Visible Spirit: The Art of Gianlorenzo Bernini, Vol. I 1899828397, 9781899828395

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

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

The Pindar Press London 2007

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 978-1-899828-39-5 (hb) ISBN 978-1-904597-54-4 (pb)

Printed by Estudios Gráficos ZURE 48950 Erandio Spain This book is printed on acid-free paper

TO MARILYN FOR A LIFETIME

Contents Foreword I

Review of Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque

i 1

II

Bernini and the Theater

15

III

Bozzetti and Modelli. Notes on sculptural Procedure from the Early Renaissance through Bernini

33

IV

Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s

62

V

Five New Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a revised Chronology of his Early Works

186

VI

Bernini’s Death

287

VII

Afterthoughts on “Bernini’s Death”

354

VIII

Letter to the Editor on a review by Howard Hibbard of Bernini and the Crossing of St. Peter’s

371

Calculated Spontaneity. Bernini and the Terracotta Sketch

376

X

On the Pedestal of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior

393

XI

High and Low before their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire

397

IX

XII

Bernini’s Memorial Plaque for Carlo Barberini

469

XIII

Bernini’s Baldachin: Considering a Reconsideration

480

XIV

Bernini’s Bust of Cardinal Montalto

496

XV

Bernini’s Cosmic Eagle

509

XVI

Bernini’s Image of the Sun King

524

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Foreword

M

y interest in Bernini began when I was a graduate student at Harvard more than 50 years ago. In the years following World War II travel to Europe was difficult and expensive (especially for me), and I had in mind two main criteria for choosing a Ph. D. dissertation topic. I wanted to work on a subject that I could “get my hands on,” preferably literally, because I was “object oriented”; but also a topic based at home, so that I did not have to travel abroad just to see and work with the “original” of my study. As it happened, however, although my choice did fulfill these criteria, they were not what actually motivated me. I simply fell in love with one of the great but then largely neglected resources of the Fogg Museum — the wonderful series of some fifteen (the largest group in the world), small (30–55 cm high) terracotta sketches (“bozzetti”) by Bernini, for some of his most famous and monumental sculptures in Rome. I must confess that, although my feeling for all the models was boundless, my love affair was focused on the standing and kneeling angels, dating from near the end of Bernini’s life, intended respectively for the angels on the Ponte Sant’Angelo and the Sacrament tabernacle in St Peter’s. The angels seemed to me a sort of sculptural Last Will and Testament, transforming the heavy, earthly clay into heavenly images that seem to embody the highest and noblest flights of the human spirit in search of self-realization. The intervening years have in no way diminished the passion of my initial response. In a review of my first book, which discerned for the first time Bernini’s creation of the Crossing of St. Peter’s as a coherent work of art, a friend and fellow graduate student, Howard Hibbard, described the study as a long footnote to the Fogg’s bozzetto of St. Longinus, which became the colossal and electrifying figure in one of the four piers that support Michelangelo’s dome. In the end, neither the sculpture nor the bozzetto played

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disproportionate roles in the discussion, but in a way, I think Hibbard was right: the part proved to be integrally and inevitably related to a larger whole. This was, I am convinced, Bernini’s way. And in the end, I think my entire life’s work may have been a long footnote to those celestial creatures that first stirred my imagination. This work would neither have been undertaken nor achieved without the expert, dedicated, and enthusiastic help of Research Assistant Uta Nitschke-Stumpf and Academic Assistant Maria Mercedes Tuya. They have both become good friends, to whom I am most profoundly grateful. I have also had the privilege of working with a most indulgent and supportive editor, Liam Gallagher.

IRVING LAVIN

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Review of Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque*

T

HE modern Bernini revival may be said to date from a great exhibition of his work held in Rome at the turn of the present century. On that occasion Stanislau Fraschetti, a Venturi disciple, produced the weighty volume which has remained fundamental to Bernini research ever since. The quantities of documentary and broadly historical data the work contains, however, do not disguise a pervasive flaw; Fraschetti rather disapproved of Bernini’s art, or at least his perception of it was obscured by the lingering theoretical prejudices of an earlier age. This was the objection raised, and probably somewhat overstated, by the great Riegl, whose lectures on Baldinucci’s Vita, published posthumously, reflect a much deeper and more sympathetic insight. In the rich bibliography on Bernini which has accumulated since that time, two contributions are outstanding. Years of meticulous labour in the labyrinthine archives of Rome, actually only begun and never wholly published, resulted ultimately (1927, 1931) in the Kunsttätigkeit unter Urban VIII of Oskar Pollak. Devoted entirely to the documents of artistic production in Rome under Urban VIII, these two volumes provided the historian of Roman Baroque art, and of Bernini in particular, with a foundation in fact of paradigmatic breadth and reliability. The second major event was the joint publication in 1931 by Professor Wittkower, who had participated in the edition of Pollak’s material, and Heinrich Brauer, of Bernini’s sizeable *

Review of Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini: The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, New York, Phaidon, 1955, pp. 255, 107, Figs., 122 Pls.

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legacy of drawings. In addition to presenting much new material, both visual and documentary, this was the first really comprehensive attempt to understand Bernini’s art through the medium of his preparatory studies. Professor Wittkower’s new monograph on Bernini’s sculpture thus appears against a somewhat lopsided historiographical setting. For while considerable development was taking place on the Continent, Bernini had hardly been introduced to the English-speaking public, scholarly or otherwise. One cause of this situation, and a formidable obstacle in the way of its correction, was the traditional Anglo-Saxon penchant for reticence and understatement in aesthetic matters; a laudable sentiment in some respects perhaps, but profoundly unberninesque. To meet the challenge, a neat summary and sound exposition, in English, was very much in order. It required — however, an author possessing at least one very special characteristic — absolute mastery of the truly formidable body of available information. Needless to say, such individuals are exceedingly rare; indeed, Wittkower may well be the only living example. Publication of any work by Wittkower has come to be recognized as an important event in the realm of art history. All factors have combined to make this especially true on the present occasion. The book’s arrangement follows a pattern by now well-established in the Phaidon monographs. There is a brief text, a more elaborate catalogue raisonné, and a copious body of illustrations which includes large plates as well as smaller supplementary figures. The text is barely forty-three pages long; when we consider that it has to interpret the sculptural production of an artist whose career covered two generations, the extraordinary difficulties of the undertaking become apparent. The author has chosen to divide the material into typological groups, such as religious imagery; tombs and chapels, etc., which are discussed in a total of seven chapters. The reader is thereby spared the flood of monuments with which he would be faced in a purely chronological treatment; such a treatment would only mislead him in any case, since simultaneous undertakings, often widely divergent in character, were the rule rather than the exception in Bernini’s studio. But most important, the typological plan illustrates the constancy of certain kinds of problems throughout Bernini’s development. And since Wittkower conceives of Bernini as the great revolutionary, the destroyer of barriers par excellence, he can the more readily describe which barriers were destroyed in each category, and by what means. His formal analyses are confined mainly to the ‘first’

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level of visual experience, dipping only when necessary into the infinite subtleties that lie beneath. He is thus ever-cognizant of the uninitiated, for whom he also defines with refreshing lucidity the peculiar visual and ideological terms in which Bernini’s art must be understood. The first chapter concerns Bernini’s juvenilia. Discussion of these works is always crucial, since in them Bernini perpetrated his very first revolution; namely, that of resurrecting, before he was twenty-five, the entire moribund tradition of Roman sculpture. The need for a new general account of Bernini’s youthful development has been rendered urgent in recent years by the researches of Italo Faldi, in the Borghese collection of the Vatican’s Archivio Segreto; these findings have necessitated several conspicuous modifications in the canonical chronology of the Borghese figures. The most notable change involves the David; instead of 1619, as had been thought since Venturi’s day, it must actually have been made ca. 1623, and thus comes after rather than before the Rape of Proserpine. The Apollo and Daphne, moreover, is not several years after the David, but contemporary with it, begun before and finished afterward. Once the point has been made, it becomes difficult to see how the Pluto and Proserpine could ever have been considered later than the David, so natural is the development in the opposite direction. Indeed, the entire evolution represented by the Borghese sculptures becomes much more meaningful, a fact which emerges clearly from Professor Wittkower’s account. Bernini advanced during this period with prodigious rapidity. In the few years that separate the Aeneas and Anchises from the Rape of Proserpine, he had already fought and won a major engagement. ‘Accurate realistic observation and genuine classical influence subordinated to Annibale’s disciplined interpretation of the antique — that was the formula by which Bernini rid his style of the last vestiges of Mannerism’. A certain optimum is reached almost immediately thereafter in the David, where the thin but impenetrable veil of consciousness that had separated representation from reality falls, and the two worlds freely intermingle. This quality is less pronounced in the Apollo and Daphne, (initiated, be it remembered, before the David ), but is replaced by a keener penetration of ‘psychophysical’ dynamics which contrasts with the classicizing abstraction of the whole, and points unmistakably into the future. Wittkower summarizes Bernini’s achievements in these early works in one splendid sentence which bespeaks the essence of his own contributions during a lifetime of thought, as well as the insights gained by a major segment of art-historical endeavour during the past fifty years (p. 8).

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Bernini’s figures of religious subjects are considered in the following chapter. His effort in this area involved primarily an adaptation of the dynamic energy and external focus attained earlier to the problems of spiritual expressiveness. At first individually, as in the St. Bibiana and St. Longinus, and then in complementary pairs, like Daniel and Habakkuk, Mary Magdalene and St. Jerome, Bernini contrasts the varieties of religious experience that were as categories inherent in the Baroque mentality. ‘Herein seems to lie the secret of Bernini’s spectacular success: it is through emotional identification with the mood symbolized in a figure that the faithful are led to submit to the ethos of the triumphant CounterReformation’. In every case Wittkower explores the means whereby this effect of empathetical association is produced. He also demonstrates, in discussing the Beata Lodovica Albertoni, the changes that took place with Bernini’s late development. Whereas the mature works are constructed primarily with diagonals, the dominating system here is one of verticals and horizontals. This principle Wittkower considers to be essentially classical, and he connects it with a general turn toward the austere and classical in several of the major Baroque artists around 1660. The chapter on Bernini’s portraits, together with the related entries in the catalogue, may easily constitute the most enduring scholarly contribution in the book. Nowhere better than in his portraits did Bernini reveal himself the archenemy of tradition’s ‘injunctions’. Yet, the subject has long cried for adequate treatment. Wittkower discusses incisively the critical development that occurs at the period of the Longinus, in the portraits of Scipione Borghese and Costanze Bonarelli. Here Bernini formulates that expansive, extroverted type which astounds by the immediacy of its contact, and catches the entire age in a moment unawares. Once achieved, this uncanny spontaneity was never lost, animating the Baker and Orsini busts in the teeth of studio assistance and a certain tendency to abstraction and planar simplication. Even these were but an overture to the concerti grossi Bernini fashioned in the portraits of Francesco I d’Este and Louis XIV. Less momentary perhaps, but more monumental and grandiose, they fully realize Bernini’s unique conception of the ‘general cause vested in a great and powerful personality’. The basic problem arising in connection with Bernini’s work for St. Peter’s, discussed in the next chapter, is the extent to which the ultimate results were the product of a unified preconceived plan. Probably there will never be a precise answer to this question, since available evidence is con-

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flicting. Two things are certain, however: that a complete transformation of the whole complex was envisaged from the outset, and that Bernini succeeded in harmonizing the disparate contributions of a host of enterprises which date back as far as the fifteenth century. To convey a sense of this unity, Wittkower turns cicerone and takes the reader on a tour that begins at the east side of the Tiber and ends before the vast, culminating spectacle of the Cattedra Petri. He creates a series of images filled with nostalgia for those who have been there, and envy for those who may have tried to verbalize their impressions in a few short sentences. The Cattedra Petri climaxes the whole, he emphasizes, through a complete fusion of colours, materials, and levels of relief; this fusion serves one overwhelming purpose, that of drawing the observer inexorably into a ‘world which he shares with saints and angels’. In his chapels, which are treated in the fifth chapter, Bernini’s primary effort again was to eliminate arbitrary visual and spiritual impediments that hinder the spectator’s participation in the event portrayed. In the Cornaro chapel, for example, he establishes at least three realms of existence: members of the Cornaro family who appear in loges at the chapel’s sides, a very literal depiction of St. Theresa’s vision as she herself described it, and the glory of angels above. Bernini then proceeds by every possible means, including a concealed source of light, to interrelate these three realities so that the worshiper can communicate directly with personages whose orders of being are higher than his own. Naturally, the experience would be most effective when all the attendant circumstances could be controlled. And Wittkower points out that in each of the three churches which Bernini designed in their entirety (S. Tommaso at Castelgandolfo, the Assumption at Ariccia, and S. Andrea al Quirinale), the entire structure, including its decoration, is subordinated to a single religio-dramatic event. In another remarkable paragraph Wittkower definitively annihilates the banal connotation of ‘theatricalism’ which often accompanies the traditional association of Bernini’s style with the Baroque stage. He explains the community of means, the community of effects and above all, the community of purpose that properly define a relationship to the theatre (in which field Bernini was no less astonishing a creator than in sculpture). With certain exceptions, the contributions of Mannerist principles are most strongly felt in the fountains and monuments, which are the subject of the following chapter. The naturalistic bizzarerie of sixteenth century garden sculpture supplied the essential freedom and even some of the motifs

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which Bernini monumentalized and placed on public view in the streets and piazzas of Rome. The real achievement, however, Wittkower once more finds in the reconciliation of elements normally incompatible. He shows how the movement, even the sound, of water unites in an integral whole with solid travertine and marble; and how, in the Four Rivers fountain, extremely naturalistic forms are used to represent a seemingly impossible static situation, creating thereby an impression which has at once the reality and unreality of a dream. The last chapter deals with three of the broader problems that help to complete the outline of Bernini’s development. The story of Bernini and his period is ultimately a simple one — by and large he created the period in his own image. Throughout his life, outside influences were more a matter of convenience than of necessity. Even the brief fall from favour during the early years of Innocent X’s reign brought, as Wittkower observes, many of the purest expressions of Bernini’s personal artistic manifesto. Analysis of the functional composition of Bernini’s studio reveals his administrative genius and the extent of advanced preparation which he lavished on those commissions that called for it. Nearly every member of the shop lent a hand in the tomb of Alexander VII, for instance; yet it has all the cohesion of a personally executed work. And unless he chose to relax his grip, Bernini was able to maintain this homogeneity despite the diversity of talent he employed. A separate study would be very useful here: as an aid in distinguishing the work of Bernini’s own hand from that of his assistants, as a clarification of the channels through which Bernini’s style was transmitted throughout Europe, and for an understanding of the progressive dissolution of the unity which Bernini created into the basic tendencies that evolved in the eighteenth century. Bernini’s theory, such as it is, generally shows him steeped in the traditions of the Renaissance; yet elements of a more personal view also appear here and there in the sources. Wittkower rightly stresses that it is an error to consider the two attitudes incompatible. On the contrary, they complement one another, and both are indispensable in the procedure that underlay the final product. The catalogue raisonné, finally, gives a complete picture of Bernini’s work in sculpture. Considering the wealth of material at hand, it is a model of abridgement and clarity, and will provide an ideal point of reference for those who wish to delve further into Bernini’s art. A great deal of new information is included, as are several new monuments, while a number of works receive more accurate dates than heretofore. The whole is supple-

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mented by a chronological chart, which allows a most welcome bird’s-eye view of the full range of Bernini’s production. A publication of this sort must discharge two obligations before all others. The brief text should be palatable to a very wide audience, while the catalogue, although longer, must deal with the minutiae of the subject. The region that lies between, which is the natural purview of interpretive art history, suffers perforce from neglect. Certainly no space can be given over to controversy or conjecture, which to many will seem little enough cause for regret. Besides, the work already wears two hats; a third would hardly be appropriate. The condition is aggravated, however, by the very organization of the text. The typological plan, although it has the important advantages we noted above, inevitably sacrifices a sense of over-all developmental continuity. The reader must build a synthesis from isolated remarks dispersed here and there in the text. A summary does run through pp. 37–39; but as it is very brief, the author regrettably was forced to stint on several problems and to omit others altogether. Accordingly, the remarks which follow are offered to orient those who are not fully acquainted with the implications of some of Wittkower’s views, and to recommend caution at certain points where the line between simplification and oversimplification may seem perilously tenuous. We suspect, for example, that Bernini’s art did not develop in quite so complete a vacuum with respect to his contemporaries and immediate predecessors as Wittkower’s account might suggest. It is true that Mariani, Maderna, even Mochi, and others, are of interest now only to specialists in the field of Baroque sculpture; yet Bernini was certainly a specialist in the field, if nothing else. We mention only artists who were active at one time or another in Rome; those working in other centres may also have been significant, as Longhi suggested long ago. In the past, Wittkower himself has contributed much to our knowledge of these individuals, and he does make generic references to Giovanni Bologna and Mannerism here; but the maze of sixteenth and early seventeenth century traditions, in and out of Rome, is still far from sufficiently explored to permit final conclusions. The same is largely true of painting. Wittkower recognizes, along with antiquity, the importance of Annibale Carracci, Guido Reni and Caravaggio for the early work; on the other hand, Bernini’s continuing relationship to the painting of his own and previous generations receives little or no consideration. Such a relationship must have existed, although

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here again it might be premature to attempt a conclusive definition. Great things were going on in this sphere throughout Bernini’s lifetime. It would be misleading to imply that he was unaware of them as regards his technique, his decorative schemes, and even certain of his individual figures. Caravaggio poses a further problem. His influence evidently goes much beyond the early physiognomical studies. While the two artists of course achieve very different results, the intense ‘realism’ directed toward inducing an immediate emotional rapport between the spectator and the subject represented is common to them both. Moreover, the extremely suggestive religious associations which Walter Friedlaender has recently found in Caravaggio’s art may indicate that considerable refinement is possible in our understanding of Bernini’s response to the ‘fervent mysticism’ of Loyola and the Jesuits. In any case it is certain that Bernini’s development was exceedingly complex. And the addition to his earliest oeuvre of the St. Sebastian in Lugano and the St. Lawrence in Florence occasions a curious situation which Wittkower does not discuss. In certain important respects these works contain fewer Mannerist or ‘Maniera’ features than do the Aeneas and Anchises or even the Pluto and Proserpine which come later in Wittkower’s chronology. The question has at least enough substance for one recent critic to postulate, indeed, that Bernini fell under his father’s influence in the Aeneas and Anchises, after he had already broken away from it in the St. Sebastian and St. Lawrence; 1 not an impossible arrangement, but rather uncomfortable and in need of elucidation. Although elimination or even redating of the works may not be justified, we should wish to have Wittkower’s views on the topic. A kindred difficulty occurs with the decidedly ‘classical’ trend in Bernini’s development during the 1630s, witnessed by such monuments as that of Countess Matilda and the early stage of the Pasce Oves Meas. Bernini may indeed have been making certain ‘concessions to a prevailing taste for classicism’ (p. 37), but whether this alone suffices as an explanation of the phenomenon appears open to debate. In the first place there is the indubitable fact that classical (antique) art never ceased to be an inspiration. Moreover, it will be recalled that a work of such another stamp as the Bonarelli bust was executed during precisely the same period. Evidently, the

1

Faldi, Galleria Borghese, Le sculture dal secolo XVI al XIX, Rome, 1954, p. 28.

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interpretation of Bernini’s entire development is involved, rather than merely a single phase having political implications. Perhaps it is only a matter of degree; in which case, however, it would seem all the more important to evaluate other hypotheses, such as those suggested by Bernini’s conception of the appropriateness of form to content (to which the sources testify andWittkower himself alludes when analysing the St. Bibiana, p. 9). Arguments could be found, for example, for an alternative of styles, or even a kind of stylistic continuum different aspects of which could be emphasized for different purposes. Probably the subject cannot be resolved apart from a consideration of Bernini’s architecture, in itself and as it relates to his sculpture; but here we begin to detect a vicious circle. Discussion seems warranted by Wittkower’s designation of Bernini’s late style, i.e. after 1660, as ‘classical’ and related to a similar development in the production of other artists of the period. To begin with, we fear that some confusion may arise from using the same word to describe a work like the Beata Lodovica Albertoni, as the Countess Matilda monument, for example. Superficially at least, quite dissimilar styles are represented. There is of course a common ground; and it is sufficiently evident to reveal Wittkower’s meaning to a trained art historian, whether or not he agrees that one name is applicable in both contexts. But we must sympathize with the consternation of the ‘general reader’, who may not share with us the benefits of an imprecise vocabulary. Vocabulary aside, however, the author aptly stresses the basic differences between mature works and late works such as the busts of Francesco I and Louis XIV, the St. Theresa and the Beata Lodovica; he has utterly absolved them from the taint of repetitiousness with which they have too often been slandered. And doubtless a tendency toward horizontals and verticals is among the more important distinctions. Yet it seems intended to provide a stabilizing element beneath other changes in the treatment of form itself which are possibly more important, and surely less susceptible to the term ‘classical’. For the increased geometry of the underlying system was the necessary complement in the late style to a more radical dissolution of mass, wherein the marble is valued less for its volume than as the creator of patterns of light and dark. The question becomes one of determining which constituent of the style merits greater emphasis, and the decision we make is of some consequence. Pevsner also has found a marked turn around the same period in Italian painting, akin to this dissolution of form, however,

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rather than Wittkower’s change in structure, and moving in a very different direction from that of classicism’.2 In the catalogue, as we have noted, the detailed entries on portraits are particularly valuable. The multitude of objects of this type blessed with Bernini’s name in museums and collections throughout the world make for a perplexing state of affairs, which Wittkower has done much to clarify. Indeed, a number of recent efforts to connect existing monuments with statements in the sources have yielded gratifying results. We should maintain only a few reservations as to the extent of the master’s participation. For example, the animated countenance of the early bust of Urban VIII in the Barberini collection (cat. no. 19, I, Pl. 32) indicates that Bernini was in the vicinity; but the expression itself has a trace of fatuousness, hardly compatible with his later conception of that magnificent Pope. Moreover, the somewhat textureless skin and vapid eyes recall the portrait of Urban without cap in S. Lorenzo in Fonte (cat. no. 19, 1a, Fig. 16), where Wittkower recognizes the hand of Giulio Finelli. The bust of Francesco Barberini now in Washington (cat. no. 24a, Fig. 27), while it has a finely structured head, is uneven technically and somehow lacks the expressive imaginativeness of works entirely by Bernini. The Doria portrait of Innocent X (cat. no., 51, 2, Pl. 79) employs one of Bernini’s devices for vitalizing the lower portions of his busts. He may therefore have been responsible for the basic design, and perhaps certain areas of the surface as well. Otherwise, the effect seems too bland, especially for a product of the later 1640s. Works such as these, despite unusual qualities and excellent references, cannot be equated with Bernini’s best portrayals. It must be said in general, however, that a liberal policy in this realm is probably much the wisest until more extensive studies have been made of the individual members of Bernini’s studio. A later bust of Urban VIII in the Barberini collection (cat. no. 19, 2a, Pl. 35, Fig. 17), on the other hand, is an extremely moving characterization, though here exception may be taken to Wittkower’s suggested dating (about 1630). One of the two related bronze casts (in Camerino) is documented 1643; and since the execution, the mood and age of the sitter are all closely linked to the bust of Urban in Spoleto (1640–1642), there is no

2

Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, VIII, 1932, pp. 69 ff.

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compelling reason to assume that the marble original and the other bronze (Vatican Library) were produced more than a decade before.3 Concerning the composition of Time discovering Truth, of which only the figure of Truth was executed, it is often overlooked that the two descriptions we have of Bernini’s intentions directly contradict each other. The earlier, and evidently the correct version, is contained in a letter of November 30, 1652, from Gemignano Poggi to Francesco I of Modena, where it is reported that Time was to be flying above to unveil Truth, who lay upon a rock (Fraschetti, p. 172). Years later, on the other hand, Bernini himself told Louis XIV that Time was to carry Truth up to the heavens (Chantelou, ed. Lalanne, p. 116). The former situation is found, roughly, in a sketch in Leipzig (Brauer-Wittkower, Pl. 20) and is implied in the work that has come down to us, though that particular drawing may not actually be a study for it. The arrangement Bernini describes, however, reverts essentially to the way in which the subject had been represented by painters in the first half of the century. In this fashion, for example, Domenichino had depicted Time unveiling Truth on the Apollo ceiling of the Palazzo Costaguti (ca. 1615, cf. L. Serra, Domenichino, Fig. 43). Also interesting is the canvas for a ceiling in Richelieu’s palace executed by Poussin shortly before he left Paris in 1642 (cf. Grautoff, Poussin, II, Pl. 106). Presumably Bernini knew of the composition, and it may well have influenced the false and rather fantastic account of his own work that he gave to the French king. Wittkower’s interpretation of the documents pertaining to the Ponte Sant’Angelo is ingenious. The problem centres upon four statues, two now in S. Andrea delle Fratte by Bernini himself, and two ‘copies’ which stand on the bridge. Wittkower makes a virtue of necessity in reconciling the usually reliable sources (Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini) which report that Bernini was surreptitiously responsible for a second version of the Angel with the Inscription, with the preserved payment to Giulio Cartari for that figure. We must assume that on two occasions artists were paid the full complement of 700 scudi (which the other sculptors received for their figures entire) for merely preparing the marble, which Bernini then finished. Yet this hypothesis does less violence than most to a perverse group of facts for which no consistent theory seems able to give a fully satisfying Cf. V. Martintelli, Studi romani, III, I, 1955, p. 46; further to Bernini portraiture, idem, ‘I busti berniniani di Paolo V, Gregorio XV e Clemente X’, III, 6, 1955, pp. 647–666. 3

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explanation. Moreover, the main conclusion of Wittkower’s argument, that the Angel with the Inscription now on the bridge is ultimately a separate creation of Bernini himself, is undoubtedly true. However, the basic chronology presents a problem which should be considered. I would find it hard to believe that the Angel with the Inscription on the bridge is actually a later conception than the one in S. Andrea. The similarity to its partner in disposition of both drapery and legs is inimical to the fundamental principles of differentiation that Bernini arrived at in the S. Andrea figures only after much experimentation. The design seems rather to be an offshoot from an earlier stage in the development, analogous to the composition which Bernini had provided for Lazzaro Morelli’s Angel with the Scourge. It may be questioned whether any light can be shed on this paradoxical relation between ‘first’ and ‘second’ versions. The essential data are as follows: 1. November 11, 1667. Funds are set aside for redecoration of the bridge. 2. July, 28, 1668. The Pope inspects the angels in Bernini’s studio. 3. July 12, 1669. Paolo Naldini is paid for his copy of the Angel with the Crown. 4. September 11, 1669. Bernini is paid for one of his angels (Fraschetti, p. 370, no. 11, a document not mentioned by Wittkower). 5. November 13, 1669. Giulio Cartari is paid for his ‘copy’ of the Angel with the Inscription (Wittkower considers that he only prepared the marble). 6. December 1, 1669. Paolo Bernini is referred to as having executed one of the original angels now in S. Andrea. 7. September 11, 1670, Paolo Bernini is paid, presumably for the same angel as in no. 6 (also preparation of the marble in Wittkower’s view). 8. October 28, 1671. Bernini is reported as having ‘finally resolved to finish his angel’. Perhaps the most puzzling document is no. 7, which, granting Wittkower’s assumptions, would suggest that Paolo Bernini prepared the marble for an original angel as one of the latest steps in the operations. If, as seems most likely for a number of reasons, this payment refers to the original Angel with the Inscription, it would follow that the preparation of

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that figure was completed only after both the copy (doc. no. 3) and the original (doc. no, 4) of the Angel with the Crown had been finished, and even after Cartari had prepared the second version of Angel with the Inscription (doc. no. 5). This would make it entirely understandable, chronologically speaking, that the Cartari-Bernini substitute should include features which are antecedent to Bernini’s final solution for the pair. In any case, it appears that both substitutes were begun before their respective originals were finished. Indeed one begins to wonder how seriously it was ever intended to mount Bernini’s angels on the bridge, at least in their present form. They are so highly finished, much more so than the other figures on the bridge, as to raise a priori the doubt that Bernini would have gone so far at a time when he was still expecting them to be placed in the open. The book is practically free of minor errors or omissions, as far as this reviewer can judge. Worth mentioning perhaps are only the fact that the fragmentary terracotta head in a Roman private collection (cat. no. 18, p. 184), originally published as being for the Daphne (Colasanti, Bollettino d’arte, III, 1923/4, pp. 416 ff.), is actually related to the head of Proserpine (indicated by the tears, ibid., Fig. p. 418, printed in reverse; E. Zocca, Arti figurative, 1, 1945, p. 158); and that Bernini’s designs for the fountains at Sassuolo, carried out by Raggi in part, are rather precisely datable, August 1652 (cat. no. 8o, 6, p. 243; cf. Fraschetti, p. 229, n. 2 and 3). A word must be said concerning the illustrations. With 122 full-size plates and 98 supporting illustrations inserted into the catalogue, the work gives one of the richest visual documentations of Bernini’s sculpture presently available. The publishers rendered noble service by having made a goodly number of new photograph; these on the whole are excellent, and contribute substantially to an illustrational problem which, as everybody recognizes, only a corpus of several volumes could adequately solve. The details especially are striking (e.g. Pls. 6, 39, 53, 88, 114), and exploit with real sensitivity Bernini’s textural and chiaroscuro nuances. Unfortunately, however, the whole series appears to have been subjected to a process of reproduction which fairly pulverizes the surfaces and eliminates plastic modulations. The effects in many cases are hardly noticeable, but in others they are very damaging indeed (e.g. Pls. 3, 9, 35, 61). Reproductions are never perfect, and a certain amount of touching-up was unavoidable, even excusable; except in one instance where, surely through an oversight, the ‘restorer’s’ pencil marks were left blatantly in evidence (Pl. 8, around the eyes). The publishers might have taken greater care to maintain their own

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high standards and do justice to the photographs themselves, as well as to the text. These blemishes are all but overshadowed, however, by the author’s choice of plates for juxtaposition and comparison. Words being extremely precious, it is not surprising to find photographic comparisons used to supplement the text, to suggest to the reader special points for meditation, and to serve as silent witnesses to the author’s arguments. Wittkower’s selections are often particularly evocative; if nothing of Bernini’s whole oeuvre were preserved except the two photographs of the head of Constantine’s horse and that of Gabriele Fonseca (Pls. 111 and 112), proof would yet be ample that here was ‘one of the greatest artists of all Christendom’. In the last analysis, some of our considerations, although pertinent to Wittkower’s subject, may reach beyond its scope. Even so, perhaps they will suggest the magnitude of our loss in the author’s decision to abandon his plan for a definitive treatment of Bernini’s art. But also, they should indicate the complexity of the problems with which he has dealt in so concise and orderly a fashion. Fortunate indeed are those who see Bernini’s sculpture for the first time through Wittkower’s eyes.

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Bernini and the Theater

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HERE was one art form in which the use of a variety of media and the effect of unity were, as we tend to assume, inherent — that is, the theater.1 For anyone wishing to understand Bernini’s artistic personality as a whole, his activity in the theater presents one of the most beguiling problems. From all accounts, and there are many, it is clear that he spent much time and energy throughout his life producing, writing and acting in plays, designing sets and inventing ingenious scenic effects. Beginning in the early 1630s, during Carnival season, he would either stage something for one of his patrons or, more regularly, put on a comedy of his own.2 John Evelyn was awed during his visit to Rome in 1644, when he learned and noted in his diary that shortly before his arrival Bernini had given a “Publique Opera . . . where in he painted the seanes, cut the Statues, invented the Engines, composed the Musique, writ the Comedy & built the Theater all himselfe.”3 These efforts were extremely successful and — to judge from the

1 What follows is a somewhat revised and enlarged version of a review of D’Onofrio, Fontana, in The Art Bulletin, LXVI, 1964, 568–72. 2 In a letter of 1634 Fulvio Testi speaks as if Bernini had been giving comedies for some time (“conforme al solito degli altri anni”; Fraschetta, Bernini, 261, n. 3). The earliest notice we have of a play by him is in February 1633 (ibid., 261, n. 1); Domenico Bernini states (47f., 53) that his father began writing plays during an illness that occurred when he was approaching the age of thirty-seven, i.e., in 1635. 3. Diary, ed. E. S. de Beer, 6 vols., Oxford, 1955, II, 261; repeated by Evelyn in the preface to his translation of Fréart’s Idea of the Perfection of Painting, 1668: “. . . not many years since, he is reported to have built a theatre at Rome, for the adornment whereof he not only cut the figures, and painted the scenes, but writ the play, and compos’d the musick which was all in recitativo” (Miscellaneous Writings, ed. W. Upcott, London, 1825, 562).

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artist’s conversations in Paris in 1665, which are full of anecdotes about his productions — he was ingenuously proud of his accomplishments. Bernini was passionately involved in the world of the stage. From a broader historical point of view, as well, Bernini’s theatrical activities are of extraordinary importance. He lived through a decisive period in the creation of the opera, not only as a musical and dramatic but also as a visual art form. Although he had had many predecessors as artistscenographer (not so many as artist-playwright and artist-actor), it is with Bernini that the relationship between art and theater becomes a critical question. The epithet “Baroque theatricality” has often been leveled at his work in general and the Teresa chapel in particular, implying a kind of meretricious stagecraftiness that transfers formal and expressive devices from the domain of ephemeral and artificial to that of permanent and “serious” arts, where they have no proper business. It might almost be said that our view of the whole period, as well as of the artist himself, has been colored by Bernini’s activity in the theater.4 Yet, it is evident from our analysis that there is not a single device in the chapel which can be explained only by reference to the theater; every detail — the so-called audience in boxes, the so-called hidden lighting, the socalled stage-space of the altarpiece, the so-called dramatic actions of the figures, the mixture of media — every detail has roots in the prior development of the permanent visual arts. Nevertheless, the very conception of the Teresa chapel involves a reference to the theater, and this is what chiefly distinguishes it from Bernini’s other works. The reference is not in the form of borrowed scenic devices, however, but in the form of a deliberate evocation of Bernini’s own very special conception of what occurred in the theater. It must be borne in mind that we actually know very little about Bernini’s productions. Historians have generally been content to repeat the more spectacular instances of his scenographic wizardry, while neglecting many other references and descriptions in the sources.5 It is also unfortu4 The

monograph of Fagiolo dell’Arco, Bernini, is the most recent attempt to interpret virtually the whole of Bernini’s art under the aspect of the theater. 5 The sources for Bernini’s theatrical activities are conveniently gathered in C. D’Onofrio, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Fontana di Trevi: Commedia inedita, Rome, n.d. [1963], 91ff., except for the letters describing his comedy of 1635 about academies of painting and sculpture in Naples (A. Saviotti, “Peste e spettacoli nel seicento,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana, XLI, 1903, 71ff.), the accounts of the Fiera di Farfa intermezzo of 1639 (see p. 18 below), and the unpublished documents of 1641 cited below, p. 18, n. 9.

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nately true that until recently nothing Bernini created for the theater had been known at first hand. A drawing once thought to be a design by him for a stage set is now generally ascribed to Juvarra.6 Bernini was long credited with the sets for the famous Barberini operatic production of the early 1630s, Sant’Alessio, recorded in a group of eight engravings by Collignon (cf. Fig. 1); but from the documents in the Barberini archive in the Vatican, it appears that Bernini had no share in this production.7 Nevertheless, because of the astonishment expressed by contemporaries and his association — willy-nilly — with this and other Barberini extravaganzas, Bernini came to be regarded as a major figure in the development of the Baroque machine spectacle. This was surely not the case. To begin with, Bernini’s name can be attached firmly to only two of the important Barberini operas during Urban

For a recent general treatment, see C. Molinari, Le nozze degli dèi: Un saggio sul grande spettacolo italiano nel seicento, Rome, 1968, 105–20. 6 Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 33f., pl. 15. Cf. A. E. Brinckmann, “I disegni,” in Comitato per le onoranze a Filippo Juvarra, Filippo Juvarra, 1, Turin, 1937, 146, 162; Battaglia, Cattedra, 119, n. 2; L. Grassi, Bernini pittore, Rome, 1945, 48, 59, n. 1. 7 The attribution to Bernini (which seems to occur first in G. Martucci, “Salvator Rosa nel personaggio di Formica,” Nuova antologia di scienze, lettere ed arti, LXXXIII, 1885, 648) never had any basis in fact. To begin with, a monogram that appears in the corner of one state of the Collignon engravings (Il S. Alessio: Dramma musicale . . ., Rome, 1634, BV, Stamp. Barb. N. XIII. 199) was misconstrued as referring to Bernini (by F. Clementi, Il carnevale romano, 2 vols., Città di Castello, 1938–9 [first ed. 1899], 1, 473, and again by A. Schiavo, “A proposito dei ‘Disegni inediti di G. L. Bernini e di L. Vanvitelli’ di A. Schiavo,” Palladio, N.S., IV, 1954, 90). Then Fraschetti (Bernini, 261) quite gratuitously interpolated Bernini’s name into the account of the performance given in Giacinto Gigli’s Diario romano (ed. G. Ricciotti, Rome, 1958, 140); no such reference occurs in the manuscripts of the diary (Rome, Bibl. Vittorio Emanuele, MS.811, fol. 139v [autograph]; BV, MS. Vat. lat. 8717, 141; San Pietro in Vincoli, MS.147). The monogram, by analogy with François Collignon’s own initials as they appear in the opposite corner of the engravings, should probably be read as “F.B.”; payment was made to the painter Francesco Buonamici for unspecified work on the production of 1634 (BV, AB, Armadio 100, Giustificazioni Nos. 1751–2000, Card. Francesco Barberini, 1632–4, No. 1907; cf. Arm. 86, Libro Mastro B, Card. Francesco, 1630–4, 346). A possible reading is “P.B.”; Pietro Berrettini da Cortona made some small pieces of scenery and the “Eye of the Demon” for the 1632 production (ibid., Arm. 155, Alfabeto di entrata e uscita della guardarobba, Card. Antonio, 1632, fol. I45r: “A di 18 feb.ro 1632. Lenzoli portati p. servitio della Representatione . . . Dati al Sig.r Pietro Cor.na lenzoli due . . . E più dato al Sig.r pietro lenzole n.o 1 . . . E Più dati al Sig.r Pietro p. servitio della

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VIII’s reign. In the famous Fiera di Farfa intermezzo of the 1639 version of Chi soffre speri, he recreated on stage a bustling country fair with live animals, the garden of the Barberini palace itself with passing carriages and a ball game, and a sunrise and sunset.8 In the 1641 production of L’innocenza difesa, for which Bernini was indirectly responsible, the sunset was repeated, and one scene included a fireworks display over a view of Castel Sant’Angelo.9 Rep.ne due lenzoli . . . E più dato al Sig.re Pietro tre Canne di tela di fare impanate cioè se ne servi per li lanternoni ch segnevano Ochi Ca.ne 3”; fol. 44.v: “A di 28 detto [February] 1632. Lenzoli usate uscite da Ga.ba p. ser.tio della Rep.ne date al Sig.r Pietro da Cortona n.o cinque ... de quali ne fu fatto alcuni pezzi di scene piccole . . . Tela quatretto uscita di Gar.ba per servitio della Rep.ne di S. Alesio Canne tre cioè date al Sig.r Pietro da Cortona de che ne fece li Ochio del Demonio”); but the style of the sets in the engravings scarcely supports an attribution to Cortona (proposed by M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, “Lo spettacolo barocco,” Storia dell’arte, Nos. 1–2, 1969, 229). 8 An important breakthrough, which confirms the attribution of the Fiera di Farfa intermezzo to Bernini, was the discovery of his record of accounts for the work among the documents of Cardinal Francesco Barberini, by F. Hammond, “Girolamo Frescobaldi and a Decade of Music in the Casa Barberini: 1634–1643,” Analecta musicologica, XIX, 1979, 94–124. On Chi soffre speri, see A. Ademollo, I teatri di Roma nel secolo decimosettimo, Rome, 1888, 28ff. Subsequent bibliography will be found in S. Reiner, “Collaboration in Chi soffre speri,” The Music Review, XXII, 1961, 265–82; additional sources in Clementi, Carnevale, 1, 483f; M. L. Pietrangeli Chanaz, Il teatro barberiniano, unpub. diss., University of Rome, 1968, 114–28 and unpaginated appendix of documents; M. K. Murata, Operas for the Papal Court with Texts by Giulio Rospigliosi, unpub. diss., University of Chicago, 1975, 316–8. The sunrise and sunset are mentioned by H. Tetius, Aedes barberinae ad Quirinalem, Rome, 1642, 35; on this motif, see p. 151, n. 17 below. It is tempting but probably incorrect to identify the Fiera di Farfa with the comedy called La fiera staged by Bernini for Cardinal Antonio Barberini (Bernini, 55; cf. Baldinucci, 150), since neither the text nor the descriptions of the former mention the false fire that highlighted the latter (see below). 9 Bernini’s role in the 1641 production of L’innocenza difesa emerges from several as yet unpublished sources. “A questa comedia hà fatte due vedute di lontan.za il nipote di Mon.re fausto già diventato ingegniere di machine sceniche in pochi giorni, e sono l’una, il sole cadente del Bernino, quale si p[...?] da tutti all’em.o non haverci parte nessuna ben che visibilm.te ci assista, e la seconda è la ved.ta della girandola presa da monte cavallo creduta da S. em.a p. inventione del s.r nipote: alla quale credenza il linguacciuto dice haver cooperato che in d.e machine tutta la spesa hà fatto mons.re fausto” (from a letter by Ottaviano Castelli to Mazarin, February 1, 1641, Paris, Ministère des affaires étrangères, Archives diplomatiques, Correspondance politique, Rome, MS.73, fol. 187v, from which another passage was excerpted by H. Prunières, L’opera italien en France avant Lulli, Paris, 1913, 26, n. 2). “La comedia . . . riuscì isquisitam.te; massime nelle scene, che all’usanza del Cav.r Bernino fecero

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For the most part, the scenes of the Barberini productions were not done by stage designers at all, but by artists, mainly painters, who were primarily employed by the family in other tasks: Andrea Camassei, Giovanni Francesco Romanelli, Giovanni Francesco Grimaldi, Andrea Sacchi. Apart from the Medici court spectacles in Florence staged by Giulio Parigi and his son Alfonso, the main line of evolution of Italian scenography was North Italian. There a great tradition emerged in the early seventeenth century, in Ferrara and Bologna with Giovanni Battista Aleotti and his successors Francesco Guitti and Alfonso Chenda, in Venice with Giuseppe Alabardi and Giovanni Burnacini, culminating in the work of the “grande stregone” of High Baroque stage design, Giacomo Torelli.10 These men made stage design and theater architecture a full-time, professional occupation, and it is naïve to ascribe to Bernini rather than to them the leading role in the development of Baroque stage technology. The truth is that Bernini did not really have much use for elaborate contraptions. He ridiculed them as too slow and cumbersome. The secret, he said, is to avoid doing things that will not succeed perfectly. He recommended a stage no more than twenty-four feet deep, and advised against scenes that could be seen from only one point. What pleased him was that his successes had been achieved with productions staged in his own house, vedere lontananze maravigliose” (Avviso di Roma, February 2, 1641, Rome, Bibl. Corsini, MS.1733, fol. 109, found and transcribed by Pietrangeli Chanaz, Teatro, unpaginated documents; also Murata, Operas, 362); “. . . con Intermedij apparenti et specialmente questo Castello Sant’Angelo tutto circondato di lumi, facendo la Girandola, come si fà la Festa de Santi Pietro, et Paolo Apostoli” (Avviso, February 2, 1641, ibid., MS.1735, fols. 15v and f., Pietrangeli Chanaz, Teatro, Murata, Operas, 362). See now also M. K. Murata, “Rospigliosiana ovvero: Gli equivoci innocenti,” Studi musicali, IV, 1975 (publ. 1978), 131–43. On the Castel Sant’ Angelo fireworks, see p. 151, n. 17 below. The sets of II palazzo d’Atlante, 1642, attributed to Bernini by Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini, were actually by Andrea Sacchi; cf. the letters of the eyewitness Ottaviano Castelli to Mazarin (H. Prunières, “Les répresentations du Palazzo d’Atlante à Rome [1642],” Sammelbände der internationalen Musik-Gesellschaft, XIV, 1912–3, 219ff.), the Avvisi di Roma (G. Canevazzi, Di tre melodrammi del secolo XVII, Modena, 1904, 44ff.), and payments to Sacchi in March 1642 “in conto delle spese p. le scene della comedia” (BV, AB, Arm. 76, Libro Mastro C, Card. Antonio Barberini, 1636–44, p. 342). 10 The picture of this whole period has been very much enlarged and enriched in recent years by the pioneering researches of Elena Povoledo, in many publications, including numerous articles in the Enciclopedia dello spettacolo, and by Per Bjurström’s monograph Giacomo Torelli and Baroque Stage Design, Stockholm, 1961 (Nationalmusei Skriftserie, 7). On Guitti’s work as a theater architect, see Lavin, “Lettres.”

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at his own expense and costing no more than “tre baiocchi.” Characteristically, he said that the important thing is to have ideas, in which case one can hire someone who knows how to paint scenes, and someone who understands machines, to carry them out.11 In some respects, it is evident, Bernini’s principles were diametrically opposed to those underlying the vast machine productions that were the hallmark of the period. What is essential is a more balanced assessment of the character and underlying motivation of Bernini’s scenographic technique. Far too much emphasis has been placed on the sheer mechanics of stage engineering, and this has obscured the real nature of Bernini’s achievements in the theater. It is significant that Bernini’s own productions were comedies and farces in the informal tradition of the commedia dell’arte, and the sources leave no doubt that one of the reasons for his success in this field, especially at the outset, were his daring satires of important people. It is very unlikely that ordinary commedia dell’arte troupes could have had an immunity from reprisal such as Bernini, darling of the Barberini, enjoyed. He could poke fun in public at anyone, including the Barberini themselves and in their very presence! One can well imagine that nothing of the kind had been seen on stage before. These direct references to highly placed people and their doings should not be thought of merely as reflections of Bernini’s privileged position. They were also a device that helped Bernini break through theatrical convention and establish links with the real world.12 An analogous point may be made about Bernini’s use of illusionistic devices, the second and perhaps chief source of his renown. In the great court spectacles and to some extent also in the regular theater, more or less elaborate stage effects had a long history. By contrast, the commedia dell’arte, to which Bernini’s own private productions belong, was above all the domain of the performer, with scenic elements secondary and largely stereotyped. Actual practice varied considerably, needless to say, and the great actor-dramatist Giovanni Battista Andreini, Bernini’s predecessor in more ways than one, introduced considerable visual interest into some of his commedia dell’arte plays.13 He seems to have done so, however, mainly 11 Chantelou,

68, 69, 115, 116f., 213. There is a close and obvious parallel in Bernini’s caricature drawings of important people, which begin at exactly the same period (cf. I. Lavin, “Duquesnoy’s ‘Nano di Créqui’ and Two Busts by Francesco Mochi,” The Art Bulletin, LII, 1970, 144, n. 75). 13 Cf. K. M. Lea, Italian Popular Comedy, 2 vols., Oxford, 1934, I, 320ff. 12

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through lavish settings and costumes — which were probably rare in Bernini’s own productions — with no hint of the surprising special effects for which Bernini was acclaimed. It can be shown that none of the methods Bernini used was actually invented by him. In 1638, after a disastrous flood of the Tiber at Rome the year before, Bernini staged his celebrated Inundation of the Tiber.14 In the play, boats passed across the stage on real water, retained by embankments. Suddenly the levee broke and water spilled out toward the audience, whereupon a barrier rose just in time to stop it. As background to this trick of stage hydraulics, we need only mention that Giovanni Battista Aleotti, in addition to being an important stage designer and theater architect, had been one of the founders of modern hydraulic engineering; he wrote several treatises on the subject with experience gained from such projects as the regulation of the waters of the Po at Ferrara and land reclamation in the Polesine region of northeast Italy. In 1628 Francesco Guitti, Aleotti’s successor, had arranged to flood the huge Teatro Farnese on the second story of the Palazzo della Pilotta in Parma for a marine spectacle involving a mock naval battle; Guitti, indeed, was the one professional stage designer who worked for the Barberini, on productions in 1633 and 1634. In 1637 and 1638 Bernini produced a comedy that involved two audiences and two theaters. The spectators saw an actor on stage reciting a prologue; behind him they saw the back side of another actor facing another audience and also reciting a prologue. At the end of the prologue a curtain was raised between the two actors and the play began. At the end of the play the curtain dropped, and the audience saw the other audience leaving the other theater in splendid coaches by the light of torches and the moon shining through clouds. This conceit was certainly related to the play-within-aplay tradition, familiar to us from Shakespeare, in which there had recently been significant developments. A comedy of 1623 by Andreini, titled The Two Comedies in Comedy, even included two successive performances as part of the plot.15

14 Cf. the title of a treatise on the technical problems of controlling the river, O. Castelli, Della inondatione del Tevere, Rome, 1608. 15 Lea, Comedy, I, pp. 322ff.; cf. F. Neri, “La commedia in commedia,” Mélanges d’histoire littéraire générale et comparée offerts à Fernand Baldensperger, 2 vols., Paris, 1930, II, pp. l30ff. See further below, p. 29, n. 27.

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In Bernini’s comedy called The Fair (before 1645), a Carnival float was shown returning from the celebration.16 One of the revelers carrying a torch “accidentally” set fire to the scenery. The audience, thinking the theater was about to burn down, scrambled for the exit. At the height of the confusion the scene suddenly changed, and when the spectators looked, the fire had disappeared and the stage had become a delightful garden. Here, Bernini profited from the sophisticated devices of theatrical pyrotechnics that had been developed especially for hell scenes, long a part of great court spectacles (Fig. 1).17 One certainly must not underestimate the significance of pure spectacle for Bernini. It is essential to realize, however, that his secret lay not in lavishness or complex engineering, but in the way he used the techniques of illusion. When Francesco Guitti flooded the Farnese theater, it was for a marine performance in the middle of the arena; when Bernini did his trick, the water was on stage and threatened to spill out over the spectators. (Guitti’s was no doubt a far more ambitious engineering feat.) When Bernini adopted the play-within-a-play formula, he created the impression that the two plays were going on simultaneously, confronting the audience with duplicate actors and a duplicate theater and audience as well. Bernini’s fire was not presented as part of the play in a scene of hell; in a feigned accident with the torch held by the actor, it threatened to burn down the theater itself. Clearly, it was by means of these sudden thrusts into the mind and heart of the spectator — accomplished without elaborate machinery — that Bernini created his wonderful effects. 16

See p. 18, n. 8 above. A terminus ad quem is provided by the fact that when Bernini described the production in Paris in 1665, the Abbot Francesco Buti says he had been present; by 1645 Buti, who was secretary to Cardinal Antonio Barberini, had left Rome for Paris (cf. Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 15 vols., Kassel, etc., 1949–73, II, cols. 532f.). The comedies previously mentioned are dated by contemporary descriptions. 17 Fig. 1 is the hell scene from Il S. Alessio, 1634, pl. 2. On hell scenes generally, cf. Bemmann, Bühnenbeleuchtung, 24ff., 92ff., I07ff. The treatise of Nicola Sabbattini, which certainly does not represent the most advanced technique of its day, even contains a chapter titled “Come si possa dimostrare che tutta la scena arda.” Another of Sabbattini’s chapters, “Come si possa fare apparire che tutta la scena si demolisca,” shows that Bernini did not invent the trick for his comedy (1638) in which a house collapsed on stage (N. Sabbattini, Pratica di fabricar scene, e machine ne’ teatri, Ravenna, 1638, ed. E. Povoledo, Rome, 1955, 70f.). For the depiction on stage of the Castel Sant’Angelo fireworks display, which Bernini evidently introduced in 1641 (p. 18 and n. 9 above), see the comments on Giovanni

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1. Stage set from Il S. Alessio, 1634, pl. 2, engraving.

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Immediacy of effect and simplicity of technique are also the keys to an understanding of the one direct trace of Bernini’s work for the theater that has come down to us, a fragmentary manuscript of a comedy published only a few years ago. The text is incomplete, and it is not certain that the play was ever performed — probably not, since it seems to be identical with an “idea” for a comedy that Bernini later described, commenting that it had never been carried out (see below). The play is especially important in our context for two reasons: first, there is compelling evidence that it was intended for the Carnival season of 1644, barely three years before the Teresa chapel was begun; second, its plot contains an autobiographical element that makes it an explicit statement of Bernini’s own ideas.18 The story, briefly, is as follows: Cinthio, a young, gentleman in the service of a prince, is in love with Angelica, the daughter of Dottor Gratiano, an aging and famous master of scenography, who also writes and acts in his own plays. Cinthio has no money and Coviello, his charming and scheming Neapolitan valet, proposes a stratagem that will net enough at least to

Francesco Grimaldi’s replica for the 1656 production of La vita humana, in W. Witzenmann, “Die römische Barockoper La Vita humana ovvero il trionfo della pietà,” Analecta musicologica, XV, 1975, I75f. On Bernini’s pyrotechnical style, see E. Povoledo, “Gian Lorenzo Bernini, l’elefante e i fuochi artificiali,” Rivista italiana di musicologia, X, 1975, 499–518. Bernini’s sunrises and sunsets (see p. 18 above) belonged in a tradition that went back at least to Serlio (Architettura, Venice, 1566, bk. II, 64; cf. Bemmann, Bühnenbeleuchtung, 71ff, 99f., 110f.). The sunrise mentioned by Baldinucci (151) and Domenico Bernini (56f.; cf. also Chantelou, 116) must date before 1643, since Louis XIII, who died in that year, requested a model. The treatise of Sabbattini and the relevant portion of that of Serlio have been translated in B. Hewitt, ed., The Renaissance Stage: Documents of Serlio, Sabbattini and Furttenbach, Coral Gables, Fla., 1958. 18 The text, preserved in a manuscript in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, was published by D’Onofrio, Fontana. The play is written in a scribe’s hand, without title, in a fascicule inscribed, “Fontana di Trevi MDCXLII,” originally intended as a ledger of accounts for work on the fountain. Only a few entries were made, however, the latest of which dates from April 1643 (D’Onofrio [28] through a lapsus gives August 1643 for the last entry in the ledger). Scene two of the second act contains an anti-Spanish jibe that D’Onofrio feels would not have been written under the Hispanophile Innocent X; and since Urban VIII died in July of 1644, the most plausible assumption is that the play was intended for the Carnival season of that year. The manuscript copy cannot have been used for performance, since it contains a number of lacunae and errors; moreover, the third act is exceedingly short (only two scenes) and the ending seems not a proper denouement at all.

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make a show of wealth. The plan is to obtain 1000 scudi from a mysterious stranger, Alidoro, who will pay that amount to see Gratiano’s marvelous stage effects. Cinthio tells Gratiano that the prince has ordered him to do a comedy. Gratiano resists, but is finally persuaded by his maidservant Rosetta (with whom he has a flirtation). Gratiano tells Rosetta the plot he has devised: a certain Dottor Gratiano is enamored of his maidservant, named Rosetta. Gratiano is married, but his wife is “un pezz de carnaccia vecchia che sà di rancido che appesta.”19 Gratiano will try to accommodate the situation by making use of Rosetta, in anticipation of his wife’s demise, to have a child. In a remarkable conversation between the real Dottor Gratiano and his imaginary self, the latter scolds the former roundly for having such dirty thoughts (“sporchi pensieri”). The second act includes a brilliant scene in which, at a trial lowering of the “cielo” (“sky”), the mechanism fails to perform adequately. Gratiano expresses his dissatisfaction vehemently, making two canonically “Baroque” esthetic pronouncements: that stage machines are supposed to amaze people, not amuse them; and that invention, design (“l’inzegn, el desegn”) is the magic art that fools the eye so as to cause astonishment. Alidoro, we learn in the third act, is himself a producer of plays who also acts in them and paints the scenes. With Zanni, Dottor Gratiano’s manservant, as an accomplice, he dons a disguise in which he will be employed to assist with the preparations and thus learn Gratiano’s techniques. The manuscript comes to an end as Cochetto, a French scene painter, is about to put Alidoro to work. The play, thus, is basically a conventional commedia dell’arte farce, with conventional commedia dell’arte characters who speak informally and often spicily in conventional commedia dell’arte dialects. Dottor Gratiano is certainly Bernini himself, a man of genius and fame, from whom jealous competitors would seek to pilfer what they imagine to be the secrets of his success. He is reluctant to do the comedy because of the taxing creative effort and time involved: “These are things that require the whole man, and much time,” he says (“sien cos che rezercan tutt l’hom e molto tempo”).20 In a funny but touching moment, Gratiano even refers to the agony of

19 Compare Bernini’s description, reported by Baldinucci (145), of a painting of “una rancida e schifosa vecchia, che viva e vera ci apporterebbe nausea, e ci offenderebbe.” 20 Bernini used similar phraseology concerning the various steps in the creative process: “ciascheduna di quelle operazioni ricercava tutto l’uomo” (Baldinucci, 145).

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artistic creation, confessing that “the hardest thing is to find a subject” (“la mazzor difficultà lè ’l trovar un sozzet”). He also wants people kept away from the preparations, not in order to prevent his ideas from being stolen, but because advance knowledge will spoil their effects (“e si quand si sann non son più belle”). The plot again evidendy refers to the play-within-a-play motif, but here Bernini forsakes the normal convention by not showing the inner play at all, only the preparations for it. Thus Bernini’s is not strictly a play that contains a play, but a play about the creation of a play. The inner play, therefore, instead of being merely an episode within the main plot, becomes itself part of the subject of the comedy, or rather the preparations for it do; the levels of illusion completely interpenetrate. When the characters being created for the inner play turn out to be, in part, duplicates of those in the main plot — the chief character of the main play actually holding a conversation with his fictitious self — still further links are added to the chain.21 If all this seems very literary, it should be emphasized that the ultimate point of the play was visual. Its chief purpose, surely, was to give scope to the beautiful notion of having Gratiano try out stage devices that do not perform to his satisfaction. Thus a scene that functions badly becomes the perfect illusion. Moreover, since the sets need only fail, the trick could be done with “tre baiocchi” and it also fulfilled Bernini’s requirement not to try anything that could not be done convincingly. One is very tempted to see in this plot the “bella idea” for a comedy, mentioned by Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini, in which Bernini would have shown all the errors that occur in manipulating stage machinery, together with the means for their correction.22 The comedy permits two further observations that are of interest. It has been assumed that Bernini did not really write plays, but that his comedies were improvised in the pure commedia dell’arte tradition.23 The topicality

21

Compare Andreini’s Lo schiavetto (eds. Milan, 1612, Venice, 1620), in which one of the characters proposes his own love intrigue, retaining the “real” names of the participants, as the theme for a comedy (ed. Venice, 1620, 197f.; cf. Lea, Comedy, I, 323). 22 Baldinucci, 151; Bernini, 57. 23 I. Balboni, “Le commedie di Gian Lorenzo Bernini e un diario francese del seicento,” Rivista di cultura, III, 1922, 231ff.; but see the remarks of C. Molinari, “Note in margine all’attività teatrale di G. L. Bernini,” Critica d’arte, IX, No. 52, 1962, 57ff.

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of the wit, the repetition of successful tricks in different contexts, and above all the impression one gets from the sources of an extraordinary liveliness in the recitation, all seem to point in this direction. The conclusion is, however, profoundly misconceived. We know Bernini worked his assistants mercilessly in preparing his productions, and that he would himself act out all the parts for them, so as to make sure they performed exactly as he wished. We know from the very gist of the play about Dottor Gratiano that Bernini was a perfectionist in the matter of scenic effects. Finally, the manuscript itself distinguishes Bernini’s method from pure commedia dell’arte, where the plot was merely outlined in brief scenarios. Bernini wrote out the parts completely. It could hardly be maintained that improvisation was forbidden in Bernini’s productions, but there can be no doubt that here, as in his other works, the effect of immediacy and freedom was planned and calculated down to the last detail. A second, equally significant point is that there is not the slightest hint from any source that Bernini ever intended to put his theatrical activity into permanent form by publishing the texts of his plays or prints of his sets. This fact alone would prevent our placing him in a class with real hommes du métier like Andreini or Torelli. The same fact also makes it clear that his achievements in the theater were among the most deeply rooted and spontaneous products of his creative spirit. Considering the evidence as a whole, one is struck by the fact that, without exception, the startling illusionistic conceits described in the sources can be dated to the period of little more than a decade between the early 1630s, when Bernini became interested in the theater, and the late 1640s (though his theatrical activity continued long afterward). Moreover, the accounts suggest that the appeal of the earliest comedies was due primarily to their element of social satire, whereas in subsequent examples and especially in the extant comedy, the overlapping spheres of reality are the main fascination. There are important gaps in the evidence and, certainly, pungent dialogue did not cease to lend spice to Bernini’s comedies. Yet the shift in emphasis that seems to emerge from the sources probably does reflect an actual development — parallel to the increased complexity and underlying unity of illusion we discerned in Bernini’s other work during the same period, culminating in the Teresa chapel. Perhaps Bernini’s “secret” will now have become clear. 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, conscious of himself as an active, if dis-

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concerted, participant in the “happening.” The crucial thing is that when he returned to his ordinary level of existence he became aware that someone had created this response. The relevance of this awareness lies in a series of interlocking conceits which link the theater and art on a level that can only be described as metaphysical. It has repeatedly been observed that in the long and continuous history of metaphors relating the theater on the one hand to real life and on the other to abstract ideas, the early seventeenth century was of special importance. A growing sense of the reality of the stage seems to have converged with a growing sense of the illusoriness of reality, to produce a paradoxical equation of the two. The equation became a leading topos of the period — in its most encompassing form as the theatrum mundi, or theater of the world, whose “producer” is God; in its most concrete and circumscribed form, as the play-within-the-play. Concerning the global theater, it can be observed that as the references of the metaphor became more varied and enlarged, the notion of the theater itself did likewise.24 The word was applied in a vast range of contexts — a landscape, a palace courtyard, a garden fountain, a city, the sea, public opinion, the art of writing, the art of memory — whose connections with the theater as a building or as a performance might be extremely tenuous.25 The applications are so disparate, in fact, that only one underlying idea is discernible, although it is never part of any explicit definition of the term: the idea of wholeness or totality. It is this quality that Bernini’s Teresa chapel

24 On the theatrum mundi, see the seminal chapter in E. R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, New York and Evanston, 1953 (first ed. 1948), 138–44, and the article by R. Bernheimer, “Theatrum Mundi,” The Art Bulletin, XXXVIII, 1956, 225–47; further, F. J. Warnke, “The World as Theatre: Baroque Variations on a Traditional Topos,” in B. Fabian and U. Suerbaum, eds., Festschrift für Edgar Mertner, Munich, 1969,185–200; F. A. Yates, Theatre of the World, London, 1969, esp. 164f. A vast collection of material will be found in M. Costanzo, Il “gran theatro del mondo”: Schede per lo studio dell’iconografia letteraria nell’età del manierismo, Milan, 1964, 7–46. The idea has been brought to bear in the interpretation of Bernini’s St. Peter’s colonnade, by Kitao, Circle, 22–6. 25 The variety of uses is best gauged from the citations in Costanzo, Theatro; for some applications in architecture, see K. Schwager, “Kardinal Pietro Aldobrandinis Villa di Belvedere in Frascati,” Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, IX–X, 1961–2, 379–82; Kitao, Circle, 19ff. On the art of memory and the theater, Bernheimer, “Theatrum,” 225–31; F. A. Yates, The Art of Memory, Chicago, 1966, l29ff, 320ff.

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shares with the contemporary notion of the theater.26 What distinguishes his work, on the stage as well as in chapel decoration, is his concern at once to elicit the sense of unity — ”un bel composto” — and to engulf the spectator in it. Concerning the play-within-the-play, various devices had been adopted to double the redundancy of the motive, and thus relate it to a larger context.27 The performers of the inner play may have the role of actors in the main play; the characters of the main play may retain their identities in the inner play; the plot of the inner play may reflect that of the main play. So far as I can discover, however, Bernini’s comedy about Dottor Gratiano is the first in which the chief character is an impresario and the very subject of the main plot is the staging of a play in which the same characters and plot are retained. The focal point of these mirror images is the impresario himself, whose significance is revealed in a crucial exchange between Dottor Gratiano and his alter ego: Gratiano: . . . chi el quel Gratian . . . ? Gratiano: Chi el? liè la favola de sta comedia, liè! Gratiano: Sigur; sel mondo non lè altr ch’una Comedia, Gratian lè la favola del mond.28 (Gr: . . . who is that Gratiano . . . ? Gr: Who is he? He’s the theme of this play, he is ! Gr : Indeed; if the world is nothing but a play, Gratiano is the theme of the world.)

26 Corollaries in theater history for the kind of unity discussed here are the development of the box theater with proscenium arch (see p. 93 above) and the development of stage sets with symmetrical, continuous and—by the mid-seventeenth century—closed structures (for a convenient survey, see Mancini et al., Illusione). 27 The literature on the play-within-a-play is vast, although there is still no comprehensive treatment of the theme; for recent studies and further bibliography, see besides Neri, “Commedia,” R. J. Nelson, Play within a Play: The Dramatist’s Conception of His Art, Shakespeare to Anouilh, New Haven, 1958; A. Brown, “The Play within a Play: An Elizabethan Dramatic Device,” Essays and Studies, XIII, 1960, 36–48; D. Mehl, “Forms and Functions of the Play within a Play,” Renaissance Drama, VIII, 1965, 41–61; R. W. Witt, Mirror within a Mirror: Ben Jonson and the Play-within, Salzburg, 1975 (Salzburg Studies in English Literature, No. 46); L. Maranini, ed., La commedia in commedia: Testi del seicento francese, Rome, 1974. 28 D’Onofrio, Fontana, 66.

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The play-within-the-play is thus related to the theater of the world through the role of its creator. In the case of the comedies it was all in fun; in the case of the Teresa chapel it was utterly serious. The conventional, expected illusion in a chapel was that the setting of the liturgy was symbolic; the unexpected illusion Bernini superimposed is that the setting is real. Thus, the Teresa chapel does suggest a prestidigitator; in fact, its point is that it suggests a prestidigitator — a sublime, metaphysical, theological prestidigitator who has consciously and as if by magic created and labeled this world, the inhabitants of which, namely we, act as though it were real. On one level the name of the prestidigitator is God; on another level, it is Bernini. This seems incredibly conceited. Bernini was an extremely conceited, but at the same time a most thoughtful and pious man. The metaphor linking God and the artist was also an ancient one, deeply ingrained in the Christian tradition. God the painter, God the sculptor, God the architect of the universe are ideas that occur frequently in medieval theological treatises to exemplify divine creativity. In the Renaissance the relationship became more than an analogy, expressing a special bond between the supreme creator and the artist. The reference underwent a fundamental shift: whereas before God’s creativity was compared to the artist’s, in the flood of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century literature on art the artist’s creativity came to be likened unto God’s.29 In part, Bernini went beyond the Renaissance, yet he also recaptured an essential element of the medieval spirit. He was acutely conscious of his own inventiveness and he acknowledged unabashedly that his inspiration was supernatural. His relationship to divinity was not a motive for self-aggrandizement, however, but for self-abnegation. He attributed his ability to God, and, while he was very proud of his talent, he was very humble indeed about its source.30 29 For a reference to this process in another context, cf. I. Lavin, “The Sculptor’s ‘Last Will and Testament,’ “ Allen Memorial Art Museum Bulletin, XXXV, 1977–8, 38f., with bibliography on the artist-God metaphor, to which should be added E. Zilsel, Die Entstehung des Geniebegriffes: Ein Beitrag zur Ideengeschichte der Antike und Frühkapitalismus, Tubingen, 1926, 276–80; and, recently, M. Kemp, “From ‘Mimesis’ to ‘Fantasia’: The Quattrocento Vocabulary of Creation, Inspiration and Genius in the Visual Arts,” Viator, VIII, 1977, 384ff. 30 For the foregoing, see the statements in Chantelou’s diary assembled by Schudt, “Schaffensweise,” 76f. A closely analogous relationship to tradition underlies Bernini’s attitude toward death and the works he made in preparation for it (Lavin, “Bernini’s Death”).

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As the Teresa chapel itself was Bernini’s metaphor for heaven, so the fusion of the arts and the unity of the whole were his metaphor for divine creation.31 In the end, perhaps the great achievement of the Teresa chapel is just this awareness of creation it provokes.

Abbreviations and Bibliography of Frequently Cited Works AB: Archivio Barberini BV: Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome Baldinucci, F., Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682, ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948. Battaglia, R., La cattedra berniniana di San Pietro, Rome, 1943. 31 A comparable sense of the metaphysical and theological nature of verbal metaphor is fundamental to the great mid-seventeenth-century manual of the subject, Emanuele Tesauro’s Il Cannocchiale aristotelico: O sia idea delle argutezze heroiche vulgaramente chiamate imprese, Venice, 1655; cf. the analyses by E. Donato, “Tesauro’s Poetics : Through the Looking Glass,” Modern Language Notes, LXXVIII, 1963, 15–30, esp. 23ff. on the importance of visual perception in Tesauro’s thought, and J. A. Mazzeo, “Metaphysical Poetry and the Poetic of Correspondence,” Journal of the History of Ideas, XIV, 1953, 221–34; further, the chapter “Tesauro o dell’ ‘ingannevole maraviglia’,” in M. Costanzo, Critica e poetica del primo seicento, 3 vols., Rome, 1969–71, III, 91ff. Useful material on the seventeenth-century literary tradition of conceit will be found in the preface by A. Buck to a reprint of the 1670 Turin edition of Tesauro’s work, Bad Homburg, Berlin, Zurich, 1968; aspects of Bernini’s imagery have been discussed in this connection by Fagiolo dell’Arco, Bernini, 203ft, and Blunt, “Bernini.” Particularly interesting in our context is Tesauro’s concept of the metaphor of Deception, or the Unexpected (referring to Aristotle, Rhetoric, III, 11); this he illustrates by the prestidigitator (“giocoliere”), at the discovery of whose illusion the viewer is both pleased and enlightened: “Egli è dunque vna segreta, & innata delitia dell’Intelletto humano, l’auuedersi di essere stato scherzeuolmente ingannato: peroche quel trapasso dall’inganno al disinganno, è vna maniera d’imparamento, per via non aspettata; & perciò piaceuolissima. Questo piacer tu sperimenti nel vederti sorpreso da’ Giocolieri; che gabbano la tua credenza con la destrezza della mano: onde tu ridi del tuo inganno dapoiche l’hai conosciuto; hauendo tu insperatamente appresa quella sperienza che non sapeui” (Cannocchiale, ed. Turin, 1670, 460; cf. W. T. Elwert, “Zur Charakteristik der italienischen Barocklyrik,” Romanistisches Jahrbuch, III, 1950, 460; E. Raimondi, Letteratura barocca: Studi sul seicento italiano, Florence, 1961, 2).

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32 Bemmann, J., Die Bühnenbeleuchtung vom geistlichen Spiel bis zur frühen Oper als Mittel künstlerischer Illusion, diss., Leipzig, 1933. Bernheimer, R., “Theatrum Mundi,” The Art Bulletin, XXXVIII, 1956, 225–47. Bernini, D., Vita del Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713. Blunt, A., “Gianlorenzo Bernini: Illusionism and Mysticism,” Art History, 1,1978, 67–89. Brauer, H., and R. Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, 2 vols., Berlin, 1931. Chantelou, P. Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Laianne, Paris, 1885. Clementi, F., Il carnevale romano, 2 vols., Città di Castello, 1938-9 (first ed. 1899). D’Onofrio, C, ed., Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Fontana di Trevi: Commedia inedita, Rome, n.d. Enciclopedia dello spettacolo, 10 vols., Rome, 1975. Fagiolo dell’Arco, M., Bernini: Una introduzione al gran teatro del barocco, Rome, 1967. Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini: La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milan, 1900. Il S. Alessio. Dramma musicale dall’eminentissimo et reverendissimo signore Card. Barberino fatto rappresentare al serenissimo Principe Alessandro Carlo di Polonia dedicato a sua eminenza e posto in musica da Stefano Landi romano musico della cappella di N.S. e cherico benefìtiato nella Basilica di S. Pietro in Roma, Rome, 1634. Kitao, T. K., “Bernini’s Church Façades: Method of Design and the Contrapposti” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, XXIV, 1965,263–84. Lavin, I., “Bernini’s Death,” The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86. Lavin, I., “Lettres de Parme (1618, 1627–28) et débuts du théatre baroque,” in J. Jacquot, ed., Le lieu théatral à la Renaissance (Colloques internationaux du centre national de la recherche scientifique, Royaumont, March 1963), Paris, 1964, 105–58. Lea, K. M., Italian Popular Comedy, 2 vols., Oxford, 1934. Mancini, F., et al, Illusione e pratica teatrale: Proposte per una lettura dello spazio scenico dagli intermedi fiorentini all’opera comica veneziana, exhib. cat., Venice, 1975. Murata, M. K., Operas for the Papal Court with Texts by Giulio Rospigliosi, unpub. diss., University of Chicago, 1975. Schudt, L., “Berninis Schaffensweise und Kunstanschauungen nach den Aufzeichnungen des Herrn von Chantelou,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, XII, 1949, 74–89.

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Bozzetti and Modelli Notes on Sculptural Procedure from the Early Renaissance through Bernini* Dedicated, with admiration and gratitude, to Richard Krautheimer

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NE of the problems that has most occupied historians of Italian Renaissance art during recent years concerns the amount and kind of preparation that lay behind the great mural decorations of the trecento. Following the basic work of Robert Oertel, and especially since the discovery of sinopias (the monumental and often astonishingly sketchy preparatory drawings executed directly on the wall) the old view that the medieval painter 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 smallscale compositional sketches were used.1 There has taken place what * The observations presented here are in the way of prolegomena to a general survey of sculptors’ models and bozzetti and related problems of working procedure; this will form part of the introduction to a critical corpus of the bozzetti of Gianlorenzo Bernini, which I am now preparing for publication. 1 R. Oertel, “Wandmalerei und Zeichnung in Italien,” Mitteilungen des kunsthistorischen Instituts in Florenz, 5, 1940, pp. 217 ff. Recent bibliography: E. Borsook, The Mural Painters of Tuscany, London 1960; U. Procacci, Sinopie e affreschi, Milan 1961 (review, with additional observations by Procacci, by M. Muraro, Art Bulletin, 45, 1963, pp. 154 ff.); L. Tintori and M. Meiss, The Paintings of the Life of St. Francis in Assisi with Notes on the Arena Chapel, New York 1962 (review by J. White, Art Bulletin, 45, 1963, pp. 383 ff.); now

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amounts to a fundamental reversal in our view of how works of art were conceived. The medieval artist, formerly thought of as being bound by an iron clad 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 body of rules. The problem has its counterpart in sculpture, though it has received far less attention in this domain. And it is in this context that I shall offer some rather loosely connected and tentative remarks on the history of the use of bozzetti and modelli and Sculptural procedure in general.2 A useful point of departure is provided by the pioneering study by Carl Bluemel on Greek sculptural technique, first published in 1927.3 On certain unfinished pieces of ancient statuary there is preserved a number of small protuberances or knobs, with tiny holes in the center (Fig. 5, especially on the head and above the knees; Fig. 6, 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 of mechanical pointing-off was known and used in antiquity.4 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 L. Tintori and M. Meiss, “Additional Observations on Italian Mural Technique,” Art Bulletin, 46, 1964, p. 380. An important contribution is that of E. Kitzinger, The Mosaics of Monreale, Palermo 1960, pp. 64 ff. 2 The reader should bear in mind that our attention will be focused on monumental stone sculpture. Models for bronze and terracotta sculpture pose a special problem because, unless there are external indications, it is practically impossible to determine with certainty whether a given example is a study or the work itself in a pre-final stage. Sculptural models for painting also form a category apart (J. von Schlosser, ‘Aus der Bildnerwerkstatt der Renaissance,’ Jahrbuch der kunsthistorischen Sarnmlungen des allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses, 31, 1913, pp. 111 ff.). 3 Griechische Bildhauerarbeit, Berlin 1927 (Jahrbuch des deutschen archäologischen Instituts. Ergänzungsheft XI), 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 Archäologischer Anzeiger, 54, 1939, cols. 302 ff. 4 Recent bibliography and examples: P. E. Corbett, ‘Attic Pottery of the Late Fifth Century from the Athenian Agora,’ Hesperia, 18, 1949, pp. 305 f, 341; G. M. A. Richter, Ancient Italy, Ann Arbor, Michigan 1955, pp. 105 ff.; E. B. Harrison, ‘New Sculpture from the Athenian Agora, 1959,’ Hesperia, 29, 1960, pp. 370, 382; G. M. A. Richter, ‘How were the Roman Copies of Greek Portraits Made?,’ Römische Mitteilungen, 69, 1962, pp. 52 ff.

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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. 7). 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, used 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. These questions seem to be largely unexplored as regards 'medieval sculpture.5 What little evidence there is comes mainly from the Gothic period. But though limited the 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. 10). 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.6 Even more striking is the consistency of the documentary evidence, which for the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, particularly in Italy, is rather extensive. We have the abundant records of both Florence 5 An important extension of Bluemel’s analysis to the development of Egyptian sculpture was made by R. Anthes, ‘Werkverfahren ägyptischer Bildhauer,’ Mitteilungen des deutschen Instituts für ägyptische Altertumskunde in Kairo, 10, 1941, pp. 79 ff. 6 Cf. after Bluemel, T. Müller in Reallexikon zur deutschen Kunstgeschichte, Stuttgart 1937 ff, II, cols. 6o8 ff, s.v. ‘Bildhauer’; also F. V. Arens in ibid., cols.1062 ff, s.v. ‘Bosse, Bossenkapitell.’ On medieval sculptural procedure generally, see P. du Colombier, Les chantiers des cathédrales, Paris 1953, pp. 83 ff, 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 incompleted 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?); cf. J. Trouvelot, ‘Remarques sur la technique des sculpteurs du moyen-âge,’ Bulletin monumental, 95, 1936, pp. 103 ff. J. White, in his exemplary study of the Orvieto façade reliefs, showed that a uniform working technique was used only in the initial stages of blocking-out; execution of the subsequent stages progressed at varying rates (‘The Reliefs on the Façade of the Duomo at Orvieto,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 22, 1959, pp. 254 ff ). 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.

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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.7 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.8 Drawings 7 On sculptor’s drawings generally cf. H. Keller, in Reallex. z. deut. Kunstg., II, cols. 625 ff, s. v. ‘Bildhauerzeichnung.’ On the painters’ drawings for sculpture in Milan and Florence, cf. Oertel, op. cit., pp. 267 ff (also, for Milan, U. Nebbia, La scultura del Duomo di Milano, Milan, 1910, pp. 45 ff, 59 ff ). This suggests a link between the Milanese and Florentine series of ‘giganti’ as regards working procedure, as well as program (cf. R. and N. Stang, ‘Donatello e il Giosuè per il Campanile di S. Maria del Fiore alla luce dei documenti,’ Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia. Institutum Romanum Norvegiae, 1, 1962, p. 119). Needless to say, drawings by sculptors are documented in the trecento (cf. Nino Pisano, Scherlatti tomb, Pisa, 1362, I. B. Supino, Arte Pisana, Florence, 1904, pp. 230 f.; wooden choir-stall, Siena cathedral, 1377 ff, G. Milanesi, Documenti per la storia dell’arte senese, Siena, 1854-56, 1, pp. 332, 356, etc., R. Krautheimer, ‘A drawing for the Fonte Gaia in Siena,’ Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 10, 1952, p. 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. 8 On models and bozzetti generally, cf. H. Keller and A. Ress, in Reallex. z. deut. Kunstg., II, cols. 1081. ff, s. v. ‘Bozzetto,’ and Müller, ibid., cols. 600 ff. 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 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; cf. Keller, loc. cit., and L. H. Heydenreich, in idem, I, cols. 918 ff, s.v. ‘Architekturmodell’); to this tradition presumably belongs the plaster model made by Claus Sluter for the ‘maçonerie et façon’ of the fountain at Dijon (H. David, Claus Sluter, Paris 1951, p. 86).

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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.9 I suspect that the documentary notice of one of the key monuments in this Florentine procedural revolution is still preserved to us. This is the record 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. It is a partial payment 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 delle figure grandi che s’anno a fare in su gli sproni).10 As far as I can discover this is the first reference to a model made in preparation for a piece of free-standing monumental sculpture since classical antiquity. It is important to emphasize that 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.11 Chances are that Donatello and Brunelleschi were trying out what would indeed have been a novel combi9 Jenö Lányi 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, 1930, pp. 25 ff.). But in this effort to establish Quercia’s originality, Lányi 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 (cf. Oertel, op. cit., p. 263). Lányi 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. Lányi (op. cit., pp. 53 f ) also misinterpreted the passage in which Vasari discusses Quercia’s equestrian monument for the catafalque of Giovanni d’Azzo Ubaldini (Le vite . . ., ed. G. Milanesi, Florence 1906, II, pp. 110 f ) 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. 10 C. Poggi, Il Duomo di Firenze, Berlin 1909, doc. no. 423. 11 Cf. H. W. Janson, ‘Giovanni Chellini’s “Libro” and Donatello,’ in Studien zur toskanischen Kunst. Festschrift für Ludwig Heinrich Heydenreich, Munich 1964, p. 134.

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

2. Benedetto da Maiano, Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis, Pulpit, S. Croce, Florence.

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3. Luca della Robbia, Crucifixion of St. Peter, National Museum, Florence.

4. Verrocchio, Model for the Forteguerri monument, Terracotta, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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

7. Unfinished archaic Kouros, National Museum, Athens.

6. Unfinished statuette of a Youth, Agora, Athens.

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8. Leonardo, Drawing for a mechanical pointing device for sculpture, Ms. A., Institut de France, Fol. 43 recto.

10. Unfinished statuette, Cathedral Museum, Orvieto.

9. Michelangelo, Bozzetto for a two-figure group, Terracotta, Casa Buonarotti, Florence.

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11. Michelangelo, David, Accademia, Florence.

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12. Michelangelo, David, Detail, Accademia, Florence.

13. Verrocchio. Resurrection, Detail, Painted terracotta, National Museum, Florence.

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14. Michaelangelo, Torso, Terracotta, British Museum, London.

15. Michelangelo, Model of a River God, Accademia, Florence.

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16. Michaelangelo, St. Matthew, Accademia, Florence.

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

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nation 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.12 What were the models of the early Renaissance like, and how were they used? The evidence for the first question is entirely indirect; so far, at least, I have not encountered a single Italian work from the first half of the quattrocento that is convincing as a model for sculpture.13 But since the designs, wether 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, it seems probable that they were highly finished.14 This assumption receives some support from examples from the second half of the century that have a better (though by no means certain) claim to be regarded as authentic models. Such is the terracotta in the Victoria and Albert Museum, showing the Confirmation of the Order of St. Francis, one of a series related to the reliefs on Benedetto da Majano’s Pulpit in S. Croce of around 1475; the executed sculptures show only slight variations from the models (Figs. 1, 2).15 As to the way the models were used we have one important direct clue for the early part of the century — an unfinished relief by L. della Robbia

12 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 (cf. above, n. 8). 13 For a convenient list of early terracottas, cf. C. von Fabriczy, ‘Kritisches Verzeichnis toskanischer Holz- und Tonstatuen bis zurn Beginn des Cinquecento,’ Jahrbuch der Preußischen Kunstsammlungen, 30, 1909, Beiheft, pp. 1 ff. In particular, I would reject as a ‘Nachbildung’ the small plaque (with original paint and gilding) in the museum at Arezzo first published by Fabriczy as a model by Bernardo Rosellino for the relief of the Madonna della Misericordia (‘Ein Jugendwerk Bernardo Rossellinos und spätere unbeachtete Schöpfungen seines Meissels,’ Jb. d. Preuß. Kunstslgn., 21, 1900, pp. 99 ff ); similarly, the relief published by A. Marquand (‘A terracotta Sketch by Lorenzo Ghiberti,’ American Journal of Archaeology, 9, 1894, pp. 206 ff; cf. R. Krautheimer with T. Krautheimer-Hess, Lorenzo Ghiberti, Princeton 1956, p. 191), etc. 14 Cf., e.g., C. Guasti, Il pergamo di Donatello pel Duomo di Prato, Florence 1887, p. 13; A. Marquand, Luca della Robbia, Princeton, etc., 1914, pp. 78, 197; Poggi, op. cit., doc. 1099. 15 See now, J. Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue of Italian Sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London 1964, pp. 156 ff.

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in the Bargello, representing the Crucifixion of St. Peter (Fig. 3). Together with its partner, which shows the Deliverance of St. Peter, it formed part of an altar in the cathedral of Florence, commissioned in 1439, for which a wooden model is recorded in the documents.16 The reliefs, however, give no evidence of having been worked from a model; there are no pointing marks, and while the surfaces are not absolutely uniform the artist certainly did not bring one part to completion before beginning another. The technique is similar to that of the late medieval examples, and it would appear that the introduction of models was not accompanied by a radical change in procedure. In general we may say that the model was a kind of preview of the final work; it was not really a study, and it did not play a really integral role in the creative process. The one literary source we have concerning the sculpture of this period, Alberti’s Treatise on Sculpture, written probably in the 1430s gives the same impression.17 It is, needless to say, one of the major documents in the Renaissance tendency to codify artistic creation. Its chief technical contribution is that it provides a system whereby the measurements of a statue can be taken and proportionally enlarged or reduced. But it is important to realize that Alberti does not actually give a method of pointing off. He tells you how to obtain a given dimension on the prototype, but not how actually to reproduce it in working the stone. The distinction is meaningful because it is entirely possible to copy a model by taking its measurements, and yet to work the stone directly without a true method of pointing-off. Such a procedure is exactly what the other evidence we have cited suggests for the early quattrocento.18 In fact, the first instance of a mechanical pointing method comes only at the end of the century. This is the famous perforated box of Leonardo’s Trattato, for which a drawing appears in Ms. A of the Institut de France, of

A. Marquand, op. cit., pp. 41 ff. The wording of the document (ibid., p. 44) suggests that the figural parts may not actually have been included on the model. 17 H. Janitschek, Leone Battista Alberti’s Kleinere Kunsttheoretische Schriften,Vienna 1877 (Quellenschriften für Kunstgeschichte und Kunsttechnik des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit, XI), pp. 165 ff. 18 A proportional enlarging method is alluded to by Ghiberti (J. von Schlosser, Lorenzo Ghibertis Denkwürdigkeiten, Berlin 1912, 1, pp. 50 f, cf. II, p. 38), and Pomponius Gauricus also includes one (H. Brochhaus, De sculptura von Pomponius Gauricus, Leipzig 1886, p. 26). 16

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about 1492 (Fig. 8).19 Leonardo’s device, it must be admitted, is very crude. It would not allow for more than a relatively small number of points to be taken, it would be cumbersome for work on a large scale, and would not be very well suited for enlargements or reductions in scale. If in this case, as in others, Leonardo’s invention was at the vanguard of its time, we must conclude that pointing techniques were being experimented with, but were not very highly developed by the end of the quattrocento. If this assumption is correct we can perhaps gain some insight into the peculiar facts surrounding that other famous giant commissioned for Florence Cathedral from Agostino di Duccio in 1464. According to the record the statue, which was to be 9 braccia high, was to correspond to a model that Agostino had made in wax.20 It was to have been made of four pieces of white marble, one for the head and neck, one for each arm, and one for the rest of the body. Since so far as we know Donatello’s and Brunelleschi’s figure never got beyond the model stage, Agostino’s would have been the first colossal freestanding marble statue since antiquity. One cannot but admire the boldness of his attempt, and I suspect that it was based upon a pointing method of some kind. At least, a system of proportional measurement must have been involved if he expected to reproduce a wax model on a colossal scale. We may recall, moreover, that Alberti had specifically recommended his method both for executing sculpture in several pieces, and for enlargement to superhuman size.21 But Agostino’s daring did not end there. In December of 1466 the operai of the cathedral agreed to increase Agostino’s fee for the figure, because now he proposed to execute it from a single block of marble, rather than four.22 Most remarkable is the fact that the document stipulates that the increase in fee was determined not only by the great spendio et expensa, but also by the greater intelleto involved in the new scheme. This extra

19 C. Ravaisson-Mollien, Les manuscrits de Léonard de Vinci. Le Manuscrit A de la bibliothèque de l’institut, Paris 1881, fol. 43 recto; cf. J. P. Richter, The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci, London, etc., 1939, II, no. 706 ; A. P. McMahon, Treatise on Painting, Princeton 1956, I, no. 556, II, fols. 160 verso, 161 recto. Another sketch of a similar device, in the Codex Atlanticus (fol. 68 v–a), was kindly brought to my attention by Prof. Carlo Pedretti, who dates it 1500–05 (Studi Vinciani, Geneva, 1957, p. 268). 20 Poggi, op. cit., doc. 441. 21 Alberti was no doubt in part following a literary convention from antiquity, as in Diodorus Siculus’ story (I, 28) of two sculptors who made a statue in two sections and in separate locations; with the fundamental distinction, however, that Alberti is speaking in this con-

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intelleto might well refer to an improvement in his pointing system that Agostino hoped would enable him to accomplish this unprecedented feat. I submit the possibility that Agostino’s notorious failure was due to some miscalculation in his pointing system, as a result of which he was forced to give up and leave the block male abozatum, This phrase, male abozatum, occurs in the record of 1501 in which the operai of the cathedral ceded the block to Michelangelo, who would in the next two years carve the David from it (Figs. 11, 12).23 If the hypothesis about Agostino’s abortive attempt at pointing off his giant is correct, perhaps we can shed some light on another part of the same entry, which is by all odds one of the most curious notices in the whole history of Renaissance sculpture. In the margin next to the main giving the block to Michelangelo the following note was added: The said Michelangelo began to work on the said giant on the morning of 13 September 1501, although a few days earlier, on 9 September, he had with one or two blows of the chisel (uno vel duo ictibus) removed a certain nodus (quoddam nodum) that it had on its chest. This nodus has been interpreted as a knot of drapery, on the assumption that Agostino’s figure was to be clothed.24 I wonder, however, whether the nodus was not in fact a point, a knob of marble deliberately retained by Agostino as a fixed reference for measuring off his colossus from the model. The David is one of the vivid cases of Michelangelo’s phobia against people seeing his work while in progress; he actually had a wall built around it to keep away the curious, as we know from both Vasari and the documents.25 Yet the payments show that Michelangelo had removed the nodus before the wall was built, while the block was still visible. He seems to have wanted one and all to know that he intended to execute the statue without Agostino’s nodus. text not of a system of proportions, but of his method of measuring from a prototype (as has been emphasized by E. Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts, New York 1955, p. 72, n. 26). 22 Poggi, op. cit., doc. 444. 23 Ibid., doc. 449. 24 Cf. C. de ToInay, Michelangelo, Princeton 1948 ff, I, p. 154, citing K. Lanckoronska. 25 Vasari-Milanesi, VII p. 154; K. Frey, ‘Studien zu Michelagniolo Buonarroti und zur Kunst seiner Zeit,’ Jb. d. Preuß. Kunstslgn., 30, 1909, Beiheft, p. 107, nos 12 (payment for the wall, October 14, 1501 and 13 (for the roof, December 20, 1501).

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We can scarcely even speculate as to how Michelangelo himself accomplished the feat. We know from Vasari that he too made a wax model. That he used a system of enlargement is suggested by the very fact that he built a wall around the figure, which would have made it practically impossible to judge proportions from a distance. Another tantalizing notice in both Vasari and Condivi is that he also left portions of the original block, which might have served as stationary references for a measuring system, at the head and at the base of the figure:26 but that at the head was removed, unfortunately, in the eighteenth century.27 In any event, the David is the first definite instance we have of Michelangelo’s use of the model in preparation for monumental sculpture. Thereafter in his work the model takes on a virtually unheralded significance, but at this point we must consider briefly some aspects of what might be called the ‘pre-history’ of Michelangelo’s achievement. In the general framework of late quattrocento Italian sculpture it is possible to define a powerful undercurrent of experimentation with new ways of creating plastic effects. Verrocchio seems to have been a key figure in this tendency. Certain passages in his relief of the Resurrection from Careggi in the Bargello, for example, show a strikingly loose and expressive modeling (Fig. 13) and the same may be said of his bust of Giuliano de’Medici in

26 Vasari-Milanesi, loc. cit.; A. Condivi, Vita di Michelangelo Buonarroti, ed. Pisa 1823, (Collezione di ottimi scrittori italiani), p. 22. 27 As reported by D. M. Manni (in a note to the edition of Condivi by A. F. Gori, Florence 1746, p. 83; reprinted on p. 98 in the edition cited above, note 26), who says, ‘La scorza nella sommità del capo ora non si vede più, dacchè anni alquanti sono fu di nouvo ripulita.’ A brief search by the writer in the Florentine archives for a record of this operation was unsuccessful. There did appear, however, an undated estimate for a later cleaning by the sculptor Stefano Ricci (1765–1837): Dovendosi da me sottoscritto Restaurare, ripulire, ed Incausticare la statua del’davidde dell’Immortal’ Michelangelo esistente in Piazza del’ Gran’ Duca, e restaurare i due Leoni che esistono sotto la loggia detta dei lanzi, Avendo Ponderato ed i Tasselli che ci mancano e la ripulitura, l’Incausto, Ponti, ed altro, Esaminando la Fatica necessaria p rimetter’ con criterio dei pezzi ad opera simili, giudico, e credo potere ascender’ la total’ somma a Zechini quarantacinque Tanto a l’onore di esporre l’Umilissimo Servo Stefano Ricci Scultore (Archive of the Soprintendenza della Galleria agli Uffizi, ms. no. 277.)

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Washington.28 The Careggi relief was certainly painted, the Medici bust probably, so that much of the effect would have been lost. But in fact a host of other works of this period, perhaps best exemplified by the series of reliefs attributed to Francesco di Giorgio, show analogously bold vagueness of form.29 It is scarecly necessary to emphasize that this whole phenomenon was incalculably indebted to Donatello, and here is where its relevance for Michelangelo becomes specific. When, as Vasari says, the youthful Michelangelo in making his Madonna of the Stairs set out to ‘contrafare la maniera di Donatello,’30 it is more than likely that at least part of his interest lay precisely in the diffuse and irregular surfaces that play a central role in Donatello’s relief technique. Certainly, in view of Michelangelo’s subsequent development it is difficult to imagine that the ‘pictorial’ possibilities of the rilievo schiacciato were of great concern to him. What I wish to suggest is that the basic redefinition of sculptural ‘finish’ implied in this development was closely related to the emergence of the sculptural study as an independent form. For here, too, the first steps were taken in the late quattrocento, both towards freer handling in the model itself, and towards an appraisal of the model in terms of its own special properties. In both these respects Verrocchio once more seems to have been a leader. His terracotta model in the Victoria and Albert Museum for the Forteguerri monument in Pistoia (c. 1475, Fig. 4),31 though hardly a sketch, is very different from such highly finished models as those of Benedetto da Majano. 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. That something of the sort was taking place is further evidenced by the fact that a few years later (1482) Verrocchio’s model of the St. Thomas of Or San Michele was purchased for the Università dei Mercatanti. The model was to be placed on public display, and the decree authorizing the acquisition states the motive in eloquent terms, ‘per non

28 Illustrations of the former in L. Planiscig, Andrea del Verocchio, Vienna 1941, Pls. 1–7, of the latter in C. Seymour, Jr., Masterpieces of Sculpture from the National Gallery of Art, New York, 1949, Pls. 113–116, Cf. p. 114. 29 See A. S. Weller, Francesco di Giorgio, Chicago 1943, pp. 135 ff. 30 Vasari-Milanesi, VII, p. 144. 31 Pope-Hennessy, op. cit., pp. 164 f.

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lasciare guastarsi e perire la boza et principio di si bella cosa;’32 it attaches a definite and positive value to the work of genesis as such. Whatever their ancestry, however, Michelangelo’s small figures in wax and clay have the quality of directness that prompts us to speak for the first time of real sculptural sketches, or ‘bozzetti’ (Figs. 9, 14).33 In the terracotta torso in the British Museum, we even find the same very personal graphic surface treatment that appears in the unfinished marbles and in many of the drawings. Throughout the whole prior history of European sculpture there is nothing that conveys in this way the feeling 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, so it can also be said that with Michelangelo the three-dimensional sketch became an essential part of the sculptor’s creative machinery. At the opposite extreme stands 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. 15).34 32 Cf. C. von Fabriczy, ‘Donatellos Hl. Ludwig und sein Tabernakel an Or San Michele,’ Jb. d. Preuß. Kunstslgn., 21, 1900, p. 257. Fundamentally different is the situation described by Pliny, (NH, XXXV, 155), in which Arkesilaus’ models brought more than the final works of others, and one of his statues was set up before it was finished; these stories merely document the exceptionally high esteem in which the artist’s works were held. It is tempting to speculate that a direct line in the development of the three-dimensional sketch may have led from Verrocchio through Leonardo; a drawing in Windsor with figures for the Anghiari battle (c. 1505) has an inscription recording Leonardo’s intention ‘to make a small one of wax the length of a finger.’ These studies, in turn, are probably reflected in a number of bronze statuettes, and in the small terracotta battle groups attributed to Rustici. (Cf. K. Clark, Leonardo da Vinci, Harmondsworth, 1959, p. 132) There is no evidence that the latter were preliminary studies, but it seems quite possible that Leonardo’s example was followed in the preparation of larger works in sculpture. 33 See L. Goldscheider, A Survey of Michelangelo’s Models in Wax and Clay, London, 1962, with many problematic attributions. 34 For the Ricordi, cf. G. Milanesi, Le Lettere di Michelangelo Buonarroti, Florence 1875, pp. 591 ff. The frequency with which he used large models for sculpture is not so evident as with the bozzetti; Cellini (cited below, note 35) says that Michelangelo had worked both with and without full-scale models, and that after a point he used them regularly. On the

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Both these innovations should be kept in mind when one considers still another aspect of Michelangelo’s working procedure (Fig. 16). 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 to the deeper excavations.35 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. What this would indicate, however, is 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. His 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,36 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. 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 quasiscientific experiment reaches here, a hundred years later, a kind of threshold.

other hand, in a letter of 1547 Bandinelli reports Pope Clement as having said that Michelangelo could never be persuaded to make such models (G. Bottari, Raccolta di lettere sulla pittura . . ., ed. S. Ticozzi, Milan, 1822 ff, I, p. 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 (Milanesi, Lettere, p. 421; cf. on the dating, K. Frey, Die Briefe des Michelagniolo Buonarroti, ed. H.-W. Frey, Berlin 1961, pp. 243 ff ).

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18. Bernini, Model for the Four Rivers fountain, Detail, Private Collection, Rome.

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19. Giambologna, River God, Terracotta, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

20. Bernini, Angel with the Iinscription, Terracotta, Side View, Hermitage, St. Petersburg.

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21. Bernini, Angel with the Iinscription, Terracotta, Front View, Hermitage, St. Petersburg.

20. Bernini, Angel with the Iinscription, Terracotta, Coll. Mr. and Mrs. Richards S. Davis.

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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. An important factor in this context was that Michelangelo could be cited as authority; the Medici chapel is Cellini’s chief witness when insisting on the desirability of the fullscale model.37 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. It is probably no accident 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.38 And of course the small ‘studies’ for works in a large scale were often cast in bronze as ‘Kleinkunst’ (Fig. 17). 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 ‘iconographical’ circumstances at least, he produced sketches that go far beyond Michelangelo in freedom of handling (Fig. 19).39 I strongly suspect that Bernini’s bozzetto style was not developed without a direct knowledge of such sketches by Giambologna, possibly in the

35 Vasari-Milanesi, I, pp. 154 f, cf. VII, pp. 272 f.; Cellini, Trattato della Scultura in A. J. Rusconi and A. Valeri, eds. La Vita di Benvenuto Cellini, Rome 1901, p. 780; these are the most important among numerous allusions to Michelangelo’s procedure. 36 F. Kieslinger, ‘Ein unbekanntes Werk des Michelangelo,’ Jb. d. Preuß. Kunstslgn., 49, 1928, pp.50 ff. 37 Op. cit. (above, no. 35), p. 778–780 38 E. Dhanens, Jean Boulogne: Giovanni Bologna Fiammingo, Brussels 1956 (Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen . . ., Kl. der schone Kunsten, Verhandeling nr 11), pp. 147 (n. 2) ff. 39 It now seems certain that the London model illustrated in our Fig. 19 is a study for a colossal Nile at Pratolino, which was ultimately superseded by the famous figure of the Apennines (cf. Pope-Hennessy, op.cit., p. 473, citing H. Keutner, review of Dhanens, in Kunstchronik, 11, 1958, p. 327). And indeed, from the ‘fluid’ treatment of the river god a subtle but definite change may be observed toward sharper, almost ‘craggy’ surfaces in the Bargello study for the mountain deity (A. E. Brinckmann, Barock-Bozzetti, Frankfurt a. M. 1923–25, I, Pl. 29).

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Medici collection in Florence.40 Moreover, Bernini continues and even surpasses the late sixteenth century in working out his conception fully in advance. This may be judged from the fact that Sandrart reports he saw no less than twenty-two wax bozzetti for the St. Longinus alone.41 Sandrart was himself astonished, and observes that the number of studies was far greater than other sculptors were wont to produce. Eleven bozzetti for the angels of the Ponte S. 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 startling. 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.42 No less clear is the evidence for Bernini’s committment 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, still unpublished, written around 1650 by one Orfeo Boselli.43 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 practise in Bernini’s studio. Symptomatic, too, is the fact that with Bernini and his school we begin to get measured bozzetti; that is, bozzetti on which calibrated scales have been incised, for the purpose of 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 (cf. G. 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. 41 A. R. Peltzer, Joachim von Sandrarts Academie . . ., Munich 1925, p. 286. 42 Cf. R. Wittkower, Bernini’s Bust of Louis XIV, Oxford 1951 (Charlton Lectures on Art), p. 8. 43 Osservationi della Scoltura antica, Rome, Bibl. Corsini, ms. 36, F. 27, Bk. I, chs. xiv ff., II, chs. xviii ff. Concerning one of his methods he says ‘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. 6o verso). On the treatise, cf. M. Piacentini, ‘Le “Osservationi della scoltura antica” di Orfeo Boselli,’ Bollettino del R. Istituto di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, 9, 1939, pp. 5 ff. 40

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mathematically precise enlargement. One of the first examples I know is a magnificent unpublished bozzetto by Bernini for the Angel with the Inscription on Ponte S. Angelo, in which measured scales run vertically up both sides of the rear support (Figs. 20, 21).44 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 the paradox of 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. There is no evidence that Bernini used full-scale models as part of his own personal working procedure. 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.45 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. No certain example of a study by Bernini cast in bronze is known.46 The loose and very personal sketch, then, was his characteristic instrument of creation. It is remarkable, finally, that his bozzetti do not necessarily become more highly finished as they approach the final conception. A striking case in

Height: 32.5 cm.; Inv. no. 630. Op. cit., fol. 56 recto. 46 One possibility is a small bronze version of the Countess Matilda, cf. R. Wittkower, Bernini, London 1955, p. 196. A small lead statuette, supposedly a trial model for Bernini’s Neptune fountain at the Villa Montalto, was owned by Antonio Muñoz (cf. I. Faldi, Galleria Borghese. Le sculture dal secolo XVI al XIX, Rome 1954, p. 43, and Muñoz in L’Urbe, 1957, no. 6, p. 13). 44 45

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point is the one just mentioned (Fig. 21). It is extremely close to the third of Bernini’s angels, the one now on the bridge (Fig. 23),47 and as we have seen it is actually measured for enlargement. Nevertheless it is not much more highly finished than studies produced at an earlier stage in the planning (Fig. 22).48 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.49 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.’50 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 moulding the marble, rather than hewing it away; and he said precisely that one of his greatest achievements was to have succeeded in rendering the marble ‘pieghevole come la cera.’51

On the attribution of this figure, cf. Wittkower, Bernini, p. 233. Height: 30 cm.; one of a pair of unpublished bozzetti for the angels in the collection of Mr. and Mrs. Richards. Davis, formerly of Wayzata, Minnesota, illustrated and discussed in my dissertation, The Bozzetti of Gianlorenzo Bernini, Harvard Univ., 1955, pp. 184 f. 49 Cf. E. Panofsky, Studies in Iconology, New York and Evanston 1962, p. 178 and n. 16. 50 P. Fréart de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne, Paris 1885, p. 174. 51 D. Bernini, Vita del Cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome 1713, p. 149; cf. A. Riegl, Filippo Baldinuccis Vita des Gio. Lorenzo Bernini, eds. A. Burda and O. Pollak, Vienna 1912, p. 235. 47 48

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Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s Introduction

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N THE present essay ‘the crossing of Saint Peter’s’ refers to the grandiose plan by which, during the reign of Pope Urban VIII (1623–1644) under Bernini’s direction, a visually and conceptually unified focus was created at the tomb of the Prince of the Apostles (Fig. l).1 The scheme consisted essentially of grouping four of the major relics of early Christianity, previously dispersed, about the altar above the tomb.2 My chief purpose here is to define the way in which the arrangement was given meaning and expressive form in the baldachin above the altar and in the decorations of the four piers supporting the dome of the basilica. It will be necessary to consider also the earlier contributions, which conditioned the final solution, and the changes introduced in the course of execution, as a result of which much of the original unity was lost. Sections I–IV trace the broad outlines of the hisA tradition universally accepted since the Middle Ages held that the bodies of both St. Peter and St. Paul had been divided; half of each had been deposited at Saint Peter’s, the other two halves at Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls (cf. E. Kirschbaum, The Tombs of St. Peter & St. Paul, London, 1959, 209 ff.). For effects of the legend on planning for the crossing see nn. 48, 111, 171 below. 2 For the holy days and special occasions on which the Passion relics are shown, see Moroni, Dizionario, CIII, 101 f. In 1964 the head of St. Andrew was returned to Patras in Greece, whence it had come to Rome under Pius II in 1462 (L’Osservatore Romano, anno 104, no. 218, Sept. 20, 1964, 4, and subsequent issues; see now R. O. Rubenstein, ‘Pius II’s Piazza S. Pietro and St. Andrew’s Head’, in Essays in the History of Architecture Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, London, 1967, 22 ff.). See also end of n. 125 below. 1

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1. St. Peter’s, view of crossing toward west (photo: Anderson)

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tory of the crossing through the period in question, with emphasis on the sources and meaning of the baldachin. Chapter V analyzes the role of the colossal statues in the lower niches of the piers. The Conclusion (Section VI) is a schematic and tentative effort to understand the significance of the crossing in Bernini’s development. The Appendices offer an annotated list of projects submitted before and in competition with Bernini. I. The Crossing Before Bernini The Piers The first steps toward the new disposition of the relics may be said to have been taken under Pope Paul V (1605–1621). In 1606, with the destruction of the nave of the old basilica, Paul transferred the three chief relics that had long been in Saint Peter’s to the two piers flanking the apse of the new building:3 the Holy Face (Volto Santo) and the Lance of St. Longinus were moved to the southwest pier, the head of St. Andrew to the northwest (Text Fig. A; see p. 132).4 The relics were kept in the upper niches, which were separated from the larger niches below by balconies with balustrades (Figs. 2–4).5 The arrangement thus retained, without altars below, that of the two-storey free-standing tabernacles which had been 3 Evidently there was an earlier plan, not carried out, to reorganize the display of the relics in the new church: ‘Si tratta di fare nel fenestrone principale della gran tribuna del nuovo San Pietro un nuovo pulpito balaustrato con finiss.e pietre, reliquie del volto santo et lancia di nostro Sig.re . . . (Avviso of Aug. 18, 1598) Cited by Orbaan, Documenti, 46 f., n., whose transcription I have checked against the original. Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 301, gratuitously interpolates a phrase into this passage, and interprets it as referring to the west window of the drum of the cupola. 4 The fundamental source for the transferral of the relics is Grimaldi, Instrumenta autentica . . . 1619 (on Grimaldi, see Pastor, History of the Popes, xxvi, 382; henceforth cited as Pastor). Grimaldi also devoted a special treatise to the Volto Santo and the Lance, Opusculum de sacrosancto Veronicae Sudario . . . 1618. All three relics were moved on Jan. 25, 1606, to the capitulary archive while the Veronica niche was being readied (ibid., fols. 82 ff.); they were moved thither on March 21 (ibid., fols. 87 ff.). This transferral is reported in an Avviso of March 25 (Orbaan, ‘Der Abbruch AltSankt Peters 1605–1615’, 48 — henceforth references to Orbaan are to this work unless otherwise stated; and Orbaan, Documenti, 71). The head of St. Andrew was shifted to the northwest pier on Nov. 29, 1612 (Grimaldi, Opusculum, fols. 90v f.). 5 Cf. Appendix I Nos. 5 f., 10, 14 f. See also Ferrabosco, Architettura, Pls. xiv, xxii. Payments during 1605–6 for work on the stairways within the piers, the balustrades, etc., are published by Pollak, ‘Ausgewählte Akten’, 116, and Orbaan, 36 ff.

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2. Giovanni Maggi, Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, engraving. Bibl. Vat., Coll. Stampe.

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3. Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, engraving. (From San Carlo Borromeo nel terzo centenario, 580 fig. 10).

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4. Matthäus Greuter, Longitudinal section of St. Peter’s (detail of 1625 reprint of 1618 map of Rome). London, British Museum. 5. Matthäus Greuter, Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et al., 1622 (decorations by Paolo Guidotti), engraving (detail). Rome, Archive of Santa Maria in Vallicella (517 x 366mm).

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6. Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et al., 1622, engraving (detail). (From Mâle, Concile, fig. 57).

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among the most prominent monuments in Old Saint Peter’s (Figs. 7–9).6 Until Bernini’s time, the lower niche of the southeast pier contained the tomb of Paul 111 (1534–1549), while before the northeast pier stood the famous Colonna Santa, the spiral column against which Christ was believed to have leaned in the Temple at Jerusalem (Text Fig. A).7 The permanent decoration of the niches seems to have been undistinguished. In engravings showing the crossing during the great quintuple canonization of 1622, however, the upper reliquary niches contain hangings (Figs. 5, 6).8 These are doubtless the same as two paintings — one with Sts. Peter and Paul holding aloft the Volto Santo, the other showing St. Andrew with his cross — which had been given to the basilica a decade before.9 The use of the paintings in the niches is of considerable interest, for it indicates that monumental representations of figures referring to the relics were part

Kauffmann was the first to note the relevance of the earlier tabernacles ("Berninis Tabernakel’, 229 ff.). According to Braun, Der christliche Altar, ii, 259 ff., tabernacles of this kind were characteristically Roman. The tabernacles occupied prominent positions in the old basilica. That of Saint Andrew, originally erected by Pius II (1458–64), stood just inside the facade in the southernmost aisle (cf. Alfarano, De basilicae vaticanae, 86 f., no. 85 on the plan, Pl. I). The Volto Santo tabernacle, dating from the twelfth century, stood in the corresponding position in the northernmost aisle (ibid., 107 f., no. 115 on the plan). The tabernacle of the Lance, built by Innocent VIII (1484–92) together with his famous tomb, was at the far end of the central nave at the south crossing pier (ibid., 57 ff., no. 38 on the plan). The Saint Andrew and Volto Santo tabernacles are shown in situ in another drawing in Grimaldi, Instrumenta autentica (reproduced by Orbaan, 13 Fig. 5). It is interesting to note that in 1507, when the building of the new basilica began under Julius II, the Lance was transferred to the tabernacle of the Volto Santo (Alfarano, De basil. vat., 58 n., 108); they remained together when Paul V moved them to the crossing. 7 Cf. Panciroli, Tesori nascosti, 531 f. 8 See pp. 88 f. below; Appendix I, nos. 14, 15. 9 The donations are recorded by Grimaldi: 1611. Illustrissimus R.mus Dñs Scipio Corbellutius S.R.E. Presbyter Cardinalis Sanctae Susannae tunc Vaticanae Basilicae Canonicus pia erga Sanctissim˜u Jesu Christi Sudarium religione motus, ante absidatã magnam fenestram, unde eadem sancta facies populo ostenditur yconam imaginibus, & Apostolorum Petri & Pauli coloribus expressam dono dedit c˜u ˜ubella. (Opusculum, fols. 90r f.) 1612. Cum R.mus Dñ’s Angelus Damascenus Romanus utriusque signaturae sanctissimi Domini Nostri referendarius dictae Vaticanae Basilicae Canonicus ante fenestram magnam absidatam in parastata summi Tholi, ubi ex nobiliss o., marmoreo suggestu ad sinistram arae maximae caput sancti Andreae Apostoli populo ostenderetur, yconam cum imagine sancti Andreae Crucem ampl˜ectitis c˜u ˜ubella figuris & insignibus ornata pia largitione fecisset. (Ibid., fol. 90v.) 6

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of the decoration of the piers, at least on special occasions, before Bernini began his transformation. The Tomb and the High Altar Before discussing the contributions made under Paul V at the tomb and high altar, we may review briefly the previous history of the shrine. Modern excavations combined with other evidence have made it possible to reconstruct with rare accuracy the monument as it had been installed by Constantine when he built Saint Peter’s (Fig. 10).10 It consisted of four twisted marble columns forming a screen across the apse; in front of the two central columns were placed two more twisted columns, creating a square enclosure around the tomb’.11 Two semicircular ribs intersecting diagonally rested on these four central columns. Around A.D. 600 drastic changes were introduced. The level of the apse floor was raised and a bench placed around it with a bishop’s throne at the back (cf. Fig. 18). Over the tomb was placed a ciborium, whose design is unknown, except for the fact that it had four columns. The six original spiral columns were now arranged in a line in front of this presbytery, and in the eighth century another set of six was added in front of them, to form a second, outer screen (Fig. 11). The shrine remained essentially in this form until construction of the new basilica began in the early sixteenth century under Bramante. Bramante removed the outer row of columns, replacing them with the wall of a protective structure that incorporated the apse and enclosed the rest of the shrine (cf. Fig. 17). This structure stood until the time of Clement VIII (1592–1605). It was then removed to permit raising the floor level again and construction of the new grotte, or crypt. The high altar was also refurbished (dedicated 1594), and over it Clement erected a provisional ciborium with a cupola of wood.12 There reverberates throughout the subsequent history of the crossing a dilemma that was a direct consequence of having erected a centrally planned church over the tomb. Ancient tradition at Saint Peter’s, as elsewhere, required that the high altar be in close proximity to the apse, which 10 B. M. Apollonj Ghetti, et al., Esplorazioni sotto la confessione di San Pietro in Vaticano, Vatican City, 1951, 161 ff. For a summary, see J. Toynbee and J. Ward Perkins, The Shrine of St. Peter and the Vatican Excavations, London-New York, 1956, 195ff. 11 On the spiral columns, see pp. 100 ff. below. 12 See Orbaan, Documenti, 47n., 48n.; a first payment for the ciborium was made in June, 1594. Documents for the removal of the ciborium are cited in Orbaan, 44.

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served as a choir for the pope and the sacred college during solemn functions. No less important, however, was the traditional connection between the high altar and the tomb. Logically, only four solutions were possible, all of which were proposed or attempted at one time or another, but none of which could be wholly satisfactory. First, the high altar could be moved westward toward the apse, relinquishing its connection with the tomb. Second, the tomb might be moved along with the high altar, a course that ran the risk, as one source reports, of searching for the bodies of the apostles in vain, although it was known for sure that they were there.13 Third, the tomb and high altar might be left in situ and a choir built around them, necessitating an inconvenient encumbrance of the crossing (Figs. 12, 13).14 The fourth alternative was to leave the altar and tomb undisturbed, and relinquish the connection with the choir. Of these possibilities the first and fourth are particularly important: the last because, having evidently been preferred by Michelangelo, it was finally resolved upon by Urban VIII and executed by Bernini;15 the first because it was the one chosen at the beginning of Paul V’s reign, and the projects for it, though never carried out in permanent form, profoundly influenced the design of Bernini’s baldachin. The decision in favour of the first solution is reported in an Avviso of January 18, 1606, at the time the relics were being transferred to the new church.16 According to this dispatch it had Quoted n. 16 below. See Appendix I Nos. 24, 25. The first objection to which Papirio Bartoli replies in his treatise describing his project is that it would take up too much room in the crossing (Discorso, int. 2, fol. 1 ff.). 15 Owing to the subsequent retention of the choir begun by Nicolas V (Magnuson, Roman Quattrocento Architecture, 177 f.), the tomb and high altar is not in the center of the crossing, but slightly to the west. judging from the engraved plan by Dupérac, Michelangelo had planned to shift it in the opposite direction in order to achieve true centrality (cf. Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 291). 16 The character and importance of this project was first defined by Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 313 f. The relevant passage in the Avviso is as follows: . . . sendosi intanto fatto levare quella cuppola di legno, che ci era in mezo della nuova chiesa sudetta sopra l’aftare maggiore delli Santissimi Apostoli, quale altare anco si levarà secondo il nuovo modello, dovendosi trasportar più avanti verso il capo della chiesa, ove sarà il choro per poter et Sua Santita et il Sacro Colleggio intervenire alli divini officij, sentendosi, che dove hora è il detto altare, vi si farà una balaustrata intorno con scalini per potere scendere a basso et andar a celebrar messa all’altare et corpi de detti. Santi Apostoli, senza moverli altrimenti, come alcuni altri volevano et è stato questo tenuto più salutifero consiglio, per non mettersi in pericolo di cercarli indarno, sebene si sa certo, che ci sono. (Orbaan, 44; Orbaan, Documenti, 68) Cf. also an Avviso of Oct. 4, 1606, in Armellini, Le chiese di Roma, 903. 13 14

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10. Constantinian presbytery, Old Saint Peter’s, reconstruction drawing. (From B. M. Appollonj Ghetti, et al., Explorazioni sotto la confessione di San Pietro in Vaticano, Vatican, 1951, pl. H opp. p. 170).

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9. Tabernacle reliquary of the Lance of St. Longinus, Old Saint Peter’s, drawing. (From Grimaldi, Instrumenta autentica, fol. 71r).

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74 11. Plan of mediaeval presbytery, Old Saint Peter’s. (From Appollonj Ghetti, et al., Esplorazioni, fig. 136c).

12. Papirio Bartoli, Project for a choir in the crossing of Saint Peter’s (detail), engraving by M. Greuter. Rome, Bibl. Vitt. Em., MS Fondi Minori 3808, fol. 141 (266 x 197mm).

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13. Carlo Maderno, Project for choirs in the crossing and apse of Saint Peter’s, drawing. Florence, Uffizi, Gabinetto dei disegni, A265 (665 x 457mm).

14. Borromini, Project for ciborium in crossing of Saint Peter’s, drawing, Vienna. Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, No. 1443 (254 x 160mm).

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18. Sebastian Werro, Ciborium of Saint Peter’s, 1581, drawing. Fribourg, Bibl. Cantonale.

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15. Medal of Paul II, 1470. Bibl. Vat., Medagliere.

16. Ciborium of Sixtus IV (1471–1484), Old Saint Peter’s, reconstruction drawing. (From Grimaldi, Instrumenta autentica, fol. 160r).

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17. School of Raphael, Donation of Constantine (detail showing reconstruction of the Constantinian presbytery based on elements still extant). Vatican, Sala di Costantino (photo: Alinari).

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19. Canonization of Francesca Romana, 1608, fresco. Bibl. Vat., Galleria di Paolo V. 20. Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, fresco. Bibl. Vat., Galleria di Paolo V.

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21. Medal of Paul V, 1617. Bibl. Vat., Medagliere.

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been determined to shift the high altar toward the main apse, where a choir would be installed. A proposal to move the tomb as well had been rejected, and instead stairs were planned to give access from the floor level down to the tomb so that mass could be said there; this was the beginning of the open ‘confessio’ carried out later in Paul V’s reign.17 The second altar was actually built, and simultaneously a baldachin was erected over the original altar and a model of the proposed ciborium over the new one.18 The baldachin over the tomb altar, built of perishable materials, broke radically with tradition. At least since the late fifteenth century the ciboria over the high altar of Saint Peter’s had conformed to a basic type, with four columns supporting a cupola (Figs. 15–18).19 As we have noted, the temporary ciborium of Clement VIII, which this new one replaced, also had a cupola.20 In contrast to these predecessors, Paul V’s baldachin, as recorded 17 The Florentine painter and architect Ludovico Cigoli submitted a project that involved moving the tomb (Figs. 25, 26; see p. 82 f. below and Appendix I no. 18). A project by Martino Ferrabosco for a confessio with circular balustrade and stairways is recorded, though there is no certain evidence that he was in Rome by this date (see n. 176 below). 18 Payments for the new altar are recorded as early as Dec., 1605: ‘per fare l’armatura de l’altare da fare nella tribuna grande verso Santa Marta . . . per ordine di messer Carlo Maderni’ (Orbaan, 40). The altar over the tomb continued to function, though one project for a ciborium over the tomb seems to contemplate its removal (Fig. 14; Appendix I no. 2). Payments for dismantling the ciborium of Clement VIII occur in Jan., 1606 (Orbaan, 44). Payments for building the new baldachin over the tomb altar begin in Feb. (Fraschetti, Il Bernini, 55 f.; Pollak, ‘Ausgewählte Akten’, 110; Orbaan, 45 ff.). Payments for the model of the ciborium over the new altar at the choir begin in Sept. (ibid., 541 f.). The designer or designers of both these structures remain anonymous, though Carlo Maderno, as architect of the basilica, is the most likely candidate. Nevertheless, the phraseology of the document quoted at the beginning of this note is inconclusive, since Maderno may have ordered work to be done even though it was not of his invention. 19 For a general survey, see Braun, Der christ. Altar, II, 185 ff. The Saint Peter’s ciborium is shown with a dome in: a medal of 1470 of Paul II celebrating his reconstruction of the tribune (Fig. 15; cf. G. Zippel, ‘Paolo II e l’arte’, L’Arte, 14, 1911, 184 f.; Magnuson, Roman Quattrocento Architecture, 169); a reconstruction by Grimaldi of the ciborium built by Sixtus IV (1471–84), of which important relief sculptures are preserved (Fig. 16); the Donation of Constantine fresco by the Raphael school in the Sala di Costantino in the Vatican (Fig. 17); a drawing by the Swiss pilgrim Sebastian Werro, who visited Rome in 1581 (Fig. 18); E. Wymann, ‘Die Aufzeichnungen des Stadpfarrers Sebastian Werro von Freiburg i. Ue. über seinen Aufenthalt in Rom von 10–27. Mai 1581’, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und für Kirchengeschichte, 33, 1925, 39 ff. 20 See the Avviso of Jan. 18, 1606, quoted n. 16 above, and another of Oct. 28, 1600, cited by Orbaan, Documenti, 48n. In an Avviso of June 29, 1594, it is described as ‘un ornamento di tavole depinto a similitudine di catafalco’ (ibid., 47n.).

