LUIGI SPERANZA -- GRICE ITALO: UN DIZIONARIO A-Z C

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carboni: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale disegno dal vivo, disgeno del nudo dal vero, disegno dal vero, disegno del nudo dal vero -- disegno dall’antico, desegno dalla natura -- drawn from life -- tratto dalla vita – royal academy –drawn from the antique – scuola di Livorno – filosofia toscana -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library  (Livorno). Filosofo toscano. Filosofo italiano. Livorno, Toscana. Grice: “I love Carboni – my favourite of his tracts is ‘between the image and the ‘parable’” – a semiotics of communication with sections on ‘the tacit response,’ through the looking-glass’, ‘towards the hypertext,’ and quoting extensively from some ‘conversational-implicature’ passages in Aristotle’s metaphysics, ‘To ask ‘why is man man?’ is to ask nothing!” “For some expressions, analogy suffices!” Insegna a Roma, Bari, Viterbo.  Altre opere: L’angelo del fare. Melotti e la ceramica (Skira) e Il colore nell’arte (Jaca).  Cura Dorfles, Brandi, Deleuze, Guattari, Adorno. Tra le recensioni dei suoi saggi si segnalano: Giacomo Marramao, Gianni Vattimo (“L’Espresso”), Gillo Dorfles (“Il Corriere della Sera”), Victor Stoichita (“il manifesto”). Al Festival delle Letterature di Mantova hanno presentato i suoi saggi Sini  e Didi-Huberman. Scrive su  “Nòema” e “Images Re-vues” e sulla “Rivista di Estetica”.   “L’Impossibile Critico. Paradosso della critica d’arte, Kappa); “Cesare Brandi. Teoria e esperienza dell’arte, Editori Riuniti); “Il Sublime è Ora. Saggio sulle estetiche contemporanee, Castelvecchi); “Non vedi niente lì? Sentieri tra arti e filosofie del Novecento, Castelvecchi); “L’ornamentale. Tra arte e decorazione, Jaca); “L’occhio e la pagina. Tra immagine e parola, Jaca); “Lo stato dell’arte. L’esperienza estetica nell’era della tecnica, Laterza); “La mosca di Dreyer. L’opera della contingenza nelle arti, Jaca); “Di più di tutto. Figure dell’eccesso, Castelvecchi); “Analfabeatles. Filosofia di una passione elementare, Castelvecchi); “Il genio è senza opera. Filosofie antiche e arti contemporanee” Jaca); “Malevič. L'ultima icona. Arte, filosofia, teologia, Jaca).  Drawing after the Antique at the British Museum: “Free” Art Education and the Advent of the Liberal State, Martin Myrone Drawing after the Antique at the British Museum: “Free” Art Education and the Advent of the Liberal State; Myrone. The British Museum in London began regularly to open its newly established Townley Gallery so that art students could draw from the ancient sculptures housed there. This article documents and comments on this development in art education, based on an analysis of the 165 individuals recorded in the surviving register of attendance at the Museum. The register is presented as a photographic record, with a transcription and biographical directory. The accompanying essay situates the opening of the Museum’s sculpture rooms to students within a farreaching set of historical shifts. It argues that this new museum access contributed to the early nineteenth-century emergence of a liberal state. But if the rhetoric surrounding this development emphasized freedom and general public benefit in the spirit of liberalization, the evidence suggests that this new level of access actually served to further entrench the “middleclassification” of art education at this historical juncture. Authors Martin Myrone is an art historian and curator based in London, and is currently convenor of the British Art Network based at the Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art. Acknowledgements The register of students admitted to the Townley Gallery was originally consulted during my term as Paul Mellon Mid-Career Fellow in 2014–15. Thanks to Hallett and Turner of the Mellon Centre for their continuing support and guidance, to Baillie Card and Rose Bell for their careful editorial work, Tom Scutt for crafting the digital presentation of my research, the two anonymous readers for their valuable critical input, and to Antony Griffiths, formerly of the British Museum, and Hugo Chapman, Angela Roche, and Sheila O’Connell of the British Museum, for providing access to the register and for their advice. I am especially indebted to Mark Pomeroy, archivist, and his colleagues at the Royal Academy of Arts for the access provided to materials there and for advice and suggestions. I would also like to thank Viccy Coltman, Brad Feltham, Martin Hopkinson, Sarah Monks, Sarah Moulden, Michael Phillips, Jacob Simon, Greg Sullivan, and Alison Wright. Cite as Martin Myrone, "Drawing after the Antique at the British Museum: “Free” Art Education and the Advent of the Liberal State", British Art Studies, Issue 5, dx.doi.org/10.17658/issn.2058-5462/issue-05/mmyrone From the summer of 1808 the British Museum in London began regularly to open its newly established galleries of Graeco-Roman sculpture for art students. The collection, made up almost entirely of pieces previously owned by Charles Townley, had been purchased for the nation in 1805 and installed in a new extension to the Museum’s first home, Montagu House, which was built earlier. After some protracted discussion with the Royal Academy, detailed below, the collection was made available for its students in time for the royal opening of the Townley Gallery on 3 June 1808. A written record was kept of students admitted to draw from the antique. This volume survives in the library of the Department of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum and identifies one hundred and sixtyfive separate individuals admitted through to 1817. 1 The register forms the focus of this essay and is presented here as a facsimile and transcription, with an accompanying directory of student biographies (see supplementary materials below). This may be taken as a straightforward contribution to the literature on early nineteenth-century art education, and the author hopes it may be useful as such. However, it also situates the opening of the Museum’s sculpture rooms to students within a rather more far-reaching set of historical shifts. Namely, it argues that this new form of museum access was part of the early nineteenth-century emergence of a liberal state that “actively governs through freedom (free ‘individuals’, markets, societies, and so on, which are only ‘free’ because the state makes them so)”. 2 Access to the British Museum was “free” in that there were no charges or fees. Meanwhile, the arrangement offered a degree of freedom to the students themselves; they were expected to be largely self-selecting and self-regulating. When the arrangement was exposed to public scrutiny, as a result of questions asked in parliament in 1821, the freedom of access and the service this did to the public good were emphasized. But, once closely scrutinized, the evidence suggests that this manifestation of the freedoms encouraged by the liberal state had a social disciplinary role (even if disciplinary function can hardly be recognized as such), in serving to further entrench the “middle-classification” of art at this historical juncture. 3 The conjunction of art education and a grandiose notion such as the liberal state may be unexpected, and rests on three key assertions. The first is that art worlds are structured and in their structure have a homological relationship with the larger social environment. 4 The initial part of this statement (that art worlds are structured) may not be especially hard to swallow, given the relatively formalized and hierarchical nature of the London art world during the early nineteenth century, when cultural authority was vested in a small number of institutions, and the practices associated with academic tradition in principle still held sway. However, that the structure of the art world, in its hierarchical dimension, may also be homologically related to the larger field of power, so that social relationships are reproduced within this relatively autonomous sphere, is more clearly contentious, and runs contrary to commonplace beliefs and expectations about talent and luck in determining personal fate in the modern age—artists’ fortunes most especially. In fact, in the period under review here, the artist became an exemplary figure in the new narratives of social mobility: the art world came to serve as a model of how talent or sheer good fortune could override social origins and destinies. 5 The second assertion is that the Royal Academy and British Museum were developing new forms of state institution, underpinned by the conjoined principles of freedom of access and public benefit. Such has been argued importantly by Holger Hoock, and while I depart from his arguments in some key regards, his insights into the status of these institutions and the role of forms of public–private partnership in their formation are crucial. 6 The third assertion (and this marks a departure from Hoock), is that the state is not a stable, centralized entity, or site of power either “up above” or “below” historical actors. Instead, it is taken to be the sum of actions and dispositions ostensibly volunteered by these historical agents in all their multitude and variety. The crucial point of reference here is the sustained body of work on the liberal state by the historian Patrick Joyce, deploying the work of Bruno Latour and Michel Foucault, among others, to yield a more materialistic and decentralized understanding of the emergence and role of state bodies. 7 The state, in this view, is composed of technologies, disciplinary structures, habits of mind, and ways of doing things. The mechanics of art education, insofar as this involves the movement through or exclusion of individuals from identified places, the arrangement of their bodies in relation to one another and to their model, the management of their behaviour within those places, the very motion of their bodies, hands, and eyes under the surveillance of their peers, teachers or other authorities, may be considered as a form of biopolitics; the student who entered his or her name into the British Museum’s register of admission was producing his or her governmentality. 8 The argument here is emphatically historical and states that this arrangement, while it may have precedents and may have been seminal, belongs to an historical moment—the emergence of the liberal state. My case, which can be sketched out only in outline in this context, is that the emergence of the familiar institutional arrangements of the modern art world between the 1770s and the 1830s (in the form of actual institutions and regulatory structures or permissions, including annual exhibitions, centralized art schools supported by the state directly and indirectly, emphasis on quantifiable measures of access and engagement as the test of public value, and so forth) represents in an exemplary way the illusory freedoms promoted by liberalism, and renewed by present-day “neo- liberalism”, as addressed by commentators from the prophetic Karl Polanyi through to the later work of Foucault and Bourdieu on the state, and Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello, among others. 9 The early nineteenth-century art world can be proposed as a privileged focus of attention because it was still of a scale which can allow for the kinds of data-based analysis which must underpin any sort of sociological exploration, and because its individual membership can be documented in fine detail in a manner which is simply not possible at an earlier historical date. Paradoxically, despite its announced commitment to non-intervention and personal freedom, the emerging liberal state generated huge amounts of documentation about society and its individual members—tax records, parochial and civil records, the national census from 1801—which digitilization has made more readily available than ever before, allowing this generation of artists to be documented as never previously. 10 The production of artistic identities through these records is not unrelated to changes in artistic identity itself over the same timeframe. One way of realizing this might be to consider the period outlined above——not as a period from the foundation of the Royal Academy to its removal to Trafalgar Square, or even as the era of Romanticism, as much literary and cultural history-writing would dictate, but as the era from Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations (1776) to the Reform Act (1832) and the Speenhamland system, a last experiment in patrician social care before the Poor Law Amendment Act (1834), taking in Thomas Malthus and David Ricardo. The challenge is thinking of these two frameworks not in sequential or spatially differentiated ways, but as simultaneous and identical. Within this emerging liberal state the figure of the artist is attributed with a special degree and form of freedom, what has conventionally been alluded to, in generally sociologically imprecise ways, as a feature of “Romanticism”, slumping into “bohemianism” and a generic idea of art student lifestyle. If this was a moment of unprecedented state investment in the arts (from the Royal Academy through to the Schools of Design) and government scrutiny (notably with the Select Committees), it simultaneously saw the emergence of artistic identities expressing the values of personal freedom, freedom from regulation, and even active opposition to the state. I propose that art education, as it took shape in the emerging liberal state, might be explored as a “liberogenic” phenomenon: among those “devices intended to produce freedom which potentially risk producing exactly the opposite.” 11 As such, it may have renewed pertinence for our own time, although this does not entail seeing a “causal” relationship between the past and present, or a linear genetic relationship between then and now. In fact, the purpose of this commentary, and the larger project it arises from, 12 is rather to trouble our relationship with that past. The intention is not, however, to point unequivocally to the era under consideration as here entailing “the making of a modern art world”, with the rise of art education and museums access representing a stage towards democratization, as illuminated in stellar fashion by the great Romantic artists (J. M. W. Turner—famously the son of a lowly London barber—pre-eminently). I would want instead to take seriously Jacques Rancière’s call for “a past that puts a radical requirement at the centre of the present”, eschewing causality and “nostalgia” in favour of “challenging the relationship of the present to that past”. 13 If giving attention to the “freedom” of art education at the advent of the liberal state provides any insight at all, it should do so by troubling rather than affirming our narratives of the genesis of a modern art world. Access to the Townley Gallery The arrival at the Museum of the Townley marbles, together with the development of the prints and drawings collection and its installation in new, secure rooms in the same wing, fundamentally changed the character of the institution. As Neil Chambers has noted, having been primarily a repository of (often celebrated) curiosities of many different forms, quite suddenly “The Museum was now a centre for art and the study of sculpture.” 14 The shift was acknowledged internally at the Museum by the creation in 1807 of a distinct Department of Antiquities, which also had responsibility for the collection of prints and drawings. But while the significance of the opening of the Townley Gallery in the history of the British Museum is clear, the opening of the collection to students has barely been noticed in the art-historical literature. The register has been overlooked almost entirely, and the relevance of this development in student access may not even be immediately obvious. 15 Figure 1. William Chambers, The Sculpture Collection of Charles Townley in the dining room of his house in Park Street, Westminster, 1794, watercolour, 39 x 54 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Figure 2. Attributed to Joseph Nollekens, The Discobolus, 1791–1805, drawing, 48 x 35 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Townley’s collection had already famously been on display for many years at his private house in Park Street, London. William Chambers’ (or Chalmers’) drawing of the Park Street display from 1794 includes a well-dressed young woman drawing under the supervision or advice of a man, promoting the idea that the collection was available for sufficiently genteel students of the art more generally (fig. 1). In his recollections of the London art world, J. T. Smith described “those rooms of Mr Townley’s house, in which that gentleman’s liberality employed me when a boy, with many other students in the Royal Academy, to make drawings for his portfolios”. 16 Smith’s former employer, the sculptor Joseph Nollekens, has been identified among the more established artists who were also engaged by Townley to draw from marbles in the collection (fig. 2). As Viccy Coltman has noted, “The townhouse at 7 Park Street, Westminster became an unofficial counterpoint to the English arts establishment that was the Royal Academy: as an academy of ancient sculpture, much as Sir John Soane’s London housemuseum in Lincoln’s Inn Fields would become an academy of architecture in the early 19th century.” 17 Evidently, a number of the students and artists admitted to draw from the Townley marbles once they were at the British Museum knew them formerly at first hand from visiting 7 Park Street; for instance, William Skelton, admitted to draw at the Museum in 1809, had apparently already studied and engraved three busts from the collection for inclusion in the design of Townley’s visiting card (fig. 3). Townley had hoped for a separate gallery to be erected to house the collection, but his executors, his brother Edward Townley Standish and uncle John Townley were unable to agree a plan. 18 The sale of the collection to the Museum was a compromise. With the erection of a new gallery space for the collection underway, the Museum considered how special access might be given to artists. That the question was posed at all should be an indication of how far the realm of cultural consumption and production was being folded in to the emerging liberal state at this juncture. At a meeting of the Trustees on 28 February 1807, a committee was set up to consider how the prints and drawings collections might be used by artists, and to draw up “Regulations... for the Admission of Strangers to view the Gallery of Antiquities either separately from, or together with the rest of the Museum: And also for the Admission of Artists”. 19 Figure 3. William Skelton, Charles Townley's visiting card, 1778–1848, etching, 65 x 96 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum With the Gallery still under construction, the Sub-Committee was not obliged to move quickly, and it proved to be a protracted and unexpectedly fractious affair. 20 It was not until the Museum’s general meeting of 13 February 1808, that the principal librarian, Joseph Planta, reported “his opinion of the best time et mode of admission of Strangers as well as artists, to the Gallery of Antiquities”, with the request that Benjamin West, President of the Royal Academy, be asked to attend a further meeting. 21 After delays, he did so on 10 March, after which the Council drew up a set of regulations. 22 These went back to the Academy with additions and changes, which were accepted by the Council who wrote to the British Museum on the 10 May to that effect, noting that a General Meeting of the Academy was to take place, “to prepare the final arrangement for his Majesty’s approbation”. 23 Accordingly, at the British Museum, the Sub-Committee’s reports and proposals were approved by the Standing Committee, with “Resolutions founded on the above mentioned Reports” read at the General Meeting of 14 May. 24 The resolutions, numbered so as to be inserted in the existing regulations regarding admissions, were confirmed in the meeting of 21 May, over three months after what should have been a straightforward matter was raised (see Appendix, below). 25 Clause number eight, concerning the payment of Academicians charged with the supervision of students, evidently caused some consternation within the Academy, as recorded in the diary of Joseph Farington. 26 The relative authority of the Council and General Assembly had been a contentious matter in previous years, and the lengthy dispute over arrangements with the Museum reflected lingering tensions. On 12 July 1808 the proposals were read, and “After a long conversation it was Resolved to adjourn.” 27 The subject was taken up on re-convening on 21 July, but without resolution. 28 At yet another meeting, on 26 July 1808, the point about the Academy’s provision of superintendents to monitor the students while at the British Museum was referred back to Council. 29 We have to turn to Farington’s diary for a fuller account. He noted that the Academy’s General Assembly had met on 12 July “for the purpose of receiving a Law made by the Council ‘That permission having been granted by the Trustees of the British Museum for Students to study from the Antiques &c at the Museum, certain days are fixed upon for that purpose, et that an Academician shall attend each day at the Museum et to be paid 2 guineas for each day’s attendance’... Much discussion took place.” 30 At a further meeting: “The Correspondence of the Council with the Sub Committee of the British Museum was read from the beginning” and “much discussion” was had about the supervision of the students, Farington making the point that: as the studies of the British Museum shd. be considered those of completion and not to learn the Elements of art the Academy shd. not recommend any student whose abilities et conduct wd. not warrant it, that it should be considered the last stage of study, when those admitted wd. not require constant inspection; therefore daily attendance of a Member of the Academy wd. not be necessary. 31 The point of contest may have concerned the right of the Council to organize things independent of the General Assembly of the Academicians, and a more general question about economy (“Northcote proposed that the Academician who in rotation shall attend at the British Museum, shd. have 3 guineas a day. West thought one guinea sufficient”). 32 But Farington’s point is more revealing in indicating the expectation that the selected students of the Academy were to be largely self-regulating, and self-disciplining; they were to be granted freedom because they had already internalized the discipline required by these institutions. Figure 4. Front cover, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum The matter finally settled, students were admitted to the Townley Gallery from at least the beginning of 1809: the first entries in the register book are dated 14 January 1809 (figs. 4 and 5 to 11). On that date four students were enrolled, although only one of them was at the Royal Academy. That was Henry Monro, the son of Dr Thomas Monro, Physician at Bedlam and an amateur and collector who ran the influential “academy” at his home in Adelphi Terrace. The other students included two of the daughters of Thomas Paytherus, a successful London apothecary, and a Ralph Irvine of Great Howland Street, who seems quite certainly to have been Hugh Irvine, the Scottish landscape painter and a member of the landowning Irvine family of Drum, who gave that address in the exhibition catalogue of the British Institution’s show in 1809. Another five students registered in February and July. This included another recently registered Royal Academy student, Henry Sass, whose name was entered into the Academy’s books in 1805, recommended for study at the British Museum by the architect and RA John Soane, and the artists William Skelton, Adam Buck, Samuel Drummond, and Maria Singleton. The mix of amateur and professional artists, young and old, and indeed the mix of male and female students (discussed below), continued throughout the register. View this illustration online Figure 5. Page 1, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiques, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of British Museum View this illustration online Figure 6. Page 2, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View this illustration online Figure 7. Page 3, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View this illustration online Figure 8. Page 4, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View this illustration online Figure 9. Page 5, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiquities, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View this illustration online Figure 10. Page 6, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiques, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum View this illustration online Figure 11. Page 7, Register of Students Admitted to the Gallery of Antiques, 1809–17. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Eight of the twelve students registered on 11 November were current Academy students; this proportion of Academy students to others continues throughout the record. But on the same day Planta noted to the standing committee that the Royal Academicians not having availed themselves of the Regulations in favour of their Pupils, et many applications having been made to him for leave to draw in the Gallery of Antiquities, he therefore submitted to the consideration of the Trustees, whether persons duly recommended might not be admitted in the same manner as in the Reading Room. 33 The matter was referred on to the general meeting. 34 On 9 December 1809 the new regulations were confirmed: Students who apply for Admission to the Gallery are to specify their descriptions et places of abode; and every one who applies, if not known to any Trustee or Officer, will produce a recommendation from some person of known et approved Character, particularly, if possible, from one of the Professors in the Royal Academy. 35 On 10 February 1810 it was instructed “That the Regulation respecting the mode of Admission of Students to the Gallery of Sculpture, as made at the last General Meeting be printed et hung up in the Hall, et at the entrance into the Gallery”. 36 The students admitted through 1810 were predominantly students at the Royal Academy, but also included the emigré natural history painter the Chevalier de Barde and Charles Muss, already established as an enamel and glass painter. The same pattern was apparent in subsequent years. Twenty-five students were registered in 1811 and again in 1812, before numbers dropped to twelve in 1813, eight in 1814, picking up with nineteen in 1815, and dropping to nine in 1816. The Museum’s original stipulation that no more than twenty Academy students be admitted each year did not, it appears, create any undue constraints on the flow of admissions. Far from having a monopoly over student admissions, as the Museum’s original regulations had anticipated, the Royal Academy had apparently been distinctly laissez-faire, doing little to try to push students forward to make up the numbers. The galleries the students gained access to comprised a sequence of rooms within the new wing added to accommodate the growing collection of sculptural antiquities, notably the Egyptian material taken from the French at Alexandria in 1801. The Egyptian antiquities dominated the galleries in terms of sheer size, although the visual centrepiece, whether viewed from the Egyptian hall or through the extended enfilade of rooms II–V where the Townley marbles were displayed, was the Discobolus (fig. 12). 37 The intimate scale of the galleries brought benefits, as German architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel noted on his visit of 1826: “Gallery of antiquities in very small rooms, lit from above, very restful and satisfying”. 38 But is also imposed a practical limit on the numbers of students who could attend. This changed when, in 1817, the Elgin marbles were put on display at Montagu House in spacious, if warehouse-like, temporary rooms newly annexed to the Townley Gallery (fig. 13). The spike of interest recorded in the register, with thirty-seven students listed under the heading “1817”, must reflect this new opportunity. The register terminates at this point, although the volume continued to be used to record students and artists admitted to the prints and drawings room (upstairs from the Townley Gallery) from 1815 through to the 1840s. 39 Figure 12. Anonymous, View through the Egyptian Room, in the Townley Gallery at the British Museum, 1820, watercolour, 36.1 x 44.3 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Figure 13. William Henry Prior, View in the old Elgin room at the British Museum, 1817, watercolour, 38.8 x 48.1 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum Some form of register must have been maintained, but appears not to have survived, and evidence of student attendance after 1817 is largely a matter of anecdotal record. 40 These later records also, incidentally, point to the variety of student practice in the galleries. While the Museum’s original stipulations made the presumption that admitted artists would be drawing (“each student shall provide himself with a Portfolio in which his Name is written, and with Paper as well as Chalk”), students evidently worked in different media as well. James Ward referred explicitly to “modelling” in the Museum in his diary entries of 1817; and George Scharf’s watercolour of the interior of the Townley Gallery from 1827 (fig. 14) shows a student sitting on boxes at work at an easel, with what appears to be a paintbrush in his right hand and a palette in his left. 41 Nonetheless, the Townley marbles had lost much of their allure. Jack Tupper, a rather unsuccessful artist associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, recalled his growing disillusion when studying at the British Museum in the late 1830s: “So the glory of the Townley Gallery faded: the grandeur of ‘Rome’ passed.” 42 Figure 14. George Scharf, View of the Townley Gallery, 1827, watercolour, 30.6 x 22 cm. Collection of the British Museum. Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum The material record of student activity in the Townley Gallery, in the form of images which seem definitely to derive from this special access to the Museum, is extremely scarce. 43 Whatever was produced in the Gallery was, after all, generally only for the purposes of study, and was unlikely to be retained or valued after the artist’s death. John Wood, a dedicated student at the Royal Academy from 1819, noted: “I am surprised at the comparatively few drawings I made in the Antique School at the Royal Academy, including my probationary one, not exceeding five, with an outline from the group of the Laocoon.—In the British Museum I made a chalk drawing from the statue of Libēra for Mr Sass”, that is, the Townley Venus, apparently drawn by Wood as an exercise for the well-known drawing teacher Henry Sass. 44 Student drawings after the antique must have been numerous, but that does not mean they were preserved. J. M. W. Turner had apparently attended the Plaster Academy over one hundred and thirty times up to the point he became an ARA, in 1799. 45 Yet even with a figure of his stature, whose studio contents were so completely preserved, and whose dedication to academic study was so notable, we have only a handful of drawings which appear certainly to derive from his time at the schools. 46 There are, doubtless, traces of study in the Museum to be uncovered in finished works of the period. Charles Lock Eastlake’s youthful figure of Brutus in his ambitious early work is evidently a direct lift from the marble of Actaeon attacked by his own hounds in the Townley collection; he had been admitted to draw from the antique in 1810 (figs. 15 and 16). But given the dissemination of classical prototypes (in graphic form as well as in plaster) it would be hard to insist that it was only access to the British Museum’s antiquities which made such allusion strictly possible. Figure 15. Charles Lock Eastlake, Brutus Exhorting the Romans to Revenge the Death of Lucretia, 1814, oil on canvas, 116.8 x 152.4 cm. Collection of the Wiliamson Art Gallery et Museum. Digital image courtesy of Wiliamson Art Gallery et Museum Figure 16. Anonymous, Marble figure of Actaeon attacked by his hounds, Roman 2nd Century, marble, 0.99 metres high. Collection of the British Museum (1805,0703.3). Digital image courtesy of Trustees of the British Museum The Register of Students as Social Record Of arguably greater interest than the question of the “influence” of access to the marbles on artistic practice is the evidence the register provides about the social profile of the students. This takes us to the heart of the question about the relationship between art education and the state. This was, in fact, a question raised at the time. The British Museum was in 1821 obliged to draw up a report on student and public attendance of the Museum, prompted by Thomas Barrett Lennard MP, who had entered a motion in the House of Commons seeking reassurance that this publicly funded institution was not “merely an establishment for the gratification of private favour or individual patronage”. 47 Lennard’s questions arose from a growing body of criticism directed against the Museum, which turned on the question of whether, as a publicly funded body, everyone could expect free access, or only a more specialist minority. As one critic jibed in 1822, “If the British Museum is open only to the friends of the librarians, et their friends’ friends, it ceases to be a public institution.” 48 The report elicited by Lennard’s question provided a detailed breakdown of admissions. With regard to providing access to draw from the antique, the Museum indulged the impression that it not only fulfilled but exceeded its commitment to admitting Royal Academy students: providing the figures for the period 1809–17 (based, surely, on the register under consideration here), the Museum’s report elaborated: The Statute for the admission of Students in the Gallery of Sculptures being among those required by the Order of the House of Commons, it may not be irrelevant to add, that the number of students who were admitted to make drawings in the Townley Gallery, from the year 1809 to the year 1817, amounted to an average of something more than twenty. 49 Notably, this summary gives the clear impression that the antiques were being opened to the students of the Royal Academy; such is, quite reasonably, presumed by Derek Cash in his recent, careful commentary on admission procedures at the Museum. 50 The report also pointed to recent changes: In 1818, immediately subsequent to the opening of the Elgin Room, two hundred and twenty-three students were admitted: in 1819, sixty-nine more were admitted, and in 1820, sixty-three. It asserted that, now: Every student sent by the keeper of the Royal Academy, upon the production of his academy ticket, is admitted without further reference to make his drawings: and other persons are occasionally admitted, on simply exhibiting the proofs of their qualification. According to the present practice, each student has leave to exhibit his finished drawing, from any article in the Gallery, for one week after its completion. 51 Thus stated, the Museum appeared to be fulfilling its public duty in providing free access to appropriately qualified students. The bare figures might seem to indicate a steady rise in student interest, which could be taken as a marker of quantitative success. In one of the earliest historical accounts of the Museum, Edward Edwards implied that the statistical record was evidence of how Planta had progressively extended access to the Museum: “From the outset he administered the Reading Room itself with much liberality... As respects the Department of Antiquities, the students admitted to draw were in 1809 less than twenty; in 1818 two hundred and twenty-three were admitted.” 52 At that level of abstraction the information appears beyond dispute. What I test in the remainder of this essay is how these statements stand up to the more individualized account of student activity represented in the biographical record. That record does include the most assiduous students of the Royal Academy of the time, who certainly did not need the kind of “constant inspection” Farington worried about, the kind of student anticipated by the Museum’s regulations. Among these we could count Henry Monro, Samuel F. B. Morse and Charles Robert Leslie, William Brockedon, Henry Perronet Briggs, William Etty and Henry Sass, the last two famously dedicated as students of the Academy. 53 However, the full biographical survey of the register points to a more complicated situation. Of the one hundred and sixty-five individuals named in the register, it has proved possible to establish biographical profiles for the majority: details are most lacking for about twenty-four of the attending students, although in most of those cases we can conjecture at least some biographical context. 54 Slightly less than half the total number of individuals listed were recorded as students at the Academy at a date which makes it reasonably likely that they were actively attending the schools when they were admitted to the British Museum (eighty in all). 55 Around twenty more established male artists attended, and several of these were formerly students at the Royal Academy, including John Samuel Agar, John Flaxman, and James Ward. Whether they were pursuing their private studies or undertaking more specific professional tasks is not always clear. There are, certainly, a few cases where the latter appears to be the case. When William Henry Hunt was admitted it was explicitly for the purpose of preparing drawings for a publication; both William Skelton and John Samuel Agar were probably admitted in connection with his ongoing work engraving from sculptures at the Museum. It seems likely that the “Students to Mr Meyer”, that is, the engraver and print publisher Henry Meyer, were engaged on professional business, as was Thomas Welsh, recommended by the publisher Thomas Woodfall. More striking, though, is the determined presence in the register of artists who did not pursue the art professionally or full-time, including the relatively well-documented Chevalier de Barde, Arthur Champernowne, John Disney, Hugh Irvine (assuming he is the “Ralph Irvine” who appears in the register), Robert Batty, Edward John Burrow, Edward Vernon Utterson, and a number of others designated as “Esq”, so clearly from the polite classes, even if their exact identities remain unclear. There are at least fifteen male individuals who appear to come from backgrounds sufficiently socially elevated or affluent enough to suggest they were taking an amateur interest rather than pursuing serious studies. 56 Enough of these men are known to have practised art to make it quite certain that they were not, at least generally, being admitted to consult the collection without intending to draw, and John Disney was admitted explicitly “to make a sketch of a Mausoleum”. Notable, in this regard, are the large number of women admitted to study, most of whom are or appear to be from polite backgrounds, including the Paytherus sisters, Elizabeth Appleton, Louisa Champernowne, Miss Carmichael, Elizabeth Batty, Miss Home, Lucy Adams, Jane Gurney, Maria Singleton, and Anne Seymour Damer. 57 Some were established artists, or became so; others were pursuing art as a polite accomplishment, or at least we can assume so given their family circumstances; in other cases the situation is by no means clear-cut. All were admitted without special comment or notice despite the issues of propriety around the drawing of even the sculptured nude figure by female artists which crops up in contemporary commentaries. 58 This may be all the more striking given the relative paucity of women admitted as readers at the British Museum library over the same period: only three out of the three hundred and thirty-three admitted between 1770 and 1810, as surveyed by Derek Cash. 59 On this evidence, the field of artistic study was, in the most literal terms, relatively female compared even to the study of literature or history. This points to an under-explored context for the inculcation of the students into life as an artist: the “feminine” sphere of the home, and of siblings (whether brothers or sisters) alongside parents. We have, surely, barely begun to consider the family as the context in which artists are made as much as, if not more than, the studio and academy. Nor is it straightforward to assume that those individuals who had enrolled as Academy students also had expectations about the professional pursuit of the art. Among the Academy students who attended, a large proportion, including a majority of the most assiduous, were from polite social backgrounds, with fathers in the professions, or who were office-holders or from the landowning classes, including Henry Monro, John Penwarne, Richard Cook, William Drury Shaw, Charles Lock Eastlake, Henry Perronet Briggs, Alexander Huey, Thomas Cooley, Samuel F. B. Morse, Andrew Geddes, John Zephaniah Bell, Thomas Christmas, John Owen Tudor, and Samuel Hancock. Others were the sons of elite tradesmen, highly specialized craftsmen or merchants, including William Brockedon, Seymour Kirkup, Charles Robert Leslie, Gideon Manton, and John Zephaniah Bell. These were not, either, predestined to be artists, by simply following in their father’s footsteps, but were opting in to an artistic career, having had, usually, a decent education, and access to material and social support. In many cases their brothers, who shared the same upbringing, became doctors or lawyers, property-owners or merchants. A number of individual students gave up the practice of the art—Thomas Christmas became a landowner in Willisden; Richard Cook was able to retire, wealthy; Seymour Kirkup languished in Rome dabbling in the arts; William Brockedon became more engaged as an inventor and traveller; while others were never really obliged to draw an income from their practice but pursued art as a pastime. It remains the case that there was a high level of occupational inheritance; perhaps thirty-eight of the students (23 percent) had fathers who were architects, engravers or artists in painting or sculpture. Many were the sons of established artists (including Rossi, Bone, Stothard, Ward, Dawe, Wyatt, Bonomi, and the brothers Stephanoff); a few were part of “dynasties” encompassing generations engaged in the arts (Wyatt, Wyon, Hakewill, Landseer). Even then, there is the case of John Morton (noted confusingly as “John Martin” in the register, although the address given provides for a firm identification), who, although the son of an artist and a student at the Royal Academy, exhibited personally as an “Honorary”, suggesting he was not professionally engaged. That his brother became quite prominent as a physician suggests that this was a quite emphatically middle-class family setting. There are several points to derive from this information, even as lightly sketched as it necessarily is here. Firstly, it is noteworthy that while female students were a minority they were a definite presence; in this regard, the British Museum was like other spaces of artistic study, notably the painting school at the British Institution. 60 The observation is upheld by the contemporary records of student attendance at the British Institution or of copyists at Dulwich Picture Gallery, and should serve as a reminder that the Royal Academy was exceptional among the spaces of art education in being so entirely male. 61 Secondly, it is striking how few came from humble backgrounds unconnected with the art world; really, only a handful, which would include John Tannock (son of a shoemaker in Scotland), William Etty (son of a baker in York), John Jackson (son of a village tailor in Yorkshire), and William Henry Hunt (whose father was a London tin-plate worker). The circumstances which led to their gaining access to the London art world are, therefore, noteworthy, as a third and most important point would be to emphasize how emphatically metropolitan, polite, and middle-class was the British Museum as a site of artistic education. The Townley Gallery on student days was a place where working artists, students, amateurs, and patrons mingled. 62 While the Royal Academy is conventionally seen as an engine of professionalization, it is striking that the social affiliations of artists point to strong, arguably increasingly strong, affiliations between amateurs and professionals—to the extent that our terminology around this point needs to be reconsidered. Looking over the biographical survey, the kind of social suffering or precariousness typically associated with artists’ lives, perhaps especially during the era of industrialization, is markedly absent. When it does appear—most strikingly with the grim life-stories of the siblings Jabez and Sarah Newell—they are among the minority of students from backgrounds neither closely connected with the art world, nor comfortably middle-class or genteel. The examples of stellar social ascent and achievement on the basis of talent alone are real; but they are the exceptions rather than representative. The relative weight of personal and Academic connection is exposed in the record of the provision of references for students. Of the forty-three referees recorded between 1809 and 1816, less than half (nineteen) were Academicians. One of those was Henry Fuseli, who as Keeper of the Academy Schools through this period must have provided references as part of his duties, and accordingly provided the second largest number of recommendations (nineteen; all but one students at the RA). The lead in providing references was taken by William Alexander, artist and keeper of prints and drawings (twenty-two; mainly but not exclusively students). Overall, officers and Trustees were most active in admitting students. Most only ever provided a reference for one, or at most a handful, and the jibe about “friends of the librarians, et their friends’ friends” contains some truth. But the same point applies to the artists, most of whom only ever recommended one student, often known personally to them already: David Wilkie recommended his assistant, John Zephaniah Bell; George Dawe provided a reference for his own son; Thomas Lawrence for his pupil William Etty; Thomas Phillips and John Flaxman, the relatives of fellow Academicians; Thomas Stothard, the son of a neighbour (Kempe). Geography, too, seems to have played a role, with referees often coming from the same area as their favoured student: Francis Horner recommended John Henning, whom he had known in their native Scotland; the Scottish George Chalmers recommended James Tannock; Arthur Champernowne put forward William Brockedon, his protégé, whom he had supported in moving from Devon to the metropolis to pursue art; James Northcote recommended two fellow West Countrymen; Benjamin West, notorious for giving special assistance to visiting American students, two such (Leslie and Morse). If the admission procedure could be interpreted as an opportunity for the Academy to assert a corporate, professionalized identity, based purely on merit, we can nonetheless detect underlying patterns of kinship, personal, social, and geographical affiliation. Simply stated, even if study at the Museum was free and freely available, any given student would still need to access a letter of reference and the time to go to the Museum (as well as the material means to acquire the portfolio, paper, and chalks anticipated by the Trustees). The opening hours for students militated against anyone attending who had to use these daylight hours for work, a point which was made quite often with reference to the Reading Room through this period. 63 The most assiduous students needed the time free to study at the British Museum, something that well-off students like Eastlake, Brockedon, Briggs, and Monro had readily available to them. Their peers at the Academy who were obliged to work during the day to make a living, or who were serving apprenticeships, would simply not be able to make the hours available at the Museum. 64 The ambitious painter Thomas Christmas was free to attend the Museum, having dedicated himself to study after working as a clerk, but his brother, Charles George Christmas, who held down a job in the Audit Office, would have struggled; accounting for his studies at the Academy, he had told Farington, “He shd. continue to do the business at the Auditors' Office, Whitehall, which occupies Him from 10 oClock till 3 each day, as it will keep His mind free from anxiety abt. His means of living and leave Him with a feeling of independence.” 65 Given that the students were admitted to the Townley Gallery from noon to 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and that the Trustees continued to prohibit the use of artificial lights in the Museum, there was scarcely any real possibility of Charles George Christmas attending, although he also enjoyed the comforts of a middle-class home background (their father was a Bank of England official). With the ascent of utilitarian criticism, visitor levels were turned to anew as a measure of the institution’s fulfilment or failure to fulfil its “national” purpose. On strictly statistical terms, the Museum seemed to be successful at providing opportunities for art students. Only under the closest scrutiny, with attention to the “micro-history” of individual lives, does that illusion start to be tested. It is, though, at this “micro” level that we can apprehend the characteristic paradox of an emerging cultural modernity, one that is still with us. Yet the point, to follow Rancière, is not to see the past ascent of a present situation, but to force ourselves to feel uneasy with that sense of recognition and its tacit model of history. The evidence is that free access to culture and the (circumscribed) promotion of equality were combined with socially restrictive patterns of preferment. 66 Study at the British Museum may have been free, and freely available to properly qualified students of the Academy, but you needed to be in the right place at the right time, to have the time available, and, indeed, to know or at least be able to access the right people, to get in. This point may seem unduly sociological or even tendentious, but overlooking it involves a denial of the socially invested nature of time, specifically, of the scholastic time (given over to study or contemplation or to creation) mythically removed from the influence of social forces. 67 The acts of nomination which saw certain men and women given special access to the Townley Gallery, acts so seemingly trivial in themselves involving perhaps only an exchange of words and a scribbled note, were microcosmic manifestations of social authority of the most far-reaching kind. 68 When Robert Butt, the principal manager of the bronze and porcelain department at Messrs Howell et James, Regent-street, was examined by the Select Committee on Arts and Manufactures in 1835, he noted: The process by which a knowledge of the arts of painting and sculpture is now acquired is this: a young man receives tuition from a private master; he draws from the antique at the British Museum for a certain time, and when he shows that he has sufficient talent to qualify him for a student of the Royal Academy he is admitted; but the expense of acquiring that preliminary knowledge is considerable, and the young artist must also be maintained by his relatives during the time that he is acquiring it. 69 The following year, in a further parliamentary committee, this time dedicated to testing out the British Museum’s claims to public status, James Crabb, “House Decorator” of Shoe Lane, Fleet Street, was asked, “Did you ever obtain any assistance, by means of casts, from the better specimens of sculpture in the Museum or elsewhere?”, to which he replied, “I should derive assistance from them if I had the opportunity, but I have not time.” 70 Considered sociologically, as the personal experience of these men seems to have obliged them to do, time was certainly of the essence. The prevalence of students with secure middle-class backgrounds at the British Museum might, then, be taken as evidence of an early phase in the “middle-classification” of art practice, the awkward but evocative phrase used recently by Angela McRobbie in her eye-opening observations of careers in the present-day creative industries. 71 Whatever emphasis may be put on equality of access to educational opportunity, however rigorously fairminded and anonymized the tests and measures involved in admission procedures, without forms of positive support to counterbalance or actively adjust social inequalities, those same inequalities will tend to be reproduced, homologically, in the educational field. This is patently not a simple matter of social and material advantage underpinning artistic enterprise in a wholly predictable way; such would be a nonsense, in light of the many students who did not enjoy such advantages. Instead, it is the very flexibility built into the exclusionary processes of the emerging cultural field which is significant—the possibility that talented students could get access, gain reputation, achieve success, without being limited by their social origins. “Freeing” art education allowed for the expression of personal preferences or dispositions at an individual level, which at an aggregate level reproduced larger power relations. Exposing that ultimately exclusionary process, which may be marked only in small differences, in personal dispositions and behaviours, in the personal choices and decisions which are neither truly personal nor really pure as choices, is no small task. This essay, and the biographical survey accompanying it, with its details of a multitude of student lives otherwise scarcely recorded or recognized, is intended as a small contribution to that larger project, with the excess of data presented here perhaps imposing, in itself, new requirements on our understanding of the history of art education. Appendix Regulations for the admission of students of the Royal Academy to the Townley Gallery at the British Museum (May 1808): [7] That the students of the Royal Academy be admitted into the Gallery of Antiquities upon every Friday in the months of April, May, June, et July, et every day in the months of August and September, from the hours of twelve to four, except on Wednesdays and Saturdays the Students, not exceeding twenty at a time, to be admitted by a Ticket from the President and Council of the Royal Academy, signed by their Secretary. [8] The better to maintain decorum among the Students, a person properly qualified shall be nominated by the Royal Academy from their own body, who shall attend during the hours of study; the name of such person to be signified in writing, from time to time, by the Secretary of the Royal Academy to the Principal Librarian of the British Museum. [9] That the members of the Royal Academy have access to the Gallery of Antiquities at all admissible times, upon application to the Principal Librarian or the Senior under Librarian in Residence [10] That on the Fridays in April, May June et July one of the officers of the Department of Antiquities do attend in the Gallery of Antiquities according to Rotation in discharge of his ordinary Duty. [11] That in the months of August et September some one of the several Officers of the Museum, then in Residence, do (according to a Rotation to be agreed upon by themselves et confirmed by the Principal Librarian) attend on the Gallery upon the Days for the admission of Students. [12] That the attendants in the Department of Antiquities be always present in the Gallery during the times when the Students are admitted. 72 Footnotes The original register is held in the Keeper’s Office, Department of Prints and Drawings, British Museum. Patrick Joyce, “Speaking up for the State” (2014), https://www.opendemocracy.net/ourkingdom/ patrick-joyce/ speaking-up-for-state. These points are made in light of a larger research project, which has given rise to the present study: a biographical survey of all the students of paintings, sculpture, and engraving who were active at the Royal Academy schools between its foundation in 1769 and 1830 together with a monograph, provisionally titled The Talent of Success: The Royal Academy Schools in the Age of Turner, Blake and Constable, c. 1770–1840 (forthcoming). This fuller survey indicates several important shifts over these decades, including a fundamantal shift in the proportion of students coming from family backgrounds in the arts and design-oriented trades, in comparison with those coming from professional and genteel backgrounds. It exposes, specifically, a new group whose fathers were engaged as “officers”, in the civil service or bureaucratic roles, who in turn had a disproportionate representation within the developing art establishment (as Academicians, or as officials in other cultural bodies). The term “art world”, as designating a space of co-production, stems from Howard S. Becker, Art Worlds (1984), rev. edn (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008). As deployed here, it is closer in conception to the sociological “field” as detailed by Pierre Bourdieu across a succession of influential works. Notable among these, for present purposes because of its methodological statement about the homological analysis of the world (field) of art in relation to the field of power, is The Rules of Art, trans. Susan Emanuel (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996), esp. 214–15. See, notably, the chapter on “Workers in Art” in Samuel Smiles’s Self-Help, first published 1859 with numerous further editions. On the self-motivated artist as the model for all forms of work, see Angela McRobbie, Be Creative: Making a Living in the New Culture Industries (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016), esp. 70–76. Holger Hoock, The King’s Artists: The Royal Academy of Arts and the Politics of British Culture, 1760–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) and Hoock, “The British State and the Anglo-French Wars Over Antiquities, 1798–1858”, Historical Journal 50, no. 1 (2007): 49–72. Patrick Joyce, The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the Modern City (London: Verso, 2003) and Joyce, The State of Freedom: A Social History of the British State Since 1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013); also his “What is the Social in Social History?”, Past and Present 206, no. 1 (2010): 213–48. On this Foucauldian framing of art education and creative production within liberalism, see McRobbie, Be Creative, 71–76 and passim. Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (1944; Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2002); Michel Foucault, The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1978–1979, ed. Michel Sennelert, trans. Graham Burchell (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008); Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello, The New Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Gregory Elliott (London and New York: Verso, 2007); Pierre Bourdieu, On the State: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1989–1992, ed. Patrick Champagne and others, trans. David Fernbach (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2014). See Edward Higgs, Identifying the English: A History of Personal Identification 1500 to the Present (London: Bloomsbury, 2011), 97–119. Higgs’s account is, essentially, positive about the liberties and rights secured by this rising documentation. The position taken here is more determinedly Foucauldian. For the foundational role of statistics in “liberalisation”, and the hidden affinities between the liberal and the totalitarian, see Michael Foucault, “Society Must Be Defended”: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1975–76, ed. Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana, trans. David Macey (London: Penguin, 2004). Foucault, Birth of Biopolitics, 69. A biographical dictionary of Royal Academy students from 1769–1830. See note 3, above. Jacques Rancière, The Method of Equality: Interviews with Laurent Jeanpierre and Dork Zabunyan, trans. Julie Rose (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016), 108. Neil Chambers, Joseph Banks and the British Museum: The World of Collecting, 1770–1830 (London: Routledge, 2007), 107. The register is mentioned in the notice of Seymour Kirkup in G. E. Bentley, Blake Records, 2nd edn (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 2004), 289n. Kirkup was an unusually assiduous student at the Museum, admitted in 1809 and renewing his ticket through to 1812. The reference in Bentley appears to be the only published reference to the register. The admission of the Paytherus sisters to draw at the Museum is noted by James Hamilton in his London Lights: The Minds that Moved the City that Shook the World, 1805–51 (London: John Murray, 2007), 72, although with reference to the early Reading Room register (marked “1795”) in the British Museum Central Archive, rather than the volume in Prints and Drawings. See J. T. Smith, Nollekens and his Times, 2 vols., 2nd edn (London: Henry Colburn, 1829), 1: 242. Viccy Coltman, Classical Sculpture and the Culture of Collecting in Britain since 1760 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 242–44. See B. F. Cook, The Townley Marbles (London: British Museum Press, 1985) and Ian Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes in the Sculpture Galleries of the British Museum, 1800–1939 (London: British Museum Press, 1992). Chambers, Joseph Banks, Derek Cash, “Access to Museum Culture: The British Museum from 1753 to 1836”, British Museum Occasional Papers 133 (2002), 68. http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/publications/research_publications_series/2002/ access_to_museum_culture.aspx. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/1/5/1029–30. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, CM/4/50–52. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, CM/4/59. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/1/5/1034. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/1/5/1043–144. Cf. “Chapter III: Concerning the Admission into the British Museum”, in Acts and Votes of Parliament, Statutes and Rules, and Synopsis of the Contents of the British Museum (London, 1808), 15–16. Joseph Farington, The Diary of Joseph Farington, ed. Kenneth Garlick, Angus Macintyre, and others, 17 vols. (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 1978–98), 9: 3284. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, GM/2/366, 370. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, GM/2/371. Library of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, GM/2/372–73. Diary of Joseph Farington, 9: 3313. Diary of Joseph Farington, 9: 3317. Diary of Joseph Farington, 9: 3284. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/3/9/2426. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/3/9/2428. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/1/5/1069. The British Museum, Central Archive, C/1/5/1070. The arrangement of the galleries was first detailed in a written description provided by Westmacott for Prince Hoare’s Academic Annals (London, 1809) and in Taylor Combe’s A Description of the Ancient Marbles in the British Museum, 3 vols. (London, 1812–17). See Cook, Townley Marbles, 59–61. Karl Friedrich Schinkel, “The English Journey”: Journal of a Visit to France and Britain in 1826, ed. David Bindman and Gottfried Riemann (New Haven, CT, and London, 1993), 74. The record of admissions to view prints and drawings must have arisen from the new regulations issued by the Trustees in November 1814; see, Antony Griffiths, “The Department of Prints and Drawings during the First Century of the British Museum”, The Burlington Magazine 136, 1097 (1994): 536. In March 1817 the student artist William Bewick wrote to his brother: “I last Monday set my name down as a student in the British Museum.” See Thomas Landseer, ed., Life and Letters of William Bewick (Artist), 2 vols. (London: Hurst and Blackett, 1871), 1: 37. Edward Nygren, “James Ward, RA (1769–1859): Papers and Patrons”, Walpole Society 75 (2013): 16. Jack Tupper, “Extracts from the Diary of an Artist. No.V”, The Crayon, 12 December 1855, 368. An album of drawings of the Townley Marbles in the British Museum (2010,5006.1877.1–40) appears to have been collected by Townley himself, so dates to before the installation of the marbles at the Museum. The drawings serve as records of the objects rather than student exercises. The drawings by John Samuel Agar in the Getty Research Institute are evidently preparatory for the prints published in Specimens of Antient Sculpture. BL Add MS 37,163 f.106. This and other figures in the Townley collection could also be found as casts in the Royal Academy’s plaster schools, so even if Wood’s drawing, for example, could be traced, it could not definitively be said to be made in the Townley Gallery. See Ann Chumbley and Ian Warrell, Turner and the Human Figure: Studies of Contemporary Life, exh. cat. (London: Tate Gallery, 1989), 12–13. Eric Shanes, Young Mr Turner: The First Forty Years, 1775–1815 (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 2016), 33–34. Hansard (House of Commons), 16 February 1821, c.724 (online at http://hansard.millbanksystems.com/commons/ 1821/feb/16/british-museum). See Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 197–225 for a full account of public discussions around this date. Quoted in Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 208. British Museum: Returns to two Orders of the Honourable House of Commons, dated 16 th February 1821, House of Commons, 23 February 1821, 2. Cash “Access to Museum Culture”, 71. Quoted in The Literary Chronicle, 17 March 1821, 168. Edward Edwards, Lives of the Founders of the British Museum (London: Trübner and Co., 1870), Acts and Votes of Parliament, Statutes and Rules, and Synopsis of the Contents of the British Museum. London, 1808. Becker, Howard S. Art Worlds (1984). Rev. edn. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008. Bentley, G. E. Blake Records. 2nd edn. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004. Boltanski, Luc, and Eve Chiapello. The New Spirit of Capitalism. Trans. Gregory Elliott. London and New York: Verso, 2007. See Martin Myrone, “Something too Academical: The Problem with Etty”, in William Etty: Art and Controversy, ed. Sarah Burnage, Mark Hallett, and Laura Turner (London: Philip Wilson, 2011), 47–59. The barest and most conjectural biographies include those for William Carr of New Broad Street; W. W. Torrington; Edward Thomson; Richard Moses; and Mr Lewer. Information is most notably lacking for the trio of Miss Cowper, Miss Moula, and Mr Turner of Gower Street; William Hamilton of Stafford Place; William Irving of Montague Street; Thomas Williams of Hatton Garden; Daniel Jones; M. Hatley of Albermarle Street; Miss Edgar; Miss Carmichael of Granville Street; Mr Atwood; Mr Higgins of Norfolk Street; George Pisey of Castle Street; Charles White of George Street; Robert Walter Page of Wigmore Street; Henry A. Matthew; Thomas Welsh; and John Hall. Students were entered as “probationers” for a period of three months (which might be extended), and once registered could attend the Schools for a period of ten years. Ralph Irvine; Arthur Champernowne; the Chevalier de Barde; John Disney; John Campbell; Edward Utterson; John Lambert; Robert Batty; Alexander Huey; Richard Thomson; Charles Toplis; John Frederick Williams; Edward Burrows; William Carr; W. W. Torrington. Jane Landseer; Janet Ross; Georgiana Ross; the two Misses Paytherus; H. Edgar; Maria Singleton; Elizabeth Appleton; Louisa Champernowne; Miss Carmichael; Elizabeth Batty; Frances Edwards; Eliza Kempe; Ann Damer; Miss Cowper; Miss Moula; Miss Trotter; Miss Adams; Sarah Newell; Emma Kendrick; Jane Gurney. Gentleman’s Magazine (1820) and A Trip to Paris in August and September (1815), quoted by William T. Whitley in his Art in England, 1800–1820 (London: Medici Society, 1928), 263, as evidence that “It was still thought improper for women to study from such figures” as the Apollo Belvedere. Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 113. As the American Samuel F. B. Morse (a student at the Royal Academy and the British Museum) noted in 1811: “I was surprised on entering the gallery of paintings at the British Institution, at seeing eight or ten ladies as well as gentlemen, with their easels and palettes and oil colours, employed in copying some of the pictures. You can see from this circumstance in what estimation the art is held here, since ladies of distinction, without hesitation or reserve, are willing to draw in public.” See Edward Lind Morse, ed., Samuel F. B. Morse: His Letters and Journals, 2 vols. (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1914), 1: 45. Lists of students admitted to copy at the British Institution appear in the Directors’ minutes, NAL RC V 12–14, and in contemporary press reports. Individuals admitted to copy at Dulwich Picture Gallery were routinely listed in the “Bourgeois Book of Regulations” from 1820; photocopies and notes at Dulwich Picture Gallery, C1 and H3. This is expecially clearly expressed in James Ward’s diary notes on his visits in 1817, meeting there the artists William Skelton, Joseph Clover, Henry Fuseli, and William Long, but also the gentlemen collectors and scholars William Lock, Edward Utterson, and Francis Douce (Nygren, “James Ward”). See Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 217 and passim. Although the timing of the Academy’s evening classes might seem to be more accommodating, even this may have been challenging. The master of Richard Westall, later a watercolour painter, “permitted him to draw at the Royal Academy, in the evenings; but for that indulgence he worked a corresponding number of hours in the morning”. Gentleman's Magazine, February 1837, 213. Diary of Joseph Farington, 4: 4783. On educational tests as linking “macro” and “micro”, “both sectoral mechanisms or unique situations and societal arrangements”, see Boltanski and Chiapello, New Spirit of Capitalism, 32. See Pierre Bourdieu, Pascalian Meditations, trans. Richard Nice (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000). “Acts of nomination, from the most trivial acts of bureaucracy, like the issuing of an identity card, or a sickness or disablement certification, to the most solemn, which consecrate nobilities, lead, in a kind of infinite regress, to the realization of God on earth, the State, which guarantees, in the last resort, the infinite series of acts of authority certifying by delegation the validity of the certificates of legitimate existence”, Bourdieu, Pascalian Meditations, 245. The potentially trivial nature of the acts of nomination involved in gaining access to the British Museum is highlighted in Joseph Planta’s own account of providing recommendations (for the Reading Room) often only on the basis of casual conversations. See Cash, “Access to Museum Culture”, 207. Report of the Select Committee on Arts and Manufactures, House of Commons, 4 September 1835, 40. Report of the Select Committee on the British Museum, quoted in Edward Edwards, Remarks on the “Minutes of Evidence” Taken before the Select Committee on the British Museum, 2nd edn (London [1839]), 14. McRobbie, Be Creative. The British Museum, Central Archive, Bourdieu, Pierre. On the State: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1989–1992. Ed. Patrick Champagne and others. Trans. David Fernbach. Cambridge: Polity Press Pascalian Meditations. Trans. Richard Nice. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press,The Rules of Art. Trans. Susan Emanuel. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996. Cash, Derek. “Access to Museum Culture: The British Museum from 1753 to 1836.” British Museum Occasional Papers 133 (2002) http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/publications/research_publications_series/2002/ access_to_museum_culture.aspx Chambers, Neil. Joseph Banks and the British Museum: The World of Collecting, 1770–1830. London: Routledge, 2007. Chumbley, Ann, and Ian Warrell. Turner and the Human Figure: Studies of Contemporary Life. London: Tate Gallery, 1989. Coltman, Viccy. Classical Sculpture and the Culture of Collecting in Britain since 1760. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Combe, Taylor. A Description of the Ancient Marbles in the British Museum, 3 vols. London, 1812–17. Cook, B. F. The Townley Marbles. London: British Museum Press, 1985. Edwards, Edward. Lives of the Founders of the British Museum. London: Trübner Remarks on the “Minutes of Evidence” Taken before the Select Committee on the British Museum. 2nd edn. London [1839]. Farington, Joseph. The Diary of Joseph Farington. Ed. Kenneth Garlick, Angus Macintyre and others. 17 vols. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1978–98. Foucault, Michel. The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1978–1979. Ed. Michel Sennelert. Trans. Graham Burchell. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan Society Must Be Defended”: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1975–76. Ed. Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana. Trans. David Macey. London: Penguin, 2004. Griffiths, Antony. “The Department of Prints and Drawings during the First Century of the British Museum.” The Burlington Magazine 136 (1994): 531–44. Hamilton, James. London Lights: The Minds that Moved the City that Shook the World, 1805–51. London: John Murray, 2007. Higgs, Edward. Identifying the English: A History of Personal Identification 1500 to the Present. London: Bloomsbury, 2011. Hoock, Holger. “The British State and the Anglo-French Wars Over Antiquities, 1798–1858.” Historical Journal The King’s Artists: The Royal Academy of Arts and the Politics of British Culture, 1760–1840. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Jenkins, Ian. Archaeologists and Aesthetes in the Sculpture Galleries of the British Museum, 1800–1939. London: British Museum Press, 1992. Joyce, Patrick. The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the Modern City. London: Verso Speaking up for the State” (2014). https://www.opendemocracy.net/ourkingdom/patrick-joyce/speaking-up-for-state – The State of Freedom: A Social History of the British State Since 1800. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, What is the Social in Social History?” Past and Present 206, no. 1 (2010): 213–48. Landseer, Thomas, ed. Life and Letters of William Bewick (Artist). 2 vols. London: Hurst and Blackett, 1871. McRobbie, Angela. Be Creative: Making a Living in the New Culture Industries. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016. Morse, Edward Lind, ed. Samuel F. B. Morse: His Letters and Journals. 2 vols. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1914 Myrone, Martin. “Something too Academical: The Problem with Etty.” In William Etty: Art and Controversy, ed. Sarah Burnage, Mark Hallett, and Laura Turner. London: Philip Wilson, 2011, 47–59. Nygren, Edward. “James Ward, RA (1769–1859): Papers and Patrons.” Walpole Society 75 (2013). Polanyi, Karl. The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (1944). Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2002. Rancière, Jacques. The Method of Equality: Interviews with Laurent Jeanpierre and Dork Zabunyan. Trans. Julie Rose. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2016. Schinkel, Karl Friedrich. “English Journey”: Journal of a Visit to France and Britain in 1826. Ed. David Bindman and Gottfried Riemann. New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 1993. Shanes, Eric. Young Mr Turner: The First Forty Years, 1775–1815. New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press, 2016. Smiles, Samuel. Self-Help: With Illustrations of Character and Conduct. London: John Murray, 1859. Smith, J. T. Nollekens and his Times, 2 vols. 2nd edn, London: Henry Colburn, 1829. Tupper, Jack. “Extracts from the Diary of an Artist. No.V.” The Crayon, 12 December 1855. Whitley, William T. Art in England, 1800–1820. London: Medici Society, 1928.  drawn from the antique Artists et the Classical Ideal Adriano Aymonino and Anne Varick Lauder with contributions from Eloisa Dodero, Rachel Hapoienu, Ian Jenkins, Jerzy Kierkuc ́-Bielin ́ski, Michiel C. Plomp and Jonathan Yarker sir john soane’s museum 2015  Drawn from the Antique: Artists et the Classical Ideal An exhibition at Teylers Museum, Haarlem 11 March – 31 May 2015 Sir John Soane’s Museum, London 25 June –26 September 2015 This catalogue has been generously supported by the Tavolozza Foundation and the Wolfgang Ratjen Stiftung, Vaduz This exhibition has been made possible through the support of the Government Indemnity Scheme Sir John Soane’s Museum is a non-departmental body and is funded by the Department for Culture, Media and Sport Published in Great Britain 2015 Sir John Soane’s Museum, 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, wc2a 3bp Tel: 020 7405 2107 www.soane.org Reg. Charity No. 313609 Text the listed authors All photographs as listed on pages 254–56 ISBN (paperback): 978-0-9573398-9-7 ISBN (hardback): 978-0-9932041-0-4 Designed and typeset in Albertina and Requiem by Libanus Press Ltd, Marlborough Printed by Hampton Printing (Bristol) Ltd Frontispiece: Michael Sweerts, A Painter’s Studio (detail), c. 1648–50, cat. 12 (p. 134) Page 10: Hendrick Goltzius, The Apollo Belvedere (detail), 1591, cat. 6 (p. 107) Page 78: William Pether, An Academy (detail), 1772, cat. 24 (p. 189) Contents Preface 6 Abraham Thomas Introduction 7 Adriano Aymonino and Anne Varick Lauder Acknowledgements 9 Ideal Beauty and the Canon in Classical Antiquity 11 Ian Jenkins and Adriano Aymonino ‘Nature Perfected’: The Theory et Practice of 15 Drawing after the Antique Adriano Aymonino  Catalogue Bibliography Photo credits 79 232 254  - authors of catalogue entries AA: Adriano Aymonino: AVL: Anne Varick Lauder: Eloisa Dodero: cats 9, 22 JK-B: Jerzy Kierkuc ́-Bielin ́ski: cat. 29 JY: Jonathan Yarker: cats 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 MP: Michiel C. Plomp: cats 6, 7, 8, 11, 31, 32 RH: Rachel Hapoienu: cats 1, 2, 4, 33. The exhibition ‘Drawn from the antique: artists and the classical ideal” examines the crucial role played by antique sculpture in artistic education and practice, a theme which lies at the heart of the conception of Sir John Soane’s Museum. As a student at the Royal Academy, Soane wins a travelling scholarship to embark on the grand tour. This forms the basis of a classical education which would prove to be an enduring influence on his subsequent career as one of the most important architects of the Regency period. The drawings, paintings and prints selected for the exhibition ‘Drawn from the antique – artists and the classical ideal’ offer a glimpse into an intriguing world of academies, artists’ workshops and private studios, each populated with carefully chosen examples of statuary which provide compelling snapshots of classical antiquity. Similarly, within his house and museum at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Soane creates his own bespoke arrangements of ancient statuary and architectural fragments, providing educational tools which defined an informal curriculum for both his Royal-Academy students and the apprenticed pupils working within his on-site architectural office. In fact, one could consider much of Soane’s museum as an extended series of studio spaces, intended for academic improvement and personal inspiration. The concept of the exhibition ‘Drawn from the antique – artists and the classical ideal’ evolves from a series of conversations between Timothy Knox, and the collector K. Bellinger, to see if there may be some way to showcase the Bellinger extraordinary and unique collection of art-works *depicting* artists’ studios. We extend a special thanks to K. Bellinger, not only for her generosity in allowing us to exhibit these wonderful pieces but also for all the hard work in securing some stunning loans from other collections. We are grateful for the loans from the Getty Collection, the Rijksmuseum, the Kunsthaus Zürich, the Kunstbibliothek in Berlin. For the UK loans we would like to thank The British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Royal Academy of Arts and the Courtauld Gallery. “Drawn From The Antique: Artists and The Classical Ideal” is a collaboration between The Soane Collection and the Teylers Collection, and I am grateful to M. Scharloo for agreeing to host the first leg of this exhibition, and also to Michiel Plomp, for facilitating the exhibition in Haarlem. It feels rather appropriate that the founders of our two institutions, Teyler and Soane, were both collectors with singular visions of how their collections should provide a resource for academic study and creative practice. This exhibition would not have been possible without the fantastic curatorial team that K. Bellinger assembled: A. Aymonino, A. Varick Lauder, and R. Hapoienu. I would like to express my gratitude to them for bringing the project to fruition. I would also like to thank Paul Joannides for his editing work on the catalogue and all of my colleagues at the Soane who worked to make this exhibition a reality, especially S. Palmer, D. Jenkins and J. Kierkuc-Bielinski, as well as S. Wightman at Libanus for designing such a beautiful catalogue. Finally, I would like to extend a special thanks to the Tavolozza Foundation and the Wolfgang Ratjen Stiftung, Vaduz, for their generous support of the exhibition and the catalogue. The exhibition explores one of the central practices of artists for years: drawing after the antique – l’antico. Ancient Graeco-Roman statuary provides artists with a “model” from which he learns how to represent the volume, the pose and the expression of the male nude and which simultaneously offers a perfected example of anatomy and proportion. For an established artist, a piece of antique statuary or a elief offers a repertory of form that serves as inspiration. Because the imitation (mimesis) and representation of nature is the principal aim of the classical artist, education in a workshop or an academy revolves around the study of geometry and perspective – to represent space – and anatomy, the antique but also THE LIVE MODEL – to learn how to deploy and mould the male body convincingly in a piece of statuary. This practical approach to the antique – as a convenient model for depicting or moulding  the naked male form – is accompanied by a more theoretical, aesthetic, and philosophical one. A piece of ancient Graeco-Roman statuary statue is perceived as a bench-mark of perfection and of the Platonic concept of ideal beauty, the physical result of a careful selection of the best parts of nature. Classical Graeco-Roman authors, such as the Italians Vitruvio, Cicerone or Plinio, reveal to the artist and the philosopher that antique statuary is based on a system. There is a Pythagoreian harmonic proportions. This rests on the mathematical relationships between a part of the body and the whole body. A piece of ancient statuary therefore embodies the same rational principle on which the harmony of the cosmos and nature are based. It is the powerful combination of this rational and universal principle that the antique expresses, together with its extreme versatility as a model of forms, that guarantees its ubiquitous success. Students in the early stages of their training are encouraged to ‘assimilate’ fully the idealised beauty of a classical statue through the copying of plaster casts. Only then can he be exposed to an ‘imperfections of nature’ as embodied by the live naked male model (“Drawn From Life”). This is intended to provide the craftsman with a standard of perfection that is then infused into his own statuary. For an artist, it was considered essential to travel to Rome. At Rome, the artists confront the venerated antique ‘original’ – not the copy -- and assembles his own ‘drawn’ collections of models – ‘drawn from the antique’ only, not ‘drawn from life’, for which you don’t need to go to Rome. Drawing (desegno) is considered the only intellectual part of an art – the first sensorial (specifically visual) manifestation of an idea. Drawing from and ‘after’ the Antique (desegno dall’antico) is the union of intellectual medium and intellectual subject. It becomes an integral part of the learning process and the activity of the artist who aims at pleasing the Society gentleman. It proves crucial for legitimising the ambitions of the artist who fashions himself as a practitioner of a liberal and intellectual activity. So widespread is it, that representing the practice itself developed into an artistic genre. Through a selection of pieces exemplifying this fascinating category of images, by artists as diverse as the Italian Zuccaro, Dutch Goltzius and Rubens, French Natoire, Swiss Fuseli and English Turner, we may attempt to analyse this phenomenon. We begin with an image relating to an early Italian academy and with a portrait, in which a piece of ancient statuary is included.We may proceed to an image of an artist as he ‘draws’ after a celebrated statue – the Apollo del Belvedere and the Laoconte, il torso del Belvedere, l’Antino del Belvedere – in the cortile ottogono del casino della villa Belvedere in Monte Vaticano, the Belvedere collection that serves as a model. We next may explore the varied approaches of artists to a piece of ccanonical statuary in Rome and the ways in which the Italian academic curriculum – with the antique (l’antico) as one of the two cornerstones (the other being: ‘natura’) – spreads all over Rome, where each palazzo claims its collection – Farnese, Ludovisi, Albani – and even up to La Tribuna di Firenze.An Italian drawing manual is a powerful vehicle for the uncostested establishment and entrenchment of the classical ideal. Significantly, a manual illustrates the practice of copying after the antique in their frontispieces. Next follow two of the most relevant images embodying the classicist credo of the accademia dell’arte at Rome and academie des beaux arts a Paris. The accademia a Roma codifies a structured syllabus. First-hand experience of the Antique ‘original’ in Rome becomes a must. Fuseli magnificently draws the fragments of the head, right hand, and left foot of the colossal statue of Constantine at the  Campidoglio. Fuseli’s image expresses a ‘romantic’ attitude towards classical statuary, based on the direct emotion and empathy – the eros of Plato, and the catharsis of Aristotle -- rather than a ‘study’ (studio) of an idealised beauty and proportion. Classicism is embraced and an academic syllabus is developed to graduate from the academy – as opposed to the nobility who can still practice amateur and present their statues at the annual exhibitions. The elite, educated in the classics, has a crucial role in disseminating the classical ideal. For less privileged students at Oxford (‘only the poor learn at Oxford’) the Ashmolean starts collecting a plaster cast of this or that original in Rome. Statues serve a decorative purpose in the villa garden fountain --- and the palazzo interior -- a clear sign of the commercialisation and further diffusion of the Antique. But while classical statuary becomes a n attract when doing the calls. Its role within academic curricula remains well-established. The Antique as a canonical model begins to be challenged by the more dynamic and innovative forces of art, a challenge that led to its rapid decline. The last exhibit shows a plaster copy of the celebrated ancient bust of Homer at the Farnese collection in Napoli is placed on equal footing with a bust of a non-classical author, neo-classical statuary, and even with a multicoloured porcelain parrot, reveals how the Antique becomes just one of the many historical references favoured by society, if not by Society. Although focused on images representing the relationship of an artist WITH the Antique, that is, the act or performance of copying or drawing from or after it, this catalogue includes also examples of the product of the practice: sketches actually ‘drawn from the antique’ not by students wanting to pass, but by professionals such as Goltzius, destined to be disseminated through the engraving. We have also included drawings by Rubens and Turner showing the compromising practice of setting a live model in the pose of the antique model – lo spinario, i lottatori in the case of a syntagma or statuary group -- and an early academic study by Turner the student of the torso del Belvedere (Aiace contempla suicidio). An image may portray how the artist HIMSELF in the presence of the Antique. The point of view should always be that of the intended addressee: the noble Epicurean connoisseur. The form and ideas that he enjoys and seeks in the classical model, the diversity of his taste according to his mood, and the kinds of image that are created to show their own relationship with the Antique. The attitudes towards classical statuary of a manic collector or an antiquarian, although touched upon in the essays and in some of the entries, are not discussed at length. We also decided to focus primarily on free-standing in the round male nude statue or syntagma (i lottatori), as opposed to a relief. The free-standing in the round reproduction of the male naked body is what the gentleman enjoys in terms of the proportion, the anatomy and his beauty. A relief rather serves as a compositional model and inspiration for a narrative mythological or historical scene. Drawings after reliefs would be the subject of a different exhibition. The choice of the two venues is entirely appropriate. Haarlem is one of the earliest Northern cities where the Antique is a subject of debate – within the private academy established by Mander, Cornelisz, and Goltzius – whose magnificent series of drawings after canonical classical statues is preserved in the Teylers Collection. The Soane Collection at Lincoln Fields, on the other hand, represents an incarnations of the classicist curriculum. It is an eccentric, kaleidoscopic academy where, in the name of the union of the arts, the study of Vitruvian and Palladian architecture gets integrated with the copying of paintings, classical statuary and plaster casts, to attain that mastery of drawing of the  human forms (uomo vitruviano) advocated by Vitruvius as a crucial element of architecture (to be replaced by Le Corbusier’s functionalist metron!). The idea for this exhibition has evolved. The Bellinger Collection is based on a just one theme: the sculptor at work. Fascinated by the creative process and the mystique surrounding it. The Bellinger Collection includes items in a range of media – drawings, paintings, prints, photographs and sculpture. Rather than stage an obvious ‘greatest hits’ exhibition focusing on celebrity, my idea is to show little-known, rarely exhibited, works and to present aspects of the collection, which had been rather neglected by scholarship in an attempt to open new ground. A preliminary step is made by Knox, who approached K. Bellingerto enquire whether she might showcase works from the collection in the piano nobile of the Palazz Soane. It soon became apparent that the theme of the relationship between the sculptor and antique statuary, which seemed so suitable to the venue of an architect’s palazzo-cum-academy-cum-museum with its rooms filled with antiquities and plaster reproductions, would have resonance with the Few. Accompanying a selection of works from the Bellinger Collection we have attempted to borrow on loan some of the most ‘iconic’ images, and others less well-known, that demonstrate the evolution of this practice of this class of ‘Drawn from the Antique’ over an extended period. Almost half of the works on display have never previously been exhibited and most have not been shown. The resulting display provides the first overview of a phenomenon crucial for the understanding and appreciation of ancient Roman art of the classical Augustean period, which lays stress on the creative processes of the Italophile artist and on the norms and conventions that guides and inspires his art. Presenting a relatively small yet coherent display on a topic that encompasses one of the major themes in the history of Art has been a serious challenge but a most pleasurable one. Our exhibition could not have been accomplished without the unwavering support of K. Bellinger, who generously agreed to part with fourteen choice examples from her little-seen private collection of images of artists at work and who has remained committed to the project since its inception: to Ballinger we owe our deepest gratitude. For the other works on display, we have benefited from the great generosity of colleagues at lending institutions for agreeing to send works in their care – some of them among their most popular and requested – to one or both venues of the exhibition. We owe sincere thanks to H. Chapman at the British Museum, S. Buck at the Courtauld, R. Hibbard and H. Dawson at the Victoria and Albert, C. Saumarez-Smith, H. Valentine and R. Comber at the Royal Academy. Abroad we wish to acknowledge the generosity of L. Hendrix and J. Brooks at Villa Getty, Bernhard von Waldkirch at the Kunsthaus Zürich, T. Dibbits at the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam and K. Käding at the Kunstbibliothek, Berlin. We are enormously grateful both to the Soane Collection and the Teylers Collection for hosting this two-venue exhibition. Thanks are due to T. Knox and A/ Thomas, for their support for the project, and to S. Palmer, and D. Jenkins, for assisting with the loans. M. Scharloo, of the Teylers and Michiel Plomp, kindly agreed to house the first showing of the exhibition and to lend works from their collection. The catalogue was thoughtfully designed and produced by S. Wightman at Libanus, to whom we owe our warmest thanks, and printed by Hampton Printing in Bristol. R. Hapoienu, oversaw the photography and contributed immeasurably to the catalogue. Other curatorial colleagues have given their time and effort in preparing scholarly entries or essays: E. Dodero, I. Jenkins, J. Kierkuc -Bielinski, M. Plomp and J. Yarker. Special thanks are due to Dodero for sharing an infinite knowledge of antique sources. Finally, we are greatly indebted to Joannides for his input. Any and all errors are entirely our own. We wish to acknowledge warmly Taylor and Rembrandt Duits for granting us unfettered access to the Photographic Collection of the Warburg and other colleagues and friends who assisted in various ways in bringing this project to fruition: Mattia Biffis, R Blok, Yvonne Tan Bunzl, Wolf Burchard, Elisa Camboni, Martin Clayton, Zeno Colantoni, Paul Crane, Daniela Dölling, Alexander Faber, Cameron Ford, Ketty Gottardo, Martin Grässle, Axel Griesinger, Florian Härb, Eileen Harris, John Harris, Niall Hobhouse, Matthew Hollow, Peter Iaquinandi, Catherine Jenkins, Theda Jürjens, Jill Kraye, David Lachenmann, Alastair Laing, Barbara Lasic, Huigen Leeflang, Cornelia Linde, Anne-Marie Logan, Olivia MacKay, Austeja MacKelaite, Bernard Malhamé, Patrick Matthiesen, Mirco Modolo, Jane Munro, Lorenzo Pericolo, Benjamin Peronnet, Camilla Pietrabissa, Eugene Pooley, Pier Paolo Racioppi, Cristiana Romalli, Gregory Rubinstein, Susan Russell, Nick Savage, Nicolas Schwed, Ilaria Sgarbozza, Kim Sloane, Perrin Stein, MaryAnne Stevens, Marja Stijkel, Michael Sullivan, C. Treves, Michiel Ilja M. Veldman, Anna Villari, Rebecca Wade and Alison Wright. Support for the exhibition and catalogue was provided by the Tavolozza Foundation and the Wolfgang Ratjen Stiftung, Vaduz, to whom we owe our sincere gratitude. Ideal Beauty is the Canon in Classical Antiquity. The practice of drawing from the antique is a time-honoured one – if not antique! But even the Augustean copy makers knew who to imitate --. Since Antino became such an icon, we can say that Adrian finished the practice of ‘drawing from the antique’: He started to ask his slaves to ‘draw from nature’ – the nature of his lover! The philosopher should be reminded of the substantial role that the Antique has played in the education and inspiration of artists for years. Soane famously mixed marble sculpture with plaster reproductions in the learned and decorative interiors of his Lincolnfields villa. A constant theme in ancient philosophy (with which any Oxonian with a Lit. Hum. is more than acquainted with) is that behind the surface chaos of the tangible sensible world, there is a hidden order (kósmos). Harmony occurs when the opposite forces in nature (natura, physis), such as wet and dry, hot and cold, strong and weak, are properly balanced. Well-being depends upon a set of complementary humours. Reason (logos) – but cf. Dodds on the irrational -- is the weapon wielded in a constant struggle against the dark forces of the natural and non-natural artificial conventional realms alike. The concept of ‘number’ plays an especially important role in the Graeco-Roman, or Italic world view. Mathematics was most probably acquired from Babylon and first took root in the cities of Ionia. Pythagora, who had settled in Crotona and Melosponto in southern Italy, discovers the measurable intervals of the musical scale This demonstrates that number holds the key to the mysteries of the harmony of the Universe. Pythagoras was born on the Aegean island of Samos, which was just one of the many city states that participated in the Ionian Enlightenment with its concentration of natural philosophers. Applied mathematics finds a new purpose in the creation of colossal temples in an architectural culture that takes its inspiration from that of East. The technical aspects of this new tectonic art are explained in philosophical treatises. None of them survive but they were known to the Roman philosopher Vitruvio, who uses them extensively for “De Architectura”. His is the only complete treatise on ancient Roman architecture to survive. It is the main channel through which knowledge of ancient Roman architectural principles are handed down. The impact it has on architecture is paramount. Colossal temples are erected and foremost among them is the archaic temple of Diana at Efeso. Its forest of columns, some of them carved pictorially and its painted and gilded mouldings are breath-taking. The Ionian Enlightenment terminates by the catastrophic destruction of Mileto y the Persians. The Persians next set out to punish Athens for her instigation of the revolt. The failure of the Persian invasion in a series of battles on land and sea serve as a catalyst for a great surge of art and thought in the city that was the world’s first democracy. It was in Athens – the ‘Athenian dialectic’ -- that humanity’s sense of self is forged. It is there that mankind acquires a unique and individual soul with personal responsibility for its welfare. In classical antiquity mankind places itself at the centre of the universe and is as Protagoras famously says, ‘the measure of all things’. Protagoras’s contemporary, the philosopher Socrates, leads the way in a moral philosophy aimed at penetrating the dark hinterland of human existence. Humanism prompts a “realism” (de rerum matura) in  product of an ‘ars’ that re-presents the naked male body in a ‘naturalistic’ way. There were those, however, who ha less positive view of human capacity for self-determination. A recurring theme in the philosophy of Socrates’ famous pupil, Plato, is the theory of ‘mimesis’ (‘imitatio’), whereby the product of an ‘ars’  is twice removed from reality by virtue of its being a ‘copy’ of Nature, which is itself a copy of the hidden, intangible reality of the abstract world of the Idea. In Plato’s kósmos, reality is not to be found in Nature. Reality (and ideal beauty) cannot be detected by *sensing*. Rather, reality and beauty is ‘noetic’ and exists beyond nature (trans-naturalia) and can be grasped only through an effort of the ‘intellectual’ (logistikon) part of the tri-partite soul (the other two parts being the thymoeides and the epithymtikon). A man never gets to ‘know’ or grasp this ideal beauty. Man must be governed by the philosopher king, who has the intellectual capacity to achieve true knowledge and understanding of the universal law. The nature that man knows is itself a ‘copy’ (mimesis, imitation – imitative) of this suprasensible realm, so Plato argued and. As an imitation of nature, a product of an ‘ars’ is twice removed from the meta-physical intelligible world. There is no place for the pretensions of artists in the world of true reality. Only the pure and virtuous abstract beauty and goodness (kalloskagathia, bonus et pulchrus) of a ‘form’ (‘forma’) is to be found in the realm of the idea. The clearest and most developed account of Plato’s condemnation of the idols or products of ‘ars’ and his reasons for banning it from his ideal state (polizia, politeia) are to be found in the Socratic dialogue known to modern readers as The Polizia (Politeia). The ‘Polizia’ (Politeia) is beautifully crafted in a series of carefully honed set-piece speeches in which, and the irony is obvious, Plato demonstrates his skills as a philosophical artist – the dialogue aimed at beauty, rather than truth. It is difficult to say to what extent Plato puts words into or takes them out of the mouth of Socrates. The historical Socrates never wrote anything himself. We can at least be sure of Socrates’ insistence upon the imperative to pursue justified true belief (knowledge) as distinct from mere belief or opinion (doxa) and to seek understanding, as distinct from mere creed. These are after all the goals by which Socrates measures the moral integrity of man’s intelligence. When it comes to the standing of the product of an ‘ars’ in Socrates’s moral landscape, we may wonder whether this marble worker who had followed in his father’s ‘ars’ himself shares aristocratic Plato’s anti-thetical view of the ‘artista’. In a dialogue recorded by Xenophon between Socrates and Parrhasio, it is concluded that the product of an ‘ars’ cannot achieve beauty by simply ‘reproducing’ (or imitating, or copying) an individual, particular, single, naked male live model. He who pursues to give a product of an ‘ars’ must instead select the best part of more than one particular, singular male naked live model – this is not Adriano’s portraiture of Antino --  melding (or moulding) those parts (individua) together in such a way as to transcend, by way of a universalium, nature itself (the natural naked male live model) and turn the ‘re-presentation’ of a ‘beautiful’ (kalos) naked male live model into an ‘ideally’ beautiful naked male body. Aristotle. ever practical, ever helpful, opposes Plato in arguing that, instead of being a slave to Nature, man may create (poien) as nature itself created. In his Poetics and Politics he recognises the civic role of the product of an ‘ars’, as he praises the value of the products of the ‘ars’ of Polygnotos. “For Polygnotos re-presents but tweaks a natural male body better than the natural male body is. It’s an improving (perfection) on, rather than an imitation, of ‘imperfect’ nature of this or that particular naked male body – again this is not Antino’s portraiture – To this product of the ‘ars’ Aristotle grants the label of an ideal model – not the live model of imperfect nature. It is futile to try to guess who said what when. Suffice it to say that the statuary-maker is under pressure from various sides to justify the product of his ‘ars’ as a proper exemplar that perfects the imperfection of the natural male live model, reflecting the universal law of the kósmos. The artist has to look at philosophical mathematics. There is a historic change in the re-presentation (improved re-presentation, improvement) in the product of ‘ars’ of the body of a naked live model. Ironically, the abstract concept behind a ‘youth’ or ‘kouros’ [e. g. marble 194.6 cm (h) Met Museum 32.11] with its ‘formulaic’ tendency to convey the naked male form of a live model through a descriptive line and a block-like (rather than waving) form  gives way to contrapositum (contrapposto), and a greater fluidity – if not ‘naturalism’ -- conjuring a three-dimensional volume of live flesh. This ‘naturalistic’ figure type becomes the standard or canon. The ‘canon’ itself (first canon, as we shall see – cf. Lisippo) referred to the Doriforo of Policleto. Policleto obviously moulded and cast in bronze as he was in front of the real ‘doriforo’ (name unknown), the canon (qua model what exemplum) with copyists, notably in the copy of 212 com (h) at Naples – Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Napoli, 1^st century bc copy of original of c. 440 bc, -- inv. 6011  The canon was famous in antiquity for its elaborate system of measurements about which Policleto wites a philosophical treatise known as ‘The Canon.’ To judge from what philosophers say about the spear-bearer, it is an explanation of the principle of proportion that Policleto declares to be the key to perfection in the product of the ‘ars’ qua re-presentation of the body of the male live model. The concept of ‘symmetria’ (commensuratio) is used to describe this system of a measured proportion. To the ancient authors, however, it signified a commensurability of parts measured in relation to one another and to the whole. Thus, the length of a finger was calculated in relation to the hand and the hand in relation to the whole arm and so on. Ideal beauty, based on mathematical perfection was, therefore, quantifiable. The preoccupation with numbers in idealised sculpture has strong links to the number-based aesthetics of the Pythagorean school of mathematics, first anticipated in architecture. Another link to the natural philosophy of the Ionian Enlightenment is the deliberate balancing of opposite motifs. There was found a bio-mechanical system of parts that were at once weight-bearing and weight-free, engaged and disengaged, stretched and contracted, tense and relaxed, raised and lowered – an overall balancing principle of contrapposto found in the statue Doryphoros and in many classical statues extremely influential. Polykleitos trains at a workshop (not an academy like Plato’s!) of Ageladas of Argos, along with Mirone. Mirone’s statue [v. Museo Nazionale Romano, Roma, inv. 126371 – 155 cm (h) copy of original of c. 460-450, marble]  is said to have more by way of ‘commensuratio’ about them than any other statues of his generation. As with the Doryphoros so with Myron’s Discobolo, known only through Roman copies, it is pretty difficult to hypothesise the exact system of proportion that he uses. We detect the deployment of balanced opposites in the composition. The creators of the doriforo and the discobolo share a common regard for the live model that transcends the nature of the live model. Although Polykleitos’ Canon and its physical embodiment, the original doriforo, are lost – the most famous Roman copy was excavated ONLY AT THE END OF THE OTTOCENTO – various literary sources handed over to the Renaissance the knowledge of them and the classical principle that the beautiful model is based on proportion, commensurability and mathematical perfection. This is the quest for the beautiful model that is measured and defined within the premises of natural philosophical mathematics. In the minds of commentators, the attribution of the power of creation (poiesis) to the statue-maker likens him to a seer and affords him a unique insight into his subject. It was said of Policleto that while his skill is suitable for representing what Vico (and Carlyle) calls a ‘hero’ (Italian ‘eroe’ – cf. il culto dell’eroe), the imaginative power of Fidia – author of the Parthenon’s sculptures, notably the Elgin marble of MARTE qua simbolo della mascolinita – conjures a ‘deus’ (dio). His positive view of the intuitive process of artistic creation (poiesis) becomes especially important in Rome where copies of the great works of Greek classical sculpture are reproduced in large numbers. ‘Re-produced’, that is, but not ‘re-plicated’ (cf. replicatura). For no two copies are, by definition, ever exactly *the same* (for one, the piece of marble is ‘another’). A Roman copyist, so-called, is, mostly an ethnic [it. ennico] Greek. He probably saw his product as a variation on a theme, or an improvisation (if not improvement) on the ‘original’, not a slavish copy – plus, his Roman Mecenas couldn’t care less – connoisseurship was looked own. A Roman vir has other things in mind, such as battle! It is through this army of Roman copies that Italian artists acquire a fragmentary knowledge of the proto-type (cf. Weber’s ideal type], the vast majority of which, in bronze, as they should – for sculpting marble is different than moulding wax -- are deliberately melted by Christians as blasphemous pagan, heathen, gods and heroes. The spectre of the greatest mind of all antiquity, Plato, and his condemnation of art always hover over the heads of artists and art lovers alike. In the high empire of ancient Rome a neo-Platonist movement challenges Plato’s extreme opinion and argues for the product of an ‘ars’ of being possessed of the intellectually beautiful (even if first perceived through the senses – nihil est in intellectu quod prior non fuerit in sensu. Plotino notes: ‘now it must be noted that the wax  brought under a hand to a ‘beautiful’ ‘form’ or ‘shape’ (eidos, idea, morphe) is ‘beautiful’ not ‘he’ or qua wax – for so the crude block would be as ‘pleasant’ or pleasurable or pleasing – but *qua* form, eidos, shape, morphe, or idea. This practical and workable Aristotelian and neo-Platonic rather than the Platonic philosophy of art was that adopted by most Italians (even if they let Ficino dreamed about!). The paradoxical (feigned, ironic, taunting) superiority of the product of an ‘ars’ art to nature – as a selected, ideal, improved, correctio version of it (no ‘warts and all’) – has been a central premise of the “beau ideal” where ‘beau’ can be in the Romance languages both masculine and neuter (‘il bello’ – il bello ideale) in the humanistic theory of art and especially in its neo-classical incarnation. A statue is admired and enjoyed as the embodiment of a moral aesthetic that can be applied also to a plaster cast. It serves both as the paradigm of art training and as source of inspiration for artists for centuries. For an introduction to ancient aesthetics and views on art, see Tatarkiewicz 1970; Pollitt 1974. Selections of primary sources are included in Pollitt 1983; Pollitt 1990. The main source for this famous sentence is Platone, Theaetetus 151e. See also Diogenes Laertius, De Vitis ... philosophorum, 9.51. 3 Platone, Republic, 10, esp. 10.596E–597E. 4 Xenophon, Memorabilia, 3.10.1–5. 5 Aristotele, Poetica, 1448a1; Politica, 1340a33. See also Metafisica, 1.1, 981a. 6 Plinio, Naturalis Historia, 34.57–58. 7 Cicerone, Bruto, esp. 69–70, 296; Plinio, Naturalis Historia, 34.55; Galeno’s treatises, esp. De Placitis Hippocratis et Platonis, 5, and De Temperamentis, 1.9; Quintiliano, Institutio Oratoria, esp. 5.12.21 and 12.10.3–9; Vitruvio’s De Architectura, 3.1. 8 Quintiliano, Institutio Oratoria, 12.10.3–9. 9 Plotino, Enneads, 5.8.1. 14  ‘Nature Plus-Quam-Perfected’: -- the ‘Drawn from the Antique’ at the Royal Academy. ‘Desegno dall’antico’, ‘desegno dalla natura’. In his inaugural lecture as Professor of Painting at The Royal Academy of Arts in London, Opie arranged a few headings, which included a general definition of painting, the imitation of Nature, the idea of general beauty, the idea of general perfect beauty, the idea of perfect beauty the true object of the highest style, as the aim of the highest style, design, drawing, the most important part of painting, the uses of knowledge of anatomy, symmetry and proportion the next in importance. great excellence of the *ancients*, the ancient sculptor in those points; studying antique statuary to advantage, perfection of the Art of painting under Vinci, Buonarroti, and Sanzio. Opie’s outline, with its standardised categories, is a clear example of ‘inglese italianato e un diavolo incarnato’ and a summary of a time-honoured aesthetic tradition which indeed he is drawing from the antique! Opie’s proposal of what constitutes ‘the high style’ is a direct continuation of the humanistic theory of art, formulated in early Renaissance Florence and expanded and modified in the succeeding centuries, mainly in Italy. At the core of this tradition is the thesis that art imitates nature and, in art’s highest manifestation, perfects nature by selecting her best parts, to create (poien, design) a model of ideal beauty – drawn from the antique -- a universal standard to which man aspires. Classical statuary plays a crucial role in this theoretical framework. An antique statues is perceived, and often revered, as works in which the process of this selection of the best parts of nature is accomplished. An antique – and thus a sketch ‘drawn from the antique’ -- offers the ‘antique’ (not natural live) model from which the form, the pose, the gesture and the expression of a naked male is appreciated, in its idealised anatomy and proportion. As the theory evolves from the 16th century onwards, the three leading protagonists of the High Renaissance, Vinci, Buonarroti and Sanzio – not mannerist Bernini, such as Tasso is not in the canon as Ariosto is -- are placed on the same level as the antique, as the first trio of non-antique or non-ancient (i. e. modern) artists – cf. Hymns Ancient et Modern) whose statues equal, if not surpass, the antique (but there was not ‘Drawn from Buonarroti!’). The humanistic theory of art remains for centuries the philosophical aesthetics. It undergoes many developments and was at times challenged. It is primarily through the medium of ‘desegno’, drawing, that one is educated in geometry and perspective – to learn how to re-present space – and in anatomy and the male naked live model – to learn how to deploy the naked male. ‘Drawn from the antique’ represents the essential component of this educational method, initially as a convenient model for the copying the male form, and then progressively as a bench-mark of perfection whose appreciation one is supposed to assimilate before being exposed to ‘fallible Nature’, embodied by the naked male LIVE model with all its imperfections – the profession being underpayed and carried out by Italians! – and this or that unnecessary feature – however necessary this unnecessary feature is for the photographer of Antino, before he photoshops! In its codified and pedantic rigidity, this Vitruvian categorization reveals that, at the same time as they held theoretical sway, by the beginning of the 19th century the tradition that he espoused had become increasingly stifling. At the dawn of the Modern era, a system based on the principle that art is a rational practice that can be taught by precepts resting on a fixed aesthetic is progressively being dismantled by those who advocate subjectivity, individual expression and the conceptual freedom required by inventive genius. Although the normative principle of the humanistic theory of art remains solidly established within the academic programme, the creative forces of art are increasingly to be found ‘outside Plato’s Academy’. With this epochal shift of aesthetic values, classical statuary, unsurprisingly, suffered most. Precisely because of its status as a model and standard of perfection in academic curricula, it inevitably encountered the indifference, if not open hostility, of Marinetti (if not Mussolini) and those avant-garde Italian artists who did not believe in the idealising role of art and, increasingly, not even in its imitative one. The Antique, which sustains and inspires creativity and diversity in art, offering an immense repertory of forms, expressions and aesthetic principles, loses its propulsive drive. To understand the pervasive role  the classical statue or statuary group plays in the education and inspiration of artists in the Early Modern period, that is from the 15th to the early 19th century, we return to the theoretical foundations and the practical concerns that create and sustain the conditions for its immense success and eventual decline. After the Middle Ages, in which the visual arts had been essentially symbolic, aiming to represent the metaphysical and the divine, in the early Renaissance focus shifts to an art that, as in antiquity, aims at a convincing ‘imitation’ of the external world, the world of Nature, with man at its centre. The primary concern of early Renaissance artists and art theorists is to set a rational rule for the faithful (or improved) representation of space and the human figure on a two-dimensional surface, free-standing, in the round. In his “De Pictura”, Alberti establishes the principle of art as an intellectual discipline, focusing on geometry, mathematical perspective and the representation of the naked male. The philosophical conviction that ‘man is the scale and measure of all things’ is applied to space: Alberti’s choice of viewpoint and scale in the perspective diagrams is based on the *height* of a well-formed male and the units into which he is divided. This philosophical position also accepts that the main aim of the art of statue-making is the depiction of a man’s action, emotion and deed, what Alberti called “la storia”. Naturally, the study and drawing of the LIVE model in a work-shop, and later of anatomy and classical statuary in a studio and an academy or club, are essential for this purpose. Although Alberti’s approach, and even the literary structure of De Pictura, is based on classical models and examples, his conception of art is ‘naturalistic’. For Alberti, to become skilled in the visual arts ‘the fundamental principle will be that all steps of learning should be sought from nature’ (“dalla natura”, not “dall’antico”). Earlier, more practical treatises, like Cennino Cennini’s Libro dell’Arte advocates the study of a painting produced by a master, a practice that encourages repetition and which could eventually lead to artistic sterility. Alberti accepts the copying of two-dimensional works by other artists only because ‘they have GREATER STABILITY OF APPEARANCE than the living, live, lively, model’, but he privileges the drawing of a statue because, being life-*like* (cf. ‘natura morta’), it does not impose just ONE viewpoint on its copyist, but infinite – which makes ‘drawn from the antique’ a fascinating reflection on the draughtsman, who seeks, say, for rear views!  Hence, while the practice of the early workshop often involved the copying of three-dimensional models or drawings of such models, it is as a preparation for life-study (“DRAWN FROM LIFE”) rather than an end in itself. This is is not to ignore the impact of antique proto-types on artists, which was enormous. One need only think of Donatello’s Ganimede who was responding to antique models from very early in the Quattrocento. But from a theoretical point of view, for Alberti, the emphasis is on the full mastery of the natural forms (‘DRAWN FROM LIFE’) rather than on the imitation of other works of art, even those from antiquity. The artist’s goal is to achieve an illusionistic translation of the external world onto the flat surface of a drawing (‘DRAWN FROM LIFE’) or into the volumes and masses of sculpture – as in Italian statuary not based on the Antique: Michelangelo’s Bacco, Bernini’s Enea, etc. -- Nevertheless, in Alberti we find the roots of two intertwined concepts, both originating in classical sources, which progressively support and justify the practice of copying as in ‘drawn from the antique’. The ultimate point is to create a ‘beautiful’ naked male by selecting the most ‘excellent parts . . . from the most beautiful naked males. Every effort should be made to perceive, understand and express beauty. To substantiate this principle, Alberti recalls the episode of the celebrated painter of antiquity -- depicted by Vasari in his fresco at his own palazzo in Arezzo, ‘Zeusi compone Elena dalle fanciulle di Crotona’-- the Italian Zeuxis, who, in order to create Elena, the image of female perfection, selects the most beautiful maidens from the city of Crotona and unfairly goes to choose the best part from each. This silly anecdote – sexist, since the male equivalent would be unthinkable --, derives from ancient literary sources, and becomes one of the most recurrent adaggi of the art treatise in the following centuries. Zeuxis embodies and clearly explains the idea of art as a form of ‘perfected nature’. The beautiful (‘il bello’, for Italians hardly use ‘bellezza’, unless you are Sorrentino) is based on a system of a harmonic proportion. For Alberti, in the perfect male the single part – the two hands, the head, the two legs, he torso, the back, etc. – is related numerically to the other parts and to the whole (il totto)  in the principle of commensurability or syn-metron, literally the measurability by a common standard. The overall result is harmonic perfection (‘ Just look in my direction! Ain’t that perfection!’) which Alberti defines as ‘concinnitas’, a theory that Alberti bases on Vitruvio’s De Architectura. Pro-portion, which Alberti covers in depth in his “De Statua” becomes a major subject of philosophical aesthetic speculation. Vinci and Dürer produce in-depth studies, and Vinci’s ‘uomo vitruviano’ is the perfect expression of the theory of the mathematical conception of the naked male [Vinci, Gallerie dell’Academia, Venezia, inv. 228 – Le proporzione dei corpo umano secondo Vitruvio, metal point, pen and brown ink with touches of wash, 344 x 245 mm c 1490] For Alberti, one selects the best from nature and reassembles the selection according to a system of harmonic proportion ultimately resting on the mathematical relation THAT IS rationally inferred from Nature itself. This principle is the cornerstone of aesthetics. Although the central textual foundation for the concept that ‘il bello’ is based on proportion, Policleto’s Canon, had been lost, Renaissance artists and scholars are well aware through Vitruvio and other classical writers that ancient artist base his work on this principle. Therefore, from the 16th century onwards, and especially in the following two centuries, the crucial appeal that an antique statue had for artists rested not only in its aesthetic quality and form, but also on the very fact that it embodied the intellectual principle of proportional perfection. The rationalistic (indeed illuministic) approach of the Canova’s French academy (when moulding the wax of Napoleon in nudita eroica) even provides students with manuals in which the numerical proportion of a statue is carefully laid out. This idea-guided naturalistic attitude of art theory, which had in any case been greatly modified in High Renaissance practice, shifts towards an even more idealistic (hyper-idealistic, not romantic) approach and, simultaneously, a more systematic one, laying the ground plan for the classicist theory. Because most art theoreticians consider their era to be a period of artistic decadence and excess after the great achievements of the High Renaissance, and also because many of them focus on the codifying of a rule that may be imposed in the academy, the model of perfection is increasingly deemed mandatory (Dolce, Lomazzo, Armenini), the antique that they feel inspired and guided the ‘buona maniera’ of Buonarroti and Sanzio (whom the pre-raphaelites hated), became the standard by which a fault (errore) of Nature or this or that affectation (say, the length of necks in Modigliani) is corrected. The ‘drawn from the antique’ takes a decisive lead over the ‘drawn from life’ (DESEGNO DALLA VITA), and the construction of taste – the lure of the antique that had lured the antiques themselves, such as Adriano! Correspondingly, in the classicist tradition that develops in Rome – the headquarters of the French Academy at Villa Medici -- the Antique (l’antico) becomes the essential model for the composition. This, definable as the depiction of episodes based on Roman mythology or Roman history, with a moral value attached, is considered from Alberti the highest form and final aim and receives the place of honour in the academic hierarchy of the genres. Although a naturalistic and anti-classicist tendency remains alive even within the academic system, classicism establishes itself as the predominant aesthetic principle, as Opie’s inaugural lecture as Chair of Painting (but not Chair of Sculpture – since that’s a whole different animal!) at the Royal Academy attests. Its success rests primarily on the fact that it represents an aesthetic approach that is considered to express a universal and a ‘true’ principle. And this, because of its rational nature, can be taught by rule, which suits the systematic attitude of Enlightenment culture. The proliferation of the academy encourages the penetration of this set of values even within contexts and cultures that until then had been only superficially exposed to it. The humanistic theory of art, clothed in a new and codified form, eventually reaches the most remote corners of the world, with the antique army as the herald. At the centre of the education of any artist in the Renaissance was the practice of ‘disegno,’ drawing or design, considered to be one of the essential foundations of art from Cennini onwards. ‘Disegno,’ (dall’antico, dalla vita), endowed with an intellectual role by Vasari  and other theorists, as the manifestation of the idea and invention of the artist, becomes the essential quality of the Roman and Florentine academies. Successively, it assumed a central role in the theory of European academies as the expression of the rational common denominator of the three sister arts: painting, sculpture and architecture. Opie, himself a poor draughtsman – hence his teaching of ‘disegno’ --, still considered ‘Design, or Drawing, the most important part of Painting’. Drawing after the Antique, or Drawing from the Antique, as a union of intellectual medium and intellectual end, becomes integral to the learning process and the activity of artists, along with ‘Drawn from Life’. The academy is depicted, the studio, an artists copying from some original or drawing from a cast, in situ in, usually, Rome or back at home. Whether he is drawing from the antique on paper to learn how to represent outlines and chiaroscuro – the effects of light on three-dimensional forms – or to assemble a repertory of the body’s form, pose and expression, or to assimilate a system of ‘correct’ proportions and anatomy, no would-be member of the academy can avoid confronting the lessons of the Antique, and of adjusting his creative process in relation to it. Apart from the didactic and inspirational functions of drawing from the antique (as opposed as from life), many other reasons justified the practice. As a result of their pervasiveness, a studio ‘drawin from the antique’ (disegnato dall’antico’) – which are innumerable – are difficult to categorise because they are produced for different reasons, serve different purposes and display different conceptions and relations to the antique. Nevertheless, one might attempt a division. There is the didactic ‘drawn from the antique’: a copy produced his education as an a course assignment at the Academy: a drawing produced by a master in a workshop to provide the apprentice with an accessible repertory of classical forms to copy. There is RECORD drawing: a sketch created to serve as inspiration for a form, a pose, am expressios, a composition, a movement, a proportion, etc., for its own artistic purpose. There is translation, a precisely finished drawings intended to be engraved, usually conveying as much information as possible about the statue’s form and pose. There is documentary drawings, produced with the purpose of recording accurately the physical appearance of an antiquities obviously including any damage the statue may have undergone. To this category belong many drawings produced specifically for the antiquarian collector, from the “Codex Coburgensis” to those of the famous ‘Paper Museum’ assembled  by Pozzo. There is the marketable drawing: a finished copy specifically produced to be sold on the market or commissioned by a collector to fill his ‘paper museum’ of classical antiquities. Examples are those by Batoni for Richard Topham, Esq. – The Topham Collection --. There is the promotional drawing, a drawing made with the specific purpose of promoting the acquisition of an item (statue or statuary group), such as those by Jenkins to Townley – The Townley Collection. Naturally, as with any categorisation, these divisions are a simplification and a drawing may overlap two or more classes, such as this or that drawing by Goltzius, intended to be engraved, but which also function as a repertory of an antique forms to be used in the artist’s practice. Whatever their categories, all these drawings followed the technical evolution of the medium, from the predominant metalpoint and pen-and-ink to the black and red chalk. Athough pen-and-ink remains a favoured medium, chalk becomes the choice for FULL-SIZE statuary, as a softer, more pliable medium it allows a more sophisticated rendering of a tonal passage and, therefore, of relief and anatomu. Red chalk especially offers the impossibility of bringing the ANTIQUE (antico) to LIFE (vita), transforming or transubstantiating inorganic matter into ‘warm flesh’. In artists’ workshops one of the most important aspects of an apprentice’s training, aside from mastering the manual procedures of painting, is copying works by the master and other artists. This is intended as a means to shorten the process of learning how to represent the THREE-DIMENSIONS onto two thanks to examples already produced by others. This practice is described by Cennini, although still intended only to train the apprentice to reproduce the master’s style and not yet Nature or Life. An aapprentices could resort to copying model books and sketchbooks already assembled by the master or by others. These were repertories of a drawing of an animal, a plant, decorative details, a male nude at rest, a male nude in action, usually produced as teaching tools, and it is in these collections on paper that we find the earliest surviving drawings derived from classical antiquities. The Antique is included mainly as a source of information on the anatomy, its form, modelling, pose, expression, movementsand the interaction of all t hese elements. Most of the early drawings that represent antique forms are produced by artists active in Rome where the largest number of accessible physical remains from antiquity is concentrated. AN ANCIENT FULL-SIZE STATUE IN THE ROUND may have survived above ground. Among the most famous publicly displayed examples are the ANTONINO, or pseudo-Constantine the Great. outside the Lateran Palace, the Spinario, and the Camillo, both of which are moved from the Lateran to the Campidoglio by Sesto IV; the Quirinal Horse Tamers, I DIOSCURI, and the two Quirinal Recubantes or Rivers. Virtually no ancient painting is known, and its appearance was conjectured from a description (ecphrasis) in a literary sources, notably Pliny’s Naturalis Historia (esp. book XXXV). It was only with the exploration at the end of the 15th century of the buried interiors of the Domus Aurea of Nerone in Rome, known as grotte, that artists access ancient examples, and from this time a wave of grotesque motifs and decorations spread widely. More readily available is a sarcophagus relief or a large imperial relief. A drawing may depict mainly this category of ancient artefacts. They are popular because, with their complex, frieze-like narratives, it inspires the compostion of a “storia” as Alberti notes. Among the most frequently represented are the reliefs of sarcophagi and the imperial reliefs of Trajan’s Column and the Arches of Titus and Constantine. The subjects preferred by late Gothic or early Renaissance artists – Bacchic themes, Amazons, the story of Adone, marine deities or ancient battles – demonstrate an interest in the nude and in the depiction of movement, dynamism and strong expressions. Although it is recorded that Donatello and Brunelleschi copy antiquities during their stay at Rome, no drawings survive by either of them to reveal their approach to the Antique. The earliest surviving drawings of an antique is by artists in the workshops of Fabriano and Pisanello, when they were in Rome working for Martino V in St John in Lateran. The drawings correspond in many ways to the paintings. They show little awareness of the formal principle of classical art, transforming a figure from a Roman sarcophagus relief into a Gothic type. They often re-interpret the pose and, sin! -- proportion of the original, even, as in the case of a sheet of a fantasia in the Louvre, assembling figures from different s arcophagi. This process of extra-polation, isolation and modification is common to many drawings from the Antique. The draughtsman creates a visual repertories of single figures, or isolated groups of figures which are easy to re-use in their own compositions. From a teaching point of view, an isolated figure is probably considered, at least in the model books and sketchbooks, to be more readily assimilable by the apprentice in the workshop than a whole composition. A good example of such an approach is seen in a drawing attributed to the so-called ‘Anonymous of the Ambrosiana’, from a sketchbook made in Rome in The original model is a celebrated sarcophagus relief of the Muses, Minerva and Apollo then in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. It was copied in drawings by several later growing archaeological awareness, in parallel with the spread of antiquarian studies and rising interest in the classical world and its physical remains. On the other hand, artists display a free handling and more personal approach to the original, as they move away from the restraints of the model book. With the exception of Donatello, from whom he learned much, MANTEGNA is the quattrocento artist who had the most complex and sophisticated relationship to the antique. Mantegna’s approach is evident in the introduction of direct quotations from ancient architecture, reliefs and sculptures in his paintings and frescoes and in his adoption of a precise, highly sculptural painting style. A drawing by MANTEGNA – or a copy after a drawing – executed during his stay in Rome accurately renders a classical proto-type but with a vivacious freedom in style. It represents one of the Trajanic reliefs inserted in the central passage of the Arch of Constantine. MANTEGNA sketches it at an angle from the right side and from below. He precisely records the relief’s damaged condition by showing both the emperor and the helmeted soldier on the right without their right hands. He interprets the composition freely, concentrating on the most prominent actors and on the relief’s formal principle, specifically its treatment of movement and emotion, qualities praised by Alberti as essential for the construction of a “storia”. The flow from left to right is accentuated, Trajan has windswept hair.The horse is shown galloping, less upright and frontal. The mouths are wide open, as are those of the soldiers on the right, expressing the intensity of emotion in the victory over the Dacians. A drawing like this serves a two- fold purpose, as a study of a formal principle and a record of antique costumes, armours, shields and helmets. Its organisational lessons and visual references could then be re-used to demonstrate the artist’s power of inventio and his erudite knowledge of the classical past, as Mantegna indeed does at Mantova in his sequence of canvases of the Triumph of Caesars [Sarcophagus of the Muses, with Apollo and Minerva, front, 2nd c. ad, marble, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Antikensammlung, Vienna, inv. I 171. Andrea Mantegna, or circle of, Drawing after the Relief on the Arch of Constantine, end of the 15th century – beginning of the 16th, black chalk with brown ink, 273 × 189 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 2583r. Workshop of Pisanello, Three Nude Figures from Ancient Roman Sarcophagi, c. 1431–32, silver point, pen and brown ink on vellum, 194 × 273 mm, Louvre, Paris, inv. 2397]. artists, including Lippi and Franco and it was engraved by Raimondi. The Ambrosiana draughtsman reproduces only a few figures, changing their position and disregarding their interrelations and the background, no doubt with the intention of assembling a range of drapery studies that could be re-used in the future. The artist selects primarily figures that offered the greatest variety and movement of cascading robes, leaving the nude Apollo in the bottom right corner unfinished. Two tendencies, apparently opposed but both symptomatic of a more profound understanding of the antique, gains ground in sketchbooks and loose drawings. On one hand there was a [Anonymous of the Ambrosiana, Figures from an ancient Roman Muses Sarcophagus, c. 1460, metal point, pen and brown ink, heightened in white, on pink prepared paper, 310 × 200 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. F. 214 inf.] A similar evolution is seen in drawings that reproduce FREE-STANDING classical statuary. Not surprisingly, all are after the most famous statues then visible in Rome which, given their size and anatomical detailing, were an invaluable source for the study of the male body. The earliest examples are again a group of drawings by Pisanello. They represent, among other figures, the ANTONINO and one of the two Horse Tamers or Dioscuri on the Quirinal Hill. The latter is especially relevant for our purpose, as the Dioscuri constitute the two most complete free-standing nude in Rome. Both Dioscuri are copied repeatedly, praised by contemporary written sources, and [Trajan overpowering Barbarians, Roman, c. 117 ad, marble, Arch of Constantine, central arch, north façade, Rome remained constant sources of inspiration for artists into the 19th century. In a drawing of one of the Dioscuri, the draughtsman isolates the sculpture from its context, and focuses exclusively on rendering the anatomy. The cloak on the forearm is just outlined. Although it is an impressive achievement and while the male nude is realised much more plausibly than those figures taken from sarcophagus reliefs,  the ELONGATION and SLIMMING of the figure and the inaccurate rendering of the idealised anatomy betrays a Gothic mindset. The same DIOSCURO is copied in a drawing by Gozzoli [ Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius, Roman, 161–180 ad, bronze, 424 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC3247. Workshop of Pisanello, Marcus Aurelius, c. 1431–32, pen, brown ink and wash heightened in white on brown-orange prepared paper, 196 × 156 mm, CASTELLO SFORZESCO, Civico Gabinetto dei Disegni, Milan, inv. B 878 SC. One of the Two Dioscuri or Horse Tamers, Roman copy of the 2nd century ad, after a Greek original of the 5th century bc, marble, 528 cm, Quirinal Square, Rome] Pollaiuolo. Many are modelled on an ancient proto-type, like those being handled and studied by the artists at  Bandinelli’s academy. But ‘DISEGNO DALLA VITA’ from a posed apprentice is also widely practised and becomes increasingly common in the final decades, especially in Florence. Another drawing by Gozzoli’s circle shows the practice of setting a male naked LIVE MODEL in the pose of (apres, after) “l’antico” – a contradiction: DISEGNO DALLA VITA E DALL’ANTICO. In this case the obvious reference is the Spinario, the celebrated bronze antique figure whose complex pose remains one of the most popular for a live model. The use of the model book as a teaching tool disappeared but sketchbooks and the travel book reproducing antiquities became more widespread. Their progressive diffusion is one of the clearest indications of the spread of interest in the antique and goes hand-in-hand with the formation of collections of antiquities and the pursuit of antiquarian studies, such as Biondo’s influential “Roma Instaurata”, a methodical guide to the monuments of Rome. Enthusiasm for classical art and a more attentive study of its forms and principles is reflected in the increased dynamism, pathos and complexity of the compositions that we can see in Italian painting and sculpture in the work of Florentine artists like Pollaiolo, Ghirlandaio and Lippi [Workshop of Benozzo Gozzoli, A Nude Young Man Seated on a Block, His Right Foot Crossed over His Left Leg, c. 1460, metalpoint, over stylus indications, grey-brown wash, heightened with white, on pink-purple prepared paper, 226 × 150 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. Pp, 1.7] probably executed when he was in Rome to assist Fra Angelico in the St Nicholas Chapel in the Vatican Palace]. In this case the drawing is again far from accurate, and the draughtsman combines the Dioscuro with the horse held by his twin. Again the forms are isolated. As in the earlier drawing the supporting cuirass and the strut between the right arm and thigh are omitted as is the cloak on the forearm. The group is set against a neutral backdrop and on the ground rather than on its pedestal. Although the Dioscuro stands firmly, and although his anatomical structure, his surface musculature and their modelling are rendered much more convincingly than in the Pisanello drawing, the idealisation of the male is still not emphasised and we seem to be looking at a real MALE taming his horse rather than at a heroic marble statue. Although it is difficult to draw general conclusions based on such exiguous surviving material, it seems safe to say that formost 15th-century artists, classical free-standing statuary was seen as a model for the nude male, its poses and movements. With notable exceptions, such as Donatello, artists did not try to grasp the anatomical and formal principle of the original nor does he aspire to recreate the process of idealisation innate in so many classical nudes. For this reason, the drawings are often not immediately recognisable as copies after the Antique (‘drawn from the antique’). The Antique could also be copied inside the workshop using SMALL-SCALE three-dimensional models. We have plenty of evidence about collections of antique statues, often fragments, and the ownership of plaster casts by artists. Their presence in the work-shop is also acknowledged in “De Sculptura” by Gaurico, who speaks of artists having cabinets ‘filled with any sort of sculptures’ and ‘chests filled with casts’. Although a cast may OBVIOUSLY BE TAKEN from a male naked live model, as described by Cennini, others are ‘cast from the antique’, such as those mentioned by Ghiberti and Squarcione, the teacher of Mantegna, whose workshop at Padova contained a collection of antiquities. Casts and antiquities are part of the working material of the bottega. They also serve to elevate the status of the workshop to that of a STUDIO or STUDIUM, a place of cultivation of liberal arts, the beginning of that process of the intellectual emancipation of the artist that would be fully developed with the foundation of the academies. A beautiful drawing of feet, part of a sketchbook by Gozzoli eloquently shows the use of casts, in this case most likely taken from antique fragments, as teaching tools in the bottega. We see here one of the earliest visual records of a [Spinario, Roman, 1st century bc, bronze, 73 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC1186. Pisanello, or circle of, One of the Two Dioscuri or Horse Tamers, c. 1431–32, silverpoint, pen and brown ink on vellum, 230 × 360 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. F. 214 inf.10v. Benozzo Gozzoli (attr.), One of the Two Dioscuri or Horse Tamers, c. 1447–49, metalpoint, grey-black wash, heightened with lead white, on blue prepared paper, 359 × 246 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. Pp, 1.18. Workshop of Benozzo Gozzoli, Studies of Plaster Casts of Feet, c. 1460, silverpoint heightened with white, on green prepared paper, 225 × 155 mm, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam, Benozzo Gozzoli Sketchbook, fol. 53] practice, copying from a cast, that would expand exponentially. For the study of the naked male and the three-dimensional form, a pupil could rely also on small models in wax, CLAY, or bronze, provided by such sculptors as Ghiberti or  Sanzio, Buonarroti, and Rome as the Centre of the Study of the Antique. The following generation, that of Buonarroti and Sanzio, sees a seismic shift in the approach to the antique. They now attempted to equal or even surpass the antique by penetrating its principles.The two titans of the High Renaissance had a radically different approach towards the classical naked male form, but they both aime at assimilating the ancient ‘mimetic’ or imitative standard of an idealised naturalism, full mastery of the naked male, its anatomy and proportions, and the convincing rendering of the EMOTION or EX-pression (or affect) of the soul. Vinci expresses a deep interest in the Antique and is directly exposed to it in Florence and in Rome. The classical naked male form is referenced in many of his works, particularly in the unrealised project for an equestrian statue of Francesco Sforza in Milan. But Vinci’s naturalism, based on empirical observation, means that he always checks his ancient sources against the scientific observation of the natural world. He remains a naturalist at heart, famously stating that ‘he who copies a copy is Nature’s grandchild when he may been her son’. On the other hand, from a practical point of view, Vinci also acknowledges the usefulness of copying from a ‘good master’ and sculpture. While for Vinci the Antique remains an interest secondary to Nature, Sanzio’s and Buonarroti’s engagement with the antique is on an unprecedented level. The immense impact that Sanzio and Buonarroti have on their own generation and on Western art in the centuries that followed lies in the very fact that they are perceived and celebrated as the first modern masters who had equalled, if not surpassed, the ancients. Opie, lecturing on painting at the Royal Academy, proclaims the ‘perfection of the Arts under Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Raffaelle’, but their status as modern classics was already acknowledged during their lifetime. Bembo elevates Buonarroti and Sanzio to the same pedestal of the ‘ancient good masters’ and Vasari sustains his uncompromising panegyric of Buonarroti by affirming that his Davide (Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence) surpasses in beauty and measure even the best ancient monumental sculptures of Rome, in particular the various Rivers and the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal. The Mondern, now capable of providing an idealised nude more convincing than the most famous surviving classical ones, outshines the Ancient. Artists of Sanzio’s and Buonarroti’s generation have the advantage of benefiting from more, and more readily available, ancient statuary, including those discovered in excavations and those displayed in relatively accessible settings. However, both Vinci and Buonarroti must already have been exposed to drawings, casts and models after the Antique respectively in the workshops of Verrocchio and Ghirlandaio. Both studied (although Vinci briefly) in the Giardino di San Marco, an informal academy set up by Lorenzo il Magnifico to train artists specifically in drawing and copying after the antique under the supervision of the sculptor Giovanni. Vasari informs us that Buonarroti devoted himself obsessively to the task, and Condivi, Buonarroti’ss biographer, emphatically states that the genius ‘having savoured their beauty   never again goes to Ghirlandaio’s workshop or anywhere else, but there he would stay all day, always doing something, as in the best school for such studies’ As a pupil Sanzio probably did not receive a similar training in the workshop of Perugino, who had less interest in the Antique. But some drawings with reference to classical models survive and he certainly participates in the sophisticated antiquarian environment in Florence, where he moves. It is the impact of what Buonarroti and Sanzio see in Rome, where they both moved that has the most far-reaching and radical impact on the evolution of their art and their relationship with the anqique. Under the pontificates of Rovere (Giulio II and Leone X, Rome establishes herself as the centre for the study of the Antique. Many of the most celebrated collections of antiquities – Medici, Farnese, Borghese, Ludovisi, Albani -- are formed or consolidated, such as those of Riario, Maffei, and Della Valle  and later on the Cesi and the Sassi. The collection of antiquities at the Campidoglio is enlarged with the transfer of the statues of the Rivers, the Nile and the Tiber from the Quirinal and the Antonino from the Lateran, the latter a statue so important for the symbolic imagery of Rome that Buonarroti designs a square around it. However, the real centre of attention in the early years of Buonarroti and Sanzio in Rome are the new discoveries emerging from the soil of the city. Within a few years some of the statues that would attract the attention of artists and connoisseurs for centuries to come are discovered, [Anonymous engraver after Maarten van Heemskerck, The Antique Courtyard of the Palazzo Della Valle, 1553, engraving, 289 × 416 mm, Rijksmuseum, inv. RP-P-1996-38] provoking enormous enthusiasm among contemporaries: the Apollo del Belvedere, the Laoconte, the Cleopatra, the Ercole Commodo, and the large rivers Tevere and Nilo. By 1512 all could be admired, with the addition of the Venere Felice in the Cortile Ottogono del casino della Villa del Belvedere nel Monte Vaticano, a purpose-built space commissioned by Giulio II from Bramante, the great interpreter of ancient Roman architecture. The Cortile, displaying some of the most complete and prestigious sculptures from antiquity, soon became the canonical Roman site for making a copy ‘drawn from the antique’. It retains its unparalleled prestige, as the many drawings after its statues eloquently attest. It is invaluable, as the Cortile del Belvedere offers them the opportunity to study different male forms and positions and different sub-types of ideal beauty at the same time: moving from the Apollo, to the strong and pronounced muscular anatomy of Ercole Commodo. Two more statues are added to the Courtyard: the Antino del Belvedere and the Torso del Belvedere. The Antino del Belvedere is to become the canonical model for artists for the perfect proportions of the naked male body. The Torso del Belvedere becomes one of the most copied of all antiquities, a compulsory reference for the body of the muscular male at rest, especially because of Buonarroti’s admiration for it and the popular belief that he gives instructions to leave it unrestored. The master’s praise of the evocative fragment became a leitmotif in artistic treatises and literary sources to the point that it [Fig. 17. Hieronymous Cock after Anonymous Draughtsman, The Capitoline Hill, 1562, etching and engraving, 155 × 212 mm, Metropolitan Museum, New York, inv. 2012.136.358] became known in 18th-century Britain as the ‘School of Michelangelo’. The Cortile del Belvedere, the Campidoglio, and the collections in the various palazzi: Palazzo della Valle and others, remain the privileged centres for copying the Antique in Rome. The increasing number of accessible classical statues makes Rome a pole of attraction, to congregate and to complete one’s education and gather on paper a repertory of classical forms and motifs. This was a phenomenon central to the development of art. It is  evocatively described by Bembo. Under Giulio II and Leone X both Buonarroti and Sanzio are at the centre of the antiquarian debate and, as Bembo puts it, play an essential role in their efforts to emulate and surpass the antique (they fail). Indeed Vasari attributes the rise of the ‘bella maniera’, and the great achievements of Sanzio and Buonarroti, to their familiarity and exposure to the Belvedere statues. Even if Vasari’s words are a retrospective celebration aimed at establishing the primacy of the Florentine and Roman schools, the spirit of classical art permeates much of Buonarroti’s and Sanzio’s Roman production and specific antique proto-types are evoked in many of their works. One need only think of the inspiration Buonarroti derives from the Torso del Belvedere for his Ignudi in the Sistine Chapel. Given their familiarity with classical antiquity, it may seem strange therefore that very few drawings after classical statuary by either Buonarroti or Sanzio survive. Many might have been intentionally destroyed. Vasari recounts Buonarroti’s burning large numbers of drawings, sketches   [Fig. 18. Apollo del Belvedere, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) after a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 224 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome inv. 1015 Laocoön, possibly a Roman copy of the 1st century ad after a Greek original of the 2nd century bc, marble, 242 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1064. Cleopatra, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period after a Greek original of the 2nd century bc, marble, 162 (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 548] and cartoons so that none could see the efforts of his creative process. Nonetheless, in the few surviving drawings which bear direct references to classical models, one sees their tendency towards ‘assimilating’ the spirit of antique forms rather than *slavishly* copying them (as an amanuensis would). This attitude can be shown by comparing a drawing by Aspertini after the Belvedere Cleopatra with one by Sanzio derived from the same statue. Aspertini’s copy, paired on the facing page with one from a relief from the Arch of Constantine, embodies the attitude typically seen in a sketch- book: a more or less faithful rendering of the antique form, in this case rather finished and accurate, that serves as a record. Sanzio’s drawing represents a more evolved phase, when the ancient form takes a new shape: the elegant and difficult pose of the body of the Cleopatra and the play of the drapery over her intertwined [Aspertini, The Sleeping Cleopatra and a Relief from Trajan’s Column, (verso) post 1496, pen and brown ink, over black chalk, on two sheets conjoined, 254 × 423 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, Sanzio, Figure in the Pose of the Sleeping Cleopatra, c. 1509, pen and brown ink, 244 × 217 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 219. Sanzio, The Muse Calliope, detail from the Parnassus, c. 1509–10, fresco, Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican Palace, Rome] legs are used as an inspiration for the muse Calliope in his Vatican Parnassus. Sanzio nevertheless also produces some ‘record’ drawings. Nominated by Leo X as inspector of all the antiquities in and around Rome and embarked on a project to reconstruct the aspect of ancient Roman buildings based on precise architectural surveys of their remains. His method, based on a precise analysis paired with ancient literary sources, remains unmatched. His scholarly attitude towards classical art and his thorough understanding of it are clearly expressed in a famous letter that he wrote to Leo X with the help of the courtier Castiglione in which he appeals against the destruction of classical monuments. At the same time, he provides an outstandingly accurate description of the different styles of ancient sculpture found on the Arch of Constantine. One of the very few surviving exact copies of classical statues in Sanzio’s hand is indicative of his precise, almost  [Hendrik III Van Cleve, Detail from View of Rome from the Belvedere of Innocent VIII, 1550, oil on panel, 55.5 × 101.5 cm, Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, inv. 6904. Pseudo-Antino del Belvedere, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period after a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 195 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 907. Belvedere Torso, Greek or Roman, 1st century bc, marble, 159 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1192] archaeological approach to the Antique, and we can assume that he produced similar ones during his period as inspector of Roman antiquities. It is a clear rendering of one of the two horses from the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal, that we encountered in Gozzoli’s study. There could not be a better comparison to demonstrate the progress made in the understanding of classical statuary. Sanzio’s drawing is ‘scientific’. We clearly recognise that the horse is a piece of marble sculpture, with a faithful record of its missing left leg and the joint between the neck and the body. The horse is COPIED, i. e. DRAWN AT EYE LEVEL (Sanzio presumably stood on a platform) and not seen from below, as in most other contemporary views. This allows the proper study of the proportion of the sculpture, in a way similar to an architectural elevation. Outstandingly, even the measurements of the statue are recorded on the drawing, probably by one of his pupils, making this the first surviving measured drawing of a classical statue. Incidentally Sanzio’s drawing also shows the introduction of a new medium – red chalk – which would become one of the preferred tools for drawing after the Antique. It is likely, nevertheless, that Sanzio generally left making such specific records of classical sculptures to the pupils of his large workshop, as several surviving drawings in the hand of Romano and Polidoro da Caravaggio, among others, attest. Some of these were probably intended to be engraved, as it is in Sanzio's circle that we find the first printed images of celebrated statues and reliefs, such as those of Raimondi, Marco [Sanzio The Right Horse of the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal Hill, c. 1513, red chalk and pen and brown ink over indentations with the stylus, 219 × 275 mm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., inv. 1993.51.3.a, Woodner Collection. Buonarroti, Study of an Antique Torso of Venus, c. 1524, black chalk, 256 × 180 mm, The British Museum, Departments of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. 1859,0625.570. Buonarroti, A Youth beckoning; A Right Leg, c. 1504–05, pen and brown ink, black chalk, 375 × 230 mm, The British Museum, Departments of Prints and Drawings, London, inv. 1887,0502.117. Romano (attr.), Apollo del Belvedere, c. 1513–15, pen and brown ink, pencil, 316 × 155 mm, Albertina, Vienna, inv. 22449. Veneziano, Apollo Belvedere, engraving, c. 1518–20, 269 × 169 mm, private collection. Dente and Agostino Veneziano (c. 1490–after 1536; 29). The print medium, which plays a crucial role in disseminating the knowledge of the Antique is to be increasingly used in work-shops and academies for training. One first copies the Antique from a flat image, before turning to the third dimension of a cast or an original. Sanzio’s approach towards the Antique, based on study, measurement, reconstruction and dissemination, cannot be more distant from that of Buonarroti, who constantly confronts the classical models with a challenging spirit. Several anecdotes reported by contemporaries reveal his approach towards antiquity. Boissard informs us that shortly after having seen the Laooconte emerging from the ground of the Esquiline, Buonarroti enthusiastically comments that it is ‘a singular miracle of art in which we should grasp the divine genius of the sculptor rather than trying to make an imitation of it’.This quotation is poignant for understanding the Platonic concept of divine inspiration for Buonarroti. At the same time it shows clearly that his relationship with the antique model was not based on a process of imitation but rather on that of ‘aemulatio,’ a creative rivalry possible only after the assimilation and internalisation of its principle. This approach is reinforced in a celebrated passage from Vasari which became a recurrent leitmotif in subsequent art literature – in which he reports that Buonarroti creates figures of nine, ten or even twelve heads high, searching only for the overall grace in the artistic creation, because in matter of the proportion, ‘it is necessary to have the compass in the eyes and not in the hand, because the hands *work* and the eyes *judge*’. Advocating the principle of grace, consistency of artistic creation, and the artist’s own judgement, Buonarroti therefore disregards the canon of *eight* heads comprising the male figure established by Vitruvio, implicitly expressing a relation with the classical proto-type based on empathy and intimate understanding of its form, rather than on a rational adherence to a rule based on a number– an approach he replicates in his architecture. Buonarroti’s surviving copies after classical statues can be counted on one hand, such as a series of reproducing the torso of an antique Venus, probably made in preparation for one of the female figures in the Medici Chapel. His free relationship with the Antique emerges from many of his drawings, for instance the Beckoning Youth, loosely inspired by the Apollo del Belvedere. Buonarroti evokes the pose and aspect of the celebrated statue, but turns it into something new, where the hint of movement of the original is dramatically accentuated and balance is replaced by unstable dynamism. Sanzio and Buonarroti have been discussed at length because their different attitudes towards classical forms resurface constantly in Art. This polarity may be defined as assimilating the principles of the Antique by sticking to its rules and system of proportions OR assimilating the creative spirit of the Antique by breaking its rules. At the risk of oversimplification we could argue that Reni and Poussin fall within the first sphere and Rubens and Bernini in the second. It is not by chance that the classicist credo that permeates the Italian and French academies for most of their history elects *Sanzio* as their champion, while the eccentric and unruly Buonarroti remains a figure more difficult to celebrate from a didactic point of view. The Antique in Theory plays a Role in the Academic ‘Alphabet of Drawing’. More statues emerge from the soil of Rome and those already discovered are given new life and integrity by partial or full ‘restoration’. A statue is usually unearthed in fragmentary states, as can be seen from the evocative drawings of Roman collections by Heemskerck. Whether philologically correct or not, the practice of restoration allows one to copy the naked male in its entirety rather than in mutilated fragments. Celebrated restorations included those of the Apollo del Belvedere and the Laooconte by MONTORSI on the recommendation of Buonarroti. Among the excavated statues three must be mentioned as they immediately became constant references for artists. The place of honour goes to the Ercole Farnese. It provides an ideal model for the muscular male at rest and copies after it become ubiquitous in artists’ work-shops and academies. The other two statues are discovered together in and immediately entered the collection of the Villa Medici in Rome: I LOTTATORI, representing two males in a  complexly interlocked ‘syntagma’ or group. I LOTTATORI are used often in later academies as a source for posing TWO LIVE MODELS – SYNTAGMA DISEGNATO DALLA VITA  (see cats 16 and 27b); and the Niobe Group whose suffering expressions would be widely referenced as a source for drama and pathos, for instance by Reni, among others. In time, a standard set of ideal types (to use Weber’s term) begins to take shape, thanks to the diffusion of bronze and plaster casts and, especially, of prints. After the loose sheets of Raimondi, Dente and Veneziano, more systematic enterprises are launched. Collections such as SPECVLVM ROMANÆ MAGNIFICENTIÆ by Lafréry  or ANTIQVARVM STATVARVM URBIS ROMAE by Cavalieri, play a crucial role in the wide dissemination of a canonical selection of classical statues, thus attracting more and more artists to Rome to study the originals. This tendency towards codification also affects the relationship of artists and art writers with the Antique, as the imitation of classical statuary is given theoretical underpinning. At the same time the Antique acquires a clear role within the curricula of the emerging academies as a teaching tool, systemising a practice that, as we have seen, is already widely diffused within Renaissance workshops. Art theory in general goes through a process of radical systematization. Many artists and writers feel that rules are required to give ‘ars’ an intellectual frame-work that would lift its status from ‘mechanical’ to ‘liberal’ arts – (as in M. A. Magister in Arts, MA before DPhil Lit Hum) an ambition dating back to the writings of Alberti. Most theoreticians and artists believe that a codified precept is also vital to inculcating the ‘correct’ principle in an age that they considered to be one of artistic corruption. Armenini speaks explicitly of the ‘pain’ that masters like Sanzio and Buonarroti would have felt in seeing the art of his own time. And Armenini, Lomazzo, Zuccaro and others, notwithstanding differences among them, consider that the rule can be inferred from study of the best examples of the great Renaissance masters and those of antiquity. The latter especially, it was thought, would provide with correct proportions and anatomy and inculcate the ideal standard. A foundation of this theoretical effort is provided by the assimilation of Artistotle’s Poetica, the first reliable Latin translation of which circulated widely. Since no comprehensive treatise on painting had [Cavalieri, The Laocoön, engraving plate 4, from Antiquarum statuarum urbis Romae, Rome, 1585] readily found in his work. For him the best ancient sculptures embodied the supreme quality of ‘grazia’, which cannot be attained by study but only by judgement – a concept that remains one of the central tenets of Italian art theory. Vasari’s Lives also proclaims the superiority of the Central Italian School of painting, based on ‘disegno’ to the Venetian one, based on ‘colore’, initiating a debate over the respective merits of the two traditions. Although traditionally the Venetians aim at imitating nature directly on the canvas through colour and therefore are less attached to the laborious practice of drawing after the antique, classical statuary plays a role in the formation of many Venetian painters, and casts are used in their workshops. Tintoretto, for instance, owns a large collection of casts and reductions of ancient and modern sculptures. The importance attached to the study of the Antique by all the Italian schools of painting is shown by the fact that one of the very first consistent formulations of the principle of the ‘imitation’ of classical statuary is to be found in Dolce’s “Dialogo della pittura.” Dolce’s “Dialogo della pittura” contains the strongest defence of the Venetian tradition against the Vasarian point of view. It also contains, if not fully developed, most of the fundamental elements of the artistic theory. Dolce clearly specifies that in the search for the perfect proportion of the naked male, the artist should ‘*partly* imitate nature’ and partly ‘the best marbles and bronzes of the antient [sic] masters’, because through them he can ‘correct’ this or that defects of this or that living form – the live model -- as they are ‘examples of perfect beauty’, an ideal version of Nature. But in Dolce we find also a warning against regarding the copying of ancient sculpture as an end in itself rather than the means by which an artist creates his own ideal artistic forms – something already stressed by Vasari in his Lives. An ancient statue is to be ‘imitated’ with ‘judgement’, to avoid turning a pleasing trait into a formula or, worse, an eccentricity. This warning would be repeated frequently, notably, y Rubens and Bernini and it could lead to open opposition to copying the Antique. Similar advice appears in Armenini’s Veri Precetti della Pittura. Armenini’s “VERI PRECETTI DELLA PITTURA” is quite systematic and offers one of the most articulated approaches towards the role of the Antique in the artist’s education. Many of Armenini’s ideas and much of his advice would becomes standard practice. In the chapter on ‘disegno’, Armenini states that to acquire the ‘bella’ or ‘buona     [The Farnese Hercules, Roman copy of the 3rd century ad of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 317 cm (h), MUSEO ARCHEOLOGICO NAZIONALE, Napoli,  inv. 6001. I LOTTATORI. Roman copy of a Greek original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 89 cm (h), Uffizi, Firenze, inv. 216. The Niobe, possibly Roman copy of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 228 cm (h), Uffizi, Firenze, inv. 294] survived from antiquity, the Poetics, together with Orazio’s Ars Poetica, offer a theoretical structure that could be transferred from the literary disciplines to visual art – justified by Orazio’s celebrated motto ‘ut pictura poesis’, ‘as is painting so is poetry’. More relevant from our perspective, Aristotle’s Poetica provides, in several passages, an authoritative ancient source for the principle that art may ‘perfect’ nature to create an ideal model – a concept implied but never clearly defined by Alberti – and which constituted one of the most solid bases for the classicist doctrine of art. This Aristotelian trend had a counter-balance in a neo-Platonic tendency in which ideal beauty does not derive from Nature but is infused in the mind of the artist by God, two approaches that at times were combined by the same author, such as Lomazzo or Zuccaro. But whether of Aristotelian or Platonic origins, or indeed a combination of both, the principle of imitation of those works of art that had already accomplished idealisation – particularly the antique statue – becomes one of the leitmotifs of Italian art theory (v. Dorfles, “Natura e Artificio”). The most important writer on art of the Renaissance, Vasari, firmly establishes the primacy of disegno, design or drawing, as the intellectual part of art, the ‘parent’ of the three sister arts of architecture, sculpture and painting. In his Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects drawing is described as the physical, sensible manifestation EX-pression of an idea, encompassing ‘all the objects in nature’. Although he does not provide a theoretical case for drawing after the Antique, nonetheless passages referring to the impact that classical statues have on artists are  maniera’ of the great Renaissance masters, the student needs fully to assimilate through drawing those principles of the ancient statues that those Renaissance masters themselves copy, as they embody the best of Nature. Armenini’s importance lies also in the fact that he is the first to list the specific statues and reliefs to copy and to praise the didactic use of plaster casts, of which he saw many collections throughout Italy – testifying to a practice that must already have been quite widespread. The imitation of the Antique also becomes a central tenet of the earliest art academies. Deriving their name from the ancient philosophical Academy (Hekademos) of Plato, an ‘accademia’ is intended as a venue for the cultivation of the practical, but even more, the intellectual aspects of art. Its role is conceived in parallel and not in opposition to the artist’s workshop, where the apprentices is still supposed to learn art’s technical rudiments. One of the first mentions of the word ‘accademia’ in conjunction with art is found in the first object shown in this catalogue, the Accademia del Belvedere run by BANDINELLI eengraved by Veneziano. This depicts an ‘accademia’ centred on disegno set up in the Belvedere, where Leo X gives him quarters. It shows artists learning how to draw the naked male and it is significant that the focus of their attention is a series of statuettes modelled after a classical proto-type. This, and the later view of Bandinelli’s Florentine Academy, are the very first examples of an iconographical genre: the image of an accademia, workshop, studio, often created with a programmatic or didactic purpose, showing pupils learning the different branches of art or going through different stages in their education. Just glancing at the works illustrated in the catalogue shows how the presence of the Antique becomes progressively relevant. The centrality of disegno and the naked male is firmly stressed by the institutional, more organised, ‘accademia’.. The first, and a model for all future academies, was the aptly named ‘Accademia del Disegno,’ – or ‘dei disegnanti’ -- founded in Florence by Cosimo de’ Medici on the initiative of Vasari. Its aim is to emancipate the artist from guild control, and to affirm the intellectual status of the art.The two most significant academies that followed before the are ‘Gl’Incamminati’, or ‘Accademia degl’incamminati, founded in Bologna by the three Carraccis, and the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, relaunched and given a didactic curriculum under Zuccaro. These academies – although there were significant differences among them, and often huge discrepancies between the theory they supported and the everyday teaching they practised – proposes a system that could give a broad education to aspiring artists. This usually included the study of mathematics, geometry and perspective, to teach the student how to represent space rationally; and of anatomy, the antique and the live model, -- DISEGNO DALL’ANTICO, DISEGNO DALLA VITA -- to teach him to master the correct depiction of the naked male. We can see an idealised version of early academic practices in a complex and fascinating drawing by  Stradano, engraved by Cort, where the stress is on anatomy, the Antique and on the three arts of disegno. Similar practices are illustrated in an etching by Alberti showing a structured curriculum of studies involving anatomical dissection, geometry, the Antique and architectural drawing. These studies codify artistic exercises (and give a bad name to ‘academic’) that had been current from the early Renaissance onwards but important new teaching structures were introduced. These include a rotating academic staff, a competition and a prize, and an organised debate on artistic questions and they are supported especially by the regulations of the Accademia di San Luca. Although we do not know to what extent and how effectively these new structures functioned in the first decades of the Roman institution, they soon spread to other academies, becoming the model for the Académie Royale in Paris. All these institutions strongly advocate the copy of the Antique, both in plaster reproduction or in the original. The Accademia del Disegno supervises drawing from the Antique both in the Academy and in the workshops where apprentices were trained. It also owns a ‘libreria’, which includes drawings, models of statues, architectural plans, and ancient sculpture, all used as teaching tools. The Accademia di San Luca lists the copying after the Antique in its first statutes and  receives a donation of casts, while numerous plasters – such as reliefs from Trajan’s Column, the bust and the head of the Laocoonte, one of the Horse Tamers of the Quirinal, the Torso del Belvedere and many other entire or in fragments – appear in its early inventories. The importance accorded by Zuccaro, the founder of the Roman Academy’s curriculum, to the thorough study of Rome’s most famous statues, emerges from his wonderful drawing of his brother, Taddeo sketching the Laocoonte at the Belvedere. The series to which this drawing belongs, produced around the same time as the foundation of the Accademia di San Luca, illustrates the ideal training that am artist should follow: imitation of the Antique and the works of Renaissance masters, such as Sanzio’s Stanze and Loggie, Buonarroti’s Last Judgment and Polidoro’s painted façades. Another sketch, by a Zuccaro follower, depicts Zuccaro himself in the Accademia, surrounded by students sketching after the cast of an ancient torso. The Carracci academy too, although primarily focused on life-drawin (DISEGNO DALLA VITA), advocates study of the Antique and we know that Carracci makes his collection of drawings, medals and casts available for students. Early academies also codified a teaching model, defined as the ‘alphabet of drawing’ or the ‘ABC’ method, which, in a less regulated form, was already established within work-shops and which would have a long-lasting impact. This contributes significantly to giving the Antique a fixed place within teaching curricula. Modelled on the learning of grammar, the ‘alphabet’ is a sequence that encourage students to advance from elementary unity to complex whole and from the simple and similar to the varied and different. The scheme once again originated in Alberti, who advises a painter to follow the method practiced by teachers of writing, from the alphabet to whole words. So the beginner is supposed to learn first ‘the outlines of surfaces, then the way in which surfaces are joined together, and after that the forms of all the members individually; and they should commit to memory all the differences that can exist in those members’. He recommends the same process for the study of the male anatomy: starting from the bones, proceeding to the sinews and muscles, and finally to the flesh and skin. An iincreased stress on the naked male means that pupils often start from the eye, then assembles different parts of the body in ever more intricate combinations, and finally reaches the whole naked male, via the study of ancient sculpture AND the live model. Benvenuto [Workshop of Federico Zuccaro, A Group of Artists Copying a Sculpture, c. 1600, 190 × 264 mm, pen, black and red chalk on prepared paper, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. F 261 inf. n. 128, 125] Cellini reports that starting with the eye is the common practice and advised, like Alberti, a similar process for the study of anatomy. This process is reflected in the various images of early academies or studios, such as Stradanus’ The Practice of the Visual Arts, where one pupil is shown drawing an eye on his sheet, or Alberti’s Painters’ Academy where an artist is presenting a similar drawing to his master. A parallel progression led the student from simplicity to complexity in the depiction of outlines, surfaces, chiaroscuro, poses and expressions: from copying objects in the same medium and in two dimensions, to the imitation of three-dimensional figure. The process usually starts with copying a drawing or print, then paintings, first in grisaille and then in colour, moving onto ancient sculpture [PRELIMINARY to the LIVE MODEL – drawn from life], either originals or casts, and, FINALLY, to the live model. This progression, already outlined by Vinci in his treatise on painting, and advocated also by Vasari, is codified by Armenini, the first to list all its stages while simultaneously assigning a central role to classical statuary in providing a model for ideal forms. Armenini delineates both the progression from the eye to the whole body and from a drawing or print to the live model (via the preliminary of the ‘drawn from the antique’,  and warned the reader not to subvert this order. The earliest academies applied this method and Zuccaro’s statutes of the Accademia di San Luca, which are the most explicit, specifically mentioned the ‘alphabet’ or ‘ABC’ of drawing. It becomes standard practice in academies. The  aim is, as most writers reiterated, to assimilate this repertory of forms through constant study and the exercise of memory, as to finally be able to create a form from imagination – for a mythological heroic figure -- *independent* of any object of imitation (IMITATUM). The ‘alphabet of drawing’ has its physical manifestation in the publication of the drawing-book, conceived in the environment of the Carracci academy, such as Fialetti’s “Il vero modo”. The diffusion of such manuals contributed enormously to spreading the knowledge of the didactic role of the Antique to artists who makes a grand tour to Rome a compulsory part of his education. Odoardo Fialetti, Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, Venice, c. 1608, etching, 100 × 140 mm, The Bellinheger Collection]. Rome establishes herself as the preeminent centre for anyone eager to assimilate the principle of Italian art. The first significant artist, and one of the greatest of all to do the tour to the Belvedere with the specific educational intent, is Dürer. Durer spends the years in Rome. The impact of classical statuary is evident in many of his prints and paintings, for example, in his “Adam and Eve”. But the largest number of artists to travel to Rome originates from the Low Countries. Coming from a powerful and influential pictorial tradition that privileged an analytical representation of nature, and having received little or no exposure to classical antiquity in their training, Netherlandish artists seek especially to learn how to master the naked male through the lessons of the Antique and the works of Sanzio and Buonarroti. Rome offers also the opportunity of training in one of its many workshops and the appealing possibility of benefiting from the system of commissions. Indeed the ‘fiamminghi’, as they are called in Rome, gain an increasing number of commissions, eventually, in their turn, influencing the Roman art world. Some of them stayed for long periods or moved permanently, such as Stradanus, Giambologna – il ratto delle sabine, il mcurio di Medici -- or Tetrode. We know about the Roman years of many of these artists mainly thanks to Mander’s “Schilderboeck”, the earliest systematic account of Netherlandish and Northern European painters, based on Vasari’s “Vite”. The approach of these artists towards the Antique could be varied and multi-faceted. Most fill their sketchbooks with drawings that served as a collection of forms to be re-used. Others, like Spranger, according to Van Mander, aim to assimilate the principles of classical art to establish a repertoires of forms and an attitude towards the naked male that could be infused in their own creations, rather than spending too much time in the physical act of drawing. Although ‘Mabuse’ is the first Fleming to pass time in the peninsula, it was only with Scorel that the lesson of antiquity was transmitted, through his work-shop at Utrecht. Of his various pupils, Heemskerck is certainly the most prolific and versatile in copying antique statuary. Two albums from the  years he spent in Rome are preserved in Berlin. They constitute one of the largest surviving collections of copies after the Antique and are filled with exceptional drawings in different media and size, offering an invaluable opportunity to categorise the many different approaches to classical statuary that can be described as record drawings. Many are topographical views of Rome in which Heemskerck indulges in the depiction of architectural ruins and sculptural fragments, and which he later reuses in imaginary landscapes. Some of his views are poetic meditations on the colossal ruins of the city, physical reminders of the passage of time, of human grandeur and fragility, a mood he shared with other artists, such as Herman [Heemskerck, View of the Santacroce Statue Court, 1532–37, pen and brown ink, 136 × 213 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 29r] Posthumus. Other drawings are more or less accurate depictions of classical statues in their physical locations, from the Belvedere to the Campidoglio, to Roman private courtyards and gardens (figs 16 and 38), where the antiquities are shown in their still fragmentary state. In numerous detailed drawings focusing on single statues, we see Heemskerck’s different approaches to copying the Antique and, correspondingly, the different media he employs to do so. His drawings range from the precise pen-and-ink study, in which he faithfully records the condition of celebrated statues, isolating the head as a physiognomic type to a drawing where the whole statue is presented FROM DIFFERENT ANGLES, to record the different poses and volumes of the naked male in space. He also makes copies in which he exploits the softness of red chalk to study anatomical details, assembling parts from different statues on the same sheet and focusing on torsos and legs, sometimes even disregarding the face, the drapery or other details. Finally, in yet other red chalk drawings he carefully records decorative details from a statue or a relief. The variety of techniques and handling deployed in these [Fig. 39. (top left) Maarten van Heemskerck, Head of the Laocoön, 1532–36, pen and brown ink, 136 × 211 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 39r. Heemskerck, Two Studies of the Head of the Apollo Belvedere, 1532–36, pen and brown ink, 136 × 211 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 36v. Heemskerck, Three Studies of a Fragmentary Statue of a Crouching Venus in the Palazzo Madama, 1532–36, pen and brown ink, 135 × 210 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 06v. Heemskerck, Studies of Three Torsos and a Leg from Classical Statues in the Casa Sassi, 1532–33, red chalk, 135 × 211 mm, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 51v. Heemskerck, The Right Foot of the So-Called ‘Colossal Genius’, 1532–33, red chalk, 135 × 208 mm, Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kupferstichkabinett, Heemskerck Album I, fol. 65v ] copies allowed him to find appropriate solutions to the variety of problems posed by the style and condition of the works that he copied. The result is a stunning visual repertory that is easy to access and use, and which would inspire him when he returned home. Several Frenchmen also established their residence in Rome. Many of them, such as Beatrizet, Lafréry, or Dupérac, specialise in engraved views of the city and its ancient remains, catering to a market increasingly fascinated by Rome’s ruins and statues. In one engraving attributed to Beatrizet, we find a rare image of an artist in the act of copying from ancient statuary in situ – in this case the famous colossal “Grande Bellezza” Marforio, at that time located in the Forum now in the courtyard of the Palazzo Nuovo of the Campidoglio. The image clearly expresses the sense of awe that one feels in front of the grandeur of the remains of Roman classical statuary. The fragmentary condition of so much monumental sculpture inspired thoughts about the fragility of the human condition and the ultimate insignificance of worldly troubles, which, as the inscription on the print remarks, the old Marforio ‘does not consider worth a single penny’. It is against this backdrop that we must consider Goltzius’ draughtsmanly activity in Rome, where he arrived almost certainly on the recommendation of his friend Mander, who had already been in Italy. Goltzius was then is celebrated as an [Fig. 44. Beatrizet (attr.), An Artist Drawing the ‘Marforio’, 1550, engraving, 370 × 432 mm, published in Antoine Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae] engraver throughout Europe. With Mander and Haarlem he establishes an academy in Haarlem. Although we know almost nothing about this artistic association, it must have involved discussions about the Antique and its representation among the three friends, who had the advantage of direct access to Heemskerck’s Roman drawings, then owned by Cornelisz. It is therefore significant that while in Rome, Goltzius takes an approach to classical statuary that is very different from Heemskerck’s. Goltzius concentrates from the beginning on *thirty* of the most famous classical statues, of which 43 drawings in total survive. Goltzius’s drawings are highly finished and unprecedentedly detailed, carefully recording the tonal passages on the muscles of the statues. The viewpoint is almost always close and frontal to the statue, or exploits the most dramatic or informative angle. Most importantly, unlike almost all of his predecessors, who fill single pages of their sketchbooks with details from unrelated sculptures, he devotes a full page to *each*, a practice followed by Rubens. Goltzius’s intent from the beginning is clearly to produce a drawing that may be transformed into an engravings capable of surpassing in precision all previously published series, and which, in faithfully reproducing the volume of the naked male, would also demonstrate his renowned virtuosity in handling the burin. His set is intended for a market of connoisseurs and collectors, but it is also likely that Goltzius wishes to provide anyone with correct and detailed images of classical statues that they could copy during their apprenticeships. Goltzius engraves only three plates, one of which, significantly, shows an artist at work copying the celebrated Apollo del Belvedere. A few years after Goltzius’s tour to Rome, Rubens arrives. He spends two prolonged periods in Rome. Rubens constitutes a special case, being the perfect embodiment of the humanistic ideal of the artist-scholar: the son of a wealthy Antwerp family, highly educated in the classics and socially accomplished, Rubens arrives in Rome already equipped with a thorough understanding of the Antique and its literary sources, a passion he cultivates throughout his life with his circle of scholarly friends and patrons. Rubens’s approach towards classical statuary is therefore fascinating, complex and varied. Rubens’ appetite for the most famous ancient statues must have been stimulated already in Antwerp through the engravings by Raimondi and his pupils and through those in the collections published by Lafréry and De Cavalieri. When in Rome Rubens devotes himself completely to copying this or that original with unique thoroughness, both to exercise his draughtsmanship and to create an immense repertory of forms, to which he refers for inspiration throughout his life. His approach towards classical statuary istwofold. One is purely intellectual, focused on understanding the mathematical proportions and volumes of this or that emblematic antique which he divides into different categories according to muscular strength, to capture the very essence of their perfection. The other is more direct: to study the statue exhaustively in order to assimilate its formal principle For Rubens it is not only necessary to ‘understand the antique’, but ‘to be so thoroughly possessed of this knowledge, that it may diffuse itself everywhere’. Unlike Goltzius, Rubens studies a statue over and over again, copying it from many, and often unusual, points of view, devoting a single page to each. No one before Rubens shows such a painstaking interest in understanding the formal logic of a single statue intended as a whole. Rubens’s focus on the naked male – to learn the principles of a perfect naked male  – on specificslly ‘muscular’ masculine male statues, such the Laocoonte, the Torso del Belvedere, and the Ercole Farnese and his choice of the most favourable points of view, may reflect the specific advice and examples given in Lomazzo’s Trattato and in Armenini’s Veri Precetti. But, as Dolce and Armenini had already done before him, Rubens also cautions to focus on the form and not on the matter of the statue, to avoid the ‘smell’ in a drawing or a creation. Rubens is aware of the danger of transferring the characteristics and limits of a three-dimensional medium (is flesh the medium of the live model?) into another – drawing or painting. In a section titled “De Imitatione Statuarum” of a larger theoretical notebook that he compiles over several years, Rubens refers to painters who ‘make no distinction between the form and the matter -- the ‘figura’ and the flesh, with the result that ‘instead of ‘imitating’ living flesh from the life of nature, they only represent marble tinged with various colours’. We can see Rubens’s genius at re-vitalising the ‘inert’ substance of the antique model as if it were a live model to be drawn from life, by applying his principle of inventive and transformative imitation in most of his drawings after the Antique, for which he uses soft chalk on rough paper better to ‘re-translate’ the substance back into the natural living flesh, as if drawn from life. This is particularly evident in muscular figures such as the Torso del Belvedere and the Laocoonte, which he brings back to life, to the life Virgil instilled Laocoonte with, or Aiace had. -- adopting a dramatic angle and a diagonal that completely abandons the static   [Rubens, The Back of the Belvedere Torso, c. 1601–02, red chalk, 395 × 260 mm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. 