tomb of the apostles in the choir of the original basilica.10 Inside Sangallo’s tabernacle the altar was again covered by a lambrequin — no doubt reminiscent of the canopies carried over the pope as he displayed the Sacrament in the traditional Corpus Domini procession.11 Under Bernini, the architrave and frieze were replaced by rows of tasseled lappets, and the resulting lambrequin-cum-cornice became a leitmotif and bone of contention in the subsequent development of the Baldacchino: first it was in (Figs. 9, 10), then it was out (Fig. 11), then it was in again (Fig. 12), then it was out again (Figs. 13, 14), and finally it was in again at last (Fig. 15). Essential to any possible solution was a dual problem of formal syntax: one of support, since a lambrequin, which counters no weight, is formally and mechanically incompatible with the lateral thrusts of a superstructure; and one of conjunction, since columns can formally and mechanically be braced only by an entablature. Hence the crucial role of the angels, who, as God’s minions, always do the heavy lifting. PAYMENTS The documents make it clear that Borromini was busily employed at St. Peter’s throughout the reign of Urban VIII under Bernini’s direction, on a great variety of projects: he is mentioned no less than thirty-seven times in Pollak’s index, working as stone mason, marble and wood carver, wax modeler, and as a draughtsman. But never as architect. Only two sets of payments to him concern the baldachin, very distinctly separate both in time and in character. Between January 30, 1627, and April 4, 1628, Borromini We owe this important observation to Zampa 1995–7, 167–74, esp. p. 173, and I am grateful to Jack Freiberg for calling Zampa’s work to my attention. Other examples may be seen in the reproductions in Rice 1997, figs. 16, 17, 18, 22, 26. 10 The hanging canopy is visible in Rice 1997, fig. 16. On the spiral columns, see Lavin 1968, 14–16. 11 On the eucharistic significance of Bernini’s Baldacchino and that of the Corpus Domini procession at St. Peter’s, see Lavin 1968, and 2005, 45–55; Lavin, forthcoming. 9

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was paid for work as a mason (scarpellino) and carver on the foundations of the columns, on the altar stairs, and on the models of the pedestals of the bronze columns.12 There follows a gap of three years, until he was paid between April 12, 1631, and January 22, 1633, for work on the crown of the baldachin, designing and carrying out the beaten copper ornaments that cover the superstructure; that is, large scale drawings and carvings in wax and drawings on copper for the carpenters and copper workers (beaters): “large drawings for all the arches (centine), plants (piante), cornices (cornici), foliage (fogliami), and other carvings (intagli) that go inside the ribs (costole) and moldings (cimase), and for tracing them on the copper, so that the carpenters and those who beat the copper cannot err.”13 DRAWINGS Borromini’s drawings of the Baldacchino are also neatly divided into two completely contrasting groups. The earlier group consists of three amazing perspective views of the baldachin, intended no doubt to serve in judging the scale and proportions of the monument, and its relation to the surrounding architecture (Figs. 16–18). They were made during the design phase of the crown, including full-scale models, and while they show details that appear in the final work there is nothing to suggest that Borromini was trying out new ideas of his own in these contextual renderings. On the other hand, experimentation is precisely what takes place in a series of sketches by Bernini in which he studies a variety designs for the crown intended to diminish its weight, raise its center of gravity, and ensure the stability of the structure (Figs. 13, 14).14 A crucial step further is then taken in the fulminating sketch by Bernini that returns to the cornice-lappets solution with the undulating curvature of the ribs and the angels standing on the columns (Fig. 15) The second Borromini group consists of three very large wash drawings — no less exceptional in Borromini’s oeuvre than the spatial perspectives of the baldachin — for details of the ornaments (Figs. 19–21). These elaborate and delicately finished sheets, surely the same or similar Pollak 1931, II, 342 top, Nos. 1122–5. Pollak 1931, II, 373f., Nos. 1274–87. 14 Static considerations were raised with respect to the version with the raised canopy and surmounting figure of the Risen Christ.( Lavin 1968, 12, 23). 12 13

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to those referred to in the documents, were clearly made as demonstration models, perhaps even to be copied as templates for transfer to the sheets of copper that the workmen were then to hammer into conformity with the molds. Above all, the evidence of the drawings is consistent with the evidence of the documents, that Borromini was completely extraneous to the design process of the Baldacchino. The evidence of the documents and of the drawings is also consistent with the testimony of Borromini’s nephew, Bernardo Castelli-Borromini, that Borromini’s talent for making highly accomplished drawings was what first motivated Maderno to employ his young relative and protégé: “he attended to drawing with great diligence and perfection, and realizing this his relative Carlo Maderno gave him work and had him make finished drawings for him.”15 Unlike many, indeed the majority of Borromini’s drawings, none of those for the Baldacchino show the slightest graphic suggestion of trial, error or experimentation. SOURCES The testimony of Bernini himself: We have seen that Urban recruited Bernini not simply because he admired his work, but because he had a concrete idea of what the high altar of St. Peter’s should signify, visually and conceptually, in the spirit and under the aegis of Michelangelo. Bernini himself recognized and acknowledged Urban’s role in the earliest expression we have of Bernini’s view of the genesis of the baldachin design. The idea is attributed to Bernini himself by Lelio Guidiccioni in a literary dialogue between Guidiccioni and Bernini, datable to Sept., 1633, “Whose thought do you think the altar was,” Bernini asks. “Yours,” Guidiccioni replies; “think again,” returns Bernini, “and say it was His Holiness’s.” “Then you are also the object of his praise, which is the origin of yours.”16 The pope’s own biographer made the point in no 15 atendeva a disegniare con grandissima diligenza e polizia et accorgendosi di ciò Carlo maderni suo parente per uia di donna, li daua da fare e da tirare disegni in polito per lui (Burbaum 1999, 278). 16 G.L.B. Di chi pensate, che sia il pensiero dell’Altar Vaticano, tale qual sia divenuta l’opera? L. G. Vostro hò sempre pensato. G.L. A pensarla meglio, dite di S. S.tà L. G. Dunque voi sete pure obietto di lode sua; la quale è origine della vostra . . . (D’Onofrio 1966, 133f.).

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uncertain terms, “The artist was Bernini, who acquired great applause and fame, but the thought and idea was of Urban himself.” 17 While it is tempting again to dismiss this point as typical Baroque flattery, or to seize upon it as a means of deflating Bernini’s reputation for arrogance, I think it should be taken seriously, not as an indication of Urban’s literal role as a designer, but in the basic view of the monument as the focal point of a newly coherent and unified architectural and ideological concept of St. Peter’s. This was indeed the principle Bernini followed through the entire process of designing the crossing of St. Peter’s and I have no doubt that it was indeed a sympathetic response to the pope’s own ideology and ambitions. Bernini’s biographers, Baldinucci and the artist’s son Domenico, make it clear that Bernini’s own concern was not with the design of the Baldacchino, but with the problem of determining its scale and proportions in the vastness of St. Peter’s. We know from Borromini’s perspective drawings and especially from the documents, which record a whole series of models ranging up to full scale that were actually erected in situ, that an unprecedented effort was expended to study the problem.18 Yet, in the end, despite all this advance planning, Bernini avowed that the baldachin had succeeded well, “by chance.” 19 The observation was an ironic inversion of 17 Andrea Nicoletti: “L’artefice fu il Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino che in tal lavoro acquistossi grande applauso e maggior fama, ma il pensiero e l’idea fu di Urbano stesso” (cited after D’Onofrio 1979, 244). 18 The history of the execution of the Baldacchino, with special emphasis on the use of models, is the subject of an important essay by Bauer 1996. 19 Baldinucci 1948, 83: Soleva dire il cavaliere che quest’opera era riuscita bene a caso, volendo inferire che l’arte stessa non poteva mai sotto una sì gran cupola ed in ispazio sì vasto, e fra moli di eccedente grandezza dare una misura e proporzione che bene adequasse, ove l’ingegno e la mente dell’artefice, tale quale essa misura doveva essere, senz’altra regola concepire non sapesse.

Baldinucci 1966, 17 (modified IL): Bernini used to say it was by chance that this work came out so well, implying that under such a great dome and in such a vast space and among such massive piers, artistic skill alone could never determine a suitable dimension and proportion, where the artist’s genius and mind could not conceive how the scale should be, without any other rule. Bernini 1713, 38f.: Onde l’occhio solamente può esserne degno Giudice , che con riguardare unitamente

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Michelangelo’s famous dictum that the true artist must have the “giudizio dell’occhio”:20 since there was no precedent for the scale of the project at St. Peter’s, the just measurement and proportion of the Baldacchino could not be found by artistic skill alone; so that if the artist’s ingenuity and intelligence did not find the solution, it must have been found by chance. I suspect that the repetition and insistence upon this overarching act of creative judgment may refer specifically to the selection process that guided the laborious study mechanism, including the models and drawings such as those by Borromini, through which Bernini’s evolving design concepts were envisioned. Borromini’s drawings of the Baldacchino, which portray the project in its spatial and architectural setting, are absolutely unique in his oeuvre: for him, a building was an isolated, self-contained ideal. Borromini’s drawings of the Baldacchino in situ are, on the contrary, brilliant reflections of Bernini’s revolutionary concern for what he called the “i contrapposti.” Bernini employed this old term in a radically new, contextual way — in reference not to oppositional but to complementary and mutually dependent contrasts.21 “Things do not appear only as they are, but as they seem in relation to things nearby, which change their appearance. A building will appear larger if it is juxtaposed with others that are small,” etc. While Borromini’s elaborate perspective renderings have no parallel in the corpus of Bernini drawings, many of Bernini’s informal sketches show him studying visibility, viewpoints, and relationships, not in terms of mathematical proportions but as he envisioned them to be seen by the viewer.22 Moreover, unlike his predecessors at St. Peter’s, Bernini did not il Sìto, la Mole, la Vastità del Vano, che empie senza ingombrarlo, la Vaghezza de’ Rilievi, la Ricchezza della Materia, e tutto ciò che essa / 39 é, e la proporzione che fuor di essa nel Tutto s’accorda, rimane appagato, e sodisfatto, mà in tal modo, che tramandandone la specie nell’imaginativa, fà di mestiere, che l’intelletto affermi per verità, ciò che diceva per sua modestia il Cavaliere, Quest’Opera essere riuscita bene a caso, volendo con raro temperamento dimostrare di haverla più tosto per buona, che fatta. (The eye alone can be a worthy judge, and, being satisfied, the intellect confirms as true what the Cavaliere said in modesty, that his work succeded by chance, meaning that he achieved it intuitively, rather than deliberately.) On the giudizio dell’occhio, see especially Summers 1981, 368–79. On Bernini’s concept of i contrapposti, see Lavin 1980, 9–11. 22 Brauer and Wittkower 1931, pls. 56a, 57, 62b, 63ab, 69c, 74ab, 94a, 96. 20 21

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conceive of the Baldacchino ideologically as an isolated monument, but the focal point of a veritable solar system of memorabilia that came to include not only the four reliquary piers of the crossing but also two papal tombs, of Paul III and Urban VIII himself, flanking the Chair of St. Peter in the apse; all centered on the gilded and radiant altar cover and marker for the tomb of the apostles — more durable than bronze, as if to preempt Horace’s famous epitome of classical literary achievement.23 More than any other aspect of the design, successful as if “by chance,” Bernini was proud of this contextual significance of the baldachin. Virgilio Spada One of the primary documents in the Borromini-Bernini-Baldacchino story was composed in 1657 by Borromini’s great friend and patron Virgilio Spada, in a futile effort to have him reinstated as the architect of the Oratorio of San Filippo Neri. The relevant passage is as follows: (Cardinal) Barberini told me a few days ago that the Palazzo Barberini . . . was in large part the design of Borromini, and Borromini himself told me the same thing, which at first I did not believe, but in the end I did believe. And even though they greatly disgusted each other, and their love turned to great (mortal) hatred, though for reasons other than architecture, Bernini himself said to me many years ago before the altar of St. Peter’s, that Borromini alone understood this profession, but that he was never satisfied, and that he wanted to enclose one thing inside another, and that inside another, with never an end.24 For thoughts on the Baldacchino in its context at St. Peter’s, see Lavin 2005, and more recently, with much additional material, Lavin, forthcoming. 24 The texts of Virgilio Spada and Bernardo Castelli-Borromini are conveniently printed in Burbaum 1999, 227–85, whence the passages quoted here are excepted. Burbaum 1999, 283: L’Emminentissimo Barberino mi disse pochi giorni sono che la fabrica Barberina alle 4 Fontane fù in gran parte (gestrichen: opera sua) disegno del Borromino, e me l’haveva detto anche l’istesso Borromini mà (cancelled: non l’havevo creduto) gli l’havevo finito di credere. . . . E con tutto che si disgustassero grandemente insieme, cioè il Bernino e Borromino, e che l’amore si convertisse in grandissimo odio (cancelled: mortale), per altre caggioni però che d’architettura, nondimeno il medesimo Cavaliere 23

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Apart from giving credit to Borromini where it was due, and incidentally offering a profound insight into Borromini’s mode of thought and architectural style, Bernini’s statement as reported by Spada does not assert, imply, or justify the assumption that Borromini had anything to do with the design of the Baldacchino. In point of fact, Bernini’s statement is a typically ingenious, candid, subtle, and pertinent critique of the intricate convolutions of Borromini’s own designs, in pertinent contrast to what Bernini and Spada were looking at when Bernini made the comment: the baldachin in its setting comprises a remarkable series of series of concentric, concave — not convoluted — curves from the canopy through the entablature of the finial that supports the cross, to the concave frontispieces of the reliquary niches (Figs. 22, 7, 23, 24). Although largely unappreciated, this concerto grosso of concentric rings is crucial, not only visually but conceptually, to the significance of Bernini’s whole enterprise in the crossing of St. Peter’s: in a sense, it echos Urban VIII’s fundamental purpose, to reclaim Michelangelo and reaffirm the centrality of the tomb and high altar. Bernardo Castelli-Borromini In 1685 Borromini‘s nephew, Bernardo Castelli-Borromini, composed (a biography of his uncle in response to a questionnaire from Filippo Baldinucci who was then preparing his famous compendium of artists’ lives. CastelliBorromini vituperates mercilessly against Bernini, reciting in venomous detail his arrogance, foibles, and unscrupulous exploitation of others, especially his beloved uncle. Truly a painful and bitter thing to read, and much of the tone and information, innuendo as well as fact, must have come from Borromini himself. Castelli-Borromini is careful to mention various works of carving Borromini did at St. Peter’s under Urban VIII: the cherubs of marble flanking the dentrance gates, the cherub at the apex of the above the gates, the cherub at the apex of the arch of the Attila relief by Algardi, the design and invention of the wrought iron gates to the Sacrament chapel, and he includes the story of Palazzo Barberini reported earlier by Virgilio Spada.25 Castelli-Borromini is at great pains to describe how Bernini, Bernino per verità disse a me molti anni sono avanti l’altare di S. Pietro che il solo Borromino intendeva questa professione, ma che non si contentava mai, e che voleva dentro una cosa cavare un’altra, e nell’altra l’altra senza finire mai. 25 On these works at St. Peter’s see Fagiolo, 1967.

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“innocent” of the architectural profession, left all the architectural work at St. Peter’s to Borromini, while taking all the credit (and stipends) to himself — until Borromini, disgusted by this treatment, abandoned Bernini with the famous remark: “it does not displease me that he took the money, but it displeases me that he enjoys the honor of my labors.”26 It is indeed a passionate and pathetic lament. But this very fact makes it all the more significant that no mention is made of any specific work of architecture at St. Peter’s under Urban VIII, and in particular that not the faintest claim is made for any role by Borromini in the design of the Baldacchino. And if ever there was a time and place to reclaim Borromini’s contribution, surely it was this opportunity to see it published in a biography Burbaum 1999, 278f. e per dire qualchi cossa delli lauori di marmo che lauorò il Boromino nel principio e nel mezzo del pontificato di urbano fra li altri lauori sono di sua mano quelli Carubini di marmo spiritosi e uiuaci che sono dalle parti delle porticelle con pannini e fistoncini – et anche il carubino sopra in mezzo al archo sopra dette porticelle per di dentro intorno a sant pietro et anche é di sua mano quel carubino che è nel mezzo del archo sopra il basso rilieuo del attila flagellum dei –fu suo Disegno e suo inuentione la Cancellata di ferro dauanti alla capello del Santissimo in detta chiesa di Sant pietro –et il palazzo delli barberini fu tutto fatto con suo disegnio et ordine(.) morì poi il maderni e papa urbano in luogho del maderni deputò il Signor. Gio. lorenzo Bernino – famoso Scultore – e questa deputatione del bernino per architetto di sant pietro fu perchè il papa quando era Cardinale era statto più uolte a uedere a lauorare di scoltura il Bernino nella sua Casa a Santa maria maggiore et per quella conosienza lo deputò per Architetto di sant pietro(;) il quale, trouandosi di hauer hauto quella carica e conosiendosi di ciò inabbile per essere egli scultore – e sapendo che il boromino haueua fatto per il maderni la fabrica à Sant pietro – et anche per il mede(si)mo haueua manegiato e seguitato il Palazzo delli Barberini – lo pregò che in tale occasione non l(‘)abandonasse promettendogli che hauerebbe riconosiuto con una degnia ricompenza le molte sue fattiche(;) così il Boromino si lasiò uincere delle sue preg(h)iere – e seguitò. e promise (il Boromino) che hauerebbe continuato a tirare auanti le fabiche già incominciate per detto ponteficato come che già egli era informato del tutto – et il Bernini atendeua alla sua scoltura(;) et per l(‘)architettura lassiaua fare tutte le fattiche al boromino(.) et il bernino faceua la figura di architetto di s. pietro e del Papa, et infatti il bernino in quel tempo in tal profesione era inocentissimo(.) tirati che furono del Boromino, a bon termine le fabriche di quel pontificato(,) il Bernino tirò li stipendij e salarij tanto della fabrica di sant Pietro Come del Palazzo Barberino et anche li denari delle misure – e mai diede cosa alcuna per le fatiche di tanti anni al boromini – ma solamente bone parole e grande promisione(.) e uedendosi il boromino deluso e deriso lasiò et abandonò il Bernino – con questo detto(:) non mi dispiacie che abbia auto li denarij, ma mi dispiacie che gode l(‘) onor delle mie fatiche.

26

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by an eminent writer! How is it possible that Castelli-Borromini failed to mention Borromini’s contribution to the signature monument of the new era? Did Borromini forget to tell his nephew about it? Did CastelliBorromini forget to pass it on to Baldinucci? Borromini — Fioravante Martinelli In 1660–3 Fioravante Martinelli, a learned friend and admirer of Borromini’s, was composing a new guide to the monuments of Rome, the manuscript of which is preserved in the Biblioteca Casanatense in Rome. The text is carefully written in pen with ample margins, as if Martinelli intended from the beginning that it should be gone over and commented upon by Borromini, which did in fact happen. Borromini served his friend in his usual meticulous and thorough way, writing in the margins with this usual pencil, no less than ninety-two corrections, additions, and suggestions, which Martinelli then copied more or less accurately and completely in ink, leaving Borromini’s comments scarcely but definitely discernible. Fourteen of Borromini’s comments concern himself and/or Bernini: he was by no means shy in specifying his own contributions to the architecture of Rome in cases where he found Martinelli’s attributions wanting or imprecise, and in diminishing Bernini’s role, sometimes quite subtly (see Appendix).27 But two instances in particular shed light on his relation to Bernini in our context. One is that the protestations of both Virgilio Spada and Bernardo Castelli-Borromini to the contrary notwithstanding, Borromini in his comment on the Palazzo Barberini makes no claim to authorship, remarking only that it was the work “di molti, e spetialmente” del Bernini.28 This is noteworthy to say the least, considering the assertions of both Virgilio Spada and Bernardo Castelli-Borromini. The second instance stands out among all of Borromini’s emendations in that it is by far the longest, the most developed, and the most substantial. Indeed, Borromini’s wording is not abbreviated in the unusual way of an incidental remark, but elaborately developed in full, grammatical sentences, as if he expected Martinelli simply

Borromini’s corrections concerning Bernini and himself, as transcribed by D’Onofrio 1969, are gathered in the Appendix, following D’Onofrio’s page numbers: pp. 11, 13, 14, 15bis, 57, 67, 69, 80, 105, 158, 189, 220, 232, 282. 28 Hibbard 1971, 228, D’Onofrio 1969, 231f. 27

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to replace his own words with those of Borromini, verbatim, which in fact Martinelli did, except for one notable omission (Fig. 25). Along the left and bottom margins, in pencil faintly visible beneath Martinelli’s inked copy, Borromini wrote: It was the thought of Paul V to cover with a baldachin the high altar of St. Peter’s with a richness proportional to the opening made at the Confession and sepulcher of the same. Whence Carlo Maderno presented him with a design of twisted columns; but the baldachin did not touch the columns or their cornice. Thereafter, Paul died and the work remained on the design until the pontificate of Urbano VIII, who told the said Carlo to be content that Bernini would make the said work. The Cavalier Celio, perhaps not completely informed, printed that it was the invention of most holy wisdom (that is, of the pope) carried out by the said Bernini. Vincenzo Berti in a manuscript in the possession of Mons. Landucci, sacristan of our father Alexander VII and for his eminent virtues most worthy of a higher post, has written that it was a design of Ciampelli, cousin of the said Bernini, which I am not sure is true; but rather that he did not agree with Bernini about the decorations and other things; and he said that baldachins are not supported on columns, but on staves; [not transcribed by Martinelli or D’Onofrio: and that the baldachin ought not run together with the cornice of the columns] and in any case he wanted to show that the angels carry it; and he added that it was a chimera.29 The passage was transcribed by Thelen in his corpus of early Borromini drawings, 1967a, I, 98f.; Lavin 1968, 11f. n. 53, 47 no. 2; D’Onofrio 1969, 158 (incomplete; see Appendix): Fù pensiero di Paolo V coprire con baldacchino l’altar maggiore di S. Pietro con ricchezza proportionata all’apertura fatta alla confessione e sepolcro di d.o Onde Carlo Maderno gli presentò un disegno con colonne à vite; ma il baldacchino non toccava le colonne, ne il lor cornicione: sopragionse la morte di Pauolo, e restò l’op.a sul disegno sin al ponteficato di Urbano VIII. il quale disse al d.o Carlo si contentasse, che il Bernino facesse d.a opera. I1 Cavalier Celio, forse non ben informato del tutto, stampò essere inventione di Santiss.o giuditio (cioè del Papa) messo in opera dal d.o Bernino. Vincenzo Berti manoscritto appresso Mons.r Landucci Sacrista di N’ro Sig.re Alessandro VII e p le sue eminenti virtudi dignissimo di grado superiore, ha scritto, esser disegno del Ciampelli cognato del d.o Bernini, il che non sò se sia vero; ma si bene non concorreva con d.o Bernini circa l’abbigliam.ti et altro; e diceva, che li Baldacchini non si sostengono con le 29

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Borromini’s comment is in some respects cryptic and open to interpretation, but one thing is certain: it is deliberate, painstaking, accurate, and absolutely honest, as was everything Borromini ever did. In fact, it was this deliberative, painstaking, laborious, not to say belabored, quality of Borromini’s mind and work that drove Bernini — always quick, facile, impulsive, and elegant in everything he did — absolutely crazy, I am sure. Borromini obviously devoted exceptional care to his comment in this case, even to giving notice when he was uncertain about a point. I find it impossible to believe that Borromini, especially if he was as deeply involved in the design process as some have claimed, did not know who was responsible: either he was being disingenuous or, by his own confession, he was not fully informed and in fact was not sure. Three points are striking. Firstly, Borromini makes it clear that Maderno took an important, otherwise unheralded, step toward the final solution by bringing together the baldachin and ciborium traditions, without linking them. Borromini’s remark does allow for something like Bernini’s first project, where the canopy does not touch the columns or their cornices; that, however, would make Maderno responsible for the angels, the objections to which Borromini emphasizes as much as he does Bernini’s insistence that they be retained. Borromini evidently referred to Maderno in order to ensure that his mentor be remembered for having suggested bringing the types together, without committing the grave, solecistic breach of architectural grammar by fusing them. The fact that Borromini disapproved of the angels might explain why he did not explain how the canopy was supported in Maderno’s project. Secondly, in this light Thelen’s suggestion that Borromini withheld his own contribution in order not to diminish that of Maderno, seems gratuitous, to say the least.30 Virgilio Spada and Bernardo Castelli-Borromini certainly had no such motive for their silence on the fundamental point of Borromini’s contribution. Even Fioravante Martinelli, in his original remarks on the

colonne, ma con l’haste, [not copied by Martinelli or transcribed by D’Onofrio: et che il baldacchino non ricora assieme con la cornice dele colone,] et in ogni modo voleva mostrare che lo reggono li Angeli: e soggiongeva che era una chimera. 3o “Seine eigenen, unbestreitbar vorhandenen Verdienste an der endgültigen Gestaltung der Tabernakelarchitektur übergeht Borromini in dieser um 1661/62 verfassten Randbemerkung geflissentlich, weil es ihm ausschliesslich darauf ankommt, die grundlegende Bedeutung der künstlerischen Leistung Madernos, die unter Berninis ruhm begraben worden war, mit wenigen Worten gebührend ins Licht rücken zu können.” (Thelen 1967b, 10)

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Baldacchino attributed the design to Bernini; and while he took care to qualify the credit by introducing other names, he made no claim for his friend Borromini, to whom he would submit the manuscript for review.31 Equally gratuitous was Thelen’s omission from his book-length study of the high altar and Baldacchino of the criticism duly reported by Borromini that “the baldachin ought not run together with the cornice of the columns.”32 The omission misleadingly permits, even encourages in the context of the discussion, the assumption that this feature was among Borromini’s own unheralded and supposedly self-abnegated contributions to the design. On the contrary, Borromini obviously repeated the objections to the Baldacchino because he too disapproved of Bernini’s hybrid, indeed chimeric design, including the angels. Finally, there is the ultimate question in this, the most conspicuous of all the Martinelli corrections, when Borromini was involved as a modeler, as a carver, and indeed as a draftsman, where he names no less than three real or imagined designers of the baldachin — Maderno, the pope, Agostino Ciampelli — and while not hesitating to stake his claim as creative designer in other entries in Martinelli’s text: why is there no mention of Francesco Borromini here? Did Borromini forget himself? My own candidate for Bernini’s silent helper with the Baldacchino is his younger brother Luigi (1612–81), whom Gian Lorenzo’s biographers extol for his talents as a sculptor and architect, and especially for his genius — equal if not greater than his brother’s — in all things mechanical and mathematical. From recent archival discoveries we now know that his rich library, no doubt partly inherited from Gian Lorenzo, comprised many technical titles; and that in 1627 the brothers’ father Pietro Bernini borrowed from the library of Santa Prassede two mathematical works, no doubt for Luigi’s benefit.33 Luigi was also nearly as precocious as his brother, whom he was assisting as early as 1626; from 1630 he is documented as a major participant in the work at St. Peter’s, including on the Baldacchino, where he was appointed superintendent of the works in 1634, even countersigning with his brother Martinelli’s original, brief comment is transcribed at p. 158 in the Appendix below, in the center column next to Borromini’s replacement. 32 The passage is transcribed in Thelen’s catalogue of Borromini drawings, but it is nowhere cited in his monograph on the Baldacchino (1967b). 33 The inventory of Luigi’s books, no doubt partly inherited from Gian Lorenzo, was an important discovery of McPhee 2000, with further bibliography on Luigi. Pietro Bernini borrowed a translation of Euclid and Oberto Cantone, L’uso prattico dell’aritmetica e geometria, Naples, 1609; see Dooley 2002, 54. 31

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1. View of Baldacchino and choir. Saint Peter’s Rome.

1353

2. Etienne Dupérac after Michelangelo, Plan of New St. Peter’s. 3. Carlo Fontana, Plan of Saint Peter’s, engraving, detail.

1354

4. Borromini, Project for ciborium in crossing of Saint Peter’s, drawing. It. AZ., Rom, 1443 (254 x 160mm), Albertina, Vienna.

5. Giovanni Maggi, Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, engraving. Coll. Stampe,Vatican Library, Rome.

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1356

6. Constantinian Presbytery, Old St. Peter’s, reconstruction drawing.

7. Saint Peter’s, crown of the baldachin.

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

8. Altar of the Holy Sacrament, Old St. Peter’s, drawing. Archivio del Capitolo di San Pietro, MS A 64 ter, fol. 22r, Vatican Library, Rome.

1357

1358

9. Canonization of Elizabeth of Portugal, 1625 (decorations by Bernini), engraving. Coll. Stampe, Vatican Library, Rome.

10. Canonization of Elizabeth of Portugal, 1625 (decorations by Bernini), engraving. detail. Coll. Stampe, Vatican Library, Rome.

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

11. Urban VIII, 1626. Medagliere, Vatican Library, Rome.

1359

12. Medal commemorating the canonization of Andrea Corsini, 1629. Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

13. Bernini, Studies for the crown of the Baldacchino, drawing. It. AZ, Rom 769r, Albertina, Vienna.

1360

14. Bernini, Studies for the crown of the Baldacchino, drawing. It. AZ., Rom 769v, Albertina, Vienna.

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

1361

15. Bernini, Study for the crown of the Baldacchino, drawing. MS Barb. Lat., 9900, fol. 2, Vatican Library, Rome.

16. Borromini, Perspective study of the Baldacchino in situ, drawing. It. AZ., Rom, 763, Albertina, Vienna.

17. Borromini, Perspective study of the Baldacchino in situ, drawing. It. AZ., Rom, 762, Albertina, Vienna.

18. Borromini, Perspective study of the Baldacchino in situ, drawing. It. AZ., Rom, 764, Albertina, Vienna.

19. Borromini, Design for the upper part and entablature of the columns of the Baldacchino, drawing. RL5635, Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

1362

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

20. Borromini, Design for the entablature over the columns of the Baldacchino, drawing. RL5636, Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

1363

21. Borromini, Design for the cornice-lappets entablature, drawing. RL5637, Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

1364

22. View of baldachin and dome. Saint Peter’s, Rome.

23. Reliquary niche of St. Veronica. Saint Peter’s, Rome.

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

1365

1366

24. View of the crossing. St. Peter’s, Rome .

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

25. Page 201 of Fioravante Martinelli’s unpublished guidebook Roma ornata dall’ architettura, pittura e scoltura. Martinelli’s original comment on the Baldacchino cancelled in the center column; Borromini’s penciled emendation faintly visible in the left and lower margins, beneath Martinelli’s inked copy. MS 4984, Biblioteca Casanatense, Rome.

26. Bernini Presenting the Design for the Reliquary Niches to Pope Urban VIII, vault of southwest grotto chapel (dedicated to St. Veronica). Saint Peter’s, Rome .

1367

1368

27. Bernini, Portrait of a youth, here identified as Luigi Bernini, drawing. RL5543, Royal Library, Windsor Castle.

28. Giulio Romano and workshop, Donation of Constantine (detail showing reconstruction of the Constantinian presbytery based on elements then still extant). East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome.

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

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29. Giulio Romano and workshop, Pope Gregory the Great. East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome.

30. Giulio Romano and workshop, Pope Gregory the Great, detail. East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome.

31. Giulio Romano and workshop. East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome.

1370

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

32. Giulio Romano and workshop, Pope Sylvester I. East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome.

1371

1372

33. Giulio Romano and workshop, Meeting of Constantine the Great and Pope Sylvester, relief. East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome. 34. Giulio Romano and workshop, Gregory the Great celebrating Mass, relief. East wall, Sala di Costantino, Vatican Palace, Rome.