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in many contemporary illustrations, consisted of a tasselled canopy supported on staves held by four standing angels (Figs. 2–4, 19–23);21 it reproduced, in effect, a portable canopy such as was borne above bishops (hence the pope) on formal occasions, and above the Holy Sacrament and the relics of the Passion when they were carried in procession.22 This was the basic theme that would be retained in the two subsequent baldachins built over the tomb, including Bernini’s. The scale of the baldachin was impressive; its height has been calculated at roughly nine meters, only a meter short of Bernini’s bronze columns.23 Moreover it was to be executed in bronze,24 a significant innovation, since monumental altar coverings were usually of stone. The project thus foreshadows the material of Bernini’s baldachin, as well as the underlying notion of translating a normally ‘ephemeral’ type into permanent and monumental terms. The purpose of this revolutionary design must have been largely symbolic. With the removal of the high altar the tomb itself became a kind of reliquary, for which such a canopy would be appropriate. At the same time, by alluding to the processional canopy traditionally associated with the bishop, the new design may have been intended to mark the special character of the site as the tomb of the first pope. Whatever its meaning, the baldachin offered a vivid and surely deliberate contrast to the proper ciborium that was at the same time erected over the new papal altar. It should be noted, finally, that the depictions of the baldachin during the canonization of Carlo Borromeo in 1610 are of interest in showing the decorations it received for the occasion (Figs. 2, 3, 20).25 Strands of lilies are wound spirally about the supports, and above the canopy proper is a medal-

21 Appendix I Nos. 4–12, Payments for the angels were made to the sculptors Ambrogio Buonvicino and Camillo Mariani; the angels’ drapery was made of real cloth (cf. Orbaan, 47 f.). 22 J. Braun, Die liturgischen Paramente in Gegenwart und Vergangenheit, Freiburg-imBreisgau, 1924, 240; Moroni, Dizionario, VI, 57 ff. 23 Cf. Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 309. The height of the bronze columns is given as 45 palmi by G. P. Chattard, Nuova descrizione del Vaticano . . . Rome, 1762–67, 1, 148 f. (The Roman palmo was slightly over .22 m.) 24 Tota haec machina ex ligno compacta, subjecto Iconismo expressa ideam exhibebat future molis, quam ex aere, auroque excitare animo inerat Pontificis . . . Nihil tamen Paulo regnante effectum est, sed postquam Urbanus VIII Pontificiae Dignitatis . . . (Buonanni, Numismata templi vaticani, 127, and Numismata pontificum romanorum, II, 573) 25 Appendix I, nos. 5–8.

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lion with an image of the saint, held in Giovanni Maggi’s engraving by two kneeling angels (Fig. 2).26 In the Maggi engraving there also appears a partial view of the ciborium over the apse altar, jutting above the temporary arcade at the back of the enclosure (Fig. 24). It shows a polygonal structure whose dome rests on a high drum with volutes at the corners; the dome is surmounted by a lantern topped by a globe and cross. We know from other contemporary witnesses that the ciborium employed ten of the famous twisted columns that adorned the mediaeval sanctuary.27 These pieces of information make it possible to link (though not identify) the model that was built with a group of closely related, projects of various dates, preserved in drawings and an engraving (Figs. 25–28, 79).28 These projects are all for ciboria of the ordinary kind, with domes supported on columns. In addition, from the central element they envisage two arms extending outward to the corners of the apse walls, creating a screen-like enclosure before the choir. It is clear that, by reusing the ancient columns, and by screening the apse with an enclosure containing an altar, these designs hark back to the mediaeval arrangement in Saint Peter’s, which had remained intact (minus the outer row of columns) until only a decade before the pontificate of Paul V (Fig. 17).29 The chief difference is that now the ciborium has been fused with the See the comments in Appendix I, no. 5. In 1618 Grimaldi notes that the pair of spiral columns that had adorned the Oratory of John VII (see n. 70 below) hodie cernuntur ad maiorem templi apsidam pergulam cereorum in pontificijs solemnibus sustinentes caeteris consimilibus saniores, et pulchriores (Opusculum, fol. 119v). In 1635, in a series of notes appended to Grimaldi’s treatise, Francesco Speroni, sacristan of Saint Peter’s, mentions the number ten: . . . tempore d.’ Pontificis [Paul V]decem earum integrae delatae fuerunt in novum Templum, ac positae fuerunt ad ornatum ante maiorem apsidem Templi. (Grimaldi Opusculum de SS. Veronicae . . . additis aliquibus praecipuis additionibus ad hoc pertinentibus a Francisco Sperono eiusdem Basilicae Sacrista an. D. 1635, Biblioteca Vaticana, MS. Vat. lat. 6439, p. 354) Concerning Speroni, see also Pollak, Die Kunsttätigkeit unter Urban VIII, 635 — henceforth cited as Pollak. (See Addenda and Fig. 28A.) 28 See Appendix I, nos. 18, 20, 23, 26. 29 Cf. the project for rebuilding Saint Peter’s by Bernardo Rossellino under Nicolas V in the mid-fifteenth century, as reconstructed by Grimaldi and Martino Ferrabosco (Magnuson, Roman Quattrocento Architecture, 177 f., 178, Fig. 22). A. Schiavo, San Pietro in Vaticano (Quaderni di Storia dell’arte, IX), Rome, 1960, 11, assumes that the twelve columns surrounding the altar in the Grimaldi-Ferrabosco plan were to be the originals. 26 27

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colonnaded screen to form one unit; the result recalls, whether consciously or not, the earliest mediaeval form of the shrine (Fig. 10). What all these considerations suggest is that the memory of the shrine of Old Saint Peter’s was very much alive and that the idea of recreating it in a modern idiom was in force from the time it was dismantled, or at least soon afterward. We shall find that Bernini was motivated by a similar idea. These projects further anticipate that of Bernini in their scale. They would have been some ten metres shorter than Bernini’s baldachin (28.97 m.), but they would have stood in the relatively low choir, not under the main dome.30 The two huge models, standing a few meters apart on the axis of Saint Peter’s — the baldachin over the tomb and the ciborium in front of the apse — represented opposite poles of tradition; the one was inherently mobile, fragile, and informal, the other was static, permanent, and architectonic. In the development that took place during the next quarter of a century, which culminated in Bernini’s baldachin, these two seemingly incompatible traditions were fused. The crucial link was provided by a third type, intermediate, almost in a literal sense, between the other two. This was the baldachin made usually of perishable materials and suspended in a fixed position above the altar.31 The type seems to have been introduced into the development of Saint Peter’s by Carlo Maderno. At least this is suggested by a rather obscure passage in a manuscript guide to Rome written during the 1660s by Fioravante Martinelli, the friend of Borromini.32 Martinelli reports that Maderno submitted to Paul V a design that included twisted columns; he adds, however, that the canopy did not actually touch the columns or their cornices. It is We may note, further, a plan for the completion of the church as a whole, ca. 1605–6, which shows an enclosure with an altar flanked by two columns at the entrance to the apse (Fig. 29; Appendix I, no. 1); two groups of four columns flank the altar in the crossing. If the ten columns were to be the originals, it would be an early precedent for Bernini’s use of spiral columns in the crossing, rather than as a screen in the choir. In the other projects it was evidently intended to supplement the preserved originals with copies (cf. Appendix I, no. 19). 30 The height of these projects (about 19 m.) may be judged from the scale (100 palmi) on Borromini’s drawing (Fig. 28). The height of Bernini’s baldachin is given in P. E. Visconti, Metrologia vaticana, Rome, 1828, Table II. 31 Cf. Braun, Der christ. Altar, II, 262 ff., Pls. 187 ff. 32 The passage is quoted in its context below, n. 53. On Borromini and Martinelli cf. P. Portoghesi, Borromini nella cultura europea, Rome, 1964, 96, 200.

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22. Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et. al., 1622, drawing. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, No. 780 (292 x 195mm). 23. Canonization of Elizabeth of Portugal, 1624 (decorations by Bernini), engraving. Bibl. Vat., Arch. Cap. S. P. (330 x 245mm).

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24. Detail of Fig. 2.

25. Ludovico Cigoli, plan of choir for Saint Peter’s, 1605–1606. Florence, Uffizi, Gab. dei disegni, A2639r (424 x 286mm).

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86 26. Ludovico Gigoli, Ciborium for choir of Saint Peter’s, 1605–1606, drawing (detail). Florence, Uffizi, Gab. dei disegni, A2639v (424 x 286mm).

27. Ciborium for choir of Saint Peter’s, drawing. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, No. 767 (362 x 315mm).

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28. Borromini, Ciborium for choir of Saint Peter’s, ca. 1620, drawing. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, No. 766 (235 x 177mm).

28A. Attributed to François Derand, Ciborium model of 1606 in choir of Saint Peter’s, drawing, 1613–1616. Paris, Louvre, Cabinet des Dessins, École franç. No. 3598 (431 x 3000mm).

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difficult to imagine what sort of arrangement was intended, but it is most probable that the canopy was to be suspended from above. (A proposal of just this sort was made later, under Urban VIII.33) Maderno’s project may also have laid the groundwork for one of Bernini’s first solutions, in which the canopy, held aloft by angels, was also separate from the columns (cf. Fig. 31, and p. 92 below). The idea of using columns and a canopy is the first evidence of the tendency to combine elements of the traditional baldachin with those of an architectural ciborium.34 After the models were built in 1606 there is no further record of construction on the projects during Paul V’s lifetime. Effort must have been concentrated on building the nave and the confessio at the tomb; when these were finished the problem came to the fore once more, and new proposals were offered.35 Before the pope died plans were evidently made to replace the models, perhaps because they had deteriorated in the meantime. However, actual rebuilding of both models, again using temporary materials, began only under Paul V’s successor, Gregory XV (1621–1623). The final invoices, which contain detailed descriptions, date from the early years of Urban VIII’s pontificate. The description of the apse ciborium given in the painter’s invoice corresponds with a project drawn by Borromini, but Anonymous, Modo di fare il tabernacolo, fols. 26r and v; see n. 55 below. It is tempting to pair Maderno’s project described by Martinelli with one recorded in a drawing by Borromini, but presumably invented by Maderno in 1605–6, for a ciborium with cupola resting on straight columns over the tomb in the crossing (Fig. 14; Appendix I, nos. 2, 17). In this case the relationship — ciborium in the crossing vs. baldachin in the choir — would have been the reverse of that of the models. This interchangeability of types is in itself a significant prelude to their fusion. 35 The nave was finished in 1615 (Pastor, XXVI, 394 f.). Paul V resolved in Jan., 1611, to build the confessio, which was opened in 1617 (ibid., 401 f.; cf. Appendix I, no. 9). Papirio Bartoli specifically says that planning for the pontifical choir was delayed by construction of the nave and indecision about the choir’s form: ‘. . . e se bene da molti sommi Pontefici è stato pensato di fare detto Coro [pontificio] . . . con tutto ciò si è restato, si perche ancora non era finito il corpo della chiesa, sì anco che non si concordava del modo, se bene del luogo la maggior parte concorreva, che si dovesse fare vicino all’Altare de St i Apostoli . . .’ (Bartoli, Discorso, int. I, fol. 1r.) Projects other than those considered in the text that can securely be dated to the latter part of Paul V’S reign are: dismountable choir for the apse recorded in Ferrabosco, Architettura (Appendix I, no. 22; Appendix II); Papirio Bartoli’s proposal for a choir in the form of a navicella to be placed in the crossing and incorporate Maderno’s confessio (Fig. 12; Appendix I, no. 24), a drawing in the Uffizi attributed to Maderno showing a colonnaded enclosure in the crossing behind the confessio and a choir in the apse (Fig. 13; Appendix I, no. 25). 33 34

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probably designed by Maderno, which has an inscription bearing the name of Paul V (Fig. 28).36 The phraseology shows that it was largely a remodelling of the earlier structure, the main alterations being the addition of four straight columns to the ten twisted ones and of four apostles to the cornice of the dome. Of greater importance are the changes that were introduced in the new baldachin model over the tomb. Payments for the work begin in June, 1622, but it seems possible that a kind of preview of the new model is given in engravings of the great quintuple canonization that took place on March 12 of that year (Figs. 5, 6).37 The baldachin depicted here is the same basic type as that of Paul V, a tasselled canopy resting on four supports with angels at the bases. There are notable differences, however. The angels, of whom only two are shown, kneel rather than stand, and the supports consist of rich foliate forms. This baldachin may still be Paul V’s, again ‘dressed up’ for the ceremony.38 Yet we shall see presently that the new baldachin, begun within three months after the canonization, also had elaborately carved supports and a new set of angels beside them, executed in stucco by Bernini. Moreover, we shall shortly consider a later canonization print in which Bernini’s original design for his bronze baldachin was previewed in just this fashion (cf. Fig. 30). In any case, the baldachin shown in the engravings provides an important link to Bernini’s ideas, in that it combines essential elements of both its predecessors. The supports are wholly organic, curvilinear in form, recalling the twisted columns of the ciborium; but they are now used to carry a canopy rather than a cupola. The fact that the angels, in kneeling, seem less actively to carry the structure also implies a Appendix I, nos. 26, 27. Appendix, I no. 13–15. 38 A record of purchases of material for decorating the baldachin for the canonization is preserved: Baldachino grande Per armesino, canne 75 ................scudi 337.50 Frangie alte di oro et seta bianca ............237.30 Per oro in folio per indorare ..................104 Per colori, tele, pitura trategi ................194 The account book dates from 1615 to 1618, that is, at least four years before the canonization took place; nevertheless there is no hint of any intention to replace the angels. Cf. I. M. Azzolini, in Canonizzazione dei santi Ignazio di Loiola, 127; the account book contains no further references to the baldachin (Rome, Casa Generalizia della Compagnia di Gesù, Archivum Postulationis, Atti concernenti santi, Sez. i, Scaff. A, Busta 16, int. 20). 36 37

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29. Project for a tabernacle in the crossing and a choir screen in the apse of Saint Peter’s, drawing (detail). Bibl. Vat., Arch. Cap. S. P., “Album”, pl. 4 (740 x 455mm). 30. Canonization of Elizabeth of Portugal, 1625 (decorations by Bernini), engraving. Bibl. Vat., Coll. Stampe (330 x 245 mm).

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31. Medal of Urban VIII, 1626. Bibl. Vat., Medagliere.

32. Medal commemorating the canonization of Andrea Corsini, 1629. Paris, Bibl. Nat., Cabinet des Médailles.

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significant change in dynamic: the baldachin is thought of as a more selfsufficient, quasiarchitectural unit. Two major steps remain in the transition to the final form: the introduction of true columns as supports for the canopy, and the addition of a superstructure. The new baldachin model as it was actually built is described in the carpenter’s final invoice.39 It too had a fringed canopy, and the supports seem to have incorporated into their regular design something of the ornamentation applied to the earlier structure on special occasions. The ornaments included among other things cherubs, foliage, and spiral fluting.40 It is not likely that the supports actually had the form of columns, since they are consistently described as staves (aste), and neither capitals nor proper bases are mentioned. But their decoration must in any case have closely resembled that of the ancient spiral shafts, and they thus anticipate Bernini’s idea of imitating rather than reusing the originals. It was also intended to gild the supports, which would have given them the effect of being made of metal.41 Furthermore, the supports were colossal in scale; they stood well over twelve meters high, more than two meters taller than the bronze columns by which Bernini replaced them. A final point of importance is that during the first part of 1624 Bernini himself made four stucco angels for this model; they were apparently placed at the base of the supports, as had been the case previously.42

II. Bernini’s First Project for the Baldachin The transition from the baldachin begun under Gregory XV to Urban VIII’s enterprise is barely perceptible. The earlier model was never quite finAppendix I, no. 13. ‘Per l’intaglio dele dette 4 Aste alte l’una pi 58. con cherubini festoni cartelle cartocci fogliami e scanelate a vite vasi regni mitre colarini e piedi fatto a fogliami’ (Pollak, 18, no. 35). 41 The bole and gesso were applied, but the gilding was never carried out (cf. Pollak, 309 no. 1000). 42 He was paid for them between Feb. and Aug., 1624 (Pollak, Nos. 1001 ff.). The fact that there were four angels and that the columns had spiral fluting are the chief differences of the model as executed from the baldachin represented in the prints of the canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et al. (Figs. 5, 6). The possibility still remains, however, that the engravings prefigure the intended new baldachin, and that the design was modified in the course of execution (as proved to be the case with Bernini’s baldachin). It may also be that the en 39 40

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ished, and at some point — precisely when is not known — it was decided to return the high altar to its place above the tomb, thus finally re-establishing the predominance of the crossing, but relinquishing the reference to the mediaeval form of the presbytery.43 We shall see that, paradoxically, the decision may have been at least partly determined by a desire to recreate even more accurately the original form of the shrine. No formal contract with Bernini for the design and construction of a new, permanent structure has been preserved, if one ever existed; payments to him simply began, in July of 1624, while he was still being paid for the stucco angels for the earlier baldachin.44 The first elements of the new baldachin to be executed were the bronze columns; installation began in September, 1626, and they were unveiled in June of the following year.45 A separate commission, based on a small model, provided for the superstructure, of which a full-scale model was set in place in April, 1628.46 Bernini’s first project is recorded, with certain variations, in an engraving showing the decorations he designed for the canonization of Queen Elizabeth of Portugal on March 25, 1625 (Fig. 30),47 and in medals dated graver simply omitted the two angels at the back (in one engraving of the canonization of Carlo Borromeo, the rear two angels were omitted, and in another the medallion atop the western face of the canopy was left out; cf. Figs. 2, 3). That the project for the new baldachin was developed during the preparations for the quintuple canonization is suggested by the fact that a preliminary drawing in Vienna for the 1622 prints shows the straight, smooth staves of the earlier structure (Fig. 22; Appendix I, no. 11). Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 317 ff., offers the curious theory that the engraving by Girolamo Frezza in Buonanni, Num. templ. vat., Pl. 48, represents the present baldachin, despite the facts that it does not show the carving on the supports mentioned in the documents and that, as is clear from Buonanni’s text (p. 127), the plate is based upon Paul V’s medal (Fig. 21; Appendix I, no. 9). 43 The choir was to be retained in the apse; a model for one was later designed by Bernini (Pollak, 611). Bartoli notes in 1620 (Discorso, int. 1, fol. Ir) that the choir installations in the apse were temporary and had to be set up and taken down for each occasion; the same is true today. 44 Pollak, nos. 1053 ff. 45 Cf. Pollak, nos. 1127, 1130. 46 Pollak, nos. 1142 ff., where payments for the large model are wrongly ascribed to the small one; on the installation, see an Avviso of April 8, 1628, quoted in E. Rossi, ‘Roma ignorata’, Roma, 15, 1937, 97. 47 Bernini’s designs for the canonization were approved by the pope shortly before Feb. 8, 1625 (Fraschetti, Bernini, 251 n. 1; cf., Pastor, XXIX, 10, where the references should be corrected as follows: Bibl. Vat., Arch. Segreto, Acta Consistorialia, Camerarii, XVI, fols. 67v–68, aud Bibl. Vat. MS. Urb. lat. 1095, fol. 315r, May 28, 1625; Pollak, Nos. 125 ff.).

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1626 (Fig. 31) and 1629 (Fig. 32).48 All three depictions agree on the basic thought underlying the design, which consists of four spiral columns supporting semicircular ribs that intersect diagonally; from the apex, crowning the whole structure, rises a figure of the Resurrected Christ holding the bannered Cross.49 On the columns are angels who seem to carry the tasselled canopy by means of ribbons strung through loops on its top and secured to the ribs. The representations differ in one important respect. The medal of 1626 shows the canopy raised well above the level of the columns, so that it appears as a completely separate unit. In the engraving of 1625 and the medal of 1629, however, the canopy is lowered to the same height as the capitals and is joined to them by a continuous molding or cornice. This is the solution Bernini adopted in the work finally executed.50 It is evident that Bernini’s project owes a great debt to its predecessors, both visually and conceptually. The idea of using bronze and gilt dates from the time of Paul V, when also it was contemplated to execute a monumental balclachin, rather than a ciborium, over the tomb. The angels and tasselled hangings had appeared in both earlier temporary baldachins. The ciboria with screens planned for the high altar before the apse had incorporated the ancient spiral columns.51 The notion of imitating the marble shafts ‘The fullest available account of the canonization is that of A. Ribeiro de Vasconcellos, Evolução do culto de Dona Isabel de Aragão, Coimbra, 1894, 1, 439 ff., II, 190 ff. An earlier version of the print (Fig. 23) is discussed in Appendix I, no. 12. Bernini’s canonization installations will be discussed in a separate paper. 48 The medal bearing the date 1626 on the reverse (Fig. 31; Buonanni, Num. Pont., II, 573 f., no. XIII) is inscribed with the fourth year of Urban’s reign on the obverse, and therefore dates between Sept. 29 (the anniversary of the coronation) and Dec. 31. Both this and a medal of 1633 showing the baldachin in its final form have legends describing the tomb as that of Peter and Paul, reflecting the belief that parts of both apostles’ bodies were preserved at Saint Peter’s; see n. 1 above. The medal of 1629 (Fig. 32) honours the canonization of Andrea Corsini in April of that year, for which Bernini also designed the decorations (cf. Pastor, XXIX, 9 n. 3; Pollak, nos. 136 ff.). 49 In the full-scale model, Christ was to rise from a cloud (Pollak, 354). 50 The drawings by Bernini for the final form of the crown, except for the very latest, show the canopy in the raised position (Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, Pls. 6 ff.); but the engraving of 1625 and the medal of 1629 indicate that the continuous cornice existed as an alternative solution from the outset. 51 The idea of an independent ciborium with only four spiral columns supporting a cupola occurs in a fresco in the Vatican Library from the time of Sixtus V (1585–90), representing the Council of Ephesus (Fig. 33; A. Taja, Descrizione del palazzo apostolico vaticano, 427 f.; J. Dupront, ‘Art et contre-reforme. Les fresques de la Bibliothèque de Sixte.Quint’,

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in another material may have originated in the previous ciborium and baldachin models. Maderno had thought of using spiral columns with a baldachin, rather than with a dome. The baldachin begun under Gregory XV may have suggested that spiral columns serve as actual supports for the canopy. In several of the earlier projects sculptured figures, including angels, had appeared atop the superstructure (Fig. 34; cf. Figs. 26–28).52 Finally, the stupendous scale of Bernini’s work was by no means an innovation. Despite this catalogue of precedents, Bernini blends the ingredients in a completely new way. He combines the columns and superstructure proper to a ciborium with the tasselled canopy and supporting angels of a baldachin. His treatment of each of these elements individually, as will become apparent in the following discussion, is equally original. And in the versions that join the canopy directly to the columns he takes the final step in fusing the architectural quality of a permanent ciborium with the transitory quality of a processional baldachin. Striking confirmation that these were indeed the innovating features of Bernini’s design is found in the criticisms voiced against it by certain contemporaries. One of these came from the painter Agostino Ciampelli, and is reported in the manuscript guide to Rome by Fioravante Martinelli, mentioned earlier as the source for our knowledge of Maderno’s project.53 Ciampelli had himself supplied Bernini with a design, but he objected to Bernini’s, maintaining that ‘baldachins are supported not by columns but MélRome, 48, 1931, 291). Interestingly enough, there was a tradition that the columns in Saint Peter’s had come from a temple of the Ephesian Diana in Greece (Torriggio, Sacre giotte vaticane, 283). 52 Appendix I, nos. 16, 18, 26. 53 F. Martinelli, Roma ornata dall’architettura, pittura, e scoltura, Rome, Bibl. Casanatensè, MS. 4984, p. 201: Fù pensiero di Paolo V coprire con baldacchino I’altar maggiore di S. Pietro con ricchezia proportionata all’apertura fatta alla confessione e sepolcro dl d.o Once Carlo Maderno gli presenò un disegno con colonne à vite; ma il baldacchino non toccava le colonne, ne il lor cornicione: sopragionse la morte di Pauolo, e resto l’op.a sul disegno sin al ponteficato di Urbano VIII. il quale disse at 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’haste, e che in ogni modo voleva mostrare che to reggono li Angeli: e soggiongeva che era una chimera.

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by staves, and that in any case he would show it borne by angels; and he added that it was a chimera’. The objection evidently refers to the solution shown in the engraving of 1625 (Fig. 30) and the medal of 1629 (Fig. 32), in which the columns rather than the angels appear to be the chief support of the canopy; this was a grave breach of architectural etiquette, and the re-

The passage occurs as a marginal correction to the original text, which is canceled but can be deciphered: ‘Il Ciborio con colonne di metallo istorte à 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 hà lasciato scritto esser disegno del Ciampelli cognato di d.o Bernino’. (See Addenda.) The reference from Celio’s guidebook concerning Urban VIII’s contribution is as follows: ‘L’altare maggiore con le colonne fatte à vite e suoi aderenti, il tutto di metallo indorato, Inventione di santissimo giuditio, messo in opera dal Cavalier Lorenzo Bernino’. (Memoria fatta dal Signor Gaspare Celio . . . delli nomi dell’artefici delle pitture, che sono in alcune chiese . . . di Roma, Naples, 1638, 70.) The publisher of this work, Scipione Bonino, writes in the introduction (pp. 4 f.) that it was based on a manuscript of Celio’s written in 1620, and that almost all the additional information about works done since then came from Sebastiano Vannini, ‘Galeno di questi tempi’. Vannini was the author, among other things, of two poems to Fioravante Martinelli (Bibl. Vat., M.S. Barb. lat. 2109, fols. 162 f.). Baglione describes Celio’s book as ‘pieno d’errori’ (Baglione, Vite, 381). The source of the story is probably a passage in a manuscript dialogue by Lelio Guidiccioni (kindly brought to my attention by Cesare D’Onofrio), in which Guidiccioni (L.) and Bernini (G.L.) are the conversants. The context of the passage is an elaborate eulogy of Urban VIII’s expertise in artistic matters; Bernini asks, ‘Di chi pensate, che sia il pensiero dell’Altar Vaticano, tale, quale sia divenuta l’opera? L. Vostro hò sempre pensato. G.L. À pensarla meglio, dite di S. S.ta L. Dunque voi sete pure obietto di lode sua; la quale è origine della vostra . . .’ (Bibl. Vat., MS. Barb. lat. 3879, fol. 53v) The dialogue is datable to Sept., 1633, since it contains a reference (fol. 51v) to the death within the last days of Antonio Querengo (d. Sept. 1, 1633; G. Vedova, Biografia degli scrittori padovani, Padua, 1832–36, II, 134 f.). It is conceivable that the phrase ‘quale sia divenuta l’opera’ refers to the decision to change the superstructure. (See now C. D’Onofrio, ‘Un dialogo-recita di Gianlorenzo Bernini’, Palatino, 10, 1966, 127 ff.) Except for two letters, dated 1660, in the Biblioteca Nazionale, Florence (C.V.90.147; C.V.97.5), I have been unable to identify the Vincenzo Berti whose manuscript is mentioned as the source of the story about Agostino Ciampelli. Ambrogio Landucci was a well-known Augustinian, a native of Siena (D. A. Perini, Bibliografla agostiniana, Florence, 1929–38, I, 143 ff.), for whom Borromini designed an altar (H. Thelen, Istituto austriaco di cultura in Roma. 70 Disegni di Francesco Borromini [Exhibition Catalogue], Rome, 1958, 24 no. 54). He died in Rome on Feb. 16, 1669, leaving his books and manuscripts to the Convent of San Martino in Siena. His testament is accompanied by an inventory of his library which includes 121 items, but they are listed with short titles only and none is identifiable as the one by Berti that Martinelli mentions (Rome, Arch. di Stato, Notaio Bellisarius, Busta 243, fols.

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sult is truly a hybrid, chimerical form.54 To another, anonymous writer who submitted an alternative project of his own, the superstructure appeared unworkable. He claimed that ‘an open arch could not possibly support a figure, and also hold together columns of such great weight’.55 This argument seems to have weighed heavily in the ultimate decision to substitute a cross and globe for the Risen Christ and to increase the number and change the shape of the ribs (see p. 126 below). From an aesthetic point of view the key to Bernini’s solution lay in the idea of discarding the ancient spiral columns themselves, and instead imitating them on a larger scale. What he achieved may best be understood by comparing his project with the earlier ones for screen-ciboria in the choir, which were to reuse the ancient shafts (Figs. 26–28, 79). The original 465v, 535 ff.). The library of San Martino passed to the Biblioteca Comunale of Siena, whose director kindly informs me that an inventory of the convent’s library contains the following entry: Berti Quaestiones regulares. But no manuscript answering the description appears in L. Ilari, Indice per materie della Biblioteca Comunale di Siena, 7 Vols., Siena, 1844–51. The statement that Ciampelli and Bernini were brothers-in-law cannot be strictly true. Ciampelli — who died not in 1642, as is commonly reported, but on April 22, 1630 (Rome, Arch. del. Vicariato, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, Liber Defunctorum 1626–1716, fol. 16r) — was married to a woman named Camilla Latina (ibid., S. Giov. Fior., Liber Baptizatorum 1616–49, fol. 82v), who did not remarry after Ciampelli’s death, while Bernini married Caterina Tezio in 1639 (Fraschetti, Bernini, 104 f.). We may note, finally, a drawing by Ciampelli with twisted columns mentioned in an inventory of Cardinal Francesco Barberini: ‘Una carta fattoci in penna I’Anuntiata dipinta con diverse Colori e due Coloñe ritorte di mano di Agostino Ciampelli, alta p.m i uno e larga tre quarti di palmo’. (Bibl. Vat., Arch. Barberini, Arm. 155, Inventario di tutte le robbe . . . nel Palazzo della Cancellaria del . . . Card.le Fran.co Barberino, Oct., 1649, p. 68). 54 Since Ciampelli died early in 1630 (see the previous footnote) he presumably did not know the final version, which was not worked out until 1631 (see p. 126 below). Criticism of Bernini’s architectural ‘grammar’ seems implicit also in Teodoro della Porta’s offer to submit a project according to the good rules of architecture (Appendix I, no. 28B); this is perhaps to be identified with a drawing in the Albertina (Fig. 35; Appendix I, no. 28c). 55 Modo di fare il tabernacolo, fol. 26r: ‘. . . e non puol mai un Archetto in aria sostenere ne figura ne unite le colonne di tanto gravissìmo peso, come il Cavaliere hà esposto, che essendo di gettito oltre la grossa spesa non necessaria è pericolosa di motivo di gran rovina’. The project was to be executed in bronze and copper over a wooden core and use columns decorated with bees, laurel, and animals to support an architrave, upon which eight putti were placed, ‘fingendo di portare come per Aria il Baldachino che sarà attaccato nella volta di sopra con Ingegno di poterlo levare’ (ibid.); the idea seems to recall the project of Carlo Maderno, reported by Fioravante Martinelli (pp. 83 f. above).

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columns were dwarfed by the new building, and to gain height the earlier projects included both an attic and a drum between the capitals and the dome; the resulting vertical accent was safely counterbalanced by the lateral wings. For a structure in the crossing even more height was needed, but the wings were an obstruction and had to be removed.56 By enlarging the columns Bernini was able to omit the drum and attic, and thus create a more balanced proportion without the help of the wings. It might be said that Bernini’s solution made it aesthetically possible to keep the high altar and tomb together in the crossing. It also made possible the fusion of baldachin and ciborium types, for in the absence of both drum and attic Bernini could rest the superstructure directly on the columns and cover the intervening space with a fringed canopy. The design of the crown itself serves a dual function, in keeping with the nature of the whole conception. Its domical shape suggests the cupolas with which ordinary ciboria were often covered, while its open ribs deny the sense of weight and mass that a cupola normally conveys. The perforated superstructure recalls a common mediaeval type of ciborium, in which one or more orders of colonnettes resting on the main entablature act as a kind of drum for the dome.57 Bernini’s open ribs had been anticipated in a ciborium by Giovanni Caccini in Santo Spirito in Florence, where open metal strapwork screens the space between the thin ribs of an octagonal cupola (Fig. 36).58 But while this tradition may have paved the way for Bernini’s general conception, his design has its most precise antecedent in the central 56 Ferrabosco’s project with wings was rejected by Urban VIII because it occupied too much space (see n. 179 below). 57 Braun, Der christ. Altar, II, pls. 160 ff. 58 Designed by 1599, dedicated in 1608 (cf. W. and E. Paatz, Die Kirchen von Florenz, Frankfurt-am-Main, 1940–54, v, 140 f.). A few years later Bernini drew even closer to Caccini’s ciborium, in the catafalque he designed for the funeral of the pope’s brother Carlo Barberini (d. 1630), known from a workshop drawing in Windsor (Fig. 37). Here he used a proper open-ribbed dome, crowning it with a figure of death analogous to the Risen Christ on the baldachin (cf. Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 162 n. 6; A. Blunt and H. L. Cooke, The Roman Drawings of the XVII and XVIII Centuries in the Collection of Her Majesty the Queen at Windsor Castle, London, 1960, 25 no. 48; no. 49, Inv. no. 5612, seems to have no connection with the Barberini catafalque). The catafalque is discussed in an unpublished doctoral dissertation by O. Berendsen, ‘Italian Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Catafalques’, New York University, 1961, 132 f., Fig. 48. A ground plan study for the catafalque by Borromini is in Vienna, Albertina, Architektonische Handzeichnungen, Rom, Kirchen, no. 64; 214  173mm.

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portion of the shrine built over the apostle’s tomb by Constantine in the early fourth century (Fig. 10). There, four of the twisted columns also supported semicircular intersecting ribs. Though careful records were kept of the excavations beneath the crossing when the foundations for the bronze columns were dug, it is improbable that these could have yielded such accurate information concerning the elevation of the Constantinian shrine.59 Rather, the source of Bernini’s astonishing piece of archaeological reconstruction seems to have been a unique medal, now lost, of the early Christian period (Fig. 38). On one side a tabernacle appears that has been regarded as a depiction of the shrine in Saint Peter’s.60 It consists of four twisted columns surmounted by two semicircular arches placed diagonally, exactly the form that can be reconstructed, on independent grounds, for the main feature of the early mediaeval confessio of Saint Peter’s. The similarity of Bernini’s design to that on the medal extends even to the swags of drapery hung between the columns and to the interposition of a continuous cornice between columns and open crown. Precisely how Bernini came to know the medal cannot be determined, but its history has been traced to within a decade of his project; it was given to the pope’s nephew Cardinal Francesco Barberini in March, 1636, by Claude Ménétrier, the French antiquarian living in Rome.61 Ménétrier, who sent a cast of the medal to his colleague Nicolas Peiresc in Paris to get the latter’s interpretation, does not say when or where the medal was discovered, or from whom it was acquired. But he reports that it had been found together with a representation in gold glass of Sts. Peter and Paul — a circumstance that, especially in view of the legend linking the bodies of the 59 See the accounts of the excavations published in Armellini, Le chiese di Roma, II, 862 ff., and H. Lietzmann, Petrus und Paulus in Rom, Berlin-Leipzig, 1927, 194 ff., 304 ff. An attempt under Urban VIII to reconstruct the confessio in detail from literary sources is noted below, p. 100. 60 Cf. most recently F. Castagnoli, ‘Probabili raffigurazioni del ciborio intorno alla memoria di S. Pietro in due medaglie del IV secolo’, Rivista di archeologia cristiana, 29, 1953, 98 ff.; A. Baird, ‘La colonna santa’, BurlM, 24, 1913–14, 128 ff. A badly oxidized lead cast of the medal was preserved in the Museo Sacro of the Vatican, the original bronze having been lost; the cast has since also disappeared, perhaps oxidized into unrecognizability. (See Addenda.) 61 See the brilliant piece of research tracing the medal’s history by G. B. De Rossi, ‘Le medaglie di devozione dei primi sei o sette secoli della chiesa’, B di archeologia cristiana, 7, 1869, 33 ff.

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two apostles, must have reinforced the association with Saint Peter’s suggested inevitably by the twisted columns. The medal’s testimony must have been further supported by a passage in Gregory of Tours (538–594), who reports that over the tomb was a ciborium resting on four white columns; in a learned treatise on the ancient confessio, submitted to Urban VIII before Bernini’s baldachin was built, the passage is taken as an accurate description of the original monument.62 If the medal was believed to show the shrine in its pristine form — that is, as an independent structure without wings — knowledge of it may even have influenced the basic decision to return the high altar to its place over the tomb in the crossing. This clear and deliberate effort to recreate the early Christian monument while retaining essential elements from the recent predecessors may be what chiefly distinguishes Bernini’s work as a new departure. But the motivation was more than simply one of archaeological exactitude, as becomes evident when one considers the baldachin’s meaning. Of the twelve white spiral columns that decorated the mediaeval presbytery, eleven are still preserved.63 Eight were installed by Bernini in the upper reliquary niches in the crossing piers (Figs. 53–56; see p. 118 ff. below), one is the Colonna Santa referred to earlier (p. 69 above), and two flank the altar presently dedicated to St. Francis in the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament off the north aisle of the basilica (Fig. 39). These columns were the subject of various legends, by far the most widespread of which was that they had been brought by Constantine from the Temple of Solomon at Jerusalem. The association was so strong that twisted columns were often used by artists in representations of the Temple (Fig. 40),64 and the allusion to the Holy City is implicit in the columns of Bernini’s baldachin as well. ‘Vous treuverez . . . un soulphre que j’ay jetté sur une petite lame de metal Corinthe de cave laquelle j’achepta ces jours passés et donna à Monseig.r l’Ecc. Card.le Pat.ne, lequel tesmogna luy plaire grandement pour estre une pièce de la primitive Eglise’. (Letter of Ménétrier to Nicolas Peiresc, March 8, 1636; ibid., 35.) 62 Michele Lonigo, ‘Breve relatione del Sito, qualità, e forma antica della Confessione . . .’ in Buonanni, Num. templ. vat., 191 ff. (cf. p. 198); Buonanni says (p. 115) that Lonigo, who was papal archivist and master of ceremonies under Paul V, submitted the work to Urban VIII before the baldachin was built, The essential passage in Gregory of Tours is: Sunt ibi et columnae mirae elegantiae candore niveo quattuor numero, quac ciborium sepulchri sustinere dicuntur. (De gloria beatorum martyrum 28, PL, LXXI, 729.) 63 On the columns see especially J. B. Ward Perkins, ‘The Shrine of St. Peter and its Twelve Spiral Columns’, JRS, 42,1952, 21 ff., and Alfarano, De basil. vat., 53 ff. 64 Some further examples are mentioned in nn. 67, 107 below.

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In fact, even apart from the spiral columns, parallels between Saint Peter’s and the Temple in layout, measurement, and decoration were long thought to exist.65 One in particular is important here, since it involves specifically the Temple and St. Peter’s tomb. It is stated by Tiberio Alfarano (d. 1596), who was a cleric of Saint Peter’s, in his description of the old basilica: ‘The emperor Constantine and Pope Sylvester did no differently about the body and altar of the apostle Peter than Moses and Aaron had done about the Ark of the Covenant containing the tablets of the Law and the urn, which at God’s command they constructed in the centre of the Tabernacle inside the Holy of Holies under the wings of cherubim. And Solomon did the same in the Temple of the Lord’.66 The cherubim mentioned here seem to find an echo in the angels who spread their wings above Bernini’s baldachin; indeed this may well have been among the reasons for shifting them from beside the supports, their position in the previous baldachins, to the top. It is even possible that the very material of the baldachin was intended to carry out this theme, recalling the famous pair of brazen columns with which Solomon had flanked the Tabernacle.67 To be sure, the allusion to the Temple was already implicit in the reuse of the ancient columns in earlier projects. But it is important to emphasize The relationship was already explicit in Nicolas V’s project for rebuilding Saint Peter’s (cf. Magnuson, Roman Quattrocento Architecture, 210, 360–62), and according to L. D. Ettlinger it is reflected in the early decoration of the Sistine Chapel (The Sistine Chapel, 79 f.). For the sixteenth century, see the many references in Alfarano, De basil. vat., 221, s.v. ‘Templum Salomonis’. 66 Haud aliter quidem Constantinus Imperator et Beatus Silvester Papa circa beati Petri Apostoli Corpus et Altare fecerunt quam Moses et Aaron fecerant circa Arcam foederis Domini tabulas legis et urnam continentem, quam Dei monitu in Tabernaculi medio intra sancta sanctorum sub cherubim alas constituerant. Et Salomon in Templo Domini idem fecerat. (Alfarano, De basil. vat., 29.) The allusion is to Hebrews 9:3–5. (See Addenda.) 67 I Kings 7:21; II Chron. 3:17. Cf. S. Yeivin, ‘Jachin and Boaz’, Palestine Exploration Quarterly, 1959, 6 ff. In a painting of the Presentation of the Virgin by Domenichino in Savona (Borea, Dornenichino, Pl. 78) and in a miniature of the Marriage of the Virgin in the Book of Hours of Etienne Chevalier by Jean Fouquet (K. Perls, Jean Fouquet, London-Paris-New York, 1940, 53), the entrance to the Temple is actually shown flanked by a pair of the spiral columns of Saint Peter’s; in the Fouquet the columns are tinted to imitate gilt metal. I am convinced that Bernini later had in mind a dual reference to Old Saint Peter’s and Jerusalem when he included the window with the dove of the Holy Spirit above the Cathedra Petri in the west apse; Alfarano speaks of the setting sun penetrating the rear windows of the old basilica: ad occasum tendens per posteriores Basilicae fenestras dictam Aram maximam, totamque Basilicam irradiat sicut Arcam Foederis intra sancta sanctorum 65

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that Bernini’s bronze columns differ from the originals in several ways. The enveloping vine tendrils of the originals have been transformed by Bernini into laurel, a Barberini device that occurs throughout the crossing along with the pope’s famous bees and sun. In making this change, an essential symbolic element of the columns — the age-old association of the vine scroll with the Christian sacrament — was lost. Yet there seems to have been an allusion to the sacrament in the form Bernini gave to the columns. He did not imitate the normal type, with alternating bands of fluting and foliage (cf. Figs. 53–56). Rather, he singled out those which, evidently as a result of having been shortened at some time, have fluting only on the lower portions.68 Two columns of precisely this form had been used by Paul III in the mid-sixteenth century to decorate the altar of the Holy Sacrament in the old nave (Fig. 41).69 Their subsequent history is uncertain, but it is surely significant that Bernini used two of the same type, perhaps the same pair, to flank the lateral altar in the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament in the new church (Fig. 39).70 The cycle of interrelationships is carried out also in the Tabernaculi Mosi et Salomonis Templi existentem per anteriores portas ingrediens olim illustrabat. (De basil. vat., 19) It should be recalled that the orientation of Saint Peter’s is unusual in that the apse is to the west. 68 Ward Perkins, ‘The Shrine of St. Peter’, 26, 32, was evidently the first to observe that two of the columns had been cut down, and that these in particula served as Bernini’s model for the baldachin. 69 Alfarano, De basil. vat., 55, 63 f. 70 The altar, then dedicated to St. Maurice, was decorated from April, 1636 (Pollak, Nos. 890 ff.). The chapel as a whole was first intended as a sacristy; the request of the Archconfraternity of the Sacrament to have it assigned to them was approved in 1626 (Pollak, no. 872). Grimaldi in fact shows four columns of this type, two of them on the old sacrament altar (Fig. 41) and two flanking the entrance to the Chapel of John VII (705–7), which was located at the Porta Santa. Grimaldi (quoted n. 27 above) says that in his day the columns of the John VII monument were to be seen before the main apse, along with other similar columns, making no mention of what happened to the pair from the sacrament altar. Both Cerrati and Ward Perkins assume that the pair now in the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament came from the John VII chapel. But Ward Perkins seems to have overlooked the sacrament altar of Paul III altogether, while Cerrati (ed. of Alfarano, De basil. vat., 55, 106 n. 2) seems not to have noticed that the extant pair have been altered and assumed that they were copies; except for minor restored details, they are certainly antique. The problems would be resolved if Schüller-Piroli is right in stating (I know not on what evidence) that the same pair was simply shifted from the John VII chapel to the sacrament altar in old Saint Peter’s (2000 Jahre Sankt Peter, Olten, 1950, 629). They would subsequently have been moved to the apse of the new basilica, where Grimaldi saw them, and finally to the Chapel of the Sacrament.

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stucco scene in the vault of the chapel directly above this altar (Fig. 40).71 The panel shows Solomon examining the plans of the Temple of Jerusalem; in the background is a complex structure in course of construction, which includes four columns of this same design.72 Equally striking, the columns A drawing in Berlin attributed to Etienne Dupérac shows the Colonna Santa beside a row of four columns of the ‘sacramental’ type, without any architectural setting; M. Winner assumes that Duperac invented two of the sacramental columns (Zeichner sehen die Antike. Europäische Handzeichnungen 1450–1800 [Exhib. Cat.], Berlin-Dahlem, 1967, 129 f. no. 80, Pl. 48). There has also been considerable confusion about the fate of the missing column or columns. Cerrati believes that three columns were lost or destroyed in transport; others, accepting the pair in the sacrament chapel as originals, have theorized that one column was given away (cf. Cerrati, in Alfarano, De basil. vat., 55). A possible answer to this problem is suggested by the sacrament columns themselves. Though at some time the intermediate zone of fluting was removed, their actual height is precisely the same as the rest of the series (that is, 4.70 m., as reported by Cerrati, ibid., 55; the figure 3.60 m., given in the caption to Ward Perkins’ Pl. V, Fig. 1, is erroneous). Furthermore, this pair of columns is different from all the others in several respects, notably in that the vine scrolls are inhabited only by birds and other animals; there are no putti. What all this suggests is that the missing twelfth column may have been of the same unusual type as the sacrament pair and that it was cut up and portions used to bring the latter two back to their original length. When these operations might have taken place is impossible to say. A payment of June, 1637, when the altar in the sacrament chapel was readied, records the addition of a piece to one of the columns (Pollak, 277, no. 897); but this probably refers to the bottom half of the lowest ring of acanthus on the left-hand column. It should be noted finally that a sixteenth century engraving of one of the sacrament columns appears in various versions of A. Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae magnificentiae (e.g., Bibl. Vat., Riserva S. 6. fol. 18, with title page dated 1587); doubtless this was the print mistakenly identified as representing the Colonna Santa in the 1572 list of Lafréry’s prints published by F. Ehrle, Roma Prima di Sisto V. La Pianta di Roma Du Perac-Lafréry del 1577, Rome, 1908, 55 (cf. Cerrati, in Alfarano, De basil. vat., 55). The print seems to show the column in its shortened state. 71 Payments to Giovanni Battista Ricci for the cartoons for the narrative stucco panels in the choir began in May, 1621 (Rome, Arch. della Rev. Fabbrica di S. Pietro, I Piano, Ser. 1, Vol. 246, Spese 1621–23, fol. 17r); the sacristy is first mentioned in the payments in Dec., 1622 (ibid., fol. 72v). His payments ended in Dec., 1626 (Pollak, Nos. 705 ff.; cf. no. 33). The areas surrounding the narratives had been designed earlier by Ferrabosco (Beltrami, ‘Ferabosco’, 30). The execution extended into the reign of Urban VIII (Pollak, Nos. 712 ff., Feb., 1623–Aug., 1627). 72 These columns had often been imitated, but I would mention one instance in Rome in which the sacramental association seems evident; namely, in the Oratorio del Gonfalone, where they form the general framework of the fresco cycle (1568–84) illustrating the Passion (cf. A. Molfino, L’oratorio del Gonfalone, Rome, 1964). Here they also appear prominently in the background of Livio Agresti’s Last Supper (ibid., Fig. 22). A chapel in Santo Spirito in

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33. Council of Ephesus, fresco. Bibl. Vat., Salone Sisto V (1585–90).

34. Project for a choir screen with an altar, drawing. Windsor Castle, No. 5590 (436 x375mm).

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35. Project for a ciborium, drawing. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, x-15 (525 x 226mm).

36. Giovanni Caccini, ciborium, Florence. Santo Spirito (photo: Alinari).

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37. Bernini Workshop, Catafalque for Carlo Barberini, drawing. Windsor Castle, No. 5613 (485 x 261mm).

38. Early Christian medal. Formerly Bibl. Vat., now lost or disintegrated (from De Rossi, “Le Medaglie . . .”, Bolletino di Archeologia Cristiana, 7, 1869, No. 8 on pl. opp. p. 44).

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39. Saint Peter’s, Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, Altar of Saint Francis.

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40. Saint Pter’s, Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, vault, Solomon Inspecting the Construction of the Temple.

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42. Rome, San Giovanni in Laterano, Altar of the Holy Sacrament.

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41. Altar of the Holy Sacrament, Old Saint Peter’s, drawing. (From Grimaldi, Instrumenta autentica, fol. 35r).

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42A. Rome, San Giovanni in Laterano, Altar of the Holy Sacrament, southwest corner.

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43. Saint Peter’s, vie of baldachin and dome.

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of the Temple support an inward curving entablature, a device that in the final version Bernini applied to the sides of the baldachin (cf. Fig. 43). The allusion to the sacrament in Bernini’s first project for the baldachin is far more pervasive than the choice of the columns alone would suggest. Around 1600 Clement VIII had erected a great altar of the sacrament at the Lateran. This Constantinian foundation — the cathedral of Rome and the mother church of Catholicism, at whose high altar, as at Saint Peter’s, only the pope may officiate — had been lavishly restored by Clement. He had decorated the confessio before the papal altar, which is mentioned in a document as one of the models for Paul V’s confessio at Saint Peter’s.73 Under the direction of the Cavaliere d’Arpino the upper part of the lateral transept walls had been covered with a series of frescoes illustrating the life of Constantine. On the end of the south transept wing, D’Arpino painted a grandiose fresco of the Ascension of Christ. Below this is the Altar of the Sacrament, designed by Pier Paolo Olivieri as a wall tabernacle in the form of a temple front (Fig. 42). Four colossal bronze columns support the triangular pediment, which is also of gilt metal. Here the idea of a monumental tabernacle all in bronze had actually been realized. Its relevance for the Saint Peter’s altar was more than a matter of scale and material. The bronze columns of the Lateran were also the subject of various legends, among the current ones being that they too had once adorned the Temple at Jerusalem, whence they had been brought by the Empress Helen.74 They thus embodied the same allusion as the spiral columns of Saint Peter’s and provided an additional motive for using bronze. The back of the Lateran altar was ornamented with a relief of the Last Supper in solid silver, which served as a reliquary cover for a portion of cedar wood believed to have come from the table at which Christ and the disciples supped; the relief was melted down in the eighteenth century during the French occupation of Rome (and later replaced). But the sacramental nature of the altar was also provided by another relic: the Sassia with frescoes by Agresti (Fig. 57; see p. 128 below) seems to have provided the model for Bernini’s own use of the columns in the upper niches of the piers in Saint Peter’s. 73 ‘La Santità di Nostro Signore . . . risolvè di far aprire sotto l’altar maggiore di San Pietro . . . in quella guisa, che stanno le cappelle sotto l’altar maggiore di San Giovanni Laterano et del Presepio in Santa Maria Maggiore’. (Avviso of Jan. 26, 1611, in Orbaan, 98.) For Clement VIII’s work at the Lateran, see Pastor, XXIV, 475 ff. 74 On the legends concerning the Lateran columns, cf. Panciroli, Tesori nascosti, 139f.; Severano, Memorie sacre, I, 506 f.; C. Rasponi, De basilica et patriarchio lateranensi, Rome, 1657, 32, 47 f.

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columns were supposed to be filled with earth from Mount Calvary upon which Christ shed his blood at the Crucifixion, again brought back to Rome by Helen. This lent a real, topographical basis to the allusion to Jerusalem, and we shall later consider another exactly parallel case that was directly pertinent to Saint Peter’s. The Lateran altar, in keeping with its dedication to the sacrament, has the Trinity as its overall theme (cf. Fig. 45). God the Father is depicted in the triangular opening of the pediment, while on the underside of the roof appears the dove of the Holy Ghost. Combined with the crucifix on the altar itself, these form the three elements of the traditional formula for representing the Trinity, in their usual vertical sequence. The same elements are distributed in an analogous way at Saint Peter’s. The dove is also shown on the underside of the baldachin’s canopy above the altar crucifix, while God the Father appears in the lantern at the apex of the dome (Fig. 43).75 The latter figure was executed when the decoration of the dome began, also directed by the Cavaliere d’Arpino, under Clement VIII.76 A similar arrangement had occurred in the Church of Santa Maria dei Monti in Rome, designed by Giacomo della Porta and built and decorated after 1580 (Fig. 44).77 Here the high altar, with its famous miraculous image of the Virgin, also holds the tabernacle containing the Eucharist. The dove of the Holy Spirit appears in the conch of the apse above the altar (also in the stucco decoration around the base of the drum), and God the Father is depicted in the lantern of the dome. The special emphasis given to the sacrament in the Madonna dei Monti may be explained by the fact that it was the church of the Confraternity of the Catechumens, whose purpose was to instruct and assist Jews and other non-believers wishing to convert to Catholicism.78 All these considerations shed light upon what would surely have been one of the most spectacular features of Bernini’s baldachin, the great figure of the Resurrected Christ at the centre of the crown in the first proH. Sedlmayr has also emphasized the relation of the baldachin to the dome mosaics in Saint Peter’s and, though in a different way, has seen the reference to the Trinity (Epochen und Werke, Vienna, 1960, II, 23 ff.). In Paul V’s baldachin, as the medal of 1617 shows (Fig. 21), the underside of the canopy was covered with stars. 76 On the chronology of the dome decorations, cf. Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 300. 77 Cf. Pastor, XX, 583. 78 See Moroni, Dizionario, XLVII, 270 ff. 75

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ject.79 Monumental altar ciboria are most frequently surmounted by the cross and globe (Figs. 14, 18, 24, etc.), and so eventually was Bernini’s baldachin. Instead, Bernini’s use of the Risen Saviour in the first project recalls the eucharistic images — in which Christ is shown usually with a chalice and holding a cross — that often occur on tabernacles intended to hold the sacrament (Fig. 45).80 Yet Bernini’s Christ held the banner associated with the Resurrection as a narrative event rather than a symbolic type, and there was no chalice; this is exactly the sort of figure that occurs in the Lateran sacrament altar, on a small scale in bronze atop the cupola of the lavishly decorated altar tabernacle (Fig. 46), and in a life-size marble surmounting the high altar in Santa Maria dei Monti (Fig. 44). Thus, the substitution of the Risen Christ for the usual cross and globe, in conjunction with the Trinity, embodies a reference to the sacrament; and the form these elements were given seems to derive specifically from two of the most recent and conspicuous altars in Rome that held the sacrament. It should be noted, finally, that reflections of the Lateran sacrament altar are found in Bernini’s work long after the baldachin was completed. The general organization of the altar at the end of the transept served as a model for his Chapel of Saint Teresa in the transept of Santa Maria della Vittoria (begun 1647). There is also evidence that the relief of the Last Supper on the altar frontal of the Teresa chapel may have been based specifically on the lost silver relief of the Lateran altar.81 Toward the end It may be relevant that images of the Resurrected Christ had appeared on coins struck during the sede vacante of 1623, the period between the death of Gregory XV and the election of Urban; the obverses bear the arms of Cardinal Ippolito Aldobrandini, nephew of Clement VIII who was Camerlengo. But these have no known connection with the basilica. Cf. E. Martinori, Annali della Zecca di Roma. Sede vacante 1621 . . ., Rome, 1919, 17 ff.; Corpus nummorum italicorum, Milan, 1910 ff., XVI, 269 ff. 80 A. Marquand, Luca della Robbia, Princeton, 1914, 61 ff., considers the door in the Peretola tabernacle to be a later insertion; in any case, the figure of Christ follows the traditional eucharistic type. Cf. also Braun, Der christ. Altar, II, Pls. 346 left, 348, 350 left. 81 I have in preparation a monograph on the Saint Teresa chapel, in which the relations to the Lateran altar will be discussed. Bernini’s Last Supper is illustrated in E. Lavagnino, et al., Altari barocchi in Roma, Rome, 1959, Pl. on p. 83. As far as I can discover the connection is first mentioned in A. Nibby, Roma nell’anno MDCCCXXXVIII, Rome, 1838–41, Moderna, 1, 530, but there is good reason to believe it is true; in the engraving of the Lateran altar in the series by Giovanni Maggi discussed in Appendix I no. 8, the relief is shown with a composition verv close to Bernini’s. A similar composition is also shown in a medal commemorating the altar (Buonanni, Num. pont., II, 457 Fig. XI, but the engraving here is inaccurate; see instead A. Ciaconius, Vitae, et res gestae pontificum romanorum . . . Rome, 79

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of his life he placed a figure of the Resurrected Christ without a chalice atop the cupola of the sacrament altar he himself designed for Saint Peter’s (1670s).82 The reference to the sacrament is only part of the significance of the figure on the baldachin. The decoration of the dome of Saint Peter’s had been completed under Paul V. Around its base the twelve apostles had been depicted, with Christ enthroned and flanked by the Virgin and John the Baptist in the west side facing the nave; in the compartments above, angels hold the instruments of the Passion (Fig. 47). The scheme is familiar from depictions of the Last judgment, and the figure atop the baldachin was certainly conceived in this context. The basic imagery of the crossing would have comprised the sacrifice at the altar and, above, Christ rising from the tomb to assume his place in heaven as King and Judge.83 The Christ figure thus charges the physical space of the crossing with the meaning of a dramatic action; we are actually at Jerusalem and salvation is being achieved before our very eyes. The conception of the baldachin that emerges from these considerations may be summarized under three headings: historical, liturgical, and geographical. Historically, through its paraphrase of the ancient spiral columns and its basic design, it recalls the original monument in Saint Peter’s. Liturgically, through the design of the columns and the figure of Christ, it refers to the Holy Sacrament. And geographically, the Risen Christ, the spiral columns, and perhaps even the use of bronze, involve a reference to

1677, IV, cols. 275f., no. 17; examples of the medal are preserved in the Staatliche Münzsammlung, Munich, and in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris). 82 Visible in the illustration in Fraschetti, Bernini, 395. No banner is attached to the cross-staff held by Christ in the work as we know it; but it is interesting to note that a banner does appear in a drawing at Windsor with projects for adding candelabra, which Brauer and Wittkower believe was made after the altar was finished (Zeichnungen, 173, 175, Pl. 195c). The Christ on the Saint Peter’s ciborium rises from a cloud, as did the figure in the first version of the baldachin (see n. 49 above). For the relationship between the Lateran sacrament altar and the crossing of Saint Peter’s as a whole, see n. 164 below. 83 This theme also seems embodied in the ornaments of the upper reliquary niches of the piers; symbols of the Passion appear in the lower part of the frontispieces, symbols of salvation above (see nn. 121, 164 below). An element of vertical integration involving the building itself was also present at the Lateran, with the crucifix on the altar. the Resurrected Christ on the ciborium, and the Ascension of Christ on the wall above the tabernacle.

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45. Luca della Robbia, Tabernacle of the Holy Sacrament, 1441–1443. Peretola, Santa Maria (photo: Alinari).

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44. Rome, Santa Maria dei Monti, high altar.

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47. Saint Peter’s, mosaics in dome, west side (photo:Alinari).

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46. Detail of Fig. 42.

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49. Francesco Mochi, St. Veronica. Rome, Saint Peter’s (photo: Anderson).

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48. Bernini workshop, Project for the Saint Veronica niche. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, No. 776 (359 x 305mm)

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51. Bernini, St. Longinus. Rome, Saint Peter’s (photo: Anderson).

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52. Francesco Duquesnoy, St. Andrew. Rome, Saint Peter’s (photo: Anderson).

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53. Saint Peter’s, reliquary niche of St. Veronica.

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52. Andrea Bolgi, St. Helen. Rome, Saint Peter’s (photo: Anderson).

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55. Saint Peter’s, reliquary niche of St. Longinus (photo: Anderson).

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54. Saint Peter’s, reliquary niche of St. Andrew.

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Jerusalem, the site of Christian redemption. This imagery became fundamental to Bernini’s treatment of the crossing as a whole. III. The Decoration of the Pier Niches Planning for the four piers and their decoration began when it was still expected to execute the baldachin according to Bernini’s first project. Urban had already shown his concern for the condition of the relics when in January, 1624, he ordered a complete reconstruction of the reliquary niche for the Holy Face and the Lance; it was finished late in the following year.84 The crucial decision to redecorate the lower niches beneath the relics must have been taken shortly thereafter. This is evident from a document in the archive of the basilica reported by Baldinucci in the famous defense of Bernini’s work on the piers, which lie appended to his biography of the artist; the document shows that two models for altars, ‘uno sotto al nicchio del Volto Santo e l’altro di S. Andrea,’ were in existence by June of 1626.85 During the first part of 1627 payments were made for a group of models for the Veronica niche, one of which was by Bernini himself.86 His project is preserved in a workshop drawing in Vienna, which is practically identical with the description given in the craftsmen’s invoices (Fig. 48).87 It estabThe documents are published by Pollak, 311 ff. The inscription bearing the date 1625 placed beneath the balustrade (Forcella, Iscrizioni, VI, 148 no. 542) surely refers to the completion of this reconstruction (cf. also Hess, Künstlerbiographien, 109 n. 1), rather than the beginning of that which followed (Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 22 n. 2). 85 ‘Vi son’ in essere le cimenti p 2 altari da farsi uno sotto al nicchio del Volto S.to, et l’altro dì S. And.a Parlarne con N S.re parria molto conveniente far li altari del Volto S.to e S. And.a in d.i luoghi, che non vi son, ne si vuole andare a celebrare ne’ luoghi, dove son collocate d.e reliquie’. (Minutes of the Congregation, June 3, 1626; transcribed from the original, Arch. Fabb. S. P., I Piano, Ser. 2, Vol. 71, Congregazioni 1571–1630, fol. 397r) Cf. Baldinucci, Vita, 165 f. Bernini was accused of having weakened the piers, causing cracks that had appeared in the dome. 86 The documents are quoted in Pollak, 465f., but are there misleadingly placed under the heading of the upper reliquary niches. 87 Apparently overlooking the correspondence with the documents, Brauer and Wittkower regarded the project as the invention of another artist (Zeichnungen, 23 n. 3, Pl. 195a). I quote the documents after Pollak, 24, 29 f. (italics mine): Per un’altro Modello sotto la Nicchia del Volto Santo con il disegnio del Sr Cavv, Bernino fatto amezzo ottangolo con pilastri alli angoli doppij con basamento, zoccolo con li collarino fregi cimasa tutto scorniciato fatto tutte le modinature etc. . . . con il finimento sopra fatto à piramida con le mozzole (mensole?) nelle Cantonate alto tutto pi 32 long. di giro pi 30 etc. . . .  80 84

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lishes the basic solution that was to be retained in the final execution: a monumental statue raised on a high base, in which there are openings giving access to a stairway that leads down to an altar in the grotto below. The statue is conceived in accordance with the traditional formula for St. Veronica, which had appeared on the mediaeval tabernacle (Fig. 8) and would later also provide the point of departure for Francesco Mochi’s figure of the saint. Indeed, the whole arrangement, comprising an altar below, depictions of the appropriate saint and relic, and a container for the relic above seems consciously to recreate in relief the reliquary monuments of the old basilica. Since there is no reference in the project to the Lance, which was kept together with the Holy Face, it must already have been determined to house the relics separately. The official decision to include all four piers in the program was taken in June of 1627.88 There had been an earlier proposal to treat the four niches uniformly.89 But coming after the high altar had nearly been shifted

Per li fusti contornati dove è dipinta la Veronica e doi angeli grandi etc. .  10 E più ordine del Sig.r Chavaglier Bernino si è depinto un modello fatto di legniame sotto alla nichia del Volto Santo con haverlo incessato e stuchato e dato di piacha (biacca) fina e si è inbrunito da alto e passo e svenato di marmaro, con un arme del’ Papa di chiaro e scuro e quadro cartelone con le steste di carobini messe di rame battuto e unbrato di sopra et dui ferate messe di rame battuto e unbrato, di sopra e una ficura di Santa Veronicha di palmi quindici con dui Angeli di palmi nove messo di rame battute e umbrato e scorniciato di dutto . . .  50 E più per haver rifatto sopra li ideso modello se è alzato tre palmi di piu è pisogniato restauralo e far di nuovo et un arme del Papa messo di rame battuto umbrato di sopra e si è fatto sopra le dui porte dui ferate messe rame battute e umbrate con dui candelone di più e dui ferate di più fatte di color di rame scorniciato e unbrato et haver rifatto un a(l)tra volta la figura di palme 12 e li Angeli di palmi 7 e si è rimesso di rame battuto la maggior parte e umbrato di nuovo . . .  35 88 Pollak, no. 1621. 89 A document of uncertain date reads as follows: ‘Nelle quattro nicchie grandi che sono alli piloni della Cuppola à canto l’Altar maggiore è pensato di fare due Chori, uno per li Cantori, et l’altro per li Principi, che verranno à veder la messa pontificale, se bene alcuni hanno opinione, che vi staranno bene quattro Altari nelli quali si potranno collocare li quattro Corpi di S. Leoni Papi, che sono nella medesima Chiesa’. (Pollak, ‘Ausgewählte Akten’, 73) Siebenhüner connects the ‘chori’ mentioned here with those shown in Cigoli’s project (Figs. 25, 26; ‘Umrisse’, 312, where the reference should read ‘Pollak’ in place of ‘Orbaan’). Siebenhüner’s assumption (‘Umrisse’, 245, 257) that four figures of prophets made for Saint Peter’s in the 1550’s by Guglielmo della Porta were intended for the crossing piers, has been disproved by W. Gramberg (‘Guglielmo della Porta verlorene Prophetenstatuen für San Pietro in Vaticano’, in Walter Friedlaender zum 90. Geburtstag, Berlin, 1965, 80 n. 7).

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toward the apse and after the nave had been added, the new arrangement was a reaffirmation of the centrality of the crossing. Interest still focused primarily on the Veronica and Andrew niches, however, and in April, 1628, several models (plura modula seu formae) for them were shown to the Congregazione della Fabbrica, the group of cardinals who governed the basilica.90 Remarkable insights into the whole development of the crossing are provided by the records of the meeting of the Congregation a month later, May 15, 1628, in which the choice among the projects was made. There are two documents in question: one comes from the notes made by the steward (oeconomus) of the Congregation during the actual meeting, the other from the official record of the meeting as it was transcribed from these notes.91 Variations between the two versions are normally trivial, but that is not the case in the present instance. In the notes made at the meeting it is said that the design which most pleased the pope was that for the St. Andrew and that authorization was given to award the commission. In the official transcription the oeconomus specifies that the project chosen was Bernini’s. Thus it appears that Bernini’s winning design was for the St. Andrew, and it was this design that evidently provided the basis for the statue executed subsequently by Duquesnoy. The implications of this point will become evident when we consider the close similarities between 90 April 10, 1628: Fuerunt exhibita plura modula seu formae capellarum construendarum in locis subtus SSmas Reliquias Vullus S ti et Capitis S. Andreae quae per Ill mos DD. visa, et diligenter expressa, Iniunxerunt mihi ut illa S mo D. N. deferrem, ut facilius possit ex dictis et alia, quae habet, formula, seu modula sibi magis placitus eligere et Sacr. Cong. eo citius mentem S mi desuper executione demandare. (Pollak, no. 1622.) 91 May 15, 1628: Li disegni delli Altarini, N. Sre dice che la Congne veda qual più li sodisfaccia et quello si faccia; mostra gradir il S. And(re)a. si potria deputar. qualche delli SSri Illmi S. Sisto e Vidone. (Pollak, no. 1623) May 15,1628: Exhibui Ego Oeconomus plura delineamenta depicta pro forma seu modulo parvarum Cappellarum de mente S mi construendarum in loculis Nicchi nuncupatis per me de ordine eiusdem Sanct mi huic Sacrae Congregationi praesentanda ut illis per DD. visis ex eis eligerent quale perficiendum erit, ideo per eos bene inspectis approbarunt ex eis unum ab Equite Bernino delineatum, utque facilius, et citius opus absolvatur, rogarunt Ill mos DD. Cardinales St ti Sixti, et Vidonum, ut curam huic incumbant et quatenus illis.videatur mentem eiusdern S mi desuper melius exquirant, et exequantur. (Pollak, no. 1624.) On the minutes of the meetings, see F. Ehrle, ‘Dalle carte e dai disegni di Virgilio Spada’, AttiPontAcc, Ser. III, Memorie, II, 1928, 19.

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Duquesnoy’s figure and Bernini’s own St. Longinus. The St. Andrew was in fact the test case for the whole program. Work was begun immediately on the niche proper; Duquesnoy received the first payment for his full-scale stucco model in May, 1629, and the final payment the following November.92 In February of 1629, following Maderno’s death, Bernini had been appointed architect of Saint Peter’s.93 The overall scheme matured in April of the same year, when the pope gave the basilica a portion of the famous relic of the True Cross, composed of fragments which he had removed from Santa Croce in Gerusalemme and Sant’Anastasia.94 The significance of this step can best be appreciated by considering momentarily a document of three years before, July 15, 1626, also reported by Baldinucci.95 It records with respect to the altars then being planned that the oeconomus was directed to determine whether there were in Saint Peter’s other relics of the apostles that might accompany the head of St. Andrew; the head of St. Luke was one possibility mentioned. The thought clearly was to pair the Passion relics, the Volto Santo and the Lance, against relics of the apostles. The idea of pairing remained, as we shall see, but the procurement of the fragments of the True Cross early in 1629 shows that a general theme had emerged which required another Passion relic for its completion. In the Congregation meeting of December 10, 1629, within a month after the model of the St. Andrew was finished, the other three artists who were to execute models of their statues were named.96 Bolgi began his model for the St. Helen on July 2, 1631, and Bernini probably began his model for the St. Longinus at the same time; Mochi began the Veronica model on September 24 of that year. He completed his model on November 29, 1631, and it was viewed by the pope on February 8, 1632; the pope saw Bernini’s completed model one week later, on February 15, and that of

Pollak, nos. 1625 ff. Pollak, no. 4. 94 Cf. Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 217. The new relic was at first kept with the Volto Santo and the Lance (Severano, Memorie sacre, 1, 164). 95 ‘Delli altari del Volto S.to e S. And.a che le pareva si dovessero fare nelli luoghi etc. et ch’io m’informassi s’in S. Pietro vi fusse reliquia insígne di apostolo per poterla accompagnare con la testa di S. And.a / parl.e à D. Bonin . . [?] / testa di S. Luca’. (Minutes of the Congregation, July 15, 1626, Arch. Fabb. S. P., I Piano, Ser. 2, Vol. 71, Congr. 1571–1630, fol. 417r). Cf. Baldinucci, Vita, 166. 96 Pollak, no. 117. 92 93

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Bolgi on March 5.97 Considerable time elapsed before execution of the marbles began, in Duquesnoy’s case presumably because he had to wait until the other models were completed; in the other cases there was delay in acquiring suitable marbles.98 Duquesnoy was the first to begin work, in April of 1633, and the Andrew was in place by October, 1639 (Fig. 50).99 Bernini began only in June, 1635, but the Longinus was installed by June, 1638 (Fig. 51).100 Mochi also began in June, 1635, and his Veronica was in place by October, 1639 (Fig. 49).101 Bolgi received his first payment in January, 1635, and the Helen was finished by the end of 1639 (Fig. 52).102 The decoration of the upper niches (Figs. 53–56), carried out between 1633 and 1641, brought the program to completion.103 The niches were based on a design by Bernini (cf. Fig. 68), which involved reusing the ancient columns from the presbytery of Old Saint Peter’s. At first the columns were to support triangular pediments, but in the final form the pediments are segmental and the whole fronticepiece is bowed inward. Marble putti surmount the pediments, upon which stucco clouds flow down from the surface of the conch.104 Above, also in stucco, putti carry inscriptions, while inside the frontispieces are marble reliefs of angels and putti displaying images of the relics.105 Here again, dual reference to the old church and to Jerusalem is evident. The idea for images of the relics and columns in the upper story seems to 97 The dates are given by Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 206, 219, 283. Torriggio says that the model of the Longinus was finished on July 5, 1631, but more likely this was the beginning date. All the artists received down payments of 50 scudi on Dec. 19, 1629, after which there was a delay while work on the niches proceeded. On May 5, 1631, the Congregation decreed that the models be executed (Pollak, no. 1646) and regular payments for them began in Sept. (Longinus) and Nov. (Veronica and Helen), 1631. Final payment to Bolgi was made on March 15, 1632, to Bernini on April 5, to Mochi on Aug. 11, of the same year. Bernini received a total of 500 scudi, Mochi 450, Bolgi 350. Cf. Pollak, 442 f., 454 f., 461 f. 98 Pollak, Nos. 1718 ff.; see end of n. 174 below. 99 Pollak, Nos. 1654, 1667. G. Baglione, Le nove chiese di Roma, Rome, 1639, 38 f., speaks of the Helen and Longinus as in their places, but not yet the Andrew and Veronica. His dedication to Cardinal Francesco Barberini is dated Sept. 1, 1639. 100 Pollak, Nos. 1787, 1791. The pope had inspected it on May I (Fraschetti, Bernini, 76). See also n. 125 below. 101 Pollak, nos. 1735, 1747. 102 Pollak, nos. 1820, 1752. The statue is signed and dated 1639. The document of 1649 mentioned by Fraschetti, Bernini, 74, refers to other works by Bolgi in Saint Peter’s. 103 Pollak, 467 ff. 104 On this device, see n. 132 below. 105 With one important exception; see p. 160 below.

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have come from the earlier reliquary tabernacles, one of which — that of the Volto Santo — actually had versions of the famous twisted columns (cf. Fig. 8).106 The cornices, like those of the baldachin, are concave and may be related to the reconstruction of Solomon’s Temple in the vault of the sacrament chapel (cf. Fig. 40); the notion of surrounding the central altar by the Solomonic spiral columns has a precedent among versions of the Temple, in which the columns were distributed around the Holy of Holies.107 The bowed frontispieces are of particular interest, however, since hereafter they appear frequently in Bernini’s work, in varied forms, and they become one of the stock phrases in the vocabulary of Baroque architecture. The motif has a complex genealogy, but in this instance Bernini’s direct model lay not far from Saint Peter’s, in the Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia. The side chapels of this church are, like the reliquary niches of Saint Peter’s, semicircular in plan with half-domes. In a number of cases the frames of the altarpieces are curved in adherence to the wall surface. This is the case in the second chapel on the right (Fig. 57), decorated at the altar and in the vault with paintings by Livio Agresti (d. ca. 1580), where the altarpiece is framed by a pair of columns that closely imitate the sacrament columns of Saint Peter’s.108 Here, too, are the broken pediment surmounted by figures, the flat strips that continue the entablature and bases on the wall as if to form lateral extensions of the frontispiece, and other details that appear in Bernini’s niches. His major changes were toward unifying the design, by making the horizontal entablature continuous between the columns and echoing the columns in the form of

106 As noted by Kauffmann, ‘Berninis Tabernakel’, 229. In fact, it seems to have been a common type, as witness the tabernacles with spiral columns in the upper level in Santa Maria Maggiore and San Giovanni in Laterano in the series of prints by Maggi discussed in Appendix I no. 8 (the Santa Maria Maggiore print is reproduced by Armellini, Chiese di Roma, 1, 286; cf. P. De Angelis, Basilicae S. Mariae Maioris de urbe . . . Descriptio, Rome, 1621, ills. on pp. 83, 85, 87); also in Santa Maria in Campitelli (G. Ciampini, Vetera monumenta, Rome, 1690, Fig. 3 on Pl. XLIV opp. p. 181). 107 Cf. the interior of the Temple in a miniature of Jean Fouquet’s Antiquites judaïques (Perls, Fouquet, 248); ‘reconstructions’ of the Temple as a centrally planned structure were also common (see now S. Sinding-Larsen, ‘Some Functional and Iconographical Aspects of the Centralized Church in the Italian Renaissance’, Institutum Romanum Norvegiae, Acta, 11, 1965, 221 ff.). 108 Cf. P. De Angelis, La chiesa di Santo Spirito in Santa Maria in Sassia, Rome, 1952, 10; E. Lavagnino, La chiesa di Santo Spirito in Sassia, Rome, 1962, 110.

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bent pilasters at the angle with the back wall. Also significant is the fact that Bernini gave the frontispiece a less pronounced curvature than the niche itself (Fig. 58);109 this, together with the continuous entablature, makes the frontispiece seem almost to project from the niche as an independent unit, rather than following its surface as in the Santo Spirito, altarpiece. Perhaps most remarkable is that even in the design for these niches Bernini’s interest may have been more than simply formal. The Church of Santo Spirito, and especially the Confraternity of the Holy Spirit whose seat it was, had an ancient and intimate association with the relic of the Holy Face, and hence with Saint Peter’s. The relic had once been kept in the church, and in the later Middle Ages, after it was transferred, the popes would carry it from Saint Peter’s to Santo Spirito and back again in annual procession. From the latter part of the fifteenth century the custom was reversed and the Confraternity went in procession to Saint Peter’s where it had the signal honour of being shown the relic.110 IV. Changes During Execution The Crown of the Baldachin During the long period of work on the statues and the niches two major changes were made, both of which radically affected the design and disposition of the crossing. The first of these occurred probably in 1631 while the models for the niche figures were being made. The two semicircular arches that Bernini had intended to place over the columns of the baldachin were discarded and were replaced instead by the familiar twelve curving volutes (four sets of three) decorated with palm fronds; and the great figure of the Resurrected Christ was replaced by the more traditional globe and cross

The plan of the niches is from Baldinucci, Vita, Pl. 11 opp. p. 176. Baldinucci’s point (pp. 162 f.) is that Bernini did not weaken the piers by deepening the niches, but, on the contrary, tended to fill them in; he also notes that the space between the old and the new surface served to insulate the wall from humidity. Cf. the niche with double curvature that Bernini created during the same period for the Countess Matilda monument (Fig. 75). 110 See Moroni, Dizionario, CIII, 95 f. The connections between the Volto Santo and Santo Spirito are recorded extensively by Grimaldi, Opusculum, fols. 35 ff., 41, 47, 67 f., 147 ff. 109

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(Fig. 59).111 It seems that these alterations were motivated at least partly by practical considerations. One of Bernini’s critics mentioned earlier, who submitted a project of his own, objected that the original arrangement would be inadequate to support the Christ figure and restrain the columns, and there would be danger of a collapse.112 Filippo Buonanni says explicitly that it was feared the columns might give way (laxari).113 In fact, the change increased the number of supports, and created groups of pointed arches, raising the crown and making the thrust on the columns more nearly vertical. A series of drawings shows Bernini experimenting with a variety of convex, concave, and mixed curves that would achieve this result.114 A small and a full-size model of the new crown were made during 1631; the work was unveiled on June 29, 1633.115 The repercussions of the substitution of the cross and globe for the Christ, which served to lighten the load, will be discussed in Section V.

Cf. Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 20 f. Their dating for the change is based on a series of payments beginning in April, 1631, to Borromini for detailed drawings (Pollak, nos. 1274 ff.). Payments for models of the new superstructure also begin at the same time (Pollak,369 ff.). The original form still appears on the canonization medal of 1629 (Fig. 32), and is referred to in a poem published that year (Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 20 n. 2)The Christ is also mentioned in C. Bracci, Rime . . . per il ciborio, opera di bronzo fatta inalzare in S. Pietro . . . , Arezzo, 1633, 56: Sovra quel bronzo in più Colonne alzato Dal divo Urbano, e successor di Piero, Vedesi pur l’istesso Christo resuscitate. (Florence, Bibl. Marucelliana, Misc. 253, int. 3) In his preface (p. 44) Bracci only notes seeing the bronze columns on a recent visit to Rome (‘Non è molto, che trovandomi in Roma ammirando le quattro Colonne di bronzo, che fanno ciborio in S. Pietro’). It was still being planned to cast the Christ in Jan., 1633, presumably for another destination (Pollak, no. 1248). Also unexecuted were seated figures of Peter and Paul to be placed before the balustrade in front of the baldachin, for which Giuliano Finelli made models (cf. Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 20 n. 2). A drawing in the Albertina (Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, no. 768, 321  215 mm.) shows the figures seated on pedestals attached to the balustrade, flanking the entrance to the confessio. 112 Anonymous; quoted n. 55 above. 113 Buonanni, Num. templ. vat., 130: Verum cum mentem Pontificis non explerent, & nimis aeris pondere subjectas columnas laxari posse timeretur, aliam formam . . . Bernini excogitavit. 114 Cf. Brauer-Wittkower, Zeichnungen, Pls. 6 ff. (See Addenda.) 115 Pollak, 369 ff.; the finishing touches were not completed until two years later. 111

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56. Saint Peter’s, reliquary niche of St. Helen.

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59. Saint Peter’s, crown of the baldachin.

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58. Saint Peter’s, plan of the reliquary niches. (From Baldinucci, Vita, pl. 11 opp. p. 176).

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60. St. Andrew (from the tabernacle of Old Saint Peter’s). Rome, Saint Peter’s, Sacristy (photo: Anderson).

61. Adriaen Collaert, St. Andrew, engraving. Brussels, Bibl. Royale, Cabinet des Estampes.

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62. Domenichino, Apotheosis of St. Andrew. Rome, Sant’Andrea della Valle (photo: Anderson).

63. Saint Peter’s, vault of northwest grotto chapel (originally dedicated to St. Andrew), Apotheosis of St. Andrew.

131

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132 Apse (west) Volto Santo and Lance

Head of St. Andrew

Volto Sancto (Veronica)

Head of St. Andrew

Volto Santo

Lance

Tomb of Paul III

Colonna Santa

Lance (Longinus)

True Cross (Helen)

Head of St. Andrew

True Cross

A. Under Paul V

B. First arrangement under Urban VIII (1629 ff.)

C. Decree of April 26, 1638

Volto Santo

Head of St. Andrew

True Cross

Lance

D. Decree of July 5, 1638 (final)

Text Figure. Disposition of the relics in the crossing.

The Placement of the Niche Statues The second major change involved the distribution of the relics in the four piers, and hence also the placement of the statues and the decoration of the upper niches. The point of departure for the original placement was certainly the installation of Paul V (Text Fig. A), in which the two Passion relics, the Holy Face and the Lance, had been given the place of honour in the southwest pier (in cornu evangelii), while Andrew’s head had been placed in the northwest corner, the side of lesser distinction (in cornu epistolae).116 When Urban VIII decided to treat the Lance separately and add the True Cross, the same principle was applied at a lower level to the two eastern piers, that on the south being considered more important than that on the north. Thus, the descending order of precedence of the piers was: southwest; northwest; southeast; and northeast. The Volto Santo, because of its outstanding importance, retained the first place. The distribution of

116 On the directional symbolism of the Christian basilica, cf. J. Sauer, Symbolik des Kirchengebäudes, Freiburg-im-Breisgau, 1924, 87 ff.; J. A. Jungmann, Missarum sollemnia, Freiburg, 1958, I, 529 ff.; I. Lavin, ‘The Sources of Donatello’s Pulpits in San Lorenzo’, AB, 41, 1959, 20 n. 8. The nobler side, to the right of the celebrant of the Mass, gets its name from the fact that the lesson from the Gospel in the Mass was read from there, while the Epistle, of lesser distinction, was read from the celebrant’s left. In Saint Peter’s the pope celebrates the Mass facing the congregation in the nave. Because Saint Peter’s is also ‘wested’ (that is, with the apse in the west), the nobler side is to the south, as it is in normally oriented churches. 117 Breviarium romanum, Rome, 1634, Commune sanctorum, xviff.

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the other three relics depended upon the basic distinction according to which saints are classified, that is, between males and females. In the Common of the Saints, the series of prayers by which saints are collectively venerated, males have preference over females. Apostles and evangelists come before male martyrs; confessors, doctors, and abbots follow, and the female saints come last. Among the latter, saints who were neither virgins nor martyrs — which was the case with Veronica and Helen — constitute the lowest category.117 By this criterion, Andrew, as apostle and martyr, takes precedence over the male martyr Longinus, who in turn precedes Helen; this was the order in which Urban VIII originally distributed the relics (Text Fig. B). The controlling factor, except for the Volto Santo, was the liturgical rank of the saints, male martyrs vs. female non-virgins non-martyrs. The frescoes illustrating the histories of the relics in the grotto chapels beneath the niches were actually carried out according to this original arrangement, under Bernini’s direction, mainly during 1630 and 1631.118 The liturgical rank of the saints was emphasized in the altar paintings by Andrea Sacchi in these chapels: in the case of Veronica and Helen, scenes showing their connection with the relics were chosen (the Road to Calvary and the Testing of the True Cross), while under Andrew and Longinus the altarpieces pertained to their martyrdom (Andrew worshipping the cross on which he would be crucified and the Beheading of St. Longinus).119 Another 118 The dates are given by Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 200, who also describes the frescoes in detail. An inscription in the vault of the ambulatory between the northeast and northwest chapels reads as follows: URBANUS VIII  PONTE [sic]  MAX  NOVOS  ADITVS  APERVIT  ALTARIA  CVM  STATUS  ER[E]XIT PICTVRIS  ADAVXIT ANN  DOM  M  DC  XXXI  PONT  VIII The inscripion thus dates between Jan. I and Sept. 28, 1631 (the eve of the anniversary of the pope’s coronation). Payments begin in Jan., 1630 (Pollak, no. 2108), and the last invoice is Jan., 1633 (Pollak, no. 2123). 119 Mosaic copies of the paintings are now on the altars (according to the final, not the original location of the relics). The paintings are now in the Treasury of Saint Peter’s. Sacchi received payments in 1633 and 1634 (Pollak, Nos. 2086 ff.), and a final payment for the St. Helen scene on Sept. 5, 1650: ‘Al And.ea Sacchi Pitt.e Scudi 150 m.ta oltre a scudi 650 havuti sono p. intero pagam.to di tutti quattro li quadri che il d.o ha dipinto sotto le grotte compresoci in d.o n.o il quadro con l’hist.a quando S.ta helena trovo la Croce di N.S. Sotto à S.ta helena di marmo e questo e in conformita di quanto ha ordinato la Sacra Cong.e di q.to di’. (Arch. Fabb. S.P., Ser. Arm., Vol. 179, Spese 1636–57, p. 276; cf. Set. 3, Vol. 162, Decreta et resolutiones 1642–53, fol. 178r.)

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souvenir of the original disposition, in which the liturgical pairing of the saints is also indicated, is in the decorations on the bases of the statues, for which payments were made between April, 1632, and March, 1635.120 Beneath the inscriptions on the bases in the northwest (Fig. 52) and southeast (Fig. 50) niches are palm fronds, the symbol of martyrdom; they were intended respectively for Sts. Andrew and Longinus. Under Veronica’s inscription are laurel leaves (Fig. 49); no change took place here. The base on which Longinus now stands has laurel branches entwining a sceptre (Fig. 51), showing that it was intended for the Empress St. Helen.121 Most important, it is evident that the statues were conceived as pairs, facing each other diagonally across the baldachin — Andrew vs. Longinus, Veronica vs. Helen (Figs. 50 vs. 51, 49 vs. 52). Changing the statues’ locations not only destroyed this deliberate opposition but profoundly affected the logic of their design (cf. Text Fig. D). The St. Andrew, simply moved diagonally across the crossing, suffered least. But the whole movement in the pose and glance of the Longinus, shifted to the opposite side of the nave, is now outward and away from the baldachin; like the St. Andrew, it would have been directed inward and up toward the Resurrected Saviour. Likewise, Helen’s glance and gesture, now outward in the direction of the transept, would have been inward toward the central axis of the basilica, corresponding to St. Veronica’s. The figures thus created a compact, centralized unity that was, in the end, largely dispersed. The statues were already nearing completion, and their bases and the frescoes in the grotto chapels had been executed, when, in 1638, the original plan was altered. The motivation was a bull that had been issued by Urban VIII in 1629, when he gave the relic of the True Cross to the basiliCf. Fraschetti, Bernini, 70; H. Posse, Andrea Sacchi, Leipzig, 1925, 54 ff.; A. Mezzetti, in L’ideale classico del seicento in Italia e la pittura di paesaggio (Exhibition Cat.), Bologna, 1962, 332 ff. 120 Pollak, 436 ff., 452, 458, 464. 121 A further remnant of the first arrangement is in the motifs that decorate the socle zone of the frontispieces of the reliquary niches; under the twisted columns in three of the niches are Passion symbols (crown of thorns and crossed reeds, gauntlets and lantern, bag of coins, scourges, hammer and tongs, nails and loincloth, ewer and basin), while under those in the northwest niche are various fish, for Andrew the fisherman, whose relic was the only one not connected with the Passion (cf. Figs. 53–56). On the north side of the north column of the northeast niche is an imperial crown with a cross, for the Empress Helen. (I have been able to visit only the eastern niches; hence I cannot identify the emblems on the inner faces of the column bases in the western niches, which are not visible from afar.)

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ca. He had then stipulated that the three relics of the Passion be displayed in a sequence that implied an ascending order of importance, the Lance first and the Cross second, climaxing with the Holy Face.122 A compromise between the original arrangement and the import of Urban VIII’s bull was made in the first of two decrees issued by the Congregation concerning the placement of the relics: in April of 1638 the Congregation ordered a new disposition, stating explicitly that it was in accordance with the relative dignity of the relics (Text Fig. C).123 Yet the decree merely exchanged the places of the head of Andrew and the Lance of Longinus; the preferred position was given to the Lance because it is a Passion relic, but the pairing of the saints was still retained. The difficulty now was that the Lance had precedence over the True Cross. The Congregation changed its mind again and in a subsequent meeting, in July, 1638, decreed what was to be the final arrangement (Text Fig. D).124 This adheres strictly to the hierarchy of the relics, expressing it in an ascending counterclockwise order beginning with the head of St. Andrew, the only relic not related to the Passion, and end. . . . de cetero Ferri primo, deinde Crucis, postremo Sacrae Imaginis reliquiae hujus modi ostendi debeant. (Collectionis bullarum, III, 240 [April 9, 1629]). 123 April 26, 1638: Fuit actum mandato S.D.N., de quo mihi oeconomo fidem fecit Rev.mus D. Archiep.us Amasiae super collocat.ne 4.or p.lium Reliquiarum S.S. Basilicae S. Petri iuxta debitum cuiq pced.ae ord.em et exhibito Modulo milti ab eodem R.mo D. Archie.po consignato et à D. Paulo Alaleona Magro Ceremoniarum eiusd S.D.N. subscripto, in quo p.s locus Augustissimo Vultus S. Reliquiae in loculo dexterae Parastidis, seu Pilastri subtus Cupolam versa ad Januam facie assignandam propanitur, 2.s S.mae Cruci in loculo sinistro sub.to per Diametrum respondente, 3.s ptiossimae Lanceae in loculo sinistro p.o loculo Vultus S.tt respondente et 4.s Capiti Gloriosissimi Apostoli S. Andreae in loculo dextero è conspectu S.mae Crucis. Em.mi D.ni eodem viso et considerato mandarunt juxta ordinem ibi perscriptum easd S.S.tas reliquias collocari, et modulum ptum cum p.nti decr.o ad perpetuam memoriam conservari. (Arch. Fabb. S. P., I Piano, Ser. 3, vol. 161, Decreta et resolut 1636–42, fol. 36v). 124 July 5, 1638: Fuit iterum actum de collocatione Reliquiarum pn.lium sacros.ta Basilicae S.tt Petri, et non obst.e Decreto alias facto melius discusso neg.o resolutum S.mam Vultus S.ti Reliquiam in eodem loculo dexterae parastidis seu Pilastri verso ad Januam facie esse collocandam, sacrosanctum Crucis Lignum in sinistro eidem respondenti, Praetiosissimam Lanceam in loculo dexterae paristidis, quae invenitur ab ingressu Ecclesiae, et Caput gloriosissimi Apostoli S.ti Andreae in sinistro huic respondenti. (Ibid., fol. 43v). The decrees are alluded to by Fraschetti, Bernini, 72f. It is evident that Duquesnoy’s cries of foul play at the change of plan, reported by Bellori, Passeri, etc., were quite unfounded (the sources are conveniently quoted in Fransolet, ‘Le S. Andre de Duquesnoy’, 277 ff.; cf. 252). 122

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ing with the Volto Santo. The pairing of the saints was abandoned completely.125 Underlying these changes was a progressive shift in emphasis in which the importance of the relics — rather than that of the saints — became the basis for the arrangement. Hierarchy was the determining factor throughout. In the beginning, however, it was focused on the human ‘personalities’ of the saints represented, which in turn determined their liturgical status; 125 The Longinus was installed in June, 1638 (Pollak, no. 1791), before the Congregation’s final decree. Presumably the final disposition was known in advance. It is just possible, however, that the statue actually was set up in the northwest pier in accordance with the first decree, and subsequently moved. A list of expenses for work done during June, 1639, includes a payment ‘per haver condutto il Bassorilievo[sic!] di S. Longino’; this is listed in Pollak as though it were for the statue (no. 1793), though it may refer to the relief of the reliquary niche above (nos. 1978 ff.). The English Sculptor Nicholas Stone notes in the diary of his visit to Rome that on Dec. 11, 1639, Bernini told him he would finish within fifteen days a statue on which he was working in Saint Peter’s; this can only refer to the Longinus (cf. W. L. Spiers, ‘The Note-Book and Account Book of Nicholas Stone’, Walpole Society, 7, 1919, 171). In 1637 P. Totti describes the statues (and the long inscriptions below the balconies) as if they were already in place according to the original plan, though none of the figures was completed then (Ristretto delle grandezze di Roma, Rome, 1637, 5 ff.). The next year he adds a correction, ‘hoggi si sono mutati i luoghi di S. Longino e di S. Andrea’ (Ritratto di Roma moderna, Rome, 1638, 530, with dedicatory letter dated Nov. 18, 1638). Another indication of the date of the change is provided by two payments to the painter Guidobaldo Abbatini. The first was on April 23, 1637, for having painted the inscriptions on the scrolls carried by the angels in the uppermost arches of the reliquary niches (Pollak, no. 2015); the second was on July 29, 1638, for having painted the inscriptions a second time (Pollak, no. 2018). Because Torriggio states (Sacre grotte vaticane, 220, 232, 283) that the inscriptions below the balconies of the Longinus, Andrew, and Helen niches were set up in 1634, the change has been dated too early (Fransolet, ‘Le S. André de Duquesnoy’, 251 n. 8; Kauffmann, ‘Berninis H1. Longinus’, 370). Torriggio makes no mention of any discrepancy between the inscriptions and the chapels below, an anomaly he certainly would not have overlooked or failed to note in his detailed account. Either the inscriptions were not yet really installed, and Torriggio anticipated, or they were first set in place according to the original arrangement and subsequently shifted. There is an engraved plan of the grottoes (a reworking of an earlier print showing the grottoes in their pre-Urban VIII form; cf. Lietzmann, Petrus u. Paulus in Rom, 193, 304, Pl. 11), ordered first by Benedetto Drei, ‘fattore’ of the basilica, with inscriptions in the chapels identifying them according to the final disposition of the relics and carrying the date 1635 (e.g. Bibl. Vat., R. G. Arte-Arch. 5.95 unnumbered). But a further inscription says the plan was brought up to date (‘ridotta nella forma che al presente si ritrova’) by Pietro Paolo Drei, ‘soprastante’ of the basilica, an office to which he was appointed only in Nov., 1638 (cf. Pollak, no. 28).

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and this is reflected in the design of the statues, which are paired visually and psychologically. Ultimately, the overriding consideration became the relics and their relative dignity; pre-eminence was given to the mementoes of Christ’s sacrifice. The main results and implications of the discussion in the preceding two Sections may now be briefly summarized. First, the statues were planned when the baldachin was to have its original form, with the Resurrected Christ above. Second, it seems clear that besides his own statue Bernini provided initial designs also for the Andrew and the Veronica. Presently we shall offer evidence that the same is true of Bolgi’s Helen. Each artist developed the prototype according to his own predilection; but the statues complement one another according to a unified scheme, as we shall also see, and this underlying conception can only have been Bernini’s. The significance of these observations will become apparent as we consider the sources and meaning of the figures and the overall programme. V. The Sources and Significance of the Statues St. Andrew and the First Version of St. Longinus The decisive change introduced by Bernini into the two-storey organization of the piers under Paul V lay in devoting the lower niches to monumental figures of the saints, and the upper niches to representations of the relics themselves. This new arrangement, already implicit in Bernini’s Veronica project early in 1627 (Fig. 48), involves a much more explicit reference than had obtained under Paul V to one in particular of the reliquary tabernacles in Old Saint Peter’s, namely that of Saint Andrew (Fig. 7). A

The St. Andrew is shown in the northwest niche in a view of the interior of Saint Peter’s in the Prado, signed by Filippo Gagliardi and dated 1640 (A. E. Perez Sanchez, Pintura italiana del S. XVII en España, Madrid, 1965, 279, Pl. 75). The statue had been installed in Oct., 1639, after the final decree and therefore certainly in the southeast niche. Incongruously, the reliquary niche above the St. Andrew shows the relief with the cross of St. Helen. It should be emphasized, finally, that all this had no bearing on the actual location of the relics; the Passion relics are kept in the Veronica niche and shown from there (see Moroni, Dizionario, CIII, 101 f.; P. Moretti, De ritu ostensionis sacrarum reliquiarum, Rome, 1721, 111), while St. Andrew’s head was reserved to the niche above St. Helen. We have a payment for the canopy over the niche of St. Helen in Nov., 1641, that is, long after the final disposition was made, in which it is stated that the St. Andrew relic was kept there (Pollak, 492; cf. 65 no. 54).

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representation of the apostle’s head held by angels decorated the upper story, and standing on the altar below was a colossal marble statue of the saint (Fig. 60).126 The relationship goes beyond general organization, however. The earlier statue, which was added to the fifteenth century tabernacle in 1570, also seems to be reflected in the figure of the saint executed by Duquesnoy (Fig. 50); the arrangement of the drapery is similar and the figure holds the cross behind him in the same distinctive way. The connection clearly forms part of the pattern of deliberate reminiscences of the old basilica’s monuments in the new crossing. Another antecedent that must be taken into account is an engraving (Fig. 61) from a series depicting the apostles by the Antwerp printmaker Adriaen Collaert (d. 1618).127 The saint is again placed in front of the cross, which consists of knotty cylindrical logs, and embraces it with his right arm; here, moreover, part of the mantle falls behind the cross at the right side, as in the marble. The link with Collaert’s engraving is of special interest because another series of prints by him — a life of St. Theresa printed first at Antwerp in 1613 and then at Rome before 1622 — later served as one of Bernini’s chief sources for his Chapel of Saint Teresa in Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome (begun 1647).128 The Duquesnoy figure is also inconceivable without still another model, by which the earlier images were brought up to date; this is Domenichino’s famous depiction of St. Andrew in Apotheosis on the vault of the choir of Sant’Andrea della Valle (Fig. 62). Domenichino had executed the fresco late in 1624, a few years before Bernini submitted his design for the St. Andrew niche in April, 1628.129 While the colossal scale and details of pose and drapery come from the earlier sculpture and the engraving, Domenichino provided the basic conception of the saint, with nude torso, head tilted back and to the right, and arms extended upward in a gesture of helpless yearn-

126 C. De Fabriczy, ‘La statua di Sant’Andrea all’ingresso della sagrestia in San Pietro’, L’Arte, 4, 1901, 67 ff. 127 The similarity was first noted in print by Hess (‘Notes sur Duquesnoy’, 30 f.), who cites R. Berliner. 128 This relationship will be explored at length in my forthcoming study of the Saint Teresa chapel. 129 The Apotheosis scene seems to have been the first of the frescoes carried out by Domenichino in the choir and pendentives of Sant’Andrea; a payment of 26 scudi in Dec., 1624, evidently refers to it. The main body of the decoration was executed during 1626–27, and the latest payment to Domenichino is in Feb., 1628. See A. Boni, La chiesa di S. Andrea

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ing.130 As if to acknowledge his debt to Domenichino’s work, Bernini had it virtually duplicated soon thereafter on the vault of the chapel under the northwest pier, originally dedicated to St. Andrew (Fig. 63).131 Indeed, the Domenichino fresco long continued to be an important source of inspiration for Bernini. His vision of the saint rising on a cloud in the apse of Sant’Andrea al Quirinale (begun 1658) seems to translate Domenichino’s image into three dimensions (Fig. 64).132 The realization that Bernini was responsible for the basic conception of the St. Andrew — whose power and monumentality is without precedent or

della Valle (Conferenza letta all’Associazione Archeologica romana la sera dell’8 Dic. 1907), Rome, 1908, 21; Hess, Die Künstlerbiographien, 48 n. 5; H. Hibbard, ‘The Date of Lanfranco’s Fresco in the Villa Borghese and Other Chronological Problems’, in Misc. Bibl. Hertz., 357 f., 364; Borea, Domenichino, 184. 130 The pose, gesture, and expression for an upward soaring figure are characteristic of Domenichino, and recur frequently in his work (cf. Borea, Domenichino, Pls. 28, 47, 67, 81 f.). The statue’s connection with Domenichino, though not with the Sant’Andrea fresco, has been noted by J. Pope-Hennessy, Italian High Renaissance and Baroque Sculpture, London, 1963, text vol. p. 109, and Nava Cellini, ‘Duquesnoy e Poussin’, 41. Nava Cellini (pp. 40 f.) revives the attribution to Duquesnoy of a terra-cotta model of St. Andrew in Sant’Andrea delle Fratte, which had been rejected by Fransolet (‘Le S. André de Duquesnoy’, 243 n. 4) and Hess (Die Künstlerbiographien, 110 n.1; ‘Notes sur Duquesnoy’, 31 f.). The tilt of the head in the opposite direction seems sufficient, in the present context, to exclude it as a study for the Saint Peter’s figure; indeed, the model has close analogies to the statue of the saint by Camillo Rusconi in the Lateran (cf. A. Riccoboni, Roma nell’arte. La scultura nell’evo moderno dal Quattrocento ad oggi, Rome, 1942, Pl. 315). 131 Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 220. 132 The similarity has also been pointed out by M. Fagiolo Dell’Arco, Domenichino ovvero classicismo del primo Seicento, Rome, 1963, 92. We may note that it was probably also from Dornenichino’s frescoes — the allegories in the choir in Sant’Andrea della Valle and the pendentives there and in San Carlo ai Catinari (1627–31) — that Bernini developed his famous technique of stucco spilling over the architectural frame. Bernini is usually credited with the invention of this device, which he introduced in the reliquary niches in Saint Peter’s (Figs. 53–56) and elaborated further in his Cappella Pio in Sant’Agostino (begun 1644); in fact, it has a long prior history, with which I hope to deal in my study of the Chapel of Saint Teresa. The allegory in the choir of Sant’Andrea della Valle variously identified as Hope, Chastity, or Voluntary Poverty seems, along with the figure of Andromeda in the Galleria Farnese, to have contributed to Bernini’s figure of Truth in the Borghese Gallery (begun

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sequel in Duquesnoy’s work133 — helps to clarify its intimate relation to Bernini’s own St. Longinus (Fig. 51). They are analogous in pose, in psychological expression, and in the arrangement of their drapery.134 But it must be emphasized that the similarity is not primarily a matter of both works having been conceived by the same artist, nor did it result simply from a desire to set up a harmonious echo between the two statues. Rather, it was created in response to an anomalous situation with which Bernini was confronted when it came to the final execution of his figure. In its present form the statue represents Longinus as if standing at the foot of the Cross, at the moment when, having pierced Christ’s side, he suddenly recognizes Christ’s divinity and is converted. He looks up enraptured and thrusts his arms out as if in emphatic imitation of Christ’s pose upon the Cross.135 The fact is, however, that Bernini did not originally plan to represent St. Longinus in this fashion. We have a record of the figure he first intended to pair with St. Andrew in one of the scenes in the vault of the chapel in the grotto that was meant for Longinus (Figs. 65, 66).136 These frescoes, as we have noted, were carried out under Bernini’s direction mainly during 1630 — beginning in January, almost immediately after the four statues were commissioned — and 1631, with the final payments coming in January, 1633. That the scene dates from early in the campaign is indicated by the fact that the upper niche does not yet show the decoration executed subsequently also on Bernini’s design, whereas the design for this

1646). The painter’s influence is evident in Bernini’s work as early as the St. Bibiana 1624–26) in the Church of Santa Bibiana, which is related to the figure of St. Cecilia in Domenichino’s fresco in San Luigi dei Francesi, showing St. Cecilia before the judge (Borea, Domenichino, Pl. 29). 133 Duquesnoy’s only other monumental figure, the St. Susanna in Santa Maria di Loreto, is profoundly different in conception (see p. 164 below). 134 Bernini repeated the knot of drapery at the left in the Countess Matilda (Fig. 75) and in the Christ of the Pasce Oves Meas in Saint Peter’s. In light of the documentation concerning the genesis of the St. Andrew, the view of the relationship between Bernini and Duquesnoy suggested by Nava Cellini (‘Duquesnoy e Poussin’, 45, 59 n. 47) should be reversed. (See also n. 174 below, and Addenda.) 135 Kauffmann has, in my opinion rightly, revived this interpretation of Bernini’s figure (cf. his ‘Berninis Tabenakel’, 233; ‘Berninis Hl. Longinus’, 369). 136 The scene anticipates the transferral of the relic to this pier, and is inscribed on the painted frame: In hoc conditorium Urbano VIII Pont. Max. iussu, solemni pompa Ferrum Lancea infertur; cf. Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 209.

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decoration, in which the twisted columns support triangular pediments, does appear in one of the frescoes of the Veronica chapel (Figs. 67, 68). This shows Bernini kneeling before the pope and presenting his drawing for the reliquary niches.137 Work on the upper niches began in 1633, shortly after the paintings were finished, and it is likely that this sketch dates from toward the end of the campaign in the grotto, that is, the late summer of 1632. The Longinus depicted in the fresco already shows basic elements of the final solution. The figure is oriented toward its right, holding the spear in the extended right hand, head tilted to the side and upward. A huge cloak envelops the shoulders and sweeps forward across the hips. The most notable differences from the final work are the right foot raised on the helmet and the left hand placed across the breast. The figure would thus have been more self-contained and passive than the present Longinus, rather more akin in mood, though less so in pose, to the St. Andrew. Above all, it is clear that at this stage in the figure’s development there was no hint of the Crucifixion simile. In fact, at the time this version was planned to accompany the St. Andrew, the baldachin was to be topped not by a cross and globe but by the Resurrected Christ. These original relationships were evidently based upon a specific tradition in which Andrew and Longinus had long been closely linked. The tradition centred at Mantua, where in the Church of Sant’Andrea is preserved the relic of the Precious Blood of Christ, which Longinus was supposed to have collected from the wound he had made in Christ’s side with his lance.138 Longinus, who according to one tradition was a native of Mantua, and was ultimately martyred there, brought the Precious Blood with him after the revelation of Christ’s divinity at the Crucifixion.139 Andrew was associated with the relic by virtue of the fact that on two sep-

137 The fresco is inscribed: Sacellum Beatae Veronicae cum tribus aliis Urbanus VIII extruendum iubet; cf. Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 200 f. 138 Attention was first called to the Mantuan tradition in this context by Kauffmann, ‘Berninis Tabernakel’, 233 f., and ‘Berninis Hl. Longinus’, 365; its quattrocento manifestations have been studied by M. Horster, ‘Mantuae Sanguis Preciosus’. WRJb, 25, 1963, 151 ff. 139 On Longinus legends, cf. Acta sanctorum, Antwerp, 1643 ff., s.v. ‘March 15’. The most important compilation of the Mantuan traditions is Donesmondi, Dell’istoria ecclesiastica di Mantova; the view that Longinus was Mantuan is maintained by G. Magagnati, La vita di S. Longino martire cavalier mantoano . . . , Venice, 1605, preface.

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64. Bernini, Apotheosis of St. Andrew. Rome, Sant’Andrea al Quirinale.

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65. Saint Peter’s, vault of southeast grotto chapel (originally dedicated to St. Longinus). Transferral of the Lance of St. Longinus,

66. Detail of Fig. 65.

143

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67. Saint Peter’s, vault of southwest grotto chapel (dedicated to St. Veronica). Bernini Presenting the Design for the Reliquary Niches to Pope Urban VIII.

68. Detail of Fig. 67.

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69. Mantua, Sant’Andrea, Ancona of Chapel of the Precious Blood.

145

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arate occasions, in 804 and 1049, when it had been hidden and its whereabouts forgotten, he had appeared miraculously to bring about its rediscovery. The two saints were also linked through the Holy Lance at Saint Peter’s which, having been hidden from the Saracens at Antioch, was recovered in 1098 upon another apparition of the apostle.140 This Mantuan tradition had given rise to numerous representations in which the two saints were paired.141 In most of these, and in images showing Longinus paired with other saints (cf. Fig. 70), the figures are depicted in relation to the relic itself. In the chapel of Sant’Andrea that belonged to the Confraternity of the Precious Blood and the Order of the Redeemer, the wooden ancona decorating the altar wall has carved figures of Sts. Andrew and Longinus in the attic zone; flanking the altar niche below are twisted columns decorated with eucharistic vine scrolls (Fig. 69).142 Bernini’s general concept is foreshadowed by another work in the Mantuan tradition, which pairs Longinus with St. Barbara:143 the title page of a poetic life of St. Longinus published in 1605 (Fig. 70).144 The engraving, signed by Wolfgang Kilian, shows the two saints standing before a frontispiece with a pediment whose sides have a scroll-like curve. St. Longinus, who has thrown off his military garb, holds the lance in his right hand and extends his left; St. Barbara’s right hand is thrown across her breast. They look up 140 J. Bosio, La trionfante e gloriosa croce, Rome, 1610, 121; Severano, Memorie sacre, 1, 161; cf. Kauffmann, ‘Berninis Tabernakel’, 233. 141 Many are mentioned and reproduced in P. Pelati, La Basilica di S. Andrea, Mantua, 1952 (cf. Pls. 58, 83, 87, 92, 113 f.). 142 The ancona is ascribed to G. B. Viani and datable ca. 1600 (cf. E. Mariani and C. Perina, Mantova. Le arti, III, Mantua, 1965, 179, 372, 693, and the bibliography cited there). 143 The Church of Saint Barbara in Mantua was the ducal chapel, and a portion of the Precious Blood had been transferred there (Donesmondi, Istoria ecclesiastica, II, 354). 144 Magagnati, La vita di S. Longino; on Magagnati cf. Ianus Nicius Erythraeus (G. V. Rossi), Pinacotheca, Cologne, 1645, 168 f., and E. A. Cicogna, Illustri muranesi richiamati alla memoria . . . Venice, 1858, 17 f. The poem describes the moment of Longinus’ conversion as follows (p. 7): Onde qual suole Aquila altera, il guardo Nel Sol di Verità sicuro assisa E rapito il contempla, e homai comprende L’uom’morto vivo Dio, già chiaro scorge Viva la vita haver la Morte estinta, Onde esclamò con voce alta e sonante Veramente di Dio questi era il Figlio.

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worshipfully toward the reliquary of the Precious Blood, which is held by two putti. The whole arrangement strikingly anticipates that at Saint Peter’s, even to the pairs of winged putti who display the papal and apostolic insignia from the horizontal entablatures between the scrolls of the baldachin (Fig. 59). Of particular interest also are certain examples that seem to reflect a great controversy of the 1460s, concerning whether the blood Christ shed at the Crucifixion was reunited to His body at the Resurrection; if it was, relics of the blood could not be venerable.145 A famous engraving by Mantegna (Fig. 71) shows Andrew and Longinus flanking the Resurrected Christ — exactly the juxtaposition originally planned for the crossing of Saint Peter’s, where the saints were to look up toward the figure of Christ on the baldachin between them.146 There was good reason to refer to this Mantuan tradition beyond the simple fact that it provided precedence for linking Andrew and Longinus. Pius II had held a solemn disputation on the subject of the Precious Blood in 1462, and though no final decision was made, his sympathy was entirely with those who affirmed its venerability.147 It was also Pius II who, in the same year, acquired the head of St. Andrew and had built for it the tabernacle at the entrance to Old Saint Peter’s. This fact is duly recorded in the inscription above St. Andrew’s niche and in the frescoes of his chapel in the grotto.148 It is also possible that the reference to Mantua was of more than religious and historical significance. With the death of Vincenzo II Gonzaga in December, 1627, and the extinction of the main Gonzaga line, the already vexed question of the succession to the Duchy of Mantua became critical. The papacy was directly threatened, and this was one of Urban 145 Cf. Pastor, III, 286 ff.; Donesmondi, Istoria ecclesiastica, II, 11 ff. On the possible repercussions of this dispute in the Sistine Chapel and Raphael’s Disputo, cf. respectively Ettlinger, The Sistine Chapel, 83 f., and F. Hartt, ‘ ‘Lignum Vitae in Medio Paradisi’. The Stanza d’Eliodoro and the Sistine Ceiling’, AB, 32, 1950, 116 n. 6. 146 On the engraving see G. Paccagnini, et al., Andrea Mantegna, Venice, 1961, 199. Mantegna also depicted the two saints twice at Sant’Andrea in Mantua, in the tondo of the pediment and in the atrium; in the latter case they were shown with the Ascension of Christ above the portal (ibid., and Donesmondi, Istoria ecclesiastica, II, 49). After closing the dispute in 1462 Pius II had ordered that the relic be shown each year on Ascension Day (Donesmondi, Istoria ecclesiastica, II, 16). 147 Cf. Pastor, III, 286 ff. 148 Pastor, III, 258 ff. For the inscription, see Forcella, Iscrizioni, VI, 148 n. 148. The scenes depicting Pius II’s reception of the head are described in Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 222 ff.

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VIII’s most pressing concerns during the period in which the statues were being planned. He decreed two extraordinary universal jubilees in the interests of peace, in April, 1628, and October, 1629. But his conciliatory efforts were futile and events soon led to a conflict that was one of the major episodes of the Thirty Years War.149 But most important, surely, was the fact that the Mantuan tradition made it possible to relate Andrew and Longinus in a meaningful way to the baldachin and altar, and to the other saints in the crossing. It introduced a distinction — the significance of which will emerge presently — between the upper part of the baldachin, where Andrew and Longinus focus their attention, and the altar below. St. Veronica and St. Helen Despite their obvious stylistic differences it is evident that the two female statues were also conceived as a pair (Figs. 49, 52). This becomes especially clear when it is recalled that the Helen was to face the Veronica from the opposite pier (cf. Text Fig. B). Their relationship is with the lower part of the baldachin rather than its crown, and by their poses, glances, and gestures, they form a kind of contrapuntal embrace of the crossing. Both figures stride toward the baldachin in the centre: Veronica’s face is turned to the worshipper approaching from the nave, while her arms extend the Volto Santo toward the area behind the altar; Helen would have displayed the Nails in the direction of the nave, while her glance was focused on the worshipper in front of the altar.150 The intensely active role of the Veronica and 149 See R. Quazza, Mantova e Monferrato nella politica europea alla vigilia della guerra per la successione (1624–27), Mantua, 1922 (Pubblicazioni della R. Accademia virgiliana, Ser. II, Misc. no. 3) and La guerra per la successione di Mantova e del Monferrato (1628–31), 2 Vols., Mantua, 1926 (ibid., Misc. nos. 5–6). On the pope’s role, cf. Pastor, XXVIII, 201 ff. 150 It will be seen that the actions of the female figures take the spectator into account, as opposed to the males’ complete absorption in the miraculous event above. This, too, reflects the relatively more mundane concerns of the non-virgins non-martyrs, as compared with the male martyrs. The kind of contrapuntal composition seen in the Veronica and the Helen has its immediate forerunner in Bernini’s work in the bust of Cardinal Bellarmino in the Gesù (1623–24); here the face turns with a rapt expression to the worshiper approaching the choir, while the hands clasped in prayer are directed toward the office at the altar. The space is thus charged with a dramatic implication that forms the prelude to Bernini’s conception of the crossing of Saint Peter’s. See the comments in my ‘Five New Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of His Early Works’, to appear in AB, 50, Sept., 1968.

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the noble calm of the Helen present, furthermore, a clearly calculated contrast. The Veronica was, as we have seen, preceded by an early project by Bernini (Fig. 48); but Mochi’s highly personal interpretation seems to owe much to the depiction of Veronica by Pontormo in Santa Maria Novella in Florence (Fig. 72). Mochi was born near Florence and received his early training there under the painter Santi di Tito. His strong allegiance to his Florentine artistic heritage has been emphasized since the earliest biography.151 It is perhaps relevant that Urban VIII was also a native of Florence, where he received his early education. Mochi’s reference to Pontormo’s figure may have been considered appropriate because the painting decorated the ‘Chapel of the Popes’ in Santa Maria Novella. It had been executed on the occasion of the visit of Leo X, another Florentine, in 1515.152 That pope had shown considerable interest in the Volto Santo, and issued bulls concerning its display.153 Indeed, the pose of Pontormo’s figure, the drawn curtains behind, and the accompanying inscriptions seem to allude specifically to the rite of displaying the relic.154 At the same time, important changes were introduced in the context at Saint Peter’s. Through the figure’s motion and expression the essentially ritualistic character of Pontormo’s image is given a dramatic immediacy which suggests that the Passion is actually in progress. The St. Helen by Bolgi, who was Bernini’s assistant and close follower, is undoubtedly a far more accurate imitation of the master’s model. The presence of Bernini’s guiding mind can perhaps best be appreciated by considering the source of Bolgi’s statue: a painting of St. Helen by Rubens, his 151 Cf. Passeri, in Hess, Die Künstlerbiographien, 130. The Veronica has been compared with a figure from an ancient Niobid group (A. Muñoz, ‘La scultura barocca e l’antico’, L’Arte, 19, 1916, 133), and with a figure from a painting by Santi di Tito in the Vatican (J. Hess, ‘Nuovi aspetti dell’arte di Francesco Mochi’, Bd’Arte, 29, 1935–36, 309). 152 On the Cappella de’ Pontefici and its association with no less than four popes, cf. V. Fineschi, Memorie sopra il cimitero antico della chiesa di S. Maria Novella di Firenze, Florence, 1787, 36; for recent bibliography, J. Cox Rearick, The Drawings of Pontormo, Cambridge, Mass., 1964, 1, 106. 153 Cf. Collectionis bullarum, II, 374. Awareness in the early seventeenth century of Leo’s interest is indicated by the fact that his bulls are quoted by Grimaldi in his treatise on the Volto Santo, along with a notice from Leo’s diarist of showings of the relics on Easter and Ascension Days, 1514 (Opusculum, fols. 69r and v). 154 The inscriptions are transcribed in F. M. Clapp, Jacopo Carucci da Pontormo, His Life and Work, New Haven, Conn-London, 1916, 124.

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first dated work, executed in 1601–1602 while he was in Rome (Fig. 73).155 The massive proportions of the figure and its drapery, the pose and gesture with extended left arm, the huge cross projecting diagonally out of the picture space have all been transferred to the marble. The most significant difference is that the heavenward gaze of the eyes has been lowered. But a number of other changes have been introduced as well: notably, the outer swathe of drapery is now pulled to one side and joined at the hip, and the left leg, no longer moving forward, is flexed and to the rear of the right leg. Both feet are exposed and wear clog-like sandals. In part, as we shall see presently, these changes may reflect a study of ancient statuary, but the main inspiration seems again to have come from a work by Rubens: the figure of St. Domitilla in the right wing of his altarpiece in Santa Maria in Vallicella, also painted in Rome, in 1608 (Fig. 74).156 Between the time that Bolgi completed the model of the St. Helen and the time he began the final work, Bernini repeated the basic formula almost exactly in his figure of the Countess Matilda on her tomb in Saint Peter’s (begun 1633; Fig. 75);157 the similarities here include the arrangement of the drapery at the breast, the facial type, even the coiffure. In the Matilda, however, the positions of the arms have been reversed, and they are now virtually identical with those of Rubens’ St. Domitilla. As with the St. Andrew of Duquesnoy, Bolgi’s St. Helen is unique for the artist who executed it, but fits integrally into Bernini’s own development.158 Rubens’ painting of St. Helen hung until the eighteenth century in the chapel dedicated to her in the Basilica of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, whence Urban VIII removed the portion of the True Cross for the fourth Now in the Hospital at Grasse, France, along with two companion pictures, The Crowning with Thorns and The Raising of the Cross. Cf. C. Rubens, Correspondance de Rubens, Antwerp, 1887, I, 41 ff.; M. Rooses, L’oeuvre de Pierre-Paul Rubens, Antwerp, 1889, 11, 281 f.; most recently, M. De Maeyer, ‘Rubens in de Altaarstukkcn in het Hospitaal te Grasse’, Gentse Bijdragen tot de Kunstgeschiedenis, 14, 1953, 75 ff. 156 M. Jaffé, ‘Peter Paul Rubens and the Oratorian Fathers’, Proporzioni, 4, 1963, 209 ff.; G. Incisa della Rocchetta, ‘Documenti editi e inediti sui quadri del Rubens nella Chiesa Nuova’, AttiPontAcc, Ser. III, Rendiconti, xxxv, 1962–63, 161 ff. 157 The relationship is so close that, as Wittkower has observed, the Matilda has even been attributed to Bolgi, though the documents show he was responsible only for secondary details (Art and Architecture in Italy 1600–1750, 2nd ed., Harmondsworth, etc., 1965, 201). 158 The St. Helen is Bolgi’s only piece of monumental religious statuary. Cf. V. Martinelli, ‘Contributi alla scultura del seicento. V. Andrea Bolgi a Roma e a Napoli’, Commentari, 10, 1959, 137 ff.; A. Nava Cellini, ‘Ritratti di Andrea Bolgi’, Paragone, 13, no. 147, 1962, 24 ff. 155

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crossing pier in Saint Peter’s. Santa Croce has the most ancient and hallowed associations with the mother of Constantine.159 It was founded in the Sessorian palace, which had belonged to her, and she was supposed to have installed the chapel that bears her name in her own chamber. The church possesses — besides three remaining fragments of the True Cross — a nail, thorns from the crown, and the Title of the Cross, which Helen was believed to have brought back from Jerusalem.160 Part of the appeal Rubens’ work held, therefore, probably lay in what might almost be called the ‘authenticity’ of its location. This may also be the explanation for the marked similarities, in figure type, pose, and drapery arrangement, between Bolgi’s St. Helen and an authentic classical prototype still existing in Santa Croce, over the same altar that Rubens’ painting once decorated (Fig. 76). When the painting was removed toward the middle of the eighteenth century, it was replaced by an ancient statue restored (chiefly the head and arms) to represent St. Helen in a kind of composite imitation of Rubens and Bolgi. There is good reason to identify the figure now on the altar with a statue of the Empress Helen that had been found in a mid-sixteenth century excavation in the garden behind the church.161 Still more important as a key to the relevance of Rubens’ painting for the program at Saint Peter’s are the Solomonic columns of Saint Peter’s that appear in the background. They are employed in such a way — under the arches of a larger building, with no sign of a superstructure and with a drape hanging from the architrave — that might easily suggest a kind of tabernacle. Their presence in the picture is explained by a tradition current at the time the crossing of Saint Peter’s was being planned, according to which it was precisely the Empress Helen who had obtained them in Jerusalem.162 Shown thus with the columns, Helen is represented as if she were actually in Jerusalem. In fact, this topographical identification is explicit in the very name of the basilica, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. The identification, moreover, was not merely metaphorical. When Helen returned to Rome, R. Krautheimer, Corpus basilicarum christianarum Romae, Vatican, 1, 1937, 165 ff. Rubens includes the Crown of Thorns and Title of the Cross, Bolgi includes the Nails, and the Title appears in the relief of the reliquary niche above. On the relics in Santa Croce see B. Bedini, Le reliquie sessoriane della Passione del Signore, Rome, 1956. 161 On the statue in Santa Croce, presumably an earlier work reused in the second quarter of the fourth century, see my note, ‘An Ancient Statue of the Empress Helen Reidentified(?)’, AB, 49, 1967, 58 ff. 162 Panciroli, Tesori nascosti, 532. 159 160

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71. Mantegna, Sts. Andrew and Longinus with the Resurrected Christ, engraving. London, Victoria and Albert Museum.