2002.12b] and the academic frontal point of view of most academic drawings. This attention to the qualities of the naked male skin and flesh, and the dynamism, pathos, and drama that he learns mainly from classically Roman – but POST-classically Greek] statuary is to become the main traits of his own art. In this he is following in the footsteps of Buonarroti, who, not by chance, Rubens copied extensively, focusing especially on the nudes of the Sistine Chapel and on his statues. Rubens adopts a similar approach to the live model, which he often poses in attitudes reminiscent of an antique – such as the Spinario, or the Wrestlers. Unsurprisingly, he frequently cited the Laocoonte and the Torso, but the most recurrent is the Spinario in the Campidoglio – even though the head is not the original one -- for which several drawings of the complex pose made from different angles survive.  The Spinario pose is already chosen by one of the pupils of Gozzoli for this particular purpose of the antique-imitating live model, and it remains one of the most popular, even, easiest, for posing the live model – everyone has a thorn! -- Rubens’s drawings of the Spinario convey the essence of Rubens’s attitude towards the ideal human form, and the Spinario’s attitude towards his own thorn. By posing flesh as imitatiang another substance imitating flresh, Rubens – or the artist who does this -- is able to bypass the dangers of the ‘matter’ to focus only on the complex form and pose of the original statue or statuary group or syntagma (think Lottatori!). Back in Antwerp, Rubens retains until his death his drawings after the Antique, bound together in separate books, as a distinctive part of the collection of his house-museum, which hosted also numerous antiquities. They remain a constant source of inspiration and they may also have been used as teaching tools – as in the best tradition of Renaissance workshop practices – judging by the copies deposited by his pupils in the cantoor, Rubens’s cabinet or studio. The flux of artists coming to Rome did not cease, although most become fascinated by the radical naturalism of Caravaggio and his followers, rather than aiming at recreating the principles of classical art. A group of artists even develops a successful speciality in the depiction of contemporary Roman street life and everyday reality: a rustic tavern, a drinking scenes, brigands, street vendors, charlatans and carnivals. The art of the ‘Bamboccianti’, so named after their leader, Laer, dubbed ‘Bamboccio’, or ‘ugly puppet’, is fiercely criticised as a debased form of art that deliberately chose the ‘worst’ of nature (cf. verismo, and the customs of realistic naturalism) by the supporters of classicism and history painting, such as Albani, Sacchi, and Rosa, as well as by the philosophers of ‘ideal beauty’ such as Bellori. In contrast to the Dutch, among the foreign communities in Rome, it was the French who are to take the lead in the cause of classicism, the defence of Ideal Beauty and the copy and study of the Antique. The contrasting attitudes of artists towards the study of art in Rome is perfectly visualised in a canvas by Goubau, a Flemish painter influenced by the Bamboccianti, who had been in Rome. On the right, judicious [Rubens, Study of the Laocoön Seen from the Back, c. 1606–08, black chalk, 440 × 283 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. 624, F 249 inf. n. 5, 11. Rubens, Study of the Younger Son FIGLIO PIU GIOVANE of the Laocoön Seen from the Back, black chalk, 444 × 265 mm, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan, inv. 623, F 249 inf. n. 5, 11] artists under the supervision of a master are busy at work among imaginary Roman ruins, copying and measuring an ancient statue or a relief, among them the ERCOLE FARNESE; on the left the Bamboccianti indulge in the pleasures of wine and music under the pergola of a rustic tavern. Nevertheless, this wittily expressed opposition should not be taken too literally, as the educational and inspirational role of classical statuary had been deeply assimilated by artists of every inclination or aesthetic Many move between genres and artistic currents such as the Flemish genre painter Lint, who produced many drawings after the Antique while in Rome. Even those close to the Bamboccianti clearly treasured the didactic role of classical statuary, as can be seen in the depictions of workshops and artists at work by the Flemish Sweerts. The Antique, and its didactic role in the Italian model of artistic education, also made rapid progress in all of civilised Europe, supported by the publication of Karel van Mander’s Schilderboeck. Knowledge was transmitted mainly through drawings, drawing-books and plaster casts. These are used in the drawing schools or private academies that proliferate, some of which were founded by the same artists who had been exponents of the Bamboccianti in Rome. These drawing schools often had to struggle against regulations by the guilds, which remained the dominant associations for artists, dictating what goes on in a workshop – the notable exception being the academy founded in Antwerp by royal [Goubau, The Study of Art in Rome, 1662, oil on canvas, 132 × 165 cm, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp, inv. 185] decree. But despite the heavy hands of the guilds, many thriving workshops, while accepting individual apprentices, adopt *Italian* academic practices, such as conducting classes for groups of students, or implementing a training programme focused on drawing and the mastery of the human form. This often included the ‘alphabet of drawing’, as was the practice of Rembrandt’s studio in Amsterdam, in which many students were taught annually, and of Rubens, who, as court painter, did not have to register his apprentices with the Antwerp guild.142 According to Van Mander, another studio famous for its educational efficacy was that of Abraham Bloemaert in Utrecht (see cat. 11).143 During the second half of the century, other private drawing schools or ‘colleges’ were founded, which cater for a clientele of artists or the dilettanti giving them the chance to draw from casts and the nude live model alongside their studio practice. Among the most famous are those of Sweerts, opened in Brussels and of Bisschop in The Hague. Closely connected with workshops’ and schools’ drawing practices was the proliferation of drawing-books and artists’ manuals. Most of them were based on the example of Odoardo Fialetti’s Il Vero Modo and Giacomo Franco’s De excellentia et nobilitate delineationis (1611) sometimes re- printing parts of them.147 Like their Italian predecessors, Netherlandish drawing-books focused on the human form, on classical statuary, and on the different stages of the academic learning process.148 The increasing importance of  38 39  the Antique in the Netherlands is well expressed by the various Dutch translations of François Perrier’s Segmenta (1638) – the most successful collection of prints after classical statues of the 17th century (fig. 57 and cat. 16, figs 3–6) – and by the equal success of its Dutch counterpart, Jan de Bisschop’s Icones (1668, see cat. 13), explicitly compiled as a teaching tool.149 Antique models were also copied by young Northern artists in three dimensions, thanks to the proliferation of casts, as shown in the frontispiece of Abraham Bloemaert’s Konstryk Tekenboek (c. 1650) – one of the most influential draw- ing-books of the second half of the century (see cat. 11). Many studios and drawing schools owned collections of casts, often of famous prototypes such as the Laocoön or the Apollo Belvedere. Inventories of the studios of Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem, Hendrik van Balen (1575–1632), and Rembrandt, for instance, testify to their presence.150 The diffusion of casts appears explicitly in the numerous paintings depicting young artists at work, which became popular from the middle of the century onwards (figs 49–53, see also cats 12 and 14). These works constitute an individual iconographical genre that probably derives from Fialetti’s striking etching (see cat. 10), which, as we have seen, was well known and reprinted several times in the Netherlands.151 This genre was practised mainly by Jacob Van Oost the Elder (1601–71, 50), Wallerant Vaillant (1623–77, 51), Balthasar Van den Bossche (1681–1715) and Michael Sweerts (fig. 52 and cat. 12), whose canvases tend to represent the ideal training curricu- lum, where the copying of plaster casts after the Antique has the place of honour.152 As ‘low’ genre paintings that celebrate the didactic role of the Antique – traditionally considered to be essential for the lofty genre of history painting rather than for scenes of daily life – they indirectly attest to the ubiquitous penetration of classical models in all 17th-century artistic practices. Incidentally they are also a direct visual source for the most widely diffused typologies of classical statues in the North of Europe in the 17th century: from busts of the Apollo Belvedere (figs 18 and 50), of the Laocoön group, both father and sons (figs 19 and 51), and of the so-called Grimani Vitellius (fig. 52), to reduced copies of the Spinario (figs 15 and 49), the Belvedere Antinous (figs 22 and 51), the Venus de’ Medici (figs 53 and 56), and the Farnese Hercules (see 32 and cat. 14). Also frequently depicted are busts of Niobe (see 34 and cat. 12), reduced copies of the Wrestlers (fig. 33) and the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 54). The Italian and the French Academies in the Seventeenth Century and the Establishment of Classicism The 17th century witnessed dramatic changes of attitude towards the study of the Antique in terms of codification, diffusion and theoretical debate; at the same time it saw the formulation of a style heavily dependent on classical sculp- ture, setting the stage for the final affirmation of classicism as a pan-European phenomenon in the following century. The selection of the most significant antique statues, begun in the 16th century, was further refined, especially in the cos- mopolitan antiquarian environment of Rome. Excavations continued and some of the new discoveries immediately joined the canon of ideal models. Three of them, in particu- lar, were ubiquitously reproduced and copied in studios and academies: the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 54), discovered in 1611, which soon became the preferred model for the anatomy of the muscular man in action; the Dying Gladiator (fig. 55), first mentioned in 1623, whose complex pose could be drawn from different angles and which offered an ideal of heroic pathos expressed in the moment of death; and finally, the Venus de’ Medici (fig. 56), first recorded in 1638 but possibly known in the late 16th century, which rapidly became the most admired embodiment of the graceful female body.153 New collections gradually replaced earlier ones and a few families succeeded in acquiring some of the newly discovered statues that had gained canonical status. The magnificent urban palaces and suburban villas of the Medici, Farnese, Borghese, Ludovisi and Giustiniani attracted an increasing number of visitors and artists, becoming privileged centres for the study of the Antique, and family names became attached to certain statues, as the Farnese Hercules or the Venus de’ Medici testify.154 Some of these, such as the Palazzo Farnese (see cat. 21), and the Casino Borghese retained their status as ‘private museums’ until the end of the 18th century. Prints continued to play a vital role in the dissemination of images of classical statues throughout Europe. They were produced predominantly in Rome, where, as in the 16th century, French printmakers played a prominent role along- side Italian antiquarians and engravers.155 Among others, the publications of François Perrier (1594–1649) and the duo comprising the antiquarian and theoretician Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613–96) and the engraver Pietro Santi Bartoli (1615– 1700), offered artists and the educated public a choice of 54. Agasias of Ephesus, Borghese Gladiator, c. 100 bc, marble, 199 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. Ma 527 55. Dying Gladiator, Roman copy of a Pergamene original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 93 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0747 49. (top left) Jan ter Borch, The Drawing Lesson, 1634, oil on canvas, 120 × 159 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, inv. SK-A-1331 50. (top right) Jacob van Oost the Elder, The Painter’s Studio, 1666, oil on canvas, 111.5 × 150.5 cm, Groeningenmuseum, Bruges, inv. 0000.GRO0188.II 51. (bottom left) Wallerant Vaillant, The Artist’s Pupil, c. 1668, oil on canvas, 119 × 90 cm, Bonnefantenmuseum, Maastricht, inv. 673 52. (bottom centre) Michael Sweerts (attr.), Boy Copying a Cast of the Head of Emperor Vitellius, c. 1658–59, oil on canvas, 49.5 × 40.6 cm, The Minneapolis Institute of Arts, inv. 72-65 53. (bottom right) Pieter van der Werf, A Girl Drawing and a Boy near a Statue of Venus, 1715, oil on panel, 38.5 × 29 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, inv. SK-A-472 40 41  the ‘best’ ancient statues and reliefs; the authority of their selections lasted throughout the 18th century. For full-length statues, crucial was the appearance in 1638 of Perrier’s Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum (fig. 57 and cat. 16 figs 3–6), a collection of prints which in many ways fulfils what Goltzius had intended to publish four decades earlier (see cats 6–7).156 Offering good quality reproductions and different points of view– three for the Farnese Hercules and four for the Borghese Gladiator, for instance – Perrier’s images were essential in focusing the attention of artists on a selected number of models considered exemplary in anatomy, proportions, poses and expressions. Reprinted and trans- lated several times, the success of the Segmenta was immense and it was used in studios and academies as a teaching tool for almost two centuries, as we have seen earlier in the Netherlands. As late as 1820 John Flaxman was still recom- mending the use of Perrier to his students at the Royal Academy.157 Such publications were the results of the antiquarian and theoretical interests of a French-Italian classicist milieu that flourished in the first half of the century in Rome.158 Innumerable French artists now spent time in the city, filling sketchbooks with copies after the Antique and Renaissance 56. Venus de’ Medici, Greek or Roman copy of the 1st century bc of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 153 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. 224 57. François Perrier, Venus de’Medici, plate 81, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 masters, and devoting increasing space to the study of Raphael.159 Two of the most relevant figures in this context were the great French painter Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), who resided in Rome between 1624 and 1665 (with a brief sojourn in France in 1640–42), and his friend and biographer Giovanni Pietro Bellori, possibly the most influential art writer of the century, who deserves to be called the pro- tagonist in the theoretical formulation of classicism. Of similar significance was the scholar, antiquarian, collector and patron Cassiano dal Pozzo (1588–1657), a friend of both Poussin and Bellori – and patron of the former – who assem- bled a vast encyclopaedic collection of drawings divided by themes, a ‘Paper Museum’, with sections devoted to classi- cal antiquity commissioned from several contemporary artists.160 Classicism found probably its clearest and most influen- tial formulations in a landmark discourse composed by Bellori and delivered in 1664, the year before Poussin’s death, in the Roman Accademia di San Luca: the ‘Idea of the painter, the sculptor and the architect, selected from the beauties of Nature, superior to Nature’ (see Appendix, no. 11). Bellori’s theoretical statement, published as a prologue to his Vite in 1672, was to become enormously influential in defining and disseminating the central tenets of the classicist ideal (see cat. 15).161 Joining Aristotelian and neo-Platonic premises, Bellori’s Idea advocates in the selection of the best parts of Nature according to the right judgement of the artist in order to create ideal beauty – a concept that we have already encountered many times. According to Bellori, the Idea had been embodied in art at several periods of history and he traced its development according to a scheme of peaks and descents. It took shape first and foremost in the ancient world and was revived in modern times by Raphael, who is accorded nearly divine status. After the decadence and excesses of Mannerism, it was revitalised by the Bolognese Annibale Carracci (1560–1609) and by his pupils and follow- ers, notably Domenichino (1581–1641). Their flame was kept alive in Bellori’s time by Poussin and Carlo Maratti (1625– 1713), a protégé of Bellori, who fashioned himself as the new Raphael and whose Academy of Drawing is the most program- matic representation of the principles of Roman classicism (see cat. 15). Bellori’s classicism, heir of the rich debates of the first half of the century, can be defined as a codification and defence of an idealistic style and of moralising history painting against the radical naturalism introduced by Caravaggio and his followers, whose slavish dependence on Nature and choice of low subjects were seen to undermine the intellectual premises of art. On the other hand, Bellori also confronted the excesses and liberties of the Baroque, whose representatives, according to him, leaned towards artificiality and despised the ‘ancient purity’.162 Classicism in many ways was based on the princi- ples laid down by the art theory of the second half of the 16th century, as it shared with it a fundamental premise: the neces- sity of the defence of what was perceived as the ideal path of art – the ‘bella maniera’ – against contemporary artistic trends which were considered erroneous or even noxious.163 The classicist theoretical approach further reinforced the practice of copying: it reinstated the intellectual value of drawing while providing a selected group of correct models to follow, with the Antique and Raphael on the loftiest pedestal. These premises were embraced by the Italian and French academies, and became the basis of most of the European academies of the following century – Opie’s words to the young pupils of the Royal Academy in 1807 still reiterate their fundamental tenets. Although the debate was at times fierce – as for instance within the Accademia di San Luca in the 1630s – a strict division of 17th-century artists into classicist, naturalist and Baroque categories would be arbitrary and inaccurate, as many of them moved between currents and at times incor- porated elements of each in their own creations. Indeed, artists of all allegiances copied, studied and took inspiration from the Antique. We know from surviving drawings and contemporary written sources that ‘classicist’ artists such as Annibale Carracci, Poussin and Maratti copied antique statues (figs 58–61), yet an equal number of ‘Baroque’ 58. Annibale Carracci, Head of Pan from the marble group of Pan and Olympos in the Farnese Collection, 1597–98, black chalk heightened with white chalk on grey-blue paper, 381 × 245 mm, Louvre, Paris, inv. 7193  artists, such as Rubens (figs 45–47 and cat. 9), Pietro da Cortona (1596–1669, 62) and Bernini (figs 63–64) spent as much time in absorbing the principles of the Antique.164 Nevertheless their approaches towards the Antique could be very different. Poussin, the intellectual and antiquarian painter par excellence, copied hundreds of details from classical sculpture, especially reliefs and sarcophagi, to give archaeo- logical consistency to his art, so that his paintings would represent classical histories with the maximum of accuracy,  42 43 59. Nicolas Poussin, Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius, c. 1630–32, pen and brown ink and brown wash, 244 × 190 mm, Musée Condé, Chantilly, inv. AI 219; NI 264 60. Carlo Maratti, The Farnese Flora, c. 1645–70, black chalk, 294 × 159 mm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, inv. 904377 61. Carlo Maratti, or Studio of, The Farnese Hercules, c. 1645–70, red chalk, 292 × 165 mm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, inv. 904382 62. Pietro da Cortona, The Trophies of Marius, c. 1628–1632, pen, brown ink, brown wash, heightened in white, on blue sky prepared paper, 518 × 346 mm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, inv. RL 8249 integrity and power, an approach in several ways similar to that of Mantegna and Raphael. Bernini, arguably the greatest 17th-century sculptor, spent his youth obsessively copying the ancient statues in the Belvedere (see Appendix, nos 9–10) and in his old age recommended that students of the Académie Royale in Paris begin their studies by copying casts of the most famous classical statues before approaching Nature (see Appendix, nos 9–10). But Bernini’s attitude towards ancient statuary was poles apart from that of Poussin (whom he nevertheless highly admired): he assimilated its principles in order to create his own independent forms, at times deviating radically from the classical model – an atti- tude that we have already seen in Michelangelo and Rubens. To develop their own style and avoid a slavish dependency on the Antique – something already stressed by Dolce, Armenini and Rubens (Appendix, nos 4, 6, 8) – he advised his students to combine and alternate ‘action and contemplation’, that is to alternate their own production with the practice of copy- ing (Appendix, no. 10). A wonderful example that allows us to follow Bernini’s creative process of transforming of the antique model is provided by a study of the torso of the Laocoön, the unbalanced and twisted pose of which he then ingeniously adapted in reverse for the complex attitude of his Daniel (figs 63–66). A recollection of the Laocoön is further- more recognisable in Daniel’s powerful expression (fig. 66).165 A practical outcome of the French and Italian theoretical formulation of a classicist doctrine was the foundation in 1648 of the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in Paris, followed in 1666 by that of the Académie de France in Rome – the latter intended to give prize-winning students the opportunity to study the Antique in situ and to provide 44 Louis XIV (r. 1643–1715) with copies of classical and Ren- aissance statues.166 The foundation of the French Académie in Paris is a turning point in the history of the teaching of art, as its codified programme – based on Italian examples, and especially the Roman Accademia di San Luca – would constitute the basis for the academies that spread over the Western world in the 18th and 19th centuries. Founded by several artists, most of whom had spent periods in Rome such as Charles Le Brun (1619–90), the Paris Académie was supported by the monarch and candidates could apply for admission only after they had trained in a workshop. Its regulations aimed at full intellectual develop- ment for its students to prepare them for the creation of the highest genre, history painting, or the grande manière. Although its curriculum was rather loosely organised and, in the first tw  o decades of its history, fairly tolerant in its aesthetic positions, during the 1660s the Académie was drastically reformed by the powerful Minister and Super- intendent of Buildings Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619–83) and by Le Brun to become an institution in the service of the absolutist policy of Louis XIV, with a codified version of classicism as its official aesthetic. The rationalistic nature of French 17th-century culture meant that the Académie conceived of art as a science that could be taught by rules. This was explicitly stated by Le Brun in 1670,167 and efforts were concentrated in clarifying and applying most of the precepts already devised by the early Italian academies and theoreticians. If a student followed these precepts correctly he – and only he, as the institution was limited to male pupils until the late 19th century – would be able to assimilate the principles of ideal beauty and create grand art.168 The future European success of this regimented version of the humanistic theory of art rested exactly in its rational nature, as a clear system of rules easy to export and replicate, offering at the same time a safe path towards ‘true’ and universal art. Pupils were supposed to follow the ‘alphabet of drawing’, from copying drawings, to casts and statues, to the live model, which remained the most difficult task and one reserved for the most advanced students. Regular lectures on geometry, perspective and anatomy were provided. As in Federico Zuccaro’s statutes for the Accademia di San Luca, professors rotated monthly to supervise the life class, prizes were awarded to students and regular debates were initiated on the principles of art – the celebrated so-called Conférences, regularly held from 1667 onwards on the advice of Colbert, although they faltered by the end of the century to be revived only a few decades later.169 Other aspects of the reforms of the 1660s included the division of the drawing course into lower classes, devoted to copying, and higher classes, for 63. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Study of the Torso of the Father in the Laocoön group, c. 1650–55, red chalk heightened with white on grey paper, 369 × 250 mm, Museum der Bildenden Künste, Leipzig, inv. 7903 64. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Two Studies for the Statue of ‘Daniel’, c. 1655, red chalk on grey paper, 375 × 234 mm, Museum der Bildenden Künste, Leipzig, inv. 7890 65. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, c. 1655, terracotta, 41.6 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 2424 drawing from the live model. Competitions were further structured to lead towards the highest reward, the famous Grand Prix or Prix de Rome, which allowed the winners to spend between three and five years at the Académie de France in Rome, to complete their education and to assimilate the principles of the greatest ancient and modern art. The official doctrine of the Paris Académie was distilled and diffused by André Félibien (1619–95), the most promi- nent French art theorist of the period, in his preface to the first series of Conférences held in 1667 and published in 1668. Félibien offered a clear structure for the hierarchy of genres that would be associated with academic painting for the next two centuries: at the bottom was still life, followed on an ascending line by landscape, genre painting, portraiture and finally by history painting, for which the study of the Antique, of modern masters and of the live model were considered necessary.170 The first Conférences reveal in their subjects and approach the central tenets of the Parisian Académie: paintings by Raphael, Poussin, Le Brun and the Laocoön were meticulously analysed in their parts according to strict rules: invention, expression, composition, drawing, colour, proportions etc. Some Conférences were devoted to specific parts of painting: one given by Le Brun in 1668, on the ‘passions of the soul’, which was printed posthumously and translated into several languages, constituted the basis for the study of facial expres- sions until well into the 19th century.171 The Antique remained one of the favourite subjects to be dissected by the academicians. After the 1667 Conférence on the Laocoön (see Appendix, no. 12),172 praised as the ideal model for drawing and for the ‘strong expressions of pain’,173 many more followed specifically devoted to the Farnese Hercules, Belvedere Torso, Borghese Gladiator, and Venus de’ Medici, the ultimate selected canon of sculptures.174 Conférences were also given on the study of the Antique in general.175 Sébastien Bourdon’s (1616–71) Conférence sur les proportions de la figure humaine expliquées sur l’Antique, in 1670 advised students to fully absorb the Antique from a very early age, measure precisely its proportions and control ‘compass in hand’ the 66. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, 1655–57, marble, over life-size, Chigi Chapel, Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome  45  live model against classical sculptures, as they are never arbitrary – a method, according to Bourdon, approved by Poussin.176 This extreme rationalistic approach, based on the actual measurement of the Antique, which, as we will see, would generate opposition, was put into practice by Gérard Audran (1640–1703), engraver and ‘conseiller’ of the Académie (Appendix, no. 13). His illustrated treatise of 1682 (figs 72–73) provided students with the carefully measured proportions of the antique statues that they were supposed to follow and became a standard reference work in many languages, continuously republished until 1855. While the Académie de France in Rome must have started accumulating casts after the Antique from early on – the inventory of 1684 lists a vast collection of statues, reliefs, busts, etc.177 – it is not entirely clear how readily the students of the Académie in Paris had access to casts or copies in the first decades of the institution’s history. Bernini, in his 1665 visit, explicitly advised the formation of a cast collection for the Parisian Académie, and some, among them a Farnese Hercules, were ordered or donated in the following years.178 But although students certainly copied casts already in Paris, full immersion in the practice was reserved for the period they spent in Rome.179 ‘Make the painters copy everything beautiful in Rome; and when they have finished, if possible, make them do it again’ Colbert tellingly wrote in 1672 to Charles Errard (c. 1606–9 – 1689), the first Director of the Académie de France in Rome.180 In Rome a similar practice was encouraged in the Accademia di San Luca, which, like its Parisian counterpart, was significantly reformed in the 1660s, perhaps a sign of the increasingly important reversal of influence, from France to Italy. From the beginning of the presidency of Carlo Maratti in 1664, a staged drawing curriculum, competitions and lectures were implemented and new casts were ordered (see cat. 15).181 Some twenty years later the Accademia received the donation of hundreds of casts of antique sculp- tures from the studio of the sculptor and restorer Ercole Ferrata (1610–86).182 Sharing the same values and similar curricula, in 1676 the Accademia di San Luca and the Parisian Académie Royale were formally amalgamated and on occa- sion French painters even became principals of San Luca – Charles Errard in 1672 and 1678, and Charles Le Brun in 1676–77.183 But the Italians could never feel wholly comforta- ble with the extreme rationalisation of art characteristic of so much French theory.184 After the publication of the French Conférences, debates were held in defence of the Vasarian tradi- tion and of the value of grace, judgement and natural talent against the rules and the overly rational analysis of art and the Antique by the French.185 The engraving by Nicolas Dorigny (1658–1746) after Carlo Maratti is the most eloquent 46 visual expression of this intellectual confrontation that con- tinued into the 1680s (cat. 15). Some of the most doctrinal aspects of the Parisian academy also generated an internal counteraction and the supporters of disegno, classicism and Poussin, headed by Le Brun, were challenged by the promot- ers of Venetian colore and Rubens, led by the artist and critic Roger de Piles (1635–1709) and by the painter Charles de la Fosse (1636–1716). The battle between ‘Poussinisme’ and ‘Rubénisme’ – a new incarnation of the debate started more than a century earlier by Giorgio Vasari and Lodovico Dolce – captured the imagination of the French academic world between the end of the 17th and the first decade of the 18th centuries. The victory of the Rubénistes led the way to a freer, anti-classicist and more painterly aesthetic and to the eventual affirmation of the Rococo in French art.186 But the next century would also witness the triumph of the classicist ideal, as its principles spread all over Europe. The Antique Posed, Measured and Dissected Given the rationalistic approach of French artists and theo- rists to the Antique – ‘compass in hand’ – it does not come as a surprise that, during the 17th century, they actually started to measure ancient statues in order to tabulate their pro- portions. And as well as measuring statues they began to merge the study of anatomy with study of the Antique to provide young students with ideal sets of muscles to copy. Such efforts produced a series of extremely influential drawing-books filled with fascinating and disturbing images, in which ancient bodies are covered by nets of numbers or flayed and presented as living écorchés. In a way it was inevitable that the study of human propor- tions applied by Alberti, Leonardo and Dürer to living bodies 67. Peter Paul Rubens, Study of the Farnese Hercules, c. 1602, pen and brown ink, 196 × 153 mm, The Courtauld Gallery, Samuel Courtauld Trust, London, inv. D.1978.PG.427.v, 68. Charles Errard, Antinous Belvedere, plate on 457 in Giovanni Pietro Bellori, Le vite de’ pittori scultori e architetti moderni, Rome, 1672 would eventually be merged with the study of the ideal bod- ies of ancient statues, to test Vitruvius’ assertion that ancient artists worked according to a fixed canon (Appendix, no. 1). The main problem was that the canonical proportions of 5th-century bc sculpture had been disregarded from the 3rd century bc onwards. Furthermore, as we now know, most of the ‘perfect’ Greek statues were actually modified Roman copies of lost originals. The measuring efforts of 17th- century art theorists were therefore for the most part in vain, as most of the revered marbles did not embody the principles of commensurability and overall harmonic proportion that they believed they did. Although we have seen that Raphael had already initiated the practice of measuring statues (fig. 27), the first to refer explicitly to this exercise is Armenini in his 1587 De veri precetti della pittura, in which a chapter is devoted specifically to the ‘measure of man based on the ancient statues’.187 Rubens also devoted much attention to trying to discover the perfect num- bers and forms of ancient statues, dividing for instance the Farnese Hercules, the strongest type of male body, according to series of cubes, the most solid of the perfect forms (fig. 67).188 Not surprisingly, Poussin’s approach to the Antique in Rome was similar, and we know from Bellori that he and the sculptor François Duquesnoy (1597–1643) ‘embarked on the study of the beauty and proportion of statues, measuring them together, as can be seen in the case of the one of Anti- nous’ – two illustrations of which he published in Poussin’s life in his Vite (fig. 68).189 But the first artist to provide accurate drawings of the most famous statues was the future founding director of the Académie de France in Rome, Charles Errard, who, later, also provided the measured Antinous illustrations for Bellori’s Vite (fig. 68). In collaboration with the theorist Roland Fréart de Chambray (1606–76), and most likely inspired by Poussin, he executed in 1640 a series of intriguing measured red chalk drawings today preserved at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris (figs 69–71).190 Produced only two years after the publication      69. Charles Errard, or collaborator, Measured Drawing of the Belvedere Antinous, 1640, red chalk, pencil, pen and brown ink, 430 × 280 mm, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. PC6415, no. 27 70. Charles Errard, Measured Drawing of the Laocoön, 1640, red chalk, pen and brown ink, 430 × 280 mm, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. PC6415, no. 11 71. Charles Errard, Measured Drawing of the Venus de’Medici, 1640, red chalk, pencil, pen and brown ink, 430 × 280 mm, École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. PC6415, no. 28 47  of Perrier’s successful Segmenta, Errard’s drawings were clearly intended to be published and to present young artists with a set of certain and ideal proportions on which they could base their own figures. A similar search for discipline was undertaken by Fréart de Chambray, and later by other theorists, among the remains of ancient architecture, which involved an even more intense effort to discover their ‘perfect’ proportions. Although a few of Errard’s drawings were published in 1656 by Abraham Bosse – the first professor of perspective of the Parisian Académie Royale – the first successful manuals appeared in the 1680s, as a result of the theoretical debates on the proportions of ancient statues held in the Académie during the previous decade.191 By far the most influential was a manual we have already encountered, Gérard Audran’s Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, published in 1683 (Appendix, no. 13). This provided a fully ‘classicised’ drawing-book, following the ‘alphabet of drawing’ from the measured eye, nose and mouth of the Apollo Belvedere (fig. 72), to whole canonical statues, such as the Laocoön (fig. 73). Audran’s book, republished several times in various languages, became the model for many similar publications that appeared during the 18th and early 19th centuries and espoused a practice embraced by many artists. Examples from different nations include a Dutch manual, where, fascinatingly, the Apollo Belvedere is presented according to Vitruvian principles (fig. 74; see also 2 and Appendix, no. 1); drawings by the sculptor Joseph Nollekens (1737–1823; 75); and measured notes drawn by Antonio Canova over an engraving of the Apollo Belvedere from a didactic series of prints after the Antique (fig. 76).192 In addition to being carefully measured, antique bodies were also dissected. If classical statues displayed perfect anat- omies, then, it was thought, they would offer an ideal starting point for young students to study bones and muscles. Combining the study of the Antique with that of anatomy was intended to reinforce the familiarity of young artists with ancient canonical models, now also analysed from the inside. Students until then had trained mainly on the immensely influential De humani corporis fabrica, published by Andrea Vesalius in 1543, and on the anatomical treatises that were based on it, but from the late 17th century new ‘classicised’ manuals appeared.193 The first, Anatomia per uso et intelligenza del disegno..., based on drawings by Errard, was published in 1691 by Bernardino Genga (1655–1720), professor of anatomy at the Académie de France in Rome.194 Probably conceived much earlier, the set of engravings included fascinating and somewhat morbid images of the skeletons of classical statues (figs 77–78; although these were not eventually included in the book) and several different views of the muscles of the strongest types of ancient prototypes, the Laocoön, the Borghese Gladiator, the Farnese Hercules and the Borghese Faun (figs 79–80).195 Genga and Errard’s Anatomia was a model for several similar books which appeared in the 18th and early 19th centuries to satisfy the needs of the increasingly classicistic curricula of European academies. Not surprisingly, only male antiquities, and usually the most muscular ones, were illustrated, both for reasons of decorum and also because the 74. Jacob de Wit, Measured ‘Apollo Belvedere’, plate 8 in Teekenboek der proportien van ‘t menschelyk lighaam, Amsterdam, 1747 75. Joseph Nollekens, Measured Drawing of the ‘Capitoline Antinous’, 1770, pen and brown ink over traces of black chalk, 431 × 292 mm, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, inv. DBB 1460 76. Giovanni Volpato and Rafaello Morghen, Measured ‘Apollo Belvedere’, engraving (with inscribed measures in pencil, red chalk, pen and brown ink by Antonio Canova), post 1786, plate 35 in Principi del disegno. Tratti dall più eccellenti statue antiche per il giovanni che vogliono incamminarsi nello studio delle belle arti, Rome, 1786, Museo Civico, Bassano del Grappa, inv. B 42.69 Audran, Measured Details of the ‘Apollo Belvedere’, plate 27 in Les Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris, 1683 73. Gérard Audran, Measured ‘Laocoön’, plate 1 in Les Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris, 1683 48 49 77. (above left) After Charles Errard, The Skeleton of the ‘Laocoön’, c. 1691, engraving, 328 × 198 mm, Bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris, Album Maciet 2-4 (4) 78. (above centre) After Charles Errard, The Skeleton of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, c. 1691, engraving, 334 × 280 mm, Bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris, Album Maciet 2-4 (1) 79. (above right) After Charles Errard, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, c. 1691, plate 51 in Bernardino Genga and Charles Errard, Anatomia per uso et intelligenza del disegno . . ., Rome, 1691 80. (left) After Charles Errard, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Laocoön’, c. 1691, plate 43 in Bernardino Genga and Charles Errard, Anatomia per uso et intelligenza del disegno . . ., Rome, 1691  male body was believed to provide more anatomical infor- mation compared to the female one. One of the most dis- turbingly accurate, printed in two colours to distinguish the muscles from the bones, is the Anatomie du Gladiateur combatant ... published in 1812 by the military surgeon Jean- Galbert Salvage (1772–1813). Although this provided a precise anatomical analysis of the head of the Apollo Belvedere (fig. 81), its main focus was on the anatomy of the Borghese Gladiator analysed in all its parts (fig. 82). The accuracy of the manual’s plates made it extremely influential throughout Europe.196 81. Nicolaï Ivanovitch Outkine after Jean-Galbert Salvage, Muscles and Bones of the Head of the ‘Apollo Belvedere’, engraving in two colours, plate 1 in Jean Galbert Salvage, Anatomie du Gladiateur combatant ..., Paris, 1812 82. Jean Bosq after Jean-Galbert Salvage, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, engraving in two colours, plate 6 in Jean Galbert Salvage, Anatomie du Gladiateur combatant ..., Paris, 1812 50 The stress on anatomical precision also produced a spectacu- lar three-dimensional écorché of the Borghese Gladiator created by Salvage in 1804 and acquired as a teaching tool in 1811 by the École des Beaux-Arts, where it remains (fig. 83).197 An earlier model, which had served as inspiration for Salvage, was the gruesomely naturalistic écorché posed as the Dying Gladiator (see 55) made by William Hunter (1718– 83), the professor of anatomy at the Royal Academy of Arts in London, in collaboration with the sculptor Agostino Carlini. Casted on the body of an executed smuggler, it was aptly Latinised as Smugglerius.198 The Antique found its way into academic anatomical manuals for students throughout the 19th century, and its pervasiveness was enormous, extending even beyond Western culture. A plate with a flayed Laocoön from the popu- lar Anatomie des formes extérieures du corps humain, published in 1845 by Antoine-Louis-Julien Fau (fig. 85), served as inspira- tion for a popular artists’ manual produced in Japan at the end of the century, resulting in an extraordinary image which fuses the Western canon and the Japanese woodblock print tradition of the Ukiyo-e (fig. 86).199 The osmosis between the Antique and other disciplines of the academic curriculum gained ground also in the study of the live model. We have seen that already in the 15th century it was common practice to pose apprentices in imitation of ancient sculpture (see 14), and great artists like Rubens often returned to this expedient (see cat. 9). But the practice became increasingly diffused within the codified curricula of French and Italian academies during the 17th and 18th centuries (figs 87–89). Recommended by several 83. Jean-Galbert Salvage, Écorché of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, 1804, plaster, 157 cm (h), École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, Paris, inv. MU11927 84. (top left) William Pink after Agostino Carlini, Smugglerius, c. 1775 (this copy c. 1834), painted plaster, 75.5 × 148.6 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/1436     85. (middle left) M. Léveillé, Anatomical Figure of the ‘Laocoön’, lithography, plate 24 in Antoine-Louis-Julien Fau, Anatomie des formes extérieures du corps humain, Paris, 1845 86. (middle right) Anatomical Figures of the ‘Laocoön’ and of a Small Child, woodblock print, plate in Kawanabe Kyo-sai, Kyosai Gadan. (bottom left) Antoine Paillet, Drawing of a Model Posing as the ‘Laocoön’, 1670, black and white chalk on brown paper, 580 × 521 mm, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris, inv. EBA 3098 88. (bottom centre) Giuseppe Bottani, Drawing of a Model in the Pose of the ‘Lycean Apollo’ Type, c. 1760–70, red and white chalks on red-orange prepared paper, 423 × 270 mm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, inv. 1978-70-197 89. (bottom right) Jacques-Luois David, An Academic Model in the Pose of the ‘Dying Gaul’, 1780, oil on canvas, 125 × 170 cm, Musée Thomas Henry, Cherbourg, inv. MTH 835.102 51  academicians, posing the live model with the same tension and flexing of muscles as the ancient statues encouraged students to correct their drawings after fallible Nature against the perfection of the antique examples and to derive universal principles from particular living models (see cats 16 and 27b).200 The Eighteenth Century and the Diffusion of the Classical Ideal The seeds planted by 17th-century classicist theory fully blossomed during the 18th with the affirmation of Neo- classicism in the second half of the century. Supported by and supporting the exponential diffusion of academies – from some nineteen in 1720 to more than 100 in 1800 – the cult of the Antique spread to the four corners of Europe, from St Petersburg to Lisbon and beyond.201 The ‘true style’, as classicism was often called in the 18th century, was inextri- cably linked with many of the values of Enlightenment culture: in an age in search of order and universal principles, the appeal of the rational and ‘eternal’ ideals embodied by classical statuary proved irresistible. At the same time they provided a useful tool for existing political powers and a for- midable one for new authorities in search of legitimisation. The new academies based their curricula mainly on that of Paris and Rome, and the didactic role assigned to the Antique was physically imported through an army of plaster casts – the ‘Apostles of good taste’ – as Denis Diderot called them, which became the most recognisable trademark of the newly founded institutions (fig. 90).202 The progressive method of the ‘alphabet of drawing’ definitively established itself as the basis of the training of European artists well into the 20th century. Not necessarily followed in practice, as students often wanted to rush to the copy of the live model, its didactic value was, in 90. After Augustin Terwesten, The Life Academy at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Berlin, engraved vignette on 217 from Lorenz Beger, Thesaurus Brandenburgicus Selectus...,3, Berlin, 1701 theory, supported by the vast majority of academies.203 The plate illustrating the entry on ‘Drawing’ in Diderot and D’Alembert’s epochal Encyclopédie significantly focuses on the three steps, being followed in different media (fig. 91).204 While the French model was spreading throughout Europe during the first half of the century, ironically the Parisian Académie itself underwent a period of crisis. After the death of Colbert in 1683 and of Le Brun in 1690, the royal institution became decreasingly relevant in determining the direction of the national school of painting. Financial constraints and the waning of royal patronage coincided with the fact that the vital forces of French art were becoming less interested in adhering to the precepts of the Académie. A change in taste under the regency of Philippe d’Orléans (r. 1715–23) favoured the so-called petite manière, a form of painting dealing with light-hearted subjects – ‘bergeries’, ‘fêtes galantes’ – against the grande manière. Partly as a conse- quence, the traditional curriculum of the Académie, centred on the study of the human figure to prepare for history painting, was increasingly neglected.205 But things changed radically in 1745 with the appointment of Charles-François- Paul Le Normant de Tournehem – the uncle of Madame de Pompadour – as Surintendant des Bâtiments du Roi, the official protector of the Académie Royale on behalf of the king. He initiated a reform involving the reinvigoration of royal patronage, the re-establishment of Conférences and, more generally, a series of initiatives aimed at re-establishing the leading role of the Académie and of history painting in the French art world.206 The principles of Le Normant’s reform, supported by the influential antiquarian and theorist Comte de Caylus (1692–1765) and visualised by Charles-Joseph Natoire’s beautiful drawing (cat. 16), paved the way for the final affirmation of the grande manière in the second half of the century, despite the continuing clamour of dissenting voices. If Paris progressively became the centre of the modern art world, Rome retained its status as the ‘academy’ of Europe 91. Benoît-Louis Prévost after Charles-Nicolas Cochin the younger, A Drawing School, plate 1, illustrating the entry ‘Dessein’ from Denis Diderot and Jean Le Ronde D’Alambert, Encyclopédie ..., Recueil de planches, sur les sciences, les art libéraux, et les arts méchaniques ..., Paris, 1763,20 where a thriving international community of artists congre- gated to round off their education in the physical and spirit- ual presence of the Antique and the great Renaissance masters.207 The crucial role that Rome occupied in 18th- century culture is evoked in the words of the most famous art critic of the age and the champion of classicism Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–68): ‘Rome’ he wrote in his letters ‘is the high school for all the world, and I also have 208 been purified and tried in it’. Of course, artists and travel- lers had visited the city to study its art for at least two centu- ries, but the 18th century represented Rome’s golden age as the traveller’s ultimate destination. The Grand Tour – as the trip to Italy and to Rome was known – became a social and cultural phenomenon that included artists, antiquarians, collectors and, in general, members of European elites.209 It generated an industry of collectibles that travellers could bring back to their homeland, and an army of original ancient statues and modern copies in all media was exported, alongside portraits and paintings of various kinds that would powerfully recall the time spent by their owners in the eternal city. Among the most fascinating and systematic evocations of Rome are a series of celebrated canvases by Giovanni Paolo Panini (1691–1765), where ‘the best of the best’ of Roman sites and antiquities are gathered together in imaginary galleries. In the foreground of 92, (see also cat. 20, 5) artists are busy drawing and measuring with their compasses a selected choice of canonical classical statues – a reminder of one of the most widespread artistic activities in the city.210 The demands of the Grand Tour ‘industry’ also generated a specific category of ‘marketable drawings’ after the Antique destined to fill the ‘paper museums’ of collectors and anti- quarians all over Europe. They were mainly produced for collectors and travellers from Britain, a nation that became increasingly important in the study of the Antique through- out the century. Among the most famous drawings were those produced in the workshop of the entrepreneurial painter Francesco Ferdinandi Imperiali (1679–1740) in the 1720s by various painters and draughtsmen – among them Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (1692–1775; see cats 19–20) and the young Pompeo Batoni (1708–87; 93).211 Created for the extensive collection of the antiquarian Richard Topham    52 53 92. Giovanni Paolo Panini, Roma Antica, 1754–57, oil on canvas, 186 × 227 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, inv. Nr 3315  (1671–1730), Batoni’s red chalk drawings are among the most extraordinary produced in the 18th century. With their preci- sion, attention to detail, fidelity to the originals and frontal viewpoint, they encapsulate many of the typical qualities of this category of drawings. Their manner continues and devel- ops some of the characteristics already seen in the classicist drawings of Carlo Maratti, of whom Batoni was the natural artistic heir (figs 60–61). Growing interest in the classical past was also supported by massive expansion in antiquarian publications, such as the monumental Antiquité expliquée (Paris, 1719–24) by the Abbé Bernard de Montfaucon, an illustrated encyclopaedia of the Antique for the use of the European educated public. Artists could also benefit from an increase in printed collec- tions of classical statues.212 Paolo Alessandro Maffei and Domenico de Rossi’s Raccolta di Statue Antiche e Moderne (1704) set new standards of accuracy, and it was followed by the various sumptuous volumes devoted to the antiquities of the Grand Ducal collection in Florence and of the Capitoline Museum in Rome (see cats 19–20). With its wealth of patrons, artistic competitions, acade- mies and artists’ studios, many displaying collections of casts, Rome also offered an unrivalled opportunity to learn and practice the arts of disegno.213 The classicist direction given to the Accademia di San Luca by Giovanni Pietro Bellori and Carlo Maratti, was sanctioned by the Pope Clement XI (r. 1700–21) who in 1702 established papal- supported competitions, the celebrated Concorsi Clementini, which thrived especially during the second half of the century (see cat. 20).214 Open to all nationalities, the Concorsi 93. Pompeo Batoni, Drawing of the Ceres of Villa Casali, c. 1730, red chalk, 469 × 350 mm, Eton College Library, Windsor, inv. Bn. 3, no. 45 were divided into three classes of increasing difficulty, the third and lowest class being reserved for copying, usually after the Antique (see cat. 20, 4). This reinforced, as nowhere else in Europe, the study of classical statuary as the cornerstone of the artist’s education, giving to Italian and foreign artists alike the chance to be rewarded publicly in sumptuous ceremonies held in the Capitoline palaces, even in early stages of their careers. The cosmopolitan atmos- phere of the Accademia di San Luca is reflected in the fact that among its Principals were several foreigners, such as the Frenchman Charles-François Poerson (elected 1714) or the Saxon Anton Raphael Mengs (1771–2) and the Austrian Anton von Maron (1784–6). The Accademia was also open to leading women painters such as Rosalba Carriera (1675–1757) or Elisabeth-Louise Vigée Le Brun (1755–1842), although they were not allowed to attend meetings. Crucial for artistic education was the opening of the Capitoline as a public museum in 1734, thanks to the enlight- ened policy of Pope Clement XII (r. 1730–40).215 One of the main reasons behind the papal decision was specifically to support ‘the practice and advancement of young students of the Liberal Arts’ through the copy of the Antique.216 An evocative vignette inserted in the Musei Capitolini – the first sumptuously illustrated catalogue of the collection – reflects the popularity of its cluttered rooms among artists of all nations (see cat. 20). With the opening in the Capitoline of the Accademia del Nudo in 1754 – specifically devoted to the study of the live model and controlled by the Acca- demia di San Luca – the museum became a sort of ideal academy where art students could copy concurrently from the Antique, Old Masters paintings and the live model.217 Apart from the Capitoline and other traditional places, such as the Belvedere Court or the aristocratic palaces where original antiquities could be studied in situ (cat. 21), the other favoured locus for the study of the Antique in the city was the Académie de France in Rome, which owned the largest collection of plaster casts in Europe. Although the Académie, like its Parisian counterpart, had gone through a troubled period in the early decades of the century – the Prix de Rome was cancelled for lack of funds in 1706–8, 1714 and 1718–20 – its role was revamped and its practices drastically reformed under the directorship of Nicholas Vleughels (1668–1737) between 1725 and 1737.218 The casts were redisplayed in Palazzo Mancini, the Académie’s prestigious new location on the Corso, and integrated for didactic purposes with the study of the live model (see cat. 16). The collection of the Académie served as an example for similar institutions throughout Europe, as its arrangement of many copies side- by-side was considered ideal for the assimilation of classical forms. With the advancing neo-classical aesthetic, their flawless white appearance was even preferred for didactic purposes above the originals: young students could concen- trate on their purified forms, without the signs of time shown by real antiquities. No other nation had as many members in Rome as France, both as pensionnaires of the Académie and permanent residents (see cats 17–18, 21).219 The long directorship of Charles-Joseph Natoire, between 1751 and 1775, greatly devel- oped and expanded the copying of antiquities that had been reinstated by Vleughels. But Natoire also encouraged the creation of ‘classical’ landscapes of the Roman campagna, following the principles established by the great 17th-century French landscapists: Poussin, Dughet and Claude.220 Natoire and his most gifted and prolific pupil, Hubert Robert (1733– 1808), who spent more than a decade in Rome between 1754 and 1765, produced a series of drawings in which copy- ing in the city’s museums and palaces is splendidly evoked (figs 94–97 and cat. 17).221 Focused in particular on the Capitoline collection, Robert’s images are among the most fascinating products of a genre – that of the artist drawing in situ surrounded by classical statues – that, as we know, goes back to the 16th century (see cat. 5 and 44). Robert specialised in evocative views of the remains of ancient Rome, with artists and wanderers lost among their crumbling grandeur. In many ways he recaptured the spirit of wonder and meditation on the ruins of the city expressed by 16th-century Northern artists, such as Maarten van Heemskerck, Herman Posthumus, and Nicolas Beatrizet (fig. 44).222 Boosted by the enthusiasm generated by the unearthing of the remains of Herculaneum and Pompeii in 1738 and 1748, in the second half of the century the ‘true style’ of Neo-classicism firmly established itself, spreading from the international community in Rome to the whole of Europe. Significant figures in the formulation of the new taste were the architect and engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720– 78), whose lyrical etchings and engravings of ancient and modern Rome established – and sometimes created – the image of Rome among a European public, and the art historian Johann Joachim Winckelmann, whose powerful descriptions of classical statues inspired generations of artists and travellers, firmly establishing a new classicist doctrine in European taste.223 More than ever before, artists now aimed not only at assimilating the principles of classical sculpture, but at recreating its formal aspect, as a universal standard of perfection to which any great artist should aspire.   54 55 94. Charles-Joseph Natoire, Artists Drawing in the Inner Courtyard of the Capitoline Museum in Rome, 1759, pen and brown ink, brown and grey wash, white highlights over black chalk lines on tinted grey-blue paper, 300 × 450 mm, Louvre, Paris, inv. 3931381 Robert, The Draughtsman at the Capitoline Museum, c. 1763, red chalk, 335 × 450 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie de Valence, inv. D. 80 96. Hubert Robert, Antiquities at the Capitoline Museum, c. 1763, red chalk, 345 × 450 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie de Valence, inv. D. 81 97. Hubert Robert, The Draughtsman of the Borghese Vase, c. 1765, red chalk, 365 × 290 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts et d’Archéologie de Valence, inv. D28 As Winckelmann famously stated in his Reflections on the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks (1755): ‘There is but one way for the moderns to become great, and perhaps unequalled; I mean, by imitating the ancients’ (see Appendix, no. 15). Although in 1775 new regulations for the Académie de France in Rome stressed again the centrality in the curriculum of study of the live model, most pupils now favoured the study of the Antique, an evident sign of the evolution of taste towards a new radical classicism.224 Of all the artists converging on Rome, Jacques-Louis David (1748–1825), was one of the most prolific in making copies after the Antique.225 Leaving Paris in 1775 with the firm resolution of maintaining his independence and avoiding the seductions of the Antique, his arrival in Rome, according to his own words, opened his eyes.226 He started his artistic education again by spending the next five years as a pension- naire obsessively copying from modern masters and classical statues, reliefs and sarcophagi with an attention to detail that recalls Poussin’s approach to antiquity (fig. 98).227 Generally speaking, between the end of the 18th century and the beginning of the 19th, artists copying from the Antique concentrated progressively on the outlines of statues rather than on the modelling or the chiaroscuro, as the neo-classical aesthetic valued the purity of the line over any other pictorial element, accentuating the stress on disegno inaugurated by Vasari more than two centuries before. 98. Jacques-Louis David, Drawing of a Relief with a Distraught Woman with Her Head Thrown Back, 1775/80, pen and black ink with gray wash over black chalk, 196 × 150 mm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., Patrons’ Permanent Fund1998.105.1.bbb But coinciding with David’s residence in Rome, other interpretations of the Antique started to emerge within a circle of artists that included Tobias Sergel (1740–1814) and Thomas Banks (1735–1805) and which revolved around the Swiss painter Henry Fuseli (1741–1825).228 The approach of this ‘Poetical circle’ was utterly anti-academic and prefigures some of the principles that would be embraced by Romantic artists a few years later. For them ancient sculptures were embodiments of the emotions of the artists who created them, rather than models of ideal beauty and proportional perfection. Fuseli’s extraordinary drawing, The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments (cat. 22), which he produced immediately after leaving Rome in 1778, perfectly expresses this more empathic and meditative relation with classical antiquity and its lost grandeur. The attitude of Fuseli and his friends represents a turning point in the relation of the artist with ancient statuary, stressing the creative genius of the artist, his or her individuality and, in general, the subjective values of art: all principles that would contribute to the decline of the classical model in the following century. The Antique in Britain: The eighteenth century Of the various nationalities of artists resident in Rome during the 18th century, the British were among the most numerous. Britain had arrived late on the international artistic stage. Until the late 17th century, several factors, including the theological disapproval of pagan and Catholic imagery of large sections of Protestant society, had made Britain, outside the confined patronage of the Court, a virtual backwater in the visual arts. There was no established national school of painting or sculpture and no academy; painters were tied to the craft guild of the Painter Stainers’ Company; it was illegal to import pictures for sale, and there was no proper art market.229 However, by a century later, things had changed radically: following the nation’s dramatic political liberalisa- tion and economic expansion, Britain had one of the most dynamic national art schools in Europe and a Royal Acad- emy, founded in 1768. Several hundred thousand artworks – including a multitude of original antiquities and copies – had been imported to adorn the urban townhouses and country mansions of the upper classes; and London had become the centre of the international art market, displacing Antwerp, Amsterdam and Paris.230 The new ruling class that had emerged from the Glorious Revolution of 1688 embraced classicism, defined as the ‘Rule of Taste’; at the same time artists started gathering to form private academies where they could study together and where beginners could receive at least some training, based, 56 57  of course, on the continental model, with the copy after the Antique as one of its cornerstones.231 Many British artists also travelled to Rome, where they participated in the Concorsi of the Accademia di San Luca or attended the Accademia del Nudo in the Capitoline and several built national and interna- tional reputations thanks to their success in the city.232 In Rome, furthermore, artists encountered British travellers and potential future patrons. Plaster casts must already have been relatively widely available during the first half of the 18th century.233 Drawings after classical sculptures survive by British artists who did not travel to Italy: among them some fascinating, rough, early studies by Joseph Highmore, possibly from casts in the Great Queen Street Academy – which operated under Sir Godfrey Kneller and Sir James Thornhill between 1711 and 1720 – where he enrolled in 1713 (fig. 99).234 But the insular situation of the British art world, where many painters struggled in vain to create a modern and national school and genre of painting, plus an innate distrust of cultural models imported from the Continent, especially France, meant that copying the Antique encountered strong criticism. The most vociferous opponent was William Hogarth, who, as director of the second St Martin’s Lane Academy from 1735, became increasingly hostile to a curriculum based on the French Académie model and to history painting in general, although, paradoxically, he demonstrated great admiration for a few classical statues in his writings (see Appendix, no. 14).235 His war against fashionable imported taste and didactic principles is well 99. Joseph Highmore, Study of a Cast of the Borghese Gladiator, Seen from Behind, c. 1713, graphite, ink and watercolour on paper, 354 × 230 mm, Tate, London, inv. T04232 expressed by the celebrated first plate in his Analysis of Beauty, where the Antique, anatomy and the study of proportions evocated in the centre of the composition are surrounded by vignettes illustrating Hogarth’s own aesthetic ideas (fig. 100).236 But despite such discontented voices, fascination with the Antique would only intensify, and educational curricula based on French or Italian models would gradually impose themselves. In 1758, a ‘continental’ enterprise was launched by the 3rd Duke of Richmond with the opening of a gallery attached to his house in Whitehall ‘containing a large collec- tion of original plaister casts from the best antique statues and busts which are now at Rome and Florence’.237 With a curriculum based on the ‘alphabet of drawing’ and under the directorship of the Italian painter Giovanni Battista Cipriani (1727–85) and the sculptor Joseph Wilton (1722–1803) – the first Englishman to receive, in 1750, the prestigious first prize of the Accademia di San Luca – the gallery was set up specifically with the didactic purpose of training youths on the basis of the Antique (fig. 101).238 To compensate for the absence of a national Academy, a semi-formal system developed probably inspired by the joint model of the Accademia di San Luca and the Capitoline, where many British artists had worked.239 Students would have started by copying drawings, prints and parts of the body in the private drawing school set up in 1753 by the entrepreneur and drawing master William Shipley (1714– 1803); they would then progress to the Duke of Richmond’s Academy when they were ready to study three-dimensional forms; finally they would proceed to the study of the live model in the second St Martin Lane’s Academy.240 Competi- tions were set up and the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce, which was founded 100. William Hogarth, The Analysis of Beauty (Plate 1), 1753, etching and engraving, 387 × 483 mm, private collection, London 101. John Hamilton Mortimer, Self-portrait with Joseph Wilton, and an Unknown Student Drawing at the Duke of Richmond’s Academy, c. 1760–65, oil on canvas, 76 × 63.5 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/970 in 1754, awarded prizes for the best drawings after casts and copies, several of which survive in the institution’s archive (figs 102–03).241 The continental system also reached cities outside London. For example, academies and artists’ societies were set up in Glasgow – in an image of the Foulis Academy of Art and Design founded there in 1752 we see the familiar presence of the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 104) – and in Liverpool (see cat. 24).242 But it was with the foundation of the Royal Academy in London in 1768 that Britain finally had a national institution with a formal curriculum based on continental models (see cats 25–27). Directed by Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92) – its first president between 1768 and 1792 – the Academy had a teaching structure that centred on the Antique or ‘Plaister’ Academy and the Life Academy, to which students would progress after having practised for years on plaster casts.243 To advance from one stage to another, they had to supply a presentation drawing showing their skills in depicting antique forms: one by the young Turner (1775–1851), who enrolled in the Academy in 1789 as a boy of fourteen, proba- bly belongs to this category (cat. 27a). Several evocative images testify to the study of the growing collection of plaster casts, both in daylight and at night (fig. 105 and cats 25–27),244 while the Life Academy is evoked in the famous painting by Johan Zoffany (1733–1810) which shows the first academicians in discussion around two male models – one glancing at us in the pose of the Spinario – surrounded by familiar plaster casts of classical and Renaissance sculpture (fig. 106). In the background, on the right, an écorché appears among the other casts, to remind us that anatomy lessons were delivered in the Academy by the physician William Hunter (1718–83). By bringing together plaster casts, anatomy and the study of the live model, Zoffany’s image declared unmistakably the Royal Academy’s affinity with continental academic models of teaching. The two female members, Mary Moser (1744–1819) and Angelica Kauffmann (1741–1807) are evoked through their portraits, as their presence in the Life Academy was considered improper.245 A system of discourses, competitions and exhibitions, complemented and completed the teaching curriculum. The official theoretical line of the Academy, fixed in Reynolds’ celebrated Discourses – which were delivered between 1769 and 1790 – was a distillation of the idealistic theory of the previous centuries and included frequent references to the Antique (see Appendix, no. 17). Reynolds’ highest praise was reserved for the Belvedere Torso, which embodied the 102. William Peters, Study of a Cast of the ‘Borghese Gladiator’, c. 1760, pencil, black and white chalk on coloured paper, 410 × 450 mm, Royal Society of Arts, London, inv. PR/AR/103/14/621 103. William Peters, Study of a Cast of the ‘Callipygian Venus’, c. 1760, pencil, black and white chalk on coloured paper, 525 × 355 mm, Royal Society of Arts, London, inv. PR/AR/103/14/669      58 59    104. David Allan, The Foulis Academy of Art and Design in Glasgow, c. 1760, engraving, 134 × 168 mm, Mitchell Library, Glasgow, inv. GC ILL 156 105. Anonymous British School, The Antique School of the Royal Academy at New Somerset House, c. 1780–83, oil on canvas, 110.8 x 164.1 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/846 106. Johan Zofany, The Portraits of the Academicians of the Royal Academy, 1771–72, oil on canvas, 100.1 × 147.5 cm, The Royal Collection, Windsor Castle ‘superlative genius’ of ancient art, and this judgement is reflected in the official iconography of the Royal Academy, as the Torso appeared, significantly below the word ‘Study’, on the silver medals awarded in the Academy’s competitions (see cat. 27a).246 The muscular fragment reappears as well in one of the female allegories of Invention, Composition, Design and Colour, commissioned by the Royal Academy from Angelica Kauffman in 1778 to decorate the ceiling of the Academy’s new Council Chamber and to provide a visual manifesto for Reynolds’ theory of art (fig. 107).247 Showing her wit and erudition, Kauffman’s Design is a significant image, as she took the traditional personification of Disegno, depicted as male (the word is masculine in Italian), and transformed it into a woman copying the ideal male body – thereby asserting the right of women to study the Antique and pursue a traditional artistic career. Although increasingly questioned by anatomists and by a growing number of artists, plaster casts were used in the Academy’s curriculum well into the 19th century and beyond. In London the didactic role of original sculptures and casts was also exploited outside official institutions. This was the case of the antiquities assembled by the influential antiquar- ian and collector Charles Townley (1737–1805) at his house on 7 Park Street, which became a sort of alternative academy where artists, amateurs – and also women – could study the statues he had imported from Italy (cat. 28).248 Another private space set up with the specific intention of training young architects in the study of the Antique was the house- academy established by Sir John Soane (1754–1837) at No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields (cat. 29). In the labyrinthine spaces of Soane’s interiors, which were constantly enlarged to house 107. Angelica Kaufman, Design, 1778–80, oil on canvas, 130 × 150.3 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/1129 his growing collections, he obsessively juxtaposed paintings, architectural fragments, copies of celebrated classical statues, drawings and objects of all sorts.249 Architecture, sculpture and painting were seamlessly integrated to create a whole and to express the qualities of ‘variety and intricacy’, advocated by Reynolds in his 13th Discourse (1786). This variety was intended to stimulate the imagination of Soane’s students – in 1806 he was appointed the Royal Academy’s Professor of Architecture – and to invite would-be architects not to limit themselves but to train in the three sister arts, as recommended by Vitruvius.250 Academic training continued as students gathered to copy the Antique in the newly built galleries of the British Museum,251 but, as the 19th century progressed, its authority faded dramatically as young artists looked increasingly to the modern world for their inspiration. Dissenting Voices and Seeds of Decline The linear evolution of the classical ideal from the early Renaissance to the beginning of the 19th century was in reality punctuated by several opposing voices. But none of them, with rare exceptions, ever questioned the greatness and authority of classical art. What was at times disputed was the didactic value of copying from the Antique or the slavish dependence on its forms demonstrated by some of the most dogmatic devotees of classicism. We have seen that even in the 16th century, art critics like Vasari, Dolce and Armenini had warned against excessive dependence on classical forms and had advocated an independent and creative approach based on the artist’s own judgement. Rubens and Bernini too had warned against the ‘smell of stone’ in painting or psycho- logical dependence on the model. This balanced approach to the Antique would become a leitmotif among later genera- tions of art theorists. Furthermore, artistic traditions outside Central Italy had always demonstrated a good dose of scepticism towards the dependence of the Florentine and Roman schools on the forms and ideals embodied by classical statuary. One of the most intelligent expressions of this attitude is the famous woodcut by Nicolò Boldrini, almost certainly after an original drawing by Titian, in which Laocoön and his sons are transformed into three monkeys and set in a bucolic landscape (fig. 108).252 In this complex image Titian, one of the greatest creative geniuses of the Renaissance, who him- self had a profound and fruitful relationship with the Antique, was presumably issuing an ironic statement against the faithful artistic imitation of the classical models – a behav- iour similar to that of mimicking monkeys. 108. Nicolò Boldrini after Titian, Caricature of the Laocoön, c. 1540–50, woodcut, 267 × 403 mm, private collection In the 17th century the pernicious effect on painting from too-slavish imitation of sculptural forms would be summa- rised by the Bolognese art theorist Carlo Cesare Malvasia (1616–93) with the specific neologism ‘statuino’ or ‘statue- like’ (see cats 9 and 15).253 But during the 17th and 18th centuries even the most outspoken critics of the perfection of the Antique, such as the champion of colore versus disegno Roger de Piles, or the defender of a modern and independent artistic language like Hogarth, always demonstrated great admiration for classical statues, especially in terms of their proportions (see Appendix, no. 14).254 According to Bellori, the only great master who showed no interest at all in them was the ultra-naturalist Caravaggio. In a famous passage of his Vite, the champion of classicism reported that Caravaggio expressed ‘disdain for the superb marbles of the ancients and the paintings of Raphael’ because he had decided to take ‘nature alone for the object of his brush’. ‘Thus’, Bellori continues, ‘when he was shown the most famous statues of Phidias and Glycon so that he might base his studies on them, his only response was to gesture toward a crowd of people, indicating that nature had provided him with masters enough’.255 But this anecdote must not be taken too literally, as it certainly contains Bellori’s defence of idealism against the dangers of the unselective imitation of Nature, as repre- sented by Caravaggio and his followers. In fact, although it is not immediately obvious, Caravaggio had a profound under- standing of antique forms, and was deeply conscious of High Renaissance prototypes by Michelangelo (his namesake) and by Raphael. Even if Bellori’s account of Caravaggio had been accurate, such a radical attitude would have to be considered an exception in the long period covered here. In the 18th century criticism of the academic curriculum, in particular that of the Parisian Académie, and the art that it produced, increased. But, once again, two of its sternest    60 61  critics, Diderot and David, had an immense admiration for classical statuary and Diderot’s attack was directed at the codified and repetitive nature of academic practices, in particular the drawing lessons, and at the slavish dependence on the Antique at the expense of Nature of most of his contemporaries, not at classical models as such (see Appen- dix, no. 16).256 Significantly David, who played a crucial role in the closure of the Parisian Académie in 1793 during the French Revolution, would become the hero of the refounded École des Beaux-Arts in the 19th century. More significant criticism came from the students forced to copy casts for sessions on end. The great French painter Jean-Siméon Chardin recalled the frustration that many artists must have felt by being forced to follow the oppressive ‘alphabet of drawing’, as powerfully evoked in his recollections (see also cat. 26): We begin to draw eyes, mouths, noses and ears after patterns, then feet and hands. After having crouched over our portfolios for a long time, we’re placed in front of the Hercules or the Torso, and you’ve never seen such tears as those shed over the Satyr, the Gladiator, the Medici Venus, and the Antinous  . Then, after having spent entire days and even nights by lamplight, in front of an immobile, inanimate nature, we’re presented with living nature, and suddenly the work of all preceding years seems reduced to nothing.257 But even the painter of still-lifes and domestic genre scenes Chardin recognised the greatness of the original statues. The appeal of the forms and principles of the Antique was still supreme within an aesthetic system – the humanistic theory of art – that placed the representation of mankind and its most noble behaviours at the centre of the artistic mission, and this was true even for painters, like Chardin, who did not abide by the academic hierarchy of genres. The real beginning of the decline of the authority of the Antique started when these premises began to be challenged by artists who felt at odds with a conception of art that they perceived as increasingly inadequate. Romanticism landed a first, but eventually fatal, blow by challenging the rationalistic, idealistic and supposedly ‘universal’ principles of classicism, in the name of subjective emotion and individ- ual genius. The drastic changes imposed by industrialisation and urbanisation accelerated the process. Opie’s outline of what constitutes art, with which this essay began – a pedantic and codified version of Reynolds’ aesthetic – came to be perceived as increasingly irrelevant by students exposed to urban life in London, Paris or any other modern city, as the words of the painter James Northcote (1746–1831) in 1826 clearly express (see Appendix, no. 19). But if various ‘progres- sive’ avant-gardes rejected more decisively the principles of classicism and academic art, one need only remember that artistic education remained almost everywhere based on the traditional curriculum and that casts were used in academies and art schools until a few decades ago. Some of the greatest modern painters, such as Cézanne, Degas, Van Gogh and Picasso, spent portions of their youth copying plaster casts. And, as the last part of this exhibition shows (cats 32, 34–35), with mass-production casts became ever more available to wider audiences, including women and the bourgeoisie, entering the realm of the private home, often in a reduced format. But an assault on the canonical status of many of the most famous sculptures also came from another ‘academic’ direction, as a new archaeological precision recognised them as more or less accurate Roman copies of Greek originals. If art education remained solidly structured around the traditional curriculum, becoming more and more conserva- tive, the creative forces of European art placed themselves firmly outside the academic system, and principles of ideal imitation would become progressively irrelevant. An image that perfectly visualises the dawn of the new aesthetic era, and an ideal conclusion to our journey, is a painting produced by Thomas Couture as a satire against the Realist fashion of the mid-19th century (fig. 109) – a preparatory study for which is in the Katrin Bellinger collection.258 Couture, who ran a successful studio in Paris, described his own painting in his Methodes et Entretiens d’Atelier published in 1867: I am depicting the interior of a studio of our time; it has nothing in common with the studios of earlier periods, in which you could see fragments of the finest antiquities. At one time, you could see the head of the Laocoön, the feet of the Gladiator, the Venus de Milo, and among the prints covering the walls there were Raphael’s Stanze and Poussin’s Sacraments and landscapes. But thanks to artistic progress, I have very little to show   because the gods have changed. The Laocoön has been replaced by a cabbage, the feet of the Gladiator by a candle holder covered with tallow or by a shoe  . As for the painter  , he is a studious artist, fervent, a visionary of the new religion. He copies what? It’s quite simple – a pig’s head – and as a base what does he choose? That’s less simple, the head of Olympian Jupiter.259 Couture’s image, wherein a once revered antique frag- ment of the Olympian god, Jupiter, has been relegated to a mere stool and the object of study is now the severed head of a pig, encapsulates the decline of the Antique in the 19th century and the shift of interest from the ‘ideal’ to the ‘real’. Little did Couture kn0w that in a few decades not only the traditional role of imitation would be subverted, but that the principle of imitation itself – formulated by Alberti four hundred years before – would be questioned in favour of expressive or abstract values, leaving even less space for the previously revered Laocoön, Borghese Gladiator and the Venus de Milo. The Antique continued its life in the 20th century in many, often unexpected ways: quoted, subverted and deconstructed by many avant-garde artists; in the official art of totalitarian regimes; in the ironic and playful, but often shallow game of post-modernism; and even, one may say, in much of the aesthetic of fashion advertisement. The relation of the classical model and ideal with modernity is a story that still needs to be written fully and would be a fascinating subject for another exhibition. 109. Thomas Couture, La Peinture Réaliste, 1865, oil on panel, 56 × 45 cm, National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin. Hoare 1809, 11. See also Opie 1809,3–52. The italics are the author’s. On the Renaissance or humanistic theory of art good overviews are: Lee 1967; Schlosser Magnino 1967; Blunt 1978; Williams 1997; Barasch 2000,1. Anthologies of primary sources in English translation are: Gilbert 1980; Gilmore Holt 1981–82; Harrison, Wood and Gaiger 2000. Alberti 1972. See also M. Kemp’s introduction, in Alberti 1991,1–29. Although initially circulating only in manuscript form, Alberti’s treatise had an immense impact on artists and successive art theoreticians. The first Latin (Basel, 1540) and Italian (Venice, 1547) editions, and subsequent ones, influenced the earliest academies such as Vasari’s Accademia del Disegno, founded in 1563. The first French translation (Paris 1651) took shape in the environment of the French Académie Royale, founded just three years before (1648). The first English translation (London, 1726) was motivated by the aspirations of English artists towards the foundation of a national academy based on continental standards. Innumerable transla- tions and editions contributed to the diffusion of Albertian principles well into the 19th century. See Alberti 1991,23–24. Alberti 1972, 53 (book 1, chap. 18). Alberti quotes Protagoras, probably through Diogenes Laertius, De Vitis ... philosophorum, 9.51: Alberti 1991, 53, note 11. On the sources and structure of De Pictura see especially Spencer 1957 and Wright 1984. Alberti 1972, 97 (book 3, chap. 55). Ibid., 101 (book 3, chap. 58). Ibid., 99 (book 3, chap. 55). Ibid., 99 (book 3, chap. 56). Albertis’s sources are Cicero, De inventione, 2.1.1–3 and Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 35.36 (with differences in detail). Alberti 1972, 75 (book 2, chap. 36). See also Alberti 1988, 156 (book 6, chap. 2) and301–09 (book 9, chaps 5–6), esp. 303. On the theory of proportions see Panofsky 1955; R. Klein’s introduction to ‘De Symmetria’ in Gaurico 1969, 76–91; Gerlach 1990. On Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man see Kemp 2006, 71–136; Salvi 2012, with previous bibliography. Other ancient surviving sources on the Canonical ideal are Cicero, Brutus, esp. 69–70, 296; Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 34.55; Galen’s treatises, esp. De 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 Placitis Hippocratis et Platonis, 5, and De Temperamentis, 1.9; Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, esp. 5.12.21 and 12.10.3-9; Vitruvius’ De Architectura, 3.1. For Alberti’s concept of historia, see Alberti 1972, 77–83 (chaps 39–42). The clearest definition of history painting according to the academies of the 17th and 18th centuries is provided by Félibien 1668, Preface (not paginated). The Codex Coburgensis is preserved in the Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg: see Wrede and Harprath 1986; Davis 1989. Cassiano dal Pozzo’s Paper Museum is divided between several collections but mainly concen- trated in the Royal Collection, Windsor Castle and the British Museum, London: see Herklotz 1999; Claridge and Dodero forthcoming. Macandrew 1978; Connor Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013. London and Rome 1996–97, 257–69; Bignamini and Hornsby 2010. General introductions to drawing techniques in the Renaissance and beyond are Joannides 1983, 11–31; Bambach 1999, esp. 33–80; Ames Lewis 2000a; Petherbridge 2010; London and Florence 2010–11. See Ames-Lewis 2000b, 36–37. Recent general introductions to drawing after the Antique and the training of young artists in the 15th century include Rome 1988a; Ames-Lewis 2000b, 35–60, 109–40; Jestaz 2000–01; Chapman 2010–11, 46–60. More focused on the 16th century is Barkan 1999. Haskell and Penny 1981, 252–55, no. 55 (Marcus Aurelius), 308–10, no. 78 (Spinario), 167–69, no. 16 (Camillus), 136–41, no. 3 (Horse Tamers); Buddensieg 1983; Nesselrath 1988; Rome 1988a, 232–38 (Marcus Aurelius); Paris 2000–01, 200–25 and 417–20, nos 221–24 (Spinario); Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 223–25, no. 176 (Marcus Aurelius), 254–56, no. 203 (Spinario), 192–93, no. 192 (Camillus), 172–75, no. 125 (Horse Tamers). Dacos 1969; Morel 1997; Miller 1999. Alberti calls the relief of a sarcophagus in Rome representing the death of Meleager a historia, specifically praising it as a source for the compositio: see Alberti 1972, 74–75 (chap. 37). Cavallaro 1988b; Cavallaro 1988c; Scalabroni 1988. Cavallaro 1988b; Scalabroni 1988; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, passim. On Brunelleschi and Donatello’s Roman trip see the famous account by Antonio di Giannozzo Manetti: Manetti 1970, 53–57. See also Vasari’s  anecdote of Donatello producing a pen drawing after a sarcophagus that he saw in Cortona on his way back from Rome to Florence: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,3, 151–52. See also Micheli 1983, 93. On the drawings after the Antique produced in the workshops of Gentile of Pisanello see: Degenhart and Schmitt 1960; Cavallaro 1988a; Degenhart and Schmitt 1996, 81–117; Paris, 1996, Appendix IX, ‘Le “Carnet de voyage dessins sur parchemin”’, 465–67; Cavallaro 2005. 26 Rome 1988a, 95–96, no. 24 (A. Cavallaro); Paris 1996, 180–81, no. 100. 27 See Rome 1988a, 158–59, no. 51, see also 155–56, no. 49; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 87, no. 38. 28 Wegner 1966, 88–89, no. 228; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 86–87, no. 38. 29 Weiss 1969. 30 London and New York 1992, 445–48, no. 145 (D. Ekserdjian); Paris 2008–09b, 378–79, no. 159 (C. Elam); Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 207, no. 158iii (158c). 31 Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 207–08, no. 158iii. 32 Alberti 1972, 80–81 (chap. 41). 33 See Lightbown 1986, 140–53, 424–33; Elam 2008–09. 34 For the drawing after the Marcus Aurelius see Rome 1988a, 232–33, no. 80 (A. Nesselrath); Rome 2005, 263, II.10.7, 267–68, no. II.10.7 (A. Nesselrath). For the drawing after the Horse Tamers see Rome 1988a, 211–12, no. 61 (A. Nesselrath); Paris 1996, 153–54, no. 84; Rome 2005, 334, III.8.1, 338–39, no. III.8.1 (A. Cavallaro). 35 On the fame of their nudity see the contemporary comments by Angelo Decembrio in his De Politia litteraria, written in the central decades of the 15th century: Baxandall 1963, 312. For other mentions in contemporary written sources see Nesselrath 1988, 196–97. 36 Nesselrath 1988, 197, 61; Cole Ahl 1996, 6, pl. 1; Ames-Lewis 2000b, 120, 57; Cavallaro 2005, 330; London and Florence 2010–11, 118–19, no. 14 (M.M. Rook). On Gozzoli and the Antique see Pasti 1988. 37 For a notable exception see Gozzoli’s faithful drawing of a fragmentary classical Venus: Pasti 1988, 137, 38; Ames-Lewis 2000b, 121, 59. 38 For a general overview see Weiss 1969, 180–202; Ames-Lewis 2000b, 52–60, 79–85. 39 Gaurico 1969, 62–63; Gaurico 1999, 142–43, providing a less accurate translation. 40 Cennini 1933,2, 123–31. 41 Fiocco 1958–59; Lightbown 1986, 18; Favaretto 1999. On Ghiberti’s col- lection of casts see Ames-Lewis 2000b, 81, with previous bibliography. 42 Ames-Lewis 1995. 43 Fusco 1982; Ames-Lewis 2000b, 52–55. 44 Ragghianti and Dalli Regoli 1975; Ames-Lewis 2000a, 91–123; Forlani- Tempesti 1994. 45 Ames-Lewis 1995, 394, 397, 10. For the practice see Schwartz 2000–01. 46 For an overview see Nesselrath 1984–86. Lists of sketchbooks are provided in Nesselrath 1993, 225–48 and Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 473–96. 47 The first printed edition of Biondo’s Roma Instaurata was published in Rome in 1471: Weiss 1969, esp. 59–104. 48 On Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s attitude towards the Antique the bibliogra- phy is vast. For Michelangelo good surveys are Agosti and Farinella 1987 (pp. 12–13, note 3, with the most exhaustive bibliography to date); Florence 1987; Haarlem and London 2005–06, 58–68; Parisi Presicce 2014. On Raphael: Becatti 1968; Jones and Penny 1983, 175–210; Burns 1984 (p. 399, footnote 2, with exhaustive bibliography to date); Nesselrath 1984; Dacos 1986. 49 Clark 1969b; Marani 2003–04; Marani 2007. 50 Leonardo 1956,1, 51, no. 77. 51 Ibid.,1, 45, no. 59, 64, no. 112. 52 Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,6, 21. On other sources on the para- gone between Michelangelo and the ancients see Florence 1987, 107–08. 53 Elam 1992; Florence 1992; Joannides 1993; Baldini 1999–2000; Paolucci 2014. 54 Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,6, 9–12; Condivi 1998, 10–11; Condivi 1999, 10. 55 Knab, Mitsch and Oberhuber 1984, 51–54; Ferrino Padgen 2000. 56 See Franzoni 1984–86; Cavallaro 2007; Christians 2010. A list of collec- tions with essential bibliography is providedalso in Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 497–507. 57 For the Nile and the Tiber see Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 112–13, no. 65. 58 The Apollo Belvedere was discovered in 1489, the Laocoön in 1506, the Cleopatra in the first decade of the 16th century, the Hercules Commodus in 1507, the Tiber in 1512 and Nile probably in 1513: see Haskell and Penny 1981, respec- tively 148–51, no. 8, 243–47, no. 52, 184–87, no. 24, 188–89, no. 25, 310–11, no. 79, 272–73, no. 65; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, respectively 76–77, no. 28, 164–68, no. 122, 125–26, no. 79, 180–81, no. 131, 113–14, no. 66, 114–15, no. 67. The discovery date of the Venus Felix is not known, but it was placed in the Belvedere Courtyard in 1509: Haskell and Penny 1981, 323–25, no. 87; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 66–67, no. 16. For the Belvedere Courtyard see Brummer 1970; Winner, Andreae and Pietrangeli 1998. The first mention of the Belvedere Antinous-Hermes is in 1527 and it was placed in the Belvedere Courtyard by 1545; the Belvedere Torso is recorded from 1432 and by the middle of the 16th century it was displayed in the Courtyard: see Haskell and Penny 1981, respectively 141–43, no. 4 and 311–14, no. 80; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, respectively 62, no. 10 and 181–84, no. 132. The first mention of Michelangelo’s praise of the Torso is in Aldrovandi 1556, 121. For a selection of other primary sources see Barocchi 1962,4, 2100–03; Agosti and Farinella 1987, 43–44. For the Torso as ‘School of Michelangelo’ see Haskell and Penny 1981, 313. Schwinn 1973, 24–37. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,6, 108. Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 126, no. 79. Joannides 1983, 192, no. 240r; Knab, Mitsch and Oberhuber 1984, 615, no. 375. In this drawing Raphael also references Michelangelo’s Sistine Adam. Golzio 1971, 38–40, 72–73; Nesselrath 1984. The original Italian is in Camesasca 1994, 257–322 (esp. 290–98); Shearman 2003, 500–45. For an English translation, see Holt 1981–86,1, 289–96. See also Frommel, Ray and Tafuri 1984, 437, no. 3.5.1. (H. Burns and H. Nesselrath). Nesselrath 1982, 357, 37; Frommel, Ray and Tafuri 1984, 422, no. 3.2.10 (A. Nesselrath); Jaffé 1994, 187, no. 315 617*. For the few other surviving Raphael drawings after Roman antiquities see Frommel, Ray and Tafuri 1984, 438, no. 3.5.3 (A. Nesselrath). Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 172–75, no. 125. This consideration is already in Jones and Penny 1983, 205. The practice of measuring classical statues would become widespread from the 17th century onwards: see 46–49 in the present volume. A good selection is in Mantua and Vienna 1999. Check also Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 473–96. Oberhuber 1978; Mantua and Vienna 1999; Viljoen 2001; Pon 2004. Boissard 1597–1602,1, 12–13, translated by Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 165. According to a letter by Francesco da Sangallo of 1567, Michel- angelo and Giuliano da Sangallo were sent by the Pope to witness and comment upon the unearthing of the Laocoön on the Esquiline in 1506: Fea 1790–1836,1, cccxxix–cccxxxi, letter XVI. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,6, 109. An opinion then appropri- ated by Vasari himself in the introduction to his chapter on Sculpture: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,1, 84–86. This was repeated later by many authors see for instance Lomazzo 1584, 332, reprinted in Lomazzo 1973–74,2, 288. Wilde 1953, 79–80, nos 43–44, pls lxx–lxxi; Agosti and Farinella 1987, 33–36, figs 11–14; Tolnay 1975–80,2, 51–53, nos 230–34; Florence 2002, 150–51, nos 2–5 (P. Joannides); Haarlem and London 2005–06, 64–66. Wilde 1953, 9–10, no. 4, pl. vi; Tolnay 1975–80,1, 58–59, no. 48; Haarlem and London 2005–06, 88–89, 285, no. 13. On the restoration of classical statues, see Rossi Pinelli 1984–86; Howard 1990; Pasquier 2000–01a. Specifically on Montorsoli’s restorations: Haskell and Penny 1981, 148, 246; Vetter 1995; Nesselrath 1998b; Winner 1998; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 77, 165. See Haskell and Penny 1981, 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10,3, 17–20, no. 1. On the Wrestlers see Haskell and Penny 1981, 337–39, no. 94; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, 62–63, no. 50 (71). For the Niobe Group see Haskell and Penny 1981, 274–79, no. 66; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, 316–26, nos 596 (1251) (1–14). On Guido Reni using the Niobe Group as a source for the expression of many of his figures see Bellori 1976, 529. See Haskell and Penny 1981, 16–22. Haskell and Penny 1981, 16–22. On Lafréry see Chicago 2007–08. On Cavalieri see Pizzimano 2001. See Lee 1967, esp. 3–16; Blunt 1978, esp. 137–59; Barasch 2000,1, 203–309. Armenini 1587, 136–37 (book 2, chap. 11). Lee 1967, 7, note 23. See also Weinberg 1961, 361–423. The first commentary appeared only in 1548 and the first Italian translation in 1549. Horace, Ars Poetica, 361. See Lee 1967, esp. 3–9. Aristotle, Poetics, Lomazzo 1590, see esp. chap. XXVI; Zuccaro 1607. On this see Lee 1967, 13–14; Panofsky 1968, esp. 85–99; Blunt 1978, 137–59. Also in Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87,1, 110. The definition of Disegno was added only to the second edition of the Lives in 1568. On Vasari and the Antique see Barocchi 1958; Cristofani 1985. Puttfarken 1991; Rosand 1997, 10–24. Walters 2014, 57. Whitaker 1997. See for instance Vasari’s comments in the lives of Andrea Mantegna and Battista Franco: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, respectively 3, 549–50 and vol 5, 459–61. Armenini 1587, see esp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), 86–89 (book II, chap. 3). See also Lomazzo’s treatment of the Antique: Lomazzo 1584, 481 (book VI, chap. 64). General surveys about the development of European academies include Pevsner 1940; Goldstein 1996. See also Levy 1984; Olmstead Tonelli 1984; Boschloo 1989. On images of academies see Kutschera-Woborsky 1919; Pevsner 1940, passim; Roman 1984. On the Florentine Accademia del Disegno see Pevsner 1940, 42–55; Goldstein 1975; Dempsey 1980; Wa ́zbin ́ski 1987; Barzman 1989; Barzman 2000. On the Carracci Academy see Dempsey 1980; Goldstein 1988, esp. 49– 88; Dempsey 1989; Feigenbaum 1993; Robertson 2009–10. On the Accademia di San Luca the bibliography is vast. On its early history see Pevsner 1940, 55–66; Pietrangeli 1974; Lukehart 2009. On the teaching in the first decades of the Accademia see Roccasecca 2009. On Alberti’s print see Roccasecca 2009, 133. Olmstead Tonelli 1984. Alberti 1604, esp. 2–15. Jack Ward 1972, 17–18; Olmstead Tonelli 1984, 96–97. On the donation of the Salvioni collection of casts in 1598 see Missirini 1823, 73. On the inventories see Lukehart 2009, Appendix 7, esp. 368–69, 371–73, 379–80. On the drawing see Bora 1976, 125, no. 126. Malvasia 1678, 1, 378; Goldstein 1988, esp. 49–50. On this see Meder 1978, 1, 217–95; Amornpichetkul 1984; Bleeke- Byrne 1984; Roman 1984, 91; Bolten 1985, 243. Alberti 1972, 97 (book 3, chap. 55). Alberti 1972, 75 (book 2, chap. 36). Cellini 1731, 156–59. Leonardo 1956, 1, 45, chaps 59–61, and esp. 64, chap. 112; Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 1, 112; Armenini 1587, 51–59, esp. 57 (book 1, chap. 7); See Bleeke-Byrne 1984. Armenini 1587, see esp. 86 (book 2, chap. 3). The necessity of exercising one’s memory recurs in Alberti (Alberti 1972, 99, book 3, chap. 55); Leonardo (Leonardo 1956, 1, 47, chaps 65–66); Vasari (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 1, 114–15); Cellini (Cellini 1731, 157); and Armenini (Armenini 1587, 53, book 1, chap. 7). Gombrich 1960; Rosand 1970; Maugeri 1982; Amornpichetkul 1984; Bolten 1985. On Dürer in Italy see Rome 2007. Dacos 1995; Meijer 1995; Dacos 1997; Dacos 2001. Van Mander 1994-99, 1, 342–45 (fols 271r–v). See Meijer 1995, 50, note 18. Dacos 1995, 19–20; Dacos 2001, 23–34. Hülsen and Egger 1913–16; Veldman 1977; Dacos 2001, 35–44; Bartsch 2012; Christian 2012; Veldman 2012. On Beatrizet see Bury 1996; on Lafréry see Chicago 2007–08; on Dupérac see Lurin 2009. For the print attributed to Beatrizet see Paris 2000–01, 378–79, no. 184 (C. Scailliérez). On the Marforio see Haskell and Penny 1981, 258–59, no. 57; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 110–11, no. 64. ‘I disagi e li affanni tutti del mondo non stima un quattrino’. On the so-called Haarlem Academy see Van Thiel 1999, 59–90. Veldman 2012, 21, with previous bibliography. Reznicek On Rubens in Rome and his approach to the Antique see esp. Stechow 1968; Jaffé 1977, 79–84; Muller 1982; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 41–81; Muller 2004, 18–28; London 2005–06, 88–111. Jaffé 1977, 79; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 42, note 6. Copies of Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae and De Cavalieri’s Antiquarum statuarum urbis Romae, are listed in Rubens’ son Albert’s library: Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 42, note 6. It is most likely that they were originally in Peter Paul’s possession, although we do not know whether he acquired them before, during or after his Italian years. See Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 69–74. Armenini 1587, see esp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), 86–89 (book II, chap. 3). On the ultimate Aristotelian character of this principle see Muller 1982. See also Cody 2013. On Rubens’ handwritten Notebook, lost in a fire in Paris in 1720, but known through several transcriptions and partial publications see Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, esp. 71, note 11 and 77–78, note 44, with previous bibliography; Jaffé and Bradley 2005–06; Jaffé 2010. On the drawing after the Torso see Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 70–71, 2, 56–59, nos 37–39; New York 2005a, 140–44, no. 34. On the Laocoön drawings see: Van der Meulen 1994–95, 2, 98, no. 81, 3, 153 (father), 2, 103–04, no. 93, 3, 164 (son); London 2005– 06, 90–91, nos 24 (son), 25 (father); Bora 2013. The question of whether he copied the original Laocoön in Rome, or a cast derived from it, possibly Federico Borromeo’s in Milan, remains open: see Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 48; London 2005–06, 90–91, no. 25. Muller 2004, 22; Edinburgh 2002, 43–46, nos 8–14; Wood 2011, 1, 129–241; Cody 2013. Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 80–81. Muller 2004, 22. On Rubens’ collection see Antwerp 2004, with previous bibliography. Jaffé 1977, 80; Healy 2004. On the Bamboccianti see Briganti, Trezzani and Laureati 1983; Cologne and Utrecht 1991–92; Rome and Paris 2014–15. On the fierce criticism by artists see Malvasia 1678, 2, 267 (Sacchi), 268–69 (Albani); Cesareo 1892, 1, 223–55 (Rosa); Castiglione 2014–15. On Bellori’s condemna- tion see Bellori 1976, 16. On Goubau see Briganti, Trezzani and Laureati 1983, 295–99. On the painting see Paris 2000–01, 382–83, no. 188 (J. Foucart); Cappel- letti 2014–15, 48–50. Vlieghe 1979. On other Dutch artists copying the Antique in Rome in the 17th century see Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 35–36. Already at the beginning of the 17th century Karel Van Mander explicitly laments the poor state of the visual arts in the Netherlands, blaming the ‘shameful laws and narrow rules’ by which in nearly all cities save Rome ‘the noble art of painting has been turned into a guild’: Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 264–65 (fol. 251v). See also Bleeke-Byrne 1984. On the Antwerp Academy see Pevsner 1940, 126–29; Van Looij 1989. See Emmens 1968, 154–59; Bleeke-Byrne 1984, 30, 38, notes 76–77. Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 448–49 (fol. 297v); Bolten 1985, 248. De Klerk 1989. Bolten 1985, 248–50. For Bisschop’s school see Van Gelder 1972, 11. Bolten 1985. Bolten Walters 2009, 1, 79. Bolten 1985, 159–60. Also many Dutch theoretical treatises on the art of painting and drawing insisted on the human form and on the stages of the learning process. For instance William Goeree’s influential Inleydinge tot de al-gemeene Teycken-Konst, Middelburgh, 1668, revised and reprinted many times, lays out the five stages of artistic training: copy of prints, drawings, paintings, plaster casts and the life model (pp. 31–37). See Bleeke- Byrne 1984, 34 and note 45; De Klerk 1989, 284. On Perrier’s diffusion in the Netherlands see Bolten 1985, 257–58; Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 51–52; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 76. For Van Haarlem’s 1639 inventory see Van Thiel 1965, 123, 128; Van Thiel 1999, 84, and Appendix II, 254–255, 257, 270–71, 273. For van Balen’s 1635 and 1656 inventories, see Duverger 1984–2009, 4, 200–11. For Rembrandt’s 1656 bankruptcy inventory see Strauss and Van der Meulen 1979, 349–88. For Rembrandt’s use of statues, casts and models, see Gyllenhaal 2008. See also cat. 23 in this catalogue, note 18. For the use of plaster casts in 17th- and 18th-century artists’ studios in Antwerp and Brussels, see Lock 2010. Also collections of original antiquities were formed in the 17th century, especially in the Southern Netherlands and in Antwerp: Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 35–50, esp. 35, note 65. 64 65  151 For a copy in reverse, dated 1639, see Bolten 1985, 133–34, and 138, fig.a. 152 On Jan ter Boch’s painting (fig. 49) see Paris 2000–01, 401–02, no. 207 (J. Foucart). On Van Oost the Elder’s painting (fig. 50), see Antwerp 2008, 77, no. 20 (S. Janssens). On Vaillant’s painting (fig. 51), see MacLaren 1991, 1, 440, note 8; Amsterdam 1997, 349, 2. On the painting attrib- uted to Sweert (fig. 52) see Waddingham 1976–77; Amsterdam 1997, 348–52, under no. 74; Paris 2000–01, 400–01, no. 206 (J. Foucart); Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 134–36, no. 40 (J. Clifton), where the painting is attributed to Wallerant Vaillant. On Balthasar Van den Bossche’s paintings of artists’ workshops see Mai 1987–88; Paris 2000–01, 402–03, no. 208 (J.-R. Gaborit and J.-P. Cuzin); Lock 2010. 153 For the Borghese Gladiator see Haskell and Penny 1981, 221–24, no. 43; Paris 2000–01, no. 1, 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000–01c. For the Dying Gladiator see Haskell and Penny 1981, 224–27, no. 44; Mattei 1987; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, 428–35. For the Venus de’ Medici, see Haskell and Penny 1981, 325–28, no. 88; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, 74–75, no. 64 (137). 154 See Haskell and Penny 1981 esp. 23–30. On the Medici collection of classical sculptures see Cecchi and Gaspari 2009. On the Farnese’s see Gasparri 2007. On the Borghese’s: Rome 2011–12; on the Ludovisi’s: Rome 1992–93; on the Giustiniani’s Rome 2001–02. 155 Haskell and Penny 1981, 16–22; Coquery 2000; Picozzi 2000. 156 Picozzi 2000; Laveissière 2011; Di Cosmo 2013; Fatticcioni 2013. 157 Haskell and Penny 1981, 21; Goldstein 1996, 144; Coquery 2000, 43–44. On Perrier’s success in the Netherlands see Bolten 1985, 257–58; Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 51–52; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 76. 158 Boyer 2000; Montanari 2000; Rome 2000a; Bonfait 2002; Bayard 2010; Bayard and Fumagalli 2011. 159 Bertolotti 1886; Bousquet 1980; Coquery 2000. 160 Herklotz 1999; see also the ongoing catalogue raisonné of Cassiano dal Pozzo’s Paper Museum: http://warburg.sas.ac.uk/research/projects/ cassiano 161 For the text of Bellori’s Idea see Bellori 1976, 13–25, and for an English translation see Bellori 2005, 55–65. On it see Mahon 1947, esp. 109– 54, 242–43; Panofsky 1968, 103–11; Bellori 1976, esp. XXIX–XL; Barasch 2000, 1, 315–22; Cropper 2000. 162 Bellori 1976, 299. 163 See Barasch 2000, 1, 310-72. 164 Bellori mentions many of these artists devoting time and efforts in the copying of celebrated classical statuary, such as the Farnese Hercules, the Belvedere Torso, the Niobe Group, the Borghese Gladiator: Bellori 1976, 75, 90–91 (Annibale Carracci), 529–30 (Guido Reni), 625 (Carlo Maratti). For Rubens, Bernini and Cortona see Bellori 1976, XXXI. For Annibale Carracci and the Antique see also Weston-Lewis 1992. For his drawing (fig. 58) see Washington D.C. 1999–2000, 177, no. 50 (G. Feigenbaum). For Poussin and the Antique the literature is vast: see Bull 1997; Bayard and Fumagalli 2011; Henry 2011, with previous literature. For his drawing (fig. 59) see Rosenberg and Prat 1994, 1, 312–13, no. 161. For Maratti’s drawings (figs 60–61) see Blunt and Cooke 1960, 63, nos 378, 380. On Pietro da Cortona and the Antique see Fusconi 1997–98. Some of his drawings after the Antique were commissioned for the Paper Museum of Cassiano dal Pozzo. On the drawing (fig. 62) see Rome 1997–98, 71, no. 2.4 (G. Fusconi). 165 Wittkower 1963; Princeton, Cleveland and elsewhere 1981–82, 159–73; New York 2012–13, 234–38, no. 25. 166 Pevsner 1940, 82–114; Goldstein 1996, 40–45. On the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in Paris see Vitet 1861; Montaiglon 1875–92; Hargove 1990; Tours and Toulouse 2000; Michel 2012. On the Académie de France in Rome see Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912; Lapauze 1924; Henry 2010–11; Coquery 2013, 173–219, with previous bibliography. 167 Montaiglon 1875–92, 1, 346. 168 Women were admitted to the Académie, then named École des Beaux- Arts, only in 1896 and allowed to enrol for the Prix de Rome in 1903: Goldstein 1996, 61. 169 Montaiglon 1875–92, 1, 315–17. 170 Félibien 1668, Preface (not paginated). 171 Le Brun 1698. On it see Montagu 1994. 172 Félibien 1668, 28–40; Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, 1.1, 127–35. 173 Félibien 1668, Preface (not paginated). 174 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, see esp. vols 1-2, passim. 175 Lichtenstein and Michel  Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, 1.1, 374–77. See also Goldstein 1996, 150. 177 Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 1, 129–32. 178 Montaiglon 1875–92, 1, 293 (for a Venus donated by Chantelou in 1665), 300, 330–31 (for the cast of the Farnese Hercules ordered in 1666 and delivered in 1668), 366 (for several casts after ancient reliefs and statues copied for the Académie from the Royal collection on the order of Colbert). 179 See Foster 1998; Schnapper 2000 and Macsotay 2010. 180 Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 1, 36. 181 Goldstein 1978, esp. 2–5. 182 Golzio 1935. 183 Boyer 1950, 117; Goldstein 1970; Bousquet 1980, 110–11; Goldstein 1996, 45–46. 184 Mahon 1947, 188–89. 185 Missirini 1823, 145–46 (chap. XCI); Mahon 1947, 189; Goldstein 1996, 46. 186 Teyssèdre 1965; Puttfarken 1985; Montagu 1996; Arras and Épinal 2004. 187 Armenini 1587, 93–99, esp. 96 (book 2, chap. 5). 188 See esp. Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 69–75; Muller 2004, esp. 18–21; Jaffé and Bradley 2005–06; Jaffé 2010. For the drawing (fig. 67) see Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 71–72, notes 11, 14, 16 with previous literature. Rubens applied this method to several other statues. 189 Bellori 1976, 451, 473–77, ; Bellori 2005, 311, and for the plates 334–37. See Rome 2000b, 2, 403–04, no. 9 (V. Krahn); Henry 2011; Coquery 2013, 361, nos G. 179–80. 190 The surviving 39 drawings are today preserved in an ‘Album de dessins et mesures de statues romaines...’ at the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris: Coquery 2000, 48–50; Paris 2000–01, 389–90, no. 195; Coquery 2013, 37–40; Stanic 2013. For the three drawings repro- duced here see Coquery 2013, 281, no. D114 (Laocoön), 283, no. D130 (Belvedere Antinous), 283, no. D131 (Venus de’Medici). 191 Bosse 1656. See the Conférences by Sébastien Bourdon, Charles Le Brun, Henri Testelin, Michel Anguier, etc.: Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, 1.1, esp. 161–66 (Charles Le Brun), 316–33 (Charles Le Brun), 332–35 (Michel Anguier), 374–77 (Sébastien Bourdon); 1.2, 636–38 (Michel Anguier), 667–71 (Henry Testelin). 192 On De Wit’s Teekenboek (fig. 74) see Bolten 1985, 82–86. On Nollekens’ drawing (fig. 75) see Blayney Brown 1982, 484, no. 1460; Nottingham and London 1991, 58–59, no. 31 (Venus de’ Medici); Lyon 1998–99, 123–24, no. 101. On Volpato’s and Morghen’s print annotated by Canova (fig. 76) see Rome 2008, 144, no. 25, with previous bibliography. 193 On the study of anatomy in the Renaissance and the 17th century see Schultz 1985; Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97; London, Warwick and elsewhere 1997–98; and the excellent essays in Paris 2008– 09a, esp. Carlino 2008–09. On the combination of the study of anatomy and of the Antique between the 17th and 19th centuries see esp. Schwartz 2008–09. 194 Paris 2000–01, 391–92, no. 197; Coquery 2013, 195–200; Paris 2008–09a, 222–23, no. 79. 195 For the skeletons (figs 77–78) and anatomical figures (figs 79–80) of the Laocoön and Borghese Gladiator see Coquery 2013, respectively 384, no. G.416, 383, no. G.413, 381, no. G.400, 382, no. G.408. A series of Conférences at the Académie Royale in Paris had been devoted to the Antique and anatomy: see esp. Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, 1.2, 581–93 (Pierre Monnier, ‘Sur les muscles du Laocoon’, 2 May 1676). 196 See Paris 2000–01, 393–94, no. 199, with previous bibliography; Paris 2008–09a, 226–27, no. 85. 197 See Paris 2000–01, 392–93, no. 198, with previous bibliography; Paris 2008–09a, 226–27, no. 82. Sauvage also made écorchés of other classical prototypes. 198 The original cast appears to have been destroyed. The écorché preserved at the Royal Academy of Arts is a 19th-century copy by William Pink: see Postle 2004, esp. 58–59, with previous bibliography. 199 See Jordan and Weston 2002, 97, 4.7. 200 For the practice see Paris 2000–01, 415–29; Schwartz 2008–09; London 2013–14, 62–69. On Paillett’s drawing (fig. 87) see London 2013–14, 21, pl. 1, 96, no. 1. For Bottani’s (fig. 88) see Philadelphia 1980– 81, 59–60, no. 47. For David’s painting (fig. 89) see Rome 1981–82, 101–02, no. 25. 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 Pevsner 1940, 140–41. On the diffusion of academies in the 18th century see Boschloo 1989, passim. A good recent overview is Brook 2010–11. Diderot’s remark appeared in an article in the Correspondance littéraire, philos- ophique et critique, no. 13, 1763: ‘Sur Bouchardon et la sculpture’, 45. See an English translation in Diderot 2011, 19. On the diffusion of casts in the 18th century see Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. 79–91, chap. 11; Rossi Pinelli 1984; Rossi Pinelli 1988; Pucci 2000a; Frederiksen and Marchand 2010. London 2013–14, 36, 46–47. See the explanatory text for the plate: Diderot and D’Alembert 1762–72, 20, entry ‘Dessein’, 1–20, esp. 2–5. See also Michel 1987, 284, 288. Locquin 1912, 5–13; Toledo, Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76; Plax 2000. Locquin 1912, 5–13; Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, 216–28, with previ- ous bibliography. Excellent introductions to the art world of Rome in the 18th century are the essay contained in Philadelphia and Houston 2000 (see esp. Barroero and Susinno 2000) and in Rome 2010–11b. Goethe 2013, 2, 373. Overviews on the Grand Tour are Black 1992; London and Rome 1996–97; Chaney 1998; Black 2003. On Panini’s painting see London and Rome 1996–97, 277–78, no. 233; Philadelphia and Houston 2000, 425, no. 275, with previous literature. Macandrew 1978; Connor Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013, with previous bibliography. Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. 23–30, 43–52; Paris 2010–11, with previous bibliography. On drawing in Rome in the 18th century see Bowron 1993–94; Percy 2000, with previous bibliography. On collections of casts in private academies see Bordini 1998, 387. On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. On the early years of the Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005; Arata 2008. See Arata 1994, 75. On the Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998; Bordini 1998. Haskell and Penny 1981, 62–63; Raspi Serra 1998–99; Macsotay 2010; Henry 2010–11. The main source for Vleughels’ reform, rich in information on the study of the Antique in the Académie under his directorship, is Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vols 7–9, passim (for description of the collection of casts see 7, 333–37). Boyer 1955; Loire 2005–06, 75–81. Caviglia-Brunel 2012, 115–63. For Natoire’s drawing (fig. 94) see Paris 2000–01, 372, no. 177; Caviglia- Brunel 2012, 415–16, no. D.558. On Robert’s drawings (figs 95–96) see Paris 2000–01, 373–74, nos 178–79; Rome 2008, 132–33, nos 12–13; Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, 22–23, nos 1a–1b. For 97 see Paris 2000– 01, 384, no. 190. On Robert in Rome see Rome 1990–91. On Piranesi and his influence on artists see Fleming 1962; Wilton Ely 1978; Rome, Dijon and elsewhere 1976; Brunel 1978. On Winckelmann see Potts 1994, with previous bibliography. Henry 2010–11. For David in Rome see Rome 1981–82. For his drawings after the Antique see Sérullaz 1981–82; Rosenberg and Prat 2002, passim, esp. 1, 391– 746, 2, 754–866. Sérullaz 1981–82, 42. For David’s drawing (fig. 98) see Rosenberg and Prat 2002, 499, no. 642. See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. On all these aspects see Pears 1988, esp. 1–26. As general introductions see Denvir 1983; Solkin 1992; Brewer 1997; Bindman 2008. On the ‘Rule of Taste’ see Lipking 1970; Barrell 1986, esp. 1–68; Pears 1988, 27–50; Ayres 1997. For a recent overview see Aymonino 2014. On academies in Britain before the foundation of the Royal Academy see Bignamini 1988; Bignamini 1990. See MacDonald 1989. An excellent introduction to the use of the Antique in artists’ education in 18th-century Britain is Postle 1997. For casts in Britain in the first half of the 18th century see: Bignamini 1988, 59, note 63, 65, 77, note 9, 81, note 65, 88, 103. Einberg and Egerton 1988, 64–71. Kitson 1966–68, esp. 85–86; Postle 1997, esp. 83–84. See Paulson 1971, 2, 168–71; Nottingham and London 1991, 62, no. 37. Coutu 2000, 47; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. On Mortimer’s painting see Nottingham and London 1991, 45, no. 11, with previous bibliography. MacDonald 1989. Allan 1968, 76–88; Bignamini 1988, 108; Postle 1997, 85–87; Coutu 2000, 52; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, 43–44. Ibid. On the Glasgow Foulis Academy see Pevsner 1940, 156; MacDonald 1989, 84–85; Fairfull-Smith 2001. On the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986. On its regulations see also Abstract 1797. On the Antique School at the Royal Academy (fig. 105) see Nottingham and London 1991, 43, no. 7; Rome 2010–11b, 432, no.V.6. On Zoffany’s painting see New Haven and London 2011–12, 218–21, no. 44, with previous bibliography. For the medal see Hutchison 1986, 34. On Kauffman’s painting see Rome 2010–11b, 325, 432–33, no. V.7. For Townley see particularly Coltman 2009. On Soane’s collection of plaster casts see Dorey 2010. De Architectura, 1.1, esp. 1.1.13; Watkin 1996. Jenkins 1992, 30–40. Venice 1976, 114–15, no. 49. Malvasia 1678, 1, 359, 365, 484. On the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo’s forthcoming article. See De Piles 1677, 253–54; De Piles 1708, esp. 128–38. Bellori 1976, 214; Bellori 2005, 180. See Pucci 2000a; Bukdahal 2007 Diderot 1995, 4. See also Haskell and Penny 1981, 91. Boime 1980, 330–35, pl. ix.47. Couture 1867, 155–56. 6609a, 226–27, no. 85. 197 See Paris 2000–01, 392–93, no. 198, with previous bibliography; Paris 2008–09a, 226–27, no. 82. Sauvage also made écorchés of other classical prototypes. 198 The original cast appears to have been destroyed. The écorché preserved at the Royal Academy of Arts is a 19th-century copy by William Pink: see Postle 2004, esp. 58–59, with previous bibliography. 199 See Jordan and Weston 2002, 97, 4.7. 200 For the practice see Paris 2000–01, 415–29; Schwartz 2008–09; London 2013–14, 62–69. On Paillett’s drawing (fig. 87) see London 2013–14, 21, pl. 1, 96, no. 1. For Bottani’s (fig. 88) see Philadelphia 1980– 81, 59–60, no. 47. For David’s painting (fig. 89) see Rome 1981–82, 101–02, no. 25. Pevsner 1940, 140–41. On the diffusion of academies in the 18th century see Boschloo 1989, passim. A good recent overview is Brook 2010–11. Diderot’s remark appeared in an article in the Correspondance littéraire, philos- ophique et critique, no. 13, 1763: ‘Sur Bouchardon et la sculpture’, 45. See an English translation in Diderot 2011, 19. On the diffusion of casts in the 18th century see Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. 79–91, chap. 11; Rossi Pinelli 1984; Rossi Pinelli 1988; Pucci 2000a; Frederiksen and Marchand 2010. London 2013–14, 36, 46–47. See the explanatory text for the plate: Diderot and D’Alembert 1762–72, 20, entry ‘Dessein’, 1–20, esp. 2–5. See also Michel 1987, 284, 288. Locquin 1912, 5–13; Toledo, Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76; Plax 2000. Locquin 1912, 5–13; Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, 216–28, with previ- ous bibliography. Excellent introductions to the art world of Rome in the 18th century are the essay contained in Philadelphia and Houston 2000 (see esp. Barroero and Susinno 2000) and in Rome 2010–11b. Goethe 2013, 2, 373. Overviews on the Grand Tour are Black 1992; London and Rome 1996–97; Chaney 1998; Black 2003. On Panini’s painting see London and Rome 1996–97, 277–78, no. 233; Philadelphia and Houston 2000, 425, no. 275, with previous literature. Macandrew 1978; Connor Bulman 2006; Windsor 2013, with previous bibliography. Haskell and Penny 1981, esp. 23–30, 43–52; Paris 2010–11, with previous bibliography. On drawing in Rome in the 18th century see Bowron 1993–94; Percy 2000, with previous bibliography. On collections of casts in private academies see Bordini 1998, 387. On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. On the early years of the Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005; Arata 2008. See Arata 1994, 75. On the Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998; Bordini 1998. Haskell and Penny 1981, 62–63; Raspi Serra 1998–99; Macsotay 2010; Henry 2010–11. The main source for Vleughels’ reform, rich in information on the study of the Antique in the Académie under his directorship, is Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, vols 7–9, passim (for description of the collection of casts see 7, 333–37). Boyer 1955; Loire 2005–06, 75–81. Caviglia-Brunel 2012, 115–63. For Natoire’s drawing (fig. 94) see Paris 2000–01, 372, no. 177; Caviglia- Brunel 2012, 415–16, no. D.558. On Robert’s drawings (figs 95–96) see Paris 2000–01, 373–74, nos 178–79; Rome 2008, 132–33, nos 12–13; Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, 22–23, nos 1a–1b. For 97 see Paris 2000– 01, 384, no. 190. On Robert in Rome see Rome 1990–91. On Piranesi and his influence on artists see Fleming 1962; Wilton Ely 1978; Rome, Dijon and elsewhere 1976; Brunel 1978. On Winckelmann see Potts 1994, with previous bibliography.  Henry 2010–11. For David in Rome see Rome 1981–82. For his drawings after the Antique see Sérullaz 1981–82; Rosenberg and Prat 2002, passim, esp. 1, 391– 746, 2, 754–866. Sérullaz 1981–82, 42. For David’s drawing (fig. 98) see Rosenberg and Prat 2002, 499, no. 642. See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. On all these aspects see Pears 1988, esp. 1–26. As general introductions see Denvir 1983; Solkin 1992; Brewer 1997; Bindman 2008. On the ‘Rule of Taste’ see Lipking 1970; Barrell 1986, esp. 1–68; Pears 1988, 27–50; Ayres 1997. For a recent overview see Aymonino 2014. On academies in Britain before the foundation of the Royal Academy see Bignamini 1988; Bignamini 1990. See MacDonald 1989. An excellent introduction to the use of the Antique in artists’ education in 18th-century Britain is Postle 1997. For casts in Britain in the first half of the 18th century see: Bignamini 1988, 59, note 63, 65, 77, note 9, 81, note 65, 88, 103. Einberg and Egerton 1988, 64–71. Kitson 1966–68, esp. 85–86; Postle 1997, esp. 83–84. See Paulson 1971, 2, 168–71; Nottingham and London 1991, 62, no. 37. Coutu 2000, 47; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. On Mortimer’s painting see Nottingham and London 1991, 45, no. 11, with previous bibliography. MacDonald 1989. Allan 1968, 76–88; Bignamini 1988, 108; Postle 1997, 85–87; Coutu 2000, 52; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, 43–44. Ibid. On the Glasgow Foulis Academy see Pevsner 1940, 156; MacDonald 1989, 84–85; Fairfull-Smith 2001. On the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986. On its regulations see also Abstract 1797. On the Antique School at the Royal Academy (fig. 105) see Nottingham and London 1991, 43, no. 7; Rome 2010–11b, 432, no.V.6. On Zoffany’s painting see New Haven and London 2011–12, 218–21, no. 44, with previous bibliography. For the medal see Hutchison 1986, 34. On Kauffman’s painting see Rome 2010–11b, 325, 432–33, no. V.7. For Townley see particularly Coltman 2009. On Soane’s collection of plaster casts see Dorey 2010. De Architectura, 1.1, esp. 1.1.13; Watkin 1996. Jenkins 1992, 30–40. Venice 1976, 114–15, no. 49. Malvasia 1678, 1, 359, 365, 484. On the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo’s forthcoming article. See De Piles 1677, 253–54; De Piles 1708, esp. 128–38. Bellori 1976, 214; Bellori 2005, 180. See Pucci 2000a; Bukdahal 2007 Diderot 1995, 4. See also Haskell and Penny 1981, 91. Boime 1980, 330–35, pl. ix.47. Couture 1867, 155–56. 66 67. Primary Sources On The Antique. Rome to copy its antiquities as a source of inspiration, a phenomenon that increased over the subsequent four hundred years. Bembo is, in addition, one of the earliest writers to rank Raphael and Michelangelo on the level of artists from antiquity. Excerpt from Bembo, Prose . . . della volgar lingua, Venice, 1525, XLII r (translation Michael Sullivan). At all times of day [Rome] witnesses the arrival of artists from near and far, intent on reproducing in the small space of their paper or wax the form of those splendid ancient figures of marble, sometimes bronze, that lie scattered all over Rome, or are publicly and privately kept and treasured, as they do with the arches and baths and theatres and the other various sorts of buildings that are in part still standing: and hence, when they mean to produce some new work, they aim at those examples, striving with their art to resemble them, all the more so since they believe their efforts merit praise by the closeness of resemblance of their new works to ancient ones, being well aware that the ancient ones come closer to the perfection of art than any done afterwards. These have succeeded more than others, Messer Giulio [de’ Medici], your Michelangelo of Florence and Raphael of Urbino   so outstanding and illustrious that it is easier to say how close they come to the good old masters than decide which of them is the greater and better artist. 4. Ludovico Dolce (1508–68) on the necessity for artists copying from antique statues to learn how to correct the defects of Nature and to aim for perfect beauty. In his treatise Dialogo della pittura . . . (1557), the humanist, writer and art theorist Lodovico Dolce upheld a strong defence of the Venetian school of painting, based on colour, against the Florentine and Roman ones, based on drawing, supported by Giorgio Vasari. At the same time he included one of the earliest theoretical statements on the necessity to study the Antique as a model of idealised nature and perfect beauty – especially in the study of the proportions of the human figure. However, in Dolce, one finds also a warning against the indiscriminate copying of classical sculptures – which should always be imitated with the correct artistic judgement to avoid eccen- tricities – a principle that would become a leitmotif in subsequent art literature, as shown here in excerpts from Rubens (no. 8) or Bernini (no. 10). For Dolce a slavish dependence on the Antique can lead to the excesses of Mannerism. Exerpts from Ludovico Dolce, Dialogo della pittura intitolato l’Aretino . . ., Venice, 1557, 32r–33r. The following translation is from the first English edition: Aretin: A Dialogue on Painting. From the Italian of Ludovico Dolce, London, 1770, 127–32. Whoever would do this [to form a justly proportioned figure] should chuse the most perfect form he can find, and partly imitate nature, as Apelles did, who, when he painted his celebrated Venus emerging from the sea   [p. 128] drew her from Phryne, the most famous courtesan of the age; and Praxiteles also formed his statue of the Venus of Gnidus, from the same model. Partly he should imitate the best marbles and bronzes of the [p. 129] antient masters, the admirable perfection [p. 130] of which, whoever can fully taste and posses, may safely correct many defects of Nature herself, and make his pictures universally pleasing and grateful. These contain all the perfection of the art, and may be properly proposed as examples of perfect beauty.   [p. 131] Proportion being the principal foundation of design, he who best observes it, must always be the best master in this respect: and it being necessary to the forming of a perfect body, to copy not only nature but the antique, we must be careful that we do this with judgement, lest we should imitate the worst parts, whilst we think we are imitating the best. We have an instance of this, at present, in a painter, who having observed that the [p. 132] antients, for the most part, designed their figures light and slender, by too strict an obedience to this custom, and exceeding the just bounds, has turned this, which is a beauty, into a very striking defect. Others have accustomed themselves in painting heads (especially of women) to make long necks; having observed that the greatest part of the antique pictures of Roman ladies have long necks, and that short ones are generally ungrace- ful; but by giving into too great a liberty, have made that which was in their original pleasing, totally otherwise in the copy. 5. Giorgio Vasari (1511–74) on drawing as the intellectual foundation of all arts; on grace, and on the classical sculptures in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican as the source for the ‘beautiful style’ of High Renaissance masters. Giorgio Vasari’s Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects – published first in 1550 and in an expanded edition in 1568 – is arguably the most influential example of art literature of the Renaissance. Vasari’s biographies of the most famous modern artists set the standard for a progressive conception of the history of art, with the Florentine and Roman schools representing its culmination. At the start of his essay on painting, in a section added to the 1568 edition of the Lives, he provides a definition of disegno, drawing, to give a theoretical underpinning to his defence of the Central Italian schools of painting. Vasari’s conception of drawing as the first physical manifestation of the artist’s idea – the intellectual part of art common to painting, sculpture and architecture – would provide the founda- tion for the centrality of drawing in the curriculum of future acade- mies. In another passage to be found in both editions, Vasari praises the best ancient sculptures, as they embodied the supreme quality of grazia, or grace, which cannot be attained by study but only by the judgement of the artist – a concept that remained one of the central tenets of Italian art theory for the next two centuries. He attributes the rise of the modern manner or ‘bella maniera’, and the great achievements of Raphael and Michelangelo, to their familiarity and exposure to the best examples of classical sculpture in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican. Excerpts from Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori et architettori, Florence, 1568, part 1, 43. The following translation is from Vasari on Technique, ed. G. Baldwin Brown, trans. L. S. Maclehose, London, 1907, 205–06. 69 SOURCE #1 VITRUVIO (80–70 bc – post c. 15 bc) On harmonic proportions as the principle of ideal beauty. Marcus Vitruvius Pollio’s De Architectura, c. 30–20 bc, is the only complete treatise on classical architecture to have survived from antiquity and its impact on Western architecture from the Renaissance onwards is paramount. Manuscript copies of the treatise circulated widely in the 15th century and were well known to Filippo Brunelleschi, Leon Battista Alberti, Donatello and to subsequent generations of early Renaissance artists and architects. The first printed Latin edition appeared in 1486, followed by a more popular version in 1511 (edited by Fra Giovanni Giocondo). Italian translations appeared in 1521 (by Cesare Cesariano) and in 1556 (edited and translated by Daniele Barbaro with illustrations by Andrea Palladio). The first chapter of book 3, provided architects and artists with an authoritative account of the principle of harmonic proportions based on commensurability which had inspired ancient sculptors and paint- ers in search of ideal beauty. The celebrated passage on the perfect proportions of the human body was visualised by Leonardo in his ‘Vitruvian Man’ (see 17, 2). The following translation is from the first integral English edition: The Architecture of M. Vitruvius Pollio. Translated from the Original Latin, by W. Newton Architect, London, 1771, book 3, chapter 1, 45–46: ‘On the Composition and Symmetry of Temples’.1 The composition of temples, is governed by the laws of symmetry; which an architect ought well to understand; this arises from pro- portion, which is called by the Greek, Analogia. Proportion is the correspondence of the measures of all the parts of a work, and of the whole configuration, from which correspondence, symmetry is produced; for a building cannot be well composed without the rules of symmetry and proportions; nor unless the members, as in a well formed human body, have a perfect agreement. For nature as so composed the human body, that the face from the chin to the roots of the hair at the top of the forehead, is the tenth part of the whole height; and the hand, from the joint to the extremity of the middle finger, is the same; the head, from the chin to the crown, is an eight part;   the rest of the members have their measures also proportional; this the ancient painters and statuaries strictly observed, and thereby gained universal applause.   The central point of the body is the navel: for if a man was laid supine with his arms and legs extended, and a circle was drawn round him, the central foot of the compasses being placed over his navel, the extremities of his fingers and toes would touch the circumferent line; and in the same manner as the body is adapted to [p. 46] the circle, it will also be found to agree with the square; for, if the measure from the bottom of the feet to the top of the head is taken, and applied to the arms extended, it will be found that the breadth is equal to the height, the same as in the area of a square. Since, therefore, nature has so composed the human body, * All sentences in Italics are by the present author throughout. 68 that the members are proportionate and consentaneous to the whole figure, with reason the ancients have determined, that in all perfect works, the several members must be exactly proportional to the whole object. 1 The Latin word ‘symmetria’ of Vitruvius’ text has often been translated in English with ‘symmetry’, while commensurability – the mathematical relation between the part and the whole within a given body or building resulting in overall harmonic proportions – would be a better translation. 2. Cennino d’Andrea Cennini (c. 1370–c. 1440) on drawing as the foundation of art and on the advantage for young artists of copying from other masters. Written around 1390 possibly in Padua, Cennini’s Il Libro dell’Arte is the first art treatise composed in Italian. Although mainly concerned with practical advice to painters, Cennini also devoted some of the chapters to the education of the young artist, ofering the first written evidence of the importance of drawing in the apprenticeship of the aspiring painter, and especially the copying of works by other artists. Later, in early Renaissance workshop practices, this increasingly included antique sculpture. Although not published until 1821, manuscript copies of the Libro circulated widely in the 16th and 17th centuries, evidenced by the fact that references to it and passages from it reappear in subsequent art treatises. Excerpts from Cennino Cennini, Il Libro dell’Arte, ed. F. Brunello, Vicenza, 1971 (translation, present author). [P. 6, chapter 4] The foundations and the principles of art, and of all these manual works, are drawing and colouring. [P. 27, chapter 27] If you want to progress further on the path of this science   you must follow this method:   take pain and pleasure in constantly copying the best things that you can find done by the hands of the great masters. And if you are in a place where many masters have been, so much better for you. But I will give you some advice: be careful to imitate always the best and the most famous; and progressing every day, it would be against nature that you will not eventually be infused by the master’s style and spirit. 3. Pietro Bembo (1470–1547) on artists going to Rome to copy the Antique, and on Michelangelo and Raphael having equalled the ancient masters. Italian scholar, poet, literary theorist, collector and cardinal, Pietro Bembo was a central figure in the cultivated antiquarian milieu at the court of Pope Leo X (r. 1513–21) and a personal friend of Raphael and Michelangelo. His Prose . . . della volgar lingua, a treatise published in 1525, but composed over the previous two decades, contains one of the earliest and most eloquent reports of artists converging on  Seeing that Design, the parent of our three arts, Architecture, Sculpture and Painting, having its origin in the intellect, draws out from many single things a general judgement, it is like a form or idea of all the objects in nature, most marvellous in what it compasses, for not only in the bodies of men and of animals but also in plants, in buildings, in sculpture and in painting, design is cognizant of the proportions of the whole to the parts and of the parts to each other and to the whole. Seeing too that from this knowledge there arises a certain conception and judgement, so that there is formed in the mind that something which afterwards, when expressed by the hands, is called design, we may conclude that design is not other than a visible expression and declaration of our inner conception and of that which others have imagined and given form to their idea. And from this, perhaps, arose the proverb among the ancients ‘ex ungue leonem’ when a certain clever person, seeing carved in a stone block the claw only of a lion, apprehended in his mind [p. 206] from its size and form all the parts of the animal and then the whole together, just as if he had had it present before his eyes. Excerpts from Giorgio Vasari, Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori et architettori, Florence, 1568, part 3, 1, 2–3 of the Preface (unpaginated). The following translation is from Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects by Giorgio Vasari, ed. and trans. by G. du C. de Vere, London 1912–14, 4, 81–82. [Fifteenth-century artists] were advancing towards the good, and their figures were thus approved according to the standards of the works of the ancients, as was seen when Andrea Verrocchio restored in marble the legs and arms of the Marsyas in the house of the Medici in Florence. But they lacked a certain finish and finality of perfection in the feet, hands, hair, and beards, although the limbs as a whole are in accordance with the antique and have a certain correct harmony in the proportions. Now if they had had that minuteness of finish which is the perfection and bloom of art, they would also have had a resolute boldness in their works; and from this there would have followed delicacy, refine- ment, and supreme grace, which are the qualities produced by the perfection of art in beautiful figures, whether in relief or painting; but these qualities they did not have, although they give proof of diligent striving. That finish, and that certain something that they lacked, they could not achieve so readily, seeing that study, when it is used in that way to obtain finish, gives dryness to the manner. After them indeed, their successors were enabled to attain to it through seeing excavated out of the earth certain antiquities cited by Pliny as amongst the most famous, such as the Laocoön, the Hercules, the Great Torso of the Belvedere, and likewise the Venus, the Cleopatra, the Apollo, and an endless number of others, which, both with their sweetness and their severity, with their fleshy roundness copied from the great beauties of nature, and with certain attitudes which involve no distortions of the whole figure but only a movement of certain parts, [p. 82] and are revealed with a most perfect grace, brought about the disappearance of a certain dryness, hardness, and sharpness of manner, which had been left to our art by the excessive study  . 6. Giovan Battista Armenini (c. 1525–1609) on assimilating the principles of the Antique through constant drawing as a safe guide for artistic creation. Giovan Battista Armenini’s De veri precetti della pittura (1587), consti- tutes one of the most systematic art treatises of the second half of the 16th century. In it we find the clearest formulations of a progressive method of learning, later defined as the ‘alphabet of drawing’ (see no. 7), and of the necessity of assimilating the principles of the Antique through drawing. Armenini is also the first to provide a proper canon of sculptures and reliefs in Rome that students should copy and to praise the didactic use of plaster casts. Excerpts from Giovan Battista Armenini, De veri precetti della pittura, Ravenna, 1587, book 1, ch. 8, 61–63. The following translation is from G. B. Armenini, On the True Precepts of the Art of Painting, ed. and trans. by J. Olszewski, New York, 1977, 130–34. [To obtain a good style] it is the general and universal rule only to draw those things which are the most beautiful, learned and most like the good works of ancient sculptors. Having familiarised him- self with them through continual study, the student must know these things so thoroughly that when the occasion demands he can reproduce one or more of these compositions. He must be so familiar with them that whatever is good in the old works will be marvellously reflected in his rough sketches, as well as in finished drawings, and consequently in large paintings  . For the con- tinual drawing and copying of things which are well made ensures that one has a proper guide to follow and executes his own work very well.   In order that you may fully know the basis of art, make it the foundation of your own works, and learn how to recognise excellence with certainty, particularly in figures, we shall place before you as principal models some of the most famous ancient sculp- tures which most closely approach the true perfection of art and are still intact in our own days. [p. 131] For it is well known that the ancients who fashioned these statues first chose the best that nature offered in diverse models and then, guided by their excellent judgement, combined the best perfectly into one work.   These ancient statues are as follows: the Laocoön, Hercules, Apollo, the great Torso, Cleopatra, Venus, the Nile, and some others also of marble, all of them to be found in the Belvedere in the papal palace in the Vatican. Some others are scattered throughout Rome and among the [p. 132] foremost is the Marcus Aurelius in bronze, now in the square of the Campidoglio. Then there are the Giants of Monte Cavallo, and the Pasquino, and others not as good as these. Also well known because of the histo- ries depicted thereon are those in the arches with very beautiful manner of half and low relief as in the two columns, the Trajan and the Antonine, which still stand, even though time is hostile to human work.   And even though this study we have been discussing is not in the power of all students, since as is well known not all can stay in Rome labouring long and at great expense, yet even they have many of these works in their own homes. I am speaking of those copies of the originals fashioned by the masters in plaster or other material. I have seen a wax copy of the Roman Laocoön, not larger than two spans, but one could say that it was the original in small size. Still, if those parts that are modelled in gesso from these works can be obtained, they are better without doubt since every detail is there precisely as in the marble, so that they can be scrutinised and serve the student’s needs excellently. Also, they are very convenient because they are light and easily handled and transported. And, as for price, one can say it is very cheap, that is, in comparison with the originals. Therefore, with such excellent aids available, there is no excuse for anyone who really wishes to learn the good and ancient path. I have seen studios and chambers in Milan, Genoa, Venice, Parma, Mantua, Florence, Bologna, Pesaro, Urbino, Ravenna and other minor cities full of such well formed copies. Looking at these, it seemed to me that they were the very works found in Rome. Nor is any beautiful living model excluded from these, and the closer it is to the aforementioned [p. 133] sculptures, the better it may be considered to be, but this is rarely the case. Now, with so many examples and reasons, such as these, I believe [p. 134] you should have a good idea of all that you must consider and observe carefully. 7. The ‘alphabet of drawing’ and the role of the Antique in the first orders and statutes of the Roman Accademia di San Luca (1593). The first ‘orders and statutes’ of the Roman Accademia di San Luca, laid out by Federico Zuccaro (c. 1541–1609) in 1593 and published by Romano Alberti (active 1585–1604) in 1604, codified a progressive method in learning how to draw the human figure, considered as the central subject of art: from details, like the eye, to the whole body. This ‘alphabet of drawing’, based on Renaissance workshop practices, would become enormously influential in the teaching of art in Europe well into the 20th century. The Antique had a crucial role in it, as it gave students the possibility to learn how to approach the third dimension of the human body through models of idealised beauty, anatomy and proportions, and the role of ancient statuary is clearly specified in another passage of the Accademia’s rules and regulations. Excerpts from Romano Alberti, Origine, et progresso dell’Academia del Dissegno, de’ Pittori, Scultori, et Architetti di Roma, Pavia, 1604, 5–8 (translation, present author). [P. 5] Another hour will be devoted to practice and to teaching drawing to young students, showing them the way and the good path of study, and for this purpose we have appointed twelve Academicians, one for each month of the year, in charge of taking particular care and responsibility in assisting the students in this task.  . The Principal will order the young students to produce something by their hand, while he will draw himself, and he will award his resulting drawings to the best students. The first figures – to start from the Alphabet of Drawing (so to speak) – will be the A, B, C: eyes, noses, mouths, ears, heads, hands, feet, arms, legs, torsos, backs and other similar parts of the human body, as well as any other sort of animals and figures, architectural elements, and reliefs in wax, clay and similar exercises. [P. 8] [The Academician in charge] will start instructing the students in what to study, assigning to each of them a different task according to his individual disposition and talent: some will draw from drawings, others from cartoons or from reliefs; others will copy heads, feet, hands; others will go out during the week drawing after the antique or the facades by Polidoro, or land- scapes, buildings, animals and other similar things; other students in convenient times will draw after live models, and they must copy them with grace and judgement. Others will do exercises in architecture and in perspective, following its correct and good rules, and the best students shall always be rewarded  . 8. Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640) on the usefulness and dangers of copying from the Antique. The great Flemish artist Peter Paul Rubens spent two extended periods in Rome, between 1601 and 1602 and from late 1605 to late 1608, with short interruptions. His erudite approach towards the Antique and his desire to assimilate its principles resulted in many extraordinary drawings after classical statues, mostly in black and red chalk. In his theoretical treatise, De Imitatione Statuarum (‘On the Imitation of Statues’), c. 1608–10, he warned against the dangers of slavishly copying the Antique and transferring the characteristics and limits of one medium – marble – into another – drawing or painting. Although Rubens’ manuscript remained unpublished in his lifetime, it was owned by the influential French art theorist Roger de Piles (1635–1709), who first published it in his Cours de peinture par principles, Paris, 1708, 139–47. The following translation is from the first English edition: Roger de Piles, The Principles of Painting, London, 1743, 86–92. To some painters the imitation of the antique statues has been extremely useful, and to others pernicious, even to the ruin of their art. I conclude, however, that in order to attain the highest perfection in painting, it is necessary to understand the antiques, nay, to be so thoroughly possessed of this knowledge, [p. 87] that it may diffuse itself everywhere. Yet it must be judiciously applied, and so that it may not in the least smell of stone. For several ignorant painters, and even some who are skilful, make no distinction between the matter and the form, the stone and the figure, the necessity of using the block, and the art of forming it. It is certain, however, that the finest statues are extremely beneficial, so the bad are not only useless, but even pernicious. For beginners learn from them I know not what, that is crude, liny, stiff, and of harsh anatomy; and while they take themselves to be good proficient, do but disgrace nature; since instead of imitating flesh, they only represent marble tinged with various colours. For there are many things [p. 88] to be taken notice of, and avoided, which happen even in the best statues, without the workman’s fault: especially with regard to the difference of shades  . [p. 89] He who has, with discernment, made the proper distinctions in these cases, cannot consider the antique statues too attentively, nor study them too carefully; for we of this erroneous age, are so far degenerate, that we can produce nothing like them. 70 71  9. Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) described as a young boy devoting his days to copying the statues in the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican. In 1713 Gianlorenzo Bernini’s son Domenico (1657–1723) published a biography of his father that constitutes, with Filippo Baldinucci’s Vita del cavaliere . . . Bernino (MS. 1682), one of the most important sources on the life and art of the great Baroque sculptor and architect. A passage describing the impact of the art of Rome on Gianlorenzo, after his arrival from his native Naples, vividly evokes the dedication and devotion of the young sculptor in assimilating day and night the principles of the great classical examples in the Belvedere Courtyard – especially the Antinous Belvedere, the Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön. Excerpts from Domenico Bernini, Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino, Rome, 1713, 12-13. The following translation is from Domenico Bernini, The Life of Gian Lorenzo Bernini, ed. and trans. by F. Mormando, University Park (PA), 2011, 101. There now opened before him in Rome a marvellous field in which to cultivate his studies through the diligent observation of the precious remains of ancient sculpture. It is not to be believed with what dedication he frequented that school and with what profit he absorbed its teachings. Almost every morning, for the space of three years, he left Santa Maria Maggiore, where Pietro, his father, had built a small comfortable house, and travelled on foot to the Vatican Palace at Saint Peter’s. There he remained until sunset, drawing, one by one, those marvellous statues that antiquity has conveyed to us and that time has preserved for us, as both a benefit and dowry for the art of sculpture. He took no refreshment during all those days, except for a little wine and food, saying that the pleasure alone of the lively instruction supplied by those inanimate statues caused a certain sweetness to pervade his body, and this was sufficient in itself for the maintenance of his strength for days on end. In fact, some days it was frequently the case that Gian Lorenzo would not return home at all. Not seeing the youth for entire days, his father, however, did not even interrogate his son about this behaviour. Pietro was always certain of Gian Lorenzo’s whereabouts, that is, in his studio at Saint Peter’s, where, as the son used to say, his girlfriends (that is, the ancient statues) had their home. The specific object of his studies we must deduce from what he used to say later in life once he began to experience their effect on him. Accordingly, his greatest attention was focussed above all on those two most singular statues, the Antinous and the Apollo, the former miraculous in its design, the latter in its workmanship. Bernini claimed, however, that both of these qualities were even more perfectly embodied in the famous Laocoön of Athen0dorus, Hagesander, and Polydorus of Rhodes, a work of so well-balanced and exquisite a style that tradition has attributed it to three artists, judging it perhaps beyond the ability of just one man alone. Two of these three marvellous statues, the Antinous and the Laocoön, had been discovered during the time of Pope Leo X amid the ruins of Nero’s palace in the gardens near the church of San Pietro in Vincoli and placed by the same pontiff in the Vatican Palace for the public benefit of artists and other students of antiquity. 10. Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) on the formative role of ancient sculpture in the education of young artists. In 1665 Bernini visited France at the invitation of Louis XIV to discuss designs for the completion of the Palais du Louvre. His five-month stay was recorded by his guide Paul Fréart, Sieur de Chantelou in his lively Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France. The advice given by Bernini on his visit to the Académie Royale de peinture et de sculpture is among the clearest statements on the formative role assigned to antique statuary in the education of young artists in 17th- century Rome. At the same time it reveals the opinion of the great Baroque sculptor on the dangers of copying from classical models without also involving independent inspiration and artistic creations. The manuscript of the Journal du voyage du cavalier Bernin en France par M. de Chantelou was published for the first time by Ludovic Lalanne in a series of articles in the Gazette des Beaux-Arts in 1877–84 (a new edition by M. Stanic ́ was published in Paris in 2001). The following translation is from Paul Fréart de Chantelou, Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini’s Visit to France, ed. by A. Blunt, trans. by M. Cornbett, Princeton, 1985, 165–67. 5 September: The Cavaliere worked as usual, and in the evening went to the Academy   [p. 166]. The Cavaliere glanced at the pictures round the room: they are not by the most talented mem- bers. He also looked at a few bas-reliefs by various sculptors of the Academy. Then, as he was standing in the middle of the hall sur- rounded by members, he gave it as his opinion that the Academy ought to possess casts of all the notable statues, bas-reliefs, and busts of antiquity. They would serve to educate young students; they should be taught to draw after these classical models and in that way form a conception of the beautiful that would serve them all their lives. It was fatal to put them to draw from nature at the beginning of their training, since nature is nearly always feeble and niggardly, for if their imagination has nothing but nature to feed on, they will be unable to put forth anything of strength or beauty; for nature itself is devoid of both strength or beauty, and artists who study it should first be skilled in recognis- ing its faults and correcting them; something that students who lack grounding cannot do   [p. 167]. He said that when he was very young he used to draw from the antique a great deal, and, in the first figure he undertook, resorted continually to the Antinous as his oracle. Every day he noticed some further excellence in this statue; certainly he would never have had that experience had he not himself taken up a chisel and started to work. For this reason he always advised his pupils, and others, never to draw and model without at the same time working either at a piece of sculpture or a picture, combining creation with imitation and thought with action, so to speak, and remarkable progress should result. For support of his contention that original work was absolutely essential I cited the case of the late Antoine Carlier, an artist known to most of the members of the Academy. He spent the greater part of his life in Rome modelling after the statues of antiquity, and his copies are incomparable: and they had to agree that, because he had begun to do original work too late, his imagination had dried up, and the slavery of copying had in the end made it impossible for him to produce anything of his own. 11. Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613–96): his ‘Idea of the painter, the sculptor and the architect, selected from the beauties of Nature, superior to Nature’ as the manifesto of the classicist doctrine. Giovanni Pietro Bellori, a central figure in 17th-century art theory and the champion of classicism, delivered his epochal speech, the ‘Idea’, in front of the Roman Accademia di San Luca in 1664 and later published it as a preface to his influential Vite of 1772. In this he provided one of the clearest and most influential systematisations for the concept of the idealistic mission of art, already formulated by various Renaissance art theorists such as Dolce, Vasari, Armenini and Zuccaro. Joining Aristotelian and neo-Platonic premises, for Bellori God’s perfect Ideas become corrupted in our world because of accidents and the innate imperfection of the ‘matter’. The role of ‘noble’ artists is therefore to aim at recreating the perfection of the original divine ideas in their works by selecting the best parts of nature. Classical statues ofer the best guide and example for the modern artists as they are the result of this process of selection already achieved by ancient artists. In the final paragraph quoted here, Bellori stresses the value of the imitation of the Antique against some contemporary artists and theorists, like the Venetian painter and writer Marco Boschini (1605–81), who criticised the practice. Excerpts from Giovan Pietro Bellori, Le vite de’ pittori scultori e architetti moderni, Rome, 1672, 3–13. The following translation is from G. Bellori, The Lives of the Modern Painters, Sculptors and Architects: a New Translation and Critical Edition, ed. by H. Wohl, trans. by A. Sedgwick Wohl, introduction by T. Montanari, Cambridge, 2005, 57–61. [P. 57] The supreme and eternal intellect, the author of nature, looking deeply within himself as he fashioned his marvellous works, established the first forms, called Ideas, in such a way that each species was an expression of that first Idea, thereby forming the wondrous context of created things. But the celestial bodies above the moon, not being subject to change, remained forever beautiful and ordered, so that by their measured spheres and by the splendour of their aspects we come to know them as eternally perfect and most beautiful. The opposite happens with the sublunar bodies, which are subject to change and to ugliness; and even though nature intends always to make its effects excellent, nevertheless, owing to the inequality of matter, forms are altered, and the human beauty in particular is confounded, as we see in the innumerable deformities and disproportions that there are in us. For this reason noble painters and sculptors, imitating that first maker, also form in their minds an example of higher beauty, and by contemplating that, they emend nature without fault of colour or of line. This Idea, or rather the goddess of painting and sculpture  , reveals itself to us and descends upon marbles and canvases; originating in nature, it transcends its origins and becomes the original of art; measured by the compass of the intellect, it becomes the measure of the hand; and animated by the imagination it gives life to the image. [P. 58] Now Zeuxis, who chose from five virgins to fashion the famous image of Helen that Cicero held up as an example to the orator, teaches both the painter and the sculptor to contemplate the Idea of the best natural forms by choosing them from various bodies, selecting the most elegant.1 For he did not believe that he would be able to find in a single body all those perfections that he sought for the beauty of Helen, since nature does not make any particular thing perfect in all its parts.   Now if we wish also to compare the precepts of the sages of antiquity with the best of [p. 59] those laid down by our modern sages, Leon Battista Alberti teaches that one should love in all things not only the likeness, but mainly the beauty, and that one must proceed by choosing from very beautiful bodies their most praised parts.2   Raphael of Urbino, the great master of those who know, writes thus to Castiglione about his Galatea: In order to paint one beauty I would need to see more beauties, but as there is a dearth of beautiful women, I make use of a certain Idea that comes to into my mind.3 [P. 61] It remains for us to say that since the sculptors of antiquity employed the marvellous Idea, as we have indicated, it is therefore necessary to study the most perfect ancient sculptures, in order that they may guide us to the emended beauties of nature; and for the same purpose it is necessary to direct our eye to the contemplation of other most excellent masters; but this matter we shall leave to a treatise of its own on imitation, to meet the objections of those who criticise the study of ancient statues. 1 Cicero, De inventione, II, 1, 1–3. 2 Alberti 1972, 99 (book 3, chap. 55). 3 Quoted the first time in Pino 1582, 2, 249. 12. A Conférence of the Parisian Académie Royale de peinture et de sculpture on the artistic excellence of the Laocoön, 1667. Among the celebrated seven Conférences given at the Académie in 1667, devoted to the analysis of famous paintings of the Italian and French schools, the third, held by the sculptor Gerard van Opstal (1594–1668), was specifically dedicated to the Laocoön. Opstal’s approach, in which each aspect of the famous statue, from its anatomy, to its proportions, character and expressions, is discussed in detail, clearly expresses the analytical and didactic approach of the Académie to the Antique. Excerpts from André Félibien, Conférences de l’Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture, pendant l’année 1667, Paris, 1668, 28–40. The following translation is from the first English edition: Seven Conferences held in the King of France’s Cabinet of Paintings . . ., London, 1740, 33–42 (pagination is discontinuous). [Gerard van Opstal] examined all the Parts of this Figure in order to shew the Excellence of it: and observed with what Art the Sculptor had given in a large Breast and Shoulders, all the Parts of which are expressed with a great deal of Exactness and Tenderness. He also took Notice of the Height of the Hips, and the Nervousness of the Arms: the Legs neither too thick nor too lean but firm 72 73  and well muscled; and in general he observed that in all the other Members, the Flesh and Nerves were expressed with as much strength and sweetness as in Nature herself, but in Nature well formed.   [p. 34]. He did not forget to shew likewise the strong Expressions which appear in this admirable Figure, where Grief is not only diffused over the Face, but also over all the other Parts of the Body, and to the Extremities of the Feet, the Toes of which violently contract themselves. [p. 35] As every thing about this Statue is contrived with surprising Art, every one will own that it ought to be the chief study of Painters and Sculptors: But which they should not consider chiefly as a Model that only serves to design by; they ought to observe exactly all the Beauties, and imprint on their Minds an Image of all that is excellent in it: because it is not the Hand that is to be employed if one desires to make himself perfect in this Art, but Judgement to form these great Ideas and Memory carefully to retain them. But as those strong Expressions cannot teach one to design after a Model, because we cannot put such a Person in a State where all the Passions are in him at once, and it is likewise difficult to copy them in Persons who are really active because of the quick Motion of the Soul: It is therefore of great Importance for Artists to study Causes, and then to try with how great Dignity [p. 30] they can represent their Effects, and we may aver that it is only to these fine Antiques they must have recourse since there they will meet with Expressions which it will be difficult to draw after nature. [P. 31] Every one will agree that it is from this Model [that] we may learn to correct the Faults which are commonly found in Nature; for here all appears in a State of Perfection  . 13. Gérard Audran (1640–1703) on the perfect proportions of antique sculptures. Gérard Audran, engraver and conseiller of the Parisian Académie Royale, published the most popular illustrated manual on the measured proportions of selected canonical ancient statues in 1682 (see 48, figs 72–73). We find in the Preface one of the clearest expressions of the rationalistic attitude of the Académie: the Antique here represents an infallible standard of perfect proportions, which Audran has made available, ‘compass in hand’, for young artists, providing them with precise references on which to base their own figures. Excerpts from Gérard Audran, Les proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité, Paris, 1683, 1-4 of the Preface (unpaginated). The following translation is from The Proportions of the Human Body, measured from the most Beautiful Statues by Mons. Audran . . ., London,There will be, I think, but little occasion to enlarge upon the Necessity of a perfect Knowledge of the PROPORTIONS, to every Person conversant in Designing; it being very well known, that without observing them they can make nothing but mon- strous and extravagant Figures. Everyone agrees to this Maxim generally consider’d, but everyone puts it differently in practice; and here lies the Difficulty, to find certain Rules for the Justness and Nobleness of the Proportions; which, since Opinions are divided, may stand as an infallible Guide, upon whose Judgement we may rely with Certainty. This appears at first very easy; for since the Perfection of Art consist in imitating Nature well, it seems as if we need consult no other Master, but only work after the Life; nevertheless, if we examin the Matter farther, we shall find, that very few Men, or perhaps none, have all their Parts in exact Proportion without any Defect. We must therefore chuse what is beautiful in each, taking only what is called the Beautiful Nature.   