BORROMINI VS BERNINI

35. Bernini, Angel bearing laurel wreaths, crown of the Baldacchino. St. Peter’s, Rome.

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1374

authorizations for payments to Borromini. Luigi’s contributions were acknowledged in a fresco in one of the grotto chapels beneath the crossing piers high altar, where, so I believe, he is shown accompanying his brother who presents a design of the upper niche to Urban VIII (Figs. 26, 27). The Gentle Yoke of Urban VIII When I first sought to comprehend Borromini’s devilishly tortured and ingenious remark, that Maderno had proposed a baldachin that did not touch the columns or their cornices, I suggested that he might have envisaged a canopy suspended from above. There were many precedents for this arrangement, notably the baldachin over the enthroned Pope Sylvester I in the scene of the Donation of Constantine in the great ceremonial hall in the Vatican, the Sala di Costantino, decorated in the early sixteenth century by Raphael’s follower Giulio Romano and his workshop (Fig. 28); appropriately, the choir that appears in the background includes the marble columns the emperor brought from Jerusalem, which Bernini ultimately installed in the upper niches of the crossing piers.34 I now believe, thanks to a perspicacious observation by George Bauer, that we can offer an alternative — and by no means contradictory — explanation. Bauer noted that a salient feature of Bernini’s second project for the Baldacchino had been foreshadowed in the fresco adjacent to Donation scene, representing the isolated figure of Gregory the Great enthroned (Figs. 29, 30). In fact the motif appears in two, and only two, of the series of enthroned popes in the Sala di Costantino, namely, those depicting Gregory and Sylvester, who flanks the scene of the Donation scene on the opposite side (Figs. 31, 32). In both cases, the flaring canopy over the pope’s throne is suspended from thongs attached to rings held by allegorical figures who stand on flanking architectural platforms. Terracotta narrative relief panels with scenes related to the lives of the two popes are inserted in the wall above the canopies. The relief above Sylvester illustrates an equestrian meeting of the pope and the emperor, shown scarcely clad and still sporting pagan asses’ ears (in the foreground below, Jupiter Capitolinus lies fallen clutching his imperial eagle); Constantine is cured of leprosy with a blessing gesture by the pope, while their powers are united in the standard 34 Left window wall: Sylvester: Quednau 1979, figs. 39, 41; Center: Donation of Constantine; Right: Gregory, Quednau 1979, figs. 40, 42; Bauer 1996, figs. 5–6, Hess 1967, fig. 7; Perry 1977, fig. 19.

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of the victorious cross displayed between them (Fig. 33).35 Bauer noted that the reference to Pope Gregory was appropriate in the context of Urban VIII’s project since one of the important acts of Gregory’s reign was that he had decreed that masses be celebrated over the body of St. Peter (“Hic fecit ut super corpus beati Petri missas celebrarentur”).36 This event was illustrated in a relief inserted in the wall above, where the confession at the tomb is shown below the altar, and four of the famous spiral columns are displayed in a row, as they appear before the apse in the frescoed reconstruction of the Constantinian building (Fig. 34).37 When the completed Baldacchino was inaugurated on 29 June 1633 (the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul), it was indeed a reenactment of Gregory’s original inauguration of a new Christian veneration of the papacy and the church.38 However, the frescoes were relevant to Urban in another, no less important, and more personal way, in relation to the basic theme of the Donation of Constantine, which purported to record the first Christian emperor’s gift of vast territories to the papacy and hence the foundation of the earthly hegemony of the Church. Although long since discredited as a medieval forgery, the Donation was still deeply significant of the papacy’s call for acknowledgement by secular powers of its claim to temporal dominion. This was the underlying theme of the decoration of the Sala di Costantino itself, commissioned and carried out under the Medici popes Leo X and Clement VII. The meaning is made clear by Medici emblems and inscriptions that accompany the frescoes: the banderoles that flutter behind, intertwined with a yoke and inscribed with the famous Medici motto, SVAVE, i.e., the gentle yoke of Medici rule; and the diamond ring, symbol of perpetuity. Taken together the two parts fulfill the overarching conceit of Medicean rule: Annulus nectit jugum suave (the ring unites, the yoke is easy).39 Here the allegories sustain the papal canopy through the tie-ring with one hand, while holding aloft the yoke with the other.40 Quednau 1979, 287. Quednau discussed the reliefs in greater detail in Raffaello 1984, 244f. 36 Bauer 1996, 158f. 37 Quednau1979, 303f. 38 Pollak 1931, II, 421. 39 Moroni 1840–61, XXXVIII, 45; Shearman 1972, 87; Perry 1977, 683–6; CoxRearick 1984, 36–8. 40 Matthew 11: 29 tollite iugum meum super vos et discite a me quia mitis sum et humilis corde 35

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The essence of this reference to the Medicean “power behind the throne” was carried over into Bernini’s design, where heavenly angels replace the “secular” allegories, and the garlands of Barberini laurel leaves, symbolic of a new era of eternal springtime, replace the Medici tie-rings and yoke (Fig. 35). Bernini’s insistence on retaining the angels through the sequence of design changes — of which Borromini evidently disapproved since he quoted the vociferous criticism, and which modern scholars have attributed simply to Bernini’s prejudice in favor of sculpture over architecture — may best be explained by this reference to the divine election and beneficent authority of the pope. These were, in fact, the fundamental themes of Urban’s conception of his office: his election was signaled by divine intervention; at his coronation he invoked the all-powerful Archangel Michael as patron of his papacy; and his choice of his name announced the gentility of his rule.41 The angels sustain the Baldacchino effortlessly through delicate garlands of laurel that are not attached but mysteriously disappear between the ribs and the canopy. This is important work, after all. The Baldacchino is, after all, a kind of miracle.

et invenietis requiem animabus vestris 30 iugum enim meum suave est et onus meum leve est (29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.) 41 On the ideology and coherence of Urban VIII’s auto-definition, see Lavin 2007.

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Appendix Cesare D’Onofrio, Roma nel seicento. “Roma ornata dall’architettura, pittura e scoltura” di Fioravante Martinelli, Florence, 1969 Marginal emendations to passages in Martinelli’s text suggested by Borromini concerning Bernini and himself. Page 11

Martinelli text S. AGOSTINO …

L’altar maggiore col ricco e pretioso ciborio, o tabernacolo del Santissimo fu fatto fare dal P. Girolamo Ghetti romano, Generale dell’Ordine nel 1627 con disegno di un amico di Santi Ghetti, il quale hebbe la cura dell’opera, et in esso sono due Angeli scolpiti da Giuliano Finelli Carrarino per il* Cav. Bernino. 14

S. ANASTASIA … L’altar maggiore è architettura di Honorio Lunghi: ma l’ornamento della tribuna con colonnato è disegno del Cav. Borromino fatto d’ordine del Card. Carpegna all’hora titolare*. Il disegno della facciata col resarcimento della chiesa è di Luigi Arigucci fatto fare da Urbano VIII.

Borromini emedation * “il tabernacolo fatto con disegno di un amico di (Santi Ghetti) ...”: il Martinelli aveva scritto: “con architettura e assistenza di Santi Ghetti, et in esso sono due Angeli scolpiti dal Cav. Bernino”. Quest’ultima frase è corretta dal Borromini: “da Giuliano Finelli Carrarino per il C.r Bernino”.

* “lornamento della tribuna con colonnato è disegno del Cav. Borromini fatto d’ordine del Em.mo Sig.r Card. Carpegna Protettore”.

1378 15

S. ANDREA DELLE FRATTE … Il campanile è disegno, et* inventione del Cav. Borromino, il quale havendo nella cima d’esso posta per suo finimento e per trofeo della beneficenza del fondatore la sua arme in piedi congionta con leggiadro modo a quella de Frati Minimi si è dichiarato autore di situare in isola simil armi: et al presente si comincia a fabricare la cuppola con architettura del medemo Cav. Borromino*.

57

GIESÙ ADORATO DA MAGI Questo tempietto della Congregatione de propaganda fide è stato fabricato dal Card. Antonio Barberino, chiamato di S. Onofrio con architettura del Cav. Bernino; e minacciando rovina oltre ad altre osservationi fatte dalla Santità di Nostro Signore Alessandro VII è stato di suo ordine fatto l’altro artifitiosissimo con disegno del Cav. Borromino*.

69

S. GIOVANNI NEL LATERANO …

* “et al presente . . . Borromino”. * “detto »; « ma era da Milano”.

* e minacciando . . . ecc., sembra suggerimento del Borromini.

* “Il cornicione . . . Borromino”.

Il cornicione che ricinge il detto tempio del Battisterio con il suo fregio è stato fatto fare dalla Santità di Nostro Signore Alessandro VII con disegno del Cav. Borromino*. 105

S. MARIA MAGGIORE … L’incoronatione del Papa di sopra è di Pietro padre del Cav. Bernino* ; à man destra è d’Ippolito Butio Milanese, à man sinistra di Gio. Antonio Valsoldino. Li termini sono scarpellati dal detto Pietro.

* “è di Pietro Bernino scultore (?)”; suggerimento non accettato dal Martinelli.

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158

1379

S. PIETRO VATICANO …

S. PIETRO VATICANO …

Il Ciborio con colonne di metallo istorte a vite dell’altar maggiore è disegno del Cav. Bernino, et il getto è di Gregorio de Rossi Rom.o. Ma il Cav.re Celio scrive essere inventione di santissimo giuditio messo in opera dal d.o Cav.re. Vincenzo Berti manoscritto appresso monsig.re Landucci sacrista di N. S.re ha lasciato scritto esser disegno del Ciampelli cognato di d.o Bernino.

Fù pensiero di Paolo V coprire con baldacchino l’altar maggiore di S. Pietro con ricchezza proportionata all’apertura fatta alla confessione e sepolcro di d.o Onde Carlo Maderno gli presentò un disegno con colonne à vite; ma il baldacchino non toccava le colonne, ne il lor cornicione: sopragionse la morte di Pauolo, e restò l’op.a sul disegno sin al ponteficato di Urbano VIII. il quale disse al d.o Carlo si contentasse, che il Bernino facesse d.a opera. Il Cavalier Celio, forse non ben informato del tutto, stampò essere inventione di Santiss.o giuditio (cioè del Papa) messo in opera dal d.o Bernino. Vincenzo Berti manoscritto appresso Mons.r Landucci Sacrista di N’ro Sig.re Alessandro VII e p le sue eminenti virtudi dignissimo di grado superiore, ha scritto, esser disegno del Ciampelli cognato del d.o Bernini, il che non sò se sia vero; ma si bene non concorreva con d.o Bernini circa l’abbigliam. ti et altro; e diceva, che li Baldacchini non si sostengono con le colonne, ma con l’hasta, [omitted by D’Onofrio: et che il baldacchino non ricora assieme con la cornice dele colone] et in ogni modo voleva mostrare che lo reggono li Angeli: e soggiongeva che era una chimera.

1380

218

PARTE SECONDA – COLLEGII … DELLA FABRICA DELLO STUDIO ROMANO APPRESSO LA CHIESA DI S. GIACOMO DE SPAGNOLI … In segno della nobiltà della fabrica di questo Studio sono state gettate medaglie d’oro, d’argento, e di metallo d’ordine del Papa, con l’impronta della sua imagine, e nel rovescio la fàccia del teatro con l’alzata della cappella, col suo tempietto e finimento superiore, e delli portici laterali disegnata dal medesimo Cav. Borromino, al quale i virtuosi della sua professione devono restar molt’obligati per haver insegnato di fabricare edifitij reali senza demolire le sue parti nobili; e di nobilitare picciolissimi SEE NEXT

220

siti con fabriche sontuose, magnifiche, e copiose d’ordine e di ornamenti come hà fatto nel primo insegnamento à S. Giovanni in Laterano, et nel 2° in S. Carlo alle quattro fontane; nella cappella della Sapienza; e nell’altra, che hora và facendo al Collegio de Propaganda fide oltre al tempietto sotterraneo nella chiesa di S. Giovanni de fiorentini con l’altare maggiore sopra*.

* “et il tempietto . . . sopra”.

231f

PALAZZI … De Barberini à capo delle case raggiustato con architettura di molti, e spetialmente del Cav. Bernino*. Vi sono pitture di Raffaello, del Correggio, di Andrea del Sarto, di Giulio Romano, del Parmigianino, e d’altri.

* “et altri”.

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282

FONTANE … IN PIAZZA NAVONA …

Il detto Innocenzo X con suo chirografo diede la fontana di mezzo al Cav. Borromino, quale condusse l’acqua, e scoprì il pensiero di condurvi la guglia, et ornarla con un piedestallo à guscio nel quale fossero scarpellati quattro historie di basso rilevo, e con quattro fiumi più celebri del mondo*, e con altri ornamenti al P. Vergilio Spada, qual poi fu data al Cav. Bernino ad instanza della Signora Donna Olimpia Pamfilia, e con suo disegno è stata aggiustata nella forma che si vede.

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* Il Martinelli aveva scritto: « et ornarla con le quattro parti del mondo figurate in quattro fiumi »; tale frase fu cancellata e sostituita a margine con l’altra: « con un piedistallo . . . mondo »; per tale importante modifica tuttavia non si vede affatto la matita del Borromini, il quale certamente la suggerì a voce.

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Bibliography Armellini, Mariano, Le chiese di Roma dal secolo IV al XIX, ed. Carlo Cecchelli, 2 vols, Rome, 1942 Baldinucci, Filippo, Vita di Gian Lorenzo Bernini, ed., Sergio Samek Ludovici, Milan, 1948 _____ The Life of Bernini, translated from the Italian by Catherine Enggass. Foreword by Robert Enggass, University Park, PA, 1966. Bauer, George C., “Bernini and the Baldacchino: On Becoming an Architect in the Seventeenth Century,” Architectura, XXVI, 1996, 144–65 Bernini, Domenico, Vita del Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713 Brauer, Heinrich, and Rudolph Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, 2 vols., Berlin, 1931 Brod, Max, Franz Kafka. A Biography, New York, 1960 Burbaum, Sabine, Die Rivalität zwischen Francesco Borromini und Gianlorenzo Bernini, Oberhausen, 1999 Chantelou, Paul Fréart de, Journal de voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. Milovan Stanić, Paris, 2001 Cornini, Guido, et al., Raffaello nell’appartamento di Giulio II e Leone X, Milan, 1993 Cox-Rearick, Janet, Dynasty and Destiny in Medici Art: Pontormo, Leo X, and the Two Cosimos, Princeton, 1984 D’Onofrio, Cesare, “Un dialogo-recita di Gian Lorenzo Bernini e Lelio Guidiccioni,” Palatino, X, 1966, 127–34 D’Onofrio, Cesare, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1967 D’Onofrio, Cesare, Roma nel Seicento, Florence, 1969 D’Onofrio, Cesare, La papessa Giovanna. Roma e papato tra storia e leggenda, Rome, 1979 Dooley, Brendan, Morandi’s Last Prophecy and the End of Renaissance Politics, Princeton, 2002 Fagiolo, Marcello, “L’attitivà di Borromini da Paolo V a Urbano VIII (I

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lezione),” in Studi sul Borromini. Atti del Convegno promosso dall’Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, I, Rome, 1967, 57–90 Fagiolo dell’Arco, Maurizio, ed., L’Arte dei papi. Come pontefici, achitetti, pittori e scultori costruirono il Vaticano, monumento della cristianità, Milan, 1982 Hess, Jacob, Kunstgeschichtliche Studien zu Renaissance und Barock, 2 vols. Rome, 1967 Hibbard, Howard, Carlo Maderno and Roman Architecture 1580–1630, London, 1971 Lavin, Irving, Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s (Monographs on Archaeology and the Fine Arts sponsored by the Archaeological Institute of America and the College Art Association of America, XVII), New York, l968 _____ Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, 2 vols., New York and London, l980 _____ “Bernini at Saint Peter’s: singularis in singulis, in omnibus unicus,” in William Tronzo, ed., St. Peter’s in the Vatican, Cambridge, etc., 2005, 111–243 _____ “Urbanitas urbana. The Pope, the Artist, and the Genius of the Place,” in Lorenza Mochi Onori, et al., eds., I Barbernini e la cultura europea del seicento, Rome, 2007, 15–30 _____ Bernini a San Pietro : singularis in singulis, in omnibus unicus, Rome, forthcoming Marder, Tod A., Bernini and the Art of Architecture, New York, 1998 McPhee, Sarah, “Bernini’s books,” The Burlington Magazine, CXLII, 2000, p. 442–8. Montagu, Jennifer, Review of Thelen 1967 and Lavin 1968, The Art Quarterly, XXDXIV, 1971, 490–2 Moroni, Gaetano, Dizionario di erudizione storico-ecclesiastica da S. Pietro sino ai nostri giorni, 103 vols., Venice, 1840–61 Pastor, Ludwig von, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols., London, 1923–53 Perry, Marilyn, “‘Candor Illaesvs’: The ‘Impresa’ of Clement VII and other Medici Devices in the Vatican Stanze,” The Burlington Magazine, CXIX/, 1977, 676–87 Pollak, Oskar, Die Kunsttätigkeit unter Urban VIII. (Aus dem Nachlass herausgegeben von Dagobert Frey; unter Mitwirkung von Franz Juraschek; mit Unterstützung des Ministeriums für Schulwesen und

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Volkskultur in Prag und der Deutschen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften und Künste für die Tschechoslowakische Republik), 2 vols., Vienna, 1928–31, II: Die Peterskirche in Rom Quednau, Rolf, Die Sala di Costantino im Vatikanischen Palast : zur Dekoration d. beiden Medici-Päpste Leo X u. Clemens VII., Hildesheim and New York, 1979 Raffaello in Vaticano, exhib. cat., Milan, 1984 Rice, Louise, The Altars and Altarpieces of New St. Peter’s. Outfitting the Basilica, 1621–1666, Cambridge, 1997 Shearman, John K. G., Raphael’s Cartoons in the Collection of Her Majesty the Queen, and the Tapestries for the Sistine Chapel, London, 1972 Soussloff, Catherine M., “Imitatio Buonarroti,” Sixteenth Century Journal, XX, 1989, 581–602 Summers, David, Michelangelo and the Language of Art, Princeton, 1981 Thelen, Heinrich, Francesco Borromini. Die Handzeichnungen, 2 vols., Graz, 1967a _____ Zur Entstehungsgeschichte der Hochaltar-Architektur von St. Peter in Rom, Berlin, 1967b Zampa, Paola, “Arredi architettonici rinascimentali nella basilica costantiniana: La cappella del Sacramento,” Quaderni dell’istituto di storia dell’architettura, XXV–XXX, 1995–7, 167–74

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Bibliography (N.B. References to the volume and chapter numbers of the current publication will be found following the relevant entries. Many of the texts printed here include revisions and corrections of the previously published versions. The entries are in chronological order by year and alphabetical order within the year.) Books Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s (Monographs on Archaeology and the Fine Arts sponsored by the Archaeological Institute of America and the College Art Association of America, XVII), New York, 1968 (I, iv) *Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, Oxford University Press, The Pierpont Morgan Library, 2 vols., New York and London, 1980 (Italian translation: Bernini e l’unità delle arti visive, Rome, l980) Bernin et l’art de la satire sociale (Essais et Conférences, College de France), Paris, 1987 Past-Present. Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatello to Picasso, Berkeley, CA, 1993 (second, enlarged edition in Italian: Passato e presente nella storia dell’arte, Turin, 1994) Picassos Stiere oder die Kunstgeschichte von hinten, Berlin, 1995 (second, enlarged edition, Berlin, 2007) Bernini e il salvatore. La ‘buona morte’ nella Roma del seicento, Rome, 1998 Bernini e l’immagine del principe cristiano ideale, Modena, 1998 Santa Maria del Fiore. Il duomo di Firenze e la Vergine incinta, Rome, 1999 [With Marilyn Aronberg Lavin] Liturgia d’amore. Immagini dal Canto dei Cantici nell’arte di Cimabue, Michelangelo, e Rembrandt, Modena, 1999 (revised edition in English: The Liturgy of Love: Images from the Song of Songs in the Art of Cimabue, Michelangelo, and Rembrandt [The Franklyn D. Murphy Lectures XIV], Lawrence, KA, 2001])

*

Awarded the Premio Daria Borghese, Rome, 1981.

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1386 Caravaggio e La Tour. La luce occulta di Dio, Rome, 2000 [With Marilyn Aronberg Lavin] Rembrandt. La sposa ebrea, Modena, 2006 “Tenemos que dejar a nuestros hijos la ciudad tal como la hemos encontrado” “We must leave the city to our children exactly as we found it”, Barcelona, 2006 Visible Spirit. The Art of Gianlorenzo Bernini, Vol. I, London, 2007 L’arte della storia dell’arte, Milan, 2008 Bernini at St. Peter’s: singularis in singulis, in omnibus unicus, forthcoming (also forthcoming in Italian) Editor [with John Plummer], Studies in Late Medieval and Renaissance Painting in Honor of Millard Meiss, New York, l977 Editor [with seminar students], Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig, Exhibition Catalogue, Princeton, 1981 Editor, Gianlorenzo Bernini. New Aspects of His Art and Thought. A Commemorative Volume, University Park and London, 1985 Editor [with William Tronzo], Studies on Art and Archeology in Honor of Ernst Kitzinger on his Seventy-Fifth Birthday (Dumbarton Oaks Papers, XLI), Washington, D.C., 1987 Editor, World Art. Themes of Unity in Diversity (Acts of the Twenty-Sixth International Congress of the History of Art), 3 vols., University Park and London, 1989 Editor, Erwin Panofsky. Three Essays on Style, Cambridge, MA, and London, 1995 (Italian translation: Erwin Panofsky. Tre saggi sullo stile. Il barocco, il cinema, la Rolls-Royce, Milan, 1996; French translation: Erwin Panofsky. Trois essais sur le style, Mayenne, 1996; Spanish translation: Erwin Panofsky. Sobre el estilo, Barcelona, etc., 2000) Editor, Meaning in the Visual Arts: Views from the Outside. A Centennial in Commemoration of Erwin Panofsky (1892–1968), Princeton, 1995 Editor [with Henry Millon], Creativity: The Sketch in the Arts and Sciences, 23–25 May, 2001, Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, The National Gallery of Art, Washington, forthcoming Articles, Reviews, etc. 1 ‘Cephalus and Procris. Transformations of an Ovidian Myth,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, XVII, l954, 260–87 2 ‘Cephalus and Procris. Underground Transformations,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, XVII, 1954, 366–72 3 ‘Pietro da Cortona and the Frame,’ Art Quarterly, XIX, 1956, 55–9 4 Review, Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, London, 1955, in The Art Bulletin, XXXVIII, 1956, 255–60 (I, i) 5 ‘The Baroque Decorations in San Silvestro in Capite, Rome,’ pubished as ‘Decorazioni barocche in San Silvestro in Capite a Roma,’ Bollettino d’arte,

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XLII, 1957, 44–9 6 ‘An Observation on “Medievalism” in Early Sixteenth Century Style,’ Gazette des Beaux-Arts, L, 1957, 113–8 † 7 ‘The Sources of Donatello’s Pulpits in San Lorenzo. Revival and Freedom of Choice in the Early Renaissance,’ The Art Bulletin, XLI, 1959, 19–38 8 [with Cyril Mango] Review, David Talbot Rice, ed., The Great Palace of the Byzantine Emperors, Edinburgh, 1958, in The Art Bulletin, XLII, 1960, 67–73 9 ‘Abstraction in Modern Painting. A Comparison,’ Metropolitan Museum Bulletin, XIX, 1961, 166–71 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 104–11) 10 ‡‘The House of the Lord, Aspects of the Role of Palace Triclinia in the Architecture of Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages,’ The Art Bulletin, XLIV, 1962, 1–27 11 ‘The Hunting Mosaics of Antioch and Their Sources. A Study of Compositional Principles in the Development of Early Mediaeval Style,’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers, XVII, 1963, 179–286 12 ‘The Mosaic Pavements at Arsameia on the Nymphaios,’ published as ‘Die Mosaikfussböden in Arsameia am Nymphaios,’ in Friedrich Karl Dorner, ed., Arsameia am Nymphaios. Die Ausgrabungen . . . von 1953–56 (Istanbuler Forschungen, XXIII), Berlin, 1963, 191–6 13 ‘Lettres de Parme (1618, 1627–28), et débuts du théâtre baroque,’ in Jean Jacquot, ed., Le Lieu théâtral à la Renaissance, Paris, 1964, 105–58 (reprinted, slightly expanded, in English as ‘On the Unity of the Arts and the Early Baroque Opera House,’ in Barbara Wisch and Susan Scott Munshower, eds., ‘All the world’s a stage . . .’ Art and Pageantry in the Renaissance and Baroque [Papers in Art History from the Pennsylvania State University, VI], University Park, PA, 1990, Part 2, 518–79; also, in abbreviated form, in Perspecta. The Yale Architecture Journal, XXVI, 1990, 1–20) 14 Review, Cesare D’Onofrio, ed., Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Fontana di Trevi. Commedia inedita, Rome, 1963, in The Art Bulletin, XLVI, 1964, 568–73 (reprinted with revisions as ‘Bernini and the Theater,’ in Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, 1980, 146–58; Italian translation in Lavin, Bernini e l’unità delle arti visive, 1980, 158–70) (I, ii) 15 ‘The Campidoglio and Sixteenth-Century Stage Design,’ in Essays in Honor of Walter Friedlaender (Marsyas, Suppl. II), New York, 1965, 114–8 16 Review, Alois Maria Nagler, Theatre Festivals of the Medici 1539–1637, New Haven and London, 1964, in Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, XXIV, 1965, 327–8 17 Review, John Pope-Hennessy, Italian High Renaissance and Baroque Sculpture, † ‡

Awarded the Arthur Kingsley Porter Prize of the College Art Association of America. Awarded the Arthur Kingsley Porter Prize of the College Art Association of America.

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1388 London, 1963, in The Art Bulletin, XLVII, 1965, 378–83 18 ‘Michelangelo’s Saint Peter’s Pietà. The Virgin’s Left Hand and Other New Photographs,’ The Art Bulletin, XLVIII, 1966, 103–4 19 ‘An Ancient Statue of the Empress Helen Reidentified (?),’ The Art Bulletin, XLIX, 1967, 58 20 ‘Bozzetti and Modelli. Notes on Sculptural Procedure from the Early Renaissance through Bernini,’ in Stil und Überlieferung in der Kunst des Abendlandes. Akten des 21. internationalen Kongresses für Kunstgeschichte in Bonn 1964, Berlin, 1967, III, 93–104 (Russian translation in Sergĕi Olegovich Androsov, ed., Pages of History in Western European Sculpture, St. Petersburg, 1993, 62–81) (I, iii) 21 ‘The Ceiling Frescoes in Trier and Illusionism in Constantinian Painting,’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers, XXI, 1967, 97–113 22 §‘Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works,’ The Art Bulletin, L, 1968, 223–48 (I, v) 23 [with the collaboration of Marilyn Aronberg Lavin] ‘Duquesnoy’s Nano di Créqui and Two Busts by Francesco Mochi,’ The Art Bulletin, LII, 1970, 132–49 (excerpt published in Italian in commemorative volume, Francesco Mochi, 1580–1654, Florence, 1981, 17–8) 24 ‘On the Sources and Meaning of the Renaissance Portrait Bust,’ Art Quarterly, XXXIII, 1970, 207–26 (reprinted in Sarah Blake McHam, ed., Looking at Italian Renaissance Sculpture, Cambridge, etc., 1998, 60–78) 25 [with the collaboration of Marilyn Aronberg Lavin] ‘Pietro da Cortona Documents from the Barberini Archive,’ The Burlington Magazine, CXII, 1970, 446–51 26 ‘Bernini’s Death,’ The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86 (partially reprinted in George C. Bauer, Bernini in Perspective, Englewood Cliffs, 1976, 111–26; Italian translation in Le immagini del SS.mo Salvatore. Fabbriche e sculture per l’Ospizio Apostolico dei Poveri Invalidi, exhib. cat., Rome, 1988, 229–57; also in Lavin, Bernini e il salvatore, 1998, 15–54) (I, vi) 27 ‘Afterthoughts on “Bernini’s Death”,’ The Art Bulletin, LV, 1973, 429–36 (Italian translation in Le immagini del SS.mo Salvatore. Fabbriche e sculture per l’Ospizio Apostolico dei Poveri Invalidi, exhib. cat., Rome, 1988, 258–64; also in Lavin, Bernini e il salvatore, 1998, 55–61) (I, vii) 28 Letter to the Editor on a review by Howard Hibbard of Bernini and the Crossing of St. Peter’s, in The Art Bulletin, LV, 1973, 475–6 (I, viii) 29 ‘Divine Inspiration in Caravaggio’s Two St. Matthews,’ The Art Bulletin, LVI, 1974, 59–81 (Italian translation in Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 125–69) 30 ‘Addenda to “Divine Inspiration”,’ The Art Bulletin, LVI, 1974, 590–1 (Italian

§

Awarded the Arthur Kingsley Porter Prize of the College Art Association of America.