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70. Wolfgang Kilian, title page of G. Magagnati, La Vita di S. Longino, 1605.

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72. Pontormo, St. Veronica. Florence, Santa Maria Novella, ‘Chapel of the Popes”.

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74. Rubens, Sts. Nereus, Domitilla, and Achilleus. Rome, Santa Maria in Vallicella (photo: Alinari).

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73. Rubens, St. Helen. Grasse, Hospital (formerly in Rome, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme).

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76. Ancient statue restored as St. Helena. Rome, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Chapel of Saint Helen.

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75. Bernini, monument of Matilda of Tuscany. Rome, Saint Peter’s (photo: Alinari).

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78. St. Longinus, drawing after Bernini. Bassano, Museo Civico.

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77. Bernini, bozzetto for St. Longinus. Cambridge, Mass., Fogg Art Museum.

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79. M. Ferrabosco, Project for ciborium. (From Architettura di S. Pietro, pl. 27).

80. Detail of Fig. 79.

157

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according to the legend, her ship was loaded with the earth from under the Cross that Christ had bathed with his blood. This venerable earth she placed in the lower part of her room, and it thus underlies the pavement of the chapel dedicated to her, of which Rubens’ painting was the altarpiece. The story is told in a long inscription in majolica tiles lining the passageway that leads to the chapel. It celebrates a miraculous rediscovery of the Title of the Cross in 1492, which was the occasion for a major restoration of the chapel preceding the one for which Rubens’ painting was made. The inscription explains not only the ‘meaning’ of the chapel, but also its implication for Saint Peter’s: This holy chapel is called Jerusalem because St. Helen, mother of Constantine the Great, returning from Jerusalem in the year of our Lord 321, having rediscovered the insignia of the Lord’s victory, constructed it in her own chamber; and having brought back in her ship holy earth of Mount Calvary upon which the blood of Christ was poured out for the price of human redemption, and by the power of which entrance to the Heavenly Jerusalem was opened to mortals, she filled it to the lowest vault. For this reason the chapel itself and the whole basilica and all Rome deserved to be called the second Jerusalem, where the Lord for the strength of its faith wished to be crucified a second time in Peter, and where it is believed that the veneration of one God and the indeficient faith, by the prayers of the Lord and the favour of Peter, will remain until the last coming of the judging Lord in Rome, the sublime and mighty and therefore the truer Jerusalem.163 The process of what might be called ‘topographical transfusion’ of Jerusalem to Rome is here clearly delineated, and it is linked specifically to the ‘second sacrifice’ in the person of St. Peter. In imitating Rubens’ picture, and creating the same juxtaposition of St. Helen and the Solomonic columns, Bernini was continuing the topograph163 SACRA VLTERIOR CAPPELLA  DICTA HIERVSALEM  Q, BEATA HELENA MAGNI CONSTANTINI MATER  HIEROSOLYMA REDIENS  ANNO  DOMINI  CCCXXI: DOMINICI TROPHEI INSIGNIIS REPERTIS: IN PROPRIO EAM CVBICVLO EREXERIT: TERRAQ, SANCTA MONTIS CALVARIAE NAVI INDE ADVECTA SVPRA QVAM CHRISTI SANGVIS EFFVSVVS FVIT REDEMPTIONIS HVMANAE PRAECIVM: CVIVSQ, VIGORE IN CELESTEM HIERVSALEM MORTALIBVS ADITVS PATVIT: AD PRIMVM VSQ, INFERIOREM FORNICEM

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ical transfusion to Saint Peter’s itself. When we recall the passage in Tiberio Alfarano quoted near the beginning of this study (Section II, p. 101 above), identifying the setting of the tomb and altar at Saint Peter’s with that of the Temple, the cycle of associations is closed. From all these considerations it is evident that for Bernini the crossing of Saint Peter’s had a specific topographical meaning. Both in a real and in a figurative sense it was Jerusalem, the place where salvation was achieved and is continually renewed. This ultimately is the meaning of the baldachin and its crown and of the figures in the piers. The women concentrate upon the Passion and sacrifice at the altar, the men upon the resurrection and redemption above, as if at the very time and place that the events occurred.164

REPLEVERIT  EX QVO SACELLVM IPSVM ET TOTA BASILICA AC VNIVERSA VRBS: SECVNDA HIERVSALEM MERVIT APPELLARI  APVD QAM [SIC] ET DÑS AD ILLIVS ROBVR FIDEI: IN PETRO ITERVM CRVCIFIGI VOLVIT  VBIQ, VNIVS DEI VENERATIO AC FIDES INDEFICIENS: ET DOMINI PRAECIBVS ET PETRI FAVORE: AD VLTIMVM VSQ DÑI IVDICANTIS ADVENTVM IN VRBE SVBLINI ET VALENTE AC INDE VERIORE HIERVSALEM: CREDITVR PERMANSVRA  For the rest of the inscription, cf. Forcella, Iscrizioni, VIII, 187. See now I. Toesca, ‘A Majolica Inscription in Santa Croce in Gerusalemme’, in Essays in the History of Art Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, London, 1967, 102 ff. 164 This vertical distinction may also be reflected in the ornaments of the upper reliquary niches in the piers (Figs. 53–56).The panels of the socle zone beneath the twistcd columns contain (with certain exceptions; see n. 121 above) symbols of the Passion (crown of thorns and crossed reeds, gauntlets and lantern, bag of coins, scourges, hammer and tongs, nails and loincloth, ewer and basin), while above, on the frieze of the entablature, are (besides Barberini bees) paired dolphins with scallop shells, early emblems of salvation. Bernini’s interpretation of the crossing as a whole is foreshadowed by the sacrament altar of Clement VIII in the Lateran, which we have seen was also an important part of the prehistory of the baldachin (see pp. 110 f. above). In niches flanking the altar, on the back and lateral walls of the transept end (partially visible in Fig. 42), are four monumental statues of Old Testament personages who prefigure the sacrament and the priestly sacrifice (Aaron, Melchisadek, Moses, Elijah). All four figures look toward the altar as if to witness the enactment of the sacrament. The figure on the lateral wall at the right strides toward the altar, in a motion anticipating that of Mochi’s Veronica (Fig. 42A). Of considerable interest in this context, also, are the medals of Clement VIII struck in commemoration of the sacrament, which show the altar. In one of these (cited n. 81 above) the structure is shown normally, with the silver reliquary relief of the Last Supper situated high on the wall above the ciborium. In a second medal, the scene is enlarged to fill the whole space within the altar (Buonanni, Num. pont., II, Fig. XII; examples in the Bibl. Vat. and the Bibl. Nat.). The structure of the altar itself thus serves as the ‘large upper room’ (Mark 14:15; Luke 22:12), with the Last Supper actually taking place inside.

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The Development of the Longinus When it was determined to replace the Resurrected Christ by a cross and globe, traditional symbols of the universal dominion of Christianity, this original plan for the crossing was no longer tenable. Bernini dealt with the new situation, typically, by exploiting it, finding a solution that expressed his underlying point of view even more vividly than before. He interpreted the cross not simply as an emblem of the Church, but as an allusion to a real event. The sacrifice was now represented twice, in effect, at the altar and above the baldachin, and the Andrew and Longinus were now to be related to the same theme as were the Veronica and Helen. It happened that the Andrew might easily be understood as an analogue of the Crucifixion. Andrew was martyred by crucifixion, and one of the most familiar episodes of his legend was his having fallen to his knees to worship the cross as he was being led to his death.165 Thus, although the pose was derived from the apotheosis image of Domenichino, no change was required for the figure to carry the new meaning: that is, not enthrallment at the sight of the Resurrection, but imitation of the Crucifixion. In fact, the executed figure is identical with the full-scale model done while the baldachin was still to be crowned by the Risen Christ.166 The only difficulty presented by St. Andrew was the relic. St. Andrew’s head, alone among the relics involved, had no reference to the Passion. This may explain one of the most remarkable of all the anomalies presented by the crossing: in the reliquary niche above Duquesnoy’s statue is represented not the head of St. Andrew, but his cross (Fig. 54).167 Seen in this light, the motivation for the change in the Longinus becomes clear. The original pose, in contrast to Andrew’s, could not be interpreted as referring to the Passion, and a radical reworking of the figure was necessary. This process must have taken place within a relatively short period between the execution of the fresco in the grotto chapel, probably in the first half of 1630, and the beginning of the full-scale model in the summer of 1631. Two intermediate stages have been preserved. In a bozzetto in 165 A survey of St. Andrew iconography will be found in H. Martin, Saint André, Paris, 1928; H. Aurenhammer, Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, Vienna, 1959 ff., 132 ff. 166 An engraving after Duquesnoy’s model, dated 1629, is reproduced by Fransolet, ‘Le S. André de Duquesnoy’, Pl. IV opp. p. 247. 167 Perhaps this is also the explanation for the fact that the altarpiece in the grotto chapel represents Andrew worshiping the cross rather than his actual martyrdom, as in the case of St. Longinus.

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the Fogg Museum, the figure has been brought very close to the St. Andrew (Fig. 77; cf. Fig. 50).168 Both arms are now extended, and the drapery, instead of being joined at the neck, is knotted under the left elbow, resulting in a cascade of folds at the left hip and in the diagonal sweep across the right leg. The drapery at the right side practically duplicates the corresponding portion on the St. Andrew. The right foot is lowered and straightened, resting now on the shield, rather than the helmet, which has been shifted to lie beside the left foot. In some respects, however, the bozzetto is farther removed from the St. Andrew than the painted version (Fig. 66). The figure is tall, slim, wiry, and lithe. The knotting of the drapery creates taut, energetic lines of force in contrast to the loosely falling folds in the St. Andrew. The flat placement of the right foot gives the figure a second solid support, as against Andrew’s tilted foot with toes barely touching the ground. The drapery at the figure’s right and the strips of the epaulettes suggest a wind-caught movement. Above all, the right arm, which in both the painted study and in the St. Andrew is relaxed, is now thrust outward vigorously. In other words, while bringing the figure closer iconographically, as it were, Bernini introduces elements of an active dynamism that contrasts with the gentle receptivity of the St. Andrew. A drawing at Bassano, which seems to reflect a sketch or model by Bernini, probably represents an alternative solution at a slightly later stage (Fig. 78).169 The drapery is thrown open at the front and the agitated, broken folds intensify the idea of a sudden burst of revelation, barely suggested in the bozzetto. The shield has been removed, and certain details of the arrangement of the drapery at the figure’s right and the long, billowing edges of folds at the left are retained in the final work. The executed statue (Fig. 51) unites elements from both these antecedents. Bernini returns to the mass of drapery knotted in front of the 168 Height 52.7 cm.; Acq. no. 1937.51. First published by R. Norton, Bernini and Other Studies, New York, 1914, 46 no. 2, Pl. XII; acquired by the Fogg Art Museum in 1937. The bozzetto was analyzed by Kauffmann, ‘Berninis HI. Longinus’, 369 ff. The gilding may be original; the full-scale model of the Longinus was coloured (Pollak, no. 1774), but evidently the models of the other figures were not. 169 The drawing was first published as an original by C. Ragghianti, ‘Notizie e letture’, Critica d’Arte, 4, 1939, XVI Fig. 5; and later by L. Magagnato, ed., Catalogo della Mostra di disegni del Museo Civico di Bassano da Carpaccio a Canova, Venice, 1956, 40 no. 35. The view that it follows a Bernini study is here adopted from Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, 2nd ed., London, 1966, 197.

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body as in the terra cotta. But instead of being pulled into thin lines of tension, the drapery is crumpled into violent disarray, recalling but going far beyond the sketch. The right foot is flat on the ground while the martyr’s helmet and the hilt of his sword are at his left. Perhaps most important is a new element: the hipshot pose of all the earlier studies is straightened and stiffened, greatly augmenting the effect of electric excitement. It may be said that whereas in the original version the saint would have played a passive role in the Resurrection, he now plays an active role in the Passion. In this way, while creating a near counterpart of the St. Andrew, Bernini depicts through Longinus a contrasting religious experience. Though implying participation in Christ’s sacrifice rather than mourning over it, the contrast is analogous to that between Veronica and Helen. In sum, the substitution of the cross and globe for the Resurrected Christ atop the baldachin had no effect on three of the figures, but it led Bernini to interpret St. Longinus in a new way. The figure, though isolated and freestanding, is portrayed in its traditional narrative context.170 This very fact indicates, however, that Bernini’s attitude toward the crossing as a whole remained unchanged: he still conceived of it as if it were the site of a dramatic action, a second Jerusalem in fact, with Christ really present at its centre.171 170 It is perhaps significant that whereas the sources for the other figures were in more or less isolated representations of the saints, the closest parallels for Longinus are in scenes of the Crucifixion (cf. those by Giulio Romano and Lorenzo Lotto cited by Kauffmann, ‘Berninis HI. Longinus’, 367). Wittkower has observed a similarity between Longinus’ head and that of the Borghese Centaur in the Louvre (Gian Lorenzo Bernini, 37). 171 Symptomatic of this ‘active’ interpretation of the crossing are the inscriptions in the books held, along with swords, as the attributes of St. Paul by pairs of putti on the north and south sides of the baldachin (cf., Fig. 59). (Putti on the east and west sides hold the tiara and keys of St. Peter. These groups, in effect, replace the statues of the two apostles — parts of both of whose bodies were supposed to be preserved at Saint Peter’s — that were intended to adorn the balustrade of the confessio; see n. 111 above.) The books are open and each contains an inscription on four pages, only partially visible from the floor. On an occasion when the baldachin was being dusted one of the workmen transcribed the inscriptions for me as follows (the portions I was able to decipher confirm his readings):

North:

FRA TRE IVST IFIC

ATI EX  E DE  P CEM

LECT EPIST B  PAVLI AD

ROMA NOS FRA EXI

South:

FRA EXI QU NO

SUM C / DIGNA

LECTICO EPLAE B.PAVLI APLI A

ROMA NOS FRA: TRES

(partially visible in Fig. 59)

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VI. Conclusion We have spoken repeatedly of a ‘program’ for the crossing of Saint Peter’s. It has by now become obvious that this term is at best an approximation for an evolutionary process that took place over a considerable period and that was never fully realized. There is no evidence to suppose that all the details of the crossing were worked out in advance as a general scheme. The first steps in the reorganization of the relics were taken early in 1624, at the time the new baldachin was begun. Thereafter the two major elements of the plan, the baldachin and the decoration of the piers, developed pari passu, each undergoing basic changes long after work began. Even before the models were finished early in 1632, the form of the crown of the baldachin was being altered. And by the time the statues themselves were nearing completion later in the decade, ideas had so changed that they were not even installed in the positions for which they were intended. Nevertheless, the crucial period for the gestation of a plan that encompassed the entire crossing was probably between June of 1627, when it was decided to decorate all four niches, and December of 1629, when, the relic

Though fragmentary and garbled, the inscriptions clearly refer to two passages in Paul’s Epistle to the Romans: Iustificati ergo ex fide pacem habeamus per Dominum nostrum Iesum Christum (5:1); Existimo enim quod non sunt condignae passiones huius temporis ad futuram gloriam quae revelabitur in nobis (8:18). The appropriateness in this context of selections from the message to the Romans is evident. It is remarkable, however, that the texts are not quoted alone, but are accompanied by the prefatory phrase Lectio epistolae beati Pauli apostoli ad Romanos. Fratres:, which occurs in the missal, as if the liturgy were actually in progress. Both passages are quoted in succession in the Roman missal as alternate readings for the Common of the Martyrs (Missale romanum, Rome, 1635, Commune sanctorum, xvf.). The content of the passages also bears witness to the basic conception of the crossing that we have described, referring on the one hand to justification by faith, on the other to the sufferings (passiones) of this world. This distinction seems to echo that between the theological and temporal realms implicit in the references to the unity of the faith and the unity of the priesthood in the inscriptions on the friezes below the four pendentives: southwest, HINC VNA FIDES; northwest, MVNDO REFVLGIT; northeast, HINC SACERDOTII; southeast, VNITAS EXORITVR. These inscriptions, in turn, are subsumed beneath the inscription carried out under Paul V on the base of the dome, referring to the foundation of the church: TV ES PETRI . . . (Matthew 16:18–19). See Figs. 1, 53, 54, 59. (For documents for the dome inscription see Orbaan, ‘Abbruch’, 34, 35, 42, 45; 1 am uncertain of the date of the pendentive inscriptions, but presumably they were added after the time of Urban VIII.)

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of the True Cross having been acquired, models of the four statues were ordered. It was then, or shortly thereafter, that Bernini must have supplied the participating artists with their instructions.172 A crucial question, to which no very precise answer can be given, is how detailed these instructions were. Mochi (1580–1654) was much older than Bernini (1598–1680), a fully matured artist with a long series of monumental works to his credit. The Veronica is so deeply imbued with his personality that one can imagine his having received no more (but also no less) than a general orientation concerning the pattern of relationships to be portrayed.173 The case with Duquesnoy (1594–1643) and Bolgi (1605–1656) was different. Both had worked under Bernini on details of the baldachin, but Duquesnoy had theretofore produced only a single life-size work,174 Bolgi none. One may suppose that Bernini gave them much more explicit advice. The assumption that their figures are more or less accurate reflections of Bernini’s ideas is confirmed by the documentary and stylistic evidence presented earlier, and 172 We know that under Clement VIII, Cardinal Baronio supplied the subjects for the altarpieces in Saint Peter’s (Baglione, Vite, 110 f.), but there is no evidence for such an adviser for the work under Urban VIII. The documents indicate that the pope himself played an active part in the planning. 173 Bernini seems to have agreed with those who criticized the movement of Mochi’s figure as improper; at least, he made clever use of the criticism in his crushing answer to Mochi, who had joined the chorus blaming Bernini for the cracks that had appeared in the dome: Bernini felt extremely compassionate toward the forced and belabored agitation of the Veronica, since the defect was caused by the wind coming from the cracks in the dome, not the inadequacy of the sculptor (L. Pascoli, Vite de’ pittori, scultori, ed architetti moderni, 1st ed. Rome, 1730–36; facsimile ed. Rome, 1933, II, 416). 174 A Venus and Cupid, now lost (M. Fransolet, ‘François du Quesnoy sculpteur d’Urbain VIII 1597–1643’, Académie royale de Belgique, Classe des Beaux-arts, Mémoires, Ser. II, IX, 1942, 99 f.). The problem of the relative chronology of Duquesnoy’s St. Andrew and St. Susanna (see recently D. Mahon, ‘Poussiniana. Afterthoughts Arising fromthe Exhibition’, GBA, 60, 1962, 66 ff.; K. Noehles, ‘Francesco Duquesnoy: un busto ignoto e la cronologia delle sue opere’, AAntMod, no. 25, 1964, 91; Nava Cellini, ‘Duquesnoy e Poussin’, 46 ff.) is greatly facilitated by the knowledge that the design of the St. Andrew approved by the Congregation in June, 1628, was Bernini’s, not Duquesnoy’s (see p. 122 above). All the early biographies of Duquesnoy state that he owed the commission for the St. Andrew to the success of the St. Susanna. However, the first document mentioning him in connection with the latter work is a payment for marble in Dec., 1629 (execution of the figure did not come until 1631–33), whereas he had begun the full-scale model of the St. Andrew by May, 1629 (p. 122 above). If the biographers’ story is true, the success of the St. Susanna must have been based on a model of some sort. But this need not have been made before 1628, as has been maintained, but only before May, 1629.

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by the fact that, as we have also pointed out, the Saint Peter’s statues are in many respects quite untypical of their work as a whole. Once it is recognized that the basic conception of the figures must have been Bernini’s, what becomes striking is their diversity of mood, psychological as well as stylistic. It is tempting to explain these variations on the basis of chronology. Certainly the St. Andrew reached its definitive form first, when the model was finished in November, 1629. But with the acquisition of the True Cross in April, 1629 (a month before Duquesnoy began work on his model), all the constituents of the program were known, and it would be naive to presume that Bernini did not begin thinking of them in relation to one another. He must have had a good idea of what he wanted by the time the commissions were awarded at the end of that year. Except for the changes in the Longinus necessitated by the substitution of the cross and globe for the Risen Christ, whatever subsequent development took place at the hands of the individual artists must have started from a nucleus provided then. Thus, while an evolutionary process undoubtedly took place, the essential differences among the statues cannot be explained simply on this basis. Instead, they bear witness to Bernini’s capacity to adapt his expressive means to a particular interpretation of the figure. In each case, as we have seen, that interpretation was conditioned partly by a specific tradition or traditions, partly by the role the figure was to play in the overall program of the crossing. The figure of St. Helen is classical in form and shows emotion with noble restraint, not primarily because it was designed at a certain moment, nor because it was executed by Bolgi, but because it represents the empress mother of Constantine contemplating Christ’s Passion. Apart from the appearance of many motives and devices that recur later in Bernini’s work, much of the chronological significance of the crossing in his development lies precisely in this expressive range. Psychological drama had been one of Bernini’s chief interests from the beginning, but this had generally taken the form of relatively simple and strident contrasts. Here, the contrasts remain, but the variations are richer and subtler. These obserDuquesnoy claimed, according to Sandrart, that the St. Andrew was delayed because marble was deliberately withheld (by Bernini); cf. A. R. Peltzer, ed., Joachim von Sandrarts Academie der Bau-, Bild- und Mahlerey-Künste von 1675, Munich, 1925, 233. The documents show that only Bolgi, Mochi, and Bernini himself were affected by delays in the delivery of marbles (Pollak, Nos. 1722f.); Duquesnoy in fact received his marble and began working long before the others (p. 124 above).

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vations have a corollary in the realm of style, and help to explain a phenomenon such as the appearance, on the one hand, of violently broken drapery in the Longinus, and, on the other, of a pronounced ‘classicism’ in the Helen. These apparently contradictory innovations are in fact enrichments of Bernini’s formal vocabulary, just as the emotions the figures display are enrichments of his expressive range. The crossing of Saint Peter’s marks a vast widening, or, better, maturing, of Bernini’s vision. In the last analysis, however, the chronological importance of the crossing may lie less in the diversity of the individual elements than in the common bond by which they are related. In Saint Peter’s, for the first time, Bernini treats a volume of real space as the site of a dramatic action, in which the observer is involved physically as well as psychologically. The drama takes place in an environment that is not an extension of the real world, but is coextensive with it. And because the statues act as witnesses, the observer is associated with them and hence, inevitably, becomes a participant in the event. In this way, Bernini charged the space with a conceptual and visual unity so powerful that it overcomes every change in plan and disparity of style.

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Appendix I Checklist of projects for Baldachins, Ciboria, and Choirs in the apse of Saint Peter’s under Paul V and Gregory XV (1605–1632). As far as possible the entries pertaining to structures over the tomb are given first (nos. 1–15), to those in the choir second (nos. 16–27). Within this division the order is roughly chronological, except that entries related to the same project are listed together. No. 28 includes projects submitted under Urban VIII in competition with Bernini. 1. Project for a tabernacle in the crossing and a choir screen in the apse, anonymous drawing. Bibl. Vat., Arch. Cap. S. P., ‘Album’, Pl. 4 (Alfarano, De basil. vat., ed. Cerrati, 25n., Fig. 3 opp. p. 48; W. Lotz, ‘Die ovalen Kirchenraüme des Cinquecento’, RömJbK, 7, 1955, 72 ff., 73 Fig. 47; J. Wasserman, Ottaviano Mascarino and His Drawings in the Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome, 1966, 66 no. 234) (Fig. 29). Plan for the completion of Saint Peter’s with an oval atrium. Shows a screen with an altar flanked by two columns at the entrance to the apse; two groups of four columns, each group supporting a cross groin, flank the altar in the crossing. The total of ten columns suggests that the ancient spiral columns were intended (cf. n. 27 above). Cerrati associates the plan with a manuscript project by the architect Frausto Rughesi, a connection that has rightly been rejected by Lotz. Lotz attributes the drawing to Ottaviano Mascarino and dates it before 1606. The attribution to Mascarino is rejected by Wasserman. A date at the beginning of Paul V’s reign — that is, 1605/1606 — seems probable, since, as far as we know, the idea of a tabernacle over the tomb and a choir screen with altar in the apse did not appear before that time. 2. Project for a ciborium in the crossing, ca. 1620, drawing by Borromini, Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, no. 1443 (Fig. 14). The drawing proposes a ciborium with a polygonal cupola supported by straight columns over the tomb, to which a portal below gives entrance. Four allegories of virtues stand on the attic. The absence of lateral wings shows that

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168 it was intended for the crossing. The absence of an altar indicates that the high altar was to be located in the apse, where presumably the ancient spiral columns would be used. The project seems certainly to date from early in Paul’s reign, since the confessio built during the middle years is not taken into account. In that case the sheet would be a copy by Borromini of an earlier project (omitting the portion beneath the pavement), devised perhaps at the time the arrangements for the tomb and high altar were first being debated, that is, 1605–1606. The author of the project was doubtless Carlo Maderno, architect of Saint Peter’s and Borromini’s early mentor. The redrawing may have been made at the end of Paul V’s reign, when we know the question was reopened. It would thus be contemporary with another drawing by Borromini (Fig. 28; no. 26 below) of a project under Paul V, also presumably Maderno’s, for a ciborium in the apse, of which a model was actually built. It is conceivable, however, that the present redrawing was made a few years later when, in competition with Bernini, it seems another idea of Maderno’s was revived (see n. 55 above). Barring the unlikely possibility that, in the original scheme, Maderno contemplated having ciboria with cupolas both over the tomb and in the choir, it is reasonable to associate this project with the one reported by Fioravante Martinelli, in which Maderno would have decorated the high altar with spiral columns and a canopy (see pp. 83 f. and n. 53 above). Finally, it should be noted that the design closely anticipates Borromini’s later projects for the ciborium and confessio in the Latern (cf. Portoghesi, Borromini nella cultura europea, Figs. 263 ff.). 3. Model of baldachin over the tomb, 1606. Cf. pp. 80 f. above. 4. Canonization of Francesca Romana, 1608, fresco. Bibl. Vat., Galleria di Paolo V (Taja, Descrizione, 456; Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 309 n. 224) (Fig. 19). From a series carried out under Paul V. Shows the baldachin of Paul V essentially as in no. 7, though without temporary decorations. 5. Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, engraving by Giovanni Maggi. Bibl. Vat., Coll. Stampe (Figs. 2, 24). The apparatus for the canonization was designed by Girolamo Rainaldi, and is described in M. A. Grattarola, Successi maravigliosi della veneratione di S. Carlo, Milan, 1614, 218 ff. (A payment to Rainaldi for designs, probably for the canonization, is recorded in September, 1610; Pollak, ‘Ausgewählte Akten’, 79 no. 40 — not December as given in Orbaan, 79). The strands of lilies wound around the staves are mentioned by Grattarola (p. 229), who notes that medallions with images of the saint were placed above both the east and the west faces of the baldachin. The medallions appear only on the east face here and in the anonymous engraving of the event (no. 6); they are not shown in the Vatican fresco (no. 7). Grattarola does not mention the angels flanking the medallions in Maggi’s print, and they are not shown in no. 6.

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6. Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, anonymous engraving (Fig. 3). Differs from no. 5 in that the kneeling angels flanking the medallion atop the baldachin are omitted here. Also, this print shows tasselled canopies above the upper reliquary niches in the western piers, which are omitted by Maggi. This view corrects the misleading impression given by Maggi that the placards with standing figures of the saint were hung in the upper niches; in fact, they were suspended from the crown-shaped chandeliers. Finally, this engraving omits the dome of the ciborium in the choir, which Maggi includes. 7. Canonization of Carlo Borromeo, 1610, fresco. Bibl. Vat., Galleria di Paolo V (Taja, Descrizione, 460; Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 309) (Fig. 20). Shows the baldachin of Paul V with strands of lilies wound around the staves. 8. Interior of Saint Peter’s, ca. 1610, engraving by Giovanni Maggi. Shows the baldachin of Paul V with the four angels, essentially as in nos. 5 and 6. The supports are decorated with spiral windings which, although there are no lilies, suggest a connection with the canonization of Carlo Borromeo. This is one of a series of ten prints by Maggi illustrating major Roman churches. The first state of these engravings is known only from a set of modern post cards of very poor quality, published by a Roman antiquarian bookshop, now defunct. Subsequent printings of the engravings are known, though with some lacunae and various alterations (Rome, Bibl. Vitt. Em., 18.4.c.23, dated 1651; in these sets the old baldachin and background have been cancelled and replaced by Bernini’s baldachin in its final form. The Santa Maria Maggiore print has been published (see n. 106 above), as has that of San Lorenzo fuori le mura (A. Muñoz, La basilica di S. Lorenzo fuori le mura, Rome, 1944, ill. on p. 71). The engravings were discussed by G. Incisa della Rocchetta (‘Due quadri di Jacopo Zucchi per Santa Maria Maggiore’, Strenna dei Romanisti, 10, 1949, 290 f. n. 2), to whom I am most grateful for lending me his set of the precious post cards. 9. Medal of Paul V, 1617. Bibl. Vat., Medagliere (Buonanni, Num. pont., II, 506 f.) (Fig. 21). The obverse of the medal is inscribed with the thirteenth year of Paul’s reign (which began on May 29, 1617, the anniversary of his coronation); it was doubtless struck to commemorate the opening of the confessio (Pastor, XXVI, 402; cf. Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 308). Torriggio, Sacre grotte vaticane, 37, records that several of the medals were inserted alongside the commemorative inscription in the confessio, which is dated 1617 (Forcella, Iscrizioni, VI, 144 no. 529). The elaborate engraving after the medal usually reproduced (Buonanni, Num. templ. vat., Pl. 48), apart from the other changes, shifts the viewpoint and places special emphasis on the baldachin. 10. Longitudinal section of Saint Peter’s, 1618, vignette on the engraved map of

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170 Rome by Matthäus Greuter (Fig. 4). Gives a view of the baldachin of Paul V, and a sketchy plan of a ciborium and screen in the choir. The ciborium is partially cut off at the bottom of the poorly preserved map of 1618 in the Bibl. Vitt. Em., Rome (reproduced in A. P. Frutaz, Le piante di Roma, Rome, 1862, II, Pl. 286), but appears complete in the 1625 reprint in the British Museum. The visible north wing of the screen is represented in the plan as though it were a straight, uninterrupted wall. The ciborium has fourteen columns arranged in pairs roughly in a circle, except that four columns form a straight line at the front. The design shown here cannot be identified with any other ciborium project known to me. 11. Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et al., 1622, drawing. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, no. 780 (Fig. 22). Unfinished. Details of the temporary installation are virtually the same as in nos. 14 and 15, for which it is evidently a preparatory drawing. The main difference from our point of view is that the baldachin still appears to be that of Paul V; the staves are shown straight and unadorned. No angels are depicted at the base. 12. Canonization of Elizabeth of Portugal, 1624, anonymous engraving. Bibl. Vat., Arch. Cap. S. P. (Fig. 23). Inserted in a manuscript diary of Saint Peter’s by Francesco Speroni (Diarium Vaticanum Anni Iubilaei MDCXXV, 1626, MS. D 14, kept in the Chapter Archive in the new sacristy; cf. Pollak, 96, 635). The print is a variant of Fig. 30 (see p. 93 above). The differences are minor, except that the present version shows the baldachin of Paul V, rather than Bernini’s early project. This is particularly odd in view of the fact that the baldachin begun under Gregory XV had been built by October, 1624 (no. 13). The anomaly is perhaps to be explained by assuming that the engraving was done, in anticipation of the canonization, before the latter baldachin was actually erected and before Bernini had fixed the design of his project. In fact, the day of the canonization was evidently not yet determined, since in the inscription below, a blank space appears where ‘22’ is added in Fig. 30; the latter also adds various decorative details that are absent here. 13. New model for a baldachin, built 1622–1624. Discussed above, pp. 88 f. A payment on June 22, 1622, to the woodworker G. B. Soria is quoted by Pollak (‘Ausgewählte Akten’, 107), who reports the latest payments, the last on October 11, 1624 (Pollak, nos. 35, 984 ff.). The payments in fact form a continuous series beginning June 18, 1622 (Arch. Fabb. S. P., I Piano, Ser. 1, Vol. 236, Spese 1621–23, and Vol. 240, Spese 1623–24). Hence there can be no question that the same work was involved. The payments are authorized by Carlo Maderno.

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The baldachin is described in a document published by Pollak, no. 35. This account carries the date 1621, which has been interpreted as an error for 1624, when the final payment was made (Pollak, 17 n.1). The date probably indicates, however, that it was intended to begin construction in 1621 (cf. Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 318), though payments do not actually start until June, 1662. The work may well have been put off until after the quintuple canonization in March, 1622. It seems likely, in any event, that the plan to rebuild the model dates from before the end of Paul V’s reign (d. January 28, 1621); this was certainly the case with its counterpart, the ciborium in the choir, for which also the final accounting was made only under Urban VIII (no. 27). This baldachin is described by Buonanni (Num. templ. vat., 127) as follows: Nihil tamen Paulo regnante effectum est, sed postquam Urbanus VIII. Pontificiae Dignitatus Thiaram accepit anno 1623, umbellam firmis hastis sustentatam decoravit, quas Hieronymus Romanus suo scalpro foliato opere exornavit, & anno 1625. Simeon Obenaccius Florentinus auro circumtexit. 14. Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et al., March 12, 1622, engraving by Matthäus Greuter. Rome, Archive of Santa Maria in Vallicella (Fig. 5). P. Tacchi-Venturi, in Canonizzazione dei santi Ignazio di Loiola, 62 n. 3, first called attention to this poorly preserved print, of which our Fig. 5 is a detail. Practically identical with no. 15, except that this is inscribed Superiorum permissu Romae 1622 Matthae’ Greuter exc. cum Privilegio in the frame of the cartouche with the inscription below the central panel. Also, the canopies above the reliquary niches appear more clearly here, and the rectangular edges of the figural representations in the niches are indicated. According to the inscription, the decorations for the canonization were designed by Paolo Guidotti. A preparatory drawing is in Vienna (Fig. 22; no. 11). 15. Canonization of Ignatius of Loyola, et al., 1622, anonymous engraving (Fig. 6). Reproduced initially, without a source, by C. Clair, La vie de Saint-Ignace de Loyola, Paris, 1890, Pl. following p. 422; after him by P. Tacchi-Venturi, in Canonizzazione, Pl. opp. p. 56 (cf. pp. 62 ff.), and Mâle, Concile, Fig. 57 (cf. p. 100). I have been unable to find a copy of this print, which is evidently a variant of no. 14. 16. Project for a choir screen with an altar, anonymous drawing. Windsor Castle, no. 5590 (Fig. 34). Kindly brought to my attention by Howard Hibbard. A transverse section of Saint Peter’s through the transept. Shows a screen across the apse in the form of a triumphal arch with three openings. Two allegorical figures recline in a segmental pediment above the central arch, which contains an altar. Four angels holding candelabra stand on an attic above the main entablature; these provide precedence for the standing angels on Bernini’s baldachin and on no. 28c. The

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17.

18.

19.

20.

use of a flat screen without a domical ciborium over the altar parallels the Uffizi project attributed to Maderno (no. 25). Probably dates from the beginning of Paul V’s reign. Project for a baldachin with spiral columns, by Carlo Maderno. Described by Fioravante Martinelli; cf. above, pp. 83 f., 88, 95 ff. n. 53. Martinelli notes that this project was intended for the high altar. It was probably to be placed in the choir, since spiral columns are included, as in nos. 18, 19, 20, etc. The baldachin may well have been meant to accompany Maderno’s project for a ciborium with straight columns over the tomb where no altar was envisaged (Fig. 14; no. 2); if so, it would date ca. 1605–1606. Drawings by Ludovico Cigoli for a ciborium in the choir, 1605–1606. Uffizi, A2635 (680  475 mm.), 2639r and v (Figs. 25, 26). Discussion of these drawings (two plans and an elevation) was an important contribution by Siebenhüner, ‘Umrisse’, 310 ff.; cf. V. Fasolo, ‘Un pittore architetto: Il Cigoli’, Quaderni dell’Istituto di Storia dell’Architettura, no. 1, 1953, 7 nn. 4, 6. Cigoli envisaged an octagonal, domed ciborium placed slightly in front of the apse, supported by ten spiral columns, two pairs at the front corners, three at each of the rear corners; a balustraded screen would have extended back in concave arcs to the corners of the apse. Siebenhüner (p. 316) assumed that Cigoli’s ciborium was the one of which a model was actually built. But the gratings in the base and the floor around the ciborium show that Cigoli favoured shifting the tomb along with the high altar, a proposal that was rejected (see the Avviso quoted n. 16 above). Model of ciborium over the high altar in the choir, 1606. Discussed pp. 80 ff. above. Enough of the superstructure of the centrepiece appears in Maggi’s engraving (Figs. 2, 24) to show that it was polygonal. Probably there were pairs of columns at the corners, and the centrepiece was flanked by wings with others. We know that this ciborium used spiral columns, and in 1635 we are told that there were ten of them (see the quotations n. 27 above). The reconstructed model of 1622–1624 (cf. no. 27) had ten spiral and four additional straight columns. Two very similar projects are known (Fig. 27, no. 20; Fig. 79, no. 23; Appendix II) in which all the columns are spiral, some of them evidently imitations of the originals. It is possible that the 1635 reference is to the reconstructed model of 1622–1624 (cf. no. 27), which certainly had ten spiral columns, rather than the original of 1606, which may thus have had more. Nevertheless, for independent reasons neither no. 20 nor no. 23 can be identified with the model of 1606, though they may well reflect it. The centrepiece also seems to be echoed in no. 28c (Fig. 35). (See Addenda and Fig. 28A.) Project for a ciborium, anonymous. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, no. 767 (Fig. 27).

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The centrepiece recalls that in the model actually built (Fig. 24; no. 19), though the details of the dome are different. The project is also extremely close to that of Ferrabosco (Fig. 79; no. 23; Appendix II), and shows what the latter must have been like before the alterations made under the influence of Bernini’s first project. Two figures, evidently Peter and Paul, stand on the attic. 21. Model for a choir stall in the apse, 1618. Adi 20 8bre 1618. Conto delli lavori fatti per servitio della R: a Fabrica di S. Pietro fatti da mè Gio: Battista Soria. .... Per haver fatto il modello, per il Choro da farsi in S. Pietro, fatto d’Albuccio scorniciato di noce, fatto à trè ordini per li Canonici et Beneficiati, et Chierici et in pezzi da disfar’ tutto, con il Baldacchino fatto con grand.ma diligenza mta––––––––––15 (Arch. Fabb. S. P., I Piano, Ser. 1, Vol. 14, Materie diverse, fols. 232r, 233v). The woodworker G. B. Soria built a model for a choir stall of three levels, with a baldachin, presumably for the papal throne; the stall was designed to be dismountable, which indicates that it was intended for the main apse. The model is probably to be identified with the project for a choir, also dismountable and with three levels, by Martino Ferrabosco, recorded in his book on Saint Peter’s (no. 22). The model is probably further to be identified with one mentioned in an invoice submitted by Soria early in Urban VIII’s reign: ‘Per il primo modello fatto per le sedie del coro che si diceva fare nela Tribuna ––––––  20” (Pollak, 18 no. 35; on the date of the document see above, no. 13). 22. Project for a choir stall in the apse, by Martino Ferrabosco (Ferrabosco, Architettura di S. Pietro, Pls. XXVIII, XXIX; cf. Appendix II). The plan and elevation show three rows of seats, the perspective view only two. The caption explains that the project was intended to permit shifting the sacristy from its place on the north side of Maderno’s nave, where it proved unsuitable, to the place intended for the canon’s choir on the south. The stalls were to be dismountable; the reason given for this varies slightly between the manuscript version of the caption — “. . . acciò potessero [le sedie] servire per le funtioni Pontoficie nelli giorni solenni, et ordinariam.te p il Clero . . .” (Bibl. Vat., MS. lat. 10742, fol. 374r) — and the printed version — “. . . acciochè l’istesso luogo potesse servire ancore per le Funzioni Pontoficie nelle Festività più solenne . . .” The project is probably to be identified with a model for a dismountable choir with three rows of seats built in 1618 (no. 21). Though Ferrabosco’s project was never carried out, it is still the practice in Saint Peter’s to erect a temporary choir in the apse when necessary (see n. 43 above). 23. Project for a ciborium, 1618–1620, by Martino Ferrabosco (cf. Figs. 79, 80). Ferrabosco’s project is discussed in Appendix II. A likely assumption is that

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174 it was initially prepared to accompany his scheme for a choir in the main apse, which can be dated with good reason to about 1618 (see no. 21). A terminus ante quem of 1620 is provided by the intended publication date of Ferrabosco’s volume on Saint Peter’s. Discounting the alterations made to the design later in imitation of Bernini’s project, it is very close to the anonymous study in the Albertina, Vienna (Fig. 27; no. 20), which may be taken as a general guide to Ferrabosco’s original intentions. Both projects probably reflect the model of 1606 (Fig. 24; no. 19). The main difference, apart from details of decoration, is Ferrabosco’s addition of an attic storey on the wings. 24. Project for choirs in the crossing and apse, 1620, by Papirio Bartoli (S. Scaccia Scarafoni, ‘Un progetto di sistemazione della confessione di San Pietro in Vaticano antecedente al Bernini’, Accademie e biblioteche d’Italia, 1, 1927–28, no. 3, pp. 15 ff.; cf. most recently H. Hibbard and I. Jaffe, ‘Bernini’s Barcaccia’, BurlM, 106, 1964, 164 n. 21, and the bibliography cited there) (Fig. 12). Bartoli’s Discorso, richly illustrated, is known in various manuscript copies in Rome: Bibl. Vitt. Em., MS. Fondi Minori 3808 (to which our citations refer), and Bibl. Vat., MS. Barb. lat. 4512, fols. 16–43. Bartoli proposed constructing a pontifical choir in the crossing, immediately behind and including the confessio and high altar, in the form of a navicella, or boat. In the apse he contemplated a coro de’ canonici. The tabernacle over the high altar was to be a ship’s mast with billowing sail, executed in bronze and decorated with reliefs of the Passion ‘à foggia della Colonna Traiana’ (Discorso, int. 1, fol. 5r). The seats in the pontifical choir were to be collapsible, to permit a view into the navicella when it was not in use. The date of the project, 1620, is provided by a passage in which Bartoli estimates that it could be completed in four years, in time for the jubilee of 1625 (ibid., fol. 23r). The illustrations, engraved by Matthäus Greuter, were completed only in 1623, by Bartoli’s nephew. In one of these (ibid., fol. 88), the Barberini coat of arms was added to the ship’s rudder, doubtless with a view to submitting the project to Urban VIII in competition with Bernini; the case thus closely parallels that of Martino Ferrabosco’s project (Appendix II). 25. Project for choirs in the crossing and apse, attributed to Carlo Maderno. Florence, Uffizi, Gab. dei disegni, 265A (Fig. 13). Shows a choir installation with two altars in the apse; a flat screen in front includes ten (spiral?) columns. In the crossing immediately behind the confessio (shown in its final form) is a rectangular, colonnaded enclosure, presumably also a choir. The altar at the tomb inside the enclosure is shown underground, and no tabernacle appears above. The project may be dated after the completion of the confessio in 1617 (n. 35 above); the scheme as a whole is closely analogous to that devised by Papirio Bartoli in 1620 (no. 24). 26. Project for a ciborium, ca. 1620, drawing by Borromini. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, no. 766 (Fig. 28).

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Can be identified with the model painted by G. B. Ricci, who submitted his account early in the reign of Urban VIII (no. 27). The drawing shows ten twisted columns and four additional straight columns (omitting the surface decoration on all of them). The inscription on the frieze shows that the project was designed before Paul V’s death (January 28, 1621). The exact time of Borromini’s arrival in Rome is not certain. Heretofore, his presence in the city has not been attested before March, 1621, when he appears in the documents of Sant’Andrea della Valle (N. Caflisch, Carlo Maderno, Munich, 1934, 141 n. 102). Howard Hibbard recently found his name listed among the workmen at Saint Peter’s toward the end of 1619 (November 23–December 6) well before Paul V’s death; Arch. Fabb. S. P., I Piano, Ser. I, Vol. 218, Stracciafogli 1616–22, fol. 57v. We may also note that the scarpellino Leone Garua, with whom Baldinucci reports that Borromini lived when he came to Rome, was killed in a fall at Saint Peter’s on August 12, 1620: Die 12 Augusti [1620] M.r Leo Garovius de Bisone longobardus Carpentarius cecidit ex fabrica S.ti Petri dumetiretur et statim obijt sed prius recepit extrema- untione- eius corpus fuit sepultus in hac nr-a eccl.a (Rome, Arch. Vicariato, S. Giov. Fior., Liber Defunct. 1600–26, fol. 61v). Though Borromini’s authorship of the drawing is unquestionable, it is not likely, if only because of his extreme youth and subordinate position, that he was responsible for the project. Most probably, the drawing, like no. 2 (Fig. 14), was made for Carlo Maderno who, as architect of Saint Peter’s, signed Ricci’s invoice for work on the model. 27. Reconstructed model for a ciborium in the choir, ca. 1622–1624. Described in an account of work by the painter G. B. Ricci, undated but submitted in the reign of Urban VIII (Pollak, p. 12). The document makes it clear that this model was a reconstruction of the earlier one (no. 19); it included a lantern, an octagonal cupola (‘fattà a scaglione con 8 cartellini scorniciato’), four apostles on the cornice, four frontispieces with the papal arms, an inscription with the pope’s name in the frieze, four oval windows, figurative decorations in the triangles of the four arches. In addition, Ricci says he made four columns with fluting and floral decorations, and fourteen pedestals. Candelabra stood on the architrave above the columns, and there was a balustrade around the altar. From another source we know the model had ten of the original spiral columns (see n. 27 above). The model is recorded in the drawing by Borromini in Vienna (Fig. 28; no. 26). This bears Paul V’s name in the frieze, which shows that it was designed before his death in January, 1621. Execution was delayed, as in the case of the new baldachin model over the tomb (no. 13), and probably for the same reasons. The account containing the description includes other work by Ricci begun much earlier; payments to him for cartoons of the choir stuccos occur as early as May, 1621 (cf. n. 71 above).

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176 28. Projects made in competition with Bernini, ca. 1624. A. Anonymous project for a baldachin. From Modo di fare il tabernacolo. See n. 55 above. B. Project by Teodoro della Porta. Two months before payments to Bernini begin, Teodoro della Porta, the son of Guglielmo, in a letter to the Congregation dated May 12, 1624, says that he will make a ‘disegno e modello del Baldachino e suo sostentamento per l’Altar magg(io)re di S. Pietro che haverà la simetria, e decoro che conviene secondo le bone regole dell’arte dell’Architettura senza far ingombro et impedimento alla veduta della celebratione’ (Pollak, no. 1052). In a letter dating before January 1, 1624, he complains bitterly against provisional works in Saint Peter’s, ‘et in particolare nell’Altare magg(io)re che è stato fatto e rifatto quattro volte diversam(en)te con molta spesa sempre buttata via per modo di provisione come hora segue medemam(en)te’ (Pollak, 71 no. 60). I tentatively identify a drawing in Vienna (Fig. 35; no. 28c) with Della Porta’s project. C. Project for a ciborium, 1623–1624. Vienna, Albertina, Arch. Hz., Rom, Kirchen, X-15 (H. Egger, Architektonische Handzeichnungen alter Meister, I, Vienna-Leipzig, 1910, 12 Pl. 29, with attribution to M. Ferrabosco) (Fig. 35). A domed ciborium resting on spiral columns, closely similar to the centrepieces in nos. 18–20, 23, 26 (Figs. 26–28, 79). The main differences from the other designs are that the lateral wings are absent here, as is also the drum between the attic and the cupola. Angels are shown standing on the attic above the columns. I suspect that the drawing is a kind of pastiche based on the earlier projects and incorporating certain of Bernini’s ideas. The absence of the lateral wings shows that it was intended as a free-standing structure in the crossing, doubtless for the high altar. But only under Urban VIII was Paul V’s decision to move the high altar to the apse rescinded. The project must therefore date either from the very beginning of Paul’s reign, before the decision was made, or from that of Urban. That the latter is the case is strongly suggested by the design itself. The absence of the drum above the attic creates a considerably lower proportion than in any of the other known projects for ciboria, whereas in the crossing even more height was needed. The most likely assumption is that the spiral columns shown were not to be the originals but imitations of them on a bigger scale; enlargement of the whole structure permitted elimination of the drum to achieve the lower proportion required when the counterbalancing effect of the wings was lost. The design thus deals with the same aesthetic problem, by similar means, as does Bernini’s baldachin (see above, p. 97), but in the form of a conventional domed ciborium. A further point is that the angels on the superstructure serve no function whatever (not even to hold candelabra, as in no. 16), as if they were taken over from Bernini’s

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project and deprived of their raison d’être. If the argument presented here is correct the attribution to Ferrabosco falls, since he died before Urban VIII was elected (Beltrami, ‘Ferabosco’, 24). A possible alternative candidate is Teodoro della Porta, who early in 1624 complained of Bernini’s project and offered to design a baldachin ‘according to the good rules of the art of architecture without obstruction or impediment to the view of the service’ (see no. 28B). Interestingly enough, the lantern has an onion-shaped crown which suggests the curvature of the final crown of Bernini’s baldachin. D. Project by Agostino Ciampelli. Mentioned by Fioravante Martinelli; cf. p. 95 and n. 53 above. E. Project by Martino Ferrabosco. Revised version of the original project; cf. no. 23 and Appendix II. F. Project by Papirio Bartoli. Originally planned in 1620; cf. no. 24.

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Appendix II Martino Ferrabosco’s engraved project for the Saint Peter’s ciborium I have omitted from consideration in the body of this paper a project for the Saint Peter’s ciborium that has played an important role in discussions of the history of the monument since the late seventeenth century. This is a design (Fig. 79) recorded in a volume of engravings, plans, elevations, and projects for Saint Peter’s by Martino Ferrabosco, published in 1684 by Giovanni Battista Costaguti.175 The title page of the 1684 edition says that the work was first issued in 1620, and although the engraving of the ciborium bears the arms of Urban VIII (elected August 6, 1623) 1620 has been taken as the terminus ante quem. Ferrabosco’s activity in Rome is documented with certainty from February, 1613.176 He was buried on August 3, 1623, during the conclave that elected Urban VIII.177 Knowledge of designs such as Cigoli’s and the model of the ciborium in the apse (Figs. 2, 24, 26) makes it clear that the engraved project is not nearly so original as had been thought. The domed central feature, the projecting colonnaded wings, the spiral columns are all derived from earlier sources. But the engraving also shows certain elements that closely parallel Bernini’s first baldachin. The spiral columns in the engraving are specifically of the ‘sacrament’ type; on the underside of the dome, clouds with rays that may emanate from a dove of the Holy Spirit are visible; the lantern of the dome is covered by a pergola-like cupola with open ribs, and this supports a crowning figure of the Risen Christ. The caption to the plate in the

Ferrabosco, Architettura, Pl. XXVII. Information H. Hibbard. Cf. Beltrami, ‘Ferabosco’, 23; U. Donati, Artisti ticinesi a Roma, Bellinzona, 1942, 405 ff. The plan of a wooden model for a circular confessio projected by Ferrabosco is reproduced in Buonanni, Num. templ. vat., Pl. 45; cf. Beltrami, ‘Ferabosco’, 28, Fig. 4. Assuming the attribution is correct, Ferrabosco must have been in Rome at least by 1611, when Maderno’s confessio was begun (cf. n. 35 above). 177 Beltrami, ‘Ferabosco’, 24. 175 176

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1684 volume says explicitly that the design was Ferrabosco’s, that it was shown to Urban VIII before he built the bronze baldachin, and that comparison with the latter shows it influenced Bernini’s design.178 Filippo Buonanni in 1696 reproduces the project, and adds that the pope rejected it because it occuppied too much space.179 There is no reason to doubt that a design by Ferrabosco existed and that it was shown after his death to Urban VIII. Bernini had other competition as well.180 But no copy of the 1620 edition of the Architettura has ever been found.181 In fact, there was no 1620 edition, at least not in the form of a published book. This is evident from a draft for the preface and captions to the Architettura preserved in a manuscript of materials by and pertaining to one Carlo Ferrante Gianfattori (alias Ferrante Carli), whom Paul V had appointed to write a history of the basilica to accompany Ferrabosco’s engravings.182 This draft is in a uniform hand, but it is clear from the phraseology that the preface was written first by Ferrabosco himself, after Paul V’s death (January 28, 1621).183 Appended to the preface is the following statement: ‘Quest’opera fù lasciata da Martino Ferrabosco imperfetta ridotta a fine a spese di Mons. Costaguti con disegno d’Andrea Carone’.184 In a passage elsewhere Gianfattori says of Ferrabosco: iamque universum opus per vices et intervalla distractum ad umbilicum fere perduxerat, cum brevi morbo terris, eripitur.185 It is therefore certain that no 1620 edition was actually published, and that the work was not altogether complete when Ferrabosco died. Since the engraving of the

Ibid., 27: ‘Disegno di Ferrabosco. Questo ornamento è stato fatto da Urbano VIII . . . al quale prima di far l’opera fù fatto vedere il presente disegno, in qualche parte imitato, come dall’opera medesima si riconosce’. 179 Fuerat etiam Pontefici oblata alia ornamenti idea, in qua collocabantur columnae vitineae, quibus olim Divi Petri Confessio extrinsecus ornabantur . . . sed cum Templi Aream nimis in longum protensa inutiliter occuparet, ineptam extimavit. (Buonanni, Num. templ. vat., 130.) 180 See the competing projects listed in Appendix I, no. 28. 181 Cf. L. Schudt, Le guide di Roma, Vienna-Augsburg, 1930, 155; but see n. 186 below. 182 Bibl. Vat., MS. lat. 10742, fols. 370 ff. The preface was published in part (and with some errors in transcription) by H. Egger, ‘Der Uhrturm Pauls V’, Mededeelingen van het nederlandsch historisch Instituut te Rome, 9, 1929, 94 f. Cf. also the relevant passage in a manuscript biography of Paul V by G. B. Costaguti the elder in the Costaguti archive, published by Pastor, XXVI, 492. 183 ‘Ho final.te p grã del S.o Dio tiratala à fine, e distribuite le tavole in più parti . . . havendo fatte vedere alc.e delle pñti tavole alla S.M. di Paolo Vo le qli erano in sua vita finite, gli piacquero in modo, che commandò si attendesse al fine, e volse che fossero vestite d’historia da persona giudicata p lettere, e p guid.o habile à tanto carico, fù Ferrante Carlo’. (Bibl. Vat., MS. lat. 10742, fol. 370v.) 184 Ibid. I have been unable to identify Andrea Carone. 185 Beltrami, ‘Ferabosco’, 28, n. 6. 178

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180 ciborium bears Urban VIII’s arms it may well have belonged to the unfinished portion.186 The captions in the manuscript draft are similar to, but not identical with those in the 1684 edition. The draft of the caption for a tabernacle that would have been included as Plate XXIX shows that it was produced during the early stages of work on Bernini’s baldachin; this it praises, and lays no claim to an influence on Bernini: ‘. . . hoggi dalla S. di N.S.P.P. Urbano 8o si arricchisce di un baldacchino sostentato da 4 colonne di metallo’.187 A probable terminus ante quem for the addition of the papal arms is the death of Mons. Costaguti, Sr. (uncle of the Mons. G. B. Costaguti, Jr., who finally published the work in 1684) on September 3, 1625.188 By this time, as the engraving of Elizabeth of Portugal’s canonization in March indicates (Fig. 30; see above, p. 93), Bernini’s project was public knowledge. This is precisely the period when Gianfattori was working on his history of the basilica, which he also left unfinished. It has been shown that his work on the basilica is an outright plagiarism of Jacopo Grimaldi.189 A few years later it was reported

186 There is in the Bibliotheca Hertziana in Rome a volume, acquired after Schudt’s publication (Le guide di Roma, 1930), with a frontispiece identical to that of the 1684 edition but bearing the following inscription: ‘Alla S.ta di N.S. P P Paulo Quinto. Libro de l’architettura DI SAN PIETRO nel Vaticano FINITO Col disegno di Michel Angelo BONAROTO ET D’Altri Architetti expressa in piu Tavole Da Martino Ferabosco. In Roma L’anno 1620 NEL VATICANO. Con licenza, e Privilegio’. The volume contains the same plates as the 1684 edition, including the ciborium project with the arms of Urban VIII! The differences from the 1684 edition are that there are no text or captions, some of the plates are arranged differently, there is an additional plate (elevation of one of the little domes and the attic), and two plates that have coats of arms in the 1684 edition are without them here. The volume also contains at the end various other engravings of the sixteenth and later seventeenth centuries pertaining to Saint Peter’s. The binding is stamped with the arms of Cardinal Francesco Nerli (elevated Nov. 29, 1669, d. Nov. 6, 1670; cf. P. Gauchat, Hierarchia catholica medii et recentiores aevi, Regensburg, 1913 ff., V, 5). Ferrabosco’s engravings, including the frontispiece, are here clearly in their original proof state, ready for publication. The fact that even here the ciborium bears the arms of Urban suggests that the plate in its first, pre-Barberini state was unfinished. The coats of arms in other plates in the 1684 edition were added later, but before the publication: on Pl. IV, the atrium of Old Saint Peter’s, the arms of Card. Vincenzo Costaguti (elevated July, 1643, d. Dec., 1660; Gauchat, Hierarchia catholica, IV, 26); on Pl. V, interior of Old Saint Peter’s, the arms of Card. G. B. Pallotta (elevated Nov., 1629, d. Jan., 1668; ibid., 23). 187 Bibl. Vat., MS. lat. 10742, fol. 375v. 188 Moroni, Dizionario, XLI, 263; Pastor, XXVI, 482 n. 2, adds some further information on the elder Costaguti. The second G. B. Costaguti later became cardinal. 189 See Ch. Heulsen, ‘Il circo di Nerone al Vaticano’, in Miscellanea Ceriani, Milan, 1910, 264 ff. On Gianfattori cf. also A. Borzelli, L’Assunta del Lanfranco in S. Andrea della Valle giudicata da Ferrante Carli, Naples, 1910.

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that Gianfattori was the author of attacks against Bernini concerning the dome of Saint Peter’s, and had a mortal hatred of the artist.190 Suspicion that besides the addition of Urban’s arms the engraving may have been altered in imitation of Bernini’s project receives strong support from three considerations. A drawing in the Albertina (Fig. 27) shows a project in which the essential elements are virtually identical with those in the engraving.191 Yet it differs from the print, apart from the absence of the attic on the wings, in that precisely the major details which the engraving has in common with Bernini’s design — the ‘sacramental’ columns, the open ribbed pergola, the Risen Christ, the Holy Spirit in the dome — are missing. Secondly, the columns in the print are of the ‘sacramental’ type, implying that all but two were to be newly made. It seems more reasonable to assume that Ferrabosco’s original intention, as Buonanni specifically states,192 was to reuse the original columns, and that their decoration in the engraving was either added (if the print was unfinished), or changed. Finally, and most significant, the engraving itself shows a crucial reworking: between the central buttresses of the lantern traces of a globe supported on a tapering base are clearly visible (Fig. 80). Thus, the lantern, the pergola, and the Risen Christ were all an afterthought. I would suggest that the engraving was initially a project by Ferrabosco for a ciborium-screen, perhaps in conjunction with his project for the choir in the main apse,193 intended to be placed at the entrance to the apse. When Urban was elected and plans for a permanent structure over the tomb altar in the crossing were developing, the engraving was submitted,194 after having been finished or altered to accommodate the same symbolism as Bernini’s baldachin.

Addenda 1. To n. 27 and Appendix I no. 19. In the first volume of his catalogue of the drawings of Borromini, which has now been published (Francesco Borromini. Die Zeichnungen, Graz, 1967, 14, col. 1, n. 3), H. Thelen refers to a drawing of the ci-

Fraschetti, Bernini, 71 n. 1: ‘Le scritture che si vedono intorno alla Cupola di San Pietro derivano da Ferrante Carli, ch’è nemico del Cavaliere Bernino et che vorrebee vederlo esterminato’. (Letter of the Mantuan ambassador, Jan. 3, 1637.) 191 Appendix I, no. 20. 192 Quoted n. 179, above. 193 See Appendix I, nos. 21 ff. 194 And rejected because the wings were an obstruction in the midst of the crossing (cf. n. 179 above). 190

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182 borium model built in 1606 in the choir of Saint Peter’s. The drawing (Fig. 28A) is part of an album dated 1613–1616 and attributed to the French Jesuit architect François Derand (J. Guiffrey and P. Marcel, Inventaire général des dessins du Musée du Louvre et du Musée de Versailles. École française, V, Paris, 1910, no. 3598; it should be noted that the attribution to Derand has been challenged by H. von Geymüller, Die Baukunst der Renaissance in Frankreich, Stuttgart, I, 1901, 309 f., followed by P. Moisy, ‘L’architecte François Derand, Jésuite lorrain’, Revue d’histoire de l’èglise de France, 36, 1950, 150 ff.). The drawing shows the elevation and plan of the centrepiece, and bears the inscription, ‘plan et elevation de la chapelle quon a fait a St pierre sur le grand autel ou il j a huit coulonnes torse et a chaque coulonne un tel piedestal’. 2. To n. 53. Thelen (Borromini Zeichnungen, 98 f.) and his collaborators determined that the marginal corrections in Fioravante Martinelli’s manuscript guidebook were originally written by Boromini himself, whose penciled handwriting, subsequently erased but faintly visible, they were able to decipher beneath the transcript in ink. In transcribing the original comment on the passage concerning the baldachin, Martintelli inadvertently omitted from the last sentence, recording Ciampelli’s criticism, a phrase which explicitly confirms the view (pp. 95 f. above) that the fusion of the canopy with the cornices of the columns was part of a deliberate effort to create a hybrid form — ‘grammatically’ execrable — comprising both a baldachin and a ciborium. Borromini’s original sentence ran as follows (italics mine): ‘. . . diceua che le baldacchini non si sostiengono con le colone ma con le haste, et che il baldacchino non ricor(r)a asieme con la cornice dele colone, et in ogni modo uoleua che lo regessero li angeli’. 3. To n. 60. on the Successa medal (Fig. 38) see also Krautheimer, Corpus basilicarum (cited n. 159 above), II, 1, p. 4, n. 1. The doubt expressed by Franchi de’ Cavalieri concerning the authenticity of the medal may be dismissed. The question had been raised in De Rossi’s time, and the main import of his study was that the medal, far from being unusual as a type, belonged to a large class of such votive pendants. The famous ivory casket from Pola, discovered subsequently, on which the reconstruction of the Constantinian ciborium depends in part, confirms the validity of the structure depicted on the medal, if not also its connection with Saint Peter’s. (On the Pola casket, see most recently T. Buddensieg, ‘Le coffret en ivoire de Pola, Saint-Pierre et le Latran’, CahArch, 10, 1959, 157 ff.) The notion that the medal was found only in 1636 is based on a misreading of Ménétrier’s letter, and the possibility that it came from the Verano catacomb was offered by De Rossi purely as a hypothesis, suggested by the representation of the martyrdom of St. Lawrence that appears on the reverse. 4. To n. 66. According to the calculations of T. C. Bannister, the Constantinian shrine at Saint Peter’s itself reproduced ‘exactly the size and shape given in The First Book of Kings for the “Holy of Holies” of Solomon’s Temple’ (‘The Constantinian Basilica of Saint Peter at Rome’, JSAH, 27, 1968, 29).

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5. To n. 114. In a paper delivered at the annual meeting of the College Art Association of America, January, 1968, Professor Olga Berendsen pointed out an intriguing precedent for the final version of the crown of the baldachin, in a catafalque erected in 1621 in Santi Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, for the obsequies of Cosimo II de’ Medici, of which the crown consisted of similarly curved ribs surmounted at the apex by a regal diadem (Orazione di Giulio Strozzi recitata da lui in Venetia nell’esequie del Sereniss. D. Cosimo II. Quarto G. Duca di Toscana. Fatte dalla Natione Fiorentina il dì 25. di Maggio 1621, Venice, 1621, ills. opp. pp. 4, 5, 19). Dr. Berendsen plans to enlarge upon the analogy in a separate article. 6. To n. 134. Besides Nava Cellini, see Mezzetti, in L’ideale classico (cited n. 119 above), 363, and J. Hess, Kunstgeschichtliche Studien zu Renaissance und Barock, Rome, 1967, 137.

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Bibliography of frequently cited sources Alfarano, T., De basilicae vaticanae antiquissima et nova structura (Studi e testi, XXVI), ed. M. Cerrati, Rome, 1914. Armellini, M., Le chiese di Roma dal secolo IV al XIX, 2 Vols., Rome, 1942. Baglione, G., Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti (1st ed., Rome, 1642), facsimile ed., ed. V. Mariani, Rome, 1935. Baldinucci, F., Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino (1st ed., Florence, 1682), ed. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948. Bartoli, P., Discorso sopra una forma di coro per le funtioni ponteficie che si potria fare nel tempio di S. Pietro in Vaticano che riuscira molto vago, et misterioso e pieno di devotione, Rome, Bibl. Vitt. Em., MS. Fondi Minori 3808, interni 1 and 2. Beltrami, G., ‘Martino Ferabosco Architetto’, L’Arte, 29, 1926, 23–37. Borea, F., Domenichino, Florence, 1965. Brauer, H., and Wittkower, R., Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, 2 Vols., Berlin, 1931. Braun, J., Der christliche Altar, 2 Vols., Munich, 1924. Buonanni, F., Numismata pontificum romanorum quae a tempore Martini V usque ad annum MDCXCIX, 2 Vols., Rome, 1699. ––––––, Numismata summorum pontificum templi vaticani fabricam indicantia, Rome, 1696. La canonizzazione dei santi Ignazio di Loiola Fondatore della Compagnia di Gesù e Francesco Saverio Apostolo dell’Oriente. Ricordo del terzo centenario XII Marzo MCMXII. A cura del Comitato romano ispano per le centenarie onoranze, Rome, 1922. Collectionis bullarum, brevium, aliorumque diplomatum sacrosanctae basilicae Vaticanae . . ., 3 Vols., Rome, 1747–1752. Donesmondi, I., Dell’istoria ecclesiastica di Mantova, 2 Vols., Mantua, 1612–1616. Ettlinger, L. D., The Sistine Chapel Before Michelangelo, Oxford, 1965. Ferrabosco, M., Architettura della basilica di S. Pietro . . . posta in luce l’anno MDCXX. Di nuovo dato alle stampe da Mons. Gio. Battista Costaguti . . ., Rome, 1684. Forcella, V., Iscrizioni delle chiese e d’altri edificii di Roma, 14 Vols., Rome, 1869–1884. Fransolet, M., ‘Le S. André de François Duquesnoy, à la Basilique de S. Pierre au

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Vatican 1629–1640’, B de l’Institut historique belge de Rome, 13, 1933, 227–286. Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini, Milan, 1990. Grimaldi, J., Instrumenta autentica translationum sanctorum corporum & sacrarum reliquiarum . . . 1619, 2 Vols., Rome, Bibl. Vat., MS. Barb. lat. 2733. ––––––, Opusculum de sacrosancto Veronicae sudario, de lancea . . ., 1618, Rome, Bibl. Vat., Archivio del Capitolo di S. Pietro, MS. H 3. Hess, J., ‘Notes sur le sculpteur François Duquesnoy’, La revue de l’art, 69, 1936, 21–36. ––––––, ed., die Künstlerbiographien von Giovanni Battista Passeri, Leipzig-Vienna, 1934. Kauffmann, H., ‘Berninis Hl. Longinus’, in Miscellaneae Bibliothecae Hertzianae, Munich, 1961, 366–374. ––––––, ‘Berninis Tabernakel’, MünchJb, 6, 1955, 222–242. Magnuson, T., Studies in Roman Quattrocento Architecture (Figura, IX), Stockholm, 1958. Il modo di fare il tabernacolo, ò vero baldachino, Rome, Bibl. Vat., MS. Barb. lat. 4344, fols. 26r and v. Moroni, G., Dizionario di erudizione storico-ecclesiastica da S. Pietro sino ai nostri giorni, 103 Vols., Rome, 1840–1861. Nava Cellini, A., ‘Duquesnoy e Poussin: Nuovi contributi’, Paragone, 17, no. 195, 1966, 30–59. Orbaan, J. A. F., ‘Der Abbruch Alt-Sankt Peters 1605–1615’, JPKS, 39, 1919, Beiheft. ––––––, Documenti sul barocco in Roma, Rome, 1920. Panciroli, O., Tesori nascosti dell’alma città di Roma, Rome, 1625. Pastor, L., The History of the Popes, 40 Vols., London, 1923–1953. Pollak, O., ‘Ausgewählte Akten zur Geschichte der römischen Peterskirche (1535–1621)’, JPKS, 36, 1915, Beiheft. ––––––, Die Kunsttätigkeit unter Urban VIII, ed. D. Frey et al., 2 Vols., Vienna, 1928–1931. San Carlo Borromeo nel terzo centenario della canonizzazione MDCX–MCMX (Periodical published November, 1908–December, 1910). Severano, G., Memorie sacre delle sette chiese di Roma, 2 Vols., Rome, 1630. Siebenhüner, H., ‘Umrisse zur Geschichte der Ausstattung von St. Peter in Rom von Paul III bis Paul V (1547–1606)’, in Festschrift für Hans Sedlmayr, Munich, 1962, 229–320. Taja, A., Descrizione del palazzo apostolico vaticano, Rome, 1750. Torriggio, F. M., Le sacre grotte vaticane, Rome, 1635.

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V

Five New Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of His Early Works*

I

N 1606 the Archconfraternity of the Pietà, proprietor of the Basilica of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini in Rome, determined to erect a hospital

N.B. A bibliography of frequently cited sources, given short titles in the footnotes, and a list of abbreviations will be found at the end of this article. * It gives me great satisfaction to record the debt I have incurred to Professor Italo Faldi of the Soprintendenza alle Gallerie of Rome. He has facilitated and encouraged my efforts, often at unconscionable expenditures of his time and energy, in a spirit that can only be described as fraternal. I deem it a privilege that my contribution may be regarded as an extension of Faldi’s own revolutionary work on Bernini’s early chronology. The substance of this article was first presented in a lecture delivered at the American Academy in Rome in January 1996. I am grateful to Professor Frank E. Brown, the Academy’s Director, for providing that opportunity. The Marchese Giovanni Battista Sacchetti, President of the Archconfraternity of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, and Professor Guglielmo Matthiae, Soprintendente alle Gallerie del Lazio, gave their ready cooperation in matters concerning the restoration and installation of the busts found at San Giovanni. The costs of cleaning, restoring, and installing the busts were covered by a contribution from Washington Square College, New York University; Professor H. W. Janson and Dean William E. Buckler were instrumental in obtaining the funds. Thanks are due to Prince Urbano Barberini, who gave his consent nearly a decade ago to my researches in the archive of the Barberini family, preserved in the Vatican Library; to my wife, Marilyn Aronberg Lavin, whose labors brought to light the bulk of the documents I shall cite from the Barberini archive (Mrs. Lavin will soon publish the seventeenth-century Barberini inventories); and to Dott. Carlo Bertelli, Director of the Gabinetto Fotografico Nazionale in Rome, who, in effect, placed at my disposal that organization’s expert personnel and resources. After this article was set in type a book by C. D’Onofrio, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1967, dealing in part with the same material presented here, became available to me; the work is largely polemical and, while it provides useful new information concerning the period, it contains nothing that affects my conclusions.

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flanking the south side of the church, between it and the Tiber.1 The confraternity had been founded in the fifteenth century, and the hospital, one of many such national institutions in Rome, was to provide charitable aid and hospitality to Florentines, whether pilgrims or permanent residents in the Holy City, in need of assistance. Construction of the hospital began in December 1607.2 It was a fairly imposing structure of three stories, with a main central entrance and a balconied window above, flanked on either side by two smaller doorways.3 The funds for the construction and maintenance of the hospital were to come chiefly from donations made by members of the Florentine community in Rome. The three important donors in the first half of the seventeenth century, all of whom were honored by the confraternity with commemorative monuments closely related to one another in type and in physical location. The first of the three was Antonio Coppola, who is described in his commemorative inscription as an ‘eminent’ surgeon.4 Coppola died on February 24, 1612, at the age of seventy-nine, having willed worldly goods to the hospital.5 He was the first person to do so, and

1 M. M. Lumbroso and A. Martini, Le confraternite romane nelle loro chiese, Rome, 1963, 164 ff.; Rufini, S. Giovanni de’ Fiorentini, 6 ff., 24–25, G. Moroni, Dizionario di erudizione storico-ecclesiastica, Rome, 1840 ff., 11, 296–97. 2 ASGF, Busta 310, ‘Scritture diverse Spettanti alla V. Chiesa Compagnia della Pietà et Ospedale di S. Gio. de’Fiorentini,’ fol. 120. 3 The façade of the hospital is shown in a mid-eighteenth-century engraving inscribed ‘Barbault del.’ and ‘D. Montagu sculp.’ (Rome, Palazzo Venezia library: Roma. XI. 38. IX 2). The façade of the church, by Alessandro Galilei, was built in 1733–34 (cf. Rufini, 34–35). A photograph showing the central portal of the hospital during the demolition (1937) is in the Gabinetto Fotografico Nazionale, Rome (E. 21746). 4 See note 6 below for the inscription. 5 A copy of Coppola’s will (along with that of Antonio Cepparelli) is found in ASGF, Busta 606; it is notarized May 30, 1611, by Bartolomeus Dinus, notary of the Camera Apostolica. On February 19, 1612, five days before he died, Coppola also gave the funds for building the Cappella della Madonna in the transept to the right of the high altar in San Giovanni. The contract for the chapel, with Matteo Castelli, was signed on August 30, 1612, and on June 3, 1614, Simone Castelli accepted final payment for the work. (Documents, including a signed drawing by Castelli, in ASR, 30 Notai Capitolini, Not. Bart. Dinius, Busta 24, fols. 67–68, 440 ff.; cf. Rufini, 59 ff. Photograph of the drawing: Gab. Fot. Naz., Rome, E. 42132).

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in recognition of this signal benefaction the confraternity determined to erect an appropriate inscription and a marble portrait bust in the hospital.6 The second benefactor with whom we shall be concerned was Antonio Cepparelli. A member of a noble patrician family of Florence, he died on April 18, 1622, at the age of sixty-five, having also left a legacy to the hospital.7 The confraternity again decided to record its appreciation in the form The inscription reads as follows: ANTONIO . COPPOLAE . FLORENTINO CHIRVRGO . INSIGNI QVI . PRIMVS . OMNIA . SVA . BONA XENODOCHIO . RELIQVIT EIVSDEM . XENODOCII . DEPVTATI QVIBVS . MANDATA . TESTAMENTI . EXECVTIO OPTIMO . BENEFACTORI . POSVERE ANNO . M . DC . XIIII . MENSE . IVNII VIXIT ANNIS LXXIX OBIIT . DIE . XXIIII . FERRVARII M . DC . XII (Forcella, VII, 16, No. 30). Coppola was buried in the nave of the church, where his tomb inscription, which he had prepared six years before his death, is still to be seen: D.O.M ANTONIVS . DE . COPPOLIS CHIRVRGVS . FLORENTINVS ANNOS . NATVS . LXXIII CASVM . FVTVRE [sic] . MORTIS ANIMO . REVOLVENS VIVENS MONVMENTVM . POSVIT ANNO . SALVTIS . M . DCVI OBIIT . DIE . XXIIII . FEBRVARII M . DC . XII AETATIS . SVAE . LXXVIIII (Ibid., No. 29). 7 Cepparelli’s death is recorded in the ‘Libri dei Morti’ of the parish of SS. Celso e Giuliano, where he had died in the Inn of the Sign of the Cat: A di 18 Aprile. Antonio Cepparello gentilhomo fiorentino di eta di anni 70 incirca alla Camera locanda della insigna della gatta doppo ri.i tutti li ss.ti sacramenti et raccoman.ne di anima mori et fu septto a S. Giovanni di fiorentini (Rome, Archivio del Vicariato, SS. Celso e Giuliano, ‘Morti dal 1617 al 1624,’ fol. 98r), and in that of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (ibid., San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, ‘Liber III Defunct. ab Anno 1600 ad 1626,’ fol. 63v). Cepparelli was born on March 27, 1557 (Florence, Archivio dell’opera del duomo, ‘Maschi dal 1542 al 1561, Lettere A G,’ fol. 37v). 6

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of a portrait bust and accompanying inscription.8 Both the record of the deliberations of the confraternity on this occasion and the inscription itself specifically state that the new monument was made in emulation of that to the earlier Antonio (see Appendix, Doc. 20). This provision was carried out literally, since the two monuments were similar in form and were installed next to each other in a room in the hospital, and since, as we shall see, the same artist executed the busts. The third benefactor was Pietro Cambi, who died in 1627, to whom the hospital also dedicated a portrait bust and inscription. The bust, which

The commemorative inscription in the hospital, now lost, is recorded: ANTONIO . CEPPARELLO PATRITIO . FLORENTINO HOSPITALE PIAE . AEMVLATIONIS ALTERIVS . ANTONII MONVMENTVM STATVIT ANNO . FVNDATAE . SALVTIS . M . DC . XXII (Forcella, VII, 21, No. 46). Cepparelli was also buried in the nave of the church, with the following inscription, still extant: D. O. M. ANTONIO CEPPARELLO CLARA NATALIVM NOBILITATE FLORENTIAE GENITO ILLVSTRI PIETATIS EXEMPLO ROMAE EXTINTO [sic] XENODOCHIVM NATIONIS AETERNAE MEMORIAE TVMVLVM REDDIDIT A QVO MAXIMI PATRIMONII CVMVLVM ACCEPIT CETERISQVE QVI . HVIVS . MAGNANIMITATEM PIE . AEMVLATI POSTERIS . DOCVMENTVM RELIQVERINT SIBI . MONVMENTVM . MERVERINT AN . SAL . MDCXXII (Forcella, VII, 21, No. 47). 8

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repeats the form of the Coppola portrait, was executed during 1629–1630 by Pompeo Ferrucci (Fig. 10).9 The location of the monuments is given in a manuscript description of the churches and pious institutions in Rome written toward the middle of the seventeenth century by Giovanni Antonio Bruzio. Bruzio copied the inscriptions, and noted that the memorials were in the hospital, at the side overlooking the Tiber, above the door leading to the balcony; the monument to Coppola was in the center, that to Cepparelli on the right, and that to Pietro Cambi on the left.10 In 1876 the inscriptions were polished by Forcella, who also records the existence of the portraits. Their authorship seems to have been quite lost to history; they are not mentioned by Bernini’s biographers, and he is not named on the few occasions when they appear in Roman guidebooks.11 In 1937 the hospital was demolished to make way for the present structure.12 The three busts and the inscription commemorating Coppola were salvaged and deposited in the sub-basement of the church by some far-

Docs. 24 ff. The inscription to Cambi, now lost, bore the date 1627; it is transcribed in Forcella, VII, 24, No. 5. On Ferrucci, cf. V. Martinelli, ‘Contributi alla scultura del Seicento; II. Francesco Mochi a Piacenza; III. Pompeo Ferrucci,’ Commentari, 3,1952, 44 ff. 10 ‘Sono poi nel do ospedale dalla parte che risponde sopra il Tevere sopra la Porta, -p la quale s’entra nella Renghitia queste memorie sotto i busti fatti di marmo dei mentovati Benefattori, e prima nel mezzo parimente intagliata in marmo . . . [Coppola’s inscription] . . . a man destra . . . [Cepparelli’s inscription] . . . a man sinistra . . . [Cambi’s inscription] . . .’ (BV, ms Vat. lat. 11888, fol. 321v). On Bruzio, cf. C. Huelsen, Le chiese di Roma nel medio evo, Florence, 1927, xlvii ff. Two balconies appear in various views made at the end of the century by Vanvitelli, showing the back of the hospital and church (G. Briganti, Gaspar van Wittel, Rome, 1966, illus. 83, 85, 96–97; cf. 202 ff., Nos. 89 ff. 11 Baldinucci includes in the list of works appended to his biography of Bernini, ‘Teste fino al num. di 15 luoghi diversi’ (Vita, 179). The memorials are mentioned, without indication of authorship, by C. B. Piazza, Ε
σε‚ολγιον. Eusevologio romano; overo delle opere pie di Roma, Rome, 1698, 126; C. L. Morichini, Degl’istituti di pubblica carita e d’istruzione primaria in Roma, Rome, 1835, 65; A. Nibby, Roma nell’anno MDCCCXXXV111, Parte Seconda Moderna, Rome, 1841, 157. 12 ASGF, unnumbered volume concerning the new building; cf. fascicules labeled ‘Licenza abitabilità’ (documents dated November 5, 1937) and ‘Cerimonie sulla Posa della prima Pietra e della inaugurazione uffiziale del nuovo fabbricato’ (May 1938). 9

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

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2. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Coppola. Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo GFN).

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3. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Coppola (detail). Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo GFN).

4. Roman Portriat. Rome, Museo delle Terme.

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sighted individual, who also took the precaution of writing the subjects’ names on the busts in pencil, making the identifications positive.13 13 Over-all heights of the busts: Coppola 67 cm.; Cepparelli 70 cm.; Cambi 74 cm. During their stay in the basement, at some point when the walls and ceiling were redecorated, the busts were heavily splashed with whitewash. Wherever it touched, the whitewash left the marble surface irrevocably discolored. Otherwise, the busts are almost perfectly preserved, the only exceptions being the missing left ear of Coppola and left tip of Cepparelli’s collar. Photographs of the busts before cleaning, with the areas of whitewash covering the penciled names removed, are in the Gab. Fot. Naz., Rome. The key to the discovery, which took place in September 1966, was a 4-volume manuscript catalogue of the archive compiled by Giuseppe Tomassetti (‘Catalogo delle Posizioni, Pergamene e Scritture esistenti nell’Archivio dei Pii Stabilimenti di S. Giovanni della Nazione Fiorentina, compilato negli anni 1877–1879’; cf. Rufini, 29). The alphabetical index, under ‘Bernini,’ refers to the payments for the bust of Cepparelli (cf. Parte Ill. Ospedale e Consolato, 103). I first became aware that the Coppola monument had existed from the reference to it in the decree of the confraternity commissioning that to Cepparelli (Doc. 20). In turn, the existence of both of them in the nineteenth century, as well as that to Cambi, was confirmed by the entries in Forcella’s Iscrizioni (notes 6, 8, 9 above), where the busts are also mentioned. Tomassetti’s index refers to the payments for the Cambi bust, but the Coppola monument seems to have escaped him entirely. The portraits came to light when, upon my inquiry, Commendatore Massimiliano Casali, secretary of the Confraternity, recalled seeing certain busts in the basement years before, and led me to them. Professor Faldi saw to their removal from the basement and to their cleaning and restoration. This was carried out by Signor Americo Bigioni, restorer at the excavations at Ostia. The procedure was as follows: (1) In order to avoid possible corrosion the original iron hooks in the backs of the busts of Coppola and Cambi (photographs in the Gab. Fot. Naz., Rome), which had been held in place by a filling of lead, were replaced by bronze rings. (2) The busts were washed and the hard calcium deposits of the whitewash were removed with a scalpel. (3) To remove greasy dirt the surface was cleaned with alcohol, carbon tetrachloride, and acetone. (4) The busts were then treated with a transparent acrylic polymer consolidant, trade name ‘Pantarol.’ (5) To eliminate the blanched effect left by the chemical solvents and restore a certain lucidity to the surface, a final coating of natural beeswax was applied. Though I am not qualified to judge from a technical point of view, the visual results of stages 3–5 are to my mind unfortunate. The beeswax combined with the Pantarol gave the white-grey Carrara marble a yellowish cast and satinlike texture. I am also not convinced that it was necessary to remove the original iron hooks, since the lead filling had effectively prevented corrosion at the point of insertion into the marble. In January 1967 the busts of Coppola and Cepparelli were permanently installed on the piers flanking the entrance to the sacristy of San Giovanni. They were placed on two consoles, contemporary but certainly not the originals, that were also found in the basement storeroom. The original inscription honoring Coppola was placed under his portrait, and under that of Cepparelli a copy with the text taken from Forcella. The bust of Cambi was placed in the archive of the confraternity.

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The first reference to the Coppola bust (Figs. 1–3, 7–9) occurs in a record of the meeting of the confraternity on March 8, 1612, about two weeks after his death. ‘Let four scudi be paid for the bust (casso) of wax made for the head of the said Messer Antonio Coppola and let Piero Paolo Calvalcanti along with Signor Francesco Ticci commission the sculptor Bernini to make the marble head of the said Messer Antonio Coppola, to be placed in the hospital.’ (Doc. 1). Four months later the bust must have been finished, for at the meeting of the confraternity on July 16, 1612, the following action was taken: ‘A check was issued to pay the sculptor Bernini that which is due him for the marble head of Messer Antonio Coppola, and the amount was left blank, and an order was given to Signor Andrea Pasquali that he along with Signor Francesco Ticci try to pay as little as possible.’ (Doc. 2). The price had been settled a month later when, on August 10, 1612, fifty scudi were paid to Pietro Bernini, to cover the entire cost of the bust (Doc. 4). During August and September payments were made for a gesso mold of Coppola’s head and for his painted portrait (Docs. 3, 5). According to the inscription the monument was installed in June 1614; the inscription itself was not actually paid for until the end of the following year (Doc. 6).14 The reason for this delay was probably that the hospital was not yet completed during 1613–1614, as payments to various workmen show.15 These records are of considerable interest even apart from the fact that they help to identify the author of the bust and fix very precise dates for its A fourth bust was also found in the basement, where it still remains; it is a curiously archaizing work, sixteenth-century in type, but with a complex and asymmetrical treatment of the drapery that suggests a later period. It is perhaps to be identified with a bust of Antonio Altoviti recorded by Forcella along with a commemorative inscription, dated 1698; the location, whether in the hospital or in the church, is not given (Forcella, VII, 35, No. 83). 14 The number of letters specified in the stonecutter’s bill (Doc. 6a) corresponds to that in the preserved inscription, i.e., 225. The present dimensions (835 x 560 mm.) are smaller than those mentioned (43/4 x 41/2 palmi = 1059 x 1003 mm.), indicating that the inscription was cut down, probably when the other monuments were added to form a group. The dimensions of the Cambi inscription were 780 x 353 mm. (31/2 x 17/12 palmi; cf. Doc. 28). Roman palmo = 223 mm. 15 One payment may perhaps refer to the railing of the balcony of the room in which the monuments were installed (see note 10 above): ‘p avere rimesso sotto lo ispidale el chancello chon mia ranpini echiodi eseghato la ispaliera delli ufiziali che si divida in 2 pezi erimesso le banche atorno che erano chavate p el fiume — ∇ 1’ (‘Conto di lavori fatti p servizio dello ispidale di san giovanni de fiorentini fatti dalli 20 di aprile 1613 insino alli 22 di febraro 1614’); ASGF–205, near the beginning of the volume. Other payments to muratori and scarpellini for work during 1612–14 occur in the same volume.

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execution — March to July 1612. The references to wax and gesso forms show that the portrait was based on a death mask made before Coppola was interred. The order to pay for the portrait (Doc. 2) has two features that are, in my experience, unique. The decree provides that a blank check (‘mandato in bianco’) be issued; this is the first time I, at least have encountered a bank draft of this kind in payments of the period. Furthermore, the representatives of the confraternity are ordered to ‘try to pay as little as possible.’ This, too, is new to me, and indicates that the price for the bust had not been agreed upon in advance. Both these exceptional features suggest that the circumstances of the commission were unusual. In 1612 Pietro Bernini was fifty years old and one of the leading sculptors in Rome, having recently completed two major papal commissions.16 The confraternity would scarcely have been in a position to deal with an artist of Pietro Bernini’s stature in the manner implied by the blank check and the order to pay as little as possible — especially for a commission that had already been accepted and carried out. On the other hand, this is exactly what one would expect if the person who actually executed the work was a minor. Gianlorenzo Bernini was born on December 7, 1598.17 At the time of the commission of the Coppola bust his age was thirteen years and three months. We know of several other instances during the following years in which the father, acting as an agent, received the payments for work done by his prodigious son.18 Even apart from the peculiarities of the financial arrangements, however, and even if the bust itself were not preserved, we could deduce which Bernini carved it. Pietro Bernini never made portrait busts. None are men-

16 The Assumption of the Virgin (1607–10) and the first version, now lost, of the Coronation of Clement VIII for the chapel of Paul V in Santa Maria Maggiore (see note 37 below). 17 Bernini’s birthdate is recorded by Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini; Fraschetti’s effort to find the baptismal record in Naples was fruitless (Bernini, 2 n. 1). 18 We shall discuss two such occasions below (pp. 246 and 265): the angels for Sant’ Andrea della Valle, 1618, for which Gianlorenzo later received a retrospective payment on his own (Doc. 17a); and one of the payments for the bust of Cepparelli, 1622, made out to Gianlorenzo and signed for by Pietro (Doc. 22b). In later years, at Saint Peter’s, Pietro became simply an administrator for work done under his son’s direction (Pollak, II, passim; cf. H. Hibbard and I. Jaffe, ‘Bernini’s Barcaccia,’ BurlM, 106, 1964, 169), and received a number of payments on behalf of Andrea Bolgi (Muñoz, 459). Cf. also the case of the portrait of Cepparelli by Pompeo Caccini, whose son accepted the payment (below, note 120).

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tioned in the sources, none are recorded in the documents throughout his long life, and none are preserved.19 A portrait presumably by him does exist, which we shall consider shortly (cf. Fig. 12 and note 37; but it is of a very special kind, and later than the bust of Coppola. The documents alone would thus confront us with the choice either of imagining the bust to be a work of the father, who never before and never afterward did a thing of this kind, or of assuming it to have been in fact executed by the son, who became one of the greatest portrait sculptors of all time and concerning whom the early sources consistently tell us that it was precisely his amazing precocity as a portraitist that brought him his first, childhood fame.20 We have no less than three monuments executed jointly by the son and the father before Pietro’s death in 1629, and in each case it was the son who did the portrait bust, while the father was responsible for the accompanying figures.21 A significant point also, is that the bust of Antonio Cepparelli, ordered by the confraternity a decade later with the specific intention of emulating the first memorial, was commissioned from Gianlorenzo. Finally, documentary evidence for Gianlorenzo’s authorship of the Coppola bust is afforded by a payment made by the confraternity in May 1634 (Doc. 29). A woodworker was then paid for installing in the basement of the hospital two terra-cotta portraits, doubtless the preparatory models for the busts of Coppola and Cepparelli. The document makes no distinction in the authorship of the terra cottas, saying that both were ‘by the hand of Bernini.’ The workman was paid for ‘the bases, iron clamps, etc., made for maintenance of the two clay heads made by the hand of Bernini, which are kept under the hospital. . . .’22 The portrait of Coppola is an unforgettable image of an emaciated old man with sunken cheeks and cavernous eye sockets. The spidery fingers cling without force or tension to the drapery that envelops the figure like a shroud. Here, the difference between life and death has been obliterated. It is the figure of a man in suspended animation, emotionless and timeless, yet For the bibliography on Pietro see Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue, 122. Significantly enough, the one portrait bust attributed to him in a seventeenth-century (French) source, that of Cardinal de Sourdis in Bordeaux, is actually the work of Gianlorenzo (see note 100 below). 20 Discussed below, pp. 202 ff. 21 See the works for Cardinal de Sourdis in Bordeaux, the tomb of Cardinal Dolfin in Venice, and that of Cardinal Bellarmino in the Gesù, discussed below. 22 Unhappily, I found no trace of the two models. 19

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with the penetrating effect that only the spectre of death can have upon the living. The bust is a challenge to the very notion of juvenilia, by which we mean works displaying characteristics attributable to the artist’s youth alone, independent of his own personality or the period in which he lived. The stiff posture, the relatively small head poked on the long, barrel-like torso cut in an arc at the bottom — elements such as these lend the bust a quality of abstraction common in children’s art that might, conceivably, lead one to suspect it was the work of an adolescent It would also have to be admitted, however, that the portrait owes much of its disquieting effect to these same elements. A somewhat analogous problem is raised by the fact that the bust was made from a death mask. It might be argued that the mask made possible a greater degree of realism than would have been attainable otherwise. But the spectral quality of the image as a whole cannot be explained in this way, since it depends as much on the pose and composition as on Coppola’s physical features. Bernini seems to have been caught by the idea of infusing in what is ostensibly the portrait of a living person some of the ‘deathliness’ of a corpse.23 If it is astonishing, to say the least, that a thirteen-year-old could conceive and execute an image of such affective power, it is equally disconcerting to realize that the work constitutes an important innovation in the history of modern portraiture. In the course of the sixteenth century in Rome there had developed an austere, ‘classical’ tradition of portraiture characterized, especially toward the end of the century, by compact, tightly drawn silhouettes, hard surfaces and sharp edges, and psychological effects of an often aggressive intensity (cf. Fig. 6).24 Although this type continued well into the first quarter of the seventeenth century, after about 1600 there is evidence of a tendency to mitigate its severity, with softer textures and more relaxed facial expressions.25 The Coppola bust takes its point of departure from this phase of the development. With its closed outline and simple, almost geometric shapes it adheres closely to the classical tradition (which, indeed, Bernini never entirely forsook). In other respects, however, it The underlying attitude is essentially the same as that which led Bernini in later years to develop his famous ‘speaking’ likenesses to preserve the vitality of the living. 24 The development is made sufficiently clear in Grisebach’s Römische Portratbüsten der Gegenreformation, cf. 19 ff.; it should be borne in mind that Grisebach’s survey is confined almost exclusively to portraits made for tombs, and omits papal portraits entirely. 25 Ibid., 23–24, 150. 23

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reflects a spirit fundamentally different from that which had prevailed in Rome in the wake of the Counter Reformation. To begin with, the form of the bust, cloaked around the shoulders with the right hand emerging to grasp the edge of the drapery at the front, is based on an authentically classical portrait type that had developed from Greek representations of philosophers, poets, and orators (Fig. 4).26 It has been thought that Bernini revived this ancient formula a good many years later, in his portrait of Giovanni Vigevano in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (Fig. 46); later still he used it again, with variations, in the bust of Thomas Baker in the Victoria and Albert Museum.27 The device is one of several Bernini adopted in his lifelong concern with the problem of suggesting the missing parts of the body.28 Yet, he always avoided an effect of arbitrary truncation; in the Coppola portrait the curvature and rounded forward edge of the lower contour assure that the observer perceives the bust as an ideal, self-sufficient form, not as a kind of fragment.29 Bernini was not the first to study this ancient portrait type. His interest in it had been anticipated in two busts of members of the Pio da Carpi family in Santa Trinità dei Monti in Rome, made in the latter part of the sixteenth century (Figs. 5, 6).30 There is, however, a profound difference in the B. M. Felletti Maj, Museo nazionale romano. 1 ritratti, Rome, 1953, 149, Fig. 297; cf. K. Schefold, Die Bildnisse der antiken Dichter Redner und Denker, Basel, 1943, 92–93, 102–03. The motif also occurs frequently in the portraits on ancient sarcophagi and funereal reliefs. 27 Cf. Wittkower, 1953, 20–21, who was the first to emphasize the dependence on Roman prototypes. On the dating of the bust of Vigevano, see below; on the Baker bust, Wittkower, 1966, 208, No. 40, Pl. 64. The formula was also adopted by Giuliano Finelli for his bust of Michelangelo Buonarroti, Jr., in the Casa Buonarotti in Florence. We may note that this portrait must have been made during Buonarroti’s visit to Rome in 1630 (A. Nava Cellini, ‘Un tracciato per l’attività ritrattistica di Giuliano Finelli,’ Paragone, 1960, No. 131, 19), as is evident from a letter written on December 28 of that year by Finelli to Buonarroti, acknowledging the latter’s praises: ‘. . . e se i Pittori, e gli scultori e i gentilli.mi sono ritornati a rivedere il ritratto, e gli sono mostrati invidiosi si assicuri da scritore, che gli sono, che hano la vera emulatione all’ Originale . . .’ (BLF, MS Buonarroti 42, No. 910). 28 On this point, see Wittkower, 1953, 21. 29 Contrast Baccio Bandinelli’s bronze bust of Cosimo I de’ Medici recently published by Heikamp (Pls. 45, 47, 48), which gives something of the effect of an ancient statue fragment; in the draft of a letter to the Duke, Bandinelli anticipates the objection that it seems ‘incomplete’ by suggesting that arms and legs might easily be added (Heikamp, 58). 30 Grisebach, 100 ff. Professor James Holderbaum called my attention to the fact that the bust of Cardinal Pio da Carpi is a documented work, 1567–68, by Leonardo da Sarzano (A. Bertolotti, Artisti Subalpini in Roma nei secoli XV, XVI e XVII, Bologna, 1884, 102; 26

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interpretation of the classical formula. In the earlier works it is used for what might be called ulterior motives. Cardinal Pio’s hand is extended in a gesture that invites the beholder to prayer at the altar, and the hand of Cecilia Orsini holds a rosary that serves to demonstrate her piety. In Bernini’s portrait there are no such ulterior motives. Although Coppola’s dress is modern, the purely expressive significance of the classical device, which creates a mood of contemplative introspection, is understood and retained. Coppola is psychologically disarmed, so to speak, and this feeling of intimacy is one of the factors that most clearly distinguish the bust as a new departure. The fresh and unvitiating approach to the art of antiquity, also, is characteristic of Bernini’s early work, as we shall have occasion to observe again. While the study of antiquity played an important role in the conception of the Coppola bust, many aspects of its style can also be traced to Bernini’s father. This may be seen from a comparison with Pietro Bernini’s relief of the Assumption of the Virgin in the sacristy of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome (1607–1610), a work that had itself made an important contribution to the transformation of Roman sculpture in the first decade of the century (Fig. 27).31 Here we find similarly flat, angular folds of drapery that establish linear patterns of movement; beards and hair that are not described in detail but are treated as coherent masses from which tufts emerge; and most especially, an extraordinary bravura of technique with daring perforations and undercuttings that create an intricate play of shadows and emphasize the fragility of the stone (cf. Fig. 3). Yet the Coppola bust has none of the outré visual and expressive effects of Pietro’s relief. An initial insight into the peculiar stylistic quality of the portrait is suggested by the scarcely perceptible deviation of the head to the left of the central axis; at the same time, the eyes turn slightly to the right. Optical refinements of this kind, exquisite in their subtlety, pervade the whole work. At some point in his life Coppola must have received a blow to the cranium, and a special fall of light is necessary to study the complex configuration of the depression it left in his forehead (Fig. 7). The rings cf. W. Gramberg, review of Grisebach, ZfK, N.F., 6, 1937, 50). Cecilia Orsini’s bust must be a decade later; she died in 1575. Miss Ann Markham has called my attention to Holbein’s portrait of Hermann Hildebrandt Wedigh in Berlin, dated 1533, which may be derived from the same classical bust type, though here the left hand is included as well (Hans Holbein d. J., Klassiker der Kunst, Berlin–Leipzig, n.d., Pl. 98). 31 See the documents in Muñoz, 466–67.

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around the irises of the eyes are not sharp and clear, but irregular and tremulous. The lachrymal ducts at the corners of the eyes are not reproduced in their actual shape, but their watery sparkle is faintly suggested by two small drill-holes.32 The transition from skin to hair and to the tufted mass of the beard is practically invisible. The tiny mounds on the buttons of Coppola’s garment are only vaguely separated from the larger spheres below (Fig. 9). The fingernails are barely defined. The marble is nowhere brought to a high polish, but is abraded to give a slightly granular texture; light, instead of being reflected, is broken up by the crystalline structure of the surface, and the result is a veiled effect, smooth yet soft and translucent.33 This particular kind of optical refinement, the muted impressionism, as I am tempted to call it, seems to have been Gianlorenzo’s creation; it introduced a new attitude toward sculptural form, and marks a significant stage in the young Bernini’s development. Finally, it should be emphasized that the innovations we have noted in the Coppola bust — the suggestion of a whole rather than a severed body, the psychological intimacy, and the effect of solid form dissolved by light — are closely interconnected. Together they serve to establish a direct, unselfconscious relationship between the spectator and the subject. 32 This device occurs, with the holes drilled much more deeply, in Pietro’s Assumption relief (the right eye of,the Virgin, Fig. 26, and the right eye of the angel facing right in the embracing pair to the left of center, Fig. 28), where it is doubtless meant to accent the corner of the eye from a distant viewpoint. (The relief was originally intended for the outside façade of the Cappella Paolina.) Such drill-holes often appear singly in Roman imperial sculpture, and in this form they were well known in the early seventeenth century (Grisebach, 59, 61; cf. also Fig. 29). But I have found no precedent for their use in pairs. Gianlorenzo used the device again in the Santoni bust (Fig. 11; see below). 33 Pietro’s Assumption relief provides an interesting illustration of the experimentation with surface textures passed on from father to son. Pietro left the surface without the final polish; the parallel hatchings of a fine-clawed chisel, the next to last stage in the execution, are visible uniformly throughout (Figs. 26, 27, 28). This device also must have served to strengthen the forms seen from afar. In establishing the final payment for the work, which had already been installed in the sacristy, the appraisers offered a higher sum to be paid when Pietro gave it its final polish ‘so that it would not collect dust and blacken with time,’ a procedure that evidently was not carried out. Ironically, the situation was almost duplicated years later when Gianlorenzo used the same technique for his figure of St. Longinus in Saint Peter’s (Wittkower, 1966, Pl. 43). A reference to this treatment is apparent in a petition submitted in 1642 by Francesco Mochi requesting that weekly dusting of his figure of St. Veronica be discontinued; ‘the statue being finished in all its parts, dust has no place to attach itself ’ (Pollak, II, 451, No. 1754).

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One of the most important implications of the Coppola bust for our understanding of Bernini’s development is that it confirms the early biographers’ accounts of his precocious genius.34 Filippo Baldinucci and Bernini’s son, Domenico, report in their biographies of the artist that his first work in Rome was the portrait of Monsignor Giovanni Battista Santoni in Santa Prassede (Fig. 11). Baldinucci says that Bernini executed the bust ‘shortly after he completed the tenth year of his age,’ and Domenico Bernini mentions it in connection with works made when his father was ten. It was owing to the succcess of this portrait, we are told, that the boy was introduced to the Borghese pope Paul V in whose presence he drew a head. This was the beginning of his fabulous career.35 The earliest date that modern writers have been willing to assign to the bust of Santoni is 1613, and usually 1615–1616 is given.36 Comparison 34 A portrait that must have been made almost simultaneously with that of Coppola is mentioned by Domenico Bernini (p. 20). He reports that before Monsignor Alessandro Ludovisi (later Pope Gregory XV) left Rome to take up the archbishopric of Bologna, he had Gianlorenzo carve his bust. Ludovisi became archbishop of Bologna in March 1612. 35 Baldinucci, 74–75, ‘La prima opera, che uscisse dal suo scarpello in Roma fu una testa di marmo situata nella chiesa di S. Potenziana [he correctly lists it as in Santa Prassede in his catalogue, p. 176]; avendo egli allora il decimo anno di sua età appena compito. Per la qual cosa . . .’ (continues the account of the meeting with Paul V). Domenico Bernini, 8 ff., recounts the meeting with Paul V first, and then continues (p. 10), ‘Haveva già egli dato principio a lavorare di Scultura, e la sua 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 picciola età, dove altri potevano gloriarsi di giungere nella vecchiezza.’ In his journal of the artist’s visit to France in 1665, Chantelou reports Bernini himself as relating that the episode with Paul V took place when he was eight years old, and that the work which aroused the Pope’s interest was a head of St. John (evidently a confusion with Giovanni Battista Santoni’s Christian names); cf. Chantelou, 84. Santoni’s name is often mistakenly given as ‘Santori.’ The cause of the error lies with the consistorial acts, the decrees of the papal consistory which include appointments of bishops and from which the various published episcopal lists are compiled; these, however, are copies made from the original sources, now lost, after the consistorial archive was founded by Urban VIII. In these acts the name is spelled with an r, doubtless a copyist’s error. The correct spelling appears in the inscription of the Santoni monument itself (see below, note 40) and in all the contemporary documents, such as those concerning the elder Santoni’s nunciature in Switzerland, which include letters bearing his own signature (cf. P. M. Krieg, ‘Das Collegium Helveticum in Mailand nach dem Bericht des Nuntius Giovanni Battista Santonio,’ Zeitschrift für schweizerische Kirchengeschichte, 25, 1931, 112 ff.) and in Cardinal Ottavio Bandini’s original nomination of the younger Santoni to the bishopric of Policastro (BVAS, Acta Miscell., vol. 98, fol. 331).

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with the Coppola bust shows that there are many similarities, as, for example, the use in both cases of the double drill-holes at the corners of the eyes. There is a further similarity between the two works in that the bust of Santoni also owes a considerable debt to ancient portraiture. In the powerful sideward thrust of the head, the knitted eyebrows and penetrating grimace, and in the peculiar treatment of the hair and beard which envelop the face with tightly packed nodules of light and dark, it recalls the familiar busts of the emperor Caracalla.37 Santoni’s locks, moreover, though different in form from those of Coppola, have a similarly gentle, granular texture, and depart radically from the meticulously defined and polished strands or curls typical of sixteenth-century portraits in Rome. Nonetheless, despite its similarities to the bust of Coppola, that of Santoni is clearly earlier. The sharp features and somewhat exaggerated grimace have many sixteenth-century precedents, as do the small cut of the torso and the polished skin. In general, the soft impressionism of which we have spoken is here less developed, and it is evident that essentially Baldinucci and Domenico Bernini were right. In fact, I think it can be shown that the date specified by Baldinucci, early 1610, was exactly right.38 Here I follow the lead of Grisebach, who suggested that investigation of the life of Giovanni Battista Santoni’s nephew, Giovanni Antonio, who ordered the work, might reveal the occasion for the commission — long after the sitter’s death — and hence its date.39 The elder Santoni, who had died in 1592, had been bishop of Tricarico. The inscription on the monument says

36 The earlier dating is that of Fraschetti, 11; cf. Wittkower, 1966, 173–74, No. 2 (1615–16). The frame of the Santoni monument is exactly copied in another funeral inscription in Santa Prassede, commemorating a man who died in 1614 (Forcella, II, 509, No. 1537). 37 An analogous facial expression appears on the head of Clement VIII in Pietro Bernini’s relief of the Pope’s coronation on his tomb in Santa Maria Maggiore (Fig. 12). There was a time when, because of this similarity, I thought the Pope’s head might have been the work of Gianlorenzo, and this may indeed be the case. But the relief dates 1612–14 (cf. Muñoz, 469–70), that is, after the bust of Coppola. I now suppose Pietro was here taking a leaf from his son’s book. An earlier version of the Coronation relief is mentioned in documents of 1611–12 (Muñoz, 469). 38 Although Bernini had lived ten years on December 7, 1608, he did not cease being ten years old, i.e., he did not complete the tenth year ‘of his age’ (cf. note 35 above) until his eleventh birthday in December 1609. This way of reporting a person’s age is still common in Italy. 39 Grisebach, 152.

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that it was erected in his honor by his nephew, who is himself described as bishop of Policastro.40 The younger Santoni was named bishop on April 26, 1610, and he must have ordered the memorial to celebrate his achievement of the same rank as his uncle.41 The bust would thus have been carved early in 1610, just as Baldinucci says. Another work that must be dated much earlier than heretofore is the under life-size group of the Amalthean goat suckling the infant Jupiter and a satyr, in the Villa Borghese in Rome (Fig. 15). Since it was first identified thirty years ago, it has been universally recognized as one of Bernini’s earliest works, and has generally been placed close to the Santoni bust c. 1615.42 This dating seemed to find confirmation with the discovery in the Borghese archive of a carpenter’s invoice, dated August 18, 1615, which includes a base for the group.43 The bust of Coppola now rules out so late a date. There are certain analogies with the Santoni bust (compare the hair on the goat’s projecting leg with that above Santoni’s forehead),44 but the skin is here even harder and more highly polished, and the transitions between forms still sharper. There are also awkward passages; the satyr’s left hand is ‘out of drawing’ (Fig. 13), and the goat’s turned-under right front hoof is shown incongruously flat and concave (not visible in Fig. 15). In fact, the documents provide good reason to suppose that the Borghese group dates perhaps half a year earlier than the Santoni portrait. In the same invoice of 1615, the woodcarver who made the base for the Amalthean Goat listed a base for a comparable group of Hellenistic inspiration, also still in the Villa Borghese, by an unknown sculptor of the period, showing three sleeping putti (Fig. 14).45 In this case, however, a payment is preserved for the purchase of the group, in June 1609.46 Evidently it was acquired for one purSee Forcella, II, 507, No. 1530. K. Eubel, Hierarchia ecclesiastica, Padua, 1913 ff., II, 284. 42 R. Longhi, ‘Precisioni nelle gallerie italiane,’ Vita artistica, I, 1926, 65–66; cf. Wittkower, 1966, 173, No. 1. The attribution to Bernini is based on a reference to it as Bernini’s ‘first famous work,’ in J. von Sandrart’s Teutsche Academie of 1675, ed. A. R. Peltzer, Munich, 1925, 285. 43 Faldi, 1953, 146, Doc. XII. 44 Cf. Wittkower, 1966, 173, who also emphasizes the similarities to the putto heads in the frame of the Santoni monument. 45 Faldi, 1954, 13–14, No. 6; cf. 14, Doc. III. The group, of which many duplicates are known (partial list in Faldi), seems to be by the same hand as the groups of wrestling putti in the Doria Gallery attributed to Stefano Maderno (see below). 46 Ibid., 14, Docs. I, II. 40 41

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pose in that year and then was put on a base of its own six years later. There is little doubt in my mind that Bernini’s group formed part of the same decorative program and that it, too, was made early in 1609.47 The work may well have been among the ‘picciole Statue’ which Domenico Bernini appends to his reference to the Santoni bust, saying that his father made them at the age of ten, and that they were seen and much admired by Annibale Carracci.48 In that case, the dates would correspond perfectly, since Carracci died in July 1609. In 1961 Antonia Nava Cellini published a life-size figure of a little boy with a delicious smile and two buck teeth, who is seated astride a dragon, pulling its mouth apart (Figs. 16–18).49 A hole runs from the bottom through the mouth of the dragon, showing that it was intended as a fountain, and there are one or two rust stains indicating that it may have been used as such for a time. Nava Cellini attributed the work, which is now in a private collection in New York, to Pietro Bernini, and supposed, very reasonably, that the sculpture had been made for the Borghese family, one of whose emblems is a winged dragon. She suggested a relatively late date, about 1620, and observed, significantly, that the father was here working under the influence of the son. Documents from the Barberini family archive, now in the Vatican Library, indicate that the work is by Gianlorenzo, not Pietro Bernini. The group corresponds exactly to the description of a sculpture that appears repeatedly in the inventories of the Barberini family art collections throughout the seventeenth century. It is mentioned in 1628 as having come from the house of Don Carlo Barberini, brother of Maffeo Barberini, who had become Pope Urban VIII in 1623: ‘Un putto a sedere sopra un drago moderno al nat[ura]le.’50 In an inventory begun in 1632 by Nicolò Menghini it

47 It is worth noting that in October 1609 the Pope purchased a considerable collection of antique sculptures that had belonged to the sculptor Tommaso della Porta (cf. Pastor, XXVI, 448). 48 Quoted in note 35 above. 49 ‘Un’opera di Pietro Bernini,’ Arte antica e moderna, 1961, 288 ff. 50 BVAB–1, fol. 28, ‘Diverse statue venute di Casa dell’Ecc.mo S.r D. Carlo,’ the entry dated July 28, 1628. The ‘house’ referred to here was the palace in the Via dei Giubbonari; it had originally belonged to Maffeo, who gave it to his brother shortly after his election to the papacy (BVAB, Ind. II, Cred. II, Cas. 29, Mazz. IX, Lett. C, No. 3, ‘Seconda donazione fatta da Papa Urbano VIII al I’Eccsm.o D. Carlo Barberini,’ Sept. 22, 1623). The brothers are later reported as having built the Giubbonari palace jointly (cf. Pastor, XXVIII, 30). As

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6. Bust of Cecilia Orsini. Rome, Santa Trinità dei Monti (photo: Bibl. Hertziana, Rome).

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5. Leonardo da Sarzano, Bust of Cardinal Pio da Carpi. Rome, Santa Trinità dei Monti (photo: Bibl. Hertziana, Rome).

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8. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Coppola (detail). Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

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7. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Coppola (detail). Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

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10. Pompeo Ferrucci, Bust of Pietro Cambi. Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

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9. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Coppola (detail). Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

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12. Pietro Bernini, Coronation of Clement VIII (detail). Rome, Santa Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari).

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

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13. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Amalthean Goat (detail). Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: GFN). 14. Three Sleeping Putti. Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: Alinari).

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15. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Amalthean Goat. Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: Alinari).

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16. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy with Dragon. New York, private collection (photo: L. A. Foersterling, St. Louis).

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17. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy with Dragon (detail). New York, private collection (photo: L. A. Foersterling, St. Louis).

18. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy with Dragon (detail). New York, private collection (photo: L. A. Foersterling, St. Louis).

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19. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Boy with Dragon (detail). New York, private collection (photo: L. A. Foersterling, St. Louis).

20. Hercules Killing the Serpents. Rome, Museo Capitolino (photo: Anderson).

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21. Attrib. to Stefano Maderno, Three Wrestling Infants. Rome, Palazzo Doria (photo: GFN).

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is listed as ‘Un putto qual tiene un drago alto palmi 21/2 fatto dal Cavalier Bernini.’51 Two and one-half palms is 55.7 cm.; this is precisely the height of the New York piece. In 1632, Bernini was overseeing the last stages of construction of the Barberini palace, and Menghini, himself a sculptor, was administrator of Cardinal Francesco Barberini’s sculpture collections.52 The latest entry is in an inventory of the Pope’s grand nephew Cardinal Carlo Barberini, made in 1692, in which the figure is identified as Hercules: ‘Un ercoletto intiero à sedere sopra un Drago, che con una mano li rompe la bocca.’53 In the margin next to this entry the following note was added: ‘Donato à Filippo V. Re di Spagna da S[ua] E[ccelenza] in occ[asi]one della Leg[atio]ne di Napoli.’ The event alluded to here is the arrival in Naples in 1702 of Philip V of Spain. The King’s arrival was an important occasion, and Pope Clement XI named Cardinal Carlo Barberini as his legate extraordinary to go to Naples and welcome the visitor.54 The Cardinal’s legation we shall see, the sculpture was in all probability commissioned by Maffeo, remaining in the Giubbonari palace until it was transferred to Cardinal Francesco Barberini, the Pope’s nephew, in 1628. 51 BVAB–2, fol. 7v. This entry was published by Pollak, I, 334, No. 960, and the connection with the work published by Nava Cellini was made independently by M. and M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, Bernini, 1967, Schedario, No. 3. The sculpture is also listed in the inventory of 1651: ‘Un altro Putto del naturale, che tiene un Drago -p la Bocca alto p.mi 21/2” (BVAB–3, fol. 1). 52 On Menghini, cf. Pollak, 1, 3, 164; 11, 131, 499 ff. To the list of his works given in Thieme-Becker (XXIV, 389) should be added a lost marble relief of the dead Christ surrounded by angels in San Lorenzo in Damaso commissioned by Cardinal Francesco Barberini (A. Schiavo, Il palazzo della Cancelleria, Rome, 1964, 99, 103) and a bust of St. Sebastian on a gray marble base in San Sebastiano fuori le Mura, popularly attributed to Bernini, but which is very likely identical with a sculpture by Menghini mentioned in the 1692 inventory of Cardinal Carlo Barberini: ‘un busto di un S. Sebastiano con pieduccio di bigio antico del Menghini’ (BVAB–4, fol. 262). Cardinal Francesco Barberini had been responsible for the new altar of St. Sebastian in the basilica (G. Mancini and B. Pesci, San Sebastiano fuori le mura, Le Chiese di Roma illustrate, No. 48, Rome, n.d., 37, cf. 69, Fig. 20). 53 BVAB–4, fol. 242. The work is mentioned by the Swedish architect Nicodemus Tessin the younger in the diary of his second visit to Rome (1687–88) as follows: ‘. . . ein Christkindlein mit dem dracken von einem discipel vom Cav. Bernini’ (Siren, 168). Tessin’s references to Bernini’s work in the Palazzo Barberini are generally rather garbled: he lists Mochi’s bronze equestrian statuette of Carlo Barberini as by Bernini (ibid., 165), Bernini’s St. Sebastian (see below, p. 231 f.) as by Giorgetti (p. 167), the two putti by Gianlorenzo from the Barberini chapel in Sant’Andrea della Valle (see below, pp. 232 ff.) as by Pietro Bernini (p. 167). 54 Cf. Pastor, XXXIII, 28–29, with bibliography; Bottineau, 250 ff.