I see nothing but the Antique in which we can place an entire confidence. These Sculptors who have left us those beautiful Figures   have in some sort excell’d Nature; for   there never was any Man so perfect in all his Parts as some of their Figures. They have imitated the Arms of one, the Legs of another, collecting thus in one Figure all the Beauties which agreed to the Subject they represented; as we see in the Hercules all the Strokes that are Marks of Strength; and in the Venus all the Delicacy and Graces that can form an accomplished Beauty.   [p. 2]. I give you nothing of myself; everything is taken from the Antique: but I have drawn nothing upon the Paper till I had first mark’d all the Measures with the Compasses, in order to make the Out-Lines fall just according to the Numbers. 14. William Hogarth (1697–1764) against fashionable taste and the uncritical cult of the Antique. The celebrated painter and engraver William Hogarth played a crucial role in establishing an English school of painting in the 18th century. As director of the second St Martin’s Lane Academy from 1735, he became increasingly hostile to a curriculum based on the French Académie model. In his theoretical treatise The Analysis of Beauty, published in 1753, he attacked the idealistic concept of art – as a selection of the best parts of nature – in favour of a more naturalistic approach. At the same time he disputed the validity of studies on proportion such as those produced by Dürer and Lomazzo in the 16th century. Hogarth retained a bold independent-minded position towards the Antique, criticising the slavish reverential attitude of connoisseurs and men of taste, while recognising the greatness of certain antiquities. Their peculiar elegance, according to Hogarth, is the expression of the ‘serpentine line’, the central principle of his own aesthetic. Excerpts from William Hogarth, The Analysis of Beauty, London, 1753. [P. 66] We have all along had recourse chiefly to the works of the ancients, not because the moderns have not produced some as excellent; but because the works of the former are more generally known: nor would we have it thought, that either of them have ever yet come up to the utmost beauty of nature. Who but a bigot, even to the antiques, will say that he has not seen faces and necks, hands and arms in living women, that even the Grecian Venus doth but coarsely imitate? [p. 67] And what sufficient reason can be given why the same may not be said of the rest of the body? [P. 77, ‘On Proportions’] Notwithstanding the absurdity of the above schemes [of Dürer and Lomazzo], such measures as are to be taken from antique statues, may be of some service to painters and sculptors, especially to young beginners   [p. 80]. I firmly believe, that one of our common proficients in the athletic art, would be able to instruct and direct the best sculptor living, (who hath not seen, or is wholly ignorant of this exercise) in what would give the statue of an English-boxer, a much better proportion, as to character, than is to be seen, even in the famous group of antique boxers, (or some call them, Roman wrestlers) so much admired to this day. [P. 91] As some of the ancient statues have been of such singular use to me, I shall beg leave to conclude this chapter with an observation or two on them in general. It is allowed by the most skilful in the imitative arts, that tho’ there are many of the remains of antiquity, that have great excellencies about them; yet there are not, moderately speaking, above twenty that may be justly called capital. There is one reason, nevertheless, besides the blind veneration that generally is paid to antiquity, for holding even many very imperfect pieces in some degree of estimation: I mean that peculiar taste of elegance which so visibly runs through them all, down to the most incorrect of their basso-relievos: [p. 92] which taste, I am persuaded, my reader will now conceive to have been entirely owing to the perfect knowledge the ancients must have had of the use of the precise serpentine-line. But this cause of elegance not having been since sufficiently understood, no wonder such effects should have appeared mysterious, and have drawn mankind into a sort of religious esteem, and even bigotry, to the works of antiquity. 15. Johan Joachim Winckelmann (1717–68) on the Antique. Winckelmann, the greatest art historian of the 18th century, moved to Rome from Dresden in 1755 and soon established himself as one of the leading antiquarians and scholars of Europe. His powerful and intimate descriptions of ancient sculptures, especially those in the Belvedere Courtyard, had a tremendous impact on the European public and contributed decisively to the difusion of the classical ideal and the airmation of the neo-classical aesthetics. His analysis of Greek art provided a stylistic classification of antiquities by period, stressing the importance of contextual conditions such as the climate and political freedom of the ancient Greek city states. This revolutionised the approach to the Antique and contributed to the establishment of a modern art historical method. He recommended to artists the imitation of ancient statuary as the only way to achieve perfection, in both aesthetic and moral terms. Excerpts from Johan Joachim Winckelmann, Gedanken über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei und Bildhauerkunst, ed. by C. L. von Ulrichs, Stuttgart, 1885, 6–12, 24. The following translation is from the first English edition: J. J. Winckelmann, Reflections on the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks . . ., trans. by Henry Fuseli, London, 1765. [P. 1] To the Greek climate we owe the production of Taste, and from thence it spread at length over all the politer world. [P. 2] There is but one way for the moderns to become great, and perhaps unequalled; I mean, by imitating the antients. And what we are told of Homer, that whoever understands him well, admires him, we find no less true in matters concerning the antient, especially the Greek arts. But then we must [p. 3] be as familiar with them as with a friend, to find Laocoon as inimitable as Homer. By such intimacy our judgment will be that of Nicomachus: Take these eyes, replied he to some paltry critick, censuring the Helen of Zeuxis, Take my eyes, and she will appear a goddess. With such eyes Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Poussin considered the performances of the antients. They imbibed taste at its source; and Raphael particularly in its native country. We know, that he sent young artists to Greece, to copy there, for his use, the remains of antiquity.   Laocoon was the standard of the Roman artists, as well as ours; and the rules of Polycletus became the rules of art. [P. 4] The most beautiful body of ours would perhaps be as much inferior to the most beautiful Greek one, as Iphicles was to his brother Hercules. The forms of the Greeks, prepared to beauty, by the influence of the mildest and purest sky, became perfectly elegant by their early exercises. Take a [p. 5] Spartan youth, sprung from heroes, undistorted by swaddling-cloths; whose bed, from his seventh year, was the earth, familiar with wrestling and swimming from his infancy; and compare him with one of our young Sybarits, and then decide which of the two would be deemed worthy, by an artist, to serve for the model of a Theseus, an Achilles, or even a Bacchus   [p. 6]. By these exercises the bodies of the Greeks got the great and manly Contour observed in their statues, without any bloated corpulency. [P. 9] Art claims liberty: in vain would nature produce her noblest offsprings, in a country where rigid laws would choak her progressive growth, as in Egypt, that pretended parent of sciences and arts: but in Greece, where, from their earliest youth, the happy inhabitants were devoted to mirth and pleasure, where narrow- spirited formality never restrained the liberty of manners, the artist enjoyed nature without a veil. [P. 30] The last and most eminent characteristic of the Greek works is a noble simplicity and sedate grandeur in Gesture and Expression. As the bottom of the sea lies peaceful beneath a foaming surface, a great soul lies sedate beneath the strife of passions in Greek figures. ’ Tis in the face of Laocoon this soul shines with full lustre, not confined however to the face, amidst the most violent sufferings. 16. Denis Diderot (1713–84) on the excessive dependence on the Antique at the expense of the study of Nature. Philosopher, polymath and editor of the Encyclopédie, Diderot is one of the central figures of the French Enlightenment. His celebrated art criticism was directed towards the biennial Salons organised by the Académie Royale de peinture et de sculpture in Paris, and covered the period from 1759 to 1781. His review of the 74 75  1765 Salon included a section on sculpture in which he criticised Winckelmann’s semi-religious dependence on the Antique and instead urged artists to return to the study of Nature, as the source of all excellence in art, classical statues included. Diderot’s ‘naturalistic’ and anti-academic approach – already difused into European art theory at least from the 17th century onwards – became predominant in the 19th century. Nevertheless, Diderot had an immense admiration for classical sculpture in itself; for him it represented the best result of that fruitful study of Nature and freedom of artistic creativity that he advocated for contemporary French art. Diderot’s review of the Salon of 1765 was written for Melchior Grimm’s Correspondence littéraire, which circulated in manuscript form. It was printed for the first time in Jacques-André Naigeon, Oeuvres de Denis Diderot publiés sur les manuscrits de l’auteur, 15 vols, Paris, 1798, 13, 314–16. This translation is from Diderot on Art – 1: The Salon of 1765 and Notes on Painting, ed. and trans. by J. Goodman, New Haven and London, 1995, 156–57. I am fond of fanatics   [p. 157]. Such one is Winckelmann when he compares the productions of ancient artists with those of modern artists. What doesn’t he see in the stump of a man we call the Torso? The swelling muscles of his chest, they’re nothing less than the undulation of the sea; his broad bent shoulders, they’re a great concave vault that, far from being broken, is strengthened by the burdens it’s made to carry; and as for his nerves, the ropes of ancient catapults that hurled large rocks over immense distances are mere spiderwebs in compari- son. Inquire of this charming enthusiast by what means Glycon, Phidias, and the others managed to produce such beautiful, perfect works and he’ll answer you: by the sentiment of liberty which elevates the soul and inspire great things; by rewards offered by the nation, and public respect; by the constant observation, study and imitation of the beautiful in nature, respect for poster- ity, intoxication at the prospect of immortality, assiduous work, propitious social mores and climate, and genius  . There is not a single point of this response one would dare to contradict. But put a second question to him, ask him if it’s better to study the antique or nature, without the knowledge and study of which, without a taste for which ancient artists, even with all the specific advantages they enjoyed, would have left us only medio- cre works: The antique! He’ll reply without skipping a beat; The antique!   and in one fell swoop a man whose intelligence, enthusiasm, and taste are without equal betrays all these gifts in the middle of the Toboso. Anyone who scorns nature in favour of the antique risks never producing anything that’s not trivial, weak, and paltry in its drawing, character, drapery, and expression. Anyone who’s neglected nature in favour of the antique will risk being cold, lifeless, devoid of the hidden, secret truths which can only be perceived in nature itself. It seems to me that one must study the antique to learn how to look at nature. 17. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92) on the role of the Royal Academy and on the study of the Antique. Sir Joshua Reynolds, the foremost portrait painter in England in the 18th century, served as first president of the Royal Academy between 1768 and 1792. His fifteen Discourses on Art, delivered to the students and members of the Academy between 1769 and 1790, became widely popular in Britain and abroad. They represent a distillation of the idealistic and academic art theory of the previous centuries in support of the ‘Grand manner’, mixed with his personal views, such as Reynolds’ huge admiration for Michelangelo. The Discourses range from didactic guidelines for the Academy to more theoretical discussions, and references to the Antique can be found throughout, especially in Discourse 10, devoted to sculpture. Excerpts from Discourses of Art. Sir Joshua Reynolds, ed. by R. R. Wark, New Haven and London, 1997. [P. 15] Discourse 1 (1769): The principal advantage of an Academy is, that, besides furnishing able men to direct the student, it will be a repository for the great examples of the Art. These are the materials on which genius is to work, and without which the strongest intellect may be fruitlessly or deviously employed. By studying these authentic models, that idea of excellence which is the result of the accumulated experience of past ages may be at once acquired; and the tardy and obstructed progress of our predecessors may teach us a shorter and easier way. The student receives, at one glance, the principles which many artists have spent their whole lives in ascertaining; and, satisfied with their effect, is spared the painful investigation by which they come to be known and fixed. [P. 106] Discourse 6 (1774): All the inventions and thoughts of the Antients, whether conveyed to us in statues, bas-reliefs, intaglios, cameos, or coins, are to be sought after and carefully studied: The genius that hovers over these venerable reliques may be called the father of modern art. From the remains of the works of the antients the modern arts were revived, and it is by their means that they must be restored a second time. However it may mortify our vanity, we must be forced to allow them our masters; and we may venture to prophecy, that when they shall cease to be studied, arts will no longer flourish, and we shall again relapse into barbarism. [P. 177] Discourse 10 (1780): As a proof of the high value we set on the mere excellence of form, we may produce the greatest part of the works of Michael Angelo, both in painting and sculpture; as well as most of the antique statues, which are justly esteemed in a very high degree  . But, as a stronger instance that this excellence alone inspires sentiment, what artist ever looked at the Torso without feeling a warmth of enthusiasm, as from the highest efforts of poetry? From whence does this proceed? What is there in this fragment that produces this effect, but the perfec- tion of this science of abstract form? A MIND elevated to the contemplation of excellence perceives in this [p. 178] defaced and shattered fragment, disjecti membra poetae, the traces of superlative genius, the reliques of a work on which succeeding ages can only gaze with inadequate admiration. 18. The Encyclopédie by Denis Diderot (1713–84) and Jean-Baptiste le Rond d’Alembert (1717–83) on the advantages for artists to go to Rome to experience the Antique and modern works of art. The second edition of Diderot’s and D’Alembert’s epochal Encyclopédie included an entry on the Académie de France in Rome, in which the role and mission of the institution is celebrated in superlative terms. A period in Rome was still considered, even by the anti-academic Diderot, to be essential for young artists to round of their education in the physical and spiritual presence of the Antique and the great Renaissance masters. This apology and defence of the Roman Académie was also perhaps intended to counter the opinion of those, such as the sculptor Etienne-Maurice Falconet (1716–91), who judged the trip to Rome no longer necessary, given the quantity of plaster casts available in France. Excerpt from D. Diderot and J.-B. le Rond D’Alembert, Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des metiers . . ., new ed., Geneva, 1, 1777, 238–39 (translation Barbara Lasic). The French Academy in Rome is a school of painting that King Louis XIV established in 1666, et one of the most beautiful institu- tions of this great monarch for the glory of the kingdom and the progress of the fine arts  . It was one of the greatest causes for the perfection of art in France  ; thus Le Brun thought that young Frenchmen who intended to study the fine arts should go to Rome and spend some time there. This is where the works of Michelangelo, Vignola, Domenichino, Raphael and those of the ancient Greeks give silent lessons far superior to those that our great living masters could give  . Italy has the uncontested advantage and glory of having the richest mine of antique models that can serve as guides to the modern artists, and enlighten them in the quest for ideal beauty; of having revived in the world the arts that had been lost; of having produced excellent artists of all types; and finally of having given lessons to other people to whom it had previously given laws   [p. 139]. Italy is for artists a true classical land as an Englishman calls it. Everything there entices the eye of the painter, everything instructs him, everything awakens his attention. Aside from modern statues, how many of those antiques, which by their exact proportions and the elegant variety of their forms, served as models to past artists and must serve to those of all centuries, does not the superb Rome contain amid its walls? Although there are in France some very fine statues like the Cincinnatus and a few others, we can state, without fear of being mistaken, that there are none of the first rate, or of those that the Italians call preceptive and that can be put in parallel with the Apollo, the Antinoüs, the Laocoon, the Hercules, the Gladiator, the Faun, the Venus and many more that decorate the Belvedere, the Palazzo Farnese, the Borghese grounds and the gallery of Florence. The gallery Giustiniani alone is perhaps richer in antique statues than the entire French kingdom. 19. James Northcote (1746–1831) on the decline of the Antique as a model and on the thirst for novelty in art. The pungent and lively conversations between the writer and art critic William Hazlitt (1778–1830), and the painter James Northcote, were published in various articles in The New Monthly Magazine in 1826 and then collated in 1830, causing scandal for their frankness among contemporaries. The passage selected is one of the most revealing testimonies on the growing dissatisfaction with the Antique and the widespread demand for new forms of art. Excerpts from William Hazlitt, Conversations of James Northcote, Esq., R.A., London, 1830, 51–53. ‘Did you see Thorwaldsen’s things while you were there? A young artist brought me all his designs the other day, as miracles that I was to wonder at and be delighted with. But I could find nothing in [p. 52] them but repetitions of the Antique, over and over, till I was surfeited.’ ‘He would be pleased at this.’ ‘Why, no! that is not enough: it is easy to imitate the Antique: – if you want to last, you must invent something. The other is only pouring liquors from one vessel into another, that become staler and staler every time. We are tired of the Antique; yet at any rate, it is better than the vapid imitation of it. The world wants something new, and will have it. No matter whether it is better or worse, if there is but an infusion of new life and spirit, it will go down to posterity; otherwise, you are soon forgotten. Canova too, is nothing for the same reason – he is only a feeble copy of the Antique; or a mixture of two things the most incompatible, that and opera-dancing. But there is Bernini; he is full of faults, he has too much of that florid, redundant, fluttering style, that was objected to Rubens; but then he has given an appearance of flesh that was never given before. The Antique always looks like marble, you never for a moment can divest yourself of the idea; but go up to a statue of Bernini’s, and it seems as if it must yield to your touch. This excellence [p. 53] he was the first to give, and therefore it must always remain with him. It is true, it is also in the Elgin marbles; but they were not known in his time; so that he indisputably was a genius. Then there is Michael Angelo; how utterly different from the Antique, and in some things how superior!’ 76 77. CATALOGUE. Notes to the reader support. All drawings and prints are on paper. measurements: Mesurements of all works, both exhibited and reproduced as comparative illustrations, are given height before width, in millimeters for drawings and prints and in centimeters for paintings and sculpture. inscriptions: Recto and verso indications for inscriptions are given only for drawings. For prints it is assumed they are on the recto. Abbreviations: u.l.: upper left; u.c.: upper centre; u.r.: upper right; c.l.: centre left; c.r.: centre right; l.l.: lower left; l.c.: lower centre; l.r.: lower right. The original spelling is always respected. provenance: Provenance is given in chronological sequence, as completely as possible. Collectors’ names are given as listed in Lugt (abbreviated L., L. suppl.) literature/exhibitions: Prints are included in the Exhibition references when the actual impression catalogued here was shown; when another impression was exhibited, it is mentioned under Literature. For exhibition catalogue entries included in the Literature and Exhibition references, the author or authors are given only when their initials are specified at the end of the entry. Otherwise it is assumed that the entry was written by the compilers of the catalogue. If an object has been illustrated in a publication, a figure or plate number is included. If the object has been illustrated without a figure or plate number, ‘repr.’ is used. If nothing is specified, the object was not illustrated. For exhibition catalogues, only the catalogue number is provided, as it is assumed that it was reproduced. Otherwise, ‘not repr.’ is used. #1 Agostino dei Musi, called Agostino Veneziano (Venice c. 1490–after 1536 Rome) After Baccio Bandinelli (Gaiole, near Chianti 1493–1560 Florence) The Academy of Baccio Bandinelli in Rome 1531 Engraving, state II of III 274 × 299 mm (plate), 278 × 302 mm (sheet) Inscribed recto, l.c., on front of table support: ‘ACADEMIA . DI BAC: / CHIO . . MDXXXI. /. A. V.’ selected literature: Heinecken 1778–90, 2, 98; Bartsch 1803–21, 14, 314–15, no. 418; Pevsner 1940, 38–42, 5; Ciardi Duprè 1966, 161; Wittkower 1969, 232, 70; Oberhuber 1978, 314.418, repr.; Florence 1980, 264, no. 687; Roman 1984, 81–84, 62; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, 497–98, 1; Landau and Parshall 1994, 286, 304; Barkan 1999, 290–98, 5.12; Fiorentini 1999, 145–46, no. 29; Munich and Cologne 2002, 319, no. 110; Thomas 2005, 3–14, figs 1–3; Hegener 2008, 396–403 and 624–25, pl. 228; Antwerp 2013, 26, repr.; Florence 2014, 528–29, no. 77.  BRANDIN . provenance: Elizabeth Harvey-Lee, North Aston (Oxfordshire), from whom acquired in 1995. IN . / ROMA . / IN LUOGO . DETTO / . BELVEDERE . /  exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The Bellinger Collection, inv. no. 1995-047 This renowned print by Agostino Veneziano after a design by Baccio Bandinelli, the Florentine sculptor and draughts- man, depicts Bandinelli’s academy for artists in the Belvedere in Rome, where he was granted the use of rooms by Pope Leo X (r. 1513–21) and Pope Clement VII (r. 1523–34).1 We are informed of this by the prominent inscription below the table, which renders this engraving a particularly appropri- ate work to begin this catalogue, because as well as being the first known representation of artists copying from statuettes modelled after antique prototypes, it is the first recorded use of the word ‘accademia’ in conjunction with art and the training of artists.2 This term had previously been used to describe informal gatherings of men to discuss liberal or intellectual subjects, such as philosophy or literature.3 Though the scene does not depict an art academy in the modern sense – the origins of which are found some thirty years later in Vasari’s Accademia del Disegno4 – Bandinelli made the association between art and intellectual endeavour very clear. His design focuses on the fundamental elements of a young artist’s training, namely, intensive study and copying of the antique sculptures in miniature scattered around the room, replicated on the artists’ tablets. It is there- fore evident that artistic academies were from the beginning conceived of as humanistic educational institutions, reliant, among other things, on ancient statues as sources of inspira- tion. There is a conspicuous absence here of drawing from life, which would later become one of the central elements of Italian and French academic practices.5 The scene also places emphasis on disegno, a word that encompasses much more than its mere translation as ‘drawing’. It comprises the intellectual capacity to create any kind of art, including painting and sculpture, as well as drawing itself.6 In Bandinelli’s own words, his was an ‘Accademia par- ticolare del Disegno’.7 In the print exhibited here, the almost claustrophobic room and closely bunched apprentices imply that study was a collaborative endeavour in Bandinelli’s academy, with discussion among the students encouraged in order that they might better comprehend the objects of their study, and capture them more effectively on paper. Bandinelli himself is seated on the right, wearing a fur-lined collar, holding a statuette of a female nude for his students’ contem- plation. The results of their efforts are drawn on paper placed on drawing boards, using quills and ink pots; what appears to be a blotter rests on the near edge of the table. The noctur- nal setting evokes an atmosphere of mystery and a sense that the central candle, with its forcefully radiating light, has, as well as a physical function, a symbolic one, to illuminate the secrets of art and disegno. The theme of drawing at night recurs throughout this exhibition (cats 2, 23, 24, 34) and reflects a persistent belief that such a setting is essential for stimulating the introspection necessary for artistic success. It also implies diligence and commitment, the ability and will to continue working through day and night, that is required from a master artist.8 For these reasons, a candle or lamp often symbolises ‘Study’, as seen in Federico Zuccaro’s allegorical drawing (see cat. 5, 5). It also reveals a didactic reliance on artificial light as preferable to natural light to emphasise the contours of the sculptures and the contrasts of their planes, thereby facilitating the copying process, an idea earlier espoused by Leonardo da Vinci (with whom the young Bandinelli had personal contact) and later by Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71).9 There is a striking interplay of the shadows cast by the candlelight on the back walls, with the heads of both statues 80 81  and artists overlapping one another. This may refer to a well- known passage from Pliny’s Natural History: ‘The question as to the origin of the art of painting is uncertain  but all agree that it began with tracing an outline around a man’s shadow’.10 The central figure on the rear shelf casts an improbable shadow, as the hand held perpendicular to the body is reflected on the wall as upright and perpendicular to the ground. This was corrected in a copy after the second state (British Museum, London), which is slightly smaller.11 The design of this copy is more crudely executed than the original, and there are a number of significant changes to the scene that are unique to this plate, which suggests that it was created by someone other than Bandinelli.12 This demonstrates the relative freedom of printmakers to make adjustments to designs, and may help us to infer that this print was especially popular; such changes would have necessitated a new plate, which would imply that demand outstripped the supply, or that the original plate was under especially tight control by a single owner.13 The male and female statues on the table are the focus of the artists’ devotion, and are reminiscent of Apollo and Venus, specifically of the Venus Pudica type.14 They are probably inspired by the famous statues of the Apollo Belvedere (see 26, 18 and cat. 5, 1) and Venus Felix (fig. 1), which stood in the Belvedere Court and were constantly used by artists as ideal models.15 They would have been easily acces- sible to Bandinelli while lodging at the Belvedere. The male figures may alternatively be types after Hercules, a figure 1. Venus Felix and Cupid, c. 200 ad, marble, 214 cm (h), Museo Pio-Clementino, Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 936 that is prevalent throughout Bandinelli’s work (see cat. 3). In fact, Maria Grazia Ciardi Duprè identified the upper left male figure on the shelf as a bronze statuette of Hercules Pomarius, now at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, and on that basis suggested the statuette be newly attributed to Bandinelli.16 Many subsequent scholars have accepted this,17 but the differences in the two figures’ poses leaves the present author unconvinced, and it seems more likely that the figures in the print are generic, idealised types. In an almost meta-narrative, the intense focus on antique statuary is echoed even by the central male statuette, as he gazes at a miniature statuette poised on his own outstretched palm, which twists back to face him, returning his gaze (fig. 2). The three statues arrayed on the shelf along the back wall – two male and one female – are all of the same type as those on the table, and may be either copies or casts of them in wax or clay. The statuettes probably represent objects sculpted by Bandinelli himself referencing the Antique; Vasari tells us that while using the rooms at the Belvedere, Bandinelli made ‘many little figures [. . .] as of Hercules, Venus, Apollo, Leda, and other fantasies of his own’.18 One of these survives in bronze, a Hercules Pomarius at the Bargello, in Florence (fig. 3), and it resembles the figures in the engraving.19 The produc- tion of small models in wax, clay or bronze – many modelled on ancient prototypes – for young artists to practice drawing in the workshop, was already common in the 15th century. Several were created, for instance, by Lorenzo Ghiberti (c. 1381–1455) and Antonio Pollaiuolo (c. 1431–98).20 They 2. Detail of Veneziano’s engraving, statue gazing at an even smaller statuette 3. Baccio Bandinelli, Hercules Pomarius, c. 1545, bronze, 33.5 cm (h), Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, inv. 281 Bronzi served the purpose of familiarising young artists with the forms and poses of antique models, allowing them to learn how to draw the three-dimensional human figure from different angles on a flat surface. The juxtaposition of the statuettes with several antique-style pots and vessels in the engraving reinforces the connection between Bandinelli’s ‘academy’ and the classical past, as does the fragment of a foot on the book that serves as a plinth for the male figure on the right. The statuettes are positioned so that each faces a slightly different direction, enabling the viewer to observe them from all angles, just as the artists are instructed to do. Our participation is further encouraged by the figure on the far left and by Bandinelli: both gaze outward and seem to acknowledge our presence. The viewer is thus accorded a role as a fellow student among the apprentices learning from Bandinelli in his academy. This link with the academy was less explicit in the original version of Bandinelli’s design. Ben Thomas drew attention to the first state of the print (Ashmolean Museum, Oxford),21 in which the inscription – so prominent below the table in the print exhibited here – was presented only in an abbreviated form on the tablet hanging on the wall at the far right, without the word ‘academia’, and with only Veneziano’s monogram and the date 1530, a year earlier than the present engraving. This tablet, deprived of the inscription in the later states, became an awkwardly superfluous element of the composition. Also missing in the first state are the drawings on the sheets of the artists gathered around the table. In changing these elements in the second state, as represented here,22 Bandinelli deliberately ensured there was no possibil- ity of misinterpreting this as a literary, rather than artistic, endeavour; it also serves as propaganda for the artist himself, as a dissemination of not only his powers of design, but his role as a teacher and an innovator. This makes it all the more surprising that on the current print, his name is inscribed as ‘Bacchio Brandin.’ rather than Bandinelli. He adopted the Bandinelli surname in 1529 to align himself with a noble family from Siena, thereby making himself eligible for the Order of Santiago, which he was awarded by Emperor Charles V in 1530.23 The inscription dates the print to 1531, after his adoption of this new genealogy, and so must reflect an error on the part of the engraver, Veneziano.24 In his self-portrait, seated at the table, Bandinelli also does not wear the insignia of the Order of Santiago, as he does in his other self-portraits (cats 2 and 3), and so the design for this print most likely dates prior to the granting of this award in 1530. Tommaso Mozzati suggested a date earlier than 1527, when the sack of Rome forced both artists to flee the city, Veneziano to Mantua, Bandinelli first to Lucca and then Genoa.25 The inscription itself tells us the design was made in Rome, depicting a room in the Belvedere. If Veneziano engraved the design after the two artists went their separate ways, it could explain how the mistake in nomenclature was allowed to occur.26 Bandinelli’s relentless self-promotion and willingness to rewrite his family tree to achieve noble status can be explained by his upbringing. His father, Michelangelo di Viviano (1459–1528), was a prominent goldsmith in Florence, but the family had lost much of its wealth and prestige by the time his son was born in October 1493.27 As Bandinelli’s three siblings left home or died young, he was essentially the only child, charged with restoring the family’s social standing. His father encouraged his training as an artist from an early age, as an apprentice within his own workshop. Bandinelli also worked with the sculptor Gian Francesco Rustici (1474–1554), learning from him the process of model- ling sculptures in wax and clay for casting into bronze. This association no doubt provided the opportunity to meet Rustici’s collaborator at the time on St John the Baptist Preaching (Florence Cathedral, Baptistry), Leonardo da Vinci (1452– 1519). Bandinelli was a staunch Medici supporter, even throughout the family’s exile, and this cemented his financial success as soon as two Medici popes came to power (Giovanni de’ Medici as Leo X in 1513 and Giulio de’ Medici as Clement VII in 1523). However, it also inspired rabid criticism from many Florentines, who were Republican by nature.    82 83  Our view of him is also coloured by Vasari’s biography, in which Bandinelli is treated as the villain to his heroic rival, Michelangelo.28 Such a bias is perhaps not completely unwar- ranted, as all three prints on display here by Bandinelli reflect his insistence not only on publicising his own image, but in vaunting his abilities as both a teacher of the next generation of artists, as well as having a special and privi- leged relationship to the Antique. This betrays the arrogance 29 that is also evident in his writings, and may well have contributed to the negative opinions of his character that persist to this day. rh 1 Vasari tells us that Bandinelli was given use of the Belvedere (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 5, 246, 250) but he never mentions an academy (Barkan 1999, 290). This engraving and cat. 2, as well as Bandinelli’s own account in his autobiographical Memoriale (which exists in a single manuscript in the Biblioteca Nazionale in Florence, Cod. Pal. Bandinelli 12, and is transcribed in Colasanti 1905 and Barocchi 1971–77, 2, 1359– 1411) are the only evidence we have for the existence of Bandinelli’s academy. 2 A less explicit link between art and the term ‘accademia’ is found on engravings after Leonardo da Vinci’s designs of knot work, which are inscribed ‘Academia Leonardi Vinci’ (see Pevsner 1940, 25; Roman 1984, 81; and Goldstein 1996, 10 and frontispiece). For Bandinelli as the first to use this word in conjunction with art training, see Pevsner 1940, 39; Barkan 1999, 290; Munich and Cologne 2002, 319 under no. 110; Thomas 2005, 8; Hegener 2008, 401 and 403. 3 Visual arts were regarded as applied disciplines rather than liberal arts and thus unsuitable for intellectual discussion (Pevsner 1940, 30–31; Goldstein 1996, 147; Cologne and Munich 2002, 319 under no. 110; Thomas 2005, 8–9). 4 Although Vasari was the instigator and organiser of the Accademia, officially it was opened in 1563 by Cosimo de Medici (Pevsner 1940, 42). For more about the Accademia see Goldstein 1975; Waz ́bin ́ski 1987; Barzman 1989; Barzman 2000. 5 Goldstein 1996, chap. 8; Barkan 1999, 292; Costamagna 2005. 6 Goldstein 1996, 14. 7 Barocchi 1971–77, 2, 1384–85. 8 Roman 1984, 83; Munich and Cologne 2002, 319; Thomas 2005, pp.6–7. 9 Weil-Garris 1981, 246–47, note 39; Barkan 1999, 292; Hegener 2008, 401. 10 ‘De picturae initiis incerta   quaestio est   omnes umbra hominis lineis circumducta, itaque primam talem’: Pliny the Elder, Nat. Hist., 35.5. See Pliny 1999, 270–71. 11 The British Museum print’s inventory number is V,2.136. 12 Some changes are: the removal of Veneziano’s monogram, the underlining of ‘Belvedere’ in the inscription and the figure sketches on the artists’ sheets (Thomas 2005, 12). 13 Thomas 2005, 12. 14 For other statues of the Venus Pudica type known in the early Renaissance, see Tolomeo Speranza 1988. 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 Hegener 2008, 401. For Venus Felix, see Spinola 1996–2004, 1, 97, PN 23 and 14 on 98. Ciardi Duprè 1966, 161. The inventory number of the statuette is A.76-1910. Or they have at least restated Ciardi Duprè’s thesis without contestation. This includes Fiorentini 1999, 145; Thomas 2005, 11, note 21; and Hegener 2008, 403. Paul Joannides disagrees and attributes the statuette in the Victoria and Albert Museum to Michelangelo, saying that it in turn inspired Bandinelli to create his own version of Hercules Pomarius, now in the Bargello, in Florence (fig. 3), which is widely accepted as by Bandinelli (Joannides 1997, 16–20). Volker Krahn also expressed doubt that it is by Bandinelli (Florence 2014, 374). ‘Fece molte figurine   come Ercoli, Venere, Apollini, Lede, ed altre sue fantasie’ (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 5, 251). See Florence 2014, 372–75, no. 32. Fusco 1982; Ames-Lewis 2000b, 52–55. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 22–23. Thomas 2005, 11. The print’s inventory number is WA1863.1759. There is also a third state owned by the Davison Arts Center of Wesleyan University, CT, in which the publisher Antonio Salamanca’s name is added at the bottom right (Thomas 2005, 12). Bartsch noted only one state (the second), but was also aware of the copy of the second state discussed here (Bartsch 1803–21, 314–15, no. 418). The sheet exhibited here may repre- sent a later impression of the second state, as the underlining of ‘Belvedere’ has become so worn that it is only visible below the first ‘el’ and the ‘r’. There is some debate as to when Bandinelli received this honour. Scholars usually agree on 1529, but in his autobiography, Bandinelli said it occurred in the same year as the emperor’s coronation, which was in February 1530. According to Weil-Garris Brandt, the confusion arose because the Florentine year ended in March (Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, 501, note 26). Ben Thomas agrees with her and says the emperor sent news of the honour to Bandinelli from Innsbruck, after departing from Bologna on 22 March 1530 (Thomas 2005, 9 and note 12). This is perhaps not the only print to exhibit such a mistake, as Bandinelli, in his Memoriale, bemoaned a similar error that had to be corrected on a print of his Martyrdom of St Lawrence (Barocchi 1971–77, 2, 1396). However, this complaint itself is inaccurate, as the inscription of ‘Baccius Brandin. Inven.’ on the St Lawrence print would have been a correct appella- tion at the time of its execution in 1524, well before Bandinelli’s adoption of his new name. Such an anachronism has prompted speculation that the Memoriale is not actually by Bandinelli, but rather a forgery by one of his descendants (Thomas 2005, 10); nevertheless, it represents a familial dissatisfaction with the dissemination of Bandinelli’s designs once removed from his control. Minonzio 1990, 686 and Florence 2014, 528 under no. 77. However, by 1530, the date on the first state of this print, both Veneziano and Bandinelli had returned to Rome (Thomas 2005, 11). This does not preclude Veneziano from having engraved the design during their separa- tion. It is unlikely that the design was executed at this later date because of the absence of the insignia of the Order of Santiago; even if the image were retrospective, it seems unlikely that Bandinelli would miss an opportunity for self-aggrandisement. For Bandinelli’s biography, see Bandinelli’s own Memoriale (see note 1), Vasari’s account in Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 5, 239–76, and more concise surveys in Weil-Garris 1981, 224–42 and Waldman 2004, xv–xxviii. Weil-Garris 1981, 224. Pevsner 1940, 42. 2. Enea Vico ( Parma 1523–1567 Ferrara) After Baccio Bandinelli (Gaiole, near Chianti 1493–1560 Florence) The Academy of Baccio Bandinelli c. 1545/50 Engraving, state II of III 314 × 486 mm (sheet) Inscribed recto, u.r., on left page of open book: ‘Baccius / Bandi: / nellus / invent’; on right page: ‘Enea vi: / go Par: / megiano / sculpsit.’ Inscribed verso, l. c., on additional paper fragment, now attached, in pencil: ‘Eneas Vico ca 1520 – ca 1570 / Nagler XXII/515 bl 49 / Ein Hauptblatt’; and below, in pencil, ‘B. Vol 15 B 305 No. 49’; l.l. in pencil: ‘£ 3013 60’ [the rest illegible] provenance: Venator et Hanstein, Cologne, 3 November 1998, lot 2722, from whom acquired. selected literature: Heinecken 1778–90, 2, 98–99; Bartsch 1803–21, 15, 305–06, no. 49; Passavant 1860–64, 6, 122, no. 49; Pevsner 1940, 40–42, 6; Ciardi Duprè 1966, 163–64, 26; Goldstein 1975, 147, 1; Weil-Garris 1981, 235–36, 14; Roman 1984, 84–87, 66; Spike 1985, 305.49-I and 305.49-II, repr.; Landau and Parshall 1994, 286, 303; Barkan 1999, 290–98, 5.13; Fiorentini 1999, 146–47, no. 30; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 86–88, no. 21; Thomas 2005, 12–14, 5; Hegener 2008, 404–12 and 625–26, pl. 232; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, 18, 15; Florence 2014, 530–31, no. 78. 84 85 exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1998-039 This print by Enea Vico after a design by Baccio Bandinelli depicts a scene similar to that in his earlier self-styled acad- emy (cat. 1), but it has been expanded and amplified: the table which occupies all of the space in Agostino Veneziano’s engraving has been moved to the right side of Vico’s print, and the perspective is widened to allow a larger room to come into view. The number of apprentices has grown from six to twelve, the books from one to six and the antique sculptures from five to ten. The style of the print, as well as Vico’s chronology, suggest that it is not the Belvedere acad- emy that is depicted here, but a second academy, established by Bandinelli some twenty years later after his return to Florence in 1540.1 As in the earlier print, the classical figu- rines appear to be generalised interpretations of antique statuary rather than exact copies of specific models, although they have been diversified here by the addition of a horse’s head and a bust of a Roman emperor on the shelf. Added to the fragments strewn about the room are skeletons and skulls, which are now given a status equal to classical sources as inspiration for artists. These refer to the growing tendency to study the anatomy of the human body in Italian work- shops around the mid-16th century, mainly through skele- tons, a practice that was codified by Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) some twenty years later in his Sopra i Principi e l’ Modo d’Imparare l’Arte del Disegno, in which he advised artists to copy anatomical parts in order to attain skill as draughts- men.2 While Bandinelli’s representation is one of the first to document the spread of anatomical study among young artists, the practice was formalised in the second half of the 16th century in the curricula of the first academies, where sophisticated anatomy lectures were given and dissections were performed.3 Both antique sculptures and skeletons became common elements in subsequent representations of artists’ workshops, studios and academies, as seen in Stradanus’ studio image and Cort’s engraving after it (cat. 4). This is also reflected in an etching by Pierfrancesco Alberti of a painter’s studio or academy (fig. 1), which shows a more structured curriculum of studies involving anatomical dissection, geometry, the Antique and architectural drawing, closely reflecting the disciplines taught in the earliest Italian academies, particularly the Roman Accademia di San Luca.4 The light source is another difference between the two prints after Bandinelli. The single candle in Veneziano’s engraving has become three forcefully radiating fires, with the candle on the table now partially dissolving the face of the student standing to its right. The importance of studying at night, and the diligence and introspection this implies, is again a primary theme. Another engraving after a Bandinelli design, The Combat of Cupid and Apollo,5 also places impor- tance on fire as a source of not only visual illumination, but as a symbol of philosophical and spiritual revelation. The recurrence of this motif has been regarded as indicative of Bandinelli’s neo-Platonic leanings; the flame symbolises divine Reason and its power to defeat the darker, profane vices of the human condition, allowing man to perceive true, celestial beauty, even while bound to the terrestrial realm.6 Indeed, the very concept of an academy is closely inter- twined with Neo-Platonism, as it was widely considered that the first academy founded since the end of classical times was that of Marsilio Ficino (1433–99) in Florence, which was specifically based on the philosophy and teachings espoused by Plato.7  Bandinelli himself is again represented, but he now stands at the far right, instructing the two students who face him. He also now wears the cross of St James, as befits a knight of the Order of Santiago, which he was awarded in 1530, and which is seen in his other self-portrait (cat. 3). The same insignia is placed prominently above the fireplace between the two cupids. Bandinelli’s design therefore takes on a more propagandistic role, and has been described by some scholars as a ‘manifesto’ for his academy.8 The staging here stresses Bandinelli’s nobility, humanism and sophistication, while the importance of copying from antique sculpture is rather downplayed, with the casts relegated to the margins of the scene. None of the artists is now looking at the casts; their focus is instead inward, as best exemplified by the figure who sits at the centre of the composition, with his head in his hand. Only one of the students’ drawings is visible, on the tablet of the standing apprentice at the centre of the scene, and the female nude emerging from his stylus is unrelated to any of the sculptures surrounding him, although clearly referring to a model all’antica. She must therefore be a product of his mind, and so the emphasis here is on the artist’s memory and imagination; the skeletons and antique sculptures were essential for building his graphic vocabulary of the human form, but they have been discarded now that he has successfully internalised them and no longer needs to copy them directly.9 The exercise of memory was one of the central principles of the pedagogical practices of the Italian Renaissance, going back as far as Leon Battista Alberti (1404– 72) and Leonardo (1452–1519).10 Giorgio Vasari (1511–74), in his Vite explicitly recommended that ‘the best thing is to draw men and women from the nude and thus fix in the memory by constant exercise the muscles of the torso, back, legs, arms and knees, with the bones underneath. Then one may be sure that, through much study, attitudes in any position can be drawn by help of the imagination without one having the living forms in the view’.11 The importance of memory was also stressed by Cellini in his treatise.12 There are three states of this print, differentiated by the inscriptions.13 In the first state, the inscription identifying Bandinelli as the designer on the left page of the book on the upper right is included, as is the address of the Roman pub- lisher, Pietro Palumbo, below the sleeping dog in the lower centre (not seen here). In the second state, Enea Vico’s name is added on the right-hand page of the same book, in a differ- ent script. In the final state, the name of Palumbo’s successor as the publisher of this print, Gaspar Alberto, is added below the skulls in the lower centre. Nicole Hegener believed there was an additional state between the first and second, repre- sented by a version at Yale in which Agostino’s Veneziano’s name was inscribed on the right-hand page of the book before it was replaced by Vico’s.14 However, it was noted in 2005 that this was added by hand in pen-and-ink, and was therefore just a modification of the first state of the print.15 The print exhibited here was also believed to be a unique   86 87 1. Pierfrancesco Alberti, Painters’ Academy, c. 1603–48, etching, 412 × 522 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1952-373  example of a state between the first and second, as both Bandinelli’s and Vico’s names are present on the book, but Palumbo’s is missing.16 However, close examination of the verso reveals extensive abrasion over the area where Palumbo’s address would have been. The inscription was therefore erased from this sheet, and does not reflect any changes to the original plate. It must, therefore, be an example of the second state, which was subsequently altered for an unknown reason. Palumbo’s name on the first state also makes the dating of this print difficult. On stylistic grounds, most scholars date it to c. 1545/50,17 but Palumbo was not active 1731: Cellini 1731, 155–62 (on the study of the bones and muscles, 157–62). See Olmstead Tonelli 1984, esp. 101. See also Schultz 1985; Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97; London, Warwick and elsewhere 1997–98; Carlino 2008–09. Roman 1984, 91. See Appendix, no. 7 for the statutes of the Accademia di San Luca. Repr. in Panofsky 1962, 107. Panofsky 1962, 148–51. Goldstein 1996, 14. For the neo-Platonic movement during the Renais- sance, see Panofsky 1962, chap. 5. Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, 18; Florence 2014, 520. Thomas 2005, 13–14; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 87. Alberti 1972, 96–99 (book 3.55); Leonardo 1956, 1, 47, chap. 65–66. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 33. Brown 1907, 210; Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 1, 114–15. Cellini 1731, 157. Bartsch mistakenly conflated the second and third states and therefore only listed two states (Bartsch 1803–21, 15, 305–06). He was corrected by Passavant (1860–64, 6, 122, no. 49) and this is accepted by subsequent scholarship (i.e. Thomas 2005, 13). Hegener 2008, 405. Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 88, note 1. See also Florence 2014, 530. Venator et Hanstein sale, Cologne, 3 November 1998, lot 2722. Pevsner remarks on the characteristic ‘Mid-Cinquecento Mannerism’ of Vico’s print in contrast to Veneziano’s style, which is reminiscent of Raimondi (Pevsner 1940, 40). The following agree on the approximate dates c. 1545/50: Weil-Garris 1981, 235; Thomas 2005, 13; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 86; Florence 2014, 530. Fiorentini suggested c. 1550 because after that date Vico used ‘sculptere’ on his works, rather than ‘sculpsit’ as here (Fiorentini 1999, 147). However, the form of Vico’s inscription as ‘Enea Vigo’ on this print is completely unique, as his other extant works are signed either ‘E.V.’, ‘Enea Vico’ or variations on ‘AENEAS VICUS’ (Thomas 2005, 13). Therefore we must be very cautious in making any assumptions based on this particular inscription. London 2001–02, 230. He continued working until c. 1586. Florence 2014, 531. 3. Anonymous, 16th-century Italian Artist After Niccolò della Casa (Lorraine fl. 1543–48) After Baccio Bandinelli (Gaiole, near Chianti 1493–1560 Florence) Self-Portrait of Baccio Bandinelli, Seated 1548 Engraving, 416 × 306 mm Datedl.c.:‘1548’;inscribedl.r:‘A.S.Excudebat.’;inscribedl.c.inpencil:‘No 7.’andbelowtor.inpencil:‘No 7’. With the initials of the publisher, probably Antonio Salamanca (1478–1562). provenance: Léon Millet, Paris (his stamp, not in Lugt, in blue ink on the verso: ‘Léon Millet / 13 rue des Abbesses’ and below, printed in black ink: ‘12 Mars 1897’);1 Bassenge, Berlin, 3 December 2003, lot 5155, from whom acquired. selected literature: Heinecken 1778–90, 2, 90; Bartsch 1854–76, 15, 279–80; Nagler 1966, 1, 542, under no. 1266; Le Blanc 1854-88, 3, 414, 1–2; Steinmann 1913, 96-97, note 8; Florence 1980, 264, 266, no. 690; Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, 76–77, no. 20; Fiorentini 1999, 153–54, no. 34, 34 (see also 150–53, under no. 33); Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, 37, 20, 38, 42, 44; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 32–34, no. 1 (J. Clifton); Hegener 2008, 391–96, version II, 57, 617–18, no. 16 (see also 380–91, under version I); Florence 2014, 526–27, no. 76 (T. Mozzati). before c. 1562 at Sant’ Agostino in Rome, Bandinelli’s death. Tommaso Mozzati speculated that Bandinelli transferred his design to Vico before 1546, when the engraver left Florence for Rome, and that the publication may have been delayed by a deteriorating relationship between the two artists.19 If Vico intentionally withheld the design until after Bandinelli’s death, it might explain how Palumbo became its first publisher more than a decade later. 1 2 Pevsner 1940, 40–41; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 86. This engrav- ing, cat. 1 and Bandinelli’s own writings in his Memoriale are the only evidence we have for the existence of his academies (see cat. 1, note 1). Weil-Garris 1981, 246–47, note 39. Cellini’s fragmentary treatise was probably written during the last two decades of his life but published only 88 89 which post-dates rh exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2003-020 This engraving reproduces, in reverse and with variations in detail, an unfinished engraving by Niccolò della Casa, based on a lost drawing by Bandinelli.2 It is unclear why the Della Casa engraving, which is known in only a few impressions, was never finished. The present engraving is smaller than its model, resulting in a few compositional differences. It was attributed to Nicolas Beatrizet (c. 1507/15–1573) by Erna Fiorentini and Raphael Rosenberg and while this was accepted by James Clifton, it was rejected by Nicole Hegener and Tommaso Mozzati.3 Until further information comes to light, it is perhaps safer to attribute it to an unidentified Italian engraver working in Rome in the mid-16th century. Hegener identified a further state with the added inscription at centre right, ‘effigies / Bacci Bandinelli sculp / florentini’ and Karl Heinrich von Heinecken mentioned yet another without inscriptions (untraced).4 If Bandinelli’s self-portrait inserted among his students in his academies (cats 1–2) emphasises his role as teacher and mentor, this image speaks of a solitary and relentless self-promoter.5 By 1548, the engraving’s date, Bandinelli had achieved great success. He had served two Popes, Leo X (Giovanni de’ Medici) and Clement VII (Giulio de’ Medici), for whom he had carried out several important commissions including the classicising Orpheus and Cerberus (Palazzo Medici Riccardi, Florence, c. 1519) modelled after the Apollo Belvedere, the monumental Hercules and Cacus (Piazza della Signoria, Florence, 1523–34) and the papal tombs in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (1536–41).6 He was currently serving the Grand Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici. And yet, it was Baccio’s close alliance with the Medici, coupled with his on- going rivalry with Michelangelo, a staunch anti-Medicean Republican, and others, like Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) that denied him the full respect and admiration of his Florentine contemporaries. His intense competitiveness and difficult character only exacerbated his contemporaries’ widespread dislike of him.7 Projecting strength, power and authority, this arresting image, clearly intended for circulation, was no doubt Baccio’s attempt to right those perceived wrongs.8 By fusing motifs from his own work with motifs from antique sculpture – absorbed and recast – Bandinelli sought to elevate his status and rank and to assert his position while defending his work by associating it with the art of Greece and Rome.9 The multi-layered and intertexual combination of themes and references that resulted contributes to the engraving’s enigmatic allure and demands careful interpretation. Significantly, it is the first image in the exhibition to demon- strate how Antique imagery could be used by an artist to promote his own art and his own achievements. The engraving shows us a man of great physical presence, seated as though enthroned. His elevation is enhanced by a rich costume – the luxurious fur-lined cloak nonchalantly slides off one shoulder – more typical of an aristocrat than an artist. Emblazoned on his chest is the cross of St James, the emblem of the prestigious 12th-century Spanish military Order of Santiago, conferred on Bandinelli in 1530 by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V who over- ruled protests that it was unmerited. Bandinelli took great pride in the honour, justifiably, since he was the only artist to be awarded the cross of St James, which he included in other self-portraits (see cat. 2).10 Immediately below the sharp lower point of the cross his prominent codpiece protrudes  through the folds of his tunic, an unsubtle reference to his virility. His ‘progeny’ – a selection of his small models and statu- ettes – are seen throughout. Proprietorially and prominently cradled, and elevated on its own column base, is the figure of Hercules, the son of Zeus, who heroically carried out the Twelve Labours. Hercules played a central role in Bandinelli’s work.11 His near obsession with the demi-god, the embodi- ment of strength in the face of adversity, is demonstrated in Hercules’ constant appearance – in bronze, marble, stucco and drawing – throughout Bandinelli’s career.12 And since Hercules was the mythical founder of Florence and an exemplum much favoured by the Medici, in linking his own image so closely to the hero, Bandinelli was also referencing his association with his native city and its ruling house.13 Hercules was the perfect foil to David, another protector of Florence, and to represent the hero gave Baccio the opportu- nity to display his mastery of the muscular male nude in heroic and often violent action. Bandinelli also holds a rather different figure of Hercules in the della Casa engraving, c. 1544 and in his grand painted self-portrait of c. 1550 (Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston) he proudly displays a preparatory drawing for the Hercules and Cacus his most spectacular and ambitious sculpture.14 This colossal group, – a pendant to Michelangelo’s David – and a commission that he had taken away from Michelangelo, brought him considerable fame despite the unfavourable reception that it received on its unveiling in 1534.15 In effect, Hercules was Bandinelli’s calling card and his prominence in his self-portraits is unsurprising.16 Small-scale, classicising models made in wax and terra- cotta such as those seen here and in his other prints (cats 1–2), were central to Bandinelli’s work as tools for teaching, and as preparation for large-scale sculpture; many were translated into bronze, as independent statuettes.17 Here, for example, the pose of the male nude seen from behind standing in contrapposto at the right anticipates that of Adam in Baccio’s Adam and Eve group of 1551 (Bargello, Florence).18 Perhaps because Bandinelli was still working out the pose or perhaps to give the figure the aura of a damaged antique, the left arm is missing below the elbow; several of the other figurines in the engraving derive from the Antique but have been, as it were, naturalised into Bandinelli’s own idiom. On equal footing with the statuette of Hercules that he holds are the two standing female nudes on the left, also elevated on a column shaft. They derive from the Cnidian Venus of the 4th century bc, among the most famous works of the Greek sculptor, Praxiteles, which was probably known  1. Baccio Bandinelli, A Standing Female Figure, c. 1515, red chalk, 410 × 242 mm, private collection, Switzerland 2. Giulio Bonasone, Saturn Seated on a Cloud Devouring a Statue, c. 1555–70, etching and engraving, 254 × 154 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, H,5.137 3. Anonymous, Ferrarese School, Fortitude, playing card, c. 1465, engraving, 179 × 100 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1895,0915.36    90 91   4. Amico Aspertini, Lion Attacking a Horse, pen and light brown ink, 107 × 146 mm, Staatliche Museen, Kupferstichtkabinett, Berlin, KdZ 25020 to Bandinelli through a Roman copy.19 Intent on demonstrat- ing his full knowledge of the statue Baccio presents one woman frontally, while the other, headless, is seen from behind.20 Slim and regularly proportioned, the Cnidian Venus was Bandinelli’s preferred female type and examples abound in his sculpted and graphic work.21 A highly finished red chalk drawing (private collection Switzerland, 1) compares well with the engraved nude on the left.22 The foreground is occupied with further statuettes: another Hercules stands on a pedestal on the left and five male torsos are scattered on the ground at his feet. While they loosely evoke the Antique – the two on the lower left, for example, recall the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, 23), they have become generalised.23 Headless and limbless, like antique fragments, they suggest once more that Bandinelli was equating his work with that of the ancients. The lion has been interpreted diversely and Bandinelli may well have intended multi-layered interpretation. It has widely been seen as a heraldic Medici lion (marzocco) and, as such, a reference to Bandinelli’s favoured position with the Medici as well as his loyalty to their regime.24 Interpreted as devour- 25 ing a lower thigh and knee, the lion has also been seen as a symbol of the artist’s prowess in sculpture. A more complex explanation suggests a link with Saturn devouring a boulder, a subject illustrated in a print by Giulio Bonasone (fig. 2), which is accompanied by the motto, ‘in pulverem reverteris’ (‘unto dust shalt thou return’).26 As such, Bandinelli is not merely subjugating a wild animal but also triumphing over Time.27 More simply, the lion may also refer to Bandinelli’s favourite hero, Hercules, who conquered the Nemean lion, or evoke Fortitude whose traditional attributes were a lion and a broken column, here transformed into a plinth (fig. 3).28 Finally, it may be that Bandinelli was again referencing the Antique: the Lion Attacking a Horse – part of a colossal Hellenistic group (Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome) – in Bandinelli’s day, a limbless fragment on the The fragment was considered ‘of such excellence that Michelangelo judged it to be most marvellous’.31 There has been much speculation about Bandinelli’s pose in the engraving. It might, in fact, refer to the Belvedere Torso,32 as ‘restored’ in an engraving by Giovanni Antonio da Brescia of c. 1515 (fig. 5).33 The arrangement of his legs is also close, in reverse to that of Laocoön, (p. 26, 19), a direct copy of which, in marble (c. 1520–25, Florence, Uffizi) com- missioned by Leo X, was one of Baccio’s greatest successes.34 His preparatory drawing for the sculpture also in the Uffizi (fig. 6) shows him seated in a comparable pose as seen here.35 Once again, therefore, we see the sculptor referencing and promoting his own work, employing the associative authority of Antique imagery. In sum, Bandinelli presents himself here not only with the strength and fortitude of a modern Hercules who successfully vanquished his adversaries but also as the greatest, most recognisable hero- martyr and father from antiquity, Laocoön, with his sculpted ‘offspring’ triumphant. Weil-Garris 1981, 236–37. For the painting, see O. Tostmann, in Florence 2014, 510–13, no. 69, repr.; Mozzati 2014, 458–63. For a full discussion of the statue, see Vossilla 2014, 156–67, repr.; Florence 2014, 573, no. VII. For Herculean imagery in the engraving, see Hegener 2008, 382–86, 389–91, 395–96. Barkan 1999, 304; Krahn 2014, 324–31. As first observed by Bruce Davis in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, 77. For the sculpture, see D. Heikamp, in Florence 2014, 314–15, no. 22, repr. He also appears, in adapted form, in other works by the sculptor (Fiorentini 1999, 152). First noted by B. Davis, in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, 77; Barkan 1999, 308–09, 5.19. One half expects to see to a third figure to complete the ‘Three Graces’. On the use of this double-view and his drawings that may relate to these figures, see Fiorentini 1999, 151–52. Barkan 1999, 309–12; V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, 356–59, no. 28. B. Davis in Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere 1988–89, 77. The drawing was formerly with Yvonne Tan Bunzl (Bunzl 1987, no. 5, repr.; see also V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, 356, 1). Other copies by Bandinelli after the same statue, one in red chalk, the other, in pen and ink, are on a double- sided sheet in in the Biblioteca Reale, Turin (Bertini 1958, 17, no. 37; Barkan 1999, 311, figs. 5.21, 5.22). The same Cnidian Venus type occurs at left in his drawing, Four Female Nudes, in the Art Gallery of Toronto, 2006/432 (repr. in Aldega and Gordon 2003, 8, no. 1). A woman very similar to that engraved at left both in pose, body type and hairstyle, appears on a sheet in the Louvre, formerly classed as Bandinelli and now given to Giovanni Bandini (1540–1599), Viatte 2011, 246–47, R2, repr. Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 34. Of course, they could also be a further Herculean reference, as the Torso was in the Renaissance believed to be that of Hercules (Haskell and Penny 1981, 313). Fiorentini 1999, 150, followed by Hegener 2008, 388, considered one of the torsos, the second from the left, to be based on the torso of a satyr now in the Villa Barbarini, Castel Gandolfo, Rome, which was in the Ciampolini collection in the Renaissance (Liverani 1989, 92, no. 34, 94–95, figs. 34.1–4). Given the differences in pose, the present author cannot accept this view. Bandinelli adapted the pose of the Torso Belvedere for his red chalk drawing, A Nude Man, Seated on a Grassy Bank in the Courtauld Gallery, as noted by Ruth Rubinstein (Cambridge 1988, 26–27, no. 8, repr.); see also Barkan 1999, 308–09, fig 5.17. Hegener 2008, 383. Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 34. T. Mozzati, in Florence 2014, 527, who reports that this view is shared by Mino Gabriele. That author notes (repeating Massari 1983, 125) that the concept is paralleled in a passage from Ovid’s Metamorphosis (15.236–38). However, it is also part of a famous passage from Genesis 3:19: ‘In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’ For the print, see Massari 1983, 1, 125, no. 223, repr. T. Mozzati, in Florence 2014, 527, who also considers that Bandinelli holds a complete statuette, not a fragment like the others in the print, as a modern manifestation of classicism. Zucker 1980, 185, no. 53-A (136), repr.; Zucker 2000, 47, .036a. See also Ripa’s illustrated edition of 1603 (Buscaroli 1992, 142–44, repr.). Fiorentini 1999, 151; Hegener 2008, 383. For the statue: Haskell and Penny 1981, 250–51, no. 54, 128; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 236–37, no. 185. Faietti and Kelescian 1995, 220–21, no. 4; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 237, 185a. Aldrovandi 1556, 270, cited and translated by Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 236. As proposed by Hegener (2008, 380, 382, 389–90) who considered his arms to be based on those of Christ in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment. Zucker 1980, 78, no. 5 (100), repr.; Zucker 1984, 350–51, .028, repr. The pose also anticipates Bandinelli’s God the Father sculpture of the 1550s in S. Croce, Florence (Florence 2014, 595–98, no. XVIII, repr.). Although intended as a gift for François I, it never reached its intended recipient and remained with the next Pope Clement VII, in Florence. Bober and Rubinstein 2010,pp. 165–66, no. 122b. Capecchi (2014, 129–55) provides a thorough account of the project. D. Cordellier, in Paris 2000–01, 237–40, no. 74, repr. 29 Aspertini (1472–1552) (fig.4; Kupferstichtkabinett, Berlin). avl Rhea Blok has noted (e-mail, 12 August 2014) that the same collector’s mark is found on Henri Mauperché’s etching, L’Ange conseillant Tobie, with A. et D. Martinez (Paris 2003, 5, no. 20) and a print by Vincenzo Mazzi (Stage Set from the Caprici Teatrali, Bologna, 1776) in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 66.500.27. It also appears on the reverse of the drawing by Hubert Clerget, La Maison de Boucher, rue Carnot à la Ferte-Bernard, with C. J. Goodfriend, New York, in 2014. Fiorentini 1999, 150–53, no. 33; Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, 36, 19; Hegener 2008, 380–91, version I, 221, 617, no. 15. J. Clifton in Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 32–34, no. 1; Hegener 2008, 391; Mozzati in Florence 2014, 526–27, no. 76. Erna Fiorentini previously attributed it to Casa with a query (1999, 153). Hegener 2008 618, no. 17, 226; Heinecken (1778–90, 2, 90). For his portraiture and use of it for self-promotion, see Weil-Garris 1981, 237–38; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989; Mozzati 2014, 452–63. Florence 2014, 568, no. III; 573, no. VII; 576–81, nos IX.-X. (R. Schallert). The Orpheus and his copy of the Laocoön (ibid., 571, no. V) earned his reputation as ‘a great young talent who can export the Belvedere’. (Barkan, 1999, 279). His personality is revealed in his letters and the lengthy account in Vasari’s Lives (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 5, 238–76). See also Weil-Garris 1981, 223–24; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, 497. Along with the date, 1548, the engraving bears the initials and inscription, ‘A.S.Excudebat.’, presumably Antonio Salamanca, the leading publisher of prints in Rome in the mid-16th century (Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, 38). Many of the prints he published were of Roman antiquities. See London 2001–02, 233; Pagani 2000; Witcombe 2008, 67–105. Weil-Garris 1981, 231; Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, 497. For a fundamental discussion of Bandinelli and the Antique, see Barkan 1999, 271–408. Weil-Garris Brandt 1989, 497, 499–500. Weil-Garris 1981, 237. See V. Krahn, in Florence 2014, 372–75, cat no. 32 who further notes the similarity between the Hercules appearing in outline leaning on his club at right in the unfinished print by Niccolò della Casa (Fiorentini and Rosenberg 2002, 36, 19), and Bandinelli’s Hercules with the Apple of the Hesperides, c. 1545, in the Bargello in Florence (372–75, cat. no. 32, repr.). There are many other engraved representations of Hercules subjects by or based on Bandinelli, who evidently planned a series, as noted by Roger Ward (in Cambridge 1988, 74, under cat. no. 42). See also M. Zurla, in Florence 2014, 388–93, cat. nos 37–39. Weil-Garris 1981, 237; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 34. Campidoglio – freely interpreted by artists like Amico   92 93 5. Giovanni Antonio da Brescia (fl. 1490–1519), The Belvedere Torso with Legs and Feet, as Hercules, c. 1500–20, engraving, 166 × 103 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1845,0825.258 6. Baccio Bandinelli, Laocoön, pen and brown ink, 1520s, 417 × 265 mm, Uizi, Florence, inv. 14785 F (recto)  4a. Jan van der Straet, called Johannes Stradanus (Bruges 1523–1605 Florence) The Practice of the Visual Arts 1573 Pen and brown ink with brown wash and white heightening with touches of grey, incised for transfer 436 × 293 mm Inscribed recto, l.c., in pen and brown ink, in reverse sense: ‘io stradensis flandrvs in 1573 cornelie cort excv’ provenance: Sir H. Sloane bequest, 1753. literature: Hind and Popham 1915–32, 5, 182, no. 1; Ameisenowa 1963, 58; Wolf-Heiddeger and Cetto 1967, 171, no. 73, repr. on 431; Heikamp 1972, 300 and 1 on 302; Heidelberg 1982, 29, no. 52, pl. 1 on 17; Sellink 1992, 46; Rotterdam 1994, 195–99 (in Dutch), 200–05 (in English), a on 204; Baroni Vannucci 1997, 63–64, 247, no. 313, repr. on 246. exhibitions: Florence 1980, 213, no. 523, not repr. (G. G. Bertelà); London 1986, no. 144, repr. on 193 (N. Turner); Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97, 148–49, no. 39 (M. Kornell); London, Warwick, and elsewhere 1997–98, 19, 25, 119, no. 142 (D. Petherbridge and L. Jordanova); London 2001–02, 21, no. 4 (M. Bury); Bruges 2008–09, 227–28, no. 20 (A. Baroni). The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, SL,5214.2 exhibited in london only 4b. Cornelis Cort (Hoorn 1533–before 1578 Rome) After Jan van der Straet, called Johannes Stradanus (Bruges 1523–1605 Florence) The Practice of the Visual Arts 1578 Engraving State I of II1 432 × 295 mm Inscribed recto, l.c., on wooden box: ‘Cornelius Cort fecit. / 1578’; along bottom: ‘Illmo et Exmo Dn ́o Iacobo Boncompagno Arcis Praefecto, ingenior, ac industriae fautori, Artiú nobiliú praxim, á Io, Stradési Belga artifiosè expressá, Laureti’ Vaccarius D.D. Romae Anno 1578.’; u.r.: ‘PICTVRA’; c.l. on table in background: ‘FVSORIA’; u.c. below statue: ‘STATV ARIA’; l.l. on table: ‘ANATOMIA’; below statue of horse: ‘SCVLPTVRA’; c.r. on book on table: ‘ARCHITECTVRA’; r. on paper on table: ‘Typorum eneorum / INCISORIA’; l.c. on stool: ‘Tyrones pi / cture’. provenance: possibly entered Rijksmuseum collection late 19th century (L.2228)2 literature: Hind and Popham 1915–32, 5, 182; Bierens de Haan 1948, 199, no. 218, 53; Hollstein 1949–2001, 5, 58, no. 218, repr.; Ameisenowa 1963, 58; Wolf-Heiddeger and Cetto 1967, 171–72, no. 74, repr. on 431; Heikamp 1972, 300, 2 on 302; Strauss 1977, 1, 278–79, repr.; Florence 1980, 213; Parker 1983, 76–77, repr. (as state II); Roman 1984, 88–91, 69; Strauss and Shimura 1986, 249, 218.199; Liedtke 1989, 190, no. 53, repr. on 191; Sellink 1992, 46, 18 on 47; Rotterdam 1994, 195–99 (in Dutch), 200–205 (in English), no. 69; Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97, 148–51, no. 40; Baroni Vannucci 1997, 63–64, 436, no. 772; Sellink and Leeflang 2000, part 3, 118–19, no. 210; London 2001–02, 18–21, no. 3; Munich and Cologne 2002, 321–22, no. 112; Wiebel and Wiedau 2002, 154, repr. on 155; Perry Chapman 2005, 116, 4.7 on 117. exhibitions: Vienna 1987, 320, no. VII.25 (M. Boeckl); Amsterdam 2007, no. 5 (C. Smid and A. White); Bruges 2008–09, no. 21 (A. Baroni); Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, 18–19, no. 16. their careers in Italy. Jan van der Straet was born in Bruges in 1523, but we know very little of his life before he arrived in Italy around 1545.4 He settled in Florence but worked in both Rome and Naples, and became a close collaborator of Giorgio Vasari (1511–74), assisting him in the decoration of the Palazzo Vecchio and at Poggio a Caiano. Like Vasari, Van der Straet was immensely versatile, working on paintings and portraits, making cartoons for tapestries and creating hundreds of designs for prints. He died in Florence in 1605, and is better known to posterity by the Italianised version of his name, Johannes Stradanus. He nevertheless maintained his Flemish identity by signing his works with variations of ‘FLANDRUS’, as seen in the exhibited drawing; however, it is difficult to decipher, because Stradanus wrote the inscrip- tion in reverse. This is clear evidence that the drawing was intended as a design for a print. All the figures use their left hands, which is further proof, as are the clear indentation lines made to transfer the design to the plate. Stradanus’ inscription is dated 1573, and includes the name of the Dutch- man Cornelis Cort, who would engrave the drawing five years later, in 1578.5 Cort is first documented working in the printing house of Hieronymous Cock (c. 1510–70) in Antwerp, around 1553, before he travelled to Italy in 1565.6 At first he worked in Venice, where he formed a famous partnership with Titian (c. 1488–1576), but he later moved to central Italy. Cort probably met Stradanus in 1569 in Florence, where the Medicis had requested his presence to engrave their family tree.7 In the engraving, Cort moved his own name to the block at the centre foreground, where he also inscribed the date 1578. Stradanus’ inscription was replaced by one from the publisher, Lorenzo Vaccari (active 1575–87), dedicating the work to Giacomo Boncampagni, Prefect of the Castel Sant’Angelo and son of the newly appointed Pope Gregory XIII (r. 1572–85).8 Cort made several further changes to Stradanus’ design, the most obvious of which are the inscriptions added to clarify the various activities being conducted around the room. Thus we can identify the three arts of disegno taking place in one institution, with painting (‘PICTVRA’) on the wall, sculpture (‘STATVARIA’ and ‘SCVLPTVRA’) on the plinths in the centre, and architecture (‘ARCHITECTVRA’), which is given short shrift, repre- sented only by the man seated at the table before the Venus, holding a pair of dividers. The architect is in fact overshad- owed by the unusual addition beside him of a seated engraver, whose burin rests on the corner of the table next to the more prominent inscription ‘Typorum eneorum INCISORIA’. Michael Bury thought this focus on engraving was added at Cort’s urging,9 but Stradanus, as the inventor of more than 560 designs for prints, may himself have decided to place unprecedented emphasis on the graphic arts.10 Of the three genres of painting – landscape, portraiture and history paint- ing – the latter was considered the most admirable, and so it is appropriate that the painting on the wall depicts an ancient battle scene. Sculpture is depicted hierarchically, with prom- inence given to the grand marble sculptures atop the plinth, distinguished from the lesser arts of wax modelling and bronze casting, embodied by the rearing horse below. While the older bearded masters are at work within their individual disciplines, their true purpose is to guide the next generation of artists – the young, clean-shaven students scattered around the room. The foreground is therefore occupied with training exercises, as the pupils learn to draw after the Antique and the human body before attempting the loftier projects of sculpture and painting, exemplified in the upper back registers of the scene. The role of the Antique is actually more prominent in the print than in the drawing, as the statuette of Venus – which, like the statuettes in Bandinelli’s academies (cats 1 and 2), is probably all’antica rather than an antique original – meets the gaze of a young pupil, whose quill is poised to draw her. This same youth in Stradanus’ design has already filled his sheet with repeated sketches of eyes. This reflects a different practice, referred to as the ‘alphabet of drawing’, in which students were encouraged to start with the smallest part of the human body, usually the eyes, gradually building up a repertoire of the individual parts before assembling them into more complex configurations. In the same way, a writer must first learn the alphabet and how to form indi- vidual letters into words before being able to construct sentences. Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) described this as a common practice: ‘The teachers would put a human eye in front of those poor and most tender youths as their first step in imitating and portraying; this is what happened to me in my childhood, and probably happened to others as well’ . 1 1 His statement is corroborated not only by Stradanus’ drawing, but by a similar youth in Pierfrancesco Alberti’s (1584–1638) etching of a studio (cat. 2, 1) and by a sheet of eyes from Odoardo Fialetti’s (1573–1638) drawing-book (p. 34, 37). Stradanus repeated the youth and his drawing of eyes in another design for a print, which appeared in a series called Nova Reperta, published by Philips Galle (1537– 1612) in the 1590s (fig. 1). This ‘A B C ’ technique of drawing, as well as the important role of the Antique, were codified in Federico Zuccaro’s (c. 1540–1609) first statutes for the Accademia di San Luca, ‘re-founded’ in Rome in 1593.12 The idea of progressing from simple elements to a complex whole originated with Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72), and he recommended a similar method for the study of human anatomy, starting with the bones before adding muscles and Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-BI-6381 exhibited in haarlem only This crowded, idealised vision of a workshop for training artists is the natural successor to the earlier academies depicted by Baccio Bandinelli (cats 1 and 2). The Antique still plays a prominent role, seen in the large marble statues in the centre depicting Rome personified next to the river god Tiber, both based on the well-known sculptures in the Capitoline,3 and by the statuette of a Venus Pudica type with her back to us standing on the table in the foreground. Equal importance, however, is accorded to the study of anatomy, 94 and the young pupils in the foreground focus their attention on the skeleton and cadaver suspended from ropes and pulleys. This reflects the later 16th-century emphasis on the study of anatomy as an integral part of the artist’s education, a tendency that was already evident in the skeletons added to Bandinelli’s second academy print (cat. 2), and which is fully realised in this scene. The drawing and print catalogued here were produced in close collaboration by two Northern artists who both made 95    96 97  finally flesh.13 The students in Stradanus’ drawing are dili- gently following these instructions by examining the bones of a skeleton, while a bespectacled tutor flays the arm of a corpse to grant them a view of the musculature. Regardless of which object they are studying, all the pupils are engaged in drawing, considered to be the essential element in their education. Stradanus’ design is therefore an allegory of the ideal academy, in which all of the arts are improbably combined under one roof to offer the most well-rounded and comprehensive instruction to the next generation of artists. Detlef Heikamp, however, believed it to represent a specific academy, the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, and to be the pendant to another drawing by Stradanus, now in Heidelberg, depicting the Accademia del Disegno in Florence (fig. 2).14 Most other scholars disagree, however, as the Accademia di San Luca was not officially founded until 1593, exactly 20 years after the drawing was made.15 The drawing also predates a Breve issued by Pope Gregory XIII in 1577, urging the foundation of such an academy.16 Heikamp was correct, however, in pointing out the Roman symbolism of this drawing, evident in the grand statue of Rome personified, based iconographically on Minerva, flanked by the river god Tiber and the she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. The Heidelberg drawing, by contrast, is decidedly Florentine, showing Brunelleschi’s dome, the river god of the Arno and the Florentine lion, the Marzocco. However, the two drawings are very different 2. Johannes Stradanus, Allegory of the Florentine Academy of Art, c. 1569–70, pen and brown ink, brown wash and white heightening, 465 × 363 mm, Kurpfälzisches Museum der Stadt Heidelberg, Inv. Nr. Z 5425 in size,17 and the consensus of opinion is that they are not a pair, representing separate allegorical, idealised Roman and Florentine teaching traditions.18 Stradanus himself was a founding member of the Accademia del Disegno, which opened in 1563 in Florence. The study of anatomy was a central precept of the Acca- demia, and, while acting as a consul in the winter of 1563, Stradanus was responsible for organising a dissection for the students.19 His experience guiding and shaping young Florentine artists must have informed his designs. Perhaps Stradanus was compelled to portray such an academy in which the three arts of disegno are exalted and glorified in order to allay growing concerns about the status of art and artists.20 Alessandra Baroni made the radical proposal that Cort was the driving force behind the project, and that it was conceived around 1569 when he and Stradanus were both working in Florence.21 The Medicis commissioned Cort to engrave their family tree, and while he was in Florence he created a series of prints with Florentine and Medici themes, including engravings of tombs in the Medici Chapel. Cort may have undertaken these projects on his own initiative, and the Heidelberg drawing would have made a fitting addition to the series. An engraving of it, however, was never executed, perhaps because a receptive audience could not be found, but in Rome four years later, Cort may have found a more conducive atmosphere and convinced Stradanus to resume the endeavour. Whatever the motiva- tion, the design proved very popular, as evidenced by the existence of two early copies of the engraving, the first of 22 which was published in Venice around 1580. Clearly, Italian audiences were fascinated by the subject of art and the requisite training necessary for its creation, in which the Antique played a pivotal role. The second state was printed 200 years later, when the plate came into the possession of Carlo Losi, who changed the date on it to 1773 (Bruges 2008–09, 229). I am grateful to Erik Hinterding, Curator of Prints at the Rijksmuseum, for his correspondence regarding this provenance. Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 89–90, no. 42 and 113–14, no. 66. Janssens 2012, 9–10. Karel van Mander’s biography of Van der Straet is very brief (Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 326–29). A better source is Borghini 1584, 579–89. There is an excellent chronology of his life, including lists of the related archival documents, in Baroni Vannucci 1997, 446–51. The inscription ‘CORNELIS CORT EXCV’ suggests that Cort had intended to publish the print himself. He may have struggled to do so, explaining the five-year gap between the date of the drawing and the pub- lication of the print, and it was published by another man, Lorenzo Vaccari (Bruges 2008–09, 228–29). It may even have been published post- humously, as Cort died in 1578 (Sellink and Leeflang 2000, part 3, 119). For Cort’s biography, see Thieme-Becker 1907–50, 12, 475–77. Cock was also the first publisher with whom Stradanus worked, in 1567, and they had a long partnership (Baroni 2012, 91). Bruges 2008–09, 228. Boncompagni was appointed to this post in 1572, and in April 1573 was promoted to Governor General of the Church. It is strange that the inscrip- tion added to the print in 1578 refers to Boncompagni by the lesser title of Prefect, which Michael Bury took as proof that the print was more likely to have been executed in 1573, the same year as the drawing. He thought it possible that the ‘3’ had simply been changed to an ‘8’ in the date 1578 on the stool; however there are no extant 1573 versions of the print (London 2001–02, 18, 21). London 2001–02, 18. Leesberg 2012a, 161. Amornpichetkul 1984, 117 and Cellini 1731, 141. Cellini went on to say he considered this a ‘poor method’ but he agreed on the means of building up the bones of a skeleton in order to draw a successful nude. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 33–34. Appendix, no. 7. Alberti 1972, 75 (book 2, chap. 36) and 97 (book 3, chap. 55). Heikamp 1972, 300. It is true that for decades the idea for such an institution had been simmer- ing, especially at the behest of Federico Zuccaro, a founding member of the Accademia del Disegno in Florence. He was unhappy with its tenets and sought reforms, eventually simply founding the Accademia di San Luca instead (Pevsner 1940, 59–60). Heikamp’s theory has been rejected in London 2001–02, 21 and Bruges 2008–09, 226. The Pope decried the level of decadence in contemporary art and blamed it on defective training of young artists, arguing that if they had been properly instructed in both art and religion, they would not sink to such lows (Pevsner 1940, 57). The Heidelberg drawing is much larger and measures 465 × 363 mm. The figures in the Heidelberg drawing also all use their left hands, so it must have been intended for a print; however, no such print has come to light (London 2001–02, 21). Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97, 148. Rotterdam 1994, 200. Bruges 2008–09, 226–27. Bruges 2008–09, 229. For a list of the copies, see Sellink and Leeflang 2000, part 3, 119. For the practice of copying after Stradanus’ prints, see Leesberg 2012a.   98 99 1. Published by Philips Galle after a design by Johannes Stradanus, Color Olivi, plate 14 in Nova Reperta series, c. 1580–1600, engraving, 201 × 271 mm, private collection  5. Federico Zuccaro (Urbino c. 1541–1609 Rome) Taddeo in the Belvedere Court in the Vatican Drawing the Laocoön c. 1595 Pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black chalk and touches of red chalk, 175 × 425 mm Inscribed recto in brown pen and ink by the artist on the building in the background: ‘le camore di Rafaello’; on the figure’s tunic in capital lettering, ‘THADDEO ZUCCHARO’; numbered u.r. in brown ink: ‘17’. provenance: Gilbert Paignon Dijonval (1708–92); Charles-Gilbert, Vicomte Morel de Vindé (1759–1842), see L. 2520; Samuel Woodburn (1786–1853), 1816; Thomas Dimsdale (1758–1823), see L. 2426; Samuel Woodburn, 1823; Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769–1830), L. 2445; Samuel Woodburn, 1830; Sold Christie’s, London, 4 June 1860, part of lot 1074; bought by Sir Thomas Phillipps (1792–1872); Thomas Fitzroy Fenwick (1856–1938); Dr A. S. W. Rosenbach (1876–1952), 1930; Philip H. and A. S. W. Rosenbach Foundation until 1978; The British Rail Pension Fund, 1978; Their sale, Sotheby’s, New York, 11 January 1990, lot 17; Finacor, Paris; Their sale, Christie’s, London, 28 January 1999, part of lot 35 (no. 17), from whom acquired. selected literature:1 Rossi 1997, 64; Acidini Luchinat ; Paul 2000, 5–6, 1; Paris 2000–01, 379–80, under no. 185 (C. Scailliérez); Silver 2007–08, 86; Lukehart 2007–08, 105; Cavazzini 2008, 50, 26; Tronzo 2009, 49, 6, 52–54; Deswarte-Rosa 2011, 27–28, 31, 4; Pierguidi 2011, 29–30, 3; Luchterhandt 2013–14, 38–39, 11. exhibitions: London 1836, 11, no. 17, not repr.; Los Angeles 1999 (no catalogue); Rome 2006–07, 159–60, no. 51 (M. Serlupi Crescenzi); Los Angeles 2007–08, 24, 33–34, no. 17 (see also, 7, 40, 70, 86, 127). 1. Apollo Belvedere, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) from a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 224 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome inv. 1015 2. Laocoön, possibly a Roman copy of the 1st century ad after a Greek original of the 2nd century bc, marble, 242 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 1064   The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.17 exhibited in london only Look here, O Judgment, how he observes the antique and Polidoro’s style as well as Raphael’s work he studies. (Ecco qui, o Giuditio, osservando Va de l’antico, e Polidoro il fare E l’opre insiem di Rafael studiando)2 The series of twenty drawings by Federico Zuccaro of his older brother, Taddeo (1529–66), is a unique treasure of Renaissance drawing.3 With cinematic realism and narrative flair, the drawings tell the story of Taddeo’s travails and even- tual success as a young artist in Rome in the 1540s. It begins with his heart-rending departure at fourteen from the family home in S. Angelo in Vado, a provincial town in the Marches, and his arrival in the Eternal City. There Taddeo sets about following the prescribed course of study typical for any aspir- ing painter of the period. First, he apprentices with a local painter, performing menial tasks – preparing pigments and household chores – and finding time to draw, mostly only at night. After being mistreated by the painter’s wife, he escapes to discover Rome for himself. He assiduously copies statues and reliefs from classical antiquity and the work of contem- porary masters including the frescoes in the Logge and the Stanze of the Vatican by Raphael, the Last Judgment by Michelangelo and façade paintings by Polidoro da Caravaggio. After much focused and disciplined study, he triumphs victoriously with his first major success: the painted façade of Palazzo Mattei (1548). And this is where the story ends (Taddeo would die prematurely of illness at the age of thirty-seven). In this drawing, number seventeen, we enter the story in medias res. Here Taddeo, affectionately identified by name on his tunic, is at Vatican Belvedere Statue Court studying the most iconic antique sculptures of the day: the Apollo Belvedere on the left (fig. 1; see also 25–26), the Nile and Tiber in the centre and the object of his attention, possibly the most famous work in the collection, the Laocoön on the right (fig. 2; see also 25–26).4 With his back turned, we peer voyeuristi- cally over his shoulder as he draws intently. He has settled in for a day of intense study; his meagre sustenance, a small loaf of bread and flask of wine on the ground next to him, has remained untouched. The notion of the artist drawing inces- santly with little to eat or drink anticipates the vivid descrip- tion of the young Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680) who as a boy spent dawn to dusk at the statue court making copies.5 Significantly, this is the earliest known image of an artist at work at the Belvedere, the most important and certainly the most influential collection of classical antiquities assem- bled in the Renaissance.6 Given its unique accessibility – unlike the collections housed in private aristocratic palaces – it provided a sanctuary for the unencumbered study of antique statuary, which also included recently excavated works. Thus, it served a key role in providing an artistic instruction not just direct but exhilaratingly au courant. It also meant that the sculptures displayed there would become famous as their images were disseminated through prints and drawings. When Taddeo visited the sculpture court in the 1540s, it had undergone a major renovation.7 In 1485, under Pope Innocent VIII (r. 1484–92), a private villa was built on the hill behind the old Vatican place, named the Belvedere (‘fair view’), for its position. In 1503, Pope Julius II (r. 1503–13) commis- sioned the architect, Donato Bramante (1444–1514), to incor- porate the house with the Vatican complex thereby creating an enclosed rectangular garden courtyard, the Cortile del Belvedere, to display his expanding antiquities collection. Wishing it to be accessible to the public, the Pope had Bramante construct a spiral staircase that enabled visitors to arrive at the courtyard directly, without having to enter the palace proper.8 The courtyard was an enchanted world filled with orange trees, fountains, an elegant loggia, and displayed in the centre of the court, the colossal marble statues of the Nile and Tiber mounted as fountains.9 Statues including the celebrated Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön were displayed in especially created niches.10 Maarten van Heemskerck’s drawing in the British Museum, c. 1532–33 (fig. 3), the earliest known view of the Cortile, gives a sense of the space and the disposition of the sculpture displayed there.11 Immediately evident is that Federico’s al fresco evocation bears little resemblance to Heemskerck’s and to other con- temporary descriptions of the courtyard. The setting is now a sun-drenched rise with a vista, no t an enclosed garden, and the statues are freed from the confines of their niches. And yet in other ways Federico has gone to lengths to convince us of the time period – 1540s – as we will see. In fact, so well-known was this space that Federico needed only to refer to it in short-hand. The statues depicted would have been instantly recognisable to any viewer and Taddeo’s location in the Belvedere understood. Since its discovery in January of 1506 in the ground of a private vineyard on the Esquiline near the remains of the so-called Baths of Titus, the Laocoön group, comprising the ill-fated Trojan priest and his two sons violently struggling to free themselves from two serpents who devour them, was immediately venerated.12 While still in the ground, the architect and antiquarian, Giuliano di Sangallo, sent to inspect it by Pope Julius II, identified it as the famous statue singled out by Pliny the Elder as ‘of all paintings and sculptures the most worthy of admiration’ (Natural History 36.37–38).13 It was installed in the Belvedere in a chapel-like recess.14 The sculpture’s fame was instant and far-reaching. Entranced by it, Michelangelo proclaimed it an inimitable miracle.15 Collectors eagerly sought copies, commissioning Jacopo Sansovino (1486–1570), Baccio Bandinelli (see cat. 3) and others to make replicas of various sizes in bronze, marble, wax, terracotta, even gold.16 For artists, its effect was manifold. It provided an anatomical model for the male nude that was strong, forceful and capable of dynamic movement. The range of ages and emotions conveyed and symbolised – fear, agony, heroism in death – also inspired emulation. 3. Maarten van Heemskerck (1498–1574), View of the Belvedere Sculpture Court, c. 1532–36/37, pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, 231 × 360 mm, Department of Print and Drawings, British Museum, London, 1946,0713.639  100 101   102 103  Epitomising human suffering, the statue became a model for portraying martyrs from Christendom, especially in the Counter-Reformation.17 For centuries that followed artists would imitate and infuse this muscular body type and expres- sions in their work (cat. 16). The group’s influence endured well into the 19th century.18 When the Laocoön was first discovered, his right arm and that of his youngest son on the left were missing, as were among other losses the fingers of the eldest son’s right hand. By the 1530s, the missing appendages were restored including a terracotta arm by the sculptor, Giovanni Antonio Montorsoli (1507–63).19 Federico’s drawn version is something of an enigma. In some respects it appears pre-restoration: the fingers of the eldest son on the right are still missing. But he has included part of the previously absent right arm of the son on the left but made him hand-less. Laocoön is shown with his right arm restored but it is out of view so the angle cannot be determined. In any case, it seems that Federico has attempted to represent the sculpture as he thought Taddeo and others of his generation might have first seen it, undoubt- edly to create an air of authenticity. It is possible that he consulted print sources such as Marco Dente da Ravenna’s ( f l . 1515–27) Laocoön of c. 1520–23, which makes a compelling comparison.20 The perfect foil for the Laocoön is the commanding figure of the Apollo Belvedere anchoring the composition on the left.21 So instantly recognisable was he that Federico needed only to indicate his lower half. Discovered at S. Lorenzo in Panisperna in 1489, the statue was acquired by Giuliano della Rovere, Cardinal of S. Pietro in Vincoli, the future Pope Julius II, who displayed it in the garden of his palace next to SS. Apostoli.22 After he became Pope, it was brought to the Vatican in 1508 and installed in a niche in the Belvedere cortile in 1511. Based on a lost Greek bronze original, it became one of the most famous statues to survive from antiquity and was copied by innumerable artists (see cats 6, 25, 26).23 If the Laocoön exemplified the powerful male nude body in action, the Apollo encapsulated the qualities of its counterpart, the perfect male youth: elegant, graceful, confident and restrained; in repose yet poised for action. As the god Apollo he was thought to have just discharged his arrow at the python of Delphi (see cat. 6) or else, to be on the verge of killing the sons of Niobe with his arrows, as punishment for her boasting.24 Praised by Vasari for its instructive importance, every aspiring artist visited the Apollo in the Belvedere.25 The statue retained immense popularity in the centuries that followed.26 Federico’s abbreviated description of the Belvedere Courtyard is a clever device as it allows him to combine several episodes of Taddeo’s self-education in the same 104 drawing and a highly sophisticated continuous narration.27 All show Taddeo studying the Antique in various forms – free- standing statues, narrative reliefs and contemporary works in an all’antica style. So while the most prominent Taddeo is at work copying the Belvedere statues, a second Taddeo is visible in the distance, perched on a window ledge copying Raphael’s celebrated Stanze frescoes in the papal apartments in the Vatican.28 At the far left is Trajan’s Column of 113 ad under which are figures, including an artist sketching the famous reliefs carved on the column shaft, presumably Taddeo again. These monuments were very distant from one other and yet, countering this artificial structure, Federico has striven for local historical accuracy. For example, he shows the column as it would have appeared in Taddeo’s day, omitting the bronze statue of St Peter at the top that was added by Sixtus V in 1588.29 Lightly sketched in the left distance is the dome of the Pantheon and on the far right, what appears to be the Mausoleum of Augustus of 28 bc identifiable by the trees on the summit.30 Another drawing from the series (fig. 4) further demon- strates the importance Federico attributed to copying after the Antique, one of the pillars of artistic education.31 It shows Taddeo studying a relief – perhaps the right-hand front section of a Muse sarcophagus of a type similar to an example now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (p. 20, 5).32 Having already sketched the figures – possibly a Muse holding a mask and Apollo – in black chalk, he is about to go over the contours with pen and ink. Resting on the relief is the armless body of a male youth similar in type to the Torso of Apollon Sauroktonos, the so-called Casa Sassi Torso now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples.33 In the back- ground, in another example of continuous narration, Taddeo copies façade paintings by Polidoro da Caravaggio, who, specialising in monochrome frescoes imitating marble or bronze reliefs, represented another type of contemporary all’antica style, one which would exert an enormous influence on Taddeo’s own approach to painting.34 It is significant that Federico executed the Taddeo series in the mid-1590s, around the time that he established a reformed Accademia di San Luca of which he was elected president in 1593. Learning to draw by copying the work of others – the Antique, Michelangelo, Raphael and Polidoro da Caravaggio – was already a key phenomenon of Renaissance workshop practice. Federico codified this practice further by making such a disciplined approach to drawing central to the curricu- lum.35 Successful learning also required virtue and hard work – fatica – both physical and intellectual, and such quali- ties are extolled in Federico’s drawings of Taddeo.36 According to the guidelines Federico wrote for the academy, students were required to ‘go out during the week drawing after the antique’ (see Appendix, no. 7).37 It is significant that in the final image of the series (fig. 5), an allegorical personification of Study – represented by a young man diligently copying an antique male torso with other sculptures – flanks the left side of the Zuccaro family emblem.38 He is joined by Intelligence on the right. Along with training, Federico was also concerned with the welfare of young artists and proposed reforms to the artists’ academy in Florence, the Accademia del Disegno.39 At his death in 1609, he intended the family palace, the Palazzo Zuccari (now the Bibliotheca Hertziana, Max Planck Institute for Art History) to house young, struggling artists in Rome, so that they would not suffer as Taddeo had.40 Appropriate in subject matter, the drawings may well have prepared a complex arrangement of paintings for the walls of the palace’s Sala del Disegno.41 This might account for the present drawing’s unusual dumbbell format.42 Regardless of its intended purpose, the Early Life of Taddeo series, a touching tribute to one brother from another, sends a clear message. Drawing, especially after the Antique in all its various forms, was the cornerstone of artistic education in 16th-century Italy and was to become a canonical activity throughout Europe in the centuries that followed. As one of the first great illustrations of this phenomenon in practice, the present drawing is an ideal visual representation of this exhibition’s theme. avl  4. Federico Zuccaro, Taddeo Drawing after the Antique; in the Background Copying a Façade by Polidoro, c. 1595, pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black chalk and touches of red chalk, 423 × 175 mm, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.12 5. Federico Zuccaro, Allegories of Study and Intelligence Flanking the Zuccaro Emblem, c. 1595, pen and brown ink, brush with brown wash, over black chalk and touches of red chalk, 176 × 425 mm, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 99.GA.6.20  105  1 Additional bibliography for the drawings in the series up to 1999 is given in the catalogue of the Christie’s sale, London, 28 January 1999, 70, lot 35. 2 This poem written by Federico Zuccaro to accompany this drawing appears on the back of another sheet in the series (Los Angeles 2007–08, 34, no. 18, 40). Translation by J. Brooks (ibid., 33–34). 3 The Early Life of Taddeo series, acquired by the J. Paul Getty Museum in 1999, was the subject of an exhibition and in-depth catalogue by J. Brooks (Los Angeles 2007–08). 4 For the Tiber and the Nile see Haskell and Penny 1981, 272–73, no. 65 and 310–11, no. 79; Klementa 1993, 9–51, nos A1–A39, pls 1–18; 52–71, nos B1–B15, pls 19–23. 5 See Appendix, no. 9. 6 For essential reading on the Cortile and its history, see Ackerman 1954; Brummer 1970; Coffin 1979, 69–87; Haskell and Penny 1981, 7–11; Nesselrath 1994, 52–55; Nesselrath 1998a, 1–16. 7 See Coffin 1979, 69–87; Haskell and Penny 1981, 7. 8 Coffin 1979, 82. 9 For the two Rivers, see above, note 4. 10 For statues in their niches, see Haskell and Penny 1981, 11, 4, and Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 122c. 11 First published as Heemskerck in Winner and Nesselrath 1987, 867; see also M. Serlupi Crescenzi, in Rome 2006–07, 148–49, no. 37. For a sense of the atmosphere, see the painting by Hendrik III van Cleve (1524–89), 1550, in the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels (M. Serlupi Crescenzi, in Rome 2006–07, 146–47, no. 34), see Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 26, 21. 12 For the group, see Haskell and Penny 1981, 243–47, no. 52; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 164–68, no. 122, Pasquier 2000–01b and the exhibition catalogue devoted to it, Rome 2006–07. 13 Haskell and Penny 1981, 243; M. Buranelli, in Rome 2006–07, 127–28, no. 13. 14 Coffin 1979, 82; Haskell and Penny 1981, 243. 15 Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 165, see also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 28. 16 Haskell and Penny 1981, 244 and Settis 1998, 129–60. 17 Ettlinger 1961, 121–26; Brummer 1970, 117–18; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 166. 18 For the statue’s critical reception, see Bieber 1967; Brilliant 2000; Décultot 2003 and Rome 2006–07. 19 Haskell and Penny 1981, 246–47; Nesselrath 1998b, 165–74; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 165. Montorsoli’s additions were removed in 1540 when Primaticcio made a mould of the group unrestored to prepare a cast in bronze for Francis I (Rome 2006-07, 150–51, no. 40). The additions were then put back. 20 Oberhuber 1978, 50, no. 353 (268); T. Schtrauch, in Rome 2006–07, 152–53, no. 42. 21 For their juxtaposition, see Tronzo 2009, 49–55. 22 According to a document published by Fusco and Corti 2006 (Appendix I, 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 309, doc. 112; see also 52–56). For the statue, see Haskell and Penny 1981, 148–51, no. 8; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 76–77, no. 28. In 1532–33 Montorsoli replaced the existing right arm and restored the hands (Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 77). Federico presents it in its restored state with bow. Haskell and Penny 1981, 150. Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 76; Vasari’s preface to Part III of the Lives, 1568 ed. (Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 4, 7). See Roettgen 1998, 253–74. He employs the same device in other drawings in the series (Los Angeles 2007–08, 7). Federico indicates the location on the drawing itself with the inscription, le camore di Rafaello (the rooms of Raphael). Another drawing in the series shows him copying the frescoes in the loggia of the Villa Farnesina, see Los Angeles 2007–08, 20, 32, no. 13. For the column, its reliefs and history, see Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 208–10, no. 159. Francesco Soderini purchased the Mausoleum in 1546 in order to transform the tomb into a garden museum with antique statuary. See Riccomini 1995, especially 267, 91 (Etienne Du Pérac’s engraving, 1575) and 271, 95 (Alò Giovannoli’s engaving, 1619) and Riccomini 1996. Los Angeles 2007–08, 19, 31–32, no. 12. For essential reading on Taddeo, Federico and the antique and the absorption of it in their work, see Silver 2007–08, 86–91. Wegner 1966, 88–89, no. 228, plates 11–12. Los Angeles 2007–08, 31. In Taddeo’s time the torso (CensusID 159347 and Ruesch 1911, 158, no. 491) was in the courtyard of the Sassi family palace displayed in a niche as seen in Heemskerck’s famous view reproduced in etching (Paris 2000–01, 360–62, no. 169, entry by C. Scailliérez). For Polidoro and the Zuccari, see Los Angeles 2007–08, 71–77. Armenini had already advised artists to copy Polidoro’s frescoes (1587, 58, book 1, chap. 7). Alberti 1604, 7. See also Armenini, 1587, 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7). See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 32–33 Rossi 1997, 66–68. Alberti 1604, 8 (‘e chi andarà frà la settimana dissegnando all’antico’), cited and translated in Silver 2007-08, 86). Los Angeles 2007–08, 27, 35, no. 20. Ibid., 2. Ibid. For previous arguments on the topic and a fascinating hypothetical recon- struction of the Sala del Disegno, see Strunck 2007–08, 113–25. The shape is adapted slightly in a version of the present drawing in the Uffizi, Florence, of similar dimensions (Paris 2000–01, 379–80, no. 185 (entry by C. Scailliérez), believed by Gere to be autograph (1990, under no. 17) but by Brooks as unlikely to be and the present author agrees. See Los Angeles 2007– 08, 45, note 48, where two other copies are also noted: Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid 7656 and the other sold Phillips, London, 9 July 2001, lot 148. 6. Hendrick Goltzius (Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) a. The Apollo Belvedere 1591 Black and white chalk on blue paper indented for transfer; 388 × 244 mm provenance: Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89)1; Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. selected literature: Reznicek 1961, 1, 326, no. 208, 2, 170; Van Regteren Altena 1964, 19, 101–02, no. 32; Miedema 1969, 76–77; Brummer 1970, 70–71, repr.; Stolzenburg 2000, 426–27, repr., 439, no. 173; Brandt 2001, 148; Hamburg 2002, 114, repr. under no. 33; Amsterdam, New York and elsewhere 2003–04, 269, repr.; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 77, under no. 28; Leesberg 2012b, 2, 370 under no. 380; Göttingen 2013–14, 22–23, 6; Nichols 2013a, 56, 84, 54; Veldman 2013–14, 105. exhibitions: Münster 1976, 138, no. 111, 140, repr. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. K III 23 exhibited in haarlem only b. Apollo Belvedere 1592 Engraving, 412 × 300 mm State II of II Inscribed on the base of the statue: ‘HG sculp. APOLLO PYTHIUS Cum privil. Sa. Cæ. M.’. With the address of the printer at right ‘Herman Adolfz excud. Haerlemens.’. Inscribed with two lines in the lower margin, at centre: ‘Statua antiqua Romae in palatio Pontificis belle vider / opus posthumum HGoltzij iam primum divulgat. Ano. M.D.C.X.VII.’.2 Two Latin distichs by Theodorus Schrevelius in margin l.l. and l.r.: ‘Vix natus armis Delius Vulcaniis / Donatus infans, sacra Parnassi iuga’ / ‘Petii. draconem matris hostem spiculis / Pythona fixi: nomen inde Pythii. Schrevel’.3 Numbered in l.l. corner: ‘3’. Published by Herman Adolfsz. (fl. 1607) in 1617 provenance: et D. Colnaghi Co., London, from whom acquired in 1854. literature: Bartsch 1854–76, 3, 45, no. 145; Hirschmann 1921, 60–61, no. 147; Hollstein 1949–2001, 8, 33, no. 147.II, repr.; Strauss 1977, 2, 566–67, no. 314, repr.; Leesberg 2012b, 2, 370, no. 380, 373–74, repr. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1854,0513.106 106 107 It was undoubtedly at the urging of Karel van Mander (1548– 1606), his friend and fellow Haarlem artist, that Hendrick Goltzius left for Rome in 1590 in order to study the remnants of classical antiquity and the works of modern Italian masters.4 He was already thirty-two years old. Northern artists usually went south when they were much younger, sometimes even half that age. The tradition of artists travel- ling from Northern Europe to Italy, eager to learn, had begun almost a century earlier with Jan Gossaert, called Mabuse (c. 1472–1532). Other well-known Dutch artists who had derived inspiration from antique remains in Rome and who had produced drawings after them, were Jan van Scorel (1495–1562) and above all, Maarten van Heemskerck (1498– 1574), also a native of Haarlem.5 Like these artists Goltzius travelled to Rome as a mature draughtsman, eager to deepen his knowledge and see with his own eyes the works of art of which he had heard so much. It was probably family obligations and his flourishing print workshop that had delayed his Italian trip for so long. Finally in 1590–91, hoping for relief from the consumptive state of his health, Goltzius made the long anticipated journey.6 We know from Van Mander that on arriving in Rome, Goltzius concentrated almost exclusively on drawing the most important classical sculptures carefully and industri- ously.7 Goltzius was now a celebrity, for his prints had spread his fame throughout Europe, but he travelled largely incognito. In Rome, for example, he donned rustic garb in order to blend in with pupils and amateurs drawing from the Antique. According to Van Mander, they looked at him pityingly until they saw what he was capable of, whereupon they started asking him for advice.8 Although this story may be a topos – art-loving Italy values a gifted outsider – it is not hard to imagine such an encounter when one considers Goltzius’ Roman drawings.9 Forty-three of Goltzius’ drawings after thirty different classical statues survive, plus one after Michelangelo’s Moses; all are preserved in the Teylers Museum in Haarlem.10 In the short time at Goltzius’ disposal – he was only in Rome for seven months – he managed to copy all the most impor- tant sculptures, in both public and semi-public locations    108 109  such as churches and papal palaces, and in some private collections.11 He must have prepared thoroughly for his drawing expedition and have studied travel books and prints before his departure. Certainly at his disposal would have been Maarten van Heemskerck’s Roman sketchbook, now in the Berlin Kupferstichkabinett, but then owned by his fellow Haarlem artist, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638) (see 35, figs 39–43 and cat. no. 8).12 Strikingly Goltzius’ selection more or less corresponded with the antique statues described in travel literature.13 Evidently, a canon of the most outstanding classical statues in Rome had already been established and disseminated to the North and although this canon would later be expanded, most of the statues drawn by Goltzius in 1591 continued to remain popular models for artists in subsequent centuries (see cat. nos 14–16, 21, 25–27 and 31). Goltzius did not make his drawings merely as an exercise. The artist and printshop owner was well aware of the importance of those statues for their reproductive potential. He must have envisaged a series of engravings from the very outset and that is why he went to such lengths to select the most celebrated and, by then, canonical sculptures. The series he had in mind would have rivalled existing print series of antique sculptures in Rome, such as Antoine Lafréry’s Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae, published between 1545 and 1577 (fig. 1), or Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri’s Antiquarum Statuarum Urbis Romae, published between the 1560s and the 1590s.14 Cavalieri’s reproductions were printed on small plates, without backgrounds, and incorporated little information about the sculptures in their locations; the lighting is not consistent and there is a lack of naturalism in the statues’ rendering. While the differences between Lafréry’s reproductions and what Goltzius planned to create are less striking, the burin technique is more refined in Goltzius’ works, his rendering of the statues more realistic and his prints fractionally larger; moreover, he generally represented the statues from closer vantage points, thereby creating more engaging compositions.15 What audience did Goltzius have in mind when he produced his drawings and his prints? While Cavalieri and Lafréry’s publications were mainly intended for antiquaries and art lovers, Goltzius seems to have aimed at a broader audience encompassing artists as well as amateurs. This is supported by his emphasis on anatomical precision and the sculptures’ three-dimensional character, rather than accu- racy of reproduction – he sometimes omitted inscriptions, for example (see cat. 8); the presence of the draughtsman in the print displayed is also significant in this connection. Goltzius’ project was timely for around this period a market seems to have been developing for prints after 110 publication, but found himself overwhelmed with other projects. In most of his drawings after antique sculpture, Goltzius began with a sketch in black and white chalk on bluish-grey paper, like this drawing of Apollo Belvedere. The trial-and- error lines by the figure’s legs and waist suggest that he had difficulty deciding on a vantage point. He would then have used a stylus to indent the contours of that sketch onto a second sheet of paper, on which he subsequently produced an extremely precise drawing of the statue. That second version in red chalk, unfortunately now lost, would have served as the model for the engraver. Teylers Museum has both drawings for the Farnese Hercules Seen from Behind (see cat. 7a and 2) but at some point Goltzius’ second version of the Apollo Belvedere was separated from the group that ended in the Teylers Museum,20 for in the early 18th century it belonged to the famous collector Valerius Röver (1686– 1739) of Delft,21 and was listed in his inventory: ‘The Apollo, with red chalk, transferred to the copper by Goltzius, which print is herewith attached, fl. 3:10’.22 The engraving is in the same direction as the black chalk drawing, and the size of the statue is identical in both.23 The most striking difference between them is the rendering of volume. The statue appears a little flat in the drawing, while in the print it is highly sculptural, with a keenly observed interplay between light and shade across the form lending relief and depth to the engraving. As noted above, Goltzius would have developed these features in the lost red chalk version of the subject. It may be that this lost drawing also incorporated the draughtsman seen in the lower right corner of the print, and the large cast shadow on the left, accessories and details that Goltzius tended to vary from work to work. In any event, these added elements reinforce the sense of depth; the draughtsman also conveys an idea of the scale of the statue (see cat. 7). But perhaps Goltzius added the young draughtsman for yet another reason. His rendering of this figure is so direct, so true to life, that it appears to be a portrait. The two small figures in his reproduction of the Farnese Hercules are also represented in a fashion which suggests that these too are portraits (cat. 7, 4). It seems that in Rome Goltzius asked a local artist, Gaspare Celio (1571–1640), to draw copies of both classical and modern artworks for him and they may have drawn some works together.24 Could this figure be Celio? Pure speculation, of course, for remarkably little is known about this mysterious individual.25 At any rate the figure of the draughtsman is seated exactly as Goltzius must have positioned himself, although at a different angle, employing the same technique (n.b. the porte-crayon), the same format paper and probably the same travel board. And this may point to another reason for Goltzius’ introduction of the young draughtsman: to emphasise the didactic inten- tion of the series and to convey the message that these prints allowed artists to draw the finest Roman sculptures, just like the draughtsman in the image, without having to go to Rome. Whatever the reason for this figure’s inclusion, his presence demonstrates – as does Van Mander’s story of Goltzius amidst younger artists – that during this period the copying of antique sculptures in Rome was very widespread. The Apollo Belvedere is a Roman copy of a Greek original by Leochares from c. 330–320 bc. The copy probably dates from the reign of Hadrian (117–138 bc). In the late 15th cen- tury the Apollo was in the collection of Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, who, as Pope Julius II, placed it in the Belvedere, where it was displayed in the small Cortile delle Statue (see 26, 21 and cat. 5). The Apollo Belvedere soon became one of the most famous sculptures in the collection and was drawn by many artists. Prints of the sculpture by Agostino Veneziano (c. 1518–20, see 28, 29), Marcantonio Raimondi (c. 1530) and Goltzius himself (c. 1617), among others, ensured that its fame spread throughout Europe. However, the Apollo’s prestige began to fade in the 19th century and nowadays the sculpture, while well-known to art historians is less appreciated by the general public.26  1. Anonymous engraver after Marcantonio Raimondi, published by Antoine Lafréry, Apollo Belvedere, 1552, engraving, 323 × 228 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-H-232 antique statues for artists to employ as models. Between 1599 and 1616 Goltzius’ stepson Jacob Matham published the first known printed sketchbook after the Antique, Verscheijden Cierage,16 intended, according to its title page, for an interna- tional public of artists and amateurs.17 And it seems likely that Goltzius envisaged the same international audience for his projected series, perhaps particularly young students in Northern Europe – and no doubt his own pupils – who were not able to undertake the trip to Rome but could use his engravings as models.18 It was probably in 1592, soon after his return from Italy, that Goltzius embarked on the print series, engraving after his own drawings three of the statues: the Farnese Hercules Seen from Behind (cat. 7), Hercules and Telephus and this Apollo Belvedere. It is unlikely that Goltzius was disappointed with the results but he progressed no further with the project and never officially printed the plates which were published posthumously in 1617, bearing the address of the Haarlem publisher Herman Adolfsz.19 We do not know why Goltzius did not publish these prints in his lifetime but it may have been the result of excessive ambition. He probably hoped to market a much longer series of prints in a single  mp I. M. Veldman revealed the Rudolf II provenance for Goltzius’ Roman portfolio to be a myth. A more logical provenance might be, as Veldman suggests, through Jacob Matham (1571–1631), Theodor Matham (1605/06– 76), Joachim von Sandrart (1606–88) and/or Pieter Spiering (1594/97–1652): Veldman 2013–14, 109–13. ‘An antique statue in Rome, in the Pope’s Belvedere Palace; a work by H. Goltzius that is now being published posthumously for the first time, in the year 1617’. ‘Barely born, I, Apollo of the island of Delos, received arms from Vulcan; I sought the sacred heights of Parnassus; with my arrows I pierced the dragon Python, my mother Leto’s enemy; thus it is that I bear the name “Pythian”’. I wish to thank Professor Ilja Veldman, who generously put at my disposal her Goltzius entries for the forthcoming catalogue of the 16th-century Netherlandish drawings in the Teylers Museum, which she is preparing with Yvonne Bleyerveld. For the early tradition of Northern European artists going to Rome (includ- ing Gossaert, Van Scorel and Van Heemskerck), see Brussels and Rome 1995. Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 388–89 (fol. 282 verso). Ibid., 390–91 (fol. 283 recto). Ibid. Luijten 2003–04, 123. Reznicek 1961, 1, 89–94, 319–46, nos 200–38; 245–48. From the 1689–90 inventory of Goltzius drawings owned by Queen Christina of Sweden it is known that Goltzius also produced (now lost) drawings of two famous antique figures, the Spinario (now in the Capitoline Museums, Rome, see 23, 15) and the Farnese Bull (now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples); see Stolzenburg 2000, 437, 140–41, 440, no. 180 and Veldman 2013–14, 101. Veldman 2012, 11–23. Reznicek 1961, 90; Brandt 2001, 136. Haskell and Penny 1981, 18; Brandt 2001, 136. Brandt 2001, 143–46. Fuhring 1992, 57–84. 111  17 Ibid., 64–65, 76, pl. 1. 18 It is tempting at this point to think of the ‘Haarlem Academy’, of which Goltzius was a member before his departure for Italy as a true academy, where artists could draw from life and presumably also after sculptures. However, in all probability this ‘academy’ comprised no more than three artists: Karel van Mander, Cornelis Cornelisz. and Goltzius. See also cat. 8. 19 Leesberg 2012b, 2, 368–75, nos 378–80; Luijten 2003–04, 119–20. 20 For the provenance of the drawings see Stolzenburg 2000 and Veldman 2013–14. 21 Van Regteren Altena 1964, 101–02, under no. 32. 22 ‘De Apollo, met rootaarde, door Goltzius int koper gebragt, welke print hierbij gevoegt is, f 3:10.’ See the manuscript catalogue by Valerius Röver in the Amsterdam University Library, inv.no. II A 18: Catalogus van boeken, schilderijen, teekeningen, printen, beelden, rariteiten [1730], portefeuille 2, no. 3. 23 In view of the incomplete right hand and the missing left hand it seems likely that the sheet has been trimmed on the right and left, and possibly at the top as well. 24 Baglione 1642, 377. 25 26 All we really know is that Celio must have drawn a copy of Raphael’s fresco, The prophet Isaiah in the San Agostino in Rome for Goltzius (see Luijten 2003, 118). Goltzius used this copy for his engraving; see Leesberg 2012b, 2, 292–93, no. 333, repr. For a recently published drawing by Celio in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, with a parade carriage of his own design incorporating pyrotechnic features, see Stemerding 2012, 13–17. For the history and the fortuna critica of the Apollo Belvedere: Haskell and Penny 1981, 148–51, no. 8; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 76–77, no. 28. Regarding the sculpture’s reputation today, which some describe as bordering on total neglect, Kenneth Clark observed in 1969: ‘. . . for four hundred years after it was discovered the Apollo was the most admired piece of sculpture in the world. It was Napoleon’s greatest boast to have looted it from the Vatican. Now it is completely forgotten except by the guides of coach parties, who have become the only surviving transmitters of traditional culture.’ Clark 1969a, 2. 7. Hendrick Goltzius (Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) a. The Farnese Hercules Seen from Behind 1591 Red chalk, indented for transfer, 390 × 215 mm. Verso: Design lightly traced in black chalk from recto. The upper corners cut. literature: Scholten 1904, 40, cat. N 19; Hirschmann 1921, 59; Reznicek 1961, 1, 337, cat. K 227, 2, 179; Miedema 1969, 76–77, repr. (recto and verso); Schapelhouman 1979, 67, note 3; Amsterdam 1993–94, 361–62, under no. 24 (B. Cornelis); Stolzenburg 2000, 439, no. 164; Brandt 2001, 139, 144, 132, 148; Hamburg 2002, 116, under no. 34 (A. Stolzenburg) ; Leeflang 2012, 24–25, 5; Leesberg 2012b, 2, 368–69, under no. 378; Göttingen 2013–14, 210; Veldman 2013–14, 102–05. exhibitions: New York 1988, 58–60, no. 12; Brussels and Rome 1995, 204, no. 101; Luijten 2003–04, 132–36, no. 42.2. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. N 19 exhibited in haarlem only b. The Farnese Hercules, 1592 (published 1617) Engraving Only state 416 × 300 mm Lettered on the base of the statue: ‘HERCULES VICTOR’. Lettered in l.l. corner: ‘HGoltzius sculpt. Cum privilig. / Sa. Cæ. M.’ and ‘Herman Adolfz / excud. Haerlemen’. Inscribed with two lines in the lower margin, at centre: ‘Statua antiqua Romae in palatio Cardinalis Fernesij / opus posthumum H Goltzij iam primum divulgata Ano M.D.CXVII.2 Two Latin distichs by Theodorus Schrevelius in margin l.l. and l.r.: ‘Domito triformi rege Lusitaniae / Raptisque malis, quae Hesperi sub cardine / Servarat hortis aureis vigil draco, / Fessus quievi terror orbis Hercules.’3 Numbered in l.l. corner: ‘1’. provenance: Bequest of Carel Godfried Voorhelm Schneevoogt (1802–77), Haarlem. literature: Bartsch 1803–21, 3, 44–45, no. 143; Hirschmann 1921, 58–59, no. 145; Hollstein 1949–2001, 8, 33, no. 145, repr.; Strauss 1977, 2, 562–63, no. 312, repr., 569; Leesberg 2012b, 2, 368–69, no. 378, repr. 112 113 1 Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. provenance: Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89); Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. KG 02263 The Farnese Hercules, which bears a Greek inscription naming ‘Glykon of Athens’, a sculptor unknown in classical litera- ture, was one of the most famous statues in Rome from the time of its discovery until the end of the 19th century (fig. 1).4 The first certain mention of it dates from 1556, when it stood in Palazzo Farnese.5 The fragments, unearthed at different times, must have been reassembled shortly before. The head was found in a well in Trastevere, probably around 1540. The torso was discovered six years later in the Baths of Caracalla, followed by the legs.6 However, the legs emerged too late to be incorporated in the statue because it had already been ‘restored’ and given new ones by Guglielmo della Porta (1500/10–1577). Oddly enough, Michelangelo allegedly appealed to the Farnese family to leave the new legs in place and not replace them with the originals, ‘in order to show that works of modern sculpture can stand in compari- son with those of the ancients’.7 The statue recovered its original legs only in the 18th century. In addition to the Palazzo Farnese, Goltzius drew studies on the Capitol, the Quirinal and in the Belvedere statue court (see cats 6, 8). He had an ambitious plan for his drawings: they were to prepare a series of high-quality and accurate engravings of the most important classical statues, on a scale not previ- ously attempted.8 The importance he attached to the project is evident from the care he lavished on many of his drawings. In preparation for this one, which is in red chalk, he first made an equally large, slightly freer and more loosely drawn black chalk version on blue paper (fig. 2; see cat. 6a). He then indented the contours through onto the white sheet on which he made the present drawing. The contours are conse- quently razor-sharp. He then exercised phenomenal skill in depicting the statue’s volume and the smooth texture of the marble with a subtle interplay of light and shade. He achieved this by leaving reserves of white paper, by alternating pressure on the chalk and by stumping it here and there so that individual strokes are no longer visible.9    114 115      1. The Farnese Hercules, back view, Roman copy of the 3rd century ad of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, 317 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. 6001 2. Hendrick Goltzius, The Farnese Hercules seen from Behind, 1591, black and white chalk on blue paper indented for transfer, 360 × 210 mm, Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. K III 30 3. Hendrick Goltzius, The Farnese Hercules, black and white chalk on blue paper, indented for transfer, 382 × 189 mm, Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. N 20 4. Hendrick Goltzius, Two Male Heads: Jan Matthijsz Ban and Philips van Winghen (?), metalpoint on an ivory-coloured prepared tablet, 92 × 117 mm, Amsterdam Museum, inv. A 10180 demonstrate that he had seen the sculpture in the round, making this clear by depicting the figure’s ‘alien’ back as well as its usual front. His choice was probably inspired by a combination of these factors. The Amsterdam Museum houses Goltzius’ preparatory drawing (fig. 4) of the two men whose admiring, upturned gazes provide such a fine connection between the front and back of the Farnese Hercules.16 In the engraving they are repre- sented in mirror image and have been exchanged for each other. They have portrait-like features and their identities have been a subject for speculation. The most serious suggestion made so far, dating from the end of the 19th century, is that they were Goltzius’ temporary travelling companions: Jan Matthijsz Ban on the left and Philips van Winghen (d. 1592) on the right; they may even have witnessed him drawing this statue.17 It is difficult to verify this sugges- tion, but it is certainly interesting and plausible. Goltzius had produced, albeit on a larger scale, several portraits of his circle of acquaintances in Rome and elsewhere such as Giambologna (1529–1608), Dirck de Vries ( fl. 1590–92) and Jan van der Straet, also called Stradanus (1523–1605; see cat. 4).18 Most of his sitters, like Ban and Van Winghen, were northern artists active in Italy. Ban was a silversmith, and Van Winghen is described by Karel van Mander as ‘a learned young nobleman from Brussels [ . . . ] who was a great archaeologist’.19 According to Van Mander the three of them made an excursion from Rome to Naples in the spring of 1591.20 Van Winghen died unexpectedly in 1592,21 and it was maybe as a tribute to his friend that Goltzius included him in the plate that he cut that same year. mp  See footnote 1 in cat. 6. ‘An antique statue in Rome, in the palace of Cardinal Farnese; a work by H. Goltzius that is now being published posthumously for the first time, in the year 1617’. ‘Now that I have vanquished the King of Spain with his three bodies [Geryon] and have stolen the apples that were guarded by a vigilant dragon under the western heaven in the golden garden, I, Hercules, the terror of the world, rest from my labours’. I wish to thank Professor Ilja Veldman, who generously put at my disposal her Goltzius entries for the forthcoming catalogue of the sixteenth- century Netherlandish drawings in the Teylers Museum, which she is preparing with Yvonne Bleyerveld. U. Aldrovandi, ‘Delle statue antiche, che per tutta Roma ... si veggono’, in Mauro 1556, 157–58. The Hercules, today in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples, is regarded as an enlarged copy of the 3rd century ad after an original by Lysippos or someone from his school of the 4th century bc. For its history and fortuna critica see Haskell and Penny 1981, 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, 3, 17–20, no. 1. Haskell and Penny 1981, 229. Baglione 1642 (facsimile edition, Rome 1935), 151: ‘. . . per mostrare con quel rifarcimento si degno al mondo, che le opere della scultura moderna potevano stare al paragone de’lavori antichi’. Reznicek 1961, 2, 89–94; Brandt 2001, passim; Luijten 2003–04, 117–25. For both drawings see Luijten 2003–04, 132–36. Göttingen 2013–14, 210–11. For the prints by Bos and Ghisi see Göttingen 2013–14, 205–07, no. II. 18 (Ghisi) and 285–86, no. IV.09 (Bos). Brandt 2001, 143–46. It has been suggested that Goltzius was prompted to make his unorthodox choice by a description in Pliny of a painting by Apelles of Hercules with Face Averted, whose features could nevertheless be guessed. Goltzius may have known the related engraving by G. J. Caraglio after Rosso Fiorentino: see Luijten 2003–04, 134 (with previous literature). For the dating of the three prints see Reznicek 1961, 419; Boston and St. Louis 1981–82, 12, under no. 6. See the painting Rest by Nicolaes Berchem the Elder (1620–83) dated 1644 in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the painting The Return from the Hunt, also by Berchem, from c. 1670 in The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, both of which include a male figure whose attitude is clearly based on that of the Farnese Hercules (Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, 67, 2; Haarlem, Zurich and elsewhere 2006–07, 85, cat. 45, repr.). A drawing by Berchem, Standing Herdsman from the Back in the Rijksmuseum, prepares the figure of the standing herdsman in the New York painting (see Amsterdam and Washington D.C., 1981–82, 67, 1). Schapelhouman 1979, 67 (with earlier literature); Luijten 2003–04, 135–36. Hymans 1884–85, 187, note 1. Schapelhouman (1979, 67) does not believe this, while Luijten (2003–04, 135–36) considers it plausible. It is curious that Goltzius altered the preparatory drawing of the two men’s heads in the engraving (fig. 3): in addition to representing them in mirror image and swopping them over, he depicted them in the same scale as well. Ban (if it is indeed Ban) is now somewhat taller than Van Winghen, which would reflect reality for Van Mander reports that Ban was a sizeable man (Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 392–93, fol. 283v). Schapelhouman 2003–04, 147–58. Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 392–93 (fol. 283v). Ibid. Between 1592 and 1597 Jacob Matham engraved a portrait of Philips van Winghen after another (unknown) drawing by Goltzius; see Widerkehr and Leeflang 2007, 2, 256, no. 263. However beautiful the two drawings in black and red chalk may be, it is only in Goltzius’ engraving that we really see what he intended. The backlit effect of the Farnese Hercules is seen to best advantage in the print, in which the added clouds have a functional role by creating a sense of depth and atmosphere. It is enhanced by the two observers, also only introduced in the print stage, who help to convey the statue’s scale. As we view Hercules from behind, the two admirers are gazing upon the sunlit front. The resulting interaction between front and back, between seeing and imagining, gives the print an agreeable tension that is missing in the drawings.10 Goltzius was probably familiar with the Farnese Hercules even before he went to Italy from descriptions in travel guides to Rome, through prints of 1562 and around 1575 by Jacobus Bos (c. 1520–c. 1580) and Giorgio Ghisi (1520–82)11 and possibly also from the larger print series by Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri (1570–84) and Antoine Lafréry (c. 1575).12 All showed the Hercules from the front, but Goltzius drew it from both sides (fig. 3). He seems to have been the first artist to appreciate its beauty from the back, or, at least, the first to record it on paper. He must have been very pleased with the 116 unorthodox view13 because he chose this viewpoint in 1592 when he issued the engraving, one of the only three that he engraved from his series of drawings (see also cat. 6b).14 It was thanks to Goltzius’ engraving that the back view of the statue became as popular as the front (see cats 16 and 21). Something of this popularity is revealed by the fact that by the mid-17th century the Hercules Farnese seen from the rear, bending slightly forwards with his arm on his back, had permeated Dutch genre painting.15 The question arises: why did Goltzius choose to adopt this angle? Could it be that he had a didactic purpose in mind when he produced the first rendering in a print series of the back of a muscular male body at rest? With Goltzius’ magnificent print in hand, young artists could now study the anatomy of a ‘hero’s’ back and use this in their own work. Goltzius’ print of the Apollo Belvedere (cat. 6b) offered a similar aid with the anatomy of an elegant youth. Goltzius also drew other figures, such as the Belvedere Torso (cat. 8), from several angles, but in these he was probably experi- menting with different points of view rather than having a didactic aim in mind. Goltzius might also have chosen to represent both sides of the Farnese Hercules expressly to 117  8. Hendrick Goltzius (Bracht-am-Niederrhein 1558–1617 Haarlem) The Belvedere Torso 1591 Red chalk, 255 × 166 mm provenance: Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89)1; Cardinal Decio Azzolini (1623–89); Marchese Pompeo Azzolini (1654–1706); Don Livio Odescalchi (1658–1713); purchased from the Odescalchi family by the Teylers Foundation, 1790. literature: Scholten 1904, 42, no. N 31; Reznicek, 1961, 2, 321–22, no. 201, 2, 156; Miedema 1969, 76–77; Brummer 1970, 146, note 27, 148, repr.; Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 109; Stolzenburg 2000, 437, no. 143; Brandt 2001, 148; Goddard 2001–02, 39 (erroneously as a drawing in black chalk); Florence 2008, 62, under no. 33 (M. Schapelhouman); Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 183, under no. 132; Nichols 2013a, 56, 146, under no. A-37, 31. exhibitions: Recklinghausen 1964, no. 87 [unpaginated]; Munich and Rome 1998–99, 44, 43, 160, no. 49; Luijten 2003–04, 130–31, no. 41.1. Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. N 31  From the High Renaissance onwards the Belvedere Torso was one of the most celebrated of ancient statues, despite its fragmentary state.2 In the past it was identified as the torso of Hercules because of the anatomy and the lion’s skin on which it is seated. However, in the late 19th century doubts were raised as to whether the skin really was that of a lion, making the Hercules identification uncertain.3 Although the Torso is comprehensively signed ‘Apollonius, son of Nestor, of Athens’, his name is not found in classical literature. It is assumed that he lived in the 1st century bc and that the Torso is a repetition or paraphrase of an earlier model. Although the statue was known from the 1430s, it was only when it was in the collection of the sculptor Andrea Bregno in the later 15th century that it began to arouse interest; in the early 16th century the sculpture entered the papal collections and was placed in the Belvedere (see 26, 23). Direct correspondences with many of Michelangelo’s painted and drawn nude figures demonstrate the importance of the Belvedere Torso for the great Italian artist and shortly after Michelangelo’s death a number of stories emerged connecting him with the Torso.4 According to such one tale, he had been surprised by a cardinal kneeling before the statue (though only in order to examine it as closely as possible).5 In 1590 Giovanni Paggi wrote from Florence to his brother Girolamo: ‘Michelangelo called himself a pupil of the Belvedere Torso, which he said he had studied greatly, and indeed that he speaks the truth of this is to be seen in his works.’6 Describing the statue as ‘the school of Michelangelo’ took this association a step further.7 And yet the Renaissance artist appears to have spoken only once about the Torso, albeit in highly positive language: Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522– 1605) noted, in 1556 when the artist was still alive, that the Torso was ‘singularmente lodato da Michel’Angelo’.8 Not surprisingly the statue acquired great status both north and south of the Alps. This status probably preserved it from the restoration suffered by many antique sculptures in later centuries. Goltzius also seems to have felt the mysterious beauty of the Torso, for he drew it no less than four times. All four drawings were together in the collection of Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–89).9 But while two are now in the Teylers Museum (fig. 1) the other two have been lost. Goltzius undoubtedly knew the Torso even before he arrived in Italy, for reduced copies after the sculpture circulated throughout Europe in the 16th century; thus Goltzius’ friend and fellow Haarlem artist, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638), had used the Torso as the model for a nude figure in a painting 1. Hendrick Goltzius, The Belvedere Torso, c. 1591, black chalk, 253 × 175 mm, Teylers Museum, Haarlem, inv. no. K I 30  118 119  of the late 1580s.10 It is reasonable to suppose that the Torso would have been discussed at meetings of the ‘Haarlem Academy’,11 which Karel van Mander, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem and Goltzius had set up in the mid-1580s. One of the purposes of their ‘academy’ was to allow them to ‘study from life’ (om nae ‘t leven te studeeren), which meant they drew from nude models and probably from sculpture, plaster casts or other three-dimensional specimens as well.12 We may assume that during these drawing sessions they discussed human anatomy and the exemplary way classical artists had depicted it. All three were able to quote directly from the antique with the aid of Maarten van Heemskerck’s Roman sketchbook (now Kupferstichkabinett, Berlin), which was then owned by Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem13 and which contained two views of the Torso.14 It is noteworthy that Goltzius, who was generally meticulously faithful in his depiction of classical sculptures, was not always so precise in his treatment of the inscrip- tions on their pedestals.15 In his red chalk drawing of the Belvedere Torso from the front he has omitted the signature, which would have been clearly visible on the base. Even more curious is the fact that he completely ignored the wear suffered by the statue, the result of decades spent outdoors. Instead his drawings give the sculpture a freshness that makes it seem alive. This emphasis on the statue’s lifelikeness and beauty can probably be explained by Goltzius’ intention that these drawings should serve as preparations for prints with an educational purpose: the study of anatomy based on ideal models. The muscles of Goltzius’ Torso appear to be tensed, the skin lifelike and infused with warmth. The muscles’ extreme exaggeration and restless tension clearly display a Mannerist emphasis.16 Once in Rome, surrounded by the clear, classic, ideal vocabulary of ancient statuary, Goltzius would reject Mannerist exaggeration so the fact that he did not decide to do so here may indicate that these two studies after the Torso were among the first drawings he produced after his arrival in Rome. It is interesting to note that Goltzius clearly used the Belvedere Torso in his fine Back of an Athletic Man, now in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence (fig. 2).17 This drawing is one of his Federkunststücke, or virtuoso drawings in pen, whose linear execution often imitates engravings, with lines that swell and taper. Curiously, the backbone in this drawing curves slightly to the left, while that of the sculpture curves to the right. Is this a conscious change by Goltzius or did he recall the statue in mirror image? The suggestion has sometimes been made that Goltzius produced this great drawing in Italy to display his virtuosity with the pen;18 however, we know that Goltzius travelled incognito to avoid admirers (see cat. 6), 120 9. Peter Paul Rubens (Siegen 1577–1640 Antwerp) Two Studies of a Boy Model Posed as the ‘Spinario’ c. 1600–02 Red chalk with touches of white chalk, 201 × 362 mm Inscribed recto, l.r., in pen and brown ink by a late 17th- or early 18th-century hand: ‘Rubens’ provenance: Gabriel Huquier (1695–1772); William Fawkener; his bequest to Museum, 1769. literature: Hind and Popham 1915–32, 2, 22, no. 52; Burchard and D’Hulst 1963, 1, 34–35, no. 16 and 2, pl. 16; Stechow 1968, 53–55, 43; Held 1986, 82, no. 39, pl. 23 on 172; New York 1988, 77, under no. 18, 18-I; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 80; Paris 2000–01, 419, under no. 222, 222a. exhibitions: London 1977, 28–29, no. 14 (J. Rowlands); London 2009–10 (no catalogue). Department of Prints and Drawings, The British Museum, London, inv. T,14.1  2. Hendrick Goltzius, Back of an Athletic Man, pen and brown ink, 150 × 165 mm, Uizi, Florence, inv. no. 2365 F so he is unlikely to have felt a need to demonstrate his virtuoso skills. Perhaps Goltzius created this virtuoso draw- ing after his Italian trip, or even before he went to Italy as he was already producing pen work of this quality in the 1580s.19 The son of a wealthy Antwerp family, Rubens was born in the German city of Siegen in 1577 but in 1589 returned with his family to Antwerp where he received a humanistic education at the Latin School run by Rumoldus Verdonck (1541–1620) and an artistic one with the painters Tobias Verhaeght (1561–1631), Adam van Noort (1561–1641) and Otto van Veen (c. 1556–1629). After entering the Guild of St Luke as an established painter in 1598, Rubens set out for Italy in May 1600. This fundamental step in Rubens’ training had been carefully prepared not only by the study of engravings of classical statues and Renaissance masters by Marcantonio Raimondi (c. 1480–1527/34) and his pupils assembled by van Veen in his workshop, but also by eager reading of Roman texts such as Suetonius, Tacitus and Pliny the Elder.1 The impact of classical antiquity on Rubens’ art and theory of art was immense. Before arriving in Rome in 1601, Rubens spent time in Venice, then Mantua, in the service of the Duke Vincenzo I Gonzaga (r. 1587–1612) as a painter and a curator of his collections, and also in Florence. Although based in Mantua, Rubens spent two extended periods in Rome, first from July 1601 until April 1602 and again from late 1605 (or early 1606) until October 1608.2 During this second period he shared a house with his scholarly elder brother Philip (1574–1611), a pupil of the Flemish philologist and humanist Justus Lipsius (1547–1606). In Rome Philip Rubens worked on the Electorum Libri duo published in Antwerp in 1608, an influential study of the customs, morals and dress of the ancients. Peter Paul assisted Philip in making drawings from ancient monuments in prepara- tion for the plates, and he also contributed to their explanatory notes. Rubens’ commitment to the systematic study of classical antiquities, and in particular of sculpture in the round, is testified to by the large number of sketches and drawings he made during his Italian period, but also by those he executed after his return to Antwerp in 1608.3 In Rome Rubens visited the Belvedere Courtyard and some of the most important private aristocratic collections, such as the Borghese, the Medici, the Farnese, the Mattei and the Giustiniani. His drawings after the Antique are among the most extraordi- nary ever produced, most of them in red or black chalk; they show Rubens’ great virtuosity in handling the medium and, at the same time, his deep understanding of the formal principles of the antique statues. He obsessively sketched some of the most ‘muscular’ masterpieces of classical statuary, such as the Laocoön (see 26, 19) and the Farnese Hercules (see 30, 32), from all sides, many angles and in great detail, in order to assimilate thoroughly the anatomical structure and the mathematical proportions of the human body as part of his search for the rules of perfection achieved by ancient artists.4 Returning to Antwerp in 1608, Rubens established his own studio in an Italianate villa in the centre of the city – today the Rubenshuis. His drawings after the Antique, bound in several books, remained in his studio and continued to serve not only as an important reference and source of inspiration for Rubens himself, but probably also as teaching tools for his pupils. The purchase in 1618 by Rubens of the collection of ancient sculptures owned by the English diplomat and collector Sir Dudley Carleton (1573–1632) represented the first step towards the formation of one of the most important – but short-lived – collections of antiqui- ties in Northern Europe, which Rubens sold on to the 1st Duke of Buckingham in 1626.5 The pre-eminent figure of the Flemish Baroque, a universal genius, Rubens also had an active diplomatic career which in the 1620s led him to travel between the courts of Spain and England. His last decade, the 1630s, was mostly spent in Antwerp, where he devoted himself entirely to painting. Rubens’ theory on both the usefulness and dangers of copying after the Antique are effectively expressed in his essay De Imitatione Statuarum, a short treatise on the imitation of sculpture that remained in manuscript in Rubens’ lifetime mp See footnote 1 in cat. 6. Haskell and Penny 1981, 311–14, no. 80, 165; Munich and Rome 1998–99; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 181–84, no. 132. Wünsche 1998–99, 67. Michelangelo did indeed use the Torso directly as a model; see Wünsche 1998–99, 31–37; Haarlem and London 2005–06, 116–17. Haskell and Penny 1981, 312. Guhl 1880, 2, 42; Schwinn 1973, 36–37. Wright 1730, 1, 268; Haskell and Penny 1981, 312–13; Schwinn 1973, 172; Montreal 1992, 76–77. ‘... un torso grande di Hercole ignudo, assiso sopra un tronco del medisimo marmo: non ha testa, ne braccia, ne gambe. È stato questo busto singularmente lodato da Michel’Angelo’. U. Aldrovandi, ‘Delle statue antiche, che per tutta Roma ... si veggono’, in Mauro 1556, 115. For Aldrovandi’s complete text ‘nel giardino di Belvedere, sopra il Palagio del Papa’, see Brummer 1970, 268–69. Stolzenburg 2000, 437, nos 142–44, 439, no. 161. Van Thiel 1999, 79, 294, no. 7, pl. 34. According to an anonymous biographer, shortly after arriving in Haarlem, around 1583, Karel van Mander entered into a collaboration with Goltzius and Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem, described as follows: ‘the three of them maintained and made an Academy, for studying from life’, see Van Mander 1994–1999, 1, 26–27 (fol. S2 recto), 2, 70–72; Van Thiel 1999, 59–90. It should be stressed that this academy was in no way an institution for advanced professional training: such institutions came into being only in the 18th century (see Van Mander 1994–99, 2, 70). It is unclear how and for what length of time this ‘Haarlem Academy’ exactly functioned (see also Leeflang 2003–04a, 16; Leeflang 2003–04b, 252. Veldman 2012, 11–23. Hülsen and Egger 1913–16, 1, 34 (fol. 63), 40 (fol. 73). See also Brummer 1970, 144–45, figs 125–26. Brandt 2001, 143. Reznicek 1961, 1, 321–22, no. K 201; Luijten 2003–04, 131. Reznicek 1961, vol 1, 452, no. 431, 2, 132; Florence 2008, 61–62, no. 33 (M. Schapelhouman). Reznicek 1961, 1, 452. Schapelhouman (in Florence 2008, 62) has previously questioned the Italian dating for Back of an Athletic Man; for pen works by Goltzius from the 1580s see: Amsterdam, New York and elsewhere 2003–04, 238–39, figs 93–94, 242–46, nos 84–85. 121  but was published by the art theorist Roger de Piles in his Cours de peinture par principles of 1708 (see Appendix, no. 8).6 While emphasising the importance for an artist of becoming deeply familiar with the perfection embodied in ancient models, Rubens warned that ‘[the imitation of antique statues] must be judiciously applied, and so that it may not in the least smell of stone’.7 The warning against the risk of hardening one’s style by copying ancient sculptures, thus creating paintings that looked ‘dry’ and eccentric, had already been pointed out by several 16th-century artists and theore- ticians, such as Giorgio Vasari (1511–74), Ludovico Dolce (1508–68) and Giovanni Battista Armenini (1530–1609).8 Later in the 17th century the pernicious effect on painting of too-slavish imitation of antique statuary would be summa- rised by the Bolognese art theorist Carlo Cesare Malvasia (1616–93) with the specific neologism ‘statuino’ or ‘statue- like’.9 As stressed by Rubens in the De Imitatione, young artists needed to learn how to transform marble into flesh instead of depicting figures as ‘coloured marble’. The two studies on one sheet presented here perfectly express Rubens’ views: they are in fact an example of a practice – setting live models in the poses of famous ancient statues – already diffused from the Early Renaissance (see 23, 14) and common practice within the curricula of the French and Italian academies.10 Through this exercise Rubens could concentrate on the classical pose and disre- gard the ‘matter’, something that he repeated in modified form several times, in studies of live models in poses remi- niscent of the Belvedere Torso, the Laocoön and other canonical statues.11 In the present drawing, the young model is seen from his left side in the pose of one of the most celebrated bronzes in Rome, the Spinario (‘Thorn-puller’), recorded in the city as early as the 12th century among the antiquities at the Lateran Palace and donated by Pope Sixtus IV (r. 1471– 84) to the Palazzo dei Conservatori in 1471 (fig. 1, see also 23, 15).12 Interpreted in the Renaissance as the personifi- cation of the month of March or a shepherd, the Spinario has been recently recognised as the young Ascanius, the son of Aeneas and founder of the gens Iulia.13 The right-hand drawing faithfully imitates the pose of the statue, with the head looking down towards the gesture of extracting a thorn from the foot; the left-hand drawing, in contrast, modifies the original by turning the head towards the spectator and altering the action so that the youth no longer withdraws a thorn from his foot, but dries it with a towel. Two similar studies, presumably after the same young model, are preserved in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon (fig. 2) and in London (private collection): the former, in red chalk, shows the model from his back and his right;14 the latter, in black chalk, from his left.15 The three drawings were probably done in the same session and they have been dated to one of Rubens’ two Roman periods, probably the first one (1600–02).16 As long ago noted by Wolfgang Stechow,17 the pose of    122 123 1. (left) Spinario (Thorn-Puller), 1st century bc, bronze, 73 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Sala dei Trionfi, Rome, inv. 1186 2. (above) Peter Paul Rubens, Two Studies of a Young Model Posing as the Spinario, red chalk with touches of black chalk, 246 × 382 mm, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon, inv. sup. 49D  the Spinario was employed by Rubens for a young man drying his feet in the Baptism of Christ, painted for the Jesuit church of Santa Trinità in Mantua in 1605 and now in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Antwerp, a preparatory drawing for which is in the Louvre,18 as well as for Susanna in Susanna and the Elders, a painting executed in Rome about 1606–08, 19 ed 1 For Rubens’ early years see Muller 2004, 13–15. 2 On Rubens in Rome and his approach to the Antique see esp. Stechow 1968; Jaffé 1977, 79–84; Muller 1982; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 41–81; Muller 2004, 18–28. 3 On Rubens’ drawings after the Antique see the fundamental catalogue in Van der Meulen 1994–95, 2. 4 See Ayomonino’s essay in this catalogue, 46–52. 5 See Muller 1989, passim; Muller 2004, 35–56. On the collection of antiquities see in particular Muller 1989, 82–87; Antwerp 2004, 260–63 (F. Healy). On the sale to the 1st Duke of Buckingham see Muller 2004, 62–63. 6 On the De Imitatione see Muller 1982; Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, esp. note 11, 77–78, note 44; Antwerp 2004, 298–99; Jaffé and Bradley 2005–06; Jaffé 2010. Transcribed in Appendix, no. 8, from De Piles 1743, 87–88. For Vasari see Bettarini Barocchi 1966–87, for instance 3, 549–50 and 5, 495–61. For Dolce see Appendix, no. 4. See Armenini 1587, esp. 59–60 (book I, chap. 8), 86–89 (book II, chap. 3). The concept was repeated later also by Bernini during his visit to Paris in 1665: see Appendix, no. 9. See also Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 77–78. Malvasia 1678, 1, 359, 365, 484. On the 17th-century neologism ‘statuino’ see Pericolo, forthcoming. See Aymonino’s essay in this volume, 50–52. Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 80–81. The statue is traditionally considered to be an eclectic work of the 1st century bc: see Stuart Jones 1926, 43–47, no. 2; Haskell and Penny 1981, 308–10, no. 78; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 254, no. 203. Recent analysis has proved that the classicistic head, dating to the 5th century bc, was added to the Hellenistic body and given a Roman subject presumably in the 1st century bc, see Rome forthcoming. Rome forthcoming. Held 1986, 82; Paris 2000–01, 417–18, no. 222. Held 1986, 82; Paris 2000–01, 418, 222b. Held 1986, 82. Stechow 1968, 54–55. See also Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 80–81. Lugt 1949, 12–13, no. 1009, pl. XIV; Antwerp 1977, 129, no. 121. Coliva 1994, 170, no. 88. 10. Odoardo Fialetti (Bologna 1573–c. 1638 Venice) Artist’s Studio c. 1608 Etching in Odoardo Fialetti, Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, Venice, Justus Sadeler, 1608 110 × 152 mm (plate); 194 × 238 mm (sheet) Inscribed l.l. with Fialetti’s monogram and ‘A 2’ and ‘No 208’. provenance: Elmar Seibel, Boston, from whom acquired. literature: Rosand 1970, 12–22, 10; Buffa 1983, 315–37, nos 198 (295) – 243 (301), repr. (for the Artist’s Studio, 321, no. 210 (298), repr.); Amornpichetkul 1984, 108–09, 83; Bolten 1985, 240–43, 245 and 248; Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, 248–49, no. 130 (D. Becker); London 2001–02, 198–200, no. 143; Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 94–96, no. 24 ( J. Clifford); Walters 2009, 1, 68–79, 2, 254–76, figs. 3.9–3.53; Walters 2014, 62–63, 59; Whistler 2015 (forthcoming). and now in the Borghese Gallery. 124 125 exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, London, 2002–013 A prolific artist whose large and diverse body of work comprises some fifty-five paintings and about 450 prints, Fialetti was born in Bologna in 1573 but moved to Venice where he was apprenticed to Jacopo Tintoretto (1519–94) and where he later collaborated with Palma Giovane (c. 1548– 1628).1 By 1596 he was listed as a printmaker and, from 1604 to 1612, a member of the Venetian painters’ guild, the Arte dei Pittori; he joined the Scuola Grande di San Teodoro between 1620 and 1622.2 His wide-ranging graphic oeuvre comprises religious, mythological, and literary subjects as well as landscapes, portraits, depictions of sport (fencing and hunt- ing), ornamental motifs and anatomical studies, and appears in different formats and genres, from single or series of prints to complete illustrations for books.3 His etchings remained influential for decades after his death not only in Venice and northern Italy, but even in France and England.4 Without doubt Fialetti’s most admired and influential works were his two volumes of etchings: Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parte et membra del corpo humano (‘The true means and method to draw all the parts of the human body’) and Tutte le parti del corpo humano diviso in piu pezzi . . . (‘all the parts of the human body divided into multiple pieces’). The first was published in Venice in 1608 by Justus Sadeler (Flanders 1583–1620), and the second, which is undated, presumably appeared in Venice shortly thereafter. The two books are varied in their plates and paginations and exist in different compilations, sometimes confusingly, combining elements of both as in the example shown here.5 The first of their kind to be published in Italy, these books served as portable instruction manuals in drawing for beginners and amateurs. They provided techniques for the correct construction of the human face and body and they also illustrate the crucial role of copying plaster casts in work- shop practice at the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th centuries. The Bellinger volume includes a frontispiece dedication to Cesare d’Este, the Duke of Modena and Reggio (1561–1628), a leaf with a further dedication to Giovanni Grimani (the Venetian patrician and collector of antiquities, 1506–93), six pages with step-by-step instructions on draw- ing eyes, ears and faces, another title page, Tutte le parti . . . and thirty leaves of further faces, various parts of the body – arms, legs, torsos – grotesque heads and portraits.6 The volume concludes with two religious etchings by Palma Giovane.7 Unusual for manuals of the period is the scene depicted on the first plate following the dedications: a lively and infor- mal artists’ workshop, sometimes thought to be Tintoretto’s.8 In the foreground, young students seated on low wooden benches draw diligently before models and assorted plaster casts of body parts arranged on and below a table, while two older artists are painting at large easels in the background.9 At the far left, an apprentice grinds pigments. Scattered on the ground are various artists’ tools including compasses, an inkwell and feather quill pen. Boy draughtsmen representing three different ages – roughly from six to sixteen – diligently record a cast of the young Marcus Aurelius, similar in type to the marble of 161– 180 ad now in the Capitoline Museum in Rome (fig. 1).10 Behind them, two slightly older boys enthusiastically discuss a completed copy. The torso next to the bust, although reminiscent of the Belvedere Torso, (p. 26, 23), appears to be based on a different antique sculpture, which seems to be the subject of a drawing of seven male torsos in various positions in a sketchbook by an unidentified Northern artist working in Rome in the mid- to late 16th century (Trinity College Library, Cambridge, 2).11 The torso seen in Fialetti’s etching is comparable to the one with the upraised right arm placed at the lower centre of the Trinity page;12 it was evidently a favourite of Fialetti’s as it reappears later in his book.  The cast of the armless female torso on the floor on the right in the etching also derives from an antique prototype. She is probably based on a now-lost version of Venus Tying her Sandal, a Hellenistic type well known in the Renaissance and one that inspired many adaptations,13 such as that in an anonymous Italian drawing in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (fig.). The male torso depicted in that drawing is also very similar to that in the etching. Fialetti would have had ample opportunity to study Antique statuary first-hand during a trip to Rome, made before he settled in Venice, though plaster casts were an integral part of Venetian workshop practice from the 16th century onwards.14 They were in wide use in Tintoretto’s studio where Fialetti trained. According to his biographer, Carlo Ridolfi, Tintoretto collected plaster casts of ancient and Renaissance marbles avidly and at great expense: ‘Nor did he cease his continuous study of whatever hand or torso he had collected’.15 From the chalk drawings he produced, ‘thus did he learn the forms requisite for his art’.16 The casts remained in the Tintoretto family workshop when Domenico, his son, took it over and are 1. Portrait of Marcus Aurelius as a Boy, 161–180 ad, marble, 74 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Palazzo Nuovo, Albani Collection, Rome, MC 279 2. Anonymous artist working in Rome, Studies of Male Torsos, mid to late 16th c., pen and brown ink, 280 × 450 mm, folio 47v from the Cambridge Sketchbook, Trinity College Library, Cambridge, R. 17.3 recorded in his will of 1630.17 The younger Tintoretto for a period considered bequeathing to painters his house and studio with its contents – reliefs, drawings and models – so that an academy could be established to train future generations of Venetian artists, although nothing came of this scheme.18 Whether the Artist’s Studio seen here is actually Tintoretto’s or simply a generalised venue, Fialetti asserted the centrality of drawing, especially for young artists.19 This also recorded his own experience: when as a boy, he asked what he should do in order to make progress, he was advised by Tintoretto that he ‘must draw and again draw’.20 By the early 17th century, repeated and systematic study from studio drawings, plaster casts, sculpture, as well as anatomy and the live model was deemed essential preparation for the accurate portrayal of the human figure.21 But in order to depict the body as a whole, students first had to master its individual parts, a tenet of Central Italian working practice that was perpetuated throughout the 16th century by artists and writers like Giovan Battista Armenini (1525–1609) and Federico Zuccaro (c. 1541–1609), who instructed pupils to draw parts of the body, an ‘alphabet of drawing’.22 Similar principles were espoused by the Carracci Academy in Bologna, of which Fialetti was no doubt aware.23 While precedents for instructional drawing books are found in 15th-century model and pattern books containing motifs that artists could copy into their compositions (p. 20, figs 3–4),24 Fialetti’s were the first aimed at students and amateurs as well as art lovers and collectors.25 They also seem to be the first of their kind to be printed in Venice.26 Other publications modelled after them soon followed in the Veneto and elsewhere in Italy, notably De excellentia et nobilitate delineationis libri duo, published    126 127  by Giacomo Franco in 1611 based on designs by Palma Giovane and prints by Battista Franco (c. 1510–1561) as well as Gasparo Colombina’s Paduan publication of 1623.27 Like Fialetti’s compendia, Giacomo Franco’s treatise featured several plates incorporating antique motifs: busts of the Laocoön (p. 26, 19), the Emperors Vitellius (p. 40, 52) and Galba were inserted among the etched portraits on plates 18 and 20 while plates 14 and 25 showed torsos of a female Venus Tying her Sandal type much like that seen in Fialetti’s etching.28 In the decades that followed, the Antique would assume a greater role in drawing manuals.29 Several published at the end of the 17th century, like Gérard Audran’s Les Proportions du corps humain mesurées sur les plus belles figures de l’antiquité,1683 (p. 48, figs 72–73) and Jan de Bisschop’s Icones, 1668/69 (see cat. 13) and into the 18th century, such as Giovanni Volpato and Raffaello Morghen’s Principi del disegno, 1786 (p. 49, 76), would focus on antiquities exclusively. The influence of Fialetti’s books was far-reaching and persisted long after his death. Plates from them were copied and adapted for publications appearing both in Italy and elsewhere:30 for example Johannes Gellee copied the Artist’s Studio and other etchings in his Tyrocinia artis pictoriae caelatoriae published in Amsterdam in 1639.31 Fialetti’s vol- umes also influenced a great many other books published in the Netherlands, paving the way for Abraham Bloemaert’s Tekenboek of 1740 (cat. no. 11).32 Furthermore, Fialetti’s manuals catered to a new demo- graphic – the connoisseur, gentleman scholar and mature artist – and would inspire similar books printed in England.33 With the growing market for Venetian art in England during the first decades of the 17th century and accelerated interest in drawing, Fialetti’s work was esteemed not just by Venetians but by aristocratic collectors visiting Venice like Sir Henry 3. Odoardo Fialetti, Two Male Torsos Seen from Behind, c. 1608, etching, 103 × 142 mm, plate 30 from Il vero modo...1608, Katrin Bellinger collection 4. Anonymous, Roman School, Studies after Antique Statuary (Fragments), c. 1550, pen and brown ink and brown wash, black chalk, heightened with white on blue-green paper, 294 × 212 mm, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, inv. 2978. The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge Wotton (1568–1639) and Thomas Howard, the 2nd Earl of Arundel (1585–1646), among others, who undoubtedly admired his facile draughtsmanship.34 Interestingly, Fialetti’s biographer, Malvasia, who praised his versatility, mentioned that as well as giving drawing lessons to Venetians, he also instructed Alethea Talbot, the Earl of Arundel’s wife, whose grandson owned one of Fialetti’s books.35 Through connections like these, Fialetti attracted the attention of English-based artists and architects including Edward Norgate (c. 1580–1650), Inigo Jones (1573–1652) and Anthony Van Dyck (1599–1641).36 Copied and emulated, Fialetti’s plates would play a key role in the development of the drawing book in England.37 Treatises by Norgate (1627–28, 1st ed.; 1648–49, 2nd ed.), Isaac Fuller (1654), Alexander Brown (1660), and others helped to further the principles set forth in Fialetti’s books, which were copied well into the 19th century.38 avl  For a full appraisal of his life and work on which this biographical account is based, see Walters 2009 and Walters 2014, 57–67. Walters 2009, 1, 6–7; Walters 2014, 58. Walters 2014, 57. Walters 2009, 1, vi. Beginning with Bartsch, there has been considerable confusion over the size and content of the two editions. See Walters 2009, 1, 68–70, particularly note 40 and Walters 2014, 66–67, note 23; Greist 2014, 14–15. Alexandra Greist (ibid., 12–18) published a little-known instruc- tional text by Fialetti dictating how he wished the manual to be used, printed on the versi of nine prints bound together with early editions of both books (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, C/RM0024.ASC/552*1, Shelfmark 325G6). Among the plates not included in the present volume is the painter’s studio showing artists measuring human proportions: Buffa 1983, 321, no. 211 (298). The Holy Family and Christ Preaching. Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, 248; Nichols 2013b, 195, 236, note 134. The standing painter in profile is believed by some scholars to be Tintoretto (Ilchman and Saywell 2007, 392; Nichols 2013b, 236, note 134). Nichols points to the similarity with the painter as seen in Francesco Pianta the Younger’s wood-carving, Tintoretto as ‘Painting’, in the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, Venice (Nichols 1999, 238, 212). His elongated body, unlike the others in the etching, and his energetic pose and outstretched right arm, recall Tintoretto’s studies of single figures. Alternatively, Catherine Whistler (2015, forthcoming) has suggested that the studio may evoke Palma Giovane ‘given that there is something of his panache in the figure of the painter at work and in the costume of the seated artist’. She further noted their similarities to his self-portrait in the Brera (Mason Rinaldi 1984, 92–93, 213, 117). Fittschen and Zanker 1985, 1, 67–68, no. 61, 2, pls 69, 70, 72. CensusID: 46328. Michaelis 1892, 99, no. 60v; Dhanens 1963, 185, no. 52v, fig. 30; Fileri 1985, 39–40, no. 48, repr. Given in the 19th c. to a Flemish artist working in Rome around 1583 (Michaelis 1892), more recently the sketchbook has been associated with the sculptor, Giambologna (1529– 1608), and his Roman trip of 1550 (Dhanens 1963 and Fileri 1985). As pointed out by Eloisa Dodero (personal communication). Künzl 1970; Bober and Rubinstein. 2010, 69, no. 20; CensusID: 58121. Walters 2014, 57. Ridolfi 1984, 16. Ridolfi 1914, 2, 14; Whitaker 1997. Ridolfi 1914, 2, 14; Ridolfi Tozzi 1933, 316. Ridolfi 1914, 2, 262–63. Rosand 1970; Walters 2009, 1, 73. Because ‘drawing was what gave to painting its grace and perfection’, Ridolfi added (Ridolfi 1914, 2, 65; Ridolfi 1984, 16). Muller 1984; Bolten 1985; Walters 2009, 1, 73. Armenini 1587, 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7); Alberti 1604, 5 (quoting Federico Zuccaro); Amornpichetkul 1984; Bleeke-Byrne 1984; Roman 1984, 91; Greist 2014, 15. Gombrich 1960, 161–62; Rosand 1970, 7, 14–15; Bolten 1985, 245; Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, 248 (D. Becker); Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 95 (J. Clifford); Walters 2009, 1, 74; Walters 2014, 62, 66, note 6. On the Carracci’s influence on model books, see Amornpichetkul 1984, 113–16. For model books, see Gombrich 1960, 156–72; Rosand 1970, 5; Ames- Lewis 2000a, 63–69; Nottingham and London 1983, 94–101; Amornpichetkul 1984, 109. D. Becker, in Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, 248; J. Clifford, in Houston and Ithaca 2005–06, 95. Catherine Whistler has argued persua- sively that the book was aimed at a growing market of virtuosi, art lovers and collectors, who placed a social value on the knowledge of drawings (Whistler 2015, forthcoming). Walters 2009, 1, 69; Walters 2014, 62. For the growing interest in publishing prints at this time in Venice, see Van der Sman 2000, 235–47. Rosand 1970, 17–19; Amornpichetkul 1984, 110–12; Walters 2009, 1,p.74. Rosand 1970, 15, 27. Amornpichetkul 1984, 115. Ibid., 112; D. Becker in Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989, 248 (D. Becker); Walters 2009, 1, 75–79. Bolten 1985, 132–39. Ibid., 119, 131, 133–34, 141, 143, 153, 157, 188–207, 243–56; Walters 2009, 1, 79. Whistler 2015 (forthcoming). For a fundamental discussion of Fialetti and his impact in England, see Walters 2009, 1, Chapter 5, 152–197. See also Walters 2014, 64–65. Malvasia 1678, 2, 312; Greist 2014, 12. Walters 2009, 1, 152; Walters 2014, 64–65 Amornpichetkul 1984, 112; Walters 2009, 1, 78, 152. Walters 2009, 1, 78, 180–97; Greist 2014, 14.   128 129  11. Frederick Bloemaert (Utrecht c. 1616–90 Utrecht) after Abraham Bloemaert (Gorinchem 1566–1651 Utrecht) A Student Draughtsman, Drawing Plaster Casts 1740 Engraving and chiaroscuro woodcut with two-tone blocks (brown and sepia), titlepage from Het Tekenboek (‘The Drawing Book’), Amsterdam, Reinier and Josua Ottens, 1740 303 × 222 mm (image); 378 × 286 mm (sheet) provenance: Elmar Seibel, Boston, from whom acquired. literature: Strauss 1973, 348, no. 1 64, repr.; Lehmann-Haupt 1977, 155–57, 125; Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, 16–17; Bolten 1985, 49, repr., 57–67; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 395, 2, T1a; Bolten 2007, 1, 362, 366, under no. 1150.  exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1995-071 Abraham Bloemaert, a prolific artist by whose hand over two hundred paintings and sixteen hundred drawings are known, was born in Gorinchem in 1566.1 From the age of 15 or 16, he spent three years in Paris from 1581–83, studying for six weeks with the otherwise unknown Jehan Bassot and then for two and a half years with the similarly obscure ‘Maistre Herry’. His third teacher in Paris was his fellow countryman Hieronymus Francken I (1540–1610).2 In 1611, along with Paulus Moreelse and several colleagues, Bloemaert founded the new painters’ guild in Utrecht, the Guild of St Luke, and became its deacon in 1618.3 Shortly after the guild’s foundation, around 1612, some form of drawing academy must have been established in Utrecht, again with Bloemaert’s involvement. We learn about this from a letter to the Utrecht antiquarian Arnout van Buchell  and in Van ’t Light der Teken en Schilder konst (‘About the Light of the Art of Drawing and Painting’) of 1643–44, by Crispijn de Passe the Younger (c. 1597– c. 1670).4 In the introduction to his book De Passe recalls how he learned his art together with the son of Paulus Moreelse ‘in a famous drawing school which was, at that time organized by the most eminent masters’.5 The well-known print Modeltekenen (‘Model Drawing’) from De Passe’s book is thought to repre- sent this school (fig. 1) and it has even been suggested that one of the two tutors looking over the students’ work is Abraham Bloemaert himself.6 We do not know how long this ‘Academy’ existed. Bloemaert had a large studio of his own with many pupils, including his four sons and many well-known Dutch artists, such as the Italianate painters Cornelis van Poelenburgh (1594/95–1667), Jan Both (c. 1618–52) and Jan Baptist Weenix (1621–60/61), as well as the Caravaggists Gerrit van Honthorst (1590–1656) and Hendrick ter Brugghen (1588–1629).7 A development can be traced in Bloemaert’s work from a robust Mannerism, influenced by artists such as Joachim van Wtewael (c. 1566–1638), towards a more classicist style which he presumably derived from Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617) and his Haarlem colleagues. Caravaggism made a brief appearance in Bloemaert’s work during the early 1620s, when his first pupils returned from Italy – which, inciden- tally, he never visited himself. At the end of Bloemaert’s life his style grew smoother and more even. In teaching, Bloemaert undoubtedly used his own drawings as examples for his many pupils to copy.8 He found this approach so productive – and perhaps commercially attractive – that towards the end of his life he joined forces with his son Frederick (c. 1616–90) in the publication of the Tekenboek or ‘Drawing Book’, a compilation of specimen drawings.9 The prints in the Tekenboek, which were cut by Frederick after drawings by his father, were published in instalments from c. 1650.10 Abraham’s reversed preparatory drawings, which he probably began around 1645 and some of which reproduce earlier work, are preserved en groupe in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge,11 including that for 1. Crispijn de Passe, Model Drawing, from: Van ’t Light der Teken en Schilder konst (‘About the Light of the Art of Drawing and Painting’), 1643, engraving, 330 × 390 mm, Rijksmuseum Research Library, Amsterdam, inv. no. 330B13  130 131  2. Abraham Bloemaert, A Student Draughtsman, Drawing Plaster Casts, pen and brown ink, 397 × 301, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, Inv. PD 166–1963.5. The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge the title page displayed here (fig. 2). The title page of Bloemaert’s Tekenboek, catalogued here in the most popular 18th-century edition (1740), shows an artist seated on the floor of an imaginary studio, drawing 13 artist has again created the suggestion of antique pieces. Images of artists drawing in a studio combined with assem- blages of plaster casts are highly appropriate subjects for drawing books. In earlier Italian and Netherlandish examples we encounter similar images, such as Modeltekenen (‘Model Drawing’) by De Passe from 1643 (fig. 1), by Petrus Feddes (1586–c. 1634) from around 1615, and especially by Odoardo Fialetti (1573–c. 1638), in his highly influential Il vero modo et ordine per dissegnar tutte le parte et membra del corpo humano (‘The true means and method to draw all the parts of the human body’) and Tutte le parti del corpo humano diviso in piu pezzi . . . (‘all the parts of the human body divided into multiple pieces’) of c. 1608 (also featured here as cat. 10).18  For apprentices the copying of two-dimensional works, such as prints and drawings – and also paintings – was followed by drawing from plaster casts, a crucial activity in the work- shop practice. Ideal examples were employed to prepare the student for drawing from life, from the real world and especially from clothed and nude models.14 Such plaster casts invariably included copies of well-known classical statues, plus copies of more modern works and casts of limbs and body parts taken from live models, such as those seen here hanging on the wall behind the draughtsman. In this image the casts do not include any firmly identifiable antique statues, although a number are clearly intended to suggest them, such as the female head at lower right with the short, rounded hairstyle and the male torso beside it, which resembles the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, 23); the pose of the reclining man is reminiscent of an antique River God. In this image Bloemaert made clear his allegiance to classical tradition, and the importance of antique works as the Bloemaert’s Tekenboek, which only contains specimens 3. Frederick Bloemaert after Abraham Bloemaert, A Draughtsman Sitting at a Table, Drawing after Plaster Casts, engraving, 280 × 165 mm, Katrin Bellinger collection, London from the plaster figure of an elderly, reclining man. foundation for the learning of art.15 Midway through the Tekenboek, Bloemaert reiterates this 132 133 sentiment regarding the importance of antique works by incorporating a similar title page, A Draughtsman Sitting at a Table, Drawing after Plaster Casts (fig. 3), in the section on ‘Mannelijke en Vrouwelijke Academie Figuren’ (‘Male and Female Academy Figures’).16 This features the same or a similar draughtsman, now seated at a table in a more realistic setting and drawing from a plaster model of a nude male torso. Around him lie other casts: a male head, a foot and a further torso seen from the back. As in the first title page, no recognisable antique sculptures can be seen, although the 17 of heads, faces, body parts and figures, is a product of direct studio practice. It is thus different in approach from the other important mid-17th century Netherlandish drawing book, mentioned above, Van ’t Light der Teken en Schilder konst (‘About the Light of the Art of Drawing and Painting’; 1643), by De Passe the Younger. De Passe primarily focuses on the structure, proportion and anatomy of the human body;19 examples of models and ways to learn to draw them are of secondary importance. Bloemaert’s Tekenboek is actually closer in character in its approach and images to the two volumes of etchings produced by Fialetti, which were probably known to the Bloemaerts in one of the Dutch editions.20 The Bloemaerts’ publication might well be described as the Northern counterpart to Fialetti’s books.21 And as in those the emphasis in the Tekenboek is on providing many practical examples of heads, faces and limbs to draw. Like Fialetti’s works it may be regarded as a portable instruction manual for drawing. Bloemaert’s Tekenboek was exceptionally popular from the time of its publication around 1650 to the end of the 18th century.22 Many editions followed the first (very rare) editio princeps, which probably contained 100 plates arranged in five parts.23 After his father’s death in 1651, Frederick must have published one or more sub-editions with 120 plates in six parts and around 1685 Nicolaes II Visscher (1649–1702) another with 160 plates. Several decades later, in 1723, an edition by Louis Renard (dates unknown) appeared (of which only one copy is known), with 166 plates in eight parts arranged by Bernard Picart (1673–1733).24 The same arrangement was retained in the best-known edition of Bloemaert’s work, published by Reinier and Josua Ottens, the magnificent 1740 volume displayed here. At that time the title was changed to Oorspronkelyk en vermaard konstryk tekenboek van Abraham Bloemaert (‘Original and famous artful drawing book of Abraham Bloemaert’). Bloemaert’s popula- rity was certainly not restricted to the Dutch Republic: artists such as François Boucher (1703–70) and Balthasar Denner (1685–1749) also took the Utrecht master as a model for their own work.Teekenschool/die op dien tijt van de voornaamste meesters wiert gehouden heb gedaan’. Schatborn suggests that this drawing school might have been in France where Van de Passe spent a long period, 1617–30 (see Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, 21). Veldman emphasises that De Passe’s book is a tribute to the city of Utrecht, thanking the city for spiritual nourishment including the Utrecht Drawing School (Veldman 2001, 337–38). Suggestion by Bok in Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 571. Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 645–51. Such a group of drawings (mixed with prints) occurs for example in the estate of the painter Gaspar Netscher (1639–84): ‘In the brown portfolio [ ] are 327 both prints and drawings [ ] serving for disciples to copy’; see Amsterdam and Washington D. C. 1981–82, 17; Plomp 2001, 37. For artists’ practical education in the Netherlands and Italy in the 16th and 17th centuries see Bleeke-Byrne 1984, 28–39. Bloemaert’s Tekenboek was published with the Latin title: Artis Apellae, liber hic, studiosa juventus, / Aptata ingenio fert rudimenta tuo ... (This book, studious youths, brings to your minds the appropriate rudiments of the art of Apelles ...); see Bolten 1985, 51; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 395 [translation]). It is possible that Abraham Bloemaert conceived the idea of producing such a Tekenboek much earlier in his career: the Giroux album, containing many figure studies, may well constitute Bloemaert’s initial selection for such a didactic project; see Bolten 1993, 9, note 6; Bolten 2007, 1, 350–61. For the publication in instalments see: Bolten 2007, 1, 362. Bolten 1985, 66; Bolten 2007, 1, 362–97, 1150–1311. For doubts regarding Bloemaert’s authorship of the drawings in Cambridge see Bolten 1985, 48 (‘A. or F. Bloemaert’); Roethlisberger 1992, 30, note 41; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 391; Bolten 1993, 6–8. Bolten 2007, 1, 363, no. 1150, 2, 1150. The scene was engraved, then supplemented with a chiaroscuro woodcut with two-tone blocks (brown and sepia). This technique and the dimen- sions (303 × 222 mm [image]) are the same in the editio princeps from c. 1650 and the 1740 edition displayed here (see Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 395). See Aymonino’s essay in the present volume, 15–77. According to Roethlisberger and Bok (1993, 1, 395), there is little or no discernible influence of ancient sculpture in his own work. The engraving, A Draughtsman Sitting at a Table, Drawing after Plaster Casts (fig. 3), does not appear in the editio princeps from circa 1650, but does feature in the 1685 edition and later ones (Bolten 2007, 1, 392, under no. 1290). The original drawing for this engraving is also in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge: Bolten 2007, 1, 392, no. 1290, 2, 1290. For Feddes, see Bolten 1985, 18, repr.; Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 395. For De Passe’s Tekenboek see: Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82, 15–17, 21, repr. For Dutch editions of Fialetti and for Dutch publications based or partially reprinting Fialetti see Bolten. According to Strauss (1973, 348) Bloemaert’s title page was ‘patterned partly on the frontispiece of Odoardo Fialetti’s Vero modo et ordine per dessignar Tutte le parti et membra del corpo humano, Venice (Sadeler), 1608’. See also Lehmann-Haupt 1977, 157. For Bloemaert’s fortuna critica see: Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 47–50. Regarding the Tekenboek Roethlisberger surmises that the 1740 edition was intended for print and book collectors, rather than artists: ibid., 1, 394. For the various reprints of Bloemaert’s Tekenboek cited in this paragraph see Bolten 2007, 1, 362. There were also various editions of sets of prints copied after Frederick’s engravings [consequently printed in reverse] during the second half of the 17th century and in the 18th century (see ibid., 362, note 22). The only known copy of the 1723 edition is in the Centraal Museum in Utrecht (see Bolten 2007, 1, 362). Slatkin, 1976; Gerson 1983, 109–10 (Boucher and Fragonard), 189 (Piazzetta).  1 2 3 4 5 mp For Bloemaert’s life on which this biographical account is based, see Roethlisberger and Bok, 1993, 1, 551–87; Bolten 2007, 1, 3–5. For ‘new’ Bloemaert paintings, see Roethlisberger, 2014, 79–92. Van Mander 1994–99, 1, 448–49 (fol. 297v). Roethlisberger and Bok 1993, 1, 570. Ibid., 1, 571. Verbeek and Veldman 1974, 146, no. 191; De Passe 1643–44, unpaginated introduction, Aen de Teekunst-lievende en-gunstige lezers, to the first part, met de zoon van Paulus Moreelse en anderen) in een vermaarde  12. Michael Sweerts (Brussels 1618–1664 Goa, India) A Painter’s Studio c. 1648–50 Oil on canvas, 71 × 74 cm provenance: Private collection, Moscow; acquired by Dr Abraham Bredius (1855–1946); purchased by the Rijksmuseum in 1901 for f. 400. selected literature: Martin 1905, 127, 131, pl. II [a]; Martin 1907, 139, 149, no. 10; Horster 1974, 145, 147, 2; Van Thiel 1976, 532, A 1957, repr.; Döring 1994, 55–58, 2, 60–62; Kultzen 1996, 88–89, no. 6, repr., with previous bibliography. exhibitions: Milan 1951, no. 166, pl. 117; London 1955, 90–92, no. 77 (D. Sutton), not repr.; Rome 1958–59, 32–34, no. 4 (R. Kultzen); Rotterdam 1958, 36–37, no. 4; Toyko 1968–69, no. 63; Cologne and Utrecht 1991–92, 270–72, no. 33.1 (R. Kultzen); Hannover 1999, 18–20, 9; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 97–99, no. VII (G. Jansen); Antwerp 2004–07 (no catalogue); Brussels 2007–08 (no catalogue); Doha 2011 (no catalogue).  Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, SK-A-1957 We have entered the shadowy inner sanctum of a painter’s studio in mid-17th-century Rome. A young draughtsman perched on a wooden stool to the left studies a life-size model of a flayed nude écorché, assuming a balletic pose at centre right. Behind it, another boy draughtsman, younger still, sketches a classical female bust resting on a table, which is shared on the right by the studio assistant who grinds red-hued pigments. Working at an easel in the left back- ground is a painter, perhaps the master of the studio, capturing the likeness of a male nude posed in the corner. Partly obscured in the shadows on the far left are two gentle- men visitors in Dutch dress. One glances in our direction while the other gestures to our right, perhaps towards the painter or the écorché. The main attraction, however, is the abundant array of plaster casts, mostly antique, piled up in the foreground – heads, torsos, limbs and a relief – all bathed in warm, golden light. Though widely admired in his lifetime, Sweerts remains a somewhat enigmatic figure about whom relatively little is known.1 He was born in Brussels in 1618, but is first docu- mented from 1646 to 1651 as residing on the Via Margutta in the parish of S. Maria del Popolo in Rome, an area favoured by Dutch and Flemish expatriates.2 Already twenty-eight when he arrived in the city, he would have had at least some artistic training before then, probably in the North, though his early teachers have not been identified. Neither signed nor dated, this canvas was probably executed by Sweerts c. 1648–50 in Rome, where he remained until 1652 or later.3 In travelling south, Sweerts was following a long-standing educational tradition, one succinctly articulated by Dutch painter and art theorist Karel van Mander (1548–1606) who stated: ‘Rome is the city where before all other places the Painter’s journey is apt to lead him, since it is the capital of Pictura’s Schools’.4 It is evident from the Painter’s Studio and other depictions of the same or similar theme of the artist at work, a subject that clearly fascinated him, that Sweerts was well aware of artistic theory of the day, particularly the importance placed on learning through drawing.5 Karel van Mander recom- mends beginning artists to ‘seek a good master’, one who has decent works of art in his workshop, that is, an ample supply of study materials such as books, prints, drawings and plaster casts. The pupil must learn to draw ‘first with charcoal, then with the chalk or pen’.6 After making copies of prints and drawings by various masters, the student should progress to plaster casts, an important step. On equal footing with the copying of casts was the study of anatomy. However, given the difficulty of procuring corpses, artists at this time copied anatomical figures in plaster or ‘flayed plaster casts’.7 This was followed by study of the living figure before the student finally proceeded to painting. Written at the beginning of the 17th century, Van Mander’s book thus made available for Northern artists those principles of artistic education, the ‘alphabet of drawing’ that had been codified in Italy during the 15th and 16th centuries.8 By clearly setting out the stages of study established by Van Mander and others, first drawing from casts and anatomical figures in plaster, then the live model, Sweerts’ composition is a visual lesson in the main principles of studio practice required to become a successful painter.9 The goal is manifested in Sweerts’ completed Wrestling Match canvas of c. 1648–50 displayed on the wall in the back- ground, which features figures based on classical models.10 His didactic intent to illustrate the step-by-step approach to learning recalls Odoardo Fialetti’s Artist’s Studio, c. 1608, from Il vero modo, the instructional manual on drawing published in Venice about forty years earlier (cat.), no doubt known to Sweerts through one of the Dutch publica- tions that reproduced plates from it.11 Plaster casts and models were in constant use in Northern workshops from the late 16th century onwards.12 Though he never travelled to Italy, Van Mander’s friend, Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (1562–1638), had a collec- tion of ninety-nine casts after antique and anatomical 134 135  models.13 Van Mander praised his colleague (with whom he started, along with Hendrick Goltzius, an informal academy in Haarlem in 1583) for selecting for his work ‘from the best and most beautiful living and breathing antique sculptures’.1 4 Sumptuously displayed in a large pile in the foreground, a veritable feast for the eyes, casts play a starring role in Sweerts’ painting (detail, fig.). While light enters both from the window and the open door, which reveals an urban view, that light that illuminates the sculptures so brilliantly and mysteriously emanates from an unseen source, over the viewer’s shoulder. The casts are presented with clarity and in sharp focus, in marked contrast to the more generalised treatment of most of the other elements in the composi- tion.15 While the human expressions seem almost blank, those of the casts are animated and alive: the comment often made about Sweerts, that ‘his people often look like sculptures and his plaster casts seem almost human’, rings very true here.16 Several sources for the antique casts can be identified, beginning with the head of a woman on the table, the subject of study for the young boy sketching in the middle distance. As noted previously,17 she is a much reduced copy of the colossal so-called Juno Ludovisi (considered now to be a portrait of Antonia Augusta, daughter of Octavia Minor and Mark Antony), which, from 1622, was in the Ludovisi collection in Rome and is now in the Palazzo Altemps in Rome.18 The most prominent among the jumble of casts in the foreground on the right is the head of a woman, usually identified as Niobe from the famous group in the Uffizi (fig. 2, see also 30, 34), but equally, the head could be that of one of her daughters from the same group.19 They were discovered together with the Wrestlers (p. 30, 33) on a vineyard outside Rome.20 Immediately to the left of the Niobe, is a cast of a limbless Apollo based on a model by François Duquesnoy (1597–1643).21 The head of an old woman in profile at the back of the pile to the left is inspired by the Roman copy of a Hellenistic original donated in 1566 by Pius V to the Con-servatori Palace and today in the Capitoline Museum (fig. 3).22 She contrasts with the youthful beauty to her right, the head of the celebrated Venus de’ Medici (Florence, Uffizi, see 42, 56). Behind the old woman is a head of the Laocoön, ‘bronzed’ in effect, while the rest of his body, seen from behind, rests on the top of the pile of casts (p. 26, 19).23 The relief propped up against the table at the back is a cast of a Roman terracotta plaque, Winter and Hercules, from the Campana collection and acquired by the Louvre in 1861 2. Niobe, from the Niobe Group, possibly a Roman copy of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 228 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. 294 3. Statue of an Old Woman, Roman copy of a Hellenistic original, marble, 145 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. Scu 640     1. Michael Sweerts, A Painter’s Studio (detail) 136 (fig. 4).24 It was admired by artists like Giovanni da Udine (1487–1564) in the 16th century when it was recorded in the collection of Gabriele de’ Rossi (1517),25 and into the 17th by others such as Pietro da Cortona (1596–1669) and Pietro Testa (1612–50), whose copies after it are preserved respec- tively in the Uffizi, Florence, and in the Royal Collection at Windsor Castle.26 That this collection of casts was an important part of Sweerts’ working practice is suggested by their regular appearance in other compositions. Some familiar faces – the head of the old woman, the Juno Ludovisi, the Niobe and others – return in Sweerts’ later Artist’s Studio, signed and dated 1652, in the Detroit Institute of Arts (fig. 5). They are seen among examples, including a cupid and torso by François Duquesnoy; this is being scrutinised by an elegant young man, probably in Rome on the Grand Tour, while the painter appears to be explaining how Duquesnoy’s 4. Winter and Hercules, Roman, 1st century ad, terracotta, 60 × 52 cm, Louvre, Paris, inv. Cp 4169 figures once formed part of a group.27 Closer to the present composition in conception, is the Artist’s Studio with a Woman Sewing in the Collection Rau Foundation UNICEF, Cologne (fig. 6).28 Though almost certainly a workshop picture, it evidently documents Sweerts’ original design and intention. There is a similar haphazard arrangement of casts, with many of the same specimens reappearing, including the bronzed head of Laocoön and his torso, placed beside modern works, including the copy after a marble relief of François Duquesnoy, Children Playing with a Goat.29 Many other celebrated compositions by Sweerts feature antique casts (see 40, 52). It is not known why he chose to display them with such prominence and so frequently, but he may well have been catering to a new class of patron, the Dutch Grand Tourist.30 Among Sweerts’ most important benefactors in Rome in the 1640s were Dutch tourists, especially merchants.31 Thus three of five brothers from the Deutz textile merchant family were in Italy between 1646 and 1650, and that is when they probably acquired the many paintings by Sweerts listed in their inventories, including an Artist’s Studio owned by Joseph Deutz.32 Significantly, the documents also suggest that Sweerts acted as the Deutz’s agent for purchasing antique sculpture as well as modern pictures, as so many other painters were to do in the next century.33 Another important patron in Rome, Prince Camillo Pamphilj, the nephew of Pope Innocent X (r. 1644–55), may have involved Sweerts in teaching. He painted a range of works for the Prince, who, interestingly, possessed a version in porphyry of the ever-present Head of the Old Woman; he 137    also owned the Duquesnoy relief that occurs in Sweerts’ Artist’s Studio now in Cologne (fig. 6).34 An intriguing pay- ment recorded in the Pamphilj account book to Sweerts on 21 March of 1652 for ‘various amounts of oil used since 17th February in His Excellency’s academy’, suggests Sweerts’ direct involvement with an academy in Rome.35 By the summer of 1655, Sweerts had returned to Brussels where he founded ‘an academy of life drawing’, primarily to educate tapestry and carpet designers.36 Something of its original appearance might be gleaned from Sweerts’ Drawing School in the Frans Hals Museum in Haarlem (c. 1655–60), where students of various ages draw from a live male nude.37 In this painting, conspicuously absent are plaster casts; the animation is now provided by the more than twenty young students assuming various attitudes, some concentrating on the task at hand, others less focused. However, there was probably another version by Sweerts of this painting, now known only in a copy, where the live nude has been substi- tuted by a cast of a classical female sculpture.38 Evidently plaster models were never far from his mind. aa et avl 1 For his life and work, see Kultzen 1996 and Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, with previous literature. 2 Sutton 2002, 12; Bikker 2002, 25–26. 3 Sutton 2002, 21. 4 In his ‘Foundation of the Painter’s Art’ (Grondt der Schilder-Const), published together with his ‘Lives’ and his two other theoretical treatises in the Schilder-Boeck (1604). See Van Mander 1604, fol. 6v, chap. 1, no. 66; Van Mander 1973, 1, 92–93, chap. 1, no. 66; Stechow 1966, 57–58. Van Mander further noted, ‘From Rome bring home skill in drawing, the ability to paint from Venice, which I had to bypass for the lack of time.’: Stechow 1966, 58; Sutton Sutton 2002, 11, 17. In the preface to his book on painters: Van Mander 1604, fol. 9r, chap. 2, no. 9; Van Mander 1973, 102–03, chap. 2, no. 9; Martin 1905, 126. Martin 1905, 127. See Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 33–34. Martin 1905, 127. Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 94–96, no. VI (G. Jansen). For example, Johannes Gellee’s Tyrocinia artis pictoriae caelatoriae published in Amsterdam in 1639 where copied versions of the Artist’s Studio and other etchings appear: see Bolten 1985, 132–39 and for other publications based or reprinting parts of Fialetti’s treatise see Bolten. For the use of plaster casts in 17th- and 18th-century artists’ studios in Antwerp and Brussels, see Lock 2010. Rembrandt’s bankruptcy inventory of 1656 lists numerous plaster casts, from life as well as from the Antique, which were doubtless an essential part of his workshop practice (Strauss and Van der Meulen 1979, 349–88; Gyllenhaal 2008). See also cat. 23, note 18. Van Thiel 1965, 123, 128; Van Thiel 1999, 84, and Appendix II, 254–55, 257, 270–71, 273; Sutton 2002, 18. Van Mander 1604, fol. 292v; Van Mander 1973, 428–29. Sutton 2002, 18. This also may be due, in part, to the compromised condition of the canvas. Sutton 2002, 20. Martin 1905, 127; Horster 1974, 145. Haskell and Penny 1981, 100; Palma and de Lachenal 1983, 133–37, no. 58 (de Lachenal). Horster 1974, 145; Döring 1994, 60; Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 97. For the group, see Haskell and Penny 1981, 274–79, no. 66, figs 143–47, and for the daughter that it resembles the most, 145; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, 318–19, no. 596.1. Haskell and Penny 1981, 274; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, 62–63, no. 50. Noted by Döring 1994, 60–61. For the Duquesnoy sculpture, see Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 122, no. XV-2. On Duquesnoy’s fame as a ‘classical’ sculptor during the 17th century and later see Boudon-Mauchel 2005, 175–210. As first observed by Döring 1994, 62. For the statue see Stuart Jones 1912, 288–89, no. 22. Döring 1994, 63. The subject was noted by Denys Sutton (London 1955, 91) and Marita 138 139 5, Michael Sweerts, An Artist’s Studio, 1652, oil on canvas, 73.5 × 58.8 cm, The Detroit Institute of Arts, inv. 30.297 6, After Michael Sweerts, Artist’s Studio with a Woman Sewing, c. 1650, oil on canvas, 82.5 × 106.7 cm, Collection RAU-Fondation UNICEF, Cologne, inv. GR 1.874 25 26 27 28 29 Horster (1974, 145) who both identified the motif from a sketchbook by Francisco de Hollanda. Sutton and Guido Jansen (Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 97) believed the plaster relief to combine scenes from two separate ones: the Winter and Hercules and the Cretan Bull. However, as Eloisa Dodero has noted (personal communication), it is based on the single terracotta relief in the Louvre, see Christian 2002, 181–84 no. II.15, 25; De Romanis 2007, 235–238, 1. For the acquisition by the Louvre, see Sarti 2001, 121. Dacos 1986, 222; Christian 2002, 181–86. For the Cortona drawing: Briganti 1982, 286.27; for the Testa sheet at Windsor: Christian 2002, 181–82, 26. See Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 120–23, no. XV, where the painting is discussed at length. Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 110, xii–i (as by or after Sweerts). Many copies are known suggesting it was a much-admired composition. Bikker Sutton 2002, 15–16; Bikker 2002, 27–28. Described in documents in general terms as ‘Ein Schildersacademetje’, it is not known which of the surviving studio pictures it was. According to the collections database, Detroit Institute of Arts website, it was theirs (fig. 5). Bikker 2002, 27–28. Ibid., 28–31, figs 25, 27. Ibid., 29. This was probably a private academy and not the Accademia di San Luca, of which Sweerts was possibly a member. He was responsible for collecting membership dues from his compatriots: see Bikker 2002, 25–26. Lock 2010, 251; Bikker 2002, 31. Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 133–35, no. xix (G. Jansen). Present whereabouts unknown; see Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002, 133, xix–i.  13. Jan de Bisschop (Amsterdam 1628–1671 The Hague) Two Artists Drawing an Antique Bust (recto); A Reclining Man seen from Behind (verso) c. 1660s Pen and brown ink, brushed with brown wash, 91 × 135 mm Inscribed recto l.r. in pencil: J. Bisschop. watermark: part of the crowned coat of arms of Amsterdam.1 provenance: Private collection, Germany; Sotheby’s, London, 13 April 1992, lot 260, from whom acquired. literature: London 1992 (unpaginated), repr.; Broos and Schapelhouman 1993, 51, under no. 34, b. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited.  Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1992-012 Born in Amsterdam in 1628, Jan de Bisschop was among a group of talented amateur artists, including his immediate contemporaries and friends Constantijn Huygens the Younger (1628–1697) and Jacob van der Ulft (1627–1689) who all worked in Netherlands around the mid-17th century.2 De Bisschop was classically educated and trained as a lawyer; he became an advocate at the judicial court of The Hague. But he also distinguished himself as a writer, theoretician, literary scholar, and as a connoisseur of the Antique. And although without formal artistic training, he was an accomplished draughtsman and etcher who, through his publications reproducing ancient sculpture and Old Master drawings, disseminated in the Netherlands an anti- quarian culture and an aesthetic based on the works of classical antiquity. He also helped introduce the practice of drawing after both antique sculpture and live models in the Hague.3 His large corpus of drawings, numbering in the upper hundreds, consists of sun-infused, Italianate land- scapes, lively figure and genre studies, portraits, and many copies after antique sculpture and paintings by Old Masters, 1. Bust of the so-called Lysimachus, Roman copy of the Augustan period from a Greek original of the 2nd c. bc, marble, 49 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. 6141 usually executed in pen and brush and wash with a distinc- tive warm, golden-brown ink, referred to from the late 17th century as bisschops-inkt (Bisschop’s ink).4 As in the examples illustrated here, he often effectively combined dense washes with reserves of untouched paper to create a light-drenched, fresh out-of-doors effect. In this lively and rapid sketch, probably made on the spot, two seated draughtsmen, seen from the back, draw after an antique bust of a man. On the reverse one of them is sketched again, casually reclining. The object of their gaze is a bust nowadays identified as of Lysimachus, the Greek successor to Alexander the Great, who from c. 306 to 281 bc reigned as King of Thrace, Asia Minor and Macedonia.5 Discovered c. 1576, it was acquired by Cardinal Odoardo Farnese from the Giorgio Cesarini collection, and is preserved today in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (fig. 1). Doubt- less known to de Bisschop through one of the plaster casts which circulated in Northern Europe at the time, the bust was in the 17th century thought to represent a philosopher; from the 18th century he was identified more specifically – but wrongly – as the Athenian legislator, Solon. It was copied profusely from the 17th century onwards, and was included, for example, in a portrait painted by Isaac Fuller (1606–72) in c. 1670 (Yale Center for British Art, New Haven) of the architect and sculptor, Edward Pierce (c. 1635–95), who rests one hand on the bust while gesturing to it with the other.6 Admiration for the sculpture continued in the 18th century, in France, where a red chalk copy of it was made by the sculptor, Edmé Bouchardon (1698–1762) or a member of his circle,7 and particularly in England, where, catering to a n emerging neo-classical aesthetic, a blemish-free replica of the Lysimachus was carved in 1758 by Wilton; this was acquired by Rockingham, for his VILLA at Wentworth and is now in the The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.8 Another copy of the bust, made by the sculptor and restorer of ancient statues, Bartolomeo Cavaceppi (see  cat.), was mentioned in a letter from the dealer and agent, Thomas Jenkins, to his client, Charles Townley, as a possible acquisition. His scheme involved fusing Cavaceppi’s bust with the body of a statue of Achilles; mercifully, this was abandoned when the original head of Achilles was recovered.9 Its diminutive size and spontaneous style of execution would suggest the present sheet came from a sketchbook, probably one like that held by the artist on the right. The draughtsmen have not been securely identified but they are no doubt to be found among de Bisschop’s friends and associ- ates; one may be Huygens the Younger, with whom he made sketching excursions in and around The Hague and Leiden. In fact, drawings by de Bisschop are often mistaken for works by Huygens, to whom this sheet was previously assigned.10 A treatment of a similar theme, of two draughtsmen from the front seated in a landscape but without an antique model to study, is found in de Bisschop’s drawing in the Amsterdam Museum (fig. 2).11 Executed with the same loose pen work and spontaneous handling of the brush, characteristic of de Bisschop after 1660, it shows one artist on the left gazing downwards to – or reading from – a loose sheet held in both hands, while the other appears to be sketching in a small book. A third rendering of two artists sketching out of doors, one, with hat removed, holding a drawing board, is among the sheets by Huygens the Younger in the Municipal Archives of The Hague (fig. 3).12 As with the present study, the figures are seen from behind in a sunlit setting but on a bench, near the entrance to the country house, Zorgvliet, near The Hague, and the subject of their attention is out of view. De Bisschop’s drawings were admired by collectors and connoisseurs from John Barnard (1709–84) to Horace Walpole (1717–97), but his main contribution to scholarship was the publication of two influential books. The first was the Signorum veterum icones issued in two volumes in 1668–69; 2. Jan de Bisschop, Two Draughtsmen Seated Outdoors, pen and brown ink with the brush and brown wash, grey ink, 97 × 149 mm, Amsterdam Museum, inv. nr. A 18179 142 4. Jan de Bisschop, Allegory of Sculpture, title page to the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, etching, 245 × 114 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London also consulted prints by François Perrier (1590–1650), who had published a selection of antique statuary in Paris and Rome in 1638 (Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum . . .).18 An album of 140 drawings by de Bisschop suggests that he intended to publish a third volume of Icones on antique Roman reliefs, based largely on another publication by Perrier of 1645 (Icones et segmenta . . .).19 However, de Bisschop’s death from tuberculosis at forty-three meant that the third volume was never realised. In addition to his writings on art, de Bisschop contrib- uted in other ways to furthering artistic education in the Netherlands. He participated in local confraternities of artists and co-founded a private drawing academy with his friends, including Huygens the Younger; they met several times a week in the evenings, often drawing after a live model.20 In 1682, eleven years after de Bisschop’s death, the first drawing academy in the Northern Netherlands – includ- ing in its curriculum the study of plaster casts after the Antique – was established in The Hague.21 De Bisschop’s influence may have extended further, perhaps as a direct consequence of the Icones. Of significance is a letter dated 1688 from the artist Romeyn de Hooghe (1645–1708) to the burgermasters of Haarlem, asking their assistance in setting up an academy for students to study ‘the best ancient statues, such as Venus, Apollo, Laocoön, in order to familiarise themselves with the idea of classical beauty’.22 Although that request was turned down, a Haarlem Drawing Academy was founded in 1772 and although it was closed in 1795, in the following year, the Haarlem Drawing College was established, with the study of the Antique remaining a vital part of the curriculum (see cat. 31).23   3. Constantijn Huygens, the Younger, Two Draughtsmen near Zorgvliet, detail, pen and brown ink and wash with the brush over traces of graphite, 243 × 373 mm, Municipal Archives of The Hague, Gr. A 110 the first volume was dedicated to his friend, Huygens the Younger and the second, to Johannes Wtenbogaard, the Receiver-General of Holland and a neighbour of his parents. In 1671, de Bisschop published the Paradigmata graphices variorum artificum, which he dedicated to the collector Jan Six; this comprised forty-seven etchings based on Italian Old Master drawings and ten antique busts.13 The two volumes of the Icones were republished together with the Paradigmata, in later editions.14 Of particular relevance to us is de Bisschop’s Icones, featuring one-hundred etched plates after antique sculpture. Its purpose was didactic: to provide a compilation of the best-known works and to establish norms of classical beauty for artists, amateurs and collectors. In de Bisschop’s words, they were ‘sculptures and reliefs of the greatest perfection in art and the best sources for students’.15 The book proved to be an enormously useful resource especially as it featured, in some cases, the same sculpture seen from different angles; in essence, in the round. For instance, de Bisschop’s presented five views of the celebrated Wrestlers sculpture in the Uffizi (see 30, 33, and cats 16 and 27), two of which are shown here (figs 5–6).16 In the Icones, the unusual left profile view of the Farnese Hercules, in reverse was probably known to Jan Claudius de Cock and Wallerant Vaillant, who reproduced it from the same viewpoint (see cat. 14, 4). In fact, Cock took inspiration from several of the Icones plates for his Allegory of the Arts series (cat. 14). As de Bisschop probably never travelled to Italy, many of his prints relied on antique sculptures in Dutch collections, or on casts, and especially on drawings by artists who had travelled south to visit collections in Florence and Rome, such as Willelm Doudijns (1630–97), Pieter Donker (1635– 68), Adriaen Backer (1635/35–84) and others.17 De Bisschop avl 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 See Churchill 1967, pl. 8, no. 9, date: 1665 or pl. 9, no. 11, date: 1670. For this life and work, see Van Gelder 1972. Van Gelder 1972, 27. Goeree 1697, 91. Gasparri 2009–10, 2, 55–57, no. 32 (F. Coraggio), and 188–89, pl. XXXII, figs 1–4. Charlton-Jones 1991, 100–01, pl. 89. The subject of the Louvre drawing (Guiffrey and Marcel 1907–75, 1, no. 1353) was identified by Rausa 2007a, 172, no. 165.1. Fusco 1997, 56. Coltman 2009, 87. Sold as Huygens at Sotheby’s, London, 13 April 1992, lot 260. Broos and Schapelhouman 1993, 51, no. 34 (B. Broos). Amsterdam 1992, 37, no. 22 (R. E. Jellema and M. Plomp). Van Gelder 1972, 1–2. Both books are published in their entirety with commentary by Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 2 vols. See also Bolten 1985, 257–58 and Plomp 2010, 39–47. Bolten 1985, 71. Van Gelder 1972, 19. Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 106–08, nos 18–22, 2, pls 18–22. Further plates are after other artists as well as drawings by Jacob de Gheyn III (1596–1641), who is not known to have travelled to Italy but visited collections in England (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 15–16, 155). Van Gelder 1972, 19–20. The album of classical statues, reliefs, Roman architecture and contempo- rary Dutch figures and scenes is at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, inv. D.1212:1 to 141-1989. On it see Van Gelder 1972, 8–9 and especially Turner and White 2014, 1, 25–67, no. 23. Van Gelder 1972, 11. Van Gelder 1972, 27. Van der Willigen 1866, 137; Washington D.C. 1977, under no. 69 (F. W. Robinson). Haarlem 1990, 16–17, 34–38. 5. Jan de Bisschop, The Wrestlers, from the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, pl. 18, etching, 164 × 215 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London 6. Jan de Bisschop, The Wrestlers, from the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, pl. 21, etching, 199 × 133 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London    143  14. Attributed to Jan Claudius de Cock (Brussels 1667–1735 Antwerp) An Allegory of Painting c. 1706 Etching, 141 × 100 mm watermark: possibly part of a coat of arms. provenance: Bassenge, Berlin, 6 December 2001, lot 5452 (as Anonymous, Southern German, c. 1700), from whom acquired. literature:None. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2001-037  In the corner of a painter’s workshop, students draw after plaster casts, selected according to their age and level of study. The youngest, wearing a Roman-style toga and stand- ing at a pedestal, which supports his open sketchbook, records the likeness of the head of a boy similar to him in age. He may be copying the bust itself, or more likely, the drawing after the bust, propped up next to it. At the left, another pupil, a pre-teen representing a higher level of study, thoughtfully examines a reduced model, in reverse, of a rather unfit Farnese Hercules (see 30, 32 and cats 7, 16, 21) elevated on a plinth, and shown in a similar pose as illustrated by Jan de Bisschop’s Icones (fig. 1). The student and 1. Jan de Bisschop, The Farnese Harcules, from the Signorum veterum icones, part 1, Amsterdam (?), 1668, pl. 8, etch- ing, 221 × 105 mm, Warburg Institute Library, London the statuette are so posed that they appear to exchange glances. In the background, partially obscured by the sculp- ture’s base, is a third boy, probably midway in age between the others, who bows his head in concentration. Displayed on the shelf and walls above are workshop props – a globe, hourglass, books, compass and additional fragments of plaster casts, included a female torso and a male one which may be based on the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, 28). Presiding over the scene is a voluptuously dressed female figure with an elaborate hairstyle and bared breasts, who holds a palette with brushes in one hand, and gestures to the statue of Hercules with the other. She is leaning on a richly carved wooden table bearing bottles of spirit, compasses and completed figural drawings. She is an Allegory of Painting, as described by Cesare Ripa in his Iconologia, the widely consulted emblematic handbook first published in 1593 – and probably known to de Cock through the Dutch editions of 1698 or 1699: a beautiful woman with twisted, unruly hair, holding the tools of the painter.1 She represents the goal; once pupils had completed their prescribed course of study, mastering the succession of stages dictated by the established norms of 16th-century studio practice – first, drawing the individual parts of the body through drawings of others, prints, fragments and casts, and finally, the entire figure, a statue or live model – only then, may they progress to painting (see also cat. 10).2 The attainment of the goal is encapsulated in the prominently displayed picture on the wall above Hercules, probably a Mars and Venus. Though acquired as by an anonymous southern German artist, c. 1700, the etching shares similarities with the work of the Flemish painter, sculptor, etcher and writer, Jan Claudius de Cock.3 It is particularly close in style and execution to his drawing of the Allegory of Sculpture drawing, signed and dated 1706 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2), which is carried out with the same meticulous handling and degree of finish.4 Direct references to antique sculpture abound in the New York sheet with plaster casts freely modelled after the Pan and Apollo from the Cesi collection (Museo Nazionale  144 145  2. Jan Claudius de Cock, Allegory of Sculpture, 1706, pen and brown ink, 317 × 195 mm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2010.533 Romano, Rome) at right and, at the left, the Wrestlers, acquired by the Medici in 1583 (Uffizi, Florence; see 30, 33).5 Antique-inspired motifs – busts, putti, fragments and a strigilated krater – are also visible throughout. As with the etching, there is a female personification – in this case, of sculpture – her hand resting on one bust and pointing to a second with the other, just as Painting does here in the etching. At her feet are the tools of her trade: scalpels, mallet and a drill. Other drawings of similar subject matter, format and date suggest de Cock planned a series on the Allegories of the Arts, perhaps intending them to appear as etchings in a book. His drawing of a female sculptor modelling a recumbent Venus (fig. 3), another Allegory of Sculpture, is also signed, and dated (1706) and is numbered like the New York drawing.6 Further studies by de Cock no doubt relate to the same series.7 However, while the drawings are roughly the same size, the present etching is considerably smaller. The colossal Farnese Hercules became enormously popular immediately after its discovery in the 16th century, and 146 3. Jan Claudius de Cock, An Allegory of Sculpture, 1706, pen and brown ink, black chalk, 321 × 192 mm, Christie’s, London, 19 April 1988, lot 140 numerous copies after it were produced, often reduced to life-size or the scale seen here, to make it more manageable and portable.8 A model strikingly similar to that in the etching occurs in a mezzotint of a boy drawing in a studio, c. 1660–75, by the Dutch painter and engraver, Wallerant Vaillant (1623–77), where it is perched on a table at a nearly identical angle (fig. 4).9 Both prints suggest that by the early 18th century, plaster models of the Hercules were commonplace in Flemish and Netherlandish workshops.10 Several of the antiquities in both the etching, here attrib- uted to de Cock, and his two related drawings discussed above, argue knowledge of Bisschop’s Icones, by then the standard reference for antique sculptures in the Netherlands (see cat. 13). For example, the rather unusual left-profile view of the Farnese Hercules in the etching and the pose of the Wrestlers in the New York drawing (fig. 2), both shown reversed in respect to the antique originals, find their counterparts in the Icones (fig. 1 and cat. 13, 5).11 And the pensive Muse, possibly Clio, at the upper right of the 4. Wallerant Vaillant, A Boy Drawing in a Studio, c. 1660–75, mezzotint, 324 × 300 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, RP-P-1889-A-14489 second Allegory of Sculpture drawing (fig. 3), is a literal quotation from a plate in the second volume of Bisschop’s 12 Born in Brussels, de Cock was apprenticed in the workshop of Peeter Verbrugghen the Elder (c. 1609–86) in Antwerp. After Verbruggen’s death, he established himself in that city, although he later moved to Breda, where King William III Stadholder of the Netherlands commissioned him to work on sculpture for a courtyard in the town.14 However, by 1697 or 1698, de Cock had returned to Antwerp and devoted himself more to teaching, establishing a large workshop with many pupils, some learning drawing, others, goldsmithing.15 In 1720, he wrote a didactic poetical treatise for his students, Eenighe voornaemste en noodighe regels van de beeldhouwerije om metter tijdt en goet meester te woorden (‘Some avl For Pittura from Ripa’s first illustrated edition (1603), see Buscaroli 1992, 357 and in the Dutch edition of 1698, reprinted in 1699, see Hoorn 1698, II, 515 [c]. Armenini 1587, 52–59 (book 1, chap. 7); Alberti 1604, 5 (quoting Federico Zuccaro); Roman 1984, 91. Nagler (1966, 3, no. 2100) and Wurzbach (1906–11, 1, 304–05) only briefly mention his etchings and this subject does not occur. Acquired Christie’s, London, 7 July 2010, lot 328. It is signed at lower left: ‘Joannes Claud: de Cock invenit delineavit Anno= MDCCVI’ and numbered below, ‘4’. A further inscription by the artist on the verso, “Sculptura Pace, et Abondante=”/[. . .], may refer to another drawing in the series, perhaps an Allegory of Peace and Abundance or a Concordia. Haskell and Penny 1981, 286–88, no. 70; 337–39, no. 94. Christie’s, London, 19 April 1988, lot 140. According to the catalogue, it is signed and dated, ‘Joan Claudius de Cock/invenit delineavit/AoMDCCVI’ and numbered ‘3’ below. They include another signed Allegory of Sculpture close to the New York drawing in composition, with differences and executed in pencil, 326 × 194 mm (Christie’s, Amsterdam, 15 November 1993, lot 115) and a signed Allegory of Architecture, pen and brown-grey ink and wash, 328 × 234 mm (Christie’s, Amsterdam, 21 November 1989, lot 52). Haskell and Penny 1981, 232; Gasparri 2009–10, 3, 17–20, no. 1, repr. on 207–13. Hollstein 1949–2001, 31, 119, no. 96. The 1635 studio inventory of the painter, Hendrik van Balen (1575–1632) mentions a cast of the Hercules among other antique works (Duverger 1984–2009, 4, 208). The torso of a draped male statue on the shelf at upper right in the drawing probably derives from a further etching by Bisschop, based on copies by Willelm Doudijns (1630–97), reproducing a marble in the Pighini collection and now in the Vatican (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 110–11, no. 26, 2, pl. 26; Helbig 1963–72, 1, 194, no. 250). Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 184–85, no. 98, 2, pl. 98. In that drawing, the male torso seen from the back on the shelf at right recalls de Bisschop’s etching of the Belvedere Torso (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 108–10, no. 24, 2, pl. 24). Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 184–85; Haynes 1975, pl. 18. De Gheyn was in London in the summer of 1618 and his drawing (untraced), was in the collection of J. A. Wtenbogaert in Amsterdam (Van Gelder and Jost 1985, 1, 16, 155, 185). For his life and work, see C. Lawrence, “Cock, Jan Claudius de”. Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed December 10, 2014, http://www.oxford- artonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T018366. Pauwels 1977, 37. Published in Brussels by Mertens 1865; Lawrence 1986, 283. Mertens 1865; Lawrence 1986, 283. The original marble from the Earl of Arundel’s collection, known to de Bisschop through a drawing after it by Jacques de Gheyn III, is now in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.13 publication. chief and notable rules from the sculptor in order to become a good master in due course’) although it remained unpublished until the 19th century.16 It is entirely possible that he intended the Allegory of Arts series to illustrate this treatise, in which he expressed his great admiration for classical sculpture, namely the Laocoön, the Medici Venus – and, most importantly – the Farnese Hercules.17    147  15. Nicolas Dorigny (Paris 1658–1746 Paris), after Carlo Maratti (Camerano 1625–1713 Rome) The Academy of Drawing c. 1702–03 Etching and engraving, 470 × 321 mm (plate); 503 × 331 mm (sheet) State I of II (second state dated 1728 with the address of Jacob Frey). Inscribed on the plate, l.l. on the ground: ‘TANTO CHE BASTI’, same inscription repeated l.r. on the perspective drawing on the easel, and c.l. on the pedestal of the anatomical model. Inscribed u.c. above the statue of Apollo: ‘NON / MAI ABASTANZA’; u.r. above the Three Graces: ‘SENZA DI NOI OGNI FATICA E VANA’. Inscribed l.c. with the title, ‘A Giovani studiosi del Disegno’, followed by ten lines explaining the scene: ‘La Scuola del Disegno, che s’espone delineata con le presenti Figure dal Sig.r Cavalier Carlo Maratti, può molto contribuire al’disinganno di coloro che credono di potere con la cognizione, e studio di molte Arti divenir perfet.ti nell’Arte del dipingere senza procurare in primo luogo d’esser perfettissimi nel Disegno, e senza il dono naturale, et un particolare istinto di saper con grazia, e facilità animare, e disporre vagamente le parti di quell’Opera, che prenderanno a delineare, e và figurando questo suo nobil pensiero con il mezzo dell’azzioni, che qui si additano. Vedonsi alcuni studiosi delle mathematiche in quella parte, che spetta alla Geometria, et Ottica, che conferiscono alla Prospettiva: dall’altro lato, altri applicati all’osservazione d’un Corpo anatomico, dà cui si apprende la giusta proporzione delle membra, e sito de’muscoli, e nervi, che compongono una figura, dimostrato eruditame-te dà Leonardo da Vinci espresso co- la propria effige, con il motto . Tanto che basti . per dimostrare, che di tali professioni basta, che quello, che attenderà al Disegno sia mediocrem.te erudito, per ridurre ad un’perfetto fine qualunque Idea. Mà per coloro, che si esprimono attenti allo studio delle statue antiche, non serve una leggiera applicazione alle mede, essendo lor d’uopo di farvi sopra una lunga, et esatta riflessione, e studio per apprendere le belle forme; e si pone l’esemplare delle statue antiche, come le più perfette, nelle quali quei grandi Huomini espressero ì Corpi nel più perfetto grado, che possano dalla natura istessa crearsi, e perciò vi si pone il motto . Non mai abastanza . Tutto però riuscirebbe vano di conseguire senza l’assistenza delle Grazie, che intende, come accennammo, per quel natural gusto di disporre, et atteggiare con grazia, e delicatezza le positure, et ì movimenti delle Figure, dalle quali poi risulta quella vaghezza, e leggiadria, che destano meraviglia, e piacere in chiunque le mira, ponendosi queste a tal oggetto in alto, e sù le nuvole per significare, che questo dono non viene che dal Cielo, con il motto . Senza di noi ogni fatica e vana . Vivete felici.’1 Inscribed l.l. margin: ‘Eques Carolus Maratti inven. et delin. Cum privil Summi Pont. et Regis Christ.mi’, and l.r.: ‘N. Dorigny sculp.’. watermark: Possibly a four-legged animal inscribed in a double circle. provenance: Possibly Hugh Howard (1675–1737); Charles Francis Arnold Howard, 5th Earl of Wicklow (1839–81), from whom acquired in 1874. literature: Le Blanc 1854–88, II, 140, no. 51; Mariette 1996–2003, 3, 511, no. 76, 189; Kutschera-Woborsky 1919, 9–28, 5; Goldstein 1978, 1, 1; Rudolph 1978, Appendix, 203, n. 38; Philadelphia 1980–81, 114–16, no. 101 A (A. E. Golahny); Johns 1988, 17–21, 5; Goldstein 1989, p.156, 1; Winner 1992, 1; Jaffé 1994, 128, under no. 251 646; Mertens 1994, 222–24, 94; Goldstein 1996, 47, 14; Rome 2000b, 2, 483–84, no. 2 (S. Rudolph); Pierguidi 2014. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1874,0808.1713  This intriguing and complex image has a central role in this catalogue, as it represents the most eloquent visual expres- sion of the classicistic credo of the Roman Accademia di San Luca in the final decades of the 17th century. More generally, it is a strong defence of the Florentine and Roman academic traditions, with their stress on drawing, their celebration of Raphael and, above all, on the study, copy and reverence of the Antique. As we shall see, the original drawing from which the print is derived was most likely conceived in 1681–82, at a time when the aesthetic belief supported by the Accademia di San Luca was being challenged by other pedagogical methods and criticised from other theoretical viepoints, hence its programmatic nature and didactic aim. Carlo Maratti was the most authoritative painter in Rome during the final decades of the 17th century and the beginning of the 18th and the champion of classicism.2 As a boy of twelve he had entered the large workshop of Andrea Sacchi (1599–1661), where he remained until the master’s death in 1661. His training followed the usual curriculum of 148 Roman studios, centred on drawing, and on the copy of the Antique, and of Renaissance and early 17th-century masters.3 His lifelong friend, mentor and biographer, the great art theorist and antiquarian, Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613–96), tells us that he concentrated especially on copying Raphael’s frescoes.4 He pursued this commitment throughout his life, incorporating the essential qualities of the great Renaissance champion of classicism into his own painting, to the point that he became known as the Raphael of his time.5 In 1664 Maratti became ‘principe’, or president, of the Accademia di San Luca, where, in the same year, Bellori’s discourse, the ‘Idea of the painter, the sculptor and the archi- tect, selected from the beauties of Nature, superior to Nature’, was publicly delivered (see Appendix, no. 11).6 Bellori’s theoretical statement, then published as a prologue to his Vite in 1672, was to become enormously influential in defin- ing and diffusing the central tenets of the classical ideal, preparing the ground for the eventual affirmation of classi- cism in the 18th century.7 Maratti remained an influential 149  figure within the Accademia for almost fifty years – while Bellori held the position of secretary several times – playing a vital role in reorganising its curriculum according to a comprehensive pedagogical programme, based on the exer- cise of drawing from drawings, from casts after the Antique and from the live model, and on students’ competitions and regular lectures.8 The print, which embodies this theoretical and didactic approach, is based on a drawing now preserved at Chatsworth (fig. 1), commissioned from Maratti by one of his most faithful patrons, Gaspar Méndez de Haro y Guzmán, 7th Marquis of Carpio, (1629–87), Spanish ambassador in Rome between 1677 and 1682.9 A sketchier version, in the same direction as the print but with differences in detail, is at the Wadsworth Atheneum (fig. 2).10 Art lover, collector and patron, Carpio commissioned from contemporary Roman artists a large series of drawings with the practice, theory, and nature of painting as their subject.11 The result was a sophisticated collection of allegories of art, of which Maratti’s drawing is by far the most celebrated, largely due to Dorigny’s print.12 Another drawing with the Allegory of Ignorance Ensnaring Painting and Massacring the Fine Arts, now in the Louvre, was probably produced by Maratti for Carpio as a pendant to the Academy of Drawing, and as such was later engraved by Dorigny with a similar explanatory inscription devoted to the ‘Lovers of the Fine Arts’ (fig. 3).13 Possibly intended from the beginning to be printed, Maratti’s drawing for the Academy of Drawing was later engraved by the Parisian printmaker, Nicolas Dorigny, 1. Carlo Maratti, The Academy of Drawing, c. 1681–82, pen and brown ink with brown wash, heightened with white gouache, over black chalk, 402 × 310 mm, Chatsworth, The Duke of Devonshire and the Chatsworth Settlement Trustees, inv. 646 2. Carlo Maratti, The Academy of Drawing, c. 1681–82, pen and brown ink and red chalk, 505 × 355 mm, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, CT, inv. 1967.309a who spent the years 1687–1711 in Rome. The rare first state, exhibited here, was probably published around 1702–03 under the supervision of Maratti, who owned the copper- plates and who, no doubt, was the author of the explanatory inscriptions below this print and its pendant.14 The reason why it took twenty years for the original drawing and its pendant to be engraved, may be due to the fact that Carpio left Rome in 1683 to become Viceroy of Naples and his move might have brought the original publication project to a halt. After Maratti’s death in 1713, the plates were purchased by Jacob Frey (1681–1752) who published a second state in 1728.15 The image is a very condensed and crowded composi- tion, in line with similar examples by Stradanus (cat. 4), Pierfrancesco Alberti (cat. 2, 1), and others, which would certainly have been known to Maratti.16 The Academy of Drawing is presented as an antique academy devoted to intellectual pursuits, clearly reminiscent of Raphael’s School of Athens in the Vatican Stanze, and in general subtle refer- ences to Raphael’s works are ubiquitous throughout.17 We are invited to follow the different disciplines and principles essential for the education of the young artists, distributed visually and symbolically in an ascent: from the technical and mathematical rudiments for the representation of space in the foreground, to the ideal models for the depiction of the human figure in the upper left part of the composition, and finally to the divinely inspired grace and artistic talent on the upper left background, without which all the previous learning would be useless. Bellori, in his biography 3. Nicolas Dorigny after Carlo Maratti, Allegory of Ignorance ensnaring Painting and mas- sacring the Fine Arts, 1704–10, etching and engraving, 468 × 319 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Draw- ings, London, inv. 1874,0808.1714 that. We know from another passage in Bellori that Maratti, although he ‘always considered   perspective and anat- omy necessary to the painter’, abhorred some ‘masters, or rather modern censors who, having learned a line or two of perspective or anatomy, the minute they look at a picture look for the vanishing point and the muscles, and   scold, correct, accuse and criticise the most eminent masters’.23 Maratti’s attitude was, in fact, very much in line with the Italian art theory of the second half of the 16th century.24 Most writers agreed that, although the knowledge of mathematical sciences was vital, the artist’s judgement and his eye must be the ultimate criteria in the artistic process. Giorgio Vasari (1511–74) clearly formulated this concept, paraphrasing Michelangelo’s famous saying that ‘it was necessary to have the compasses in the eyes and not in the hand, because the hands work and the eyes judge’.25 This opinion was rephrased by Giovanni Paolo Lomazzo (1538– 1600) who wrote precisely that ‘all the reasoning of geome- try and arithmetic, and all the proofs of perspective were of no use to a man without the eye’, and shared also by Federico Zuccaro (c. 1540–1609) the founder and first principal of the reformed Accademia di San Luca in 1593 (see cat. 5).26 A similar approach was reserved for the study of anatomy, the excess of which, as represented by Michelangelo – who is not alluded to in the print – was explicitly condemned by Giovan Battista Armenini (c. 1525–1609) and others, an opinion supported by Bellori and Maratti.27 The ‘Young Students of Drawing’, to which the print is dedicated, need instead to focus their attention on, and constantly draw from, ancient statues, here represented by 4. Raphael, Apollo, detail, School of Athens, 1509–11, fresco, Stanza della Segnatura, Apostolic Palace, Vatican City  of Maratti, left unfinished at his death in 1696, provides a description of one of Maratti’s original drawings (figs 1–2) and this, plus the explanatory inscription on the print, constitute the best guide to interpret the composition.18 At the centre a ‘master of perspective’ indicates to a young disciple the visual pyramid and various geometrical figures traced on a canvas placed on an easel, at the bottom of which we read: ‘TANTO CHE BASTI’, ‘Enough to suffice’.19 The same inscription recurs on the ground on the left, in front of another pupil intent at drafting geometrical figures on the abacus with his compass, a gesture evoking that of Archimedes in Raphael’s School of Athens. As Bellori explains, this is to signify that ‘once the young have learned the rules necessary to their studies’ – geometry and perspec- tive – ‘they should pass on without stopping’.20 On the right, below the easel, we see a stool supporting the physical tools of the art of painting: another compass and a palette with various brushes. Behind them a ruler leans diagonally against the canvas. The same warning ‘TANTO CHE BASTI’ reappears on the left on the pedestal supporting a life-size anatomical écorché, in a pose reminiscent of the Borghese Gladiator (see 41, 54 and cat. 23, 1). Several students draw its muscles, directed by Leonardo, whose anatomical studies were very well known, especially after the first publication of his treatise on painting in 1651.21 ‘Anatomy and the drawing of lines’ continues Bellori, ‘do indeed fall under definite rules and can be learned perfectly by anyone, just as geometry used formerly to be learned in school from childhood’.22 They therefore constitute those sciences that can be taught by rational precepts. But if the young students want to become great artists they need much more than    150 151  the gigantic Farnese Hercules (see 30, 32 and cat. 7, 1), by a Venus Pudica reminiscent of the Venus de’Medici (see 42, fig. 56) and by an Apollo, the latter clearly derived from the statue presiding over the philosophers in the School of Athens (fig. 4).28 Apollo, as patron of the arts, combining together a reference to the Antique and to Raphael, conveniently substitutes for the Belvedere Antinous (see 26, fig. 22 and cat. 19) seen on the earlier sketch (fig. 2).29 The study of classi- cal sculptures, as the inscription on the wall behind the Apollo instructs us, is ‘NON MAI ABASTANZA’, ‘Never enough’, as they contain ‘the example and the perfection of painting   together with good imitation selected from nature’ as Bellori tells us.30 In other words, they materialise Bellori’s concept of the ‘Idea’, intended as the selection of the best parts of Nature according to the right judgement of the artist in order to create ideal beauty (see Appendix, no. 11). If a young artist assimilates their principles, he will have a secure guide towards artistic perfection. On the left, sitting on clouds, the Three Graces – again referring to the similar figures painted by Raphael in the Villa Farnesina in Rome – are there to remind us: ‘SENZA DI NOI OGNI FATICA E VANA’, ‘Without us, all labour is in vain’. Without natural talent and divine inspiration, all the efforts and studies depicted below would be ultimately useless. The concept of grace was one of the crucial features in Vasari’s theory of art, intended as a certain sweetness and facility of execution, dependent on natural talents – namely judgement and the eye – as opposed to beauty which is based on the rules of proportions and mathematics.31 But the great artist must cultivate this natural gift through constant study and, for Bellori, constant imitation of the Antique and of the great masters, especially Raphael, the excellence and grace of whom he exalted in several of his publications.32 Therefore our print reminds us in its subject of the necessary union of natural talent and study. At the same time it provides in its very forms an ideal example of inventive imitation, namely Maratti’s assimilation of the Antique and Raphael. The need to insist on these very points reflects the particular moment in which our image was created. In 1676 the Accademia di San Luca and the Parisian Académie Royale were formally amalgamated and at times French painters became principals of San Luca – Errard and Brun. While sharing the same values and attitudes, the Italian could never feel comfortable with the extreme ration- alisation of art characteristic of so much French theory and academic approach.34 The methodical and precise dissection of painting into its main components, as expressed for instance in the Académie’s Conférences, is in fact probably 152 alluded to in the speaker seen below the Graces in our image, who uses his fingers to enumerate the main points of his arguments – referring to Socrates in the School of Athens. The early Académie’s Conférences were published by André Félibien (1619–95) in 1668, and their official presentation at San Luca in 1681 generated a discussion that was most likely at the origin of Maratti’s Academy of Drawing, as reported by Melchior Missirini (1773–1849) in his history of the Accademia di San Luca.35 After the reading of the last two Conférences, devoted to the analysis of the drawing, colour, composition, proportions and expressions of Poussin’s paintings, one of San Luca’s members, Giovanni Maria Morandi (1622–1717), raised the objection that the French had left out art’s most important and beautiful element: grace, that sublime and delicate quality of the ‘imitative practice’, which appeals to the heart rather than the mind.36 The elderly Bellori, present in the audience, interrupted the speech remarking that grace was indeed Apelle’s and Raphael’s best quality, ‘and it is well known’, continues Missirini, ‘that Maratti, who also devoted every effort to obtain this quality, induced by these words painted his three graces with the motto ‘Without you, everything is worthless’.37 No doubt conceived as a response to this intellectual debate, as a defence of the Florentine and Roman attitude and tradition versus its French counterpart, Maratti’s Accademia must be understood also as a celebration of classicism against those painters and theorists who were at that time criticising its values and outcomes. In particular the Venetian Marco Boschini (1515–80) and the Bolognese Cesare Malvasia (1613–93) in their treatises published in the 1770s had attacked the pictorial tradition based on disegno and imitation of the Antique, supporting instead colore and naturalism.38 They, as Bellori remarks right before his discus- sion of Maratti’s drawing, taught ‘in their schools and in their books that Raphael is dry and hard, that his style is statue- like’.39 This dispute had its counterpart in France where the Querelle du coloris had been fiercely debated in the 1770s.40 The theoretical battle escalated further with the publication in 1681 of the Notizie de’ professori del disegno by the Florentine Filippo Baldinucci (1625–97), who strongly defended Vasari and the Central Italian tradition, at the same time directly attacking Malvasia.41 The early 1680s were therefore a moment of intense debate within and between the Italian and French artistic schools and theoretical traditions, of which this image is one of the most telling documents. In the following decades Maratti became the leading artistic authority in Rome. His devotion to Raphael was rewarded in 1693 when he was appointed Keeper of the Vatican Stanze, which he then restored in 1702–03, having already worked on the restoration of Raphael’s frescoes in the Farnesina from 1693.42 In 1699 he was re-elected principal of San Luca, a position he held until his death in 1713. Pope Clement XI (r. 1700–21) nominated Maratti Director of the Antiquities in Rome in 1702, and officially sanctioned support for his classicism by establishing papal-sponsored competitions, the Concorsi Clementini, at the Academy.43 It is probably in celebration of the final affirmation of this classicist aesthetic that Maratti decided to finally print in 1702, or soon after, the complex drawing celebrating above all the study of Antique that he had produced twenty years 44 ‘The School of Drawing, a figurative drawing by Cavalier Carlo Maratti, can contribute much to the disenchantment of those who believe that through knowledge and study of many arts they can become most accomplished in the art of painting without first acquiring the highest skill in drawing and without the natural gift and innate capacity to give, with grace and ease, life and shapeliness to the parts of a work they set out to depict. In addition, he [Maratti] gives form to his fine thought through the activities pointed out here. To one side there are some students of the mathematics of Geometry and Optics that feed into Perspective: elsewhere there are others intent on the observation of an anatomical model, from which can be learned the just proportions of the limbs, the placement of the muscles and sinews that compose a figure, as set out with precision by Leonardo da Vinci, a likeness of whom is given, with the motto ‘Enough to suffice’, to evince that, of these professional skills, he who pursues drawing must be competent enough to bring any idea to a perfect outcome. But for those shown engaged in the study of classical statues, slight attention to the same is of no use since the point is to make a long and detailed study so as learn the forms of the beautiful; and classical statues are given as the most perfect for this since those great sculptors gave shape to bodies in the most perfect state that Nature herself can create, which explains the presence of the motto: ‘Never enough’. Everything, however, would be futile without the assistance of the Graces, understood, as mentioned, as a natural bent for composing and arranging with grace and delicacy those postures and movement of figures from which derive the beauty and allure that stir wonder and pleasure in the spectator, wherefore they are set for that purpose up above on the clouds as indication that this gift comes only from heaven, and are given the motto: ‘Without us all labour is in vain’. Live happily’ (translation by Michael Sullivan). For a biographical summary see Rudolph 2000. Schaar and Sutherland Harris 1967. See Bellori 1976, 625, 636, 639. See Baldinucci 1975, 307. On Maratti’s cult for and imitation of Raphael see also Mena Marqués 1990. Goldstein 1978, 3. For the text of Bellori’s Idea see Bellori 1976, 13–25, and for an English translation see Bellori 2005, 55–65. On it see Mahon 1947, esp. 109– 54, 242–43; Panofsky 1968, 103–11; Bellori 1976, esp. xxix–xl; Barasch 2000, 1, 315–22; Cropper 2000. On Maratti’s role within the Accademia see Goldstein 1978, esp. 2–5. On Bellori’s see Cipriani 2000. Jaffé 1994, 128, no. 251 646. It is not fully clear whether Dorigny used the Chatsworth drawing or a lost copy of it, as he arrived in Rome in 1687, five years after Del Carpio had left the city to become Viceroy of Naples: see Rome 2000b, 2, 483, no. 1 (S. Rudolph). Philadelphia 1980–81, 116, note 3 and 4; Winner 1992, 512, 5. Bellori 1976, 629–31. On Del Carpio’s commission see Haskell 1980, 190–92; Pierguidi 2008; Frutos Sastre 2009, 369–71. For other drawings of the series, see Winner 1992. For the drawing (Louvre, Paris, inv. 17950) see Rome 2000b, 2, 484, no. 3 (S. Rudolph). For the print see Philadelphia 1980–81, 114–16, no. 101 B (A. E. Golahny); Rome 2000b, 2, 484–85, no. 4 (S. Rudolph). For the transcription of the print’s inscription see Winner 1992, 517–18, note 7. See Philadelphia 1980–81, 114–16, no. 101 A and B (A. E. Golahny); Rome 2000b, 2, 483, no. 2 (S. Rudolph). This second state contains the address of Frey. Rudolph (Rome 2000b, 2, 483, no. 2), supposes that the long explanatory inscription was added only to this second state, while the impression exhibited here proves that it was inserted in the first state as well. The inscription is mentioned also in a chronological list of Maratti’s prints produced in 1711: see Rudolph 1978, Appendix, 203, no 38. Kutschera-Woborsky 1919; Winner 1992, especially 521–22, 531. Although some will be discussed here, the references to Raphael are too many to be covered comprehensively. For a fuller discussion see Winner 1992. Bellori 1976, 629–31. For an English translation, see Bellori 2005, 422–23. Bellori’s unfinished biography of Maratti was first published with modifications in 1731 and independently in 1732. See Bellori 1976, 571, note 1; Bellori 2005, 435, note 4. For modern critical editions of the text, see Bellori 1976, 569–654; Bellori 2005, 395–440. Winner (1992, 524) suggests that the ‘master of perspective’ could be Vitruvius, as the geometrical figures on the canvas are similar to those illustrated by Andrea Palladio in Daniele Barbaro’s edition of Vitruvius’ De architectura (1556). On the other hand the visual pyramid clearly refers to Albertian perspective, as it had been recently republished and illustrated in Dufresne 1651, see especially 17–18. Bellori 1976, 630; Bellori 2005, 423. Dufresne 1651: see esp. the ‘Vita di Lionardo da Vinci descritta da Rafaelle du Fresne’, at the beginning of the volume (not paginated) and 5, ch. XXII, 12, ch. LVII. Bellori 1976, 631; Bellori 2005, 423. Bellori 1976, 629; Bellori 2005, 422. On Bellori’s sources in general see esp. Barocchi 2000; Perini 2000a. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 6, 109. See also Vasari’s introduction to his chapter on Sculpture: Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 1, 84–86. Lomazzo 1584, 262 (book V, chap. 7). Zuccaro 1607, 2, 29–30 (book II, chap. 6). See Armenini 1587, 63–67 (book I, chap. 8); Bellori 1976, 630; Bellori 2005, 423. On this see also Pierguidi 2014. Bellori had specifically praised the Farnese Hercules and the Venus de’Medici in his Idea: Bellori 1976, 18; Bellori 2005, 59. On this see also Winner 1992, 532. On the Farnese Hercules see Haskell and Penny 1981, 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, 3, 17–20, no. 1. On the Venus de’ Medici see Haskell and Penny 1981, 325–28, no. 88; Cecchi and Gasparri 2009, 74–75, no. 64 (137). On the Belvedere Antinous see Haskell and Penny 1981, 141–43, no. 4; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 62, no. 10. Bellori 1976, 630; Bellori 2005, 423. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 3, 399, 4, 5–6. See also Blunt 1978, 93–99. Bettarini and Barocchi 1966–87, 3, 399; Bellori 1976, 625–26; Bellori 2005, 421. Also for Armenini ‘una bella e dotta maniera’ could be acquired only if the artist has a natural gift cultivated by study (Armenini 1587, see esp. 6 of the Proemio and 51–69, book I, chs 7 and 8). Bellori’s essays on Raphael, written at various dates, were published in Bellori 1695. On Raphael and grace in Bellori see Maffei 2009. On the cult of Raphael in the 17th century see Perini 2000b. Boyer 1950, 117; Goldstein 1970, 227–41; Bousquet 1980, 110–11; Goldstein 1996, 45–46. Mahon 1947, 188–89. Missirini 1823, 145–46 (ch. XCI); Mahon 1947, 189; Goldstein 1996, 46. Missirini 1823, 145. Ibid., 146. Boschini 1674; Malvasia 1678. Bellori 1976, 627; Bellori 2005, 421. On the ‘statuelike’ concept, or ‘statuino’ see esp. Malvasia 1678, 1, 359, 365, 484. See also Pericolo’s forthcoming article. I wish to thank Dr Lorenzo Pericolo for generously putting this study at my disposal. See Teyssèdre 1965; Puttfarken 1985; Arras and Épinal 2004 with previous bibliography. Baldinucci 1681, see esp. his ‘Apologia’ at 8–29. On the controversy between Malvasia and central Italian art theorists see Perini 1988; Rudolph 1988–89; Emiliani 2000. See Zanardi 2007. See Johns 1988. The second state of both prints, published by Jacob Frey in 1728 was explic- itly issued in parallel to the reward ceremony of the 1728 Concorso Clementino: see Rome 2000b, 2, 484–85, no. 4. earlier, with the Allegory of Ignorance as its pendant   16. Charles-Joseph Natoire (Nîmes 1700–1777 Castel Gandolfo) The Life Class at the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture 1746 Pen, black and brown ink, grey wash and watercolour and traces of graphite over black chalk 453 × 322 mm Signed and dated by the artist on recto, on the box at l.c., in pen and dark grey ink: ‘C. NATOIRE f. 1746’. provenance: Possibly sold at the artist’s posthumous sale, Alexandre-Joseph Paillet, Paris, 14 December 1778, lot 100;1 purchased Aubert for 120 livres; Gilbert Paignon-Dijonval (1708–92); Bruzard, Paris, 23–26 April 1839, part of lot 208; Walker Gallery, acquired Sir Robert Witt (1872–1952) (L. suppl. 2228b); Sir Robert Witt Bequest, 1952. selected literature: Bérnard 1810, 142, no. 3348; Mirimonde 1958, 282, 3; Princeton 1977, 22–23, 3; Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, 80, under no. 42; Roland Michel 1987, 58–59, 45; Foster 1998, 55–56, 13; Amsterdam and Paris 2002–03, 85–88, under no. 25; Paris 2009–10, 40, 13; Petherbridge 2010, 222, pl. 152; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, 122, repr., 336, no. D. 370, repr.; Rowell 2012, 179–80, 9; London 2013–14, 8, repr., 69, 24. selected exhibitions: London 1950, 18, no. 54; London, York and elsewhere 1953, 27–28, no. 79, not repr.; London 1953, 91–92, no. 391, not repr. (K. T. Parker and J. Byam Shaw); Los Angeles 1961, 51, 58, no. 25; London 1962, 9–10, no. 37, not repr.; Swansea 1962, unpaginated, no. 38; London 1968a, 101, no. 490 (D. Sutton); King’s Lynn 1985, vi, no. 33, not repr.; London 1991, 80, no. 35 (G. Kennedy); Paris 2000–01, 405–06, no. 210 (J.-P. Cuzin); London and New York 2012–13, 161–65, no. 33 (K. Scott).  The Courtauld Gallery, Samuel Courtauld Trust, London, D. 1952.RW.397 exhibited in london only Painter, draughtsman and educator, Natoire was a contem- porary of François Boucher (1703–70) and like him, executed both cabinet pictures and decorative schemes, as well as history paintings.2 Trained in the studio of Lemoyne, Natoire started his career with a series of successes: having won in 1721 the Prix de Rome of the Académie Royale, he spent the years 1723–28 in Rome where in 1727 he received the most prestigious reward for a young painter, the first prize of the Accademia di San Luca. Back in Paris in 1730, he was received (reçu) as a full member of the Académie in 1734 and spent the following two decades executing decorative ensembles in Royal Palaces and various hôtels and châteaux of the aristocracy, such as the celebrated Hôtel de Soubise (now the Archives Nationales) in Paris. In 1751 he was appointed Director of the Académie de France in Rome and spent the rest of his life there, dying at Castel Gandolfo in the Alban Hills in 1777. Natoire’s large and beautifully preserved drawing – of which there is another version, dated 1745, almost identical but less finished, in the Musée Atger in Montpellier – offers a rare glimpse of the École du modèle of the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture in Paris, where young students spent hours copying the live model.3 But rather than a faithful view of the École du modèle, which was a similar but rather different space,4 it is an idealised representation of how Natoire thought it ought to be. In essence, it is a visual manifesto for the Académie’s reform at a time, as we shall see, when many of its original practices had been abandoned or neglected. Trying, in a programmatic image, to convey as much infor- mation as possible, Natoire ingeniously reconfigures the 154 space for his purpose: a very high ceiling and an angular point of view allow maximum concentration and display of objects. Crammed together, one on top of the other, we see drawings, bas-reliefs, paintings of different format and size and, most importantly, plaster casts after the Antique. Our attention is immediately drawn to the seated figure at the lower left-hand corner wearing a bright red cloak, no doubt Natoire himself: he had been appointed assistant pro- fessor at the Académie royale in 1735, professor in 1737 and from 1736 was instructor in the life class for the month of February.5 Comfortably seated in an armchair, his tricorne hat resting on the box in the centre, he carefully corrects the black chalk drawings after the two live models presented by his pupils. At the centre of the composition, the attention of all students is directed to the two models posed together, a monthly event at the Académie that had been introduced in the mid-1660s.6 The teacher was responsible for placing the models ‘in an attitude’ for afternoon classes lasting two hours, using sunlight during the summer and artificial light during the winter months.7 The sunlight filtering in from the left is therefore imaginary, as in February, when Natoire was in charge of the École du modèle, illumination would have been from lamps. Only male models were allowed, despite repeated requests for female models from the students, all of whom were also male since women were not allowed to join the Académie until the end of the 19th century.8 The same pose was retained for three days in a row for a total of six hours and students were supposed to produce two study drawings of the figures each week.9 As in this case, a curtain was usually placed behind the model or models, to enhance 155  the contours and isolate the figure from the background. The plinth supporting the model had hooks at the corner to allow the professor to move it according to the fall of the light. In addition to posing the model, the ‘duty teacher’ from 1664 onwards was supposed to make his own drawing to serve as an example for the students and to devote part of each session to correcting students’ works, as we see represented in this drawing.10 Natoire’s own drawing of the two models may be in the portfolio leaning against the box in the centre; indeed an identical red chalk composition survives – although reversed – proving that this pose was actually used during one of his sessions (fig. 1).11 The models’ attitude in the middle follows the well- established practice within the Académie of adopting and adapting poses to recall ancient statuary.12 In this case they evoke the dynamic, interlocking bodies of the Wrestlers (see 30, 33), of which the Académie possessed a plaster cast, or possibly the pose of the so-called Pasquino.13 The main purpose of the practice was to pose the live model with the same tension and flexing of muscles as the ancient statues, so that students could then correct their drawings from ‘fallible Nature’ against the perfection of the antique exam- ple. The practice was diffused already in the 17th century and explicitly recommended by Sébastien Bourdon (1616–71), in his famous Conférence Sur les proportions de la figure humaine expliquées sur l’Antique delivered at the Académie in 1670.14 We 1. Charles-Joseph Natoire, Two Models, c. 1745, red chalk, 490 × 420 mm, sold Sotheby’s, Paris, 18 June 2008, lot 101 know from the influential Abrégé de la vie des plus fameux peintres, published by the art writer Argenville, that the great painter Champaigne devoted ‘his evenings   to drawing at the Académie and, on his return, he would correct from the Antique what he had done from the model’.15 Natoire was exposed to a similar exercise during the years he spent at the Académie de France in Rome during the 1720s and he must often have returned to this practice during his sessions at the Académie in Paris.16 Distributed in a semi-circle around the models are students of different ages, busy drawing the figures. Most of them are using chalk in porte-crayons, drawing on large sheets of paper. The exceptions are the two more mature students on the right who are modelling bas-reliefs in clay with their fingers and wooden sticks; the one on the right holds a sponge in his hand to clean the clay with water as seen in the drawing by Cochin engraved for the Encyclopédie (p. 52, 91).17 The process is clearly described in the Istruzione elementare per gli studiosi della scultura, the famous manual for students of sculpture published by Francesco Carradori (1747–1824) in 1802, and illustrated with a strikingly similar image (fig. 2).18 A third student, in the lower right corner, is wetting rags in a bucket to keep the clay damp and avoid cracks, as Carradori advised. On his left a dog – could it be Natoire’s? – stares at us from its sheltered position. The 2. Carradori, Istruzione elementare per gli studiosi della scultura, Florence, 1802, detail of plate 5 disposition of the students reflects the admission conditions and entrance hierarchy of the École du modèle: two-thirds were painters and one-third sculptors, placed in the back rows.19 Behind the semi-circle of students we see life-size plaster casts of four of the most canonical classical sculptures: from left to right the Farnese Hercules (see 30, 32; cat. 7), the Laocoön (see 26, 19; cat. 5), the Venus de’ Medici (see 42, 56) and the Borghese Gladiator (see 41, 54; cat. 23).20 The Hercules and the Venus are looking away from the viewer, as if to signal that the study of the Antique constitutes a different – though inextricably connected – practice from the study of the live model. The four statues provided the students with idealised models of human proportions, anatomy, beauty and emotion: the muscular strength of the heroic male body at rest, embodied by the Hercules, the complex pose and the pathos and drama of the Laocoön, the grace and beauty of the female body ideally incarnated by the Venus and, finally, the active anatomy of the muscular man in motion as expressed by the Gladiator. They repre- sented a sort of ‘canon within the canon’ of classical sculptures for artists, and their choice here is not accidental. These four statues – plus the Belvedere Torso and an antique Bacchus at Versailles – had been specifically selected as subjects of the Conférences devoted to the Antique held at the Académie Royale during the 1660s and 1670s; the text describing them was constantly being re-read by academi- cians since then.21 At the time this drawing was made, the Académie owned casts of all four statues – among many others – but Natoire ingeniously concentrates here what was actually distributed over various rooms.22 Significantly, all the statues in the drawing are in reverse as Natoire did not copy them from the casts but from prints in François Perrier’s celebrated Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum of 1638 (figs 3–6).23 Perrier’s collection of engravings after ancient statues had been for more than a century the standard work of reference for students beginning their study of the Antique, providing them with images in two dimensions that they could master before approaching the three-dimensional casts. This course was firmly recommended at the time of the foundation of the Académie in 1648 by Abraham Bosse (1602–76), its first professor of perspective.24 References to the glorious past of the Académie continue on the walls, where we are invited to ascend from drawings and bas-reliefs to paintings. On the lower tier are the designs and reliefs after the model that teachers had to produce from 1664 onwards (although this requirement was eventually abolished in 1715).25 Above these are displayed a series of canvases representing some of the greatest triumphs of modern French painting: the largest and most prominent, on the left, is Charles Le Brun’s Alexander at the Tent of Darius (1661); to its right, Jean Jouvenet’s Deposition (1697) and below it, barely discernible, Eustache Le Sueur’s Solomon and the Queen of Sheba (1650). Above, in the upper register, is hung another Le Sueur, the circular Alexander and His Doctor (1648– 49). On the right is François Lemoyne’s Annunciation (1725); and finally, below it Sébastien Bourdon’s Holy Family (1660– 70).26 The two square paintings on the upper left, probably a reclining Nymph or Venus and a Cupid and Psyche, have not been identified; it would be tempting to think that they might be Natoire’s own creations, but they do not correspond to any of his known works.27 None of the paintings were displayed at that time in the Académie and all are reversed, meaning that Natoire deliberately assembled them in this crowded space from prints.28 All were revered examples of history paintings by famous past academicians, ranging from Le Brun, Le Sueur and Bourdon, who had been among the twelve original founding members of the Académie in 1648, to Lemoyne, Natoire’s own teacher. Showing different kinds of history painting – Biblical subjects, Mythology and secular history – they here provide the young students with models both to imitate and aspire to. On the central pier, presiding over all the artistic activity below, is Bernini’s 1665 bust of Louis XIV, of which the Académie then displayed a plaster cast,29 reminding us of the glories of the institution under the reign of the Sun King. Such a deliberately programmatic image, which assem- bles so many references from different places and times, must be understood as a visual manifesto in favour of a retour à l’ordre within the Académie. At the time Natoire conceived it, many of the original academic practices and credos had long been neglected. After the late 17th century almost no new Conférences were held, and teachers simply re-read the old ones and the biographies of past academicians.30 Nor does it seem that the study of the Antique was much promoted and certainly the collection of casts was not integrated with the École du modèle.31 Finally, and most impor- tantly, during the first half of the 18th century, history painting had lost its place of pre-eminence within the Académie, a process foreshadowed by the success of Jean- Antoine Watteau (1684–1721) and his acceptance into the Académie in 1717 as a painter of fêtes galantes, a new category that encouraged the development of the ‘lesser genres’ of painting.32 At the same time, because of the popularity of ‘the Rococo interior’, history painters were often obliged to adapt their canvases for decorative schemes, to the point that Natoire complained in 1747 that his painting was regarded as mere furniture.33 Significantly, a completely different model was in place in Rome during the years spent by Natoire in the city as a young   156 157    3. (top left) François Perrier, Farnese Hercules, plate 4, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 4. (top right) François Perrier, Laocoön, plate 1, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 5. (bottom left) François Perrier, Venus de’Medici, plate 83, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 6. (bottom right) François Perrier, Borghese Gladiator, plate 28, from Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum, Rome, 1638 years implemented a series of radical changes – such as the re-establishment of the Conférences, the acquisition of new casts, and making the history paintings of the Royal Collection accessible to students – which paved the way to the triumph of the highest genre in the second half of the century.36 It is at this moment that Natoire’s drawing was conceived, probably as a statement in support of Tournehem’s reforms. These, in essence, involved a return to the original credo and mission of the Académie as devised by Louis XIV’s Minister Colbert and his Premier Peintre Charles Le Brun (1619–90): a royal institu- tion intended to support and cultivate History Painting through the practice of drawing and the study of the live model and the Antique. Natoire would apply many of the principles proclaimed in his drawing during his tenure as director of the Académie de France in Rome after 1751. The fact that everything in the Courtauld drawing – statues, paintings and even models – appears in reverse would suggest that it was intended to be engraved.37 How- ever, the students hold the porte-crayons in their right hands, which would seem to contradict this theory. In any case, it is highly likely that this complex image was conceived to be diffused for promotional purposes, possibly on the example of Dorigny’s engraving after Maratti (cat. 15), which Natoire would certainly have known.38 It would have been a persuasive way to promote the study of the live model together with the study of the Antique, a training that would effectively prepare young artists to revive those noble forms of painting that had been the glory of the Grand Siècle. London 2013–14, 33. See the 11th article of the 1664 reformed statutes of the Académie: Montaiglon 1875–92, 1, 253. See also London 2013–14, 33–34. The fact that the drawing is in reverese seems to suggest that it is a counter- proof. For the drawing see Caviglia-Brunel 2012, 481, no. D.794, repr. in colour at 128. The drawing was sold at Sotheby’s, Paris, 18 June 2008, no. 101. Some of Natoire’s drawings after the live model were published in 1745: Huquier 1745. Paris 2000–01, 415–29; London 2013–14, 62–69. Guérin 1715, 148, no. 49; London 2013–14, 94, note 62. On the pose of the two models see also Foster 1998, 56–57. On the Pasquino see Haskell and Penny 1981, 291–96, no. 72; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 202, no. 155 Lichtenstein and Michel 2006-12, 1.1, 374–77. See also Goldstein 1996, 150. Dezailler d’Argenville 1745–52, 2, 182. Macsotay 2010, 189–90. As noted by Gillian Kennedy in London 1991, 80, no. 35. I wish to thank Camilla Pietrabissa for a fruitful discussion on the subject. Carradori 1802, esp. 3–4, article 2, and plate 5; Carradori 2002, 23–24, and 60–61, plate 5. London 2013–14, 34. On the Farnese Hercules see Haskell and Penny 1981, 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri 2009–10, 3, 17–20, no. 1. On the Laocoön see Haskell and Penny 1981, 243–47, no. 52; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 164–68, no. 122. On the Venus de’ Medici see Haskell and Penny 1981, 325–28, no. 88. On the Borghese Gladiator see Haskell and Penny 1981, 221–24, no. 43; Paris 2000–01, no. 1, 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000–01c. Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, see esp. vols 1–2, passim. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 45–46. Guérin 1715, 62, no. 35, 105–06, nos 1–2, 185, no. 41; London and New York 2012–13, 162; London 2013–14, 94, note 62. On Perrier’s Segmenta see Picozzi 2000; Laveissière 2011; Di Cosmo 2013; Fatticcioni 2013. Bosse 1649, 98. On the success of the Segmenta see Haskell and Penny 1981, 21; Goldstein 1996, 144; Coquery 2000, 43–44. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 42. London 2013–14, 53. On a similar display in the real École du modèle see Guérin 1715, 258 London 1991, 80, no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, 334, no. D.362; London and New York 2012–13, 161. The Montpellier version also shows Poussin’s circular Time defending Truth against the Attacks of Envy and Discord on the ceiling: see Caviglia-Brunel 2012, 334, no. D.362. I would like to thank Alastair Laing for discussing these two paintings with me. London 1991, 80, no. 35. It was previously thought that the print from Lemoyne’s Annunciation was not in reverse but this has been disproven by Rowell 2012, see p. 178, 7 and p. 180, note 27. Guérin 1715, p. 165, no. 1. See Lichtenstein and Michel 2006–12, passim. Guérin 1715, 257–60. See also Foster 1998, 56–57; Schnapper 2000; Macsotay 2010. Locquin 1912, 5–13; Plax 2000. Jouin 1889; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35. On the Concorsi Clementini see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91 and Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, p. 54. See also cat. 15. Macsotay 2010; Henry 2010–11. Locquin 1912, 5–13; Schoneveld-Van Stoltz 1989, 216–28; Caviglia- Brunel 2012, 86–87. As already noted in Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, p. 80, no. 42. Dorigny’s print was reissued in 1728, in parallel to the award ceremony of the Concorsi Clementini, when Natoire was still in Rome (see cat. 15).   student. The Accademia di San Luca officially supported the copying of the Antique and the production of history painting through the system of the Concorsi Clementini, established in 1702, of which, as we know, Natoire obtained the first prize.34 At the same time the Académie de France in Rome saw a complete reorganisation under the directorship of Nicholas Vleughels (1668-1737) between 1725 and 1737. Its enormous collection of casts was redisplayed and integrated with the Ecole du modèle and its students, like Natoire, were strongly encouraged to compare the ideal of casts from the Antique against nature in the form of the live model, as we see promulgated in our drawing.35 These principles began to be re-introduced in Paris after the election in 1745 of Charles- François-Paul Le Normant de Tournehem – the uncle of Madame de Pompadour – as director of the Bâtiments du Roi, the official protector of the Académie Royale on behalf of the king. Tournehem initiated a reform aimed at the rehabilitation of history painting, and in the following  aa Lot 100 is probably this drawing but it could also refer to the very similar version of this sheet now preserved at the Musée Atger, Montpellier, inv. MA1, album M43 fol. 26: see Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977, p. 80, no. 42; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362 and p. 336, no. D. 370, where the lot description is transcribed in full. On Natoire see Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere 1977; Caviglia-Brunel 2012. For the Monpellier drawing see above note 1. Guérin 1715, 257–60, plate between 256–57; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362; London and New York 2012–13, 161–62, 68. Montaiglon 1875–92, 5, 171, 193; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; Caviglia-Brunel 2012, p. 334, no. D.362. Guérin 1715, p. 259; London 1991, p. 80, no. 35; London 2013–14, 46, 62. See the 4th article of the 1648 statutes of the Académie: Montaiglon 1875–92, 1, p. 8. See also Guérin 1715, p. 258. London 2013–14, p. 40. Women were admitted to the Académie, then named École des Beaux-Arts, only in 1896 and allowed to enrol for the Prix de Rome in 1903: Goldstein 1996, p. 61.  17. Hubert Robert (Paris 1733–1808 Paris) The Artist Seated at a Table, Drawing a Bust of a Woman c. 1763–65 Red chalk, 333 × 441 mm provenance: Poulet, whence acquired by Pierre Decourcelle (1856–1926), Paris in October 1912 for 300 francs;1 by descent; Decourcelle sale, Christie’s, Paris, 21 March 2002, lot 317, from whom acquired. literature: Paris 1933, p. 124, under no. 197; Rome 1990–91, p. 191, under no. 135; Ottawa, Washington D.C., and elsewhere 2003–04, p. 308, under no. 92, 142.  exhibitions: Paris 1922, p. 16, no. 85, not repr. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2002–012 Hubert Robert received a classical education at the Collège de Navarre before studying drawing in the studio of the sculptor, Michel-Ange Slodtz (1705–64). Even during this early period, he showed an interest in ‘architecture in ruins’.2 Although not eligible for a place at the Académie de Rome – he had not attended the requisite École Royale des élèves protégés – family connections allowed him to bypass this regulation and on 4 November 1754 Robert arrived in Rome in the retinue of the new French ambassa- dor, Étienne-François, comte de Stainville (1719–85), later duc de Choiseul. The diplomat sponsored Robert for the first three years of his stay before he was granted pensionnaire status at the Academy in 1759, under the directorship of Joseph-Charles Natoire (see cat. 16).3 Robert remained in Rome – with intermittent study trips to Naples, Florence and elsewhere in Italy – for eleven years, responding to the fertile archaeological climate, sparked by recent excavations at Pompeii and Herculaneum as well as the newly opened Capitoline Museum, and indulging his fascination for classical ruins. Natoire encouraged Robert and the other students to sketch antiquities outdoors in situ, in the Roman campagna and beyond. Robert also took inspiration from the work of other mentors including the celebrated vedu- tista, Giovanni Paolo Panini (c. 1692–1765), and the printmaker and draughtsman, Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720–78). With his friend and compatriot, Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732–1806), Robert enthusiastically sketched classical monuments and antiquities in and around Rome, later fusing real and imagined elements to create highly original compositions – often punctuated by ancient ruins or dilapidated architectural fragments – that would become a trademark of his work. The vast repository of motifs amassed by him during this productive Roman period, coupled to his facile draughtsmanship, would serve him well for years to come. He became a star pupil of the Academy and his drawings in particular would be eagerly sought after before he returned to France in 1765, where he entered the Académie Royale and successfully exhibited at the Salons.4 160 Undoubtedly one of his finest red chalk drawings, the present study shows the artist in a rare moment of casual repose, seated at a table and drawing, legs casually extended and crossed, stockinged feet resting carelessly on a large portfolio of drawings lying open on the floor.5 His relaxed, almost dishevelled appearance and level of undress – the fallen left knee-sock slumped around his ankle, the unbut- toned breeches and the disregarded, rumpled, coat, strewn on a chair opposite alongside his hat and the long shadows cast – all suggest that it is the end of a long day and he is at home, resuming a favourite activity: drawing. The focus of Robert’s gaze is the bust of an attractive young woman in right profile placed on the table. With his chalk-filled porte-crayon in hand, he stares intently at her, poised to sketch. Her head titled downwards, she returns his steady gaze; there is a palpable tension between them. However, the presence of a third figure threatens to interrupt their private moment. With a side-glance, a bearded man drawn on a sheet pinned up on the wall between them also watches the young woman, thereby completing an amusing love triangle of Robert’s invention. The object of the men’s attention is the Roman Empress, Faustina the Younger (c. ad 125/30–175), daughter of Emperor Antonius Pius and Faustina the Elder (fig. 1). She married Emperor Marcus Aurelius, perhaps the bearded rival in the drawing on the wall.6 Her marble bust was discovered in Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli and in 1748 presented by Benedict XIV to the Capitoline Museum where Robert would have seen it.7 Bartolomeo Cavaceppi, the Roman sculptor and antiquities restorer, who worked on the original for a year after its discovery and made several copies after it, was an acquaintance of Robert’s who occasionally visited his studio (cat. 18).8 In fact, his red chalk drawing in the Château Borély in Marseilles (cat. 18, 6) records an antiquities restorer, quite possibly Cavaceppi himself, working on a female bust.9 The present composition is repeated in a small signed painting in the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in 161  room’s generous proportions, the beamed ceiling and for- mal window, the elegant Louis XV-style table– are consistent with those found in Robert’s detailed sanguine of Breteuil’s grand Salone.13 Thus, it is highly likely that the composition was conceived during his stay at the Ambassador’s residence, 1763–65, and that it is Breteuil’s guest room that is shown. Perhaps the drawing, more a ricordo than a preliminary study for the painting, was intended as a gift to the host, as a gesture of gratitude and friendship. A highly regarded collector and patron of the arts, Breteuil was an ardent admirer of Robert’s work.14 At the outset of his posting in Rome, Natoire praised the diplomat as an informed collector who already owned ‘quelque chose’ by Robert.15 Breteuil would later procure many of Robert’s drawings as well as paintings.16 A close friendship between patron and artist followed, evidently based on a shared love of art and antiquity in all its forms.17 Together they translated texts by Virgil and took sightseeing trips in Rome, and at least one to Florence.18 The Ambassador asked Robert to accompany him to Sicily ‘pour visiter et dessiner les beaux morceaux antiques qui sont dans ses cantons-là’, but, it seems, the trip never took place.19 Representations of artists in the act of drawing antique sculpture and other works of art are recurrent in Robert’s oeuvre along with representations of classical architecture in ruin. Detailed studies made on the spot such as The Draughts- man at the Capitoline, c. 1763 (p. 56, 95) convey something of the wonder and excitement that he must have felt at 20 encountering these celebrated sights for the first time. He often represented himself or his associates in grandiose, stage-like settings or as art tourists, of the sort that he would frequently have encountered. But as an intimate scene of private contemplation, the present drawing stands apart 2. Hubert Robert, The Artist in his Studio, c. 1763–65, oil on canvas, 37 × 48 cm, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam, 2586 (OK) 3. Hubert Robert, Young Artists in the Studio, red chalk, with framing lines in pen and brown ink, 352 × 412 mm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1972.118.23 from these. It bears a close resemblance to a composition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (fig. 3) showing the same room but on another day with visitors: a bare-footed servant and two artists – one drawing, the other inspecting the portfolio.21 A little-known red chalk study formerly in the Camille Groult collection in Paris (fig. 4) probably preceded 22 the present drawing. It shows the same relaxed figure alone – Robert – in identical attire but fully dressed and outdoors, lying on the ground and sketching, presumably after his favourite subject: the Antique. 4. Hubert Robert, Le Dessinateur, red chalk, 300 × 400 mm, present whereabouts unknown    1. Bust of Empress Faustina the Younger, 147–48 ad, marble, 60 cm (h), Musei Capitolini, Rome, inv. MC449 Rotterdam (fig. 2).10 It is of similar dimensions to the drawing but a few modifications were made: Robert no longer has a full head of hair and the open portfolio used as a foot rest is now safely closed, while another leans against his chair. The view of the room is wider and includes a high, beamed ceiling, a generously sized window and a table on the right, on which rest tools and utensils. A further nod to antiquity is a lively copy after the celebrated Roman sculpture, Germanicus (cat. 33, 4) on a pedestal on the left. While it was found in Rome, in Robert’s time the statue was already in Versailles.11 But its fame endured in Italy and a plaster cast was available for study at the French Academy in Rome. Further playful details were introduced: a framed picture and precariously hung drawings (including a possible por- trait of Faustina); a charming dog that takes a keen interest in Robert’s casually flung slippers. While the intimate nature of the scene, bordering on genre, suggests this is indeed Robert’s private space, its spacious grandeur is not that of his student lodging at the Academy. When his official term as pensionnaire ended in October 1763, his stay was extended by the largesse of the French Ambassador of the Order of Malta to the Holy See, the Bailli de Breteuil (1723–85), who housed him at his palace on the Via dei Condotti until he returned to Paris in July 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 avl According to N. Schwed (e-mail, 30 July 2014), this information was provided to Christie’s at the time of the Decourcelle sale in 2002. Taillasson 1808, 473. Letters exchanged between the influential Marquis de Marigny, Director General of King Louis XV’s buildings (and brother of his mistress, Madame de Pompadour), and Charles-Joseph Natoire, Director of the French Academy in Rome published by A. de Montaiglon and J. Guiffrey between 1887–1912 provide essential details about Robert and his stay in Italy. For Robert and Choiseul, see ibid., 11, 262, no. 5331. Collector and connoisseur, Pierre-Jean Mariette preferred Robert’s draw- ings to his paintings: ‘ses tableaux est fort inferieur à ses desseins [sic], dans lesquels il met beaucoup d’esprit’ (Mariette 1850–60, 4, 414). Letters between Marigny and Natoire mention requests from Mariette for drawings: Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 11, 365, no. 5477; 367, no. 5483; 388, no. 5521; 428, no. 5589. The traditional view that the drawing is a self-portrait (Paris 1922, 16, no. 85; Paris 1933, 124, under no. 197), upheld in the recent literature, need not be questioned. The figure resembles Augustin Pajou’s marble bust of Robert (1780) in the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts and Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun’s 1788 portrait of him in the Louvre. He has all the characteristics of an emperor from the Antonine period. It could well be a reference to the bust of Marcus Aurelius in the Capitoline Museum. See Fittschen and Zanker 1985, 1, 76–77, no. 69, 2, pls 79, 81–82. A copy by Cavaceppi in terracotta is preserved in the Museo del Palazzo di Venezia, see Rome 1994, 104, no. 19, repr. For the bust, see Fittschen and Zanker 1983, 1, pp.20–21, no. 19, 2, pls 24–26. For its restoration, see London 1983, 66–67. Cavaceppi’s posthumous inventory of 1802 mentions two marble Faustinas and one plaster cast  (Gasparri and Ghiandoni 1994, 264, no. 310, 270, no. 624 and 286, no. 109). For surviving copies by Cavaceppi, predominantly acquired by English collectors, see Howard 1970, 123, figs 8 and 9, 128; Howard 1982, 240, no. 6, 313, 133, 83, 251, 25–26, 326, 211, 264, no. 14, 268, no. 15, 419; I. Bignamini, in London and Rome 1996–97, 211–12, no. 159; D. Walker, in Philadelphia and Houston 2000, 242, no. 120. This is not, however, Faustina, as Marianne Roland Michel proposed (Marseille 2001, 96, no. 109). For the painting, see J. Ebeling, in Ottawa, Washington D.C. and elsewhere 2003–04, 308–09, no. 92, 372, with select previous literature listed. See Haskell and Penny 1981, 119–20, no. 42, 114. Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 12, 86, no. 5856. Paris, Louvre. Méjanès 2006, 77, no. 33 and Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, 140–41, no. 53. The connection was first noted by J. de Cayeux in Rome 1990–91, 191, under cat. no. 135. On Breteuil, see Yavchitz-Koehler 1987, 369–78, Depasquale 2001, and Ottawa and Caen 2011–12, 13–17 and 140–41, no. 53. Letter from Natoire to Marigny, 25 April 1759 (Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 11, 272–73, no. 5346). For the drawings, see letter from Natoire to Marigny, 5 January 1763, Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 11, 455, no. 5636. Compositions by Robert are among the copies made in 1770 by Ango (active 1759 – after 1773) after works in Breteuil’s collection (Choisel 1986, nos 23–26, 44, 80). Their close rapport was recorded by Robert’s friend, the painter Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun (Gabillot 1895, 80–81). Breteuil owned antique works as well as copies after the antique by contemporary artists. Some are recorded in drawings by Ango (Choisel 1986, 29, 45, 47, 51, 54–57, 71–72, 74–75, 83 and 125) including a small bronze Venus Pudica, no. 56, and a copy by Laurent Guiard (1723–88) after the Venus Calllypige from the Farnese collec- tion (no. 75). Additional antique works and copies are listed in Breteuil’s posthumous sale in Paris of 16 January 1786, including a copy of the Gladiator by Luc-François Breton (1731–1800), no. 135, and a copy of the bust of Germanicus in the Capitoline, no. 143. Although no bust of Faustina is listed, he may have owned the copy that Robert draws in the present drawing. Gabillot 1895, 61, 81–82. Letter from Natoire to Marigny, 5 January 1763 and another from Marigny to Natoire, 20 February 1763. Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 11, 455, no. 5636 and 462, no. 5649. J.-P. Cuzin, in Paris 2000–01, 373, no. 178. Michel 1998–2000, 60, 62, 13. Sold Galerie Charpentier, Paris, 21 March 1952, lot 52. Present whereabouts unknown. 163  of 1765. 162 12 Certain decorative features in the painting – the  18. Hubert Robert (Paris 1733–1808 Paris) The Roman Studio of Bartolomeo Cavaceppi c. 1764–65 Black chalk, 339 × 443 mm Inscribed verso l.r. in pencil: ‘Salon de 1783 / No. 61 Intérieur d’un atelier à Rome / dans lequel on restaure des statues / antiques / Cet atelier est pratiqué et construit / dans les debris d’un ancien temple / 5 pieds de large sur 3 pieds 9 pounces de haut’ watermark: A coat of arms, possibly containing a star, three hills and the initials ‘CB’ below, surmounted by a Cardinal’s hat with tassels on each side (see Heawood 1950, nos 791–99). provenance: Charles Albert de Burlet (1882–1956), Berlin, around 1910; Sold Galerie Fischer, Lucerne, 13 November 2006, lot 1944; Private collection, Switzerland, in 2006; Le Claire Kunst, Hamburg, in 2011; Sold Villa Grisebach, Berlin, 28 November 2013, lot 307R, from whom acquired. literature: Le Claire Kunst 2011, no. 13 (unpaginated), repr.; Yarker and Hornsby 2012-13, 65–66, 37; Körner 2013, lot 307R, repr. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2013-030  A visit to the studio of Bartolomeo Cavaceppi (1716–99) the sculptor, dealer, antiquarian, collector and especially, restorer of ancient sculpture was essential for any serious art tourist or collector in Rome on the Grand Tour.1 Known as the ‘Museo Cavaceppi’, by the 1770s it was listed in guide- books as among the top sights of the Eternal City.2 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), who lived nearby, and visited it in 1788 noted that one could experience in the studio ancient sculpture from close proximity in all its gran- deur and beauty.3 The painters, Henry Fuseli (1741–1825) and Giovanni Casanova (1728/30–1795) and the sculptor, Antonio Canova (1757–1822), also came to see the collection.4 The ‘Museo’ was an international meeting place, frequented by many artists including the English sculptor, Joseph Nollekens, who worked for Cavaceppi as an assistant in the 1760s, and the English painter, Charles Grignoin, who resided with him in 1787.5 Strategically located between the Spanish Steps and the Piazza del Popolo and thus in the social hub of Rome, the sprawling workshop was graced by European royalty – Catherine the Great, Maria Christina, Duchess of Teschen, Princess Sophia Albertina of Sweden, her brother, King Gustav III – and a steady stream of English Grand Tourists like Charles Townley (see cat. 28), many of whom became important clients.6 From a modest background, Cavaceppi trained as a sculp- tor before enrolling in the Accademia di San Luca in 1732. Albani, the nephew of Pope Clement XI and then the most respected private collector of antiquities in Rome, appoints Cavaceppi as his personal restorer. The association brought him many profitable commissions from foreign tourists for whom he found antique statues, restored them, or made copies, in marble or plaster. He also created original works, rarely signed, that were often confused with authentic antique originals. Through his friend, the art historian and archaeol- 164 ogist, Johann Joachim Winckelman (1717–68), who, in 1764, published The History of Art in Antiquity (Geschichte der Kunst des Alterthums), Cavaceppi secured many English clients, taken with the current mania for classical antiquity. He later served as chief restorer to the Pope at the Museo Clementino and was made Knight of the Golden Spur in 1770. In 1768 Cavaceppi published the first volume of his Raccolta d’antiche statue, busti, teste cognite ed altre sculture antiche con- taining sixty plates of antique statues that had been repaired in his studio, often ‘corrected’ with missing or broken parts filled in. Over half of these had been acquired by English collectors.7 A year later, he published the second volume, essentially a promotional catalogue with works available for purchase, followed by a third in 1772. Illustrating a total of 196 works, these influential volumes, the first of their kind, helped to satisfy the seemingly insatiable demand for unblemished antique sculpture – free of fragmentary vestiges or other perceived flaws – and to encourage an emerging neo-classical aesthetic. For modern scholars they serve as an indispensible tool for identifying works he restored. By 1756 Cavaceppi established his vast studio on the Via del Babbuino, a workshop and showroom. Cavaceppi employed a range of skilled and unskilled workers with different roles and specialisations, fifteen of whom have been identified by name, with Giuseppe Angelini and Carlo Albacini being the most accomplished.8 The frontispiece to the first volume of Cavaceppi’s Raccolta provides a fascinating look at his active studio with assistants exercising different techniques of restoration and antiques in various stages of completion (fig. 1). It offers a glimpse at what must have been a sprawling complex of rooms with distinctive architectural details – high ceilings, lattice windows and an enfilade of vaulted archways connecting each room, one leading to an open garden courtyard at the back.9 165       1. View of Cavaceppi’s Roman Studio, engraving, in Raccolta d’antiche statue, 1, frontispiece, Rome, 1768. Photo: Warburg Institute, London Hubert Robert certainly encountered Cavaceppi during his Roman sojourn, 1754–65 (see cat. 17), and visited his studio on occasion, as this drawing testifies. Executed in soft black chalk, it offers a view of one of the many rooms in the Cavaceppi workshop. As in the engraving, there is a high ceiling with lattice windows, statues and blocks of stone are scattered about, and affixed to the wall on the left, is the same type of wooden structure and lead point suspended on a cord used for measuring sculpture.10 With a chisel in one hand and a mallet in the other, a restorer dressed in formal attire, perhaps Cavaceppi himself, is busy worker-cutting on the cascading drapery of an enormous statue of an armless woman. We can identify this as Cavaceppi’s studio with virtual certainty as two works in the drawing were illustrated in perhaps Cavaceppi himself, working on a female bust (fig. 6). Captivated by the theme of the artist at work, Robert would return to the subject of the restorer’s studio. In 1783 he successfully showed the impressive, rather generically entitled, The Studio of an Antiquities Restorer in Rome at the Salon (Toledo Museum of Art), which, though clearly an idealised vision featuring some of the most famous antique works of the day (including the River Nile, Cupid and Psyche, etc.), is also a wistful reminiscence of the artist’s own Roman years and passionate study of antique statuary: a diminutive figure of an artist sketching is visible in the foreground.18 In another little-known privately owned picture attributed to Robert, well-clad visitors admire antique statues in a sculptor’s studio while the ubiquitous artist is seen drawing (fig. 7). Though certain features suggest the small painting may also represent Cavaceppi’s studio, as with the Toledo canvas, topographical exactitude is tempered with a more generalised, romantic – and highly saleable view – of remnants from Rome’s ancient. For his life and work, see especially Howard 1970, Howard 1982, London 1983, Howard 1991, Gasparri and Ghiandoni 1994, Rome 1994, Piva 2000, Barr 2008, Weiss and Dostert 2000, Bignamini and Hornsby 2010, 252–55; Piva 2010–11, C. Piva in Rome 2010–11, 418–19, no. IV.1 and Meyer and Piva 2011, 149–55 (for essential bibliography). Howard 1988, 479; Piva 2000, 5; Barr 2008, 86. Goethe 1827–42, 540, cited in C. Piva in Rome 2010–11b, 418–19, no. IV.1. Piva 2000, 6, 17, note 4; Honour and Mariuz 2007, 26, 60–63. For Nollekens, see Howard 1964, 177–89; Coltman 2003, 371–96. For Grignoin, see Ingamells 1997, 433–34. Howard 1988, 479. For Cavaceppi’s works from British collections, see London 1983. Haskell and Penny 1981, 68. Barr 2008, 104 and 184, Appendix B. Some of the same topographical details are discernible in a little-known floor plan of the building (Piva 2000, 10, 7). For more on this device and an engraving demonstrating its use (published by D. Diderot and J. le Rond d’Alembert in the Encyclopédie in 1765), see Myssok 2010, pp. 272–73, 13.2. As first noted by Stefan Körner (Körner 2013, under lot 307R). Ibid., under lot lot 307R; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, 416, no. 270. Körner 2013, under lot lot 307R; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, 430, no. 283. Müller-Kaspar 2009, 395. D. Kreikenbom, in Hüneke 2009, pp. 578–79, no. 357. According to Winckelmann, many statues (including Kalliope and possibly also Lucilla) were acquired by Bianconi in 1766 from the sale of Cavaliere Pietro Natali’s collection in Rome. Conceivably, they were brought to Cavaceppi’s studio while they were still in Natali’s possession (Müller- Kaspar 2009, 395; U. Müller-Kaspar, in Hüneke 2009, pp. 416, 430). Marseille 2001, 96, no. 109. Guiffrey 1869–72, 32, p.25, no. 61: ‘L’intérieur d’un Attelier à Rome, dans lequel on restaure des statues antiques. Cet Attelier est pratiqué et construit dans les debris d’un ancien Temple’. 2. Lucilla Sotto sembianza d’Urania, anch’essa or esistente in Germania, engraving in Raccolta d’antiche statue, 1, Rome, 1768, pl. 58. Photo: Warburg Institute, London 3. Kore as Urania, body, Antonine, c. 150 ad after a Greek model, 4th century bc; head, 160–170 ad; marble, 270 cm (h), Berlin, SMBPK, Antikensammlung, Sk 379 in the drawing, to the right, the muse Kalliope, lost in Berlin during World War II, was also restored by Cavaceppi (figs 4–5).13 Both were acquired in 1766 by the Bolognese doctor and antiquarian, Giovanni Ludovico Bianconi, another friend of Winkelmann’s, for King Frederick William II of Prussia and assigned to Cavaceppi for restoration before being sent to the Sansssouci Palace in Potsdam in 1767.14 The child’s sarcophagus visible in the drawing on the left wall is also similar to that preserved today in Charlottenhof Palace in Potsdam though it does not appear in the Raccolta.15 The dating of Robert’s drawing is problematic as in 1766, the year Lucilla and Kalliope were acquired by Bianconi, the 4. Kalliope, engraving in Raccolta d’antiche statue, 1, Rome, 1768, pl. 45. Photo: Warburg Institute, London 5. Kalliope, Roman, marble, 98 cm, formerly Berlin, SMBPK, Antikensammlung, Sk 600, lost c. 1945 6. Hubert Robert, L’Atelier du restaurateur de sculptures antiques, black chalk, 368 × 323 mm, Château Borély, Marseilles, Inv. 68-194 painter was already back in Paris, having left Rome in July 1765. However, it seems highly likely that the works were lodged in Cavaceppi’s studio before their acquisition and, indeed, they are drawn in their pre-restoration state.16 During the same period Robert probably made the black chalk drawing now in Marseille showing an antiquities restorer, 17 7. Hubert Robert, Studio of a Sculpture Restorer, oil on panel, 13 × 10 cm, private collection. Photo: Witt Library   his Raccolta. 166 11 One of them, the monumental female statue in the centre, re-appears in the publication, with arms added and an entirely different head (fig. 2). Cavaceppi identified her as Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelius, with the attrib- utes of Urania, the muse of Astronomy (‘Lucilla Sotto sembian- za d’Urania, anch’essa or esistente in Germania’). A staggering 220-cm in height she is preserved today, with further restorations, in Berlin (fig. 3).12 The seated figure behind her past. avl 167  19. Georg Martin Preissler (Nürnberg 1700–54 Nürnberg) after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (Lucca 1692–1775 Rome) Self-Portrait of Campiglia Drawing 1739 Engraving, first state (before the lettering) 226 × 167 mm (image); 315 × 223 mm (sheet) Inscribed l.l. below image in pencil: ‘Campiglia se ipse del.’; l.r.: in pencil: ‘G. M. Preisler.Sc.Nor.; and l.c. in pencil: ‘Joh. Dominicus Campiglia, / Pictor Florent. Delineator / Musei Fiorentini.’ provenance: Trinity Fine Art, London, 1999, from whom acquired. literature: Le Blanc 1854–88, 3, 244, no. 6, ‘Campiglia (Giov. – Dom.). 1739. In – fol. -1er état : avant le lettere.’ exhibitions: London 1999b, 8, no. 16, not repr. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1999–054  A prolific and accomplished draughtsman, painter and reproductive engraver, Campiglia was a central figure in promoting and disseminating images of the Antique during the middle decades of the 18th century and therefore, is a key figure in the present exhibition.1 His formative years were spent training with his uncle and local painters in Lucca, Bologna and Florence where he studied drawing, as well as anatomy and perspective and made copies after the Old Masters. By 1716, he was residing in Rome studying the most important collections of antique sculpture. That year he received a first prize for painting and for drawings to illustrate a booklet for the Accademia di San Luca. He was already respected for his wide culture and his work was admired by English collectors like Richard Topham, who esteemed his refined and highly finished chalk studies of antique sculpture, as well as his portraits.2 His close involve- ment in two lavishly illustrated and highly successful and influential publications largely devoted to antique sculpture – the Museum Florentinum and the Museo Capitolino (cat. 20) – brought him lasting fame and consolidated the taste for classical antiquity that continued through the rest of the 18th century and beyond.3 In the early 1730s the Florentine antiquarian, Anton Francesco Gori (1691–1757), began to assemble a set of vol- umes that aimed to provide a visual record of the art collec- tions of Florence, mainly those of the Medici, the ruling dynasty. He commissioned Campiglia, already in the city in 1726, and others to make drawings of the works selected to be engraved. The Museum Florentinum was published between 1731 and 1766. It comprised twelve large volumes divided into four parts: Gemmae antiquae ex Thesauro Mediceo et privatorum dactyliothecis florentiae..., devoted to engraved gems (1731–32); Statuae antiquae deorum et virorum illustrium, on antique statues and monuments (1734), Antiqua numismata aurea et argentea, dedicated to ancient coins (1740–42) and, lastly, Serie di ritratti degli eccellenti pittori, illustrating 320 portraits of prominent artists, published in 1752–66. This last volume, based on art- ists’ self-portraits in the Uffizi’s collection, is of particular relevance here, as we shall see later. This rare engraving by Preissler, hitherto unpublished and known only in a single impression of the first state, is probably based on a now untraced self-portrait of Campiglia.4 Without explanation, Le Blanc dates the print to 1739 – when the artist was 47.5 Wearing an ermine collar with a crisp, white, open-necked shirt and directly engaging the viewer, he presents himself as straightforward, successful and brim- ming with confidence. Assuming that Le Blanc’s date is cor- rect, the print appeared at time when Campiglia was enjoying considerable success. The first two parts of the Museum Florentinum had already been published, he had begun work on the Capitolino (see cat. 20) and, precisely in 1739, he had been appointed Superintendent of the Calcografia Camerale, the papal printing press. These successes culmi- nated in his nomination for membership of the Accademia di San Luca in November of that same year.6 Resting a sheet of paper against a drawings portfolio held in his left hand, with his right hand he is drawing with a porte-crayon a model of the Belvedere Antinous standing on the table before him (fig.). At the statue’s feet is a figurine of a herm with the head of a youth, perhaps Mercury, and two medals, one showing a man holding a lyre, who may be Homer.7 It is not surprising that Campiglia, whose reputation was established through skilfully reproducing artefacts from the ancient world, should present himself with the Belvedere Antinous, one of the most celebrated statues to survive from antiquity. Renowned since its discovery in the 16th century and for its placement in the Belvedere court, it soon ranked among the most famous statues of Rome.8 Casts of the statue of the handsome youth, the lover of the Roman emperor, Hadrian, who drowned himself in the Nile and was deified by 168same year.6 Resting a sheet of paper against a drawings portfolio held in his left hand, with his right hand he is drawing with a porte-crayon a model of the Belvedere Antinous standing on the table before him (fig. 1). At the statue’s feet is a figurine of a herm with the head of a youth, perhaps Mercury, and two medals, one showing a man holding a lyre, who may be Homer.7 It is not surprising that Campiglia, whose reputation was established through skilfully reproducing artefacts from the ancient world, should present himself with the Belvedere Antinous, one of the most celebrated statues to survive from antiquity. Renowned since its discovery in the 16th century and for its placement in the Belvedere court, it soon ranked among the most famous statues of Rome.8 Casts of the statue of the handsome youth, the lover of the Roman emperor, Hadrian, who drowned himself in the Nile and was deified by 168 169  adopts the same pose in the print as he did for his person- ification of painting in the little-known Il Genio della Pittura of around 1739–40 in the Accademia Nazionale di San Luca (fig. 2).13 The chalk holder becomes a paint brush and the drawings portfolio a canvas. Not coincidentally, Campiglia seems to have donated this painting as his entry work to the Academy c. 1740, about contemporary with the present engraving.14 He cleverly fuses iconographic elements in an amusing black chalk study of c. 1737–38 in the British Museum (fig. 3) acquired by Charles Frederick (1709–85) while in Rome on the Grand Tour, where he depicts himself drawing in the company of a seated monkey who playfully holds up a paint brush, a clear allegorical reference to art imitating nature or ‘art as the ape of nature’ as Aristotle describes it in the Poetics.15 Characterised as ‘a very well-bred communica- tive man’, Campiglia and his portraits were enormously popular with English collectors.16 Campiglia made several other self-portraits throughout his career.17 Of particular relevance is the painting made around 1766 for his pupil and collaborator, Pietro Antonio Pazzi (c. 1706–after 1766) and now in the Uffizi.18 It shows the artist at ease, his hands casually resting on his ever-present portfolio. The picture appears, like so many of the Uffizi self-portraits, as an engraving by the same Pazzi in the final volume of the Museum Florentinum (fig. 4).19 In Pazzi’s engraving the format and central image dimensions are nearly identical to our print of Campiglia by Georg Martin Preissler, who, not coincidentally, engraved other portrait plates in the Museum Florentinum. Furthermore, the pencil lettering, Joh. Dominicus Campiglia, / Pictor Florent. Delineator, beneath the image in our engraving is similar in style and format to the engraved inscriptions accompanying the other portraits in the book. Also telling is the final pencil inscription, Delineator Musei Fiorentini, under his name in the print. All this evidence strongly suggests that Campiglia intended to use the present image for the Museum Florentinum – and had it engraved by Preissler for that purpose – but he decided not to use it. Perhaps it served as a kind of test-print for the engraved self-portraits in the volume. Although the portrait series was not published until 1752–66, by 1739, Gori and Campiglia would already have started to plan the format of the later sections. Interestingly, Charles Le Blanc similarly describes Preissler’s engravings of Dürer, Eglon van der Neer, Rubens and Raphael, all destined for the Museum Florentinum, as first states ‘before the lettering’.20 But whatever our print’s true purpose, by the time the portrait volumes appeared, Campiglia, then well into his sixties and in the twilight of his career opted to present a more recent and relaxed version of himself. avl 2. Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Genius of Painting, c. 1739–40, oil on canvas, 48 × 63.3 cm, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome, Inv. 0075 3. Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Self-Portrait of Campiglia Drawing, with a Monkey Seated on the Table at Left, c. 1737–38, black chalk, 417 × 258 mm, Department of Prints and Drawings, British Museum, London, 1865,0114.820 4. Pietro Antonio Pazzi after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Self-Portrait of Campiglia, engraving in Museum Florentinum, Florence, 12, 1766, plate XXII, 274 × 176 mm (plate), Sir John Soane’s Museum Library, London, 2848     1. Belvedere Antinous, Roman copy of the Hadrianic period (117–138 ad) from a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 195 cm (h), Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 907 the grief-stricken emperor, were produced almost immedi- ately after its discovery and copies in marble and bronze were made through the 17th century.9 Considered to embody perfection, according to Bellori the statue was the subject of studies in ideal proportion by François Duquesnoy (1597– 1643) and Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665) (p. 47, 68). The figure had wide-reaching appeal to collectors and connois- seurs, and enticed a range of artists, who, from the 16th century included it in portraits.10 During the 18th century small-scale models in bronze or marble, like that seen in the engraving, were produced in large numbers with ‘restored’ arms, as seen here. Archaeologist and art historian, Winckelmann, no doubt contributed to the statue’s elevated status even more with his claim, ‘our Nature will not easily create a body as perfect as that of the Antinous admir- andus’.11 The widely held belief that the statue was the embodiment of ideal beauty would be upheld into the 19th century: even the usually acerbic William Hogarth admitted its proportions were ‘the most perfect of any of the antique statues’.12 Campiglia was not shy and his other self-portraits make a compelling comparison with this one. Interestingly, he 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 For essential biography, see Prosperi Valenti 1974, pp. 539–41; Quieto 1984a; Quieto 1984b. Through his agent, Francesco Ferdinano Imperiali, Topham commis- sioned Campiglia and others, including the young Pompeo Batoni, to make dozens, if not hundreds of drawings with the aim of systematically illus- trating Roman collections of antiquities. Many of these drawings are now preserved at Eton College. See Connor Bulman 2002, 343–57 and Windsor 2013, 11, 14–15. The corpus of his drawings for the Museum Florentinum are in the Uffizi in Florence (Quieto 1984b, 10) and for the Museo Capitolino, in the Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica in Rome (Quieto 1984b, 10, 17–26, 29–36; I. Sgarbozza in Rome 2010–11b, 402, no. II.15a-b). It is listed by C. Le Blanc (1854–88, 3, 244, no. 6) among the prints by G. M. Preissler: ‘Campiglia (Giov. – Dom.). 1739. In – fol. -1er état : avant le lettere. Frauenholz, 4 flor.’ To the knowledge of the present writer, no impression of the second state exists nor, for that matter, has either state previously been published or discussed. The name and price Le Blanc men- tions – Frauenholz, 4 florins – refer to the Nuremberg-based print dealer and publisher, Johann Friedrich Frauenholz (1758–1822), who may have owned the catalogued impression and who sold (or acquired) it for the price of 4 florins. While it is possible that the present impression is the one described, none of Frauenholz’s collector’s marks or inscriptions (L. 951, L. 994, L. 1044 and L. 1458) appear on it. Campiglia’s relatively youthful appearance suggests the drawn or painted original may have been executed a decade or so earlier. He was proposed by Sebastiano Conca on 15 November 1739 and his mem- bership confirmed, 3 January 1740 (Quieto). As noted by Eloisa Dodero (personal communication), the herm is similar to the one seen in the background of Campiglia and Pazzi’s engraving, Students Copying Antiquities at the Capitoline Museum (see following entry, cat. no. 20). 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 Haskell and Penny (1981, 139–42, no. 4) give a full account of the sculp- ture’s history and reception. See also Krahn 1996. See V. Krahn in Rome 2000b, 2, 403–04, no. 9. Haskell and Penny 1981, 142 and Krahn 1996. Haskell and Penny 1981, 142; and Winckelmann 1968, 153. Hogarth 1753, 81–83. Faldi 1977, 504, 508, 8. Quieto 1983, 5; Rome 1968, 22, no. 5. Liverpool 1994-95, 72, no. 19. Ibid., 72. Gentleman’s Magazine 1853, 40, 237, as quoted by H. Macandrew 1978, 138. Painted self-portraits are in the Palazzo Altieri, Viterbo (formerly Faldi collection, Rome; Quieto 1983, 5–6, 8, 3, c. 1726–28), the Lemme collection, Rome (ibid., 1983, 5, 7–8, 4, 1732–34). See also the two mentioned in note 18, below. Drawn self-portraits of a later date have appeared on the London art market: Chaucer Fine Arts, 2003 (London 2003a, no. 12), Christie’s, December 6, 2012, lot 56 and Christie’s, April 21 1998, lot 126. See Quieto 1983, 4–5, 2 and Quieto 2007, 93–94, 27. As that author noted, it reprises the composition of an earlier work painted for the Accademia di San Luca (1983, 5, cover). Although in 1766 the painting was not yet in the Uffizi – it was not left by Pazzi to the Grand Ducal collection until 1768 (Quieto 1983, 5) – it is likely that at that date he had already planned to bequeath it, given the self- portraits in the Museum Florentinum are based on the Uffizi’s collection. Le Blanc 1854–88, 3, 244, 8, 23, 28, 30. Interestingly, Le Blanc indicates that the Dürer and Raphael were also once owned by Frauenholz. It seems that all these early first states were in a folio together. 170 171  20. Pietro Antonio Pazzi (Florence c. 1706 – after 1766 Florence) after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (Lucca 1692–1775 Rome) Students Copying Antiquities at the Capitoline Museum 1755 Engraving in Giovanni Gaetano Bottari, Musei Capitolini, 3, Rome, 1755, 1 99 × 186 mm (plate), 444 × 287 mm (sheet) Inscribed l.l.: ‘Gio. Dom. Campiglia inv. e disegn.’; and l. r.: ‘P. Ant. Pazzi incis.’ provenance: Robert Adam (1728–92); his sale, Christie’s, London, 20–21 May 1818; purchased by Sir John Soane (1753–1837), not listed in the Christie’s sale catalogue (according to hand list, Sir John Soane’s Museum, Priv. Corr. XVI.E.3.12: ‘Books purchased at Mr Adam’s sale’). literature: Haskell and Penny 1981, 84, fig. 46; Lyon 1998–99, 109–10, under no. 89, not repr. (A. Themelly); Paris 2000–01, 370, fig. 2; Macsotay 2010, 194, fig. 9.3.  exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Sir John Soane’s Museum Library, London, 4033 exhibited in london only Few images capture the process of learning to draw after the Antique in 18th-century Rome as vividly as Campiglia and Pazzi’s densely populated engraving. More readily accessible than the Belvedere Courtyard in the Vatican (cats 5 and 6) and the private aristocratic collections, such as the Borghese and Farnese (cats 6 and 21), the Capitoline Museum was the ideal venue for students to draw in situ from some of the most celebrated antiquities preserved in Rome. Founded in 1471 with Pope Sixtus IV’s (r. 1471–84) dona- tion of several important ancient bronzes – the She Wolf, the colossal bronze head and hand of Constantine, the Spinario and the Camillus – all preserved until then in the Lateran Palace, the Capitoline grew in time to become one of the largest and most prestigious collections of classical antiqui- ties ever assembled in Rome.1 In 1734, in conjunction with the recent acquisition of the celebrated collection of Cardinal Alessandro Albani, and thanks to the enlightened policy of Pope Clement XII (r. 1730–40), the Capitoline opened as a public museum.2 Established with the two-fold civic and educational purpose of preserving and making accessible to the public the city’s antiquities and to cultivate ‘the practice and advancement of young students of the Liberal Arts’, the museum soon became a lure for Italian and foreign antiquar- ians and artists alike.3 The didactic function of the museum was emphasised further by Pope Benedict XIV (r. 1740–58) with the opening of the Pinacoteca Capitolina in 1748, the first public collection of painting in Rome, and, in 1754, the establishment of the Accademia del Nudo.4 The Capitoline thus became the first public museum in Europe in the modern sense of the word and an ideal academy where art students could copy concurrently from the Antique, Old Master paintings and the live model. The museum’s educational mission was sanctioned by its growing associa- tion with the Accademia di San Luca. Academy members 172 presided over the life classes at the Accademia del Nudo (Campiglia directed classes there in April 1757 and November 1760)5 and prizes for the student competitions at the Accademia di San Luca, the Concorsi, were awarded in sump- tuous ceremonies in the rooms of the Capitoline palaces.6 This image is the engraved vignette that introduces the volume devoted to ancient statues of the Musei Capitolini, an ambitious publication produced with the pedagogical intent of spreading knowledge of the museum and its collection of antiquities.7 Conceived by Cardinal Neri Maria Corsini, the nephew of Pope Clement XII, it consisted of large engraved plates (fig. 1), all based on designs by Campiglia, accompa- nied by a substantial commentary by the antiquarian Bottari; both artist and writer had worked together previously on the monumental Museum Florentinum (cat. 19). First published in Italian as Del Museo Capitolino (Rome, 1741–82) and then translated into Latin as Musei Capitolini (4 vols, Rome, 1750–82) in order to reach a wider foreign audience, the large volumes can be 1. Carlo Gregori after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, The Dying Gladiator, engraving, 202 × 300 mm, plate 68 from Giovanni Gaetano Bottari, Musei Capitolini, 3, Rome, 1755  173  considered the first systematic catalogue of a public museum.8 The prestige of the publication, the clarity and neatness of the illustrations – produced by many of the engravers who, like Pietro Antonio Pazzi, had participated in the Museum Florentinum – soon made it a celebrated and indispensible reference work that greatly contributed to the diffusion of the classical taste in Europe. It was a familiar presence in the libraries of connoisseurs and artists as this copy, owned by Soane and before him by Robert Adam (1728–92), testifies. The engraving is a celebration of the new educational role of the museum and its association with the Academy of San Luca, of which Campiglia had been a member since 1740 (see cat. 19). In a crowded space, a group of students is seen sketching and modelling in clay after two of the most famous statues that had been recently acquired for the museum: the so-called Dying Gladiator (fig. 2) and the Capitoline Antinous (fig. 3), now believed to represent respectively a Gaul and Hermes. The former, discovered around 1623, and already famous in the 17th century when it was in the Ludovisi collection, had been acquired in 1737 by Clement XII for the 9 Capitoline. Placed at the centre of the composition, with 2. The Dying Gladiator, Roman copy of a Pergamene original of the 3rd century bc, marble, 93 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0747 3. The Capitoline Antinous, Roman copy of the 2nd century ad of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 180 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0741 the young artists assembled in a semi-circle around it as if in a life class, the Gladiator invited analysis and study of the male anatomy in a complex pose, as well as offering an example of a noble and heroic death. The Capitoline Antinous, recorded in Cardinal Albani’s possession from 1733, had been acquired with the rest of the Cardinal’s collection in the same year and was displayed in the museum a few years later.10 Quickly eclipsing the Belvedere Antinous (see 26, 22 and cat. 19, 1), it represented a perfect image of the male body in its youth. It is not by chance that the young students are focusing on these two statues among the many towering over them in the room, for the Dying Gladiator and the Capitoline Antinous were the chosen subjects for the third class of the Concorso Clementino – reserved for the copy – either drawing or modelling – usually after the Antique, organised by the Accademia di San Luca for the year 1754 (fig. 4).11 But if the engraving alludes to a contemporary event, the establishment of the museum as a ‘Scuola del Disegno’,12 it is also a capriccio, as it gathers together sculptures that were in fact displayed elsewhere in various rooms and collections, much as Hubert Robert would do in his beautiful red chalk drawing of almost ten years later (p. 56, 96). The Dying Gladiator, the Capitoline Antinous and the two stand- ing statues behind him, the Antinous Osiris and the Wounded Amazon, could all be admired and studied in the privileged space of the Salone of the Palazzo Nuovo, which housed some of the best masterpieces of the collection.13 The so- called Albani Crater, half visible on the far left, and the seated Agrippina behind the Antinous, were however, displayed elsewhere in the Palazzo Nuovo, respectively in the Stanza del Vaso and in the Stanza dell’Ercole.14 Moreover, Campiglia did not confine himself to depicting only works from the Capitoline collections: even more out of place are the two figures on the right, who turn their backs to 4. Giovanni Casanova, Drawing of the Capitoline Antinous (third award for the third class in painting of the Concorso Clementino), 1754, red chalk on brown prepared paper, 510 × 290 mm, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome, inv. A.380 5. Giovanni Paolo Panini, View of Ancient Rome or Roma Antica, detail, c.1755, oil on canvas, 169.5 × 227 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart inv. Nr. 3315 us as if to signify that they belong elsewhere. These are the much revered Antinous Belvedere and the Venus de’ Medici – dis- played at that time respectively in the Vatican and in the Tribuna of the Uffizi.15 Their presence here probably served to sanction and affirm the canonical status of their Capitoline companions, all recently excavated or acquired. What we see is therefore a symbolic space, where reality and fantasy are combined to legitimise and promote the relatively new collection of the museum. The volumes of the Musei Capitolini served as a reference tool for many artists and no doubt inspired the scene showing young students drawing the Dying Gladiator in the foreground of Giovanni Paolo Panini’s renowned View of Ancient Rome (fig. 5, and 53, 92), the first version of which, not coincidentally, was painted at about the same 6. Carlo Gregori after Giovanni Domenico Campiglia, Young Artists Copying the ‘Arrotino’, engraving, 118 × 151 mm, page 225 in Anton Francesco Gori, Museum Florentinum, Florence, 1754 time as the publication of this particular volume. Campiglia devised similar graceful allegorical vignettes for the contemporary volumes of the Museum Florentinum.16 One in particular, engraved by Carlo Gregori (1719–59), seems to be the Florentine counterpart of the Roman image, showing students sketching the Arrotino, surrounded by the symbols of the arts and books on anatomy and geometry (fig. 6).17 Although in the second half of the 18th century access to the museum sometimes proved difficult due to lack of personnel, and while artists had to go through the bureau- cratic process of applying to the papal camerlengo or to the director of the museum for licence to make copies, the Capitoline remained one of the most popular sites among artists and travellers, as the many views of its interiors testify (pp. 55–56, figs 94–96).For recent and brief introductions on the history of the Capitoline collec- tions, with previous bibliography, see Parisi Presicce 2010; Paul 2012. On the early years of the Capitoline as a public museum see Arata 1994; Franceschini and Vernesi 2005; Arata 2008. Document dated 5 December 1733 quoted in Arata 1994, 75. On the Pinacoteca see Marinetti and Levi 2014. On the Accademia del Nudo see Pietrangeli 1959; Pietrangeli 1962; MacDonald 1989; Barroero 1998. On Campiglia’s supervision of life classes at the Accademia del Nudo see Pirrotta 1969. On the Concorsi see Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91; Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere 1989–90; Cipriani 2010–11. See Quieto 1984b; Kieven 1998; Philadelphia and Houston 2000, 484– 86, no. 329 (S. Prosperi Valenti Rodinò); Rome 2004, 96–108, nos 1–7 (A. Gallottini); Rome 2010–11b, p. 401, no. II.14 (I. Sgarbozza). Campiglia started working on his designs for the plates in 1735: see Franceschini and Vernesi 2005, 59–60. See Haskell and Penny 1981, 224–27, no. 44; Mattei 1987; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, 428–35. See Haskell and Penny 1981, 143–44, no. 5; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, 500–01. The statue was exhibited in the museum from 1739 or 1742. Cipriani and Valeriani 1988-91, 2, 219–20, 228. While the 1754 prize drawings depicting the Antinous survive in the archives of the Accademia, the terracottas representing the Dying Gladiator are lost. The Dying Gladiator was also chosen as the subject for the third class in painting in 1758 and the Capitoline Antinous for the third class in sculpture in 1779, and in painting in 1783: ibid., 3, 9–22, 120, 129–30, 141–46. It was referred to as such in the award ceremony for the Concorso: see Belle Arti 1754, 36. On the Antinous-Osiris, donated to the museum by Benedict XIV in 1742 and from 1838 in the Vatican Museum, see Paris, Ottawa and elsewhere 1994– 95, 78–79, no. 24 (M. Pantazzi). On the Wounded Amazon, acquired in 1733 as part of Albani collection, see Weber 1976, 46–56. On the Albani Crater and its base, both previously in the Albani collection, see Grassinger 1991, 189–90, no. 32. On the so-called Agrippina, already recorded in the Capitoline collections in 1566, see Haskell and Penny 1981, 133–34, no. 1; Rome 2011, 324–25, no. 5.9 (A. Avagliano). On their display at that time, see Venuti 1750, 23, 30, 33–34; Arata 1994. For the Antinous Belvedere and the Venus de’ Medici see above 26, 22 and 42, 56. Many are found in volumes 8 to 12. On the so-called Arrotino or Knife Grinder, once in the Villa Medici in Rome and from 1680 in the Tribuna of the Uffizi see Haskell and Penny 1981, 154–56, no. 11; Bober and Rubinstein 2010, 83–84, no. 33. On access to the Capitoline Museum in the 18th century see Sgarbozza 2010–11.     174 175  21. Louis Chays (Aubagne c.1740–1811 Paris) The Courtyard of the Farnese Palace in Rome with the Hercules Farnese 1775 Pen and brown ink, brown wash, pencil and white gouache, 434 × 534 mm Inscribed recto, l.l., in pen and black ink: ‘chaÿs f. a rome 1775.’; and l.c., in pencil, possibly by different hand: ‘Cour du Palais Farnése’. provenance: Hippolyte Destailleur (1822–93) collection (no. 110). literature: Berckenhagen 1970, 394, no. 3027, repr.; Giuliano 1979, 100, 13; Michel 1981b, 584, 8; De Seta 1992, 240, repr.; Gasparri 2007, 53, 45 and p. 178, no. 273.4; Macsotay 2010, p. 194; Göttingen 2013–14, p. 208, 53.  exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Kunstbibliothek, Berlin, Hdz 3027 exhibited in london only Private aristocratic collections of antiquities in Rome contin- ued to attract large numbers of artists and visitors during the 18th century. The Farnese Palace, with its group of canon- ical ancient sculptures – the Farnese Hercules (see p. 30, 32) the Farnese Bull and the Farnese Flora among others – and its Gallery with the Loves of the Gods, the widely admired fresco cycle by Annibale Carracci (1560–1609), offered the ideal opportunity to copy the Antique and a tour de force of early 17th-century mythological decoration at the same time.1 Drawings after the famous Farnese statues by Maarten van Heemskerck (1498–1574), Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617) (see cat. 7), Annibale Carracci (see p. 43, 58), Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640; see p. 46, 67), Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641), Carlo Maratti (1625–1713; see p. 43, figs 60–61), Hubert Robert (1733–1808), Jacques Louis David (1748–1825) and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780– 1867), to name just a few, testify to the enduring fame of the palace and its legendary collection of antiquities among European artists residing in Rome.2 In the 18th century the palace went through changes of ownership, passing in 1731 from the Farnese to the Bourbon, but it remained a lively envi- ronment, with many artists and others residing in its rooms, and was readily accessible for those who wished to draw or model.3 Between 1786 and 1800 all the ancient statues of the collection were removed by the Bourbon King Ferdinand IV to Naples – where they can be seen today in the National Archaeological Museum – a decision that marked the end of the palace as a privileged place for studying the Antique.4 Louis Chays is one of the lesser-known figures among the French artists who gravitated towards the Académie de France in Rome in the 1770s. He studied at the Academy in Marseille under Jacques-Antoine Beaufort (1721–84), before moving to Rome thanks to the patronage of Louis-Joseph Borély, a wealthy Marseille merchant.5 His five years in Rome, between 1771 and 1776, were probably spent in the company of such pensionnaires of the Academy as Joseph-Benoît Suvée (1743–1807), Jean-Simon Berthélemy (1743–1811), Pierre- Adrien Pâris (1745–1819) and François-André Vincent (1746–1816). These young artists were of the same generation, they all arrived in Rome in 1771 and stayed there for a similar span of years. They seem to have travelled around the city and the Roman campagna as a group, sketching sites, ruins and landscapes, and they naturally shared a similar style and repertoire.6 The result of Chays’ artistic wanderings consists mainly of evocative drawings in the manner of Hubert Robert and Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732–1806) though Chays’ drawings lack their characteristic vivacity. The corpus of his drawings is preserved in the Kunstbibliothek in Berlin.7 This study, with its companion, The Colonnade of St Peter’s Square, stands apart in Chays’ known graphic production in being a large-scale and highly finished pen-and-wash draw- ing.8 The lively view is the only known representation of groups of students, rather than just individuals, at work in the courtyard of the Palazzo Farnese; nor does the present writer know of any similar record of study in other private collections of antiquities in Rome. It is also an important historical document, being one of the last images to show the statues in their original location before their removal to Naples, from 1786 onwards. Chays cleverly chose a low view- point and an angle that allows for maximum drama: the receding pillars of the portico frame the focus of our atten- tion, the massive statue of the Farnese Hercules. We are standing in the shadowy passage leading to the gardens of the palace and we see the Hercules from behind, by then a view as successful as the front (see cats 7 and 16). Other images of the Hercules from the back in the Farnese courtyard had been produced decades earlier by Giovanni Paolo Panini (1691–1765) (fig. 1), Giacomo Quarenghi (1744–1817) (fig. 2) and Frédéric Cronstedt (1744–1829), and one wonders whether Chays had seen any of them.9 In any case, to animate his composition Chays certainly took inspiration from the many capricci by Panini where the Hercules towers over groups of wanderers and also from such drawings showing artists at 176 177    1. Giovanni Paolo Panini, View of the Courtyard of the Palazzo Farnese with the ‘Hercules’ seen from Behind, c. 1730, pen and black and grey ink and wash, and coloured wash, heightened with white, 419 × 417 mm, private collection work in Rome produced by Charles-Joseph Natoire (see 55, 94) or Hubert Robert (see 56, figs 95–97). We see here the usual cast of characters familiar from Robert’s drawings: a combination of artists, beggars, dogs, young children, and bystanders, some of them dressed in the current fashion, like the elegant aristocratic couple in the centre, no doubt accompanied by a tour guide or cicerone. Others are presented in all’antica dress, such as the beggar and muscular male student on the right, both of whom wear Roman togas and gaze intently at the sculpture from behind. But among the many visitors to the courtyard, the true protagonists are the students, busy at work, sketching on large sheets resting on drawing boards or modelling in clay, as in Campiglia’s and Pazzi’s engraving (cat. 20). Some focus on the Hercules, while others, seated on chairs or on the ground in the middle of the courtyard, turn towards the other star of the collection, the Farnese Flora, visible to the right of the Hercules.10 The entire palace seems to have been turned into an academy, with animated conversations taking place throughout: particularly intriguing is the lively discus- sion taking place around a large drawing in the central bay of the first floor loggia. In the distance, through the entrance vestibule on the lower right, we have a glimpse of the Piazza Farnese and the external world. While the technique in this drawing is precise and although the details are lively, the rendering of the architec- ture, which was evidently drawn first and before the figures were superimposed, is less successful. It is notable that the 2. Giacomo Quarenghi, View of the ‘Farnese Hercules’ in the Portico of the Courtyard of the Farnese Palace, c. 1775–79, pen and black ink and wash and coloured wash, 304 × 233 mm, private collection scale of the two sides of the courtyard visible behind the por- tico does not quite correspond. In fact, Chays’ real forte was landscape rather than accurate architectural views, although reasonably faithful depictions of the Villa Madama and other Roman buildings survive.11 Although this view is largely imaginary, it seems to evoke the spirit of the courtyard as it appeared to pupils of the Accademia di San Luca and pensionnairesof the Académie de France in Rome who frequented the palace regularly. Visits to grandiose palaces such as this must have left a lasting impression on these young students. The Accademia di San Luca sent its students around Rome to copy the Antique, especially on the occasion of academic competitions, the Concorsi.12 In the 18th century the Hercules and the Flora were chosen several times as subjects for the third class of the Concorso Clementino – reserved for the copy, a drawing or a model, usually after the Antique – and the students’ gather- ings in those occasions must have offered a scene as animated as that we see in Chays’ drawing.13 Most of the artists depicted here are sketching on large sheets of paper, generally reserved in the 18th century for academic drawings after the Antique, as seen also in Campiglia’s and Pazzi’s engraving (cat.).14 The Académie de France in Rome had been founded in 1666 with the specific intent of shaping the taste and manner of young artists ‘sur les originaux et les modèles des plus grands maîtres de l’Antiquité et des siècles derniers’ and of furnishing the royal gardens at Versailles with copies of the most famous antiquities from Rome.15 Although the direct copy from antique statuary had been neglected for certain periods since the Académie’s founding, it had once again gained a central place in the official curriculum of the pensionnaires during the direc- torates of Nicolas Vleughels (1725–37) and Charles-Joseph Natoire (1751–75) (see cat. 16). Although no surviving drawings after the Antique by Chays are known, he probably produced them as he spent considerable time in Rome copying Old Master paintings, such as those by Raphael, Titian and Reni.16 He returned to Marseilles in 1776 and spent the following years decorating the château of his patron, today the Musée Borély, where he put into practice the lessons and skills he had acquired in Rome.17 After becoming one of the professors of the Académie in Marseilles, Chays participated in the Revolution and as sergeant-major took part in 1790 in the occupation of the fort of Notre-Dame de la Garde by the Garde National.18 He later published a collection of etchings some of which he based on the views that he had assembled in his Roman years.19 Among the last mentions we have of him are his Paris Salon entries of 1802 and 1804: perspective drawings of the antiquities collection of the Louvre. SeeMéjanès1976;WashingtonD.C.1978–79,pp.148–155. Berckenhagen1970,pp.393–96,nos3026–3074and3673–3674. Ibid.,p.394,no.3026. For Panini’s drawing see Arisi 1961, 245, no. 80, 359; Sotheby’s New York, 29–30 January 2013, lot 113. Two paintings attributed to Panini (wrongly, in the opinion of the present writer) in a French private collec- tion show similar views: see Munich and Cologne 2002, 408–10, nos 187 a/b. For Quarenghi’s drawing see Sotheby’s New York, 27 January 2010, lot 90. Another, almost identical version is in the Hermitage, St Petersburg (inv. 25819): Bergamo 1994, 185–86, no. 234. For Cronstedt’s drawing, executed in 1772, now in the National Museum, Stockholm see Palais Farnèse 1980–94, 2, 131, b. Before the 18th century the same viewpoint had been represented in a drawing by an anonymous Dutch draughtsman of c. 1540–60, now in the Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunschweig (inv. Z 320r): see Gasparri 2007, 17, 4 and 178, no. 273.1. The Flora is here shown with its Renaissance restorations by Guglielmo Della Porta and Giovanni Battista de Bianchi and before Carlo Albacini’s new restorations undertaken after 1787: see Gasparri 2009–10, 3, esp. 38–40. See for instance, Berckenhagen 1970, 395, no. 3030. On the Concorsi see cat. 20, note 6. Both were chosen for the third class in sculpture in 1703: Cipriani and Valeriani 1988-91, 2, 26–27. The Hercules was chosen for the third class in both painting and sculpture in 1728 and later on in sculpture in 1783 and in 1789 (this time from a plaster since the statue had been transported to Naples in 1787): ibid., 2, 182, 3, 130, 153. The Flora was chosen for the third class in painting in 1750: ibid., 2, 209–10. See the size of the drawings for the third class of the Concorsi Clementini of the Accademia di San Luca in Cipriani and Valeriani 1988–91, vols 2–3. See also Macsotay 2010, 193–94. ‘On the originals and the examples of the greatest Antique masters and those of preceding centuries’: letter from Jean-Baptiste Colbert to Nicolas Poussin, 1664, mentioned in Montaiglon and Guiffrey 1887–1912, 1, 1 and in Lapauze 1924, 1, 2. See Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 44–46. These copies now survive in the Musée des Beaux-Arts and in the Musée Borély in Marseille: Paris 1989, 268–69, no. 113 (J.-F. Méjanès). Benoît 1964. Vialla 1910, 484. ‘Ouvrage de 36 feuilles tirées des Porte-feuilles du C[itoye]n S. [sic] Chays...’. See Thieme-Becker 1907–50, 6, 445. See also Le Blanc 1854–88, 1, 625. ‘Dessins perspectives de différens points de vue, qui donnent le développe- ment de toutes les figures antiques du Musée [du Louvre], ainsi qu’une juste idée du local et de la décoration du palais’: Sanchez and Seydoux 1999– 2006, 1, 46, no. 58 (1802), 76, no. 105 (1804). See also Paris 1989, 268–69, no. 113 (J.-F. Méjanès). 178 179 1 2 3 4 5 aa On the Farnese Hercules see above 30 and cat. 7. On the Farnese Flora see Haskell and Penny 1981, 217–19, no. 41; Gasparri 2009–10, 3, 37–42, no. 8, pl. VI, 1–5 (C. Capaldi). On the Farnese Bull see Haskell and Penny 1981, 165–67, no. 15; Gasparri 2009–10, 3, 20–25 no. 2, pl. II, 1–16 (F. Rausa). See Gasparri 2007, 11 and 157–78. See Michel 1981b and La Malfa 2010–11. In 1775, the year of this drawing, the palace had 180 inhabitants. See the list in Michel 1981a, 565. For a list of artists residing in the palace see Michel 1981b, table between 610–11. Rausa 2007b, 57–60. On Chays (often spelled differently, Chaÿs, Chais, Chaix) see: Thieme- Becker 1907–50, 6, 445; Benoît 1964; Toronto, Ottawa and elsewhere 1972–73, 143–44, no. 23; Paris 1989, 268–69, no. 113 (J.-F. Méjanès); Raspi Serra 1997.  22. Fuseli (Zürich–London) The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments; The Right Hand and Left Foot of the Colossus of Constantine c. 1778–79 Pen and sepia ink and wash, red chalk, 420 × 352 mm Inscribed recto on the pedestal of the foot: ‘S.P.Q.R’, followed by illegible characters and l.r. in pencil: ‘85 W. Blake’ (false signature, perhaps 19th century) watermark: ‘ZP’ and the coat of arms of the city of Zurich1 provenance: Susan Coutts, Countess of Guildford (1771–1837) (her stamp on the verso2); Paul Hürlimann, from whom acquired in 1940. selected literature: Irwin 1966, 47, pl. 32; Schiff 1973, 1, 115, 478–79, no. 665, 2, 145, 665; Tomory 1972, 49, 90, 4; Füssli 1973, 60–61, repr.; Schiff and Viotto 1980, pl. viii, no. D35 on 112; Klemm 1986, no. 4; Lindsay 1986, 483–84, 1; Taylor 1987, 125, repr.; Noch- lin 1994, 7–8, 1; Rossi Pinelli 1997, 15, 18, repr.; Bartels 2000, 23, note 2; Patz 2004, 271, 3; Bungarten 2005, cover; Pacini 2008, 55–56, 4; Valverde 2008, 163–64, 5; Trumble 2010, 6–7, repr.; Barroero 2011, no. 22, repr.; Mongi-Vollmer 2013, 294, 127. selected exhibitions: Zurich 1941, no. 251; New York 1954, no. 31; Zurich 1969, no. 165; Copenhagen 1973, 55, no. 21, not repr. (B. Jørnæs); Hamburg 1974–75, 129, no. 45 (G. Schiff); London 1975, 54–55, no. 10 (G. Schiff ); Paris 1975, unpag., no. 10 (G. Schiff ); Milan 1977–78, 19–20, no. 6 (L. Vitali); Geneva 1978, 8, no. 3; Munich 1979–80, 279–80, no. 154 (J. Gage); Tokyo 1983, 62–63, no. 7 (G. Schiff ); Zurich 1984, 49, 179, no. 25; Stockholm 1990, 33, no. 3 (G. Cavalli-Björkman and R. von Holten); Stuttgart 1997–98, 5–7, no. 10 (C. Becker); Zurich 2005, 256, no. 1, frontispiece 2; Paris 2008, 120, no. 36 (B. von Waldkirch).  The Kunsthaus, Graphische Sammlung, Zürich, inv. no. 1940/144 exhibited in london only This celebrated drawing is one of the most powerful images ever produced on the relationship of the artist with the Antique. It presents a very different response to classical antiquity from the many didactic compositions shown in this catalogue, expressing the extremism and the Sturm und Drang that imbued early Romanticism. The artist here confronts the Antique not as a source of information or inspiration but on a deeper level: he meditates on the grandeur of a lost past both as a philosopher, considering the fragility of the human condition and, more powerfully still, as a creator in despair at his own inability to match the achievements of classical antiquity. Fuseli’s evocative image effectively summarises the dramatic change in the approach to the Antique which took place in Rome in the late 18th century within a circle of anti-academic and largely self-taught artists, such as Alexander Runciman (1736–85), John Brown (1749–87), Tobias Sergel (1740–1814) and Thomas Banks (1735–1805), among whom Fuseli was the most influential.3 For them the ancient sculptures were alive, a tangible expression of the emotions and individuality of their creators, rather than models of ideal beauty and proportional perfection. Born Johann Heinrich Füssli in 1741 in Zurich into a fam- ily of artists, his father, Caspar, a painter and histo- rian, was one of the Swiss correspondents of Anton Raphael Mengs (1728–79) and Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717– 68).4 Fuseli’s early education benefited from the teaching of Johann Jakob Bodmer (1698–1783) and Johann Jakob Breitinger (1701–76), forerunners of the literary and artistic movement Sturm und Drang, who introduced the young artist to the study of Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton and the Niebelungenlied, decisively contributing to the eclecticism of his imaginative sources. Fuseli moved to London in 1764 and soon became well acquainted with the city’s lively cultural milieu and quickly acquired fame as a painter. In 1770, on the advice of Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723–92), Fuseli travelled to Rome. He stayed there for eight years, with very few inter- ruptions, leaving in 1778. After spending a few months in Zurich, he returned to London where he was destined to spend the rest of his life. Elected academician at the Royal Academy of Art in 1790 and Professor of Painting in 1799, Fuseli became one of the most acclaimed artists of his generation; he died in the residence of the Countess of Guilford, one of his patrons and previous owner of the pre- sent drawing, in Putney Hill in south-west London, in 1825. The eight years Fuseli spent in Rome were of great impor- tance for the development of his artistic language and theory of art. Fascinated by the majestic relics of imperial Rome, but even more impressed by Michelangelo’s masterpieces, Fuseli soon distanced himself from the idealised and harmonious view of the Antique espoused in the theoretical works of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729–81) and of Winckelmann, who had been murdered in Trieste two years before Fuseli arrived in Rome. This death was symbolic for, although ini- tially a great enthusiast for Winckelmann’s writings, some of which he translated into English, Fuseli became one of his most radical detractors by asserting the importance of appreciating the emotions and conflicts that ran through 180 181  ancient works of art.5 As Fuseli stated many years later in the introduction to his Lectures on Painting presented at the Royal Academy, German critics had taught the artist ‘to substitute the means for the end, and, by a hopeless chase after what they call beauty, to lose what alone can make beauty interest- ing – expression and mind’.6 ‘Expression animates, convulses, or absorbs form. The Apollo is animated; the warrior of Agasias is agitated; the Laocoon is convulsed; the Niobe is absorbed’. This is one of the Aphorisms on Art compiled by Fuseli in the late 1780s, although it was first published only in 1831 by John Knowles in his The Life and Writing of Henry Fuseli.7 These famous masterpieces of ancient sculpture, the Apollo Belvedere, the Borghese Gladiator, the Laocoön and the Niobe Medici, are not seen by Fuseli simply as the embodiment of a canon of perfection, models to imitate, or points of reference in the academic education of a young artist; they are treated as animated forms of the subjectivity of the artists who created them and, ultimately, of their ways of expressing feeling and emotion.8 Fuseli’s many studies after the Antique are never an end in themselves, they are rather means of expression and, because of that, ancient statues can be adapted, distorted, even desecrated by him.9 A homosexual scene depicted on an ancient Greek red-figured vase can become the model for a Shakespearean composition showing the King of Denmark poisoned by his brother in his sleep.10 Likewise, one of the Horse Tamers on the Quirinal Hill (see 22, 10), reproduced and adapted many times by Fuseli, can be turned into Odin receiving the Prophecy of Balder’s Death.11 If Winckelmann praised the Laocoön for his dignified grandeur,12 in two of his late sketches Fuseli transformed the Trojan priest into the object of a courtesan’s sexual desire.13 Even the famous Nightmare (1781),14 one of the most disquieting compositions ever created by Fuseli, still retains memories of the Antique, from the devilish head of the horse peeping out of the curtain, so like those of the Quirinal horses, to the reclining figure in which one can recognise a transposition of the celebrated Cleopatra in the Belvedere Court (see 26, fig. 20).15 The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments per- fectly embodies the artist’s revolutionary approach to the Antique. Although no doubt based on sketches made on the spot, and using a technique, sepia ink and wash, often used by Fuseli in Rome, the watermark with the coat of arms of the city of Zurich suggests that the drawing was made during or soon after his brief stay in his home town after he left Rome in 1778.16 The drawing shows a scantily clad figure seated on a block dwarfed by two adjacent marble fragments, the left foot and the right hand of a gigantic statue set on plinths before a wall composed of majestic, square blocks.17 The pose of the artist, loosely inspired by Michelangelo’s Ancestors of Christ on the Sistine Ceiling, is deeply expressive; he cradles his head in deep grief and anguish, and his mood, with his legs casually and unguardedly crossed, is one of total surrender; the forlornness is enhanced by the wild weed that audaciously pushes its way up against the colossal marble hand. The antique fragments are easily recognisable as the left foot and the right hand of a colossal statue of the emperor Constantine the Great (r. 306–37 ad; figs 1–2) which were found in the west apse of the Basilica of Maxentius in 1486 under the papacy of Innocent VIII (r. 1481–92) along with other fragments including the head (fig. 3) and the right foot. By Fuseli’s time they could be admired in the courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori on the Capitoline hill, where they are still preserved today.18 The monumental scale of these fragments fascinated generations of artists from the Renaissance onwards, but they became increasingly a focus of attention in the 17th and 1. Colossal Statue of Constantine the Great: Right Hand, 313–24 ad, Luna marble, 166 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome, inv. MC0786 2. Colossal Statue of Constantine the Great: Left Foot, 313–324 ad, Parian marble, 120 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome, inv. MC0798 3. Colossal Statue of Constantine the Great: Head, 313–24 ad, marble, 260 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, Rome, inv. MC0757 in the drawing (‘S.P.Q.R.’) can actually be found on the pedestal supporting the right foot and not the left one, as Fuseli represents it here. The detail, however, is not irrelevant, since it is part of the inscription, commemorating a restoration of the fragments promoted by Pope Urban VIII (r. 1623–44) in 1635 and 1636, so that one can read a clear reference to the awe inspired by the greatness of the ‘Res Romana’.22 Awe of the Antique is expressed in the drawing by the contrast between the muscular fragments of the colossus and the diminutive, frail and almost abstract figure, who can be interpreted both as a personification of a modern man in general and as a symbolic self-portrait of the artist – ‘Füssli’ in German means ‘little foot’, thus suggesting a visual word- play.23 However, the title of the drawing given by Gert Schiff, The Artist Moved by the Grandeur of Antique Fragments, captures only one aspect of the composition, that is, the feeling of artistic and intellectual inadequacy before the sublime Past.24 Possibly, even the inconsistent perspective of the pedestal of the foot was consciously introduced to express the artistic inferiority of the moderns compared to the ancients. But the pose, which recurs many times in Fuseli’s works, can convey at the same time other meanings.25 It could cause a deep 5. Hubert Robert, Ancient Sculptures of the Capitoline, red chalk, 442 × 330 mm, Staatliche Museen, Kunstbibliothek, Berlin, Inv. Hdz 3076  18th centuries: two wanderers are shown among the colossal ruins in a drawing by Stefano della Bella (1610–64; 4),19 while the foot and hand appear in an evocative capriccio by Hubert Robert (1733–1808; 5).20 As in their studies, Fuseli’s drawing shows the base sustaining the colossal upward pointing right hand on the pedestal supporting the left foot; only in the early 19th century was the hand moved to its present location along the wall of the courtyard. Fuseli, however, modifies the disposition of the fragments in order to create a perfect triangle, whose apex coincides with the index finger of the hand, pointing authoritatively upward. The fact that the drawing was made when Fuseli had already left Rome may account for a few inconsistencies, such as swapping the right foot – flat on the ground – and the left foot – with the heel slightly raised and set on a support.21 Moreover, the first line of the inscription roughly transcribed 4. Stefano della Bella, Courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori, after 1659, pen and grey ink and grey wash, 152 × 194 mm, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica, Rome, inv. FC 126001 sense of loss before the dismembered statue as well as a melancholic frustration at the impossibility of achieving a whole, satisfactory knowledge of the ancient world. Finally this evocative image is clearly a grim meditation on human Vanitas, on the cruelty of time and its inevitability, capable of destroying even the most impressive human creations.26 In his vision of antiquity Fuseli was following in the footsteps of Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720–78), the great engraver of ancient Rome, who populated his images with similar figures dwarfed and seemingly lost among the colossal remains of Rome’s decaying statues and buildings. Piranesi’s ancient ruins, the gigantic stones of which fill his modern onlookers with wonder, are evoked by Fuseli in the massive blocks of the background wall, which are not part of the courtyard of the Palazzo dei Conservatori. Piranesi died in 1778, the year that Fuseli left Rome for Zurich where he created this harrowing memory of the city he had just left behind him. Could the present drawing be a posthumous homage to the great Italian artist, with whom Fuseli shared the same inventive, original and imaginative vision of the Antique? aa et ed 1 Schiff 1973, 479. 2 Ibid., 479. 3 See Pressly 1979; Valverde 2008; Busch 2013. 4 For Fuseli’s biography see Tomory 1972, 9–46; Schiff 1973, 1; Zurich 2005, 13–31. 5 See Pucci 2000b and Busch 2009. During his London years between 1764 and 1770, Fuseli translated into English Winckelmann’s Beschreibung des Torso del Belvedere Zu Rom (1764, translated as Description of the Torso Belvedere in Rome in 1765) and the Gedanken über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei Und Bildhauerkunst (1755, translated as Reflections on the Painting and the Sculpture of the Greeks in 1765). 6 See Wornum 1848, 345. On Fuseli’s Lectures see in particular Bungarten 2005. 7 Knowles 1831, 3, 90, aphorism no. 88. 