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translation in Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 160–9) 31 ‘On Illusion and Allusion in Italian Sixteenth-Century Portrait Busts,’ Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, CXIX, 1975, 353–62 32 Letter to the editor on an article by Juergen Schulz, ‘Michelangelo’s Unfinished Works,’ The Art Bulletin, LVIII, 1976, 148 33 ‘The Sculptor’s “Last Will and Testament”,’ Allen Memorial Art Museum Bulletin. Oberlin College, XXXV, 1977–8, 4–39 34 ‘Calculated Spontaneity. Bernini and the Terracotta Sketch,’ Apollo, CVII, 1978, 398–405 (I, ix) 35 ‘On the Pedestal of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior,’ The Art Bulletin, LX, 1978, 547 (Italian translation in Le immagini del SS.mo Salvatore. Fabbriche e sculture per l’Ospizio Apostolico dei Poveri Invalidi, exhib. cat., Rome, 1988, 265f.; also in Lavin, Bernini e il salvatore, 1998, 63–4) (I, x) 36 ‘A Further Note on the Ancestry of Caravaggio’s First Saint Matthew,’ The Art Bulletin, LXII, 1980, 113–4 (Italian translation in Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 161–9) 37 ‘Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,’ in Lavin, et al., Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini, 1981, 26–54, 336–7, 349–56 (Italian translation in Marcello Fagiolo and Gianfranco Spagnesi, eds., Immagini del barocco. Bernini e la cultura del seicento, Florence, 1982, 93–116; reprinted in History of European Ideas, IV, 1983, 365–420; French translation: Lavin, Bernin et l’art de la satire sociale, 1987; reprint with added introduction published here as listed below, no. 53, ‘High and Low,’ 1990 [I, xi]) 38 ‘When Vatican Art Goes on the Road,’ Letter to the editor, New York Times, Sunday, December 12, 1982, 18E 39 ‘Words in Memory of H. W. Janson,’ CAA [College Art Association] Newsletter, VII, no. 7, 1982, Supplement, 3f. 40 ‘The Art of Art History,’ ARTnews, LXXXII, 1983, 96–101; reprinted in World Futures, XL, 1994, 13–25 (Spanish translation in Juana Gutiérrez Haces, XV Coloquio Internacional de Historia del Arte, Los Discursos Sobre el Arte, Mexico D.F., 1995, 19–34; reprinted in Leonardo, XXIX, 1996, 29–34; Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 8–15) 41 ‘Bernini’s Memorial Plaque for Carlo Barberini,’ Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, XLII, no. 1, 1983, 6–10 (I, xii) 42 ‘Bernini’s Baldachin: Considering a Reconsideration,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XXI, 1984, 405–14 (I, xiii) 43 ‘Bernini’s Bust of Cardinal Montalto,’ Idea, III, 1984, 87–95; also published in The Burlington Magazine, CXXVII, 1985, 32–8 (I, xiv) 44 ‘Bernini’s Cosmic Eagle,’ in Lavin, ed., Gianlorenzo Bernini, 1985, 209–14 (I, xv) 45 ‘Iconography,’ in Laura Corti and Marilyn Schmitt, eds., Automatic Processing of Art History Data and Documents. Pisa. Scuola Normale Superiore. September

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46 47

48

49

50

51

52 53

54

55

24–27, 1984. Proceedings, Florence, 1985, 321–31 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 150–5) ‘Obituary. Howard Hibbard 1928–84,’ Burlington Magazine, CXXVII, 1985, 305 ‘Le Bernin et son Image du Roi-Soleil,’ ‘Il se rendit en Italie.’ Etudes offertes à André Chastel, Rome, 1987, 441–78 (Italian translation in Marcello Fagiolo and Maria Luisa Madonna, eds., Il barocco romano e l’Europa, Rome, 1992, 3–58; revised and expanded versions in Lavin, Past-Present, 1993, 139–202, and Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 223–305) (I, xvi) ‘Bernini and Antiquity — The Baroque Paradox. A Poetical View,’ in Herbert Beck and Sabine Schulze, eds., Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, Berlin, 1989, 9–36 (II, xvii) ‘Donatello’s Kanzeln in San Lorenzo und das Wiederaufleben frühchristlicher Gebräuche: ein Nachwort,’ in Donatello — Studien (Italienische Forschungen, Ser. 3, XVI), Munich, 1989, 155–69 (revised and expanded versions in Lavin, Past-Present, 1993, 1–28, and Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 3–44) Group discussion published in The Relationship between Art and Architecture. Summary of a Workshop sponsored by the Frederick R. Weisman Art Foundation. 21–22 January, 1989, Santa Monica, CA, 1990 ‘David’s Sling and Michelangelo’s Bow: a Sign of Freedom,’ in L’Art et les révolutions. Conférences plénières. XXVIIe congrès international d’histoire de l’art, Strasbourg, 1990, 105–46 (reprinted in Matthias Winner, ed., Der Künstler über sich in seinem Werk. Internationales Symposium der Bibliotheca Hertziana Rom 1989, Weinheim, 1992, 161–90; revised and expanded versions in Lavin, Past-Present, 1993, 29–62, Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 45–83, and in William E. Wallace, ed., Michelangelo. Selected Scholarship in English, 5 vols., New York and London, 1995, I, 363–402) ‘A Fragment,’ in Paul Suttman. The Master-pieces. 1981–1991, New York, 1991, 3 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 142–3) ‘High and Low Before their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,’ in Kirk Varnedoe and Adam Gopnik, eds., Modern Art and Popular Culture. Readings in High & Low, New York, 1990, 18–50 (I, xi) ‘ “Bologna è una grand intrecciatura di eresie”: il Nettuno di Giambologna al crocevia,’ in Giovanna Perini, ed., Il luogo ed il ruolo della città di Bologna tra Europa continentale e mediterranea. Atti del colloquio C.I.H.A. 1990, Bologna, 1992, 7–30 (revised and expanded versions in Lavin, Past-Present, 1993, 63–83, and Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 93–124) ‘Fischer von Erlach, Tiepolo, and the Unity of the Visual Arts,’ in Henry A. Millon and Susan Scott Munshower, eds., An Architectural Progress in the Renaissance and Baroque. Sojourns In and Out of Italy. Essays in Architectural History Presented to Hellmut Hager on his Sixty-Sixth Birthday (Papers in Art

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58

59

60

61

62

63

64

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History from the Pennsylvania State University, VIII), University Park, PA, 1992, Part 2, 498–525 (German translation in Barock. Regional-International. Kunsthistorisches Jahrbuch Graz, XXVI, Graz, 1993, 251–74) ‘Iconography as a Humanistic Discipline (Iconography at the Crossroads),’ in Brendan Cassidy, ed., Iconography at the Crossroads. Papers from the Colloquium Sponsored by the Index of Christian Art, Princeton University, 23–24 March, 1990, Princeton, 1992, 33–42 (German translation in Andreas Beyer, ed., Die Lesbarkeit der Kunst. Zur Geistes-Gegenwart der Ikonologie, Berlin, 1992, 10–22; Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 156–67) ‘Memory and the Sense of Self. On the Role of Memory in Psychological Theory from Antiquity to Giambattista Vico,’ published as ‘Memoria e senso di sé. Sul ruolo della memoria nella teoria della psicologia dall’antichità a Giambattista Vico,’ in Lina Bolzoni and Pietro Corsi, eds., La cultura della memoria, Bologna, 1992, 291–317 ‘Panofsky’s History of Art,’ in From the Past to the Future through the Present. Conversations with Historians at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, NJ, 1992, 21–5 (reprinted in Lavin, ed., Meaning in the Visual Arts, 1995, 3–8) ‘Bernini’s Portraits of No-Body,’ in Augusto Gentili, et al., eds., Il ritratto e la memoria. Materiali 3, Rome, 1993, 161–94 (revised and expanded versions in Lavin, Past-Present, 1993, 101–38, and Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 193–232) (II, xviii) ‘Panofsky’s Humor,’ in Erwin Panofsky, Die ideologischen Vorläufer des RollsRoyce Kühlers & Stil und Medium im Film. Mit Beiträgen von Irving Lavin und William S. Heckscher, Frankfurt–New York, 1993, 9–15 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 168–83) ‘Picasso’s Bull(s): Art History in Reverse,’ Art in America, LXXXI, 1993, 76–93, 121–3 (revised and expanded versions in Lavin, Past-Present, 1993, 203–62; and Lavin, Passato e presente, 1994, 325–406; German translation: Picassos Stiere, 1997; Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 62–100) ‘Pisanello and the Invention of the Renaissance Medal,’ in Joachim Poeschke, ed., Italienische Frührenaissance und nordeuropäisches Mittelalter. Kunst der frühen Neuzeit im europäischen Zusammenhang, Munich, 1993, 67–84 ‘Caravaggio rivoluzionario o l’impossibilità di vedere,’ Quadri & Sculture, III, No. 15, July–August 1995, 25–9 (Italian translation of expanded version in Lavin, Caravaggio e La Tour, 2000, 5–34; expanded English version: ‘Caravaggio Revolutionary or the Impossibility of Seeing,’ in Klaus Bergdolt and Giorgio Bonsanti, eds., Opere e giorni. Studi su mille anni di arte europea dedicati a Max Seidel, Venice, 2001, 625–44; French translation in Paulette Choné, et al., L’Âge d’or du nocturne, Paris, 2001, 139–82, 236–41) ‘Erwin Panofsky, Jan van Eyck, Philip Pearlstein,’ in Lavin, Meaning in the Visual Arts, 1995, x–xiii (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte,

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1392 2008, 184–7) 65 Introduction to Lavin, ed., Erwin Panofsky. Three Essays on Style, 1995, 1–14 (Italian translation in Lavin, ed., Erwin Panofsky. Tre saggi sullo stile, 1996, 9–19; French translation in Lavin, ed., Erwin Panofsky. Trois essais sur le style, 1996, 11–25; Spanish translation in Lavin, ed., Erwin Panofsky. Sobre el estilo, 2000, 11–33) 66 ‘Why Baroque,’ in Lisa G. Corrin, ed., Going for Baroque. 18 Contemporary Artists Fascinated with the Baroque and Rococo, Baltimore, 1995, 5–8 (excerpt from revised and expanded version: ‘Decantarse por el Barroco [Frank Gehry y los paños plegados postmodernos]: Going for Baroque [Frank Gehry and the Post-Modern Drapery Fold],’ El Croquis, No. 117, 2003, 40–7; revised and expanded version: ‘Going for Baroque: Observations on the post-modern fold,’ in Sebastian Schütze ed., Estetica barocca. Atti del convegno internationale tenutosi a Roma dal 6 al 9 marzo 2002, Rome, 2004, 423–52; Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 16–35) 67 ‘The Crisis of “Art History”,’ The Art Bulletin, LXXVIII, 1996, 13–15 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 200–5) 68 ‘The Problem of the Choir of Florence Cathedral,’ in Sotto il cielo della cupola. Il coro di Santa Maria del Fiore dal rinascimento al 2000, Milan, 1997, 142–50 (Italian translation of revised and expanded English version in Timothy Verdon and Annalisa Innocenti, eds. La cattedrale come spazio sacro. Saggi sul duomo di Firenze. Atti del VII centenario del Duomo di Firenze, II, 2, Florence, 2001, 397–420) 69 ‘The Roma Alessandrina of Richard Krautheimer,’ in In Memoriam Richard Krautheimer, Rome, 1997, 107–17 (II, xix) 70 ‘Bernini’s Bust of the Medusa: An Awful Pun,’ in Sible De Blaauw, et al., eds., Docere delectare movere. Affetti, devozione e retorica nel linguaggio artistico del primo barocco romano, Rome, 1998, 155–74 (enlarged version published in Italian and English, in Elena Bianca di Gioia, ed., La Medusa di Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Studi e restauri, Rome, 2007, 57–130) (II, xxi) 71 ‘Bernini e l’immagine del principe cristiano ideale,’ in Lavin, Bernini e l’immagine, 1998, 34–52 (English version: ‘Bernini’s Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch,’ in John W. O’Malley, et al., eds., The Jesuits. Cultures, the Sciences, and the Arts. 1540–1773, Toronto, etc., 1999, 442–79; Spanish translation in Figuras e imágenes del barroco. Estudios sobre el barroco español y sobre la obra de Alonso Cano, Madrid, 1999, 27–44) (II, xxiii) 72 ‘Ex Uno Lapide: The Renaissance Sculptor’s Tour de Force,’ in Matthias Winner, et al., eds., Il cortile delle statue. Der Statuenhof des Belvedere im Vatikan, Mainz, 1998, 191–210 73 ‘Il probleme dei senzatetto nella Roma del Seicento,’ in Lavin, Bernini e il salvatore, 1998, 81–94 (English version: ‘Bernini’s Bust of the Savior and the Problem of the Homeless in Seventeenth-Century Rome,’ Italian Quarterly,

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XXXVII, 2000, 209–51) (II, xxii) 74 ‘“Impresa quasi impossibile”: The Making of Bernini’s Bust of Francesco I d’Este,’ published as ‘Il busto di Francesco I d’Este di Bernini. “Impresa quasi impossibile”,’ in Jadranka Bentini, Sovrane passioni. Le raccolte d’arte della Ducale Galleria Estense, exhib. cat., Milan, 1998, 86–99 (also in Lavin, Bernini e l’immagine, 1998, 15–33) (II, xx) 75 ‘Bernini’s Bumbling Barberini Bees,’ in Joseph Imorde, et al., eds., Barocke Inszenierung, Zurich, 1999, 50–71 (II, xxiv) 76 ‘The Body Artist,’ in Joanna Frueh, et al., eds., Picturing the Modern Amazon, New York, 1999, 7–8 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 144–147) 77 ‘La cristologia di Santa Maria del Fiore’, in Lavin, Santa Maria del Fiore, 1999, 35–57 (English version: ‘Santa Maria del Fiore: Image of the Pregnant Madonna. The Christology of Florence Cathedral,’ in Timothy Verdon and Annalisa Innocenti, eds., La cattedrale e la città. Saggi sul duomo di Firenze [Atti del VII centenario del Duomo di Firenze, I, 2], Florence, 2001, 669–92 78 ‘Michelangelo: La Madonna Medici, figlio e sposo,’ in Lavin [with Marilyn Aronberg Lavin], Liturgia d’amore, 1999, 141–213 (revised English version: ‘Michelangelo’s Medici Madonna: Spouse and Son,’ in Lavin [with Marilyn Aronberg Lavin], The Liturgy of Love, 2001, 49–83) 79 Remarks in Celebration of the Centenary of the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz, in Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz. Einhundertjähriges Jubiläum. 1897–1997. Jahresbericht, Florence, 1999, 8–9 80 [With Marilyn Aronberg Lavin] ‘Rembrandt: “La sposa ebrea”, sorella e moglie,’ in Lavin [with Marilyn Aronberg Lavin] Liturgia d’amore, 1999, 215–44 (revised English version: ‘Rembrandt’s Jewish Bride: Sister and spouse,’ in Lavin [with Marilyn Aronberg Lavin], The Liturgy of Love, 2001, 85–104; reprinted in Karl Möseneder and Gosbert Schüssler, eds. Bedeutung in den Bildern. Festschrift für Jörg Traeger zum 60. Geburtstag, Regensburg, 2002, 147–86) 81 ‘Bernini in San Pietro,’ in Antonio Pinelli, ed., La basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano, 4 vols., Modena, 2000, Saggi, 177–236 (revised and expanded English version: ‘Bernini at St. Peter’s: singularis in singulis, in omnibus unicus,’ in William Tronzo, ed., St. Peter’s in the Vatican, Cambridge, etc., 2005, 111–243; new, further expanded editions forthcoming in English and Italian) 82 ‘Georges de La Tour. The Tears of St. Peter and the “Occult” Light of Penitence,’ in Max Seidel, ed., L’Europa e l’arte italiana, Venice, 2000, 352–75 (French translation in Paulette Choné, et al., L’Âge d’or du nocturne, Paris, 2001, 183–228, 241–8; Italian translation in Lavin, Caravaggio e La Tour, 2000, 39–70) 83 ‘Storm King: The Genius of the Place,’ in Earth, Sky, and Sculpture. Storm King Art Center, Mountainville, NY., 2000, 52–64 (Italian translation in Lavin,

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1394 L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 126–31) 84 ‘Bernini-Bozzetti: One More, One Less. A Berninesque Sculptor in MidEighteenth Century France,’ in Hannah Baader, et al., eds., Ars et scriptura. Festschrift für Rudolf Preimesberger zum 65. Geburtstag, Berlin, 2001, 143–56 (reprinted in Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Atti dei convegni lincei 170. Convegno internazionale La cultura letteraria italiana e l’identità europea [Roma, 6–8 aprile 2000], Rome, 2001, 245–84) (II, xxv) 85 ‘ ‘‘Bozzetto Style”: The Renaissance Sculptor’s Handiwork,’ in Lavin and Millon, eds., Creativity, 2001, forthcoming (II, xxix) 86 ‘Théodore Aubanel’s Les Filles d’Avignon and Picasso’s “Sum of Destructions”,’ published as ‘Les filles d’avignon. Picassos schöpferische Summe von Zerstörungen,’ (in German and English) in Steingrim Laursen and Ostrud Westheider, eds., Picasso und die Mythen, exhib. cat., Hamburg, 2002, 42–55 (revised and enlarged French version: ‘Les filles d’Avignon de Théodore Aubanel et la “somme de destructions” de Picasso,’ in Picasso Cubiste, exhib. cat., Paris, 2007, 55–69; English edition: Cubist Picassso, Paris, 2007, 55–69; Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 42–61) 87 ‘The Angel and the City. Baccio Bandinelli’s Project for the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome,’ in Peta Motture, ed., Large Bronzes in the Renaissance (National Gallery of Art. Studies in the History of Art 64), Washington, 2003, 308–29 88 Letter to the Editor. ‘Michelangelo’s Florentine Pietà,’ The Art Bulletin, LXXXV, 2003, 813 89 ‘Bernini’s Death: Visions of Redemption,’ published as ‘La mort de Bernin: visions de rédemption,’ in Alain Tapié, ed., Baroque vision jésuite. De Tintoret à Rubens, exhib. cat., Paris, 2003, 105–19 (II, xxvi) 90 ‘The Story of O from Giotto to Einstein (Excerpt*),’ Bildwelten des Wissens. Kunsthistorisches Jahrbuch für Bildkritik, I, 2, 2003, 37–43 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 36–41) 91 ‘Bernini giovane,’ in Olivier Bonfait, et al., eds., Bernini dai Borghese ai Barberini. La cultura a Roma intorno agli anni venti (Atti del convegno, Rome, February 17–19, 1999, Rome, 2004, 134–48 (revised version in English: ‘The Young Bernini,’ in Studi sul Barocco romano. Scritti in onore di Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco, Milan, 2004, 39–56) (II, xxviii) 92 ‘The Rome of Alexander VII. Bernini and the Reverse of the Medal,’ in Fernando Checa Cremades, Arte barroco e ideal clásico. Aspectos del arte cortesano de la segunda mitad del siglo XVII, Madrid, 2004, 131–41 (Spanish translation in Francisco Jarauta, ed., De la ciudad Antigua a la cosmopólis, Santander, 2007, 71–95) (II, xxvii) 93 ‘Reason and Unreason at Olynthus,’ in Hélène Morlier, ed., La mosaïque grécoromaine, 9, 2 vols., Rome, 2005, II, 933–40 94 ‘The Regal Gift. Bernini and his Portraits of Royal Subjects,’ published as ‘Il dono regale. Bernini e i suoi ritratti di sovrani,’ Lettere italiane, LVII, 2006,

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1395

535–57 (II, xxx) 95 ‘Il Volto Santo di Claude Mellan : ostendatque etiam quae occultet,’ Christoph L. Frommel and Gerhard Wolf, eds., L’immagine di Cristo. Dall’acheropita alla mano d’artista (dal tardo medioevo all’età barocca), Studi e testi 432, Vatican City, 2006, 449–91 (French translation in Christian Mouchel and Colette Nativel, eds., République des Lettres, République des Arts. Mélanges offerts à Marc Fumaroli, de l’Académie Française, Geneva, 2008, 385–414) 96 ‘Michelangelo, Moses and the “Warrior Pope”,’ published as ‘Michelangelo Mosè e il “papa guerriero”,’ in Aldo Galli, et al., eds., Il ritratto nell’Europa del Cinquecento. Arte letteratura società, convegno internazionale di studi, (Florence, Istituto Nazionale di Studi sul rinascimento, 7–9 novembre 2002), Florence, 2007, 199–215 97 ‘“We must leave the city to our children exactly as we found it”,’ in Philine Helas et al., eds., Bild/Geschichte. Festschrift für Horst Bredekamp, Berlin, 2007, 491–8 (Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 188–95; and in Storia di artisti. Storie di libri. L’editore che inseguiva la Bellezza. Scritti in onore di Franco Cosimo Panini, Modena and Rome, 2008, 241–7) 98 ‘Urbanitas urbana. The Pope, the Artist, and the Genius of the Place,’ in Lorenza Mochi Onori, et al., eds., I Barberini e la cultura europea del seicento, Rome, 2007, 15–30 (published here in a revised and expanded version) (II, xxxi) 99 ‘Modern Art and Kirk Varnedoe’s Books,’ Institute for Advanced Study Newsletter, Winter, 2007, 9 100 ‘Art History “Italian Style”: in Honor of Adolfo Venturi,’ published as ‘Storia dell’arte “all’italiana”,’ in Mario D’Onofrio, ed., Adolfo Venturi e la Storia dell’arte oggi, Modena, 2008, 415–7 (reprinted in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 196–9) 101 ‘The Baldacchino. Borromini vs Bernini: Did Borromini Forget Himself?,’ in Georg Satzinger and Sebastian Schütze, eds., St. Peter in Rom 1506–2006, Akten der internationalen Tagung 22.–25.02.2006 in Bonn, Munich, 2008, 261–86 (II, xxxii) 102 ‘Frank Stella talks too much,’ published as ‘Frank Stella Parla Troppo,’ in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 112–5 103 ‘Frank Stella: Ut Pictura Poesis,’ published in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 116–25 104 ‘Marc Fumaroli’s Rhetoric of Art History,’ address delivered at the presentation of the volume République des Lettres, République des Arts. Mélanges offerts à Marc Fumaroli, de l’Académie Française, edited by Christian Mouchel and Colette Nativel, Geneva, 2008, Fondation Singer-Polignac, Paris, October 10, 2008 105 ‘WHIMSY: An Allegory of Urbane Urban Patronage. In Celebration of Phyllis Lambert’s Eightieth Birthday, January 24, 1927’ (revised and expanded version of an essay first presented at a Symposium in Honor of Phyllis Lambert, at the

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1396 Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, October 20, 2007, organized by Sylvia Lavin, unpublished; Italian translation in Lavin, L’arte della storia dell’arte, 2008, 132–41)

Index Abbatini, Guidobaldo Urban VIII II, 1312 Fig. 35 Academies I, 299; II, 1021, 1045 Academy, French II, 1020, 1044, 1127 Acheropita II, 876 Adams, Robert Monument to Roger Townsend II, 1020 Adey, Thomas Charles I of England, bust of II, 781, 783 Fig. 12, 1236, 1249 Fig. 2 Agresti, Livio I, 125 Aimo, Domenico Memorial statue of Leo X II, 1301, 1321 Fig. 48 Albani, Giovanni Girolamo I, 271 see: Valsoldo, Giovanni da Alberti, Cherubino Triumph of the Cross I, 315, 319 Fig. 7 Urban VIII, engraving II, 961, 979 Fig. 19 Alberti, Leone Battista Treatise on Sculpture I, 47, 544 Alberti, Cherubino Urban VIII, engraving II, 1392, 1325 Fig. 55 Albertini, Bettino I, 492 Albertoni, Ludovica see: Bernini: works

Alciati, Andrea Emblem: Clemency of the prince II, 984 Fig. 26, 985 Fig. 27, 1001, 1007 Emblem: Malediction. Tomb of Archilochus, engraving II, 994 Fig. 43, 1006–1007, 1331 Aldobrandini family see also, : Cordier, Nicolò; Stockholm Nationalmuseum Aldobrandini, Gian Francesco I, 470, 475 Memorial plaque to I, 472 Fig. 3 Aldobrandini, Ippolito see: Clement VIII Aleandro, Girolamo II, 1294 Alexander VII I, 380, 604; II, 855, 877, 879, 888, 893, 950, 1042 baroque style as political propaganda II, 1090 social responsibility in re-building program II, 1093–1096, 1098–1099 map showing Alexander’s street corrections, piazzas and buildings II, 1088, 1105 Fig. 2 Alexander the Great I, 340, 566 Fig. 40, 585; II, 1003, 1261 the dying Alexander, bust I, 564 Fig 38; II, 676 Fig. 21

1398 colossal head of Alexander-Helios I, 565 Fig. 39 imagery in the bust of Louis XIV I, 560–561, 572–574 see also : Romano, Giulio Alferano, Tiberio I, 101, 159 Alfonso II of Ferrara, see: d’Este, Alfonso II Algardi, Alessandro I, 469, 500; II, 774, 775, 777, 1141, 1143, 1240–1243 Attila relief II, 1347 Lelio Frangipane, bust of II, 925 Fig. 4 Alessandro Damasceni-Peretti Montalto I, 502 Fig. 5 Urbano Mellini, bust of II, 1240, 1255 Fig. 9 Allacci, Leone II, 1290 “Almost impossible” II, 757–788, 1248 Alonso, Fernandez II, 724 Altieri, Emilio Bonaventura see: Clement X Amiciis, Augusto Roco de II, 1098 Amsterdam. Rijksmuseum Laughing Faun II, 711 Fig. 40 Andreini, Giovanni Battista I, 20, 21, 27 The two comedies in comedy I, 21 Anecdotes, about Bernini, I, 16, 444 Anime Beata and Dannata busts II, 681–683, 694–695, 704–705, 714–719, 722–730,742–747 Antichi, Prospero Tomb of Gregory XIII, engraving II, 962–963, 981 Fig. 21, 1000 Antique sculptures Ancient relief linking Apollo and Hercules I, 589 Fig. 60 Ancient statue restored as St. Helen

I, 155 Fig. 76 Apollo Belvedere II, 653, 655 Fig. 8, 658 Arch of Constantine I, 403 Fig 6 archaic Kouros I, 40 Fig.7; II, 1179 Fig. 5, 1184 archaic Gorgoneion II, 802, 830 Figs. 32, 33 Arion-satyr riding on a dolphin II, 1142–1143, 1159 Fig. 20 colossal head of Alexander-Helios I, 565 Fig. 39 Dionysiac group, detail II, 1169 Fig.33 Dionysius and Satyr I, 40 Fig. 5; II, 1178 Fig. 3, 1184 the dying Alexander, bust I, 564 Fig. 38; II 676 Fig. 21 Emperor Hadrian II, 802, 831 Fig. 34, 832 Fig. 35 Epidaurus, front view of an altar I, 401 Fig. 4 Epidaurus, side view of an altar from I, 402, Figs. 5, 6 Eros and Pan vintaging II, 1168 Fig. 32, 1172 Fontana del Moro II, 790, 793, 816 Fig. 11 Helios denarius of Vespasian I, 564 Fig. 37 Hercules Killing the Serpents I, 214 Fig. 20 Laocoön II, 790, 792, 793, 807 Fig. 1 Laocoön, detail II, 711 Fig. 39, 714, 715 Laocoön, heads of sons II, 808 Figs. 2, 3 Laughing Faun II, 711 Fig. 40 Medusa plate II, 805, 834 Fig. 38 Medusa Rondanini II, 824 Fig. 24

INDEX

Medusa shield II, 834 Fig. 39 Menelaus and Patroclus II, 658, 661 Fig. 13; II 809 Fig. 4 Pasquino I, 440 Fig. 33; II, 790– 793, 809 Fig. 3 Roman portrait bust I, 570 Fig. 44 Roman portrait I, 193 Fig. 4; II, 1133, 1149 Fig. 7 Roman patrician with ancestor portraits II, 705, 709 Fig. 36 Roman sarcophagus with portrait busts II, 920, 926 Fig. 5 statuette of a youth, unfinished I, 40 Fig. 6; II, 1179 Fig. 4 Torso Belvedere II, 790, 810 Fig. 5 see also: classical tradition Antioch I, 146 Megolapsychia, mosaic II, 696 Fig. 18 Antiphilos I, 454 Antoninus Pius, Emperor I, 546, 547, 559 Antwerp I, 138 Antwerp. Rubenshuis Studio of Cornelis van der Geest, detail see: Haecht, Willem van II, 705, 708 Fig. 35 Apelles II, 1261 Apollo ancient relief linking Apollo and Hercules I, 589 Fig. 60 and imagery of Louvre palace I, 532–533, 547 see also: Antique statues; Bernini: works; Le Brun, Charles Apollodorus II, 806 Apollonj Ghetti, Bruno Maria Esplorazioni sotto la confessione di San Pietro in Vaticano I, 73 Fig. 10, 74 Fig. 11

1399 Apotheosis I, 131 Fig. 62, 63, 138, 142 Fig. 64, 160, 333, 338, 573, 619; II, 785, 798, 802, 828 Fig. 30, 921, 944, 946, 1302, 1324 Fig. 53 Aquinas, Thomas II, 941 Archconfraternity of the Pietà I, 186 see: Rome. Churches: S. Giovanni dei Fiorentini Archconfraternity of the SS. Salvatore ad Sancta Sanctorum II, 1124 Archilochus II, 1006–1007 Arcimboldo I, 454 Aretino, Pietro I, 442; II, 791 Argan, Giulio Carlo Rhetoric and Baroque Art II, 645 Ariccia. S. Maria Assunta see: Bernini; works I, 5; II, 1267, 1317 Fig. 42 Aristotle II, 667, 679, 805, 957 Nicomachean Ethics II, 942 Poetics II, 667, 668, 675 Politics II, 668, 942 Rhetoric II, 645,667 Ars Moriendi II, 683, 723, 850, 852–853, 881, 886, 1046, 1049, 1050, 1078 and imagery of Sangue di Cristo I, 300–305 revival in works of Francesco Marchese I, 306–311,312– 315, 328, 342, 344, 453 see also: Society of Jesus Artifice II, 665, 718, 795, 1011, 1090, 1287 Artist as “culture hero” II, 759, 1237 Ashworth, William I, 509, 510 Athens Museum of the Agora statuette of a youth, unfinished I, 40 Fig. 6; 1179 Fig. 4

1400 National Archaeological Museum archaic Kouros I, 40 Fig.7; II, 1179 Fig. 5 Dionysius and Satyr I, 40 Fig. 5; II, 1178 Fig. 3 Front view of an altar from Epidaurus I, 401 Fig. 4 Side view of an altar from Epidaurus I, 402, Figs. 5, 6 Atlas I, 619 Attiret, Claude II, 1020 Aubert, Marcel II, 1127 Augustus, Emperor I, 532; II, 270, 1296 Mausoleum of II 880 Azzolini, Giovanni Bernardino II, 704–705, 730 Wax reliefs of the Four Last Things, checklist II, 730, 742, Azzolino, Decio I, 293–294, 298, 299 Baciccio see: Gaulli, Giovanni Battista Baglione, Giovanni I, 479; II, 1131, 1141, 1144 Allegory of Charity and Justice II, 956, 960, 965 Fig. 2 Baker, Thomas see: Bernini: works II, 771 baldachin see: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing Baldinucci, Filippo Vita I, 1, 11, 26, 120, 123, 175, 202–204, 229, 330, 406, 456; II, 724, 759, 770, 790, 841–842, 1046–1048, 1074,1127, 1132–1133, 1237– 1262, 1295, 1339, 1344, 1347

description of Bernini’s death I, 287–289, 292–294, 345–349 Bandinelli, Baccio Hercules and Cacus II, 798 Pietà I, 343 Bannister, Turpin C. I, 182 Barbadori, Antonio lost Bernini bust of I, 248 Barbadori Camilla see: Bernini: works Barberini, Antonio see: Fedeli, Tomaso Barberini, Carlo Monuments to I, 469–70, 475– 479 passim. see also: Bernini works and workshop Barberini coat of arms I, 174; II, 1000, 1006, 1011, 1269, 1273 Fig. 3 devices: laurel, bees, sun, I, 102; II, 1000–1012; Hic Domus II, 998 Fig. 47, 1010–1011, 1270–1271, 1274 Fig. 5; tafani (horseflies) II, 1269– 1270 Tafani da Barberino (family name), Horseflies arranged as arms of II, 1269, 1273 Fig. 3, 1274 Fig. 4 theatrical productions I, 17, 19, 20 Barberini, Francesco I, 99, 216; II, 679, 839, 840, 1270, 1284 see also: Bernini: works Barberini, Maffeo see: Urban VIII Barberino Val d’Elsa II, 1269 Bardi, Giovanni II, 662 Bardi, Piero II, 666 Bardini, Stefano II, 1145

INDEX

Barocci, Federico Last Supper I, 342 Barozzi, Pietro De modo bene moriendi I, 301– 303 Bartoli, Daniele I, 511 see also: Society of Jesus Bartoli, Papirio The Lateran Palace as hospice for the poor, engraved frontispiece II, 903 Fig. 38 Project for a choir in the crossing of St. Peter’s I, 74 Fig. 12, 174, 177 Project for Piazza San Pietro, engraving II, 1109 Fig. 6 Proposal for the High Altar of St. Peter’s II, 1291, 1303 Fig. 21 Basel. Universitas-Bibliothek Erasmus, manuscript page I, 426 Fig. 20 Bassano Museo Civico St. Longinus, drawing after Bernini I, 156 Fig. 78, 161 Study for the equestrian monument to Louis XIV, drawing I, 579 Fig. 50; II, 933 Fig. 15 Bassano, Romano Resurrected Christ see: Michelangelo II, 1212 Fig. 18 Bauer, George II, 1337, 1374–1375 Baur, Johannes View of the Villa Borghese I, 551 Fig. 23 Bee imagery: Urban VIII tomb of II, 973 Fig. 11, 986 Fig. 30, 991 Figs. 36, 37, 992 Figs. 38, 39, 993 Fig. 41, 991 Figs. 36, 37, 999 Fig. 48, 1006, 1000–1012, 1269–1271, 1284, 1331

1401 Bellarmino, Roberto De arte bene moriendi I, 302– 304, 313, 344; II, 942 see also: Bernini: works Belloni, Gino II, 1142 Beltrami, Giuseppe I, 177 Bembo, Pietro II, 791 Benedict XIV II, 1044 Bentvueghel I, 423 Berendsen, Olga I, 183 Berlin Bode Museum Bust of Alessandro Damasceni-Peretti Montalto I, 500, 502 Fig. 5 see: Algardi, Alessandro Staatliche Museen Boy bitten by a ‘serpe’ see: Bernini: works II, 1158 Figs. 18, 19 Satyr with a panther see: Bernini, Pietro II, 1164, Fig. 26 Staatliche Museen Preussischer Kulturbesitz Artists’ tavern in Rome see: Laer, Pieter van I, 438 Fig. 31 Bernard, Thomas Medal of François de la çfoucauld I, 608 Fig. 22, 622 Berni, Francesco II, 791 Bernini, Beatrice, sister of Gianlorenzo Bernini I, 305 Bernini, Domenico , son of Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini I, 11, 26, 202– 203, 229, 287, 331, 366, 407, 435, 456; II, 724, 759, 770, 790, 806, 839, 841–842, 1127, 1128, 1132–1133, 1344, 1047, 1048, 1081,1237,1262

1402 description of Bernini’s death I, 295–299, 349–353 report on the Baraccia fountain II, 1287–1288 Bernini, Gianlorenzo and attribution of early work I, 186–190, 194–205, 216– 219, 226–233, 244–251, 260–286 and death of I, 287–289, 292– 315, 328–356, 364–366, 369–370; II, 1048–1056, 1070–1083 and compensation for work II, 1241, 1246–1248, 1261– 1262 gift as noble exchange II, 1234–1263 jewels II, 781, 1235, 1248, 1261 portraiture difficulty of portraiture from painted prototype/ model II, 1235, 1240 difficulty of portraiture from unseen model II, 1236–1237, 1240, 1243 difficulty of portraiture in sculpture II, 1238, 1241–1242, 1244–1245 preparatory work, method and style I, 376–380, 389–392; II, 1196–1204 see also: bozzetti; creative process and the theater I, 15–32, 434– 435, 442–443, 631–632; II, 659, 662–663, 667–669, 674, 680, 682, 751 commedia dell’arte I, 20, 25–27, 435, 442 illusion I, 22, 26–27, 30, 631; II, 669, 674 immediacy I, 4, 24, 27, 61,

149 play-within-a-play I, 22, 26; II, 674 stage design I, 19, 24; II, 665, 752, 1090 unity I, 15, 27, 29, 31 theatrical works I, 15–32, 435, 442–443; II, 674 Chi Sofra Speri I, 18 Fiera di Farfa I, 18 L’innocenza di fesa I, 18 Innundation of the Tiber I, 21; II, 669 Of Two Theaters II, 674 Sant’Alessio I, 17, 23 Fig. 1; II, 678 Fig. 26, 679 Sea-shore II, 669 The Fair I, 22; II, 669 Bernini presenting the design for the Reliquary Niches to Urban VIII I, 141, 144 Figs. 67, 68; II, 1367 Fig. 26, 1374 and urban planning of Rome II, 748–756 passim. see also: Alexander VII, Bernini: works and workshop; Krautheimer, Richard; Leone, Ottavio Bernini, Gianlorenzo: works Aeneas and Anchises I, 3, 8; II, 790, 812 Fig. 7, 1144 see also: Flight from Troy Group Albertoni, Ludovica, tomb of I, 4, 9, 448 Fig. 37, 453 copy after Bernini II, 1031 Fig.17 Alexander VII, tomb of I, 6, 452 Amalthean goat dating, sources and attribution I, 204–205, 210 Fig. 13, 211 Fig. 15, 218– 219, 226–228; II, 1151 Fig.