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and the ceremonies held in Naples are described in many reports and dispatches, published and unpublished. These include lists of the numerous sumptuous gifts from the Pope and from the Cardinal legate himself, and foremost among the latter was Bernini’s little putto with dragon. In Cardinal Carlo’s own official report of the legation, we find ‘Una statuetta rapresentante un Ercholetto che sbrana il serpente in eta puerile opera del s[igno]r Cavaliere Lorenzo Bernini.’55 A member of the King’s suite says in a published account that the Cardinal “inoltre presentogli un’altra bellissima statua, che rappresenta un’Ercole, che spezza un serpente, scolpita in finissimo marmo bianco similmente d’un sol pezzo, per mano del Bernini”.56 I have found no subsequent trace of the sculpture until the first decade of the present century, when it appeared in a private collection in Paris as by an anonymous French sculptor of the eighteenth century. How it came about that this once so prestigious work lost its identity and disappeared remains a mystery.57 Equally mysterious is the destination and meaning of the piece. It is clearly based on the classical motif of the infant Hercules killing the snakes, for which the dragon has been substituted (Fig. 20).58 It must surely have had something to do with the Borghese, and we may question where a BV, MS Barb. lat. 5638, ‘Legatione del Card: Carlo Barberini al Rè di Spagna Filippo V’. L’Anno 1702,’ fol. 174, ‘Notta delli regali fatti da s.e. nella Cita di Napoli in ochasione della sua Legatione al’ Rè Filippo Quinto.’ 56 A. Bulifon, Giornale del Viaggio d’Italia dell’ Invittissimo e gloriosissimo Monarca Filippo V. Re delle Spagne e di Napoli, etc., Naples, 1703, 171. Other references to the gift are found in BV, MSS Barb. lat. 5638, fol. 288v, 289; 5041, fol. 38v; 5408, fol. 21; MS Urb. lat. 1701, fol. 38v, 39; BVAS, MS Bolognetti 64, p. 486; F. Biandini, Descrizione della solenne legazione del Cardinale Carlo Barberíni a Filippo V . . . , Rome, 1703, ed. P. E. Visconti, Rome, 1858, 81. 57 Bottineau, 250 n. 274, connected the work given by Cardinal Carlo Barberini to Philip V with that described in the Barberini inventory entry published by Pollak, and states that he found no reference to it in the Spanish king’s inventories. In 1905 the sculpture was purchased from the Gallerie Sempé in Nice (now defunct) by the Baron Lazzaroni, who kept it in his house in Paris. On the Baron’s death in 1934 it was brought to Rome and in 1955 it was sold to a Florentine art dealer. (Information from Sig. Torre, administrator of the Lazzaroni properties, Palazzo Lazzaroni, Via dei Lucchesi 26, Rome.) It was acquired by the American collector in 1966. 58 The classical theme has been treated at length by O. Brendel, ‘Der schlangenwürgende Herakliskos,’ Jdl, 47, 1932, 191 ff. On the piece in the Capitoline, of which the right arm and snake and right foot are restorations, cf. H. Stuart Jones (ed.), A Catalogue of the Ancient Sculptures Preserved in the Municipal Collections of Rome. The Sculptures of the Museo Capitolino, Oxford, 1912, 128–29. 55

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connection with the Barberini can be found. A clue, at least, seems to be provided by a poem written by Maffeo Barberini before he became pope. It appears in the first edition of his poetry, printed in Paris in 1620.59 The poem is about a bronze dragon that stood in the Borghese garden, and its theme that this dragon is not a fearful monster who stands guard, but a tamed host who welcomes the visitor to the delights of the garden: I do not sit as guardian, but as a host to those who enter. This villa is not more accessible to its owner than it is to you. Later in the poem there is a reference to Hercules, through the Hydra. The idea of the Borghese garden as a habitat of the tamed and gentle dragon seems, indeed, to have been a theme basic to the conception of the villa. A poem specifically linking this idea to Hercules and the garden of the Hesperides is printed on the verso of the title page of Manilli’s description of the villa in 1650: Here in the garden of the Hesperides the guardian dragon does not assail in anger the wandering Hercules. . . . Here, tired from his journey And from so many noble labors, Reposes Alcides [Hercules]. . . .60 59 Ill mi et Rev mi Maffaei S.R.E. Card. Barberini S.D.N. Signaturae Iustitiae Praefecti etc. Poemata, Paris, 1620, 68: Draco aereus in fronte laureti, in viridario Illustrissimi Cardinalis Burghesij Non sedeo custos, adsto venientibus hospes, Non magis haec Domino, quàm tibi Villa patet. Hic requiem captare licet, passimque vagari, Aëris hîc haustu liberiore frui, Nec species animu˜ turbet metuenda Draconis, Non ego, quae flammis Hydra perempta cadat. Non ego sum Python, feriant quem spicula; lauros Ecce mihi credit Cynthius ipse suas. 60 J. Manilli, Villa Borghese fuori di Porta Pinciana, Rome, 1650: Qui d’Hesperio Giardino Drago custode non assale irato Hercole peregrino:

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We have also the testimony of the official biographer of Urban VIII that the Borghese garden was one of Maffeo Barberini’s favorite haunts before he became pope; he often foregathered there with his learned friends to discuss art and literature.61 One can easily imagine him commissioning such a sculpture as an allusion to the pleasures of the Borghese garden, where wild nature had been dominated. The sculpture belongs to the same category of genre or quasi-genre groups inspired by Hellenistic art of which the Amalthean Goat provides an example (Fig. 15). Works of this kind, in fact, enjoyed a veritable revival in Rome around the turn of the seventeenth century; besides the three sleeping putti mentioned earlier (Fig. 14), we may note a pair of groups of three wrestling putti attributed to Stefano Maderno in the Palazzo Doria in Rome62 (Fig. 21) and two closely related groups of Bacchic putti, one of which bears the initials of Pietro Bernini (Figs. 22, 24–25; cf. also Fig. 23).63 Sculptures of this kind have a common stylistic denominator in that the figures create complex interweaving forms that move outward in all directions. By contrast, Bernini’s groups seem clear and unencumbered. A single, dominant entry into the world of the sculpture is provided by a member that projects into the spectator’s space. From this point the eye is led in a spiral movement back into the composition, where a transverse axis, in one In quest’ HORTO beato, Di Gioue à l’alto Augel fatto consorte Amico arride à le BORGHESIE porte. Qui stanco dal camino, E da tante sue nobili fatiche Riposa Alcide, in queste piagge apriche. 61 A. Nicoletti, Della vita di Urbano Ottavo, I, BV, MS Barb. lat. 4730, 532; cf. Pastor, XXIX, 422. 62 The attribution to Maderno is due to Riccoboni, 142–43 (cf. Fig. 184 for an illustration of the group not reproduced here); the attribution is rejected by A. Donati, Stefano Maderno scultore 1576–1636, Bellinzona, 1945, 55–56. 63 The groups, whose present whereabouts is unknown, are mentioned by A. De Rinaldis, L’Arte in Roma dal Seicento al Novecento, Bologna, 1948, 205, as having been in the hands of the Roman dealer Sangiorgi. One (Figs. 24–25), which bore the initials PBF on the base, was published by Faldi, 1953, 144, Fig. 7. The other work (Fig. 22) came from the Palazzo Cardelli, where it was seen by Fraschetti (431 n.), who identified it with an entry in an inventory taken in 1706 of Bernini’s palace; it was reproduced in Galerie Sangiorgi. Catalogue des objets d’art ancien pour l’année 1910, 26 (where the Cardelli provenance is mentioned and the dimensions 90 x 85 cm. given). Cf. A. Santangelo, ‘Gian Lorenzo Bernini (attr.): ‘Baccante,’ BdA, 41, 1956, 369–70.

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22. Attrib. to Pietro Bernini, Bacchic group. Whereabouts unknown (from Galerie Sangiorgi).

23. Fountain in the garden of the Palazzo Farnese, Caprarola, drawing (detail). Paris, Bibl. Nat.

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24. Pietro Bernini, Bacchic group. Whereabouts unknown (photo: lent by Italo Faldi).

25. Pietro Bernini, Bacchic group. Whereabouts unknown (photo: lent by Italo Faldi).

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26. Pietro Bernini, Assumption of the Virgin (detail). Rome, Santa Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari). 27. Pietro Bernini, Assumption of the Virgin (detail). Rome, Santa Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari).

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27. Pietro Bernini, Assumption of the Virgin. Rome, Santa Maria Maggiore (photo: Alinari).

28. Pietro Bernini, St. John the Baptist (detail). Rome, Sant’Andrea della Valle (photo: David Lees, Rome).

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30. Gianlorenzo Bernini, St. Sebastian. Lugano, Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection.

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31. Gianlorenzo Bernini, St. Lawrence. Florence, Contini-Bonacossi Collection (photo: GFN).

32. Gianlorenzo Bernini, St. Lawrence (detail). Florence, ContiniBonacossi Collection (photo: GFN).

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case the two figures of Jupiter and the satyr, in the other the putto’s torso, establishes a definite vertical plane facing the observer frontally. Strikingly similar, also, is the cross-torso movement of the right arm of both the infant Jupiter and the putto. Here, again, Bernini had some difficulty in rendering the infantile hand; the little finger of the putto’s left hand is scarcely articulated (Fig. 19), and that of the right hand seems flat and boneless. Despite these analogies with the Amalthean Goat, it is evident that the Boy with the Dragon is substantially later. A difference in date is suggested, to begin with, by the analogies with the comparable works by Bernini’s father. The Amalthean Goat, on the one hand, is related to Pietro’s signed Bacchic group (Figs. 24, 25) in subject matter, in the conception of the figures and facial types (though Gianlorenzo’s are not so bulging fat), and in aspects of technique such as the polished surfaces and the treatment of hair and vine leaves. A relatively early date for Pietro’s sculpture is indicated by its close similarity to a lost fountain group in the garden of the Palazzo Farnese at Caprarola, where Pietro had worked at the beginning of his career, which must have been made shortly before 1578 (Fig. 23).64 On the other hand, the physical type of the ‘Ercoletto,’ particularly the head, presupposes the angels in Pietro’s Assumption relief of 1607–1610 (Fig. 28, cf. especially the head turned toward the left at the far left). At the same time, the pudgy and expressively distorted forms of Pietro’s angels have been greatly refined. With its impish but graceful smile and heavy overhanging eyelids that veil the eyes, the putto displays, in even more sophisticated fashion, the kind of psychological intimacy and technical subtlety found in the Coppola bust. (Compare, for example, the delicate striations and soft tufts that mark the emergence of the hair from the head, Fig. 1; and the perforated locks in the back at the base of the skull, Fig. 3) Moreover, the stiffMr. Loren Partridge, who is writing a dissertation (Harvard University) on the Palazzo Farnese at Caprarola, has brought to my attention the records of this fountain, whose theme and composition were very similar to those of the signed Pietro Bernini group — a goat being milked by several putti (one of whom, evidently the infant Hercules, held a snake). The fountain is recorded in a description of a papal visit to the palace in 1578 (J. A. F. Orbaan, Documenti sul barocco in Roma, Rome, 1920, 386), in an anonymous drawing in the Bibl. Nat., Paris, which Mr. Partridge has generously allowed me to publish (Fig. 23), and in a painted vignette in the palace attributed to Antonio Tempesta (photo: Gab. Fot. Naz., Rome, E. 57825). Pietro Bernini is said by Baglione, 304, to have gone to Caprarola under Gregory XIII (1572–85), working there for a summer. Though Baglione mentions only his activity as a painter, it is tempting to see in the fountain an early work by Pietro himself (born 1562), or at least the prototype for his other groups of this kind. 64

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ness of pose that marked both the figures in the Amalthean Goat and the Coppola bust is here replaced by an easy, flowing movement. A likely date for the work is suggested by a comparison of the treatment of the boy’s hair with that of the figure of John the Baptist which Pietro Bernini executed for Maffeo Barberini as part of the decorations in the family chapel in Sant’Andrea della Valle in Rome (Fig. 29). Fundamentally, they are very different; the hair of the father’s work consists almost entirely of circular curls with deep drill-holes at the center of each whorl, whereas in the son’s there are no circular curls and practically no drill-holes. Nevertheless, the frothy effect created by fragile undercuttings and continuous, wavy grooves on the surface is similar in both, and they must be very close in date. Heretofore, we have had no firm date for Pietro Bernini’s statue of the Baptist; but documents in the Barberini archive, which contains many records of the decoration of the chapel, make it possible to fix the period of execution with some accuracy. The commission for a statue of the Baptist had originally gone to Nicolò Cordier, the French sculptor working in Rome;65 Cordier died, however, in November 1612, leaving the figure only blocked out. Pietro Bernini probably began work in the latter part of 1613, when he was given credit for the unfinished block which he agreed to accept in partial payment for the new figure of the Baptist he was to execute in another piece of marble; the sculpture was finished and set in place by May 1615.66

65 Cordier’s contract, dated October 17, 1609, is preserved (BVAB–5, No. 80). Cordier received an initial down-payment of 50 scudi on the same date (BVAB–6, p. 8). Another payment of 50 scudi was made to Cordier’s heirs on June 15, 1613 (BVAB–7, p. XXXI). 66 ‘Pietro Bernino deve dare Scudi Sessanta di mta che -p tanto sie Contentato di Pigliare un Pezzo di Marmo abbozzato da Niccolo cori detto Franciosino -p fare un San Gio: Batta et detti Scudi Sessanta di mta Sono -p a buon conto delli ∇ 300 che sie contentato della fattra di una Statua di San Gio: Batta che far deve in un altro pezzo di Marmo. . . .’ (BVAB–7, p. 126; undated, but the entry is repeated on p. 31 of the same volume, immediately following the payment of June 1613 to Cordier’s heirs, cited in the preceding note.) Pietro received final payments of 200 and 40 scudi respectively on May 25 and June 20, 1615 (BVAB–9, p. 24). A workman was paid on May 5, 1615, for installing Pietro’s Baptist in the chapel (BVAB 8, p. 4). A recollection of these events occurs in Fioravante Martinelli’s manuscript description of Rome (c. 1662; see Bibliography), p. 17. In a marginal addition to the text it is stated that Pietro continued and finished the work begun by Cordier: ‘fu principiato dal franciosino Nicolò Cordiere, ma p difetto di morte fù seguitata e terminata [by Pietro Bernini].’ Though possible, it seems unlikely that Pietro failed to adhere to the original intention (see the

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Thus, a date about 1614 seems most likely for Gianlorenzo’s Boy with the Dragon.67 preceding note) of using a different piece of marble. The same thing happened a few years later, as we shall see, when he again accepted a piece of marble in partial payment for the four putti for the side doors of the chapel, which were carved from a different block (see below). 67 What must have been a closely related work by Gianlorenzo is recorded in various inventories of the Ludovisi collection: ‘Un’ Puttino di marmo bianco, qual’ piange che una vipera l’ à morsicato alto p.i 22 [sic] in Circa con’ un balaustrato di marmo bigio alto p.i 4 et’ un’ piedistallo di marmo bianco che in’ ogni facciata vi è un’ quadretto di marmo mistio’ (BVAS–ABL, Prot. 611, No. 43, ‘Con segna di massaritie, statue, e Pitture della Vigna di Porta Pinciana a Gio. Ant.o Chiavacci Guardarobba,’ dated November 2, 1623, p. 45); ‘Un puttino di marmo piangente à sedere in una mappa di fiori morzicato dà una vipera, sopra una base di marmo mischio — mano del Cavalre Bernino’ (January 28, 1633, published by T. Schreiber, Die antiken Bildwerke der Villa Ludovisi in Rom, Leipzig, 1880, 31); ‘Un Putto moderno opra del Sig.r Cavalier Bernino, siede trà l’Herba morso da un serpe’ (BVAS–ABL, Prot. 611, No. 56, ‘Inventario di tutte le Massaritie, Quadri, et altro, che sono nel Palazzo del Monte posto nella Villa à Porta Pinciana che era del Cardinal del Monte, al p’nte dell’Ecc.mo Pn’pe Don Nicolò Ludovisi,’ April 28, 1641, fol. 46v); ‘n’2. putti uno del Bernino, e l’altro dell’Algardi long. p.mi 2,. di marmo’ (my transcription) (before 1644, first published by L.-G. Pélissier, ‘Un inventaire inédit des collections Ludovisi à Rome [XVIIe siècle],’ Mémoires de la Société nationale des antiquitaires de France, 6th ser., 3, 1893, 200; on the date cf. K. Garas, ‘The Ludovisi Collection of Pictures in 1633–1,’ BurIM, 109, 1967, 287 n. 3). According to Bellori a companion piece for this sculpture, a boy riding on a tortoise and playing a reed pipe, was one of Alessandro Algardi’s first works in marble; Bellori also gives allegorical interpretations of the two works: ‘Fecevi [i.e., Algardi, for the Villa Ludovisi] d’inventione un putto sedente di marmo, appoggiato ad una testudine, e si pone li calami alla bocca, per suonare, inteso per la sicurezza; di cui è simbolo la testudine, 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; benche fuori del l’eccellenza.’ (G. P. Bellori, Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti moderni, Rome, 1672, facs. ed. Rome, 1931, 389.) In fact, Algardi’s piece, which is now lost, is mentioned along with Bernini’s in the Ludovisi inventories cited above (except that of 1623). Algardi was paid for his sculpture on December 24, 1627: ‘E a di 24 di Dicembre ∇ 50 m.a pagati ad Alessandro Algardi scultore per prezzo di un’ Puttino di Marmo fatto -p n’ro serv.o, et messo in da Vigna’ (BVAS–ABL, Libro Mastro B, 1625–29, p. LXI). Cf. Y. Bruand, ‘La Restauration des sculptures antiques du Cardinal Ludovisi (1621–1632),’ MélRome, 68, 1956, 413. Bernini’s Putto morsicato has recently come to light, and was acquired by the Staatliche Museen, Berlin–Dahlem; the publication by U. Schlegel (‘Zum Oeuvre des jungen Gian Lorenzo Bernini,’ Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen, 9, 1967, 274 ff ) appeared after the present article had gone to press. Though Schlegel fails to identify the sculpture with that mentioned in the 1633 Ludovisi inventory which she quotes, she ascribes it to Gianlorenzo. But she regards it as contemporary and forming a pair with the Boy with a

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Two closely related works follow, the St. Lawrence on the Grill in the Contini-Bonacorsi Collection in Florence, and the St. Sebastian in the Thyssen collection in Lugano (Figs. 30–32).68 Larger in scale than the genre groups, yet under life-size, they form a kind of transition to the monumental series for Scipione Borghese that begins at the end of the second decade of the century. Both show the soft, translucent treatment of the marble found in the Coppola bust and the Boy with the Dragon, and the beards in particular have the same emergent tufts as in the portrait. Clearly, no great interval can separate the St. Lawrence and the St. Sebastian, though the jagged, irregular locks of the former, which recall the treatment of the satyr’s hair in the Amalthean group, suggest that it is the earlier of the two. The St. Lawrence belonged to Leone Strozzi, a wealthy Florentine living in Rome, and both Baldinucci and Dominico Bernini record that Bernini made it during his fifteenth year, that is, in 1614.69 This dating has been universally Dragon, and she follows Nava Cellini’s attribution of the latter work to Pietro Bernini, as well as the date c. 1620. There can be little doubt that the Berlin figure, crying and defeated by his adversary, is a kind of ‘antitype’ to the smiling and victorious putto in New York; and to my mind, the analogies in compositional system, etc., show that both works were conceived by the same artist. However, in view of the differences in provenance, in dimensions (Boy with Dragon: 55.7 high x 52 x 41.5 cm. [the height and width were given incorrectly by Nava Cellini] vs. 44.8 high x 43.6 x 28.5 cm. for the Berlin piece), as well as in function (the Berlin piece has no hole and therefore could not have been used as a fountain), it is unlikely that they were made as a pair. Moreover, the differences in execution indicate a distinct time lapse between the two sculptures. In particular, the treatment of the hair of the Berlin putto, with soft, swirling locks marked by parallel striations, is extremely close to that of the cherubs in Sant’ Andrea della Valle, of 1618 (see below, and Figs. 38, 39); this suggests a date of c. 1617 for the Berlin sculpture, whereas we have seen that the Boy with a Dragon probably dates from about 1614. 68 Wittkower, 1966, 174, Nos. 3, 4, where they are dated 1616–17, 1617–18 respectively. 69 Baldinucci, 77–78, D. Bernini, 15. The figure appears in a Strozzi inventory dated July 8, 1632: ‘Un San Lorenzo sopra la graticola moderno’ (Florence, Archivio di Stato, Carte Strozziane, Quinta Serie, Filza 786, ‘Tomo XXXIV, Atti fatti per l’eredità del Sig. Leone Strozzi,’ fol. 8v). Baldinucci reports that the St. Lawrence was made for Leone Strozzi; according to Domenico Bernini Gianlorenzo made it to honor the saint whose name he bore, and Strozzi acquired the work subsequently. It may be more than coincidence that at the time Maffeo Barberini was decorating his family chapel in Sant’Andrea della Valle (see below), Leone Strozzi was preparing his family chapel across the nave in the same church, the second chapel on the right (the bronze copies of Michelangelo sculptures that decorate the altar wall are inscribed with the date 1616; cf. S. Ortolani, S. Andrea della Valle Le Chiese di Roma illustrate, No. 4, Rome, n.d., Fig. 20). Among the members of the Strozzi family buried in the chapel was a well-known Cardinal Lorenzo Strozzi, named after the same saint (died 1571,

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rejected by recent writers; but I no longer see any reason for doing so, especially since there is independent evidence to suggest that the St. Sebastian was made in the following year. Here I take up a hypothesis offered by Rudolf Wittkower that the St. Sebastian may have been executed in connection with the niche-like shrine commemorating that saint which adjoins the main Barberini chapel, the first on the left in Sant’Andrea della Valle.70 The main chapel, dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin, was built over the apse of an earlier church honoring the martyr, at the point where his body was supposed originally to have been discovered. In the small adjoining chamber, which is recessed into the interior façade of the present church, this fact is recorded by a painting by Domenico Passignano of the recovery of the martyr’s body and a lengthy inscription bearing the date 1616. Bernini’s St. Sebastian was owned by the Barberini, and was first inventoried in 1628 along with the Boy with the Dragon.71 Although there is no reference to the figure in the documents concerning the chapel, it is tempting to suppose that Bernini undertook the work, perhaps on his own initiative, having in mind the space now occupied by Passignano’s painting.72 Of particular significance is the fact that the St. Sebastian shrine was not at the outset part of the plan for the chapel. No mention of it is made in the original contract of 1604 with the marble workers, nor does the painting of St. Sebastian appear in Passignano’s contract of the same date, which includes only his works for the main chapel illustrating the life of the

inscription in Forcella, VIII, 261, No. 652). We shall discuss presently the possibility that Bernini’s St. Sebastian was made with the Barberini chapel in mind, before the decoration was completed, but was then kept in the Barberini private collection; something of the sort may have happened in the case of the St. Lawrence. 70 Wittkower, 1966, 174. 71 ’Un San Bastiano minore del naturale legato ad un tronco posto a sedere frezzato con suo scabellone minore dell’altri’ (BVAB–1, fol. 28. In the case of the St. Sebastian, as in that of the Boy with the Dragon, the attribution to Bernini first occurs in 1632 in Menghini’s inventory: ‘E piu un San Bastiano di palmi 41/2 alto fatto dal Cavaliere Bernini (BVAB–2, fol. 7v; cf. Pollak, I, 334, No. 960). 72 St. Sebastian: 99 cm. high (Aus der Sammlung Stiftung Schloss Rohoncz, Catalogue, Castagnola–Lugano, 1949, 96, No. 418); height of Passignano’s picture: c. 180 cm. Cf. Wittkower, 1966, 174.

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Virgin.73 On the other hand, Passignano’s picture was paid for in October 1617, and it must have been in place for the inauguration of the chapel in December 1616.74 If Bernini did conceive his figure for the same location, 1615 would thus be a very likely date. This would be the first of no less than five works by Gianlorenzo that were intended for the chapel but were then kept in the Barberini private collection. A further point of interest for the date, and perhaps even for the formal conception of the St. Sebastian, is suggested by the block of marble roughed out by Cordier as a John the Baptist and accepted as a down-payment for his own figure by Pietro Bernini. Judging from the payments, Cordier’s figure must have been about one-third complete.75 It is not clear from the documents exactly when the block was transferred to the Bernini studio, but it was certainly there by June 1615.76 This corresponds to the presumed date of execution of the St. Sebastian, and it seems possible that the block was cut down and adapted by the younger Bernini. The St. Sebastian is unusual, if not unique, in that the saint, instead of standing bound to a tree or column, is shown reclining upon a rocky base.77 Such a setting is appropriate 73 The ‘Capitoli’ with the marble workers, dated November 29, 1604, stipulates that the wall on the façade side, which contained a spiral staircase, be sealed: ‘et perche da una banda dove hora e la lumaca, la porta và murata dovria detta porta essere incrostata di mischio . . .’ (BVAB–5, No. 80, fol. 4). Passignano’s contract is found in BVAB–5, No. 79. Cf. O. Pollak, ‘Italienische Künstlerbriefe aus der Barockzeit,’ JPKS, 34, Beiheft, 1913, 30 ff. 74 On October 27, 1617, Passignano received 100 scudi for ‘la Tavola di San Bastiano messo nella Cappelletta piccola di San Bastiano annessa alla Cappella grande di Santo Andrea della Valle . . .’ (shortly after increased to 160 scudi; BVAB–9, p. XXIII). On the dedication, cf. Pastor, XXVIII, 32; a plenary indulgence for the chapel was decreed on December 7, 1616 (BVAB–5, No. 82). 75 We noted that Cordier and his heirs received a total of 100 scudi; the price for the work stipulated in Cordier’s contract was 300 scudi. See above, note 65. 76 One of the entries of the final payment of June 20, 1615, to Pietro (see note 66 above) shows that Cordier’s block had been delivered to him by then: ‘. . . a m. Pietro Bernini Scultore Scudi quarãta di mta che Insieme un marmo bianco Sbozzato gia dal q. Niccolo Cori et fattolo condurre nella sua Casa di Santa Maria Magg.re et Aprezzatolo ∇di Sessanta di mta Sono il re.o delli ∇di Trecento che haver doveva . . . -p la Statua di San Gio: Bat’ta che ha fatto p - la Cappella di Santo Andrea della Valle . . .’ (BVAB–8, p. VI). 77 Painted depictions of St. Sebastian seated in isolation appear in the Caravaggio school in the early seventeenth century: cf. a St. Sebastian in Prague by Carlo Saraceni (T. Gottheimer, ‘Rediscovery of Old Masters at Prague Castle,’ BurIM, 107, 1965, 606, Fig. 12; A. Moir, The Italian Followers of Caravaggio, Cambridge, Mass., 1967, II, 135); the St. Sebastian with an Executioner in the Museo di Capodimonte, Naples, attributed to

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to John the Baptist as an allusion to his sojourn in the desert; Pietro Bernini’s own St. John is seated on a rocky throne, as is the Baptist later made by Francesco Mochi, hoping to replace Pietro’s figure.78 All five of the other statues in the chapel are also more or less seated,79 so it is practically certain that Cordier’s figure was shown thus as well. It may be that Gianlorenzo, whether by choice or necessity, retained the seated posture and rocky formation in utilizing Cordier’s unfinished work. Toward the end of the second decade the young Bernini’s style began to undergo a profound change. This is perceptible in the third and fourth of the new works to be discussed here.80 On February 7, 1618, Pietro Bernini signed an agreement with the then Cardinal Maffeo Barberini to make four cherubs to be placed on the lateral arches of the Barberini chapel (Doc. 9).81 The agreement says that the four cherubs were to be made from newly quarried white marble to be supplied by Pietro, and they were to be approximately 1.11 m. high. Pietro then goes on to state that, having himself already made the terra cotta models of the cherubs, nude with various flourishes (‘svolazzi’) of drapery, he promises to execute the sculptures before July 1619, ‘by my own hand, and by the hand of my son, Gianlorenzo.’ In par-

Bartolomeo Schidone, who died in December 1615 (Moir, I, 242; II, Fig. 312); and Honthorst’s St. Sebastian of c. 1623 in the National Gallery, London (J. R. Judson, Gerrit van Honthorst, The Hague, 1959, 88–89). I have found none, however, in which the saint is shown seated on a rocky base, and which certainly precedes Bernini’s figure. 78 Cf. W. Müller, ‘Johannes der Täufer in der Hofkirche zu Dresden,’ JPKS, 47, 1926, 112 ff. See below, note 85. 79 Mary Magdalene by Cristoforo Stati; St. Martha by Francesco Mochi; St. John the Evangelist by Ambrogio Buonvicino; portraits in niches in the St. Sebastian shrine of the Pope’s brother Carlo, attributed to Mochi (Martinelli, 1951, 231), and uncle Mons. Francesco, by Stati. 80 As far as I can see, documented collaboration between father and son begins in the intervening years, 1616–17, notably, in the pair of herms from the Borghese garden, executed April–July 1616, in which Gianlorenzo is said by an early source to have carved the baskets of fruits and flowers (V. Martinelli, ‘Novità berniniane. ‘Flora’ e ‘Priapo,’ i due Termini già nella Villa Borghese a Roma,’ Commentari, 13, 1962, 267 ff.’ see the just comments of Wittkower, 1966, 270). To this period also belong, in my view, the splendid, under life-size figures of the Four Seasons in the Villa Aldobrandini at Frascati, discovered and soon to be published by F. Zeri; here the underlying conception of the figures appears to be Pietro’s while Gianlorenzo participated in the final execution. 81 This document and Doc. 12 were found independently and are alluded to by C. D’Onofrio, ‘Note berniniane 2. Priorità della biografia di Domenico Bernini su quella del Baldinucci,’ Palatino, 10, 1966, 206 caption.

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tial payment, he accepts a piece of white statuary marble.82 This is the first document so far known in which Gianlorenzo is mentioned. The fact that Pietro bound himself legally, in a written guarantee, to employ his son in executing the final sculptures bears witness to the truly fabulous appeal of the young prodigy’s work. A few months later, in a letter we shall discuss presently, Maffeo Barberini himself speaks even more eloquently to the same point. Pietro promised to furnish the sculptures in eighteen months. In fact, they were finished and mounted in place within six months, by July 1618 (Doc. 12). Subsequently, in inventories of the Barberini collections a pair of life-size cherubs by Gianlorenzo Bernini is variously listed, starting in 1632 in the inventory by Menghini: ‘Eppiu dui petti [putti] del Naturale a sedere con un pannino che li cingie fatti dal Cavalier Bernini.’83 The inventory of 1651, also made by Menghini, explains that these cherubs had once decorated the papal chapel: — ‘Due Putti, che erano sul frontespitio della Cappella di Papa Urbano al naturale alti p.mi 4.’84 It would seem, therefore, that two of the cherubs were made by Gianlorenzo and were subsequently removed from the chapel, as a souvenir of his work there. Of the cherubs presently in the chapel the two on the left are clearly of somewhat later date and replace those that had been removed (Fig. 34). There is good reason, stylistic as well as documentary, to suppose that they were executed about 1629 by Francesco Mochi (cf. Fig. 35).85 82 Baldinucci, 153, says that works by Luigi Bernini, Gianlorenzo’s brother, were also to be seen in Sant’Andrea della Valle; there is no evidence for this in the documents for the Barberini chapel I have seen. 83 BVAB–2, fol. 7v; cf. Pollak, I, 334, No. 960. 84 BVAB–3, fol. 1. The figures are mentioned by Tessin, Jr., as by Pietro Bernini: ‘Zweij kinder von marmer von dess Cav. Bernini vatter’ (Siren, 168). They appear in the inventory of 1692: ‘Due puttini di marmo bianco a sedere con gambe in cavalcate’ (BVAB–4, fol. 245); and they were still in the palace in 1755: ‘due Angeli moderni’ ([G. Monti] Nuova descrizione di Roma antica e moderna, Rome, 1755, 220). 85 I reproduce for comparison one of the putti on the bases of Mochi’s equestrian statues in Piacenza. According to Passeri, Pope Urban commissioned Mochi to make a St. John the Baptist for the Barberini chapel (ultimately brought to Dresden, see above, note 78) to replace that by Pietro Bernini; this must have been after his return from Piacenza in 1629 (cf. Passeri-Hess, 133 and n. 1). In fact, in a document dating sometime after 1628, a marble block for a St. John for the chapel in Sant’Andrea della Valle is recorded, which must certainly have served for Mochi’s figure (Pollak, I, 22, No. 86). The same document includes another block also for the Barberini chapel, to be used for a putto. For the preceding observations, see Martinelli, 1951, 231 and n. 1, who also attributes these two putti to Mochi (miswriting ‘right’ for ‘left’). Martinelli, following P. Rotondi,

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33. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Cherub over the right-hand pediment. Barberini chapel, Sant’Andrea della Valle, Rome (photo: David Lees, Rome). 34. Attrib. to Francesco Mochi, Cherubs over the left-hand pediment. Barberini chapel, Sant’Andrea della Valle, Rome (photo: Museo Vaticano).

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35. Francesco Mochi, Putto. Piacenza, base of Farnese monument ((from Dedalo, 5, 1924–25, 115).

36. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Cherub over the right-hand pediment. Barberini chapel, Sant’Andrea della Valle, Rome (photo: David Lees, Rome).

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37. Pietro Bernini, Angel. Rome, Palazzo Quirinale, Cappella Paolina (photo: GFN).

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38. Cherub over the right-hand pediment (detail). Barberini chapel, Sant’Andrea della Valle, Rome (photo: David Lees, Rome).

39. Cherub over the right-hand pediment (detail). Barberini chapel, Sant’Andrea della Valle, Rome (photo: David Lees, Rome).

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40. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Neptune and Triton. London, Victoria and Albert Museum.

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41. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Flight from Troy (detail). Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: GFN).

42. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Flight from Troy (detail). Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: GFN).

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44. Tomaso Fedeli after Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Barberini. Rome, Sant’Andrea della Valle (photo: F. Rigamonti, Rome)

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

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46. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Giovanni Vigevano. Rome, Santa Maria sopra Minarva (photo: GFN).

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45. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Flight from Troy (detail). Rome, Galleria Borghese (photo: GFN).

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

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

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50. Attrib. to Alessandro Vittoria, Bust of Gaspare Contarini. Venice, Santa Maria dell’Orto (photo: Alinari).

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49. Nicolò Cordier, Bust of St. Peter. Rome, San Sebastiano fuori le Mura (photo: GFN).

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On the basis of these facts, it might be assumed that the son executed one pair and the father the other. The two cherubs on the right (Figs. 33, 36, 38–39), however, are not in the style of Pietro Bernini. In designing the models for the figures Pietro must have repeated the formula of his angel in the Pauline chapel of the papal palace on the Quirinal hill, which he had made a year before (Fig. 37).86 But the cherubs are composed in such a fundamentally different way that we must entertain the possibility that they, too, were executed by Gianlorenzo. Whereas the body of Pietro’s angel is twisted and extended laterally so as to conform to a flat, frontal plane, the Sant’Andrea cherubs are organized in depth, and the lower legs project forward over the edge of the pediment. We have observed this method of composition in Gianlorenzo’s work before, and, indeed, in their poses and the rhythmic movement of their bodies the cherubs are closely similar to the Boy with the Dragon. An analogous point can be made concerning the physical types of the figures. The angels in Pietro’s Assumption relief (Fig. 28) have bloated bodies and faces, with strange, withdrawn glances. They contrast markedly with the sweet, open visages — much more classical in feeling — of Gianlorenzo’s infantile types, which we have seen developing in the Amalthean Goat and the Boy with the Dragon. The Sant’Andrea cherubs continue this development toward lither and more ‘extroverted’ types. Yet, they are subtly differentiated one from the other so as to form a counterpoint of mood and action. The right leg of the left-hand cherub is drawn up tightly, and its diminutive, catlike features seem to be mimicked in the crinkling drapery folds; its mischievous liveliness and intensity recall the Boy with the Dragon. The cherub on the right has a more expansive grace of pose and countenance, and more easily flowing drapery; its emotional awareness has a direct descendant in the figure of Ascanius in the Flight from Troy group in the Borghese Gallery (Figs. 41–42). Gianlorenzo, we now know, received payment for this sculpture in October 1619, little more than a year after the Sant’Andrea cherubs were finished.87 The comparison ‘Studi intorno a Pietro Bernini,’ Rivista dell’Instituto di archeologia e storia dell’arte, 5, 1936, 361 n. 8, further rejects the attribution of the right-hand putti to Pietro Bernini (Muñoz, 451). The cherubs on the left pediment are substantially larger (left 94 cm. high, right 90 cm.) than those on the right (left 70 cm., right 75 cm.). 86 Pietro received payments for the Quirinal angel during the second half of 1616, and final payment in January 1617 (Muñoz, 470). 87 Faldi, 1953, 141.

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is so close as to justify in itself attributing the cherubs to Gianlorenzo. The kind of contrapuntal balance created by the cherubs was to characterize Bernini’s paired figures ever after; indeed, he seems consciously to have echoed them toward the end of his life, at the opposite end of the psychological scale, in the mourning angels for the Ponte Sant’Angelo, which are, so to speak, the alter egos of the pair in Sant’Andrea. The drapery of both cherubs, caught by a wind and twisted into billowing, spiral folds, reflects the svolazzi of the models by Pietro Bernini mentioned in the agreement to execute the figures in marble. They may be taken, pars pro toto, as an indication of the stylistic relation between father and son, since we can form a good idea of what Pietro’s drapery flourishes must have been like from the spiral folds that embellish his works both before and afterward (Figs. 28, 37);88 they are invariably small, flat, cramped, and angular in conformation. In the Sant’Andrea cherubs, by contrast, the twisted drapery ends project dramatically out into the surrounding space, in different directions. Such great, turbulent swirls become a hallmark of the succeeding sculptures by Gianlorenzo; they occur repeatedly in the Neptune and Triton from the Villa Montalto in Rome, of about 1620–1621 (Fig. 40), in the Pluto and Prosperine of 1621–1622, and in the Apollo and Daphne of 1622–1624. Finally, from the technical point of view also, the cherubs occupy an important place in Bernini’s early development. On the one hand, the soft, granular treatment of the surfaces again recalls the Boy with the Dragon. At the same time, they display many features that we shall see taken up and developed in the sculptures that follow. There is little of the veiled, blurry effect found in the earlier work; it is as though an object seen through a photographic lens, previously slightly diffused, is being brought into focus. The hair no longer consists of continuous, undulating waves but of separate, clearly defined locks whose shapes are marked by concentric striations. Evidently, working from his father’s models, Gianlorenzo made all four cherubs — this, I suspect, in accordance with Maffeo Barberini’s own wish. Pietro’s collaboration, envisaged in the contract, must have consisted in helping his son bring the work to its speedy conclusion. Two of the figures were then dismounted and became put of the Barberini private art collec88 In the Assumption relief spiral drapery ends are seen at various points about the large angel placed diagonally at the right. See also the drapery of the allegory by Pietro at the right side of the Dolfin monument in Venice, 1621–22 (below, note 100).

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tion, and are now lost. The other two were left to adorn the chapel. It is significant of the value attached to them that the two allowed to remain in the chapel were those on the right, the more advantageous position, readily visible to the visitor as he enters the church. The father, it will be noted, continued in 1618 to receive payment, regardless of the son’s contribution. On the other hand, Gianlorenzo himself acknowledged the final quittance for his labors, in April of the following year, 1619. He was then paid fifty scudi for his bust of Maffeo Barberini’s mother (which we shall consider presently) to be placed in the chapel, by which payment the Cardinal also discharged the remainder of his obligation to Gianlorenzo for ‘all the works that he may have made for me together with his father up to the present day’ (Doc. 17a). The works covered retroactively in the last phrase can only have been the cherubs. The consideration was a token one (but the more significant therefore) since the sum was the same as had been paid seven years before for the bust of Antonio Coppola alone. The document is of further interest because it marks Gianlorenzo’s first appearance independent of his father; it is also the first recorded payment to him, and he is given the title of ‘Scultore.’ This last circumstance suggests what is the probable explanation for the peculiar terms of the contract and for the retroactive recognition of Gianlorenzo’s work; namely, that at the end of 1618 or early in 1619 Gianlorenzo had been admitted to the marble workers’ guild. Until he became a member of the Università dei Marmorari he was still an apprentice, not yet a ‘maestro.’ There is no record of precisely when he was enrolled in the organization, to which he became much attached, and to which he made handsome gifts later in his life.89 There are several pieces of evidence, however, which taken together tend to confirm the date suggested by the payments. One is a letter written from Rome to Florence in 1674, when the question arose whether the unfinished Pietà of Michelangelo now in Florence Cathedral, which had until shortly before been in Rome, was fit to be installed in the Medici chapel in San Lorenzo. The writer of the letter defends the piece and in support quotes Bernini’s praise of it, which he reports as follows: ‘But that which Bernini told me, I know is most true, and it is this: that the Christ, which is almost completely finished, is an inestimable marvel, not only in itself but because Michelangelo made it when 89

148.

Cf. A. M. Bessone Aurelj, I marmorari romani, Milan, etc., 1935, 196; Fraschetti, 102,

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he was past seventy years old; and that he [Bernini] having come of age, and consequently become a master, because he had become one at an early age, had studied it continually for months and months.’90 Bernini thus acknowledges his special debt to the body of Christ in Michelangelo’s work, having made a careful study of it at the time he became a maestro; this, he says, occurred when he was a ‘giovinotto.’ Normally, admission to the Roman guilds took place between the ages of twenty and twenty-five.91 Assuming the earlier date, he would have been admitted following his twentieth birthday in December 1618. The reason for this passionate interest in Michelangelo is suggested by another, equally remarkable letter, written on October 12, 1618, by Maffeo Barberini to his brother Carlo, who was then in Florence. In a postscript Maffeo says: ‘The Cavaliere Passignano once told me that Michelangelo Buonarroti still possessed here, toward the Palazzo d’Alessandrino, a statue begun by Michelangelo, and that he might be parted from it. If it can be obtained cheaply through Passignano, I would take it because the son of Bernini, who is having a great success, would finish it.’92 The passage testifies to the phenomenal success Gianlorenzo was then having, and in particular to the favor he enjoyed with Maffeo Barberini. It also reveals the hitherto unknown fact that there was in Rome, owned by Michelangelo’s grandnephew, an unfinished work by or at least attributed to the master which, perhaps most astonishing of all, the young Bernini was considered capable of completing.93 It is reasonable to associate this project for finishing one of Michelangelo’s works with the study of the earlier artist Bernini said he

‘Ma quello che ha detto il Bernino a me, so ch’è verissimo, et è questo: che il Cristo ch’è quasi finito tutto, è una maraviglia inestimabile, no solo per se, ma per averlo fatto Michelagnolo dopo l’aver passato l’età di 70 anni; e ch’egli uomo fatto, e consequentemente maestro, perchè cominciò ad esserlo da giovinotto, vi aveva studiato sù mesi e mesi continui.’ Letter of Paolo Falconieri, November 17, 1674 (C. Mallarmé, L’ultima tragedia di Michelangelo, Rome, 1929, 80). 91 See A. Martini, Arti mestieri e fede nella Roma dei Papi, Bologna, 1965, 49. 92 ‘Mi disse una volta il S.r Caval.r Passignani che al Sr Michelangelo Buonarrti restava qui verso il Palazzo d’Aless:no una statua comincta già da Michelangelo, et che ne Sarebba fatto fuori. Se si puo haver -p buon mercato sotto mano col mezo del medmo Passig:no la piglierei lo ta -p che il fig. del Bernino che fa gñ riusc. la -p fetionerebbe.’ (BV, MS Barb. lat. 10078, fol. 75v) The letter was discovered independently by C. D’Onofrio, who alludes to it in ‘Un dialogo-recita di Gian Lorenzo Bernini e Lelio Guidiccioni,’ Palatino, 10, 1966, 129. 93 The problem of identifying the work in question will be discussed by the writer in a separate essay. Suffice it to say here that the most likely candidate seems to be the 90

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undertook at the time he became maestro. In that case, the date of Maffeo Barberini’s letter, October 1618, would coincide with the other evidence suggesting that Bernini was admitted to the marble workers’ guild at the end of that year or early in the next, whereupon he became eligible to undertake and receive payment for work in his own name. We have been able to define in the works discussed so far a significant phase in Bernini’s development between 1612 and 1618, that is, roughly between his thirteenth and nineteenth year. It was a period of soft, impressionistic technique and psychological subtlety that emerged from the rather strained expressiveness of the earliest efforts, and led to the monumental drama of the groups made in the early 1620s. The moment of change found in the Sant’Andrea cherubs is represented in portraiture by the bust of Maffeo Barberini’s mother, Camilla Barbadori, recently discovered in the Statens Museum in Copenhagen (Fig. 43).94 Bernini was paid for this work, as we have noted, in April 1619, and he was to install it in the Barberini chapel in Sant’Andrea. It was followed by a companion bust of Camilla’s husband, Antonio, for which Bernini received payment, under the same terms, in February 1620 (Doc. 18). Toward the end of the decade, probably as part of the same ‘campaign’ that included the removal of the cherubs, the busts were also transferred to the Barberini private collection. They first appear there in an inventory entry of December

much-debated Palestrina Pietà, which was in fact owned by the Barberini, though Michelangelo’s authorship of the work is not thereby guaranteed. The similarity of the legs of Bernini’s St. Sebastian to those of Christ in the Florentine Pietà has been emphasized (Wittkower, 1966, 174), and we may note the equally marked resemblance between the overall pose of Bernini’s figure and that of Christ in the Palestrina Pietà. It is tempting to imagine the St. Sebastian as a kind of prospectus that led to the extraordinary idea of having the young Bernini complete an unfinished work by Michelangelo. Among the possible sources for the St. Sebastian, incidentally, should be considered the Louvre Pietà by Annibale Carracci, as suggested recently by D. Posner, ‘Domenichino and Lanfranco: The Early Development of Baroque Painting in Rome,’ in Essays in Honor of Walter Friedlaender, Marsyas, Suppl. Vol. II, New York, 1965, 144 n. 44. We may add that the painting, which was in San Francesco a Ripa in Rome, was engraved by P. Aquila, with a dedication to Bernini; cf. Mostra dei Carracci, ed. G. C. Cavalli, etc., Exhib. Cat., Bologna, 1956, 256, No. 112. 94 Martinelli, Commentari, 1956, 23 ff. It was dated 1626–27 by Martinelli and Wittkower (1966, 192–93, No. 24c); A. Nava Cellini proposed 1622 (‘Una proposta ed una rettifica per Gian Lorenzo Bernini,’ Paragone, 17, 1966, No. 191, 28–29).

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4, 1628, with yellow marble bases added (indicating they had originally been placed in oval or circular niches).95 To replace the busts, oval medallions of porphyry with relief copies had been made early in 1627 (Fig. 44), and these were installed in 1629 along with commemorative inscriptions in the narrow passageway connecting the Barberini chapel with that adjoining toward the east.96 In the bust of Camilla everything has become sharp and clear. The surfaces are smoothly polished; contours and incisions are rendered with a new precision. The pose is strictly frontal, the drapery of the widow’s weeds falls in nearly straight, symmetrical folds that veil the shoulders. There is a tense, almost geometric abstraction that indicates a reaction against the earlier softness and vagueness. A similar quality of strained rigidity combined with smooth purity of shape and line pervades the Flight from Troy, which, as we noted, was paid for in the fall of the same year, 1619. The commission for the Flight from Troy may well have been the reason for the delay in executing the bust of Antonio Barberini. This work has not yet come to light, but to judge from Tommaso Fedeli’s copy on the porphyry relief medallion (Fig. 44) it provided a striking, and probably deliberate, contrast to the companion portrait of Camilla. As opposed to the symmetrical arrangement of the earlier work, the shoulders were wrapped in a cloak whose broken, irregular folds must have obscured the relationships between shoulders, arms, and torso. The significance of these differences becomes evident in what seems to have been Bernini’s next portrait, the bust of Giovanni Vigevano in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (Fig. 46). A number of factors conspire to indicate a 95 BVAB–1, fol. 28 (cited by Fraschetti, 140 n. 2, with a wrong date). The yellow marble bases were paid for on March 31, 1629 (cf. Fraschetti, 140 n. 3, where the year is omitted). 96 The porphyry reliefs of Antonio and Camilla were inventoried in the Barberini collection respectively in March and June 1627 (Fraschetti, 142 n. 1). They were paid for in July 1627: ‘A di 30 Lug.’ [1627] ∇ 75 mta in cr’o a Tommaso Fedeli scultore per sua mani~ fattura della testa lavorata in porfido basso rilievo ritratto della S ra Camilla madre di Sua Sta come -p la stima fatta dal Bernino’ (BVAB, Arm. 86, Card. Franc., Libro Mastro A, 1623–29, p. 170); Martinelli’s attribution of the reliefs to Tommaso Fedeli is thus confirmed (Commentari, 1956, 25). On July 28, 1626, Ferdinando Ruccellai, proprietor of the adjoining chapel, confirmed the concession which he had made to Maffeo Barberini ‘many years before’ of the passageway between the two chapels (BVAB–5, No. 83). For the inscriptions under the medallions, dated 1629, see Forcella, VIII, 266, Nos. 668–69.

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date of about 1620 for the Vigevano bust.97 The treatment of the mustache and beard is extremely close to that of the head of Aeneas (Fig. 45). The arrangement of the drapery seems to reflect that of the lost portrait of Antonio Barbadori. As a terminus ante quem, we have the testimony of Vigevano’s will, drawn up in May 1622, in which he stipulates that he is to be buried in his tomb ‘newly made’ in the Minerva.98 Bernini here takes up again the classically inspired motif of the right hand protruding through the enveloping drapery, which he had introduced in the bust of Coppola. There are fundamental changes, however. The torso is cut off at a higher level, and there is no hint of the existence of the right arm beneath the drapery.99 The hand now grasps the drapery firmly, squeezing it into a cascade of deep, complicated folds. These folds, instead of running directly out to the edge, cartwheel fashion, seem constrained to follow the semicircular curvature of the silhouette. The result of these devices is a cramped effect, which makes us ‘miss’ the forms that are not there. At the same time, the vigorous gesture and slightly parted lips (compare the lips of Ascanius and Aeneas, Figs. 42, 45) help to suggest an inner animation. It will be seen that two complementary factors are involved at this stage in the development of Bernini’s portraiture. Though the bust of Coppola demonstrates that he was concerned virtually from the outset with the problem posed by the truncated human body, he now seeks to make the observer aware of the missing parts by emphasizing their absence. This ‘negative’ effect, in turn, is enhanced by the now smoothly polished surfaces and

97 I return, in effect, to the date originally proposed by Reymond, 58, followed by Wittkower, 1953, 21; Wittkower later shifted the bust to 1617–18 (1966, 174–75, No. 5). 98 Il mio corpo voglio, che sia sepolto nella Chiesa di Sta Maria della Minerva di Roma nella mia sepoltura fatta di novo. Item per ragione di legato, et in altro miglior modo lascio alla Sig.a Laura Catani mia socera la mia sepoltura Vecchia, essistente nella detta Chiesa della Minerva, appresso alla detta Nova, dandoli faculta di posser levare la mia inscrittione che è nella lapide, et apporvi la sua nella qual sepoltura già vi è sepolto il quondã Gioseffe suo marito. (ASR, 30 Notai Capitolini, Ufficio 28, Testamenti, Vol. 3 [Not. Vespignanus], fol. 87) For the inscription placed by Laura Catani on the earlier tomb slab, cf. Forcella, I, 476, No. 1848. Vigevano died in 1630; for the inscription on his tomb, ibid., 493, No. 1908. 99 The obscuring of a crucial part of the anatomy by an intricate mass of drapery became one of Bernini’s most effective devices; see the St. Teresa and, in portraiture, the busts of Francesco d’Este and Louis XIV, where it serves to disguise the truncation of the body.

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clearly defined details, which serve to intensify the physical presence of the figure. In the two portraits that follow, Bernini begins to exploit the positive implications of this approach. Both works, the bust of Cardinal Giovanni Dolfin on his tomb in San Michele all’Isola in Venice and that of Cardinal Escoubleau de Sourdis in Bordeaux (Figs. 47, 48), are parts of joint enterprises carried out by father and son. While Gianlorenzo made the patron’s portrait, Pietro executed accompanying figures: two female allegories for the Venetian cardinal’s tomb, a Virgin and an angel of the Annunciation for the French prelate.100 There is good evidence, albeit circumstantial, for dating the portraits. Giovanni Dolfin, who had lived for many years in Rome, returned finally to Venice in May 1621, where he died the following year;101 the bust must have been made shortly before his departure, i.e., early in 1621. Cardinal de Sourdis had come to Rome early in the spring of 1621, and he left to return to France by July 1622;102 in all likelihood the portrait was done toward the end of his stay. In these works Bernini developed a distinctive, bow-shaped lower edge which became characteristic of nearly all his portraits during the first half of Both busts are listed in Baldinucci’s catalogue of. Bernini’s works (p. 176). Pietro Bernini’s allegories of Faith and Hope on the Dolfin tomb are mentioned by Baglione, 305. The sculptures for De Sourdis are mentioned in 1669 by Charles Perrault, who attributes the bust as well as the Annunciation figures to Pietro; Gianlorenzo’s authorship of the portrait is obvious and has never been questioned since the sculptures were published by Reymond, 45 ff. See Wittkower, 1966, 182, Nos. 14, 16. Illustrations of Pietro’s figures may be found conveniently in Venturi, Vol. X, 3, 920–21. The architect of the Dolfin tomb is unknown; it is illustrated as a whole in V. Meneghin, S. Michele in Isola di Venezia, Venice, 1962, I, Pl. 65 facing p. 353; cf. 340–41. 101 See Ciaconius, IV, cols. 357-58. Dolfin’s departure from Rome in May 1622 is mentioned in B. G. Dolfin, I Dolfin (Delfino) patrizi veneziani nella storia di Venezia dall’ anno 452 al 1923, Milan, 1924, 156; cf. Martinelli, Ritratti, 27–28. A letter written by Dolfin to Pope Gregory XV from Venice on September 25, 1621, begins: ‘Essendo piaciuto al Sig.re Dio di farmi capitare in Venetia lunedi prossimo passato con perfetta salute, giudico mio debito darne riverente conto alla Santita V’ra . . .’ (BV, MS Barb. lat. 8785, fol. 4). 102 De Sourdis was not present at the conclave that elected Gregory XV (February 8, 1621; cf. Ciaconius IV, cols. 465 ff.), but he is mentioned in a diary of the papal master of ceremonies as participating in a ceremony on April 25, 1621 (P. Alaleone, Diarium à die 30 Octobris ad diem 2 Maij 1622, BV, MS Barb. lat. 2817, fol. 427). His departure from Rome is established by a letter written by him to the Pope from Bordeaux on July 17, 1622: ‘Son giunto per la gr’a di Dio alla mia Chiesa con salute; et nel passar da Toloso vi trovai S. M.ta Christma. . .’ (BV, MS Barb. lat. 7952, fol. 96). 100

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51. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya. Rome, Santa Maria di Monserrato, Spanish Seminary (photo: GFN).

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52. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Monsignor Francesco Barberini. Washington, National Gallery.

53. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Monsignor Francesco Barberini (view from beneath showing displacement of shoulders). Washington, National Gallery.

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54. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Cepparelli, Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

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55. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Cepparelli, Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

56. Attributed to Nicolò Cordier, Bust of a member of the Aldobrandini family, Rome, Santa Maria sopra Minerva (photo: GFN).

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57. Benvenuto Cellini, Bust of Cosimo I de’ Medici. Florence, Bargello (from Camesasca, Tutta l’opera dell Cellini, pl. 26).

58. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Cepparelli, Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

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59. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Cepparelli, Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

257

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

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61. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Antonio Cepparelli, Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (photo: GFN).

62. Giovanni da Valsoldo, Bust of Cardinal Albani, Rome, Santa Maria del Popolo (photo: GFN).

259

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the 1620s, and which he employed, with variations, repeatedly thereafter. The line flares upward and outward to form a sharp angle where it joins the lateral profiles. This outward flare tends to increase with succeeding works so that the point of intersection pierces the surrounding space — in marked contrast to the compact, self-contained silhouette of the earlier busts.103 Since the cut-off edge of the arms is relatively lower, more of the drapery hanging from the shoulders appears, giving an apronlike suggestion of hollowness. Most important, the elegant, soaring curve has an effect of buoyancy that emphasizes the emptiness below. As a result the observer is made aware of the absent arms and body, hence is encouraged to imagine their existence. At the same time, a sense of fragmentation is avoided by the regularity of the curve itself. Bernini had first used the formula some years before, in the under life-size bust of Paul V in the Borghese Gallery.104 There, however, the curve rises more vertically, and the compactness of the outline is maintained. Although the motif has a variety of possible forerunners, the elegance and tension of Bernini’s curves seem most closely anticipated, curiously enough, by the springlike scrolls that form the lower edges of Nicolò Cordier’s busts of SS. Peter and Paul in San Sebastiano fuori le Mura (Fig. 49).105 Whatever the specific prototypes, it seems likely that Bernini’s interest in the device was revived by the peculiar nature of the Dolfin commission. In his will, Dolfin had stipulated that his tomb imitate those of the

103 An important role in this development, which culminates in the lateral flourishes of the busts of Francesco d’Este and Louis XIV, is played by the late (probably posthumous) portraits of Paul V and the busts of Gregory XV (1621–22). Wittkower, 1966, 175–76, No. 6(2), 179–80, No. 12; Martinelli, Ritratti, 13 ff. The increasing breadth of Bernini’s portraits has been observed by Rinehart, 442. 104 Wittkower, 1966, 172, No. 6 (1). 105 Venturi, X, 3, Figs. 538–39. These were commissioned by Scipione Borghese and paid for in 1608 (see the documents published by I. Faldi, La scultura barocca in Italia, Milan, 1958, 80). Cordier, in fact, seems to have been one of the most important influences on Bernini’s early development (on the St. Sebastian, see p. 231 f. above; on the Cepparelli bust, see p. 265 ff. below). The bust of Camilla Barbadori should be compared with Cordier’s head of Luisa Deti in the Aldobrandini chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (Venturi, x, 3, fig. 527; cf. Martinelli, Commentari, 1956, 28), and the Flight from Troy is inconceivable without Cordier’s King David in the Cappella Paolina at Santa Maria Maggiore (Venturi, X, 3, Fig. 534). There are echoes of Cordier’s St. Sebastian in the Aldobrandini chapel (ibid., Fig. 533) in Bernini’s David (the armor) and St. Longinus.

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Contarini family in Santa Maria dell’Orto in Venice.106 And in fact, the bust of Gaspare Contarini, attributed to Alessandro Vittoria, has a lower silhouette of this basic type (Fig. 50).107 The Dolfin and De Sourdis portraits also show an increasing crispness and precision in the treatment of details. Whereas Dolfin’s hair and beard 106 October 29, 1612: ‘. . . se ciò [i.e., death] averà in Roma voglio che il mio corpo sia posto nella chiesa di san Marco di Roma, et poi in ogni caso voglio che si trasporti à Venezia, et si sepelischi nella chiesa di san Michel di Murano delli Monaci dell’ordine Camaldulense, nella quale voglio, che l’infrascritto mio herede sia tenuto, et debbia far fare quanto prima un deposito tra le doi colonne di detta chiesa, nell’istessa forma, che sono li doi depositi delli sig.ri Contarini nella Chiesa della Madonna dell’horto in Venetia.’ (ASR, 30, Not. Cap. Uff. 10, Not. Franc. Micenus, fol. 281.) Architecturally, there is a resemblance between the Dolfin tomb (cf. note 100 above) and that of the Contarini (cf. F. Cessi, Alessandro Vittoria architetto e stuccatore [1525–1608], Trento, 1961, 52, Pl. 40, with an attribution to Vittoria). The Dolfin tomb, moreover, conforms to a common Venetian type in that it frames the entrance to the church, with the sarcophagus placed high above. This may help to explain the design of the next tomb with which the Berninis were involved, that of Cardinal Bellarmino in the Gesù (see below); in this case the architect is known — Girolamo Rainaldi, who shortly afterward also seems to have designed the Sfondrato tomb in Santa Cecilia, in which the same formula is repeated (Bruhns, 313–14, Fig. 235; for the correct date, cf. Martinelli, ‘Contributi alla scultura del seicento: IV. Pietro Bernini e figli,’ Commentari, 4, 1953, 148 n. 22). 107 Cf. Cessi, Alessandro Vittoria scultore (1525–1608). II Parte, Trento, 1962, 22 ff. The significance of this fact becomes apparent when it is realized that the Dolfin bust inaugurates a long dialogue that Bernini maintained with Venetian sculpture. The next major advance in what I should call the positive approach to implied form took place toward the end of the 1620s, in Bernini’s portraits of the Venetian cardinals Agostino and Pietro Valier, now in the Seminary in Venice (for the date, see below at the end of this note). Here, the busts are still broader and fuller, and the drapery is more complex and ‘active’; the result is an uncanny illusion of hollowness, hence the imagined existence of the rest of the body. The closest precedents for Bernini’s broad, voluminous torsos are in fact Venetian, and particularly the portraits of Vittoria. More over, the fronts of Vittoria’s busts often have elaborate draperies arranged and cut so as to give a hollow, apronlike effect that anticipates Bernini. Thus, an important aspect of the development of Bernini’s portraiture, in which he moves away from the severe, tightly drawn silhouettes of Roman tradition, seems to reflect Venetian influence (for a Florentine component, see below, pp. 266 f.). It can hardly be coincidental that two essential stages in this development, those represented by the Dolfin and Valier busts, were reached in works made for Venetian patrons. It should be emphasized that the comparisons with Vittoria’s portraits are never very precise; the relationship was one of spirit rather than detail. There are more specific connections with Vittoria in Bernini’s works other than portraiture; compare Bernini’s figure of Daniel in Santa Maria del Popolo with that by Vittoria in San Giuliano, Venice (Venturi, X, 3, Fig. 93, to which, however, should be added that in Rubens’s painting now in Washington, GBA, January 1966, Suppl., 50, Fig. 196), and Bernini’s St. Jerome in the Cathedral of Siena with that by Vittoria in the Frari (Venturi, X, 3, Fig. 71).

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have a flamelike quality reminiscent of the Vigevano bust, the hair and beard of De Sourdis are defined by thin parallel incisions.108 What had been abstract and generalized is now becoming minute and specific. In the final group of works we shall discuss, one of which is the new portrait of Antonio Cepparelli in San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, Bernini seems to draw the logical conclusions from the approach he had taken two or three years before; the group may be said to mark the climax and end of his early development. The first in the series is the portrait that adorns the tomb of Monsignor Pedro de Foix Montoya, now in the Spanish seminary in the Via Giulia, but originally in the Spanish national church of San Giacomo degli Spagnuoli in Piazza Navona (Fig. 51). Montoya died in 1630, but it has always been recognized, for stylistic reasons, that the bust must have been made substantially earlier.109 Documents from the archive of the Confraternity of the Resurrection, which was the proprietor of San Giacomo, provide evidence for a precise date.110 The minutes of the meetings of the confraternity record that in September 1622, Montoya peti-

The date of c. 1627 for the Valier busts proposed by Wittkower (1966, 194, No. 25) on stylistic grounds can be supported by documentary evidence. The Vatican Library contains some 32 letters written by Pietro Valier between March 1624 and February 1629 (he died in Padua in April 1629). The letters were all written from north Italy and form a continuous series without significant interruptions, except for a period of a year between May 1626 and May 1627. Precisely during this period, on September 14, 1626, there is a letter by Valier written from Rome. (1624:.March 13, June 1, 15, 30, August 29, October 20 [three], November 16, December 26; 1625: March 3, August 23 [three], December 12, 20; 1626: February 5, May 30, September 14 [from Rome]; 1627: May 29, October 15 [two]; 1628: January 1, February 8, 15, 18, December 15, 18, 25, 31; 1629: February 1). Cf. BV, MSS Barb. lat. 7794, 7797, 8781. I share Wittkower’s view that the two Valier busts are contemporary. 108 In this respect Bernini seems again to return to the early bust of Paul V, where the hair and beard are also defined by fine parallel lines. 109 A terminus ante quem is provided by an anecdote recounted by Baldinucci, Domenico Bernini, and Bernini himself (see note 114 below), according to which the bust was seen by Cardinal Maffeo Barberini before he became Pope Urban VIII (August 3, 1623). Cf. Wittkower, 1966, 181, No. 13, where the date 1621 is proposed. 110 A history of the confraternity and its benefactors is given by Fernández Alonso (279 ff.; on Montoya, cf. 319–20), to whom I am indebted for facilitating my work in the archive. The archive is housed in the library of the Instituto Español de Estudios Eclesiasticos, Via Giulia 151.

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tioned for permission to found a chaplaincy.111 He was, in turn, permitted to erect his sepulchral monument in the church. In December 1622 the confraternity decreed that construction of the tomb might not begin until the contracts of the donation were executed.112 The act of the donation was drawn up in January 1623; in it the location of the tomb is established, and the church undertakes to care for the portrait, which seems to have been already extant, and the rest of the monument in perpetuity.113 The bust was therefore most probably made at the end of 1622.114 September 16, 1622: ‘Leì. yo el secretario un memorial, que decia como Mons.r Pedro de Foix Montoia quiere fundar e˜ esta Iglesia una Capellania anidiendo un Capellan mas y cometieren. a los SS.a Bernardo de Cegama, y D.r Botínete y D. Pedro de Alarcon p.a que con los SS.s Adm.res traten. del modo de esta fundacion con e dho mons.r’ (AIEE–1191, fol. 91). 112 December 28, 1622: ‘Quese concluia en el negocio de la Capellania de Mons.r Pedro de Foix Montoia conforme a su memorial y a la relacion q’huzieron los SS.a. Adm.es. que es la contenida en dho memorial q’se me entrego y que en materia de començar a fabricar en su sepultura no pueda hazer cosa alguna hasta quese hagan los instrumentos dela dha fundacion’ (ibid., fol. 93v). 113 January 29, 1623: Iten convenerunt quod dictus R.mus D. Petrus in dt’a ecclesia in eo loco qui est a latere effigiei Petri de Chacon possit construere suum sepulcrum cum ornamento pro ut ipsi R.mo Dn’o Petro suis expensis bene visum fuerit cum facultate etiam apponendi in terra unum lapidem cum sua inscriptione etiam si corpus suum fuerit repossitum in pariete vel etiam si extra Urbem defunctus et in quacumq. ecclesia extra Urbem sepultus fuerit quern locum nomine pt ae ecc’liae ipsi Dn’i deputati dt’o R.mo D. Petro liberum, et immunem concesserunt. Iten erit obligata dicta ecclia’ quod si pt’us locus in quo apponenda est effigies, et sepultura aliquo casu seu eventu fuerit mutandus ad aliam partern dare in pt’a ecclia’ alium locum ad effectum apponendi dictam effigiem ornamentum et sepulturam talem, et aeque bonum uti erat primus et manutenere, ac conservare pt’am effigiem et ornamenturn semper, et perp’uo pro ut fuerit finita, et perfecta, ita quod si fuerint rupta vel collapsa in partem, vel in totum teneatur dicta ecclesia illa reficere. (Act notarized by Thomas Godover, AIEE–635, No. 120, foll. 89–90. The act was ratified by the confraternity on September 10, 1623; ibid., No. 121, fol. 98.) 114 From Montoya’s testament, dated May 27, 1630 (he died three days later), we learn, that work on the tomb was still in progress: ‘Item mando que la sepoltura donde a de estar mi cuerpo enterrado sea en el muro de la dicha Santa Iglesia del Señor Santiago donde a de estar el Deposito, que tengo hecho, y en tierra, al pie de la dicha Sepoltura, se ponga una piedra, y en ella, o. en la que a de estar en la pared donde a de estar el cuerpo, se ponga esta memoria, con las demas, que dejo instituidas y dotadas en la dicha Santa Iglesia de Señor Santiago de Nuestra Naçion Española’ (ibid., No. 148, fol. 4; for the inscriptions — a short one above the sarcophagus, a long one on the wall below the monument — cf. Forcella, III, 247, No. 612). 111

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What had remained of generalized abstraction in Bernini’s treatment of form seems here to have disappeared, leaving only the impression of tight, vivid precision. We feel confronted directly by reality, and the very sharpness of focus adds to the quality of inner tension and vitality the figure conveys. The hair consists entirely of fine, closely set lines that intensify the effect of wiry tautness. While the drapery is in the main symmetrical, the edge of the cloak (mantelletta) at Montoya’s right is folded back.115 This is counterbalanced in a dynamic, asymmetrical fashion by the bowed sash at the waist, placed slightly to the right of center. The folds of the cloak hanging from the chest project forward, apronlike, and suggest an empty space behind. There Bernini introduces the bow that falls startlingly over the pedestal.116 By these devices, which work now in a ‘positive’ rather than a ‘negative’ way, he encourages the mind to imagine that the body continues below the waist. The portrait of Monsignor Francesco Barberini (the uncle of Maffeo), now in Washington, D.C., must have been conceived within a very short time after the bust of Montoya (Fig. 52).117 The drapery arrangement of According to Baldinucci, 76, and Domenico Bernini, 16, the bust was already in place when Maffeo Barberini saw it; but the evidence of Montoya’s testament seems to accord with Bernini’s own recollection that Montoya left the bust in the artist’s studio for a long time (Chantelou, 102–03). In a marginal note added to the manuscript of Fioravante Martinelli’s ‘Roma ornata’ 63, the architecture of the tomb is attributed to Orazio (not Niccolò) Turriani; cf. Hibbard, 1965, 237 n. 64. We may note here that the busts of the Anima Beata and Anima Dannata, originally in San Giacomo degli Spagnoli, now in the Palazzo di Spagna, have no connection with Montoya (Wittkower, 1966, 177, No. 7). They were left to the church by one of the benefactors, Fernando Botinete, who died in October 1632, and are listed in an inventory of 1680 (AIEE, Busta 1333, ‘Inventã de la yglesía y Sacristí que Sirvio hast. el Año de 1680,’ foll. 133 ff., ‘cosas differentes de Sacristia,’ cf. fol. 134v: ‘Mas dos Estatuas de Marmol blanco del Bernino, con sus piedestales de jaspe, son dos testas que rapresentan la una la anima en gloria, y la otra anima en pena & las quales vienen con lo quedejo el D.or Botinete a la Iglesia’). On Botinete cf. Fernández Alonso, 322–23. 115 Bernini seems to have borrowed this motif from the bust of Martino Azpilcueta in Sant’Antonio de’ Portoghesi, where the folded-back edge serves to reveal the insignia on the vest below (cf. Grisebach, 145). 116 The bow is carved from the same block of marble as the bust; the pedestal and flanking scrolls are a separate piece. 117 The bust is listed by Baldinucci, 176, and in 1627 in the inventory of Cardinal Francesco Barberini (BVAB–1, fol. 27; cf. Fraschetti, 140 n. 1); also in 1635 in Menghini’s inventory (BVAB–2, fol. 23; cf. Pollak, I, 334, No. 961).

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Montoya is here repeated almost exactly, including the folded-back right edge of the mantelletta. A different kind of rhythm is established, however, by the head’s turning to the right, while the pleated surplice protruding from beneath the central opening of the cloak moves on a diagonal from upper left to lower right. Most important, Bernini here introduces a slight displacement of the shoulders; the left shoulder is forward with respect to the right (Fig. 53).118 There is thus a subtle but insistent hint of movement. The surface of the marble also is treated with greater ease and fluidity than in the Montoya bust, and is given a somewhat porous luster. The first reference we have to the bust of Antonio Cepparelli is on April 23, 1622, five days after his death, when the Confraternity of the Pietà determined to commission it from Bernini (Figs. 54–55, 58–59, 61). The record is of interest, as we noted, because it refers to the earlier memorial to Coppola: ‘And let there be made a statue of marble with an inscription to the said Signor Antonio to be placed in the hospital, like that of Coppola, and Signor Girolamo Ticci was told to speak to the sculptor Bernini, that it be made as soon as possible’ (Doc. 20).119 Bernini’s first payment of twenty-five scudi was ordered in August the same year (Doc. 22a). The receipt itself is preserved, and is also a fascinating document; it is made out on the front to Gianlorenzo, while on the back it is signed by his father, Pietro, acting as his agent (Doc. 22b).120 There seems then to have been some delay, since Gianlorenzo received his final payment of forty-five scudi only at the end of the following year, in December 1623 (Doc. 23).121 The It is dated 1626 by Wittkower (1966, 191–92, No. 24b), whereas Pope-Hennessy (Catalogue, 127, Pl. 144) proposes 1624–25. The tendency to date the work too late, despite its close similarity to the Montoya, presumably arose from the deceptive fact that it first appears, along with the busts of Maffeo’s mother (which was also dated too late), father, and niece, in the 1627 inventory. I hereby emphatically retract the doubt I once expressed whether the bust is completely autograph (review of Wittkower, in AB, 38, 1956, 259). 118 The displacement may be gauged by the view from beneath showing the position of the shoulders in relation to the base. 119 On June 21, 1622, the painter Pompeo Caccini was paid for making a portrait of Cepparelli, recalling the portrait of Coppola that had been painted by Cosimo Dandini (Docs. 21, 5). Caccini, a Florentine, seems not to be otherwise documented in Rome (Thieme-Becker, V, 338). 120 Cf. also Doc. 22c. An analogous case was that of Pompeo Caccini’s portrait of Cepparelli, for which Pompeo’s son collected the money and signed the receipt (Doc. 21b). 121 The pattern of Bernini’s prices for portraits should be noted: 50 scudi for that of Coppola (1612) and those of Camilla Barbadori and Antonio Barberini (1619–20), 70 scudi for that of Cepparelli.

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last reference in the documents is that of 1634, quoted earlier, concerning the installation of the terra-cotta models for the two portraits by Bernini (Doc. 29). In composing the bust of Cepparelli, Bernini seems to have had in mind a portrait attributed to Nicolò Cordier of a member of the Aldobrandini family, in the Aldobrandini chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (Fig. 56).122 The resemblance includes not only details of costume and composition, notably the leather vest and the cape flung asymmetrically from the front of the left shoulder to the back of the right, but also the physiognomical structure of the head and the handling of features such as the eyelids and cheeks. The choice of this asymmetrical prototype is significant, and in interpreting it Bernini brought into play and made explicit the innovations that had been hinted at in the busts of Montoya and Francesco Barberini. The myriad wrinkles in the drapery are smoothed and simplified. The portion of the cape covering the left shoulder hangs in straight folds that form an insistent diagonal down the side of the chest, recalling the turned-back edges of Montoya’s and Barberini’s mantellette. The edge of the cape visible above the right shoulder is bent up so that instead of creating a closed outline it slices the air like a fin.123 The edge of the cape returns to view, in the form of a bent fold that moves diagonally across the lower right part of the chest. This motif is a descendant of the diagonal folds underlying the arms of Coppola and Vigevano; though here it appears through the armpit and does not interrupt the wide-flaring, bow-shaped lower silhouette, it anticipates the sideward-streaming masses on which the busts of Francesco d’Este and Louis XIV seem to float. Cepparelli’s cape thus creates a series of asymmetrical but counterbalancing diagonal accents that rotate around his body. Within this halo of motion, the head is turned markedly to the right and inclined downward, and the right shoulder is thrust forward, the left back. The drapery arrangement and the suggestion of movement make it possible to discern what now became an important new source of inspiration for Bernini’s portraiture. In both respects the Cepparelli bust reveals a close study of Florentine portraits of the preceding century, especially those of The attribution to Cordier is due to Riccoboni, 112. For the costume see also the bust of Michele Cornia in Santa Maria in Aracoeli, also attributed to Cordier (Venturi, X, 3, Fig. 544). 123 Cf. the turned-up folds of drapery behind the shoulders of Francesco d’Este and Louis XIV. 122

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Benvenuto Cellini. In the famous bronze bust of Cosimo I de’Medici in the Bargello, the cloak similarly weaves from the front of the left shoulder behind the back, and reappears in front at the lower right side (Fig. 57).124 The Florentines also had introduced an element of movement in their busts, apart from the turn of the head, by showing one arm forward and the other back.125 This, too, is a device that Bernini subsequently adopted, though in radically altered form.126 It is important to observe, however, that in the Barberini and Cepparelli busts there is no such overt action; the arms hang vertically and nothing disturbs the figures’ ideal composure. On the other hand, Bernini creates a more profound vitality by actually shifting the relationship between the shoulders. And in the Cepparelli portrait he took a giant step beyond even the bust of Monsignor Barberini — in addition to the displacement of the shoulders, the torso itself is rotated slightly to the left. There are thus no straight axes, either in the horizontal or vertical An analogous drapery arrangement occurs in Cellini’s bust of Bindo Altoviti in the Gardner Museum, Boston (see the illustrations in E. Camesasca, Tutta l’opera del Cellini, Milan, 1962, Pls. 66, 67). Admittedly, it is difficult to assume that Bernini knew the Cosimo I bust firsthand, since it was on the island of Elba from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century; however, a marble replica attributed to Cellini himself has recently come to light (W. Heil, ‘A Re-discovered Marble Portrait of Cosimo I de’ Medici by Cellini,’ BurlM, 109, 1967, 4 ff.). The bust of Altoviti was in Rome until the nineteenth century. 125 Cf. besides Cellini's portraits, that by Bandinelli of Cosimo I cited above, note 29. In describing their busts of Cosimo, Cellini speaks of having given his ‘l’ardito moto del vivo,’ and Bandinelli of ‘ ’l moto suo . . . che distende uno braccio alu[n]chando la mano da pacifichare e popoli’ (quoted by Heikamp, 57–58). 126 Moving arms occur first in the portraits of Urban VIII and Richelieu (cf: Wittkower, 1966, 14). In these cases it is the lower rather than the upper part of the arm that seems to shift under the drapery; the device thus not only suggests movement, but also serves the illusionistic purpose of alluding to the lower extremities of the arms. Bernini’s deep response to Florentine sixteenth-century sculpture in the early 1620s is evident from the relationships, often noted, between his Neptune and Triton from the Villa Montalto and Stoldo Lorenzi’s Neptune fountain in the Boboli garden; between the Rape of Prosperine and Giambologna’s Rape of the Sabines (though in fact Bernini’s direct source seems to have been a small bronze Rape of Prosperine by Pietro da Barga in the Bargello); and between the Apollo and Daphne and Battista Lorenzi’s Alpheus and Arethusa, now in The Metropolitan Museum, New York. Cf. B. H. Wiles, The Fountains of the Florentine Sculptors and Their Followers from Donatello to Bernini, Cambridge, Mass., 1933, 102; P. Remington, ‘Alpheus and Arethusa: A Marble Group by Battista Lorenzi,’ BMMA, 25, 1940, 61 ff.; I. 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, III, 102. 124

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planes. Perhaps for the first time in the history of the sculptured bust, the whole body is conceived as if it were in motion. The figure has something of the romantic air of a dashing cavalier. Yet, the movement is relaxed, and the face, with its melancholy, world-weary expression (in his will Cepparelli speaks of an illness with which he was afflicted)127 conveys the vaguely tragic impression of a great reservoir of human energy that is past maturity.128 The final work we shall discuss is the portrait of Cardinal Roberto Bellarmino in the Gesù, which originally formed part of a large monument placed in the apse of the church to the left of the main altar (Fig. 60). This is one of the instances when the portrait was made by the young Bernini, while the two flanking allegories were carved, partly or entirely, by the

‘Item: voglio che il Corpo mio morendo a Roma di questo male . . .’ (ASGF, Busta 606, Testament of Cepparelli, April 12, 1622, Not. B. Dinius, p. 3). On May 31, 1622, the confraternity paid 3 scudi to Madonna Lena, a Bolognese, of the Inn at the Sign of the Cat, where Cepparelli died (see note 7 above), for her services to him during his last illness: ‘. . . a ma lena bolognese Camera locanda alla gatta quanto lei ha da havere -p del q. Sig.r Antonio Cepparelli me˜tre è stato in casa sua amalato, et -p tt.o servitio che lei pretende haverli fatto nella malattia’ (ASGF–205, middle of volume, ‘130’ written on back). 128 Some further points concerning the Cepparelli bust should be noted. The form of the cartouche on the base is close to that on the busts of Cardinal Dolfin, and more particularly, because the ends are bent around the corners, to those of Cardinal de Sourdis, Francesco Barberini, and the early bust of Urban VIII (Wittkower, 1966, Pl. 32; also the disputed bust of Antonio Barberini the elder, ibid., Fig. 30). The surface of the Cepparelli bust has a gentle luster (somewhat marred by the discoloration caused by the coating of whitewash) that recalls the bust of Francesco Barberini and looks forward to that of Cardinal Bellarmino. In this respect it is paralleled by that of Carlo Antonio dal Pozzo recently rediscovered and published by Rinehart, 437 ff., though there, to judge from photographs, the polish is more uniform. There is also a marked resemblance in the physiognomies of the heads (Dal Pozzo had died in 1607); in the slightly parted lips; in the treatment of hair, beards and collars; and in the shape of the silhouette. The two works must be virtually contemporary. The bulging pupils, which lend a powerful climax to the forward thrust of Cepparelli’s head, have no real duplicates in Bernini’s portraits. He used rounded, convex pupils again in various forms, however (Wittkower, 1966, Pls. 36, 61, 83, 91, Fig. 53). Instances of unique or individualized treatment of the pupils are not unusual in Bernini’s work; e.g., the eyes of Anchises and those of Gabriele Fonseca (ibid., Pls. 15,116). A faintly incised line may be seen running vertically along the central axis at the back of the Cepparelli bust (Fig. 61). It seems possible, especially in the absence of any horizontal or vertical axes in the bust itself, that the incision served as a reference line for measurements taken in the course of execution. 127

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father and another assistant.129 When the apse of the Gesù was renovated toward the middle of the nineteenth century, the tomb was dismantled, a door inserted, and the portrait given an entirely new framework; the allegorical figures were lost.130 It has heretofore been possible to date the portrait only within relatively wide limits. Bellarmino died on September 17, 1621, and we know from a contemporary dispatch that the monument was not unveiled until August 3, 1624.131 Documents in the Jesuit archive now make the situation clear, and show that the portrait has a most remarkable history. In his testament Bellarmino had expressed the wish to be buried without pomp in the common grave of his Jesuit brothers. The general of the order complied with the wish, but only for one year, at the end of which time he ordered that the famous jurist and theologian, who was renowned for his ascetic piety and was already being proposed for canonization, be provided with a fitting memorial. His body was exhumed on September 14, 1622, and resealed in a casket of lead.132 A diary of the church subsequently records that on 129 Cf. Wittkower, 1966, 182, No. 15. Baglione, 305, attributes the allegories (Religion and Wisdom) to Pietro without distinction. Baldinucci, 76, 177, and Domenico Bernini, 16, attribute Religion to Gianlorenzo. Passeri, 247, speaks generically of Giuliano Finelli as Pietro’s assistant in the work on the tomb. Fioravante Martinelli, 68, describes the work as follows (I include the marginal corrections in parentheses): ‘La statua della Religione, e della Sapienza figure in piedi di marmo intorno al deposito del Card. Roberto Bellarmino (et il suo ritratto) sono di Pietro Bernino, e del Cav.r Gio. Lorenzo (suo figlio, ma una di d.e figure fu lavorato sotto di lui da giuliano finelli Carrarino).’ A seventeenth-century drawing of the tomb in its original form survives (illus. in Fraschetti, 35; Bruhns, Fig. 237). The tomb is faintly visible in the painting by Andrea Sacchi of the interior of the Gesù, now in the Museo di Roma (1639; Pecchiai, Pl. IX opp. p. 88). 130 On the restoration, cf. Pecchiai, 210 ff. In the diary of the work on the apse the following references to the allegories are found, under the date August 16–21, 1841: ‘Disfatto il Monumento del Ven: Card. Bellarmino, e il suo Busto con le due statue laterali portate nell’oratorio della Compña della B. Morte’ (ARSI–5, fol. 1); ‘Furono traslocate da d.o Oratorio al Magazzino di S. Venanzio le due statue che ornavano il Mausoleo del Ven. Card.e Bellarmino’ (ibid., fol. 5). The church of San Venanzio, which stood near Piazza Santa Maria in Aracoeli, was recently demolished (M. Armellini, Le chiese di Roma dal secolo IV al XIX, Rome, 1942, 1, 675 ff.); 1 have found no trace of the warehouse mentioned. 131 Pollak, I, No. 332. G. Gigli refers to the tomb in describing, ex post facto, the death of Bellarmino and the decorations in the Gesù for the canonization of saints Ignatius of Loyola and Francis Xavier (March 1622; Diario Romano, ed. G. Ricciotti, Rome, 1958, 54, 59). 132 The story is first told in published form by Fuligatti, 347 ff. Cf. also ARSI–1, 2, 3.

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August 3, 1623, the new sepulchre was begun;133 Bernini’s portrait must therefore have been made during the twelve-month period between that date and the unveiling in August 1624. The sources also shed considerable light on Bernini’s conception of the portrait. When the corpse was exhumed in 1622 a careful account of the event was kept. It records that the body was found in part undecayed; the head and torso were preserved intact, along with the arms and hands.134 This fact is of great significance because bodily incorruption was one of the important signs of divine grace. The body was reinterred at once, that is, before Bernini’s portrait was made. The casket remained unopened thereafter until the dismantling of the tomb in the nineteenth century. Again a record was kept, and it states that when the body was exposed it was found in cardinal’s garb and in the same pose that Bernini had given the figure.135 It is clear, therefore, that the peculiar cut and pose of Bernini’s portrait — long to the waist and including arms and hands in an attitude of prayer — were intended as a specific reference to the grace of incorruptibility that was accorded the future saint.136 The pious gesture and worshipful expression are also intended to dramatize Bellarmino’s saintliness, in death no less than in life. Bernini’s portrait was thus conceived as an instrument of propaganda in the Jesuit order’s campaign to achieve canonization for one of its most illustrious members. From the stylistic point of view Bellarmino seems to epitomize the development we have been tracing. The vivid precision of the Montoya is there, but as in the Cepparelli the edges are not quite so sharp, the transitions easier and more relaxed. It is as though in this series of portraits pent-up tensions had been released. The Bellarmino, indeed, presents a veritable counterpoint of movement: the hands forward, body and head to the left, and shoulders inclined. Bernini here takes up once more the lead provided August 3, 1623: ‘Si comincio la sepoltura del Card.e Bellarmino’ (ARSI–4, fol. 43v). Il corpo era parte intiero parte corrotto. Il capo et il busto erano intieri con gran parte delle braccia et mani. Il rimanente erano ossa con de nervi . . . La sera vestito con tonicella pianeta stola et mani polo di taffetta pavonazzo fu collocato in una cassa di cipresso con fodera di piombo et posato a sepellire . . .’ (ARSI–2; cf. Fuligatti, 348). 135 ‘. . . entro cassa di piombo non sigillata venne riconosciuto con gli abiti Cardinalizi e nell’attegiamento che presenta il Busto di marmo che soprastava nella nicchia del d.o Monumento’ (ARSI–5, August 16–21, 1841, fol. 2v). Cf. Pecchiai, 210. 136 Bellarmino was finally canonized only in 1930; for a recent bibliography and summary of the controversies concerning his views on the temporal authority of the pope, cf. Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, Freiburg, 1957 ff., II, cols. 160 ff. 133

134 ‘

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by the bust of Cardinal Pio da Carpi in Santa Trinità dei Monti (Fig. 5); Bellarmino’s head and glance are inclined toward the worshiper approaching the choir from the crossing, while the joined hands are directed toward the office taking place at the altar. At the same time, the motif of the deceased shown in an attitude of prayer had a long prior history in sepulchral art; an example that Bernini certainly studied was the bust of Cardinal Albani in Santa Maria del Popolo, where the hands are frontal while the head turns toward the altar (Fig. 62).137 But Cardinal Pio, does not actually worship, and Cardinal Albani has no relation to the observer. Thus, Bernini’s figure is not intended simply as a didactic invitation to the visitor, on the one hand, nor as a kind of figural equivalent of an inscribed prayer, on the other. Rather, Bellarmino is shown in a specific and intensely personal moment of spiritual communication.138 Traditions that had served mainly to record the aspect of what was dead are fused in order to recreate the spirit of what was once alive. * * * The material assembled here coincides with a ‘natural’ phase of Bernini’s career, that is, from its inception until the year 1621 when Maffeo Barberini, as Pope Urban VIII, became his chief patron. Yet, the discussion can in no sense lay claim to being a comprehensive treatment of his development during this period, if only because a number of the most important works have been left out of account or mentioned but incidentally. I refer especially to the series of monumental sculptures commissioned by Scipione Borghese at the end of the second and the beginning of the third decade, the chronology of which has been established by Faldi, and to the papal portraits (Paul V and Gregory XV), concerning which I have nothing to add to the fundamental investigations of Martinelli and Wittkower. Thus, although the works we have discussed offer a spectacle of creativity,

137 By Giovanni da Valsoldo. Albani had died in 1591; the date of the monument, situated on the north face of the easternmost pier on the south side of the nave, is unknown. Cf. Bruhns, 290. 138 In a sense, the Bellarmino portrait is a prelude to the crossing of St. Peter’s (on which Bernini began working in June 1624), where the whole space is conceived as the site of a dramatic action taking place at the altar, to which the sculptured figures respond (I. Lavin, Bernini and the Crossing of Saint Peter’s, New York, 1968.

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probably without parallel in the history of art, by a youth between roughly his tenth and twenty-fifth year, it should be borne in mind that we have dealt with only a fragment of what he actually achieved.

Appendix of Documents (Multiple versions of the same document have been listed alphabetically under the same number.) Bust of Antonio Coppola 1.

March 8, 1612 (AGSF–651, fol. Iv): Si paghi -p il casso di cera fatto -p la testa del do m. Ant.o Coppola ∇di quattro et che Piero Paulo Cavalti sia con il sr Fran.o Ticci -p far fare al bernino scultore la testa di Marmo del detto m. Ant.o Coppola da mettersi nel'spedale.

2.

Ju1y 16, 1612 (ibid., fol. 2v): Fu fatto un mandato di pagare a Bernini scultore di pagare quello che deve havere -p la testa di marmo di m. Ant.o Coppola e fu fatto il mandato in bianco, e fu dato ordine al sr Andrea Pasquali che sia con il Sr Franc.o Ticci, che veda di far pagar meno che si puo.

3.

August 4, 1612 (ASGF–430, p. 49 right): E deve Dare addi 4 di Agosto ∇ quattro di m.ta pag. à franco Scachi -p tant. pag.to -p Il s.r Ticci à Cesare Rugg.r -p sua mercede -p Havere fatto Il Capo di gesso della testa del detto qlll Ant Coppola _________________ ∇4

4a.

August 10, 1612 (ibid.): E Addi 10 di Agosto ∇ Cinquanta di m.ta Pag.ti à Pietro Bernini scultore e -p suo ordine à s.r ticci porto franc.o Scachi cont. -p Intera Valuta della testa di Marmo della Detta B. M. -p tenere nel spedale _________________ ∇50

4b.

August 10, 1612 (ASGF, Busta 369, ‘Entrata et Uscita 1606 1624,’ Part 2, p. 19):

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Adi 10 di agosto 1612 Pagati a m. pietro bernini e per lui tiro contanti a francescho schachi loro cassiere schudi Cinquanta -p la valuta di una testa di marmo fatta -p la B memoria di m. antonio Coppola ______________ ∇50 5a.

September 3, 1612 (ASG F-205, before middle of volume): Adi 3 di Sett.re 1612. in Roma. M. Gio: Franc.o Giannozzi Camarlingo del N'ro Hospitale Pagherete à m. Cosimo Dandini Pittore ∇di cinque di m.ta -p l'intiera valuta del ritratto del N'ro M. Ant.o Coppola che con sua ric.ta saranno ben pag.ti e Poneteli al conto solito Dio vi guardi ∇di cinque di mta And.a Pasquali Dep.to Ascanio sordonati Dep.to Io Cosimo dandini sopd.to ho ricevuto li detti cinque scudi di 14 di set 1612 Cosimo dandini Mano -p-p a

5b.

September 14, 1612 (ASGF–430, p. 49 right): E Addi 14 detto ∇ cinque di mta pagti à Cosimo dandini Pittore -p cont. -p Valuta del Ritratto fatto della detta B. M. __________________ ∇5

6a.

November 16, 1615 (ASGF–205, toward middle of volume): Misura dl epitafio fatto nel spedale di saa˜ Gio: dela natione fioree˜tina da mro Simone Castelli long pl 4 3/4 alto pl 41/2 fa pl 211/4 agiuli 4 il po monta _____________________________________________________ ∇8–40 -P aver intagliato litere n.o 225 a b 4 luna mo˜ta ____________________ ∇9 Somma in tutt.o scudi dicisette b quaranta ___________________ ∇17–40 Filippo Breccioli mu˜ -p-p Ha hauto abo˜ co˜to da me Seb.no Guidi -p 1 . . . fatta all'hospitale delle . . . di 1615 ____________________________________________∇8–80 [verso] M. franc.o Rochi nr.o Camarl.o pagharete a m. Simone Castelli Scarpellino sedici b 80 m.t se li fanno pag.re -p pagmto -p l'epitaffio e altro conforme il retroscritto Conto che con sua ricta vi si farano . . . Adi 16 di 9bre 1615 Camo del Palagio deput.us Arcagelo Cavalcati dep.to [illegible signaturel . . . proved.re io simone castello o ricuto scudi sedici e baiochi oto˜ta quali . . . saldi del retroscrito io simone castelo mano propria questo di 12 dicembre 1615

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December 1, 1615 (ASGF–651, fol. 19): fu fatto maa˜d.to di pag.re a m. Simone Castelli scarpell.o ∇ sedici b otanta to 1e o -p pagm. -p l'epitaffio et altro conforme il conto sotto il q. fattoli il md ____________________________________________________ ∇16–80

7.

May 10, 1634: see Doc. 29 below.

Four Cherubs for the Barberini Chapel 8a.

February 5, 1618 (BVAB–8, p. XLII): Sig.r Ruberto Primo Piaccia a V.S. pag.re a m. Pietro Bernino Scultore Scudi Settanta cinque m.ta Sono -p a buon conto di quattro putti di Marmo che mi deve fare -p Serv.o della mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle ______ ∇75

8b.

February 5, 1618 (BVAB–9, p. 104): Pietro Bernino Scultore deve dare Addi 5 di Febbro ∇di Settanta cinque m.ta pag.ti con mand.o diretto al Sig.r Ruberto Primo -p a buon conto della fattura di quattro putti di Marmo bianco che mi fa -p Serv.o della mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle _____________________________________ ∇75

8c.

February 5, 1618 (ibid., p. CI): E addi 5 di Febb.ro ∇di Settentacinque m.ta pag.ti a Pietro Bernino Scultore -p a buon conto di quattro putti che fa di Marmo -p Serv.o della mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle _____________________________________ ∇75

9a.

February 7, 1618 (BVAB–5, No. 80): Havendo io Pietro Bernino Scultore et Statuario habitante In Roma, convenuto et pattuito con L'III.mo Sig.r Card.le Barberino, di farli quattro putti di mio marmo popio Bianco nuovo, che devono andare, sopra li frontespitij delle -p te laterali della Sua Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle, li quali quattro putti devono essere di altezza di palmi cinque l'uno Inc.a Et a questo fine, essendo da me di già stato fatto li Modelli di Terra di detti quattro putti, Nudi con alcuni Suolazzi di panni, etc. Di qui, è che io Pietro Bernino, Sud.to pometto di fare et fornire di mia mano et di mano di Gio: Lorenzo mio fig.lo -p tutto Giugno Milleseicento-dicianove li detti quattro putti, et mi obligo che sieno lustrati et finiti con ogni diligentia, et -p che li Sud.i Modelli di Terra non Sono ridotti all'Intera perfettione, ne Studiato nella forma che Si

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Studiera nel farli di Marmo, pometto di pfetionarli In ogni miglior forma, et à lavoro rivisto da periti da Elegiersi da d.o III.mo Sig.r Card.le et Contrafacendo, à quanto di Sopra et agiudicandosi da periti non ess.re l'opera conforme alla Sud.a pomessa, volgio essere Tenuto ad ogni danno et Interesse, che S. S.III.ma ne potessi patire, ò ne havessi patito, et di piu mi obligo ancora di far Condurre li sud.l quattro putti di Marmo a mie popie Spese nella Sud.a Sua Cappella di Sant Andrea della valle, et assistere a quelli artefici che li Collocheranno Sopra li frontespitij delle -p te laterali della Sud.a Cappella, accio venghino, à posare agiustam.te et bene. Et -p pezzo de sud.i quattro putti ho ric.to da S. S. Ill.ma un pezzo di Marmo bianco Statuario di dua Carrettate Incirca, et di piu mi doverra dare Scudi Centosettantacinque di mta di g.li dieci do to ma -p ∇. a Conto delli quali questo giorno, ne ho ric. da S. S. Ill. un Mandato r ta diretto al Sig. Ruberto Primo di Scudi Settantacinque m. et il restante che sono scudi Cento m.ta mi doverranno essere da S. S. Ill.ma liberam.te et Senza eccettione alcuna pagati ogni volta che io li dia finiti et pfetionati li Sud.i quattro putti di Marmo et -p osservatione di quanto di sopra, è detto, mi obligo In forma Camere etc. questi di 7 di febbraro 1618 — In Roma Io pietro bernini Affermo prometto mi obligo e giuro di osservarequanto di sopra si contiene et in fede del vero o di mia propria mano sottoscritto la presente qstto di e anno suddetto lo pietro bernini mano propria. 9b.

February 7, 1618 (BVAB–10, fol. 2): Nota che si e fatto una scritta con Pietro Bernino Scultore, che faccia quattro putti di Marmo Bianco Novo del Suo -p-prio -p metterli in su li frontespitij delle -p te laterali della Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle alti palmi Cinque quali li deve dare finiti -p tutto Giugno 1619 et li deve dar Condi a Sue spese Inda Cappella, et -p pezzo si e Convenuto darli un pezzo di Marmo Bianco di dua Carrettate Inca et di pui Scudi Cento Settantacinque m.ta a Conto de quali se li e consegnato un Mando di ∇ 75 — diretto al Sig.r Ruberto Primo et li altri Scudi Cento Se li doverranno pagre come dia finiti li Sudi quattro putti di Marmo bianco. [In margin] Roma — Fatti detti putti et Collocati nella Capella dove andavano.

10a. February 21, 1618 (BVAB–8, p. 43): A Pietro Bernini Scultore Scudi ventinove mta buoni a Spese che Si fanno in fabricare et ornare una Cappella In Sant Andrea della Valle. Sono -p la meta di ∇di 58 m.ta che costo un pezzo di Marmo bianco di quattro Carrettate Inc.a che fu Compo da m. Gio: Bellucci fattore della fabrica di San Pietro fino sotto di il 11 Agosto 1611 del qal Marmo della Meta ne fu fatto la Statua di Mons.re Fran.co Barberini da m. Cristofano Stati Braccianese et l'altra meta fu cond.o a Casa dell' Ill.mo Sig.r Card.le Barberino, il quale Si e poi Conseg.to al

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276 Sud.o m. Pietro a Conto di quattro putti di Marmo Bianco che mi deve fare o a -p Serv. della Sud. Cappella _________________________________ ∇29 10b. February 21, 1618 (BVAB-9, p. CIII): E addi d.o [February 21, 1618] ∇di Ventinove m.ta che tanto si Valuta un pezzo di Marmo bianco Statuario che si e Consegnato a Pietro Bernino Scultore et e la meta di un pezzo di Marmo Grande di quat-tro carettate In circa che fu compo da Gio: Bellini fattore della fabrica di San Pietro -p ∇di 58 m.ta fino Sotto li 11 di Ag.o 1611 ____________________________________ ∇29 10c. February 21, 1618 (ibid., p. 104): E addi 21 do [February] ∇di ventinove m.ta che tanto Si valuta un pezzo di Marmo bianco Statuario di dua Carrettate In Circa consegnatoli [ie. Pietro Bernini] qui In Casa che lo fece -ptare a Casa Sua _________ ∇29 11a. May 28, 1618 (BVAB–8, P. L): Sig.r Ruberto Primo Piaccia a V. S. pag.re a m. Pietro Bernino Scultore Scudi Cinquanta m.ta Sono -p a buon conto delli quattro putti di Marmo bianco che mi fa -p Serv.o della mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle _________ ∇50 11b. May 28, 1618 (BVAB–9, p. 104): E addi 28 Magio ∇di Cinquanta mta pag.li con Mandato diretto al s.r Ruberto Primo _________________________________________________ ∇50 11c. May 28, 1618 (ibid., p. CVX): E addi d.o [May 28] ∇di Cinquanta m.ta pag.ti a Pietro Bernino Scultore -p a buon conto di quattro putti di Marmo bianco che mi fa -p Serv.o della mia Cappella di Sant' Andrea della Valle ___________________________ ∇50 12a. July 7, 1618 (BVAB–8, p. LII): Sig.ri Provisori del Sacro Monte di Pieta piacera alle Sig.rtie v'rePag.re a m. Pietro Bernino Scultore Statuario Scudi Cinquanta mta Sono -p resto del pezzo con lui Convenuto di quattro Putti di Marmo bianco che mi ha fatto et fattoli Condurre a Sue Spese conforme a che era obligato nella mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle quali Sono Stati Collocati Sopa li Fronte Spitij delle -p te laterali della detta Cappella _______________________________ ∇50

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12b. July 7, 1618 (BVAB–9, p. 104): Addi 7 di Lug.o ∇di Cinq.ta m.ta pag.li con mand.o diretto al Sacro Monte di Pieta -p re.to delli Sud.i quattro putti di Marmo bianco, che ha fatti et fatti condurre nella mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle, quali sono Stati Collocati Sopa li Fronte Spitij delle -pte laterali della detta Cappella ___________ ∇50 12c. July 7, 1618 (ibid., p. CXXV): E addi 7 d.o [July] ∇di Cinquanta m.ta pag.ti a m. Pietro Bernino Scultore -p re.o del pezzo di quattro putti di Marmo che ha fatto -p Serv.o della mia Cappella di Santo Andrea della Valle __________________________________ ∇50 12d. (July 7, 1618) (ibid., p. 103): E ∇di Dugentoquattro m.ta buoni a m. Pietro bernino Scultore Sono -p pezzo delli quattro putti di Marmo bianco che sono Sop - a le -p te laterali della Sud.a Capella che posano Sop - a li Fronte Spitij di esse -p te __________________________________________________ ∇204 (Summary of previous payments.) 12e. (July 7, 1618) (ibid., p. CIIII): Pietro Bernino di contro deve Hav.re Scudi Dugentoquattro m.ta Sono -p pezzo di quattro putti di Marmo Bianco che ha fatti et Collocati nella mia Capella di Sant' Andrea della Valle Sop - a li Fronte Spitij delle -p te laterali ____ ∇204 (Summary of previous payments) 13.

October 19, 1618 (ibid., p. 103): Addi 19 di Ottobre ∇di Uno b 90 m.ta buoni a m. Fausto Poli m'ro di Casa pag.ti alli che hanno messo li perni et spanghe che tengono li Sud.i 4 putti ______________________________________________________ ∇1.90

14.

December 22, 1618 (ibid.): Addi 22 Xbre ∇di Uno b 771/2 m.ta pag.ti con mando diretto al Sacro Monte di Pieta a m'ro Antonio Lucatelli ferraro -p otto Spanghe di ferro, che ha date 1 -p tenere li quattro putti di Marmo messi Sop - a le -pte laterali ______ ∇1.77 /2

15.

December 31, 1618 (ibid.): E addi 31 d.o [December] ∇di Sei M.ta buoni a m'ro Bat'ta Scala

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278 Muratore Sono -p havre messo In opera li Sudi quattro putti di Marmo bianco ________________________________________________________ ∇6 16.

April 26, 1619: See Doc. 17a, below.

Busts of Camilla Barbadori and Antonio Barberini 17a. April 26, 1619 (BVAB–II, p. 5): Sig.ri Provisori del Sacro Monte di Pieta Piacera alle Sig.rie v're Pag.re a mr Gio: Lorenzo bernino Scultore Scudi Cinquanta m.ta Sono -p una Testa di Marmo bianco che mi ha fatto della B. M. della Sig.ra Camilla mia Madre. quale la deve far Condurre a Sue Spese nella mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle o -p Collocarla nel Luogho che li Sara destinato et Sono ancora -p rs di tutti li re lavori che mi possi hav. fatto Insieme con Suo padre fino a q.to giorno _______________________________________________________ ∇50 17b. April 26, 1619 (BVAB–12, p. XXXVII): E addi 26 do [April] sdi Cinquanta m.ta pag.ti a Gio: Lorenzo Bernino Scultore ra -p una Testa della B. M. della Sig. Camilla mia Madre che mi ha fatto _______________________________________________________ ∇50 17c. (April 26, 1619) (ibid., p. 40): Una Testa di Marmo Bianco della B. M. della Sig.ra Camilla mia madre In mano a Gio: Lorenzo Bernino deve dare Addi 26 di Aprile ∇di Cinquanta M.ta pag.ti con mand.o diretto al Sacro Monte di Pieta al Sud.o Gio: Lorenzo Bernino Scultore Sono -p pezzo di detta Testa di Marmo che mi ha fatto, qale la deve far Condurre a Sue spese nella mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle -p Collocarla nel luogho che li Sara destinato _____________________ ∇50 18a. February 22, 1620 (BVAB–11, p. 14): Sig.ri Provisori del Sacro Monte di Pieta piacera alle Sig.rie v're Pag.re a m. Gio: Lor.zo Bernino Scultore Scudi Cinquanta m.ta Sono -p pezzo d'una Testa di Marmo Bianco che mi ha fatto della B. M. del Sr Ant.o mio P're qale la deve far condurre a Sue Spese nella mia Cappella di Sant Andrea della Valle et Collocarla nel Luogho che li Sara destinato ______________________ ∇50

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18b. February 22, 1620 (BVAB–12, p. 40): o E addi 22 di Febraro ∇di 50 m.ta pag.ti con mand.o diretto come Sop - a al Sud. r o -p una Testa di Marmo bianco della B. M. del s. Ant. Mio P’re quale deve far condurre come Sop - a _______________________________________ ∇50

18c. February 22, 1620 (ibid., p. LIIII): E addi do [February 22] ∇di Cinquanta M.ta pag.ti a Gio: Lor.zo Bernino Scultore -p la Testa di Marmo bianco della B. M. del S.r Anti mio P're che mi ha fatto _________________________________________________ ∇50 19.

March 31, 1629: Payment for yellow marble bases; see note 95, above.

Bust of Antonio Cepparelli 20.

April 23, 1622 (ASGF–651, fol. 57 right): E più si faccia fare una statua di marmo co˜ inscrittione a detto s. Ant. e mettere nello spedale come quella del Coppola, e fu detto al s. Girolamo Ticci che ne parlassi al Bernino scultore — che si facessiquanto p.a —

21a. June 21, 1622 (ibid., fol. 58 right): A Popeo Caccini pittore -p il ritratto del s. Ant. Cepparelli bo: me: ____ ∇6 21b. June 21, 1622 (ASGF-205, middle of volume): Mag.eo m. Santi Vannini no˜ Camarlengho à piacere pagare à m. Pompeo Caccini pittore scudi sei mt.a quali sono -p prezzo del ritratto del s. Ant.o Cepparelli bo: me: che co˜ una riceuta saranno ben pagati dal nro spedale li 21 di Giugno 1622 ∇6 Horatio Falconiere Sup.o joorlando Cosini di put.o Io Jaco Caccini ho riceu.to li sopra detti danari -p il Sud.o Pompeo mio padre 22a. August 7, 1622 (ASGF–651, fol. 60 left): Al s. Cav.re Giãlorenzo bernini -p a bon conto della statua che deve fare del s. Ant.o Cepperelli in marmo fu fatto m.to _________________________ ∇25

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280 22b. August 7, 1622 (ASGF–205, middle of volume): Mag.eo m. Santi Vannini nr˜ Camarlengho à piacere al S.r Cav.re Gio: lorenzo bernini scudi venticinque mta. quali sono a bon conto della testa di marmo che deve fare del ritratto del S.r Ant.o Cepperelli che con una riceuta saranno ben pagati Dal Nr Cong.e li 7 di Agto 1622 ____________________∇25mta Hor Salco n sup.re Fran.co Scacchi Depto Domenico Migliari De Putato Seb.no Guidi p.re [verso] Io pietro bernini scultore ricieuto li detti scudi venticinq.e contanti oggi li 13 d'agosto in fede o scritto la precedente di mano -p-p a Io pietro bernini mano propria 22c. September 24, 1622 (ASGF–430, p. CX): E adi 24 di 7bre ∇ venticinque di mta pag.ti con mando a m. Pietro schultore -p la testa fatta di Marmo ____________________________________ ∇25 23a. December 23, 1623 (ASGF–651, fol. 64 right): Al do [Sebastiano Guidi] scudi quaranta cinque fattili pagare da Ticci al Cav.re bernini -p la statua di marmo fatta del s. Ant.o Cepparelli benefattore e messo nello spedale — sono -p resto _________________________________ ∇45 23b. December 23, 1623 (ASGF–205, toward middle of volume): Mag.eo Lorenzo Cavotti nr.o Cam.o à piacere pagare a m Sebno Guidi nr Provre scudi quaranta cinque tali fattli pagare da Ticci al s. Cavre Bernini -p la statua di marmo fatta a Sr Ant. Cepparelli e posto nel nostro spedale -p memoria del benefitio havuto da lui che con rict.o saranno ben pagati Dal Nr Cong.r li 23 di Xbre 1623 ∇45 -p resto Piero Landi, deput.to no Io Seb. Guidi ho rito quanto sopra Seb.no Guidi Prov.re 23c. December 23, 1623 (ASGF–430, p. 118): E adi detto [December 23, 1623] ∇ quarantacinque m.ta -p resto della statua fatta di d.o Ceparello _______________________________________ ∇45

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Bust of Pietro Cambi 24.

January 2, 1629 (ASGF–207, near beginning of volume): M. Santi Vannini no Camarl. pag.te al m.o Pomp.o ferucci scudi dodici di m.ta quali seli fanno pag.re a buon conto della testa di Marmero fatta -p Mettere nel n.o sped.le -p Memoria del q. Pietro Cambi Beneffattore, che con Riceuta ne darete deb.to a d.a Redita dal d luogo il di 2 di Genaro 1629 in Roma ∇12 m.ta Antonio Resti dept.o io pompeo ferrucci oriceuti li sopradetti iscudi dodici questo di detto io pompeo mano -p-p Carlo Aldobrandi scr.

25.

July 17, 1629 (ibid., near beginning of volume): M. Santi Vannini fornaro nro Camarl. pag.te al m. Pompeo ferrucci scultore scudi Quindici m.ta seli fanno pag.re à buonc.to della testadi marmero che fa -p la Memoria del q. pietro Cambi B. M. -p mettere nell'no sped.le In Confformita dello Stabilim.to fatto dalla Cgn'e il di del pass.to che con o riceuta ne darete debito alla sua Redita, dal d. luogo il di 17 di Luglio 1629 in Roma ∇15 Mta Ant. Rest Depto Lorenzo Cavotti De putato io pompeo ferrucci o ricieuto li sopradetti iscudi quidici questo di detto io pompeo ferrucci mano -p-p a Carlo Aldobrandi scr.

26.

December 1, 1629 (ibid., near beginning of volume): M. Santi Vannini fornaro no Camarl pag.te al m.o Pompeo feruci scudi dieci di m.a quali sel fano pag.re a buon conto della testa di Marmero che fa del q. Pietro Cambi -p mettere nel no sped.le che con riceut. ne darete debito al Conto della sua Redita, dal d Spedle Il di pro di Xbre 1629 In Roma ∇10 Mta Ant.o Resti depto lorenzo Cavotti Deputato Io pompeo ferruci oricieuto li sopradetti iscudi dieci a buo conto de ritratto questo di di 14 di dicembre 1629 Io pompeo ferruci mano -p-p Carlo Aldobrandi scr.

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282 27.

March 7, 1630 (ibid., near begìnning of volume): M. Santi Vannini fornaro no Camarl. pag.te all mo Pompeo ferucci scultore ∇ dieci di m.ta quali seli fanno pag.re -p resto della testa di Marmero fatta del q. Pietro Cambi messa nel no sped.le che cõ Ri-ceuta ne darete debito alla detta Redita dal d spd.le il di 7 di Marzo 1630 In Roma ∇10 mta Fran.co Scacchi Depto io pompeo ferruci o ricieuto li sopradetti iscudì dieci di moneta -p resto come sopra questo di lo daprile 1630 io pompeo ferrucci mano -p -pa Carlo Aldobrandi scriv.

28.

May 8, 1630 (ibid., near beginning of volume):

M. Santi Vannini no fornaro no Camarl pag.te à mo Simone Castelli scarpellino ∇ Cinque di mo.ta quali seli fanno pagare -p una pietra di Marmo longa p.mi 31/2 larga pi 17/12 grossa 1/3 cõ lt'e intagliate Messa nel n'ro spedale sotto la testa di Marmo del q. Pietro Cambi cosi daco con il S. Sebbastiano Guidi che cõ riceuta ne darete deb.o a spesa di d.a Eredita di d Cambi, dal nro sped.le il di 8 di Maggio 1630 In Roma ∇ 5 Mta Fran.co Scacchi deptto Felice Sellori deputato Io Simone Castelo orecuto li sopra scriti scudi cinque per sado di deta pietra chome di sopra li deti dinari pagarete a francesco osalano che sarano bene pagati se co altra receputa questo di 17 Maggio 1630 io simone castelo mane propria Carlo Aldobrandi scr. Models of Busts by Bernini 29.

May 10, 1634 (ibid., slip numbered 1648 for year 1634): M. Santi Vannini fornaro nro Camarl. pag.te a Alessandro Bracci falegniame ∇ dua b 60 quali sono -p pg.to del pn'te Conto delle basse Inpernature di ferro et altro fatte -p Mantenim.to delle due teste di Creta fatte di Mano del Bernino, che si tengono sotto lo spedale, che con ricevuta ne darete deb.o a spesa straord., dal d.o lugo il x Maggio 1634

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Bibliography of Frequently Cited Sources Baglione, C., Le vite de' pittori scultori et architetti, Rome, 1642, facs. ed.V. Mariani, Rome, 1935. Baldinucci, F., Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682, ed. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948. Bernini, D., Vita del Cav. Giovan Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713. Bottineau, Y., L'Art de cour dans l'Espagne de Philippe V 1700–1742, Bibliothèque de l'école des hautes-études hispaniques, 29, Bordeaux, 1960. Bruhns, L., ‘Das Motiv der ewigen Anbetung in der römischen Grab-plastik des 16., 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts,’ RömJbK, 4, 1940, 255 ff. Chantelou, P. Fréart de, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, Paris, 1885. Ciaconius, A., Vitae et res gestae pontificum romanorum, Rome, 1677. Faldi, I., Galleria Borghese. Le sculture dal secolo XVI al XIX, Rome, 1954. —, ‘Note sulle sculture borghesiane del Bernini,’ BdA, 38, 1953, 140 ff. Fernández Alonso J., ‘Santiago de los Españoles y la Archiconfradía de la Santísima Resurrección de Roma hasta 1754,’ Anthologica Annua, Publicaciones del Instituto Española de estudios eclesiasticos, 8, 1960, 279 ff. Forcella, V., Iscrizioni delle chiese e d'altri edificii di Roma dal secolo XI fino ai giorni nostri, Rome, 1869 ff., 15 vols. Fraschetti, S., Il Bernini, Milan, 1900. Fuligatti, C., Vita del Cardinale Roberto Bellarmino, Rome, 1624. Grisebach, A., Römische Porträtbüsten der Gegenreformation, Leipzig, 1936. Heikamp, D., ‘In margine alla “Vita di Baccio Bandinelli” del Vasari,’ Paragone, 1966, No. 191, 51 ff. Hibbard, H., Bernini, Baltimore, 1965. Martinelli, Fioravante, ‘Roma ornata dall'Architettura, Pittura, e Scoltura,’ c. 1662, Rome, Bibl. Casanatense, MS 4984. Martinelli, V., ‘Contributi alla scultura del seicento: I. Francesco Mochi a Roma,’ Commentari, 2, 1951, 224 ff. —, ‘Novità berniniane: I. Un busto ritrovato: la Madre d'UrbanoVIII; 2. Un Crocifisso ritrovato?,’ Commentari, 7, 1956, 23 ff . —, I ritratti di pontefici di G. L. Bernini, Quaderni di storia dell'arte, 3, Istituto di Studi Romani, Rome, 1956. Muñoz, A., ‘Il padre del Bernini. Pietro Bernini scultore (1562–1629),’ Vita d’Arte, 4, 1906, 425 ff. Passeri, G. B., Die Künstlerbiographien von Giovanni Battista Passeri, ed. J. Hess, Vienna, 1934. Pastor, L. von, The History of the Popes, London, 1923 ff., 40 vols. Pecchiai, P., Il Gesù di Roma, Rome, 1952. Pollak, O., Die Kunsttätigkeit unter Urban VIII, Vienna, 1928–31, 2 vols.

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284 Pope-Hennessy, J., Italian High Renaissance and Baroque Sculpture, London, 1963, 3 vols. Reinhart, S., ‘A Bernini Bust at Castle Howard,’ BurIM, 109, 1967, 437 ff. Reymond, M., ‘Les sculptures du Bernin à Bordeaux,’ Revue de l'art ancien et moderne, 35, 1914, 45 ff. Riccoboni, A., Roma nell'arte. La scultura nell'evo moderno dal quattrocento ad oggi, Rome, 1942. Rufini, E., S. Giovanni de' Fiorentini, Le Chiese di Roma illustrate, No. 39, Rome, 1957. Siren, O., Nicodemus Tessin d.y:s Studieresor, Stockholm, 1914. Wittkower, R., ‘Bernini studies — II: “The Bust of Mr. Baker,” ’ BurIM, 95, 1953, 19 ff. —, Gian Lorenzo Bernini: The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, 2nd ed., London, 1966.

List of Abbreviations AIEE:

ARSI: 1.

2. 3. 4. 5. ASGF:

Archivo Instituto Español de estudios eclesiasticos Busta 1191: ‘Congreg.nes generales y Particu˜l. desde el Año de 1616 hasta el Año de 1627’ Busta 635: ‘Diverso Instrumentos original: que estan extendidos en el Lib. A desde el num.o 101 hasta el n.o 150’ Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu Archivio della Postulazione Generale, Atti concernenti Santi,Beati, Venerabili e S.S. di Dio, fasc. 499, int. I. ‘Relatione dell'Infermità, e morte dell'Illmo Sig.r Card.e Bellarmino scritta dal P. Minutoli all'Illmo Sig.r Card.e Farnese 23 Nov. 1621.’ Idem., fasc. 500, int. 2. (Untitled description of the exhumation of Bellarmino's body written September 14, 1622, by Giacomo Fuligatti.) Idem., fasc. 502. ‘Deposiz.e del Fr. Gius.e Finali d.a Comp.a fatta nel Proc. Ap˜lico di Roma li 14 Giug.o 1627.’ (Cf. p. 115.) Hist. Soc. 23. ‘Diarii 1610–1655.’ Fondo Gesuitico, Busta 1227, fasc. 4. ‘No. 82-I-9.’ (Diary of the nineteenth-century restorations.) Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, Archivio della Confraternita della Pietà Busta 205. ‘Filza de'Mandati e Registri degli Esattori 1606–1628’ Busta 207. ‘Filza de'Mandati e Ricapiti degl' Esattori Dal Numo 9 al Num. 13. Dall'Anno 1629 al 1641’ Busta 430. ‘Libro Mastro 1606–1624’

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2.

3.

4. 5. 6.

285

Busta 651. ‘Cong.ni 1612–1613’ Archivio di Stato, Rome Biblioteca Laurenziana, Florence Biblioteca Vaticana, Rome Biblioteca Vaticana, Archivio Barberini Arm. 155. ‘. . . Inventarij . . . della Guardarobba dell'Ill.mo S.r Cardinale [Francesco] Barberini . . . cominciato alli 10. Decembre 1626. e finito alli 15 Gennaro 1627. da Federigo Soleti computista.’ (Entries continued to be made in this volume through 1631.) Ind. II, Cred. V, Cas. 67, Mazz. LXXXII, Lett. I, No. 3. ‘Inventario delle statue et altre robbe che si ritruovano oggi nel Antigaglia Del Emm.o Sig. Cardinale Francesco Barbberino amministrate da me Nicolo Menghini’ (The listings in this volume begin on March 25, 1632; since the section on fol. 7v in which Bernini sculptures are mentioned is not otherwise dated, they were presumably entered at that time. Entries continued through 1640. Another copy: Ind. II, Cred. VI, Cas 77, Mazz. CIII, Lett. O, No.56.) Ind. II, Cred. V. Cas. 80, Mazz. CIX, Lett. P, No. 96. ‘Statue di marmo riconosciute dall' Em.mo Sig.r Card.le Fran.co Barberini nel Palazzo alle Quattro Fontane -p proprie dell' Ecc.mo Sig.r Prn'pe Prefetto parte in una Stanza Terrina, e parte nelle stanze della Galleria di d.o Palazzo alla pñza del Sig.r Auditore Matthia Nardini, del S.r Piersimone Marinucci, del S.r Nicolo Menghini, e d'altri qsto di 12 Giugno 1651.’ Arm. 155. ‘Inventario della Guardarobba dell' Eminmo Sig.r Card. Carlo Barberini 1692’ Ind. II, Cred. IV, Cas. 50, Mazz. LI, Lett. D (Miscellaneous docu-ments concerning the Barberini chapel in Sant'Andrea della Valle.) Arm. 2, Cardinal Maffeo, Giornale di entrate ecclesiastiche A, 1608–1625 Ibid., Cardinal Maffeo, Libro di entrate ecclesiastiche A, 1608–14 Ibid., Cardinal Maffeo, Giornale di entrate ecclesiastiche B, 1615–19 Ibid., Cardinal Maffeo, Libro di entrate ecclesiastiche B, 1615–18 Ibid., Cardinal Maffeo, Libro di ricordi D, 1617–23 Ibid., Cardinal Maffeo, Giornale di entrate ecclesiastiche C, 1619–23 Ibid., Cardinal Maffeo, Libro di entrate ecclesiastiche C, 1619–23 Biblioteca Vaticana, Archivo Segreto

7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. BVAS: BVASABL: Biblioteca Vaticana, Archivio Segreto — Archivio Boncompagni Ludovisi GFN: Gabinetto Fotografico Nazionale (Rome)

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Addenda Doc. 3bis

August 4,1612 (ASGF–369, Part 2, p. 19): Pagati al sigr francescho schachi schudi quattro -p francescho ticci quali sono -p il Casso di gesso della testa del sig.r antonio Coppola __ ∇74

Doc. 22d.

September 24, 1622 (ibid., facing p. 63): e piu a di 24 di 7 bre pagato ∇ venti cinque a m. pietro schultore come a parte -p uno mandato __________________________ ∇25

Doc. 23d.

December 23,1623 (ibid., p. 68): Al detto scudi quaranta cinque per resto de la statua fatta al s.antonio cepereli ___________________________________________ ∇45

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REMARKABLE picture of Bernini’s death emerges from the biographies by Filippo Baldinucci and the artist’s son, Domenico. They mention two works of art in this connection. One is Bernini’s Sangue di Cristo composition engraved by François Spierre, which can be dated to the year 1670 (Fig. 1). The Crucified Christ is shown with the Virgin, God the Father and a host of angels, suspended above a sea formed by the blood pouring from His wounds. Two texts referring to the blood of Christ are inscribed at the bottom of the print, one from Paul’s Epistle to the Hebrews, ‘The blood of Christ, who offered himself without spot to God, will purge our conscience,’ the other from St. Maria Madalena de’ Pazzi, ‘I offer you, eternal Father, the blood of the incarnate word; and if anything is wanting in me I offer it to you, Mary, that you may present it to the eternal Trinity.’ The second work is a bust of the Savior, the last sculpture by Bernini’s hand. He began it in his eightieth year in 1679, and willed it to his friend and patron, Queen Christina of Sweden (cf. Figs. 9–14). It was more than lifesize (103 cm. high) and represented Christ with His right hand slightly raised, as if in the act of blessing. Bernini evidently attached particular importance to ‘this divine simulacrum,’ which he called his ‘favorite’ and to which he devoted ‘all the forces of his Christian piety and of art itself ’; in the Savior he ‘summed up and concentrated all his art.’ Although technically weak, it demonstrated for him the triumph of ‘disegno’ over the physical depredations of old age. Both works were regarded by contemporaries as extraordinary achievements, even for Bernini, and fitting capstones to the artist’s extraordinary career.