8 For these statues see respectively 26, 18; 41, 54; 26, 19; 30, 34. 9 For a checklist of Fuseli’s drawings of ancient sculptures see Schiff 1973, 1, 475–79, Schiff 1973, 1, 450, no. 445 (dated 1771); the ancient scene is taken from D’Hancarville 1766–67, 2, pl. 32. Schiff 1973, 456–57, nos 485 and 487 (c. 1776). See in particular Winckelmann. See also Appendix, no. 15. Schiff 1973, 1, 547, nos 1072 and 1072a (1801–05). Schiff 1973, 1, 496, no. 757. See Powell 1973, 67–75. See in particular Waldkirch 2005, 63–78. For a drawing showing a figure in a similar attire see Schiff 1973, 1, 476, no. 561 (1777–79); and for one with similar blocks in the background ibid., 1, 447, no. 425. For the right hand and the left foot see Stuart Jones 1926, 11, no. 13, pl. 5 (hand), 13–14, no. 21, pl. 5 (foot). For a discussion on the original colos- sal statue see Fittschen and Zanker 1985, 147–52, pls 151–52; Deckers 2005; Parisi Presicce 2007 (in particular for the history of the display); Bardill 2012, 203–17. The provenance of the colossus from the Basilica is testified to by a caption on a drawing by Francesco di Giorgio Martini (1439–1501) (Morgan Library et Museum, New York, Codex Mellon, fol. 54r), see Buddensieg 1962; census.bbaw.de/easydb/censusID= 233951. See Paris 2000–01, 371 no. 176 (J.-P. Cuzin); Rome 2004, 346, no. 46 (V. Di Piazza); another similar drawing is in the Louvre, see Viatte 1974, 63 no. 46, 65, 46. See Berckenhagen 1970, 332; Paris 2000–01, 374, no. 180 (J.-P. Cuzin). These details are clearly rendered on the drawings by Della Bella and Robert. Bartels 2000, 23 no. 1.7: ‘Senatus Populus Que Romanus APOLLINIS COLOSSUM A Marco LUCULLO/ COLLOCATUM IN CAPITOLIO DEIN TEMPORE AC VI SUBLATUM EX OCULIS TU TIBI UT ANIMO REPRAESENTES PEDEM VIDE ET ROMANÆ REI MAGNITUDINEM METIRE’. (‘The Senate and the People of Rome; that you may bring before your mind’s eye the colossal statue of Apollo set by Marcus Lucullus on the Capitol Hill, later removed from sight by the violence of time; look at this foot and be aware of the greatness of Rome’: translation Eloisa Dodero). Lindsay 1986, 483. Schiff 1973, 1, 115, 478–79, no. 665, 2, 145, 665. The pose finds parallels in other works by Fuseli chiefly illustrating mourn- ful scenes, such as the painting showing Milton Dreaming of His Dead Wife Catherine: Schiff 1973, 1, 523–24, no. 920; Zurich 2005, 223, no. 184. Remarkable is the closeness of Fuseli’s figure with the famous Democritus by Salvator Rosa (Statens Museum, Copehangen; see Scott 1995, 97, 101; the composition was known also through a number of etchings, see for instance Naples 2008, 281, no. 8). The philosopher in Rosa’s composition is shown deep in thought and surrounded by several symbols of mortality including antiquities; the caption on the etchings describes the scene as ‘Democritus omnium derisor/in omnium fine defigitur’ (‘Democritus, who used to laugh about everything, here meditates on the end of every- thing’). 23. Philippe Joseph Tassaert (Antwerp 1732–1803 London) A Drawing Academy 1764 Pen and black ink, grey and black wash drawn with the brush over black chalk, 331 × 309 mm provenance: Private collection, Vienna; Gallery Kekko, Lucerne, 2004, from whom acquired. literature:None. exhibitions: Brussels 2004, 75–76, repr.; London 2007–08, no. 59, not repr. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2004-004 Although Tassaert was born in Flanders, he moved at a young age to London where he trained with the expatriate Flemish drapery painter, Joseph van Aken (c. 1699–1749), and where he established his career; aside from occasional trips to the continent, Tassaert remained in London until his death.1 Van Aken had a large practice executing draperies for most of the major British portrait painters active during the 1730s and 1740s, and after his death, Tassaert seems to have followed his example, assisting especially the portrait painter, Thomas Hudson (1701–79). In 1769, Tassaert joined the Society of Artists of Great Britain and served as its presi- dent from 1775–77; he exhibited with the Society until 1785.2 Also active as a dealer and picture restorer, Tassaert worked as an agent for the auctioneer, James Christie (1730–1803), valuing paintings in French and English collections, includ- ing that of Sir Robert Walpole at Houghton Hall, for sale to Catherine the Great in 1779.3 He later moved for a period to Italy, residing in Rome between 1785 and 1790.4 As a mezzotinter, Tassaert reproduced many composi- tions after earlier painters, especially those by Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640). The present drawing – a relatively rare survival compared with his production of prints – shows young students, dressed in the costumes of Rubens’ era, sketching a reduced model of the Borghese Gladiator (fig. 1), illuminated by candlelight from above.5 Two instructors, including the imposing figure of Rubens him-self in the doorway on the right, inspect drawings made by two pupils who await their verdict. Casts of busts and statuettes are placed on the shelf above the lamp, as seen in artists’ work- shops from the Renaissance onwards (see cats 2, 10, 14).6 The present drawing is closely related to another, rather larger and more loosely executed, representation of an academy by Tassaert now in the British Museum (fig. 2), that is observed from a closer viewpoint and is horizontal rather than vertical in format.7 Rendered in warm brown instead of grey ink, the British Museum drawing focuses on the group clustered around the sculpture on the left. The master, in the doorway in our drawing, now leans against a chair gesturing towards the sculpture and the copy of it made by one of the pupils. But that student, seen in left profile studying the Gladiator intently, remains essentially unchanged in both sheets. The British Museum drawing is signed and dated, ‘Tassaert. del Bruxelles. 1764’, and the Bellinger drawing was no doubt made at the same time. Both were probably made in preparation for a painting, now lost, but described in a 1774 review of the Society of Artists’ exhibition at the Strand in London: ‘Mr. TASSAERT, Director, F.S.A. [ . . .] 285. An academy with youth’s [sic] at study. -Yellow shaded with black, has a starved effect’, a description which suggests that it may have been monochrome. 8 A keen admirer and copyist of Rubens’ work, Tassaert clearly intended to evoke the atmosphere of the master’s studio. A drawing by Tassaert, ‘Rubens instructing his pupils’ 1. Agasias of Ephesus, Borghese Gladiator, c. 100 bc, marble, 199 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. Ma 527  184 185    2. Philippe Joseph Tassaert, A Drawing Academy, 1764, pen and brown ink and brown wash over black chalk, 330 × 406 mm, The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 2003,1129.1 which was sold in London in 1785 was probably one of the two drawings under consideration.9 The master in both is physiognomically identical, and wears the wide-brimmed hat and voluminous cloak seen in Rubens’ mature self-portraits, such as that of 1623 in the Royal collection, Windsor Castle, an image widely disseminated through engravings.10 Another self-portrait,showingtheartistatsixty,intheKunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (1633–35), may also have been known to Tassaert through prints.11 No doubt Tassaert’s drawings and the lost painting for which they presumably prepared, were intended to commemorate the fact that Rubens’ studio in Antwerp, founded on his return from Italy in 1608, was one of the first in Northern Europe to be organised on the ‘academic’ Italian model. Ruben’s studio – much more than a workshop – encouraged the intellectual as well as practical ambitions of young artists, who vied with each other to become his pupils. The purpose of Tassaert’s lost painting is not certain, but one possibility is that he intended to present it to the recently revamped Brussels art school. It may be significant that Tassaert, who hailed from Antwerp (where he became a member of the Guild of St Luke in 1756), signed the British Museum drawing ‘Tassaert. del Bruxelles’, and dated it, 1764, the year the Brussels school began to flourish under new stewardship.12 Reportedly discovered in Nettuno in 1611, the Borghese Gladiator, signed by Agasias of Ephesus, is thought to copy a statue of the school of Lysippus.13 It was acquired by Cardinal Scipione Borghese (1576–1633), and between 1650 and 1807, was displayed in a room bearing its name on the ground floor of the Casino Borghese before it was sold to Napoleon.14 The statue was keenly admired by artists from the mid-17th century onwards as it embodied the male nude in an active, heroic and resolute pose. François Perrier (1590–1650) ranked it among the finest statues in Rome and published four views of it in his influential collection of etching after antique sculpture (Segmenta nobilium signorum et statuarum . . ., Paris, 1638, pls. 26–29), more than he devoted to any other figure. Casts of it were made for Philip IV of Spain and for the Académie Royale in Paris (see cat. 16) and the Académie de France in Rome.15 It became a standard presence in artists’ manuals from the 17th century onwards, as the perfection of its anatomy and proportions made it an ideal model for young pupils to copy. Its fame endured well into the 18th century as many of the objects in this catalogue make clear (cats 16, 24, 26).16 Rubens, who was thirty-four when the statue was found, revered it greatly. Although his two Roman sojourns (1601– 02 and 1600–08) pre-date its discovery in 1611, he certainly knew the statue through copies and probably owned a cast of it.17 That plaster casts came to be widely used in Northern workshops of the period is shown in the 1635 and 1656 studio inventories of Rubens’ contemporary, Balen and of Rembrandt and by the many paintings that depict artists making copies of them (see 40, figs 49–53 and cat. 14).18 Rubens’ deep interest in antique sculpture, which he collected enthusiastically, is well-documented.19 In one of his theoretical notebooks, De Imitatione Statuarum (‘On the Imitation of Ancient Statues’), recording his observations from 1600 to 1610 on the proportions of the human form, symmetry, perspective, anatomy and architecture, he defined canonical male body types of the first rank: the strongest and most robust, the Farnese Hercules (see cats 7, 14, 16, 21); the less muscular and fleshy, Commodus in the Guise of Hercules and the River Nile (see cat. 5) and the third, lean and slender, with prominent bones and a longer face, the Borghese Gladiator, which he analysed in a diagram.20 Finally, there was the slim and handsome type, less strong, among which statues of Apollo and Mercury were classed.21 Rubens referred to the Gladiator again in another of his notebooks and he adapted it in some of his paintings, such as the Mercury and Argus of 1636–37 (Prado, Madrid) where Mercury in a pose strongly reminiscent of the Gladiator, is about to behead the multi-eyed giant.22 Although Tassaert would not have known Rubens’ manuscript, parts of it were published in 1708 by Roger de Piles in his Cours de peinture par principles, translated into English in 1743 as The Principles of Painting (see Appendix, no. 8).23 Within twenty years of its discovery, casts of the Borghese Gladiator were commissioned by Charles I and other English patrons and it soon became one of the most celebrated 186 187  antique sculptures in the British Isles.24 By the 18th century, copies of it had becoming a mainstay of country house collections.25 Joseph Wright of Derby (1734–1797) depicted a reduced model of the Gladiator studied by candlelight (private collection; see cat. 24, 2), exhibiting it at the Society of Artists in 1765, just a year after Tassaert’s drawings and William Pether made a mezzotint after Wright’s painting in 1769.26 When Tassaert showed his painting of a similar subject, probably based on his earlier studies, at the same venue in 1774 he may have been responding to the challenge of his English colleagues, particularly the fellow mezzotinter, Pether.27 Indeed, it is tempting to suppose that Tassaert, by exhibiting the finished painting, was asserting the suprem- acy of Flemish academies over the English ones by establish- ing that the sculpture was well-known and used as a teaching tool already in Rubens’ time. As will be seen later (see cats 24–26), study after plaster casts increasingly became an indispensible part of artistic training in the English Academies as the 18th century progressed. It is especially significant in the present context that the catalogue of the posthumous sale of the effects of Tassaert’s master, Joseph Van Aken, in 1751 in London, lists no fewer than sixty models in terracotta and plaster after the Antique, among them, the Laocoön, the Farnese Hercules, heads of Antinous and, significantly, two Gladiators.28 It is well known that antique models were widely diffused in England in the first half of the 18th century, well before the foundation of the Royal Academy in 1768 (see cat. 25), but Van Aken’s collection and Tassaert’s preoccupations suggest that interest in the Antique had a particularly Flemish dimension. Of course, such models served a vital role for artists in helping to achieve an idealised representation of the anatomy, poses and expressions of the human body, but also, as in the case of Van Aken, they could act as lay-figures for the arrangement of drapery.29 avl 1 For brief accounts of Tassaert’s life and work, see Edwards 1808, who, on 282–83, asserts that Tassaert was ‘the scholar’ of van Aken; Redgrave 1874, 2, 402; Wurzbach 1906–11, 2, 689–90; Thieme-Becker 1907–50, vol, 32, 456; Bénézit 2006, 13, 708–09; Wallens 2010, 328. Edwards (1808, 282) reports his association with van Aken though the latter had already moved to London in 1720, before Tassaert was born. They probably met there though he was only about seventeen when van Aken died. According to Bénézit (2006, 708), Tassaert was the brother of the sculptor, Jean Pierre Antoine Tassaert (1727–1788). 2 For his involvement with the Society (and disagreements with), see Hargraves. His paintings were shown also at the Royal Academy. 3 He is listed frequently as buyer/seller in Christie’s sale catalogues of c. 1779– 82 (see Kerslake 1977, 1, 337). For Tassaert at Houghton, see Twist 2008, 106–07. 4 Wallens. For his engravings, see Le Blanc 1854–88, 4, 9; Wurzbach 1906–11, 2, 689–90; Smith 1878–83, 3, 1354–56. A further drawing by Tassaert of an artist’s studio, but with figures in contemporary dress, is in Tate Britain, from the Oppé collection, black chalk on blue paper, 490 × 317 mm, inv. no. T09847. They may also be seen lightly sketched at upper right in Tassaert’s drawing of an artist’s studio in the Tate (see note 5 above). Lock 2010, 255, 12.4; Phillips 2013, 127, 5. ‘Conclusion of the Account of the Pictures now exhibiting at the Artist’s [sic] great Room near Exeter Exchange, Strand’, published in The Middlesex Journal, 30 April – 3 May 1774, 2 (as noted by Elizabeth Barker, under inv. no. 2003,1129.1, British Museum collection database). The same subject painted by Tassaert, probably more than once, is listed in several Christie’s sales in London between 1805–12: 1805 (1–2 March, lot 69, seller: John Mayhew; unsold; 14–15 June, lot 40, seller: John Mayhew; unsold); 1806 (7–8 March, lot 33, seller: John Mayhew; unsold); 1808 (11–12 March, lot 18, seller: Adam Callander; unsold; 14 May, lot 33, seller: Rev. Philip Duval; bought by Daubuz); 1809 (17–18 November, lot 65, seller: Adam Callander; bought by J. F. Tuffen) and 1812 (22 May, lot 44, seller: John Mayhew; unsold; 18–19 December, lot 80, seller: John Mayhew; bought by J. F. Tuffen). Source: Getty Provenance Index. Jean-Baptiste-Guillaume de Gevigney, his sale, Greenwood, London, 14–15 April 1785, lot 44. Presumably the same drawing was sold two years later: ‘An academy by Tassaert, washed in bisque, fine’, Greenwood, London, 14–15 March 1787, lot 29 to John Thomas Smith for £1.0. Jaffé 1989, 281, no. 764. Ibid., 371, no. 1379. Between 1764 and 1768, the school was revitalized under Count Charles Cobenzl (Phillips 2013, 127–28). Paris 2000–01, no. 1, 150–51 (L. Laugier); Pasquier 2000-01b. Haskell and Penny 1981, 221; Laugier 2000–01. See also Aymonino’s essay in this catalogue, 41. Haskell and Penny 1981, 221. Ibid., 221–24, no. 43, 115. For Rubens’ study of sculpture in Roman collections, see Van der Meulen 1994-95, 1, 41–68. For van Balen’s inventory, see Duverger 1984–2009, 4, 200–11. Among the casts listed are the Laocoön, Hercules, Apollo, Athena and Mercury (ibid., 208). Rembrandt’s 1656 bankruptcy inventory (Strauss and Van der Meulen 1979, 349–88) mentions several plaster casts from life, including hands, heads and arms (ibid., 365, 383), and after the antique (‘A plaster cast of a Greek antique’ (Een pleijster gietsel van een Griecks anticq), 383, no. 323). Also mentioned are antique statues of unspecified medium, including a Faustina, Galba, Laocoön, Vitellius (ibid., 365, nos 166, 168; 385, nos 329, 331) and several others. For Rembrandt’s use of statues, casts and models, see Gyllenhaal 2008. For his collection, see Muller 1989, Appendix C, 82–87 and Muller 2004, especially, 18–23. The Johnson manuscript (manuscript transcript of the Rubens Pocketbook), mid-18th century, Courtauld Gallery, London, MS.1978.PG.1, fols 4v-5r, cited in Muller 2004, 19. See also Muller 1982, 235–36 and Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 72–73. Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 73. Ms de Ganay (formerly Paris, Marquis de Ganay), fols 22r–23r, transcribed and translated in Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 254–58. In addition to the Madrid painting (Georgievska-Shine and Silver 2014, 136, 5.3), the pose of the sculpture was utilised in other drawn and painted composi- tions by the artist (Van der Meulen 1994–95, 1, 239, note 9). De Piles 1708, 139–48; De Piles 1743, 86–92. . Haskell and Penny 1981, 221. However, due to the demand for casts the Borghese tried to stop moulds from being made (Haskell and Penny 1981, 221). Liverpool 2007, 132, no. 10; Clayton 1990, 236, no. 154, P3. Tassaert and Pether, both members of the Society of Artists, had a disagree- ment over the latter’s proposed exhibition fee for fellows (Hargraves 2005, 141–42). Landford’s, London, among lots 1–77. It has been suggested that Rembrandt worked from draped plaster casts, especially during his Leiden years (Gyllenhaal 2008, 51). 24. William Pether (Carlisle 1731–1821 Bristol) after Joseph Wright of Derby (Derby 1734–1797 Derby) An Academy 1772 Mezzotint, 579 × 458 mm Inscribed l.l.: ‘Iosh., Wright, Pinxt.’; and l.r.: ‘W. Pether, Fecit.’; on the boy’s portfolio in the centre: ‘An / Academy / Published by W Pether, / Feby, 25th / 1772’; td and l.c., at the foot of the seated artist: ‘Done from a Picture in / the Collection of the R . Hon. / L . Melburne.’ provenance: The Hon. Christopher Lennox-Boyd (1941–2012), from whom acquired by the British Museum in 2010. literature: Chaloner Smith 1883, 2, 46, not repr.; Clayton 1990, 240, no. 159, P9, this impression listed under II, not repr.; Liverpool 2007, 159–62, no. 33. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 2010,7081.2228 In 1769 Joseph Wright of Derby exhibited An Academy by Lamplight (private collection) at the Society of Artists in London.1 The painting depicted six young boys drawing from casts of antique sculpture in a vaulted space lit only by a concealed lamp. Wright repeated the composition the following year for his patron, Peniston Lamb, 1st Viscount Melbourne (Yale Center for British Art, 1) and it was from this second version that William Pether took the present mezzotint, renamed simply An Academy, published in its first state in February 1772.2 The subject-matter is related to Wright’s earlier painting, Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (private collection, 2),3 but, by showing a group of students at work, addresses more directly the theme of education by studying casts of antique sculpture by candlelight. Artistic education was of paramount importance to Wright. In December of 1769, the year he settled in Liverpool, twenty-two men in the burgeoning city formed a Society of Artists that gathered at a member’s house to make drawings from a substantial collection of prints and, more signifi- cantly, thirty-five plaster casts.4 These casts had been pur- chased from John Flaxman senior, a plaster-cast salesman in Covent Garden, for £8.8.3, and were intended specifically for furnishing an academy.5 While Wright is not listed as a member of the Society of Artists, his friend, the engraver Peter Perez Burdett (c. 1735–93), was its first President and Wright’s landlord in Liverpool, Richard Tate (1736–87), was an amateur painter who showed works at the Society’s first public exhibition in 1774, so he was certainly aware of the group’s aspirations. Wright seems also to have had at least one student in Liverpool, Richard Tate’s brother, William, who was described by Wright in a letter in 1773 as ‘a pupil of mine’.6 Artistic education would therefore have been a pressing concern when he was conceiving An Academy by Lamplight. Wright no doubt encouraged William Tate to take the same route that he had followed as a pupil of Thomas Hudson (1701–79): first copying drawings by accomplished masters (which for Tate would have included works by Wright him- self) as well as prints, before moving to the study of plaster casts and, ultimately, the life model.7 In 1774 Tate exhibited ‘Venus with a Shell, a drawing in black chalk’ at the first 1. Joseph Wright of Derby, An Academy by Lamplight, 1770, oil on canvas, 127 × 101 cm, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, New Haven, inv. B1973.1.66 2. Joseph Wright of Derby, Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight, 1765, oil on canvas, 101.6 × 121.9 cm, private collection   188 189  Liverpool Society of Artists exhibition, and a sheet in the Derby Museum and Art Gallery of this subject has been recently been identified as Tate’s drawing.8 This title of that drawing is highly suggestive as it is pre- cisely the so-called Nymph with a Shell that the students are shown drawing in Wright’s painting and Pether’s mezzotint. Housed in the Borghese collection during the 18th century, the sculpture is now in the Louvre (fig. 3).9 While a cast of this statue is not listed among those purchased by the Liverpool Society of Artists, one was probably owned by Wright himself. The other statue shown in the background on the right is the familiar Borghese Gladiator (see 41, 54 and cat. 23) – the sculpture being studied in Wright’s earlier Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (fig. 2). Wright’s composition depicts young students in different attitudes, some at work drawing the Nymph, which is illumi- nated by a hanging lamp, from varying angles, while others merely admire her. Wright has created an ideal representation of an academy of young men, precisely the environment which his contemporaries were attempting to create in Liverpool. The students’ visible drawings are in black chalk similar to Wright’s own and those of his ‘pupil’, Tate. The varying ages of the students, from young boys to young men, also suggests an ideal academic establishment. The date of the work has further resonance: 1769 was the year after the foundation of the Royal Academy in London, where a precise programme of artistic education, which included drawing from antique sculpture, was being formulated (see cat. 25). The composition continues a theme Wright addressed in Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (fig. 2), the first painting he exhibited in London, showing it at the Society of Artists in 1765. Such was its popularity that Pether produced a mezzotint of it in 1769 and we can suppose that our 3. Nymph with the Shell, Roman copy of the 1st century ad after a Hellenistic type of the 2nd century bc, marble, 60 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. MR 309-N 247 (Ma 18) mezzotint, published three years later, was conceived as a pendant.10 Wright’s Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight depicts three men – traditionally identified as Wright himself, Peter Perez Burdett (c. 1735–93) and John Wilton – comparing a reduced model of the Borghese Gladiator with a drawn copy of it in black chalk. We know Wright made drawings of the sculpture; and a study in pen and brown ink on brown paper by him is preserved at Derby.11 Dating from before his journey to Italy, it seems likely to have been made from a reduced model. Whilst there is no evidence that Wright owned a model of the Gladiator, it seems likely that he did: reduced models of it appear in numerous artists’ sales during the 18th century and they were also readily available in Derby at the time.12 Viewing and drawing sculpture by candle-light was a feature of many European academies as for example those of Bandinelli and Tassaert (see cats 1 and 23).13 This was intended to emphasise the contrast of the sculpture’s anatomy and facilitate its copy. There were many perceived artistic benefits in owning models. William Hogarth noted in his Apology for Painters: ‘the little casts of the gladiator the Laocoon or the venus etc. if true copies – are still better than the large as the parts are exactly the same [–] the eye [can] comprehend them with most ease and they are more handy to place and turn about’.14 It therefore seems likely that Wright’s picture depicts an evening viewing of his own cast. Burdett was an amateur draughtsman and printmaker, and the comparison between Wright’s own drawing and the model is the probable topic of their conversation. This was the theme that Wright developed more fully in An Academy. Liverpool 2007, 159, no. 31. For Yale version of the painting ibid., 159, no. 32. Nicolson 1968, 1, 234, no. 188; London 1990, 61–63, no. 22; Liverpool 2007, 132, no. 10. For a discussion of the foundation of the Society of Artists and a list of the casts it acquired see Mayer 1876, 67–69. Ibid., 5. Joseph Wright to William Thompson, Derby 25 March, 1773, in Barker 2009, 72. Wright’s work in Hudson’s studio is remarkably well documented in an archive of his drawings as a student preserved in Derby Museum and Art Gallery: see Derby 1997, 49–65. Liverpool 2007, 162, no. 34. For the relationship between Tate, Wright and the Liverpool Society of Artists see Barker 2003, 265–74. For the Nymph with the Shell see Haskell and Penny 1981, 281–82, no. 67; Rome 2000b, 2, 335, no. 10 (F. Rausa); Gaborit and Martinez 2000–01; Paris 2000–01, 327–28, no. 147 (J.-L. Martinez); Rome 2011–12, 402–05 (I. Petrucci, M.-L. Fabréga-Dubert, J.-L. Martinez). Clayton 1990, 236, no. 154, P3. Derby 1997, 88, no. 152. An Italian plaster-modeller based in Oxford, ‘Mr Campione’ is recorded selling: ‘a large and curious collection of statues, modelled from the Antiques of Italy ... in fine plaister paris work’ in the Red Lion in Derby. See Barker 2003, 25. On this see Roman 1984, 83. See also cat. 1, 80, note 8. Kitson 1966–68, 86.  190 191  25. Edward Francis Burney (Worcester 1760–1848 London) The Antique Academy at Old Somerset House 1779 Pen and grey ink with watercolour wash, 335 × 485 mm Signed recto, on the portfolio depicted in the drawing at l.c., in pen and black ink: ‘E.F.B. 1779’; and inscribed verso, in pen and black ink, with a key identifying the casts and objects shown on recto, numbered 1–43: ‘View of the Plaister Room in the Royal Academy old Somerset House / 1. Cincinnatus / 2. Apollo Belvedere / 3. Meleager / 4. Biting Boy / 5. Foot of the Laocoon / 6. Arm of M. Angelo’s Moses / 7. Paris / 8. Faun / 9 Anatomy of a Horse / 10. Head of Antinous / 11. A young Orator by M. Angelo / 12. Antoninus Pius / 13. Bacchus / 14. PompeyAlexander Model of a Cow Agrippa / 18. Nero / 19. Augustus / 20. Cicero / 21 Other Roman Emperors / 22. Door of Mr Mosers little Room / 23. Heads. Casts from Trajans pillar / 24. Table for Drawing Hands Heads etc. on / 25. Screens to prevent Double Lights / 26. Modelers stands / 27. Large chalk Drawing of the Virgin etc. by Leon: da Vinci / 28. Homer / 29. Laocoon / 30. Esculapius / 31. Proserpine / 32. Carracalla / 33. Mithridates / 34. Bacchus / 35. Antinous / 36. River Gods from M. Angelo / 37. Boys by Fiamingo / 38. Dying Gladiator / 39. Lamps for lighting the figures in Winter / 40. Antique Bass Relieves / 41. Laughing Boys / 42. Head of a Wolf / 43. Legs cast from nature etc. etc. etc.’ provenance: From an album of drawings in the possession of the Burney family; et D. Colnaghi, London, from whom acquired 5 July 1960. literature: Byam Shaw 1962, 212–15, figs 54–55; Hutchison 1986, 192, 27; Wilton 1987, 26, 25; Rossi Pinelli 1988, 255, 4; Nottingham and London 1991, 63, under no. 39, 3; Fenton 2006, 98–99, 100–01, repr.; Kenworthy-Browne 2009, 45–46, pl. 16; Wickham 2010, 300–01, 14; Brook 2010–11, 158, 5. exhibitions: London 1963, 34, no. 87, not repr.; London 1968b, 211–12, no. 651, not repr.; London 1971, 18, no. 71, not repr.; London 1972, 316, no. 521, not repr. (R. Liscombe); York 1973, 40, no. 98, not repr.; London 2001, 46, no. 85.  Royal Academy of Arts, London, 03/7485 With its companion The Antique Academy at New Somerset House (fig. 1), this drawing constitutes one of the best and most evocative visual records of the Antique or ‘Plaister’ Academy at the Royal Academy of Arts in London.1 The Academy was founded in 1768 and initially occupied rooms in Pall Mall before moving to Somerset House in 1771. The rather chaotic early records of the Academy means that Burney’s detailed drawings are fundamental in establishing precisely which antiquities were available to the first generation of students at the Academy. Although copying after casts had been a practice fol- lowed in previous British academies and schools of art – such as the Duke of Richmond’s Academy – it was only with the foundation of the Royal Academy that it became part of an extended curriculum modelled on the Roman and Parisian Academies.2 The first Academicians draughted surprisingly few rules governing the education of students, other than the requirement that a student have a ‘Drawing or Model from some Plaister Cast’ approved for admission to the Antique Academy, and again to progress into the Life Academy.3 For at least the first fifty years of its existence there was no stipulation about the length of time students should spend in either School. The timetable itself was fairly minimal, follow- ing the traditional model in which the purpose of an Academy was to provide instruction in draughtsmanship and theory whilst the student learned his chosen art of painting, sculpture or architecture with a master. The Antique or Plaister Academy was open from 9 to 3 pm with a two-hour session in the evening, while the Life Academy consisted of only a two- hour class each night. Until 1860, both were attended by male students only. The collection of casts was under the control of the Keeper, while a Visitor attended monthly to examine and correct the students’ drawings and to ‘endeavour to form their taste’.4 Following the theoretical model of continental academies, the main didactic purpose of drawing from plaster casts was to teach young students to become acquainted with and to internalise ideal beauty before being exposed to Nature in the Life Academy. As Benjamin West (1738–1820), president of the Royal Academy for almost thirty years from 1792, put it, pro- ficiency was ‘not to be gained by rushing impatiently to the school of the living model, correctness of form and taste was first to be sought by an attentive study of the Grecian figures’.5 Edward Francis Burney studied at the Royal Academy Schools from 1777 and left in the 1780s to become a suc- 1. Edward Francis Burney, The Antique Academy at New Somerset House, c. 1780, pen and grey ink with watercolour wash, 335 × 485 mm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, cessful book illustrator.6 As a young pupil of the Antique Academy, he recorded in the present drawing of 1779 and its companion the rebuilding of Somerset House begun in 1776 by Sir William Chambers (1723–96). This drawing shows the Academy before Chambers’ intervention in a room that was probably designed by John Webb  in 1661–64, on the south side of the building facing the Thames. These rooms had windows exposed to direct sunlight and therefore may have required the ‘Screens to prevent Double Lights’, visible in the upper left corner of the drawing and annotated on the verso. The drawing depicts four students at work, the one on the right in the middle distance being guided by George Michael Moser (1706–83), the first Keeper of the Royal Academy Schools, including the Antique Academy.7 In the room everything was moveable. Boxes could be used as seats or as supports for drawing boards, as one is by the student in the foreground on the left, while rails were used for holding the individual students’ candles (see cat. 26). Even the pedestal of the casts could be moved on castors, so that the Keeper could change their position weekly. The collection of plaster casts was one of the largest assembled in Britain in the 18th century.8 Many came from the second St Martin’s Lane Academy, brought by Moser who had been one of its directors.9 The collection was then expanded considerably thanks to donations from aristocratic collectors and acquisitions on the London market.10 Among the most easily identifiable casts are those ubiqui- tous in European workshops and academies from the 17th century onwards, all listed in the long inscription on the verso of the drawing: the Apollo Belvedere (p. 26, 18) at left centre, behind, in the background, the Faun with Kid, and on the far right, the Dying Gladiator (p. 41, 55), which a student is copying, as innumerable other students had done before him (see cat. 20).11 In addition, a series of peculiarly ‘English’ casts are on display, some donated, others copied from origi- nals recently brought to England from Rome. Partly obscured in shadow on the left is a cast of Cincinnatus – which still survives in the collection of the Royal Academy (fig. 2) – close 6. Relief from an Honourary Monument to Marcus Aurelius: Triumph, 176–180 ad, marble, 324 × 214 cm, Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. MC0808 7. Relief with Warriors, Roman, 1st or 2nd century ad, marble, 93 × 82 cm, San Nilo Abbey, Grottaferrata, inv. 1155 Academy’s collection (figs 8–9). Finally, between the shelves and the door on the right, it is possible to discern Leonardo’s cartoon of The Virgin and Child with St Anne and St John the Baptist, today one of the most celebrated works in the National Gallery in London – the present drawing is the earliest to document its presence in the collection of the Royal Academy.16 The cast collection was of paramount importance to the Royal Academy during its first decades, but the ad hoc nature of its accumulation and the inclusion of casts of ‘Grand Tour’ souvenirs – such as Lord Shelburne’s Cincinnatus – left it open to criticism. In 1798 the Academy’s Professor of Painting, James Barry (1741–1806), launched a stinging public attack complaining that the Academy was ‘too ill supplied with materials for observations’ lamenting ‘the miserable beggarly state of its library and collection of antique vestiges’.17 As a direct result, the sculptors Flaxman and Bacon were charged with purchasing new casts from the sale of George Romney’s (1734–1802) collection.18 Flaxman spent much of the rest of his career attempting to improve the Academy’s cast collection; after 1815, he finally convinced the Prince Regent to sponsor the 8. Plaster Cast of Head of a Roman Soldier in Helmet, from Trajan’s Column, 15.7 × 15.4 × 4.4 cm, Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 10/3267 9. Plaster Cast of the Head of Trajan, from Trajan’s Column Royal Academy of Arts, London, iaa&jy FortheearlyhistoryoftheRoyalAcademysee Hutchison1986,pp.23–54. For drawing after casts in Britain before the foundation of the Royal Academy see esp. Postle 1997; Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. Hutchison 1986, 29–31. For the full admission process see London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 4, 27 Dec. 1768; Abstract, 18–19. Hutchison1986,p.27.Forthe‘RulesandOrders,forthePlaisterAcademy’, see London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1 Council minutes, 1, 6, 27 Dec. 1768, and 17, ; Abstract 1797, 22–23. For the role of the visitors see ibid., 8. Hoare1805,p.3. SeeRogers2013. The identification of the teacher with Moser is confirmed by other like- nesses: see Edgcumbe 2009. The only other collection that could compete in numbers of casts was the Duke of Richmond’s Gallery: see Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. On the Royal Academy collection of casts see Baretti [1781], esp. 18–30. See Thomson 1771, 42–43; Strange 1775, 74. We would like to thank Nick Savage for pointing out these two sources to us. OnplastershopsandtradersinBritaininthesecondhalfofthe18thcentury see Clifford 1992. Among private donors, Thomas Jenkins, the Rome based dealer, sent a cast of the so-called Barberini Venus shortly after the Royal Academy’s foundation: London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 38, 9 Aug. 1769. Jenkins in turn encouraged many of his clients in London to donate casts, including John Frederick Sackville, Duke of Dorset who sent in 1771 ‘a Bust of Antinous in his collection’ and ‘a cast of Pythagoras’: ibid., 111, 25 Oct. 1771, and 118, 18 Dec. 1771. Other early donors were Sir William Hamilton, the Rome-based dealer Colin Morrison and the Anglo-Florentine painter Thomas Patch. FortheFaunwithKidseeHaskellandPenny1981,pp.211–12,no.37. The Council Minutes record on 11 June 1774: ‘Resolved that casts be made from three statues in the possession of Lord Shelburne, viz the Meleager, the Gladiator putting on his sandals, et the Paris, leave having been already obtained from his lordship’, London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 179. The three sculptures had recently been sup- plied by Gavin Hamilton (1723–98) from Rome and were largely recently excavated pieces: the Meleager had been found at Tor Columbaro; the Paris and the so-called Cincinatus had both come from an excavation at Hadrian’s Villa near Tivoli, called Pantanello. See Bignamini and Hornsby 2010, 1, 321–22 for Shelburne; for the excavation and purchase of the Cincinnatus and Paris see 1, 162–64, nos 1 and 12; for the excavation and purchase of the Meleager see 1, 180–81, no. 7. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 38, 9 Aug. 1769 ‘Charles Townly Esq. having presented the Academy with a cast of the Lacedemorian Boy ... ordered that letters of thanks should be wrote.’ On the original relief see Boudon-Mauchel 2005, 251–52, no. 43 and on Duquesnoy’s fame as a ‘classical’ sculptor ibid., 175–210. The cast of the relief had been sent by Sir William Hamilton, then British ambassador to the court of Naples, in 1770 together with a cast of ‘Apollo’: see Ingamells and Edgcumbe 2000 32, no. 25, 17 June 1770; see also London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 72, 17 March 1770. For the Marcus Aurelius relief see Haskell and Penny 1981, 255–56, no. 56; Rome 1986–87. For the relief with warriors see Musso 1989–90, 9–22. The relief was illustrated in Winckelmann 1767, pl. 136. The same cast appears in Zoffany’s celebrated Portrait of the Academicians of the Royal Academy, 1771–72, in the Royal Collections. See Webster 2011, 252–61; New Haven and London 2011–12, 218–21, no. 44 (M. A. Stevens). For Leonardo’s cartoon see London 2011–12, 289–91, no. 86 (L. Syson). Barry 1798, 7. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/3, Council minutes, 3, 99–100, 22 May 1801. They purchased 16 casts in total for £68.10.3. WindsorLiscombe1987. 2. Plaster Casts of the So-Called Lansdowne ‘Cincinnatus’, 1774, 162 cm (h), Royal Academy of Arts, London, inv. 03/1488 3. Lansdowne Paris, Roman copy of the Periodo ADRIANICO – ADRIANO (si veda), from a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 165 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. MNE 946 (n° usuel Ma 4708) 4. Lansdowne Hermes/Meleager, Roman copy of the Hadrianic Period (117–138 ad) of a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 219 cm (h), Santa Barbara Museum of Art, Gift of Wright S. Ludington, inv. 1984.34.1 to the Faun with Kid is a Paris (fig. 3), and behind Moser the so-called Lansdowne Meleager (fig. 4). All of these were cast in 1774 from the originals in the collection of William Petty, 2nd Earl of Shelburne (1737–1805), recently returned from his Grand Tour.12 Behind the Cincinnatus is partly discernible a cast of the Knucklebone Players given by Charles Townley in 1769, the antique original of which could be admired in his London town-house at 7 Park Street (cat. 28, 1).13 As was customary, the Academy’s collection included also casts of busts and statuettes distributed on shelves and of ‘dismembered’ body parts – arms, legs and feet – hung on the wall, so that students could learn how to draw anatomical details before approaching the whole human figure. Pupils were also required to draw from reliefs, to become acquainted with the composition of historie, or narrative scenes, based on classical models. Above the chimneypiece is a large cast of a relief with music-making angels by François Duquesnoy (1597–1643) – the Boys by Fiamingo identified on the reverse of the drawing – whose most classicising works had, by the end of the 17th century, acquired the same status of antique statuary (fig. 5).14 Above was displayed a reduced version of one of the Marcus Aurelius reliefs in the Capitoline Museum (fig. 6), and a comparatively obscure relief with warriors, which had clearly gained fame because of its inclusion in Winckelmann’s Monumenti Antichi Inediti, published in 1767 (fig. 7).15 Further identifiable casts included a series of heads from Trajan’s Column, which we can see hanging from the shelves on the end wall, many of which remain in the 5. François Duquesnoy, Relief with Music-Making Angels, 1640–42, marble, 80 × 200 cm. Filomarino Altar, Church of Santi Apostoli, Naples commissioning of a series of new casts from Antonio Canova (1757–1822) in Rome.19 Burney’s image illustrates both the Royal Academy’s aspiration to offer an ‘academic’ education in line with great Continental examples, but also its differ- ences from them, as a private organisation sponsored by the monarch rather than a state-run academy.    194 195  26. Anonymous British School, 18th century A View of the Antique Academy in the Royal Academy c. 1790s Pen and brown ink and grey wash, with watercolour, over graphite, 294 × 223 mm Stamped recto, l.l., in brown ink: ‘J.R’; on separate piece of paper now attached to the reverse of the mount, in pen and black ink: ‘Henry Fuseli R A / 1741–1825. / Bought at Sir J. Charles Robinson’s sale 1902 / E.M.’ provenance: Robinson; Robinson  (not listed in his sales: Christie’s 12–14 May 1902; or Christie’s 17–18 April 1902); Sir Edward Marsh (1872–1953); his bequest through The Art Fund (then called National Art Collection Fund), 1953.  literature:None. exhibitions: London 1969, no.1 (unpaginated), not repr. The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1953,0509.3 This satirical drawing, probably made by a distracted student who ought to have been studying diligently from one of the casts, shows an imposing, heavy-set man towering physi- cally and psychologically over three young seated pupils drawing in the Antique Academy. While traditionally he has been identified as the painter Henry Fuseli (1741–1825), Keeper of the Royal Academy Schools from 1803 to 1825, given the style of the drawing and the subject’s dress he is more likely to be either Agostino Carlini (c. 1718–90), Keeper between 1783 and 1790, or Joseph Wilton (1722–1803) who held the position between 1790 and 1803.1 The view shows one of the end walls of the Antique, or ‘Plaister’ Academy, housed from 1780 in a purpose-built room in Somerset House.2 The same wall, with a similar arrangement of casts, appears in the evocative candlelight view of the room by an anonymous British artist (see 60, 105). The young students are busy at work, copying from casts of the Belvedere Torso (p. 26, 23), the Apollo Belvedere (p. 26, 18) and the Borghese Gladiator (p. 41, 54), models of different ideal types of beauty, masculinity and anatomy, repeatedly praised by Sir Joshua Reynolds in his third Discourse of 1770. It is likely that the three moveable casts were often set side by side by the Keepers to reflect Reynolds’ conception of ideal beauty and of the ‘highest perfection of the human figure’, which ‘partakes equally of the activity of the Gladiator, of the delicacy of the Apollo, and of the muscular strength of the Hercules’, as expressed in his third Discourse.3 On the wall behind the casts, are two cupboards possibly containing students’ drawings, which support smaller casts and busts. Whilst the Antique Academy was a serious, professional space, it was naturally the focus of humour from the students, who ranged in ages from fourteen to thirty-four. Several other caricatures exist testifying to the lighter side of academic life, including an earlier study by Thomas Rowlandson (1756–1827) showing a bench of students at work in the Life Academy in 1776 and including mocking depictions of Rowlandson’s fellow students (fig. 1).4 In terms of its public image the cast collection was an important symbol of the Academy’s prestige but this view does not seem to have been shared by some of the students, many of whom must have considered the long hours spent copying after the Antique as a constraining and repetitive exercise. Joseph Wilton was a crucial figure within the acad- emy in promoting a rigid curriculum based on the classical ideal. He never abandoned his firm belief in the didactic value of plaster casts, established while he was director of the Duke of Richmond’s Gallery in the late 1750s.5 His strict teaching methods must have generated discontent and considerable derision, brilliantly visualised in a satirical print by Cruikshank (fig. 2) which shows Wilton – trans- formed into Bottom with the head of an ass – inspecting the drawing of an irritated student in the Antique Academy.6 Wilton’s exacting standards, as the lines below the cartoon make clear, would prevent him from seeing the genius of a modern day Raphael and it is clear that some students of the Academy saw him as a ‘formal old fool’. Unlike the Life Academy, where the Visitor presided, setting the model and frequently drawing from it himself, the Antique Academy was presided over by the Keeper of the Schools. Each week the Keeper would set out specific casts and direct and comment on the students’ work. According to 1. Thomas Rowlandson, A Bench of Artists, 1776, pen and grey and black ink over pencil, 272 × 548 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. T08142  196 197  2. Isaac Cruikshank, Bless The Bottom, bless Thee-Thou art translated – Shakespere, 1794, hand-coloured etching, 295 × 212 mm, G. J. Saville the rules, students did not choose which casts to draw and they were not allowed to move them without permission.7 But depictions of the Antique Academy suggest that the situation was probably more flexible and may have allowed for individually tailored study. Several anecdotes point to the unruly life of the Academy and its students, who were allowed to choose their own seats, with utter chaos resulting. Joseph Farington (1747–1821) noted in 1794, that they behaved like ‘a mob’: Hamilton says the life Academy requires regulation: but the Plaister Academy much more. The Students act like a mob, in endeavouring to get places. The figures also are not turned so as to present different views to the 8 The reason for the commotion was that once a student had a seat, he was expected to retain it for the week. The atmos- phere seems to have been generally boisterous and there are numerous reports in the Council Minutes of the Academy of misbehaviour, high spirits and students throwing at each. It would be productive of much good to the Students to deprive them of the use of bread; as they would be induced to pay more attention to their outlines; and would learn to draw more correct, when they had not the perpetual resource of rubbing out.11 aa&jy For the traditional attribution of the sitter see the entry on the collection online database of the British Museum. The identification of the sitter with Joseph Wilton has been proposed already by Andrew Wilton in London 1969, no. 1. For a list of Keepers of the Royal Academy see Hutchison 1986, 266–67. Both Carlini and Wilton presented similar physical character- istics as the man in the drawing. For a list of their likenesses see respectively Trusted 2006 and Coutu 2008. See Baretti [1781], 18–30. See Reynolds 1997, 47. London 1997, 170–71, no. 67. See Coutu 2000; Kenworthy-Browne 2009. George 1870–1954, 7 (1793–1800), 118, no. 8519. See ‘Rules of the Antique Academy’: Royal Academy of Arts PC/1/1, Council Minutes, 1, 4–6, 27 Dec. 1768, quoted in Hutchison 1986, 31. Farington 1978–98, 1, 281. Pressly 1984, 87. Farington 1978–98, 2, 461–62. Ibid., 2, 462. These two drawings by Turner epitomise the two principal stages of education provided by the Royal Academy Schools during the late 18th century: the Antique, or Plaister, Academy and the Life Academy. Turner enrolled as a student in the Schools in December 1789 as a boy of fourteen, spent more than two years in the Antique Academy, and then progressed to the Life Academy in June 1792, presumably after presenting a drawing for inspection by the Visitor.1 Although there is no record of the drawing Turner submitted, it may well have been this finished study of the Belvedere Torso (see 26, 23) a sculpture of enduring popu- larity among artists as demonstrated by Goltzius’ drawing made almost exactly two hundred years earlier (cat. 8). Turner copied the same cast of the Torso shown in the satiri- cal view of the Academy (cat. 26). He is recorded as having visited the Antique Academy on 137 separate occasions during his studentship but only some twenty of his drawings after the Antique survive (figs 1–4) – many from the casts seen in Burney’s drawing (cat. 25) – and none as highly ren- dered as the present study.2 Turner’s signature at the lower right also suggests it was esteemed by the artist himself and prepared for some formal purpose. Whilst the surviving Academy Council Minutes do not record in detail the process of progression from the Antique Academy to the Life Academy, contemporary accounts offer some insight. Turner’s contemporary, Stephen Rigaud noted: I was admitted as a Student in the Life Academy by Mr Wilton the Keeper, and Mr Opie, the Visitor for the time being, on the presentation of a drawing from the Antique group of the Boxers, in which I had copied the strong effect of light and shade in the whole group coming out by strong lights on one side, and reflected lights on the other, with which Mr Opie expressed himself much pleased.3 The study of the Torso has all the characteristics of a presenta- tion drawing. It is on better, more regularly cut paper than Turner’s other drawings after the Antique and the figure is highly worked and boldly modelled with hatching and cross- hatching in chalk to convey the ‘strong effects of light and shade’ mentioned by Rigaud. This is in keeping with the established tradition of copying casts by candlelight to enhance contrast, so that the students could learn how to render planes and anatomical details. Unlike Goltzius’ Torso, being copied in daylight after the original in the Belvedere Courtyard in Rome, Turner’s cast is strongly lit from above by an oil lamp and set against a neutral screen to provide a uniform background – as clearly visible in the view of the Antique Academy (p. 60, 105). Furthermore, this is the only drawing from the Antique where Turner employed trois crayons, adding red to black and white chalk, a technique he usually reserved for studies from life. Might it be that Turner was attempting to turn marble into flesh, the practice 198 199 students. other the lumps of bread they were given to erase their draw- ings. Stephen Francis Rigaud (1777–1862), son of the Royal Academician, John Francis Rigaud (1742–1810) and a student in the early 1790s, wrote that the Schools were also the forum for political agitation: The peaceable students in the Antique Academy being continually interrupted in their studies by others of an opposite character, who used to stand up and spout forth torrents of indecent abuse against the King  One evening I rose and protested that if they continued to use such abominable language in a Royal Academy I would denounce every one of them to the Council and procure their expulsion [. . .] this threat checked them a little; but they shewed their spite by pelting me well with [. . .] pieces of bread.9 This incident reached the ears of the Academy Council from which the Keeper was excluded. Wilton told Joseph Farington in 1795: The Students in the Plaister Academy continue to behave very rudely; and that they have a practise of throwing the bread, allowed them by the Academy for rubbing out, at each other, so as to waste so much that the Bill for bread sometimes amounts to Sixteen Shillings a week.10 The Council took the decision to stop the allowance of bread altogether, as the President, Benjamin West, noted: 27. Joseph Mallord William Turner (London 1775–1851 London) a. Study of a Plaster Cast of the Belvedere Torso c. 1792 Black, red and white chalk, on brown paper, 331 × 235 mm Signed recto, l.r., in pen and black ink: ‘Wm Turner.’ literature: Postle 1997, 91–93, repr.; Owens 2013, 102–03, pl. 76. exhibitions: Nottingham and London 1991, 51, no. 18 (M. Postle); Munich and Rome 1998–99, 49, 50, 164, no. 62 (M. Ewel and I. von zur Mühlen); Munich and Cologne 2002, 414, no. 192 (J. Rees); London 2011 (no catalogue). Victoria and Albert Museum, Prints et Drawings Study Room, London, 9261 b. The Wrestlers c. 1793 Black, red and white chalks, on brown paper, 504 x 384 mm Signed recto, l.r., in pen and black ink: ‘Wm Turner.’ literature: Wilton 2007, 16, repr. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Victoria and Albert Museum, Prints et Drawings Study Room, London, 9262 provenance: Both drawings purchased by the Museum in 1884 from R. Jackson with four other academic drawings by different artists (Victoria and Albert Museum Register of Drawings 1880–1884, 171, 174).    200 201  prescribed by Rubens (see Appendix, no. 8), something he may have thought would demonstrate that he was ready to progress to the Life Academy? The Torso would have been a clever choice for a presentation drawing, since the antique fragment held a position of great prominence in the mission and the iconography of the Royal Academy. According to Reynolds the Torso was the greatest exemplar of classical art. ‘What artist’, he asked in his 10th Discourse of 1780, ‘ever looked at the Torso without feeling a warmth of enthusiasm, as from the highest efforts of poetry?’ For him only ‘a MIND elevated to the contemplation of excel- lence perceives in this defaced and shattered fragment   the traces of superlative genius, the reliques of a work on which succeeding ages can only gaze with inadequate admi- ration’ (see Appendix, no. 17).4 The muscular figure featured prominently under the words ‘STUDY’ on the obverse of several medals annually distributed as premiums to the students and in Angelica Kauffman’s Design for the ceiling of the Council Chamber, which served also as a second room of the Antique Academy (see 60, 107).5 In Turner’s time as a student, the Academy possessed two casts of the Torso, one of which we know was presented by the dealer Colin Morrison in 1770, and significantly Turner himself donated a further cast in 1842.6 The second drawing exhibited here was made from posed models in the Life Academy. The model would be set by the Visitors and Turner studied under a number of them, including Henry Fuseli, James Barry and Thomas Stothard (1755–1834). This drawing possibly dates from 1793 and may represent an unusually elaborate pose set by the sculptor John Bacon (1740–99). Stephen Francis Rigaud, who entered the Life Academy a year after Turner, noted: I remember Mr Bacon once setting a well composed group of two men, one in the act of slaying the other; or a representation of the history of Cain and Abel, which was continued for double the time allowed for a single figure, and which gave general satisfaction to the students.7 This precisely accords with the present group, which shows specific models engaged in combat. Although designed to represent a biblical subject, the pose of the two figures was reminiscent of antique groups, especially the Wrestlers (see 30, 33) which had already served as inspiration for posing the live models in the Italian and French academies – as seen for instance in Natoire’s imaginary view of the Académie Royale (cat. 16). Turner continued to attend the Schools throughout the 1790s until he was awarded Associateship of the Academy in 1799; he would continue to visit the Life Academy intermit- tently for the rest of his life.8 He was made inspector of the cast collection of the Royal Academy in 1820, 1829 and 1838 and served as Visitor in the Life Academy for a total of eight years between 1812 and 1838.9 In the latter role he became famous for setting the live model in postures reminiscent of classical sculpture, clearly recalling what he had learned during his time as a student. Lauding this practice and lamenting its decline, the artists and essayists Richard (1804–   1. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Cast of the Apollo Belvedere, c. 1791, black and white chalks on brown laid wrapping paper, 419 × 269 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D00057 (Turner Bequest V D) 2. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Casts of Marquess of Shelbourne’s Cincinnatus, c. 1791, pencil with black and white chalks and stump on laid buf paper, 425 × 267 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D00055 (Turner Bequest V B) 4. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Cast of a Helmeted Head from the Trajan Column, with Other Studies, c. 1791, black, red and white chalks and stump on dark buf paper, 337 × 269 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D40220 (Turner Bequest V R, verso) 88) and Samuel (1802–76) Redgrave noted: When a visitor in the life school he introduced a capital practice, which it is to be regretted has not been contin- ued: he chose for study a model as nearly as possible corresponding in form and character with some fine antique figure, which he placed by the side of the model posed in the same action; thus, the Discobulus (sic) of Myron contrasted with one of our best trained soldier; the Lizard Killer with a youth in the roundest beauty of adoles- cence; the Venus de’ Medici beside a female in the first period of youthful womanhood. The idea was original and very instructive: it showed at once how much the antique sculptors had refined nature; which, if in parts more beautiful than the selected form which is called ideal, as a whole looked common and vulgar by its side.10 aa et jy For Turner’s attendance at the Academy see Hutchison 1960–62, 130. Finberg 1909, 1, 6–8. See also Wilton 2012. Pressly 1984, 90. Reynolds 1997, 177–78. On the medals see Hutchison 1986, 34; Baretti [1781], 28; see also London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 24, 20 May 1769. For the Council Chamber see Baretti [1781], 25–26. On the two copies of the Torso in the Royal Academy see Baretti [1781], 9, 28. On Colin Morrison’s donation of a cast of the Torso, together with ‘Cast of a Bust of Alexander’ in 1770 see London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 70, 17 March 1770; on Turner’s donation see Gage 1987, 33. Pressly 1984, 90. Hutchison 1960–62, 130. See Gage 1987, 32–33. Redgrave and Redgrave 1890, 234, quoted in Gage 1987, 33.   202 203 3. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Study of a Plaster Casts of the Borghese Gladiator, c. 1791–92, black and some white chalk on buf wove paper, 580 × 457 mm, Tate Gallery, London, inv. D00071 (Turner Bequest V S) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10  28. William Chambers ( fl.1794) The Townley Marbles in the Dining Room of 7 Park Street, Westminster 1795 Pen and grey ink with watercolour and touches of gouache, indication in graphite, heightened with gum Arabic, 390 × 540 mm provenance: Charles Townley (1737–1805); by descent to Lord O’Hagan (b. 1945); Sotheby’s, London, 22 July 1985, lot 559; Frederick R. Koch; Sotheby’s, London, 12 April 1995, lot 90, from whom acquired by the British Museum. literature: Cook 1977, 8–9, fig.1; Cook 1985, 44–45, 41; Walker 1986, 320–22, pl. A; Cruickshank 1992, 60–61, 5; Morley 1993, 228, 285, pl. LVII; Webster 2011, 425, 321. exhibitions: Essen 1992, 432–36, no. 360a (C. Fox and I. Jenkins); London 1995 (no catalogue); London and Rome 1996–97, 258–60, no. 214 (I. Jenkins); London 2000, 229–30, no. 167; London 2001, 42, no. 72; London.  The British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London, 1995,0506.8 Charles Townley (1737–1805) was the most influential collec- tor of antique sculpture in Britain during the second half of the 18th century.1 From 1777 Townley’s considerable collection was arranged in his London residence, 7 Park Street (now 14 Queen Anne’s Gate), a proto-house-museum praised both for the strength of its collections and their display. It was to become one of the principal tourist sites in London. Writing about the house, James Dallaway claimed that ‘the interior of a Roman villa might be inspected in our own metropolis’.2 Park Street was also a centre of antiquari- anism and Townley – particularly after 1798, when wars with France curtailed travel to the Continent – was a hugely 1. Johann Zofany, Charles Townley and Friends in His Library at Park Street, Westminster, 1781–90 and 1798, oil on canvas, 127 × 99.1 cm, Towneley Hall Art Gallery et Museum important figure in promoting the study and interpretation of classical sculpture in Britain initiating numerous publica- tions, including the Society of Dilettanti’s Specimens of Antient Sculpture (1809). Townley also formed a famous library and an immense archive of drawings – in effect a ‘paper museum’ – recording antiquities in both British and European collections. To complete this ‘paper museum’ and to prepare publications such as the Specimens, Townley employed numerous young artists to record his own collection. It is clear from the surviving portions of his diary and other records that 7 Park Street became, in effect, an alternative academy in London. Writing in 1829, the then Keeper of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum, J. T. Smith, published a description of 7 Park Street and its contents, observing: I shall now endeavour to anticipate the wish of the reader, by giving a brief description of those rooms of Mr Townlye’s house, in which that gentleman’s liberality employed me when a boy, with many other students in the Royal Academy, to make drawings for his portfolios.3 Townley’s surviving drawings, housed, along with his sculp- ture collection, in the British Museum, testify to the range of artists he employed and demonstrate the popularity of Park Street as a venue for artists both to meet and to draw. Records show that William Chambers – not to be confused with the architect of the same name – was one of the draughtsmen employed by Townley to prepare drawings for his ‘portfo- lios’. A payment of £5.5.0 to Chambers is recorded on 21 October 1795 for the pendant to this drawing, a view of sculp- ture in the hall at 7 Park Street, also in the British Museum.4 Townley’s diary records the comings and goings of painters, particularly his friend, Johann Zoffany (1733–1810) who painted the iconic, largely imaginary view of Townley’s library filled with his sculpture collection and with the owner in conversation with his unofficial curator, the Baron d’Hancarville, and two other friends (fig. 1).5  204 205  The dining room was one of the principal public spaces of the house and contained some of the largest sculptures in the collection. These included the Townley Venus, the Discobolus (fig. 2), the Townley Caryatid, the Townley Vase, and the Drunken Faun, which Chambers places in the foreground. The modish decoration reflected both advanced neo-classical thinking and Townley’s own passions; the walls were articulated by simulated porphyry columns surmounted by capitals whose design came from Terracina; as d’Hancarville explained: ‘the ove is covered with three masks representing the three kinds of ancient drama, the comic, tragic and satyric   the choice and disposition of these ornaments leave no doubt that this capital was intended to characterise a building con- secrated to Bacchus and Ceres’.6 Visitors are shown admiring the collection while a woman seated in the foreground is drawing from the Drunken Faun. A drawing attributed to Chambers of the same sculpture, taken from the same angle, made for Townely’s portfolios, is also in the British Museum (fig. 3). Townley’s wide circle of acquaintances included a number of amateur and professional female artists, includ- ing Maria Cosway (1760–1838), whom Townley first met in Florence in 1774. His interest in encouraging young artists led to the publication by Conrad Metz of a drawing manual based on studies of the sculpture in Park Street: Studies for Drawing, chiefly from the Antique. 30 plates (1785). Townley’s support of artists resulted in his taking an active role in the Royal Academy of Arts from its foundation. He donated casts of his own sculpture and solicited dona- tions from friends. The Academy’s Council Minutes record his first donation in August 1769 of a ‘cast of the Lacedemonian Boy’ the so-called Knucklebone Players which appears in Edward Burney’s view of the RA’s Antique Academy on the far left, behind the Cincinnatus (cat. 25).7 One of the artists who appears regularly in Townley’s diary was the sculptor Nollekens who is recorded donating to the Academy a ‘cast in plaister of the head of Diomede’ belonging to Townley in 1792.8 Townley also donated casts of sculptures in other collections, among them, in 1794 one ‘of the celebrated Bas relief in the Capitol, of Perseus et Andromeda’, a cast still in the collection of the Academy.9 Townley’s solicitude for the Royal Academy and the educa- tion of young artists continued throughout his life; in 1797 the painter and diarist Joseph Farington noted: ‘Townley   thinks the Academy should have additional rooms for Statues &c’.10 29. Joseph Michael Gandy (London 1771–1843 Plympton) View of the Dome Area by Lamplight looking South-East 1811 Pen and black ink, watercolour, 1190 × 880 mm selected literature: Lukacher 2006, 132–33, fig.150 exhibitions: London 1999a, 160, no. 68 (H. Dorey); Munich 2013–14, 43; London 2014, (unpaginated). Sir John Soane’s Museum, London, For Townley see particularly Coltman 2009. Dallaway 1816, 319, 328. Smith 1829, 1, 251. In February that year he had also paid Chambers £2.2.0. for some unspeci- fied drawings, and in August £1.1.0. for ‘drawing gems’: see London 2000, 229. Townley’s diary records Chambers returned in May 1798 when he began to make a record of an altar of Lucius Verus Helius which Townley had recently acquired from the Duke of St Albans; he finished the study on Sunday 7 July: London, British Museum, Townley Archive, TY/1/10. For William Chambers’ pendant to this drawing see London 2001, 42, no. 71 (with previous bibliography). Webster. London and Rome 1996–97, 258–60. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/1, Council minutes, 1, 38, 9 Aug. 1769. It arrived with a cast of a Venus donated by Townley’s principal antiquities dealer in Rome, Thomas Jenkins. The original Knucklebone Players is in the British Museum, Department of Greek et Roman Antiquities, inv. 1805,0703.7. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/2, Council minutes, 2, 173–4, 3 Nov. 1792. The original marble bust is in the British Museum, Department of Greek et Roman Antiquities, inv. 1805,0703.86, now called the Head of a follower of Ulysses. London, Royal Academy of Arts, PC/1/2, Council minutes, 2, 201, 7 Feb. 1794. The cast is in the Royal Academy, inv. 03/2018. The original is in the Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. 501: see Helbig Farington 1978-98, 3, 840. 2. The Townley Discobolus, Roman copy of the 2nd century ad after a Greek original of the 5th century bc by Myron, marble, 170 cm (h), British Museum, Department of Greek et Roman Antiquities, London, inv. 1805,0703.43 3 Attributed to William Chambers, Drawing of a Statue of an Intoxicated Satyr, 1794–1805, black chalk and grey wash, 280 × 193 mm, British Museum, Department of Greek et Roman Antiquities, London, inv. 2010,5006.87 The Royal Academy School of Architecture was central to the formation of the professional career and teaching of Sir John Soane (1754–1837), who is chiefly remembered today as architect to the Bank of England, of Dulwich Picture Gallery and of his incomparable house-museum at No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. The unique installations of antiquities and casts after the Antique in the Museum, which he built at the back of the house, and which J. M. Gandy so atmospherically evokes in this drawing, also attest to the influence of the Academy on Soane’s pattern of collecting and his own role as a teacher. Soane entered the Academy in 1771 at the age of eighteen; he was the 141st pupil since the Academy’s foundation in 1768 and amongst the first students of the School of Architecture, the earliest institution in Britain to teach architecture in a formalised way. The School was modelled by Sir William Chambers (1723–96) on his own experience of studying architecture in Jean-François Blondel’s École des Arts in Paris, in 1749–50, when the status of the architect and teaching methods in Britain were then very different from those in France. The Académie Royale d’Architecture, of which Chambers became a member in 1762, had been founded in 1671 and was followed, in 1743, by Blondel’s more progressive École. The École’s curriculum was rigorous; it was open for study from Monday to Saturday and from eight in the morning until nine in the evening. The students’ day began with formal discussion of various topics, followed by lectures on set matters relating to drawing such as mathe- matics, geometry, perspective, or to building types such as military architecture, or to practical issues such as drainage and water supply. In the spring, students would undertake site visits to notable buildings in Paris and its environs.1 In Britain, by contrast, the professional status of architect was ill-defined, and was not always distinguished from that of the builder or mason. The ambiguous status of architecture was not entirely clarified by the time Soane entered the architecture school. It was the smallest of the departments at the Royal Academy and Soane was one of only nine pupils admitted in 1771. And although inspired by Blondel’s École, the programme of the architecture school was nothing like so rigourous. Students of architecture were required to attend only six lectures per year.2 The reason for this very limited formal teaching was that most students were attached to a professional archi- tect’s office during the day; when Soane enrolled at the Royal Academy he was working for George Dance the Younger (1741–1825).3 Nor were the teaching collections available to students at all extensive. The collections of plaster casts after the Antique (and antiquities) were dominated by the requirements of painters and sculptors; in the 1810 inventory of 385 casts, only nineteen can be identified as being architec- tural.4 It is against this backdrop that we must understand Soane’s own founding of an ‘academy of architecture’ in his house-museum. The history of Soane’s collections of casts and the manner in which they were installed, deinstalled and reinstalled over a period of time and over three different properties belonging to Soane (two at Lincoln’s Inn Fields and one in Ealing, London) is not straightforward. From the 1790s, Soane started collecting and displaying casts for the use of the young pupils and assistants working in his first office in No. 12 Lincoln’s Inn Fields.5 However, as his collection grew and as his career as an architect developed, the function of the collection of antiquities and of casts after the Antique changed. Gandy’s drawing shows the Dome Area of Soane’s Museum as it appeared in 1811 (a year after the 1810 Royal Academy inventory of casts was com- piled).6 In this view, atmospherically lit from below by an undisclosed light source, we can readily identify a number of casts of antique sculpture and of architectural fragments. The largest casts are the Corinthian capital shown on the south wall, and a fragment of entablature, shown on the east wall, both taken from the Temple of Castor and Pollux in Rome, which Soane had purchased in 1801 from the sale of the architect Willey ‘the Athenian’ Reveley.7 Below the capital, and forming part of the parapet of the Dome we see a cast of one of the panels, decorated with a festoon, from the portico of the Pantheon, purchased from the sale of the architect James Playfair.8 Sculpture is also represented in the casts, and a number of well-known antiquities can be   206 207  described. Just visible through the arch in the lower right- hand corner, is an arrangement of four casts taken from the base of one of the so-called Barberini Candelabra, among the most prized antiquities in the Museo Pio-Clementino, Rome, which shows the gods Minerva, Jupiter (twice), and Mercury in low relief.9 On the east wall, below the entablature of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, is a cast of a relief of two of the ‘Corybantes’, taken from the marble original in the Vatican Museums and also purchased from the Playfair sale.10 Although Soane would rearrange these casts and antiquities as his ‘Museum’ expanded, most are still to be found at No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields and the general impression of a dense, ‘romantic’ arrangement remains. If, originally, Soane’s collection of casts and antiquities was intended to provide exemplars for the architects training and working in his office, by the time Gandy drew the arrangements as they appeared in 1811 a shift in their purpose had occurred. In 1806, Soane became Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy and, as a former student, he was well aware of the relatively meagre resources allocated to the School. He comments on this in his 6th lecture, given to his students at the RA.11 The arrangement of casts shown by Gandy was installed between 1806 and 1809, when Soane was preparing his Royal Academy lectures, of which he gave the first in 1809.12 It has been argued that they are a three-dimensional analogue of the lectures and their drawn illustrations.13 Indeed, Soane saw the casts as being central to his teaching: ... I propose in future that the various drawings and models, shall, on the day before, and if necessary, the day after the public reading of each lecture, be open at my house for the inspection of the students in architecture, where at the same time, they will likewise have an oppor- tunity of consulting the plaster casts and architectural fragments.14 Shortly after Gandy completed this view of the Dome Area, the European Magazine and London Review described Soane’s house-museum as an ‘... Academy of Architecture’.15 At the same time as he was responding to the lack of architectural casts and fragments in the collections of the Royal Academy, Soane’s ‘academy’ should also be seen as Soane’s reflection on the ways in which he himself had come to experience Roman architecture. Unlike the Royal Academy lectures, which Soane arranged programmatically, the ‘Piranesian’ displays of antiquities, casts and architectural 16 to recreate the experience of visiting Rome and to recall the excitement of viewing there the disorganised remains of antiquity.17 However, another reason why Soane rejected a rational academic approach to the arrangements of antiquities in his house-museum might lie in the way that Soane used the collections to form his own identity as an architect. In our drawing Gandy includes a portrait of Soane who is illuminated from the same undisclosed light source as his casts, gesturing in, by 1811, the slightly archaic manner of an interlocutor. He is at once teacher, architect and collector.18 The arrangements of casts and antiquities are not just for the use of his students and pupils but also, as he put it, ‘... studies for my own mind’.19 They reflect one individual’s view of art and architecture through the idiosyncratic juxtapositions that he created. However, there is yet another level of self-identification in Soane’s collection and display of antiquities and architec- tural fragments. In Gandy’s drawing, far above Soane on a shelf, can be seen a row of Roman antique cineraria and cinerary vases. That at the far left, decorated with Ammon masks, came from the ‘Museum’ of the great Italian architect and etcher, Piranesi, as did the cinerary vase decorated with griffins seen on top of the cinerarium in the middle, and the cinerarium decorated with genii on the far right. Though it is not seen in this view, in 1811, a full-size cast of the Apollo Belvedere would join the collections of the ‘academy’. Dating to 1717, it had formerly been owned by Lord Burlington and displayed in his villa at Chiswick. In 1818, further antiquities – this time from the sale of the effects of Robert and James Adam – would enhance the installations. The names of these prominent antiquaries and architects are significant: they create an intellectual genealogy for Soane, who was born the son of a bricklayer. Sir John Soane’s Museum is a very rare survival of an early 19th-century private ‘academy’ in which his collections of casts and of antiquities can be experienced much in the same manner as his own pupils and his Royal Academy students experienced them. It also demonstrates how Soane drew upon the Antique to create his intellectual persona.  fragments are set out idiosyncratically and imaginatively. Why did Soane reject a more conventional arrangement of casts and antiquities in his ‘academy’? Perhaps he wished 208 1 2 3 4 j k-b See Bingham 1993, p.5. ‘In regard to the students in architecture, it is exacted from them only that they attend the library and lectures, more particularly those on Architecture and Perspective...’. Reprinted, La Ruffinière du Prey 1977, 47. Soane subsequently entered the office of Henry Holland in 1772. Bingham 1993, 7. The lack of collections of casts or of architectural fragments in public collections in Britain, until Sir John Soane formed his collection, was also commented upon by John Britton in the preface to his 1827 ‘guide’ to Soane’s house-museum, Britton 1827, p.viii. 209  5 Soane had originally started collecting and displaying casts for the use of the architects working in his first office in No.12 Lincoln’s Inn Fields in the 1790s. He also hoped to inspire his eldest son – John Soane Junior – to become an architect and arranged antiquities and casts at his country villa, Pitzhanger Manor in Ealing, acquired in 1800 and rebuilt by Soane, to act as an ‘academy’ for John. For a full description of Soane’s acquisition and installation of casts in his house-museum and his use of them see: Dorey 2010. 6 This part of the house was in fact behind No. 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields. 7 Reveley had collected these casts in Italy and Soane purchased every cast from this sale. Dorey 2010, 600. 8 Dorey 2010, p.600. 9 These were found in the remains of Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli in 1730 and were heavily restored by Bartolomeo Cavaceppi. The British antiquary Thomas Jenkins acted as agent for the Pope when negotiating their acquisition. 10 This had been found in 1788 near Palestrina. The subject of the relief is also sometimes identified as the Pyrrhic Dance. 11 ‘...I have often lamented that in the Royal Academy the students in architecture have only a few imperfect casts from ancient remains, and a very limited collection of works on architecture to refer to.’ Reprinted in Watkin 1996, 579. 12 As Soane explained in his 6th Royal Academy lecture: ‘On my appoint- ment to the Professorship I began to arrange the books, casts, and models, 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 in order that the students might have the benefit of easy access to them. Reprinted in Watkin. See: Dorey 2010, 606. Watkin 1996, p.579. Observations 1812, 382. In fact, Soane does seem to have entertained the idea of creating a more ‘rational’ Museum where casts, antiquities and fragments would be arranged according to academic taxonomies. A drawing by George Bailey, also dating to 1811 and showing the Dome Area (SM 14/6/3), includes a plan relating to a scheme of c. 1809–11 whereby both Nos 12 and 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields would be used by Soane. In this proposed scheme, the whole of No. 13 would become the Museum with the collections displayed according to type. As Soane explained in a rejected draft of his sixth Royal Academy lecture, No. 13 would incorporate: ‘... a gallery exceeding one hundred feet in length for the reception of architectural drawings and prints, another room of the same extent over it, to receive models and parts of buildings ancient and modern’. Reprinted in Watkin 1996, 356. Soane even used plain yellow glass in the skylights that illuminated the Dome Area, perhaps to evoke the light of the Mediterranean world rather than that of London. Soane explores the use of architecture as a type of ‘self-portrait’ in notes he made when preparing his Royal Academy lectures. See: Soane. J., Extracts, Hints, Etc. for Lectures, 1813–18, SM Soane Case 170, f.135. Soane, Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg (Rotterdam 1769–1817 Rotterdam) The Drawing Lesson c. 1790s Black and red chalk, 483 × 375 mm. Framing lines in black chalk. Signed recto l.r. in black chalk: GVD Berg. fecit provenance: Paris, Drouot, 26 March 1924, part of lot 55, La Leçon de Dessin (sold as a pair with another drawing, La Marchande de frivolités); Private collection, France; Private collection, England; Florian Härb, London, from whom acquired. literature:None. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2011-013 Born in Rotterdam, Van den Berg was a pupil of Johannes Zaccarias Simon Prey (1749–1822), a leading portrait and decorative painter in that city.1 In the 1780s, he studied for three years in Antwerp where he received special recogni- tion for his drawings after live models and casts; he also resided for a time in Düsseldorf and Mannheim.2 In 1790, he returned to Rotterdam where he established himself as a portrait painter and miniaturist. The same year he was appointed ‘Corrector’, a judge and arranger of poses for live models, of the Rotterdam Drawings Society, whose motto was Hierdoor tot Hooger (‘From Hereby to Higher’).3 For the remainder of his career, he devoted himself to teaching. His pupils included his son, Jacobus-Everardus-Josephus (1802–61), who also became a professional painter and from 1844, director of the Teeken-Akademie in the Hague.4 One of Van den Berg’s biographers makes special mention of the finished portrait studies in black and red chalk that he made after his return to Rotterdam; the present drawing is certainly one of them.5 Berg preferred studying female models, usually posing two together: here, two elegantly dressed women in a panelled interior focus their attention on an idealised head, probably a variant of the head of an antique Venus.6 The seated draughtswoman holds up her chalk-filled porte-crayon above an angled drawing-board, intently appraising her subject. She engages with it much in the same way as Hubert Robert did some thirty years earlier in his self-portrait with the Faustina bust (cat. 17). The second woman appears to be commenting on the work in progress. A portfolio leans against a table leg on the floor below. Comparably attired women – possibly the same ones – are shown reading a letter in a sheet by Van den Berg in a private collection.7 The present composition is similar in style and format to several other chalk studies by the artist of the 1790s. It is especially close to his drawing of a female artist seated at a table in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (fig. 1). But instead of holding a porte-crayon, this young woman operates a zograscope, an optical device invented in the mid-18th century that included a magnifying lens to enhance an image’s depth and relief; the subject of her scrutiny remains out of view.8 Another comparable drawing, signed and dated 1791 (Royal Collection, Windsor Castle; 2), shows an elderly man, perhaps a drawing instructor, inspecting a portrait study from a portfolio.9 He is seated at a table which is nearly identical to that in the Bellinger example, but Berg shows him in a less formal attitude, holding a long clay pipe and resting his feet on a portable stove, in a manner reminis- cent of Dutch 17th-century genre subjects. This drawing, plus a number of other figure drawings by Van den Berg preserved at Windsor, were probably obtained as a group by 1. Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg, Study of a Woman Seated at a Table, with an Optical Mirror, black and red chalk, 396 × 303 mm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam RP-T-1997-10  210 211     2. Gijsbertus Johannus Van den Berg, A Connoisseur Examining Drawings, 1791, black and red chalk, 407 × 284 mm, Royal Collection, RL 12865 King George III around 1810.10 Most are probably studies after live models set in poses determined in advance in classes at the Rotterdam Drawings Society.11 Draped plaster casts were used when models were unavailable.12 As with the Bellinger drawing, their style, with their sensitive employment of black chalk and red accents for the skin, is strongly reminiscent of portrait drawings by the English artist Richard Cosway (1742–1821) and no doubt register the prevailing taste for English art in Rotterdam at the time.13 It is possible that Van den Berg intended his figure studies to be engraved, perhaps for a series on the art of drawing.14 Women artists did not begin to acquire the same privileges and educational advantages as men until the end of the 19th century; as a general rule they were denied membership of academies and were not permitted to draw after nude or anatomical models.15 They were largely confined to producing art in private studios and especially in aristocratic houses, where drawing tutors were sometimes hired to supplement the education of young women.16 For the most part, they were restricted to producing non-histor- ical, non-mythological and non-biblical subjects, such as portraits and still-lifes, as their exclusion from study of the live model and anatomy was thought to – and generally did 3. Georg Melchior Kraus, Corona Schröter Drawing a Cast of the ‘Eros of Centocelle’, 1785, watercolour, 380 × 315 mm, Klassik Stiftung Weimar, KHz/01632 – prevent them from acquiring full mastery of the human form.17 Instead, they studied sculptural models and espe- cially antique casts, often ones deemed thematically appro- priate for their gender, such as the ideal head featured in the Van den Berg drawing catalogued here. A comparable situa- tion is depicted in a watercolour close in date by Georg Melchior Kraus (1737–1806), then director of the Weimar drawing school, in which a beautiful and smartly dressed young lady, Corona Schröter, draws after a cast of the girlish son of Venus, the Eros of Centocelle (1785; Klassik Stiftung Weimar; 3), a statue known through Roman copies – namely, the example discovered by Gavin Hamilton in 1772 in the outskirts of Rome and now in the Vatican – after a lost bronze original by Praxiteles.18 The tradition of women drawing from antique plaster casts in Holland, which began in the 17th century,19 was well advanced by the first quarter of the 18th century, evidenced in Pieter Van der Werff’s portrayal of a girl draw- ing after the Venus de’ Medici (1715; Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; 40, 53). Van den Berg’s drawing, and others like it, confirm that the practice developed further during the latter part of the century, and became still more widespread in the 19th. The importance of plaster casts in artistic training in 212 213  Holland at this time is indicated by the activities of the Rotterdam Drawing School, but also by Van den Berg’s own self-portrait of 1794, where a reduced model of the Dying Gladiator and others are given prominence of place on the shelf directly behind the artist (Museum Rotterdam).20 avl 1 For his life and work, see Van der Aa 1852–78, 2, 368–69; Thieme- Becker 1907–50, 3, 387; Scheen  Van der Aa 1852–78, 2, 368–69. 3 Ibid., 2, 369; For the society and his involvement therein, see Amsterdam 1994, 2–3 [unpaginated]. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid.; Amsterdam 1994, 3 [unpaginated]. 6 Amsterdam 1994, 3 [unpaginated]; Berg also oversaw private classes where students drew after nude female models. 7 Ibid., 3–4 [unpaginated], no. 9. 8 Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum, 45, no. 3, 1997, 239, fig. 9. For an in-depth study of this device, known in the 18th century as an ‘optical machine’, see Koenderink 2013, 192–206. 9 Puyvelde 1944, 20, no. 81, pl. 142; Amsterdam 1994, 2 [unpaginated]. 10 Puyvelde 1944, 20–21, 75–83. See also on-line collections database: http://www.royalcollection.org.uk 11 For the society’s use of posed models, see Amsterdam 1994, 2 [unpagi- nated]. 12 On the role of casts, see Amsterdam 1994, 2 [unpaginated]. An intrigu- ing view of the society’s drawing room, on the upper floor of the Delftse Poort in Rotterdam, was published in Plomp 1982, 11–12 (drawn by an anonymous artist, 1780, whereabouts unknown). Casts of the Laocoön, the Apollo Belvedere, and L’Ecorché (Figure of a Flayed Man), 1767 by Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741–1828) are clearly visible. For the latter, see Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere 2003–04, 62–66, no. 1 (Poulet). It has also been suggested that the finished quality of Van den Berg’s drawings are reminiscent of engravings by George Morland (Amsterdam 1994, 3 [unpaginated]; Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum, 45, no. 3, 1997, 239). As proposed by Florian Härb, unpublished fact sheet on the Bellinger drawing, c. 2011. For essential reading on the subject of women artists from the Renaissance to the mid-20th century, see Los Angeles, Austin and elsewhere 1976–77 and especially the authors’ introductory essay, 12–67. See also Goldstein 1996, 61–66. A very small number of women artists managed to get elected to the French academy including Adélaïd Labille-Guiard (1749– 1803) and Elisabeth Vigée Lebrun (1755–1842) in 1783. But from 1663 to the dissolution of the Academy in 1793, only fourteen in total were accepted (Montfort 2005, 3, 16, note 8). The French Salon in Paris was not open to non-Academy members until 1791, when women were permitted to exhibit their work. Goldstein 1996, 62–64. See Los Angeles, Austin and elsewhere 1976–77, especially 13–58; Goldstein 1996, 62–63. Söderlind 1999, 23. For the statue, see Spinola 1996–2004, 2, 61, fig. 11, 63, no. 85; Piva 2007, 48–49, fig. 7. See for example, A Young Woman Seated Drawing, 1655–60, by Gabriel Metsu (1629–67) in the National Gallery, London (NG 5225; Waiboer 2012, 205–06, A-62) and A Lady Drawing, c. 1665, by Eglon van der Neer (1635/36– 1703) in the Wallace Collection, London (inv. no. P243; Schavemaker 2010, 462, no. 29). Dordrecht 2012–13, no. 64A (F. Meijer). 31. Wybrand Hendriks (Amsterdam 1744–1831 Haarlem) The Haarlem Drawing College 1799 Oil on canvas, 63 × 81 cm Signed and dated lower left: ‘W. Hendriks Pinxit 1799’ provenance: Wybrand Hendriks (1744–1831); his sale, R.W.P. de Vries et C.F. Roos, Amsterdam, 27–29 February 1832, lot 30; private collection, Paris; Adolph Staring (1890–1980), Vorden; given to the Teylers Museum in 1987 by Mrs. J.H.M. Staring-de Mol van Otterloo. literature: Knoef 1938, repr.; Knoef 1947a, 11–13; Staring 1956, 174, fig. LIV; Van Regteren Altena 1970, 312, 316; Praz 1971, 37; Van Tuyll 1988, 17–18, fig. 21; Haarlem 1990, 35–36. exhibitions: Rotterdam 1946, 8, no. 13; London 1947, 4, no. 2; Amsterdam 1947–48, 8, no. 10; Haarlem 1972, 25–26, no. 29, fig. 44; Munich and Haarlem 1986, 96–97, no. 13. 214 215 Teylers Museum, Haarlem, KS 1987 002 exhibited in haarlem only In this painting we have been admitted to a gathering at the Haarlem Drawing College. In the 18th and early 19th century every self-respecting Dutch town had its own drawing ‘college’ or ‘academy’. It was where artists and wealthy amateurs met, drew together from the nude or draped model, and where they looked at drawings together during so-called art viewings or ‘kunstbeschouwingen’. In 1799, the year this picture was painted, the Haarlem Drawing College had twenty-six working (as opposed to honorary) members, and this is very probably a group portrait of them and their committee (leaving aside the boy playing marbles on the left, who may be the son of one of the members). The setting is a house that the Haarlem artists rented in Klein Heiligland. The question that immediately arises is: ‘who’s who?’ Although the label listing the sitters that was still with the painting at the sale of Hendriks’s estate in 1832 is no longer preserved, many of the figures can nevertheless be identified with a fair degree of certainty. The two in the middle are very probably the secretary, Jan Willem Berg who gestures to the viewer’s left, and the balding treasurer, Pieter S. Crommelin. On the far right, beneath the bas-relief on the wall, is Hendriks himself.1 The man in the left background, pointing at one of the plaster casts on the mantelpiece, has been recognised as Adriaan van der Willigen (1766–1841), author and art historian avant la lettre.2 Prominently displayed against the chimneybreast are various plaster casts. The large head of the famous Apollo Belvedere in the middle is the most eye-catching (see 26, fig. 18). To the right of it is the classical Callipygian Venus and to the left, the crouching Nymph Washing Her Foot after Adriaen de Vries (1556–1626).3 Of the two male casts seen frontally, that on the right is after the classical Farnese Hercules (see 30, fig. 32), while that on the left is probably after a Mercury by François Duquesnoy (1597–1643).4 Hanging on the wall above Hendriks’s head is Vulcan’s Forge, also after Adriaen de Vries, and in the corner on the left is the life-sized cast of another classical statue: the Venus de’ Medici (see 42, 56).5 The casts displayed, therefore, reproduce as a whole or in part, statues from classical antiquity and from 16th- and 17th-century Netherlandish sculpture, which in turn reference the Antique. The casts depicted belonged to the Haarlem Drawing Academy, the forerunner of the College. Hendriks had bought them and the rest of the inventory in 1795 to help pay off the academy’s debts, and he donated everything to the Drawing College when it was founded the following year. The prime mover behind the gift was probably the Teylers Foundation, a Haarlem body that had been set up in 1778 to stimulate the arts and sciences. The foundation subsidised art education in Haarlem for decades, and Hendriks was the curator of its art collection, which was housed in the Teylers Museum.6 The fact that these plaster casts were transferred immediately to the Drawing College indicates how impor- tant they were for a society that promoted drawing, and this is confirmed by the prominence they are accorded in this group portrait. On the other hand, it should be appreciated that the supremacy of classical art and the rules of classicism, which in fact had never been applied very strictly in the Dutch Republic, were no longer so sacred in the Netherlands by 1800. Members of some drawing academies often argued that genres like landscape and scenes from everyday life in which nature was imitated literally and not idealised, should be valued as highly as history paintings, which were generally inspired by classical or neo-classical principles. The idea that Adriaan van der Willigen is the man point- ing at the casts is intriguing. He was a learned amateur and the best-versed person in the gathering when it came to the history of the arts. He was very well aware how much they owed to the example of ancient Greece and Rome. A few  years after this painting was executed he wrote an essay in the Verhandelingen uitgegeven door Teyler’s Tweede Genootschap (Discourses published by Teylers Second Society) discussing ‘the cause of the lack of superior history painters in the Netherlands, and the means suitable for their training’. He praised his countrymen for their colouring, chiaroscuro, fidelity to nature and brushwork, yet accused them of impre- cise drawing, inelegant compositions and bad taste. What, Van der Willigen asked, could be done to overcome these defects? To draw from the ‘purest casts in plaster of the finest classical statues, busts and bas-reliefs’! And he then gave a list of the well-known canon of classical sculpture, which included the Apollo Belvedere, the Laocoön, the Venus de’ Medici and the Belvedere Torso.7 In short, he was utterly convinced of the importance of classical sculpture and its formative nature. For him, it was clearly still of paramount importance. mp 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 For the various identifications see Haarlem 1972, 25 and Haarlem 1990, 35–36. The Van der Willigen identification was made by A. Staring  and has been adopted by other authors (see above, note 1). According to Staring, some of the portraits were added later, when the composition had already been determined, including that of Van der Willigen, who was not yet living in Haarlem in 1799. Van der Willigen is best known today for writing a comprehensive collection of biographies of artists living in the Netherlands from 1750 onwards, together with Roeland van Eynden: Van Eynden and Van der Willigen 1816–40. For the Callipygian Venus see Haskell and Penny 1981, 316–18, no. 83; Gasparri 2009–10, 1, 73–76, no. 31 and repr. on 267–69. For the Nymph Washing Her Foot after Adriaen de Vries: Amsterdam, Stockholm and elsewhere 1998, 131–33, no. 10. For Duquesnoy’s Mercury, of which there are several versions, some of them slightly different, see Boudon-Mauchel 2005, 264–70. For the Farnese Hercules see Haskell and Penny 1981, 229–32, no. 46; Gasparri. For the Venus de’ Medici see Haskell and Penny 1981, 325–28, no. 88, and for De Vries’ Vulcan’s Forge see Amsterdam, Stockholm and elsewhere 1998, 187–89, no. 27. The plaster casts stood in the top front room of the house in Klein Heiligland. For a description of the house and of Hendriks’ involvement with the casts, see Sliggers 1990, no. 26, 16–17. Van der Willigen 1809, 282 (colouring etc.), 298 (plaster casts).  216 217  32. Woutherus Mol (Haarlem 1785–1857 Haarlem) The Young Draughtsman c. 1820 Oil on canvas 52.3 × 42.6 cm provenance: A. Pluym; his sale, R.W.P. de Vries, A. Brondgeest, C.F. Roos, Amsterdam, 24 November 1846, 7, no. 22; sold to Gerrit Jan Michaëlis (1775–1856) for the Teylers Foundation (f 400,-) literature: Van Eynden and Van der Willigen 1816–40, 4, 244; Huebner 1942, 69, 63; Knoef 1947b, 8–10, repr.; Van Holthe tot Echten 1984, 60–63, 4; Jonkman 2010, 35; Geudeker 2010, 60, 78, 74. exhibitions: Amsterdam 1822, no. 222; Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14, 50 (not numbered). Teylers Museum, Haarlem, KS 015 exhibited in haarlem only  A young draughtsman sitting by an open window is engrossed in his work. He seems to be copying the object leaning against the wall in front of him, but whether it is a drawing or a bas-relief is not entirely clear. The tree visible through the window and the building beyond it stand in a garden or by a narrow canal-side street. The colourful flowers in a vase on the windowsill bring a touch of that outside world indoors. The leaded windows, ceiling beams, whitewashed walls and above all the ornately carved cup- board show that this is an old Dutch interior. Standing on the cupboard are imposing plaster casts of famous classical statues: the Dancing Faun, the Venus de’ Medici (p. 42, 56) 1. Woutherus Mol, Painter and Draughtsman in a Studio, c. 1820, oil on canvas, 43.5 × 37 cm, present whereabouts unknown and an unidentified statue of the Apollo Citharoedus type.1 It is difficult to make out whether the other objects also record classical prototypes: a bas-relief, a baby’s head, a couching lion and a vase with prominent handles. The interior is bathed in a serene calm, so much so that the song of the little bird in the cage high up on the wall is almost audible. One scholar recently put forward a fascinat- ing argument that the picture is a commentary on the Classicist view of art.2 If the tree and the bouquet of flowers are interpreted as ‘nature’, and the plaster casts as ‘classical antiquity’, then the young draughtsman is occupying a special position, mid-way between them. According to that view of art, nature had to be idealised with the aid of beautiful examples, and such examples were available in abundance in classical antiquity. Statues like the Venus de’ Medici, the Apollo Belvedere and the Dancing Faun had been for centuries part of the canon of the most treasured sculptures. At the same time, however, Mol is remaining true to his Dutch origins, for he has very clearly set The Young Draughtsman in a traditional Dutch interior. A similar painting by him, Painter and Draughtsman in a Studio (fig. 1), is again set in a typical 17th-century Dutch space, with a wooden cross window, ‘Kussenkast’ cupboard, and a massive table with ball feet. It too contains a prominent display of classical sculpture.3 The apprentice draughtsman is copying a plaster cast of the Dancing Faun, and on the cupboard are casts of the same Apollo Citharoedus that we see in our picture, a reproduction of the so-called Priestess in the Capitoline Museum, and another of the Farnese Hercules (see 30, 32 and cat. 7, 3). Standing beside the cupboard there is even a copy after a classical vase, probably the famous Borghese Vase.4 Deliberately or not, the combination of classical art and a 17th-century Dutch setting relates Mol’s two studio scenes directly to the debate about the ‘national taste’ being con- ducted in the Netherlands around 1800 and for some decades  218 219  thereafter. It was felt that Dutch painting was in a deplorable state: essays were written about how standards could be raised and competitions were held to encourage improve- ments. Classical sculpture was regularly invoked: it was only logical that Dutch painters were lagging behind, it was said, given the absence of classical statues in Holland, and drawing academies should therefore acquire copies after antique statues (see cat. 31), and so on.5 Reading between the lines, though, one sees that the same writers were often great admirers of 17th-century Dutch painting. The painters of that Golden Age had paid little heed to Classicist art theory; they imitated nature and did not idealise it. Mol’s two studio scenes contain elements that can be associated with both artistic theories. He was very much at home in both worlds. Born in Haarlem, he had received an old- fashioned Dutch training with the landscapist Hermanus van Brussel (1763–1815). In 1806, however, he went to Paris, where he worked for several years, partly as an élève in the framework of the new arts policy of King Louis Napoleon of Holland (1778–1846), apprenticed to none other than Jacques Louis David (1748–1825). In other words, classicist views about art were well-known to him. 33. Anonymous, Danish School, 19th century Two Artists and a Guard in the Antique Room at Charlottenborg Palace c. 1835 Oil on canvas, 38.6 × 33.9 cm provenance: Private collection, Denmark; Thomas Le Claire Kunsthandel, Hamburg with Daxer et Marschall, Munich in 2003 (as Knud Andreassen Baade), from whom acquired. literature: Zahle 2003, 271, 117 (as Julius Friedlænder (?)); Copenhagen 2004, 110–11, no. 8, 16 (as unknown artist); Fuchs and Salling 2004, 3, 194–95, repr. (as unknown artist). 1 2 3 4 5 mp Haskell and Penny 1981, respectively 205–08, no. 34 (Dancing Faun), 325–28, no. 88 (Venus de’ Medici). T. van Druten, in Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14, 50. Mak van Waay sale, Amsterdam, 26 May 1964, lot 366. Haskell and Penny 1981, 205–08, no. 34 (Dancing Faun), 229–32, no. 46 (Farnese Hercules), 314–15, no. 81 (Borghese Vase). For the Priestess in the Capitoline Museum see Stuart Jones 1912, 345, no. 6, pl. 86; Helbig 1963–72, 2, no. 1227. Koolhaas-Grosfeld and De Vries 1992, 119, 128. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2003-028 The Antique Room of the Copenhagen Academy of Fine Arts, housed in Charlottenborg Palace, was a popular choice of subject for 19th-century Scandinavian art students, such as H. D. C. Martens (1795–1864), Martinus Rørbye (1803–48) and Christian Købke (1810–48). The Academy was founded in 1754 by King Frederik V, but an informal art school had been established in 1740 by his predecessor, Christian VI, so that there was already a small collection of casts for the students to study, including one of the Laocöon, but with the older son missing.1 The Academy’s programme was modelled on those of others across Europe, especially that in Paris, in which plaster copies after antique models served as the basis for the instruction of artists; in some cases casts were even valued above the originals because they made details more readily accessible to copyists. The expansion of the collection was primarily due to the efforts of three mem- bers of the Academy: a professor of sculpture, Christoph Petzholdt (1708–62), who contributed twenty-five casts and restored many others that had suffered from being moved too often;2 the sculptor and Academy Fellow Johannes Wiedewelt (1731–1802), who in 1758 sent three large chests of casts back to Denmark from Rome;3 and the painter and sculptor Nicolai Abildgaard (1743–1809), who was appointed Director in 1789 and purchased several casts, including Germanicus and the Belvedere Torso, and the missing son of the Laocoön.4 The cast collection focused mainly on Roman copies, and it was not until the first decades of the 19th century that casts of Greek originals were added.5 This was characteristic of academies across Europe, which began to recognise the value of the Greek originals over their Roman derivations, thus diverging from Italian academic tradition. In the painting on display, an artist in his work-robe holds up a plumb-line to check the vertical axis of the cast that he is sketching. He draws his copy on a sheet attached to a drawing-board that rests on his lap, and his portfolio crammed with other drawings leans against a stool in front of him, along with his discarded top hat and cravat. A fellow artist considers his handiwork, but they are about to be interrupted by a museum guard bearing a scroll. When it was acquired in 2003, this canvas was attributed to the Norwegian artist, Knud Andreassen Baade (1808–79), whose painting of the same room now belongs to the National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design in Oslo (fig. 1), and also features a draughtsman at work, holding up a stylus to check the horizontal reference line of his subject. The depic- tion of the room in the Oslo painting, which is dated 1828, just precedes its renovation later that year when, under the direction of the architect Hansen (1756–1845), the walls were plastered smooth, as seen in the painting on display here.6 A comparison of the two canvases shows the way the room was modified to accommodate the growing collection, as casts were shifted around according to aesthetic, thematic or chronological principles. In the Oslo painting, the Borghese Gladiator (see 41, 54 and cats 16, 23–24) is placed in the extreme left foreground, creating a diagonal perspective. The same technique is used in the present painting, though it is now a statue of Perseus that anchors the work, with his outstretched hand grasping a missing Medusa’s head. The Perseus was created in 1801 by Canova, 1. Knud Andreassen Baade, Scene from the Academy in Copenhagen, 1828, oil on canvas, 32.4 × 23.8 cm, The National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design, Oslo, inv. no. NG.M.01589  220 221    2. Relief of an Eagle with a Wreath, 2nd century ad, marble, church of Santi Apostoli, Rome who donated a cast of it to the Academy in 1804, thereby becoming a member. Another modern sculpture hangs on the upper wall at left, which is a roundel with an allegory of Justice, in which Nemesis reads a list of the guilty to Jupiter, who sits in judgment. This was the work of Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770–1844), the leading sculptor in Europe after Canova’s death, who had been trained in the Academy.7 Also modern is the bust of Frederik V at the end of the room by the sculptor J. F. J. Saly. The remaining casts in the room are of antique statues and reliefs, and extant inventory lists attest to the dates of their acquisition.9 The relief of the eagle in a wreath, after the original in the church of Santi Apostoli in Rome (fig. 2), is displayed on the wall above a reduced copy of a frieze, taken from the Parthenon, both of which were transferred to this southern wall as part of the 1828 reconstruction.10 Facing the viewer and leaning on a column is a reproduction of the Marble Faun (fig. 3). This was a relatively overlooked sculp- ture, more valued for its conjectural attribution to Praxiteles 3. Marble Faun, Roman copy, c. 2nd century ad, after a Greek original of the 4th century bc, marble, 170.5 cm (h), Capitoline Museums, Rome, inv. no. S.739 4. Germanicus, Roman, c. 20 ad, after a Greek original of the 5th century bc, marble, 180 cm (h), Louvre, Paris, inv. no. MA1207 than for its aesthetic significance. It did not achieve world- renown until the publication of The Marble Faun by Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1860, after which it became one of the highlights of the Capitoline Museum.11 Behind the Faun stands a cast of Germanicus (fig. 4), which, in contrast to the Faun, was one of the most revered antiquities almost from its discovery in the mid-17th century.12 Casts of it were commissioned for collections across Europe, including Florence, Mannheim, Madrid and the Duke of Devonshire’s collection at Chatsworth in Derbyshire. The identity of this figure is uncertain, and it has been thought by different scholars to represent Augustus, Brutus, Mercury or an anonymous Roman general; however, its identification as Germanicus, nephew of Tiberius, has persisted since 1664.13 Between Perseus and the Faun is the seated figure of Mercury, cast after the bronze original discovered in Herculan- eum in 1758 (fig. 5). It was one of the most celebrated archaeo- logical discoveries of the 18th century, and its presence is critical to the dating of the Bellinger painting because the cast was only acquired by the Academy in 1834, thus provid- ing a terminus post quem and supporting for it a date of c. 1835.14 This precludes the authorship of Baade, who left Copenhagen in 1829 and spent the early 1830s travelling in his native Norway. In 1836 he followed his mentor, the landscapist J. C. C. Dahl, to Germany, where he lived until his death in 1879.15 Jan Zahle tentatively proposed that the painter was Julius Friedlænder (1810–61),16 who is also thought to be the artist of another painting of the Antique Room in Charlottenborg, dated 1832 (current whereabouts unknown).17 To commemorate the 250th anniversary of the Seated Mercury, Roman copy, 1st century ad, after a Greek original of the late 4th century or early 3rd century bc, bronze, 105 cm (h), Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. NM 5625 Academy in 2004, the Bellinger painting was presented in the accompanying exhibition catalogue as by an unknown artist,18 and until further evidence comes to light, it is prudent to maintain its anonymity. While the Academy continues to function, the cast collection was relocated and dispersed several times; first in 1883, due to lack of space, to a new building. The pieces by Thorvaldsen were transferred to his eponymous museum, founded during his lifetime in 1839 and opened to the public in 1848. In 1895 the rest of the collection was absorbed into the newly created Royal Cast Collection, which shared a building with the newly founded National Gallery of Art, in Copenhagen.19 These casts were neglected over the subse- quent years, as interest in plaster copies waned in favour of original and unique works of art. When the museum under- went renovations from 1966 to 1970, the majority of the casts were packed away and allowed to deteriorate. Only in 1984, due to the combined efforts of concerned art historians, classical archaeologists and artists, were thousands of casts rescued and restorations begun. They were rehoused in the West India Company Warehouse, 6. Antique Room in Charlottenborg Palace recreated in 2004, curated by Pontus Kjerrman and Jan Zahle, with sculptor Bjørn Nørgaard originally a storehouse for products of the slave trade, and approximately 2,000 casts can be seen on display there. The Faun and Germanicus both belong to this collection, while Canova’s Perseus was transferred to the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. However, in 2004, as part of the anniversary exhibition, replicas of these casts were reunited in the Antique Room of the Palace, just as seen in numerous 19th-century paintings, such as this one. A visitor in 2004, therefore, could stand in the very same spot as our anony- mous painter, and witness a nearly identical scene (fig.). literature:None. exhibitions: Not previously exhibited. Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 1997-020 In this striking candlelight view of a 19th-century bourgeois interior by the little-known artist, Desflaches,1 a man examines a work of art displayed on an easel but hidden from our view. In one hand he holds an oil lamp or candle, illuminating the corner of the room in soft, golden light and casting strong and dramatic shadows. It is exactly 10:30, according to the clock on the mantle, and the visitor, proba- bly a connoisseur, has called on the artist at home, presum- ably to inspect his latest work. He has removed his hat and cloak, placed on the chair on the left, and with a pipe in hand, assumes a relaxed yet concentrated stance. Viewing and producing art by candlelight is a tradition that hearkens back to the Renaissance when artist-theorists, Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72), Leonardo da Vinci (1452– 1519), Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) and others, advised students to draw sculpture by artificial light, to enhance the effects of relief, three-dimensionality and shadow.2 Baccio Bandinelli put this concept into practice, and drawing by candlelight was central to artistic training at his academy (see cats 1–2). Others followed suit including Jacopo Tintoretto and his followers who used an oil lamp when making studies after casts of Michelangelo’s Medici tomb figures and other models ‘so that he could compose in a powerful and solidly modelled manner by means of those strong shadows cast by the lamp’.3 The practice of drawing after models, especially casts, at night continued in the 17th century, as seen in Rembrandt’s small etching, Man Drawing from a Cast, (c. 1641).4 Nocturnal viewings became common in the late 18th century; white casts were popularly studied by flickering torchlight because it made them appear animated.5 Indeed, the spectators’ delight is clearly evident in William Pether’s mezzotints, Three Persons Viewing the Gladiator by Candlelight (1769) 6 and An Academy (1772; cat. 24), both after Joseph Wright of Derby. The female model in the Bellinger painting is a reduced plaster cast of the Crouching Venus – a Hellenistic original of which several antique variations are known (fig. 1).7 The figure was enormously popular, especially in the 17th and 18th centuries when many artists produced imitations of her, the most celebrated being the marble completed in 1686 by the French sculptor, Antoine Coysevox (1640–1720), also reproduced in bronze.8 She is generally believed to represent Venus in, or emerging from, the bath, her head turned sharply to the right and her arms sensuously and protec- tively crossing her body, suggesting that her ablutions have been interrupted. In Desflaches’ canvas the Crouching Venus has been brightly lit and given primacy of place, suggesting she may be the subject of the canvas displayed on the easel; her animation is enhanced by the direct gaze with which she engages the viewer. While the cast in our painting probably ultimately derives from the antique marble in the Uffizi, it seems to have been idealised and modified, to reflect a dis- tinctively Coysevesque sensibility, evidenced in the refined and delicate features of her face.9 Other identifiable works in the Desflaches composition include a second plaster cast – a male portrait bust – partly visible on the covered table in the background, to the visitor’s right. He probably derives from the marble head of a young man in the Museo Pio-Clementino in the Vatican (Roman, 1st 1. Crouching Venus, Roman copy, 1st c. ad after Hellenistic original, marble, 78 cm (h), Uizi, Florence, inv. no. 188  Zahle 2003, 272. For the history of the Copenhagen Academy see Meldahl and Johansen 1904. Saabye 1980, 6 and Zahle 2003, 272 Zahle Jørnæs 1970, 52. Zahle 2003, 275. Jørnæs 1970, 58. Helsted 1972, lxxxvi. Copenhagen 2004, 201 (S85). An inventory from 1809 is especially extensive (Fortegnelse over Marmor-og Gibs-Figurerne, samt Receptions-Stykkerne og flere Konstsager i Den Kongelige Maler-, Billedhugger- og Bygnings-Academie paa Charlottenborg, partially transcribed in Zahle 2003, 269) and records were kept for several years by the art historian Julius Lange (see, for example, Lange 1866). Copenhagen 2004, 198 (S51) and 199 (S61). Haskell and Penny 1981, 210; La Rocca and Parisi Presicce 2010, 446–51, no. 5. Haskell and Penny 1981, 219. Ibid., 220. Copenhagen 2004, 200 (S72). Thieme-Becker 1907–50, 2, 297. Zahle 2003, 271. Copenhagen 2004, 110, no. 7. Ibid., 110, no. 8. Zahle 2003, 278. 34. Desflaches (Christian name unknown; probably Belgian, fl. 19th century) The Connoisseur c. 1850 Oil on canvas, 60 × 50 cm Signed recto lower right, Desflaches provenance: Galerie Fischer-Kiener, Paris; property of a European Foundation; their sale, Sotheby’s, New York, 26 October 1990, lot 144; Didier Aaron Inc., New York; Harry Bailey, New York; Didier Aaron Inc., New York; Their sale, Christie’s, New York, 22 May 1997, lot 116, from whom acquired.    224 225    2. Head of Lucius or Gaius Caesar, or the Young Octavian (Augustus), 52 cm (h), marble, possibly end of the 1st c. ad or later, Museo Pio-Clementino, Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. 714 3. Godfried Schalcken (1643–1706), An Artist and a Young Woman by Candlelight, oil on canvas, 44 × 35 cm, private collection, New York  century ad; 2).10 This bust, believed to be either one of the brothers, Lucius or Gaius Caesar, or a rare depiction of the young Octavian before he became Emperor Augustus in 27 bc,11 enjoyed considerable popularity and was copied by many artists, particularly in the 19th century. Its authen- ticity has occasionally been doubted – at one point it was even attributed to the neo-classical sculptor, Antonio Canova (1757–1822) – but the confirmation of its discovery by Robert Fagan in the ruins of Tor Boacciana (Ostia) in 1800–02, supports its antique origin despite it being consid- erably reworked.12 In addition to works deriving from antique sources are others that directly reference Dutch art of the 17th century. Immediately behind the Crouching Venus is what appears to be a pencil drawing after Rembrandt’s celebrated etching, Self Portrait Leaning on a Stone Sill (1639).13 It is in the same direction as the etching though the line is faint and the lower half of the figure, with the distinctively posed left arm, has been omitted altogether, suggesting the source was either a later impression of the print or a further, reduced copy of the original. To the right of the Rembrandt, is a moonlit landscape strongly reminiscent of the work of Aert van der Neer (1603/4–77). On the opposite wall is a portrait of a man, possibly by, or at least in the manner of, the portraitist and genre painter, Frans Hals (1582/83–1666). Partly obscured in shadow below appears to be a drawing, possibly by Jan van Goyen (1596–1656), or one of his contemporaries. As the distinctive trappings would suggest, the artist may well be Dutch, and this is supported further by a com- parison with a painting by Godfried Schalcken (1643–1706) in a private collection, New York (fig. 3), which may have been known to Desflaches. A pupil of Gerrit Dou (1613–75), Schalcken specialised in night scenes; here a man, drawing in hand, presumably the artist, with his female pupil, points suggestively to a small but lively model of the Crouching Venus, animatedly illuminated by an oil lamp; clearly there is more 226 than just a drawing lesson at play here. An antique head lies dormant, face-up on the table below. By the 19th century, the Antique was readily available, even to amateur artists, via plaster casts, as Desflaches’ composition suggests. Ancient sculpture could now readily be combined with art of different types and in diverse settings, both on the continent – seen, for instance, in the work of Woutherus Mol (cat. 32), which also features Dutch and antique motifs – and in England (cat. 35). As the canon became more diffuse, the standing of the Antique also declined, as other styles, historical and modern, became increasingly more dominant as the century progressed. The painting bears that name at lower right. In the Christie’s catalogue, New York, 22 May 1997, lot 116, the initial of the first name is given as ‘P’, without explanation, and the nationality, French/Belgian. A painting attributed to the artist, Still Life with Brass Oil Lamp, Skeleton Key and Pitcher, oil on canvas, 33 × 29.2 cm, was sold New Orleans Auction Galleries, 20 July 2002, lot 324 (as Desflaches). Weil-Garris 1981, 246–47, note 39; Roman 1984, 83; Hegener 2008, 401. Ridolfi 1914, 2, 14; Ridolfi 1984, 16. White and Boon 1969, 1, 68, no. B130, 2, 119, repr. Borbein 2000, 31 (see also note 23 listing further bibliography on night- time viewing of casts). Clayton 1990, 236, no. 154, P3. Haskell and Penny 1981, 321–23, no. 86, 171. The authors catalogue the example in the Uffizi, Florence, but discuss the other extant versions as well. See Lullie 1954, 10–17 and Havelock 1995, 80–83. Haskell and Penny 1981, 40, 22, 323. The marble version is in the Louvre and the bronze, at Versailles (Souchal 1977–93, 1, 191–92). The cast in the painting bears a striking resemblance to one preserved in the Salzburg Museum, Austria, another idealisation of the original in the Uffizi, see http://www.salzburgmuseum.at/972.0.html It was in the collection of the painter, Anton Raphael Mengs (1728–79). In 1782, the Court of Saxony acquired it, among other casts from his estate, for the Dresden Academy of Art. Spinola 1996–2004, 2, 131, 22, 137–38, no. 123 with previous bibliography. Spinola 1996–2004, 2, 137. Ibid. White and Boon 1969, 1, 9–10, no. B21, 2, 10, repr. 227  35. William Daniels (Liverpool 1813–1880 Liverpool) Self-Portrait with Casts: The Image Seller c. 1850 Oil on canvas, feigned circle, 43.3 × 43.3 cm provenance: Richard S. Timewell, Tangier, by descent; Timewell family sale, Brissonneau et Daguerre, Paris, 15 June 2005, lot 56; W. M. Brady et Co., New York, 2005, from whom acquired. literature: Bowyer 2013, 49–50, 36. exhibitions: New York 2005b, no. 13, repr.; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, 12–16, 9, 98.  Katrin Bellinger collection, inv. no. 2005-016 Born into a modest working-class family in Liverpool, Daniels was apprenticed to his father, a brick maker, loading and arranging new stock; in his spare time, he drew faces on the bricks and carved and modelled small figures in wood and clay.1 His artistic talents were recognised by Alexander Mosses (1793–1837), a local painter, who encouraged him to take evening classes in drawing at the Royal Institution in Liverpool. The young Daniels was awarded first prize for a large study ‘in black and white’ of the Dying Gladiator ‘drawn from the round’ which, allegedly, Mosses ‘begged ... off the lad and had ... framed’.2 Daniels later became apprenticed to the painter but was confined to menial tasks, and could only paint at night, slyly returning the cleaned brushes in the morning.3 The resulting night scenes or ‘candlelight pic- tures’, primarily portraits and genre subjects, would become his trademark and he achieved considerable local success, exhibiting at the Liverpool Academy, Post Office Place and the Liverpool Society of Fine Arts, and then in London at the Royal Academy in 1840, 1841 and 1846.4 He became known as the ‘Liverpool Rembrandt’ or the ‘English Rembrandt’, according to one source reputedly quoting John Ruskin.5 Daniels also shared with the Dutch master a life-long preoccupation with his own image; many of his finest painting were portraits of himself, as noted in one of his obituaries.6 And like the youthful Rembrandt he was particularly fond of depicting those on the fringes of society with whom he seemed to share a certain affinity, often representing himself in the guise of the urban poor – beggars, gypsies, brigands and others.7 Described by one biographer as ‘of fine, manly form, very handsome’ with ‘a profusion of jet black curly hair’ and a swarthy complexion, it was sometimes said of him that there was ‘gypsy blood in his veins’ and that wear- ing earrings only enhanced his ‘resemblance to the wander- ing tribe.’8 In the striking example seen here, Daniels has fashioned himself as an Italian travelling salesman of plaster casts, a popular subject for Victorian artists.9 With the increasing demand for images in museums, schools and academies but also as adornments in ordinary homes, celebrated 228 sculptures from antiquity, together with portraits of modern worthies, were mass-produced in plaster, generally in reduced form.10 The technique was simple and inexpensive: a mixture of marl and clay was poured into a slip mould of plaster of Paris that absorbed the water, leaving a thin layer of clay inside the mould that could be easily removed, lightly fired, producing a brittle but light-weight and easily portable cast.11 Favourite antique and contempo- rary subjects – including the Farnese Hercules and the Apollo Belvedere as well as busts of Byron, Milton, Napoleon and Queen Victoria – were now displayed and offered for sale together.12 While English firms had been manufacturing casts since the 18th century, the market became increasingly dominated by Italian makers, particularly from around Lucca who organised large groups to sell their wares on the streets of London and beyond.13 Having considerable reach through their travels, these vendors played a seminal role in disseminating knowledge of the iconic works of antiquity through all classes of society.14 The British public regarded the image-makers and sellers, men and boys from forty to fifteen with curiosity and with some suspicion.15 One of the earliest images of them is an amusing caricature by Rowlandson in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London (c. 1799, 1). Appearing dishevelled with unbuttoned shirt and jacket, the salesman peddles his wares to an enthusiastic family while a woman watches a peep show in the background. A slightly later example, accompanied by the title, Very Fine. Very Cheap, was etched by Smith, known as ‘Antiquity Smith’, the writer, poet and Keeper of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum from 1816 to 1833 (fig.). On the seller’s board, a reduced cast of the Farnese Hercules (see 30, 32) has been relegated to the background, obscured by a cast of a Roman vase. With a slightly sinister glint in his eyes, this figure was included in Smith’s Etchings of Remarkable Beggars, Itinerant Traders and other Persons, published in London, 1815. William James Muller (1812–45) produced a more sympathetic, even romantic portrayal of the itinerant cast seller in 1843 (fig. 3). More closely allied to the Daniels’ 229  Copyright: Christie’s Images Limited (2012) painting than the others, this hawker is less an object of derision than one of wonder, even admiration.17 In the present example, Daniels, dressed in modest work- man’s attire and silhouetted against a dark backdrop, bal- ances on his head a board fully loaded with a casts of every shape and size, securing it with one hand. Many were based on examples in his own collection, probably used in his studio to prepare accessories in his portrait commissions. Immediately recognisable in the centre right is the bust of Shakespeare, whom Daniels particularly admired. He was said to have a deep familiarity with the poet’s work and could identify the exact source for every quotation, ‘without a moment’s hesitation’.18 In fact, busts of the bard are listed in Daniel’s posthumous sale of 1880, one of which is likely to be the example seen here.19 With the other arm, he cradles a bust of Homer, the blind epic poet of the Iliad and the Odyssey, another favourite of Daniel’s as noted by his biographer.20 The source for this cast was a Roman marble of the Antonine period (138-93 ad, after a lost Hellenistic original of c. 300 bc), probably the version preserved in the Museo Archeo- logico Nazionale di Napoli (fig. 4).21 Known in several variants after the same lost Greek original, this is arguably the most celebrated image of Homer from antiquity and was used by many artists; arguably the most famous example is Rembrandt’s Aristotle with a Bust of Homer which passed through various English private collections in the 19th century (now Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), and 230 which Daniels was probably referencing, reinforcing his association with both poet and artist.22 The other casts on the tray in the painting appear to reproduce a mixture of English and French works of the mid- to late 18th and 19th century. They include the brightly coloured parrot, probably based on a Staffordshire porcelain example, c. 1850, after a Meissen original of the 18th century, and the hooded figure on the front left, possibly an adapta- tion of ‘La Nourrice’ (Nurse and Child) modelled by Joseph Willems at Chelsea (c. 1752–58), after a French terracotta original of the 17th century.23 Popular images of the three 4. Bust of Homer, marble, 72 cm (h), Roman Antonine period after a lost Hellenistic original of c. 300 bc, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, inv. 6023 theological virtues, Faith, Hope and Charity, made by the Wood family at Burslem in Staffordshire, 1800–10, appear to be the inspiration behind some of the other figures on the tray: Hope at the far right, seen in profile with hands clasped; Faith, directly behind the parrot; and Charity, seen from the back, behind the Nurse and Child.24 It has also been suggested that the bust of a boy seen from the back, directly above Daniels’ right hand, might be Alexandre Brongniart by Houdon, known in examples in marble, terracotta, bronze, plaster and biscuit porcelain.25 Daniels appears to be between thirty-five and forty years old in this painting, slightly older than his self-portrait at the easel of c. 1845 in the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool (fig. 5); a completion date of around 1850 therefore seems likely.26 The theme of the cast vendor clearly intrigued Daniels for he would return to it again about twenty years later. In An Italian Image Seller (1870; Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool; 6), the protagonist (probably Daniels again) rests on the wall of an 27 English country lane. The tray is no longer present but on the ground to his right are two casts, one, a Mercury, the other, the nymph, Clytie (sometimes identified as Antonia, daughter of Mark Antony and mother of the Emperor Claudius). The marble original of the nymph, acquired in Naples by the Grand Tour collector, Charles Townley (1737– 1805) and reportedly his favourite, is now in the British Museum.28 Copies of the popular statue were made in porce- lain by the firm Copeland from 1855 and it has been suggested that Daniels based his depiction on one of them.29 Daniels certainly owned a copy of the Clytie and other busts after the Antique including a Jupiter, Apollo, Diana and Laocoön, ‘which he treated with almost reverential admiration’.30 As Daniels’ Image Seller shows, by the mid-19th century iconic antique statues, once rarefied models of ideal beauty, were now commercialised and readily available on the open 5. William Daniels, Self-Portrait, c. 1845, oil on canvas, 91.5 × 71.7 cm, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, WAG 1724 6. William Daniels, An Italian Image Seller, 1870, oil on canvas, 80 × 63.5 cm, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, WAG 3114 market through mass-produced casts. While the Antique continued to be central to the education of artists both in the studio and in the academy, it became an ubiquitous presence in the home, especially in middle-class interiors where reductions of famous statues were displayed alongside works from other periods, sometimes even assuming a secondary role to them. The amalgamation of styles and influences, in which Ancient, Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance and Modern were placed on equal footing, was, by the mid-19th century, the result of an historicist aesthetic in which the Antique had become just one of the possible artistic references, thus losing its canonical status and aesthetic primacy. Rowlandson, An Image Seller, c. 1799, watercolour, 326 × 264 mm, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, no. 1820-1900 2. John Thomas Smith, Very Fine. Very Cheap, c. 1815, etching, 192 × 114 mm (plate); 267 × 185 mm (sheet), from Etchings of Remarkable Beggars, Itinerant Traders and other Persons, published in London, 31 December 1815, National Portrait Gallery, London, Reference collection D40098 3. William James Muller, The Plaster Figure Seller, oil on canvas, 82.5 × 52.1 cm, sold Christie’s, London, 6 November 2012, lot 333. avl An extensive tribute to Daniels was published anonymously in serial form in the Liverpool Lantern (1880), by his friend, K. C. Spier, editor of the paper. It may be consulted at: http://art-science.com/WDaniels/LLessay.html where the artist’s obituaries and private letters and notes also are transcribed, some of which are referred to in Spier’s essay (cited here as Spier 1880). For other accounts of his life and work, see Tirebuck 1879; The Magazine of Art, 5, June 1882, 341–43; Marillier 1904, 95–98; Thieme- Becker 1907–50, 8, 362–63; Fastnege 1951; Bennett 1978, 1, 79. Spier 1880, chapter 4. The drawing, presumably after a cast of the famous sculpture in the Capitoline Museum, Rome (see cat. 20, 2) remains untraced. Spier 1880, chapter 4. Marillier 1904, 96–97; Fastnege 1951, 80; Bennett 1978, 1, 79. Obituary, Liverpool Journal, 16 October 1880; Liverpool Mercury 15 April 1884; Daily Post Liverpool, June 1908. Liverpool Journal. Representations of the urban poor in British art was an increasingly popu- lar genre from around the mid-18th century onwards. See Hansen 2010. Spier 1880, chapter 5. Lambourne 1982; Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10, 13. For the history and use of casts, see Borbein 2000. For a translation in English by Bernard Fischer, see http://www.digitalsculpture.org/casts/ borbein/index.html For British cast makers and/or sellers in the 18th to early 19th c., see Clifford 1992 and for the 19th c., Haskell and Penny 1981, 117–24; Lambourne 1982; and Simon 2011. Lambourne 1982, 119. Ibid. Clifford 1992; Simon 2011. Lambourne 1982, 121. Simon 2011 [unpaginated]. Ibid., 3. For other images of the subject, see Lambourne 1982, 118–23, figs 1–10. Spier 1880, chapter 2; New York 2005b, under no. 13. Walker et Ackerley, Liverpool, 6 December 1880, discussed in in Spier 1880, chapter 24. The present writer has not been able to locate a copy of this catalogue. Spier 1880, chapter 2. Richter 1965, 1, 50, no. IV, no. 7, figs 70–72; Gasparri 2009–10, 2, 15–16, no. 2 (M. Caso), pl. II, 1–4. Liedtke 2007, 2, 629–54, no. 151. Kindly pointed out by Paul Crane (personal communication), who notes the following example: Melbourne 1984–85, no. 56. As noted further by Paul Crane, who points out their similarity to examples sold at Sotheby’s, New York, 15 April 1996, lot 73 (personal communication). According to Shackelford (personal communication). See Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere 2003-04, 127–32, no. 15 (G. Scherf). Bennett 1978, 1, 80, no. 1724, 2, 129; New York 2005b, under no. 13. Bennett 1978, 1, 83, no. 3114, 2, 134. 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Northern Netherlandish Art, 1580–1620, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (G. Luijten et al.), 1993–94. Amsterdam 1994 Nederlandse figuurstudies 1700–1850, The Rijksmuseum, Rijksprentenkabinet, Amsterdam (R. J. A. te Rijdt), 1994. Amsterdam 1997 Mirror of Everyday Life. Genreprints in the Netherlands 1550–1700, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (eds E. de Jongh and G. Luijten), 1997. Amsterdam 2007 Beeld voor beeld: klassieke sculptuur in prent, Allard Pierson Museum, Amsterdam (eds C. Smid and A. White), 2007. Amsterdam, New York and elsewhere 2003–04  Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617). Drawings, Prints and Paintings, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; The Toledo Museum of Art (eds H. Leeflang and G. Luijten), 2003–04. Amsterdam and Paris 2002–03 De Watteau à Ingres: Dessins français du XVIIIe siècle du Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; Institut Néerlandais, Paris (ed. R. J. A. te Rijdt), 2002–03. Amsterdam, San Francisco and elsewhere 2002  Michael Sweerts: 1618–1664, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco; Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford (eds G. Jansen and C. Sutton), 2002. Amsterdam, Stockholm and elsewhere   Adriaen de Vries, Imperial Sculptor, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; National Museum, Stockholm; The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (ed. F. Scholten), 1998. Amsterdam and Washington D.C. 1981–82  Dutch Figure Drawings from the Seventeenth Century, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. (P. Schatborn), 1981–82. Antwerp 1977 P. Rubens. Gemälde, Ölskizzen, Zeichnungen, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp (eds R. A. D’Hulst et al.), 1977. Antwerp 2004  A House of Art. Rubens as Collector, Rubenshuis, Antwerp (eds K. Lohse Belkin and F. Healy), 2004. Antwerp 2004–07  Rijksmuseum aan de Schelde: meesterwerken uit de schatkamer van Nederland, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp, 2004–07 (no catalogue). Antwerp 2008 Heads on Shoulders: Portrait Busts in the Low Countries, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp (ed. V. Herremans), 2008. Antwerp 2013 Kunst Antwerpen Academie 350, Museum aan de Stroom, Antwerp (eds K. van Cauteren et al.), 2013. Arras and Épinal 2004 Rubens contre Poussin: la querelle du coloris dans la peinture française à la fin du XVIIe siècle, Musée des beaux-arts d’Arras; Musée départemental d’art ancien et contemporain à Épinal (eds E. Delapierre et al.), 2004. Athens 2003–04  In the Light of Apollo. Italian Renaissance and Greece, National Gallery, Alexandros Soutzos Museum, Athens (ed. M. Gregori), 2 vols, 2003–04. Bergamo 1994 Giacomo Quarenghi, Palazzo della Ragione, Bergamo (eds A. Bettagno et al.), 1994. Boston, Cleveland and elsewhere 1989 Italian Etchers of the Renaissance et Baroque, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; The Cleveland Museum of Art; National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C. (S. W. Reed and R. Wallace), 1989. 249  Boston and St. Louis 1981–82 Printmaking in the Age of Rembrandt, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; The Saint Louis Art Museum (C. Ackley), . Bruges   Stradanus 1523–1605: Court Artist of the Medici, Groeningemuseum, Bruges (eds A. Baroni and M. Sellink), 2008–09 (published 2012). Brussels 2004  Old Master Drawings. Organization of Antique Fairs, Gallery Kekko, Thurn and Taxis, Brussels, 2004. Brussels 2007–08 Alle wegen leiden naar Rome. Reizende kunstenaars van de 16de tot de 19de eeuw, Gemeentelijk Museum van Elsene, Brussels (D. Vautier), 2007–08 (no catalogue). Brussels and Rome 1995 Fiamminghi a Roma 1508–1608. Artisti dei Paesi Bassi e del Principato di Liegi a Roma durante il Rinascimento, Palais des Beaux-Arts, Brussels; Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome (eds N. Dacos and B. W. Meijer), 1995. Cambridge 1988  Baccio Bandinelli 1493–1560: Drawings from British Collections, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (R. Ward), 1988. Chicago 2007–08 The Virtual Tourist in Renaissance Rome: Printing and Collecting the ‘Speculum Romanae Magnificentiae’, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago (eds R. Zorach et al.), 2007–08. Choisel 1986  Un Grand Collectionneur sous Louis XV: Le cabinet de Jacques-Laure de Breteuil, Bailli de l’Ordre de Malta 1723–1785, Château de Breteuil, Choisel, 1986. Cologne 1977 Peter Paul Rubens, 1577–1640, Museen der Stadt, Cologne, 1977. Cologne and Utrecht 1991–92 I Bamboccianti: niederländische Malerrebellen im Rom des Barock, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Cologne; Centraal Museum, Utrecht (eds D.A. Levine and E. Mai), 1991–92. Compton Verney and Norwich 2009–10  The Artist’s Studio, Compton Verney and Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts, Norwich (ed. G. Waterfield), 2009–10. Copenhagen 1973  ‘Maegtige Schweiz’. Inspirationer fra Schweiz. 1750–1850, Thorvaldsens Museum, Copenhagen, 1973. Copenhagen 2004 Spejlinger i Gips, Det Kongelige Danske Kunstakademi, Copenhagen (eds Kjerrman et al.), 2004. Derby 1997 Joseph Wright of Derby: 1734–1797, Derby Museum et Art Gallery (J. Wallis), 1997. Doha 2011  The Golden Age of Dutch Painting: Masterpieces from the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, Museum of Islamic Art, Doha, 2011 (no catalogue). Dordrecht 2012–13 Portret in portret in de Nederlandse kunst 1550–2012, Dordrechts Museum (S. Craft-Giepmans and A. de Vries), 2012–13. Edinburgh 2002 Rubens Drawing on Italy, National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh (J. Wood), 2002. Essen 1992  London World-City, 1800–1840, Villa Hügel, Essen (ed. C. Fox), 1992. Florence 1980 Il primato del Disegno, Palazzo Strozzi, Florence (ed. L. Berti), 4 of the exhibition Firenze e la Toscana dei Medici nell’Europa del Cinquecento, 4 vols, 1980. Florence 1987  Michelangelo e l’arte classica, Casa Buonarroti, Florence (eds G. Agosti and V. Farinella), 1987. Florence 1992 Il Giardino di San Marco. 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Göttingen 2013–14 Roms Antiken in den Reproduktionsmedien der frühen Neuzeit, Kunstsammlung und Sammlung der Gipsabgüsse, University of Göttingen (eds M. Luchterhandt et al.) Haarlem 1972  Wybrand Hendriks 1744–1831. Keuze uit zijn schilderijen en tekeningen, Teylers Museum, Haarlem (I. Q. van Regteren Altena, J. H. van Borssum Buisman and C. J. de Bruyn Kops), 1972. Haarlem 1990 Augustijn Claterbos 1750–1828. Opleiding en werk van een Haarlems kunstenaar, Teylers Museum, Haarlem (B. Sliggers) Haarlem and London 2005–06 Michelangelo Drawings: Closer to the Master, Teylers Museum, Haarlem; British Museum, London (ed. H. Chapman), 2005–06. Haarlem, Zurich and elsewhere 2006–07 Nicolaes Berchem. Im Licht Italiens, The Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem; The Kunsthaus, Zürich; The Staatliches Museum Schwerin (P. Biesboer et al.), . Hamburg  Johann Heinrich Füssli. 1741–1825, Hamburger Kunshalle, Hamburg (ed. W. Hofmann), Munich, 1974–75. Hamburg 2002 Die Masken der Schönheit. 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Agnew) Liverpool 1994–95 Face to Face: Three Centuries of Artists’ Self-Portraiture, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool (X. Brooke), 1994–95. Liverpool 2007 Joseph Wright of Derby in Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool (eds E. E. Barker and A. Kidson), 2007. London 1836 The Lawrence Gallery, One Hundred Original Drawings by Zucchero, Andrea del Sarto, Polidore da Caravaggio and Fra Bartolomeo Collected by Sir Thomas Lawrence, Late President of the Royal Academy, London. London  Dutch Conversation Pieces of the 18th et 19th Centuries, The Allied Circle, London,  London   French Master Drawings of the 18th Century, Matthiesen Gallery, London, 1950. London 1953  Drawings by Old Masters, Royal Academy of Arts, London (K. T. Parker and J. Byam Shaw), 1953. London 1955 A Loan Exhibition: Artists in 17th century Rome: to Save Gosfield Hall for the Nation as a Residential Nursing Home Wildenstein et Co., London (D. Mahon and D. Sutton), . London  A Selection of Drawings from the Witt Collection: French Drawings, c. 1600–c. 1800, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London, 1962. London 1963 Treasures of the Royal Academy, Royal Academy of Arts, London, 1963. London  France in the Eighteenth Century, Royal Academy of Arts, London (ed. Sutton), . London   Royal Academy of Arts Bicentenary Exhibition, Royal Academy of Arts, London, . London  Royal Academy Draughtsmen, 1769–1969, Royal Academy of Arts, London (A. Wilton), 1969. London 1971 Art into Art: Works of Art as a Source of Inspiration, Sotheby’s, London (ed. K. Roberts), . London   The Age of Neo-Classicism, The Royal Academy of Arts and The Victoria and Albert Museum, London, . London Fuseli, Tate Gallery, London, . London  Rubens. Drawings and Sketches, British Museum, London (ed. J. Rowlands), 1977. London 1983  Bartolomeo Cavaceppi: Eighteenth-century Restorations of Ancient Marble Sculpture from English Private Collections, The Clarendon Gallery Ltd., London (Picón), . London  Florentine Drawings of the Sixteenth Century, British Museum, London (N. Turner), . London  Wright of Derby, Tate Gallery, London (ed. J. Egerton). London French drawings, XVI–XIX centuries, Courtauld Institute Galleries, London (eds G. Kennedy and A. Thackray), . London  Drawings Related to Sculpture, 1520–1620, Katrin Bellinger at Harari et Johns, London, . London 1995 Prints and Drawings, Recent acquisitions , British Museum, London, 1995 (no catalogue). London   British Watercolours from the Oppé Collection, Tate Gallery, London (A. Lyles and R. Hamlyn), 1997. London 1999a John Soane Architect. Master of Space and Light, Royal Academy, London (eds M. Richardson and M. Stevens), . London  Portraits of Artists and Related Subjects, Trinity Fine Art, London, . London  A Noble Art: Amateur Artists and Drawing Masters, British Museum, London (K. Sloan), 2000. London 2001 Marble Mania. Sculpture Galleries in England, 1640–1840, Sir John Soane’s Museum, London (R. Guilding), . London   The Print in Italy 1550–1620, British Museum, London (M. Bury), . London  Artists by Artists, Chaucer Fine Arts Inc., London, . London 2003b The Museum of the Mind. Art and Memory in World Cultures, British Museum, London (J. Mack), 2003. London 2005–06 Rubens: A Master in the Making, National Gallery, London (eds D. Jaffé and E. McGrath), . London  The Artist in Art, Colnaghi in association with Emanuel von Baeyer, London,  London  Rubens Drawings, British Museum, Department of Prints and Drawings, London. London  Art School Drawings from the 19th Century, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 2011 (no catalogue). London  Leonardo da Vinci. Painter at the Court of Milan, National Gallery, London (ed. L. Syson with L. Keith), 2011–12. London  The Male Nude. Eighteenth-Century Drawings from the Paris Academy, Wallace Collection, London (eds E. Brugerolles et al.), . London 2014 Diverse Maniere: Piranesi, Fantasy and Excess, Sir John Soane’s Museum, London (ed. A. Lowe), . London and Florence  Fra Angelico to Leonardo. Italian Renaissance Drawings, British Museum, London; Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (eds H. Chapman and M. Faietti), . London and New York  Andrea Mantegna, Royal Academy of Arts, London; Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (ed. J. Martineau), 1992. London and New York 2012–13 Master Drawings from the Courtauld Galleries, The Courtauld Gallery, London; The Frick Collection, New York (eds C. B. Bailey and S. Buck),  London and Rome  Grand Tour. The Lure of Italy in the Eighteenth Century, Tate Gallery, London; Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome (eds A. Wilton and I. Bignamini), 1996–97. London, Warwick and elsewhere 1997–98  The Quick and the Dead: Artists and Anatomy, Royal College of Art, London; Mead Gallery, Warwick Arts Centre; Leeds City Art Gallery (D. Petherbridge and L. Jordanova), 1997–98. London, York and elsewhere   Drawings from the Robert Witt Collection at the Courtauld Institute of Art, London, Courtauld Institute of Art, London; York City Art Gallery; Peterborough Art Gallery, 1953. Los Angeles   French Masters: Rococo to Romanticism, University of California, Los Angeles,  Los Angeles  The Early Life of Taddeo Zuccaro, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (A. V. Lauder; no catalogue), Los Angeles   Making a Prince’s Museum: Drawings for the Late-Eighteenth-century Redecoration of the Villa Borghese, Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (C. Paul), . Los Angeles  Taddeo and Federico Zuccaro. Artist-Brothers in Renaissance Rome, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (ed. J. Brooks), Los Angeles, Austin and elsewhere 1976–77  Women Artists, , Los Angeles County Museum of Art; University Art Museum, The University of Texas at Austin; Museum of Art, Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh; The Brooklyn Museum (A. Sutherland Harris and L. Nochlin). Los Angeles, Philadelphia and elsewhere Visions of Antiquity. Neoclassical Figure Drawings, Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Philadelphia Museum of Art; Minneapolis Institute of Arts (ed. R. J. Campbell). Los Angeles, Toledo and elsewhere  Mannerist Prints: International Style in the Sixteenth Century, The Los Angeles County Museum of Art; The Toledo Museum of Art; John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, Sarasota; Arthur M. Huntington Art Gallery, University of Texas at Austin; The Baltimore Museum of Art (B. Davis). Lyon  La fascination de l’antique. Rome découverte, Rome inventée, Musée de la civilisation gallo-romaine, Lyon (eds F. De Polignac and J. Raspi Serra), . Mantua and Vienna 1999  Roma e lo stile classico di Raffaello Palazzo Te, Mantua; Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna (eds A. Oberhuber and A. Gnann), 1999. Marseille 2001  Maurice et Pauline Feuillet de Borsat collectionneurs. Dessins français et étrangers du XVIIe au XIXe siècle, Château Borély, Marseille (M. Roland Michel),   Melbourne  Flowers and Fables. A Survey of Chelsea Porcelain 1745–69, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne (M. Legge), . Milan   Mostra del Caravaggio e dei Caravaggeshi, Palazzo Reale, Milan (R. Longhi), 1951. Milan 1977–78 Johann Heinrich Füssli. Disegni e dipinti, Museo Poldi-Pezzoli, Milan (ed. L. Vitali), . Milan   Leonardo. Dagli studi di proporzioni al trattato della pittura, Castello Sforzesco, Milan (eds C. Marani and M. T. Fiorio), . Milan 2013 La Biblioteca delle meraviglie: 400 anni di Ambrosiana, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan (eds C. Continisio, M. L. Frosio and E. Riva), 2013. Montreal 1992  The Genius of the Sculptor in Michelangelo’s Work, The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (P. Théberge), . Moscow and Haarlem 2013–14  De romantische ziel. Schilderkunst uit de Nederlandse en Russische romantiek, The Tretjakov Gallery, Moscow; Teylers Museum, Haarlem (T. van Druten and L. Markina), 2013–14. Munich 1979–80  Zwei Jahrhunderte englische Malerei. Britische Kunst und Europa 1680 bis 1880, Haus der Kunst, Munich, . Munich  In the Temple of the Self. The Artist’s Residence as a Total Work of Art, Villa Stuck, Munich (eds M. Brandhuber and M. Buhrs), . Munich and Cologne 2002  Wettstreit der Künste: Malerei und Skulptur von Dürer bis Daumier, Haus der Kunst, Munich; Wallraf-Richartz-Museum-Fondation Corboud, Cologne (eds E. Mai and K. Wettengl), 2002. Munich and Haarlem  Op zoek naar de Gouden Eeuw: Nederlandse schilderkunst, Neue Pinakothek, Munich; Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem (L. van Tilborgh and G. Jansen), 1986. Munich and Rome 1 Der Torso. Ruhm und Rätsel / Il Torso del Belvedere. Da Aiace a Rodin, Glyptothek, Munich; Musei Vaticani, Rome (ed. R. Wünsche), . Münster 1976 Bilder nach Bilder. Druckgrafik und die Vermittlung von Kunst, Westfälisches Landesmuseum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte Münster, Münster (G. Langemeyer and R. Schleier), 1976. Naples 2008  Salvator Rosa: tra mito e magia, Museo di Capodimonte, Naples (eds A. B. de Lavergnée and S. Bellesi), 2008. New Haven and London 2011–12 Johan Zoffany, RA: Society Observed, Yale Center for British Art, New Haven; Royal Academy of Arts, London (ed. M. Postle), 2011–12. New York 1954 Fuseli Drawings, a Loan Exhibition, organized by the Pro Helvetia Foundation and circulated by the Smithsonian Institution, Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, 1954. New York 1988 Creative Copies. Interpretative Drawings from Michelangelo to Picasso, The Drawing Center, New York (E. Haverkamp-Begemann and C. Logan), 1988. New York 2005a  Peter Paul Rubens. The Drawings, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (ed. A.-M. Logan with M. Plomp),  New York  Pictures et Oil Sketches 1775–1920, W. M. Brady et Co., New York, 2005. New York 2012–13  Bernini: Sculpting in Clay, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (eds C. D. Dickerson et al.). Nottingham and London 1983 Drawing in the Italian Renaissance Workshop, University Art Gallery, Nottingham; Victoria and Albert Museum, London (F. Ames-Lewis and J. Wright), . Nottingham and London 1991  The Artist’s Model: Its Role in British Art from Lely to Etty, University Art Gallery, Nottingham; The Iveagh Bequest, Kenwood, London (I. Bignamini and M. Postle), . Ottawa and Caen 2011–12 Drawn to Art. French Artists and Art Lovers in 18th-century Rome, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; Musée des beaux-arts de Caen (ed. S. Couturier), . Ottawa, Vancouver and elsewhere 1996–97 The Ingenious Machine of Nature: Four Centuries of Art and Anatomy, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; Vancouver Art Gallery; The Philadelphia Museum of Art; The Israel Museum, Jerusalem (M. Cazort, M. Kornell and K. B. Roberts), Ottawa, Washington D.C. and elsewhere 2003–04 The Age of Watteau, Chardin, and Fragonard: Masterpieces of French Genre Painting, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie (ed. C. Bailey), Oxford and New Haven 2012–13 The English Prize. The Capture of the Westmoreland. An Episode of the Grand Tour, The Ashmolean Museum, Oxford; Yale Center for British Art, New Haven (eds M. D. Sánchez-Jáuregui and S. Wilcox), 2012–13. Paris 1922 Exposition Hubert Robert et Louis Moreau: au bénénfice du foyer des Infirmières de la Croix-Rouge et des infirmières visiteuses, Galeries Jean Charpentier, Paris, . Paris   Exposition Hubert Robert A l’occasion du Deuxième Centenaire de sa Naissance, Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris (L. Hautecoeur et al.), 1933. Paris 1975  Füssli, Musée du Petit Palais, Paris, 1975. Paris 1989 Maîtres français, 1550–1800: dessins de la donation Mathias Polakovits à l’Ecole des beaux-arts, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris (eds B. de Bayser et al.), . Paris  Pisanello. Le peintre aux sept vertus, Musée du Louvre, Paris (ed. D. Cordellier), Paris  D’après l’antique, Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds J. Cuzin, J. R. Gaborit and A. Pasquier),  Paris 2003  A. et D. Martinez, Estampes Anciennes et Modernes. A Collectionner, cat. no. VIII, Paris, . Paris  L’Âge d’or du romantisme allemand, aquarelles et dessins è l’époque de Goethe, Musée de la Vie Romantique, Paris, (ed. H. Sieveking), Paris, 2008. Paris Figures du corps: une leçon d’anatomie à l’École des beaux-arts, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris (ed. Comar), 2008–09. Paris 2008–09b Mantegna 1431–1506, Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds G. Agosti and D. Thiébaut), . Paris   L’Académie mise à nu: l’école du modèle à l’Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture, École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts, Paris (ed. E. Brugerolles),. Paris 2  Musées de papier: l’antiquité en livres, 1600-1800, Musée du Louvre, Paris (eds É. Décultot, G. Bickendorf and V. Kockel), 2010–11. Paris, Ottawa and elsewhere 1994–95 Egyptomania: l’Egypte dans l’Art occidental, 1730–1930, Musée du Louvre, Paris; National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (eds J. M. Humbert, M. Pantazzi and C. Ziegler),  Philadelphia  A Scholar Collects: Selections from the Anthony Morris Clark Bequest, Philadelphia Museum of Art (eds U. W. Hiesinger and A. Percy), . Philadelphia and Houston 2000 Art in Rome in the Eighteenth Century, Philadelphia Museum of Art; Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (eds E. Bowron and J. J. Rishel), 2000. Princeton 1977 Eighteenth-century French Life Drawing: Selections from the Collection of Mathias Polakovits, Art Museum, Princeton University (ed. Rubin), . Princeton, Cleveland and elsewhere   Drawings by Gianlorenzo Bernini from the Museum der Bildenden Künste Leipzig, German Democratic Republic, The Art Museum, Princeton; Cleveland Museum of Art; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth; Indianapolis Museum of Art; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (ed. I. Lavin), . Recklinghausen   Torso: das Unvollendete als künstlerische Form, Städtische Kunsthalle, Recklinghausen. Rome  Michael Sweerts e i bamboccianti, Palazzo Venezia, Rome (E. Lavagnino et al.), 1958–59. Rome 1968 Accademia Nazionale di San Luca. Mostra di Antichi Dipinti Restaurati delle Raccolte Accademiche, Palazzo Carpegna, Rome (Faldi), . Rome   David e Roma, Villa Medici, Rome. Rome  Rilievi storici Capitolini: il restauro dei pannelli di Adriano e di Marco Aurelio nel Palazzo dei Conservatori, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. E. La Rocca). Rome Da Pisanello alla nascita dei Musei Capitolini. L’Antico a Roma all vigilia del Rinascimento, Musei Capitolini, Rome (eds A. Cavallaro and E. Parlato). Rome La Colonna Traiana e gli artisti francesi da Luigi XIV a Napoleone I, Accademia di Francia a Roma (ed. Morel), . Rome   J. H. Fragonard e H. Robert a Roma, Villa Medici, Rome (eds C. Boulot et al.). Rome  La Collezione Boncompagni Ludovisi: Algardi, Bernini e la fortuna dell’antico, Palazzo Ruspoli, Rome (ed. A. Giuliano). Rome   Bartolomeo Cavaceppi scultore romano, Museo del Palazzo di Venezia, Rome, (M. G. Barberini and C. Gasparri), . Rome   Pietro da Cortona e il disegno, Istituto nazionale per la grafica, Accademia nazionale di San Luca, Rome (ed. S. Prosperi Valenti Rodino), 1997–98. Rome 2000a Intorno a Poussin. Ideale classico e epopea barocca tra Parigi e Roma, Accademia di Francia, Rome (eds O. Bonfait and J.-C. Boyer). Rome   L’idea del bello: viaggio per Roma nel Seicento con Giovan Pietro Bellori, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome (eds E. Borea and C. Gasparri). Rome Raffaello da Firenze a Roma, Galleria Borghese, Rome (ed. A. Coliva), . Rome  I Giustiniani e l’antico, Palazzo Fontana di Trevi, Rome (G. Fusconi). Rome  La Collezione del Principe. Da Leonardo a Goya. Disegni e stampe della raccolta Corsini, Istituto Nazionale per la Grafica, Rome (eds E. Antetomaso and G. Mariani), 2004. Rome  La Roma d’Alberti. Umanisti, architetti e artisti alla scoperta dell’antico nella città del Quattrocento, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. F. Fiore). Rome   Il Settecento a Roma, Palazzo Venezia, Rome (eds A. Lo Bianco and Negro). Rome   Laocoonte: Alle origini dei Musei Vaticani, Musei Vaticani, Vatican, Rome (eds F. Buranelli et al.). Rome  Dürer e l’Italia, Scuderie del Quirinale, Rome (ed. K. Hermann Fiore), . Rome   Ricordi dell’antico: sculture, porcellane e arredi del Grand Tour, Musei Capitolini, Rome (eds A. D’Agliano and L. Melegati). Rome –11a Palazzo Farnèse. Dalle collezioni rinascimentali ad Ambasciata di Francia, Palazzo Farnese, Rome (ed. F. Buranelli),. Rome   Roma e l’Antico. Realtà e visione nel ‘700, Fondazione Roma Museo, Rome (eds C. Brook and V. Curzi). Rome 2011 Ritratti: le tante faccie del potere, Musei Capitolini, Rome (eds E. La Rocca, C. Parisi Presicce and A. Lo Monaco), . Rome   I Borghese e l’Antico, Galleria Borghese, Rome (eds A. Coliva et al.). Rome 2014a  1564/2014 Michelangelo. Incontrare un artista universale, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. C. Acidini), 2014. Rome 2014b Hogarth, Reynolds, Turner: British Painting and the Rise of Modernity, Fondazione Roma Museo, Rome (eds C. Brook and V. Curzi). Rome forthcoming  Spinario. Storia e fortuna, Musei Capitolini, Rome (ed. C. Parisi Presicce), forthcoming. Rome, Dijon and elsewhere 1976 Piranese et les francais, Villa Medici, Rome; Palais des Etats de Bourgogne, Dijon; Hotel de Sully, Paris, 1976. Rome and Paris   I bassifondi del Barocco. La Roma del vizio e della miseria, Accademia di Francia a Roma – Villa Medici, Rome; Petit Palais – Musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris, Paris (eds F. Cappelletti and A. Lemoine). Rome, University Park (PA) and elsewhere   Prize winning drawings from the Roman Academy, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome; Palmer Museum of Art, Pennsylvania State University; and National Academy of Design, New York (eds A. Cipriani and G. Casale), 1989–90. Rotterdam 1946 Cornelis Troost en zijn tijd, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam, 1946. Rotterdam 1958 Michael Sweerts en Tijdgenoten, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam (E. Lavagino), . Rotterdam   Cornelis Cort ‘constich plaedt-snijder van Horne in Holland’ – Cornelis Cort accomplished plate-cutter from Hoorn in Holland, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam (M. Sellink), 1994. Stockholm 1990  Füssli, Uddevalla, Stockholm (ed. G. Cavalli- Björkman), . Stuttgart   Johann Heinrich Füssli. Das Verlorene Paradies, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart (ed. C. Becker and C. Hattendorrf), . Swansea  Exhibition of French Master Drawings, Glynn Vivian Art Gallery, Swansea. Toledo, Chicago and elsewhere 1975–76 The Age of Louis XV: French Painting, The Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio; Art Institute of Chicago; National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa (ed. Rosenberg),. Tokyo  The Age of Rembrandt: Dutch Paintings and Drawings of the 17th century, The National Museum of Western Art, Toyko, and Kyoto Municipal Museum (D. A. van Karnebeek). Tokyo   Henry Fuseli, National Museum of Western Art and City Art Museum Kitakyushu, Tokyo (ed. G. Schiff). Toronto, Ottawa and elsewhere  Dessins français du 17e et 18e siècles des collections americaines. French Master Drawings of the 17th and 18th Centuries of the North American Collections, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto; National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; California Palace of the Legion of Honor, San Francisco; New York Cultural Center (eds C. Johnston and Rosenberg), . Tours and Toulouse  Les peintres du roi , Musée des Beaux-Arts de Tours; Musée des Augustins à Toulouse (eds P. Rosenberg et al.), Paris. Troyes, Nîmes and elsewhere   Charles-Joseph Natoire (Nîmes, 1700 – Castel Gandolfo): peintures, dessins, estampes et tapisseries des collections publiques françaises, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Troyes; Musée des Beaux- Arts, Nîmes; Villa Medici, Rome, . Venice  Tiziano e la silografia veneziana del Cinquecento, Fondazione Giorgio Cini, Venice (eds M. Muraro and D. Rosand), Venice  Vienna  Zauber der Medusa. Europäische Manierismen, Wiener Künstlerhaus, Vienna (ed. W. Hofmann). Washington D.C.  Seventeenth Century Dutch Drawings from American Collections: A Loan Exhibition, organized and circulated by the International Exhibitions Foundation, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (F. W. Robinson). Washington D.C.  Hubert Robert: Drawings et Watercolors, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (V. Carlson), 1978–79. Washington D.C.  The Drawings of Annibale Carracci, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (eds D. Benati et al.). Washington D.C., Los Angeles and elsewhere  Jean-Antoine Houdon: Sculptor of the Enlightenment, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles; Musée et Domaine National du Château de Versailles (A. L. Poulet et al.), . Williamstown, Madison and elsewhere  Goltzius and the Third Dimension, Sterling and Francine Clark Institute, Williamstown (MA); Elvehjem Museum of Art, Madison (WI); Spencer Museum of Art, Lawrence (KS) (eds S. H. Goddard and J. A. Ganz). Windsor   Paper palaces: The Topham Collection as a Source for British Neo-Classicism, The Verey Gallery, Eton College, Windsor (A. Aymonino et al.), 2013. York  A Candidate for Praise. William Manson 1725–97, Precentor of York, York Art Gallery and York Minster Library (eds B. Barr and J. Ingamells). Zurich Füssli: Zur Zweihundertjahrfeier und Gedächtnisausstellung, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich (ed. W. Wartmann and M. Fischer), 1941. Zurich  Johann Heinrich Füssli, , Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich, . Zurich 1984 Meisterwerke aus der Graphischen eichnungen, Aquarelli, Pastelle, Collagen aus fünf Jahrhunderten, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich. Zurich  Füssli. The Wild Swiss, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich (ed. F. Lentzsch), Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 bpk, Berlin / Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig 64. bpk, Berlin / Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig . The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection 66. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 67. The Samuel Courtauld Trust, The Courtauld Gallery, London . Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 69. bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais 71. bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais 72. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 75. Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford 76. Su gentile concessione del Museo Biblioteca Archivio di Bassano del Grappa 77. Photo Les Arts décoratifs 78. Photo Les Arts décoratifs. National Library of Medicine National Library of Medicine The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Lincoln Kirstein, metmuseum.org . Royal Academy of Arts, London 83. bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais 84. Royal Academy of Arts, London Royal Academy of Arts, London 86. Private collection 87. bpk, Berlin / École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais 88. Philadelphia Museum of Art . Cherbourg-Octeville, musée d’art Thomas-Henry D.Sohier . Heidelberg University Library 91. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved . Staatsgalerie Stuttgart Foto: Staatsgalerie Stuttgart 93. Reproduced by permission of the Provost and Fellows of Eton College 94. bpk, Berlin / Musée du Louvre, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / Susanne Nagy . Musée de Valence, photo Philippe Petiot . Musée de Valence, photo Philippe Petiot Musée de Valence, photo Philippe Petiot Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington 99. Tate, London . Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 101. Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: John Hammond Fig. . RSA, London Fig. 103. RSA, London Fig. CSG CIC Glasgow Museums and Libraries Collection: The Mitchell Library, Special Collections Fig. 105. Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: Prudence Cuming Associates Limited Fig. . Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 Fig. . Royal Academy of Arts, London Fig. 108. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Photograph courtesy of the National Gallery of Ireland Cat. 1 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig. 2. Matthew Hollow. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 2 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow Fig. 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Cat. 3 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow . Courtesy Yvonne Tan Bunzl The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Fig. . bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett, SMB / Volker-H. Schneider The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 6. S.S.P.S.A.E e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze – Gabinetto Fotografico Cat. 4 Exhibit a. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Exhibit b. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 1. Private collection 2. Kurpfälzisches Museum der Stadt Heidelberg Cat. 5 Exhibit. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City/ Bridgeman Images 3. The Trustees of the British Museum.  4. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program Cat. 6 Exhibit a. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Exhibit b. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Cat. 7 Exhibit a. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Exhibit b. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. Teylers Museum, Haarlem 3. Teylers Museum, Haarlem 4. Courtesy Amsterdam Museum Cat. 8 Exhibit. Teylers Museum, Haarlem 1. Teylers Museum, Haarlem 2. S.S.P.S.A.E e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze – Gabinetto Fotografico Cat. 9 Exhibit. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon. Photo François Jay Cat. 10 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni . Courtesy of the Master and Fellows of Trinity College Cambridge 3. Matthew Hollow 4. The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge Cat. 11 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 2. The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge Matthew Hollow Cat. 12 Exhibit. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 1. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 4. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection 5. Detroit Institute of Arts, USA, City of Detroit Purchase/Bridgeman Images 6. Collection Rau for UNICEF / Gruppe Köln, Hans G. Scheib Cat. 13 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. Courtesy Amsterdam Museum 3. Courtesy Municipal Archives of The Hague 4. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 6. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat.  Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. 2015 The Metropolitan Museum of Art/ Art Resource/Scala, Florence Christie’s Images Limited Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Photographic Credits Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions in the below list and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book. Ideal Beauty and the Canon in Classical Antiquity The Metropolitan Museum of Art/Art Resource/Scala, Florence . The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection ‘Nature Perfected’: The Theory et Practice of Drawing after the Antique 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 3. bpk, Berlin / Musée du Louvre, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / Gérard Blot . Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Fig.. Albertina, Vienna Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 8. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . Comune di Milano Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 11. Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library 12. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 13. Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam. Loan Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen Foundation (collection Koenigs) / photographer: Studio Tromp, Rotterdam The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 15. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 16. Rijksmuseum, Amseterdam  The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Phyllis Massar, metmuseum.org 18. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 19. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City/Bridgeman Images . Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels / photo: J. Geleyns / Ro scan 22. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 23. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved . Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna, Austria / Bridgeman Images 26. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City / Bridgeman Images 27. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington 28. Albertina, Vienna 29. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved . The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 32. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 33. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy / Bridgeman Images. S.S.P.S.A.E e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze – Gabinetto Fotografico 35. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 36. Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library. Katrin Bellinger collection 38. bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Jörg P. Anders bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Jörg P. Anders 40. bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider 41. bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider . bpk, Berlin / Kupferstichkabinett / Volker-H. Schneider 44. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) The Metropolitan Museum of Art/ Art Resource/Scala, Florence 46. Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library . Veneranda Biblioteca Ambrosiana – Milano / De Agostini Picture Library 48. Royal Museum for Fine Arts Antwerp Lukas-Art in Flanders vzw, photo Hugo Maertens Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 50. Musea Brugge Lukas-Art in Flanders vzw, photo Hugo Maertens 51. ©Peter Cox/Bonnefantenmuseum Maastricht 52. Minneapolis Institute of Arts, MN, USA, The Walter H. and Valborg P. Ude Memorial Fund/ Bridgeman Images 53. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 54. Louvre, Paris, France/Bridgeman Images 55. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 56. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 57. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . bpk, Berlin / Musée du Louvre, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / Richard Lambert 59. bpk, Berlin / Musée Condé, Chantilly, Dist. RMN – Grand Palais / René-Gabriel Ojéda Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II   Cat. 15 Exhibit. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 1. Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth / Reproduced by permission of Chatsworth Settlement Trustees / Bridgeman Images 2. Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, CT The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 4. Vatican Museums and Galleries, Vatican City / Bridgeman Images Cat. 16 Exhibit. The Samuel Courtauld Trust, The Courtauld Gallery, London 1. Image courtesy of Sotheby’s 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 3. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 6. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 17 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 2. Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam / photographer: Studio Tromp, Rotterdam 3. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Walter C. Baker, metmuseum.org 4. Witt Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London Cat. 18 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 3. bpk, Berlin / Antikensammlung, SMB 4. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) bpk, Berlin / Antikensammlung, SMB / Johannes Laurentius . photo Musées de Marseille 7. Photographic Survey, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London. Private collection Cat. 19 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. Accademia Nazionale di San Luca. Tutti i diritti riservati 3. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved . By courtesy of the Trustees of Sir John Soane’s Museum Cat.  Exhibit. By courtesy of the Trustees of Sir John Soane’s Museum Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 2. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 3. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 4. The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection 5. Staatsgalerie Stuttgart Foto: Staatsgalerie Stuttgart 6. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat.  Exhibit. bpk / Kunstbibliothek, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin 1. Image courtesy of Sotheby’s 2. Image courtesy of Sotheby’s Cat. 22 Exhibit. 2014 Kunsthaus Zürich. All rights reserved. 1. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Paulo Cipollina 2. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Lorenzo De Masi 3. Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Lorenzo De Masi 4. Istituto Centrale per la Grafica Canoni fotografici (MIBACT) 5. bpk, Berlin / Kunstbibliothek, SMB / Dietmar Katz Cat. 23 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Louvre, Paris, France/Bridgeman Images 2. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Cat. 24 Exhibit. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 1. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection Private collection 3. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Cat. 25 Exhibit. Royal Academy of Arts, London 1. Royal Academy of Arts, London 2. Royal Academy of Arts, London 3. bpk, Berlin / RMN – Grand Palais / Stéphane Maréchalle 4. Santa Barbara Museum of Art, Gift of Wright S. Ludington 5. Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London . Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 7. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 8. Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: Paul Highnam Royal Academy of Arts, London; Photographer: Paul Highnam Cat.  Exhibit. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Tate, London  2. Courtesy of www.gjsaville-caricatures.co.uk Cat. 27 Exhibit a. Victoria and Albert Museum, London Exhibit b. Victoria and Albert Museum, London 1. Tate, London 2014 2. Tate, London. Tate, London . Tate, London 2014 Cat. 28 Exhibit. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved 1. Towneley Hall Art Gallery and Museum, Burnley, Lancashire/Bridgeman Images . Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 3. The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved Cat. 29 Exhibit. By courtesy of the Trustees of Sir John Soane’s Museum Cat. 30 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. Photo Collection RKD, The Hague 2. Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015 3. Klassik Stiftung Weimar, Bestand Museen. Photo Sigrid Geske Cat. 31 Exhibit. Teylers Museum, Haarlem Cat. 32 Exhibit. Teylers Museum, Haarlem 1. Photo Collection RKD, The Hague Cat. 33 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow 1. The National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design, Oslo, photographer Jacques Lathion 2. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) . Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini. Photo Zeno Colantoni 4. Louvre, Paris, France / Bridgeman Images 5. Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) 6. Courtesy of Pontus Kjerrman Cat. 34 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) Courtesy of Olga Liubimova Tomas Abad Cat. 35 Exhibit. Matthew Hollow Victoria and Albert Museum, London National Portrait Gallery, London Christie’s Images Limited Photo out of copyright (The Warburg Institute, Photographic Collection) National Museums Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery [National Museums Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery Sammlung. Nome compiuto: Massimo Carboni. Keywords: tratto dalla vita, estetica, arte, icona, parola, immagine, filosofia antica, il concetto dell’antico, l’antico – l’antico e il moderno – drawing from the antique – antico – filosofia antica, arte antica, statuaria antica, the lure of the antique – il gusto e l’antico --. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Carboni,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

levi: filosofo italiano - Italian philosopher of Jewish descent. Author of “Storia della filosofia romana.”

 

giornale critico della filosofia italiana.

 

Giovanni d. “Positivismo italiano.”