INDEX

10, 1135, 1138–1139 Angel bearing laurel wreaths, crown of the Baldacchino I, 1373 Fig. 35, 1376 Angel with the Crown of Thorns II, 1035 Fig. 35 Angel with the Crown of Thorns, drawing II, 1199, 1224 Fig. 35 Angel with the Inscription I, 11–13, 55 Fig. 20, 56 Figs. 20, 21, 57 Fig. 23, 61, 382 Fig. 4, 384 Fig. 5; II, 1035 Fig. 24; Angel with the Superscription II, 1197–1198, 1219 Fig. 27, Angel with the Superscription, terracotta II, 1197–1198, 1220 Figs. 28, 29, 1221 Fig. 30 Angel adoring the Sacrament II, 1198, 1199, 1223 Fig. 34 Angel adoring the Sacrament, terracotta II, 1198, 1221 Fig. 31, 1222 Figs. 32, 33 Angel adoring the Sacrament, drawing II, 1200, 1224 Fig. 36 Angel of the Sacrament II, 1019, 1023 Fig. 4 Angel of the Sacrament, terracotta II, 1019, 1022 Figs. 1, 2, 1023 Fig. 3, 1024 Fig. 5 Anima Beata, Anima Dannata II, 670 Fig. 15, 671 Fig. 16, 675, 681, 684 Fig. 1, 685, Fig 2, 694, 714–715, 722–724, 797, 799, 806, 825 Figs. 25, 26 Apotheosis of St. Andrew I, 142 Fig. 64 Apollo and Daphne I, 3, 13, 245;

1403 II, 653, 654 Fig. 7, 658 Ascanius see: Flight from Troy Group Baker, Thomas, bust of I, 4; II, 771 Baldacchino see: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s Barbadori, Camilla, bust of I, 240 Fig. 43, 248–249; II, 1132, 1147 Fig. 2, Barberini, Carlo Memorial plaque for I, 471 Fig. 1, 469 Study for the Barberini plaque: drawing I, 472 Fig. 4 Study for the Barberini plaque: terracotta I, 474 Fig. 7 Barberini chapel and attribution of cherubs I, 232–233, 244–248 Cherub (right hand pediment) I, 234 Fig. 33, 235 Fig. 36, 237 Figs. 38, 39 Cherubs (left hand pediment) I, 234 Fig. 34 removal of cherubs and Barbadori bust to Barberini collection I, 249 Barberini, Francesco, bust of I, 10, 253 Figs. 52, 53, 264, 266–267 Barcaccia II, 1281 Fig. 14, 1287–1296 Barcaccia, view of the fish-face prow II, 1281 Fig. 15, 1287 Bellarmino, Roberto, bust of I, 258 Fig. 60, 268–271; II, 1132, 1148 Fig. 5 Bonarelli, Costanza I, 4; II, 839– 840, 842 bust of II, 835 Fig. 40

1404 bust of, detail II, 836 Fig. 41 Borghese, Scipione, bust of I, 4, 439 Fig. 32; II, 840 caricature: drawing I, 418 Fig. 15 portrait: drawing I, 420 Fig. 18, 434, 452 Boy bitten by a ‘serpe’ II, 1158 Figs. 18, 19 as emblems of Barberini and Ludovosi II, 1140–1143 Boy with dragon I, 212 Fig. 16, 213 Figs. 17, 18, 214 Fig. 19, 216–219, 226, 244–245 as emblems of Barberini and Ludovosi II, 1140–1143 dating and sources I, 226– 228; II 1136, 1157 Fig. 17 sources, Hercules statues I, 216–218 relationship to Bacchic group of Pietro Bernini I, 226 bozzetti I, 33–61 passim., 376–380, 381–382 Figs. 1–3, 384–388 Figs. 5–12, 389–392 passim. 475 Fig. 7; II, 1018–1021, 1039–1045 Cepparelli, Antonio, bust of I, 188, 254–255 Figs. 54, 55; 256–257 Figs. 58, 59, 259 Fig. 61, 504 Fig. 8 debt to Cellini I, 266–267 relationship to busts of Montoya, Aldobrandini and Francesco Barberini I, 265–268, 270 relationship to bust of Montalto I, 501 Charles, bust of (lost) II, 757 Cherub I, 234 Fig. 33, 235 Fig. 36

Clement X, bust of I, 299 Constantine, equestrian monument I, 14, 575, 577 Fig. 48, 584 Coppola, Antonio, bust of I, 187, 191–193 Figs. 1–3, 207–208 Figs. 7, 8, 246, 250, 265– 266; II, 1126, 1146 Fig. 1 and attribution of I, 190, 195–204, 226–227; II, 1127, 1131–1133 Coronation of Clement VIII, portrait II, 1133–1135 Daniel I, 4 David I, 3; II, 657 Fig. 10, 658, 790, 815 Fig. 10 David killing the lion II, 986 Fig. 30, 1002 d’Este, Francesco I, bust of I, 4, 9, 325 Fig. 19, 561, 563 Fig. 36, 569 Fig. 43, 572–573; II, 761 Fig. 1, 922 Fig. 1, 919–921, 938–943 passim., 1235–1248, 1249 Fig. 1, 1261–1266 passim. and payment for II, 1241, 1246–1248, 1261–1262 d’Este, Francesco I, bust of, engraving II, 927 Fig. 7, 1249 Fig. 1 Dolfin, Giovanni, bust of I, 242 Fig.47, 251, 260–261, 501, 503 Fig. 6; II, 1132, 1147 Fig. 3 Ecstasy of St. Theresa II, 646, 648 Fig. 2 see also: Rome. Churches: S. Maria della Vittoria Farnese, Alessandro, memorial plaque I, 471 Fig. 2 Flight from Troy (detail) I, 239 Figs. 41, 42, 241 Fig. 45,

INDEX

244, 249–250 Four Rivers, fountain I, 6, 54 Fig. 18, 552 Fig. 24, 545, 575, 603; II, 1246, 1248 and obelisk, I, 545, 603 Four Rivers, fountain, drawing I, 552 Fig. 25 and payment for II, 1246 Fonseca, Gabriele I, 14 Fontana del Moro II, 790, 816 Fig. 11 Fountain of the Triton II, 1295, 1306 Fig. 25 Fountain of the Bees II, 1295, 1306 Fig. 26 Frontispiece to Nicolò Zucchi’s Optica Philosophia I, 513 Fig. 1 Gregory XV, bust of, rear view I, 501, 505 Fig. 9 Habakkuk and the Angel I, 4; II, 1027 Fig. 11 Innocent XI caricature, drawing I, 405, 408 Fig. 8, 446–447, 453– 455; II , 891, 906 Fig. 43 profile, drawing I, 448 Fig. 35 Intercession of Christ and the Virgin: drawing I, 291 Fig. 3 Laocoön, head of II, 797, 826 Fig. 27 The Last Supper, detail II, 1065 Fig. 10 Louis XIV, bust of I, 4, 9, 59, 266, 325 Fig. 20, 337, 341, 366, 414, 528 Fig. 2, 531 Fig. 5, 560–561, 572–574, 625, II, 757, 775, 777–778, 923 Fig. 2, 943–946, 1242–1245, 1255 Fig. 10 Louis XIV, bust of (detail) I, 531

1405 Fig. 5 antique sources I, 336–340 Louis XIV, equestrian statue I, 395, 574–575, 582–585, 592, 595, 602–607, 618– 619; II, 946 and siting at Versailles II, 623–632 Equestrian monument to Louis XIV, altered by François Girardon to portray Marcus Curtius (detail) I, 531 Fig. 6 Equestrian monument to Louis XIV, altered by François Girardon to portray Marcus Curtius, I, 529 Fig. 3; II, 924 Fig. 3 Equestrian monument to Louis XIV I, 613 Fig. 81 Study for the equestrian monument to Louis XIV, drawing I, 579 Fig. 50 see also: Louvre designs for II, 943, 952, 953 design relationship to Rome I, 621–623 design relationship to Versailles I, 625–627 First project for the Louvre, drawing I, 542 Fig. 15; II, 871 Fig. 19, 878 Project for the Louvre, drawing II, 1300, 1317 Fig. 43 Second project for the Louvre, drawing I, 542 Fig. 16 Third project for the Louvre, east facade I, 527 Fig. 1 Third project for the Louvre, east facade (detail) I, 530 Fig. 4

1406 Mary Magdalene I, 4 Matilda of Tuscany, tomb of I, 8–9, 150, 155 Fig. 75, 478; II, 647, 651 Fig. 6, 658 Medusa II, 795–805, 819–820 Figs. 16–18, 836 Fig. 42, 840–842 Montalto, Alessandro DamasceniPeretti, bust of I, 496, 497 Fig. 1, 498–99 Figs. 2–4, 500–501, 502 Fig. 5, 506–508 passim. II, 675, 681, 724 Montoya, Pedro de Foix, bust of I, 252 Fig. 51, 262–265, 270; II, 798, 829 Fig. 30 mourning angels I, 245 Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes, engraving II, 1066 Fig. 12 Neptune II, 790, 813 Fig. 8 Neptune and Triton I, 238 Fig. 40, 245, 500–501 Orsini, Paulo Giordano, bust of I, 4 Orsini, Virginio, caricature I, 418 Fig. 16 Palazzo Barberini I, 526, 612 Fig. 79 Palazzo di Montecitorio I, 545, 546–547, 553 Fig. 26, 604 Palazzo di Montecitorio (detail) I, 553 Fig. 27 Project for the Palazzo di Montecitorio I, 554 Fig. 28 Project for the Palazzo di Montecitorio (detail) I, 554 Fig. 29 Pasce Oves Meas, marble relief I, 8 Paul V, bust of I, 260 Pluto and Proserpine I, 3, 8, 245; II, 790, 814 Fig. 9

Poli, Sisinio: portrait drawing of I, 419 Fig. 17 Portrait of a Youth (Luigi Bernini), drawing II, 1368 Fig. 27, 1373 Raggi, Maria, Cenotaph of I, 568 Fig. 42; II, 921, 927 Fig. 6 Richelieu, Giulio, bust of II, 769 Fig. 9, 785, 1236, 1253 Fig. 7 S. Andrea al Quirinale II, 677 Fig. 23, 678 Fig. 25, 1300, 1316 Fig. 41 St. Andrew Apotheosis of I, 142 Fig. 64, designs for I, 122–24, 139– 141, 146–148 see also: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing St. Bibiana I, 4, 9; II, 1044 St. Elizabeth, Queen of Portugal canonization, engraving I, 84 Fig. 23, 90 Fig. 30, 170, 374 St. Jerome Study for St.Jerome, drawing II, 1030 Fig. 15 terracottas I, 4, 380, 382 Fig. 2; II, 1028 Figs. 12, 14, 1029 Fig. 14 see also: Bernini: works: bozzetti St. John the Baptist preaching (book illustration) I, 510 St. Lawrence I, 8, 225 Figs. 31, 32, 229–232; II, 1135– 1137, 1153 Fig. 13 St. Longinus I, 4, 59, 117 Fig. 51, 123, 133–137, 140–141, 146–148, 160–162, 395 II, 647, 650 Fig. 5, 658, 976 Fig. 16c Bozzetto for St. Longinus I,

INDEX

156 Fig. 77, 160–161, 379, 380, 381 Fig. 1 see also: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing S. Maria Assunta, Ariccia II, 1300, 1317 Fig. 42 St. Peter’s see: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s St. Sebastian I, 8, 224 Fig. 30, 229–231; II, 1135–1137, 1152 Fig. 12 St. Teresa see: Rome. Churches: S. Maria della Vittoria St. Veronica, designs for I, 137, 138, 164 Sangue di Cristo: print I, 287, 290 Fig. 1, 292, 295, 297; II, 852–854, 861 Fig. 8, 881, 1047–1056, 1057 Fig. 1, 1058 Fig. 2, 1070–1072 blood and water II, 1051–56, 1058 Fig. 2 imagery and ‘Ars Moriendi’ 300–305 imagery and the Confraternity of the Bona Mors 303–305 imagery and writings of Francesco Marchese 305– 311; II, 1051 Mary as intercessor II, 1048, 1050, 1054–1056, 1058 Fig. 2, 1059 Fig. 3, 1062 Fig. 6, 1062 Fig. 8, 1070– 1071 ocean/sea of blood II, 1047– 1048, 1051, 1053–1054 relation to Eucharistic devotion 303–305; II, 1051–1056 sources for imagery 311– 315, 328, 342, 344; II,

1407 1051–1056 Santoni, Giovanni Battista I, 202–204, 209 Fig. 11; II, 1132–1133, 1149 Fig. 6 the Savior, bust of I, 287, 295, 320 Fig. 10, 321 Figs. 11, 12, 322 Figs. 13, 14; II, 850, 854, 857 Fig. 2, 1068 Fig. 4, 1072–1082, 1103, 1121 Fig. 21 as emblem of the Apostolic Hospice for the Invalid Poor II, 882–893, 1102–1103, 1124–1125 attrib. of Bust in Norfolk, Va. Chrysler museum to Bernini. I, 330–333 comparison of copy in Sées Cathedral and Norfolk bust I, 356, 364–365 comparison of ‘Study’ drawing with Norfolk bust I, 331 development from bust of Louis XIV I, 341 pedestal I, 342–344, 393, 394 Fig. 2, 395–396; reconstruction I, 323, Fig.15 Study for the Bust of the Savior: drawing I, 320 Fig. 9, 329–331. 363 Fig. 11, 393, 394 Fig. 1; II, 856 Fig. 1, 886, 1120 Fig. 20a Study for the upper part of the pedestal of the Bust of the Savior: drawing I, 394 Fig. 2, II, 851, 856 Fig. 3, 1120 Fig. 20b relationship to images of the Savior in St. John’s Lateran II, 889–899 self-portrait, drawing II, 1260

1408 Figs. 18, 19, 1262–1263 owned by Cureau I, 355 Sourdis, Escoubleau de, bust of I, 242 Fig. 48, 251, 260–262, 501, 503 Fig. 7; II, 1132, 1148 Fig. 4 Study for a Monstrance: drawing I, 323, Fig. 16, 343; II, 357 Fig. 4, 1103, 1121 Fig. 22 Truth I, 294, 299, 452, 532, 538 Fig. 10, 582; II, 838 Fig. 45, 841 Time Discovering Truth, unexecuted I, 11, 532 Urban VIII. bust of II, 840, 1297–1300, 1309 Fig. 30, 1310 Figs. 31, 32, 1311 Fig. 33 drawing I, 428 Fig. 24 Memorial inscription for Urban VIII II, 1296, 1300, 1307 Fig. 27 Memorial inscription for Urban VIII, detail II, 1296, 1300, 1307 Fig. 28 Memorial Statue for Urban VIII II, 1300, 1319 Fig. 46 Urban VIII, bronze casts in: S. Lorenzo in Fonte, Camerino, Spoleto, Rome, Vatican Library I, 10, 17 tomb of II, 837, 838 Figs. 43, 44, 955–963, 964 Fig. 1, 1000–1016 passim., 1326 Fig. 56, 1329–1331 tomb of, detail II, 966 Fig. 3, 967 Figs. 4, 5, 971 Fig. 9, 973 Figs.11, 12, 974 Figs.13, 14, 992 Figs. 38, 39, 993 Figs. 40–42 tomb of, detail, Justice II, 1326 Fig. 57, 1330

tomb of, detail, bees II, 1328 Figs. 60, 61, 1331 Valier, Agostino, bust of II, 1298, 1311 Fig. 34 Vigevano, Giovanni, bust of I, 241 Fig. 46, 249, 262, 266 Bernini, Luigi, younger brother of Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini II, 839, 1352, 1374 Portrait of a Youth (Luigi Bernini), drawing II, 1368 Fig. 27, 1373 Bernini, Paolo, son of Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini I, 12 Bernini, Pietro, father of Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini Angel I, 236 Fig. 37, 244 Assumption of the Virgin I, 200, 222–223 Figs. 26, 27, 226, 244 attrib. of work to Gianlorenzo I, 195–203 Autumn II, 1144, 1162 Figs. 23, 24 Bacchic Group (attrib.) I, 219, 220 Fig. 22, 221 Figs. 24, 25, 226; II, 1160 Fig. 21 as source for Amalthean Goat I, 226 Charity II, 957, 969 Fig. 7 commission of 4 cherubs for Barberini chapel and attribution I, 232–233 Coronation of Clement VIII II, 1133–1135, 1150 Fig. 8 Coronation of Clement VIII (detail) I, 209 Fig. 12; II, 1151 Fig. 9 Herms II, 1144, 1161 Fig.22 joint work with Gianlorenzo I, 251 Satyr with a panther II, 1144–

INDEX

1145, 1164 Fig. 26, 1170 St. John the Baptist I, 223 Fig. 28, 231–232 Bernini: school of drawing, Vienna I, 120 Catafalque for Carlo Barberini I, 106 Fig. 37, 469 Project for the Apse of S. Maria Maggiore II, 855, 865 Fig. 12 Project for the Cathedra Petri II, 1278 Fig. 11, 1285 Project for the St. Veronica niche I, 116 Fig. 48 Project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti I, 598 Fig. 66 Project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti (detail) I, 598 Fig. 67 Berti, Vincenzo II, 1350 Besançon Cathedral Kneeling Angel see: Breton, Luc-François II, 1031 Fig. 18, 1032 Fig. 19, 1039 Musee des Beaux Arts Angel adoring the Sacrament, terracotta II, 1198, 1221 Fig. 31 Angel of the Sacrament, terracotta II, 1022 Figs. 1, 2, 1023 Fig.3 St. Andrew, terracotta II, 1025 Fig. 8 Habakkuk and the Angel, terracotta, copy after Bernini II, 1026 Fig. 10 Ludovica Albertoni, terracotta, copy after Bernini II, 1030 Fig. 16 Pierre Puget’s St. Sebastian,

1409 plaster cast II, 1026 Fig. 9 see: Breton, Luc-François Musée Municipal Christ crucified by the Virtues. II, 1056, 1063 Fig. 7 Saint-Maurice II, 1021, 1039 Bichi, Alessandro II, 841, 842 Bichi, Francesco II, 795, 842 Bigel, George, using the pointing machine of Rodin’s perfect collaborator, Henri Lebosse II, 1230–1231 Fig. 44 Bluemel, Carl I, 34; II, 1184–1185, 1192 Bochi, Achille I, 584 Felicitas prudentiae et diligentiae est I, 579 Fig. 52 Bode, Wilhelm II, 1145, 1170 Boissard, Jean-Jacques Tomb of Erard de la Marck II, 996 Fig.45, 1008 Bolgi, Andrea I, 123–124, 137, 149, 150–151, 160, 164–165 St.Helen I, 118 Fig. 52; II, 976 Fig. 16d Bologna Clementina II, 1044–1045 Museo Civico Cast model for Neptune fountain in Bologna I, 45 Fig. 17; II, 1193, 1216 Fig. 23 death of Carlo Barberini I, 469 Bologna, Giovanni I, 7, 60, 593; II, 1041 The Appenine II, 1194, 1217 Fig. 25, 1218 Fig. 26 Cast model for Neptune fountain in Bologna I, 45 Fig. 17; II, 1193, 1216 Fig. 23 Crucifixes I, 343

1410 Hercules overcoming a centaur I, 581 Fig. 54, 593 Florence triumphant over Pisa I, 58; II 1193 Model for the Rape of the Sabines, clay II, 1193, 1215 Fig. 22 Rape of the Sabines I, 58 River God I, 55 Fig. 19; II, 1194, 1217 Fig. 24 Bonarelli, Costanza II, 806, 839–840 see also: Bernini: works Bonarelli, Matteo II, 806 Bonaventura: friend of Bernini I, 461 Bordeaux Musée de Beaux Arts Bust of Escoubleau de Sourdis I, 242 Fig. 48; II, 1148 Fig. 4 Saint-Bruno,church of Bust of Escoubleau de Sourdis I, 503 Fig. 7 Borghese, Scipione I, 229, 271; II, 1268 see also: Bernini works Borgia, Cesare see: Leonardo: Three heads drawing II, 764 Borgia, Gaspare I, 435, 442 Borromeo, Carlo I, 81, 305 canonization of, engraving I, 65 Fig. 2, 78 Fig. 20 canonization of, fresco I, 66 Fig. 3, 169 Borromini, Francesco I, 83, 88, 175, 181–182, 371, 489–490; II, 751 and role in creation of the Baldacchino II, 1336–1352, 1374–1384 Ciborium for the choir of St. Peter’s I, 87 Fig. 28, 168, 174 Design for upper part and entablature of columns of the Baldacchino II, 1342, 1362

Fig. 19 Design for the entablature over the columns of the Baldacchino II, 1342, 1363 Fig. 20 Design for the cornice lappets entablature II, 1342, 1364 Fig. 21 Perspective study of the Baldacchino, drawing II, 1342, 1361 Fig. 16, 1362 Figs. 17, 18 Project for a ciborium in the crossing of St. Peter’s I, 75 Fig. 14, 167; II, 1340, 1355 Fig. 4 S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane II, 647, 649 Fig. 3, 658 St. John’s in the Lateran, nave II, 855, 870 Fig. 17, 876, Bosch, Hieronymus drollery: engraving I, 455, 457 Fig. 41 Boselli, Orfeo I, 59, 60; II, 1195– 1196 Antique base of the Colonna Claudius I, 368 Fig. 14 Osservationi della Scultura Antica I, 369–370 Botticelli, Sandro Triumph of Faith, woodcut I, 315, 318 Fig. 6; II, 1051, 1060 Fig. 4 Bottifango, Giulio Cesare I, 664, 717 Boucher, François II, 1020 Bourges. Cathedral Last Judgement II, 687 Fig. 5 “Bozzetto style” II, 1174–1233 Bozzetto/bozzetti I, i, 33–34, 41 Fig. 9, 52–53, 58–60, 156 Fig. 77, 160–161, 376–379, 390–392, 478–479; II, 1018–1019, 1038– 1039, 1041–1043, 1045, 1075,

INDEX

1189–1190, 1193–1197, 1200, 1202, 1204, 1214 Fig. 20, 1233 see also: Bernini: works: bozzetti, creative process eighteenth-century “academic” interest in II, 1042–1045 Bramante, Donato I, 70 Brandegee, Mrs. Edward I, 377; II, 1042 Brandi, Ambrogio. see: Torriani, Orfeo Bratislava. Galéria hlavného mesta SSR Bratislavy Franz Messerschmidt: self-portrait, smiling II, 700 Fig. 24 Brauer, Heinrich I, 1 Breton, Luc-François II, 1020–1021, 1039–1045 Habakkuk and the angel, terracotta, copy after Bernini II, 1026 Fig. 10, 1043 Kneeling Angel II, 1031 Fig. 18, 1032 Fig. 19, 1039 Ludovica Albertoni, terracotta, copy after Bernini II, 1030 Fig. 16 Metallius rescuing Palladium from the Temple of Vesta, terracotta II, 1020, 1024 Fig. 6 Pierre Puget’s St. Sebastian, plaster cast II, 1020–1021, 1026 Fig. 9 St. Andrew II, 1020, 1025 Fig. 7 St .Andrew, terracotta II, 1020, 1025 Fig. 8 Brunelleschi, Filippo I, 37, 48, 53; II, 1187–1188, 1193 Brussels. Jumpers Collection Mary as priest offering the chalice II, 1056, 1062 Fig. 8 Bruzio, Giovanni Antonio I, 190 Budapest. Szépmuvészti Múseum

1411 The Yawner II, 700 Fig. 25 see: Messerchmidt, Franz Buddensieg, Tilmann I, 182 Buonanni, Filippo I, 127, 169, 171, 179, 181 Burbaum, Sabine II, 1337 Butcher, Samuel H. Aristotle’s theory of Poetry and Fine Art II, 668 Buzio, Ippolito Tomb portrait II, 706 Fig. 32 Caccini, Giovanni Battista I, 98; II, 1170 Ciborium I, 105 Fig. 36 Caffieri, Philippe the Savior, copy of bust I, 356 see also: Bernini: works Caflisch, Nina I, 175 “Calculated spontaneity” I, 60, 376– 392; II, 1196 Cambi, Pietro I, 189 see: Ferrucci, Pompeo Cambridge, Mass. Fogg Art Museum Angel adoring the Sacrament, terracotta II, 1222 Figs. 32, 33 Angel with the Inscription, terracotta I, 382 Fig. 4, 384 Fig. 5; II, 1035 Fig. 24 Angel with the crown of thorns, terracotta I, 383 Fig. 3; II, 1035 Fig. 25 Angel with the crown of thorns I, 385 Fig. 6, 386 Fig. 7 Angel for the Sacrament Altar, terracotta I, 386 Fig. 8, 387 Figs. 9, 10, 388 Figs. 11, 12; II, 1024 Fig. 5 Head of St. Jerome, terracotta I, 382 Fig. 2

1412 St. Longinus, terracotta I, 156 Fig. 77, 161, 381 Fig. 1 Standing angel, terracotta II, 1033 Figs. 21, 22, 1034 Fig. 23 Study for the Barberini plaque: terracotta I, 475 Fig. 7, 478–79 View of Piazza San Marco see: Canaletto II, 1097, 1108 Fig. 5a see also: Bernini: works: bozzetti Camerarius, Joachim Venus improba, engraving II, 833 Fig. 37 Canaletto, Antonio View of Piazza San Marco II, 1097, 1108 Fig. 5a Canestro Chiovenda, Beatrice I, 366 Canova, Antonio II, 1045 Adam and Eve mourning over Abel, terracotta II, 1202, 1226 Fig. 39 Pietà, terracotta II, 1202, 1226 Fig. 38 The Three Graces, detail, gesso II, 1203, 1228 Fig. 41, and bozzetto style II, 1202–1204 and measurement methods II, 1202–1204 Capaccio, Giulio Cesare Vipers in coitus II, 832 Fig. 36 Caprarola, Palazzo Farnese Fountain: drawing I, 220 Fig. 23 Caradorri, Francesco Techniques for measurement for copying and enlarging II, 1202, 1227 Figs. 40a, 40b Techniques for measurement for copying and enlarging II, 1228 Fig. 40c Caraffa, Vincenzo I, 303 Caravaggio, Michelangelo Merisi da

I, 7–8 Madonna del Rosario II, 1064 Fig. 9, 1070 Medusa II, 796, 798, 800–801, 805–806, 821 Fig. 19 Medusa, detail II, 822 Figs. 20, 21 Cardinals, College of I, 176, 481– 482, 492–493 Careggi I, 50–51 see: Verrocchio Caricature I, 405–07, 412–15, 422, 434, 446–47, 452–56, 460–62 see also: Bernini: works: Borghese, Scipione, Innocent XI Caricature style I, 404, 412, 415, 422, 424, 432; II, 910 Carone, Andrea I, 179 Caroto, Giovanni Francesco I, 422 Boy with drawing I, 427 Fig. 22 Carpi, Pio da I, 199–200, 271 see: Sarzano, Leonardo da Carracci, Agostino I, 405 Carracci, Annibale I, 7, 205, 405, 434; II, 1135 drawing, attrib. I, 409 Fig. 9 Galleria Farnese II, 792–795, 817 Fig. 12 Perseus and Andromeda II, 818 Fig. 13 Perseus and Phineus II, 818 Fig. 14 Perseus and Phineus, detail II, 818 Fig. 15 Polyphemus II, 658, 660 Fig. 11 Carracci, Ludovico II, 1137 Cartari, Vincenzo Nave del Sole, woodcut II, 1304 Castelgandolfo, S. Tommaso, church of I, 5 Castelli-Borromini, Bernardo II, 1343, 1347–1349, 1351

INDEX

Castile I, 605, 606; II, 947 catafalques I, 477, 482, 603–04; II, 939–942 see also: Bernini, school of; d’Este, Francesco I; Ferrara Cathedral; Fontana, Domenico; Gamberti, Domenico Catharsis II, 667–669, 680, 805 Cavaceppi, Bartolomeo II, 1039– 1043, 1045, 1204, 1232 Cavalcanti, Piero Paolo I, 195 Cavalieri, Emilio de’ Rappresentatione di Anima e di Corpo II, 712–713 Figs. 41, 42, 715–716, 719, 722–723 Cavalieri, Franchi de’ I, 182 Cavalieri, Tommaso I, 412 Cavazzini, Emma II, 1135 Celio, Gaspare II, 1350 Celle-Bruère, La (Cher) Two fighting figures, relief signed by Frotoardus I, 402 Fig. 7 Cellina, Antonia Nava I, 183, 205; II, 797, 841 Cellini, Benvenuto I, 53, 58, 378; II, 1192–1193, 1196 Bust of Cosimo I de’ Medici I, 256 Fig. 57, 324 Fig. 18, 335–336; II, 797 Crucifixes I, 343 Medusa, head of II, 798, 828 Fig. 29 Perseus II, 797, 800, 827 Fig. 28 Cenci, Giulio I, 476, 479 central plan II, 679, 1339 Cepari, Virgilio: I, 304 Ceparelli, Antonio see: Bernini: works Cerrati, Michele I, 167 Champaigne, Philippe de Richelieu, triple portrait II, 759,

1413 769 Fig. 10, 770, 1236, 1254 Fig. 8 Chantelou, Paul Fréart de I, 336, 444, 524, 534, 573–574; II, 647, 652, 771, 775, 790, 841, 1072, 1130, 1242 Charity II, 850, 852, 854, 881, 883– 888, 890, 892, 910, 957, 1001, 1003, 1008, 1080–1081, 1095, 1098–1099, 1101, 1103, 1125 Charity, personification of II, 850, 893, 955, 957, 960, 962–963, 965 Fig. 2, 969 Fig. 7, 970 Fig. 8, 1000, 1056, 1102, 1124,1301, 1329–1330 Charlemagne I, 594–595, 626 Charles I see: Bernini: works; Van Dyck, Anthony Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor see: Leoni, Leone Chigi, Fabio see: Alexander VII Children’s art/drawings I, 198, 398, 415; II, 910 Chimera I, 96, 372, 481; II, 1339, 1350, 1379 Christina, Queen of Sweden and Bernini’s death I, 287, 289, 293–295, 299, 328, 456; II, 850, 1078, 1103, 1124 Chrysler, Walter P. II, 851 see also: Norfolk, Va. Chrysler Museum Church Councils Council of Ephesus I, 104 Fig. 33 Council of Trent II, 955, 957, 1284 Ciampelli, Agostino I, 95, 177, 182, 372, 481; II, 1350, 1352 ciborium see: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing see: Rome. Churches: S.