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No less impressive than these creations, however, was the manner of Bernini’s passing — not the fatal illness as such, normal for an octogenarian, but the way in which he approached his own end. His attitude toward dying, his thoughts and actions in preparation for it, which only culminated during his final weeks, led Baldinucci to remark that Bernini’s death seemed truly like his life. This may be simply a biographer’s banal protestation of his hero’s Christian piety. Yet the aptness of Baldinucci’s comments about Bernini’s life and art in other contexts suggests that he perceived something more in his subject’s demise. The purpose of the present essay is to demonstrate that Baldinucci’s perception was indeed correct. Bernini’s death was in more than the usual sense like his life; it was, in fact, a kind of artwork, diligently prepared and carefully executed to achieve the desired effect. The Sangue di Cristo and the bust of the Savior were not simply pious works by an old man of genius and faith, but were intended to illustrate specific aspects of Bernini’s art of dying. His preparations for death and the works he made in anticipation of it may thus be understood as intimately related and mutually illuminating parts of his artistic legacy. Since various details of Baldinucci’s and Domenico Bernini’s descriptions will be referred to subsequently they are printed here together, in translation:1 1 The translation from F. Baldinucci, Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernini, Florence, 1682, ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948, 132, 134–37, is taken with slight modifications from that of C. Enggass, The Life of Bernini by Filippo Baldinucci, University Park, Pa., and London, 1966, 66 f, 68–72; the translation from D. Bernini, Vita del Cav. Giovan. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713, 167, 169–77, is my own. See also S. Fraschetti, Il Bernini, Milan, 1900, 422 ff, who summarizes Bernini’s testament and an inventory of his possessions. Some further notices are in V. Martinelli, ‘Novità berniniane. 3. Le sculture per gli Altieri,’ Commentari, X, 1959, 224 ff. The Bernini family tomb slab in Santa Maria Maggiore (of later date since the arms bear a crown of nobility), and what is evidently the artist’s sword of knighthood, found in the tomb in 1931, are reproduced in C. D’Onofrio, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1967, Figs. 69, 135. We may add the following: ‘Venerdi 15 di Novembre il Cavaliere Bernino fù soprafatto da morbo apopletico, e perciò fù subito communicato, e si mandò a prendere la Benedizzione dal sommo Pontefice: dicono essere nell’età di ottantatre anni’; ‘Il Cavaliere Bernino tuttavia vive, ma à giorni, ò siano hore.’ ‘Giovedi 28 di Novembre passò all’altra vita il medesimo Cavalier Bernino e fùl poi esposto solennemente nella Basilica Liberiana, nella quale Monsig.r suo figlio è Canonico, essendo stato esposto con 60 torcie. Dicono ascendere il suo avere à seicento, e più mila scudi’ (Rome, Archivio di Stato, Carte Cartari Febeo, busta 87, fols. 273v, 267v f ); ‘Qui è anco passato all’ altra vita di Indispos.ne di febre il sr. Cav.re Gio. Lorenzo Bernino famoso scultore, et Architetto sepolto nella Basilica di S. Maria Mag.re con superbo funerale, et ha lasciato Herede con Institutione di Primog.ra il Sig.r Paolo

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Filippo Baldinucci Bernini was already in the eightieth year of his life. For sometime past he had been turning his most intense thoughts to attaining eternal repose rather than to increasing his earthly glory. Also, deep within his heart was the desire to offer, before closing his eyes to this life, some sign of gratitude to Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden, his most special patron. In order, therefore, to penetrate more deeply into the first concept and to prepare himself better for the second, he set to work with the greatest intensity to create in marble a halflength figure, larger than life-size of Our Savior Jesus Christ. This is the work that he said was his favorite2 and it was the last given the world by his hand. He meant it as a gift for the monarch, but in this intention he was unsuccessful. The Queen’s opinion of, and esteem for, the statue was so great that, not finding herself in circumstances in which it was possible to give a comparable gift in exchange, she chose to reject it rather than fail in the slightest degree to equal the royal magnificence of her intention. Bernini, therefore, as we will relate in the proper place, had to leave it to her in his will. In this divine simulacrum he put all the forces of his Christian piety and of art itself. In it he proved the truth of his familiar axiom, that the artist with a truly strong foundation in design need fear no diminution of vitality and tenderness, or other good qualities in his technique when he reaches old age; for thanks to this sureness in design, he is able to make up fully for those defects of the spirits, which tend to petrify under the weight of years. This, he said, he had observed in other artists . . . And while the city of Rome was preparing to acclaim him on the propitious outcome of the restoration and strengthening of the palace [the Palazzo della Cancelleria], Bernini had already begun to lose sleep, and his strength and spirits were at such a low ebb that within a brief time he was brought to the end of his days. Bernino suo figliolo, e grossi legati à Mons.r Bernino, et altri suoi figli e fig. le e varij Busti, e statue sue alla M.tà della Reg.a di Suetia, et al S.r Card.l Altieri oltre li Ieg.i Pij ascendenti le sue facoltà a sopra 300m scudi’ (Rome, Bibl. Corsini, Avvisi, vol. 1755, 38. C. 2, fol. 123r, November 30, 1680). 2 Bernini’s use of the term ‘beniamino’ may have been a play on the meaning of the Hebrew name ‘of the right hand.’

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

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2. The Death of Moriens, woodcut from Dell’arte del ben morire, Naples 1591. New York Public Library.

3. Gianlorenzo Bernini, The Intercession of Christ and the Virgin, drawing, 229 x 205mm. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste, Graphische Sammlung (from Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, pl. 128).

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But before speaking of his last illness and death, which to our eyes truly seemed like his life, we should here mention that, although it may be that up until his fortieth year, the age at which he married, Cavalier Bernini had some youthful romantic entanglements without, however, creating any impediment to his studies of the arts or prejudicing in any way that which the world calls prudence, we may truthfully say that his marriage not only put an end to this way of living, but that from that hour he began to behave more like a cleric than a layman. So spiritual was his way of life that, according to what was reported to me by those who know, he might often have been worthy of the admiration of the most perfect monastics. 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 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. His time then came; I do not know whether I should say expected because of his great loss of strength or because of his yearning for the eternal repose that he had so long desired. He was ill of a slow fever followed at the end by an attack of apoplexy which took his life. Throughout it all he was very patient and resigned to the Divine Will. Nor did he as a rule converse about anything but his trust in it. His words were so striking that those in attendance, among whom

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Cardinal Azzolino did not disdain to find himself often, marveled greatly at the concepts that divine love suggested to him. Among these the following is worthy of remembrance. He urgently implored Cardinal Azzolino to supplicate Her Majesty the Queen to make an act of love to God on his behalf He thought, as he said, that that great lady had a special language which God understood, while God used a language with her that she alone could understand. The thought of that final step which was always present in his life had suggested to Bernini many years before his death the idea of asking Father Marchesi to assist him at his deathbed in all that he had to recall at that time. And since he feared that in the final extremity he might not be able to use his voice, which did in fact happen, he wished to be able to communicate with Father Marchesi by certain gestures and external motions which he had worked out to express the innermost feelings of his heart. It was a marvelous thing that, although Bernini could speak only brokenly during his illness as a result of the inflammation in his head, and that later, as a consequence of the new attack, he lost almost all power of speech, Father Marchesi always understood him. He gave such suitable replies to his proposals that they sufficed to lead him with admirable calm to his end. Bernini’s last breath was drawing near when he made a sign to Mattia de’ Rossi and Giovan Battista Contini, his architectural assistants. Speaking as well as he was able, he said jokingly, while pointing to a precision instrument adapted to pulling heavy weights, that he was surprised that their invention would not serve to draw the catarrh from his throat. When his confessor asked about his soul’s state of calm and whether he was fearful, he replied, ‘Father, I must render account to a Lord who in His goodness, does not count in half-pennies.’ Later because of the apoplexy his right arm and whole right side were paralyzed and he said, ‘It is good that this arm which has so wearied itself in life should rest a bit before death.’ Meanwhile, Rome wept at her great loss. Bernini’s house was filled by a continual flow of men of high rank and people of every station seeking news and wishing to visit him at the end. Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden, many cardinals, and ambassadors of princes came or sent messages at least twice a day. Finally, His Holiness sent his benediction, after which, at the beginning of the

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twenty-eighth day of the month of November of the year 1680, at about midnight, after fifteen days of illness, Bernini went to that other life. He was eighty-two years old less nine days. In his will Bernini left His Holiness the Pope a large painting of Christ by his own hand. To Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden he left the beautiful marble image of the Savior, the last work by his hand, of which we have spoken; to the Most Eminent Cardinal Altieri, a marble bust-length portrait of Clement; to the Most Eminent Cardinal Azzolino, his most kind protector, a similar bust of Innocent X, his supporter. Not having anything else in marble he left Cardinal Rospigliosi a painting by his own hand. He most strictly enjoined that his beautiful statue of Truth be left in his own house. It is the only work by his chisel that remains the property of his children. It would take too long to tell of the sorrow that such a loss brought to all Rome. I will only say that Her Majesty the Queen, whose sublime intellect knew through long experience the subtle gifts of so great a man, paid extraordinary tribute to him. It seemed to her that with Bernini’s death the world had lost the only begotten child of virtue in our century. On the day of Bernini’s death the Pope sent a noble gift to that Queen by means of his privy chamberlain. The Queen asked the chamberlain what was being said in Rome concerning the estate left by Bernini. When she learned that it was worth about four hundred thousand scudi, she said, ‘I would be ashamed if he had served me and had left so little.’ The pomp with which the body of our artist was borne to the church of Santa Maria Maggiore where his family had their burial place, corresponded to the dignity of the deceased and the capabilities and love of his children, who ordered a most noble funeral and distributed both candles and alms on a grand scale. The talents and pens of the learned were exhausted in the composition of eulogies, sonnets, lyric poems, erudite verses in Latin, and the most ingenious vernacular poetry was written in praise of Bernini and publicly exhibited. All the Roman nobility and the ultra-montane nobility then in the city gathered together. There was, in short, a crowd so numerous that it was necessary to postpone somewhat the time for the interment of the body. Bernini was buried in a lead coffin in the previously mentioned tomb, with a record of his name and person.

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Domenico Bernini But by now near death and at the decrepit age of eighty, the Cavaliere wished to illustrate his life and bring to a close his practice of the profession he had conducted so well till then, by creating a work with which a man would be happy to end his days. This was the image of our Savior in half figure, but larger than life-size, with the right hand slightly raised in the act of blessing. In it he summarized and condensed all his art; and although the weakness of his wrist did not correspond to the boldness of the idea, yet he succeeded in proving what he used to say, that ‘an artist excellent in design should not fear any want of vivacity or tenderness on reaching the age of decrepitude, because ability in design is so effective that it alone can make up for the defect of the spirits,which languish in old age.’ He destined this work for the very meritorious Queen of Sweden who, being unable to compensate its value, chose rather to refuse it than descend from her royal beneficence. But she was constrained to accept it two years later, when the Cavaliere left it to her as a legacy . . . Before beginning our narration it is well to turn back the discourse somewhat, and demonstrate how singular the goodness of life was in the Cavaliere Bernini, and with what union of Christian maxims he rendered notable the many beautiful gifts of his soul. He was a man of elevated spirit who always aspired to the great, not resting even at the great if he did not reach the greatest; this same nature carried him to such a sublimity of ideas in matters of devotion that, not content with the ordinary routes, he applied himself to those which are, so to speak, the shortcut to reach heaven. Whence he said that ‘in rendering account of his operations he would have to deal with a Lord who, infinite and superlative in his attributes, would not be concerned with half-pennies, as they say’; 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 spec-

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tacle. 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. 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.’ Nor did he nurture these noble thoughts in his soul without fruit, but he continually practiced virtue with solid works. For the space of forty years he frequented every Friday the devotion of the good death in the Church of the Gesù, where he often received Holy Communion at least once a week. For the same long space of time, each day after finishing his labors he visited that Church, where the Holy Sacrament was exposed, and left copious alms for the poor. Besides giving many dowries to poor unmarried girls during the year, he always contributed one on Assumption Day, and obligated his children to six more in his will. To gain merit by avoiding gratitude he even distributed copious alms through one of his servants, with the obligation not to reveal the benefactor. Although the practice of philanthropy was, so to speak, born and raised with him, yet in the last years of his life he took it so much to heart that, not considering himself sufficiently able to find the poor, he gave charge, and funds, to many religious to pass on the aid. And because he loved secrecy in such works, we may judge that he made many more of them than we have notice of. From some notices he kept in a volume of household finances we learn that, having three months before his death placed two thousand scudi in a prayer-stool, only two hundred were later found there; he ordered his children also to use these in a pious work,

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with clear indication that what remained was to make a similar exit. In a letter written from Paris he orders his son, the Monsignore, to double the amount of alms he had left instructions to give ‘because God is a Lord who will not be won over with courtesy.’ Often during the year he took his family to some hospital, where he wanted his small children to follow his example in comforting the sick, presenting them with various confections he kept ready for the purpose. It was an amazing thing for a man employed in so many important occupations devoutly to hear Mass every morning, to visit the Holy Sacrament everyday, to recite every evening on his knees the Crown and Office of the Madonna, and the seven Penitential Psalms, a custom he constantly maintained until his death. When he then saw himself approaching death he thought of and discussed nothing else than this passing; not with bitterness and horror, as is usual with the aged, but with incomparable constancy of spirit and using his memory in preparation for doing it well. To this end he had continuous conferences with Father Francesco Marchese, priest of the Oratorio of San Filippo Neri in the Chiesa Nuova at Rome, son of his sister Beatrice Bernini, a person venerable for the goodness of his life and noteworthy for his doctrine, of whom the Cavalier availed himself to assist at his death. And he said, ‘that step was difficult for everyone because everyone took it for the first time’; hence he often imagined himself to die, in order by this exercise to habituate and dispose himself to the real struggle. In this state he wanted Father Marchese to suggest to him all those acts usually proposed to the moribund, and doing them he arrived, as if in preparation, at that great point. Assuming also that, as is usual, words would fail him at the extremity of life, and he would suffer the anguish of one who cannot make himself understood, they worked out a special way in which he could be understood without speaking. With such precautions, with his soul completely reinforced, he finally reached the proof. We have already said how debilitated and strained he was left from undertaking the restoration of the Palazzo della Cancelleria. Whence he finally fell ill with a slow fever, to which was added at the end an attack of apoplexy that took his life. Through the whole course of the illness, which lasted fifteen days, he wanted a sort of altar set up at the foot of his bed, on which he had displayed the picture of the Blood of Jesus Christ. What were the colloquies he held

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now with Father Marchese, now with other religious who stood by, concerning the efficacy of the most precious Blood and the confidence he had in it, can rather be conjectured than reported. For none of those present could help bursting into tears on hearing with what firmness of sentiments he then spoke, of whom neither the burden of age and sickness, nor powerful enemies, had been able to obfuscate that clarity of intellect which always maintained itself equal and great in him to the last breath of his life. Realizing that he could no longer move his right arm because of the aforementioned attack of apoplexy, he said, ‘it is only right that even before death that arm rest a little which worked so much in life.’ To Cardinal Azzolino, who honored him with several visits in those days, he said one evening that ‘he should implore in his name Her Majesty the Queen to do an act of love of God for him, because he believed that that great Lady had a special language with God to be well understood, while God had used with her a language which she alone was capable of understanding.’ The Cardinal did his bidding, and received from the Queen the following note. ‘I beg you to tell the Cavaliere Bernini for me that I promise to use all my powers to do what he desires of me, on condition that he promises to pray God for me and for you, to concede us the grace of His perfect love, so that one day we may all be together with the joy of love, and enjoy God forever. And tell him that I have already served him to the best of my ability, and that I will continue.’ Meanwhile his house was a continuous flux and reflux of the most conspicuous personages of Rome; they came or sent word, with sentiment no less distinguished from the common convention, than was distinct and particular in each of them his esteem and regret to lose so great a man. Finally speech failed him, and because he felt exceedingly pressed by the catarrh, he made a sign to the Cavaliere Mattia de Rossi and to Giovanni Battista Contini, who, together with Giulio Cartari and all his pupils stayed always by his bed, as if amazed that they could not recall a method of drawing the catarrh from his breast; and with his left hand he strained to represent to them an instrument designed to lift exceptional weights. As he had agreed with Father Marchese before taking ill on the method of making himself understood without speaking, it astonished everyone how well he made himself understood with only the movement of his

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left hand and eyes — a clear sign of that great vivacity of spirits, which did not yield even though life withdrew. Two hours before passing he gave the benediction to all his children, of whom, as has been said, he left four boys and five girls. Finally, having received the blessing of the Pope, who sent it through one of his chamberlains, early on the twenty-eighth day of November of the year 1680, the eighty-second of his life, he expired. The great man died as he had lived leaving it doubtful whether his life was more admirable in deeds or his death more commendable in devotion. In his testament he left the Pope a most beautiful picture by Giovanni Battista Gaulli representing the Savior, his last work in marble; to the Queen, the Savior itself by his hand; to Cardinal Altieri, the portrait of Clement X; to Cardinal Azzolino that of Innocent X; and to Cardinal Giacomo Rospigliosi a picture also by his hand, having nothing else at home in marble other than the Truth, which he left in perpetuity to his descendants. Mourning for the loss of this man was universal in the city of Rome, which recognized its majesty greatly enhanced by his indefatigable labors; and as was his life so also was his death the subject of many ingenious compositions at the Academies. The following day, when the Pope sent a gift to the Queen, she asked the chamberlain, ‘What was being said concerning the legacy of the Cavaliere Bernini?’ And having received the reply, ‘About four hundred thousand scudi,’ she added, ‘I would be ashamed if he had served me and left so little.’ His body was exposed with pomp in the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, with a funeral, distribution of wax, and charities to the poor; attendance was so great that the burial was postponed till the following day. He had already prepared the tomb for himself and his family in that church, and he was placed in it in a lead box, with an inscription giving his name and the day of his death. * * * Two major themes stand out in the biographer’s accounts, the devotions concerned with death sponsored by the Jesuits,and the ministrations of the artist’s nephew, the Oratorian priest Francesco Marchese. We shall first consider these factors in relation to Bernini’s death and the Sangue di Cristo composition, and then discuss the bust of the Savior.

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1. The Ars Moriendi and the Sangue di Christo Bernini and the Jesuit ‘Ars Moriendi’ The idea of preparing for death received the widest possible currency in the late fifteenth century through the Ars Moriendi. This was one of the most popular publications of the period, reprinted throughout Europe in dozens of editions, translations and adaptations.3 It was specifically an instruction manual in the ‘art’ (‘crafte’ or ‘cunnynge,’ as it was often rendered in English) of dying well, that is, the method of achieving salvation during the final hours of life. In its extended version, the only one used in Italy, the work is divided into six parts.4 The first is a commendation of death in which the reader is urged, when the time comes,to give up willingly and gladly, without any grudging or contradiction. Part 2, the real core of the work, is devoted to the wily temptations used by the devil in his ultimate struggle with God for the soul of the dying man, and the countering responses offered by moriens’s guardian angel. The essential character of the book, which was determined by its divulgatory purpose, lies in the relation between the text and the pictures in this and the following section. The five temptations (against Faith, to Despair, Impatience, Vainglory and Avarice) and the responses to them, are each described and illustrated in a woodcut, in which moriens is shown on his deathbed alternately beset by devils and rescued by angels. Part 3 is devoted to the Interrogations, a series of questions posed to the dying man which, answered rightly, will help to assure his salvation. This section is accompanied by an eleventh woodcut showing the death scene, with the soul of the deceased received by his guardian angel (Fig. 2).5 Text and illustrations thus proceed pari passu, and are independent of yet complementary to one another. Part 4 contains an

3 In general, cf. A. Tenenti, Il senso della morte e l’amore della vita nel Rinascimento, Turin, 1957, 80 ff. In particular, M. C. O’Connor, The Art of Dying Well, New York, 1942, with an exhaustive list of manuscripts and editions; R. Rudolf, Ars Moriendi, Cologne, 1957. For a recent discussion of the early illustrations, see H. Zerner, ‘L’art au morier,’ Revue de l’art, XI, 1971, 7–30. 4 O’Connor, Art of Dying Well, 157, n. 313. 5 Reproduced from Dell’arte del ben morire . . . Opera . . . rivista . . . e . . . corretta . . . da Tomaso Costo . . ., Naples, 1591; the latest illustrated Italian edition I have found is L’arte del ben morire, Rome, 1596.

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Instruction to the dying man, which is that he should take Christ’s death on the Cross as his model. Part 5 gives instructions to those present, such as not to deceive moriens with false assurances of his recovery, or to give precedence to medical over spiritual aid in their ministrations. The dying man must also have before him holy images, especially the Crucified Christ and the Virgin. Chapter 6 provides prayers to be said by a faithful friend. It is evident that Bernini’s death was in many respects a literal enactment of the Ars Moriendi. His prodigal charities, which displayed his ultimate disdain for the things of this world; his patient, indeed willing acceptance of the inevitable; the very scene of the end conjured up by the biographers’ accounts — including the pious image by his bed and the colloquies with Father Marchese — all seem to fulfill the recommendations of the Ars Moriendi. The imagery of the Sangue di Cristo composition, the Crucifixion with the Virgin Mary and the angels, especially the guardian angel, recalls that of the early illustrations. Even the use of a special sign language to communicate without speech belongs in this context, since its purpose no doubt was to enable Bernini to respond to the crucial interrogations.6 To find an echo of the Ars Moriendi in the late seventeenth century is in itself remarkable since the impetus of the original work in Italy was by then long spent, although it was never forgotten. But no less significant are the differences in Bernini’s death from that envisaged in the Ars Moriendi: style in the Art of Dying Well had changed considerably. Some of these differences were personal to Bernini, while others reflect more general developments in the Ars Moriendi tradition. Apart from editions of the Ars Moriendi itself, a number of Italian works of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, for which it served more or less directly as the model, give a measure of its immediate influence.7 Such, for example, are the De modo bene moriendi written about 1480 by Pietro Barozzi, Bishop of Padua and chancellor of the university there, published in Venice in 1531, and the Dottrina del ben morire by one Pietro di

6 Also known as ‘Anselm’s questions’ (cf. J. P. Migne, Patrologiae cursas completus, Paris, 1844 ff, Series latina, CLVIII, cols. 685 ff ), the interrogations had been a standard part of the ritual of death until they were omitted in the official Ritual Romanum of 1614; but they continued to be popular (e.g., V. Auruccio, Rituario per quelli, che havendo cura d’anime . . ., Rome, 1615, 49 ff, reprinted 1619, 1624, 1625), and O’Connor, Art of Dying Well, 31 ff, esp. 35, records a number of instances of their use into the nineteenth century. 7 For what follows, see ibid., 172 ff, and Tenenti, Senso della morte, 112 ff, 330 ff.

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Lucca, published at Venice in 1515.8 The intimate connection between text and pictures that characterized the original Ars Moriendi determined the very structure of its most famous emulation in Italy, the sermon preached in Florence by Savonarola on All Souls’ Day in 1496, published afterwards with the title Predica dell’arte del ben morire.9 The sermon develops around three images, illustrated as woodcuts in the published editions,which Savonarola exhorted his listeners to have painted for themselves. The first of these is a reminder of the Last Judgment, a grandiose composition representing Heaven and Hell, which the still-healthy listener was urged to keep in his room and look at frequently, while he thought of death and said to himself, ‘I might die today.’ The second picture shows the man sick in bed, with death as a skeleton knocking at his door. The third scene shows the man now on the point of death, with the skeleton seated at the foot of his bed. A common tendency may be discerned in these treatises. Savonarola is concerned not only with death as such and the immediate preparations for it, but also with the healthy man, to whom his first image is directed. The same concern is evident in the works of Pietro Barozzi and Pietro di Lucca. Thus the Art of Dying was extended into a life-long process, and contemplation of death and preparation for it became in themselves a kind of art of living well. In the course of the sixteenth century the literature devoted to the art of dying diminished, and ultimately almost disappeared.10 In the early seventeenth century, however, there was a great revival of interest in the theme, which centered at Rome in the Jesuit order.11 Two factors were particularly significant in this revival, both of which incorporate the tendency to extend the preparations for death back from the deathbed to include the individual’s whole life. One was the publication in 1620 of the De arte bene moriendi by Roberto Bellarmino, the great theologian for whose tomb in the Gesù, the mother church of the Jesuits, Bernini carved the portrait two years later.12 On Barozzi, cf. Dizionaria biografico degli italiani, Rome, 1960 ff, VI, 510 ff. M. Ferrara, Savonarola, 2 vols., Florence, 1952, II, 66 ff. For the text, cf. Girolamo Savonarola. Prediche sopra Ruth e Michea, 2 vols., ed. V. Romano, Rome, 1962, II, 362 ff. 10 Tenenti, Senso della morte, 321. 11 For the vast Jesuit literature on death, see the listings in A. De Backer and C. Sommervogel, Bibliothèque de la Compagnie de Jésus, 12 vols., Brussels, 1890–1960, X, cols. 510–19; also E. Mâle, L’art religieux après le concile de Trente, Paris, 1932, 206 ff, J. De Guibert, La spiritualité de la Compagnie de Jésus, Rome, 1953, 384 ff. 12 R. Bellarmino, Opera Omnia, 12 vols., Paris. 1870–74, VIII, 551 ff. 8 9

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Bellarmino’s treatise is divided almost equally into two parts, of which only the second is devoted to the preparations for death at the time it comes near. Here he follows the Ars Moriendi tradition closely, including the temptations of the Devil (where he cites Pietro Barozzi among his sources), and the ministrations of the faithful friend. Part I, on the other hand, deals with remote preparations for death, which include practice of the theological and moral virtues, and the sacraments beginning with Baptism and ending with Extreme Unction. Bellarmino devotes most of the book to these central acts of faith, and places particular emphasis on the Eucharist, ‘the greatest of the sacraments, in which is contained not only copious grace but also the very author of grace.’ In contrast to Savonarola’s exhortation to the constant contemplation of death, the keynote for Bellarmino is provided by his title to the opening chapter, ‘He who would die well, should live well.’ The second major factor in the Ars Moriendi revival, a direct outgrowth of Bellarmino’s concern with the subject, was the foundation of the Confraternity of the Bona Mors at the Gesù.13 The congregation differed from earlier such organizations devoted to death in that it was not conceived primarily to carry out an act of mercy, that of burying the dead, but to institute a program of devotions and exercise through which its members might assure themselves the benefits of a good death. The essence of its spiritual program is evident from the organization’s full name, ‘Congregazione del Nostro Signore Gesù Cristo moribondo sopra la Croce e della Santissima Vergine Maria sua Madre Addolorata, detta della Buona Morte.’ The congregation was founded in 1648 by Vincenzo Caraffa, who was then praepositus generalis of the Society of Jesus, of which the principal activity was regular Friday devotions to the Crucified Christ and His wounds, to the Sorrows of the Virgin, and to the Eucharist. A great altarpiece, now lost, showing the Crucified Christ and the Mater Dolorosa was painted for the congregation and unveiled before the High Altar of the church each Friday.14 The Bona Mors was a phenomenal success, and by the end of the century branches had been established throughout Europe.

13 A thorough history of the organization has yet to be written. Cf. A. L’Hoire, La congrégation de Notre-Seigneur Jesus-Christ mourant en Croix et de la Trés Sainte Vierge, Sa Mère participant a ses douleurs dite de la Bonne Mort, Paris, etc., 1904; G. B. Piazza, Opere pie di Roma, Rome, 1679, 684 ff; P. Pecchiai, Il Gesù di Roma, Rome, 1952, 314. 14 Piazza, Opere pie, 685 f, and Manni, Breve ragguaglia, 100 f (cited in the following note).

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From Bellarmino’s treatise and the foundation of the Bona Mors a continuous tradition was established at the Gesù, in which Bernini directly participated. In 1649 the first moderator of the congregation, Giovanni Battista Manni, published a volume describing its Friday devotions, and subsequently brought out several illustrated works concerned with death.15 The confraternity’s second moderator during Bernini’s lifetime was one Giuseppe Fozi. In 1669, in connection with the canonization of Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi in that year, Fozi put into print a life of the saint that had been left in manuscript by one of her early biographers, the Jesuit Virgilio Cepari.16 Since Bernini, as his son reports, attended the devotions of the Bona Mors for forty years, he must have participated from its very inception. In the true spirit of the revived Ars Moriendi, preparation for death became for him a life-long process. The basic imagery of his Sangue di Cristo composition was clearly inspired by the congregation’s invocation of the Crucifixion and the sorrowing Virgin, and its particular devotion to the Eucharist. Bernini himself explained that he made the work as a personal votive offering for the benefit of the world at large;17 this may well 15 A list of moderators is in the Archive of the Gesù: Catalogus Moderatorum Primariae Congregationis sub invocatione D. N. G. C. in Cruce moribundi ac Beatissima Mariae Virginis ejus Genetricis Dolorosae vulgo Bonae Mortis ab ejus Fundatione anno 1648 ad annum 1911. G. B. Manni, Breve ragguaglio e pratica instruttione degli esercitii di pietà cristiana che si fanno nel Giesu di Roma ogni venerdì mattina, e sera, per la divotione della Bona Morte da ottenersi per li meriti della Passione, & agonia di Cristo in Croce: e de’ dolori della sua Madre Santiss. sotto la Croce, Rome, 1649; idem, Varii, e veri ritratti della morte disegnati in immagini, ed espressi in essempij al peccatore duro di cuore, Venice, 1669; idem, La morte disarmata, e le sue amarezze raddolcite con due pratiche, per due acti importantissime, l’una del ben morire, e l’altra d’ajutare i moribondi, Venice, 1669. Cf. De Backer and Sommervogel, Bibl. de la Compagnie, V, cols. 500, 502. Manni was later closely involved in the negotiations for the decorations of the Gesù (see n. 32 below); Pecchiai, Il Gesù, 113 ff. 16 Vita della Serafica Verg. S. Maria Madelena de’ Pazzi Fiorentina . . . Scritta dal Padre Virgilio Cepari della Campagnia di Giesù. Et hora con l’aggiunta cavata da’ Processi formati per la sua Beatificazione e Canonizatione del Padre Giuseppe Fozi . . ., Rome, 1669. Cf. De Backer and Sommervogel, Bibl. de la Compagnie, II, 957, III, 914. Among Fozi’s othcr works is one on priestly assistance to the dying, Il sacerdote savio, e zelante assistente a’ moribondi, Rome, 1683. 17 ‘1671. Il Sig. Cavalier Bernino dice che havendo in vita sua fatti tanti disegni per Pontefici, Rè, è Prencipi, uole sigillare con farne uno à gloria dell’offerta che si fà al Padre Eterno del pretiosissimo Sangue di Christo; stanto jn questo pensièro gli è parso, che si possi prègare la gloriosissima Vergine, a fare lej per noi, à Padre Thèologhi, et altri spirituali. Jl pensiero gliè parso bellissimo, è molto utile per tutti; stante questo hà fatto il presente disegnio, et in sua presènza l’hà fatto intagliare per poterne dare à molti, è mandarne per Jl

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have been in fulfillment of the members’ obligation to assist others to obtain a good death. Giuseppe Fozi, in preparing the biography of Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi, must certainly have become familiar with the passage, cited on the Sangue di Cristo engraving, in which she invokes the Holy Blood and the intercession of Christ and the Virgin; he must have noted its striking correspondence to the dedication and devotions of the Bona Mors, and he may have originally brought it to Bernini’s attention. Father Francesco Marchese The son of Bernini’s older sister, Beatrice, was born in 1623. He became a priest of the Oratorio, the order founded by St. Philip Neri with its headquarters in the building by Borromini adjoining Santa Maria in Vallicella. Father Marchese is described as very learned, a fervid and assiduous executor of the rules and obligations of the order, to which he added his own severe application to studies sacred and profane.18 He is best known as a zealous opponent of the Quietist leader Miguel de Molinos, whose downfall he was instrumental in bringing about during Molinos’s trial by the Inquisition in the 1680s; an important manuscript volume of the materials he gathered against Molinos still exists in the Vallicella library.19 Apart from four other works which he left unpublished at his death in 1697, the standard bibliography of Oratorian authors lists no fewer than twenty-one books by Marchese, which bear a strongly individual stamp and display a remarkable development. They are mainly of two kinds, biographies of saints and devotional works. While they do indeed show a formidable knowledge of sacred and profane history and literature, they are neither scholarly reconstructions of the past, nor abstract theological speculations. Of the three works Marchese published before 1670 (the significance of mondo a gloria del Sangue di Christo’; a dispatch to the court of Modena, first published by F. Imparato, ‘Documenti relativi al Bernini e a suoi contemporanei,’ Archivia storica dell’arte, III, 1890, 142 f, then by Fraschetti, Bernini, 420, n. 2. 18 Marchese di Villarosa, Memorie degli scrittori filippini o siano della Congregatione dell’ Oratorio di S. Filippo Neri, Naples, 1837, 168–70; pt. 2, Naples, 1842, 70. C. Gasbarri, L’oratorio romano dal cinquecento al novecento, Rome, 1962, 177 ff. 19 Cf. L. von Pastor, The History of the Popes, 40 vols., St. Louis, Mo., 1938–52, XXXII, 447 ff; Marchese’s role in the process against Molinos is described at length in P. Dudon, Le quiétiste espagnol Michel Molinos (1678–96), Paris, 1921, passim; also M. Petrocchi, Il Quietismo italiano del seicento, Rome, 1942, 66, n. 32, 102, 193 ff.

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which date will emerge presently), the first was a vast compilation in three volumes of prayers to the Virgin gathered from an incredible variety of sources and so organized as to provide devotions for every day of the year;20 the second was a book of meditations on the Stigmata, and the third a life of the Spanish mystic, St. Pietro d’Alcantara.21 They are thus eminently practical and edifying works, and focus primarily on the mystical nature of piety. This was characterized by Marchese not in quietistic terms of passive contemplation, but as a process of active, passionate devotion. This gifted nephew, at once learned and intensely concerned with the welfare of the human spirit, must have provided an ideal counterpoint for Bernini’s own reflections on death and salvation — the ‘faithful friend’ of the Ars Moriendi. Although Marchese was the man of letters, their conversations must have been truly reciprocal: witness Giovanni Paolo Oliva’s remark that talking to Bernini on spiritual matters was like discoursing with a professional. In 1670 Father Marchese published two books which have as their central theme the efficacy of the sacrifice of Christ to save the sinner who repents before he dies. The message of one is stated in its title, Unica speranza del peccatore che consiste nel sangue del N. S. Giesù Cristo. The other book, entitled Ultimo colpo al cuore del peccatore, is conceived as the final call to the hard of heart to accept the gift of grace offered by the Crucifixion. A third work by Marchese, published posthumously, belongs explicitly to the genre of the Ars Moriendi; the Preparamento a ben morire is a spiritual guide to salvation through penitence, devotion to the Eucharist, invocation of the Virgin, the saints and angels, and through prayer.22 Many of the most striking aspects of Bernini’s death are elucidated in the writings of Father Marchese. The Unica speranza, an octavo volume of two hundred pages, was actually written to accompany the Sangue di Cristo print; Marchese states this in the preface, where he describes the design and 20 Diario sacro dove s’insegnano varie pratiche di divotione per honorare ogni giorno la Beatissima Vergine raccolte dall’historie de’ santi, e beati correnti in ciascun giorno dell’ anno e dalle vite d’altri servi di Dio . . ., 3 vols., Rome, 1655–58. 21 Il divoto delle sacre stimmate di S. Francesco, Rome, 1664; Vita del B. Pietro d’Alcantara, Rome, 1667. 22 Unica speranza del pecatore 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; Ultimo colpo al cuore del peccatore, Rome, 1670; Preparamento a ben morire opera postuma del Vener. Servo di Dio Francesco Marchesi preposto della Congregatione dell’Oratorio di Roma . . ., Rome, 1697.

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urges him who desires salvation either to fix his eye upon the image, or to read the text.23 The print in turn served as the frontispiece to Marchese’s book.24 The Sangue di Cristo and the Unica speranza were thus conceived together as complementary parts, text and illustration, of a modern Ars Moriendi. It is in the light of this specifically propagatory function that the original format of Bernini’s work, a drawing intended to be engraved, may be understood. The text of the Unica speranza helps clarify the meaning of Bernini’s image, both in itself and as part of a sequence of ideas leading to salvation. The substance of the work lies in ‘fifteen truths’ formulated by Father Marchese.25 The first three describe the unhappy condition of the sinner in ‘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 in 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 diuuta imagine, ò leggi questi fogli.’ 24 Copies with the engraving are in the Vatican Library and the British Museum. The print has heretofore been known only separately (Bernini also distributed it so; cf. n. 17 above), and its connection with Marchese’s book was unsuspected. The composition has been variously related to Molino’s Guia espiritual and Father Oliva’s sermons (W. Weibel, Jesuitismus und Barockskulptur in Rom, Strassburg, 1909, 10 ff; Lanckoron´ska, Decoracja, 71, n. 110 [cited in n. 32 below]; R. Kuhn, ‘Gian Paulo Oliva und Gian Lorenzo Bernini,’ Römische Quartalschrift, LXIV, 1969, 229 ff ). 25 I quote here the ‘fifteen truths,’ which constitute chapter headings in the book: ‘1. Lo stato del Peccatore in questo secolo è molto infelice, e prima per la perdita de’ beni naturali. 2. Lo stato del Peccature in questo mondo è assai più infelice per la perdita de’ beni spirituali. 3. Lo stato del Peccatore nell’altro secolo sarà infelicissimo, e irreparabile. 4. L’Unico rimedio a’sopradetti mali è il Sangue pretiosissimo di Giesù Christo, il quale ne hà ottenuta la rimissione di tutte le colpe. 5. Il Salvatore ardentemente brama di farne partecipi del suo Sangue. 6. Il frutto del Sangue du Christo con gran facilità si comunica all’anime mediante i Santissimi Sacramenti. 7. L’huomo con grandissima facilità può riceuer il frutto del Sangue di Christo, e ottener il perdono delle colpe, e prima col Sacramento della Penitenza. 8. E facilissima cosa partecipare della virtù del Ságue di Giesù Christo mediante il Sacramento dell’ Eucharistia. 9. Il tesoro del Sangue di Christo facilmente si ottiene coll’acquisto dell’Indulgenze. 10. Non sono le operationi nostre buone, ne le penetèze, ma il Sangue di Giesù Christo, che sodisfà alle nostre colpe. 11. Il Sangue del Redentore conferisce somma quiete all’anima nelle sue imperfettioni. 12. Dalle mani della Madonna Santissima s’offerisce, e si dispensa il tesuro del Sangue di Christo. 13. Chi uiue diuuto del Sangue di 23

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the world and in the hereafter. The fourth truth is that the sole remedy for the sinner’s ills is the Precious Blood of Christ, and the fifth is that the Savior ardently desires the sinner’s participation in His Blood. Here a lengthy passage is devoted to expressing the universal efficacy of the Eucharist, through the metaphor of the Blood of Christ as an infinite sea that covers the world. Marchese relates the concept to that of the Blood as a fountain and as a river; he 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.26 Christo speri di far una buona morte. 14. E difficilissimo, e quasi impossibile ottener il frutto del Sangue di Christo da chi del continuo non l’apprezza. 15. Il Sangue del Redentore infiamma il cuore del Peccatore ad abbracciare le verità conosciute.’ 26 I quote the entire passage: ‘Doue sono ora quelle anime timorose, e diffidenti d’ottener dal Signore il perdono delle loro colpe? Considerino, che il Sangue del Saluatore è paragonato ad vn fonte, il quale non è racchiuso, e occulto; ma à tutti è esposto; di cui ragionò in ispirito il Profeta Zaccaria. In illa die erit fons patens Domui Jacob, & habitoribus Jerusalem in ablutionem peccatorum. [I.e., Zac. 13:1 In die illa erit fons patens domni David et habitantibus Jerusalem in ablutionem peccatoris et menstruatae.] Il Sangue sagratissimo del Verbo Diunio è vn fonte, che si spande in abbondanza per tutta la Casa del vero Giacubbe, cioè per la Santa Chiesa: e questo principalmente serue à mondar l’anima dalle macchie di tutti gli errori. Anzi che rassembra vn gran flume, che vscito del proprio letto, corre liberamente per le vie, e giunge ad inondar le case, e da’ luoghi sotterranei ascende infin’ alle stanze, oue dimoriamo. Tale appunto ci si rappresenta l’immenso fiume del Ságue Diuinissimo del Redentore: esce tal’hora da’ confini della sua ordinaria, e sufficiente gratia, e con modi speciali d’ impulsi interni penetra l’ interiore del cuore, dentro al quale brama entrare per lauarlo, e purificarlo da ogni macchia di colpa; e doue troua resistenza, colla forza possente della sua gratia, foramina parat ubi ipse vult [Gilbert of Holland, Serm. 43 in Cant.; Cf. Migne, Patr. lat., CLXXXIV, col. 228], si fà apertura in quel cuore à se chiuso; e indurato nell’ empietà, à fine d’ inondarlo cull’ affluenza della sua infinita misericordia. ‘Ma dissi poco: non solo il Sangue di Christo è vn fonte perenne, è vn vasto fiume; ma forma vn mare profondissimo, e senza termine; anzi forma vn mare assai più vasto & ampio dell’ Oceano: peroche à questo sono prescritti i confini dall’ Autore della natura. Hic confringes tumentes fluctus tuos: ma il Sangue di Giesù Christo inonda, e ricopre tutta la faccia della terra, ne è ristretto da alcun lido e confine; impercioche la sua immensa misericordia, che dispensa senza misura questo Sangue Diuino, non ha verun termine, ò dimensione. Quindi è, che Santa Maria Madalena de Pazzi hebbe à dire, che due volte il Signor Iddio haueua mandato al Mundo il diluuio: il primo fù à tempo di Noè nell’ inondatione vniuersale della terra, e l’ altro era stato negli anni della pienezza della gratia [Mandò (sono le sue parole) ancora in questo picciol Mondo il Verbo vmanato il diluuio; e che diluuio è questo?

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The succeeding truths assert that the Blood of Christ is communicated easily through the Holy Sacraments, especially Penitence and the Eucharist. The treasure of the Blood can also be obtained with the assistance of indulgences, but neither good works nor penances actually erase sins, only the Blood itself. The twelfth truth is specifically related to Bernini’s composition, and states that the treasure of the Blood is offered and dispensed through the hands of the Virgin; it is here that the passage from Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi, which in abbreviated form provided the subtitle to the Sangue di Cristo engraving, is cited in full from the source, Part II, Chapter 6 of Vincenzo Puccini’s life of the saint: ‘I offer you, Eternal Father, the Blood of the humanity of your Word; I offer it to you yourself, Divine Word; I also offer it to you, Holy Spirit; and if anything is wanting in me, I offer it to you, Mary, that you may present it to the Most Holy Trinity.’27 Marchese’s thirteenth truth establishes the relevance of the others to death, which is that he who lives devoted to the Blood of Christ may hope to die well. Other aspects of Bernini’s death find a context in Father Marchese’s Ultimo colpo. In particular, echoes may be heard here of those aphoristic vna soprabbondante gratia, e l’ infusione del Sangue] [Opere, ed. L. M. Brancaccio, Naples, 1643, 15], del quale disse parimente S Gio: Crisostomo: hic sanguis effusus uniuersum abluit Orbem terrarum. [Hom. in Ioan. 46; Cf. Migne, Patr., Series graeca, LIX, col. 261] Adunque neIl’ampio seno di questo mare, anzi di questo diluuio, che si dilata sopra tutta la terra, si offerisce opportuna occasione à qualsiuoglia peccatore di gittare l’ immenso peso de’ suoi innumerabili errori: ne della prontissima volontà del Signore in cancellarli può punto dubitare, hauendo egli stesso fatto scriuere al suo Profeta Michea. Deponet iniquitates nostras, & proijciet in profundum maris omnia peccata vestra’ (Unica speranza, 32 ff ). The ocean metaphor also occurs in the Ultimo colpo: ‘. . . il Sangue, che se n’è formato vn pelago, e vn Oceano immenso, che ricopre tutta la faccia della Terra. Or’ io con questo gran diluuio di sangue dourei assorbire, e soffocare tutti voi altri huomini temerarij . . .’ (page 26); ‘Animo, ò Peccatore, alza la mente illustrata dalla fede, e contempla vn’ampio mare formato dal Sangue del Redentore, che è assai più vasto, e immenso di quello, che sia l’Oceano’ (page 29). See also in the text below. 27 ‘Vi offerisco, ò Padre eterno, il Sangue dell’vmanità del vostro Verbo; l’offerisco à voi stesso, ò Diuin Verbo; l’offerisco anco à voi ò Santo Spirito: e se manca à me cosa alcuna, l’offerisco à voi, ò Maria; accioche lo presentiate alla Santissima Trinità’ (Unica speranza, 83). The original text read as follows: ‘T’offerisco adunque il sangue del tuo vmanato Verbo; lo presento à te ò Padre Eterno. L’offerisco à te, ò Verbo; lo presento à te Spirito Santo, e se cosa alcuna ci manca, l’offérisco à te, ò Maria, che lo presenti all’eterna Trinità, per supplimeto di tutti i difetti, che fossero nell’ anima mia, e ancora per soddisfazione di tutte le colpe, che fossero nel corpo mio’ (V. Puccini, Vita della Madre suor Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi fiorentina, Florence, 1609, 241 ff ).

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statements of doctrine and belief which Domenico Bernini calls his father’s ‘shortcut’ to heaven. For example, in the Ultimo colpo Marchese thus expresses the notion that it is an insult to God’s magnanimity to doubt His forgiveness: ‘It would be a manifest injury to the sovereign Goodness to doubt obtaining from it the remission of our sins, while such efficient means of reaching it are offered to us.’ Marchese uses the fiscal metaphor of God as a beneficent capitalist in His dealings with the sinner, in a long passage in the same work, which concludes, ‘Who would not wish to deal with such a liberal merchant, who sells his very rich goods at so low a price?’ The idea of sins being drowned or tinted to another color in the sea of Blood also occurs in the Ultimo colpo: ‘Therefore, make therein this happy shipwreck of yourself, and of all sins, precisely in the way that a drop of water thrown into a river is immediately absorbed by it and transmuted into it. Do you not see that the benign aura of Divine goodness often lifts its amorous odes toward you from the breast of this bloody sea, to drown you in itself, and then, having become all white, to raise you up as high as the Throne of God, where it illuminates you ?’28 Above all, the extraordinary thought of preparing for death by practicing dying must have been a matter of special study by Bernini and his nephew. In the Preparamento a ben morire Father Marchese devotes no less than four chapters to exercises of this kind.29 For one of the most important of them he follows the ancient Ars Moriendi tradition which recommended contemplation of the Crucifixion and the Virgin at the time of death. Marchese urges the reader, ‘turned in his heart and with his eyes toward a Crucifix, to take great confidence in the immense value of the Blood of the Savior shed for his love, and to offer it by the hands of the Blessed Virgin 28 ‘Si farebbe adunque manifesta ingiuria alla sourana Bontà, diffidare d’ottenere da essa la rimissione delle nostre colpe, mentre ci si offeriscono mezzi tanto efficaci à conseguirla.’ ‘Chi non volesse negotiare con si liberal mercante, che à si basso prezzo vende le sue ricchissime merci?’; ‘Adunque fà iui questo felice naufragio di te stessa e di tutte le colpe, in quella guisa appunto che vna goccia d’acqua gettata in vn fiume, resta da esso incontanéte assorbita, e in quello trasmutata. Non vedi, che l’aura benigna della Diuina carità solleua bene spesso verso di te dal seno di questo sanguinoso mare l’òde sue amorose, per annegarti in se, e poi diuenuta tutta candida innalzarti tanto in alto, quáto e alto il Trono di Dio, oue ti sublima?’ (Cf. Ultimo colpo, 33, 32, 29 f ). 29 Chapters 11–14, titled: ‘Assuefarsi à morir prima del passaggio dell’ anima da questo all’altro Mondo.’ ‘Farsi ora presente quello, che è futuro; e si stima lontano.’ ‘Figurarsi alle volte di morire.’ ‘Ponderar bene lo stato dell’Anima nell’altro Mondo’ (Preparamento a ben morire, 99–137).

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Mary, our most clement advocate, to the Divine Trinity — as was often done by Santa Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi in satisfaction of the grave debt contracted by her with eternal justice.’30 It is here, one may suppose, that the Sangue di Cristo was to serve its primary purpose, as it did for Bernini himself when he subsequently had the composition painted and placed before his own deathbed. The Genesis of the ‘Sangue di Cristo’ Composition The essential point of the Sangue di Cristo is that Salvation is achieved through the sacrifice of Christ, which His mother offers to the Father.31 The genesis of this deceptively simple concept may best be approached through a drawing in Leipzig which perhaps represents a prior stage in Bernini’s thinking, and which in any case follows a closely related tradition (Fig. 3).32 ‘Rivolto nel cuore, e con gli occhi ad un Crocefisso prenda confidenza grande nel valore immenso del Sangue del Salvatore per suo amore sparso, e per le mani della Beatissima Vergine MARIA nostra clementissima Auvocata l’offerisca alla Divinissima Trinità; sicome spesso soleva fare Santa Maria Madalena de Pazzis, in sodisfattione del gravissimo debito da lei contratto con l’eterna giustitia’ (ibid., 121). 31 A drawing of the composition in the Tylers Stitchting, Haarlem, bears an old adscription to Bernini, and the license of the papal censor. It is probably by Baciccio according to H. Brauer and R. Wittkower, (Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931, 155, n. 4); J. van Regteren Altena supported the attribution to Bernini (Cristina Queen of Sweden, exh. cat., Stockholm, 1966, 464, No. 1146; cf. Le dessin italien dans les collections hollandais, exh. cat., Paris–Rotterdam–Haarlem, 1962, 201 f, No. 166); B. Canestro Chiovenda reaffirms Baciccio’s authorship ‘Ancora del Bernini, del Gaulli e della regina Cristina,’ Commentari, XX, 1969, 223 ff ). On the various painted versions of the composition, see L. Grassi, Bernini pittore, Rome, 1945, 49 f, Figs. 81–82; V. Martinelli, ‘Le pitture del Bernini,’ Commentari, I, 1950, 103; Canestro Chiovenda, ‘Ancora del Bernini.’ 32 Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 166 f, Pl. 128, regarded the Leipzig sketch as a study for the Sangue di Cristo (cf. R. Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, 2nd ed., London, 1966, 257). The precedence of the Leipzig drawing is doubtful, however, and it may have been made for another purpose: it was evidently the point of departure for the dome fresco of the Gesù, executed 1672–75 by Baciccio with advice from Bernini (cf. K. Lanckoron´ska, Decoracja ko ścioła ‘Il Gesù’ na tle rozwoju baroku w rzymie, Lwów, 1936, 19 ff, 51 f; F. Haskell, Patrons and Painters, New York, 1963, 82; R. Enggass, The Painting of Baciccio, University Park, Pa., 1964, 32 ff, 135 f ). Presuming a direct connection between the Leipzig sketch and the Sangue di Cristo, Lanckoron´ska was led to the conclusion that certain Baciccio drawings related to the latter, in Düsseldorf and Berlin, were studies for an alternate version of the Gesù dome. B. Canestro Chiovenda suggested, instead, that the Baciccio drawings were preparatory for the 30

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Christ is shown seated with His back to the spectator on a bank of clouds, arms extended around a cross; the hands are opened, palms up, in a gesture of offering to the Father, who appears above with arms outstretched. The Virgin kneels facing Christ at the right, head inclined, her hands pressing her breast. Panofsky, who first published the drawing, showed that the composition refers to a late medieval devotional formula, derived from the Speculum humanae salvationis (Fig. 4).33 This illustrates the intercessional roles in the process of salvation of Christ, who offers His sacrifice to the judging Father, and of the Virgin, who offers her motherhood. What requires emphasis, here is the fact that this theme was central to the ideology of death in general, and to the Ars Moriendi in particular. It appears, notably, in the interrogations, where moriens is advised, should God wish to judge him, to reply thus: ‘ “Lord, I will place the death of your son and our Lord Jesus Christ between me and your damnation to the torments; I have no wish to contend with you.” And if He should say that you deserve eternal death, say thus, “I place the death of the same Jesus Christ between you and my demerits, and I offer the merit of His most worthy passion for the merit I should have and, woe is me, do not yet have.” And add, “I also put the death of Our Lord Jesus Christ between me and your wrath” ‘34 The thought and phraseology of these passages seem to reverberate in that from Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi cited on the engraving, and in mosaic in the dome of the vestibule of the Baptismal Chapel in Saint Peter’s, a commission Baciccio received and began but never completed (‘Cristina di Svezia, il Gaulli e il libro di appunti di Nicodemo Tessin d. y. [1687–1688],’ Commentari, XVII, 1966, 177); it appears that this hypothesis is substantially correct, since the composition envisaged in the drawings is reflected in the mosaic subsequently executed by Francesco Trevisani (cf. F. R. DiFederico, ‘Documentation for Francesco Trevisani’s Decoration for the Vestibule of the Baptismal Chapel in Saint Peter’s,’ Storia dell’ Arte, VI, 1970, 155 ff ). 33 ‘Imago Pietatis,’ in Festschrift für Max J. Friedländer zum 60 Geburtstage, Leipzig, 1927, 294. Cf. J. Lutz and P. Perdrizet, Speculum humanae salvationis, Mulhouse, 1907–09, 293 ff, Pls. 137 f; D. Koepplin, s. v. ‘Interzession,’ in Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, Rome, etc., 1963ff, II, cols. 346 ff. A further example is a panel ascribed to Bartolomeo di Giovanni in the Museum of Fine Arts, Montreal (A. Neumeyer, Der Blick aus dem Bilde, Berlin, 1964, Fig. 16). 34 ‘Se Iddio ti volesse giudicare, di cosi, Signore, io metterò la morte del tuo figluolo, e Signor nostro Giesu Cristo fra me, e’ il giudizio tuo ai tormenti: con teco non voglio contendere. E se egli dicesse, che tu hai meritato la morte eterna; dirai così; Io metto la morte dello stesso Giesu Cristo infra te, e i miel demeriti; & il merito della sua dignissima passione offerisco per lo merito, che io douerei hauere, e, misero à me, non ho ancora. E soggiunga, Io pongo medesimamente la morte del nostro Signor Giesu Cristo fra me, e l’ira tua’ (Dell’arte del ben morire, Naples, 1591, 28).

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Bernini’s idea, recorded by his son, of the humanity of Christ as the protective ‘Veste de’ Peccatori.’ In the Ars Moriendi itself the invocation had been illustrated paratactically, as it were, by the presence of the Crucifixion with the grieving Virgin at the deathbed (cf. Fig. 2); the full dedication of the Bona Mors confraternity also juxtaposed the Crucifixion and the Mater Dolorosa with death. The Speculum humanae salvationis and the Ars Moriendi thus represent two complementary but distinct conceptions; the one focuses upon the process of intercession through which salvation is attained, the other upon the sacrificial act which the dying man invokes. In the Sangue di Cristo engraving these ideas are merged. Bernini was not the first to combine them. Indeed, striking evidence that he intended the merger is provided by the fact that a similar line of thought produced what is in some respects the nearest antecedent for his design. This occurs in a stained-glass votive window in the cloister of the Cistercian monastery at Wettingen, Switzerland, dated 1590 (Fig. 5).35 Moriens is shown below giving up the ghost, while the interceding Virgin, Christ Crucified, God the Father and the Dove are represented above as a cloud-borne apparition. The chief difference between this and ordinary intercessional scenes is that, as in the Ars Moriendi, Christ is shown on the Cross; as in the Speculum tradition, however, He points with one hand to the chest wound. The key to such a depiction evidently lies in the donor: since the historical Crucifixion is invoked by him, he is the subject of the scene; and since the symbolic intercession is enacted for him, he is also the object. This is the context to which the Sangue di Cristo belongs,and its fundamental innovation was the superimposition of the Eucharist as the dominant theme. Though always present in the ritual of death in the form of the viaticum, we have seen that the Eucharist had been given new emphasis in Bellarmino’s De arte bene moriendi; special devotions to and exposition of the Sacrament had followed upon prayers to the Crucified Christ and the Mater Dolorosa in the Friday services of the Bona Mors congregation; for Father Marchese the Eucharist was the sine qua non of the dying man’s aspiration. In the Sangue di Cristo it is, literally and figuratively, the solution in which the act of sacrifice and the process of intercession are fused. The result was, in effect, a new, synoptic presentation of the scheme of salvation, and it entailed a variety of changes in the old formulations. One important inven35

Lutz and Perdrizet, Speculum, 294.

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tion concerned the Virgin. Kneeling beneath the Crucifixion, she no longer presses her breast, but extends her hands to receive and offer the Blood to God the Father. Shown thus, the figure is a conflation of the interceding Virgin with the personification of Ecclesia, often represented standing beneath the Crucifixion holding a chalice to collect the Blood, in allusion to the sacrificial liturgy of the Mass. From a theological point of view the conflation was wholly justifiable, since Mary intercedes as Mater Domini while as Mater Ecclesia she expresses the intermediary role of the Church. By having her kneel, and giving her a gesture of offering as well as receiving the Blood, Bernini was able to make the Virgin intercede through the Eucharist — in conformity with the pious sentiment of Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi, as Father Marchese says in the preface to Unica speranza.36 The most dramatic new feature of the design, however, was the introduction of the Sea of Blood metaphor to portray the universality of redemption. The metaphor had ancient roots: witness Father Marchese’s own citations and that from Paul’s Epistle to the Hebrews which provided the main caption for the engraving. The liquidity and universality of the Eucharist had often been linked, as through the imagery of the Fountain of Life and the river of blood, to which Marchese refers.37 An example of the latter On Ecclesia with the chalice, cf. C. Schiller, Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, 2 vols., Gütersloh, 1966–68, II, 117 ff. As a floating figure the Virgin also recalls the flying angels that often receive the Blood in chalices in Crucifixion scenes. The Virgin and angels occasionally have upturned hands, but as a gesture of dismay, not in connection with the Blood. The notion of the Virgin offering the sacrifice is related to that of her priesthood; in a Flemish engraving of the early seventeenth century she is shown kneeling, cloud-borne, before an altar, and offering the chalice to God the Father and the Holy Spirit above (G. Missaglia, et al., La madonna e l’eucaristia, Rome, 1954, Fig. 102). The emphasis placed in the Sangue di Cristo and by Father Marchese on the transmission of the offering through the Virgin’s hands, is based on St. Bernard: ‘É Sentimento assai comune de’ Santi Padri, e singolarmente di S. Bernardo non dispensarsi a’ fedeli alcuna gratia dal Signor’ Iddio, che non passi per le mani della Beatissima Vergine nostra signora’ (Unica speranza, 82); compare St. Bernard’s ‘. . . si quid spei in nobis est, si quid gratiae, si quid salutis, ab ea noverimus redundare, quae ascendit deliciis affluens,’ and ‘Forte enim manus tuae, aut sanguine plenae, aut infectae muneribus, quod non eas ab omni munere excussisti. Ideoque modicum istud quod offerre desideras, gratissimis illis et omni acceptione dignissimis Mariae manibus offerendum tradere cura, si non vis sustinere repulsam’ (‘De aquaeductu,’ Migne, Patr. lat., CLXXXIII, cols. 441, 448). 37 Panofsky also saw the relationship of the Sangue di Cristo composition to the Fons Vitae and the Christ in the Wine Press (see below); ‘Imago Pietatis,’ 284. For the relation to the Fons Vitae, see recently M. Wadell, Fons Pietatis. Eine ikonographische Studie, Göteborg, 1969, 84 f. 36

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whose visionary character anticipates Bernini is a woodcut design by Botticelli, to which Vasari gives the title Triumph of the Faith (Fig. 6).38 This depicts an actual vision described by Savonarola in one of his sermons; the Crucifixion is shown in a circular landscape signifying the world, and the Blood pours down from the Cross to form a river in which converts to the faith cleanse themselves of sin. An analogous theme is that of Christ in the Wine Press, which, in the frontispiece to a Protestant bible of 1641 is accompanied by the passage from Hebrews cited on the Sangue di Cristo engraving.39 Yet, none of these texts explicitly identifies the Eucharist as an ocean, and the idea had not to my knowledge been depicted before. As evident from the very title of Marchese’s Unica speranza, it was the desire to convey the eschatological aspect of the Sacrament, again to relate death and salvation, that motivated the extension of the metaphor to a universal deluge.40 A final innovation in the engraving is that the Crucifixion forms the central focus of the composition and is shown on a diagonal axis viewed from below, floating in mid-air. The perspective treatment has been related to the diagonally oriented crosses that had become popular in narrative scenes of the Crucifixion, probably on the basis of Northern depictions of the three crosses on Mount Calvary.41 The device helps to create the impression that the observer is an incidental bystander, hence specifically a witness of the event. But Bernini seems to have been influenced by other, visionary themes. The arrangement, with God the Father above, recalls depictions of the Trinity in which the Crucifixion appears aloft, often in sharp perspective. Though Bernini omits the Dove, a reference to the Trinity is implicit from the text of Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi quoted on the print, in which the sinner’s ultimate appeal is to the Trinity. The idea of a monumental cross suspended in foreshortening was familiar from sacramental images illustrating the Exaltation or Triumph of the Cross. An example Bernini certainly knew was the fresco by Cherubino Alberti in the Aldobrandini 38 The woodcut was first identified with that mentioned in Vasari by Ferrara, Savonarola, 11, 59 ff. 39 Illustrated in Schiller, Ikonographie, II, Fig. 812. 40 Compare a panel of the early fifteenth century by Giovanni di Paolo, in which blood from the feet of the Man of Sorrows appears to flow on the ground to a group of the Saved in a scene of the Last Judgment (cf. C. Eisler, ‘The Golden Christ of Cortona and the Man of Sorrows in Italy,’ Art Bulletin, LI, 1969, 115, 233, Fig. 18. 41 Van Regteren Altena, Le dessin italien (cited n. 31 above) refers to Crucifixions by G. B. Castiglione in this connection.

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

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

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8. The Death of Moriens, engraving by R. de Hooghe from D. de la Vigne, Spiegel van een salighe Doodt, Antwerp, 1763 (?) New York Public Library.

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6. Sandro Botticelli, Triumph of the Faith, woodcut (from Ferrara, Savonarola, II, pl. III).

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7. Cherubino Alberti, Triumph of the Cross. Rome, Santa Maria sopra Minerva (photo: GFN).

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9. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for the Bust of the Savior, drawing, 171 x 254mm. Rome, Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe.

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

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

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

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

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

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15. Reconstruction of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior (drawing by Paul Suttman).

16. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for a Monstrance, drawing, 237 x 163mm. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste, Graphische Sammlungen.

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18. Benvenuto Cellini, Bust of Cosimo I. Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello (photo: Alinari).

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17. Leone Leoni, Bust of Charles V. Madrid, Museo del Prado (photo: Mas).

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20. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Louis XIV. Musée de Versailles (photo: Alinari).

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19. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Bust of Francesco I d’Este. Modena, Museo Estense (photo: Alinari).

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21. Louis XIV, engraving by E. Gantrel after a design by P. P. Sevin. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale.

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22. The Colonna Claudius, engraving (from B. de Montfaucon, L’antiquité expliquée, Paris, 1719, V, Pl. CXXIX).

23. Antique base and 17th-century pedestal of the Colonna Claudius. Madrid, Museo del Prado (photo: Mas).

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chapel, dedicated to the Sacrament, in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, where the Cross is borne by angels through a circular opening painted in the vault (Fig. 7).42 In the case of Alberti’s fresco the foreshortening is calculated for the spectator approaching the chapel from the front. The angle of vision in Bernini’s engraving bears an uncanny resemblance to that from which moriens sees the Crucifixion in the Ars Moriendi illustrations (Figs. 2, 8).43 One cannot repress the suspicion that the whole image was conceived to be seen exactly as Bernini saw it, at the foot of his own deathbed. Whereas the artists of the Ars Moriendi represented the death scene, Bernini isolated the vision and made the viewer its witness. 2. The Bust of the Savior The second work mentioned by the biographers, the bust of the Savior, has been lost since the early eighteenth century.44 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 it to Pope Innocent XI Odescalchi, and thereafter it was listed in a 1713 inventory of the Palazzo

42 For this fresco, datable 1609–11, see L. Venturi, Storia dell’arte italiana, 11 vols., Milan, 1901–07, IX, pt. 5, Fig. 539; F. Würtenberger, ‘Die manieristische Deckenmalerei in Mittelitalien,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, IV, 1940, 112 ff. See also the examples by Pietro da Cortona in the sacristy of the Chiesa Nuova, and by Lanfranco in the Cappella della Pietà in Saint Peter’s (G. Briganti, Pietro da Cortona, Florence, 1962, 205, No. 50). 43 The striking parallel illustrated in Fig. 8 is from David de la Vigne, Spiegel van een salighe Doodt, with engravings by R. de Hooghe, probably published at Antwerp in 1673 (cf. J. Landwehr, Romeyn de Hooghe as Book Illustrator, Amsterdam, 1970, 79). De Hooghe’s imagery is also closely analogous to that of the chapel of St. Anne and the Beata Ludovica Albertoni in San Francesco a Ripa, which Bernini designed at this same period; there the altar painting appears as a devotional picture beside Ludovica’s deathbed. Other scenes of visions of the Crucifixion should be compared as well; e.g., Pietro Liberi, Santi Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, before 1660 (F. Zava Boccazzi, La basilica dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo in Venezia, Padua, 1965, Fig. 113), Luca Giordano, Santa Maria del Pianto, Naples, 1660–61 (O. Ferrari and G. Scavizzi, Luca Giordano, Naples, 1966, Fig. 94). 44 What is known of its history will be found in Wittkower, Bernini, 265, and B. Canestro Chiovenda, ‘Cristina di Svezia’ (cited in n. 32 above), 172 ff.

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Odescalchi.45 Nothing more is known concerning its history.46 A ‘belle copie’ of the sculpture was commissioned by Bernini’s friend and would-be biographer Pierre Cureau de la Chambre, Abbé of Saint-Barthélemy in Paris, where it was brought soon after the artist’s death.47 There is no further record of the copy; the Church of Saint-Barthélemy was destroyed in the French Revolution.48 Until now the only dependable indication of the bust’s appearance has been a preparatory drawing by Bernini in the Corsini collection in Rome (Fig. 9). The drawing suffices to show that it differed markedly from ordinary representations of its kind: the drapery engulfs the

The descriptions in Tessin and the 1713 inventory are as follows: ‘Im zimber inwendig vor der andern Antechambre, stehet dass halbe grosse Christbildt von Marmer, welches Cav. Bernini im Testament Ihr Maijesteten verlassen hat; unter ist die plinthe darvon von zweijen grossen knienden vergulten Engel artig sousteniret, die eine grosse plinthe unter sich wieder haben’ (O. Sirén, Nicodemus Tessin d.y:s Studieresor, Stockholm, 1914, 184). ‘Un busto di Marmo, che rappresenta il Salvatore con una mano, e panneggiamento scolpito dal Bernini; alto palmi di passetto 4 e due terzi, il suo piedistallo è di diaspro di Sicilia, alto palmo uno et un quarto, largo di sotto due palmi et un quarto, qual busto vien sostenuto con ambi le mani da due angioli, che sono in ginocchio sopra un gran piede il tutto di legno dorato, quali assieme col zoccolo son alti palmi nove di passetto ‘(Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 179, n. 1). Cf. also an Avviso of April 23, 1689, in which the base is said to be of porphyry (E. Rossi, ‘Roma ignorata’ Roma, XX, 1942, 215). 46 On the Odescalchi collections, see H. H. Brummer, ‘Two works by Giulio Cartari,’ Konsthistorisk Tidskrift, XXXVI, 1967, 106 f. Wittkower suggested (Bernini, 265) that the Savior may have been taken to Spain in 1724, when a large number of Odescalchi sculptures was bought by Philip V. But it does not appear in the list of works, ancient and modern, included in the sale (Rome, Archivio Odescalchi, V.B.1, fasc. 20; cf. Brummer, ‘Two works,’ 123, n. 12); in fact, it was among the objects entailed in a fidecommisso by Livio Odescalchi (died 1713), none of which was sold (Arch. Odescalchi, XI.B.F.4, fasc. 139, ‘Mobili sottoposti dal Test.re D. Livio primo Odescalcho alle leggi di Maggiorasco . . .,’ fol. 15r). 47 ‘II n’a rien fait dépuis qu’un Ouvrage de devotion dont on verra bien-tost une belle Copie à saint Barthelemy. C’est un Buste d’un Christ à my-corps avec deux mains [italics mine] donnant la benediction, par où il a fini sa vie. Il l’a laissé à la Reine Christine de Suede, qui dit fort obligeamment à sa Famille, quand on le luy presenta, que le Cavalier le luy avoit offert plusieurs foix de son vivant, mais qu’elle l’avoit toûjours refusé, parce qu’elle n’avoit pas dix-mille escus pour l’en récompenser’ (‘Éloge de M. la Cavalier Bernin par M. l’Abbé de la Chambre de l’Academie Françoise,’ Journal des Sçavans, February 24, 1681, 61). 48 The copy was in Saint-Barthélemy in 1686, but is not mentioned in later descriptions of the church, which was pulled down in 1792 (Canestro Chiovenda, ‘Cristina di Svezia,’ 172). 45

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body, rendering the torso indistinguishable; the head and raised arm move in opposite directions.49 In the Chrysler Museum at Norfolk, Virginia, is a marble bust of Christ which corresponds so closely to the descriptions in the sources and the Corsini drawing that it must be either Cureau’s copy or the original (Figs. 10–14) .50 In the course of studying the piece my own opinion has shifted from the former to the latter attribution. Initially the work seems perverse, not to say repellent. The proportions are curiously awkward; the massive body, long neck and tapered head lack the classical balance and harmony with which Bernini usually conceived the human body. The strained and rather withdrawn pose is a reversal of Bernini’s predilection for open and fluid movement. The surfaces of the face and drapery are generalized and abstract, compared with the tremulous warmth and intimacy and fine differentiation of textures that ordinarily distinguish his autograph works. The handling of the back, rough-hewn in the body, left unfinished at the head, shows a degree of neglect almost unprecedented in his busts — hardly evidence of the particular care he is reported to have lavished on the Savior. These seemingly negative factors may actually speak in favor of the Norfolk sculpture, given the subject and the special circumstances under which the Savior was created. According to Baldinucci, Bernini himself described the work as ‘wanting in vivacity and tenderness and other good I am not convinced (see Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 179) that the head at the right in this drawing is by a later hand; certainly it is not copied after the final work, as is shown by the differences from the Norfolk marble. An anonymous drawing at Chatsworth (Wittkower, Bernini, 265) seems unrelated to Bernini’s Savior. 50 Unpublished. I am indebted to Robert Wallace, author of The World of Bernini, 1598–1680 (Time-Life Library of Art), New York, 1970, for bringing this work to my attention. Height 93 cm.; width 92 cm. The three last fingers of the right hand have been broken and reattached; otherwise the condition is excellent. Mr. Chrysler has given me, in litteris, the following account of its provenance. Purchased in Paris in 1952 from the Vicomte Jacques de Canson (died 1958). De Canson, who knew of Bernini’s gift to Queen Christina, reported that the sculpture had never left Italy before entering his possession; he had received it from a pope (unnamed), to whom it had been given before his election by Baron Giorgio Franchetti (died 1922), founder of the Galleria Franchetti at the Ca d’Oro in Venice. My efforts to verify this account have been almost fruitless. De Canson’s daughter, Mme Jean Deschamps of Evry, remembers the piece vaguely, and confirms that her father was received in private audiences by Puis XI and XII. Giorgio Franchetti’s son, Baron Luigi Franchetti of Rome, has no knowledge of the sculpture but recalls that his uncle Edoardo Franchetti had contacts with De Canson concerning works of art. The Vatican secretariat of state was unable to help without more precise information. 49

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qualities of technique,’ owing to his advanced age. It was, in fact, his right, working arm that ultimately gave way. One can readily imagine that Bernini determined to husband his remaining energies, and concentrate on finishing the front. A no less important consideration than the artist’s physical state is the ambiguous character of the image itself. A degree of austerity and abstraction was inherent in the Salvator Mundi theme. We shall see that Bernini deliberately referred to this traditional iconic type, in order to reinterpret it and achieve a new fusion of Christ’s heroic and human qualities. Strongly affirmative, in my estimation, are passages like the subtly modelled hands and arm and the loosely curling locks of hair, laced with running drill holes, which are wholly in keeping with Bernini’s late style and match his most brilliant technical effects. The very unevenness of quality is more readily understood as the work of a decrepit genius rather than a copyist, especially an able one, who would tend to transform the model uniformly according to his lights. Original or copy, the Norfolk sculpture serves to clarify and in some respects correct the impression of the Savior given by the Corsini drawing, the differences being due either to the angle of vision in the latter or, more likely, I suspect, to a development in Bernini’s ideas between the drawing and the final execution. The head is not only turned sideways, but upward as well. The right arm is not extended forward, but held close to the torso; nor is the gesture a conventional one of blessing, but the hand is raised vertically and the palm is turned slightly outward. Thus, the qualification implicit in Domenico Bernini’s description of the gesture, ‘alquanto sollevata, come in atto di benedire,’ becomes significant. Finally, the marble makes quite plain what is barely discernible in the drawing and was observed only by the Abbé de la Chambre, namely, that Bernini in fact included both hands; the wrist and upper part of the left hand are visible under the right arm, lying against the breast. The bust was completed by a monumental pedestal,which is described by Tessin and in the 1713 inventory (cf. Fig. 15) . Under the bust was a base of Sicilian jasper 28 cm. high and 50 cm. wide at the bottom. This was in turn held in both hands by two angels who knelt on a large socle; angels and socle together, which were of gilded wood, measured 198 cm. high. Overall the work stood about 300 cm., or ten feet high. There is no proof that the pedestal was made during Bernini’s lifetime, but there can be no doubt that it was his invention. The general effect must have been similar to that seen in a late drawing by Bernini for a sacrament altar, in which angels kneel on

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the mensa and hold aloft by the base a monstrance containing the Eucharist (Fig. 16).51 The bust of the Savior belongs typologically to the tradition of independent, bust-length sculptured portraits and images of holy personnages that emerged in Italy around the middle of the fifteenth century.52 Within this context the Savior is related to a class of busts in which both arms are included; the bust appears ‘complete’ and has a specific histrionic content. Though common for reliefs and sculptures in niches or attached to architecture, the type is rather rare among independent busts. A few antique examples are known;53 it was used from the Middle Ages on for reliquaries, and was revived for ordinary busts by Verrocchio in the quattrocento.54 Characteristically such independent busts in the Early Renaissance were cut through horizontally at the waist or above, worked fully in the round, and displayed without a base, or on a low plinth. When in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries the imperial Roman bust form was revived — 51 Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen, 172, Pl. 131 a. Needless to say, the weight of the bust can hardly have rested on the wooden angels’ hands; presumably there was some additional, invisible support. 52 Cf. I. Lavin, ‘On the Sources and Meaning of the Renaissance Portrait Bust,’ Art Quarterly, XXXIII, 1970, 207 ff. Among the earliest such ‘portrait’ busts of holy personages, it seems, is the St. Lawrence in the Old Sacristy of San Lorenzo, Florence, often attributed to Donatello in the older literature (H. W. Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, Princeton, 1963, 236 f; M. Lisner, ‘Die Büste des Heiligen Laurentius in der alten Sacristei von S. Lorenzo,’ Zeitschrift für Kunstwissenschaft, XII, 1958, 51 ff; C. Seymour, Jr., Sculpture in Italy, 1400 to 1500, Harmondsworth, 1966, 240, n. 21, 246, n. 9). 53 Apart from the famous Commodus in the Palazzo dei Conservatori, I am aware of the following ancient examples: the so-called Matidia in the Uffizi (G. A. Mansuelli, Galleria degli Uffizi. Le sculture, 2 vols., Rome, 1958, II, 84, No. 86), a bust of a lady in the British Museum (A. H. Smith, .A Catalogue of Sculpture in the Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities of the British Museum, 3 vols., London, 1892–1904, III, 190 f, No. 190), and another in the Berlin Museum (C. BIümel, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Römische Bildnisse, Berlin, 1933, 48 f, No. R 117). But see also the related material concerning ‘half statues’ discussed in A. Frantz, H. A. Thompson and J. Travlos, ‘The “Temple of Apollo Pythios” on Sikinos,’ American Journal of Archaeology, LXXIII, 1969, 410 ff. 54 For bust reliquaries of this kind, see E. Kovács, Kopfreliquiare des Mittelalters, Budapest, 1964, Pls. 10, 11, 22, 36, 42.; P. Toesca, Storia dell’arte italiana. II. Il trecento, Turin, 1951, 899 f; J. Braun, ‘Büstenreliquiar,’ in Reallexikon der deutschen Kunstgeschichte, Stuttgart, 1937 ff, III, cols. 274 ff, Figs. 8–10. The Verrocchio referred to is of course the Lady with Flowers in the Bargello (for which see now G. Passavant, Verrocchio, London, 1969, 33 f, 180 f ).

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shaped at the bottom, hollowed at the back and set on a tall, narrow base — the two-armed type failed to conform. So far as I know,Bernini’s Savior is the first monumental marble bust since antiquity that is hollowed at the back, stands free on a pedestal, and includes both arms.55 It combines, in an unprecedented way for a Christian image, the living and dramatic quality of a narrative figure with the commemorative and idolous quality of a classical bust monument. The Savior is equally unprecedented in the treatment of the bust form itself. The crossed arms that conceal the lower torso and the arrangement of the drapery that envelops the body make the bust seem virtually self-sufficient, that is, not arbitrarily severed. Visually speaking, it is practically impossible to say whether we are confronted by the upper half of a whole human being, or a whole being in half-human shape. Furthermore, there was an obvious reciprocity between the bust and its pedestal: the jasper base served as an abstract support for a material weight, the bust as such, the angels served as figurated supports for a metaphorical weight, the image of Christ. In the sections that follow we shall explore the background for Bernini’s treatment of the bust and its pedestal, and seek to define the religious significance of the work. The Portrait Bust as Apotheosis The idea of a reciprocal and explicitly meaningful relationship between the bust and its support was revived toward the middle of the sixteenth century as part of a general tendency to charge the portrait with significance beyond that of simply commemorating the individual represented.56 The cope of Guglielmo della Porta’s Paul III in Naples (1546–47) is adorned 55 A possible antecedent is Algardi’s bust of Paolo Emilio Zacchia in Florence, but its base is not original (A. Nava Cellini, ‘Per l’integrazione e lo svolgimento della ritrattistica di Alessandro Algardi,’ Paragone, 1964, No. 177, 23) and I suspect it was meant to be displayed without one, perhaps in a niche. At the beginning of his career, in the portrait of Antonio Coppola in San Giovanni dei Fiorentini (1612), Bernini had revived the ancient type of bust with one arm showing and set on a base (I. Lavin, ‘Five New Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of His Early Works,’ Art Bulletin, L, 1968, 223 ff ). 56 Precedents among busts of the quattrocento type are those with figurated plinths by Francesco Laurana (see now, G. L. Hersey, Alfonso II and the Artistic Renewal of Naples 1485–1495, New Haven–London, 1969, 37 ff ).

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with an elaborate cycle of allegorical and Old Testament scenes by which the Pope is ‘invested’ as the patriarchal harbinger of heaven-sent peace and wisdom; the strapwork base intended for the bust is inhabited by two reclining male nudes, a shell and a floral garland.57 The precise meaning of the base is not certain; presumably it alludes to the underworld and eternity. In any case the bust and base surely complement one another, although there is no overt expression of a dynamic relationship between weight and support. This appears in the work of Leone Leoni, who used the idea to convey the imperialist program of the Hapsburg dynasty. Leoni’s bronze Charles V in the Prado (1553–55; Fig. 17) is conceived as a victor’s trophy held aloft by two allegorical figures and the imperial eagle — both devices based on ancient Roman precedents.58 The torso itself is part of the message; its edges

See the exemplary study by W. Gramberg, ‘Die Hamburger Bronzebüste Paul III. Farnese von Guglielmo della Porta,’ Festschrift für Erich Meyer zum 60. Geburtstage, Hamburg, 1959, 160–72, where it is shown that the bases of this and a simplified workshop version, also in Naples, were exchanged. Reclining allegories of Ocean and Earth had appeared beneath the medallion portraits of the deceased on Roman sarcophagi, a type that Michelangelo had earlier adapted in the Medici Chapel (C. De Tolnay, The Medici Chapel, Princeton, 1948, 66, 166). 58 E. Plon, Leone Leoni sculpteur de Charles-Quint et Pompeo Leoni sculpteur de Philippe II, Paris, 1887, 289 ff; H. Keutner, Sculpture Renaissance to Rococo, London, 1969, 308, No. 50, suggests that the allegories may represent Mars and Minerva. L. O. Larsson, Adrian de Vries, Vienna, 1967, 36 ff, has recently studied Leoni’s bust in connection with the portrait of Rudolph II made by de Vries in 1603 as a pendant to a version of the Charles V in Vienna. In fact, I know of no direct prototype for Leoni’s conception (the Conservatori Commodus, to which it has been compared, was discovered in the nineteenth century). Rather, Leoni evidently combined elements from three different antique traditions: the bust carried on the wings of an eagle (of which an example in the Capitoline had been known since the fifteenth century; cf. ibid.; also G. Pozzi and L. A. Ciapponi, Francesco Colonna. Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, 2 vols., Padua, 1964, I, 94, 108 f; A. Roes, ‘L’aigle psychopompe de l’époque impériale,’ in Mélanges Charles Picard, II, Revue archéologique, 1948, 881–91; H. Jucker, ‘Auf den Schwingen des Göttervogels,’ Jahrbuch des bernischen historischen Museums in Bern, XXXIX–XL, 1956–60, 266–88); the imago clipeata held by standing or flying victories, putti, etc. (cf. recently, R. Winkes, ‘Clipeata imago. Studien zu einer römischen Bildnisform,’ [Ph.D diss., Bonn, 1969, 88 ff ]); and the cuirass trophy with defeated enemies, often a male and a female, seated back-to-back underneath (G. C. Picard, Les Trophées romains, Paris, 1957 [Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, Fasc. 187]; A. J. Janssen, Het antieke tropaion, Brussels, 1957 [Koninklijke Vlaamse academie voor wetenschappen letteren en schone Kunsten van Belgie, Klasse der Letteren, Verhandelingen, No. 27]). An arrangement comparable to Leoni’s occurs on the cuirass of a pseudo-antique 57

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coincide with the actual edges of an armored corselet, hence nothing is ‘cut off.’ This treatment represents an ingenious solution to the problem that had confronted the Renaissance sculptor when the ideally shaped and supported classical bust form was revived, namely, how to allude to the whole person of the sitter, an effect achieved automatically by the arbitrary truncation of the Renaissance type.59 Leoni’s empty cuirass is a visual pun, which suggests that the bust not only ‘contains’ the sitter, whom the viewer inevitably imagines in toto, but is also a self-contained object, a commemorative monument in its own right.60 Other devices had been introduced by Benvenuto Cellini to suggest a whole, living person. In his cuirassed Cosimo I (1545–47), Cellini, for the first time, gave an asymmetrical movement to the arms, and almost completely disguised the cut-off (Fig. 18).61 At the right the amputation of the arm coincides with the end of the epaulette; at the left the drapery, which appears folded under itself rather than cut, hides the truncation as it moves across to the knot at the center. Only the sheer, curving slice of the torso at the right reminds the observer that the bust is an artificial, abstract thing, rather than the upper part of a human being.

bust (head ancient) in Venice, perhaps by Vittoria (G. Traversari, Museo archeologico di Venezia. I ritratti, Rome, 1968, No. 32). Leoni’s idea also seems to me inconceivable without the inspiration, stylistic and otherwise, of Bambaia’s great panoply of trophies in the tomb of Gaston de Foix, formerly in Santa Marta in Milan (Venturi, Storia, X, 1, Figs. 523 ff; cf. J. Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue of Italian Sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, 3 vols., London, 1964, II, 542 f ). 59 See the observations in my article cited above, n. 52. 60 Early precedents for the cuirass bust may be the problematic portrait of Alfonso I of Naples in Vienna (Katalog der Sammlung für Plastik und Kunstgewerbe. II Teil, Vienna, 1966, 9 f, No. 193; cf. Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien. Meisterwerke, Vienna, 1955, Pl. 68), and that of Francesco Gonzaga by Gian Cristoforo Romano in Mantua (Venturi, Storia, VI, Fig. 778). A conceit analogous to Leoni’s allusion to the empty corselet occurs in Francesco Segala’s portrait of Girolamo Micheli (died 1557) in the Santo in Padua, where the bust appears to rest on an armor stand (Venturi, Storia, X, 3, Fig. 144). It should be emphasized that the Charles V also owes a considerable debt to the tradition of reliquary busts (as suggested by J. Pope-Hennessy, The Portrait in the Renaissance, London–New York, 1966, 177). 61 On moving arms, cf. Lavin, ‘Five New Youthful Sculptures,’ 241 ff, and idem., ‘Duquesnoy’s “Nano di Créqui” and Two Busts by Francesco Mochi,’ Art Bulletin, LII, 1970, 140 f. On the Medicean symbolism of the armor of Cellini’s bust, see now K. W. Forster, ‘Metaphors of Rule. Political Ideology and History in the Portraits of Cosimo I de’ Medici,’ Mitteilungen des kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, XV, 1971, 76 ff.

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Bernini seems to take up Cellini’s thought in his portrait of Francesco I d’Este of 1650–51 (Fig. 19). Here the severed edges of the body are completely hidden by the drapery, which acquires a ‘miraculous’ dual existence — forming part of the sitter’s clothing, and enveloping the bust itself.62 The image may thus be read alternatively as the upper part of a whole person, or as a bust wrapped in a cloth of honor. The supporting function is also fulfilled ambiguously: understood literally, the weight is borne by the conventional, abstract base; understood figuratively, it is sustained by an unseen force that discharges upward through the drapery at the right. In the portrait of Louis XIV (Fig. 20), made during his stay in Paris in 1665, Bernini developed these devices further, and combined them with the idea of a bust-base monument that had lain virtually dormant since Leone Leoni.63 The work must be imagined with the pedestal Bernini proposed for it, described in Chantelou’s diary of the artist’s visit.64 It was to be mounted On this device, cf. Lavin, ‘Duquesnoy’s “Nano di Créqui”,’ 141, n. 66; it occurs in the bust of Michelangelo Buonarroti, Jr. made in Rome in 1630 by Guiliano Finelli, Bernini’s first assistant. A likely prototype is Cellini’s Bindo Altoviti, which was in Rome until the nineteenth century (E Camesasca, Tutta l’opera del Cellini, Milan, 1962, Pls. 66–87). 63 Apart from the Rudolph II of Adrian de Vries (above, n. 58) we may mention Bastiano Torrigiani’s busts of Gregory XIII and XIV, where the torsos end at the bottom in symbolic winged motives (cf. Gramberg, ‘Hamburger Bronzebüste,’ 171 f ). Prospero Clementi’s bust of Ercole II d’Este at Modena stood on a pedestal with an allegorical relief of Patience (Venturi, Storia, X, 2, Fig. 475; cf. idem, La R. Galleria estense in Modena, Modena, 1882, 105f., Fig. 47). 64 ‘Après qu’ils ont été sortis, le Cavalier m’a tiré à part et m’a montré un dessin qu’il a fait d’un piédestal pour poser le buste, et ce pièdestal est un globe du monde avec un mot qui dit: Picciola basa. Il m’a demandé mon sentiment de cette pensée. Je lui ai dit que je la trouvais grande et noble, donnant à juger pour l’avenir de grandes choses du Roi. Il a ajouté qu’outre le grand qu’elle porte avec elle, il en tirait un autre avantage: c’est que cette boule par sa globulence empêcherait qu’on ne touchát le buste, comme on a coutume de faire en France, quand on voit quelque chose de nouveau. Je lui ai dit que sa pensèe se rapporte encore hereusement à la devise du Roi, dont le corps est un soleil avec le mot: Nec pluribus impar, et que ce piédestal est le plus grand qu’on pouvait imaginer, mais qu’il fallait qu’il y mit son nom, pour dire que c’est lui qui l’a inventé et l’a fait, afin qu’on ne pense pas que ce soit le Roi, qui parle et qui trouve que le monde est une trop petite base pour lui. Il a ajouté que ce piédestal ferait un bel effet, l’azur de la mer se distinguant du reste du globe, qui sera de cuivre doré . . . L’on a parlé ensuite du piédestal de son buste. Il a dit à ce Sujet à l’abbé Buti, que le mot de picciola basa, lui semblait cadrer mieux que celui de: sed parva, que l’abbé avait trouvé, lequel a soutenu que le mot de base exprimait trop; qu’aux devises il faut laisser à penser. Le Cavalier a repliqué que basa pour un monde donnait assez à penser. Il a ajouté qu’il y faudrait dessous une espèce de tapis de même matière que le globe, et qu’il fût émaillé et orné de trophées de guerre et de vertus, a l’élévation d’un ou deux pouces, débordant plus que le 62

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on an enameled copper globe of the world, which in turn rested on a drapery of copper emblazoned with trophies and virtues; the whole was to be placed on a kind of platform.65 The globe was to bear the inscription ‘Picciola basa’ as a punning reference to its physical size, geographical form and supporting function (cf. Fig. 21).66 In the Louis XIV, the bust, as such, is scarcely perceptible behind the screen of drapery; only at the left elbow is the viewer free to decide whether the arm is cut off or continues across the chest, in a vital contrapposto movement unprecedented in bust portraiture.67 Conversely, the drapery is globe pour empêcher encore davantage, qu’on ne pût approcher du buste, et qu’il faudrait couvrir le tout d’un petite courtine de taffetas et le nettoyer de la poussiêre avec un soufflet’ (P. F. de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne, Paris, 1885, 150, 156). 65 How the bust was to be mounted on the globe is clear from another passage: ‘Le cavalier durant cela était auprès du scarpelin qui travaillait au pied du buste. Il lui a demandé de quelle qualité était son marbre. Il lui a répondu: Cotto. “Il est donc, ça dit le Cavalier, de même que celui du buste’‘ ‘ (M. Roland Bossard of the Musée de Versailles kindly informs me that the base is in fact made of a separate piece of the same marble as the bust). ‘. . . Je lui ai demandé, voyant l’assiette de ce pied de buste carrée, comment elle se pourrait adapter au globe de la base. Il m’a répondu qu’on creuserait cette assiette à la proportion de la globulence’ (ibid., 166). Concerning the platform on which the whole was to rest: ‘Le douzième, j’ai trouvé le Cavalier dessinant son buste pour y faire le piédestal, qu’il a projeté en forme de globe. Il le pose comme sur une espèce d’estrade’ (ibid., 228). 66 The engraving reproduced in Figure 21 (Paris, Bibl. Nat., Cab. des Estampes cote AA 4 Gantrel), which seems to reflect Bernini’s idea for the Louis XIV, was brought to my attention by Mr. Peter Fusco; cf. A. Dayot, Louis XIV, Paris, 1909, ill. page 80. It bears the inscriptions ‘P. Seuin in.’ (i.e., Pierre Paul Sevin, 1650–1710), ‘Gantrel f.’ (Etienne Gantrel 1646–1706), ‘Ste. Gantrel ex C. F. R.’ The bust shown (in reverse) is one at Versailles attributed to Coysevox, c. 1675 (No. 2195, C. Maumené and L. D’Harcourt, ‘Iconographie des rois de France. Second partie,’ Archives de l’art français, Nouvelle periode, XIV, 1932, 62; cf. E. Bourgeois, Le grand siècle, Paris, 1896, frontispiece). 67 A likely source for the pose was the portrait attributed to Titian of Pier Luigi Farnese, now in Naples, which was in the Palazzo Farnese in Rome until 1662 (R. Pallucchini, Tiziano, Florence, 1969, 286, Pl. 313); cf. also the Julius Caesar of Titian’s series of the emperors in the Palazzo Ducale at Mantua (ibid., 341 f, No. 608; E. Verheyen, ‘Jacopo Strada’s Mantuan Drawings of 1567–1568,’ Art Bulletin, XLIX, 1967, 62–67). The composition was taken up by Bronzino for his portrait of Cosimo I (A. Emiliani, Il Bronzino, Busto Arsizio, 1960, Pl. 90) and, in reverse, by Giulio Romano for his portrait of Alexander the Great (F. Hartt, Giulio Romano, New Haven, 1958, 218, Fig. 466.; be it recalled that the armor Bernini used for the bust was said to have been designed by Giulio Romano, and given to Francis I by a Gonzaga duke; Chantelou, Journal 49, 151). On Alexander see further, n. 71 below.

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now scarcely perceived as clothing, but rather as a kind of magic carpet on which the image rides.68 Since the ambiguity between person and thing is now virtually complete, the base plays a new and crucial role. The edge of drapery at the lower right curls up, revealing the expanding curve of the support. Instead of a severed body on a base, as in the traditional bust, one imagines a transition between human and abstract form, as in the traditional herm — the one explicitly commemorative ancient portrait type. This implied but hidden fusion of reality and idea is the visual equivalent of the metaphorical apotheosis expressed by the superimposition of the floating bust above the global pedestal. The globe had often served as the base for imperial portrait busts in antiquity, in reference to the monarch’s apotheosis.69 I know of only one

To my knowledge, the only one who seems to have remarked on this effect of the drapery, albeit negatively, was Charles Perrault: ‘. . . l’écharpe, à laquelle on donne tant de louages, n’est pas bien entendue. Comme elle enveloppe le bout du bras du Roi, ce ne peut être qu’une écharpe qu’on a mise sur le buste du Roi, et non pas l’écharpe qui étoit sur le corps du Roi quand on a fait son buste, parce que cette écharpe alors n’environnoit pas son bras de la manière qu’elle l’environne’ (P. Bonnefon, ed., Mémoires de ma vie par Charles Perrault. Voyage à Bordeau [1669] par Charles Perrault, Paris, 1909, 63). The idea recalls the curtains on which portraits of the deceased on ancient sarcophagi are often borne aloft (F. De Royt, ‘Études de symbolisme funéraire. A propos d’un nouveau sarcophage romain aux Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire, à Bruxelles,’ Bulletin de l’Institut historique belge de Rome, XVII, 1936, 160–64; W. Lameere, ‘Un symbole pythagoricien dans l’art funéraire de Rome,’ Bulletin de correspondance hellénique, LXIII, 1939, 43–85), and medieval depictions of the soul carried heavenward on swaths of drapery (H. s’Jacob, Idealism and Realism. A Study of Sepulchral Symbolism, Leiden, 1954, 121 ff. E. Panofsky, Tomb Sculpture, New York, [1964], 93). Bernini first revived this motif in his memorial of Alessandro Valtrini in San Lorenzo in Damaso (Wittkower, Bernini, 210, No. 43; dated 1639 by the inscription), and adapted it frequently thereafter in a variety of ways. 69 On this motif, whose connection with the Louis XIV seems not to have been observed, see the literature concerning the Conservatori Commodus cited by H. von Heintze, in W. Helbig, Führer durch die öffentlichen Sammlungen klassischer Altertümer in Rom, 4th ed., Tübingen, 1963 ff, II, 306 ff, especially S. A. Strong, ‘A Bronze Bust of a Iulio-Claudian Prince (?Caligula) in the Museum of Colchester; With a Note on the Symbolism of the Globe in Imperial Portraiture,’ Journal of Roman Studies, VI, 1916, 27–46; H. Jucker, Das Bildnis im BIätterkelch, Olten, 1961, esp. 154, n. 11; T. Hölscher, Victoria Romana, Mainz, 1967, 10, 25, 44, 47. A spheroid object, probably a fruit but easily to be taken for a globe, also appears under busts of private individuals on sarcophagi (De Ruyt, ‘Études de symbolisme,’ 154–59). Monumental examples Bernini might have known in Rome are the porphyry columns with projecting imperial busts on globes, now in the Louvre (R. Delbrueck, Antike Porphyrewerke, Berlin–Leipzig, 1932, 52 ff ). The motif was revived from ancient 68

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instance, however, in which the globe and military spoils are combined, the former resting on the latter. This was a splendid and once famous monument of the Emperor Claudius, excavated in the Via Appia near Rome in the 1640s (Fig. 22).70 It was displayed on an elaborately carved pedestal in the Palazzo Colonna in Rome until the year before Bernini’s trip to Paris, when it was taken to Spain. The bust has since disappeared, but the base and pedestal added by the Colonna, which together stand six feet high (184 cm.), are still to be seen in the Prado (Fig. 23). The Colonna Claudius showed the Emperor wearing the aegis, looking to the side and slightly upward, with a radiate crown on his head; the bust was supported on the outspread wings of the Jovian eagle,which held the globe and the thunderbolt in its claws, and rested in turn on a wide pile of military spoils. Bernini coins by Leone Leoni in a medal of Charles V (cf. Larsson, Adrian de Vries, Fig. 93). See also the bust of Cybele in Mantegna’s Triumph of Scipio in the National Gallery, London. In connection with the Louis XIV, Keutner, Sculpture, 325, No. 170, refers to a medal bearing the date 1661 which shows the King as the Sun God seated on a globe; however, the medal was made in 1687 (cf. La médaille au temps de Louis XIV, exh. cat., Paris, 1970, 181, No. 259). On the other hand, something analogous to Bernini’s conception had appeared in a medal of 1664 illustrating the King’s motto Nec Pluribus Impar, where the radiant face of the sun rises over a terrestrial globe (ibid., 89, No. 123, ill. page 90).; this is the device referred to by Chantelou (n. 64 above), and the same juxtaposition is made in the engraving by Sevin and Gantrel (Fig. 21; cf. n. 66 above), where in the center the sun appears above the bust resting on the globe and the impresa is illustrated in the upper left corner. 70 A. Blanco, Museo del Prado. Catalogo de la escultura. I. Esculturas clasicas, Madrid, 1957, 115 f, No. 225-E, Pl. LXVI. Blanco reports that a copy of the bust, by V. Salvatierra (1790–1836), is in the depot of the Prado; my inquiries after it have been in vain. The engraving of the ancient portions of the monument reproduced here in Figure 22, which reverses the original, is from B. de Montfaucon, L’antiquité expliquée, 5 vols., Paris, 1719, V, Pl. CXXIX. There has been some confusion concerning the dates involved, arising apparently from errors in R. Lanciani, ‘La villa castrimeniese di Q. Voconio Pollione,’ Bullettino della commissione archeologica comunale di Roma, XII, 1884, 196. Pietro Santi Bartoli (1637–1700) recorded that the work, to which he refers as ‘la famosa deificazione di Claudin,’ was found ‘ne’ tempi, che il card. Francesco Barberini si trasferi in Francia.’ and that a cardinal Colonna brought it as a gift when he transferred to the court of Spain (Memorie, first published in Roma antica, Rome, 1741, 351; reprinted in C. D. Fea, Miscellanea filologica critica e antiquaria, 2 vols., Rome, 1790–1836, 1, CCLXIV f.). Lanciani interpolated the date 1654 for the discovery, probably a misprint for 1645; Antonio Barberini fled to France late in the latter year, Francesco fled in January, 1646 and stayed until 1648. Lanciani also slipped in calling the Colonna cardinal ‘Ascanio’ (died 1608); in fact it was Girolamo (died 1666), who went to Spain in 1664 for the wedding of Margarita Teresa and Leopold I (A. Ciaconius, Vitae et res gestae pontificum romanorum et S.R.E. Cardinalium, 4 vols., Rome, 1677, IV, col. 568).

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must have remembered this extraordinary work when he designed the Louis XIV. The pose is transformed from one of divine inspiration into one of personal vigor and nobility. The role of the crown is played by the wig, which recalls the ‘leonine mane’ of Alexander the Great. The symbolic protection of the aegis and the levitational force of the eagle are embodied in the shielding, airborne drapery. The globe, instead of symbolizing the heavens, Jove’s realm, actually represents the earth.71 Whereas Claudius was literally divinized through metaphorical identification with the celestial ruler, Louis XIV is metaphorically apotheosized by being literally identified as the terrestrial ruler par excellence. 71 On the sideward turn and upward tilt of the head, see H.P. L’Orange, Apotheosis in Ancient Portraiture, Oslo, 1947, Chap. 2, 19 ff, ‘Heavenward-Gazing Alexander.’ Concerning the resemblance to Alexander, it is remarkable that Vasari in speaking of Giulio Romano’s portrait of Alexander (see n. 67 above), and a coin collector who saw Bernini’s Louis XIV in progress, both refer to medals of Alexander (‘Le doyen de SaintGermain est aussi venu, et lui qui est curieux de médailles a trouvé que le buste a beaucoup de l’air d’Alexandre et tournait de côté come l’on voit aux médailles d’Alexandre,’ Chantelou, Journal, 183, also 178). So far as I can see, portraits of Alexander on ancient coins and medals are always in profile (one exception, much disputed, appeared in 1902, cf. M. Bieber, Alexander the Great in Greek and Roman Art, Chicago, 1964, 79 f, Fig. 114). One possible explanation is that Giulio was using a profile type of the helmeted Alexander (K. Kraft, ‘Der gehelmte Alexander der Grosse,’ Jahrbuch für Numismatik und Geldgeschichte, XV, 1965, 7–32), whereas Bernini’s visitor recalled one of the facing types, such as Helios (le Roi Soleil), that were minted in the time of Alexander (cf. A. Baldwin, ‘Facing Heads on Greek Coins,’ American Journal of Numismatics, XLIII, 1908–09, 213–31). On the other hand, another passage in Chantelou shows that ‘medals’ might also include gems (Journal, 235), and a number of these with facing heads have been identified as Alexander (K. Gebauer, ‘Alexanderbildnis und Alexandertypus,’ Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Instituts. Athenische Abteilung, LXIII–LXIV, 1938–39, 30 f, also 25). In any case, the turning, tilting head of Alexander became ubiquitous as the ‘Dying Alexander’ (E. Schwarzenberg, ‘From the Alessandro morente to the Alexandre Richelieu,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, XXXII, 1969, 398–405). Bernini was certainly thinking of Alexander when portraying the King (cf. R. Wittkower, Bernini’s Bust of Louis XIV, London, 1951, 13 f ), and it is possible that the whole image — upward and sideward glance, as well as terrestrial globe below — echoed the famous passage in Plutarch describing Lysippus’s portrait of Alexander and quoting its inscription: ‘When Lysippus first modelled a portrait of Alexander with his face turned upward toward the sky, just as Alexander himself was accustomed to gaze, turning his neck gently to one side, someone inscribed, not inappropriately, the following epigram: ‘The bronze statue seems to proclaim, looking at Zeus: I place the earth under my sway; you O Zeus, keep Olympos’ (J. J. Pollitt, The Art of Greece 1400–31 B.C., Sources and Documents, Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1965, 145). Perhaps this passage was in the mind of the observer who commented that the world-pedestal enhanced the resemblance to Alexander (Chantelou, Journal, 178).

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With the bust of the Savior Bernini carried these ideas from the secular to the religious sphere. The ‘Divine Simulacrum’ In a formal sense the contrapposto relationship between the head and right arm of the Savior may be viewed as a development from the composition of the Louis XIV. But the pose was motivated by more than formal considerations. The Savior belongs thematically to the class of isolated, bust-length depictions of Christ that include both arms. Such images may be roughly divided into two groups, the Salvator Mundi and the Imago Pietatis, according to whether Christ’s triumph or His human sacrifice is stressed.72 Usually the Salvator Mundi shows the figure alive and clothed, the left hand holding a globe, symbol of the universality of redemption, the right hand raised in blessing, and the gaze fixed upon the observer in a frontal stare.73 In the Man of Sorrows Christ is shown dead, the body is nude, the head droops obliquely to the side, and the arms are folded across each other on the breast.74 It seems clear that Bernini sought to amalgamate the two traditional embodiments of the deity. In that the figure is clothed and the right hand suggests a blessing, it evokes the Salvator Mundi; the averted head and crossed arms allude to the Man of Sorrow. In expressive terms the result is an almost ineffable combination of heroic suffering and inspired benignity. Bernini’s figure further recalls an intermediate type which has been termed the ‘rhetorical’ Man of Sorrows.75 Christ is shown alive, the nude body exposed but draped in a mantle, the head bent downward to the side and the glance oblique; one hand calls attention to the chest wound, the other is raised in a gesture of pathetic exclamation. While Bernini must have had this type in mind also, his Savior differs from it in two funda72 In general, cf. S. Ringbom, Icon to Narrative (Acta Academiae Aboensis, Ser. A., Humaniora, XXXI, No. 2), Åbo, 1965, 52 ff. 73 On the theme, cf. C. Gottlieb, ‘The Mystical Window in Paintings of the Salvator Mundi,’ Gazette des Beaux-Arts, LVI, 1960, 313–32; L. H. Heydenreich, ‘Leonardo’s ‘Salvator Mundi’,’ Raccolta vinciana, XX, 1964, 83–109; Ringbom, Icon to Narrative, 69 f, 171 ff. 74 The fundamental study is still that of Panofsky, ‘Imago Pietatis,’ who regarded this as the original form of the Man of Sorrows; for subsequent bibliography, see Eisler, ‘The Golden Christ of Cortona,’ III, n. 24. 75 Panofsky, ‘Imago Pietatis,’ 289 f.

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mental respects: the position of the head and eyes, and the gesture of the right hand. The upward glance had become familiar in bust-length depictions of Christ, for example, in variants of the Salvator Mundi based on the inspired figure in Federico Barocci’s Last Supper in Urbino, and in pictures of the agonized Ecce Homo crowned with thorns, by Guido Reni and Guercino.76 But in these the head, though sometimes tilted, is not turned to the side, and the eyes look directly aloft. Conversely, busts of Christ often showed the head in three quarters, but the face and glance were not directed upward.77 The Savior’s gesture, with the arm held close to and across the body and the hand raised vertically, is also sui generis. It is as suggestive of intervention and rejection as of benediction or exclamation, and carries a clear eschatological implication. In sum, Christ acts as though He were interposing Himself between a threat coming from His upper right and directed toward His lower left, the side of damnation, which He abhors. It will have become apparent that essentially the same idea expressed in Bernini’s Savior underlay the devotional pictures of intercession derived from the Speculum humanae salvationis (Fig. 4). There Christ was represented with one hand indicating the chest wound, the other directed in sympathy toward the spectator; the head and eyes turned to the side and imploringly up toward God the Father. The ‘rhetorical’ Man of Sorrows was itself rooted in this tradition, which had already played a seminal part in the development of the Sangue di Cristo composition. Bernini’s Savior, who communicates with God, alludes to His own death, and conveys protection to the observer, seems to act in response to the dying man’s invocation in the Ars Moriendi interrogations, ‘I also put the death of Our Lord Jesus Christ between me and your wrath.’ Like the Sangue di Cristo the Savior constitutes in effect a new subject, motivated once again by the desire to relate previously separate traditions to the idea of death. The bust incorporates the act of intercession in which Christ the sacrifice and Christ the redeemer are united. Hence the deeper 76 For illustrations, cf. J. Burns, The Face of Christ in Art, New York, 1907, ills. opp. pages 104, 108, 112. 77 See the examples in U. Schlegel, ‘Eine neuerworbene Christusbüste des Ludovico Begarelli,’ Berliner Museen. Berichte, XI, 1961, 44 ff. Also a marble by Puget at Marseille, dated 1662–63 by K. Herding, Pierre Puget, Berlin, 1970, 152 f, No. 20, but which may in fact postdate Bernini’s Saviour (G. Walton, ‘The Sculptures of Pierre Puget,’ Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1967, 241 f ); a fine bronze cast was recently acquired bv the Berlin Museum (U. Schlegel, ‘Alessandro Algardis Christusbüste,’ Berliner Museen. Berichte, XXI, 1971, 23 ff, with attribution to Algardi).

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meaning of the pedestal becomes clear. The abstract base, traditional for portraits, bears Christ’s mortal aspect. In general terms the kneeling and supporting angels echo the ancient imago clipeata, where the medallion framing a hallowed image was often lifted by winged genii; Christ and God the Father had frequently been carried by angels; angels grasp the drapery in many depictions of the Man of Sorrows; in reliquary busts the body might appear angel-borne.78 But there was no real precedent for the bust held aloft by its base.79 Most of all, Bernini’s arrangement recalls, as we have seen, his own design for an altar of the Holy Sacrament (Fig. 16): the kneeling angels elevate the image as if it were the tabernacle of the Host. Thus, both the figure and the pedestal — the former through its expressive pose and invisible truncation, the latter through its abstract and angelic supports — conveyed the dual nature of Christ and His work of atonement. At once suffering and exultant as a portrait, the Savior is at once human and divine as a bust. The work belongs to still another tradition, which might be defined as that of the sculptor’s last will and testament. The sixteenth century had produced several notable instances in which sculptors gave direct expression to their own hopes for redemption, the Pietà groups by Michelangelo and Baccio Bandinelli, and Crucifixes by Benvenuto Cellini and Giambologna. The shift from the dead to the living Christ is symptomatic: Bernini’s primary concern is not with Christ as the prototype of pathetic self-sacrifice, but with His quintessential role as mediator in the process of salvation. It is also symptomatic that, in contrast to these overtly narrative works, Bernini chose the bust to express his thought; he created a kind of icon-portrait monument because it enabled him to evoke more completely than any other form the mystery of Christ, half god, half man. It is symptomatic, finally, that these works were intended for the artists’ own tombs (and might even contain autobiographical elements: Michelangelo’s and Bandinelli’s include self-portraits, Cellini’s alludes to a vision he had had in For examples of the latter, see Toesca, Il trecento, 900, Fig. 746, and J. Montagu, ‘Un dono del Cardinale Francesco Barberini al Re di Spagna,’ Arte illustrata, IV, 1971, 50, Fig. 8. 79 The concept has an analogue in Bernini’s adaptation of the framed image carried by symbolic figures, which played a new and important role in his work; his use of this motif in altarpieces has been the subject of an excellent study in an unpublished dissertation by R. Jürgens, ‘Die Entwicklung des Barockalters in Rom,’ Hamburg, 1956, 160 ff (typescript in the Biblioteca Hertziana, Rome). 78

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prison), whereas Bernini intended the Savior to be given away, and his sepulcher was marked only by an inscription with his name and the date of his death. * * * The Sangue di Cristo engraving and the bust of the Savior are related beyond the obvious fact of their common concern with salvation. The one concentrates upon Christ as the victim, the other upon Christ as the savior; the one is predominantly public and universal, the other is predominantly private and personal. Both make radical changes in the traditions from which they are derived, and the changes were inspired mainly by the desire to relate those traditions to death. They are related to death not simply as pious votives but as part of a concerted plan, conceived and executed by Bernini over a period of forty years, to achieve salvation by preparing for death. The idea for such a program and many of its elements stem from the heritage of The Art of Dying, but the focus has shifted. In place of the temptations to sin and heresy, the accent is on the central mystery of the Eucharist as the key to redemption. This new emphasis was present from the beginning of the Ars Moriendi revival, in Bellarmino’s treatise and in the devotions of the Bona Mors confraternity. It became to Father Marchese and Bernini the only hope. The good death was no longer largely a dialectical victory over the devil but an extreme act of faith, performed successfully after acquiring the necessary skills. Panofsky defined the unprecedented role of the personification Death in Bernini’s funerary monuments as that of ‘a “witness to life” . . . a power which delimits and shapes the indefinite and places in perspective what otherwise could not be perceived as a whole.’80 The observation might be extended to Bernini himself: his enactment of death, his vision of redemption and his portrayal of the Redeemer concluded a life-long process of objectification in which what had been obscure or but faintly perceived became conscious and deliberate.81 E. Panofsky, ‘Mors Vitae Testimonium. The Positive Aspect of Death in Renaissance and Baroque Iconography,’ in Studien zur toskanischen Kunst. Festschrift für Ludwig Heinrich Heydenreich, Munich, 1964, 231. 81 The opening invocation of Bernini’s testament, though conventional in such documents, contains a variety of thoughts and phrases that are of interest in the light of what has been said in this essay; I transcribe it here, along with some of the relevant provisions: 80

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Appendix Filippo Baldinucci Correva già il Bernino l’ottantesimo anno di sua vita e fin da alcun tempo avanti aveva egli più al conseguimento degli eterni riposi, che all’accrescimento della gloria mondana voltato i suoi più intensi pensieri e forte premevagli il cuore un desiderio di offerire, prima di chiuder gli occhi a questa luce, alcun segno di gratitudine alla maestà della gran regina di Svezia, stata sua singolarissima protettrice; onde per meglio internarsi ne’ primi sentimenti e disporsi ad effettuare i secondi, si pose con grande studio ad effigiare in marmo in mezza figura maggiore del naturale il nostro ‘A gloria della SS;ma Trinità, e della gloriosa sempre Vergina Maria, e di tutti li Santi miei Protettori; Essendo la morte quel punto tremendo, d’onde dipende un’Eternità, ò di bene, ò di pene, quindi è che conforme l’huomo deue in ogn’hora pensare à ben uiuere per ben morire, cosi è inescusabile errore il uolere trasportare in quell’ultimo passo l’aggiustamento delle cose humane, quando l’anima deue con gran timore prepararsi all’inappellabile rendimento de conti alla Diuina Giustitia. Da ciò mosso io infrascritto testatore al presente sano per la Dio gratia di mente, di senso, et intelletto hò pensato di fare il presente mio testamento scritto de uerbo ad uerbum d’ordine mio, e poi da me più uolte letto, e maturamente considerato Primieramente raccomando l’anima mia alla SS:ma Trinità, dalla cui infinita Bontà, conforme hò riceuto abondanza di gratie, così la supplico di quella maggiore, senza la quale nulla uale il mondo tutto, cioè il perdono de miei peccati, e per conseguenza la salute dell’anima mia, mi raccomando inoltre all’intercessione della gloriosissima Vergine Madre Maria, dell’Angelo mio Custode, e di tutti li Santi miei Auuocati, e particolarmente di S. Giuseppe . . . Lascio à titolo di semplice Cappellania ad nutum amouibile, che dall’infrascritti miei heredi à gloria del pretiosissimo Sangue del Nostro Redentore Giesù Christo si faccia celebrare una messa quotidiana in perpetuo suffragio, prima dell’anima mia, e poi delli miei parenti, e finalmente di quell’anima del Purgatorio, la liberatione della quale sarà di maggior gloria di Dio. In oltre à gloria della Beatis.ma Vergina Madre Maria lascio ch’ogni anno in perpetuo nel giorno dell’Assunta si diano dall’infrascritti miei heredi scudi uenticinque m.ta per dote ad una pouera zitella honesta, . . . Item lascio al Padre Don Francesco Marchesi Prete della Chiesa Noua mio Nipote scudi cento moneta per una sol uolta pregandolo à raccordarsi dell’anima mia nelle sue orationi, e diuini offitij . . .’ (Rome, Archivio di Stato, Not. A. C. (Mazzeschus], Busta, 4245, November 28, 1680, fols. 278r–v, 281). It came to my attention after completing this article that Hans Kauffmann, with characteristic insight, speaks of Bernini as having been deeply concerned with the Ars Moriendi (Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini. Die figürliche Kompositionen, Berlin, 1970, 334 f ).

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Salvator Gesù Cristo, opera, che siccome fu detta da lui il suo beniamino, così anche fu l’ultima, che desse al mondo la sua mano, e destinolla in dono a quella maestà, ma tal pensiero però gli venne fallito, perché tanto fu il concetto è la stima, che della statua fece la maestà sua che non trovandosi in congiuntura di poter per allora proporzionatamente contraccambiare il dono, elesse anzi di ricusarlo che di mancare un punto alla reale magnificenza dell’animo suo; onde il Bernino gliela ebbe poi a lasciare per testamento, come noi a suo luogo diremo. In questo divino simulacro pose egli tutti gli sforzi della sua cristiana pietà e dell’ arte medesima, e fece conoscere in esso quanto fusse vero un suo familiare assioma, cioè, che l’artefice, che ha grandissimo fondamento nel disegno, al giugner dell’età decrepita, non dee temere di alcuno scemamento di vivacità e tenerezza e dell’altre buone qualità dell’operar suo, mercecché una tal sicurezza nel disegno possa assai bene supplire al difetto degli spiriti, i quali coll’aggravar dell’età si raffreddano, ciò che egli diceva aver osservato in altri artefici . . . E così mentre dalla città di Roma si apprestavano applausi al suo valore per lo prospero riuscimento della restaurazione e assicuramento del palazzo, egli avendo già incominciato a perdere il sonno, diede in sì fatta debolezza di forze e di spiriti, che in breve si condusse al termine de’ giorni suoi. Ma prima di parlare dell’ultima sua infermità e della morte, la quale veramente apparve agli occhi nostri qual fu la vita, è da portarsi in questo luogo, che quantunque il cavalier Bernino fino al quarantesimo anno di sua età, che fu quello, nel quale egli si accasò, fusse vissuto allacciato in qualche affetto giovenile, senza però trarne tale impaccio, che agli studi dell’arte e a quella, che il mondo chiama prudenza, alcun pregiudizio recar potesse, potiamo dire con verità, che non solo il suo matrimonio ponesse fine a quel modo di vivere, ma che egli, fin da quell’ora, incominciasse a diportarsi anzi da religioso, che da secolare e con tali sentimento di spirito, secondo ciò, che a me è stato riferito da chi bene il sa, ch’e’ poté sovente esser d’ammirazione ai più perfetti claustrali. 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 familiarissimo fino dalla prima età. Si profondava talora

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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. Venuto dunque il tempo, non so s’io dica da lui a cagione del grande scapito di forze aspettato, o per l’anelanza dell’eterno riposo desiderato, egli infermò d’una lenta febbre, alla quale sopravvenne in ultimo un accidente di apoplessia, che fu quello che lo privò di vita. Stavasene egli tra tanto paziente e rassengato nel divino volere, nè altri discorsi faceva per ordinario, che di confidenza, a segno tale che gli astanti, fra’ quali non isdegnò di trovarsi assai frequentemente l’eminentissimo cardinal Azzolino forte si maravigliavano de’ concetti, che l’amore gli suggeriva e fra questi il seguente è degnessimo di memoria. Pregò egli instantemente quel porporato, che per sua parte supplicasse la maestà della regina a fare un atto d’amore di Dio per se stesso, stimando (come egli diceva) che quella gran signora avesse un linguaggio particolare con Dio da esser bene intesa, mentre Iddio avea con lei usato un linguaggio, che essa sola era stata capace d’intenderlo. Il continovo pensare, ch’ei fece in vita a quel passaggio, gli aveva suggerito molti anni prima del suo morire un pensiero, e fu di rappresentare al nominato padre Marchesi, il quale egli desiderava, che gli fusse assistente, tutto ciò, che egli gli doveva ricordare in quel tempo, e perché egli dubitò, ch’e’ potesse avvenire ciò che veramente accadde, di non potere in quell’estremo usar la voce, volle ch’ei fusse informato dei gesti e moti esterni ch’egli aveva stabilito di fare per espressione dell’interno del suo cuore; e fu cosa mirabile, che non avendo egli nella malattia, a cagione della flussione del capo, potuto parlare se non balbettando ed avendo poi per lo nuovo accidente perduta quasi del tutto la parola, il padre Marchesi l’intendesse sempre così ed alle sue proposte desse così adequate risposte, che bastarono per condurlo con ammirabil quiete al suo fine. Avvicinavasi egli all’ultimo respiro, quando fatto cenno a Mattia de’ Rossi e Giovan Battista Contini, stati suoi discepoli nell’architettura quasi scherzando disse loro nel miglior modo, che gli fu possibile, molto maravigliarsi, che non sovvenisse loro invenzione per trarre altrui il catarro dalla gola, e intanto additava colla mano un instrumento matematico attissimo a tirar pesi eccedenti.