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Cattaneo: essential Italian philosopher. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, "Grice e Cattaneo," per Il Club Anglo-Italiano, The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Grice, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carace – Roma – filosofia italiana – Nome compiuto. Claudio Carace – Charax – Much admired by Antonino. Carace. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Carace,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Caravaggi: l’implicatura conversazionale – scuola di Crema – filosofia lombarda -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza (Crema). Filosofo lombardo. Flosofo italiano. Crema, Cremona, Lombardia. Insegna a Padova, di cui divenne in seguito rettore. È ritratto in un dipinto di Busi detto il Cariani, allievo del Giorgione. L'iscrizione e lo stemma presenti sulla tenda a destra attestano che il personaggio raffigurato è Giovanni Benedetto Caravaggi, filosofo e medico appartenente a una nobile famiglia di Crema. Laureatosi nell'università di Padova e divenutone lettore e rettore, Caravaggi era fratello di Giovanni Antonio, anch'egli eternato in un ritratto del Cariani (Ottawa, National Gallery of Art). E' probabile che il ritratto della Carrara origini dalle proprietà della famiglia Caravaggi a Crema, visto che, come ricorda il Piccinelli, postillando le Vite di F. M. Tassi, Lochis acquistò l'opera proprio a Crema (Bassi Rathgeb). Un'esecuzione cremasca sarebbe anche confermata dal fatto che Cariani esegui alcune opere in quella città ed è quindi probabile che in questo stesso periodo cada anche il ritratto in questione. Il pittore, nativo di Fuipiano al Brembo, si era trasferito precocemente a Venezia dove si formò nell'orbita di Bellini e Giorgione e dove compì la maggior parte della sua carriera. Tornò a Bergamo con incursioni a Crema per adempiere ad alcuni incarichi, quale probabilmente quello relativo al nostro ritratto, ed ebbe modo di sfoggiare il suo elegante linguaggio giorgionesco, come emerge dal paesaggio montuoso oltre la tenda, rischiarato da un cielo al tramonto dai toni rosati e cerulei. Risalente a Tiziano è invece l'impostazione del ritratto dalla posa ruotata di tre quarti e dalla sapiente costruzione prospettica, che ha i suoi punti di forza nel braccio sinistro in scorcio e nel realistico volume appoggiato sul tavolo. La posa naturale dello studioso, che pare interrompersi in meditazione dalla lettura del ponderoso volume, è anch'essa un portato di Tiziano, i cui ritratti sono liberi e naturali, lontani da schemi precostituiti. Curiosa la presenza di un'altra firma sotto la cornice scura dipinta, che il recente restauro  ha appurato essere contestuale alla realizzazione dell'opera. Nome compiuto: Caravaggi. Giovanni Benedetto da Caravaggio. Benedetto. Keywords. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Grice e Caravaggi” – The Swimming-Pool Library.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carchia: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale dell’ars amandi – signi d’amore – erotico del bello – comunicazione degl’amanti primitive – scuola di Torino – filosofia torinese – filosofia piemontese -- filosofia romana – filosofia italiana -- Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Torino). Filosofo torinese. Filosfo piemontese. Filosofo italiano. Torino, Piemonte. Grice: “I once joked that if I’m introduce dto Mr. Poodle as ‘our man in eighteenth century aesthetics, the implictum is that he ain’t good at it! Not with Carchia: because (a) Carchia is a serious philosopher (b) he conceives aesthetics alla Baumagarten, having to do with communication (“nome e immagine”, “interpretazione ed emancipazione”) and with not just the aesthetis qua sensus – but its truth value (“immagine e verita,” “l’intelligible estetico”) – a genius! On topc, my favourite piece of his philosophising is on the torso del belvedere as representing the ‘rhetoric of the sublime’!” Si laurea a Torino sotto Vattimo con la dissertazione “Il Linguaggio”. Insegna a Viterbo e Roma. Studioso di filosofia antica, traduttore. Opere: Orfismo e tragedia; Estetica ed erotica; Dall'apparenza al mistero; La legittimazione dell'arte; Arte e bellezza; L'estetica antica, ecc. Si è anche occupato, di arte e comunicazione dei popoli 'primitivi' e di artisti contemporanei quali Savinio, Sbarluzzi e Lanzardo. La casa editrice Quodlibet raccoglie le sue opere postume. Rusce ad immaginare la filosofla, a porla in immagini -- nel solco della filosofia italiana dall'Umanesimo a Vico. Minima immoralia. Aforismi tralasciati nell'edizione italiana (Einaudi, 1954), Milano: L'erba voglio); Comunità e comunicazione (Torino: Rosemberg et Sellier); prefazione e cura di Henry Corbin, L'imâm nascosto, Milano: Celuc, 1979; Milano: SE); Orfismo e tragedia. Il mito trasfigurato, Milano: Celuc); Estetica e antropologia. Arte e comunicazione dei primitivi, Torino: Rosemberg et Sellier); Erotica. Saggio sull'immaginazione, Milano: Celuc) L'intelligibile (Napoli: Guida); Dall'apparenza al mistero. La nascita del romanzo, Milano: Celuc); Il mito in pittura. La tradizione come critica, Milano: Celuc); cura di Arnold Gehlen, Quadri d'epoca. Sociologia e estetica della pittura moderna, Napoli: Guida) Retorica del sublime, Roma-Bari: Laterza); Il bello (Bologna: Il Mulino); Interpretazione ed emancipazione. Torino: Dipartimento di ermeneutica); introduzione a Karl Löwith, Scritti sul Giappone, Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino); “La favola dell'essere. Commento al Sofista” (Macerata: Quodlibet); Estetica, Roma-Bari: Laterza); L'estetica antica, Roma-Bari: Laterza); L'amore del pensiero, Macerata: Quodlibet); Nome e immagine (Benjamin, Roma: Bulzoni); Immagine e verità. Studi sulla tradizione classica, Monica Ferrando, prefazione di Sergio Givone, Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, Kant e la verità dell'apparenza, Gianluca Garelli, Torino: Ananke, introduzione a Walter Friedrich Otto, Il poeta e gli antichi dèi, Rovereto: Zandonai. L’immaginazione come orizzonte nomade della conoscenza. Produttività e trascendentalità dell’immaginazione nella critica del giudizio. L’immaginazione senza immagini. La notte delle immagini, il ricordo, la memoria. L’immaginazione come autotrasparire dell’apparenza rappresentativa. Naturalismo simbolico e simbolica naturale. Angelologia. Alighieri: spiritus phantasticus e alta fantasia. Gemellarità dell’immaginazione gnostica. L’immaginazione speculativa. Simbolismo e imagismo. Il fantastico come ideologia. Il romantico. L’immaginazione come dimora del padre. Demone e allegoria. La forza del nome. Icona e coscienza sofianica. Mistica. Mimesi e metessi. La nuova accademia: l’estetico. Paradigma, schema, immagine. OVIDIO (vedasi). Arte amatoria. Chi peregrin nell’amorosa scuola Entra, me legga, se vuol esser dotto. Non usansi senz’arte e vele e remi; Non senz’arte guidar si puote il cocchio; Non senz' arte si può reggere Amore. Ben sapeva condurre Automedonte Co’ focosi, destrieri il caiiro, e Tifi r Sedea maestro \sair emonia poppa. Ne’ mister} d’ Àmot me fece esjperto Venere bella, e ben dirmi poss’ io D’Aniore un altro Tifi e Automedonte. Ch^ ei sia crude!, noi niego » e spesse volte Contro me stesso si rivolta; pure Egli è fiinciullo, e l’immatuTa' etàde Atta si rende al fren. Docile e mite Rese Chiron l’ impetuoso^ Achilie Automédonte, figlio di Dioreo,fu il Cocchierò d*lAchille, Tifi condusse gli Argonauti in Coleo sul- la nave Argo, che qui dicesi emonia, perchè era su <mella Giasone figlio del Re di Tessaglia, e perchè la Tessaglia si chiamala Emonia dal monte Emo. Chirone figliuol di Fillira fu il Precettore d’A’^ chille^il qual nen chiamato ^acides fia Eaep suo Avo, Col dolde suon della canora cetra^ Ed ei, che fu il terrore e lo spavento De^suoi compagni spessore de’nemici. Dicesi che temesse il vecchio annoso; E quelle mani, che dovean un giorno Gettare a terra il forte Ettor, porgea, Quando Chirone le chiedea,alla sferza. Ei fu d’ Achille, io son d’ Amor maestro; L’uno e 1^ altro è fanoiul feroce, e traggo L’ un e r altro da Diva i suoi natali Come r aratro il toro, e come il freno Doma il cavai focoso ; io cosi Amore Render placido voglio ancor che il petto Con r arco mi ferisca, e con la face Tutte ro’ abbruci le midolle e T ossa. Quanto più Amore hammi ferito ed arso. Tanto più voglio vendicarmi . Apollo, Non io, ché mentirei, dirò che appresi < Da tl» quest’ arte, o che fui reso dotto Dal canto degli .augelli A me non Clio, Né le Sorelle sue, come al Pastore Della valle d’ Ascrea, compatver mai ; Me un lung’ uso feMstrutto ; e fè pròstate Air esperto Poeta . <Ió cose vere Canto:Madre d* Amor.^, siimi propizia. Gite lungi j o Vestali., e voi Matrone, Che i piè celaté sotto lunga veste. J3Ì Achilie uccise Ettore al assedio di Troja Achille nacque dalla Dea Tetide, Amore dalla Dea Venere, a Mentre Esiodo, cugino e quasi contemporaneo nero, pascolava in Elicona le pecore di suo pa* dre ^ fu dalle Muse condotto al fonte Ippocrene, e Col hefer 4i quell* acqua divenne Poeta, Come seguir sensa periglio Amore Si possa, eA i concessi furti io canto; Nullo i miei carmi chiuderan delitto. Tu, che novel nell’ amorosa schiera Entri soldato, le tue cure volgi Prima a trovar de’ voti tuoi 1’ oggetto. Indi a farlo per te amoroso, e infine Onde lunga stagìon 1’ amor si serbi. È questo il modo, è questo il campo, in cui Scorrere il nostro cocchio debbo ; è questa Del corso nostro la prescritta meta. Or che il tempo è propizio, or che si puote Andare a briglia sciolta, una ne scegli, Cui dir tu possa ; a me tu sola piaci. Questa dal Ciel non già pensar che scenda. Ma qui trovar la dei con gli occhi tuoi. Onde tender le reti al cervo debba. Sa bene il caccìator, e non ignora La valle, ove il cignal s’asconde: i rami L’ UGcellator conosce, onde si gettano 61 ’incauti augelli, e al pescator son note L’acque, che maggior copia hanno di pesci. Tu, che d^on lungo amor cerchi materia. Impara i luoghi, ove frequenti veggonsi Le vezzose donzelle . Io non ti dico, Che dar le vele ti fia duopo al vento. Né córrer lunga e faticosa strada. Perseo dall’Indie ne condusse Andromeda, E .Paride rapì di Grecia Eléna. Ma in Roma, in Roma ritrovar potrai Fanciulle, che in beltà portino il vanto Più che del Mondo in altra parte . Come Gargaro, Castello sul monte Ida era celebre V abbondanza delle sue biade, e Metinna, Città nek» V Isola di Lesbo, per V abbondanza d^ suoi vini. La gargara contrada abbonda in biade» In uve la metinnia » in pesci U mare» In augei il bosco s e còme nell* Olimpo Splendono stelle; così in Roma ammiransi Amabili Fanciulle: qui sua sede Pose del grand’ Enea la bella Madre. Se a nascente beltà ti porta il genio» Tenera donzelletta eccoti innante; Se già formata giovine desideri» Mille ti piaceranno » e fian costretti A rimaner sospesi i voti tuoi; Che se a te figlia più matura e saggia Piaccia » ne avrai, mel credi, un folto stuolo. De’ portici pompeii all’ ombra i lenti Pàssi rivolgi, allor che Febo i campi Dall’erculeo Leon saetta ed arde, O a quel che adorno de’ più scelti marmi Da lontani paesi a noi venuti, LaMadre aggiunseindonoa’don delFigHo.(8) Nè quello lascerai » ohe tragge il nome Da Livia, ornato delle pinte tele De’Pittori più celebri ed antichi; Uno de'piU dtliziosi Portici di Roma ora cer^ tornente ^uet di Pompeo . Giaceva questo in vicinanza dtl suo Veatro, « i Romani lo frequentavano moltis'^ simo in tempo d* estate, OTTAVIANO (si veda) sotto il nome d’Ottavia fabbrica un portico in vicinanza del Teatro da lui dedicato a Marcello figlio della medesirrsa e però dice il Poeta, che la Madre, cioè Ottavia, a^iunse il dono del portico al don d^figlio, cioè al Teatro a lui innalzato d’OTTAVIANO, R questo il portico che Livia moglie d* Augusto fabbricò nella Via sacra ; ne fa menzione Svetonio, e vien riputato da Strabono uno d^più be’ monumenti di Roma, Visiterai pnr anco i Inoghi, dove (io) In atto di far strage de’ Consorti Effigiate son P empie Danàidi; E il lor Padre crudel, che nudo tiene L’acciajo micidial nell’ empia destra; Nè il Tempio oblia, u’ Venere la morte Plora del caro Adon, nò il giorno Sabbato Sacro al culto giudeo • Sarà tua cura A’xneiifitìcì templi esser presente Della liniger’ Iside ; seconda I voti questa Dea delle fanciulle» Che desian donne diventar, coni’ essa Lo fu di Giove ^ Fra i clamori alterni Del Foro strepitoso ( e chi mai fede Prestar ci puote ? ) Amor rivolta trova Atto alle fiamme sue pascolo ed esca. In quella parte ove s’innalza al cielo L’ onda d’Appio » che giace appiè del Tempio Di ricchi marmi adorno, a Vener sacro Prigioniero d’ Amore è 1 ’ Avvocato, Il portico d’Apollo palatino fabbricato da Au^ gusto in una parte della sua casa era adornato di fiin^ ts immagini rappresentanti la strage^ che de*pro- prj Mariti fecero le Danaidi per comando di Danna loro padre. Si adorala Iside figlinola d*Inaco in Menfi Città d^Egitto, donde furono trasportati in Roma i suoi sacrificj . Fu questa amata impudicamente da Giove, il quale la cangiò per timor di Giunone in una Giovenca j e poi la restitm agli Egiziani nella sua pri^ stina forma . B^la e i suoi sacerdoti andavano coperti di lino e però si chiamava linigera. APPIO – il primo filosofo romano -- Censore conduce V acqua nel Foro di Cesare; e d’architettura d* Archelao fu ivi innalzato a Venere un Tempio, che per somma fretta poi rimase imperfetto. Che attento alla difesa altrui, se stesso Guardar non sa • Oh quante volte, oh quante In quel loco gli manca la favella, E deir amor che V agita ripieno, Non della caiìsa altrui, ma della propria S’occupa solo ! Dal propinquo Tempio Ride la Dea di Pafo, e il difensore Trasformato veder gode in cliente. Ma più che. altrove ne'curvi Teatri Troverai da far paghi i voti tuoi: Ivi mille bellezze lusinghiere Si oifrìranno al tuo sguardo, e tal potrai Per stabile passion scegliere, e tale Onde Tore passare in gioco e in festa. Come frequente la formica in schiera Vanne al granajo a far preda di cibo; E come Papi in olezzante suolo Volan sul timo e sopra i fior ; le culte Donne in tal modo in folto stuolo assistono Agli scenici ludi * È cosi grande il numero di questo, cho sospeso Mille volte rimase il mio giudizio. Non a’ Teatri per mirar, soltanto, Come per far di lor superila mosffa Vanno non senza del pudor periglio. Tu questi giochi strepitosi il primo, ROMOLO, instituisti; allor che il ratto NeW anno del mondo 3a3i. fabbricò Romolo nei monte Palatino una Città o sia Fortezza, che dal suo nome chiamò Roma. Per accrescere il numero dei Cittadini ^ aprì un asilo fra il Palatino e il Campi* doglio, in cui si ricevevano i Servi fuggitivi^, i De* hitori y i Malefici . Siccome i Popoli confinanti, e per conseguenza i Sabini nor volevano con tal gente col* Segui delle Sabine Ancor non marmi^ E non tappeti ornavano i Teatri, Nè il palco vago era per piote tele; Ivi semplicemente allor far posti I virgulti eie foglie, che recava II bosco palatino, e non si vide Decorata la scena allor con V arte Sopra i sedili di cespugli infesti Assistea il popol folto, uhe all’irsuta Chioma di fronde sol cingea corona Col cupid’occhio ognuno intanto nota Quella, che far desia sua preda, e molti Pensieri nel suo cor tacito volge. Mentre d’agreste flauto il suono muove Grottesca danza, ed il confuso plauso Ferisce il ciel, ecco che il Re dà segno Onde alla preda sua ciascun sì volga. Rapido il proprio loco ognuno lascia, Fanne co’ gridi il suo desio palese, E le cupide mani addosso slancia Sulle Vergin d’insidie ignare, come Fogge la timidissima Colomba Dall’ Aquila, e de’ Lupi il fiero aspetto Agna novella ; di spavento piene Volean cosi le misere Sabine De’ rapitori lor schivar gli amplessi; Ma da Ogni patte senza legge inondano^ Ninna serba il color, che aveva innante; ' ' a z lòcar U lor Donne, Romito gli ' inoitò insieme con Ì 0 sorelle,'7e moglie e le figlie a unof spettacolo, che fe^ce* ìebrare in onore del Dio Conso, ossia di Nettuno^ € comandò d* suoi Romani che cigscun ri rapiste fr0 quelle femmine una Consòrte. Tutte assale il timore ^ e in Tarj modi: Questa il petto peroote^ il crin si straccia; Quella riman priva di sensi ; alcuna Non {>er il duol fa proferir parola; Altra la cara madre appella invano; Chi quale statua immobile rimane; Chi fugge, e chi di grida il cielo assorda. Ma le rapite Oiovani condotte Son via, qual preda geniale e cara. Dì pudico rossoj tinsero molte Le delicate guance, e vìe più piacquero. Se troppa ripugnanza alcuna mostra, £ seguir nega il suo compagno, questi La porta fra le sue cupide braccia, E si le dice: a che d’amaro pianto Da begli occhj tu versi un fiume? teco Sarò come alla Madre è il Genitore. Romolo, fu il primiero a’tuoi soldati Vera recar felicità sapesti; Se tal sorte goder potessi anch’io, > Io pur non sdegnerei esser soldato. Però da quell’esempio anco a’dì nostri Trovan le Belle ne’Teatri insidie.. D’esser presente ognor cerca e procura ^ Alle corse de’rapidi destrieri. Di gran popol capace il ;Circo augusto Molti a te rechei!à comodi ; d’ uopo ^ Onde spiegare i tuoi pensieri arcani Non avrai delle dita ; nè co* cenni Intendere dovrai. Franco t’assidi, Che ninno il vieta, alla tua donna accanto. Quanto più puòi t’accosta al di lei fiaheo\ lE procura che il loco a.nzi ti sforzi A toccarla, quand’eUa ancor non ! voglia. Onde seco parlar cerca materia, E da’ discorsi pubblici incomincia. Quando i cavalli appariranno, tosto Di chi sieno richiedi, e quello, a cui Dirige i voti suoi, tu favorisci; Macon frequente pompaallor che giungono Le statue degli Dei, fa plauso a Venere Quale a tua Diva tutelar. Se mai Della tua bella sulla veste cada Polve, la scoti con la mano, e fingi * Scoterla quando pur netta si serbi; E sollecito ognor prandi motivo Da leggiere cagion d’esserle grato. Se la sua veste strascinasse, pronto Sii tosto a tòrla dalP immonda terra; Per cosi tenui cure avrai in mercede, Ch^ ella poi soffrirà, che le sue gambe Tu possa riguardar. Sia tuo pensiero, Che quei, che sono assisì al vostro tergo, ^ ginocchi al di lei dosso, Non le rechin molestia. I lievi ufBcj L^alme fiscili adescano: fu a molti Util Fa ver con destra man composto Il coscino, agitar con piccol foglio Il volubile vento, e saper porre Sotto tenero piè concavo scanno. Farà la strada al nuovo amore il Circo, Solevano I ROMANI portar per ih Circo le Statue degli Dei e degli Uomini sommi, quando ivi davano lo spettacolo della corsa de^ Cavalli 0 d^ altri giochi'. V* era fra aueste Statue ancor quella di Venere, cui vuole il Poeta che si faccia un gran plauso* Si veda la seconda Elegia del Libro III, degli amori scritti dgl modesimo Autore E la sparsa nel foro infausta arena Ivi pugnò spesso il Fanciul di Venere, £ chi andò per mirar altri piagato, Ferito pur rimase. Ah quante volte Mentre un la lingua a ragionar discioglie^ HoWà. la mano, tiene il libro, e cerca II; vincitore del proposto premio. Il .volatile strai senti nel seno, Gemè piagato, e accrebbe pregio al gioco! fu bello il mirar quando con pompa Solenne Cesare introdissse il primo (i 5 ) Non avvezze a pugnar in finta guerra E le persiche navi e le cecropie! Da questo e da quel mar vennero allora Giovani vaghi, amabili donzelle, E la Città racchiuse immenso mondo. Fra tanta turba di leggiadri oggetti Chi non tigvò da far paghi i suoi voti? Oh quanti e quanti a forestiero laccio Porsero il piè! Ma Cesar s’apparecchia (Cesare Augusto fece presso il Tevere rappre sentore una battaglia navale detta Ncumachia. Intro^ dusse in questa a combattere le flotte che Marc* An-^ ionio aveva raccolte contro di lui nell* Oriente ^e le navi ateniesi denominate Cecropie da Gecrope primo Re d* Atene y che seguirono il partito di M. Antonio^ Furono queste armate navali vinte tutte da Azio, e servirono nella Neumachia d’un brillante spettacelo a futta Roma. OTTAVIANO destinò una spedi^àon per V Oriente contro Frante, e vi mandò il suo Nipote Cajo nato da Agrippa e da Giulia. Marco Crasso e Publio suo figlio avidi delle ricchezze de* Parti intrapresero contro i medesimi una guerra, in cui furono poi essi miseramente trucidati con undici Legioni . Per far a Cesare un encomio, dice ora il Poeta, che deve Cajo riportar vittoria di que* popoli, e riacquistar la ^ne romane da loro tolte Crassi. Già il restò a sog^ogar del Mondo inter#^ E già Taltiino Oriente è nostro ancora. La pena avrai dovuta, o Parto audace, £ voi godete, ombre deaerassi estinti, E con voi godan le romane insegne Di barbarica destra a ragion schive. Ecco il vindice vostro, ognun racclama Invitto Duce nelle schiere prime; Giovin sostiene perigliose guerre Quasi invecchiato fra le stragi e Parmi. Deh non vogliate, o timidi, il valore Dagli anni loro argomentar de’Numi; E la virtù ne’Cesari preepee. Degli anni Suoi più assai rapido sorge Celeste ingegno, e mal tollera Ponte D’una pigra dimora. Era bambino Ercole allor che ì due serpenti oppresse. Ed èra in fasce pur degno di Giove. O Bacco^otu che ancor fanciullo sei, (18) Essendosi Giove innamorato perdutamente d^Alc^ mena, si presentò a lei vestito delle sembianze d*An^ fitrione suo maritoy quando questi trovavasi alla guerra di Tehe.Da Giove e da Alcména nacque Ercole, che fu allevato in Tirinta Città in Marea vicina ad Argo, e però fu detto Tirinzto . Intenta per ciò la gelosa Giunone a vendicarsi delP infedeltà di Giove, suscitò contro d* Ercole due serpenti ; ma egli li uccise valorosamente, benché fosse di tenera età, Bacco armato, d^ una lung^ asta, e seguito da Ufi esercito d* Uomini e di Donne, corse intrepido nel* VOriente,e soggiogò quVpaesi che allor tutti,si comprendevano sotto il nome d* India . Essendo quelV asta così acuta, che imitava la conica figurai del Pino, fu detta dagli antichi Poeti il Tirso, giacché Thirza ià lingua ebraica nuW altro significa, se non se un ramo di Pino^ •Intrecciavano le Baccanti sul tirso V uve e i pampini cotk P edera p perché Bacco insegnò affli Qoanto fosti mai grande allor che i tuoi Tirsi dovè temer l’India domata!' E tu prode Garzon sotto gli auspiej (ly) Del Padre, Tarmi tratterai vincendo. Sotto un nome sì chiaro aver tu dei I primi erudì menti, e come il Prence (ao) uomini la maniera di coltivar la vite . Alcuni Eruditi poi fChe ricercan la moralità nelle favole ^ pretendono che dipìngasi sempre giovine questo divino coltivator della vigna ^perche gli uomini si rendon col vino in lor vecchiezza amorosi e lascivi, come lo furono in gioventù,. Mons„ de Lavaur con molti altri, i quali hanno^ attentamente 'considerato le imprese di Bacco e l* etimologia stessa del Tirso, porta verisimilmente opinione y che sia questa favola tratta in origine da que^libri della sacra Scrittura, che parlano di Mosè. e di JVoè, Si rivolge il Poeta a Cajo,che fu adottatò figlio da Cesare Augusto. Romolo dalle tre Tribù, nelle quali aveva di^ stribaito il popolo romano y raccolse per ciascheduna cento uomini, che fer nascita, per ricchezze, e per altri pregi ^^^no i più riguardevoli. Furono questi chiamati Cavalieri y perchè trascélse quésoli, che fesser meritevoli d* un Cavallo, su cui dovean combattere in difesa di lui ; e si distribuirono in tre Ceti* turie, che conservando il nome delle Tribù, dov*erano sfate raccolte, si chiamavano é/e^Rammensi da Romolo, dei Tasienzi da Tazio Re dé Sabini, e dei Laceri Lucomone JRe d'Etruria, che fu, come dicono., il fondatore della Città di Lueca . Da Tarquinio Prisco, e da Servio Tullio vennero in seguito accresciati di numero y senza mutar però il nome di Cen* iurte ; esercitarono poi varie luminose incombenze ; e JU'denominato il loro ordine Senatus Seminarium, perchè in esso scieglievansi i Senatori • i 5 . Lu* Jglio facevano i Cavalieri ogni anno splendidamente in lor rassegna, mentre dal Tempio dell’Onore, che era situato fuori della città, andavano al campìdo* coronati d* ulivo, cinti d^ una purpurea veste det- Or de’Giorani sei, sarai col tempo L’oroamento miglior do'rccchj Padri. Vendica ofFesi i tuoi fratelli, e i dritti (ai) Del Genitor sostieni: della Patria £ Padre 6 Dlfensor Parcne ti cìnse; Ed or che l’inimico i regni invola, Cruccioso alla vendetta egli t’invita. Scellerati di lor saran gli strali. Pietà e Giustizia i tuoi vessilli, e Parrni Della causa miglior sostenitrici. ' ta trabea, t assisi sopra i loro cavalli . 0 §ni cinque anni poi appena giunti al Campidoglio, scendevano da Cavallo, e presolo per mano lo guidavano avanti al Censore ivi assiso sopra una sedia curale ; ed egli comandava di ritenere il Cavallo, se bene aveva il Cavaliero adempiuto a suoi doveri ^e di venderlo, se aveva malamente eseguito le sue incombenze. Leg^ geva il Censore in tale occasione il catalogo de^ Cavalieri yC si chiamava il Principe de* Giovani o della Gioventù quello che era da lui nominato il primo ; e ciò non perchè fossero attualmente tutti gióvani, ma perchè lo fàrono nella prima istituzione^ e perchè Veta giovanile si estendeva pressò i Romani fino a quarantacinque anni. Principe de’Senatori o del Senato ne*primi tempi della Repubblica si chiamava quello che il primo tra*Sena- tori viventi era stdto Censorey poi quel che dal Censore fosse stato nominato ili primo nel leggere il catalogo d^ Senatori y e nell\ anno dalla fondazione di Roma quel, che dal Censore era riputato degnissimo. (al) Pompeo y domato il Re Tigrane y costrinse gli Armeni a ricevere da* Romani in segno di servitù i Rettori. Si liberarono essi da un tal giogo y ma Cajo li obbligò nuovamente a soffrirlo, e vendicò in tal guisa i dritti d*Augusto y che dal Senato e dal Po^ polo romano fu per mezzo di Valerio onorato del luminoso titolo di Padre della pAt<‘ia, ^ (^a) I Parti tentavano di farsi padroni delV Ar- mersia Ora il mio Duce alle latine aggiunga L*eoe ricchezze. E voi j Cesare e Marte, Entrambe Padri soccorrete il Figlio, Che in difesa di Roma espon sua vita; Come già Marte^or tu, Cesar, sei nunie Ecco raugurio mio; tu vìncerai; Sciorrò co’ carmi allora il voto ; degno* Tu allor fatto sarai d’alto poema. Porrai le squadre in ordinanza, e all’ armi Co’ versi miei 1 ’ esorterai: tenaci Di me nel tuo pensiero i detti imprimi. 11 petto forte de’ Romani, il tergo (24) Io canterò de’ Parti, e l’inimico Telo, che vibran dal cavallo in fuga. Mentre tu fuggi, o Parto, e cosa al vinto, Oude sia vincitor, tu lasci ? Il tuo .Marte recò finora infausto augurio. Dunque quel dì verrà, Cesare, in cui Tu di natura la piò amabìl opra Di lucìd’ oro adorno andrai tirato Da quattro^ candidissimi cavalli ? Or mal sicuri nella fuga i Regi Partici andranno innanzi, il collo carco Dì pesante catena • Insiem confusi Giovani lieti e tenere Donzelle, D* un’insòlita gioja il cor ripieno, Mireran lo spettacolo gradito. " Se una di quelle a te richiegga i nomi Di que’ Re, di que’ monti, di que’ fiumi, (a3) Fu Cesare Augusto ascritto in aita fra i Dei, $d ebbe perciò onori diHni. ’ (a4) Avevano i Parti in ' costume di guerreggiar fuggendo, ed anzi si rendevano formidàbili, mentre ^ibravan le lor saette^ da wjt cavalle rivoltp in fuga. Di que* paesi 9 a tatto ciò' rispóndi; £ non richiesto ancora il; tutto narra, E le cose puf anco a te mal note. Cinto di canna il crin l’Eufrate è questo, (aS) 11 Tigri è quel colla cerulea chioma. Ecco gli Armeni^, e Perside che tragge (a6) Da Perseo il nome suo ; nell’ achemenie Valli questa Città si giacque . Il nome Dirai di questi e di que’Re, se il sai, O almen 1 ’ adatta . L’imbandite mense Facile danno ed i conviti accesso, Ove da far contenti i tuoi desiri V’ è cosa anc’ oltre i vini: ivi sovente Calcò di Bacco l’orgogliose corna Con le tenere mani il bel Cupido, Di cui se intrise sien 1 ’ ali nel vino Più non puote fuggir: grave s^ asside; Tu umide penne, è ver, veloce Scote. Ma non vola per questo, anzi novelli Desta incendj nelP alme, che dal vino Sono disposte e rese atte al calore. Ogni atra cura e molce e fuga il vino; Allora il riso ha loco ; allor l’abietta Mendica gente pure il capo innalza; Fuggon le cure, il duci ; le crespe fronti Vengono liete ; e la si rara in questi Tempi semplicitade i più secreti Pensier dell’alma svela, che il Dio Bacco UEufrate ed il Tigri, avendo, secondo Vo^ pinione d*alcuni, la lor sorgente nei Monti armenii si prendono qui dal poeta per li principali fiumi del» V Armenia, (a6) Persìde è una famosa città, che vuoisi fab.-» bracata da Perseo figlio di Danae nelle valli persiar ne, dette achemtiiie dal Re Achemene Ogni mistero svela e l’arte infrange De’ Giovanetti il cor ivi ben spesso Rapiron le Fanciulle ; Amor nel vino Fu foco a foco unito • Ma non troppo A lucerna ti fida ingannatrice; Mal nella notte, e fra i bicchier ricolmi Della beltade si può far giudizio. Allo splendor del giorno, a cielo aperto Paride rimirò le Dive allora Che alla Madre d* Amor disse: tu vinci L’ una e 1 ’ altra in beltà, Venere bella. S’ asconde nella notte ogni difetto; Ad ogni vizio si perdona, e allora Ogni donna sembrare alPuom può bella; Consulta il di guai gemme e quali lane, Tinte di tìria porpora, sien atte A fsLjp bella la faccia e il corpo ^ Come Io delle Donne numerare il ceto Di non ardua conquista ? E assai maggiore Dell’ arene del mar . Come di veli Di Baja. i lidi narrerò coperti. E per calido zolfo acque fumanti? Riportando talun ferito il petto Da queir.onde, non son, ( come racconta La fama ) dice, salutari ognora. Ecco di Cinzia suburbana il tempio Ì ayl Alludesi al pros^erhio latino in vino veritas. Baja in Campania, o com'oggi dicesi in ter-^ ra di Lavoro i era un amenissimo Castello^ che con- teneva entro di se degli ottimi bagni caldi, e alcuni laghi in cui rrnvigavan gli antichi con diverse barche variamente dipinte, sulle quali facevano ancora de^ gli allegri conviti. Questa Dea, che si chiama Lucina in Cielo, Eeate neW inferno, e Diana in terra, ha ancor fra Silvestre» ed ecco ì conquistati Regni. Perchè vergifte ella è » perchè ella in odio Ave d’Amor gli 8tijali,.al popol diede» £ mai sempre darà mille ferUè. Fin qui Talia sopra ineguali rote Come tu debba scer T amato oggetto» E dove tender t’insegnò le reti. Della tua Bella onde adescare il cére Preparo or io delF arte opra speciale. Uomini» voi chiunque » e donde siate, Porgete al mio parlar docili menti» E le promesse mie ptopizj udite. Tosto nell’ alma tua scenda la speme Di conquistarle» e vincitor sarai; gli altri nomi quello di Cinzia » perchè essa ed Apoi* lo nacquer nelVIsola di Deio » ov^ è il Monte Cinto. I popoli del Chersoneso » o com* ora chiamansi » della Crimea » le immolavano gli ospiti ivi spinti dalle tempeste, he femmine romane » dopo Vavere ottérsuto ciò che htamavun co" voti, andavano a* d*Agosto con le. faci ardenti in mano, e la corona eul capo\ al Tempio suhurbano di questa Dea situato in Arì^ eia. Quivi frequentemente i Sacerdoti succedevano gli uni agli altri » mentre, non godevano di questa di* gnità solamente gV ingenui, ma se la contrastavano anche i servi e i fuggitivi in una guerra particola* re » in cui chi riportava la vittoria, otteneva a un tempo stesso il Sacerdozio » che apprezzavano come un Kegno. Una tal Dea peraltro y quantunque sten* desse dal cielo per godere del suo Pastorèllo Endimione » fu sommamente gelosa della propria pudici* zia, giacché trasformò in Cervo Atteone \ perchè osò di guardarla quando era nuda in un bagno. (3o) Talia è quella Musa » che presiede principale mente a* Canti piacevoli e amorosi. Dice OVIDIO che dia insegnò sopra inegnali rote ec. alludendo al diè stico latino » il di cui Esametro ha » com* è noto ^ sA piedi, e cinque il Pentametro^ Ma intanto tender dei T insidie: prima Gli augelli taceran di primavera, Le cicale in estate, e il can d^Arcadia Incontro a lepre prenderà la fuga, Che dolcemente Femmina tentata A Giovine resista ; e quella ancora Tu vincerai, che ti parrà ritrosa. Come il piacer furtivo è grato alF Uomo, £ grato alla Donzella . Asconde questa Le brame sue, T nomo le cela invano; Ma se tu possa* vincerla una volta, Preverrà con le sue le tue preghiere. Ne’ molli prati al suo Torello accanto La giovenca muggisce ; e la Cavalla Col suo nitrir fa lusinghiero invito Al cornipede maschio . In noi pkt forti^ Ma non però cosi furiosi, sono Gli stimoli d’ amor i lodevol fine Ha la fiamma delP Uomo. A che di Biblì Ricorderò, che d’ un vietato amore Arse pel suo Fratello, e pon un laccio Vendicò da se stessa il suo misfatto? Non, come Figlia dee,Mirra amò il Padre,( a^ BiUi nata da Mileto e dalla Ninfa. Gianczf, amò perdutamente Canno suo fratello. Siccome non Ve riuscì di renderlo à sitò riguardo amoroso ^ si die in preda a un pianto così dirotto ( se si presti je e al libro IX. delle Metamorfosi ) che fu convertita VI un fonte yo( se si crede al libro presente ) si prò-- curò ella etessa con un laccio la morte. Avendo Mirra concepito un immenso amore per Cinìra suo padre, gli fu posta in letto da me nutrice in luogo della consorte. Accortosi Cinira del fallo, tentò di uccìderla } ma essa fuggì bay ove fu cangiata in albero, e diede alla luce il bellissimo Adone, che fU V ‘unico frutto d un st fu nesto incestuoso accoppiamento. E oppressa ora si cela in chiasa scorza: Delle lagrime poi, che dal suo tronco Odoroso essa elice ^ ungiam le membra. Che s^ban quteste stille il primo nome, Del frondos’Ida nelVombròse valli. Era forse la gloria e la delizia Deir armento un Torel candido, solo Negro segnale avea fra corno e corno: Una sol f^u la maccbìa, e latteo il resto. Questo bramaron sostener sul tergo Le giovenche ginosie e di Canea. Oodea di farsi adultera Pasifae (34) Del Toro., e'nel ano ooj geloso sdegno Nutria contro le amabili giovenche: Io cose note canto; e ciò non punte Creta negar, quantunque siai*iqendace. Creta, cui son cpnto Città soggette. Con r inesperta man ; Pasifae ali Totro Dicesi recideste or verdi frondey S 1 Or r erbe tenerissime de’ prati.2 Erra compagna dèli’st>nentOì,;e invano- Del maiitoy pensier T arresta j vinto. Era Minos da-un hove ^ A rche* tu vesti, . Donna, preziose spoglie ? Il tuo Diletto Mà è un mont 0 ^ Creta ; nè deéù qui còn^ fondere cpl Monta, Ida^ pqiaao, ope seguii la famgsa lite fra Venere y Pallade e Óit^none. (34) Sdegnata Venere contro il Sole y perchè Vavea fatta sorprèndete da^*Numi det letto con Marte ffe* à che Pasifae figlia del .medesimo, e moglie di Mi-» nos Re di Creta, ^ innamorasse ardentemente d* un Toro. Essendosi questa racchiusa in una Giovenca di legno coitmtta da Dedìdà y si congiunse col Toro diletto, e diede al Sole, in nipote il celebre Minotaio- To, che fu ucciso da Teseo nel famoso làbcrkito» Di tai ricchezze non conósce il pregio. Mentre vai di montano armento io traccia, A che giova lo specchio, a che le chiome. Lassa, adornar si spesso ? Ah I presta fede Pare allo specchio 4 che bovina forma Ti nega ; invan veder sulla tua fronte Desideri le cornac Se ti piace ' Minos, a che un adultero ricerchi P E se brami ingannarlo, a ché noi fai Con un Uomo? Per boschi e per foreste Oià la Regina, il talamo lasciato, ^ Vanne quasi fiaccante, a cui furore Spiri P aonio Dio . Oh quante volte La giovènca «rivai con volto iniquo Mirò, e fra se, perchè tu piaci, disse, Al mio Signor ? Ve^com^* in facciala lai* Scherza sull’erbe tenere, ed esulta,, E tài fóIlié/-non dubito non credai ^ Per lei decenti: mentre in suo pensiero: Volge tai còse, ordina che sia tolta* Dal gregge immenso, è immeritevol venga Al curvo giogo strascinata, o vuole Di snperstizion sacrai * fra-l’are Vittima cada;!e nella fi^ta dtwtr^ Gode tener .le.:.viscero fumanti -Dell’uccisa rivai. AHI quante voke ? Gon le uccise rivaV placando i NUìiii, ^ Disse, tenendo'visceri\-'piacete Al mio Dilettov e quante volte ancora Chiese in Europa èsserconversa e in Io, Europa figlia di Agenorg Re di Fenicia, ^ éorella di Cadmo, era dotata di^ sorprendente^ bellezza. Aree Giòvo per Ui. di un amore così violento, aS Che questa è una Giovenca, e quella ìMotso' Premè d’ un Bovo . Fè le strane voglie Paghe Pasifae ascosa in lignea vacca, Onde il parto alla luce uscì biforme. Se sapeva piacere ad un sol uomo^ (36) E foggia di Tieste il turpe amore D’ Atreo la Sposa, non avrebbe Febo Il cammino sospeso in mezzo al corso, E rivoltato il carro, i suoi destrieri Mossi incontroairAurora. Anco la Figlia, Che i purpurei capelli involò a Niso, Coprì del corpo suo le parti estreme Con la sembianza de’ rabbiosi cani. thè trasformatosi in Toro, la portò sul suo dorso in quella parte di Mondo, che dal nome della medesu ma si chiama Europa. Io y o Iside fu, come Si è detto al numerò ii. epnoertita dallo stesso Giove in una Giovenca. Erope moglie d* Atreo giacque con Tieste fra^ tello del medesimo, e nacquer da essi due figlj, che avendo Atreo dati a mangiare al lor padre medesimo in un convito, il Sole per celare un tanto misfattò tornò indietro, e corse incontro aWAurora. Scilla, figlia di Niso Re di Megara s^ inva^ ghì di Minos Re di Creta, che le assediava la pa^* trìa, e a lui recò il purpureo capello del padre, dal qual dipendevano i fati di quella Città. Essa fu jj^i disprezzata harharamente dalV ingrato Minos, e fu, secondo le metamorfosi, cangiata in uccello. Vi fu però un^altra Scilla figlia di Eorci, la quale, avendo bevuto un^acqua per lei avvelenata da Circe, venne subito trasformata in un mostro, la di ciS parte inferire era simile a quella di un Cane. Con-^ eepì la medesima tanto orror di sé stessa, che si get>» tò in un golfo del mar di Sicilia, che ha preso da ^ella il suo nome» Ovidio ha qui confuso fseste due Il Figliuolo d^Atieo, che in terra e in mare Di Marte e di Nettuno evitò V ira. Cadde vìttima poi della Consorte. Chi di Creusa sull’inìqua hamma Non sparse il pianto, e sulla Strage orrenda Che fe* de’proprj figli un* empia Madre ? Frivo degli occhi pur pianse Fenicio, (4o) E voi, oarallì spaventati, il vostro Agamennone è veramente figlio di Filistene, ma da Ornerò^ e da tutti gli antichi poeti gli vien dato per padre Aireo suo aco come un personaggio più celebre» Fu dichiarato Agamennone per le sue mira^ bili imprese il Re deTle di Grecia, e per tradimento di Clìtennestra sua moglie ucciso da Egisto, dal quale era ella amata impudicamente, Giasone j abbandonata Medea, sposò Creusa figlia di Creonte Re di Corinto, Medea per vendicarsi di tafe infedeltà, f^ strage di due teneri fanciulli nati da lei 4 da Giasone, e ridusse con fuoco ariifi- doso in cenere ì* infelice Creusa e tutta la famiglia e la Reggia di Cleonte, (40) Furono tratti gli occhi a Fenicio figliuol d^A^ mintore, perchè una concubina del padre Vaccusò falsamente d'acerle tolto Vonore, Ricuperò egli la vista per i farmaci a lui apprestati da Chirone, il qual gli die poi in custodia il giovine Achille, con cui andò aWassedio d,i Troja, Ippolito figlio di Teseo disprezzo Vamorosa corrispondenza che gli esibì Fedra sua matrigna, Sdegnata ella fieramene di ciò, disse al padre, che le aveva il medesima insidiato V onestà ^ e Teseo lo abbandonò al furor di Nettuno, Essendo per ciò comparso un orribil mostro marino^ mentre Ippolito se ne andava sul suo, carro lungo la spiaggia del mare, i cavalli per lo spavento preser la fuga, marciarono il legno in pezzi ^ e trucidarono miseramente il lor Cgxìdottii^o, > Condottier tracidaste.E perchè» o Pinco, Gli occhi tu togli agPinnpcenti figlj ? Ah che la atessa ^eaa. il tuo delitto Un dì vendicherà. Tali infortunj ^ Da uno sfrenato aq^or trasse sorgente Delle lubriche donpe . Ornai t’ affretta, £ non temer di ritrovar contrasto Nelle Donzelle ; appena, una fra molte * Ne incontreraiepe. a te neghi vittoria. E r indulgènti e, le ritrose pure lì Goì^qu esser pregata; pna ripulsa I Non ti spaventi ^ è questa ingannatrice. iMa perchè ingannatrice Y ognor pip grata INuova per esse voluttà riesce. |E l’alma loro adescan facilmente |l novelli amatori ..'Il vici^ campp Ci sembra più .ijber^^so,^0 il gregge altrui Vedi che a parte sia della Padroni Ov, Arte (Tarn. b Fineo figlimi Agenore Re Arcadia yO come ad altri piaqe, di Tracia, o di Paflagonia y sposò Cleopafi^a figlia di Bqrea, e‘. n*ehbe due figli. O sia che questa morissero che fosse da lui ripudiata y prese il medesimo in moglie Arpài ice, e cornane dò, che fossero ioltìr gli occhi a* due figlj della sua prima eoniorte, perché temè che aiiesjser avuto un illecito commercio con Ija novella sua sposa. Fu da Borea vendicata V innocenza do* nipoti con Vacciecof- mento di Fineo, e Giunone e Nettuno gli mandarono sulle mense le Arpie y che a lui macchiavano turpemente quelle ‘ vivandé y che non mangiavano essa stesse De’ nascosti consiglj, e de’ piaceri Suoi più segreti. Con promesse e prieghi Corrompi la sua fi; tutto otterrai, Quand’ ella voglia, e non ti sia contraria, Dalla facil. tua Bella • Il tèmpo scelga. Come i Medici sogliono, propìzio. Onde il tuo amor nel dodi cor le infonda. Ella il tuo amor le infonderà nel core, Quando per lieti eventi andrà giuliva Come lussureggiare in pìngue campo ' Suole la biada. Quando r alma è scarca Dalle pallide cure, e lieta esulta. Si spande allora, e dà facile accesso ÀH’arti lusinghevoli d’amore. Mentre fra i neri affanni involta visse " Troja, con V armi si difese ; e lieta (43) Il cavai di soldati e insìdie pieno Àccolèe entro le mòra. Ancor si tenti, £ non rimanga inyendicata, quando Si dorrà, chè riceve ingiuria e scorno Dall* impudica Amante del Marito. La punga a sdegno la fedele Ancella, Quando col pettin mattutin compone Gl* indocili capelli, ed alle vele. L’ ajuto aggiùnga anco de’ remi, e dica, Sospir seco tràehdo, in bassa vocè: Tu noli potrai, cred’io » come si merta. Rendergli la pariglia. Allor le parli Di te con detti insinuanti, e.giuri Che tu brugi per lei d’immenso amore. Mentre il tempo è propizio, ella s’ affretti Alludesi al cavallo di Ugno ^cht il perfido Sinone introdusse pien di soldati in Troja, quando tra assediata da* Greci» Virgilio Endde IÀh»lÌ»v» Che non cadan le vele, e cessi il vento. Come sì scioglie il gel, V ira, indugiando^ Si dilegua così. Forse mi chiedi. Se la servente innamorar ti giovi ? Tai cose ammesse, il rischio é manifesto^ Una rende V amor più diligente, L’ altra più tarda e meno attenta: questa Alla Padrona sua ti serba in dono, Quella a se stessa • esito dipende Dalla fortuna, che quantunque arrichì Agli audaci ^ a te do fedel consiglio. Che d’ un’ impresa tal lasci il pensiero. Non per scoscese perigliose strade Andrò, nè, duce me, verrà ingannato Alcun Giovine amante * Ma se poi, Mentre riceve e assiduamente porta L’innamorate cifrerà te non solo Per la sua fedeltà piaccia, com’ anco Per la beltà del corpo ; allor procura Della Padrona in pria il possesso, e ch’indi Questa la segua: l’amoroso gaudio Non dall’ Ancella incominciar tu dei* Se all’arte mia si crede, e i detti miei Non portano pel mar rapaci i venti, Questo consìglio mìo nell’alma imprimi: Non mai tentar 9 se non compisci l’opra» Se a parte ella verrà del tuo delitto. Non la temere accusatrìce • Invano Invischiato l’angel tenta la fuga. Nè riesce già uscir dalle allentate Reti al cinghiale • Il pesce all’ amo colto Si scota invano ; tu la premi e assedia. Nè la lasciar, se vincitor non sei. Se a una colpa comune ella soggiace, Non temer tradimenti ; a te saranno Note della Padrona opre e parole. Se cauto celerai 1’ accusatrice. Sempre, contezza avrai della tua Amica. Folle è colui che in suo pensier si crede òhe sol debban del cielo osservar gli astri Della terra il cultore ed i nocchieri. Non a’ campi fallaci ognor sì debbe Cerere abbandonar, nè alle tranquille*^ Cerulee onde del mar la curva prora. Ah 1 che non sempre assicurar ti puoi Il cor di vincer delle Belle; spesso Ciò s’otterrà, se il tempo sìa propìzio. Se deir Amica il natalizio giorno (44) (44) Era presso gli Antichi in gran venerazione il giorno natalizio: e gli Amanti celebravano ‘ con feste e con doni quello^ in cui eran nate le Donne che ama^ vano . Si dee preferir certamente questa lieta costui manza a quella che hanno adottato i Messicani e i Cinesi, i quali riguardano un tal giorno come infausto e doloroso . Alcuni di essi invece di ricevere con acclamazioni di gioja la nascita d^ un figlio, gli rispondono ai suoi primi singulti, mio figlio tu sei venuto al mondo per soffrire \ soffri ^ e t’acquieta . Si fab- hrican altri di buon^ ora la tomba, e vanno ogni giorno a renderle omaggio come al termine consolator é d^.lor giorni . Non poco influisce, a dir vero, un tal uso a fomentare il barbaro costume d^ uccidere i proprp figli in un popola ^ il guala non gli Ottimi suoi libri classici illustrati dall* immortai Confueio e con le savissime leggi, su cui ha stabilito il suo pacifico Impero, cerca di rendersi virtuoso ed illuminato. Èra presso i Romani nel suo pieno vigore P uso delle visite e de* doni nel principio dell* anno, il qua- le incominciava anticamente col mese di Marzo, le di cui Colende eran consacrate al Dio Marte . Cele- hravand in Roma nel primo giorno d*un tal mese alcune feste dette matronali in memoria della pace Ricorra, o le Calende che seguito Abbiaa quelle di Marte, a Vener piace, O sia che il Circo sì rimiri adorno, Non come in altre età, di statue lievi. Ma per le spoglie ivi de i Re deposte, L’ opra differirai: sovrasta allora Con le piovose Plejadi P inverno; Allor nella marina onda s’immerge Il Capro tenerello ; allora giova Deporre ogni pensier . Chi al mar s’afSda Del lacero naviglio appena puote 1 miseri campar naufraghi avanzi. Tu se in quel dì incominci, in cui si vide che le Sabine avevano appunto in tal di stabilita fra i loro SpoH, ed i loro Padri, i quali volevano con V armi vendicare il ratto delle medesime . Le persone maritate avevano solamente diritto a queste feste / ed OraT^io nell* Ode ottava del Libro III. si scusa, perchè vi prende parte anch? egli, essendo celibe. Siccome il mese d* Aprile è sacro a Venere, e suc^ cede a quello di Marzo dedicato a Marte, dice il Poeta che Venere gode che abhian le sv^e Calende seguito quelle di Marte per alludere alVamorosa cor^ rispondenza che ella aveva coi Dio della guerra . Le Ihnne e le Matrone romane facevan nelle Calende d*Aprile gran festa a questa lor Pea tutelare ; e gH Amanti contribuivano alle medesime con le donazioni. Non vuole il Poeta, che si studino i Giovani per adescar le Donne nel lor giorno natalizio, nel principio dell* anno, e in occasione de^trionfi celebrati nel Circo, perchè essendo le medesime allora occupate in adornarsi, incontrerebbono qiiP gravi pericoli, che sono qui espressi con l* allegoria dell* Inverno, e con quella delle Plejadi e del Capro, le quali stelle sorgon sull* orizzonte nel mese d* Ottobre, che è un tempo pieno di pioggia e di tempeste, e perciò non propizia a* Naviganti.. Scorrer sanguigno umor la flébìl Allia Per le piaghe latine, o in quello in cui Torna la festa settima, che è sacra Al Palestin siriaco, e in cui s’ astiene Ognun dalla fatica, avrai mai sempre Culto superstizioso al di natale Delia tua Bella ; pur funesto giorno Sia quello, in cui tu offrir dono le debba; Ma a te lo rapirà, se tu gliel nieghi, Che a Femina mancar non puote 1’ arte Per carpir le ricchezze a Giovin caldo. Del Mercante il Garzon verrà discinto Alla vogliosa ed avida Padrona, E porrà le sue metti in vaga mostra, Mentre tu giungi, e al fianco suo t’assidi. Essa ti pregherà, che tu le osservi Per additarne il prezzo ^ e liberale Ti sarà di preghiere e ancor di baci, Perchè le compri, e giurerà contenta D’ esserne per molt’ anni, e che non puoi Comprarle cosa che le sia più accetta. Se poi ti scusi che non hai denaro, Ti chiederà il tuo nome, e turpe fia Per scusa addur, che tu firmar noi sai. Rinasce poi, quando le fa bisogno, A ih. Agosto ebbero i Romani una sconfitta da* Galli sul fiume Allia non lontano da Roma, onde come infausto e di pessimo nome fu condannato un tal giorno . Crede il Poeta, che debbano i Giovani onorare il dì natalizio delle lor Belle, e vuole che intraprendano V amorose loro conquiste 0 in que malinconici tempi qui figurati sotto il giorno alliense, CUI aman le Donne d* esser rallegrate, o in que^giorni festivi simili a* sabbati giudaici, ne* quali non è alle medesime permesso 4 * occuparsi in alcun lavoro. Che dell* offerte natalizie il giorno Rìeda y e di pianto sa bagnare il volto Per la supposta perdita di pietra. Che le orna 1’ orecchio . D’altre cose L’ uso ti chiedrà, che date poi Renderle nega ; tu le perdi, e invano Speri per ciò che grata ti si mostri. No, quando avessi dieci lìngue e dieci Bocche, io già non potrei dell’ impudiche Donne n^^rare le sacrìleghe arti, li guado tenti un ben vergato foglio; E della mente tua la prima volta Sia nunzio ; le carezze, e le parole, Che imitino il linguaggio d’ un Aliante Rechi, e fervide aggiungi anco preghiere. Donò da’prieghi mosso a PriamoAchille Di Ettor l’esangue spoglia; e Iddio sdegnato A voci supplichevoli si piega. Prometti pur, che nuocer già non ponno Mai le prorjaesse ; ognun può farai ricco Con semplici parole. La speraD 2 $a Data una volta, lungo tempo dura: C' inganna, è ver, ma Diva utile è a noi. Se liberal con lei fosti di doni, Avrà ragion d* abbandonarti ; quello, Che già le desti, è suo, nò può timore Di perdita nutrir . Ognor tu devi Achille dc^ aper ttraseinato tre volte intorno alle mura di Troja il corpo d* Ettore da lui ucciso alV assedio di quella Città y lo rese finalmente y 0 a dir meglio, lo vendè\ a- ^Priamo Padre del, medesimOy che prostrato a* suoi pièdi > lo pregava di ciò caldamente^ Exanimumaue amo oorpns vendebat Achillea. 1 Virgil Finger di dar quel che non desti; spesso Fu deluso così di steril campo II credulo Padron • Così, perdendo A perder segue il giocator, nè lascia Per questo il gioco ; e il lusinghiero dado Nelle cupide mani agita ognora. Questa è Tiinpresa, e qui il Valore è posto; Ascolta ; senza doni il suo cor tenta La prima-volta, ancor che ì doni apprezzi; Se lor liberal ti sia, 8«^rallo Ognora. Vada dunque il tuo foglio, ma vergato Con detti lusinghieri ; della Bella La mente esplori,*e primo il caihmin tenti. Cidippe ingannò un pomo, in bui rincue Note leggendo, fu di queste preda. O Giovani romani, io vel consiglio. Deh coltivate le bell’ arti ; solo Non utili Saran per la difesa ' De^ paurosi Rei ; ma dalla forza Del facondo parlar, vinta la mano A voi daran col Giudice severo. Con lo scelto Senato, e ilPopol folto Ancor le culte amabili Donzelle. Da Zea una delle Isole Clclàdì andò Acanzio in Deio per assistere a* sacrifici di- Diana, che là si celebravano splendidamente. Ivi ei concepì uìà^ immenso amore per Cidippe, ma non ardiva di chiederla in is- posa . Stette molto tempo dubbioso nello scegliere lin mezzo per appagare la sua passione ^ ma in lui ces^ sarono i dubbj quando intese che vigeva in Deio una legge, per cui restava concluso tutto ciò che si diceva nel tempio di Diana ; è però gettò a* jùedi della sita Bella un pomo y in cui erano scritti i versi seguenti* Juro tibi sane per mystica sacra Dianae He Ubi venturam comitem sponsamque futuram: Ascosa V arte resti, e da principio Non sii eloquente. Da’vergati, foglj Vadan lungi parole aspre e ricerche. Chi mai, se non. di senno affatto privo» In tuono volgerà declamatorio . ; Alla tenera Amica il suo discorso? Oh quante volte fu giusta cagione Di grave sdegno un foglio ! 1 detti tuoi Meritin fede, e adopra usati accenti» Ma sempre, lusinghieri » onde l,e sembri^ D’udirti ragionare . Se ricusa, Di ricevere il foglio, e sena’ averlo, . Letto a te lo rimandi » |a speranza Però non t’abbandoni » e,il mio consiglio, Serba in memoria, II. collo al giogo piega Il Giovenco difficile col tempo» E a soffrir s’ammaestra il lento freno Col tempo anco il Cavallo. Un ferjreo anello Dal cootinao nso si consuma » e il vomere* Dal continuo rivolgere la terra Che del sasso è più duro? e che più molle ' Avvi dell’ onda ? eppure il duco sasso Dall’ onda molle vieu scavato . Ancora» Se sii costante» vincerai col tempo Penelope med^sma: » A vero»,, Caddero al suolo le trojatie.^muri^» Ma pur caddero alfin 1 ìtiglj tuoi, Leggerà anch’ oasa » e non darà risposta» Cui tu non debbi violentarla: solo Fa che ognor legga lusinghieri accenti» £ di risposta alba sarà cortese A ciò che l^sse ; a gradi e con misura Succedefansi questi ufficj ; Forse / Verrà da. prima A tc foglio dolente», à a Con cui ti pregherà, che r amoroso Linguaggio cessi ; nia desia il contrario Entro il suo core, e vuol che tu prosegua. Continua danque;e alfin resi contenti Saranno ì voti tuoi . Quando supina Vien trasportata sulle molli piume. Fingendo indifferenza, ti presenta Della Padrona alla lettiga ; e canto, E in cifre ambigue quanto puoi favella. Onde qualchfe importuno udir non possa Il vostro ragionar 7 Sé’ volge il piede Negli spaziosi portici, tu quivi Trattienti fin eh* ella^ vi fa dimora. Or la precedi ed or la segui a tergo: Or lento movi il passo, ed or t* affretta. Nè d^ inoltrarti iU ntezzb alle colonne Abbi rossor, nè di sederle al fianco. Non ne’ Teatri senza te si trovi, E segnai póVti al teigo, onde la vegga. Giacch* ivi il puoi, contemplala, e le dici Quanto brami co’segni è con lo sguardo. Alla saltante applaudisci l e sii Favoirevole a quei che rappresenta Personaggio amoroso . S* ella sorge, Sorgi ; e ti assidi pur, s’ ella s’assida; £ a suo ^piacere il tèmpo tuo consuma. Ma non volere innanelìare il crine Coiì’càldo ferro, e con lUordacè pomice ' Stropicciarti le gambe ; il che tu lascia A’molli Sacerdoti di Cibale. Oj9e, o Vesta, che ancor dicevi Rea yC la Dea Buona, è Madre degli Dei, e si chiama Cibale ; perche nel monte Gibele dU Frigia U furono la prima Beltà negletta agli uomini conviene: Vinse Teseo; Afianna » e la rapio Disa.doroo le<t;onipie, il cria scompQsto;( So) Arse pe}*:FiglÌQ:Fe.drtt., ed era incolto; Cura e deli^^ia. della Dea ;d’. Amore . Fu Adon,:che fra le selve i di traeva. S’ann^grin pur le membra al marzio Campo, Ma si^o monde, e monda sia la ve8te.(Si) Aspra non sia la lingua, e netti sieno.i Dalla lug^e i denti; il mobil».piede . > Non nuoti ih larga pollo ;^*ed ìne6perta i>olta kelel^ati i sacrificj » T suoi Sacerdòti" éràtio ew.- nuchi, e ogni giorno,ger comparir moftdi, si raschia^ van membra, t Ari^nay figlia del Re Minos, s’innamorò perdutamente di Teseo, che fu da* Greci mandato con al- tri giovani in Creta per esser divorato dal Ii/Iinotauro~, Etsa gV insegnò la maniera d*'uscir dal làbérinto quàn^ do avesse ucciso quel mostroe in compagnia di dra sua sorella s*.iifcamminò con. VAmante^ che dpmato il Minofauro y tornava in Grecia vittorioso . Teseo chi nel viaggio orasi gik invaghito di Fedra ^ lasciò bar-' Caramente in Nasso Arianna, .e andò con la sorella Ì2i Atene sua patria . Ivi questa dioonne, come si è detto, amante d*Ippplito nato da Tesele da Ippolita Regina duello Amaz%oni. Venere amò ardehtemente Adone ^figlio di Cinirq, e di Mirra, quantunque vivesse continuamente né^ boschi intento a caccksre le fiere. Pianse ella amaramert’^ te perchè questo giovinetto fu ucciso da un cinghiale^ e nony avrebbe mai reso a Proserpina, se Giove non comandava', che per otto mesi avesse Venere il possesso d* Adone, e per gli altri quattro sei godesse Proserpina. Nel Campo martió d facevano in Roma alcuni giochi, pe*quali i giocatori si snudavano interamente, « si dngevan le membra con degli unguenti, che rendeano a* medesimi nera la pelle Forbice non ti renda il crin deforme t Ma da maestra iuan^ ti sia recisa E la chioma e la barba i $enza macchie Sian r unghie, nè soverchinoi le dita; Nelle concave nari non si scorga Alcun pelo; nè esali nn tris^to fiato* - ' La bocca; e il naso non rimanga olfeilO „ Da che il fetido becco ognora sape^ ' A lasciva Fanciulla il resto lascia, £ alla bardassa . Ma già Bacco òhiama Il vate suo: soccorre ei pur gli amanti; E, la fiamma che learde ei favorisce. Furente errava la creten.^ Ppnna Pcjr di Nasso ignota arena, Che flagellano ognor T onde dei mare» Ella coperta con discinta veste Come nel sonno, nudo il pjede e sciolte Le crocee chiome, al sordo mar si volge;. E bagnando di lagrime le gote, Teseo chiama in alto suòli: grida, E in un piangea la mìsera, ma in lei Era tutto decente ; nè men bella Fu di lagrime aspersa « di dolore. Mentre di nuovo con le man fa ingiuria Al delicato petto, a che fuggisti t É cosa fia.di me, perfido? dice^ Di me che fia, ripete ; e intanto il lido De* cìtnbali e de’timpani p^cossi' Da un* attonita mano il suono assorda. Quando Arianna si vide aèhandonata nell* sola di Dfasso^si diede in preda all* ultima dispera^ sùone . Bacco ivi accorso con le Baeeànti e Cón Sileno, sfio pedagogo, la prpse in sposa y e collocò la. di hi chioma in Cieìp prenQ ad 4 rtur ^t \ v.t Ca<l’ ella al suolo 4a timor sorpresa; Le mbucaa le iparole ; e piik pon scorro Per le;geliAe} oppresse membra il sangue. S’ appreesan ile ^eoauti^ U<cfia disciulto^ Ed opQO;i liéyl 3iltiri soiio Previa turbo del DiOi*;£coo sul dorso D* uo< pasciuto asinel V ebrio Sileno Carico d’ anoi.y^^che :si reggo appena, E profiumo aspirare>i )brevi crini. Meiìftr eglit seguei'le! Saeeanti, e queste Lo cfaiadianp /oggende ; l’inesperto . Cavaliere il qjUadrtipedo, suo si^za. Deir aaiào orecchiuto al capo scorre, E a terra cade: i Satiri griderò; Sorgi V deh sorgi y o Padre . Intanto giunge 11 Dio ^ che d’ uva al carro adorno accoppia Le tigri, a ouircoh le dorate briglie 11 freno regge, • Partì: Teseo, e insieme D’ Arianna, fa voce ed il dolore. Tentò tre volte di fuggir, ma invanoy Chè il timor la trattenne, e inorridita Tremò qUal steril spiga al vento,e com# Leggiera canna in umida palude; Allora il Dio le disse: * ogni timore, Cretease 'Donna, dal tuo cer disgombra; In me tu* vedi un più fedele amante; Di Baceo anzi sarai la dolce sposa. Tu spazierai nel ciel ; la tua corona Lucida stella in ciel sarà di scorta Air incerto Nocchiero in suo cammino. Di^se, e dal carro scese, onde non debba Seatir paura delle tigri, e il piede Sulla docil arena impresse Torme. Eapilla poscia, e se la strinse al seno> Chè tentato avria id van forgi! contralto^ Mentre fonile a un Dio tutto si rende. De’suoi segnacr imen cantd una parte, L’altra ripetè in alto snon gli evviva. Cosi al letto nuziale il 0io 4 la Sposa ' Furon guidati^ e s’annoSdaro insieme. Quando tu sederai con donna a mensa, E di Bacco a te offerti i doiii siedo, > Tu a Bacco,èa‘*NunJi che^han fa cena in euri Porgerai voti, onde (dal Vrn non venga Offeso il capo ’ tuo ; Quivi* tu puoi ‘ ‘ Con ambigue parole a lèi far iloti’ " ; I segreti del cor, ma per6^in modo ' Che ben s’ accorga esser a lei dirette. Potrai tu ancor con gocmole di vino Teneri accenti esporre, onde conosca, Ch’ ella assolnto ha nel tuo core impero. Co’ tuoi s’incontrin jgli oocbi suoi,<ed il fòco Che t’arde il sené, a lei foccian palese; Parla talora col silenzio il volto. Procura il primo di rapir la tazza. In cni bevv’ ella, e dove i labbri impresse. Bevi tn pur: qualunque il cibo sia Bichieder dei, che tocco avrà col dito; E mentre il chiedi, a lei strìngi la mano. Volgi i tuoi voti pure, onde tu piaccia Della Bella, al Marito . Assai ti puoto * Util recar, se a te sia fatto amìcoi Se dai la legge al bere, a lui la mano Solevano i Rfìmarù appena posti a mensa eleg^, gere il maestro della cena y che da Orazio {lib. i.od^ 9. ) li chiama il Taliarco\ Prescriveva il medesimo U leggi del convito e la manieM di^ becere y'e ordi^ Ce^i, e riponi dal tuo capo tolta La corona sul suo. Sia a te inferiore, Egual sia pur, si serva in tutto il primo; E seconda parlando il suo linguaggio. Col Telo d’amistà tessere inganno È vìa sicura e frequentata, pure Non è senza delitto. 11 Talìarco Ancor che troppo generoso appresti I moltiplici vini e le vivande; £ benché creda di dover più assai Veder di quel che fu ordinato, certa Avrai nel ber da noi legge e misura. Onde la mente e il piè si serbin atti A’ loro ufficj: d’ evitar procura Gli alterni detti e gV ingiuriosi accenti, £ vìe più ancor se sien dal vin prodotti; E troppo faeil non indur la mano napa alle Polte Commensali che ognuno, bevuto il suo bicchiere di pino, proponesse qualche amena que^ stione . Auguravansi spesso tanti anni quanti bicchieri di vino bevevano, e spesso ne bevean tanti quante e- ran le lettere che formapano il nome della Beliamo deW Uomo insigne, a cui facevano un tale onore . Se molti erano gli anrd augurati, o se molte erari le leU tere componenti il nome della persona in onore di cui heveano ; mescepano allora il vino in una tazza assai grande, e compensavan così i molti bicchieri che apreb’^ ber doputo puotare . Era poi in uso al termine della mensa il vibrare in aria con le due prime dita i semi d* una mela fresca: si credepano fortunati in amore quando toccapan con quelli il soffitto della camera ov*era apparecchiata la tavola^ e si riputavano infe* ìici quegli amanti, che non li facean sorgere a queU V altezza, De^moÙi altri giochi ^ che i Romani usa^ vano in queste circostanze, non ne è a noi perve^ nuta che un* oscura notizia A perigliosa rissa. Al suol trafitto Euritone cadéo, perchè soverchio Bebbe i vini apprestati. A* dolci scherzi Atta è la mensa e il vìu: 8*hai bella voce^ Non ricusa cantar ; salta s’ hai molli E pieghevoli braccia ; e finalmeute S’hai doti onde piacer, piaci. La vera Ebrietà nuoce ^ può giovar la finta. Balbetti in tronco suon l’astuta lingua^ Onde di ciò che tu ragioni, o fai Oltra ’l dovere, il vino sol s'incolpu Augura alla Padrona ed al Marito Una notte felice ; ma per questo Fa tacito nel core opposto voto^ Tolta la mensa, allor che i Convitati Saranno per partir, tra lor ti mischia ; ( La turba e il loco ti daran T accesso ) A lei che fogge t’ avvicina, e il fianco Le premi dolcemente, e il piè col piede •. Abbia ora il conversar libero campo, E tu lungi, o pudor rustico, vanne. Che la fortuna e Venere propizj Sono agli audaci. De’ precetti nostri Or r eloquenza tua non abbisogna; Principia pur che ben sarai facondo. Imitare il linguaggio dell’ amante Debbi, e mostrar d’ aver ferito il core; E onde ti presti fede ogni arte adopra.. Ardua impresa non è 1’esser creduto. {Sii^ ElurUone è quel Centauro^ che reso caldo dab vino y tentò nelle nozze dì Piritoo di rapire Ippoda»^ mia: Teseo lo percosse perciò così fortemente, che fw costretto y.come dice Ovidio nelle Metamorfosi, cu vo^ nàtar V anima e il vino Mentre Donna non v’ha, che sè non stìmi^ Sia, quanto imn^agìhar ài può, deforme. Atta a piacer ; e aémprè inver non epiace. Quante vòlte in^amor chi sol fingendo Incominciò, d’ un vera amòr fu preda! Siate indulgenti pur, vezzose Donne, «Con questi menzogner, se voi bramate Che in sincerò si cambi un falso amore. Con accorte lusinghe ora si tenti Di guadagnar le Belle, come Tacque Sa penetrar la sottoposta riva. Deh non t’incresca ora lodar la faccia, Ora i capelli, i lunghi è ì rotondetti Diti, ed il breve piè. Le più ritrose E le più caste godono alle lodi Della loro bellezza ; e son pur grate ^T innocenti Vergini i anzi il primo È la beltà d* ogni lor cura oggetto. Percliè tuttora di rossor la faccia Tingon Palla c Giunca volgendo iti mente Le frigie selve ed il fatai giudìzio f L’augel sacro a Gìunon le penne ostenta (56; Se tu le lodi ; e le nasconde allora Che tacito le miri» Anco il destriero. Quando contrasta il rapido cammino. Péllade e Giunone ^vergognandosi d^essere stc^ te da Paride giudicate .met^ belle di Venere, tentare Tono di ripagare una tate infamia col procurare n questa Dea vincitrice del Pomo tutti que*danni, eh% sono resi ormai cèlebri' da' Virgilio e da Omero z Manet i^ha Bueat# repo^tuiu' Judicium Faridis spretaeqtte ipjuria fbrmae. VIRGILIO (si veda), Eneid. I Paooni ^(hrisi ^li at^elH di Giunone, pospr che solcpano'essLHinàfe ibìqarroidi fonta Dea*, 4» Gode vedersi il crine adorno, e il collo Accarezzato. Franco pur prometti, E tutti chiama in testimonio i Numi, Che alle promesse pedon facilmente Le tenere Donzelle. Su dal Paltò D*un spergiuro amator Giove si ride, £ comanda che sien per l’aria spersi I giuramenti dagli eolii venti. Solea per l’onda stigia a Giuno il falso Giove giurar ; utile è un tale esempio. Giova de^ Numi resistenza e giova Che noi pur la crediamo ; incenso e vino Lor su gli antichi focolari offriamo: No, non è ver che una secura quiete! A letargo simil gli occupi; i Numi Veggon r opere nostre. Innocua vita Si tragga adunque ; ad altri il suo si renda; Sii religioso in consesrYar la fede, Stia la frode lontana, ed abbi ognora Vacua la dostra* dalle stragi. Solo È permesso ingannar, se siete saggi, Le donne impunemente. Abbi rossore D’ogni altra frode pur, ma non di questa. Le ingannatrici inganninsi, che sono La maggior parte di profana stirpe; Cadan ne* lacci, cbt^ da lor far tesi, l^àrrasi che restasse un di l’Egitto ^ DelFacqua a* campi salntevol privo Per ben nov*anni ; allor che al Re Busiri Trasio si fece innante, e mostrò come Possa Pira placar di Giove il sangue D^un ospite; la vittima tù il primo Sarai di Giove, a lui disse Busiri, Ed ospite darai Pacqua all’ Egitto. Falarìde cosi nell’ infocato Toro arder fè le membra di Perillo, E T infelice autore il primo empiéo L’opera sua. Fu 1’uno e l’altro giusto^ Nè vi puote esser mai legge più equa Di quella y che a morir l’autor condanna Del tormento inventato. La tradita Donna si dolga che col proprio esempio Spergiurando s’ingannan lé spergiuro Meritamente. Utili a te saranno Le lagrime; con queste anco il diamante Ti ha dato ammollir. Fa, se lo puoi^ Che di pianto bagnate ella rimiri Le guancie tue; se il pianto a te non scende, Che non si versa sempre a grado nostro^ Tu con la mano inumidisci il cìglio. Chi mai alle dolci parolette i baci Saggio non mischierà ? S’ ella ricusa Darli, tu li rapisci,In prima forse Combatterà ; di scellerato il nome Avrai da lei; ma pur ella desia Pugnando che la vinca. Sìa tua cura, Che da' rapiti baci i tenerelli Labbri non sian offesi, o non si dolga Che furon duri. Quei che i baci tolse. Se il resto non procura, è degno invero Di perder ciò che a lui fu dato. Quanto Perillo fabbricò un Toro di bronzo, e lo dor nò a Falaride crudelissimo Tiranno de'Grigeati in Si cilia, perchè collocandolo pieno di rei sopra il fuo* co ) potesse intendere d^ lamenti simili a' muggiti de'booì. Falaride accettò il dono y e volle che subito w entrasse Perillo per incominciar da lui il proposto esperimento» Mancò a far paghi dopo i baci i voti! Ciò non pador, rusticità s’appella. Benché si chiami forza, è questa grata Alle donzelle ) che amano sovente Esser forzate a dar quello che giova. 1 piaceri d’amor, se sian rapiti, Gode la Donna, e la franchezza ha il premio. Ma quella che poteva esser forzata. Ed intatta rimase, ancor che in volto Mostri allegrezza, ha mesto in seno il core. Soffrir violenza Febe e la sorella, Ma fu grato ad entrambe il rapitore. La donzella di Sciro ìnsiem congiunta Con l’emonio Guerrier, favola è invero Nota, ma degna pur d’esser narrata. Dopo la lite della valle Idea Per la lodata sua bellezza il premio Già la Diva avea dato. A Priamo giunta Dall’ opposta regio Deaera la nuova, E già viveva nell’ iliache mura Come un’argiva sposa. I Greci”tutti Castore e Pollice rapirono le due sorelle Febe e ilavra, che Leucippo padre delle medesime aoea date in spose a Ida e Linceo, Venere per premio del Pomo da lei ottenuto, promise a Paride Èlena moglie di Menelao ^ e Pa^ rìde la rapì, e la condusse in Troja sua Patria. Siacome i TVojani ricusarono di render Piena Greci ^ che la richiescr più volte, questi intrapresero contro quelli un formidabU assedio. Tetide adendo inteso, che il suo figlio Achille sarebbe morto se andava al* la guerra di Troja, per assicurargli la vita lo mandò in abiti femminili a Licomede Re di Sciro. Ivi s’innamorò perdutamente di Deidamia Princi* possa reale, ed ebbe dalla medesima in figlio il ce* Icóre Pirro. Deir offeso marito avean giurato Di vendicar V oltraggio, e fero allora D^'un sol uomo il dolor causa comune. Se noi forzava^ le materne preci. Eterna infamia coprirebbe Achille, Perchè con lunga veste ascose Tuomo., Che fai, nipote d^Eaco ? Non sono Atte a filar le mani tue la lana. Con arte ben diversa ora tu dei Volger la mente alla palladia gloria. A che questi cestelli ? Il braccio tuo Deve portar lo scudo; e in quella destra. Per cui un giorno cadrà Ettore, io veggo Or la conocchia ? Del filato stame I fusi carchi getta, e Pasta impugna. Un letto sol la Vergine reale E Achille accolse ; ed ivi ella conobbe Che di femmina avea solo la gonna. Con la forza fa vìnta ; almen sì crede; Soggiacere alla forza a lei fu dolce. Quando soverchio s’affrettava Achille, Che altr’armi avea che la deposta rocca. Spesso gli disse: per pietà t’ arresta. Qual valore or dov’è ? Perchè trattieni Con lusinghiera supplichevol voce Li’autore,o Deidamia,di tua sconfitta? Di pudico rossor copre la gota. Se dee la donna far la prima offerta, lilla Tè grato il soffrirs*altri incomincia. Ah I nella sua beltà troppo si fida Quel giovine, che aspetta che primiera Ella lo preghi. Deve sempre 1* uomo Essere il primo ad accostarsi a lei; Ju uom le sue preci esponga, e le sue r Riceverà cortesemente. Fréga Che ti voglia accordare il suo possesso; Ella ha piacer d’ esser di ciò pregata. Fa lor palese il tuo desio, che Giove Supplichevol si fece ognora innanzi AlF antiche Eroine, e non fanciulla Offrì preghiere, benché grande, a Giove. Ma se t’ accorgi che alle tue preghiere Si fa vie più superba, allora l'opra Abbandona, ed il piè rivolgi altrove. Molte amano chi fugge ^ ed odian quello Che troppo le frequenta; impara dunque A non tediarle. Nè chi prega sempre Dee del delitto palesar la speme, Ma sotto il manto d’ amistà velato insinui Amor. Con questo mezzo vidi Deluse rimaner ritrose e fiere Donzelle, e divenir T amico amante. Non dee il nocchier, che le marine spume Solca soggetto alla solare sferza, Candido avere il volto, e pur disdice Al cultore de* campi, chfe rivolge Col vomer curvo, e con pesanti rastri Le dure zolle, e per te turpe fia Candide aver le membra, che il tuo crine Cerchi adornare del palladio ulivo. Sia pallido ogni amante ; è questo il suo Proprio color ; tinto di questo il volto Sarai creduto infermo. Fra le selve Pallido errò per Lirice Orione, Giops, Mercurio, e Nettuno furono henisd* mo accolti in casa d* Iréo uomo assai povero* Avendo questi domandato medesimi un figlio, che non dovesse ad alcuna donna la nascita, i tre Ospiti di- E per ritrosa Najado fu Dafni Pallido L^almà discopra il volto Estenuato ; nè a schifo; avrai di pórre Sulla nitida ^chioma un pìcòiol manto. Le cure ^ il duolo ^ le vegliate notti. Che origin traggon dà nn Violento amore, I Giovanetti estenuai! ; non tf incresca Comparire infelice, se tu brami Di far paghi-ì tuoi voti,'onde ognun dica Che ti rimirà: è (Questi unWeto amante. Mi dorrò fbrsè, 0 pur' ti farò dk>ttò A usar rarti pt^rmessé e le vietate? Ah che amicizia è fè^^on^nòmf vani i Lodar quella, che adori, al tuo ^compagno, E perigliosa imprésa, ché se crede Alle tue Iodi, gli verrà vaghezza D'entrar nél posto tuo. L'atto rea prole Non cercò profanai* d-Achillé 11 letto vini hagnàti^no della ptopHa ofina la pelle del Toro da lui ucciso per Viàrio loro in cidoy é assicurarono che da mtella nascerebbe un fanciullo: JVé nacque infatti Orione ^ che fu un ottime Cacciatore. Non si sa chi sia Lirico da lui: amata Vedansi le note faU te a questo libro dal Ckier Néiruio.^ Dafni figlmel di Merèurio rtacque in Sicilia, ed k VAutore de^virsi buìieeliei. Amando egli una' Ninfa, da cui era ^matà egualmente, ottenne dal Cielo, che divenisse cieco chi di loro oiolasse il primo la fede giùtata,Immemore Dafni del voto fatto, j* mnémo rò d^ uha ritrosa Nomade, e divenne cieco. Quando i Romard soffrivano qualche incorno^ do di sai ute, si coprivano il capo con un piccol maa- to da loro iifè/to Piu li alani. Patroclo nipote d^Attore € figlio di Mentàpo fu amicissimo Achille. Non cercò Fedr^ di sedar T amico. Di Teseo Piritoo ;aè in altra guisai [ Pilade la consorto af«(ò à' Oreste, Che come Fcho Palla ^ od il tuo O Tindaro,gemeUo amò ia suora^ Ma non sperato rionofvatì spesson J Sìmili esempi, se non spe^ri ancora ; Veder spuntar dal tramarisco i pomi, E in mezzo al huine ritroTare,il mele. . Quello che è turpe :giova > e ognun ricerca Il piacer proprio > che divien più grato. Se altrui costa dolor . Do^e, 8 !:intese Scelleraggin piA grande ? Pel nemico Non debhi .amante: paventar .soltanto, Ma fuggir dei, se vuoi viver, sicuro,; . Quei che credi fedeli, e siimi amici. Il Fratello, il Cognato,, ed il diletto ; Compagno temi ; questa tufba tutta;, ; Vera ti recherà cagion d^ angoscia. Già toccavo la meta ; ma diversi. Sono cosi delle Fanciulle^ \i i ’u Che varj mezzi ancora usar si 4enno, Piritoo e Teseo concepirono V uno per Poltro una stima si f^rànde, ohe giurarono di non àhhan^\ donarsi giammai, o itifMi si prestarono vicendevole mente soccorso in tutte U occtìrrettoo^ Pirotop ^ querie tunque frequentasse taaasa di Teseo, limita sèmpre la sua beneoolenaa per Fedra a* sentimenti d* amìci"\ aia e di stima.Pilade figliuolo di. Strofa ^ ehbé per Oreste un*amicizia con sincera^ ^le.nonjo abbandonò nel- le più pericolose circostanze a rischio di perder anche la vita. Castore e Polluce figli di Tindaro amaron la lor sorella Elena con quell* amore, con cui debbono i fratelli amare le sorelle. Per adescarle. Non la stessa terra Ogni cosa produce ; atta alle viti £ questa ; quella vuol gli olivi ; e in altra Lussureggian le biade. I nostri affetti Varian come nel mondo le figure. Piegar si sa chi ha senno ad ogni umore; E come Proteo, si farà nell’ onde ( 67 ) Sottile ; ed or sarà leone, ed ora Àlbero 9 ed or cinghiale irsuto. I pesci Altri si piglieran col dardo, ed altri Con r amo ^ e alcuni ancor saranno tratti Àir ampie reti con la corda tesa. Nè giova ad ogni età lo stesso modo; La vecchia cerva scorgerà da lungi Le insidie . Se s’accorge l’ignorante Che tu sii dotto, e ardito una modesta, Si porranno in difesa, onde avvien spesso Che quella che di darsi a un uom d’ onore Ebbe temenza, fra gli amplessi vili Giaccia d’ un servo . Parte avanza ancora. Parte ebbe fin dell’ opra intrapresa ; Fermo qui tenga l’ancora il naviglio. Arte ^am. c Proteo figliuol di Nettuno era un Dio mari-^ no, che si solwa cangiare in ^alsivoglia forma y e di qui ha origine il proverbio: Proteo mutabilior. I3ite e ridite lodi al delio Nome: La desiata preda è alfin caduta In queste reti. A’versi miei ramante Lieto conceda rigogliosa palma; Al Vale ascreo ed al meonio Omero (i) Son Dreferito. Tal di Priamo il figlio (a) Con la rapita^ a Menelao consorte Trionfante spiegò le bianche vele Dair armifera Amìcla, e tal pur era Il Vate ascreò è Esiodo ^ e ph si è veduto al» V annotazione 5 del Lib, /. perchè gli venga dato uts tal nome. Critei de, ad onta della custodia che ne aveva Vargivo Creonte^ senza divenir moglie d*alcuno^ divenne madre d^un figlio, che chiamò Meletigene dal jwmt Me]e«^ in vicinanza del quale parton. Si sa, che essendo Melesigene accieeato, fu soprannominato Omero, perchè i Cumani chiamavan con tal nome tutti i ciechi ; ma non si sa se questo inimita» ìfil Poeta dicasi meonio perchè Meone fosse suo pa» dre, o perchè da Meone Re de^Lidj fu poscia adot» tato in suo figlio. Paride figlio di Priamo rapì Elena moglie di Menelao nella Città d*Amicla, donde la condusse trionfante in T^oja sua patria Pelope allox che te vinta traeva Sul carro peregrino, o Ippodamia: Perchè, o giovin t’afFretti ? in mezzo alPonde Naviga il tuo naviglio, e lungi è,il poxto Più dt quello ché bramo* A te non’basta Che tratta t’abbia la fanciulla innanzi Io tuo poeta: presa fu con l’arte; Con l’arte ancora conservar si debbe. Non vi bisogna già niìnor virtude Perchè non fu^gan^ritroVatè: è quella Opra del caso, e questa sol delParte. Siimi propizio, o Amore, e Citerea; E tu, Er^tp pur V qhe* il ncfme pqrti ': D’Àmor, m’assisti» pra a cantar m’accipgo Enomao Re Elìde e^ di Pisa senti coloy, ohe sarebbe eglt-uodid nel ygiorno^ da avesse presoi in isposa la sua figlia Ippodan^a^ Per allontanare dalla medesima à molti giovani, che ambivano d'acquistarsi una 5 I belici fttnóiulia in con^ sorte, gV invitò tutti un giorno a far ^secè il gioco d'una corsa, col patto che. sarebbe^ irpmancabilmente trucidato chi fosse rimasto vinto da lui, e che do-^ vesse > chi aveva la fortuna di vincerlo^ sposare Ip-> podamia. Pelope fu vincitore con Vajnto di bfirtilo, a cui promise, che. nella prima notte de^ suoi sponsali gli avrebbe in ricompensa accordato }L dolce possesso 4dla sposa novella. Immernorè egli però della data parola, e del segnalato servigio a lui reso ^ con^ dusse sul carro vincitore in trionfo la bellissima Ip- podamia, e quando Mirtilo gli richiese Vadempirnento delle sue lusinghiere promesse, lo gettò barbaramente in .mare. Da EpMT«, che in greco idioma significa Amo-, re, ha preso il suo nome la Musa Erato. Fu essa, madre di Tamita ^ che cantò il primo di tutti i versi^ amorosi, ed a lei si attribuisce da alcuni greci ùom-^ mentatòri V invenzion della Éiusica c del BaUf^ Cose stupende: con qual arte Amore Tener si possa io vi dirò, bench’ abbia In Vasto mondo ei di vagar diletto. Egli è leggiero, © doppio p^rta al tergo * OrdÌB‘'*di'jpènbo, Onde' riniporgli legge È difiScfr impresa. Àvea'aMa fuga DelP ospito Mibos ckiusa Ogni via, (5) Ma ntì'àmdace sentier trovò con Tali. Poiché Dedalo chiuse il Minotauro, Giustissimo Minos, disse, abbia £ne Ora'il’mio esilio, ed il paterno suolo 11 ceder mio riceva. Io non potei. Perseguitato ogUór da iniqui fati, Vivore in patria, almen morir vi possa. Se a me ricusi un tal favor, che sono Carico d*anni ^ lo concedi al figlio, E se al figlio .noL vuoi ^ lo dona al padre. Queste e molt^ altre ancor cose dicea, • Ma a lui Minos hón permettea il ritorno. Di sua eVentura cèrto», a se medesmo Allor Dedalo disse, hai tu materia Onde mostrar Pingegno; e terra e mare È in poter di Minos: e mare e terra Or ci vieta la foga ; a me rimane Il cammino del ciel ; questo si tenti l^tdato, come già si è accennato, fabbricò irs Creta il celebre Labirinto, in cui fu racchiuso il Sfinoiaiiro. A^endògli' Minos vietato d* uscir da quel^ ' io' f non trovò altro mezzo per ritornare alla patria y se non se di fabbricar dell* ali congiungendo insieme varie penne d* aòcelii, ed accingersi in tal guisa a ' 'Volar per il cielo in compagnia d'Icaro suo figlio. Questi per altro innalzò troppo il suo volo, e preci^ pkò miseramente in quel mare, che prese da lui ii nome Icario. Sommo Giove, perdona ^ questa impresa: DelP Empireo stellato non aspiro Già le sedi a toccar ; sol questa strada Onde fuggir dal mio Signor mi resta* Se Io stìgio sentiero a me si mostri, 10 r onde stigie varcherò • Debh’ ora I dritti rinnovar di mia natura. I mali aguzzan 1* intelletto. E quando Si avrebbe dato fà che un uom potesse Premer le vie del cielo.? In ordìn vario Dispon le penne, che per V aria sono 11 remo degli augelli ; e unisce insieme Con del ritorto Un 1’ opera lieve. Con cera al foco sciolta insieme accoppia Le parti estreme ; e già della nuov’ arte Era venuta la fatica a fine; Ma intanto che trattava e penne e cera. Rideva il figlio, ignaro che quell* armi Sarian la sua difesa al tergo unite. Con tal naviglio, a lai diceva il Padre, Si può alla Patria far ritorno ; in questa Guisa fuggir Minos, che ogni altra chiude Fuor che T aerea via « Tq che lo pupi, Con questa ch’io inventai arte novella^ Fendi gli aerei spazj ; ma la vista Della Vergin tegea, e del compagno Calisto i Licaone Ra d* Arcadia ^ è soprannominata Tegea, da una Città di tal nome soggetta alV impero del padre della medesima. DaU V illecito commercio, che ebbe essa con Giope, diede alla luce un figlio chiamato Arcade, e fu da Giunone per ciò tra^ormata in Orsa ad oggetto di ven* dicarst deW infedele suo sposo ^ il quale la collocò in oielo fra le stelle col nome, che ancor oggi conserta, d’Orsa Maggiore. Di Boote Orion cinto di spada Tu dei fuggir • Con V apprestate penne Mi segui ; io ti precedo, e sia tua cara Batter^ V isteasa via ; da rae guidato Incolume sarai, li’aeree strade Se calcherem troppo vicini al Sole, Al suo caler si scioglierà la oera; Se al mar propinqui batterem le pennei Da’ vapori del mar saran bagnate. Spiega il tuo voi fra ^1 Sole e il mare; i venti Pur anco temi, o figlio ; e all’ aure in preda Dà le tue vele allor che sian propizie. Mentre in tal modo V istruisce ^ ài figlio Il lavoro dispone, e mostra come Muover lo debba: in guisa tal la madre La pennuta ammaestra inferma prole. L’àJe poi di sua man per se costrutte Accomoda al suo tergo, e nel novello Cammin timido libra, in aria il - corpo.. Allor che al volo si accingeva, al figlfo Diò molti baci, e le paterne gnauce Furon di calde lagrime bagnate. Sorgea sul piano un colle assai minore Del monte, e quivi V uno e l’altro corpo Si diede in preda a perigliosa fuga. Mentre le penne sne Dedalo move. Quelle osserva del figlio, e ognor sostiene In aria il corso Icaro si diletta Del novello sentiero, e ornai deposto Orione figlio Ireo ( annot.) Untò di dare un disonesto assalto alla casta Diana ; ma essa lo fece uccìdere da uno scorpione, e poi mossa a pietà lo trasmutò presso a Boote in una costellazione fatta a guisa di spada Ogni timor con arte audace vola Più ibrtemente. Un che insidiava a’ pesci Con la tremula canna, alzato il guardo, Li vide in ariane abbandonò P impresa. Già da sinistra avean passato Samo, E Nasso e Paro e Delio al clario Dio Sommamente gradita ^ ed alla destra Si lasciar dietro Labioto, e Calìnna Per selve ombrosa, e Stampaglia di guadi Feraci in pesci cinta, allor che il figlio Temerario con troppo incauto ardire Spiegò senza ìL suo duce in alto il volo* S’allentano i legami ; al Sol vicina Liquefassi la cera, e i .tenui venti Male sostengon le commosse braccia. Dal sommo cielo spaventato il guardo Rivolse al mare, e dal timor già sorta Si offro al suo sguardo tenebrosa notte. Si liquefò la cera, e i nudi braco! Dibatte ; trema ; e ìnvan ricerca il modo Di sostenersi *« Cadde, e o padre, o padre Gridò cadendo, via son tratto, e T onda Cerulea chiuse al suo parlare il varco. Ma Pinfeiice Padre.(ah non più padre!) Icaro, grida, Icaro, dove sei? Sotto qual asse voli ? Icaro grida, £ nuotanti sul mar mira le penne Copre P ossa la terra, è prende il mare Il nome suo • Minos già non poteo D’ un uoni frenarle penne,ed io m’accingo Un Nume alato a trattener? S* inganna Cfii fa ricorso all’ arti emonie, e appresta Dalla tenera fronte del cavallo Lo svelto a forzalppomane. Non Verbe ( 7 ) Pon di Medéa far viv*?re l’amore; Non 1 Tharsfejj^ncàntesmi . Se potesse Una tal'arte ptolàligàrto, avria ' Medea Giasbn', Cfrcfe teénto Ulisse . ( 8 ^ Nè i pallidi apprestati* éill%*dónzelle F'iTtri* Valséro { aU’alrne Son nòcivi, Ed inspirai) farot .'Ogni delitto Vada put lungi ; se attti essere amato, Amabile ti- ttióstraf I a: ciò^ nTort giova * Solo’ le^ menibtk àlve'r’by^^ e là-faècia. ^ Sii pur Nireó tfaro^ ^11’ aiitibd^ Omero ; ' ^. t L ; >(Q^^àevano gli an tichi, e fra questi ancora Pii- nio ea Aristotile, che si potesse còncìliar l*amore per mezzo éAl^lppòinsLne, cioè di qtàel pézzetté rotondo di carrie .nera ^ che han\ sulla, fronte iì cavalli nati di fres^qp, Jfa Mars^ figlio^^efia/venefica Circe^^ t^aj- ser l a lo ro orig ine i M ar si. Abitarono questi popoli m lidlia non fontani,àa Uòma ^e Jfùrorio~reputati, èc- celleràPneWarte dellc^ ' niagìq:,iÌÌe«/èa \e Circe fdronp dii^ ihsiAni Ma^he ^ je insieme due a^passioriaté 'mài. cohisposte dmànii\ poicHè 'fiorì pótérono có'loro magici incanti trattenere Ùiasoné\d Utisse i che amavano tèneramente, t Filtri preparati dalle Maghe, eran composti di fichi salvatici ^ éP uòva e di penne di civetta, di * sangue e di. pòlfnone di ranocchie, e d*os5Ì di cani e 'di serpenti'Sventrati. Lèggasi ài Libro quinto V Ode 'd*Orazio cprìlró Canidia. Nireo], nafo dd Aglajd e dal Re Cecrope, andò alt*assedio di Trojq ; e vien da Omero nel Li-* hro secondo dell*Iliade lodato per la sua sorprenden^ te bellezza. Ercole amò sommamente Ila figliuol di ‘Teodamahte, c lo condusse con se, quando navigò alla volta di Coléo. MetltP era iri viaggio lo mandò un giórno ad attinger Vacq.ua dal fiume Ascanio nel’» la Misià ma essendo ivi disgraziatarkente caduto^ han finto i poeti, che fosse rapito dalle Nufadi Dea de*fiumu O il tenerello un giorno Ila rapito Dalle callide Najadì: se brami Conservarti Y amor della toA donna, E non vederti abbandonato, aggiogni Deir alma i preg) alla beltà del corpo. È la beltade un ben caduco e frale, Che con gli anni decresce, e a un fisso tempo Fugge mai seiupre • Le violette^ e i gigij Non fioriscono ognor;Ia spina, ^ cui Colta la rosa sìa, rigida viena*,^ ^ ' Vago garzon, i tuoi capelli un giorno Verranno bianchi, e il corpo tuo le rughe Ti solcheranno . Formati ed aggiungi Alla beltade un animo che ^uri: Sol ei riman fino agli estremi roghi* Ni sia rultima ina cura con Farti Ingenuo Padornarlo ^ e di due lingua Renderlo dotto . Non fu bello Dlisso, Colisse t figlia, come credono alcuni, delVO* etano e dì TeHde, accolse cortesemente il naufrago Ulisse nell* ìsola Ogigia, ov* essa regnala. Dimorò questi per sette anni con la Ninfa suddetta, da cui ebbe varj figli, e poi fu costretto a dividersi da lei per comando de*Numi, quantunque non lasciasse elìa alcun mezzo intentato per ritenerlo sempre appresso di se. Reso Re dei Traci detto odrisio perchè cornane dava alla Traqia nazione degli Odrini, e sitonio^ perchè anticamente la Tracia ^si chiamava Sithon, fu ucciso da Ulisse e da Diomede, mentre andava con un esercito in soccorso di Troja. D* ordine de*suoi Troiani si portò Dolone ad osservar gli andamenti dell*armata de* Greci ; ma incontratosi con Diomede td Ulisse, che pure osservavano la condotta del cam^ po Trojano, svelò a*meiesimi, dopo d*aver preso Vim^ punita y tutte le più segrete determinazioni de* suoi concittadini. Volendo egli poi per premio i cavalli emonj d*Achille, fu ba^aramente trucidato da Ulio^ se e Diomede uccisori di Reso Ma facondo ; c per lui ferito H petto Portar* r equoree Dive. Oh quante volte Di sua partenza si lagnò Calisso^ E dicea che non atte erano a* remi L’onde del mar! Oh quante volte udire Bramò di Troja i casi, ed ei sovente Narrò lo stesso con diversi modi I Stavan sul lido insiem, quando la bella Calisso ehiese la dolente istoria Del Duce odrisio; ed ei con tenue verga ( Mentre a caso la verga in man teqea ) Finge Popra richiesta in sull’arena. Questa» le^disse, è Troja (e fe’sul lido I muri) . È questo il Simoe,e queste fingi Che« sieno le mie tende . Il campo osserva (E intanto lo disegna) che col sangue Sì sparse di Dolon, quando gli emonj Cavalli scaltro d’ involar procura. Fur del sìtenio Reso ivi le tende; In questa uotte da i deitrier rapiti ^ Fui strascinato . Dipingea più cose, Ma improvvisa del mar onda furiosa Via trasse Troja, e col suo Duce ancora . Le trinciere di Reso. Allor la Diva, Vedi quai nomi s’inghiottiron Ponde^ £ vuoi che al tuo cammiò sieno propizie? Ardirai dunque di fissar tua speme In fallace fij^ura? e più del corpo Altro tu non avrai solido e degno? L’accorta compiacenza a noi concilia Gl’ animi, ma l’asprezza e le severe Parole contro noi muovon lo sdegno. Si ha in edio lo sparvier, perchè tra V armi Traggo sua jriU, e i lupi che assalire Hanno in costume il timoroso gregge. Mite è la rondinella, e innocua vive Dall’insidie dell’uomo ; e l’alte torri Abita là colomba a lei gradite. Vadali lungi le liti e i detti amari; Con soavi parole amor si nutre. Stia la discordia tra marito e moglie; Si faggan questi, e credano a vicenda Di difender lor dritti • Ciò conviene Alle tnògli/che ognor funesta dote Recan di lìti . Il dolce suono ascolti Degli • accenti bramati ognor V amica; Legge non havvi per gli amanti ; in loro^ Ìj amore è legge • Parolette grate Reca, e dolce lusinga à lei 1’ orecchio. Onde alla vista tua lieta si faccia. Non io d^ Amor maestro a’ ricohì parlo. Che chi pnote donar > dell’ arte mia Non abbisogna • Chi quando a lui piace, Prendi j può dir, non manca mai d’ingegno. Cedere a Ini dobbiam, che più gradito Sarà dell’opra nostra. Il vate io sono J>e’ poveri, dhe ognor povero amai. Dar doni non poteva, e diei parole. Cauto ognor sìa povero amante, e tenga La lìngua a freno, e soffra quel che un ricco Non soifrirebbe . l^el ponsier mìo torna, Che irato aia di delia mia Bella feci Al crine oltraggio . Un tale sdegno ah quanti Giorni mi fe’ passar pallidi e tristi I Noi credo, e noi compresi, che la vesta Io le stracciassi allor, ma lo diss’ ella, £ comprarne altra a me fu d’ uopo. O voij Che avete ingegno, del Maestro vostro Fuggite il fallo, e né temete i danni. J8ia la guerra co’ Parti, e ognor la pace Con l’Amica diletta'. Usa gli scherzi, E tutto quel che favorisce Amore. Se a te che l’ami, docil non si mostra Qual vorresti e cortese, il suo rigore So^ri costante, e diverrà benigna. La forza usando, il curvo ramo frangi, Che con dolcezza addirizzar potevi. Varcasi 1’ acqua cón pazienza, e malo Vìnconsi i fiumi, se pigliar tu tenti Contrarie Tonde rapitrici k nuoto. I numidi leon, le fiere tigri Pan le lusinghe mansuete e miti; Ed al rustico aratro la cervice / A poco a poco sottopone iJ toro. Dell'arcade Atalanta e chi più fiera. Mostrossi mài? Eppur quella crudele Soggiacque anch’essa al mèrito d* un uomo, Narra la fama, Melamon piangesse, Sotto un arbor giacente all’ombra, spesso Suoi tristi casi e la crudel Fanciulla. Spesso* portò le ingannatrici reti Sul vinto collo, e con spietato ferro L’arcade Atalanta, figlia di Jasio o d’Aban^ te, fu un.’eccellente cacciatrice,e si fe* compagna di Diana per consertare illibato il candore della sun verginità, Finta essa p<ù dalla fedele e lunga servitù prestatale da Meleagro o da Melanione, si abbando^ nò finalmente in braccio ni medesimo, ed ebbe in fi^ glio il celebre Partenopeo, Sono tra loro cod diverse le memorie .a- noi lasciate dagli antichi scrittori riguardo a Melanione 0 aid Atalanta, che è impossibile il dar de’ medesimi «Hit distìnta notizia Uccise spesso i barbari cinghiali. L’arco teso d’Ileo soffri piagato, Ma conoscea più ancor 1’ arco d’ Amore. Non vo’che armato le menalie selve Tu salga, e che le reti al collo porti; Hò già t’impongo il petto alle vibrate Saette espor • Dolci più assai saranno, Se udir mi vuoi, dell’ arte mia le leggi. A lei che è ripugnante, ognora cedi; E vincitore partirai cedendo. Eseguisci fedel ciò eh’ ella impone: Biasma Quello che biasima, ed approva Quel che le piace, e il suo parlar seconda. Di rider ti ricordo al riso suo. Di piangere al suo pianto, e i moti ancora A suo piacer del vento tuo componi. Se giocale nella man P eburneo dado Agita, tu ancor l’agita, e lo getta (14) Oltre il gioco de* dadi era presso i Romani in uso quello dclVAlìosso detto da loro Talut, che con^ sistema in piccoli quadrati d*osso j ne* quattro lati de* quali erano notati separatamente i numeri uno, tre, quattro, sette. Doleva pagar senza lucr^o una mone^ ta chi avesse gettato l* uno, che chiamatasi Ganis o Òanicula. Guadagnata sei monete e ciò che ateta perduto nel gettare il Cane chi scoprita la parte op* posta all* uno ^ cioè il sette che ateta il nome di * Yenns o Gons,* ne guadagnata tre chi gettata il Seniofper cui intendetasi il tre, e quattro chi ates^ se rappresentato U Ghio, che esprimeva il numero quattro. Si rileva da**latini Scrittori che fu VAliosso giocato anche ditersamente ; ma basta per la chiara intelligenza di questi versi U sapere che erano i Cani dannosi ^ mentre esprimevano l* ano ^per cui si dote^ va senza lucro pagare una moneta. Il Gioco, ohe rasfvmbra a guerra, è, come facilmente ri QQtnprew* dp ^ qugllo degli Scacchi, In modo cV«lIa vinca. L’Àliosso Se trae, farai in maniera cbe la pena Non soffra d’ ^sser vinta, e tuoi saranno Sempre i dannosi cani ; e s’ ella' pone Opera a gioco « che rassembri a guerra, Fa cbo perisca dal nemico vinto Il tno soldato. Sulle verghe steso Tieni r ombrello, e, nella densa folla Per dove idee passare, il varco l’apri; Vicino al letto non t’incresca porre Lo scanno, e fai piede dilioato togli E riponi la scarpa .iDei sovente. Benché ti prenda orror, della Padrona L’algente,mano riscaldare al seno. Non creder turpe, henchè a te rassembri. Con destra ingenna sostener lo specchio, Se a lei ciò piacerà. Chi ’l fiero sdegna Otaneb.della matrigna in domar mostri. Che ora è nel Ciel, ohe primo egli sostenne. Si crede, tra Ife joniche Fanciulle Che tenesse il cestello, e che filasse Rnstiche lane . Si l’Eroe tirinzio Servi all’impero d'una Bella ; or dnnqne Dubiti di soffrir ciò eh’ei sofferse? Se ti comanda esser presente al Foro -Previeni 1’ ora del comando, e sempre ^eoU ' mnst valorosamente ( Annoi.) tutu s mostriyche contro di lui suscitò la tua rnatngna Giunone, e sostenne sulle sue spai- ad Atlante affa- incarico. Innamoratosi egli poi dH)n- '‘iff reale della Lidia, vestì abiti femi- mh, e m qualità d’ancella iella medesima filò vilmente l»inne con quella man valorosa, con cui per le rmrabilt sue gesta s’ era colmato di gloria. Ne partirai più tardi • Se ^t* impoiàfe Di gire in altro loco’, ogni altra cura Lascia da parte, corri ^ uè la turba '' LMutrapreso cammìti trattenga, e còma ‘ Servo, sé vuol, tu Taccompagna a Casa- Tolte le mense, e^già sorta^ la liOtte; > Se fosse in villa,*e tf dicesse: vr<eni> Col piè premi la via, se manca il eocebiò, Che Amor odia gl’inerti . Il btiitasoosò Tempo nè la Canicola assetàtai ^ ' n / Nè per scaduta nòve il sentìev biénco - p’ ostacolò ti aien ^ Simile a gòfei/ra * ^ E r amore, da cui vadano lungi ' I codardi . Nò, sotéo tali itìsegné* II timid’ uòmo guerreggiar tiòu' debbe* La notte, il verno, disastrose strade, ' ’ Dolor cocenti, e ogni altr’aspra fatica Racchiudono que’mòlli ttccampaihetttli* Di pioggik dalle untole tìiscioitu'^ Ben spesso intrisa avrai la -veste,-è‘Spesso Gelato giacerai sul nudo suolo." Dicesi che dì Cinto il'Nume' nu giorno (i 6) Pascesse le ierée vacche d’ Admeto, £ s’ascondesse in umil capanna.' A chi non converrà ciò che coriTenné ‘ Apollo, che dicesi i/-Nuine- 4 ì'Cinto fper^hè ( Ànrvot. 1^9. del Lib, /. ) nacqueove giace 4 in tal monte y sentì il pin, intenso, dolere ^ quanda Giove fulminò Esculapio di, lui figlio, perchè faceva rivivere i morti con V ajuto della -Medicina. Per veti^ dicenrA pertanto in qualche maniera d* una tale ingiur- ria, egli uccise i. Ciclopi y che fabbricavano le saette a quel Nume supremo, il quale lo spogliò per ques to della divinità, e lo costrinse a pascolar le vacithe 4 * Admeto Re de* Ferei in te staglia^ A Febo ? O ta, che in lungo amor ^impegni, Il fasto lascia • Se un cammiii seeuro £ facil ti si nega, e se alla porta Ritrovi impedimento, allor t’insinua Dal precipizio d’ùn aperto tetto, O da ascoso sentier d’ alta finestra. Lieta ne fia, quando del tuo periglio Intenda la cagion ; di certo amore Sarà per la tua Bella un grato pegno. Spesso potevi dalla tua Diletta Star lontanerò Leandro, ma varcavi ( L’ onda del roar, perchè le fosse noto L’ amante core • Guadagnar l’ancelle Non abbi a vile, e in special modo quella. Che sarà favorita, e ancora i servi. Non temer d’ avvilirti: ognun saluta Col proprio nome, e alle lor destre umili, Ambizioso, d'unir cerca la tua; Ma al servo che ti prega ( è lieve spesa) Porgi piccoli doni, ed in quel giorno Pure air ancella, in cui restò ingannata Leandro amò Con tal forza Ero Sacerdotessa di venere, che spesse volte varcò VEllesponto per visi^ tarla. Essa accendeva Una fiaccola sopra una torre, affinchè potesse il suo Amante camminar piu sicura^ mente, e quando intese, che era il medesimo misera^ mente annegato, si diede in preda aW ultima dispe-* razione, e slanciossi intrepida nel mare, Ai q di Luglio celebravasi in Roma splendi--^ damente una festa, a cui concorrevano le Servé‘ ve^ stile a Matrone romane, in memoria delV util servii gio che avevano esse in tal giorno prestato alla Pu^ tria. Ecco ciò che ne dice il Macrohio, Post Urbe in captam, cum aedatus esset gallicus motus, res vero publica esset ad tenue reducta, Finìtimi opportuni- Da veste maritai gallica truppa, E che pagò d’ un folle ardire il fio. Ti fida a me ; fa tua la plebe, e sempre Sia fra (juesta V ascierò, e quel che giace Sulla porta del Talamo . Io non voglio Che ricchi doni appresti alla Padrona; Piccioli sian, ma convenienti e accorti. Mentre è ferace il campo, e mentre i rami Piegan pel peso di mature frutta. Porti fanciullo in un cestel gli agresti Doni, e dir ben potrai che da una villa Suburbana ti vengano, quantunque tatem invadendi romani nominis aucupati praeferant sibi Postlmmium Livium, Fideoatiam Dictatorem, qui, mandatis ad Senatum misis, postalayit, nt si yelleut reliquias suae ciyitatis manere, matres fa* Hiilias sibi et yirgines dederentur . Cumque Patres esseat in ancipiti deliberatione suspensi, ancilla nomine Phìlotib teu/ Tutela, poilicita est se cum cae- teris ancillis sub nomine Dominarum ad hostes ita- ram: habituqae matrnm familiat et yirginum sumpto, hostibas cum prosequeatium lacrjmis ad iidem dolorii iogestae sunt. Quae cum a Livio in castris di- stributae faissent, viros plurimo vino proyocarunt, diem fbstum apud se esse simulantes. Quibus sopo- ratis, ex arbore caprifico, quae castris erat proxima, signum Romania dederunt, qni oum repentina incursione snperassent ; memor beneficii Senatus, omnet ancillas manu jùssit emitti, dotemque eis ex publico fecit, et ornatum quo tunc erant usae, gestare cou- cesfit, diemque ìpsum Nonas Gaprotinas nuncupa- yit ab illa Caprifico, ex qua signum yictoriae coe- perunt, sacrificiumque statuit annua solemnitate ce<- lebrandum, cui lac, quod ex Caprifico manat, propter memoriam facti praecedentis adhibetur. Questa è la fedele esposizione del fatto, d cui non pare che si uniformi il Poeta Tu gli abbi compri nella laera via. ( 19 ) Rechi pur Tu ve » e le aastagne care Un giorno ad Amafilli, e che ora a vile Parehè dono legger avrebbe anch* esso, Co’t^rdi pure e con ghirlanda mostra Che memor vivi della tna padrona. Si compra turpemente con tai mezzi D’orbo vecchio l’affetto, e la speranza Di godere i suoi beni. Ahìperan qnelli Che Così vii disegno a donar move. E che ! t’insegnerò teneri versi Io diluviar Fa me lo credi, i carmi Non ton molto graditi ; e benché Iodi Ottengano talor, maggior lusinga Han gli splendidi doni: Un ricco piace Ancor che nato in barbara contrada. Questa è per vero dir l’età dell’oro^ Giacché con Voto compransi gli onori, Criacchè con V oro piegatisi le Belle. Se tu medesmo con le Mute, Omero, Venga privo di doni, ab ! tu seaeciato Sarai di casa. Di fanciulle dotte ^ Havvi turba rarissima, ed un’altra. Che sé reputa tal benché ignorante, L’une e l’altre s’encomino co’versi^ Che ottengan dal lettor lodo pel suono Facile e lusinghiero \ a queste e a quelle Tenue e da aVersi a vii sembrerà dono In loro onore vigilato carme. ^ Usa in maniera ché V amica ognora VendéQasim Ronia ogni torta di frutti e d*al^ tri generi nella Via sacra, che acquistotti un tal nóme, perchè furono ivi conclusi con gran^ sagrifizf i patti fra Romolo e Tazior A far ti preghi quel che util ti sembra, E che far già volevi. Se promessa Abbi ad alcun de’ Cuoi' la li ber Cade, Fa pur elisegli la chiegga alla padrona. Se ta rimetti al servo il suo delitto,^ Se le catene sue dure disciogU, ; Te ne sia debitrice. ^ A lei la •gloria> A tediatile venga. Sul:tuo eore Mostra ohe elFabbia un prepotènte impèro^ Ma illesi serba ognora i dritti tuoi. Tu che nutrì desio della tua cara ' ^ ^ Consfetvarti V amor, fà oh’ ella pensi Che tu getonito sei di sua Heltade.* Se le sue menàbra in vtiria veste avvolga, Le sii largo (U lodi, e se le doe ' . Cinge, dirai che accrescono i suoi Veazi. Se poi s* adorna con aurata veste, * Dille che più splendente èli’è dell’ oro. Se prende la pelUcela, e tu T approva; * Se la tomita lieve, allora, esclama ' Che, desta incendj, e con ièmmes^a voce Pregala che schivar proeuii il. freddo. Sia il orine in duo diviso, oppur da oaldo Ferro ritorta, tu dirai: mi piace. Di lèi, se.danai, ammirerai le,braccia, Di lei, ^ canta, 1* armoniosa voce,. ' E a lei dimostra con dolèntii note^ Perchè fpresto diè fine, il tuo scontento. Loda gli abbmcciamenti,:e in suon piètoso E querulo ie mostra con KJUéiI foraa ..Presso i Homani eruno cortamente i servi in una condizione sì miserache (^iputavansi fortuna^- a, quando i padroni per un effetto di^somma cUmon^n accordavano loro la liberty, ^ -, D’insolita jilaowrfe: il. cor t’inonda. Gon questi- un4incoc che-|}iù. violenta Foss’ ella di Medusa ^ e indite: e giusta (ai) Dìvetrài.co», l’ ansante,* Sia .tua cura - Di non sembrane -iagantiatore ; e il volto Kon distrugga i tnoi> detti. Ascosa Térte Giova j e svelata la vergogna apporta, E Ii^ tfe. 00» ragiOp j toglie per. sempre. Spesso Sotba l’ÌAu)tjnA0tì,( iiti quella bella Parte dall’sanitOf,-^ cui vosaeggia Priva Del purpureo, lioór ; rieolnta » quando Il freddo,«cura la?f»reiuej ed era il «aldo La soioglie,). Pìncostante. aere d cagione Di languore, alle-metubra,* Elhi^pur viva Sana, masO'.inat giaceja-in, letto in ferma. Soffrendo. ..drd tmaligqogciol V Infinstoi La tua pìetade:;ecP AQt^ctW> palese Sia alloca .alla fanqiullaj^ fi getta il aenae Di ciO .cbe mieter, debbi, a larga falce.' Nè del liingaauo mal poja',ti, prenda^, E faccia» le tue man cid che permette. Te rimiri piangente, ed i .tuoi baci: Non r.inore«qa;S<^l-Ìr,;'flon arse labbia, Beva il tàO ;piantp,. 4 Ì» .ciel voti farai. Ma ognor,.palesi,,e di narmr: ti .piaccia Be» spesso,fausti' sogni..:Àn| sua'magione Guida la-ivacohiarella, che con ?ìolfo iaa) (ai) ]ffedasa figlia di Forci^'ed ufl'a delle tre Gorgoni, incontrò-lo tdogn» di Minerva, perché à prestò all’ impudiche iooglie, di Nettuno • nel Tempio della medesima* Questa Dea le trasformò^ pertanto i capelli in serpenti, e fece si che fosse convertito in -sasso chiunque ardiva di riguardarla. (ìa) ponducivàn gli antichi le vecchiarelle nello àuse d^gV frifermi, affinché con le lor preghiere di Purifichi la stanza e insieme il letto, E con tremola man T ova le rechi. Di tua premura avrà cosi 1* amica Kon dubbj segni, e con tai mezzi molti Far dalle Belle istituiti eredi. Ma deir inferma per soverchia cura Deh non volerti procacciar lo/sdegno; Àbbian tuoi dolci uffioj il lor confinej Non le vietare il cibo ; il tuo rivale, • E non la destra tua* pòrga la tazaa Colma de* succhi amari. Or che n^ll* alto ^ Del mar solca la nave, usar non dei Lo stesso vento, con cui già dal lido Le vele hai sciolto. Mentre Amor va errando Novello ancor, con Taso forza acquisti; Stabil verrà, se lo saprai ' nutrire. Ebbe vitel le tue carezze il toro, Che or è de'tuoi timori oggetto, e Talbore, Sotto cui posi, un di fu tenue ^etga. Nasce povero d'acque il fittnré, e forza Acquista nel suo corso, e dà Ogni parte Gli vien tributo di novello umore. S’accostumi con te, che nulla puote Più di tal cosuetudiue giovarti. Mentre l’adeschi, a te grave* non sia Di soffrire ogni tedio • Abbia te sempre Dinanzi al guardò ; ognor tuoi détti ascólti; La notte e il di le pinga il volto tuo* Ma quando poi sicura avrai fiducia Di poter esser ricercato, allora Scacciassero Sa quelle, gli spettri. Epicuro deve soffrire i rimproveri degli Stoici, e VOratore Eschino quei di Demostene, perchè avevano le lor madri Ulk simile impiego che riputavasi vile Vanne pur lungi, che la cura sua Sarai benché lontan . Prendi riposo; Ciò che s’afBda al campo riposato Bende ei ben generoso e l’arsa terra Bey e l’acqua del ciel. Finché pxesente Fa a Filli Demofonte, il di lei seno Senti mediocre amor, ma in vasto incendio Arse allor che le vele ci diede^’ venti. Mentre vivea lontan l’astuto UÌìsse Penelope soffriva cura mordaeCr Tu ti dolesti pur, Laodamla, Lontan Protesilao. Brieve tardanza £ mai sempre sicara. Allevia il tempo 11 dolor dell’assenza ^ e dal pensiero e dà loco a nuovo amor 1’ assente* Mentre tu, Menelao, stavi lontano Fillidt, figlia di lÀcurgo He di 'Tracia, rice* Vè cortesemente nella Reggia e nel letto il naufrago Demofoonte figlw di Teseo. Quandi egli partì per % Città d* Atene ., colera chiamato dalla cupidigia di regnare, le diede parola di ritornarsene a lei dentro un mese . Aspettò Fillide lungo tempo il suo caro sposo, e poi afflitta e disperata per la tardanza di lui, si tolse da se stessa crudelmente la vita. È noto il verace affetto che aoea Penelope pet Ulisse suo spesole però si può facilmente comprendere quanto fosse vivo il suo dolore per la lunga dimora che fece fi medesimo alV assedio di Troja. ^uS^ Laodamia amo sì ardentemente Protesilao detto in latino Phyllacides daFilaco.4uo avo, che fu sempre occupata dal più vivo dolore mentre era esso al- V assedio di Troja, e fece far del medesimo dopo la sua morte, una statua di cera, che ogni notte pone- vasi nel letto quando vi andava a dormire. Menelao trovavasi in Vreta, ove .l* aveano richiamato i suoi affari, quando Paride di lui confi- mcpte gli rapì la bellissima E.lena pia consorte Sulle piume giacer sole non volle Siena, e nella notte al caldo seno l)eir ospite fu striata. E chi mai puote Di ciò nutriremo Menelao, stupore? Solo partivi, e nel medesmo tetto Era la moglie e T ospite. In custodia T,ii folle le colombe al. falco fidi, Ed al montano lupo il pieno ovile? Siena non ha colpa, e non commise L’adultero delitto ; ei fece quello Che tu faresti, e che farebbe ognuno. Ad esserti iiifedel la donna sfórzi^.j Se il tempo e il loco a lei concedi. Quale Oonsiglio ella usò mai se non il tuo? Che dovea far ? Il suo marito è lungi, Ed un amabil ospite presente, E giacer sola teme in vacuo letto. Ciò a Menelao era noto. Io dal delitto Siena assolvo ; usar volle di quella Libertà, che il marito a lei concesse Cortese c umano. Non così feroce Flavo cinghiai si mostra in mezzo all’ira Contro i rabidi cani, allorché il dente Fulmineo rota, nè così lionessa Che a’cari figli suoi porga le mamme, Nè da piè ignaro vipera calcata ; Coni’ àrde e mostra 1 ’ agitata mente Donna che la rivai trovi nel letto Del suo consorte: e corre, e dà di piglio Al ferrò e al foco, e ogni decor deposto, Rassembrà una Baccante. La spietata Medea nel sangue vendicò de’figlj fay) Vedaii V annotaz. del Lib Del marito il misfatto ^ ed i violati Dritti di sposa. Àltr^empia genitrice, Mirala in rondinella trasformata. Or di sangue macchiato il petto porta. Tali delitti sciolgono V amore Meglio composto e più costante ; e cauto Gli dee r uomo fuggir, gli dee temere. Nè ad una sola donna io ti condanno; Portin migliore augurio i sommi Dei ! Così rigida legge appena puote Seguir sposa novella. Abbiano pure Loco gli scherzi, ma celar ti piaccia Sotto furto modesto il fallo tuo. Da cui già non voler cercar la gloria. Altra non mai conosca i doni tuoi; Nè prefigger tu dei 1 * ora medesma Agli amori furtivi, e in un sol loco Condur le belle, onde non le sorprenda La donna tua ne’ noti nascohdiglj ; E quante volte scrìvi, i fogli osserva; Che molte leggeran più assai di quello Che tu loro scrivesti. Amante offesa Move bene a ragion Tarmi, e sovente Come a lei desti, a te di duol dà causa. Mentre il figlio d'Atréo fu d’ una sola (29) Ov. Arte d^am. d Progne figlia di Pandìone, e moglie di Teseo ^ fu dagli Dei cangiata in Rondine, perchè vendicane dosi deW ingiuria recata da Teseo a Filomena di lei sorella, uccise Iti suo figlio ^e lo apprestò al Padre barbaramente per cibo, Agamennone rapì Criseide figlia di Crise cerdote d*Apollo, il quale in abiti sacerdotali si portò inutilmente dal medesimo per ricuperarla j tolse Bri* seide ai Achille ; e condusse poi in Grecia Cassandra Contentò e pago, quella visse casta. Ma per i vìej del marito poi Divenne infame. Inteso avèa che Crise, Le fasce in capo e il lauro in man portando, Ottener non potè 1* amata figlia. Inteso avea il tuo ratto, il tuo rossore, O Briseide, e per quai turpi dimore Fosse la guerra prolungata. Queste Cose la fama a lei narrava. Vide Con gli occhi prhprj poi la figlia stessa Di Priamo: vincitor fosti ad un tempo E preda, o Agamennon, della tua preda. Nel cor, nel letto ricevè ella poscia Il figlio di Tieste, e vendicossi Così de’falli del marito infido. Gli amori tuoi tener cerca nascosti. Ma se fian noti e manifesti, sempre Però li nega, nè ti mostra allora Nè più sommesso o più giocondo: reo Ti fa ria ciò scoprir. Novelle prove Le dà deir amor tuo. Queste il sostegno Son della pace. La tua prima amante Fa che di ciò non abbia unqua contezza. Havvi chi la nociva erba consiglia Santoreggia di prender; ma ciò stimò Atro veleno. Mischian altri il pepe Nel seme dell’ortica, e nell’ annoso Vino tritano il callido pilatro., figlia di Priamo, la qual fu a luì concassa nella di* Vision della preda. Clitennestra sua moglie, e figlia di Tindaro non potè reggere a tanta infedeltà, e /?«- rò accolse nel letto Egisto figlio^ di Tieste, da cui ' { Annotaz.) uccidere il suo marito. La Dea che sul ombroso Érice monte Ave il suo tempio, no, soffrir non puote Che siau forzati i suoi piacer. Si prenda Pure il candido Bulbo che a noi manda La Città di Megara, e la salace Erba che cresce ne’giardini. L’ova, L’imetto mel, del pin le acute noci Si prendan pur. Perchè alla medie’ arte, Erato, or tu ti volgi f II cocchio nostro Debbe più da vicin toccar la meta. Tu che celavi per consiglio mio Poc* anzi i tuoi delitti, or altra strada Batti, e per mio consiglio i furti scopri. Nè di volubil già merto la taccia: Non col medesmo vento i passeggieri Porta la curva nave ; ora si corre Col tracioBorea, ed or con Euro, e spesso Dal Zeffiro si fan goiihe le vele, Talor da Noto. Osserva come in cocchio L’auriga ora le brìglie allenta, ed ora Frena con l’arte i rapidi cavalli. Compiacenza servii le rende ingrate, E amor senza rivale illanguidisce. Se la fortuna sia propizia, Talme Divengono lascive, e faci! cosa Venere aveva un magnifico Tempio in Sicilia sul monte Erice, donde fu detta firicina., Sotto il nome di Bulbo iniendonsi tutte^ le radici rotonde come agl) e cipolle, che i Romani facevan venire dalla Città di Megara fabbricata da Alcatoo figlio di Pelope. {jòi) Il vento Borea f spirando a Settentrione, vien qià dette treicio perchè la Tracia è più settentrional della Grecia y e dell* Italia, Euro spira da Levante [ Zeffiro da ponente, e Noto da Mezzogiorno, Non è serbare in mezzo allieti eventi IL cor tranquillo. Come lieve foco, Che perduto abbia a gradi il suo vigore, Ascpndesi, e nell’ ultime faville La cenere biancheggiale se v’unisci Zolfo, Testinta fiamma manifesta, E a splender torna il consueto lume; Così ove pigra e torpida si giaccia L’alma, destar cop forti e lusinghieri Stimoli è d’uopo in essa allor Tamore. Fa che di te paventi: ognor riscalda L’intiepidito core, e impallidisca Al, solo udir che tu infedel le sia. Oh quattro volte e quante io non so dire Felice quei, di cui si lagna offesa La sua fanciulla, e che giugnendo annunzio D’un tal delitto alle sue triste orecchie Cade, e il color le manca e la favellai Ah foss’io quello, a cui furente straccia Il crine ! ah foss’ io quello a cui con l’unghie Sgraffia le gote, che or piangente mira Or con bieco ciglio, e senza cui Vorria, ma non può vivere ! Se chièdi Il tempo, onde di te la lasci offesa Lagnarsi, io ti dirò: sia questo breve. Perchè lo sdegno suo forza maggiore Con dimora soverchia non acquisti. Con le tue braccia il bianco collo cingi^ E piangente nel tuo seno l’accogli; Asciuga co* tuoi baci il . pianto suo, E i piaceri di Venere concedi A lei che piange. Già la pace è fatta; Con questo mezzo sol cessa lo sdegne. Se feroce divenga, e a te rassembri Veramente nemica » allor le chiedi Un dolce amplesso, e la vedrai placata. Ivi déposte Varmi è la concordia^ £d in qael loco » a me lo credi, nacque La tenera amistade. Le colombe. Che già fecero guerra, i rostri insieme Dolcemente congiungono ; di quelle 11 mormorio son voci, e son carezze. Fu il mondo in prima una confusa mole; Non ordine regnò, non vi fu legge ; £ stelle e terra e mar solo una faccia Mostravan ; sulla terra il ciel fu posto E fu dal mar la terra circondata, £ diviso cessò l’inane caos. Presero ad abitar le fiere allora Entro le selve ; a star gli augelli la aria; £ s’ascosero i pesci entro dell* onde. L’uomo errò allor ne^aoUtarj campi. Ma rozao 9 inerte corpo, e senza genio* T'u il bosco la sua casa ; il cibo l* erba; Lie frondi il letto ; e già per lungo tempo Visser fra loro sconosciuti. Dicesi, Che le feroci loro alme piegasse La dolce voluttà. Lo steiso loco Abitarono insiem Tuoibo e la donna; Non da maestro furon fatti dotti Di ciò che dovean far ; Venere loia La dolce opra compì senz’arte alcuna. Trova da amar Paugel dolce compagna, E in mezzo all’acqae pur con chi s’accoppj Non manca al pesce. Il maschio ainato segue La cerva, ed il serpente a’dolci inviti. Della femmina cede. Insiem congiunta La cagna al can s’annoda. Il suo montone Soffre lieta Tagnella; la giovenca Gialiva è col torello, e la stizzosa Capra 1’immondo becco non disdegna. Parenti le cavalle i maschj segnono Per lungo spazio, e varcan fino i fiumi Che li tengon divisi. A che più tardi ? T’affretta dunque, e alla sdegnata porgi Il bramato sollievo; questo calma L’atroce suo dolore, e questo vince I succhi d’Esculapio • Il fallo tuo Dei con ciò cancellar, tornarle in grazia. Mentr’ io cantava queste cose, Apollo apparve » e mosse dell’ aurata lira Col pollice le corde • In man tenea L’ alloro, di cui cinta avea la chioma; ^Queir ammirando vate allor mi disse: O de’ lascivi amor maestro, guida 1 tuoi scolari alfine al tempio mio; Ivi sta incisa la famosa legge, Che conoscer se stesso a ognuno impone. Amar solo potrà prudentemente Quegli che se medesmo appien conosce, E alle sne forze sa adattar Tìmprese. Procuri che la Bella ognor Io guardi Quel cui Natura diè leggiadra faccia. Si mostri spesso con le spalle ìgnude Chi candide ha le membra ; parli pure Quei che lo fa soavemente, e canti, E beva quel che a bevere e a cantare Con arte apprese, ma non mai interrompa Alludtd al Tempia consacrato in Delfo ad Apollo ove era scritta a caratteri à* oro qaest^ aurea legge: nosco te ipiam L’altrui discorw P eloquente, e in mezzo Al ragionar non reciti importuno I suoi carmi il Poeta . In questa guisa Febo i^egnomnii, e. voi di Febo adesso Seguit^e i precetti. Ah no ! non ponno Mancar di fe gli oracoli d’ Apollo. Or son chiamato a più'vicini oggetti. Chi sagace amerà ; chi la nostr’ arte In uso saprà porre f avrà vittoria. Non sempre i campì rendon con usura Le biade seminate, e a dubbia n^ve, Non sempre fausto è il vento. Ah! sono brevi I piaceri d’ amor, lunghe le pene. Onde Amante a soffrire il cor disponga: Quante in Ato son lepri, e quante in Ibla Pascolan api, quante olive accoglie II verd' arbor di Palla, • quante il lido Del mat conchiglie ; tanti son gli affanni Che soffrenti in amor, tanti gli strali Jlal felo intrisi che ci passan V alma. A te diran che usci fuora di casa Quando con gli occhi tuoi forse la vedi. Ma creder dei che uscì, che vedi il faUo. Mella notte promessa a te la porta Forse chiusa sarà ; soffri, e le membra Riposa e adagia sull’immonda terra. Mendace ancella forse in tuon superbo Dirà; perchè le nostre porte assedjf Cortese e supplichevole stropiccia Il limitar della crudel Fanciulla, ^ E al capo tolte ivi le rose appendi. Quando vorrà, t'appressa, e quando il vieta Tu vanne lungi. Uomo non dee sincero Di sua presenza far soffrir la noja. Digitized by Google 8o Non sempre con ragion ti potrà Jirer A me fuggir costui non è permesso* Non creder turpe di soffrir ingiurie, Nè d* esser dalla tua Bella battuto, Nè sul tenero piè d’imprimer baci. Ma a che mi fermo nelle tenui cosef Or subietto maggior m’agita l’alma. Io canterò prodigj ; il volgo attonito Ascolti i detti miei, mi sia propizio. A difficile impresa ora m’accingo. Che nel difficil sol glòria si merca. Dall’arte una si chiede ardua fatica. Soffri il rivai pazientemente ; teco Starà vittoria, e n’otterrai trionfo. Non già un mortai, male pelasghe querce(33) Ti dieron tai precetti . Ah i iio, non puote Dir r artè mia di ciò cosa maggiore. Farà un cenno amoroso al tuo rivale, E tu lo soffri ; sctiverà, e t’ astieni Dal toccar le sue carte ; e venga e tomi Senza le tue doglianze ove le piace Con legittima moglie usi il marito Quest’indulgenza pure, alior che notte Le tenebre distende, e il sonno regna. Non io, Io debbo confessar, non sono In quest’arte perfetto. E che far deggiof Io de’ precetti miei minor mi trovo. Io soffrirò che, me presente, un segno Si faccia alla mia Bella, e il freno all’ira Io potrò por ? Ah mi ricordo ancora ^3) Fabbricarono i Pelasgi un Tempio dedicalo a Giovò, in vicinanza del quale era situato un bosco di querce, da cui davano le colomba risposta umana Che il suo marito nn di le diede un bacio, Ed io del bacio a lei feci querela; Abbonda il nostro amor di crudeltade. Non una volta sol mi fu nocivo Un vizio tal ; piti dotto invero è quello Per cui, lieto il marito, in casa ingresso Hanno altri amanti. Ma saria più grato L’esser di questo ignari. Ah lascia dunque D’amore i furti ascosi, onde non fugga Dal vinto labro, confessando i fallì, Lungi il pudor. Deh risparmiate, o amanti. Di sorprender colpevoli le amate. Schetzino pur, ma almeno a se medesme Perauadan che il fer’ solo in parole. Sorprese, in esse pel rivai maggiore Si fa r affetto ; e dove egual la sorte Fa di due, 1* uno e Paltro son costanti La causa in sostener del danno loro. Favola iu tutto il elei nota si narra: Venere e Marte dagP inganni presi Pur di Vulcan. Ferito il petto avea Marte per Vener da un apaore insano, E divenuto di guerriero amante. Nè rustica o difficile mostroàsi (Non v’è di questa Diva altra jpiù molle) Venere al suppliéhevole Gradivo (34). Oh quante voltè la lasciva risé ^ da Marte si Marna Gradivo da apa/vav, ehe si^ grufiea in greco linguaggio vtbraziorfe d'AVta. Aven^ do Giooo preeijntaio Vulcano in Lenno 'per 1 la defar-^ mità del suo corpo, si tuppè questo misero Diojin tal caduta una gamba ^ e così divenendo zoppo ^ di^ canne ancorst mSgiortncnU deforme. Sa ^ Di Valcano pei piedi e per le mani Nere e incallite pel lavoro e il foco. Contraffaceva pur di Marte in faccia Sempre piena dì grazie il suo marito^ Ma solean ben celare i primi amplessi, E coprian col pudore il fallo loro; Ma il Sol che tutto vede ( e chi ingannare 11 Sol può maif ) fece a Vulcan palesi L’ opre della Consorte • Ah quai ne porgi Funesti e perigliosi, o Sole, esetuplit Perchè del tuo tacere a lei non chiedi Un dono, eh* avrebb* ella il tuo silenzio Potuto compensare in mille modi. Vulcan sopra e d’intorno adatta al letto Un* invisìbil rete, e finge a Lenno Di far viaggio: a’ noti abbracciamenti Tornan gli amanti, e nudi entrambe sono Ne^ lacci avvinti. Quegli i sonimi Dei Convoca, e fanno L prìgiohier di loro Vago spettacol. Potè appena il pianto Venere allora trattener sul ciglio; Non alla loro nudità potere Oppor la mano, e non coprir la faccia* Uno de’ numi allor ridendo disse: O fortissimo Marte, in me que’ lacci Deh trasferisci pur^ se ti son gravi. Nettuno, appena per le tue preghiere Ebbero i prigionier le membra sciolte. Chela Dea in Pafo, e Marte andonne in tracia. £cco,o Vulcano, il tuo profitto: in prima Celavano il Ipr fallo ; or senza freno Lo commetton, fuggito ogni pudore. Sovente, o stolto, confessar dovrai Che tu dj^rasd da pazzo, e già ( la fama Karra.) dell’ira tua ti aei pentito* Quest’ io vietai. La 6glìa dionea (35) Or vieta a voi di tender quelP insidie Ch’ ella stessa soffrì. Nè voi cercate Por ne’ lacci il rivai, nò legger quello Che vergato ha^la bella in cifre arcane. Faccian questo (se lor piace) i mariti Che legittimi rese e T onda e il foco. (36) Io'di nuovo, raffermo: in queste carte Nulla vietato dalle leggi chiudo» Nè a pudica Matrona i nostri scherzi Recano ingiuria. Chi a’profani i riti Osò di Cerere svelare, e i sacri Misteri nati nella tracia Sanio f Non nel' silenzio per coprir gli arcani Gran; virtude abbisogna è colpa grave Però dir'qnfello che (tacer si dehbe^ t Ben a. ragion da Tantalo «loquace Venere, sepondo alcuni, eifbe in madre Dio^ ne 9 e però si chiama la Figlia dionea. (36) Solevano i Romani nelle nozze solenni offerii re alla Sposa V acqua ed il foco \ 'perchè pensavano che si genesUts^ il tutto dall* umore -e dal icàhre ^ ed anzi lavatiri^ Inacqua f stessa i piei^ Sposa ed alla Sposo^ ', I I Sagrifiz) di Cerere t)ea delle biade, ehe furono, secondò Dtodoro, ' inventati Heltà' Samotrd» eia, si celelfravanà dagli aw^ìd con tal \ segretezza g che acqmdurono il nome di mister Tqntalo, figlio della Ninfa Piote, palesò agli uomini le' supreme, determinazioni, che si manìfesta^^ reno scambievolmente gli Dei in un Convito, cui fu ammesso e^i*pare.da^Giolve.,peTiitaleiempH-^ tà joacpiatO riell^ infermo, iOfl^ à cofitidftaeqMate,cfudar^ io da una barbara fape, e^ chè è,eireondatò dàìVacqua e da diversi ' phmi, ékà fuggono àgnor shp'suòl Idìlli i^qmndo *viol*pré*a'^ arsene Fuggono i pomi; o all*assetato labfo L'acqua mai sempre. Citerea comanda In special modo di tener celate Le sacre cerimonie. Io v’ammonisco Che alcun garrulo'a quelle non s’accosti* Se sepolti non restano fra’cesti I mister] di Venere, se i bronzi Per furiose percosse non risuonano, Usi abbiam noi pih moderati, e in mòdo* Che si voglion però tenére ascosi. / Quando le vesti Venere depone, La nudità con la sinistra copre. Nella pubblica via spesso 1 * ugnella. Si unisce al suo compagno, e la fanciulla^ Da tal oggetto altrove il guardo volgew Atto è il talamo chiuso a’furti nostri E a non mirar ciò che la veste > ascóndo* i Non le tenebre noi, ma nube opacUi ì; Cerchiamo, e i luoghi ove 1’ aperta luce - Minor risplenda. Fin d’allor ché il tetto Non difendea dal Sol, non dalla pioggia, £ dava il cibo e in un la quercia albergò. Gli uomini non gustar’ palesemente. I piaceri di' Venfet ma negli antri ^ ' • f i ne^bosqhi; cosi dell’onestade * i preudea cura quella ro^sza gente** \ Ora gli atti si celebraa notturni,, £ nulla più si compra a caro prezzo Che di poter’ parlar: or le donzellò Ovniique cercherai solo onde dica Qiinsla ancora fo. nostra, ed onde .posniA ^ Mòsttktla ò' dito, e &r ohe sia deb vol^, ' Dc^^b li pòssèsso^tuòVfev;òIa ^ r.«r. poco «iwiihe ^ini «dolSP* aU>Ì, Òose che nègherebbono accadute* £ di favori vantatisi non veri ; E se invàn di toccar, cercare il corpo. Cercano àlmen d’offenderne P onore, Che le accusi la fama ancor che caste. Chiudi, o custode rigido, le porte ; Guarda la tua fanciulla, e cento spranghe A’durissimi stipiti ora opponi. Cosa havvi di sicuro in faccia a questi Adulteri di nome, che creduti Esser desian ciò che tentare invano ? Parchi in parlar noi siam de’veri ainori^ E fedelmente ognor tenghìam celati Col velo deP mistero 1 furti nostri. Deh non voler rimproverar giammai Di nati^ra i difetti alle donzelle. Che fù dissinìularli utile à molti. ^ Perseo che al piè portò le gemìn’ ali (3g), Tlon del color d* Andromedà lagnossi. Comparve a tutti Andromaca maggiore D’ uim giusta statura, ed Ettor solo iXèrcurió adatfò *U idi Ud ambedue i piedi di J^érseo^ iluo amiiéo y e fi^ió di Danae e di Giope, de qu§$iix AndrovaeduslegaiOKyad uno scoglio per ra'deillcNeTcìdi,^e,\c]^pe, che dovea^esser dioorata da Ceto mastro marin^,,perchè Cassìope, madre della medesima ebèè la vanagloria di dire ^ che la sua fi-* glia vinceva > ir^ bellezza le stesse Nereidi, Mosso Perseo a pietà, della' sventurata donzella, uccise il mostro col jmrgli. davanti agli cicchi la testa di Me^ dusa f è dopo d^aveHa in tal guisa saLveta da un tanto pericolo y V ottenne in isposa, he mai le riìf fàpciÒ[ suo fosco colori, essendo ella nata in Etiopia, " Andromaca è figlia di Elione . Re di Tebe e mo* glià di Ettore j il qual chiamava medìo^e la sua statura quantunque fosse veramente sproporziqnatq. Mediocre la dicea. Quel che or ti lembra Darò a soffrir, deh soffri; e verrà uà giorno Che lieve impresa ti sarà il soffrire^ Mentre ogni pena raddolcisce il tempo. Nuoyo arboscel che in verde scorza cresce^ Cade, se vento placido lo scote ; Ma indorato dal tempo arbor diviene. Resiste a* fieri Noti ^ e alfin s’ adorna, Degl* innestati fratti. Un giorno spio Paò la bruttezza cancellar del corpo,^, £ sempre il tempo fa sembrar minore Ogni difetto. L* inesperte nari Mal da principio pon soffrir 1* odore Della pelle del toro, ma dalTuso Dome non più risentono mólestia. I vizj ricoprir con dolci nomi Fa di mestier: bruna chiamar si debbo Quella che piùehe pece ha negro il sangue» Se ha gli occhi loschi, a Vener l!as 8 omiglia^^ E se bianchi, a Minerva. Sia 9 Ì scarna, Che appena in piedi sostener si possa. Gracile la dirai. Nana rassembri, E tu svelta la chiama, e piena quellf .,. Che è turgida oltremodo g, e asconder tenta. Col bene non lontano il vizio ognora. Gli anni mai non cercar, nè sotto quale \ Consol sia nata: al rigido Censore. Tai cure lascierai. Maggior riguardo . Usa per quelle che passate il fiore Hanno di giovinezze » e i più bei giorni, Non si sa paacepire corno Ooidio chiami loschi gli occhi di Venere, quando essa fu lodata da Pari^ de. Dubitano alcuni pertanto y che nelF originale la^, ' ripe si 4tiba leggere leu invece di peU» E cui incomincia a incanutir la chioma* .Utile è questa o più matura etade, 0 giovani ; e aarà ferace in biade Questo campo » ed arar però si debbe. Mentre gli anni il permettono e le forze, Soffrire la fatica. Ah già la curva Vecchiezza con piè tacito s’accosta! O il mar co’ remi solchisi, o la terra Col vomere, o s^impugnin Tarmi fiere, O si usi il fianco, T opra, e la forza Con le fanciulle^è questa una milizia, E con ciò pur s’ accumulan ricchezze. S’ artoge a ciò che la prudenza in loro Maggior sempre delT opere risiede, E l’esperienza sol può far maestro. San compensare dell’ etade i danni Con la mondezza, e in opra e studio ed arto Pongon per ricoprir la tarda etade. Come più brami accarezzarti sanno In mille guise ; in più diversi modi Pittor non puote colorir le tele. Non irritata voluttà per loro Si gode, e danno e gustano il piacere; 10 se non è scambievole Tho in odio, E però fuggo de’garzon P amore. Odio il furor di quella che il concede. Perchè a darlo è forzata, e pensa solo All’ ntil proprio. A me non è gradito 11 piacer che mi dan sol per dovere; Da questo io violentier le donne assolvo. Godo ascoltar le voci che il diletto Mi palesin di loro, e di frenarmi Mi preghino ora, ed or perchè mi affretti. Godo di rimirai languidi gU dicchi . Della mìa bella, che mi dica: è assai. Questi favor natura non concede Air inesperta gìoventCì ; si godono Quando il settimo lustro ornai si compie. Chi soffre sete, il nuovo mosto beva; Di vecchio vin ricolmo a me s’ appresti Vaso che sotto i Consoli vetusti Sia fabbricato. Al sol resiste vecchio Il platano, ed offesi i nudi piedi Sono da’nuovi prati; e chi potria Ad Elena preporre Ermione? Altea (Era forse miglior della sua madre ? Se tu t’ accosti a una noi^, giovin bella, £ sii costante, avrai degna mercede. Già riceve i dae.amanti il conscio lètto; Fuof delle chiuse porte ora rimanti, O Musa ; senaa te sapran ben essi Trovar di che occuparsi, chè lor porge Amore i mezzi. Il valoroso Ettorre (4a) Di cui fu il brando a Troja util cotanto, Giacque pur con Andromaca, ed Achille Con la lirnessia giovine rapita, Allorché dal nemico affaticato Prese ristoro sulle molli piume. Da quelle man di frigio sangue tinte Ricevevi, o‘Brhcide, le carezze, E perciò forse à te più assai gradito Fu alla vittfice destra unir tue meuibra. (4 A Ermione è figlia della famosa Elena moglie di Menelao, (4a) Achille # aseedìafa la Città di Lirnesso, uccise barbaramente Minete marito della bella Briseide^ che si prese egli stesso in isposa, e che dal noma 4 M(k iiMk Pàtria soprannominata iÀtuwia Di Venéfe i piaceri » a me lo credi, Non SI deniio affrettar; ma a lunghi torsi Berli. La donnà, se vedrai diletto Che abbia d’èsser toccata, a te non freni Pudore allora inopportuno. Gli occhi Suoi scintillar d*'un tremulo splendore Mirerai, come dalle liquìd’ onde ^ Riflette il Sole i suoi splendidi raggia. ^ Udrai nn lamento e uh dolce mormorio^ Gemiti grati, ed amòtose note. Quando thtte le Vele avrai spiegate, Tu abbandonar non dei la tua diletta. Nè preceder ti debbe ella nel corso. Correte insieme alla prescritta meta. Che il piacer vostro diverrà perfetto. Se giacerete a un tempo stesso vinti. Queste leggi seguir dovete quando A voi concessi siano 02 ] tranquilli, Nè ad iin furtivo oprar timor v* astringa. Quando Tindugio è mal sicuro, allora Tutti forzar si denno i remi, e il fianco Premere del cavai d’acuto sprone. L’opra è condotta al fin. Giovani grati, A me la palma concedete, e il crine Odoroso cìngetemi di mirto. Non presso i Greci Podalirio tanto Fu per la medie’ arte in pregio, Achille Per il valore, e Nestor per pi'udenza; Non fu Calcante così esperto e grande Nel conoscer le viscere, nè Ajaco Nel maneggio dell’armi, e Automedonte Nel condur cocchj ; compio sono espCito E grande nell’amor. Me celebrate, Uomini tutti ; a me si dian le lodi; Nel mondo intero il nome mio ti canti. L* armi io vi porsi come già Vulcano Le diede a Achille. Or con tal doni voi Vincete pur, com’egli vinse un giorno; Ma chi col brando mio potò le fiere Amazzoni atterrar, sopra le vinte Spoglie scriva: Nason ci fa Maestro. Le tenere fanciulle a m^ le preci Ecco che porgono, onde lor cortese Sia de’ precetti miei. Ah t sì, sarete Cura primiera de* futuri carmi porsi contro lo guerriere donne A’ Greci 1’ armi ; or dare a te le deggìo^ Pentesilea, e alle Amazzoni seguaci. Ite alla guerra uguali, e vincan quelle Cui son propizi Venere e il Fanciullo, Che in tutto il mondo ha di volar diletto. Giusto non era il combatter nude Contro gli armati ; e vincerle per voi. Uomini, turpe mi sembrava. Alcuno Dirà fra molti: perchè aggiunger cerchi 11 veleno alle serpi ? e perchè in preda Lasci alle lupe rabide 1’ ovile? Di poche il fallo non vogliate in tutte Diffonder ; pe’ suoi merti ogni Donzella Considerar si dee . Se Menelao Ha di dolersi d’ Elena cagione^ Pentesilea Regina delle Amazzoni andò contro i Greci in soccorso d^ Trojani,e fu dopo varie glo^ riose azioni uccisa da Achille. Sotto il nome di Greci P intendono però- dal Poeta quegli uomini, che cingono a conquistare le donne qui figurate sotto il nome di Amazzoni. Vedasi V Annotaz, 5 q del Lib. I. e l*Annotaz, ueuSdelldb.If. Ved. Vannot. 38 del Lib. /. eVannot. ao del Lib. II. £ se di Clitennestra i rei costami SoQ gravi ad Agamennon ; se d’Ecleo Il figlio scese co* cavalli vivi. Dalla spietata Enfile^ tradito, Vivo egli stesso a Stige^havvi pur anco Penelope che pia serbossi e fida Al suo marito, benché senza lei Due lustri errasse, e per due lustri ancora Passasse i giorni suoi sempre alla guerra. Protesilao rimira e la consorte, Che, come narran, pria degli anni suoi Vide Testremo fatele scese a Dite Ombra indivisa del marito . Mira La Sposa pegasea dall’empia sorte Anfiarao figlio di EcUo ed eccellente indovino ^ ascose in un luogo segreto per non esser costretto a portarsi alla guerra di Tebe, in cui sapeva di do-* ver certamente morire* Eri file sua moglie allettata da un aureo monile promessole, da Polinice, insegnò a questo ov'egli sfava, celato* 4 n 4 à pertanto Anfiarao forzatamente alla guerra^ ma appena giunse in Tebe, gli si spalancò sotto i piedi la terra, e rimase in quella sepolto.Penelope è V esempio deWamor con fugale* Si conservò essa sempre fedele al suo sposo Ulisse, ben* che vivesse egli lontano da lei per lunghissimo spa* zio di tempo, e benché fosse ella continuamente assediata da mille fervidi amanti. Protesilao andò aneW egli all*assedio di Troja, e fu il primo tra Greci, che vi perdesse la vita poi che Ettore lo ferì mortalmente, nientre scendeva dal* la sua nave. Desolata Laodàmia sua moglie da una tale sventura, ottenne con le sue lagrime da* Numi di poter veder V ombra del suo amato consorte, e neWabbracciarla morì* Soffriva Admeto una malattia coà grave, che secondo la risposta dell* oracolo ^ era necessario per salvargli la vita^ che un uomo o una donmft^ morisse Admeto liberare, onde famoso Rese il suo nome . Evadne a Capaneo Disse: m* accogli ; il cener nostro insieme Si confonda ; e slanciossi in mezzo al rogo; È la Virtude d’abito e di nome Femina, nè stupore è, se propizia Si mostra e favorisce al sesso suo. La nostr’arte però queste non chiede Alme sublimi 9 e con minori vele Naviga il legno mio • Per me soltanto S’imparano a trattar amor lascivi. Io insegnerò in qual modo amar si debba La donna, che non face ed arco scote Sempre crudeli ; agli uomini quest’armi Nuoccìon più parcamente 9 io ben lo vedo: Gli uomini più spesso ingannano di quello^ Che ingannin noi le tenere fanciulle; E poche troverai, se cerchi, xee Di perfido delitto. Il traditore Giason Medea lascia già madre 9 e in braccio Gittossi ad altra sposa. Oh quante volte Per te 9 Teseo 9 Arianna abbandonata per lui4 Alceste sua moglie^ che dicesi sposa pagasea dalla città di Pagasa in Tessaglia, volle essa stessa liberar gen^osamente il caro suo spoeo, ed incontrò con intrepidezza la morte. Quando Eoadne intese che era stato ucciso a/« la guerra di Tebe il caro suo sposo Capaneo ^ conce» pi nell’animo un dolor sì fiero ^ che corse valorosor mente a morire sul rogo dell* estinto consorte. Adoravano i Romani la Dea Virtù vestita in abiti femminili. Annotaz. 89 del Lih. /Arianna fu da Teseo abbandamata {Annoi. So. del lÀb» I. ) nell*isola di Nasso j e però avrà te» muto gli Augelli marini provenienti da quella pcffte di mare, in cui viaggiava il suo perfido amante la solitaria t sconosciuta riva Temè gli auge! marini ! E perchè Filli Calcò per nove volte il sentier stesso. Cerca, e perchè, la chioma lor deposta, Piansero Filli le dolenti selve. L’Ospite, che concetto ha di pietoso. Porse la cauta e il ferro alla tua morte, Misera Elisa. E che I narrar vi deggio Delle vostre sventure io la sorgente? Voi non sapeste amar ; mancò in voi l’arte, Mentre con l’arte solo amor si eterna. Sariano ignare ancor, ma Cìterea Vuol che per versi miei sien fatte dotte. Mentr’ella stessa innanzi al mio cospetto Si fermò, e disse: di qual fallo mai Si fecer ree le misere fanciulle. Che inermi si abbandonano agli armati? Tu con gemini libri bai resi questi Nell’arte esperti ; or co’ precetti tuoi Tu devi ancora ammaestrar le donne. SteSicoro ohe in pria cantò i delitti Impaziente FUlide per la lontananza del suo Demofoonte eorse per nooe volte al lido, dà cui do^ vetfa egli passare nel ritorno ; e alfine disperata cd afflitta per la tardanza di lui ( Annoi, a 3 del Lib, li.) si tolse da se stessa crudelmente la vita. Le fabbricarono i suoi parenti un sepolcro, in vicinanza di cui nacquer degli alberi, che in un certo tempo, secondo quello che han scritto i poeti, deposte le lor foglie, piangevano la morte della medesima. Enea, che vien soprannominato il Pio, di^ sprezzando Vamore, che è il nome proprio di Didone, fu causa cVella si precipitasse sulle fiamme ohe ardevano la eittà e la reggia di Cartagine. Stesicoro siciliano è un poeta lirico ^ che doto-' Sto ne* suoi versi Elena detta tersnoea dal castello ìa D* Elena, poi con più felice lira Disse le lodi sue. Se V indol bene Io tua conobbi, no ^ non sei capace offender Tamorose e culle donne. Per fin che vivi a te tal grazia chieggo. Disse, e di mirto (poiché avea le chiome Di mirto ornate quando a me comparve ) A me una foglia diede e poche bacche. Ricevuti i suoi doni, io mi sentii Invaso dal suo nume, e Paer più puro Splendermi intorno, e facile l’impresa Comparirmi al pensier. Mentre l’ingegno E desto, a me i precetti richiedete, Che a voi, donne, ascoltarli ora è permesso Dal pudor, dalle leggi e da ogni dritto. Siate memori ognor della ventura Vecchiezza, e per voi il tempo ozioso mai Non passerà. Scherzate ora che lice, Nè si consumi invano il fior degli anni, Che come 1 onde fuggono veloci. Tornar non puote alla sorgente il fiume. Tornar non puote la passata etade. Cadete dunque, che trascorre il tempo Con frettoloso piè, nè lieto mai Come il primiero siede. Or bianco miri Questo stelo, su cui già in prima vidi Io rosseggiar le viole, e questa spina Grata al c^pe mi porse un di corona. Stagion verrà che tu, che "fchivi adesso L’amante, fredda e abbandonata in letto cui, nacque y perche^ da essa ebbe erigine la rovina di Troja. Ma i fratelli della medesima, Castore e Polluce Vacciecarono crudelmente ; ed ei per ricuperare la sta, fu costretto a comporre un poema in sua lode» Digitized by Google Giàf&ttsi vecchia giacerai. Notturna Rifsa non fia che la tua porta atterri, Nè sul mattino troverai di rose II limitar della tua casa asperso. Misero me ! come corrotti presto VeggoDsi i corpi dalle rughe, e, come ^ Langue ih nitido volto il color primo! Quei che sul capo tuo bianchi capelli Si miran* or,che fin da’di più acerbi Giuri che furon tali ; ah che ben tosto Si spargeran per tutto il capo. Méntre (i 4) La sua spoglia sottile il serpe lascia. Ringiovanisce ; e rinnovando i cervi Le corna, non rassembrano^ mai vecchi. Fuggon senza speranza i nostri beni; Cogliete il fior, che se non colto vegna, Cadrà miseramente. A questo aggi ungi Che fan più breve giovinezza i parti; Invecchia il campo per continua messe. Non di vergogna a te, Cinzia, fu causa Il latmio Endimion, nè già doveo Per il rapito Cefalo arrossire I Serpenti si spogliane ogni anno della luto scorza* I Cervi cangiano ogni anno le qorna ; ma ne * rimangono privi se sian castrati mentre le hanno de~ poste, e più non le varifino, se soffrano una tale ope* razione phma di deporle. Impiegano i medesimi cin^ que o sei anni nel crescere, e però tioono’ solamente circa trentacinque o quarànta anni, ttd ortta di tutte * le fuoole, che gli antichi hanno scritte sulla lunga ìor vita. Buffon nella sua Storia naturale. Cinzia ( Annoi, del Lih, I. ) scendeva dal cielo per godersi Endimione, che qui dicesi latmio per^ chè s^ascondeva ifi Latmo spelonca del monte, di Caria. S* innamorò la rosea Aurora di Cefalo figlio di Mercurio, e però lo rapì « Prgcri sua moglie La rosea Diva. Adori si lasci a parte, Tuttor di pianto a Vetieré^ cagione, Com’ebb’olla Antonia, cotii* ébbe Enea ? Seguite" tiiir P esémpid delle Dive, O bellezze tóót^aK, é a^ desiosi ' UomìAì noilitìegate il favor vostro.: Siano essi ingannatori ; e che perdete? Mille vi godan pur<;‘tutto rimane Nello stato pritòiér. Gon Fuso il ferro* Si consuma e la‘ pietra ; in Vói non pudte Cosa alcuna peirir, ricever danno. Chi ^vieterà cW dal vicino lùme*^ Il lume non si prenda ? e chi nel vasto Seno del mar V onde serbar procura? Tu mi dirai che non convien che a un uomo Si dia la donna in preda ; ma che perdi Altro che l’acqua che ricever puoi? Non vogliono i mìei carmi o la mia vocb» Al libero dell* uom commercio esporvi^ Ma vietanvi temer le cose inani; Non posson soffrir danno i doni vostri. Me un’aura lieve, mentre siamo in porto» Spìnga, che,al soffio dì più forte vento Sono per cominciar maggior viaggio. Dalla cnltura io do princìpio. Il vino Ceneroso dan sol le calte vigne, £ sol né’campiVcoltìvatì miri Lussureggiar le biade. £ la bellezza Dono del cielo, e come ah vien superba OQ.Arteà'am. e La Dea Venere éhhe à(jL Arichise il figlio Enea, e da Marte la figlia Anmónia, Bastano . tàli esemp) per provare che ella permise a molti di possederla . Digitized by Google pJbeU^z<i ogui danpa 1 1Ja «ran parte Di voi prirs rù^.A quf»to 4ouo. . Con U coltura la beiti ai 4CqWti Cile si perdo nfgfct^ ^ apci^r cjio eguale A gueili fosse dpU'idalia Diy*., Se Io prische fasullo, il corpo Joì;a Non coti custodirò ^ se gli autieri Uomini incolti vissero, se cinse; Pesante gonna.AndroiMCjayìo non yeggo>(f 9 ) Bagjon 4i,,ayiglia^I es^SA d’un rezzo, Guerrier fu^^mpgli^. Fprsé a Ajace incontro Adorna andap dpvea la sua consorte, (ao) Se a Ini la^ pflle .poi di sette bovi Servia di veste ? Ne^ primieri tempi Rozza regnò semplìcitade, e immense Ricchezze Roma del soggetto mondo Ora possiede. Osserva quale adesso \ Sia,il OampidogUo, e gual no’giorni andati^ E dovrai dir c]lie,fa d'un altro Giove. Ventre dicesi idalia dal monte Idale in Cif^ro a lei consagrato, Andromaca fa moglie A*Ettore Capitano deU VArmata Uroijana, Annótàz, 89 del Lih, li. (ao) AJaae figli^di Telamone è oelebràto daOm'e^' ro nella sua Iliade come uno piu valorosi Prine^ che andarono all*assedio di Trofa. Sposò egU an*an^ cella nominata Teemessa; e però dice Or ozio Movit Ajacem Telamone natura ’ Fórina captiTflB Dominuin Teemessa. La Curia fu anticamente, secóndo F’arrone, distribuita in due parti, in una delle quali custodi^ vano i Sacerdoti le cose diwine, ’e neWaltra tratta^ vano i Senatori le cose umane. TaaUr fu un Re de Sabini così accorto 9 che seppe ottener da Rpmelaiina parte del Regno dopo d*aver perduto un'atroce bai» taglia. La Curia, che di tanto ora' rasaembra Concìlio degna, fu di Tazio a’tempi Di rozza paglia intesta. Qoe'palagi- Ch# ora risplendon sacri a Febo e a’Ooci; Che furon maì^ se non pascolo un giorno Agli aratori buoi f Piacciano ad altri Le cose antiche ; io meco stesso godo D’essere in questa età nato conrorme A’ miei costumi, non perchè si tragga Dalle vìscere cieche della terra 11 dutil oro, o perchè venga a noi Scelta conchiglia da diverso lido; Nè perchè i monti facciansi minori Per i marmi scavati ^ o perchè altere * Sorgano moli ove giaceva il mare; Ma perchè regna or la cultura, e a’nostri Tempi rusticitade agli avi antichi Cara non giunse. non fate carchi 1 vostri orecchi di preziose pietre, Che in mar lo scolorilo Indìan raccoglie; Nè comparite già gravi per Toro Tessuto sulle vesti, onde ben spesso Le ricchezze cercate e le rapite. Dalla mondezza noi sìam vinti. Il crine Si disponga con legge; un pettin dotto R dona e toglie a suo piacer bellezza. Non r ornamento stesso a tutte giova; Quello scelga ciascuna, in cui più splende^ E si consigli col fedel suo specchio. Chiede una lunga faccia che sul capo (za) OTTAVIANO (si veda) fabbrica nel suo palazzo un Tempio consacrato ad Apollo Palatino. 1 Duci ^ a* quali ^ dim cesi sacro il palazzo medesimo, sono Augusto e Tim bario, mentre quegli vi nacque, e questi vi abitò» loe Siati ben divisi non velati i crini; Così avea Laodàmia le chiome adorne* Voglion le piene e ritondette guance^ Che della &onte sul confin vi lasci Piccol nodo onde veggansi, gli orecchi, D’an*altra il orin flagelli ambe* le spalle,^ Quale al canoro Apollo allor che in mano Piglia la lira. Come Pagi! Diana Altra gli .abbia legati, alLor che al bosco Peiseguita le fiere pau^ròse. Convien che questa abbia i capelli gonfj; £ strettamente quella il crine implichi* Altra s’adorni in guisa tal la ehioma,^ Che alla cilleuia cetera assomigli; Questa V increspi in modo ohe rassembri Onda marina. Numerar non puoi Quante sulla ramosa elea sian ghiande. Quante in Ibla sian api, e quante fiere S’ascondano nell’alpi, io pur non posso A te narrare le diverse fogge Di dar la legge al crin, mentre ogni giorno Ne sorgono novelle. A molte giova Che sia negletto: crederai che il capo Quelle jerì s^ornasser, che con nuova Cura testé si pettinar’la chioma. Studia con l’arte d’imitar Natura. Era Jole così, quando la vide Mercurio inventò la Lira fatta a gedsa di te» staggine, e questa dicesi cillenia ^ perchè egli nacque nel monte Cillene in Arcadia, Se Ooìdio tornasse a vigere in questo secolo, dorrebbe certamente veder con Rubilo che le nostre Dame seguono con la massima esattezza i suoi proietti nell* adornarsi i capelli. Amò Èrcole ardentemente Jole figlia di Eu» riio, il qual rìcue/ò di dargliela in isposa, quoMtun» Ercole ; presa la cittade » e disse: lo ramo; e tal Pabbandonata ; donna Quando sai carro sosteneala Bacco» E i Satiri gridare: evviva » evviva. Quanto in favor della bellezza vostra Fu Natura indulgente» o donne I Voi In mille modi ricoprir potete Z vostri danni. Invan noi ci asix^ndiamò; Cadono per 1’etade i capei nostri Come le foglie allor ebe Borea soffia. Con le germanicb’ erbe asconder pnote La donna la canizie » e può con Parte Miglior del vero altro cercar colore. Vanne la donna con la chioma folta f 'glUVaotsu solennemente proméssa, frritmto gli pertanto da una tal negativa, debellò la Città d^Occatia » 09 e questi regnava » e gli rapì la sua diletta denteila. :(a&) si sa veramente auali si fossero quell^er- he germaniche ^ del di egù amore eUrattivo compone- vano gli antichi un medicamento » col quale i capelli bianchi si riducevan neri o biondi. Si Sono però, trovate a’ nostri tempi molte ricette, ohe compensano largamente una tal mancanza. Cosi se i capelli sìan bianchi, si posson ridut neri col far uso d*una pomata, a cui siasi aggiunto una piccola porzione di nero d*aoorio ben macinato » oooero di sughero bru- glato unito all’azzurro di Berlino. Resta pm assai difficile di ridurli biondi » se non si vogUono adoperar polveri d^amido leggiermente torrefatte. La miglior ricetta che si può per quest* effetto accennare » é la seguente: si faccia una forte liscioìa di cenere di sarmenti ; vi si unisca una piccola quantità di radice di brionia e di celidonia; si faccia il tutto bollire; ed in fine vi Raggiunga altra più piccola pdtr- zione di zafferano dell* Indie, di fiorì di stecaae e di ginestra. Si coli per tela, e si laoino con una tal acqua piu volte i capélli. fOft Per i compri capelli, e col denaro In mancanza de* saoi porta gK altrou Nò il coidprar ciò palesemente teca Ve^ogna i noi vediam che son venduti D* Ercole in faccia e del virgineo coro. Che dirò della veste f Oro ed argento 10 non ricerco ^ o che rosseggi tinta La lana in tiria porpora. Se mille A prezzo più leggier vi son colori,,, É qual è dì follia segno piò espresso Che di portar sul corpo i propr} censìf Ecco il color delFaria allor che searca Si rimira di nubi, e il tepid*au8tro Non apporta la pioggia: eccone un altro Simile a te che sostenesti nn giorno Come si narra, e Frisse ed Elle quando Fuggir* le frodi d* Inoe. Imita questo 11 cernleA mare ^ da ciò traggo Il proprio nome, e di tal veste 10 credo Si coprisser le Ninfe. Altro è simile (28) Si rUeva di qui, che in faccia mi Tempia fMrtcata in onore d'Èrcole e delie Muse, avevano i Romani una bottega 9 in cui vendei ansi i capelli. ' (a^) Frisso ed Elle figli dì Adamante Re di Tebe fuggir dalle frodi d* Inoe loro matrigna, salirò no' sopra il montone ornato del Vello d^oro^ che Mercurio diè in dono a Nefale madre d^ medesimi. Frisso fu da quello felicemente portato in Coleo, ma Elle'precipitò in quel mare, che prese da lei il nome d^ Ellesponto. Con ^esta favola vuol però dire il Poe* ta 9 che era presso i Romani in uso ( e lo è pure cd di nostri ) il colore che si assomiglia a quello dell* oro^ -Essendo il giovinetto Croco impaziente di poe* cedere Snùlaoe sua dUetta amante 9 fu trasformato in un fiore che dicesi volgarmente ZefBivano, o che da lui Ica preso il nome di Croco. £t Grocam ia parros yersam cum Smilace flore». Ovid, Metam. TOS AI Croco, e qàaiido accoppia i Ittraihbsi Destrier, con cròcea reste pur' si rela La rugiadosa Dea. Di'Pafo a’mirti ' Questo assomiglia, e quello alle purpuree Amariste, alle rose biancheggianti Uno‘^ ed tin altro aÈa'straniera grue. Le ghiande tuè ti sod pure, o Ainarilli, Nè ri tnancanr le mandorle, e il suo nome Diede alle lane per la eera. Quanti Fiori produce la norella terra ~ Allor che fugge iUpìgro rCrnò, e stilla Gemme la rite ^ tanti beo la lana Color dirersi, e quello scei tu dei> Che col tuo rolto Si confà. Ogni reste Non conriene a ciascuna. I neri ammanti- Fan risplender le bianche. Assai più. bella firiseide, allor che fu rapita, apparre, Perchè le membra accolse in negra reste*. Odora alle brune donne il color bianco: E tu piaceri, o di Oefeo,  In bianca resta allor che di Serifo Passeggiar! le rie* Io diei consiglio Che del capro il fetor sotto V ascelle Non passi, e che non sian per duri peli Aspre le gambe,. Ma non io già deggio Delle caucasee rupi le £snciulle Far dotte, o quelle che di Caico misio ÀmaUsta è una gemma, il di. oui colore è- quasi simile a quel della porpora. La figlia di Cefeo à Andromaca: avrà essa probabilmente passeggiai per le vie di Serifo > perchè è questa una piccola Isola del mare egeo, nella quàU fu edueato Perseo suo liberatore. Gli abitatori del monte Caucaso furore antica-- menteiCome lo sono tuttora, ferocissitni. FI Caico-è unfiu^ me della Frigia e della Lidia ^ che proviene dalla JS/Lsia. Bevano all*onde. Che non siano i denti V*ammonirò per hidblenza foschi, E che si lavin sul mattin 1 ^ guanoe Con man dell’onda aspersa. Voi sapete Pjocacciarvi il candor con distemprata Cera; e con Parte divien rossa quella. Cui non colora il sangue suo la. faccia: Voi con Parte il confin nudo del ciglio Fate ripieno, e voi con tenue pelle Ricoprite talor |e vere gote. Stropicciar gli occhi poi non è vergogna Con la cenere tepida „ o col crocb Che nasce presso te, lucido . Cinno. (3a) Tengo un libretto picciolo, ma grande ^ Opra per il pensiero, in cui i rimedj - Qià v’insegnai per la bellezza vòstra Con felice successo adoperarono le Dame Ro^ mane la cera distemprata per far fianca la peUe ; e con faUe^ ti Adopera ancora in questi tempi dalle nostre Dame . Ecco il modo di prepararla: ad una parte di cera bianca di Venezia si uniscono otto parti d* acqua, a cui si aggiunge una piccola porzione d*alcali vegetale y e si di^cioglie il tutto finché non si abbia una sostanza consimile al latte* he Dame ro^ mane solevano ancora adornare co* colori, e riempire co*peli ben disposti quello spazio ài pelle nuda che é fra il ciglio e il sopracciglio, s ! • Il le •apercìlium magaa faligine tinctum « Obliqua producit acu. Giovenale. Dalla Cilicia che è irrigata dal fasme Ciano fa» cevano esse venire il zaffarono ed altre céneri atte a purgar gli occhi dagli umori soverchp; e a renderli per cònseguenza maggiormente^vivaci. Ha scritto Opì- dio un piccolo libro de medicamiue faciei quale inségna alle Donne tutti i rimedj, che possono contri» buire a far bella la lor faccia e le loro membra. Quindi riparo alla figura offesa Cercate, che non è per gli usi Vostri Inefficace Farte mia. L’apiaìite Non miri apertamente i vasi esposti. Che Tarte ascosa giova alla beltade. A chi non spiaceria mirar sul volto Stendere quella feccia, e lentamente' Cader pel peso suo nel caldo seno? Quàl dall* immonda lana dell* agnella €2 Fahhricavasi in Atene con In lana sudicia e molle un medicamento che i Greci chiamavano Etipo. Le Donne facevano uso di questo per mollificare le ulceri di qualche delicata lor parte. Vedasi Diosco* ride y Plinio il Mattioli nel suo erbario ; che ne parlano a lungo, ed insegnano la maniera di fabbri^ cario, ' Non d può accennare qui il modo, con cui prepa^ radano gli antichi i midolli della Cerva yper averne un composto atto a far bianchi i denti, era i molti medicamenti che hanno per quesV effetto inventati i nostri Chinùci, ci piace di riportar qui la polvere, V oppiata i e le spunghe ; di^ cui dà Mons, Beaumé la ricetta nella sua Farmacia, Ad un*oncia di pomice, di terra sigillata^ e di corallo rosso s*aggiunga mexz*oncia di sangue di Dra^ go, un* oncia e mezza di cremar di tartaro^ se ne fac^ da una polvere sottilissima, e vi si unisca una pie- cola porzione di garofani e di cannella. Per compor quindi V oppiata > si prenda un* oncia della polvere suddetta, due once di lacca rossa da Pittori, quattro di mele di Narhonne, due di siroppo di more ; a queste ù uniscano due gócce d* dio essen-- ziale di garofani, e si avràr un* oppiata, che S4^à opportuna, come la polvere, a ripulire, imbianchire, e preservare i denti da molti incomodi. Una stessa virtà hanno le spunghe preparate, e intrise in una tintura fatta con lìfibre quattro a^ua, in cui abbina hoUUo quattVonce di legno del Bras^* Daraiìne ing^rato odòrè- il 'sugo estratta^ Benché da Atene a noi si mandi t Inverò^ Lodar non so cl^ alla presenza altrui Della cerva i midolli insìem mischiati Piglinsi, e che palesemente i denti Si faccian netti* Utili alla beltade Sono. tai cose, ma deformi troppa Agli occhi nostri* Molte cose fatte Piacciono, e turpi son mentre si fanno» Le statue di Mirone opre famose, Furono inerte peso e dura massa, Per farsi anello, Toro in pria si frange, E quelle vestì, onde vi fate adorne,, Furon. sordide lane* Era aspro marmo,. Mentre erano a scolpirla intenti, quella Statua nobile in cui Venere nuda Trae fuor dall* onde gli umidi capelli. Fa che pensar possìam che dormi allora Che tu Vadornì, Io lusingl>ieTa forma Sarai mirata se alla tua cultura le, tre dramme di cocciniglia soppesta, e quattri) di alume di rocca . Quando queste spunghe si sono, imbevute d* una sufficiente quantità d* una tal tintura, si fanno asciugare, si pongono per alcune ore nello- spirito di vino, a cui siasi aggiunte una porzione di- olio di cannella y di garofani,.e di spigo ec.; quindi si spremono, e sì conservano per valersene al bisogno, ih vaso di Oetre ben ehiuso. Mirone discepolo d^ Ageladé seppe formare in bronzo còsi perfettamente le statue, che Petronio dite aver egli compreso nel bronzo V anima degli uomini e delle bestie Alludesi alla famosa statua di PrassiteU, che rappresenta Venere nuda neW atto d^ uscir dal mora. Fu questa collocata in Roma nel Tempio di Bruto Callaico insieme col Colosso di Marte pvesso - il Circeo ffaminio Diligente darai T ultima mano. Del talamo le porte ben raccbiudi. Perchè vuoi far^ palese un’opra rozaaf Molte COEC' ignorar gli uomini danno. Di. cui gli ofiendón molte, se non copri Ciò, che et d’uopor di tener, celato. Vedi quelle che pendono^ da un culto> Teatro aurate statue, a osserva bene Qual lieve foglia il legno lor ricopra.. Ma come quelle al popolo* non lice Veder ae non sien poste in vaga mostra^ Così se non elea gli uomini lontani, Non si procuri d’acquistar bellezza. Non vieteiò cbe al pettine abbandoni Palesemente 1 tuoi capelli, quando Scender potran per tutto il tergo aspersi. Di non esser procura allor molesta, • Ne aciorre spesso le mal calte chiome. Sicura sìat quella che il crin t’adorna; Odio colei che le ferisce il volto Con l’un ghie liCi con rapito ago le punge 1 ( braccia Allor d’ancella là detesta. Le tocca il capo, e sull’odiate trecce* Col piaotn suo scende mischiato il sangue* Quella che il capo.ha.quaai calvo,ipoDga^ Sulla porta il oustode, o della Dea Gibele al ten^pio ad adornar si vada. ’ CibéU aveva in Roma un Tempio, in cui non potevano aver gli uomM V accesso: 4 Sacra Bona maribas non adeunda Des. Tibullo, Insinua pmttauio Ovidio con questa frase Me Donne di non pettinarsi alla pretenza^ degli uomini^ se non so» Mli i ìorq capelli fui annunziato airimprovviso un giorno A una -donzalla; e torbida i non suoi Velò capelli. Uo tal ro 88 or > ricopra La faccia alle nettiicbe, e questa^ infamia Fra le particele Nuore abbia soggiorno. Turpe è Tarmento senza corna, e turpe Senza gramigna è il campo, Tarboscello Senza le foglie, e senza i crini il ^apb» Non-vennero ad udire i miei precetti Semele, Leda ^ o la sidonia donna Che via portò pel tnar fallace Toro, O la tua sposalo Menelao, cW chiedi Bene a ragione, e che a ragion si tiene 11 Rapitor Trojano^Ecco una turba Di belle donne e dì deformi a un tempo ( Ahi sèmpre il ben dal male è snperato ! ) Che chiède i miei precetti, ma non tanto Cercan questi le belle, e men dell^rfe Procurano rajoto. Han quelle in dota Beltade senza Parte assai possente. Quando tranquillo è il mar, sicuro bessa^ Il nocchier dal lavoro, e mentre è gonfio Si asside, e in opra pone ogni socConk). Rara è beltà che senza macchie Sia; Le cela, e i vizj del tuo jcorpo ascondi Semeie figlia di Cadmo He di TeÒe e.madre^ di Bacco, Leda figlia di Tindaro, e sorella di Ca- stare e Pollice, Buropa figlia di Agenore He di Fenicia ove giace la città di Sidone, da cui élla vieti detta Sidonia, furono dotate d’una tal bellezza, che innamorarono vivamente lo stesso Giove, il quale non^ ebbe à vile di prender per esse le più strane sem^ hianze. Queste con Elena mogUè 'di Menelaosi pro» ^ pongono qui dal Poeta, come eiélnpi troppe rari dì: perfetta bellezza. Quanta più puoi'« Se di statura breve Tu sei, t’assidi, onde seder non sembri Allor che in piedi stai. Se oltre misura Però lo fo^si^ allor ti porca, e ascondi Con le vesti su’piedi un tal difetto. Quelle che sono gracili e minute Debbon di grossi drappi ornarsi, i quali Sciolti cader si lascin dalle spallo. Tocchi il suo corpo con purpurea verga Chi è pallida ; e chi è nera abbia ricorso Al fario, pesce. Un piò lungo e deforme Sottu candida alunda pgnor si celi, Nè secche gambe .sciolgansi da lacci. È certo, gU onticfd aoéoano de* medicamenti, co* quali ti coloravan la faccia ^, benché non d sappia di qual natura^ quelli si fossero . Il belletto > che si usa pretentemente è composto di rosso e di biancone sarà forse pià efficace di quel che adopra* vano le Daàte romane. Si è per qualche, tempo im-^ piegata Cernita il magistero di Bismuto^ detto altrimenti bianco di spanna com« quello, che avendo un leggiero color d’incarnato, era pià analogo aHa pelle ; ma sì l’una che l’altro anneriscono e guastano la carnagione, mentre tutte le calci metallici^ riprèndono una parte del loro flogisto, e, si ripristinano Si è pertanto sostituita alla cerussa ed al bismuto la pomata di spermàceti^e l’olio di mandorle dolci, unendovi una porziànè di falco'biancò finissimo. Col talco bianco ùmilmente barico,della parte coloranto de* fiori di Cqrt^mfi j a,,cui si aggiungono poche gocce di olio di Beri, per renderlo pastoso è molle, si compone il roiso y che ancor chiamasi-rosso di porto- gallo o roSso'vegetale. Il /arto pesce é il coccodrillo y degl* interiori e della sterco del quote sh servivano i Homani e(f i Greci per fare un composto atto a render bianca e splendida, lo pellé. X’Alauda b una pelle moUissiuia, Tenue eoscm conviene ad alte spalici E se il petto sìk turgida, il circondi Fascia, e lo stringa. Se le dità pin^ui^ E scabre T ùnghie avrai, allor di rado Accompagna congesti i detti tuoi. Chi grave dalla bocca esala oddte ' Digiuna mai non parli ^ e dalla bocca Deir uom stia lungi. Negri, e troppo grandi Se i denti siéno, o in non belFordin natii Massimo il «iso allora apporta danno. Chi ^1 crederiaMiC donne apprendon pure Le. maniere del ti80,'e in qùesta parte Nuovo per lor procacciano òtnatoeùto. Non troppo-larga apri la bocca, e brievi Sian le pozzette in ambedne le. gote, E le radiche ognor copra de’denti L’estremità de’labbri, e non bisogna. Affaticar con smoderato riso . Il fianco, mentre deve ancor nel riso. - Dar proprio, delle donne urf dolce sùono'. V’ è pur chi in mille guise il volto- Con male acconce risa*, ed altra credi Piangere allor che tutta allegra ride$ Quella tramanda un, rauco suono ; e stride Cosi inamabilmente, che ^assembra ; Asìnella che ragli, allor che intorue s 5 Alla macina gira.