1414 Giovanni in Laterano see also: Caccini, Giovanni; Ferrabosco, Martin Cicero II, 1297 Cigoli, Ludovico I, 509 Plan of the choir of St. Peter’s I, 85 Fig. 25, 172 Ciborium for the choir of St. Peter’s I, 86 Fig. 26, 178 Clair, Charles I, 171 Classical tradition in Bernini’s sculpture I, 198–200, 219, 244, 250, 332, 339–340, 378, 398–99, 404–05, 423, 572, 592, 603; II, 1172–73 see also: Antique sculptures Classicism I, 8, 10, 166, 623; II, 647, 667, see also: Neo-classicism Claudian I, 512, 521; II, 944 Claudius, Emperor I, 339–340, 573 see also: Colonna Claudius Clement VIII I, 71, 80, 110; II, 1009, 1375 see also: Bernini, Pietro, Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing, the baldachin Clement IX commissioning work from Bernini II, 854, 855; 881, 888, 1042, 1100 Clement X I, 294, 299; II, 855 see also: medals; Bernini: works Clement XI I, 216; II, 1078, 1103 Clermont-Ferrand. Notre-Dame-duPont, cathedral Largitas and Avaricia II, 719, 720 Fig. 43 Clodion (Michel, Claude) II, 1020, 1045 Coins Helios, denarius of Vespasian I, 564 Fig. 37; II, 929 Fig. 9,

943 Obolos from Judea II, 682, 686 Figs. 3, 4 Colbert, Jean Baptiste I, 594, 619, 627, 629; II, 778, 952, 1245 Colchester. Colchester and Essex Museum Roman portrait bust I, 570 Fig. 44 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor II, 669 Collaert, Adriaen I, 130 Fig. 61, 138 St Andrew I, 130 Fig. 61 College Art Association of America I, 183 Cologne. Wallraf-Richartz Museum Self-portrait see: Rembrandt II, 1259 Fig. 17 Colonna Claudius I, 570 Fig. 45 Antique base I, 368 Fig. 14 engraving I, 327 Figs. 22, 23, 339; II, 930 Fig. 11 see: Galestruzzi, Giovanni Battista 17th century pedestal I, 368, Fig. 15 Colonna, Marcantonio I, 470 Color in marble sculpture I, 506; II, 652, 764, 770, 773, 793, 1238–1239 Columns and the baldachin I, 70, 81–83, 88–89, 92–103, 110–111, 113, 124–127, 141, 146, 151, 158–159, 167–168, 170, 172, 174–176, 178, 181–182, 371, 372, 374–375, 480–482, 486, 488–495; II, 1340–1342, 1350–1352, 1362–1363, 1374–1375 and designs for the Louvre I, 545–546, 559, 602–606,

INDEX

621 and equestrian statue of Louis XIV II, 942, 945, 947–948 and S. Maria Maggiore II, 877–879 and St. Peter’s II, 647, 649 Fig. 4, 1098–1099, 1112 Fig. 12 Spiral columns I, 100–101, 113, 125, 167–168, 372, 374, 480, 488, 494, 604; II, 942, 947, 1341, 1375 and ancient colums Marcus Aurelius, column I, 602, 604 Trajan, Emperor, column I, 546, 559, 601–602, 604 and St. Peter’s I, 69–70, 94–95, 97, 100–101, 110, 113, 125, 167–169, 172, 174–176, 178, 372, 374, 480–481, 488–490, 495; II, 1341, 1375 Confraternity of Catachumens I, 111 see: Rome. Churches: Madonna dei Monti Confraternity of the Good Death (bona mors) I, 296, 303–305, 344; II, 683, 723, 850, 1046, 1050, 1078 see also: Rome. Churches: Gesù: church of the Confraternity of the Holy Spirit I, 126 see: Rome. Churches: S. Spirito in Sassia Confraternity of the Precious Blood I, 146 see: Mantua. S. Andrea. Ancona Chapel of the Precious Blood Confraternity of the Resurrection I, 262; II 724 see: Rome. Churches: S. Giacomo degli Spagnoli Conrad, Johann

1415 armorial bearings see: Mair, Alexander II, 701 Fig. 26 Conservators of Rome I, 470 Constantine, Emperor I, 70,110, 399, 594–595, 626; II, 889, 963, 1341, 1375 Arch of I, 403 Fig. 6 Donation of Constantine I, 77 Fig. 17 see: Raphael equestrian monument I, 14, 575, 577 Fig. 48, 584 shrine of St. Peter I, 99, 375 and Temple of Solomon I, 100– 101,103 see also: Rome. Palaces: Vatican Palace. Sala di Constantino Contardi, Bruno II, 1102 Contarini, Gaspare see: Vittoria, Alessandro Conti, Natale II, 804 Contini, Giovan Battista: I, 293, 298 Contrapposto I, 337, 341, 561; II, 753, 943, 956, 963, 1079, 1081, 1099 Copenhagen. Statens Museum for Kunst Camilla Barbadori, bust of I, 240 Fig. 43, 248–249; II, 1147 Fig. 2 Coppola, Antonio see: Bernini: works Cordier, Nicolò Aldobrandini family, bust of a member I, 255 Fig. 56 St. Paul, bust of I, 260 St. Peter, bust of I, 243 Fig. 49, 1, 260 St. John the Baptist I, 231 Cornaro family chapel see: Rome. Churches: S. Maria della Vittoria Corpus Domini procession II, 1097, 1099, 1111 Fig. 9, 1116 Fig.

1416 16a, 16b, 1341 see also: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s Corsi family II, 1145 Corsini, Andrea Medal I, 91 Fig. 32 Corsini, Neri Maria I, 364 Corsini collection see: Rome. Palaces: Palazzo Corsini Cortona, Pietro da II, 751 Divine Providence, vault fresco II, 1279 Fig.12 Divine Providence, detail II, 990 Fig. 35, 1004, 1011, 1280 Fig. 13 Façade of S. Maria della Pace II, 874 Fig. 23, 879, 800 Costaguti, Giovanni Battista I, 178, 179 Costanzo, Mario I, 366 Cottard, Pierre I, 575 Coysevox, Antoine Louis XIV crowned by princely glory I, 609 Fig. 74, 624 Cranach, Lucas Leo X as Antichrist I, 408 Fig. 10 Creative process I, 47, 58, 60–61, 378, 620; II, 1174, 1184, 1188–1189, 1193, 1196–1197, 1202, 1233 Cartoon II, 1176, 1183 Full-scale model I, 58–60, 93, 160, 378; II, 1193, 1195– 1196, 1342 Measured model I, 60, 391; II, 1200, 1225 Fig. 37 Pointing off I, 34–35, 47, 49, 53; II, 1185, 1192 Sinopia I, 33; II, 1183 Sketch I, I, 33, 51–52, 58,

60–61, 141, 161–162, 364, 376, 379–380, 390, 393, 395, 405, 407, 413–415, 422–425, 427 Fig. 21, 432, 434, 455, 461, 475, 652; II, 1018–1019, 1039–1041, 1128, 1175–1176, 1183, 1189–1190, 1193–1194, 1196–1197, 1202–1204, 1232–1233, 1342, 1345 Crispus see: Stefonio, Bernadino Crisofani, Fabio Ballot for the election of Urban VIII, tapestry II, 989 Fig. 34, 1272 Fig. 1 Cromwell, Oliver I, 507 Crucifixion I, 39 Fig. 3, 47, 111, 141, 147, 160, 301, 304, 306, 310, 313–315, 328, 380, 395; II, 852, 880, 1050–1051, 1055, 1061 Fig. 6, 1292 Cureau de la Chambre, Marin Tomb I, 365, 367 Fig. 13 Cureau de la Chambre, Pierre I, 329–331 Bernini self-portrait owned by I, 355 Eloge de M. Le Cavalier Bernin I, 355 Frontispiece to Pierre Cureau de la Chambre I, 363 Fig. 12 d’Arpino, Cavaliere I, 110–111 Death of Moriens and Intercession of Christ and the Virgin, stained glass window I, 317 Fig. 5; II, 1059 Fig. 3 Death of Moriens: engraving see: Hooghe, R. De De Angelis, Paolo Medieval Apse of S.Maria

INDEX

Maggiore II, 854, 864 Fig. 11 De’Cavalieri, Emilio II, 663–664, 675, 716, 719 Rappresentatione di Anima at di Corpo II, 662–664, 675 Deception, aesthetic I, 395; II, 753, 1090 Delaune, Etienne Suit of armor for Henry II II, 932 Fig. 14 Del Pesco, Daniela II, 1098 d’Este, Alfonso II, Duke of Ferrara II, 938 d’Este, Francesco I, Duke of Modena I, 11 Catafalque I, 590, Fig. 61, 603; II, 928 Fig. 8 Bust of II, 757–760, 761 Fig.1, 764–765, 785–788, 922 Fig. 2 see: Bernini: works d’Este, Rinaldo II, 1240 Derand, François Ciborium model of 1606 in the choir of St. Peter’s I, 87 Fig. 28A, 181 De Rossi, Giovanni Battista I, 182 Detroit. Institute of Arts Salvator Mundi II, 858 Fig. 5 see: Giampetrino Didron, Adolphe Napoléon The Painters’ Guide II, 1174– 1176, 1182 Dietterlin, Wendel I, 535 Fantastic portal I, 548 Fig. 18 Dieussart, François II, 78 Dinocrates I, 585 Dirce see: Naples, Farnese Bull I, 592 Disegno I, 176, 179, 287, 346, 349– 350; II, 794, 1377–1379, 1381 Divine Simulacrum I, 287, 289, 341 Divine Wisdom I, 519 Fig. 10,

1417 521–522, 537 Fig. 9; II, 1004, 1267, 1286 Divine virtues, II, 956, 963, 1003, 1005, 1010, 1329–1330 Dolce, Ludovico II, 805 Dolfin, Giovanni see: Bernini: works Domenichino (Zampieri, Domenico) I, 138, 139, 160; II, 959–960 Apotheosis of St. Andrew I, 131 Fig. 62 Force with dominion over the self II, 988 Fig. 33, 1002 Justice with Benignity II, 977 Fig. 17 Prudence with Time II, 959, 975 Fig. 15 Time unveiling Truth, Apollo Ceiling I, 11 Domitian, Emperor I, 582, 591 Fig. 6, 604 Donatello I, 36–37, 48, 53; II, 1186–1188, 1193 Christ before Pilate and Caiaphas II, 1181 Fig. 8, 1189 Forzori Altar II, 1180 Fig. 7, 1189 Gattamelata I, 575 Doni, Giovanni Battista II, 666, 667 Treatise on Music for the Stage II, 674 D’Onofrio, Cesare II, 1350 Roma nel Seicento II, 1377–1381 Doria collection I, 10 see: Rome. Palaces: Palazzo Doria Dossi, Battista Justice II, 958, 972 Fig. 10, 1327 Fig. 58, 1330 Dresden. Gemäldegalerie Justice see: Dossi, Battista II, 958, 972 Fig. 10 Du Plessis d’Argentré, Jean-Baptiste I, 356

1418 see also: Bernini: works, bust of the Savior Duccio, Agostino di I, 48–49 Dupérac, Etienne Michelangelo’s project for the Campidoglio: engraving I, 600 Fig. 70 Palatine Palace and Circus Maximus I, 557 Fig. 34 Plan for new St. Peter’s, after Michelangelo II, 1339, 1354 Fig. 2 Dürer, Albrecht Letter to Willibald Pirkheimer I, 421 Fig. 19 Rosenkranz Madonna I, 415, 422 Duquesnoy, François I, 59, 122–124, 138, 140, 150–151, 160, 164– 165; II, 1195 St.Andrew I, 117 Fig. 52; II, 976 Fig. 16b Düsseldorf. Kunstmuseum Studies for Angels, drawing II, 1036 Fig. 26 see: Raggi, Antonio Ecclesia I, 314, 622; II, 1055–1056, 1062 Fig. 6, 1063 Fig. 7 Effigy / Effigies I, 453; II, 1300 Elizabeth of Portugal see: St. Elizabeth Emblems Emblem: Clemency of the prince II, 984 Fig. 26, 985 Fig. 27, 1001, 1007 Emblem: Et minimi vindicatam II, 995 Fig. 44, 1007 Emblem: Hic Domus. Barberini impressa II, 998 Fig. 47, 1010 Emblem: Maestate tantum II, 986

Fig. 29 Emblem: Malediction. Tomb of Archilochus, engraving II, 994 Fig. 43, 1006–1007, 1327 Fig. 59 Emblem: Pungatet Ungat II, 985 Fig. 28 see also: Alciati, Andreae, Ferro, Giovanni, Mendo, Andres, Peacham, Henry; Pietrasanta, Silvestro Emmanuele Filibert, Duke of Savoy II, 938 Enthusiasmos II, 668 Epidaurus see: Athens. National Archaeological Museum Equestrian monuments I, 525, 529 Fig. 3, 572, 574–575, 576 Fig. 49, 577 Fig. 48, 578 Fig. 50, 586 Fig. 55, 592–594, 603, 606, 613 Fig. 81, 618–619, 621, 627, 629; II, 757, 918, 924 Fig. 3, 933 Fig. 15, 942, 946–948, 956, 1235 Erasmus of Rotterdam Manuscript page I, 426 Fig. 20 Praise of Folly I, 422 Erlach, Johann Bernhard Fischer von Lust-Gartten Gebäu, engraving II, 1300, 1318 Fig. 44 Plan of the pleasure garden building, drawing II, 1300, 1318 Fig. 45 Eton, Berks. Eton College Library Bacchic Group from the Palazzo Altemps, Rome, drawing II, 1144, 1163 Fig. 25 Eucharist I, 111–112, 146, 292, 303–304, 306, 308–309, 313– 315, 332, 344, 391, 395; II, 851, 1047, 1051, 1053–1056, 1070, 1072, 1075–1077, 1079,

INDEX

1103, 1341 Eusebius of Caesarea II, 1292

Fagiolo dell’Arco, Maurizio and Marcello II, 841 Fajardo, Diego de Idea principis christano-politico II, 953 Falda, Giovanni Battista Villa Aldobrandini, engraving. Entrance to chapel of St. Sebastian II, 1138, 1156 Fig. 16 Faldi, Italo I, 3; II, 797 Fantoccio I, 433 Farnese, Alessandro I, 470, 475 Farnese Monuments see: Fasolo, Giovanni Antonio; Mochi, Francesco; Piacenza; Parma; Naples Farsetti collection II, 1042–1043 Farsetti,Filippo II, 1043–1045, 1204, 1232 Fasolo, Giovanni Antonio Memorial plaque to Alessandro Farnese I, 471 Fig. 2 Fedeli, Tomaso Antonio Barberini, bust of I, 240 Fig. 44, 249 Felix IV II, 1006 Ferdinand II, Holy Roman Emperor I, 511–12 Ferdinand III, Holy Roman Emperor I, 512 Ferrabosco, Martino Project for ciborium in St. Peter’s I, 176–177, 178–183 Project for ciborium in St. Peter’s I, 157 Figs. 79, 80, 173, 174 Ferrara Cathedral

1419 Catafalque of Carlo Barberini: etching I, 473 Fig. 5, 477 Catafalque of Carlo Barberini: etching (detail) I, 474 Fig. 6 Ferrata, Ercole II, 1044 Ferrier, Jean II, 950 Ferro, Giovanni Emblem: Hic Domus. Barberini impressa II, 998 Fig. 47, 1010, 1270, 1274 Fig. 5 Teatro d’imprese: eagle emblems I, 514, 516 Fig. 4 Ferruci, Pompeo I, 190 Bust of Pietro Cambi I, 208 Fig. 10 Finelli, Giulio I, 10 Flavia see: Stefonio, Bernadino Florence Archivio Buonarotti Sonnet on the Sistine Chapel ceiling I, 431 Fig. 27 see also: Michelangelo Badia Transfiguration see: Gaddi, Taddeo II, 1177 Fig. 1 Biblioteca Marucelliana Portrait drawing of Gianlorenzo Bernini I, 417 Fig. 14 see also: Leoni, Ottavio Casa Buonarotti Bozzetto for a two figure group II, 1214 Fig. 20 Michelangelo: Bozzetto I, 41 Fig. 9 Model of a River God II, 1213 Fig. 19 Cathedral I, 37, 47–49, 246, 366; II, 1186–1187 Contini-Bonacossi Collection St. Lawrence I, 225 Figs. 31, 32; II, 1153 Fig. 13

1420 Galleria dell’Accademia I, 53 David I, 42 Fig. 11, 43 Fig. 12 Model for the Rape of the Sabines, clay II, 1215 Fig. 22, 1193 see Bologna, Giovanni River God I, 44 Fig. 15 St. Matthew I, 45 Fig. 16; II, 1211 Fig. 16 see also: Michelangelo Galleria degli Uffizi Anima Dannata, drawings II, 697 Fig. 20 see: Michelangelo The dying Alexander, bust I, 564 Fig. 38; II, 676 Fig. 21 Hercules overcoming a centaur I, 581 Fig. 54 Loggia dei Lanzi I, 593 Medusa see: Carravagio II, 821, 822 Figs. 19–21 Medusa, head of II, 828 Fig. 29 see: Cellini, Benvenuto Menelaus and Patroclus II, 661 Fig. 13, 809 Fig. 4 Perseus II, 827 Fig. 28 see: Cellini, Benvenuto see also: Antique statues Museo Nazionale del Bargello The Appenine II, 1217 Fig. 25 see: Bologna, Giovanni Cosimo I de’Medici, bust of I, 256 Fig. 57, 267, 324 Fig. 18 see: Cellini, Benvenuto Costanza Bonarelli, bust of II, 835, 836 Figs. 40, 41 see: Bernini: works

Crucifixion of St. Peter I, 39 Fig. 3 Crucifixion of St. Peter I, 47, 50 see: della Robbia, Luca Resurrection I, 43 Fig. 13 see Verrocchio Shield with Head of Medusa II, 834 Fig. 39 Palazzo Bartolini–Salimbieni Sgraffitto decorations I, 429 Fig. 25 Palazzo Pitti Wax reliefs: Purgatory, Hell II, 733 Figs. 49, 50 Prato Fiorentino, map II, 1167 Fig. 31 Pratolino. Parco Mediceo The Appenine II, 1218 Fig. 26 see: Bologna, Giovanni S. Croce Allegory of Painting. Tomb of Michelangelo II, 1208 Fig. 13 Coat of Arms of De Barberino II, 1269, 1273 Fig. 3 Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis I, 38 Fig. 1; II, 1181 Fig. 9, 1205 Fig. 10 Pulpit I, 38 Fig. 2 see: Maiano, Benedetto da S. Lorenzo Medici chapel I, 58 Medici tombs I, 52 Pietà of Michelangelo I, 246–247 New Sacristy Michelangelo: wall drawings I, 424, 430 Fig. 26 Pulpit Christ before Pilate

INDEX

and Caiaphas II, 1181 Fig. 8, 1189 S. Maria Novella Chapel of the Popes I, 149 see: Pontormo, Jacopo da Trinity, detail II, 1178 Fig. 2, 1183, 1190 see: Masaccio S. Spirito I, 98 Ciborium I, 105 Fig. 36 see: Caccini, Giovanni Università dei Mercatanti I, 51 Villa Pratolino Fountain of Mount Parnassus, destroyed in the eighteenth century I, 549 Fig. 19 Florentine Camerata II, 662, 666 Floris, Frans Last Judgement II, 672 Fig. 18, 675, 704, 707 Fig. 33 Fontana, Carlo Plan of St. Peter’s, engraving, detail II, 1339, 1354 Fig. 3 Fontana, Domenico Catafalque for Sixtus V I, 596 Fig. 63 Forcella, Vincenzo I, 169, 190 Fort Worth, TX. Kimbell Art Museum Angel with the Superscription, terracotta II, 1197–1198, 1221 Fig. 30 Fouquet, Nicolas I, 532, 573 Four Last Things II, 683, 688–689 Figs. 6–9, 695, 704–705, 715, 723 checklist of wax reliefs II, 730, 731–741 Figs. 46–65, 742 Fozzi, Guiseppe I, 304–305 France, emblem of I, 606; II, 947

1421 Francesco I of Modena see: d’Este, Francesco I Frangipane, Lelio see: Algardi, Alessandro Frangipane, Mario II, 1141 Frascati Villa Aldobrandini, engraving II, 1138, 1156 Fig. 16 Villa Aldobrandini Autumn II, 1162 Fig. 23 see: Bernini, Pietro Fraschetti, Stanislao I, 1, 11, 377 Friedlaender, Walter I, 7 The Fronde I, 582, 629 Frotoardus Two fighting figures, relief signed by Frotoardus I, 402 Fig. 7 Frutaz, Amato Pietro I, 170 Furlani, Bonaventura II, 1044, 1232 Gaddi, Taddeo Transfiguration II, 1177 Fig.1, 1183 Galestruzzi, Giovanni Battista Colonna Claudius, engraving I, 327 Figs. 22, 23; II, 930 Fig. 11 Galileo, Galilei I, 509, 522 Galileo, Vincenzo II, 663 Galluzzzi, Tarquinio II, 942 The Revival of Ancient Tragedy II, 668, 669 Gamberti, Domenico I, 572; II, 939–942 Catafalque I, 590, Fig. 61, 603; II, 928 Fig. 8 L’Idea II, 927 Fig. 7, 939–942 Gantrel, Estienne Louis XIV: engraving I, 326 Fig. 21 Garua, Leone I, 175

1422 Gaulli, Giovanni Battista II, 1076, 1081–1082 Christ and the Samaritan Woman II, 1067 Fig. 13 drawings related to Bust of the Savior I, 299, 366 frescoes for the Gesù II, 1077 Salvator Mundi II, 1069 Fig. 16, 1081 Geneva. Musée d’Art et d’Histoire Alexander the Great I, 566 Fig. 40; II, 929 Fig. 10 see: Romano, Giulio Geymuller, Heinrich von I, 182 Ghetti, Santi II, 724 Ghiberti, Lorenzo I, 36; II, 1186 Giambologna see: Bologna, Giovanni Giampetrino Salvator Mundi II, 858 Fig. 5 Gianfattori, Carlo Ferrante I, 179– 181 Gioia, Elena II, 1102 Giorgio, Francesco di I, 51 Giotto II, 1190 Girardon, François, 624 see: Bernini: works: Louis XIV: equestrian statue Gonzaga, Carlo Medal I, 518 Fig. 9 Gonzaga, Ferdinando Medal I, 518 Fig.7 Gonzaga, Vicenzo II I, 147 graffiti I, 423–425, 432 Pompeii I, 428 Fig. 23 Rome I, 428 Fig. 23 Gorga, Evangelista II, 1042 Graffiti I, 398, 415, 423, 428 Fig. 23; II, 910 Grandjean, Jean Annular vault of the Colosseum, 1781, watercolor II, 1113 Fig. 13

Grasse, Hospital St Helen see: Rubens, Peter Paul Grattarola, Marco Aurelio I, 168 Gregory I Appearance of St. Michael to St. Gregory the Great II, 1275 Fig. 7 Emblem of Gregory XIII’s Palazzo Quirinale I, 601 Fig. 71 Gregory the Great II, 1369 Figs. 29, 30, 1374 Gregory the Great celebrating mass, relief II, 1372 Fig. 34 Gregory XIII I, 622; II, 1284, 1299, 1301, 1374–1375 Memorial statue of Gregory XIII II, 1301, 1322 Fig. 51 see: Oliviera, Pietro Paulo Tomb of, engraving II, 962–963, 981 Fig. 21, 1000 see: Antichi, Prospero see also: Romano, Giulio Gregory XV I, 88, 92, 95, 271; II, 1009 Lost portrait by Gianlorenzo Bernini II, 1135 see also: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing, the baldachin Greuter, Matthias The Baraccia, engraving II, 1283 Fig. 19, 1290, 1303 Fig. 20 Emblem of the Confraternity of SS. Salvatore ad Sancta, engraving II, 889, 905 Fig. 42 Canonization of Ignatius Loyola I, 67 Fig. 5, 171 Longitudinal section of St. Peter’s, engraving I, 67 Fig. 4, 169–170 Melissographia II, 1267, 1273 Fig. 2

INDEX

Project for a choir in the crossing of St. Peter’s I, 74 Fig. 12, 174 Project for the high altar of St. Peter’s II, 1292, 1303 Fig. 21 St. John’s in the Lateran: engraving: sacramental altar I, 493 Fig. 6 Grillo, poems I, 455 Carmina apposita Grillo Monoculo: ad Pasquillû I, 458 Fig. 42 Grimaldi, Giacomo Instrumenta Autentica I, 72 Figs. 7–9, 76 Fig. 16, 108 Fig. 41 Grisebach, August I, 205 Groto, Luigi Scoltura di Medusa II, 800–801 Gryllos I, 454 Guercino see: Pasqualino, Giovanni Battista Guidiccioni, Lelio I, 434; II, 1297– 1299, 1343 Guido, Domenico Time and History I, 624 Guidotti, Paulo I, 67 Fig. 5, 171 Guiffrey, Jules I, 182 Gunpowder Plot I, 629 Habakkuk see: Bernini: works Hadrian, Emperor I, 399 Temple of, see: Rome. Dogana del Terra Hadrian II, Pope Reconstruction of the tomb of Hadrian II, 872 Fig. 21, 879, 880 see: Lauro,Giacomo Haecht, Willem van Studio of Cornelis van der Geest, detail II, 705, 708 Fig. 35

1423 Hamburg. Kunsthalle Bust of Alessandro DamasceniPeretti Montalto I, 497–499 Figs. 1–4 Bust of Alessandro DamasceniPeretti Montalto (detail) I, 505 Fig. 10 Hapsburg dynasty I, 511, 512–14, 520–521, 603, 626; II, 945, 947 see also: Charles V, Ferdinand II, III, Maria Theresa, Rudolph II Heem, Jan Davidsz de Vanitas, still life II, 710 Fig. 38, 714 Heemskerck, Maarten van Death, Last Judgement, engraving II, 692 Figs. 14, 15 Hell, Heaven, engravings II, 693 Figs. 16, 17 Heidelberg University. Antikenmuseum Archaic Gorgoneion antefix from Taranto II, 830 Fig. 33 Heinz, Joseph Triumph of Justice, engraving II, 962, 983 Fig. 23 Helen, Empress I see: St. Helen Helios I, 560–561, 574 Helios, denarius of Vespasian I, 564 Fig. 37; II, 929 Fig. 9, 943 see also: sun imagery “Helter-skelter” I, 398 Henrietta Maria, Queen of England Bernini bust, unexecuted II, 759, 765, 1236 see also: Van Dyck, Anthony Henry IV I, 573 Hercules I, 216, 226, 547, 558, 560, Ancient relief linking Apollo and Hercules I, 589 Fig. 60

1424 columns, as Hapsberg device II, 945, 947, 953 imagery in the equestrian statue of Louis XIV I, 585, 592– 595, 602–607, 619–621, 626 Hercules Killing the Serpents I, 214 Fig. 20 Hercules overcoming a centaur I, 581 Fig. 54, 593 see also: Bologna, Giovanni Hesiod II, 803 Hess, Jacob I, 183 Hibbard, Howard and the Crossing of St. Peter’s I, 171, 174–175, 371 Hildegard of Bingen Beati and Maledicti II, 671 Fig. 17, 719, 721 Fig. 44 Holy Sepulchre I, 391 Honorius, Emperor I, 520; II, 944 Hooghe, Romeyn de The Death of Moriens: engraving I, 318 Fig. 8, 449 Fig. 36 Horace II, 1297 Houdon, Jean-Antoine II, 1020 Huguenots I, 595 Ideal Christian Monarch II, 758– 759, 917–954, 1236–1237, 1248 Illusion / Illusionism I, 22, 26–27, 30, 631; II, 669, 674, 792, 851, 920, 943 Imago Pietatis I, 312, 314, 341 see also: Bernini, works: bust of the Savior Imitation I, 140, 149, 151, 160, 172, 174, 176, 181, 487, 603; II, 886, 945, 960, 1081, 1102, 1201 Incisa della Rocchetta, Giovanni I,

169 Innocent X Pamphili I, 6, 294; II, 779, 780, 855, 871, 1012, 1299, 1246 Innocent XI I, 328; II, 756, 887– 888, 891, 1078, 1080–1081, 1103, 1124 see also: Bernini: works; Medals Innocent XII II, 882–886, 890, 910; II, 1081, 1100–1101, 1103 see also: Medals Jaffe, Irma B. I, 174 James I of England and Scotland I, 630 Jansenist movement I, 512 Jerusalem Temple of Solomon I, 69, 100– 101, 103, 110, 124–125, 159, 182; II, 1340–1341 Solomon inspecting the construction of the Temple I, 107 Fig. 40 Jesuits see: Society of Jesus Jewels, II, 773, 781, 1235, 1248 Joasaph (Carian painter) II, 1182 Julius II II, 1301 Julius Caesar, Emperor see: Sadeler, Aegidius Jupiter I, 579, 582 Kantorowicz, Ernst I, 366 Karsh, Yousuf II, 1262 Kauffman, Hans II, 1008–1009, 1331 Keerbergen, Jan van see: Rubens, Peter Paul Kepler, Johannes I, 511 Kilian, Lucas Triumph of Justice, engraving II, 962,

INDEX

983 Fig. 23 Kilian, Wolfgang I, 146, 152 Fig. 70, Kircher, Athanasius I, 512, 603 Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae, frontispiece to I, 515 Fig. 3 Kirwin, W. Chandler thesis on ‘pre-history’ of the Baldacchino refuted I, 481– 482, 486–492, 494–495 passim. Knipping, John B. I, 366 Knuth, Michael II, 1170 Krautheimer, Richard I, 182; II, 1127 The Rome of Alexander VII II, 748–756, 1087–1092 passim. La Celle-Bruère Two fighting figures, relief signed by Frotoardus I, 402 Fig. 7 Laer, Pieter van Artists’ Tavern in Rome I, 433, 438 Fig. 31 Lafreri, Antonio Pasquino: engraving I, 441 Fig. 34; II, 811 Fig. 6 Landucci, Ambrogio II, 1350 Lanfranco, Giovanni Salvation of a Soul II, 957, 968 Fig. 6 Lasena, Pietro Cleombrotus, title page II, 1283 Fig. 18, 1290 Last Judgements II, 682, 688–691 Figs. 6–13, 714 see also: Bourges. Cathedral; Heemskerck, Maarten van; Michelangelo Lauda Spirituale II, 663, 716 see: Rappresentatione di Anima at di

1425 Corpo Lauro, Giacomo I, 547, 558 Nero’s Domus Aureus I, 556 Fig. 31 Palatine Palace and Circus Maximus I, 557 Fig. 33 Reconstruction of the tomb of Hadrian II, 872 Fig. 21, 879, 880 Reconstruction of the Temple of II, 873 Fig. 22 Temple of Honor and Virtue I, 597 Fig. 64; II, 677 Fig. 24, 679 Le Brun, Charles I, 532, 573, 607, 623–624 Amour et Désespoir II, 694, 699 Figs. 22, 23 The palace of the sun, drawing I, 539 Fig. 12 Portière of Mars, tapestry I, 571 Fig. 46 Project for a monument of Louis XIV (copy after Le Brun) I, 608 Fig. 73 Leclerc, Sébastien Frontispiece to Pierre Cureau de la Chambre: engraving I, 363 Fig. 12 Leipzig. Museum der bildenden Künste I, 393 Angel with the Crown of Thorns, drawing II, 1199, 1224 Fig. 35 Caricature of Innocent XI I, 408 Fig. 8; II, 906 Fig. 43 Four Rivers, fountain, drawing I, 552 Fig. 25 Intercession of Christ and the Virgin: drawing I, 292 Fig. 3, 366 Study for a Monstrance I, 323

1426 Fig. 16; II, 857 Fig. 4, 1121 Fig. 22 Study for St. Jerome, drawing II, 1030 Fig. 15 Study for the upper part of the pedestal of the Bust of the Savior: drawing I, 394 Fig. 2; II, 856 Fig. 3, 1120 Fig. 20b Study for the Barberini plaque: drawing I, 472 Fig. 4, 475, 478 see also: Bernini: works Le Nôtre, André illustration of derivation of the Louvre pyramid I, 616 Fig. 85 Leo X I, 149 Memorial statue of Leo X II, 1321 Fig. 48 see: Aimo, Domenico Leo X as Antichrist I, 408 Fig. 10 see: Cranach, Lucas Leon I, 605–606; II, 947 Leonardo (da Vinci) Drawing for pointing device I, 41 Fig. 8 Drawings of grotesque heads I, 410 Fig. 11, 412; II, 694, 697 Fig. 19 Sketches of heads: drawings I, 427 Fig. 21 Three Heads, drawing II, 763 Fig. 3, 764–765 Trattato I, 47, 48 Leoni, Leone Charles V, bust of I, 324 Fig. 17, 334–335 Leoni, Ottavio Portrait of Gianlorenzo Bernini: drawing I, 417 Fig. 14 Leopold William, Archduke I, 511–512

Le Vau, François Project for the Louvre, engraving I, 541 Fig. 14 Le Vau, Louis I, 532–533, 547, 625, 627 Le Vau’s original project for the west facade of Versailles I, 610 Fig. 76 Project for the Louvre, drawing I, 540 Fig. 13 Project for the Louvre, engraving I, 541 Fig. 14 Liège Cathedral tomb of Erard de la Marck I, 450 Fig. 38 Lippi, Filippino The Intercession of Christ and the Virgin I, 316 Fig. 4; II, 860 Fig. 7 Lomazzo, Gian Paolo II, 801 L’idea del tempio della pittura I, 404 London British Museum Charles I, engraving see: Voerst, Robert Van II, 781, 782 Fig. 11 Entrance to Buen Retiro, Madrid, engraving I, 576 Fig. 47 see: Meunier, Louis Eros and Pan vintaging II, 1168 Fig. 32, 1172 Helios, denarius of Vespasian I, 564 Fig. 37; II, 929 Fig. 9 Longitudinal section of St. Peter’s I, 67 Fig. 3 Medal of Innocent XI with Pius V on reverse I, 451 Fig. 39 Medal of Pius V I, 451 Fig.