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L’interrogò il suo confessore sopra lo stato di quiete dell’anima sua, e se egli si sentiva scrupoli; rispose: ‘Padre mio, io ho da render conto ad un Signore, che per sua sola bontà non la guarda in mezzi baiocchi’. Si accorse poi d’avere il destro braccio impedito insieme con tutta quella parte a cagione dell’apoplessia e disse: ‘Bene era dovere, che questo braccio si ripossase alquanto prima della mia morte, avendo egli tanto fatigato in vita’. Intanto piangeasi in Roma la gran perdita e la sua casa era occupata da un flusso e reflusso di personaggi d’alto affare e gente d’ogni sorte per intender novelle e visitarlo in quello stato. Vennero, e mandarono due volte il giorno almeno la maestà della regina di Svezia, più eminentissimi cardinali, e gli ambasciatori de’ principi. E finalmente la Santità di Nostro Signore gli mandò la sua benedizione; dopo la quale, all’entrare del giorno 28 del mese di novembre dell’anno 1680, circa alla mezza notte, dopo quindici giorni d’infermità, egli fece da questa all’altra vita passaggio nell’età sua di 82 anni meno nove giorni. Lasciò per suo testamento alla santità del papa, un gran quadro di un Cristo di sua mano ed alla maestà della regina di Svezia il bel simulacro del Salvatore in marmo, ultima opera delle sue mani, della quale sopra abbiam parlato. All’eminentissimo Altieri una testa di marmo con busto ritratto di Clemente X, all’eminentissimo Azzolino, stato suo protettore cordialissimo, una simile di papa Innocenzo X suo promotore e non avendo altra cosa di marmo, lasciò al cardinal Rospigliosi un quadro pure di sua propria mano. E con fidecommisso strettissimo lasciò in casa propria la bella statua della Verità, che è l’unica opera di scarpello, che è restata in potere de’ suoi figliuoli. Cosa troppo lunga sarebbe il parlare del dolore, che apportò una tal perdita a tutta Roma; dirò solo, che la maestà della regina, al di cui intelletto sublimissimo poterono per lunga consuetudine esser note le finezze dei talenti di sì grand’uomo, ne diede straordinari segni, parendole che fusse stato tolto con lui al mondo l’unico parto, che aveva prodotto la virtù nel nostro secolo. Lo stesso giorno della morte del Bernino mandò il papa per mano di un camerier segreto un nobile regalo a quella maestà, al quale domandò la regina, che si dicesse per Roma dello stato lasciato dal cavalier Bernino, e sentito che di quattrocentomila scudi incirca: ‘Mi vergognerei’ diss’ella ‘s’egli avesse servito me, ed avesse lasciato sì poco’. La pompa, colla quale fu il corpo del nostro artefice portato alla chiesa di S. Maria Maggiore, ove è la sepoltura di sua casa, corrispose alla dignità del soggetto ed alle facultà ed amore de’ figliouli, che gli ordinarono un nobilissimo funerale con distribuzione di cere e limosine alla grande. Si

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stancarono gl’ingegni e le penne de’ letterati di comporre elogi, sonetti, canzoni, ed altri eruditi versi latini, e volgari spiritossisimi, che in lode di lul si viddero pubblicamente esposti. Concorse tutta la nobiltà di Roma e con essa tutti gli oltramontani, che allora si trovavano in quella città ed in somma un popolo sì numeroso, che fu necessario l’indugiare alquanto di tempo a dar sepoltura al corpo, il che poi fu fatto nella nominata sua sepoltura, in cassa di piombo, con lasciarvi memoria del nome e persona di lui. Domenico Bernini Mà prossimo ornai il Cavaliere alla morte, & in età decrepita di ottant’anni volle illustrar sua vita, e chiuder l’atto di sua fin’ a quell’hora tanto ben condotta Professione, con rappresentare un opera, che felice è quell ‘Huomo, che termina con essa i suoi giorni. Questa fù l’Immagine del nostro Salvadore in mezza figura, mà più grande del naturale, colla man destra alquanto sollevata, come in atto di benedire. In essa compendiò, e ristrinse tutta la sua Arte, e benche la debolezza del polso non corrispondesse alla gagliardia dell’Idea, tuttavia gli venne fatto di comprovare ciò, che prima ei dir soleva, che Un’Artefice eccellente nel Disegno dubitar non deve al giunger dell’età decrepita di alcuna mancanza di vivacità, e tenerezza, perche è di tanta efficacia la prattica del Disegno, che questo solo può supplire al difetto degli spiriti, che nella vecchiaja languiscono. Destinò quest’ Opera alla sua tanto benemerita Regina di Svezia, che elesse più tosto rifiutarla, che coll’impossibilità di contracambiarne il valore, degenerare dalla sua Regia beneficenza; Mà fù poi costretta di accettarla indi a due anni, quando dal Cavaliere le fù lasciata in testamento . . . Avanti dunque di entrare nella narazione delle cose proposte, convien retrarre alquanto indietro il discorso, e dimostrare, quanto singolare nel Cavaliere Bernino fosse la bontà della vita, e con quanta unione di massime Christiane rendesse riguardevoli le belle, e molte doti del suo animo. Conciosiacosache com’egli era un’Huomo d’ingegno elevato, che sempre al grande aspirava, e nel grande istesso non si quietava, se non giungeva al massimo, questa medesima sua naturalezza lo portò ad una subblimità tale d’Idee in materia di divozione, che non contento delle communi, a quelle si appigliò, che sono per così dire la scortatoja per giungere al Cielo. Ond’ei diceva, che Nel rendimento di conto delle sue operazioni haveva da trattare con Signore, che Infinito e Massimo ne’ suoi attributi, non havrebbe guardato, come

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si suol dire, a’ mezzi bajocchi, è 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 Chiristo, 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. 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 condotta 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. Nè senza frutto nutriva ci nell’animo questi nobilissimi pensieri, mà con opere fondate era in un continuo esercizio di Virtù. Per lo spazio di quarant’ anni frequentò ogni Venerdì la divozione della buona morte nella Chiesa del Giesù, in cui bene spesso riceveva la Santissima Communione almeno una volta la settimana. Per il medesimo lungo spazio di tempo ogni giorno, terminati i suoi lavori, visitava quella Chiesa, ove si ritrivava esposto il Santissimo Sacramento, e vi lasciava elemosine copiose per i poveri. Oltre a molti doti, che dava frà l’anno a povere Zitelle, una sempre ne contibuiva nel giorno della Santissima Assunta, & a sei di esse volle ancora obbligare nel suo Testamento i Figliuoli; Anzi bene spesso per ricever merito dalla fuga dell’ applauso, consegnava copiose elemosine ad un suo Famigliare con obbligo di non rivelarne il benefattore, E benche l’uso dell’elemosina fosse con lui, per così dire, nato, e cresciuto, tuttavia negli ultimi anni di sua vita gli fù

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cotanto a cuore, che non stimandosi esso sufficiente a rinvenire i poveri, a molti Religiosi diedene l’incumbenza, & il denaro, per somministrarne ad essi l’ajuto. E perche ci in somiglianti opere amava la secretezza, molte più sono quelle, che possiam giudicare, ch’ei facesse, che a nostra notizia siano pervenute. Da alcune Note, ch’egli di mano sua stendeva in un libretto appartenente agl’interessi di Casa, si hà, che havendo posti tre mesi avanti sua morte due mile scudi d’oro dentro un’inginocchiatore, non ve ne furono poi trovati che ducento, e questi ordinò a’ suoi figliuoli, che gl’impiegassero ancora, come seguì, in un tale Opera pia, con indizio manifesto, che i rimanenti simil’esito sortissero. Et in una lettera scritta da Parigi ordina a Monsignor suo figliuolo, che oltre alle Elemosine, che gli lasciò in nota da farsi, ne facesse al doppio, Perche Iddio è un Signore, che non si lascia vincere di cortesia. Soleva poi molte volte frà l’anno condurre la sua famiglia in qualche Hospedale, e quivi voleva, che i suoi piccoli figliuoli ad esempio di lui porgessero ristoro agli ammalati, con presentar loro diverse confezioni, che a tale effetto teneva preparate. Ed era cosa di stupore, come un’ Huomo impiegato in tante, e sì riguardevoli occupazioni, ogni mattina udisse divotamente la Messa, ogni giorno visitasse il Santissimo Sacramento, & ogni sera recitasse la Corona della Madonna Santissima, & in ginocchi l’Uffizio di lei, e li sette Salmi Penitenziali, costume ch’egli tenne costantissimo sino alla morte. Quando poi si vidde a lei più prossimo, ad altro che a questo passaggio non pensava, e di altro non ragionava, e ciò, non con displicenza, & horrore, cosa solita de’ vecchj, mà con costanza di animo impareggiabile, e con servirsi della sua memoria per preparamento a ben farla. A tale effetto haveva continue conferenze col P. Francesco Marchese Prete dell’Oratorio di S. Filippo Neri nella Chiesa Nuova di Roma, figlio di Beatrice Bernini sua sorella, Soggetto Venerabile per bontà di vita, e riguardevole per dottrina, di cui si prevalse il Cavaliere, acciò assister dovesse alla sua morte: E perche ei diceva, che Quel passo a tutti era difficile, perche a tutti giungeva nuovo, perciò si figuarava spesse volte di morire, per poter con guesto finto esercizio assuefarsi, e disporsi al combattimento del vero. Et in questo stato voleva, che il P. Marchese gli suggerisse tutti quegli atti soliti a proporsi, a chi stà in passaggio, & egli col farli si veniva, come preparando, a quel gran punto. Suppondendo poi, che gli dovesse, conforme è solito, mancar la parola in quel estremità di vita, e poi ridursi nell’angustie che pruova, chi non puol’esser inteso, concertò con lui un modo particolare, con cui anche senza parlare in quell’hora potesse essere inteso. Con sì fatte diligenze, con animo del tutto confermato giunse finalmente al cimento.

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Habbiamo di sopra già detto, quanto debilitato rimanesse di forze, & agitato ancora nel rimanente del Corpo per l’intrapresa ristaurazione del Palazzo della Cancellaria. Onde infermò finalmente di lenta febre, a cui sopravvenne in ultimo un’accidente di apoplesia, che lo tolse di vita. In tutto il corso del male, che durò quindici giorni, volle, che a piedi del letto si alzasse come un’Altare, & in esso fece esporre il Quadro rappresentante il Sangue di Giesù Christo: E quali fossero i suoi colloquii, ch’ei faceva hora col P. Marchese, hora con altri Religiosi, che assistevano, sopra l’efficacia di quel preziossimo Sangue, e la fiducia, ch’ei vi haveva, possono più tosto congetturarsi, che riferirsi. Poiche non vi era alcuno degli Astanti, a cui non iscaturissero le lagrime in udire, con quanta sodezza di sentimenti parlasse allora quell’Huomo, a cui nè l’età nè’l male, gravi ambedue, e potenti nemici, havevano potuto offuscargli quella chiarezza d’intelletto, che sempre in lui si mantenne uguale, e grande fin’all’ultimo respiro di sua vita. i Accortosi, che non poteva più muovere il braccio destro per l’accidente accennato di apoplesia, E ben ragione, disse, che anche avanti la morte riposi alquanto quella mano, che in vita hà tanto lavorato. Al Cardinal Azzolini, che volle più volte honorarlo della sua presenza in que’ giorni, disse una sera, che Pregasse in suo nome la Maestà della Regina a far un’atto di amor di Dio per lui, perche ei credeva, che quella gran Signora havesse un linguaggio particolare con il Signore Dio per essere bene intesa, mentre Iddio haveva con lei usato un linguaggio, che essa sola era stata capace d’intenderlo. Fece la parte il Cardinale, e ricevè dalla Regina il seguente Viglietto: Io vi prego di dire al Sig. Cavalier Bernino da mia parte, che gli prometto di fare tutti i miei sforzi per far quel che desidera da me, a condizione, ch’egli mi prometta di pregar Dio per me, e per voi, a concerderci la grazia di un perfetto amor suo, affinche Noi possiam trovarci un giorno tutti insieme con la gioja d’amore, e goder Dio in eterno. E ditegli, che io già l’hò servito al meglio che hò potuto, e che continuerò. In tanto la sua Casa era un continuo flusso, e riflusso de’ più cospicui Personaggi di Roma, che ò venivano, ò mandavano con attestazione altrettanto distinta dall’uso comune di convenienza, quanto distinta, e particolare era in ciascuno la stima, & il rammarico di perdere un sì grand’Huomo. Mancògli finalmente la parolà, e perche si sentiva fuor di modo angustiato dal catarro, accennò al Cavalier Mattia de Rossi, e a Gio: Battista Contini, che unitamente con Giulio Cartarè tutti suoi Allievi si ritrovarono sempre presenti al suo letto, quasi maravigliandosi, come ad essi sovvenir modo non potesse di cavargli il catarro dal petto, e colla sinistra mano sforzavasi di rap-

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presentargli un’Istromento attissimo a tirar pesi eccedenti. Come, ch’eì avanti la sua malattia haveva concertato il modo col P. Marchese di essere inteso senza parlare, stupore in tutti fù, come ben da lui si facesse intendere col moto solo della sinistra mano, e degli occhj: Segno manifesto di quella gran vivacità di sentimenti, quali nè pure allora mostravan di cedere, benche mancasse la vita. Due hore avanti di passare diede la benedizione a tutti li suoi figliuoli, che lasciò in numero, come si disse, di quattro Maschi, e cinque Femmine, e finalmente ricevuta quella del Pontefice, che per un suo Cameriere mandògli, nell’entrare del ventottesimo giorno di Novembre, dell’anno 1680, & ottantesimo secondo di sua vita, spirò: E morì da quel grand’Huomo ch’ei visse, lasciando in dubbio, se più ammirabile nelle operazioni fosse stata la sua vita, ò commendabile nella divozione la sua morte. In Testamento lasciò al Papa un bellissimo Quadro di mano di Gio: Battista Gaulli rappresentante il Salvadore, sua ultima opera in Marmo, alla Regina il Salvadore medesimo di sua mano, al Cardinal’Altieri il Ritratto di Clemente X., al Cardinal’Azzolini quello d’Innocenzo X., & al Cardinal Giacomo Rospigliosi un Quadro pure di sua mano, non havendo in Casa altra cosa di marmo, oltre alla Verità, che lasciò con perpetuo fidecommisso alla sua Discendenza. Fù universale il cordiglio per la perdita di quest’Huomo nella Città di Roma, che si riconosceva di tanta Maestà accresciuta dalle sue indefesse fatiche, e siccome la sua vita, così ancora la morte fù Soggetto all’Accademie di molti ingegnosi componimenti. Il seguente giorno coll’occasione, che mandò il Papa a regalar la Regina, richiese questa al Cameriere di Sua Santità, Che si dicesse dello stato lasciato del Cavalier Bernino? e rispostogli, che Di quattrocento mila scudi in circa, essa soggiunse, Io mi vergognarei, s’egli havesse servito mi, & havesse lasciato così poco. Il suo corpo con pompa fù esposto nella Basilica di S. Maria Maggiore, con funerale, distribuzione di cera, & elemosine a Poveri: E fù tanto il concorso della gente, che convenne differirne per il seguente giorno la sepoltura. Haveva già egli preparata questa a sè, & a i suoi nella medesima Chiesa, onde in essa fù posto dentro Cassa di piombo, con iscrizione dinotate il nome, & il giorno della sua morte.

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Afterthoughts on ‘Bernini’s Death’

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N my essay on Bernini’s death (The Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 159–86) I published what I take to be Bernini’s last and long lost sculpture, the bust of the Savior in the Chrysler Museum, Norfolk, Virginia (Figs. 1, 3, 5, 7, 9). Following the appearance of that article, Professor Eric Van Schaack of Goucher College signaled to me the existence, in the Cathedral at Sées (Orne) in Normandy, of what can almost certainly be identified as the lost copy of the Savior mentioned in a contemporary source (Figs. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10). Professor Van Schaack generously allowed me to publish this important discovery, which I present here together with some additional material that has come to my attention. The copy was commissioned by the artist’s friend Pierre Cureau de la Chambre (1640–1693).1 Cureau, who was abbé of the royal palace church of Saint-Barthélemy in Paris, had met Bernini during the latter’s visit to that city in 1665.2 He accompanied Bernini on his return trip to Rome, and remained there a year, during which time he saw the artist frequently. Thereafter, their friendship continued in an exchange of letters that lasted

Cf. Lavin, ‘Bernini’s Death,’ 171. Cureau is mentioned in Chantelou’s journal of Bernini’s stay in Paris, during which he visited Saint-Barthélemy (P. F. de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne, Paris, 1885, 120, 245, 256, 258). On Cureau and Bernini, cf. J. Vanuxem, ‘Quelques témoignages français sur le Bernin et son art au XVIIe siècle en France: l’abbé de la Chambre,’ Journées internationales d’étude du Baroque. Acts. Montauban. 1963, Toulouse, 1965, 153–67. 1 2

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throughout the remaining fifteen years of the artist’s life.3 In February, 1681, as soon as the news of Bernini’s death reached Paris,4 Cureau published in the Journal des Sçavans an Eloge de M. le Cavalier Bernin in which he mentions the bust, adding that ‘on verra bien-tost une belle Copie a saint Barthelemy.’5 Cureau planned to write a biography of Bernini, of which the Preface was delivered as an address to the Academy on January 3, 1685, and was published separately along with a reprint of the Eloge.6 In the reference to the bust here, he notes that ‘nous avons icy une belle copie.’7 Cureau in the end kept the sculpture not at Saint-Barthélemy but in his home, where he also had other works by Bernini, including a self-portrait (cf. Fig. 12) and a bust of Cureau’s father.8 Nothing more is known of Cureau’s copy, although two points concerning the phraseology of his remarks are worth making. The first is that the copy was clearly begun while Bernini was still alive, since Cureau says that he wrote his Eloge immediately upon receipt of the news of the artist’s death, at which time the copy was nearly finished.

Cureau himself described his relation with Bernini as follows: ‘J’ay eu l’avantage d’accompagner Monsieur le Cavalier Bernin, quand il s’en retourna de Paris en Italie. Je le pratiquay pendant un an à Rome, où je le voyais familierement & à toute heure. J’ay depuis cultivé son amitié par un commerce reglé de lettres l’espace de quinze années, & jusqu’à sa mort,’ Préface pur servir a l’histoire de Ia vie et des ouvrages du cavalier Bernin (Bibl. Nationale, Paris, K. 4280), n.d., n.p., but 1685 (see note 6 below). 4 ‘Eloge . . . que je lis pour me consoler de sa perte à la premiere nouvelle qui nous vint de sa mort’ (Bernini died November 28, 1680), (Préface, 15). 5 Journal des Sçavans, February 24, 1681, 61. 6 Cited in note 3 above. For the date, see P. Bayle, Nouvelles de la république des lettres, January, 1685, in Œuvres diverses, 4 vols., The Hague, 1727–31, I, 201 f; also 362 f. 7 Page 24. 8 This emerges from a passage in C. Le Maire, Paris ancien et nouveau, 3 vols., Paris, 1685, I, 302–03: ‘La Maison où demeure Monsieur L’Abbé de la Chambre de l’Academie Françoise, est entre l’Hostel de Conty, & le College des quatre Nations . . . l’on trouve chez luy ce qu’il y a de plus rare à voir: entr’autres trois Busts en Marbre faits par le Chevalier Bernin. Le premier est le Bust du Chevalier Bernin mesme, fait à Rome peu de temps avant sa mort. Le second est un Bust du Christ; & l’autre est de Monsieur de la Chambre Père . . . & des modeles en Cire de quelques Statuës de Bernin . . .’ Cureau mentions the self-portrait in his Eloge of 1681: ‘. . . un buste de luy nouvellement arrivé icy, qui est parlant & comparable à tout ce qu’il y a de plus precieux & de plus achevé en ce genre-là’ (p. 62; it is presumably that which appears in the engraved vignette to Cureau’s Préface, by S. Leclerc [Fig. 12]). Cf. Vanuxem, ‘Quelques témoignages’ (cited in note 2 above), 160, 162, 163 and Fig. 18. 3

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Furthermore, there is nothing to prove that the copy was made in Italy and shipped to Paris, as has been assumed.9 Neither the authorship nor the provenance of the bust in Sées is recorded.10 As far as I can discover it appears only in the local literature on the Cathedral, where it is attributed vaguely to Caffieri and said to have been acquired by J.-B. Du Plessis d’Argentré (1720–1805).11 D’Argentré, who had been preceptor to the grandsons of Louis XIV, was bishop of Sées from 1775 until the Revolution; he was responsible for extensive alterations and embellishments to the Cathedral.12 Let it be said at once that the Sées sculpture is effectively excluded as a candidate for the original by its size. Bernini’s Savior was recorded in an inventory of 1713 as being 103 cm. high (‘alto palmi di passetto 4 e due terzi’). The Norfolk bust is 93 cm. (92 cm. wide), that in Sées 74 cm. high (67 cm. wide).13 Anyone familiar with inventories of the period will realize that the former is a negligible discrepancy, whereas the latter is not. The work is of fine quality, with neither the awkward proportions and strained pose, nor the uneven handling of the Norfolk sculpture. The surfaces of skin and drapery are polished to a uniform luster and the hair and beard are treated as a regular system of striated masses, in contrast to the lacy drill work and sharp penetrations of the marble that form the locks of the Norfolk head. Consistent with these differences are the facts that the large fold of drapery at the center is attached to the back of the right hand, and that marble struts join the fingers; in the Norfolk bust all these forms are carved free. In sum, the Sées sculpture is careful and unadventuresome 9 This assumption evidently originated in a misleading phrase of S. S. Ludovici (‘una copia della statua era pervenuta in Francia’), who first called attention to the passage in Cureau’s Eloge in the Journal des Sçavans (ed. of F. Baldinucci, Vita di Gianlorenzo Bernini, Milan, 1948, 259). 10 I am greatly indebted to the Curé Flament, archivist of the Cathedral, who searched, in vain, for documentation concerning the bust, and provided the references given in the following note. 11 First mentioned in L. de la Sicotiere, Notice sur la cathédrale de Sées, Alençon, 1844, 22: ‘sur le mur du pourtoire du choeur, on a placé depuis peu d’années, un buste du Christ en marbrc blanc, d’un beau travail; il vient, croyons-nous, de l’ancienne salle capitulaire’; Abbé Dumaine, ‘Buste en marbre dans la cathédrale. XVIIIe siècle,’ Bulletin des amis des monuments ornais, III, 1903, 25 f: ‘. . . attribué par quelques-uns à Caffieri . . . On croit que c’est Mgr. d’Argentré qui en fit l’acquisition, par occasion . . . .’ 12 On D’Argentré, cf. Dictionnaire de biographic française, Paris, 1929 ff, III, cols. 576 ff. 13 A large section at the left elbow has been broken off and reattached; condition otherwise excellent.

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

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2. Copy after Bernini, Bust of the Savior. Sées, Cathedral (photo: Piels, Sées).

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

4. Copy after Bernini, Bust of the Savior (detail). Sées, Cathedral (photo: Piels, Sées).

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

6. Copy after Bernini, Bust of the Savior (detail). Sées, Cathedral (photo: Piels, Sées).

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

8. Copy after Bernini, Bust of the Savior (detail). Sées, Cathedral (photo: Piels, Sées).

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

10. Copy after Bernini, Bust of the Savior (detail). Sées, Cathedral (photo: Piels, Sées).

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11. Gianlornzo Bernini, Study of the Bust of the Savior, drawing, 171 x 254mm, Rome, Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe.

12. S. Leclerc, Frontispiece to P. Cureau de la Chambre, Preface . . . (1685), engraving.

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— exactly what one would expect from an able copyist; that in Norfolk is bold and challenging — exactly what one would expect from the aged Bernini. In view of these considerations the Sées bust acquires an altogether unexpected interest, since it is in many respects closer to the autograph Corsini drawing (Fig. 11) than the Norfolk piece. The palm of the right hand is not turned outward in an ambiguous gesture of abhorrence and protection, but has the straightforward suggestion of benediction implied in the drawing. The head and glance are not upward, but the head looks directly to the side; the arrangement of hair and beard generally corresponds more accurately with the drawing. To be sure, there are certain details in which the Norfolk bust is closer: the locks falling on the right shoulder from fluffy, clockwise spirals, whereas at Sées they turn back in tight, counterclockwise curls; the silhouette of the drapery at the Norfolk figure’s left is also more like that in the sketch. Nevertheless, the Sées sculpture evidently represents the conception shown in the Corsini drawing, whereas that in Norfolk is a further development. There is a simple and obvious explanation for this remarkable state of affairs, the clue to which is provided by the inscription on the drawing. The inscription — ‘chez S. A. M. le Duc de Bracciano’ — refers to the bust and indicates that it belongs to the Duke of Bracciano (Livio Odescalchi, who inherited the work from Innocent XI, became Duke of Bracciano in 1696). The inscription is in French, whence it is apparent that the drawing was then in a French collection.14 In fact, Cardinal Neri Maria Corsini (1685–1770), the great amateur and founder of the Corsini Collection, spent years in Paris as minister of Grand Duke Cosimo III, and made many acquisitions there.15 In all probability, Cureau’s copy was made not from the original, but from the drawing now in the Corsini Collection. Bernini himself must have sent the sketch to his friend, before his own work was finally 14 There was a French librarian of the Corsini in the early eighteenth century, J. D. d’Inguimbert (1683–1757), native and subsequently Bishop of Carpentras (O. Pinto, Storia della biblioteca corsiniana e della biblioteca dell’Accademia dei Lincei, Florence, 1956, 22, 25, 40 f ); but he wrote and published many works in Italian, and his handwriting was completely different from that of the inscription (R. Caillet, Un prelat bibliophile et philanthropique. Monseigneur D’Inguimbert. Archevêqiue-évèque de Carpentras. 1638–1757, Audin, 1952, 101 ff, ill. opp. p. 80). 15 Pinto, Storia, 24 (cited in the preceding note); cf. F. Cerroti, Memorie per servire alla storia dell’incisione compilate nella descrizione e dichiarazione delle stampe che trovansi nella biblioteca corsiniana, I, Rome, 1858, preface.

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carved.16 The inscription was added to the drawing while it was still in France. If this hypothesis is correct, the situation perhaps has an analogy in another work commissioned by Cureau in Paris, reputedly after a design provided by Bernini. This is the virtually unknown tomb of Cureau’s father Marin Cureau de la Chambre (1635–1669), physician to Louis XIV, in Saint-Eustache at Paris (Fig. 13).17 Immortality is represented holding a medallion portrait of the deceased.18 The Cureau tomb was executed by the Frenchified Roman sculptor Jean-Baptiste Tuby (1635–1700); there are some similarities, in the treatment of the drapery of the allegory and the hair of the portrait, which suggest that Tuby might also have made the Sées bust. Above all, I would emphasize the confirmatory evidence the Sées sculpture provides for the conceptual development between the Corsini drawing and the version in Norfolk. While the unprecedented allusion within the Salvator Mundi theme to Christ as intercessor was included from the outset, the horizontal glance and declamatory gesture of the Sées bust are distinctly extroverted; one modern observer understandably described the figure as ‘teaching.’19 The upward glance and reversed turn of the hand in the Norfolk sculpture, by contrast, introduce a note of visionary withdrawal and exaltation. I can think of no clearer insight into the tendency of Bernini’s mind as he approached the end. * * * 16 Brauer and Wittkower had suggested, and I doubted (‘Bernini’s Death,’ 172, n. 49), that the head on the Corsini drawing was a later addition copied from the final work. Perhaps the solution is that the head was added, to show Cureau how it would be. 17 The work was long at Versailles, but has recently been returned to Saint-Eustache. According to another tradition, explicitly denied by M. Piganiol de la Force (Description de Paris, 8 vols., Paris, 1742, III, 7), the design was by Le Brun (H. Jouin, Charles Le Brun et les arts sous Louis XIV, Paris, 1889, 253 f, 615 f ). Cf. also E.-T. Hamy, ‘Note sur un médaillon de J.-B. Tuby représentant le portrait de M. Cureau de la Chambre, démonstrateur au Jardin Royal (1635–1669),’ Bulletin au Muséum d’histoire naturelle, I, 1895, 229–32; E. Soulié, Notice du musée national de Versailles, 3 vols., Paris, 1880–81, II, 67. On Cureau father and son, see R. Kerviler, Marin et Pierre Cureau de la Chambre (1593–1693), Le Mans, 1887, esp. 101, 118 f, 124 ff. On Cureau’s artistic relations generally, cf. Kerviler, 127 f; he commissioned Puget’s relief of St. Charles Borromeo at the Plague, in Marseilles (K. Herding, Pierre Puget, Berlin, 1970, 198 f ). 18 On the tomb type, see R. Wittkower, Art and Architecture in Italy 1600 to 1750, Harmondsworth, 1965, 294 f. 19 R. Gobillot, La cathédrale de Sées, Paris, 1937, 87.

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On the attitude toward death in the period generally, a valuable contribution will be found in M. Costanzo, Il ‘Gran teatro’ del mondo, Milan, 1964, 47 ff, Pt. II, ‘Mors victa.’ In discussing Bernini’s drawing in Leipzig of the intercession of Christ and the Virgin20 I overlooked two important contributions to the early development of the theme, the study by M. Meiss, ‘An Early Altarpiece from the Cathedral of Florence,’ Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, n.s., XII, 1954, 302–17, and the extensive list of examples given by F. Zeri, Italian Painting. A Catalogue of the Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Florentine School, New York, 1971, 58 f; some later examples are discussed in B. Knipping, De Iconographie van de Contra-reformatie in de Nederlanden, 2 vols., Hilversum, 1939–40, II, 34 ff. Concerning the group of drawings by Baciccio related to Bernini’s Sangue di Cristo composition, which B. Canestro Chiovenda, seconded by myself, associated with Baciccio’s unexecuted decoration for the vestibule of the Baptismal Chapel in Saint Peter’s,21 see now H. Macandrew, ‘II. Baciccio’s Later Drawings: A Rediscovered Group acquired by the Ashmolean Museum,’ Master Drawings, X, 1972, 253 ff. In considering the sources and meaning of the bust of Louis XIV and the pedestal Bernini intended for it, which included a terrestrial globe with the words ‘Picciola basa,’ I referred to the king’s impresa appearing on a medal of 1664.22 This showed the sun rising over a terrestrial globe with the motto ‘Nec Pluribus Impar’ (‘not unequal to many’).23 My emphasis was upon the visual analogy, but since discovering Ernst Kantorowicz’s genial study of the theme represented by Louis’s device, ‘Oriens Augusti Lever du Roi,’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers, XVII, 1963, 117–177, esp. 165 ff, it has become plain to me that Bernini’s motto, too, was an allusion to that of the king: this world is small for Louis, who is great enough to rule many. Concerning the apparent weightlessness of the bust, suspended above the globe by the wind-blown drapery, a passage in Domenico Bernini’s biography of his father documents the sculptor’s intention in this respect: ‘Gli ‘Bernini’s Death,’ 169 ff, Fig. 3. Ibid., 169, n. 32. 22 Ibid., 180, n. 68. A medal with the device bearing the date 1662 is reproduced in C.-F. Menestrier, La devise du Roi justifée, Paris, 1679, 30. 23 C. W. Faber, Symbol und Devise Ludwig’s XIV., Mülhausen, 1878 (Staedtische Gewerbeschule zu Mülhausen, Programm No. 427, Beilage). 20 21

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14. Antique base of the Colonna Claudius, restored by Orfeo Boselli. Madrid, Museo del Prado (photo: Museo del Prado).

15. 17th-century pedestal of the Colonna Claudius (detail). Madrid, Museo del Prado (photo: Museo del Prado).

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sopravvenne allora da Roma un bel concetto d’ingegnoso Poeta, che in questi pochi versi volle lodar l’Artefice, l’Effigiato, e l’Opera. Entrò’l Bernin’ in un pensier profondo Per far’ al Regio Busto un bel sostegno, E disse, non trovandone alcum degno, Piccola base a un tal Monarca è il Mondo, e il Bernino incontanente rispose con ammirazione, e lode del Rè, e della Corte: Mai mi sovvenne quel pensier profondo Per far di Rè sì grande appoggio degno: Van sarebbe il pensier, che di sostegno Non hà bisogno, chi sostiene il Mondo.’24 (‘It never entered my head to give so great a king a worthy base; the notion is vain, for he whom the world sustains needs no support.’) Jennifer Montagu of the Warburg Institute reminded me that the Colonna Claudius now in the Prado, to which I attributed a significant role in the genesis of the Louis XIV, was restored by the sculptor Orfeo Boselli (Fig. 14).25 Boselli mentions the fact in his manuscript treatise Osservationi della Scultura Antica.26 Although he does not say so, Boselli may also have

Vita del Cav. Giovan. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713, 136 f. ‘Bernini’s Death,’ 180 f. On Boselli see the excellent entry by G. Casadei in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Rome, 1960 ff, XIII, 240 f; also F. Martinelli, Roma ornata dall’architettura, pittura, e scoltura (ed. C. D’Onofrio, Roma nel Seicento, Rome, 1969, index, s.v.); A. Pugliese and S. Rigano, ‘Martino Lunghi il giovane architetto,’ in Architettura barocca a Roma (Biblioteca di storia dell’arte, VI), Rome, 1972, 180, index, s.v. 26 Bibl. Corsini, Rome, MS 36. F. 27, fol. 172r. Boselli also notes that he wrote a discourse on the significance of the work. Cf. M. Piacentini, ‘Le Osservationi della Scoltura Antica di Orfeo Boselli,’ Bollettino del Reale Istituto di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, IX, 1939, 6, n. 3; P. D. Weil, ‘Contributions towards a History of Sculpture Techniques: I. Orfeo Boselli on the Restoration of Antique Sculpture,’ Studies in Conservation, XII, 1967, 87, 97, n. 11. 24 25

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been responsible for the elaborate pedestal (Fig. 15) with eagles at the corners, relief landscapes representing cities, and phoenixes looking up toward radiant emblems of the zodiac.27

On the pedestal cf. J. Villaamil y Castro, ‘Grupo de mármol conocido por la Apotéosis de Cláudio que se conserva en el Museo Nacional de Pintura y Escultura,’ Museo Español de Antigüedades, V, 1875, 39 ff. We may add that the image of the phoenix looking toward the zodiac recalls an emblem of the eagle gazing at the sun in G. Ruscelli’s Le imprese illustri, Venice, 1566 (cf. F. A. Yates, ‘The Emblematic Conceit in Giordano Bruno’s De Gli Eroici Furori and in the Elizabethan Sonnet Sequences,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, VI, 1943, 106) which, incidentally, appears as a religious symbol on the balustrade of the altar of the Sacrament in San Giovanni in Laterano. 27

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Letter to the Editor on a Review by Howard Hibbard of Bernini and the Crossing of St. Peter’s

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OWARD Hibbard’s review of recent books on Roman Baroque architecture (The Art Bulletin, LV, March, 1973, 127–135), which included my monograph on the Crossing of Saint Peter’s, leaves an impression of the history of the baldachin that I fear may be misleading to the casual reader. He writes (pages 128 f.): ‘Bernini’s’ design, preserved in the medal of 1626, in a sense contains almost no absolutely new elements: four angels, standing on twisted columns, hold a baldachin. Over the whole are crossed ribs supporting a figure of the Risen Christ. The ribs reflect Early Christian ciborium designs. If the idea of bronze twisted columns was Maderno’s — or at least if it was an idea formulated under Paul V — and if the idea of a hanging that does not touch the columns or their cornice was also Maderno’s, not much remains apart from the topmost statue and the scale to attribute to Bernini — but of course ‘Maderno’s’ design may not have looked anything like the medal of 1626. In the project of 1626 the intimate combination of a ciborium with a permanent baldachin, apparently unprecedented, may be a reflection of the project reported by Borromini [i.e., Maderno’s]. If one tries to envisage the Maderno project now, one inevitably sees such a combination thanks to the later developments. And that is where we seem to be left.

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From all we now know of the pre-history of the baldachin, the fact remains that at least five revolutionary concepts appeared only after Bernini entered the picture. Firstly, there is not the slightest evidence that Maderno or anyone else had thought of true columns for the supports in a baldachin; execution in bronze made it possible to preserve the tradition of twisted columns in a monument of colossal scale. Secondly, the same may be said for the angels who stand on the columns and carry the canopy by ribbons (as, later, the Fathers of the Church sustain the Cathedra Petri by ribbons); they work to link the architecture to the hanging. Thirdly, the same may be said for connecting the columns by a cornice from which tasselled lappets fall, a solution that actually preceded the 1626 medal (see further below); this was also crucial to the ultimate fusion of the elements. Fourthly, the same may be said for the basic ‘point’ of the monument as a whole, which is a new species comprising an architectural ciborium, a hanging canopy and a processional baldachin; it is thus a kind of summa of the three main honorific forms. All these features — the baldachin-with-columns, the cornice-canopy, the carrying angels and the triune species — are specifically referred to Bernini in the criticisms of Agostino Ciampelli, who called his design a ‘chimera’. Fifthly, the same may be said for the idea of imitating the Early Christian form of the monument with open crossed ribs resting on spiral columns, an allusion that became fundamental to the imagery of the crossing. Because its implications are relevant to the foregoing statements, I take this opportunity to add a new piece that helps fill a large gap in the baldachin puzzle. This is a temporary ‘thalamus’ built by Orazio Torriani for the procession at Santa Maria sopra Minerva on the Feast of the Rosary (October 5) in 1625, recorded in a description and an engraving (Fig. 1).1 It was over My attention was first called to this work by the librarian at the Minerva, Benedetto Cardieri O. P. See A. Brandi, Trionfo della gloriosissima Vergine del Santissimo Rosario celebrato in Roma la prima Domenica d’Ottobre dell’ Anno Santo MDCXXV . . ., Rome, 1625, 56–58, ill. page 61 (copy in the Biblioteca Vittorio Emanuele, Rome). I quote the description in extenso: ‘Prima bisognò pensare à fabricare vn nobilissimo Talamo, che fusse come il carro trionfale, in cui doueua portarsi l’imagine della Vergine, & essendo in Roma il Sig. Oratio Torriani Architetto militare, & ciuile di S. M. Catolica, molto principale, adoperato da’Signori Cardinali, & da altri Prencipi, dal Sig. D. Carlo Barberino gli fù commesso il disegno di questo Talamo, qual fece veramente ingegnoso, curioso, & vago. Era il Talamo d’ordine Ionico, alto palmi trentadue, & mezo, & a proportione largo sedici, & haueua ne’quattro angoli quattro basi, ò piedestalli alto palmi sei, & mezo, & di sopra quattro colonne di rilieuo ritorte à foggia di quelle del Tempio di Salomone, che hoggi si vedono 1

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1. Orazio Torriani, “Thalamus” for the Feast of the Rosary, 1625, engraving (from A. Brandi, Trionfi . . ., Rome, 1625, 61).

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seven metres high and consisted of a perforated, ribbed cupola resting on spiral columns imitating those at Saint Peter’s. Angels stood on the columns and at the apex, and tasselled flaps hung from the entablature between the columns. Torriani’s design confirms the other evidence I cited to show that the cornice-canopy device, which was preserved in the final version of the baldachin, existed from the outset of planning under Urban VIII. In particular, it reflects the project for the baldachin shown in an engraving of Bernini’s decorations at Saint Peter’s for the canonization of Elizabeth of Portugal in March, 1625 (Fig. 30 in my book, and on p. 90 above). A significant difference is that whereas Torriani hung the flaps from the architrave, Bernini boldly used them in place of both architrave and frieze. With this confirmation of the priority of the cornice-canopy solution the whole development of the baldachin becomes much clearer. It may be summarized as follows. From early in Paul V’s reign, when it was decided to separate the high altar from the tomb of the apostles, models of two contrasting types had been juxtaposed so as to complement each other: a baldachin with staves over the tomb in the crossing, and a domed ciborium (incorporating the twisted columns from the mediaeval sanctuary) at the high altar in the choir. Later in Paul’s reign Maderno introduced another,

capitello, d’ordine pur Ionico alto vn palmo, & mezo con suoi festoni, & voluti tutto messo a oro, & sopra le quattro colonne recorreua vn’architraue d’altezza vn palmo, e vn quarto, nel quale erano attaccati i pendoni a vso di baldachino dipinti con rose, & api che sono l’impresa dell’ Eccellentissima fameglia Barberina, che dauano mirabil gratia a tutto il Talamo. Sopra i quattro architraui veniua alzata in luogo di cupola vna bellissima corona imperiale fatta alla grande, d’altezza di palmi otto, & mezo, con sue costole inarcate, che andauano ad vnirsi tutte insieme nella sommità. Era contornata tutta la corona di gioie, & di perle grosse vn’oncia, e meza l’vna, & le gioie erano ouate, tonde, quadre, & a ottangoli, contornate d’oro buono, & colorite di colore di smeraldi, di topazzi, carbonchi, giacinti, & diamanti, coperte di talco per renderle più lustre, che faceuano ricca, & superba mostra. Nella corona fra vna costola, & l’altra veniua posta con molto magistero vna tocca di finissimo argento fatta a gelosia, con rose incarnate, rosse, & bianche di seta, & di cambrai negli scompartimenti, & legature della mandola di detta tocca. Sopra le quattro colonne ne’quattro cantoni erano quattro Angeli di rilieuo in piedi alti palmi tre, e mezo l’vno, con le lor’ali, trauisati di tocca d’argento turchina, che teneuano da vna mano vna mappa grande di rose, & fior alla lor grandezza proportionata, dall’altra rosari, e corone. Nella sommità in mezo a detta corona, & cupola era vn’Angelo dell’istessa grandezza in atto di volare con vna mano piena di rose, & l’altra di corone, & di rosari, che parcua gli volesse gettare al popolo, & che l’inuitasse a pigliarle’. Cf. G. Mazzuchelli, Gli scrittori d’Italia, 2 Vols. in 6, Brescia, 1753–63, II, Pt. 4, 2010; G. Ricciotti, ed., Giacinto Gigli, Diario romano, Rome, 1958, 88–91.

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quite distinct tradition, that of the ceremonial cover suspended from above; at the high altar he suggested hanging a canopy above twisted columns carrying an entablature, but with no contact between them. Urban VIII then resolved finally to keep the tomb and high altar together, and gave the job to Bernini. Bernini’s first proposal (as shown in the canonization engraving) was to create a coherent monument by merging baldachin and ciborium with each other and with the Early Christian prototype. The reference to the central portion of the earliest, Constantinian shrine was ‘accurate’, and the mixed marriage of types was ‘complete’. The union was sutured by the cornice-canopy, and the result was a mysterious, hybrid creature. The next stage was that shown in the medal of 1626. This was a merger of Maderno’s project with Bernini’s initial design, motivated no doubt by the syntactical criticisms levelled at the first version. The cornice between the columns was eliminated and the canopy was suspended above the architecture; the angels now provided a logical link by standing on the former and holding up the latter. A new hybrid was created between hanging canopy and ciborium. The final version was in turn a conflation of Bernini’s 1626 solution with his original project, motivated this time by the practical objection we know was raised, that the columns might give way under the weight of the figure of Christ. The load was lightened by substituting the globe and cross, the number of ribs was increased to add support, and their shape was changed to verticalize the thrusts. But en revanche, the cornice-canopy was reintroduced to serve as ties between the columns. The contradiction in terms inherent in the motif was resolved, or rather deliberately expressed through the ambiguous task the angels now perform: they hold garlands that simply disappear between the ribs and the cornice. The monument thus became equally stable, logical and mysterious. So Bernini was able to eat Maderno’s cake and have his own too.2

2 Incidentally, this interpretation, including Bernini’s ultimate return to his earliest design, helps to explain the latest in the series of his preserved sketches for the crown of the baldachin (H. Brauer and R. Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931, Pl. 8). Here the ribs have virtually their final shape and the cornice-canopy runs between the columns. But the angels perform no task and the ribs are draped with ribbons, as in the first project.

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Calculated Sponteneity. Bernini and the Terracotta Sketch

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F all the treasures in the Fogg Museum perhaps the rarest and the richest is the series of clay preparatory sketches, or bozzetti, by the great Roman baroque sculptor Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680). Bernini was over eighty when he died and he was extremely prolific; along with a continuous stream of drawings, he must have made many hundreds of these small and fragile terracottas, of which only some forty survive. The Fogg has by far the largest and most important collection, with fifteen pieces by the Master. Since they cover nearly the whole of Bernini's creative life and include instances of multiple studies for the same project, they offer a unique opportunity to follow the generative process that yielded his famous sculptures in marble and bronze. Their main interest, however, lies not in their rarity, nor yet in the insights they provide into the sequence of Bernini's visual ideas. Rather, it is their quality as works of art that primarily commands attention, and this for one reason above all others — their astonishing freshness and spontaneity. Not only do the figures represented act with profound emotion and vivacious movement, the clay itself is worked with the fingers and modelling tools in deft touches and rapid strokes that record the artist's handiwork, literally — for he left his finger-prints everywhere — as well as figuratively. They bespeak a kind of perfervid creative energy that is virtually without parallel in the history of sculpture.1

1 The Fogg terracottas were first published by R. Norton, Bernini and Other Studies, 1914, pp. 44–49; Bernini's models were the subject of a dissertation by the writer (The Bozzetti of Gianlorenzo Bernini, 1955), who is preparing a critical corpus of these works for

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The Bernini bozzetti are part of a group of twenty-seven models purchased by the Museum in 1937 from Mrs. Edward Brandegee of Brookline, Massachusetts, whose husband had bought them in 1905 from Giovanni Piancastelli, along with a portion of Piancastelli's large collection of Italian baroque drawings.2 Piancastelli (1845–1926) was a well-known painter and collector who was then Director of the Borghese Gallery in Rome. When and where he obtained the terracottas is a mystery. The chances are that he had not owned them for long when he sold them to the Brandegees: a major exhibition of Bernini's work was held in Rome in 1899, which included a number of Piancastelli's drawings; but none of the models is mentioned in the reviews of the show, nor do any of them appear in the large biography of Bernini published by Stanislao Fraschetti in 1900. They must have surfaced not long afterwards, and very probably as a group, since it is difficult to imagine their being assembled from disparate sources in such a relatively short period. Piancastelli is known to have acquired the entire contents of artists' studios from their heirs. Perhaps they had been brought together by some previous collector, but it is tempting to suppose that those by Bernini had always been together and that they originally came from the artist's own studio. In the inventory of Bernini's possessions taken in 1681, shortly after his death, it is in fact noted that a large number of such models were found in the attic studio of the house; a second inventory taken in 1706 records that many of the models had in the meantime been destroyed, but also that a number of them had been given to the artist's favourite assistant in his later years, the sculptor Giulio Cartari.3 It seems a fair guess that Cartari's publication. Frequently discussed in the specialized Bernini literature,they are also noted in the catalogue of the standard monograph on his sculptures by R. Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, 1966. 2 Piancastelli's drawings, later reunited, are now in the Cooper-Hewitt Museum, New York. 3 'Nel d.o studio vi sono alcune quantità di teste di gesso et altre parti humane con alcuni modelli di creta' (27 January, 1681); Rome, Archivio di Stato, Not. A.C. Mazzeschus, Istrumenti, Busta 4246, fol. 501 verso. 'Nelli soffitti di sopra, in una vi è una quantità di modelli di creta della b. m. del Síg.r Cav.re . . . et altre robbe ...per la casa di poco valore, q.li robbe, cioè modelli di creta col trasportarli in altre stanze, e per il tempo di anni 25. si sono rotti . . .' (17 January, 1706); ibid., Not. A. C. Francischinus, Istrumenti, Busta 3249, fol. 78 recto. 'Nel d.o studio vi erano alcune teste di gesso, et altre parti humane con alcuni modelli di creta mezzi rotti, quali tutti per esser’ stati trasportati in guardaroba, si sono rotti, e

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collection formed at least the nucleus of that now in the Fogg; this would offer a plausible explanation for the unique character of the group — its size, its wide chronological range and its inclusion of several studies for individual projects. Although the making of models in preparation for works in sculpture might seem to be a natural, and is in fact a very ancient practice, it does not by any means enjoy a continuous history.4 Many Egyptian sculptors' models are preserved, and the use of models in classical antiquity is amply documented. In the Middle Ages, however, the practice was replaced by the method commonly described as 'direct carving', that is, the work was conceived and executed simultaneously, as it were, without advanced preparation of this sort; the creative process, born of a millennial craft tradition, was unified, internal and automatic. The sculptural model was reborn in the Renaissance, when it acquired new forms and vitality it had never had before. Its reappearance, both as an integral part of the sculptor's working procedure and as an aesthetically appreciated art object, went hand in hand with the emergence of a coherent theory of the creative process itself. In the sixteenth century elaborate treatises, notably by Vasari and Benvenuto Cellini, lay considerable stress upon successive stages in the preparation of a work, and directions for making a sequence of models are set forth in detail. From the same period, and beginning especially with Michelangelo, various model-types are preserved which correspond more or less with these prescriptions: the small, rapidly executed bozzetto; the more carefully finished intermediate study; and the full-scale model of which the final work is essentially the duplicate in a permanent material. Paradoxically, therefore, the record of the artist's spontaneous creative activity emerged as the creative process itself became more discrete, external and deliberate. While obviously rooted in this heritage, Bernini's models differ from those of his predecessors in a variety of ways. One of these is in their number. Even the most stringent count leaves far more extant by him than by spezzati, e non vi sono piu, e qualche portione ne fu donato al Sig.r Giulio Cardare allievo del Sig.r Cav.re per esser cose di poco rilievo'; ibid., fol. 67 recto (published by S. Fraschetti, Il Bernini, 1900, p. 431 n.). 4 For what follows see the writer's essay, ‘Bozetti and Modelli. Notes on Sculptural Procedure from the Early Renaissance through Bernini', in Akten des 21. internationalen Kongresses für Kunstgeschichte (1964), 1967, pp. 93–104 The Standard collection of sixteenth–eighteenth century examples is that of A. E. Brinckmann, Barock-Bozetti, 4 vols. 1923–25. For a general Survey of the history of sculptural procedure, see recently R. Wittkower, Sculpture, Processes and Principles, 1977.

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any previous sculptor; and to judge from the report of a contemporary witness who was astonished to see in Bernini's studio no fewer than twentytwo small models for the figure of St. Longinus (the one now in the Fogg, the only one preserved, may have been among them),5 there can be little doubt that he actually produced many more such studies than had been customary. Other notable features of Bernini's preparatory sculptures concern their physical character, that is, their relative scale, material and degree of finish. Except under certain special conditions largely external to the imaginative process — when a try-out of the projected work was called for, when it was to be submitted to a patron, when it was to serve as a prototype for execution by assistants or when it was to be cast in bronze — Bernini seems to have largely foregone the earlier system of bringing the work to completion through stages of increasing scale and precision. To an unprecedented degree, the small, rapidly executed terracotta sketch was his characteristic instrument of creation in three dimensions. His preference for clay, which may be worked rapidly but soon dries out, also contrasts with the frequent earlier use of wax, which remains soft but must be laboriously modelled. There are concomitant differences in technique from prior tradition. Earlier models were generally built up by adding material and working with the fingers, modelling tools being used to help achieve a relatively uniform surface. Bernini continued to work partly in this way, but mainly he gouged, scraped, poked and clawed away from a mound of clay, as if it were a block of stone that had somehow become malleable, creating infinitely more varied effects. Bernini's bozzetti are also novel in that they are normally worked only from one side. Heretofore, the sculptor's model was almost always executed 'in-the-round', with the back as fully developed as the front. The final works for which they were made were conceived to be seen from all sides; indeed, one of the great achievements of the sixteenth century was precisely this kind of sculptural self-sufficiency. By contrast, Bernini's sculptures have a dominant viewpoint, and he tended to leave the backs of his models rough, sometimes finishing them off into a smooth pillar of clay that sufficed to buttress the figure.

5 Cf. J. von Sandrart, Teutsche Academie, Nürnberg, 1675, ed. A. Peltzer, 1925, p. 286 Sandrart notes that other sculptors made only one or two models. He mentions that 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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The sum of all these innovations is again paradoxical. On the one hand it is clear that Bernini greatly increased the absolute quantity of preparation for a work in sculpture, in the specific sense of trying out — and rejecting — ideas in three dimensions. On the other, it is also evident that he did all he could to 'streamline' the creative mechanism, reducing every aspect of conception and manufacture to the barest minimum. His goal in this twofold method can only be understood from the relation of the models to the finished products. Among the earliest and most important of the Fogg terracottas is that for the colossal marble figure of St. Longinus which the artist made in the 1630s and '40s for one of the niches in the piers that support the dome of St. Peter's in Rome (Fig. 1). The model documents the birth of one of Bernini's most revolutionary conceptions — a figure with both arms outstretched, and therefore in utter defiance of the self-contained silhouette and closed form that had been conventional for the monumental standing figure in marble. The work alludes to the Roman centurion's sudden conversion at the moment when he pierced the side of Christ on the Cross with his lance. The event itself is not represented, however; instead, Bernini created an ideal moment of self-realization in the crucifixion, to which the saint bore double witness, as it were, through his actual participation and ultimately through his own martyrdom. The shield and helmet at Longinus's feet refer to his subsequent rejection of his violent worldly profession in favour of the religious life of peace. The pose not only imitates the crucifixion, but everything in the composition strains upward in great, sweeping diagonals toward the cross that was placed atop the baldachino over the high altar. Technically the study is unusual among those remaining by Bernini. It is 52.7 cm. high, rather larger in scale than the very small sketches, which average around 30 cm., it is smoothly finished and gilt, with the texture of the armour carefully indicated by little pin-pricks; and it is hollowed at the back for firing (the others must have been lightly baked, but would have cracked under very high temperatures). All this indicates that the model had a special purpose; perhaps Bernini used it to demonstrate his novel idea for the figure to the governing body of the works at St. Peter's. Another unusual model type is represented by the life-size (35.7 cm. high) head of a bearded old man, which is a study for the marble figure of St. Jerome Bernini executed during 1661–63 for the chapel of Pope Alexander VII in the cathedral of Siena (Fig. 2). The lowered eyelids and open mouth express the saint's utter devotion to the small crucifix he holds close to his

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1. St. Longinus, 1630–31. Terracotta, height 52.7 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.51.

381

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2. Head of St. Jerome, c. 1661. Terracotta, height 35.7 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum 1937.77.

4. Angel with the Inscription, 1667–68. Terracotta, height 28.3 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.69.

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3. Angel with the Crown of Thorns, 1668–69. Marble, over life-size. Church of Sant’Andrea delle Fratte, Rome.

383

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5. Angel with the Inscription, 1667–68. Terracotta, height 29.2 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.67.

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6. Angel with the Crown of Thorns, 1667–68. Terracotta, height 33.7 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.58.

385

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7. Angel with the Crown of Thorns, 1667–68. Terracotta, height 44.5 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.57.

8. Angel for the Sacrament Altar, 1673. Terracotta, height 29.2 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.66.

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9. Angel for the Sacrament Altar, 1673. Terracotta, height 29 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.62.

10. Angel for the Sacrament Altar, 1673. Terracotta, height 28.5 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.64.

387

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11. Angel for the Sacrament Altar, 1673. Terracotta, height 34 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.63.

12. Angel for the Sacrament Altar, 1673. Terracotta, height 34 cm. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, 1937.63.

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cheek in the final work. From a technical standpoint it is one of the richest of all the studies, displaying in a kind of close-up view the subtly modulated shapes and myriad textures Bernini achieved with his fingers and tools of different sorts — not only the forms themselves but also highlights and shadows, even the tonal values of colours. This is especially evident in his use of the toothed rasp: fine parallel lines evoke the feel and sheen of hair in the beard, eyebrows, etc., as well as the reddening of the skin at the cheek-bone; a stroke of a coarser rasp gives life to the depression at the left temple. Bernini was acutely aware of the inherent colourlessness of sculpture and emphasized, particularly in the matter of portraits, that it was often necessary to distort natural form in order to render the effect of a change in hue. The Fogg terracotta is not a portrait, but the relationship is pertinent since, so far as we know, it was only in preparing for portrait busts that Bernini modelled separate studies of the head from life. The work belongs in another context, as well. Artists' studios at this period were filled with sculptural fragments of the human anatomy such as hands, feet and heads; but mostly these were pieces or casts from earlier sculptures, usually antiques, which served as reminders and as examples to be copied by aspiring apprentices. The Fogg model is the earliest monumental study-head that has come down to us, and as such it anticipates the deliberately fragmentary portraits of Rodin. The chief pride of the collection are the two series of studies for angels, one standing, the other kneeling. The four standing figures form part of Bernini's personal contribution to a project of the late 1660s in which, under his general supervision the balustrades of a bridge across the Tiber leading to the Holy City were decorated with ten over life-size statues in marble of angels carrying the instruments of the Passion. Bernini's basic conceit was to represent the figures as if they had just alighted from the blue sky against which they are seen, bearing their mementos of Christ's sufferings. Bernini initially executed two angels, those carrying the inscription on the cross and the crown of thorns; they were regarded as too fine to be installed on the bridge and are now to be seen in the church of Sant' Andrea della Fratte (Fig. 3). An assistant's copy of the angel with the crown was installed on the bridge, along with a second version of the angel with the inscription by Bernini himself. The Fogg possesses two models for the first version of the angel with the inscription (Figs. 4, 5) and two for the angel with the crown (Figs. 6 and 7),6 while several more are preserved in other One of the Fogg bozetti (1937.68), sometimes identified with the angel with the crown, is actually a study by Bernini for the angel with the scourge, which was executed by another sculptor. 6

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collections. The studies of these ethereal figures swathed in weightless draperies document in extraordinary detail Bernini's development of a complex counterpoint of forms and emotions to suggest the cruel irony of the mock-regal insignia imposed on the King of Kings. The pose of the angel with the inscription was established at the outset and remained essentially unchanged. The main evolution in this figure took place in the treatment of the drapery, which initially fell in long undulating curves but became more voluminous, more deeply undercut and more complicated. This difference has its counter-part in the handling of the material; in the earlier of the two bozzetti a narrow scoop was used to gash deep furrows with sharp, linear edges, while in that which followed the folds are rounder and more softly modelled. The nude study of the angel with the crown represents an early stage in the planning, where Bernini conceived of the two figures almost as mirror images. Ever since the Renaissance it had been common practice for artists to study in the nude the disposition of figures intended eventually to be draped. For the most part, however, such studies were fleeting sketches which served to establish the action of the figure, rather than the physique itself. Bernini's terracotta, instead, is a highly developed and delicately finished essay on the male nude — in which there is a subtle consonance between soft, ephebic flesh and a twisting, unstable pose.(The even, slightly granular surface was produced by brushing on a thin coat of watered clay.) Subsequently, the pose shifts, so that while the upper parts of the bodies and the draperies at the legs remain mirror images, the stances of the figures become parallel. The proportions become lither and more angular and, while the drapery retains a strong linear component, the swinging movement of the nude acquires a distinct forward thrust. The figure now strides toward the spectator in order to display his emblem; in comparison the angel with the inscription seems retiring. By their complementary but contrasting natures these twin invaders from another world characterize the messages they bear — the aggressiveness of the one expressing the physical pain of the crown of thorns, the inward withdrawal of the other, the moral and intellectual wound inflicted by the taunting inscription. The Fogg's series of five kneeling angels preserves successive steps in the development of one of Bernini's last major undertakings (1673–74), an altar for St. Peter's surmounted by bronze figures with a container to honour the Holy Sacrament. Such altars had a long tradition, which included as a kind of reliquary for the Host, an architectural tabernacle

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alluding to the sepulchre of Christ and adoring angels. Since the Reformation the motif had become a veritable triumph of the Eucharist, with the angels shown carrying the tabernacle aloft in exaltation. Bernini's first project, for which there are two bozzetti (Fig. 8), was based on this idea. The angels were to half-kneel on the altar, one hand holding a candlestick, the other lifting a round tempietto, its dome topped by a cross signifying the dominion of the Church. The open gestures, the transitory poses and the sweeping masses of loosely modelled drapery, present the mystery of the Eucharist as a momentary action, a miraculous elevation of the Host. In the final work, for which there are three bozzetti (Figs. 9, 10 and 11), a radical transformation took place.The tabernacle rests directly on the altar and the cross is replaced by a figure of Christ rising from His tomb, an explicit reference to the Holy Sepulchre. The angels now crouch on both knees and once again adore the Sacrament, although in distinctive ways. One, completely self-absorbed, inclines his head inward and down toward the altar, hands joined together in prayer; the other looks out toward the approaching worshipper while pressing his crossed hands to his breast in supplication. The arrangement is thus no longer transitory and visionary but stable and devotional. These changes from the first project signify a fundamental shift in emphasis, from the triumph of the Eucharist to a much older theme that was revived with new urgency in the CounterReformation, that of the real and abiding presence of the body of Christ in the Host. A related alteration occurs in the treatment of the angels' draperies. These no longer reflect a mechanical action, but seem to envelop the bodies with streaks and flashes of pure energy — the power of faith. Especially in the second study for the praying angel (Fig. 10), the forms seem dissolved by a pattern of striations on the surface and jagged scoops in depth; yet each craggy and seemingly chaotic shape appears in the final work as a lucid fold of material. The feverish excitement conveyed by these late terracottas is the more to be wondered at because one of them bears the traces of an unprecedented method of control that helped ensure accurate transfer of the qualities of the study to the final work: at the side of the base of the angel with crossed hands is a series of parallel incisions marking equal intervals (Fig. 12). Bernini was apparently the first sculptor to provide his models with such measured scales to serve in the system of proportional enlargement. He left nothing to chance. Indeed, Bernini's finished sculptures seem so inspired and unpremeditated that one grasps the paradox of

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his painstaking yet efficient procedure.Through it he succeeded in all but eliminating the difference between bozzetto and final execution.

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On the Pedestal of Bernini’s Bust of the Savior

I

N an essay on Bernini’s death and the art he made in preparation for it, I stressed the significance of the monumental support he designed for his last work, the great marble bust of the Savior, now in the Chrysler Museum at Norfolk, Virginia.1 The pedestal is described in an early inventory as consisting of a socle surmounted by two kneeling angels who held in their hands a base of Sicilian jasper, on which the bust itself rested. The socle and angels, made of gilt wood, were nearly two meters high, the jasper base was 28 cm. high and 50 cm. wide at the bottom, and the bust is 93 cm. high, for a total of more than three meters. In a footnote I expressed puzzlement as to how the weight of an over lifesize marble bust was sustained in the hands of wooden angels. I recently obtained a photograph of a splendid black chalk drawing in the Bernini codex in the Museum der bildenden Künste (Fig. 2), which is clearly an autograph study for the pair of kneeling angels and was no doubt executed in conjunction with the famous sketch for the bust in the Gabinetto delle Stampe in Rome (Fig.1).2 Although we still have no direct

1 ‘Bernini's Death,’ Art Bulletin, LIV, 1972, 158–86, cf. 171 ff; also, ‘Afterthoughts on “Bernini's Death,” ’ ibid., LV, 1973, 429–436. 2 151 x 188 mm. I am indebted for their kindness to Prof. Dr. Ernst Ullmann of Leipzig University, to Prof. Dr. Gerhard Winkler, Director of the Leipzig Museum, and to KarlHeinz Mehnert, Curator of the drawing collection. The drawing is noted, without identification and as a workshop piece, in H. Brauer and R. Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931, 172, n. 2. The Rome drawing measures 171 x 254 mm. The sketches are reproduced here in proportion to their actual sizes.

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1. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for the Bust of the Savior, drawing. Rome, Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe. 2. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Study for the upper part of the pedestal of the Bust of the Savior, drawing. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste.

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evidence for the lowermost part of the design, the Leipzig sketch makes several important contributions to our understanding of Bernini’s conception. The problem of supporting the sculpture was resolved by an ingenious use of drapery, which envelops the angels’ arms and hands and falls in loose vertical folds to the socle below. The device should not be thought of simply as a deception; rather, in classic Berninesque fashion it makes a virtue of necessity, incorporating the ancient tradition of covering the hands of those who touch sacred things.3 In this case the material seems to come from the shoulders and may have a liturgical, specifically Eucharistic import: the humeral veil worn during Mass by the subdeacon, who uses it to hold the paten on which the Host rests, and by the celebrant to carry the monstrance in the procession of Corpus Christi and in giving benediction with the Holy Sacrament.4 The top of the socle may have been stepped, as in certain comparable projects of the late period,5 but the sketch suggests that its upper surface was roughly domical; if so, it presumably referred to Mount Calvary, above which the image of the Savior is borne in triumph. This, too, has resonance in other works of Bernini, notably the equestrian statue of Louis XIV, which was shown at the summit of the rocky peak of Herculean virtue .6 The reference to the Crucifixion was echoed in the half-hidden gesture of Christ’s left hand, which alludes to the wound from the lance of Saint Longinus. The base held by the angels was evidently polygonal, rather than round or square or oblong.7 This design, unique among Bernini’s busts, serves to differentiate the portrait of Christ from those of ordinary men, and recalls the fact that the regular polygon was one of the shapes he considered most perfect.8 Finally, extrapolating to the drawing the dimensions given for the base, one deduces that the angels and the socle must each 3 On the motive of veiled hands, see R. Hatfield, Botticelli’s Uffizi ‘Adoration.’ A Study in Pictorial Content, Princeton, 1976, 35 ff. 4 Cf. J. A. Jungmann, The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origins and Development (Missarum Sollemnia), 2 vols., New York, etc., 1951–55, II, 307; J. O'Connell, The Celebration of Mass. A Study of the Rubrics of the Roman Missal, 3 vols., Milwaukee, 1940–41, I, 268 f. 5 See the sketches for sacrament altars reproduced in Brauer and Wittkower, Zeichnungen, Pls. 131a, 133. 6 Cf. R. Wittkower, ‘The Vicissitudes of a Dynastic Monument. Bernini's Statue of Louis XIV,’ in M. Meiss, ed., De Artibus Opuscula, XL. Essays in Honor of Erwin Panofsky, New York, 1961, 497–531. 7 The polygonal design of the base is reflected in that of the copy of the Savior in Sées Cathedral (partly visible in Lavin, ‘Afterthoughts,’ Fig. 2). 8 See the record of Bernini's statement in Paris in 1665, in L. Lalanne, ed., Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France par M. De Chantelou, Paris, 1885, 167.

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have been about a meter high. The angels would thus have appeared as ‘lifesize’ adolescents; placed at eye level, they provided a direct measure of the superhuman scale of the object they held aloft.

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XI

High and Low Before Their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire*

M

ODERNISM nowadays is so closely identified with formalism that a new social awareness, which was a fundamental aspect of the modernist movement since the late nineteenth century, is often forgotten. This new social concern, in turn, engendered a new appreciation of popular culture, and of unsophisticated culture generally in all its manifestations. The thoroughness of modernism’s rejection of traditional cultural values, and the intimacy of the association modernism established between that rejection and social reform, were unprecedented since the coming of Christianity. The association, however had a long prehistory to which the modern movement was deeply indebted, but which we tend to overlook. We tend, instead, to think of the development of culture in Darwinian terms, as a progressive evolution leading inexorably if not necessarily to improvement then at least to increased sophistication and facility. The exceptions to this principle are just that, exceptions — cases in which, owing to special circumstances, a primitive cultural state is preserved acci-

* An earlier version of this essay appeared in Lavin et al. (1981) pp. 25–54. Since the original publication, Professor Dieter Wuttke of Bamberg has kindly brought to my attention an important article by Arndt (1970), in which several of the points dealt with here are anticipated. In particular Arndt suggests (p. 272) a similar interpretation of the sketch by Dürer discussed below. On later appreciation of children’s drawings, see Georgel (1980). Also, my colleague John Elliott acquainted me with a remarkable sketch in which Philip IV of Spain and his minister Olivares are crudely portrayed as Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; but the drawing is not independent and is clearly much later than the manuscript, dated 1641, to which it was added along with a postscript (on this point I am indebted to Sandra Sider of the Hispanic Society of America). See Elliott (1964, Pl. 19 opposite p. 344).

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dentally, as in certain ‘remote’ corners of the globe; or perseveres incidentally within the domain of high culture in certain extra-, preter-, or noncultural contexts, as in the art of the untutored (popular and folk, including graffiti), of children, of the insane.1 Without presuming to challenge the biological theory of evolution as such, my view of the matter in art-historical terms is quite different. I would argue that man has what might be described as an ‘unartistic’ heritage that persists, whether recognized or not, alongside and notwithstanding all developments to the contrary. ‘High’ and ‘low,’ the sophisticated and the naive, are always present as cultural alternatives — in all societies, even ‘primitive’ ones — exerting opposite and equal thrusts in the history of human awareness and self-revelation. They may appear to exist, develop, and function independently, but in fact they are perennial alter egos, which at times interact directly. High and low art, like Beauty and the Beast, go hand in hand. A striking and surprising case in point is offered by a series of mosaic pavements found in a great and lavishly decorated house at Olynthus in Greece, dating from the early fourth century B.C.2 Here the figural compositions with concentric borders display all the order and discipline we normally associate with Greek thought (Fig. 1). Traces of this rationality are discernible in certain of the floors where large geometric motifs are placed in the center above finely lettered augural inscriptions, such as ‘Good Fortune’ or ‘Lady Luck,’ while various crudely drawn apotropaic symbols — circles, spirals, swastikas, zigzags — appear here and there in the background (Fig. 2). Finally, the entire composition may be dissolved in an amorphous chaos from which the magical signs shine forth mysteriously helter-skelter like stars in the firmament — the random arrangement is as Insofar as the notion of ‘high/low’ includes that of primitivism, there is a substantial bibliography, beginning with the classic work of Lovejoy and Boas (1935); more recent literature on primitivism in art will be found in Encyclopedia (1959–87, vol. 11, columns 704–17), to which should be added Gombrich ([1960], 1985), and, for the modern period, Rubin, ed., 1985. Further discussion of some aspects of the problem will be found in an essay on Picasso’s lithographic series The BuIl, in a volume of my essays to be published by the University of California Press (1991). If one includes related domains, such as popular art, the art of children and the insane — what I have elsewhere called ‘art without history’ — the subject of their relations to sophisticated art has yet to receive a general treatment. The development of interest in the art of the insane, in particular has now been studied in an exemplary fashion by MacGregor (1989). 2 On the Olynthus mosaics, see Salzmann (1982, pp. 100 ff ). 1

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deliberate and significant as the signs themselves (Fig. 3). The entire gamut of expressive form and meaningful thought seems here encapsulated, at the very apogee of the classical period in Greece, when the great tradition of European high art was inaugurated. The Olynthus mosaics reveal the common ground — man’s sense of the supernatural — that lies between the extremes of high and low to which we give terms like ‘mythology’ and ‘superstition.’ The subsequent development of Greco-Roman art also abounds in various kinds and phases of radical retrospectivity — Neo-Attic, Archaistic, Egyptianizing — in which the naturalistic ideals of classical style were thoroughly expunged. Virtuoso performances by artists of exquisite taste and refined technique recaptured the awkward grace and innocent charm of a distant and venerable past. The retrospective mode might even be adopted in direct apposition to the classical style, as in the reliefs of a late-fourthcentury altar from Epidaurus, where the archaistic design of the figure on the side contrasts with the contemporary forms of those on the front (Figs. 4 and 5).3 A conspicuous and historically crucial instance of such a coincidence of artistic opposites occurred at the end of classical antiquity, in the arch in Rome dedicated in A.D. 315 to celebrate the emperor Constantine’s victory over his rival, Maxentius. Parts of earlier monuments celebrating the emperors Trajan, Hadrian, and Marcus Aurelius were incorporated in the sculptural decorations of the arch, along with contemporary reliefs portraying the actions of Constantine himself (Fig. 6). The rondels display all the nobility and grace of the classical tradition, while the friezes below seem rigid, rough, and ungainly, culturally impoverished. It used to be thought that the arch was a monument of decadence, a mere pastiche in which Constantine’s craftsmen salvaged what they could of the high style art of their predecessors, using their own inadequate handiwork only when necessary. In fact, there is ample evidence to show that the juxtaposition was deliberate, intended to create a complementary contrast that would illustrate Constantine’s intention to incorporate the grandeur of the Empire at the height of its power with the humble spirituality of the new Christian ideal of dominion. The latter mode may be understood partly in contemporary terms, as an elevation to the highest level of imperial patronage of ‘vulgar’ forms, whether native to the indigenous populace of Rome or 3

Cited in Hadzi (1982, p. 312).

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1. Olynthus, Villa of Good Fortune, pebble mosaic with representation of Achilles, Thetis and Nereids [from Robinson (1934), pl. xxx].

2. Olynthus, Villa of Good Fortune, pebble mosaic with inscription and symbols (double axe, swastika, wheel of fortune) [from Robinson (1934), p. 504, fig. 2].

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3. Olynthus, House A xi 9, pebble mosaic with many symbols, including swastika and double axe [from Robinson (1934), pl. xxxi]. 4. Front view of an altar from Epidaurus. Athens, National Archaeological Museum.

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7. Two fighting figures, relief signed by Frotoardus. South portal, La Celle-Bruère (photo: courtesy M. Schmitt).

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5. Side view of an altar from Epidaurus. Athens, National Archaeological Museum.

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6. Arch of Constantine, medallions and frieze on north side. Rome (photo: Alinari 12325).

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imported from the provinces.4 It has been suggested, however that the vulgar style, which was destined to play a seminal role in the development of medieval art, was also a conscious evocation of Rome’s remote, archaic past, when simplicity, austerity, and self-sacrifice had first laid the foundation of a new world order.5 An analogous phenomenon has been observed in the context of medieval art itself at the height of the Romanesque period. Many churches of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, including some of the most illustrious, display more or less isolated reliefs executed in a crude, ‘infantile’ manner and illustrating grotesque or uncouth subjects (Fig. 7).6 Although they were formerly dismissed as reused ‘debris’ from a much earlier preRomanesque period, recent study has shown that such works are in fact contemporary with, often part of the very fabric of the buildings they adorn. They might even proudly display the inscribed signature of the sculptor and the bold suggestion has been made that the same artist may also have been responsible for the more familiar and more sophisticated parts of the decoration. Such stylistic and thematic interjections must be meaningful, especially since they inevitably recall the real spolia, bits and pieces of ancient monuments, with which many medieval churches are replete. These deliberately retrieved fragments, often discordantly incorporated into the new masonry, bore physical witness to the supersession of paganism by Christianity. Perhaps the substandard Romanesque reliefs express a similar idea in contemporary terms. The particular subject of this paper may thus quite properly be viewed as one episode in the general history of the phenomenon of cultural extremes that sometimes touch. The episode, however is an important one in the development of European culture because, despite the many antecedents, something new happened in the Renaissance. The classical ideals of naturalism and high culture were not only retrieved, they were also revived, refined, regularized, and embedded in a theoretical framework. This philosophical, mathematical, even theological structure, which culminated toward the end of the sixteenth century in a treatise by Gian Paolo Lomazzo with the significant title L’idea del tempio della pittura (1590), See the exemplary discussion of the arch in Kitzinger (1977, pp. 7 ff ). This last is the luminous suggestion of Tronzo (1986). For the parameters of this idea in terms of classical literary style, see Gombrich (19661). 6 On these works see Schmitt (1980); the fundamental importance of Schmitt’s study for our understanding of medieval art has yet to be fully grasped. 4 5

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served not only to explain and justify the classical values themselves; it also raised their practitioners to the level of liberal, and therefore noble artists. The classical ideals, albeit in many variations, were thus enshrined in a code of visual behavior as it were, that had every bit the force of — indeed, it was often directly linked to — a code of personal behavior in social terms. To this unprecedented idea of a pure, high art, elevated to the apex of an explicit theoretical and social scale of values, there was an equal and opposite reaction, on the same terms. One of the products of this reaction was the creation of caricature, an art form that we still today think of as peculiarly modern. Bernini’s caricature of Pope Innocent Xl (Fig. 8) is one of the few traces of the artist’s handiwork that have come down to us from the very last years of his life. Bernini was seventy-eight and had only four years to live when Benedetto Odescalchi was elected pope, at the age of sixty-five, in 1676. As a work of art, the drawing is slight enough — a few tremulous, if devastating, pen lines sketched in a moment of diversion on a wisp of paper measuring barely four and a half by seven inches.7 Despite its modest pretensions — in part actually because of them, as we shall see — the work represents a monumental watershed in the history of art: it is the first true caricature that has come down to us of so exalted a personage as a pope. Signifying as it does that no one is beyond ridicule, it marks a critical step in the development, perhaps the beginning, of what can properly be called the art of social satire, a new form of visual expression in which the noblest traditions of European art and society are called into question. The forces here unleashed would ultimately, in the modern period, challenge the notion of tradition itself. By and large, before Bernini there were two chief methods of ridiculing people in a work of art. The artist might poke fun at a particular individual, independently of any setting or ideological context, if the victim occupied a relatively modest station in life. Such, evidently, were the informal little comic sketches of friends and relatives by Agostino and Annibale Carracci, described in the sources but now lost. These ritrattini carichi, or ‘charged portraits,’ as the Carracci called them, were certainly among the For a description and bibliography, see Lavin et al. (1981, catalogue number 99, pp. 336–37). Traces of further drawing appear at the upper right. Bernini evidently cut off a portion of a larger sheet in order to make the caricature, which he may have drawn for his personal satisfaction and kept for himself. Twenty-five caricatures are mentioned in a 1706 inventory of Bernini’s household; Fraschetti (1900, p. 247). 7

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primary inspirations of Bernini’s caricatures (Fig. 9). Alternatively, the victim might be grand, and he would be represented in a context that reflected his position in society. The artists of the Reformation, for example, had made almost a specialty of satirizing the popes as representatives of a hated institution and its vices (Fig. 10). In the former case the individuality of the victim was important, but he was not; in the latter case the opposite was true.8 The differences between Bernini’s drawing and these antecedents have to do, on the one hand, with the form of the work — a particular kind of drawing that we immediately recognize and refer to as a caricature — and, on the other with its content — the peculiar appearance and character of a specific individual who might even be the Supreme Pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church. I shall offer my remarks under those general headings.9 Much of what I shall have to say was already said, at least implicitly, in the accounts of Bernini’s caricatures given by his early biographers, who were well aware of the significance of his achievement in this domain. Filippo Baldinucci reports that Bernini’s ‘boldness of touch’ (franchezza di tocco) in drawing was truly miraculous; and I could not say who in his time was his equal For a general account of social criticism in postmedieval art, see Shikes (1969). A fine analysis of the nature of the Carraccis’ ritrattini carichi, with the attribution to Annibale of the drawing reproduced here, will be found in Posner (1971, pp. 65–70, Fig. 59; and cf. Fig. 60, certainly cut from a larger sheet), but see also Bohlin (1979, pp. 48, 67, nn. 83 f ); so far as can be determined, Annibale’s drawings displayed neither the social content nor the distinctive draftsmanship of Bernini’s caricatures, nor is it clear that they were autonomous sheets. On the papal satires of the Reformation, see Grisar and Heege (1921–23); Koepplin and Falk (1974–76, vol. 2, pp. 498–522). 9 For caricature generally and for bibliography see Encyclopedia (1959–87, vol. 3, columns 734–35). For a useful recent survey of caricature since the Renaissance, see Caricature (1971). On the development in Italy the fundamental treatment is that of Juynboll (1934); important observations will be found in a chapter by E. Kris and E. H. Gombrich in Kris (1952, pp. 189–203), and in Gombrich (1972, pp. 330 ff ). The pages on Bernini’s caricatures in Brauer and Wittkower (1931, pp. 180–84), remain unsurpassed; but see also Boeck (1949), Harris (1975, p. 158), and Harris (1977, p. xviii, numbers 40, 41). The latter has questioned whether the caricatures in the Vatican Library and the Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe in Rome, attributed to Bernini by Brauer and Wittkower, are autographs or close copies; however, the issue does not affect the general argument presented here. Caricature drawings attributed to Bernini other than those noted by Brauer and Wittkower and by Harris (1977) will be found in Cooke (1955); Sotheby (1963, Lot 18); Stampfle and Bean (1967, vol.2, pp. 54 f ). 8

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in this ability. An effect of this boldness was his singular work in the kind of drawing we call caricature, or exaggerated sketches, wittily malicious deformations of people’s appearance, which do not destroy their resemblance or dignity, though often they were great princes who enjoyed the joke with him, even regarding their own faces, and showed the drawings to others of equal rank.10 Domenico Bernini, the artist’s son, gives the following formulation: at that time [under Urban VIII] and afterwards he worked singularly in the kind of drawing commonly referred to as caricature. This was a singular effect of his spirit, in which as a joke he deformed some natural defect in people’s appearance, without destroying the resemblance, recording them on paper as they were in substance, although in part obviously altered. The invention was rarely practiced by other artists, it being no easy matter to derive beauty from the deformed, symmetry from the ill-proportioned. He made many such drawings, and he mostly took pleasure in exaggerating the features of princes and important personages, since they in turn enjoyed recognizing themselves and others, admiring the great inventiveness of the artist and enjoying the game.11 In Bernini’s drawings, ‘Si scorge simmetria maravigliosa, maestà grande, e una tal franchezza di tocco, che è propriamente un miracolo; ed io non saprei dire chi mai nel suo tempo gli fusse stato equale in tal facoltà. Effetto di questa franchezza è stato l’aver egli operato singolarmente in quella sorte di disegno, che noi diciamo caricatura o di colpi caricati, deformando per ischerzo a mal modo l’effigie altrui, senza togliere loro la somiglianza, e la maestà, se talvolta eran principi grandi, come bene spesso accadeva per lo gusto, che avevano tali personaggi di sollazzarsi con lui in si fatto trattenimento, anche intorno a’propri volti, dando poi a vedere i disegni ad altri di non minore affare.’ Baldinucci ([1682] 1948, p. 140). 11 ‘Ne devesi passar sotto silenzio l’havere ei in quel tempo & appresso ancora, singolarmente operate in quella sorte di Disegno, che communemente chiamasi col nome di Caricatura. Fù queste un’effetto singolare del suo spirito, poichè in essi veniva a deformare, come per ischerzo, l’altrui effigie in quelle parti però, dove la natura haveva in qualche mode difettato, e senza toglier lore la somiglianza, li rendeva su le Carte similissimi, e quali in sostanza essi erano, benche se ne scorgesse notabilmente alterata, e caricata una parte; Invenzione rare volte pratticata da altri Artefici, non essendo giuoco da tutti, ricavare il bello dal deforme, e dalla sproporzione la simetria. Ne fece egli dunque parecchi, e per lo più si dilettava di caricare l’effigie de’ Principi, e Personaggi grandi, per lo gusto, che essi poi ne ricevevono in rimirarsi que’ medesimi, pur d’essi, e non essi, ammirando eglino in un tempo l’Ingegno grande dell’Artefice, e solazzandosi con si fatto trattenimento.’ Bernini (1713, p. 28). 10

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8. Bernini, caricature of Pope Innocent XI, drawing. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste.

10. Lucas Cranach, Pope Leo X as Antichrist [after Passional (1885), ill. 19].

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9. Attributed to Annibale Carracci, drawing. Windsor Castle, Royal Library, No. 1928.

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11. Leonardo, grotesque heads, drawing. Windsor Castle, Royal Library, No. 12495r.

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12. Physiognomical types, Della Porta (1586) [1650], pp. 116f.

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The explicit definition of caricature given in these passages — a comic exaggeration of the natural defects of the sitter’s features — focuses on what might be called the mimetic nature of the genre. It is essential that an individual, preferably of high rank, be represented, and that with all the distortion he remain individually identifiable. The formal qualities are expressed implicitly: the drawings were independent works of art, conceived as ends in themselves and appreciated as such; they were also true or pure portraits, in that they depicted a single individual, isolated from any setting or narrative context; and they were graphically distinctive, in that they were drawn in a singular manner (reflecting Bernini’s franchezza di tocco), specifically adapted to their purpose.12 On all these counts Bernini’s drawings are sharply distinguished from the tradition most often cited in the prehistory of caricature, physiognomics. The scientific or pseudoscientific investigation of ideal types as they relate to moral and psychological categories originated in antiquity and enjoyed a great florescence in the Renaissance. Leonardo’s studies of grotesque heads as expressions of the aesthetic notion of perfect or beautiful ugliness (Fig. 11) are one familiar case in point. Another major aspect of the tradition was the comparison of human and animal features, on the theory that the analogies revealed common psychological qualities: human facial traits were assimilated to those of various animal species to bring out the supposed characterological resemblances. The first comprehensive tract on the subject was published in 1586 by Giambattista della Porta (Fig. 12).13 Bernini was certainly aware of the physiognomical tradition, both the association between exaggeration and character analysis and the link between human and animal types. Yet, such studies never portrayed specific individuals, they were never drawn in any special style of their own, and they were never sufficient unto themselves as works of art. It is well known that in the course of the sixteenth century drawing had achieved the status of an independent art — that is, serving neither as an exercise, nor a documentary record, nor a preparatory design — in a limited variety of forms. One was what may be called the presentation drawing, which the artist prepared expressly for a given person or occasion. Michelangelo’s drawings for his friend Tommaso Cavalieri are among the For the foregoing, see Lavin (1970, p. 144 n. 75). Della Porta ([1586] 1650, pp. 116 f ). For general bibliography on physiognomics, see Encyclopedia (1959–68, vol. 3, columns 380 f ). 12 13

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earliest such works that have come down to us (Fig. 13).14 Another category, especially relevant in our context, was the portrait drawing, which by Bernini’s time had also become a distinct genre. In the early seventeenth century there was a specialist in this field in Rome, Ottavio Leoni; he portrayed many notables of the period, including Bernini himself (Fig. 14), who also made ‘regular’ portrait drawings of this sort (cf. Fig. 17).15 (In Bernini’s case the complementarity and contrast between the two independent graphic forms extend even to the identifying inscriptions: on the caricatures, a coarse scrawl with the name and professional qualification in the vulgar language; on the formal portrait, a humanistic Latin epigraph in calligraphic minuscules, but not the noble majuscules of classical epigraphy.) A common characteristic of these early autonomous drawings is that they were highly finished, and the draftsman tended to invent or adopt special devices which distinguish them from other kinds of drawings:16 Michelangelo’s famous stippling and rubbing is one example, Leoni’s mixture of colored chalks is another. These works are carefully executed, rich in detail, and complex in technique. The artist, in one way or another created an independent form midway between a sketch and a painting or sculpture. We shall explore the peculiar graphic qualities of Bernini’s caricatures presently. For the moment it is important to note that they incorporate two interrelated innovations with respect to this prior history of drawing as an end in itself. Bernini’s are the first such independent drawings in which the technique is purely graphic, i.e., the medium is exclusively pen and ink, the forms being outlined without internal modeling; and in them the rapidity, freshness, and spontaneity usually associated with the informal sketch become an essential feature of the final work of art.17 Within the specific context of the autonomous portrait drawing, Bernini’s caricatures also stand apart. The prevalent convention in this Cf. Wilde (1978, pp. 147 ff ). For portrait drawing generally see Meder (1978, pp. 335 ff.); for drawings by Leoni, see Kruft (1969). 16 It is interesting that in both cases contemporaries were already aware of the distinctive techniques used in these drawings; for Michelangelo, see Vasari ([1550, 1568] 1962, vol. 1, pp. 118, 121 f; vol. 4, pp. 1,898 ff ); for the colored chalks and pencils of Leoni and Bernini, see Baglione ([1642] 1935, p. 321) and Stampfle and Bean (1967, pp. 52 f ). 17 There was one class of sixteenth-century works, incidentally in which the loose sketch might become a sort of presentation drawing, namely the German autograph album (album amicorum or Stammbuch); see, for example, Thöne (1940, pp. 55f, Figs. 17–19) and Drawings (1964, p. 23, numbers 33, 35). 14 15

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genre, and indeed in that of the painted portrait generally since the early Renaissance, was to show the sitter in three-quarter views, whereas Bernini’s caricatures are invariably either full-face or profile (Figs. 15 and 16). The effect seems deliberately archaic, but his preference may also be seen in the light of another equally striking fact: among Bernini’s own portrait drawings (other than caricatures) those that are independent are three-quarter views (Fig. 17), while those that can be identified as studies for sculptured portraits are in strict profile (Fig. 18).18 We know that the very first studies he made from life for the famous bust of Louis XIV were two drawings, one full-face, the other in profile.19 Bernini, of course, astonished his contemporaries by also making many sketches of the sitter moving and talking, and 18 For Bernini’s portrait drawings generally see Brauer and Wittkower (1931, pp. 11, 15, 29 f, 156 f ) and Harris (1977, passim.). It happens that the two preserved and certainly authentic profile drawings by Bernini represent sitters of whom he also made sculptured portraits, i.e., Scipione Borghese (Fig. 18) and Pope Clement X [see Lavin et al. (1981, catalogue number 83, pp. 294–99, 375)]. Conversely there are no recorded portrait sculptures of the sitters of whom Bernini made drawings in three-quarter view. It is interesting in this context to compare the triple views provided to Bernini by painters for four sculptured busts to be executed in absentia — by Van Dyck for portraits of Charles I and Henrietta Maria, by Philippe de Champaigne for Richelieu, and by Sustermans and Boulanger for Francesco I of Modena; cf. Wittkower (1966, pp. 207 f, 209 f, 224):

Subject

Right profile

Charles I Henrietta Maria Richelieu Francesco I

x x x x

Full-face x x

VIEW Three-quarterto - left profile x x

x

Left profile

x x x

All four include the right profile, all but the third the full face, and all but the first the left profile; only the first and third show the head turned three quarters (to the left). ‘Portraits,’ otherwise unspecified, were also sent from Paris to Bernini in Rome for the equestrian statue of Louis XIV; see Wittkower (1961, p. 525, number 47). 19 The first studies for the bust are mentioned in Chantelou’s diary June 23, 1665: ‘Le Cavalier a dessiné d’après le Roi une tête deface, une de profil’ (Chantelou, p. 37); cf. a letter of 26 June from Paris by Bernini’s assistant Mattia de’ Rossi, ‘doppo che hebbe fenito il retratto in faccia, lo fece in profile,’ Mirot (1904, p. 218n), and the remark of Domenico Bernini (1713, p, 133), ‘Onde a S. Germano fè ritorno per retrarre in disegno la Regia effigie, e due formònne, una di profilo, I’altro in faccia.’ Charles Perrault in his Mémoires of 1669 also mentions Bernini’s profile sketches of the king: ‘[Bernini] se contenta de dessiner en pastel deux ou trois profils du visage du Roi’ (Perrault, p. 61).

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these must have been extremely various.20 In actually preparing the sculpture, however the full-face and profile were evidently primary, perhaps because the sculptor began by tracing them on the sides and front of the block.21 We shall see that other factors were involved as well, but it seems clear that in this respect Bernini’s caricatures transfer to the final work conventions proper to a preliminary stage. Bernini’s caricatures have a distinct graphic style that marks them as caricatures quite apart from what they represent. They consist, as we have noted, entirely of outlines, from which hatching, shading, and modeling have been eliminated in favor of an extreme, even exaggerated simplicity, The lines are also often patently inept, suggesting either bold, musclebound attacks on the paper or a tremulous hesitancy. In other words, Bernini adopted (or rather created) a kind of lowbrow or everyman’s graphic mode in which traditional methods of sophisticated draftsmanship are travestied just as are the sitters themselves.22 If one speculates on possible antecedents of Bernini’s caricature technique, two art forms — if they can be called that — immediately spring to mind, in which the inept and untutored form part of the timeless and anonymous heritage of human creativity: children’s drawings and graffiti. It is not altogether far-fetched to imagine that Bernini might have taken such things seriously, as it were, in making his comic drawings, for he would certainly not have been the first to do so. Albrecht Dürer drew a deliberately crude and childish sketch of a woman with scraggly hair and prominent nose in a letter he wrote from Venice in 1506 to his friend Willibald Pirckheimer (Fig. 19). The drawing illustrates a famous passage in which Dürer describes the Italians’ favorable reaction to his Rosenkranz Madonna. He reports that the new picture had silenced all the painters who admired

20 For the references to this aspect of Bernini’s procedure, see Brauer and Wittkower (1931, p. 29), and Wittkower (1951). 21 Interesting in this context are Michelangelo’s frontal and profile sketches for the marble block of one of the Medici Chapel river gods; see De Tolnay (1943–60, vol. 3, plate 131). Cellini (1971, p. 789), speaks of Michelangelo’s method of drawing the principal view on the block and commencing carving on that side. 22 It is significant that Bernini employed a comparable technique when he portrayed nature in what might be called a ‘primitive’ or formless state, as in the sketches for fireworks [Lavin et al. (1981, catalogue numbers 56–58, pp. 219–27)] or a project for a fountain with a great display of gushing water [Brauer and Wittkower (1931, Pl. 101a); cf. Harris (1977, p. xxi, number 70)].

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13. Michaelangelo, Fall of Phaeton, drawing. Windsor Castle, Royal Library, No. 119.

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14. Ottavio Leoni, portrait of Gianlorenzo Bernini, drawing. Florence, Biblioteca Marucelliana, Vol. H, fol. 15.

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418 15. Bernini, caricature of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, drawing. Biblioteca Vaticana, MS Chigi P. VI. 4, fol. 15.

16. Bernini, caricatures of Don Virginio Orsini (copy) and a military captain, drawing. Rome, Gabinetto Nazionale delle Stampe, Fondo Corsini 127521 (579).

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17. Bernini, portrait of Sisinio Poli, drawing. New York, The Pierpont Morgan Library, No. IV, 74.

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18. Bernini, portrait of Scipione Borghese, drawing. New York, The Pierpont Morgan Library, No. IV, 176.

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19. Albrecht Dürer, letter to Willibald Pirckheimer. Nuremberg, Stadtbibliothek, Pirckh. 394,7.

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his graphic work but said he could not handle colors.23 The clumsy-looking sketch is thus an ironic response to his critics, as if to say, ‘Here is my Madonna, reduced to the form these fools can appreciate.’ Something similar appears in certain manuscripts of Dürer’s friend and admirer Erasmus of Rotterdam (Fig. 20). Here and there he introduced sketches — one might almost call them doodles, except they are much too self-conscious — that include repeated portrayals of himself with exaggerated features, in what Panofsky described as the sharply observant, humorous spirit that animated his Praise of Folly.24 It might be added that the crude style of the drawings also matches the ironic exaltation of ignorance that is the fundamental theme of Praise of Folly. Although Erasmus was an amateur it should not be assumed that the sketches are simply inept. He did know better for he had practiced painting in his youth, and he had a discriminating art-historical eye that even encompassed what he called a ‘rustic’ style, which he associated with early medieval art.25 On the back of a Leonardesque drawing from this same period, a deliberate graphic antithesis occurs in which a wildly expressive head is redrawn as a witty, schoolboyish persiflage (Fig. 21). A child’s drawing plays a leading role in a portrait by the mid-sixteenthcentury Veronese painter Giovanni Francesco Caroto (Fig. 22).26 Perhaps the drawing is the work of the young man who shows it to the spectator. He seems rather too old, however and a much more correctly drawn eye Cf. Rupprich (1956–69, vol. 1, pp. 54 f ). The passage (my own translation) reads as follows: ‘Know that my picture says it would give a ducat for you to see it; it is good and beautifully coloured. I have earned great praise for it, but little profit. I could well have earned 200 ducats in the time and have refused much work, so that I may come home. I have also silenced all the painters who said I was good at engraving, but that in painting I did not know how to handle colors. Now they all say they have never seen more beautiful colors.’ Dürer made the drawing immediately before he wrote this passage, which surrounds the figure. Lange and Fuhse (1893, p. 35, n. 1) noted long ago that the sketch must refer to this, rather than the preceding portion of the letter 24 Panofsky (1969, p. 203). On Erasmus’s self-mocking sketches, see Heckscher (1967, pp. 135 f, n. 23) and the bibliography cited there. 25 Erasmus speaks of marveling and laughing at the extreme crudity of artists a century or two earlier (‘admiraberis et ridebis nimiam artificum rusticitatem’); see Panofsky (1969, pp. 200, 202 f ), who also discusses Erasmus’s early interest in and practice of painting and drawing. 26 Franco Fiorio (1971, pp. 47 f, 100); for suggestive analysis of the painting, see Almgren (1971, pp. 71–73). 23

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(the eye of the painter?) appears at the lower right of the sheet.27 The suggestive smile and glance with which the youth confronts the viewer certainly convey a deeper sense of the ironic contrast between the drawing and the painting itself.28 Graffiti have a particular relevance to our context because while their stylistic naïveté may be constant, the sorts of things they represent are not. Historically speaking, portrait graffiti are far rarer than one might suppose. Considering the role of ‘proper’ portraiture in classical times, it is certainly significant that ancient draftsmen also inscribed many comic graffiti portraying real individuals — often identified by name — on the walls of Roman buildings at Pompeii and Rome (Fig. 23).29 I feel sure Bernini was aware of such drawings, if only because we know he was acutely aware of the wall as a graphic field. It was his habit, he said, to stroll about the gallery of his house while excogitating his first ideas for a project, tracing them upon the wall with charcoal.30 Two extant wall compositions by him, though not preliminary sketches, are in fact drawings (Fig. 24).31 The term ‘graffito,’ of course, refers etymologically to the technique of incised drawing. The beginning of its modern association with popular On the eye of Painting, see Posner (1967, pp. 201 f ). What may be a deliberately crude head appears among the test drawings and scratches on the back of one of Annibale Carracci’s engraved plates; Posner (1971, p. 70, Fig. 68); and Bohlin (1979, p. 437). 29 Both ancient graffiti and grylloi (discussed below) are often considered in the literature on comic art, e.g., Champfleury (1865, pp. 57–65, 186–203), but I am not aware that they have hitherto been treated seriously as specific progenitors of the modern caricature. For ancient graffiti generally see Enciclopedia (1958–66, vol.3, pp. 995 f ). For a recent survey of the figural graffiti at Pompeii, see Cèbe (1966, pp. 375 f ); for those on the Palatine in Rome, see Väänänen (1966, 1970). 30 ‘Il m’a dit qu’à Rome il en avait une [a gallery] dans sa maison, laquelle est presque toute pareille; que c’est là qu’il fait, en se promenant, la plupart de ses compositions; qu’il marquait sut la muraille, avec du charbon, les idèes des choses à mesure qu’elles Iui venaient dans I’esprit’ (Chantelou, p. 19). The idea recalls the ancient tales of the invention of painting by tracing shadows cast on the wall; see Kris and Kurz (1979, p. 74 and n. 10). 31 I refer to the well-known Saint Joseph Holding the Christ Child at Ariccia [Brauer and Wittkower (1931, pp. 154–56, Pl. 115)], and a (much restored) portrait of Urban VIII in black and red chalk, in the Villa La Maddelena of Cardinal Giori, Bernini’s friend and patron, at Muccia near Camerino (Fig. 24). The attribution of the latter work, reproduced here for the first time, I believe, stems from an inventory of 1712; Brauer and Wittkower (1931, p. 151); cf. Feliciangeli (1917, pp. 9 f ). I am indebted to Professors Italo Faldi and Oreste Ferrari for their assistance in obtaining photographs. Cf. also a portrait drawing in black and red chalk in the Chigi palace at Formello; Martinelli (1950, p. 182, Fig. 193). 27 28

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satirical representations can be traced to the Renaissance, notably to Vasari’s time when sgraffito was used for a kind of mural decoration that often included grotesque and chimeric forms with amusing distortions and transformations of nature, based on classical models (Fig. 25).32 It is also in the Renaissance that we begin to find allusions to popular mural art by sophisticated artists. Michelangelo, who was full of references, serious as well as ironic, to the relations among various kinds of art, was a key figure in this development. By way of illustrating Michelangelo’s prodigious visual memory, Vasari tells an anecdote that also sheds light on this neglected aspect of the master’s stylistic sensibility. On an occasion during his youth, when Michelangelo was dining with some of his colleagues, they held an informal contest to see who could ‘best’ draw a figure without design — as awkward, Vasari says, as the doll-like creatures (fantocci) made by the ignorant who deface the walls of buildings. Michelangelo won the game by reproducing, as if it were still before him, such a scrawl (gofferia), which he had seen long before. Vasari’s comment — that this was a difficult achievement for one of discriminating taste and steeped in design — shows that he was well aware of the underlying significance of such an interplay between high and low style.33 Juxtapositions of this kind may actually be seen among the spectacular series of charcoal sketches attributed to Michelangelo and his assistants, discovered a few years ago on the walls of chambers adjacent to and beneath the Medici Chapel in Florence (Fig. 26).34 32 The association between sgraffiti and grotteschi is clear from Vasari’s description and account of their invention; see Vasari ([1550, 1568] 1966 ff, vol. 1, Testo, pp. 142–45, Commento, p. 212, vol. 4, Testo, pp. 517–23); cf. Maclehose and Brown (1960, pp. 243–45, 298–303). On sgraffiti and grotteschi, see Thiem (1964) and Dacos (1969). 33 ‘E stato Michelagnolo di una tenace e profonda memoria, che nel vedere le cose altrui una sol volta l’ha ritenute si fattamente e servitosene in una maniera che nessuno se n’è mai quasi accorto; nè ha mai fatto cosa nessuna delle sue che riscontri l’una con l’altra, perchè si ricordava di tutto quello che aveva fatto. Nella sua gioventù, sendo con gli amici sua pittori, giucorno una cena a chi faceva una figura che non avessi niente di disegno, che fussi goffa, simile a que’ fantocci che fanno coloro che non sanno e imbrattano le mura. Qui si valse della memoria; perché, ricordatosi aver visto in un muro una di queste gofferie, la fece come se l’avessi avuta dinanzi du tutto punto, e superò tutti que’pittori: cosa dificile in uno uomo tanto pieno di disegno, avvezzo a cose scelte, che no potessi uscir netto.’ Vasari ([1550, 1558] 1962, vol. I, p. 124; see also vol. 4, pp. 2,074 f ). 34 Dal Poggetto (1979, p. 267, no. 71, and p. 272, nos. 154, 156). A remarkable precedent for these drawings are those attributed to Mino da Fiesole, discovered on a wall in his house in Florence; see Sciolla (1970, p. 113 with bibliography).

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An even more remarkable instance — and, as it happens, almost exactly contemporary with the Dürer letter — involves one of Michelangelo’s early sonnets (Fig. 27). The poem parodies Michelangelo’s own work on the Sistine ceiling, its gist being that the agonizing physical conditions of the work impair his judgment (giudizio), that is, the noblest part of art, so that he is not a true painter and he begs indulgence: My belly’s pushed by force beneath my chin. …………………………………………… My brush, above my face continually, Makes it a splendid floor by dripping down. …………………………………………… And I am bending like a Syrian bow. And judgment, hence, must grow, Borne in mind, peculiar and untrue; You cannot shoot well when the gun’s askew. John, come to the rescue Of my dead painting now, and of my honor; I’m not in a good place, and I’m no painter.35 In the margin of the manuscript page he drew a sketch depicting his twisted body as the bow, his right arm holding the brush as the arrow, and a figure on the ceiling as the target. Of particular interest in our context is the strik-

c’a forza ‘I ventre appicca sotto ‘I mento. …………………………………………… e ‘I pennel sopra ‘I vise tuttavia mel fa, gocciando, un ricco pavimento. ……………………………………… e tendomi come arco soriano. Però fallace e strano surge il iudizio che la mente porta, chè mal si tra’ per cerbottana torta. La mia pittura morta difendi orma’, Giovanni, e ‘I mio onore non sendo in loco ben, nè io pittore.

35

Girardi (1960, pp. 4f ); trans. from Gilbert and Linscott (1963, pp. 5 f ). The sheet has most recently been dated 1511–12 by De Tolnay (1975–80, vol. I, p. 126), who also notes the disjunction between the two parts of the drawing.

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20. Erasmus, manuscript page. Basel, Universitäts-Bibliothek, MS C.VI. a.68, p. 146.

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21. Leonardo (?), sketches of heads, drawing. Royal Library, Windsor Castle, No. 12673v.

22. Giovanni Francesco Caroto, Boy with Drawing. Verona, Museo del Castelvecchio.

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23. Ancient graffiti on the walls of buildings at Rome and Pompeii [after Väänänen (1970), pp. 121, 213; Cèbe (1966), pl. XIX, 3, 6].

24. Bernini (much restored), drawing of Urban VIII. Muccia, Villa della Maddalena (photo courtesy of Oreste Ferrari).

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25. Sgraffito decorations. Florence, Palazzo Bartolini-Salimbeni, courtyard [after Thiem (1964), pl. 101].

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26. Michelangelo and assistants, wall drawings. Florence, San Lorenzo, New Sacristy [after Dal Poggetto (1978), Pl. V].

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27. Michelangelo, sonnet on the Sistine Ceiling. Floence, Archivio Buonarotti, Vol. XIII, fol. 111.

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ing contrast in style between the two parts of the sketch: the figure of the artist is contorted but elegantly drawn in a normal way; that on the ceiling is grotesquely deformed and drawn with amateurish, even childlike crudity, Michelangelo transforms the Sistine ceiling itself into a kind of graffito, deliberately adopting a subnormal mode to satirize high art — in this case his own. If as I suspect, the grotesque figure on the vault alludes to God the Father (Fig. 28), Michelangelo’s thought may reach further still: the graffito style would express the artist’s sense of inadequacy in portraying the Supreme Creator and unworthiness in the traditional analogy between the artist’s creation and God’s.36 Two further examples bring us to Bernini’s own time. In a view of the interior of a church in Utrecht by the great Dutch architectural painter Pieter Saenredam, a graffito of four men wearing curious armor and riding a horse appears conspicuously on a pier at the lower right (Figs. 29 and 30).37 The drawing represents a well-known episode from a medieval French romance, which had a wide popular appeal. Although the meaning of the subject in the context of Saenredam’s picture is unclear the style of the drawing may have been intended not only to suggest the hand of an untrained graffito artist generally; it may also be a deliberate archaism to evoke the medieval origin of the story and, incidentally, of the building itself. Perhaps the boy standing nearby and about to draw on the wall refers ironically to Saenredam himself; perhaps the companion group, a boy seated with a schoolchild’s box at his side and teaching a dog to sit up, refers to the mastery of art achieved by instruction and practice. In any event, the drawing must have had a special significance for Saenredam, since he added his own signature and the date immediately below.38

On the analogy cf. Lavin (1980, p. 156). A similarly crude drawing in white of a woman appears on the adjacent face of the pier. 38 The inscription, in white except for the artist’s signature, which is in black, reads: ‘de buer Kerck binnen utrecht / aldus geschildert int iaer 1644 / van / Pieter Saenredam’ (‘the Buur church in Utrecht thus painted in the year 1644 by Pieter Saenredam’). Cf. Maclaren (1960, pp. 379–81); Catalogue (1961, pp. 185 f ). For assistance in identifying the object at the seated boy’s side, I am indebted to Dr. Jean Fraikin, Curator of the Musée de la Vie Wallone at Liège, who cites the following bibliography on children’s school boxes: Dewez (1956, pp. 362–71); L’Art (1970, pp. 372 ff ). Crude drawings — two women (one of them virtually identical with the one mentioned above), a tree, and a bird — also appear on a pier at the right, surrounding an inscription with the artist’s signature and the date 1641, in one 36 37

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Our final example is from Rome, in the form of a drawing by Pieter van Laer nicknamed ‘il Bamboccio.’ He was the physically deformed leader of a notorious group of Flemish artists in Rome in the seventeenth century called i bamboccianti (the ‘painters of dolls’), a contemporary term that refers derisively to the awkward figures and lowlife subject matter of their paintings. The members of the group formed a loose-knit organization, the Bentvueghel, and were notorious for their unruly lifestyle, which made a mockery of the noble Renaissance ideal of the gentleman artist. The drawing (Fig. 31) shows the interior of a tavern filled with carousing patrons; the back wall is covered with all manner of crude and grotesque designs, including a caricature-like head shown in profile.39 Many works by the bamboccianti are reflections on the nature of art, both in theory and practice, and Van Laer’s drawing is surely also an ironic exaltation of the kind of satirical and popular art held in contempt by the grand and often grandiloquent humanist tradition. We are invited to contemplate this irony by the figures who draw attention to the word ‘Bamboo[ts]’ scrawled beneath a doll-like figure, seen from behind, and the profile head — the latter certainly a selfportrait of Van Laer The subtlety of the conceit may be inferred from the fact that bamboccio, like its synonym fantoccio used by Vasari in the anecdote about Michelangelo, was specifically applied to the crude mural drawings of the inept.40 One point emerges clearly from our consideration of the prehistory of Bernini’s deliberate and explicit exploitation of aesthetic vulgarity. The artists who displayed this unexpected sensibility generally did so in order to make some statement about the nature of art or of their profession. The statements were, in the end, deeply personal and had to do with the relation between ordinary or common creativity and what is usually called art. of Saenredam’s views of the Mariakerk at Utrecht; Catalogue (1961, pp. 212 f ). On this painting see Schwartz (1966–67), who notes the association between such drawings and the artist’s signature (p. 91, n. 43). Saenredam’s sensitivity to and deliberate manipulation of stylistic differences are evident in the relationship between Gothic and Roman architecture in his paintings, for which see now the thoughtful article by Connell (1980). 39 For this drawing, see Janeck (1968, pp. 122 f ). The figure shown from the back on the wall recurs among other graffiti in a painting attributed to Van Laer in Munich; Janeck (1968, pp. 137 f ); see also Kren (1980, p. 68). 40 Cf. Malvasia (1841, vol. 2, p. 67), with regard to the youthful wall scribblings of the painter Mastelletta. For this reference I am indebted to David Levine, whose Princeton dissertation on the bamboccianti (1984) deals with their art-theoretical paintings and the Berlin drawing.

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No doubt there is an art-theoretical, or even art-philosophical element in Bernini’s attitude, as well, but with him the emphasis shifts. His everyman’s style is not a vehicle for comment about art or being an artist, but about people, or rather being a person. His visual lampoons are strictly ad hominem, and it is for this reason, I think, that in the case of Bernini one can speak for the first time of caricature drawing not only as art, but as an art of social satire. With respect to the context of Bernini’s caricatures outside the visual arts, it is important to note that we can date the beginning of his production as a caricaturist fairly precisely It must have coincided with the earliest datable example that has come down to us, the famous drawing of Cardinal Scipione Borghese, nephew of Pope Paul V and Bernini’s greatest early patron (see Fig. 15). A terminus ante quem is provided by Scipione’s death at age fifty-seven on October 2, 1633, but most likely the sketch was made during the sittings for the even more famous pair of marble portrait busts of the cardinal that are known to have been executed in the summer of 1632 (Fig. 32).41 It can scarcely be coincidental, moreover that probably in November of the same year Lelio Guidiccioni, one of Rome’s literary lights and a close friend and admirer of Bernini, acquired an important album of drawings of genre figures, now lost, by Annibale Carracci.42 What especially suggests that Bernini started making caricatures at this time is the fact that he then also developed a passionate interest in the comic theater. Beginning in February 1633, and very frequently thereafter at carnival time, he would produce a comedy of his own invention, often in an improvised theater in his own house, with himself his family, and his studio assistants as the performers.43 His plays were extremely successful, and we have many references to them in the early biographies and contemporary sources, which report that the audiences included some of the highest members of Roman society. The significance of this parallel with the theater is not simply that Bernini’s interest in caricature and comedy coincided, for it is evident from what we learn about his plays that their relationship to their predecessors was analogous to that of his caricatures to theirs.

The precise dating of the Borghese busts emerges from a letter of the following year written by Lelio Guidiccioni [cf. D’Onofrio (1967, pp. 381–86)]. I plan to discuss the letter at greater length in another context. 42 On this and the following point, see Lavin (1970, p. 144, n. 75). 43 On Bernini and the theater see Lavin (1980, pp. 145–57). 41

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Bernini’s comedies stemmed largely from the popular tradition of the commedia del l’arte, in which troupes of professional actors assumed stock character roles and performed largely conventional plots. The comic effect depended heavily on the contrast of social strata achieved through the interplay of representative types, portrayed through stereotyped costumes, gestures, and dialects. The actors were so versed in their craft, and its conventions were so ingrained, that the plays were recorded only in the form of brief plot summaries. The recitations were thus extemporaneous, but bound to a tradition of virtuosity born of familiarity and repetition. By way of contrast, I shall quote first Domenico Bernini’s account of Bernini’s plays, and then just one contemporary description.44 Domenico says: The beauty and wonder [of his comedies] consisted for the greatest and best part in the facetious and satiric jokes, and in the scenic inventions: the former were so meaningful [significanti], spirited and close to the truth [fondati sul vero], that many experts attributed the plays to Plautus or Terence or other writers, whom the cavalier had never read, but did them all by sheer force of wit. A most remarkable thing is that each night the theater was filled with the highest nobility of Rome, ecclesiastic as well as secular and those who were targets of his jibes not only took no offense but, considering their truth and honesty, almost took pride in being subjected to Bernini’s acute and ingenious remarks. These then circulated throughout Rome and often the same evening reached even the ears of the pope, who seeing Bernini the next day took pleasure in having him repeat them. Bernini not only labored to compose them, but also took great pains to see that the actors, who were mostly members of his entourage and not experienced in the theater; would give natural and lively performances. In so doing, he served as everyone’s teacher and the result was that they performed like long-time professionals in the art.45 To savor the description that follows, which dates from February 1634, it must be understood that Cardinal Gaspare Borgia was the Spanish 44 A convenient, but not complete, collection of early sources on Bernini’s theatrical activities will be found in D’Onofrio (1963, pp. 91–110). 45 Bernini (1713, pp. 54 f ).

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28. Michelangelo, Creation of the Sun and Moon (detail). Vatican, Sistine Chapel (photo: Alinari 7509A).

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29. Pieter Saenredam, Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht. London, National Gallery.

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30. Pieter Saenredam, Interior of the Buurkerck, Utrecht (detail). London, National Gallery.

31. Pieter van Laer, Artists’ Tavern in Rome. Berlin, Staatliche Museen Preussischer Kulturbesitz.

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32. Bernini, bust of Cardinal Scipione Borghese. Rome, Borghese Gallery (photo: GFN E33480).

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33. Pasquino. Rome (photo: Alinari 7080).

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34. Antonio Lafreri, Pasquino, engraving. Yale University Library.

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ambassador to the Holy See, that his coat of arms included a striding bull, and that he was notoriously overbearing and tactless in pursuing his country’s interests at the court of Urban VIII, who was strongly pro-French.46 Borgia is absolutely furious because, to everyone’s delight, Bernini in his comedy introduced a bull being beaten on the stage; he is quite aware it referred to him since he was a bull in arms and was called that by the pope. Borgia was also upset because elsewhere in the comedy a Spaniard argues with a servant who, having been told by a Frenchman not to let himself be bullied, beats up the Spaniard to the amusement of all. Borgia, who understands without gloss the recondite meanings of the actions and words, considers the king and the whole Spanish nation offended by the pope himself, who knows perfectly well all the scenes of the comedy before they are performed. Borgia is also angry about other jibes, though these are the worst, and heaven protect Bernini from a bitter penance in the future, for Borgia is not one easily to forget offenses.47 It is clear that Bernini’s plays broke with the commedia del l’arte conventions in various ways, of which three are especially important here. One is that Bernini introduced all sorts of illusionistic tricks — houses collapse, the theater threatens to catch fire, the audience is almost inundated — tricks that not only added a kind of visual scenographic interest that had been confined mainly to court spectacles, but also communicated with the spectator directly and in a way that seemed, at least at first glance, quite uncontrived. Furthermore, Bernini’s comedies were not enacted extemporaneously by professional actors but by amateurs who had been carefully instructed and mercilessly rehearsed and who recited parts that — as we know from the manuscript of one of his plays that has come down to us — might be completely written out, as in the regular theater. His productions combined the technique of raw talent with the conception of high art. Finally, Bernini introduced topical allusions to current events and real people; with unexampled boldness, he poked fun at some of the highest members of Roman society, who might even be present in the audience. Bernini’s On Borgia, see Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 28, pp. 281–94), for example. Letter to the duke of Modena from his agent in Rome, 23 February 1634 [Fraschetti (1900, pp. 261 f, n. 4; see also the description of comedies in 1638, pp. 264 f, and 1646, pp. 268–70)]. 46 47

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comedies thus included what can only be described as ‘living caricatures,’ witty distortions of the political allegiance or moral character of individuals, who remain readily identifiable. In general, his plays may be said to have involved a dual breach of decorum, treating low comedy performed by amateurs as if it were legitimate theater; and treating exalted personages as if they were ordinary people. Although Bernini may be said to have introduced an element of social satire to the stage, there was one literary tradition in Rome to which it was, so to speak, endemic. This was the so-called pasquinade, or satire in verse or prose, which poked fun, often in very bitter terms, at the religious and civic authorities for their personal foibles or for whatever of the city’s current ills could be attributed to their greed or ineptitude. The diatribes were occasionally gathered together and published, so that the pasquinade became a veritable genre of popular literary satire. It was the custom to write a pasquinade in Latin or Italian on a scrap of paper and attach it to one of several more or less fragmentary ancient statues that were to be seen about town. These ‘talking statues,’ as they were sometimes called, became the loudspeaker through which the vox populi expressed its wit and discontent. The genre derives its name from the most infamous of the sculptures (Fig. 33), nicknamed Pasquino — according to one version of the legend, after a clever and malicious hunchbacked tailor who lived nearby in the Piazza Orsini, considered the heart of Rome, and who started the custom early in the sixteenth century.48 It is no accident, of course, that the speaking statues of Rome were all antiques. From biblical times the issue of idolatry was focused chiefly on sculpture, the three-dimensionality of which gave it special status in the hierarchy of representation. The early Christians regarded pagan statuary as literally the work of the devil and endowed with demonic powers, notably the power of speech. Indeed, Pasquino’s irreverent and malicious comments were often downright diabolic. As a literary genre the pasquinade might well be described as something like a verbal graffito in that, by contrast with the high art of satire, it tended to be more topical in content and more informal in style and, though wellknown writers such as Pietro Aretino often joined in the sport, it was charThe bibliography on Pasquino and the pasquinade is vast. For a recent survey see Silenzi (1968). The best orientation within the literary context remains that of Cian (1945, vol. 2, pp. 81–107, 321–37). On the sculpture, see now Haskell and Penny (1981, pp. 291–96). For a valuable study of the ‘high’ and ‘low’ traditions of satire with respect to Bernini’s rival, Salvator Rosa, see Roworth (1977). 48

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acteristically anonymous. Indeed, this popular and rather underprivileged element lies at the very heart of the tradition, for there is a remarkable and surely not accidental consonance between the character of Pasquino the tailor; a lowly artisan and man of the people, grotesquely deformed yet pungently articulate, and the character of the sculpture itself — pathetically worn and mutilated, yet also pathetically expressive. The fundamental irony of the group’s brutish appearance and caustic eloquence was perfectly explicit: in the eloquent engraving of the group signed and dated 1550 by Antonio Lafreri (Fig. 34), Pasquino says of himself: I am not, though I seem so, a mutilated Baboon, without feet and hands . . . but rather that famous Pasquino who terrifies the most powerful . . . when I compose in Italian or Latin. I owe my physique to the blows of those whose faults I faithfully recount.49 If the pasquinade is something like a verbal graffito, Bernini’s caricatures can be thought of as visual pasquinades, almost literally so if one considers Bernini’s very special relationship to the statue itself. The group is mentioned in the biographies as well as in Chantelou’s diary, always with the same point illustrated by an anecdote: Asked by a cardinal which was his favorite ancient statue, Bernini named the Pasquino, of which he said that ‘mutilated and ruined as it is, the remnant of beauty it embodies is percep-

49

From the inscription on the base:

Io non son (come paio) un Babbuino stroppiato, senz piedi, et senza mani, ……………………………………… Ma son quel famosissimo Pasquino Che tremar faccio i Signor piu soprani, ……………………………………… Quando compongo in volgare, o in latino. La mia persona è fatta in tal maniera Per i colpi ch’hor questo her quel m’accocca Per ch’io dice i lot falli a buena cera. Our transcription is based on a corrected but unsigned and undated version of the print in a copy of Lafreri in the Marquand Library, Princeton University: Fig. 34 is reproduced from Lafreri (1575), Beinecke Library, Yale University.

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tible only to those knowledgeable in design.’50 Indeed, he regarded it as a work of Phidias or Praxiteles. The cardinal thought his leg was being pulled and was infuriated. Bernini was said to have been the first to place the highest value on the Pasquino as a work of art.51 The appreciation of antique fragments was by now nothing new, so that whether true or not, the claim — and likewise the cardinal’s anger — only makes sense in view of the satirical tradition with which the Pasquino was primarily associated; Bernini It is especially interesting that Bernini distinguished between complete and incomplete statues, and among the latter noted the subtle differences between the Belvedere torso and the Pasquino, ranking the Pasquino highest of all. The passages referred to are: 50

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 ftgure de Phidias où de Praxitèle et représentait le serviteur d’Alexandre, le soutenant quand il reçut un coup de fIèche 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, pp. 25 f.) Diceva che il Laocoonte e il Pasquino nell’antico avevano in sè tutto il buono deIl’arte, perché 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, né potersi ravvisare se non da uomo grande e più tosto migliore essere il Pasquino. Fu il prime il Bernino che mettesse questa statua in altissimo credito in Roma e raccontasi che essendogli una volta state 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 ([1682] 1948, p. 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, pp. 13 f ).] 51 The Pasquino had long been esteemed, cf. Haskell and Penny(1981, p. 292), but I have not found precedent for Bernini’s placing it foremost.

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even said that one must disregard what had been written about the sculpture. No less remarkable is the reason he gave for his esteem — that the work contains ‘the highest perfection of nature without the affectation of art’ [italics mine]. The drawing of Innocent Xl is unique among the preserved caricatures by Bernini because it is the only one datable to the very end of his life, and because it represents the most exalted personage of all. The skeletal figure with gargantuan nose and cavernous eyes is immediately recognizable (cf. Figs. 8 and 35).52 What makes the characterization so trenchant, however; is not only the treatment of the pope’s physical features, but also the fact that he is shown incongruously wearing the regalia of the bishop of Rome and bestowing his blessing while reclining in bed, propped up by huge pillows. The pope is thus ridiculed on two levels at once, both of which reflect aspects of his personality and conduct that were notorious.53 This remarkable man was by far the most irascible and ascetic individual to occupy the papal throne since the heyday of the Counter Reformation a century before. He was utterly indifferent to the amenities of life himself and lived in monastic austerity, He was indefatigable in his efforts to purify the Church of its abuses, the boldest and best known of which was his war on nepotism. He rigorously excluded his family from Church affairs and sought to ensure that his successors would do likewise. He was equally staunch in his defense of the Church against heretics and against attempts to curtail the prerogatives of the Holy See. His financial contributions to the war against the Turks, made possible by a fiscal policy of absolute parsimony, were a major factor in the victory at Vienna in 1683 that saved Europe from the infidel. The process of sanctification was initiated soon after his death and is still in progress; he was beatified in 1953. Although his virtues may indeed have been heroic, Innocent Xl was not without his faults. He demanded the same kind of austerity from his subjects that he practiced himself. Public entertainments were banned, and with edict after edict he sought to rule the lives of his people down to the pettiest details of personal dress and conduct. He suffered the consequences of his disagreeableness, which won him the epithet The Big No Pope (Papa Mingone, from the word minga, meaning ‘no’ in his native Lombard A photograph of Innocent’s death mask will be found in Lippi (1889, frontispiece). For Innocent generally and bibliography see Bibliotheca (1961–69, vol. 7, columns 848–56); for most of what follows, see Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 32, pp. 13–37, 153–67). 52 53

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dialect). A notice of 1679 reports that several people were jailed for circulating a manifesto with the punning and alliterative title, Roma assassinata dalla Santità (‘Rome Assassinated by Sanctity’ — santità in Italian means both ‘holiness’ and ‘His Holiness’).54 In addition, Innocent Xl was a sick man, plagued by gout and gallstones.55 These sufferings — real and imagined, for he was certainly a hypochondriac — must have exacerbated the harshness of an inherently acerbic personality. His ailments often conspired with a natural tendency to reclusiveness to keep the pope confined to his room and to his bed. For days, weeks, months on end he would remain closeted, refusing to see anyone and procrastinating in matters of state — conduct that elicited a brilliant pasquinade, reported in July 1677: Saturday night there was attached to Pasquino a beautiful placard with a painted poppy [papavero in Italian — the opium flower] and the following legend [like a medicinal prescription] beneath: Papa Vero = Per dormire [true Pope = to sleep]; next morning it provided a field day for the wags, including the whole court, which is fed up with the current delays and cannot bear such irresolution.56 On rare occasions during these periods, when the pope’s condition improved or in matters of special importance, visitors might be admitted to his chamber; where he received them in bed. Bernini’s drawing captures the irony of this spectacle of the Supreme Roman Pontiff conducting the most dignified affairs of state in most undignified circumstances. 54 ‘E poi stato mandato in Galera quel libraro francese Bernardoni che faceva venir libri centro cardinale e ministri della chiesa sendo anco stati carcerati alcuni copisti per essersi veduto un Manifesto intitolato; Roma assassinata dalla santità.’ Unpublished avviso di Roma, July 8,1679, Vatican Library MS Barb. lat. 6838, fol. 154v. For collections of pasquinades on Innocent Xl, see Lafon (1876, p. 287); Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 32, p. 30, n. 8); Besso (1904, p. 308); Romano (1932, pp. 72–74); Silenzi (1933, pp. 251 f ) [reprinted in Silenzi (1968), pp. 278 f ]; Cian (1945, vol. 2, pp. 260 f, 516, n. 228–30). 55 On the pope’s health, see Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 32, pp. 515–19); Michaud (1882–83, vol. 1, pp. 158 f ). 56 ‘Sabbato à nette fu fatto a Pasquino un bellissimo Cartello con un Papauero dipinto, e sotto la presente Inscrittione = Papa Vero = Per dormire, il che la mattina non pochi motivi di discorso diede à gli otiosi, nel cui numero vi si comprende la corte tutta, la quale attediata dalle lunchezze correnti non può soffrire tante irresolutioni.’ Unpublished avviso di Roma, July 5, 1677, Vatican Library MS Barb. lat. 6384, fol. 200.