^E'do Ve l’arte ^ Non giugno ? Coù decòro itnpajfan ) A lacrimare, e come, e qhandò sembra, ^ Loro opportune. E che dirò di quelle. Che niegano agli accenti intera forma, E fan con studio balbettar la linguaf ^ Credon che sia lìa grazia ancor nel viziò^. E pronunciano mal varie paròle^ rrii E con arte studiata altre ne lasciano. A tutto ciò, che ben giovar vi puote^ Ponete cura, e con femineo passo Imparate a portare il corpo vostro^ Havvi nel portamento anco il decoro. Con cui si fan fuggir, con cui si allettano Gii uomini ignoti. Muove questa il fianco Con arte, ed ondeggiar lascia le gopne Air aure in preda, e stesi i piedi porta Con maniera superba. Altra cammina Qual deir umbro marito la consorte. Rubiconda, e con piede in dentro volto rapassi move smisurati •y in q^uesto Serbisi, e in altro pur giusta misura» Rustici ha questa i moti, e troppo quella^ E molli e ricercatk LMraa* parte Della spalla, e r estrema ancor del braccio Di nuda, onde chi posto è al manco lato Veder la possa. -Hi special modo a voi Gioverà che qual neve avete bianca Ina pelle. Quando questa io mira, sem-pr^ Sulla spalla scoperta i bacci imprimo. Col dolce suon della canora voce Fermàr le navi più spedite al corso Le Sirene* del mare iniqui mostri. Condanna OVIDIO (si veda) a ragione come rozze le mogli degli Ultori popoli forti e a un tempo stesso /«- voci f che abitarono in Italia sul monte Appennino, I>c Sìrerse sono tre barbari mostri che dimorarono nel mar di Sicilia, Col suon lusinghiero deWarmoniosa lor voce'allettavano queste in tal maniera i naviganti, che si lasciavano essi predar facilmente. Ulisse per evitare un tanto pericolo, chiuse con la cera ^^^cchie suoi compagni^ e si legò strettamente'^ M albero della na^e ^da cui si disciolse dopo jia Udite qneste, se medesmo sciolse DalParbor della nave, e con la cera Chiuse Ulisse accompagni ambe le orecchie. È lusinghiero il canto . Le fanciulle Apprèndano a cantar ; la voce a molte Senza bellezza conciliò gli affetti. Cantino quel che udirò ne’ marmorei Teatri f ed or versi costrutti in metro Niliaco; e culta femina tenere Sappia per mio giudizio or nella destra 11 plettro, ed or con l’altra man la cetra. Il tracio Orfeo con la sua lira mosse Le fiere, i sassi, le paludi stigie, Ed il triforme Cane . O della madre Giusto vendicatore al canto tuo Cortesi i sassi fabbricar’ le nlura. Benché sia muto, il pesce ( è nota al mondo Favola) al suon del arionia lira sentito il dolce cànto di quelle . Le donne imparino dunque a cantare,se ooglionsi conciliare, come dice Otfidio, P qmore degli uomini, E!ran famigliari a* Romani le canzonette ame^ rose, e spesso lascile, ahe si cantavano in Egitto, ove scorre il celebre fiume Nilo, Orfeo nato in Tracia da Apollo e da Calilo • pe col suono armonioso della sua Lira fece sì che gli corressero dietro per ascoltarlo, gli alberi, i sassi, i fiumi, e le beloe feroci: Quand* egli intese la morte d* Euridice sua moglie, scese con la lira all* Infernot e con quella intenerì talmente gli Dei infernali, che a lui la restituirono, purché non ardisse di riguar-- darla prima d’uscir dall’Inferno, Non p9té l* amo^ toso consorte obbedire a tal legge, e però ella dovè involarsi a suoi sguardi subito ch^ ei la mirò Anfione figlio di Giove e d’Antiope indusse le pietre col suon della Lira a fabbricar le mura della città 4i Tebe. Picesi vendicator della madre, perchè. Si fe* pietoso . Anco a toccare impara Con Tana e l’altra man le dolci corde Del Salterio ; son atte a cari scherzi Di Callimaco a te smn noti i carmi. Quelli del eoo Poeta, e quei del tejo Vinoso Vecchio. A te Saffo sia nota (Son più degli altri i carmi suoi lascivi) E quel per cui viene ingannato il padre Del servo Oeta con la callid’ arte. Del tenero Properzio i versi leggi, O quei di Gallo, o quei del buon Tibullo, O i velli insigni per le bionde fila insieme fratello Leto la vendicò dall’ingiurie, che recatale Ideo di lei marito y col trucidarlo nel letto y ove lo sorprese con Dirce sua concubina y a cui pure tolse la vita. Atwne nacque in Metinna, e fu im eccellente Po&^ ta lirico, e nel tempo medesimo un ricco mercante. Ufosid alcuni suoi comùttadini dal desiderio di godere delle sue ricchezze fissarono di gettarlo in mare, mentre egli se ne tornala alla patria. Accortosi di ciò Arione cantò intrepidamente una canzonetta, ed un-' Delfino, allettato da una sì dólce melodià, Vaccai^ se sulle sue spalle y e lo portò in Tanaro promontorio della Laconia, Accenna ora Òoidio i Poeti che piacevano ai suoi tempi, e per lo stile e per le materie galanti, come a* dì nostri piacciono Ariosto, Passo, Guaritù, è Metastasio ec. Fiteta fiorì a* tempi d*Alessandro Magno per li suoi' versi elio^afici, e dicesi eoo Poeta y perche Coo /if ia sua patria. Anacreonte nacque in TeJo, e scrisse mol^ te canzoni veramente leggiadre in onore del buon vino, delle donne y e del giovinetto Batillo. Terenùo compose una commedia, in cui il padrone, ed il fratello sono ingannati da Geta asti^^ to lor servitore. one Àttacino cantò ne* suoi versi la spe^ dizione in Coleo degU Argonauti. Il vello d* oro, che j ii 4 Che far fanesti, ó Prisso ^ alla tua aaara Cantati da Varrone, q il pio Trojano Di coi non y’ha nel Lazio opra più chiara. Ma forse un dì con 'questi andrà conginnto H nome nostro, nè i miei scritti in Leta Saran dispersi/Dirà aldino: leggi, I culti versi del maestro nostro^ Con cui poteo far dotti uomini c donne.^ Fra’suoi tre libri che hanno infronte scritto II titolo d* amor 9 scegli que^ verai t Che legger tu potrai con docil bocca Più mollemente ; oppur con ferma voco, Canta P Eroìdi, ignota opera agli altri Ch’egli compieo. Ahi cosi piaccia aFebo^ Pel corno a Bacco insigne/ ed allò Muse, Numi che son propizj a noi Poeti. Chi dubitar potrà ch^ìo la fanciulla Non voglia al ballo istrutta, onde poi toltq Il vino dalla mensa » ella le braccia Volga in composte ed ordinato moto? Amansi i danzator che della scena Sonò spettacol, perchè san con arte: V Saltare y e con decoro. Io mi vergogno Di doverla ammonir di tenui cose, _ questi ivi andarono a conquistare, fu funesto ai Elle sorella di Frisso y perchè ella, come si è accennato y cadde miseramente in mare, mentre il Montone ador^ no d* un tal vello la portava insiem col fratello ih Coleo,, Tl pio Trojsno h, come è noto y Enea, sulle aùoni del quale ha scritto Virgilio quell* aureo Poe» ma che porta il nome d* £aeidb. OVIDIO (si veda) fra l*altre sue opere annovera ancora ire libri d* Elegie intitolati gli Amori, ed un libro - intitolato V ^roidi, perchè comprende ventuno lettere amorose y che fa scrioère scambievolmente dagli Eroi all’Eroine^ e dalfEroioe agli £roi. P’istruirla a gettare or l’aliosso, £ a conoscer de’ dadi anco il valore. Or tre numeri getti, ed ora accorta Pensi qual parte segua acconciamente E qual richieda. Canta in finta guerra (5o) Muova i soldati, che da duo assalito Nemici uno perisce. Il Re sorpreso Senza la sua compagna ^ si difenda Da se medesmo, e f’emulo ritorni Per lo stesso seotier.' La tasca è aperta^ E ornai son sparse le pulite palle; Quella che prendi sol muover tn dei. Ravvi un: gioco diviso in tante parti (Sai Quanti numera mesi il luhric^anno. Breve tabella prende da ogni parte (S3)- Tre tenni pietre, e il vincere consiste Nel disjpor queste in una dritta Mille giochi vi SOI» che turpe fia A una donzella d* ignorar ; col gioco Si può l’amore conciliar. Leggiera Fatica è appreodero a giocar ; maggiore Opra é il compmrre allora i suoi costumi. Non sappum Diramente per qual ragione si~ éovesse procurare tempi, in cui vivcóa Ovidio di gettar tre numeri nel gioco d^ Dadi. 5 •S£r»/erÌjco»o questi versi al gioco degli Scacchi. (Si) questo un gioco, di cui non possiam dare tucuna notula. Sembraci f che sia questo il gioco, che r pure dell» Dama. Alludeu (d gioco del Filetto, che . or gioeano' nule campagne i ragazzi. Così b decaduto un gioco - 0^ formava la delizia delle Dame romane, e coi» aecaderanno ancor quelli che si hanno in pregio a‘ dk nostri, ® ' Mentre s’applica al gioco, incanti siamo, E i reconditi sensi alloc dell’ alma Facoiam palesi. Ci deforma il volto ^ j Il cieco sdegno, e sono ognot col gioco Il desio del guadagno, le .pontese, » 11 sollecito duol, le stolte tìsse.^ j Rinfaccìansi i delitti ; di clamori * V aere risuona, e in sno favor s’invocano Gl’ irati Dei. Non v’ è fede nel gioco Il qual co’ voti non divìen secondo; Vidi le gote ognor molli di pianto: Da voi che amate di piacere all’uomo, Giove tenga lontan questo delitto. Diè la pigra natura allo fanciulle Silaili giochi ; ad altri pii sublimi S* applica l’ uom: per lui sono il paleo» I dardi, 1 ’ armi, le veloci palle; E il cavallo costretto a gire i^^no. Voi non acosf^il’-campo.o'ra gelata Vergin, nè voi sulle sue placid’ onde j Porta il toscano fiume* Ah ! voi potete Gire all’ ombre pompeje, anzi vi giova 1 Quando i destrier del Sole ardono il capo H Paleo i urto strumento fatta a guisa Jt trottola, eoi quale giocaoano i fanciulli romani fa- tendalo con una sferza girare intorno. Nel Campo Marzio si esercitavano » romani in tutti que’giuochi cU potevano «P^* renderli valorosi guerrien. Era ivi ta Vergine dalla fanciulla che ne scopri la sorgente, ed in quella si lavavano i giratori le di polvere e di sudore. Il Tevere e qui detto fannie tascsno, perchè dall’Appennino la Toscana nel f<u-t il siSo corso alla wta di tioma. Annoi, q. del fàh. I, ^ Alla vergin celeste. I sacri a Febo i’alagi visitate ; egli sommerse In alto mar le paretonie navi. I monumenti ancor» che fur costrutti» Dovete frequentar, da Ottavia e Livia Una suora del Ehjce, altra consòrte, E quelli pur del valoroso Agrippa, Che ha cinto il capo di navale onore. Della menfitica Iside agli altari Siate frequenti, ov^ ardesi P incenso, E ne’luoghi cospicui a’tie teatri. Di caldo sangue le macchiate arene Ite a mirare, e la prescritta meta. Rapido intorno a coi si volge il cocchia. Quel che si cela ò ignoto, e ciò che è ignoto Nessun desio risveglia ; è lungi il frutto Se manca il testimone a un bel sembiante. Benché nel canto superi Tamira Dicé con OVIDIO (si veda) ancora VIRGILIO (si veda), che Apollo nella guerra Azziaca prestò il suo soccorso ad Augu^ sto y il quale aveoagli innalzato un ternpio nel pro^ prio palazzo . Apollo in conseguenr^a, ^Hcondo questi poeti, sommerse le navi egiziane deste paretonie da Paretonio città marittima d*Egitto, che Pompeo avem va armate contro d*Augusto. Ved^i l*annot, 8 e g del Libro /. Augusto decorò A grippa suo generò della Corona navale dopo d^aver debellato Pompeo ^ ed innalzò al medesimo un portico y che fu chiamato il Portico d’A^rippa. Annoi, li del Lib, /. Dice Sirabone che giacevano tre superbi Teatri in vicinanza del Campa Marzio. Fu Tamira un poeta tragico che ardì con la sua lira di provocare le stesse Muse ^ credendosi a quelle superiore nella dolcezza del cantoma\dalle medesime fu vinto, ed in pena della' sua arrogwiza gli furono tolti gli occhi. Ed Àmebeo, sarà priva d’ onor« L’ ignota cetra» Se di Coo il Pittore Vener ritratta non avesse^ immersa Sare^bbe ancor nelle mailne spume. £ che ricercan maggiormente i sac^i Poeti che la fama ? E questo il fine Cui tendon tutte le fatiche nostre. Fur de’Numi e de'Re delizia un giorno. 1 Poeti, ed immensi ottener premj I cori antichi* Venerando allora, £ d’ una santa maestà ripieno Fu questo nome, ed ebbero sovente Larghe ricchezze. Ennio che il suo natale Trasse ne’monti calabresi, degno Si fé’ d’esser unito al gran Scipione. (6i) Or giaccion senza onor Federe, e il nome Ha d’inerte colui, che i sacri studj Cari alle Muse a coltivar s’accinge» Giova cercar la fama, e chi d'Omero Contezza avrebbe, se in obblió sepolta Ateneo^ Plutarco ed altri parlano con somma lo^ de d*Amebeo ateniese, perchè sonava eccellentemen- te la cetra, Apelle nativo di Coo dipinse Venere nel- ratto di uscire dalVonde marine \ ed Augusto coliocè una tal pittura nel Tempio dì Cesare suo Padre, ÉrUiio è tra i Latini un poeta che si può da- gV Italiani paragonare a Dante. Ennius ingenio maximus, arte xudis. Owd. Trist, Ub. IL EL I, Fu egli, nativo di Rudia in Calabria, e visse sommamente caro a Scipione Affricano il vecchio, ed a molti altri insigni Cavalieri romani. Morì in età di anni settanta, e dicevi che fu collocata la sua statua di marmo nel sepolcro degli Scipioni. Cicerone ^ro Archia Peata, così parla di ciò: Garas fuit Af- iiricano superiori ngster Ennius ; itaque in tepulcro ScipioQum putatur is esse constitutus e marmore. L'Iliade o^ra imxnortal foase rimasa? ^ Chi Danae conosoiata avr^a, se ascosa Posse étata mai sempre^ e «e già vecchia' Si fo8a''ella lacchiusa eptro la torre? Utile è a voi, bèllé e vezzose donne, Di porre oltre le soglie il vago piede< La lupa a molte agnello insidie tende Per predarne una, e sopra molti augelli Vola 1 Augel dj Giove. Il volto mostri Sposa_ leggiadra ^1 P®poI<>> o fra molti Un solo appéna rimai^rà sua preda. In ogni loco ove si tro^, attenda Sempre a piacere; ed abi>ia special cura Di sua bellezza. Puote in ogni incontro Sempre molto la sorte. Getta l’amo, Chè in quel gor^o, ovemen lo pensi, il pé^co t alor SI trova . Erran sovente indarno Per boschi montuosi i cani, e il cervo Cade fra’ lacci, mentre uinn l’insegne. D Andromeda l^ata a un duro scoglio Il niTPf far, che a un uom piacesse Il pianto sue ? ài cerca spesso un uomo Ne funerali del marito ; i crini Sciolti portar conviene, e sian la gote Di lagrime bagnate . Ma fuggite Gl, uomini che d’aver le ^mbra adorne hi fanno un pregio ; della lor beltade Vanno superbi, e portano le chiome Con ricercata simmetria, disposte. Ciò che dicono a vói, dissèro a m{llé; D’ uno in un altro àmot Tàgando vanno, Senza restarsi in dmha "parte mai. Che d’un tal uomo effeminato, a cui Forse molti non mancano amatori. Dee fer la donna ? 11 crederete appena. Ma credetelo pur, Troja' àncor ferma Starebbé,se di Priamo avesse ih uso\ Posto gl* insegnamenti . H'a^yi di quelli Che sotto il mantó di fallate amore V’assalgono, e tiòèrcan coh‘ tai mezzi Vergognosi guadagni . Ntìn la chioma Per il liquido nardo nitidissima ^ V'inganni, o breve fascia con cui stringa Le pieghe della veste ; nè v’ illuda Toga che sia di tenue,fil tèssuta; O anel con cui s’adorni uno o più. dita. Chi fra questi è più colto, è forse un ladro, E d’ amore arde per la ricca veste. Gridano spesso le spogliate Donne; Il mio a me rendi, e il suon per tutto il foro Rimbomba, e s’ode ; a me deh rendi il mio. Tu da tuoi templi d’oro adorni miri Con le femmine d’ Appia indifferente, Venere, queste lìti, Ancor vi sono Pessimi nomi'pei^'non dubbia, fama-. Priamo iruinuava «’ tuoi Trojatti di rtrtdtr àoeva nella via appia tomo al quale abitarono molte donne sacrifici che queste rendevano a quella lor lare, consistevano in prestar liberante tl lor corpo alle voglie sfrtnatt desìi uomm Iwrnnio E molte che rimasero ingjinnatp Da molti amanti, or d’ un egual delitto Si trovan .ree. Dalle quetele altrui; Imparate a; temer le^ vostre ; chiusa, Sia mai sempre la porta ad uom fi^lace. Donne ateniesi, uon prestate fade (j66)‘ A Teseo ancor, che giuri In testimonio Come invocolli nn giorno, i Numi invoca. Tu del delitto, oJDemofonte, erede. Di Teseo più non meriti credenza, Perchè ingannasti Fillide . Se molto A te pròmetteran, loro prometti j Con eguali parale . So di doni, Ti siano liberali, lor concedi I promessi piacer, ma se gli nìeghi II dono ricevuto, ancor potrai. La fiamma estinguer deUa vìgil Vesta, Rapir da’templi dTside gli arredi, E air uom porger T. aconito mischiato Con la trita cicuta«tll mio desire, Mi spinge ora a ;fcenarmi, e: tu ritieni. Musa, le brìglie: nè le mosse rote * Ti dian.terror» Tentino in prima il guado Ov..Arte d-am. Teseo abbandoni Arianna in Nassa, Demofe^nte non serbò a Fillide la premesti^ di ritornarsene a lei dentro due mesi, Con questi versi vuol significare il poeta che è capace di commettere ogni sceUeratezza quella don~ na, che nega il favor suo a quegli uomini da* quali ha ricevuto de^ doni, Riputavasi in fatti da* Romani un enorme delitto il rapire il fuoco custodito dalle Vestali, o i .sacri arredi del tempio d’Iside; e da ogni nazione si è creduto sempre colpevole colui che porge alVuQmo /^aconito con la cicuta, cioè il vet^no. Xrli scritti fogli, e T inviate cifre Riceva accorta ancella . Apprendi e vedi Dalle stesse parole che tu leggi, Se finga, o par se son sinceri i prieghi. Dopo breve dimora ognor rispondi^ Mentre, se è bre;i^e, è stimolo agli amanti. Deh non prometti al giovin che ti prega D’ esser docile mai, ma in duri accenti Non.gli negar ciò che dimanda . Tema E speri a un tempo^ e ognor che tu il licenzi Sia minore il timor, maggior la speme. Scrivi culto parole e consuete, Che un famigliare stil più eh’ altro piace. Ah quante volte arse per dólci note II cor di dubbio amante, e fu nociva Una barbara lingua a bella Donna! Benché voi siate nell’onor perdute. Tutte le cure vostre or son dirette A ingannate i Mariti . Idonea mano D’esperto giovin, di fidata ancella Rechi le dolci lettere, e tai pegni Non sian fidati ad un novello amante. Vidi ben spesso impallidir le donno Per tal timore, e vìvere i lor giorni Miseramente in sehìavitudin dura. Perfido è quei ohe tali doni serba. Che qual fulmine etnèo sono in sua mano. Si può tener, se al vero io non m’appongo, Lungi la frode con la frode ognora; Contro gli armati impugnar 1 ’ armi, logge Nissuna vieta . A imprimer sulla carta S’accostumi la man diverse cifre. Ah ! peran quelli contro cui vi deggio Avvertir di tal cose. In foglio mondo La risposta si scriva, onde non sembri Da due mani vergato . Al suo diletto Scriva la donna, .come un uòmo amante Scrive air amata » ed usi V uom V opposto. Ma da lieve materia innalzar V alma Ora a me piace a più sublimi cose, E le vele spiegar gonfie dal vento. Opra è del volto i rabidi trasporti Saper frenar: candida pace all* nonio Convien come alle belve ira crudele. Si fan per Tira tumide le guancie; Vengpn nere le vene, e inocchio splende Più truòemente del gorgòueo ‘fòco. Vanne lungi da 'metromba importuna^ Disse’Pallade ^ allór che il volto suo (*^0) Mirò )iel fiume . Se voi iii mezzo all’ ira Riguardate lo specchio ^ alcuna appena liistinguére pbtm W figura. ' Nè dannosa a Voi supérbr^^ facòià j TurgidJ il voltò ; có^ be^nigiii sguardi Deèsi a^es9ar 1 ’ amóre ‘J Odiahio ( e voi Già 1 fó^cre((efé che. ìie siete esperte) ‘ I fasti inambderatl^e spesso chiude Deir odio 1 sómi taciturna faccia. / Guard^ ^uel che ii mira, e ùi olle mente Sorrmi 'a^ueì cjhe rid^ e se à te un cenno §ia . Gorgoni étart t^e mostri \^enimente orribili per ìaHesta circonddia di serpi, e per Vocchio spaven^ tegole che ateoanò in: mezzo alla fronte . Chi fissava occhi in faccia*'alle medesime, rimaneva di sasso, Pallàde / sécorido^alcuni y gettò via la tromba, perdhè ^s’accorse chè ih sonarla si faceva troppo gòHf^ la faccia. ‘ ' Con tai preludj il favcitilletlo Amor» Pose i rozzi da parte, e diè di piglio A! dardi acuti della sua faretra. Vadan lungi da noi le donne meste; Ajace ami Tecmessa t noi sol puote Tener ne’lacci suoi lemina allegra.Non fa giammai che a voi porgessi preci, O Andromaca o Teome^sa, onde a me foste O r una o Valtra amiche. Appéna posso Creder che in letto maritar giaceste, Quando, a crederlo astretto io son da^iiglL Fprse ad Ajace la dolente sposa ‘ Avrà detto: mia luce, e gli altri accenti, Cari agli uomin|^ tanto f £ chi mai Vieta, Applicar gravi esempli a tenni cose, E di guerrier non paventare il npmef Cento soldati a questo^ il Duce esperto Diè a regger cop la vite,|è a quello cento Cavalieri, e lasciò'T altro in custodia ^ Delle l^andiere A; qual vedete impresa Atti noi siamo ; e^nel suo posto'o^gntipo ^ Venga locato. Un ricco a voi dia doni^ ' Vi sia propizi o, il Giudice, e ; il facondo ‘ Difenda i dritti vostri .'|loi poeti, Donp possiam far solo di carmi. 3a più degli altri amare il coro nostro; Andròniaca dopo ìa rnòrté ^&toré amato sud sposo, r dopo V incendio di-Trofa-fpssssò for i rn i s uns nm ti alle nozze di Pirro ^ e però vìsse con ^uosto/s^ssai malinconicà. Teemessa, moglie di Ajace, er^ una schiava y e però, secondo Ovidio y. doveva aver sempre Vanirne occupato da una grave, tristezza Da/ Comandante solevansi affidile^cento soldati al Centurione il quale aveva per sua insegna U 9 ramo di vite. Uua grata beltà cott ampie lodi Sappiamo celebirare, e va fainoso Dì Nemesi per noi, di Cinzia il nome. E dove nasce, e dove muore il Sole Conobbero Licori., e chieggon molti Chi sia Corinna nostra. Aggiungi a questo che son l’insidie ignote a’sacri Vati, Che giova l’arte nostra a^ lor costumi. Kpa ambiziosa voglia, e non desio D’aver ci punge. Noi sprezziamo il foro E son graditi a noi l’ombra ed il letto. Facili amiamo ognor con certa fede, £ in vasto incendio, il nostro core abbrucia. Con placid’arte docile T ingegno Facciamo, e ben s’adattano co nostri Studj i postumi. A* Vati aonj, o donne. Siate indulgènti, che gl^inspira un Nume,. E lor son fauste le pierie uive. Ci agita un Dio.; abbiam col Cièl commercio;. Ci vien lo spirto dall* eteree sedi. Chiedere il pre^o è scelléra^in grande Ad ottimo Poeta. Oh me infelice. Che scelle raggio tal piti non si teme Dalle jauciulle • ALmen dissimulate, Nè vi fate veder tosto rapaci. No, non cadrà nella prevista rete Un novèllo amatore . Il Cav^aliero Nemesi è amata a celebrata da Tibullo, Cia zìa da Properzio, tdcori da Gallo, a Ovidio ha^da^ to ne^ suoi versi alla propria amante il nome, di Corinna. Le Muse si chiamavano le Dive pierie, 0 per^ chi abitarono nel monte Pierio in Tessaglia, o perche vinsero e trasformarono in gazze le figlie di Pierio.Non reggerà T indomito cavallo Al par di quello che già al freno è avvezzo* Nè lo stesso sentier batter tu dei Per adescar la verde gìoventude, E le menti già stabili per gli anni QuelP inesperto, che la prima volta Sotto si pone all’amorose insegne. Che preda nuova nel tuo letto giacque. Te sol conobbe, e a te sia unito ognora; Si cìnga d’ alte siepi una tal messe. Schiva d’aver rìvjaì;ta vincerai, S’ei r amor suo con altra non divide; 1 regni e amor non vogliono compagni. Quel che invecchiò nell’ amoroso agone. Con prudenza amerà, saprà soffrire Ciò che invan soffrirla guerrier novello. Non frangerà le porte, e non furente Fiamma v’ applicherà. Non dell’ amata Farà con 1’ unghie ingiuria al delicato Volto ; e non straccerà della Fanciulla Le vesti, e non le proprie ; e per dolore Non svellerassi i crini • Questi eccessi Convengon solo a’ Giovanetti acerbi Caldi per poca età, per troppo amore. Tranquillo ei soffrirà la cruda piaga; Qual face inumidita a foco lento Abbrucìerassì, o quale in giogo alpestre Fresco ramo reciso: è quest’amore Più certo, è quel più breve e più fecondo. Con sollecita man cogliete i pomi Che fuggon. Tutto ormai s* insegni; schiuse Son le porte al nemico ; e siate fide Mentre ingannate altrui. Facil Donzella Puote mal conservare un lungo amore. Sla la ripulsa rara » e venga sempre Da lieti scherzi accompagnata • Giaccia Alla porta nrosteso, alto gridi: Porta crudele ; e molte cose umile Faccia 9 e molt^ altre minaccioso. Il dolce Noi mal soffriam ; ci sana il succo amaro; Pere spesso la nave » e fausto ha il vento. Ecco perchè non amansi le mogli; Seco stanno i mariti a grado loro. Chiudi la porta 9 e in aspro suon TuBciero Gli dica f entrar non puoi ; escluso, in seno Di lui per te si desterà l’amore. Deh riponete i rintuzzati brandi; Con gli acuti si pugni, ch^ io con l’armi Mie già non temo d’ essere assalito. Mentre ne^ lacci un amator novello Cade, gli fa sperar xhe del tuo letto Solo godrà ; poscia il rivai conosca E i divisi piacer ; senza quest’ arte Amor illanguidisce • Il generoso Destrier,se venga dal suo career schiuso. Corre velocemente, se il preceda Altri nel corso, o se lo segua . Estinto Ancor che sembri l’amoroso foco Con nuova ingiuria si riaccende, ed io, Lo deggio confessar, soltanto offeso Nutro r amor . Non troppo manifesta Sia la causa del duolo ; e ansioso creda L’amante che maggior fia ancor l’offesa Di quello che gli è noto ; ed or l’inciti L’aspra custodia di fallace servo, n geloso rigore or del marito; E men grato il piacer senza contrasto Èeiichè tu sii di Taide più. }asciya, Fingi timpri ; e ancor che per la porta Meglio il possa introdar, fa eh’egli venga Dalla finestra, e nel tuo volto i segni Mostra di Donna da timor sorpresa» Venga l’ancella frettolosa, e dica: Ah siam perduti 111 trepido Garzone Allora ascondi; col timor si debbe Mischiar piacer sicuro, onde 1’apprezzi» Come il marito accorto e il vigli servo Si possano ingannare i’avea taciuto Tema una Sposa il suo Consorte^ e viva Certa che altri la guarda ; è ciò decente; Vuol ciò il padoi:, la legge, e F equitade. Chi soffrirà che custodita sii Tu, che or la verga del Prétor redense? Odiose vuoi ingann^kT, miei sacri carmi» T’ osservio puro occhi miglior di quei Ch’ebbe il guardiano d’io, sii risoluta, £ tesserai l’inganno E puote invero Chi t’ ha in custodia a te vietar che scriva Se non si vieta a te di gire al bagno? E se potrà, de’tuoi segreti a parte, Terenzio da il nome di Taide ad una donna lasciva, che forma la parte principale della sua Commedia intitolata /^Eunuco. Parla qui il poeta delle donne schiave y che divenivano libere quando il Pretore aveva toccato al» le medesime il capo con una vèrga detta yindiqta, e che occupavano nelle case delle Matrone Romane unposto corrispondente a quello delle nostre Cameriere. (Giunone diede, cento occhi ad A^go custode d'io, perchè potesse soddisfare esattamente al suo incarico, ma il Dio Mercurio Pàìsdpì col suono del* la lira, e gli recise la testa Recar V ancella i foglj ricoperti Nel caldo seno da una larga fascia^ O nasconderli avvinti infra le gambe, O sotto i piedi f Se a tè ciò il custode Vieti, P ancella porgerà le spalle Di carta invece, e porterà su queste li^amorose tue cifre impresse. Un foglio Con fresco latte scrìtto inganna 1’ occhio^ Con la polve l’aspergi del carbone, £ legger lo potrai • Del paro inganna Lettera pura in cui sia stato scritto Con la punta del lino inumidito, E le note ‘segrete incise porta . Intento Acrisie a custodir la Figlia, In opra pose ogni più esatta cura: Eppur col suo delitto il fece eli’ avo. E che fa il Custode, se cotanti Sono in Roma Teatri, e se a suo grado Non mancano a^dì nostri degli inchiostri sìrw^ patiei y che superano ne^loro effetti la virtù degli antichi. Con un^ oncia di Ut or girlo y e cinque d^ace» to stillato si fa un composto, che chiamasi aceto di Satarno. Con questo si scrioe sulla carta bianca, e quando è asciutta non si scorgono in alcun modo i caratteri. Si sparge quindi sopra la carta una piccola porzione d’un liquore fatto con un’oncia d’or pigmento e due once di calce viva sciolta nell* acqua ; éd allora compariscono i caratteri d*un coloraperfet’- tamente nero. Il calore e la luce coloriscono altresì i caratteri scritti con alcune soluzioni metalliche allungate con Vacqua, cioè con quella dell’oro, dell’argento, e principalmenie del bismuto. La tintura di galla è pure ì^n inchiostro simpatico, purché si faccia passar sopra di essa una qualunque marziale dissoluzione, Annota (a del lÀb. Presente Può rimirar le corse de* destrieri f Quando nel tempio d’Isi assister puote Al concerto de sistri, e p^pte in altri Lochi ella gire » ove l’ingresso poi È vietato a’ compagni ? Se da’ templi Della Dea Buona può fuggir gli sguardi D’ogni uom fuor di quel eh’ ella desia f lyientre il Custode fuor del bagno serba Gli abbigliamenti della sua Padrona, Se può mrtivo nel; sicuro bagno Celar 1* Aàotante ? Se ove 1’ uopo il chiegga Per finto morbo giacerà 1’amica O se per vero, a lei cederà il letto? Quando la chiave adultera col suo Medesmo nome cosa far c’insegna^ Nè sol la porta dà il bramato ingresso? S’inganna pur con molto vin la cura Di vigile Custode, ancor che colte Vengan l’uve nell’aspro ispano giogo. Vi sono ancora i farmaci che al sonno Aggravan le pupille quasi vinte Dalla notte letea • Nè mal trattiene La non ignara ancella l’importuno Con le tarde delìzie, end’ ella possa Star col suo vago quanto più le piace. Che far tante parole, e cosi lievi .Gli uomini non potevano interpénire nel Tenu» pio d'Iside, quando le donne celebravano le sue fo» ste col serbarsi, almeno apparentemente, easte per molti giorni, Era agli uomini vietato V ingresso nel Tem» pio della Dea Buona o sia di Cibele. Denota il Poeta il vin poco generoso, che i Romani facevano venire dalia Laleiania in gna provincia di Spagna Porger precetti, se con picciol dono Si corrompe il Custode ? A me lo credi. Gli Uomini e i Dei guadagnansi co’doni, £ i doni placan pur lo stesso Giove. Che farà il saggio, se de’ doni ancora Gode lo stolto ? Ricevuti i doni, Si farà muto anco il marito istesso. Per tutto Panno guadagnar si debbo Una volta il Custode, e quelle mani Che un di vi diede, vi darà sovente. Feci querela, e l’ho ferma in pensiero Che temer si dovessero i compagni; Nè diretta soltanto all’ uomo è questa. Se credula sarai, carpirann’altre 1 tuoi piaceri, e avrai cacciato il lepre Per esse. Quella, che t’appresta il letto, E che officiósa a te concede il loco. Giacque più. volte, a me lo credi, meco. Nè troppo bella sia l’ancella tua; Sovente meco fe’della padrona Ella le veci. Ah ! dove ora mi lascio Io stolto trasportar ? Perchè contrasto Col petto inerme contro il mio nemico, Ed io da me medesmo mi tradiscof Come pigliar si debba al cacciatore L’auge! non mostra y ed a’ nocivi cani Come inseguirla non la cerva insegna. L’ utll vostro mi piace: io fedelmente Vi spiegherò i precetti, ed alle donne Di Lenno io porgerò contro il mio fato Lè Donne di Lenno in una notte, uccimo i loro mariti, e però OVIDIO (vedasi) sotto il nome di tende quelle che con gli uomini sono troppo severe Sà Da me stesso il coltello. Ahi fate in modo ( Ardua non è V impresa ) che crediamo D’ esser amati, mentre ogutìno crede Farcii ciò che desia. La donna miri Con infocato sguardo il fido amante, Tragga dal sen sospir profondo, e chiegga Perchè sì tardi venne. Aggiunga il pianto, E finga gelosia della rivale, £ gli percota con le mani il volto. Tosto vivrà sicuro, e nel suo petto Facile nutrirà per te pietade, E dirà fra se stesso: ah si consuma Questa per me d*amore i e specialmente Se lo specchio consulta, e colto sia, D’innamorar ei penserà le Dee. Ma a te chiunque sii, grave disturbo Non arrechin le ingiurie, e sbigottita Non ti mostrar, della rivale il nome Allor che ascolti, e facile credenza Non presta aMetti altrui. Ah quanto nuoccia Il creder facilmente, a te lo dica Quello che adesso narrerò di Proori. Scorre vicino del fiorito Imetto A’ be’ purpurei colli un sacro fonte. Di cui le sponde ognor fan grate e molli Verdi cespnglj . Ivi non alta selva Procri figlia d’Eretteo Re Atene per sos- petto di gelosia si portò segretamente nelle selve e né boschi ad osservar Cefalo figlio di Mercurio, sua Sposo, ed ottimo cacciatore . Mentre egli prendeva riposo in un ombroso colletto, essa celandosi dietro alle siepi, mosse disgraziatamente le foghe degli alberi» Credè Cefalo che s’ascondesse fra quelle una fiera y e però vi scagliò una saetta che gli uccise la sua dìletta consorte. Un l^co forma; gli arboscelli l'erba Ricoprono, e un soave odore esalano II rosmarin, l’alloro, il negro mirto. Non il tenne citiso, il colto pino, E il fragil tamarisco ivi già manca^ E non folto di foglie il busso. Scosse Da dolci aeffiretti « e da salubre Aura treman le foglie mnltiformi, £ le cime dell^ erbe. Ama la quiete Cefalo. Abbandonati i servi e i cani. Ivi stanco il Garaon spesso s’adagia; Solea cantar: mobil auretta, vieni Onde t’accolga nel mio seno, e allevj Il cocente càlor. Le intese voci Da un malaccorto far recate intere Alle timide orecchie della moglie. Tosto che Procri il nome adì dell’aura, Qnal fosse uua rivale, a terra cadde; Ammutolissi pel dolor ; nel volto Impallidid^ come le tarde foglie. Se colte sieno dalle viti l’uve. Sogliono impallidir dal verno offese, O i maturi cotogni, i di cui rami Piegansi, o le corniole ancor non atte A* cibi nostri. Tosto che; rinvenne. Straccia dal petto suo le tenui vesti. Con V unghie impiaga le innocenti guance. Jndugie non conosce, e qual Baccante Mossa dal J'irso, furibonda vola Per le pubbliche vie, sparsa i capelli. Ma già vicina, in una valle lascia I suoi seguaci ; intrepida e furtiva Nel bosco con piè tacito s’innoltra. QuaPera il tuo consiglio, allor che stolta O Procri, t’ascondeyi ; e quale ardore NelPattonito séno allor ti corset Già tu pensavi di sorprender l’aura Qualunque fosse, e di mirar co’proprj Occhj P infedeltà del tuo Consorte. Quivi d’esser venuta ora Rincresce; Or la rivale di mirar ti piace, Ed or ti penti opposti affetti in seno Destan tumulto. A creder la costringe ( Che quel che tenie ognor crede l’amante ) L’accusatore, il loco, il nome. Quando SulP erbe vide impresse Torme umane, Balzolle il cor nel pauroso petto. Già T ombre brevi aVea il meriggio strette, E in spazio egual giaceva l’Occaso e l’Orto, Allor che di Mercurio il figlio Cefalo Dalle selve ritorna, e T innainmate Guance delTacque di quel fonte asperge. O Procri, tu t’ascondi ansiosa ; ei giace Sull’ erbe consuete, e vieni disse, ZefHro fucile, o molle curetta vieni. Quando conobbe il dolce error del nome, AlT infelice il cor tornò nel seno, E il primiero color sul volto suo. S’alza, movendo il corpo e move ancora Le frondi circostanti ; e fra le braccia Va per gittarsi del marito Mosso Credendo quel rumor da qualche belva, Imprudente la man slancia sull’arco. Ed ave i dardi già nella sua destra. Infelice che fai? non è una fiera, rw Deponi ì dardi.... Oimè la tua consorte Dalle saette tue giace trafitta. Oh me infelice i eéclamà ; in petto amico Vibri il tuo dardOi o sposo. Ah che fa sempre Da te questo trafitto! Io pria del tempo La morte trovo « noa offesa almeno Da un rivale .^h farà ciò la terra, Ov* io riposi, a nae cara e leggiera. Fra quest’aure ^ che odiai sol per un nome. Già spazierà il mipspirto.. oh Dio!•• vacillo. Mi chiuda i lumi quella destra amata. Le membra moribonde egli sostiene Nel mèsto seno, e la crudel ferita Con le lagrime asperge^ Ella già spira, E la bocca del misero marito Lo spirto accoglie che dal petto incauto Deir infelice, Porcri alfine eeala. Ma sul sentier si torni. lo debbo adesso Agir palesemente, onde il naviglio Indebolito tocchi i porti suoi. Ch’io ti scorga a conviti aspetti forse, e ch’io ti guidi in questo pure attendi? Non t’affrettar; vien tardi, e già sia posta La lacerna i e decente i passi volgi. Grato è a Vener Findugio, e molto giova. Benché bratta tu sii, sembrerai bella, che coprirà la notte i tuoi difetti. Prendi co’ diti il cibo; havvi pur l’arte nel modo di cibarsi; con l’immonda mano cerca non ungerti la faccia; nò mangiar prima in casa, ma t’astieni dal farlo allor che avrai mangiato meno di quel che il ventre tuo capè, e tu brami. Paride, se veduto avesse Elena cibarsi avidamente, avria per lei nutrito sdegno, e detto fra se stesso: Ah fui ben stolto nel rapir costei! Meno disdice a donna il ber, che Bacco £ di Venere il figlio uniti vanno. Sì beva pur fin che il permetta il capo, E Talma e ì piè siaxi atti a loro nfficj, nè raddoppiati sembrinti gli oggetti. Donna che giaccia per soverchio vino, £ turpe, e di soffrir merta ogni assalto. Sparecchiata la mensa, è gran periglio cadervi per il sonno; in mezzo a quésto Molte si soglìon far cose impudiche. Io di stender più innanzi i^niiei precetti Sento rossor. La figlia dionea Mi disse: utile è a noi quelPòpra ìstessa che in se desta vergogna. A voi si sveli. Donne, ogni fatto. I varj atteggiamenti Noti vi sien, che a tutte non conviene la medesma figura. Tu che sei pel volto insigne, giacerai supina quella che ha bello il tergo, il tergo mostri. Recava Melanion sulle sue spalle le gambe d’Atalanta; se sian belle. Si dee imitare allora un tale esempio. Porti il cavai pìccola donna ; avéa statura immensa la tebana sposa; Suirettoreo cavai però non giacque. Quella che può mostrare un lungo fianco prema con le ginocchia il letto e alquante ritorca la cervice chi le membra Ha giovanili, e senza macchie il seno mentre l’uomo sta in piedi, ella corcata giaccia obliqua sul letto nè già turpe Credete scioglier qual Baccante il crine. XeSpoifk tsUoa 4fl4rQmcé mQglk E ondeggiando i capei, piegate il collo. Tu pure, a cui la pronuba Lucana macchiò il ventre di rugh, imita il l’arte Quando combatte sul cavai fugace, Ben mille son di Venere le foggie, ma la piò facil, di minor fatica È quella, in cui semisupina giace Sul destro fianco, I Tripodi febei, O il cornigero Ammon cosa piò vera Non conteran di quel che or la mia Musa- se Parte, che ci costa un lungo studio, merita fè, credete, ancor che i carmi Nostri eccedano forse ogni credensà Venere abbrugi le'midolle e l’ossa delle donne, e sia caro ad ambedue Lo scambievol piacer. Un mormorio dolce, e parole lunsinghiere e grate non manchino, nè tacita si stia in mezzo ascari scherzi unqua la donna, tu, cui d’amor negò natura il gaudio, finger lo devi con mendace suono; Lucina è un nome di Giunone, la quale presiede a matrìmon) ed apparti, i Greci dopo d^ a^er ointo i Persiani nella battaglia di Platea, levarono una decima suUe spoglie per fare un Tripode d’oro eonsagrato ad Apollo, Ateneo lo chiama il tripode della verità perchè si ritrovavano verissimi gl’oracoli di questo dio, Ammone è un soprannome di Giove, Quinto Curzio fa menzione del magnifico Tempio che gli fu edificato nella Libia, La sua statua avea la figura d’a- liete, e però si chiama cornigero Ammone. Dava essa de certi oracoli a chi la consultava, ed era a guisa d’un automa, che crollava la testa per additare a sacerdoti la strada, che dovean fare quando la portavano in processione. Ben infelice e miseranda donna È quella, che a sa stessa ìnntil tragga unutile pèr l’uomo i giorni suoi. Mentre e#ò fingerai, che non ti scofira Cerca, é col moto, fin con gl’occhi stessi procura d’ingannar. Faccian palese un frequente respiro e dolci accenti quello che giova. Termini novelli Sa la donna inventare in quegristanti quella, che chiede dopo il gaudio i doni, non sia molesta almen con le preghiere. Nè il pieno giorno introdurrai nel talamo chè giova a voi tener del corpo vostro molte cose celate. Ha fine il gioco. È tempo ornai di scendere da’Oigni che sul collo guidaro il nostro cocchio, e come fero i giovanetti un giorno, così la turba delle donne scrìva sulle spoglie, Nason ci fu maestro. Nome compiuto: Gianni Carchia. Keywords: ars amandi, erotica, il bello, la comunicazione dei primitivi, Ovidio, arte amatoria. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Carchia” – The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Cardano: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del valore civico di Melanippo -- Caritone -- the tasteful Milanese maschi – prospero – scuola di Pavia – filosofia pavese – filosofia lombarda -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Pavia). Filosofo pavese. Filosofo lombardo. Filosofo italiano. Pavia, Lombardia. Grice: “I’m sure Cardano does not mean chance by aleae! It’s a Roman notion, not an Arabic one!” Grice: “Cardano is a fascinating philosopher, but then so is I [sic]!” Grice: “My faavourite philosophical topic by Cardano is what he calls, well, his Italian translators call – recall that Italian philosophy is written in the ‘learned’! – ‘gioco d’azzardo’, ludo alaea – which is what conversation is – what is conversation is not a game of azzardo? But Cardano also refutes all that Malcolm says about ‘dreaming,’ never mind Freud – Italians are obsessed with a male sleeping: Rinaldo, Tasso, Botticelli (“sleeping Mars”), not to mention the search for the Etruscan equivalent to ‘oneiron,’ the god – one of my most precious souvenirs is a little medal of Cardano: not so much for his very Roman nose (charming as it is) but for the backside, which represents Oneiron, indeed, aong the ladies!” Poliedrica figura del Rinascimento. Riconosciuto come il fondatore della probabilità, coefficiente binomiale e teorema binomial. A lui si deve anche la parziale invenzione dell’ implicatura e della serratura, della sospensione cardanicache permette il moto libero, ad esempio, delle bussole nautiche ed è alla base del funzionamento del giroscopioe della riscoperta del giunto cardanico. Animos scio esse immortales, modum nescio. So che l'anima è immortale, ma non ho capito come funzioni la cosa. Figlio del nobile Fazio, un giurista esperto nella matematica tanto da essere consultato da da Vinci su alcuni problemi di geometria.  Fazio conobbe a Milano la vedova, madre di tre figli, Chiara Micheri (o de Micheriis) di cui s'innamora iniziando con questa, che vive con la famiglia del defunto marito, una relazione clandestina che porta al concepimento di un quarto figlio. Per non essere coinvolto nello scandalo prega un suo amico di Pavia, il patrizio Isidoro Resta, affinché assumesse Chiara come governante nella sua casa. Prima che lei partorisse, i suoi tre figli morirono quasi contemporaneamente di peste e lei tenta allora di abortire, senza riuscirci, del nascituro che ebbe il nome di Gerolamo e che lasciò scritto nella sua autobiografia. Dopo che mia madre tenta senza risultato dei preparati per abortire, vengo alla luce a Pavia. Come morto, infatti, sono nato, anzi sono stato strappato al suo grembo, con i capelli neri e ricciuti. Il bambino contrasse la peste dalla sua balia, che ne morì, e fu allevato da altre nutrici. E trasferito a Milano dal padre che anda ad abitare con lui solo quando ha solo sette anni, età in cui prese ad accompagnare il padre nei suoi viaggi d'affari. Essendo delicato di salute, si ammala gravemente. Solo dopo una lunga convalescenza poté riprendere a viaggiare con il padre dedicandosi nel frattempo agli studi di filosofia, nei quali ha modo di eccedere per le sue doti quando puo iscriversi a Pavia e Mantova per studiare filosofia, contrariamente ai desideri del padre che avrebbe preferito avviarlo agli studi giuridici.  Lasciata Milano in preda alla peste e sconvolta dalla guerra francese, si trasfere a Padova e si laurea a Venezia. E oggetto dell'astio che molti tutori hanno nei confronti di quello tutee geniale ma dal carattere scontroso e talora offensive. Sono poco rispettoso e non ho peli sulla lingua, soprattutto mi lascio trascinare dall'ira, al punto che poi mi dispiace e me ne vergogno. Riconosco che tra i miei vizi ce n'è uno molto grande e tutto particolare: quello di non riuscire a trattenermianzi ne gododal dire a chi mi ascolta ciò che gli risulta sgradevole udire. Persevero in questo difetto coscientemente e volontariamente, pur sapendo quanti nemici da solo mi abbia procurator. Nel frattempo a Milano e morto il padre che ha regolarizzato la sua convivenza sposando la madre del filosofo.  Non potendo tornare a Milano per l'epidemia e la guerra, prese dimora a Piove di Sacco. Esercita la sua professione a Gallarate. Ottenne la cattedra per l'insegnamento della filosofia presso le scuole Piattine di Milano, dove aveva insegnato anche il padre. La sua fama di esperto dottore si accrebbe per aver risanato alcuni membri della famiglia Borromeo. Dovette rifiutare alcuni incarichi di prestigio perché non retribuiti fino a quando e ammesso nel Collegio dei medici di Milano. Accetta di ricoprire la cattedra di filosofia a Pavia, rifiutando le offerte che gli venivano reiterate dal papa Paolo III. Cura, con esiti positivi, l'arcivescovo di Edimburgo John Hamilton, malato d'asma. Intuì probabilmente la natura allergica della malattia proibendo a Hamilton di usare cuscini e materassi di piume. Per aumentare la sua fama volle fare l'oroscopo all'arcivescovo e al re, e lesse nelle stelle un futuro radioso per entrambi. Hamilton fu impiccato quasi subito dai riformatori. Il re muore di tubercolosi. Rifiuta le prestigiose e ben retribuite offerte del re di Francia e della regina di Scozia.  Colpito da un doloroso avvenimento riguardante il figlio Giovanni Battista, medico anche lui, che, nonostante gli avvertimenti del padre, aveva voluto sposare una donna povera e di cattivi costume. Per necessità economiche il figlio coabita dai parenti della moglie avviando una convivenza caratterizzata dalla nascita successiva di tre figli e da continui litigi dovuti anche alle infedeltà della moglie che egli decise di uccidere, con la complicità di una serva, facendole mangiare una focaccia avvelenata con l'arsenico. Arrestato subito per uxoricidio, il figlio confessa il delitto e dopo un veloce processo, nonostante la difesa con tutti i mezzi messa in atto dal padre, fu condannato alla decapitazione. Gerolamo, convinto che la durezza della condanna fosse dovuta all'invidia dei suoi colleghi, per sfuggire alle malevole voci che lo accusavano di intrattenere rapporti illeciti con i suoi tutee, si trasfere a Bologna. Venne ulteriormente amareggiato dalla condotta scapestrata del figlio Aldo che lo diffama per tutta la città e che arriva a derubarlo così che il padre dovette denunciarlo alle autorità che espulsero il figlio dal territorio bolognese. A questa disgrazia si aggiunse inaspettata la notizia che si stava preparando contro di lui un'accusa di eresia tanto che il cardinale Giovanni Morone gli consigliò di lasciare il pubblico insegnamento della filosofia. Questa misura prudenziale non valse però a salvare Gerolamo che fu arrestato per eresia assieme al suo tutee Rodolfo Silvestri che non volle abbandonare il tutore. Non si conoscono le accuse che gli erano rivolte dall'Inquisizione. Tuttavia si era distinto per una certa imprudenza nei confronti della Chiesa, governata dal severo Papa Pio V, per aver compilato un oroscopo di Gesù, la cui vita così sarebbe stata decisa dalle stelle, scritto l'encomio di Nerone, persecutore dei cristiani, e soprattutto per i suoi confidenziali rapporti con i circoli protestanti frequentati dal suo tuteei, dal genero e dall'editore e tipografo dei suoi libri. Nonostante le testimonianze a suo favore di quasi tutti i suoi tutee, C. fu messo in carcere e poi agli arresti domiciliari sino a quando la Sacra Congregazione tramite l'inquisitore di Bologna gli impose la professione dell'abiura prima in forma grave (de vehementi) coram populo e successivamente in forma meno infamante (coram congregationem). Si sottopose docilmente alla abiura promettendo in una lettera a papa Pio V di non insegnare più pubblicamente filosofia (la cattedra all'università gli era stata intanto tolta) e di non pubblicare altre opere.  Lasciata Bologna Cardano si trasfere, sotto la diretta protezione di Pio V, a Roma dove fu ben accolto ma gli fu negata una pensione che gli fu invece assegnata da Gregorio XIII che era stato suo tutee a Bologna..E ammesso al Collegio romano. Si dedica alla composizione della sua autobiografia De vita propria. Il punto focale della sua filosofia è il concetto rinascimentale di “uomo universale" che dà alla sua ricerca della verità un contenuto enciclopedico. Scrive più di duecento opere che solo in parte furono pubblicate nel XVI secolo e che, altrettanto parzialmente, confluirono nei dieci volumi della monumentale “Opera omnia” dove si trattano temi di metafisica, omosessualita, mascolinita, il machio, il maschile, la medicina, scienze naturali, matematica, astronomia, scienze occulte, tecnologia. Egli, che si occupa anche della interpretazione dei sogni, della chiromanzia, della numerologia, del paranormale rende difficile distinguere nella sua filosofia il contenuti moderno del sapere dalle tradizioni metafisiche e magiche del passato. Vuole arrivare a una sistemazione unitaria della molteplicità dei saperi così che la nostra incerta conoscenza eviterebbe la confusione se potesse discendere dall'uno ai molti. Ma questo obiettivo, di origine neo-platonica, sfugge però all'uomo il quale allora è preferibile che occupi il suo intelletto in quei campi dove riesce, quasi come un dio creatore o ‘genitore’ – o ingegnero, a fare le cose. Questo avviene nell’aritmetica che si incarna nell'esperienza in un rapporto astratto-concreto la cui definizione ancora non è in grado di elaborare  Dopo aver analizzato nel “De subtilitate” i molteplici principi delle cose naturali e artificiali, si rivolge allo studio di tutto l'universo e delle sue parti (De rerum varietate), che concepisce come legate da sim-patia (attrazione) e anti-patia (repulsione) fra gli astri e l'uomo) e connessioni che consentono al filosofo, che conosce il linguaggio della natura e gli effetti degli influssi astrali sulla vita sessuale umana, di compiere quei "miracoli naturali" che sono le magie, di elaborare previsioni astrologiche e di stendere gli oroscopi delle religioni come quello dedicato a Cristo.  Il contributo in matematica  Noto soprattutto per i suoi contributi all'aritmetica, pubblica le soluzioni dell'equazione cubica e dell'equazione quartica nella sua “Ars magna”. Parte della soluzione dell'equazione cubica gli era stata comunicata da Tartaglia. Successivamente questi sostenne che C. aveva giurato di non renderla pubblica e di rispettarla come di sua origine. Si avvia così una disputa che dura un decennio. C. sostenne di averne pubblicato il testo solo quando era venuto a sapere che il Tartaglia avrebbe appreso la soluzione dalla voce dal bolognese Scipione del Ferro. La soluzione di Tartaglia, pur essendo successiva a quella di Scipione Dal Ferro (comunque mai pubblicata), risulta essere indipendente da questa. La soluzione della equazione cubica è detta comunque di C.-Tartaglia. L'equazione quartica venne invece risolta da Lodovico Ferrari, un tutee di C.. Nella prefazione dell'“Ars Magna” vengono accreditati sia Tartaglia che Ferrari. Nei suoi sviluppi delle soluzioni occasionalmente si serve del concetto di numero complesso, ma senza riconoscerne l'importanza come invece saprà fare Bombelli. Nell'ambito della scienza medica, l'esempio di Vesalio, che negli stessi anni aveva contestato l'anatomia galenica, spinse C. a definire Galeno un cattivo interprete di Ippocrate. Le sue critiche a Galeno erano comunque presentate come parte integrante di un tentativo di recuperare una tradizione ancora più antica e, si presumeva, più autentica. Fu il primo a descrivere la febbre tifoide. Venne invitato in Scozia a curare l'Arcivescovo di Sant'Andrea che soffe di asma probabilmente d'origine allergica. Seguendo i precetti di Maimonide riusce a guarirlo utilizzando delle cure modernissime per l'epoca: eliminare piume e polvere e mantenere una dieta controllata. Al ritorno dalla Scozia si ferma a Londra, dove incontrò il re d'Inghilterra per il quale redasse un oroscopo secondo il quale prospetta Edoardo VI una lunga vita seppure turbata da alcune malattie. La sua fama di si diffuse in Inghilterra tanto da interessare Shakespeare che nella "Tempesta" rappresenta un personaggio molto simile a C. ed inoltre una prova della sua perdurante popolarità può essere vista nel fatto che un’edizione del suo ‘De Consolatione’ è proprio il libro che Amleto tiene in mano quando recita il suo celeberrimo monologo ‘Essere o non essere’. De subtilitate e il libro che Amleto tiene in mano all'inizio del secondo atto, quando Polonio gli domanda cosa stia leggendo e lui risponde: "parole, parole, parole". Progetta inoltre svariati meccanismi tra i quali:  la serratura a combinazione; la sospensione cardanica, consistente in tre anelli concentrici collegati da snodi, in grado di ospitare una bussola o un giroscopio, garantendo la libertà di movimento dello strumento; il giunto cardanico, dispositivo che consente di trasmettere un moto rotatorio da un asse a un altro di diverso orientamento e viene tuttora usato in milioni di veicoli. Ma pare fosse già conosciuto, anche se porta il suo nome perché appare nella sua opera De Rerum Varietate  in una illustrazione navale. L'invenzione di questo tipo di giunto in realtà risale almeno al III secolo a.C., ad opera di scienziati greci come Filone di Bisanzio, che nella sua opera Belopoiika lo descrive chiaramente. Egli dette svariati contributi anche all'idrodinamica. Sostene l'impossibilità del moto perpetuo, con l'eccezione dei corpi celesti. Pubblica anche due opere enciclopediche di scienze naturali che contengono un'ampia varietà di invenzioni, fatti ed enunciati afferenti all'occultismo e alla superstizione: il De Subtilitate e successivamente il De Varietate. Introdusse la griglia cardanica, un procedimento crittografico.A Cardano è attribuito anche il gioco rompicapo descritto nel De subtilitate, ma probabilmente risalente a un periodo più antico, chiamato Gli anelli di C.. Altre opere: Della sua vita avventurosa e molto travagliata, rimane testimonianza nella sua autobiografia. Ebbe spesso problemi di denaro e per cavarsela si dedicò ai giochi d'azzardo per i quali ha una vera passione di cui si pente. Così ho dilapidato contemporaneamente la mia reputazione, il mio tempo e il mio denaro. (zeugma – segnato da ‘dilapidare’ – denaro, dilapidare il suo tempo, dilapidare la sua reputazione. Pubblica un saggio sulle probabilità nel gioco, “De ludo aleae” che contiene la prima trattazione sistematica della probabilità, insieme a una sezione dedicata a metodi per barare efficacemente. Oltre alla produzione dialettica, di carattere più strettamente filosofico sono invece il De subtilitate e il De rerum varietate, ampie raccolte delle sue osservazioni empiriche e delle sue speculazioni occultistiche.  Della sua produzione filosofica sterminata possono considerarsi come le opere più importanti:  De malo recentiorum medicorum usu libellus, Venezia (medicina). Practica arithmetice et mensurandi singularis, Milano. Artis magnae sive de regulis algebraicis liber unus (conosciuta anche come Ars magna), Nuremberg. De immortalitate. Opus novum de proportionibus. Contradicentium medicorum. De subtilitate rerum, Norimberga, editore Johann Petreius (fenomeni naturali). De libris propriis, De restitutione temporum et motuum coelestium; De duodecim geniturarum -- commento astrologico a dodici nascite illustri. De rerum varietate, Basilea, editore Heinrich Petri. Fenomeni naturali. De signo. De causis, signis, ac locis Morborum. Bologna. Opus novum de proportionibus numerorum, motuum, ponderum, sonorum, aliarumque rerum mensurandarum. Item de aliza regula, Basilea (matematica). De vita propria. Proxeneta  (politica).  Metoscopia libris tredecim, et octingentis faciei humanae eiconibus complexa, Liber de ludo aleae, postumo (probabilità). Le sue opere vennero raccolte e pubblicate a Lione  in 10 volumi. L’Encomio di Nerone. A lui è dedicato il cratere lunare Cardano e un asteroide. È intitolato a lui l'Istituto  "G. C." della sua città natale, nel cui cortile interno è posta una scultura che rappresenta il giunto cardanico, nonché infine l'omonimo collegio universitario pavese.  La blockchain "Cardano" (ADA) prende il suo nome, in quanto basata su un approccio scientifico e matematico. Della mia vita. Somniorum synesiorum omnis generis insomnia explicantes (Basilea). tti del Convegno, Castello Visconti di San Vito, Somma Lombardo, Varese ed. Cardano); Università Bocconi. Equazione di terzo grado"  Il Rinascimento. Omeopatia e allergie, Tecniche Nuove); Cardano, Edizioni Cardano, Il Prospero della "Tempesta”  somiglia tanto a Cardano in Corriere. La tecnologia scientifica, in La rivoluzione dimenticata: il pensiero scientifico greco e la scienza moderna, Feltrinelli Editore); Il libro della mia vita, Cerebro editore); Della mia vita, Alfonso Ingegno, Serra e Riva editori, Milano). La formula segreta. Il duello matematico che infiammò l'Italia del Rinascimento. ileae, per Ludouicum Lucium); “De propria vita” (Milano, Sonzogno). Lugduni, sumptibus Ioannis Antonii Huguetan et Marci Antonii Ravaud. Aforismi (Milano, Xenia). Palingenesi. Dizionario biografico degli italiani. Il filosofo quantistico. L’avventure di Cardano, filosofo e giocatore d'azzardo (Bollati Boringhieri, Torino Edizione); “La mia vita” (Milano, Luni). Che sfortuna essere un genio. Indice delle Opera omnia Volume 1  Frontespizio  Lettera dedicatoria  Praefatio  Vita C. per Gabrielem Naudaeum  Testimonia  Elenchus generalis  Index librorum tomi primi  Previlege du roy 1De vita propria. De libris propriis. De Socratis studio. Oratio ad I. Alciatum Cardinalem sive Tricipitis Geryonis aut Cerberi canis. Actio in Thessalicum medicum. Neronis encomium. Podagrae encomium. Mnemosynon. De orthographia De ludo aleae  De uno Hyperchen. Dialectica Contradictiones logicae Norma vitae consarcinata, sacra vocata Proxeneta De praeceptis ad filios De optimo vitae genere De sapientia De summo bono De consolatione Dialogus Hieronymi Cardani et Facii C. ipsius patris Dialogus Antigorgias seu de recta vivendi ratione Dialogus Tetim seu de humanis consiliis Dialogus Guglielmus seu de morte De minimis et propinquis Hymnus seu canticum ad Deum De utilitate ex adversis capienda De natura Theonoston seu de tranquilitate Theonoston seu de vita producenda Theonoston seu de animi immortalitate Theonoston seu de contemplatione Theonoston seu hyperboraeorum historia De immortalitate animorum De secretis De gemmis et coloribus De aqua De vitali aqua seu de aethere De aceti natura Problemata Se la qualità può trapassare di subbietto in subbietto Discorso del vacuo  De fulgure De rerum varietate De subtilitate In calumniatorem librorum de subtilitate (Archivio)  Indice rerum De numerorum proprietatibus Practica arithmeticae Libellus qui dicitur, Computus minor Ars magna Ars magna arithmeticae  De aliza regula Sermo de plus et minus Geometriae encomium Exaereton mathematicorum De proportionibus Operatione della linea Della natura de principii et regole musicali De restitutione temporum et motuum coelestium De providentia ex anni constitutione Aphorismorum astronomicorum segmenta septem In Cl. Ptolemaei de astrorum iudiciis De septem erraticarum stellarum qualitatibus atque viribus. De iudiciis geniturarum De exemplis centum geniturarum Geniturarum exempla  De interrogationibus De revolutionibus De supplemento almanach Somniorum synesiorum Astrologiae encomium Medicinae encomium De sanitate tuenda Contradicentium medicorum De usu ciborum De causis, signis ac locis morborum De urinis Ars curandi parva De methodo medendi De cina radice De sarza parilia Disputationes per epistolas liber unus De venenis In librum Hippocratis de alimento commentaria In librum Hippocratis de aere, aquis et locis commentaria In septem aphorismorum Hippocratis commentaria In Hippocratis coi prognostica commentaria In librum Hippocratis de septimestri partu commentaria Examen aegrorum Hippocratis Consilia De dentibus De rationali curandi ratione De facultatibus medicamentorum De morbo regio De morbis articularibus Floridorum libri sive commentarii in Principem Hasen Avicenna  Vita Ludovici Ferrarii Vita Andreae Alciati De arcanis aeternitatis  (Archivio) Politices seu Moralium liber unus Elementa Graeca inventione De naturalibus viribus De musica Artis arithmeticae tractatus de integris (Archivio) 10.8Expositio Anatomiae Mundini In libros Hippocratis de victu in acutis commentariaIn libros epidemiorum Hippocratis commentaria De epilepsia De apoplexia De humanis civilibus successionibus (Paralipomena)  De humana perfectione (Paralipomena) Peri thaumason seu de admirandis Paralipomena De dubiis naturalibus (Paralipomena) De rebus factis raris et artificiis  humana compositione naturalium De mirabilibus morbis et symptomatibus (Paralipomena) De astrorum et temporum ratione et divisionibus Paralipomena De mathematicis quaesitis Paralipomena Historiae lapidum, metallicorum et metallorum (Paralipomena) Historiae animalium Historiae plantarum De anima De dubiis ex historiis (Paralipomena) De clarorum virorum vita et libris (Paralipomena) De hominum antiquorum illustrium iudicio. De usu hominum et dignotione eorum, tum cura et errore. De sapiente (Paralipomena.  De vita propria. De libris propriis. De Socratis studio. Oratio ad I. Alciatum Cardinalem sive Tricipitis Geryonis aut Cerberi canis. Actio in Thessalicum medicum. Neronis encomium. Podagrae encomium. Mnemosynon. De orthographia. De ludo aleae. De uno. Hyperchen. Dialectica. Contradictiones logicae. Norma vitae consarcinata, sacra vocata. Proxeneta. De praeceptis ad filios. De optimo vitae genere. De sapientia. De summo bono. De consolatione. Dialogus Hieronymi Cardani et Facii Cardani ipsius patris. Dialogus Antigorgias seu de recta vivendi ratione. Dialogus Tetim seu de humanis consiliis. Dialogus Guglielmus seu de morte. De minimis et propinquis. Hymnus seu canticum ad Deum. De utilitate ex adversis capienda. De natura. Theonoston seu de tranquilitate. Theonoston seu de vita producenda. Theonoston seu de animi immortalitate. Theonoston seu de contemplatione. Theonoston seu hyperboraeorum historia. De immortalitate animorum. De secretis. De gemmis et coloribus. De aqua. De vitali aqua seu de aethere. De aceti natura. Problemata. Se la qualità può trapassare di subbietto in subbietto. Del vacuo. De fulgure. De rerum varietate. De subtilitate. In calumniatorem librorum de subtilitate. De numerorum proprietatibus. Practica arithmeticae. Libellus qui dicitur, Computus minor. Ars magna. Ars magna arithmeticae. De aliza regula. Sermo de plus et minus. Geometriae encomium. Exaereton mathematicorum. De proportionibus. Operatione della linea. Della natura de principii et regole musicali. De restitutione temporum et motuum coelestium. De providentia ex anni constitutione. Aphorismorum astronomicorum segmenta septem. In Cl. Ptolemaei de astrorum iudiciis. De septem erraticarum stellarum qualitatibus atque viribus. De iudiciis geniturarum. De exemplis centum geniturarum. Geniturarum exempla. De interrogationibus. De revolutionibus. De supplemento almanach. Somniorum synesiorum. Astrologiae encomium. Medicinae encomium. De sanitate tuenda. Contradicentium medicorum. De usu ciborum. De causis, signis ac locis morborum. De urinis. Ars curandi parva. De methodo medendi. De cina radice. De sarza parilia. Disputationes per epistolas. De venenis. In librum Hippocratis de alimento commentaria. In librum Hippocratis de aere, aquis et locis commentaria. In septem aphorismorum Hippocratis commentaria. In Hippocratis coi prognostica commentaria. In librum Hippocratis de septimestri partu commentaria. Examen XXII. aegrorum Hippocratis. Consilia. De dentibus. De rationali curandi ratione. De facultatibus medicamentorum. De morbo regio. De morbis articularibus. Floridorum libri sive commentarii in Principem Hasen (Avicenna). Vita Ludovici Ferrarii. Vita Andreae Alciati. De arcanis aeternitatis. Politices seu Moralium. Elementa Graeca. De inventione. De naturalibus viribus. De musica. Artis arithmeticae tractatus de integris. Expositio Anatomiae Mundini. In libros Hippocratis de victu in acutis commentaria. In libros epidemiorum Hippocratis commentaria. De epilepsia. De apoplexia. Paralipomena. De humanis civilibus successionibus. De humana perfectione. Peri thaumason seu de admirandis. De dubiis naturalibus. De rebus factis raris et artificiis. De humana compositione naturalium. De mirabilibus morbis et symptomatibus. De astrorum et temporum ratione et divisionibus. De mathematicis quaesitis. Historiae lapidum, metallicorum et metallorum. Historiae animalium. Historiae plantarum. De anima. De dubiis ex historiis. De clarorum virorum vita et libris. De hominum antiquorum illustrium iudicio. De usu hominum et dignotione eorum, tum cura et errore. De sapiente. Melanippus and Chariton Italy Greek athletes Lovers separator. Hieronymus the peripatetic says that the loves of youths used to be much encouraged, for this reason, that the vigour of the young and their close agreement in comradeship have led to the overthrow of many a tyranny. For in the presence of his favorite a lover would rather endure anything than earn the name of coward; a thing which was proved in practice by the Sacred Band, established at Thebes under Epaminondas; as well as by the death of the Pisistratid, which was brought about by Harmodius and Aristogeiton. "And at Agrigentum in Sicily the same was shown by the mutual love of Chariton and Melanippus - of whom Melanippus was the younger beloved, as Heraclides of Pontus tells in his Treatise on Love. For these two having been accused of plotting against Phalaris, and being put to torture in order to force them to betray their accomplices, not only did not tell, but even compelled Phalaris to such pity of their tortures that he released them with many words of praise. Whereupon Apollo, pleased at his conduct, granted to Phalaris a respite from death; and declared the same to the men who inquired of the Pythian priestess how they might best attack him. He also gave an oracular saying concerning Chariton - 'Blessed indeed was Chariton and Melanippus, Pioneers of Godhead, and of mortals the one most beloved. M/M: Chariton and Melanippus, Blessed Pair: Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae. Like the Athenian couple Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the couple Melanippus and Chariton are also seen as symbols of political freedom. Felix et Chariton et Melanippus erat, mortalium genti auctores coelestis amoris. εὐδαίμων Χαρίτων καὶ Μελάνιππος ἔφυ, θείας ἁγητῆρες ἐφαμερίοις φιλότατος. Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae; Tr. into Latin by Iohannes Schweighaeuser Chariton et Melanippus were blessed;  Pinnacle of holy love on earth. ATHENAEUS MAP: Name: Athenaeus Works: Deipnosophists    REGION  4  Region 1: Peninsular Italy; Region 2: Western Europe; Region 3: Western Coast of Africa; Region 4: Egypt and Eastern Mediterranean; Region 5: Greece and the Balkans BIO:  Timeline: Athenaeus was a scholar who lived in Naucratis (modern Egypt) during the reign of the Antonines. His fifteen volume work, the Deipnosophists, are invaluable for the amount of quotations they preserve of otherwise lost authors, including the poetry of Sappho. ROMAN GREEK LITERATURE  ARCHAIC; GOLDEN AGE; HELLENISTIC; ROMAN; POST CONSTANTINOPLE; BYZANTINE:M/M: Melanippus and Chariton, Two Lovers of Freedom Athenaeus, Deip.  Like the Athenian couple Harmodius and Aristogeiton, the couple Melanippus and Chariton are also seen as symbols of political freedom. ut ait Heraclides Ponticus in libro De Amatoriis. Hi [Melanippus et Chariton] igitur deprehensi insidias struxisse Phalaridi, et tormentis subiecti quo coniuratos denunciare cogerentur, non modo non denuntiarunt, sed etiam Phalarin ipsum ad misericordiam tormentorum commoverunt, ut plurimum collaudatos dimitteret.   ὥς φησιν Ἡρακλείδης ὁ Ποντικὸς ἐν τῷ περὶ Ἐρωτικῶν, οὗτοι φανέντες ἐπιβουλεύοντες Φαλάριδι καὶ βασανιζόμεναι ἀναγκαζόμενοί τε λέγειν τοὺς συνειδότας οὐ μόνον οὐ κατεῖπον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν Φάλαριν αὐτὸν εἰς ἔλεον τῶν βασάνων ἤγαγον, ὡς ἀπολῦσαι αὐτοὺς πολλὰ ἐπαινέσαντα. Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae; Tr. in to Latin by Iohannes Schweighaeuser. According to The Lovers by Heraclides of Pontus, [Melanippus and Chariton] were caught plotting against Phalaris. Even when they were tortured to provide the names of their accomplices, they refused. Moreover, their plight moved Phalaris’ sympathy to such an extent that he praised them and released them. ATHENAEUS  MAP:  Name:  Athenaeus Works:  Deipnosophists REGION 4 Region 1: Peninsular Italy; Region 2: Western Europe; Region 3: Western Coast of Africa; Region 4: Egypt and Eastern Mediterranean; Region 5: Greece and the Balkans BIO:  Timeline: Athenaeus was a scholar who lived in Naucratis (modern Egypt) during the reign of the Antonines. His fifteen volume work, the Deipnosophists, are invaluable for the amount of quotations they preserve of otherwise lost authors, including the poetry of Sappho.  ROMAN GREEK LITERATURE  ARCHAIC; GOLDEN AGE; HELLENISTIC; ROMAN; POST CONSTANTINOPLE; BYZANTINE. KrisArmodio, che viene riparato dal braccio sinistro del compagno più adulto. Quel gesto inavvertito o solo genericamente descritto dalle letture critiche, tese più che altro alla considerazione dei principali contenuti politico-encomiastici del gruppo si fa segno leggibile invece di una categoria interiore trasversale a tutte le epoche e alle geografie e tanto presente nello spirito antico quanto nel nostro: l'omoaffettività. Un uomo della fine del VI secolo a.C., chiamato Aristogitone, che aveva affrontato un rivale, oggi potrebbe chiamarsi Marco, Francesco o Giovanni, e compiere un medesimo atto, allungando poi un braccio come uno scudo su altri Armodio, dai nomi di Mario, Alessandro e Franco, per la reciprocità, l'attaccamento, il calore e il mutuo soccorso che il sentimento di essere in due sempre realizza. Quel gesto del braccio, inventato da Nesiotes e Kritios, fissa dentro un modello di valore civico per la retorica libertaria il segno di un amore.  Armodio e Aristogitone tirannicidi ateniesi Lingua Segui Modifica Armodio e Aristogitone (in greco antico: Ἁρμόδιος, Harmódios e Ἀριστογείτων, Aristoghéitōn) furono gli ateniesi tirannicidi che cercarono di porre termine al potere personale della famiglia di Pisistrato.   Statua di Armodio e Aristogitone, Napoli. Copia romana di originale greco perduto Sono noti come "i tirannicidi" per antonomasia, che assassinarono il tiranno di Atene Ipparco, ma vennero a loro volta uccisi dal fratello di costui, Ippia.  AntefattoModifica Pisistrato riuscì nel 534 a.C., dopo vari tentativi (meno riusciti) negli anni precedenti, approfittando delle tensioni che laceravano la città di Atene, ad assumere su di essa un potere personale. Pisistrato fu un tiranno,[1] prese il potere con la forza, ma, a giudizio unanime degli storici, fra i quali Erodoto, Tucidide e Aristotele, non ne abusò per modificare le istituzioni di cui la città disponeva e governò più da cittadino che da tiranno.  Quando morì, i suoi figli Ippia e Ipparco gli succedettero. Ippia, il figlio maggiore, tese a continuare nella politica paterna, mentre Ipparcoebbe un ruolo minore nella tirannide, ma l'atteggiamento del regime mutò profondamente in seguito alla fallita cospirazione.  I fatti si svolsero a quattordici anni dalla morte di Pisistrato. Tucidide racconta che a far scattare la messa in atto della congiura vi furono motivi personali di tipo sentimentale. Ipparco s'invaghisce del giovane Armodio che, secondo quanto racconta lo storico Tucidide, "era allora nel fiore della bellezza giovanile", dal che si deduce che doveva avere 15 anni. Armodio era l'eromenos(giovane amante) di Aristogitone, descritto da Tucidide come "un cittadino di mezza età" - probabilmente aveva 35 anni - e appartenente ad una delle vecchie famiglie aristocratiche.  Le relazioni sessuali fra un uomo più anziano (l'erastès) e un giovane non erano di costume sanzionate ad Atene ed altre città greche, sebbene tali rapporti non fossero omosessuali nel moderno senso della parola, ma pederastici. Certe relazioni erano governate da severe convenzioni, e le azioni di Ipparco per cercare di rubare l'eromenos di Aristogitone erano un deciso affronto alle regole (Tucidide dice aspramente che Aristogitone "era il suo amante e lo possedeva").  Armodio rifiutò Ipparco e raccontò ad Aristogitone cos'era successo. Ipparco, rifiutato, si vendicò ottenendo che la giovane sorella di Armodio fosse esclusa dalla cerimonia di offerta alle feste Panateneeaccusandola di non essere sufficientemente nobile. Questa offesa fu così grande per la famiglia di Armodio che egli decise di assassinare, con la complicità di Aristogitone, sia Ippia che Ipparco e rovesciare la tirannia.  L'uccisione di IpparcoModifica Il piano - che doveva essere portato a termine con pugnali nascosti nelle corone di mirto cerimoniali - coinvolgeva anche un certo numero di cospiratori, ma vedendo uno di questi salutare amichevolmente Ippia il giorno fissato, i Tirannicidi pensarono di essere stati traditi ed entrarono subito in azione, senza rispettare l'ordine che si erano dati. Riuscirono così ad uccidere Ipparco, pugnalandolo a morte mentre stava organizzando le processioni delle Panatenee ai piedi dell'Acropoli, ma perirono per mano delle guardie del tiranno senza scatenare ribellioni.  Aristotele, nella Costituzione degli Ateniesi, tramanda una tradizione che vede la morte di Aristogitone avere luogo solo dopo una tortura volta alla speranza che questi indicasse il nome degli altri cospiratori. Durante la sua agonia, personalmente sovrintesa da Ippia, questi finse benevolenza affinché egli tradisse i suoi cospiratori, sostenendo che la sola stretta di mano del tiranno sarebbe bastata per garantirgli la salvezza. Nel ricevere la mano di Ippia si dice che Aristogitone l'abbia criticato per aver stretto la mano dell'assassino di suo fratello, al che il tiranno cambiò immediatamente idea e lo uccise sul posto.  Allo stesso modo, una tradizione dice che Aristogitone fosse innamorato di una etera dal nome di Leaena(leonessa) che era ugualmente tenuta in tortura da Ippia - in un vano tentativo di costringerla a divulgare i nomi degli altri cospiratori - finché questa morì. Si diceva che era in suo onore che le statue ateniesi di Afrodite furono da allora accompagnate da leonesse [secondo Pausania].  L'assassinio del fratello portò Ippia a stabilire una dittatura ancora più severa che fu molto impopolare e che venne rovesciata, con l'aiuto di un esercito proveniente da Sparta, nel 510 a.C. Questi eventi furono seguiti dalle riforme di Clistene, che stabilì in città la democrazia.  La fama successivaModifica Magnifying glass icon mgx2.svgLo stesso argomento in dettaglio: Gruppo dei Tirannicidi. La mitologia successiva venne così ad identificare le figure romantiche di Armodio e Aristogitone come martiri della causa della libertà ateniese, e divennero noti come i Liberatori (eleutherioi) e Tirannicidi (tyrannophonoi). Secondo scrittori successivi, ai discendenti di Armodio e Aristogitone furono concessi privilegi ereditari come la sitesis (il diritto di mangiare a spese pubbliche al palazzo del governo cittadino), l'ateleia (esenzione da certi doveri religiosi), e la proedria (posti in prima fila a teatro). Visto che non si sa se Armodio abbia avuto discendenti (è inverosimile che li abbia avuti anche Aristogitone), questa potrebbe essere un'invenzione seguente, ma illustra la loro fama postuma. La storia d’Armodio e Aristogitone, e come venne trattata dai successivi scrittori greci, è dimostrativa dell'attitudine nei confronti dell'omosessualità al tempo. Sia Tucidide che Erodoto dicono che i due erano amanti senza commentare il fatto presumendo la familiarità dei loro lettori con tale pratica sessuale istituzionalizzata senza trovarvi stranezze. Per esempio, il politico Timarco è perseguito per ragioni politiche per il fatto che si è prostituito. L'oratore che lo difende, Demostene, cita Armodio e Aristogitone, così come Achille e Patroclo, come esempi degl’effetti benefici delle relazioni omosessuali. Con la celebre spiegazione di Cornelio Nepote, nel mondo greco vienne chiamato tiranno chi è signore di una città precedentemente libera Voci correlate Omosessualità militare nella Grecia antica Omosessualità nell'Antica Grecia Pederastia greca Tirannide Aristogitone e Armodio, in Dizionario di storia, Istituto dell'Enciclopedia Italiana, Armodio e Aristogitone, su Enciclopedia Britannica. La storia d’Armodio e Aristogitone. Da: Projet Androphile.  Portale Antica Grecia Portale Biografie Portale LGBT PAGINE CORRELATE Ipparco (tiranno) tiranno di Atene, figlio di Pisistrato  Ippia (tiranno) tiranno di Atene, figlio di Pisistrato Leena di Atene etera ateniese --se Sive Œconomia omnium Operum Hieronymi Cardam, forum. Signum t prifixum, ea denotat, qui modo in Iuccm prodeunt. PHILOLOGICA, Logica, Moralia.Vita propria, Libet. Ephemerus, de Libris proprii». SPe|[)K De Libris propriis, eoruaaquevfu.exeditRovilliji.  ltMriijs De Libris propriis et eorum usu, ex  edit. Henricpetr. V Aeca De Socratis (ludio. Oratio ad Cardinalem Alciatum,  (ive  Tricipitis  Geryonis, aut Canis Cerberi. In Theffalum Medicum, Attio secunda. Encomium  Neronis. Encomium  Podagri.  Mneroofynon. De Orthographia. De  Ludo  alel. DIALETTICA. Contradictiones logici. De  Vno. Hyperchen. Norma viti confarcinata.facra  vocata.  Proxeneta,  feude Prudentia  ciuili. De  Priceptis  ad filios. De Optimovitx genere, De Sapientia. De Summo bono. De Consolatione. Dialogus Hieton. Cardani, et Facij Cardam patri».  Dialogus Antigorgias, feu De retta vivendi ratione. Diaiogus Tetim, feu De humanis confiltii. Dialogus De morte, feo Guglielmus. De Minimis et propinquis. Hymnus, feu Canticum ad Deum, Moralia quidam, Physica. Vtilitate ex adversis capienda. De Natura, Thconofton de Tranquillitate. Dialogus de Vita producenda, feu Thconofton Thconofton. dc  Animi  immortalitate.  Thconofton feu de Contemplatione.  MTheonofton  seu  Hyperboreorum.  De Immortalitate  animorum. De Secretis. De  Gemmis, et coloribus. De Aqua. Dc Vitali aqua, seu  aethere. De Aceti natura. Problematum  fc&ionesfcptcm. Discorso del Vacua. Se la qualita puo trapaliare di subbietto in subbietto. Dc fulgure. Physica. De subtilitate. Aftio prima in Calumniatorem librorum dc Subtilitate. DcKcrum varietate. Arithmetica, Geometrica,  Mufua. t 1 A E Numerorum  proprietatibus, Pradtira  Arithmetica. Computus  minor. Artis magnx, sive de Regulis Algebraicis. Liber Artis  magnx, five  quadraginta  capitulorum, Si quadraginta quxftionum. De Aliza regula. Sermo de plus  fcminus. Exxreton mathematicorum. Encomium Geometnx. Operatione della linea, De Proportionibus numerorum, motuum, ponderum, f onorurm, Delia natura deprincipij, e regolo  Muficali. AJlronomica, AJlrologica, Onirocritica, DE Reftitutione temporum et motuum cacleftium. De Prouidentia ex anni conftitutionei Aphorifmotum Aftronomicorum fegmenta feptem. Commemarij in Ptolcmxum, de  Aftrorum  judiciis. De  feptem  Erraticarum  ftellarum  viribus. De  Interrogationibus. De ludiciis geniturarum. De Exemplis cdhtum geniturarum. Liber duodecim genurarum. De Revolutionibus. De fupplemento Alraanach. Somniorum Synefiorum libri. Medicinalium  primus. Ncomiutn Medicini, De Sanitate tuenda. Contradicentium Medicorum Ubii duo, olim' impreffi, nunc audtiores. Contradicentium  Medicorum  Libri  o&opofteriores,  nunc  primum in lucem emergentes. Medicinalium fecundus.  LVfu ciborum. De Causis, Signis, ac locis morborum. De Vrinis. Ars curandi parva. De Methodo medendi, fettiones tres priores.dempta quarta que Confilia quidam  continebat, fuo loco redituta.  De Radice Cina- De Cyna radice, seu de Decodis magnis. De Sarza parilia.  De Oxyinelicis usu in plcuritide. De Venenis Commentarij  in librum  Hippoc. de Alimento. Medicinalium  tertius. Commentarij in librum Hippocr. De Aere, aquis, et locis. Commcntarij in Aphorismos Hippocratis. Conclufiones de Lapidibus Galeni in  explicatione Aphorifmoru. Apologia ad Andream Camutium. Commcncarij in lib. Prognofticorum Hippocrati. Medicinalium quartus  et poliremus. Commentarij  in  lib. Hippocr. De Septiroeftri partui   Examen  agrorum  Hippocr. in Epidem. Lonliha varia partim  edita,  partimhaidenusanecdota. Opufcula  Medica  lenii  ia, (eu  de  dentibus   De  Dentibus, liber cjuintus, seu de morbis articularibus. Floridorum s ive Comtnent. in Principem Hazen.Vita Ludovici Ferranj, et Alciaci. Miscellanea, ex  Fragmentis, et Paralipomenis: L fragmenta.  EArcanis xternitatis,tractatus. Politica, seu Moralium, Laber vnus. Elemehta lingua: Grscx. De Inventione.V.  t De Naturalibus viribus, traftatus. De Musica. De Integris, traftatus Arithmeticus. Expositio Anatomix Mundini-Commentarij in libros Hippocr. de Viftu in acutis. Commentarij in duos libros priores Epidem.Hippocr. De Epilcplia, traftatus. De Apoplexia. PARALlFOMENON Itbri. De humanis ciuilibus fucceffiombus. De humana perfectione. HI. tn«o', feude Admirandis.De dubiis naturalibus, De rebus faftis raris, et  artificits. M.S. De  humana compolitione naturalium. De mirabilibus  morbis  Stfymptomatibus. Deaftrorum et temporum  ratione et divisionibus. De mathematicis quxlitis. Historix lapidum, metallicorum et metallorum. Hiftorix  animalium. Hiftorix  plantarum. De anima. De dubiis ex hiftoris. De clarorum virorum  vita  Selibris. De hominum antiquorum illuftrium judicio. De vfu hominum, et dignotione eorum, tum cura Sc errore. De sapiente. Nome compiuto: Gerolamo Cardano. Hieronimo Cardano. Hieronymus Cardanus. Keywords: masculinity, machio – maschile, Prospero, De signo, De signis, de Casis, signis, ac locis Morborum, ten volumes of “Opera omnia” analytic index – he wrote about almost everything – including logic, dialettica, metafisica, psicologia, anima, fisionomia, same-sex, he criticised Galenus for not realizing the distinction that at 14, a puer becomes an adolescent – his oeuvre is being examined in masculinity studies – masculinity Italian, Bolognese masculinity. He claimed that Bolognese males were ‘tasteful’ and underrated compared to Milaenese or Florentine males – he lived all over the place – he had many tutees, whose names survive – he was possibly paranoid – Silvestri was his best known tutee –analytic index of “Opera Omnia” --  Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Cardano” – The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Cardano: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del Pietro della Lombardia – scuola di Lumellogno – filosofia lombarda – filosofia novarese – filosofia piemontese -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Lumellogno). Filosofo lombardo. Filosofo piemontese. Filosofo italiano. Lumellogno, Novara, Piemonte. lombardia -- Grice: “If William was called Ockham, I should be called Harborne, and Petrus Lombardia!” -- Pietro Lombardo rappresentato in una miniatura a decorazione di una littera notabilior di un manoscritto Pietro Lombardo o Pier Lombardo (Lumellogno di Novara, 1100Parigi, 1160 circa) teologo e vescovo italiano. Nacque a Novara o nei dintorni (a Lumellogno esiste una lapide su di una casa che risorda il luogo della nascita), all'inizio del XII secolo. Ricevette la sua prima formazione teologica a Bologna, dove acquisì una perfetta conoscenza del Decretum Gratiani. Si recò a Reims e poi a Parigi, dove fino alla sua elevazione alla sede vescovile di questa città insegnò teologia. Almeno una volta in questo periodo si recò alla corte pontificia, dove venne a conoscenza della traduzione del De fide orthodoxa di Giovanni Damasceno, compiuta da Burgundio Pisano per incarico di Eugenio III. Quasi certamente è uno dei teologi che nel sinodo parigino presero posizione contro Porretano. Dopo un breve episcopato morì. Il suo epitaffio si conservò nella chiesa di Saint Marcel fino alla Rivoluzione francese. ALIGHIERI (si veda) lo nomina in Paradiso. Oltre ai commenti all'opera di Paolo di Tarso e ai Salmi, la sua opera maggiore rimane il Liber Sententiarum (Libro delle Sentenze), per la quale ottenne l'appellativo di Magister Sententiarum. Sebbene il testo rientri in un genere letterario tipico della teologia medievale, ossia l'esposizione delle sentenze delle autorità di fede (i padri della chiesa ed i riferimenti biblici) l'opera del Lombardo, per l'ampiezza delle fonti e la sua originalità, diverrà il testo di riferimento per la didattica nelle facoltà di teologia e l'elaborazione letteraria nello stesso campo. Egli infatti attinge ad una vasta letteratura in merito, adottando anche testi che normalmente non erano contemplati in queste composizioni, come Il De fide ortodoxa di Damasceno. Con la sua opera il Lombardo tenta di sistematizzare e armonizzare la disparità e le divergenze che la pluralità delle auctoritates aveva generato, dando luogo ad un certo scompiglio ermeneutico e dottrinale. Riprendendo la classica distinzione agostiniana tra signa e res, Lombardo afferma che il motivo delle divergenze non appartiene alla natura delle cose trattate, bensì alla metodologia esegetica. Il testo si divide in quattro parti: la prima tratta di Dio, della sua natura e dei suoi attributi; la seconda delle creazione degli angeli, del mondo e dell'uomo sino al peccato originale; la terza dell'incarnazione cristica e della promessa della Grazia; la quarta dei sacramenti. Anche lo sviluppo del testo mantiene la distinzione tra res (le prime tre parti) e signa (l'ultima) Lo stile del Lombardo snoda l'esposizione delle sentenze coll'eleganza dialettica di tipo anselmiano mantenendosi aderente al rispetto delle varie auctoritates anche riguardo o stile letterario col quale egli opera una volontaria mimesi. Il testo venne criticato sin dalla sua prima uscita per via del cosiddetto nichilismo cristologico. Lombardo descrive infatti l'incarnazione nei termini di assumptus homo, ossia la persona divina del Cristo avrebbe assunto una natura umana (accessoriamente). Ciò contrastava con la determinazione di origine boeziana per la quale la natura cristologica traeva la sua forma da un sinolo unico di divino ed umano. Note Per approfondimenti vedere: Nicola Abbagnano, Storia della filosofia, II, pag.30 e seg. Novara, Istituto Geografico de Agostini, per Gruppo Editoriale l'Espresso, Roma (I contenuti di questo volume sono tratti da: Abbagnano, Storia della filosofia, Torino, Pomba, e Abbagnano, Dizionario di Filosofia, terza edizione aggiornata ed ampliata da Giovanni Fornero, Torino, Pomba 1998) Nicola Abbagnano, Storia della filosofia, II, pag. 37 e seg. Novara, Istituto Geografico de Agostini, 2006 per Gruppo Editoriale l'Espresso, Roma (I contenuti di questo volume sono tratti da: Nicola Abbagnano, Storia della filosofia I, II, III, quarta edizione, Torino, Pomba, e Abbagnano, Dizionario di Filosofia, terza edizione aggiornata ed ampliata da Giovanni Fornero, Torino, Pomba); Colish, C., Leiden, Brill; C. Atti del Convegno: Todi, Spoleto, Fondazione Centro italiano di studi sull'alto Medioevo, Minuscule 714il manoscritto del Nuovo Testamento e di "Sententiae". Libri Quattuor Sententiarum Scolastica (filosofia) C. su TreccaniEnciclopedie on line, Istituto dell'Enciclopedia Italiana. Francesco Pelster, Pietro Lombardo, in Enciclopedia Italiana, Istituto dell'Enciclopedia Italiana. C., su Enciclopedia Britannica, Siri, C. in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, Istituto dell'Enciclopedia; C., openMLOL, Horizons Unlimited, C., Les Archives de littérature du Moyen Âge; C. Catholic Encyclopedia, Robert Appleton Company. Rovighi, C., in Enciclopedia dantesca, Istituto dell'Enciclopedia Italiana, C., Opera Omnia dal Migne Patrologia Latina con indici analitici.Chisholm, C., in Enciclopedia Britannica, Cambridge; Illustrare 'k iSlosofia di C. finora casi trascurata dagli' storici della filosofia è im lavoro del tutto nuovo spedialmente per lltalia. Protois affe!rim»a decisamente che C. non è un filosofo, Thaureau ch'egli è il principe degl’indifferenti in materia fìlosofica. Entrambe le asserzioni sono affrettate. Solo in Germania C. venne studiato con maggior serietà e con particolare attenzione! Kogel pubblica a Lipsia una monografia su C. Questa però parve confusa ed inesatta ad Espenberger che intraprese un studio acuratissimo della filosofia di C. e della posizione sua nel Beitràge zur Geschichte der Philosophie des Mittelalter diretti da BàumJcer e Herttìng. Di tale pubblicazione mi servii in special modo [Notre auteur ne fui donc pas un philosophe.] De la philosophie scolastique Paris, [Cesi lui qua notes reconnaissons corame le chef des indiffèrents en matière de philosophie. C. in s. Stellung z. Phil. d. Mittelal, Leipzig. Die philosophie des C. und ihre Stellung im vwblften Jahrhundert. Aschendorffschen Milnster] per questi miei appunti sulla filosofìa di C. sebbene mi pervenisse al momento di stenderli e troppo lardi per farne Fesaane minuto che essa si merita. Poiché è veramente questo il primo saggio che si occupa con severa e profonda indagine critioa della filosofia del Maestro delle Sentenze. L'autore dimostra una profonda conoscenza delle opere patristiche e delle scritture sacre colle quali esercita opportuni raffronti. Egli non si è poi solo limitato all'esame del Libro delle Sentenze, ma ha giustamente esteso le sue indagini alle altre opere meno conosciute di C. e pure ricche di impvortanti digressioni filosofiche, quali il Commentano o Gloessa dei Salmi detto anche Salterio, ed i Commentarli alle Epistole di S. Paolo. Solo non ha tenuto conto dei Sermoni che sottio tra le cose più interessanti se non più belle del Sentenz.iario, pur nel severo giudizio di Hanreau e Bourgain, di cui Protois ha tratto dai mss. degli utili estratti mentre se ne trova l'intero testo con poche varianti nelle Opere Omnia del vescovo Ildeberto. Essi sono utili per completare la figura intellettuale di C. Del quale a questo punto ripeleremo le parole: sed terrei immensitas laboris. In verità quantunque grande sia la nostra buona volontà non ci dissimuliamo la vastità del lavoro intrapreso: onde lo restringeremo entro i limiti a noi concessi, raffigurandoci un poco a quello spigolatore che move fidente sulle orme dei più abili mietitori pago di fare un piccolo fascio delle spighe dimenticate. HAUREàU Not. et Extr. t. Ili p. 49. BouBGAiN. La chaire firancaisc au XII siede Paris, cfr. FjsBitT (La faculiè de Theol.). I Padri della Chiesa iniziarono la filosofia oristiana, ma in forma espositiva, avendo ripugnanza a sottopome troppo minute dimostrazioni le verità rivelate. È secondo il pensiero di Gregorio una profanazione fassoggettare il verbo divino ALLE REGOLE DI DONATO. Ma quando, prima chei si diffondessero per tutta Europa le opere di Aristotile, si attese a studiare con amore i libri dell’Organum tradotti da BOEZIO, si accede quella tendenza già iniziata nei secoli antecedenti a fortificare il dogma col sillogismo e l'autorità della ragione. Da questo connubio della teologia colla dialettica del LIZIO nasce la scolastica la quale se ha i suoi precursoiri nei primi secoli del cristianesimo non riconosce i suoi veri fondatori che nel secolo di Abelardo e di C. Essa nasceva per una necessità di rendere più conformei la fede al sapere più progredito. E se da una parte non cessa di fiorire la .scuola dei mistici con Bernardo e gli Ai tempi di Abelardo e di C. non si possede altro d'Aristotile che la logica, cioè ciò che si chiama l'Organum e comprende: le Categorie coll'introduzione di Porfirio, l'Ermeneutica, gl’Analitici, i Topici, la Sofistica nella traduzione di Boezio, (Cousm Fragments philosophiques Paris) abati Ugo e Riccardo di S. Vittore, da un'altra il mal compresso bisogno di libertà di pensiero apre la via ad interminabili dispute quali giungevano talvolta ad intaccare il dogma, come accadde per Abelardo. C. apparve come moderatore tra le due opposte tendenze: la mistica e la speculativa, e valendosi dello stesso metodo dialettico usato dagli avversarti eerli si propose di dimostrare come le apparenti contraddizioni che si rileivano nelle Scritture sacre e patristiche rischi'arate dalla ragione riconducono a rinvigorire maggiormente te verità della fede. C. però nel Prologo delle Sentenze si scaglia contro coloro qui non rationi voluntatem suhiiciunt, che la ragion sommettono al talento, traduce ALIGHIERI, e vogliono fare credere per verità, i sogni di lor mente inferma. Qui non irationi voluntatem subiiciunt, nec doctrinae studium impendunt, sed his quae somniarunt sapientiae verba coaptare nituntiu, non veri sed placiti etiam sectantes. C. è dunque tenuto dallo stesso compito che egli si era pronosto, cioè di dimostrare cHte nelle scritture sacre non v'ha vera sconcordanza e che ogni ragionamento umano si riduce in ultima analisi a dimostrarne la veracità assoluta, a non imporra egli stesso nuove e diverse dottrine le auala lo avrebbero condotto fuori della sua serena imparzialità. Se ciò si possa chiamare indifferentismo io non so, poiché il Maestro delle Sentenze non sdegna di entrare e di approfondirsi nelle più minute distinzioni e controversite fìlosofìche, cosi care ai suoi tempi, sforzandosi con passione di ricavarne le verità da lui srià piresupposte. Nella sua umiltà che diventò poi lefir-srendaria esrli preferisce lasciar la parola affli altri, a Gerolamo, ad Ambrogio, e specialmente ad Agostino che è il stio autore preferito come quello che suipera tutti srli altri padri per profondità di vedute e copia d’argomenti nelle questioni fondamentali del dogma. Ma non è vero che il Maestro rimanga empire nascosto e non ap- [Questi ultimi conobbero oltre Aristotile anche Platone a cui sembrano dare la preferenza e non furono del tutto stranieri alle vedute dei neoplatonici. V. Bòbba La dottrina dell’intelletto in Aristotile e nei 8140Ì pie illustri commentatori; paia di tratto in tratto a mostrarci la via da seguire, per non perderci nel djedalo inestricabile delle questioni. JJei «resto i più che hanno parlato di C. si sono aoconlentati di scorrere i libri delle Sentenze: non hanno letto i suoi lunghi e lucidi Commentarii alle Epistole di Paolo, e neppure quelli ai Salmi che egli riunì sotto il titolo sintetico di Psaterium, nom^ i sjuoì ispirati Sermoni che si trovano manoscritti alla Biblioteca Nazionale di Parigi, e stampati tra quelli del vescovo Ildeberlo. In tutte queste opere C. non è solo un puro e disadorno espositore di dottrine. Certamente il Maestro va considerato precipuamente mei suo saggio delle Sentenze, il quale lormò testo nelle scuole ed è letto e commentato più della Bibbia mentre le altre opere vennero più presto dimenticate. Ma anche qui se egli non espone dottrine nuove, ha però il merito grande e riconosciuto da tutti gli storici della filosofia di distribuirle con metodo razionale, cosi che esse ricevevano lume le une dalle altre. Metodo già sperimentato con altro intento d’Abelardo, ma dal Nostro condotto a singolare perfezione. Egli slesso sull'autorità d’Agostino, espone l’ordine col quale si deve disputare. (Sent.): Gaeterum, ut in primo libro de Trinitate Augustinus docet, primo secundum auctoritates Sanctarum Scripturanim utrum fides ita ee habeat demonstrandum est. Deinde adversus gamilos ratiocinatores elaliores magis quam capaciores, rationibus catholicis et similitudinibus congniis ad defensdonem et assertioneim fidei utendum est; ut eorum inquisitionibus satisf<icientes, mansuetos plenius instruamus et illi si nequiverunt invenire quod quaerunt, de suis menlibus polius quam de ipsa veritate vel de nostra assertione conquerantur. . Il Deniflb in Carivi, Univer. Paris IntrodttcHo Methodus Abaelardi in IHo etiam opere quod in schoh's Theologiae per aliquot saecula adhibebatur usurpata est, dicimus Sententias Magistri C.Per queste come per le altre numerose citazioni delle opere di C. ci serviamo della Patrologia dil Migne, Paris. Fu in apecia»! modo ai metodo da mi usato che si deve J'eaiorme diffusione del libro delle Sentenze nelle scuole. Esso nel mentre veniva a soddisfare la naturiate curiosità del conoscere ed a dare la spiegazione di molte credenze poneva dei limiti alla libertà del raziocinio. Ma vienne sempre lasciato un cantuccio alle discussioni intermmabili sulle questioni minori, dalla risoluzione delle quali in un senso o in un altro poco aveva a soffrirne l'ortodossia. yui si esercitavano le intelligenze, inquisitionibus satisfacientes, SMANIOSE DI SOTTILIZARE e di sillogizzare, con tanta maggior sicurezza, quanto minore era il pericolo di intaccare la fede. Lo stesso C. nel suo saggio non si trattiene dal diffondersi nell'esame di questioni che a noi sembrano del tutto FUTILI e vane come quelle ad esempio che riguardano la natura degli angeli. E non è raro anche il caso che le lasci insolute. Cosi nel libro I, laddove domanda perchè mentre amare è lo stesso che essere, si dice che il Padre ed il Figliuolo non sono in essenza costituiti dell’amore col quale si amaaio scambievolmente, CONFESSA MODESTAMENTE CHE LA QUESTIONE GLI SEMBRA TROPPO DIFFICILE e che egli si propone più di riportare le dottrine dei Padri che di accrescerle: Diffìcile mihi fateor hanc quaesti onem, praecipue cum ex praedictis oriatur quaei siniilem videntur habere rationem quod meaei intelligentiae attendens infirmitas turbatur, cupiens magis ea dictis sanctorum referre. Il De Vulf, Hist, de la phil. Medievale, Louvain, come il Dknefle da un troppo reciso apprezzamento. Ces sinthèses thèologiquea, dont la premiere idee semble appartenir à Abelardo ètaient appellées a un succès immense. Il faut en chercher le secret dans le besoins de la classification et d' orgànisation qu^on eprouvait devant la masse des materiaux rassemblès, bien plus que dans l’originante de ceux qui ont appose leur signature a ce travail de mise en oeuvre. Cosicché il libro fatto per conciliare ogni controversia sembrò sortire l'effetto contrario. Erasmits in Mattaei I, iP (cit. Da Fabricius, Bib. m. aevi) e Siquidem apparet illum hoc egisse ut semel collectis quae ad rem pertinpbant, questiones omnes excluderet. Sed ea res in diversum exiit. Videmus enim ex eo opere nunquam fìnìendarum quaestionum non exanima sed maria prorupisse. Flettrt, Hist eccl. Paris] ri quam uff erre >k E limsce col coaicmiDa^e. Eam tameu quaestionjeon leolorum ddligentiae plenius dijudicandam atque absolvendam ireiiinquimus ad hoc minus sufficientes. Perciò l'opera del Sentenziario ha un intento assai modesto, né presume di sciogliere ogni dubbio e di dirimere ogni questione. Qui il Maestro risentei della scuola di Abelardo il quale (nel trattato Sic et non riconosceva ai pastori il diritto di emendare le opere dei dottori della Chaesa (Migne) « Hoc et ipsi eccleisiastici dactores attendentes et nonnulla in suis operibus corrigenda esse credentes posteris suis emendaindi vel non sequendi licentiam concesserunt ». E il nostro C. così dice di sé: (Sent. in prol.): In hoc aulem tractatu, non solum pium leolorem, sed etiam correctionem desidero, maxime ubi prolunda versatur veritatis quaestio, quae utinam tot haberet inventores quot habet contradictores ! » Il libro delle Sentenze dove così riuscire più accetto giacché il giogo del dogma era imposto alla libera riflessione del pensiero con assai più illuminata larghezza che non fosse abitudine del passato. Tanto che parve a più d'uno dei suoi contemporanei la sua dottrina pericolosa e Giovanni di Goimovaglia potè chiamarlo uno dei quattro labirinti della teologia ponendolo allo stesso livello di GijDerto Porretano, Pietro di Podtiers, Abelardo. Scopo di C. è di fare un trattato che risparmiasse al lettore tempo e fatica. È per rispetto ai suoi tempi un volgarizzatore della scienza teologica dispersa ne^ libri canonici e negli scritti malagevoli dei Padri e incompiutamente contenuta nei libri di Abelardo, PuUeyn, Ugo di S. Vittore. Egli compila una specie di Enciclopedia teologica ove il lettore avesse a trovare senza sforzo tutto quanto gli facesse al ciaso. Però avverte nel Prologo. « JNon igitur debet hic labor cuiquam pigro vel multum docto videri superfluus, cum multis impigris multisque indoctìs, inter quos etiam et mihi, sàt necessarius: brevi volumine complicans Patrum sentias, appositis eonim testimoniis ut non sit necesse quaerenti librorum numerositatem evolvere, cui brevitas quod quaeiritur oBert sine labore». E cosi nel distribuire la materia egli seguì un nuovo ordine sistematico e compiuto non seguito né da Ugo di S. Vittore, né da Roberto PuUeyn, né da Abelardo {Am quali pure trasse assai dalle sue doltrine) e pose a ciascun capitolo un titolo per facilitare le ricerche (Sani, in prol.) Ut autem quod quaeritur facilius occurrat, titulos quibus singnlarum capitula dislingumitur praemisimus. Relijiiooe e scieoza. Giovanni Scoto Erigena afferma che la teologia e la filosofia sono una sola e una medesima scienza (1). Ma giustamente si poa&ono fare a questo punto delle riserve perché la scuola e la chiesa si accodano nel dire che l'ordine della ifede non é Tordine della jnagione e che sia pei filosofi come per i teologi vi sono dei limita al proprio dominio. Con lutto ciò la ragione e la fede non riusdroTio mai a vivere completamente separate. Ed a torto credano alcuni che si cominciò propriamente dalla scolastica a coffiy ciliare colla scienza la religione. Anche ai primi Padri della Chiesa piacque di giovarsi di entrambe e Clemente Dragone, Agostino, sono nello stesso tempo filosofi e teologi. L'opposizione alla filosofìa come indegna di essere applicata ai veri divini, non fu più propria e peculiare dell'età patristica che della scolastica, le quali non sono già in opposizione, ma Funa é naturale svolgimento dell'altra. Questo sforzo di comporre il dissidio ira Taulorità e la speculazione filosofica si continuò per tutta i se^ coli fino al nostro SERBATI che parlando dell età dei Padri e dei Dottotti scrive. L'uomo allora sentiva altamente che la teologia non era divisa da luii, e che, sebbene ella travalicasse, per l'origine e la sostanza, i limiti della natura, passava dal ragionevole al rivelato, quasi ascendendo da un palco in* (1) De praedestinatione (Collection de Mangin). Coniicitur inde veram esse philosophiam veram religionem, conversimque veram religionem esse veram philosophiam, cit. in Coasin Cours de la phU, I p. 344. feriare ad un altro superiore dello slesso palagio delia mente, con un solo disegno da Dio fabbricatogli. La teologia in quell'età era senza contrasto la conduttrice e la custode di tutte le altre scienze, la signora delle opinioni. Chi avrebbe allora pensato che sarebbe venuto un altro tempo in cui alcuni pensassero doversd la teologia dividere interamente dalla FILOSOFIA? Vediamo ora in quale rapporto si tirovassero le verità teosofiche colle verità filosofiche nel pensiero di Lombardo. Il Maestro si attiene in massima alle parole d’Agostino (sup. Joan). Credimus ut cognoscamus, non cognoscimus ut credamus. E nella distinzione XXII del libro III, là dove esaminia si Christus in morte fuit homo, e risponde che benché Pietro morì come uomo, tuttavia era in morte Dio ed uomo, non mortale e non immortale, e tuttavia vero uomo, dice a coloro che voglioo io troppo sotìsticare sulla ragione di ciò. Illae enim et Jiujusmodi argutiae in creaturis locum habent sed fidei sacramentum a philosophicis est liber. linde Ambrosius (De. fide): Aufer argiimenta, ubi fides guaeritur. In ipsis gymnasìis suis dam dialectica taceat, piscatoribus creditur, non diaileoticis. Ma questa fede da pescatori però, C. aggiuge più oltre, non è cosa a noi lutto affatto estranea, peirchè essa non può essere di ciò che l'animo ignora. E qui egli sente rinllusso del misticismo del suo- protettore. Bernardo e dei Vittorini che primi lo accolsero a Parigi (Sent. Ili dist.). Cum fides sit ex auditu non modo exteriori sed etiam interiori, non potest esse de eo quod animo ignoratur. Ancora è necessario fare con Agostino una distinlone. Alcune cose non sono intese se prima non si credono. Ma è pure vero che alcune cose non si possono credere se prima non sono intese, come la fede in Dio che [Opere edite ed inedite di SERBATI Introd. alla Filosofia Casale Tip. Casuccio p« 48 sgg. Per maggiori notizie sul teismo degli scolastici vedi: ERCOLE (si veda), Il teismo filosofico cristiano Torino Pbantl - Geschicte d. Logik] viene dalla predicazione, e queste pai per la fede intendono di più. Uoc. cil.). Ex his apparet quaedam intelligi aliquando etiam antequam credanlur al nunc eliam per tldem ampiius intelligìintur linde colligdtur quaedam non credi nisi prius intelligantur et ipsa per fidem ampiius inleJlegi. Quanto poi alle cose che mima sono credute che comprese esse non sd ignorano ael lutto perchè anche si amano (Sen.). Nec ea quae prius creduntur penitus ignorantur tamen ex parte, quia non sciumtur. Creditur ergo quod ignoratur non penitus sdcut etiam amatur, quod ignoratur. Pensiero ripetuto in AQUINO ed in ALIGHIERI. In conclusione C. si libra Ira un misticismo ed un razionalismo temperato non sfuggendo alla contraddizione, ma affronlaaidola. Il suo concetto è quello che informa in gran parte il cattolicismo. La fede non distrugge la ragione ma al contrario le da ali più potenli per sollevarsi. Ed è in questo senso che bisogna mtendere le parole d’Agostino: Intellectum ualde cana, e quelle d’Anselmo: Fides quaerens intellectum. Principia rerum inquirenda sunt prius ut earum notitia plenior haberì possi t. (Prol. in Collectanea). Dell’arti e delle scienza del trivio e del quadrivio, secondo la celebre classificazione data da Marciano Capella e riprodotta da BRIUZI e da Isidoro, LA DIALETTICA ovverosia la logica che da principio parve una scienza preparatoria avente per ogge'tio più le parole che le cose, acquistò nelle scuole un tale sviluppo che fini col proporsà i più alti problemi metafisici e diventare la prima delle scienze. Tra questi problemi, il più importante, anzi il fondamentale che sembra raggruppare sotto di sé tutti gl’altri, ed agitò potentemente l'età di cui parliamo, è il problema degl’universali, quale LA FILOSOFIA si è posto innanzi in tutti i tempi. Protois scrive che la questione degl’universali ha a suo autore Roiscelino. Ma ciò è per lo meno detto male. Già Aristotele nel LIZIO si è posto innanzi il problema nelle “Categorie” ed in molti altri suoi libri; e nella prefazione della Isagoge di Porfirio tradotta da BOEZIO, esso è pure [Haurbaux De la philosophie scoi. Paris] enuniciato, ma non risolto, parendo esso al commeintatore d’Aristotele di troppo grave importanza. Ecco le parole Ui Porfirio. M Cosi tralascierò di dire SE I GENERI E LE SPECIA SUSSISTONO o sono soltanto e puramente nei pensieii, se come bUSbisleaiti sono corporei od incorpoi'ei, se sono fuori oppure entro le cose seìusibili e con esse coeistenti: essendo troppo grave una tale impresa e rictiiedendo maggiori ricerctxe Porfirio divide cosi il problema nelle sue III questioni fondamentali e iu in tal modo che esso è segnalato ai primi scolastici. I I generi e le specie sussistono per sé o consistono semplicemente in puri pensieri ? II Come sussistenti, sono essi corporei od mcorporei ? Ed infine: III sono essi separati dagl’oggetti sensibili o sono contenuti negli oggetti stessi formando con essi qualche cosa di coesistente? A ragione Porfirio reputa queste questioni di somma difficoltà. Perchè comunque vi si risponda si è condotti nell'alto mare della speculazione, ed ognuna di esse sembra pod risolversi nelle suprema questione della quaile tutte dipendono: Che cosa è l’essere? JNuUa di più naturale che gli scolastici inoltrandosi a disputare di un tale argomento con molto ardire ed acutezza d mgegno, ma non con pari preparazione filosofica sollevassero infinite e tempestose discussioni che molto spesso non approdavano ad alcun risultato. Tre furono le scuole principaU che si avviarono ad una diversa soluzione del problema: quella dei REALISTI, dei NOMINALISTI, dei CONCETTUALISTI. Il nome di realisti è dato a coloro che affermano che i generi e le specie -- gli universali insomma -- sono una realtà sostanziale, una vera entità distinta dall’altre. NOMINALISTI sono detti coloro che negano la realtà di questi universali, e li ritenevano come semplici concezioni astratte del soggetto ricondotte ad una idea comime per mezzo della comparazione. Ma poiché questa conclusione, dovendo ammettere che tutto ciò che v'ha di comune non è ohe im suono, un nome vuoto di significato, flatus vocis, porta alla negazione di ogni scienza, sorsero i CONCETTUALISTI i quali aggiungeno che un tale suono, im tal nome rappresenta un pensiero, un concetto il quale proviene dalla somiglianza delle cose diverse: il che non è sostanziale ma è percepito dall’intelligenza umana come inerente a una natura individualmente deiterminata. Dopo che Scoto porta agl;estremi il realismo, venne Roscelino che parve dirigere la dottrina del nominalismo contro lo stesso dogma sollevando un grave scalpore nelle scuole. Poiché, se nulla esiste che non sia individuale, il dogma del divino, uno in tre persone vienne dalla ragione ricalzato nelle sue basi. È bensì un errore l'uso stesso d’armi dialettiche prò e contro i misteri della fede, perchè l'ordine della fede non è quello della ragione, ma d'altra parte è un errore rimediabile. Ed a difesa della realtà univereale si leva AOSTA (si veda), prima abate di Bec in Normandia poi arcivescovo di Cantorberv e Guglielmo di Chamoeaux, il fiero avversario d’Abelardo. Ed è quella del primo propriamente un realismo mistico, quello del secondo un realismo scientifico. Abelardo poi è il capo riconosciuto, a volte vincitore, a volle vinto, del CONCETTUALISMO, col anale si possono trovare molti riscontri nella filosofìa moderna. Quale dove essere l'opinione dei Dottori della Chiesa in tanto contrasto di idee? Evidentemente nessuna delle suesposte- se e quando lo notevano. I realisti confondeno le cose con la generalità delle idee, i concettualisti negano il reale fondamento delle idee universali, i nominalisti le idee stesse. I dottori non possono appartenere a nessuna di queste dottrine pericolose. Essi doveno essere tratti a trovare un criterio conciliativo, né ciò è diffìcile, secondo l'avviso dellHaureau. E quale è questo criterio? La specie non è solamente un concetto. Essa è altresì una cosa, non una cosa in sé, a parte dell’oggetto sensibie, ma nna cosa facente parte con essi, formante con essi qualche cosa di co-esistente. Tale a un dipresso la posizione dei dottori tra le scuole che divideno i logici disputanti, corrispondenti sotto altro nome alla scuola dell'idealismo critico ed alla scuola dell’idealismo trascendentale. Tra questi dottori concilianti che l'Haureau non propriamente chiama indifferenti si trova il nostro Maestro delle sentenze, il quale pero non si occupa espressamente della questione, ma solo ne tratta per incidenza, ragionando della Trinità nel 1 libro delle Sentenze. Per C., l'universale non è come per Guglielmo di Champeaux un solo essere dappertutto identico e però difficile a comprendere, ma al contrario colla moltiplicazione numerica dell'individuo diventa anche in essenza tante volle accresciuto. Se l’animale è il genere, dice il Maestro, e IL CAVALLO la specie si avranno III CAVALLI ed anche tre ammali (Sent. I d. XIX, 8) CVM SI ANIMAL GENVS ET EQVVS SPECIES APPELLANTUR III EQVI IIDEMQVE ANIMALIA. Perciò, quando la specie può dirsi triplice devono anche essere III gli individui. Tutto dunque si raccoglie nell'individuo. Ma egli poi aggiunge : SMITH, JONES, WILLIAMS -- Abramo, Isacco, Giacobbe sono tre individui. Ma, nello stesso tempo, anche tre uomini e tre animali. Specie e genere non sono quindi forme soggettive, ma un oggetto che è nelle cose poste al difuori di noi. Ma non si dirà che l'essenza divina è una specie e le persone individui, come è specie Tuomo e sono individui Àbramo, Isacco e Giacobbe. Poiché se l’essenza divina fosse una specie come l’uomo, come non si direbbe che Abramo, Isacco e Giacobbe sono un sol uomo cosi non si direbbe una essenza essere tre persone (Sent.)..Sicut enim dicuntur Abraham, Isaac, lacob, TRIA INDIVIDUA ITA TRES HOMINES ET TRIA ANIMALIA 10: Nec speoies est essentia divina et persona individua, sicut homo species est, individua autem Abraham, Isaac et lacob. Si enim essentia specìes est ut homo sicut non dicitur unus homo esse Abraham, Isaac et lacob. ita non dicitur una essentia esse tres personas. Il Maestro quindi, a mio parere, non nega all’universale un fondamento reale in quanto però va unito all’oggetto sensibile, ma distingue nettamente le cose temporali dalle cose divine alle quali NON convengono i nomi di universale e di partìcdare e le distinzioni della logica. Abael hist. cai.:Erat antem in ea sententia de communitate universaliam, nt eandem essenti ali ter rem totam simtil singulis suis inesse astrueret individuis. cfr. Espenberg Die phil. d C. EsPENBEROER. « Art nnd Gattung sind demnach nicht subjektive Gebilde, sondern objektiv in der una mngebenden Auszenwelt begrìindet », Teoria della coi>osc^i>za. i\el Gommenlario delle Epistole di S. Paolo C. -venendo a parlare delle visioni le distingue 'n tre generi: corporali, spirituali, intellettuali. E le ultime sono le. più perfette perchè vedono non cogli occhi corporali ó colla immaginazione, ma per sé stesse. Qui il Maestro viene a toccare sebbene in modo indiretto della conoscenza che noi abbiamo coi sensi corporali, ei di quella che acquistiamo colla memoria, la quale ci ripresenta immagini vere quali abbiamo già apprese coi sensi o finte quali rimmagin azione forma secondo il suo potere (Collectanea in epist. ad Cor.). In bis tribus generibus (scil. visionis) illud primum manifestum est omnibus quo vid'etur coelum et omnia oculis conspicua. Nec illud alterum quo absentia oorporalia cogitantur, insinuare difficile. Coelum enim et terram et quae in eis videre possumus, etiam in eis constituti cogitamus. Et aliquaiido nihil videntes oculis corporis* animo tamen corporales imagines intuemur vel veras sicut ipsa corpora vidimus et memoria retinemus vel fictas sicut cogitatio formare potuerit. Aliter cogitamur quae novimus, aliter quae non «novimus w. Altrove nel Commentario dei Salmi paragona la memoria al ventre che riceve i cibi : (Comm.) Sicut enim venter escasi recipit ita memoria rerum tenet notitiam. Nel libro III delle Scinlenze C. pariando della fede dice che essa si riferisce soltanto alle cose che non ci appaiono è sostanza di cose sperate come disse Paolo e ripetè poi ALIGHIERI (1), che conobbe il Maestro forse più d’AQUINO. E qui contrappone la fede alla conoscenza che si ha delle cose evidenti, tra te qiiali pone anche l'anima deiruomo che sebbene non veduta, è da lui intuita cogitando. Concetto raccolto poi e svilupipato da Cartesio, il quale prende la coscienza umana come il punto di par [Paolo (Ep. ad Eb. XI\* « Est fides sperandanim snbstantia rerum, argumentum non apparentinm. ALIGHIERI (Par.): Fede è siLStanzìa di cose sperate - ed argomento dene non parventi. ieaia dì ogni indagiiie filosofica ed argomenterà che IV sistenza ci è data dal pensiero: cogito ergo sum. Sent.). c( Non sicul corpora quae videmus oculis corporeis, et per ipsorum imagines quas memoria tenemus, etiam absentia cogitamus; nec sicut ea quae non videmas et ex his quae videmus cogitalionem utromque formamus, et memoriae commendamus, nec sicut hominem, cuius animam etsi non videmus, ex nosbna coniicimus et ex motibus corporis hominem sicut videndo didicimur, intuemur etiam cogitando: non sic vìdetur fides in corde in quo est, .ab eo cuius est, sed eam tenel oerliseima scientia. CosH nel capitolo già citato delle CoUectanea, il Maestro tocca della conoscenza che noi abbiamo del nostro intelletto intellicfendo. E' insomma nella ragione stessa la spiegazione della nostra ragione (In epist. ad Cor.) Hac visione quae didtur intellectualis ea cemuntur, quae nec cemuntur corporea, nec ullas gerunt formas similes corponim, velui ipsa mens et omuis animae affectio bona. Quo enim alio modo nisi intellisrendo intellectus consoicitur? Nullo. C. paragona l’intellieenza ad una luce interiore che illumina res<=ere intelligente: (im epist. ad Eph.). Omnis qui inteiligit quadam luce interi ore illusfrRtiir». Ripete in sostanza il concetto già espresso da S. Agostino: (in ps. 41 n. 2 Mierne) « omnis qui inteiligit luce quadam non corporali, non carnali, non exteriore sed interiore illustratur. Chiarito il modo di conoscere, resta a parlare dell'oggetto della conoscenza. Che cosa è il vero? Tutto che è è vero, secondo il concetto della filosofia patristica, come, e questo Io si vedrà in appresso, tutto ciò che è è pure buono. Il falso va inteso in un sen®o del tutto privativo, cioè non è sostanza di qualche cosa, non è ciò che è, ma è ciò che non è. (In ps.). Veritas enim est de eo quod est. Mendacium vero non est subslantia vel natura ìd est, non est de eo, quod est natuiraliter, sed de eo, quod non est. Ed in altro luogo dice il Maestro : la verità è ciò che è come vien detto : (in ps.). Veritas est cum res ita est cum dicitur. Quia ip9e diodi ei faeta suut Paolo Sostanza e^ accM^ote. S. Agostino concepiva la sostanza come il concetto di assenza o di naliu-a preso in senso generale da subsistere peirchè ogni cosa sussiste a sé slessa : omn«is enim res ad se ipsam subsistil. Ma in senso più particolare, s'intende di ciò che è soggetto d'altre cose come del colore, delle forane corporee, ecc. J\on attrimenti Pier Lombardo: (sent.; in ps.). Substanlia intelligitur illud ouod sumus: homo, pecus, terra, sol; omnia ista substantiae snnt : eo ipso quo sunt naturae, ipsae substantiae dicuntur. Nana et quod nulla est substantia, nihil omnino est. Substantia enim est cdiquid esse ». Ma in quest'ultima significazione, il detto .^oncetto non appropriasi a Dio perchè Dio è semplice. (Sent.) « Res ei^o anutabiles. . . proprie dicuntur substantiae, deus autem, si subsistit, ut substantia proprie dici possit, inest in eo aliquid in subiecto et non est simplex ». E' quindi a torto che parlando di Dio si dice che è una sostanza, perchè non vi è nulla in lui che non ©ia Dio, e la parola sostanza non si dice propriamente che delle creature. Parlando di Dio è meglio servirsi della parola essenza» Riguardo all'accidente il maestro delle Sentenze è dello stesso avviso di BOEZIO che lo definisce: (in Porph. ed. Basii) Accidens est quod adest et abest praeter subiecli corruptionem. (Sent.) a non sicut accidentia in subiéctis quaé possunt abesse vel adesse ». S. Agostino e BOEZIO sono i due filosofi ai quali iì nostro C. attinge con eguale misura. Nelle Sentenze parla degli accidenti, cioè delle apparenze che gli sembrano piuttosto esistere senza soggetto che essere nel soggetto, quali il sapore ed il peso (accidenti) nel sacramento della Eucaristia, che sono senza soggetto, poiché quivi non è altra sostanza che quella del sangue e del corpo del Signore, che non soggiaciono a quelli accidenti. Perciò son quegli accidenti per sé sussistenti. (Sent. IV d. XII, 1; in epist. ad Cor.). Si autem quaeritur de acciflentibus quae remanent i. e. de speciebus et sapore et pondere, in quo subiecto fundentur, potius mihi videtur fatendnm existere sine subiecto quam esse in subiecto, quia ibi non est substantia nisi corporis et sangumis dominici, quae non affìcitur illis accidentibus... remanent ergo illa accidentia per se subsistentia ad myslerium riti ». « Natura multiplex nomen est. Nam et philosophi et ethici et theologi usu plurimo ponunt hoc nomen». Cosi Porrelano (in Boet. ed. Basii). Ma se molli sono i nuovi significati presso i filosofi, vediamo in quale senso più propriamente l'adopera il nostro Pier Lombardo. Per lui natura è ciò che é concreata colla sostanza. (Sent.). Substantiae nomine atque naturae dicunt signifìcari substantias ipsas et ea quae naturali ter habent scilioet quae concreata sunt eis sicut anima naturaliter habet intellectum et imaginem et volnntatem et huiusmodi». Le €086 che awemgano per causa seminale, si dice che aweaigono secondo natura, quelle invece fuori natura avvengano soltanto per volontà divina. Ne viene che ogni creatura obbedisce a leggi naturali. (Sent.). Et illa quae secund'um causam seminalem fìunt, dicuntur naturaliter fieri, quia ita cursus naturae hominibus innotuit. Alia vero praeter naturam, quorum causae tantum suni in deo... omnis creaturae cursus habet naturales leges. yuale sarà dunque la legge naturale ? Quella che ebbero anche i pagani (2), che indica all'uomo ciò che è bene e ciò che è male e che si riassume nel non fare agli altri ciò che non si vuole sia fatto a noi. (in epist. ad Rom.). Etsi non habeat (s'cil. gentilis homo) scriptam legem, habet tamen naturalem, qua intellexil et sibi conscius est, quid sit bonum quidve malum; lex enim naturalis iniuriam nemini inferre, nihil alienum praecipere, a fraude et penuria abstinere, alieno coniugio non insidiari et caelera alia et ut breviter dicatur nolle aliis facere auod tibi non vis fieri. Quanto poi alla persona, il Lombardo, parte dal concetto ^ià enunciato da BOEZIO che la persona è la sostanza individuale d'una natura ragionevole: (ed. Peiper). Persona est naturae rationalis individua substantia. Ovunque noi troviamo una sostanza individuale nella specie umana, ivi è una persona. Ma l'anima che è sostanza razionale, è dunque una persona? C. risponde negativamente ricorrendo all'airtificio di parole ^à adoperato da BOEZIO nel sfuo libro de duabus naturìs (ed. Peiper). Cioè Tanima è sostanza razionale, ma non tuttavia persona, perchè non è per se sormns^ cioè è congiunta ad altra cosa. Dio solo può agire contro natura: (Sent. loc cit) super hunc naturalem cursum Creator habet apud se posse de omnibus facere aliud, quam eorum naturalis ratio habet; ut. scilicet, vir^a arida repente fioreat, et fructum ^^at. et in juventute sterilis femina, in senectute pariat, ut asina loquatur et huiusinodi. CICERONE, De leg.; Atque, si natura confirmatura ius non erit, virtutes omnes toUentur Nam haec nascuntur ex eo, quia natura propensi sumus ad diligendos homines, quod fundamentum iuris est. (Sent.) Nam et modo anima est substantia rationalis, non tamen persona, quia non est per se sonans, imo alii rei comiuncta. Tuttavia l'anima è persona quando per se est: onde quando è sciolta dal corpo è persona come è Fangelo. (Sent.) « Anima, non est persona, quando alii rei unita est personaliter absoluta enim a corpore persona est siculi angelus. U^ià Agostino parla di una materia informe dalla quale sarebbero derivate tulle lè cose che sono distinte e formate. (de genes. contra Manich. Migne). Primo ergo materia facta est confusa et informis unde omnia fìerenl quae distincta atqua formata sunt, quod credo a graecis caos appellari). Così pure BOEZIO (edit Basii p. 1138) parla di una materia informe e siemplice come la ale e di una materia formata e non semplice come i corpi. Anche per C. le cose create furono formate da una materia informe (I'n ps.). Quoniam ipse dixit, idest voluit et facta sunt (scil. coelum et terra) id est formata de informi materia. E cosi pure nel secondo libro delle Sentenze : (dist.). Alii vero hoc magis probaverunt et asseruerunt, ut prima materia rudis atque informis creata sii Postmodum vero ex illa materia rerum corporalium genera sunt formata secundum species propria. D’Agostino C. deriva pure il suo concetto della forma. (Sent.) Dicit Augustinus causas primordiales omnium rerum in deo esse mducens simililudinem artifìcis in cuius dispositione est qualis futura sii arca. Il Maestro ripete a questo punto appoggiandosi intieramente ad Agostino quanto Abelardo e Gilberto Prretano dicono con compiuto linguaggio scientifico quando chiamaiio le idee forme esemplari della mente divina. Non così chiara come in questi elementi platonici è l'idea della forma presso i sentenziarii ai tempi aristotelici. Causalità. Qui il Maestro dà questa definizione della idea di causa. Tutto ciò che in sé permanendo genera od opera qualche cosa, è il principio, ossia la causa di ciò che genera od opera. (Sent.). Si autem quicquid in se manet et gignit vel operatur aliquid, principium est eius rei quam gignit vel edus quam operatur. Dio però si dice eh fa ed opera qualche cosa, perchè è la causa delle cose scientemente esistenti. (Sent.). Deus ergo aliquid agere vel facere dicitur, quia causa est rerum noviter existentium. Con ciò vien presupposto che tutto ciò che avviene, avviene per una causa necessaria e che nulla nasce che non sia preceduto da una legittima cagione. C. in seguito si domanda se nulla possa sfuggire o questa legge di causalità e possa awemare per caso. Ma egli risponde : se qualche cosa avviene nel mondo per caso, non tutto il mondo è regolato dalla divina pìnovvidenza. Se non tutto il mondo è regolato dalla divina provvidenza, v'è qualche natura o sostanza che non appartiene all'opera della Providenza. Ma tutto ciò che è, è buono per la partecipazione di quel bene che noi chiamiamo divina provvidenza. Nulla dunque può avvenire per caso. Inutile è il notare che questo argomento si trova già in Agostino, Ugo di S. Vittore, Abelairdo. (Sent.) Si ergo casu aliqua fiunt in mundo, non providentia universus mundus administratur. Si non providentia universus mundus administratur, ali- [Vedi EspuNBKBOBB] qua natura vel substanlia est quod ad opus providentiae non pertinel. Omne autem quod est... boni illius partecipatione... bonum est, quod divinum bonum provideoliam vocamus. JNihil ergo casu flit in mundo. Le nozioni di spazio e di misura, ci vengono date da C., laddove parla di Dio che è immensurabile ed iniCBteso. (Sent.) Neque dime(nsionem habet (sdì. deus) sicut corpus cui secundimi locum assigmatur principium, medium et finis et ante et retro, dextera et smistra, sursum et deorsum quod sui interpositione facit distantiam et circumstantiam... dicitur in Scriptura aliquid locale sive circumscriplibile et e converso, sci!, quia diimensionem (bapierus longiltudinis et latitudinis distaailiam lacit in loco ut corpus. Più avanti definisce il luogo nello spazio ciò che è occupato in lunghezza, altezza e larghezza da un corpo (Sent.) « Locais in spatio est quod lopgiludine et altitudine et latitudine corporis oocupatur)). Come Dio neppure gli spiriti creati possono essere circonscritti nello spazio. Essi però possono in certo modo essere locali perchè quando si trovano in un luogo (non si trovano in un altro : però non hanno dimensioni e per quanto siano numerosi, non possono riempirlo. (Sent.) « Spiritus vero creatus quodammodo est localis, quodammodo non e®t localis. Localis quidem dicitur, quia definitione loci terminatur, quoniam cum alicubi praesens sit totus, alibi non invenitur. Non autem ita localòs est ut dimensionem capiens distantiam in loco faciat. C. infine conclude che Dio non si muove né nello spazio, né nel tempo, che Tanima si muove nel tempo, ed il corpo nelo spazio e nel tempo. Di qui le loro diverse natuire. Ecce hic aperte oistendilur, quodi nec locis aec temporibus mutatur vel movetur Deus, spiritualis autem natura per tempus unovetur, corporalis vero etiam per tempus et locmnn. Che cosa è il tempo ? Ad una tale domanda cosi risponde S. Agostino nelle Confessioni: Se nessuno me lo chiede lo so; se voglio spiegarlo a chi me lo chieda non lo so: con piena fede dico tuttavia di sapere che se nulla passasse, non vi sarebbe un tempo passato e se nulla dovesse avvenire^ non vi sarebbe un tempo futuro, e se nulla fosse non vi sarebbe un teimpo presente. C. definisce il tempo, la variazione delle qualità che sono nella stessa cosa che si muta. (Sent. ) <( Mutari autem per tempus est variari secundum qualitates quae sunt in ipsa re quae mutatur... Haec enim mutatio qua fìt secundum tempus, vanatio est qualitalum et ideo vocatur tempus. L'eternità fa antilesi al tempo. Il Lombardo come Abelardo ripete qui le parole di Boezio: Stabilisque manens das cuncta momri quando dice: (In ps.) «Et video, id est sciam, quoniam tu es proprie qui stabiEs manens das cuncta moveri. Garattei'a appunto dell'eternità è la stabilità, del tempo la mutabilità (in epist. ad Hebr. I) « In aeternitate enim stabilitas est, in tempoire autem varietas ; m aeternitate omnia stamit, in tamporei alia aocedunt, alia sucfcedHint. Il problema cosmologico si presenta al Maestro nel libro II delle Sentenze alla prima distinzione. Egli dimostra sulla fede delle Sacre Scritture, che non vi è che un prinMiGNB ( Espenberger). Quid est tempus? Si nemo ex me quaerat, scio; si quaerenti explicare velim nescio: fidenter tamen dico scire me, quod si nihil praeteriret, non esset praeteritum tempus ; etsinihil adveniret, non esset fUtunim tempus, ei si nihil esset, non esset praesens tempus, cipio solo di tulle le cose. Alcuni (ilosoli, come Platone ed Anstolile, avevano pensalo che il mondo avesse molti principii, che la materia che lo comipone fosse increata ed eterna, che Dio non ne fosse punto il Greatore, ma semplicamente l' oa^ganizzatore. Ma la dottrina cattolica al contrario ci insegna che Dio solo, principio di tutte le cose, ha tutto crealo dal nulla, le cose visibili e le invisibili, il cielo e la terra (Sent.). Creationem rerum insinuans Scriptura deum esse creatorem initiumque temporis atque omnium visibilium ved invisibilium creaturarum in primordio suo ostendìft dicens (g:en. I, 1) In principio creavit deus caelum et terram. His enim verbis Moyses... in uno principio a deo creatore mundum factum refert elidens errorem quorundam plura sine principio fuisse opinantium. Plato namque tria inilia existimavit deum scilicet exemplar et matenam et ipsam mcreatam sine principio et deum quasi artificem non creatorem. E altrove conferma che il mondo non è coetemo a Dio e senza alcun principio, ma creato da Dio come insegna la scrittura. (in ps.) « Quia ipse dixit et faota sunt hoc dicit contra illos qui dicunt mundum deo coateoiimn. Dio creò ogni cosa dal nulla : creare è propriamente ricavare qualche cosa dal nulla : onde a Dio solo compete il nome di creatore (Sent.). Creator enim est, qui de nihilo aliquid facit. Et creare proprie est de nihilo aliquid facere hoc nomen (scilicet creator) soli deo proprie congruit. Ipse est ergo creator et opifex et factor. C. passa poi ad esamina-re la creazione del mondo e specialmente .l'opera dei sei giorni commentando il racconto della Genesi. Le spiegazioni ch'egli offre, sono tolte ai padri antichi tra i quali S. Ambrogio, Agostino, Gregorio, il venerabile Beda e Giovanni Grisostomo. Insieme con vedute geniali e profonde, si trovano in quella parte dei suoi libri ove si paria della creazione, alcune teorie che le scienze naturali hanno poi definitivamente condannate. Basta ricordare la teoria dei quattro elementi di cui si compone il cosmo, e quella che considera il firmamento come una immensa volta solida alla quale sono attaccati gli astri, e Topinione che i piccoli insetti nascano &6 dalla corruzione dei carpi organici. Ma il Lombardo espone la scienza dal secolo decimosecondo : d'altronde egli di tali cose sembra parlare in forma dubitativa e come è suo costume non fa che esprimere le opinioni che ai suoi tempi correvano. dell'uorpo o^il'unlv^rso* Là dove parla della creazione, il Maestro pada anche del fine per il quale l'uomo e l'angelo furono creati. La somma bontà divina ha voluto far parte della sua felicità etema a due delle sue creature, all'angelo ed all'uomo : perciò li creè ragionevoli affinchè conoscessero il sommo bene, l'amassero, ed amandolo lo jK>ssedesseiro e possedendolo fossero felici. L'angelo di natura incorporea e l'uomo composto di anima e di corpo furono creati per lodare e per servire Iddio; non già perchè questi abbia bisogno dei servigi umani, ma affinchè l'uomo godesse nel servirlo, poiché in questo si giova chi serve e non colui al quale si serve. (Sent.) Factus ergo... homo projter deum dicitur esse, non quia creator deus et summe beatus alterutrius indiguerit officio... sed ut servirei ei ac fruirelur.'.. in hoc ergo proficit serviens... non ille cui servi tur. Pensiero che vien perfezionato da S. Tommaso (Sum. contra gentes) e d'ALIGHIERI (Parad.): Non per avere a sé di bene acquisto Ch'esser non può, ma perchè suo splendore Potesse risplendendo, dir: Subsisto. In seguito aggiunge che come l'uomo è stato fatto per Dio, così il mondo per l'uomo, il quale si trova in un mezzo tra ciò che a lui serve e ciò a cui egli stesso deve servire. (Sent.) « Et sicut factus est homo propter deum i. e. ut ei serviret, ita mundus factus est propter é6 hominem, scil. ut ei servirei. Positus est ergo homo 'n medio ut et ei servirelur et ipse serviret; ut acciperet utrumque et reflueret totum ad bonum hominis et quod accepit obsequium et quod impeffidit. L uomo infine si distingue da tutti gli altri animali per la sua aspirazione alle cose superne, ed è perciò che egli ha il corpo eretto e quasi rivolto al cielo. (Sent.) « Ecce osl^isum est, secundum quid sit homo similis dei. Sed in corpore quaaidam proprieitatem habet quae haec indicat, quia §st erecta statura secundum quam corpus ajiimae rationali congruit, quia a caelum erectum est ». È LO STESSO CONCETTO DI CICERONE (De legibus). Nam quum caeteras animantes abiecisset ad pastum, solum hominem erexit ad caelique quasi cognationis domiciliique pristini conspectum excitavit. E non di CICERONE soltanto. Tra i gentili cf. OVIDIO Metamorf. SALLUSTIO Catil. Tra i filosofi cristiani Agostino (de gen. centra Manich. I, XVII), BRUZI (de anima) Beda (in hexaem I) Abelardo (in hexaem). Tantum enim, ut tradit auctoritas, cognoscit ibi quiHque quantum diligit. (Sent.) Foteoze d^ll'anirpa. 11 problema psicologico veniva proposto da Ugo di S. Vittore in queisti termini: (de sacram.) yuaerunlur autem quiam plurima de origine animae, quando creata fuit et tolde creala fuit et qualis creata fuit. (cfr. August. de quant. animæ). August. de quant. animæ). È questione tra i filosofi secondo Giovanni di Salisbury (Mei.) se è una sola potenza la quale ora sentisse, ora ricoondasse, ora immaginasse o se pur rimanendo l'anima semplice, essa è dotata di molte potenze (MieNB) – H. P. Grice, “The Power Structure of the Soul.”. Recolo enim fuisse philosophos, quibus placuit, sicut incorpoream simplicem et individuam esse substantiam animae, ita et unam esse potentiam, quam multipliciter prò rerum diversitate exercet. Eorum ergo opinio est, quod eadem potentia, nunc sentiat, nunc memoretur, nunc immaginetur; nunc discemat investigando nunc investigata assequendo intelligat. Sed plures sunt e contrario sentientes animam quidem quantitatem simplicem, sed qualitatibus compositam et sicut multis obnoxiam passionibus, sic multis potentiis utentem ». V. Espenberger. C. si attiene in ciò a S. Agostino e definisce quei^le potenze come naturali proprietà dell'anima, yueste sono una sola sostanza ed esistono nell'animo sostanzialmente; e noiii accidentalmente : poiché sebbene relative tra di loro ciascuna è sostanzialmente nella sostanza oell animo. (Sent.) « Hic attendendum est ex quo sensu accipiendum sit quod supra dixit, illa tria, scilicet memoriam, intelligentiam, voluntatem esse unum, imam mentem, unani essentiam, quod utique non videtur esse venim juxta »pix>piietatem sermonis... Illa vero tria, naturales proprietales seu vii-es sunt ipsius mentis. Sed jam videndum est quoniodo liaec tria dicantur una substantia. Ideo quia sciJicet in ipsa anima vel mente substantialiter existunt, non sicut accideiitia in subiectis, quae possunt adesse vel abesse uiide Augustinus in lib. IX de Trm. cap. 5 alt : Admonemur, si utcumque videre possumus, haec in animo existere substantialiter, non tanquam in subiecto, ut color in corpore; quia etsi relative dicuntur ad invincem, singula tamen substantialiter sunt in substantia sua. Spiegata cosi coli autorità altrui la natura delle potenze dell anima, il Lombardo distingue nella ragione due parti : la parte superiore che si volge alle ragioni eteme delle cose, la inferiore che si piega a osservare le cose temporali! (Sent.) Ratio vero vis animae est superior, quae, ut ita dicamus, duas habet partes vel differentias, superiorem et inferiorem. Secundum superio«rem, supemis conspiciendis vel consulendis intendit; secundum inferiorem, ad temporalium dispositionem conspicit ». Da ciò deriva la distinzione ch'egli fa della sapienza e della scienza. La definizione che diedero gli antichi della sapienza, cioè : Sapientia est rerum divinarum humanarumque scientia, va divisa cosi che sapienza si dica propriamente della conoscenza delle cose divine, scienza della conoscenza delle cose umane. (Sent.). Illa definitio dividenda est, ut rerum divinarum oognitio sapientia proprie nuncupetur, hùmanarum vero rerum cognitio proprie scientiae nomen obtineat. L'influsso mistico di S. Bernardo suo protettore e dei suoi primi maestri di S. Vittore, si fa sentire in C. là dove afferma che la maggiore o minore quantità di sapere deriva dalla quantità di amore: (Sent.) Sed qui magis diligit plus coginioscit ». Abelardo definisce Tanima come una certa essenza spirituale e semplice: (introd. ad theol. Ili, 6) « Anima quippe spiritualis quaedam et simplex essentia est ». Non diversamente la definisce il nostro C. là dove dice (sent.) « Mens enim i. e., spiritus rationalis essentia est spiritualis et incorporea ». Così Abelardo come C., si riconnettono a Agostino che in più luoghi dei libri tratta deU anima -n quanto spirituale ed incorporea. L'anima si dice semplice perchè non si diffonde in estensione, ma in qualunque corpo in tutto o in qualsivoglia paorte di essa è intiera. Cosi quando avviene qualche cosa nella più piccola parte del corpo, che sia avvertita dall'anima benché non avvenga in tutto il corpo, tutta Tanima sente perchè non tutta si tien nascosta. (Sent.) Simplex dicitur anima) quia mole non diffunditur per spatium loci sed in unoquoque corpore et in toto tota est et in qualibet eius parte tota est. Et ideo cum fit aliquid in quavis exigua particula corporis quod sentiat anima, quamvis non fiat in toto corpore, illa tamen tota sentit quia totam non latet. In ciò segue C. la dottrina professata da Agostino e da Plotino, il primo nel libro di trinitate, de quantitate animae, de immut, animae, il secondo in enn. (edit Volkmanm). Ma se l’anima è semplice, dice il Lombardo nel luogo citato, in confronto del corpo, per sé stessa non è semplice ma molteplice. Poiché altro è essere operoso, altro Inerte, altro acuto, altro memore, altro è desiderio, altro è timore, altro è letizia, altro è tristizia, e queste cose ed altre dello stesso genere si possono trovare nella natura delVanima ed alcune senza le altre ed alcune più ed altre meno, onde è manifesto che la natura dell'anima non é semplice, ma molteplice « unde manifestum est animae non sim plicem sed multiplicem esse naturam. In conclusione la natura dell’anima offre due lati: è semplice da un lato se si paragona colla natura del corpo molteplice se si paragona colle sue potenze Ma ranima è altresì immortale. L'uomo è fatto a somiglianza di Dio e la somiglianza nella essenza perchè essa è immortale ed indivisibile (Sent.) Factus est homo ad similitudinem dei -- similitudo in essentia quia et immortalis eit indivisibilis est. linde Augustinus, de quant, anim. Anima facta est similiter deo, quia immortalem et indissolubilem fecit eam deus. Ma la filosofia scolastica fedele al precetto: distingue prequenier^ come limita e divide il concetto della semplicità deiranima cosi na limita e divìde quello della immoortalilà, distinguendo il coooeilto della morte intesa in senso assoluto di annientamento da quello della stessa intesa in senso relativo di mutazione : ed in quest'ultimo senso l’anima non è del tutto immortale (Sent.) In omni mutabili natura nonnulla mors est ipsa mutatio quia fecit aliquid in ea non esse quod erat, unde et anima humana quae ideo dicitur immortalis quia secundum modum suum nunquam desinit vivere^ habet tamen quandam mortem suam. Riguardo all’origine dell’anima si agitavano ai tempi di C. due diverse opinioni, l’una del traduzionismo (1) che pretendeva che l’anima vienne generata come il corpo, l'altra del creazionismo che pretendeva al contrario che è creata da Dio direttamente. A quest ultima si attiene naturalmente C. con Abelardo, Roberto PuUus, Ugo di S. Vittore. Dio creò ranima dal nulla dice il Maestro: (Sent.) «Flatus factus est a deo, non de deo, non dealiqua materia sed de Odo di Cambra!: (de pen. orig. II) « Sunt autem multi qui volunt animam ex traduce fieri sicut corpus et cum corporis semine vim etiam animae procedere » Vedi Espen. 6, I 101 nihilo ». Quindi cornhatte; ropinione di coloro che affermaaio con Origene che le anime sono state tutte create al principio del mondo, e quella di coloro che con i Lu^ciferiani e Cirillo ed alcuna dei Latini pensano che Tanima si comunichi ai figli per generazione e nello stesso modo che il corpo. Mentre Tanima non è infusa nel corpo che quando esso è tonnato ed adatto a riceverla. (Sent.) Sed quicquìd de anima primi hominis aestimeoitur, de alias certissime sentiendum est, quod in corpore creentur; creando emim infundit eas deus et infundendo creat ». E più avanti: (Sent.) e( Unde Augustiiniis in ecclesiast, dogm. animas hominum di<rit non esse ab initio inter creaturas intellectuales natuT^as nec simili creatas sicut Origenes fìngit necque in corporibtis per coitum seminum sìcuT Luciferani et Cyrillns et quidam LatiinoiTum praesuanptoìres affìrmant, sed dicimus corpus tantum per coniugii oopulam seminari, creationem vero animae solum cneiatoirem nosse eiusque iudicio formato iam corpore animam creavi atque infimdi ». E nel libro IV spiega ancor meglio quest'ultimo pensiero ricorrendo all'esempio della casa e del suo abitatore che vi entra soltaoito quando è ben costruita (Sent.). Sed iam formato corpori anima datur, non ini conceptu corporis nascitur cum semine derivata. Nam SI cum semina et anima existit de anima, tunc et multae animae quotidie pereunt cum semen fluxu non proficit Ti'ativitati. Primum oportet domum compaginari et sic habitatorem induci». E qui è opportu/no ricordare che questa teoria dell'anima si trova pure con poche varianti nel canto del Purgatorio laddove il Poeta discorre della nascita dell'uomo e spiega come (Tanimal divenga fante. Relazione tra Fanirpa ed il corpo. . Seguendo il concetto aristotelico dell'età di mezzo, il Lombardo ritiene Tanima come forma del corpo. (Sent.) « Formatum vero intelligitur corpus propria anima animatum et informe quod nondum Habet animam. Un tal concetto va intimamente collegato con un passo della Bibbia: (Exod.) « Si quis percusserit mulierem praegnantem et aborlivum fecerit, sì adhuc informalum fuerit, multabitur pecunia; quod si formatmn fuerit, reddel animam prò anima », C. deride le favole di coloro che immaginano che le anime siano rinchiuse nel corpo, come in un carcere, per i peccati commessi in cielo (Sent.) Multi in fabulas, vanitatis abierunt dicenls, quod animae sursum in caelo pecoant, et secundum peccata sua ad corponia prò meritis diriguntur, et dignis sibi guasi carceribus includuntur. lerunt hi tales post cogilationes suas et versi sunt in profundum, dicentes animas in caelo ante conversatas et ibi aliquid vel mali egisse et prò meritis ad corpora terrena detrusas esse. Hoc autem respuit catholica fides ». Ma invece Dio diede senso alla natura coirpoTea perchè l’uomo capisse che se potè unire due cose cosi diverse, quali l'anima è il corpo in una tale unità, non è impossibile ch'egli possa partecipare per quanto umile alla sua gloria (Sent.) Lufeamque materiam fecit ad vitae sensum vegetare, ut sciret homo, quia si potuit deus tam disparem naturam corporis et animae in federationem unam et in amicitiam tantam coniungere, nequaquam ei impossibile futurum rationalis creaturae humilitatem ad sua Rloriae partecipationem sublimare. C. non crede che il corpo sia carcere dell'anima nel senso che sopra si è detto, perchè f)er essere opera di Dio è un bene: ma è pure un carcere nel senso che il corpo a corrompe e corrompendosi aggrava l’anima (in ps.) «Vel potius corpus est career non utique secundum id, quod deus fecit ipsum bonum est, sed secundum id, quod comimpitur et aggravat animam i. e. oorruptio eius quae venit ex peccali, career est. Altrove chiama il corpo quasi strumento e servo delTanima : (in epist. ad Rom.) « Si corpus, quo inferiore tamquam famulo vel instrumento utitur anima... ». E cosi pure si legge in un suo sermone : (2P De codem die: In passione Domini seu in annuntiatione (Protois). Dominus est spiritus noster, anima tamquam domina, corpus tanquam servus. Hi tres ini domo una cooperantur et si oonveniunt in bono, vdr bonus intelligilur ». Che cosa è infatti Tuoino se non un'aniina fornita di corpo? si domanda Ugo di S. Vittore (1). Però a questo riguardo il Lombardo usa di una certa moderazione; ed il suo modo di pensare intomo alla persona deiruomo ci fa credere che egli dà un posto importante anche alla vita. Il Maestro delle Sentenze sul finire del suo libro principe, cioè alla distinzione, entra poi a discorreire della morte e della risurrezione del corpo. E fu il padre Michele da Carbonara il primo a far notare la conformità che vi è tra le dottrine svolte da Pier Lombardo e i luoghi della Divina Commedia che parlano della risurrezione, quantuncfue la ragione fondamentale di essa data dal Maestro diversifichi in sostanza da quella data dal Poeta. Nella risurrezione ciascuna anima separata riprenderà il coqx), ripigtierà sua carne e sua figura (Inf.) quale era nel fiore della età: e sarà mage^iore allora la sua beatitudine e la sua cognizione : amplior erit eorum cognitio. Ciò è diffìcile a spiegarsi, dice il Maestro. Ma è certo che nell'anima è un vivo desiderio di ripigliare il corpo; riunita al corpo Tanima ha perfectum naturae suae modum ed ha ampliorem cognitionem. Altri che verranno poi, si spingeranno più addentro nella questione come farà S. Tommaso. Ma, dice il Carbonara, il Maestro sta come colui che tira le linee più larghe d'un quadro, in suU'indeterm inalo; e si legga at[Sent., Migm. Quid enim est homo nisi anima habens corpus ? Nel sermone 11 (in die Cineris ad poenitentes .Ms. lat. in Protois p. 138): «vita praesens messi comparatur et aestati, quia nunc inter ardores tentationum colligenda sunt futurorum merita praemiorum. Carbonara, ALIGHIERI (si veda e C. (Sent.) con prefazione e per cura di Murari 2 ediz. Città di Castello Collezione di Opuscoli Danteschi inediti o rari diretti da Passerini. tentamente questo tratto « ^f mmor sU healitudo sanctorum post iudicium; sì leig'gta attentamente e si vedrà che se vi è trailo che specchi il canto del Paradiso, questo tratto è desso. La slessa queslfone, gli stessi punti determinali; ma Insieme rindeterminatezza, il vago, che neirinsieme domina il Maestro, si risente nel Poeta. Come la carne gloriosa e santa Pia rivestita, la nostra persona Più grata fia, per esser tutta quanta : (cperfeobum natuirae suae modum habebit anima».Omne qaod est, in quantum est, bonum est. Tutta TEtica scolastica è necessariamente compenetrala della dogmatica teologica. Quella di C. non diversa in sostanza da quella dei suoi maestri^ si riattaeca alle discussioni teologiche intorno alla morale che ai suoi tempi si dibattevano. La prima questione che ci conviene esaminare, è quella che riguarda il libero esercizio della volontà. La libertà, pensa egli con Ugo di S. Vittore (Sent.), di cui sente più volle l'influsso, chiede di poier compiere non solo il male, ma anche il bene. (Sent.) « Verum nobis magis placet ut ipsa libertas arbitrii sit et illa, qua magi® liber est malum, et alia qua quis liber est ad bonum faciendum. Ex causis enim variis sortitur diversa vocabula. Il Lombardie si chiede in appresso quali fattori determinano la libertà umana e ne distingue due, cioè la ragione e la volontà. La prima disceme tra il bene ed il male, la seconda si muove con desiderio spontaneo ad effettuarlo. Ecco la definizione e la spiegazione del libero arbitrio secondo C. (Sent.). Liberum verum arbitrium est facultas rationis et voluntatis, qua bonum eligitur gratia assistente, vel malum ea desistente. Et dicitur liberum, duantum ad voluntatem quae ad utrumlibet flecti potest. Arbitrium vero, quantum ad rationem, cuius est facultas et potentia illa, cuius etiam est discemere inter bonum et malum et aliquando quidem discrelionem habens boni et mali, quod malum est eligit, aliquando vero quod bonum est...,.» e più avanti: (Sent.) Liberum ergo dicitur arbitrium quantum ad voluntatem, quia voluntaTie moveri et spontaneo appetitu ferri potest ad ea quae bona vel mala indicet vel indicare potest. Il Lombardo si affretta poi a spiegare un passo di S. Agostino, ove questi afferma che l'uomo perde il libero arbitrio dopo il peccato, onde si legge nei Vangeli: (Pel.) A quo erdm devictus est, huic servus est (Vedi August. enchirid. Migrie). TIon ciò non si vuol dire che l'uomo perde intieramente la libertà, ma solo quella che ci trattiene dalla miseria e dal peccato (Sent.) <( Ecce liberum arbitrium dicit (scil. Augustinus) hominem amisisse; non quia post peccatum non habuerit liberum arbitrium, sed quia libertatem arbitrii perdidit non quidem a necessitate, sed libertatem a miseria et peccati. Est namque lib^rtas triplex, scilicet a necessitate, a peccato, a miseria. A necessitate et ante peccatum et post aeque liberum est arbitrium. Sicut enim lune cogi non poterai, ila nec modo. Ideoque voluntas merito apud deum indicalur, quae semper a necessitate libera est *i iiiunquam cogi potest. Ubi necessitas, ibi non est libertas; ubi non est libertas, nec volunlas et ideo nec merilum. Haec libertas in omnibus est tam in malis quam in bonis. Il Sentenziario perciò nel suo Commentario nei Salmi (rimprovera coloro che attribuiscono alle stelle ed al fato, la colpa dei loro peccati facendone in certo modo responsabile Iddio, che è Tautoire del creato: (in ps.) « Ila clamel aeger ad medicum, et dicat: Cum libero arbitrio creavi! me Deus: ideoque si peccavi, ego peccavi non fatum, non fortuna, non diabolus, me coegit : sed' ego persuadenti consensi ». io: In conclusione, il maestro delle Sentenze^ come già si è veduto, definisce il libero arbitrio un& facoltà della ragione' e della vodontà colla quale si sceglie il bene col soccorso della grazia od il male se la grazia ci manca. Ma questa definizione, aggiunge l'autore, non conviene a Dio né ai santi che par essere incapaci di peccare, hanno un libero arbitrio più perfetto. 