INDEX

40 Medal of Carlo Gonzaga I, 518 Fig. 9 Medal of Ferdinando Gonzaga I, 518 Fig. 7 Medal of Carlo Spinelli I, 518 Fig. 8 Torso I, 44 Fig. 14, 52; II, 1207 Fig. 12 see: Michelangelo Courtauld Institute Galleries Charles I, bust of see: Roubiliac, LouisFrançois II, 784 Fig. 13, 785 Duke of Westminster’s collection self-portrait II, 1257 Fig. 13 see: Van Dyck, Anthony Hampton Court Allegory of Charity and Justice see: Baglione, Giovanni II, 956, 960, 965 Fig. 2 National Gallery of Art Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht I, 437 Fig. 29 Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht (detail) I, 438 Fig. 30 see: Saenredam, Pieter Richelieu, triple portrait II, 759, 769 Fig. 10, 770, 1254 Fig. 8 see: Champaigne, Philippe de Victoria & Albert Museum Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis I, 38 Fig. 1; II, 1181 Fig. 9 Forteguerri monument, model for I, 39 Fig. 4, 51; II, 1206 Fig. 11 Forzori Altar II, 1180 Fig. 7,

1427 1189 Medusa plate from Cafaggiolo II, 834 Fig. 38 Neptune II, 813 Fig. 8 see: Bernini: works Neptune and Triton I, 238 Fig. 40 Neptune group I, 501 River god I, 55 Fig. 19; II, 1217 Fig. 24 see: Bologna, Giovanni Thomas Baker, bust of I, 199 see: Bernini: works Wax reliefs: Purgatory, Hell II, 732 Figs. 47, 48 Warburg Institute I, 496 Westminster Abbey Monument to Roger Townsend II, 1020 see: Adams, Robert Longhi, Pietro I, 7 Lorenzi, Battista Allegory of Painting. Tomb of Michelangelo II, 1190, 1208 Fig. 13 Alpheus and Arethusa II, 653, 656 Fig. 9, Los Angeles, CA. J. Paul Getty Museum Boy defeating a marine dragon II, 1157 Fig.17 Lotto, Lorenzo Triple portrait II, 763 Fig. 4, 764–765 Lotz, Wolfgang I, 167 Louis XIV I, 11, 452, 460; II, 775 Sun emblems of Louis XIV before 1651, engraving I, 536 Fig. 7 Medal of Louis XIV I, 537 Fig. 8 Louis XIV as Jupiter I, 579 Fig. 51 see also: Bernini: works;

1428 Coysevox, Antoine; Le Brun, Charles; Medals; Rossi, Mattia De’; Warin, Jean Loyola, Ignatius I, 8, Canonization of I, 67 Fig. 5, 68 Fig. 6, 84 Fig. 22, 170 see: Greuter, Matthaus Lucan II, 796 Lucca, Pietro di Dottrina del ben Morire I, 301–302 Lucian II, 940 Ludovisi, Alessandro see: Gregory XV Lugano. Thyssen-Boremisza Collection St. Sebastian II, 1152 Fig. 12 see Bernini: works Lyon I, 606, 618 Lysippus I, 574 Macandrew, Hugh I, 366 Macchia II, 727 Machiavelli, Niccolò I, 629; II, 918 and anti-machiavellian movement II, 919, 921, 938–941, 946, 950, 954 Maderna, Stefano I, 7 Maderno, Carlo I, 83, 89, 95, 123, 172–173, 175; II, 1099, 1343, 1349, 1351–1352, 1374 and development of the baldachin I, 170, 371–372, 374–375, 488, 490–491, 494 Palazzo Barberini I, 612 Fig. 79 Project for choirs in the crossing and apse of St. Peter’s I, 75 Fig. 13, 168, 174 Three Wrestling Infants (attrib.) I, 215 Fig. 21, 219 Madonna avvocata II, 880–881,

1055, 1061 Fig. 5 Madrid Buen Retiro see: Meunier, Louis; Tacca, Pietro Museo del Prado Bust of Charles V I, 324 Fig. 17, 334 Colonna Claudius I, 327 Fig. 23 339 Antique base I, 368 Fig. 14 17th century pedestal I, 368 Fig. 15 Heaven; Purgatory see: Ribalta, Francisco II, 741 Figs. 65, 64 self-portrait see: Titian II, 1256 Fig. 11 Magagnati, Girolamo La Vita di San Longino I, 152 Fig. 70 Magalotti, Lorenzo I, 477 Maggi, Giovanni I, 82, 169 Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, engraving I, 65 Fig. 2, 168, 172; II, 1340, 1355 Fig. 5 Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, engraving (detail) I, 85 Fig. 24 Emblem of the Confraternity of SS. Salvatore ad Sancta, engraving II, 889, 905 Fig. 42 St. John’s in the Lateran: engraving: sacramental altar I, 493 Fig. 6 Magnificence I, 289 Maiano, Benedetto da pulpit in S. Croce, Florence I, 38 Fig. 2, 46, 51 Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis I, 38 Fig. 1; II, 1181 Fig. 9, 1189, 1205 Fig. 10

INDEX

Mair, Alexander II, 695, 704–705, 715 Arms of Johann Conrad, engraving II, 701 Fig. 26 Blessed Soul, engraving II, 673 Fig. 19, 675 Damned Soul, engraving II, 673 Fig. 20, 675 Death, engraving II, 702 Fig. 28 Heaven, engraving II, 703 Fig. 31 Hell, engraving II, 703 Fig. 30 Memento mori, engraving II, 701 Fig. 27 Purgatory, engraving II, 702 Fig. 29 Mancini, Georgia II, 1236 Manilli, Jacomo I, 218; II, 1141 Manni, Agostino II, 663–664, 675, 716–717, 719 Rappresentatione di Anima at di Corpo II, 662–664, 675, 722, 723 Spiritual Exercise II, 722 Manni, Battista: I, 304 Man of Sorrows I, 315, 341–343 see also: Bernini, works: bust of the Savior Mansart, Francis I, 575 Mantegna, Andrea Sts. Andrew and Longinus with the Resurrected Christ I, 146, 152 Fig. 71 Mantua, duchy of I, 147 Ancona Chapel of the Precious Blood I, 145 Fig. 69, 146 Sant’Andrea, church of I, 141 Mantuan tradition I, 141, 146–149 Marcel, Pierre I, 182 Marchese, Francesco: nephew to Bernini I, 292–293, 297–299, 344, 605–606; II, 850, 887, 1049, 1051, 1070–1071, 1080,

1429 1103 Preparamento a ben morire I, 306ff. publications as context for Bernini’s death I, 306–311 Ultimo colpo al cuore del peccatore I, 306ff. Unica speranza del peccatore I, 290 Fig. 1; II, 853, 861 Fig. 8, 1057 Fig. 1 as companion volume to Sangue di Cristo print I, 306–307 see also Bernini: works, Sangue di Cristo Marck, Erard de la tomb of: engraving I, 450 Fig. 38; II, 996 Fig. 45 Marcus Aurelius, Emperor I, 399, 546, 622 column I, 602, 604 Marcus Curtius I, 582, 624 see: Bernini: works: Louis XIV, equestrian statue Marder, Tod A. II, 1337 Maria Theresa of Austria I, 606; II, 945, 947 Mariani, Camillo I, 7 Marino, Giambattista La Galeria II, 799–800 Martin, Jean-Baptiste I, 622 View of the Allée Royale Versailles I, 612 Fig. 80 Martinelli, Fioravante I, 83, 95, 168, 172, 182, 271; II, 1349–1352, 1377–1381 Appendix: Roma Ornata dell’architettura II, 1350, 1367 Fig. 25 Maria/Mater Ecclesia I, 314; II, 1055–1056, 1070 Mascarino, Ottaviano I, 167 Masaccio

1430 Trinity, detail II, 1178 Fig. 2, 1183, 1190 Matilda of Tuscany see: Bernini: works Mattei collection I, 603 Mattei, Rodolfo de II, 918 Maxentius, Emperor I, 399 Mazarin, Giulio I, 605; II, 770, 780, 1247 Medals Carlo Gonzaga I, 518 Fig. 9 Carlo Spinelli I, 518 Fig. 8 Charles VI I, 588 Fig. 59; II, 934 Fig. 16 Corsini, Andrea I, 91 Fig. 32; II, 1341, 1359 Fig. 12 Early Christian I, 106 Fig. 38 Ferdinando Gonzaga I, 518 Fig. 7 Foundation medal for the Louvre I, 600 Fig. 69, 621 François de la Rochefoucauld I, 608 Fig. 22, 622 Innocent XI I, 451 Fig. 39, 454; Innocent XII II, 892, 906, 907 Figs. 44, 45 Louis XIV I, 587 Figs. 56, 57, 588 Fig. 58, 594–595; II, 931 Fig. 12, 936 Figs. 18, 20, 944, 947, 953–954 Paul II I, 76 Fig. 15 Paul V I, 79 Fig. 21, 169 Pius V I, 451 Fig. 40, 454 Sacrament altar: engraving; medal of Clement VIII I, 485 Fig. 4 St. Michael leading Urban VIII II, 1277 Fig. 9 St. Michael crowning Urban VIII II, 1277 Fig. 10, 1284, Successa I, 106 Fig. 38, 182 Medal of Urban VIII I, 91 Fig. 31, 371, 375; II, 1341, 1359 Fig. 11

Medici collection I, 59 Megolapsychia, mosaic II, 696 Fig. 18 Medici dynasty II, 939, 1375 see also: Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello; Florence. S. Lorenzo Medici, Cosimo I de’ see also: Cellini, Benvenuto Medici, Cosimo II de’ I, 183 Medici, Cosimo III de’ I, 627 Medici, Ferdinando de’ I, 593; II, 799–800 Medici, Giuliano de’ I, 50 Meinecke, Friedrich II, 918 Meiss, Millard I, 366 Mellan, Claude II, 1072–1075, 1079, 1081 Anculus piscatoris, engraving II, 1305 Figs. 23, 24 Bust of the Savior, engraving II, 1065 Fig. 11, 1075 Memphis, TN. Brooks Memorial Art Museum Henrietta Maria II, 767 Fig. 6, 1251 Fig. 4 Mendo, Andres Emblem: Pungatet Ungat II, 985 Fig. 28 Menelaus see: Antique Statues Méne(s)trier, Claude-François I, 99, 182, 606, 618, 629; II, 945–950 passim. History of the King I, 526 La dévise du Roi justifiée II, 945 Menghini, Nicolò I, 205, 216, 233 Messerschmidt, Franz II, 694 Self-portrait, smiling II, 700 Fig. 24 The Yawner II, 700 Fig. 25 Metamorphosis in sculpture II, 1143 Metaphor I, 28, 30–31, 300, 310,

INDEX

314–315, 531, 525–526, 532, 544, 560, 572, 582, 622; II, 792, 794, 799, 939–940, 1003, 1051, 1079, 1097, 1198, 1202, 1204, 1271, 1331 Meunier, Louis Entrance to Buen Retiro, Madrid, engraving I, 576 Fig. 47 Mezzetti, Amalia I, 183 Meyer, Johann the Younger View of Piazza Colonna I, 555 Fig. 30 Michelangelo (Buonarotti) II, 1132, 1137–1139, 1143, 1145 Anima Dannata, drawing II, 694, 697 Fig. 20 bozzetto I, 41 Fig.9 Bozzetto for a two figure group II, 1191, 1214 Fig. 20 bozzetto style II, 1189–1193, 1197–1198 Creation of the Sun and Moon (detail) I, 436 Fig. 28 David I, 37, 42 Fig. 11, 43 Fig. 12, 49–50, 58, 61; II, 798, 1187 Fall of Phaeton I, 412–413, 416 Fig. 13 The Last Judgement, detail of Christ II, 849, 859 Fig. 6, 1300, 1320 Fig. 47 Madonna of the Saints I, 51 Medici tombs II, 1191, 1193 Model of a River God II, 1191, 1213, Fig. 19 Moses II, 1301, 1322 Fig. 50 Palazzo Farnese I, 592–593 Pietà I, 243, 246–247 Project for the Campidoglio: engraving I, 600 Fig. 70, 621 Rape of Ganymede, (copy after), drawing II, 1215 Fig. 21

1431 Resurrected Christ II, 1191, 1212 Fig. 18 Right hand drawing left hand, drawing II, 1191, 1212 Fig. 17 River God I, 44 Fig. 15, 52 Sonnet on the Sistine Chapel ceiling I, 425, 431 Fig. 27 St. Matthew I, 45 Fig. 16; II, 1190, 1192, 1211 Fig. 16 Study after Giotto, drawing II, 1190, 1209 Fig. 14 Study after Masaccio, drawing II, 1190, 1210 Fig. 15 torso I, 44 Fig. 14; 1189, 1207 Fig. 12 wall drawings I, 424, 430 Fig. 26 see also, Lorenzi, Battista Milan. Accademia Borromeo II, 1043, 1045 Milan. Sant’Ambrogio Nebuchadnezzar and the Three Youths, sarcophagus of St. Ambrose II, 708 Fig. 37, 714 Milton, John Samson Agonistes II, 669 Mitterand, François Maurice Adrien Marie I, 630 Mochi, Francesco I, 7, 121–124, 134, 148–149, 164, 575 Cherubs (attrib.) I, 234 Fig. 34 Equestrian monument to Alessandro Farnese I, 576 Fig. 49 John the Baptist I, 232 Putto I, 233, 235 Fig. 35 St. Veronica 116 Fig. 49; II, 976 Fig. 16a Models, see modelli modelli I, 33–61 passim, 274; II, 1192 see also: bozzetti; creative process

1432 Modena Archivio di Stato Letter from Bernini to Francesco I d’Este II, 762 Fig. 2 Duke of II, 659 Museo Estense Bust of Francesco I d’Este II, 325 Fig. 19, 563 Fig. 36; II 761 Fig. 1, 922 Fig. 1, 1249 Fig. 1 see also: Bernini: works Piazza Ducale I, 603 Sant’Agostino II, 939 Moisy, Pierre I, 182 Molinos, Miguel de I, 305; II, 853 Montagu, Jennifer II, 1141, 1337 Monteverdi Lament of Ariadne II, 663 Montfaucon, Bernard De L’ antiquité expliquée I, 327 Montalto, Alessandro DamasceniPeretti see: Bernini: works Montalto, Michele I, 500 Montoya, Pedro de Foix see: Bernini: works Morelli, Lazzaro Angel with the Scourge I, 12 Mosaic, I, 115 Fig. 47, 398–399, 400 Fig. 1–2, 401 Fig. 3; II, 676 Fig. 22, 687 Fig. 4, 696 Fig. 18, 855, 881, 894 Fig. 25, 902 Fig. 39, 1006, 1122 Fig. 23, 1124, 1175, 1275 Fig. 6, 1284 Mount Athos I, 585 Mount Parnassus I, 582 Fountain of Mount Parnassus, destroyed in the eighteenth century I, 549 Fig. 19 see also: Parigi, Giulio Muccia. Villa della Maddalena Urban VIII, drawing I, 428 Fig. 24 see also: Bernini works

Munich Alte Pinakothek The Intercession of Christ and the Virgin I, 316 Fig. 4; II, 860 Fig. 7 see also: Lippi Filippino Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Beati and Maledicti II, 721 Fig. 44 see: Hildegard of Bingen Glyptothek Medusa Rondanini II, 824 Fig. 24 Schloss Nymphenburg Wax reliefs: Death and Judgement; Hell and Heaven II, 738 Figs. 59, 60, 739 Figs. 61, 62 Staatliche Graphische Sammlung Arms of Johann Conrad, engraving II 701 Fig. 26 Blessed Soul, engraving. II, 673 Fig. 19 Damned soul, engraving II, 673 Fig. 20 Death, engraving II, 702 Fig. 28 Heaven, engraving II, 703 Fig. 31 Hell, engraving II, 703 Fig. 30 Memento mori, engraving II, 701 Fig. 27 Purgatory, engraving II, 702 Fig. 29 see: Mair, Alexander Staatsbibliothek Beati and Maledicti II, 671 Fig. 17 see: Hildegard of Bingen Munoz, Antonio I, 169 Muti, Giovanni Battista (“Cavaliere”)

INDEX

Apotheosis of Urban I II, 1324 Fig. 53, 1329 Muti, “Brother of Cavaliere” Allegory of Peace II, 1325 Fig. 54, 1329 Naldini, Paolo Angel with the Crown I, 12, 13 Naples Galleria Nazionale Salvation of a Soul II, 957, 986 Fig. 6 see: Lanfranco, Giovanni Montedi Pieta Charity II, 957, 969 Fig. 7 see: Bernini, Pietro Museo Archeologico Farnese Bull I, 580 Fig. 53, 585, 592 Nebuchadnezzar and the Three Youths, sarcophagus of St. Ambrose II, 708 Fig. 37, 714 Natoire, Charles Joseph II, 1020 Neo-classicism II, 1043, 1204 Nepotism I, 446, 453; II, 756, 884, 1100, 1271 Neptune and Triton see: Bernini: works Nero, Emperor I, 532, 547 see: Lauro, Giacomo New Haven Conn. Yale University Pasquino: engraving I, 441 Fig. 34 see also: Lafreri, Antonio New York American Numismatic Society Medal of Charles VI I, 588 Fig. 59; II, 934 Fig. 16 see: Vestner, Wilhelm Medal of Louis XIV I, 537

1433 Fig. 8; II, 931 Fig. 12 Metropolitan Museum of Art Alpheus and Arethusa II, 656 Fig. 9 see: Lorenzi, Battista Aristotle contemplating the bust of Homer II, 1258 Fig. 15 see: Rembrandt Aristotle contemplating the bust of Homer, detail II, 1259 Fig. 16 see: Rembrandt Bacchic group II, 1160 Fig. 21 Herms II, 1161 Fig. 22 see: Bernini, Pietro Death, Last Judgement, engraving II, 692 Figs. 14, 15 see: Heemskerck, Maarten van drollery: engraving I, 457 Fig. 41 see: Bosch, Hieronymus Hell, Heaven, engravings II, 693 Figs. 16, 17 see: Heemskerck, Maarten van Pierpont Morgan Library and Museum Portrait of Sisinio Poli: drawing I, 419 Fig. 17 Portrait of Scipione Borghese I, 420 Fig. 18 see also: Bernini: works Villa di Sesto degli SS:ri Marchesi Corsi, drawing II, 1166 Fig. 29a Villa di Sesto degli SS:ri Marchesi Corsi, drawing, detail II, 1166 Fig. 29b see: Zocchi, Guiseppe Public Library

1434 The Death of Moriens from Dell’arte del ben morire: woodcut I, 291 Fig. 2 The Death of Moriens: engraving I, 318 Fig. 8 see: Hooghe, R. De Nini, Caro II, 1042 Nini, Jacopo II, 1042 Norfolk, Va. Chrysler Museum Bust of the Savior I, 320–322 Figs. 10–14, 357 Fig. 1, 393; II, 851, 857 Fig. 2 detail I, 359 Fig. 3, 360 Fig. 5, 361 Fig. 7, 362 Fig 9 attribution to Bernini I, 330– 333 see also: Bernini: works Nuremberg. Stadtbibliothek Albrecht Dürer, letter to Willibald Pirckheimer I, 421 Fig. 19 Odescalchi, Benedetto see: Innocent XI Odescalchi Odescalchi, Livio, Duke of Bracciano I, 364, 460 Bust: copy after a model by Bernini I, 459 Fig. 43 Oertel, Robert II, 1182–1183 Oliva, Giovanni Paolo: I, 296, 306, 510–511; II, 893, 950, 1074, 1075, 1077, 1079 Olivares, Count-Duke (Gaspar de Guzmán y Pimentel) I, 606 Olivieri, Piertro Paulo I, 110 Memorial statue of Gregory XIII II, 1301, 1322 Fig. 51 Olynthus. Villa of Good Fortune I, 398–399 House A xi 9, pebble mosaic I, 401 Fig. 3 pebble mosaic I, 400 Fig. 1

pebble mosaic with inscriptions and symbols I, 400 Fig. 2 Opera, Bernini and I, 17–18 see also: Bernini, theatrical work Oratory: religious order of I, 305, 605; II, 850, 1100, 1103, 1346 and development of theater and opera II, 662–665, 715, 717, 719 see also: Rome. Churches: S. Maria in Vallicella (Chiesa Nuova); St. Philip Neri Order, architectural I, 98, 132, 489, 534, 546, 560, 621, 625–626; II, 1098, 1099 Order of the Redeemer, Mantua I, 146 see: Mantua. Sant’Andrea. Ancona Chapel of the Precious Blood Orne, Normandy Sées Cathedral Bust of the Savior, copy I, 354, 356, 358 Fig. 2 detail I, 359 Fig. 4, 360 Fig. 6, 361 Fig. 8, 362 Fig. 10 comparison with bust in Norfolk, Va. Chrysler Museum I, 364–365 see also: Bernini: works Orsini, Cecilia, bust of I, 200, 206 Fig. 6 Orsini, Don Virginio, see Bernini: works Orsini, Paulo Giordano, see Bernini: works Orvieto Cathedral Museum statuette of Fortitude I, 35, 41 Fig. 10; II, 1180 Fig. 6, 1185

INDEX

Ovid Metamorphoses I, 532; II, 792– 793, 801, 803–804 Oxford, Ashmolean Museum Baciccio drawings I, 366 “Palace Portrait” I, 532 Pallavicino, Sforza II, 1100 Palmyra Plan of oval piazza and colonnaded thoroughfare II, 1098, 1112 Fig. 11 Pandolfi, Alfonso I, 477 Panofsky, Erwin I, 312, 344 422 Panvinio, Onofrio Palatine Palace and Circus Maximus I, 556 Fig. 32, 558 Papal Master of Ceremonies 1, 492 Paragone II, 727–728, 764–765, 770, 772, 792–793, 795, 798, 1142 Parapetasma II, 920, 926 Fig. 5 Parigi, Giulio Mount Parnassus I, 550 Fig. 20 Paris Bibliothèque Nationale Anculus piscatoris, engraving II, 1305 Fig. 24 Foundation medal for the Louvre I, 600 Fig. 69 see: Warin, Jean Louis XIV: engraving I, 326 Fig. 21 see also: Gantrel, E., Sevin, P.P. Medal of François de la Rochefoucauld I, 608 Fig. 22 see: Bernard, Thomas Medal commemorating canonization of Andrea Corsini II, 1359 Fig. 12 Obolos from Judea II, 682,

1435 686 Figs 3, 4 Project for the Louvre, engraving I, 541 Fig. 14 see: Le Vau Projects for the Louvre1624– 1829, engraving I, 614 Fig. 82 Project for a monument containing Bernini’s equestrian statue of Louis XIV, drawing I, 599 Fig. 68 see: Rossi, Mattia de’ Sacramental altar, St. John’s in the Lateran, medal of Clement VIII I, 485 Fig. 4 Champs Elysees I, 632 Collection Schenitch Wax reliefs: Purgatory, Hell, Heaven II, 736 Figs. 55–57 Institut de France I, 47 see also: Leonardo Musée de Cluny Crucifixion, showing the Virgin as advocate ..... II, 1056, 1062 Fig. 6 Musée du Louvre II, 752 columns I, 546–547 design concept linked to bust and equestrian statue of Louis XIV I, 524–526 passim. design motifs transferred from antiquity: large statuary I, 547, 558 sun imagery I, 526, 532– 535, 544–547, 558–560 use of rustication I, 534– 535, 544–546 Amour et Désespoir II, 694, 699 Figs. 22, 23 see: Le

1436 Brun, Charles Borghese Gladiator II, 661 Fig. 12 Et in Arcadia Ego II, 648 Fig. 1 see: Poussin Foundation medal for the Louvre I, 600 Fig. 69 see: Warin, Jean Lead cast of Bernini’s equestrian statue of Louis XIV I, 617 Fig. 86 see also: Pei, I. M. Ludovica Albertoni, copy after Bernini II, 1031 Fig. 17 The palace of the sun, drawing I, 539 Fig. 12 Portière of Mars, tapestry I, 571 Fig. 46 Projects for the Louvre1624– 1829, engraving I, 614 Fig. 82 Project for the Louvre, drawing I, 540 Fig. 13 see: Le Vau Project for the Louvre, drawing II, 1317 Fig. 43 see: Bernini; works Richelieu, bust of II, 769 Fig. 9, 1253 Fig. 7 see: Bernini: works Right hand drawing left hand, drawing II, 1212 Fig. 17 see Michelangelo self-portrait see: Rembrandt II, 1257 Fig. 14 Suit of armor for Henry II II, 932 Fig. 14 see: Delaune, Etienne Study after Giotto, drawing II, 1209 Fig. 14 see: Michelangelo Saint-Barthélemy, church of I,

329 Saint Eustache Tomb of Marin Cureau I, 365, 367 Fig. 13 see: Tuby, Jean-Baptiste Tuileries Palace I, 621, 631–632 Parma. Teatro Farnese I, 21–22 Parrhasius of Ephesus II, 1261 Pasquali, Andrea I, 195 Pasquino I, 440 Fig. 33, 443–445, 455, 561; II, 1271 engraving of I, 441 Fig. 34 Pasqualino, Giovanni Battista Charity, engraving after Guercino II, 957, 970 Fig. 8 pasquinade I, 443–447 Passignano, Domenico I, 230–231, 247 Passion of Christ (includes Instruments of the Passion) I, 113, 149, 159, 160, 162, 312, 389; II, 879, 963, 1199 relics of I, 81, 123, 132, 135, 141, 147; II, 889, 960 Pastor, Ludwig von History of the Popes II, 753 Patroclus see: Antique Statues Patron/patronage I, 15, 51, 251, 287, 289, 379, 399, 433, 434, 480, 500, 512, 514, 526, 604; II, 662, 666, 679, 722, 724, 752, 757, 760, 764, 777, 779, 781, 1005, 1020, 1077, 1088, 1137, 1143, 1146, 1189, 1235, 1237, 1243, 1246, 1248, 1261, 1284 Paul II Medal I, 76 Fig. 15 Paul III I, 69, 333 Memorial statue of Paul III II, 1301, 1321 Fig. 49 see: Sormano, Lorenzo Tomb of Paul III II, 962–963,

INDEX

980 Fig. 20, 983 Fig. 24, 984 Fig. 25 see: Porta, Guglielmo della Paul V I, 66, 70–71, 80, 82, 88–89, 94, 111, 113, 132, 137, 179, 202, 260, 271, 371, 374, 434, 480–481; II, 854, 870, 1000, 1009, 1268, 1350 Medal I, 79 Fig. 21 see also: Bernini: works; Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing, the baldachin Peacham, Henry Emblem: Et minimi vindicatam II, 995 Fig. 44, 1007 Pegasus I, 573, 582 Pei, I. M. I, 630–632 entrance to the Louvre, Paris I, 615 Figs. 83, 84 illustration of derivation of the Louvre pyramid I, 616 Fig. 85 lead cast of Bernini’s equestrian statue of Louis XIV I, 617 Fig. 86 plan of the entrance to the Louvre indicating siting of the equestrian statue of Louis XIV I, 617 Fig. 87 Peiresc, Nicolas I, 99 Peñaranda de Bracamante. Convento de las Carmelitas Descalzas Wax reliefs: Death, Purgatory, Limbo, Hell II, 731 Fig. 46 Peretola. S. Maria, church of Tabernacle of the Holy Sacrament see: Robbia, Luca della I, 114 Fig. 45 Perrault, Charles I, 575 Perspective, I, 173, 315, 344; II, 752, 1342 Peruzzi, Baldassare