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37. Bernini, Ludovica Albertoni. Rome, S. Francisco a Ripa (photo: postcard).

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36. R. de Hooghe, The Death of Moriens, engraving [De la Vigne (1673?) pl. 39].

449

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38. Tomb of Erard de la Marck, engraving. Formerly Liège, Cathedral [Boissard (1597–1602), part IV, tome II, title page].

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39. Medal of Innocent XI with Pius V on reverse. London, British Museum (photo: Warburg Institute, 1403/98).

40. Medal of Pius V, 1571. London, British Museum (photo: Warburg Institute, 703/49).

451

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The character of the portrait itself has no less significant implications than its appurtenances. In a quite remarkable way, as we know from many descriptions and other depictions, the pope’s appearance matched his personality, He was exceedingly tall and gaunt, with a huge aquiline nose and protruding chin. These features are glossed over in many ‘straight’ portraits of Innocent, but we have a drawing, perhaps by Bernini himself, in which his crabbed and rather chilling aspect appears unmitigated (Fig. 35). The profile of the pope, also wearing the bishop’s miter; may have been in preparation for a sculptured portrait, and the caricature may have originated in one of Bernini’s sessions sketching the man in action — repeating the process we suggested in connection with the Scipione Borghese portraits done nearly fifty years earlier.57 Bernini certainly had reason enough to take an unsympathetic view of the pope, whose indifference, if not actual hostility, to art was notorious. It was Innocent who in January 1679 refused to permit the execution of the final block of the portico in front of Saint Peter’s, thus dooming to incompletion the greatest architectural project of Bernini’s life. It was he who prudishly forced the artist to cover the bosom of the figure of Truth on the tomb of Alexander VII. It was Innocent who ordered an inquiry into the stability of the dome of Saint Peter’s where cracks had appeared, which some of Bernini’s critics falsely attributed to his work on the supporting piers many years before.58 It would be a mistake, however; to think of the drawing simply as an exercise of Bernini’s spleen upon Innocent’s character and appearance. The basic design and the specific deformations it embodies are rife with reminiscences and allusions that augment its meaning. The reclining figure performing an official act recalls those most peculiar and regal ceremonies Bernini must have become aware of on his visit to the court of Louis XIV in 1665, the lit de justice and the lever and coucher du roi, in which the Sun King received homage as he rose in the morning and retired in the

57 The drawing, in red chalk, conforms in type to Bernini’s studies for sculptured portraits (see above, p. 21), and its plastic modeling led Brauer and Wittkower (1931, p. 157) to consider it a copy after a lost original; I suspect it is original, overworked by another hand. No sculptured portrait of Innocent by Bernini is recorded, unless he made the model for a bronze, datable 1678, by a certain Travani, once in S. Maria in Montesanto, Rome; see Martinelli (1956, p. 47, n. 95). 58 On the foregoing, see Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 32, p. 35); Wittkower (1981, p. 260).

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evening.59 The image also reflects the tradition of the reclining effigy on tomb monuments and the reclining Moriens in the innumerable illustrated versions of the Ars Moriendi (‘The Art of Dying Well’) (Fig. 36); the latter genre had an important role in the devotions of the Confraternity of the Bona Mors at the Gesù, in which Bernini and the pope himself, when he was cardinal, participated regularly.60 Bernini had only recently adapted this convention for his portrayal of Blessed Lodovica Albertoni in a state of ecstatic expiration in her burial chapel in San Francesco a Ripa in Rome (Fig. 37). He may even have recalled a sixteenth-century Flemish tomb, an engraving of which there are other reasons to suppose he knew, where a beckoning skeleton replaced the figure of the deceased (Fig. 38).61 The somewhat lugubrious irony of this conflation of regal pomp and funereal decrepitude was surely deliberate. So, too, were aspects of the rendering of the pope’s physiognomy and gesture. Innocent followed like a chill wind after the florid exuberance of the long, Baroque summer of the Church Triumphant. He was, as we have noted, a veritable throwback to the rigorous pietism of the Counter Reformation, and quite consciously so, for he took as the model for all his actions the most austere pontiff of that whole period, Pius V (1566–1572), who had also been unrelenting in his zeal to cleanse the Church of its vices, including nepotism, and protect it from its enemies (the Turks were defeated in the momentous naval battle at Lepanto during his reign).62 He had been beatified in 1672, shortly before Innocent XI took office, and was canonized in 1712. It happened that Innocent also bore a striking physical resemblance to Pius, whose desiccated and otherworldly features seem perfectly to embody the spiritual fervor of his time. Innocent actually had him-

See the classic study by Kantorowicz (1963, pp. 162–77). For Bernini and the Ars Moriendi, see Lavin (1972, pp. 159–71); on Innocent and the Bona Mors, see Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 32, p. 14). 61 For this tomb, cf. Lavin (1980, p. 136, n. 10) and Lavin et al. (1981, catalogue numbers 2–5, n. 13). 62 For Pius V see Bibliotheca (1961–69, vol. 10, columns 883–901). Innocent’s emulation of Pius is attested in the sources, e.g., a letter to Paris from the French agent in Rome, May 11, 1678: ‘On travaille icy en bon lieu pour inspirer le dessein au pape de proffiter de sa fortune en imitant seulement Pie V que Saintété paroit s’estre proposée pour le modèle de ses actions.’ Paris, Ministère des affaires étrangères, Correspondance de Rome, vol. 256, fol. 141 (modern foliation), quoted in part by Michaud (1882–83, vol. 1, pp. 152 f ); cf. Pastor (1894–1953, vol. 32, pp. 184, 518, 523). 59 60

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self depicted as a kind of reincarnation of his saintly idol on a very unusual medal where portraits of the two men appear on the two faces (Fig. 39).63 Bernini must have had the analogy in mind when drawing the caricature: the emaciated figure with spidery hand raised in blessing distinctly recalls a particular medallic image issued by Pius himself, which is one of the most penetrating of all the portrayals of the great reformer (Fig. 40).64 In this way Bernini assimilated both Innocent and his prototype into a composite image of the pontifical arch zealot. In some respects the drawing of Innocent reaches beyond the limits of portraiture; the exaggeration is so extreme that the figure scarcely resembles a human being at all, but rather some monstrous insect, with pillows for wings and bishop’s miter for antennae, masquerading as a person. Again, I doubt that the analogy is fortuitous. To be sure, insects in general were not a very important part of the physiognomical tradition discussed earlier; but one insect in particular; or at least the name of it, played a considerable role in the history of comic monstrosities in Western art — namely, the cricket. In a famous passage Pliny says that the Greek artist Antiphilos established a new genre of painting by a comic portrayal of a man called Gryllos in a ridiculous costume, from which, Pliny says, all such pictures are called grylloi.65 Although the exact meaning of the passage is in dispute, it is generally agreed that Pliny must be referring to amusing depictions of cavorting dwarfs and hybrid and humanoid creatures, of which numerous examples are known. No doubt this interpretation dates from the Renaissance and is based in part on the happenstance that the word, when spelled with a lambda in Greek, means ‘pig,’ and with two l’s in Latin means ‘cricket.’66 63 Cf. Trésor (1834–58, vol.6, p. 38 and Pl. xxxvi, number 8); Patrignani (1953, p. 78, number 2). There are also plaques on which the two popes’ portraits are paired, and Innocent struck a medal and coins to celebrate the victory at Vienna with the same inscription used by Pius on a medal celebrating the victory at Lepante; cf. Hiesinger and Percy (1980, pp. 130 f ); Venuti (1744, pp. 125 f., number VII, p. 299, number XXVIII); Serafini (1964–65, vol. 2, pp. 298 f ). 64 Venuti (1744, p. 125, numbers V, VI). 65 ‘Idem iocosis nomine Gryllum deridiculi habitus pinxit, unde id genus picturae grylli vocantur.’ Jex-Blake and Sellers (1975, pp. 146 f ). For the ancient genre, see Enciclopedia (1958–66, vol. 3, pp. 1,065 f ). 66 On the modern use of the term, see the basic contributions in the journal Proef (1974) by Miedema, Bruyn, and Ruurs (kindly called to my attention by David Levine); cf. Alpers (1975–76, p. 119 and n. 15); Miedema (1977, p. 211, n. 29). See further Wind (1974, pp. 28 f ) and the references given in the next footnote.

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As early as the mid-sixteenth century the works of Hieronymus Bosch, which contain all manner of mixed human and animal forms, were called grylloi (Fig. 41); so, too, were Arcimboldo’s polymorphous transmutations of traditional frontal and profile portrait types.67 Bernini’s caricature of Innocent looks like nothing so much as a great cricket, and I have no doubt that this novel assimilation of insect and human likenesses was made in deliberate reference to, and emulation of, the new art of comic portraiture invented by the ancient master. I suspect, moreover; that the analogy reached beyond physical appearances to a moral and psychological level as well, through another remarkable wordplay of the sort that always fascinated Bernini. In Italian grillo would refer not only to the classical prototype of the comic portrait, but also to the character or personality of the insect itself. Owing to the creature’s peculiar life-style, the word grillo has a meaning roughly equivalent to ‘whim’ or ‘caprice’ in English. The term appears frequently in the art literature of the period in reference to the artist’s inventiveness or even his personal stylistic idiosyncrasies.68 More generally, to ‘have a cricket in one’s head’ (avere un grillo in testa) is to ‘have a bee in one’s bonnet’ — an expression that seems to suit Innocent Xl as if it were tailored for him. In Bernini’s sketch, the pope’s appearance and character merged with the invention of comic portraiture in a grandiose pun linking antiquity to the present under the aspect of satire. The chain turns full circle, as it were, when two additional links are added that pertain to the Pasquino. In the early sixteenth century there had been a one-eyed barber named Grillo who had written pasquinades that were actually called grilli, which he was said to have had in his head. The frontispiece of a volume of the poems he attached to the Pasquino shows him chasing after crickets in the field (Fig. 42).69 Perhaps Grillo’s memory was still alive in Bernini’s time. In any case, Bernini seems not to have been the only one to apply an image of this sort to Innocent. One is tempted to imagine that his drawing may have inspired the following verses from a 67 For Bosch, see the remarks by Felipe de Guevara, trans. in De Tolnay (1966, p. 401); cf. Gombrich (19662, pp. 113, 115, n. 30); Posner (1971, pp. 69, 164, n. 94). For Arcimbeldo, see Kaufmann (1975, pp. 280–82). The word was also applied by Lomazzo ([1584] 1973–74, p. 367) and Tesauro ([1670] 1968, p. 85) to the kind of grotesque decorations discussed above. 68 See the passages noted in the index to Lomazzo ([1584] 1973–74, p. 672, s.v. ‘Grillo’). 69 Silenzi (1933, pp. 17, illustrated opposite p. 100, 339 f, 343).

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vicious pasquinade occasioned by the pope’s death in 1689: I’ve not found in the annals of ancient things A worst beast, who beneath hypocrisy clings And tinges in others’ blood his beak and wings.70 I have so far discussed rather specific aspects of the form, sources, and significance of Bernini’s caricatures. Insofar as they are documents of social comment, however, certain more general features of the context in which they were produced must also be considered. With hindsight it seems inevitable that the true caricature should have emerged in Rome and nowhere else.71 Rome was then, as it still is, unlike any other major European city in that, from the point of view of commerce and industry, it was insignificant; its only reasons for being were administrative and symbolic. It was the capital of a great state, which, though of diminished political and military importance, retained a spiritual force that made it a focal point of international relations, secular as well as ecclesiastical. There was nothing in Rome to match the growth of the bourgeoisie in the urban centers of the north, but in the bosom of the Church men could, and very often did, rise from the humblest circumstances to the heights of power and wealth. As the headquarters of the Catholic hierarchy. and especially of the religious orders, the city was filled with people who, like Bernini, had broken through the barriers of traditional class hierarchy. Social irony was almost a natural by-product of this extraordinary environment, wherein moral pretense and cosmopolitan reality were extremes that touched. The birth of caricature was also related to the rise in status for which artists had been struggling since the Renaissance, and of which Bernini was in some respects the epitome. A major theme of the biographies by Baldinucci (written at the behest of Bernini’s close friend, Queen Christina of Sweden) and by his son Domenico was precisely his acceptance by the great people of his day, even at a certain risk to themselves. This could 70 Io non retrovo ancor nei vecchi annali Bestia peggior, che sotto hipocrasia Col sangue altrui tingesse e ’l becco e l’ali

Silenzi (1968, p. 279). 71 There is no comprehensive social history of Rome at this period. For a recent general survey with useful bibliographical indications, see Petrocchi (1975).

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41. Hieronymus Bosch (shop of Hieronymus Cock), drollery, engraving. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

457

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42. Carmina apposita Grillo Monoculo: ad Pasquillû, 1526, title page [after Silenzi (1933), ill. opp. p. 100].

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43. Copy after a model by Bernini, bust of the Duke of Bracciano, Bracciano Castle (photo: GFN E34349).

459

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easily be dismissed as mere propaganda, but I think their wonderment at Bernini’s social achievement was genuine. The point is vividly illustrated in the matter of caricature by a satirical poem published in 1648 by the duke of Bracciano, one of the leading figures of the day, of whom Bernini did a bust, preserved in a marble copy, that some critics have regarded as a sort of formal caricature (Fig. 43).72 The duke describes a merry gathering at his villa at Bracciano of the cream of Roman nobility, at which he and Bernini, whom he lists among the guests as ‘animator of marbles,’ joined in making comic drawings of the participants.73 In 1665, during his visit to Paris to design the Louvre, Bernini introduced the concept and example of his persiflages to Louis XIV and his court, who were greatly amused.74 Bernini’s career, in fact, would indeed be difficult to match by that of any other artist — not Velásquez, whose aspiration to nobility was a central factor in his life; not Rubens, whose position in the world was inseparable 72 On the portrait, see Wittkower (1966, p. 204 ff ). A document recently published by Rubsamen (1980, p. 45, number 72), makes it clear that this bust is a copy after a (lost) model by Bernini, as had been suggested by Martinelli. 73 Fra questi v’è Paol’ Emilio Orsino, Il Duca Sforza & ambi i Mignanelli Animator di marmi euui il Bernino, …………………………………… Hor mentre battagliauano costoro, Bernine, & io sopra un buffetto à parte Presemo à caricare alcun di lore. …………………………………

Orsini (1648, pp. 63, 65); first published by Muñoz (1919, pp. 369 f ). Caricatures are mentioned in two sharp and revealing passages in the diary of Bernini’s visit kept by Chantelou (1885, pp. 106, 151; interestingly enough, Chantelou uses the phrase attributed to the Carracci, ‘charged portraits’). During an audience with the king ‘. . . le Cavalier a dit en riant: “Ces messieurs’ci ont le Roi à leur gré toute la journée et ne veulent pas me le laisser seulement une demiheure; je suis tenté d’en faire de quelqu’un le portrait chargé.” Personne n’entendait cela; j’ai dit au Roi que c’étaient des portraits que l’on faisait ressembler dans le laid et le ridicule. L’Abbé Butti a pris la parole et a dit que le Cavalier était admirable dans ces sortes de portraits, qu’iI faudrait en faire voir quelqu’un à Sa Majesté, et comme l’on a parlé de quelqu’un de femme, le Cavalier a dit que Non bisognava caricar le donne che da notte.’ Subsequently Butti was himself the victim ‘. . . quelqu’un parlant d’un portrait chargé, le Cavalier a dit qu’iI avait fait celui de l’abbé Butti, lequel il a cherché pour le faire voir à Sa Majesté, et, ne l’ayant pas trouvé, il a demandé du crayon et du papier et l’a refait en trois coups devant le Roi qui a pris plaisir à le voir, comme a fait aussi Monsieur et les autres, tant ceux qui étaient entrés que ceux qui étaient à la porte.’ 74

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from his activity as a diplomat. Bernini never lost touch with the humble craft origins of his profession. He became early on a member of the marble workers’ guild, to which he remained very attached and contributed generously later in life;75 and although much indebted to the humanist tradition, he laid no claim to recondite learning or theoretical speculation. His freedom of wit and satire and his ability to consort on equal terms with the high and mighty were based solely on the quality of his mind and art. In this sense he fulfilled the Renaissance ideal, while helping to create a new role for the artist in society. In the end, however, the caricatures must be thought of as a deeply personal expression of Bernini’s creative genius, for two reasons in particular. One is that — and this is true of his comedies as well — although he circulated them among his friends, there is no evidence he ever intended to publish his drawings in the form of prints. We owe the caricature as an instrument of social reform in this sense to eighteenth-century England. Bernini’s little lampoons sprang from a deep well within, however, and were far from mere trifles to him. Both points emerge from the last document I shall quote, a charming letter Bernini wrote to a friend named Bonaventura (‘Good Fortune’ in Italian) accompanying two such sketches, now lost: As a cavalier I swear I’ll never send you any more drawings because having these two portraits you can say you have all that bumbler Bernini can do. But since I doubt your dim wit can recognize them I’ll tell you the longer one is Don Giberti and the shorter one is Bona Ventura. Believe me, you’ve had Good Fortune, because I’ve never had greater satisfaction than in these two caricatures, and I’ve made them with my heart. When I visit you I’ll see if you appreciate them. Rome, 15 March 1652. Your True Friend G. L. Bern.

75

See Lavin (1968, pp. 236f ).

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This is, incidentally, the first time the word ‘caricature’ is used as we use it today, as the name for a certain class of drawings.76

76

. . . mio sig—re

Da chavaliere vi giuro di non mandarvi più disegni perchè avendo voi questi dui ritratti potete dire d’avere tutto quel che può fare quel baldino di bernino, ma perchè dubito che il Vostro corto ingegno non sapia conoscerli per non vi fare arrossire vi dico che quel più lungo è Don Ghiberti e quel più basso è Bona Ventura. Credetemi che a voi e toccato aver la buona Ventura perchè mai mi sono piu sodistatto che in queste due caricature e lo fatte di cuore. Quando vedrò costi vedrò se ne tenete conto. Roma li 15 Marzo 1652. Vero Amico G. L. Bern. Ozzola (1906, p. 205); cf. Lavin (1970, p. 144 n. 75). Ozzela guessed from the letter itself that the addressee might have been named Bonaventura. I have no doubt that the fortunate recipient was, in fact, the Bolognese painter and Franciscan friar Bonaventura Bisi. Bisi was a friend and correspondent of Guercino, who also made a caricature of him, datable 1657–59, with an inscription punning on his last name (cf. Galleni, 1975).

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Bibliography Amgren, A. Die umgekehrte Perspektive und die Fluchtachsenperspektive. Uppsala, 1971. Alpers, S. ‘Realism as a Comic Mode. Low-Life Painting Seen through Bredero’s Eyes.’ Simiolus, vol. 8 (1975–76), pp. 115–44. Arndt, H. ‘Johannes est stultus, amen. Kinderzeichnungen eines Lateinschülers aus den Tagen des Erasmus.’ in M. Gosebruch and L. Dittmann, eds., Argos — Festschrift für Kurt Badt, pp. 261–76. Cologne, 1970. L’Art populaire en Wallonie, Liège, 1970. Baglione, G. Le vite de’ pittori [1935] scultori et architetti dal pontificato di Gregorio XIII. del 1572. in fino a’tempi di Papa Urbino Ottavo nel 1642. Rome, 1642; ed. V Mariani, Rome, 1935. Baldinucci, F. Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino scultore, architetto, e pittore. Rome, 1682; ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948. Bernini, D. Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino. Rome, 1713. Besso, M. Roma e il papa nei proverbi e nei modi di dire. Rome, 1904. Bibliotheca sanctorum. 12 vols. Rome, 1961–69. Boeck, W. ‘Bernini und die Erfindung der Bildniskarikatur’ Das goldene Tor, vol.4 (1949), pp. 294–99. Bohlin, D. D. Prints and Related Drawings by the Carracci Family. Washington, D.C., 1975. Boissard, J. J. Romanae urbis topographiae et antiquitatum. 2 vols. Frankfurt, 1597–1602. Brauer H. and R. Wittkower. Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini. Berlin, 1931. Bruyn, J. ‘Problemen bij grillen.’ Proef, vol.3 (1974), pp. 82–84. Caricature and Its Role in Graphic Satire (exh. cat.). Providence, R.I., 1971. Catalogue Raisonné of the Works by Pieter Jansi Saenredam (exh. cat.). Utrecht, 1961. Cèbe, J.-P La caricature et la parodie dans le monde romain antique des origines a Juvénal. Paris, 1966. Cellini, B. Opere. Ed. G. G. Ferrero. Turin, 1971. Champfleury [J. Fleury-Husson], Histoire de la caricature antique. Paris, 1865.

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464 Chantelou, P Fréart de. Journal du cavalier Bernin en France. Ed. L. Lalanne. Paris, 1885. Cian, V La satira. 2 vols. Milan, 1945. Connell, E. J. ‘The Romanization of the Gothic Arch in Some Paintings by Pieter Saenredam. Catholic and Protestant Implications.’ The Rutgers Art Review, vol.1(1980), pp. 17–35. Cooke, H. L. ‘Three unknown Drawings by G. L. Bernini.’ Burlington Magazine, vol. 97 (1955), pp. 320–23. Dacos, N. La Découverte de la Domus Aureus et la formation des grotesques à la Renaissance. London–Leiden, 1969. Dal Poggetto, P. I disegni murali di Michelangiolo e della sua scuola nella Sagrestia Nuova di San Lorenzo. Florence, 1979. De la Vigne, D. Spiegel van een saalighe Doodt. Antwerp, 1673 (?). Della Porta, G. B. De humana physiognomonia. Vico Equense, 1586; ed. Rouen, 1650. De Tolnay, C. Michelangelo. Princeton, 1943–60. De Tolnay, C. Hieronymus Bosch. New York, 1966. De Tolnay, C. Corpus dei disegni di Michelangelo. Novara, 1975 ff. Dewez, L. ‘L’Ecole. Les boîtes d’écolier.’ Enquêtes du Musée de la Vie Wallone, vol. 7 (1956), pp. 362–71. D’Onofrio, C. Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Fontana di Trevi. Commedia inedita. Rome, 1963. D’Onofrio, C. Roma vista da Roma. Rome, 1967. Drawings of the 15th and 16th Centuries ftom the Wallraf-Richartz-Museum in Cologne. Circulated by the American Federation of Arts 1964–65 (exh. cat.). Berlin, 1964. Elliott, J. H. Imperial Spain 1496–1716. New York, 1964. Enciclopedia dell’arte antica, classica e orientale. 7 vols. Rome, 1958–66. Encyclopedia of World Art. 17 vols. London, 1959–87. Fagiolo dell Arco, M. and M. Bernini. Una introduzione al gran teatro del barocco. Rome, 1967. Feliciangeli, B. Il cardinale Angelo Giori da Camerino e Gianlorenzo Bernini. Sanseverino-Marche, 1917. Franco Fiorio, M. T. Giovan Francesco Caroto. Verona, 1971. Fraschetti, S. Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo. Milan, 1900. Galleni, R. ‘Bonaventura Bisi e il Guercino.’ Paragone, vol. 26, no. 307 (1975), pp. 80–82. Georgel, P ‘L’Enfant au Bonhomme.’ In K. Gallwitz and K. Herding, eds., Malerei und Theorie. Das Courbet-Colloquium 1979, pp. 105–15. Frankturt, 1980. Gilbert, C. (trans.), and Linscott, R. N. (ed.). Complete Poems and Selected Letters of Michelangelo, New York, 1963. Girardi, E. N. Michelangiolo Buonarroti. Rime. Bari, 1960.

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Gombrich, E. H. ‘The Debate on Primitivism in Ancient Rhetoric.’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. 29 (19661), pp. 24–38. Gombrich, E. H. Norm and Form. London, 19662. Gombrich, E. H. Art and Illusion, Princeton, 1972. Gombrich, E. H. Il gusto dei primitivi. Le radici della rebellione. Naples, 1985. Grisar, H., and F. Heege. Luthers Kampfbilder. 4 vols. Freiburg im Breisgau, 1921–23. Hadzi, M. L. In P W. Lehman and D. Spittle, Samothrace. The Temenos. Princeton, 1982. Harris, A. S. ‘Angelo de’ Rossi, Bernini and the Art of Caricature.’ Master Drawings, vol. 13 (1975), pp. 158–60. Harris, A. S. Selected Drawings of Gian Lorenzo Bernini. New York, 1977. Haskell, F. and N. Penny. Taste and the Antique: The Lure of Classical Sculpture 1500–1900. New Haven and London, 1981. Heckscher, W. S. ‘Reflections on Seeing Holbein’s Portrait of Erasmus at Longford Castle.’ In D. Fraser, H. Hibbard, M. J. Lewine, eds., Essays in the History of Art Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, pp. 128–48. London, 1967. Hiesinger, U. W., and A. Percy. A Scholar Collects: Selections ftom the Anthony Morris Clark Bequest. Philadelphia, 1980. Janeck, A. ‘Untersuchung über den Holländischen Maler Pieter van Laer, genannt Bamboccio,’ Ph.D. diss., Würzburg, 1968. Jex-Blake, K., and F. Sellers. The Elder Pliny’s Chapters on the History of Art. Chicago, 1975. Juynboll, W. R. Het komische genre in de ltaliaansche schilderkunst gedurende de zeventiende en de achttiende eeuw Bijdrage tot de geschiedenis van de caricatur. Leyden, 1934. Kantorowicz, E. H. ‘Oriens augusti — Lever du roi,’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers, vol. 17 (1963), pp. 117–77. Kaufmann, T D. ‘Arcimboldo’s Imperial Allegories. G. B. Fonteo and the Interpretation of Arcimboldo’s Painting.’ Zeitschrift fur Kunstgeschichte, vol. 39 (1975), pp. 275–96. Kitzinger, E. Byzantine Art in the Making. Main Lines of Stylistic Development in Mediterranean Art 3rd–7th Century. Cambridge, Mass., 1977. Koepplin, D., and T Falk. Lukas Cranach. Gemälde, Zeichnungen, Druckgraphik. 2 vols. Stuttgart, 1974–76. Kren, T. ‘Chi non vuol Baccho. Roeland van Laer’s Burlesque Painting about Dutch Artists in Rome.’ Simiolus, vol. 11 (1980), pp. 63–80. Kris, E. Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art. New York, 1952. Kris, E., and O. Kurz. Legend, Myth, and Magic in the Image of the Artist. A Historical Experiment. New Haven and London, 1979. Kruft, H.-W. ‘Ein Album mit Porträtzeichnungen Ottavio Leonis.’ Storia dell’Arte, 1969, pp. 447–58.

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466 Lafon, M. Pasquino et Marforio. Les bouches de marbre de Rome. Paris, 1876. Lafreri, A. Speculum romanae magnificentiae. Rome, 1575. Lange, K., and F. Fuhse. Dürers schriftlicher Nachlass. Halle, 1893. Lavin, I. ‘Five New Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of His Early Work.’ The Art Bulletin, vol. 50 (1968), pp. 223–48. Lavin, I., with the collaboration of M. Aronberg Lavin. ‘Duquesnoy’s “Nano di Créqui” and Two Busts by Francesco Mochi.’ The Art Bulletin, vol. 52 (1970), pp. 132–49. Lavin, I. ‘Bernini’s Death.’ The Art Bulletin, vol. 54 (1972), pp. 159–86. Lavin, I. Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts. New York–London, 1980. Lavin, I., et al. Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig (exh. cat.). Princeton, 1981. Lavin, I. History as a Visual Figure of Speech. Uses of the Past in Art From Donatello to Picasso. Berkeley, to be published in 1991. Levine, D. ‘The Art of the Bamboccianti.’ Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1984. Lippi, M. G. Vita di Papa XI. Ed. G. Berthier Rome, 1889. Lomazzo, G. P. Idea del tempio della pittura. Milan, 1590; Trattato dell’arte della pittura. Milan, 1584. Gian Paolo Lomazzo. Scritti sulle arti. Ed. R. P Ciardi. 2 vols. Florence, 1973–74. MacGregor, J. M. The Discovery of the Art of the Insane. Princeton, 1989. Maclaren, N. National Gallery Catalogues. The Dutch School. London, 1960. Maclehose, L. S., and G. B. Brown. Vasari on Technique. New York, 1960. Malvasia, C. E. Feisina pittrice. Vite de’pittori bolognesi. Ed. G. Zanotti. 2 vols. Bologna, 1841. Martinelli, V ‘I disegni del Bernini.’ Commentari, vol. 1 (1950), pp. 172–86. Martinelli, V I ritratti di pontefici di G. L. Bernini. Rome, 1956. Meder, J. The Mastery of Drawing. Translated and revised by W. Ames. New York, 1978. Michaud, E., Louis XIV et Innocent XI, 4 vols., Paris, 1882–83. Miedema, H. ‘De grillen.’ Proef, vol. 3 (1974), pp. 84–86. Miedema, H. ‘Grillen van Rembrandt.’ Proef, vol. 3 (1974), p. 74 f. Miedema, H. ‘Realism and Comic Mode. The Peasant.’ Simiolus, vol. 9 (1977), pp. 205–19. Mirot, L. ‘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, vol. 31 (1904), pp. 161–288. Muñoz, A. Roma barocca. Rome, 1919. Orsini, P G., duke of Bracciano. Parallelo fra la città e la villa. Satire undici. Bracciano, 1648. Ozzola, L. ‘Tre lettere inedite riguardanti il Bernini.’ L’Arte, vol. 9 (1906), p. 205. Panofsky, E. ‘Erasmus and the Visual Arts.’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.32 (1969), pp. 200–27.

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Passional Christi und Antichristi. Ed. D. G. Kawerau. Berlin, 1885. Pastor, L. von. The History of the Popes. 40 vols. St. Louis, 1894–1953. Patrignani, A. ‘Le medaglie papali del periodo neoclassico (1605–1730). Seconda parte: Da Clemente X (1670) a Benedetto XIII (1730).’ Bollettino del circolo numismatico napolitano, vol. 38 (1953), pp. 65–110. Perrault, C. Mémoires de ma vie par Charles Perrault. Voyage à Bordeaux (1669) par Claude Perrault. Ed. P. Bonnefon. Paris, 1909. Petrocchi, M. Roma nel seicento. Bologna, 1975. Posner, D. ‘The Picture of Painting in Poussin’s Self-Portrait.’ In D. Fraser, H. Hibbard, M. J. Lewine, eds., Essays in the History of Art Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, pp. 200–203. London, 1967. Posner, D. Annibale Carracci: A Study in the Reform of Italian Painting around 1590. London, 1971. Robinson, D. M. ‘The villa of Good Fortune at Olynthus.’ American Journal of Archaeology, vol. 38 (1934), pp. 501–10. Romano, P. Pasquino e la satira in Roma. Rome, 1932. Roworth, W. W. ‘Pictor Succensor A Study of Salvator Rosa as Satirist, Cynic, and Painter.’ diss., Bryn Mawr College, 1977. Rubin, W., ed., ‘Primitivism’ in 20th Century Art, 2 vols. New York, 1984. Rubsamen, G. The Orsini Inventories. Malibu, Calif, 1980. Rupprich, H. Dürer: schriftlicher Nachlass. 3 vols. Berlin, 1956–69. Rurrs, R. ‘Adrianus Brouwer gryllorum pictor.’ Proef, vol. 3 (1974), p. 87 f. Salzmann, D. Untersuchungen zu den antiken Kieselmosaiken. Berlin,1982. Schmitt, M. ‘“Random” Reliefs and “Primitive” Friezes. Reused Sources of Romanesque Sculpture?’ Viator, vol. 11 (1980), pp. 123–45. Schwartz, G. ‘Saenredam, Huygens and the Utrecht Bull.’ Simiolus, vol. 1 (1966–67), pp. 69–93. Sciolla, G. C. La scultura di Mino da Fiesole. Torino, 1970. Serafini, C. Le monete e le bolle plumbee pontificie del medagliere vaticano. 4 vols. Bologna, 1964–65. Shikes, R. E. The Indignant Eye: The Artist as Social Critic in Prints and Drawings from the Fifteenth Century to Picasso. Boston, Mass., 1969. Silenzi, F and R. Pasquino. Cinquecento Pasquinate. Milan, 1933. Silenzi, F and R. Pasquino. Quattro secoli di satira romana. Florence, 1968. Sotheby & Co., Catalogue of Old Master Drawings, May 21, 1963. Stampfle, F. and J. Bean. Drawings from New York Collections. Vol. 2: The Seventeenth Century. New York, 1967. Tesauro, E. Il cannocchiale aristotelico. Turin, 1670. Ed. A. Buck. Bad Homburg, etc., 1968. Thiem, G. and C. Toskanische Fassaden-Dekoration. Munich, 1964. Thöne, F. ‘Caspar Freisingers Zeichnungen.’ Zeitschrift des deutschen Vereins für Kunstwissenschaft, vol. 7 (1940), pp. 39–63.

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468 Trésor de numismatique et de glyptique. Ed. P. Delaroche, H. Dupont, C. Lenormant. 20 vols. Paris, 1834–58. Tronzo, W. The Via Latina Catacomb: Imitation and Discontinuity in FourthCentury Roman Painting. University Park and London, 1986. Väänänen, V, ed., Graffiti del Palatino. Vol. 1: Paedagogium. Helsinki, 1966. Vol. 2: Domus Tiberiana. Helsinki, 1970. Vasari, G. La vita di Michelangelo nelle redazioni del 1550 e del 1568. Ed. P Barocchi. 5 vols. Milan and Naples, 1962. Vasari, G. Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori scultori e architettori nelle redazioni del 1550 e 1568. Ed R. Bettarini, P Barrocchi. Florence, 1966 ff. Venuti, R. Numismata romanorum pontificum praestantoria a Martinus V ad Benedictum XIV. Rome, 1744. Wilde, J. Michelangelo. Oxford, 1978. Wind, B. ‘Pitture Ridicole: Some Late Cinquecento Comic Genre Paintings.’ Storia dell’arte, no. 20 (1974), pp. 25–35. Wittkower, R. Bernini’s Bust of Louis XIV. London, etc., 1951. Wittkower, R. ‘The Vicissitudes of a Dynastic Monument. Bernini’s Equestrian Statue of Louis XIV’ In De artibus opuscula XL: Essays in Honor of Erwin Panofsky, pp. 497–531. Ed. M. Meiss. New York, 1961. Wittkower, R. Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, London, 1981.

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ARLO BARBERINI, brother of Pope Urban VIII and commander of the papal armies (Generale di Santa Chiesa), died during a mission in Bologna on 25 February 1630.1 The event was commemorated in Rome by three major works in which Bernini had a hand. A monumental plaque designed by Bernini was placed on the interior façade of S. Maria in Aracoeli (Fig. 1); a magnificent temporary catafalque also designed by Bernini was erected in the same church for the obsequies that were held there on 3 August; and a life-size statue, an ancient torso restored by Bernini (who carved the portrait head) and Algardi, was placed in the Sala dei Capitani of the Palazzo dei Conservatori.2 This trio of monuments specifically echoed a tradition that had been established within living memory by * This note is excerpted from an entry in a projected corpus of the terracotta sketches of Gianlorenzo Bernini, a work first envisioned by the writer in his doctoral dissertation written at Harvard in 1955 under John Coolidge’s supervision. 1 On Carlo Barberini, cf. Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Rome, 1960 ff, VI, 170–173; on his death, L. von Pastor, The History of the Popes, 40 vols., St. Louis, Mo., 1894–1953 XXVIII, 44. 2 Cf. S. Fraschetti, Il Bernini. La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo, Milan, 1900, 93–98. On the Aracoeli plaque, R. Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque, Oxford, 1981, 195–196; and most recently, N. Courtright in I. Lavin et al., Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig, German Democratic Republic, exh. cat., Princeton, 1981. 72–77. On the catafalque, M. Fagiolo dell’Arco and S. Carandini. L’effimero barocco. Strutture della festa nella Roma del’600, 2 vols., Rome, 1977–1978, I, 79–81; a ground plan in Vienna, drawn by Borromini, was identified as for the Barberini catafalque by I. Lavin, Bernini and the Crossing of St. Peter’s, New York, 1968, 13, n. 58. On the statue of Carlo Barberini, Wittkower, Bernini, 196; M. Heimbürger Ravalli, Alessandro Algardi scultore, Rome, 1973, 60–61.

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the Conservators of Rome, in celebrating three previous commanders of the papal military forces. Marcantonio Colonna (died 1584), Alessandro Farnese (died 1592) and Gian Francesco Aldobrandini (died 1601), had all been honored by splendid ceremonies and monumental commemorative plaques in the Aracoeli, and by statues in the guise of ancient Roman military commanders in the Sala dei Capitani.3 Whether Bernini was familiar with the earlier temporary installations is not clear, but the permanent memorials were certainly significant, formally no less than conceptually. The Aldobrandini statue and inscription are specifically alluded to in the initial proposal made before the Conservators for commemorating Carlo Barberini.4 The Bernini-Algardi statue is closely related to the earlier examples, recreating as they had the type of the victorious general of antiquity.5 Similarly, throughout the development of his design for the memorial plaque Bernini made reference to its predecessors.6 For the inscriptions in the church cf. V. Forcella, Iscrizioni delle chiese e d’altri edifici di Roma dal secolo XI fino ai giorni nostri, Rome,14 vols., 1869–1884, I, 197, no. 751, 206, no. 790, 213, no. 823. On the statues, cf. G. A. Borboni, Delle statue, Rome, 1669, 287 ff; P. Pecchiai, Il campidoglio nel cinquecento, Rome, 1950, 160–161; C. Petrangeli, ‘La sala dei capitanì,’ Capitolium, XXXVII, 1962, 640–648; also A. Muñoz, ‘La scultura barocca e l’antico,’ L’arte, XIX, 1916, 143. The ceremonies and decorations in S. Maria in Aracoeli are described in F. Casimiro, Memorie istoriche della chiesa e convento di S. Maria in Aracoeli di Roma, Rome, 1845, 522 ff, 623 ff. 4 5 March 1630: ‘. . . fiant magnifica, et solemnia funeralia digna Romani Populi, ac tanti viri . . . et simulacrum marmoreum eiusdem Ill.mi et Ex.mi D. Don Caroli in Palatio Capitolij una cum ornatissimis inscriptionibus, quemadmodum fuit factum fe: me: Ioanne Franc.o Aldobrandino . . .’ Archivio Storico Capitolino, Decreti di Consegli, Magistrati e Cittadini, 1675–1640, Cred. I, vol. 33, fols. 73 verso–74 recto. Ippolito Buzio was responsible for the Farnese statue (Pecchiai, Campidoglio, 161, n. 212; the payment cited makes no specific reference to the head, however); it is not clear who executed that of Colonna (ibid.,161), nor did a search of the documents by the writer yield the author of the Aldobrandini figure. 5 The statues of Alessandro Farnese and Francesco Aldobrandini were also restored ancient fragments (cf. H. Stuarcjones, A Catalogue of the Ancient Sculptures Preserved in the Municipal Collections of Rome. The Sculptures of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Oxford, 1926, 41–42). 6 The Farnese inscription, dated 1596, on the north end wall of the transept, was probably designed by Giacomo della Porta, who authorized payments to the sculptor Ruggiero Bescapé and others between June 1595 and February 1598 (Arch. Stor. Capit., Registro di Mandati a favore degli offiziali er artisti del Po: Ro:, 1594–1603, Cred. VI, vol. 26, 128 [cf. F. Fasolo, L’opera di Hieronimo e Carlo Rainaldi. 1570–1655 e 1611–1691, Rome, n.d., 263], 154, 157, 159, 170, 197, 198, 215, 247, 276, 291; the contracts are quoted by A. Bertolotti, Artisti lombardi a Roma nei secoli XV, XVIe XVII, 2 vols., Milan, 1881, II, 310–311). On the 3

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1. Gianlorenzo Bernini, memorial plaque of Carlo Barberini. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli (photo: Moscioni).

2. Memorial plaque of Alessandro Farnese. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli (after Fasolo, Rainaldi, fig. 3).

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3. Memorial plaque of Gian Francesco Aldobrandini. Rome, S. Maria in Aracoeli (after Fasolo, Rainaldi, pl. 6).

4. Gianlorenzo Bernini, study for the Barberini plaque, drawing. Leipzig, Museum der bildenden Künste.

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5. Catafalque of Carlo Barberini, Ferrara, 1630, etching.

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6. Catafalque of Carlo Barberini, Ferrara, 1630, etching, detail

7. Gianlorenzo Bernini, study for the Barberini plaque, terracotta. Cambridge, Fogg Museum.

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In both the Farnese and Aldobrandini memorials (Figs. 2, 3), the flat inscribed surface is surrounded by elaborate frames and surmounted by pediments upon which female allegories carved in high relief are seated; in the Farnese monument two female terms in low relief also flank the inscription laterally. A sketch in Leipzig (Fig. 4) shows that Bernini, while greatly simplifying the design, first adopted the traditional rectilinear shape and the flanking figures of the Farnese plaque, replacing the latter by winged personifications of Fame that seem at once to rest against the framed inscription tablet, and to carry it aloft.7 In the final work Bernini adopted the idea of seated allegories with complementary meanings that had also appeared on the earlier plaques. The allegory on the left, identified as the Church in the early sources, has a shield bearing the papal arms; a huge snake, ancient symbol of heresy, is under her right foot, the tail (partly broken) curling around the front of the plaque. Between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand may be discerned a fragment of a thin rod, probably part of a staff (see below). The shield of the figure on the right contains a laurel wreath and lightning bolt, the significance of which is explained by a passage in Cesare Ripa's Iconologia, under the heading Virtù insuperabile:

Roman commemorations of Alessandro Farnese see D. Bodart, ‘Cérémonies et monuments romains à la mémoire d’Alexandre Farnèse, duc de Parme et de Plaisance,’ Bulletin de l’Institut historique belge de Rome, XXXVII, 1966, 122-136 (although not properly acknowledged, 136, n. 3, the documentation cited by Bodart from the Archivio Storico Capirolino was brought to his attention by this writer). The inscription to Gian Francesco Aldobrandini, on the east wall of the south transept wing, together with its counterpart honoring Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini, on the corresponding wall of the north transept, both dated 1602, were the work primarily of Ippolito Buzio and Camillo Mariani, according to payments between May 1602 and February 1603, authorized by della Porta before his death on 2 September 1602 (A. Schiavo, ‘Notizie biografiche su Giacomo della Porta,’ Palladio, VII, 1957, 41), then by Girolamo Rainaldi (Arch. Stor. Capit.,Registro di mandari . . ., 1599–1603, Cred. VI, vol. 27, 126, 127, 128, 132, 135 [payments to January 1603]; cf. Casimiro, Memorie, 627, and Fasolo, Rainaldi, 264–265. The Colonna inscription, on the façade wall over the main entrance just to the right of Bernini’s, has no allegorical figures (payment to Pietro Paolo Olivieri, authorized by della Porta, 29 September 1587; Arch. Stor. Capit., Registro di Mandati, Cred. VI, vol. 25, 95). 7 Compare an inscription flanked by winged putti, by Camillo Mariani in S. Bernardo alle Terme (G. Fiocco, ‘Camillo Mariani,’ Le arti, III. 1940–1941, 84 and Fig. 30); trumpeting figures of Fame are seated on the pediments of the Sforza tombs in S. Maria Maggiore (cf. G. Ferrari, La tomba nell’arte italiana, Milan, n.d., Pl. XCI).

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. . . for a crest she will carry a laurel plant, menaced but not struck by lightning. . . . Virtue, as a warrior who struggles continually with her enemy, is portrayed armed with lightning, which, as Pliny recounts, cannot with all its violence damage laurel. . . .8 Under her foot is a globe encircled by the band of the Zodiac, of which only the sign of Scorpio is visible. The scorpion as an astrological sign is the attribute of Mars, God of War.9 The figures thus symbolize the Church's victory over spiritual evil and virtue's victory over earthly strife, both achieved through Carlo Barberini's military prowess. Perhaps the best expression of their meaning is provided by the funeral oration delivered by Giulio Cenci at the obsequies in S. Maria in Aracoeli, in which Barberini is hailed as ‘defender of the public well-being and maker of Christian peace.’10 Bernini's explicit references to the earlier works provide a foil for the fundamental thematic and formal transformations he introduced. Neither Carlo Barberini nor the three others were actually interred in Aracoeli. Hence the funereal note sounded in Bernini's final version, chiefly by the winged skull at the base of the inscription, and the melancholic pose of the figure on the right, was quite foreign to the purely commemorative import of the tradition.11 Perhaps this reinterpretarion was motivated by the consideration that Barberini would not in fact have a public tomb; he was buried in an obscure and inaccessible niche adjoining the family chapel in

8 ‘. . . per cimiero, portarà una pianta d’alloro minacciata, ma non percossa dal fulmine. . . . La virtù come guerriera, che di continuo col vitio suo inimico combarte, si dipinge armata, & col fulmine, il quale come racconta Plinio, non può con tutta la sua violenza offendere il lauro. . . .’ Ed. Rome, 1603 (reprint 1970), 509. 9 Cf. G. De Tervarent, Attributs et symbols dans l’art profane, 3 vols., Geneva. 1958–1964, II, col. 340. 10 ‘propugnator publicae salutis et Christianae pacis auctor’ (In funere illustrissimi, & excellentissimi principio Caroli Barberini generalis S.R.E. ducis. Oratio habita in aede B. Virg. in Capitolio a Iulio Cincio Sacr. Consist. Aulae, & S.P.Q.R. advocato Anno Dominí MDCXXX.iij. Non Aug., Rome, 1630, 8). 11 M. Jaffé has pointed out that the motif at the bottom in the Leipzig drawing is not a skull but a helmet (review of I. Lavin et al., Drawings, in Times Literary Supplement, 15 October, 1981, 1127). On the pose of Melancholy, see recently W. S. Heckscher, ‘Melancholia (1541). An Essay in the Rhetoric of Description by Joachim Camerarius,’ in H. Baron, ed., Joachim Camerarius (1550–1574). Beiträge zur Geschichte des Humanismus im Zeitalter der Reformation, Munich, 1978, 49–50.

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S. Andrea della Valle.12 In any case, the new figural type was evidently derived from a great catafalque that had been erected in the Cathedral of Ferrara for obsequies held in honor of Carlo Barberini on 13 May 1630 at the behest of Cardinal Lorenzo Magalotti, Archbishop of Ferrara, who was Carlo's brother-in-law and a close friend and advisor of the Pope.13 The oration delivered on this occasion, by one Alfonso Pandolfi, was published along with an illustration of the catafalque (Figs. 5, 6).14 Seated on the steps before the structure is an allegory of the Church wearing the papal tiara and carrying a long, crossed staff. Her costume, pose and heavy monumentality

12 On his burial, cf. G. Gigli, Diario Romano, ed. G. Ricciotti, Rome, 1958, III; cited by Fraschetti, Bernini, 93,n. 1); a seated portrait of him in armor (cf. V. Martinelli, ‘Contributi alla scultura del seicento. I. Francesco Mochi a Roma,’ Commentari, II, 1951, 231, Fig. 284) is placed in a niche above the sarcophagus. 13 On Magalotti, cf. von Pastor, History of the Popes, XXVIII, 39–40. 14 Oratio in funere illustriss. & excellentiss. D. Caroli Barberini pontificiae classis imperatoris, habita iussu Eminentiss. & Reverendiss. D. Cardinalis Magalotti Ferrariae Episcopi, dum in Cathedrali Ecclesia Sororio Principi magnificentissime parentaret. Ab Alfunso Pandulfo Ferrariensi eiusdem Ecclesiae Canonico Theologo, Ferrara, 1630; O. Berendson, ‘The Italian Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Catafalques,’ unpub. diss., New York University, 1961, 203; the text is also cited and the print illustrated, without comment, in Fagiolo dell’Arco and Carandini, L’effimero, I, 80. Cardinal Antonio and Taddeo Barberini, both sons of Carlo, were present at the ceremony in Ferrara. Its date, 13 May, is evident from the following passages in letters written by Taddeo Barberini to Cardinal Francesco in Rome. From Ferrara, 11 May 1630: Qui in Ferrara me tratterrò fino à Lunedi matt.a pr.ma nella quale il S. Card.e Magalotti vol fare l’ossequie al Sig. D. Carlo nr.o Pr.e di bo: me: (Biblioteca Vaticana, Ms. Barb. Lat. 9268, fol. 6 recto.) From Ancona, 19 May 1630: Io partì da Ferra’ insieme con l’Ill.mo S.re Car.le Ant.o nro. fratt.lo et mio S.re il Lunedì, che fummo alle 13 assai tardi, ciò è alle 18 hore sonate. (ibid., fol. 7 verso.) The presence of Cardinal Antonio and Don Taddeo is also noted in a description of the obsequies by the contemporary chronicler C. Ubaldini, Storia di Ferrara dall’anno 1597 a tutto l’anno 1633, Ferrara,Biblioteca Comunale, Ms. Cl. I. 418, fol. 80 verso ff: Venne (Antonio) di Maggio . . . a Ferrara . . . alla cattedrale, essendovi anche D. Tadeo Barberini suo fratello, che era venuto da Roma, per ritrovarsi alle esequie di Carlo loro padre. (I am indebted to Dr. L. Capra, Director of the Biblioteca Comunale in Ferrara for having transcribed the relevant passage for me.)

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closely anticipate Bernini's right-hand figure, and may have helped to determine his final treatment of the plaque.15 The change in the meaning of the work was accompanied by a change in its design. In the Leipzig drawing the tablet was a closed, stable form, while the flanking figures were irregular and dynamic. The entire monument would have been flat on the wall and carved in low relief. In Bernini's bozzetto in the Fogg Museum (Fig. 7), the roles of the principal elements tend to converge, the figure becoming solid and stable, while the tablet takes on a curved, slightly concave shape.16 The figure and tablet are raised into high relief — released from the wall, as it were — and a flat slab is placed behind. In the executed version the inscription is given an almost entirely curvilinear form which approximates a pediment at the top, and to which the figures are even more tightly bound through the displacement of the frame; the latter now serves to enclose the background slab. The ultimate effect of these changes is that the figures and inscription are perceived as a single organic unit floating freely on be winged death's head at the bottom, within and before the space defined by the frame. Bernini adopted a similar illusionistic device shortly thereafter in the plaque honoring Urban VIII, which occupies the façade wall above the Carlo Barberini plaque;17 the conception also reflects the kind of thinking that resulted in the ‘perspectivized’ double niche of the Countess Matilda monument.18 The Fogg terracotta, for the right-hand figure, is broken at the bottom but preserved intact at the top and sides; it was therefore executed separately 15 The Ferrarese ceremony is mentioned in the oration by Cenci in Aracoeli (above, n. 10). Its effect in Rome can be shown in another way. One of the early sources says that Alfonso Pandolfi’s oration at Ferrara was so impressive (naming Cardinal Antonio specifically) that it won for him the bishopric of Corracchio (A. Libanori, Ferrara d’oro imbrunito, 3 vols., Ferrara, 1665–1674, I, 104). In fact, in a letter of 4 May 1630, i.e., before the obsequies, from Cardinal Magalotti to Cardinal Francesco reporting the imminent death of the bishop of Comacchio. Pandolfi is merely listed with several other candidates among whom the Pope and Cardinal Francesco might choose (Bibl. Vat., Ms. Barb. Lat. 8731, fol. 126 recto). Subsequently, in letters of 29 May, after the obsequies, Cardinal Antonio reports Pandolfi’s selection by the Pope and praises him (Bibl. Vat., Ms. Barb. Lat. 6045, fol. 14 recto, to Pandolfi; ibid., Ms. Barb. Lat. 6046, fol. 8 recto, to Cardinal Francesco). 16 Inv. No. 1937–75, 101/4 x 10 in. 17 Illustrated in Wittkower, Bernini, 206. The memorial to the Pope may be thought of as combining and developing elements from the early and final stages of the Carlo Barberini plaque into a fully dynamic design: the supporting figures are now angels in full flight and the inscription is wholly curvilinear. 18 Illustrated in Wittkower, Bernini, 200.

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and not as part of a study for the whole plaque. Baglione and Titi note that the figure of the Church, i.e., that on the left, was the work of Stefano Speranza,19 and her drapery in fact seems less animated than that of the allegory on the right. Hence it may be that, as the model also suggests, Bernini assumed most of the responsibility for executing the latter figure.20 The bozzetto is datable to the summer of 1630, after the obsequies in Ferrara. The plaque is alluded to in Cenci's oration, and was probably completed for the funeral.21 Bernini received final payment on 30 September.22

As pointed out by A. Muñoz, ‘Studi sul Bernini,’ L’arte, XIX, 1916, III; cf. G. Baglione, Le vite de’ pittori scultori architetti . . ., Rome, 1642, 352; F. Titi, Ammaestramento utile, e curioso di pittura scoltura et architettura nelle chiese di Roma, Rome, 1686, 172 f. 20 Cf. Wittkower, Bernini, 196. 21 Pp. 29–30 (cited above, n. 10). 22 Fraschetti, Bernini, 94, n. 1. 19

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Bernini’s Baldachin: Considering a Reconsideration

A

N important if by no means exclusive key to an understanding of that extraordinary image Bernini created in the baldachin of St. Peter’s lies in the series of provisional monuments installed in the crossing and in the choir of the building by the predecessors of Bernini’s patron, Pope Urban VIII (1623–1644). There were two main stages in this prior history of the baldachin. Clement VIII (1592–1605) removed the medieval installation at the altar over the tomb of the apostles Peter and Paul and erected in its place a ciborium with a cupola resting on columns, made of temporary materials. In the new church, however, the high altar was in the crossing, far removedfrom the choir where ceremonies involving the College of Cardinals normally took place. To deal with this problem, Paul V introduced a second altar in the choir, and with it a fundamental visual and conceptual distinction between the resulting two focal points. The type of architectural ciborium Clement had placed over the high altar was transferred to the choir altar, where the ancient marble spiral columns that had decorated the early Christian presbytery were reused as supports for the cupola and as part of a screen across the apse. The altar that remained in the crossing was now given an altogether different kind of covering, also impermanent, consisting of a baldachin with a tasseled canopy supported by staves which were held erect by four standing angels. No doubt the purpose of these two contrasting but complementary forms was to express, on the one hand, the function of the altar in the choir as the liturgical focal point of the building, and, on the other hand, the symbolical significance of the site in the crossing where the remains of the apostles were interred. The two structures were variously repaired, rebuilt and replaced until a permanent solution to

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the problem was reached under Urban VIII; he renounced the arrangement in the choir, leaving the monument in the crossing to convey the meanings of both predecessors. The great achievement of Bernini’s baldachin was to merge in coherent form the two traditionally independent prototypes, adapting elements from each: a structural crown above a cornice with tasseled lambrequin resting on true spiral columns and sustained by angels. Two points should be borne in mind when considering this development. The baldachin idea first appeared at St. Peter’s only when Paul V decided to establish a second papal altar in the choir; indeed, only in such a context would the baldachin type make sense, i.e., as a contrasting and complementary supplement to the ciborium type that had been used by his predecessors. Moreover, the final baldachin’s patently ‘chimerical’ combination of elements from both prototypes was precisely what was attributed to Bernini in a bitter criticism of the work by the painter Agostino Ciampelli, recorded by Borromini on a manuscript guide to Rome written by one of his friends: ‘(Ciampelli) said that baldachins are not supported by columns but by staves, and that the baldachin should not run together with the cornice of the columns, and in any case he wanted to show that it is borne by angels: and he added that it was a chimera.’1 In a recent article W. Chandler Kirwin has provided a good deal of additional information concerning this ‘prehistory’ of Bernini’s baldachin.2 The new material comes mainly from two kinds of sources, which Kirwin has examined more thoroughly than any of his predecessors: on the one hand, the actual accounts of payments to workmen, prepared by and for professionals in matters of architecture and construction; on the other hand, the minutes of meetings of the Congregation of Cardinals that supervised the building of St. Peter’s, and the diaries of the papal Masters of Ceremonies, written by and for amateurs in such matters. We now know that the temporary structures erected over the two altars were more numerous than we had suspected (though not so numerous as Kirwin makes out), we have a clearer image of what certain of these structures were like, and we have a better idea of how the altars were used. These are real, but disappointingly modest gains, and evidently in a misguided effort to inflate his own contriFor details on all the foregoing, see I. Lavin, Bernini and the Crossing of St. Peter’s, New York, 1968; also idem, ‘Letter to the Editor,’ The Art Bulletin, LV, 1973, 475–476, and Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts, New York and London, 1980, 19–21. 2 ‘Bernini’s Baldacchino Reconsidered,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XIX, 1981, 141–171. 1

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bution, Kirwin assumes the task of deflating Bernini’s. He concludes with proclamations of Bernini’s ‘power,’ ‘innovative brilliance’ and ‘genius’; but he offers no definition of these achievements, and the effect of his argument is to assign to Bernini the improbable role of executant of his predecessors’ basic ideas. We shall see that, on the contrary, Kirwin’s results in no way alter the substance of what could be surmised from the material previously available and add remarkably little to our understanding of the genesis of Bernini’s creation. Perhaps more important, however, and certainly more dispiriting, is the intricate pattern of misinterpretation, misrepresentation, and actual misquotation of evidence that Kirwin has woven to support his undertaking. The following consideration of Kirwin’s reconsideration is therefore intended not only to refute his thesis, but also to expose his method. The reader must be forewarned that although I have simplified it to the extent possible, the subject is complicated — as much by Kirwin’s construals as by the nature of the evidence itself. Clement VIII’s Ciborium(s) in the Crossing Kirwin naturally starts with the ciborium of wood, canvas, and papier maché erected by Clement VIII over the altar in the crossing. Here payments to the workmen clarify the picture of the structure: it had eight columns with bases and foliated capitals3 Kirwin tries to connect the work described in these documents with one illustrated in a drawing in Stockholm (Figs. 1, 2). The project represented here is octagonal in plan and consists of eight angels standing on balustrades with pedestals bearing the arms of the Aldobrandini pope Clement VIII. The angels grasp elaborately carved staves which support a canopy. The identification is quite untenable. The drawing represents a baldachin, not a ciborium. The payments consistently refer to a ‘ciborium’ and ‘columns’ with ‘bases’ and foliated ‘capitals’ — terms no one versed in such matters would use for the work shown in the drawing (see below for the terms used when a real baldachin was built). The documents make no reference to angels. Particularly telling is a contemporary writer’s comment that this monument was similar to a catafalque,4 a type of structure which had nothing in common with the design in Stockholm. Catafalques, however fanciful, and including those 3 4

Kirwin, Appendix I–A, p. 165. J. A. F. Orbaan, Documenti sul barocco in Roma, Rome, 1920, 47 f, n.

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1. Baldachin bearing Aldobrandi Arms, drawing. Nationalmuseum, Stockholm.

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2. Detail of Fig. 1.

3. Sacrament altar, St. John’s in the Lateran, engraving (showing figures falsely described by Kirwin as angels reclining on the pediment). After Buonanni, Numismata pontificum, 1699, II, 457, fig. XI.

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4. Sacrament altar, St. John’s in the Lateran, medal of Clement VIII. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

5. Archivio della Reverenda Fabbrica di San Pietro, I Piano, serie 1, vol. 2, fasc. 4, fol. 3 verso (showing dash [-] falsely identified by Kirwin as a colon [:]. St. Peter’s, Rome.

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cited by Kirwin himself, were essentially architectural monuments with true columns and monumental superstructures; they might be amply decorated with sculptures, but never with figures holding up the columns.5 Furthermore, the documents indicate that Clement expected to execute his ciborium in marble, a material that certainly could not have been envisaged for the delicate affair depicted in the Stockholm drawing.6 Finally, and perhaps most important, Clement had no motive for introducing a baldachin in isolation at St. Peter’s. If, on the contrary, one supposes Clement’s ciborium to have established the type followed subsequently at St. Peter’s — basically square in plan with a cupola resting on paired columns placed diagonally at the corners — all these difficulties disappear. The drawn project does significantly anticipate the baldachin Paul V later erected in the crossing when he added the second altar in the choir, and Kirwin’s eagerness to establish that fact by associating the design with St. Peter’s seems to have blinded him to what is evidently its real purpose. This is suggested by the bust-length figures represented in the lappets of the canopy: Christ appears in the center flanked at his right by the Virgin, John the Evangelist, and Peter, and at his left by John the Baptist, James Major, and Paul. The inclusion of the apostles John and his brother James in this context makes no sense for the altar of Peter and Paul at St. Peter’s, a difficulty Kirwin tries to dispose of in his description by relegating the interlopers to a footnote.7 The disposition makes perfect sense, however, at one place in particular — at St. John’s in the Lateran. There it would be eminently proper to give precedence after the Deisis to John the Evangelist (to whom, along with the Savior and the Baptist, the church is dedicated) and James; and to include after them Peter and Paul, relics of whom are preserved at the high altar. The connection with the Lateran helps to explain the form and function of the project, because we know from a contemporary source that Clement VIII planned to do at the Lateran something very similar to what Paul V later actually did at St. Peter’s, namely, move the Gothic ciborium over the altar of the apostles farther back from the cross5 For surveys of funeral catafalques, see in general O. Berendson, The Italian Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Catafalques, unpub. Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1961; for Rome, M. Fagiolo dell’Arco and S. Carandini, L’effimero barocco, 2 vols., Rome, 1977–1978. 6 Kirwin, App. I–B, p. 165. 7 Kirwin, 149, n. 49. The Evangelist is identifiable by the chalice he holds, James Major by his pilgrim’s staff and kinship with John.

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ing into the tribune.8 The baldachin shown in the Stockholm drawing would thus have contrasted with the architectural monument in the choir. The whole scheme adds to the accumulation of testimony I have given of the importance of Clement VIII’s work at the Lateran for the subsequent developments at St. Peter’s.9 We next learn that less than three years later, in the first months of 1597, this ciborium was rebuilt or refurbished.10 The new structure, which must have incorporated elements from the previous one, again consisted of eight columns, four of feigned Portasanta marble and four of feigned yellow marble, placed against eight pilasters also in imitation marble, which supported a superstructure with architrave, frieze, cornice and pediment, surmounted by a cupola.11 Clement replaced the ciborium a second time in 1600 for the jubilee year. The documents give no hint of the design of this work, but again there is no reason to assume it was radically different from the extant

8 ‘Nella visita del Papa a S. Gio. Laterano, volse vedere minutamente la capella et li organi che vi si fabricano, et se bene S. S.ta sia molto essausta de danari ordinò agli architetti che tirassero l’opera à fine dovendovisi rimover quel gran tabernacolo che contien li corpi delli dui Principi d’Apostoli et metter sotto la tribuna, et farvi il pavimento di nuovo’ (E. Rossi, ‘Roma ignorata,’ Roma, XII, 1934, 40). This matter will be discussed by Mr. Jack Freiberg of New York University, in his dissertation on the sixteenth-century redecorations of the Lateran. 9 Lavin, Crossing, 16–18. Precisely the opposite must be said of Kirwin’s own attempt to supplement the evidence. Discussing (p. 149, n.49; cf. also p. 163, n. 154) the motif of the angels reclining on a pediment which appears on the canopy of the baldachin in the Stockholm drawing, he cites, without illustration, an engraving published in 1699 depicting a medal of the Sacrament altar erected at the Lateran by Clement VIII for the jubilee in 1600 (Fig. 3; F. Buonanni, Numismata pontificum romanorum quae a tempore Martini V usque ad annum MDCXCIX, 2 vols., Rome, 1699, II, 457, Fig. XI [not IX as in Kirwin]). Kirwin describes this engraving as a ‘contemporary source’ according to which the Lateran altar ‘was also originally conceived to include two reclining angels on the outer edges of the pediment above it.’ In fact, no such figures appear in the engraving or in the original medal on which it was based (Fig. 4). 10 Kirwin, 151, App. II, pp. 165 ff. 11 Kirwin, 152, makes a separate project out of a summary invoice for the decoration of a ciborium by the painter Cesare Nebbia, which includes a payment dated September 1598 (App. III, cf. No. 11, p. 166). The work must have been done on the structure built in 1597, however, since two payments for that project made to Nebbia in March 1597 (Kirwin, App. II, No. 1, p. 165) were deducted from the amount owed him in the later bill (Kirwin, App. III, No. 11, p. 166). Four papier maché bases paid for in March 1597 (Kirwin, App. II, No. 2, p. 165) were evidently partial replacements for those of the 1594 ciborium.

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ciborium.12 Three years later, canvas was purchased for still another state of the ciborium, of which nothing more is heard before Clement’s death.13 Two conclusions, neither of them suggested by Kirwin, may be offered at this point. The Stockholm drawing shows that Paul V’s idea for a baldachin supported by standing angels, used as a counterpart in the crossing for an architectural ciborium in the choir, may have originated in Clement VIII’s plans for the Lateran. Kirwin’s documents indicate that Clement VIII’s ciboriums (ciborium, if my suspicion is correct that the successive replacements were essentially refurbishings of the first monument) also anticipated the form Paul V gave to the centerpiece of the ciborium he added in the choir of St. Peter’s. Paul V’s Baldachin in the Crossing and Ciborium(s) in the Choir Paul adapted Clement’s baldachin by reducing the number of staves and supporting angels, and he adapted the ciborium by flanking it with additional columns so as to create a screen across the apse. In essence, the latter arrangement recalled the situation that had obtained in the Constantinian presbytery at St. Peter’s, an evocation that was reinforced by incorporating ten of the spiral columns from the original structure. Eight of the columns were used for the centerpiece, while the screen consisted of three columns extending laterally on each side, the two outermost being original marble spiral columns while the two pairs of inner ones were made ex novo. Here, Kirwin’s two kinds of sources create a problem because they contradict each other, a problem which recurs and which each time Kirwin either overlooks or ignores. In the present case, the papal diarist reports that the new columns were made of cement and stone and imitated as closely as possible the original marble columns, which were of the composite order;14 instead, the actual bill for the work, submitted by the craftsman and countersigned by the architect Carlo Maderno, shows that the new columns, like the entire superstructure, were actually made of wood and were of the Doric

Kirwin, 151, App. IV, p. 166. Kirwin, 151, App. V, p. 167. 14 ‘Ex dictis sex columnis, quae coronidem praedictam sustinebant, duae quidem marmoreae erant et ex eisdem, quas a templo Salomonis translatas esse traditur, aliae quattuor ad illarum similitudinem, quantum licuit, ex cemento ac lapidibus fabricatae fuerunt’ (italics mine; Kirwin, App. VI–A, No. 4, p. 168). 12 13

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order.15 We must certainly lend credence to the professionals, especially in the accounting records, where accuracy was a matter of hard finances. The discrepancy effectively rules out Kirwin’s attempt to identify with this structure a drawing of the ciborium and screen made later by Borromini, inscribed with the name of Paul V.16 Here the columns are all of the same, composite order, except that the outer two are spirals whereas the inner four are straight. The additional evidence reinforces my identification of the drawing with a refurbishing of the 1606 structure carried out under Paul’s successors, which the inscription and other evidence indicate must have been envisaged toward the end of Paul’s reign.17 The ciborium and screen in the choir remained unchanged for a decade and a half. Here, in order to circumvent an inconvenient document, Kirwin creates a grotesque straw man. He imputes to Oskar Pollak a nugatory error in the transcription of a painter’s invoice, an error by which I was supposedly misled to the assumption that the work was for a ciborium and screen at the high altar.18 Pollak was not in error, however, and the full description of the work and the repeated use of the word ‘rifatto’ show patently that it was a renewal of the monument in the choir.19 The only significant change from the predecessor is that the four columns were now remade with fluted and foliated shafts;20 they certainly could not have had Doric capitals, and there is no indication they were spiral in form. For these reasons, and 15 Invoice of ‘Giuseppe di Banchi falegname (carpenter) in Borgo’ . . . per quattro colonne tonde con base, capitello di ordine dorico,’ November 23, 1606 (Kirwin, App. VI–A, No. 2, p. 167). 16 Kirwin, 154 ff. 17 See Lavin, Crossing, 8, 43 f, Nos. 26, 27. 18 Kirwin, 160, n. 118. 19 See O. Pollak, Die Kunsttätigkeit unter Urban VIII, 2 vols., Vienna, 1928–1931, II, 12 f; cf. Lavin, Crossing, 8,44, No. 27. Kirwin, who misquotes the text itself, says that Pollak omitted a colon (:) after the words San Pietro (cf. Fig. 5), whereas Pollak simply replaced the dash by dots, a typographical practice followed throughout the book. The successive clauses describe distinct tasks on various parts of the structure. The term ‘cappella del coro’ introduced by Kirwin nowhere occurs in this document. The phrase actually employed, ‘choro, dove fà capella il Papa,’ is equivalent to the ‘ciborio dove fa Cappella Nostro Signore Papa’ used for the 1606 version (Kirwin, App. VI–A, No. 2, p. 167). I have not troubled to check all of Kirwin’s transcriptions, but we shall see that each time he accuses Pollak of error Kirwin himself is tendentiously at fault. I am indebted to Jack Freiberg for taking the photographs of documents reproduced here. 20 ‘. . . quattro Colonne scanellate e fogliami finti di chiaro e scuro con li suoi Capitelli . . .’ (Pollak, Kunsttätigkeit, II, 12).

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because the other details correspond exactly, the drawing by Borromini mentioned earlier must reflect the renewed, rather than the original state of the monument. One other thing of importance happened under Paul V. Borromini, in the same text referred to earlier, records that Carlo Maderno submitted a project which included a baldachin canopy and spiral columns.21 This project, otherwise unrecorded, is important because it is the first evidence we have of an attempt to combine the baldachin and ciborium prototypes. Borromini’s purpose was clearly to record this precedent for the bronze baldachin of Bernini, so several points concerning his carefully worded statement must be understood: he says explicitly that the canopy did not touch the cornice of the columns, he does not suggest that the spiral columns were to be imitated in bronze on a colossal scale, and he makes no reference to supporting angels. All these were essential features of Bernini’s baldachin, and it is unimaginable that Borromini would have failed to mention them. Kirwin’s new material bears on Maderno’s project in only one respect: the papal diarists continued to refer to the altar at the tomb of the apostles as the high altar, although it was used only rarely after the new altar was introduced for regular services in the apse. Since Borromini says Maderno’s project was for the high altar, Kirwin argues that it was meant for the tomb altar rather than the apse altar, as I had surmised. The matter is not quite so simple as Kirwin makes out. In the identifying inscription on a drawing of the ciborium in the choir by a contemporary French architect, the apse altar is described as ‘le grand autel.’22 Borromini’s usage may be comparable to that of certain early seventeenth-century sources concerning the Lateran, which refer to the great Sacrament altar built by Clement VIII in the transept of the church, rather than to the altar of the apostles in the crossing, as the ‘altar maggiore’ (cf. Fig. 6)23 Moreover, Kirwin’s attempt to locate Maderno’s project in the crossing conflicts with the report we have that Paul V intended to execute the 1606 baldachin with supporting angels permanently in bronze.24 Kirwin’s theory that Paul intended to do away with his Lavin, Crossing, 11 f, 42, No. 17. Cf. Lavin, Crossing, 47, No. 1, Fig. 28 A. 23 See the avviso of 22 April 1600 quoted in E. Rossi, ‘Roma ignorata,’ Roma, XII, 1934, 323. Our Fig. 6 is from an incomplete set of photographs in the Bibliotheca Hertziana of a suite of engravings by Giovanni Maggi and Matthias Greuter (Lavin, Crossing, 41, No. 8); cf. C. D’Onofrio, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1968, 65. 24 Lavin, Crossing, 6, n. 24. 21 22

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own new second altar in the choir is belied by the evidence alluded to above that he began a refurbishment of the ciborium and screen. In any case, there was never any doubt that the project of Maderno recorded by Borromini was of seminal importance for Bernini’s design. The precise meaning and implications of Borromini’s canny formulation are debatable, but its veracity is not; and Kirwin utterly misrepresents the case in stating that I ‘seriously questioned’ Borromini’s ‘accuracy and reliability.’25 Gregory XV’s Baldachins in the Crossing The subsequent history of the baldachin at the crossing was also essentially one of renewing the structure erected at the beginning of Paul V’s reign. A baldachin with staves supported by kneeling rather than standing angels was erected for a canonization celebration in March of 1622. Contemporary engravings show that the staves were richly carved with floral motifs and Kirwin cites a descriptive pamphlet in which the phrase ‘colonne all’antica’ is used;26 but the term was obviously used loosely, for it is evident from the engravings that the supports were not true columns. Kirwin next shows that a design for replacing this baldachin was submitted by May 12, 1622.27 He would have us believe, however, that the work was completed in less than three weeks, citing in evidence (but not quoting) a passage in a papal diary to the effect that the pope celebrated mass at the altar on June 29. The passage in fact says nothing about a new baldachin and the design approved in May was surely that for which Bernini made a set of kneeling angels.28 Payments to the craftsmen begin a month later and thereafter complement each other chronologically as well as substantively.29 Kirwin seeks to avoid the inevitable conclusion that only one work was involved by again falsely accusing Pollak of an error, this time Kirwin, 158. Kirwin, 161, n. 125. 27 Kirwin, 161, App. IX, No. 1, p. 170. 28 Lavin, Crossing, 8 f, 41 f, No. 13. In a letter written before January 1, 1624, Teodoro della Porta complains about the provisional works at the ‘Altare magg(io)re che è stato fatto e rifatto quattro volte . . . come hora segue medemam(en)te’ (Pollak, Kunsttätigkeit, 11, 71); he was presumably referring to the ciborium of Clement VIII, Paul V’s baldachin of 1606, the canonization baldachin of 1622, and the replacement baldachin of 1622–1624. 29 Cf. Pollak, Kunsttätigkeit, II, 306 ff, Nos. 984 ff. Significantly, only payments to the woodcarvers who made the supports predate the instructions to erect them (Kirwin, App. IX–B, Nos. 1, 2, p. 170); work by the other craftsmen followed afterward. 25 26

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of having ‘incorrectly transcribed’ a date on the woodcarver’s invoice. Pollak’s transcription of the year, 1621, is perfectly accurate (cf. Fig. 7), and Kirwin’s emendation to 1622 (which he describes as ‘indesputable’ [sic]) is simply based on an unexplained and unwarranted transposition of the date of the succeeding document in the volume.30 The worst is yet to come. In 1976 a volume of the minutes of the meetings of the Congregation of Cardinals that supervised St. Peter’s was rediscovered by the archivist of the Fabbrica. In the minutes of meeting of July 3 and October 6, 1623, the secretary of the Congregation speaks of ‘four columns of wood made to support the baldachin over the high altar’; Kirwin takes these references as evidence of still another temporary baldachin and as proof that the idea of supporting a baldachin on columns dates from this period.31 He quotes a payment to a scarpellino who worked on the baldachin in the following way: ‘a mastro Bettino Albertini ∇ 61.39, il resto di ∇ 101.39 per i lavori del baldacchino all’altare.’32 This payment had already been published by Pollak, the accuracy of whose transcription I

30 Kirwin, 161, n. 129. The essence of Kirwin’s method is betrayed by his discussion of the year 1621 inscribed on the outside of this invoice, a summary of work done on several projects submitted by the woodcarver G. B. Soria for final payment. Kirwin refers to the document by citing Pollak, Kunsttätigkeit, II, 17–20, No. 35, and his operative sentence concerning the data is as follows: ‘The date 1622 is indesputable (see A.F., I Piano, serie 1, vol. 4, fascioli n. 1–2).’ The implication is that proof of the emended date will be found in the two documents cited in the parentheses. But fascicule 1 is the same as Pollak No. 35, and fascicule 2 is nothing more than an order of July 1622 to pay one of the sums mentioned in the invoice, one of the long series of payments to Soria that continued through 1624. (Fascicule 2 had also been published by Pollak, whom Kirwin fails to cite although I had given the reference, ‘Ausgewählte Akten zur Geschichte der römischen Peterskirche [1535–1621],’ Jahrbuch der preussischen Kunstsammlungen XXXVI, 1915, Beiheft, 107, No. 57.) Thus, with no justification, Kirwin transfers the date of the single, interim payment to the whole invoice. This extrapolation in turn entails the extraordinary assumption that, for no apparent reason, the woodcarver was paid for finished work in installments over the next two years! The example of belated payment Kirwin cites as a parallel (App. III, p. 166) is totally inapt: final settlement was delayed because the charges were disputed by the authorities and ultimately reduced. The inscribed date does require explanation: Pollak thought it might be a scribe’s error for 1624, when the invoice was submitted and final payment made; I suggested that it recorded the intended beginning of work on the project. 31 Kirwin, 161, App. IX–B, Nos. 1, 2, p. 170. 32 Kirwin, App. IX–B, No. 4, p. 170.

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6. St. John’s in th Lateran, engraving by Giovanni Maggi and Matthias Greuter (showing sacrament altar labeled “ALTAR MAGGIORE”).

7. Archivio della Reverenda Fabbrica di San Pietro, I Piano, serie 1, vol. 4, fasc. 1, fol. 1 recto (showing date, 1621, correctly [not erroneously, as stated by Kirwin] transcribed by Pollak). St. Peter’s, Rome.

8. Archivio della Reverenda Fabbrica di San Pietro, Serie armadi, vol. 240, fol. 19 verso (showing portino of document – “di scarpello per li piedestalli intorno al’aste” omitted by Kirwin). St. Peter’s, Rome.

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have verified against the original (Fig. 8).33 In this case, Kirwin does not refer to Pollak, a convenient oversight since Kirwin omits a crucial phrase. The passage actually reads: ‘. . . per lavori di scarpello per li piedestalli intorno al’aste del baldacchino al’altare’ (italics mine). In point of fact, the term ‘aste’ is used repeatedly and exclusively in the payments to the workmen and in the invoices, which are countersigned by the architect, Carlo Maderno. These men, unlike the cardinals of the Congregation, were professionals; we must take them at their word — and the word aste means stave. I emphasized that the staves of this last temporary baldachin before Bernini’s had decorations (including ‘colarini’ and ‘piedi’ rather than capitals and bases) which might have evoked the original twisted columns;34 but after Clement VIII’s ciborium, ‘column’ does not appear in the financial records concerning the structures erected at the altar of the apostles until the reference is to Bernini’s project. Urban VIII’s ‘Competition’ and Bernini’s Contribution Another interesting resolution of the Congregation is recorded in the newly discovered volume of minutes. On June 7, 1624, that is, under Urban VIII, the overseer of the Fabbrica was instructed to issue an edict soliciting ideas and models for the baldachin to be prepared along with a verbal explanation by the next meeting of the group fifteen days later.35 Kirwin sees this record as evidence of a formal competition, of which a ‘mockery’ was made by the foregone conclusion of Bernini’s victory as the pope’s favorite. It is difficult to see why Urban VIII should have stooped to such a subterfuge, and in fact nothing more is heard of the matter, although there was plenty of criticism of Bernini’s ideas and we know a number of alternative projects. Urban’s choice of the designer for the baldachin was certainly a foregone conclusion, however, and there can be no doubt of the essential reason. Despite Bernini’s manifold dependence on predecessors both in the far and in the near past, the major novelties of his solution emerge clearer than ever from Kirwin’s attempt to obfuscate them: Bernini used true columns to support a baldachin, imitating the ancient spiral columns on a colossal Kunsttätigkeit, II, 307, No. 993. Pollak, Kunsttätigkeit,11, 18; cf. Lavin, Crossing, 9. 35 Kirwin, 162 ff, App. X, No. 1, p. 170. This document had already been cited by C. D’Onofrio, La papessa Giovanna, Rome, 1979, 243. 33 34

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scale in bronze; he shifted the angels from beside the monument (where they were no longer needed to support staves) to the tops of the columns where they ‘carry’ the canopy; and he completed the marriage of processional baldachin with architectural ciborium by connecting the columns through a cornice from which, in place of the traditional architrave and frieze, tasseled lappets hang. His design thus fused the three main types of honorific covers, the architectural ciborium, the processional baldachin, and the hanging canopy.36 Finally, Bernini imitated the early Christian form of the altar covering, in which crossed ribs rested on spiral columns. I have defined these innovations before and Kirwin’s material requires not the slightest emendation to any of them.37

36 O. Berendsen has recently pointed out that canopies were suspended from domical superstructures above the bier in certain catafalque designs (‘I primi catafalchi del Bernini e il progetto del Baldacchino,’ in M. Fagiolo and G. Spagnesi, eds., Immagini del barocco. Bernini a la cultura del seicento, Florence, 1982, pp. 133–143. Before encountering J. Traeger’s explication of the feigned canopy in the vault of Raphael’s Stanza d’Eliodoro — especially the allusion to Peter’s vision of ‘a great sheet let down from heaven by four corners’ (Acts 10 :11, 11:5) — I had not been fully aware of the significance of this motif for the covering of the tomb of the apostle and for the Eucharist (‘Raphaels Stanza d’Eliodoro and ihr Bildprogramm,’ Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, XIII, 1971, 29–99, esp. 54 ff, 65 f ). 37 See above, n. 1.

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Bernini’s Bust of Cardinal Montalto

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N the Hamburg Kunsthalle is a marble bust of a cardinal (Figs. 1–4) bequeathed to the museum in 1910 by Freiherr Johann Heinrich von Schröder, along with his collection of nineteenth-century paintings.1 The records of the gift are silent concerning the sculpture: no attribution or date, no mention of the time or place of acquisition. Described in the museum’s 1918 inventory as by an Italian Master of the Seventeenth Century, it was re-assigned in 1939 to an Unknown Master of the Nineteenth Century. The work remained in the museum storeroom until the spring of 1984, when preparations were being made for a special exhibition of the von Schröder collection. The curator, Dr. Georg Syamken, then wrote to Jennifer Montagu of the Warburg Institute and myself, enclosing photographs of the bust and indicating that he had become doubtful of the nineteenth century date. Dr. Montagu and I independently identified the sculpture as the lost portrait by Gianlorenzo Bernini of Cardinal Alessandro Damasceni-Peretti Montalto (1571–1623), grandnephew of Pope Sixtus V Peretti (1585 –90). Indeed, to anyone knowledgeable in the field of Roman seventeenthcentury sculpture, the sitter is immediately recognizable as the same personage represented by a well-known, half-length portrait of Cardinal

Ein Hamburger sammelt in London. Die Freiherr J. H. von Schröder Stiftung 1910, Hamburger Kunsthalle 1984. The present note is by way of a preliminary announcement of the discovery of the bust, which I shall discuss in a larger essay on Bernini’s portraiture. The condition is excellent except for a nick in the upper edge of the figure’s left ear, and the addition to the base, to be discussed below. Height overall 88 cm., with original portion of base 79 cm., without base 68.5 cm.; width 65 cm. 1

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1. Cardinal Alessandro Damasceni-Peretti Montalto, by Gianlorenzo Bernini. Marble; height, with original base, 79 cm. (Kunsthalle, Hamburg).

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2. Another view of the bust reproduced in Fig. 1.

3. Rear view of the bust reproduced in Fig. 1.

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3. Detail of the bust reproduced in Fig. 1.

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Alessandro in the Bode Museum, Berlin (Fig. 5). This sculpture, attributed to Algardi since the mid-eighteenth century, was acquired in 1786 along with an unfinished companion piece representing Alessandro’s brother Michele (1571–1631), from the Villa Montalto in Rome.2 The list of Bernini’s works appended by Filippo Baldinucci to his biography of the artist published in 1682 includes a portrait of Cardinal Montalto in Casa Peretti, the immense villa that had been created by Pope Sixtus on the Esquiline hill (on the site now occupied mainly by the railroad station).3 The bust is mentioned in inventories of the villa and in a guide to Rome written about 1660; it was placed on a carved and gilt wooden pedestal in a room adjoining the main salone on the piano nobile of the palace facing the Piazza di Termini, i.e., the Baths of Diocletian.4 The Hamburg marble is so closely related to other busts by Bernini dating from the early 1620s, and its quality is so high, that there can be no doubt of its being the lost work and, in my opinion, a completely autograph masterpiece by the young sculptor. Cardinal Alessandro was an impassioned builder and patron of the arts. Among his most notable enterprises were the construction of the church of Sant’ Andrea della Valle and, together with his brother, the embellishment of the Villa Montalto. By far the most splendid addition to the garden of the latter was Bernini’s Neptune Fountain that adorned the great fishpond at the southwest corner of the property.5 There is no documentary evidence concerning the fountain, but it is generally assumed to have been made sometime between 1620 and 1623. The villa passed through several hands during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, remaining more or less intact until it was acquired in 1784 by a speculator who systematically 2 See M. Heimburger Ravalli, Alessandro Algardi scultore, Rome 1973, No: 26, 99 f, 179 (the bust of Alessandro, dated c. 1634, is wrongly reported as destroyed). 3 F. Baldinucci, Vita del Cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Florence, 1682, ed. S. S. Ludovici, Milan, 1948,176; cf. R Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Oxford, 1981, 268, No. 81(7). On the villa, besides the basic monograph by Massimo cited in the next footnote, see C. D’Onofrio, Una grande scomparsa, Capitolium 45, 1970, 59–63; D. R Coffin, The Villa in the Life of Renaissance Rome, Princeton, 1979, 365–69. 4 V Massimo, Notizie istoriche della Villa Massimo alle Terme Diocleziane, Rome, 1836, 164; F. Martinelli, Roma ornata dall’architettura, pittura a scultura, 1660–63; ed. C. D’Onofrio, Roma vista da Roma, Rome, 1968, 326: La testa con busto del Card. Alessandro Montalto di marmo bianco è del Cav. Bernino. 5 J. Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue of Italian Sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1964, No. 637, 596 ff; Wittkower, Bernini,177 f, No. 9.

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sold its contents. The Neptune group, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, went to England in 1786 and in view of the fact that the bulk of von Schröder’s collection was acquired during his stay in England, one may surmise that Bernini’s bust of the cardinal had a similar fate. The bust must have been made at the same time as the Neptune group, since it has two salient features in common with a series of portraits by Bernini that can be dated 1621–23 on independent grounds. One of these features is the low base with a cartouche carved on the front, the other is the bow-shaped lower silhouette. Parallel instances are the busts of Cardinal Giovanni Dolfin, before May 1621 (Fig. 6), Cardinal Escoubleau de Sourdis, before July 1622 (Fig. 7) and Antonio Cepparelli, April–August 1622 (Fig. 8).6 The carefully ‘finished’ back of the Hamburg bust, with two large hollows at the sides flanking a central vertical spine that includes the base, is very close to that of Bernini’s recently rediscovered bust of Gregory XV, datable February–September 1621 (Fig. 9).7 Another feature common to nearly all these works, including the new one, is the rendering of the iris and pupil of the eye as a hemispherical depression surrounded by a thin, faintly-incised ring and filled with a tear-shaped protrusion; the configuration imparts to the eyes depth, sharp focus and a lively glint. While the cartouche base alone suffices to assign the work to the 1620s, since the motif occurs in Bernini’s busts only at that time, the design of the torso suggests a more precise date. A steady increase in the relative width and in the curvature of the bottom of the torso is evident throughout the series, culminating in the bust of Antonio Cepparelli. In the new portrait the upward and outward flare is even more dynamic. Of particular importance is the fact that the shoulders in the Hamburg sculpture are not parallel to the ‘picture plane’: the right shoulder is thrust slightly forward, imparting a subtle but insistent movement that is also found in the Cepparelli portrait. This action, in turn, has its counterpart in the treatment of the drapery, which seems more complex and broken than in the 6 For the dating and a discussion of these works, see I. Lavin, Five New Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of his Early Works, The Art Bulletin 50,1968, 238 ff. Very similar as well, although with a different kind of base, is the bust of Monsignor Carlo Antonio dal Pozzo, which is undated but must also belong to this period: S. Rinehart, A Bernini Bust at Castle Howard, The Burlington Magazine 109, 1967, 437–43. 7 I shall discuss this work in the study mentioned in n. 1 above.

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5. Cardinal Alessandro Damasceni-Peretti Montalto, attributed to Alessandro Algardi. Marble, height 91 cm. (Bode Museum, Berlin).

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6. Cardinal Giovanni Dolfin, by Gianlorenzo Bernini. Marble, life-size (S. Michele all’Isola, Venice).

7. Cardinal Escoubleau de Sourdis, by Gianlorenzo Bernini. Marble, height 75 cm. (St. Bruno, Bordeaux).

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8. Antonio Cepparelli, by Gianlorenzo Bernini. Marble, height 70 cm. (S. Giovanni dei Fiorentini, Rome).

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9. Rear view of bust of Pope Gergory XV, by Gianlorenzo Bernini. Marble, height 83.5 cm. (Aart Gallery of Ontario, Toronto).

10. Detail of the bust reproduced in Fig. 1.

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other works of the group. All these features, which will play significant roles in the later developement of Bernini’s portraiture, situate the Hamburg work toward the end of the series, 1622–early 1623.8 Other considerations help to confirm this chronology and may indicate the purpose for which the sculpture was made. Bernini’s bases were regularly carved from the same block as the bust, unless a different colored stone was used. The base of the Hamburg portrait, which stood on its own pedestal in the Montalto villa, has a separate lower section that must have been added to increase the width and height. The upper, original portion alone does seem disproportionately small, suggesting that the sculpture was not designed to be seen in isolation but in an architectural context, such as a niche. Cardinal Montalto died on 3 June 1623. His testament has not yet come to light, but according to the sources he stipulated that his heart be left to the Theatine Fathers of Sant’ Andrea della Valle, and that his body be buried in the sumptuous chapel built by his granduncle at Santa Maria

8 Cartouche bases also appear in three busts dating from early in the reign of Urban VIII, elected August 1623. The type is virtually the same in the diminutive and exceptionally lively, informal bust of the Pope now in the collection of Prince Augusto Barberini; the scroll motif is developed into wing-like membranes combined with the Barberini bee in the portraits of Monsignor Francesco (National Gallery, Washington, previously dated by me two or three years too early: Youthful Sculpture, 241 f ) and Antonio Barberini (Galleria Nazionale, Rome, attribution disputed but in any case closely dependent on Bernini), where the bulk and animation of the torsos are markedly increased; cf. Wittkower, Bernini, 184, No. 19(1), 191 f., Nos. 24 (a, b). I append here a table of the dimensions in centimeters of some early busts of Bernini; those datable on external grounds are named in italics. (On the bust of Antonio Coppola in San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, Rome, cf. Lavin, Youthful Sculpture, see note 6, pp. 223 ff.) H h W Ratio Ratio Height Height without Width H h — — overall base W W ____________________________________________________

Coppola Gregory XV De Sourdis Cepparelli Montalto Dal Pozzo F. Barberini

67 83.5 75 70 79 82.5 80.3

58 63.5 62 60 68.5 68.5 62.2

48 62.5 61 60 65 68.5 66.1

1.4 1.34 1.23 1.17 1.22 1.2 1.22

1.21 1.02 1.02 1 1.05 1 0.94

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Maggiore.9 These provisions were duly carried out, yet it seems anomalous that no monument or inscription was installed in either building. A contemporary account of the funeral suggests that a sculptural commemoration was intended at Santa Maria Maggiore, and most probably in the form of a portrait.10 I submit that the image was commissioned as part of a memorial to be placed in the Sistine chapel. The project was for some reason abandoned after the Cardinal’s death and the bust, its base raised, was displayed in the villa as an independent work along with a bronze portrait of Pope Sixtus himself.11 These observations may help to determine the date and purpose of the work, but its historical importance derives from the extraordinary qualities of vitality and refinement with which Bernini suffused the conventions of formal ecclesiastical portraiture. The symmetrical shape retained from earlier tradition seems to take flight on the wings of the undulating lower edge. A generally symmetrical arrangement of the drapery is also retained, but the surfaces and edges of the folds are modulated and subtle asymmetries that reflect the action of the ‘sitter’ are introduced. The Cardinal had evidently suffered from smallpox at some point in his life, and a remarkable feature of the portrait is the pockmarks that dot the cheeks.12 Such a detail should not be taken simply as a bit of virtuoso realism,or a moralistic proclamation of unvarnished truth like Cromwell’s insistence that his portraitist include pimples, warts and everything.13 In an uncanny way, the blemishes on

9 A. Chacon, Vitae et res gestae pontificum romanorum et S.R.E cardinalium, 4 vols., Rome, 1677, IV, 149, G. Gigli, Diario romano (1608–1670), ed. G. Ricciotti, Rome, 1958, 71. 10 . . . si portò alla Chiesa di S. Maria Maggiore, dove finita la cerimonia dell Essequie fù sepulto nella ricca, a sontuosa Capella del presepio, fabricata con tanta spesa dalla buona mem. di Sisto V. suo zio, dove essendo viva la memoria sua, & de Pio Papa V. viverà ancora la sua scolpita ne’ marmi [emphasis mine], ma molto più nel petto de gl’huomini . . . (G. Briccio, Il pianto, et la mestitia dell’alma città di Roma per la morte dell’illustriss. et reverendiss. sig. Alessandro Peretti cardinal Montalto, vescovo Vicecancellario, summator papae, & protettore di Polonia, Rome, 1623, last page of preface). 11 On the portrait of Sixtus by Bastiano Torrigiani, which exists in two versions, see Pope-Hennessy, Catalogue, No. 523, 494 f. 12 The pockmarks, faintly visible in our Fig. 4, should not be confused with the flecks of black that occur naturally in the marble. Dr. Syamken kindly informs me that the pockmarks also appear in the bust in the Bode Museum. 13 Cf. The Dictionary of National Biography, 29 vols., Oxford, 1917–81. V. 182. (I am indebted to William Heckscher for reminding me of the source of this dictum.)

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Cardinal Alessandro’s face also evoke the passage of time, comparable to the movement of the drapery, the turn of the body, and the intense concentration that animates the face.

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XV

Bernini’s Cosmic Eagle

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T is a commonplace of the literature on Bernini that he was a supreme realist. He observed aspects of the visible world — movement, expression, texture, effects of light — and recorded or evoked them in marble or bronze as had no previous sculptor. This unprecedented sensitivity to and analysis of the physical world parallels the revolutionary achievements in scientific thought and observation that took place during the artist’s lifetime. Yet, as far as we know, Bernini was not directly concerned with these great developments — unlike the painter Cigoli, for example, who was a friend of Galileo’s and represented a telescopic view of the moon in one of his paintings.1 Bernini had a close association with one of the lesser known scientists of the day, however, the Jesuit Nicolo Zucchi, author of a two-volume treatise on optics, the Optica Philosophia, published at Lyons in 1652–56.2 For this work Bernini designed a frontispiece, engraved by François Poilly (Fig. 1), which has received almost as little attention from art historians as Nicolo Zucchi and his treatise have from historians of science. The study by William Ashworth appearing on the preceding pages of this volume helps

1 Recently, H. Feigenbaum Chamberlain has attempted to establish Bernini’s use of Galileo’s theory of gravity in solids, ‘The Influence of Galileo on Bernini’s Saint Mary Magdalen and Saint Jerome’ Art Bulletin LIX, 1977, 71–84; on Cigoli and Galileo, see E. Panofsky, Galileo as a Critic of the Arts, The Hague, 1954. 2 Optica Philosophia Experimentis et Ratione a Fundamentis Constituta, 2 vols., Lyons, 1652–56; the frontispiece appears in both volumes. The engraving was first noted by H. Brauer and R. Wittkower, Die Zeichnungen des Gianlorenzo Bernini, Berlin, 1931, 151, n. 3, and first reproduced by M. and M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, Bernini. Una introduzione al gran teatro del barocco, Rome, 1967, No. 136; see recently Bernini in Vaticano, exh. cat., Rome, 1981, 86 f., No. 63.

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to place Bernini’s composition against the background of the illustrated frontispieces and title pages included in comparable scientific publications of the period.3 It might be objected that Bernini’s attitude toward the scientific study of nature is too large a theme to be explored in so modest a work as this engraving, a mere book illustration and one not even executed by his own hand. Such a misconception is belied, however, by a remarkable passage in Baldinucci’s biography of the artist: ‘In his works, whether large or small, Bernini did his utmost in order that there should shine forth that beauty of concept which the work itself made possible, and he said that it was his wont to devote as much study and application to the design of a lamp as to that of a statue or a noble building.’4 Evidence of the truth of this statement lies in the inordinately large number of extant preparatory studies by Bernini for another book illustration, the engraving of Saint John the Baptist Preaching which he designed for a 1664 edition of the sermons of his close friend Giovanni Paolo Oliva, head of the Jesuit order.5 From the prints considered by Ashworth it is clear that the frontispiece to Zucchi’s optical treatise is quite unlike the kinds of illustrations such works had received previously. Instead of an elaborate hieroglyphicalallegorical-symbolical conglomeration of motifs, Bernini portrays one coherent subject: An enormous eagle clutching a lightning bolt flies high above the earth while looking back toward the sun, whose rays stream down. The appropriateness to a book on optics of an image of an eagle staring at the sun seems obvious, except that the motif had evidently not been used before in a scientific context. Indeed, while it expresses the subject of vision with stunning force, the design conveys nothing of the actual content of the treatise. The fact is that although the basic ingredients of the frontispiece may be found among its predecessors in scientific texts, the conception stems in large part from a different tradition and has a largely different significance. 3 W. Ashworth, “Divine Reflections and Profane Refractions: Images of a Scientific Impasse in Seventeenth Century Italy,” in I. Lavin, Gianlorenzo Bernini. New Aspects of His Art and Thought. A Commemorative Volume, University Park PA, and London, 1985, 179–208. 4 ‘Nell’opere sue, o grandi, o piccole ch’elle si fussero, cercava, per quanto era in se, che rilucesse quella bellezza di concetto, di che l’opera stressa si rendeva capace, e diceva, che non minore studio ed applicazione egli era solito porre nel disegno d’una lampana, di quello, ch’ e’ si ponesse in una Statua, o in una nobilissima fabbrica’ (F. Baldinucci, Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1682, 71). 5 Cf. I. Lavin, et al., Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig, German Democratic Republic, Princeton, 1981, 254 ff., Nos. 65–77.

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Nicolo Zucchi was born in Parma in 1586 and he died in 1670 in Rome.6 He taught rhetoric, philosophy, theology, and mathematics at the Jesuit College in Rome and served for seven years as Apostolic Preacher, delivering sermons to the Pope and the papal court (an office subsequently also held for many years by Zucchi’s good friend and advisee, Giovanni Paolo Oliva).7 His prowess as an orator was eloquently attested by Bernini, who reported that when Zucchi preached one felt oneself completely alone with the speaker.8 Zucchi wrote numerous devotional tracts, and in 1682 one of his fellow Jesuits, Daniele Bartoli, published a biography that focused mainly on Zucchi’s religious and ascetic activities. Apart from the fact that he met and sought to convert Kepler during a visit in 1623 to the court of the Hapsburg Emperor Ferdinand II at Prague, Zucchi appears in the literature of science for two reasons: He claimed to have had the idea for a reflecting telescope as early as 1616, and to have discovered the spots of Jupiter in 1630. He dedicated his magnum opus in science, the Optica Philosophia, to Archduke Leopold William, son of Ferdinand II. Leopold For most of what follows see: A. de Backer and C. Sommervogel, Bibliothèque de la Compagnie de Jésus, 12 vols., Brussels, 1890–1960, VIII, cols. 1525–1530; Enciclopedia cattolica, 12 vols., Florence, 1948–1954, XII, cols. 1827 f.; P. Riccardi, Biblioteca matematica italiana, 2 vols., Milan, 1952, II, cols. 671 f.; Dictionary of Scientific Biography, 16 vols., New York, 1970–1980, XIV, 636 f.; P. Redondi, Galileo eretico, Turin, 1983 (cf. index). See also the following references, kindly brought to my attention by Professor Ugo Baldini: H. Weyermann, ‘Nicholas Zucchi und sein Spiegelfernrohr,’ Die Sterne, XXXIX, 1963, 229 f.; M. D. Grmek, ‘Getaldić, Prodanelli et le télescope catoptrique à Dubrovnik,’ Actes du symposium international ‘La géometrie et l’algèbre au début du XVIIe siècle’ à l’occasion du quatrième centenaire de la naissance de Marin Getaldić; Zagreb, 1969, 175–84; U. Baldini, in G. Micheli, ed., Storia d’Italia. Annali 3, Turin, 1980 (index); idem, ‘Una lettera inedita del Torricelli ed altre dei gesuiti R. Prodanelli, J. C. della Faille, A. Tacquet, P. Bourdin e F. M. Grimaldi,’ Annali dell’ Istituto e Museo di Storia della Scienza di Firenze, V, 1980, 15–37. 7 Cf. L. von Pastor, The History of the Popes, 40 vols., St. Louis, 1938–1952, XXXI, 126; A. Neri, ‘Saggio della corrispondenza di Ferdinando Raggi agente della republica genovese a Roma,’ Rivista europea, V, 1878, 663, 668, 675. 8 ‘E sopra cio solea dire il Cavalier Bernini, huomo di grande ingegno, e d’altrettanto giudicio, che gli altri Predicatori, hora parlauan seco, hor nò, ma ò con niuno, o non sapeua con chi: Ma il P. Zucchi del primo salir che faceva in pergamo, gli si poneua a faccia a faccia dauanti, e staua seco parlando a lui solo, quanto duraua il predicare a gli altri. Egli poi veramente commosso moueua, e acceso infiammaua, e con le lagrime sue ammolliua il cuore de gli ascolanti’ (D. Bartoli, Della vita del P. Nicolo Zucchi della Compagna di Giesu, Rome, 1682, 146). In his diary of Bernini’s visit to Paris in 1665, Chantelou remarks on the artist’s close friendship with Zucchi, from whom Bernini received a letter reporting a grave illness of his wife (P. F. de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne, Paris, 1885, 158). 6

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William, a devout and orthodox Catholic, was then actively engaged in the effort to suppress the Jansenist movement in Flanders, of which he was governor.9 Zucchi’s dedication begins on the page facing the engraving, with two lines of Latin verse that explain the underlying meaning of Bernini’s image: Parvos non aquilis fas est educere foetus/ante fidem solis iudiciumque poli: ‘Eagles may not rear their young without the sun’s permission and the good will of heaven.’ These are the first two verses of Claudian’s panegyric on the third consulship of the Emperor Honorius, and their significance emerges in the subsequent lines of the poem.10 Claudian tells about the extreme trial to which young eagles are put by their elders. The parent bird carries its offspring aloft and bids him look directly at the sun; if the fledgling cannot bear the sight, he is immediately cast down to the earth; if he can, he is nurtured to be the king of birds, heir to the thunderbolt, destined to carry Jove’s fiery weapon. The eagle of the engraving, identified as the imperial bird by the lightning bolt held in its claws, refers to Leopold William’s imperial heritage; the story depicted refers to the prince’s worthiness of that heritage; and the motto inscribed below, between Bernini’s and the engraver’s names — UTROQUE POTENS, ‘powerful in both’ (realms) — refers to the prince’s spiritual and terrestrial achievements, which are also extolled in the text of the dedication.11 The image and its motto together form an ingenious conceit incorporating an encomium of this particular patron with an allusion to the theme of this particular book. It is clear that in devising their invention Zucchi and Bernini turned primarily to works that invoked Hapsburg patronage. The three basic components of the frontispiece had appeared in the illustrations of earlier Jesuit scientific texts published under the imperial aegis: Scheiner’s treatise of 1619 on the eye, dedicated to Ferdinand II (Fig. 2); and Kircher’s 1646 work on light and shade, dedicated to Archduke Ferdinand III (Fig. 3).12 The two earlier designs are conceived as a panoramic landscape view with an eagle appearing between the sun and the earth as part of the allegorical Pastor (as in n. 6), XXX, 312 ff. The source of the lines was printed in the margin in Zucchi’s second volume. Cf. Claudian, ed. M. Platnauer, 2 vols., Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1956, I, 268 f. 11 Heroicae virtutis, & eximiae Pietatis Ferdinandi II. Imperatoris Haeres, in Solem eductus, rebus piè fortitérque gestis, dignum te tanto Parente filium Christiano Orbi, hostibus autem Imperij luminis & fulminis Arbitrum comprobasti . . .’ (Zucchi, Optica, dedication). 12 Discussed by Ashworth (as in n. 3), 181 ff., 187 f. 9

10

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1. Gianlorenzo Bernini, Frontispiece of N. Zucchi, Optica Philosophia, 2 Vols. (Lyons, 1652–56), engraving by F. Poilly.

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apparatus. Both birds are identified with the Hapsburgs: in the first case by the famous motto PLVS VLTRA, ‘further beyond,’ inscribed above; in the second case by the double head. In neither case, however, is the bird specifically identified as the imperial eagle. Nor is there any direct link between sun, eagle, and earth, whereas the relationship between these three elements is the focus of Zucchi’s and Bernini’s conception. These differences stem in part from a tradition of verbal and visual conceits that had contributed many individual motifs to the composite allegories illustrating the scientific texts, the emblem or impresa. In this mode, a coherent, overriding idea was expressed aphoristically in a combination of words and picture, often as a personal or family device. The story of the eagle’s trial by the sun — well known from ancient sources and in the later bestiary literature — is the subject of many such devices.13 Several appear, for example, in Giovanni Ferro’s Teatro d’imprese, published in Venice in 1623 with a dedication to one of Bernini’s greatest patrons, Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, who became Pope Urban VIII that same year (Fig. 4).14 Although Zucchi’s and Bernini’s conceit is clearly rooted in the basic tradition represented by the emblems in Ferro’s compilation, there are important differences: The earth appears not as a landscape but as a segment of a globe; the eagle is now the imperial bird, identified by the lightning bolt in its claws; and both the motto and the bird’s action — flying toward the right while looking back over its shoulder — convey the eagle’s pivotal role between the two celestial spheres. I have found no single prototype that incorporates these features. All but the first, however, were surely evolved from a merging of two emblems reproduced in a great collection of papal, imperial, and royal devices published at Prague at the turn of the century. The author, Jacob Typotius, was a court humanist of Rudolph II and the

13

Cf. M. Goldstaub and R. Wendriner, Ein tosco-venezianischer Bestiarius, Halle, 1892,

384 f. Pt. 2, p. 82, upper two and middle-right emblems. For a survey of eagle emblems, see A. Henkel and A. Schöne, Emblemata. Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des XVI.und XVII. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart, 1967, cols. 757 ff.; on this theme in particular, D. W. Jöns, Das ‘Sinnen-Bild.’ Studien zur allegorischen Bildlichkeit bei Andreas Gryphius, Stuttgart, 1966, 148 f. 14

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2. Frontispiece for Athanasius Kircher, Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae (Rome, 1646); “Petrus Miotte Burgundus Sculp”.

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2. Frontispiece for Christoph Schreiner, Oculus (Innsbruck, 1611); unsigned.

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4. Eagle emblems from G. Ferro, Teatro d’imprese (Venice, 1623), Pt. 2. 82.

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5. Emblem of Rudolph II from J. Typotius, Symbola divina & humana, I (Prague, 1601), 56 (detail).

6. Emblem of Philibert II, Duke of Savoy, from Typotius, Symbola, III (Prague, 1603), 25 (detail).

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7. Medal of Ferdinando Gonzaga (d. 1626). London, British Museum.

8. Medal of Carlo Spinelli, 1564. London, British Museum.

9. Medal of Carlo Gonzaga, 1628. London, British Museum.

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10. Andrea Sacchi, allegory of Divine Wisdom. Rome, Palazzo Barberini.

11. Detail of Fig. 10.

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engraver was Aegidius Sadeler.15 A binary motto appears with the bicephalic Hapsburg eagle in an emblem of Rudolph II himself (Fig. 3) inscribed VTRVNQUE, ‘both,’ or ‘each’ (head). Typotius explains that the bird perched atop the mountain represents the emperor enthroned; the two heads are his Power and Prudence, one looking up to the sun, the other looking down toward a swarm of serpents crawling up the summit.16 An emblem of Philibertus II of Savoy inscribed PRESTANTIOR ANIMVS, ‘the spirit is superior,’ illustrates the eagle’s solar test and imparts a dual action to the bird (Fig. 6). The explanatory text, following Pliny, cites the eagle story without imperial allusion; the emblem is said to refer to the superiority of Philibertus’s spirit, which aspires to the sun but relinquishes its upward path and descends earthward, owing to the body’s weaknesses.17 In amalgamating these two prototypes, Zucchi and Bernini introduced a number of critical changes. The new inscription (utraque potens) combined the duality of the first motto (utrunque) with the aggressiveness of 15 Symbola Divina & Humana Pontificum Imperatorum regum, 3 vols., Prague, 1601–3 (repr. Graz, 1972); on this work, cf. M. Praz, Studies in Seventeenth-Century Imagery, 2 vols., Rome, 1964–1974, I, 518 f.; R. W. Evans, Rudolf II and His World. A Study in Intellectual History 1576–1612, Oxford, 1973, 128 f., 170 ff. 16 Symbola, I, 56, No. XXXVII, I; p. 57: ‘Aquila biceps, in rupe sedens, Imperatorem in fastigio exhibet; & dùm altero capite Solem suspicit, altero serpentes circa rupem reptantes despicit; bona spe implet, divini auxilii, contra humanam cùm vim, tùm dolum. Atqve haec duo sunt, quae contra duo capita erigat Imperator, necesse est. Quae illa capita? Potentia & Prudentia, mente in Deo non sole, at solo fixa.’ 17 Symbola, III, 25, center left; p. 26: ‘Quia proprium aquilae est Solem posse innoxie inspicere, propterea pullos implumes subinde cogit (ut inquit Plinius) Solis radios intueri, & si conniuentes, animaduertit, praecipitat è nido, velut adulterinos, & degeneres. Intuetur hic quidem Solem aquila: verum iter sursum institutum relinquit, ac deorsum tendit, non quod Solis radios non ferat visus, sed quod corporis vires, ut Solé petat, non sufficiant. Haec eleganter Heros iste Symbolo suo accommodauit; Ostendere enim voluit, se omnibus animi, & corporis viribus, ad res magnas, & sublimes tendere: verum ad propositam metam & scopum peruenire non posse, corporis non animi defectu, quem praestantiorem & indefessum animaduertit. Is etsi absque corpore nihil praestare, ac corpus ad nutum regere non possit, tamen subinde eius vires auget.

Omnia deficiunt, animus tamen omnia vincit, Ille etiam vires corpus habere facit. Non tamen vires illae animi appetitui, qui infinitus est, ac satiari non potest, comparari possunt. Consulatur itaque se, quod animus promptus fuerit, etsi corpus imbecille.’ (The author of the commentaries in Volume III was Anselm de Boodt.) Cf. Pliny, Natural History, ed. H. Rackham, et al., 10 vols., Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1938–1962, III, 298 ff.

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the second (prestantior), so that the eagle becomes doubly powerful, as it were. Adding the imperial lightning bolt as warranted by Claudian’s account of the solar trial, while removing one of the Hapsburg eagle’s heads, imbues the device with universal rather than purely dynastic significance. The movement and position of the bird are altered so as to invert the sense of its action; it alludes not to the rise of ambition and the fall of achievement, but to the heavenward route of the Archduke’s Glory, which must advance ‘beyond the paths of the year and the sun.’18 Rays now completely fill the background, as had occurred heretofore in emblems depicting the sun alone in the sky (Fig. 7).19 Finally, the earth is now shown as a sphere, a form employed commonly in astronomical and astrological devices (Figs. 8, 9),20 lifting the whole scene into outer space. In sum, Bernini presents the conceit not as a landscape view, nor as an abstract diagram, nor yet as a complex allegory. Rather, he portrays what can only be described as a ‘real’ cosmic event involving a magnificent interplanetary eagle and two celestial bodies in dynamic relationship to one another. Bernini combines the quality of personal and moral metaphor with the appearance of objective reality. It can scarcely be coincidental that a significant step in this direction had been taken twenty years earlier in a monumental composition with which Bernini was intimately familiar, involving the sun, an eagle, and a spherical earth, in a similarly cosmic design. In Andrea Sacchi’s vault fresco in the Palazzo Barberini (Fig. 10), the figure of Divine Wisdom, the sun (a device of Urban VIII) emblazoned on her breast, sits enthroned in the center of the composition while the earth appears below and to the right. Personified attributes of Divine Wisdom populate the sky, accompanied by starry constellations with their corresponding emblems. The design focuses mainly on the sun and earth, and their eccentric relationship has been interpreted as an allusion to the heliocentric system.21 Indeed, the significance of the 18 ‘. . . Gloriam . . . ita ultra anni, Solisque vias, prouchendam, votis & admiratione prosequor’ (Zucchi, Optica, dedication). 19 Medal of Ferdinando Gonzaga (d. 1626), British Museum; cf. A. Magnaguti, Ex Nummis Historia. IX. Le medaglie dei Gonzaga, Rome, 1965. 20 Fig. 6, medal of Carlo Spinelli, 1564, British Museum; cf. A. Armand, Les médailleurs italiens des quinzième et seizième siècles, 3 vols., Paris, 1883–87, III, 257, G. Fig. 7, medal of Carlo Gonzaga, 1628, British Museum; cf. Magnaguti (as in n. 17), 109, No. 85. 21 On this point, see A. S. Harris, Andrea Sacchi, Princeton, 1977, 12; G. S. Lechner, ‘Tommaso Campanella and Andrea Sacchi’s Fresco of Divina Sapienza in the Palazzo Barberini,’ Art Bulletin, LVIII, 1976, 107 ff.; A. S. Harris, ‘Letter to the Editor,’ ibid., LIX,

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juxtaposition seems emphasized by the conspicuous appearance between Divine Wisdom and the earth of the attribute Perspicacity with the Eagle constellation (Aquila), an emblem that is appropriate not only for the bird’s acute vision but also for its purported ability to gaze upon the sun with impunity (Fig. 11).22 The intermediate position of the personification and her eagle, as well as their intense stares, indicate that Divine Wisdom’s perspicacity consists in perceiving the ‘true’ relationship between the earth and its solar partner. This relationship strikingly anticipates the one shown in Bernini’s engraving, as does the action of the bird facing the earth with wings spread and looking back over its shoulder to the sun. It should be emphasized that Sacchi’s fresco was executed in 1629–1631, at the height of the Galilean controversy, in which Urban VIII himself participated. The pope had actually sought to resolve the conflict, not by challenging Galileo’s observations, but by allowing that God in his mysterious wisdom might choose to create phenomena by means inscrutable to man and different from the apparent causes.23 Zucchi has been classified with the opponents of Galileo,24 although he takes no stand in the Optica Philosophia. There is no direct evidence of Bernini’s opinion on the heliocentric versus the geocentric system, if he had one. In the engraving, he follows Sacchi in depicting the earth as a sphere; but he returns it to the position it had occupied in the earlier emblem tradition, on the central axis of the composition. Perhaps the purpose was to support the conservative Jesuit view, or, indeed, mysteriously to reconcile the controversy that had inspired the illustrators of such scientific texts for more than a quarter century.25 In any case, Bernini’s ultimate viewpoint seems implicit in the extraordinary and characteristic achievement of his design — which suggests that virtue’s heavenward flight leads out of our time and space altogether, to a loftier realm beyond. 1977, 306 ff.; Lechner, ‘Reply,’ ibid., 309, and especially an article by D. Gallavotti Cavallero, ‘Il programma iconografico per la Divina Sapienza nel Palazzo Barberini: una proposta,’ in Studi in onore di Giulio Carlo Argan (Rome, 1984), 269–90. 22 On the attribute, see Lechner, ‘Tommaso Campanella,’ 99. 23 Gallavotti Cavallero (as in n. 19) gives an account of the pope’s argument. 24 Cf. Mathematical, Historical, Philosophical and Miscellaneous Portion of the Celebrated Library of Mr. Guglielmo Libri, Pt. 1, London, 1861, No. 3235. 25 Baldini (‘Una lettera,’ as in n. 5) emphasizes that the Jesuit position was by no means as monolithic as commonly assumed; there was considerable debate within the order, and various attempts to come to terms with Kepler and Galileo.

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The complex genesis of this modest and apparently simple work recalls Baldinucci’s statement quoted above, ‘In his works, whether large or small, Bernini did his utmost that there should shine forth that beauty of concept which the work itself made possible. . . .’ Moreover, the illustration must have been the fruit of a singularly close piece of cooperative research and imaginative cross-fertilization between author and designer. The intimate rapport that Bernini described feeling with Zucchi the orator seems to have found expression here as well.

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Bernini’s Image of the Sun King Puis, se tournant vers ceux s É ben vero, a-t-il dit, qui faisaient cercle autour che le fabriche sono du Roi, il a ajouté: ‘Qu’on i ritratti dell’animo ne me parle de rien que soit dei principi. petit.’ Paul Fréart de Chantelou, Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, June 4 and October 8, 1665.

I

T is well known that Bernini made three major works for Louis XIV: the design for rebuilding the Louvre, which brought him to Paris in the summer of 1665 (Figs. 1, 4); the life-size portrait bust of the king executed while he was in Paris (Figs. 2, 5); and the monumental equestrian statue executed after his return to Rome (Figs. 3, 6). Each of these works has been studied separately, but they have hardly been considered together or appreciated for what they really are, equivalent expressions in different media of the concept held by one man of genius who was an

The main argument of this paper was first presented at a symposium entitled ‘The Ascendency of French Culture During the Reign of the Sun King’ sponsored by the Folger Shakespeare Library in March 1985; an abbreviated version appeared in French (Lavin, 1987). Some of the material is incorporated in an essay devoted to the relationship of Bernini’s ruler portraits to the ‘anti-Machiavellian’ tradition of political theory and the idea of the prince-hero (Lavin, 1991). These studies and the preceding chapter relate 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 (Lavin, 1970, 1975; see further Lavin, 1968, 1970; with the collaboration of M. Aronberg Lavin, 1970, 1972).

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artist of another who was a monarch.1 I want to emphasize at the outset that although I shall focus mainly on the visual ideas through which this basic concept was expressed, it was not purely abstract or theoretical. On the contrary, the detailed diary of Bernini’s stay in Paris kept by his escort, Paul Fréart de Chantelou, bears witness to the warm personal relationship established between the artist and the king, based on mutual respect and admiration.2 The reasons for the lack of a unitarian vision of the three works are complex. Each project had its own dramatic and ultimately abortive history. The design for the Louvre became a scapegoat in the rising tide of French cultural nationalism, and the building never rose above the foundations. The bust, which never received the pedestal Bernini intended for it, was installed at Versailles rather than the Louvre. The equestrian monument met with violent disapproval — including the king’s — when it reached Paris long after Bernini’s death; it too was sent to Versailles, where it was finally installed in the garden, having been converted from a portrait into an illustration of a recondite episode from Roman history. Above all, I suspect that the different media have obscured the common ground of the three works. Within the traditional conventions of art it is practically inconceivable that architectural and figural works might convey the same ideas in the same way — not just indirectly through abstract symbolism but directly through mimetic representation. I believe that this was precisely what Bernini had in mind. This intention explains the paradoxical metaphor he expressed during his visit to Paris: ‘buildings are the portraits of the soul of

Some of the thoughts and observations offered here were adumbrated in Fagiolo dell’Arco, 1967, 90 f., and in the valuable studies by Del Pesco, ‘Gli ‘antichi dèi’ and Il Louvre, both 1984. I have also profited greatly from the recent monographs by Berger, Versailles and In the Garden, both 1985. For a general account of Bernini’s visit, see Gould, 1982. An excellent summary on the Louvre will be found in Braham and Smith, 1973, 120–49, 255–64; Daufresne, 1987, provides a useful compendium of the many projects for the palace. On the bust of the king and its antecedents, see Wittkower, 1951; I. Lavin, 1972, 177–81, and 1973, 434 ff. On the equestrian monument, see Wittkower, 1961, 497–531, and, with supplementary material on the statue’s reception in France, Berger, In the Garden, 1985, 50–63, 69–74; also Weber, 1985, 288 ff. The history of the work is summarized in Hoog, 1989. Mai, 1975, considers the bust and the equestrian together in the general context of Louis XIV portraiture. 2 Chantelou, 1885; an English translation by M. Corbett, not always reliable but with excellent annotations by G. Bauer, is now available (Chantelou, 1985). 1

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kings;’3 and it permits us to see his works for Louis XIV as reflections of a single, coherent image that was among his most original creations. The King, the Sun, and the Earth The primary component of Bernini’s image of the king was the preeminent metaphor of Louis’s reign, the sun — in conformity with the millennial tradition of the oriens augusti, ‘the rising of the august one,’ identifying the ruler with the sun.4 The richness, frequency, and programmatic nature of the theme are illustrated in an engraving published in Claude François Menestrier’s History of the King of 1689 (Fig. 7); the emblems linking Louis with the sun in the period from his birth to his majority in 1651 are gathered in a design that itself forms a composite solar emblem.5 In 1662 Louis adopted as his official device the sun as a face seen high above a spherical earth, with the famous motto Nec pluribus impar — ‘not unequal to several (worlds),’ that is, capable of illuminating several others (Fig. 8).6 Bernini had had ample experience with such solar imagery long before his visit to Paris. The sun had also been an emblem of the Barberini pope, Urban VIII, one of Bernini’s greatest patrons, and Bernini was intimately familiar with an important document of this association, a frescoed vault in the Barberini palace in Rome, executed by Andrea Sacchi around 1630 (Fig. 9).7 Divine Wisdom, with an emblem of the sun at her breast, appears 3 The translation given in Chantelou, 1985, 274 — ‘. . . buildings are the mirror of princes’ — obscures the very soul of Bernini’s metaphor! 4 See Kantorowicz, 1963, esp. 167–76 on Louis XIV. 5 I have used the edition Menestrier, 1693, plate preceding p. 5; Kantorowicz, 1963, 175. A medal issued at Louis’s birth in 1638 shows the chariot of the infant Apollo, with the motto Ortus Solis Gallici (Menestrier, 1693, opp. p. 4; cf. Kantorowicz, 1963, 168, 170, Fig. 45). 6 Cf. Kantorowicz, 1963, 162; Menestrier, 1693, Pl. 6, no. XXVI; Jones, 1982–88, II, 222, no.237. 7 Harris, Andrea Sacchi, 1977, 9–13, 57–59; Scott, 1991, esp. 38 ff. I have discussed the relevance of Sacchi’s fresco to an emblematic conceit, also involving the sun and earth, which Bernini designed as the frontispiece of a book on optics, in I. Lavin, 1985. Bernini must have already associated the Barberini solar imagery with that of Louis XIV virtually from the king’s birth in 1638; at least by 1640, the artist promised to reveal to Mazarin the secret of a new method he had devised of portraying the rising sun on stage. The episode is mentioned by Baldinucci, 1948, 151; Domenico Bernini, 1713, 56 f.; and Chantelou, 1885, 116; on the date see Bauer in Chantelou, 1985, 143 n. 170; Brauer and Wittkower, 1931, 33 n 7.