11 libero arbitrio di Dio è la sua volontà ònnisapiente ed onnipotente, che fa senza necessità e liberamente tutto ciò che le piace. Quella degli angeh e dei santi non può più portarsi verso il male, perchè essi sono coiiifermati neha beatitudine e neilla grazia. L'uomo dopo il peccato ha pure conservato il suo, ma perchè egli voglia il bene gli è necessaria la grazia del Redentore. La teoria del libero arbitrio, che il Maestro professa, intesa a conciliaire il dogma coi dettami della ragione, non sfugge, come è ben naturale, a gravi difficoltà. Cosi egli è costretto per quaiinto si sforzi di provare il contrario, a mettere l'uomo in una posizione non del tutto giusta, rispetto alla sua libertà, poiché se egli fa il male, ne è tutta sua colpa (ideoque si peccavi ego peccavi in ps. loc. cit.) quantunqua non possa andare ^nte dal peccalo, mentre se fa il bene, il merito è tutto di Dio. (Sent.) « Non tamen sine libero arbitrio proveoiiunt merita nostra, scilicet boni effectus eo-rumque progressus atque bona opera quae Deus remunerat in noDas et haec ipsa sunt Dei dona. Unde Augustinus ad Sixtum presbyterum: Cum coronat Deus merita nostra nihil aliud coronai quasn munera sua. Quamto poi alla obbiezione che se Dio sa tutte le cose che debbono avvenire, noi non possiamo fare in altro modo di quello che a lui è noto, dal che ne verrebbe la negazione di ogni libertà umana, egli non oppone nulla in questo punto dove espone la teorica del libero arbitrio. Ma noi possiamo conoscere il suo parere in proposito, purché noi ci riportiamo a quel punto del libro P, ove parla della prescienza di Dio, allora assai dibattuta dalle sette scolastiche, come quella che sembrava condurre a riconoscere il fatalismo. Il Maestro delle Sentenze per rispondere a questo argomento, fa uso della distinzione così nota agli scolastici del senso composto e del senso diviso, ovvero del senso congiuntivo e del disgiuntivo; cioè che non si può dare che Dio abbia preveduto una cosa e ch'essa non avvenga, ma è possibile che essa non avvenga, e allora Dio non Tavrebbe preveduta. Sottigliezze a cui la scuola dogmatica è costretta a ricorrere ogni qualvolta vien messa ale strette. Ondie il Pomponnazzi nel suo libro: De Fato, libero (mbitrio et providentia Dei (V lib. Bàie) ove si sforza egli pure si conciliare il destino la provvidenza e la libertà deiruomo, finisce col non saper dare altre soluzioni che quelle poste innanzi dalla scolastica, confessando però che esse sono piuttosto delle illusioni che delle vere risposte: Videntur potius esse illusiones islae quam respomiones. Fine a cui tendiamo tutti é la felicità : (sent.) Beatos autem esse velie, omnium hominum esl ». C. ricorda le parole di CICERONE: Beati certe omnes esse volufnus, ed è lontano dal contraddirvi, ma anzi ne deduce che poiché tutti desiderano la felicità, tutti ne hanno dentro di sé la conoscenza: sequitiu' ut omnes beatam vitam sciant. Vediamo ora come procede il Lombardo neiranalisi della felicità. Sul principio del primo libro egli comincia dal distinguere la differenza che v*è tra usare di una cosa e fruirne. Usare d'una cosa è adoperarla a compiere la nostra volontà, fruirne è usarne con gioia, è aderirvi per amore e ciò non avviene in questa vita. (Sent.) « Uti est assumere ali<juid! in f acultateni voluntatìs. Frui autem est, uti cum gaudio, non adhuc spei sed jam rei... et ita in hac vita non videmur frui sed tantum uti, ubi gaudeamus in spe, cum supra dictum sit, frui esse amore dnhaerere alieni rei propter se : qualiter etiam hic multi adhaerant De. ALIGHERI, Purgatorio: Ciascun confusamente un bene apprende Nel qual si queti T animo, e desira: Perchè di giugner lui ciascun contende. E poiché questo sembra far iidsceire eontraddiàoni, egli la rivolse così chiarendo il suo concetto. Tanto qui come nel futuro si può in certo modo fruire della beatitudine eterna, ma mentre in cielo noi la godremo in modo perfetto perchè, come dice S. Agostino, l'avremo vicina qui in terra, non la godiamo che per riflesso ed è ciò che ci fa sopportare i travagli della vita. (Sent.) « Haec ergo quae sibi contradicere videmtur, sic determinamus, dioente», nos et hic et in futuro frui : sed ibi proprie et perfecle et piene ubi per speciem videbimus quo fruemur, hic autem, dum in spe ambulamus fruimur quidem sed non adfeo piene... Idem (scil. Augustinus) in Uh. de Doc. christ. ail: Angeli ilio fruentas jam beati sunt quo et nos frui desideramus; et quaai'timi in hac vita iam fruimur, vel per speculum, vel din aenigmate, tanto nostram peregrinationem et lolerabilius sustioemus et ardentius fruire cupimus ». In questa teorioa il Lombardo si liem stretto a Agostino ed esprime 41 medesimo comcetto che più tardi sarà svolto da S. Tommaso col fine mediato ed iumiediato. guanto alla questione, se si possa gioire della virtù per sé stessa o solo come mezzo di acquistare la vera felicità, egli si prova come è suo metodo di conciliare la prima opinio*ne, che sembra confortata da un passo di Ambrogio, con la seconda professata da S. Agostino, affermando che la virtù può essere amata per sé slessa, ma che non dobbiamo fermarci lì, ma bisogna tendere ad un fine più elevato e riferire la virtù a Dio come fine ultimo. Amoralità d^Ue aztooi urpaoe* Quali sono le azio^ni umane che si debbono chiamare buone secondo C. e quali cattive ? Egli risponde suirautorità d’Ambrogio e d’Agostino, che ciò che fa buona o cattiva una azione è Tintenzione. Ed in ciò non discorda da Abelardo che afferma appunto nelFEtica: Unde ab eodem homine cum in diversis temporibus Ilo idem fiat, prò divemsitate tametn intentionis eius operatio modo bona modo mala dicitm. Infatti il Maestro nel libro secondo d^e Sentenze (dist.) dice quasi allo slesso modo : « Nam simpliciter ac vere sunt boni illi actus, qui bonam causam et intentionem id est qui voluntatem bonam comitantur et ad bonum finem tendunt: mali vero simpliciter dici debent qui perversam habent causam et intentionem ». E cita a questo proposito le parole di S. Agostino : (enarr. in ps.) « Bonum eriim opus intentio facitìK In conseguenza è un'azióne buona confortare i poveri se si fa per compassione e misericordia : ma la stessa azione diventa cattiva se la si fa per ambizione. Vi sono tuttavia delle azioni le quali sono cattive per sé stesse e che la intenzione non può rettificare: tali sono la menzogna e la bestemmia. Ksse poi sono cattive in quanto sono privazioni dell'essere, perchè ogni cosa, in quanto è, è buona : Omne quod est in quantum est bonum. L.a le^^e fT)orale« Stabilito cosi guali sono le azioni buone o cattive, et seconda dell'intenzione, restava a determinare quale è il caratieire morale che deve contraddistinguere le nostre azioni e qual norma si deve necessariamente seguire per muovere al bene : dione insomma dove deve dirigersi- la buona intenzione. In coerenza colle dottrine da lui professate, •il Maestro pone la regola delle azioni umane nella legge divina : perciò il peccato consiste in una infrazione alla legge divina. (Sent.) « Peocatum est omne dictum vel factum vel concupitum quae fit contra legem Dei, Quid est ipeccatum nisi legis divanae praevaricatio? ». n C. ammette altresì una legge naturale, lex natu^ raliSj la quale ebbero anche i Gentili, ma questa non basta a condurre a salvamento. Ili Nofli è qui il luogo di indicare il difetto originale d una tale dottrina che nel porre fuori di noi la legge del nostro operare, si condanna alla, contraddizione. Mi basterà ricoirdare che essa si presenta assai più sviluppata in AQUINO, il quale pone innanzi iJ concetto aristotelico della ragione umana, la quale è la natura dell'uomo in quanto è uomo: ondfe poiché ogni cosa è buona quando è conforme alla sua propria natura, ogni cosa sarà buona rispetto airuomo quando sarà conforme alla ragione. Ma questa stessa ragione e natura umana ripete il suo potere regolativo dalla natura divina : « quod autem ratio umana sit regula voluntatis humanae, ex qua eius bonitas mensuretur, habet ex lege aeterrm quae est divina ». (Sum theol..). In conclusione la filosofia patristica e scolastica, si accorda nel porre il principio normativo dell'operare umano fuori aeiruomo stesso, cioè nella sapienza divina identica essenzialmente col suo volere. Bei}e ^ n)ale. Abbiaino veduto come Pier Lombardo affermi che tutto ciò che è, in quanto è, è bene : « Omne quod est, in quantum est, est bonum » (Sent.). E poiché l3io é d'autor© di tutto ciò che esiste Dio é rautore di ogni bene. (Sent.) (Deus) omnium quae sunt auctor est, quae in quantum siuiif bona sunt. Ma non viieme di conseguenza che Dio sia l'autore anche del male, giacché il Lombardo come tutti gli Scolastici, concepisce il male come gualche cosa di propriamente negativo, cioè come la privazione o la corruzione del bene. (Sent.) « Malum enim est comiptio yel privatio boni... Quid enim aliud quod malum dicitur nisi privatio boni?». Anche Agostino nel libro De civitate Dei (Migne) parla di causa deficiente e non efficiente del cattivo operare « Nemo igilul* quaeral ellkientem causani malae volunfalis: non enim efficiens est, sed deflciens, quia nec illa effectio est sed defeclio. E di qui trae buon argomento il Maestro a confutare l'obbiezione di eoJoro che insinuano che Dio essendo autore di tutto ciò che esiste, deve essere altresì autore del peccato. (Sent.) « Quocirca mali auctor non ^t (scil. deus) et ideo ipse summum bonum est, a quo ^n nullo delicere bonum est, et malum est deflcere. Non est ergo causa deficiendi id' est tendendi ad jion esse, qui, ut ita dicam, essendi causa est, quia omnTum quae suoit, auctor est, quae in quantum sunt, bona sunt... Ecce aperte habes quod deficere a deo... malum est ». L.oiT7bardo nel cielo del 5oIe. Entrato €on Beatrice nella sfera del sole Dante, appreoide diairanima di S. Tommaso chi essa sia e chi siano i fulgor vivi e vincenti Sella sua ghirlanda. Se si di tutti gli altri esser vuoi certo, Di retro al mio parlar ten vien col viso * Girando su per lo beato serto, QuelValtro fiammeggiare esce dal riso Di Graziano, che Vano e l'altro foro Alutò si che piace in Paradiso. L'altro ch'appresso adorna il nostro coro Quel Pietro fu che con la poverella Offerse a Santa Chiesa suo tesoro {Par.);. Qui Buti commenta : con la poverella offerse fece la sua offerta della sua facilità, come la po-verella della quale dice rEvangelio di Santo loanni, che offerse poco, perchè «poco aveva, ma con buon cuore e peirò Iddio accettò più la sua offerta che quella del ricco, che, benché offerisse molto, non offerse con si buono animo. Commento di Buti sopra la Divina Commedia per cura di C. Giannini Pisa I più dei oammentatapi ricordano le prime parole del prologo del Liber Sententiarum : « Cupientas aJiquid de penuria a-c temiitate nostra cum paupercula in gazophilacium Domini miUere ardua scandere et opus supra vires nostras praesumpsimus». Le parole di C. chiaramente fidludono al noto episodio della poverella, riportato da San Luca e da S. Marco e nooi da Giovanni come erroneamente riferisce il Buli. Dice San Luca: « Respiciens autem vidit eos, qui mittebant munera sua in gazophilacium diviles. Vidit autem et quamdam viduam pauperculam mittenlem aera minuta duo. Et dixit: Vero dico vobis, quia vidua haec pauper, plus quam omnes misit. Nam omnes hi ex abundantia siti miserunt in munera Dei : haec autem et ex eo, quod deest illi, omoiem victum suum quem habuit misit. Così ad un dispreeso racconta San Marco con leggere vananti : solo è da notarsi che egli chiama la donna uidua una pauper e vidua hxiec pauper e non mai col diminutivo tanto affettuoso di paupercula che per essera stJ^lo scelto da Pier Lombardo fa pensare ch'egli si sia riferito in special modo al passo di San Luca della Volgata. Ma ciò poco importa : importa invece assai il notare come l'umiltà della vidua paupercula avesse toccato «profondamente il cuore di C. il quale nel vergare quelle parole doveva forse ricordarsi con teneirezzìa di un'altra vedova poverella di un lontano paese di Lombardia: e come ALIGHIERI che nei veirsi che dedicava ai persooiaggi della sua^ Commedia soleva «per lo più introduirre l’elemento soggettivo dei ricordi ed affetti personali non senza ragione ricordò quel punto e quello solo dell'opera di C. L'influenza che il ma^fister Petrus esercitò sul pensiero del Divino Poeta non è stata ancora tutta quanta spiegata e compresa nella sua giusta entità. 11 tkeologus . Dantes nullius dogmatis expers dà a S<a«n Tommaso il posto d'onore che gli conviene, ma ad AQUINO commentatore di C.. Se ALIGHERI ed AQUINO non si possono ancor dire contemporaiiiei sono vissuti a poca distanza di tempo e sono entrambi commentatori e perfezionatori dell'opera ancora rozza si ma feconda di Pier Lombardo : l'uno raggiunge finalmente colla sua maunifica somima quel connubium fidei ac rationis che il Magister aveva solo tentato, Taltro ina canta il trionfo glorioso. Che Dante avesse letto il Rbro delle Sentenze con mollo amore ci è provato non solo dai versi succitati, ma da numeirosi passi del Paradiso ove come diremo tosto rimitaziione risulta evidente : ed io sarei anche propenso a credere che rAlighieri non si fosse Termato alla lettura di quel libro solo ed a tutti noto di Pier Lombardo. Qui sono tratto ad accennare fuggevolmente alla famosa questione del viaggio di Dante a Parigi : questione ove troppo, eletti ingegni si cimentarono perchè io presuma di recare qualche nuovo raggio di luce. Dante zill'Uoiversiià di Parigi. Giovanni di Serravalle comme«ntatore racconta. Anagogico dilexit Theojogiam sacram, in qua diu studuit tam in Oxoniis in regno Angliae quam Parisius in regno Franciae : et fuit Bachalarius in Universitate Parisiensi in qua legit Senlentias prò forma magisterii : legit Biblia : respondit omnibus doctoribus, ut moris est, et fecit omines actus qui fieri debent per doctorandum in Sacra Theologia. Egli continua poi a dire che Dante non potè ottenere la laurea perchè gli mancò il denaro per la licenza (deerat pecunia). Onde tornò in Firenze per acquistarlo, optimus artista, perfectus Theologus e quivi fatto «priore si diede ai pubblici uffici e più non si curò della Università di Parigi. Il (racconto di Giovainni di Serravalle fu accolto dairOzanam e dairArriviabene con maggior serietà che mm me(1) TiBABOSOBi, storia della leti. Hai. Modena - Fratria F. de Serravalle Translatio et comentum totius libri Dantis Aldighieri cum textu italico Fratria Da Colle, nunc primum edito Prati - (Jiachetti in fol. ritasse. Secondo un tale racconto ALIGHIERI (si veda) sarebbe andato a Parigi contro raffestazione di Villani, di Boccaccio, di Benvenuto da IMOLA (si veda) che fanno il viaggio degli ultimi anni. Ed il chiaro professor Cipolla osserva che è appena credibile che ALIGHIERI (si veda) fossei in cpiel tempo cosi spirovviiyto di credito da non potere ottenere la somma che gli era necessaria: onde giudica il racconto di poca probabilità. Ma TinverosimigHanza di lutto il racconto appare manifesta quando un poco si pensi al modo come è organizzata la facoltà di FILOSOFIA di Parigi ai tempi d’ALIGHIERI (si veda). Il buon vescovo di Fermo volendo mostrarsi molto approfondito nella conoscenza dei gjradi accademici commette degl’errori grossolani: et fuit Bacchalarius – cf. H. P. Grice, B. A. Oxon. -- in vniversitate parisiensi in qua legit Sententias pro forma Magisterii: legit Biblia. Ma si è veduto nella parte storica del lavoro che l’anno in cui il baccelliere éiventsiV a Sententiarius cioè commenta in pubblico il libro delle Sentenze non precede, ma segue la spiegazione della Sacra scrittura. Dopo quell'anno, il baccelliere si chiama baccalaureus FORMATVS, che risponde, mutatis mutandis al nostro laureando a BOLOGNA. Perciò Giovanni di Serravalle per essere esatto come vuol parerlo, avrebbe dovuto invertire l'ordine delle parole. Ma non vogliaino essere molto esigenti su ciò: c'è ben altro. Gli omnes aclus qui fieri dehent per doctorandum in sacra Theologia sono e forse Giovanni di Serravalle lo ignora, i sermoni (sermones) e le conferenze (controversiæ) che si dovevano tenere nei tre o quattro anni che precedeno la licenza ed infine le tre dispute pubbliche di cui la più solenne vienne chiamata sorbonica. Ma la licenzia (LICENTIA) che vienne dopo tali prove accordata e che il Serravallei chiama con termini vaghi inceptio, conventus non esige alcuna pecunia di sorta. Il SerravaUe e tutti i Commentatori si riferivano all’accenno Dantesco; si come il baccelUer s'arma e non paria, fin che il MAESTRO (MAGISTER – H. P. Grice, M. A. Oxon) la question propone, per approvaria e non per terminarla. Par. - i8, Infatti già il concilio Lateranense proclama due punti fondamentali: la necessità e la gratuità della licenza ed un tale decreto trova posto nelle Definire di Gregorio IX. Solo per eccezione è eoncesso a Comestore, cancellario di Nótre Dameij per i suoi pregi personali, da Alessandro III, di prelevare uoiia piccola rimunerazione per la concessione della licenza. Ed ancora il Regolamento di Courcon insiste sulla concessione gratuita ed ìncondiziomita della licenza: ed una tale disposizione veniva conifermata nelle reigole aggiunte dal papa Gregorio II di cui conosciamo il benefico intervento nei dissensi tra rUniversità ed di Re di Francia. Nella famosa bolla Parens scientiarum viene prescritto formalmente « che il cancelliere non potrà esigere da coloro ai quali conferirà la licenza né giunamento, né obbedienza, né denaro, né cauzione, né promessa ». Ora è noto a tutti che lo statuto di Roberto di Courcon confermato e completato dalla bolla di Gregorio IX, la quale fu pure rinnovata senza modificazione da Urbano IV continua ad essere per tutto il secolo XIII 'a legge fondamentale deirUniversità e pertanto della facoltà teologica di Parigi. Per il che sembra a me che il fondo storico del racconto di Giovanni di Serravalle venga a mancare sempre più di consistenza. Cipolla nel suo dotto ìavaro Sigieri nella Divina Commedia, dopo avere ossei-vato che il Sigieri ricordato tra i beati del canto X deve ritenersi come Sigieri di Brabante, e non va identificato col Sigieri de Conrtrai {Le Clero) visisuto in epoca diversa, e neppure con quello di cui si iparla nel sonetto del Fiore (Castets) avverso ad AQUINO, crede probabile, che ALIGHIERI fn a Parigi negli ultimi anni di sua vita ed airin e non vi ascoltò le lezioni di Sigieri di Brabante perché questi era morto avanti il 1300 ( Feret tornando su questa questione nel volume II deiropera cit. (Les Sorbonnistes) crede errat-ì così, l'opinione del Le Clerc che del Castets, combatte ^e Giornale storico den« Lett. It. Torino LoescUer] asserzioni di Gaston Paris, ed airiimesso che il Sigieri d’ è il SigieriALIGHIERI (si veda) di Brabante che quitla cette vie en reputation d'une orthodoxie parfaite, non si discosta mollo dalle oonclusdoni del professor Cipolla che mostra di mion conoscere. Questo sembrerebbe coaidurci assai fuori del nostro argomento se una buòna osservazione del prof. Cipolla a questo proposito della partecipazione dell'Alighieri alle lezioni dd Sigieri non mi facesse tosto ritornarvi. Egli afferma che « per ciò che riguarda Sigieri, altro è ammettere nel luogo Dantesco vm ricordo personale, ed altro è credere che questo ricordo personale sia tale davvero da comprenderà poS la partecipazione dell'Alighieri alla scuola di quel filosofo. Alle scuole di Parigi i libri del Sigieri eratno rimasti auasi come lesti agli scolari, tanta Sama le sue lezioni vi avevano lasciato. Cosi per ciò che riguarda Pier Lombardo, io aggiungerò che oer spiegare la profonda conoscenza che Dante ebbe del Libro delle sentenze, non è necessario di credere col Serravalle che Damle abbia commentato le sentenze nella scuola di Teologia perchè lo studio che in quei tempi se ne faceva in Parigi, la fama che vi godeva e che già aveva provocato i lamenti di Ruggero Bacone, certo potevano non poco contribuire a farglielo conoscer© più in là del frontìsipizio e del prologo. Per fama egli conobbe a Parigi Sigieri, per fama vi conosce C. ed entrambi egli ricordò con particolar cura nei suoi versi ove palpita un affetto personale. Ma se poca o nessuna influenza ha la filosofìa di Sigieri nell’opera d’ALIGHIERI; molta invece ne ha in quella di C. Un esempio: Speme dissHo, è un attender certo Della gloria futura, il qual produce Grazia divina e precedente merlo. {Par.) P. Fkrkt La f acuite de Tkeol, de Paris – Ricarcl] Pietro di Dante, TOttimo, la Chiosa Cassanese, ricordano la definizione di Pier Lombardo: «est spes certa exjeiotatio futurae beatitudinis veniens ex Dei gralia et mentis praecedentibus ». (Lib. Seni. IH. dist.). Iacopo della Lama, rÀnonimo rioooimno assai meno opportunamente a San Toit^màso: spes est motus appeWiiae virtutis consequens apprehensione boni fulnri adnui possibilis adiptsci. Ho citato, per ppoporre un esempio, uno dei tanti luoghi ove il Lombardo viene dal poeta preferito all'Aquinale, o meglio dire ove cosi San Tommaso come Dante attingono -alla medesima fonte: Pier Lombardo. Qui si ha una traduzione letterale delle parole del Maestro che appaiono anche in San Tommaso sotto una veste più filosofica. Ma non è questo il solo punto ove un tale raffronto è possibile. Fu uno dei più assidui, il Senatore Carlo Neg'-;ni, a far notare la ^ainde importanza che ebbe il libro del Maestro nel pensiero di Dante. JNella prefa/jine al volume. .V. della Bibbia volaare ri884), accennando a Pier Lombardo della cui opera si giova Tespositore dei salmi di quella Bibbia, promise di occuparsene : « In un altro mio scritto dove avrò Taiuto di un teologo profondo, e mio buon amico, farò il confronto tra le «proposizioni teologiche della Divina Commedia e quelle dei libri delle Sentenze: ed il lettore vedrà che le prime non sono altro che Tespressione poetica delle seconde, fedelissima e latta con invidiabile precisione ». Disgraziatamente Negroni occupato in altri lavori, non potè adempiere .alla sua promessa, ma dando esempio dì larghezza d'animo, consigliò ed aiutò l’amico suo Carbone, (Carbonara), poi prefetto Apostolico deirÉritrea, nell'opera a cui egH non poteva attendere, e ne promosse la pubblicazione. Carbonara pubblica infatti Slcuni Studi Danteschi e Tortona Tip. A. Rossi Stttdi Danteschi; Dante e S. Francesco; ALIGHIERI e FIDANZA (si veda) Nella Biblioteca Negroni si trovano nel carteggio privato le lettere che Carbone indirizzava a Negroni piene d'erudizione e di affetto per l'illustre amico. Trov.ansi pure tra i copiosi ms. due fascicoli; n. 26: Pier L. nel Paradiso; n. 27: Appunti Danteschi. Essi contengono citazioni, note erudite che il Negroni veniva man mano scrivendo. La malattia e la morte tolsero il modesto studioso e generoso filantropo aUa tranquilla ed utile sua operositét letterarii^. nel volume I. dedicato al Neuroni, prese in esame» il I\' Libro delle Sentenze collo studio: Dante e C. Questo appunto- che è il migliore ed il più originale, entrò poco dopo inella collezione di opuscoli inediti e rari diretta da Passerini per cura di Murari. In esso il Carbone che si limita «all'esame delle distinzioni delle Sentenze, conclude che il seme che è nel libro delle Sentenze di Pier Lombardo mostra i suoi fiori ed i suoi frutti ini Dante. Nella tornata del 19 Aprile 1891 airAccademia Pontaniana, il socio residente Alberto Agresti le^e una memoria dal titolo: Eva in Dante ed in Pier Lombardo (1) ed anch'egli ricordò a proposito di questi studi, Tamico Negroni e lo studio di frate Michele da CARBONARA (si veda). Ponendo a raffronto i passi danteschi ove vien citala Eva (tacendo di tre che non danno alcun ^udizio della sua colpa : (Purg.) uno comune con Adamo (Purg.); gli altri (Purg.; Par.), ove si dà un giudizio sfavorevole di Eva ed il passo del DeViilgari Eloquio ove ALIGHERI chiama Eva praesumptuosissimam), cerca da quali letture Dante ricavò il severo giudizio. Combatte To•pinione di V. Imbriani, (Studi danteschi. Firenze, Sansoni) che coIFesempio del Boccaccio vuol dimostrare 'i& scarsa erudizione teologica di Dante. Nella testimonianza di San Tommaso {Summa) Isidoro {Sentent.), Sant'Anselmo {De pec-orig.), Ugo da S. Vittore, FIDANZA non trova la ragione delli eccessiva severità deirAlighieri, bemsì in Pier Lombardo (Lib. II. dist. 22) che così si esprime: Adamo non istimò vero ciò che il diavolo aveva suggerito; stimò di peccare in maniera da esserne perdonato. Forse come vide che la donna, gustato il frutto, non era peranco morta, prevaricò e volle ainch^'egli fare esperimento del legno proibito. Più però Ta donna, perchè volle usurpare l'eguaglianza della divinità e levata in superbia nimia vraesumptione^ credette così doversi avverare. Adamo non volle contristare la donna, ma certo non vinto da carnale concupiscenza, non sentila peranco in Napoli, Tip. della R. Università, lui, ma per una certa amichevole heoievotenza per la quale il più delle volte avviene che si offende Dio per non offender l'amico. In un certo modo Adamo fu anch'egli deceptus ! Nella donn<a /fu majoris tumoris praesumptio : ella peccò in sé, nel prossimo, in Dio : l'uomo solo ui sé ed in Dio. E l'Agresti finisce insomma col concludere che « studiare la D. Commedia al lume dei libri delle Sentenze è tutto un lavoro nuovo che manca alla letteratura danteca ». A me non resta che augurarmi che un tale 1' si compia e che una feconda curiosità subentri alla sterile dilRdenza nelFaprire il libro di P. L. che Dante non certo per cura della rima chiamava il suo tesoro. I ìinyiìì dell'erudizione. Ristrettezza di tempo mi ha impedito di dare, com'era mio desiderio, maggior svolgimento a questi insufficienti cenni sull'influenza esercitata dal maestro delle Sentenze sull'opera d’ALIGHIERI (si veda) e non sulla Divina Commedia soltanto. Dell'utilità di una maggiore e più profonda conoscenza di tali rapporti, è prov:a quanto si è venuto in questi anni scrivendo dagli studiosii di Dante coll'intento in verità non sempre raggiunto di recar "maggiore luce airinterpretazione' del poema dantesco. Ancora in un recente fascicolo del Bollettino della Società Dantesca Italiana. Parodi m una dotta recensione consacrata ad un apprezzato studio del prof. Surra su La conoscenza del futuro e del presente nei dannati danteschi (Novara, Tip. Guaglio), si vale del confronto colla dottrina del Maestro delle Sentenze per meglio chiarire i dubbi che le parole di Farinata non sciolgono sul modo di conosceniza dei dannati. Contro la tesi del Surra, che fortificandosi del concetto delFìrrazionale nell'arte, ampiaonente illustrato da Fracoaroli, vuol chiudere il passo ^ai diritti 3eireru3ìzioaie, Parodi dimostra, citando una distinzione del IV delle Sentenze. Ve animabus damnatorum si qua habent notitican eorum quae hic fiunt, come l’esposizione di Farinata cresce d'importanza venendo a combaciare colla dotlrin<a professata dal Maestro. Ed è certo che se la contraddizione non può essere evitata dal pensiero umano, specie cpiando s'aderge sulle ali della poesia, tanto in Dante come in C., scola5?tóci entrambi, v'è Tidentioa «preoccupazioaiei di sfug^rle colla cura più scrupolosa. Non si può riconoscere tuttavia all'erudizione il diritto di andar troppo oltre, specie nelle sue conclusioni, perchè Terudizioflie è alla poesia come la ragione è alla fede, che il sapere riconosce potene illuminare senza spiegarla interamente. Se anche col raffronto più minuto dei passi danteschi ooiropera di C. (non limitato alle Semtenze) noi potremo trovare nuove e curiose rispondenze che ci dimostreranno le fonti di sapere e d'inspirazione del Poeta divino, dovremo limitarci a riconoscere nulla più che la materia preziosa, ma informe trasportata e nobilitata dalFopera (in che è il fatto nuovo) dello statuario. E\ per limitarmi ad un solo esempio, notevole il modo onde mei Sermoni vengono disposti gli argomenti morali che il Lombardo distilla da un qualunque versetto biblico: sono quasi sempre tre i sensi che se ne ricadano ed il numero 3 entra con una particolare predilezione ìiell armonica e spesso sin troppo misurata distribuzione delle parti nei suoi discorsi. Queste ed altre minuzie di logica arTres igitur tortae pani8 tres sunt modi dìvinam paginam intelligendi Triplex igitar pani8 eat intellectus: tropologicus, scilicet moralis vel historicus; mysticus, idest allegoricus et anagogeticum Moralis mores componit, exhauriens malos et confovens bonos; allegorìcufl mentis acuit oculos ut mysterioram abdita penetrare valeant; anagogeticus mentes super se effundit ut in voce exultationis et confessionis, constituto die, e condensis usque ad domum Dei rapiatur; nam sicut allegoria alitar intellectus, ita anagoge superior sermo vel sursum tendens interpretatur. Moralis, idest tropologicus, est dulcior, historicus facilior, mysticus auctior. Historicus insipientibus, moralis proficientibus, mxsticus perfìcientibus congruit.- Sermone: Convertimini fili revertentes fine inedita riportata da Haureau op. cit* chitettura oasi caire a Pier Loonbardo, come si avverte nello slesso Prologo delle Sentenze', do ve vaino esercitare il loro influsso nel poeta della Vita Nuova e del Paradiso. Ma non dal solo Pier Lombardo, bensì da tutta 'a scienza teologica, Dante raccolse mei grande specchio ustorio della sua mente, la luce che brilla nel suo divino Poema. Né possiamo comprendere come uno studiotso deìlla coltura del prof. Amaduocd, possa restringere nelrarido opuscolo di San Pier Damiano, quasi l'unica tonte del poema dantesco, lo schema dottrinale a cui Damte avrebbe informato, con perfetta fusione della lettera coll'allegoria^ la Commedia, e annunciare seriamente che distinguendo i 100 canti nelle 42 marcie e fermate {numsioni} deirallegorico viaggio degli Ebrei contemplato dalla modesta fantasia di San Pier Damiano, verrà sostituito nell'esame del poema ai fondamenti ipotetici, il fondamento scientifico, gli enigmi di sei secoli, troveranno fàcile spiegazione e sarà aperta la via ad una nuova valutazione artistica. Ma tale via non Tha aperta Dante stesso coU'opera sua? Z/' opuscolo XXXII di S, Pier Damiano fonte diretta della Divina Commedia? in Grùymaìe Dantesco dir, da G. L. Passerini - Firenze, Dischi. cfr. Parodi La fonte diretta della divina Commedia in Marzocco, Firenze. A questa trattazione epero far seguire prosslntamefite un canltolo, su C. E LA SCUOLA. Ohe per l'economia dei presente iavoro non potè essere inoluoo. Le origini oscure. La nascita a Lumellogno. L'ambiente nativo. Dipendenza di Lmnelil^gno dal Capitolo Novarese Stato delle scuole novaresi. Pier Lombardo fu allo studio Bolog^nese? Gap. il Nell'ombra del cammino Alla scuola di Leutaldo novarese a Reims. « ParisiUiSi » La universitas scholarium. San Vittore. Santa Genoveffa. Nella luce della fam^i. La scuoia di Nòtre Dame. L'episcopato. La morte. La tomba di Marcello. Le onoranze. L'opera e la fortuna di Pier Lombardo. Le Sentenze. I Sentenziarii. I detrattori. Il « tesoro ». Opere edite ed inedite. I Seamoni. LA DOTTRINA FILOSOFICA. Posizione di C. nella filosofia. Metodo. Religione e sciens&a. Problema metafisico e conoscitivo Teoria degli universali. Teoria ctella oonoscenza. Problema ontologico e cosmologico. Sostanza ed accidente. Natura e persona. Materia e forma. Causalità. Spazio e tempo. CosmoJKJgia Posizione dell'uomo neirunàverso. Cap. Problema psicologico. Potenzie dell' aiiim.. Natura dell'ajiima. Origine dell'anima. Relazione tra l'anima e il corpo. Problema morale. Libero arbitrio. Felicità. Moralità delle azioni umane La legge morale Bene e mailie. Lm dottrina scolastica in C. e ALIGHIERI (si veda) Pier Lo!ml>ardo nel cielo del Sole. Dante adl'Università di Parigi. Influenza di Pier Loonbardo sull'opera di Dante. Aggiunta necesaaria. I limiti dell'erudizione. Ritratto di Pier Lombardo dall'incisione del Thevet « Les vrais portraàts ecc. » Paris. Portico della Canonica di Novara da un'incisione delle « Monografìe Novanesi » MigUo Vene de la VUle de Paris du coté de Vlsle N. Dame (antica incisione). A. Nótre Dame de Paris, (antdca incisione). Con Agostino si opera, per la prima volta e in maniera esplicita, una completa saldatura fra la teoria del SEGNO e quella del linguaggio. Per trovare una altrettanto rigorosa presa di posizione teorica bisogna aspettare il Corso di lin¬guistica generale di Saussure, scritto quindici secoli dopo. La grande importanza che la tematica semiolinguistica ha in Agostino deriva in gran parte dal suo assorbimento della lezione stoica, come del resto testimonia il trattato DE DIALECTICA De dialectica. In esso sono riassunti molti dei principali temi stoici in materia semiotica, tra cui il princi¬ pio che la conoscenza è, in linea generale, conoscenza attra¬ verso segni (Simone). Ma vari elementi differenziano l'impostazione agostinia¬ na da quella stoica. In primo luogo, infatti, gli stoici, racco¬ gliendo e formalizzando una lunga tradizione di origine so¬ prattutto medica e mantica, consideravano propriamente segni (smeia) solo i segni non verbali, come il fumo che svela il fuoco e la cicatrice che rinvia a una precedente feri¬ ta. Agostino, invece, per primo nell'antichità, include nella categoria dei signa non solo i segni non verbali come i gesti, le insegne militari, le fanfare, la pantomima ecc., ma anche le espressioni del linguaggio parlato. Noi diciamo in gene¬rale segno tutto ciò che significa qualche cosa, e fra questi abbiamo anche le parole -- De Magistro. In secondo luogo, gli stoici avevano individuato nell'e¬ nunciato il punto di congiunzione tra il significante (semaf¬ non) e il significato (semain6menon), elemento che comun¬ que non coincideva con il segno (semefon). Agostino, invece, individua nella singola espressione linguistica, cioè nel verbum (''parola"), l'elemento in cui significante e signifi¬ cato si fondono, e considera questa fusione un segno di qualcos'altro ("Quindi, dopo aver sufficientemente assoda¬ to che le parole [verba] non sono nient'altro che segni [si¬gna] e che non può essere segno ciò che non significhi [si¬ gniflcet] qualcosa, tu hai proposto un verso di cui io mi sforzassi di mostrare che cosa significhino le singole paro¬ le", De Mag.). In terzo luogo, gli stoici avevano elaborato una teoria del linguaggio che aveva le due caratteristiche di essere formale (il lekt6n non coincideva con alcuna sostanza) e centrata sulla significazione. Agostino, invece, elabora una teoria del segno linguistico che ha un carattere psicologistico (i si¬ gnificati si trovano nell'animo) e comunicazionale (passano nell'animo dell'ascoltatore) (Todorov; Markus). 10.1 n triangolo semiotico e la stratificazione ter¬ minologie& È del resto con l'analisi della nozione stessa di parola (verbum simplex) che si apre il De dia/ectica ed è con questa nozione che si inaugura una serie interessante di distinzioni terminologiche. Al capitolo V, Agostino elabora una triplice distinzione che possiamo mettere in corrispondenza con i moderni con¬ cetti di significato, significante e referente. Infatti individua in primo luogo la vox articu/ata (o il sonus) della parola, cioè quello che è percepito dali'orecchio quando la parola viene pronunciata. In secondo luogo individua il dicibi/e1 (corrispondente, anche dal punto di vista della trasposizio¬ ne linguistica, al /ekt6n stoico), definito come ciò che viene avvertito dall'animo e che è in esso contenuto. In terzo luogo, infine, distingue la res, che viene definita come un og¬ getto qualsiasi, percepibile con i sensi, o con l'intelletto, op¬ pure che sfugge alla percezione (De dialect.). È così possibile ricostruire il triangolo semiotico nei se¬ guenti termini: dicibile vox articulata (o sonus) res Ma Agostino guarda ai segni anche dal punto di vista del loro potere di designazione, oltre che da quello della signifi¬ cazione. Questo lo spinge a elaborare un'ulteriore suddivi¬ sione terminologica in corrispondenza dei due aspetti che può assumere il referente di una parola: può infatti avve¬ nire che la parola rimandi a se stessa come proprio referente (fatto che si verifica nel caso della citazione, ovvero della designazione metalinguistica), e allora prende il nome di verbum; oppure può avvenire che la parola, intesa co¬ me combinazione del significante e del significato, abbia come referente una cosa diversa da se stessa (come avviene con l'uso denotativo del linguaggio), nel qual caso prende il nome di dictio.3 È precisamente la nozione di dictio che, come ha osserva¬ to Baratin, costituisce l'elemento di congiunzione tra la teoria del linguaggio e quella del segno. E ciò in virtù di uno sfasamento semantico che la nozione stoica di léxis (si¬ gnificante articolato, ma senza essere necessariamente por¬ tatore di significato) ha subìto nel corso degli studi lingui¬ stici antichi. Dictio è traduzione di léxis; ma non ha lo stesso significa¬ to che le attribuivano gli stoici, bensì quello che le davano i grammatici alessandrini, in particolare Dionisio Trace, che definiva la léxis come "la più piccola parte dell'enunciato costruito" (Grammatici graeci), a metà strada tra le lettere e le sillabe, da una parte, e l'enunciato, dall'al¬ tra. Questa sua particolare posizione fa sì che la léxis venga considerata come portatrice di un significato (in contrappo¬ sizione alle lettere e alle sillabe che non lo posseggono), ma incompleto (in opposizione all'enunciato che porta un sen¬ so completo). Lo spostamento di fuoco dalla centralità stoica dell'e¬ nunciato alla centralità alessandrina della singola parola, fa sì che quest'ultima assuma al(\une delle funzioni prima spet¬ tanti solo all'enunciato. In particolare, quella di essere un segno.4 Agostino definisce decisamente la parola come un segno al cap. V del De dialectica: "La parola è, per ciascuna cosa, un segno che, enunciato dal locutore, può essere compreso dall'ascoltatore". E, del resto, il segno viene definito come "ciò che presentandosi in quanto tale alla percezione sensi¬ bile, presenta anche qualche cosa alla percezione intellet¬ tuale (animus)" (ibidem). Relazione di equivalenza e relazione di im¬plicazione Ponendo l'accento sulla parola, anziché sull'enunciato, Agostino ritrova l'opposizione platonica tra parole e cose. Incontro non casuale, in quanto Platone è l'unico, prima di Agostino, ad avere una concezione semiotica del linguag¬ gio; per Platone, infatti, il nome era d/Oma, svelamento di qualcosa che non è direttamente percepibile, ovvero dell'es¬ senza della cosa. Ma mentre nel Crati/o platonico si discute se il rapporto tra nome e cosa sia un rapporto iconico (pe¬ raltro con la soluzione che conosciamo, cfr. cap. 4), in Agostino tale rapporto - configura subito come una rela¬ zione di significazione: il nomt "significa" una cosa (nozione equivalente a quella di "essere segno di" una cosa). Nel momento in cui Agostino propone la sua concezione della parola come segno, si producono alcune modificazio¬ ni teoriche, conseguenti allo spostamento di prospettiva. In effetti nelle teorie linguistiche precedenti a quella di Agosti¬ no il rapporto tra le espressioni linguistiche e i loro conte¬ nuti era stato concepito come una relazione di equivalenza. La ragione, come noto, era di carattere epistemologico e ri¬ guardava la possibilità di lavorare direttamente sul linguag¬ gio, in sostituzione degli oggetti della realtà, dato che il lin¬ guaggio veniva concepito come un sistema di rappresenta¬ zione del reale (per quanto mediato dall'anima). Al contrario, il rapporto tra un segno e ciò a cui esso rin¬ via era stato concepito come una relazione di implicazione, per cui il primo termine permetteva, per lo stesso fatto di esistere, di arrivare alla conoscenza del secondo. Eco (1984: 33) ha suggerito che, nell'enunciato stoico, i rapporti tra la relazione segnica e quella linguistica possono essere illustra¬ ti da uno schema in cui il livello implicazionale si regge su quello equazionale: onIE=>c m_E:! c dove E indica "espressione", C "contenuto", ::J "implica" e == "è equivalente a". In Agostino l'unificazione tra le due prospettive avviene a livello della singola parola e senza chiamare in causa rapporti di equivalenza. Caso mai la dic¬ tio, che è rappresentabile con il livello i, è costituita dali'u¬ nione, o prodotto logico, di una vox (significante) e di un dicibile (significato), unità che diviene segno di qualcos'altro (livello ii). Conseguenze dell'unificazione delle prospettive La prima conseguenza dell'unificazione agostiniana, come sottolinea Eco, è che la lingua comincia a trovarsi a disagio all'interno del quadro implicativo. Essa infatti costituisce un sistema troppo forte e troppo strutturato per sottomettersi a una teoria dei segni nata per descrivere rapporti così elusivi e generici, come quelli che si ritrovano, a esempio, nelle classificazioni della retorica greca e romana. Infatti l'implicazione semiotica era aperta alla possibilità di percorrere l'intero continuum dei rapporti di necessità e di debolezza. Inoltre la lingua, come del resto Agostino mette in risalto nel De Magistro, possiede un carattere peculiare rispetto agli altri sistemi di segni, corrispondente al fatto di essere un "sistema modellizzante primario",5 cioè tale che qualun¬ que altro sistema semiotico può essere tradotto in esso. La forza e l'importanza della lingua fanno sì che i rapporti con gli altri sistemi di segni si rovescino, e che essa, da specie, divenga genere: a poco a poco, il modello del segno lingui¬ stico finirà per essere senz'altro il modello semiotico per eccellenza. Ma quando il processo evolutivo arriva a Saussure, che ne rappresenta il punto culminante, si è ormai venuto a perdere il carattere implicativo, e il segno linguistico si è cristallizzato nella forma degradata del modello dizionariale, in cui il rapporto tra la parola e il suo contenuto è concepito come situazione sinonimica o definizione essenziale. La seconda importante conseguenza dell'innovazione agostiniana riguarda il problema della fondazione della dia¬ lettica e della scienza (Baratin). Fintanto¬ ché il rapporto tra linguaggio e oggetto del reale era conce¬ pito nei termini dell'equivalenza, il primo non appariva di¬ rettamente responsabile della conoscenza del secondo. Ma nel momento in cui si attribuisce un carattere di segno alle espressioni linguistiche, la conoscenza delle parole sembra implicare, di per se stessa, e a priori, la conoscenza delle co¬ se di cui esse sono segno. Tutta la grande tradizione semiotica, del resto, convergeva nel considerare il segno come il punto di accesso, senza ulteriori mediazioni, alla conoscen¬ za dell'oggetto di riferimento. Il problema che si pone ad Agostino è allora quello di prendere una posizione rispetto alla questione se il linguag¬ gio fornisca o meno, di per se stesso, informazioni sulle co¬ se che significa. Agostino affronta la questione del carattere informativo dei segni linguistici nel De Magistro. L'opera, in forma di dialogo tra Agostino e il figlio Adeodato, inizia stabilendo due fondamentali funzioni del linguaggio: in· segnare (docere) e richiamare alla memoria (commemorare), sia propria sia degli altri. Si tratta di funzioni con¬ temporaneamente informative e comunicative, in quanto coinvolgono in maniera centrale la presenza del destinatario nel momento in cui forniscono informazione. La prima parte del dialogo è tesa a dimostrare che queste funzioni, principalmente quella informativa, sono svolte dal linguaggio in quanto sistema di segni. Sono le parole, infatti, che, in qualità di segni, danno informazione sulle cose, senza che nient'altro possa assolvere alla medesima funzione. Nella seconda parte del dialogo, però, Agostino ritorna sull'argomento e cambia completamente la sua prospettiva. Fondandosi ancora una volta sul fatto che la lingua è un in¬ sieme di segni, egli mostra che si possono presentare due ca¬ si: il primo caso è quello in cui il locutore produce un se¬ gno che si riferisce a una cosa sconosciuta al destinatario; in tale situazione il segno non è in grado, di per se stesso, di fornire informazione, come dimostra l'esempio, riportato da Agostino, dell'espressione saraballae, la quale, se non precedentemente nota, non permetterà di comprendere il ri¬ ferimento ai "copricapr', che essa effettua; il secondo caso è quello in cui il locutore produce un segno che si rife¬ risce a qualcosa che è già noto al destinatario; e nemmeno in questa evenienza si potrà parlare di un vero e proprio processo di conoscenza (De Mag.). Alla fine Agostino conclude invertendo il rapporto cono¬ scitivo tra segno e oggetto, e stabilendo che è necessario co¬ noscere preliminarmente l'oggetto di riferimento per poter dire che una parola ne è un segno. È la conoscenza della co¬ sa che informa sulla presenza del segno e non viceversa. La soluzione ha una ascendenza chiaramente platonica, e a essa si collega anche la presa di posizione, di marca ugual¬ mente platonica, che la conoscenza delle cose deve essere pregiata maggiormente della conoscenza dei segni, perché "qualunque cosa sta per un'altra, è necessario che valga meno di quella per cui essa sta" (De Mag.). Ma se per le cose sensibili (sensibilia) sono gli oggetti esterni che ci permettono di arrivare alla conoscenza, non altrettanto avviene nel caso delle cose puramente intelligibi¬ li (intelligibilia). Per queste ultime Agostino individua una soluzione "teologica": la loro conoscenza deriva dalla rive¬ lazione che viene fatta dal Maestro interiore, il quale è ga¬ ranzia tanto deli'informazione quanto della verità (De Mag.). Ma anche con questa soluzione teologica del problema linguistico, al linguaggio è lasciato uno spazio, che in parte coincide con la funzione del segno rammemorativo, ma in parte la supera: quando conosciamo già l'oggetto di riferi¬ mento, le parole ci ricordano l'informazione; quando non lo conosciamo, ci spingono a cercare (De Mag.). In Agostino la soluzione teologica non è una scappatoia per uscire da un'impasse teorica. Al contrario, essa mette capo a nuove problematiche. È nel De Trinitate che viene affrontato il tema dell'espressione del verbo interiore, una volta che sia stato concepito nella profondità dell'ani¬ mo. In effetti, per poter comunicare con gli altri, gli uomini si servono della parola o di un segno sensibile, per poter . AGOSTINO provocare nell'anima dell'interlocutore un verbo simile a quello che si trova nel loro animo mentre parlano (De Trin.). D'altra parte Agostino sottolinea la natura prelinguistica del verbo interiore, il quale non appartiene a nessuna delle lingue naturali, ma deve essere codificato in un segno quan¬ do ha bisogno di essere espresso e portato alla comprensio¬ ne dei destinatari. Il verbo interiore ha, del resto, una duplice origine: da una parte esso costituisce una conoscenza immanente, la cui sorgente è Dio stesso; dall'altra esso è determinato dalle im¬ pronte lasciate neli'anima dagli oggetti di conoscenza. Ma anche in questo secondo caso esso è riconducibile a Dio, in quanto il mondo è il linguaggio attraverso il quale Dio si esprime. Si trovano qui gli embrioni del simbolismo univer¬ sale, che tanta parte avrà nella cultura del Medioevo. Quello che comunque emerge con sempre maggiore chia¬ rezza è il carattere comunicativo della semiologia agostinia¬ na, che è individuabile anche nello schema riassuntivo pro¬ posto da Todorov: oggetti di conoscenza potenza !Immanente verbo verbo verbo divina interiore - esteriore - esteriore pensato proferito sa pere. È comunque innegabile che se la semiologia agostiniana presenta un aspet¬ to "teologico", connesso al problema del verbo divino, tut¬ tavia possiede anche un ben individuato e autonomo aspet¬ to laico, che prende in considerazione i caratteri che il segno ha di per se stesso. Fanno parte di quest'ultimo aspetto le varie classificazioni dei segni, alle quali Agostino si dedica soprattutto nel trattato De doctrina Christiana secondo il modo di trasmissione: vista/udito secondo l'origine e l'uso: segni naturali/segni intenzio¬ nali secondo lo statuto sociale: segni naturali/segni conven¬ zionali secondo la natura del rapporto simbolico: proprio/tra¬ slato secondo la natura del designato: segno/cosa con aggiunte più tarde), ma che ritorna anche in varie altre opere . Todorov individua e analizza cinque tipi di classificazione a cui Agostino sottopone la nozione di se¬ gno : Todorov lamenta il fatto che Agostino giustappone quel¬ lo che in realtà avrebbe potuto articolare, in quanto gene¬ ralmente queste opposizioni sono tra di loro irrelate. Questo non è però del tutto vero, perché (soprattutto nel De Magistro) c'è un tentativo di dare una classificazione combinata di alcuni aspetti del segno. A questo proposito è possibile ricostruire tale classifica¬ zione ordinandola secondo uno schema arboriforme (Ber¬nardelli), secondo il modello dell'albero di Porfirio (Eco). La classificazione di Agostino non è totalmente a inclu¬ sione, come tende a essere quella porfiriana; e si può osser¬ vare che se venissero sviluppati i rami collaterali, si vedrebbero comparire, una seconda volta, alcune categorie elenca¬ te sotto il ramo principale. Tuttavia è Agostino stesso a metterei sulla strada di una classificazione inclusiva da ge¬ nere a specie quando definisce la relazione tra nome e paro¬ la come "la stessa che c'è tra cavallo e animale" e includen¬ do la categoria delle parole in quella più ampia dei segni (DeMag.). genen· e specie AES SEGNO PAROLA NOME segno udibile di cose (funzione denotativa) res sensibili (Romulus, Roma, fluvius) differenze significanti qualcosa verbale (voce articolata) differenze (significabilis, non significanti nome in senso particolare non verbale (gesti. insegne, lettere, tromba militare ecc.) altra parte del discorso (si, ve/, ex, nsmque, neve, ergo, quonism ecc.) segno udibile di segni udibili (funzione metalinguistìca) res intelligibili ( virtus) SIGNIFICANTE delle .. AES" La prima relazione interessante è quella tra res e signa. Per quanto il mondo sostanziahnente venga diviso in cose e segni, tuttavia, Agostino non concepisce tale distinzione co¬ me ontologica, bensì come funzionale e relativa. Infatti anche i segni sono delle res e l'uomo è libero di as¬ sumere come segno una res che fino a quel momento era sprovvista di quella dignità. Anzi, la stessa nozione di res viene definita in termini rigorosamente semiologici (Simone): "In senso proprio ho chiamato cose (res) quegli oggetti che non sono impiegati per essere segni di qualche cosa: per esempio i legno, la pietra, il bestiame" (De doctr. Christ.). Ma, immediatamente dopo, cosciente del¬ la pervasività dei processi di semiosi, aggiunge: "Ma non quel legno che, leggiamo, Mosè gettò nelle acque amare per dissipare la loro amarezza (Esodo); né quella pietra sulla quale Giacobbe riposò la sua testa, né quella pecora che Abramo immolò al posto di suo figlio. L'articolazione che esiste tra segni e cose è analoga a quella dei due processi essenziali: usare (ut1) e godere (jrul) (De doctr. Christ.). Le cose di cui si usa sono tran¬ sitive, come i segni, che sono strumenti per giungere a qual¬ cos'altro; le cose di cui si gode sono intransitive, cioè sono prese in considerazione per se stesse. Nel De Magistro Agostino propone anche un nome per le cose che non sono usate come segni, ma sono significate attraverso segni: significabilia. Niente toglie che in un secondo momento anche quest'ultime possano essere assun¬ te con funzione significante. Dopo aver così articolato i rapporti tra segni e cose, Ago¬ stino propone questa definizione di segno nel De doctrina Christiana: "Il segno è una cosa (res) che, al di là dell'impressione che produce sui sensi, di per se stessa, fa venire in mente (in cogitationem) qualcos'altro". Nel nostro albero porfiriano abbiamo deciso di ricostrui¬ re la principale suddivisione agostiniana dei segni secondo la dicotomia verbale/non verbale, anche se altre opzioni, ugualmente esplicite nei testi di Agostino, erano disponibili. Questa decisione è autorizzata da un passo del De doctrina Christiana in cui, a conclusione di un'analisi dei vari tipi di segni, Agostino sostiene: "Infatti di tutti quei se¬ gni, di cui ho brevemente abbozzato la tipologia, ho potuto parlare attraverso le parole; ma le parole in nessun modo avrei potuto enunciarle attraverso quei segni". Viene esplicitamente fatto riferimento al carattere, tipico del linguaggio verbale, di essere un sistema modellizzante primario, e tale carattere viene assunto come criterio della divisione fondamentale dei segni. Segni classificati in base al canale di perce¬ zione Una classificazione incrociata rispetto alla precedente è quella effettuata in base al canale di percezione. Agostino infatti sostiene che "tra i segni di cui gli uomini si servono per comunicare tra di loro ciò che provano, certi dipendono dalla vista, la maggior parte dali'udito, pochissimi dagli altri sensi" (De doctr. Christ.). Tra i segni che vengono percepiti con l'udito ci sono quel¬ li, fondamentalmente estetici, emessi dagli strumenti musicali, come il flauto e la cetra, o anche quelli essenzialmente comunicativi emessi dalla tromba militare. Naturalmente, ritroviamo tra i segni percepìbili con l'udito, in una posizio¬ ne dominante, anche le parole: "Le parole, in effetti, hanno ottenuto tra gli uomini il primissimo posto per l'espressione dei pensieri di ogni genere, che ciascuno di essi vuole esternare" (De doctr. Christ.). Tra i segni percepibili con la vista Agostino elenca i cenni della testa, i gesti, i movimenti corporei degli attori, le ban¬ diere e le insegne militari, le lettere. Infine vengono presi in considerazione i segni che riguar¬ dano altri sensi, come l'odorato (l'odore dell'unguento sparso sui piedi di Cristo), il gusto (il sacramento dell'euca¬ ristia), il tatto (il gesto della donna che toccò la veste di Cri¬sto e fu guarita). "Signa naturalia" e "signa data" Sicuramente fondamentale, anche se non direttamente integrabile al nostro albero inclusivo, risulta lo schema di classificazione che oppone i signa naturalia ai signa data. I primi sono "quelli che senza intenzione, né desiderio di si¬ gnificare, fanno conoscere qualcos'altro, oltre a se stessi, come il fumo significa il fuoco" (De doctr. Christ.). Ne sono esempi anche le tracce lasciate da un animale e le espressioni facciali che rivelano, inintenzionalmente, irrita¬ zione o gioia . Dopo averli definiti, Agostino dichiara di non volerli trattare ulteriormente. È invece maggiormente interessato ai signa data, in quan¬ to a questa categoria appartengono anche i segni della Sa¬ cra Scrittura. Essi vengono definiti come "quelli che tutti gli esseri viventi si fanno, gli uni agli altri, per mostrare, per quanto possono, i movimenti della loro anima, cioè tutto ciò che essi sentono e pensano (De doctr. Christ.). Gli esempi sono soprattutto i segni linguistici umani (le parole) . Ma Agostino, curiosamente, include in questa classe an¬ che i segni emessi dagli animali, come quelli che si hanno quando il gallo segnala alla gallina di aver trovato il cibo. Questo crea una marcata differenza rispetto ad Aristotele, che include i gridi degli animali tra i segni natu¬rali (De int.). Ma Aristotele opponeva "naturale" a "convenzionale", mentre i signa data non sono i "segni convenzionali", come Markus aveva suggerito (e come del resto era sta¬ to proposto dalla traduzione francese di Combès e Farges). I signa data sono i "segni intenzionali" (Engels; Jackson), e corrispondono a 1:1na AGOSTINO ben precisa intenzione comunicativa (De doctr. Christ.). È del resto il carattere intenzionale che permette ad Agostino di includere tra i signa data quelli emessi dagli animali, anche se egli non si pronuncia sulla natura di que¬ sta intenzionalità animale (Eco). Del resto, come nota Todorov, porre l'accento sull'idea di intenzione corrisponde al progetto semiologico generale di Agostino, orientato verso la comunicazione. I segni intenzionali, o meglio, creati espressamente in vista della comunicazione, possono essere messi in corrisponden¬ za del syrnbolon di Aristotele e della combinazione stoica di un significante con un significato; quelli naturali, ovvero già esistenti come cose, corrispondono invece ai smeia, sia aristotelici che stoici Uno dei punti fondamentali della semiologia agostiniana è costituito dalla ricerca dei modi in cui si può stabi¬ lire il significato dei segni. Tale indagine è condotta soprat¬ tutto nel De Magistro, dove si può rintracciare una conce¬ zione semantica che si avvicina al tipo della "semiosi illimitata" di Peirce –discusso da H. P. Grice: “Seminar on Peirce”, Oxford.. Come ha rilevato anche Markus, il significato o segnato di un segno, per Agostino, può essere stabilito o espresso mediante altri segni, per esempio: fornendo dei sinonimi; attraverso l'indicazione con il dito puntato; per mezzo di gesti; tramite astensione (De Mag.). Questa concezione del significato si rende possibile sol¬ tanto nel momento in cui viene abbandonato lo schema equazionale del simbolo, per adottare, come fa Agostino, quello implicazionale del segno. La teoria semiologica ago¬ stiniana si apre così, come ha messo in evidenza Eco, verso un modello "istruzionale" della descrizione semantica. Se ne può cogliere un esempio neIl'analisi che Agostino conduce insieme ad Adeodato del verso virgiliano "si nihil ex tanta superis placet urbe relinqui" (De Mag.). Esso viene definito come composto di otto segni, dei quali, appunto si cerca il significato. L'indagine comincia da l si l, di cui si riconosce che espri¬ me un significato di "dubbio", dopo aver tuttavia sottoli¬ neato che non si è trovato un altro termine da sostituire al primo per illustrare lo stesso concetto. Si passa, poi, a lni¬ hi/1, il cui significato viene individuato come !'"affezione dell'animo" che si verifica quando, non vedendo una cosa, se ne riconosce l'assenza. In seguito Agostino chiede ad Adeodato il significato di lexl ed esso propone una definizione sinonimica: lexl sa¬ rebbe equivalente a l de l . Agostino non è soddisfatto di questa soluzione e argomenta che il secondo termine è certo un'interpretazione del primo, ma ha bisogno di essere a sua volta interpretato. La solu2ione finale è che l ex l significa "una separazione" da un oggetto. A questa conclusione, pe¬ rò, viene aggiunta anche una successiva istruzione per la sua decodifica contestuale: il termine può esprimere separa¬ zione rispetto a qualcosa che non esiste più, come nel caso della città di Troia a cui si allude nel verso virgiliano; oppu¬ re il termine può esprimere separazione da qualcosa che è ancora esistente, come quando diciamo che in Africa ci sono alcuni negozianti provenienti da Roma. Il significato di un termine, allora, "è un blocco (una se¬ rie, un sistema) di istruzioni per le sue possibili inserzioni contestuali, e per i suoi diversi esiti semantici in contesti di¬ versi (ma tutti ugualmente registrabili in termini di codice).” La struttura implicativa permette regole del tipo "Se A appare nei contesti x, y, allora significa B; ma se B, allora C; ecc.", regole che sono comuni tanto al modello istruzio¬ nale quanto alla semiosi illimitata. In definitiva, è proprio grazie ali'assunzione generalizza¬ ta del modello implicazionale che la semiologia agostiniana riesce a porsi sia come sintesi delle acquisizioni semiolingui¬ stiche del mondo antico (teoria della parola come segno), sia come potente anticipazione di alcune delle più recenti tendenze della ricerca attuale in campo semantico (modello istruzionale) . 1 In altre opere, al posto di dicibile troviamo l'espressione significatio; a esempio in De Magistro. Si deve notare che Agostino adopera l'espressione verbum in due sensi: uno tecnico e specifico, che è quello dell'uso metalinguistico della parola; uno generale, che corrisponde alla nozione ampia di "parola", co¬ me "segno di ciascuna cosa che, proferito dal parlante, possa essere inteso dalJ'ascoltatore. La natura della nozione di dictio, come composizione di significante e significato, è messa chiaramente in risalto dalla definizione del cap. V da De dialectica. Quel che ho detto dictio è una parola, ma una parola che significhi ormaj le due unità precedenti conten1poraneamente, la parola (verbum) stessa e ciò che è prodotto nell'animo per mezzo della parola [dicibile]". La dictio, inoltre, "non procede per se stessa, ma per significare qualcosa d'altro. Si ricorderà che dagli stoici un segno era concepito, in termini proposizionali, come un antecedente che rimandava a un conseguente; cfr. Sext. Emp., Adv. Math. Per questa nozione, cfr. Lotman-Uspenskij. Piètro Lombardo. Teologo. Novara. M. Parigi, chiamato dai posteri magister sententiarum. Il suo scritto principale, i Libri Sententiarum, il testo teologico più diffuso nel Medioevo, gli fruttò una celebrità mondiale, entrando fra i fondatori della teologia sistematica. Egli, infatti, è uno dei primi a racchiudere in un'opera organica l'intero materiale dogmatico. Di umili origini, fu presentato da s. Bernardo ai canonici di San Vittore a Parigi, dove era giunto dopo esser passato per Reims e dove è probabile che già prima del 1142 (data d'inizio delle Sententiae, v. oltre) cominciasse a esercitare il suo magistero; a questi primi anni parigini risalgono il Commentarius in Psalmos e i Collectanea in Epistolas Pauli. L'insegnamento lo rese presto famoso: fu tra i magistri del consiglio di Reims che giudicarono Gilberto Porretano; nel 1151-52 venne a Roma presso papa Eugenio III e fu creato vescovo di Parigi. Il suo epitaffio si conservò nella chiesa di Saint Marcel fino alla rivoluzione francese. Opere Delle opere di P. abbiamo ricordato quelle esegetiche: di esse la prima illustra il testo biblico versetto per versetto, in completa dipendenza dalla tradizione patristica, con forte allegorismo; la seconda (detta anche Maiores glossae epistolarum o Magnaglossatura) introduce nel commento più ampie questioni teologiche e costituisce una preparazione all'opera sua maggiore, i Libri IV sententiarum (detti comunemente Sententiae): sono probabilmente il frutto delle sue lezioni. L'opera, nel suo progetto di raccogliere e sistemare organicamente attorno ai principali problemi teologici le sentenze (o auctoritates) dei Padri e degli autori medievali, dipende così dalla tradizione canonistica, soprattutto da Graziano, come dalla Summa sententiarum (opera forse di origine vittorina), ma anche da Abelardo, da Anselmo di Laon, da Ugo di S. Vittore e da Giovanni Damasceno (conosciuto nella traduzione latina di Burgundio Pisano). P. organizza la materia in quattro libri (divisi in capitula, mentre il raggruppamento in distinctiones non risale all'autore): Dio uno e trino; creazione, peccato e grazia; 3) incarnazione, redenzione, virtù teologali e doni dello Spirito Santo, comandamenti; 4) sacramenti e novissimi. Attorno a questi argomenti P. raggruppa le testimonianze della tradizione patristica (prese direttamente o da florilegi), ma dà anche molto spazio a opinioni di maestri più recenti e contemporanei, citati spesso con un semplice «quidam»: l'importanza della sua opera sta appunto in questa raccolta di auctoritates, non in uno sforzo di approfondimento personale, perché intento di P. è l'attenersi alle più autorevoli opinioni tradizionali senza ricorrere, anzi spesso opponendosi, a ogni innovatore sforzo dialettico e filosofico. Ma di qui deriva anche l'immensa fortuna delle Sentenze, che, dopo alcune prime violente opposizioni (promosse da Giovanni di Cornovaglia, Gerhoh di Reichersberg, Gualtiero di San Vittore, Scuola porretana, Gioacchino da Fiore; particolarmente criticata la sua dottrina detta nichilismo cristologico, per cui l'unione in Cristo delle due nature sarebbe puramente accidentale), entrò dal sec. 13º nelle università sotto l'autorità pontificia come testo fondamentale per l'insegnamento della teologia e tale restò fino a tutto il Rinascimento (di qui l'enorme numero dei commenti alle Sentenze). P. è autore anche di ventinove Sermones, mentre sicuramente spurie sono altre opere a lui di tempo in tempo attribuite.Refs.: Luigi Speranza, “Philosophical psychology in the commentaries of Pietro Lombardo and Grice,” per il Club Anglo-Italiano, The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Grice, Liguria, Italia. Lombardia Grice: “It is strange that he was called Piero da Lombardia; it would be like ‘a lad from shropshire.’ ‘Lombardia,’ unlike Ockham, ain’t a townbut a full regionIt’s different with ‘veneto,’ which is toponymic and metonymic for Venice. But if Milano was the main ever settlement in Lombardia this would be “Peter, the one from Milan.” Nome compiuto: Lombardo Pietro Lombardo Lumellogno Cardano – Grice: “It’s only natural that he was Pietro Cardano – after the city in Lombardy, Cardano – Plus, the implicature that he went by “Peter of Lombardy” having been born in Piemonte, means that the locals never saw him as one of their own!” -- Pietro Cardano – la stirpe Cardano --. Familia patrizia di Novara. Pietro Cardano. Keywords: Cardano, implicatura. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Cardano,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Cardia: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del culto del laico – scuola di Roma – filosofia romana – filosofia lazia -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Roma). Filosofo romano. Filosofo lazio. Filosofo italiano. Roma, Lazio. Grice: “Cardia is what I would call the Italian Hart – with a tweak – Italy and religion is Cardia’s forte – recall that the bishop of Rome has the roots in the ‘pontifex’ of old Rome, so he knows what he’s talking about!” – Grice: “Like me, Cardia has philosophised, as what the Italians call a professore di filosofia del diritto, on the ethical versus legal implicatures of the very idea of a ‘right’ (diritto). We don’t have that economy of vocabulary in Engish – calling Hart the professor of right would be unnacepptable at Oxford!”. Si laurea a Roma. Clifton has chapel services and a focus on Christianity. This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one by one The touch of Life has turn'd to truth. Here in a day that is not far, You too may speak with noble ghosts Of manhood and the vows of war You made before the Lord of Hosts. The magnificent Chapel sits at the heart of Clifton both spiritually and physically and has played an important part of life. Topped by a striking copper-clad lantern and built from soft red and honey-coloured stone, the Chapel provides Christian calm, and forms a powerful link between past and present. It is a place where the community come to mark milestones and celebrate successes, and for quiet contemplation or spiritual guidance.  Brass plates placed on the back of the staff stalls mark the names of all those who have carved out a reputation. High on the walls are memorials of pupils of another age who died by accident or disease serving the Empire. One bears the moving epitaph ‘A good life hath but few days but a good name endureth forever.’  The Chapel was built to a design by C. Hansom. It is a narrow aisleless building. It is the gift of the widow of W. J. Guthrie. Hansom is given permission to quarry sufficient stone from the grounds of Clifton for the purposes of the Chapel building". The Chapel building is licensed by the Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol. Stato, Chiese e pluralismo confessionale Rivista telematica statoechiese.it) Colaianni (ordinario di Diritto ecclesiastico nella Facoltà di Giurisprudenza dell’Università degli Studi di Bari) Quale laicità. Con questo saggio C. si affaccia sul versante polemistico della letteratura giuridica con la maestria affinata attraverso una copiosa produzione saggistica e con la non comune versatilità che negli ultimi anni lo ha portato ad occuparsi dei problemi di tutela non solo delle confessioni religiose ma anche dei diritti umani. I bersagli della polemica sono indicati nel sottotitolo: etica, multiculturalismo, islam, non in sé naturalmente ma in quanto declinati in maniera rispettivamente relativistica, separatistica, fondamentalistica. Capaci cioè di esaltare le identità oltre ogni limite e di attentare, quindi, a quello “stato laico sociale” che, dopo secoli di storia travagliata e i totalitarismi del secolo breve, a cavallo del nuovo millennio ha trionfato un po’ dovunque in Europa e in tutto l’occidente. Questo carattere ben si coglie secondo l’autore nella “rivincita dei concordati”. Un fenomeno effettivamente impressionante, tanto più perché si inserisce in un trend favorevole alle relazioni con le confessioni, da cui non prendono le distanze neanche l’Unione europea, in base ad una dichiarazione allegata al trattato di Amsterdam, e la Francia della Loi de séparation, secondo le proposte della commissione governativa Machelon1. Da esso C. deduce che lo stato è ormai amico delle religioni, che contribuisce attivamente a sottrarre all’irrilevanza degli affari privati e a reimmettere nel circuito pubblico, relegando l’ostilità del laicismo ottocentesco nel museo della memoria. C., Le sfide della laicità. Etica, multiculturalismo, islam, Edizioni San Paolo, Cinisello Balsamo, destinata alla pubblicazione sulla rivista “Laicità”, Torino. Cfr. F. MARGIOTTA BROGLIO, su Reset Stato, Chiese e pluralismo confessionale Rivista telematica Dal quale non varranno a riesumarla le “guerricciole”, rinfocolate dal “micro-massimalismo” di chi spera di “rivivere un po’ dell’epopea del passato” e non si accorge che ormai lo stato italiano gli accordi li fa anche con confessioni non cattoliche e, peraltro, non è l’unico ad integrare le scuole private e confessionali nel sistema scolastico, ad assicurare l’insegnamento religioso confessionale nelle scuole pubbliche, a finanziare lautamente la chiesa cattolica ma anche le altre confessioni. L’agile sintesi storico-politica, condotta nella prima metà del libro, consente a C. di avallare questa laicità realistica, che ad altri è sembrata più propriamente “praticistica”. A quella stregua l’autore tratta con sufficienza i rinnovati contrasti tra stato e chiesa (che pure sono al centro delle preoccupazioni di altri libri coevi3 ) tanto quanto con drammaticità le sfide suindicate. A cominciare dal multiculturalismo, che in effetti nella versione spinta si presenta sotto la forma di un comunitarismo senza coesione. Il “fascino discreto” che in molti differenzialisti suscitano gli statuti personali, di medioevale o ottomana memoria, è giustamente visto come una relativizzazione della laicità: a vantaggio, in particolare, dell’islam. Ovviamente C. è severo con la “partita giocata su due tavoli”: non si può invocare la laicità contro i “simboli e la memoria del cristianesimo” e a favore di quelli dell’islam, per cui “verrebbero estromessi i crocifissi, ma sarebbero ammessi il velo e la preghiera degli islamici”. Ma i termini del paragone sono omogenei solo apparentemente: il crocifisso fa problema per la laicità non se portato addosso al corpo, se fa parte del libero abbigliamento dei cittadini (come il velo o altri segni religiosi), ma in quanto esposto autoritativamente, cioè imposto, negli spazi pubblici, scolastici, giudiziari. In effetti, è tutta la seconda parte del libro a risentire di questa drammatizzazione impressa ai vari scenari. Islam versus cristianesimo. Di là un sistema chiuso ad ogni interpretazione evolutiva, un’identità fissa e immutabile, di qua una religione tollerante, aperta all’interpretazione storico-critica dei testi sacri e alla laicità, la quale in essa sarebbe addirittura “germinata”. La schematizzazione diventa  2  Per esempio a BELLINI nel saggio coevo Il diritto d’essere se stessi. Discorrendo dell’idea di laicità. Come quelli di ZAGREBELSKY, Lo stato e la chiesa, o di BIANCHI, La differenza cristiana, o di RUSCONI, Non abusare di Dio. Stato, Chiese e pluralismo confessionale Rivista telematica inevitabile. In realtà, l’involuzione della seconda metà del XX secolo, a parte i fanatismi e i terrorismi, non è riuscita a spegnere le numerose voci laiche dell’islam moderno4  né, a livello istituzionale, ad annullare, pur frenandola, l’applicazione negli stati islamici di una legge non religiosa, il kanun, “nel senso laico di ‘legge di stato’in contrapposizione alla sharī ‘a” 5. D’altro canto, bisogna riconoscere che abbiamo tutti sovracaricato il detto evangelico “Quae sunt Caesaris Caesari, quae sunt Dei Deo” di un significato improprio e anacronistico, in termini appunto di laicità, che nessun biblista ha mai potuto avallare (vorrei ricordare qui almeno Barbaglio, che ci ha lasciato pochi mesi fa: nel suo La laicità del credente non cita mai il versetto di Matteo). Storicamente poi, anche a voler retrodatare – seguendo Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde6 - alla lotta delle investiture l’inizio del processo di secolarizzazione, non v’è dubbio che per secoli la chiesa ha sostenuto la supremazia del potere spirituale ratione peccati o salutis anche nella sfera mondana. E al giorno d’oggi la più netta distinzione degli ordini formulata dal Concilio non sta impedendo il tentativo di informare la legislazione italiana al magistero ecclesiastico: è la chiesa dei no alla procreazione medica assistita (divieto dell’eterologa, della diagnosi preimpianto dell’embrione), al testamento biologico, visto come anticamera di pratiche eutanasiche, al riconoscimento pubblico di unioni civili in qualsiasi forma (pacs, dico, cus, ecc.), emblematicamente (a luglio alla Camera) al richiamo del principio di laicità come fondamento di una legge sulla libertà di religione (che pur non tocca la chiesa cattolica). Neanche C. indulge su questi punti. Il suo no è altrettanto netto. In nome della laicità e contro il relativismo etico. Ma poiché su quei punti, con varie sfumature, il pensiero laico (di non credenti e agnostici ma anche di credenti) è per il sì, è evidente che ci si trova davanti ad una diversa concezione della laicità. Tanto rispettabile nei suoi riferimenti eteronomi, divini o naturali e perciò antichi o “ancestrali”, quanto incapace di far capire - per dirla con Habermas7  - “quale ruolo e significato i fondamenti giuridici secolarizzati della costituzione possono avere per una società [Cfr. l’antologia di BRANCA e quelle più recenti di V. COLOMBO. 5  Così ne Il linguaggio politico dell’Islam B. LEWIS, studioso fra i più citati nel libro. 6  Cfr. BÖCKENFÖRDE, Diritto e secolarizzazione. HABERMAS, Il futuro della natura umana. Stato, Chiese e pluralismo confessionale Rivista telematica (statoechiese  postsecolare”, come la nostra. In una democrazia necessariamente relativistica (se, al contrario, fosse assolutistica non sarebbe democrazia, insegna Kelsen) la laicità alimenta norme non di supremazia ma di compatibilità, espressive di una vocazione non paternalistica, ma responsabilizzante, nei rapporti tra stato e cittadini: visti non come meri educandi, da guidare nelle scelte etiche in base a valori esterni, ma come persone responsabili delle loro scelte nella propria autonomia e capaci di mediarle alla ricerca di quella “giusta”8. Una laicità pluralistica e perciò non espressiva di una sola cultura ma interculturale (come dovrebbe porsi ormai tutto il diritto secondo Otfried Höffe9 ). Le cui sfide, e il libro di Cardia stimola ad intraprendere questo percorso di riflessione, non vengono da una parte sola.  8  In questo senso rilegge il da mi factum, dabo tibi ius RODOTÀ, La vita e le regole. 9  Cfr. O. HÖFFE, Globalizzazione e diritto penale. LA LAICITA’ IN ITALIA (C.) (Convegno Giuristi) Sommario. Premessa. 1. La laicità in Italia tra conflitto e moderazione. 2. Laicismo, intransigenza cattolica, isolamento culturale. 3. Dai Patti Lateranensi al modello costituzionale di respiro europeo. 4. La crisi della laicità. Laicità ed etica. 5. Cultura laica e questione islamica. Laicità e multiculturalismo. Ambiguità e prospettive. Premessa. E’ mia intenzione soffermarmi sulle problematiche attuali della laicità in Italia, anche perché sono diverse e complesse. Però, penso sia necessario dare spazio a qualche riflessione storica che ci aiuti a comprendere meglio le questioni che abbiamo di fronte nel tempo presente. Si tratta, più che di una analisi organica, di spunti ricostruttivi utili a cogliere alcune costanti della nostra tradizione. Ho avvertito questa esigenza perché l’esperienza italiana ha un tratto caratteristico che non si rinviene altrove, avendo dato vita nello spazio di poco più di un secolo a tre tipologie diverse di relazioni ecclesiastiche: una laico-separatista, una di tipo concordatario neo-confessionista, e quella costituzionale che poi si è evoluta nel quadro di una Europa che ha finito per seguire il nostro modello. Infine, l’Italia sta vivendo una vera crisi della laicità, in rapporto alla questione etica, e al multiculturalismo, ed è entrata in quella globalizzazione dei rapporti tra religione e società che riguarda l’Occidente nel suo complesso. Quindi, l’esperienza italiana non è comprensibile all’interno di un solo orizzonte storico-culturale, mentre l’analisi deve mantenere un respiro più ampio e saper individuare delle linee trasversali di riflessione, dei fili conduttori che chiariscano il percorso storico complessivo che si è compiuto. La laicità in Italia tra conflitto e moderazione Il primo filo conduttore che voglio privilegiare è il rapporto che si è determinato tra conflitto e moderazione, tra correnti estreme del pensiero laico, e di quello cattolico, e soluzioni storico- 2 normative che sono state adottate. La storiografia più accreditata ci ha abituati a interpretare questo rapporto a tutto favore della conflittualità e a discapito della moderazione. Ancora oggi il conflitto tra Stato e Chiesa è considerato un tratto eminente della storia italiana, il punto focale che illumina tutto il resto. Il processo di unificazione nazionale viene letto alla luce del contrasto tra laici e cattolici, della fine del potere temporale, della prevalenza della modernizzazione sul conservatorismo cattolico. Anche l’epoca autoritaria che dà vita ai Patti Lateranensi è vista in chiave di rivincita cattolica e di sconfitta laica, come un rovesciamento di fronte rispetto all’epoca liberale. Questa interpretazione resta valida perché permette di capire tante pagine della nostra storia nazionale, ma può essere integrata con un’altra chiave di lettura che aiuti a vedere anche i chiaro-scuri, i toni più morbidi, della storia italiana. Questa chiave di lettura è quella della moderazione e dell’equilibrio che, pur nelle vicende aspre che conosciamo, ha segnato la storia italiana. L’Italia è stata moderata ed equilibrata nel separatismo, in parte nel sistema concordatario, in modo speciale nella elaborazione della Costituzione. Quando parlo di moderazione non intendo esaltare il carattere per così dire compromissorio generalmente riconosciuto alla genti italiche. Mi riferisco ad un dato realmente presente nelle nostre leggi, in ampi settori della cultura laica e di quella cattolica, che ci aiuta a meglio comprendere la storia e l’evoluzione della laicità in Italia. La moderazione del periodo separatista si manifesta in tanti modi, ma nell’insieme consente all’Italia di operare un sottile, solido compromesso con l’anima cattolica del paese su punti essenziali, ed evita l’affermazione di tendenze francesizzanti che pure esistono in esponenti della classe dirigente liberale. In Italia non si afferma mai l’idea della reformatio ecclesiae come obiettivo proprio dello Stato. L’aspirazione ad una evoluzione della Chiesa è parte integrante del pensiero laico e dei riformatori cattolici dell’Ottocento, ma da noi non si trovano tracce significative di quel disegno (tipicamente transalpino) che mira alla costituzione civile del clero, a stravolgere le strutture ecclesiastiche, a creare una chiesa nazionale quieta e obbediente al potere civile. La struttura della Chiesa, gli enti ecclesiastici mantenuti, l’educazione e la disciplina del clero, non subiscono ingerenze o stravolgimenti diretti a modificarne la natura. Nel dibattito sulle Facoltà di teologia è il ministro Correnti che respinge le tentazioni giurisdizionaliste e afferma che lo Stato non ha “né interesse, né volontà, né facoltà di creare teologi”, che l’evoluzione della religione è compito della Chiesa, e la “Chiesa troverà in sé stessa, e solo in se stessa può trovare, la volontà e la forza di ravvicinarsi” alla modernità. L’unico intervento chirurgico è quello che sopprime le corporazioni e le congregazioni religiose. Ma anche in questo intervento, che storicamente si giustifica con la necessità di ridistribuire la grande proprietà ecclesiastica, non mancano i segni di moderazione, se vogliamo della dissimulazione. Come quando le comunità religiose si ricostituiscono progressivamente al riparo delle c.d. frodi pie, che consentono l’utilizzazioni di proprietà immobiliari messe a disposizione da veri prestanome. Comunque, a nessuno in Italia è mai venuto in mente di adottare leggi draconiane come quelle transalpine, la prima che vieta alle congregazioni religiose non riconosciute l’insegnamento, la seconda che prevede multa e carcere per chi apra una scuola nella quale insegni anche un solo religioso. Ho sfioato il problema della scuola, perché su questo terreno si opera il più grande compromesso italiano, sul quale storici e giuristi si soffermano poco. Alla laicizzazione della scuola italiana, con la Legge Casati, non segue la cancellazione della presenza cattolica nel corpo scolastico pubblico. Se l’insegnamento religioso viene escluso nelle scuole superiori, rimane però in quelle elementari. La Legge Coppino non dice nulla al riguardo, e questo silenzio, con l’aiuto del Consiglio di Stato, consente di mantenere l’insegnamento religioso che, ci dice Francesco Scaduto, viene attivato da quasi tutti i Consigli comunali e seguito dalla totalità delle famiglie italiane. Neanche si può dire che la questione passi sotto silenzio, perché un Regolamento conferma l’insegnamento religioso, e la Camera respinge nello stesso anno una mozione di Bissolati che chiede di vietare ogni presenza religiosa nelle scuole. Molto chiaramente Minghetti compara gli inconvenienti di una scuola che preveda l’insegnamento religioso a quelli di una scuola che lo esclude, e afferma che “i primi saranno sempre minori di quelli di una scuola che dovrebbe essere popolare, ma che senza Dio ripugna alla coscienza popolare e addiviene atta a soddisfare soltanto una piccola minoranza”. Si può dire che è poco, invece è moltissimo, perché la scuola elementare è l’unica vera scuola di massa dell’epoca. Per questa ragione l’Italia separatista ha operato le grandi riforme della modernità ma ha saputo mantenere un raccordo di fondo tra il sentire comune della popolazione e una legislazione non aggressiva e non punitiva. E’ l’Italia laica e separatista che affida ai maestri e alle maestrine della letteratura dell’Ottocento l’onere di trasmettere elementari ma importanti valori religiosi e morali nelle nuove generazioni. L’elogio della moderazione non deve fare aggio sull’altro fattore endemico dell’esperienza italiana, su quella arretratezza che, in modo diverso, caratterizza alcuni settori della cultura laica, e della cultura cattolica, e che provoca per lungo tempo un isolamento rispetto ad altre più avanzate esperienze europee e alla cultura anglosassone, cioè rispetto al resto del mondo. Mi riferisco alle correnti laiciste che animano la cultura politica, danno vita al pensiero più autenticamente anticlericale, rendono la laicità ostile alla religione. Ma anche all’arroccarsi di quell’intransigenza che frena la capacità di iniziativa dei cattolici, li estranea a lungo dalla vita politica del Paese. Nel conflitto, e nel corto circuito, tra intransigenza cattolica e correnti laiciste sta la radice di una chiusura provinciale che in Italia condiziona a lungo le relazioni ecclesiastiche. Il radicarsi di queste tendenze immette nella cultura italiana semi che tornano a fiorire di tanto in tanto. Il laicismo produce cultura, mentalità, costume, e fa sì che anche da noi come in Francia, laicità voglia dire tante cose negative: estraniazione della religione dalla società e dalla dimensione pubblica, ostilità alla scuola privata nonostante il liberalismo sia altrove il difensore del pluralismo scolastico, riduzione della Chiesa ad un ambito puramente cultuale. In Italia, come oltr’Alpe, il termine laico è contrapposto a cattolico, e questa antitesi, sconosciuta nei paesi anglosassoni, diviene da noi categoria del pensiero e del linguaggio. Quando faccio riferimento alle tendenze laiciste mi riferisco sia all’anticlericalismo di matrice ottocentesca che alle correnti culturali di grande dignità che da Spaventa a Bissolati rivivono poi in Salvemini e in Rossi, e che di più aspirano ad una Chiesa riformata, apparentemente tutta spirituale ma muta sul piano civile e sociale. Queste correnti si ravvivano quando l’accordo tra Chiesa e fascismo di fatto umilia la laicità, provocando una frattura seria tra la cultura laica ed un cattolicesimo al quale viene restituito un ruolo di primo piano, ma con il sacrificio di altre idealità e di altri ruoli. Anche l’intransigenza cattolica riaffiora più volte nella storia italiana, impedisce a tratti di cogliere le trasformazioni della società, di discernere gli aspetti positivi dalle spinte disgreganti, porta all’arroccamento su posizioni che potrebbero essere evitate. La critica più autentica a questo corto circuito non è diretta alle singole posizioni radicali che produce, quanto al fatto che da lì è derivato un certo isolamento rispetto alla cultura anglosassone, rispetto ad altre esperienze europee, come quelle dell’Olanda, del Belgio e della Germania, dove già nell’Ottocento maturano equilibri più stabili tra religione e società. Una conferma di questo provincialismo sta nell’incomunicabilità tra esperienza italiana ed esperienza statunitense, alla quale pure molti laici si richiamano, senza mai averla capita e forse conosciuta. Lo stesso Salvemini, che pure conosceva la società americana, di quell’esperienza evoca sempre e soltanto la parola separatismo, non i suoi contenuti, né la sua anima pregna di rispetto e di amicizia verso la religione. Possiamo verificare questa lontananza della cultura laica rispetto alle correnti del pensiero anglosassone su un particolare problema, quello della scuola privata, nel quale il liberalismo italiano si è discostato dai canoni del liberalismo classico per seguire un indirizzo statalistico destinato a dominare a lungo. C’un dibattito di metà Ottocento (oggi dimenticato ma molto importante all’epoca) nel quale BERTI (si veda) critica quei liberali che per paura di monopolio combattono la libertà di insegnamento, e afferma che questa trae il suo diritto dall’individuo medesimo, dalla sua libertà, ed è da annoverarsi tra “gli altri diritti naturali”. È SPAVENTA (si veda) che si oppone a BERTI (si veda) ed esplicita la vera ragione della contrarietà alla scuola privata. La ragione sta nel fatto che “i paladini” del libero insegnamento finiscono per portare acqua al mulino della “libertà del papa”, perché in Italia dare via libera alle scuole private vuol dire favorire la scuola cattolica. Quindi, con grande trasparenza si riconosce che il vero liberalismo postula la libertà della scuola, ma in Italia questo liberalismo non è praticabile perché se ne avvarrebbero i cattolici. Insomma, al liberalismo si ricorre quando fa comodo, altrimenti lo si mette da parte. 3. Dai Patti Lateranensi al modello costituzionale di respiro europeo In Italia, però, si ritrova un altro elemento equilibratore che consente di attenuare le asperità e finisce col favorire le soluzioni strategiche adottate in sede di Costituente. Parlo di quella questione romana che nessun altro Paese conosce, e che tocca all’Italia affrontare e risolvere in modo autonomo. Anche su questo problema vorrei offrire uno spunto ricostruttivo diverso rispetto alla storiografia prevalente. E’ vero che la questione romana ha costituito il punto di maggiore attrito tra Stato e Chiesa, ed ha agito come coagulo dell’intransigenza cattolica e come bersaglio dell’anticlericalismo. Tuttavia, pur nei termini del conflitto che conosciamo, essa ha rappresentato anche un elemento equilibratore nel periodo separatista, con la stipulazione dei Patti Lateranensi, soprattutto all’atto della elaborazione della Costituzione democratica. Quando parlo di elemento equilibratore intendo dire che la presenza della Santa Sede ha fatto uscire il meglio di sé dalla classe dirigente liberale nell’Ottocento, ha attenuato gli effetti che i Patti Lateranensi hanno avuto sulla società italiana, ha favorito notevolmente il lavoro che ha portato alla formulazione del disegno costituzionale complessivo dei rapporti tra Stato e Chiesa. Già nell’Ottocento, la classe dirigente liberale conferma la propria lungimiranza con quella Legge delle Guarentigie che, pur temporaneamente, risolve la più grande questione storica europea, e, dovendo misurarsi con un evento che interessa i cattolici di tutto il mondo, si rivela capace di ad attenuare, smussare, equilibrare le asperità del separatismo. Anche quando il Concordato ferisce duramente la laicità e la cultura laica italiana, la soluzione definitiva del questione romana stempera il valore politico del patto con il FASCISMO. Non a caso il giudizio delle forze politiche ANTI-fasciste sui Patti Lateranensi si presenta come scisso in due: severo e aspro, anche da parte cattolica, nei confronti dell’accordo politico tra Chiesa e fascismo e del Concordato, ma positivo e accogliente nei confronti del Trattato del Laterano. Sin dall’inizio Croce approva la soluzione della questione romana, riservando le sue critiche al Concordato. Ma anche Salvemini, durissimo con il Concordato, riconosce che la questione romana è ben risolta, anzi afferma che ciò che è stato fatto avrebbero dovuto farlo i liberali. Infine, i programmi elaborati dai leader dell’antifascismo durante la guerra in vista della ricostruzione del Paese, concordano nel non voler rimettere in discussione i risultati del Trattato del Laterano. Credo si possa dire che, senza una questione romana risolta, forse non avremmo avuto quel tipo di rapporti con la Chiesa che l’Italia elabora e che ha saputo anticipare un modello oggi utilizzato in un numero considerevole di Paesi europei. Nell’incontro tra le correnti del cattolicesimo democratico e la maggioranza della cultura laica, l’Italia trova il modo di abbandonare un certo provincialismo e riesce a parlare un linguaggio europeo, supera quel corto circuito che l’aveva appesantita a lungo. Le scelte del costituente non sono riconducibili al solo articolo, quanto alla maturazione di una laicità che è destinata a fare scuola, a prefigurare un modello di Stato laico sociale che diverrà prevalente nell’Europa che si unisce e conosce la fine dei totalitarismi. Si tratta di una laicità complessa dove converge il meglio della tradizione separatista (in materia di libertà religiosa), e dove il laicismo è superato dal riconoscimento pieno della presenza e del ruolo sociale della religione. Si abbatte il muro della incomunicabilità tra religione e società, si conferma e si estende il metodo della contrattazione e dell’incontro, tra Stato e Chiese; si supera l’ultimo tabù dell’Ottocento, per il quale nessun culto dovrebbe essere finanziato dallo Stato perché lo impedirebbero le differenti opinioni religiose dei cittadini. Sul finire del Novecento questo Stato laico sociale trionfa un po’ dovunque. Non si contano più i concordati tra Santa Sede e Stati in Europa, che sono oltre 20, come non si contano più intese, accordi, convenzioni tra Stato e confessioni religiose, protestanti, ebraica, islamica, e altro ancora. Ma è nel merito delle relazioni ecclesiastiche che il modello italiano fa scuola in Europa. Dall’Atlantico alla Russia, ovunque troviamo una laicità fondata su principi comuni: libertà religiosa, tutelata nel quadro dei diritti umani, riconoscimento delle Chiese come entità impegnate in molteplici attività, sostegno pubblico alle confessioni. Insomma, un mixer tra la tradizione nordamericana di amicizia verso la religione, e la tradizione europea di contrattazione e reciproca integrazione. Tanto solido è questo nuovo orizzonte di laicità sociale che ormai in Europa si discute di riforma dei rapporti tra Stato e Chiesa soltanto in Inghilterra e nei Paesi protestanti del nord, dove ancora esistono Chiese ufficiali sottomesse e apparentate alle dinastie regnanti. La laicità torna di attualità e vive una crisi di cui non siamo ancora pienamente consapevoli, su terreni nuovi e in editi, come quelli dell’etica e del multiculturalismo. Si tratta di fenomeni molto diversi, perché nel primo caso siamo di fronte ad un uso indebito, quasi una strumentalizzazione, del concetto di laicità, nel secondo assistiamo ad un pericoloso arretramento dei valori più intimi dello Stato laico. Non entro nel merito del rapporto tra etica e diritto. Non è oggetto della mia relazione, non è possibile neanche sfiorarlo nella sua complessità. La mia attenzione è più ristretta, riguarda il rapporto che esisterebbe tra laicità ed etica nel momento in cui un ordinamento è chiamato a pronunciarsi su questioni decisive per la collettività, come la famiglia, l’ingegneria genetica, l’eutanasia, e via di seguito. Alcune elaborazione teoriche danno per scontato che il pluralismo etico non è che un altro aspetto del pluralismo religioso, e “come oggi ammettiamo e rispettiamo le varie confessioni religiose, così dobbiamo riconoscere le varie moralità che affiancano o sostituiscono la fede religiosa”. D’altra parte, si aggiunge, come nella religione non si dà verità oggettiva, ma solo opinioni, così in campo etico lo Stato deve accettare tutte le convinzioni e le scelte che si contendono il campo. Questa similitudine tra religione ed etica è accattivante, ma nasconde un’insidia dialettica. In primo luogo perché la neutralità dello Stato riguarda le convinzioni religiose, la sfera più intima della spiritualità e della coscienza, non i comportamenti delle persone, tanto meno quelli che coinvolgono gli altri. In questa materia la legge non pretende mai di definire qual è la verità, ma sceglie sulla base di valori che hanno una loro validità nel tempo, nella struttura sociale nella quale si incarnano, e che possono dar vita a equilibri diversi tra etica e diritto. In secondo luogo, si trascura il fatto che una neutralità dello Stato estesa a tutte le scelte etiche porterebbe alla paralisi del legislatore e allo svuotamento della funzione della legge. L’ordinamento non si interesserebbe più della procreazione, dei doveri verso i figli, non potrebbe più disciplinare il matrimonio, dovrebbe consentire tutto in materia di bioetica. Uno Stato eticamente neutrale dovrebbe disporre il “rompete le righe” e preoccuparsi solo di regolare il traffico delle attività sociali. C’è, poi, un corollario di questa impostazione che viene utilizzato frequentemente. Si tratta di quel ritornello che in Italia viene ripetuto spesso, secondo il quale in queste materie lo Stato deve permettere, non proibire. Infatti, se permette non obbliga nessuno, ma se proibisce impedisce a qualcuno di realizzarsi. Lo Stato che liberalizza l’eutanasia non obbliga nessuno a praticarla, ma consente a chi vuole di scegliere un’altra opzione. Se permette la fecondazione eterologa, non la impone, ma se la nega erode spazi all’autonomia individuale. Io credo che ci troviamo di fronte ad un uso improprio della laicità, e ad un vero sillogismo. Se applicata coerentemente, questa logica porterebbe a risultati che ben pochi si sentirebbero di sostenere. Si legittimerebbe la pratica della clonazione umana, perché una legge che la liberalizzasse non costringerebbe nessuno a clonare cellule e individui, mentre un divieto impedirebbe ad alcuni di seguire i propri convincimenti. Dovrebbe essere permesso di intervenire sul genoma per determinare alcune caratteristiche del nascituro, come il sesso, o il colore della pelle o degli occhi, perché in ogni caso non si obbligherebbe nessuno a queste operazioni, mentre vietandole si diminuirebbe l’autonomia individuale. Questa impostazione dovrebbe indurre l’Authority inglese a rispondere positivamente al recente quesito del King’s College, se sia lecito produrre ibridi di umanità e animalità. Infatti, consentendo questa pratica non si impone a nessun ricercatore di creare la chimera, ma proibendola si violerebbe la libertà di quanti non hanno remore nel procedere su questa strada. Molti sostenitori del relativismo si dichiarano contrari alla clonazione, alla chimera e ad altre scelte estreme, ma spesso non sanno dire il perché. E non sanno dirlo perché dovrebbero riconoscere che clonazione e chimera possono essere escluse soltanto se si fa leva su valori antropologici primari, meritevoli di trovare spazio nel mondo del diritto. Si dovrebbe allora riconoscere che la laicità dello Stato non c’entra nulla quando la discussione riguarda questi valori. E che nel gioco democratico della discussione, del convincimento, si determineranno gli equilibri essenziali, modificabili nel tempo, sui confini del diritto, sul rapporto tra autonomia e solidarietà. In questa discussione vi è spazio per tutti, per le convinzioni religiose e per quelle filosofiche, per l’apporto delle scienze e la mediazione della politica. Ma se il confronto viene by-passato ricorrendo alla laicità per sbarrare la strada a determinate scelte, vuol dire allora che c’è insicurezza in alcune posizioni relativistiche, le quali non riescono ad elaborare valori convincenti, e utilizzano impropriamente la laicità per dare alle proprie tesi una forza che probabilmente non hanno. 5. Cultura laica e questione islamica L’analisi si fa più complessa se affrontiamo il tema del multiculturalismo, perché questo fenomeno costituisce una grande opportunità ma anche un grande rischio. Una opportunità per la laicità, che può far risaltare il suo volto accogliente e il suo carattere universale di fronte al mischiarsi delle popolazioni, delle pagine della storia, e della geografia. Ma anche un rischio se con il multiculturalismo si vogliono reintrodurre nelle nostre società antiche intolleranze, o costumi e tradizioni che evocano un lontano passato. Le prime risposte a questo evento sono deludenti, alcune preoccupanti, ma tutte riflettono un disorientamento generale. Vi sono a volte reazioni di tipo islamofobico che fanno d’ogni erba un fascio, alimentano paure e diffidenze, che vogliono negare all’islam ciò che la laicità deve garantire a tutti. Mi sembra, però, che siano prevalenti le reazioni opposte, perché la cultura laica sta rispondendo con uno spaesamento che tradisce incertezza e insicurezza. Il multiculturalismo sta facendo emergere una insicurezza dei valori della laicità, della loro validità e tendenziale universalità. Anche quell’orgoglio che ha dato forza allo Stato laico, che ha prodotto diritto e storia, sembra vacillare di fronte a chi appare più estraneo ai principi di libertà ed eguaglianza. Potrei citare una pluralità di fatti, ed eventi, che sembrano slegati tra di loro ma sono uniti da un robusto filo conduttore. Ne indico alcuni per far riflettere sul loro significato complessivo. Pochi si accorgono che si sta creando un divario crescente tra l’atteggiamento nei confronti delle Chiese tradizionali e quello che si manifesta di fronte a clamorose lesioni della laicità per motivi di multiculturalismo. Le prime riflettono un’antica suscettibilità, quasi la memoria del conflitto, le altre sono fatte di stupore e di silenzi. Se una Chiesa lucra ancora oggi qualche favore giuridico, si reagisce con veemenza perché la laicità dello Stato sarebbe in pericolo. Ma se vengono lanciate fatwe di morte contro letterati, giornalisti o registi, per offese all’Islam, si tratta di episodi che non riguardano lo Stato laico, non costituiscono istigazione all’omicidio. Se una fatwa viene eseguita, l’omicidio è di competenza della cronaca nera.  8 Se in un paese europeo si discute su temi etici, le prese di posizione delle Chiese cristiane sono viste come espressioni di un nuovo temporalismo. Ma se, in Europa o ai suoi confini, avvengono omicidi di donne che rifiutano regole tribali, di derivazione islamica o meno, oppure se il diritto di cambiare religione conduce ancora alla morte o all’emarginazione sociale, si considerano questi eventi come frutto di arretratezza, anziché un salto indietro nella storia della laicità. Nessun grido, nessun manifesto, nessun convegno è dedicato loro. Uno strabismo particolare colpisce la cultura laica quando è in gioco la questione femminile. Mentre gli ordinamenti europei adottano raffinati strumenti per rendere effettiva la parità tra uomini e donne, normativa e pratiche aliene che discriminano le donne, o le umiliano, non suscitano ribellione o ripulsa. Un tempo la cultura laica reagiva con forza, definendole oscurantiste e censorie, alle richieste di non eccedere nella liberalizzazione dei costumi, e di frenare la licenziosità con cui veniva usata la figura femminile. Oggi tace, quasi si nasconde, quando le donne vengono chiuse nel burqa, o si chiedono classi separate nelle scuole, spiagge differenziate, reparti ospedalieri distinti, o gli uomini rifiutano di essere subordinati sul lavoro a dirigenti donne, e via di seguito. In diversi paesi occidentali, dall’Inghilterra al Canada, dalla Germania al Belgio ai paesi del Nord Europa si moltiplicano le proposte di introdurre la scharì’a, o suoi segmenti, senza che suscitino scandalo per la ferita che porterebbero ai diritti umani fondamentali. Soltanto il 24 ottobre corso, con grande ritardo, il Parlamento europeo, ha approvato una risoluzione (peraltro molto positiva) sulla condizione delle donne, sulla illegalità della poligamia, sulla lesione dei diritti fondamentali. Le reazioni islamiche al discorso di Benedetto XVI a Ratisbona sono ormai note, e non mi ci devo soffermare. Ma nessuno ha notato un fatto che, in tema di laicità, ha sovrastato tutti gli altri. Il silenzio che i più rigorosi laicisti hanno mantenuto nel difendere la libertà di parola e di espressione contro minacce, violenze, ricatti. Eppure, per decenni questi gruppi hanno ripetuto sino alla nausea il pensiero di Voltaire per il quale, anche se non si condividono le idee di un altro, si è però pronti a spendere la propria vita perché l’altro possa esprimere quelle idee. Ma dopo Ratisbona, non si è spesa neanche una parola per difendere il diritto del Papa, come di chiunque altro, ad esprimere le proprie valutazione sul rapporto tra fede e violenza. A questi silenzi si aggiunge un fenomeno culturale meno appariscente e più sotterraneo. Il cattolicesimo, e il cristianesimo, sono stati per due secoli letteralmente vivisezionati per criticare e sradicare tutto ciò che sapesse di temporalismo, di anti-modernità, per spezzare la loro alleanza con il potere politico. Sull’intreccio tra altre religioni e sistemi politici dittatoriali, oggi prevale l’afasia nella cultura liberale, in quella marxista o anti-istituzionale. Sembra quasi che la critica illuministica e storicistica che, pur con asprezze a faziosità, ha saputo fustigare, in certa misura ha contribuito a rinnovare, le Chiese delle nostre società, scelga il silenzio di fronte a ben più pesanti congiunzioni tra religione, violenza, dispotismi più o meno teocratici. Tutto ciò apre degli interrogativi sul futuro della laicità in Italia e in Europa; e li apre non su un punto o su un altro, ma sulla spinta propulsiva che la laicità ha esercitato nel realizzare lo Stato moderno. Da questi, e altri episodi, sta scaturendo una sorta di assuefazione rassegnata di fronte alla mutazione genetica della laicità come la conosciamo in Occidente, che può portare ad un esito paradossale: ad una laicità occhiuta e diffidente verso le religioni tradizionali e ad un multiculturalismo disarmato e senza valori verso altre religioni e tradizioni. Sarebbe la fine della neutralità dello Stato. Laicità e multiculturalismo in Italia. Ambiguità e prospettive Per meglio capire i rischi di questa frattura tra laicità e multiculturalismo torniamo per un attimo all’esperienza italiana. L’Italia, ancora una volta, si è dimostrata più di altri Paesi equilibrata e accogliente, non condizionata da pregiudizi etnici o religiosi. L’Italia non ha fatto la guerra al velo, e a nessun simbolo religioso, forse perché di simboli confessionali ne conosce tanti da tanto tempo, dalle cattedrali alle chiese, dai conventi ai battisteri, alle fogge vestiarie di religiosi e religiose d’ogni genere. Quindi non avvertiamo disagio per un modesto velo che peraltro può appellarsi alla libertà di abbigliamento. L’Italia ha predisposto una vasta rete di accoglienza e sostegno sociale per l’immigrazione; sta cercando in tanti modi di soddisfare le esigenze di culto dei soggetti dell’immigrazione; prevede nei contratti di lavoro spazi per pratiche religiose, diversità alimentari, tradizioni come quello del ramadan. Ma questo che può essere considerato legittimamente un nostro vanto, si sta trasformando lentamente in qualcosa d’altro. Si sta trasformando nell’oscuramento di principi e valori essenziali, e nella accettazione di una cultura della separatezza che può colpire la laicità. Parlo della tendenza a rimuovere il crocifisso dalle aule scolastiche, e più in genere, tutta una simbologia e una tradizione di memorie del cristianesimo, riprendendo concezioni laiciste superate. E’ di questi giorni la notizia che nelle scuole, negli alberghi, in luoghi pubblici e privati diminuiscono i presepi e gli alberi di natale per non urtare suscettibilità di persone aderenti ad altri culti. Si realizza così quella che da tempo definisco una partita giocata su due tavoli: quello della laicità che limita o cancella simboli e presenze cristiane, e quello del multiculturalismo che legittima altri simboli o presenze religiose. Sempre in Italia si manifestano i primi sintomi di un cedimento multiculturale che mette a rischio i diritti fondamentali dei cittadini, in primo luogo delle donne. Si accetta qua e là la presenza del burqa, aumentano le voci favorevoli alla poligamia, si introducono in qualche parte forme separate di vita collettiva, nelle scuole, nei luoghi pubblici, si consente l’apertura di scuole islamiche fuori dei canoni previsti dalle nostre leggi. Si tratta di primi sintomi, ma sono parecchi e di significato univoco, e ci dicono che neanche noi siamo immuni dal rischio della perdita di senso della laicità e dei suoi valori. Altra cosa sarebbe se della laicità si offrisse il volto più maturo e accogliente, quello che sa distinguere tra quanto di autenticamente religioso emerge da una tradizione, e quanto appartiene ad arretratezza storica e culturale. Che sa rispettare e tutelare il patrimonio spirituale di ciascuna religione ed etnia, ma sa criticare e respingere ciò che collide con il sistema universale dei diritti umani, con la libertà religiosa, con l’eguaglianza tra uomo e donna. Che sa, cioè, promuovere il meglio della nostra e delle altrui tradizioni, ma si impegna a far arretrare il resto. Sarebbe un’altra cosa, un’altra storia, e potremmo dedicarvi un altro convegno.  Trovare l’uomo capace, e l’investirlo de’ simboli della capacità (culto, o com’altro sì chiami) così ch’egli possa avere agio a governare secondo la propria facoltà, è l’officio di ogni procedura sociale.   A questo punto il Carlyle riscrive ‘worship’ WORTH-ship, per accentuarne l’etimologia da ‘worth,’ valore, compincendosi che la ragione etimologica venga quasi ad attestare la nocessità del fatto che gli sta tanto a cuore.   Per mantenere questa relazione logica Loubatières muta ‘worship’ nell’*équivalent adequat* di *élection* da prima, e poi di *élite*.   ‘Carlyle,’ soggiunge Loubatières, de son pergant et rapide regard, dénude la racine des mots et des choses.’ Carlyle non è punto tenero degli studi etimologici.   Le parole gli si dischiudono ad un tratto come si fendono le roccie allo sguardo diabolico del suo jötun Hymir.  Ci fa ripensare a quello che dice Daudet:   ‘Il y a dans cortains mots que nous employons ordinairement un ressort cachè qui tout à coup les ouvre jusqu’au fond, nous les explique dans leur intimité exceptionelle.’  ‘Puis le mot se replie, reprend sa forme banale et roule insignifiant, usé par l’habitude et le machinal.’ Nome compiuto: Carlo Cardia. Keywords: il laico, filosofia vs. teologia, italia anti-papista, il filosofo italiano deve essere neutro in questione di religione. Verdi – il papa – stati papali – repubblica italiana – liberta di culto – giurisprudenza – religione dell’antica roma – il pontifice nella religione romana antica – credenza religiosa – credenza naturale – credenza super-naturale – il sovra-naturale – il naturale – l’idea di religione nella antica Roma – il mito romano – la mitologia romana antica – il sacro – il pagano – la filosofia della roma antica pagana – la critica dei antichi romani al cristianesimo, il culto del laico, worship of the hero, il culto dell’eroe -- Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Cardia,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Cardone: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale -- La nudita eroica di Napoleone -- Clark Kent; ovvero, sul sovrumano – trasumanar – l’eroe di Vico – hero-worship -- Annunzio e il fascismo – scuola di Palmi – scuola di Reggio Calabria – filosofia calabrese -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Palmi). Filosofo calabrese. Filosofo italiano. Palmi, Reggio Calabria, Calabria. Grice: “Cardone plays with a coinage, sobraumnao, in Dionigio e Luciano – it triggers implicata: what’s wrong with ‘human’? One is reminded of Pico (‘dignita dell’uomo’) and D’Annunzio – it is a problem of linguistic botanising for Italian phiosophers, ‘altreuomo’ being rendered as a translation of Emersen’s ‘plus man’ – and cf. Carlyle – D’Annunzio, who should have known better, prefers ‘suPer,’ when we know that in the ‘volgare,’ the ‘p’ becomes ‘v’, so Cardone has it just right!” Si laurea a Roma. Membro de Partito Socialista Unitario. Fonda "Ebe" e la rivista "Rivista". Fonda “Ricerche filosofiche”. Fonda la Società Filosofica Calabrese. Aattività deontologica per la realizzazione di un'etica sociale della Cultura, in difesa e promozione della civiltà, onde onorarlo per le sue incessanti iniziative anche in favore della fratellanza umana. Altre opere: Saggi di storia, filosofia e diritto; Il relativismo gnoseologico” (Palmi, A.Genovesi et figli ed); Reazione collettiva (Torino, Paravia et C); I filosofi calabresi nella storia della filosofia, con appendice sui sociologi e gli psicologi, Palmi, A.Genovesi et Figli ed., “La filosofia dello Stato” (Città di Castello, Casa Editrice Il Solco); Filosofia della vita, Città di Castello, Casa Editrice Il Solco); Umanismo (Messina); Cristianesimo, liberalismo e comunismo, Palmi, G. Palermo ed); Il Divenire e l'Uomo, Palmi, Ricerche filosofiche, “Civiltà, Palmi, G. Palermo ed); Vita di Gesù secondo il Vangelo incompiuto, Modena-Roma, Guanda Editore); La filosofia di Gesù, Milano, Bocca ed); L'uomo nel cosmo. Storia e prospettive, Palmi, Ricerche filosofiche ed); Bio critica, a cura della sezione bibliografica della Società Filosofica Calabrese, Bologna, Mareggiani ed); Seguito alla Bio critica, a cura della sezione bibliografica della Società Filosofica Calabrese, Cosenza, MIT); La vita come esperienza inutile, Cosenza, Pellegrini); L'ozio la contemplazione il gioco la tecnica l'anarchismo, Roma, Ricerche). Ricerche filosofiche, Torino, Edizioni di Filosofia). Il Divenire” (Padova, Rebellato Editore). Si vis pacem para pacem, Montepulciano, Editori Del Grifo, Ludi. Bologna, Soc. Tip. Mareggiani ed); I confini dell'anima, Palmi, Ed. Del Fondaco di Cultura); La banca della carità” (Milano, M. Gastaldi Terapia del tramonto (Milano, M. Gastaldi); Il figlio del dittatore” (Milano, M. Gastaldi); Canti del Sant'Elia, Poggibonsi, Lalli); L'assenza e la mancanza: meditazioni quasi poetiche, Cosenza, MIT). Dialogo sulla solitudine. divenir e vita. Filosofo-poeta. Un inattuale nella sua attualita. i Napoleone non mi sembra per nulla così grande come il Cromwell. Le sue enormi vittorie, che s’ estesero A 1 «Napoleone fu l'idolo della comune degli " 3 i gli nomini, perchè a le qualità e le facoltà degli Cn OI k Ni Chi co: i 0 fesso moderno; auche quand'è all'apice della fortuna; “gli aleggia dentro lo stesso spirito che troviamo nei giornali del tempo. da 7 si limitò alla piccola Inghilte che gli alti trampoli ti la statura dell'uomo per essi lui sincerità parl d'una specie molto inferiore: NOn quel suo silenzioso. Per 1 L'universo; NOn il « cammino co lo chiamava; ‘pensiero, il valore, che S1 co latenti, © 8° accendono poi quasi amm Napoleone vive in un’ epoca che non avera più este: ; fede in Dio; che considera non-entità jl significato ; a d’ogni silenzio, d'ogni qualità latente: non PIù sulla |. È Bibbia puritan& aveva egli et fondarsi, ì scettiche Enciclopedie. Eppure, tanto ei giunse- ed meritorio L essere arrivato così lontano. Tl suo carattere: compatto, pronto ed articolato, in ogni senso, è in sè stesso piccolo; forse, a paragone i quello del nostro i grande Cromwell, caotico ed inarticolato. Non è « muto profeta che si sforza di parlare.; > ha piuttosto in sè un portentoso miscuglio di ciarlataneria ! Il concetto di Hume, d'una fanatica ipocrisia, Con quanto è in esso di vero, potrà applicarsi molto meglio Napoleone che nons’applica a Cromwell, Maometto od ai loro simili, per 1 quali realmente, preso et tutto rigore, conteneva a mala pena alcuna stilla di verità. Sin da primcipio, appare in quest’ uomo un elemento di riprovevole ambizione, che alla fine lo vince, trascina lui e l’opera sua in ruma. a SE vi be divenne motto prover= era necessario di Ei a Se ARen alto il coraggio de’ DARE bisognava tenere aggio de’ suol uomini e così plesso, non ci son ; via. Fio Non è un santo, mon è un cappuccino, per Usare la nemmeno un eroe, nell'alto signi \ x guificato d al capo VI: Napoleone o l' uomo di pagata pa tutta 1 Europa, mentre il e: o di et da espressione sua; È ; » (Emerson, op. cita È dedi $ A. prrura SEST è i eglio, lungo e stato ID o resse Ind so, se non at i oleone ste55° ; atti, ba alcun proposito che sì ; :orno; ch'è destinato e KI x . ‘no vantaggio può mal ve- anl a dolo one? Le menzogne SI scoul a ruinos@ La prossima agi ‘ near È e prestar fe al bugiardo; quand an +1 della più alta impor prono, © se nessuno VOST Da uand' anche s1a che dica il vero» È ;l vecchio grido: < Al tei venga creduto. A cr È Una bugia è nulla; al nulla, nom Potere lupo ‘> a farete, e avrete vare qualch - alla fine, null er giunta rimess Y x È Dare verain Napoleone una certa sincerità ; anche è) nella insincerità, bisogna distinguere quanto è super: ficiale da quanto è fondamentale. A traverso et que ste sue macchinazioni esteriori, et queste ciarlatanerie, ch''erano molte e riprovevolissime, vediamo pure nel Jla realtà, istintivo e impossi l'uomo un certo senso de ) bile a sradicare; vediamo ch' el Sl fondò sul fatto. SI n lui l'istinto di na tanto ch’ ebbe alcun fondamento. I tura è superiore alla cultura. Il Bourrienne ' racconta che i suoi savants, in quel viaggio d’ Egitto, s' affanna= vano una sera a dimostrare che non ci può essere Dio. Erano riusciti a provarlo, a loro grande soddisfazione, con ogni maniera di logica. Napoleone, guardando su, alle stelle, risponde : «La dimostrazione è molto ingegnosa, messieurs ; ma chi ha fatto tutto ciò? » La dot trina atea gli passa sopra come un’ ondata ed egli rimane al cospetto del grande fatto: « Chi f ti ci09 > Similm Ì | fece utto ente nella pratica: come 0 possa essere grande e trionfare i gni.u9Maro onfare in questo mondo, egli 1 Mémoires de Mi de Rourri. i Villemarest, Paris, chez Tadrocat, lui-meme, rédigéa par Mi de Fauyol Fauvolot do Bonrrionna, amico d'infanzia e segretario timo di Napoleone, colui MA i, colui cho formulò, d'accordo co diem nl DE Oi orrori contenuti ola COLI REA to I ‘ourrienne et nen erreura volontaires dI RT fontraverso tuttii viluppi, il nocciolo pra vede, de direttamente.! tione; ed a quello ten 9 2 bj pei driscalco del suo palazzo delle Tuileries gli e tappezzerie, dimostrandogli ‘con me fossero magnifiche, e DEF giunta @ He, mercato; Napoleone, Per tutta risposta, hiese Sa Ni forbici, mozzò una napPInA dl oro dele o finestra, se la messe in tasca, e tirò via. Qualche Hai : dopo, la cavò fuori al momento buono, gran È SE rore del suo fornitore: non era Oro, ma. orpello! ; notevole come anche a Sant' Elena, sempre; sino et # ultimi giorni, egli insista sul pratico, sul reale: < A che parlare e lamentare? et che, sopra tutto, leticare? Non ‘gi viene con ciò ad alcun risultato; nulla si riesce, a far nulla. E se nulla potete fare; tacete! > Parla ‘spesso così a’ suoi poveri seguaci malcontenti ; è come una forza silenziosa tramezzo alle loro morbose querele. A E per conseguenza, non possiamo dire che fosse in n lui pure una fede genuina, Der quant’ era possibile? Ve- i deva in questa nuova enorme democrazia, che s’ affer- n mava nella rivoluzione francese, un fatto che non sì può sopprimere, un fatto che il mondo intero, con tutte le sue vecchie forze e le instituzioni, non può metter da parte: di ciò egli aveva il vero intuito, e quell’ intuito trascinava seco la sua coscienza ed il suo entusiasmo : era la sua fede. Forse che non ne interpetrò bene l’oscura portata ? La carriòre ouverte auv talents gli strumenti et chi sa maneggiarli: quest’ è effettivamente la verità, tutta la verità anzi, e comprende tutto il si- : bo dell riluzione fece 0 i a ix Ò n ‘ » al ieri i dda DE nidi pae CE cedono innanzi a quest'uomo Dire ecm vr i rat dp degli soci dl diplomati e vugle cha ogni ir facoltà di RIGA RARI HRolnio: egoista, prudente, psn se : ale parvenza altrùi, uè da e sntisinne. 1a Siocniae da alcuna @ re, da nessuna fretta. » (Emerson, loco cit, sì VI meg SaIoaaai Si ù Napoleone nel suo primo periodo sie to “vero democratico ; nondimeno, Per sua natura, QI ati ita mili sapeva che Ja democrazia, in quanto mai fosse verità, non poteva essere: RIO ed odiava cordialmente P'anarchia. T1 20 giugno 5 seduto col Bourrienne in un caflè, mentre la folla Diso, schiamazzando, Napoleone esprime il più DIOCr, a 3 isprezzo per le antorità che non reprimono que! dio dine. Il 10 agosto sì meraviglia che nessuno prenda 1 o di que’ poveri Svizzeri : vincerebbero Se uves: dante. Tanta fede nella democrazia, eP7 comand sero un coman I I pure tant! odio dell’ anarchia sostengono apoleone IM illanti campagne grande Opera. Nelle br IO] d'Italia, via via sino alla pace di Léoben,' 81 direbbe che il suo ideale sia questo: fatta trionfare la rivoluzione francese; affermarla contro questi simulacri aus striaci che 0Sano dirla, un simulacro! Nondimeno, egli sente pure; ed ha diritto di sentire, quanto neces? siria sia una forte autorità; e come senz) essa l’opera della rivoluzione non possa prosperare nè durare. Frenare quella granda rivoluzione devastatrice, che divorava sè stessa ; domarla così, che, raggiunto il suo intrinseco scopo, essa possa divenire organica, capace di vivere tra gli altri organismi, tra le altre cose formate, e non soltanto quale opera di devastazione, di distruzione : non mirava egliin parte a questo come alla vera mèta della sua vita? non s'ingegnò, anzi, effettivamente, di far IA A traverso Wagram ed Austerlitz, a traverso Re. SOT aan Hg per osare ed operare, € s'inalzò ica IRE re. Tutti gli uomini videro sione Cad Ro ioni soldati solevano dire ai dala avvocati di Parigi, tutti ‘Bisogna che mettiamo là il Pan Diga ‘andarono, e lo messe ni nostro Petit Caporal!> E S ro là; essi, e tutta la Trancia in tutta la sua DAI massa E poi il consolato; 1° impero; la vittoria su tutta pEuropa {.. È abbastanza naturale che il povero luogo- n tenente del reggimento La Fère, potesse apparire ai proi ‘n erande fra quanti nomini fossero da 56 sto punto; quel fatale elem nto di ciarla0. Rinnegando la sua vel chia fede nei fatti, cOn jò a credere nelle parvenze, brigò per imparentarsì con le dinastie austriache, col papati, con le vecchie false feudalità, che pure un tempo gli apparivano chiaramente false; pensò et fondare una e così via come se la enorme mirasse che @ dinastia Sua rivoluzione francese non era dunque € dannato a zogna;> è terribile, m® il vero dal falso quando v ventosa ammenda, questa, che 1 uomo paghi per avere ceduto alla infedeltà del cuore. La falsa ambizione ego stica era divenuta ora il suo dio: una volta scesi sino all’inganno di sè stessi, tutti gli altri inganni seguono naturalmente, € si cade sempre più e più basso. In quale gretta e rappezzata miseria, in quale mascherata teatrale di manti di carta e d'orpello, aveva ravvolta quest'uomO la propria grande realtà, immaginando cor ciò di farla più reale! E quel vacuo Concordato col papa; che pretende ristabilire il cattolicismo mentr' egli stesso 1 riconosce ch è il metodo di estirparlo, la vaccine religioni e quelle cerimonie d’incoronazione, quelle conÈ sacrazioni nella chiesa di Notre-Dame per mezzo della Ai. vecchia chimera italiana cui nulla mancava, come disse l’Augereau,' ca completarne la pompa, Se non'quel mezzo milione d’uomini, morti per far finire tutto ciò!...> + | RIA Ae di Cromwell fu con la spada e con la ja, e dobbiamo dirla genuinamente vera. La spada \aneria prese Da or Francesco Auger at Drama EETUIGIO), ANA onu, duca di Castiglione, maresciallo e pari di | ‘che fu governatore a Berlino nel 1818, è difese Tione 18 fruttidoro (LT9T); © ne ESTA. i ETTURA SES ; lui senz alcuna chiblemi del purttatni Aveva usato en; I a et pretendev® ora difenderle! bagliò credette troppo vide nell'uomo di -]* i ta facilità... della fame © di questa 12 Siglo ta (Lor che edificasse sulle nubi, e: SAR ina, e di arve dal mondo? i ni Sì ‘gua casa IN confusa rund; | i DO art in ciascuno di noi, esiste quest SE. e potrebbe svilupparsi ove la tenti ciarlataneria, ; fosse forte abbastanza. € on Ma il suo sviluppo; invero; | come ingrediente riconoscibil e ie DE: Sa a di Napoleone, et stessa piccina. Che fu dunque 1 opere SI i lpore? Uno sprazzo come di po malgrado di tanto sca p 3 Re vere da fucile largamente sparsa; Una fiamma t) di eriche secche. Per un'ora, | universo intero sembra avvolto dal fumo e dalle fiamme; ma per un' ora soltanto. Poi svanisce, ed ecco riapparire Vl umiverso CON le sue vecchie montagne ed i vecchi fiumi, con le stelle nell'alto e giù sotto il benefico suolo. Il duca di Weimar diceva sempre agli amici di farsi animo, chè questo Napoleonismo era ingiusto, era menzogna, e non poteva durare. La teoria è vera. Più questo Napoleone calpestava il mondo, tenendolo tirannicamente + oppresso, più fiera sarebbe un giorno la reazione del mondo contro di lui. L' ingiustizia si ripaga da sè, e con uno spaventevole interesse composto. Non so davvero a in dina pro alt OG Dio si ha risersata jar lui Ladino Boo oi SA TmaSoni ne PESI Lira si, Sraianol: cho vuol gio del HIFEMENE la la mila cl 1 ila son fumi tie tnio parere non durabile perchè LARA RE LIE ICINLI cod’ artiglieria 0 veder affogare il suo reg jelior pal 7 ; cite rimento migliore, anzichè fucilare quel povero libraio {edesco palm!? Fu un'aperta ingiustizia, una, tirannia, un assassinio, che nessun uomo, la dipinga pure con uno strato di colore alto un dito, potrà mai far apparire altrimenti. Questa ed altre simili ingiustizie s' impres? sero profonde nei cuori; un fuoco represso balenava dagli occhi degli uomini quando vi ripensavano aspettando il giorno! Ed il giorno venne: € la Germania gli si sollevò d’ intorno. L'opera di Napoleone sl ridurrà a lungo andare et quanto egli compì giustamente, 2 quanto la natura sancirà con le sue leggi, a quanto di realtà era in lui; ® tanto, e nulla più. Il resto fu tutto fumo e sciupio. La carrière ouverte Aux talents: questo grande messaggio di verità, che ha ancora da articolarsi e da adempiersi dappertutto, ei lo lasciò in uno stato affatto inarticolato. Egli fu un grande schema, un abbozzo, non mai completato: ed invero, forse che il grand’ uomo è mai altro? Ma egli, ahimè, rimase in uno stato tr0ppo rudimentale |... È quasi tragico il riflettere alle sue opinioni sul mondo, quali le esprime là, a Sant'Elena. Sembra provare la più sincera meraviglia che tutto sia andato et quel modo: ch’ egli sia stato gettato là, sulla rupe, e "che il mondo ruoti ancora sul suo asse. La Francia. è ‘grande, anzi è sola grande; ed in fondo Napoleone è la Francia. La stessa Inghilterra, egli dice, non è per naura che un'appendice della Francia; < è per la Francia n'altra isola d’Oleron. >» Così era per natura, per l ‘Non può comprendere, non sa concepire che la realtà «ela confederazione del Reno veniva formandosi, la polizia scoperse al Sci librai furono arrestati ) ono per avervi avuto parte e Napol Sa commissiono militare. Quattro degli Roca LARE oro provincie: due, Schiderer e Palm, condannati a mi % 4 to Napoloone fece grazia, una il libraio Palm di Norimberga vi atura di Napoleone. Guardate, infatti : ECCOMI QUI da i 1 Nel 1806, mentre l’ esercito francese occupava ancora la Germania, cuni documenti, che rivelavano i piani d'un comitato segreto d'insurre- e LEmTURÀ de mma; che la Francia TR da ci c jeposto al suo P o, Ji non S1a la Francia. 3 ‘n a credere ciù andezza, © dI DI ipbia i nesta “iano, COSÌ compatta, così ana, ì g'è involuta; s'è quasi sua N° 0 ante un temp: e a di fanfaronnadi da tmosfer: torbida n'ai osto et lasciarsi calpe: LS contastare come pla si tà alla Francia ed a sè; 0A it A mire! Napoleone 7 1 costene Ma, ahimè, OF he giov Le, ui ; e natura, anch’ ess% si dia Essendosi UNA volta staccato 1) st e) scamp nel vuoto; è Vv ebbe per o di rado tocco ad un uomo sorte tanto desolata: e dovette morire; povero Napoleone!.. mento troppo presto sciupato, sino et "& ecco il nostro ultimo eroe! A si er * * Sa Tiltimo in un doppio significato, poichè debbono con ‘]ui terminare queste nostre peregrinazioni a traverso ‘tempi e luoghi così diversi, cercando, studiando gli eroi. UR ME ne rinoresce: era un piacere per me in quest’ occupazione, sebbene misto a molta pena. È un grande s0g= 5 molto grave, molto vasto, questo che io, appunto darmi tropp'aria di gravità, ho chiamato cult@ Esso penetra profondo nelle secrete vie del‘e ne’ più vitali interessi di questo mondo; tei ge bro ben degno di svolgimento. In sei Invece che sei giorni, avremmo potuto far meglio. lo: chi sa se nemmeno vi sono riuper penetrarvi un poco, dovetti Dn DIRE Tronno spesso, con bruuttate là isolate, senza commento, ho ‘cortese benevolenza, non voglio ora parlare. per saviezza e leggiadria, ha ascoltato pazient pozze parole. Sentitamente, cordialmente, vi rendo zie, ed a tutti dico: Dio sia con voil Precisely a century and a year after this of Puritanism had got itself hushed-up into decent composure, and its results made smooth, in 1688, there broke-out a far deeper explosion, much more difficult to hush-up, known to all mortals, and like to be long known, by the name of French Revolution. It is properly the third and final act of Protestantism ; the explosive confused return of mankind to Reality and Fact, now that they were perishing of Semblance and Sham. We call our English Puritanism the second act : “Well then, the Bible is true ; let ils go by the Bible 1 ” “ In Church,” said Luther ; “ In Church and State,” said Cromwell, “let us go by what actually God’s Truth.” Men have to return to reality ; they cannot live on semblance. The French Revolution, or third act, we may well call the final one ; for lower than that savage Sansculottism men cannot go. They stand there on the nakedest haggard Fact, undeniable in all seasons and circumstances ; and may and must begin again confidently to build-up from that. The French explosion, like the English one, got its King, who had no Notary parchment to show for himself. We have still to glance for a moment at Napoleon, our second modern King. Napoleon does by no means seem to me so great a man as Cromwell. His enormous victories which reached over all Europe, while Cromwell abode mainly in our little England, are but as the high stilts on which the man is seen standing ; the stature of the man is not altered thereby. I find in him no such sincerity as in Cromwell; only a far inferior sort. No silent walking, through long years, with the Awful Unnamable of this Universe; ‘walking with God," as he called it; and faith and strength in that alone : latent thought and valour, content to lie latent, then burst out as in blaze of Heaven’s /lightning 1 Napoleon lived in an age when God was no longer believed ; the meaning of all Silence, Latency, was thought to 'be Nonentity : he had to begin not out of the Puritan Bible, but out of poor Sceptical EncyclopMies, This was the length the man carried it. Meritorious to get so far. His compact, prompt, everyway articulate character is in itself perhaps small, compared with our great chaotic /^articulate Cromwell’s. In- stead of 'dumb Prophet struggling to speak,' we have a por- tentous mixture of the Quack withal I Hume’s notion of the Fanatic-Hypocrite, with such truth as it has, will apply much better to Napoleon than it did to Cromwell, to Mahomet or the like, where indeed taken strictly it has hardly any truth at all. An element of blamable ambition shows itself, from the first, in this man ; gets the victory over him at last, and in- volves him and his work in ruin. * False as a bulletin’ became a proverb in Napoleon’s time. He makes what excuse he could for it : that it was necessary to mislead the enemy, to keep-up his own men’s courage, and so forth. On the whole, there are no excuses. A man in no case has liberty to tell lies. It had been, in the long-run, better for Napoleon too if he had not told any. In fact, if a man have any purpose reaching beyond the hour and day, meant to be found extant next day, what good can it ever be to promul- gate lies ? The lies are found-out ; ruinous penalty is exacted for them. No man will believe the liar next time even when he speaks truth, when it is of the last importance that he be believed. The old cry of wolf 1 K Lie is nMhing ; you can- not of nothing make something ; you make nothing at last, and lose your labour into the bargain. Yet Napoleon had a sincerity; we are to distinguish be- tween what is superficial and what is fundamental in insin- cerity. Across these outer manceuverings and quackeries of his, which were many and most bian>able, let us discern withal that the man had a certain instinctive ineradicable feeling for reality ; and did base himself upon fact, so long as he had any basis. He has an instinct of Nature better than his culture was. His savans, Bourrienne tells us, in that voyage to Egypt were one evening busily occupied arguing that there could be no God. They had proved it, to their satisfaction, by all man- ner of logic. Napoleon looking up into the stars, answers, “Very ingenious. Messieurs ; but who made all that?” The Atheistic logic runs-off from him like water ; the great Fact stares him in the face : “ Who made all that ?” So too in Practice : he, as every man that can be great, or have victory in this world, sees, through all entanglements, the practical heart of the matter ; drives straight towards that. “N^en the steward of his Tuileries Palace was exhibiting the new uphol- stery, with praises, and demonstration how glorious it was, and how cheap withal, Napoleon, making little answer, asked for a pair of scissors, dipt one of the gold tassels from a window- curtain, put it in his pocket, and walked on. Some days afterwards, he produced it at the right moment, to the horror of his upholstery functionary ; it was not gold but tinsel I In Saint Helena, it is notable how he still, to his last days, insists on the practical, the real. Why talk and complain ; above all, why quarrel with one another? There is no result in it ; it comes to nothing that one can do. Say nothing, if one can do no- thing I” He speaks often so, to his poor discontented follow- ers ; he is like a piece of silent strength in the middle of their morbid querulousness there. And accordingly was there not what we can call a faith in him, genuine so far as it went? That this new enormous De- mocracy asserting itself here in the French Revolution is an insuppressible Fact, which the whole world, with its old forces and institutions, cannot put down ; this was a true insight of his, and took his conscience and enthusiasm along with it, a faith. And did he not interpret the dim purport of it well? La carriers ouverte aux ialens^ The implements to him who ran handle them; this actually is the truth, and even the whole truth ; it includes whatever the French Revolution, or any Revolution, could mean. Napoleon, in his first period, was a true Democrat. And yet by the nature of him, fostered too by his military trade, he knew that Democracy, if it were a true thing at all, could not be an anarchy : the man had a heart-hatred for anarchy. On that Twentieth of June (1792), Bourrienne and he sat in a coffee-house, as the mob rolled by : Napoleon expresses the deepest contempt for persons in authority that they do not restrain this rabble. On the Tenth of August he wonders why there is no man to command these poor Swiss; they would conquer if there were. Such a faith in Democracy, yet hatred of anarchy, it is that carries Napoleon through all his great work. Through his brilliant Italian Campaigns, onwards to the Peace of Leoben, one would say, his inspir- ation is ; ‘Triumph to the French Revolution ; assertion of it against these Austrian Simulacra that pretend to call it ‘a simulacrum’ Withal, however, he feels, and has a right to feel, how necessary a strong Authority is ; how the Revolution cannot prosper or last without such. To bridleMn that great devouring, self-devouring French Revolution ; to tameit, so that its intrinsic purpose can be made good, that it may be- come organic, and be able to live among other organisms and formed things, not as a wasting destruction alone : is not this still what he partly aimed at, as the true purport of his life ; nay what he actually managed to do ? Through Wagrams, Austerlitzes ; triumph after triumph, he triumphed so far. There was an eye to see in this man, a soul to dare and do. He rose naturally to be the King. All men saw that he was such. The common soldiers used to say on the march. These babbling Avocats, up at Paris ; all talk and no work ! What wonder it runs all wrong ? We shall have to go and put our Petit Caporal there I” They went, and put him there ; they and France at large. Chief-consulship, Emperorship, victory over Europe ; till the poor Lieutenant of La Fire, not unna- turally, might seem to himself the greatest of all men that had been in the world for some ages. But at this point, I think, the fatal charlatan-element got the upper hand. He apostatised from his old faith in Facts, took to believing in Semblances ; strove to connect himself with Austrian Dynasties, Popedoms, with the old false Feud- alities which he once saw clearly to be false ; considered that he would found “ his Dynasty” and so forth ; that the enormous French Revolution meant only that ! The man was ‘given-up ^ to strong delusion, that he should believe a lie a fearful but j most sure thing. did not knowJrue from false no\y.wheiLj he looked at them, — the fearfulest penalty a man pays for yielding . to untruth of heart. Self and false ambition had now become ^ his god : j^^deception once yielded to, all other deceptions follow naturally more and more. What a paltry patchwork of theatrical paper-mantles, tinsel and mummery, had this man wrapt his own great reality in, thinking to make it more real thereby ! His hollow ^-Concordat, pretending to be a re- establishment of Catholicism, felt by himself to be the method of extirpating it, ^fa vaccine de la religion his ceremonial Coronations, consecrations by the old Italian Chimera in Notre- Dame, “wanting nothing to complete the pomp of it,” as Augereau said, “nothing but the half-million of men who had died to put an end to all that” ! Cromwell’s Inauguration was by the Sword and Bible ; what we must call a genuinely one. Sword and Bible were borne before him, without any chi- mera : were not these the’’ r^a/ emblems of Puritanism ; its true decoration and insignia ? It had used them both in a very real manner, and pretended to stand by them now 1 But this poor Napoleon mistook : he believed too much in the Dup^~ ability of men ; saw no fact deeper in man than Hunger and this 1 He was mistaken. Like a man that should build upon cloud ; his house and he fall down in confused wreck, and de- part out of the world. Alas, in all of us this charlatan-element exists ; and might be developed, were the temptation strong enough. ‘ Lead us not into temptation’ I But it is fatal, I say, that it be developed. The thing into which it enters as a cognisable ingredient is doomed to be altogether transitory; and, however huge it may look, is in itself small. Napoleon’s working, accordingly, what was it with all the noise it made ? A flash as of gunpowder wide-spread ; a blazing-up as of dry heath. For an hour the whole Universe seems wrapt in smoke and flame ; but only ^for an hour. It goes out : the Universe with its old mountains and streams, its stars above and kind soil beneath, is still there. The Duke of Weimar told his friends always, To be of courage ; this Napoleonism was unjust^ a falsehood, and could not last. It is true dqctrine. The heavier this Napoleon tram- pled on the world, holding it tyrannously down, the fiercer would the world’s recoil against him be, one day. Injustice pays jt- self with frightful compound-interest. I am not sure but he had better have lost his best park of artillery, or had his best regiment drowned in the sea, than shot that poor German Bookseller, Palm I It was a palpable tyrannous murderous injustice, which no man, let him paint an inch thick, could make-out to be other. It burnt deep into the hearts of men, it and the like of it ; suppressed fire flashed in the eyes of men, as they thought of it, waiting their day 1 Which day came : Germany rose round him. What Napoleon did will in the long-run amount to what he did justly j what Nature with her laws will sanction. To what of reality was in him; to that and nothing more. The rest was all smoke and waste. La carri^re ouverte aux talens : that great true Message, which has yet to articulate and fulfil itself everywhere, he left in a most inarticulate state. He was a great Sbatiche, a rude- draught never completed ; as indeed what great man is other? Left in too rude a state, alas 1 His notions of the world, as he expresses them there at St. Helena, are almost tragical to consider. He seems to feel the most unaffected surprise that it has all gone so ; that he is flung-out on the rock here, and the World is still moving on its axis. France is great, and all-great ; and at bottom, he is France. England itself, he says, is by Nature only an ap- pendage of France ; “another Isle of Oleron to France.” So it was by Nature, by Napoleon-Nature ; and yet look how in fact — Here am I I He cannot understand it : inconceivable that the reality has not corresponded to his program of it ; that France was not all-great, that he was not France. ‘Strong delusion,’ that he should believe the thing to be which is not I The compact, clear- seeing, decisive Italian nature of him, strong, genuine, which he once had, has enveloped itself, half- dissolved itself, in a turbid atmosphere of French fanfaronade. The world was not disposed to be trodden-down underfoot ; to be bound into masses, and built together, as he liked, for a pedestal to France and him : the world had quite other pur- poses in view! Napoleon's astonishment is extreme. But alas, what help now ? He had gone that way of his ; and Nature also had gone her way. Having once parted with Reality, he tumbles helpless in Vacuity; no rescue for him. He had to sink there, mournfully as man seldom did ; and break his great heart, and die, this poor Napoleon ; a great implement too soon wasted, till it was useless : our last Great Man I Our last, in a double sense. For here finally these wide roamings of ours through so many times and places, in search and study of Heroes, are to terminate. I am sorry for it: there was pleasure for me in this business, if also much pain. It is a great subject, and a most grave and wide one, this which, not to be too grave about it, I have named He?'o-worship. It enters deeply, as I think, into the secret of Mankind’s ways and vitalest interests in this world, and is well worth explaining at present. With six months, instead of six days, we might have done better. I promised to break-ground on it ; I know not whether I have even managed to do that. I have had to tear it up in the rudest manner in order to get into it at all. Often enough, with these abrupt utterances thrown-out iso- lated, unexplained, has your tolerance been put to the trial. Tolerance, patient candour, all-hoping favour and kindness, which I will not speak of at present. The accomplished and distinguished, the beautiful, the wise, something of what is best in England, have listened patiently to my rude words. With many feelings, I heartily thank you all ; and say, Good be with you all! Nome compiuto: Domenico Cardone. Domenico Antonio Cardone. Keywords: Clark Kent; ovvero, sul sovrumano, “Ricerche filosofiche”; futilitarianism, inutilitarianism, Grice, “The philosophy of life,” Grice, “Philosophy of life”, essere e divenire – il sovraumano, Nietzsche, Bergson, D’Annunzio, sobra-uomo, super-uomo. Jesus as a philosopher! Tommaso Carlyle, Il culto degl’eroi – culto, worth-ship, valore, Napoleone, natura italiana -- -- Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Cardone,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Vill Speranza, Liguria, Italia.

 

Luigi Speranza -- Grice e Carifi: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale dell’ablativi relativi – Roman implicata – scuola di Pistoia – filosofia toscana -- filosofia italiana – Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, The Swimming-Pool Library (Pistoia). Filosofo toscano. Filosofo italiano. Pistoia, Toscana. Grice: “I would call Carifi a poet rather than a philosopher! He did indeed philosophise ‘in difesa della filosofia,’ but that  should read of ‘his’ ‘filosofia,’ which he sees as an elaboration on death! My favourite are his ‘lezioni’ di filosofia and his ‘ablativo assoluto,’ something English lacks, but ‘deo volente’ doesn’t!” --  Studia sotto Bigongiari, tra i maggiori esponenti dell'ermetismo fiorentino,  profondamente influenzato dalle voci liriche di Rilke e Trakl, su cui si è esercitato anche come traduttore, oltre a essere poeta, svolge l'attività di critico letterario e filosofico. Autore de “Il segreto”. Al fianco degli studi filosofici, vi sono quelli di psicoanalisi a Milano. Mentre nelle liriche si risente la dizione rilkiana e emerge il debito verso Heidegger, nei componimenti successivi questi motivi vengono amalgamati a nuove istanze della sensibilità. In particolare dopo la dura prova della malattia, l'incidente, come lui chiama l'ictus da cui è stato colpito, i suoi versi abbracciano una nuova forma di rarefazione dissolvente in cui l'essere, attraversato dal dolore, cerca una via estrema di comunicazione per ricongiungersi al mondo.  Luoghi e figure dell'anima. Due sono i temi che incardinano la sua poetica: la madre e il legame con la città natale, Pistoia, che di quel rapporto affettivo è l'emanazione, entrambi raccolti filosoficamente nel rimando all'infanzia, epoca originaria dei sensi, periodo d'elezione per l'anima ma anche ingrato, di cui si fatica a cogliere l'essenza se non a patto di una discesa spossante. Ora è l'attimo che attende, è l'istante che prepara i tempi a un altro istante dove si deve attendere l'infanzia, quella bastarda che era là, tragico volto dei bambini. La madre, dolorosa musa, abbandonata dal marito quando il bambino aveva appena tre anni, ha lungamente accompagnato e sorretto la voce del figlio. La sua scomparsa è una perdita incolmabile nella vita e nel suo immaginario. La città rappresenta un caldo grembo, dove tutto rimanda a quel legame dissolto ma anche alle tante amicizie e perfino a quegli spiriti gentili di artisti e letterati che continuano ad aggirarsi, figure di sogno, nelle strette strade del centro. Bigongiari era di Pistoia. Era figlio del capostazione e abitava in Via del Vento, accanto a Manzini. Nei miei viaggi onirici li vedo tutti e due, Bigongiari e Manzini, camminare tra Via del Vento e Via Verdi, in silenzio perché parlano una lingua muta, una lingua del deserto che solo i poeti e i mistici capiscono. Nei suoi versi rivive di continuo la devozione spirituale per il luogo, la cui essenza poetica sta nell'intreccio di memorie che lo abitano, un passato con cui si misura in uno stato di incerta beatitudine tra sogno e veglia. Nasco filosofo con una grande tensione verso la poesia. Una tensione, la mia, che si è poi sviluppata fino a rendermi filosofo, ma soprattutto poeta. La filosofia arriva fino ad un certo punto, da quel punto in poi c’è la poesia. La poesia parla del cielo, delle foreste degli uomini, fa un salto verso la verità. Abbandona il linguaggio su cui, bene o male, la filosofia regge e sceglie un linguaggio pre-sentativo'', il linguaggio della presenza.  La sua ricerca è la risposta alle varie vicende dell’uomo. L’uomo colma e coglie sé stesso attraverso il percorso del lume, l’apertura alla conoscenza. L’uomo mite che miete la luce, capace di cuore della verità, che non rinuncia al pensiero della responsabilità e della parola, è l’uomo C.. Non bisogna accostarsi a lui con il timore di leggere un incomprensibile tomo di filosofia analitica alla teoria dell’implicatura di Grice, sia pur condividendo con lui che non esistono concetti semplici, né concetti già pronti, perché la filosofia analitica di Grice è, Grice morto, in divenire, è in movimento. Un sottile ma preciso filo conduttore che caratterizza la raccolta delle sue lunghe e silenziose riflessioni è la pratica dell’intensità, destini che si rivelano fino in fondo. Esercita il bello della profondità portandola, a tutti, sul piano conoscitivo della conversazione. Le sue opere sono cammini culturali e spirituali dove l’uomo ed il valore sono all’unisono un giro concentrico di piaceri.  La conversazione è un abisso che, in un’intima solidarietà, unisce il moto interiore all’estetica dell’espressione, e la conversazione diviene il veicolo principale dove il silenzio meditativo e contemplativo si colora di una dimensione inter-oggettiva. La conoscenza dell'altro.L'uomo del pensiero: Roberto Edizione Polistampa, Firenze. Poesia e filosofia convivono e si alternano nella sua vasta produzione, tra i maggiori autori contemporanei. E conosciuto per i testi filosofici e per l’intensa attività poetica, influenzata, a partire dagli anni Ottanta, dall’amicizia con Bigongiari; ma anche per le traduzioni in italiano di Hesse, Rousseau, Racine, Bataille, Trakl e Weil. La poesia è una stretta di mano su «Naturart», rivista di cultura, Giorgio Tesi Editrice»  Scopre il dolore con la perdita della madre che diventa la sua ossessione poetica, descritta come un pozzo in cui scendere. Le sue due antologie poetiche (Infanzia; Nel ferro dei balocchi), pur seguendo percorsi diversi, si ergono entrambe su due abissi: l'infanzia personale, ma al contempo quella di intere generazioni europee, segnate da un legame indissolubile. Archivio Festival Letteratura, Palazzo Ducale, Mantova. È una poesia in cui la forte componente autobiografica trasfigura il vissuto, in quanto ciò che si racconta assume valore paradigmatico: situazioni ed episodi emblematici in cui l’uomo incontra l’assoluto. Incontro su «VIinforma», rivista culturale della Banca di credito coooperativo di S. Pietro in Vincio»  «La raccolta Madre, proprio perché torna su un tema già fortemente praticato, consente di guardare al complessivo percorso poetico di Carifi potendo distinguere in esso un momento di passaggio e di mutamento, determinato prima dall’avvicinamento al buddismo, poi dalla malattia. Giuseppe Grattacaso, Supplica alla madre su «Succedeoggi» Cultura nell’informazione quotidiana»  Opere Raccolte poetiche Simulacri (Forum/Quinta Generazione, Forlì); Infanzia (Società di Poesia, Milano, rist. Raffaelli, Rimini ); L'obbedienza (Crocetti, Milano); Occidente (Crocetti, Milano); Amore e destino (Crocetti, Milano); Poesie (I Quaderni del Battello Ebbro, Porretta Terme); Casa nell'ombra (Almanacco Mondadori, Milano); Il Figlio (Jaca Book, Milano); Amore d'autunno (Guanda, Parma-Milano); Europa (Jaca Book, Milano); Il gelo e la luce (Le Lettere, Firenze); La pietà e la memoria (Edizioni ETS, Pisa); D'improvviso e altre poesie scelte (Via del Vento edizioni); Nel ferro dei balocchi (Crocetti, Milano 2008); Tibet (Le Lettere, Firenze ); Madre (Le Lettere, Firenze); Il Segreto (Le Lettere, Firenze ); Racconti Victor e la bestia (Via del Vento edizioni, Pistoia); Lettera sugli angeli e altri racconti (Via del Vento edizioni, Pistoia); Destini (Libreria dell'Orso editrice, Pistoia); Saggi Il gesto di Callicle (Società di Poesia, Milano); Il segreto e il dono (EGEA, Milano); Le parole del pensiero (Le Lettere, Firenze); Il male e la luce (I Quaderni del Battello Ebbro, Porretta Terme); L'essere e l'abbandono (Il Ramo d'Oro, Firenze); Nomi del Novecento (Le Lettere, Firenze); Nome di donna (Raffaelli, Rimini ). Rilke, L'angelo e altre poesie, Via del Vento edizioni, 2008; Georg Trakl, La notte e altre poesie, traduzione di Massimo Baldi e Roberto Carifi, Postfazione di Roberto Carifi, Via del Vento edizioni. Tiene la rubrica mensile "Per competenza" sulla rivista «Poesia». Per ulteriori notizie si veda la sezione dedicata ai cenni biografici del poeta nel volume Roberto Carifi, D'improvviso e altre poesie scelte, Via del Vento edizioni, Da Roberto Carifi, Tibet, Le Lettere,.  Da Pistoia in parole. Passeggiate con gli scrittori in città e dintorni, Alba Andreini, introduzione di Roberto Carifi, Edizioni ETS,.  M. Baudino, Nel mitico mondo di Carifi, «Gazzetta del Popolo»; C. Viviani, Il mito e il nuovo inquilino, «Il Giorno», F. Ermini, Il mito per relazionarsi al reale, «Il quotidiano dei lavoratori», G. Giudici, Il gesto di Callicle, «L'Espresso»; A. Porta, Il gesto di Callicle, «Alfabeta», M. Spinella, La microfisica del significante poetico, «Rinascita», nQui sento odor di buoni versi, «Il Messaggero»; Infanzia, «Il piccolo Hans», Al fuoco di un altro amore, Jaca Book, L'anima e la forma nel verso. «Avvenire»; P.F.Iacuzzi, Il paradosso della poesia italiana. «Paradigma»; Utopisti e menestrelli, «L'indice», R. Nostalgia del tragico, «Corriere del Ticino»; I Quaderni del Battello Ebbro. Basso continuo del rumore bellico per litanie epiche sull'occidente, «Il Manifesto». Il filo del tramonto e del rimpianto, «Il Giornale», La poesia, il luogo del ritorno a casa, «La Nazione», La lingua continua a battere dove la carità duole, «Il Mattino»,   Il buio mondo che ci avvolge, «Il Sole 24 ore», Il lato oscuro delle cose, «La Repubblica»;  Sul vuoto appesi alla parola, «La Nazione», Amore senza tempo, «Il Sole 24 ore»,; E per musa ispiratrice la nostalgia, «Avvenire»,  Classici pensosi versi, «Gazzetta di Parma», Amore per una donna e per il nulla, «Il Giorno», Gli amori di Carifi, «La Nazione»; B. Manetti, Carifi il poeta errante, «La Repubblica»; D. Attanasio, Amore e morte trascendenti segreti, «Il Manifesto», R. Copioli, Carifi: il desiderio è mitico, «Avvenire», 14 maggio 1994; E. Grasso, L'amore quando il lume si spegne, «L'Unità»; A. Donati, Intervista a Roberto Carifi, «Il Giorno», Doni al confine del tempo, «Il Sole 24 ore»; L'angelo poetico della solitudine, «Il Giorno», R. Figli innamorati del proprio destino, «Avvenire»; Il male come provocazione estetica – estetica del male -- Chiaroscuro con lampada e scialle, «Il Sole 24 ore»; Chi son? Sono un poeta, «Il Giornale»; Il dolore nelle sillabe, «La Gazzetta di Parma»; Un angelo in esilio, «Avvenimenti»; U. Piersanti, Il figlio, «Tutto Libri»; Bigongiari, Carifi: parole e voce di Figlio, «La Nazione»; Quel contratto da verificare, «Il Sole 24 ore», Angeli sospesi tra essere e abbandono, «Avvenire», Un neoromantico invoca il cuore, i sogni, l'addio, «Tutto Libri»,  Amore d'autunno, «L'Espresso», Morte di madre. Quando la poesia "riversa la vita", «Il Giornale», L’elegia di uno stile semplice, «Avvenire»; Quei legami vitali tra figlio e madre, «La Nazione»; Tra infelicità e silenzio, «Il Sole 24 ore»; Un dolcissimo amore d'autunno, «Il Giornale», L'estetica dell'amore, «Il Tirreno», Dalla parte del cuore, «Gazzetta di Parma»; E. Coco, Rivista de Literatura. Un dialogo a distanza sull'alterità del figlio, introduzione a C. e U. Buscioni, Figure dell'abbandono, maschiettoemusolino, Siena; Il pathos del sublime: la poesia di Carifi, «Atelier», D. Fiesoli, Europa, «Il Tirreno», B. Garavelli, Addio alla madre, «Avvenire», G. Colotti, Europa, «Il Manifesto»;  La religiosa tragicità di Carifi, «Poesia»; F. A. Scorrano, La conoscenza dell'altro. L'uomo del pensiero. Edizione Polistampa, Firenze, S. Ramat, C. nel nome della madre, «Il Giornale»,  Per la sezione bibliografica questa voce trae informazioni dalla  inglese.   Piero Bigongiari Gianna Manzini Pistoia Via del Vento edizioni //poesia.blog.rainews//09/blog Poesia Rai News L'UOMO DEL PENSIERO. Saggio sulla poesia di Carifi Tre poesie su «Sagarana», su sagarana.net. Una recensione di Infanzia, su margininversi.blogspot. C., Il sisma silenzioso del cuore articolo di Galgano su «Clandestino». Grice: “One impotant thing to consider is the passive voice of the future perfect – TEMPVS PLVSQVAMPERFECTVS PRAETERITVM – there was a specific form, ‘dedidi’ i. e. an inflected form, only in the passive voice. However, no record was found of the passive voice, except by use of what I call an ‘auxiliary’ verb – ‘have’ – cf. my notes on ‘do’ – ‘do’ and ‘have’ as auxiliary. However, the Romans found a way: the ablativo assoluto – the house given, she proceeded to furnish it. Money having been given to the merchant, the buyer left – Admirably, as Aelfric noted, in Latin, the pluperfect, strictly tempus praeterium plusquamperfectum, is formed without an auxiliary verb . MODUS INDICATIVUS/SUBJUNCTIVUS. Pecuniam mercatori DEDERAT. Pecunimam mercatori DEDISSET – Ha had given money to the merchart. He should have given money to the merchant. The Roman even had a choice of the ablative absolute hrase, consisting of the noun and the perfect participle in the ablative case. Pecuniis mercatori datis cessit emptor, Money having been given to the merchant, the buyer left. pecuniis mercatori non datis non cessit emptor. Money not having been given to the merchant, the merchant killed one of the buyer’s slaves. The difference is merely implicatural. In the verbal form (dederat, dedisset) is is explicated that it was the buyer who paid. In the absolute-ablative case, it is merely implicated. For all the utterer cares, it could have been the buyer’s slave. Cicero refers to an use of the RELATIVE ablative which is even ‘more slippery’ and thus optimal for cross examination. Money. Nome compiuto: Roberto Carifi. Carifi. Keywords: ablativi relative, filosofia e poesia – l’implicatura del poeta – l’implicatura di Blake – l’implicatura di Guglielmo Blake – rhyme or reason – the invention of rhyme – l’invenzione della rima – empedocle: ragione senza rima -- Heidegger, conversation, language, silence, being, inter-subjectivity. Refs.: Luigi Speranza, pel Gruppo di Gioco di H. P. Grice, “Grice e Carifi,” The Swimming-Pool Library, Villa Speranza, Liguria, Italia.