1437 Villa Farnesina I, 611 Fig. 78 Villa Farnesina II, 1299, 1314 Fig. 38 Pevsner, Nikolaus I, 9 Phidias I, 445 Philibertus II of Savoy I, 520 Philip II of Spain II, 945 PhilipI IV of Spain I, 605; II, 945, 947 see: Tacca, Pietro Philip V of Spain I, 216 Physiognomy I, 453; II, 795, 796 Piacenza Equestrian monument to Alessandro Farnese I, 576 Fig. 49 Farnese Monument: Putto I, 235 Fig. 35 see also: Mochi, Francesco Piancastelli, Giovanni I, 377; II, 1042 “Picciola basa” I, 357, 366, 573; II, 944, 946 Pietrasanta, Silvestro Emblem: Maestate tantum II, 986 Fig. 29 Pigna, Giovanni Battista II, 938–940 Gli heroici II, 938 il Principe II, 938 Pillars of Hercules I, 602–603, 605, 618, 622, 626; II, 947, 950 Piranesi, Giovanni Battista II, 877 Porta della Ripetta, engraving II, 1282 Fig. 16, 1287 Pirkheimer, Willibald Letter to Willibald Pirkheimer I, 415, 421 Fig. 19 Pisa. Camposanto Roman sarcophagus with portrait busts II, 920, 926 Fig. 5 Pistoia. Forteguerri monument see: Verrocchio Pius II I, 147

1438 Commentaria II, 1089 Pius III II, 1341 Pius V I, 453–454; II, 877, 1284 The Holy Spirit, St. Michael and Pius V II, 1284, 1276 Fig. 8 see aslo: Medals Pizzati, Lorenzo II, 754, 1091–1092, 1098–1099, 1100–1101 Plague II, 1005, 1038, 1284 Plautus II, 674 Plato III, 940 Pliny I, 454, 520; II, 804, 1001 Plutarch I, 574 Plague II, 1005, 1038, 1284 Poetics II, 667–668, 675 Poggi, Gemignano I, 11 Poilly, François engraver I, 509 Optica Philosphia, frontispiece to I, 513 Fig. 1 Pollak, Oskar I, 1, 168, 170–171, 175–176, 489, 492, 494; II, 1338, 1341 Kunsttätigkheit unter Urban VIII I, 1 Pola I, 182 Poli, Sisinio see: Bernini: works Pommersfelden, Schloss Vanitas, still life II, 710 Fig. 38, 714 see: Heem, Davidsz de Pompeii graffiti I, 428 Fig. 23 Pontormo, Jacopo da I, 149 St. Veronica I, 153 Fig. 72 Pontremoli II, 754, 1091 Porta, Giacoma della I, 111 Porta, Giambattista della Physiognomical types I, 411 Fig. 12, 412; II, 694, 698 Fig. 21 Porta, Guglielmo della Bust of Paul III I, 333 Tomb of Paul III II, 962–963, 980 Fig. 20, 983 Fig. 24,

984 Fig. 25 Porta, Teodoro della I, 176 Possignano. Gipsoteca Adam and Eve mourning over Abel, terracotta II, 1202, 1226 Fig. 39 Pietà, terracotta II, 1202, 1226 Fig. 38 The Three Graces, detail, gesso II, 1203, 1228 Fig. 41, Poussin, Nicolas I, 11; II 645–646, 652, 658 Et in Arcadia Ego II, 648 Fig. 1 Prague. Lanna Collection Crying and Laughing Babies II, 707 Fig. 34 Praxiteles I, 445 Prince-Hero I, 629; II, 919, 921, 938, 940–942, 946, 950, 954 Propaganda, Baroque style as II, 753–754, 1090 Propaganda Fide II, 1302 Proportion, I, 48–50, 59, 98, 150, 330, 356, 390–91; II, 658, 758, 851, 920, 957, 1195, 1342– 1345, 1350 Protestants II, 753–754 Providence. Rhode Island School of Design Wax reliefs: Hell II, 740 Fig. 63 see: Zumbo, Gaetano Pseudo-Dionysius Celestial Hierarchies II, 1198– 1199 Pseudo-Epiphanius II, 1056 Puccini, Vicenzo I, 309 Puget, Pierre II, 1020–1021 see also: Breton, Luc-François Purgatory II, 696, 702 Fig. 29, 704, 730, 731 Fig. 46, 732 Fig. 47, 733 Fig. 49, 734 Fig. 52, 736 Fig. 55, 741 Fig. 64, 742

INDEX

Pyrenees I, 606; II, 949 Pyrenees, Treaty/Peace of I, 605–606, 618, 629; II, 853, 945, 947, Allegory of Peace of the Pyrenees I, 597 Fig. 65; II, 935 Fig. 17, 947, 948–949 Quellinus, Erasmus Sic itur ad astra, engraved frontispiece II, 937 Fig. 19, 953 Raggi, Antonio I, 13 Studies for Angels, drawing II, 1036 Fig. 26, 1040, 1041 Raggio, Olga II, 1145 Rainaldi, Carlo Apse of S. Maria Maggiore, showing Bernini’s project, plan II, 855, 866 Fig. 13 Apse of S. Maria Maggiore, showing obelisk erected by Sixtus V II, 867 Fig. 14, 880 Rainaldi, Girolamo I, 168 Raphael: school of Donation of Constantine I, 77 Fig. 17 Palazzo Caffarelli-Vidoni I, 611 Fig. 77 Rappresentatione di Anima at di Corpo II, 662–664, 675 see also: De’Cavalieri, Emilio; Manni, Agostino Relics of the saints see: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s: the crossing Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn Aristotle contemplating the bust of Homer II, 1258 Fig. 15, 1261 Aristotle contemplating the bust of

1439 Homer, detail II, 1259 Fig. 16 self-portrait II, 1257 Fig. 14, 1259 Fig. 17, 1261 Reni, Guido I, 7; II, 1262 Ecce Homo I, 342 Rhetoric I, 511, 623; II, 645, 659, 667, 754, 789, 792, 942, 1090, 1099, 1339 Ribalta, Francisco Heaven II, 741 Fig. 65 Purgatory II, 741 Fig. 64 Ricci, Giovanni Battista I, 175 Richelieu, Cardinal I, 11; II, 770– 772, 779 bust of see: Bernini: works II, 769 Fig. 9, 785, 1253 Fig.7 triple portrait see Champaigne, Philippe de II, 759, 769 Fig. 10, 770 Riegl, Alois I, 1 Rinuccini, Ottavio II, 663 Ripa, Cesare II, 801, 1330 Allegory of History II, 958, 959, 997 Fig. 46, 1010 Dominion over the self II, 987 Fig. 32, 1002 Iconologia I, 475; II, 722 Rivalto, Andrea Equestrian monument of Vittorio Amadeo I of Savoy I, 567 Fig. 55, 593 Robbia, della, Luca I, 36, 46; II, 1186 Crucifixion of St. Peter I, 39 Fig. 3, 47 Deliverance of St. Peter I, 47 Tabernacle of the Holy Sacrament I, 114 Fig. 45 Rocchetta, Giovanni Incisa della I, 169 Rochefoucauld, François de la

1440 see: Bernard, Thomas; Medals Rodin, Auguste I, 389 Cast of Rodin’s Hand with Torso II, 1229 Fig. 43 The Hand of God II, 1231 Fig. 45 Torso of Adèle II, 1229 Fig. 42 Romana, St. Francesca Canonization of I, 78 Fig. 19, 168 Romano, Giulio I, 561 Alexander the Great I, 566 Fig. 40; II, 929 Fig. 10, 943 Donation of Constantine II 1368 Fig. 28, 1374 East wall, Sala di Constantino II 1370 Fig. 31, 1374 Gregory the Great II, 1369 Figs. 29, 30, 1374 Gregory the Great celebrating mass, relief II, 1372 Fig. 34 Meeting of Constantine the Great and Sylvester II, 1372 Fig. 33, 1374 St. Peter II, 962, 982 Fig. 22 Sylvester I II, 1371 Fig. 32 Urban I II, 960–961, 978 Fig. 18, 1008, 1301, 1323 Fig. 52 Rome Accademia di S. Luca II, 1204, 1232, 1300 Metallius rescuing Palladium from the Temple of Vesta, terracotta II, 1020, 1024 Fig. 6, 1043, 1045 see: Breton, Luc- François Aelian Bridge II, 879 Apostolic Hospice for the Invalid Poor see: Bernini: works: bust of the Savior; Rome. St.

John’s Lateran Arch of Constantine I, 403 Fig. 6 Baths of Caracalla I, 592 Baths of Diocletian I, 500 Biblioteca Clementina II, 1009 Camera dei Deputati Project for the Palazzo di Montecitorio I, 554 Fig. 28 Project for the Palazzo di Montecitorio (detail) I, 554 Fig. 29 Campidoglio II, 1301 see: Duperac, Etienne; Michelangelo Capitoline Hill I, 622 Castel Sant’Angelo II, 879, 1284 Churches Chiesa Nuova see: S. Maria in Vallicella. Gesù, Church of Bust of Bellarmino I, 258 Fig. 60, 268; II, 1148 Fig. 5 Confraternity of the Bona Mors I, 303–305, 344, 453 Madonna dei Monti I, 111, 112 High altar I, 114 Fig. 44 S. Anastasia I, 123 S. Andrea al Quirinale I, 5, 139; II, 677 Fig. 23, 678 Fig. 25, 751, 1300, 1316 Fig. 41 Apotheosis of St. Andrew see: Bernini: works I, 142 Fig. 64 S. Andrea delle Fratte Angel with the inscription I, 11, 12, 389 Angel with the crown of

INDEX

thorns I, 383 Fig. 3, 389–90 Theatine Fathers I, 506 see also Bernini: works: bozzetti S. Andrea della Valle I, 500 Apotheosis of St. Andrew I, 131 Fig. 62, 138, Antonio Barberini, bust of I, 230, 240 Fig. 44 St. John the Baptist I, 223 Fig. 28, 244 Strozzi Chapel II, 1137, 1154 Fig. 14 burial niche of Carlo Barberini I, 175, 477 Barberini Chapel Cherub (right hand pediment) I, 234 Fig. 33, 235 Fig. 36, 237 Figs. 38, 39; II, 1155 Fig. 15 Cherubs (left hand pediment) I, 234 Fig. 34 attribution of cherubs I, 232–233, 244–248 removal of cherubs and Barbadori bust to Barberini collection I, 249 S. Carlo al Catinari Force with dominion over the self II, 988 Fig. 33, 1002 Justice with Benignity II, 977 Fig. 17 Prudence with Time II, 959, 975 Fig. 15 see: Domenichino S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane II, 647, 649

1441 Fig. 3, 658 S. Claudio dei Borgognoni St.Andrew see: Breton, Luc-François II, 1025 Fig.7 S. Clemente Apse mosaic II, 880, 894 Fig. 25 SS. Cosmas and Damian Apse mosaic II, 1275 Fig. 6 Barberini bees II, 991 Fig. 37 S. Croce in Gerusalemme I, 123, 150–151 Ancient statue restored as St. Helen I, 155 Fig. 76 St. Helen I, 154 Fig. 73 II, 724 see: Rubens, Peter Paul S. Francisco a Ripa Tomb of Ludovica Albertoni I, 448 Fig. 37 see also: Bernini: works S. Giacomo degli Spagnoli Confraternity of the Resurrection I, 262 S. Giovanni dei Fiorentini Antonio Ceparelli, bust of, I, 254–255 Figs. 54–55, 256–257 Figs. 58–59, 259 Fig. 61, 504 Fig. 8; II, 1146 Fig. 1 see: Bernini: works Archconfraternity of the Pietà I, 186 Pietro Cambi, bust of I, 208 Fig. 10 see: Ferrucci, Pompeo Antonio Coppola, bust of

1442 I, 191–193 Figs. 1–3, 207–208 Figs.7–9 see: Bernini: works discussion of busts of 3 benefactors of the hospital I, 187–90, 194–205, 265–267 S. Giovanni in Laterano I, 110–112 Apse mosaic, detail II, 1103, 1122 Fig. 23 Altar of the Holy Sacrament I, 108 Fig. 42, 42A, 115 Fig. 46 Emblem of the Archconfraternity of SS. Salvatore ad Sancta, engraving II, 889, 905 Fig. 41; 1123 Fig. 24, 1124 Lateran Palace II, 902 Fig. 37 Lateran Palace, apse mosaic II, 888, 903 Fig. 39 Lateran Palace as a hospice for the poor, engraving II, 1117 Fig. 17 Sacrament altar: engraving I, 484 Fig. 3 Sacrament altar: engraving; medal of Clement VIII I, 485 Fig. 4 St. John’s in the Lateran, nave II, 855, 870 Fig. 17, 876, see: Borromini, Francesco St. John’s in the Lateran: engraving: sacramental altar I, 493 Fig. 6 Scala Santa. Chapel of the Sancta Sanctorum Icon of the Savior II, 876,

889, 904 Fig. 40 Apostolic Hospice for the Invalid Poor II, 882, 885–886, 888–892, 903 Fig. 38, 1080– 1081, 1100–1103, 1117 Fig. 17, 1124– 1125 and development of the St. Peter’s baldachin I, 486–87 and the Sacramental altar I, 490 relationship of Savior images to Bernini’s Bust of the Savior II, 889–899, 1081 use of Lateran Palace as a hospice II, 885, 888 see also: Maggi, Giovanni, Greuter, Matthaus; Rome. Churches: St Peter’s, the crossing S. Lorenzo in Fonte Urban VIII, bust of II, 1310 Fig. 31 see: Bernini; works S. Marcello Lelio Frangipane, bust of II, 925 Fig. 4 S. Maria in Aracoeli Memorial inscription for Urban VIII II, 1307 Fig. 27 Memorial inscription for Urban VIII, detail II, 1307 Fig. 28 Memorial plaque to Carlo Barberini I, 469, 471 Fig. 1 see: Bernini: works Memorial plaque to

INDEX

Alessandro Farnese I, 471 Fig. 2 Memorial plaque of Gian Francesco Aldobrandini I, 472 Fig. 3 see: Fasolo, Giovanni Antonio Memorial statue of Leo X II 1301, 1321 Fig. 48 see; Aimo, Domenico Memorial statue of Paul III II, 1301, 1321 Fig. 49 see: Sormano, Lorenzo Memorial statue of Gregory XIII II, 1301, 1322 Fig. 51 see: Olivieri, Pietro Paulo stained glass, Barberini bees II, 991 Fig. 36 S. Maria del Popolo Albani bust of I, 259 Fig. 62, 271 see Valsoldo, Giovanni da Habakkuk and the Angel I, 4; II, 1027 Fig. 11 see: Bernini: works Urbano Mellini, bust of see: II, 1255 Fig. 9 Algardi, Alessandro S. Maria della Vitttoria Cornaro family chapel St. Teresa chapel: relationship to stage design I, 5, 9, 16, 24, 27–29, 31, 112, 138 Ecstasy of St. Theresa II, 648 Fig. 2 The Last Supper, detail II, 1065 Fig. 10 see also: Bernini: works S. Maria di Monserrato.

1443 Spanish Seminary II, 724 Pedro de Foix Montoya, bust of I, 252 Fig. 51, 262; II, 829 Fig. 31 see: Bernini: works S. Maria della Pace II, 751; II, 874 Fig. 23 see also: Cortona, Pietro da S. Maria del Rosario Madonna di Sisto II, 881, 895 Fig. 26, 1055, 1061 Fig. 5 S. Maria del Sole II, 875 Fig. 24, 879 S. Maria in Vallicella (Chiesa Nuova) I, 150, 305 Canonization of Ignatius Loyola I, 67 Fig. 5 see: Greuter, Matthaus Oratorio of San Filippo Neri I, 292, 297 Sts. Nereus, Domitilla and Achilleus I, 154 Fig. 74 see: Rubens, Peter Paul see also: Oratory; St. Philip Neri S. Maria Maggiore I, 506–07; II, 1000 Apse of S. Maria Maggiore, showing Bernini’s project, plan see Rainaldi, Carlo II, 855, 866 Fig. 13 Assumption of the Virgin (detail) I, 222–223 Figs. 26, 27 Bernini’s design for reconstruction of II, 854–855, 876–882 Coronation of Clement VIII

1444 II, 1150 Fig. 8 see: Bernini, Pietro Coronation of Clement VIII (detail) I, 209 Fig. 12; II, 1151 Fig. 9 see: Bernini, Pietro Coronation of the Virgin II, 896 Fig. 27 see: Torriti, Jacopo funeral of Bernini I, 294, 299 Medieval Apse II, 854, 864 Fig. 11 see: De Angelis Project for the Apse of S. Maria Maggiore II, 855, 865 Fig. 12 Capella Paolina High Altar II, 869 Fig. 16, 876 Salus Populi Romani II, 876, 868 Fig. 15, 880, 889 S. Maria sopra Minerva Aldobrandini chapel I, 266, 315, 328 Giovanni Vigevano, bust of see also: Bernini: works I, 241 Fig. 46 Maria Raggi, Cenotaph of I, 568 Fig. 42; II, 927 Fig. 6 see: Bernini: works a member of the Aldobrandini, bust of I, 255 Fig. 56 see also: Cordier, Nicolò ‘Thalamus’ for Feast of the Rosary I, 372 see also: Torriani, Orazio Tomb portrait of Ippolito Buzio II, 706 Fig. 32 Triumph of the Cross I, 319

Fig. 7 see: Alberti, Cherubino S. Michele a Ripa Grande II, 1102, 1118 Fig. 18 St. Peter’s II, 649 Fig. 4 see also: Borromini, Francesco, Bernini: works; Old St. Peter’s Altar of the Sacrament. Angel of the Sacrament II, 1019, 1023 Fig. 4, 1223 Fig. 34 Bernini’s designs for St. Peter’s II, 1093–1096 building under Alexander VII II, 1093–1096 colonnade II, 1097 crossing I, 62–185 passim; II, 963 View of the crossing towards the west I, 63 Fig. 1; II, 1347, 1366 Fig. 24 Longitudinal section of St. Peter’s, engraving I, 67 Fig.4 Dome mosaics I, 115 Fig.47 Baldacchino Angel bearing laurel wreaths, crown of the Baldacchino I, 1373 Fig. 35, 1376 Baldacchino and Cathedra Petri II, 1296, 1308 Fig. 29 the crown of the Baldacchino I, 126– 127, 129 Fig. 59; II, 1340, 1356 Fig. 7 Design for upper part and entablature of columns of the Baldacchino II,

INDEX

1342, 1362 Fig. 19 Design for the entablature over the columns of the Baldacchino II, 1342, 1363 Fig. 20 Design for the cornice lappets entablature II, 1342, 1364 Fig. 21 Studies for the crown of the Baldacchino, drawing II, 1342, 1359 Fig. 13, 1360 Fig. 14, 1361 Fig. 15 View of the Baldacchino and Dome I, 109 Fig. 43; II, 1347, 1365 Fig. 22 View of the Baldacchino and choir II, 1337, 1353 Fig. 1 Bernini’s first project for I, 92–203, 110–113, 120 checklist for projects for I, 167–177 conceptual role in St. Peter’s II, 1338–1339 development under Clement VIII I, 482–488 development under Paul V I, 488–491 development under Gregory XV I, 491– 492, 494 development under Urban VIII I, 494–495; II, 1271 history of development of Bernini’s design I, 480–482, 486–492, 494–495 passim

1445 influences on Bernini’s design and development of I, 62, 64, 69–71, 80–83, 88–89, 92, 371–375 relationship to niche statues I, 137, 148, 159 see also: columns Baptismal Chapel see: Gaulli, Giovanni Battista Cathedra Petri I, 5, 372; II, 750 Chapel of the Holy Sacrament I, 100, 101 Altar of St. Francis I, 107 Figs. 39, 40 Angels for the Sacrament Altar: bozzetti I, 386–388 Figs. 8–12, 390–392 see aslo: Bernini: works: bozzetti Solomon inspecting the construction of the Temple I, 107 Fig. 40 ciborium Ciborium model of 1606 in the choir of St. Peter’s see: Derand, François I, 87 Fig. 28A Ciborium for the choir of St. Peter’s I, 86 Fig. 27 Ciborium for the choir of St. Peter’s see: Borromini, Francesco I, 87 Fig. 28 Ciborium for the choir of St. Peter’s see: Cigoli, Ludovico I, 86 Fig. 26 Ciborium of Sixtus IV (Old

1446 St. Peter’s) I, 76 Fig.16 Ciborium of St. Peter’s, drawing see: Werro, Sebastian I, 76 Fig. 18 Ciborium I, 105 Fig. 36 see: Caccini, Giovanni Project for a ciborium I, 105 Fig. 35 Project for a ciborium in the crossing of St. Peter’s see: Borromini, Francesco I, 75 Fig. 14 I, 70, 80–83, 89, 94–95, 98–100,113 checklist for projects for: I, 167–177 Constantinian ciborium I, 182 development under Clement VIII I, 480– 482, 486–488, development under Paul V I, 488–491 see also: Caccini, Giovanni; Ferrabosco, Martin colonnade II, 647, 649 Fig. 4, 1112 Fig. 12 and Doric style II, 1098– 1099 as wasteful extravagance II, 1099 Congregazione della Fabrica I, 122, 123, 135 Corpus Domini procession II, 871 Fig. 20, 878, 1097, 1099, 1111 Fig. 9, 1341 Alexander VII kneeling in the Corpus Domini procession, engraving

II, 1116 Fig. 16a Alexander VII kneeling in the Corpus Domini procession, decenniel medal II, 1116 Fig. 16b Countess Matilda of Tuscany, tomb II, 651 Fig. 6 façade and flanking porticoes II, 1115 Fig. 15 niche statues I, 120– 126,132–141, 146–151, 158–166; II, 960 Bernini presenting the design for the Reliquary Niches to Urban VIII I, 141, 144 Figs. 67, 68; II, 1367 Fig. 26, 1374 Plan of the reliquary niches I, 129 Fig. 58 St. Andrew I, 64, 69 122– 124, 132–141, 147– 148, 150, 160–162, 165; II, 976 Fig. 16b Apotheosis of St. Andrew I, 131 Fig. 63 Reliquary niche of St. Andrew I, 119 Fig. 54 St. Helen I, 110–111, 122, 133–134, 137; II, 976 Fig. 16d Reliquary niche of St. Helen I, 128 Fig. 56 St. Longinus I, 64, 124, 133–135, 137, 140–141, 146–148, 160–162, 165–166; II 976 Fig. 16c

INDEX

Reliquary niche of St. Longinus I, 119 Fig. 55 Transferral of the Lance of St. Longinus I, 143 Figs. 65, 66 St. Longinus II, 650 Fig. 5 St. Veronica I, 120–124, 133–134, 137, 141, 148–149, 164; II, 976 Fig. 16a Reliquary niche of St. Veronica I, 118 Fig. 53; II, 1347, 1365 Fig. 23 St Veronica chapel I, 141 relationship to Temple of Solomon see: Jerusalem, Temple of Solomon Piazza S. Pietro. Corpus Domini procession of Innocent X II, 871 Fig. 20, 878 Relics of the saints disposition in the crossing of St. Peter’s I, 110–111, 121, 123, 126, 132 Text Figs. 132–137 disposition in Old St. Peter’s I, 64, 69 see also: Mantuan tradition plan of reliquary niches I, 129 Fig. 58 Plan for new St. Peter’s, after Michelangelo II, 1339, 1354 Fig. 2 see; Duperac, Etienne Plan of St. Peter’s, engraving, detail II,

1447 1339, 1354 Fig. 3 see: Fontano, Carlo Pope at window of Vatican Palace seen from Piazza San Pietro II, 1097, 1111 Fig. 10 Portico II, 1096–1097 Pasce oves meas, marble relief I, 8 Proposal for the High Altar of St. Peter’s II, 1291, 1303 Fig. 21 see: Bartoli, Papirio Sacrament Altar II, 1032 Fig. 20, 1039 Angel adoring the Sacrament II, 1223 Fig. 34 Scala Regia I, 594 St. Peter’s and Piazza II, 1107 Fig. 4 St. Peter’s and the colonnades as the pope with embracing arms II, 1110 Fig. 8, 1314 Fig. 40 Tomb and High Altar I, 70–71, 80–83, 88–89, 92 Gregory XIII, tomb of, engraving II, 962– 963, 981 Fig. 21, 1000 Tomb of Paul III II, 962, 963, 980 Fig. 20, 983 Fig. 24, 984 Fig. 25 see: Porta, Guglielmo della Urban VIII, tomb of II, 837, 838 Figs. 43, 44, 955–963, 964 Fig. 1, 1000–1016 passim.

1448 Urban VIII, tomb of, detail II, 966 Fig. 3, 967 Figs. 4, 5, 971 Fig. 9, 973 Figs. 11, 12, 974 Figs.13, 14, 992 Figs. 38, 39, 993 Figs. 40–42, 1326 Fig. 56, 1326 Fig. 57, 1328 Figs. 60, 61 Old St. Peter’s I, 124, 137, 147 see also: Relics of the saints Altar of the Holy Sacrament I, 83, 108 Fig. 41; II, 1357 Fig. 8 Ciborium of Sixtus IV I, 76 Fig. 16 Constantinian presbytery, reconstruction drawing I, 73 Fig. 10; II, 1340, 1356 Fig. 6 Plan for the medieval presbytery I, 74 Fig. 11 St. Andrew, from the tabernacle in I, 130 Fig.60 Tabernacle Reliquary of the head of St Andrew I, 72 Fig. 7 Tabernacle Reliquary of the lance of St. Longinus I, 73 Fig. 9 Tabernacle Reliquary of the Volto Santo I, 72 Fig. 8 S. Pietro in Vincoli Moses II, 1322 Fig. 50 see: Michelangelo S. Prassede I, 202 Bust of Giovanni Battista Santoni I, 209 Fig. 11;

II, 1149 Fig. 6 see: Bernini: works S. Sebastiano fuori le Mura Bust of St. Paul I, 260 Bust of St. Peter I, 243 Fig. 49 see: Cordier, Nicolò Bust of the Savior II, 1068 Fig. 14, 1121 Fig. 21, see: Bernini: works chapel of Clement XI II, 1078 S. Spirito in Sassia Altar of the Virgin I, 128 Fig. 57 S. Trinità dei Monti I, 618 Appearance of St. Michael to St. Gregory the Great II, 1275 Fig. 7 Cecilia Orsini, bust of I, 206 Fig. 6 Pio da Carp, bust of I, 206 Fig. 5, 271 see: Sarzano, Leonardo da Project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti I, 598 Fig. 66 Project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti (detail) I, 598 Fig. 67 see: Bernini: workshop of Circus Maximus I, 604 see: Duperac, Etienne; Lauro, Giacomo, Panvinio, Onofrio Circus of Nero I, 604 Colosseum I, 631, II 114 Fig. 14, 1098 Annular vault of the Colosseum, 1781, watercolor see: Grandjean, Jean II,

INDEX

1113 Fig. 13 and relationship to St.Peter’s colonnades II, 1098– 1099 College of Cardinals II, 717, 1004 Collegio Romano II, 659, 679, 942 Complesso monumentale di S. Michele Relief of the Savior II, 882, 901 Fig. 36 Dogana del Terra II, 882, 898 Figs. 30, 31 Dogana di Ripa Relief of the Savior II, 882, 900 Fig. 34 Forum II, 751 Galleries and collections Barberini (Augusto) Collection Bust of Urban VIII see: Bernini: works II, 1309 Fig. 30 Coll. Ganzales-Palacios Wax relief: Heaven II, 737 Fig. 38 Ducrot Collection Salvator Mundi see: Gaulli, Giovanni Battista II, 1069 Fig. 16, 1081 Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe Caricature of Don Virginio Orsini I, 418 Fig. 16 Profile of Innocent XI: drawing I, 448 Fig. 35 Study for the Bust of the Savior: drawing I, 320 Fig. 9, 363 Fig. 11, 364; II, 856 Fig. 1, 1120 Fig. 20a Galleria Borghese see also:

1449 Bernini, works Aeneas and Anchises II, 812 Fig. 7 Amalthean Goat I, 210 Fig. 13, 211 Fig. 15; II, 1151 Fig. 10 Apollo and Daphne II, 654 Fig. 7 Arion-satyr riding on a dolphin II, 1142–1143, 1159 Fig. 20 Bust of Paul V I, 260 Bust of Scipione Borghese I, 439 Fig. 32 David II, 657 Fig. 10, 815 Fig. 10 Flight from Troy (detail) I, 239 Figs. 41, 42, 241 Fig. 45, 244 Pluto and Proserpine II, 814 Fig. 9 Three Sleeping Putti I, 210 Fig. 14; II, 1152 Fig. 11 Truth I, 294, 299, 532, 538 Fig. 10; II, 838 Fig. 45, 841 View of the Villa Borghese I, 551 Fig. 23, 625 Villa Gardens – influence on Boy with dragon I, 217–219 Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna Wax reliefs: Limbo and Purgatory, Hell and Heaven II, 734 Figs. 51, 52, 735 Figs. 53, 54 Galleria Nazionale dell’Arte Antica Allegory of Peace II, 1325 Fig. 54 see: Muti, “Brother of Cavaliere”

1450 Apotheosis of Urban I II, 1324 Fig. 53 see: Muti, Giovanni Battista Urban VIII, bust of II, 1310, 1311 Figs. 32, 33 see: Bernini: works Urban VIII II, 1312 Fig. 35 see: Abbatani, Guidobaldo Galleria Spada Christ and the Samaritan Woman II, 1067 Fig. 13 see: Gaulli, Giovanni Battista Greek College II, 668 Maps and plans Map showing Alexander’s street corrections, piazzas and buildings II, 1088, 1105 Fig. 2 Plan of Rome under Sixtus V II, 1088, 1106 Fig. 3 Instituto Espanol de Estudios Eclesiasticos, Archive of Documents on the Anime busts II, 724–730 Mons Citatorius I, 546 Mons Esquilinus I, 547 Mons Palatinus I, 558 Mons Vaticanus I, 622 Museums Musei Vaticani Apollo Belvedere II, 655 Fig. 8 Ballot for the election of Urban VIII, tapestry II, 989 Fig. 34, 1272 Fig. 1 see: Cristofani, Fabio Laocoön, detail II, 711 Fig. 39 Museo Capitolino Colossal head of Alexander-

Helios I, 565 Fig. 39 influence on Boy with dragon see Bernini: works Hercules Killing the Serpents I, 214 Fig. 20 Medusa see: Bernini: works II, 819–820 Figs. 16–18 Theater masks, mosaics II, 676 Fig. 22, 679, 682 Fig. 4, 687 Museo delle Terme Roman portrait I, 193 Fig. 4; II, 1149 Fig. 7 Museo di Palazzo Venezia Corpus Domini procession II, 1097, 1111 Fig. 9 Museo di Roma Piazza S. Pietro. Corpus Domini procession of Innocent X II, 871 Fig. 20, 878 Relief of the Savior II, 882, 897 Figs. 28, 29 Museo Nazionale di Castel Sant’Angelo Relief of the Savior II, 882, 900 Figs. 35 Palaces Domus Aurea I, 532, 547 see: Lauro, Giacomo Palatine. Imperial Palace I, 532, 558, 604, 622 see also: Duperac, Etienne; Lauro Giacomo; Panvinio, Onofrio Palazzo Barberini I, 526, 612 Fig. 79, 626; II, 1313 Fig. 36 as venue for opera II, 666, 669 Borromini’s role in design II,