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1. Bernini, third project for the Louvre, east facade (from Blondel, 1752–56, vol. 4, pl. 8).

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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 Girardon to portray Marcus Curtius. Versailles (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 58 EN 1681).

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4. Detail of Fig. 1.

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5. Detail of Fig. 2.

6. Detail of Fig. 3.

531

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enthroned in the heavens above the sphere of the earth. Bernini himself had exploited the image in the allegorical sculpture of Time discovering Truth, which he began toward the end of the 1640s in response to slanderous attacks then being made on his reputation (Fig. 10).8 Truth is a splendid nude whom a figure of Father Time, flying above, was to discover, literally as well as figuratively, by lifting a swath of drapery. The figure of Time was never executed, but the whole conceit drew on the traditional theme of Time rescuing his daughter, who had been secreted by her great enemy Envy in a dark cavern. Time was shown raising up Truth from the earth, represented as a craggy peak below (Fig. 11). This tradition is alluded to by the rocky base on which Bernini’s Truth sits, with one foot resting upon the globe and an emblem of the sun in her hand. The joy of the occasion is illustrated by the radiant smile on Truth’s face, the physiognomical equivalent of the sun’s own beneficent splendor. The Palace Portrait Roman antiquity offered three notable instances of solar imagery in palaces. The imperial palace par excellence, built initially by Augustus on the Palatine hill, included a Temple of Apollo crowned by a resplendent gilded sculpture of the Chariot of the Sun (cf. Figs. 32, 33). Solar imagery was associated with the building itself in the revolving circular dining hall of Nero’s Domus Aurea and in the heavenly, high-columned dwelling of Apollo described in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Following these sources, Louis Le Vau and Charles Le Brun had introduced the metaphor at Vaux-le-Vicomte, the great residence of Louis’s finance minister Fouquet, in the oval salon and in the design for its vault decoration (Fig. 12). Bernini admired Le Brun’s composition when it was shown to him in Paris except that, the design being oval, ‘if the palace of the sun represented in it had the same form, or indeed were round, it might have been better suited to the palace and to the sun itself.’9 Cf. Lavin, Bernini, 1980, 70–74. The importance of this drawing and the solar symbolism in the French projects for the Louvre were emphasized by Berger (1970) and developed by Del Pesco (Il Louvre, 1984, 137–72); also Berger, forthcoming. Cf. Chantelou, 1885, 224, entry for October 11: ‘Come c’est une ovale, il a dit que si le palais du soleil, qui y est representé, avait été de même forme ou bien rond, peut-être aurait-il mieux convenu au lieu et au soleil même.’ 8 9

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The allusion had, in turn, been introduced into designs for the new Louvre proposed by Louis Le Vau and his brother François shortly before Bernini came to Paris. Louis included an oval salon as the centerpiece of the east wing (Fig. 13), and François included a relief showing Apollo in his chariot, as well as the Nec pluribus impar motto, in the decorations of the central pavilion (Fig. 14). Bernini must have been aware of Louis Le Vau’s Louvre project, which was sent to Rome as an example for several Italian architects who were to comment and submit designs of their own. The two projects Bernini sent to Paris before his visit develop the oval motif into powerful curves that dominate the designs (Figs. 15, 16); significantly, he emphasized the Sun-Apollo allusion in the architectural form of the projects, while evidently excluding any such imagery from the decorations of the façades.10 Bernini’s distinctive approach to the problem began to emerge in a series of dramatic developments at the outset of his visit. From his first inspection of the Louvre, on June 3, 1665, the day following his arrival in Paris, he concluded that what had already been built — a considerable portion of the palace — was inadequate.11 At their first interview, on June 4, Bernini anticipated some of the allusions he would incorporate in his own designs, telling Louis that he had ‘seen the palaces of the emperors and popes and those of sovereign princes located on the route from Rome to Paris, but the king of France, today, needed something greater and more magnificent than

10 Colbert actually complained about the sparseness of ornament in the second project, especially the absence of any ‘statua o cifra in memoria del Rè’ above the portal (letter to Bernini from the papal nuncio in Paris, March 23, 1665, in Mirot, 1904, 191n.; cited by Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 140); Bernini, in turn, had criticized the minor ornaments in the façades of Louis Le Vau’s project as being ‘più proprii per un cabinetto, che per le facciate di un gran palazzo’ (letter of March 27, Mirot, 1904, 192n.). 11 Bernini’s initial reaction is reported in several letters written by Italian members of the court: ‘Fuì però da lui [i.e. Bernini] mercordì sera doppo che hebbe visto il Louvre, e per quel che mi disse pensa che quel che è fatto possa servire poco’ (letter of the papal nuncio, June 5, 1665, in Schiavo, 1956, 32); ‘Si dice che le prime proposizioni furono di battere tutto a terra, il che messe in confusione questi francesi’ (letter of Alberto Caprara to the duke of Modena, June 19, in Fraschetti, 1900, 342 n. 1); ‘. . . havendo detto dal primo giorno, che bisognava abbattere tutto il Louvre se si havesse voluto fare qualche cosa di buono . . . Hora s’è ridotto a dire, che farà il dissegno per la gran facciata del Louvre in modo, che si attaccarà assai bene con la fabbrica vecchia... Mà non si parla più di levare il primo piano, che e quello che havrebbe obligato ad abbattere tutto il Louvre . . .’ (letter of Carlo Vigarani to the duke of Modena, June 19, in Fraschetti, 1900, 343 n. 1).

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all that.’12 He proposed to demolish the whole building and start over, a drastic solution to which the king acceded only reluctantly. During the next five days, however, Bernini changed his mind. On June 9 he proposed to keep the existing structure and employ the ground floor as the base for the colossal order he envisaged for his own project. In part, this change of heart was a concession to practical necessity and fiscal responsibility;13 but surely it was also motivated by a new solution, one that would assimilate the flat façade of the traditional French château, resting on the foundation in a moat to the image portrayed by Louis’s solar emblem.14 The project Bernini offered the king on June 20 (Figs. 1, 4) represented the royal device in a profound and utterly novel way — not in geometrical design or decorative sculptures but in the very fabric of the structure. The elevation has three main levels: the colossal order that comprises the two upper stories, the ground story with fine horizontal courses of drafted stone masonry, and a massive, irregular foundation level that would have been visible in an open moat. The frequent references to it in Chantelou’s diary show how important this foundation was to Bernini.15 He first presented his project to Louis in drawings that showed two alternative ways of treating the lowest level, one with ordinary rustication, the other with a rock-like formation that he described as an entirely new idea. When the king chose 12 ‘J’ai vu, Sire, a-t-il dit à S. M., les palais des empereurs et des papes, ceux des princes souverains qui se sont trouvés sur la route de Rome à Paris, mais il faut faire pour un roi de France, un roi d’aujourd’hui, de plus grandes et magnifiques choses que tout cela.’ The passage is followed by that quoted in the first epigraph to this essay (p. 524 above), to which the King replied, ‘il avait quelque affectation de conserver ce qu’avaient fait ses prédécesseurs, mais que si pourtant l’on ne pouvait rien faire de grand sans abattre leur ouvrage, qu’il le lui abandonnait; que pour l’argent il ne l’épargnerait pas’ (Chantelou, 1885, 15, June 4). 13 Bernini acknowledged the practical and financial considerations in a memo he read to the king, adding, ‘comme l’étage du plan terrain du Louvre n’a pas assez d’exhaussement, il ne le fait servir dans sa façade que comme si c’était le piédestal de l’ordre corinthien qu’il met au-dessus’ (Chantelou, 1885, 27 f., June 9). 14 The solution perfectly illustrates Bernini’s view that the architect’s chief merit lay not in making beautiful or commodious buildings but in adapting to necessity and using defects in such a way that if they did not exist they would have to be made: ‘...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 sì, che sia utile quel che fu difetto e che, se non fusse, bisognerebbe farlo’ (Baldinucci, 1948, 146, cf. Bernini, 1713, 32). 15 References to the rustication occur in Chantelou’s diary on June 20; September 22, 25, 26, 29, 30; October 6 (Chantelou, 1885, 36, 176, 179, 182, 189, 192, 203).

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the latter, even though it would be more difficult to execute, Bernini was delighted and remarked that few people, even among professionals, had such good judgment.16 He insisted on providing detailed designs himself, on executing a model so that the workmen might see what he meant, and on supervising the work on the foundations to make sure that the workmen would do it properly. The reason for his care was that in carrying out the rustication Bernini intended for the Louvre, the workmen would be functioning more as sculptors than as ordinary stonemasons. Rustication, which had a long history, was discussed and its varieties illustrated in the mid-sixteenth century by Serlio, in his treatise on architecture (Fig. 17).17 Traditionally, although the stones were given a more or less rough surface, they were treated equally, and each stone or course of stones was clearly separated from the next so that a more or less regular pattern resulted. This kind of rustication could become very rough indeed, especially when it was used to evoke primitive or decaying structures, as in Wendel Dietterlin’s book of architectural fantasies (1598); but the individual units remained separate and distinct (Fig. 18). Bernini’s ‘natural’ rustica16 ‘. . . un écueil ou espèce de rocher, sur lequel il a fait l’assiette du Louvre, lequel il a couvert d’un papier où était dessiné un rustique, fait pour avoir à choisir, à cause que cet écueil était de difficile exécution, le Roi ayant considéré l’un et l’autre, a dit que cet écueil lui plaisait bien plus, et qu’il voulait qu’il fût exécuté de la sorte. Le Cavalier lui a dit qu’il l’avait changé, s’imaginant que, comme c’est une pensée toute nouvelle, que peut-être elle ne plairait pas, outre qu’il faudrait que cet écueil, pour réussir dans son intention, fût exécuté de sa main. Le Roi a repété que cela lui plaisait extrêmement. Sur quoi le Cavalier lui a dit qu’il a la plus grande joie du monde de voir combien S. M. a le goût fin et délicat, y ayant peu de gens, même de la profession, que eussent pu en juger si bien’ (Chantelou, 1885, 36, June 20). 17 On the history of rustication, see most recently Ackerman, 1983, 27 ff.; Fagiolo, ed., 1979. Bernini’s use of rustication has been treated most extensively by Borsi (1967, 29–43), but the nature and significance of his contribution has not been clearly defined. As far as I can see, the first to note the character and intimate the significance of Bernini’s rustication was Quatremère de Quincy in his Encyclopédie article on ‘Opposition’: ‘Ainsi, des blocs laissés bruts, des pierres de taille rustiquées, donneront aux soubassemens d’un monument une apparence de massivité dont l’opposition fera paraître plus élégantes les parties et les ordonnances supérieures. L’emploi de ce genre d’opposition entre les matériaux a quelquefois été porté plus loins. Il y a des exemples de plus d’un édifice, où l’architecture a fait entrer dans son appareil, des pierres tellement taillées et façonnées en forme de rochers, que leur opposition avec le reste de la construction semble avoir eu pour but, de donner l’idée d’un monument pratiqué et comme fondé sur des masses de rocs naturels. Tel est à Rome (peut-être dans un sens allégorique) le palais de justice à Monte-Citorio’ (1788–1825, III, 36). The reference was brought to my attention by Sylvia Lavin.

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7. Sun emblems of Louis XIV before 1651 engraving (from Menestrier, 1693, 4).

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

9. Andrea Sacchi, allegory of Divine Wisdom. Palazzo Barberini, Rome (photo: Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione E72392).

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10. Bernini, Truth. Galleria Borghese, Rome (photo: Alinari 27070).

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11. Time rescuing Truth (Willaert, 1536, from Saxl, 1936, fig. 2).

12. Charles Le Brun, The Palace of the Sun, drawing. Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 68 DN 3160).

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13. Louis Le Vau, project for the Louvre, drawing. Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux, Receuil du Louvre I, fol. 5).

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14. François Le Vau, project for the Louvre, engraving. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

541

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15. Bernini, first project for the Louvre, drawing. Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux, Receuil du Louvre, vol. 1, fol. 4).

16. Bernini, second project for the Louvre, drawing. Nationalmuseum, Stockholm.

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17. Sebastiano Serlio, varieties of rusticated masonry (from Serlio, 1562, opp. p. 17).

543

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tion (this term seems most effectively to distinguish it from the traditional ‘artificial’ rustication) had its roots in artificially created natural settings — garden fountains (Fig. 19) and grottoes, for example, which were often conceived as artful accidents in an artificial world —18 and in such temporary decorations as festival floats (Fig. 20) or theatrical stage sets, especially those depicting the underworld (Fig. 21). Steps were even taken in the sixteenth century to introduce irregular rustication into the permanent urban environment, as in the house of the artist Federico Zuccari in Florence (1579) where rough-cut stones, carefully arranged, decorate the façade (Fig. 22).19 The stones remain separate and distinguishable, however, fragments from another world introduced not as structural elements but as precious fragments like those from antique sculptures that were displayed symmetrically on the walls of contemporary villas and palaces (Fig. 23). By and large rustication since the Renaissance had been understood in three ways. From the fourteenth century social value had been attached to the technique because it involved more labor, and therefore expense, than dressed stone.20 It had also acquired an expressive meaning when Alberti spoke of its capacity to inspire awe and fear — when used in city walls, for example.21 Finally, rustication had metaphorical significance as an allusion

See the chapter on these types in Wiles, 1933, 73 ff. For the fountain illustrated in Figure 195, see Zangheri, 1979, 157 f., and 1985, 38 ff.; Vezzosi, ed., 1986, 138 ff. 19 See now Salomone, in Fagiolo, ed., 1979. 20 An indicative case in point is the report concerning Filippo Strozzi’s feigned modesty in building his palace in Florence: ‘Oltre a molt’altre spese s’aggiunse anco quella de’ bozzi di fuori. Filippo quanto più si vedeva incitare, tanto maggiormente sembianza faceva di iritarsi, e per niente diceva di voler fare i bozzi, per non esser cosa civile e di troppa spesa’ (Gaye, 1839–40, I, 355; cited by Roth, 1917, 13, 97 n. 22; Sinding-Larsen, 1975, 195 n. 5. Many passages concerning rustication are assembled in an article by Morolli, in Fagiolo, ed., 1979. 21 ‘There are some very ancient castles still to be seen . . . built of huge unwrought stone; which sort of work pleases me extremely, because it gives the building a rugged air of antique severity, which is a very great ornament to a town. I would have the walls of a city built in such a manner, that the enemy at the bare sight of them may be struck with terror, and be sent away with a distrust of his own forces’ (Alberti, 1965, Bk. VII, ch. 2, p. 135); ‘Visuntur et vetusta oppida . . . lapide astructa praegrandi incerto et vasto, quod mihi quidem opus vehementer probatur: quandam enim prae se fert rigiditatem severissimae vetustatis, quae urbibus ornamento est. Ac velim quidem eiusmodi esse urbis murum, ut eo spectato horreat hostis et mox diffidens abscedat’ (Alberti, 1966, 539). 18

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to the work of nature, and this was its meaning in sixteenth century gardens and other nonarchitectural contexts.22 Bernini, in effect, merged this ‘representational’ tradition with that of rustication as a proper architectural mode. In doing so he brought to a mutually dependent fruition the three associative aspects of rustication — the nobility of a magnificently carved, rather than merely constructed, foundation; the expression of awesome unassailability to all but the most perservering and virtuous; and the actual depiction of a ‘natural’ form, the Mountain of Virtue, that served a structural as well as a metaphorical purpose. Significantly, Bernini did not refer to his brainchild by the technical term rustication, but instead called it a scogliera, or rocky mass. Bernini had long since taken the giant step of creating coherent irregular rock formations and using such wild, natural art works as major monuments in the heart of the city. In the Four Rivers fountain, the centerpiece of the refurbished Piazza Navona, where Innocent X (1644–55) built his family palace, an artificial mountain island supports an obelisk (Fig. 24). Here, too, drawings show how carefully Bernini planned the ‘accidental’ forms, and the sources emphasize his own participation in the actual carving (Fig. 25).23 Because the obelisk was regarded as one of antiquity’s foremost solar symbols, the fountain itself has the same emblematic sense that concerns us here. A few years later Bernini introduced this idea of a rock-like foundation into a properly architectural context in the façade of the palace, known from its location as the Palazzo di Montecitorio, which he designed for the same pope’s niece and her husband; here he used natural rustication on the

22 On the first of these points see, for example, Serlio’s remarks concerning the mixture of nature and artifice, quoted by Ackerman, 1983, 28: ‘It would be no error if within one manner one were to make a mixture representing in this way partly the work of nature and partly the work of artifice: thus columns bound down by rustic stones and also the architrave and frieze interrupted by voussoirs reveal the work of nature, while capitals and parts of the columns and also the cornice and pediment represent the work of the hand; and this mixture, according to my judgement, greatly pleases the eye and represents in itself great strength.’ On the second point, see Ackerman, 1983, 34. 23 Baldinucci, 1948, 140; Bernini, 1713, 89; for a detailed analysis of these studies see Courtright, in Lavin et al., 1981, 108–19.

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basement story, beneath a colossal order of pilasters (Figs. 26, 27, and 28).24 Bernini may have adopted the natural form in the rustication of the new palace for the pope’s niece to echo the motif of the Piazza Navona fountain. There may have been other reasons as well. The base of the Piazza Navona fountain portrayed a mountain, after all, and the new palace was situated on a prominence, the Mons Citatorius, that had been an important center of urban life in antiquity.25 The idea of the Louvre as a palace metaphorically on a mountain top may have germinated here. In the Roman palace the rustication is confined to the strips beneath the outermost pairs of the order of pilasters. These powerful animated bases thus appear as equivalents in ‘living’ rock of the atlantean figures that support the central balcony from which the pope would have greeted the populace (Fig. 29). Although there is no documentary evidence that Bernini planned a piazza before the new Montecitorio palace, the monumental entrance and balcony would scarcely have made sense without one. Perhaps because of such a plan he first had the idea, to which we shall return, of moving the column of Trajan to form a pair with that of Marcus Aurelius.26 The place in front of the Montecitorio palace would have been the obvious choice for the new location, especially because nearby portions of a third column were preserved, that of Antoninus Pius. In fact, the name of the area was thought to have derived from the colonna citatoria, so called because it was supposedly used to disseminate public decrees.27 In studying the ancient columns, Bernini would have become aware not only of their Christianization — to be discussed presently — but also of the unrestored condition of the For a brief summary and recent bibliography, see Borsi, 1980, 315. Bernini’s original project, identified by the arms of Innocent X over the portal, is recorded in a painting in the Camera dei Deputati, Rome (Figs. 202, 203), often attributed to Bernini’s assistant, Mattia de’ Rossi (cf. Borsi et al., 1972, Fig. 16). The palace was left half finished after 1654, following a rupture between the pope and his niece’s husband Niccolo Ludovisi; it was finally completed in the early eighteenth century. Only the rusticated strip to the right of the central block was fully ‘finished,’ along with the rusticated window sills (another striking innovation in the design, which Bernini did not repeat for the Louvre); see now Terracina and Vittorini, 1983. 25 Jordan, 1871–1907, I, pt. 3, 603; Gnoli, 1939, 175 f. 26 The possibility that this project (for which see further below, pp. 178 and n. 84) originated with Bernini’s plans for the Palazzo Montecitorio was evidently first suggested by Capasso in 1966; cited by Fagiolo dell’Arco, 1967, 236 Fig. 47, scheda 201; followed by Krautheimer, 1983, 207. 27 Jordan, 1871–1907, I, pt. 3, 603; cf. Nardini, 1666, 349. 24

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Aurelian column, which had long been confused with the column of Antoninus. The original facing of the base had been hacked away, leaving only the rough-hewn substructure, the condition recorded in many early depictions. Bernini’s pilasters on rusticated strips were perhaps intended to evoke the destroyed column of Montecitorio by echoing the Aurelian column in its ruinous state, the memory of which was still very much alive. Indeed, the relationship was evidently appreciated by one artist who pointedly juxtaposed the unrestored column with the corner of Bernini’s unfinished palace in an engraved view of the Piazza Colonna published in 1679 (Fig. 30).28 If a reference to the decrepit triumphal column is thus incorporated into the façade of the building, it may serve, along with the supporting atlantes, to suggest the subservience of the power of antiquity to the New Dispensation represented by the pope. The pair of colossal figures flanking the doorway was another motif that Bernini transferred from the Palazzo di Montecitorio to the Louvre. In Rome they were ‘subjugated’ to an ecclesiastical context, whereas in the secular domain at Paris they have become great guardian figures of Hercules carrying clubs (cf. Fig. 4). Hercules had long been a favorite antetype of the French kings, and sculptured depictions of Hercules and his Labors accompany the Apollo imagery that decorates the east façade of the Louvre in the project of François Le Vau (see Fig. 14). Early in the century, in the antiquarian Giacomo Lauro’s fanciful recreation of the façade of the Golden House of Nero, situated on the Mons Esquilinus, a pair of freestanding statues of Hercules with clubs had been placed before the central section (Fig. 31).29 In Bernini’s Louvre, the figures flank the portal, and they stand on rocky bases (on these supports, see p. 603 below); like the dressed masonry behind them, the figures mediate between the rusticated foundation below and the actual dwelling of the king above. In a letter written from Paris, Bernini’s assistant describes the figures as guardians of the 28 The base of the column of Antoninus Pius, now in the Vatican, and a portion of the shaft were excavated early in the eighteenth century, toward the end of which the present installation with the obelisk of Augustus was also created (D’Onofrio, 1965, 238 ff., 280 ff.). Early depictions of the Aurelian column are listed and some reproduced in Caprini et al., 1955, 42; Pietrangeli, 1955, 19 ff. The engraving by Johann Meyer the Younger appears in Sandrart, 1665–79, II, Pl. XXII. Reproduced, without reference to Sandrart and dated in the eighteenth century, in Angeli, 1926, frontispiece. 29 Lauro, 1612–41, Pl. 101, cited by Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 145 ff., and idem, ‘Una fonte,’ 1984, 423 f.

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18. Wendel Dietterlin, fantastic portal (from Dietterlin, 1598, pl. 24).

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19. Fountain of Mount Parnassus, destroyed in the eighteenth century; formerly Villa Pratolino, Florence (from Caus, 1616).

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20. Giulio Parigi, Mount Parnassus (from Salvadori, 1616). 21. Scene of the underworld (from [G. Rospigliosi], 1634, pl. 2).

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22. Federico Zuccari, the artist’s house. Florence (photo: Alinari 29281).

23. Johannes Baur, view of the Villa Borghese. Galleria Borghese, Rome (photo: Anderson 20880).

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24. Bernini, Fountain of the Four Rivers. Rome (photo: Anderson 300).

25. Bernini, studies for the Fountain of the Four Rivers, drawing. Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig.

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26. Bernini, Palazzo di Montecitorio. Rome (photo: Anderson 447).

27. Detail of Fig. 26 (photo: Jack Freiberg).

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28. Anonymous, Bernini’s project for the Palazzo di Montecitorio. Camera dei Deputati, Rome (photo: Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione E41848).

29. Detail of Fig. 28.

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30. Johann Meyer the Younger, view of Piazza Colonna (from Sandrart, vol. 2, 1665–79, pl. XXII).

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31. Giacomo Lauro, Nero’s Domus Aurea (from Lauro, 1612–41, pl. 101). 32. Onofrio Panvinio, Palatine palace and Circus Maximus (from Panvinio, 1642, 49).

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33. Giacomo Lauro, Palatine palace and Circus Maximus (from Lauro, 1612-41, pl. 98).

34. Etienne Dupérac, Palatine palace and Circus Maximus (from Dupérac, 1621, pl. 9).

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palace, signifying fortitude and labor. He quotes Bernini as explaining that Hercules ‘by means of his fortitude and labor is a portrait of virtue, which resides on the mountain of labor, that is, the rocky mass; and he says that whoever wishes to reside in this palace must pass through virtue and labor. This thought and allegory greatly pleased His Majesty, to whom it seemed to have grandeur and sententiousness.’30 Bernini’s statement provides the key to the unity of form and meaning in the project, which incorporated two essential elements of the architectural heritage of antiquity, one affecting the design, the other the significance of the building. The Louvre proposals echo such features as the multistoried façade of open arcades, the curved atrium, and the rusticated base that appear in certain ideal reconstructions of the palace of the Roman emperors on the Palatine, notably those by Onofrio Panvinio and Giacomo Lauro (Figs. 32, 33).31 Bernini must also have been struck by the images that showed the palace in its contemporary ruinous state atop the rocky promontory (Fig. 34).32 This association, in turn, may have encouraged Bernini to extend his rocky base to the whole building, so as to underscore the Louvre’s role as a modern reincarnation of the ancient imperial palace, the embodiment of the very name for a royal dwelling, derived from the Mons Palatinus. Furthermore, Bernini’s explanation of his project as expressing a moral-architectural progression articulated a concept implicit in another illustrious Roman structure, the double temple of Honor and Virtue — so arranged that one had to pass through the one to reach the other. Bernini was certainly familiar with the reconstruction by Giacomo Lauro (see p. 604 f. and Fig. 64 below), whose comments on the monument he seems to have drawn on for the underlying ethical tone as well as several themes echoed in his own ideas for the Louvre. Lauro quotes St. Augustine to the 30 ‘. . . sopra detto scoglio dalle parte della porta principale invece d’adornamento di doi colonne, vi ha fatto 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 il monte della fatica che è lo scoglio . . . e dice chi vuole risiedere in 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’ (Mirot, 1904, 218n., Mattia de’ Rossi, June 26). 31 Millon, 1987, 485 ff., has recently discussed the relationship between Bernini’s designs for the Louvre and the early reconstructions of the palace of the Caesars on the Palatine. Professor Millon very kindly shared with me the Palatine material he collected. 32 On the history of this view of the Palatine, see Zerner, 1965.

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effect that in the ingenious disposition of the temple the ancient Romans ‘taught that no one should be honored, or desire honors, who has not entered and long dwelt with profit in the virtues. . . . Princes should take this occasion to construct in their spirits similar temples of honor and virtue...exactly as did a number of ancient emperors . . . who never would accept the title of Maximus if they had not first earned it through virtue,’ as did Trajan and Marcus Aurelius, whose virtuous actions have been ‘preserved unharmed against the violence of time, war, and public calamities, as one may understand from the most beautiful columns constructed in their honor’ (on the columns see pp. 602 ff. below).33 Bernini must also have drawn on the one important precedent for relating this idea of a moral progression in architecture to that of a physical progression to the top of a rocky peak: a fresco made about 1600 by Federico Zuccari to decorate his own home in Rome (Fig. 35), in which the two temples, linked in turn to the temple of Fame, are perched on a high promontory reached by a tortuous path.34 In sum, Bernini developed a whole new mode of architectural expression at the Louvre to convey Louis XIV’s adaptation of the traditional oriens augusti theme to himself as the Sun King. Bernini’s project created a summa of the major ancient Roman ‘solar’ palaces, merging them with a quasi-religious notion of ethical achievement expressed through architecture. These 33 ‘. . . li Romani antichi con questo insegnauano, che nissuno doueua essere honorato, ò desiderare honori, che non fosse entrato, e lungamente con profitto dimorato nelle virtù. . . Da che dourebbono gli Principi pigliare occasione di fabricare nell’animi loro simili tempij d’Honore, e Virtù [see the dictum by Bernini that serves as the epigraph for this chapter] . . . nè giamai volsero accettare il titolo di Massimo, se prima per virtù non lo meritauano . . . come . . . fecero Traiano, & Antonino, li quali perche appoggiarono le attioni loro alla virtù, le hanno conseruate, & illese contro la violenza del tempo, guerre, & calamità publiche, come si può comprendere dalle due bellissime Colonne che a honor di essi furono fabricate, & hoggi nella bellezza, & integrità antica si conseruano’ (Pl. 30v; the full Latin text was quoted by Del Pesco, ‘Una fonte,’ 1984, 434 f. n. 25). 34 Körte, 1935, 22 f., Pl. 11. Two drawings for the fresco are preserved, one in the Morgan Library, where the buildings are labeled, the other in Berlin (cf. Winner, 1962, 168 ff., Fig. 14; Heikamp, 1967, 28 f., Fig. 22b; Hermann Fiore, 1979, 51–53; Mundy, 1989, 237–39). The Temple of Fame had particular metaphorical significance in artistic circles; it was also used by Van Mander (1973, 381 f.). There was a tradition of temporary festival decorations in Turin that may have been relevant to Bernini’s idea: a hilly façade (in reference to the Piemonte) was erected in front of the Palazzo Ducale, topped by a pavillion or temple and, in 1650, with an elaborate Herculean allegory (Pollak, 1991, 63, 137 f.); for other connections with Turin see n. 68 and p. 593 f. below.

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traditions, in turn, he associated with the equally venerable metaphor of the ruler as Hercules reaching the summit of the Mountain of Virtue. The visual, structural and metaphorical basis for these relationships was Bernini’s beloved scogliera, the invention of which, I am convinced, was the underlying motivation for his sudden willingness to abandon his earlier plans. This revolutionary form enabled him to envisage in his design for the Louvre the power of virtue and order to triumph over brute chaos. The Bust Portrait The bust of the king (Figs. 2, 5) is a ‘living’ metaphor that embodies two major themes, the royal medallic device and the imagery of Alexander the Great. In a sense, the merger simply vested in Louis XIV the ancient conflation of Helios and Alexander that had been the mainspring of the Sun King tradition itself.35 These references help to explain some of the work’s conspicuous differences from its nearest ancestor, Bernini’s portrait of Francesco I d’Este, duke of Modena, of the early 1650s (Fig. 36). Louis’s great wig engulfs his head with twisting lambent curls that are deeply undercut by corruscating drillwork; they recall Alexander’s ‘leonine mane’ and, in an uncanny way, suggest the flaming locks of the sun god, Helios (Fig. 37). The king’s forehead rises from heavily padded brows, and the vigorous sideward turn of the head and glance has a distinct upward cast suggestive not of arrogance but of a far-sighted, ardent and noble hauteur that is reminiscent of the ancient portrait type of the divinely inspired ruler. Bernini commented on these details, observing that ‘the head of the king has something of that of Alexander, particularly the forehead and the air of the face.’36 In other words, Bernini saw the features of Alexander in those of the king, and he reported more than once that people saw this resemblance in the bust itself: visitors, he said, were reminded of the medals and the ‘beautiful heads’ of Alexander.37 An antiquarian and collector of medals, On Alexander, Helios, the divinely inspired ruler and the idea of apotheosis in ancient portraiture, see L’Orange, 1982, 34–36. 36 ‘Le Cavalier a dit . . . que la tête du Roi avait de celle d’Alexandre, particulièrement le front et l’air du visage’ (Chantelou, 1885, 99, August 15). 37 ‘. . . il m’a dit . . . qu’il venait de sortir un évêque, qui lui avait dit que son buste ressemblait aux médailles d’Alexandre, et que de lui donner pour piédestal un monde, il lui en ressemblait encore davantage’ (Chantelou, 1885, 178). ‘Il a ajouté que plusieurs avaient trouvé que le buste avait de ces belles têtes d’Alexandre’ (Chantelou, 1885, 187, September 27). 35

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Pierre Seguin, also noted the strong Alexandrine ‘air’ of the bust, which ‘turned to the side as one sees in the medals.’38 Since the numismatic portraits of Alexander that can be identified with certainty are all in profile, the latter reference was probably to Greek coins of Helios with a three-quarter face or to a rare Roman type in which the head is turned up and to the side, and the neck and part of the chest are included to convey the torsion (Fig. 37).39 The beautiful heads must be the noted sculptures in Florence (Fig. 38) and Rome (Fig. 39) then universally identified as Alexander.40 The Roman version was associated with the group popularly known as the Pasquino; Bernini admired this pathetically mutilated work, which was thought to portray the death of Alexander, more than any other ancient sculpture.41 Both the head and the movement of the figure — one shoulder forward in the direction of the glance, the arm wrapped round the body in a powerful contrapposto — recall Alexander as he had been portrayed in a painting by Giulio Romano (Fig. 40). Giulio himself had adopted the pose of the Greek hero from that of Julius Caesar in Titian’s series of the Twelve Roman Emperors (Fig. 41).42 In Bernini’s sculpture the implied reversal of the lower right arm checks the forward thrust suggested by the movement of the upper torso and the drapery, a notable difference from the d’Este bust

38 ‘. . . le buste a beaucoup de l’air d’Alexandre et tournait de côté comme l’on voit aux médailles d’Alexandre’ (ibid., 183, September 26). 39 On the relationship to ancient Alexander portraiture, see Lavin, 1972, 181 n. 71. On the coin of Vespasian reproduced here, see Vermeule, 1986, 11; I am indebted to Dr. Vermeule for kind assistance in the numismatics of Alexander. M. J. Price brought to my attention a coin of Alexander of Pherae in which a three-quarter head of Hecate appears on the obverse (Gardner and Poole, 1883, 47 no. 14, Pl. X Fig. II). The relationship to Alexander and allegorical portraiture generally was formulated perfectly by Wittkower (1951, 18): ‘. . . Bernini rejected the popular type of allegorical portraiture then in favour at the court of Louis XIV which depicted le Roi Soleil in the guise of Apollo, of Alexander, or of a Roman Emperor. Bernini’s allusion to Alexander was expressed by physical and psychological affinities, not by external attributes.’ Allegory was confined to the base, which also reinforced the allusion to Alexander; see 573 f. below). 40 On the work shown in Fig. 38, see Haskell and Penny, 1981, 134–36; on that in Fig. 39, see Helbig, 1963–72, II, 229 f. (the head has holes that served to hold metal rays). 41 Haskell and Penny, 1981, 291–96; on Bernini and the Pasquino, see Lavin, 1990, 31 ff. 42 Cf. I. Lavin, 1972, 180 n. 67; on the treatment of the arms generally, 177 ff. Vergara, 1983, 285, has also seen Bernini’s reference to this model, perhaps through the intermediary of one of Van Dyck’s series of portrait prints, the Iconography; in adopting the pose Van Dyck similarly raised the head and glance to suggest some distant and lofty goal or vision.

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35. Federico Zuccari, The Mountain of Virtue, Honor, and Fame. Palazzo Zuccari, Rome (photo: Biblioteca Hertziana D12019).

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

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

38. “The Dying Alexander.” Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (photo: Brogi 3223).

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39. Colossal head of Alexander-Helios. Museo Capitolino, Rome (photo: Alinari 5972).

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

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41. Aegidius Sadeler, Titian’s Julius Caesar, engraving.

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42. 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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43. Bernini’s bust of Francesco I d’Este (from Gamberti, 1659, frontispiece).

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44. Roman portrait bust. Colchester and Essex Museum, Colchester.

45. The Colonna Claudius (from Montfaucon, 1719, vol. 5, pl. XXIX).

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46. Charles Le Brun, portière of Mars, tapestry. Musée du Louvre, Paris (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 83 EN 5233).

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whose significance will emerge when we consider the equestrian portrait of Louis. The extraordinary drapery and Bernini’s special concern that it seem to be flowing freely in the wind may also be understood in the context of exultation and exaltation all’ antica.43 The use of drapery to ‘carry’ a portrait bust was derived from an ancient funereal tradition in which a portrait of the deceased was placed against a cloth of honor. Bernini adapted this device for certain memorials of the 1630s and 1640s, transforming the hanging cloth into a billowing swath of drapery (Fig. 42).44 The drapery of Francesco d’Este actually flutters upward and wraps around the torso, Christo-like, so as to suggest the lower silhouette of a portrait bust wafted into the empyrean. Bernini surely devised this mixture of objectivity and metaphor to give form to a train of political thought, particularly strong among the Jesuits, in which the ideal ruler was conceived as a hero, both human and divine. The concept of the monarch as a demigod-like princehero had been formulated with respect to Francesco I himself, shortly after his death in 1658, in a commemorative volume by a leading Jesuit of Modena, Domenico Gamberti, that actually celebrates Bernini’s portrait of the duke (Fig. 43).45 The sculpture thus represents what it is, an honorific

43 ‘Il m’a ajouté qu’il s’était étudié à faire, che non paresse che questo svolazzo fosse sopra un chiodo . . .’ (Chantelou, 1885, 166, September 19). 44 See I. Lavin, 1972, 180 n. 68; on the treatment of the drapery generally, 177 ff. 45 Gamberti, 1659, frontispiece. The book (for which see Southorn, 1988, 38 f.) is a description, profusely illustrated, of the decorations erected for Francesco’s funeral in 1658. The dedication is an elaborate metaphor on Bernini’s portrait, which in the engraving has at the base papal and Constantinian insignia that announce the idea of the ideal Christian ruler. Since, as is noted in the title of the book, Francesco was commander of the French troops in Italy, Bernini may have had special reason to recall the work in connection with the bust of the king. The importance of the Modena connection for Louis XIV and Bernini has been emphasized by Burke, 1992, 187 f. See also p. 603 below. The expanding shape of the pedestal would have helped keep spectators at a distance, something we know he considered in designing the Louis XIV base (Chantelou, 1885, 150, entry for September 10). On the notion of the heroic monarch, see De Mattei, 1982–84, II, 21 ff. De Mattei cites the following definition by Gamberti, which is interesting in our context not only for the concept itself but also for the sculpture metaphor and the contrast made between crude base and heavenly head: ‘Oltre il primo nome di Principe, v’ho aggiunto il secondo di Eroe, la cui definizione si può trarre al nostro proposito colà di Luciano: Heros est qui neque homo est, neque Deus, et simul utrumque est [Lucian, Dial. 3]. È l’Eroe quasi dissi una terza natura, ed una statua di elettro, fabricata con l’oro della Divinità e coll’argento delle più squisite prerogative dell’essere umano: bensì sostenuta in piè da una base di sozzo fango, ma però

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monument of heroic apotheosis. In the bust of Louis, Bernini carried this conundrum a significant step further. Louis’s drapery gives no hint of the lower edge of the torso, so that the figure appears to be what the sculpture represents, a living human being. Moreover, the cloth blows freely to the side, and Louis’s cloak becomes a kind of magic carpet, the sartorial equivalent of the cloud formations above which the emblematic sun appears to float. The king’s device and the imagery of Alexander also coincided in the treatment of the pedestal, a final point of difference from the d’Este portrait. Chantelou records that Bernini intended to place the bust of the king on a terrestrial globe of gilded and enameled copper bearing the ingenious inscription Picciola basa, ‘small base’; the globe rested on a copper drapery emblazoned with trophies and virtues (these last were essential attributes in Bernini’s conception of the ideal ruler, as we shall see); and the whole was set on a platform. It was a common device to portray a monarch perched on an earthly sphere; a specifically French typology had been established by images in which Henry IV was shown thus, both as a standing figure and as an equestrian mounted on a rearing Pegasus.46 There was also an ancient tradition of portrait busts mounted on a (celestial) globe to suggest apotheosis (Fig. 44). A bust-monument of the emperor Claudius included a pedestal with a globe and military spoils that in the mid-seventeenth century had been placed on a sculptured platform (Fig. 45). Bernini may have been inspired to apply these ideas to Louis by another invention of Le Brun’s, perhaps again for Fouquet. I refer to a tapestry door covering, or portière, in which the crowned face of the sun shines above the arms of France and Navarre; below, a terrestrial globe rests on a panoply of military spoils (Fig. 46).47 It is indeed as though Le Brun’s magnificent and emblem-

circondata sul capo con una reale fascia dal Cielo’ (Gamberti, 1659, 102). For more on the theory of the prince-hero and the related anti-Machiavellian tradition of political ideology, see pp. 628 ff. below. 46 The images of Henry IV were made for triumphal entries: Vivanti, 1967, 188, Pl. 22a–b; cf. Bardon, 1974, 65, 141, Pl. XXXIV B. On the ancient prototypes for Bernini’s pedestal, see I. Lavin, 1972, 180 f.; D. Rosenthal, 1976, cites the depiction of Monarchia Mondana in Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia, where the ruler is shown seated on the globe. For the emperor enthroned on the globe in antiquity, see MacCormack, 1981, 127–29. 47 The Sun King, 1984, 182, no. 3; Les Gobelins, 1966, 11, no. 1; Charles Le Brun, 1963, 239 no. 98; Montagu, 1962; Fenaille, 1903–23, I, 9–15; Jouin, 1889, 553 f.

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atic armorial display had suddenly come to life.48 The motivating force was evidently Plutarch’s familiar description of Lysippus’s portrait of Alexander, which combined the upward and sideward glance with a reference to the earth below: ‘When Lysippus first modelled a portrait of Alexander with his face turned upward toward the sky, just as Alexander himself was accustomed to gaze, turning his neck gently to one side, someone inscribed, not inappropriately, the following epigram: ‘The bronze statue seems to proclaim, looking at Zeus: I place the earth under my sway; you O Zeus keep Olympos.’49 These references were quite evident to contemporaries. When Bernini described his idea for the base, Chantelou drew the analogy with the king’s device.50 Another witness, no doubt aware of the passage in Plutarch, perceived the link between the royal emblem and the ancient monarch, remarking, as Bernini himself reported, that the addition of the world as a base enhanced the resemblance to Alexander.51 The multiple allusions to the royal device and to the Helios-Alexander tradition fill the bust with meaning; they contribute as well to its expressive intensity and to the sense of supernatural aloofness it conveys. The Equestrian Portrait The bust of Louis is itself without any allegorical paraphernalia: the king is shown wearing his own — not classical — armor, and his own Venetian lace collar, in a vivid likeness with lips poised at the moment Bernini described as just before or after speaking; one observer thought Louis looked as if he were about to issue a command.52 All this was Bernini visited the Gobelin tapestry factory and greatly praised Le Brun’s designs on September 6 — ‘Il a fort loué les dessins et tableaux de M. Le Brun et la fertilité de son invention’ (Chantelou, 1885, 140) — four days before he designed the pedestal for the bust (see n. 50 below). 49 Pollitt, 1965, 145. 50 ‘Je lui ait dit que sa pensée se rapporte encore heureusement à la devise du Roi, dont le corps est un soleil avec le mot: Nec pluribus impar’ (Chantelou, 1885, 150, September 10); cf. also Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 153 n. 16). 51 See n. 37 above. 52 For all these points, see Wittkower, 1951, 16, 17, 18. The passage in Chantelou concerning the subtle expression of the mouth is worth quoting: ‘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 le 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). 48

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changed in the equestrian monument, where the king was shown in antique guise, his features, as we know from the sources, utterly transfigured into those of a radiant, smiling youth (Figs. 3, 6). Functionally, Bernini’s project took up an old tradition — which had been followed by Francois Mansart, Pierre Cottard, and Charles Perrault in their projects for the Louvre — of equestrian statues of French kings in their residences;53 Bernini’s was evidently the first such monument in France with a rearing horseman, and freestanding rather than attached to the building. The precedent in both these respects was Pietro Tacca’s sculpture of Philip IV in the garden of the Buen Retiro at Madrid (1642), the first monumental rearing equestrian in bronze since antiquity (Fig. 47);54 the apparent emulation reflects the notorious French rivalry with Spain, further repercussions of which will emerge presently. In form, Bernini’s work was intentionally related to but also, as he himself reported, completely different from his earlier equestrian monument of the emperor Constantine in Rome (Fig. 48). Both horses rear in strikingly similar poses, and the riders mount, miraculously, without reins or stirrups. But whereas the glance and gestures of Constantine are raised to convey his spiritual bedazzlement at the vision of the Holy Cross above, those of Louis are earthbound and convey his mundane power in what Bernini called an ‘act of majesty and command.’55 The phrase should not be taken as referring to a military directive, as in Donatello’s Gattamelata — an interpretation Bernini abjured (see below). Instead, he adapted the gesture of Verrocchio’s Colleoni or Francesco Mochi’s Alessandro Farnese in Piacenza (Fig. 49) to suggest that this ruler leads by sheer force of being.56 And whereas Constantine springs from an abstract architectural base, Bernini gave Louis a new form of support reminiscent of the substructure of the Piazza Navona fountain and echoing that of the Louvre itself (Fig. 50). The base portrayed a craggy peak and the image as a whole recalled that of

53 On the French tradition, see M. Martin, 1986; Prinz and Kecks, 1985, 252–61; Scheller, 1985, 52 ff. The Louvre projects with equestrian statues mounted on the façade are conveniently reproduced in Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, Figs. 56, 57, 61. 54 See J. Brown and Elliott, 1980, 111 ff.; Torriti, 1984, 50 ff. But see also n. 72 below 55 See p. 594 and n. 73 below. On the Constantine and on its relation to the Louis XIV monument see now respectively Marder, 1992, and Fumaroli, 1994. 56 On these gestures, see Lavin, ‘Duquesnoy’s ‘Nano di Créqui’,’ 1970, pp. 145 f., n. 78.

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47. L. Meunier, entrance to Buen Retiro, Madrid, engraving. British Museum, London.

49. Francesco Mochi, equestrian monument of Alessandro Farnese. Piazza dei Cavalli, Piacenza (photo: Manzotti, Piacenza).

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48. Bernini, equestrian monument of Constantine. St. Peter’s, Vatican Palace, Rome (photo: Anderson 191).

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

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51. Anonymous, Louis XIV as Jupiter. Musée National du Château de Versailles (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux MV 8073).

52. Achille Bocchi, “Felicitas prudentiae et diligentiae est” (from Bocchi, 1555, p. CLXXVIII).

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53. Farnese Bull. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples (photo: Anderson 23202).

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54. Giovanni Bologna, Hercules overcoming a Centaur. Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence (photo: Soprintendenza per i Beni Artistici e Storici, Florence 117231).

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Pegasus atop Mount Parnassus (see Fig. 19).57 In the final version a swirl of windblown flags symbolized the conquest of the summit; like the drapery of Louis’s bust, the unfurling banners seemed to bear the portrait aloft (see Figs. 56, 57).58 When the work was recut to represent Marcus Curtius hurling himself into the fiery abyss, two major changes were made. The flowing hair at the back of the head became the casque of a crested helmet, and the flags were transformed into a mass of flames. I do not believe the expression was radically altered, since one of its most distinctive features, its benign smile, must have seemed appropriate to the new subject; the theme of heroic self-sacrifice preserved, as we shall see, an essential element of the meaning Bernini intended for the work.59 The smile echoed the resplendent visage of Bernini’s own image of Truth. The smiling sun was a traditional metaphor, of course, and Bernini was not the first to portray Louis this way; the image of radiant youthful benignity had appeared a few years earlier, for example, in a portrait of the king as Jupiter, victorious after the rebellions of the Fronde (Fig. 51).60 Also relevant, perhaps, was the description of an equestrian figure of the emperor Domitian by the poet Statius, who expresses the

57 The analogies with the Piazza Navona fountain and the Louvre rustication were also observed by Bauer, in Chantelou, 1985, 37 f., n. 115. Wittkower (1961, 508 ff.) discussed the relationship with the Pegasus-Mount Parnassus theme, which was often conflated with that of Hercules at the Crossroads. 58 Wittkower (1961, 502–5) argues convincingly that the smile and the victory flags were introduced late in the execution of the work, following Louis’s victorious campaign in Holland in the spring of 1672. 59 The only records of the original face, two medals by Antonio Travani of about 1680 (cf. Figs. 56, 57), seem to me quite compatible with the face as we have it now (the replaced nose notwithstanding). Nor do I consider contradictory to this idealization Elpidio Benedetti’s statement in September 1672 that the face closely resembled that in other portraits of the king that had been sent to Rome (see Wittkower, 1961, 504 n. 21, 525, no. 47). On the youthfulness of the face, see also Berger, In the Garden, 1985, 107 n. 11. I might add that there is no real evidence that the smile itself was found offensive. The specific objection raised by a Frenchman, to which Bernini’s reply is quoted in the text, was that the smile was inappropriate to the military bearing of man and horse. Domenico Bernini reports the episode as a misunderstanding of Bernini’s intention, based on a conventional view of the king and army commanders (the passage is quoted in full in n. 63 below). There was, incidentally, a venerable equestrian monument with a smiling rider, Cangrande della Scala at Verona (Panofsky, 1964, 84, Figs. 385, 387). 60 Cf. The Sun King, 191 no. 20; Berger, In the Garden, 1985, 10, Fig. 7.

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joy of contemplating a face in which are mixed the signs of war and peace.61 To convey Bernini’s thought, however, I can do no better than to quote his own words: 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,62 reason demands that those who nevertheless happily arrive there after enduring privations [superati disaggi], joyfully breathe the air of sweetest Glory, which having cost terrible labors [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.63 61 ‘Iuvat ora tueri mixta notis belli placidamque gerentia pacem’ (Silvae, I, 1, 15–16; Statius, 1928, I, 6). 62 The locus classicus of the theme is in Hesiod’s Works and Days, lines 289–91: ‘. . . between us and Goodness the gods have placed the sweat of our brows: long and steep is the path that leads to her, and it is rough at first; but when a man has reached the top, then she is easy to reach, though before that she was hard’ (Hesiod, 1950, 24 f.). Bernini’s notion of Glory at the apex of the mountain as the reward of virtue depends on a tradition stemming from Petrarch (cf. Wittkower, 1961, 507 f.). See also 606 f., 618 f., 621 f. below. 63 The translation, with some alterations, is from Wittkower, 1961, 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 adequatamente 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 dis-

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The equestrian Louis XIV went through several stages of development and incorporated many ideas and traditions, of which I want to consider only a few. An important, though heretofore unnoticed, idea is reflected in an emblem book published by a learned Bolognese antiquarian and historian, Achille Bocchi, in 1555 (Fig. 52). One of Bocchi’s devices shows a horseman, Diligence, striving up a high peak to receive from Felicity a crown ornamented with fleurs-de-lys. The caption reads, ‘Happiness is the ultimate reward of prudence and diligence.’64 Once again Bernini merges the image of the rustic mountain of glory scaled by the assiduous labors of virtue with that of the radiant and beneficent sun shining brightly above the earth. What might be called the physical character of the monument — its size and technique — is an essential part of its meaning. As far as I can determine Bernini’s Louis XIV is the first monumental, free-standing, rearing equestrian statue executed in stone since antiquity. It was, moreover, carved from a single block, ‘larger than the Constantine,’ ‘the largest ever seen in Rome,’ ‘the largest ever struck by chisel,’ according to the early biographers.65 The whole enterprise, especially considering the mountainous base, aggi, giocondamente respirino all’aura di quella soavissma gloria, che per essergli costata disastrosi travagli, gli è tanto più cara, quanto 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 costo di sangue haveva acquistato il suo nome. Onde perche è qualità propria di chi gode la giovialità del volto, & 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 posare il Cavallo con quel disegno, ch’ei fatto ne haverebbe’ (Bernini, 1713, 149 ff.). 64 Bocchi, 1555, CLXXVIII f., Symb. LXXXV; titled ‘Felicitas prudentiae et diligentiae ultima est’ (cf. Massari, 1983, II, 108, 210). The relevance of Bocchi’s emblem is confirmed by the fact that it was imitated in two engravings illustrating an encomium of Louis published in 1682 by Elpidio Benedetti, Colbert’s agent in Rome, who was closely acquainted with Bernini’s ideas (cf. Wittkower, 1961, 510 f., Figs. 28, 29). 65 ‘. . . un gran sasso d’un sol pezzo, che si dice essere il maggiore, che fino a dì nostri sia stato percosso da scalpello . . .’ (Baldinucci, 1948, 126); ‘. . . figura a Cavallo in Grandezza superiore alla già fatta dell’Imperador Costantino’; ‘. . . un Masso smisurato di marmo, superiore in grandezza a quanti giammai ne vidde la Città di Roma’ (Bernini, 1713, 146, 148). ‘Jamais l’Antique n’a mis en oeuvre un bloc de marbre si grand. Le piédestail, le cheval & la figure bien plus haute que nature, sont d’une seule piéce, le toute isolé’ (Cureau de la Chambre, [1685], 22); on this publication, see Lavin, 1973, 429. Domenico Bernini

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reminded one contemporary of the architect Dinocrates who, in the guise of Hercules, proposed to carve a statue of Alexander the Great from Mount Athos.66 The operative factor here was the ancient mystique, emulated by (1713, 107) reports that the Constantine was carved from a block of 30 carretate, or 30 x 362.43 cm.3 = 10.87 m.3 (cf. Zupke, 1981, 85; Klapisch-Zuber, 1969, 72 f.). The equestrian Louis XIV measures cm. 366h x 364l x 150w = 19.98 m.3. These claims evidently discounted the ancient tradition that the much larger Farnese Bull was made ex uno lapide (see below). The feat of carving a life-size free-standing equestrian statue from a single block was extolled in the fourteenth century, with reference to the monument of Bernabò Visconti in Milan (Pope-Hennessy, 1972, 201). 66 Vitruvius, 1931–34, I, 72 f. Dézallier d’Argenville, 1787, I, 220–22, refers the Alexander story to Bernini’s sculpture, citing Jean Barbier d’Aucour (1641–94). It should be borne in mind that metaphorical mountains generally were then much in vogue in Rome, mountains forming part of the family arms of Fabio Chigi, the reigning pope Alexander VII (1655–67). The story was applied to the pope in a composition by Pietro da Cortona (cf. Noehles, 1970, 16, 36, Fig. 27; Körte, 1937, 305 f.; Fagiolo, in Bernini in Vaticano, 1981, 159 f.; see also n. 75 below. Recent contributions on the Dinocrates theme are Oechslin, 1982; Meyer, 1986. The size of Bernini’s sculpture and the reference to Alexander and Mount Athos are the main theme of a poem eulogizing the work written by the great Bolognese art critic and historian Carlo Cesare Malvasia, printed as a broadside in 1685. As far as I know, the text has never been cited in the literature on the sculpture. I reprint it here, in extenso, from a copy in the Princeton University library: PER LA STATUA EQUESTRE DEL RE CHRISTIANISSIMO COLOSSO MARMOREO DEL FIDIA DE NOSTRI TEMPI IL SIG. CAVALIER BERNINI ALL ILLUSTRISS. ET ECCELLENTISS. SIG. IL SIG. MARCHESE DI LOVVOIS. Questa di bel Destrier Mole fastosa In sostener del RE l’Imago viua, E la più del Bernini opra famosa, Ch’eterna lode al suo gran nome ascriua. Con essa mai di gareggiar non osa Greco scalpello, e non mai lima Argiua; E vinta è quell’idea sì ardimentosa, Che far di vn monte vn’Alessandro ardiua. Pure al degno lauor niega, ò contrasta La penuria del marmo il pregio intiero, Quasi picciola sia mole si vasta; Che il Colosso à formar del RE GVERRIERO, Maggior di vn Alessandro, oggi non basta

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55. Andrea Rivalta, equestrian monument of Vittorio Amadeo I of Savoy. Palazzo Reale, Turin (photo: Aschieri, Turin).

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56. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV. Vatican Library, Rome.

57. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV. Vatican Library, Rome.

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58. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV, reverse of Fig. 56. Vatican Library, Rome.

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

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60. Ancient (?) relief linking Apollo and Hercules. Formerly Villa Mattei, Rome (from Kircher, 1650, 236).

589

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61. Catafalque of Francesco I d’Este (from Gamberti, 1659, opp. p. 190).

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62. Piazza Navona, the ancient circus of Domitian, Rome (photo: Fototeca Unione 6469 FG).

591

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sculptors since the Renaissance, of large-scale monolithic sculpture as testimony to the prowess of both the artist and the subject.67 Bernini’s concept for the marble group had several notable precedents in purely secular contexts, in Rome, and in Florence and Turin, where the artist was received at court in grand style as he traveled to Paris.68 First and foremost was the so-called Farnese Bull, representing the Fable of Dirce, now in the Archeological Museum in Naples (Fig. 53).69 In Bernini’s time it was to be seen in Michelangelo’s Palazzo Farnese in Rome, having been discovered in the Baths of Caracalla in 1545 and identified as a Labor of Hercules, the heroic ancestor of the Farnese family. One of the most prominent of all ancient sculptures known in the Renaissance, a few months before Bernini’s visit to Paris, Louis had sought more than once to acquire the piece for himself. The significance of the sculpture was partly a matter of scale and technique — a huge ‘mountain of marble,’ as it was called, with multiple figures carved, it was also said, from a single block; the work was mentioned for precisely these reasons in a discussion of important antiquities during Bernini’s stay at the French court. Furthermore, from Bernini’s point of view, at least, the epithet ‘mountain of marble’ could be taken literally, offering classical precedent for the unorthodox pedestal he envisioned for his own group. Finally, the great work had been the motivation for an ambitious project of Michelangelo, described by Vasari, for the Farnese palace then under construction. Michelangelo would have made the sculpture the focal point of a vista extending from the square in front of D’Ato e di Olimpo il doppio giogo altiero. Humiliss., e Deuotiss. Seruitore Carlo Cesare Malvasia. IN ROMA, Nella Stamperia della Reuerenda Camera Apostolica. M.DC.LXXXV. CON LICENZA DE’SUPERIORI. (The broadside is part of a collection mentioned by Lindgren and Schmidt, 1980, 187.) 67 Lavin, 1977–78, 20 ff.; Mockler, 1967, 23 f. 68 On his way north Bernini stopped in Florence for three days and in Turin for two. His regal treatment by Ferdinando II of Tuscany and Carlo Emanuele of Savoy is described by Baldinucci, 1948, 117 f., and Bernini, 1713, 125. Bernini also stopped in Turin on his way back to Rome (cf. Mirot, 1904, 260 n. 2); a product of this visit was his role in an imaginary dialogue describing the ducal hunting lodge published by Di Castellamonte, 1674, see ‘Madama Reale’ prologue; further, Claretta, 1885, 517 ff.; Cavallari-Murat, 1984, 347 ff. 69 For the facts presented here see Haskell and Penny, 1981, 165–67, with references, and the important results of the recent restoration of the group in Il Toro, 1991. The Farnese Bull measures cm. 370h x 295l x 293w = 31.98 m.3.

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the Farnese palace, through the building itself to the courtyard in the rear, where the group would have been installed as a fountain, and beyond along a new bridge across the Tiber to a Farnese garden and casino on the other side of the river. The challenge of the heroic sculptural feat of the ancients, the bold idea of a naturalistically carved base that served to raise the figure to the summit of the earth, and the prospect of integrating the sculpture along a grandiose urban, architectural and landscape axis — all these features associated with the Farnese Bull were emulated in Bernini’s plan to locate his monolithic, multifigured, mountain-top monument in the space between the rear façade of the Louvre and the Tuileries palace. No less essential to Bernini’s thought was an equestrian monument of sorts that had also been carved from a single, if considerably smaller, block: Giovanni Bologna’s Hercules overcoming a Centaur, dated 1600, in the Loggia dei Lanzi in Florence (Fig. 54).70 The group was intended to glorify Ferdinando I and the Medici dynasty of Tuscany, which more than any other set the direction for the European monarchic style that Louis XIV would follow. The relevance of the work lay partly in its form and material (especially the idea of using the rocky base to support the animal’s belly) and partly in the way the Herculean theme was interpreted — not simply as a victory but as a labor, an obstacle overcome on the road to glory. This message was spelled out on a commemorative medal, inscribed Sic itur ad astra, ‘thus one reaches the stars.’71 Giambologna’s sculpture itself, the medal, and the inscription were all to be reflected in Bernini’s work. In certain respects the nearest antecedent for Bernini’s idea was the equestrian statue of Vittorio Amadeo I of Savoy, which had been installed just a year before Bernini’s visit in a niche in the grand staircase of the Palazzo Reale in Turin (Fig. 55).72 This mixed-media work by Andrea Rivalta — the horse is of marble, the rider and supporting figures of bronze — must have raised the prospect of a rearing equestrian portrait in stone as 70 I am indebted to Signoria Nicoletta Carmiel of Florence, who helped with the recent restoration of the group, for obtaining its dimensions: cm 285h x 200l x 130w = 7.41 m3 (cf. n. 65 above); Avery, 1987, 117 f. 71 Avery and Radcliffe, eds., 1978–79, 222, no. 229; Avery, 1987, 117. On the motto, from Virgil, Aeneid IX, 641, see Cheles, 1986, 63; Cieri Via, 1986, 55 n. 18; Tenzer, 1985, 240, 317 n. 124. 72 See most recently, Viale, ed., 1963, II, 25 f. Rivalta’s horse was itself a substitute for an unexecuted project of 1619 by Pietro Tacca that would have preceded the Philip IV in Madrid as the first modern rearing equestrian monument in bronze (cf. Torriti, 1984, 31 ff.; K. J. Watson, in Avery and Radcliffe, eds., 1978–79, 182 f.).

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a royal monument, perhaps to reinforce visually Louis’s political hegemony over the north Italian duchy. Taken together, the Giambologna and Rivalta sculptures foreshadowed Bernini’s conception of a monolithic freestanding rearing equestrian portrait and the idea of a royal equestrian monument with a Herculean theme. In the religious, or quasi-religious sphere, the monument responded to a specific request from Colbert that it be similar but not identical to Bernini’s own portrayal of the first Christian emperor, situated at the junction between the narthex of St. Peter’s and the Scala Regia, the Royal Stairway to the Vatican palace. The allusion was doubly significant in view of the association the French must have made between the statue in Rome and the many equestrian figures, often identified with Constantine and his Frankish reincarnation Charlemagne, that decorate the entrance portals to French medieval churches. The reference served to assimilate Louis to the venerable tradition identifying the French monarchs as the defenders of the faith and true successors to the Holy Roman Empire.73 The secular and Christian themes conveyed by Bernini’s sculpture were epitomized in two medals struck in Rome about 1680, doubtless under the aegis of the pope, reproducing the final design.74 One medal (Fig. 56), which is monoface, bears the inscription Hac iter ad superos, ‘this way to the

73 Colbert asked Bernini to ‘faire la figure du Roi de la manière de celle de vostre Constantin, en changeant neantmoins quelque chose dans l’attitude de la figure et du cheval en sorte que l’on ne puisse pas dire que s’en est une Coppie, et que d’ailleurs ce bloc de marbre a l’estendue et les mesures necessaires pour cela . . .’ (letter of December 6, 1669, quoted in part by Wittkower, 1961, 521, no. 23); Bernini responded, ‘Questa statua sarà del tutto diversa a quella di Costantino, perche Costantino stà in atto d’amirare la Croce che gl’apparve, e questa del Rè starà in atto di maestà, e di comando, nè io mai havrei permesso, che la statua del Rè fosse una copia di quella di Costantino’ (December 30, Wittkower, 1961, 521, no. 24, cf. p. 501). On the equestrian figures of Constantine-Charlemagne, Seidel, 1976. Bernini had planned a correspondence between the rulers in the piazza of St. Peter’s: a schematic note shows them derived from the ‘metamorphosis’ of Peter (Menichella, 1987, 15 f., Fig. 25; Morello, 1992, 206, with attribution to Alexander VII). In a letter of 1550–60 Guglielmo della Porta recalled a proposal under Clement VII (1523–34) for a pair of equestrian monuments of the emperor Charles V and the ‘Re Christianissimo’ Francis I, defenders of the faith, to be placed before the portico of St. Peter’s (Gramberg, 1964, 120; cf. Mockler, 1967, 172). 74 The medals, by Antonio Travani, were first published by Dworschak, 1934, 34 f.

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gods.’75 This was a preeminently 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.76 The other medal (Fig. 57) shows the sculpture on the obverse, with two inscriptions. The legend Lud(ovicus) magn(us) rex christianissimus describes Louis as ‘the Great’ and as ‘Most Christian King’ — both early epithets adopted by Louis in reference to the secular and religious titles by which the French kings traced their authority back through Charlemagne to Constantine the Great.77 The motto on the flags, Et major titulis virtus, ‘virtue is greater than titles,’ emphasizes the moral, as distinct from the feudal, basis of Louis’s claims to the titles, a crucial point to which we shall return presently. The reverse of the medal (Fig. 58) has an allegorical composition in which Victory and Religion triumph over Heresy — an obvious reference to the Huguenots — with the motto Victore rege victrix religio, ‘victorious the king, victorious religion.’ The same motto had been used by Stefano della Bella in an allegorical composition of 1661 showing the Chigi mountain emblem (cf. n. 66 above) as the Mountain of Virtue whose tortuous path is recommended by the Wise Men of antiquity and the prudent Hercules: ‘Per salebrosus Montium anfractus certissimum esse Virtutis, ad Beatitudinem, ac ad Superos iter, fuit commune Sapientiorum Iudicium, prudens Herculis ad posteros documentum’ (Donati, 1939; cf. Bernini in Vaticano, 1981, 162; Massar, 1971, 61 f., no. 69, Pl. 25). According to Cureau de la Chambre (1685, 23), the statue was to have been inscribed with the motto Per Ardua: ‘Il doit y avoir un Inscription Latine au bas, qui en deux mots renferme tout ce qu’on peut dire sur un sujet si heroïque. PER ARDUA. Le départ de cette Statue a donné lieu de supposer un Dialogue . . .’ This passage was added to the version of the ‘Eloge’ printed in the Journal des sçavans in 1681, for which see Wittkower, 1961, 529. 76 ‘Virtus in astra tendit’ (Seneca, Hercules Oetaeus, line 1971). On the theme generally, see Panofsky, 1930, 45 ff.; Hommel, 1949. 77 This medal is reproduced by Menestrier, 1693, Pl. 29, no. CLII, with the following caption: ‘La Ville de Rome a consacré ce Monument au zele DU ROY TRES CHRESTIEN LOUIS LE GRAND, PLUS GRAND ENCORE PAR SA VERTU QUE PAR LE RANG QU’IL TIENT et la Victoire qui eleve la Couronne Royale au dessus de la Croix que tient la Religion et qui a l’heresie sous ses pieds, assure que PENDANT QUE LE ROY SERA VICTORIEUX, LA RELIGION TRIOMPHERA.’ On the French king as Rex Christianissimus, see De Pange, 1949. In connection with this epithet, Fumaroli has emphasized the sacerdotal nature of Louis’s conception of kingship (see Fumaroli, 1986, 108 ff.). The tapestry series of the life of Constantine, begun by Louis XIII and completed by Urban VIII had drawn a connection between the French king Constantine and the pope (Dubon, 1964). Louis adopted the title Magnus only in 1672 (see Jacquiot, 1967, 190 n. 1). 75

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63, Domenico Fontana, catafalque of Pope Sixtus V (from Catani, 1591, pl. 24).

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64. Giacomo Lauro, Temple of Honor and Virtue (from Lauro, 1612–41, pl. 30).

65. Allegory of the Peace of the Pyrenees (from Menestrier, 1660, opp. p. 54).

597

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66. Workshop of Bernini (?), project for the stairway to Trinità dei Monti, drawing. MS Chigi P. VIII. 10, fols. 30v–31, Vatican Library, Rome.

67. Detail of Fig. 66.

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68. Mattia de’ Rossi, project for a monument containing Bernini’s equestrian Louis XIV, drawing. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

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69. Jean Warin, foundation medal for the Louvre. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

70. Etienne Dupérac, Michelangelo’s project for the Campidoglio, engraving.

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71. Emblem of Gregory XIII’s Palazzo Quirinale (from Fabricii, 1588, p. 308).

601

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The pedestal of Bernini’s sculpture was to have borne the inscription Non Plus Ultra, and it would have been flanked with two great columns alluding both to the columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius in Rome and to the Pillars of Hercules (cf. Fig. 59).78 To my knowledge, these potent symbols, real and mythical, of ancient imperial and Herculean triumph were here linked for the first time.79 The idea of a portrait of the Sun King placed between the Pillars of Hercules may have derived from an ancient devotional ‘. . . il lui était venu dans la pensée de faire dans cet espace deux colonnes comme la Trajane et l’Antonine et, entre les deux, un piédestal où serait la statue du Roi à cheval avec le mot de non plus ultra, allusion à celle d’Hercule’ (Chantelou, 1885, 96, August 13). The project is reflected in the medal of Charles VI of 1717 illustrated in Fig. 59 (Koch, 1975–76, 59; Volk, 1966, 61); here, however, the equestrian group, the pedestal, the columns, and the motto are all returned to their traditional forms and reconverted to the traditional theme of Hapsburg imperialism. For more of the legacy of Bernini’s idea, see n. 79 below. Combinatory thinking as a means of superseding the great monuments of antiquity also underlies Bernini’s alternative project for the area between the Louvre and the Tuileries — a double structure for spectacles and stage performances, joining the Colosseum to the Theater of Marcellus (Chantelou, 1885, 96, August 13 — perhaps reflected in a later project reproduced by Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, Figs. 43; cf. pp. 42, 49 n. 22). 79 A certain precedent is provided by Roman sarcophagi in which the labors of Hercules are placed between columns with spiral fluting (cf. Robert, 1969, part 1, 143 ff., Pls. XXIV ff.) and in works like the Hercules fountain in the Villa Aldobrandini at Frascati, where water descends around the pair of columns in spiral channels (D’Onofrio, 1963, Figs. 78, 82, 86, 90; Fagiolo dell’Arco, 1964, 82 ff.; R. M. Steinberg, 1965). The columns of the Hapsburg device, often shown entwined by spiraling banners, were identified by Rubens (J. R. Martin, 1972, Pl. 37) with the twisted columns in St. Peter’s in Rome, supposedly brought from the Temple of Jerusalem by Constantine the Great; see also a painting of Augustus and the Sibyl by Antoine Caron (Yates, 1975, 145, Fig. 21). Yet, none of these cases involved Bernini’s clear and explicit conflation of the triumphal and Herculean columns. Perhaps Bernini was himself alluding to the pair of columns erected by Solomon before the Temple of Jerusalem (1 Kings VII, 14–22; 2 Chron. 3:17); these were frequently associated with the twisted columns at St. Peter’s, an association that had played an important role in Bernini’s designs for the crossing of St. Peter’s. (Lavin, Bernini, 1968, 14 ff., 34; the paired columns of Perrault’s Louvre façade have been linked to the Temple of Solomon by Corboz, 1984). If so, Bernini would have been the first to extend the association to the imperial spiral columns, an idea that was then taken up by Fischer von Erlach in the St. Charles Church, Vienna, built for Charles VI: the pair of columns flanking the façade is identified in one source as Constancy and Fortitude, in reference to the biblical names of Solomon’s columns, Jachin and Boaz, meaning ‘He shall establish’ and ‘In it is strength’ (cf. Fergusson, 1970, 321 ff.; further to Fischer’s columns in Chabrowe, 1974). Fischer seems also to echo the design and the themes of Giacomo Lauro’s reconstruction of the ancient temple of Honor and Virtue in Rome, to be discussed presently. 78

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relief much discussed by contemporary antiquarians as an epitome of classical mythological symbolism (Fig. 60). A radiate bust of Apollo appears between a pair of Herculean clubs resting on rocky bases that anticipate the supports of the Hercules figures flanking the entrance in Bernini’s third Louvre project (see Fig. 4). The relief which was in the Mattei collection in Rome, had been illustrated and interpreted by the great Jesuit polymath Athanasius Kircher, who had worked closely with Bernini on the Piazza Navona fountain, in a learned book on the fountain’s obelisk.80 Rearing equestrian portraits and twisted columns had appeared together on the catafalque of Francesco I d’Este (Fig. 61); Bernini had once engaged to provide the model of a commemorative equestrian monument of the duke for the Piazza Ducale at Modena.81 Paired columns representing the pillars of Hercules and associated with the motto Non Plus Ultra were a common emblem that might refer either to an unsurpassable achievement, physical or spiritual, or a limitation imposed by prudence. Associated especially with the Hapsburgs, the device also connoted the geographical extent of the empire.82 80 Kircher 1650, 235 f., also in Kircher, 1652–54,11, I, 206 (cf. Godwin, 1979, 60). The relief had been elaborately interpreted by Girolamo Aleandro in a publication of 1616 (see Allen, 1970, 270–72), from which it was reproduced and discussed in our context by Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 143, Fig. 114. On Kircher and Bernini, cf. Preimesberger, 1974, 102 ff.; Rivosecchi, 1982, esp. 117–38; Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 138 f. Kircher also wrote a book on the Piazza Minerva obelisk erected by Bernini shortly after his return from Paris (Heckscher, 1947); in certain workshop studies for the monument the obelisk is held up by allegorical figures posed on a rocky base (Brauer and Wittkower, 1931, Pls. 176, 177b; cf. also D’Onofrio, 1965, Fig. 134 opp. p. 235). Bernini’s preoccupation at this period with the theme of the rocky mountain of virtue is expressed also in a series of drawings of devotional themes, which evidently began during his stay in Paris. The compositions portray penitent saints kneeling and ecstatically worshiping a crucifix that lies prone before them; all portray the event taking place atop a rocky peak. See Brauer and Wittkower, 1931, 151 ff.; Blunt, 1972. 81 Gambetti, 1659, 5, Pl. opp. p.190; cf. Berendsen, 1961, 134 ff., no. 8o, 219 ff. The catafalque was designed by Gaspare Vigarani, who later built the Salle des Machines in the Tuileries and whose son, Carlo, was in Paris as theater architect to Louis XIV during Bernini’s visit (Chantelou, 1985, 80 n. 139, 81 n. 144). Surmounted by a trumpeting Figure of Glory standing on a globe and triumphant over Death, the monument also anticipated Bernini’s notion of Glory at the summit of the earth as the reward for virtue (see pp. 583). The projected equestrian monument to Francesco I is the subject of correspondence in June 1659 published by Fraschetti, 1900, 226. 82 On the Hapsburg device, see E. S. Rosenthal, 1971, 1974, and 1985, 81 f., 257 ff.; and Sider (1989), who stresses the spiritual aspects.

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All these associations converged in Bernini’s mind with a stunning proposal he had evidently made to Pope Alexander VII in Rome before his trip to Paris. The family of the pope in 1659 had acquired a palace on the Piazza Colonna, immediately adjacent to the still unfinished Palazzo di Montecitorio, which Bernini had designed for Alexander’s predecessor.83 Bernini suggested moving the column of Trajan from the Forum, presumably to the Piazza di Montecitorio, to make a pair with the column of Marcus Aurelius. This arrangement would have created an explicit reciprocity between the columns in the Montecitorio-Colonna area, and the two papal palaces would have been linked by the city’s most grandiose public square after that of St. Peter’s itself.84 Thus paired, the columns would have suggested the columns and metas marking the spina of an ancient circus, and the whole arrangement would have recalled that at Piazza Navona (Fig. 62) — the ancient stadium of Domitian — as well as the disposition of the Vatican Palace beside the circus of Nero. The connection of palace and circus evoked an ancient tradition of imperial, Herculean triumph, based on the juxtaposition of the palace of the emperors on the Palatine and the Circus Maximus (see Figs. 32, 33).85 The ancient columns had been paired spiritually, as it were, ever since Sixtus V had crowned them with statues of Peter and Paul, patrons of the Holy See. Sixtus also restored the badly damaged column of Marcus Aurelius, and the inscription on the new base refers to the triumph of Christianity over paganism.86 The ancient spiral columns had also been brought together physically as trophies on the catafalque erected for Sixtus’s funeral in 1591 (Fig. 63) and as background See most recently Krautheimer, 1983 and 1985, 53 ff. Bernini recalls his project on two occasions recorded in Chantelou’s diary: ‘II a parlé ensuite de la proposition qu’il avait faite au Pape de transporter la colonne Trajane dans la place où est la colonne Antoniane, et d’y faire deux fontaines que eussent baigné toute la place; qu’elle eût eté la plus belle de Rome’ (Chantelou, 1885, 40, June 25); ‘Il a dit qu’il avait proposé au Pape de la transporter dans la place où est l’Antoniane, et là, faire deux grandes fontaines, qui auraient noyé la place en été; que c’eût été Ia plus magnifique chose de Rome; qu’il répondait de la transporter sans la gâter’ (Chantelou, 1885, 249, October 19). A legacy of Bernini’s idea, and an echo of his linking it to France, are evident in the pair of monumental spiral columns that formed part of the temporary decorations erected in the Piazza Navona to celebrate the birth of Louis XIV’s successor in 1729 (Kiene, 1991). 85 The ancient tradition, admirably sketched by Frazer, 1966, was revived in the palace architecture of the popes in sixteenth-century Rome, for which see Courtright, 1990, 119 ff. 86 See Pastor, 1923–53, XXI, 239 ff.; the inscriptions are given in Caprini et al., 1955, 41 f. 83 84

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for Giacomo Lauro’s ideal reconstruction of the Temple of Honor and Virtue in Rome (Fig. 64).87 Bernini’s project for the Piazza Colonna would have referred these themes specifically to the Chigi papacy.88 By shifting the ideas of religious and moral victory to the Louvre and associating the Roman triumphal columns with the Pillars of Hercules, Bernini would have endowed Louis with the same claim to superiority over the ancients in the secular sphere. In the Louvre project, however; this notion acquires a different and unexpected aspect, owing to the repercussions of a great historical event that must have played a considerable role in Bernini ‘s thinking. In 1659 the Treaty of the Pyrenees was signed by France and Spain, whose power was broken. The treaty established the boundary between the two countries, with the victorious Louis agreeing not to pursue his expansionist designs beyond the Pyrenees. Louis’s marriage the following year to Maria Theresa of Austria, daughter of Philip IV and queen of León and Castile, forged a new link between the two countries. The spirit of peace and reconciliation heralded by these events was invoked in a tract published in 1660 by Bernini’s own nephew; Father Francesco Marchesi, a devout and learned member of the Oratorio of San Filippo Neri. This massive work, dedicated to the respective protagonists, Cardinal Mazarin and the countduke of Olivares, extolls the treaty and marriage as the culmination of the entire millennial history of the relations between the two countries. Bernini was extremely attached to his nephew, and recent research has shown that

87 On the catafalque, cf. Berendsen, 1961, 110 ff., no. 10, 166 ff. The columns are often shown together in the imagery of Sixtus V (D’Onofrio, 1965, Fig. 63 opp. p. 149, Fig. 89 opp. p. 187; Fagiolo and Madonna, eds, 1985, Fig. on p. 199). The temple (Lauro, 1612–41, Pl. 30) is cited by Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 147 f., and idem, ‘Una fonte,’ 1984, 424 f. Lauro’s reconstruction had been compared to Bernini’s Santa Maria dell’Assunta in Ariccia by Hager, 1975, 122 f.; also Marder, ‘La chiesa,’ 1984, 268. 88 The force of the ecclesio-political associations evoked by the columns is witnessed by another project from the time of Alexander VII (published by Krautheimer, 1983, 206, and idem, 1985, 58 f.) that envisaged making the column of Marcus Aurelius the mast of a fountain in the form of a ship — the navicella of St. Peter, the ship of the church. Although related to a specific boat-fountain type (for which see Hibbard and Jaffe, 1964), the project obviously revives a proposal made by Papirio Bartoli early in the seventeenth century to create a choir in the crossing of St. Peter’s in the form of a ship whose mast was a bronze version of the column of Trajan, with reliefs of the Passion (Hibbard and Jaffe, 1964, 164; Lavin, Bernini, 1968, 43); the spiral column also recalls the Solomonic twisted columns that decorated the Constantinian presbytery at St. Peter’s.

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Marchesi was an important influence on the artist in his later years.89 No doubt in this case Marchesi’s views prepared the way for Bernini’s subsequent adaptation for his equestrian project of another work in which essentially the same attitude was expressed emblematically. The political implications of the pact were illustrated in a great tableau used in the celebration at Lyon in 1660 of Louis’s marriage to Maria Theresa (Fig. 65).90 A personification of war stood on a pile of military spoils that bore the inscription Non Ultra, between two columns to which her arms are bound by chains. 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. Menestrier included the device in another publication with a commentary that explains Bernini s conceit, which radically reinterpreted the traditional notion of an equestrian monument. It is often desirable for the glory of heros 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 ardor and courage than any of the heros of ancient Greece and Rome, knew how to restrain his generous movements in the midst of success and victories and place voluntary limits to 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

89 Marchesi, 1660; the work was published under the pseudonym Pietro Roselli. The importance of Bernini’s relationship to his nephew, First emphasized by Lavin (1972), has been greatly expanded by the recent studies of Marchesi’s ambitious project for a charitable hospice for the indigents of Rome, for which Bernini’s last work, the bust of the Savior, became the emblem; see the essays by B. Contardi, M. Lattanzi, and E. Di Gioia, in Le immagini, 1988, 17 ff., 272 ff. (cf. p.273 on Marchesi, 1660), 285 ff. 90 Menestrier, 1662, opposite p. 54. The print was first related to Bernini’s project by K. O. Johnson, 1981, 33 f., followed by Petzet, 1984, 443, and Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 150; Johnson drew no implications concerning the interpretation of the statue, but he clearly understood the Bernini project in the light of current political repercussions of the treaty. A confusing error by Vivanti, 1967, Pl. 21e, concerning the print, was corrected by Johnson, 40 n. 12.

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over the advantages of his glory and sacrificed his interests to the tranquility of his subjects.91 Precisely the same sentiment introduced the commemorative inscription on a copper tablet that was immured by the king with the foundation stone of the Louvre itself in a ceremony shortly before Bernini left Paris: Louis XIIII King of France and Navarre, Having conquered his enemies and given peace to Europe Eased the burdens of his people.92 The themes of virtue and self-mastery as the true basis for rule were also the leitmotif of Le Brun’s great series of paintings from the life of Alexander executed for the king beginning in 1661. Bernini, who saw and greatly admired two of the compositions during his stay in Paris,93 took up this Menestrier, 1662, 129 f.: ‘II seroit souvent a 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 la 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 siècles, 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.’ The Lyon image, in turn, was evidently modeled in part on Rubens’s Arch of the Mint from the Pompa Introitus Ferdinandi (J. R. Martin, 1972, Pl. 99; and see McGrath, 1974). The motif of a woman chained to two pillars was familiar from zodiacal depictions of the constellation Andromeda (Murdoch, 1984, 252 f.). 92 Louis XIIIIe Roy de France et de Navarre, Après avoir dompté ses ennemis, donné la paix a’ l’Europe, A soulagé ses peuples. For the entire inscription and its Latin pendant, see Chantelou, 1885, 228, October 12, and, for the ceremony, 240 f., October 17; Chantelou, 1985, 290 f., 306. 93 Chantelou, 1885, 219, October 10; on Le Brun’s paintings see Hartle, 1957, 93f; Posner, 1959, 240 ff.; Hartle, 1970, 393 ff., 401 ff., and idem, 1985, 109. Rosasco, 1991, has shown that the same idea subsequently played an important role at Versailles. For other aspects of the theme of Alexander as the self-conquering hero, see also, concerning an opera first performed in Venice in 1651, Osthoff, 1960; Straub, 1969, 201–9. 91

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72. Thomas Bernard, medal of Cardinal François de la Rochefoucauld. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.

73. Copy after Charles Le Brun, project for a monument of Louis XIV, drawing. Nationalmuseum, Stockholm.

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74. Antoine Coysevox, Louis XIV crowned by Princely Glory. Salon de la Guerre, Versailles (photo: Giraudon 16915).

609

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75. Jean Warin, bust of Louis XIV. Musée National du Château de Versailles (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 74 Dn 2415).

76. Anonymous, Louis Le Vau’s original project for the west facade of Versailles. Musée National du Château de Versailles (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 84 EN 3116).

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77. Attributed to Raphael, Palazzo Caffarelli-Vidoni, Rome (photo: Fototeca Unione 1385).

78. Baldassare Peruzzi, Villa Farnesina, Rome (photo: Anderson 27850).

611

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79. Carlo Maderno and Bernini, Palazzo Barberini. Rome (photo: Fototeca Unione 10954 FG).

80. Jean-Baptiste Martin, view of the Allée Royale, Versailles. Grand Trianon, Versailles (photo: Documentation photographique de la Réunion des musées nationaux 64 EN 147).

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81. Bernini, equestrian monument of Louis XIV, defaced by vandals on June 6, 1980. Versailles (photo: Simone Hoog).

613

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82. Projects for the Louvre, 1624-1829, engraving. Bibliothèque National, Paris.

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83. I. M. Pei, entrance to the Louvre. Paris (photo: Stephen Rustow).

84. I. M. Pei, entrance to the Louvre. Paris (photo: Stephen Rustow).

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85. I. M. Pei, illustration of derivation of the Louvre pyramid from the geometric configuration of Le Nôtre’s garden parterre of the Tuileries (diagram at upper left) and axial displacement, December 29, 1989, drawing. Collection of the author.

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86. I. M. Pei, lead cast of Bernini’s equestrian statue of Louis XIV. Louvre, Paris (photo: Stephen Rustow).

87. I. M. Pei, plan of the entrance to the Louvre indicating the siting of the equestrian Louis XIV (photo: office of I. M. Pei, redrawn by Susanne Philippson.

617

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idea, combining the image from the Lyon festival with the centerpiece of another project celebrating the Peace of the Pyrenees to which he himself had contributed. To commemorate the event and further humiliate Spain in Rome, the French minister proposed to create an elaborate stairway up the Pincian hill from the Piazza di Spagna to the French enclave at Trinità dei Monti. Bernini made a model for the project, and his idea may be reflected in several drawings that include an equestrian monument in which the king is shown charging forward with drapery flying (Figs. 66, 67).94 The conception seems to anticipate the work Bernini made for the Louvre, but it is far more aggressive. Indeed, Bernini may well have been referring to this project when he pointedly remarked that he would not show Louis commanding his troops (see p. 583 above). Menestrier’s comment on the image from Lyon explains Bernini’s emphasis on the ‘privations,’ the ‘terrible labors,’ the ‘lamentable strain,’ and the ‘cost of blood’ Louis suffered for his greatness. Bernini universalized the idea; the Pyrenees became the mountain of virtue, and territorial containment became victory over the self. He thus managed to embody 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 profound irony of the great hero reaching the heights of spiritual triumph by limiting earthly ambition.95 The equestrian monument becomes thereby an emblem The latest contributions concerning this project, in which references to the earlier literature will be found, are by Marder, ‘The Decision,’ 1984, 85 f.; Laurain-Portemer, in Fagiolo, ed, 1985, 13 ff.; and Krautheimer, 1985, 99 ff. 95 The significance of the Peace of the Pyrenees may be deeper still. Menestrier felt constrained to publish a whole volume (1679) in which he defended the king’s Nec Pluribus Impar emblem of 1662 against a claim that it had been used earlier by Philip II. Menestrier was certainly right, but it is no less clear that the device was invented as a response, from Louis’s new position of power, to the Hapsburg claim to world dominion. (Although he did not connect it to the treaty; K. O. Johnson, 1981, 40 n. 17, also recognized that Louis’s device had Spanish connotations from the beginning.) The Lyon tableau belongs to the same context, and I suspect its rocky mountains may be reflected not only in the base of Bernini’s equestrian statue but also in the scogliera of the Louvre itself. The Peace of the Pyrenees and its implications were fundamental to Bernini’s conception of the Sun King, and linking the globe of the Nec Pluribus Impar emblem with the mountain of the Non Ultra tableau provided the common ground for the image he created in all three projects for the king. In an exemplary study Ostrow, 1991, esp. 109 ff., has emphasized the importance both of the rivalry between Spain and France and of the Peace of the Pyrenees in the history of the statue of Philip IV in Santa Maria Maggiore, designed by Bernini just before his trip to Paris. 94

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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. The King, Rome, and the Pope All three works by Bernini for Louis XIV were composed of essentially the same three elements, which serve in each context to create a form of visual apotheosis: a lower realm of the natural earth; an intermediate, manmade, Herculean domain of dressed stone or providentially arranged drapery; and an upper level inhabited by the king. The community of Bernini’s projects was clearly understood by his astute assistant Mattia de’ Rossi, whose report from Paris, quoted on p. 547, 558 above, gave Bernini’s own interpretation of the equestrian monument. A design signed by de’ Rossi (Fig. 68), presumably dating from shortly after Bernini’s death, incorporates the same three elements and allusions to all three projects.96 An isolated ‘tempietto’ containing the equestrian group on its rocky base stands on a scogliera platform; the entrance is flanked by statues of Hercules with his club, while above the portal a figure of Atlas, surrounded by military trophies, supports a globe displaying fleurs-de-lys. I trust it is also clear that all three works convey essentially the same message: noble ideals are embodied in a man whose merit derives not from his noble birth but from his virtue and labors. Bernini himself expressed as much shortly before he left Paris, when he said to Louis that ‘he would have been happy to spend the rest of his life in his service, not because he was a king of France and a great king, but because he had realized that his spirit was even more exalted than his position.’97 It is striking and symptomatic that Bernini’s design for the palace is inordinately sparing of ornament and almost devoid of regal or dynastic references — an austerity that Colbert had already complained of in the second project.98 Moreover, the visual and conceptual hierarchy from crude mass to ideal form reflects Bernini’s underSee Berger, In the Garden, 1985, 72, 108 n. 25, Fig. 102 f. . . . 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). 98 See n. 10 above. Fleurs-de-lys crown the cornice of the central oval in the first project (Fig. 15; for a discussion of the crown motif see Berger, 1966, 173 ff., and idem, 1969, 96 97

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standing of the creative process itself ‘He cited the example of the orator, who first invents, then orders, dresses, and adorns.’99 The processes of achieving moral and expressive perfection are essentially the same. In its context each portrayal of the king embodied on a monumental scale a single existential hierarchy in which form and meaning were permeated with ethical content.100 It seems only logical that Bernini should have regarded the medium through which the hierarchy is unified, stone, not as a rigid but as a protean material subject to his will. It seems appropriate that he formulated this unorthodox notion precisely in response to a criticism of the crinkled and perforated drapery and mane of the equestrian Louis XIV ‘the imputed defect, he replied, was the greatest praise of his chisel, with which he had conquered the difficulty of rendering marble malleable as wax’; not even the ancients were ‘given the heart to render stones obedient to the hand as if they were of dough.’101 The simplicity, grandeur, and unity of Bernini’s thought can be fully grasped, however, only if one reconstructs in the mind’s eye how he imagined the works would be seen. Following the path of the sun, as it were, the visi29 f.); a coat of arms appears above the portal in the third project (Figs. 1, 4); and fleurs-delys, monograms, and sunbursts appear in the frieze of the Stockholm version of the third project (Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, Fig. 40). 99 ‘Nel prepararsi del opere usava di pensare . . . prima all’invenzione e poi rifletteva all’ordinazione delle parti, finalmente a dar loro perfezione di grazia, e tenerezza. Portava in ciò l’esempio dell’oratore, il quale prima inventa, poi ordina, veste e adorna’ (Baldinucci, 1948, 145). Bernini’s is a simplified and more sharply focused version of the orator-painter analogy drawn by Federico Zuccari: ‘E Si come l’Oratore . . . prima inventa, poi dispone, orna, manda à memoria, e finalmente pronuncia . . . Così il buon Pastore deve considerare tutte le patti della sua Pittura, l’inventione, la dispositione, e Ia compositione’ (see Zuccari, 1607, part II, p. 9; Heikamp, ed, 1961, 229). 100 The rigor and astrigency of the project designed in Paris seem to have been mitigated by the modifications Bernini introduced after his return to Rome, as recorded in drawings preserved at Stockholm. Changes evident in the east façade (see also n. 98 above) include the following: the natural rustication is confined to the main central block, and the horizontal joins in the stone courses seem more emphatic; the Hercules figures are asymmetrical, they are placed on regular low plinths, and their poses are more open and ‘welcoming’ (cf. Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 44 f. n. 7, Figs. 40–42). 101 . . . Esser i panneggiamenti del Rè, & i crini del Cavallo come troppo ripiegati, e trafitti, fuor di quella regola, che hanno a Noi lasciata gli antichi Scultori, liberamente rispose, Questo che . . . gli veniva imputato per difetto, esser il pregio maggiore del sue Scalpello con cui vinto haveva la dificoltà di render’ il Marmo pieghevole come la cera . . . E’l non haver ciò fatte gli antichi Artefici esser forse provenute dal non haver lore dato il cuere di rendere i sassi cosi’ ubbidienti alla mano, come se stati fossero di pasta’ (Bernini, 1713, 149; cf. Baldinucci, 1948, 141).

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tor entered the mountain-top palace through the Hercules portals of the east facade to have his audience with the king. While waiting in the antechamber to be admitted to the august presence, he would gaze upon the king’s portrait bust hovering above its mundane pedestal.102 Bernini envisaged the equestrian monument in front of the opposite, western, façade, between the Louvre and the Palace of the Tuileries. There, the image of Louis, smiling as his mount leaps to the summit of the Mountain of Glory and flanked by the imperial triumphal columns as the Pillars of Hercules, would have been the focus of the vista at the western limit of the sun’s trajectory. The thinking displayed here had its only real precedent in Rome. To be sure, despite Bernini’s notorious distaste for much of what he saw in France, his projects for Louis were deeply and deliberately imbued with allusions to French tradition; the visualization of the royal emblem, the retention of the palace-in-a-moat the portrait mounted on a globe, the palace equestrian, all bear witness to this acknowledgment 103 Yet, Bernini’s whole conception of the Louvre seems intended to meld into one surpassing synthesis at Paris the two quintessential monuments of Roman world dominion, secular and religious.104 This dual significance was defined explicitly in the medals issued to commemorate the enterprise, of which those recording the equestrian portrait have already been discussed (p. 594 f. above). The same idea was inscribed on the foundation medal of the Louvre itself, by Jean Warin, showing Bernini’s façade with the legend Maiestati ac Aeternit(ati) Gall(orum) Imperii Sacrum, ‘sacred to the majesty and eternity of the Gallic empire’ (Fig. 64).105 Seen in this light the complementary monumental allusions — secular and sacral — of Bernini’s conception become all but inevitable. The colossal order crowned by a continuous balustrade with statues emulates Michelangelo’s palaces on the Campidoglio (Fig. 70); these, too, like the Bernini himself chose the position in the ante-chamber of the king’s new audience hall on October 13, a week before his departure (Chantelou, 1885, 231 f.). 103 The idea of Paris surpassing Rome was expressed by Bernini himself at his first meeting with the king (cf. p. 533 f. and n. 12 above) and was bruited in a French sonnet extolling Bernini and the king (Chantelou, 1885, 149, September 9). 104 Robert Berger (1966) has persuasively argued that Bernini’s first Louvre project, including its characteristic drum-without-dome motif, doffed its hat, as it were, to an ideal château design of 1652 by Antoine Lepautre. 105 The medal (for which see La Médaille, 1970, 81, no. 116; Jones, 1982–88, II, 224 ff., no. 239) was inserted in the foundation stone along with the inscriptions mentioned above, n. 92; it is discussed several times in Chantelou’s diary (Chantelou, 1885, 164, 168 f., 215, 228 f., 240, entries for September 16, 19; October 8, 12, 17). 102

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residence on the Palatine, rise from a summit redolent of imperial glory, that of the Capitoline hill, and include the equestrian statue portraying the most benign of emperors, Marcus Aurelius. The analogy actually gave rise to a dialogue between the Capitol and Bernini, in which the artist was reported to have said, ‘Dove è il gran Luigi, è il Campidoglio!’106 (where the great Louis is, there is the Capitol — a Roman version of Louis’s notorious dictum ‘L’étât c’est moi’!). No less meaningful and deliberate were the many transferrals to Paris we have noted of ideas and projects Bernini had devised in the service of the popes. The imperial palace tradition had long since been assimilated to papal ideology, and important aspects of Bernini’s conceit for the Louvre had been suggested in a volume of emblems devoted to Gregory XIII in which that pope’s actions and his armorial device, the dragon, had been graphically intertwined.107 The image illustrating the summer palace built by Gregory (Fig. 71) shows the building perched conspicuously atop the Quirinal hill (Monte Cavallo, from the ancient sculptures of the horse tamers that adorn the square); the accompanying epigram identifies the pope as the sun and Rome and the pontiff as head of the microcosm, radiating beneficence on Italy and the world; Italy is described as a piccol Mondo, anticipating the inscription Bernini intended for the globular base of his bust of Louis XIV. I believe that Bernini, in turn, was consciously seeking to create at the Louvre for the world’s greatest terrestrial monarch the equivalent of what he had created at St. Peter’s for the world’s greatest spiritual monarch. The invention of the scogliera even made it possible to link the allusions to the imperial mountain-top palaces with the Mons Vaticanus of St. Peter and the popes and with the biblical metaphor of the rock on which Christ had built his church: Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam (Matthew 16:18). These associations had been given a French cast in a medal that showed the basilica of St. Peter’s perched on a rocky base (Fig. 72). The medal celebrated the constant support given to the Holy See by one of the great French cardinals of the period, François de la Rochefoucauld (1558–1645), the image and the inscription Rupe Firmatur in Ista, ‘secure on that rock,’ punning on his name.108 Cureau de la Chambre, 1685, 23 (cf. n. 65 above); Wittkower, 1961, 511 n. 61, 529. Fabricii, 1588; the emblem to be discussed appears on p. 308. On this emblem and its signficance for the Quirinal palace, see Courtright, 1990, 128 f. 108 De la Rochefoucauld is portrayed on the obverse; his devotion to the papacy was exemplary (see Pastor, 1923–53, 28:441; Bergin, 1987). The elevation of St. Peter’s, which includes Maderno’s bell towers, reproduces Mattheus Greuter’s 1613 engraving (Hibbard, 1971, Pl. 54). The reverse is illustrated without comment in Küthmann et al., 1973, 219 f., 106 107

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The visitor to the Louvre would have been ravished by a secular version of the awesome spectacle he experienced in Rome proceeding through the embracing portico into the basilica to the high altar, surmounted by the baldachin, and beyond to the throne of the Prince of the Apostles in the apse. When Bernini’s unitarian vision of the Sun King is viewed in this way, one can readily understand Bernini’s view of his own contribution as an artist: he was, he said, the first to make of the arts a marvelous whole, occasionally breaching without violence the boundaries that separate them.109 After-images at Versailles The failure of Bernini’s visit to Paris is normally taken as a turning point in French attitudes toward Italian culture since the Renaissance; the demise of his various projects for the Louvre signaled the triumph of a new national self-consciousness and self-confidence north of the Alps. Stylistically these new attitudes are linked to the rejection of the fulsome rhetoric of the Italian baroque and the development of the tempered logic of French classicism. Although correct in general terms, this analysis needs to be qualified, especially on the evidence of what took place in the immediately succeeding years when the king determined to move both his residence and the seat of government from the Louvre to Versailles. Le Brun adapted Bernini’s equestrian project in designing a monument of Louis, intended initially for no. 51. The reverse of the example in the Bibliothèque Nationale reproduced in Fig. 248 is inscribed T. BERl/l[sic]ARD. F., presumably the first medallist of that name, who was active ca. 1622–65 (Forrer, 1904–30, I, 172 f., VII, 74). It should be noted that the Rochefoucauld medal repeats the image of St. Peter’s on a rock on the medal by Caradosso of 1506 illustrating Bramante’s project for the new basilica. Bernini explicitly recalled the piazza of St. Peter’s in his planning for the area between the Louvre and the Tuileries as well as for that in front of the Louvre (Chantelou, 1885, 42, July 1; 52, July 15). Boucher (1981) has recently suggested that Bernini’s first design for the Louvre reflected early projects by Peruzzi for St. Peter’s. Another mountain-top theme with which Bernini must have been familiar appeared in the 1644 medal commemorating the accession to the throne of Queen Christina of Sweden, who later became the artist’s good friend. The medal shows a phoenix rising from a mountain top beneath a radiant sun, her favorite emblem (Eimer, 1992, 84–87). 109 ‘. . . egli sia stato fra’ Primi . . . che habbia saputo in modo unire assieme le belle Arti della Scultura, Pittura, & Architettura, che di tutte habbia fatte in se un maraviglioso composto . . . con uscir tal volta dalle Regole, senza però giammai violarle’ (Bernini, 1713, 32 f.; cf. Baldinucci, 1948, 140). For a discussion of Bernini’s ‘wholistic’ views on art generally, see Lavin, Bernini, 1980, 6 ff.

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the Louvre but then evidently to be placed before the façade of Versailles (Fig. 73).110 Le Brun also presumably designed the stucco relief executed by Coysevox in the Salle de la Guerre that serves as the antechamber to the ceremonial reception hall known as the Galerie des Glaces (Fig. 74). Depicting Louis crowned by a personification of princely glory, the composition translates Bernini’s moral conceit into the grandiloquent language of high allegory.111 Both of Bernini’s own sculptures were also brought to Versailles, after all. The equestrian group was placed in the garden and moved several times, but the common notion that it was sent into exile must be reconsidered. In fact, it was given conspicuous locations as the focal point of the view along the major transverse axis in front of and parallel to the façade of the palace, first toward the north at the end of the Bassin de Neptune, reaching its final destination in the early eighteenth century at the other extremity at the end of the Pièce d’Eau des Suisses. It was replaced at the Bassin de Neptune by Domenico Guidi’s highly esteemed group of Time and History holding a portrait medallion of the king, so that the two works faced each other at opposite sides of the horizon. Bernini’s sculpture was thus displayed far more prominently than many other works dispersed among the minor recesses of the garden.112 Furthermore, the transformation of the group was, in a way, singularly appropriate. Marcus Curtius was one of the great legendary heros of antiquity who sacrificed himself to save his country. In this sense the revision showed a remarkably subtle understanding of the meaning Bernini emphasized in explaining his conception. I suspect, indeed, that Girardon’s alterations were not intended to obliterate the reference to the king but to transform the work into a moralized depiction of Louis XIV in the guise of Marcus Curtius.113 The modification accommodated the sculp110 On this project, see Josephson, 1928; Wittkower, 1961, 513 f.; Hedin, 1983, 211, no. 49; Souchal, 1977 — , vol. G-L, 47 f., no. 47; Weber, 1985, 190 ff.; M. Martin, 1986, 54–60. 111 Keller-Dorian, 1920, I, 37 ff., no. 30.; Kuraszewski, 1974; Souchal, 1977 — , vol. A–F, 186 f., no. 25. On the personification of ‘Gloria dei Prencipi’ holding an obelisk (Ripa, 1603, 189), see Petzet, 1984, 443. 112 See on this important point Berger, In the Garden, 1985, 63. The traditional, architectural pedestal the work ultimately received was supplied by Mattia de’Rossi (Menichella, 1985, 23 f.). 113 There was a striking and well-known precedent for such an interpretation of the theme in Rome early in the century: Cardinal Scipione Borghese had been compared to Marcus Curtius, and Bernini’s father, Pietro, had portrayed the subject by restoring an

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ture to the principle, followed consistently in the garden decorations, of avoiding any direct portrayal of the king. Louis was present everywhere, of course, but in the sublimated domain of the garden his spirit was invoked only through allegory.114 We know that Bernini’s bust of Louis also had a rather active life before it finally alighted in the Salon de Diane in 1684. At each stage along the way, it was accompanied by the bust made by Jean Warin in 1666 to rival Bernini’s (Fig. 75). First at the Louvre and then at the Tuileries and finally again at Versailles, Warin’s sculpture accompanied Bernini’s as a demonstration of French ability to compete with the acknowledged master, whose work was thus regarded and prominently displayed as the touchstone of supreme achievement in the art.115 As to the château of Versailles (Fig. 76), the very clarion of French architectural identity, the analogy was long ago noted between the upper silhouette of Bernini’s Louvre project — the continuous horizontal cornice and balustrade crowned with sculptures — and that of Louis Le Vau’s building.116 This relationship, indeed, is symptomatic of the synthetic creative procedure that is perhaps the chief legacy at Versailles of Bernini’s work for the Louvre. In certain respects the garden façade, as originally planned by Le Vau, belongs in a series of works that link elements of the two traditional types of noble residential architecture, the urban palace (Fig. 77) and the informal extramural villa (Fig. 78). The earmark of the former was the flat street façade with a monumental order or orders placed on a high rusticated base; the earmark of the latter was a U-shaped plan embracing a garden or courtyard between projecting wings. Various steps had been taken earlier in the century to relate the two types. In the Villa Borghese at Rome a coherent façade was achieved by antique fragment for display at the Villa Borghese (cf. D’Onofrio, 1967, 208–9, 213, 255–58, Haskell and Penny, 1981, 191–93). Though in a different way, Wittkower also saw the appropriateness of the Marcus Curtius theme; see Wittkower, 1961, 514. 114 Strictly speaking this observation applies to Guidi’s group as well; incidentally, Guidi himself might be said to have metaphorized his portrait of the king by transforming the contemporary armor shown in the model into classical costume (cf. Seelig, 1972, 90). The evident restraints on direct portrayals of the king inside Versailles until about 1680, and much more tenaciously in the garden, are emphasized by Berger, Versailles, 1985, 39, 50, 53, 55, and In the Garden, 1985, 26, 64 f. 115 Again, I am indebted to Berger for this perception, (Versailles, 1985, 39, 50, 87 nn. 104–5). 116 Cf. Blunt, 1953, 192, 279 n. 35.

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including a terrace between the two wings (Fig. 23).117 In the Palazzo Barberini, where Bernini himself had worked, the orders and rusticated base of the palace type were introduced in a U-shaped façade (Fig. 79). It can hardly be coincidence that both these buildings are near, but not in, the city center; hence they are topographically as well as typologically intermediate between the two alternatives. Le Vau in effect combined these intermediate suburban arrangements, partly by applying the unifying lesson of Bernini’s Louvre: a rusticated base surmounted by a single order and crowned by a horizontal roofline with sculptured balustrade. Le Vau thus for the first time fused the palace and villa types into a unified and consistent architectural system that incorporates the entire façade. The fusion perfectly expresses the unique status of Versailles as a royal château in the venerable tradition stemming from Charlemagne — Constantine’s ‘great’ successor and Louis’s model in other respects as well — a permanent extra-urban seat of the monarchy. In another context a bold observation has recently been made concerning a painting of Versailles by Jean-Baptiste Martin (Fig. 80). The view toward the west of the Bassin d’Apollon and the Grand Canal is framed by poplar trees, sacred to Hercules. The arrangement seems to reflect Bernini’s project for the Louvre, where the Pillars of Hercules would have framed the view from the palace to the west, in reference to the Non Plus Ultra device used by the Hapsburgs.118 Most intriguing of all is the evidence recently discovered that Bernini actually made a design for Versailles and that, for a time at least, his design

117 Cf. Berger, Versailles, 1985, 23, 25. My analysis is merely an extension and refinement of Berger’s observation that the primary sources of Le Vau’s Enveloppe at Versailles were the Italian villa type with terrace and Roman High Renaissance palaces. French indebtedness to Bernini later at the Louvre and at Versailles has also been stressed by Tadgell, 1978, 54–58, 83 n. 121 and 1980, 327, 335. 118 K. O. Johnson, 1981, 33 ff. Our attention here being focused in the legacy at Versailles of Bernini’s ideas for the Louvre, I will not pursue possible relationships between the planning of the château and other projects in which Bernini had been involved — notably those between the tridentine avenues of approach with twin buildings at the angles and the Piazza del Popolo at Rome (most recently, Castex et al., 1980, 7 ff., a reference for which I am indebted to Guy Walton). A similar arrangement was proposed in 1669 by François d’Orbais for the approach to the main façade of the Louvre (cf. Chastel and Pérouse de Montclos, 1966, 181, Fig. 5 and Pl. V).

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may have been adopted for execution.119 This information is supplied by a source that cannot be dismissed out of hand — a detailed diary of a visit to Versailles by the future Grand Duke Cosimo III of Tuscany in 1669. Under the date August 11 of that year, it is reported that work at Versailles was proceeding on a majestic façade designed by Bernini. Except for Bernini’s own expressed admiration for Versailles during his stay in Paris in 1665,120 this statement provides the first direct link between Bernini and the château. No trace of Bernini’s project has come down to us, and the claim may well be exaggerated. It is certainly fortuitous, however, that the notice comes at just the right moment to help explain a heretofore puzzling episode in the history of the planning of Versailles. Early in the summer of 1669 work was proceeding according to a plan by Le Vau that, following the king’s wish, retained the old Petit Château built by his father. Yet in June Louis suddenly changed his mind and issued a public declaration that he intended to demolish the earlier structure. Colbert, who opposed the idea, held an emergency competition among half-a-dozen French architects, including Le Vau, for new proposals for a new Versailles. The suggestion is inescapable that the competition was held in reaction to the receipt — perhaps unsolicited — of a project of this kind from Bernini. His submission may even have been adopted until the final decision was taken later that year to retain the old building after all and return to Le Vau’s first plan. * * * Absolutely nothing of Bernini’s projects for France remains as he intended, either at the Louvre or at Versailles. There can be no doubt, however, that his conception of the nobility and grandeur suitable for a great monarch left an indelible trace on the French imagination. A tragi-comical testimony to this fact was the defacement and mutilation of the equestrian portrait with paint and hammer, perpetrated in 1980, the tricentennial of Bernini’s death (Fig. 81). Evidently, the vandals considered the monument

For what follows, see Pühringer-Zwanowetz, 1976. The author of the report to be discussed was probably Lorenzo Magalotti, whose interest in the Louvre is known from letters written to him by the painter Ciro Ferri on September 30, 1665, and February 17, 1666 (Bottari and Ticozzi, 1822–25, II, 47–52). 120 Chantelou, 1885, 154 ff., September 13. 119

s

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a symbol of French culture, and instead of the inscription Bernini intended, they left an eloquent graffito of their own: YARK YARK!!! PATRIMOINE KAPUTT ANTIFRANCE121 The Idea of the Prince Hero There was a certain ironic justice in the vandals’ gesture of desecration, for Bernini’s conception itself was profoundly subversive, both in its form — the suppression of royal and dynastic imagery, the portrayal of the king in a momentary action, the smile that seemed inappropriate, the treatment of marble as if it were dough, the elevation of raw nature to the domain of high art — and in its content. Bernini’s image of Louis XIV must be seen against a major current of thought concerning political hegemony and the qualities required of the ideal ruler, that had been developing for the better part of a century. The main proponents were the Jesuits, who were intent upon responding and providing an alternative to Machiavelli’s model of cynical unscrupulousness in the worldly practice of statecraft. In the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries a veritable stream of anti-Machiavellian literature defended the relevance of Christian moral principles not only to utopistic ideals of domestic rule and foreign diplomacy but also to realistic and successful statesmanship. The key argument in this ‘reason of state’ was 121 I am greatly indebted to Simone Hoog of the Musée Nationale du Château de Versailles for photographs and the following information, in litteris: 1) l’acte de vandalisme sur le Marcus Curtius s’est passé dans la nuit du 5 au 6 juin 1980. 2) les morceaux du cheval qui avaient été arrachés concernaient: la queue, la crinière, la patte avant droite, l’oreille droite et, pour le cavalier un morceau du cimier et le menton; avec bien sûr quelques épauffrures supplémentaires de moindre importance . . . tout a été ‘recollé,’ mais il nous manque malheureusement quelques petits éclats de marbre (pour la queue et l’oreille du cheval en particulier). 3) la presse française a été étrangement silencieuse sur ce triste événement. Voici malgré tout trois références: Les Nouvelles de Versailles, 11 juin et 3 septembre 1980; Le Figaro, 12 août 1980; Le Monde, 20 novembre 1980. Mais il ne s’agit pas d’articles importants, seulement de bulletin d’information très courts. J’ai moi-même évoqué le sujet et les problèmes de restauration qu’il souléve dans un article paru dans Monuments Historiques, no. 138, avril–mai 1985. The restored sculpture is now permanently on display in the Grandes Ecuries.

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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. Bernini was profoundly indebted to this vital tradition of moral statesmanship, which culminated in the idea of the prince-hero, but he carried the argument a decisive step further. The change is evident in his explanation of his own work and the philosophy of kingship it embodied, as well as in his appropration of the Jesuit Claude Menestrier’s emblem and interpretation of the Peace of the Pyrenees. The restrained intensity of the equestrian portrait and the bust of Louis expressed the radical political idea that the true basis of just rule lay in individual virtue and self-control rather than in inherited rank and unbridled power. His view challenged the very foundations of traditional monarchist ideology.122 This fundamental conflict of interest is dramatically illustrated by what was perhaps the major bone of contention in the debates between the artist and Colbert and the other French critics of his design for the Louvre: the location of the royal apartment. Bernini insisted, to what proved to be the bitter end, that the king must be quartered in the east wing, the most prominent part of the palace; he rejected the argument that the rooms would be relatively cramped and exposed to the turmoil and dangers of the public square in front (the Fronde and the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 against

On Bernini, the anti-Machiavellian tradition and the prince-hero (p. 572 f. above), see Lavin, 1991. The anti-Machiavellian tradition, first defined by Meinecke, 1957, has been studied by De Mattei, 1969 and 1979, and the theories of the chief exponents in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries have been summarized by Bireley, 1990. This development in the secular sphere had a close and surely related corollary in the theological principle of heroic virtue, essential in the process of canonizing saints, first introduced in 1602 and elaborately formulated later in the century (for which see Hofmann, 1933; Enciclopedia cattolica, 1948–54, III, s. v. ‘Canonizzazione,’ cols. 595 f., 605 f.). An important and pioneering study by Keller (1971) discusses the major European equestrian monuments of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in relation to contemporary political theory, including some of the writers who belong in the anti-Machiavellian camp. In the present context, however, Keller’s work has a critical shortcoming: although his perception of Bernini’s intention is sound, Keller excludes Bernini’s equestrian Louis XIV as expressing an allegorical conceit rather than a political theory (see pp. 17 and 68 ff.). In fact, Bernini’s innovation lay precisely in merging these two levels of meaning. 122

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James I of England had not been forgotten).123 Ceremony and symbolism, as such, were not the primary point; it was rather that the concerns of safety and convenience were secondary to the duties and obligations imposed by the office of ruler. Bernini measured the stature of a ruler by the moral restraints and obligations of personal leadership he undertook, despite the discomforts and risks they entailed. This was precisely the point Bernini explained to the obtuse Frenchman who could not understand a happy, benevolent expression on the face of an armed warrior on a martial horse — that he had portrayed Louis enjoying the glory of victory attained through virtue and self-sacrifice. The passage (quoted in n. 63 above) is of further interest because it reveals the full import of Bernini’s formal subversion of hallowed ideology, his nonviolent break with artistic convention and decorum. Having given his explanation, Bernini added that his meaning was evident throughout the work, but would become much clearer still when the sculpture was seen on its intended rocky promontory. By raising to lofty moral and aesthetic standards a lowly and deprecated form, he created a new means of visual expression to convey a new social ideal.124 POSTSCRIPT Louis XIV:Bernini = Mitterand:Pei The power of Bernini’s image of the Sun King has been reflected anew in the no less revolutionary developments that have taken place at the Louvre under President Mitterand and the architect I. M. Pei. This rapprochement across the centuries is evident in an anecdote recounted to me by Pei, who recalled that on one occasion Mitterand said to him, ‘You can be sure of one thing, Mr. Pei: I will not abandon you as Louis XIV abandoned Bernini!’ — a promise the president has maintained, despite a storm of protest against the project for a new entrance to the new, Grand Louvre. The sharpest critique is that of Colbert, reported by Chantelou as the last entry in his diary, November 30, 1665, a few days after Bernini left for Rome (Chantelou, 1885, 264 f.). Bauer rightly recalls the Gunpowder Plot in this connection (in Chantelou, 1985, 37, 303). 124 The inversion and moralization of conventional social values implicit in Bernini’s attitude in the official, public domain has its counterpart in his creation of the private caricature portrait of exalted and high-born personages (see Lavin, 1990). 123

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Owing in part, perhaps, to the sheer logic of the situation but also in part, surely, by design, Pei has brought into being several important elements of Bernini’s dream of giving form to the glory of France. From the time of Louis XIV and Bernini onward, the space between the west façade of the Louvre and the Tuileries was not meant to stand empty. Many projects were proposed (Fig. 82 includes those dating 1624-1829), until the series finally came to an end in the glass pyramid designed by another architect imported from abroad, who succeeded in illustrating the breadth of French vision and the grandeur of French culture.125 Bernini himself proposed for the area now occupied by Pei’s pyramid two theaters, modeled on the Colosseum and the Theater of Marcellus in Rome, one facing the Louvre, the other the Tuileries.126 Placed back to back, with room for ten thousand spectators on either side, the theaters would have realized on a monumental scale the effect of one of Bernini’s fabled comedies, in which he created the illusion of two theaters and two audiences in plain view of one another.127 The two theaters at the Louvre would have reflected the spectacle of French civic and ceremonial life at its very heart. This is exactly what Pei has created — a great spectacle at the veritable center of French cultural life. And he has achieved this result, which might be described as maximum, with means that can be described as minimum (Figs. 83, 84). Apart from its symbolic associations (Pei denies that he intended any — cf. Fig. 85),128 the pyramid is the simplest and least obtrusive of structural forms, and glass, whether opaque or transparent, is the most self-effacing structural material. When the glass is opaque, it mirrors the scene of people from all over the world who have come to enjoy, participate in, and pay homage to French culture, with the sacrosanct façades of the Louvre as their backdrop. When the glass is transparent, what does one see? People from all over the world who have come to enjoy, participate in and pay homage to French culture, with the sacrosanct façades of the Louvre as their backdrop. Either way, the pyramid itself disappears, becomFor a complete and thorough survey of these projects, see Daufresne, 1987. The sources concerning this proposal are conveniently gathered in Del Pesco, Il Louvre, 1984, 41 f., 48 n. 22, who also reproduces several projects, including two by Claude Perrault, that reflect Bernini’s scheme; further, Daufresne, 1987, 76 ff. 127 Bernini’s comedy of two theaters is described by Baldinucci, 1948, 151, and Bernini, 1713, 56. 128 In an interview Pei demonstrated to me (see Fig. 85) how he derived the pyramid from the geometric configuration of Le Nôtre’s garden parterre of the Tuileries. 125 126

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ing a clear and limpid representation of its environment.129 Pei solved the terrifying problem of making a monumental entrance to the Louvre by creating an almost invisible theater where the people of the world are the actors and the Louvre is the stage set. Almost exactly ten years after its desecration at Versailles, Bernini’s equestrian image of the Sun King was ‘restored’ (cast in lead) to the space between the Louvre and the Tuileries for which it had originally been destined (Fig. 86).130 The restitution of the image to its proper position of leadership provoked almost the same furor as its original appearance in Paris three centuries before — appropriately enough, since Bernini’s sculpture, far from adhering comfortably to the conventions of its genre, was meant to convey the artist’s new, provocative, even subversive, conception of the ideal head of state. In replacing the work, Pei used neither the same material nor the same location Bernini had envisaged. Instead, Pei used the image of the Sun King to resolve one of the historic problems of ceremonial urbanism in Paris — the nonalignment of the Louvre with the axis formed by the Tuileries, the Napoleonic arches of triumph and the Champs-Elysées. Pei oriented the horseman and his pedestal on that axis, but aligned the platform beneath the monument with the Louvre (Fig. 87).131 In this way, the Pei-Bernini image of the Sun King came to serve precisely the function for which it was intended, as the visual and symbolic link between the old France and the new. The whole conception, which is truly in the spirit of Bernini, also fulfills Bernini’s definition of the architect’s task: which ‘consists not in making beautiful and comfortable buildings, but in knowing how to invent ways of using the insufficient, the bad, and the ill-suited to make beautiful things in which what had been a defect becomes useful, so that if it did not exist one would have to create it.’132 129 The importance of simplicity-opacity-transparency as Pei’s way of relating his pyramid to the historic buildings of the Louvre, has been observed by S. Lavin, 1988. The transparancy of the pyramid was ably discussed in a paper by Stephen L. Rustow, ‘Transparent Contradictions: Pei’s Pyramid at the Louvre,’ delivered at the 1990 meeting of the Society of Architectural Historians. 130 See Hoog, 1989, 57 ff. 131 The displacement of the statue on the grand axe of Paris is also noted by Fleckner, 1992. 132 ‘. . . il sommo pregio dell’artefice [is] il sapere inventar maniere per servirsi del poco, del cattivo e male adattato al bisogno per far cose belle e far sì che sia utile quel che fu difetto e che, se non fusse, bisognerebbe farlo’ (Baldinucci, 1948, 146; cf. Bernini 1713, 32).

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