INDEX

1346–1349 Allegory of Divine Wisdom I, 519 Fig. 10, 521–522, 537 Fig. 9 Allegory of Divine Wisdom (detail) I, 519 Fig 10 Divine Providence, detail II, 990 Fig. 35, 1280 Fig. 13 see: Cortona Pietro Divine Providence, detail II, 1279 Fig. 12 see: Cortona Pietro ground floor plan, drawing II, 1313 Fig. 37 Roman patrician with ancestor portraits II, 705, 709 Fig. 36 see also: Bernini: works; Maderno, Carlo; Sacchi, Andrea Palazzo Caffarelli-Vidoni see: Raphael Palazzo Colonna I, 339 see also: Colonna Claudius Palazzo Corsini, Corsini Collection I, 329–331, 364 See also: Galleria Nazionale dell’Arte Antica Palazzo Costaguti Apollo ceiling I, 11 see: Domenichino Palazzo dei Conservatori II, 842 Emperor Hadrian II, 831, 832 Figs. 34, 35 Memorial statue of Urban VIII II, 1319 Fig. 46 see: Bernini: works Sala dei Capitani I, 469, 470 Palazzo della Cancellaria I, 289, 297 Palazzo di Montecitoria Relief of the Savior II, 882,

1451 899 Figs. 32, 33, 1069 Fig. 15, 1080, 1102, 1119 Figs. 19a, 19b Palazzo di Spagna Anima Beata, Anima Dannata see: Bernini: works II, 670 Fig. 15, 671 Fig. 16, 684 Fig. 1, 685 Fig. 2, 724, 825 Figs. 25, 26 Palazzo Doria I, 10 Three Wrestling Infants I, 215 Fig. 21, 219 see: Maderno, Carlo Palazzo Farnese I, 592–593; II 817, 818 Figs. 12–15 Galleria Farnese II, 792– 795, 817 Fig. 12 Polyphemus II, 660 Fig. 11 see: Carracci, Annibale see also: Bernini; works Palazzo Odelscalchi I, 328–329; II, 1103 Palazzo Quirinale II, 1299 Emblem of Gregory XIII’s Palazzo Quirinale I, 601 Fig. 71 Palazzo Spada Laocoön, head of II, 826 Fig. 27 see: Bernini: works Palazzo Zuccari Apotheosis of the artist see: II, 828 Fig. 30 Zuccari, Federico The Mountain of Virtue, Honor and Fame I, 562 Fig. 35 Vatican Palace I, 604; II, 752 Cortile del Belvedere Laocoön II, 807 Fig. 1 Laocoön, heads of sons II, 808 Figs. 2, 3

1452 Torso Belvedere II, 810 Fig. 5 Fontana della Galera II, 1282 Fig. 17 Pauline Chapel Angel I, 236 Fig. 37, 244 Sala di Costantino Donation of Constantine II, 1368 Fig. 28, 1374 East wall, Sala di Constantino II, 1370 Fig. 31, 1374 Gregory the Great celebrating mass, relief II, 1372 Fig. 34 Gregory the Great II, 1369 Figs. 29, 30, 1374 Meeting of Constantine the Great and Sylvester II, 1372 Fig. 33, 1374 Sylvester I II, 1371 Fig. 32 Urban I II, 978 Fig. 18, 1301, 1323 Fig. 52 see: Romano, Giulio St. Peter II, 962, 982 Fig. 22 see: Romano, Giulio Scala Regia I, 594 Constantine, equestrian monument I, 577 Fig. 48 see: Bernini: works Sistine Chapel I, 425, 432, 507; II, 859 Fig. 6 Last Judgement II, 1320 Fig. 47 see: Michelangelo Pantheon II, 751, 1271 Piazza Barberini Fountain of the Triton II, 1306 Fig. 25 Fountain of the Bees II, 1306 Fig. 26 see; Bernini; works Piazza Colonna I, 547, 604–605 Piazza del Pasquino

Pasquino I, 440 Fig. 33, 443–445, 455; II, 790, 809 Fig. 3 Engraving of Pasquino I, 441 Fig. 34 Piazza del Popolo II, 752 Piazza di Spagna I, 618 Baraccia II, 1281 Fig. 14 Baraccia, view of the fish-face prow II, 1281 Fig. 15 Piazza di Termini I, 500 Piazza Navona I, 545–546, 591 Fig. 62, 604, II, 779–780 Fontana del Moro II, 816 Fig. 11 see: Bernini: works Four Rivers Fountain see II, 909 Fig. 47, 1246, 1248 see: Bernini: works Piazza Orsini I, 443 Piazza San Pietro II, 752 aerial view II, 893, 908 Fig. 46 colonnade II, 1097, 1110 Fig. 7 commemorative medal II, 1104 Fig. 1 see also: Bernini: works Pincian Hill I, 618 Ponte S. Angelo I, 11, 59; II, 1040, 1042 Angel with the Inscription I, 11–13, 55 Fig. 20, 56 Fig. 20, Fig. 21, 57 Fig. 23, 61, 382 Fig. 4, 384 Fig. 5 Angel with the Superscription II, 1219 Fig. 27 mourning angels I, 245 see also: Bernini: works Porta del Popolo II, 750 Porta della Ripetta, engraving

INDEX

II, 1282 Fig. 16, 1287 see Piranesi Quirinal Hill re-building under Alexander VII see: Alexander VII see: Borromini, Francesco Temples Temple of Peace II, 879–800 Temple of Vesta II, 1020 Temple of Vesta, fresco II, 875 Fig. 24, 879 Metallius rescuing Palladium from the Temple of Vesta, terracotta II, 1020, 1024 Fig. 6 see: Breton, LucFrançois Reconstruction of theTemple of Vesta II, 873 Fig. 22 see: Lauro, Giacomo Theater of Marcellus I, 631 Vatican, Archivio Segreto, Borghese Collection I, 3 Vatican Library II, 863 Fig. 10 Alexander VII kneeling in the Corpus Domini procession, engraving II, 1116 Fig. 16a Alexander VII kneeling in the Corpus Domini procession, decennial medal II, 1116 Fig. 16b Altar of the Holy Sacrament I, 108 Fig. 41; II, 1357 Fig. 8 Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, engraving I, 65 Fig. 2, 168, 172; II, 1340, 1355 Fig. 5 Caricature of Scipione Borghese I, 418 Fig. 15 see: Bernini: works Medal of Innocent XII II,

1453 906, 907 Figs. 44, 45 Medal of Louis XIV I, 587 Figs. 56, 57, 588 Fig. 58 see: Travani, Antonio Medal of Urban VIII I, 91 Fig. 31, 371, 375; II, 1341, 1359 Fig. 11 Piazza San Pietro. Commemorative medal II, 1104 Fig. 1 Project for Piazza San Pietro, engraving II, 1109 Fig. 6 see: Bartoli, Papirio Project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti I, 598 Fig. 66 Project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti (detail) I, 598 Fig. 67 Sangue di Cristo: engraving I, 287, 290 Fig. 1 see: Bernini: works St. Elizabeth, canonization engraving I, 84 Fig. 23, 90 Fig. 30; II, 1341, 1358 Figs. 9, 10 St. Peter’s and the colonnades as the pope with embracing arms II, 1110 Fig. 8, 1314 Fig. 40 see Bernini: works Studies for the crown of the Baldacchino, drawing II, 1342, 1359 Fig. 13, 1360 Fig. 14, 1361 Fig. 15 see: Bernini: works Villas Casa Peretti I, 500 Villa Albani Dionysiac Group, detail II, 1169 Fig. 33 Villa Farnesina

1454 Garden façade II, 1314 Fig. 38 see: Peruzzi, Baldassare Villa Mattei Ancient relief linking Apollo and Hercules I, 589 Fig. 60 Villa Montalto Neptune and Triton I, 245, 500, 506 see: Bernini: works Rospigliosi, Giulio (Clement IX) I, 294, 299 Rossi, Giovanni Vittorio II, 664, 717 Rossi, Mattia de’ I, 292, 298, 619 Project for a monument containing Bernini’s equestrian statue of Louis XIV, drawing I, 599 Fig. 68 Rotondi, Pasquale II, 1170 Roubiliac, Loius-François Charles I, bust of II, 784 Fig. 13, 785 Rubens, Peter Paul II, 780 Device of Jan van Keerbergen, engraving II, 931 Fig. 13, 941 Medusa II, 796, 805–806, 823 Figs. 22, 23 St. Helen I, 149–151, 154 Fig. 73, 158, 460 Sts. Nereus, Domitilla and Achilleus I, 154 Fig. 74 Samson killing the lion II, 987 Fig. 31, 1002 self-portrait II, 1256 Fig. 1, 1261 Rudolph II, Holy Roman Emperor I, 514, 520; II, 962 Ruler portraits I, 524–643; II, 757–788, 917–954, 1234–1266 passim. Rughesi, Fausto I, 167

Rupert of Deutz II, 1053–1054

Sacchi, Andrea I, 133, 526 Allegory of Divine Wisdom I, 519 Fig. 10, 521, 526, 537 Fig. 9 Allegory of Divine Wisdom (detail) I, 519 Fig. 11, 522 Sacra Rappresentatione II, 664, 716 see: Manni, Agostino; De’ Cavalieri, Emilio Sadeler, Aegidius Titian’s Julius Caesar, engraving I, 567 Fig. 41, 561 Saenredam, Pieter I, 432 Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht I, 437 Fig. 29 Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht (detail) I, 438 Fig. 30 St. Achilleus I, 154 Fig. 74 St. Ambrose see: Nebuchadnezzar and the Three Youths, sarcophagus of St. Ambrose II, 708 Fig. 37, 714 St. Andrew the Apostle Head of I, 64, 72 Fig. 7, 123, 132, 135, 1147, 160, 250 see: Bernini: works; Collaert, Adriaen; Domenichino; Duquesnoy, François; Mantegna, Andrea; Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing; Old St. Peter’s St. Augustine I, 558; II, 1076 St. Barbara I, 146 St. Bonaventure II, 1071 St. Cyril II, 1053 St. Chrysostom II, 1053 St. Domitilla I, 150, 154 Fig. 74 St. Elizabeth, Queen of Portugal I, 93, 180 canonization, engraving I, 84 Fig.

INDEX

23, 90 Fig. 30, 170, 374; II, 1341, 1358 Figs. 9, 10 see: Bernini: works St. Francesca Romana canonization of, engraving I, 78 Fig. 19, 168 St. Francis I, 100 see: Maiano, Benedetto da see also: Rome. Churches: St. Peters, Chapel of the Holy Sacrament St. Gregory of Tours I, 100 St. Gregory the Great see: Gregory I St. Helen Ancient statue I, 110–111, 155 Fig. 76 see also: Bolgi, Andrea; Rubens, Peter Paul; Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing St. Jerome I, 4, 380, 382 Fig. 2; II, 1028 Figs. 12, 14, 1029 Fig. 14 see: Bernini: works: bozzetti II, 1030 Fig. 15 St John the Baptist see: Bernini, Pietro; Cordier, Nicolò; Mochi, Francesco; see also: Bernini: works St. Longinus see: Bassano. Museo Civico; Bernini: works; Mantegna; Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing St Lawrence I, 182, 225 Figs. 31, 32 see: Bernini: works St. Luke relics I, 123 St. Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi I, 287, 304–305, 308–308, 314–315; II, 853, 881 source for imagery of Sangue di Cristo I, 305–308, 309, 312; II, 1049, 1051, 1070–1071

1455 see also: Bernini: works St. Michael as patron saint of Urban VIII II, 1284–1287, 1376 Appearance of St. Michael to St. Gregory the Great II, 1275 Fig. 7 The Holy Spirit, St. Michael and Pius V II, 1276 Fig. 8, 1284 St. Michael leading Urban VIII II, 1277 Fig. 9 St. Michael crowning Urban VIII II, 1277 Fig. 10, 1284, St. Nereus I, 154 Fig. 74 see: Rubens, Peter Paul St. Paul the Apostle I, 69, 99, 604 Epistle to the Hebrews I, 287, 314 see also: Cordier, Nicolò St. Pietro d’Alcantara I, 306 see also: Marchese, Francesco St. Peter the Apostle I, 604; II, 962, 982 Fig. 22 see: Cordier, Nicolò; Robbia della Luca; Romano, Giulio St. Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts II, 1042, 1045 Hermitage Museum II, 1042, 1204, 1232 Angel with the Inscription I, 55 Fig. 20 Angel with the Superscription II, 1219 Fig. 27 Angel with the Superscription, terracotta II, 1220 Figs. 28, 29 St. Philip Neri I, 305, 605; II, 662, 715, 719, 1100, 1346 see also: Oratory; Rome. Churches: Chiesa Nuova (S. Maria in Vallicella) St. Sebastian see: Bernini: works

1456 St. Veronica see: Bernini: works and workshop; Mochi, Francesco; Pontormo, Jacopo da; Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing Salvator Mundi I, 331, 341–342, 365; II, 785, 858 Fig. 5, 1069 Fig. 16, 1079, 1081 see also: Bernini, works: Bust of the Savior Salvation I, 113, 159, 300, 306–307, 311–313, 315, 343–344; II, 683, 694, 723, 850, 852–853, 957, 963, 968 Fig. 6, 1053–1055, 1070, 1294, 1330 Salviati, Antonio II, 722 Sandrart, Joachim von II, 1194 San Francisco. Palace of the Legion of Honor The Hand of God see: Rodin. Auguste II, 1231 Fig. 45 Sangallo, Antonio da II, 1340–1341 Santoni, Giovanni Antonio I, 203 Santoni, Giovanni Battista, bust of, see Bernini: works Saracens I, 146 Sarzano, Leonardo da Pio da Carpi, bust of I, 206 Fig. 5 Sassuolo, fountains at I, 13 Savonarola, Girolamo Predica dell’arte del ben morire I, 302–303, 315 Savoy, dukes of I, 520; II, 938 Scaccia Scarafoni, Camillo I, 174 Schaak, Eric von I, 354 Schlegel, Ursula II, 1143 Schottmüller, Frida II, 1145 Schreiner, Christoph Oculus: frontispiece to I, 515 Fig. 2 Schroder, Johann Heinrich von I, 496, 501 Sculptural procedure I, 33–61; II,

1193 Sculpture, Greek I, 34 Sculpture, Medieval I, 35–36 Sculpture, Renaissance I, 36–37 Sées Cathedral see: Orne, Normany Seguin, Pierre I, 561 Self-portraits I, 343; II, 700 Fig. 24, 842, 1256 Figs. 11, 12, 1257 Figs. 13, 14; Bernini I, 355; II, 1260 Figs. 18, 19, 1262–1263 Seneca II, 659 Discourses of Clemency II, 1001 Serlio, Sebastiano I, 535 Varieties of rusticated masonry I, 543 Fig. 17 Sessorian Palace I, 151 see also: Rome. Churches: Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, church of Sesto Fiorentino. Villa Corsi Salviati Satyr with a Panther (copy) II, 1143–1145, 1165 Figs. 27, 28, 1170–1173 see also: Bernini, Pietro Sevin, Pierre Paul I, 326 Fig. 20 Louis XIV: design for engraving see also: Gantrel, E. Siebenhüner, Herbert I, 171, 172 Siena Cathedral II, 877, 1029 Fig. 13 Palazzo Chigi Saraceni II, 1028 Fig. 14 St. Jerome I, 380 see also: Bernini: works: bozzetti Sigel, Anthony Angel with the Crown of Thorns, terracotta, compass point measurements II, 1200, 1225 Fig. 37 Silvestre, Israel Medieval façade of S.Maria Maggiore showing column of

INDEX

the Virgin erected by Paul V II, 870 Fig. 18 Sixtus IV I, 76 Fig. 16 Sixtus V Peretti I, 496, 500, 507, 604; II, 749, 854, 867, 880, 885, 1000, 1088 Catafalque for Sixtus V I, 596 Fig. 63 Skeleton I, 302, 453; II, 704 Social responsibility in urban planning of Rome II, 1093–1096,1098–1099 see also: Alexander VII; Rome. San Giovanni in Laterano, Apostolic Hospice..... Society of Jesus I, 8, 182, 269, 292, 296, 302–304, 572, 603, 628, 629; II, 683, 695, 918, 919, 939, 944, 947, 950, 953 and scientific works I, 509–512, 522 and theater II, 659, 679, 662– 665, 668 and opera II, 665 see also: Oliva, Giovanni Paola; Caraffa, Vincenzo Soria, Giovanni Battista I, 170, 173 Sormano, Lorenzo Memorial statue of Paul III II, 1301, 1321 Fig. 49 “Soul portrait” II, 694, 705, 714, 799 Sourdis, Escoubleau de see: Bernini: works Sozzino, Mariano II, 887–888 The present miseries of the Papacy II, 1101, 1124 Spada, Virgilio II, 1346, 1347, 1349, 1351 Speranza, Stefano I, 479 Speroni, Francesco I, 170 Spierre, François

1457 Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes, engraving II, 1066 Fig. 12 Sangue di Cristo: engraving I, 290 Fig.1; II, 861 Fig. 8, 1047, 1057 Fig. 1, 1058 Fig. 2, 1074 see also: Bernini: works Spinelli, Carlo Medal I, 518 Fig 8 Spoleto. Pinacoteca Communale Standing Angel II, 1036 Fig. 27, 1037 Fig. 28, 1041 Ostensorium II, 1037 Fig. 29 Spontaneity I, 4, 60, 376, 413; II, 1194, 1196, 1202 Stage designers: Alabardi, Giuseppe I, 19 Aleotti, Giovanni Battista I, 19, 21 Burnacini, Giovanni I, 19 Camessi, Andrea I, 19 Chenda, Alfonso I, 19 Guitti, Francesco I, 19, 21, 22 Grimaldi, Giovanni Franceso I, 19 Juvarra, Filippo I, 17 Parigi, Alfonso I, 19 Parigi, Giulio I, 19 Romanelli, Giovanni Francesco I, 19 Sacchi, Andrea I, 19 Torelli, Giacomo I, 19, 27 Statius I, 582 Stefonio, Bernardino and development of Baroque theater II, 659, 679 Crispus. Diagram of Dances II, 659, 662, 668, 670 Fig. 14 Flavia II, 659, 669 Stockholm, Nationalmuseum Baldachin bearing the

1458 Aldobrandini arms: drawing (detail) I, 483 Fig. 1, 484 Fig. 2 see also: Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing Project for a monument of Louis XIV (copy after Le Brun) I, 608 Fig. 73 Second project for the Louvre, drawing I, 542 Fig. 16 see also: Bernini: works Stone, Nicholas II, 1238 Strozzi, Leone I, 229; II, 1136–1137 sun imagery in designs for the Louvre I, 532– 535, 544–47, 558–560 in design of the bust of Louis XIV I, 560–561, 574 as Urban VIII’s emblem II, 1284–1287, 1292, 1296 Sustermans, Justus II, 757, 917, 1235 Suttman, Paul Reconstruction of Bernini’s ‘ Bust of the Savior’: drawing I, 323 Fig. 15 Syamken, Dr. Georg I, 496 Sylvester I I, 101; II, 889, 1103, 1374 Meeting of Constantine the Great and Sylvester II, 1372 Fig. 33, 1374 Sylvester I II, 1371 Fig. 32 see: Romano, Giulio Symmetry, I, 407; II, 664, 770, 1300 Syracuse. Museo regionale’Paolo Orsi’ Archaic Gorgoneion II, 830 Fig. 32 Tacca, Pietro Philip IV, equestrian statue I, 575 Tacchi-Venturi, Pietro I, 171 Tafano II, 1269 Tapestry I, 571 Fig. 46, 773; II, 989

Fig. 34, 1004–1005, 1272 Fig. 1 Terence II, 674 Termini Imerese. Antiquarium St. Jerome, terracotta, attrib. to Bernini II, 1028 Fig. 12 Terracottas see: Bernini: works: bozzetti; Breton, Luc-François; Cambridge, Mass. Fogg Art Museum Tessin, Nicodemus I, 328, 331; II, 1103, 1144, 1078 Tezio, Caterina: wife of Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini II, 839 Theater: Bernini and theater I, 15–32, 435, 442–443; II, 674 development of baroque theater II, 659, 662–669, 674,675, 679–680 creation of baroque opera II, 663 see also: Society of Jesus; Stage designers Theatine Fathers I, 506 see: Rome. Churches: Sant’Andrea della Valle Theatrical masks. Comedy, Tragedy see: Rome. Museums: Museo Capitolino Thelen, Heinrich I, 181–182; II, 1336, 1351, 1352 Ticci, Francesco I, 195, 265 Titi, Filippo I, 479 Titian Self-portrait II, 1256 Fig. 11, 1261 see aslo: Sadeler, Aegidius Tito, Santo di I, 149 Todi, Jacapone da II, 719 Torlonia, Giovanni II, 1043 Toronto. Art Gallery of Ontario Rear view of bust of Gregory XV I, 505 Fig. 9 see also: Bernini: works

INDEX

Torriani, Orazio I, 372, 374 ‘Thalamus’ for the Feast of the Rosary I, 373 Fig. 1 Torriggio, Francesco Maria I, 169 Torriti, Jacopo Coronation of the Virgin II, 881, 896 Fig. 27 Trajan, Emperor I, 399, column I, 546, 559, 601–602, 604 Travani, Antonio Medal of Louis XIV I, 587 Figs. 56, 57, 588 Fig. 58, 594, 595; II, 936 Figs. 18, 20, 947, 953–954 True Cross I, 123, 132–135, 150– 151, 164–165 Truth see Bernini: works Tuby, Jean-Baptiste Tomb of Marin Cureau I, 365, 367 Fig. 13 Turin Biblioteca Reale Three heads: drawings see: Leonardo II, 763 Fig. 3, 764, 765 Palazzo Reale Equestrian monument of Vittorio Amadeo I of Savoy I, 567 Fig. 55, 593 see: Rivalta, Andrea Turriani, Orazio II, 724 Typotius, Jacobus Emblem of Rudolph II. Symbolica divina et humana I I, 514, 517 Fig. 5, 520 Emblem of Philibert II Duke of Savoy. Symbolica divina et humana III I, 517 Fig. 6 Università dei Marmorari, Rome I,

1459 246, 461 Urban planning, Rome see: Alexander VII; Urban VIII Urban I Apotheosis of Urban I II, 1324 Fig. 53 see: Muti, Giovanni Battista Urban I II, 978 Fig. 18, 1323 Fig. 52 see: Romano, Giulio Urban VIII I, 1, 17, 62, 71, 101, 120, 132–135, 147–150, 167, 173–181, 271, 480–481, 514, 521–522, 526; II, 666, 755, 779, 798, 1267–1271, 1284–1304, 1329–1335, 1374–1376 Bernini Presenting the Design for the Reliquary niches to Urban VIII I, 144 Figs. 67, 68 building in Rome II, 1268–1269 coat of arms, see: Barberini choice of name II, 1267–1268, 1297, 1331 concept for design of St. Peter’s II, 1338–1340 commission of 4 cherubs for the Barberini Chapel I, 232– 233, 244–48 letter to Carlo Barberini I, 247 medal I, 91 Fig. 31, 371, 375 Memorial inscription for Urban VIII II, 1307 Fig. 27 Memorial inscription for Urban VIII (detail) II, 1307 Fig. 28 Memorial statue of Urban VIII see: Bernini: works II, 1319 Fig. 46 St. Michael leading Urban VIII II, 1277 Fig. 9 St. Michael crowning Urban VIII II, 1277 Fig. 10, 1284, tomb of II, 955–963, 1000– 1016

1460 Urban VIII. portrait II, 1312 Fig. 35 see: Abbatini, Guidobaldo Urban VIII, portrait, engraving II, 961, 979 Fig. 19 see: Alberti, Cherubino Urban VIII, bust of II, 1310, 1311 Figs. 31–33 see: Bernini: works Urbanity II, 961, 1003, 1268–1269, 1295, 1297, 1300, 1329, 1332 see also: Bernini, works; Rome. Churches: St. Peter’s, the crossing, the baldachin Urbanism I, 632; II 754 Urbino Cathedral Last Supper I, 342 see also: Barocci, Federico Utrecht Buurkerck Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht I, 437 Fig. 29 Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht (detail) I, 438 Fig. 30 see also: Saenredam, Pieter Valeriano Hieroglyphics II, 958 Valsoldo, Giovanni da Albani, bust of 1, 259 Fig. 62 Van Dyck, Anthony Charles I, triple portrait II, 759, 766 Fig. 5, 785, 1236, 1250 Fig. 3 Henrietta Maria II, 767 Fig. 6, 1236, 1251 Fig. 4 Henrietta Maria II, 767 Fig. 7, 768 Fig. 8, 1236, 1252 Fig. 5, 6

self-portrait II, 1257 Fig. 13 Vasari, Giorgio I, 49–50, 53, 58, 315, 378, 424, 433, 592; II, 1192–1193, 1196, 1301 Vaux-le-Vicomte, chateau I, 532 Velasquez, Diego I, 460; II, 780 Venice Piazza San Marco, plan II, 1108 Fig. 5b see also: Canaletto Santi Giovanni e Paolo catafalque I, 183 Santa Maria dell’Orto Gaspare Contarini, bust of I, 243 Fig. 50, 261 San Michele all’Isola Giovanni Dolfin, bust of I, 242 Fig. 47, 503 Fig. 6; II, 1147 Fig. 3 see: Bernini: works Seminario Patriarchale Agostino Valier, bust of II, 1311 Fig. 34 see: Bernini: works Venturi, Adolfo I, 1 Verano catacomb I, 182 Verona Museo del Castelvecchio Boy with drawing I, 427 Fig. 22 see also: Caroto, G. F. Verrocchio, Andrea del I, 332 Colleoni, equestrian statue I, 575 Forteguerri monument, Pistoia I, 39 Fig. 4, 51; II, 1189, 1206 Fig. 11 Resurrection I, 43 Fig. 13, 50 St. Thomas, Or San Michele I, 51 Versailles Chateau de Versailles I, 623–632 passim. Salon de la Guerre Louis XIV,

INDEX

bust of (detail) I, 531 Fig. 5 Grand Trianon View of the Allée Royale Versailles I, 612 Fig. 80 see: Martin, JeanBaptiste Musée National du Chateau de Versailles Bust of Louis XIV I, 325 Fig. 20, 528 Fig. 2; II, 923 Fig. 2, 1255 Fig. 10 Equestrian monument to Louis XIV, altered by Girardon to portray Marcus Curtius, Versailles I, 529 Fig 3; II, 924 Fig. 3 Equestrian monument to Louis XIV, altered by Girardon to portray Marcus Curtius (detail) I, 531 Fig. 6; II, 924 Fig. 3 Equestrian monument to Louis XIV, Versailles I, 613 Fig. 81 see: Bernini: works Foundation medal of the Louvre see Warin, Jean I, 600 Fig. 69, 621 Louis XIV crowned by princely glory I, 609 Fig. 74 Le Vau’s original project for the west facade of Versailles I, 610 Fig. 76 Louis XIV as Jupiter I, 579 Fig. 51 Vespasian, Emperor Helios denarius of I, 564 Fig. 37 Vestner, Wilhelm Medal of Charles VI I, 588 Fig.

1461 59 Vienna Albertina Perspective study of the Baldacchino, drawing II, 1361 Fig. 16, 1362 Figs. 17, 18 Plan of the pleasure garden building, drawing II, 1300, 1318 Fig. 45 see: Erlach Study after Masaccio, drawing II, 1190, 1210 Fig. 15 Kunsthistorisches Museum Last Judgement II, 672 Fig, 18, 704, 707 Fig. 33 see: Floris, Frans Madonna del Rosario II, 1064 Fig. 9, 1070 see: Caravaggio Medusa see: II, 823 Figs. 22, 23 see: Rubens, Peter Paul Triple portrait II, 763 Fig. 4, 764–765 see: Lotto, Lorenzo Vigarani, Carlo II, 941 Vigarani, Gaspare Tuileries. Salle de Machines II, 941 Vigevano, Giovanni see: Bernini: works Virgil II, 792, 806, 1004, 1010– 1011, 1270 Visual Arts I, 16, 434; II, 680, 789 Vittoria, Alessandro Gaspare Contarini, bust of I, 243 Fig. 50, 261 Vittorio Amadeo I of Savoy see: Rivalta, Andrea Volto Santo I, 64, 69, 72 Fig. 8, 120, 123, 125, 132–133, 136, 149

1462 Voerst, Robert van Charles I, engraving II, 781, 782 Fig.11 Warin, Jean Foundation medal for the Louvre I, 600 Fig. 69, 621 Louis XIV, bust of 1, 610 Fig. 75, 625 Washington National Gallery Francesco Barberini, bust of I, 253 Figs. 52, 53 see: Bernini: works Wax reliefs of the Four Last Things II, 704–705, 731–740 Figs. 46–65 Werro, Sebastian Ciborium of St. Peter’s, drawing I, 76 Fig. 18 Wettingen, Switzerland Death of Moriens and Intercession of Christ and the Virgin I, 317 Fig. 5; II, 852, 862 Fig. 9, 1059 Fig. 3 Wilkinson, Catherine II, 955–956 Willaert, Adriaen (Cinque Messe, Venice, 1536, printer’s mark) Time rescuing Truth I, 539 Fig. 11 Windsor Windsor Castle Bust of Charles I of England II, 781, 783 Fig. 12, 1249 Fig. 2 see: Adey, Thomas Charles I, triple portrait II, 759, 766 Fig. 5, 785 see: Van Dyck, Anthony Henrietta Maria II, 767 Fig.7, 768 Fig. 8, 1252

Figs. 5, 6 see: Van Dyck, Anthony Self-portrait II, 1256 Fig. 12 see: Rubens, Peter Paul Windsor Castle. Royal Library Angel adoring the Sacrament, drawing II, 1200, 1224 Fig. 36 Bernini workshop: Catafalque for Carlo Barberini I, 106 Fig. 37, 469 Design for upper part and entablature of columns of the Baldacchino II, 1342, 1362 Fig. 19 see: Borromini, Francesco Design for the entablature over the columns of the Baldacchino II, 1342, 1363 Fig. 20 see: Borromini, Francesco Design for the cornice lappets entablature II, 1342, 1364 Fig. 21 see: Borromini, Francesco Drawing attrib. to Carracci I, 409 Fig. 9 Leonardo: drawing of grotesque heads I, 410 Fig. 11; II, 694, 697 Fig. 19 Leonardo: sketches of heads I, 427 Fig. 21 Michelangelo: Fall of Phaeton I, 416 Fig. 13 Project for the Cathedra Petri II, 1278 Fig. 11, 1285 Rape of Ganymede, (copy after), drawing II, 1215 Fig. 21 see Michelangelo Portrait of a Youth (Luigi Bernini), drawing II,

INDEX

1368 Fig. 27, 1373 see: Bernini: works self-portrait II, 1260 Figs. 18, 19 see: Bernini: works Wittkower, Rudolf I, 1–14 passim. 230, 271; II, 840 comparison of the Baroque and Classical II, 645–646, 653; II, 1098 Zeri, Federico I, 366 Zeuxis II, 1261 Zocchi, Giuseppe Villa di Sesto delli SS:ri Marchesi di Corsi, drawing II, 1166 Fig. 29a Villa di Sesto delli SS:ri Marchesi

1463 di Corsi, drawing, detail II, 1166 Fig. 29b Zuccari, Federico I, 544, 559 Apotheosis of the Artist II, 798, 802, 828 Fig. 30 The artist’s house, Florence I, 551 Fig. 22 The Mountain of Virtue, Honor and Fame I, 562 Fig. 35 Zucchi, Nicolò I, 509–512, 520–523 passim. Optica Philosphia, frontispiece to I, 513 Fig. 1 see also: Bernini: works Zumbo, Gaetano Wax relief: Hell (attrib.) II, 740 Fig. 63